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writetomyheart2021-04-22 10:43 pm
end_alls) wrote in writetomyheart2021-04-22 10:43 pm
Entry tags:
[TEAM ONE]
Persona 5 (SPOILERS), Akechi, rated T, ~400 words
It was the least he could do.
When the two of them met between the steel-sheet walls of the interrogation room, Akira Kurusu would see Goro as he always had: dressed to the nines in blazer and tie. The outfit was a uniform, a costume like all his others, but it was the lie he wore the most, and maybe that made it the genuine truth of him.
Goro traces a gloved finger along the length of the suppressor in his breast pocket, reassuring himself that its weight is comforting, not damning.
It would make Kurusu’s disposal quick and quiet—a thief’s death.
Goro would make it real. He would kill Kurusu in a world where his blood ran red instead of black, without masks to hide either of their faces, and without breaching the channels of Kurusu’s mind he would never have any right to.
Goro would tell him the truth. Kurusu would go down, or up, to wherever the people he killed went, knowing who had sent him and why.
Goro would lie. Tell him this meant nothing. That this would be the end, that once it was over he would never spare another moment thinking of Akira Kurusu, because to lose something you had to love it first.
When Goro brushed the hair from Kurusu’s forehead with the muzzle of the suppressor, he would lean close enough to ensure the last thing Kurusu smelled would be Goro Akechi's favorite cologne, instead of the brushed metal against his skull.
Sae meets him in the hallway, as he knew she would. As they pass, his next breath is lighter in his lungs, rising in him as it does when he crosses into the Metaverse and slips into his most comfortable skin. His feet carry him to the door, and the gloved hand on the latch can’t feel how cold the metal is down here underground.
He opens the door, and the weakness inside him is left on the other side.
Someone else enters the room,
someone free from tangled bonds of friendship or the heavy, crushing press of infatuation.
When it’s over, someone else carries his feet from the room and down the hallway. Someone else summons the elevator that lifts him from that pit.
His weakness waits til he’s home to return.
It was the least he could do.
When the two of them met between the steel-sheet walls of the interrogation room, Akira Kurusu would see Goro as he always had: dressed to the nines in blazer and tie. The outfit was a uniform, a costume like all his others, but it was the lie he wore the most, and maybe that made it the genuine truth of him.
Goro traces a gloved finger along the length of the suppressor in his breast pocket, reassuring himself that its weight is comforting, not damning.
It would make Kurusu’s disposal quick and quiet—a thief’s death.
Goro would make it real. He would kill Kurusu in a world where his blood ran red instead of black, without masks to hide either of their faces, and without breaching the channels of Kurusu’s mind he would never have any right to.
Goro would tell him the truth. Kurusu would go down, or up, to wherever the people he killed went, knowing who had sent him and why.
Goro would lie. Tell him this meant nothing. That this would be the end, that once it was over he would never spare another moment thinking of Akira Kurusu, because to lose something you had to love it first.
When Goro brushed the hair from Kurusu’s forehead with the muzzle of the suppressor, he would lean close enough to ensure the last thing Kurusu smelled would be Goro Akechi's favorite cologne, instead of the brushed metal against his skull.
Sae meets him in the hallway, as he knew she would. As they pass, his next breath is lighter in his lungs, rising in him as it does when he crosses into the Metaverse and slips into his most comfortable skin. His feet carry him to the door, and the gloved hand on the latch can’t feel how cold the metal is down here underground.
He opens the door, and the weakness inside him is left on the other side.
Someone else enters the room,
someone free from tangled bonds of friendship or the heavy, crushing press of infatuation.
When it’s over, someone else carries his feet from the room and down the hallway. Someone else summons the elevator that lifts him from that pit.
His weakness waits til he’s home to return.