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Akira didn't remember what day it was. Was it March yet? Even April? He wasn't sure. No one questioned him, worried about him, because they all assumed he'd be fine. No matter what, Joker would be fine.
He realized it when his friends stopped texting him, one after another. No one bothered check up on him, and Sojiro couldn't be less concerned. He's been studying, getting ahead on college exams, isn't he such a responsible kid? It was like a clone of him was walking around, perfectly fine, proving that nothing could get him down. There wasn't, though. Just a mass perception of him.
Akira noticed after a while that he didn't get hungry, or tired, or thirsty. This perfect world forbid it. He still felt pain, that didn't go away, but it hadn't taken long for him to find out that he couldn't die. Would he, someday, of natural causes? He hoped he wasn't made immortal in this world.
Hot tears flooded Akira's eyes again, despite not having gotten out of bed for days at best. He spent most of his time sleeping, but never felt less tired. When he wasn't, he was either crying or watching his blood soak into the floorboards before vanishing completely. He'd stopped, for a while, when he found out people could care about him. Now he knew that had never been true. He'd always been a means to an end.
Well, maybe Sojiro cared. Still, despite how fucked up the world had become. Akira woke up sometimes to a fresh cup of coffee beside his bed, but he let it go cold. He just cried himself right back to sleep, and it'd be replaced sometime later.
Why would anyone care, anyway? This was all Akira's fault. He wanted so badly, naively, to convince Maruki that what he was doing was wrong. He believed so strongly that the man could see reason that he refused to take the violent route. He'd paid dearly for it when he found out he was wrong.
Even Akechi, the one person who'd never been brainwashed by the false reality, had left him. And Akira couldn't blame him! At the end, Akira's last stand, it was his own fault that Maruki couldn't be convinced. He'd faltered when faced with the truth, that the Akechi standing next to him wasn't alive. He'd tried so many times to make Akira see reason, but Akira had been too stupid. In his mind, Akira believed it had been a worse betrayal even than Akechi's attempt to murder him.
Nothing felt worth doing anymore, not even breathing. The attic smelled of dust, anyway, more life in the spiders who'd made it their home than shell of a man living there. What was left for him, but to become that same dust? Rot away up here while the people he'd called friends, even family, dismissed that he must be studying hard. Would he even get a funeral if he was lucky enough to die someday?
Akira never wanted people to worry about him. He never wanted to burden anyone with his own insecurities. Maybe if he had, he wouldn't be here. If he'd just let himself be selfish for five fucking seconds, they might not have left him, or thought he'd be just fine.
Then again, it wasn't like they remembered him. The Phantom Thieves had never existed, just a memory in his own head. May as well have been a dream. His worst fears were confirmed, people only cared about him when there was something he could do for them. Then again, he'd always known it.
He could hear Futaba downstairs sometimes, talking with her mom. Was it really worth the sacrifice, worth believing in someone, to push so many people into a lie? Everyone but Akira was happy, and he did sort of deserve that, didn't he?
Akira woke up to coffee at his bedside again, he didn't bother turn around. The scent brought back fond memories, did Sojiro know it was the type he always made for Akechi?
Even after however long it had been, Akira's eyes still burned at the thought of him. He only barely stifled a gasp as he heard footsteps walking away from him. He didn't have the guts to turn around until they were gone. Not anymore.
Fresh, steaming coffee sat beside him, and the edge of the bed was warm where a person had been just moments before. Akira reached out, tentative, brushed his fingers over the sheets. Why would Sojiro sit with him, when he was warped not to worry? Still, who else would bring him coffee?
The sun was up. The coffee was never hot by nighttime, it was always in the morning. At least, Akira assumed it was morning. He never knew how long he slept, and his phone had been dead for so long now. Not that he had any use for it, he may as well smash the thing. Maybe he would, if he had the energy to get out of bed.
The smell of coffee soothed him, and Akira felt a tear fall onto his sheets. His eyes fluttered shut, dreamless sleep overtaking him. At least, it was better than the sad, or the happy. He always woke up feeling the same hollowness. Near the start of all of this, Akira decided that emotions weren't worth it. None of it had been. Not for himself. After all, what could a teenager from nowhere do but cause trouble?
Goro didn't know why he started, nor why he continued. Seventy-four now, that's how many times he'd brought coffee up to Akira. He was always asleep, though Goro did always stop by in the mornings. He used to come by more, but Akira was never awake.
Sojiro just told him that he was a good friend, looking after Akira when he was so busy with studying. That's always what it was, he was "studying". How generic.
At first, Goro stayed longer, too. It had hurt too much, for nothing. Even the time he'd worked up the courage to try, he couldn't rouse Akira from his slumber. And yet, he always looked so tired.
Goro wasn't stupid, he saw the blood-tinged knife that Akira barely tried to hide anymore. He'd seen the faint scars disappearing slowly, though far quicker than they should. This world wouldn't let Akira die, even if he wanted to. And, it seemed quite obvious that he did.
It hurt too much, to see someone so precious to him in such a state. Goro sat by him sometimes, most times, just wishing Akira would open his eyes. He never did, not in Goro's presence. Sometimes he filled the silence himself, talking about his day or a future that would never come to pass. Sometimes he cried, cursed Akira and himself and the world for what had transpired. Sometimes he professed love he'd realized too late, knowing it fell on deaf ears.
"I saw Takamaki and Suzui-San at the station today." Goro spoke quietly, these secret conversations were between him and a practically comatose Akira. "They looked happy. They would've found that anyway, though. Everyone would." He sighed.
Goro couldn't really blame him, not fairly. Akira wanted to hope for the best when it came to people he trusted, and he hated letting that trust be broken even when it so clearly had been. This time, he'd paid for it dearly.
"Do you think we would've been happy, had I not died?" Goro asked, slow breathing the only reply. "Do you think we ever could've found that for ourselves? I'd like to believe so, but maybe that's idealist. Like you, I suppose. You'd insist, wouldn't you?"
Goro had a lot of time to think now. Everyone else had been given their greatest desire by this reality, but Goro had lost his. The thing he'd wanted, more than anything, was to be at Akira's side. In any way but this.
"I wanted freedom, but sometimes it feels like my entire life is tied to you. Not by fate, not anymore, but I don't know how I'm supposed to exist without you." Goro sighed. "Is that how you felt? This must be what grief feels like, when it's not corrupted by anger. No wonder you didn't want me to die."
One more thing, a bit of a routine Goro did. Before he left, he brushed Akira's bangs from his face and kissed his forehead. "Sleep well, Joker." He'd whisper, nothing but sadness in his tone. If nothing else, he hoped that his friend was peaceful in his sleep. In a way, it was almost a repetitive goodbye to the man he'd known. After all, he knew by now that he may never get him back.
Goro left with tears budding in his eyes, brushing them off with his sleeve before he reached the bottom of the stairs, bidding farewell to those able to reply but just as asleep as the man upstairs.
It wasn't like he couldn't feel it. After years using the Metaverse, Goro knew this sensation well. He could sense it, even if he couldn't reach it.
The roots of a Palace sprouted from Akira's heart, consuming all in their wake. Like a tree that had survived a thousand years, it was wrapped around Akira's very being, trapping him.
Goro didn't have the Metanav anymore, it had been gone since the deadline passed. He spent his days trying to find any way into the Metaverse, nights afraid that he never would.
He'd tried talking to the ghosts that had once called themselves Phantom Thieves, but none could hear him. He was on his own for now, maybe forever. Still, it didn't matter in the long run.
Whatever happened next, someday Goro would break Akira free of the shackles binding him. If he couldn't, then he'd die trying. He had plenty of time, even if he went truly mad he wouldn't give up. Maybe he already had, he wouldn't be shocked. Akira was the only thing that mattered.
Tomorrow morning, Goro would be back to bring Akira his coffee. It was cleaning day, time to brush away the dust and spiderwebs until next week. They always came back quickly, but it was the least he could do. Akira didn't deserve to wake up to an abandoned room.
Maybe Goro should start buying him gifts, return some life to the room. Maybe in the short moments of consciousness, it'd provide the barest hint of comfort. Hoping was all Goro could really do anymore.