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Akira was gone.
It had only been a week and Futaba knew she wasn’t doing well. Not that she hadn’t tried, or that she was totally helpless. In fact, she’d worked extremely hard to look on the bright side of everything. After all, this was growth, wasn’t it? Akira’s false charges had been expunged and his probation was finally over. This was a good thing. He had family back home, he might even still have friends there. It was stupid to assume that just because no one from Akira’s home town contacted him throughout all his probation, he had nothing left there.
It should have been growth. Funny, though, it didn’t feel like it. It felt like losing him, like losing Mom all over again. The sudden realization that Akira was really and truly gone, just hours after seeing him off to the station, didn’t quite register until it was too late.
It was stupid. He wasn’t dead or anything, and he responded to texts about as often as he normally did (which was to say rarely and only when people either asked a direct question or were wondering whether he was still on the group chat, as well as the daily good mornings, good nights, and stupid cat photos, and maybe a quick “lol” at whatever meme she sent him so, okay, maybe not that rarely), and he always picked up the phone if she called him, so it wasn’t as if he disappeared completely.
It just…hadn’t really hit her what that distance meant. That she couldn’t just walk across the street and bug him about whatever latest discovery she made, something she hadn’t realized until she’d burst into Leblanc one day, excited to show him the rare, limited edition Feather Green figure that’d just come out, only to suddenly realize she couldn’t. That the attic was bare again, stripped of its souvenirs and life. As if Akira had never lived there at all.
It hurt, unexpectedly so, like somehow this was permanent, like he’d died which was particularly dumb when she knew what it was like to really lose family. Is he happy with his parents, she couldn’t help but wonder. Is he safe? Or is he going stir-crazy? He was a bleeding heart, something that she and the other Phantom Thieves had adored about him until they realized just how dangerous it could be.
He reassured them whenever they asked that he was fine, but she knew better than to take the words at face value. Before Sojiro took her in she’d lied about being happy at her uncle’s house too.
Familiar urges stirred in her gut: the urge to hide, to bar herself in her room until everything managed to fix itself, to block the world away and hope it could work itself out before her inevitable death. She hated them, hated that her instincts always came back to curling up and pretending that nothing existed except her little corner of the world.
And still she found herself spending longer and longer alone, pretending that she didn’t notice how their group was meeting less and less. Sojiro noticed, Sojiro had to have noticed, but he didn’t comment on it yet. No one did, and it made her feel small again, alone and forgettable.
That was, until she heard an unexpected knock at the front door.
One quick glance at their security cameras and any fear of confrontation died once she recognized the man’s blindingly bright blonde hair.
She opened the door swiftly, startling Ryuji where he stood, posture awful and slouching like he didn’t know the meaning of back pain.
He stared for a moment, seemingly just as confused at her reaction as she was to why he was there. All it took was a single raised eyebrow for him to give her an awkward, sheepish grin.
“Uh, yo?” he chuckled with a wave.
Futaba rolled her eyes, even as a small smile played on her lips. “‘Sup.”
“I was just in the neighborhood and figured…” he shrugged, more than a little tactless as he continued, “might as well stop by. Ya know, since...”
The reminder struck a painful chord in her chest, and she looked away, unable to quite meet his eyes as she nodded along. Right. It wasn’t just Akira. Ann had already left to start her semester abroad in America, Makoto and Haru would be starting college soon, and Ryuji would leave for physical therapy.
Everyone would be gone, eventually. Roll credits. Happy ending, right?
He shook his head, brows pinched like he was frustrated with himself at his own choice of words. Before shooting her a beaming smile, one a little crooked and lopsided at its edges and brimming with sincerity. “Ah, nevermind. Mind if I come in?”
“Knock yourself out,” she turned around, making the executive decision that they would go to her room. She didn’t have to look back to know that he was following despite the fact, “just make sure to lock the door. Can’t have any mobs spawning.”
“Gotchya!”
What awkwardness their conversation began with died once he arrived in her room, eyes immediately drawn to her newest monitor as he whistled. “Damn that’s cool!”
“I know right!” Futaba nodded enthusiastically, the lingering doubt washing away. “The baby’s brand new, you can do all kinds of stuff with it. And it’s not the only thing~” She gestured towards her Swap where it was docked in its port, just hidden by one of her older monitors.
“Oh hell yeah!”
Which is how they ended up, as both of them probably should have expected, locked head to head in Super Bash Bros.
Well...not exactly head to head.
“Shit!” Ryuji sighed, rubbing the back of his head as he let the controller fall from his hand as he lost for the fifth time in a row. “I swear you’ve gotta be cheatin’ at this.”
“Pfft, how many times do I need to tell you? Surfbursting isn’t cheating, you just don’t know how to play.”
“Yeah, yeah, you don’t gotta remind me.” He sighed, leaning forward to stretch out his arms which cracked and popped in protest like he’d spent half a year hunched over (not unlikely considering it was Ryuji). With a satisfied sigh he settled back against the wall comfortably. Futaba had no idea how he made the position look uncomfortable when it was digging into her arms like its only desire was to spite her. “At least I’m only half as bad as ‘Kira though. I swear he was effin’ with us—no one could actually be that bad, right?”
The lightness in her chest evaporated. “Yeah, he totally was,” she agreed quietly, just enough that he couldn’t hear the shakiness of her voice.
Belatedly realizing his mistake, Ryuji sent her an apologetic glance she couldn’t quite meet, looking away as awkward, heavy silence shrouded the room.
Thankfully, Ryuji wasn’t the type to mince his words or put off conversations.
“You doin’ alright? I mean,” he fumbled a little, searching for the right words, “with Akira gone and everything it’s gotta be toughest on you.”
“Ever heard of subtlety dude?” she laughed, feeling something break a little in her chest at the obvious concern in his voice.
Ryuji was having absolutely none of her redirection. “That’s effin’ stupid. If I’m gonna say something I’m gonna say it. No point in pretending otherwise.”
She swallowed back the small, tentative chuckle growing in her chest. “You know what, I take that back. You don’t need subtlety, you’re the best dudebro best-friend side character I’ve met yet.” He laughed, even though he looked a little confused, but she could appreciate the attempt nonetheless.
In one hesitant motion she curled her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knees as she idly listened to the victory music still playing from the screen.
“So, how’re you handling everything?”
Futaba shrugged, a casual motion that shook her whole body with its weight. “About as well as any of us are,” she answered vaguely. At his dubious look, she relented a little more, “but not great.”
Ryuji nodded solemnly. “Yeah, I get what you mean. It’s weird seeing everyone going off and doing their own things. It was just yesterday that we were all runnin’ around Mementos helping people and now…”
“Yeah,” she knew exactly what he meant, the lingering emptiness that came in the aftermath of having been a part of something so much bigger than herself. How were they supposed to return to their normal lives after being superheroes? After they defeated two Gods?
No...that wasn’t quite right. It was a jarring change, sure, but that wasn’t what she missed, not really. It was nothing compared to the stabbing wound in the side of her chest.
“I miss them a lot,” she murmured, half to herself.
“Yeah,” he agreed, not quietly, because Ryuji was never quiet, but soft enough that it broke something in her chest. He sounded so gentle, so understanding. Like he just knew.
“I-I don’t get it,” Futaba’s voice hitched to her own mortification, her breath coming quick and fast as she tried to stop the sobs building in her chest, “it’s not like they’re gone or anything. They’re not dead, but I just…I just…”
Ryuji didn’t wait, he put one arm around her shoulders, drawing her into his side with a steady hand that she readily let herself fall into. He didn’t say anything about the hot tears falling from her eyes, from the way she buried her awful, snotty face into his shoulder.
It was only after a few minutes of crying that she realized that she wasn’t the only one crying, and when she felt Ryuji hold her back, hand gripping her shirt like she might disappear if he didn’t cling to her with all his might, squeezing her even closer into his stupid sweaty shirt. When her sobs grew louder, he only hugged even tighter, like he was trying to squeeze out her tears, finally wring out the lingering pain consuming both of their chests.
It didn’t stop for what could have been hours or minutes.
When she finally pulled away, using her sleeve to wipe her nose, she met his watery red eyes and found herself giggling.
“What’s so funny?”
“You-” her voice caught, her breath trapped in her lungs for a second before it burst out in hysterical laughter, “-you’re such a himbo.”
He paused for a moment, staring at her like she’d just recited the quadratic formula, before bursting out into laughter too. “What the ‘eff is that supposed to mean?”
She just shook her head, letting her laughter die into something lighter, aching and raw but calm, like all of the tension coiling in her chest had finally been let loose.
“I’m glad I’m not the only side-character lost without him,” she smirked, a little lopsided and surely ruined by the redness of her eyes, but Ryuji didn’t seem to care. Hell, he matched her grin and tripled it, the smile splitting his face like it was always meant to be there.
“‘Course not. All of us miss him.” he fumbled a little, glancing away and sniffling as he used the bottom of his tank top to furiously scrub away the redness in his eyes. “And I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”
A small huff of annoyance escaped her throat. Was she really that obvious? “He’s my brother,” she murmured a little miserably, “I miss everyone of course, but I guess I just got used to him being so close. And now he’s gone for who knows how long and everyone else but me and Inari are leaving too. It’s just…a lot, I guess.”
She sighed, curling back in on herself as she looked away, staring at the wall of monitors on the opposite side. Lights pulsed quietly from her sleeping monitor. “It’s so stupid too. No one’s dead, and it’s not like we can’t text or anything. I’m just being overdramatic.”
She felt more than saw Ryuji shake his head. “Nah, I get it. Everyone moving feels really weird when just a month ago we were celebrating Akira getting out, and he was my bro too.”
No, that wasn’t quite right. Ryuji said it earnestly, like he really, honestly meant what he said, but ‘bro’ wasn’t right. It didn’t encapsulate the sleepless nights Akira stayed with her to calm her down when she was wrought with nightmares. The days of teasing and taunting one another knowing that every night they’d both come back to eat Leblanc curry and drink too much caffeine and maybe even spend the night binging Featherman via video chat. The way he supported her at every turn, and how she did everything she could to support him in turn, even when it was difficult.
The torn expression on Akira’s face when he had to tell her that her mom was dead. The way she felt when she saw how he came back, bruised and bloody and beaten because of her and Makoto’s plan.
“Not…bro, he was my brother,” she emphasized, slow and steady as she turned to face him head-on. “Sojiro was practically begging him to stay by the end.”
Ryuji paused for a moment, brow furrowed in confusion as he stared at her, until his expression broke with the sudden realization of what she was saying.
“Yeah, me too. I get it ‘Taba. It wasn’t exactly the same but…I get it.”
And it was with a start that she realized that he did. He understood, really and truly understood. She’d seen the texts between them, seen the texts between Akira and so many others. He was such a bleeding heart, someone unwilling to let anyone go without help if they truly seemed like they needed it. He’d helped all of them in their own ways. Without him, she wouldn’t have escaped her room, may have not survived, but she wasn’t alone. Track had been Ryuji’s life for so long, the same way her mother had been her life for as long as she remembered.
And Akira had done so much for them, for both of them.
And a part of her hurt at the realization, broke to know that her relationship with Akira wasn’t as unique as it’d always felt to her. But in that ache came another feeling, deep-seated and powerful.
Respite.
She didn’t cry, she didn’t have any tears left to cry again, but she leaned into him all the same, collapsing against his shoulder. She felt the way his body untensed, the way he leaned back into her with just as much weight. Like they both finally let the world off their shoulders just for a moment.
They sat like this for a moment listening to the slow, quiet drone of her monitors, to the quiet rise and fall of one another’s chests.
“Hey, you know what, ‘eff it. Screw not seeing each other until it just happens to work out. We’ve got breaks and stuff, why don’t we try and all meet up again once Summer Break starts?”
“I mean, that would be nice,” she hummed thoughtfully, “but we can’t expect everyone’s gonna be free. They’ll all have their own social links to level up by then.”
“Well, if they don’t have time we’re gonna make them have time. And if they still don’t have time, then we’ll go to them instead.” It took a moment for the words to sink in, confident and clear as they were, but once they did she felt her shoulder shake, laughter ricocheting its way across her spine until it burst out of her mouth.
“Hey don’t laugh at me!” Ryuji insisted, tone bordering on offense until she shook her head.
“It’s not—that,” she clarified in between breaths, “you just say it with so much confidence.”
He stared at her, a broad grin creeping across his face, “well, ‘course I’m saying it with confidence. I’m gonna make it happen, and that’s a promise.”
“Pinky promise?”
He didn’t miss a beat, extending one pinky out to link with hers like it was nothing, “pinky promise.”
In some ways the promise had to be a lie. He couldn’t really make everyone come back over summer break, even if he tried his absolute hardest. But, in the dim light of her monitors and familiar warmth of her room, she found herself wanting to believe him. And when he ruffled her hair fondly, messing up her bangs and shifting her glasses askew, she tackled him back in retaliation, the two of them landing in a messy, chaotic pile of laughter that felt like it was shaking the whole room.
Her chest was light and airy, for just a moment, rid of the burden of the inevitable, and when he pat her head one last time, and she shifted to avoid digging the bony edges of her elbows into his side, she felt happy.
Her family wasn’t gone. Akira left, but he would come back, and so would the other thieves. And for now, she had the remaining Phantom Thieves to take comfort in.
No…her remaining family.
And for the first time, she truly believed everything was going to work out just fine.