... In which I, after facing Dr. Maruki, finally set out to confront Akechi with our true feelings—imperfect reality or not. Yet everything changes when I uncover the truth about why he insists on rejecting me. Just what will I have to do to undeniably convey my sincerity?

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

Lingering in front of the stadium, Akechi looks up at the faint outline of the palace with scorn. "I had spent all that time investigating the people around you so I could set you up . . ." His eyes are narrowed, and I can't help but smile at this reference now. "To think, Takuto Maruki of all people would be the mastermind behind this absurd situation . . . And he happens to be warping the very fabric of reality while ranting about making everyone's dreams come true. Talk about incomprehensible motives . . . I can't even begin to wrap my head around such intentions."

I stuff my hands into my pockets and sigh, looking up at him over the top of my glasses.

"Because your wish was to atone?"

> "Because everyone deserves the consequences of their actions?"

"Because erasing one's mistakes is wrong?"

"Naturally." Akechi nods, then leans back and crosses his arms. "At any rate, we need to figure out our next steps."

I nod, but my mind is a mess. I feel certain in my decision, but in nothing else. In nothing . . . Well. A subtle smile plays across my lips. There is . . . Akechi. He, who has made himself into my one sane, grounded constant to rely on and guide me, to be there with me through it all. My thought from earlier resurfaces—as long as I have him to fall back on, I won't be afraid. I won't even think of folding.

"You'll stay with me, right?"

> "Thank you for being here with me."

For a second, a faint smile flashes across his face too. "As I said before . . . we share the same goal, so naturally, I will pursue it with you." He shakes his head. "It seems as though we cannot do anything for Yoshizawa-san now; it'd be suicide to march back in there at the moment. We need intel first. If we're going to stand up to someone as powerful as Maruki, we have to know more than nothing."

He's not wrong. And I agree, but I also . . . tense up. The way he said that, and the way he is looking back now, as though he is—

"I'll do some investigating on my own," he says. "I hate that we have to do what he says, but Maruki told us we have to wait until January 9th. Let's meet up here next week. Although . . ." Akechi turns, and my gut twists at the prospect of him leaving. "I imagine both our lives will be very different if you choose to live in this reality, as your friends have been."

He takes a step forward, but I have him by the sleeve before he can move. He's stunned—for a tiny moment, he is. Then the shit-eating grin is back. "What's the matter?"

I make a face back. As though he doesn't know exactly what the matter is. What . . . unresolved things there still are between us.

> "Come back to Leblanc with me."

"You can't leave now. . ."

"Why do we have to go our separate ways?"

"To . . . ?" I see nothing but genuine confusion in Akechi's expression, and at that moment, it is hard not to grab him by the collar and begin shaking him. For a heartbeat, he is silent, then he scoffs. "What for? There isn't much else we can do now."

I don't release his sleeve. In fact, I clutch it tighter, just to be one hundred percent clear about that he will have to drag me along if he wants to leave now. I don't know what it is about leaving him out of my sight, but I don't like the thought. And it has nothing to do with lacking trust.

He stares at me for a moment longer; his mahogany eyes dig holes into mine, but then he's the first one to look away. ". . . Fine. I suppose something unforeseen might still come up. Although this is highly unlikely if we choose to believe Maruki."

That isn't the reason! I mean to scream at him as I practically drag him through the city and toward Leblanc. My mind runs wild with everything that happened, but not regarding Dr. Maruki—regarding the two of us. He rejected me this morning . . . I tighten my jaw, trying not to recall the way his lips felt on mine. Trying not to imagine what might happen if I pull him with myself into some dark alley and ask him to kiss me again. To not stop.

. . . What am I going to do with you?

As I shut my eyes momentarily, I see the way his eyes bore into mine when I told him, "Anything." That rejection was ungenuine, I tell myself over and over. Because . . .

It's not because he doesn't reciprocate your feelings, Dr. Maruki's words resurface in my head. But . . . for Akechi-kun, his life has been nothing but hardships, nothing but pain. It has conditioned him to believe that if he lets you—or anyone—close, he will hurt you as well.

I nearly stop in my tracks and turn to ask him if that's true. If that's the reason he rejects me so vehemently—for my own sake.

If you had thought this through better, you'd know that there is nothing I can offer you besides more heartache.

It . . . has to be. But if it is, what is he so scared of? Only he can ever decide whether to do something that will hurt me . . . no? I swallow, trying to battle against the conflicting emotions that the thought that he might think of himself as too far gone for choices like this evokes. There's frustration and longing, yet also overwhelming sympathy. Above all, there is the crushing desire to prove him wrong. That he isn't doomed, no matter what some self-centered gods say. That he and I are not impossible. Not even in reality.

I tighten my hold on his arm, blowing out a breath. We'll make it happen. Now that this stupid bet is over—now that our strings are no longer pulled and set up to clash—why wouldn't we? It's not too late until we deem it so, I think to myself. It's not too late until we give up.

I am the one who won't stop believing.

The only reason I do not stop and turn to tell Akechi all of my feelings on the spot is that it's getting late, and Sojiro will be worried if I don't show up soon.

Where would Akechi even go if I hadn't brought him here? I think as I shove the door to Leblanc open and pull him through. He's not resisting, even though he's probably much stronger than me. I cannot answer my own question, and it makes me uncomfortable—more so than I'd like to admit.

"Ah, you're back." Sojiro greets me with a raised eyebrow. "You're late," he adds, and then his eyebrow goes even further up as he notices Akechi. ". . . Ah," he says in a tone that speaks volumes. I shoot him a glare. Then I remember that he's not exactly wrong in assuming what he assumes, and I blush instead.

"Well . . ."

Part of me wants to walk over and physically force Sojiro to stop grinning so suggestively . . . Another part wants whatever he assumes will happen when he leaves to actually happen.

"I prepared some curry for you for dinner . . . I suppose I should warm up another portion?"

All while he does that before finally hanging up his apron and stepping out from behind the counter, he doesn't lose his grin. "I'll be heading home then. Morgana's out too, at least for now. I don't know when he was going to be home, though, so you two better lock—"

"We were just going to work out a problem we're currently facing . . . That is all." Akechi takes a seat on a chair by the counter. "Thank you for the dinner, yet I will be leaving shortly."

We'll see about that, I think grimly as I watch Sojiro mouth 'Oh, sure' and make his way out the door—not without throwing a few more looks back. Sometimes that man truly is the epitome of insufferability.

"Your face is redder than your Metaverse outfit gloves. Don't tell me it's that easy to get under your skin nowadays."

I spin around to Akechi and indeed sense an awful heat in my cheeks and ears—so much so that I almost bury my head in my coat, which I've just hung up.

We finish our meal in silence and I take our dishes to the kitchen. When I return, Akechi reclines against the counter. "That was excellent. I'll reimburse you the next time I come here."

I vehemently shake my head—as if I would ever ask any of my friends, him included, to pay for eating here!—and Akechi smiles. "So . . . apart from that, what was it that you asked me here for again?" He shifts his weight and leisurely crosses his legs. One hand rests on the counter, and the other is raised, finger tapping his chin in an automated fashion.

Instead of replying, I step behind the counter to offer him coffee. Akechi nods, and I don the apron and begin brewing, racking my brain for how to respond to his question.

Truth be told, I have no idea. I just kind of . . . dragged him along without thinking. Without intending anything other than to make sure he didn't up and disappear on me again. Maybe also so that I wouldn't have to picture him alone somewhere. In an empty apartment, a lively cafe, a deserted street—anywhere, be it surrounded by passersby or not. If he weren't here with me, he'd be alone . . . That thought suddenly sickens me.

"Made up your mind yet?" Akechi asks when I place the coffee before him. "About how you're going to respond?"

I cross my arms, glaring at him defiantly.

> "I wanted to stay with you."

"You can't just leave after what happened."

"I didn't want to be alone."

"Because you still think you can convince me to take my rejection back?" Akechi takes a sip from his coffee, then looks up, just in time to see me nod.

He gives me a long look that breaks my heart as much as the prospect of him leaving, if not more. "I won't say that I didn't enjoy today, but . . . most of what Maruki said may have been utter nonsense, but there is one thing he did get right: This," Akechi says, making an undefined gesture with his free hand, "has no future. Not in this reality."

I want to scream. To grab him by the coat and shake him until he understands the pain his words make me feel. Instead, I slip up onto the counter and across until I sit next to his chair, my legs hanging over the edge.

"Don't you want to prove Dr. Maruki wrong?"

> "Let's defy fate."

"I'm not believing that without proof."

Akechi looks at me like I have lost my mind. "Easy for you to say." He takes another sip, then smirks. "Except, I'm the villain. And outside of wildly unrealistic wish-fulfillment romance novels, the villain doesn't get the girl."

I stifle laughter until the self-deprecating edge in the lighthearted-seeming words sinks in and my smile falls. Before I can open my mouth to tell him that he's long grown out of the villain role, he continues, "Tempting as that offer is, you have to understand that I will give into you just as little as I will give into Maruki. Have I somehow not been clear about this yet?" He places his cup heavily on the counter, sending a shiver down my spine with his unyielding eyes. "I will not bend to any will. Not his, not yours, and not anyone's."

My mouth snaps shut. For a moment, I sit there, thunderstruck by the realization . . . It isn't fear—or if it is, it's not just that. It's also . . .

> "I'm not trying to control you!"

"I thought you wanted us too . . ."

Akechi only stares at me with suspicion, and I grit my teeth against the pain—my own and on his behalf. He must really not fathom the concept of trust. Not even . . . to me. Had I wanted to control you, I'd have done exactly that—I'd have accepted Dr. Maruki's reality, I think, and cross my arms, trying to breathe steadily.

"You rejected Maruki," Akechi mumbles then, as if he had the same thought. "I have no clue why, honestly. To accept his offer is all you'd have to do." He looks at me in a way that sends a hot, horror-filled shiver up my spine. "To have me. Isn't that what you want?"

I press my lips together, at a loss for a reply. I cannot think of any words to explain if he still doesn't believe me. This might take a long time to prove . . . If only I had the time. The opportunity.

I blow out a breath, racking my brain about what else I could say. If I don't say anything else, he might leave. And I cannot . . . Only then does it strike me that every time I insist that he stays, that he listens to me, I might come across as trying to control him.

I force my rigid muscles to relax and lower my eyes.

> "Can't we just . . . talk for a bit?"

"I'd love to talk to you some more."

"About what?" Akechi asks, downing the rest of his coffee.

I scoot back and forth on the counter; there is so much that I want to ask him. We never have the time to just talk. Never . . . honestly. Well . . . I look up at him again, as I hope, with warmth. There is something I've been meaning to ask him . . .

"What happened to you before Christmas?"

> "How did you survive after Shido's palace?"

Akechi gives me a long look, but he doesn't speak, and the longer he remains silent, the more I begin to wonder why. He didn't elaborate on that earlier, and even now . . . "You don't want to know," he says eventually, and I blow out a breath. "It's for the best," he adds in a flat voice. "Just . . . ask me another question. Anything. I'll indulge you."

Only the prospect of that makes me raise my head again. Maybe, if he's that certain that he doesn't want to share this, I shouldn't insist. Now that he's actually being sincere, it's not like I don't have more questions that have been plaguing me to ask him . . .

> "When did you really awaken to your Personas?"

"Did you use Call of Chaos during our Showtime?"

"A long time ago." Akechi twists his empty cup in his gloved hand, and I reach across the counter for the pot, refilling it . . . and taking one for myself. I can use it.

"It was . . ." He frowns. "The week after my thirteenth birthday. The last summer in what might have been the most bearable foster home of them all. I did not lie to you about how it happened." He looks up with an odd gleam in his eyes. "Right after I had found this odd app on my phone, I stumbled into the Metaverse and into a Palace . . . where I was nearly killed by a Shadow in black. I did not mention that it was my own Shadow, of course."

I lower my cup after taking a sip, feeling my head spin. Gripping the counter with my free hand, I scoot closer to him. Does he mean . . . ?

"I also did not mention that this Palace was my own," Akechi continues, confirming the thought that immediately crossed my mind. "I could not . . . die there." He sways his steaming cup back and forth. "Not before I had faced the truth . . ." Then he scoffs. "As if that was even so difficult back then. The lies that collapsed with that Palace were ultimately insignificant. And still . . . I suppose I had to start somewhere."

I inhale, letting the word sink in . . . lies. On one hand, he's likely the most skilled liar I have ever encountered. On the other hand . . . I feel like there is more to this. More to him and . . . lies? The truth. Words that he said to Dr. Maruki swim in my head, but they don't form a coherent picture yet. Maybe they will if I ask something else . . .

> "Did you use Call of Chaos during our Showtime?"

"Did you have a change of heart?"

"I did," says Akechi, giving me a smirk. "You want to know why it didn't do anything besides make me stronger, no?"

I nod. Ever since I realized that he used this skill, it's been pecking at the back of my head. Isn't it supposed to . . . break minds? Cause psychotic breakdowns? The last time he used it on himself . . .

"It did nothing because there are no more chains on my heart to break," says Akechi nonchalantly. "If your heart . . . your mind is free, is honest, there is nothing that may be twisted or corrupted about it. It will resist because it knows the truth. And so, only an unfree mind can be broken—a mind that is easily mistaken about what is real, so much so that it will lie to itself about it. You might also call it . . . distorted."

I place my empty cup on the counter, drawing in an astonished breath.

"One would think that limitation might be bothersome," Akechi continues before I can say anything. "Yet, believe it or not, it never was. Not once did I come across someone so truthful that they were resistant to it." He gives me a smirk without saying more. Without saying it aloud—that he has since made himself into that one.

I stare at him, and it dawns on me that I was right earlier—about him and the truth. And . . . I recall wondering where the strength of his conviction when rejecting Dr. Maruki comes from. It might not be just about autonomy, I think. It might not even just be about not wanting his crimes erased or wishing for atonement. This . . . is about why he wishes for those things.

> "You care a lot about the truth, no?"

"You don't like lies, do you?"

Akechi gives me a long look, as if he were tempted to remind me that not even so long ago, deceit was his forte. But we don't all enjoy what we're good at.

"I have made an effort to call myself out for every lie that I ever tried to live." Akechi leans back against the counter, re-crossing his legs. "First, I accepted that I was a villain; then, I accepted that I was a goner; and finally, I accepted that I was a fool . . . who had allowed himself to live in the exact way that he despised—in a lie."

He turns to me with an odd gravity in his eyes, and I think back to Shido's engine room, shortly before the shutter fell. Then about Dr. Maruki and what he offered . . . When you look at it from this angle, both of those moments were characterized by the act of turning away from lies: his own lies about his life and about Shido—his distortions—and Dr. Maruki's false paradise built on pretty lies.

Before I can open my mouth and ask whether retaining the truth was the true motive behind both of those decisions, Akechi suddenly asks, "Do you think I regret my choices?"

I listen up. He didn't want them erased, but . . .

"Regret is a funny word, hm? My choices were obviously poor," Akechi says with a half-smile. "And yet I wouldn't change a single one if I could."

I bite my lip, letting the words sink in. Technically, I already knew his answer—that he recognizes his mistakes for what they are, that he wants to atone, and yet doesn't want them erased. He acknowledges his wrongs, yet he does not feel shame . . .

> "Because of the circumstances in which you made them?"

"Because that's not right . . . ?"

Akechi makes a face. "Why do you think I made my choices the way I did, all while knowing that they weren't good? Any alternative would have been unbearable." Before I have the chance to consider what alternatives he means, he continues, "But that isn't what I mean. Like I told you, I refuse to tell myself lies."

And if you catch yourself doing it, you'll fight an unwinnable battle and induce a psychotic breakdown if that's what it takes to cease, I think. Then I recall how it was also his recognition of the untruth that made him see through the mirage we were in this morning, no matter how perfect and comfortable it was. I sit and stare . . . a little speechless. My mind is churning; to properly process all of this might take me a while, but . . . in my heart, I think I comprehend.

I open my mouth, then close it again as something else hits me without warning . . . His face is collected, yet not artificially so. In this moment, there is no facade.

I am frozen in place where I'm sitting and desperately attempt to soak it in. This moment of . . . sincerity. How long has it been since I last saw him be genuine like this? Have I . . . ever seen so much of him?

"Considering how attached you were to your wishes, does that frighten you?" Akechi asks suddenly. "The concept of telling and hearing no lies, no matter how pleasant or comfortable they might be?"

I hesitate, replaying what he revealed just now in my head . . . I refuse to tell myself lies. Then I pause. He is asking me if I'm afraid of the truth . . . of him?

"It doesn't."

"Not so much that I'd reject it."

> "I'm in love with the truth."

Akechi laughs. "That is highly improbable," he says, and I wonder if he's deliberately pretending to have missed my indirect confession. "If it is true, it would make you one of very few," he adds after a pause. "As Maruki so conveniently showed us today, most people are perfectly fine with lying to themselves, even if to varying degrees."

I make a face, unable to deny that he has a point. All my friends, and even I myself, fell for the deceptive paradise at first.

"I will not hear any lies," Akechi says in a voice deep with conviction, leaving no room for doubt.

> "Lies about . . . yourself?"

"Lies about . . . others?"

"Lies about . . . your choices?"

"About who I am, what I've done, and what I deserve." I despise the implications of the wistful smile on his face as he says those words. "I should probably thank you for fighting against me in Shido's palace." His smile widens. "You gave me the opportunity I was lacking. That's why I came after you, you know? To uncover the truth."

I nod slowly, growing more and more certain. Didn't I deduce this even after that battle—that he . . . defeated his distortions? That he accepted the truth about himself? About us? About . . . everything?

> "Did you have a change of heart?"

"Did you erase your own distortions?"

"The Phantom Thieves induce what they call "changes of heart"," Akechi snickers. "They force their target to see the truth and pursue redemption against their will. No such thing happened to me."

Upon his excellent dodge of my question, I merely smile.

> "Because no one forced you."

"Because you chose it for yourself."

"And no one ever will," he says. "Not Maruki, not the Phantom Thieves, and not you either. Do you understand?"

Returning his smile, I nod. No one had to force you, I add in my mind. You forced it upon yourself. Then, without warning, Akechi rises to his feet, dropping my heart into the pit of my stomach. Yet instead of approaching the door as I feared, he turns to where I still sit atop the counter, stepping closer.

I lean forward, looking at him sincerely.

> "Please . . ."

"You don't have to . . ."

What I'm begging for, even I don't know.

"Please, what?" Akechi asks immediately, his eyebrow shooting up and the corner of his mouth following. He leans in and supports himself on the counter. "Please, "let me live my little fantasy in which the two of us could be together, just like so—where we don't end in tragedy, as we will?" Please, "let me delude myself for a while longer"?" He scoffs, but speaks unbearably softly. "I thought we got over that earlier today. I'm not here to enable your delusions. I'm here to dismantle them. Whether you like me doing it or not."

Without thinking, I reach up to caress his cheek, then run my fingers through strands of soft hair.

"I'm not lying to you," Akechi says in a voice that is almost too tender to be his. "The two of us end in tragedy. I could even tell you exactly why. But even then, I wouldn't have any proof. And you won't believe me without, will you?"

For one moment, I consider asking what he thinks he knows, just so that I could attempt to dissipate any potential fears. But . . . ultimately, what does it matter? What matters is . . .

> "Even if you're right, you're worth it."

"Even so, it wouldn't change anything."

"You're such an intractable fool." In his eyes, I see the almost desperate conviction to resist, to slam the door in my face, and never return. Then he kisses me.

Our lips meet fleetingly for less than a second—a magnificent second that is only mine and his—a second where the world comes to a standstill. Then he's gone; his warmth, the scent of his coat, and his skin vanish, exposing me to an unexpected chill.

When I next look up, he's already taken two steps toward the door. "But I'm not going to indulge in what-ifs for a second longer." He takes one more step. ". . . Goodbye."

The word spears me with fear. I slide off the counter and take one step forward, my mouth opening. But then I force myself to stop. I've already asked him to give us a chance. I've even told him that I'll live with any impending tragedy. Repeating neither will make a difference now.

Only as I stare into his face, looking at me with an array of hard-to-distinguish emotions, does it dawn on me . . . The only thing that might have the power to convey my intentions.

"I might be a fool. But I'm not a what-if," I say quietly, yet without averting my eyes. Akechi halts in his tracks. He stands still, a few steps away from me, yet before he can say anything, I swallow my fear and beat him to it. "I'm real. And so are the things we feel. Because we really feel them. It's so real, it hurts." I take another step closer and try to blink the tears that are suddenly rising away to be able to keep looking at his face. "I don't want to control you. Had I wanted that, I wouldn't have rejected Dr. Maruki's reality. If you have so little belief in me, at least believe in this fact. This truth—"

My voice breaks, and I'm terrified of both speaking on and growing quiet. Because I don't remember the last time I said this much of my own volition . . . and because, for as long as I can keep speaking, he can't deny me.

"Your truth?" he asks, and I nod.

"My truth—" I couldn't stop speaking if I wanted. "And it can be yours too. Ours. See it as proving Dr. Maruki wrong when he says he is our only chance. See it as . . ." I break off because I find myself needing to wipe my eyes. I drag my glasses off and wipe a sleeve across my face. "I just . . . want to love you."

"And that's enough?"

"Yes!" I exclaim, then take a deep breath, bracing myself for what I have gathered that I have to say next . . . The only way to get through to him. "But also, it's not," I whisper. "Not if you decide otherwise."

"What?" Akechi freezes in his tracks, staring with widened eyes. "Are you . . . asking me?"

I remain standing perfectly still, holding his incredulous gaze, then nod. I have chosen my words carefully for him twice now . . . And I have made my choice. But . . . "You know my feelings," I whisper with a shaking voice. "Yet if you really don't want me, if you cannot accept my love, no matter what . . . if you genuinely want me to . . . stop—I will. The choice is yours."

Upon those words, it is his turn to stare at me with his mouth agape. Only for one heartbeat, though, then he recomposes himself, shifting his weight. "You are . . . I don't believe it," Akechi says in a tone I have seldom heard before. "You're genuinely asking me," he repeats. "Is that not supposed to go the other way around?"

I frown, momentarily unsure about what he means. I . . . suppose I am more often than not asked for choices by the people around me—although this is the first time I properly consider it. I guess it's a little odd. But that's not even the point . . . "I don't have the authority to decide for you," I say, trying my best to sound determined despite the hammering of my heart against my ribcage. After a brief moment, I choose not to add that I never really attempted to do so in the first place. I suppose I assumed that he'd tell me to stop of his own accord, should he not feel the same way. But in light of everything that happened today . . . I wondered if being explicitly offered this choice might make the cut.

"So, you're saying, even after all that—if I sincerely reject you now, you would cease your pursuit of me?" Akechi asks, still a little incredulous.

"I promise," I reply, crossing my arms as well and trying to keep my breathing steady.

"Ha." I can only hold his intense gaze for another moment, then I have to lower my eyes. "You look terrified," he says with a tinge more satisfaction than I would like there to be in his voice. Especially because he's right—I have not felt so much fear in a while. If he does reject me—and he might—I'll have lost him forever. "Is it that frightening to not have the power to decide for once? What a shame."

I make a face, looking up to tell him to stop rubbing it in, but then he uncrosses his arms and speaks first: "You have no need to be frightened. I suppose I owe it to you to . . . trust in your intentions since you asked so nicely. Since you did . . . not go along with Maruki and take his easy way. Could it be that you really, genuinely have good intentions?" He shakes his head, speaking to himself. "How the hell are you real?"

I stare at Akechi and, just like that, feel my terror vanish. Since you asked so nicely, I think briefly and uncross my arms too, certain beyond doubt that my intuition was right—I couldn't have gotten through to him in any other way. Only then do his words sink in properly, and my mouth drops open. "Did you just—"

"I suppose if we are already given this time, we might as well use it to at least attempt to defy fate. Defy Maruki, if nothing else," Akechi cuts me off with a smirk. "As long as you also promise to keep in mind that this," he indicates the two of us, "is happening at your own risk. Do we have a deal?"

"At . . . the risk of more heartache?" I whisper.

"That risk."

I nod without thinking, then make a face at the pity in the look he gives me for it. "I really hate telling myself lies," Akechi says quietly. "And the worst, most disgusting lie I've ever told myself, because it was the hardest to let go, was that you could ever be mine."

I hold his gaze, feeling my heart ache—but that's nothing new. What's new is that I can alleviate the pain. Not with a lie, but with the truth. There is only one truth left for me to tell him . . . "I'm yours."

His head jerks around to me, and when his eyes meet mine, there is something in them that resembles . . . unadulterated terror. But I don't avert my gaze. I look at him with every last bit of conviction that I have.

So quickly that I'm not even sure I didn't hallucinate the fear, his eyes soften until they're warmer than I've ever seen them. What doesn't leave is the pained undertone that's been there all along. If I'm not mistaken, it actually grows stronger. "You'll regret this for the rest of your life," he says, and with just two steps, Akechi is in front of me. Then his lips crash into mine, and I can't breathe; I can't even question what he means.

Before I know it, I'm flat on my back atop the counter. Akechi is above me, pressing me down as his hands cradle my face . . . not stopping. Whatever doubts I had have long evaporated. This kiss is deep and passionate, and so . . . honest that it drives tears into my eyes. I reach up and pull him into me, as close as I can. His fingers dig through my hair and caress the back of my neck, then my waist.

He holds me with a kind of desperation that differs from the first time he kissed me. It's not a "what if" like it was then, and it's not a goodbye like the second time either. It's a "we shouldn't do this, but fuck everyone who says we can't", and I melt into it, into him, attempting to cling to the overwhelming happiness that fills my heart. My own happiness . . . ours. Not Maruki's.

Only when he breaks the kiss after an indeterminable time do I realize that I'm entirely breathless. I gasp for air, looking up at his face and trying to believe it. Trying to believe him. He . . .

"You would really let me do anything to you, no?" Akechi asks with a smirk that sends a longing pang into my heart. His hand moving up my thigh momentarily erases all words from my mind.

I rest my hands against his chest, feeling his heart beat along with mine. "Anything," I repeat when I've gathered enough of my mind together to recall.

"Then, how about this?" He backs away and catches one of my hands in his, a wicked smirk breaking on his face. "How did that go—that thing I did that doomed us both?" Before I can surmise what he means, he lifts my hand to his face and places a featherlight kiss on top. "You're in a special relationship with Goro Akechi," he says tauntingly, without losing his smirk once. "All because you were too foolish to guard your heart better at the time. Shame."

My mouth falls open, and I can do nothing but stare, completely losing track of how to breathe.

For one moment longer, Akechi hovers above me, then he backs away and pulls me with himself. "Perhaps we shouldn't desecrate this counter any further," he says, still not having lost his smirk. "Oh no, don't faint on me now."

I snort with laughter, attempting to stabilize myself on my weak legs. Then I simply cling to him, burying my face in the crook of his neck and breathing in the faint scent of his hair. I'm probably holding on too tight, but Akechi doesn't make an attempt to loosen my grip. On the contrary, a few heartbeats later, I feel his arms twisting around me; he pulls me backward toward one of the vacant cafe benches, then drops onto it and pulls me onto his lap.

I slide my hands into his unbuttoned coat and pull my legs to my chest until I'm curled up against him. He doesn't make an attempt to shake me. His arms stay in place, even tightening ever so slightly. Even through our clothes, I can feel his heartbeat.

***

For how long we sit like this, I cannot say. All I know is that eventually, my eyes fall shut and my breathing steadies as every ounce of the overwhelming fatigue that I've kept at bay so far floods into my body. I might sleep like this, I think, pressing my cheek into the collar of his shirt. I might . . .

"Are you asleep?"

I nod.

More than I hear it, I feel his laugh. "You should get to bed."

With a sigh, I open my eyes. Maybe sleeping here was a pipe dream . . . If Sojiro, Morgana, and Futaba come back tomorrow and find us like this . . .

> "Carry me?"

"I'm not getting up."

"Into your bed?!" Akechi asks incredulously, and this time it is I who laughs. Then I nod.

For one moment, he hesitates. Then he hooks an arm under my knees and stands, sweeping me up with himself before making his way to the rear of the cafe and the staircase leading to my room. "Y'know, if your guardian knew this, he'd throw a fit."

I lift my face out of his vest and smirk back at him.

"But he doesn't."

> "I'm a bad girl."

Akechi halts at the base of the stairs and snorts, looking down at me with a kind of affectionate amusement that reminds me so much of the way he looked at me this morning that it leaves me feeling weak in the knees. "Sure you are."

So, he can look at me like that in reality . . . The thought sinks in all the while he carries me up the stairs and then unceremoniously drops me onto my bed. "You should really not stay up so late," he says with a half smile, then turns away. "We didn't check up on Yoshizawa-san anymore . . . I wonder if Maruki has meddled with reality so that her family will not find her absence suspicious—"

He halts in his tracks when I roll over and catch his hand in mine, pulling him back.

> "Please stay."

"You don't have to go . . ."

"Haven't you had enough of me yet?" His smile remains in place, yet my face falls. A million thoughts swarm my head about how I've never, not once, had enough of him yet.

Instead of attempting to voice any of them, I lift his hand to my face and place a kiss on the soft leather of his glove.

Akechi stares at me with his mouth slightly agape. "When you wake up, I'll be gone," he promises, but I cannot even bring myself to care in that moment. While he slips out of his coat, I kick my shoes off. He sits on my bed, and I slip in between his arms and nestle against him, laying my head against his side. Only then, when I feel Akechi embracing me back, do I breathe out in relief.

Momentarily, my eyes meet the wall beside my window, and briefly, the thought crosses my mind that something is missing. Something should be there . . . where I drew it myself. But the wall is unblemished—the marker crow is gone, as if it had never existed.

Well . . . I think and scoot closer, tightening my embrace. I do not need it to watch over me if I can have him here with me in reality, do I? Just like this, I could sleep every night.

And so I sleep, not wasting a single thought on any warnings of tragedy that I might have felt in every rare brush of his skin against mine if I paid attention. But even if I had—even if I had been shown the true nature of our tragedy all along—I wouldn't have done as Akechi said and regretted him. Only cherished the two of us even more.