Ren holds Goro in place with the hand in his hair and deepens the kiss, sighing against his mouth. For a moment, he lets himself be drawn in and distracted... but then, for once, he remembers why he came here.
"Crow is gonna get mad eventually," he mutters. "If I keep ignoring him to fuck."
"Crow will make do. Though if you want to text him back...." he says against Ren's lips. He's here, though he won't say as much. "It's not as if you can trick him with a decoy treasure, after all."
"We're Phantom Thieves," he says, brushing his lips against Ren's again—in other words, he's been worrying about that one as well. "We'd have managed it somehow. Worst case, we'd have switched it behind your back and concealed the original."
Flawless? No. But cognition accounts for a hell of a lot.
"Goro," he says, half-laughing in incredulity, but he leaves it there. "What would you do about the Palace?" he asks instead. "Wouldn't I have noticed when it, like... I don't know. Went away. Like mine did." He doesn't know exactly what happened to it, but he could feel it starting to come apart even by the time he fell asleep.
"That would've been funny," he says reflectively. "Two hundred cops caught in a vanishing Palace."
"Best thing for them," he says, with a grin; one of the things they share is zero love for the police. But he thinks about Ren's question, calculation written on his face. "Would you have noticed it?"
He doesn't particularly feel a tie to any of the Palaces he's been in, but perhaps Ren is different? "I knew there was a chance you'd see it still in the Nav. But, to be honest, I was hoping you'd be too busy to check. They do take time to come down, sometimes." But not days, and he knows that.
Nerves flutter in his stomach again, against the back of his neck; the feeling of someone walking over his grave, and those of all his friends. "It was the only chance we had, Ren. Everything was stacked against us. We had to take the gamble."
He exhales slowly. It's been months, but he still remembers it: the sinking inevitability like a cinderblock around his ankle, every day that passed another day that he had failed to find a way out—but he had known even then that there was no escaping from the plan. Not really. And Goro had been the same, apparently, if this was their fucking plan. Goro's life, bright and precious, and they were willing to stake it on this... this entire series of long shots.
Ren knows he doesn't exactly hold the moral high ground on the issue of plans to protect Goro that November. But something about it still gets to him.
He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against Goro's. "What then? What was the point of keeping her Palace around?"
And... god. He reaches up to touch Ren's face, with a hand that trembles just a bit. Ren would never have got it. "You haven't figured it out, huh?
"Niijima's Palace is ... odd, in several ways. Not least in its clarity of thought. In how the cognitions around the place aren't distorted. They look like ordinary people. And"—and finally, he can't meet Ren's eyes and looks away—
"And in its proximity to the central police station."
He catches Goro's hand in his and strokes it gently with his thumb as he moves the pieces around in his head, trying to make them into a picture. His eyes go distant as he thinks.
It doesn't take long for it to come together, in the end. Some of the details are still confusing as hell, but the basic concept? Yeah. And the moment it clicks, the bottom drops out of his stomach.
His gaze snaps back into focus. He stares silently at Goro for a moment, until he can't keep the horror from his face anymore. Then, with a small noise, he buries his face in his pillow. He clings to Goro's hand, bruisingly tight.
Goro reaches over, cradling him with an arm, stroking his hair. He knows it wasn't a great plan, better than any of them knew it. But it was all he had. The finest of threads to dangle his life from.
"Goro," he says into the pillow. "I know what it fucking feels like. To go into the Metaverse."
Why the fuck is he freaking out? It's not going to happen. Goro is safe from him. But even knowing that, he can't shake off the nausea and the dread. He might not hallucinate Goro with a hole through his head anymore, but he remembers what it looked like when he did.
He suppresses a shudder as those feet walk over his grave again, pressing closer to Ren, to his warmth, to the solidity and safety he offers. "So do I. Have you ever been in there unknowingly, though?"
In his gut, he knows Ren's going to say yes, and then that will be it; the plan would have failed.
...Ren is fine. Everyone is safe, at least from what could have happened, and anyway Ren was never the one in danger. That was Goro, who's safe now, in Ren's arms, trying to pretend that he's calm. For his sake, Ren can be okay, and he will be, dammit. Any second now.
In answer to Goro's question, remembering his first ever visit to the Metaverse, he nods silently.
"So you know." He traces a hand around to Ren's face, over a cheekbone. His eyes are just a bit too wide.
"Listen, I'm not going to pretend it was a good plan. It was a one in a million shot. You had us. I suppose...." He swallows. "It would have come down to just the two of us, wouldn't it? Like it did here. Maybe I could have talked you around. Maybe you would have listened."
But even a year ago, Ren had known the danger of letting Goro speak. He'd had his own plan within the larger plan: Walk into the interrogation room and shoot before Goro had a chance to open his mouth and get Ren killed.
They'll never be in that room now, so it doesn't matter if he lets Goro believe something kinder. "Yeah," he says. "Maybe."
But he knows that, out of all the tiny chances, that one was perhaps the smallest of all, if Ren got as far as that room. I know, says the look he gives Ren.
He leans forward, to kiss him. Just a little; just to comfort him. It's been a weird two days.
He cradles Goro's face in his hands as they kiss, and leans in to extend it when Goro tried to pull away. Every movement Goro makes is proof that he's alive.
Even when they part, he doesn't speak. What's the point in saying he's sorry? No one cares. His eyes flicker up to Goro's forehead, which remains clean and smooth, totally free of bullet wounds.
Platitudes itch to spill from his tongue; he swallows them only with difficulty. Instead, he goes with Ren, lets Ren guide him, settling in his arms and then pulling him close in turn, returning his hand to tangle in that mess of hair.
"You really should text Crow back," he says, absently and not as if he really thinks so. He could have died; would have died, without insane luck on his side. Sometimes there really is nothing you can do.
Yeah, maybe, except Goro probably wasn't feeling the same self-disgust. Instead of saying so, Ren just nods.
God, he needs to do anything else. If he keeps lying here thinking about how he almost shot Goro, he'll lose his mind. Just go completely insane, screaming and frothing at the mouth and everything. "Fuck this," he says abruptly, lifting his head. His eyes burn fever-bright. "Let me finger you."
—shit. He draws back fast, eyes searching, flaring bright in turn, a challenge Ren will already know well. Like he hasn't been trying not to think about that for months, since it came up that once. The look on Ren's face, Ren's words, have gone straight to his balls—
But there's something else, too; something he can't and won't deny. "This conversation is shit, isn't it?" he murmurs, dry-mouthed, holding Ren's gaze to reach between his legs. "Here, let me—"
Don't get him wrong. He wants it like fire, and everything that goes with it. It's just—not right.
He lets it happen; it's hard to imagine saying no to Goro touching him. But at the same time, he shakes his head. "I want—" He swallows. "Let me blow you again. I can do way better than last time."
Let me hear you scream. Let me feel you move under my hands. Alive, thinking only about how good I am. The words stay locked in his throat.
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It doesn't quite come out with the dark amusement he intends.
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"Crow is gonna get mad eventually," he mutters. "If I keep ignoring him to fuck."
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As they'd intended to do to Ren. Oops.
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"A decoy treasure? How would that even work? Like, wouldn't the real one be there too?"
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Flawless? No. But cognition accounts for a hell of a lot.
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"That would've been funny," he says reflectively. "Two hundred cops caught in a vanishing Palace."
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He doesn't particularly feel a tie to any of the Palaces he's been in, but perhaps Ren is different? "I knew there was a chance you'd see it still in the Nav. But, to be honest, I was hoping you'd be too busy to check. They do take time to come down, sometimes." But not days, and he knows that.
Nerves flutter in his stomach again, against the back of his neck; the feeling of someone walking over his grave, and those of all his friends. "It was the only chance we had, Ren. Everything was stacked against us. We had to take the gamble."
It's a compliment, of sorts.
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Ren knows he doesn't exactly hold the moral high ground on the issue of plans to protect Goro that November. But something about it still gets to him.
He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against Goro's. "What then? What was the point of keeping her Palace around?"
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"Niijima's Palace is ... odd, in several ways. Not least in its clarity of thought. In how the cognitions around the place aren't distorted. They look like ordinary people. And"—and finally, he can't meet Ren's eyes and looks away—
"And in its proximity to the central police station."
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It doesn't take long for it to come together, in the end. Some of the details are still confusing as hell, but the basic concept? Yeah. And the moment it clicks, the bottom drops out of his stomach.
His gaze snaps back into focus. He stares silently at Goro for a moment, until he can't keep the horror from his face anymore. Then, with a small noise, he buries his face in his pillow. He clings to Goro's hand, bruisingly tight.
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Why the fuck is he freaking out? It's not going to happen. Goro is safe from him. But even knowing that, he can't shake off the nausea and the dread. He might not hallucinate Goro with a hole through his head anymore, but he remembers what it looked like when he did.
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In his gut, he knows Ren's going to say yes, and then that will be it; the plan would have failed.
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In answer to Goro's question, remembering his first ever visit to the Metaverse, he nods silently.
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"Listen, I'm not going to pretend it was a good plan. It was a one in a million shot. You had us. I suppose...." He swallows. "It would have come down to just the two of us, wouldn't it? Like it did here. Maybe I could have talked you around. Maybe you would have listened."
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They'll never be in that room now, so it doesn't matter if he lets Goro believe something kinder. "Yeah," he says. "Maybe."
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He leans forward, to kiss him. Just a little; just to comfort him. It's been a weird two days.
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Even when they part, he doesn't speak. What's the point in saying he's sorry? No one cares. His eyes flicker up to Goro's forehead, which remains clean and smooth, totally free of bullet wounds.
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"You really should text Crow back," he says, absently and not as if he really thinks so. He could have died; would have died, without insane luck on his side. Sometimes there really is nothing you can do.
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He doesn't. He just doesn't want to let go. He can feel Goro's heartbeat against his skin.
Breathing in the scent of Goro's shampoo, he tries to be useful. "It didn't happen. And if anyone else tries it, I'll kill them."
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"Now you know how I've been feeling all these months," he murmurs to Ren's neck.
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God, he needs to do anything else. If he keeps lying here thinking about how he almost shot Goro, he'll lose his mind. Just go completely insane, screaming and frothing at the mouth and everything. "Fuck this," he says abruptly, lifting his head. His eyes burn fever-bright. "Let me finger you."
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But there's something else, too; something he can't and won't deny. "This conversation is shit, isn't it?" he murmurs, dry-mouthed, holding Ren's gaze to reach between his legs. "Here, let me—"
Don't get him wrong. He wants it like fire, and everything that goes with it. It's just—not right.
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Let me hear you scream. Let me feel you move under my hands. Alive, thinking only about how good I am. The words stay locked in his throat.
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