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During the past few weeks, Futaba had grown used to Yusuke staring at one member of the Phantom Thieves or another during strategy meetings, committing faces to memory in order to sketch them after he returned to his dorm for the night. Although Futaba had made attempts to show him that he could just take a picture with his phone, he dismissed the idea, saying how the slight inaccuracies caused by memory would make for a more personal piece. In reality, Futaba was fairly sure that he just didn’t know how to use his phone for anything beyond texting.
Even so, nothing had prepared Futaba for the heat rising in her face as he turned his attention toward her for the afternoon. Years of precious anonymity spent behind a computer screen still left her feeling at odds with the sensation of being made all-too aware of her physical form.
“W-what?” she accused, pulling her coat tighter around herself, despite the sudden warmth. “You stunned by my beauty, Inari?”
“No,” he replied simply, still distracted by something in her general direction.
“Yusuke!” Ann hissed, elbowing him in the side as Ryuji snickered.
“I was simply intrigued by the way the roots of your hair seem darker than the length of it,” he remarked, gesturing toward the top of his head, while Futaba’s hands flew to cover her own scalp. In all the excitement of her involvement with the Phantom Thieves, keeping up with her hair had fallen by the wayside.
While living her life sealed up tight in a tomb of her own making, she had kept up her hair religiously. The slightest hint of black taunting her in the mirror, and the bathroom counter would become cluttered with peroxide and dye, dryer and straightener, shampoo and conditioner.
Futaba had never been able to identify with 2chan posts made by other NEETs, the ones talking about how they never bothered to shower, all while wearing never-washed clothes from the local Thank You Mart. Keeping up with such basic tasks had given her life a small sense of control, helping to differentiate one day from the next.
“I forgot to dye my hair, okay?” Futaba admitted, glowering over at Akira, who merely shrugged. He could have said something if he had noticed it over breakfast before letting the others see her, especially Yusuke, what with his eye for details. “Don’t you ever forget to touch up your’s?”
Yusuke blinked in surprise, pushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. “I’m uncertain why you would have thought to the contrary, but my hair color is completely natural.”
“Wha- Really?” Futaba adjusted her glasses, fixing Yusuke with a scrutinizing gaze. “Geez, Inari…”
Futaba hadn’t thought that particular glossy shade of blue-black was possible outside of anime. Sometimes it could be surprisingly difficult to process the fact someone like Yusuke was, for all intents and purposes, a real, actual human being instead of some otoge character.
“Aw crap!” groaned Ryuji, breaking Futaba out of her thoughts to see that the bag of chips he just pulled open had exploded, sprinkling the floor underneath the table.
“Say,” Yusuke tilted his head, observing as Ryuji mournfully crawled underneath the table, sweeping chip fragments into his hand. “Are you planning to eat those? Because I would happy to take them off of your hands.”
“Never mind,” Futaba mumbled to herself.
The meeting was adjourned shortly after, under the consensus that it was getting late and venturing into Mementos would best be saved for another day.
“Futaba,” Yusuke began as the two exited the café, the last two to leave by the time Yusuke had been convinced to toss away the ruined chips, in return for a plate of curry instead. “Would you perhaps mind if I were to stop by your place tomorrow?”
“You’re always welcome at Leblanc, Inari.” Futaba wrinkled her brow. Why would he feel the need to ask now?
Yusuke shook his head. “No, I’m speaking of the residence you share with the Boss. In fact, may I walk you there you there now? It is getting dark, and it’s the least I can do for overstaying my welcome.”
“Oh yeah, sure,” Futaba agreed as they set out. The walk was short enough, but she didn’t mind the company. “But why did you need to come over tomorrow? Ready for some help with your phone?”
“Actually,” Yusuke said as they rounded the corner, leaving the sent of coffee behind them, “I wish to observe you while dying your hair.”
“My what?" Futaba frowned. "Inari, you do realise that hair dying usually involves showering…”
“Rest assured that Ann has already explained to me the impropriety of asking to observe one’s female friends in the nude,” Yusuke replied. “I merely wished to observe you in the preparation stages, mixing the dyes and such.”
“I just, uh, use whatever’s already in the box Sojiro picks up for me from the drug store. There’s really not much to see…”
“Even so, the human body makes for a fascinating canvas, wouldn’t you say?” Yusuke said as they reached the doorstep.
“I guess?” Futaba answered. “I hadn’t really thought about it that way.” Despite her enjoyment of anime, she had never been very artistically inclined herself, eventually chalking it up to being one of those ‘you either have it or you don’t’ things, sort of like being tone deaf, yet still enjoying music.
“Ah. Well, it appears we have arrived. For now I’ll bid you good night, but in the mean time, please just consider it.”
Although it was kind of an odd request, it really wasn’t any stranger than some of the other things out of Yusuke’s mouth whenever they were out together.
More and more frequently, Akira had been passing off his ‘key item’ duties onto Yusuke, under the excuse of it being time for Futaba to practice going out into the city a with a secondary key item, as a sort of sub quest. He wasn’t fooling anyone of course; Futaba knew that Akira, gay disaster as he was, only wanted more time for dates with that boring NPC of his.
While all of the talking had taken some adjusting to, Futaba soon realised that Yusuke was content just having someone to listen as he rambled about art, and when he spoke a little too loudly- extolling the beauty of the lobsters at the market, or laying into the anatomy on the doujin covers after wandering into the R-18 section of Mandarake- people tended to fix their attention on him, securing a chance for Futaba to browse unnoticed, free from being too self-conscious. Not to mention the fact that he was also pretty handy to hide behind during an emergency.
Lying on her bed, Futaba pulled out her phone.
Me: You can come over tomorrow as long as your big dumb fox paws don’t touch a single thing in my room.
Inari: I will leave that to your delicate mouse hands, then.
Me: Was that a pun???
Inari: My train should arrive at 1
Futaba sighed, clicking off the phone and letting it drop onto the blanket. Sometimes with Yusuke, it could be hard to tell when he had been interrupted in the middle of a double text, or when he simply chose to ignore something. Even so, somehow she still found herself texting him outside of the group chat more than anyone else.
Delicate, huh? She mused, stretching her fingers up toward the ceiling. They looked pretty stumpy to her.
One o’clock came and went the next day, and Futaba nearly considered going back to bed. While she had checked her phone a few times, knowing Yusuke, he had probably gotten himself caught up sketching an oddly shaped leaf on his way to the station and missed the train. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t one to get swept away in her own hobbies, after all.
By the time the knock finally did come at the front door, it took a full moment for Futaba to process that she was meant to answer it, after years of having grown accustomed to Sojiro being the only one with any visitors.
“Hey there,” Futaba said, opening the door. “Took you long enough. I was starting to think that you stood me up! I was about to go back to bed and cry my eyes out like some jilted lover.”
“Please refrain from tears,” Yusuke said as Futaba stood aside to let him in. As he entered, Futaba noticed that that he carried a small shopping bag with him. “I don’t have any tissues on me, so I’ve been reduced to relieving my sinuses with toilet paper.”
“Um, eww?” Futaba scrunched her face up, quickly changing the subject, “What’s in the bag?”
He hadn’t actually bought himself food for once, had he?
“That is something for later,” Yusuke informed her solemnly, holding the bag up out of her reach, and Futaba thought that she saw a glimmer of excitement in the corner of his eye. “Now, shall we get started.”
“Err, sure…” Futaba said, leading him toward the bathroom, where she had already set out the bleach and dye. “This is gonna get pretty messy, so you probably want to stand back.”
Even having planned on spending the afternoon around messy hair products, Yusuke had still arrived looking completely put-together as usual, purple shirt buttoned up neatly over top of a black tee, dark pants form-fitting in a way that made Futaba suspect that his long legs had simply outgrown them, rather than having purposely bought them so tight.
“Oh, I brought along one of my painting smocks,” he explained, taking it out of his satchel and tying it on. “What of yourself?” He gestured toward Futaba, about to mix up the bleach while still wearing a tank loudly emblazoned with the entire cast of Featherman on the front.
“It’ll be fine,” she replied doubtfully, dutifully untwisting the cap rather than looking toward Yusuke. “To be honest, I uh, usually do this in my underwear, but…”
There came a pause before Yusuke spoke. “…Pardon me if this comes out differently than I intended, but please don’t spoil your clothing on my account. I’m quite good at focusing on the task at hand, and I’ll be certain not to allow my eyes to stray.”
Futaba considered this for a moment. Yusuke had already seen her in swimsuit, and not only that, but he did study nude models often during his classes. Seeing her flat chest in a plain bra from the pre-teen section wouldn’t be much different. At least she had worn one today; when staying alone in her room, there had been little point.
“T-turn around,” she demanded, pulling off her tank after he did so, tossing it into the laundry basket in the corner and pulling an old towel around her shoulders. “Okay, ready...”
As promised, Yusuke did little more than watch her hands as she prepared, pulling on plastic gloves.
“Would you like some help?” Yusuke asked, just as Futaba craned into the mirror, glasses off and holding the brush full of gloppy bleach hovering an inch above her scalp. “I’m aware that I merely stated that I would watch, however, this seems like the sort of thing that goes easier with a helping hand.”
“Sure, I guess.” Futaba shrugged, nearly losing her towel. His hands knew their way around a brush better than her’s did. “Just the roots,” she reminded him.
“Of course.”
Closing her eyes, she could feel a hand braced on the side of her head, while the other painted on the paste- cool against the warmth radiating off of her head- in slow, methodical stripes.
To think that just a few weeks ago, the thought of anyone touching her at all would sent her hiding in the back of her closet.
“Let me know if I missed a spot, yet rest assured that I did not,” Yusuke said after a few moments, and if he didn’t speak that way normally, Futaba would have thought he was being smug.
“Eh. I’ve seen worse,” Futaba shrugged, inspecting his handiwork in the mirror.
“Might I ask how long before we rinse it off?”
“About a half hour, give or take. Wanna play Smash?” Futaba offered, knowing full well that he had grown tired of losing.
“Actually, I think that now might be the right time to reveal the contents of the shopping bag,” Yusuke said, retrieving the bag from where he had sat it down, holding it open for her to see.
“Nail polish?” Futaba took the two bottles from the bag, setting them on the counter, one tangerine and the other blue, both very small.
“I came by them while out doing my grocery shopping for the week,” he explained, “and the colors put me in mind of you. I’m sure that the quality isn’t as high as one might have liked, but…”
Futaba looked from the bottles, up to Yusuke, asking skeptically. “Did you actually remember to buy food while you were there?”
“I would prefer not to disclose that,” he said, looking at the tile floor sheepishly.
“Inariiii!” Futaba groaned, burying her face in her palm. “How about I paint my nails or whatever, and you grab yourself something from the fridge.”
She had never painted her nails before, preferring to spend her time and money on her hair and t-shirts instead, but it couldn’t have been any harder than painting a Gunpla.
“I was in fact hoping that you would allow me to do it,” Yusuke replied, peeling off the rubber gloves and laying them in the sink, dark eyes traveling somewhere distant as he spoke. “I have always found nail art fascinating, however Madarame never allowed me to play with such things, stating that boys shouldn’t have an interest cosmetics.”
“If you really insist, then” Futaba said, trying to play off the sudden clench in her chest.
Making their way into her room, Futaba offered Yusuke a seat on the computer chair, while she took the bed. “Remember not to touch anything other than me,” she reminded him, before correcting herself. “I mean, my hands! You can touch my hands.”
“Of course,” Yusuke agreed, pulling the chair across the room so that he could face her, suddenly making her acutely aware once again of her state of undress. “Your hand, please.”
Futaba outstretched her hand, palm downward, and for a moment she reminded herself of some sort of princess, offering her hand up to receive a kiss upon it from the prince. Horrified at having allowed such a sappy thought into her head, she was almost startled by the feeling of cool fingertips grasping her hand.
“Ah, forgive me,” Yusuke apologised. “Ever since having welcomed Goemon into my heart, my hands seem reluctant to warm…”
For having fingers so long and elegant, they were surprisingly calloused in some places, likely from years of near constant use while having been forced to work for Madarame sun up to sun down. Such work also seemed to have granted him a reassuring sort of steadiness, and Futaba watched in fascination with each brushstroke, the color never once running over onto her skin.
“I thought that I might alternate between the two colors.”
“You’re the artist here, not me,” Futaba sniffed, however the nail polish fumes immediately making her regret it.
Once he had finished, Futaba held her nails up to inspect them. They were impeccably done, the bright colors serving to elongate her short fingers.
"Be careful until they dry," Yusuke warned, gently grasping her wrist in order to bring her fingers near his lips, blowing warm breath across her fingers in ticklish little puffs, and Futaba couldn't help but feel the beginnings of a smile.
Nails finished and dry, the two returned to the bathroom.
“May I aid you in rinsing it out?”
“Well, you’ve already come so far, so might as well follow through,” Futaba said, looking around the room in order to figure out the logistics. They couldn’t very well both get in the shower together…his long fingers massaging her scalp as water ran over his hair, dripping into his eyes where he would blink it away with thick lashes… “I’ll just, er, sit outside the tub here, and you can rinse it with the shower head…”
Settling down on the floor against the tub, Futaba leaned her head back into it, while Yusuke took the shower head from its holster, holding it away from her as he adjusted the knobs.
“Ready?”
“Mm-hmm,” she answered, closing her eyes.
The rinsing went by quickly, and Futaba stood, accepting the fluffy towel Yusuke dutifully held out for her. “Thanks, Inari.”
Yusuke stood quiet for a moment, observing as Futaba toweled off, and for a moment she thought he was about to do that finger-frame thing he would often fix her with while in the safe rooms when he thought she wasn't looking. Finally he spoke up, “Forgive me if this is rude, however I’ve been curious- why not just allow your hair to grow out to its original state? I think that black would look quite fetching on you.”
“‘Fetching’? What are you, like, eighty?” Futaba said, putting her glasses back on, all the while attempting to ignore the combating emotions brewing in her chest. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “In my palace, you saw a cognition of my mom, right?”
Yusuke nodded, brows furrowing in concern at the wistful tone her voice had taken. “Correct.”
“Growing up, my hair used to look just like Mom's... but after that day, back when I thought that…thought that she didn’t…”
Shit...damnit! She didn’t want to cry in front of him. She wanted to be funny, to be casual, for him to like having her around, not see her as the same depressed shut-in from when they had first met.
Before she knew it, long, slender arms had gathered her in, holding her tightly, heart beating directly against her ear in a rhythm of reassurance.
“Please forgive me, for bringing up such memories. Your hair is lovely in orange, Futaba, like a sunrise in summer,” Yusuke soothed, deep voice barely more than a whisper.
His words were so painfully cheesy…so why did she want to hear them again and again, once for every heartbeat?
“You idiot…” she snorted into his chest. “I’m not ‘fetching’ or ‘lovely’; I’ll just get your shirt all soggy.”
“I would beg to differ. In fact,” Yusuke began, hesitating before moving his hand from her back in order to gently stroke her damp hair, “I would be very happy if you- and your hair- would accompany me to the planetarium this weekend."
Futaba pushed away to stare up at him, eyes wide, “Inari, is this- is this date?” Although they had gone into the city together a handful of times before, something about this invitation felt very different, in way that sent a thrill crackling through her insides.
“What?” Yusuke tilted his head, blinking as realisation dawned. “Yes? I- I suppose so. Is that alright?”
“Yes! Of course it is, you big dork!” This time, it was Futaba’s turn to throw her arms around him. “And next time my hair grows out…” she murmured into the rough fabric of his wet smock, “I think I will be ready to try black again, as long as you're there to help.”