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“Stay still, Ryuji.” Yusuke’s command is firm, but soft enough that Ryuji still resists, inching his hand towards the nearest soda can.
Ren swipes and slides it toward his end of the table, eyeing Ryuji like a parent waiting patiently for their fussy child to calm down.
“Come on, Skull,” their leader adds gravely, emphasizing codenames in even their newest safe room. “You can’t be our ‘tank’ unless we patch you up. I’m not letting you go home until we’ve healed and had our dinner.”
Skull finally slouches back. He pulls his mask off his face as Panther triumphantly struts towards Then again, it wasn’t ever like she, Joker, Mona, and now Fox never had their own wounds to him. Hoping that Ann will take note of her own damage, Ryuji sets the daggers in his eyes on the cuts and tears in her scarlet suit. Though the zippers hold firm where they always are (Ryuji would’ve backed off if they hadn’t, lest he be a total jackass at the end of the day), the latex around them is jagged and torn.
No matter how stylish and tactical the Phantom Thieves are, they can’t expect to win their battles without some healing to be done in the next safe room; it also gives them a chance to gorge on a few snacks, if not dine on Ren’s takeout from some thrifty local or fast-food joint.
But Skull is always scrounging up any pride he can get in taking the Shadows’ worst batterings and beatings. As long as they all walk away alive, who’s to say it wasn’t a success? Everyone has melee weapons, guns, and magic. But each Thief’s arsenal is particular to every one of them, so everyone naturally gravitates to a certain one or two (or three, or four, etc.) roles.
“We have our plan for snatching the Treasure from above Madarame’s ugly hairdo,” Morgana brags. “All we have for today is to fix up poor Skellington, eat, and we’ll send the calling card after today.”
“We provided ourselves with food?!” Yusuke gasps, apparently hardly able to believe his ears.
“It’s just four large meals and another medium combo from Big Bang Burger,” Ren shrugs, “but I figured we’d have done enough to warrant more than some chips or soda again.”
Two pink-gloved fingers suddenly push Ryuji’s chin up from below, and he is forced to look into the retorting daggers of Ann’s glare.
“What was that look for?” she barks. “Carmen can stitch my suit together like nothing, or it’ll be good as new after we leave and come back next time. I’d rather take a few extra hits, anyway, than let you jump in the way and—” she stops herself with a huff, pulling her fingers back while glossing over the wear and tear in Ryuji’s armor. “Look, if you like being our tank, then I’m glad you’re helping by doing what you’re good at. But still, this is too much for anyone to handle, even you. It freaks me out, honestly.”
Skull feels the smallest broiling of guilt in his stomach as he follows the same route as Panther’s bright eyes. When she puts it like that, then shit, the bruise on his torn-open waist looks even nastier.
“With what experience I’ve gained, I must agree,” says Yusuke on his side opposite of Ann, his dark eyes flitting from the same bruise to another on his arm, then apparently to something on his face. “Despite having to sacrifice your own defenses for the rest of us, you seem to have taken even more than necessary.”
Yet for Skull, even the worst self-sacrifices are inevitable as the team’s “tank.” He’s heard elsewhere that no pain means “no gain.” It’s corny, sure, even for Ryuji and his own quips. But he sympathizes.
He can’t deny the rush of accomplishment after an excruciating rehab appointment. His leg always feels just a bit better, more limber than before, even with the atrocious pang that jets through his thigh.
With this in his mind, every battle becomes a challenge, too. It starts as helping the team squander the opposing Shadows without anyone taking a scratch. But when someone gets hit, the challenge shifts into how many blows he can take for the others’ sake before they finally wrap it up. He has an impeccable reserve in defense, anyway.
“Joker,” inquires Fox, “may I borrow our first-aid kit?” His dark eyes stare at the right side of Ryuji’s face.
The blond second-year’s anxiety starts to swell when Yusuke’s attention darts up to his hair. Ryuji knows he couldn’t have blood or grime to brush or scrape off his head. It seems like there’s nothing to search for.
But even as Ren responds to Yusuke’s inquiry, the latter’s eyes never flitter away.
He doesn’t know, right?
No, Yusuke couldn’t know; his avant-garde headspace and character were only half the reason, too. Ryuji only ever said anything to Ren and Ann—made easier by Yusuke going to Kosei High, leaving the three Shujin Academy students to have that extra lot of lunchtime together almost daily (if Morgana wasn’t joining them, he was only stalking the school perimeters for a stealthy bout of fresh air)—and they still show no interest in betraying his trust.
Even Morgana, for how often the two bark and hiss at each other, vehemently refuses to backstab him (even swearing so with pride from the vacant parking lot for Madarame’s Palace, holding themselves back as the other three started plotting their route).
In all—capstoned by Ann’s “nude” modeling proving that the new pretty boy in their troupe will fall victim to bad acting or obvious cover-ups—Yusuke, as a matter of fact, does not “know.”
…Honestly, it makes this scene even worse for Ryuji. At this point, his heart is doing burnouts for what only he and his Shujin colleagues do, more or less, “know.”
“Do you have certain band-aids in there?” Yusuke adds after whatever Ren’s answer was. He still keeps his gaze on the top of Ryuji’s head, only leaving it to come right back to his right-side jaw.
From the other side of Ryuji, Ann doesn’t look confused or puzzled. Instead, she has the calm smirk that proves she understands the gist of Yusuke’s “whole other wavelength.”
“Sure?” Ren, in contrast, sounds surprised by whatever is going on at the other side of the safe room. “The colors and prints are all random, but they’re the same shape.” As Joker rambles, Skull and Panther (Fox still couldn’t care less for anything else than Skull’s head) are bewildered by the conspicuous, hefty bags from Big Bang Burger in both of his hands. Morgana must have seen the trick while they didn’t, his tail twirling impatiently as Ren gently plops the pair of platters on the center of the table.
“That should be,” Yusuke hesitantly responds, “quite alright. A certain hue would be ideal for me to find, but I could attempt to accommodate, if necessary.”
Ryuji feels his left eyebrow turn up. With or without the “Special Kitagawa Quirks” the group was being oriented towards (especially Ryuji himself), was the color that crucial to measly bandages?
“Do what you want to pitch in, Fox. Maybe some part of Skull would still need a bandaid after we’re done.” Ren reaches his hand out to his side, gratefully receiving the red medkit box from Arsene’s detached hand worming its way into visibility. The trick is now apparent to those who didn’t see it at first, the claws transparent when they fizzle in, then aflame before the hand dissipates into nothing.
Morgana ogles the semi-casual display like before, but Ren’s calm demeanor doesn’t change, not even appearing prideful. As far as Ryuji could tell, he treats his Persona’s tricks like any one of them can do the same.
If only Yusuke could’ve gotten a look at that. Skull side-eyes Fox as he grumbles so in his mind.
His chest entertains an alien heat as he first eyes the pale, yet taut skin of Yusuke’s. Getting a closer look at it, the pull to Fox’s suit zipper stops much closer at the half-point than at the top. Actually, hasn’t it been that way this whole time?
… This needs to stop RIGHT NOW or—
“But Ann and I’ll go first.” Ren might not have realized it, but he just saved Ryuji’s ass by reclaiming the room’s attention. “If our few spells and kits leave some scrapes, those are all yours, Yusuke.”
“Oh?” Yusuke ponders.
He finally turns away from Ryuji. “Very well,” he replies blankly. “Then do what you must first.”
Okay, now Ryuji has to ask.
“Something you’re lookin’ for?” He struggles marginally to keep his voice from cracking.
“Never mind for the time, Skull,” he coos with contrasting coolness, when suddenly he snatches up Ryuji’s mask from his hair. “Please pardon that I take this out of your way.”
Skull barks but Fox never minds it, situating himself at the chair that he and Ann must be sharing for now.
“Uh no, that was fine where it was!” Ryuji protests, anyway, though losing considerable effort when he feels Ann grumpily push back against his chest. “What’re ya lookin’ at it for?”
Fox scans Skull’s mask like an excitedly curious scientist over a microscope. “Your mask’s material is quite akin to metal,” he astutes, “assuming it only emulates metallic qualities.”
“I mean,” Joker says, “my mask wouldn’t look that good if it were metal. So if anyone else here could rock it on their face, it’d be the one with the pirate getup.”
“Well, thanks.” As soon as Ren nods, Ryuji adds, “Wait no, that’s not the point! Gimme back my mask, Fox!”
Yusuke looks up in surprise—so he really didn’t pay mind to Ryuji protesting, after all—when Ren waves him off.
“Nah, keep it until we’re done.” Joker might not look ready to drop dead, but his smile is half-curved; it usually translates to him being ready to go home after all was said and done. “We’ve stalled enough.”
Ryuji mewls pathetically, slumping back against the steel office chair as Ann strokes his hair.
“There, there, Buddy,” she half-teases, though Ryuji could swear that Morgana’s giving him a stink-eye for it (though if Ryuji and Ann have “a thing” for each other beyond a sweet-and-sour friendship, it sure hasn’t happened yet—no thanks to Ryuji and “someone else” among them). “You’ll be happy you let us fix you up.”
“She’s right, Ryuji.” Ren, casually approaching them with an opened medkit, says all that is necessary to have a stubborn Ryuji willing in his place. “It feels nice, too, remember? Exactly what my charge commander needs after a heist like this.”
Morgana snorts with a minor conceit. “See, Skull? You’re good for something, and everyone else is kind enough to pamper you for it.”
“Could you not afford to ‘pamper’ him, as well?” Yusuke sagely interrogates, receiving an agape snout and defiant gasp in kind.
“B-b-but,” he pouts, “me and Zorro don’t have any more stamina! I was using it all on backup for you guys out there!”
All the same, Ryuji can’t deny that his furry, quasi-rival friend had a point. Ready to quit feigning invulnerability himself, he sighs wearily. He has his usual gym routine tomorrow, anyway, and it’s not like any pampering or care for him can’t be met with some nagging later on.
He leans back and closes his eyes, content with his two friends having their way with his body and its wounds. It’s still discomforting to surrender to the team’s makeshift medicine, but he can’t deny that he needs it.
“Uh,” Ann stammers, “hold on, I forget. C-can he—”
“It’s fine if he needs to rest a little,” Ren rambles, unaware that Ryuji would already be drifting away without his say-so. “Have Carmen remain on standby at first; I have a couple healing Personas at the ready, anyway. Let’s get Ryuji started…with…maybe something similar to ‘Dia’ or…”
He awakens from a light finger-snap to his left and a crisp one centered in front of him.
“Ryuji?” Ann softly calls.
He groans his lamentations. Skull can’t help but already miss his sleep; perhaps the healing magic from Joker and/or Panther did it, but he hasn’t slept that nicely in months.
But memories of just before begin to catch up with him. He can’t turn out the day’s lights in a Palace, not even in a safe room. It still sucks, but he’ll thank himself for it.
“Sorry, Ryuji,” Ren mewls louder, rocking his shoulders back and forth. “How about you sleep on the train and I’ll walk you home. There’s also no school tomorrow, so you can sleep in. Just wake up and eat something, okay?”
He finally opens his eyes. His shoes and the ground below him are the first colors that take over his vision, when two other pairs of boots—hickory brown and crimson red—step into the fray.
“There you go.” Just as she says that and Ryuji turns his head up, Ann drops into the chair that Yusuke had earlier. “Our mission after the calling card is one thing, but honestly, can we go to more Palaces and Mementos when it’s not a school night? Then Sundays and holidays feel like real breaks!”
Awake and alert, the blond second-year silently concurs with her. He already feels relief swimming within the healed patches of his body, and his entire being feels pristine and new with no school tomorrow.
Sure, Shujin has been better for Ryuji, Ann, and Ren since Kamoshida finally left. But the improvement was minimal. Now, everyone at Shujin either sucks anyway, never intersects with any of their schedules, or was at least someone like Dr. Maruki or Yuuki Mishima (although Ryuji recently stumbled into a pleasant talk with a pretty first-year named Yoshizawa—so if Ren knowing her well was anything to go by, maybe she’s also cool).
Right in front of him, his favorite combo meal from Big Bang Burger (for how infrequent his visits are) sits in surprisingly warm condition; even though it’s begrudgingly accepted to have fast-food become tepid when heading somewhere before eating it, the lukewarm temperature emanating from his burger and fries is quite alright for him.
Even so, he starts with his soda; taking a sip, he’s shocked that Ren still managed to keep his cola cool (and/or Arsene—though how either Joker or his main Persona could keep their meals fresh until post-infiltration felt no less crazy than a real-world miracle).
Ren sits to his left, his food barely touched (as he seems to leave them, not being as well-fed as he should be, either). To his right, Ann already finishes her box and eagerly starts sipping on her half-melted milkshake. Morgana sits across from Ryuji, stealthily shooting him a jovial smile and a haughty flash of his tongue while he reaches for a soda can in the center.
Next to Ryuji’s box of food, another box lies open and empty beside a cup with an opened lid and bent straw.
Something soft, yet sticky splays itself on his right cheek.
Yusuke’s slender and cold, yet strong hand caresses the adhesive.
“Just as I anticipated,” he avers. “After all, Van Gogh’s Sunflowers series is a universal marvel for a reason.”
Ryuji’s lips pull from his straw with a “pop,” slowly turning to face a pompous, yet adoring smile.
“Van Gogh?” Skull repeats the name slowly, surprised to have gotten it right the first time and to receive an affirmative nod from Fox. “Ain’t that the guy who painted the ‘Sister Church?’”
“No,” comes his reply, though it isn’t as flat or deflating as he’d anticipated, “that was Michelangelo, who embellished the Sistine Chapel with magnificent frescoes.”
Yusuke caresses the long adhesive to Ryuji’s cheek. Out of the corner of the latter’s eye, he feels the twinkling smirks of Ren and Ann.
Well, at least they haven’t sold him out (yet).
“Your hair,” comes Yusuke’s fugue-possessed speech, “and this bandage, however, reminds me of Sunflowers, a series of Van Gosh’s many masterworks, each not too dissimilar from one another. Surely, even you have at least seen his fourth version, Ryuji?”
Ryuji’s tongue clucks as he thinks back to the time he scrolled through his phone browser for “famous paintings” and “the awesome art of all time.”
“Ain’t that the one in a whole-ass field?” His heart skips a beat to throw his second other dart. “O-o-or the one with the vase and a lot of it is yellow?”
“Arguably, the one that would be faster recognized is the second,” so Yusuke continues, “but he was responsible for both. In the latter, he used, perhaps, about a handful of bright yellow tints, and the rest were darkening tones or shades of the purest yellow hue. There have been recent talks of the chrome-yellow pigments eventually turning into an olive green, but at least since its completion, both the darkest and brightest of its pigments are but part of why a seemingly simple portrait is a cherished icon of the arts.”
“Wait, Sunflowers could turn green?!” Ann gasps.
“If it’s exposed to certain lights for too long, then it’s possible,” Yusuke laments, then serenely trapping Ryuji’s gloved right hand between both of his. “The yellow of your gloves could suffice as being compared to the simple backdrop, but it is your hair and this bandage that stir the world’s collective memories of Van Gogh’s ‘fourth version’ within his series. Its gold is stark, yet not grotesquely so. It is soft, but strays away from appearing dull.”
Ryuji can’t deny that his intrigue is piqued. “Anybody got a mirror?”
Ann already has out a lavender-shelled compact mirror to check for her own scrapes or scraggly hairs (the former of which looked nonexistent, and Ryuji couldn’t tell how the latter was snooped out). Even so, she passes it to Ryuji without a second sneaking glance at her forehead.
The first thing the round mirror captures is his blond hair and brown eyes. Even after everything, he doesn’t have much to say on it.
Tilting it to reflect his jaws, a darker, dandelion-golden and yellow gradient fills in the bandaged, ovalite area where some meager scratch must still linger.
He…
“Huh,” he mouths.
He doesn’t have much to say on it.
But it’s still cute. If anything, that might be enough to only exponentiate his crush on Yusuke.
Not that it’d ever be reciprocated.
His heartbeat must be comforting enough for Yusuke to lie wholly still against it. He never budges or even twitches despite having yet to fall asleep against his chest.
“Isn’t that cute?” Ann awes, coloring Ryuji’s cheeks a rosy pink as their friends stand over their bedside. “But um, do we need to leave you two alone?”
Ryuji prepares himself to jump up with his darling in his arms, but Haru graciously interjects.
“Let’s provide you both some time to yourselves,” she says sagely. “You must be tired after your sprint along Shido’s sinking boat, Ryuji-kun.”
“And after you freaked us out with that stunt,” Futaba hisses, before deflating in no time after. “Sorry we knocked you out. Can I bring up some of Sojiro’s curry for you two?”
“I was thinking that Ryuji could be treated to something at the diner,” Makoto laments. “I’m sorry for snapping at you, too.”
Ryuji huffs, heat consuming his face as he remembers blacking out again as everyone screamed at his (apparently) miraculous reemergence in front of the Diet Building, yet tackled him to the ground and barely sent his head against the lamppost watching over their crisis.
“It’s fine,” he mumbles.
“Tomorrow night at Bikkuri Boy,” Ann insists. “I can split the pay with anyone else but you or Yusuke.”
“I’ll pitch in,” Ren perks up, otherwise mesmerized by the scene in his own futon.
“I’m happy to pay it in full,” Haru objects serenely.
“Talk about it downstairs, you guys,” Morgana puffs from behind Ren’s tennis shoes. “Boss’ll be concerned if we’re creeping on these two ‘lover boys’ instead of enjoying his specialty.”
“Right,” says their raven-haired leader. “You two take your time, then. I don’t even know if you two would make your trains on time, anyway, or if I’ll be keeping you overnight.”
As everyone says their temporary goodbyes and shuffles down the stairs, Ryuji’s throat barely seals itself entirely with a swell of gratitude. He could have gone the night with just knowing that their justice was proven, and that Ren would have some final say on what brought him to the city initially.
But with the promise of a Bikkuri Boy feast just for Ryuji saving their lives in their escape, maybe blacking out twice in a row wasn’t so bad.
Meanwhile, Yusuke…growls? It comes out of nowhere for seemingly no reason, but the hum is pleasant yet low, reverberating against the other’s chest and almost tickling it.
“I hope to expand my horizons soon,” he whispers, “into more of the arts inspired by the heart. Your pulse is exquisite, Ryuji.”
Permissions and boundaries had been established months ago when they started dating, but something about Yusuke’s current fascinations dizzies Ryuji’s head as if they hadn’t been this whole time. Still, he tries to form a coherent sentence.
“Thanks.” Ryuji can’t say he didn’t try.
Yusuke seems to take it well, anyway, his hand reaching ahead of him to nestle against Ryuji’s hair. He gingerly scratches the soft blond locks.
Blond like gold, gold like the sunflower. Maybe that old band-aid would fill in for the other yellow tones of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers. The second-year’s chest swells at the silly yet heartfelt thought.
“Have you tried familiarizing yourself,” Yusuke inquires, “with at least a few of the most famous artworks this world has been allowed to see?”
“Well, that all-Japanese exhibit in Ueno was pretty damn cool,” Ryuji reminisces casually. “Oh yeah, that same Sunflowers guy made this painting called Starry Night, I think? I’d seen it before, but it’s pretty cool. Just wish the stars were actually that big.”
Yusuke chuckles sagely. Ryuji’s ears tickle at the sound, anticipating his reply with an appetite for Yusuke’s profoundness.