Chapter Text
Ryuji wasn’t Yusuke’s first choice. Considering the available options, Ann was the one Yusuke felt most connected to. In terms of aesthetic, hers was most notable; in terms of disposition, hers was most agreeable; in terms of artistic acumen, hers was... unrefined, but an interest had been clearly present. As someone with an apparent respect for culture— more apparent than the other members of their group— she was the ideal roommate.
Alas, it was not to be. In such circumstances, the only course of action would be to accept the outcome with grace and aplomb.
“Dude,” Ryuji says, nudging Yusuke with his foot. “You’ve been on the ground for like ten minutes. Can we go now?”
“No.” Yusuke continues lying on the ground.
“I’ll leave you behind,” Ryuji threatens, but despite the nascent nature of their relationship, it’s easy to recognize the threat as an empty one.
However. The box of assorted sweets Yusuke had bought with the last of his money certainly deserves to be enjoyed.
Yusuke gets up.
“Is your guardian partial to sweets?”
“Huh?” Before Yusuke can repeat himself, Ryuji shakes his head. “You don’t have to worry about that— mom’s gonna love you.”
It’s an ambiguous response that doesn’t answer the actual question, but no matter. Regardless of taste, anyone would be able to appreciate the artful presentation of the sweets themselves.
“Listen though, I told her this is only for the weekend. Got it?” Ryuji fixes Yusuke with a pointed look “After that, we gotta figure out something else.”
“It’d be inconvenient otherwise,” Yusuke agrees. “Ideally, I’d prefer to be closer to Kosei.”
“Not the point but whatever, we’ll figure it out. Do you need any help with…” Ryuji trails off, surveying Yusuke’s possessions. “Is this it? It’s all art junk.”
“Everything else has been claimed by the police as evidence.”
“Oh,” Ryuji says. After moment, he places an awkward but sympathetic hand on Yusuke’s shoulder. “That effin’ sucks.”
“It wasn’t much of a loss.” Although it’s the truth, Ryuji doesn’t look much reassured as they gather Yusuke’s possessions and head towards the station. They spend the trip there in mutually contemplative silence.
Yusuke’s not sure what to expect from Ryuji’s mother. Judging from Ryuji, it would make sense for her to have a similarly strong personality. Which is a deduction that’s immediately proven right. When Ryuji unlocks the door, after he calls out that he’s home, he’s immediately swept into a hug and a headlock.
“There’s my boy!” exclaims the individual that is presumably Ryuji’s mother. She places a theatrically loud kiss on top of his head.
“Mom,” Ryuji protests, though he sounds rather resigned to his fate. “Seriously?”
“It’s not every day I get to embarrass you in front of your friends,” his mother replies. She indulges in one more kiss before turning to face Yusuke, still comfortably holding her own son hostage. “And you must be Yusuke!”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sakamoto,” Yusuke greets, bowing at a suitably polite angle. “You’re rather young.”
“Says the kid in high school,” she retorts with a somewhat wry lilt. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”
“An observation,” Yusuke clarifies.
Ryuji looks halfway mortified, as though he can’t decide whether or not to take affront. An unwarranted response; it’s not as if anything unflattering or untoward has been said. His mother, on the other hand, lets out a laugh. “Well, aren’t you blunt?”
“So I’ve been told.” Yusuke hands over the box of assorted sweets. “A gift, in return for your hospitality.”
“Aw, you shouldn’t have!” Ryuji’s mother says, though she takes it anyway. “And don’t worry about being so formal, either. Make yourself at home!”
“Don’t say that, he’ll take it literally.” Ryuji wriggles out of his mother’s grasp, and turns to Yusuke. “Definitely do not make yourself at home— I don’t want paint all over the place. But you can put your stuff in my room.”
Ryuji’s mother shakes her head, clicking her tongue with apparent disapproval. “You should've cleaned up, kiddo. How’s he going to put his stuff away if there's nowhere to put it?”
“It’s fine,” Ryuji says as he shoos Yusuke towards a room which is, presumably, his own. He pushes Yusuke in and shuts the door without following after.
As expected, much of the room is a mess. The floor— along with any available surface— is cluttered with various athletic accessories, empty plastic bottles, and stacks of magazines; Ryuji clearly did not prepare for guests. Though in all fairness, he doesn’t seem the type to feel any inclination towards tidying up regardless of visitors. Interestingly enough, the shelves of manga are kept rather neat. The piles of books in front of the shelves are not.
It shouldn’t take Yusuke much time to set his stuff to a mostly unoccupied corner, making sure necessities are easily accessible. However, he gets distracted by a large model robot sitting high atop a shelf, positioned as if surveying its domain. A benevolent guardian figure, perhaps. Or maybe it’s meant to elicit feelings of isolation? There are intriguing implications for either interpretation.
The walls are thin enough to yield faint impressions of sound, mostly the ambiance of a busy kitchen. Dinner preparations are likely underway. It’s not until Yusuke opens the door that he can hear the low murmurs of a conversation, and not until he reaches the kitchen that it’s intelligible.
“He’s a good guy, and he’s going through a rough time,” Ryuji finishes as he prepares to brush remnants of finely chopped vegetables into a wok. He must be giving a heavily edited explanation of Yusuke’s circumstances, then. “I know it’s really last second but—“
“He can stay as long as he needs to,” his mother interrupts in a gentle tone, her words almost lost as the vegetables hit the oil. The way she speaks… it’s an unfamiliar warmth, yet it’s one that tugs at some old ache.
“I appreciate that,” Yusuke says, making his presence known. Ryuji fumbles with the knife he’s holding for an alarming moment before setting it by the sink.
“Oh! Dude! You’re done! You sure took your time, huh!” Ryuji exclaims in the stilted cadence of one caught in some incriminating act. Rather unnecessary and a little confusing; why be contrite over candid displays of sympathy? Then, “You weren’t messing with my stuff, were you?”
“Good timing,” Ryuji’s mother says before he can follow up on that entirely baseless accusation— or, what would’ve been a baseless accusation if Yusuke hadn’t rearranged the placement of a few loose books. “Give me a few more minutes and dinner’s just about done. Ready to eat?”
“I’d be amenable,” Yusuke says.
There’s something striking about the simple domesticity of such an offer. A feeling worthy of rumination, but that can wait until after partaking in what is surely to be a wonderful meal.