Did I make the right choice?

The response to the physical contact is enough to send him reeling, and Akira needs a moment when he pulls away to process that this is real and Akechi is alive, dripping wet in the doorway to LeBlanc looking like he’d been in several brawls-

Oh. He should probably get him a towel. This…. was a lot to take in.

“You’re soaked. How long have you been in the rain?”

Gently, but still hesitantly, he reaches to lead the other further inside the store, making a mental note to clean up the puddles later. He retrieves a towel from behind the counter that would normally be used for dishes, and offers it to the other man before acting on autopilot to turn on the coffee maker.

“And how did you get so beat up? Did you come out of the Metaverse like that-” 

Perhaps he shouldn’t ask that one just yet.

“Oh- Thank you!”

The towel is a welcome gesture, and he sets himself to at least trying to dab away the worst of the water, but it felt more like he’d just crawled out of a raging river rather than having walked out of the rain.

Akira’s first question....is a very good one. Try as he might, any recollections of where he was prior to finding the café were hazy an indescribable at best.

Once he finally settled for damp over soaked, he moved over to his usual seat, watching Akira move about behind the bar as he tried to put his thoughts in order.

That was quickly proving to be a challenge.

“I genuinely have no idea...to either question. I- I wasn’t even aware I’d been in the Metaverse recently. Is that where you saw me last?”

Something about the concept of the cognitive world made his stomach turn. He’d never really seen it as much of a vacation destination to begin with, but somehow he wanted even less to do with it now than before.

The attempt to struggle is quickly suppressed as all Akira can do is glare at the man, baring teeth and clawing at Akechi’s arm until he’s thrown back down to the ground.

It hurts. Everything hurt already, but the pain that blossoms through his chin where it connects with the ground makes him bite his tongue, and he sputters a mix of blood and spit when Akechi’s foot connects with his back. 

It hurts, but more importantly, the words that follow carve holes in his heart and Akira makes no attempt to lift himself from where he now lay, sprawled on the concrete like a doll.

“Shut up. Just shut up. Do you think i don’t know this? You’re so pretentious, going on and on with nothing to show for it. You couldn’t even kill me right. How does that feel, Akechi? You call what i’ve done a failure yet what have you even achieved from your goals other than making the world exactly the fucking same.”

His voice raises in volume as he talks, vitriol rolling off the tongue and he turns his head enough to look up, locking cold steel eyes with the rust red that bore down on him.

“Did you enjoy killing your dad? Did it give you your catharsis and fix all the problems you had in life? Or are you still as miserable as you were before, except this time you killed all the people that actually cared enough about you to want to actually help.”

Akira can barely finish speaking before he removed his foot from Akira’s back ever so briefly enough to give him a sharp kick to the ribs. Then another. And another.

“You shut up, you sniveling garbage heap! What do you think you know about me?”

“Everything was going perfectly until you had to show up! Just like always- You can’t even take a bullet to the brain right! Why can’t you just leave me the fuck alone??!!”

His voice had been raising in volume beyond his awareness, to the point where even the crowd was starting to turn heads, but they quickly turned back to their own feet or phone screens. His breathing was now labored, and the blood was pulsing through his veins, sticking in his hair, and leaking onto his collar.

He could bludgeon him right here, spill his brains on the concrete and be sure they would never make their way into his skull again.

But then, where would the even lead him? Exactly where he was the night of Akira’s first murder? Frozen, shaking, unable to sleep, eat, breathe....

He picks up his boot again to grind it against his face, turning it ever so slightly with the pressure of each motion.

The tremble ripples through the young man’s body as he shakes, the anger and despair an all consuming weight the threatened to snap his back like a twig. He could hear it, even if he couldn’t see the sadistic venom in the others words and for once in his life Akira wishes the parts off him that prevented him from darker thoughts would shut themselves off. 

Just for once.

Instead, he slams his head into the ground, burring his hands in his hair to tug and pull and muffle the noise that escapes the back of his throat. Why did it have to be this way? Why did he have to exist, survive by some fucked up miracle when all it would do is cause him agony?

His luck hated him, of that he was certain.

“You’re sick.”

“Oh? What clued you in, genius?”

His mouth is moving faster than his brain can register, and it’s almost like he’s watching his own hand move from afar as he reaches down to grab his own fistful of the other man’s curls, being none too gentle about slowly pulling his head to to face his own.

“You think I got here by playing nice? By following what’s just? This is a dog-eat dog world now, Akira. Just look around- Not one of these people give a flying fuck about your misery.”

Upon finishing his words, he proceeded to throw down the young man’s head, before raising his knee and bringing his foot down right upon his midback to press him down and grind his heel into his defeated opponent. Just to satisfy the urge that threatened to bring his blood to a boil.

If Akira were a different man Akechi wouldn’t be standing anymore. Whether it was fortune or karma for the other, he wasn’t that kind of person, and he finally relinquishes his hold on the other at that tone and sinks to the floor on his knees. It’s a pitiful display, really, but his legs just can’t hold him and he can’t stomach to look at those eyes anymore.

Blindly, he fumbles or his glasses and puts them back on, ignoring the crack that now split a lens in two.

“Did you make them suffer.”

Even though his voice is quiet, he knows Akechi can still hear him and his hands bale into fists on the hard concrete, scraping his knuckles in the process.

“Don’t lie. Tell me honestly.”

He watches him sink without so much as a flinch, and didn’t even bother to fix his now-rumpled uniform. For all that he imagined Akira in this position before him so many times, once again catharsis eluded him at seeing it in reality.

Upon being asked the question, however, the leather of his gloves strained as his fists clenched.

Ah, of course. Ever the sentimental one. Even now his soft heart was the reason for both of their suffering in this moment. Perhaps all he really needs is a nudge...

“Not physically.”

“No promises about the mental toll of watching their companions fall one by one before them, though.”

The speed of which he forces himself to his feet is enough to knock his chair backward, stool colliding with the floor with a loud thud as the man can do little other than stare.

Stare at Goro Akechi like he’d evaporate the minute he took his eyes off of him.

It was like a daze, a dream, a nightmare…? He looked horrific, like a drowned rat and it takes him far too long to actually make a move towards the other to help him in.

At first the touch is hesitant, as if expecting his hands to fall through the other man’s body. But when it connects with his upper arm (avoiding a nasty looking gash in the process) Akira loses the fight he didn’t know he was having with himself, and the tears fall freely as he pulls the other into a tight hug.

“How are you-…?”

Huh. Not quite the reaction he’d expected, for some reason.

The crash of the stool makes him jump a bit in alarm, but it’s short lasting as he looks at Akira watching him like he was a ghost or something.

Did something happen for him so look so shocked? Well, besides his entire appearance...

“Is something the-?”

Before he can finish the question, Akira is pulling him in close, and he feels slightly guilty about it. He’ll get himself all wet and covered in blood like that.

But it’s warm, and he can’t actually remember the last time he’d received one. The way he clings to him so tightly hurts his myriad bumps and bruises, but it doesn’t stop him from reaching up and returning the hug equally as tight, enjoying the contact for every moment before Akira pulls away to speak again.

The black haired male was standing there and the moment that Goro around the corner; he pulled them into Mementos. The crowds faded away and replaced by distorted walls of black and red. 

“…..” They were alone for the most part and Ren stood there before removing his hood. “That was a nice shot.” he replied. The ache in his temple throbbed as he thought of it but the deep wound was just a faded scar hidden by ebony bangs. 

Well, that sure removed all of his doubts.

He’s frozen for several confused moments, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. He’d shot him point blank. Right through the center! He could even see the scar when the unnaturally cold breeze of Mementos blew through his bangs.

“Clearly not good enough, by the looks of it.”

The weather fit the mood of the room perfectly. Cold, dark and rainy… a dreariness and depression that sank through the bones and hollowed out the core.

It’d been like that since Shido’s Palace, since Yaldabaoth… Since Akechi had died, really, if he was going to be specific with it. They should be celebrating. They were celebrating, in their own ways yet somehow Akira still couldn’t press on like the rest of them.

Maybe it was because his friendship with Akechi was different to theirs. It was him, out of all of them, who trusted him still after all that had happened… All that was done.

Maybe he was just being sentimental, but no amount of time seemed long enough to grieve, and he sits at the bar of LeBlanc sipping at his coffee while Sojiro was on lunch break idly wondering if it ever will be.

The faint jingle of the cafe bell barely draws him out of his moping stupor, and Akira shoves his hand in his hair and adjusts himself with a mumbled apology to the cafe’s guest.

“Is there anything i can help you with today-”

The rest of the words die on his lips as dull grey eyes fully take in the figure that stood in the doorway, clothes torn and bloodied, sopping wet to the point of forming a puddle on the floor.

“Goro!?”

He… had to be hallucinating, right?

Ah, yes. This was what he was looking for.

The smell of coffee, the distant drone of the TV, the soothing not-too-bright lightning...

And, most importantly, the young man sitting at the counter.

“Honey, I’m home.”

That reaction was enough to confirm that Goro did indeed see him. Good. Ren turned and seemed to vanish down the quiet alleyway. It would be a game of cat and mouse just as long if the brunet took the bait. They needed a quiet place; a place deep away from the masses. A place of no interruptions. 

If Goro gave chase then at least Ren could pull him into the depths of Mementos. The black haired young man continue to walk a steady pace glancing to see if the bait worked or not. He began to head towards the depths of the subway. 

As soon Not-Ren began to move, his inexplicable paralysis was replaced by his legs seemingly gaining a possession of their own will. It took everything in him not to run after him.

Not that he even really needed to, considering the fact he kept looking back over his shoulder.

Could it be he was...waiting for him?

Whatever he was feeling in his chest, whether it be dread - or worse yet, hope - made it so tight he threatened to be ill.

He paused only long enough at a corner to attempt to calm himself before finally rounding it to face his quarry in an empty corridor.

“...Amamiya?”

He pulls Akechi forwards only to slam his head back against the wall, the motion enough to slide his glasses off completely, and they hit the concrete with a clink, the distinct sound of glass cracking distant in his ears.

Its not like he needs them to see anyways though, but the raw hurt is more apparent now with no shield to hide it… As well as the burning anger that he bore into the others’ eyes with an unwavering stare.

“You’re not in a position to snark at me, Akechi. Not after everything you’ve done.”

His stomach churns and Akira’s grip tightens, and he’s certain now that there’s definitely blood from their collision, as he can see it slide down the bridge of his nose as a slow, agonizing pace. 

“Was it even worth it?”

He grits his teeth at another round of pain, and he can feel the blood rushing in his head for what was most assuredly an open wound by now. His ears were ringing, too, but Akira’s voice was still clear as crystal through it.

“Not particularly.”

How did he get here? When did he get here? He stumbles for a moment as he bumps shoulders with a passing stranger, staggering and only barely managing to catch himself before he adds to his impressive collection of bumps, bruises, and scrapes.

His distress and confusion are apparent to all who actually notice, and inexplicably, the idea makes him distinctly uncomfortable.  It’s a good thing he’s stuck mostly to the back areas of town. Equally good as well that people seemed by an large to be ignoring him completely.

If he could just find some ounce of familiarity, it might anchor him, but instead he’s only being shepherded around by the packed crowds of Shibuya station...

The ache from the new scar upon his brow throbbed a bit as he walked through the crowd unnoticed. The dead man was walking among the living. Ren recalled that moment with the barrel pressed against his brow and the gunshot. It was all over in a moment and there was no pain. None. It felt like he slipped into a deep slumber. 

It was just a deep black; cold and fading. 

The god’s really did favor the lucky. His revival came at the hands of a whimsical god that seemingly adored humanity. It was another chance to save humanity for a deeper looming threat and save those trapped within deep nightmares. 

Ren felt hurt by the betrayal; that was true but despite the sorrow and the anger; it didn’t turn into hate. The unpredictability of man thrilled the trickster god enough to be revived. So; he was grateful at a second chance as his friends. 

Still; the world thought Ren dead which he could use to his advantage. He would but first he would need to confront the one that pulled the trigger. 

Ren couldn’t just show up at the small cafe; that would cause much confusion and so he laid low; in the shadows like a ghost waiting to see if his instincts were right. He pulled his hood up around his head and scarf around his neck. It was a decent disguise. 

The air was cool and calm. People begin to forget to take a moment to appreciate the feel of the breeze but the black haired young man wouldn’t forget. Not when he lost his life once before. This time; he would do what is needed to save humanity. 

Thankfully, the station alone had plenty enough to give him his caffeine fix while he walked the rest of the way to the store.

It was cheap, and convenient, but still...he couldn’t decide if it was too sweet or too bland.

While pondering this incredibly important conundrum, he’d paused to read the label on the can while waiting for the train. Mistake.

Upon looking up from his can, he very nearly dropped it.

He had to be imagining that right? Maybe it was just the glint of the glasses that bore such a resemblance...

He needed to move- or at the very least break the awkward staring - but his body remained frozen in place, his chest tightening like a vice.

“...........”

Yet another roundabout case has him in it’s grasp, and the oncoming migraine only serves to worsen matters. These were....admittedly so much less frustrating when he already knew the answers. Then proceeded to craft decidedly false ones and hand that in instead.

Things like that were considerably less frequent these days, however, and the rise in much more earnest cases was leaving more and more work on his desk.

“...I need coffee.”

Perhaps a trip out to town was in order. He’s been putting off the grocery shopping for the last few days, and his last can of instant had been emptied this morning.

Grabbing his coat, he resolves to make his way out to the station for a light trip.

The rain has been pelting him for what must have been hours now. He can feel the water seeping past his clothes and into his very bones, but he continues walking. Walking. Still walking, each step getting him a little closer. Closer to....where, again? He finally stops there to try and consider himself for a moment, before a splitting headache forces him to avert that course of action and keep moving.

These streets are familiar, though, but has he come here from this side before?

He stumbles on a stray bicycle and looses a string of curses as the resulting scrape against the concrete adds another bruise and open cut to his veritable collection from similar mishaps over his journey.

That’s when he finally spots it-

The tiny, almost invisible café nestled in the side streets on Yongen.

Leblanc was here.

Akira was here.

His hand can’t seem to stop shaking as he reaches for the door knob, but he can’t stop himself. He needed to go here. Needed to see him.