... In which I wake up in a dream and struggle to listen to the man I love as he heeds that the world around us is too good to be real. In the end, I'm faced with a choice—to keep living a lie, or to give up on a reality in which we could finally be together.

******************************************

Sometimes you can just tell when a morning will lead to a perfect day, even within moments of opening your eyes. Mine are still closed but I already know.

I'm only beginning to drift out of sleep but there is no grogginess, only anticipation. I imagine that I am buried in the fluffy depths of a cloud, although it's not just the softness of my bedsheets that makes me feel safe, warm, sheltered . . . It is also the arms that hold me close and the steady heartbeat beneath my ear—reassuring, unlike anything else. Maybe I'm a little too comfortable because the overwhelming feeling of serenity makes me not want to get up at all, even though I honestly can't wait to start the day.

My warm tranquility is harshly disrupted when I am suddenly released and the bedsheets are thrown back. "I don't think it is in anyone's interest if you sleep the day away," says Akechi. "The sun's risen hours ago; the cafe is going to open soon. If you don't get up, someone might come check on you."

I groan and halfheartedly swat at his face, but he dodges effortlessly, slipping past me and out of bed. For a moment he is silent and I turn just to find him standing in front of me, looking down. "You don't actually want anyone to come and see you like this, do you?"

There's a smile on his face—a smile that is both wicked and valiant, devious and adoring, so adoring that it makes my heart swell and my stomach flutter. It should promise everything that I always wanted, but there is also a touch of something else in it. Something like . . . impossibility.

I frown, yet before I can properly process what I thought I saw, he extends a hand toward me. After a brief but . . . surprising moment of hesitation, he ruffles my hair to be even messier. A fit of giggles nearly causes me to fall off the bed's edge. I haven't even made my daily, more or less futile, attempt to tame it yet!

"Shit! Are you trying to break your neck?!" Before I can either fall or catch myself, Akechi quickly seizes me under the arms. As I cling to him, my hands clasped behind his neck, I can't help but find it amusing that he hasn't become accustomed to my morning clumsiness yet. By all means, he should be. Anyone who . . . I peek at his face, half-concealed behind hair that is somehow both messy and frustratingly perfect, and try to remember when exactly it was that he and I . . .

Before I can dwell on the—now that I think about it, honestly superfluous—question, another arm hooks under my knees, and I'm lifted out of bed and in the air. I giggle again, pulling him closer, ready to nestle into his shoulder, when he releases me again—almost a little too abruptly.

My feet meet the ground, and for a moment, Akechi is compelled to keep me steady. Yet when I look up at him, my heart skips an unsettled beat. At first, I am inclined to claim that he's never looked at me like this before, but . . .

"So, all this doesn't seem . . ." He breaks off, and I watch his gaze drift through the room before it finally lands on me again. ". . . Is this the way it's always been?"

My mouth opens and closes, then I frown. Always been . . . ? I make a sound that was meant to be a laugh, then shake my head. What a ridiculous question. With a half-smile, I lift a finger to poke his temple.

"Of course it is . . ."

"Why would you ask that?"

> "You didn't fully wake up yet, did you?"

If I hadn't known better, I'd think that the faint contact made him flinch. Akechi turns to me, steadily holding my gaze until I can't take the intensity of it anymore. "Yeah . . . maybe I didn't," he says just as I turn my eyes away. "I didn't have coffee yet, so there's that we could blame."

I watch him get dressed faster than I can even decide what to wear before he turns back to me. "You . . . really don't remember, do you? Of all people, I thought you might . . ." He cuts himself off and takes another step toward the staircase leading down to the cafe. I barely have time to ask myself what I'm supposed to remember before he halts again, taking the room in. Then his eyes meet mine, and once again, the look in them sends a shiver down my spine. ". . . It couldn't be you who is pulling the strings?"

My mouth opens, but I don't even know what strings he means. He isn't making any sense, and I can't help but feel a pang of worry. The sensation lingers in the air for a moment before Akechi ceases waiting for a reply and turns, making his way downstairs without another word.

I stand frozen in place for a heartbeat longer. He doesn't usually . . . I can't finish the thought because when I search my memory for how he usually acts in the morning, I can't seem to find anything.

The realization strikes me as strange, but not strange enough to be more than a faint stain on what I'm still convinced could and will be a perfect morning. Maybe he's right, I think and smile. Maybe it is all due to the lack of coffee.

I get dressed as quickly as I can before I make my way down to the cafe, where I'm greeted by Sojiro and Akechi. The latter perches on a chair, elbow resting on top of the counter, long legs casually crossed; the former stands by the entrance to the kitchen. The moment he notices me, he smiles. "Ah, there you are. Do you want me to get the two of you breakfast now, or should we wait for the others?"

"Who are we waiting for?" Akechi asks conversationally, and I let out a quiet laugh at the question that strikes me as silly. Everyone who always comes over, right? 'Everyone' being. . .

"Morgana, Wakaba, and Futaba," Sojiro lists the names that I want to claim were at the tip of my tongue. "Although the rest of your friends should be here soon as well."

Akechi uncrosses his legs, leaning forward so quickly that he nearly crashes his elbow into the cups Sojiro has stacked on the counter—presumably for my friends. "Wakaba . . . Isshiki?" he asks, and I wonder what that emotion in his voice is called.

". . . Of course." Sojiro pauses his work on the dishes and turns to him with a frown. "Since when does that surprise you?"

Akechi doesn't say anything for a moment . . . A silent moment that seems to stretch into eternity. "You misunderstand." He leans back again and even smiles. "I was merely uncertain about her last name. Thank you for confirming."

"Ha, no problem." Sojiro shrugs, going back to his dishes. I sit beside Akechi, who stares wordlessly at the wall next to the door. We should really hang something there, I think. A painting or something . . .

Then I nudge Akechi so that he jerks around.

". . . Is everything okay?"

> "What's the matter?"

He stares at me for a heartbeat with an expression that I can't name. Then he shrugs. "What's supposed to be the matter? Everything's fine," he says as the corner of his mouth twitches up. "Just . . . perfect."

I give him a bright smile. Of course it is . . . There is no reason why it wouldn't be!

"Hey, so . . ." Akechi finally turns to face me properly, leaning on the counter and crossing his legs again. He stares at me like one might at something they thought didn't exist until they laid eyes on it. "You and I," he begins again and raises a hand, making a vague gesture. "For how long have we been . . . dating, exactly?"

I frown, laughing nervously, and cross my own legs to mirror him. That isn't a question he should be asking, I think, and prepare to pout just a little because he seemingly forgot something so vital. Of course, we . . .

I halt in my tracks, and my frown deepens. Instead of thinking further, I challenge him.

"Why would you have to ask that?"

> "You really forgot?"

He looks at me silently for another moment before he resumes speaking in a tone a tinge sharper than his normal. "I didn't forget anything. I am merely asking for your assessment of when our relationship officially began. It wasn't exactly clear-cut, was it?"

My mouth shuts as I'm left with nothing to say. It's . . . I stare into his eyes, trying my hardest to make up my mind about the way he is looking at me—like I'm the one acting strange.

"You don't remember, do you?" he asks matter-of-factly, and I freeze. "What else have you forgotten, I wonder?"

I swallow, suddenly having to suppress the urge to scream at him to shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut . . . But then I don't allow myself to reply. Not even to ponder the question. I don't want to know. My fists clench, and I remember that what I'm feeling is called fear. I don't want to feel this. I want . . . I want to throw myself back into his arms and curl up somewhere together; I don't even care where. As long as he stops asking questions, stops acting like something isn't the way it should be, because this is how things should be! It is . . . it is! It has to be!

"Do you even remember who I really am?"

I breathe out, feeling myself crumple under Akechi's relentless stare. Who he is? Who he . . . My mouth opens. He . . . isn't making any sense, I repeat to myself over and over. He is the one who isn't making any sense. He . . . I swallow. He is . . . the man I love. Finally, a thought that doesn't come with any sour aftertaste.

But if he and I are so close . . . My mouth opens again, and I have to support myself on the counter as a swell of dizziness hits me. Why is it that, whenever I try to recall the highlights of our relationship, there are no memories? Only an odd bittersweetness that drains into me like honey, satiating and drowning me from within. And . . . I blink rapidly. Why is it that, in my head, I'm naturally calling him by . . . his last name and not his given name?

No! I lean back and shake my head, trying to suppress the unnameable feelings that Akechi's incessant questions are evoking in me. This was supposed to be a perfect day. I can't feel fear right now. Nor irritation—is that what the other emotion is?

Why is he doing this to me? I think and swallow again. If he loves me, why is he making me feel all these things that I don't want to feel or think about? I scoot closer and raise a hand toward his face, which should be relaxed, should be happy. But I don't see happiness in his eyes. Not an ounce. This observation terrifies me more than anything he said so far.

> "Please . . . stop . . ."

"Why are you doing this . . . ?"

"I don't want to talk about this . . ."

Akechi's eyebrow shoots up. "Stop what?" He leans back leisurely. "What's the matter? Are you worried that you might remember something that . . . isn't perfect?"

My hand, which he hasn't even acknowledged, sinks again, as does my heart. How does he know—?

"Goood morning!" calls someone at the door, and I jump around. "Sojiro, you said we could have beans today!"

I watch Futaba scamper into the room; behind her follows Wakaba, wearing a gentle smile. By her side, Morgana carries a few shopping bags that he heaves on top of the counter. "Hey, we bought the stuff you asked for," he calls out to Sojiro, who gives the three of them a smile.

"Ah, thank you. I'll get to cooking, I guess." His grin widens as he embraces Wakaba with one, and Futaba with the other arm. "You guys get all comfy, okay? It'll be right up."

"Morning, guys!" Futaba climbs onto a chair next to Akechi and me. "Mom said beans are Sojiro's secret specialty that he never told us about. Doesn't this also get you excited for the trip we want to make in summer?"

I return her smile, relieved to be able to talk to someone who is acting . . . normal.

"I can't wait to spend more time with all of you."

> "Our day trip yesterday did make me excited for more."

"I know, right!" Futaba exclaims. "It's gonna be all nine of us Phantom Thieves again, plus Mom and Sojiro." Then she leans in and whispers loudly, "Hey, do you really think Morgana stands a chance with Ann, or is he just talking big again?" Her gaze trails over to Akechi. "You. You're good at assessing that stuff. Spill!"

Akechi looks up at her, and momentarily, his eyebrow twitches as though the question surprised him. His eyes land on Morgana, who is in a brisk discussion with Wakaba and he shrugs. "I highly doubt that'll ever happen. At least not unless he has something better planned than some obnoxious grand gesture. Takamaki doesn't strike me as the kind who will settle for anything superficial, no matter how grandiose."

Upon the calm assessment, I feel a contented sense of amusement, drowning out most of the unwanted fear. I give Akechi an encouraging smile and decide to ignore the oddity that is his calling Ann by her last name and my own doing the same with him. Maybe it's just a . . . thing we do?

Futaba laughs, waving toward Morgana. "You can say that again! So, are we gonna tell him, or do we let him embarrass himself?"

Akechi doesn't respond this time, and I just shrug. Honestly . . . I don't think I could muster the courage to tell it to Morgana's face, especially without proof.

In this manner, the three of us continue to chat, even though I notice that Futaba does most of the talking. I respond every once in a while, but Akechi is uncharacteristically quiet. Although he can be blunt and brutally honest, he is also one of the most socially aware and involved members of our group—at least that's what I seem to recall—so . . . this is odd.

Once again, I wonder whether he isn't telling the truth about being fine. Although he is more normal now than he was earlier . . . at least he isn't asking odd questions. I watch him from the corner of my eye, hoping with all my heart that he is able to relax and let go of whatever was bothering him . . . if there was anything. If we were alone, I would lay my head on his shoulder and insist until he gives me a straight answer. Maybe, I think and smile, I can do that later.

"Breakfast's ready!" Sojiro calls eventually, and Futaba leaps up from her chair.

"Finally!" She darts over to sit next to her mom, and I prepare myself to follow her but freeze when Akechi suddenly has me by the arm. I give him a puzzled look, trying to fend off the anxiety, which returns the moment I see him looking at me the same way he did before Futaba joined us.

"What do you make of this?" he asks, nodding toward the quartet of Sojiro, Morgana, Futaba, and Wakaba.

I frown, trying my hardest not to . . . panic.

> "What do you mean?"

"Make of what?"

Akechi gives me a long look. "It shouldn't be," he finally says, and he may as well have stabbed a knife into my chest. I open my mouth to protest. To scream. What does he . . . ?

I look around and see the people I'm closest with. My family, my home, the way it was . . . the way I want it to be. The way it . . . should be.

I look at Sojiro and see a father.

I look at Futaba and see a sister.

I look at Wakaba and Morgana and see an aunt and a brother.

I look at Goro Akechi and see—

"It's . . . real."

I take the words in and, for a heartbeat, I'm elated. Is he finally caving? Is he taking back what he said when . . . Then I frown. As much as I want to move on and pretend I didn't hear anything, something about the words feels . . . off—auditorily. Like an audio glitch in a video game or a scratch on a CD that permanently erases part of the track.

Another wave of fear hits me; something . . . really didn't sound right just then.

"Hey, are you guys coming?" calls Futaba, but Akechi doesn't release me.

". . . What was it that I said just now?" he asks, and I swallow.

"It's real?"

> "It's . . . real."

Just from the look he gives me, I know that my hunch has to be correct. Akechi looks like he wants nothing more than to start screaming himself, and when I raise a hand and place it on top of his, he flinches.

The motion startles me. Why is he jumping at my touch? A surge of a new emotion floods me, even worse than the fear. It's scorching and chilling at the same time, as if my blood has been set alight. I wager if I remembered what this emotion is called, it would all be over.

"If only I had something to cap off this meal . . ." Morgana says behind me. "Like a cup of coffee."

I turn from Akechi and look back at the four of them—my family. Together merrily, the way they always . . . the way they should be.

Futaba throws her arms up. "Ooh, does anybody want dessert with their coffee? I'll go pick it up. My treat. You want a Mont Blank, right, Mom?"

"Oh, how kind. Thank you," Wakaba replies to her daughter with a smile.

"All right!" Futaba stands and gives a big grin. "I shall return!"

"Be careful," Sojiro heeds, and Futaba gives him a thumbs up before she skips out the cafe door. The moment she's gone, my gaze is drawn back to Akechi, and I realize he has risen from his seat as well.

"Guys, there won't be any food left if you don't join us soon." Sojiro waves at us but Akechi doesn't move, and neither do I . . . until he suddenly releases me. The simple gesture nearly brings me to my knees.

"My apologies." Akechi stands straighter, dusting off his coat. "It slipped my mind that I have somewhere else to attend this morning. I'm sure it's delicious, but I'm afraid I won't have the time to join you."

Panic is back instantly at the thought of him leaving. I don't want him to leave! If he leaves . . . I don't even know what will happen—just that it won't be a perfect day anymore. I breathe in, looking back and forth between Akechi and my family.

"Oh . . . how unfortunate," Wakaba says. "Well, see you soon."

Sojiro nods, but before Akechi can walk out the door, I latch onto his arm.

". . . What's the matter?" he asks, sending an icy shiver of fear down my spine. Fear of what will happen if I don't let him go, if I follow him and chase the answer that I am trying so desperately to close my eyes to.

"Are you . . . ?" Akechi gives me a long look, but it's not cold or empty this time. It's filled with a pungent kind of . . . longing. "It's your decision, you know?" He gestures back at the others. "You can stay here and forget everything I said, or come with me and . . . let me tell you what I actually meant to say earlier."

Stay here . . . I let my gaze drift around the room. Intuitively, the decision seems easy. Haven't I been looking for a way to escape his pestering, aching questions all this time? What do I need his truth for if all it will do is destroy . . . all of what I have here? Everything that I ever wanted, I think, not exactly sure why. Was there ever a time when I didn't have it?

All I know with absolute certainty is that if I follow him, if I listen to him, this happiness might be the price. I don't want to know . . . I think and bite down on my lip until it hurts. I want to stay, I think, looking up into his eyes, and I want him to stay with me. I want to forget that all this ever happened and start the day fresh. I want . . . I want him to hold me, to tell me that he loves me and that everything will be okay—

But it won't be. I look down at my hands, feeling the invisible threads that entangle them rip apart one by one because someone's been making too much of a stir. I stand as still as I can, so as not to disturb them further. I . . . I'm not ready. I can't—

. . . But I have to. I breathe out, trying to silence my screaming thoughts. I have to make a decision.

> "I'll come with you."

"I'm staying."

At least . . . if I do that, I can talk to him alone, I try telling myself. Maybe all of this is some kind of misunderstanding? Maybe there is nothing to fear?

Akechi looks at me with a mix of surprise and relief. "Then come on," he says and turns. I hold onto his arm as if my life depended on it.

"Oh, are you going to get some fresh air with him?" asks Morgana with a smirk. "I'll stand guard over your dessert for you."

"You say that now," Sojiro says, raising an eyebrow. "But when she gets back and her dessert's gone, I'm pretty sure she'll suspect it was an inside job."

"I can definitely see that happening with Mona on guard duty," concurs Wakaba, and they all laugh. Sojiro breaks first, mumbling something about starting the coffee.

I don't have the time to listen to more of their banter as Akechi practically drags me out the door and into the chilly winter morning. Although it's surprisingly pleasant; the cold doesn't bite my skin all that much.

Even as we're outside, Akechi doesn't stop moving; he walks away from Leblanc determinedly, and I cling to him, almost having to run to keep up. Until I pull on his arm and he halts so abruptly that I nearly fall into him. "We should talk somewhere safer," he says, but doesn't force me to let him go. "This . . . this is all so fucked up."

A flood of that second, more powerful emotion from earlier hits me at the way he says that. Why? I want to cry out. Why is . . . How could all of this be so wrong? Does he really not feel . . . any of the serenity and bliss that I feel from being here with him?

I pull on his arm harder, and when he notices how upset I am, his expression shifts, although I can still not read it. Please, I look at him desperately. Please don't do this! You don't have to do this. It doesn't have to end! I feel my eyes water. Please, let's just go back inside and forget all of this . . . Be happy. Be together. Be t o g e t h e r. Finally, finally, be—

. . . Finally? I don't question why the word comes to mind when I consider the two of us. I can't help but reach out and pull him closer, digging my fingers into his vest, breathing the warm scent of his coat; of him.

When I open my mouth, I don't think—I beg.

"Please!"

> "Please . . ."

Akechi looks at me with an expression I can't name. Part of me wants to say it's the same kind of adoration that I saw in his smile this morning, except this smile is neither wicked nor valiant. It's . . . heartbreaking.

Then, his gloved hands cup my face. "It's . . . real."

I know that's not what he really said. Not then, and not now. Too much of the delicate fabric entangling us has come apart; it slips through my fingers, no longer allowing me to hold it together and pretend that the gashes aren't there. Against the violent hammering, wailing of my heart, I close my eyes, forcing myself to focus only on the feeling of his hands on my face. On his voice.

"It's . . . not real."

If he had thrust a sword into my chest, I doubt it would have hurt more than the ear-splitting shatter of my bliss. The truth splits me wide open as the warm, comforting blanket around me hardens and crumbles into a million shards, cutting into every inch of skin they find as they fall at my feet. Something wet runs down my cheek and makes way for a stiff winter breeze to whip across my face.

As I feel my knees weaken, I attempt to focus on the only good thing I have left at this moment—Akechi's hands on my face, the fabric of his vest between my fingers. But he releases me almost immediately, and I stumble forward, barely catching myself.

When I look up at him . . . flashes of memories that I don't want assault my mind. Of a past that I had somehow forgotten . . . however that was possible. There's a plot, a gun, a betrayal, a battle . . . a shutter. And pain. I grit my teeth against it. That's what the emotion I couldn't name is called. It's the cruelest kind of unrelenting, merciless agony.

Akechi inspects me, and he must see that I've come to, because the first thing that I make out on his face is relief. "Finally!" he exclaims, throwing his arms up. "What the hell took you so long?! Can you tell me why all of reality is going nuts and I'm the only one who gives a shit? You—" He draws closer again, and I don't dare move. "You have snapped out of it now, yes?"

I find it hard to not retreat under his accusing glare . . . if there weren't something else in it too. Something that I could swear is concern. Still . . . it doesn't do much for my heart, which wails so ferociously that I'm almost certain he can hear it.

It wasn't real. The voice that speaks this truth in my head resembles Akechi's. None of it. It sinks in like a heavy boulder at the bottom of my stomach, and suddenly, I wish the wake-up call would have erased my memories too. The memory of his arms around me. Of breathing his scent and hearing his heart. Of everything that was . . . that never was.

. . . None of it.

The truth hits me like a brick wall. It hurts. It hurts so much that my chest feels like it is being pried open and my eyes overflow with fresh tears. Because the truth is . . . I glance back in the direction of Leblanc, suppressing a wave of panic. Everyone there . . . Wakaba, I try not to imagine what may have become of her. Whether she is still there, or . . .

Then my eyes dart back over to Akechi, and I comprehend with undeniable certainty that there was never anything between the two of us that resembled something such as stability. As happiness. It never was . . . and it will never be. Because he . . .

". . . There's no use crying over something that wasn't real," he says quietly, his iron gaze fixed on me without mercy, and the words make me want to cry even more. I wish to reach out my arms and ask him to hold me. To tell me that it was real, that he doesn't feel any differently about me than he did a minute ago. That, when he held me earlier, it wasn't for the . . . last time.

Instead, my mouth remains sealed shut. I still wish for the miracle, I realize, wiping my eyes. I long with such intensity that it makes my head spin and my chest ache. That it nearly makes me burst into tears. I long . . . for him. For us. For . . . the unattainable.

Yet no matter how much I crave it, my wishes no longer have sway over reality.