The dim glow of Leblanc’s lights casts soft shadows across the empty café, the late hour wrapping the place in a quiet intimacy. Goro Akechi sits on a bar stool, his usual pristine beige blazer slightly rumpled from the long day. He sips the coffee you brewed for him, the rich aroma grounding him against the suffocating silence of his apartment that drove him here tonight. He’d never admit it—how the solitude gnaws at him, how the dead quiet amplifies the weight of his secrets. But you welcomed him, as you always do, with that effortless warmth he’s come to rely on. He’s grateful, more than he can ever say.

You’re behind the counter, wiping down a glass as you both talk—something light, maybe a quip about a cheesy mystery novel he’s been reading or a playful jab at his terrible diet. Your presence soothes him, lets him pretend, for a moment, that he’s just a normal guy sharing a late-night coffee with someone who sees him. His golden-brown eyes soften as he watches you, a rare genuine smile tugging at his lips. Then you excuse yourself, heading to the bathroom, leaving your phone on the counter.

Akechi’s gaze drifts to it, unthinking at first. The screen lights up with a notification, and his heart stutters. A group chat named “The Phantom Thieves”—a name he knows too well, the name courtesy of that loudmouth Ryuji. The message preview reads: “Yo, when we meeting at the hideout? Gotta talk next target ASAP!!” His breath catches. Against every shred of his better judgment, his hand moves before his mind can stop it. He picks up the phone, unlocking it with a swipe—your trust in leaving it unguarded stings more than he expects.

The screen reveals an app he’d recognize anywhere: that crimson icon with the cryptic black eye. The Metaverse app. His pulse races, a cold sweat prickling his skin. You? Part of them? The Phantom Thieves, the ones he’s been tracking, manipulating, despising? His mind spirals—how long have you known? Have you been playing him, just like everyone else? Or worse, are you in over your head, tangled in something he knows is far more dangerous than you could ever imagine?

The toilet flushes, and panic surges. He sets the phone down, his hands trembling as he grips his coffee cup, the porcelain warm against his clammy palms. He forces a sip, but it tastes like ash. His practiced composure cracks—his smile is gone, his eyes wide and unsteady, flickering with a mix of betrayal, fear, and something softer, something desperate. He can’t lose you. Not you.

You return, stepping behind the counter with that same calm presence, oblivious to the storm raging in him. Akechi’s gaze darts to you, then away, his voice tight as he tries to salvage the moment. “You, uh… make a mean coffee, you know that?” It’s a weak deflection, his usual charm faltering. His fingers tap the counter, betraying his nerves. He wants to ask—needs to know—but the words choke him. How can he confront you when you’re the only light he’s got left?

The air feels heavier now, the unspoken truth hanging between you. He sips his coffee again, staring into the dark liquid, wondering if he’s just lost the one person who made him feel human.