HEART, DON'T FAIL ME NOW
SUMMARY:
Ren lives a peaceful life in Osaka post-transition, but she can't help but feel like there's something keeping her from seeking out true happiness.
That is, until she unexpectedly encounters a certain absentee confidant, whose transition wasn't dissimilar from her own.
this piece was originally written for the effigy of our stars zine. )
Clutching a bottle of estradiol valerate in one hand, Ren reached into her box of alcohol wipes with the other, only to come up with an empty palm.
She now felt like a bigger fool, dick out and boyshorts bunched around her ankles.
Typical. It was harder now managing a server job here than it was juggling four back in the day. That was the reality of being an adult with bills to pay, and she made do. She landed a position at one of the hottest queer bars in Osaka after years of staying barely above water in Tokyo. By the time she started, word kept spreading that a queer community was growing in the city. Weekends meant back to back orders and slammed tables and drunks trying to lean on Ren for company. Weekdays meant sleeping that off and ignoring her cat’s insistence that she get up.
She thought she could just survive running on automatic these past few weeks. Instead, she was surprised by the realization that her mental prep for her weekly injection have all been for naught.
“Damn,” she sighed, pulling her pants back on. She turned and grabbed the first hoodie she could find, slipping it over her shoulders.
Morgana yawned from his spot in the sink. “What’s up, Joker?”
“I ran out of wipes,” she said, zipping up the hoodie and walking out to step into her shoes.
Morgana followed Ren outside. “Need me to come with?”
“No, it’s okay. I think there’s a pharmacy around that’s still open,” she insisted. “A few blocks down… probably.”
“Probably?” Morgana griped, then yawned heavily again. “I’ll come with you. Really.”
“It’s alright. Just sleep in bed without me,” Ren said, paused at Morgana’s uncertainty, then added, “I’ll be back in no time. Look for me if I don’t come back in fifteen minutes. I’ll text you if something comes up.”
Morgana still didn’t have the ability to operate a cell phone, but Ren had fetched a cheap one for him that acted similar to a pager, just so she could message him and let him know whenever she’d be running late getting back home. It was useful now that Ren was toting him around less, especially useful whenever the other thieves wanted to send Morgana messages and have Ren type up responses for him.
He continued to look at her with familiar skepticism, but as usual, he relaxed and curled back into slumber. “Just don’t stay out too late,” he muttered. “Bring the whistle.”
“It’s just a few blocks.” She pocketed her wallet. “I don’t need the whistle.”
“The whistle is non-negotiable, Joker,” Morgana grumbled, one ear perked up.
Ren rolled her eyes and snatched the whistle from the top of one of her drawers, waving it around to make a show out of it for Morgana to see. She took her leave while ignoring the way her friend rolled his eyes back at her, shoving the whistle into her pocket knowing she wasn’t going to find a reason to use it. She could still hold her own.
She even fended off a purse thief recently; she was on her way home from work the other night, and ended up choking a man out until he finally dropped the purse he tried to pull off her shoulder. She was doing well for herself.
She was doing well.
The 24-hour pharmacy really was a few blocks away. She wasn’t sure what Morgana was so worried about. They both went to convenience stores late at night all the time, so that Ren could have a late night dinner after work while Morgana discreetly munched from a can of tuna at one of the tables stationed outside.
She supposed there were always going to be dangers around being a woman, and being transgender certainly wasn’t going to do her any favors. She had listened plenty to Lala Escargot’s gripes with how she was perceived back when she worked for her, but she also acknowledged the privilege she held, being a young, pretty thing that passed no problem save for the deep voice she had to undo through countless voice therapy videos on MeTube.
She wondered if Futaba had seen her browser history even while she was back in her hometown. She wondered if her beloved found sister had deduced her identity long before anyone else in the group knew. If she did, she didn’t say anything save for the countless links she sent at rapid pace, directing to transgender support pages she found on the Internet. Maybe she already had those pages ready to go at any moment, waiting for the moment Ren would break the news to all of them. It had certainly helped, guiding Ren through a seamless transition, directing her to a life she wanted for herself.
She still hadn’t thanked Futaba for it yet. Maybe it was too late to do so now, just like it was too late to come visit any of them. Too much distance was between them already. They all had their own lives, intent on being separate and chasing their own individual dreams.
That desire had been established ever since they defeated their last god, the third one in their phantom thief careers, and Ren couldn’t bring herself to protest. She had her own dreams, ones she still wasn’t sure her friends understood.
She didn’t dare linger on it though. It was dangerous to harbor those kinds of thoughts in the middle of the night. Doing so would drag her back into that dreadful void of darkness, and it would take another month before she’d reply in the group chat, never mind the concerned DMs beginning to weigh heavy in her phone screen.
A bell jingled to announce her presence as she made it through the door to the pharmacy, but there was no one in sight save for the sleep-deprived employee standing behind the counter. She glanced over, but the worker didn’t spare her even so much as a polite half-bow. Good. She wasn’t sure if she was up for any more human interaction today.
The aisles were well-stocked, and it didn’t take long before she reached the shelves laden with medical supplies. She scanned the inventory, relieved to find her usual brand of alcohol wipes.
She went to grab a box, only to startle at her own fingers brushing against someone else’s reaching for the same product.
“Sorry—” she muttered under her breath, retracting her hand.
“No, go ahead,” a female honeyed voice insisted, faint with fatigue.
Ren turned her head to fully acknowledge the other person, only to come face to face with familiar auburn irises and soft brown locks. They did simultaneous double takes. Both of them froze in place the moment it dawned on them who the other was, knowing that the last time they saw each other was during different circumstances, when they couldn’t show their truest forms.
“Akechi?” Ren breathed out in disbelief.
The other women stiffened. There was no way she could lie her way out of this one. Ren supposed she’d turn tail and run by now, but instead, her old rival merely scowled to herself.
“Of course it’s you of all people,” Akechi sighed out. “I can’t even transition in peace, can I?”
Gou used to ignore her discomfort with her first name, for her mother’s sake.
Her mother loved her enough to give her a name, even when nothing else was as sacred. Akechi Goro, she’d say with an endearing smile before she handed her only child a mystery book from the local library. Like Akechi Kogoro-san, maybe you’ll make a fine detective one day.
Deprived of everything, she and her mother at least still had their names.
She tried to tell herself this over and over. She built herself her safe, high walls, feigning being above vulnerable intimacy so that everyone could continue to find Akechi more natural on their tongues. She hid behind her hollow mask, smothering the envy she felt every time Ren Amamiya spoke with her circle of companions.
Hiding away from what lingered from Shido’s legacy was her excuse to start over. She could live a life never having been the boy she had briefly morphed into. She didn’t have to acknowledge that whole winter, that whole year. That boy stayed in his grave riddled with bullets and shame, and she was a lone number who had nothing to do with it all. How could she? She hadn’t been born yet.
Akechi Gou. 明智吾. It was an appropriate name for a girl who would continue to look out for herself, and herself alone. She made a fatal mistake in the initial path she chose, setting her sights on targets who only weakened her. It was only thanks to some misdirected favors and sheer luck that she was able to begin anew. She wasn’t going to waste that opportunity and become another screwup like Akechi Goro.
Akechi Goro made sure he was keeping up with “proper” appearances. Akechi Gou couldn’t give a damn about what was proper, so long as she was herself.
Akechi Goro let his history marr his entire being. Akechi Gou refused to remain tainted—her actions were marked by her simple desire for peace and quiet.
And yet, the fates continued to mock her, reuniting her with the last person on Earth she wanted to see.
She swallowed her irritation over her bad luck. Her mandated therapist wanted her not to be as volatile as her past, so she invited Amamiya fucking Ren to her studio apartment before she could risk seeing a single tear trail down that pathetic girl’s face.
Not that she cared about her rival’s weakness. She supposed it’ll be something to talk about during her next session. It would beat EMDR anyday.
Gou’s apartment was a lot more modest than the luxury 1LDK she had in Kichijoji.
Back then, Ren barely managed to get a peek of the kind of living arrangements her rival had. Gou had forgotten something one night they agreed to meet at Jazz Jin in the middle of January, and she was in such a low mood she couldn’t care less that Ren decided to follow suit on her way back. The building practically sparkled with luxury and prestige when they walked up to Gou’s home all those years ago.
But now? Ren came face to face with a two-story building that was a lot smaller. It looked like the building she stood in the day she realized her homeroom teacher was a cosplaying maid as a side gig.
Man, she thought. Nothing about my high school career was normal, huh.
As if Akechi's living situation couldn't get any more normal, there was even an elderly landlady curiously peeking out her front door.
“Gou-chan?” she asked. “Why are you out so late? Who is this? Is she spending the night?”
Gou faltered under the weight of questions she didn’t feel ready to answer. “Nozomi-san,” she quietly greeted. “Sorry. I forgot to restock on some of my medical supplies.” She made a vague hand gesture towards Ren. “This is Amamiya-san.”
“You can still call me Ren, you know,” Ren muttered under her breath.
Gou shot her a quick glare, silently warning her not to feed into Nozomi’s ever-growing curiosity.
“I know you’re a good girl, but you know what I said about overnight guests,” the landlord insisted, placing a hand om her cheek. “But... Ren-chan is also so pretty. I can make an exception if—”
“She won’t stay the night,” Gou stammered out in an attempt to cut the conversation short. “Thank you, Nozomi-san. Have a good night.”
Ren stifled her laughter while Gou practically pushed her up the stairs towards her apartment.
The interior was just as modest as the outside, albeit more scattered than the pristine soulless home Detective Akechi maintained back in the day. Crumpled flyers and receipts were strewn across the kitchen counter a few steps from the door. The oven looked used, but not scrubbed clean, with a small pot on the coils still encrusted with some food residue.
“It’s finals week,” Gou muttered out.
Ren smiled to herself. “I wasn’t going to say anything. My space isn’t much better, even with Morgana still on my back.”
“That furball is still alive?” Gou scoffed.
“I think he’s probably immortal,” Ren mused.
“A nightmare scenario,” Gou said, turning to dip into her bathroom to retrieve a small cloth bag. “Why did you even come without your own stuff? You’re just going to watch me do it?”
Ren shrugged, leaning back against the wall. It was already hard to explain this kind of stuff to the rest of the Phantom Thieves. As accepting as her friends were, she couldn’t help the anxious feeling that she’d made an alien out of herself, an entity her friends aren’t sure how to navigate around. The group chat was still going strong, but she didn’t remember the last time she brought herself to drop in and say something.
“Morgana isn’t dictating your sleep schedule anymore?” Gou asked.
“I’m almost thirty and work night shifts. I don’t think even he knows when I should be sleeping.”
Gou smirked to herself, realized, then made her face back into a blank slate. “Again with the irregular work schedule, Joker? I thought you knew better than that. How many jobs is it this time?”
Ren got red in the face. “It’s not like that,” she said. “Besides, it’s not like I had an entire secret conspiracy funding my school life.”
“I think you’re underestimating what my deadbeat sperm donor paid me,” Gou drawled.
“I—okay—come on, are we seriously not going to talk about this for real?” Ren asked, exasperated.
Gou blinked slow then turned to lock eyes with Ren, looking as defiant as ever. “What is there to talk about? I made my choice in parting ways. There was nothing you nor your little sycophants could do to change my mind.”
There it was again, that heavy feeling in Ren’s chest, as though she was thrown back to February where she had to make the hardest choice, the most difficult thing she had to do as a leader, as a hero.
Except this time, Ren didn’t have to grapple with the fact that it wasn’t the freedom of her gender that was her biggest desire, but a certain someone—and here that person was again, in the flesh, still more alike to her than ever yet slightly more sane.
Pretty significant growth for someone like Akechi, she thought wistfully.
“They’re not my sycophants. They’re my friends,” Ren corrected a moment too late, her voice wavering with uncertainty. “Though… I haven’t caught up with them in a while.”
“Huh. Their loyalty only goes so far, hm?” Gou asked, raising a brow. “Come on. All this standing is killing me.”
Gou slept on a Western futon—the kind of mattress that folded into a couch with a thick Japanese futon draped over it. A loose pair of athletic shorts was draped precariously over one of the armrests. It was an arrangement so mind-boggling that Ren couldn’t help but ogle at it.
“Stop staring at it,” Gou barked, her brows furrowed.
“Are you trying to minmax sleep?” Ren remarked, unable to help herself.
“I needed something that can be both a bed and a couch.”
“It’s two futons,” Ren deadpanned. “Futons squared.”
“I see that transitioning never dimmed your sense of humor,” Gou drawled, her voice dripping with disdain.
“And you still look like you read one of those vocabulary builder books for fun,” Ren threw back at her.
“You—”
Outside of her control, Ren began to laugh.
Whatever scorn Gou was about to share died on her tongue. “W…What?” she breathed out. “What are you laughing at?”
“It’s just funny,” Ren admitted. “We haven’t really changed.”
“I literally just said that.”
“Yeah, but… I just realized something. it’s always been easier to talk to you. I don’t really have to pretend.”
Gou said nothing for a moment.
“Speak for yourself,” she finally lied.
Snapping on a pair of nitrile gloves, Gou reached into the cloth bag and removed a half-empty estrogen vial, disregarding Ren’s eyes on her. Her hands moved as if on auto-pilot, preparing the syringe from barrel to needle, extracting the clear liquid from the vial. She was well used to it, Ren could tell that much; she probably had been doing this for years.
Before Ren could say anything, Gou beat her to it and remarked, “You should have just went home.”
“Why?”
“I’m simply deducing from the fact you also planned to do your injection in the middle of the night,” Gou said. “It makes me think you don’t keep a schedule.”
“Look who’s talking,” Ren retorted.
“I told you, moron. It’s finals week,” Gou grumbled back. “Now what’s your excuse?”
Ren had none. “I missed last week’s dose,” she sheepishly admitted. “Work’s been so busy and…”
“Got the best of you?” Gou finished for her, barking out a laugh. “Shocking. Come here then.”
“What?”
“Our dosage is likely the same, is it not? Seeing as we’re both similar in body mass… I’d have to guess that you also take 0.2mL every week? Or is yours 0.1?”
“I-I mean, I think it’s 0.2, I don’t remember—”
“Then, come here.”
Ren was thrown for a loop. She had rehearsed what she’d say to Gou over and over in her head, running on a hamster wheel out of regret, and yet here the other woman was extending the olive branch first without even a sliver of her past resentment. This time, Ren was the one beginning to stew in her envy, as though comparing their wellbeing was just another competition for them, another billiards game with a clear winner.
Guilt formed into a heavy lump in her throat for thinking this way. She really was exhausted.
She relented, joining Gou on the futon-now-couch.
“Intramuscular or subcutaneous?” Gou asked, cracking open her packet of alcohol wipes.
“Subcutaneous,” Ren whispered.
Gou whipped out a wipe and nodded. “Show me where to do it. I don’t want to choose for you.”
Ren didn’t feel right about the idea of pulling down her pants for Gou to inject into her thigh, even though that was her usual place, always alternating between each leg.
She reached down and pulled her shirt off instead, revealing the simple black sports bra underneath, pinching at a section of her stomach. Her abdomen wasn’t as toned or defined as it used to be, not like the year when she did pull-ups in the attic because her teammates needed their leader in the best shape. She once never failed to miss a workout, even though seeing a pack of abs staring back at her in the mirror always brought immense unease.
She took a deep breath as Gou shifted closer, watching her silently wipe the patch of skin. She held it at the sight of the needle approaching. She never was good at her own injections. She hurt herself at least once a month doing injections, and that undoubtedly contributed to her inability to keep up with her weekly intake. Consistency wasn’t exactly her strongest suit.
It didn’t help that she still received blurred visions of cruel men with equally cruel sneers, the gleam of their needles, the drugs filling her system until she felt like she was close to dying while they barked questions at her—
Biting her lip, she had no choice but to look away while the syringe inched closer, anticipating the sharp pain soon to come. But she felt nothing but a simple prick. The whole procedure was painless though, swift, done in no time flat. She barely registered that it happened before Gou was already tossing everything into a bin labelled exclusively for sharps.
“Well, that was easy,” Gou remarked, preparing a syringe for herself. “You seem to have filled out well.”
Ren choked on air, then caught herself. “Look who’s talking,” she weakly threw back at her.
It wasn’t that Ren had always viewed Gou as a scrawny little thing. Despite the other’s outward appearances, slim and fair and overtly pleasant, Ren knew better than that. It seemed as though Gou was the only one who could catch up to, if not surpass, her in the Metaverse, their Showtime move perfectly in sync without prior discussion, Jose’s star glimmering brighter than ever—
Bang. There went another painful pang in Ren’s chest again, a consequence to reminiscing on the past.
“Let me do it for you too,” Ren blurted out just as Gou reached for the pack of wipes, startling the other woman.
Gou eyed her wearily, then let her shoulders relax, giving a small nod. “Very well.”
Ren scooted closer and accepted the pair of gloves handed to her, slipping them on. “Um… where do you usually do it?”
Gou locked eyes with her, then silently pulled her pants down, much to Ren’s panic. But instead of flashing Ren a sight too intimate for their indescribable relationship, she was wearing a pair of lounge shorts underneath, identical to the ones draped over the couch.
“What?” Gou said, half-heartedly tossing the pair of pants into a laundry hamper nearby. “Don’t be crass. Did you seriously think I’d just show you my underwear?”
Ren stammered an incoherent noise before answering, “Yes?”
Gou scoffed. “Foolish, and borderline crude. You really haven’t changed.”
Color rushed to Ren’s cheeks. “Anyone would think you were about to flash me!”
Despite herself, Gou sucked in a snort through her nostrils. “Still easy to mess with as ever.”
“Careful. I’m about to jab you, you know,” Ren grumbled, gesturing to her own gloved hands to show for it.
“And I can easily rescind that privilege,” Gou drawled back, unable to suppress the soft smile spreading across her lips.
Ignoring the fluttering in her chest, Ren pouted and prepared the injection. She plunged into the vial and was extra meticulous about getting the right amount of liquid, afraid to screw this up. By the time she had a filled syringe, freshly sterlized needle and all, both of them fell quiet save for their soft, nervous breaths.
Ren’s fingers trembled from the silence.
“Stop freaking out,” Gou said, taking hold of her wrist to steady her. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
“Not on another person,” Ren admitted.
“Ah.” Gou took a deep breath. “That’s reassuring.”
“You’re not helping,” Ren whined, her voice coming out in hushed whispers.
It was so like Akechi to make snide remarks like this, and it just made her recall the empty syringes scattered around the cold metal chair she was cuffed to. She began remembering, and remembering, and rememberi—
Gou brushed her fingers along the back of Ren’s palm, causing her mind to go blank again.
“Deep breaths,” Gou murmured. “Think of it like a Shadow. Aim carefully, shoot steady.”
And just like that, they were transported back to the 2010s, trying their best to ignore that they were chosen by incomprehensible deities to play as mere disposable pawns in their games. Before they knew of each other’s truth, they were simply high school students together, playing a shooter game at the arcade while trying to cement certain strategies to memory, unaware that they both shared the same discomfort with the masks they wore, the bodies they possessed.
Even then, she was fueled by the need to help Akechi, desperate to keep her even though the powers that be demanded otherwise…
Ren took a deep breath, setting the syringe aside to wipe down a patch of skin along Gou’s outer thigh. She picked the plastic barrel back up, aimed, and fired, plunging estrogen through the other’s soft skin—a silent resonance through held breaths and familiar muscle memory.
“See?” Gou said once Ren gently pressed a bandage over the puncture wound to stop any possible bleeding. “You were capable of the task after all.”
“Did you ever have trouble with it?”
“The first few times I tried to inject myself, I was so afraid I had to go to a clinic nearby for someone to do it for me.”
Ren sighed out. “Shit. Really?” she said. “I should have thought of that. It hurts when you do it wrong. Plus…” She trailed off, then decided not to finish her sentence.
Gou blinked slowly. “What happened to you?”
Ren stared back at her, perplexed. “What do you mean?”
“Every time I saw you, you were never alone,” Gou said. “Never mind your fellow Phantom Thieves—it seemed as though you’ve befriended people from all walks of life in Tokyo.” She frowned. “Why are you alone here? Companionship comes so easy to you, no?”
Ren hesitated. What should she say? That the reason bonds came so easy to her back then was because she looked like a capable young man who could accomplish everything and have? It was easy to fight against conformity when she was under the guise of being the gender she was born with, using it like a shield to feign absolute strength and hide away her growing lack of genuine identity. How could she explain that the woman she was now wasn’t someone that anyone needed?
“I haven’t been Joker in a long time,” she said instead, as vague as she could muster. “It doesn’t come easy to me anymore. Those bonds—”
“That’s unlike you,” Gou said, cocking her head. “Are you the type who believes that your coming out requires great sacrifice? Don’t be so antiquated.”
“And what about you? How did you end up like this?”
“I’d hope you’re not trying to come off as condescending,” Gou said, soft yet detached. Before she could let Ren apologize, she got up to make her way to the kitchen, taking two mugs out from the cabinets.
“I don’t know who they were exactly, nor do I understand why they did it,” Gou explained, pouring hot water from an auto dispenser into each mug, “but some shadow organization provided me with the means to start over. They made sure I properly transitioned, then helped me get into law school. So… here I am.”
“But… You… How did you finish high school…?”
Gou scoffed out loud, dumping packets of instant coffee and stirring vigorously. “Whoever this organization was, they had enough power to pull some strings. Though I admit, I had half a mind to reject everything they offered me. Mind you, I’d rather not be leashed to another so-called elite thinking they could throw money at any problem. But I couldn’t deny I’d be worse for wear if I had declined.”
She sipped at her coffee. The instant stuff is nowhere near as comforting as Ren’s past brews. Still, she picked up both mugs and brought them over, setting them down at the narrow table she had arranged in front of the futon. “So it was thanks to them, I suppose. I was granted a diploma based on the ‘special circumstances’ thanks to my public appearances. Awkward still, considering the name on my diploma doesn’t match.”
“Huh… The whole Detective Prince schtick paid off?”
Gou glanced over to her with a curious gaze. “None of this was offered to you?”
Ren let out a snort. “Are you serious? I wouldn’t be working night shifts at a bar if I had a degree.”
Gou’s eyes subtly widened. “You didn’t go to college? I was informed you were top of your class—”
“Not so much in my third year,” Ren muttered, looking away. “Besides, it’s not like any decent school would accept me anyway. Not with my criminal charges.”
Gou fell quiet. “But… you were released early. The charges got dropped.”
Ren paused and stared at her. “How do you know that?”
Gou froze and avoided eye contact, whipping her head away from her. “I-I did some snooping regarding the Antisocial Force. That’s all,” she lied. “I had found a report that the witness Shido blackmailed had admitted to perjury and rescinded her claims.”
“R…Right.” Ren visibly relaxed. “I forgot those records were public.”
“So? What’s the real reason?”
Ren shifted in her seat with a grimace. “I think you can guess why I didn’t want to go to college.”
Gou sighed out loud and rested her arm against the couch, pressing her palm into her own cheek. “Your fears are deeply unfounded,” she said. “What happened to the Joker who defeated two gods?”
“Three,” she corrected, the word coming out as a croak.
“Three?” Gou repeated, brows raised. “Then surely, you shouldn’t have felt afraid of something as trivial as coming out in an institution where no one knows you?”
“It’s not trivial!” Unknowingly, unwillingly, Ren had raised her voice, and she felt a sense of deja vu the second the sentence escaped her mouth. She clasped her hand over her mouth, evading Gou’s curious gaze.
Gou fell quiet, recognizing the pained look on her face. She scoffed, turning away. “What now? You don’t mean to tell me you’re still thinking about that night?”
Ren opened her mouth, then closed it, lowering her head in shame.
Gou folded her arms across her cross and leaned back in her seat, thinking for a while. “Whatever guilt you feel about me,” she said, “throw it out.”
“But—”
“You didn’t fail me,” Gou snapped. “I had failed myself. I know that now. I accepted it then. So you need to accept it now.”
Ren shut up.
“Besides, had it not for both our tragedies,” Gou went on, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, “I wouldn’t have been able to transition either.”
“What? Really?” To Ren, Gou seemed so set on her own path that she didn’t seem to care about what anyone else thought. Even though I wanted so badly to walk that path with her. “Why not?”
Gou barked out a laugh. “I doubt I wouldn’t have lived very long to consider a new life for myself… if I had succeeded with my so-called father.”
Ren thought about that for a while, piecing together the implications, her lips tightening in a thin line once she understood. “It’s good then,” she murmured, “that you’re still alive.”
“Good indeed.” Gou nodded in agreement, getting up to her feet and pulling her pants back on. “Come on.”
“What?”
“There’s a ramen place five blocks away,” Gou said, putting on a pair of sneakers. “It’s open twenty-four hours a day, and it’s primarily tonkotsu ramen. I’m taking you out even if it kills me.”
“Wait, what?” Ren wasn’t sure how to deal with the whiplash that was Gou bossing her around. “Why?”
“Because you clearly need a friend going through the same circumstances as you,” Gou answered, “so I will have to take it upon myself to fill that role.”
“I don’t need you as a friend,” Ren said, albeit a bit too harshly, clearly dishonest out of whatever pride she could muster.
Gou locked eyes with her. “I feel the same,” she equally lied, “but you ruined it by being so pathetic.”
Sitting at the counter in a greasy ramen joint, Ren split apart her disposable chopsticks and stared down into the bowl of oily pork bone ramen.
Half past five in the morning, and they were the only customers there. The chef on duty didn’t even blink at the sight of two girls asking for a bowl over the counter.
She glanced over to her seatmate. Already Gou was hunched over her bowl, slurping up a substantial amount of noodles. Akechi Goro would have never sat down in a place like this where he could risk looking sloppy.
Akechi Gou continued to slurp from her own bowl without any regard for potential curious gazes, sitting in that horrible posture while broth splattered across her chin with every bite.
“It’s going to get soggy if you keep staring at me like that,” Gou warned.
“O-Oh. Right.”
The ramen was good. Ren couldn’t recall much of their surprisingly mundane conversation that night. All she could think about was how that simple greasy bowl healed her, how Gou was the one this time to pick her up from the ground.
It made her persisting crush feel less silly. Maybe with enough time, she’d tell Gou the truth. She’d show her the juvenile yearning she still carried, that black leather glove worn out from years of running her thumbs along it.
For now, she slurped up her ramen just as noisily and earnestly as the girl beside her. By the time she set down her bowl, completely devoid of broth, she felt one of her thousand masks crack, and behind it revealed a twinkle of hope she thought was long diminished.