Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sun nearly blinds Futaba as she rolls over and shuts off her 5 PM alarm. Every bone in her body wants to stay in bed, but the coordination meeting with Makoto and Akira is starting up soon, and she needs to be at least slightly presentable for that, so she swings her body upwards and lets out a bone-shaking yawn.

At least living in a studio apartment means she doesn’t have to move too much. She takes the twenty steps from bed to bathroom, where she washes her face, brushes her teeth, and checks her neck-length hair in the mirror—her bangs were getting long, she’d have to put a scissor to those soon. She remembers tonight is shower night as she rubs on a stick of deodorant, but she gets the feeling she’ll put that off for another day. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Another fifteen steps brings her to the kitchen area. She opens the fridge and grabs a prepped tupperware: cold noodles garnished with ham, eggs, and vegetables. Pour some soy sauce and rice vinegar on top, then stir it all with chopsticks. A quick glance at the open sliding door leading out to her balcony—looks like Mona’s stepped out for a while. Maybe he’ll bring back some sushi.

Finally, ten steps to her computer desk. She sits cross-legged on the cushion and boots up the computer as she takes one or two bites of noodles—tastes the same as always. She’s logged in within twenty seconds and scrolling through social media on one screen while her programming software warms up on the other side.

She idles for a few minutes on the Twitter trending page—mostly banal stuff about Vtubers—as well as on some major news sites. Looks like the last big scandal their group had revealed was still getting some coverage, but it’ll dry out as soon as the current cycle ends. The Olympics are starting up soon and god knows that clusterfuck is going to dominate headlines for weeks. Can’t wait for the tourists to take over the streets, although it wasn’t like she’d be walking around anyway.

Alright, 5:28. She loads up her homebrew video call software, grabs the PIN for today’s meeting, confirms her identity with a fingerprint scan and a password. Her face pops up on screen—even worse than she looked in the mirror, although webcams weren’t known for being flattering. She pushes her glasses up her nose and turns the video stream off.

Akira’s and Makoto’s live feeds pop up on screen right around then. Akira is sitting in the living room of his current apartment of choice—looks the same as the other ones, bare of decoration besides a single artificial plant. Makoto’s sitting at the vanity in her bedroom, door locked so that there’s no chance of Haru appearing on the video feed.

“Hey,” Futaba says with a yawn. “How are my two little anarchists doing?”

“I’m not sure I’d describe my political views as ‘anarchist,’” Makoto said defensively. “I’m probably closer to a socialist or—”

“I was joking,” she said with an eye roll meant mostly for herself. “You’ve got to get used to it by now.”

“Alright, settle down, today’s important.” Akira says passively as he stretches his arms out and cracks his knuckles. “Let’s check in on our information gathering efforts.”

“Alright, so we’ve got our to-do list for the next 48 hours?” Akira asks as the meeting wraps up.

Makoto nods. “I’m meeting with the contact Ohya referred you to at Crossroads.”

“I’ll be getting in contact with Ohya’s friend’s friend,” Akira says. 

“And I’ll be digging for the receipts for the politician dude’s election fund misappropriation!” Futaba chimed. “You’re all lucky I decided to be a hacker instead of researching cognitive psience.”

Akira nods. “We’re close on this one—let’s get the story out before the Olympics if we can.”

Futaba flashes a thumbs up at the camera before remembering she’d turned it off. “Will do!”

“It’s a plan,” Makoto says.

“Thanks, you two. Have a good one.”

Akira’s video feed cuts off, leaving Makoto and Futaba alone in the call.

“There he goes,” Futaba says as she spins her phone around in her hands, her false enthusiasm gone from her voice. “Doesn’t even stick around for chit-chat.”

Makoto nods flatly. “We’ll just have to get used to it, I guess.”

“I’ve been getting used to it for months. I’m just sick of him being my coworker.”

There’s a moment of silence where Makoto’s looking at Futaba quietly while the orange-haired girl stares at the floor.

Eventually Futaba spins around in her chair. “Alright, mental health checkup, right?”

“Yes,” Makoto answers. “I’m doing good. Had a depression spiral earlier in the week, but taking a day off helped.”

“Please tell me it was paid, Makoto.”

“Yes, it was. I swear I’m not letting people exploit my goodwill anymore.”

“That’s my girl!”

Makoto smiles just a little—still a sucker for compliments after all this time. “And what about you, Futaba?”

“Eh, same old same old.”

The older girl raises an eyebrow.

“I’m fine,” Futaba emphasizes as she turns her video feed on and holds her meal up to it. “I’m eating a well-balanced diet and getting eight hours of sleep and everything.”

“And what about going outside?”

She bites on her lip. “I sat on the balcony and caught some sunlight two days ago.”

Makoto doubtlessly wants to push Futaba a bit more, but restrains herself anyway. “Okay, that’s good. That’s good.”

In the silence that follows, the window to Futaba’s apartment creaks open—must be Morgana coming back from his afternoon walk.

“I’m sorry if it feels like I’m pestering you,” Makoto says finally. “I’m just worried, that’s all.”

Futaba waves a hand in the air. “Nah, it doesn’t bug me. It’s just your mom instincts.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, you’re totally fine. It’s just…”

Futaba turns away again.

Makoto picks up on the meaning. “I’m sure it’s just a matter of time, Futaba.”

“Better be. He owes me a lot more than rent.”

Makoto doesn’t respond.

She sighs and stretches, trying to shrug the moment off. “Alright, better take care of Morgana. See ya, ‘Koto!”

“Stay safe, Futaba.”

The call ends and, with the moment decisively not shrugged off, she gets out of her chair and flops over to her bed.

“You’re not going to fall asleep again, are you?” Morgana asks as he steps on the foot of the bed, the bed shifting just slightly under their imbalanced weight.

“Shut.”

“It’s not good for your health, is all I’m saying.”

She wraps her arms around a body pillow with a plain white cover and burrows under a blanket. “I know you miss Akira, but that doesn’t mean you can try to fix my sleep schedule in his place, okay?”

A small puff of air from the cat’s nose brushes against her toes. “Fine,” he says as he curls up in the bend of her legs. “I do get to wake you up if I need food, though.”

“Whatever.”

She’s a red bird soaring through the skies. The wind lifts her wings and she chirps and hollers as she does a loop. Her mother is waiting in their nest with food and she turns in that direction to fly home.

Then the weather around her warps into a thunderstorm. A gust blows her off-course into a stray lightning bolt that clips her wing. She spirals down to the earth, smoke trailing from her body, and hits a tree with a sickening crack.

She comes to as a chick clambering out of a bed of ashes. With a flock of strangers at her side, she learns how to fly with a crooked wing, how to hunt for herself. It takes time but she takes her place in the air again, maneuvering in the sky with the bird closest to her heart from the flock, masters of their domain even when the wind blows against them, a dead snake crushed in one claw.

But then her brother disappears. No one is there to help her as the snake comes back to life and coils around her neck, she’s losing altitude again and no one is coming to rescue her. She crashes into the ground and her wing shatters again. Surely no one can judge her if she crawls back to her nest and hides as she tries to crush the serpent’s head. Days pass, weeks, years—

She wakes up with a coating of sweat on her skin.

At 11 PM Sumire sends another batch of photos from the Olympic Village to the Phantom Thieves group chat. A cheerful pose in front of the entrance, a selfie with her coach in some Italian restaurant, a snapshot of her hotel room. [So excited for the opening ceremony coming up <3], she messages, [but I have to go to sleep now. More training tomorrow :/ ]

Everyone else in the chat is sending congratulations. Futaba can barely keep herself from throwing her phone across the room. If she was a worse person, or maybe a better one, she’d post all the statistics she has collected about how many people were forced out of their homes for the Olympics, about the soup kitchen that got torn down near Shinjuku to make way for a stadium, about the bribery of Diet members by construction companies she had video and audio record of. How the fuck could someone like Sumire—

Sumire is kneeling behind Futaba on their bed, massaging her back gently. “It’s okay, ‘Taba,” she whispers into her ear. “I’m here. I’m here. No one is going to leave you alone again.”

She shuts her phone off and goes back to cracking the database of the hotel their current target had stayed at on the taxpayer’s dime.

She pushes her keyboard away from herself a half hour later and groans. She’s finally set up her computer to run her dictionary of common passwords against the emails of every employee with access to financials. Nothing to do but wait and see if that’s enough or she actually has to try this time around.

She puts her feet up on the desk and scrolls through her phone. None of her favorite streamers are online and she’s not feeling like watching Minecraft or Stardew Valley videos today. Guess she needed to catch up on that one magical girl anime anyway—

Someone knocks on her apartment door.

Futaba nearly falls out of her seat and only recovers by steadying herself on her desk, crumpling a page of a manga she had left out in the process.

“Who the hell is that?” Morgana says as he scrambles out from below the desk, any previous drowsiness gone.

“I-I don’t know!” Futaba says. “I’m not expecting any deliveries, and if I was, they definitely shouldn’t be arriving at midnight.”

“Do you think…”

She and the cat exchange a nervous glance.

“No way,” she says. “I’ve been extremely paranoid about what I’ve been doing recently. Nobody should be able to trace me past the server I’m tunneling my operations through.”

“Still, we need to be sure.”

Morgana jumps onto the shelf right by the door, moving aside one of her Featherman figures with his tail before entering into a crouch. Futaba slides over to the kitchen and grabs a long vegetable knife, although she doesn’t know if it’ll be useful given how her wrists are shaking. She walks towards the door slowly and looks through the peephole—

It’s Kana. Holy fucking shit it’s Kana.

Futaba hands the knife to Morgana. “It’s a friend. Make sure she doesn’t see this,” she hisses.

“How am I supposed to do that? You have one room and this is a knife!”

“Ugh, fine!” She turns to the door and shouts, “Just give me a sec!” then rushes back over to the kitchen and shoves the knife back in the drawer. Then it’s back to the door. She takes the steps slowly, her arms shaking and breath tight even though she knows she’s supposed to be excited. It’s just Kana. You’re friends. She’s not going to do anything to you.

You said that about everything else, didn’t you? a voice whispers in her head.

She grips a clump of fabric in one hand and cracks the door open.

God, Kana is still fucking adorable. Her long black hair is tied up into a ponytail flowing over her shoulder and onto her graphic tee, one finger winding between the ends. She’s wearing distressed short shorts and sneakers and is holding onto the brim of her baseball cap shyly, like a flower with its blossoms closed over its bud.

Her round face lights up as she sees Futaba’s face peeking through the door. “Futaba!”

She pushes the door open and throws her arms around Futaba, making the two of them stumble backwards into her apartment. Futaba’s knee knocks into a shelf and sends a few figures cascading onto the floor, along with a screeching Morgana. “Hey, tell her to watch it!” 

Kana pulls away from Futaba’s arms when she hears the clattering. “Oh shoot, I’m sorry,” she says. “I just haven’t seen you in over a year, and you haven’t texted or written a letter or anything.”

Futaba looks away, guilt gnawing at her chest. “...Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” she answers. “I’m sure you had your reasons. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

She gives Futaba a small squeeze, making her shiver. Futaba shakes it off as subtly as she can. “What are you doing here, though? It’s nearly midnight. And how did you find out where I live?”

“Your dad gave me the address. And you’ve always been a night owl, right?”

There’s something oddly comforting about being known that well. “I mean, you’re not wrong.”

Then she remembers that she was currently breaking several cybercrime laws on her computer. She pushes her way out of Kana’s arms and blanks the displays with her keyboard. “I’m kinda busy right now, though. Let’s, uh, catch up at Leblanc tomorrow morning?”

Kana smiles just a little. “I have work at 9, but any time before that should be fine.”

“Seven-thirty at dad’s, then?”

“Sounds great!”

Futaba manages to get Kana out of the room after one more hug. She locks the door and slides down its surface until her butt hits the floor, a wave of exhaustion hitting her.

“I can’t believe that Sojiro gave our address away,” Morgana says as he weaves through the fallen action figures and sits at Futaba’s feet. “What if she was working for the government?”

“Oh, loosen up a little,” Futaba says as she reaches over and pokes Morgana’s nose. “Kana is my best friend outside of the Thieves, even if we haven’t talked for a while. And Sojiro’s just…”

“Worried that you’re falling back into your old seclusion?” Morgana finishes for her.

“Yeah, probably,” she admits. “I keep explaining to him that I’m choosing to hide away this time, but he doesn’t really believe me.”

Mona gives her a look.

“Oh, you don’t believe me either?” she says as she stands up and brushes the back of her pants off. Looks like the floor is overdue for a vacuuming.

“I didn’t say that,” he replies defensively. “And I’m just as reclusive as you are, anyway.”

“You sure are,” she says as she walks back over to her bed and lies down again. Seeing Kana again is gratifying—she’s missed messaging the girl, after all—but she’s another variable in a life that Futaba has pared down to be as antisocial as possible. Is she going to have to lie to her, or keep her at a distance, or just ghost her all over again?

One thing was for sure—she was going to tell Sojiro off tomorrow morning.

At least Leblanc is the same as always. The smell of coffee, curry, and Sojiro’s favorite tabletop polish hits Futaba’s sinuses the second she opens the cafe door. Her dad’s grinding the coffee behind the counter, not having quite noticed her yet, as the Toyamas are taking the morning as slowly as always with a cup of coffee for each of them.

“Hey, Dad,” she says as she takes a seat in the back booth, her favorite spot in the restaurant, and cracks open her laptop.

Sojiro looks up from the pot of curry he was mulling over in shock. “Futaba? What are you doing here?”

“Am I not allowed to visit Leblanc now that I’ve moved out?” she asks.

“No, it’s not that, just…” He shakes his head. “I’m not used to seeing you outside.”

“It’s not like when I was fifteen,” she says with a sigh. “I can go out whenever I want to. I just… don’t want to, most of the time.”

Sojiro looks like he wants to challenge her on that, but decides against it and grabs his ladle again. “So what’s the occasion today?”

“Kana’s dropping by in a sec. Which I thought you’d know, considering you’re the one who sicced her on me. Warn me next time, would you?”

“Oh, right.” He stirs once, twice. “I didn’t think you two would meet here. Expected you wouldn’t want to leave your apartment.”

There he is again, assuming she was a recluse. There’s a huge difference between when she was 15 and now. Back then she was probably agoraphobic; nowadays she stays away by choice. More like a hermit. Or a monk? Maybe she could get an incense burner for the apartment instead of the plug-in air freshener... 

Just as she snorts at the image of her meditating in the traditional black monk’s vestment, the bell at the cafe entrance rings and Kana walks in.

Futaba waves her over and Kana takes a seat while stifling a yawn. With the pencil skirt and button-up she’s wearing, the fatigue makes her look like any other white-collar worker in the city, although she’s definitely more adorable than most. “You seem pretty awake, Futaba. Thought this would be much earlier than usual for you.”

“Nah, I usually sleep through the day,” she says with a shrug. “This time in the morning is, like, around 8 PM for me.”

“Seriously?” Kana says with wide eyes. “What do you even do at night?”

“Just freelance programming,” she lies. “They don’t really care when you do the work as long as it’s finished on time.”

“Ugh, wish I had the same luck,” she says. “I basically live off of coffee.”

“Somebody say coffee?”

Sojiro places his standard curry and coffee set in front of the girls, then tuts as Kana reaches for her wallet. “No, no, today’s on me. You’re a friend of Futaba’s, after all.”

“If you say so,” the girl answers, before taking a sip of the coffee and gasping. “This is amazing, Sakura-san.”

“Best coffee this side of Shibuya,” he says with a smile before heading back to the counter.

The two of them take a minute to chow down on what’s in front of them—Sojiro’s curry has a way of doing that to people—which gives Futaba some time to think, although that isn’t as helpful as she likes. She’s been trying to figure out how to talk to Kana for hours now, and she doesn’t really know an appropriate way to start things. Long time no see, bestie! I haven’t gone outside in weeks and am currently in the business of staging a revolt against the Japanese political system. How do you feel about the class dynamics involved in the practice of posting bail?

Okay, so the solution is not to talk about herself. Guess she should follow the first tip Akira gave her—ask about the other person. “So what are you in Tokyo for?” she says.

“Oh, I’m working as an accountant for a pharmaceutical company,” Kana replies through a bite of rice. “Got my accounting degree at the local college and managed to land a position here.”

Futaba whistles. “In this economy?”

Kana shrugs. “My marks in uni were good enough to work almost anywhere, but I was hoping for Tokyo.”

“Any reason why?”

“Well, I haven’t had the chance to come back since… since I was a kid.”

Oh, right. Because of her parents.

“And my best friend is here too,” Kana says quickly, deflecting away from the subject of her childhood. “What other reasons would I need?”

“I am pretty great,” Futaba agrees.

Kana grins as if she knew that response was coming before a bit of uncertainty peeks through. “If I’m being honest, ‘Taba, I was… hoping you could show me around town a bit.”

And there it is.

Futaba knew this was coming. Kana is a regular person, and regular people don’t despise the outside world like Futaba does. 

“I don’t really know Tokyo all that well,” she replies evasively. “I have a few friends that could show you around instead—”

“Everyone knows this city better than me,” Kana argues. “And I don’t want to see the tourist traps, the big stuff everyone else always goes to. I want to see the places that matter to you.”

Kana pokes Futaba in the shoulder to make her point. She isn’t sure if it was a hard poke or if she’s just not used to human contact anymore, but she grabs the area protectively. “Ow.”

And Kana is immediately apologetic again. “Oh, sorry. I can get that way when I’m trying to make a point sometimes.”

“No, it’s fine,” she answers before trailing off into her own thoughts.

She doesn’t want to show Kana around Tokyo. Just the thought of being in the city streets makes her feel sick to her stomach. And doing it with someone else? She hadn’t seen any of the Phantom Thieves in person since a remarkably muted Christmas party last year. The awkwardness of avoiding eye contact with her ex, the way their conversations paused right where Akira would have made a witty comment if he had been there… She’d decided to avoid visiting in person after that.

But the pleading look in Kana’s eyes is beyond compelling. They’d been this way back in elementary school, too—Kana would ask Futaba for a turn on the swings or a bite of her lunch, and as greedy for those things as her younger self was, something about Kana’s pout was enough to sway her.

Ugh, she’s only human.

“I’ll take you around on the weekends, okay?”

Kana’s face lights up in surprise. “I was kinda worried you were going to say no.”

“To you, Kana?” Futaba reaches for the girl’s hair and almost ruffles it like Akira did before she remembered Kana had work in an hour. She settles for a single pat. “I don’t think I could if I wanted to.”

“Jeez,” Kana says embarrassedly as she buries her face in her coffee mug. 

Futaba does the same, taking a gulp so deep that she can feel her throat being scalded by the coffee. Maybe that would be an excuse to let her get out of Leblanc more quickly.

“And you’re sure Kana isn’t going to be a security risk?” Akira asks over a grainy video call.

“No way.” Futaba says. “She’s literally my closest friend outside of the Phantom Thieves, and she wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“You’re sure.”

“Positive. I haven’t told her anything about the Thieves or my illegal exploits, anyway. She just thinks I’m a white hat hacker.”

Makoto gives her camera an uneasy look. “It’s fine, Akira. Even if she found out, we did change her parents’ hearts. I doubt she’d betray us after that.”

There’s a sternness to his face that Futaba isn’t used to. A few years ago, Akira would’ve been the one arguing for Kana to stay, with Makoto being the more paranoid one. Not that Futaba minds their old arrangement—she’s still the brains of the Thieves, after all, and needed to account for everything. But Akira is supposed to be their reckless side, not a stickler for the rules. Now she can only see the kindness in him if she looks at his pixelated eyes on his video feed.

Makoto appears to have convinced him. “Alright,” he says, trying to put on a smile. “I hope you two have good times together, Futaba.”

“Yeah,” she says as he leaves the call.

Futaba picks at her fingernails while Makoto tries to make conversation. “You’re taking her to Akihabara?”

“Yeah, Akihabara.”

“I thought you’d choose somewhere with a bit less people for your first time out in a while.”

“I mean, it’s not the people that bother me. And she told me she wanted to go to my… favorite place.”

“Even though you don’t really have one anymore.”

“I mean, I can’t tell her I hate the whole city, can I?”

“Do you really think she’d react that poorly to you saying that?”

“I mean, no. Yes?” She throws her head back and slumps down in her chair. “She’s just so… normal, Makoto. Well-adjusted. Part of me is kinda uncomfortable with her enthusiasm, but part of me is just jealous.”

“Seems complex.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Well…” Makoto frowns for a moment. “I mean, if she’s that enthusiastic, maybe just think of it as taking a kid around. Let them have fun instead of trying to teach them. Like she’s your little sister.”

The word “sister” is like a blunt hammer striking her skull. She puts her hand on one side of her head, her fingers curling and knuckles whitening.

Makoto realizes too late the mistake in her phrasing. “I’m sorry, Futaba, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” she says, forcing her hand down and trying to force color back into her face. “Word choice aside, that seems like an okay idea. I’ll try it.”

“Okay.” Makoto’s doubt is obvious, but she doesn’t press further. “I have to go, but just let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Futaba gives her a fake smile. “Will do.”

She quits out of the video software and turns off the computer. When the power indicator for the webcam goes black, she puts her hands on her head and starts taking in giant breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In, out. You can handle it. Just like he taught—

She crawls onto her bed and gives up on regulating herself. All the self-discipline in the world isn’t enough, even having Makoto to talk to isn’t enough, there’s one person she wants to talk to and there’s an impassable chasm between them.

She cries into her cold body pillow until all her tears are drained out, leaving behind nothing except a clingling emptiness. Then she gets up, grabs a meat bun from the fridge, and turns her computer back on. No time for heartache when there’s a world to burn.

Futaba wishes she could say she’s terrified of the crowds. She’s uncomfortable, sure—this many people in one place would make anyone but the most suave city-dwellers anxious—but she learned to handle herself adequately by the time college rolled around. All she has to do is rub her finger against a fidget toy in her pocket and let the stimulation ease her nerves.

Not much it can do about her antipathy to the kinds of people in Akihabara, though. Most of the visitors are walking around with their phones out and their shopping bags in tow, gluttony leaking through the glint of their eyes and the slant of their mouths. It’s the kind of consumption where you never thought about the consequences of your purchase or the suffering that went into its production. She’d been just like that ages ago, back when anime and games were some of the only things keeping her sane, but she knew better now.

Kana didn’t notice any of those things. “It’s been so long since I’ve been in a shopping district like this,” she says, her voice barely audible over the crowd.

“Yeah, it sure is… something,” Futaba says.

“Can we go to one of the big appliance shops?” she asks. “I know you love seeing all those computer parts.”

“No,” Futaba replies violently.

Kana stares.

Futaba doesn’t want to explain that those stores are where Akira took her when they went to Akihabara and she doesn’t need to relive that. So she just shrugs. “I get all my parts online now, and I know a much more interesting place.”

She pulls the two of them into a side street a block down from where they were standing, coming to a stop in front of a run-down storefront.

“Kamisaka’s?” Kana asks as she squints at the slightly broken neon sign.

“Yeah, it’s a second-hand place. Great for finding old stuff.”

Futaba walks into the place and instinctively waves at the elderly cashier, who waves back before doing a double-take. “Futaba-chan? I haven’t seen you in… why, it must have been at least a year.”

She cringes inside. Looks like Kamisaka himself is at the register today, and she had been a regular here during her college days. It feels like an entire lifetime ago at this point. She brushes the discomfort off with a nervous grin. “Got busy with work, that’s all.”

“Seems like that’s how it is for everyone these days. Still, I’m glad you made it today—and brought a friend too, even.”

He directs a bright smile at Kana, who returns the favor with a bow. “It’s good to meet you.”

“The same to you. Ah, there’s nothing like youth to lift an old man’s spirits.”

Futaba stays in place near the entrance for the minimum amount of time that politeness dictates, then dives towards the manga issues in the back section. Maybe she can make her way out with an issue of Revolutionary Girl Utena or something, although she doubts she’ll get that lucky.

She makes her way to the third shelf down and crouches to peer through the aisles. Kana ends up standing next to her, giving the rows of well-worn books a look. “What’s the appeal of second-hand?”

Futaba pulls out a manga volume with a faded spine she can’t read, only to shove it back with disgust upon realizing it was Rurouni Kenshin. “It’s not so much what’s good about second-hand as what’s bad about first-hand.”

“I would’ve thought you liked the shiny new stuff.”

Futaba forgets to respond as her finger crosses the spine of a classic. She grabs it and shows the cover to Kana. “Ah-ha!”

Kana reads the cover and her eyes widen. “Ooh, that’s a tie-in for the original Featherman run, right?”

“Bingo.” Futaba stands up and gives the book to Kana. “The company that owns Featherman is selling the volumes in mega editions in color, but this is way cheaper.”

“But wouldn’t you rather have it in color?” Kana asked as she flipped through a few pages.

She grimaces; of course Kana was going to ask. “Not when the current Featherman Blue is a notorious sexual harasser.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. There’s like twenty different reports of him leering and groping around at cons and on set.” She tries to be casual about it, but there’s a clear edge to her voice. “The company gave him a slap on the wrist, but his contract is still in place. No way I’m gonna give them any money.”

Futaba wanders over to the figurine section of the store, milling through the cabinets filled with less-than-shiny Gundams and Nendoroids. “And take these figurines. Most of them are made by people living on poverty wages. Unions are suppressed and workers’ rights are virtually nonexistent. I don’t want to give those companies money for that.”

Kana follows her over, of course, and looks genuinely distressed. “I never thought about it like that.”

“Almost nobody does. Society is built to obscure it. We don’t see anything involved in the production of goods, just the result. Alienation from labor and all that.”

“You’ve thought a lot about this.”

She looks at a 5-in-1 Featherman Raptor mech with a handwritten price tag and sighs. “Once you start seeing it, you can’t stop.”

And she really can’t. Even the Featherman figures she has in her apartment give her a pang of guilt when she looks at them. Never mind she bought them before the Featherman Blue fiasco, or the way she smiled thinking about the time Yusuke disassembled some of them, or the way she cheered when she was given a pair of limited edition steel-plated poseables on her birthday by Akira and Sumire—

She’s brought back to reality by Kana’s hand on her shoulder. “At least there’s something nice about it being second-hand.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, these toys had a whole life with another kid before they made their way here, right? It’s like you’re continuing a history of love that started with the previous owners.”

The thought is oddly warm for Futaba, piercing a little of her cynical shell. It’s… something she hasn’t felt in a while. “I guess so.”

“Knew you’d get it.” A light sparks in her eyes. “Ooh, I wonder if any of the second-hand manga has notes that kids wrote on the inside. Lemme go check!”

Kana runs off before Futaba can say how silly that sounds—the kids probably scribbled all over the pages if they did anything. But still, something about the cheer Kana has makes her snigger just a little. What a cute girl.

Morgana gapes when Futaba enters their apartment in the afternoon with two bags of second-hand merch. “You actually bought stuff?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Futaba says as she drops the bags on the floor. “Kamisaka and Kana were both hounding me hard. Didn’t really have much of a choice.”

A scoff. “You’re just a softie.”

Futaba digs out a manga issue and tries to push the reams of doujinshi on the bookshelf aside to shove it on. “If you were going to be so upset by the purchases, you should’ve told me before I left. Or maybe you should’ve come with, get some sunlight for once.”

Silence on the other end. 

She turns and sees Morgana glowering at her. “Those days are over, Futaba.”

Oh shit. “I should’ve thought before I spoke. My bad.”

“Not your fault.” He hops off her bed and walks to the kitchen window. “I just… need a walk.”

Futaba watches Morgana’s tail disappear from view. She couldn’t really blame him for reacting that way. Hell, she felt the same on most days.

“You’re never going to be alone, Futaba.”

She shoves her purchases into a corner of the room, then throws a blanket over everything. Not like she’s going to do anything with it anyway. Sentimental stuff wasn’t useful to her anymore. Never meant anything, never would.

Her computer chair sank slightly as she dropped into it. She had better things to do.

Futaba is wandering through the streets of Odaiba with Kana—the girl really wants to see the tourist spots—when a sports stadium appears in their field of vision.

“Oh, I’ve heard about this place on the news!” Kana says as she takes a few steps towards the entrance. “Aren’t they hosting a few Olympic events here?”

Futaba wants to scoff at the mention of the Olympics, but something’s making her disoriented. The building is familiar, but she can’t quite pin down why.

“I wish I had thought ahead to buy tickets when I was hired,” Kana says with some disappointment.

I’m glad you didn’t, Futaba thinks idly, her mind still preoccupied. What is it about the shape of the building and—

Oh.

“Let’s get away from here,” Futaba says as she pulls on Kana’s hand.

“Oh, sure,” Kana says. “Are there too many people here?”

Futaba hadn’t even thought about that. “No, this is…”

It’s where Maruki’s Palace had been.

She realizes that she understands Maruki a lot better than she used to. His suffering had started when he lost his lover to a tragedy made all the worse by the fact she was still alive. Various parts of his life had crumbled after that, including his own contentment with life and his ability to succeed in academic. That’s what the stadium meant, after all—a dream of healing people crushed by the greediness of men. All that was left when the dust settled was a small man stuck as a taxi driver. How could anyone be happy like that?

“I have some bad memories here,” she finishes quietly.

Kana nods quietly, not pressing any farther. “Do you want to go home, ‘Taba?”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. You wanted to see Harajuku, right?”

The other girl looks like she wants to say something, but eventually just nods. “Alright, let’s go. Tell me if you need anything, ‘kay?”

“Yeah,” Futaba says absentmindedly as Kana takes her to the train station, her eyes lingering on a bronze statue of an eagle above the stadium’s entrance, its head directed towards the heavens.

“Is Harajuku always this crowded?” Kana asks as a woman with extremely large sunglasses bumps into her in the middle of a crowded walkway.

“I mean, maybe?” Futaba says as she dodges out of the way of a man in khaki shorts. “I don’t come here very often, honestly. Think the last time was when Ann and Makoto forced me.” When was the last time she’d seen Ann or Makoto in person? Maybe a year? What a horrible friend she was.

“It must be because of the Olympics.”

“Oh, right.” Futaba groans. “Don’t you love it when your country displaces 300 families and forces the homeless out of public spaces so white tourists can pretend everything is hunky-dory?”

“Huh?” Kana asks, giving her a nervous look.

The voices of the crowd are ringing through her head. She shoves her hand into her pocket and rubs her fidget toy. “It’s nothing. Let’s just… get inside a store, please.”

The other girl is smart enough to read Futaba’s signals. She puts Futaba’s hand in hers and takes her with her, letting Futaba focus on just putting one foot in front of another. God, she couldn’t even show her friend around Tokyo correctly.

They end up in a small shopping boutique with less foot traffic than the bigger stores around. Futaba takes a deep breath as the roar of the crowd is replaced with glitzy pop music. Looks like a small business focusing on casual wear and fair trade goods. This was something she could live with—

“Futaba!”

She’s caught up in a massive hug that lifts her off of the ground slightly. Her nose is filled with a gentle perfume that’s somewhere between strawberries and a spring breeze. It’s familiar but she can’t quite place it—

Another voice. “Ann, let go, you’re going to suffocate her!”

Oh no.

Futaba feels herself stumbling back and reaching for Kana’s hand, squeezing it tight as soon as she finds it. She keeps her face fixed towards the floor, because she doesn’t need to look up to know that the people she’s run into at the store are Ann and Sumire.

“Who are they?” Kana asks Futaba.

“Oh, we’re some of her friends from high school,” Ann says quickly. “I’m Ann and this is Sumire.”

“I’m Kana.”

“Oh yeah, Futaba told us all about you!”

Count the tiles on the floor, Futaba. Three red, one black. Three red, one black. Three red… 

“I think this might be a bad time, Ann,” Sumire says.

“She’s a bit overwhelmed from the crowds.” Kana squeezes Futaba’s hand just a little.

“It’s extra busy today, isn’t it?”

She hears Ann take a step towards her. “Is there anything we can do for you, Futaba?”

Futaba looks up and sees the concern in Ann’s eyes. To the side, Sumire stands anxiously, her eyes wide and uncertain.

She clenches her fists. Of course Sumire isn’t offering to help. Selfish bitch. Left her behind after their first serious argument, just like Akira had left her too. That redhead could do a backflip into hell for all she cared.

But that’s not what happened. I was the one who initiated the breakup. Pushed her away, pushed Akira away, pushed the other Thieves away. I’m going to push Kana away soon too. Nobody I could stand to be around in this shitty world, no one but me and a cat I don’t even talk to. Morgana barely counts as a person, anyway.

You’re not making sense anymore, Futaba. You’re having a panic attack and thinking rude shit. But if it’s in my head, then why am I alone? It’s all because I’m pathetic and useless. I couldn’t get myself to do grad school, I couldn’t get my brother to stay, I couldn’t keep my girlfriend near me.

She’s vaguely aware that she’s curled up in a ball on the ground, she can hear Ann and Kana and Sumire saying her name and grabbing her shoulder, but her sense of self is being drowned out by the voices screaming in her ear. Pathetic, useless, hopeless.

Kana’s words manage to enter her ears. “I’m going to lift you up now, Futaba. We’re going to get you somewhere safe and quiet. I’ll have Ann—”

“No!” she shouts. There’s probably other patrons looking at her right now. She doesn’t give a shit. “Just you. Please.”

“Okay. Just me.”

Kana pulls her up and she complies, letting the girl handle the motions. There’s a brief pause once she’s upright—probably Kana giving Ann and Sumire some sort of nervous, apologetic look. Sorry my friend is such a basketcase.

One step at a time. Sight and sound blend into a messy incoherency. One step becomes a hundred, a thousand. Grabbing back onto reality would mean feeling the same pain all over again, so instead she lets everything go except for the sensation of Kana leading her forward.

Her coherency returns to her on the subway. It’s not so much that her senses have returned to her as that she has the mental capacity to process what’s around her again.

Kana’s still holding her hand. They’re sitting next to each other on the subway—the fact that Kana managed to get two spots for them on a weekend is a miracle, although Futaba’s non-responsiveness probably helped. The motion of the car is gentle and controlled, just grounding enough to offset the cluster of bodies around them.

Futaba smacks her lips a few times to moisten her throat. “Kana?”

She looks over immediately, relief visible in her eyes. “Are you feeling better now?”

“I mean…” She thumps her head against the window behind her, staring up at the handrail. “As okay as you can be after having a panic attack in public.”

“Yeah.”

The chatter of the subway fills the space between them. This feels like a major turning point for Futaba: either she’s going to let Kana in to see how broken she is inside, or she’s going to lock her out.

She’s trapped herself in her bedroom in Sojiro’s house all over again. It’s not that she doesn’t want people to come in, but she can’t let them in, nobody can see just how broken she is or they’ll be disgusted. So she’ll cower in her bed until they go away, leave her alone the way she deserves—

“Do you want to stay at my place for a while?”

Futaba gives Kana a stunned look.

“Just for a few hours,” her friend explains as if that was what Futaba was concerned about. “I know you want to keep your place for yourself, but I thought you might not want to be alone, either. I’m only a few stops south.”

Her brain doesn’t know how to make words.

“You don’t have to. Maybe you’d rather be alone. I don’t know. I just thought—”

Futaba manages to squeeze Kana’s hand and nod.

The girl takes a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll tell you when we reach my station, alright?”

Another nod.

“Okay.”

The most notable thing about Kana’s apartment is the lack of decor. There were a few kitchen appliances that had clearly come with the apartment, as well as a beat-up sofa and a fold-up dining set, but besides that the only color comes from the lime green walls and a handmade ceramic sparrow that’s been placed on the kitchen counter. 

Futaba is seated at the kitchen table—Kana offered to cook and she was too hungry to say no. She’s still exhausted from Harajuku, but she’s intrigued enough by the bird to pick it up and turn it over in her hands. 

“Do you like it?” Kana asks from her place at the stovetop as she stirs rice in a wok. “I made it in my art club in high school.”

It’s clearly amateurish—there are a few bumps along its surface where the clay wasn’t smoothed out properly, and the work on the beak and eyes was imprecise—but the pride in Kana’s voice was more than enough to make up for it. “I like it,” she says as she runs her fingers along its outstretched wings. “Feels very you.”

“It was the first thing I ever made that I was proud of.”

Futaba looks up at her.

Kana’s voice becomes pained. “I didn’t really get toys as a kid because of my parents. Even after they stopped exploiting me, we didn’t have money for it because they still had to recover from their debts. So having a little trinket I made for myself… it was really freeing, in a way.”

Which explained the lack of furnishings. Futaba had assumed that Kana’s life had gone perfectly after they changed her parents’ hearts. She had been so naive back then, thinking that society would fix itself once they carved out Shido’s heart from his chest. Her and Akira both had to face that truth in their own—

Akira.

She bends over, her chest throbbing. Even thinking his name hurts now, and she doesn’t know how to handle that pain, so she’s running and running. Away from the world’s problems, away from her friends, away from Kana. And all it’s doing is making her feel like she’s going to explode. Either she lets the pain out now or it kills her.

“Futaba, are you okay?” Kana asks, her attention completely diverted from cooking.

Futaba swallows and her knuckles go white as she grabs her knees.

“I was a Phantom Thief,” she says, her voice cracking.

Kana drops the spatula in her hands.

“I changed your parents’ hearts. Me and my brother and our friends. And you know what’s fucked up, Kana? It doesn’t even make me feel good about myself anymore. Because I’m still the same kid who locks herself in her bedroom and lets her trash pile up in the corner, who watches anime and plays games all day. Just a drain on society’s resources.”

She sinks into one of the folding chairs in the kitchen and lets out a long exhale. “And now you probably hate me because I just said I don’t care about how I saved you from your parents. Great job, Sakura. I’d leave, but I don’t really have the energy to walk.”

Futaba hears a click as Kana turns the stovetop burner off and walks towards her slowly. She’s ready for a slap or a shout or just a furious glare—she’s not quite sure what Kana’s style is, and part of her feels like she deserves to find out.

Instead, Kana wraps her arms around Futaba from behind.

Futaba forgets how to breathe for a moment.

“I wouldn’t get mad at you just because of your feelings,” Kana says gently.

Futaba reaches for Kana’s hands, touches them. They’re warm and soft and steady.

When she starts crying, Kana doesn’t walk away, and for the first time in months, it feels like her emotions are flushing out of her instead of just lodging inside like sticker weeds. It’s the most relief Futaba’s felt in months.

“I wanted to study cognitive psience for grad school.”

They’re sitting on Kana’s couch, each of them holding their own box of apple juice. Futaba’s just staring at the ceiling, and a glance over shows that Kana is too. Probably doesn’t want to make Futaba feel awkward by staring at her; or maybe Kana’s embarrassed. Silly girl.

Futaba takes a sip of the juice. Tastes just like childhood innocence, from when that was a thing she still had.

“But research into it was completely blacklisted. Some of Shido’s cronies had stuck their arms into academia and halted anything that looked like forward progress. I guess they thought that if they couldn’t use it, nobody else should get to.”

“Did you not have a way to work around them?” Kana asks.

“I mean, there are definitely things I could have done. Could’ve stolen all their research data and started working independently. Maybe get their asses thrown in jail so that nobody’s trying to block the research.”

“But you didn’t.”

She shakes her head, takes another drink. “You can’t do science alone. I would’ve had to work with other people. And I wasn’t… I’m not optimistic about people.”

“What do you mean?”

A long sigh.

“People are selfish. They don’t think about anything except what’s right in front of them. They’ll shop at stores that mistreat their workers, or vote for politicians promising change in the form of crushing minority rights. And even the good ones run away when things get hard. Like I did. Like…” Her voice cracks. “Like he did.”

“Your brother.”

Futaba shivers and brings her knees to her chest. “Before I joined the Phantom Thieves, I was their target. I was suicidal and agoraphobic after Mom died, and they helped me clear out the distortions in my cognition. Akira is—was the leader.

“They could’ve let me be after that, but they welcomed me in instead. And not just because I was a hacker. I went from having no friends to having, like, eight of them within a year. But Akira was more than a friend.”

“He helped with the promise list, right?”

“And even more than that. He was there whenever I was crying, or lonely, or even hungry. I’m pretty sure he could hear my stomach growl from a mile away.” She laughs quietly. “He left Tokyo after his probation ended, but we still called and wrote each other letters. And he came back to live here as soon as he could. We were inseparable at that point.”

Kana looks down at her lap, where her hands are clasped. “And then?”

There’s a thin trail of tears running down Futaba’s face.

“Then Morgana, our cat, got injured in a car accident. And I guess that was the last straw. He had a nervous breakdown, and then he left.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Some bullshit about feeling helpless.”

Kana looks over apprehensively.

“Okay, it’s not bullshit,” she says, more to herself than Kana, as she clumsily puts her drink down on the floor. “He has just as much trauma as I do, and a lot of guilt over the things he can’t do for us, and he couldn’t handle it anymore. But he left me behind, you know? Deliberately. Got a new phone, new laptop, everything. It took me weeks to find him, and then it took me even longer to convince him to help me take down cops and politicians, the stuff we’re doing now.

“And when he left, I shut down. Stopped trying to go to grad school, stopped seeing my friends, broke up with my girlfriend. I couldn’t move on because… Because he was…” Futaba wipes her eyes, her voice fraying. “He was proof that someone could get beaten down by society and thrive despite all of that. He was the reason I could go outside every day. And if he couldn’t handle it, then how could I?”

Kana tries to put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re more than just him, Futaba. You’re—”

“Fuck off.”

Futaba swats her hand away, shoves herself into the cushions at the opposite end of the couch, eyes red. 

“He was everything to me, Kana. I had a girlfriend back then, too, but Akira always came first. We were family. And it feels like—like he threw me away, and made me come crawling back to him.”

A long pause.

“But you still love him.”

A wave of hot emotion washes down her whole body.

“Yeah.”

It’s 10 PM and she’s back in her apartment, lying in her bed, Morgana curled up next to her head. There’s a few glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling—a gift from Akira she got several years ago.

“He still cares about us, doesn’t he?”

“Who?” Morgana asks.

“Akira.”

Morgana doesn’t say anything.

“I’d almost forgotten. Even though I talk with him multiple days a week, and we’re doing stuff that could land our asses in jail every day…”

“Emotions are complicated, that’s all.”

“It’s way more than that. It’s…” Futaba rolls over and looks at his beady eyes. “It feels like what it was like after Mom died. I was in so much pain that I stopped understanding what the truth was. And it almost happened again.”

“Just be glad you didn’t lose a leg because of the whole thing.”

Futaba grimaces. “Just because you can’t admit you miss him doesn’t mean you have to be so rude.”

“That’s…”

Futaba watches him jump off the bed and slip out of the open window. After he’s well out of earshot, she chuckles darkly.

“Look at the Phantom Thieves now, Mom.”

Futaba scrambles over a hole in the dirt path filled in with round stones and groans. “I still can’t believe you took me here, Kana.”

Kana chuckles from a few paces ahead. “What, you can’t handle a little walk?”

“Walking is fine. But this is nature!” She spins around and gestures at the cedar trees on either side of the trail. “Nature!”

Kana turns to look at her, a bit of uncertainty on her face. “I mean, if you’re uncomfortable, we can—”

“I’m joking, Kana.”

“Oh.” Her face reddens slightly. “Sorry.”

Futaba runs up and ruffles her head. “Don’t worry about it, it’s cute.”

The trail is mostly gentle, with minimal elevation changes and stable ground besides a few patches of rocks. Futaba finds her thoughts loosening their grip around her cerebrum as she loses herself in the moment—the slight elevation of her pulse, the kaleidoscope-like pattern of the leaves in the trees, the motion of Kana’s body as she walks in the lead position. Doing this alone would’ve been unpleasant, but something about the girl’s presence soothes her, keeps her walking even after her initial burst of energy flags.

After a half-hour they reach their destination: a weathered outcrop that provides a broad view of the valley around them. Kana sits herself down a few feet from a small ledge while Futaba flops onto the ground, her hair thoroughly mussed up.

“Feeling good?” Kana asks.

“Better,” Futaba says, looking at the sky.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Kana says with a smile. “I did a lot of hiking during high school. Lots of small trails around my hometown, and walking is about as free as it gets.”

“You mean the ‘money’ kind of free, or the ‘freedom’ kind?”

“I mean, definitely the money kind. Maybe not freedom, because you’re walking on a set path, right?”

“I think I prefer that to having to figure out everything in my life for myself.”

“Maybe that’s what’s so relaxing about it.”

A few birds chirp in the distance as they stare up at the clouds.

“Akira used to take us camping,” Futaba says eventually. “Everyone he could muster up from our friend group. But sometimes everyone was busy, so it was just him, me, and our cat in a tent somewhere.”

“Was it fun?”

“Are you kidding? He could keep me entertained with a broken toaster.” Her eyes light up. “There was one time where we were camping in autumn and the night got real chilly, but he forgot his sleeping bag. So we both had to curl up in mine. Think Morgana scratched his arm once or twice trying to get comfortable.”

“Yowch.”

“They were bickering about it in the morning. Fucking hilarious.”

Kana half-smiles. “I would say I wish I had a sibling like that, but…”

“Yeah.”

One of the birds lands a few paces away, pecking at a small bit of moss on the rock.

“I don’t really care about cops or politicians, you know.”

The girl looks over. “You mean the stuff you’re leaking to the news?”

“Yeah.” She picks up a pebble and throws it. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I hate those assholes. But I don’t really want to spend my whole life working on outing them, you know? I could probably do that on the side while focusing on cognitive psience. Or artificial intelligence, maybe.”

“What changed your mind?”

Another rock. “I needed something to keep Akira talking to me. Figured he had to be angry after everything he did, plus bored with hiding away from everyone. Maybe a little bit guilty for leaving me behind. He said he’d do it, and we haven’t stopped for two years.”

The third rock accidentally clips the bird’s left wing—it screeches loudly and flies off.

“I’ve been in one big rut this whole time, Kana. All I’m doing is clinging to the happier parts of my life, clinging to a brother who’s too broken to return the favor. What’s the fucking point?”

They listen to the wind force its way through the trees. A minute passes, then two.

“I mean, at least things can get better now, right?”

Futaba turns to look at Kana, who’s giving her a smile brighter than the sun.

“You know what problems you’re facing now. And you’re the kind of person who can take on anything.” Kana shrugs. “Even when you’re knocked down, you’re still actively making the world a better place. I think you’ll get him back.”

Futaba looks at her in awe. Kana’s optimism is absolutely unbelievable, but it’s so genuine that Futaba is starting to believe it herself.

She can’t help but grin in return, her eyes softening. “You’re the amazing one, Kana. You’ve been so patient and understanding. You’re basically an angel.”

“Oh God no,” Kana says, turning away as her face reddens. “I’m the most ordinary person, Futaba. Being nice is all I have.”

Futaba wants to say something in response, but instead of doing that, a thought crosses her mind and she doubles over and starts cackling.

Kana stares at her in confusion as the girl continues laughing for at least half a minute. “Was it something I said?”

“No, no, it’s just…” Futaba sits up and wipes her eyes, still chuckling a little. “I just realized that if Morgana was here, he’d tell us to get over ourselves and kiss already.”

“Your cat?”

“Look, he’s a talking cat. It’s a long story. Aaaaaand I’m stalling.”

Futaba reaches over and pulls Kana forward by the collar of her windbreaker, planting a kiss directly on her lips.

When Futaba backs away, Kana’s eyes are wide and her mouth is hanging open just a little. She can feel the blood heating up the girl’s cheeks. “Uh, wow.”

Then Futaba realizes exactly what she’s done and pulls back slightly in a panic. “Oh god, was that okay? I kinda got caught up in the moment and didn’t ask.”

“No, It’s fine,” she says, interrupting Futaba as she winds her hair around her finger nervously. “I was… hoping it’d happen eventually.”

Futaba stares as the implications set in slowly. “Oh my god. You’ve been crushing on me for years, haven’t you?”

She smiles nervously. “Maybe?”

“Wow.” Futaba laughs softly. “I guess we are confronting our problems now, huh?”

Kana reaches for Futaba’s hand and squeezes. “How about we do it together?”

The breeze rustles through Futaba’s short hair, and as she looks into the girl’s eyes, her heart throbs. And as the sun peeks out from behind a cloud and feeds her body some much-needed warmth, she realizes that for the first time in a long time, that longing feels like a good thing.

Futaba squeezes back. “Yeah.”