#foolfated

“hey... hey, kid! kid! shit... hang on, kid. i gotcha.”

he had nearly dragged the poor kid back. he knew he’d have questions - but he looked beat to shit. a mess of hair matted with sweat and blood atop his forehead... how was afton to just keep walking? it wasn’t like him. as much as he tried to convince himself that he could just walk away; his legs didn’t keep going. 

he cleaned him up first. the blood, the bruises. stuff he’s seen a million times. he’s cleaned up ren and naoko a dozen times this month. nothing new. but he begins to stir - midnight eyes widen for a moment, and he steps back.

‘ sorry if i scared you— ‘ his is quite the strange circumstance after all. a lost bet with morgana has him wearing futaba’s giant mask, leaving him hardly able to see, and terrifying to the his immediate vicinity. ‘ i uh... i lost a bet. ‘

scare? that was the understatement of the century. he got lucky however, had he not spoken up-- he’d have surely been smacked into next week. though, in all her honesty, the temptation was still there. the weirdly detailed features on such a large and fat baby head-- it was beyond terrifying, much closer to mortifying. where did someone even get something like... THAT?

akechi has to wonder what brought up the statement.

why did you say that— he opens his mouth to speak, but the question hangs on his tongue and wilts so quickly he can only close it that the only thing left was a surprised stare towards the barista. the detective surmises that it must have been the quaintness of the coffee shop today;  when time crawls by with nothing to do, humans tend to allow their thoughts to trail to the borderlines of existence and morality. as akira does, and as he himself does, too.

silence hung in the air. goro isn’t sure what to say to it, only looked down at the reflective calmness of his half-finished coffee, long since lost its warmth since it was brewed yet still tantalizingly bitter. it’s refreshing, in a way. not too different to how he’d describe himself.

it reminds him of his mother.

his impression of his deceased parent was brief, if it should be phrased that way. she was already too infrequent for him to remember her face right, but he could recall she often left behind a mug of coffee on the dining table every time she’s out with some other lovely gentleman. the young boy thought nothing of it, assumed it must have been breakfast left for him when he crawled up the legs of the cheap yet too tall dining chair for a sip. he remembered it tasted disgusting.

thinking back makes him glance down at his coffee cup again. of course it tasted disgusting. his mother didn’t have any money to spare beyond her fake brand outfits she uses to go out and then some, just to make sure she can last a toddler’s food. the coffee she ever made was some type of watered down package coffee made in a flurry and drank just as fast, with no time to spare for more than a gulp before her partner of that day hurried her out.

he finished her leftovers and washed the cup quietly.

she never bothered asking him about it. not that she had time to when she was always so occupied, and goro never tried to question her. she often silenced him with meaningless words like ‘it’s work’ and ‘this is for you’ before ushering him to go to the bathhouse once he was old enough. for a long time, he assumed that was how love was   —   parents saving the best things for their children in a show of love, a small but noble act of sacrifice just like what he read in books. maybe that was why he drank it for years.

maybe he was just convincing himself mother loved him.

—

time didn’t leave enough space for a child with no mother to cope. for years and years, he was passed on between orphanages and caretakers, and all the same, he was always obedient   —   he could still recall the words of one of the caretakers about being good children that he took to heart for time to come. goro was always smiling to the adults no matter what they made him do, so much that it made his peers hate him. 

‘ass kisser,’ they called him, ‘caretaker’s little pet’. he’d made a face and said innocently that he’d never kiss somebody’s bottom. they beat him up.

he was moved to another orphanage thereafter, when the kids decided to gang up on him and tell his guardians that he’d been a bad bully to everyone else. goro had felt betrayed, but there was nothing else he could do; surely the adults wouldn’t buy his words over the accusations of a bunch many other. still, he’d hoped.

the first time it happened, it shattered his heart. the second time, it hurt a bit less. by the seventh or tenth or whatever number of times he’d lost track of, he’d become numb. there was no love here, not even the half-full cup of coffee like mother used to do.

and then … he met his father. masayoshi shido, the very future prime minister of japan! goro was in awe. then that awe turn into grief. and … hatred.

why?

why wasn’t he with him all this while?

wasn’t he his father?

wasn’t he supposed to be there?

why didn’t he stop mother from dying?

why?

why?

why?

orphanages had taught him that answering the wrong question would be punishment, so goro never asked him out loud. instead, he became eager. he still is   —   so eager to please and grovel and do every goddamn dirty thing shido demands of him. his past had festered into something ugly inside his heart that he would do anything just to get a speckle of that farfetched love and approval if there was any left to spare for him.

he knew better than to hope. he still yearned for it.

shido never gave him any gratitude or so much as a thank you for all of his work. never once called him son. in turn, akechi never called him dad   —   it’d be a painful reminder of whatever fling that never came to fruition, just like how akechi shouldn’t have been born. where a target died came another and another and another, the neverending list of enemies was so long that akechi had never once stopped to ask about why. not out of fear, of course. just that his father would be disappointed that he was butting his nose into somebody else’s business.

there’s no love here either, akechi thought. not that he understood what love was.

what shido does manage to give, though, was popularity. the fame of detective prince rose just like a kite in the wind as soon as his first cases were brought to light, and the media swallowed it greedily. charming! beautiful! intelligent! such was the second coming of the detective prince, headlines claimed, the rise of a true person of justice. fans love him, elderly and children and teenagers alike.

it never occurred to goro that he’d been twisted until then. he basked in that superficial adoration from society, so spoiled that he suddenly understood why his biological parent wanted more power. people hang onto his every word like it’s the gospel, and he wanted more. perhaps it’s no genuine love like how parents should be to their kids, but it felt better than that taste of blood when he was hit by other children at his youth. 

no love here. no love anywhere. he’ll take everything else.

then came the phantom thieves.

they’re … a confusing bunch. they aren’t friends, not really, not as far as he was aware. half of the team was recruited because the barista in front of him was blackmailed, akechi himself included. by all means of logic, they shouldn’t have been friends. and yet … they are.

he thinks of ryuji, so loudmouthed, the foul of the team. the runner never liked him. they’re like polar opposites, so the detective never gave him much credit. ann with so much charm but not enough academic intelligence to follow up. just as much a media darling as him but with less tolerance to the dirty and damned. yusuke, the oddball with five parts quirk and ten parts talent. the socially reclusive futaba. the heiress whose father goro had murdered without so much as a bite of remorse, haru. the student council student with a biting elder sister, makoto. mona, the yapping cat. and then … his rival, akira.

he thinks of that bright-eyed red-haired darling who loves him so dearly that she’s willing to do everything for him even though he didn’t even know who she really was.

all of them had treated him better than anybody else had been in the past. akechi had grown immune to so much bad intention that he could recognize anybody trying to use him with just a glance, and they … aren’t. nothing of him genuinely attracts them. not his fame, not his pretty face. in front of them, he’s just akechi goro, a teenager like any other.

it doesn’t feel nice. it’s love, but… it doesn’t feel nice.

he wonders why.

akira was giving him an expectant glance by the time he came back to reality.

❝  if only there was someone who loved you.  ❞

@foolfated​:  ❛ —yeah, you have to. i feel like you've never done it before. ❜ he's referring to his plans to build a shitty snowman on the side of the road where fresh snow has piled up and looked more ready than ever for their brand new architecture. of course, this wasn't the goal of their venture, but what better way to really get to know more about someone than taking the long way home? ❛ we can use these rocks as eyes and his mouth, but the nose is up to you. ❜

                    “   And WHY exactly must the nose be left up to me if I have not agreed to do this in the first place?   ” Arms stay wrapped around himself in the winter chill, he would much rather be inside the cafe enjoying a nice cup of fresh coffee made by the boss but Akira was insistent. He opened his mouth and closed it again -- he had given information of his past life before but only notions of negativity. He never shared details of his mother but at the same time... He did not like assumptions existing about him in the others head.

“   That’s not true, by the way.   ” Leaning against a wall, he watches fall into the crevices of the sidewalk slowly filling them with the pure color, “   I built one before ... With my mother... She took me to a park where it was quite popular at the time.   ” They were too poor to give the snowman clothing like other families were at the time but they had spent long together picking out stone that were similar enough to make the perfect smile.

He had been cold, his gloves at the time too thin to really withstand the freezing snow but it had not mattered how much his hands had stung underneath, spending time with his mother and making her laugh had been enough to fill his chest with warmth. Exhaling out shakily he finally took a of snow and started rolling it on the ground, “  But fine... I do not know about a nose but... perhaps a hat... and a scarf...   ” The things she had always wanted to give Akechi but never could... Perhaps, she was watching this now. 

@foolfated​:  “ it’s weed , obviously. ”