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They haven’t talked about it yet.
They haven’t talked about it yet but when the batting machine spits out a ball, Ren swings so hard his glasses slip down his nose and reverberations dance up his arms and entwine with his heartbeat and in that moment, it doesn’t matter.
The ball hits the target and falls to the ground, bouncing twice before rolling to a stop.
“Homerun,” Ann says.
Behind the safety net, she’s sitting against the wall, staring at her phone.
Ren pushes up his glasses. “Yep.”
That day, they’re the remnants of a larger group hangout; otherwise, they would probably still be avoiding each other. Ann has her hair down and she keeps fidgeting with it, gathering and twisting it into a bun that unravels the moment she lets go. She catches Ren’s eye and smiles. He smiles back. Neither lasts very long because no, they haven’t talked about it yet.
Ren readies himself for another swing.
“Sorry,” he says, not knowing what for. For staring, for this, for everything. “You can go if you want.”
“Nah. But hey, that movie we were talking about is out.” Ann turns her phone around as if he can see the screen. “Wanna go see?”
“Maybe some other time.”
“Alright, just asking.”
Ann’s voice, light and breezy. Things between them, light and breezy. Everything, as light and breezy as the precipice they’re inching toward. Ren’s grip on the bat stings with the promise of calluses.
“Why not ask Futaba?” He hits another ball. “Dark, not too many people; could be good for her.”
Knees bent, weight on the balls of his feet, just like it said in that instructional book. Hips, knees, shoulders square. Front elbow down and in. Head definitely, completely clear of any thoughts about his first fight with his first girlfriend.
Another ball.
Another ball and Ren’s tongue won’t unstick from the roof of his mouth and his clear head is full of how once, a while ago, he told Ann he loved her because back then it was just a lie, something to knock her off her feet, to tease her, always trying to tease her because she always bounces back but now—
—now, she’s being quiet.
Ren glances over his shoulder. Ann’s staring at her phone, jaw set and eyes unmoving.
“As flattered as I am,” he says, turning away, “you don’t have to stick around.”
“God, if you want me to leave just say so.”
The next ball hits the safety net between them.
“What?”
“Doing this is so—” Ann jumps to her feet, shoving her phone in her bag. “Oh wait, was I not ‘taking things seriously’ enough?”
This last bit comes framed in finger quotations—though only half the set: her other hand struggles to sling her bag over her shoulder without pinning her hair beneath its strap.
“Whatever.” She yanks her hair free and tosses it back. “Call me when you actually feel like talking.”
Another ball hits the net.
Ann spins on her heel and stomps toward the exit. And finally Ren’s head is empty.
“Wait.” Then louder: “Ann, wait.”
She does. She looks like she wishes she didn’t. Ren drops the bat and steps around the net, leaving them both stuck out in the open with nothing to cling to and nothing to lean against. Ann picks a string off the plaid shirt tied around her hips, refusing to look at him.
“I hate this,” Ren says. “I don’t want to fight, not with you.”
“You got a funny way of showing it.”
“Sorry. Guess I should’ve acted like everything is fine, right?”
Ann shifts her weight to one leg, arms crossed. Like a dare, Ren holds her gaze and doesn’t blink.
“Look,” Ann starts. Carefully, levelly. “Things are weird, Medjed was huge, I get it. But we won! People are finally paying attention. That’s why I’m saying, let’s take it easy. Go see a movie or something.”
Ren chews the inside of his cheek.
He could. It’s so easy being that quiet boy with glasses, always going with the flow, keeping his head down. But more and more lately, his neck is starting to ache.
“It’s just—nothing’s changed. Have you seen the merch?” Ren shoves his hands in his pockets, brushing against his journal. “That’s Yusuke’s design. Meanwhile I shared my food with him today so he could eat and still afford train fare home.”
“I know.”
“People saying whatever they want, using us however they want. That’s why we started doing this but nothing’s changed.”
“Everything’s changed. It hasn’t stopped changing.” Ann sighs and gestures limply, hand falling to her side. “Look, this is like modeling; in the end, it’s good word’s getting out. We just gotta… I dunno, stay true or whatever.”
Ren snorts. “Couple days ago you said I was ‘being a real fucking drag about all this.’ Is that my truth?”
Ann looks unimpressed. “And what was it you called me? Attention-seeker? Uncommitted? Uhh what’s next, Ann, another movie? I’d say we’re even.”
“Wait, wait.” Ren takes a step closer and leans in. “What was that voice?”
“Nothing, shut up.”
He picks at her shirt. “Do it again.”
She slaps his hand. “Shut up!”
Ren grins. Ann begrudgingly follows suit.
And just like that, they regain some sense of normalcy. They walk hand-in-hand toward the exit while Ann talks about the reviews this movie is getting, the actress she has a crush on, and did Ren ever seen the one she did where she was an escaped convict? He really should. He would love it.
Halfway down the stairs, Ann’s stomach rumbles.
Ren stops dead. Ann keeps her eyes forward and tries to pull him along, but he stands firm. The noise grow into a whine, amplified by brick walls.
“Ann?”
“What?”
“Hungry?”
Pink cheeks undercut her glare. “Yeah, so hurry up.”
“Let’s go to Leblanc.” Ren swings their hands back and forth. “I’ll make you something.”
This, at least, is something he can do. With Ann pulling him through the backstreet, purpose takes over and he stands a little taller.
She pauses only when she sees Sojiro through the glass door, but hurries inside once Ren holds it open for her. Night keeps the café desolate and their discussion hushed; every clink of silverware and porcelain rings out. A building meant for many, used only for three.
Two, once Sojiro chews Ren out for wandering around until all hours and finally closes shop.
Ren and Ann eat in silence, the bar stools keeping them far enough apart that their elbows don’t touch. Ann smiles the first time their eyes meet, looks away on the second. On the third, she mirrors his knowing look and switches the TV off a report on Medjed.
More than once, Ren readies himself to say something; each time, it dies in his throat.
“It’s late,” is all he manages. “Wanna watch a movie here instead?”
No one else, just them on the couch upstairs, which they pull around to the middle of the room.
Ann curls against the arm while Ren sets up the DVD player. Talking about something. Anything. This movie. He’s seen it before; she hasn’t. The lighting and colours used are incredible. He says he never thought about things like colour theory until he met Yusuke but now he can’t stop. Ann smiles and nods. She gets it. She’s the same.
Then she stops smiling. Goes back to staring into middle distance.
Ren sighs.
“Sorry,” he says again, “for everything. What I said before wasn’t fair.”
Ann blinks life back into her eyes and pats the seat beside her. “Me too.”
Ren accepts his place, so close their arms press together. Their reflections in the TV stare back at him, vague shapes distorted by the glass’s curve.
“I know it’s good word’s getting out,” he admits, “but Medjed nearly got us. Without Futaba they would have. Just feels like the brakes are cut.”
Ann nudges him with her elbow. “You think Morgana would let anyone get the better of him?”
Ren levels her with his heaviest gaze. She rolls her eyes.
“Anyway,” she says, “you don’t have to control everything. You’re not alone in this so stop acting like it. Let go of the wheel and one of us will grab hold.”
“Without brakes we’ll still crash.”
“You sure? As long as we can steer a little, Mementos is pretty big, we’ll roll to a stop.”
“…What? Where is this going?”
“Uh.” Ann laughs and stretches her legs out. “I dunno. It’s kinda surprising, though; you’re a pretty big worrier, huh? Underneath it all. Hawaii’s gonna do you good.”
Ren scoffs. He grabs Ann’s hand, slipping his fingers between hers.
“Do I look worried? It’s fine. No one’s gonna get us again.”
The angled glass that makes a phantom appear before the crowd, the strings that move a puppet, the compartment that stops a woman from getting sawed in half—some things are meant to stay hidden. And when Ann stares, Ren is a stagehand standing before a crowd.
A full minute ticks by. Warmth reduces Ann’s touch to nothing but soft, so much a part of him that he almost can’t feel it but would miss it if it were gone.
She hums, sliding her thumb along his. “Remember the first time we really talked?”
“Of course.”
“When you hunted me down like a weirdo?”
“…Which I have apologized for, yes.”
“It was weird! But it was kind. You’re always kind.” She toys with his fingers, massaging their knuckles one by one. “But you don’t let me do the same. I wanna help, I wanna be the kind of person that can, but you don’t let me. It’s not fair.”
Ren sighs and pushes his glasses up, grinding the heel of his palm into his eye. Sparks swirl and pop behind his lid.
“Well,” Ann says, “you’ll just have to make it up to me.”
She keeps her voice light, clearly trying to stop the atmosphere from growing too heavy. Ren watches the stars burst. Like cameras flashing. Like the eyes of a hungry audience.
That’s fine. If he’s to be onstage, then he’ll master it. It will not master him.
“Of course,” he says, “miss.”
Ann snorts. “Miss?”
Ren stands up and offers his hand. She squints at him.
“It behooves a gentleman thief to right any wrong inflicted upon a lady such as yourself.”
Which gets her eyes wide. She’s too slow to hide it behind a smug look as she takes his hand, letting him pull her to her feet.
“I-is that what you are? A gentleman?”
Ren takes off his glasses and places them on the table. He puts his foot on the edge of the couch and shoves as hard as he can; it scrapes across the wooden floor, clearing them a bit of space.
“Please. I’m nothing if not.”
“Uh huh.”
Ren pulls out his phone and opens his music app, scrolling to the classical compositions he studies to, then places it beside his glasses. He bows, hand over his heart, thankful only he can feel it beating so hard it hurts.
“My lady.”
“Ohh!” Ann curtsies, pinching out her plaid shirt. “My good sir.”
One hand in hers, the other on the small of her back, and then they’re lost. They trip over each other’s feet and she laughs and he laughs and they dance, or something like it. Armed with only passing knowledge from romance movies, their attempts to spin and dip are nearly disastrous but Ann’s eyes are wet with mirth or embarrassment or both and something akin to sunshine won’t stop pouring from Ren’s chest.
Eventually the music comes to a quiet end. In the space between songs, Ren pulls Ann close and she lays her head against his shoulder. The floodlights fade, the stage darkens, and it’s just them. No crowd, no illusions. Just them. Ann’s hair tickles his jaw.
“I think I’m scared.”
Ann starts to pull away; Ren wraps both arms around her waist and keeps her close. ‘You can lean on me,’ she told him once, so he does. Closes his eyes and leans his weight on this girl half a head shorter than him. She holds tight and takes everything on.
“I’m scared and I’m angry and I’m”—Ren hides his face in the crook of her neck—“tired. I guess. Tired of people taking and using and seeing what they want and I don’t want to be… in that position again. And now you and Ryuji keep talking about revealing our identities but I don’t—I can’t—”
The words tumble out, twisted around a tongue unused to such candor. He takes a deep breath and tries to sort it out.
“Everything… could be so much better than it is. We have the power to make it better. This is important but people don’t think, they just treat us like some sideshow. And then I keep wondering about what Akechi’s saying, but what other choice do we have? ‘Cause these people, they don’t change on their own and—”
“Futaba did.”
Ann combs her fingers through the hair at his nape, nails lightly scratching.
“That’s different,” Ren mutters. “I think. I don’t know. I don’t know. I hate not knowing.”
Strings and horns play a crescendo, flowing as gently as the phone’s tinny speakers will allow. Ren fidgets, shifting his leg. His journal presses stiff against his leg.
That journal, half its pages curled and worn from his pen pressing hard, outlining everything he has done and needs to do. Bullet point rebellion. Neat and calculated even as he keeps moving towards chaos because he is always, always, always running towards what scares him most like he has something to prove. Fire burns, masks melt. He is terror and rage and love and more.
Ann curls his hair around her fingers.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” she says, “but… keep hope, I guess. And I’m sorry for before, telling you to ignore all this. Old habits die hard, huh?” She pauses, thinks. “I’m with you, Ren. We’re all with you. And we’ll get where we’re going.”
Her voice, light and breezy. Everything with Ann, light and breezy.
But no, maybe that’s not right. He’s witnessed her resolve firsthand, her determination to change and grow. An honesty he’s never been capable of. With Ren, change is a contortionist’s act. It’s a dislocated shoulder to slip free of chains. Ann is something else entirely. Whole and strong.
He lifts his head and rests his forehead against hers, looking directly into her eyes.
She touches his cheek. “Aw… you’re blushing.”
Ren snorts and hides his face again. “Bully.”
Ann laughs and grabs his hand off her waist, holding it up and making him spin her and everything is fine, fine, fine. Her plaid shirt blooms out, a ball gown, this dusty attic, their ballroom, and he thinks that maybe if he stays with her, he can conquer anything.
Light and breezy, no, Ann is a force of nature. Weathered by sunshine and storms, chains start to rust and decay. One final pull and Ren will truly be free.