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Akechi is the last person Akira finds in the cells of the... wait, are the cells still part of the Velvet Room? Is the Velvet Room even supposed to be a prison? Whatever, he’ll worry about that once they save the world, or something. At least once he deals with the thing in front of him currently.
Goro Akechi. And it’s definitely Akechi, not Crow, since he’s wearing the same argyle sweater vest and un-ironed slacks Akira saw him in before they went into Mementos, this―was it only this morning? It feels like a lifetime ago. Akechi is leaning against one wall of the cell, arms crossed and shoulders slightly hunched as if this is just another safe room and he’s avoiding the main table like sitting at it will permanently sell his soul away to the Phantom Thieves, or something else dumb and antisocial like that.
In true Akechi fashion, he sees Akira approaching and immediately turns to him.
“You should have left me for dead behind that bulkhead,” he tells Akira, matter of factly.
Don’t say that, Akira doesn’t say. He also doesn’t say You’ve told me already. He waits.
“Any tactical advantage you may have gained from having me on your team had surely been far outweighed by the harm I’ve done,” Akechi says, like they haven’t had this conversation at least twice already. “I’ll never understand you.”
This also isn’t really news. Akechi thinks he’s the smartest person in the whole damn world, but the moment he’s faced with something as basic as ‘compassion’ or ‘love’, he freezes up like Akira’s computer trying to run more than one application at once.
Akira shrugs but doesn’t respond. It’ll probably take a few months, at least, and definitely some therapy, for him to accept explanations like ‘I care about you and like it more when you are alive and not dead.’ Akechi glares at him for a few more seconds before releasing what counts as a sigh on him, but on anyone else would sound like a growl.
“You’re fucking stupid, you know that?” he says. Akira raises an eyebrow in question, since he’s not the one currently stuck in a mind prison, and continues to say nothing. After a second, their little staring context breaks as Akechi drops his eyes to the floor.
“No, that’s not right,” he says. “I’m the stupid one.”
The venom has left his voice, leaving it tired and bittter. Akira’s only seen Akechi like this once before, with all his layers stripped away. After you get rid of all the lies, the rage, he’s just... empty. Hopeless.
“Everything we’ve done, all of it, has just been some sick game played by gods. All this fucking rebellion, control, freedom...” As Akechi goes on, he gets louder, words snagging in his voice like thorns and drawing blood.
“It was all bullshit," he continues, "set up so that someone more powerful could sit and watch us and fucking laugh!” The last part is halfway between a shout and hysterical laughter, before he cuts himself off, suddenly.
“There was never any goddamn chance of winning,” he hisses at the floor.
Akira gets the sense he should say something right now, something poignant and confidant that will line up the tangle of thoughts in Akechi’s head and bust him straight out of this prison. It was worth it. We can still win―can they? Is any of this worth it, if all they have in the end is society a million times worse than it started, every bit of work the Phantom Thieves have done undone in one fell swoop?
“Crow...” he starts, hoping to come up with something along the way that they won’t both know is a lie, and trails off.
“I always hated those codenames,” Akechi bites back, not giving him an inch. “What did you think you were? Superheroes? Some paragons of justice, going to single-handedly fix everything wrong with the world? I can’t believe you were so wrapped in your idealism that you’d think a group of teenagers could do anything to change...”
His words trail off into a grumble. Akira thinks he gets it. If they’re all stupid, what does that make Akechi?
It makes him just as stupid as the rest of them, but Akira doesn’t say that. Instead, he says “You’re lying.”
“What?”
“You don’t hate the codenames.” He hates the idea of being part of a team , sure, but codenames are cool. No one denies that the codenames are cool.
“...Whatever,” Akechi says, but doesn’t deny the statement. Should that count as a win? Akira’s probably getting some ground here, maybe. Maybe not.
“It’s all pointless now, anyways. It was pointless from the beginning.” Akechi slides down the wall of his cell into a sitting position.
This whole breaking-out-of-mind-prison thing is a lot harder with him than it was with the others. Most of them were already there, honestly―all they needed was a few nonsequiturs, a reminder that they’re not alone, and bam! No more prison. Hard as this whole thing was, that part, at least, felt nice. Reassuring. They’ve all come really far.
Akechi, though... ugh.
Akira drops down to sit next to him, crossing his legs, and looks at a bit of air right next to Akechi’s shoulder. All the other Thieves’ determination, their faith in him, had given him the strength to keep the horror at bay til this point, but it’s starting to creep back up on him now. The crushing realization that the world was ending and it was on them to change that, or... die. Stop existing entirely.
If they survive this, Akira doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the sensation of being unmade. It was... really bad. Shitty, awful―Yusuke would have a great extended metaphor about the whole thing, but mostly, Akira really doesn't want to think about it. He really really doesn’t want it to happen again .
“Well?” Akechi asks. “Did you honestly think we had a chance?”
It isn’t until a few seconds of uncharacteristic silence that Akira realizes he actually expects an answer to the question.
Did they? Do they? Have a chance? He’s never really thought about it like that, so, “No?”
Wait ― no. Wrong answer. “Yes? I don't know.”
Akechi scoffs. “Really? Some fucking leader you are, unable to even―”
“Shut up,” Akira tells him.
“You all thought you were such hot shit, didn’t you?" he sneers, ignoring Akira. "So sure you could change the world, make a difference where no one else could!” He laughs, sharp like broken glass. “But it was all nothing! Pointless! Just a bunch of kids stumbling in the dark and deluded into thinking they could change things! Honestly―”
“Shut up ,” Akira says, with the same force he uses against enemy shadows and palace rulers high on their own power, because he can’t come up with a proper argument yet, but he knows that Akechi is fucking wrong, saying all this shit about the thieves because he can’t admit that he was right there ―
It takes Akira a second to realize that Akechi has actually shut up. Huh.
It takes a few more seconds of staring at the air just to the right of Akechi to drag his thoughts into something resembling words that can be said out loud. God, he’s bad at that. Why do people think he’s good at that?
“It was... never about that,” is what he comes up with.
“Never about what? ”
“It was never about... winning. ”
Akechi looks at him incredulously, because, to him, everything is about winning, including but not limited to collaborative darts games, going to coffee shops, and taking baths at bathhouses.
“Then what the fuck was it about?” he prods.
It takes Akira a minute to gather the thoughts in his head into words, but for once, Akechi waits.
He thinks of the feeling that pushed him to confront Shido and that woman on the street, almost a year ago now. He thinks of the burning in his gut when he and Ryuji got captured―the one that awakened Arsene. It's guided him here; it's the thing that away all his doubts when faced with impossible challenges in palaces, and it continues flickering no matter how scared or hopeless he feels―and he feels scared and hopeless a lot lately.
It’s kept him going through being erased from reality , and it’s fed every time he sees the same embers in his friends’ eyes. It’s the thing that drew him to Akechi, the first time they met, what keeped drawing them back together. It’s what kept Akira trying to make this work―make them work, whatever they were, against common sense and the better judgement of all his friends.
“You have to do something ,” Akira tells him, which doesn’t totally answer the question and definitely doesn’t begin to describe all the feelings he’s trying to articulate, but he’s hoping that Akechi will just...get it, in that weird way he always does. “You can’t just... not do anything.”
“So, what, you’re going to die? ” Okay, maybe he was being optimistic about Akechi’s ability to understand his motivations.
“No,” Akira tries. Wait, that’s not really true. Different answer. “Well, maybe.”
Akira can see from looking at Akechi’s expression that ‘Well, we might die’ isn’t a great answer either. He’s getting somewhere, though, because he can see the way his expression’s shifted from violent dejection to what Akira thinks of as his ‘detective face’. It’s the face he gets whenever he and Akira are arguing about something, like the nature of justice, or whether a move Joker just pulled in the metaverse was stupid and reckless or really cool, or whether hot dogs count as a type of sandwich.
So, Akira tries another angle. He asks, “What are you going to do?”
Akechi startles. Looks like he wasn’t expecting that. “What?”
“Are you gonna give up?” Akira asks him.
“I....” Akechi starts, before trailing off.
His eyes flicker away from Akira for a second and toward the floor, before returning, looking right at him with a renewed intensity.
“I don’t know if we can win this,” Akira tells him, leaving behind the piece of air right over Akechi’s shoulder to meet his gaze. “...None of us do. But if we don't... I’m going to die on my feet. Fighting.”
As he looks at Akechi, Akira sees the understanding in his expression. He sees the flame he knows so well spark from a flickering ember to a burning wildfire. There it is―there he is.
Akira barely notices the bars of the prison disappear, but he sees the black visor cover Akechi’s face. Before he has time to totally process it, Akechi is already on his feet and walking past him.
“What are you waiting for, Joker? Let’s go die on our feet!” Akechi calls, already striding down the prison corridor as if he owns it; like he wasn’t just stuck in one of the cells―it’s such an Akechi thing to do that it hurts, but in the good kind of way.
Akira lets out a soft laugh as he gets to his feet[―one that’s got a little bit Joker bravado, but is mostly plain natural relief]. He should’ve predicted that Akechi would be an asshole about this, but honestly? He’s glad that Akechi is here , fighting alongside the Thieves, being a total asshole.
Akechi turns around from halfway down the hallway to see Akira, still standing next to the cell, hands tucked in his pockets and grinning a grin that’s half Joker smirk and half real Akira smile. He sighs.
“Come on! If we’re going to die fighting some pathetic fucking false god, I want you there!”
Glad to know I’m appreciated, he doesn’t say, and have a little more faith in us than that, he also doesn’t say. Instead, Akira fixes his gloves, smooths out his coat, and follows Akechi. It’s time to meet up with the others.