Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Regarding my own feelings, I'm certain that it's love."

Makoto very nearly spits out her coffee. "E-excuse me?" she stutters, staring at Yusuke, eyes wide with panic as her mind races for some sort of explanation. He looks serious, but then again, he always does, and— this was supposed to be about advice, wasn't it? That's why he asked to meet up at Leblanc, because he needed help for something, not because—

"I do believe I'm in love with Ryuji."

Oh thank goodness. She must be spending too much time with Eiko.

"These feelings, they're quite difficult to navigate," Yusuke continues, oblivious to Makoto's brief crisis. "The fact that it's Ryuji who elicits this attention... I'm uncertain how to proceed."

"Oh. Well." Makoto clears her throat, doing her best to sound level, to hit a non-threatening tone. Now this, this is something she can handle. "Thank you for trusting me. I know it can be a confusing time, but you have my full support. If you need resources, or some kind of guide, I have several books about sexuality that may be of some help—?"

"No, no, you misunderstand," Yusuke interrupts, cutting her off.

Hm. In that case... "Is it because it's Ryuji?” she asks, trying a different angle. “You two seem to get along well enough...? Or, are you worried about how this might impact your friendship?"

"I'm merely uncertain on how to proceed." Yusuke explains, shifting towards deep contemplation. "A love letter would be a traditional expression of romantic interest. It’s a straightforward process with many examples to draw from, both from fiction and from life. However, once delivered, the matter is quite literally out of my hands; there’s no way to ensure Ryuji reads the letter in an optimal setting.”

“That’s true,” Makoto hedges; suddenly faced with the unknown, all she can do is stick to the facts.

“A direct confession would not have the same limitations,” Yusuke continues. “Location, timing, atmosphere, each aspect of the confession could be more precisely addressed, though that necessitates having to address each of these aspects. Your advice, if you would.”

Makoto blinks. “What?”

“A letter offers stricter guidelines, but less control. A direct confession requires more consideration, but enables more versatility.” He stares at Makoto, expectant. “I’d like to know which method you find more romantically viable.”

Now this, this is something she absolutely cannot handle.

"You can't be serious," Makoto protests. "You have to realize, I'm not exactly experienced with— with romance!”

"You're our tactician,” he says, as if that’s anywhere near a reasonable justification for this ridiculous request.

"Fighting shadows has nothing to do with giving romantic advice!"

Yusuke takes a sip of his coffee, looking entirely too unconcerned. "Love is a battlefield."

“That’s not—!”

“You kids alright there?” Sojiro calls, from where he’s washing the dishes. If it wasn’t practically closing time, he’d probably be a lot less generous with the commotion they’re making.

“We’re fine,” Makoto assures. This is a good time to calm down. She heaves a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. Not that it does anything to stave off her oncoming headache.

“I don’t have any practical experience with love,” she tells Yusuke. “I don’t have any theoretical experience with love. I’m as clueless as you are.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Yusuke reaches over, giving Makoto a light pat on the shoulder. “Due to my background, I’m at least familiar with the history of some romantic symbolism. If you’re as clueless as you say, it appears as though I have the advantage.”

“Well,” Makoto starts, unable to curb her instinctive protest despite her self-proclaimed ignorance, “I have read some comics a friend lent to me—”

“An excellent starting point! Reading and discussing contemporary portrayals of romance will surely provide ample inspiration!” With the exuberance of someone who won’t take no for an answer, Yusuke steamrolls ahead, and really, Makoto brought this on herself. Give an inch to Yusuke and he’ll launch himself to the moon with relentless abandon.

Still, as much as Makoto’s already resigned herself to this endeavor, there’s still one thing she doesn’t understand. “Why me?” she asks. “Haru would be a much better person to ask.” Haru is, after all, hands-down the most romantic member of their collective group. Her fascination with love stories is no secret, and beyond that, her gentle nature— coupled with her grounded candor— makes her the perfect person to approach for advice.

Yusuke nods, obviously in agreement. “While Haru would certainly have valuable insights, I believe your perspective would be more accommodating to what I need.”

A little more cryptic than Makoto would’ve liked, but, it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that Yusuke’s counting on her, and she won’t let him down.

“Alright. Why don’t we start with Raven Wing?“ It’s what Eiko’s been recommending for a while, so might as well. “Since it’s popular, I’m pretty sure it’ll be in the library. We could meet back in a week, discuss the contents for an hour, then discuss the best way for you to confess your feelings to Ryuji.”

“That sounds reasonable. When would—“

The cafe doors burst inward as Futaba barrels through at full-speed, wheezing as she clutches at her sides. “Stop,” she manages, still gasping for breath, “Nuh— no way— don’t—"

“Woah there,” Sojiro says, abandoning the dishes to get a glass of water. “Where’s the fire?”

Futaba downs the glass without stopping for breath, slamming it on the counter.

“Is everything alright?” Makoto asks; she’s operating more on autopilot than anything, still reeling from Futaba’s sudden appearance.

“Yeah, I’m good, it’s good, I just—“ She reaches out, catching Makoto’s arm in a vise grip. “Don’t read Raven Wing."

“Don’t…? Futaba!” Makoto exclaims, indignant. “You shouldn't be eavesdropping!"

“Please,” she scoffs, “is it eavesdropping if you guys know I've got the place bugged?”

“It was a private conversation!”

"Well, you shouldn't have private conversations in public places," Futaba retorts. "I'd hear the same if I was in the next booth over! I bet Sojiro heard the whole thing!"

Makoto and Yusuke turn their attention to the man in question. It’s unclear whether he reads it as alarm or accusation, but in any case, he puts up his hands in an attempt to placate their scrutiny. “Don’t bring me into this.”

“Look.” Futaba crosses her arms, once again taking control of the conversation. “I don’t know who’s subjecting you to their garbage taste, but this so isn’t the right series to start with, and it definitely isn’t what Inari needs. What are you gonna do if he gets the wrong idea, huh? He’s impressionable!” In an attempt to illustrate her point, Futaba frames her hands around Yusuke’s face, a subversion of his signature pose. He endures with his usual dignity.

“I assure you,” he says, edging towards irritation, “I can judge the quality of a work without your assistance.”

“Whatever! I’m not going to let you guys suffer through the straightest genre without some supervision,” Futaba declares.

“So you… want to read it with us?” That’s probably where Futaba’s going, but it’s never safe to assume. When it comes to Futaba, it’s important to know exactly what she wants, and exactly what she’s going to do to make it happen.

As if to completely validate this line of questioning, Futaba shakes her head furiously, a look of disgust firmly affixed to her face. “No way! I’ve already read it once! Nothing on this planet could make me read it again. Look, just read something else.”

“I promised Eiko I’d give it a try, so I’d like to actually read it before dismissing it,” Makoto says. It’d be unfair to her, otherwise. “How about this: we read Raven Wing, then read a series you recommend. Does that sound good?”

“Ugh, fine,” Futaba concedes. “Just tell me when you’re discussing it or whatever. Also, tell this ‘Eiko’ they have bad taste.”

Chapter Text

“Raven Wing ain’t bad,” Eiko asserts. She’s lying on her bed, flipping through a magazine in an effort to find the perfect personality quiz to administer, even though she probably has a relatively informed perspective on what Makoto’s personality is like. At the very least, her perspective must be more informed than a quiz from a magazine.

Makoto sits in a nearby chair. Which is perhaps a little stiff, considering how casual a ‘girl’s night’ is supposed to be, but Makoto can’t help being hesitant— it’s not often she finds herself in someone else’s room. And while she’s been in someone else’s room, it usually involved hammering out the logistics of bringing down corrupt adults.

Eiko, on the other hand, is completely at ease with someone in her private space. “It’s like,” she continues absently, squinting at a particularly arresting page, “it’s what romance is supposed to be, yanno? Dramatic, tugs at your heartstrings, plus the guy’s super hot!”

The love interest looks, in Makoto’s opinion, about as appealing as any other depiction of a guy; if she’s honest, Eiko’s testimonial doesn’t fill her with much confidence.

“I think we might have different tastes,” Makoto says, aiming for a neutral tone. Eiko stares at her for a long moment before scrambling upright, struck by realization.

“That’s right! I totally forgot, you bat for the other team, yeah? Oh my god, is there a girl you got your eye on? Is that why you’ve been reading all this romance?”

“What? No! I mean, it’s very— I don’t think—“

“Miss Prez!” she squeals, bounding over to Makoto. “You hafta spill! It’s not a real sleepover until there’s gossip!”

Separating a ‘real’ sleepover from… what, a ‘fake’ sleepover? An ‘invalid’ sleepover? A ‘delegitimized’ sleepover? Well, whatever the sleepover has been up to this point, it doesn’t seem all that important if the main conceit remains ‘staying overnight at a friend’s house’. But, Eiko’s the expert here, so Makoto lets herself be ushered towards the bed and seated across from her friend. With as much solemn dignity as she can muster, she prepares herself for the most nerve-wracking impromptu interrogation she’s ever experienced.

“There’s nothing to spill,” Makoto says; a standard response from a suspect, but a good one to start with.

Eiko isn’t impressed. “C’mon, don’t gimme that! You totes have a crush! Why else would you finally pick up Raven Wing? There’s no use hiding it,” she proclaims. “Sure, you got book-smarts, but I’m the expert when it comes to love!”

“Not everything has to be motivated by romance,” Makoto deflects. “Besides, you thought I was dating Akira.”

“And I also said you guys had, like, no chemistry!” Eiko crosses her arms with a huff. “I actually know you now, too. Miss Prez the secret badass could’ve been dating him. Makoto Niijima, my bestie? No way.”

And, even though ‘having friends’ has become a pretty normalized part of Makoto’s life, it’s still a disproportionate rush of elation to hear such a straightforward affirmation of their relationship; Makoto can feel herself instantly folding. “It’s not really anything…”

“But it’s something?” Eiko pushes, bright-eyed at the prospect of progress. As Makoto deliberates on what to say, Eiko leans back a little, resting her weight on the palm of her hands. “Look, you don’t actually gotta tell me, but I swear I won’t tell anyone. And even if don’t think it’s anything, it doesn’t hafta be something big to be something worth talking about, so if you do wanna talk this out, I’m all ears.”

The offer is tempting, as Makoto hasn’t really been able to talk anything related to ‘this’ out. Discussing it with Sae feels like something she should do, but they’re still rebuilding their relationship, and Makoto’s not really inclined to do anything that would significantly impact that development; while Sae would no doubt try to be supportive, the effort necessary to introduce a variable as stressful as ‘sexuality’ or ‘potential feelings of romantic inclination’ is… intimidating.

Ann would probably make better sense of this since she has more context, but Makoto would rather not involve her in this particular. Exploration. Putting Ann in the position of keeping secrets seems unfair to her, and beyond that, she’s not… the best actress.

Futaba and Yusuke are already somewhat involved, but their involvement should focus more on Yusuke’s situation than Makoto’s.

Akira has enough on his plate with adjusting to a new school, which Morgana’s helping him out with.

Ryuji… might not have the appropriate amount of discretion.

And as for Haru, well. She’s not exactly an option.

Really, Eiko being in the periphery makes her the best person to consult.

“It’s not a crush,” Makoto asserts. “It’s interest. Objective interest.”

“Is it someone I know? You hang out with Takamaki lots, right? But like, I heard she’s got a girlfriend, so—“

“No, not Ann.” Better to cut off that line of thought before Eiko spirals off into some soap opera scenario. “It’s just… it’s complicated,” Makoto says. “We’ve been through a lot, but we skipped over… I don’t know, a normal relationship? We’re good friends, but we’re practically strangers; it feels like I know too much about her without necessarily knowing what I should. Since I’ve seen her at a vulnerable moment in her life, I may be mistaking protective instinct as romantic interest.”

“Huh,” Eiko says.

“Another explanation is that because she’s— objectively— an impressive person, the admiration I have for her means I want her to see me at my best. And if that’s the case, it’s possible I’m misconstruing these emotions as romantic when I just want her to have a high opinion of me. And even if that’s not the case, how do I know this isn’t a shallow infatuation? What if I’m only attracted to the idea of a person rather than the person herself?”

“Miss Prez,” Eiko starts, placing a solemn hand on Makoto’s shoulder, “you really gotta calm down.”

“But it’s important!” Makoto protests. “This— this interest could be completely meaningless!”

“Who cares?” Eiko retorts, blunt as ever. “Everything’s gotta start somewhere. If you like her because she’s cute or whatever, you still like, like her.”

“It’s not just that!”

“M’kay, then I guess it’s not shallow, right?”

“Well, I mean…” Makoto groans, burying her burning face in her hands. “Are you even listening to me?”

Eiko lets out a sigh. The bed shifts as she scooches over, moving to sit right next to Makoto.

“So like, by now we both know that relationships can be… ugh. Super bad,” Eiko says, a self-deprecating edge to her tone. “But look— if you’re already friends, you know she’s not a piece of shit. That’s a good place to start. Like, you don’t have to be ready to plan out a wedding. It’s just a crush! Either it’ll go somewhere or it won’t, but you don’t gotta shoot it down ‘cause you don’t have the next twenty years planned out.” Eiko bumps her shoulder against Makoto’s, a reassuring grin on her face. “Don’t overthink it, yeah?”

It’s good advice, but easier said than done. Still, it does feel nice to actually voice her concerns to a peer.

“Anyway,” Eiko continues, “y’know what you need to do?”

“What?”

“Study up! That’s what you do best, isn’t it?” Eiko elbows Makoto playfully, almost knocking her off-balance. “Just read Raven Wing, m’kay? You can’t judge it ‘til you do. Consider it your crash course in love!”

When Yusuke arrives at Leblanc that dreary Saturday afternoon, he heads straight for the booth Makoto and Futaba are seated at, settling in with a somber gravity. He steeples his hands in an acute display of overt despair.

“That was terrible,” he says.

“It was… much more physical than I was expecting,” Makoto responds, making some attempt at diplomacy.

Futaba scoffs. “It’s garbage,” she declares. “Trashy garbage for straight people. You did this to yourself.”

“Eighteen volumes,” Yusuke continues, staring off into some inscrutable distance. “Eighteen volumes of egregiously atrocious anatomy. Eighteen volumes of trite dialogue. Eighteen volumes of unconscionably contrived developments. I could have spent my time on any number of other activities.”

“I couldn’t stop reading,” Makoto says, echoing his distant grief for lost time. “I know my interests don’t always align with Eiko’s, but this was…” She stalls, trying to find a suitable descriptor. “An experience,” is what she eventually decides on.

“Are you guys ready to listen to someone with actual taste now?”

“Hold on.” Makoto heaves a sigh, steeling herself. “We should discuss this.”

“What!? Why!” Futaba looks at Makoto, affront plain across her face. “It’s garbage, end of story, let’s move onto something that’s, I dunno, actually good?”

“The whole point of reading Raven Wing was to help Yusuke. We can still be productive by using this experience to contribute to that goal.”

“Ugh. Fine. Fine!” Futaba crosses her arms in a huff; it’s clear that what’s ‘fine’ is precariously balanced, ready to fall into ‘not fine’ territory at a second’s notice. “Let’s get the book club part of this thing over with. I’ll start: it sucked!”

“We should try to be constructive with our criticism,” Makoto says, a light reproach. “I thought it was… uncomfortable how scenes where the main character was threatened were scenes we were supposed to find romantic.”

“Oh yeah, that definitely sucked.” Seeing Makoto’s pointed stare, Futaba rolls her eyes. “The relationship is totally fake. Every time what’s-her-name—“

“Hanako Mira,” Yusuke supplies with distaste and resignation.

“—nope, don’t know it, already forgot, every time what’s-her-name swoons, it’s because her gross not-boyfriend-fiance-guy was trying not to kill her. Or someone else was. She’s not in love, she’s just an adrenaline junkie with bad taste. Which could’ve been interesting, if the writer actually realized it instead of buying into her own garbage.”

“That’s a good observation, Futaba,” Makoto points out, nodding in approval. “Considering that, it’s interesting how we’re supposed to extrapolate the feelings of the main character. How do you separate a crush from a series of physiological coincidences?”

“For one,” Futaba says, every word dragging with reluctance. “You like someone without needing a gun to your head.”

“It’s quite fascinating,” Yusuke says, perking up as the topic strays further from the actual series they’re supposedly discussing. “Love, as explained from a biological perspective, is a series of neurochemical reactions. Neurotransmitters such as dopamine, hormones such as norepinephrine and phenylethylamine— among others— contribute to the euphoria that is associated with love. It’s said that in the early stages of infatuation, functional magnetic resonance imaging—“

“That’s... an fMRI, right?” Makoto asks, drawing on her limited knowledge of techniques for measuring brain activity.

“You kids want some coffee?” Sojiro asks, stopping by with a tray of cups.

“Yes,” Yusuke confirms, a brief respite from his onslaught of information. “An fMRI shows increased blood flow in areas of the brain with high concentrations of dopamine receptors; areas associated with the aforementioned euphoria, as well as craving and addiction. High levels of dopamine are associated with norepinephrine, which heightens attention, short-term memory, hyperactivity, sleeplessness, and goal-oriented behavior.”

Silently, Sojiro places a cup of coffee in front of each of them, then backs away.

“Adrenaline also appears to play a role, which is why ‘the suspension bridge effect’ can be an effective method in bringing people closer together. Though, of course, adrenaline can occur independently of attraction. The right conditions of a fear response can evidently mimic the symptoms of a crush.”

“Y’know,” Futaba drawls, “I thought you’d be way more artsy about this.”

“I’m merely sharing what my own research has informed me of.” Yusuke punctuates his statement with a sip of coffee. “While this provides a physical explanation— and an incomplete one at that, considering my unfamiliarity with neuroscience, as well as the relative ignorance of humanity as a whole on the subject— it’s simply a part of the process. Neurochemistry does not dictate the nuance of emotional intimacy, after all.”

“But, in that case, how do you determine what affects what?” Makoto points out. “A dangerous situation can intensify attraction, but attraction can also— evidently— originate from a dangerous situation.”

“Hm. A familiar dilemma to be sure.” Yusuke tilts his head, thoughtful. “Which came first, the chicken or the egg?”

“Why does it matter?” Futaba, running low on patience, slouches until she slides halfway under the table. “There’s a chicken, end of story, can we move on now?”

“Well,” Makoto hedges, “don’t you think it makes a difference? Also, you should really sit up straight.”

“Hah. Good one.” Still slouching, Futaba downs her coffee, which can’t be healthy. “People get dumb crushes all the time, even when they’re not about to die.”

It’s a fair point (not the refusing-to-sit-up-straight part, the crush part), but it doesn’t exactly address Makoto’s question. “Don’t you think that a crush with a basis in an adrenaline rush can’t really be considered a crush?”

“I mean.” Against all odds, Futaba actually does sit upright, leaning her elbows on the table as she squints at Makoto with sincere consideration. “Just because adrenaline helps stuff along doesn’t mean it does all the work. Like, say you’re in a haunted house with a dude— you’re not gonna think you’ve fallen for him just because your heart’s about to explode, right?”

It’s a difficult scenario to imagine. If she’s with a guy, he would most likely be a close friend, and every close guy-friend she has is a member of the Phantom Thieves. This leaves Akira, Ryuji, Yusuke, and Morgana. However, Morgana would have to be disqualified on the grounds of being a cat, and being— in theory— significantly younger than her; while Morgana’s age is unknown, his behavior and personality gives Makoto the impression of a middle school student rather than a high school student. Even if this wasn’t the case, such an impression would not be easy to change.

Considering Akira, Ryuji, or Yusuke, as romantic prospects— without the condition of the haunted house— her instinctive response is: no.

The dangers of the metaverse have provided ample opportunities to experience feelings of anxiety and panic that are similar to what Makoto would experience in a haunted house; such feelings, thus far, have not manifested in any way that have been misconstrued as attraction, so her response is: still no.

And, while she hasn’t felt panicked in isolation with Akira, Ryuji, or Yusuke, which is a qualifier that prevents her from pinpointing an exact analogue to this hypothetical scenario, the fact remains: she is a lesbian.

“I guess not,” Makoto concedes.

“Right,” Futaba repeats, nodding to herself. “So like, crushes with or without an adrenaline rush can be meaningless, and crushes with or without an adrenaline rush can actually be a thing, because you’re not gonna be attracted to someone you’d never be attracted to.”

“Quite insightful,” Yusuke remarks. “I didn’t realize you’d be so versed in this matter.”

“Even though that’s a super fair judgement call, I’m taking that as an insult. Anyway!” Futaba claps her hands together, indicating the end of that line of discussion. “That’s all the book club we need, right?”

“Well, I can’t think of anything else—”

“Great!” Futaba says, cutting Makoto off before she can think of anything else. “Finally! What’s the takeaway here, huh? Should we push Ryuji off a cliff while Inari confesses his undying love? Maybe get a suspension bridge? Set up a jumpscare?”

“I would appreciate it if you took this seriously,” Yusuke says, slightly irate. “Besides, atmosphere can be achieved without resorting to something as cheap as engineering a startle response.”

Futaba scoffs, treating the situation with her usual flippancy. “Look, I’m just trying to get things moving—”

“I think the takeaway is that we need to read something that provides a better point of reference,” Makoto interrupts, before any full-blown bickering can derail the conversation.

Futaba’s face falls. “What! You said we were going to be productive! Let’s be productive!”

“It was productive,” Makoto asserts. “We’ve eliminated using the suspension bridge effect, haven’t we? And by discussing an aspect of romantic attraction, we’ve solidified our personal conception of it. We’re also separating what we consider romantic from what is portrayed as romantic in popular media.”

“Popular!?” Futaba squawks, reeling with tangible offense. “Says who!”

Makoto gives her a consoling pat on the shoulder. “Raven Wing was a bestseller.”

“That doesn’t mean you should call it popular!”

“It received several awards for excellence,” Yusuke relays, the pain of acknowledging these accolades clear on his face.

“Stop! I’m not listening!” Futaba covers her ears, refusing to listen. “Raven Wing sucks! It’s awful! It’s the worst! It’s—”

“Futaba,” Sojiro interrupts, and— that’s right. It’s normal business hours. Which means there are other customers, who are now all staring at them.

Futaba squeaks, shrinking into herself. Wordlessly, Sojiro offers his hat, which she takes; she pulls it over her head so it covers as much of her face as it can. As he strikes up smalltalk with a regular, Makoto and Yusuke each offer a hand for Futaba to hold. She grabs both, only starting to relax when Leblanc begins leveling out to its usual amount of background chatter.

“Sorry,” Makoto says, when Sojiro makes his way back over to them. “I didn’t realize we’d all get so worked up over this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sojiro says, waving off the apology. “I’m glad you all are having fun. But, if you’re going to get this… passionate,” is the word he decides on, “why don’t you kids meet up in the attic?”

“It’s fine,” Futaba says, somewhat muffled by the hat. “Sorry Sojiro, won’t happen again.”

“Like I said, don’t worry about it.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking a little uncertain. “It’s not… well, you shouldn’t be yelling in the cafe, but you don’t have to be sorry about…”

“We could meet up at my place,” Makoto offers. “I’m sure sis wouldn’t mind.”

“No, seriously, it’s good.” Futaba heaves out a sigh, letting go of Yusuke’s hand to push up the brim of the hat. It balances awkwardly, much too big to really fit; the only thing that stops it from sliding back down is the frame of Futaba’s glasses. “Look, see? Good. Anyway. Phew! I’m going home! Same time next week, right?”

“That sounds good,” Makoto agrees; she’s still holding Futaba’s hand, so it looks like they’re walking together.

“I’m amenable,” Yusuke says, gathering up his stuff. He offers his hand again, which Futaba takes. “You wanted to recommend the next series, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll send ‘em over to you.”

“...You’ll send us the title, right?” Makoto stares at Futaba. “So we can either buy it from a bookstore, or borrow it from a library. Right?”

“...Right,” Futaba says, eventually.

Chapter Text

“Oh, Mako-chan,” Haru greets as she steps onto the roof of Shujin, a disarming smile on her face. Her hair is elegantly, but modestly coiffed; hints of light dapple through the brim of her sunhat, freckling her face, and Makoto’s heart thuds unfairly in her chest. “You’re here early.”

Haru is as picturesque as always, even in a tracksuit. It’s how she carries herself, probably— with grace and poise that betray her status, along with a serenity that implicates a compassionate nature, one carefully cultivated in spite of the brutal world she grew up in. What strength it must have taken to remain gentle in such a punishing environment. She finds ways to exist for herself, even as she’s subjected to endless and restrictive expectations. In all honesty, who wouldn’t be a little drawn to her?

“I thought I’d get started harvesting the carrots. It’s the only thing I know I won’t mess up,” Makoto admits, laughing to offset any hint of sincere self-deprecation. She figured it’d be a pleasant surprise, as long as she didn’t do all the work— Haru isn’t type of person who would be comfortable accepting assistance that amounts to having the job done for her. So, hopefully pulling up a few carrots is a gesture that’s thoughtful enough to be worth appreciating, but tactful enough to be appreciated.

(Also, the last time Makoto tried to help harvest carrots, she 1) only grabbed the foliage, and 2) didn’t loosen the soil. This resulted in Makoto whacking herself in the face with a fistful of leaves. Of course, Haru saw the whole thing.

Makoto doesn’t like dwelling on it.)

“How thoughtful!” Haru says, which is exactly what Makoto was hoping she’d say. “You really didn’t have to, though— I wouldn’t want you to think you were obligated. It’d be fine if you were only here to keep me company.”

And knowing Haru, it would be. But the thing is: there’s the fact that Makoto thinks it’d be nice if Haru would let herself to ask for more, to expect kindness without feeling the need to offer some escape route or compensation.

Of course, there’s also the fact that a lot of Makoto’s overanalysis regarding Haru is grounded in speculation. And it’s a little presumptuous— maybe even arrogant— to act as if Makoto, of all people, could actually understand Haru, but Makoto wants to at least make the effort, because it seems like something Haru isn’t used to.

Maybe Makoto’s completely off-base; after all, she’s not the best at discerning the line between polite deferral and an earnest rejection, a line that seems to thin to a gossamer thread for people accustomed to the culture of high society. There’s not much she can do on that front until they both open up a little more. But until then, she can at least try to be kind. Help set a precedent, hopefully.

“Don’t worry about it,” Makoto says, tucking a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. “I like gardening with you.”

“Mako-chan…” Haru considers her for a moment with nerve-wracking scrutiny. “You have dirt on your face.”

Oh.

Haru lets out a giggle, which— well, it’s nice, even if it’s at Makoto’s expense. Her face burns with embarrassment. Then, in a casual motion completely devoid of any deeper meaning, Haru reaches over and swipes a thumb across Makoto’s cheek. “There we go,” she says, satisfied, hopefully unaware that Makoto is two seconds away from a heart attack.

“Thanks,” Makoto manages, still blushing. It can still be attributed to embarrassment, probably, and not anything actually incriminating.

“Let me put on my gloves, and we can finish up this plot.”

They make quick work of the remaining harvest, and soon enough they’ve cut the carrot tops and rinsed off the remaining dirt. As the carrots are left out to dry, Makoto and Haru engage in light conversation. And even though it basically amounts to smalltalk, it’s nice. The topic drifts aimlessly from the weather, to mutual friends, to the quality of the carrots, and then, to the books Makoto’s been carrying around.

“I’m a little surprised you’ve picked up the series,” Haru says. She takes out a thermos, pours two cups of tea, and offers one to Makoto. “It’s a good choice, though— Catch Your Heart is a classic, which makes it interesting to compare to contemporary works.”

Makoto’s first instinct is to talk about the small book club she’s somehow become a part of, but she bites it back. The situation involves Yusuke’s personal business, after all— it’s not really her place to invite others without his consent.

Also, having to listen as Haru talks about romance… it sounds like a situation that could be. Dangerous.

“It’s a fun read, but I’m having trouble really connecting with how dramatic it can get,” Makoto admits, gratefully accepting the cup. “It’s very intense. I can’t imagine feeling so much all the time.”

“It’s nice to imagine though, isn’t it?” Haru asks. “A love so intense that just seeing the other person makes your chest tighten up?” There’s a wistful look on her face as she gazes at the blue skies above them. In this moment, her eyes— a deep, arresting brown— seem to have some sort of gravity; Makoto can’t help but feel her own gaze drawn to them.

Yep. Dangerous.

“But in all honesty,” Haru continues, “I feel like our lives have been much more dramatic, even without taking the metaverse into account. Haven’t you been kidnapped by the yakuza?”

Makoto chokes on her tea. “Who told you that!?”

“Ryuji did.”

Ryuji has a lot to answer for.

“‘Kidnapped by the yakuza’...” Makoto closes her eyes, a vain attempt to stave off the mortification. “That makes it sound so dramatic.”

“Is there any phrasing that wouldn’t be?” Haru points out. “Invited by the yakuza? Being a guest of the yakuza? They all sound like euphemisms for a hostage situation.”

“I was just trying to put a stop to all that blackmailing,” Makoto explains. She takes a sip of tea, which is near-scalding, but something she can endure. “I may have been a little rash, and I may have bitten off more than I could chew. It’s a good thing I had people looking out for me.”

“I’m glad,” Haru says with complete sincerity. “But I suppose it’s as they say— life really is stranger than fiction.” Haru tilts her head, considering Makoto carefully. “It sounds like your life would make a pretty good story, wouldn’t it? It’s certainly dramatic enough.”

“I don’t know about that,” Makoto says, letting out a huff of laughter. “I think people would rather hear about your life than mine.”

“My life?” she asks, clearly startled by the assertion. “I’m pretty unremarkable. Even my dream is boring.”

“But it’s one you’re working on wholeheartedly,” Makoto says. “I think that’s very admirable. Speaking of which, how are the coffee beans growing?”

“Very good, actually. I can’t believe it’s going so well,” Haru admits. “The other day, Sojiro said we might be able to start selling the beans I’ve grown. He even offered to buy them!”

“Congratulations,” Makoto says, duly impressed. “He must be really confident in the quality.”

“I don’t need the money, but there’s a certain satisfaction in the fact that he considers it worth spending money on.” A pleased blush dusts Haru’s face. “If it was anyone else, I’d be a little suspicious. But since it’s Sojiro…”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Makoto puts a hand on Haru’s shoulder. It’s a hand that’s not gloved and not covered in dirt. Makoto definitely made sure of that before following through with the gesture. “You’ve been working hard with mixing your own fertilizer and adjusting the soil ratios. It’s very impressive.” And, actually, there’s been a question Makoto’s been meaning to ask for some time now. “How did you get into gardening?”

“It’s another unremarkable story, I’m afraid.” Haru drinks her tea. She’s pensive, maybe. “I only started taking care of these planters because a teacher asked me to. I was hesitant at first, but I liked it so much I kept them long past the original request. I didn’t expect it to transform into a practical skill, but I’m glad it did.”

“What drew you to it?”

Haru stares at Makoto for a long moment, which is when Makoto realizes she still has her hand on Haru’s shoulder. Should she let go? It’s been long enough that it feels awkward to move and awkward to stay, but the longer she does nothing—

“Maybe it was about control.”

“Control?” Makoto repeats.

“To grow a garden, all you need is research, work, and patience. If there’s a problem, you can solve it. If something isn’t working, you can change it. Of course, there will be things out of your control, but it’s a very straightforward process.” Haru shakes her head, a rueful edge to her smile. “I’m sorry, that sounds rather callous for such an idyllic hobby, doesn’t it?”

The more Makoto learns about Haru, the more contradictions she finds. Demure, yet dauntless. Benign, yet brutal. Naive, yet nuanced. It’s a reminder that despite what they’ve gone through together, Makoto doesn't really know Haru at all.

She wants to, though.

“I think I understand,” Makoto says. “There are variables, and there are results. I guess… gardening makes it easy to adjust the variables to get the right result. As long as you’re not trying to plant a tomato in winter.”

“Even then, you can plant tomatoes in a greenhouse,” Haru points out. The somber atmosphere seems to lift as she gets up, stretching out her arms. “It’s a comforting hobby, but I do miss having a more cathartic outlet for stress.”

Which makes sense, considering how… enthusiastic Noir had been about dispatching shadows.

“We could work out together!” Makoto blurts out, before she realizes just what she’s saying. Silently, she despairs. “I’ve been going to the gym with Ryuji— he knows quite a few in the area. You could join us?”

“Could I?” Haru asks, “I’d hate to impose—”

“You wouldn’t! We’d love to have you. Besides, if you haven’t gone to a gym before, it’s better to have someone familiar with different types of workouts.” These are all good points, but Makoto would really like it if there existed any filter between her brain and her mouth right now. “Ann’s been talking about how she needs motivation to work out— maybe she’d feel better with someone else who’s new to it?”

“That… sounds fun,” Haru says. There’s a tentative air to the admission, as if… maybe she’s still cautious about her place in the group? That won’t do at all. “I can cook us all some curry for afterwards,” she offers. “I’ve been learning from Sojiro.”

“I’m sure everyone would appreciate it,” Makoto says. Sure, she’s condemned herself to working out in near proximity to her not-crush, but. It’s fine. It’ll be a good experience for everyone.

When Futaba walks into Leblanc, she takes a second to look around at the modest amount of customers, and heaves a sigh. She trudges over to where Makoto and Yusuke sit. “Sorry,” she says, “can we actually go to the attic? This is a little…”

“Of course,” Makoto assures. They head up the stairs, waving at Sojiro as they pass him by.

Settling into Akira’s old room is a little bittersweet. It’s a comforting and familiar environment, especially since— for the most part— it remains unchanged since his departure. It’s a reminder that he’s gone, but also a reminder that he has a place to return to.

As they settle on the couch, Yusuke takes out a bag of snacks. He offers some to Futaba, who takes a handful, heedless of the flavor-dust she is absolutely covering herself in. Yusuke tilts the bag towards Makoto, but she waves a refusal; the texture of that particular brand is a little too unpleasant.

“I don’t have a lot to say this week,” Makoto starts. “I thought that the romance was believable, even if the story wasn’t.”

Yusuke nods. “A fair assessment. I quite enjoyed Catch Your Heart; the wide range of emotion made for an interesting contrast. Moments of sincere reflection held a certain unexpected poignancy.”

“Yup! It’s good.” Futaba leans back into the couch, looking incredibly smug. “But, if we don’t need that much book club, can we like, move on?”

“This series certainly brings up the more practical considerations of writing a love letter,” Yusuke says, getting right into it. “Is it better to leave it unsigned, using anonymity to cultivate a more romantic atmosphere? Then again, it's also possible that anonymity may lead to a number of unfortunate misunderstandings. The line between a romantic amount of subtext and a confounding amount of subtext is quite difficult to parse.”

“Much of the series revolves around miscommunication, which results from relying too much on subtext,” Makoto points out. “Even if it was a method that was successful for Tomoko, I feel like it would be better to be more upfront.”

“But don’t you think it lends itself to an element of excitement? The anticipation—“

“I thought you weren’t into using jumpscares, Inari.”

“What are you talking about?” Yusuke asks, slightly put off by the interruption.

“If you’re gonna be using ‘anticipation’,” Futaba says, framing the word with air-quotes, “isn’t that basically engineering a startle response? It’s like playing a horror-slash-dating-sim amalgamate. Silent Scream meets Heartbeat Deluxe.”

“I don’t understand that reference.” Yusuke crosses his arms, looking somewhat irritated. “Beyond that, building a romantic atmosphere through anticipation is an intricate process, one that doesn’t rely on fear or anxiety.”

“I’m just saying,” she argues, “in true Inari fashion, you’re making it way more complicated than it needs to be.”

“I agree with Futaba,” Makoto says, throwing in her own two cents. “Anonymity would only serve to draw out the process. If you sign the letter with your name, Ryuji has time to consider his response. If you leave the letter unsigned, Ryuji would have to consider his response after finding out the identity of his secret admirer. Not to mention, having a secret admirer allows him to build up unrealistic expectations.”

“And like, let’s face it, Ryuji’s totally gonna let his imagination run wild, but also—” Futaba grabs Makoto’s copy of Catch Your Heart’s seventh volume, flipping through until she gets to somewhere around the middle. She shoves the open book in Yusuke’s face. “Remember when Ritsuko got Mamoru’s letter? Remember when she thought it was a prank? Remember how it took ten chapters to resolve that subplot?”

“You have a point,” Yusuke admits with reluctance, pushing the book out of his face. “It’s a shame; as dramatic as it is, having a secret admirer seems like the type of scenario Ryuji would appreciate.”

“Oh?” Makoto asks. That’s not something she’s really thought about. “Why is that?”

“He’s a romantic.”

Futaba stares at Yusuke. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all.”

“Then, are you sure your crush isn’t messing with your head or something? I mean, Ryuji? Romantic?” Futaba throws her arms outwards, very nearly whacking both Yusuke and Makoto in the face.

“I understand your skepticism,” Yusuke says, “but consider: why is Ryuji so fixated on wanting a significant other?”

“Isn’t it because he wants girls to call him Sakamoto♥Senpai?”

“How did you—!?” Yusuke narrows his eyes into a glare. “That was a private conversation. Debug Leblanc.”

“Woah, way to jump to conclusions! Who says I was listening in, maybe he just told me—“

“Did he?” Yusuke asks, in what’s barely a question.

Futaba shifts under his stare. “Well, no, but—“

“Debug Leblanc.”

“It’s not that big a deal—“

“It really is,” Makoto interrupts. “Debug Leblanc.”

“I just like knowing what’s going on in the cafe! Like, what if someone comes in and ransacks the place! Or what if my garbage uncle comes back!” Futaba gestures with furiously frantic energy. “It’s a security measure!”

Makoto lets out a sigh. These are legitimate concerns, especially considering the fact that both of them are grounded in experience. “Why don’t we think of alternate security measures? Ones that don’t violate anyone’s privacy.”

“Ugh, fine,” Futaba concedes. “Later, though— it’s still Inari time, and I wanna hear why Ryuji’s secretly a romantic.”

“I don’t think it’s a secret,” Yusuke clarifies. “After all, it was a trait I was able to observe.”

“Yeah, but why? How?”

“Ryuji is someone who wants to love, and be loved,” Yusuke explains. “Can you imagine how he’d act if he had a significant other?”

“He’d never shut up about it,” Futaba says. “He’s like, totally the type of guy who’d always be showing off if he had a girlfriend. He’d never shut up about how cute she is, or how great she is, or how much he loves her— or, uh? Boyfriend? If he had a boyfriend? Or neither?” Futaba winces. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be, it illustrates my point,” Yusuke says. “While it’s obvious that Ryuji enjoys positive attention, especially the idea of being desired, it’s easy to discern that his interest stems from giving affection just as much as it stems from receiving it— something that is facilitated by romantic scenarios. Because of that, he’s most likely drawn to scenarios that are traditionally considered romantic, which may also be why he’s very upfront about what draws his interest.”

“You mean girls?” Futaba asks.

Yusuke lets out a huff of laughter. It’s not exactly a happy sound. “Perhaps I’m inventing reasons why I may have a chance at a romantic relationship with him,” he admits. “But, whether or not I’m rejected, I’d like it to be something he can consider a positive experience. I’ll be satisfied as long as he can realize that he’s loved.”

It’s quite a sentiment; just hearing it is enough to get Makoto feeling flustered with second-hand embarrassment.

“If you’re going to be as romantic as you were right then, I’m sure he will,” Makoto assures.

“Seriously,” Futaba agrees, “you’re so sweet on him I think I got cavities. Does that mean you’re ready to write your super romantic love letter?”

“Wait a moment.” Yusuke folds his hands, looking serious. “Since we’ve read a series driven by confessions through love letters, I believe we should read a series that focuses on direct confessions.”

“What? No, come on Inari, write your letter!”

“Yusuke has a good point,” Makoto says. “It’d be valuable to get a broad perspective on what’s considered romantic.”

“You know what’s not romantic? Doing nothing. But, fine! Whatever.” Futaba rolls her eyes. “I think I have something for you guys. Same time next week?”

“Next Saturday I’ll be going to Inokashira with Ryuji after school,” Yusuke says. “Would the evening work for everyone instead?”

“Yeah, sure.” Futaba shrugs. “Not like I got anywhere to be.”

“Why don’t we meet at six?” Makoto suggests. “We can have dinner at Leblanc.”

“Oh, wonderful.” Yusuke nods, appreciative. “Dinner plans are always welcome. At the very least, I won’t have to think about what to do for the rest of the weekend.”

“Um… what about Sunday?” Makoto asks.

Yusuke stares. “Sunday? What about it?”

Hm.

Privately, Makoto makes a note to check up on Yusuke more on the weekends.

Chapter Text

“I’m looking forward to gaining a little muscle,” Haru says, surveying the various exercise equipment in the gym with an air of interest. “Gardening has its fair share of work, but I’m sure having a more organized regimen will do wonders.”

“Hell yeah!” Ryuji grins, giving Haru an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “The second you get buff, nobody’s gonna want to mess with you.”

“I’ll leave them trembling with fear!”

Haru’s enthusiasm is... well, cute.  It’s objectively cute, which is somewhat surprising since it’s the same enthusiasm she has when dispatching shadows, anticipation backed by a relentless determination. But in a cute way. It doesn’t help that she’s donned an elastic headband in preparation for physical exertion, which, in addition to being a very practical way of keeping her hair out of the way, adds a somewhat rustic type of charm. It’s an unfamiliar look for Haru, but it suits her.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Ann says, which snaps Makoto out of her thoughts. “These two are way too good at being healthy. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with them running circles around me. Literally.” She punctuates the last word with a glare at Ryuji.

“I didn’t realize you felt that way,” Makoto admits, elbowing Ryuji when he directs a cheeky peace sign towards Ann. It’s such a simple thing to fix, too, something Makoto could’ve easily taken the initiative to amend, had she noticed. “Maybe we could invite the others as well? It could be something like a team bonding activity!”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean— it’s really not a big deal!” Ann lets out a laugh, looking a little sheepish. “Besides, we’re kind of past the point where we’d need ‘team bonding activities.’ And can you imagine getting Futaba to come?”

That... certainly would be a challenge.

Haru hums a contemplative note. “Maybe when Akira comes back, he can help encourage her to join us,” she says. “He’s also mentioned that Morgana’s a very persistent source of motivation...”

It’s a sound strategy. When it comes to Futaba, they’ll need all the reinforcements they can get for her to even consider the possibility of exercise in a casual, not life-threatening situation. Makoto files the thought away for later; she’ll bring it up next time she talks to Akira.

“At the very least,” Makoto continues, building on Haru’s momentum, “we could invite Yusuke—“

“No effin’ way.”

The interruption is unexpected enough that Makoto skips over her first instinct— what would’ve been another elbow accompanied by a look— and just stares at Ryuji. It’s strange; he’s usually the first to invite Yusuke to any group activity. They couldn’t have had a fight, as Yusuke would have brought up such a complication. Unless, of course, Yusuke didn’t notice. Which is entirely possible.

“Why not?” Makoto asks.

“Yeah, Ryuji, why not?” Ann echoes, except, with a different tone.

“Well—!“ Ryuji clears his throat, looking off to the side with an odd expression. “He’s already pretty strong, right? I dunno what he’s doing to keep in shape, but he obviously doesn’t need our help. It’s so unfair! Does he even lift anything heavier than a paint brush?”

“I don’t see why that would be an issue,” Makoto says.

“Plus, he’d need something to exercise in! Have you seen his closet? It’s all like, art gallery stuff!”

“I’m sure Kosei has its own track uniform—“

“Hey, Makoto!” Ryuji interrupts, an emerging habit he really shouldn’t get too comfortable with, “I’m gonna help Ann get started! Why don’t you spot Haru for a bit! Walk her through some stretches! Show her the ropes! Sounds great! See ya!”

With that, Ryuji drags Ann away, steering her towards the other end of the gym. Ann doesn’t seem too bothered— if anything, she looks like she’s having fun with whatever’s happening. Haru seems content to let them go on their way, so it’s probably best to leave them to their own devices.

Maybe this is just the kind of dynamic that comes with long-term friendships; if Ann and Ryuji met in middle school, they’ve known each other for years. As time goes on, their bond will grow older with them. Someday, the entire Phantom Thieves will have that sort of history as well. It’s something to look forward to.

But ‘someday’ is still a long way off. For now, Makoto’s alone with Haru. Or, ‘alone’. Other patrons of the gym are scattered about, concerned with their own routine, and Makoto should really get started figuring out what would work best for Haru.

“We should stretch first,” Makoto decides. “After that, why don’t we start by testing out different types of exercises? We can build a full-body workout based on what you prefer.“

“I’m ready whenever you are.” Haru looks at Makoto with an earnest grin, one Makoto can’t help but return.

Thankfully, having a concrete task ensures that Makoto isn’t too distracted by Haru’s presence. Haru definitely favors lifting and strength-building exercises, and it doesn’t take long for them to talk through a potential workout schedule for Haru to follow. Scheduling also gives them the chance to sit off to the side and get some much-earned rest.

“If I knew you’d enjoy this so much, I would’ve invited you sooner,” Makoto says, passing Haru a bottle of water. Hydration is important, after all.

After a long gulp, Haru lets out a sigh of relief. She’s been working hard; if left to her own devices, she might’ve kept at it without considering the merits of a break.

“I wouldn’t want you to go out of your way,” Haru says. “You’ve done so much for me already. I appreciate your help, though.” Haru hands the bottle back over, and— is she expecting Makoto to drink from it? Would it be weird if Makoto opened a new bottle for herself? It’s not that Makoto’s particularly bothered by sharing, it’s just—

“I’d like to be as strong as you, someday.”

Makoto fumbles with the bottle. “Me?” she repeats, once she’s sure she’s not going to spill water everywhere.

Strong? Physically, there’s probably not too much difference between her and, say, Yusuke. Mentally, well, her test scores are certainly something she’s worked hard for, but she’d hardly qualify such a measure as a strength that deserves praise from Haru— their grades are fairly similar. Emotionally, she pales in comparison to... well, everyone.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” is what Makoto eventually responds with.

“It takes courage to change the way you see the world.”

For a moment— just a moment— Makoto’s heart stutters in her chest, and why wouldn’t it? The brief glimpse into Haru’s perception of her is almost overwhelming, and Makoto knows, or, she thinks that if she asked, she’d get answers, but she’s not sure she should.

Is it arrogance to see a hint of admiration in Haru’s eyes? Is it wistful thinking?

Which would be worse?

This line of thought is getting a little complicated. And, while… whatever-this-is deserves due attention, it should be reflected upon when not in the middle of talking with Haru.

Makoto takes a second to gather her thoughts.

“I changed because everyone gave me the chance to change,” she says.

“You think so?” Haru asks. Her gaze is gentle. Her gaze is piercing. Maybe Makoto doesn’t know anything after all. “I believe you would have found a way to change, regardless.”

“I think the same could be said for all of us,” Makoto says. “You would’ve, too.”

Haru lets out a huff of something that could have been mistaken for amusement. “I’m not sure about that.”

It took tremendous strength for Haru to oppose her father’s will. That kind of conviction doesn’t come out of nowhere; it can’t be cultivated by a sincere resignation to subservience.

“Jeez Inari, I thought you’d be all over this chapter. Isn’t rain, like, super romantic?”

Not to mention, the manifestation of their personae has been intrinsically tied to the spirit of rebellion, which— of course— requires a foundation of rebellion.

“Be that as it may, there’s a certain poetry in confessing at the border between day and night. Standing side by side, watching the sun dip past the horizon… such a setting lends itself to quite the atmosphere.”

There’s an incongruity of perception, but the question is, whose?

“I said, such a setting —”

No, no, that’s not the question. The question is, how to get everyone involved on the same page?

”Hey, Makoto! Anyone home?”

Makoto jolts back to attention, just in time to block Futaba’s second attempt to poke her cheek.

“Are you feeling alright?” Yusuke asks. “We could open a window if you need fresh air— the attic is getting rather dusty.”

“I'm fine, just a little distracted.” Makoto clears her throat. “Sorry, where were we?”

“Still figuring out where chapter seven goes.” Futaba lets out a contemptuous snort, shoving the modestly-sized whiteboard towards Makoto. “Figure it out so we can move on already.”

“Chapter seven... that was the one with the umbrella, right?”

“Indeed,” Yusuke confirms. “I’m of the opinion that it’s most certainly less romantic than chapter five, but I’m not sure whether it’s more or less romantic than chapter two.”

“So, a confession under the rain versus a confession at sunset... I think chapter seven is more romantic,” Makoto decides. “Are you sure it shouldn’t be above chapter five? I still feel like umbrellas are more romantic than car chases. Besides, the entire scenario of a car chase is is wildly unrealistic.”

“We aren’t sorting these chapters based on realism,” Yusuke responds, as he puts chapters seven and two on the whiteboard. His handwriting is immaculate, even when compared to Makoto’s pragmatic print, and especially when compared to Futaba’s half-hearted scrawl. “In any case, considering we were involved in a car chase, it may be less rare than you think.”

“You were involved in a car chase?” Makoto repeats. “When was this?”

“You were as well, Makoto. When you demanded to be taken to Kaneshiro, Ryuji jumped in front of a cab—“

“He did what!? ” Sure, Makoto was a little preoccupied at the time, but she can’t believe she’s never heard about this until now. “That’s incredibly dangerous!”

“So is purposefully getting yourself kidnapped by the yakuza—”

“I’m sorry,” Futaba interrupts, “who did what now?”

“Weren’t you monitoring our activity?” Yusuke asks, and it’s somewhat concerning how casual the question is.

“I just bugged Leblanc! I didn’t hack any traffic cams! But, in hindsight...”

Makoto clears her throat. “Let’s get back to the original topic.” Hopefully, that will derail any dubiously legal machinations. “So, the list?”

“After that we’re done, right? Right?” Futaba claps her hands, re-energized at the prospect of progress. She waves a careless hand vaguely at the whiteboard. “Final list, from most romantic to least romantic, goes: chapter five, seven, two, one, four, six, three. So, car chases? So romantic. Umbrellas? Pretty romantic. Sunsets? Sure. Trains? Could work. Storage rooms? Nah. PA systems? Pass. Horses? Definitely not.” After outlining everything, Futaba spreads her hands in a display of contentious showmanship. “Can we move on now?”

After a moment, Yusuke nods. “I think we’ve thoroughly discussed the relative merits of the scenarios provided.”

“Great! What’s the plan!”

“We can’t make a plan yet,” Makoto says.

Futaba lets out a long sustained groan. “Alright, what is it now .”

“If you don’t find this to be an enjoyable pastime,” Yusuke retorts, an edge to his tone, “you are more than welcome to leave.”

“I’m not here to have fun! I’m here to make sure you guys don’t talk each other to death!”

This is an… unexpected motivation. “What do you mean?”

“Look at us, we're two autistic people and one— wait, three autistic people?"

"Three," Makoto confirms.

"Huh, we could start a club!" Futaba notes, though it's not clear what club-making logistics she has in mind. "Look at us, we’re three autistic people figuring out social conventions from the worst possible content. And it doesn't really matter for me, but shouldn't you guys, I dunno, be looking at something else? Doing something else? Doing anything? At all?"

“There’s nothing wrong with trying to be prepared,” Makoto argues. “This isn’t some kind of game—”

“Duh! If it was, it wouldn’t have taken almost a month to get nowhere! This is why you can’t use bad-to-moderately-okay shoujo to figure out what makes sense!”

“I’m just trying to get context.” It’s hard, trying to parse emotions and associated conventions from an outside perspective on several different levels; neurodivergence and same gender attraction aren’t exactly common topics on their own, and finding anything that addresses both is… difficult. Obviously shoujo manga isn’t the best point of reference, but it’s something, and that’s better than nothing.

“If I may, what experience are you working from, Futaba?” Yusuke asks. 

There’s a moment of silence as Futaba shifts uncomfortably under his mild scrutiny. “ Alright , so I’m also working off bad shoujo, but look, I’m synthesizing information! I’m basing this on the fact that they’re bad, and the fact that you two—” she gestures at them, accusatory “—overthink everything. All the time! There’s always gonna be ‘additional considerations’ because there's always gonna be an angle you haven’t considered!”

Futaba lets out a sigh, frantic energy very nearly dissipating along with the breath she lets out. “You gotta realize, if you keep doing nothing, nothing’s gonna happen. Come on, work with me Inari.”

Yusuke hesitates. “You have a point—”

“Yes!”

“—But there are simply too many factors to consider—”

“No!” Futaba grabs Yusuke by the shoulders, shaking him furiously. “This is where you’re supposed to realize love conquers all, or whatever! Just get a move on!”

“I will not,” Yusuke says, still being furiously shaken. “Not until I’ve determined the best possible course of action.”

“And how long will that take! Months? Years? ”

Just watching them is exhausting. “Stop that,” Makoto says. It takes a little effort, but she manages to separate Futaba from Yusuke. Once that’s taken care of, she puts a hand on Futaba’s shoulder. “I understand this might be frustrating, but you need to let people go at their own pace.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but like, sometimes people need a little push! Otherwise they’re gonna stagnate! Forever!”

Futaba pauses, waiting for someone to fold. Nobody does, and she slumps with another loud sigh. “Okay, look, I got one more series for you guys to read, but it’s the last one. Got it? After that I’m gonna bounce and you’re gonna be on your own.”

Well, that seems reasonable. Really, it’s better compromise than expected, especially considering how stubborn Futaba can be.

Chapter Text

The last series is obviously assigned as some form of punishment. A meandering story that drags on far too long, Your Feelings centers around characters who fumble through attempts to ask each other out. They consistently fail as they overthink and second-guess every course of action. It’s a frustrating read, especially since Futaba most likely chose it as a pointed critique of Makoto and Yusuke’s approach. But, as far as retaliations go, fairly innocuous.

(Besides, such a story only proves how important it is to be cautious. Feelings get misconstrued, actions get misunderstood, it makes sense to construct a plan around these possibilities.)

It’s the awkward time between lunch and dinner when Makoto walks into Leblanc; no one else is in the cafe other than their book club. She’s armed with the comfort of her logic, well-prepared for whatever Futaba has in store, except she’s not, because sitting at the booth is Haru.

Also Ryuji. Yusuke’s there too of course, next to Ryuji, looking... the most accurate descriptor would probably be ‘dead inside’. He doesn‘t seem outwardly upset, but the resignation he exudes as he glares at Futaba is pretty notable.

“Hey Makoto!” Futaba greets, a bright grin on her face. She’s sitting on a chair dragged over from the counter, ensuring that the only free spot is next to Haru. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

“Hi,” Makoto greets. With no alternative available, she takes a seat. “I wasn’t expecting so many people.”

“Well, y’know, romance isn’t really my thing,” Futaba drawls, “so I figured we could use some help talking about this comic! There’s just so much romance in it!”

“Wait,” Ryuji says, “I get why Haru’s here, but why’d you bring me?”

“Um, I’m not sure why I’d be here either…”

“Are you kidding me?” Futaba flails over the table to pat Haru’s hair. “You’re like… fluffy! Look at you! You don’t just know romance, you are romance! Right, Makoto?”

Futaba has a point, though the meaning is a little difficult to parse; a kind, elegant heiress is probably the epitome of romance. Of course, Makoto isn’t going to say any of this, and Futaba really needs to stop whatever chaotic nonsense she’s trying to instigate.

“Alright, so, why am I here?”

“To talk, duh! What did you think, Ryuji?” Futaba asks, switching her focus over to her next victim.

“Honestly, I thought you were just messing with me—“

“No, I mean about Your Feelings!”

“My feelings on what?”

After some maneuvering, Futaba manages to catch Ryuji’s shoulders in a vise grip. She starts shaking him relentlessly. “The books! That you read! Your feelings on Your Feelings!”

“Seriously!? Shouldn’t you be asking Haru!?”

“I’m asking you! Feelings! Give ‘em!”

“Alright, alright, let go already!”

Futaba obliges, thankfully, leaving a somewhat bewildered Ryuji to deal with the sudden spotlight.

“Uh.” Ryuji rubs the back of his neck, eyes skirting off to the side. “Well, it had… feelings...? A lot of them?”

“You don’t have to indulge her,” Yusuke says. “In fact, it’s better if you don’t.”

Ryuji huffs something close to a laugh, bumping against Yusuke. It’s strange; with Ryuji’s reaction at the gym, Makoto didn’t expect them to be as close as always. “Y’know what,” he says, “I think I gotta tag out. Haru?”

“Come on, that’s cheating!”

“Well…” Haru starts, despite Futaba’s protests, “I think it goes very in-depth about how hard it is to accept your own feelings, and to express them to others.”

That’s probably the kindest possible assessment of such a plodding series.

“What did you think about the romance?” Makoto asks. If she’s trapped here, might as well enjoy discussion informed by someone with insight to the inner workings of the romance genre.

“It was somewhat hindered by what the writer prioritizes. The writer clearly believes that resolving romantic tension ends the potential of an interesting story.”

A good observation that articulates a lot of issues that were difficult to pinpoint; in hindsight, the series revolved around a will-they-won’t-they tension that never developed the characters independently. The scenario is elevated above the characters, which makes it difficult to be invested in the characters themselves.

“So,” Futaba says, “dragging something out forever is like, the opposite of romance, right? It’d sure be ridiculous for someone to spend a month planning a confession!”

Futaba has a lot to answer for.

“I don’t think that fully explains the weaknesses of Your Feelings.” Haru hums, deliberating a little longer as she gathers her thoughts. “When the couple gets together—“

“Wait, they actually got together?”

All eyes turn to Ryuji.

“Uh.” He shifts under their collective scrutiny, looking somewhat sheepish. “Okay, I gotta be honest, I... didn’t finish it.”

Futaba gasps theatrically. “You mean you didn’t like it? Because it was tedious and unreadable? And the worst?”

“I mean, it’s not like it was that bad!” Ryuji says, probably an attempt to deescalate potential responses to his misstep. “It’s just. Y’know. Not my thing.”

“And what exactly is your thing?”

“... Huh?”

“What takes your breath away?” Futaba asks, a dramatic proclamation that drops any pretence of subtlety. “What makes Ryuji Sakamoto swoon?”

“Uh.” Realization seems to dawn as Ryuji gradually arrives at some sort of conclusion. He leans over to Yusuke, whispering something.

Yusuke stares at him. “Tell them what?”

“You don’t have to, if you’d rather not,” Haru reassures, despite the general lack of context. “Whatever you’re comfortable with is fine.”

“Comfortable with what?”

Ryuji stares at Yusuke for a long moment. “Oh no,” he says.

“What?” Futaba asks. “What’s going on! How many different conversations are we having!”

Ryuji groans, dropping his face into his hands. “So like, if I’m reading the room right, Futaba’s trying to set me up with Yusuke. Right? And Makoto’s involved? For some reason?”

There’s a stunned silence, which is probably answer enough.

“Right. So, with that in mind.” Ryuji sighs, then turns to face Yusuke. “What are we doing tomorrow?”

“Seeing a movie.”

“And, uh, what did you think it meant?”

“That we’re seeing a movie?”

“As?” Ryuji prompts, looking more mortified by the second.

“Patrons interested in the cinematic arts?”

Ryuji slumps, an air of defeat hanging overhead. “It was supposed to be as boyfriends…”

“Wait, what!?” Futaba exclaims, jumping out of her seat. “Seriously!?”

“I’m a little confused.” It’s a massive understatement, but it’s the only thing Makoto can say in the face of all… this. “How did this happen?”

“I mean!” Ryuji starts, jumping to his own defense, “I said all that stuff about—! And you were like—!“ He gestures furiously, apparently unwilling to specify what stuff he said or how Yusuke was like. “We’re going to the movies! That’s like, totally a date kind of thing!”

"We've gone to the movies before,” Yusuke points out.

"Well, yeah—"

"You went to the movies with Ann last week. Are you two dating?"

" Hell no—"

"What differentiates this movie-going experience from that one?"

“Nothing, I guess," Ryuji concedes. "It's just— I like you. In the date-way."

"Oh.” Yusuke sounds distant, probably because he’s finally processing the fact that he had, apparently, already been dating Ryuji.

Ryuji drags his hand down his face. “Alright, that was on me. Let’s just—” He takes Yusuke’s hand in an overt gesture of romantic intent. “Yusuke, I like you, in the date-way. Will you go out with me? In the date-way?”

“I’d be amenable,” Yusuke says, evidently still processing what just happened.

“Great! That’s— I’m glad.” Despite what an objective train-wreck the whole ordeal was, Ryuji grins, looking sincerely elated. “Also, sorry this was such a mess.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Futaba declares. “Actually, you have lots to be sorry about. But also, Inari’s been trying to figure out how to ask you out for a month . We’ve got flowcharts and everything! He—”

“Futaba,” Yusuke interrupts, a solemn edge to his tone, “shut up.”

“I’m sure everyone appreciates the outcome of your intervention,” Haru says, diplomatically. “At the very least, it’s a good thing this misunderstanding was cleared up. Now, was that… everything that needs to be resolved?”

Makoto stares at Futaba.

Futaba stares at Makoto.

Up to this point, Makoto had a vague suspicion that Futaba knew about her kind-of crush. Now, it’s an unfortunate certainty, and the consequences have to be dealt with.

“Welp!” Futaba claps her hands together. “Mission accomplished! Club’s over! We’re done! Come on Inari, time for you to spend some quality time with your boyfriend.” She grabs Yusuke and Ryuji, dragging them out of Leblanc. She shoots an incredibly obvious look at Sojiro, who has, apparently, been there the entire time. She jerks her head at Makoto and Haru in a very conspicuous manner.

“Well.” Sojiro rubs the back of his neck. “I’ll… go on a walk. You kids don’t mind watching the cafe, do you?”

Without waiting for a response Sojiro heads straight out the door, flipping the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed’ as he leaves. Makoto doesn’t know whether to feel grateful or mortified, so she settles on a confusing mixture of both.

Haru, for her part, observes this whirlwind of events with inscrutable silence.

“I…” Makoto starts. Unfortunately, she has no idea where to go from there. “I owe you an explanation.”

And now she’s cornered herself into giving an explanation.

“You know how Futaba brought Ryuji because she believed Yusuke had something to resolve with him?” Makoto asks, trying to make the situation sound as neutral as possible. “I think she brought you for a similar reason.”

“I see,” Haru says. It’s a mild response. Which could mean that she doesn’t understand what Makoto was trying to say. Trying to not say, actually. Then again, Haru’s generally adept at understanding what people try to say, as well as what people try not to say. Not to mention, Makoto has never been that good at hiding her thoughts. So it might be better to tentatively operate under the assumption that they’re on the same page.

“Did you know?” Makoto asks.

“I’m not sure.” Haru offers a smile, one that seems a little too hesitant to be wholly reassuring. “On one hand, I’m not terribly surprised, which I’m sure comes off as a little arrogant.”

“Of course not,” Makoto says immediately. If anything, it proves that she was, in fact, just that obvious.

Haru reaches over to put a hand over Makoto’s, which is. Well, it’s certainly there, is what it is.  “Why didn’t you say anything?” she asks. And there’s entirely too much Makoto could say, or not say, but in all honesty— despite what Futaba might think— she doesn’t want resolution constantly out of reach, she’s tired of going back and forth with herself, so she just. Says the first thing that comes to mind.

“I’m not sure I can give you what you deserve,” Makoto admits. “You deserve to be swept off your feet. You know that, right? You… you’re someone who deserves all the warmth that love can offer.” And Makoto wants to be someone who can offer that warmth, but could she? Haru deserves to feel loved, and beyond that, she deserves to feel love, a love so intense that just seeing the other person would make her chest tighten up, a love so effusive that every thought, every action, every emotion would be full with the weight of it. And maybe that’s hopelessly idealistic, maybe it’s a shallow conception of how relationships work in reality, but anything less would be an injustice.

Haru’s gaze feels heavy. There’s a charge in the air, an anticipation that’s difficult to qualify as the moment stretches into a small eternity, long enough to rethink the entire situation twice (and to find several new regrets each time).

And then she says, “Ask me what I want.”

"What do you want?” Makoto echoes, helpless as ever.

Haru takes a steadying breath, steeling herself; the afternoon sun casts a soft light over her, highlighting the rich vibrance of her striking brown eyes. “I want to have my first kiss with the girl I like!”

“Oh,” Makoto says.

A beat; “That means you, Mako-chan.”

“Oh,” Makoto repeats, articulate as ever. That much was obvious, but hearing it spoken so directly is… it’s overwhelming, to say the least; she hasn’t even recovered from the initial sentiment, how is she supposed to handle the addendum?

Haru lets go of Makoto’s hand— the hand she’s been holding the entire time— as she moves to put too much distance between them. “Sorry!” she says, obviously flustered despite her own initiative. It’s an arresting reminder that Makoto isn’t alone in this fumbling uncertainty. “That was a little too forward, wasn’t it? Maybe I shouldn’t...”

Makoto leans forward, taking hold of Haru’s hand as she does; by some miracle, they kiss.

The sensation barely registers. It’s a light brush of skin against skin, which pales in comparison to the dizzying rush of... everything, really. Makoto can barely feel anything beyond the pounding of her pulse, and she’s— she’s holding her breath, actually, which is probably making it worse, and there’s a second that simultaneously lasts far too short and far too long before she jerks backwards; it’s hard to think, especially with how Haru’s looking at her, a breathtaking and gentle affection—

“Will you go out with me?” Makoto blurts out, before she can second-guess herself.

She’s rewarded with a dazzling, heart-stopping smile. “I’d love to,” Haru says, a radiant blush across her cheeks. It seems so impossibly easy, in hindsight— this can’t be all there is to it. And maybe it’s not— of course it’s not— but right now, all that seems to matter is Haru’s hand in hers.

Makoto leans in again, and they meet in the middle.