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Ren likes to think of himself as a widely informed person (although to varying degrees of depth), capable of standing his ground discussing any given topic — be it political affairs concerning the upcoming elections, the market prices of heating pads over the autumn, or the latest choux cream flavor being sold at Ikebukuro Station.
Futaba likes to say he is full of shit.
(Unfortunately, to her horror and his credit, Ren does have a rather random assortment of facts stored in his weird brain, and he likes to drop those mid-conversation like they’re something anyone could learn from reading the latest ViVi magazine.)
Considering none of them is completely wrong, it is easy to understand why he always lands the most unusual dates — with people Futaba considers way out of his league — and why these relationships never last too long (after all, Ren Amamiya is, to some extent, full of shit).
So far, Ren has introduced Futaba to, in no particular order, a shady doctor, a painfully obnoxious journalist, a somewhat famous shogi player and, worst of all, Yusuke Kitagawa. All these nightmare-inducing people had provided wonderful opportunities for Ren to act like some 18th century conversationalist; and, god, he seemed to become an instant expert in whatever subject was most precious to his then-girlfriend or his then-Yusuke.
Of course, it is not uncommon for people to be instantly wooed by Ren’s unexpected knowledge, the sneaky bastard. Who wouldn’t be surprised by some nerdy-looking country boy who suddenly starts to wax poetic about the government’s new proposed emend on non-regulated medical treatments? Disgusting. They were none the wiser, obviously, because Futaba is the only one who gets to see Ren swallowing Wikipedia entries in between coffee sips before going out to a date.
That is, until Goro Akechi marches in their lives bringing some twisted metaphorical catharsis (for Futaba) and very much real heartache (for Ren).
----
Nobody really knows how Ren, part-time job worker extraordinaire and psychology student, managed to even meet someone like Akechi — and, on top of it, convince him to share his real phone number.
The fact is that Ren Amamiya, who no one knows how he even passes his classes because that would require at least attending them, is somehow spending copious amounts of time with Akechi. Word on the street says they are dating — and the possibility makes Futaba dizzy with bewilderment.
Goro Akechi, M.A., Toudai alumnus, graduated magna cum laude, currently working at T*I Associates. This means he goes to Roppongi Hills on a daily basis. This means that the dirt on his sophisticated dress shoes is probably worth more than the embarrassing stack of spicy Amanoya crackers in the kitchen of Ren’s and Futaba’s shared apartment. Futaba’s closest thing to experiencing the downright bourgeois splurge of entering Roppongi was changing to the wrong line in Nagatacho Station and passing by Roppongi-itchome.
Talking about fancy shoes, he must have left his in their genkan because Goro Akechi is greeting Futaba — in her own apartment, mind you — in all his beauty and glory (well, she can’t blame Ren for that pathetic soliloquy, it seems).
“Good afternoon. You must be Futaba-chan. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.” Futaba doesn’t turn away from the TV but she knows his face must be doing something in the lines of twinkly eyes and soft smile. God, what an overachiever.
“Whaddup.”
She refuses to feel intimidated by Goro Akechi, M.A.; yet she wipes her sweaty palms on her t-shirt, trying not to bother the puddle of sleepy Morgana on her lap, before grabbing the controller again.
Ren’s footsteps get closer, and he offers coffee to everyone so casually it’s almost easy to forget he was speed-reading a scientific article on intellectual property trial cases while brushing his teeth before going out to meet up with Akechi. Maybe that’s how he scores 90+ grades on all his tests: inhaling copious amounts of information only to word-vomit it on the paper and proceed to forget all about it until the next finals week comes up.
As Ren walks away to the kitchen, Futaba makes her best attempt at telepathy and mentally encourages Akechi to follow him — come on, don’t make a fool of yourself, you were both out and about together, chop chop. He doesn’t. When it becomes clear he is actually devoting his attention to the TV, to Futaba’s sacred game time, she just prays to whatever entity is out there listening to keep him quiet.
And, well, he doesn’t.
“This is the Final Fantasy VII remake, isn’t it? How do you like it so far?”
Futaba learns three valuable lessons about Goro Akechi in this moment. First, he can’t mind his own business to save his life. Who the hell tries to engage a stranger in conversation when said stranger has nowhere to run to? Is respect for introverted people actually dead?
Second, Goro Akechi is a nerd — at least to some extent. Truth be told, Final Fantasy is the pinnacle of pop games in Japan, but there was something about his tone, about the way he is observing Cloud running around with that impractical sword on the screen. Futaba dodges a particularly tricky attack and Akechi hums in appraisal. Her nerd-radar pings: it is a little beyond expected for someone who just happened to see a promotional sign in Shibuya. This is the behaviour of a man who knows what JRPG stands for.
Third, which is not so much on Akechi himself, is that Ren is in for it. Sure, he may have charmed Goro Akechi the lawyer with his erudite knowledge and hipster glasses; however, can he speed-play his way through the Final Fantasy franchise the same way he does with texts filled with technical information? Boy, the number of walkthrough videos somebody’s Youtube is about to witness is no joke.
“The graphics are mindblowing, y’know, compared to that atrocity that was revolutionary in the 90s, or something. I’m still thinking if I like this battle system though… I mean, let me have my turns? Am I supposed to think while or after getting the shit beaten out of me? But I suppose everyone and their mothers are playing it for the story, after all. Just trying to see how many times we can see Aerith die and not lose our minds.”
He touches an index finger to his lips and hums, weighting her words, and answers with a tiny nod.
“I see. I’m talking to a real connoisseur, then.” Futaba’s ears perk up at that. There are very few ways to her heart, and flattery is definitely one of them. To honor the inhumane amount of curry Ren has cooked for her last week, she will indulge this preppy Final Fantasy fanboy.
“What about yourself? Any faves?” She sneaks a glance, and his face is pensive.
Ren walks back from the kitchen with three steaming cups on a plastic tray; he sits down next to her, gesturing Akechi to do the same. Although the three of them could fit in the couch if everyone abdicated the right to move their arms too wildly, Akechi smiles politely and takes the wooden chair next to the window. Ren doesn’t look disappointed, yet Futaba knows he is.
“I’m more of a Dragon Quest fan, actually.” A pained noise makes its way out of Futaba’s throat and she presses the buttons on the controller more aggressively.
It is going well — at least to any standards she applied to Ren’s dates — and she refuses to let this opportunity slip through her gaming-callused hands. She opens the in-game menu, drops the controller and turns her full attention to Akechi. He startles a bit while sipping the coffee, seemingly for having Futaba target him so openly after acting like her standoffish self for the past minutes.
“I can work with that. And you-” She turns to Ren, who looks like he is watching a tennis match “-he is not a complete moron! Kudos for you, Amamiya.”
Ren looks at Akechi, an apology about to crawl from his lips, only to be dismissed with a smile and the wave of a hand.
“Don’t worry. She kind of reminds me of you, in a way.” Akechi does the overachiever thing again, soft smile reaching his eyes. Ren opens his mouth to speak and changes his mind, opting for a big gulp of coffee to have an excuse about the heat in his face. Futaba is disgusted beyond reparation.
“Yeah, awkwardness runs in the family. Anywho, thoughts on Dragon Quest XI?” He considers her question for a couple of seconds, slight frown on his face and eyes fixed on the coffee inside his mug.
“Hm… I didn’t find it half as appealing as other people have. To be honest, it bored me to the point of abandoning it for a while.”
“WHAT?”
Morgana wakes up, hops off her lap and walks away.
----
It goes on like this.
Because Akechi is an introvert who pretends to be an extrovert for the sake of his chronical need of pleasing all the living beings in his life, Ren invites him over a lot to spend some quiet time together. It’s either that or they spend the day out, doing whatever it is that they enjoy doing outdoors, only to end up back at the apartment so Ren can prepare some coffee and show off his cooking skills.
If Futaba happened to complain about the too frequent visits, she knows Ren would stop with it in a second. It is a very tempting prospect, yet she can’t ignore the way he glows — gross, by the way — when Akechi is around. There’s something decidedly different about it. Don’t get it wrong, Ren always does his best rendition of a lovesick fool when he’s interested in someone; he falls hard, and Futaba has proof of it in form of one or fifteen Vines she recorded when he was drunk and singing Everytime I see you all the rays of the sun are / Streaming through the waves in your hair / And every star in the sky is taking aim at / Your eyes like a spotlight while making eyes at Yusuke during New Year’s Eve a few years ago.
With Akechi, there’s definitely the same eagerness and disposition; yet, Ren acts much calmer nowadays. Maybe the whole crash and burn with the journalist made him tone it down a bit; maybe it’s an Akechi side-effect. The thing is, instead of the chaotic energy Ren used to live by when dating before, he is ruled by something softer this time. And that’s the reason why Futaba shuts her mouth about the whole Goro Akechi feels like our third roommate sometimes ordeal, and does her best at actually liking the guy.
Which, in Futaba’s language, means beating a dead horse in hopes of being granted the power of necromancy, in a burst of divine blessing.
It is yet to work. Right now, she’s on her way to the horse’s third death.
“Ocarina of Time?”
Ren senses a coming headache from his spot near the stove and tries to placate her by whispering a firm ‘Futaba’. He is thoroughly ignored.
“Overrated. Majora’s Mask has a much more unique story, and the time system added an extra flair to the experience.”
Futaba never imagined she would have the chance to meet the human version of verbose, yet here they are. Akechi is sipping his coffee, confident and collected as she has learned to expect from him. This guy must be a nightmare in court.
Still, what he said was indeed reasonable. She stops her coffee mug halfway and considers Akechi with squinted eyes. Has she made it?
“…Granted. Is it your favourite then?”
“Oh no, I prefer Zelda II.”
Two seconds go by. Ren drops a pan in the kitchen area, mixing curses with the clinking noise. Futaba can’t help thinking ‘big mood’, and makes a conscious effort to avoid saying it out loud.
“You... can’t be serious.”
Futaba 0 X 3 Dead horse.
----
Futaba Sakura loves Ren Amamiya. Really. She also wants to kill him painfully, and there shouldn’t be any contradiction between both feelings. Hasn’t humanity as a concept evolved enough to allow its proxy holders to have complex emotions, like love and murder intent?
“…”
“…”
They’re alone.
Akechi and Futaba, that is. He and Ren had just arrived when Akechi noticed he had forgotten his wallet somewhere — in some coffee shop in Shibuya, most likely. Since they walked to the apartment to appreciate the weather or for some other sugary romantic reason Futaba couldn’t make sense of, Ren offered to go back by subway to retrieve it. Which makes tons of sense: Akechi doesn’t have his subway card on him, and no one in their right mind would walk from Shibuya to Nakano once, let alone make the opposite path.
Now, that leaves Akechi to sit quietly in the living room, while Futaba types away in her laptop, answering clients and updating Ann, Makoto, and Ryuuji on the Akechi/Ren matter. So far, Ryuuji has send five different customized stickers of LINE characters throwing up.
Sitting on the wooden single chair, Akechi uncrosses and crosses his legs, looking painstakingly uncomfortable, probably with Ren’s absence. Futaba would call it ‘cute’ if she could get past ‘embarrassing’.
“So, what’s your deal? High end lawyer by day, gigantic nerd by night?”
“I’m… sorry?” He looks stunned, wide eyes and no smile stretching his lips.
Admittedly, it is not her best moment, nor her best attempt at conversation. Unfortunately, it is also not the worst. She feels blood running to her face and decides to try again — for Ren’s sake. Because Akechi is indeed polite, he doesn’t comment further on her first question.
“I mean, what was the last game you played?”
Initial shock gone, he touches a finger to his lips and fumbles with his memory.
“It was Persona 4.”
Futaba stops typing and directs her attention to him; the loading screen of a new attempt at this ‘prove Akechi has an ounce of sanity in his head’ game already on the run.
“I see! Ok! Thoughts on the plot? World building? Skills system?”
“The characters were rather annoying.” Akechi frowns, as if his mind is suddenly flooded by war memories. Futaba’s mind is certainly flooded by disappointment and regret.
“Oh dear…”
“I had the same feeling with the previous one; though I’m looking forward to their new release. The protagonist looks somewhat captivating.”
Futaba draws circles on her temples and has half a mind to answer. She doesn’t even know if she says something sensible or just enunciates the real-life equivalent of a keyboard smash. Akechi’s cellphone rings, the notes of it lining all the awkward edges of their silence.
----
Futaba’s last attempt goes like this.
The three of them are in Akihabara, making a quick stop to grab lunch before Futaba resumes her product hunting. Ren is accompanying her because that’s what they do when Futaba needs to spend prolonged periods of time outside the apartment: he tags along under some half-assed excuse that neither of them believe in but both pretend they do, for the sake of propriety and their (mostly Futaba’s) tough love act.
Akechi’s presence was as solicited as a jar of dead mosquitoes, nevertheless here he is anyway. Futaba learns she can deal with it, since he makes Ren look willing to live another day even when the latter is standing in the middle of the 5th floor of Bic Camera, hearing their obnoxious jingle for half an hour, and doing his overall best to keep Futaba’s anxiety in check.
They are in CoCo Ichibanya, and the smell of curry is making Futaba feel drunk. Extraordinarily, the lovey dovey couple before her is discussing something as mundane as high school memories — she has been under the impression Ren would talk about intellectual property theft 24/7 after seeing him work his way through too many websites on the topic. It should be unsettling, how the two of them can’t seem to stop smiling at each other.
Their orders arrive in no time, causing Akechi to say something pleasantly generic about the food and Futaba has to gather every ounce of self-control in her body not to mock him and his unseasoned remark. It is particularly hard because she has already wasted quite the amount of energy trying to ignore the fact that he has ordered crab croquettes with his curry. Crab croquettes. She has come to understand by now that his only goal in life is to challenge decency; but, like, who even eats that with curry?
The idea comes to her in between spoonfuls of steaming curry; perhaps a word said in conversation triggered it, or someone somewhere said a prayer for all the annoying girls with obsessive tendencies and it went straight to Futaba’s hypothetical spiritual mailbox.
“I KNOW! Tales Series?”
Akechi stares at her and blinks, which seems to have become his default reaction for any string of words that leave her mouth. Ren drops his spoon and mumbles something that sounds a lot like ‘not this shit again’.
“Sure.”
“Team Destiny or Team Symphonia?”
“Vesperia is my favourite, so I would say-”
Maybe Goro Akechi is indeed a complete moron. Maybe her hopes that Ren finally found someone she can stand were, to her chagrin, unfounded. Maybe the god who travels around space in a teapot actually hates her. Futaba takes a deep breath and, for a fleeting second, she almost misses Yusuke Kitagawa and his incapacity to chatter about mundane things.
“Of course you would. Ren, get this clown out of my sight.”
And Ren has had it. It’s not like Futaba has free reign in his life; he does have boundaries, it’s just that these boundaries are scarce at best. It’s all thanks to the fact he doesn’t get upset easily — Futaba calls it a chronic inability that prevents him from the larger than life experience of loathing someone; Ren calls it a sacred gift that allows him quality time with Ann and Ryuuji in the same room. Worthy skill or not, Ren is done with both of them for good.
“Futaba, for the love of everything sacred in this world and the next, eat your food.”
Akechi has the audacity to look smug after Ren steps in to end the discussion, as if he’s only doing it for his sake. It doesn’t last long. When Ren finishes talking to Futaba in the complicated eye communication they are proficient at, he turns to Akechi.
“And you. Keep your antagonization fetish in check around her. God knows how many of these things you don’t really mean.”
Silence drips from each corner of the table, and Ren resumes eating with a resolve that was not there before. Akechi acts somewhat ashamed for the rest of the day and Futaba revels in his expressions, knowing full well she has to enjoy her time before they go home and Ren lectures her once again on being polite with his friends, even when they’re morons (his words, not hers).
----
She should have suspected something was the off the very moment Ren got home, grabbed Morgana and a package of Amanoya crackers and sat in front of his laptop to binge watch some Chinese drama about gay yearning. Despite how pitiful it sounds, it is not that far off from Ren’s typical behaviour — except for the entertainment choice, that is, which is what tipped her off. Although Futaba has been standing behind him for the past four minutes, he hasn’t noticed her yet. She raises her arms and stretches, allowing her spine one more night to live after a day of programming. Ren doesn’t move. On the computer screen, a guy is drinking his problems away, looking very pathetic and very handsome at once.
“Ok, so, I’ve only been here for five minutes, but those were five minutes of way too much drama.”
Ren hums back in lieu of an answer.
“Ok, enough brooding. Brooding Ren looks a lot like those e-boys that think looking constipated somehow equals to edgy.” Still standing behind him, Futaba places her chin on the top of his head, and starts pinching his cheeks. “Who do I have to slap, and please don’t tell me it’s you.”
“Futaba, you can’t greet people without sweating like a teapot. Last time Ann tried to hug you, you squeaked so loud everyone thought Morgana had dropped the portable heater on himself again.”
“Is that deflecting that I hear?”
He pauses the media player and fixes his glasses just for the sake of doing something with his hands. Futaba pokes Ren’s cheeks with her index fingers and a murder wish, probably. He yelps, but doesn’t move.
“C’mon, make like a cup of tea and spill.” Futaba repeats the action with less strength and when Ren answers, his voice comes out garbled.
“It’s Goro.”
“Oh, first name basis, are we? What did trash boy Akechi do? Did he say that Resident Evil 6 saved his life or some shit?”
Ren sighs and pats his bangs as if he wants to cover the remaining 25% of his eyes that are still visible to society.
“He didn’t. Do anything, that is. I guess it was on me.”
For all the fight she puts up, Futaba does care deeply about Ren. Her love language just happens to be insults and mild physical bothering; nonetheless should anyone think for a second that she has second thoughts about doing something, anything, for Ren’s sake, that person would be in for a surprise. She always hears people saying things like ‘blood is thicker’, which never ceases to amuse her — it only shows she is one of God’s favourites for having met a Ren Amamiya.
The balance of their six-year long friendship comes in pieces of knowledge: Ren watches Kimi No Na Wa almost every week (and tears up every single time); his insomnia tends to get worse during summer; he loves coffee and hates all coffee-flavoured food; it takes at least 10 minutes to wake him up on a good day; he brushes his teeth walking around the apartment and making guttural noises at Morgana; and, despite being naturally clever, he acts very stupidly sometimes. That being said, Futaba is also aware that at least 92.6% of all dumb things Ren has done in his life were a result of overthinking — for itself, or trying to please someone. Which helps her in making a consistent sketch of the situation even before Ren starts talking.
“We went to this old bookshop today, because he wanted to buy some manual for a new case he’s working on.” Futaba makes a small noise to encourage him. “We met Hifumi there and turns out they know each other. I guess all my exes are connected somehow, do you remember when we found out Hifumi and Yusuke were classmates in high school? My life is a joke.”
“You’re doing a spectacular number of ‘dancing around the topic’. A classic.”
He slams his arms on the keyboard and startles Morgana, who looks up offended and leaps to the floor, running away.
“I don’t know! Maybe I just saw what I wanted to see! But I thought he looked jealous when she told him we used to date, you know? I thought ‘hey, this is it’, then again, it’s Goro we’re talking about. So I- I tried to just hold his hand for a bit.”
Since his cheeks are doing a great job of gathering heat on their own, Futaba stops poking them. She allows him a couple of minutes to breath, and starts counting invisible spots on the wall.
“And?”
“And, well, he shook it off. Then he said something came up and he needed to go. We had bought movie tickets.” Ren raises a slack finger and points to the pair of tickets lying near the laptop.
“Hold up. I thought you were dating?”
Ren doesn’t make a habit of bringing random people to their shared apartment, so when he does, Futaba is quick to assume that person is relevant in some way. And judging by the number of times Ren had slipped mindless comments about Goro Akechi’s beauty, reading preferences, and plans for the future in completely unrelated conversations, one would think they are quite the opposite of just-friends.
“It seems those were all platonic dates. Like friends, or whatever, but hey! I managed to make a fool out of myself. That’s always fun.”
She pats his head sympathetically, treading finger through messy hair and attempting a massage. Ren deflates a little, and lets himself enjoy it.
“Hey, cut it out. There’s nothing wrong with misreading a situation. Sure, it’s a pain in the ass and it makes you want to crawl up and die, but social cues are hard.”
Ren sighs, frustration spreading from his face to every inch of breath, and rubs his eyes beneath his glasses.
“I know. I just really, really wanted this to happen.”
Futaba answers with a small agreeing noise, and continues to play with his hair. When she exercised calling Akechi a moron in her own head three times a week, this was definitely not the type of behaviour she was referring to. Shitty taste aside, the odd thing about the situation is that Akechi didn’t strike her as the deceitful type. Sure, she is not an expert on reading people and she does have one or five complaints about his personality; but a memory comes to her mind and refuses to walk away. It’s a bubbly Akechi eating stupid crab croquettes with curry and non-stop smiling at Ren — not smart, full-of-facts-about-Japanese-law Ren; the other one, who talks about the time he skipped class to visit all the K-Books in Ikebukuro with Mishima so they could find a rare RWBY keychain.
“Y’know, I don’t think he was honest with you. I mean, someone would actually put up with all the cringy shit you say when you’re flirting and think ‘hey, you’re my bro’? Maybe he’s dumber than I gave him credit for.”
She doesn’t know if Ren takes it to heart or not, since he stays silent for next minutes. When he talks again, it’s with the off-handedness of someone who is trying to push a topic away.
“I hate this. I fucking hate this. I’m a busy person who doesn’t have time to waste thinking about boys.”
“C’mon.” Futaba taps his shoulder with light hands. “Let’s go buy something to eat.”
“I think I ate my weight in these.” Ren points to the empty bags of spicy crackers lying on the desk.
“I’ll treat you to a disgusting bottle of jasmine tea. One in a lifetime opportunity here.”
“Thanks, Futaba.”
He smiles, even though it doesn’t reach his eyes. She smiles back, heart and lips tight.
----
For some reason beyond logical explanation, Futaba comes home after her weekly visit to Sojiro to find Ren and Akechi watching anime in the living room. Now, that’s a development she hasn’t expected. After the whole ‘he loves me not’ fiasco from two weeks ago, Ren spent almost a week slow cooking his own misery in between his shifts and the occasional class. Eventually, he was back at dropping Akechi’s name, whereabouts, color preferences, and sleeping patterns in casual conversation. She took it as a sign of Ren getting over the hand-holding episode; though it seems now it was the telltale mark of them being in talking terms again.
One would assume they (Ren) should be more careful this time, to avoid hurting someone’s (Ren’s) feelings. She’s one hundred percent sure someone is gonna end up crying, and it won’t be herself (it’s Ren, it’s always Ren).
They are sitting in a very Christian position, each one committed to their own space in the couch; and that’s the sole reason why she doesn’t go back right through the genkan to never return.
“I’m home! And bearing gifts. Sojiro sent us a supply of curry that’ll last till Half Life 3 comes out, probably.”
Akechi stiffens his posture and smiles at her politely; as Ren waves a hand and makes a comment about eating curry for weeks on end. She passes by them and heads to the kitchen area to put the curry pot inside the fridge. Morgana, the opportunistic bastard, comes chiming and starts rubbing on her legs, spelling a silent ‘it’s been 36 days since I last tasted nutrition’.
“Hey. Wanna join us? Goro says this anime’s really good.”
Well, now that is cute. This sentence alone triggers Futaba fight or flight instinct, and she wonders briefly how damaging a fall from a 3rd floor would be.
“What a compelling argument.”
Akechi muffles a giggle with his gloved hand, high pitched and completely fake-nice.
“Well, Futaba-chan, don’t be so eager to downplay the things that are dear to me.”
“Oh? Should I advise you to extend this same thought to the people who are dear to you? Because trust me, a day doesn’t go by that I don’t wish Ren had reasonable standards for his crushes.”
Even the paused TV seems to quiet down at that. Ren shuffles in his place, every single feature of his face frowned in distress and the fear of losing Akechi’s recently-renewed willingness to talk to him. He looks pleadingly at Futaba, making guilt crawl up her throat. She hates it. She can take the embarrassment of acting out of line with most people — when it happens with Ren, however, it’s like every strand of hair in her head suddenly feels prickly and heavy, the air feels drier, shame making her too aware of her own body and surroundings.
“Futaba, I told you, it’s not-” He stops mid-sentence because Akechi rests a palm on Ren’s leg. No one in the apartment knows if he does it as he knows of the effect he has on Ren or despite it.
“Some things” he starts, face deep in thought and not as carefully crafted as usual “are not easily appliable to the same principle. It does not mean, however, that- that they won’t be. In due time.”
It’s the first time Futaba sees what Ren probably sees in Akechi, as if she is granted a two-second long visit inside his brain. It’s the weight in his words and his horrifying verbose tone and, at the same time, all the important things he didn’t say but left implied instead. It’s a truce, of sorts.
Ren looks bright green, probably close to tears, throwing up, or passing away. In a burst of divine courage, Futaba stumbles through words before running to her room.
“IunderstandIapologize.”
----
(She goes to sleep later than usual, too caught up in this Reddit thread that came up when she googled ‘how to apologize to your brother’.
Ren’s cold shoulder lasts two days, and those are two horrifying days she wishes to never live through again. She knows it’s not healthy, yet it is not a hidden secret that she functions better, lives better, feels better because of him.)
----
It’s a good day. It’s a Saturday, and as such, it brings the kind of quietness that happens in big cities — where it’s not quiet at all, yet still more peaceful than most days. Ren is out with his actually-not-but-maybe-almost boyfriend, Morgana must be walking around the neighborhood; and Futaba is comfortably settled on the sofa, surrounded by boxes of at least three types of Pocky and two cans of soda. On the TV, she has just pressed play to the first episode of what is soon to become a weekend of binge watching. It’s a good day.
Until the door clicks open and then closed, and she can hear voices coming from the genkan. She doesn’t have time to do anything besides bite a Pocky stick before Akechi’s voice reaches her and shatters the prospect of a perfect Saturday. Ren walks straight to the bathroom, so Futaba is left to her own devices.
“Good afternoon, Futaba. Oh, what are you watching?”
“No. No no no. I’m having my annual shot of spiritual cleansing here, which will not be tainted by your tasteless self. Ren, a minute of your time!”
It has the exact opposite effect from intended; for a glorious minute, Futaba lived in a world where she forgot that Goro Akechi doesn’t know how to mind his own business.
“Oh, is that Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood?”
Futaba turns around from the TV and points a half-eaten coconut Pocky at Akechi.
“Now, look here. I’m willing to withstand you as a human being, Goro Akechi, but don’t force it by dissing the best anime of all time.”
Ren comes back from what felt like a long season inside the bathroom only to find Futaba and Akechi in the middle of some very unexpected — and completely unlike them — staring contest. Somewhere in their building, someone is going through a sneeze fit. He sighs and fizes his glasses.
“I though we were over this. Weren’t we over this?”
Three seconds go by slowly.
In hindsight, Ren thinks it would have been enough time to clean up his room, speed-read all the existing Reddit threads on immigration, have some curry, pack his stuff, and move illegally to Australia. He clears his throat with too much purpose, and ends up choking on air. Unimpressed, Futaba hands him a soda can and nibbles on her Pocky stick. She’s still looking straight at Akechi, and he is — so help him God — blushing. Why is he blushing. Isn’t it enough that Ren is struggling with acting with some dignity after being objectively rejected one too many times?
“I’m afraid you misunderstood my intention.”
“Did I really.”
She turns her attention back to the TV, perfectly unbothered by Ren’s crisis over vasodilation occurrences in young men aged 23. He recovers fast enough, however, mainly because Akechi has the same intense look he gets when he’s about to metaphorically murder someone with a good argument.
“Ok, that’s enough. I can’t actually belie-”
“I was gonna say that Brotherhood is my favourite adaptation.” Akechi interrupts him with too many words and not enough breath. “The denouement is purposefully developed, with sensible conclusions for each thread of the plot. The mess made by the 2003 anime is surely more serious and darker, but only for the sake of darkness itself. It didn’t match the overall tone and storyline presented prior.”
Not a single speck of dust dares moving. The Pocky stick is hanging from Futaba’s mouth, yet she still is facing the TV.
“Also-” He clears his throat, as if to deliver the final blow with the uppermost accuracy “I’m quite fond of Olivier.”
Futaba looks at him — and it could be very well the first she is seeing Akechi in her life. She stuffs the rest of her coconut Pocky in her mouth without sparing a glance anywhere else and makes some space on the sofa, smiling and tapping on the cushions invitingly. Is this it? Yes, this is it. The horse is alive, at last.
“Goro.” That sounds plain wrong, and Akechi’s looks like he agrees with it “You have leveled up.”
“… I beg your pardon.”
“Have a seat. I have lemon yoghurt and orange chocolate Pocky. I’m afraid coconut is a locked stage, it’s my favourite. Help yourself.”
There are very few ways to Futaba’s heart, and having reasonable opinions on Fullmetal Alchemist is definitely one of them. Just like that, every shitty opinion she has managed to extract from Goro is gone and forgotten — he likes Olivier, for God’s sake. She hopes somewhere in Tokyo, Yusuke Kitagawa is feeling the rightful energy of this blissful revelation. A bewildered Goro does sit beside Futaba, still looking fresh out of a heated argument and completely out of place.
“Now scoot over, we gotta fit Ren too.”
Ren seems to have transcended; yet he still has enough control over his body to stop the stream of ‘whatthefuckisgoingon’ from slipping through his mouth. He walks over, and flops down, boneless, next to Goro.
“What the fuck is going on.”
Futaba ignores him, bells chiming happily in her head, in favour of pressing play. This is it. She fucking made it. Ren turns to Goro silently asking for an explanation but gets none. Instead, Goro comes impossibly closer and whispers a tiny ‘I think I made it’, followed by a small smile.
They are pressed shoulder to knee — it is a two-seat sofa after all — and maybe Ren feels brave after witnessing the miracle of Futaba’s long-overdue acceptance of Akechi in her space. Maybe he just can’t help noticing how Akechi is sitting far more relaxed than all the other times he has been on the same couch: the high of having someone who can’t stand most people be acceptant of him. He loves it and it’s not even a secret. Maybe it’s nothing and everything at once; after all.
What matters is that, in a second of madness, Ren sends caution to hell and rests his read on Goro’s shoulder, bracing himself for a handful of shallow excuses and three to four business days of radio silence.
Whatever he’s expecting, however, never comes. Instead, there is movement somewhere above, discreet enough that Futaba is none the wiser. Ren understands what is happening only when he can feel the tip of Akechi’s nose brush lightly against strands of his own hair, followed by a sharp chin resting on his head. He feels every fiber of Akechi’s sigh, the air inflating his lungs, that, in turn, make his chest expand; the quiet breath coming out of his nose and hitting Ren’s scalp, ruffling his locks. There’s no abruptness, no flight, no avoidance; no shoulders are shaken and no excuses are made.
Goro lifts his head and turns his attention back to the TV, while Futaba fixes her glasses animatedly and mumbles something about Riza Hawkeye — which grants her an approving comment from Goro. Ren doesn’t dare moving, and takes a deep breath himself, immersed in the scent he has come to associate with feeling too many heartbeats during a conversation. Futaba would die of second hand embarrassment if Ren ever told her he is blushing.
The world is in peace, at last.
It’s a good day.
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