Archive of Our Own

As a child, Ryuji had a lot of nightmares. They were always about his father, looming large and imposing, smelling like beer and cigarettes and making Ryuji feel impossibly small. Often, he was physically backed into a corner, unable to fight or flee. He just had to take the beatings and the verbal assault, to carry them with him even when he wasn’t conscious and able to rationalize the terror. Sometimes, he was stuck in a dark room, hearing the muffled sounds of his father’s booming voice and his mother’s terrified pleading, punctuated by noises that could only be explained by some sort of impact. He’d wake soaked in sweat, alone in his room. His father hadn’t been around for months, then years by the time the dreams finally started to fade.

But they only gave way to something else. He didn’t want to call it worse. He wasn’t sure if it was. He wasn’t even sure if it counted as different. It might have just been more of the same.

His father was replaced by another man, but the premise was the same. Suguru Kamoshida took up residence in his unconscious mind and, every night, Ryuji had his leg broken into pieces again, and again, and again. He could feel the bone snap, could hear Kamoshida’s laugh fading out as the self in his dream passed out from the pain and the self in reality awoke gasping with his leg throbbing where his femur had since healed itself.

After witnessing the cruelty in Kamoshida’s Palace, his psyche somehow found a way to make things worse. The leg-breaking nightmares didn’t happen anywhere near as often as they used to, but seeing those cannons firing volleyballs at lightning speed at innocent Shujin athletes had terrified him to his core, and they too migrated into his dreams. Now he was strapped down, immobile, while a cannon took aim at his leg.

At least he always woke up just before impact.

The longer the dreams went on, the angrier he got at himself. He’d powered through all the physical aspects of recovery. He took the grueling steps to being able to walk again, and he’d done it all on his own. He had no friends. Not after what happened with the track team. He had his mom and his nurses at his side, holding his arms and helping him keep balanced. It took a long time, but now he could even run short distances as long as he didn’t push himself too hard. And he wasn’t great about that. Every misstep left him bedbound for the rest of a day and limping into the next. He felt like he should’ve been over this. He should’ve been healed completely. He’d done everything the doctors said, taken everything slow, but the reality was that his leg might never be the same. Now it felt like his mind wouldn’t either. It was just another thing stolen away from him, completely out of his control.

He tried to fight it, tried to tell himself that things were better now. He had friends — a whole group of them — who understood what it felt like to be hurt. Any one of them would understand if he told them he was waking up several nights a month, dragging himself to the bathroom to dry heave until the shaking stopped. But no one else was talking about stuff like that. Even Ann, who watched her best friend take a leap off the school rooftop. Even Futaba, who had once been so shaken by her mother’s death that she’d resigned herself to an isolated demise. Everyone just seemed so much better now. Why was he getting left behind? Why did he feel like he was being haunted by the ghost of men who’d since vanished from his life entirely? The likelihood of ever seeing his father or Kamoshida in the flesh again was about equal. But their spirits visited him.

The nightmares got more frequent when he was stressed, so he tried to minimize stress, often by shirking his responsibilities and instead focusing on video games. Sure, his friends thought he was an idiot. Sure, he might not pass his exams. But at least he could have dreamless sleep every once in a while. Exam season was tough enough as it was, he didn’t need things to be worse.

But Makoto demanded that they all study together, to ensure that some people — him, he knew, he wasn’t stupid — were taking their schoolwork seriously. So he got it drilled into his head that he was going to absolutely, totally, completely wreck his exams, and his friends made sure he knew it. By the time their study session ended, he felt sick with anxiety, dread pooling in his stomach. He couldn’t focus even if he wanted to study, with everyone freaking him out so bad. So what if he failed? It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he was going to college anyway, now that his track scholarship was out.

Everyone else left, including Morgana tagging along with Futaba, and he stayed behind, helping Akira clean up dishes and wipe down tables.

“That was effin’ miserable.” Ryuji dried plates as Akira handed them to him. “I’m doomed for sure, what about you?”

Akira shrugged. “Same as always, I guess.”

“Oh, so you’ll be fine.” Ryuji playfully punched his arm. “You’re always fine. Our super-smart leader.”

Akira laughed shyly and handed over another plate. They continued doing dishes in mostly silence until the cafe was cleaned to Sojiro’s standards. Ryuji stretched in the kitchen while Akira moved over to the front door to lock it.

“Are you staying?” Akira’s hand hesitated at the lock. He was looking over his shoulder at Ryuji expectantly.

“Uh, I dunno. Do you mind?” He leaned on the bar, mentally begging Akira to not kick him out. If he had to go home so soon after all of that, he knew he’d wallow, and it would lead to more stress, and he’d get no sleep, and… Being with Akira was more fun than that. “If you got shit to do, I can get outta here.”

“No,” Akira locked the door. “I don’t mind.” He paused again, looking like he was thinking, though it was always hard to parse his expressions. “Want to take a bath?”

“After Makoto nearly grilled me to death?” Ryuji saw Akira almost smile. “Dude, I would love to take a bath.”

The bathhouse near Leblanc was sparsely populated at worst and completely empty at best on any given night. Tonight, it was empty. Ryuji and Akira both settled into the big, steamy tub, on opposite ends with room to stretch their legs out and get comfortable. It was nice, just being warm and chatting with Akira about anything but the impending doom of exams. If they could stay like that, Ryuji thought he might never have to worry about anything ever again. But, in time, they were both lightheaded from the heat and had to retreat back to Leblanc.

Ryuji didn’t want to overstay his welcome, but Akira was the one who put on a movie upstairs when they got back, and he couldn’t just leave. They sat on the couch together, pressed in close on one end so they could both see the TV. They weren’t exactly touchy-feely with each other, but Ryuji was definitely more hands-on with Akira than he was with any of the others. Sitting with their legs touching wasn’t anything new, and neither was Akira’s arm on the back of the couch behind him. Ryuji got comfortable, settled in to watch whatever old movie Akira rented this time.

By the end of it, Akira was nodding off, cheek resting on his arm and head close to Ryuji’s shoulder.

Ryuji nudged him. “Hey,” Akira didn’t respond, so he nudged him again and got an annoyed mumble. “Looks like it’s your bedtime.”

Akira inhaled sharply but slowly, and straightened up, rubbing an eye. It was rare to see him so vulnerable, but he quickly regained his composure and was left looking down at his lap blankly.

“Maybe it’s time for me to go.” Ryuji pulled his phone out and checked the time. It was well past midnight. “Uh, or not. Hope you don’t mind a sleepover, cuz I definitely missed the last train.”

“My fault.” Akira slowly stood from the couch and stretched. He walked over to his makeshift dresser — a big cardboard box stored under excess cafe supplies — and knelt down to rifle through it. He returned with some pajama pants and a shirt. “Here.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Ryuji took the clothes. They smelled like Akira, a clean coffee smell. “Good thing it’s not a school night, I guess.”

“Morgana wouldn’t have let me stay up this late if it was.” Akira returned to the box to grab clothes of his own and began changing. Ryuji followed his lead.

It felt odd to be wearing someone else’s clothes, but at least they fit. Akira gave him an extra blanket and a pillow and he made himself at home on the couch. It wasn’t the first time he’d fallen asleep at Leblanc, but it was usually a planned move, not one that snuck up on him like this. It wasn’t long before he heard Akira’s breathing even out, and he was left lying awake, staring at the glow-in-the-dark plastic stars on the attic’s ceiling. He tried his best to fall asleep quickly, so his brain wouldn’t have time to remember that he was supposed to be stressing himself to death, but he was stuck in half-conscious limbo for a long time before sleep took over.

Before he realized he was asleep, he felt the familiar weight, the invisible restraints keeping him in place. He could hear Kamoshida laughing and taunting him, could see the cannon being positioned.

He woke up gasping and immediately bolted up to put pressure on his thigh where his old wound throbbed like it really had been broken again. Even with his thoughts scrambled, some self-aware part of him was repeating not now, not now, not now, not in front of Akira. But it was too late. Across the room, Akira sleepily asked after him, and when Ryuji didn’t respond other than trying to stifle his own breathing, Akira got up and came over to him anyway. Ryuji tried to ignore him, but Akira said his name softly again and just stood there.

He knew it was just Akira, knew he was safe in the attic at Leblanc, but it was dark and Akira was tall and looming over him just like Kamoshida, just waiting for Ryuji to make the wrong move so he could strike again. He could still hear that sickening laugh, and feel the snap of his bone against skin, and he couldn’t really get his breaths in anymore. He realized he was outright sobbing on the exhale, and pulled his knees up close to his face to muffle himself. His dad hated it when he cried.

The couch shifted next to him, and he braced himself for some sort of impact, but no touch followed. Akira just sat there with him, warm and still smelling like the bathhouse. The comforting scent — not Olympian sweat and cologne, not beer and cigarettes — sunk into his clouded mind and he finally got a good breath in, then another. He could tell he was shaking. His stomach was still churning and threatening to push up and out of his throat, but at least he could breathe without gasping, sometimes.

“Ryuji?” Akira spoke his name again, just as quiet as before.

“‘M fine.” Ryuji’s voice wasn’t convincing at all, not even to his own ears. Hearing himself sounding so weak and broken only made him cry harder. Grow up, his father’s voice echoed in his mind, Do you want something to cry about? “S-sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Akira gently touched Ryuji’s arm, just enough to confirm his presence, then pulled away. “I’m here for you.”

The touch burned, like he’d been slapped. He tightened his posture and shrunk away from Akira, closer back against the corner of the couch, thoughts racing. He’s going to hurt you if he gets close, he’s going to smash your head against the wall again, send you to school with a black eye, he’s—

“Did you have a bad dream?” Akira sounded nothing like the men haunting his dreams. His voice was deep and soothing, only breaking from that demeanor in the Metaverse, when there was something he could fight to protect others. Akira was never violent for violence’s sake. He’d never hurt his friends. Soft-spoken, considerate Akira was worried, and it was Ryuji’s fault.

“Jus’ go back to sleep, man, I’m— I’m fine. I…” His voice kept breaking. Sounding composed was pointless, he was realizing.

Akira just sat there with him. He made no move to get up and go back to bed.

“Akira, man, just—” Ryuji sniffled. “Leave me alone.”

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Leave me alone.” Ryuji spoke more forcefully, but he was still crying so hard that it didn’t really matter.

“No.” Akira still wouldn’t move. “You’re hurt.”

Something about the way he said that made everything so much more unbearable. Ryuji finally lifted his head to look at Akira. In the dark, his features were hard to make out, but the absence of glasses to obscure his expression meant Ryuji could at least make out that he looked scared. Akira never looked scared.

“Did you have a bad dream?” Akira repeated his previous question.

“It’s… it’s not a big deal.” Ryuji pressed his face into his knees again. His leg was killing him.

“What was it about?”

“I said it’s not a big deal.”

“Can I just sit here with you, then?” Akira didn’t wait for an answer, and lifted up the blanket Ryuji pushed aside in his terror. He settled it over both of them.

Akira was silent after that. Ryuji kept crying. Why couldn’t he stop crying? The dream was over. The abuse was over. No one would ever treat him like that again. But it all felt too real. He could still feel everything on the periphery of his memories, threatening to push in and swallow him whole.

There was a weight on his shoulders. His first instinct was to lash out and shove at whatever was pushing him down, but he couldn’t move. After the first few seconds of panic, he realized the weight was warm and soft, that it smelled like soap and coffee. Akira.

Akira had an arm around his shoulders, blanket wrapped around them both. It was a half-hug from the side, without any insistence that Ryuji move any closer. It was just a grounding weight and a reminder that there was another presence there with him, one that wasn’t going to hurt him. They sat like that for a long time in silence before Ryuji finally leaned in closer and rested his head on Akira’s shoulder, still sniffling but no longer sobbing or gasping for air.

“Hey,” Akira didn’t move, didn’t insist Ryuji move any closer. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.” Ryuji could almost speak normally now, besides his throat being too dry. “I’m so pathetic. Stupid. Crying like an effin’ baby over nothing…” He kept murmuring more self-deprecation to himself.

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“I woke you up in the middle of the night so I could throw a tantrum.” Anger was seeping into his tone now, like it always did when he was done panicking. “Now you’re not gonna get any sleep, just cuz I can’t handle my own shit.”

“I don’t mind.” Akira was taking this way too lightly.

“Okay, dude, just cuz you’re never upset doesn’t mean you have to act like a friggin’ saint. You can be mad at me for this shit.”

“I’m not mad at you, though. You had a panic att—”

“What do you know about that?” Ryuji pulled himself away from Akira all at once, shoving his arm away. “What do you know about panic, Akira? You’re always calm. You’re always put together. You don’t know what it’s like to feel like any second now someone’s gonna come after you like you never got away in the first place!”

Ryuji hated himself for yelling, but his blood was boiling now, terror replaced with rage. This didn’t have anything to do with Akira, it could’ve been anyone sitting here saying just the wrong things. It could’ve been his mom talking him down from a nightmare. He was just like his father after all, lashing out at anyone he could get his hands on.

And Akira just took it. He just sat there, looking down at his lap, sad and silent and not-at-all-angry that his best friend was wailing on him over nothing. And Ryuji was crying again, big hot angry tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Do you think you’re the only one who feels like that?” Akira barely spoke up, eyes still down. His voice was steady, but Ryuji knew him well enough to detect a hint of pain.

“How could you possibly feel like this?” Ryuji lowered his volume, but didn’t adjust his harsh tone. “You feel like your dad’s gonna walk back into your life and choke you out again? Beat the shit out of your mom? Like Kamoshida’s gonna find a way to snap every other bone in your body? Gimme a break, Akira!”

Akira took a deep breath. “Okay,” He got out from under the blanket and stood. “Sorry.”

He disappeared down the stairs and Ryuji was left to sit alone, stewing in his misplaced anger, hating himself so much he thought he might explode. He stretched his legs out finally and set to work taking out his frustration by kneading his hands, maybe too hard, into his injury to relax the muscles there. Gentle massage — gentle being the keyword — was supposed to alleviate his phantom pain, but he was more likely to just give himself bruises. But the act of futile self-care distracted him enough that he stopped crying again. Instead, he just sat, thinking, wallowing.

With his head clearer, he felt like even more of an asshole. Akira was obviously hurt by what he said. He wasn’t one to speak his mind, but Ryuji could hear the heartbreak even in the only two words he spoke before getting up and just leaving. Akira never left anyone behind, never turned away from someone who was hurting, and Ryuji pushed so hard it really made Akira Kurusu, brave leader of the Phantom Thieves, get up and walk away. All Ryuji did was make things worse for the people around him, the people who were actually healing from the things that made their lives miserable. He was just getting worse. One bad thing faded into another, again and again.

Akira deserved better than him.

He rubbed his eyes with his palms until he saw spots. When he finally uncovered his face, Akira was back, standing in the entryway to the attic with a cup in one hand. His dark silhouette made Ryuji’s heart jump into his throat for just a fraction of a second before he could remind himself that even if Akira’s feelings were ripped to shreds, he was safe with him.

Akira stepped closer, then held out the cup to Ryuji. Ryuji took it and realized it was just water.

“Thanks,” he murmured, then drank. Like he deserved this at all.

“You’ll get dehydrated.” Akira sounded calm, but he seemed like he didn’t really know where to be. He wasn’t looking at Ryuji, just standing by the couch awkwardly. As awkwardly as Akira could do anything, anyway. Ryuji meant it about him always seeming collected.

Ryuji drank almost all of the water and set it down on the floor. The silence in the room felt heavy, but Akira still wasn’t moving. He sighed. “Hey… Akira…”

“It’s alright.” Akira cut him off.

“No.” Ryuji spoke harshly again, and mentally kicked himself. “Just lemme apologize, okay? You deserve an apology.”

“Okay.”

Ryuji held up the blanket for Akira to sit next to him again. There was a pause, but then he settled in and Ryuji covered both of them.

“Dude, I… I’m sorry. Don’t say it’s fine. You were tryin’ to make me feel better, and I just… I dunno. Those dreams feel so real, and then I wake up and it’s like it’s still happenin’, and I know you’re not him. I’m not makin’ excuses, it just felt like… like you were attacking me, and… You wouldn’t. You’re not. But I got scared, so I…” Ryuji pressed his face into his arms on top of his knees and laughed into them. “I’m just like him.”

“What was your dream about…?” Akira asked for the second time.

Ryuji groaned into his arms, then turned his head, keeping his cheek there. “It’s… usually the same one. It sounds stupid if I try to explain.” Akira kept looking at him, so he continued. “Y’know those cannons Kamoshida had in his Palace? The ones that kept firing at the volleyball team? It’s… like that, but… my leg, and…” He took a few deep breaths, but found he couldn’t continue.

Akira hesitantly put an arm around him again. This time, he leaned into it immediately, hiding his face in his arms again.

“You think you’re acting like him…?”

“No, like…” Ryuji sighed hard. “Like my dad. He’d just get mad and he’d take it out on everyone else. Me, my mom… I freaked out and you were just tryin’ to help, and I’m—” His voice broke and his eyes stung with tears again. “I’m sorry, ‘Kira.”

Akira pulled him in closer, into a proper one-armed hug, and rested his chin on top of Ryuji’s head. “You’re not him.”

“But, I—”

“You’re not. You made a mistake. You apologized.”

Akira held him while he got through another fit of tears. But this one felt different — it felt like release, like all the tension built up in his chest was finally easing up until he was left feeling exhausted and too hot. He rubbed at his eyes with the sleeves of his borrowed shirt and barely lifted his head to rest his cheek against Akira’s arm instead of his own.

Akira broke the silence with what felt like an unrelated statement. “I’m on probation.”

“Huh? Yeah.” Ryuji met his eyes for a second, confused.

“You said you feel like someone’s going to come after you. Like you never actually got away.” Akira barely smiled, but it was an expression of sadness, eyes averted. “I’m on probation. Any small mistake could get my life torn apart again. Shipped off somewhere else. Locked up. I’m not… calm. I’m…” He didn’t continue.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” Ryuji shut his eyes. He couldn’t stand to see the look on Akira’s face. “I know shit’s nowhere near perfect for you, I know what you went through with that asshole. You wouldn’t be here if things weren’t shit. Sometimes, it just feels like…” He pressed his face into Akira’s arm. “Like everyone else is movin’ on with their lives. Nobody else says anything about this kinda shit. It’s like I’m stuck in the past, and everyone else is leavin’ me behind to suffer alone.”

“You’re not alone.” Akira leaned his head against his own arm, at eye level with Ryuji now. Ryuji opened his. Akira just looked serious now, like he always did. “I promise.”

Ryuji had to shut his eyes again and steady his breathing before he burst into tears all over again. Enough was enough. He just nodded silently and tried to internalize Akira’s words, to commit them to memory for the next time it felt like his entire world was rooted firmly in place while the rest of the planet kept spinning.

The planet did keep spinning.

Weeks turned to months, and Ryuji and Akira went from teammates to friends to something a little less casual. Arms around shoulders turned into soft, longing looks and even softer kisses alone in Leblanc’s attic.

Things crashed and burned for the Phantom Thieves. Badly. Especially for Akira, who spent months locked away and came back a little rougher around the edges. Most of the time, it was easy to ignore. He was the same quiet, strong-willed leader his friends had always known, but if you looked too closely, if you caught him at the right angle, some of the ease started to give way to something else. What looked like listening quietly while the others laughed and talked was really staring holes into the table, mind whisked away to somewhere else — memories of injections, beatings, isolation. He always felt sort of jet lagged, like his body and mind weren’t quite on the same wavelength anymore.

Really, he felt sort of defective.

He’d been having what he’d later realize were flashbacks ever since his initial run-in with Shido back in his hometown. Reminders of the fear he’d felt were difficult to deal with, and in an instant, he was back there again, dazed and being pulled into a police car while strangers shouted around him. It felt like a pivotal point, a beginning to a long string of what he wanted to call mistakes, if it weren’t for the lives he’d been able to touch as a result. Calling it a bad decision felt like turning his back on all of that, so he tried not to. It was a happy accident, that was all.

A true bad decision was trusting Goro Akechi. Against his better judgement, against the judgement of his friends, he’d let him in. And he’d paid for it, nearly with his life. When he returned home from his second brief arrest, covered in bruises, still weak from nearly being overdosed on sedatives, it didn’t feel worth it. Faking his own death to get Akechi off their trail was a bad decision. It would haunt him. But his friends came first. There was no other way out. He had to keep telling himself that.

Every time he came to from another non-consensual trip down memory lane, unsure of how much time had passed, he had to remind himself that he did it for them. They were safe, and that was what mattered. He had to be their fearless leader, or there wasn’t anything he was good for. Every decision he’d ever made, bad or not, would be for nothing if the Phantom Thieves came to ruin. It was all he had, until he didn’t.

They saved the world. He was arrested for a third time. Then, he was just Akira Kurusu — now with more baggage, more demons, even without the one he called his Persona.

His friends acted weird around him sometimes, but maybe it was just him being weird and them not knowing how to deal with it. They’d had a few months without him, maybe their dynamic had just shifted. He wasn’t sure where he fit in anymore. They didn’t need a leader, and there wasn’t anything for him to lead. He could feel himself fading into the background, dissolving into nothing sometimes until someone called his name or nudged him back to reality to get him to answer a question or laugh at a joke.

Ryuji was patient with him. He’d notice Akira not responding, staring blankly at nothing, and reach over and squeeze his hand, forcing some sort of tactile grounding. He’d give him a big sunshine smile, and Akira would try to return it with one of his own. They’d talked about traumatic memories taking shape as repetitive nightmares months ago. Did Ryuji see his while he was awake too? Akira was too afraid to ask.

They’d given up on sleeping separately long ago, and now simply made do with fitting two bodies on Akira’s small bed, huddled together for body heat, Ryuji’s face pressed against the back of Akira’s neck. He pressed a kiss there and Akira barely hummed, eyes fluttering open to look out into the darkness.

“You asleep?” Ryuji spoke quietly, in case he was. Akira hummed again to indicate that he wasn’t. “You doin’ okay? You were real out of it at dinner.”

Akira took a moment to recollect what he’d even eaten for dinner, and came up empty-handed. It was always startling to realize that he had no clue what he’d been doing up until the moment when he tried to reflect back and couldn’t. He weakly sighed without meaning to, and Ryuji shifted to hold him tighter, nuzzling against his neck.

“You jus’ tired?” Ryuji pressed another kiss to just above his shoulders, and left his lips pressed there.

“Mm, yeah.” Akira felt for Ryuji’s hand on his stomach and laced their fingers together. He was tired. It wasn’t a lie. But he was always tired these days. He traced his fingers over Ryuji’s and tried to focus on that.

“Let’s do somethin’ fun tomorrow.” Ryuji kept his volume down, but it had that sing-song-y quality he got when he was excited and trying to get Akira in on it too. Akira barely smiled and squeezed his hand. “I don’t gotta lotta money right now, but we could go see a movie or somethin’.”

“Something scary so I’ll hold your hand?” Akira could feel Ryuji’s breath on his neck when he laughed. He shut his eyes, in a rare moment of true contentment.

“You wouldn’t just hold my hand anyway? You seem happy to be doin’ that right now.”

Akira giggled sleepily and mumbled something barely-coherent. Ryuji kissed his nape again, then they both fell silent. Sleep was winning out over everything else, and Akira quickly dozed off with Ryuji’s arm still securely around him.

The next thing he knew, it was dark and cold. He tried to get his bearings, but turning his head felt like moving through water. Trying to move his arms only revealed to him that his wrists were cuffed. It was eerily quiet for another moment, then he felt the first impact, something solid to his skull sending him toppling over, quickly followed by another to his ribs. Someone was yelling. Someone was grabbing his hair. He tried to cry out, but whatever drug was in his system was doing its job of turning him into a ragdoll. He felt like he was suffocating.

When he woke up, his lungs burned like he’d been holding his breath. The underwater sensation hadn’t left him and he found it difficult to even turn his head to the side. He still couldn’t tell where he was. Were his wrists still cuffed? He couldn’t feel his body well enough to tell the difference. Where was he? In prison? An interrogation room? Home? It was like his vision wouldn’t focus, everything around him dark and hazy, blurred by… Was he crying?

Someone, somewhere was saying something. He furrowed his brow and tried hard to hone in on it. The voice was quiet, maybe confused, definitely not shouting. Not about to grind the heel of a boot into his cheek. He willed himself to just focus, just figure out what was going on, but everything was just fog in his head and weight on his chest.

The voice spoke again, sounding closer this time. “‘Kira?”

What?

“Hey… Babe, I’m right here. I’m here.”

Where?

He blinked a few times and the ceiling came into a loose focus, plastic stars a familiar sight. So, he was home, theoretically, in Leblanc’s attic. But then, who was speaking to him? Sojiro? No, he thought, Sojiro wouldn’t call him that, so—

“R’uji?” His voice sounded just as far away, slow and slurred like he was drunk.

“Hey,” Ryuji sounded relieved. “Just breathe, okay?”

There was a hand in his hair. Grabbing a fistful to— No, stroking gently, pushing his bangs back and away from his face, tracing slow patterns. He focused on that hand, then past it to the face hovering near him. Ryuji was there, eyebrows knitted together, frowning. He brightened when Akira’s eyes landed on his.

“When did I…” Speaking felt clumsy, and he had to take a pause to keep the words together enough to get them out. They seemed to disappear as soon as they came to him. “Did we… did the… the plan…”

“What?” Ryuji stopped brushing his hair back and instead thumbed at his cheek. Akira could tell his skin was slick, but he didn’t know if it was from sweat or tears. “What’re you tryin’ to say?”

“The— the phone?” Akira was trying so hard to focus. “The plan. My phone.”

Ryuji was quiet for a long time. For a few moments, Akira worried he’d lost touch again, and started to panic. He felt Ryuji’s hand in his hair again and relaxed.

“Akira…” Ryuji’s voice was so quiet, so sad. “That was months ago… You’re safe, okay? You had a bad dream.”

Oh.

Slowly, carefully, he lifted a hand up and touched Ryuji’s wrist. His motion still felt sluggish and his limbs didn’t quite feel like his own, but he managed. Ryuji moved both of their hands away from Akira’s head and down to his chest. He pressed his lips to Akira’s forehead and settled down to lay against him on his side. Akira let his eyes fall on his face, and he smiled again. Akira tried and failed to return it but settled for shutting his eyes.

“Want me to talk you through it?” Ryuji spoke close to his ear and it made him shiver, but he nodded. Right, this wasn’t the first time Ryuji had to do this for him. He really was defective. “‘Kay. Uh, it’s March. We’re in your room over Leblanc. Morgana went to stay the night with Futaba cuz he hates third wheelin’. We had a very romantic dinner date tonight of takeout ramen and ice cream. Tomorrow we’re gonna go see a movie. If… If you feel up to it. We don’t gotta.” He pressed another kiss to Akira’s temple.

“Thanks…” Akira managed to speak now without as much difficulty.

He was still processing everything Ryuji was saying, but it sounded right. Everything was still hazy, but it seemed like they were in his attic-turned-bedroom. It was quiet, but he could faintly hear traffic noise, meaning the window must have been cracked open. There was a blanket over the both of them, and he was flat on his back. There was no pain anywhere on his body besides the restriction he was still feeling across his ribcage, which could be explained away by the lingering tension from his nightmare. No bruises or scrapes from being thrown around.

Moving proved to be possible now, so he rolled onto his side and pressed his face into Ryuji’s chest, eyes closed. Ryuji put his arms around him and held him, one hand rubbing his back in slow circles. The tension eased up quickly after that. Ryuji felt like safety, like something to hold onto when everything started fading out around him.

“No problem…” Ryuji rested his chin on top of Akira’s head.

They were quiet for a long time after that. Akira was listening to the rhythm established by Ryuji’s heartbeat, and Ryuji was… possibly drifting off. Akira wouldn’t blame him. There wasn’t anything to be done now, anyway. There was nothing he could expect Ryuji to do about his inability to live in the moment. Everything felt normal now, almost. He pressed his face closer into Ryuji’s chest and was squeezed into a tight hug in response.

“Sorry,” he mumbled against Ryuji’s shirt.

“Nah, you’re good.” But Ryuji sounded sleepy, and he could’ve been sleeping if Akira hadn’t woken him up.

“I overreacted,” Akira added.

“Huh?” Ryuji pulled back a bit to try and get Akira to look at him. He wouldn’t. “Which part of that was an overreaction?”

“All of it.” He barely tilted his head to speak easier. “Crying. Freaking out.”

“Babe, you were cryin’ so quiet I wouldn’t have even woke up if I wasn’t already layin’ here awake.” Ryuji stroked fingers through his hair again and he shut his eyes. “And I wouldn’t exactly call any of that freakin’ out. You had a nightmare and got disoriented. It happens, man.”

He kept expecting Ryuji to get mad at him, to yank a fistful of his hair and shove his head against the wall, to call him a dramatic, lying, brat and then tell all of his friends the same. He’d be cut off, totally adrift, alone, punished for speaking up at all when he should’ve been quiet and emotionless. His breath got away from him again, and he took a few weak, shaking attempts at regulating it. This backfired and only resulted in alerting Ryuji, who held onto him tighter, one hand on his head.

“Hey, hey… It’s okay. I’m here.”

Ryuji’s voice should’ve soothed him, but he was too frazzled by the thought of having his entire life ripped up from the roots again. If Ryuji got sick of dealing with him, if anyone decided Akira was too much of a hassle, too emotional, too weak, too needy, it would all be over. He wanted to cry again, but choked that urge back. He needed to shut it all off to survive.

All at once, he pulled himself away from Ryuji and off the bed. His legs wobbled, but he still managed to get his shoes on and make it to the stairs before Ryuji was up and after him.

“Hey!” Ryuji was too loud. “Where’re you goin’, man? What’s wrong?”

Akira still wasn’t breathing right, and the room spun a bit. He gripped the railing on the stairs tightly and willed himself to not trip on the way down. If he didn’t get out of there, to somewhere where he could lose it privately, he didn’t know what to do. But Ryuji kept following him, close behind on the stairs, one hand on his waist to catch him when he did end up stumbling. He wanted to keep going, wanted to make it down and out the door to Leblanc, and into an alley somewhere alone, but he just sobbed and let himself crumple onto the stairs. Ryuji sat down next to him while he went completely to pieces.

He’d never been a loud cryer, instead sobbing near silently and gasping into his own knees, punctuated only by sniffling. But he was shaking all over and barely breathing, and Ryuji was going to find this so over-the top, he was going to hate him, and then so would all of his friends. He wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be the stoic, fearless leader who took on everything without ever cracking, and now he wasn’t just cracking, but breaking.

“Akira…” Ryuji breathed out his name like his heart was breaking too, and that only made everything so much worse. Akira braced for some sort of impact, be it verbal or physical, but Ryuji only scooted closer and put an arm loosely around his waist, and held him without saying anything else for a long time.

When Akira still hadn’t stopped being dramatic, he spoke up again quietly. “‘Kira… Baby, you gotta tell me what’s goin’ on…”

“I c-can’t—” It was still so hard to just breathe that his voice would barely cooperate. He didn’t sound like himself. “I’m fine. I’m okay, I— I promise, I’m f-f-fine.”

“Like hell you’re fine, you’re barely breathin’...” Ryuji sounded angry, exasperated, fed up with his antics. “What’s upsettin’ you so much?”

Akira just shook his head. He didn’t need to burden anyone. The sooner Ryuji gave up on him and left, the better.

“Are you… still confused about where you are?” Ryuji spoke slowly, like he was trying to piece things together now. “Are you scared cuz you don’t think you’re somewhere safe? You’re havin’ a flashback…?”

Akira started to shake his head again, but then paused and had to think about it. Was he having a flashback? He knew where he was. He was sitting on the stairs in Leblanc. But something still felt so out of place, something was digging into him and telling him to be scared, that soon he’d be treated like a criminal again, he’d have everything taken from him. He’d be locked up and alone and scared, with strangers jabbing needles into him and breaking his ribs. He shuddered and felt his stomach lurch.

“It’s just you ‘n me here, ‘kay?” Ryuji gently placed a hand on his back. “You can talk to me.”

“I don’t want you to s-see me like th-this.” His voice was still broken by his uneven breathing, and the sound of it made his skin crawl.

“Like what? Cryin’? Scared? You’ve seen me like that plenty of times…”

“I have to be stronger. For everyone else. I’m…” He sniffled. “I’m the leader, so I… I can’t… They’ll arrest me again if I m-mess up.” He felt like his words weren’t making any sense. He barely turned his head to look at Ryuji with one eye. Even in the dark, he looked taken aback. He looked hurt. Fuck.

Ryuji fumbled with his words, but eventually found them. “You think you’re not allowed to cry?”

Akira shut his eyes.

“Dude…” Ryuji kept his voice down. “I wonder all the time how you’re holdin’ it together so well. After what you’ve been through? If you never stopped cryin’, I wouldn’t hold it against you…”

Akira felt Ryuji’s arm go around his waist again, then his forehead against his hair for a moment before he straightened up again. Akira just sniffled in response.

“You are strong. You are so strong, Akira.” Ryuji’s voice broke and Akira’s chest clenched with guilt. “You don’t have to act like you’re fine all the time. I wanna be able to tell you things’re gonna be okay when you need to hear it. So does everyone else…” Ryuji pressed his face into Akira’s hair again. “D’you remember what you told me months ago when I told you about my nightmares?”

You’re not alone, he knew. Something about that phrase settled heavily in his chest and he sighed and whimpered it now, muffled by his arms.

Ryuji shakily responded, “Well, neither are you,” and Akira could tell he was crying. Akira leaned his head over onto Ryuji’s shoulder. Ryuji kissed his head.

“You don’t gotta be our perfect leader. We don’t need a leader, man, we need a friend. I need Akira Kurusu, my smart, nerdy boyfriend who likes retro video games, and makes stupid cat puns, and goes on stupid adventures with me when everyone else tells me they’re a bad idea.” Ryuji laughed through his tears. “You mean everything to me, dude, I— I want you to tell me when everything’s too much so I can help you carry it.”

Akira paused, then nodded and finally, finally uncurled himself from his fetal position to put his arms around Ryuji and press his face into his neck. Ryuji’s arms went right around him in return and he was squeezed so hard he felt his spine pop. They stayed like that in silence, until Akira realized he’d stopped crying and he was breathing normally. He wasn’t sure when that happened.

“You carried everything for everyone.” Ryuji held the back of Akira’s head, keeping him against him. In that position, cradled and secure, Akira felt instantly protected. “You gotta be tired…”

He really was. He had been for so long. Sleeping all day never fixed anything, and then Morgana fretted over him and he had to confront that his selfish actions had consequences. But right here, right now, he felt like he had a shot at being okay. Even if it was just for the time being. He snuggled in closer to Ryuji’s chest and felt his lips press to his head.

Akira tilted his head up and caught Ryuji’s lips with his own, clumsily at first, then recalibrated to kiss him properly the second time. Ryuji was smiling, a straight shot of serotonin to the brain, when he pulled back. It was the same smile that made Akira fall for him in the first place.

He lowered his gaze down to the space between them and stayed sitting up, no longer clinging. He could support himself now, physically if not emotionally.

“Do you still have nightmares?” Akira finally sounded like himself. Collected, as Ryuji accused him of being. To his own ears, he only ever sounded detached and hollow. If he came across as calm, it was only because he was trying so hard.

“Uh…” Ryuji rubbed a hand over the back of his own neck, then through his hair, like he was embarrassed suddenly. “Yeah. Sometimes, yeah. Usually about Kamoshida, sometimes about my dad. Sometimes about… you.” He got quiet at the end and kept his eyes down on the same spot Akira was staring at.

“Me?” Akira looked at him now. All the sunshine was gone.

“I… Yeah.” Ryuji briefly met his eyes. He looked pained. Akira hated causing that. “The day when they got you from Sae-san’s Palace was one of the worst days of my life. And so was the day after that. We didn’t know when you were comin’ home. I didn’t understand all those tricks with the Metaverse Futaba set up. I didn’t know if maybe we… Maybe we’d messed up. Maybe you were…” Ryuji took a deep breath. Akira reached for his hand and held it. Ryuji squeezed. “And then you came back lookin’ like… God, I couldn’t live with myself. For so long, I was so pissed off that I couldn’t protect you. So, sometimes it’s… Sometimes it’s just me losin’ you. It scares me.”

“I’m right here.”

“Well, yeah, now. And I know it’s not real, it’s just a dream, and then I wake up and look at my phone and see the selfie we took in Odaiba, and it’s fine.” He smiled softly. “So, yeah, it happens. But not as much as it used to. And not as bad now that I don’t feel like I gotta hide that stuff’s got me messed up. I got you to thank for that.” He squeezed Akira’s hand again.

He knew he should talk about it. He knew Ryuji had a point. Figuring out how to stop carrying everything himself in hopes it would protect him from being hurt was a good goal to have, but… It could always backfire. It could always get worse. Ryuji could realize what he’d gotten himself into, realize that Akira was a problem child, and not in the way he thought, he could get sick of hearing about his problems, and—

“Hey.” Ryuji nudged him. Akira blinked several times to clear his head. What was going on? How long had he sat in silence without responding? “You just spacin’ out cuz you’re tired, or is stuff gettin’ bad again?”

“Stuff,” he mumbled. It was a start.

“What stuff?” Ryuji scooted closer.

Akira sighed quietly and kept his eyes down, but leaned into Ryuji. “I don’t want to lose this.”

“What? Me?”

“You. Ann, Morgana, everyone. Everything. I... always feel like I’m just one mistake away. And I never know what the mistake will be.” He paused, pursed his lips, then found the strength to continue. “The Phantom Thieves made me bold. I thought I had a purpose, and I could make things better. But… things still got bad again. We lost A-Akechi, and… I just got out of jail again. I mess up one more time, and then what? You walk away, or I piss off the wrong person again because I forgot how to just bite my tongue, or… or…” His words kept tapering off, head suddenly buzzing and full of fog. The room around him felt like it was out of focus. Not again.

Strong hands on his shoulders, shoving him into the police car, wrists cuffed, men yelling, yelling, yelling, a different dark room, boot on his head grinding him into the floor, ribs cracked, pain, alone, totally alone—

“—not goin’ anywhere, yeah?” Ryuji was speaking.

All Akira could do was make a soft, pathetic sound and squeeze his eyes shut, head lolling over onto Ryuji’s shoulder.

“Bad stuff?” Ryuji was so patient with him, and he didn’t deserve it.

“Y-yeah. It’s.. it’s fine.” He was supposed to be talking. He took a deep breath. “It’s not fine. I know. It’s like acting out on my feelings only gets me in trouble, so I…” He gestured to himself vaguely. “So it’s fine.”

“Like gettin’ so fed up with a teacher’s bullshit you deck him and he breaks your leg?” Ryuji actually laughed. “Yeah, man. You ‘n me both, then. ‘Cept I never learned my lesson, cuz I never figured out how to stop actin’ out. I make enough trouble for both of us. But it’s worth it sometimes. You can’t bottle all that shit up, or you end up cryin’ on the stairs in the dark in the middle of the night.” Ryuji reached over and thumbed under Akira’s eye where a stray tear had formed. “Not that I mind bein’ here with you. I just wish it didn’t come to this. Wish you would’a just opened up a little more.”

Akira never thought about it like that, admittedly. Ryuji was the first person to act on his feelings, and he did end up in trouble a lot, but Akira almost always sided with him, always believing he was in the right to be angry or sad or hurt about whatever it was that made him take action. Ryuji believed in pursuing justice for himself and for others like him. It was one of the things Akira loved about him the most. Why was doing the same such a no-go when it came to himself? Why was he so scared? Why did he think he was in the same position he’d been in when he’d first run into Masayoshi Shido and had his life changed? He had a whole group of troublemaking, action-taking, justice-seeking friends. He had support.

“‘Kira?”

Akira’s eyes widened and he looked to Ryuji, attention successfully grabbed.

“You still with me, babe?” Ryuji smiled and tilted his head just a bit to the side. Akira was endeared all over again.

“Y-yeah.” He felt his cheeks flush. “Just thinking this time… I’ll… try to do better about that. About opening up more.”

“Wanna tell me about your nightmares, then?”

Akira hesitated, staring at a spot on a lower stair, considering every outcome of the situation. Ryuji knew what he’d been through, in some capacity. He’d never detailed the specifics to anyone, but they’d all seen his injuries when he’d come back from being detained. Sae explained to at least Sojiro that he’d been drugged. Whether she’d also told Makoto, who’d also told the rest of his friends, was unknown to him.

“Um…” Akira started, glanced up to Ryuji’s face, then back down again. He felt Ryuji’s hand close over his again. He swallowed and tried again to speak. “It’s… Tonight it was… Reliving my interrogation. I, uh, I can feel them sticking me with needles and… Kicking me, uh… S-sorry, it’s…” The room was spinning again. He brought his free hand up and pressed it to his forehead, eyes shut, breathing deeply.

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t gotta keep goin’.” Ryuji held his hand tighter and swiped his thumb back and forth across his skin. “I’m right here. You’re safe.”

“Y-yeah.” He inhaled deeply and exhaled slow and even. “You have no idea how safe you make me feel.”

Ryuji laughed and hummed, covering his face with a hand for a moment. “Aww, man… Hey.” He straightened up and caught Akira’s eye. He held his gaze. “I love you.”

Akira smiled, really smiled, and broke away from Ryuji’s stare. He felt a swell of warmth in his chest, a completely different sensation than the terror he’d felt an hour before up in his bedroom. Things were still scary. He’d made a promise to talk about his own feelings, to let himself be vulnerable to the experience of having his burdens shouldered by someone else, but that someone else was Ryuji, who he trusted more completely than almost anyone in the world.

Ryuji moved over and touched his jaw to pull him into a soft, slow kiss. When they broke apart, he pressed their foreheads together, eyes shut. Akira looked at him up-close for a moment before shutting his.

“I love you too.”