Archive of Our Own

Akira counts over the curry ingredients again. Maybe if he double-checks, he can ignore how his stomach is twisting itself into knots. Maybe if he focuses on the spices, he can reign his racing heartbeat in. He crumples and uncrumples the list in his hands, the creases softening the paper into silk.

Carrots. Potatoes. Breathe in. Onions, medium yellow. One apple, green. Breathe out. Flour. Breathe in. Oil. Meat, beef cut into cubes for stew, Ryuji’s favorite. Heartbeat again. Goddamnit.

Normally, his own thoughts would be competing for his attention against the constant backdrop of Morgana’s observations and Sojiro’s instructions. However, tonight Leblanc is unusually quiet. Akira turns out the grocery bag onto the counter, and the soft putter of vegetables against the counter seem as loud as the slam of a car door.

Every noise draws his eyes to the cafe door. The alley is still glowing with the last cold rays of sunset. February is almost over, but winter’s chill still lurks, seeping out of the bricks and pavement and parrying the weak sunlight’s attempt to warm them. Any minute, a riot of bright energy is going to burst in the door, his giant purple hoodie drawn in tight against the cold, and melt the tension away as Leblanc’s glowing warmth swirls to surround him. An image flashes into Akira’s mind of Ryuji’s face scrunched up from the cold, meeting his eyes, and breaking into that sunlight smile, and his breath falters.

Fuck. Stop that.

He isn’t used to this. This didn’t used to happen every time. Sure, he’d always loved spending time with Ryuji, from the day they first met in the rain. Sure, some of his best memories from the past year were the golden afternoons they spent at that ramen counter in Ogikubo. But until recently, he probably would have said it was the same as his walks in the park with Ann, or learning to make coffee from Sojiro. Happy memories with the people he cares about, nothing more than that.

He doesn’t know what made the thought cross his mind. Maybe it was the evening at Leblanc last week, where Ryuji stopped by to half-heartedly commiserate about being single. Maybe it was the uncertain smiles that he must have imagined Ryuji sending his way all night. Maybe it was the way he didn’t object when Akira gave him the little box of chocolates. It’s absolutely something friends would do for each other, right? Right. Nothing else behind it.

Unless.

Fuck. Unless?

After that Unless, this started happening. His pulse picking up whenever Ryuji asked to come over. His face heating up over every casual touch. Falling asleep with the blankets wrapped tight, like his body all at once realized a need to be held. It’s like seeing the image in one of those Magic Eye optical illusion books. Now that the picture has jumped off the page, he can’t go back to the ambiguous swirls that were all he could see before.

Akira’s phone chimes, and he startles, fumbling and dropping the onion he’d been fidgeting with.

He dismisses the notification and glances distrustfully at his phone before replacing it in his pocket. Morgana’s usual chatter is absent tonight. Futaba had kidnapped him for the evening, bribing him to the Sakura house with the promise of takeout sushi. She’d never done something like that before, though, and he can’t help but wonder about her motives. Or, more specifically, he can’t help but wonder if she still has his phone tapped.

“Akira, that’s a crush.” Ann’s voice over the phone was suddenly gentle. “You have a crush on Ryuji.”

The chilly air of Yongen seemed to freeze in his lungs. Akira was glad that almost nobody was out at this time of night.

“That’s…” Akira’s voice caught in his throat, betraying his cool. “That’s what this is?”

“Have you… had a crush on another guy before?”

“I…” Akira paused.

He thought he had. It wasn’t that being gay was a new option to him, first of all. He’d pretty much always known that he didn’t think of girls the same way as other guys did, and he’d spent more than a few nights when he was younger scouring the internet for some word that exactly matched what he felt. Whenever he tried to think of who he’d want to date, he got the flashbulb image of a guy’s arm around his shoulder, the phantom of connection so strong that the realization of its absence ached.

He thought he knew what a crush was supposed to be, too. But all the times he’d daydreamed, all the times he’d caught the eye of a handsome boy on the train, it wasn’t this. This was a weight - or was it lighter than air? - centered in his chest and fogging over his brain. It compressed his ribs, stifling the air to his lungs, as if each breath would cause the core of his chest to flare and burn him to the ground. Every thought of Ryuji, his smile, his laugh, the phantom sensation of his hand on his arm, caused warmth to flood his face and cinched the pressure around his heart tighter. He felt like he would crumple.

Ann was still silent, waiting for him to explain, but he couldn’t. Nothing he could think to say sounded right. Eventually, he said, “This is different, and it sucks.”

“What sucks?” she asked, her concern obvious even through the phone.

His frustration boiled over. “Everything I’m trying to explain sounds like a line from a bad shoujo manga!”

Ann burst out laughing, so loud that Akira reflexively pulled the phone away from his ear. He felt a twinge of irritation. Did she think this was a laughing matter? He's dying here. After a second, though, his frustration broke into a grin, and he started to chuckle. He really was ridiculous, wasn’t he? How many times had he sat with a friend back home while they tore themselves to pieces over this exact same problem? He’d thought at the time they were being melodramatic, but jeez, this really brought the melodrama out of you.

“Hey remember when I spent all of Love, Possibly ragging on how unrealistic it was?” He asked, laughter causing him to trip over the words. “I’d like to issue a formal apology.”

Ann’s breath hitched as she tried to reign in her giggling. “I’ll put the paperwork through.”

Both of them took a minute to catch their breath. Akira must have been more out of shape than he’d thought; his abs ached from the effort of laughing for so long.

“So what now?” Ann finally asked. “Going to ask him out?”

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea-” Akira started, but was interrupted by an affronted noise from Ann.

“What do you mean!? After all that, you’re not gonna do anything about this?”

“Well, I-”

“You did NOT just call me in the middle of the night for me to let you chicken out at the last minute!”

“Ann, would you listen-”

“Give me one reason you shouldn’t march over to that boy’s house right now!”

“You know I’ll have to leave him behind in a month!”

The line went silent as Akira brought up the fact that nobody wanted to acknowledge. No matter what he wanted, no matter how much everyone wished otherwise, he’d be packed away, shipped out of Tokyo and back to his uncaring parents in their middle-of-nowhere podunk town. He took a deep breath.

“It just… doesn’t feel fair to Ryuji. Me dumping all my problems on him with only a month to go.” Not to mention everything else I haven’t even said, he added to himself. Out loud, he continued, “Me messing up our friendship when we could have just all enjoyed the time we had left together if I’d just dealt with it myself… it’s not fair to him.”

“Well, maybe,” Ann conceded. She let out her breath in a huff. “But it’s not like things have been really fair to you, either. And I’m a little tired of seeing you always volunteer to get the short end of the stick.”

Akira sighed, but didn’t argue.

“Ryuji is your best friend, and vice versa.”

“You’re my best friend too,” Akira objected.

“Thanks, but it doesn’t take a genius to see that there’s something different between you two. Plus, you literally did just tell me you like him,” Ann countered.

“Touché.”

“Anyway, if you’ve been trying to figure stuff out… well, he’s an idiot, but he knows people. I’d bet he’s starting to think something is up.” Ann paused. “And the rest of us, we all hear how he talks about you. You’re important to him. I think he deserves to know that you think so too.”

Akira knows tonight he has to say it.

Ryuji tosses his jacket and school bag onto an empty booth seat, and flashes him an easygoing smile. He does his best to smile back like normal. God, he hopes it isn’t too obvious how nervous he is. His chest is tight, and he can’t stop adjusting his glasses. But even his nervousness can’t cast a shadow on how much he’s looking forward to having a whole evening together with Ryuji.

Ryuji doesn’t seem to notice anything about his demeanor is off, or if he does, he’s better than Akira at hiding it. He leans across the counter to get a better view of what Akira’s doing in the back.

“You want a hand with anything, man?”

“Yeah, let’s take care of these.” Akira fights down the way his heart swells and hands him a vegetable peeler, gesturing to the pile of produce. “I’ll get started on the onions and garlic if you can start peeling potatoes.”

How does telepathy work? Surely Akira’s thoughts must be nearly tangible. With every word of banter, every step of the recipe, every lighthearted joke, he feels as if he’ll burn up with how much his feelings are beaming out. He catches himself thinking back to that one movie he rented, The Duchess Bride. How every time that farm boy said, “as you wish…”

Ryuji brandishes a peeled potato. “How big should I cut this up?”

“Follow your heart, man. I trust your judgment.” I love you.

“Hey dude, isn’t this more potatoes than you usually use?”

“I made a double recipe, so you can take home leftovers and share some with your mom. She’s never had it, right?” I love you.

“Do you have the rice going yet?”

“No, have at it. You’re a lifesaver.” I love you.

The meal is good, but Akira barely tastes anything. He’s too busy running simulations in his head, despairing over how many of them end with Ryuji flat-out sprinting away. He’s never been more grateful for Ryuji’s ability to carry a conversation single-handedly.

Once the kitchen is cleaned and the leftovers squared away, the pair go upstairs to play video games until their eyes burn from the light of the screen. Ryuji’s better at combos, but worse at dodging. He swings around the controller, as if it will help his pixellated self move faster. They beat the boss on hard mode and Ryuji throws an arm around his shoulder in celebration. Akira mentally kicks himself for the flush creeping into his cheeks. How often have they spent casual evenings up here? Just hanging out, playing cards or video games, talking about stupid shit, where the hours melted together into a warm memory of laughter?

Akira wants to remember every minute of tonight. Every minute. He doesn’t know if he’ll get any more of them.

He wants to tell him. He wishes that the words would just flow out, unpracticed but smooth, find that perfect moment to land in this closeness. But lurking underneath every laugh, every smile, there’s the fear that once he does, he can’t go back. That this is his last day to stay with Ryuji in this effortless ease between them. He has to tell him. He’s going to tell him. But let him savor this meal first. This game. This laugh.

And then, too soon, Ryuji checks his phone, and says that he should probably get home. Doesn’t want to take the last train home again, that always makes Mom worry. Akira follows him downstairs. He grabs the covered bowl of leftover curry from the fridge, and swings around the front of the bar to pick up his jacket. Akira loiters by the counter. Once Ryuji is out of the kitchen, he steels his nerve and sits on one of the barstools. Ryuji passes by, aiming for the front door, expecting him to follow.

“Hey,” Akira stops him. Ryuji turns to look back. Shit, his hands are shaking already. He fixes his gaze on the counter and fights the words past the lump in his throat. “Can I… can I talk to you about something?”

“Huh? Uh, sure, man.” He feels frozen in place. He hears Ryuji sit next to him, hears the rustle of the plastic bag full of leftovers that he sets down on the seat next to him, hears the creak of the counter as he leans an elbow on it. The countertop still commands his line of sight. “What’s the matter?”

He can’t look at Ryuji. He can’t. He doesn’t know what will happen if he does, but he can’t take the chance that he’ll lose his nerve. He’s gone too far to go back now; he can’t brush it off as nothing, and he’ll never work up the guts to try again. The wood grain of the countertop fills his vision, and his gaze catches on the tiny dents and scratches in the surface, worn smooth with years of use. He doesn’t know how his heart can be beating so furiously when his chest is so tight he’s afraid he’ll implode.

Oh fuck. Now he has to talk.

God, after all of that, why didn’t he plan what he was actually going to say? He’d always thought the right words would just come to him in the moment. Any vague ideas of eloquent, poetic confessions are drowned out by his heartbeat hammering in his ears. He feels the seconds stretch by but can’t catch them, and Ryuji is still waiting and he has to say something.

He takes a long, shaky breath and closes his eyes. Fuck it, straight to the point it is. When he speaks, the words come out quieter than he’d intended.

“I like you.”

He braces for the recoil, for the confusion. He braces for the awkward laughter followed by an even-more-awkward attempt at turning him down. He braces for the impact in those silent hours that somehow condensed themselves into startled seconds.

What he isn’t braced for is a voice almost as quiet as his own to break the silence with a single word.

“Yeah?”

Akira opens his eyes. The counter is still there, at least. He swallows, and musters a scrap of confidence into his reply.

“Yeah.”

Akira finally risks a glance at Ryuji. His brows are softly furrowed in thought, but when his eyes meet Akira’s, he breaks into a reassuring half-smile.

Akira smiles back apologetically, and before he knows what’s happening Ryuji is grabbing his arm, pulling him into a hug so tight he can barely breathe. After a surprised instant, Akira hugs him back, burying his face into Ryuji’s shoulder until his glasses dig into the bridge of his nose.

Ryuji laughs, the sound muffled through the embrace. “I gotta say, man, out of everything I thought you were gonna talk about, I wasn’t expecting that.”

Akira winces, apologetic. “Sorry.”

Ryuji jolts him out of the hug, holding him by the shoulders at arms length with a serious glint in his eye. “Akira Kurusu, don’t you effing dare apologize for anything.”

Now that the ice is broken, the words pour from Akira’s mouth. “It’s just, no matter how long I hang out with you it never feels like it was long enough, and I keep trying to find excuses to have you come over, and whenever I send anything to the group chat I’m really only waiting to see what you’ll say…”

Ryuji interrupts him with a chuckle. “Oh my god, I think I do that too.”

“And I know the timing sucks but Ann said I should just say it because she doesn’t want to keep watching me drive myself in circles, and…”

“Hey, hey, slow down dude, you gotta breathe in there somewhere,” Ryuji says. Akira smiles back and makes a show of closing his eyes to take a measured breath. When he opens his eyes, Ryuji is still there, still smiling, still the same as he ever was.

The same. Images flash into Akira’s mind; the alcohol-scented pavement of Shinjuku at midnight, the oppressive heat of the sun reflecting off of sand, searing disdain into his memory. Akira asks the question before he can think to stop himself.

“Are you… okay with this? I thought you might be more…” He trails off.

“Oh. That. I, uh…” Ryuji leans back, scrunching up his face as he searches for the right words. “I mean, I knew from the first time I met you that I liked you. Like, as a friend, but I don’t usually make friends that easy. And so much was going on that I didn’t really question it.”

He pauses again, his expression unreadable. “And then, I guess it was sometime after… after New Years, I tried to use a dating app. And I kinda realized that I was just comparing all the girls against how I felt when I hung out with you. Ann sure got an earful of me putting shit together for a bit. And then it was real busy for the next month or so, but when we got you out… I mean, I wasn’t gonna be the one to drop a bomb like that when you’d just got your life back.” He looks back to Akira and quirks his lips into a soft smile. “More than anything, I just missed you, man.”

Akira smiles back. “I missed you too.” A thought crosses his mind, and his smile breaks into a chuckle.

“What’s that for?”

“Oh, nah, it’s nothing. It’s just that Ann’s probably going to try to take credit for orchestrating this.”

“Ah right, shit, Ann knew about both of us, huh?” Ryuji laughs softly. “She’s already bad enough talking ‘bout all those chick flicks all the time. Imagine how bad she’s gonna get when her best friends start dating.”

The word dropped like a lead weight between them. Akira was almost relieved to see a matching blush rise to Ryuji’s face as he stuttered out incomprehensible attempts to backtrack.

“Yeah,” Akira says over the top of an ‘um’. “Yeah, we could start dating now, huh?”

“I mean. Yeah, I mean it can’t hurt to try and see where it goes, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And hey, I mean, you’re pretty much good at everything, right? I guess there isn’t a better place to start if I’m gonna kiss a guy for the first time.”

Shit. There it was. The tightness wove itself back around Akira’s heart, cinching his breath and causing his heartbeat to flutter back into his perception. But this time the heat rising to his face was less nervousness, and more shame.

“There’s-” he started, mortified that his breath caught at the end of the word. A flicker of worry crossed Ryuji’s face, and Akira felt his eyes drawn back to the safety of the countertop. He cleared his throat and started over. “There’s something else I haven’t told you.”

His heartbeat clamors against his ribs, but this time there’s a pit in his stomach. He didn’t get to practice this with Ann. He hadn’t talked this out with anyone. How would he plan around it when he was too ashamed to even admit it? Not only was he taking the risk of ruining the best friendship he ever had, but he couldn’t even manage to be gay the right way. He had honestly thought he wouldn’t even get far enough for this to be a problem.

Fuck it. He’s got to rip off this bandage, too. Better to deal with the heartbreak now, before he gets the chance to learn what he’s about to lose.

He stands up from his barstool with a jolt, causing Ryuji to startle back, and turns to sit in the booth seat across from him. He clenches his hands together in his lap, focusing on how his nails dig into his skin, and tries his damndest to ignore how Ryuji’s hand is half-raised towards him, unsure if he should reach out and bridge the gap.

“I’m… I actually don’t know if I know what I want. From you. From being together, or if I can give you the kind of… affection, or whatever to call it, that you’d expect from a relationship, and it doesn’t change anything I said earlier, or how I feel, I just, I know that making out and shit is probably something you’d want and it’s not your fault I’m being so stupid about this…”

“Hey, man, slow down.” There’s a barely-perceptible quaver to Ryuji’s voice, and Akira’s heart shatters. “I- I don’t really get what you’re saying.”

“I just… I think you might be happier with someone who’s got themself figured out better. Maybe they could give you more than I could. And I...” Akira’s voice cracks, and tears burn at the corner of his vision. “I had to say it now ‘cause I don’t think I can handle losing you later.”

Ryuji is silent again. Now he’s the one who can’t look Akira in the face. When he finally speaks, his voice is strained. “Do… d’you want me to turn you down?”

Akira shakes his head.

“D’you want me to leave?”

“No. God, no,” he gasps. When his gaze returns to Ryuji he’s staring him in the face, leaned forward, helplessness etched into his expression.

“What do you want?”

Akira gently scoots over on the vinyl seat and holds out his arms in a silent invitation. Ryuji slides into the booth next to him and gathers him into a crushing hug. He buries himself in the embrace, clutching the fabric of his jacket like Ryuji might vanish if he lets go. He takes a long, shaky breath, and when Ryuji shifts one of his hands to cradle the back of Akira’s head, he lets it out in a sob.

“I want to stay with you.”

He feels Ryuji’s next breath shudder in, feels his own tears finally spill over, and all at once they’re both crying, clutching each other like a lifeline. All the anxiety, all the fear and guilt and shame and pressure flood out as he sobs. He’s helpless against the tide, but he’s held fast by the weight of the boy in his arms. Even if he can’t stop his own sobs, he can still pull him closer, press him tighter, hold him fast against the choking gasps of his tears.

They stay locked in the embrace long after their breathing evens out. Their grips soften, but neither wants to be the one to break. Days later, or maybe just moments, he feels more than hears Ryuji’s voice against his shoulder.

“Don’t scare me like that.” Akira turns his head a fraction, his cheek pressing into Ryuji’s hair. “I really thought you were dumping me before we even had one date.”

“Sorry.”

“I keep thinkin’ I’m losing you, man. I ain’t letting you go again until you tell me you don’t want me around.”

Akira can’t imagine a world where he wants anything more than this. In place of a response, he turns his head further and presses a soft kiss onto Ryuji’s tearstained cheek. He feels him tense in surprise and buries his face in his shoulder again. “I’m sorry.”

“Quit fuckin’ apologizing. What are you sorry for now?”

“That I have to leave Tokyo.”

Ryuji sighs. It takes a second for him to respond, but his arms wind all that much tighter around Akira.

“We don’t gotta worry about that until we get there. And when we get there, we’ll figure something out. But that ain’t important.” He pulls back to look Akira in the eyes with a reassuring smile. Akira smiles back, shaky through the tears. “Cause I got you here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”