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Familiar grey eyes are set on him; undoubtedly warped and speckled with floating silver glitter, but familiar eyes, nonetheless.
It’s a sigh that leaves him at first, finally prying himself away from neat rows of tacky and overpriced souvenirs, only to be faced with childish delight painting Akira’s expression. And, as expected, one refracted eye peers at him through the crystal-clear water.
In a way it’s contagious because before he knows it, he finds himself soaking in at least a quarter of his boyfriend’s enthusiasm anyway with a small grin that he tries and fails to suppress. He studies the snow globe cradled in Akira’s palms, a small and unassuming piece of work with thousands more in stock, he’s certain. Still, he likes the way the glitter catches the overhead lights, twinkling as they flutter around a tiny cityscape of Toronto, slowly but surely settling at the bottom. Akira is the first to open his mouth, but Goro beats him to the first word.
“No,” Goro smiles, tone flatlining despite the saccharine look on his face, “We have more than enough of your little trinkets at home.”
Akira visibly wilts, and truthfully, he’d feel a little more guilty about it if he wasn’t right. They were running out of shelf space, and he was not about to lug another stack of shelves across Tokyo just so they could have room for ‘just one more framed purikura photo collage of Morgana’. Or an overpriced snow globe, for that matter. But Akira bounces back, more determined than ever.
“But I have a good reason for this one,” He refutes, offering the snow globe to Goro as if it’d make him uncross his arms and suddenly realize it's worth, “I mean, don’t you want something to remember our trip by? To commemorate our first big journey out of the country?”
A tense silence settles between them despite the white noise of the scarce few tourists bumbling around the halls. Goro narrows his eyes by a fraction, but the fondness that trickles through the gaps in his chest is sudden and stark against his stubbornness when he realizes that, after everything they’d experienced today, he really doesn’t mind the idea of having a memento to take home this time.
But only this time.
Perhaps he’s feeling charitable because he’s had an unusually pleasant day out, but Goro finds his defences faltering much quicker than usual. Maybe it was because Akira had softened him up over the years, or maybe because he cares a great deal more about his feelings than he’d like to admit. It doesn’t matter anyway because Goro huffs out a heavy sigh and releases the tension in his shoulders, finally meeting Akira’s expectant gaze with a grumble, “Fine, but I’m paying.”
And it’s that simple, apparently – because the second he gives in, Akira perks up again, clutching the souvenir close to his chest as they make a beeline for the checkout counter. A quick tap of his card, a mild bit of friendly back-and-forth in English with the cashier, and the gift bag is handed right back to Akira. He doesn’t let the bag swing, instead tucking it protectively under his arm while his right hand slips into Goro’s, their fingers intertwining.
The path to the elevators is more complex than it probably needs to be. While it’s nothing like the twists and turns of the tunnels in Mementos, he can’t say he’s particularly fond of this either – blurbs of trivia plastering the walls or otherwise. Still, Akira seems to know where they are headed, deciding to lead him by their joined hands. It isn’t until they branch off from the path the crowd is following that Goro questions his sense of direction with a furrow of his eyebrows. Before he can say anything, it’s Akira who beats him to it, this time with a smile that is barely a sliver short of mischievous.
“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing,” He reassures, squeezing Goro’s hand lightly. He hums in response and doesn’t say another word, letting Akira slip away to jog up to the attendant and mutter something too quiet for Goro to pick up on while lagging a few paces behind. Whatever he said, she brightened at his words, stepping back to let them both onto the elevator with a warm greeting.
Their ascent begins with a swooping feeling in the pit of Goro’s stomach as gravity takes its toll, something like nervousness swimming in his system while their guide prattles on rehearsed fun facts about the CN Tower. The sound of her pleasant yet prosaic voice is drowned out by the feeling of Akira’s thumb sweeping over the side of their joined hands and the clamminess growing between them. He doesn’t mind it all that much, having once been wet sneezed on by a sick Akira being the worst of it, but it is telltale sign that he isn’t the only one strangely anxious – although Akira’s gaze is solely trained on the horizon line as the city sinks under them, poker face unshakeable as always.
He doesn’t realize when the ride up became silent until the pressure in his ears forced him to pop them and come back down to reality, the doors sliding open as they step out of the elevator and into the marmalade light of the sun steadily dozing off.
The attendant chirps a cheery goodbye before the doors close behind them, and the first thing Goro notices is the utter lack of noise, which is strange considering the lengthy half-hour queue they had been in outside. There are no people whatsoever, and in turn, that mellow tranquility invites him, has him stepping into the main hall and closer to the edge of the observation deck.
Laid out before him is the Toronto cityscape from more than three hundred feet in the air. The sun’s mellowed rays scatter and run across the top of skyscrapers that look more like the cardboard boxes strewn around their new apartment because of how high up they are. The sight that really pulls Goro in, however, is the way the lake is glazed over in brilliant light, glittering gold instead of the silver flecks in Akira’s globe.
It’s a view that Goro wants to burn his memory, and he will, as soon as he addresses the elephant in the room – or rather, the single circular table, draped in a white tablecloth with two chairs tucked into the sides facing each other. On the table itself, there’s a slender, innocuous-looking bottle that looks an awful lot like champagne, accompanied by a thin crystal vase that held a single flower too dark to make out against the sunset silhouetting it.
He slows to a stop, feeling his own face crinkle into a frown with ease before he turns to face Akira.
“…I thought the restaurant was upstairs?”
“It, um, it is.” He mumbles, twisting the ends of his bangs between his index finger and thumb – an old habit, or rather a nervous habit, Goro observes. His confusion bleeds into the beginnings of suspicion, even if he’s sure there’s nothing malicious about this setup. Goro clears his throat and arches an eyebrow at the other refusing to meet his gaze head-on.
“Then, what’s all thi—”
“Come on, why don’t we go check out the lower deck?” And then suddenly, Goro’s being pulled along by the wrist, turning back towards the elevators and slipping past heavy doors, as Akira leads the way without so much as a glance over his shoulder, “I just… think some fresh air might be nice.”
Goro relents, his mind catching up to his feet in keeping pace with his boyfriend as they descend a narrow set of stairs, slinking along silently like alley cats. They stop before a heavy glass door that leads to the outdoor deck, thick windows lining the inner circumference of the observation level. It barricades the howl of the wind just beyond the door, something they both get blast with as soon as they push through, hands loosely linked together.
The wind is relentless, but it’s exhilarating in a strange way; something about the way it whips his perfectly groomed hair into something that resembles the messy disguise Akira had conjured up in the café vaguely reminds him of Mementos.
Phantom wind drafts twisted and carried through endlessly winding tunnels, only to be stirred up violently by the subway cars rushing past. Despite the way they tore through the Metaverse tracks, there was no greater sense of urgency nor excitement resting within those milling faceless cognitions than there was in the grime-stained serrated edge of Crow’s crimson sabre, or the wild look of challenge in Joker’s silver eyes deadlocked at the end of his gunpoint.
Akira’s hand squeezes his own for a beat before slipping into his pockets – yet another habit that never faded, although he can’t really fault him this time. As breathtaking as the view is in the open air, the bite of early autumn nearly stings his dry eyes to tears. Watery or not, the way Akira’s shoulders hunch up to brush the bottom of his earlobes in a futile attempt to retain a scrap of warmth catches in his peripheral, as well as the way his boyfriend still refuses to meet his gaze. A playful grin sets his courage alight as he gently nudges Akira with his elbow, shuffling close enough to share body heat.
“Hey. You’re going to catch a cold, idiot.”
Akira finally turns to him with a hint of surprise etched in the curve of his raised eyebrows, although his rebuttal doesn’t get a chance to be heard before Goro softly tuts and harshly yanks the other’s hood on, intentionally using a little more force than needed, until Akira stumbles and falls forward into a kiss.
It’s comforting and safe and warm – he’s always warm, Goro’s very own home away from home. Yet, Akira Kurusu is not his ‘other half’, because Goro finally knows after years of loathing and self-sacrifice that he is already a whole man; in the way that a planet is whole, the way that they are two newborn stars that revolve around each other in a binary system, drawn to each others’ gravity and burning with an unmatched intensity no one could ever hope to extinguish.
The shared warmth of their kiss thaws the nervousness lining Akira’s expression, looking nothing short of adoring as he smiles back at Goro, “I thought you always said that idiots don’t catch colds.”
“Yeah, well, that was more for Sakamoto than you,” He scoffs lightly and rolls his eyes, turning on his heel towards the exit, but not before playfully bumping shoulders on the way out, “As with most things, you’re a special case, anyway.”
The grin remains on his face, a slightly cockier edge than before, as the red flush painting the tips of Akira’s ears doesn’t escape his notice. The two of them leisurely make their way back up to the upper observation deck, following the same path they came down. Light trickles through the door as they step back into the open hall, the fiery rays reminiscent of the maple leaves they saw fluttering off of tree branches on their train journey downtown.
Akira rambles all the while, fingers twitching to fiddle with his bangs, although he knows Goro would be able to read his anxiety and opts to ball his hands into fists at his side. Unfortunately for him, Goro has always been rather proud of his ability to pick up on the art of both chess and Akira Kurusu.
Said man leads them to the table set a few feet away from the windows, keeping them balanced at the edge of the world with just the two of them, and Goro feels like he’s been thrown years back years into the past – a similar sight soaked into his memory; quiet promises and stolen glances and careful touches etched right into the crevices of his mind from their time in the Tokyo Skytree.
Goro feels his heart rate pick up, barely tuned into the freshwater lake and tower construction trivia tumbling from his boyfriend’s lips as he pours and hands over a glass of rosy champagne.
Joker’s words are rehearsed and nervous and terribly, disgustingly endearing, despite himself.
“Akira.”
“Wh— yeah?”
Goro smirks at the wide-eyed look on Akira’s face, caught slightly off guard with nerves like static electricity draping a prickly blanket over him, “You’re going to run these folks out of business if you take up a position as a tour guide. I almost feel like we’re at the aquarium we went to as teenagers, but our roles are reversed this time.”
Akira only smiles sheepishly in response, settling for a shrug instead of an actual answer. Goro lets go of the breath he was unknowingly holding and settles his gaze on the horizon line – right where the lake grazes the sky in a blaze of colour. The sun’s light wanes with each passing minute, but it only speaks the promise of a new dawn.
“So, when exactly are you going to ask?” Goro speaks softly, but there’s an air of confidence laced in his tone, only emboldened by the way Akira stiffens, “And when are you going to take out that ring box that you’re hiding in your pocket?”
Akira’s wrist spasms, bubbly champagne threatening to spill over the lip of his glass before it settles with a gentle fizz. The panic plastered all over Akira’s expression, on the other hand, is anything but settled.
“How’d you…?”
Goro laughs at first, the sound sharp yet bright and blooming in spades before he answers, “It was just a lucky guess. Undoubtedly a risky one, but I mean… putting together the events of the past few days, it made the most sense to me. Really, I should’ve seen it coming; sentimental as you are, you’re trying to recreate our very first week of officially dating.”
It all clicks into place – from the aquarium at the bottom of the CN Tower to sampling every type of mochi donut at a tiny shop in the midst of their shopping spree. All of it came to a head on their seventh day, once again several hundred feet in the air, but without an audience this time.
“Besides, all this and the honeymoon suite ? You really never had to try so hard to get me to agree to marry you, you know.”
The tension in Akira’s shoulders releases with a gentle smile – a confirmation.
“Jig’s up, huh? I wasn’t sure how to tell you in the tower back then because it’d be too soon, but… you could say I knew you were the only one since that day.”
And a pause.
“Wait, hold on…” Akira turns to him suddenly, looking slightly breathless from simple yet heavy words, “Does that mean that you…?”
If Goro believes that Akira had hung up the moon himself, then Akira in turn looks at him as if Goro has painted every star in the night sky, just for the two of them; no matter whether it is Tokyo or Toronto, their fates are woven together under the same sky, by their own hands for once.
As if it were as simple as laying on Akira’s dusty old futon, under a ceiling full of cheap luminescent star stickers in early June. And maybe, if he stays by Akira’s side, everything will be.
Even if it isn't simple, even if they stumble every few steps and fall every dozen, Goro is never one to back down from a challenge. Not when Akira stands by him as his partner— his fated rival until the end, an end which Goro hopes is less bitter than the ones they’d been forced to meet before.
So, it's easy then, settling his gaze rest on Akira’s expectant expression imbued in flourishing vermilion, until the horizon's light is nothing more than a bleeding fissure, to lay his own heart out for once with a smile and let his answer fill the space between them with promise. With hope.
“As if I could ever refuse you now.”
