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“I’d say this was an unmitigated success.” Haru stated happily, referring to the 2-day sleepover she hosted for the Phantom Thief girls.
They were spending their last afternoon at the penthouse’s den; Haru and Makoto were seated at the couch, drinking coffee made out of the beans Haru grew and roasted herself, while Ann and Futaba are seated on the floor, watching anime from Futaba’s portable harddrive on Haru’s school laptop.
“Couldn’t agree more,” Makoto concurred.
“We should totally do this again when summer vaca rolls around,” Ann chimed in.
“I could bring some multiplayer games over!” Futaba enthused, then addressing Haru directly she added, “you’re going to love the gory finishers they added into the new Street Kombat game.”
/ / /
They all eventually spent the remainder of their afternoon watching ‘slice of life’ anime - Makoto and Haru conceding to its light humor - after Haru offered for them to use the curved widescreen tv instead of her laptop.
They ate smoked salmon paninis and fresh juice rather than bags of chips and canned soda, not that Ann or Futaba minded.
At one point, during the end credits of an episode, Futaba noticed the blank wall space right above the TV and found it.. Bothersome . She leaned back slightly and framed the blank wall with her fingers like Yusuke would, envisioning a work of art in place of empty space.
“Hey, Haru. What’s with the empty space?” Futaba asked whilst still framing the space.
“Hm? Oh! Father’s portrait used to hang there. But it was recently moved to the corridor, to hang alongside grandfather’s and mother’s portrait. I haven’t decided on what to hang there in his place and I’d rather it not be my portrait.”
“How about a landscape?” Ann suggested.
Haru hummed indecisively.
“A still life, maybe?” Makoto chimed in. “Perhaps a painting of one of your plants?”
“How about a portrait of all of us??” Futaba eagerly suggested, even as the opening credits of the next episode started playing. “Plus Sojiro and Sae-san!”
Haru’s expression seemed to lighten.
The mention of Sae’s possible inclusion in the painting caught Makoto’s attention in particular.
“That’s a brilliant idea!” Haru beamed and chuckled softly. “Heavens know why I hadn’t even considered that.”
“You could commission Yusuke!” Ann suddenly chimed in.
“Oh! Yeah! Inari would be psyched!”
// // //
The girls parted ways at the station that evening, on the jovial note that the girls’ taste in anime can at least converge diplomatically on the small island of ‘slice of life’, having spent nearly 7 hours watching all two seasons of one show and one season of another, laughing and bouncing ideas off of one another.
Futaba marched leisurely through the quiet backstreets of Yongen-Jaya, content with how her sleepover with the other girls turned out and with the mental note to download more Slice Of Life anime..
She considered dropping by LeBlanc first, to greet her step-dad and faux-brother. But the weight of her duffel bag biting down on her shoulder convinced her otherwise. So she marched straight home.
When she got there she immediately threaded the darkness up the familiar stairs to the second floor.
Light was flooding out of her room.
She stops, fearing there might be an intruder. But hearing and seeing no movement for a good minute or two, she padded closer.
‘Sojiro must’ve went in and cleaned up a bit,’ she thought -- “and.. Forgot. ..to turn off. .. . Huh.” -- before finding a red card tacked to the door frame.
She takes the card.
[
MERRY CHRISTMAS,
my muse
↧ ]
“Inari’s been here?” She remarked more than wondered, knowing only Yusuke would refer to her as their ‘muse’.
WAIT.
Futaba checked her room - or, rather, gave it a once-over whilst standing at the doorway - and noted that the posters, notes, and whatnots she had on her wall had been removed.
Her battlestation was still there, however, as were her many technical books and a bookshelf filled with manga.
“What did Inari do in here while I was at Haru’s??” She kept wondering, all the while noting the very faint patterns painted onto her walls where her posters and notes ought to be.
She consults the card once more. And flips it.
[
Turn your lights off...
]
--it says.
Futaba relents with a huff, reaching for her lightswitch.
“Fine.”
And therein lay the surprise that a certain Kosei artist thought warranted a bright red greeting card.
Futaba - simple put - was speechless.
Her walls glowed with a soft, bluish-green luminescence in patterns akin to circuitry, with strokes ranging in thickness and luminosity, some stopping short to just half the wall in height while others reached further upwards, up to the ceiling wherein splayed across was an honest-to-goodness star map.
Futhark runes were used in place of the traditional romanized ‘N, E, S, W’ for the cardinal directions, she noted.
She could name each constellation present.
And in the gaps between constellations were the masks of each Phantom Thief.
The combatants, at least. Hers was absent. Though, granted, there was already a silhouette of her in the center, loomed over by the spherical form of Prometheus.
But for her, the ‘pièce de résistance’ was the fox prancing about just outside the star map’s border.
‘Fox.. Yusuke. Right.’
She regarded the card in hand once more. Her expression towards it softened.
Then pulling out her phone and dropping her bag on her bed she sends a quick text to her faux-brother.
FUTABA : yo
FUTABA : is Inari at LeBlanc?
REN : Yeah
REN : drinking tea at one of the booths.
REN : arguing with Ryuji, too.
FUTABA : of course he is
As Futaba sent her response she was already out the front door. Closing the door and gate behind her, she makes her way to LeBlanc, during which she made a mental recap…
One Yusuke Kitagawa allotted, what, 2 days out of his Christmas break to paint on her walls with glow-in-the-dark paint as his gift to her? ‘ That sounds exactly like him.’
Once she finally reached LeBlanc, she entered without preamble and marched straight to the young artist in question.
A bickering Ryuji fell silent. Ren watched her march by, as did Sojiro.
And Yusuke. ..he was promptly pulled into a rather grateful kiss.