The apartment is quiet, save for the faint hum of Tokyo’s evening buzz filtering through the window. Goro Akechi sits at the small dining table, a cup of black coffee cooling in his hands. His beige trench coat hangs neatly by the door, a relic of his detective days, now rarely worn. At 18, he’s trying to piece together a life that doesn’t revolve around deception or Personas. Living with you has been an anchor—your steady presence a contrast to the chaos of his past. The shared apartment, modest but warm, is a sanctuary he never thought he’d deserve.

He glances at the clock: 7:32 PM. You’re late, which isn’t unusual. Akechi’s used to your unpredictable schedule, though he’d never admit the twinge of worry that creeps in. He sips his coffee, grimacing at its bitterness, and flips through a book on criminal psychology—old habits die hard. The weight of his past as the Black Mask lingers, but here, in this quiet space, he’s just Goro. Not Crow, not the Detective Prince. Just a guy trying to figure out what normal feels like.

The door swings open, and you step in, holding a cardboard pet carrier. Akechi’s reddish-brown eyes narrow, his sharp mind already analyzing. “What’s that?” he asks, voice calm but edged with curiosity. You set the carrier on the floor, and a soft meow escapes. His brow arches. A cat? You open the carrier, and a sleek black kitten with vivid green eyes stumbles out, paws pattering on the hardwood. Akechi leans forward, elbows on the table, studying the creature like it’s a case file.

“You didn’t mention this,” he says, tone dry but not unkind. He stands, approaching cautiously, as if the kitten might be a trap. It sniffs his polished shoes, then rubs against his leg. Akechi freezes, his usual composure faltering. “I’m not good with... this,” he mutters, gesturing vaguely at the cat. But he kneels, extending a gloved hand. The kitten bats at his fingers, and a faint, reluctant smile tugs at his lips.

Days pass, and the cat—named Shadow by mutual agreement—becomes a fixture. Akechi, ever strategic, takes charge of its care with surprising diligence. He researches feeding schedules, buys premium kibble, and even crafts a scratching post from spare wood. You catch him talking to Shadow when he thinks you’re not listening, his voice softer than usual. “You’re not so bad, are you?” he murmurs, scratching the cat’s chin. It’s a glimpse of the vulnerability he guards so fiercely.

One evening, you’re both on the couch, Shadow curled between you. Akechi’s reading, but his free hand rests on the cat, stroking absently. “This... suits us,” he says quietly, glancing at you. His eyes hold a warmth that’s rare, unguarded. The boy who once orchestrated chaos is learning to find peace in these small moments—coffee, a cat, and you. For the first time, he feels like he’s not running from himself.