Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ryuji’s feet splash in the puddles on the pavement as he books it down the street toward a familiar pair of blonde pigtails. He doesn’t know what he plans on doing when he catches up to her. Ask if she’s okay? Walk with her to school? Urgh, that creep’s car is already pulled up by the curb - Ryuji can hear him asking if she needs a ride. What an effin’ -

She gets into his car. Ryuji’s close enough to catch the downcast look on her face as she does - they’re not friends, really, but he knows her. At least, he knows her well enough to recognize that look.

Too late, then. Really, though, what was he ever going to do? Kamoshida’s excuse to get her in his car is the rain, and it’s not like Ryuji’s got an umbrella with him.

Whatever. He stops running as the car pulls off.

She’s not his friend, and maybe she’s not the same girl she was in middle school. But he saw the look on her face just now. And more than that, he knows Kamoshida. So he just can’t believe all the shit everyone’s been saying - if the two of them are together, there’s no way it’s her choice. He doesn’t have to know Takamaki in order to know Kamoshida’s no good, no matter who it is he’s got in his crosshairs.

As he comes to a stop on the pavement, cursing Kamoshida under his breath, he can feel a pair of eyes on him. Turning to find the source, he meets the gaze of a guy, standing beneath a nearby awning.

He’s… unremarkable. Taller than Ryuji, with dark, curly hair and big glasses that are fogged up in the rain. He’s wearing a Shujin uniform, exactly to dress code. On second thought, he might be less than unremarkable - is it possible to have a negative amount of presence? This guy looks like he could step into a crowd of Shujin students and vanish, and nobody would notice.

Seems like everyone in that stupid school is looking for a reason to jump on Ryuji’s case - everything he does lands him in trouble somehow, and the students are as eager to report him as the teachers are to punish him. Maybe it’s the uniform worn precisely to code, but this guy seems like a teacher’s pet. Just great.

“You gonna rat me out to Kamoshida?” he scowls. Now that he’s looking at him, Ryuji isn’t sure he recognizes the guy. They’re evidently in the same year…

The kid just looks at him, blank and confused.

“Who?”

Who? This kid must be joking.

“That guy in the car. Kamoshida.”

He blinks behind his big, foggy, doofy glasses.

“You go to Shujin, how do you not know him? Are you messin’ with me?”

“This is my first day,” the guy says, shifting his grip on his school bag. “Was that guy a Shujin teacher?”

First day…? OH. Yeah. There had been rumblings of a new transfer student. Not like anyone was talking to Ryuji to keep him in the loop, but it’s been all anyone has talked about for days. Everywhere Ryuji goes he hears whispers in the halls about it.

Huh. The rumors said the new student was a dangerous criminal. Looking at the guy in front of him, Ryuji finds that hard to believe. Is this even the right guy…? Maybe there’s some other transfer student those rumors were about? Because this guy looks like a background character in an anime, and not in a good way.

“Yeah, the volleyball coach, Kamoshida. You’ll get to know him, guy acts like he’s the king of a castle or something. Treats the whole school like he owns the damn place,” Ryuji grumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

As he speaks, there’s a bizarre feeling. A sharp pain in Ryuji’s head, like someone stabbing his skull with an icepick. Everything around him distorts - not in any perceivable way, but Ryuji feels like, as he’s looking at the transfer student, the scenery stretches and grows - like one of those scenes in a cartoon where a character looks down a long hallway and in their vision it grows and looms before them, even though nothing actually changed.

Awesome. Because what Ryuji really wanted today was a freakin’ headache. He should’ve just stayed home.

“Well, whatever,” he sighs. “We’re gonna be late if we don’t get moving.”

Ryuji starts off in the direction of the school. He can hear the transfer student following behind him, a second set of footsteps splashing on the damp pavement. Which is fine - may as walk together. The new guy probably doesn’t know the way, anyways.

And apparently Ryuji doesn’t know the way, either, because the building he’s looking at right now is NOT Shujin academy. A huge stonework wall stands before him, the entryway in the middle framed by a bretèche and ornately carved machicolations. Beyond, spires and square towers loom, piercing the dark clouds that swirl in the blood-red sky. The morning sunlight that was peeking through the dreary clouds only a few moments ago is now gone, replaced with an alien pink glow that seems to emanate from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

This must be a dream. Any second now, he’s gonna wake up in his bed at home.

“What the…?” Ryuji turns around and catches the transfer student as he steps into full view of the castle. 

“Did we go the right way?” he asks, eyes wide behind his glasses.

“Yeah, this is right. Or, well, it should be.” Ryuji looks behind them at the alleyway they’d come out of, but doesn’t see anything strange. It looks totally normal. In fact, where the alleyway ends is precisely where the unnerving pink light starts. Everything beyond that point is still the same gloomy grey morning they seemed to have stepped out of. However, he can tell they didn’t take a wrong turn - he’s gone to this school for over a year now and he’s walked this path tons of times. He recognizes the alleyway for sure.

He looks at the castle again. There’s a drawbridge in the front of the gate, lowered at the moment. This is definitely where the school should be. At least, where the school was . This is definitely the right place - going back to the station isn’t going to solve anything, so he doesn’t see the point in turning around. And that only leaves one option.

“I guess we’ll have to go inside and see what’s going on,” he decides, taking a step toward the drawbridge. To his surprise, the transfer student follows right behind him.

The portcullis in the entryway is up, iron spikes glinting red in the ominous light of the castle; sharp teeth in a gaping maw, ready to snap shut on them as they step through the entryway and onto the palace grounds proper. The door to the main castle interior is heavy, but with a good shove it opens.

The room they find themselves in is expansive, with a plush red rug spread on the checkered floor. Thick pillars stretch to the ceiling, and gemstones adorning low-hanging chandeliers twinkle in the candlelight.

Ryuji’s still looking around, taking everything in, when the transfer student speaks up.

“Are you sure we didn’t go the wrong way?”

“I’m positive! I mean, that sign was definitely for the school, right?”

“What’s going on?”

‘What’s going on?’ he asks. As if Ryuji knows! He’s standing in a freakin’ castle and he’s definitely going to be late to school. What a way to start the semester.

As he’s lamenting this turn of events, heavy clanging footsteps approach from one side. Ryuji startles, jumping out of his skin at the sound.

There’s a… a knight. In armor. Holding a bulky shield and a long sword that catches the dim light, reflecting it off the sharpened edge.

A freakin’ knight. Seriously, what is going on?

Beside him, the transfer student is remarkably composed, expression even and unreadable, even as the knight comes closer, the clanging of metal boots on the hard floor echoing in the cavernous room.

“Uh, are you a student? What’s going on?”

The knight does not answer; doesn’t even react. There’s a mask where the front part of the helmet would normally be, molded features stoney and grim.

“This must be a prank,” the other student says from somewhere behind Ryuji, as another knight manifests out of the shadows that pool in the corners of the room.

Ryuji’s not the brightest guy around, but something about this does not feel like a prank. What kind of prank has this sort of scale? To replace the whole school with a castle - how would someone even do that? The scraping of metal-on-metal as the knights move, the dead, unflinching faces on their masks, the razor edge of the swords gleaming in the candlelight… this is no prank. This is some kind of nightmare, maybe, but not a prank.

“I don’t think so,” Ryuji says, stepping back from the knight.

It steps toward him, closing the distance again, leaving Ryuji no room to breathe beneath the oppressive weight of its presence. Something about this guy is making all of Ryuji’s hairs stand on end. Something is really wrong here; something about this guy is just not right. Ryuji feels like he looked outside late at night and saw a pair of glowing eyes peering at him through the darkness - like he’s seeing something otherworldly and malicious and that he wasn’t meant to see. Doesn’t the transfer student feel it, too? Fear begins to reach its long, cold fingers down his spine. It curls into a gnawing pit in his stomach and scratches at the back of his brain.

The second knight steps toward him. The clang of its boots on the floor reverberates inside Ryuji’s skull like a drum.

“Hey, time out,” he says, voice wobbling.

The masked faces do not change their carved, emotionless expressions.

“This shit’s real,” he says. “This ain’t no prank.” He looks over his shoulder at the transfer student, who’s standing stock-still. “Dude, run.”

When this is met with a wide-eyed look from the other student, Ryuji puts his hands on his shoulders and gives him a small shove. They turn toward the door they’d come in through, but they only get a handful of steps in before more knights block their way, materializing in front of them where there hadn’t been anyone just a second ago.

Ryuji looks around, frantically seeking some way out. They’re surrounded, and these knights are much larger than them. What the hell are they supposed to do…? He glances at the transfer student, who’s face mirrors Ryuji’s own fear - eyes wide, pupils shrunken to pinpricks, skin drained of all its color and pale as fresh snow.

While he’s looking at the other guy, one of the knights behind Ryuji bashes him hard with its shield. The heavy metal collides painfully with his back and shoulders, knocking him off balance. He stumbles forward a few steps before losing his footing completely and falling to the cold tile floor. He has a fleeting concern about broken bones, but he doesn’t have a lot of time to linger on the thought, because the knights grab him under his arms - one knight on either side, hefting him off the ground. Their armored hands are cold, and grip him tightly enough to make him wince.

Ryuji looks back toward the transfer student. Maybe he got away while the knights were busy with Ryuji…?

No such luck. He glances over just in time to see one of the other knights strike him with its shield, like they had done to Ryuji. Maybe it’s due to a different angle, or just pure bad luck, but when he gets hit, he fully loses consciousness. He goes down like a ragdoll, collapsing in a heap on the floor. The two knights who aren’t holding Ryuji bend down to lift the transfer student in the same way Ryuji is being held, and the other student doesn’t react at all. Is he okay? Ryuji’s no doctor, and it didn't look like they hit his head, but passing out like that still probably isn't a good sign.

They drag Ryuji, twisting and squirming, and the transfer student, limp and boneless, down a long, spiraling staircase. His feet drag the ground, thudding down each step until the repeated impacts begin to hurt. He tries bracing his feet on the front of a stair and using the leverage to push up and out of the knight’s grasp, but their grip is a vice on his upper arms and all he manages to do is goad them into squeezing tighter.

They exit the staircase into a long row of cells, water dripping from the ceiling into the damp and musty space. Ryuji clenches his eyes shut so hard that he sees shapes and colors dancing behind his eyelids. When he opens them, he’ll be waking up from this nightmare in his bed at home, right?

Yeah, not so much. When he opens his eyes again all he sees is the stony faces of the knights dragging the transfer student, and the back of said transfer student’s shoulders, his head hung forward over his chest. Shit, what if he’s dead or something? Ryuji’s ears start to ring, his vision swims. This can’t be happening…

The knights finally deposit the students inside a cell, dropping both of them carelessly on the grimy floor. They lock the door on their way out, and then go back the way they’d come.

The first thing Ryuji does is crawl across the filthy, dusty floor to where the transfer student lays. This close, Ryuji can see he’s still breathing, so at least he’s not dead, though Ryuji's still not 100% sure what made him pass out. A little of the panic leaves Ryuji - but only a little. It’s great this guy’s not dead and all, but Ryuji still has no clue what he’s going to do.

He stands up, brushing himself off as much as he can, and then looks around the room. There are some decaying barrels in one corner, some iron shackles on the wall, and a flat wooden plank covered by a thin sheet in the back of the cell - a cot, perhaps? Nothing that seems helpful in escaping. But of course not, why would they leave a means of escape in the cell with the prisoners?

Okay. Maybe he can find something useful if he really scrounges. First, though, he looks down where his cellmate lays at his feet. Can’t just leave this guy laying on the floor.

Ryuji grabs the guy under his arms, like how the knights had carried them earlier, and gives one good attempt at lifting him. Yeah, no way he’s gonna be able to carry him. Not happening. One teenage boy’s worth of absolute dead weight is way heavier than Ryuji was anticipating. Instead, he drags him over to the miserable, shitty little cot in the back of the cell and props his shoulders up against it. He wraps one arm around the guy’s shoulders and one under the bend in his knees, takes a deep breath, and heaves. He can’t lift him very high or for very long, but he doesn’t need to. It just needs to be enough to get the guy onto the awful cot. Ryuji lays the guy down gently, then steps back and huffs a few deep breaths. Geez, maybe he needs to up his arm workouts or something.

Okay, whatever. Now the poor dude stuck in this place with Ryuji is laying on the wooden plank disguised as a cot, so Ryuji’s done all he can for him, really. Time to search for a way out. 

He roots around beneath the cot. He moves the rotting barrels and looks inside of them. He pokes and prods at cracks in the stonework walls. He rattles the rusting cell door and sticks his hand out as far as he can in an attempt to reach anything on the other side. He crawls around the perimeter, inspecting the seam where the floor and walls meet. He tries to wiggle his fingers beneath the cell door.

No luck. Shit, dude, they’re really, actually stuck here. Locked in a castle dungeon. It’s no dream, it’s no prank. He’s really effin’ stuck here.

As miserable as his day started, having to go to school, seeing Takamaki and Kamoshida, then that weird headache… he didn’t think it could get worse. Guess he was wrong.

As he’s standing at the door, forehead resting on the cold metal bars, he hears a shuffling behind him. Turning to look, he sees his cellmate beginning to stir on the cot.

“Hey,” he says, hurrying over. He kneels down to look at the guy’s face. “Dude, hey! Wake up!”

The transfer student opens his eyes and sits up slowly, glasses askew.

“Are you okay?” Ryuji asks.

“Yeah,” the guy says, fixing his glasses and looking around the cell. “Are you?”

Ryuji shrugs. “More or less. This definitely ain’t a prank, though.”

He goes back to the cell door, rattling the bars as loudly as he can.

“Let us out!” he shouts. Urgh, being stuck here like this, powerless and confused… it’s starting to piss him off, fear making way for anger. They didn’t do anything to deserve to be locked up! They just wanted to know what was happening!

At that moment, a scream pierces the stale air of the dungeon, as if responding to the racket Ryuji was making. It makes Ryuji’s blood run cold - so pained and miserable, the kind of sound Ryuji imagines someone would make only under extreme duress, like dying or losing a limb or something. Whatever’s happening to that guy is not good - and it’s probably coming to them next.

“Dude,” Ryuji says, voice shaking; anger receding back into fear. “This is really bad. Come on, help me look for a way out.”

The transfer student stands from the cot and the two of them begin poking around inside the cell once more. Ryuji investigates the shackles and the hooks holding them to the wall - things like this are used for chainin’ people up and torturing them, right? It makes Ryuji’s palms sweat.

The transfer student peers into the barrels. He comes up empty-handed - they’re empty just like when Ryuji checked.

As they search, Ryuji’s composure starts slipping. His heart rate picks up, his hands start to shake. Shit, shit, shit, shit… they’re gonna freakin’ die in here if they don’t find a way out.

As Ryuji’s spiraling, the familiar sound of metal boots starts to approach. Ryuji and the transfer student both crowd up close to the cell door, peering out into the dark hallway in the direction of the sound.

“Be glad that your punishment has been decided upon. Your charge is unlawful entry, and thus you will be sentenced to death,” says a knight as it steps up to the cell door. Its voice is surprisingly normal, and in any other circumstance Ryuji might laugh at the juxtaposition. But he’s not in much of a laughing mood right now.

“Death!?” Ryuji shouts, grabbing the cell door tightly. In front of him, the crowd of knights parts and a new figure comes into view - the first regular guy Ryuji’s seen since stepping foot in this stupid place.

Though, seeing a normal guy and not a freaky, masked knight isn’t any consolation when it’s that bastard Kamoshida. Shit, the knights with their unmoving faces and heavy shields and razor-sharp swords would be preferable to him.

To make matters worse, which is something Ryuji didn’t think could happen, the asshole’s dressed like an absolute clown - a fuzzy pink cape emblazoned with hearts and a fur trim, pink house slippers, and a huge crown on his head. The absurdity is enough to snap Ryuji out of his panic.

“No one’s allowed to do as they please in my castle,” he sneers, and his voice alone makes Ryuji mad. “I thought it was some petty thief, but to think it’d be you, Sakamoto. Didn’t you learn your lesson the first time?”

Ryuji’s grip on the cell bars tightens, until his knuckles turn white.

“This ain’t funny, asshole!”

“Is that any way to speak to a king?” He adjusts the crown on his head. “First you sneak into my castle, and then you disrespect the king…” he tsks. “Guards, take him out!”

The knights move closer to the cell door.

Ryuji steps backwards, cowering; a dog with its tail between its legs.

“Come on,” he says, and he hates how his voice trembles. “Stop it. This ain’t funny.”

The guards unlock the door and file inside; three of them in the small space while Kamoshida hovers outside. They continue their advance.

Ryuji steps back until his legs touch the cot at the back of the cell. The knights do not leave the cell - they continue toward him. Time slows to a crawl; it seems every step the knights take lasts a hundred years. Ryuji clenches his clammy, trembling hands into tight fists. His heart races, his vision goes fuzzy at the edges. The damp air of the dungeon is stifling; he can’t breathe.

He glances to his left, where two knights have the transfer student cornered against a wall. Shit, they’re both gonna die here. God dammit, he has to do something…

Ryuji grits his teeth and shifts his weight, moving from his fearful, hunched posture. He spreads his feet apart on the filthy floor, bends his knees, and before he can think about it, he runs full speed at the nearest knight.

He collides, shoulder first, with a solid wall of metal. A hollow clang rings out and echoes down the long halls of the dungeon. Ryuji doesn’t even feel the impact due to the adrenaline coursing through him, but he’s sure it’ll hurt like a bitch later.

The knight topples over and hits the ground, making a sound like someone dropped an armful of metal pots and pans in a kitchen.

“I ain’t down for this shit,” he says, turning to the transfer student. “Come on, run!”

It’s a nice idea and all, but Ryuji doesn’t get to actually do any running. Instead, one of the knights delivers one swift, solid punch to his stomach, sending him stumbling backwards. Winded and groaning, his legs give out and he sinks to the ground, clutching his stomach.

As he’s slumped on the floor, the transfer student rushes toward him. There are two knights in the way, and the guy presses up as close to them as possible, reaching over their shoulders like a fan stretching over the rail at a concert; desperately reaching as far as he can, scrambling against the smooth surface of the knight’s armor.

It’s nice of the guy to be so worried for Ryuji’s safety. It’s not that Ryuji doesn’t appreciate his concern. But he needs to be making tracks if he wants to get outta this shit, and worrying about Ryuji isn’t helping with that.

“Just go,” Ryuji says through gritted teeth. “Get outta here, these guys are serious!” At least while they’re busy with Ryuji, the other guy can make his escape.

From the doorway to the cell, Kamoshida laughs.

“Running away, are we?” he says to the transfer student. “What a heartless friend you are!”

“He ain’t a friend,” Ryuji says, and it’s true. He doesn’t even know the guy’s name. He doesn’t have to be a friend for Ryuji to want him to get out of this nightmare.

The way it’s looking, Ryuji’s going to die here. If the other guy just leaves him, then maybe it will only be Ryuji who does - that would be true if the guy was a friend or not.

“Just hurry up and go,” Ryuji says to the transfer student.

Across the room, behind the knights, the transfer student’s eyes are wide in shock. He doesn’t run, though.

Kamoshida waltzes into the cell, toward Ryuji, carrying himself with the same self-important bravado he has when walking the halls at school. School… god, what Ryuji would give to be at school right now.

Kamoshida grabs Ryuji by the shirt collar, lifting him up to eye level.

“Lowly scum,” he spits, throwing a right hook that connects with Ryuji’s jaw. Stars erupt behind Ryuji’s eyelids; his mouth is full of the sharp, metallic flavor of blood. “Useless pest!” Kamoshida continues both his tirade and his beating, and when he relents, Ryuji drops to the floor like a sack of bricks. His whole face throbs and aches from the repeated punches.

His reprieve is short lived, as one of the knights picks him up by the back of his school blazer and tosses him across the cell. He rolls across the stone floor and into the wall, beaten and fearful and weak.

“A peasant like you isn’t worth beating,” Kamoshida sneers. “I’ll have you killed right now.”

So that’s it, then. He’s going to die here, in some dank castle dungeon, playing the role of Kamoshida’s punching bag. His body aches and his adrenaline from earlier is gone, and as he peers up at Kamoshida in his stupid effin’ heart-print cape, his vision swims. God, he hopes at least the transfer student gets outta here.

Speaking of the transfer student, on the other side of the room, he’s standing with fists balled into tight fists.

“Stop it!” he says, with more volume and emotion that Ryuji’s heard in his voice all morning. 

In return for his backtalk, the guy gets a shield smashed against the side of his face. His glasses go flying, skittering across the dirty floor, lenses cracked. The two knights near him hold spears criss-cross in front of him, pinning him to the wall with his head between their blades.

The knight nearest Ryuji wraps one massive, steel hand around his throat and lifts him, holding him up against the wall. In its other hand, it readies its sword, aiming the tip at Ryuji’s head. The blade glints dangerously in the low light. Beneath it’s grip, Ryuji can’t breathe.

Ryuji’s vision swims; his eyes water as he paws at the knight’s hand around his throat. He can’t see clearly - his vision is starting to go dark around the edges - but he can see the transfer student across the room, gasping and thrashing between the knight’s spears. Ryuji’s losing clarity; he doesn’t have enough oxygen in his brain to think about what he’s seeing. Maybe he’ll suffocate before the knight gets to stab him, and then at least dying won’t hurt so much.

As he’s having this thought, he hears the transfer student screaming - he hasn’t heard him raise his voice like that all morning. Through his hazy, darkened vision he sees him grabbing at his face; he can see thick red blood completely covering the upper half of his face and running in thick drops down his cheeks. Shit, did the knights get to him…?

The transfer student looks up, eyes glowing bright and yellow in the dark cell. His hair rustles in an invisible breeze; from his skin, a blue flame starts to spread, his form swallowed up in it like a forest fire taking hold of a dry, dead tree. The fire casts an otherworldly glow, throwing vibrant blue light across the metal of the knights’ armor and the dank dungeon cell.

This must be some hallucination caused by lack of oxygen to his brain. That’s the only explanation Ryuji could possibly fathom for what he’s watching in front of him. The fire consumes the transfer student’s entire body, and then it rises off of him like smoke, floating into the ether above him and forming a shadow of his shape there - a humanoid fireball between the transfer student and the stones of the wall.

And then a grim orange face manifests amongst the flames, with a sharp grin and angular eyes.

This is definitely a hallucination as Ryuji’s brain convulses under the lack of oxygen.

The blue fire mostly dies out; its glow fades back into the familiar dim lighting of the dungeon. But the ordeal isn’t over; no, now there’s a person in the place the fiery figure had been. Or, maybe it’s not a person? It’s a humanoid, clad in a tall hat and red suit, with huge, ink-black wings set low on its back. Small bits of the blue flames still flicker around it.

The transfer student raises his hands, and on his cue, the figure flaps its mighty wings.

The knights in the cell all go careening backwards - Ryuji’s hair and jacket whip around him in the wind. The knight holding him drops him when it’s blown backwards, and Ryuji braces both hands on the wall, sliding down it and gulping air into his burning, screaming lungs.

Now that he’s able to breathe, it starts to become clear that this is not some end-of-life hallucination his brain made up as he slowly suffocated. Standing across from him in the cell, the transfer student’s hair whips wildly around his face; his eyes are bright and wild and dangerous. Blue flames flicker around him, and the mysterious winged figure floats behind him like a shadow.

Ryuji can do nothing except sit on the floor, still catching his breath, and stare at the scene unfolding before him.

“What the hell?”

Chapter Text

The castle stays on Ryuji’s mind all day, and well into the night. After they’d escaped the cell, they’d found some sort of… cat? Who could summon a spirit like the transfer student had (the cat had called those things Personas .) They made it out, and found the school was precisely where it was supposed to be - precisely where the castle had been.

He’s standing in the bathroom at home as he thinks about it for the hundredth time tonight. He presses his hands over his eyes and groans. Urgh, it had to have been a dream. There’s no other explanation!

But after school he’d talked to the transfer student (who’s name he’s learned is Akira,) and he said he remembered it, too. How could it be a dream if they both remember it? 

He looks at himself in the bathroom mirror, bare from the waist up. He’s got bruises blooming dark and purple across his body - one on his stomach where the knight punched him, one around his throat, and several across his face and torso from Kamoshida’s beating… how would a dream explain those ?

And if it wasn’t a dream, then what about the other people they saw in there? On their way out, they’d seen other people in some cells. If it was all real, then those people… they need help, don’t they?

He grips the edge of his bathroom sink hard, knuckles white under the force. If there are people in there who didn’t make it out like he and Akira did… he can’t ignore that.

He wants to believe it was a dream, he really does. But looking at his own bruised and battered form in the mirror, he just can’t.

Ryuji hangs out by the school gate after classes end the next day - he’s got to talk to Akira about the castle. He’s got to get back to that place and help those other people trapped there. It won’t stop nagging at him until he does.

It’s by pure dumb luck they discover the weird app on Akira’s phone, but Ryuji’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak. What matters is they’re back - the castle is real; it wasn’t a dream.

Which means those people they saw in the cells are real, too.

As they’re standing near the castle’s door, they hear a familiar voice.

“I can’t believe you came back after yesterday!” 

It’s that weird cat that guided them out yesterday. What was its name again?

“You!” Ryuji says, as the cat comes bouncing out from around a corner. “Dude, give us some answers! What the hell is this place?”

“It’s the school,” the cat says.

“It’s a castle!”

“Right. This castle is the school.”

What? Does this thing know what a school is? Because a school and a castle are not the same thing, as it seems to believe.

“This is how the castle’s ruler views the school,” the cat says, and that does not clear it up at all . “I believe you called him Kamoshida? This is how his distorted heart views the school.”

On one hand, that sounds batshit insane.

On the other hand, the way Kamoshida walked around this place yesterday, like, well, a king of a castle… that’s exactly how he acts at school. It’s so on the nose it’s almost hard not to believe it. It still doesn’t actually make any sense, though - so Kamoshida sees the school as his castle, sure, whatever. But how does that have anything to do with them? Why are they here? Why does this place exist as a real location?

“Explain it in a way that makes sense!” Ryuji says.

The cat rolls its eyes.

“I shouldn’t have expected a moron to get it.”

Ugh, little asshole. They should have left it locked up in its cell yesterday, dammit.

Their conversation is interrupted by a drawn out scream from inside the castle somewhere - it makes Ryuji’s hair stand on end.

“That must be one of the slaves captured here,” the annoying, smug little cat says.

The slaves… that’s who Ryuji’s here for. He’s got to get to them.

“Hey, uh, Monamona,”

“It’s Morgana .”

“Do you know where the slaves are being kept?”

“Huh? You want me to take you to them?” Morgana looks up at Ryuji, brows furrowed. “I mean, I guess I could. But only if he comes with us.” He points to Akira.

Ryuji looks over at Akira, in that weird outfit that just seemed to materialize when they got here.

Akira looks between Ryuji and Morgana, and then shrugs.

“Sure, let’s go.”

God, he really is a bro.

“Really?” Morgana says, and he sounds almost as happy as Ryuji feels. “Well then, let’s get moving!”

And so that’s how Ryuji finds himself prowling the castle with Akira and Morgana. Morgana tries to explain the whole cognition thing, but Ryuji doesn’t get it at all. He understands enough to know that he can’t save the people trapped here - they’re not real people - so he’ll just have to memorize their faces and talk to them in reality. If they’re being tortured here, then they’re probably being abused in real life, right?

Ryuji can’t just ignore it. Even if it turns out they’re not being abused in real life, Ryuji won’t be able to drop it until he knows for sure. So he takes his time and commits everyone’s faces to memory. He’s done just letting Kamoshida do whatever he wants, dammit. If he can just talk to these guys, if he can get someone to fess up about the abuse, maybe something will change.

It’s all Ryuji can do.

Once Ryuji’s memorized their faces, they make their way back out of the castle. Ryuji doesn’t have one of those Persona things, so he can’t fight - when they run into knights patrolling the narrow hallways, Ryuji has to sit back and watch as Morgana and Akira risk their hide. He hates feeling so useless, but what can he do? He’d just get in the way if he tried to fight - he’d be a sitting duck with no way to actually protect himself.

This system is going perfectly fine - Akira and Morgana are managing to get through the fights, with Morgana leading and Akira following, since Morgana knows way more about all this stuff. They’ve made it to the deepest part of the dungeon, seen the volleyball team members, memorized their faces, and made it all the way back to the enormous entrance hall they’d entered through yesterday. Just a couple hundred more yards to the room with the ventilation duct they’re using as an entry/exit point, and they’ll be home free.

Unfortunately, the entrance hall is huge and rather empty - there’s nothing to hide behind, and no way to be stealthy. Their only option is to book it across the room as fast as they can and hope nobody spots them while they do it.

This is where everything starts to fall apart.

They make it halfway across the room when, from the other direction, they’re met by Kamoshida and an entourage of knights.

Oh shit.

“You again?” Kamoshida sneers, as the three of them skid to a stop in the middle of the room. “To think you’d make the same mistake again.”

God, he pisses Ryuji off. And after seeing the torture the cognitive volley ball team is being put through, Ryuji’s positive the rumors of physical abuse are true. Just looking at him makes Ryuji’s hands ball into tight fists at his side.

“The school ain’t your castle!” Ryuji spits through clenched teeth.

Kamoshida waves him off. “I see it’s true when they say ‘barking dogs seldom bite.’ How far the star runner of the track team has fallen.”

Ryuji’s jaw tightens.

“What are you getting at?”

“I speak of the ‘Track Traitor’ who acted in violence, ending his teammate’s dreams. Oh, I can only imagine the pain of those you dragged down with your selfish act,” Kamoshida says, fake pity in his voice

Ryuji’s blood boils. It’s Ryuji's fault they lost the team, that's true. But it's not like Kamoshida was innocent in that. And yet here he stands, mocking that; pretending to care about them.

“And now,” Kamoshida turns to Akira. “You’ve tagged along with this fool and are going to wind up dead - one more person he’s dragged down with him.” He turns to his knights. “Go, kill them all. Don’t sully my castle with garbage.”

Two of the knights advance toward Ryuji. Before they can reach him, though, Akira and Morgana intercept them, stepping between them and Ryuji.

Geez. That’s twice now that Akira’s saved Ryuji’s ass.

The knights convulse and twitch, and then they explode into a mess of bubbling goo on the floor. From the goo, three large, black horses manifest - almost twice as tall as Ryuji, with snow white manes and two curved green horns on their heads. Ryuji stumbles backwards, away from the fight, completely useless.

The horses are large and fast, and Akira and Morgana are inexperienced fighters - Morgana has the most experience, but he’s still unable to evade the onslaught.

One of the horses lunges at Morgana. The horse’s head connects squarely with Morgana’s small form, sending him tumbling backwards a foot or two. He meows in pain, but still staggers back to his feet.

A second one runs full-speed into Akira. He takes it better than Morgana had, since he’s not quite so small and easily tossed around, but that doesn’t mean he takes it well. He stumbles back a few steps, but regains his composure and rips off his mask. Arsene manifests behind him and unleashes a magical attack of some kind, black and red energy erupting from below the feet of one of the horses.

The horse hardly flinches; it shakes its head and huffs, but otherwise seems unbothered. It tries to tackle Morgana, but he manages to duck beneath the movement. Unfortunately, there’s one of him and three of the horses, and while he’s evading the first one, a second one catches him off guard and knocks him down. He attempts to stand, pushing up with his front paws, but he can’t muster the strength and this time he stays down - his body is so small, even just one head-on collision from one of the horses surely had a huge impact on him, and two hits seems to be all he can endure.

Akira looks over at Morgana, lying helpless on the floor, and makes another attempt to fight off the horses, this time using the dagger he’s carrying.

Watching this unfold, Ryuji’s pulse pounds in his ears. He feels so useless; he can’t do anything except watch everyone else get their asses kicked.

Akira succumbs to the onslaught of headbutts and hooved kicks, falling to the ground near Morgana.

Ryuji feels like he could vomit. They’re here because Ryuji wanted to come back. It’s his fault this is happening.

He really is gonna drag them down with him. They’re all gonna die here and it’s his fault.

Kamoshida walks over, placing a slippered foot firmly on Morgana’s back. Beside him, a knight in garish gold armor does the same to Akira. Morgana and Akira both squirm, but are clearly weak from the beatdown at the hands of the horses and don’t have the strength to wriggle free.

“I bet you simply came here on a whim and ended up like this, isn’t that right?” Kamoshida says, acid in his voice.

Ryuji wants to argue - he wants to say no, that’s not it at all. But looking at Morgana and Akira pinned to the floor beneath the Shadows’ feet, he feels utterly defeated.

What can he do? Even if he argues, it doesn’t change anything. All three of them are going to die because of his own bad decisions.

“What a worthless piece of trash,” Kamoshida continues. “Have you forgotten my kindness in supervising track practice?”

Ryuji’s hands shake; his eyes sting.

“That wasn’t practice, it was physical abuse!” he says, and his voice wobbles. “You just didn’t like our team.”

“It was nothing but an eyesore. The only one who needs to achieve results is me !” He presses his foot harder against Morgana’s body. “Had your coach not opposed me with a sound argument, I would have settled it with only breaking his star’s leg.”

Ryuji’s blood runs cold. That’s new - all this time he thought Kamoshida broke his leg just because he was an asshole who liked to abuse those with less power than him. He thought he’d done it because he could; because Ryuji hauled off and punched him and that gave him an excuse.

He didn’t know it had been his intention from the start. No matter what Ryuji’d done, Kamoshida would have broken his leg anyways as some form of retaliation against the track team for having the nerve to exist and steal the volleyball team’s spotlight.

“Do you need me to deal with your other leg, too?” Kamoshida asks, mocking; like this is all hilarious to him. “The school will call it self defense anyway!”

Ryuji hasn’t felt this low since Kamoshida broke his leg and disbanded the track team. Everything Ryuji cared about, Kamoshida took from him - the track team, his whole track career, his ability to do the thing he loved… all of it, gone. Gone and never coming back.

Just because Kamoshida didn’t like that their team was successful. All because he didn’t like that Ryuji was good at the sport.

And now he’s going to lose whatever else he has left to that asshole. He can’t run anymore, and the track team hates him, and he’s got this awful reputation now, and everyone thinks he’s some violent delinquent. His leg’s still messed up, a year later, and it might never be the same. His life’s been blown apart by Kamoshida - and now Kamoshida’s gonna finish the job.

He slumps into a heap on the floor. He’s just as powerless now as he was back then - he can’t do anything. He doesn’t have the ability to fight. He couldn’t stop the abuse from happening to the track team; all they could do was endure it and he ruined that for them. And now he can’t protect Morgana or Akira, because he’s too useless to be able to fight. Everyone he’s around, he drags down with him. He acts rash and gets them tangled up in it and it always ends up hurting people.

From across the room, Akira calls to him.

“Don’t let him win! Stand up for yourself!”

Ryuji wants to argue - last time he stood up for himself, it earned him a broken leg and a reputation for being a traitor. But as he kneels there on the floor of this stupid castle, something stirs within him.

Kamoshida’s a scumbag. He’s an asshole who’s taken everything he could from Ryuji. Everything important to him was taken by Kamoshida - they’re gone and he’ll never get them back.

“Stay there and watch,” Kamoshida says. “Watch as these hopeless scum die for nothing because they sided with trash like you.”

Above Akira, the gold knight raises its blade.

Ryuji gets to his feet, legs shaking as he does.

“You’re a scumbag, Kamoshida,” he says, straightening his posture. He sets his shoulder back and stands up to his full height; looks Kamoshida right in the eye. “All you think about is using people.

He takes a few strides forward, legs steady and sure.

“What are you doing? Silence him!”

No knights move toward Ryuji - they all stay exactly where they are.

“Stop lookin’ down on me with that stupid smile on your face!” Ryuji shouts; venom in his voice. His pulse races, his muscles all go tense and tight.

Kamoshida’s taken so much from him.

Like hell Ryuji’s letting him take anything more.

As he stands there, squared up to Kamoshida, hands balled into tight fists at his side, a sudden pain shoots through his skull. It’s sharp and throbbing; he grabs his head desperately and falls to his knees. His ears ring; there’s a voice speaking to him but he can’t tell if it’s coming from outside of him or from inside of his head. Maybe it’s coming from both.

You made me wait quite a while

Ryuji falls from kneeling on his knees to laying on the floor; still clutching his head. It aches, like someone’s stabbing him with a white-hot iron; like his skull is being split open.

You seek power, correct? Then let us form a pact.

Ryuji writhes; he digs his fingers into the rug beneath him, screaming and yelling until his throat is raw.

Since your name has been disgraced already, why not hoist the flag and wreak havoc?

Ryuji can’t think; all he can hear is the ringing in his ears and that voice. He knows it. Not consciously; he’s never heard it before. But he knows it, deep down inside him somewhere he knows it.

His head is splitting apart; the ringing in his ears is shrill and deafening. His body contorts and convulses on the floor of the castle, out of his control.

I am thou, thou art I…

He clenches his eyes shut; he sees colors and shapes dancing behind his eyelids.

There is no turning back.

He claws at the floor until his fingertips ache; his vision has gone dark and fuzzy - he looks without really seeing. It feels like he’s being torn apart; shattered into a million little pieces. His whole body burns, but it’s nothing compared to the pain in his head.

The skull of rebellion is your flag henceforth!

The pain abates; leaves him kneeling on hands and knees on the castle floor.

He staggers to his feet. On autopilot - or, perhaps, under some instinct deeply held within him - he reaches for his face. His fingers find the cool, smooth metal of a mask there, and for reasons he couldn’t place, he’s not surprised. Of course there’s a mask there; it’s exactly what he was expecting, even though he didn’t know he’d been expecting anything at all.

He grabs at the mask, sliding his fingertips beneath the edges. It hurts - like pulling a stuck-on band-aid, except a hundred times worse.

He wants to stop; the mask is stuck. It won’t come off. It hurts to try.

He doesn’t stop. He can’t; he won’t. It’s not an option. His body moves without his brain's input, completely on instinct.

The mask is a part of him, fused with his skin. As he pulls the mask, it peels skin with it - leaves his face raw and bloody in its wake. Each tug at the mask rips at his flesh, skin tearing like paper.

He screams, and rips it off with one final yank. Blood drips down his cheeks in fat, thick drops; it splatters onto the floor in front of him. His fingertips are red and sticky with it.

He can’t see what happens next, because he’s completely swallowed by a blue glow - so bright it washes out everything else, until all he can see is the light that swirls around him; swallows him up like a tornado. The blood on his face evaporates, as if it was never there, and leaves no wound behind. 

And then he’s left standing there, head down and shoulders slumped. He doesn’t look behind him - he doesn’t need to. He knows, deep inside from someplace that’s not his conscious brain, what’s back there, just like he’d known, intrinsically, the voice he’d heard earlier.

It’s him. Floating behind him, bathed in a blue glow, is him . It doesn’t look like him. It doesn't share his name. But it’s part of him, from somewhere deep down inside his soul. He knows this without having to be told.

A Persona. Morgana doesn’t have to explain it to him. Because it’s part of him, he already knows.

He lifts his head, shark-toothed smile across his face.

In front of him, Kamoshida is covering his face from the whirlwind of blue light still whipping around the room, ugly pink cape billowing behind him. Nearby, Morgana and Akira are staggering to their feet.

Ryji cracks his knuckles.

“It’s time for payback,” he says. When the gold knight erupts into dark, bubbling goo and then a hulking figure on horseback materializes from that, Ryuji doesn’t feel scared in the slightest.

Everyone’s already got him pegged as a delinquent. Nobody’s changing their minds. So to hell with it. If that’s what everyone insists he is, then he may as well act like one, right?

Akira and Morgana come running over to his side; now it’s three of them versus the one shadow. Ryuji's Persona is there with him; when he calls it forth into battle, his skin tingles and his fingertips hum, like the feeling of a shock when built-up static zaps you.

Captain Kidd. It's his Persona, and it's him, and it's the delinquent label everyone's put on him, and it's all his anger and his rage and his deeply held desire to stop being so damn powerless. For the last year he's been playing the role of the dog everyone kicks, and he's done rolling over and taking it.

Starting now, the dog bites back.

With Akira and Morgana's help, the massive horse and it's armored rider are dispatched, disintegrating into a fine, dark mist.

And that just leaves Kamoshida.

Ryuji would love to go over there and kick Kamoshida’s ass - he still looks so smug, and Ryuji wants to wipe that look off his face. But after fighting the knight, he’s exhausted. He can barely catch his breath, chest heaving as he pants. When was the last time he felt so winded? Akira and Morgana are both looking tired, too, after taking such a beating earlier.

He wants so badly to give Kamoshida the ass kicking he deserves. But they’re not in any condition to be fighting more than necessary, and to make matters worse, more knights manifest between them and Kamoshida.

They’re outnumbered and exhausted, and Morgana’s suggestion that they just scram before things get bad again seems like the safest bet.

And so scram is exactly what they do.

When they’re back in the real world, somehow the exhaustion hits Ryuji even harder. He leans against the wall of the alleyway they’re in, just happy to be out of the stupid castle.

“Sorry to drag you around like that,” he says to Akira. “Thanks for going along with it, though.”

“No problem,” Akira says with a little half-shrug. “What do you plan to do about the volleyball team?”

Ryuji scrapes his sneaker across the concrete, thinking. “I guess I’ll just have to try and get ‘em to talk in the real world. See if anyone will spill about the abuse.” A pause. “Do you wanna help, maybe…?”

“Sure. I’m already in it this far, right?”

“You’re a lifesaver, dude!” Ryuji gets quiet, fidgeting with the hem of his school blazer. “Uh, if you’re thinkin’ of laying low because you got a record, I don’t think it’ll help. Everyone already knows.”

“I know,” Akira says. “I wonder how that happened?”

“Kamoshida, who else?” Ryuji grumbles. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and stares at the pavement. “Man, no one will take what I say seriously. Nobody’s gonna listen to me about Kamoshida. If the rumors of physical abuse are true, we’ve got to get someone else to talk. I can’t just ignore it!”

“I already agreed to help, man. You lead and I’ll follow.”

The pair decide to go for a beef bowl before heading home - Ryuji has a lot of questions about Akira’s past and his record, and Akira already heard all the nitty-gritty details about Ryuji’s past today in the castle. It’s only fair that he spill some details about his past, too.

Ryuji’s ravenous after everything that happened today - he consumes his beef bowl in record time.

“So how’d you end up in Tokyo?” he asks between bites.

“I got put on probation and sent here,” Akira says.

“Yeah, I got that part. But why?”

“I stepped in to prevent a man from assaulting a woman. The guy tripped and fell over on his own, but he told the cops I pushed him.”

“Huh? What about the lady? Didn’t she back you up?”

Akira pushes food around in his bowl. “No, she didn’t. She testified that I attacked the guy.” He sighs heavily. “So, I got a charge and they shipped me out here to serve my probation.”

“Dude! That’s such bullshit!” Ryuji’s blood boils just thinking about it. “How are you so calm about it?”

“It’s not like it doesn’t make me mad. But getting worked up about it doesn’t change anything.”

Ryuji shakes his head.

“You’re a bigger man than me, dude. I’m pissed off about it for you.”

Akira laughs a little. It’s the first time Ryuji’s heard him laugh. Man, they’ve only known each other for two days and they’ve already almost died together twice.

What a way to meet someone, huh?

Ryuji and Akira are a lot alike, as far as Ryuji can tell. Two people unfairly labeled troublemakers and treated like they’re a pain by everyone around them. They’re pretty much in the same boat.

He tells Akira this, and Akira doesn’t say anything at first.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he finally says, still pushing his food around and not eating it. “Two peas in a pod, you and I.”

“Hey, I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.” Ryuji grins. It’s true. He doesn’t know Akira very well yet, but he knows he’s the type of guy willing to risk his own safety to try and protect someone else - he’s done it for Ryuji multiple times in the last few days. He knows Akira’s the type to try and help those in need - he tried to help that woman and it landed him here.

So, yeah, as far as Ryuji can tell, Akira’s a pretty good guy. There are definitely worse peas to be in a pod with.

Chapter Text

Crouching behind a corner, Ryuji watches Akira - oops, Joker - leap at a Shadow. It’s an impressive jump, definitely better than Ryuji could do, but he doesn’t make it all the way up to its shoulders like he intended. Instead, he lands on the thing’s back. His gloves against the metal armor must be slippery, because he loses his grip and almost falls off, scrabbling for a moment before he manages to get one hand onto its mask.

The Shadow melts down into a gooey puddle. Ryuji rushes from his hiding spot, heavy metal pipe in hand. Time for a beatdown.

From nearby corners, Morgana and Takamaki - er, Mona and Panther - also come running out to stand with Joker. Mona’s got his scimitar that’s nearly as big as him, glinting in the warm light of the castle, while Panther’s got a much less flashy leather whip.

This palace shit is freakin’ hard, Ryuji’s coming to learn. From the goop, two cats materialize. They’re kinda cute, with little capes and hats and boots on. Ryuji feels sort of bad that he has to kill them.

One of them lunges toward Panther, swiping her with its sword, cape billowing behind it as it moves. She sidesteps, but is a little too slow - the end of the sword catches her arm, and from where he stands Ryuji can see blood pooling at the now open slice in her red catsuit.

Doesn’t matter if they’re cute, these things still want to kill Ryuji’s little ragtag group. The thought makes him feel less bad for having to kill them - either they kill the Shadows or the Shadows kill them, that’s all there is to it, really.

That doesn’t mean actually killing them is easy. As in, physically killing them is a challenge. Ryuji hasn’t been working out since the track team incident, Mona’s a little bobble-headed cat, Panther’s probably never had to fight something in her life, and as far as Ryuji knows the only time Joker’s fought someone was when he got arrested - an event in which he didn’t actually do anything, the guy freakin’ tripped.

To say they’re unprepared is the understatement of the century.

Mona and Panther at least have strong magical skills. Ryuji’s Persona has magic, too, but it’s pretty pathetic. Shadows usually just shrug it off, like it’s no more than an annoying shock from static built up in a carpet. He can hit them pretty hard with the pipe he’s carrying, but that means he has to get up close and personal, and not miss when he swings.

Which is another challenge in itself. Running up to them is easy, but landing the blow is a different story. These damn Shadows are so quick, it seems like any time he winds up for a swing, they sneak out of his range.

So, yeah, this palace thing is hard.

One of the Shadows is focused on Mona, and Ryuji takes the opportunity to approach. He shifts his grip on the pipe; readying himself to swing…

A blast of electricity crackles through the air in front of him, arcing and branching as it makes contact with the Shadow. Ryuji sees it, but it’s too late - his pipe is already well on it’s way to making contact, and his reflexes aren’t fast enough to stop himself in time.

The pipe hits the cat across the head, metal crashing against the Shadow’s skull (do they have skulls?) with a sickening crunch . It’s a satisfying, direct hit, but Ryuji doesn’t get to appreciate it because the moment the pipe touches the Shadow, the electricity arcs through the metal and into Ryuji’s arm.

Ryuji’s Persona uses electric magic, which gives him an innate resistance to it when it’s used against him. That does not mean it feels good to get electrocuted, though.

He yelps and drops his weapon, yanking his arm away from both the Shadow and the electricity that is still coursing in little shock waves across the Shadow’s form.

Only two people on the team have electric skills, and Ryuji didn’t just zap himself…

“Dude!” Ryuji spins around to face Joker. “You almost fried me!”

“Shit, sorry,” Joker shouts to him. “I didn’t know you were going for that one.”

The whole ‘teamwork’ thing is also pretty hard.

The last of the cat-shaped Shadows explodes into a cloud of fine black mist, and Mona scurries over to Panther’s side.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“It’s just a cut, I’m fine.”

“Here, let me heal you.” His Persona manifests behind him, casting that eerie blue glow across the hallway they stand in. A little green light dances across the cut in Panther’s skin, and it stops bleeding, but it doesn’t go away.

“Is that the best you can do?” Ryuji asks, picking his weapon up off the floor. That damn cat’s so smug, but he’s not any stronger than the rest of them.

Still, he’s got healing abilities. And Panther’s got strong fire skills. And Joker can make Shadows into Personas (a power Ryuji isn’t even going to pretend to understand.)

Shit. Maybe Ryuji’s the weak link here.

“It’s okay, Mona. I know you’re doing your best.” Panther smiles and pats him on his big, round head, right between his ears.

As hard as this all is, it’s better than doing nothing. The volleyball team wouldn’t squeal, and it’s not like Ryuji has any actual proof of the abuse. His only proof is right here in this castle, and like hell he’s gonna try to explain that to the police. Morgana told them the risks - if they mess this up, Kamoshida could die. Initially that put Ryuji off of all this.

But after what happened to Suzui… he can’t sit by and do nothing. Not if he knows there’s something, anything , he can do. Ryuji doesn’t want to be a killer, but at the same time, he’d never forgive himself if he let Kamoshida continue doing whatever he wants.

How many people have to be hurt before someone does something?

Ryuji’s sick of waiting around to find the answer.

His own expulsion is on the line, too, of course. It’s not really his main concern, though. Truthfully, he feels worse that his outburst is going to get Mishima and Akira expelled alongside him.

It seems like anyone around him, he drags down with him. The track team, and now Mishima and Akira. Poor Akira almost died twice and is now risking expulsion because he’s been hanging around Ryuji.

He squeezes his metal pipe until his hand hurts, following everyone else deeper into the palace.

“Shadow!” Mona whispers, skidding to a stop near a doorway. Everyone else scrambles to find some shadowy place to hide, but Ryuji’s too slow and the Shadow spots him.

“Shit!”

It swings its sword, and three female figures burst forth from it; they’re clad only in leather belts and each have a set of pure white, downy wings on their backs. The one nearest Ryuji dive-bombs him, flying full-speed into him. It knocks him onto his ass, but the Shadow doesn’t have a weapon or anything, so it’s not much worse than if a regular person had tackled him.

“Skull!” Joker is at his side, already tearing at his mask to summon a Persona.

“Hey, watch out!” Mona shouts from somewhere behind them. “I think that one -”

Mona doesn’t get to finish whatever he was saying, as the third Shadow decides it’s heard enough and self-destructs, exploding in a massive fireball.

The explosion kills the remaining Shadows, which is great. Unfortunately it also blasts both Ryuji and Joker. Ryuji shields his face with his arm as the blast surrounds him - fire licks at him and the force of the blast causes a rush of wind that whips his short hair and the collar of his costume. Nearby furniture is caught up in the blast, and shrapnel is launched in all directions.

The whole thing is over before Mona and Panther can even make it to where the fight is happening.

“Oh, my god!” Panther yells, already rushing across the room to them, heeled boots loud in the silence left behind. Or, well, Ryuji imagines it’s silent - his ears are ringing right now, so he can’t say for sure.

“I think that one can blow up,” Mona finishes. “Damn, I tried to warn you in time…”

“It’s fine,” Joker says, brushing himself off. The fiery inferno of the explosion has singed his coat and vest, smoke and the smell of burning leather hanging in the room. There are several cuts and burns on his face.

“Man, what the hell? They can do that?” Ryuji looks down at himself - he’s in a similar state as Joker, clothes littered with little burnt holes.

“Not all of them,” Mona says. “You need to be more careful, Skull! This might not have happened if we’d been able to ambush that Shadow.”

“I’m doing my best!” Ryuji snaps.

“Don’t argue, guys. Other Shadows are going to hear you.” Joker peers around the nearby doorway. “Mona, do you have it in you to heal us?”

Mona grimaces.

“I can try, but I’m pretty wiped. We’ve been in here a long time.”

“You had enough energy to heal Panther,” Ryuji grumbles.

“Well if someone wasn’t a moron who got spotted -”

“Stop arguing!”

“Maybe we should take a break?” Panther says, fiddling with the tail on her costume. “It’s not just Mona - I’m getting pretty tired, too.”

Joker sighs. “Let’s find a safe room.”

The safe rooms are a blessing, because at least they have somewhere free of the Shadows to patch themselves up and regroup.

Damn cat. Wasted all his energy healing one little cut on Panther, and then couldn’t help me or Joker when we got caught in a freakin’ explosion. Ryuji grouses to himself as he goes about tending to his wounds. Luckily it’s nothing too awful - some burns, a few cuts and scrapes from shrapnel. Still stupid that Mona wasted all his energy on Panther.

Er, well. It’s not like Panther deserved to have to walk around injured, either. None of them do.

Maybe Ryuji’s just snappy because he’s tired.

He looks across the room at the others. His teammates, right? They’re a team now?

Joker is sitting at the table in the center of the room, singed jacket slung across the back of his chair as he disinfects some scrapes on his arms. Panther is putting bandages on the cut given to her by those cat-shaped Shadows. Mona is sitting on the table by Joker, sorting the scant medicines and supplies they have on hand.

Ryuji gets back to his own injuries. The arm he’d used to shield his face has a pretty sizable burn on it; that arm definitely got the worst of it. It’s kind of awkward to do this here - he can’t just shrug off a jacket like Joker can, his costume is all one piece. He has to undo all the buttons on the front and then slide the whole top half off. He turns so he’s facing the wall - it’s weird to be so bare around these guys. He doesn’t really know them. It’s just his upper body, but it makes him feel awkward anyways. Especially with a girl here.

He tries not to think about it as he wipes dirt away from his burns and scrapes. There are plenty of not-weird instances of seeing strangers partially undressed. Like at the beach. He doesn’t feel awkward about people at the beach seeing him, so why does he feel awkward here?

Well, it’s not the beach. It’s a small, silent room. It feels way more intimate than a public place like the beach.

Whatever.

“Did you say you have some burn ointment?” he asks, looking over his shoulder.

“Yeah. Need some?” Joker holds up a little white tube. “Here, I just finished with it.” He tosses it across the room to Ryuji.

Ryuji does not catch it. It hits the floor and rolls, and he has to crawl on hands and knees after it.

“Ah, shit! This stuff stings!”

Joker laughs.

“Sorry, I should've warned you.”

“Yeah, thanks for the heads up, man.”

“Be glad I have it at all. Do you know how expensive it was buying all this medicine?”

“Thank you for that, by the way,” Panther says. “Do you need us to chip in at all…?”

Ryuji finishes rubbing the ointment into his burns and sets about getting dressed again. It hurts to slide his clothes over his burns, especially the big one on his arm, but it’s not as bad as it was before, so he’s not going to complain.

"Don't worry about it,” Joker says. Ryuji can hear lots of shuffling behind him; Joker must be packing up all their supplies.

Mone hops down from the table. “Is everyone ready to get moving?”

“Do you guys wanna keep going deeper in, or should we call it a day?” Joker asks, standing with his hand on the doorknob.

“I vote we call it a day,” Panther says.

Mona nods. “I agree. We’ve made it pretty far, which means it’s going to be a long walk back to the entrance. We’re all tired, and we need to have enough energy in case we run into trouble while on our way out.”

Joker opens the door and peeks outside.

“Alright. Coast is clear right now, so let’s start heading back toward the entrance. Everyone be extra careful - Mona’s right, we’re all tired, so let’s try to avoid fighting if we can.”

School the next day is tough . All the work they’re doing in the palace leaves Ryuji dog tired, and even though he slept like a rock, he’s still so tired. It’s a herculean task to stay awake in class (and seeing as Ryuji is not Hercules, it’s a task he fails.)

He and Akira sneak up to the rooftop during lunch. The late april day is dreary, with fat grey clouds hanging low.

“Man,” Ryuji gripes around a mouthful of riceball. “My leg hurts so bad. I feel so stiff and slow runnin’ around the palace.”

“Did you hurt your leg yesterday?” Akira asks, sitting at one of the old desks up here. He’s contemplating a piece of bread from the school store, but not actually eating it.

“Huh? No, man.” Ryuji picks at his riceball. “Remember the day I awakened Captain Kidd? All that stuff Kamoshida was talkin’ about?”

Akira nods.

“My leg ain’t been right since he broke it. That’s all. Nothing happened yesterday.”

“Oh.”

“I haven’t been runnin’ at all since all that shit happened… I wish I’d kept training, because I feel so slow now.”

“You can always start back up.”

Ryuji leans back in his chair so the front two legs are off the ground.

“I know,” he groans. “But without the team…”

Akira is quiet, watching him from behind his glasses.

“You’re gonna fall if you lean like that,” he finally says. “Do you want a running buddy?”

Ryuji leans further back.

“Are you offering?”

Akira shrugs. “Sure. I’m supposed to be the leader, so it’s probably good if I get in better shape. I’m responsible for you hooligans, after all.”

Ryuji laughs.

“ Us hooligans? Did you forget you and I are in the same boat?”

Ryuji still doesn’t know Akira all that well, but they’ve been eating lunch together lately. It’s been nice; nobody has been friendly to Ryuji since the track shit last year. Friendly isn’t the same as being friends , of course, but Ryuji’s just happy to have one person in that damn school that doesn’t treat him like a pest.

“How far do you think is left to go in the palace?” he asks, because he doesn’t know what else to talk about.

“Morgana said he doesn’t think it’s far, and looking at the map, I agree. Next time we go, I think we’ll be able to reach the goal.”

The goal - Kamoshida’s treasure. Once they steal that and this is all over, they won’t be teammates anymore. He wonders if Akira will still eat lunch with him after that, or if he’ll drop him like the track team did. Again, they’re not really friends, and Akira has no obligation to stick around.

Staring at his riceball, he suddenly doesn’t feel so hungry.

He’s been thinking about it for a while, but maybe he’ll just drop out. His mom would be so disappointed, though…

Whatever. It’s almost time for class to start, so he pushes all of that to the back of his mind, like burying an embarrassing manga at the back of a closet. He’s got more classes to sleep through, and no time to linger on bummer thoughts like that.

Akira’s waiting by Ryuji’s classroom when the day ends. Ryuji’s on his way out, hands in his pocket, thinking about texting Akira and asking if he wants to train, when he steps into the hallway and sees him leaning on the wall directly across from the classroom door. The other students give him a wide berth, like water in a stream parting around a rock in its midst. It makes it so Akira stands out no matter how plain he looks, because he’s always isolated in the middle of a bubble that other students are reluctant to cross.

“Hey,” Ryuji says. “I was gonna text you.”

“You still can,” Akira says. Is that supposed to be a joke? Akira’s kind of an off-color guy.

“Do you wanna go run, like we talked about at lunch?”

“Sure. No time like the present.” Akira pushes off the wall and stands up straight.

“Follow me, I got a good spot.”

Ryuji’s spot is the same one he used when he was on the track team. Being back here makes something deep in his chest ache; not terribly, just a dull sadness. The residuals of a pain that’s ended but left him raw - like a bruise being pressed on.

They run for a while, and don’t speak much - it’s difficult to chat while running. Ryuji’s faster than Akira, which is good, because while he knows he’s out of practice, Ryuji would have crawled into a hole and died if he’d been so shitty that he was slower than someone who’s never run more than absolutely necessary.

“Ugh,” he groans as they finish their laps. “I’m so lame now.”

“Faster than me,” Akira points out, breathing hard. His face is red; he takes his glasses off to wipe sweat from his brow.

“Can you believe I was training for Nationals before? Now look at me,” he kicks at a pebble, which goes skittering across the ground.

“You were? I didn’t know that.”

Ryuji scowls at his own sneakers.

“I was ,” he crams his hands into his pockets. “Never got to compete at ‘em, though.”

No, while other runners were at Nationals, he was hobbling around on crutches, leg in a cast.

It feels like that Ryuji and this Ryuji are two different people. He’s not the same guy he was back then.

He doesn’t think that’s a good thing.

Back then he was passionate, and hard working, and he had something going for him. His teammates liked him and he took track seriously, and people thought he was a good kid even if he didn’t score great on exams. He was gonna go to college on a track scholarship and make his mom proud…

Nowadays, he’s barely scraping by. The only person who has a good opinion of him anymore is his mom, and he’s pretty sure she’s like, contractually obligated to like him, since she’s his mom. He’s got no prospects for his future and he spends all his days at the arcade wasting time. Without track, he’s been completely aimless.

How is he only 16 and he’s already wasted all the potential he had for his life?

“Sorry,” Akira says after a prolonged silence. “Sensitive subject?”

“Huh?” Ryuji looks at him. “I’m the one who mentioned it, not you. What’re you apologizing for?”

Akira’s quiet, twisting the cap on his water bottle. He’s a pretty quiet guy in general, Ryuji’s noticed. In the silence between them, Ryuji listens to the spring breeze rustling in the trees.

“Are you used to Tokyo yet?” Ryuji asks, just to make conversation.

“No,” Akira says. “It’s been a whole month and I’m still getting lost. And I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to how packed the train cars are.”

“You said your hometown’s pretty rural, right? Do you miss the countryside?”

“‘Miss’ isn’t the right word,” Akira says, wiping his glasses lenses on the corner of his shirt. “It’ll be weird come summer when there’s no fireflies, though.”

Ryuji laughs. “Dude, that’s what you’re worried about missing?”

“What can I say, I’m a simple guy,” he shrugs.

“Well there are parks in Tokyo, man, there'll be plenty of fireflies there.”

Akira smiles at him. “I was joking. Mostly.”

“Just for that I’m gonna make you run extra laps,” Ryuji puts on a fake scowl, but it’s not very convincing - the corners of his mouth keep twitching up into a smile.

“Aw, come on, coach, I won’t do it again.”

“Too late! I wanna see some hustle!”

They run laps behind the school until their legs tremble, and it’s… fun . 

Ryuji didn’t know running could still be fun.

Even if they’re not quite friends, it’s nice to have someone to hang out with like this. Ryuji hadn’t realized before how lonely he’d been - didn’t realize how much he missed having someone to hang out with until he suddenly wasn’t missing that anymore.

And now that he’s realized how lonely he was, it opens up a gnawing pit in his stomach to imagine going back to that again.

Chapter Text

All around them, the Palace begins to rumble. The wall Panther nailed with a fireball - scorched and still letting off thin wisps of smoke - groans, and a large crack breaks across it. Chunks of stone begin to fall from the ceiling, pelting the ground around them.

He knew the Palace would disappear if they took Kamoshida’s treasure, but he’d assumed it would happen after they (and the treasure) were out of the building. So this is an unpleasant surprise. Of course it had to happen while they’re still catching their breath from confronting Kamoshida’s Shadow. Of course it had to happen while they’re standing at the highest point in the castle, far from any safe exits.

Because why would the universe let them catch a freaking break, right?

Given the Palace is crumbling around them, they do the only thing they can do - book it as fast as possible down the long, opulent hallways of the castle.

“There’s that room with the painting in it,” Joker calls to them as they run. “Didn’t going through the painting take us back to the entrance hall?”

“It did,” Mona says. “But to get there we have to go down an elevator, do you really want to try that right now?”

“You’re the leader, dude. It’s your call,” Ryuji says. Man, he’s so glad he and Joker have started running together - although when they started, he didn’t realize he’d be running for his effin’ life inside the Palace like this.

Joker lets out an indecisive, stressed-out little noise, somewhere between a hum and a groan.

“I think we have to,” he finally says. “Even using the elevator, it’s gotta be faster than running through the entire castle.”

They burst through the door into the main room of the tower, below the treasure room. This area is bizarre; nothing in it resembles actual architecture as the Palace’s distortions have warped it all beyond recognition. The floors shift as they run - some parts fall away completely, while others rise into looming pillars which have to be swerved around at the last second. This was all here before the place began collapsing, and it was a pain in the ass then. Now, running full-speed through the alien roomscape as the castle crumbles and falls to pieces around them, it is much worse.

Joker narrowly dodges a pillar that springs from the ground in front of him - he’s in the front of the pack, so everyone else has a bit more time to react to the shifting scenery. Then he takes a sharp turn through a doorway - he’s running so fast that his feet scrabble on the blocky, uneven floor; searching for traction. Ryuji, Mona, and Panther are close behind, though Ryuji doesn’t make his turn quite sharp enough and he clips his shoulder against the doorframe - it doesn’t make him stop running or anything, but it doesn’t feel good. Pain, throbbing and dull, shoots through his shoulder, but there’s no time to linger on it. All that matters is running.

The elevator is just ahead - it’s an awful, ugly thing, made up of huge statues in the shape of female torsos. It’s nasty and the implications of it here, in Kamoshida’s messed up little castle, make Ryuji’s stomach turn. But aesthetics aren’t exactly a concern.

Joker pulls the switch on the elevator, and it whirrs to life. It begins the slow descent to the floor below, all the while the building trembles. The sound of ceilings collapsing is like a roar; dust billows through the rooms and crumbling pieces of stone bounce and skid on the castle’s floors. Windows shatter, and floors develop great, craterous cracks.

And the elevator putters along at a snail’s pace.

Beside him in the elevator, Panther wrings her tail in her hands. Around them, pieces of stone tumble down the elevator shaft and into the inky blackness below.

It feels like an eternity before the elevator stops on the next floor, and all four of them scramble out of it as if it’s on fire - at this point, that might be preferable, honestly. They’re barely out of it when an enormous chunk of the ceiling comes careening down into the top of it, snapping the cables supporting it and taking the entire thing into the depths of the elevator shaft.

Panther shrieks, jumping backwards away from where the elevator formerly sat.

“That could’ve been us!”

“Worry about that later!” Mona says. “Come on, the painting was this way!”

The painting is at the end of a hallway, which is down a short flight of stairs from where they stand. It’s not far now, and from there they just have to climb the grand staircase in the entry hall and make a break for the exit. Almost home free.

They run down the small staircase and into the hallway that houses the painting - it’s a short, narrow hall, and they’re forced to run single-file to all fit through. But there at the end is that awful picture of Kamoshida, which is something Ryuji never thought he’d be happy to see.

The painting itself is just a giant revolving door - it’s anchored to the frame only at the middle-top and middle-bottom, leaving most of it free-floating and able to spin around its vertical axis. When spun in this way, it reveals that it is the only barrier between this hallway and the grand entry hall, and spinning it opens up a gap that they can climb through.

Joker spins the painting and then stands by it, holding the gap open so everyone else can get through. It’s not low enough to the ground to just step over; it’s higher than Ryuji’s waist, so everyone has to climb and shimmy across, an action that is both awkward and slow.

Joker himself only climbs through after everyone else is safely on the other side. From here, there are two large, curved staircases which lead to the ground level of the entry hall, and from there it’s a straight shot to the front doors.

They all start off down the stairs, taking them two and three at a time. At the bottom they stumble slightly, having built up so much momentum going downhill that it’s an awkward transition to flat tile.

God, Ryuji’s body aches. First they had to fight the monster that Kamoshida’s Shadow turned into, and now they have to run for their freakin’ lives. Even though he’s been practicing with Joker on their off days, it’s been a while since Ryuji had to push himself this far beyond his limits. His pulse races, pounding in his ears in time with his footsteps. His bad leg screams and protests; he can feel his knee steadily turning to jelly, wobbling with each step forward he takes. 

Come on, just hold out a little bit longer…!

No dice. His leg gives out under him, and he falls to the cold, hard floor, landing hard on his hands and knees. That’s definitely going to bruise later, but that’s not exactly his main concern right now. Cracks are breaking across the ground around him, dust and rocks pelting down from the ceiling and walls. Little pieces of stone are falling onto him; bouncing off his back and shoulders.

“Skull!” Joker skids to a stop, feet sliding on the floor tiles. He turns on a dime and comes rushing back toward Ryuji.

“Sorry, I’m fine,” Ryuji says, taking a deep breath and pushing himself up, so he’s sitting on his knees. He starts to get to his feet, but by that time Joker’s made it to his side.

Joker leans down, hooking one arm beneath Ryuji’s arms and around his back. They stand up together, Ryuji leaning on Joker heavily - when he tries to put any weight on his leg, it buckles beneath him again.

“I’m fine, go on ahead, man,” he says. It’s a lie; he can’t support his own weight right now, so there’s no way he’d be able to run.

Joker does not go on ahead. He tightens his hold on Ryuji.

“Hold on to me,” he says, picking up Ryuji’s arm and draping it over his shoulders. “Alright, now let’s go.”

Panther and Mona have stopped running, too, standing a few yards away, watching.

“Are you guys okay?” Panther shouts over the din of collapsing ceilings and falling stone walls.

“We’re fine! Go!” Joker yells back, waving her on with his free hand.

Panther and Mona start running again, with Joker and Ryuji shuffling along behind them as fast as they can.

God, Ryuji hates this. He feels like such a burden. How many times is Joker going to almost die because of him? Because this is the third time now, and three times is starting to seem like a trend.

Panther and Mona get to the front door first, bursting through it like a bomb. Light from outside - that sickly, alien red glow - spills into the hall, beckoning Ryuji and Joker forward. Just a little further…!

The two of them stumble out the front door and into Panther, who steadies them before they can topple to the ground.

“Holy shit,” she says. “That was way too close.”

Behind them, entire chunks of towers are falling down and landing on parts of the castle below; whole sections of the building collapse inward on themselves.

“We’re not really safe until we’re back in the real world. Come on,” Mona says.

They emerge from the Metaverse in the alley by their school. Ryuji slumps against the wall and slides down until he’s sitting on the ground. It’s kind of gross, but he doesn’t care right now.

“Dude,” he says. “Why’d you come back for me? You could’ve been killed.”

“Well I wasn’t just going to let you die,” Akira says. “You can be mad if you want, but I’m not gonna leave my friend to die, man.”

“I’m not mad, just…”

Just what? He’s not mad. And he definitely would not have made it out if Akira hadn’t come back for him. So why does he feel so twisted up inside about it?

“I don’t want you guys to get hurt because of me,” he finally says.

Akira shrugs. “It’s nothing. You almost got killed trying to protect me on the first day we met. Are you able to stand?”

“I’ll be fine, I just need a few minutes.”

They all stay there in the alleyway with Ryuji until he’s able to stand - after a few minutes of resting, he’s able to get to his feet, supporting himself on the wall until he’s sure he’s stable.

He’s limping on the walk to the station, though.

He collapses into his bed as soon as he’s home, laying face-down and sighing heavily.

Shit, he’s tired. As soon as he lays down, it settles over him like a boulder; a crushing weight he can’t fight off. That Persona stuff is hard, and running for his life was taxing. He’s exhausted, physically and mentally.

He rolls over, tossing his school bag onto the floor with a dull thud .

Man, he really thought Ann was going to kill Kamoshida’s Shadow today. Not that he’d blame her for it, but still… Morgana thinks if they don’t kill the Shadow, the real person will be okay.

Ryuji hates Kamoshida, and can’t say he wouldn’t deserve whatever’s coming to him. They’d decided that the risk of causing a mental shutdown was worth it, after what Kamoshida did to Suzui. But that doesn’t mean Ryuji wants Kamoshida to have a shutdown.

God, his leg hurts so bad.

He groans, rubbing his face with his hands.

If he had any doubts about his track career, this proves it’s definitely over. There’s no way he could run like he used to. Today proved that much.

It makes his jaw clench, tense and tight. Kamoshida should be different now. He should admit to all his crimes.

But that doesn’t make Suzui wake up from her coma. It doesn’t give Ann back her friend. It doesn’t undo all the harm he inflicted upon the volleyball team.

And it doesn’t heal Ryuji’s leg.

Morgana had said this was a victory, and Ryuji is happy that they might have been able to prevent Kamoshida from hurting anyone else.

So why is he still so damn angry , too?

He grumbles, throwing his pillow across the room.

Shit. That didn’t make him feel any better, and now he has to go pick it up before he can sleep.

Whatever. It didn’t change anything for Ryuji, really - not like Kamoshida was solely responsible for Ryuji’s treatment at school, and it didn’t undo his leg injury - but he at least feels good that he was able to do something . Even if it doesn’t work, at least he did all he could.

And did it work? Guess he’ll know when he gets to school tomorrow.

Ugh, school… he’s gonna have to climb all those stairs. His leg aches just thinking about it.

School. They’re done with Kamoshida. They’re not teammates now. Will Akira still hang out with him?

Ryuji's heart sinks. He can't go back to before. He can't go back to everyone in that place acting like he's just an annoyance they can't wait to get rid of - even just having one person who's willing to talk to him is all he asks. Even if Akira's the only one who treats him nicely, at least it's not everyone acting like he's a pain. If Akira drops him, he doesn't know what he'll do... maybe he really will drop out, after all.

But. He’d called Ryuji his friend earlier, didn’t he? He’d said ‘I’m not gonna leave my friend to die, man.’

Huh.

So Ryuji’s his friend?

Ryuji grins to himself, alone in the silence of his bedroom.

A friend...

Chapter Text

“Hey, be careful! I’m getting squashed!”

“Stay in the bag, dammit, cats aren’t allowed in here,” Ryuji hisses to Morgana under his breath. 

Currently, he finds himself squished up next to Akira in an art exhibit, surrounded by a sea of excitable visitors who are pushing and shoving like fans at a concert. This close, he can feel the warmth of Akira’s body; he can smell the scent of coffee that lingers on Akira, and beneath that, the clean scent of laundry detergent on his clothes. He smells like Ryuji imagines it would smell to sit for morning coffee at a table with a fresh-pressed tablecloth.

Ryuji reaches over Akira’s shoulder to push Morgana’s little furry head back into the recesses of Akira’s school bag, hopefully before anyone spots him. They’re here on a mission, they can’t get kicked out for bringing a pet inside.

Huh. Is Morgana a pet?

It’s not like anyone’s paying attention to them, regardless. The whole crowd is shoving to get near that Madarame guy. It’s his art exhibit, so it makes sense everyone here would be a fan, Ryuji supposes. But he’s not sure he gets all the hype, anyway.

Maybe Ryuji’s just not the right audience for all this fine art shit.

Somewhere in the crowd, Ann and that blue-haired guy vanished (Kitagawa, that was his name, right?) Not to give Morgana any credit here, but what if he does try something funny…?

Eh, Ann can handle herself. Ryuji’s seen her fight Shadows, so he knows she can hold her own.

Ryuji finally makes it to the edge of the crowd, wading through a sea of bodies before managing to push his way out, into a less populated corner of the exhibit. Akira is close behind.

They’re supposed to be scoping this Madarame guy out, seeing if they can find anything that hints at there being any truth to the rumors they’ve been hearing. It’s awesome that he’s here today, doing an interview of some kind. But it’s difficult to hear him over the chatter of the throngs of people.

“Did you catch any of what he said?” Ryuji asks after the interview seems to be over.

“A bit. He mentioned something about bubbles rising in a spring… and that he lives in a shack.”

“Bubbles rising in… huh? I don’t get this shit at all.”

“Not surprised you don’t get it, Ryuji,” Mona peeks his little cat nose out of Akira’s school bag again.

“In the bag, you freakin’ cat! As if you get any of this fine art stuff.”

“I get it,” Akira says.

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” He turns to the wall next to them, where several paintings in extremely varied styles are on display. “See, in this one, the scenery is depicted in autumn. The leaves changing colors and falling off the trees represents the artist’s life as they transition from one ‘season’ of their life to the next.”

Ryuji looks at the painting. It is a nice-looking depiction of some woodsy scenery, leaves all red-orange, and a pond. Maybe Inokashira park? It looks kind of familiar, but it’s also a pond and some trees, which is pretty generic, so that might be why it seems familiar.

“Wow, you got all that from some trees?” Ryuji glances over at Akira.

Akira’s got a mischievous grin on his face.

“No, I made all that up. I’m bullshitting you, man. I don’t get this stuff, either.”

“What? Come on, dude,” Ryuji frowns. “I believed you, too.”

Akira looks over at him, and then laughs. The sound draws the attention of a few other exhibit patrons, who shoot glances in their direction.

The art exhibit is otherwise dull, and the visit to Madarame’s shack so Ann can model for Kitagawa is similarly dull. Madarame’s definitely got a palace; they’ve seen it already. Hell, they’ve been inside it. They’ve seen how the guy thinks of his pupils, Kitagawa included.

But he won’t talk to them about whatever abuse has been happening. It’s just like the volleyball team.

Kitagawa obviously doesn’t want their help. Hell, he called the cops on them for poking their noses into his business. This fact is clear to them, and had given them pause.

Is it wrong of them to continue pushing despite that?

It makes Ryuji’s jaw clench; his hands ball into fists. How can they help if people don’t want them to? Why are people - including the victims - so willing to let shitty adults get away with doing whatever the hell they want? He gets that the people being abused have their reasons. He doesn’t know why Kitagawa is protecting Madarame, but he can empathize with the volleyball team, at least. Feeling like everyone knows and nobody cares; fearing that speaking up might just make the abuse worse in retaliation… he’s been there, too.

Maybe that’s where Kitagawa’s coming from?

Urgh, it just makes him so damn angry. Not at the victims, just at the situation. At the rotten adults putting people into situations where they feel like their only choice is to endure the abuse; to take their abuser’s side.

Kitagawa can call the cops on them and push them away all he wants. Ryuji’s not going to turn his back on someone who needs help. 

Ryuji frowns as he thinks about it, hands curling into tight fists. So many no-good, shitty adults out there, walking all over people for their own selfish gain.

The anger makes him pick up the pace of his run, pushing harder until all that frustrated energy is worked out.

“You’re really quiet today,” Akira says when they’ve finished their laps, snapping Ryuji out of his thoughts.

“Just thinking about the mission.”

Akira hums, pushing his sweaty bangs away from his face.

“It’s complicated, huh?” he says.

Doesn’t seem that complicated to Ryuji. Kitagawa doesn’t want their help, but he needs it. Sometimes doing what’s best for someone means doing something they don’t like at the moment.

When Ryuji says this, though, he gets a noncommittal shrug from Akira.

“Is it our place to decide what’s best for him, though?”

“Are you havin’ doubts about it, man?” Ryuji flicks the cap off his water bottle.

“No. I think changing Madarame’s heart is the right thing to do. Not because of Kitagawa so much, though. I want to help him, of course. And maybe Ann had a point the other day, when she asked if forcing our help onto him was really the right thing to do. But Madarame’s had other pupils he’s hurt, right? All of those people matter, too, regardless of what Kitagawa wants.”

Geez, Akira’s so smart.

“Man, you’re so…” What’s the word again…? “Prismatic.”

Akira quirks a brow at him. “Huh? Did you mean pragmatic ?”

“Yeah, that’s it! You’re so pragmatic .”

Akira laughs, the sound carrying like music on the late-spring breeze.

Ryuji doesn’t really feel offended by the laughter; doesn’t feel like Akira’s making fun of him. Instead, he finds a little smile of his own is blossoming across his face.

Ryuji leans against the brick wall of the school, one hand in his pocket and one holding his water bottle against his face. It’s not as cold as it had been earlier, and the surface is damp with condensation, but it’s cool enough for the chill to seep into his overheated skin in a pleasant way.

“You’re gettin’ pretty fast,” he says. “You’re never gonna be faster than me, though.”

Akira, hands in his pockets, levels Ryuji with a sharp look, grey eyes glinting behind his big glasses, expression lost somewhere between ‘playful’ and ‘challenging.’

“You wanna bet?”

“Yeah, dude. I bet in a month, I’ll still be faster than you.”

“Not a good bet without any stakes,” Akira says, standing up a bit straighter. He’s wearing the jacket that goes with their Shujin gym uniforms - isn’t he sweltering in that thing?

“Alright. I bet in a month, I’ll still be faster than you. If I am, you have to be the one to make the call for operation: maidwatch, and pay the maid -”

“Oh, my god, not the maid service thing.”

“And if you’re faster, I’ll make the phone call and pay the maid.”

“Okay, deal. You’re on, Sakamoto.”

God, Ryuji hopes he wins this bet because ever since they talked about that stupid maid service flyer, Ryuji’s been too damn nervous to make the call. That’s why he wanted Akira to be there in the first place.

It’s quiet for a moment, both of them just cooling down after their run. Ryuji’s legs are like jello, but it does feel like he might be getting a little stronger - maybe this is all paying off? He’s not getting winded as quickly, and he can run longer before his calf muscles start to ache.

Unfortunately, his bad leg still hurts just as much - maybe more - than it had when he and Akira had started training together last month. Even now, standing still, supporting most of his weight against the wall, it screams.

He has the same thought he’d had after escaping the palace the other day - no matter how much he runs and works out, it’s starting to seem very likely that his leg is never right again. He’d known this was possible, but it’s a lot more real when he’s actually feeling the pain that running causes him.

Kamoshida confessed to everything. But thinking about the pain in his leg right now, Ryuji is still so effin’ mad.

And that makes him feel all twisted up inside. When will he stop being so damn angry?

Whatever. Maybe if he runs enough, it’ll go away. Maybe the problem is just that he’s still out of practice; he hasn’t gotten used to running this much again.

Once he’s used to it like he was when he still did track, his leg will probably stop hurting so much. He’s just got to work at it more.

“Uh, do you wanna go get a beef bowl or something after this?” he asks, because the thought of going back home and sitting in his apartment all alone with his thoughts seems like an insurmountable hurdle right now. His mood’s too sour; he’d just sit there and think himself into being mad again.

“Sure,” Akira agrees, as affable as always. “I recently got a job at the place on Central street, they might let me use my employee discount if we order on the same check.”

Aw, man, sharing his discount? Akira really is a bro.

The beef bowl shop is not very busy at this time on a weekday. They order on one check so they can both benefit from Akira’s employee discount, and Akira pays.

“I’ll pay you back next week,” Ryuji says, fidgeting with his straw in his drink, making the ice cubes clink around inside the glass.

“Don’t worry about it,” Akira says, tearing one end of the wrapper off his own straw. Ninety percent of the wrapper is still on his straw, just one end exposed. He puts that end to his mouth and blows hard.

Ryuji looks up to argue, or maybe just to say thanks, but is pelted in the face by the straw wrapper, blown off the end of Akira’s straw. It harmlessly pings him right between the eyes, then falls down onto the tabletop.

Ryuji crumples it up into a tight ball, which he flicks across the table back at Akira.

“You seem like something’s bothering you, man,” Akira says. “You’re all frowny.”

Ryuji goes back to pushing the ice cubes around in his drink.

“Not really. Runnin’ with you makes me think a lot about the track team, is all.”

“I think I got the picture from Kamoshida’s Shadow, but I haven’t heard your side of it,” Akira says. “I don’t really trust Kamoshida’s version of things to be truthful.”

“That your way of askin’ me to talk about it?”

“No. But if you want to, I’ll listen.”

Ryuji scowls at his soda.

“What’s there to talk about? He was supervising our track practices, and I effed it all up by punching him.”

Akira’s quiet, looking over at Ryuji with his brows drawn together.

“I don’t believe that’s the whole story. I remember that day in the palace. You’d called it physical abuse, dude.”

“He’d push us way too hard, and if our times dropped he’d chew us out and make us run even more than he already was; beat us, make us do impossible exercises… shit like that.”

“That’s terrible.”

Ryuji’s fists clench.

“It was. But we were all enduring it.”

They were enduring it, because what else could they do? What other choice did they have?

“We were. But then he started talkin’ about my parents, and I… I punched him. Got the team disbanded. He broke my leg and the school called it self defense. You know the rest.”

“What was he saying about your parents?”

Ryuji clenches his teeth; his jaw gets tight.

“My dad… he left a few years ago. But before that, he’d drink all the time. And when he was drunk, he was angry, and when he was angry, he’d…”

Ryuji’s whole body feels overly warm, from anger or from shame; he doesn’t know which. He’s never really talked to anyone about this - why does it make him feel so cagey and ashamed? His hands, already curled into fists, start to shake - the motion is tiny, but Ryuji stares at his shaking hands as if they, rather than his father, were the thing that tormented his youth.

"Ryuji, you don't have to tell me, man," Akira says, and he lays a hand on Ryuji's tense shoulder.

“He’d beat us. My mom and me," Ryuji's voice comes out shaky and uncertain. There's a pit in his stomach; white-hot shame is crawling across his skin as he sits in the beef bowl restaurant. "I dunno how Kamoshida knew about it, but he started talkin’ about it at practice. I think… I think he knew I was the kinda guy who’d fight back. And he was right."

Akira’s just looking at Ryuji. It makes Ryuji feel even more restless and uncomfortable - Ryuji wishes he’d at least make a joke or something. No need to sit here and linger in this shit.

“Ryuji, man, that’s really fucking awful,” he says, voice genuine. The coarse language is a bit of a surprise, and the tone in his voice makes Ryuji’s throat feel tight. It’s not pity in his voice, or callous uncaring, or even humor to ease the tension and skip past the painful, uncomfortable topic.

It’s… it’s empathy, and an edge of anger. It’s the voice of someone who’s upset for Ryuji; someone who cares about Ryuji’s pain.

It’s a tone of voice Ryuji’s not used to.

Nobody’s ever really cared before, except his mom, and he doesn’t talk to her about this stuff because he wouldn’t want to worry her. If anyone else ever talks about his dad, or the track incident, it’s only ever condescending and scathing - it’s full of vitriol and venom; they say Ryuji’s just like his dad, and he’s a traitor for what he did to the track team.

To be honest, even Ryuji himself talks about it like that, because it’s the truth, isn’t it?

The fact is that he did betray the track team. He did cause the team to be disbanded. They were all enduring the abuse together, and Ryuji's the one who broke beneath the weight of it and ruined everyone's dreams.

And as for his dad, well... people aren't wrong about that, either. Like father, like son.

Nobody has ever talked about this with any kind of gentleness or caring for Ryuji, not even Ryuji himself.

So to hear Akira’s horror; to look over at him and see the sorrowful, sympathetic expression on his face, eyes sad and brows drawn together… it makes Ryuji’s eyes sting and his breathing wobble.

And Ryuji doesn’t know what to do with it all.

“But it’s in the past,” he says. He hopes Akira doesn’t notice the little tremor in his voice. “Kamoshida’s done for, so…”

Their food is being placed on the table in front of them now, and Ryuji’s appetite has evaporated into nothingness. From the corner of his eye, he can see that Akira’s still gazing at him with that same look on his face.

Ryuji doesn’t say anything else, just starts piling ginger onto his beef bowl wordlessly.

After a moment, Akira looks away, turning his own attention to his food.

Ryuji still has a lump in his throat, and eating his food is difficult in light of that. But Akira doesn’t touch on the subject any more.

Ryuji thinks about the tone of Akira’s voice and that look on his face for hours afterwards; long after they part ways at the station. The emotions swirling and tumbling inside him are confusing and overwhelming and they hurt, in a way he can’t articulate. Akira was being kind to him - genuinely, unabashedly kind and caring.

Why does that make him feel so damn mixed up?

Chapter Text

“Are you gonna try to come crawling back to the track team?” Takeishi sneers.

Ryuji can’t even bring himself to be mad about the way they’re talking to him. If anyone has any right to be resentful of him, it’s his former track teammates, after all.

“Hell no,” Ryuji says, but it comes out uncertain and timid.

“Good, because it wouldn’t work. Anyway, get lost. This is our training spot now, since we can’t use school equipment thanks to someone I know.”

Ryuji’s not the smartest guy around, but he’s not so stupid that he misses what’s being implied. He doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? They’re right - not about having any claim to this spot in particular, but about it being Ryuji’s fault they have to run laps behind the school to practice.

He can’t say anything about it, can he? So he stays quiet, looking at his shoes and not at his former friends and teammates.

Akira lays a hand on Ryuji's arm. “Come on, man, let’s just go."

Even though Akira wasn’t speaking to them, Nakaoka and Takeishi both turn to look at him.

“Aren’t you that transfer student everyone’s talking about?” Nakaoka says. “You’re really gonna waste your time with this loser? You know he’ll slug you the second he gets pissed off, right? Heard his dad was just the same - like father, like son and all that, huh?”

“That… that don’t got anything to do with this.” Ryuji’s hands ball into tight, angry fists. Sure, they can talk all they want about how Ryuji betrayed them and ruined the track team; that much is all true. But they don’t have to bring his dad into this shit. Ever since Kamoshida let it slip about his dad, people love to compare him to that asshole. What they say might be true, like father, like son and whatnot, but that doesn’t mean it’s their effin’ business. True or not, they have no place to talk about it - Ryuji’s dad being a major piece of shit has nothing to do with the track team.

Ryuji’s distracted when he feels a gentle touch on his trembling, clenched fist. Looking down, he sees Akira’s hand resting over his. The touch isn’t forceful; it’s not applying any pressure or pulling Ryuji back. It’s soft and reassuring.

“Hey,” Akira says, and his voice is quieter than it had been earlier. “Don’t let them get to you.”

He's right, of course.

Ryuji takes a deep breath; one big inhale that he holds for a couple seconds. When he speaks, he feels a little calmer than he had before.

“Back then,” he starts, but his former teammates don’t appear to be interested in hearing any explanations.

“Don’t bother with the excuses,” Nakaoka says, voice like a razor. “You think you were the only one going through all that shit with Kamoshida? We were all putting up with the same shit, and we endured for the sake of the team. You’re the one that fucked that all up. I thought you were my teammate - man, was I ever stupid for trusting you.”

Ryuji swallows down a lump in his throat. They were all putting up with it. He's the weak link that broke beneath the pressure. He's the reason everything fell apart. And he dragged all his friends down with him, because of course he did. Because that's what he does to people, huh?

Stupid for trusting him. It stings like salt in a fresh cut. They were his friends. He cared about them.

Does that matter, though, after what he did?

Nakaoka takes a step forward, toward Ryuji. The sound of his feet in the grass sounds a million times louder than usual.

Beside him, Akira moves, too. He doesn’t step toward Nakaoka, but instead steps closer to Ryuji’s side. He stands now with his right shoulder just barely in front of Ryuji’s left - not between Ryuji and Nakaoka, but hovering on the periphery of it.

Tension hangs in the air like thick smoke. Nakaoka glares daggers at Ryuji. Man, if looks could kill, he’d be a dead man walking.

“Whatever.” Nakaoka finally spits. “Have your dumb training spot. Like I care what you do.”

The former track team sulks off the way they’d come, leaving Ryuji and Akira standing behind the school in the cheery, late afternoon sun.

But Ryuji doesn’t feel particularly sunny.

“Sorry you had to see that, man,” he says, dragging the toe of his sneaker through the dirt and the grass. “But I’m glad you were here. You’ve got a real calming presence, you know that?”

Akira smiles, something small and reserved. Seeing it makes Ryuji feel a tiny bit better.

“No, I haven’t heard that one before,” Akira says. “You wanna skip training and just go get something to eat today?”

Yeah. Yeah, he really does.

They end up at Big Bang Burger, because Ryuji likes a crappy fast-food burger just as much as the next guy. Maybe more than the next guy, actually.

Across the table from him, Akira is sneaking bites of his burger patty to Morgana - he takes a bite, and then tears a chunk of the beef off and slides it into the open zipper of his school bag; one bite for Akira, one for Morgana. Of course he’s sharing with the cat, he’s so… nice.

Nice. That doesn't feel adequate, but it’s the best word for it that comes to Ryuji’s mind.

“What does Mona even eat at home?” he asks, eating his fries two at a time.

“Dry kibble. It’s the worst!” Mona cries, hidden from Ryuji’s view inside Akira’s bag.

Someone at a nearby table glances over at them.

“Dude, be quiet. Pets aren’t allowed in here.”

“He’s lying. He likes his dry kibble. He’s just too proud to admit it,” Akira says, sliding him another piece of hamburger. “He especially likes the salmon flavored kind. Once in a while Sojiro will bring him some fancy canned food, but I don’t have the money for that stuff - buying supplies for our… extracurriculars… isn’t cheap.”

Ugh, yeah. He’s buying all their medicine and weapons out of his own pocket, huh?

“I know we’ve asked before, but are you sure you don’t need us to chip in on stuff?”

“I’m sure, Ryuji. If I needed money, I’d ask. But I don’t , so don’t worry about it.”

Ryuji looks up to argue about it, because dammit he doesn’t want to be a burden, but he gets a tiny bit distracted.

“I don’t mind, man,” he says, and his brain is only fifty percent in the conversation because he’s focused on the particular way Akira’s hair curls. “Did you get a haircut?”

Akira pauses, french fry halfway to his mouth.

“No?”

Huh.

Did it always look like that, then? Ryuji’s never really noticed before. The messy look would appear unkempt on anyone else, but it suits Akira; the curls frame his face and lay across his forehead nicely. In the back of his mind, Ryuji wonders what he’d look like with it pulled back. It’d probably be long enough to get into a tiny, stupid ponytail.

Huh .

“I hope you’re ready to hit the ground running tomorrow,” Akira says, unphased by the detour in conversation. “We’ve got serious work to do in the palace.”

And hit the ground running they do. They haven’t made a ton of progress so far, and with only about ten days left in Madarame’s exhibition, after which he will be taking legal action against them for all the poking and prodding into his business they’ve done, it’s not like they have a ton of time to get to the treasure.

This palace feels bigger than the castle, at least from the inside. It’s full of winding hallways that loop back on themselves, and gallery rooms that all start to look the same after a while.

In short, Ryuji’s lost as hell.

Lucky for him, he just has to follow Joker through the blue-hued halls and hit anything that moves. No thinking, just whacking shit with the big ol’ metal pipe he’s got.

Although if he lingers on it too long, the idea that all he brings to the team is “hits shit pretty hard” does not make him feel good.

So he tries not to linger on it. He’s got bigger fish to fry right now, anyways - in particular, the thing halting their progress - a large, decorative door with no way through. No locks on it to pick, and no way around. It’s an immovable wall between them and the deeper parts of the palace.

They’ve come in today with a plan, however. Is it a good plan? Uh, no. Not really. But it’s the only plan they’ve got, so it’s gonna have to be good enough.

It involves Panther and Mona going to Madarame’s house and opening the real-world counterpart to this door (Mona swears he saw it there before,) while Joker and Ryuji wait for the door in the palace to open so they can get through and find a way to keep it open. It’s not ideal. First of all, having to split up like this is bad news. With only two of them in the palace, they’re way less prepared for any Shadows. And beyond that, who knows what’s going to happen in the real world? Whatever’s behind that door must be a big deal - Madarame has to see the door open for it to affect the palace, and Ryuji has a sinking feeling that he’s not going to take it well when he does. If Panther gets into some kind of trouble, it’s not like Mona’s going to be very helpful in the real world - he’s just a normal cat there, he doesn’t even have opposable thumbs

Obviously Joker has to be here, in the palace, since he’s their best fighter. But it really would be preferable if Mona and Ryuji could have switched places. Then Ryuji could make sure Kitagawa doesn’t try anything weird, and he would be more helpful if shit hits the fan than a freakin’ cat would be. But Kitagawa won’t allow Joker or Ryuji near him, so it can’t be helped. The division of labor was decided for them.

Again. Really not an ideal plan in any sense. But it’s the only plan, so Ryuji finds himself alone with Joker, sitting near the big freakin’ doors and waiting for some sign of life.

“Do you think Panther and Mona are havin’ any trouble?” he asks, rolling his metal pipe around on the floor.

“No way to know, I guess. I have faith in them, though.”

“Well, yeah, I wasn’t tryin’ to say that I don’t - “

The door, which Ryuji is leaning against as he sits, slides open, revealing it is actually a long row of identical doors, all of which open at once. The sound of tens of sliding doors opening is deafening, echoing in the silent courtyard of the palace.

With the doors suddenly no longer behind him, Ryuji tumbles backwards. Ouch, dammit , landing on his back on the floor did not feel good.

“Hey down there,” Joker says, extending one red-gloved hand to Ryuji. “We can nap later, we’ve got work to do.”

Ryuji takes the offered hand, bright yellow and vivid red side-by-side where their hands meet.

“I ain’t napping,” he says as Joker helps him to his feet.

The other half of the courtyard, on the other side of the doors, is blissfully free of Shadows. From there, the museum continues in a separate building - a building that is not free of Shadows. Standing outside the doorway and peering inside, they can spot a hulking Shadow in the shape of a security guard. It’s standing, unmoving, looking in the direction of the door, and is immediately in the middle of the only path forward.

Shit. No way to sneak past it, then. Well, okay, there might be a way. But their first priority is to find a way to keep those pesky doors open, hopefully before they have a chance to close again. So while they might be able to find some sneaky way around with enough time, they don’t have a ton of time.

The only way out is through, or whatever.

When the Shadow sees them, it erupts into the thick black goop Ryuji’s getting pretty used to seeing. The creature that manifests from within the goop is a massive, furred thing; with striped legs as thick as tree trunks and large, sharp claws that glint in the light. It has a flat, featureless face - just two glowing red eyes peering out from the darkness - and a snake where a tail would be.

It looks pretty sturdy, like it could take a whack or two from Ryuji’s weapon and feel none the worse for wear.

Just great.

“Joker, does this thing have a weakness?” Ryuji asks, sizing it up. If he runs in there all willy-nilly, that thing’s gonna swipe him with its massive front paws and send him flying across the room; like flicking away a pesky bug or something. He has to be careful, and unfortunately, thoughtful strategy is not Ryuji’s strong suit.

“I don’t know,” Joker says. “I don’t think we’ve seen this one before.”

Awesome. This just keeps getting better. 

“We’ll just have to try things -” Joker ducks beneath a furry paw that comes crashing through the air toward him. “We’ll have to try things and see what works. Try your magic, dude.”

Urgh, his magic. It’s, quite frankly, pathetic. Even Shadows that are susceptible to it can shake it off a lot of the time.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, though, right? And he trusts Joker’s judgement way more than he trusts his own, especially about strategy and shit.

He takes off his mask, and Captain Kidd manifests behind him, bathed in the otherworldly glow that Personas always seem to have about them; the metal cannon on his right hand gleams in the blue light.

Electricity prickles across Ryuji’s skin; the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up. His fingers thrum and buzz, little sparks arcing and branching across his form. It’s weird; he doesn’t use his magic very often, so the feeling is still pretty novel. 

A lightning bolt drops down. It’s a direct hit; it crashes onto the Shadow’s head with a satisfying boom, charring the floor beneath it. Electricity skitters and branches across the blackened floor tiles until it dissipates into nothingness. The Shadow’s snowy white mane is dark, ends crisp and stiff and slightly singed. Electricity sparks across its claws for a second.

The Shadow growls and turns to face Ryuji, unflinching, as if the attack had been no more than an annoying static shock from the carpet. And then it lunges at him with all the strength it has in its muscular hind legs.

Ryuji makes some kind of sound he’d surely be embarrassed about if he was thinking about it, some stupid half-utterance as he dives to the left. He’s a fast runner, sure, but the 100m sprint and dodging for your life while a furry monster the size of a moose launches itself at you are not really comparable experiences.

“Joker, behind -” he says, because at least while the Shadow is focused on him, Joker might be able to get behind it and do something more effective than ‘piss it off with a little static shock.’

Joker’s way ahead of him, though, already dashing around the Shadow’s flank, tailcoat a dark streak against the backdrop of the room.

But there’s a snake attached to the Shadow’s ass. Ryuji almost forgot.

Ryuji’s still scrambling away from the razor-sharp claws on the Shadow’s front paws; each time it swipes at him it leaves deep scores in the museum flooring and Ryuji really does not want to know what kind of damage they would do to his skin. But seeing as he’s a little occupied, and the Shadow’s entire body is currently between himself and Joker, he can’t see what’s happening back there.

“Ah, shit!” Joker exclaims.

Okay. So whatever’s going on back there isn’t good. Got it.

The Shadow skids to a stop and roars, the sound ringing in Ryuji’s ears. It whips around with surprising agility for something so damn big. With the Shadow’s back now to him, Ryuji can see the snake thrashing about wildly; where its head used to be is now just a stump, spewing a dark mist. It’s not bloody, Shadows don’t bleed, but that fine, dark mist gushes forth as if it were blood, spraying into the air like a geyser.

“Skull!” Joker shouts over the growling of the Shadow and the sounds of massive, clawed feet smashing into the floor. “I need help up here - I can try my magic but I need the Shadow to get off my ass first.”

Okay, yeah. That makes sense. Joker’s got a ton of magic he can try - if this thing’s got a weakness, Joker’s probably got it covered. He’s gotta get back in front of it - gotta help take some of the heat off of Joker. Gotta force the Shadow to give Joker a little breathing room.

The question is, how, exactly?

He runs over to the Shadow’s side, closer to where Joker is currently scrambling backwards away from the massive claws, but not so close that he’s in its direct path - yet.

He summons Captain Kidd again - not for his magic this time, but for an all-out physical assault. There’s no way he can take this thing hand-to-hand, with just his own strength and a metal pipe. That works fine for smaller Shadows, but this thing’s got reach and bulk and giant mitts full or razor-sharp claws . Ryuji could never get close enough to swing on it before it shredded him into little confetti.

One wouldn’t think a Persona would have a lot going for it in terms of physical offense, since they’re kind of floaty spirits that don’t seem to have a lot of mass. That might be the case for someone like Panther, but it’s not the case for everyone . Ryuji’s Persona is better and physically laying into someone than it is at magic. So when Captain Kidd goes careening full-tilt at the Shadow, colliding solidly with its muscular shoulder, the Shadow actually stumbles a step or two. It feels good; it’s the first time they’ve had it on the back foot this whole time.

It turns to face Ryuji, a low growl coming from its blank, formless face.

Well. It’s leaving Joker alone now, which was the intention.

But Ryuji hadn’t really thought far enough ahead to know what he was going to do once the Shadow was back on his ass.

Goal one now becomes ‘survive.’ Goal two becomes ‘keep it off Joker.’

He mostly just has to dodge the Shadow’s attacks. He only has to go on the offense when Joker launches a magic attack at it and draws its attention back in his direction.

Ryuji evades the claws, and Joker hits the Shadow with an ice skill. Ice crystallizes on the ends of its thick fur; the temperature in the room drops so low that Ryuji can see his own breath billowing out in front of him. The Shadow seems unbothered. It shifts its attention in the direction of the attack - toward Joker. The ice on its form shatters, sending little splinters of ice across the floor. Ice lands on Ryuji’s face and rapidly melts on the slivers of exposed skin. He sends Captain Kidd after the Shadow again, drawing its attention away from Joker and back to Ryuji himself.

The Shadow swipes at Ryuji. He steps backwards to avoid it, and slips on a shard of ice.

He lands hard on his ass. The Shadow bears down upon him, great, hulking form and hardened claws coming right at him. Shit, shit, shit…!

Dread coils in a pit in his stomach. He can’t get out of the way in time, not from here. Not while he’s down like this. So he does all he can do - he grabs his metal pipe in both hands, one at either end, and tries to stop the Shadow’s incoming claws on that.

The sound the Shadow’s claws make when they collide with the metal of the pipe is deafening; it rings like a gong in the huge room. Ryuji’s ears ring, his palms sweat inside his gloves. He grits his teeth and pushes back against the weight of the Shadow with all his might.

The pipe creaks and groans; the metal bends.

And then it snaps.

Chapter Text

It’s like it happens in slow motion. The metal of Ryuji’s weapon bends and snaps beneath the Shadow’s monstrous forepaw, and the beast's claws are free to continue on their path toward Ryuji’s form - still seated, vulnerable and wide open to attack.

He sees the razor edge of the Shadow’s claws glint in the blue light of the museum; sees the water beading on its fur where Joker’s ice attack is rapidly melting upon its form. He scrambles backwards as fast as he can, trying to get out of range of the Shadow’s scratching, seeking claws.

It’s not fast enough.

The smidgen of distance he was able to put between them does matter - he’s not out of the Shadow’s range, but he’s far enough away that the claws don’t sink as deeply as they could have. The leather of Ryuji’s costume dulls some of the damage, but it’s negligible, really - claws like that are made for tearing, and one article of clothing, even something thick and sturdy like leather, is not enough to stop it.

The Shadow’s claws pierce past the fabric and dig into the flesh of his chest. He barely feels it, heart pounding, ears ringing, adrenaline coursing through him. The red of his blood is alien and purple-y in the blue lighting of the palace; it streaks across the Shadow’s pristine, shining claws and falls in thick drops onto the floor tiles, which are damaged and scored from the fight.

He’s still trying to get away; the Shadow is rearing back for another swipe at him and he can’t afford to take a second one.

It’s a moot point. Above him, he hears the Shadow howl. The air in front of him becomes furnace-hot, it makes his eyes sting. A fireball explodes across the Shadow’s body, flames licking at its face and curling around the huge, muscled shape of its shoulders. The sickly, acrid scent of burnt hair fills the museum.

Ryuji pushes himself up off the ground, legs shaking just slightly from the fear and adrenaline and pain. In front of him, the Shadow’s yellow, striped fur is smoldering; little wisps of dark grey-black smoke rising from the ends of its scorched form. 

On the Shadows' other side he can see Joker, bright red gloved hand across his face where his mask usually would be. In his other hand, his dagger glints in the blue glow cast by his Persona. His coat billows behind him as the familiar blue energy whips around him and his Persona; his eyes shine dangerously. Damn, he's cool.

The Persona he's summoned vanishes before Ryuji can be sure it's one he recognizes, but he thinks it was - it looked like a shapely female figure with dark, bat-like wings. That's one they've fought before. Not that he can keep track of all of Joker's Personas, anyway, because he's always whipping out completely new ones seemingly at random.

The Shadow does not shake this attack off; it stays slumped on the museum floor for a moment - and that moment is enough for Joker to blast it with another fire spell. A second fireball erupts upon the hulking body of the Shadow; stray embers fly off of it and pelt the ground around it; a few land on Ryuji. The Shadow wails, head thrown back, white mane grey and burnt.

The Shadow is alive, but it’s still sitting there stunned, left wide open for an attack. If he had a weapon, he’d go for it.

But his weapon is in two jagged, broken pieces on the floor.

Screw it.  He picks up the longer of the two pieces. The end that broke is sharp and uneven. He has to do something , and he’s not sure he’s got enough stamina to keep calling on Captain Kidd, so this is the best he’s got.

He lines up near the Shadow’s elbow - he’s not tall enough to reach its head, and the joint has less muscle to absorb the impact. The swing isn’t as satisfying as usual; with less of his weapon there’s just physically less mass behind the blow. Still, the Shadow groans and its elbow buckles, setting it off-kilter and causing it to stumble forward.

The behemoth starts to move again, recovering from its stupor. It’s slowed significantly, and it lumbers as it gets to its feet.

“Skull, incoming!” Joker shouts from somewhere on Ryuji’s left.

Ryuji scrambles backwards, away from the Shadow, just as a third fire spell hits it, flames manifesting where it stands and swallowing up its massive body.

The Shadow bellows, a sound between a roar and a scream, and when the smoke from the fire spell clears, the beast is gone.

Ryuji groans, dropping his broken pipe. “Man, that effin’ sucked.”

“Hey,” Joker says, coming over to stand next to Ryuji. “Skull, are you alri - shit, dude, you’re bleeding.”

“Yeah. Where’s that cat when you need him, right?”

“I think I have a Persona that can heal like Mona can, wait.” Joker’s mask flickers for a split second, like a heat mirage glimmering in the sun, and then a Persona Ryuji doesn’t recognize manifests behind him.

“Man,” Ryuji sighs. “Where the hell do you keep gettin’ these Personas? The ones you turn Shadows into I get, but what about that thing? We definitely haven’t fought any Shadows like that before.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Joker says, and a green light begins to glow around his Persona as well as around Ryuji.

“Try me.”

“... A guillotine…?”

“Huh? Ain’t that the thing they used to kill french people? ‘Off with their heads’ and all that?”

“Close enough. See, I told you that you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Nah, dude, I believe you, I just don’t really… get it.”

The healing magic feels… weird. It doesn’t hurt, it kind of… itches? Like a healing scab or something. Healing cuts are kind of itchy normally, so it makes a sort of sense, but Ryuji wasn’t expecting it. Little green sparkles dance around the cuts on Ryuji’s chest, glimmering against the darkness of his thief suit. He tries to watch and judge how bad the injury really is, but it’s difficult to tell - the blood has smeared across his skin and the ragged, torn edges of the fabric that surround them. It’s all a mess of blood and shredded leather.

“That’s the best I can do,” Joker says after a moment. The green glow fades, giving way to the blue-hued lighting of the museum. “It’s not perfect, but I stopped the bleeding, I think. I’ve got some bandages and stuff I can put on it, but we have to find somewhere safe first. We’ve been standing around in the open for too long already.”

It does seem like the bleeding has stopped. It still hurts like hell, though - the healing spell did not take away the sharp, stinging pain. It’s cool he’s not bleeding all over the place now, though.

“I’m not bleedin’ anymore, so let’s focus on finding a way to keep those doors open before we worry about me,” Ryuji says. That’s their whole reason for being here today - as long as he’s not gonna bleed out or anything, then there’s no reason to stop the mission on his account. He’ll survive.

They don’t have to look far - near where they fought the Shadow, they find a control room of some kind, filled with desks and computers. It takes an annoying amount of time to check every single computer in there to find the right one, but they do eventually find one that has access to the door controls.

“You really think this’ll work?” Ryuji asks, watching as Joker fiddles with the door settings.

“It’s our best shot. Why, having doubts?”

Ryuju shrugs. “I dunno, I’m still not sure I get this whole cognition thing, but if he locks the real door again, couldn’t that just… overwrite what we’re doing now? Like, his cognition will be that it’s locked again, and the palace will change to match that regardless of what we’ve done. This whole place is based on his cognition, so if his cognition changes, ain’t we kinda screwed anyway?”

Joker, bent over the desk, both hands on the keyboard,  pauses and looks up at Ryuji.

“It’s possible,” he says. “I guess we’ll find out, huh?”

Ryuji frowns.

“Dude, that don't exactly fill me with confidence.”

“Sorry.” He stands up straight. “Alright, I think I got the doors in the courtyard taken care of, and the doors to this room are locked, so we should be safe from Shadows for now. Let’s see what we can do about that wound of yours. Put out your hand."

“Bossy,” Ryuji says without really meaning it. When he obliges the request, Joker places a few small, brown-red pills in his palm.

“Painkillers. That shit’s gotta hurt like hell,” he says.

It does, indeed, hurt like hell. It hadn’t been so bad earlier - adrenaline’s a hell of a thing - but now it stings and aches. If he takes too deep a breath or moves the wrong way, the skin stretches and tugs on the open wounds and makes it feel like they’re ripping - they’re not, of course, but the miserable way they burn when the skin moves sure feels like they are. He gladly takes the painkillers, swallowing them dry since it’s not like he’s got a drink on hand.

After that, he gets started trying to undo the knot of the bright red ascot his thief costume has. The ends of it are shredded and sticky with blood.

Ryuji starts to feel a bit awkward, undressing while Joker stands there in front of him and waits. But Joker’s not paying him any mind - he’s emptying his pockets of all the medical supplies he’s got, placing them on the computer desk nearby.

Man, what a pain his costume is. Every time he has to patch up in the metaverse he has to deal with it, and it’s still annoying. Trying to undo the buttons is hard today, as they’re slick with blood and with his gloves on, his fingers are a little more slippery than usual, anyway.

At last he’s free from the torn, bloody fabric, pushing it down and letting it bunch up at his waist. His gloves, once a vibrant yellow, are stained dark red from undoing the buttons - he takes them off, too, tossing them unceremoniously onto the desk.

Joker passes him a gauze wipe, damp with… something. Water, or some kind of antiseptic wound wash, hell if Ryuji knows. He just takes the piece of gauze and starts wiping blood away from his wounds. The shredded fabric had only really succeeded in smearing the blood around, and so the area’s a huge, nasty mess right now - even with the remains of his jacket gone, he can’t make out the true extent of the damage because there’s blood everywhere.

He jumps out of his skin when Joker reaches over with his own wipe and starts helping to clean the area.

“Sorry,” Joker says, looking at Ryuji from behind his mask.

“It’s fine, dude,” Ryuji says, turning his attention back to the task at hand. “I wasn’t expectin’ that, is all.”

Joker’s hand is still for a moment, hovering, uncertain, near Ryuji’s skin. But after a second, he, too, returns to the task of cleaning Ryuji’s wounds. His touch is cautious and slow; he wipes blood away in small, light motions.

“We didn’t do too bad against that Shadow, considering it was just the two of us,” he says. The words are loud in the silence of the Palace.

“Dude, you kicked ass. That multiple Persona thing is crazy .”

Joker laughs, a small sound.

“Wasn’t all good. Its damn tail bit me.” A pause, in which Joker wets two fresh pieces of gauze to replace their bloodied ones  “You weren’t so bad yourself, either, man.”

Yeah, right. That’s why Ryuji’s the one with big gashes in his chest right now and Joker’s not.

Whatever. The simple fact is that nobody on the team can come close to doing the shit that Joker does - his powers are just way too good. Comparing himself to someone that cool will only make Ryuji feel lame as hell, so he tries not to linger on it.

By now the blood is all cleaned from Ryuji’s skin. Looking down at himself, he sees three big slashes across his chest. They’re definitely not as deep as they could have been, thanks to the fabric of his thief suit and the little bit of distance he’d been able to gain with his frantic scooting. They don’t look like they’ll need stitches or anything, though part of that could also have been the healing magic courtesy of Joker.

Joker hands him a little white tube of something - antibacterial ointment, judging by the label.

“Put that on,” he says. “To keep them clean. Who knows what kind of dirt is around here.”

“You think this place has germs?” Ryuji asks, twisting the cap off the tube. “It’s only Shadows in the metaverse, so maybe germs and shit don’t exist.”

“Put the medicine on your cuts, man. I’m not debating the existence of metaverse germs with you.” Joker says with a laugh.

Ryuji does as he’s told. The medicine burns on his open wounds, but the pain isn’t really any worse than how they felt already, so it’s not a big deal.

When that’s done, Joker holds some gauze up to Ryuji’s chest, sizing it up against his wounds. He uses the edge of his dagger to cut the piece off, but it doesn’t cut very nicely - although the blade is sharp, it’s not really intended for this sort of thing, and the cut ends up uneven and a bit frayed.

He places the gauze across Ryuji’s open wounds, putting one hand over it to hold it in place; palm in the center of the gauze, fingers splayed wide to cover as much of it as he can.

“Ow, dude,” Ryuji says at the contact. “I can do this, you know.”

Joker, a roll of medical tape in his free hand, freezes.

“Sorry,” he says, and it’s not clear which part he’s apologizing for.

He passes the medical tape to Ryuji, but does not take his hand off of Ryuji’s chest.

Ryuji can do all this himself, but… eh. What’s it matter if Joker helps out? He doesn’t care, really, so he allows Joker to assist him.

Ryuji tears long pieces of medical tape off and hands them to Joker. Joker uses the tape to secure the gauze to Ryuji’s skin.

Joker smooths his hand over the gauze, gently smoothing it down over Ryuji’s chest and his sore, stinging cuts. His touch is light over the cuts themselves, and more firm along the seams of the tape; pressing down and being sure it’s really stuck.

“That’s as much as we can do,” he says, taking half a step back.

“You think we should wait in the courtyard for Panther and Mona?” Ryuji asks, sliding the sleeves of his costume back onto his arms. Urgh, his suit's still all shredded and bloody, and he has to wear it again. Gross.

“Yeah. As soon as you’re ready, we’ll head back.”

“Hope we don’t run into any more Shadows, because my weapon broke in half.”

Joker, peering out the door into the rest of the museum, spins to look at him.

“Dude, your weapon broke?”

“Oops…?”

“Damn, how hard were you hitting that Shadow?”

Ryuji can’t help but laugh at that, louder than he should. There could be Shadows anywhere and Joker’s got the door cracked open, letting the sound escape the room they’re in and drift into the main building. He could have just alerted a whole mob of the damn things.

“No, man, I didn’t do it. That big Shadow broke it. I’ll pay to replace it, if you want.”

“Skull, would you stop offering to pay for stuff? I’ve already told you, I’ll ask if I need you to chip in, but I don’t, so stop worrying about it. Now be quiet - I don’t want to get into any more fights if we don’t have to.”

“Aye-aye, captain,” Ryuji says, and then he shuts his trap and follows Joker out of the little computer room and into the rest of the museum.

Chapter Text

Ryuji shuffles through his family’s mail on his way up the stairs to his apartment. Junk mail, junk mail, something addressed to his mom, junk mail…

“Oh!”

He collides with someone else on the stairs, dropping the handful of envelopes.

“Shit, sorry, Ms. Okabe,” he says, bending down to pick up his mail that is now scattered across the stairs.

Ms. Okabe - one of his upstairs neighbors - leans down to help him collect his mail.

“It’s alright, Ryuji,” she says. “Just try to pay more attention next time.”

“Uh, yes, ma’am.”

The Okabe family has lived in the building almost as long as Ryuji has. He doesn’t know them well, but they’re on friendly terms. He’ll say hello if they pass in the hall, or sometimes he’ll run quick errands for them. As far as he knows, it’s just her and her son - not so different from Ryuji’s family in that way. It's not like he goes around asking his neighbors about their family dynamics, though, so maybe he's wrong about that.

She hands him back the few envelopes she’d picked up.

“Actually, I’m glad I ran into you. I was wondering if you might be able to do me a small favor.”

“Sure, what do you need?”

“You know my son, Keiji? I need someone to watch him tomorrow after his classes end. Something at my job came up and they need me to stay late.”

Babysitting. Ryuji’s never been responsible for a kid before. What if something happens under his watch?

“I can pay you for your help. He’s a good boy, I’m sure he won’t give you any trouble.”

Ah, shit. That changes things. He’s got Akira, funding their Phantom Thievery all alone, and his mom, working herself to death to keep a roof over his head - both of whom he’d like to help out if he could. He doesn’t have an actual job, so he can’t contribute much to either person. Maybe he should babysit for his neighbor. It’d be just a few hours, and he’d earn some yen that he could use to help with groceries at home. And if his mom won’t take his money, he can help out buying medicine and shit for the Metaverse. Yusuke’s on the team now, so that’s one more person Akira has to buy supplies for, after all.

Is he free tomorrow? Let’s see… they already got to the treasure; all that’s left is the calling card. There’s still almost a week left in the exhibition, so there’s time. They can always do the calling card the next day.

“Sure, I can do that. What time should I come over?”

Ryuji goes to the Okabe’s apartment after school the next day. Keiji - the kid he’s babysitting - isn’t home yet, but Ms. Okabe gave him a spare key and told him to let himself in, so that’s what he does.

The apartment is layed out a lot like Ryuji’s. Guess that sort of comes with the territory of living in the same building. That’s fine, though - it makes it easy to find the kitchen and the bathroom and such.

There’s some yen stuck to the fridge under a magnet, and a note beneath it. The note says the yen is for ordering dinner, and then it lists some relevant phone numbers - Ms. Okabe’s cell, her office, things like that. God, if something goes wrong and he has to call her, he’s going to feel like the world’s biggest idiot. Or the world’s worst babysitter.

Or both.

Keiji gets there not long after Ryuji does. Ryuji’s seen him around the building before, they’ve had short conversations in passing. But that’s the extent of it. He’s a quiet kid, probably seven or so. Maybe eight?

Ryuji watches as he comes inside from school and sits down with a pencil and notebook.

“How old are you, Keiji?”

“Eight,” he says, not looking up from the piece of paper he’s doodling on. “My friend at school is eight, too, but I’m older than him because his birthday is in October.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“July.”

“My birthday’s in July, too.”

“Really?” Keiji looks up at him. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Wow, that’s old.” Keiji goes back to his drawing.

“Do you have homework to do, Keiji?”

“Yeah,” he says, but he makes no move to retrieve the aforementioned homework.

“Um, If you get that done now, we can do something fun after.”

Keiji frowns. “I don’t want to do it now. What if I need help?”

Huh? Look, Ryuji’s not the smartest guy around but he can help a kid with their homework, dammit.

“If you get stuck, I can help you.”

“You can?”

“Sure,” Ryuji says. “But you have to help me with mine if I get stuck.”

Keiji laughs, finally pulling his homework out. It looks like a grammar worksheet. Urgh, maybe Ryuji can’t help. His grammar is not the best.

No. Come on . He’s capable of doing a grade schooler’s grammar homework.

Ryuji digs his own homework out of his school bag and sits at the table across from Keiji. Ugh, English. Maybe if he texts Ann, she’ll just tell him all the answers… no, probably not. Damn.

It’s quiet for a bit. Keiji is diligent about his homework - more diligent than Ryuji is, which is telling, considering he’s eight.

“Ryuji,” Keiji says after a while. “Did you have t.v when you were eight?”

“Huh? I’m not that old, kid!”

They chat as they finish their homework. Okay, while Keiji finishes his homework and Ryuji finishes six questions on his.

They order Big Bang Burger for dinner, and thankfully the restaurant offers delivery because Ryuji does not want to cart a kid through Tokyo. What if he lost him on the subway or something?

Do they make those toddler leashes big enough for eight year olds?

If he put Keiji on a freakin’ leash he’d lose his babysitting gig so fast it would be stupid. Not that it’s really a gig, per se. It’s a one time thing. Still, if Ms. Okabe found out he’d put her kid on a leash and dragged him around Tokyo, he’d definitely not be getting paid anymore.

Keiji seems more interested in the toy that came with his meal than he is in his food. He flies the toy rocket ship over his burger, making blast-off noises with his mouth.

“What do you wanna do? I promised we’d do something fun if you finished your homework,” Ryuji says, picking at his own food.

Keiji stops playing with his rocket and sits it down.

“Can we go to the arcade?”

Not happening. Once again, Ryuji is not trying to drag a kid through the city.

“Uh, not today, buddy.”

Keiji scowls, puffing out his cheeks and crossing his arms. 

“But you said we could do something fun!”

Oh, man, now he’s upset. Geez. What kind of fun things are there for a kid to do around here? Ryuji has an old handheld game console, he could run down to his place and bring it back for Keiji. But he doesn’t have any games that would be appropriate for a kid, so that’s a bust. There’s a public park with swings and stuff within walking distance of the apartments. Maybe that?

“What about going to the park?”

Keiji, still frowning, looks at Ryuji through slit, suspicious eyes.

“... will you play baseball with me?”

“Yeah. But you gotta finish your dinner first, deal?”

“Deal!”

Keiji has a bat and a ball of his own, which they drag down the street to the park. ‘Playing baseball’ with him really means Ryuji pitches and Keiji tries to bat, though he’s not very good at it. It also means Ryuji gets to chase the wayward ball while Keiji stands there with the bat and watches him scamper after it like a freakin’ dog.

“Yikes!” Ryuji says, sidestepping a ball that Keiji hit right toward him. For a kid who’s not good at batting, that sure was one hell of a shot directly at Ryuji’s shins.

A few yards away, Keiji is laughing.

“Was that on purpose?”

“No,” he giggles.

“Dude, I’m tellin’ your mom you were trying to hit me with the baseball.”

Keiji’s still laughing, a big grin across his face. “No! I wasn’t! Don’t tell her!”

Huh. This whole babysitting thing is easier than he thought.

“I want to throw now,” Keiji says, coming over to where Ryuji stands. “You be the batter.”

Somehow Ryuji gets the feeling that even with this change in position, he’s still going to be the one chasing the ball down.

“Are you sure you don’t just want an excuse to throw the ball at me?” he says, but he still hands Keiji the faded, scuffed baseball. In return he is handed the equally scuffed, worn bat. Ugh, it’s kind of sweaty and clammy from Keiji’s hands. Gross.

Keiji is worse at pitching than he was at batting, but he’s eight so it’s also exactly what Ryuji was expecting. After several throws that don’t even reach Ryuji, they scoot closer together in the grass.

Ryuji is also not a spectacular batter. His problem is about timing more than anything. It’s the same problem he has in the Metaverse with the Shadows - he’s too slow to react, and by the time he swings, the ball (or the Shadow) is already gone.

When he does finally get a hit, though, man is it a hit. Timing be damned, he can hit things pretty damn hard with a bat. He’s been doing it in the Metaverse for weeks now.

“Wow!” Keiji says, watching with wide eyes as the baseball soars over his head and into the grass behind him. “That was awesome!”

“You think?” Ryuji says, jogging over to retrieve the ball. Like a goddamn golden retriever or something.

It’s starting to get kind of late now - the sky is turning purple with twilight.

“Alright, kid, you’ve got fifteen more minutes and then we gotta leave.”

“Really?” Keiji pouts. “Do we have to?”

“You can’t stay at the park forever, your mom would kill me.”

Keiji is still pouting, kicking at the grass.

“Do you want me to push you on the swing before we go?”

"I guess," he says, voice all dejected and sad still. But his pouty demeanor is totally gone as he bounds to the swingset.

Ryuji carries the ball and the bat back to the apartment. Keiji finds a big stick at the park that he carries the whole way back, pretending it’s a wizard staff.

They send the calling card to Madarame the next day. The heist goes well, except that they find out Madarame’s an even bigger asshole than they thought. He just… let Yusuke’s mom die in front of him, man. What kind of monster does something like that?

Ryuji doesn’t know how Yusuke shows as much restraint as he does when they end up having to fight the bastard's Shadow. If someone had let Ryuji's mom die without doing anything to try and help, and Ryuji found out about it... he can't even imagine what he'd do. He'd certainly not be as composed as Yusuke is; nor would he be as restrained.

It’s the day after they steal the treasure, and Ryuji is hanging out by the stairs in the school, waiting for Akira to walk by.

“Hey, dude, wait up!” he says when he spots the familiar mop of dark curls.

“Hey, Ryuji,” he says, standing and waiting while Ryuji runs up to him. When they’re together, they both begin walking.

“I got some money to give you. To help out with medicine and shit.”

Akira blinks at him from behind his glasses, sharp grey eyes neutral and unreadable.

“I thought I told you not to worry about that, man.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I babysat for a lady in my building and she paid me. I already gave some to my mom, so…”

“Seriously, keep it. Go buy yourself a new game or something.”

Urgh. Akira’s unwavering attitude is typically not a problem for Ryuji - in fact, he admires it. Akira’s a guy who makes up his mind and sticks with that decision; doesn’t back down.

Times like now, though, it just makes him kind of stubborn.

“Whatever, dude,” Ryuji relents. At least he tried. “You free today?”

“Yeah, I’m free. What’s up?”

“Nothing’s up. Why’s somethin’ gotta be up for me to wanna hang out?”

“I didn’t say that,” Akira says, a little smile on the corners of his mouth.

“Well, since I got money, you wanna go see a movie? There’s a new action one I’ve been wanting to see.”

“Sure. But if you say it’s your treat, I’m going home.”

They get to the theater in Shibuya with a bit of extra time before the next showing of the movie Ryuji wants to see, so they buy their tickets and then go wander about Central Street to kill time.

“I forget that you ain’t been in Tokyo very long yet,” Ryuji says, fidgeting with his ticket. “Have you even been in most of these stores yet?”

“It’s been two months,” Akira says. “That’s a while.”

“Yeah, if you’re a fly or somethin’.”

“Two months is ancient if you’re a fly, their lifespan is usually like 30 days.”

Ryuji gives him a look, brows drawn together.

“Why the hell do you just… know that?”

“Why don’t you?”

Ryuji rolls his eyes. “You’re a weird guy.”

“Ouch. You wound me,” Akira says, voice flat. “Anyway, no. I’ve been in a couple, but not all. I have a job at the convenience store, so I've definitely been there. And I’ve tried to do the eating challenge at Big Bang Burger.”

“I thought you worked at the beef bowl place?”

“I do. Never seen a guy with two jobs before?”

“Dude,” Ryuji frowns. “You’re puttin’ way too much on yourself.”

“They’re both part-time, so it’s fine.”

“If you say so, man. Have you been to the arcade?”

“Not yet.”

“Dude! We should go sometime! I bet you can’t beat my high scores.”

“Why’re you always trying to make bets with me, Ryuji? Are you that desperate to lose?”

“Hey, not cool!” Ryuji shoves Akira’s shoulder.

Akira laughs; the corners of his eyes crinkle, the sound of his laughter is a song on the early-summer breeze, his glasses catch the sunlight.

“Hey, why do you need glasses in the real world, but not in the Metaverse?” Ryuji asks, just because the thought came into his head.

Akira turns to look at him, a smile still dancing at the edges of his expression.

“Funny story, I don’t need glasses at all,” he says, and he takes his big, nerdy glasses off. “These are fake.” 

“Huh? What the hell’s the point in that?”

“Makes me look… less threatening, I guess?”

“You don’t look threatenin' anyway.”

“Ask the people at school if they think I’m threatening, and then get back to me.”

Oh, yeah. It’s easy to forget that not everyone knows Akira like Ryuji does. Not everyone has seen him put his own safety on the line to stop Kamoshida. Not everyone has seen him place ginger in his beef bowl like it’s a delicate art. Not everyone has seen the way his eyes sparkle when he smiles.

It kind of pisses Ryuji off, to be honest. Ryuji knows Akira could be dangerous, with the powers he has in the Metaverse. But even knowing that, he couldn’t ever feel threatened by him. He’s just too… nice.

Ryuji takes the glasses from Akira; their fingers brush as he does.

“Do they suit me?” he asks, putting them on. Damn, the lenses really are fake - they don’t distort or blur his vision like he expected; they’re just glass with no prescription.

“I don’t know, I can’t see,” Akira deadpans.

“Whatever, you liar!”

"They look good on you."

Ryuji really doubts that, but something about the words makes his stomach feel all fluttery and weird.

Come to think of it, Ryuji’s seen Akira without his glasses, since he doesn’t wear them in the Metaverse. But there he usually has a mask on, so Ryuji hasn’t seen his face completely bare like this very often. He never noticed how long his eyelashes were. They’re long and pretty, and curl just-so. Like a pretty girl’s eyelashes or something.

Ryuji fidgets with the movie ticket in his hand, taking the glasses off and passing them back to Akira. His heartbeat picks up, like he’s just gone on a jog; he chews on the inside of his cheek, not looking at Akira as Akira puts his glasses back on.

“I think it’s about time for the movie, we should go back to the theater,” Akira says, immune to whatever weird feeling has gripped Ryuji. “I hope the concession line isn’t too long.”

They share a large popcorn that Ryuji buys. He doesn’t say it’s his treat because he thinks Akira really will go home if he does, but he feels secretly smug about getting Akira to let him spend some of his money on him. Akira’s sunk so much into buying Ryuji gear for the Metaverse and he’s paid for them to get food multiple times, so Ryuji feels good about being able to pay some of that back.

The movie is good. Ryuji’s not picky, though - put any sort of action flick on, with plenty of gunfights and explosions and badass heroes, and he’s pretty much set. Throwing in a hot actress to be the love interest for the cool main guy is just a bonus, though Ryuji finds he’s not as interested in the leading lady this time. Which is a bit odd, because Ryuji’s not any more picky about girls than he is about movies, and he’s pretty sure he’s seen that actress before and thought she was hot then. He just keeps thinking she'd be prettier with shorter, curlier hair and glasses.

A couple of times he reaches into the popcorn bucket and his hand bumps Akira’s. It’s not weird or anything - they’re sharing the popcorn, of course they’re both going to be reaching into it, and it’s not like he’s offended by Akira touching him. Despite that, he always pulls his hand away quickly.

He doesn’t know why; it’s just his gut reaction.

They go to get ramen after the movie, chatting about the film’s plot and actors and which scene made the best use of gratuitous explosions.

“I saw the track team again the other day,” Ryuji says as they wait for their food.

“Were they giving you a hard time again? I can talk to them if you want.”

“That sounds like you’re offering to beat them up, dude.”

“Maybe. Do you want me to?”

“Hell no!” Ryuji laughs. He absolutely does not want Akira to beat the track team up - he doesn’t want to resolve shit with violence anyway, but he also does not want Akira to get freakin’ expelled.

“Alright, don’t say I never offered.”

“They weren’t givin’ me a hard time. I didn’t talk to them, I just saw ‘em around.”

Akira just makes a noncommittal hum in response, folding his straw wrapper up into a little accordion shape.

“It seems like Nakaoka ain’t gettin’ along with the rest of the guys.”

“Are you worried about him?”

“Well… yeah, I guess.”

Akira looks up from his straw-wrapper accordion, leveling an even, albeit slightly quizzical, look at Ryuji.

“They’ve been terrible to you, though, right? I heard how they talked to you.”

Now it’s Ryuji’s turn to look away; he picks at a jagged, indented scuff on the countertop.

“I know. But they were right before. The whole team was puttin’ up with Kamoshida, and I effed it all up for everyone. They ain’t got a club room, and they can’t use the school equipment, so they just run laps around the block and store their stuff behind the gym. I should know better than anyone that there ain’t a place for outcasts like that. And… I don’t want ‘em ending up like me.”

Akira’s still looking at him, expression impressively neutral. Man, he’s got a good poker face.

“But you’re doing great,” he says, and although Ryuji thinks that he really does mean it, it still feels like a lie to placate him. “Besides, I don’t think they were right before. What happened to the team wasn’t your fault, man.”

Ryuji frowns down at his hands, digging his blunt fingernail into the chipped surface he’s still picking at on the countertop.

“Thanks, dude,” he says, because although he doesn’t believe it, it was nice of Akira to try, anyway. It’s the thought that counts, right?

“Even if you blame yourself for what happened to the team before, whatever happens to them now is their own doing. You can’t blame yourself for every bad thing that happens to them, you know. At some point it’s their own actions.”

He’s got a point - shit they do of their own free will isn’t Ryuji’s fault. But also, if things go sideways for them because they’re total outcasts now, and they’re outcasts because Ryuji screwed up the team, then he is still kind of to blame for it, isn’t he?

By now their ramen has arrived, so Ryuji lets the conversation go in favor of eating. Talking about such a downer topic would ruin the ramen experience, anyway.

Akira’s a smart guy. He’s someone who’s opinions Ryuji has a lot of respect for. Hell, he’s Ryuji’s closest friend. So it’s not that Ryuji takes what he said lightly, or ignores it.

But he still doesn’t agree. The path the track team is on right now is Ryuji’s fault, and he has some responsibility to try and correct that path, doesn’t he?

And even if he doesn’t have any obligation, he feels compelled to try, anyway. The guys on the team were once his teammates. His friends . People he cared a lot about. Maybe he’s just a sentimental baby, but caring about someone doesn’t just vanish. They hate him now and treat him like crap, but he still cares enough that he doesn’t want bad things to happen to them.

Especially not when the whole mess is his fault, so he deserves all the shit they give him, anyway.

Chapter Text

“Ah, geez, that’s spicy!”

Akira laughs. “Dude, the vendor said it was. What, you didn’t believe him?”

“C’mon, man, don’t kick me while I’m down.”

“Do you want to trade? Mine is just a regular bun.”

“Nah, I don’t mind spicy stuff, I was just surprised. I do wanna try the plain flavor, though. How about we split them in half and share?”

“Sure, I’m curious about the pepper one, anyway.” Akira tears his nikuman in half - it’s not a clean, even tear, and some of the pork filling falls out and onto the ground.

Ryuji tears his own in half, keeping the half he’s bitten off of for himself and passing the other piece to Akira. He takes half of Akira’s in return.

“So have you ever played darts?” Akira asks, munching on one of his nikuman halves as they walk.

“Uh… no. I had to look up the rules online last night.”

“I’ve never played, either. We’re gonna embarrass ourselves, aren’t we?”

“You don’t know that. I’m pretty good at those shooting games in the arcade, how different can this be?”

“Pretty different,” Morgana says, poking his little cat nose out of Akira’s bag. “In fact, I don’t think those are really comparable at all.”

“Oh, whatever. Like you would know. Cats can’t even play darts. Or video games, for that matter.”

“I am not a cat! How many times do I have to tell you that, Ryuji?”

“Gentlemen, please, no bickering,” Akira says. “Here, Mona, you want some pork?”

“We ain’t bickering,” Ryuji frowns.

“Really? It’s not the peppery kind, is it?” Morgana says at the same time, ears perking up.

There’s a lot of shops in Kichijoji, most of which Ryuji really has no business in. That does not prevent him and Akira (and Mona, by virtue of him tagging along in Akira’s bag) from going inside and perusing the shelves.

There’s a store chock-full of fancy papers and expensive pens which makes Ryuji think of Yusuke - how’s he holding up since Madarame’s confession this morning? Maybe Ryuji should invite him to hangout sometime, he could probably use a pick-me-up. It’s good that Madarame’s confessed to everything, but he was a father figure to Yusuke. Surely, while a relief, it’s also kind of painful, right?

There are also lots of bars and clubs tucked away in the alleyways. They don’t go inside any of them, for obvious reasons, but just seeing them is enough to leave a bad taste in Ryuji’s mouth. Even if he was of drinking age, he doesn’t think he ever would do it.

What if drinking makes him into a miniature version of his dad? He’s already not that far off, anyways.

There’s a weird second-hand clothes store offering to buy the crappy, dirty clothes they find in the Metaverse sometimes. Ryuji’s not sure what that’s about, but the guy running the joint spends quite a while talking with Akira about the sooty clothes while Ryuji hovers nearby, looking at the racks of clothes around them.

“That guy really bought all that crap off you?” Ryuji says when the shop owner is out of earshot.

“Yeah, he gave me store credit for it all.”

“What the hell does he want with all that grimey, weird shit?”

Akira shrugs, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear in a motion that Ryuji usually thinks is cute when a girl does it. It's kind of cute when Akira does it, too.

That's... weird.

“Don’t know, don’t care. I wasn’t using it, anyways,” Akira says.

“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure chest, or whatever, I guess.”

“Another man’s treasure . Not ‘treasure chest.’”

“Close enough. What’re you gonna buy with all your shiny new store credits?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t looked around yet. Is there anything cool?”

Ryuji looks at Akira in his jeans and smart, dark blazer.

“Yeah, for some reason, I don’t think we agree on what ‘cool’ means, dude.”

Akira laughs; the sound makes Ryuji smile automatically, like some kind of pavlova response - that’s the guy who trained those dogs, right? Pavlova?

“I know, you give me so much flak for my thief costume it’s ridiculous.”

“I have the coolest costume -”

“Definitely not biased.”

“- but I guess yours is better than Ann or Yusuke’s. At least yours ain’t got a tail.”

Akira glances at Ryuji from the corner of his eye, just for a moment before he turns his attention to rifling through the clothes for sale.

“You don’t think I could pull off the whole red latex catsuit thing that Ann’s got going on?”

It’s a joke - one of those ironic, deadpan jokes that Akira’s so fond of. He says stupid shit with a serious, sincere tone all the damn time. Haha, isn’t that ridiculous, the idea of him prancing around the Metaverse in a feminine, red catsuit. It looks sexy on Ann, but on Akira’s taller, broader, more masculine form, wouldn’t it look out of place? The low-cut neckline framing Akira’s flat chest, the latex hanging skin-tight on the planes and angles of Akira’s body rather than the curves of Ann’s form…

Ryuji’s stomach does a nauseous somersault.

Somehow, he doesn’t find it very funny.

But that’s a weird thing to get hung up on, and he doesn’t get why the joke doesn’t land with him, anyway. So he puts it out of his mind.

They meander through the streets of Kichijoji, eating their nikuman and browsing whatever random shops catch their eye. Their shoulders bump as they walk. All of the little detours means that it takes them way longer than necessary to reach the darts lounge, but it’s not like they’re on a strict timetable or anything, so it doesn’t matter.

They get in to the darts lounge for free, thanks to the vouchers Ryuji has - that’s the whole reason he invited Akira out today, actually

Akira’s pretty good at darts, actually, though Ryuji’s no slouch either. Their first couple of throws are far from impressive - Akira doesn’t throw hard enough and his dart doesn’t even make it onto the board, while Ryuji throws too hard and too fast, and his dart takes a weird arc because he flicked his wrist too much. But after they’ve thrown a few times and have a feel for things, it goes a lot better.

“You’re better at this than I thought,” Mona says. He’s still inside Akira’s bag, which is sitting on a chair nearby.

“I told you, I got good aim. And you doubted me.”

“I still don’t think this is comparable to shooting a gun in a video game, but I have to admit, you are pretty good.”

“Ain’t just me. Akira’s good, too,” Ryuji says, watching as Akira lines up his next throw. Of course he’s good at darts. He’s good at freakin’ everything.

“Are you talking about me back there?” Akira says, without breaking his laser-guided focus on the dartboard.

“Yeah.”

“Better be saying something good or I’m benching you next time we go into a palace.” He throws his dart with one smooth motion, hand and arm perfectly level. The dart sails, steady and even, through the air and sticks firmly into the triple twenty spot.

“Dude, you wouldn’t - woah, triple twenty? Damn!”

Akira’s smiling as he turns around and steps away from the dartboard, allowing room for Ryuji to step up. His smile is so... it's so....

It's so what? Ryuji doesn't know; he just knows that seeing it makes his palms sweat just a bit.

“No, I wouldn’t,” he says. “You’re my right-hand man, after all.”

“You know it,” Ryuji grins, twisting his dart around idly in his hands.

From Akira’s bag, Morgana groans.

“I’m sorry, is our friendship bothering you?” Akira jokes, reaching over to ruffle Morgana’s fur.

“Hey, watch it! You’re gonna mess up my fur!”

Ryuji looks at the dartboard. Akira’s last throw put them pretty close to zero - he only has to clear eleven points for them to win. That’s easy. Single eleven is a big space on the board.

Despite how easy the task is, there’s a surprising amount of pressure. If he screws this up, he’s gonna look stupid as hell. And worse, he’s gonna let Akira down and lose them the freakin’ game.

“You got this,” Akira says from behind him. “Do you want me to start cheering for you? Whooo, go Ryuji.”

Ryuji’s face goes all warm. “Man, be quiet,”

Ryuji throws the dart, holding his breath as the dart sails through the air and sticks itself into the board.

Single eleven.

“Dude!” Ryuji cheers. “We killed it! Ain’t we badass?” He turns to Akira, raising his hand for a high-five.

“Hey, good job!” Akira grins. He raises his own hand to receive the high-five Ryuji offers.

When their hands meet in the high-five, Ryuji is taken by the warmth of Akira’s skin. The contact is brief, but it makes Ryuji’s ears go warm.

A few days later finds them standing with Yusuke in Shibuya, debating where Yusuke is going to stay. With Madarame’s confession, the artist's shack is out of the question.

It’s actually Morgana who suggests he stay with Akira. It’s not like they have a better solution - Ann’s already said no way, and Ryuji’s place is too small. So the decision is pretty much made for him.

Ryuji’s never seen the place Akira’s been living. He knew it was a cafe - which explains the smell of coffee that follows Akira everywhere he goes. But he’s never been there before.

Standing inside it now, it’s not what he was expecting. Not that he had a ton of expectations, anyway, but somehow this still doesn’t quite meet them. It’s a bit… old fashioned. The furniture is mostly dark wood, and the lighting is warm and yellow-y. The only person here besides their ragtag group is an older guy behind the counter. He must be the guy who owns the place. Akira and Mona have talked about him before. Ryuji wracks his brain for the name they’d used.

Ann is the first of their group to speak up, introducing them all as Akira’s friends. Sojiro - Ryuji remembers now - seems nice enough; he offers them all a drink on the house as long as Akira helps prepare it.

So Ryuji, Ann and Yusuke all take a seat at the counter while Akira goes behind the counter with Sojiro. Standing directly across the counter from where Ryuji sits, Akira rolls up his sleeves and then gets to work helping prepare the coffee. Ryuji watches the motion when he rolls up his sleeves and the sureness of his hands as he works. He’s sitting right across from Akira, so it’s hard to not notice.

He chances a glance to his right, where Ann sits. She’s sitting right next to him. Which means she’s pretty close to where Akira is working, and she doesn’t seem to be noticing the deftness of his hands or the small movement of the muscles in his forearms. No, she’s chatting with Yusuke and Sojiro, not even looking in Akira’s direction.

Weird. So it’s just Ryuji, then?

Ryuji looks down at his own hands on the countertop.

“You got anything besides coffee?” Ryuji asks, swinging his legs idly.

“Not a coffee drinker?” Sojiro says, not looking up from where he’s working.

“We’ve got some sodas in the refrigerator, hold on,” Akira says, stepping away from the counter and into the small kitchen nearby. There’s a beat-up old blue fridge there, which he opens and shuffles around in for a second. When he comes back over, he’s got a bottle of bright yellow soda - it’s the same color as Ryuji’s gloves in the Metaverse. He sits it on the counter in front of Ryuji.

Ann sighs. “You’re so immature.”

“Huh? Because I don’t like coffee?” Ryuji twists the cap off the bottle and then spins the cap on the countertop, the same way people spin coins on their side.

“I wasn’t a coffee drinker at your age, either,” Sojiro says, and while his voice isn’t necessarily fond, it is… warm?  Like an uncle who likes having the kids around but won’t admit it, or a teacher you’ve made proud but who won’t show it.

They finish their drinks and then Sojiro shoos them up to the attic that Akira’s been using as a bedroom for the last few months. This is also not what Ryuji was expecting - it’s drafty, and sparsely decorated. There’s a wilting plant in one corner, a work desk, and a lumpy mattress. A table on one side of the room is home to an ancient crt television and an equally ancient dvd player.

“Oh, it’s cleaner than I expected,” Ann says, standing in the middle of the room.

Ryuji and Akira both respond at the same time.

“That’s your take away?” Ryuji asks, with an incredulous tone in his voice.

“What? Did you think I was a slob?” Akira says.

Ann doesn’t dignify either of them with an answer.

They decide to have hot pot together to celebrate both a successful heist and Yusuke joining the team. In pursuit of their hot pot goals, everyone but Akira goes out to buy ingredients while Akira’s left in charge of finding them a pot to cook in.

There’s a little grocery store here in Yongen, so they don’t have to go far.

“How’s Shiho doing?” Ryuji asks as they make the walk to the store. It’s less than a block from Leblanc, and the weather is warm and pleasant, so the walk to the store is sort of nice, actually.

“She’s doing okay,” Ann says, twirling the ends of one of her pigtails. “She told me that when she’s ready to come back to school, she’s going to transfer somewhere other than Shujin.”

“Oh,” Ryuji says as they come to the little grocery store. “That sucks.”

“It does, but I can’t blame her. After everything that happened, I wouldn’t want to come back to Shujin, either.”

That’s a sentiment Ryuji can appreciate. He’s had his own share of ‘shit that makes him not want to go to Shujin Academy anymore.’

“I guess,” he says. “But won’t you be lonely?”

Ann is inspecting the display of vegetables, picking random ones up and turning them over in her hands.

“Yeah,” she says. “But I’d rather be lonely than see Shiho be hurt, you know?”

“How very selfless of you,” Yusuke says. “Truly, we would all be so lucky to have a friend like you.”

“Oh, huh? No, it’s nothing like that. I just want Shiho to be happy, and it’s not like I have no friends at Shujin. I have you guys, and some of the girls in my class have started being nicer to me since Kamoshida confessed, so…”

Ann’s eyes are downcast, focused on the bushel of carrots in her hands. She’s frowning.

“Well, it ain’t like you’re never gonna see her again, right?” Ryuji offers. “You guys still live in the same city.”

“That’s true.”

“If you’re lonely at school, you know you can always hang out with me.”

“I know. Thanks, Ryuji,” Ann looks up and smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

Ryuji doesn’t know what else to say - he can’t change the situation. All he can do is offer to hang out with Ann. He’s done all he can, really, so he lets the topic go.

“Enough with the veggies,” he says instead. “What kind of meat do you guys want to get?”

“Oh, and don’t forget the porridge!”

Ann sighs, putting the carrots into their little shopping basket. “You’re both hopeless. Here, Ryuji, carry our basket.”

“Why’s it gotta be me?” he groans, but he takes the little handheld basket when Ann offers it to him.

Shopping with Yusuke is… an experience. He’s so excitable about food; he keeps getting distracted and insisting upon ingredients that nobody else wants - seriously, he wants udon and porridge? Isn’t one of them enough? They only have so much money to work with here.

Ann suggests they get some fish for Mona, but none of them know which kind he would prefer. Does he have a preference? He’s a cat, how picky could he be about it? 

When they’re done with their shopping, they make the short walk back to Leblanc. The bell above the door chimes, cheerful and clear in the quiet cafe.

“Having hot pot, huh?” Sojiro says when they enter. “Have fun.”

Akira’s already got everything set up in the attic - he’s pulled the portable stove down from the shelf where Ann had spotted it earlier, and has an old earthenware pot placed atop it. Steam is rising from the pot; a delicious smell fills the attic.

“We’re back!” Ryuji says, arms full of brown paper grocery bags. He places them on the table near their portable stove.

“I started the broth while you were gone,” Akira says. “It’s not ready yet, though.”

Ann starts rifling through their grocery bags. “That’s okay, we have to slice all the ingredients, anyway. Do you think Sojiro would let us borrow a knife and a cutting board?”

“Probably. Let me go ask,” Akira says, and then he heads downstairs.

He returns with two cutting boards and two sharp knives. He gives one of the boards and knives to Ann, and keeps the other for himself.

Ann and Akira starts slicing all their ingredients into thin slices. Ann does the veggies and Akira cuts the meat.

“Oh, is that fish?” Mona says, peeking over the edge of the table. “What kind did you get?”

“Uh…” Ryuji searches for the label on the packaging. “Tilapia.”

“Hm. Wouldn’t be my first choice, but it’ll do.”

They make idle chit chat while they prepare their meal - or, rather, while Ann and Akira prepare their meal, and the remaining members of the group sit around and talk.

Ryuji watches Akira slicing the beef for their hot pot. His hands are sure and steady, his motions practiced and confident.

This is the second time today Ryuji’s found himself watching the deft, smooth movements of Akira’s hands. Weird.

“Do you cook a lot?” he asks.

“Me?” Akira looks up from his cutting board for just a second. “I guess. Sojiro’s been teaching me to make curry, and he’s been having me help in the cafe, so I do a lot of chopping ingredients.”

“Oh, there’s curry here, too?” Ann asks, piling up her sliced veggies to make room on her cutting board for another carrot. “Is it good? The coffee was delicious, so I’m curious.”

“It’s excellent!” Morgana says. “But I’m never allowed to eat very much…”

Ryuji looks at him. “You’re a cat. What kind of a cat eats curry, anyway?”

“Depending on the spices used, it may not be safe for a cat to consume,” Yusuke says. “Akira, have you considered painting the walls in this room? It is rather dreary.”

“If Morgana’s not really a cat, is he able to eat stuff that normal cats can’t?” Ann asks. “Like, isn’t garlic toxic to cats? Could Morgana have garlic?”

Ryuji shrugs. “Could always give him some and find out.”

“Are you trying to poison me, Ryuji? I’ll just avoid garlic, it’s fine.”

“No poisoning Morgana,” Akira says.

“I ain’t gonna poison him. I wasn’t bein’ serious.”

The meal goes well. Morgana eats the fish raw, while everyone else eats their hot pot as intended. It’s nice to have a meal with everyone; to relax and make jokes with them.

Across from him, Akira’s glasses fog up from the steam coming off the pot. The lighting in the attic is warm, and it lays across the shape of his jawline and the curve of his mouth when he laughs. Ryuji’s eyes trace the places the light drapes itself across the planes of Akira’s face, the action done idly; automatically.

It feels like it’s been an eternity since Ryuji had people he could hang out with like this; people to sit around and laugh with.

The phantom thievery is difficult and dangerous; every time they enter the Metaverse they’re putting themselves at risk. It’s worth it if it means they can help someone.

But having a group of friends like this would be worth it all on its own.

After they eat, Ann lays down on the worn, peeling sofa and falls asleep. That doesn’t seem all that weird to Ryuji. There’s been so much happening lately with the Palaces, so finally having a moment to decompress is a recipe for sleepiness. Add on to that being full of good food, and, yeah. Ryuji’s feeling a little drowsy himself.

“How do you know Ann? Yusuke asks, voice quiet so as not to disturb their sleeping friend.

“We went to the same middle school. We ended up in different classes in high school, though, and stopped talking.”

“Oh, so you two were friends back then?”

“I guess you could call it that. It’s not like we were best friends or anything. Back then, people treated her the same way they do now - I don’t think she had a lot of friends. All the other girls hated her ‘cause of her looks.”

“Oh,” Yusuke says. “And you two?”

“Huh? What about us?”

“Well, you know every detail of my life now, do you not? It’s only fair if you share your past with me.”

Hell. He’s got a point. The palace and Madarame’s Shadow clued them in on all sorts of gorey details about Yusuke’s life.

“Not like there’s much to tell, but if you wanna know, I’ll tell you. My dad left when I was a kid, so it’s just me and my mom. I was tryin’ to get a track scholarship so I could make things easier on her, but… you know how that worked out. Guess I’m a pretty bad son, huh?

When the track team blew up, my mom got called to the school about me raisin’ a hand against a teacher. The teachers kept houndin’ her about it, giving her all kinds of shit, and she just stayed quiet through the whole thing.” Remembering it makes Ryuji’s hands tremble, it makes his throat tight. Even now, over a year later, he can still picture the look on her face in that meeting. “On the way home, she apologized to me . For bein’ a single mom. As if she had any reason to be sorry. I’m the one who’s always causin’ her trouble…”

“I see,” Yusuke says, gaze on the tabletop and not on Ryuji.

Ryuji feels weird and squirmy. His sob story is really not that bad. He doesn’t know how to feel when someone’s sitting across the table, showing sadness on his behalf.

“Well, nobody’s got it worse than Akira,” he says, because he can’t sit here and stew in this weird little pity party he doesn’t deserve.

Yusuke and Morgana both turn to look at Akira.

“Oh,” he says. “I guess I haven’t told anyone except Ryuji, huh?”

“Please, do share,” Yusuke says.

“Back in my hometown, I was coming home from school late one day and I heard an argument. When I got closer, I could tell it was a man trying to force a woman into his car. I knew what it meant; I knew what he wanted.” On the tabletop, Akira’s hands ball into fist. The warm lighting of the attic drapes itself across the furrowed, angry slope of his brow and the downturned shape of his frown. “I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing, so I intervened. I didn’t do anything, really. I just spoke to the guy But he must’ve been drunk, because he tripped over his own feet and fell. I guess someone else heard the commotion and called the cops, and when they showed up, the guy claimed I attacked him. The lady took his side, so I got arrested.”

“She didn’t defend you?” Morgana says. “How terrible!”

“No, but… she tried to defend me. The dude threatened her. I think he was blackmailing her or something. Either way, in the end I got slapped with an assault charge and shipped off to Tokyo.”

Ryuji grits his teeth, squeezing his hands into tight fists.

“It pisses me off just hearin’ about it.”

Akira laughs, a tiny, half-hearted sound. “You’ve heard it all before, though.”

“Pisses me off just as much a second time. This world’s full of rotten adults who’re allowed to do whatever they want while those weaker than them are left to fight for themselves. It’s so effed up!”

“But we can fix it, can we not?” Yusuke says, brows furrowed, expression stern. “Nobody need know; we can make them come to their senses.”

He’s right. Ryuji’s not the powerless kid he was back when he was suffering Kamoshida’s abuse. None of them are the same powerless kids they used to be. If anyone can do something about all the shitty adults in the world, it’s them.

On the sofa, Ann’s eyes crack open.

“Oh, sorry, did we wake you up?”

“No, I’ve been awake for a while, just listening to you guys. It’s funny, as I was listening to you, I got this feeling… like I’ve known you all for a long time. It’s so strange. I can’t put it into words.”

Well, she has known Ryuji for a long time. Somehow, though, he doesn’t think that’s exactly what she’s getting at. In fact, he kind of gets where she’s coming from. When he looks around their table at the faces of all his friends, he feels the same way. Like they’ve been his friends for ages; like they’ve been in it together like this for years .

“Seriously, let’s take this thing as far as we can,” Ann continues. “I want to give courage to people suffering like Shiho was. This is something only we can do.”

“Right!” Ryuji agrees. “We’ll show all those shitty adults!”

The round of agreement that erupts from around the old, worn table is loud in the empty, echo-y attic. The sound makes Ryuji’s heart swell with pride and conviction. This is something only they can do. All those rotten adults out there, walking all over others for their own twisted gain… all those people, victimized and hurt by those adults. With the Phantom Thieves around, all of that will come to an end. Nobody else will have to suffer the way they all have; no more shitty adults will get away with abusing and hurting those weaker than them.

Nobody else with the power to help seems to care. So it falls on them to do it.

It’s a job Ryuji will do gladly.

Chapter Text

The wind rushes through Ryuji’s short hair and dances across his face, cool in the warm afternoon. His heart beats an insistent rhythm in his chest, in time with each heavy footfall in the grass of the Shujin courtyard. All his tense, fidgety energy is gone, left behind at the start of his sprint, like he can outrun it - and as long as he’s running, he feels like he can .

He likes running; he’d missed it before he and Akira started training together. He can work out all his frustration and anger and difficult emotions; can channel all that energy into one good run. The way the scenery blurs around him, the feeling of the wind on his face… it’s exhilarating; he loves it, it makes him want to keep running long after he’s covered the required distance for his sprint.

But of course, his body has other plans - his bad knee is hardly able to tolerate even a short sprint, let alone anything longer.

He stops when he reaches the end of the courtyard opposite to where he’d started; waiting for him here is Akira, holding his phone in one hand and using the other to shield it from the overbearing sun.

“So?” he says, catching his breath.

“No improvement,” Akira says, flipping his phone around to show Ryuji the stopwatch feature baked into the phone’s clock app. The time it displays is worse than what Ryuji’d gotten last time they timed themselves doing this same run. It’s a bitter reminder - regardless of how fun he still finds running, his body has been permanently, painfully changed since he was an active competitor. And on top of that, he's super out of practice.

It makes him scowl. He’s missed running so much, and the workouts he’s been doing with Akira have been great - fun, even.

But it's hard not to compare where he is now to where he was before the injury.

“Damn,” he says, kicking the grass. “At least your time improved - all our hard work is payin’ off for one of us.”

“Weren’t you the one who told me not to expect an improvement every time?”

“I dunno, that don’t sound like me. Too smart.”

Akira rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

It’s not clear if he means ‘don’t be so hard on yourself about your time not improving,’ or ‘don’t insult your own intelligence that way.’

“Are you doing anything after this?” Akira asks, pocketing his phone.

“No. Why?”

“Wanna come over? I bought an old game console second-hand, and Power Intuition would be more fun with a friend.”

They walk to the station together, and then stand next to each other on the packed subway. The Tokyo subway can be an unpleasant place, all smushed up against people on the train, but he doesn’t mind it so much when he’s with Akira. Being squished side-by-side with him isn’t so bad, actually.

The walk from the station to Leblanc is short. Despite no longer being squeezed into a crowded train car, they stay close together as they walk, like they’re tethered to one another. Like Ryuji’s caught in Akira’s gravitational pull and can’t escape; a moon caught in orbit around a planet.

“Brought a friend over, did you?” Sojiro says when the two of them step inside the cafe. “Well, hurry upstairs - and try not to be too loud, I’m still open for business.”

“Thanks for lettin’ me hang out, Boss,” Ryuji says over his shoulder.

“We’ll be quiet,” Akira says, herding Ryuji toward the stairs at the back of the store.

The attic looks much the same as it did when Ryuji was here the first time. The wilting plant in the corner looks livelier, though; a more green color to its leaves.

“Are you actually takin’ care of that thing?” he asks, tossing his school bag carelessly onto Akira’s bed.

“‘That thing’ is named Herb, and yes, I’m taking care of it. Or, at least, I’m trying.”

“You named it? Dude.”

“You come into Herb’s home and disrespect it like this? Really?”

“Whatever, let’s see this game console of yours.”

Akira shakes his head. “At least take a girl to dinner before you ask to see her game console , Ryuji.”

“You know what, man, nevermind. I’m goin’ home.”

“No, look. There she is.” Akira points to the table that holds his old television. “Ain’t she a beauty?”

‘She’ is probably older than Ryuji, and looks every year of her age. The console is a dark, blocky, scuffed shape on the tabletop.

“Dude, that thing’s ancient!”

“But it works, and it came with two controllers.”

Well, Ryuji’s not the type to turn his nose up at a video game. Even if that game is old as hell.

He sits down cross-legged on the faded, worn floor of the attic and watches as Akira tinkers with the game console.

“Sorry, it’s a little bit finicky - ah ha! There we go.”

The old crt television flickers to life, displaying a static-y title screen for Power Intuition.

When he’s done plugging in the controllers and whatnot, Akira turns to Ryuji.

“Want a drink?”

“Uh, sure? I don’t like coffee, though, so not that.”

“I know,” Akira passes one of the controllers to Ryuji. “I’ll be back in a second.”

He heads downstairs, leaving Ryuji alone in the attic.

Ryuji busies himself looking around the room. It’s hard to imagine this place being a comfortable bedroom. It doesn’t even have a door, and there’s so much clutter on the shelves that definitely isn’t Akira’s.

Despite that, there are signs of it being lived in; little hints of home amongst the drafty windows and peeling paint. A Jack Frost doll perched atop the work desk, Herb the houseplant growing greener, a collection of trinkets on the big shelf that stands against the wall, glow-in-the-dark stars stuck along the ceiling beams.

“One drink for Ryuji,” Akira says, peeking his head into the attic before coming all the way up the stairs. In his hand he carries a bottle of soda, damp with condensation.

“Thanks, man.”

“No problem. I’ve been making sure to keep some on hand in case you come by.”

That’s…

“Dude, you’re so nice.”

Akira joins Ryuji cross-legged on the floor, sitting close enough that their knees touch. “Eh, don’t get all soft about a soda.”

Ryuji  presses the start button, and the screen transitions to the character selection menu.

“Are you good as any of these characters?” he asks, flipping his cursor over each character one by one.

“No,” Akira says, clicking the ‘random’ button in the middle of the character roster and immediately locking in whatever random guy it gives him.

Ryuji chooses a character he thinks looks cool - a wiry, agile guy, clad in all black and wielding a large ceremonial dagger.

They play a couple rounds, laughing and goading one another. Both of their strategies are ‘button mash and hope for the best,’ but Ryuji comes out on top more often than not. Akira changes characters to a different random guy after every match, and after a while, Ryuji adopts the same habit. It’s not like he’s good as any of the characters, anyways.

“My mom asked me the other day when she was gonna get to meet you,” Ryuji says as they end a battle and the results splash on screen for a moment before it cycles back to the character selection menu.

“You tell your mom about me?”

“She wanted to know why I seemed so happy lately, so…”

“You’re happier lately because of me? And you tell your mom about me?”

“Urgh - don't make it weird, man! Of course I’m happier lately, you’re the first friend I’ve had in forever.”

Akira’s quiet for a minute, his in-game cursor bobbing back and forth across the character select screen.

“I haven’t talked to my parents since I got to Tokyo,” he says after a prolonged silence.

“Really? They haven’t called or anything? That’s shitty.”

Akira fidgets with the cord on his game controller. “I guess.”

“Are you and your parents not cool?”

“I don’t know.”

Ryuji looks at him. His brows are drawn together and he’s frowning, looking straight ahead at the old crt television screen like it kicked his puppy.

“You don’t gotta tell me, but if you wanna talk, I’m all ears.”

Akira shrugs. “It’s complicated. They’re not bad people, but I don’t know if they were cut out to be parents. They work a lot, and when they’re home, they may as well not be for all the difference it makes. I guess I’d say they’re… cold? Distant? I mean, they shipped me off to a different city just for causing them trouble, and haven’t tried to contact me since. That should tell you what they’re like.”

“What I wouldn’t have done for my dad to be so hands-off,” Ryuji sighs, but as soon as he’s said it he realizes that’s one of those things you think but don’t say . “Er - sorry, man, that’s… I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s fine,” Akira looks over at him. “My parents aren’t abusive or anything, so maybe I shouldn’t complain.”

“That’s not what I was sayin’ at all.”

Ryuji thinks about his parents. About his dad. The guy was a raging asshole, so in theory it sounds great if he’d been so distant and barely involved with Ryuji’s life.

 But the more he thinks about it, the less sure he feels about that. Coming home from school each day to parents who don’t seem to care that you exist, feeling like an afterthought all the time… it’s not being hit, but it doesn’t sound like a good time, either.

“Like I said, they’re not bad people. But I don’t get the feeling that they want me around, either. And I don't think the assault charge helped that any.”

It’s quiet, just the bitcrushed menu music of the video game filling the stale attic air.

“Well, who needs ‘em, anyway,” Ryuji says, louder than necessary. “Now you’ve got a whole squad of people who do want you around.”

It’s true. He’s got the Phantom Thieves, and he seems on decent terms with Sojiro, and he’s always talking about random people around the city he’s befriended. The guy’s popular here in Tokyo. The list of ‘people who like having him around’ seems to be ever growing - and Ryuji’s at the very top of the list.

“You’re right,” Akira says, “Who needs ‘em.” A smile breaks through his gloomy expression; to Ryuji, it seems the whole room is lighter for it.

“Right!” He nudges Akira’s shoulder, a bit harder than he intended.

Akira falls over, catching himself with his hand on the worn wooden floorboards. He’s laughing; the sound makes Ryuji’s chest feel all fluttery and weird.

Ryuji’s no stranger to the feeling that the people around you all think you’re a nuisance who they wish would disappear. That’s how everyone at Shujin has been treating him since last year.

Yeah , he thinks. Shitty parents and rotten adults and everyone who acts like the two of them would be better off just disappearing… who needs any of ‘em? Who cares what those people think?

The weight of all that shit is lighter than a feather in the humid, stuffy attic; in the warmth of Akira’s presence and the echo of his laughter.

A few days (and lots of stress) later, and they’re zeroing in on their next target. The blackmail from Niijima sucks and none of them are happy to have their target chosen for them, but the guy’s extorting high school kids, so he’s definitely a guy who’s heart is worth changing. Plus, he’s someone even the cops have had trouble with, so if the Phantom Thieves get to him, that’ll really put their name out there. So, while not ideal, it’s not the worst, either.

And okay. Maybe Ryuji is a little bit of an idiot for wearing his school uniform to the red-light district. He’s man enough to admit that.

Unfortunately, admitting that it was a blockheaded thing to do does not change the fact that he’s here, in Shinjuku, in his Shujin uniform.

So Akira’s off in that bar getting valuable info about their next target, and Ryuji is… wandering aimlessly through the streets and hoping that the cop from earlier doesn’t spot him again.

Good one, man. Really bringing a lot to the investigation.

He peers in the window of a bookstore. Do they sell that kind of manga here? …Not that he’s trying to buy any! And not that they’d sell it to him, anyways.

Geez, what would his mom think if she knew he was wandering the streets of the red-light district, alone, at this time on a school night…?

Honestly, he hasn’t even seen anything particularly scandalous. Some bars and clubs, a movie theater, a bookstore he’s not bold enough to go inside of. It’s kind of been a bore. Not helping this is the fact that he didn’t get to go on super important Phantom Thief business inside that bar. Akira’s probably learning all sorts of juicy details about their target and Ryuji’s stuck out here, not privy to any of it.

Lame .

He’s still looking in the window of the bookstore, wondering just what kinds of stuff they sell in there, when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

Akira: Almost done here, be out soon. Got some good info.

Ryuji: I’ll wait for you by the theater.

Meetup spot decided upon, Ryuji heads in that direction. Why the hell did he even tag along tonight? Akira managed to get all the info they needed without him. All he’s done is get them in trouble with the cop earlier.

He stands near the theater and watches people come and go. It’s a bustling part of town this time of evening - lots of people going to the clubs and bars, promoters out in the street trying to draw people in to their establishment. Usually around bars and drunk people, Ryuji feels on edge. But tonight he just feels lame for missing out on the important Phantom Thief business.

What a waste of an evening. He came all this way and didn’t get to do anything helpful, or even anything relevant at all.

As he’s standing there, waiting for Akira to meet him, a voice catches his attention. At first he doesn’t think much of it - there’s a sea of people milling about, so one voice in a cacophony of voices isn’t notable. But then he catches the tail end of a sentence

“...graphic tee with plaid pants?”

Urgh. He glances around. Yeah, that sounds like what he’s wearing. Nobody else matches that description.

Uh oh. Man, if it's that cop from earlier, he's toast.

As he’s looking around, whipping his head back and forth to locate whoever’s talking about him, they make his job easy and find him first.

“Sweetie,” says the same voice he’d heard earlier. It belongs to a guy who is now standing right in front of him. He’s got on a heart-print sweater, which is a real statement, especially for someone critiquing Ryuji’s clothes. “We saw you peeking into Crossroads earlier. If you’re into the drag scene, we can show you the ropes.”

DRAG? HUH ?

Yeah, no thanks. Not interested. Hard pass. No sirree.

“Wait, it ain’t like that,” Ryuji says. That Crossroads place was a drag bar? And now these guys think he’s interested in that stuff…? Geez.

There’s a second guy present, who pipes up. “If you’re curious, we’ll help you look divine. You’d be a natural!”

“No, I mean it, you’ve got the wrong idea -”

“Hey, Ryuji. Making friends?” comes Akira’s voice from behind Ryuji. How much did he hear? Because if he heard all the drag stuff he’s going to give Ryuji so much shit about it; Ryuji’ll never hear the end of it.

“Akira, dude, tell these guys we were just meeting up with someone at that Crossroads place.” 

“No need to be shy, really,” says the guy in the heart sweater, laying a hand on Ryuji’s arm. “You’re in good hands with us.”

Ryuji takes a half a step back. What the hell? These guys are so damn persistent!

"I'm really not into that stuff, I was just -"

“Sorry to be a buzzkill,” Akira says, voice conversational but expression stern as he steps between Ryuji and the other guys. “But I’m pretty sure I heard him say he’s not interested, and we’ve got to get going, anyway.” He takes Ryuji’s hand in his own.

Standing behind him, Ryuji’s stomach does a weird flip. He swoops in like… like… like some kind of knight in shining armor and saves Ryuji from perhaps the most awkward situation of his life. He does it like it’s nothing. His hand is warm where he’s holding Ryuji’s; the pink-red glow of all neon signs reflects off his glasses and casts a neon halo around him, lighting the edges of his form in the same colors. The vibrant light lays across the breadth of his shoulders and the shape of his arm as he tugs on Ryuji’s hand, directing him toward the station.

Behind them, Ryuji can hear the dudes lamenting his exit.

“He would have been great,” one of them says. “Oh well.”

Ryuji sighs. “Thanks, dude, you saved my ass.” Ryuji’s losing count of how many times Akira’s saved his ass.

“You could've just walked away from them, you know."

"I was waitin' for you to show up," Ryuji argues. "It's not my fault they were hangin' around right where we were supposed to be meeting."

It's quiet for a few seconds, Akira leading Ryuji through the streets toward the station.

"So, drag, huh?” Akira breaks the silence, and then bursts into laughter when he glances at Ryuji’s scowling face. “I’m joking.”

“You heard all that shit?”

“Most of it.”

Ryuji's face gets warm. “There’s nothin’ wrong with that stuff, it just ain’t for me.”

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, dude. They were barking up the wrong tree, though. I might’ve said yes.”

Ryuji’s thought processes all come to a screeching halt.

“Huh? Really?”

Akira shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe. I think I could pull it off.”

Ryuji doesn’t know what to say to that. Hell, he doesn’t know what to think about that. It makes his palms sweat. So instead of thinking about it, he focuses all his attention on the feeling of Akira still holding his hand; on the way the neon lights dance across Akira’s pretty face as they walk.

AGH. WAIT. HOLD ON.

Since when did he think of Akira as pretty rather than plain?

His whole face burns like it’s on fire, all the way to the tips of his ears.

They’re still holding hands even as they approach the station, and Akira’s so pretty beneath the warm, pink-hued lighting of Shinjuku, and the neon signs all reflect in his eyes like the moon’s reflection in a pool, and he was so effortlessly cool when he saved Ryuji from that awkward as hell conversation earlier, and… and…

Ryuji feels sick; his stomach is all fluttery and his throat is tight and his heart is hammering in his chest.

God, it’s been a weird night.

They part ways at the station, as they have different trains to catch. Akira thanks Ryuji for tagging along, even though he brought absolutely nothing to their investigation.

Ryuji feels weird and fluttery the whole train ride home.

He lays in bed that night and thinks about what happened, despite his best efforts not to think about it. Every time he closes his eyes, his brain reminds him of it. You think he's pretty now? When did that happen? He held your hand so tightly, his hand was so warm. He keeps jumping in and saving your ass like it’s nothing, and he’s so cool when he does it. He probably could pull off drag - remember that joke he made about wearing Panther's catsuit? Wonder what it would look like on him.

Ryuji pulls his pillow over his face and groans into it. His brain has turned into a highlight reel of the evening's events, except it's just showing all the things that make Ryuji's heart leap into his throat.

Why does he feel so jittery about all of this? It’s just Akira. His best friend. His homie.

God, what the eff is happening to him?

Chapter Text

“See, dude, I told you that you wouldn’t be able to beat my high score!”

“Yeah, yeah, you got me,” Akira grumbles, but there’s no real edge to it. He’s smiling as he says it. “Guess I owe you extra laps next time we train.”

“Shoulda listened to me, man.”

Beside him at the arcade cabinet, Akira is suddenly quiet. Ryuji turns to face him. He’s looking at the results screen displayed on the cabinet, hands in his pockets, cool as a cucumber.

“Uh, you good, dude? You not havin’ fun?”

“No, nothing like that. I’m having fun. Just… can we talk about something real quick?” he asks.

Ryuji puts the gun-shaped controller back in its holster on the arcade cabinet. “Sure, dude. What’s up?”

“The other day, when Makoto got grabbed by Kaneshiro’s goons. You jumped in front of a moving car, man. What the hell was that?”

Ryuji’s brows furrow. Akira’s looking at him, face schooled into a neutral, unreadable expression.

“I dunno. We needed a ride to follow ‘em, and nobody was stopping.”

Akira frowns. “What if the car hadn’t stopped in time? I know you were worried about Makoto - we all were. But just because she was in danger doesn’t mean it was okay if you got hurt.”

“Geez,” Ryuji says, shoving his hands in his pockets and swinging his leg idly. “What are you, my mom?”

“No, but I am your friend and your leader. I’m being serious, Ryuji.”

“I know.” No shit, he’s bein’ serious. He’s gotta be if he’s pulling out the leader thing.

The look on Akira’s face makes Ryuji feel all squirmy in an unpleasant way - like he’s disappointed his mom or something. He can’t make eye contact, instead looking to his left at the flashing blue lights of an arcade cabinet.

“I’m not mad, if you hadn’t done that then I don’t know if we would have ever caught up to those guys. But you gotta think things through a little more.”

“Yeah, alright. I’ll be more…” What is it Akira wants from him? Careful doesn’t seem like the right word, it’s not like Ryuji was being reckless, really. “Careful?”

“Just try to have a little bit of self preservation, okay?”

“I will, man.”

He doesn’t get what Akira’s so worked up about - although it’s hard to describe his demeanor as ‘worked up,’ seeing as he’s always perfectly level-headed and calm. It’s not like Ryuji was putting himself in danger by being careless or stupid. He was trying to help Makoto. Sure, he could’ve gotten hurt, but… does that matter? The alternative was to let those guys get away with her, and like hell he’d let that happen. His options were ‘potentially get hurt’ or ‘let those scumbags get away with an innocent girl,’ and of those options, he’d much rather he get hurt. And it didn’t matter anyway, because he didn’t get hurt, so what’s the big deal?

“Sorry to be such a downer, I’m done lecturing you now,” Akira says, tone light. He nudges Ryuji’s shoulder and then turns to go deeper into the arcade. Ryuji watches his back as he goes.

Ryuji doesn’t like feeling as though he let someone down, especially not Akira. He knows Akira only brought it up because he’s worried about Ryuji. Because he cares that Ryuji stays safe. That takes a little of the sting out of the lecture, at least.

Akira cares about him.

Well. Of course. They’re friends.

Something deep inside Ryuji is unsettled by the thought.

They’re friends. It’s true. He loves being Akira’s friend - he hasn’t had an honest-to-God, genuine friend in ages, and Akira’s a better friend than he could have ever hoped for. He wouldn’t trade their friendship for the world.

So he doesn’t quite know why thinking about it makes his chest feel so tight.

He tries to put it out of his mind as he follows Akira further into the arcade. Amidst the flashing lights and cacophony of video game sound effects, it’s easy to get distracted enough to forget the thought.

He finds Akira at a claw machine, feeding it coins.

“Really? All the games here and you wanna play the claw machine?” he says, peering around Akira’s shoulder at the prizes in the machine.

“The claw machine doesn’t have high scores,” he says. “You can’t beat me at this one.”

“I could so beat you at this one. Count how many tries it takes you to win somethin’ and then I’ll go.”

Akira laughs. “I was joking, man.”

Ryuji watches how his face moves when he laughs; how the corner of his eyes crinkle and his smile changes. His heart feels like someone is squeezing it in their hands; a stress ball beneath the force of the affection he feels for Akira.

“Go to the side and help me line up the claw,” Akira says. “I’m trying to win that yellow dog.”

Ryuji does as he’s asked, moving to the side of the machine and looking through the glass there.

“Uh, move a little more back. A little more… stop! Right there, dude. Go for it.”

Akira drops the claw. It squishes into the top of the plush and slides off the soft surface without grabbing hold.

Akira nudges the claw to the left a teensy bit and tries again. This time the claw sinks beyond the top of the plushie’s head. The dog is wearing a white ribbon, tied in a bow around its neck, and one prong of the claw gets snagged on this ribbon. The plush hangs by the ribbon from the claw, all the way to the prize chute, where it is dislodged by the claw opening.

“Man, ain’t these games, like, totally rigged?”

Akira, bending down to get the plush out of the prize slot, shrugs. “Guess I’m just that good,” he says. He stands back up, turning the dog over in his hands. Then he holds it out to Ryuji, like a child showing off an art project or something. “It reminds me of you. You can have it.”

“What? Dude, I don’t want a plushie, I’m not a little kid.”

Akira frowns, sticking his bottom lip out in a stupid, exaggerated pout.

“It’s okay, Ryuji,” he says. “You don’t like my gift that I went through all the trouble of winning especially for you.”

“Oh, my God,” Ryuji sighs, snatching the dog out of Akira’s hands. “Gimme that thing.”

Akira perks back up immediately, dropping the stupid act.

“What do you wanna play next?” he asks, meandering off to another machine.

Ryuji looks at the dog plushie. It’s got velvety gold fur and the white, lacey ribbon around its neck, and big brown eyes. Looking at this damn plushie makes his cheeks feel warm. It reminds Akira of him? What does that mean?

Ugh, that’s so stupid! It’s a plush dog from the claw machine. Why’s it getting to him, just because Akira gave it to him? That’s dumb as hell!

He crams the plush into his school bag. He’ll just give it to one of the kids in his building or something, what use does he have for a plushie?

He doesn’t give it to a kid in his building. He puts it on a shelf in his room, between one of his finished model kits and the trophy he won at a track meet in middle school.

* * *

“Woah, Joker, watch out!” Ryuji lunges forward and grabs the back of Joker’s coat. The force of his tug makes Joker stop in his tracks - just before he steps into view of a security camera mounted on the wall up ahead.

“Good looking out, Skull,” Queen says. “Although, I admit I’m surprised to see cameras in a place like this. I’ve been wondering since we saw the first one yesterday, but is that… normal?”

Mona sighs. “I’m surprised Skull, of all people, noticed it. Anyway, if by ‘normal’ you mean we’ve seen it in Palaces before, no. This is a first.”

Man, even when he’s doing somethin’ helpful, that damn cat won’t let him catch a break.

“Madarame’s Palace had those lasers,” Panther says. “That’s kind of similar.”

“Lasers?” Queen asks.

“Yeah, like somethin’ out of a spy movie.”

“Everyone be quiet, I think I hear a Shadow.”

Well. Ryuji’s not in the habit of ignoring when Joker tells him to do something, and the rest of them don’t seem to be, either. The conversation dies out; silence washes over their group as Joker presses close to the wall and peeks beyond the corner.

Joker watches for a moment, and then turns back to the rest of the thieves and holds one finger up to his mouth in a ‘shh’ motion. Then he peers around the corner again, watching and waiting, like a jaguar waiting for the moment to pounce.

All at once, the scene explodes into motion. Joker springs around the corner - the last thing Ryuji sees is his hand on the corner of the wall, used for leverage as he pushes off the wall and out of everyone else's sight. From the adjoining hall, Ryuji hears a Shadow yelp.

Well, no need to hide anymore. Ryuji, Fox, and Panther all hurry around the corner to join Joker - Mona and Queen have been relegated to supportive roles today rather than the front line, so they hang back.

The shadow has already transformed from whatever shape it was in, now taking on its real form - in this case, it’s a slender, red humanoid figure with two swords that gleam in the low light. Urgh, they’ve fought a couple of these already and they’re resistant to even Ryuji’s best attempts at smashing ‘em.

Well, resistant or not, Ryuji’s still got to try, right? After his metal pipe had broken in the last Palace, Joker had replaced it with a long, hefty club. It’s this club that he shifts his grip upon now, making sure none of his teammates are within his radius as he winds up for the swing.

Maybe it’s just a damn good swing, or maybe it’s dumb luck, but his club connects with the side of the Shadow’s head and sends it reeling. He hadn’t been aiming for the head - he hadn’t really been aiming at all, just trying to get the attack out before the bastard could move away from him. But he’s not going to complain about this turn of events; don’t look a gift whore in the mouth or whatever.

The Shadow stumbles, falling to hands and knees upon the cold floor of the bank vault.

“Skull, I knew you were good for something!” Mona says from somewhere behind where the scuffle is occurring.

Ryuji grits his teeth. Damn cat. ‘I knew you were good for something.’ As if he’s not good for anything except fighting. He’d like to see Mona get out here and do this - shit, wait, these Shadows are weak to wind magic, so Mona’d probably wipe the floor with this guy.

Whatever. He jumps back from the Shadow’s slumped form just as Joker unleashes a magic attack upon it.

“Hey,” Joker says, shouting over the hiss of the Shadow as it bursts into that black mist Ryuji’s becoming so familiar with. “Be nice to each other.”

He doesn’t single anyone out, but the intended target gets the message loud and clear - Mona crosses his arms across his furry little body.

“I am being nice,” he says.

“And I didn’t say I was talking about you, did I?” Joker says, picking up a few yen that had scattered across the floor when the Shadow died. Idly, he flips one of the coins into the air and then catches it, before he pockets the whole sum.

Mona grumbles, but doesn’t talk back.

“Does anyone need to be healed?” he asks instead.

“No, we’re all okay,” Joker says, patting him on his fuzzy head. “Save your stamina.”

The group continues their exploration of the bank vault, Queen mulling over the ripped journal pages they’ve found. All this code breaking shit is beyond Ryuji - okay, with enough time he’s sure he could solve it. But it doesn’t seem worth him even trying when literally anyone else on the team can solve it faster than he could. Joker and Queen have it pretty well in hand.

So Ryuji’s just along for the ride, basically. He’s here to kill Shadows and that’s about all he’s bringing to the table.

It’s a thought that makes him scowl, tightening his grip on his club. It’s true , but he doesn’t like it. Between this and Shinjuku the other day…

He’s starting to worry he really is only good for hitting shit, like Mona said earlier.

Whatever. He doesn’t want to wallow in that shit, so he focuses instead on the dark, cold halls of the vault. Everything looks the freakin’ same down here, with security lockers from floor to ceiling. The electrified barriers scattered around glow bright, neon blue in the dim lighting and the crackling sound of them echoes through the halls. Because of the acoustics in here causing such an extreme echo, nobody on the team talks much - too easy to be overheard when sound carries so far.

Unfortunately, distracting himself with the scenery is a fruitless endeavor when everything is so samey and dull. He manages two whole minutes of looking around them and thinking about the layout of the vault before his mind is wandering.

And where does it wander to? Joker, of course. Because lately that’s the place his mind goes at any opportunity.

Joker’s a good leader. He’s smart and he’s tactical. He’s someone Ryuji would trust with his life - which is good, because with the Shadows trying to kill them, he kind of is trusting Joker with his life. Joker is getting better at leading, too. He’s taking more charge in battle, giving directions more confidently. It’s a far cry from the uncertain guy who first awakened to a Persona in that dingy prison cell back in April.

This is the first time Ryuji’s thought about that day since it happened. Joker had been so damn cool when he awakened to his Persona.

“Was I cool the day I awakened Captain Kidd?”

“Quiet down,” Joker whispers. “But yeah. It was pretty badass.”

“Even I have to admit, you were pretty cool that day,” Mona says.

Heh. Ryuji’s cool, too. Even Mona agrees.

He’s still thinking about that day back in April, though. He’d had no clue what the hell was happening when Joker awakened. He’d been scared shitless, honestly - first of dying, and then of whatever the hell was happening to Joker. Still, the scene is something he’ll never forget. Joker, wicked grin on his face, blue flames rising from his body, tailcoat billowing around him… looking back on it he can appreciate how awesome Joker was, now that he’s not sitting in that moment, fearful and confused.

Thinking about it makes Ryuji’s whole body go warm; it makes his heart race. He’s only ever felt this way about hot girls before, man, what the hell? Joker’s not a hot girl.

‘He’s pretty like one, ’ his brain supplies, but that’s not true. Joker is pretty, Ryuji’s apparently decided. But he’s not pretty like a girl - he’s not feminine. No, he’s decidedly still a dude. He’s got long eyelashes and sharp, stormy eyes that glint dangerously when he’s got a Shadow right where he wants it. He’s taller and broader than most girls. He lacks the curves of the typical ‘pretty girl,’ his body is all lines and angles and flat planes. He gets into stupid banter with Ryuji that only another guy would entertain, and he doesn’t bother fixing his messy hair, and his hands are bigger than Ryuji’s; the muscles of his arms and shoulders more defined than the usual girl’s. No, he’s pretty, but he’s not girlish.

This fact does not diminish how Ryuji feels about him. His masculine form and teenage boy personality do not make him any less pretty. Ryuji didn’t even know a guy could be both ‘just some plain dude’ and ‘pretty’ but Akira’s proof that it can happen.

Ryuji’s staring at him as they walk, eyes fixed on his broad shoulders and the way his tailcoat sways with each step he takes. He’s still thinking about that day in April, trying to put a name to the feeling it stirs in him; trying to identify the wave of heat that washes over him as he pictures the look in Joker’s eye that day.

Ugh. He can’t pinpoint it, and it’s not like he’s going to ask someone else their opinion. No sense in lingering on it.

But linger on it he does, anyway.

The rest of the bank vaults are opened thanks to Queen and Joker’s skill at decoding the stupid journal pages. Ryuji contributes nothing to that part of the exploration, freeing him up to think about how striking Joker looks; a tall, dark, suave figure. He’s the picture of cool, collected, and competent as he stands with Queen, torn paper in one hand and the other in his pocket, working out the code.

Ryuji goes home after they finish in the Palace, feeling a mix of emotions. On one hand, he feels supremely and utterly useless to the team right now. There’ve been a lot of Shadows in the bank that are resistant to Ryuji’s skills, and he’s not smart enough to help solve the codes. He doesn’t know why Akira keeps choosing him as part of the front line for combat. The comment Morgana made is still ringing in his head. ‘Maybe you are good for something.’ All he brings to the team is his raw strength, and that’s not even helpful right now.

On the other hand, his thoughts are equally as distracted thinking about Akira. It’s like his brain has two modes and two modes only lately - feeling like shit, and Akira. At least if he’s thinking about Akira, he’s not thinking himself into a pissy mood. So he tries to keep his thoughts there on the train ride home, so he doesn’t end up wallowing in his own uselessness.

Not that it’s difficult to keep his mind focused on Akira.

But thinking about Akira just causes that butterfly feeling in his chest, makes his palms sweat and his heart rate spike. He’s not sure if that’s better than thinking about how little he’s bringing to the team. Fluttery and nervous, or cranky and upset. Man, are those really his only two options?

When he gets home, his mom’s still at work. He makes himself some instant ramen and eats it in his room - when he steps inside his room, he sees the stupid plush dog Akira gave him, and it brings back the butterflies in his stomach tenfold.

He sits down on the floor in front of his tv to boot up one of his games while he eats. In the end, though, he just pushes his ramen around listlessly, appetite gone.

Why does he feel so weird lately, man? It’s stupid. Akira’s his best friend. There’s no reason he should feel so nervous and flighty around him. When he closes his eyes, he can picture Akira’s face, eyes shining as he laughs at somethin’ stupid Ryuji said. It makes him feel that his heart could burst right out of his chest.

But he doesn’t know what to do with that feeling; it overwhelms him and there’s no outlet for it. It just sits in his chest and builds and builds and builds until he could be sick with it; until there’s more of it than there is of him.

So he sits on his floor, staring at his ramen going cold, and feels overwhelmed and confused and full to bursting with affection for his best friend.

Chapter Text

Ryuji’s sitting on the sofa at home, scrolling mindlessly on his phone - okay, ‘sitting’ is perhaps not the correct word, as he’s spread across it in his best imitation of a starfish - when his mom arrives home from work. It’s already gotten dark outside, the daylight bleeding into twilight, and Ryuji’s hungry, but he’s been waiting to have dinner with his mom.

“Hi, mom,” he says, putting his phone away.

“Hi, sweetie, how was your day?”

“It was fine. Went runnin’ with Akira after class.”

“That’s nice, I’m so glad you’re running again,” she slips off her shoes before coming into the living room. “What do you want for dinner tonight?”

“Eh, whatever’s easiest. I’m not picky.”

“I ran into the Okabes downstairs,” she says as she makes her way to the kitchen. “Ms. Okabe was asking about you.”

Ryuji sits up enough to peer into the kitchen, in the direction of his moms’ voice. He can’t see her from this vantage point, though. “Really? What’d she say?”

“She was asking if you’d babysit for them again on friday.”

Oh. That’s a surprise.

“What did you tell her?”

“I said I’d ask you. Sometime tomorrow, you make sure you tell her one way or the other. It’d be rude to leave her uncertain.”

“I will, mom.”

It’s quiet for a moment, the sound of pots and pans being shuffled about drifting from the kitchen.

“So, am I ever going to get to meet this Akira boy I’ve heard so much about?”

Ryuji’s face lights up like a match. He flops back into his sprawled, starfish position. “He’s just my friend from school, mom, you don’t gotta meet him.”

God, that feels like the biggest lie of all time. Akira’s way more than ‘just his friend from school.’ Not that his mom needs to know that - hell, if she knew even half of what they’d been gettin’ up to these last few months, she’d have a heart attack.

Besides, introducin’ someone to your mom, ain’t that like… couple shit? Not that his mom’s never met any of his friends before, but to bring Akira over and formally introduce him… that’s the kinda thing you do when you’re dating someone. Maybe it would seem less ‘couple-y’ if it was the whole group of Phantom Thieves being introduced at one time, rather than just Akira on his own.

This is stupid. Why’s he even thinking about this? Even if he brought Akira over and introduced him to his mom one-on-one, why would anyone’s first thought be that they’re a couple? They’re two straight dudes.

Man, his brain’s been goin’ on some bizarre tangents lately.

Whatever. He doesn’t mind watching Keiji again, he just has to make sure he doesn’t have Phantom Thief business that day. He texts their group chat to ask, and is assured that their Phantom Thief activities should be no issue - they’ve already found a route to the treasure and have plenty of time before they have to send the calling card, so no problems there.

He runs into Ms. Okabe in the hall as he’s leaving for school the next day.

“Oh, my mom told me you needed a babysitter for friday,” he says, slinging his school bag over his shoulder and locking the door to his apartment. “I can do it, if you still need someone.”

“Oh, that would be so helpful, Ryuji, thank you. Keiji will be excited, he’s really taken a shine to you, you know.”

Huh. Man, what does a kid see in someone like Ryuji? They didn’t even do anything that fun last time, they just played baseball at the park.

“For real?”

“Last week he came upstairs from the mailbox, so excited that he ran into you there.”

Last week at the mailboxes…? Oh yeah, Ryuji remembers now. He’d been down collecting his mail and he’d run into Keiji, collecting the Okabe family’s mail. Keiji had a yellow featherman action figure with him, and Ryuji asked about it. They talked about featherman for a couple of minutes. Ryuji’s not a huge fan himself but he’s been known to dabble in a sentai show on occasion. Turns out he and Keiji have the same favorite, the yellow one.

They have little conversations like that any time they bump into each other around the building. Keiji’s just a kid, and kids are chatty. It’s not like Ryuji’s gonna chase a little kid off when they’re just tryin’ to talk.

He thought Keiji was just talking to him because they know each other. He hadn’t really considered that Keiji just… thought he was cool, or whatever.

Wait. Babysitting means he has to entertain a kid. Again. What can they do? They went to the park last time, that’s always an option. Oh, but he’d wanted to go to the arcade so badly last time. Ryuji still does not want to try and tote a kid through the city, and he doesn’t have anything kid-appropriate on his handheld. But he has a console, too…

“Can I watch him at my place? He really wanted me to take him to the arcade last time, and I have some games at my place I think he’d get a kick out of. I won’t let him play anything violent, I swear.”

“Sure, that should be fine. I’ll tell him to go to your apartment when his classes end. Thank you again.”

Well. Ryuji’s one-time babysitting thing really is a proper gig now, it seems.

Friday finds Ryuji and Keiji sitting in Ryuji’s room, playing a game on Ryuji’s game console. It’s one of those games where you’re a spaceship, shooting other ships. Keiji’s not particularly good at it, but he’s determined to beat Ryuji’s high score.

As Ryuji’s watching Keiji shoot at the enemy ships, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

Akira: Sunday’s your birthday, right? If you don’t have plans, wanna hang out?

Is he doin’ anything on sunday…? Not that he knows of, unless they’re going to send the calling card. And if Akira’s asking him to hang out that day, then no, they probably aren’t going to send the calling card.

Hell yeah, Ryuji wants to spend his birthday hangin’ out with his best friend. Shit, he wants to hang out with Akira pretty much all the time.

“What are you smiling about? Is it your girlfriend?” Keiji asks, craning his neck to try and peer at Ryuji’s phone screen.

Ryuji’s stomach does a queasy little flip, and his face goes red and warm. “What? No! Why do you think it’s my girlfriend?”

“That’s what the older kids at school say to each other when they’re smiling at their phones,” he says.

“I don’t even got a girlfriend.”

“Really? Why not?”

Ryuji finishes sending his response to Akira - a simple ‘sure, dude,’ - and then pockets his phone.

“‘Cause I don’t want one,” he lies, because what the hell is he supposed to say to that? “Forget about that, you’re about to game over.”

“No!” Keiji’s attention snaps back to his game, where his ship is on low health and surrounded by enemies. “Ryuji,” he whines, “I’m gonna die! Help!”

Keiji thrusts the controller at Ryuji.

“Alright, alright,” he says, taking the controller. “I’ll beat this wave for you.”

“Beat the next boss for me, too.”

“What? I thought you wanted to beat my score. It doesn’t count if I play the whole freakin’ game for you.”

“Please?” Keiji begs, dragging out the word.

And that’s how Ryuji ends up being the one playing the game, while Keiji watches, eyes glued to the screen. When he beats the boss, Keiji hops around excitedly before taking the controller back, and promptly dying.

“This game is stupid,” Keiji grouses.

“It’s just a game, man,” Ryuji says, but that does not make Keiji stop pouting. So he changes tactics, and tries to redirect. “Your birthday is this month, right? Are you doing anything fun to celebrate?”

Keiji perks right up. “Yeah! I’m having a party with my friends. You’re gonna come, right?” He’s looking at Ryuji with big, bright, hopeful eyes.

“Am I invited?”

“Yeah! Please come!”

“Uh, sure, I guess.” Shit, he doesn’t know if there’s actually a party nor if he’s actually invited - he’ll have to ask Ms. Okabe about that - but he doesn’t have the heart to tell Keiji no when he looks so damn hopeful.

The way Keiji cheers and bounces around the room, though, ensures Ryuji’ll be there, as long as Phantom Thief business doesn’t prevent him from attending. Keiji’s so damn excited, Ryuji can’t let him down by not showing up.

Sunday gets there quickly, and before Ryuji knows it, he’s officially seventeen. Not that there’s a big difference between being sixteen and being seventeen.

The apartment is empty this morning, and he has a text from his mom saying that she’s sorry she has to work today but that she’ll see him this evening, followed by a happy birthday message. He’s got plans with Akira today, anyway, and he knows his mom only works so hard to keep a roof over his head, so it’s not like he minds.

He and Akira meet at the fishing pond. It’s a beautiful day, so it’s good weather for it.

“I didn’t know you liked fishing,” Akira says as they walk together along the edge of the water, looking for a place to sit. “I didn’t take you for the fishing type.”

“What can I say, I’m a complex guy,” Ryuji shrugs, picking a spot and taking a seat on an upturned crate.

Akira pulls another crate over and sits next to him. “That’s what we’re calling it now?” He spears some bait on the end of his fishing hook. “I’m not sure ‘complex’ is the word I’d use.” His voice is breezy and lighthearted.

“Man, can’t even give me a break on my freakin’ birthday,” Ryuji puts on a fake frown. “There’s supposedly this huge fish in the water here, d’you think we’ll catch it?”

“I think we’ll be lucky to catch anything.”

“Ah, come on, I thought you’d be good at this shit. Ain’t fishing a country thing?”

Akira laughs, the sound light and melodious on the early summer breeze. It’s the best sound ever; Ryuji wants to hear Akira laugh like that as much as possible. Butterflies erupt inside Ryuji’s chest at the sound.

“You’re the one who wanted to come fishing, dude, I thought you were the expert,” Akira says, casting his line into the murky water.

Ryuji fiddles with getting the bait on his hook, and then casts his line in beside Akira’s - their bobbers end up side-by-side, swaying gently in the water.

“Trying to steal my fish?” Akira asks, zero edge to the words. “Get your own spot.”

“You don’t own this spot.”

It’s a moot point, because neither one of them hooks a fish in that spot, anyway.

They make aimless chatter as they fish, although can they really say they’re fishing if they’re not actually hooking any fish? It’s more like they’re failing to fish.

“So, how’s seventeen feel?” Akira asks, reeling his line in to cast in a different spot.

“The same as sixteen. Man, the fish ain’t bitin’ today. I think they hate me, dude.”

“That’s okay. I like you, at least,” Akira says, bumping shoulders with Ryuji. The contact should be brief, but Akira doesn’t move fully away and instead they remain sitting there, shoulders just barely touching. 

The words make Ryuji's heart stutter. “You’re not a fish. Catchin’ you don’t earn me any points.”

Akira’s got that mischievous smile on his face, the one he gets when he’s screwing with someone. “I see. You only want me for my points.”

“What points? You ain’t earned any yet, either!”

The summer sun bears down on them, light dances across the surface of the pond, the air is filled with the croaky chirps of cicadas and the sound of the water gently lapping at the edges of the pond. Beside him, Akira all but glows beneath the afternoon sunlight, his mischievous smile giving way to one smaller and more genuine.

Ryuji still has not caught a single fish.

Being with Akira is so… easy. They slot together like puzzle pieces. He knows Akira gets him, in a way even their other friends don’t - they’re in the same boat, him and Akira, and they’ve been through the same shit with being labeled a troublemaker unjustly. Akira was the first person to give Ryuji a chance, and Ryuji was the first to give Akira a chance in turn. It’s just easy ; it’s natural. It makes Ryuji feel… weightless, like all the shit he usually carries on his shoulders is suddenly light as a feather; like he can really be himself, truly, without his reputation getting in the way. 

Being with him makes Ryuji feel like all that shit in his past doesn’t matter; like he’s not the track traitor, or the violent delinquent, or even the stupid one who’s only good at hitting stuff, but that he’s just… Ryuji.

He thinks about this as he continues to not catch any fish, looking over at Akira next to him. His presence is warmer than even the summer swelter, his profile is striking against the backdrop of the fishing pond.

It’s that feeling again, the one that swells in his chest until it burns his throat; until he’s drowning in it. What does he do with this feeling?

Akira’s truly his best friend. But he’s had other best friends before, and the way he felt about them doesn’t come close to how he feels about Akira.

“We’re never gonna catch that huge fish at this rate,” Akira sighs, resting his chin in his hand. “Man, think of how many points that sucker’s worth…”

Ryuji is transfixed by him. He feels those butterflies again, on top of the overwhelming affection he was already stewing in. “If there’s a prize we really want, maybe we can pool our points?” he offers, and his mind is less than twenty percent focused on his fishing line. Most of his brain power is on Akira - on the shape of his lips, and the column of his throat, visible beneath the collar of the button-down shirt he wears (unbuttoned, over top a darker tee shirt.)

“That would require us to have even a single point between us - oh! Hold on, I got a bite!” His eyes light up - Ryuji watches how they brighten; how the afternoon sunlight dances in them like little mirror images of the sparkling surface of the pond.

Akira reels the fish in. It’s a small guy, worth not many points, but it’s their first catch all day, so it’s a catch worth celebrating.

They stay at the pond for a while longer, and manage to hook a few more fish - Ryuji ends with two total and Akira ends with three. But after some time, they’re starting to get a bit crispy in the summer sun, and neither one brought sunblock, so they decide to call it a day before they get any more burnt.

“Do you have plans after this?” Akira asks as they get up from their seats.

“No.”

“Wanna go get some ramen?”

Uh, hell yeah Ryuji wants to get some ramen. As if Akira even has to ask.

They take the train out to Ogikubo, and Akira insists on paying since it’s Ryuji’s birthday.

"Man, Makoto's Persona is so freakin' cool. I want a bike," Ryuji says as they eat.

"Kidd has a boat, that's pretty similar."

"Not as cool," Ryuji sighs.

"Dude, that's your own Persona. How do you think it's not as cool as someone else's?"

"I didn't say Kidd wasn't as cool, just that a boat's not as cool as a motorcycle. It's the boat versus motorcycle thing, Captain Kidd is irrelevant."

“Okay, dude, whatever you say,” Akira says between bites. “Hey, how’s your leg been doing lately? Is it better since we started training? I know when we first started the Palace stuff you mentioned it was hurting.”

Urgh. No, it isn’t. Ryuji just hasn’t mentioned it. If he tells everyone that it still hurts - in fact, it’s been worse lately - they might not want him to tag along on missions anymore. Or, at least, Akira might start making him hang back in Palaces, stuck playing a supportive role when his Person isn’t suited to that at all.

“No,” Ryuji says, because he doesn’t have it in him to lie to Akira. He’s a shitty liar anyway. “It’s doin’ shitty, if I’m honest.”

Beside him at the counter, Akira frowns. It’s hard to take him seriously, though, because the steam from his ramen has fogged up his glasses. “Dude, why didn’t you say something?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Ryuji insists, because it’s not. “It’ll get better. Eventually my body will get used to all the runnin’ we do, and it’ll be fine.”

Akira’s still frowning, but he relents. “If you say so, man. If it gets too painful, though, just say so. We have plenty of teammates now, someone else can step in for you if you need a break.”

“I will, no need to worry so much.”

“Sorry. You’re my friend, so I’m going to worry. Anyway, uh, do you want your birthday present?”

Ryuji blinks at him. His face is red with a slight sunburn; Ryuji finds himself thinking that the tint of color to his face is quite pleasant; it looks nice on him. But Ryuji thinks he looks nice all the time, so what’s new?

“What present?”

Akira digs around his pocket for a second and then produces, with a flourish, a small square box, wrapped in patterned yellow paper.

“This present,” he says, putting the box on the counter in front of Ryuji. “It’s nothing super impressive, don’t get too excited.”

“Have you been carryin’ that around all day?” Ryuji asks, picking up the box and turning it over in his hands. The wrapping is done very neatly, all the folds are straight and crisp. Yeah, that checks, knowing Akira. The neatness of the wrap job does not deter Ryuji from ripping into it, though.

It’s a game for Ryuji’s old handheld - it’s loose in a box, without it’s original case, which would explain why it was able to fit in Akira’s pocket. 

“I found it used at the second hand shop in Yongen, and thought I remembered you saying you were trying to find a copy. Sorry it’s loose, it didn’t have a case with it - such is the nature of second hand games, I guess.”

“Dude, thanks!” It’s an old game for an old console, but it’s one Ryuji’s been trying to find for a while. Do you know how hard it is to find games for older consoles? Getting one second hand is really the only way, and it’s kind of a crapshoot on if a store has it or not. How lucky that Akira happened to stumble upon a copy. “You know you didn’t have to get me anything, though, right?”

“Don’t be humble, man. Boo, we hate modesty.” Akira gives him a thumbs down.

Ryuji laughs. “Alright, I get it man, I get it. Thank you for the gift.”

“You’re welcome, happy birthday.”

They finish their meal and then part ways at the station. Ryuji thanks Akira again for the ramen and for the gift, and Akira assures him that it was really nothing and there’s no need for thanks.

He arrives home, cheeks and shoulders red from the sun, and finds that his mom has already gotten back from work. On the couch next to her is a box, wrapped in shiny blue paper.

“Hi, mom,” he says as he comes in the door and kicks his shoes off haphazardly.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she says. “Did you get some sun today? You’re looking a tad burnt.”

“Yeah, I went to the fishing pond with Akira,” he says. “What’s with the box?”

“It’s your birthday gift, of course.” She pats the couch, beckoning him over.

He sits down next to his mom on the couch and picks up the box, giving it a shake. It does not make much noise, just a slight shifting sound, like a lightweight object sliding around inside. Without further fanfare, he tears into the paper like an animal - he’s not known for restraint or neatness, and it shows.

Beneath the shiny blue paper he finds a model kit. This one builds a cool robot wielding a sword. It’s not a huge or complex kit, but he doesn’t mind - he’s hardly got the patience for the huge kits, anyways, and he knows they can be expensive. This one is about the size of the others he’s built (which, now that they’re finished, live on shelves in his room.) It will fit in nicely with the others.

“Thank you, mom,” he says, leaning across the couch to give his mom a hug. It’s an awkward angle so he’s only able to get one arm around her, but that does not deter him.

“Happy birthday, dear,” she says, hugging him back and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I have a cake for you in the kitchen, too.”

He gets up and takes his gifts from today - the model kit from his mom and the game from Akira - into his room, and then moseys into the kitchen to investigate the cake situation.

“No cake before dinner!” his mom calls after him.

“Come on, it’s my birthday!”

“Not a chance, birthday boy.”

Eh, it’s whatever. The cake tastes just as good after dinner as it would have before.

After dinner and cake, he replies to the happy birthday messages he got from Ann, Yusuke, and Makoto, and wonders when he last had friends to wish him a happy birthday, let alone someone to hang out with on the day. 

Then he sits in the kitchen, punching the pieces out for his new model kit and watching the day fade into the purple twilight. His face and shoulders hurt from the sunburn, and he’s sleepy from being out in the sun all day, but he doesn’t mind.

Seventeen is off to a pretty good start.

Chapter Text

Ryuji stares at his sloppy, incomplete class notes. Yeah, he’s gonna flunk his exams for sure, even with Akira’s help.

“We did that whole lesson on English idioms, do you remember any of that?” Akira asks, flipping through his own notebook.

“Uh…” Ryuji scours the pages of his notes, even though he knows he’s not going to find anything useful there. “No.”

Akira sighs, snagging Ryuji’s notebook off the table. “Let me see your notes - dude, what kind of notes have you been taking?”

None. Mostly he’s been doodling stupid shit in the margins.

Ryuji, an expert at avoiding talking about his pathetic classwork, changes the subject. “Hey, if I asked you to help me do something stupid, would you?”

Akira looks up from Ryuji’s pitiful class notes. “Way to avoid the question,” he says. “It depends how stupid.”

“I wanna pierce my ears.”

Akira’s expression is unwavering as he regards Ryuji with a level, neutral look from across the table.

“I’m too broke to pay someone to do it,” Ryuji continues.

Akira puts Ryuji’s notebook down. “I thought you were getting paid to babysit that kid in your building.”

“I’ve only babysat twice, it’s not like I’m gettin’ paid every week or something. Also, I… might’ve blown all my money at the arcade, so…”

“So you want me to pierce your ears?”

“... Will you?”

Akira’s quiet. His brows are scrunched just slightly, eyes narrowed.

“I swear it’s not that stupid, man. I was looking online for ways to do it safely, and I have some needles to use -”

“Sure,” he relents. “But if it looks bad, it’s on you for trusting me and not going to a professional.”

‘It’s on you for trusting me.’ As if Ryuji could think of a single thing he wouldn’t trust Akira with.

“Dude, you’re the best! I have the needles and stuff in my bag, hold on.” Ryuji grabs his schoolbag, which is sitting on the booth beside him. He plops it onto the scuffed tabletop and begins rummaging around inside it.

“Wait, you meant right now? I thought you needed help studying for exams!” 

Five minutes later finds the two of them crammed into the small bathroom near the stairs of Leblanc. Spread out on the counter near the sink is an assortment of items Ryuji had produced from his bag - a pack of needles, some earrings, a small lighter, and some alcohol wipes.

They’ve already washed their hands and cleaned Ryuji’s earlobes with the alcohol wipes, which is as sterile as the environment’s going to get. Ryuji opens the pack of needles and flicks the lighter on. He holds the end of a needle over the lighter flame, in a move that the internet said would sterilize the needle. He’s not trying to invite an infection or anything - it’s a stupid decision to do this, but he’s at least being responsible enough to make it as clean as he can. Though if he does get an infection from piercing his ears in the Leblanc bathroom, there’s nobody to blame but himself.

Akira places a hand on Ryuji’s cheek, holding his face steady. In his other hand he holds a black marker. Carefully, he makes a little dot on Ryuji’s earlobe.

“Is that spot okay?” he asks, letting go of Ryuji’s face.

Ryuji looks in the mirror hanging above the sink, turning his head to assess the placement of the dot.

“Yeah, looks good.” He turns back to Akira.

“Okay,” Akira says, leaning away a tiny bit, looking from the marker dot to Ryuji’s other ear. “Hold still, I gotta get these even.”

He makes a dot on Ryuji’s other ear, then leans back again to compare them.

“Eh, not quite,” he says, wiping one of the dots away.

His second try is better, and after Ryuji checks in the mirror and gives his okay, they move on to the next step. Ryuji passes the needle to Akira.

Akira puts his hand under Ryuji’s chin, turning Ryuji’s head to one side so he can see his ear better.

“Ready?” he asks, leaning in close. He puts his free hand on Ryuji’s cheek opposite to where he’s working, effectively preventing Ryuji from turning away or flinching. His hand is warm against Ryuji’s cheek.

“Go for it, dude.”

“Alright. Hold still.”

The bathroom is small anyways, forcing them close together, and Akira is even closer   than the space requires - his face is so close to Ryuji’s that if Ryuji turned to look at him right now, they’d bump noses. His wrist is resting on the side of Ryuji’s face, the support allowing his hand to be more steady as he lines the needle up with the marker dot. He doesn’t break the skin yet, just takes his time to line the needle up correctly. The sharp end of the needle pokes Ryuji’s skin, but doesn’t pierce - though the poking is uncomfortable itself.

In the moments before the needle pierces flesh, it’s nice to be here like this. Akira’s deft hands framing his face, touches soft but steady, like cradling something precious; their faces so close he can feel Akira’s breath wisping, warm and ticklish, across his skin. He’s surrounded by Akira’s presence, his warmth and his touch and the way that he smells.

Speaking of his scent, it is less coffee-laden today. At least, Ryuji’s gone blind to the scent of coffee by being in Leblanc, so he doesn’t notice the smell on Akira. Instead, Ryuji can smell clean laundry and beneath that, something earthy and slightly bitter; like the herbs used in medicinal baths. Ryuji knows there’s a bathhouse just across the street from here, because all of the guys went there after they had hot pot that time. Maybe Akira was there recently?

Now he’s thinking about Akira in the bath, which is a supremely weird thing to think about your best bro. Just, so effin’ weird. Acknowledging that it’s a bizarre place for his mind to go does not do anything to change his train of thought, though; no, it keeps chugging along, thinking about Akira’s damp hair sticking to his forehead, and drops of water running down the side of his neck, and the heat from the water bringing a lively flush to his skin. Man, is it warm in here? It feels really warm in the small bathroom.

A sharp pain jolts Ryuji’s thoughts back to the current situation - the needle is pressing into his skin, piercing through his earlobe in the spot Akira had marked.

Ryuji grits his teeth, wincing. He lets out a long exhale, trying to remain motionless and not flinch away from the pain. It hurts, and Akira does not exactly hurry through it, being slow and meticulous to ensure the piercing ends up straight and even.

Still, it’s far from the most painful thing Ryuji’s ever felt. Hell, he’s taken worse from Shadows before.

Akira removes the needle and sets it aside momentarily. Then he moves to clean up the blood with the corner of one of the alcohol wipes. The disinfectant on the wipe burns when it touches the raw, open hole of the piercing, but it only lasts a moment. Akira’s touch is light as a feather as he cleans the area, fingers barely making contact with Ryuji’s skin.

“Alright,” he says. “Trade me.”

They swap the needle, tinged in blood, for one of the earrings.

Akira’s hands are gentle and precise as he puts in the earring and clasps the backing onto it. Despite how careful Akira is, the earring being put in hurts, irritating the fresh, sore piercing.

“One down, one to go,” Akira says. “Still want to do the other? It didn’t hurt too much?”

“Hell yeah I wanna do the other, I ain’t no quitter.”

“Then sterilize another needle for me.”

Ryuji does as he’s asked, passing another sterilized needle to Akira. Their fingertips brush with the action. Akira gets to work lining the needle up correctly.

God, he’s so close. It’s all Ryuji can think about. He studies Akira’s features - he can’t turn his head to get a proper look, but he can still move his eyes and that allows him a decent enough view of Akira’s handsome face.

Akira’s sharp eyes are fixed forward, where he’s lining the second needle up to the dot he’d made earlier. His brow is drawn together in concentration, and his glasses glint in the light of the bathroom. Ryuji’s eyes trace the shapes of Akira’s face - the curves of his glasses, the curl of his hair across his forehead, the angles of his jawline and the slope of his nose. He studies the color of Akira’s eyes; they’re a cloudy spring sky, a pale grey horizon with storm clouds speckled, dark and heavy, amongst it.

In his focus, Akira’s biting his lip, likely not even aware that he’s doing it. Ryuji gets hung up on it, though, taken with the cupid’s bow of his top lip and how the soft swell of his bottom lip gives beneath the press of his teeth. He imagines kissing him; imagines it’s his own lips pressing against Akira’s, rather than it being Akira’s teeth.

Heat rises to his face as soon as he thinks that. He doesn’t want to kiss Akira, man, what the hell? That was… that was nothing. It was weird, but it was nothing.

He doesn’t want to kiss Akira. The fact that thinking about it makes his face flush and his stomach flip like a freakin’ acrobat is… well that’s… It’s unrelated.

None of this means anything.

Ryuji flinches when the needle breaks skin, and Akira’s hand on his face becomes more firm, a grounding, steadying force that prevents Ryuji from pulling away. It goes a little faster this time, though, as Akira’s movements are more sure and less tentative.

Then it’s over, and Akira’s dabbing away the blood with the corner of a wipe and putting the earring in.

“All done,” he says.

Ryuji’s first instinct is to turn to look at Akira, intending to say thank you. But they’re standing close together still, and they bump heads with one another when Ryuji turns.

“I go to all the trouble of helping you, and I get headbutted in return?” Akira laughs, but he doesn’t move away. His laughter echoes off the tiles of the bathroom. Even just its echo is the best sound Ryuji’s ever heard.

There’s a moment - it feels like a lifetime - where neither one moves. They stay there, squeezed into each other’s space in the tiny bathroom of Leblanc, faces an inch or two apart, looking into one another’s eyes. Ryuji’s head swims with the clean, herbal scent of Akira; his body is so close that Ryuji can feel his body heat; his hand is still on Ryuji’s cheek, resting warm and soft and steady upon Ryuji’s skin as if it belongs there. It does belong there, Ryuji thinks. 

Staring at him, Ryuji wonders if he’s ever kissed anyone before, and if he has, did he lead or did he follow? Did he kiss back? Are his lips soft?

“Are you gonna see how they look?” Akira finally asks, voice just a notch above a whisper, breaking the silence that hangs between them.

“Oh,” Ryuji says, swallowing around a lump in his throat. “Yeah, of course.”

He moves away from Akira so he can look at himself in the mirror. It’s not like it puts a ton of space between them - the bathroom is only so big, after all. But it does put enough distance that they’re no longer standing nose-to-nose.

Ryuji looks at himself in the mirror above the sink. The earrings are simple, silver metal studs. Nothing fancy. He turns his head this way and that, watching as the metal catches the light. As far as he can tell, Akira did a good job getting them evenly placed - they don’t look lopsided or anything.

“Dude, they’re sick!” he says, turning to beam at Akira. When he turns, he finds Akira’s already looking at him, a small smile dancing across his pretty face.

“I didn’t screw them up?”

“No, they’re awesome. Thanks a ton, man.”

Akira’s still looking at him, eyes soft. “Cool. I think you look good with them, by the way. They suit you.”

Ryuji’s heart skips a beat at the compliment. Which is stupid, because it doesn’t mean anything except exactly what Akira said; it’s a compliment on his new piercings and nothing else. What else would it be? God, Ryuji’s brain has been so freaking scrambled and weird lately.

They clean up their supplies in the bathroom and then go back out to the main room of the cafe, where their exam study notes sit abandoned on one of the tables. Ugh, exams. Ryuji had almost forgotten he was supposed to be here today to study.

“Are you doing anything tonight?” Akira asks as they slide into the seats in front of their notes.

“No,” Ryuji says, looking at his notes. He’d written down two sentences and then drawn the phantom thief logo at the top of the page and that’s all he put down for this whole lecture. Good one, man.

“After we finish studying, wanna go somewhere with me?”

Ryuji’s answer is immediate. “Sure.”

“You don’t even know where I’m inviting you to,” Akira laughs.

“Don’t matter, man. I’ll go.”

Akira’s smiling, his gaze is warm and fond. “Alright, but if you think it’s lame, remember that you agreed to it.”

“Eh,” Ryuji shrugs, looking at his notes because the warmth in Akira’s eyes is too much for him to take. “Even lame shit’s fun with you, dude.”

After their study session, in which Akira tries valiantly to help Ryuji prepare for the upcoming exams despite the fact that it’s a hopeless endeavor, Akira drags Ryuji all the way out to Kichijoji. At first Ryuji thinks they’re gonna play darts at the darts lounge again, which he’s totally on board with. But he hadn’t been lying earlier, and he’s on board with pretty much anything as long as Akira’s by his side, so when Akira leads him down a side street and not to the darts lounge, he doesn’t complain.

The place Akira takes him is actually a jazz club, and at first Ryuji bristles at the mention of ‘club’ because his first assumption is alcohol and drunk people. He’d go if that’s what Akira wanted to do, but it does put him a bit on edge.

It turns out to not be that kind of club at all. Inside the club, the lights are low and warm. There’s a stage with a grand piano, shining in the low light, and an ensemble playing music, complete with a woman in a sleek, dark dress, crooning along with the musicians.

It’s so… fancy, and mature. Definitely not the kind of place Ryuji would ever have gone without someone else dragging him there.

They take a table near the stage, and Akira orders them each a drink. It makes Ryuji feel like a little kid, or a girl on a date, to have Akira order for him, but he doesn’t say that. A date… this place does seem distinctly date-appropriate, with the dim light and soft music and general fancy, refined atmosphere.

Ryuji’s palms sweat and his face gets warm. Is this a date?

Moron. Of course it’s not a date. Why would it be a date? They’re friends, nothing more, and neither one of them is into dudes, anyways. Not that it matters if they’re both straight, because even if they weren’t that still wouldn't make this a date.

None of those facts make it feel any less like a date, nor do they stop the butterflies that burst forth in Ryuji’s chest as he thinks about it.

The only thing able to take his mind off the date thing is thinking about Akira; how pretty he looks in the low light, brows sloped and eyes soft, warm light laying upon the swell of his cheek like the gentle hand of a lover, shadows pooling in the dip of his collarbone, visible peeking out from the neckline of his dark tee shirt.

How can dude be that damn pretty? It’s stupid. It’s kinda weird. It’s… overwhelming.

Man, what’s his freakin’ issue lately?

“I saw you talking to the track team the other day,” Akira says, running his finger idly along the rim of his glass. “It seemed… personal? I didn’t want to intrude since it’s none of my business.”

“Oh, you coulda come up to me, man, I wouldn’t have cared,” Ryuji says, watching the motion of Akira’s finger on his glass as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “I guess it ain’t really my business, either, though. They were picking on Nakaoka, sayin’ he was telling Kamoshida secrets about the other guys on the team. I only got involved ‘cause they were hittin’ him.”

“Very noble of you.”

“Huh? It ain’t like that. There’s just no reason to fight over it. You might’ve heard, but the team’s comin’ back, so they should all just… get along. Move on. Everything worked out, so…”

Akira’s quiet, looking at Ryuji through the low light of the club. His expression is open but his eyes smolder (or is it just the atmosphere getting in Ryuji's head?) It doesn’t match the tone of the conversation at all, but combined with the intimate, date-like atmosphere, it makes Ryuji feel squirmy and way too warm. 

“The team’s coming back?”

Ryuji swallows around a lump in his throat, pinned by Akira’s gaze. “Yeah.”

“Do you plan on joining again?”

“No way, man,” he says, because he really doesn’t. After everything that happened, the guys on the team probably wouldn’t want him back, anyway, and he feels the same way. They were his friends and teammates once, and he screwed everything up for them so he deserves how they’ve treated him, and with all that between them, he couldn’t go back if he wanted to.

Something in his chest aches when he thinks about it, though. If this had happened back in April, he might have had a different answer, but the truth is that the track team just isn’t where he belongs now. He did once, and he doesn’t now, and that’s fine. This feeling in his chest isn’t longing to go back to the track team as he knew it - he doesn’t want to go back to how things were.

So what is this dull, aching sadness that he can’t shake?

“I don’t wanna go back to the team,” he continues. “Nakaoka told me the other day that when I punched Kamoshida, it was like I was punching all of the other guys who were working so hard to endure his bullshit. Knowing that, there’s no way they would take me back even if I did wanna go back.”

“Does that bother you?” Akira asks. “You don’t look very happy.”

Damn Akira, he’s so freakin’ perceptive.

“No, it don’t bother me,” he says, and it’s the truth. He can’t tell Akira what’s bothering him, though, because he hasn’t been able to put his finger on it himself. “Hangin’ on to the past like that doesn’t do any good, anyways. I’m just tryin’ to focus on bein’ myself now, you know? On bein’ free. I told Nakaoka the same thing and he laughed at me, though.”

“Free?”

“Ah, come on, you don’t get what I’m saying, either?”

“I… might get it? Maybe?”

How is he supposed to explain it? It’s just… free. Free from the abuse, free from the weight of his reputation and the pain of feeling like everyone had this preconceived idea of who he was but nobody really knew him. He just wants to focus on really being his most genuine self, and stop caring so much what everyone else thinks of him. That was his decision when he awakened his Persona, right? He decided then and there that if everyone already had this image of him in their minds, then he was just gonna say to hell with it and be true to himself, regardless of what everyone else thinks.

“I guess bein’ free is like…” he starts, looking across the small table at Akira, bathed in the low, cozy light of the club. “Bein’ free is like how I feel when I’m talkin’ to you, man.”

That’s the best way he can describe it. It’s the feeling of being unabashedly himself. It’s the feeling of knowing that his shitty reputation doesn’t matter - to him or to anyone who’s worth having around. It’s the feeling of being true to his sense of justice and of knowing that there are others who will fight alongside him.

That’s how he feels around Akira. In fact, that’s only the tip of the iceberg of how he feels around Akira. He feels like the best, most genuine version of himself when they’re together. When he sees Akira’s face, expression set in stony determination, mirroring Ryuji’s own desire to help people where they can, he feels like together they can actually do it - they can help people, and stop shitty adults who want to abuse those weaker than them. He knows he won’t ever have to fight that battle alone; with Akira at his side, he won’t ever have to fight any battle alone. In Akira, he’s found a kindred spirit and a sense of justice that matches his own. In Akira, he’s found an honest-to-god, through-thick-and-thin, reputation-be-damned friend. He's found someone who won't judge him for his past, or his mistakes, or his boisterous personality, or his shitty grades, or any of the other shit everyone else looks down on him for - someone he can be himself around and know there's no judgement at all.

How does he describe all that except as being free?

Akira’s looking back at him; their eyes meet. His grey eyes are warm, like smoke over a campfire; Ryuji doesn’t know if it’s affection or the warm lights of the club reflected in them.

“Yeah,” he says. “I think I get it now.”

Below the table, Akira’s hand brushes Ryuji’s. The touch is fleeting, but it’s telling. It’s a silent admission; he feels the same way. Ryuji knows; he doesn’t have to say it.

No, Ryuji doesn’t miss the track team. He’s found somewhere much better; somewhere he’s able to feel truly free.

Chapter Text

Standing together beneath the awning, sheltered from the rain, Ryuji feels like he can’t breathe. Akira’s right next to him, damp shoulder pressed up against Ryuji’s own. It’s stupid, they’re close like this all the time, but it sets Ryuji’s nerves alight, anyway.

Moving to put some distance between them sounds equally as unbearable, somehow.

On his other side, Ann is wringing water out of her yukata. Ryuji thinks he should be way more interested in her - since when is he not interested in seeing a cute girl, dressed up all pretty, wet fabric of her yukata clinging to her curves  - but he’s not paying her any mind at all. She and Makoto could both be stripping naked over there and he wouldn’t notice, because Akira’s… he’s so…

He’s just… Akira.

And that’s sort of the whole problem lately, isn’t it?

Whatever. This damn rain. Ruined the fireworks and soaked all five of ‘em (six, if you count Morgana) to the freakin’ bone. Ryuji knows his hair is probably all flat and stupid looking. Typically he wouldn’t care - what kind of a guy worries about how his hair looks in the rain - but the idea of Akira thinking he looks stupid makes his skin crawl with anxiety. The girls can tease him and think he looks dumb all they want, whatever, who cares. But Akira?

It makes Ryuji feel queasy.

Not that Akira would be paying any mind to Ryuji. He’s probably looking at the girls, or talkin’ to Morgana or something.

Except when Ryuji looks over at him, he finds Akira is paying attention to Ryuji. In fact, he’s looking right at Ryuji, and averts his eyes quickly when Ryuji meets his gaze. The speed with which he looked away, you’d think he’d been caught peeping or something.

Maybe… he was looking at Ann, on the other side of Ryuji, and not at Ryuji himself?

“Rain like this makes me think of you,” Akira says, now very pointedly not looking at Ryuji. His curly hair, damp from the rain, sticks to his face - Ryuji longs to reach over and brush it away so he can see his face more clearly. 

Ryuji’s heart leaps. “Why?” he asks, as if Akira thinking of him at all doesn’t fill him with nervous, fidgety energy; like he’s at the crest of a hill on a roller coaster, looking down the drop, full of nervous excitement.

“It was raining the day we met, don’t you remember?”

That seems like a tenuous correlation, but it’s not like Ryuji has room to talk. Nowadays, just about everything makes Ryuji think of Akira. The color red makes him think of Akira’s gloves in the Metaverse. Coffee of any kind, even just a sign for a cafe, makes him think of Akira. Video games, the beef bowl place on Central Street, ramen, manga but especially the series he knows Akira’s been reading… all of it makes him think of Akira. Even fishing, since their outing to the fish pond together.

It would take less time to list what doesn’t make him think of Akira.

He doesn’t say that, though. He doesn’t say anything, just stands there, listening to the girls chat and the rain beat a staccato rhythm on the awning.

Man, he wishes he had a coat. Even his hoodie would be fine. At least it’d be something to keep him dry. They can’t hide out here forever, they’re gonna have to step out into the downpour eventually.

If I had a coat, I could offer it to Akira, like a real gentleman.

HEY. What the hell? Why would he think that? He wants a jacket to keep himself dry, not to give to the first cute person who looks his way.

AGH! Not that he thinks Akira’s cute!

…Still, thinking about Akira wearing Ryuji’s hoodie makes Ryuji feel like someone knocked the wind out of his chest. Why is he even thinking about it?

Why can’t he stop thinking about it?

Ryuji is still looking at Akira. His clothes are wet from the rain; the damp fabric clings to his body in a way that commands Ryuji’s attention.

He’s staring. He knows that he’s staring. He should really stop staring.

He cannot bring himself to stop staring; cannot tear his eyes away from Akira. He’s far too fascinated with the way Akira’s wet shirt sticks to his chest, making every line and plane of his upper body visible beneath the dark fabric - it clings to his form just enough to be revealing without actually showing any skin. Not helping the situation is the white button down Akira wears over his tee shirt. It sticks to Akira’s biceps and shoulders, thin white fabric gone semi-transparent in the rain.

Ryuji’s seen Akira’s upper arms before. They’ve patched up together in the Metaverse tons of times and in his thief costume, beneath his tailcoat he wears a vest. Hell, Ryuji’s seen his full upper body before, they’ve been to the damn bathhouse together. This feels almost obscene, though, more so than bare skin would (or ever has.) It makes Ryuji’s mouth go dry and his stomach do somersaults.

Holy hell man, stop staring! You’re being effin’ weird!

Why is he so fascinated with how Akira’s clothes cling to his form? On his other side, Ann and Makoto’s yukatas are sticking to them in the same way. Since when did Ryuji care more about Akira’s broad shoulders and flat chest than about the soft, feminine curves of a cute girl? What is his deal lately?

Akira looks at Ryuji again. Unlike earlier, when Ryuji could fool himself into thinking maybe Akira had been looking at the girls, there’s no denying it this time. His eyes meet Ryuji’s, sharp gaze softened by affection.

Now it’s Ryuji’s turn to look away as if he’d been caught peeping. He feels like he has.

He turns all the way to his other side, looking at Ann instead. As expected, her yukata is clinging to her body in the same way Akira’s clothes had stuck to his. Ryuji does look - he’s a guy, of course he looks - but he doesn’t feel even a fraction of the fascination he’d felt about Akira. Looking at Ann’s damp hair sticking to her face doesn’t make him want to tuck the loose strands behind her ear; her yukata accentuating her form doesn’t make his mouth go dry and his palms sweat. She’s undeniably very pretty and it's not that he dislikes looking at her or anything. But she doesn’t leave him feeling like someone yanked the rug out from under his feet.

And Akira does.

God, just acknowledging that makes him want to crawl into a hole somewhere and hide. This can’t possibly be normal. Ryuji’s not a total idiot. He’s had friends before, dammit, and he knows he’s never felt like this about any of them. But whatever this is, it has to be platonic, because they’re just friends.

That train of thought is completely derailed when a different one comes crashing into it, full speed. Earlier, Akira said rain made him think of Ryuji because it was rainin’ the day they met. Didn’t he meet Ann at the station that day? Why didn’t he say rain made him think of Ann, too?

Is it… just Ryuji he thinks of?

Ryuji’s heart leaps into his throat at the thought, but he dismisses it. Akira just didn’t mention Ann because he wasn’t talking to her at the time. If he’d been talking to her, he definitely would’ve told her rain makes him think of her, too.

Ryuji has to believe that, because the alternative makes him feel that nervous, fidgety feeling again.

School the next day at least gives Ryuji something to focus on that isn’t this weird feeling building up inside him lately. Or, it would, if he was a diligent student who paid attention in class. He’s not, though, so he spends most of his time staring out the window and thinking about Akira. Between classes, he keeps his head on a swivel, searching the halls for that familiar mop of dark curls.

They don’t run into each other between classes, despite Ryuji’s vigilance. He does end up passing by Akira’s class during class time, on his way to the bathrooms, though, and takes the opportunity to peek through the window into the room. From here he can see Morgana’s tail hanging out of Akira’s desk (seriously, the kids around him have to know he’s got a cat in there.) Akira himself is taking notes, like a good, dutiful student. Ryuji watches for a second, as Akira idly twirls his pencil between his fingers.

He doesn’t stay long, though, because if someone spotted him hovering outside the class like some kind of stalker, he doesn’t know how he’d explain himself.

Although they don’t bump into each other between classes, Ryuji does spot the exam scores pinned up - he’s not gonna like what he sees, but does drop by to check how badly he bombed.

Urgh. Yeah. Pretty effin’ bad. Not as bad as before he had people like Akira and Makoto to help him study, but still pretty bad.

He checks Akira’s score, too, because he can and he’s curious.

He’s leaning on a wall nearby, typing a text to Akira (‘traitor, you should have flunked the exams in solidarity with me,’) when he hears the other students chattering. He doesn’t pay any attention at first, but the words ‘transfer student’ pique his interest.

“The transfer student got in the top ten? Wow,” one girl says.

“I bet he cheated, no way a guy like him honestly did that well.”

“Mr. Kamoshida turned out to be a real jerk, but maybe he was right in trying to expel the transfer student.”

Ryuji grits his teeth, text message forgotten as he listens. He’s so sick of hearing people in this damn school talk shit about Akira.

The group of girls laugh.

“I know I’d feel safer if he wasn’t around,” one of them says. “Who needs a guy like that around, anyway? Our school already looks bad because of Kamoshida and the extortion stuff. He just makes us all look worse.”

Ryuji pushes off the wall. “Hey!” he says.

A hush falls over the group of girls. They turn to look at him.

“Ugh, what do you want, Sakamoto?” One of them says, voice laced with venom. It’s how everyone in this place talks to him; he’s long past being bothered by it.

“Quit talkin’ about Akira like that,” he says, scowling. “You ain’t got a clue what you’re talkin’ about.”

The girls snicker. “I forgot, you’re all buddy-buddy with him, aren’t you? What, are you gonna hit us if we don’t stop? Kamoshida was right to try and expel you, too.”

Ryuji’s hands ball into tight fists, his jaw clenches. He opens his mouth to speak, and -

The bell chimes, echoing in the halls.

“Whatever,” the apparent leader of the girls says. “We have to go to class - not that you’d know anything about that.”

Ryuji sulks back to class, fuming the whole way. People can say whatever they want about him. He’s used to it. It stopped bothering him a long time ago - at least, it stopped pissing him off.

But Akira? He’d thought, maybe, with enough time, people might see he’s not the dangerous guy they thought he was. It’s been months, and Akira’s been a model student. He’s on time, he’s polite, he gets good grades. But none of it seems to have done a damn thing to change peoples’ opinions about him.

It makes his blood boil, because he knows Akira’s not the guy they all think he is. Akira’s the most selfless guy he knows, and he only has the assault on his record because he was tryin’ to save someone. He doesn’t deserve to be treated like shit.

For his remaining classes, Ryuji thinks mostly about how mad he is. Which is at least keeping his mind off of Akira. Small victories and all that, right?

When classes let out at the end of the day, Ryuji takes up a post by the stairs where he usually stands. This is his thing now. Every day after class he stands here and watches for Akira.

As always, Akira is easy to spot due to the wide berth the other students give him. Even after months, most are still unwilling to get too close to him.

It makes Ryuji mad all over again.

“Hey, dude, I saw your exam score,” Ryuji says when Akira is within earshot. “You knocked it outta the park, man!”

“It’s amazing, what paying attention in class can do for you,” he says, but he’s smiling and Ryuji knows he’s just messin’ with him.

“If you’re not doin’ anything today, wanna hang out at my place? I got a new game that I’ve been dyin’ to kick your ass in.”

Akira chuckles. “Sure. I can’t stay too late, but we can kill a couple hours.”

“Got big plans for later?”

“No, just gonna go help out the guy who runs the airsoft shop.”

“Dude,” Ryuji frowns. “That’s, like, your third job. How do you ever have time to do anything?”

“It’s not a job, he doesn’t pay me. I just do him small favors and he gives me a discount.”

“That don’t make it better, man.”

He doesn’t mention it, but it makes Ryuji grin to think that Akira’s so busy, but always finds time to hang out with him.

They take the train to Ryuji’s stop, and walk the rest of the way to the apartment building, walking shoulder-to-shoulder beneath the summer sun. Ryuji knows his mom will still be at work for a while, so the apartment will be empty when they arrive. Not that he planned for that, it’s just how things worked out.

The conversation he’d had with her the other day pops into his head. ‘So, am I ever going to get to meet this Akira boy I’ve heard so much about?’

Urgh. Thinking about it makes Ryuji feel all antsy. She’d said it like she was talkin’ about a girl Ryuji likes or something. And introducing Akira to her, one-on-one… it still sounds more like somethin’ you do with a girlfriend than with a friend.

He tries to put it out of his mind, though. He’s gone down that rabbit hole before and it was stupid and weird then. Doing it again is just… stupider. And weirder.

“Nice place you got here,” Akira says, looking around Ryuji’s room while Ryuji boots up his game console. “You kept the plushie I won at the arcade?” He picks up the little golden dog, smoothing its velvety fur.

“Uh,” Ryuji says, lamely. Shit, what does he say to that? He looks like a total softie for havin’ that thing. His tough guy image is fallin' apart here.

“That’s cute, that you kept it,” Akira says. “I still think it looks like you - don’t you see the resemblance?”

Ryuji blinks at him. “No…?”

Akira shrugs, putting the dog back where he’d picked it up from. “I’ve gotten so used to retro games, it’s gonna be weird to play something so modern.”

“You’re gonna get totally stomped, dude.”

“Yeah, right. That’s why I always win when we play Punch Ouch.”

“Punch Ouch is ancient, and this is a racing game, not a fighting game. Completely different.”

They settle on the floor in front of Ryuji’s t.v, sitting close enough that their knees touch, and Ryuji explains the controls to Akira. Akira does better than expected, considering this is the first time he's even touch the controller for this console, let alone having played the game. However, Ryuji's been playing this game for weeks and he's got a leg up on the competition here, so as well as Akira's doing, it doesn't really compare.

About two hours later, as they're in the middle of a tense race, neck-and-neck in the final lap, there’s a knock on Ryuji’s bedroom door. His mom peeks her head inside.

“Ryuji, I’m home - oh! Hello! Who’s this?”

“Agh,” Ryuji scrambles for the pause button on his controller, car veering into the offroad as he does. “Mom, this is Akira. Akira, this is my mom. Sorry I didn’t ask before invitin' him over…”

“Oh, it’s nice to meet you!” Ryuji’s mom says, beaming. “I’ve heard so much about you from Ryuji, it’s good to put a face to the name.” She turns to Ryuji. “No need to apologize, you know I don’t mind if you have friends over.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Akira says. “Sorry for showing up unannounced.”

“It’s alright, I don’t mind at all. I’ll get out of your hair now, boys. Have fun!”

And then she vanishes from the doorway.

“I don’t know what you’ve been telling your mom about me, but I hope it’s all been good,” Akira says.

Urgh. She had to go and say ‘oh I’ve heard so much about you.’ That’s so embarrassing.

“Uh, yeah. What kind of bad things would I even have to tell her?”

Akira bats his eyelashes. “Aw, you think that highly of me, Ryuji? That’s so sweet.”

Ryuji’s face goes warm.

“Whatever. I’m unpausing the game now, whether you’re ready or not.”

They race for a little while longer. Ryuji does win most of their races, but it’s not a complete shutout. Before long, it’s getting dark, daylight fading into twilight, and Akira has to leave.

Ryuji walks with him to the station, because he's a good friend like that and because it buys him a few more minutes with Akira; a few more moments of aimless conversation, a few more chances to hear his laugh. The temperature has dropped to a more comfortable level as the day has worn on, and the cicadas chirp in the pleasant evening.

“You know, your mom reminds me a lot of you,” Akira says.

“Hey, watch it. That’s an insult to my mom.”

Akira leans over and bumps shoulders with Ryuji. “You watch it, that’s my best friend you’re putting down.” A pause. “I don’t know her very well but she really did remind me of you.”

Ryuji’s quiet for a moment, listening to the cicadas and the sound of nearby traffic.

“You think?” he finally asks.

“Yeah. You don’t see it?”

Ryuji looks at Akira from the corner of his eye. “No, I don’t see it, man.”

“First of all, you look a lot like her.”

“Great, that’s what every guy wants to hear: that they look like their mom.”

Akira laughs. “You know I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I think it’s the eyes - her eyes are warm like yours, and the same color, too.”

“Dude, sayin’ stuff like that makes it sound like you’re crushin’ on my mom.”

“Nah, moms aren’t my type,” Akira says.

Ryuji doesn’t know what to say to that. All he can think is ‘Akira thinks I have warm eyes? Is ‘warm’ good? Does that mean he likes them?’

Why does it matter if he likes them? Why does Ryuji care so damn much?

For obvious reasons he doesn’t ask Akira about it. But the thought lingers, bouncing around in his head.

They get to the station without incident, and Ryuji stays to chat with Akira until the train arrives.

“Have fun at your job,” Ryuji says as Akira approaches the train.

“Again, not a job,” Akira says back. “Be safe on the way home.”

The walk back home from the station sucks, alone without Akira at his side. Would it be too clingy to text him already? They’ve been apart for… six minutes. Is that too soon to miss him?

His mom is preparing dinner when he gets back. He goes in to help, not that he’s actually much help with cooking.

“Akira seems like a nice young man,” his mom says as she chops veggies. “It was good to meet him.”

“Yeah,” Ryuji says, noncommittally.

“Um,” she says. A silence stretches out between them. “Ryuji, I have some bad news.”

He looks up at her across the table. “What’s up?”

“I wasn’t sure if I should tell you, but… I got a call this afternoon. It’s about your father.”

Chapter Text

“He’s dying.”

Ryuji looks at his mom, expression blank, mind racing.

His dad is… dying.

He doesn’t know how he feels about that. How is he supposed to feel about that? Ryuji hates the bastard, but he’s not so heartless as to be glad the guy’s dying.

He’s not really upset about it, either, though. The asshole hasn’t been part of Ryuji’s life for years, and when he was around, he made Ryuji’s life hell. It’s not like this is some great loss to Ryuji.

“I got a call from his girlfriend today,” Ryuji’s mom says, reaching across the table to hold Ryuji’s hand. “She said your father’s health is declining and his prognosis doesn’t look good. She wanted me to tell you, in case you wanted to see him while you still can.”

Ryuji’s still just looking at her. Like hell he wants to see that piece of shit. What’re they gonna do, sit down for dinner and talk about how miserable he made Ryuji’s childhood? How Ryuji sees his dad reflected in himself and how it scares the shit outta him?

Yeah, no thanks.

“Oh,” is all he can say.

“Nobody will force you to go, Ryuji,” his mom says, giving his hand a squeeze. “It’s up to you.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“She told me it’s his liver, but didn’t say much else. The conversation was brief. She said they’re in Tokyo and that your father’s in the hospital right now. She gave the address, if you want to go.”

‘That’s what the guy gets for all the drinking he did,’ he thinks, but feels guilty as soon as the thought crosses his mind. That was cruel. Ryuji wouldn’t wish death on anyone, even his pathetic excuse for a father.

“I don’t want to,” he says, but he feels all tangled up inside. He doesn’t want to go have a conversation with his dad. He wouldn’t have anything to say to the guy. And he certainly isn’t interested in meeting whatever new family his dad’s found since he left - he has a girlfriend now, apparently. Do they have kids? Does he treat them the way he treated Ryuji and his mom?

No, Ryuji doesn’t want to go talk things over with the asshole, and make nice with his new family, and act like all their history is just water under the bridge.

There’s a teeny tiny part of him, deep down, that wonders if he should go, anyway. He might never get another chance. Maybe his dad will admit he was terrible, and apologize. Beg for forgiveness for how he acted. Take some ownership in the whole thing.

Would Ryuji be able to forgive him, even if he did all that, though?

“That’s fine,” his mom says. “Like I said, nobody would force you. If you change your mind, I would go with you.”

Ryuji pulls his hand away from his mom’s. He’s always causing so much trouble for her, he couldn’t ask her to go face her abuser again just for his sake.

“Do you want to see him?” he asks.

“No,” she says, standing up from the table and coming around to give Ryuji a half-hug, “But I would go with you if you needed me there.”

His stomach twists up into queasy knots. He doesn’t want to see his dad. But maybe it’d be good for him. Maybe he’d get some kind of closure. Will he regret it one day, if he doesn’t go?

He’s not smart enough to make tough decisions like this.

“Do you think I should go?”

“I can’t make that choice for you, honey. I’m sorry.”

He stands and hugs his mom back, pressing his face into the curve of her shoulder. The fabric of her shirt is soft against his cheek.

“Thanks,” he says, muffled against her warmth. “I’ll tell you if I change my mind.”

When they separate from the hug, she takes his face in her hands and then leans in and kisses his forehead.

“I love you, Ryuji. Remember, no pressure. Do what’s best for you, okay?”

“I will, mom.” A pause. “I love you, too.”

The twisted, tangled feeling in his chest keeps him up most of the night.

What if he goes, and it’s awful, and he ends up feeling worse?

But what if he doesn’t go, and misses the chance to get closure, and stays angry at his dad forever?

Thinking about seeing his dad’s face again after all these years makes him feel like he’s being smothered, caught beneath the suffocating weight of a childhood’s worth of fear. His chest aches and his hands get clammy and his stomach feels sick.

Ryuji doesn’t want his dad to die, and it’s terrible to think, but if the asshole dropped dead before Ryuji could make up his mind then at least the decision would be out of Ryuji’s hands.

He tries to put it out of his mind in the coming days, which is easy enough to do. The whole situation with Medjed and this Alibaba person is more than enough to keep him occupied. It’s hard to stress about your shitty dad, wasting away in some hospital on the other side of the city, when there’s an international hacktivist group threatening the whole of Japan because they’re pissed at you. Bigger fish to fry and all that.

He wasn’t expecting Alibaba to be someone so close by - right in Yongen, even! 

He also wasn’t expecting her palace to be out in the middle of the freakin’ desert.

The ride in the Mona van is absolute misery. Who knew cats don’t have built in a/c? Everyone is hot and cranky and just… bored. There’s nothing to do except swelter in the van, and watch the flat, beige desert go by.

What a way to start summer vacation.

At least if he has to be crammed, sweaty and sticky, next to anyone, it’s Akira. That’s almost enough to make him not mind.

Almost.

When the ride through the desert had started everyone had been in good spirits, making idle chit-chat as they drove. As the trip wore on, though, the conversation died out as the group became fatigued from the long drive and cranky in the heat. It’s mostly quiet now, with the occasional complaint about the temperature.

Despite the fact that it feels like a freakin’ sauna in the van, Ryuji’s eyes are getting heavy. The quiet among the group, the steady vibrations of the wheels across the scorching sand… he stifles a yawn. It’s not even like when they’re driving in Mementos, where they could barrel into a Shadow at any moment and the physical activity involved in fighting keeps him alert. There’s no such activity now, and without the threat of Shadows, it’s just him versus his drowsiness. And he’s losing.

He’s not the only one, though. Beside him, Akira has already nodded off, head slumped forward awkwardly. Man, he’s gonna wake up with a crick in his neck if he sleeps like that.

Ryuji nudges him. “Akira, man. You’re gonna hurt your neck sleepin’ like that.”

Akira grumbles, his eyelids flutter. But he doesn’t wake.

“Dude,” Ryuji tries again, nudging him harder.

“What?” Akira asks, voice low, the word all warped and slurred. His eyes don’t open, but he shifts, leaning his head on Ryuji’s shoulder.

“Oh,” Ryuji says. Well, it’s a moot point now. “Nothin’, man, nevermind.”

Akira’s already asleep again, his breathing slow and even.

It’s really too damn hot to have someone all up in his space. Akira’s cheek is resting on Ryuji’s shoulder, left bare by the bright yellow sleeveless shirt he wears - overheated, sweaty skin pressed to overheated, sweaty skin. The warmth of Akira’s body joins with the heat of the midday desert; oppressive and relentless. Everywhere their bodies touch is one less part of Ryuji that can get any air flow, making those places overheat faster. 

Ryuji doesn’t mind.

Akira’s face is relaxed and peaceful in his sleep. His long lashes fan across his cheeks, which are ruddy in the summer swelter. His sweaty bangs stick to his forehead, and similarly, hair is sticking to the clammy skin of his neck. Summer sunlight filters in through the windows and falls in golden, slanted shapes across his face. It’s easier to notice when he’s asleep, but his face still carries a hint of youthful roundness; the last hints of baby fat that he hasn’t quite aged out of yet.

Ryuji’s never seen him so… serene, all the lines and tension gone from his face. He’s never looked like the dangerous transfer student, not to Ryuji anyway, but looking at him now, Ryuji really doesn’t see it. That’s the guy who supposedly assaulted someone? That’s the guy who’s leading the Phantom Thieves; the wanted criminal and the most versatile fighter they have on the team? That’s the guy who Ryuji has watched corner a Shadow and, with great flair and equivalent confidence, absolutely obliterate it?

Right now, asleep on Ryuji’s shoulder, sharp, refined features all smoothed out and lax, Akira doesn’t look like the transfer student, or Joker, the leader of the Phantom Thieves. He just looks like a teenager, stealing a catnap in the summer afternoon.

Looking at him makes Ryuji’s chest ache; makes something in his heart twist, like twisting a knife in a wound. He swallows down a lump in his throat.

He wonders if Akira’s been stressed out, bein’ leader. He knows he can talk to Ryuji if he needs a friendly ear, right?

Ryuji just watches Akira’s face as he naps, until the drowsiness overtakes him, too. When he does finally doze off, it’s with his cheek pressed to the top of Akira’s head - like a little totem pole, Akira’s head on Ryuji’s shoulder and Ryuji’s head resting against Akira’s. Despite the cramped accommodations of the Mona van, and the hellish temperature, it's the best sleep Ryuji's gotten since he heard the news about his dad.

***

Akira, the absolute best bro Ryuji could have ever asked for, tags along on Ryuji’s mission to get dirt on Yamauchi - the guy comin’ in to be coach for the newly-reinstated track team. He was around when Kamoshida was coach, and he was the asshole’s freakin’ lapdog. Ryuji has a sinking feeling in his gut that he’s up to no good. He knows it’s not his business, what happens to the track team.

But he still feels like he owes them this, after all the trouble he’s caused them. And more than that, he just doesn’t want to see their dreams get shattered again .

Ryuji has to hide from the guy in the freakin’ bathroom, because Yamauchi would recognize him. But Akira’s a real pal, and sits near their table with his phone on speaker so Ryuji can eavesdrop.

The shit he hears, though… it’s sickening. It makes Ryuji’s blood boil. It’s a good thing he’s in the bathroom and not out there in the dining room of the restaurant, because there’s no way he’d be able to bite his tongue if he were face-to-face with that scumbag right now.

He wants to help, but it’s the team’s decision how to handle this, and he’s not on the team. It’s their call what to do with the info Ryuji’s gotten - all he can do is tell ‘em what he knows.

He tells Akira all of this in the best way he can.

“Sprintin’ ain’t a team sport,” he says. “You’ve got teammates, sure, but you’re just lookin’ out for your own time. Even though we had our own goals and shit, we were still runnin’ together. They suffered with me, gritted their teeth with me… I can’t just turn my back on ‘em now.”

Across the table, Akira doesn’t say anything. His expression is neutral and even, as usual.

Ryuji continues, looking at how the orange lights reflect off the shiny, lacquered tabletop. “I know that ain’t the coolest thing to say, but it’s how I feel.”

“It is cool,” Akira says, and his tone is heartfelt and sincere.

“Wh - huh? Really? Uh, thanks, man!” Ryuji chuckles.

Anyone else would have laughed at him for that sentimental shit, but not Akira. Of course Akira wouldn’t, though. Ryuji could probably lay out all his most embarrassin’ secrets and Akira wouldn’t laugh or judge him.

By the time they leave the monjayaki restaurant, it’s already late. The sun has set, leaving the silver moon to light the walk to the station.

“Hey, wanna hang out at Leblanc?” Akira asks. “It’s summer break, and you said you planned on coming over tomorrow, anyway, right? You could just stay the night.”

“Sure,” Ryuji says, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “Let me tell my mom. Wait - Boss won’t mind, will he?”

Akira shakes his head, dark hair flopping over his forehead as he does. “No, I don’t think so. He let Yusuke stay overnight that one time.”

They take the train back to Yongen, walking close together from the station to the cafe. The night air is quiet and pleasantly warm; their hands brush as they walk, and Ryuji imagines taking Akira’s hand in his. It would be effortless to do it, to hold his hand as they walk, to swing their joined hands between them idly.

But he doesn’t do it, of course, because that’s… it’s weird, right? To want to hold your best friend’s hand as you walk through the sleepy backstreets together, beneath the pinprick stars and crescent moon… that’s weird. Isn’t it?

They play video games on Akira’s ancient old console for a while, and then they lay on Akira’s bed and make aimless conversation. The game sits forgotten, idle on the start screen, spilling eight-bit, chiptune music into the attic.

It had once felt dreary and dull here, but each time Ryuji visits he finds it’s feeling more and more cozy. Today he notices there’s a new plushie above the work desk - the Big Bang Burger mascot - and Herb the houseplant is positively glowing, with vibrant green leaves. The spring sun had cast the attic in dull, rainy greys before but now it is cast in the warm tone of the cafe’s overhead lights. Moonlight spills through the open windows and scatters across the foot of the bed and the worn floorboards.

Beside Ryuji on the bed, on the side nearest the wall, Akira is laying on his back. His hair falls across the pillow, like a Roar Shack test inkblot and he’s abandoned his glasses, letting the moonlight shine upon the high points of his face unimpeded.

Ryuji turns to look at him, and Akira quickly turns his head toward the wall - was he looking at Ryuji before turning his head?

“Hey,” Akira says, voice low in the quiet attic. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure, dude, you can tell me anything.”

“It’s a secret, you can’t tell anyone else.”

“I got you, man, no worries. Loose lips sink ships and all that, right?”

Akira’s quiet, his head turned now so he’s looking up at the ceiling beams above them. He looks troubled - brows stitched together, frown on the edges of his expression.

“I’m…” his hands, resting folded atop his stomach, start to wring together. “I. Uh. I like guys.” He glances at Ryuji from his periphery.

Oh.

“Oh.”

“Does that… change how you see me?”

“No way, man,” Ryuji says, and it’s the truth. “It’d take way more than that to change my opinion of you.”

“I like girls, too, but…” he says, and the sentence trails off, as if he’d had no conclusion to add to that thought. “You’re the only person I’ve told.”

Ryuji’s brain is scrambled and he doesn’t know why. It’s stupid. This doesn’t change anything about their friendship. What does he care if Akira’s into chicks and dudes? Ryuji’s not an asshole; he doesn’t have anything against gay people. And it’s Akira . Ryuji thinks the world of him - he’s more important to Ryuji than anyone else, except his own mom. He’d have to do somethin’ real bad to make Ryuji hate him.

So why does his head feel like a snowglobe that someone’s shaken up - all scattered and chaotic?

“You’re being quiet,” Akira says, turning to look at Ryuji. The bed’s not very big, and this motion puts them only a scant few inches away from being nose-to-nose.

“Sorry. I dunno what to say.”

“It really doesn’t bother you?” Akira asks, and he’s still wringing his hands together. The motion of his long, slender fingers catches the moonlight.

“I swear it don’t. Come on, man, you know I ain’t like that.”

“I do, but I was nervous, anyway.”

“Well, don’t be. This don’t change anything,” Ryuji says. “So, did you tell me ‘cause you got a crush you wanna talk about?”

Ryuji’s stomach drops at the thought of Akira having a crush on someone. Jealousy, sour and acrid, burns the back of his throat. It’s stupid, why would he be jealous?

Akira looks away for a moment. Through the dark and the stillness of the room, Ryuji can make out little spots of color on his cheeks.

 “I do, but that’s not why I told you. I told you because… I don’t know, because it sucked feeling like I had to hide, I guess. Especially from you.”

The words make Ryuji’s throat tight. ‘ Especially from you,’ he’d said. Ryuji’s heart swells. But he doesn’t vocalize the feeling that wells up within him, because he can’t put the feeling into words. He just sits with it, basking in the warmth, and the trust, and the affection.

“I’m your right hand man. You don’t gotta keep secrets from me.”

“I know,” Akira says, and he finally stops twisting his hands together. Instead, he rests one of his hands next to Ryuji’s on the mattress. Their pinky fingers touch; Akira hooks his around Ryuji’s so they’re interlocked.

“So what’s it like? Having a crush on a dude, I mean.”

Akira quirks a brow at him. “It’s just like having a crush on a girl,” he laughs, voice quiet, like the laughter is a secret just for them. “Why would it be any different?”

“Man, how would I know?”

“You’ve been into a girl before, right? It’s the same. It’s still a crush, dude, it’s not different.”

Ryuji’s stomach twists into knots.

Akira continues: “You know, the nervous butterflies, thinking they’re cute, wanting their attention, trying to be around them all the time, thinking about them a lot… it’s normal crush stuff.”

Ryuji’s throat gets tight, his face goes warm.

That sounds a lot like how he feels about Akira.

Oh, shit.

Obviously he knew he felt all those things about Akira. He’s been feeling them for weeks, maybe even months, if he's honest. But he’d never considered it could be a crush, because he’s not into guys. The way he feels about Akira is just… friendly. Right? Right?

“How do you know the difference between a crush and liking a dude as a friend, though?”

“Huh? The same way you’d know if it was a girl. You’ve had a crush before, haven’t you? You like Ann as a friend, but you don’t have a crush on her, right? Because friendship and a crush just feel different . It’s the same way when the person’s a guy. If it feels like a crush, it probably is.” Akira's looking at him in a way that makes Ryuji feel squirmy; like he can see right through him. "Why so curious, do you...? No, nevermind."

Ryuji's too busy panicking to acknowledge that last comment, it goes in one ear and out the other.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

The way he feels about Akira is just friendly. It’s just friendly. It doesn’t matter that he’s never felt like this about any other friends before, or that his stomach erupts into nervous butterflies sometimes when Akira’s around, or that he thinks Akira’s the coolest guy he knows and somehow prettier than even all the girls at school. It’s platonic. It has to be. It's friendly, it's friendly, it's friendly!

If he felt this way about a girl, though, would he be saying the same thing?

No, it can’t be a crush, because Ryuji’s not into dudes. He’s straight as an arrow. He likes girls, with all their feminine curves and pretty features.

‘But,’ his brain helpfully supplies, ‘Akira’s pretty, too. The corners of his eyes crinkle in the cutest way when he laughs, and…’

AGH! Whatever! Ryuji likes girls, and only girls, and not Akira . He can think someone’s pretty without being into them.

It should be easy to prove he doesn’t have a crush on Akira. What are some things he’d only want to do with someone he was into? What about holding hands, or kissing. He wouldn’t want to do that stuff with just anyone - he thinks Ann is pretty, but he doesn’t have a crush on her. When he thinks about kissing her, he feels nothing. Maybe a little weirded out, if anything. He’d never want to kiss Yusuke, or Makoto.

But he’d thought very hard about holding Akira’s hand literally just an hour ago on the way here from the station. And when he thinks about kissing Akira, he doesn’t feel nothing. He doesn’t even feel weirded out.

Instead, his chest aches, his face burns all the way to the tips of his ears, and his stomach does a queasy somersault.

…Oh, shit.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Akira,” Ryuji says, meeting up with Akira at the stairs when the final bell rings. “I got a favor to ask, man. I’m gonna tell the track team what I learned about Yamauchi, how he was lyin’ about Nakaoka and is tryin’ to get rid of Takeishi,” he swings his leg, scuffing his sneaker across the ground. “...Will you come with me?”

“Of course,” Akira says. “Did you even have to ask?”

Man, Akira really is a bro. It’s embarrassing to say, but Ryuji’d been a little nervous to go confront the team before. He feels braver with Akira by his side, though.

“Thanks, dude, you’re the best!”

Ryuji already asked the track team to meet him in their training spot, so he and Akira head there to wait for them. They stand, side-by-side, leaning against the wall. It’s still pretty lively - class just let out, so there are lots of students milling about. Ryuji watches them come and go, listens to the distant chatter and the sound of the leaves rustling in the summer breeze.

 “Your roots are growing back in,” Akira says offhandedly. “Are you gonna bleach your hair again, or leave it to grow in black?”

Huh? Ryuji looks over at Akira, and finds Akira’s already looking at him. “Bleach it again,” he says. “I just ain’t done it yet, ‘cause it’s a pain to do on my own.”

“You don’t do it yourself?”

“I can do the front myself, but it’s not like I can see the back of my own head. My mom usually helps me, but she hasn’t had time.”

“I can help you, if you want,” Akira says. “You trusted me to pierce your ears, and this is way less permanent than that,” he adds with a laugh.

“Would you really?”

“Yeah, why not - oh, I think I see the track team coming this way.”

Here goes nothin’. After he tells them what’s going on, it’s up to them how they handle it. Passing on the info is all he can really do to try and help - if they even believe him in the first place.

They have to believe him. He recorded the whole conversation from the restaurant. It’s irrefutable proof.

Telling them does not go well. Okay, maybe Ryuji could have handled things a little better - both Nakaoka and Takeishi are clearly shaken up about the news. Ryuji’s spiel about livin’ for yourself, and how he’s more scared to be a crappy person than he is of not having a place to belong, while truthful, might not have been well timed.

It is all true, though, and he stands by what he said. Takeishi was willing to betray his friends for a letter of recommendation, and Nakaoka knew somethin’ was up and just let it all slide. What’s the point in that kinda thing? It’s better to live for yourself. He’s been where they are: scared, lyin’ to himself… he knows what it’s like. He just wants to focus on bein’ free now, and they should, too.

As true as it is, they perhaps are not in the right headspace to hear it.

“I know you guys are probably real pissed about all of this,” he says. Across from him, he can see both Nakaoka and Takeishi have their hands curled into tight fists. “So, if you wanna hit me or something, go ahead.”

“In that case,” Takeishi says, taking a step across the grass. After blowing up and sayin’ all that stuff about how he’s struggling to make his dad proud, he’s got tears in the corners of his eyes.

Next to Ryuji, Akira comes to life. He’s been quiet through the whole exchange, but now he steps between Ryuji and the track team.

“Hey, woah,” he says. “No need for violence. You guys aren’t mad at Ryuji - it’s Yamauchi you’re pissed at. Don’t take it out on Ryuji, he’s done nothing but help. If you’ve got energy to get out, go for a run or something.”

The members of the track team stand there for a long moment, looking at Ryuji and Akira. But in the end they relent, and eventually leave without any issue. As they go, Ryuji can hear them talking - ‘I’m still mad, but I think I can put all of this behind me,’ they’re saying.

Good. It looks like everything will work out. Ryuji breathes a sigh of relief.

“Thanks for bein’ here, man,” he says to Akira. “I think they’re gonna be just fine now.”

“Yeah, no problem, dude,” Akira says, turning to him. He’s frowning, though.

Ryuji shuffles his feet in the grass. “Uh, you wanna do something since we’re already together?”

“Sure,” Akira says, and the frown is gone. Whatever was bothering him seems to have vanished, like it was never there at all. “I can bleach your hair for you like I offered.”

They go to Ryuji’s apartment, where Ryuji puts on a ratty old shirt that he doesn’t care about - it’s got a few holes in it, and is already mottled with bleached spots from previous hair-bleaching misadventures. There’s no harm if it gets a little bleach on it today. He sits in a chair in the kitchen while Akira stands behind him and applies the bleach to his hair. It doesn’t take long, since his hair is so short and only the roots really need to be covered thoroughly.

“You were gonna let yourself get beat up by the track team, man,” Akira says as he works. “What the hell?”

Ryuji doesn’t know what to say.

“It was gonna help,” is all he can come up with.

“And they got on fine without beating you up. Even if it would’ve helped, that doesn’t mean it’s cool.”

Ryuji’s quiet for a moment, staring at his feet.

“You know,” Akira says, “Other people don’t matter more than you.”

“Huh? What are you sayin’ that for?”

“You think I haven’t noticed? You almost got hit by a car trying to save Makoto, and now you’re willing to let the track team whale on you to work out their frustrations?”

Ryuji scowls, fidgeting with a loose thread on his old, worn-out shirt.

“You act like it’s fine if you get hurt as long as someone else benefits from it. Like your safety matters less than everyone else’s safety and everyone else's feelings. You promised me you’d have more self-preservation, man.”

Does he do that? Hearing it laid out like that, Akira makes a compelling argument. But it’s not like Ryuji’s sitting around thinking about this stuff. He’s just doing what he feels is right at the moment.

“I’m just doin’ what seems right,” he tries to explain.

“Well, if ‘what seems right’ is you getting hurt to benefit someone else, reconsider. Because you seem to have one hell of a self-sacrificing streak and I care too much to leave it be.”

Ryuji stares at the kitchen floor. Does he have a self-sacrificing streak? He doesn’t think other people matter more than him.

Does he?

Ugh, he’s not introspective or self-aware enough for this shit.

“Big words comin’ from you, dude,” he says, instead of thinking about it anymore. He’s not being serious about it, although Akira did get arrested trying to save a stranger, so…

“It’s not the same,” Akira says, voice sad. “I’m not letting myself get beat up just to make someone else feel better.”

Ryuji turns to look at Akira. He’s frowning at Ryuji.

“I’m not mad,” Akira says, still frowning. “I’m just worried. You’re my best friend, dude, and I don’t like seeing you act like you matter less than everyone else.”

“I don’t act like that, though.”

“Look,” Akira sighs. “I’m not going to try and play armchair psychologist on you. I’m no doctor. But I do think you’re way too willing to get hurt for other people’s sake. I know ‘being willing to get hurt for other peoples’ sake’ is kind of a job requirement for what we do, but you’re way more willing than even that. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand by and watch my best friend get hurt just because he thinks it’ll make someone else feel a little better.”

It’s quiet for a second.

“Sorry,” Ryuji finally says. “I’m really not doin’ it on purpose.”

“It’s fine, man. Like I said, I’m not mad. I just care about you. Anyway, we have to leave the bleach on for a little bit. While we wait for the bleach to do its thing, want to help me prepare for the Palace tomorrow?”

“Sure, man. What do you need me to do?”

“I was going to make some infiltration tools. I can teach you. With two sets of hands, it’ll go twice as fast.”

Ryuji laughs. “That’s assumin’ I don’t screw up and make you go behind me to fix it.”

“It’s easy,” Akira says. “You’ll be fine. I believe in you.”

They sit down at Ryuji's kitchen table together. From his bag, Akira produces a handful of junk, which he spreads on the table between them. Just various odds and ends that all look like garbage to Ryuji.

“You carry all this crap with you?”

“Yeah. I make stuff in class sometimes, so I keep it all in my school bag.”

Freakin’ weirdo.

Akira picks up a couple of the objects, showing Ryuji the steps to craft a lockpick. Ryuji pays close attention. Akira makes it look easy, but the instructions are pretty simple so maybe it really is just that easy? Surely this is something Ryuji can handle.

This is not something Ryuji can handle. He doesn’t have much trouble with the fiddly little pieces of metal and junk; no, he’s used to building model kits, so tiny, finicky pieces aren’t any issue for him. His problem is that he just keeps freakin’ forgetting the steps Akira showed him.

Akira puts down whatever it is he’s crafting, reaching across the table to show Ryuji the third step. Again.

“Next, you take this piece,” he says, laying his hands over top of Ryuji’s and guiding him through the steps. “And you put it here.”

“Where’d you even learn all this crap?” Ryuji asks, trying his absolute best to commit the sequence of steps to memory. Unfortunately, all he can focus on is how warm Akira’s hands are on his, and how confident and sure his movements are.

“Morgana taught me.”

“And what are you making?”

“A smoke bomb.”

“Dude, ain’t it illegal to make bombs?”

Akira laughs so hard that he has to stop showing Ryuji the steps for the lockpick, his hands falling away from Ryuji’s.

Ryuji misses the contact the second it’s gone, but the sound of Akira’s unbridled laughter is so nice that he can’t possibly be too bothered.

“It’s not a real bomb,” he says when he’s composed himself. “It’s a smoke bomb. Like, ‘Oh, no, a Shadow spotted us!’ and then it makes a cloud of smoke to obscure us as we sneak away.” He reaches back across the table to resume guiding Ryuji’s hands through the lockpick-making process. “It definitely is illegal to make a real bomb, though that would be one hell of a weapon against a Shadow.”

“They’re basically bombs already. I remember that time one blew up on us - er, sorry, can you show me that step again? I wasn’t payin’ attention.”

Akira has the patience of a saint, taking the time to guide Ryuji’s hands through each step of making a lockpick, hands steady and soft and warm upon Ryuji's. It’s not a long or complex process, but Ryuji’s never met a series of steps that he couldn’t forget partway through. It definitely takes longer to show Ryuji the steps than it would have taken if Akira had just made the lockpick himself, but once Ryuji’s got the steps down he’s able to craft a few shoddy, rough lockpicks without help. That frees Akira up to work on crafting other stuff, so in the end it works out to be more efficient than Akira working by himself, even if it was a bit slow at the start.

They craft stuff for their upcoming palace exploration, while Akira goes on little non-sequiturs between the moments of comfortable quiet. Akira’s not the world’s chattiest guy - between them, it’s usually Ryuji who’s filling the silences - but today he carries most of the conversation, as Ryuji’s using most of his attention to keep the lockpick steps straight in his mind. Akira’s working from muscle memory, though, so he’s got attention to spare. He tells Ryuji about his hometown, stories from when he was in middle school, and little snippets of things he’s been up to lately; places he’s been and people he’s met since he came to Tokyo. Ryuji listens, adding in his own comments where he can but otherwise perfectly content to listen to whatever Akira has to say.

When it’s time to rinse the bleach out of Ryuji’s hair, Akira grabs one of the kitchen chairs and drags it from its place at the table, positioning it in front of the kitchen sink.

“Sit,” he says as he turns the faucet on. “Actually, bring me your shampoo. And then sit.”

“I ain’t a dog,” Ryuji says, but he does as he’s told. He retrieves his shampoo from the bathroom and then obediently takes a seat in the chair, with his back to the sink so he can lean his head backwards into the basin.

“I dunno,” Akira says, testing the water temperature with his hand. “You’ve got a certain puppy-dog quality to you.”

What the hell does that mean?

“What, ‘cause I’m loud?” Didn’t Kamoshida’s Shadow call him a dog? ‘Barking dogs seldom bite,’ or whatever he’d said?

“What? No,” Akira says, but he doesn’t elaborate. “Lean your head back. Is the water too hot?”

Ryuji leans his head back, into the spray of the faucet. The water is warm, but not unpleasant. “Nah, it’s fine.”

Akira gets to work wetting Ryuji’s hair. Somewhere out of Ryuji’s line of sight, there’s the sound of the shampoo bottle popping open.

“You gonna dye my hair for me next?” Akira asks, lathering the shampoo in his hands before he starts working it into Ryuji’s damp hair.

“I know you’re joking,” Ryuji says, “but I would, you know.” ‘I’d do anything you asked of me,’ is implied.

Akira smiles down at him, expression soft and eyes brimming with fondness. “I know, man.”

Ryuji isn’t sure where to look. It’s kinda weird, with Akira hovering above him, right in his field of view. If he looks straight ahead, he’s looking directly up at Akira. Not that he has any qualms about looking at Akira, but it’s awkward to just… stare, while Akira can notice him staring.

So he closes his eyes instead, listening to the sound of the running faucet. He can smell the harsh chemical scent of the bleach, and the soapy scent of shampoo, and the smell of coffee that clings to Akira (he will probably think of Akira any time he smells coffee for the rest of his freakin' life.) The water is a nice, comfortable temperature and Akira’s touch is pleasant as he works the shampoo into Ryuji’s hair. He lathers it all the way to the root, rubbing Ryuji’s scalp in small circular motions as he works the shampoo in thoroughly.

Ryuji opens his eyes. Above him, Akira is focused on the task at hand. He’s humming a little tune, rinsing the bleach and shampoo suds from Ryuji’s hair, pooling water in his hand like a cup and pouring it over the spots the faucet won’t reach. His expression is relatively neutral, but Ryuji knows him well enough to pick up on the hints of something else there - the slight slope of his brows, the fond look in his eyes. It belies an underlying softness, or perhaps a contentedness. Like doing this for Ryuji is somehow… nice for him. Like he’s happy to do it.

He looks down and makes eye contact with Ryuji. Ryuji’s instinct is to look away, so Akira doesn’t know he was watching him. But he can’t bring himself to do it. They both hold eye contact, frozen in the quiet apartment.

Then Akira smiles down at him, something small and so painfully, gut-wrenchingly warm that Ryuji’s chest erupts into that fluttery feeling (a feeling he’s becoming quite used to.)

“How are you holding up?” he asks, carding his fingers through Ryuji’s short hair, tender and gentle, as he works out any tangles. Ryuji’s hair is so short that there really aren’t many knots to work out, but he continues to stroke his fingers through Ryuji’s wet hair, anyway.

“All good here,” Ryuji says, and wonders if his face gives away the storm of emotions currently going on inside him.

‘If it feels like a crush, it probably is,’ he remembers Akira saying.

A crush.

The thought makes his face hot; makes him fidget and bounce his leg as he sits there at the sink.

He can’t have a crush. He can’t . He’s not into guys.

Deep, deep in the back of his mind, that argument is beginning to feel a bit shaky.

If this is a crush, what the hell is he going to do?

“We’re about done here,” Akira says, either oblivious to or politely not mentioning Ryuji’s turmoil. He's still carding his fingers through Ryuji's hair - surely there aren't any more knots to undo? “Don’t move, let me go grab a towel.”

His handsome face vanishes from Ryuji’s field of view, leaving Ryuji alone, wet hair dripping in the sink.

Ryuji turns his head so he can look out the kitchen window, at some birds perched on a wire side-by-side. The sun is getting low - it’s not dark yet, but the late afternoon is quickly fading into a mild summer evening.

Akira returns with a bath towel, which he tosses over Ryuji’s head. Then he dries him off like one would an excitable dog, rubbing the towel roughly against Ryuji’s wet hair.

“Hey!” Ryuji exclaims from beneath the towel, reaching up and grabbing at it, trying to find the edge and free himself. “What the hell, man?”

“All done,” Akira says. “You’re like a new man.”

“Thanks for helpin’ me, dude,” Ryuji says, free from Akira’s rough treatment and drying his hair for real.

“Don’t mention it. I don’t have anything else to do tonight, you want to go get a beef bowl?”

Uh, hell yeah. Does he even have to ask?

Chapter Text

Ryuji sits inside the Big Bang Burger on Central Street, stomach all tied up in knots. Across from him at the small table, Ann is just taking her seat.

“So, what did you need my help with so urgently?” she asks, scooting her chair close enough that she can lean on the table.

Ryuji’s jaw is tight, and he’s twisting the hem of his shirt in his hands. “Look, you can’t tell anyone else about this, alright? You gotta promise .”

“Yeah, I promise,” Ann says, sipping her water. “Seriously, what is up with you?”

“And you can’t laugh, either.”

“I won’t laugh. Just spill it already.”

“I think…” he starts, bouncing his leg anxiously. He’s staring at the tabletop, watching the ring of condensation form around his soda. “I think I got a crush on someone, but -”

Ann perks up, eyes brightening. “Ooh, who is it?”

“Let me finish what I’m sayin’ first! I think I got a crush on someone but I dunno for sure. So just… tell me if it sounds like a crush to you.”

“Wow, I’ve never seen you blush this much before,” she says. “Oh - sorry. I said I wouldn’t laugh. Um, isn’t it easy to tell if you have a crush on someone? I mean, you either do or you don’t, right? It’s kind of obvious.”

“That ain’t helpful!”

“Well, if you want my input, tell me how you feel about her. Do you think she’s cute?”

“Yeah, but that don’t mean anything. I think dogs are cute and it ain’t like I got a crush on them.”

“Do you think about her all the time?”

Ryuji groans. “Yes.”

“Do you want to kiss her?”

“Next question.”

“Do you think she’s hot?”

Ryuji’s whole face burns with the heat of a thousand suns. “Pass.”

“Ryuji, I can’t help if you don’t actually tell me anything.”

“Ugh… okay, look, it’s confusing because I think he’s pretty, and -” Just saying that out loud is mortifying; it makes Ryuji’s palms sweat.

“He?” Ann says, and her eyebrows shoot up.

“Keep it down!” He pleads.

“Oh, my God, Ryuji,”

“No, don’t start -”

“You have a crush on a guy?”

“Maybe! I dunno!”

“...Is it Akira?”

Dammit, how did she know? Ryuji hides his red face in his hands. If there’s a God out there, please let a hole open in the floor of this Big Bang Burger and swallow him up.

“Oh, it totally is. Aw, Ryuji, that’s so cute.”

“It ain’t cute. And you said you wouldn’t laugh,” Ryuji groans, voice muffled behind his hands. This was an awful idea. He’d been embarrassed before, but this conversation has made him feel downright humiliated .

“I’m not laughing! Finish what you were saying. I’m listening, I swear.”

“I think he’s pretty, but that don’t mean shit. I think you’re pretty but I don’t have a crush on you.”

“I’ll let that one slide.”

“I think about him all the damn time, I get this annoyin’ nervous fluttery feeling when he looks at me. He’s so… cool, and nice, and he’s good at everything, and he treats me like I matter, and bein’ with him makes me feel so… free.”

“That’s actually really sweet, Ryuji,” Ann says. “Do you want to kiss him?”

“I already said I don’t wanna answer that.”

“Ryuji, come on.”

“Ugh… I dunno. Maybe.”

“If he came up to you, dipped you real low like in a romance movie, and gave you a big kiss, what would you do?”

Ryuji’s ears ring, he breaks out in a nervous sweat. If Akira came over and just… laid one on him. What would he do?

“I’d let him do it,” he says, hardly able to force the words out around the lump in his throat.

“Huh? I didn’t hear that.” Her voice sounds genuine, but it feels like she’s saying it just to make Ryuji repeat himself and prolong his misery.

“I’d let him do it, dammit!” He finally uncovers his face and looks at Ann. She’s not laughing, true to her word. In fact, her brows are sloped and her eyes are soft. She looks quite sympathetic to his plight.

“Do you want to hold his hand, and go on dates, and do cute couple things like that?”

Ryuji slumps way down in his seat.

“Yes,” he admits, scowling.

“You said you think he’s cute and pretty, but do you think he’s hot? Are you into him, y’know, like that?”

She can ask all she wants, Ryuji’s not touching that topic with a ten foot pole.

“Not relevant,” he lies. It is, in fact, very relevant. On the day of the fireworks festival, Ryuji had been very interested in the way Akira's wet clothes had clung to his body. Interested in the same way he should've been interested in the the girls of the group . Interested in a way that made his mouth dry and his heart race and his whole body feel way too warm. He hasn’t been able to face that particular thing on his own, though, let alone admitting it out loud to another person.

Besides, it’s not like Ann needs to know what gets Ryuji’s goat, so to speak.

“It is relevant,” Ann says. “And that wasn’t a ‘no.’”

Petulant and sunken low in his seat, brows scrunched, face burning like a wildfire, Ryuji glares daggers at her.

Ann is unperturbed. “Ryuji,” she says, reaching across the table to give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It sounds like you have a crush on him.”

He pulls his sweaty hand away, gripping the edge of the table like he’s trying to choke it out. “But I ain’t into dudes,” he says, meek and miserable.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, Ryuji, but I think you are. At least, you’re into one.”

***

Ryuji steps off the train at the Yogen-Jaya station. Bleh, being crammed in the subway with all those people this time of year is so… sweaty.

It’s a short walk to Leblanc, the summer sun bearing down on him, oppressive and overwhelming. Will Akira even be home? He’s such a busy guy nowadays, and it’s not like Ryuji texted to see if he was free. He just got antsy at home alone, so he hopped on the train and came over. At least if Akira’s not here, there are those batting cages across the street, so Ryuji can kill his evening there.

The lights inside the cafe are off, but from the street Ryuji can see soft, warm light pouring from the window above the cafe. Well, either Akira’s home or he left the light on for Morgana.

The window looks like it’s open. Ryuji calls up to it.

“Akira, you home?”

There’s a moment of no answer - it feels like it stretches on into infinity. The cicadas buzz; the sound of foot traffic filters in from the station. But those are the only sounds in the summer afternoon. 

Then a familiar mop of black hair appears in the window, backlit by the soft lights inside.

“I don't know what you’re trying to sell, but I’m not interested! No solicitors, please!”

Ryuji stands in front of the cafe, looking up at Akira in his window. He’s peering out the window, grinning down at Ryuji, his expression brighter than even the summer sun. Just seeing him makes Ryuji feel so much lighter; all the shit he was worrying about is easier to carry with Akira smiling at him like that. 

“I’ll be down in a second,” he says, and then his visage disappears from the window.

A moment later, Ryuji sees movement in the dark cafe. The lights come on and then Akira’s unlocking the door.

“Hey, man,” Ryuji says. “Sorry to show up with no warning.”

“No need to apologize,” Akira says, stepping back from the doorway and allowing Ryuji space to come inside. “Wanna come in?”

Ryuji steps out of the summer swelter and into the cafe. The blissful chill of air-conditioning washes over him, like a splash of cool water.

“I’m not crashin’ whatever you had planned, am I?” he asks, closing the door behind him.

“No, not at all. I wasn’t doing anything. What’s up?”

Ryuji looks at his feet, dragging the toe of his sneaker against the worn floor.

“Nothin’. Just felt restless, sittin’ at home alone.”

“Your mom at work tonight?”

“Yeah, til late.”

Akira shrugs. “Well you’re always welcome here. Have you eaten? I think there’s some curry ingredients in the refrigerator.”

“Nah, dude, I already showed up uninvited. I can’t ask you to cook for me, too.”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering,” Akira says, going off in the direction of the kitchen. “In fact, I’ve just decided I’d really like some curry,” he adds, tone breezy and light. Yeah, whatever. Ryuji’s not so stupid he doesn’t see through the excuse.

“Alright, man. Go for it,” Ryuji rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he takes up a post on the stool nearest the kitchen.

Akira shuffles through the fridge, then brings an armful of ingredients to the counter.

“If you want to pay me back for cooking, then get in here and chop some veggies.”

“Aye-aye, captain,” Ryuji gives a little salute and then hops off the stool and joins Akira in the kitchen. Akira gives him a cutting board, a knife, and an assortment of veggies to chop - carrots, mushrooms, onions, things like that.

When he’s finished his task, he passes the veggies to Akira, and then stands and watches as Akira cooks. The curry simmering on the stove smells delicious, and the warm light of the cafe casts Akira’s form in soft, comfortable hues. It’s all very mundane, and very cozy - it’s comfortable and warm, like coming inside on a cold winter day. Ryuji could get used to this; to being with Akira in the dull and the slow and the everyday moments.

Thinking about it makes a million little feelings kick up inside Ryuji, and he has to look away.

They sit at a table together to eat, alone in the comfortable quiet of the cafe.

“You’re really gettin’ good at this curry stuff,” Ryuji says around a mouthful of food.

“I’ve been practicing. Usually alone, though. You’re the first person I’ve cooked for, unless you count myself and Morgana.”

It’s dumb, but that makes Ryuji feel all weird. He’s the only person Akira’s cooked for…? They say cooking is a labor of love, right?

This crush has him acting so stupid.

His face goes warm and red at the thought. It’s not a crush, dammit!

“You wanna go do something?” Akira asks. “It’s summer break, so let's do something fun.”

“Hell yeah, dude. Did you have somethin’ in mind?”

Akira picks up their empty plates and heads into the kitchen.

“No, I thought you might.”

Ryuji follows him to the sink.

“Let me wash the dishes, man. You cooked, so it’s only fair.” He crowds into Akira’s space at the sink, until Akira relents and steps away.

“So, anything you wanna go do?”

Ryuji thinks about it as he scrubs the dishes. Hmm… nothing he really wants to go do, at least not off the top of his head. As he’s thinking about it, though, he remembers a conversation they had way back in April.

“You wanna get some ice cream from the convenience store and then head to the park?”

Akira looks at him, brows furrowed.

“The park?”

“Yeah,” Ryuji says. He starts to feel awkward as he tries to explain it. “Uh, you told me once that while you’re in Tokyo, you’ll miss the fireflies in the summer.”

Akira blinks at him behind his glasses.

“So I thought we could go see them. Uh. The fireflies.” Ryuji’s starting to sweat under Akira’s gaze. God, this is so dumb.

But then a big smile breaks across Akira’s face and he rolls his eyes. He says something under his breath that Ryuji doesn’t quite catch - he thinks the tail end of the sentence sounds like “ freaking cute ,” but he doesn’t know for sure.

“Huh?” he asks. “What did you say?”

“Nothing, man. Yeah, we can go to the park.”

They buy some ice cream and then go to the park. 

Once at the park, they walk aimlessly until they find a bench near the pond to sit down and eat their ice cream.

“I rode the boats here with Yusuke a while ago,” Akira says as they sit.

“Really?”

“Yeah, he wanted to paint ‘love’ and thought he’d find a couple for inspiration.”

“What’d he need you for, then?” Ryuji says with a half of a laugh.

“To row,” Akira deadpans, and it makes a real laugh bubble up out of Ryuji. “Anyway, the couple he was drawing ended up being siblings, so that was awkward. Plus I think they thought he and I were a couple. But hey, Yusuke’s pretty. I’m flattered they think I could get him.”

“Yeah, right,” Ryuji says, looking out at the way the sunlight shimmers on the pond. “As if you’re not. Uh.” 

HOLD UP. What was he about to say?  

“As if you’re not cool, too, man.”

Saved it. Good one, Ryuji.

Akira snorts. “Please, Ryuji, don’t flatter me.”

Ryuji looks at Akira from the corner of his eye, careful to not move his head so Akira won’t notice he’s looking. He’s relaxed, leaned back against the bench, fiddling with the wooden stick left behind now that his ice cream bar is gone. If this were a movie, or if they were on a date, Ryuji could do that stupid thing where a guy pretends to yawn and then drapes his arm over a girl’s shoulders.

It’s not a movie, and they’re not on a date. And it’s a lame move, anyway.

But Ryuji thinks about it. He thinks about tucking his arm around Akira’s shoulders and pulling him close; about Akira leaning against him as they sit. Even in the humid, sticky summer air, he wants to be close to Akira. The heat bearing down on them has nothing on his desire to touch Akira, in any way he’s allowed.

‘That sounds like a crush, alright’ he thinks, and then he immediately tries to stop that train of thought because it definitely is NOT a crush, no matter what Ann says.

“So you, uh. You think Yusuke’s pretty?”

Akira turns his head to look at Ryuji, who is still looking from the corner of his eye and pretending he’s not looking at all.

“Yeah. I mean, I’m not into him. But I’m not blind, either.”

“Oh,” Ryuji says, very astutely.

“Don’t be jealous, Ryuji,” Akira says. “I only have eyes for you.”

Ryuji knows it’s a joke. Funny thing is, as he’s sitting there thinking about it, Ryuji doesn’t think he’s ever heard Akira make jokes like that with anyone else.

Ryuji doesn’t know what to think of that. He knows Akira like the back of his own hand, but sometimes Akira’s still confusing.

Beside him, Akira clasps his hands around a firefly. He lets it crawl across his hand, rotating his hand this way and that so it doesn’t fall off.

“I have good memories of catching fireflies in the summer when I was a kid,” Akira says. “They always make me feel nostalgic. Anyway, this guy’s gonna take over for me as Joker. I’m going on vacation.” He holds the firefly out to Ryuji.

Ryuji watches the little bug crawl across Akira’s hand, its light dimming and brightening slowly.

“Yeah? Does it have a Persona?”

“Mothman. Duh.”

Akira takes Ryuji’s hand and holds up to his own, so the firefly can crawl off of Akira and onto Ryuji. His hand is warm on Ryuji’s, his touch is gentle.

The firefly tickles as it wanders about on the back of his hand. He watches it and thinks about Akira’s hometown - Ryuji hasn’t spent a ton of time outside of Tokyo. What’s the countryside like? What was it like for Akira, growing up there? What other sorts of memories does he hold close to his heart?

He looks up to ask about it, but the words die in his throat when he sees Akira.

The sun is beginning to set, reaching the last gold-orange rays across the sky and onto Akira’s face, casting him in the warm glow of sunset. He’s beautiful, ethereal even; sunset shimmering in his eyes, expression open and soft and fond, a small, private smile on his face. He’s turned most of the way toward Ryuji, elbow on the back of the bench, resting his chin in his hand. The sunset shines in the curls of his hair and the rims of his glasses, it lays its golden hues across his cheeks and the shape of his smile.

The fireflies dance around them in the park, a galaxy of yellow-green stars just for them.

Their eyes meet, and neither one looks away.

Ryuji’s heart swells until it hurts; his throat gets all tight. It feels like someone set a million butterflies loose inside his stomach - or maybe they’re fireflies, to make his fluttering insides match the scene around them.

“What’s your hometown like?” he asks, and it comes out as a whisper.

“Dull,” Akira says. “Quiet.”

“You don’t miss it?”

“Not usually. You know, when I first got to Tokyo, I felt like shit. I just wanted to go home. But the more time I spend here, the less I feel that way. I guess, nowadays, Tokyo feels more like home to me. I don’t want to go back.”

God, Ryuji’s been trying (and succeeding) to not think about that. Akira’s probation ends in April, and then he’s leaving Tokyo. One year with him here doesn’t feel like enough time.

Nothing would feel like enough time.

“That’s still ages away,” Ryuji says, and he’s not sure if he’s trying to convince himself or Akira. Eight months sounds like a long time, but the way the first four months have flown by, Ryuji suspects eight months will pass in the blink of an eye.

The firefly on Ryuji’s hand buzzes off into the evening, back into the swarm of them that blink, sluggish and relaxed, in the summer heat.

“Hey, can I talk to you about something serious?” Ryuji asks, fidgeting with a loose thread on his shirt.

“Of course, dude. You can talk to me about anything.”

Ryuji bounces his leg, chewing on his lip. Akira doesn’t say anything, just waits for Ryuji to speak.

“My dad’s dying, I guess,” he says. He hasn’t told anyone else about this; the words feel strange to say aloud. “His girlfriend called and told my mom about it, in case I want to see him before he dies.”

“Oh,” Akira says. “Do you want to?”

“No. Maybe. I dunno. At first I didn’t, but the more I think about it, the less sure I am. What if I go and he apologizes and shit? Like, what if he’s a better person now, and if I don’t go, I miss my chance to get the hell over this shit?”

“I can’t tell you what to do, man. But if you just want him to apologize, I don’t think you should go.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t know the guy, but I’ve seen enough shitty people to know getting an apology isn’t likely. If crappy people just snapped out of it on their own one day and changed for the better, the Phantom Thieves would be out of work.”

He has a point. Looking back on all the people whose hearts they’ve changed, in Palaces or Mementos… none of them would have changed if a loved one had just come to talk to them about it. A simple conversation wouldn’t have made a damn difference - that’s why the Phantom Thieves had to handle their Shadows.

“So you think I shouldn’t go?”

“That’s up to you. If you think seeing him and telling him ‘man, screw you, I hope dying hurts,’ would help you feel better, then hell, go for it. But don’t go in there hoping for an apology. That just gives that asshole the power to hurt you again.”

Akira’s right. Of course he’s right. He’s so smart, even about difficult stuff like this.

“I might go,” Ryuji says. “I dunno. I’m… kinda scared. I know that’s lame, but it’s the truth.”

“It’s not lame to be scared, man.”

He doesn’t even know why he’s  considering it. He doesn’t want to go, want isn’t the right word. He just feels like he needs to. Not for an apology, and not for his dad’s sake. But for his own peace of mind, he feels deep down like he has to go.

It’s quiet for a bit, just the sound of cicadas in the summer evening to fill the silence.

“I… I got somethin’ else I wanna ask,” Ryuji says after a moment.

“What’s up?”

“Look, don’t tell anyone about this, but… what does everyone think? Like, about me. What do you guys think about me?”

Akira’s brows draw together; he looks at Ryuji, expression puzzled.

“We care about you, Ryuji. You’re our teammate, and more importantly, you’re our friend.” He places his hand over Ryuji’s where it rests on Ryuji’s knee. “Why?”

It’s difficult to get the words out. This is a fear Ryuji’s held so deeply for so long. He’s never talked to anyone about it. He trusts Akira more than anyone in the world, but he’s terrified of what the answer will be.

Ryuji looks straight ahead as he speaks - he can’t bear to look at Akira for fear of what he might see there.

“Do you…” his voice wobbles; he swallows around a lump in his throat. “Do you think I’m like him? My dad, I mean.”

Akira’s quiet. His hand that rests atop Ryuji’s moves to hold it, interlocking their fingers. He gives Ryuji’s hand a squeeze.

“I don’t know your dad,” he says.

Ryuji’s eyes start to sting. That sounds like a bullshit answer; a way to get out of this conversation without admitting the hurtful truth. He draws a long, trembling breath. Suddenly, he can’t breathe in the stifling, heavy summer air.

“Hey, I wasn’t done,” Akira says, and he places a hand on Ryuji’s chin, gently turning Ryuji’s head so they’re facing one another. “I don’t know your dad, but from what you’ve told me, no. I don’t think you’re like him at all.”

Ryuji’s lower lip quivers.

“Do you think you’re like him, Ryuji?”

“Yeah.”

“Why would you think that, man?”

Ryuji shrugs, a small, defeated motion.

Why does he think that? Because it’s true, isn’t it? Everyone says he’s just like his dad, a violent asshole with a temper, who’ll hit you the second he gets mad. He’s proven that to be true, he hit Kamoshida once and had to have Akira hold him back from hittin’ the guy a second time after Suzui’s suicide attempt. He almost got in a fight with the track team back in May, too. And he knows he’s got a temper. Even in the Metaverse, all he’s good at is bein’ violent. Everyone on the team has said so - they’re always sayin’ how he’s not smart, and Morgana especially is full of snide comments about his usefulness in battle.

He knows he has a temper, and fears that he’s turning into his father. His friends treat him like he’s only good for hitting things because he’s a violent person with nothing else going for him, and his peers openly say he’s just like his dad.

It all proves that he is just like that piece of shit.

How does he explain all that, though?

“Everyone at school thinks I’m a violent punk, and with you guys, all I’m good at is hittin’ shit,” Ryuji’s free hand balls into a tight fist. “So, be honest, what do you guys really think of me?”

“Ryuji,” Akira says again, voice gentle. “I told you, you’re our friend and teammate. I don’t know why you think you’re like your dad, but I promise, you’re not. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Ryuji was ready to hear bad news; ready to find out for sure that his worst fear is reality. That’s not what happened. Instead, Akira told him he’s not like his dad at all.

So why are there fat, warm tears in the corners of his eyes?

“Sorry, man,” he says, rubbing his eyes hurriedly, wiping the tears away before Akira can see. “I didn’t mean to be a bummer.”

“You’re never a bummer, dude.”

Ryuji watches the sun sinking low on the horizon; the final hints of daylight dancing, golden and shimmery, on the surface of the pond; the green-yellow lights drifting to and fro aimlessly as the fireflies buzz. His eyes are still watery, so the vista smudges and swims in his vision, running together like smeared paints.

“You’re a good guy, Ryuji,” Akira says after a prolonged moment of silence. “You’re twice the man your dad ever was, and I don’t have to know him to know that.”

Ryuji was so afraid to talk about this - so terrified of what Akira might say. The relief of hearing the positive answer is nearly as overwhelming as the grief would have been if the answer had been different.

He rubs his eyes again. If Akira notices the tears, he has the grace not to say anything. He just holds Ryuji’s hand in silence.

Chapter Text

Ryuji is leaning on the bricks of the huge pyramid that is Futaba's Palace as Joker decides on today’s starting lineup. He pretty well knows he’s going to be on it - there hasn’t been a single day, in Palaces or Mementos, that Joker hasn’t chosen him to be fighting on the front line.

Today is no different. Joker asks Ryuji, Mona, and Fox to be the main fighters today, and has Panther and Queen running support - though he picks Ryuji first. He always picks Ryuji first. 

Ryuji doesn’t know why he’s always Joker’s first pick for combat, but it’s just as well. He and Fox have the least amount of supportive skills available to them, so they both are better at fighting than being backup. If he were relegated to support, the best he could do would be to try and shoot the Shadows, but even that’s a bad idea, since he’s got a freakin’ shotgun - a weapon not meant for distance nor accuracy. With his luck he’d end up shootin’ one of his friends.

This Palace is so… confusing. The halls all twist and turn, and everywhere they look there’s a new puzzle to solve. Fox spends most of their infiltration talking about the aesthetics of the place, and Ryuji will admit that it’s pretty cool to be inside a freakin’ pyramid. Ryuji’s too distracted with the aesthetics or something (some one ) else to be quite as psyched as Fox is about it, though.

In front of them is a pair of Shadows, in the form of white monkeys holding books. Ryuji’s not paying them nearly as much mind as he should be - they’re just a couple of little monkeys, how dangerous can they really be? He’s far too engrossed in watching Joker like a freakin’ hawk.

On his left, Joker is scuffling with one of the Shadows, his ornate dagger glinting in the dim light, the long part of his tailcoat billowing behind him like a cape. The Shadow swings its book at him and he ducks out of the way, agile and deadly. He twirls his dagger in his nimble hands and swipes at the Shadow, and immediately after he falls back to dodge another swing of the Shadow’s book. It’s a dance; the Shadow makes a move and Joker skirts around it, sidestepping and dipping until he spots an opening to strike. He’s so effin’ cool…

Ryuji’s attention is forcibly drawn back to the Shadow nearest him as it unleashes a magical attack that knocks Ryuji right onto his unsuspecting, distracted ass.

“Skull!” Fox calls from Ryuji’s right. “Watch out.”

Yeah. It’s a little late for that, huh?

When the Shadows are gone, Mona casts one of his healing spells on Ryuji. Although he’s not in terrible shape, he did take a magic attack directly to the freakin’ face, so the heal is appreciated.

“Thanks, Mona,” Ryuji says, getting to his feet.

“Are you okay, Skull?” Joker asks as they brush themselves off and continue deeper into the Palace. “That was a pretty direct hit.”

Shit. He can’t admit why he just stood there and took the attack like a sitting duck.

“Yeah,” he says, shrugging in a way he hopes comes across as casual and nonchalant. “No biggie. Mona healed me, anyway, so I’m all good.”

“Alright,” Joker says, looking back over his shoulder at Ryuji. “If you need a break, let me know.”

Man, Akira thinks he’s makin’ stupid mistakes ‘cause he’s tired… no way he can admit it’s just because he’s distracted as all hell by everything Joker’s doing. He’d sooner lay down and die.

A break wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, though. His leg is so damn achy nowadays, so havin’ a day where he’s not puttin’ as much strain on it might be nice. On the other hand, it’s gonna hurt no matter what, and he has days off when they’re not in the Palace, so how much of a difference would it really make? Besides, fightin’ the Shadows is all he brings to the team (and, secretly, he does like feeling relied on.) So, no breaks for him.

Although, if he doesn’t get his act together, Joker might force him to take a day off. God, he’s gotta get with the freaking program. Which means he’s gotta reel his mind back in and focus on the task at hand and not on how cool Joker is when he fights, or how spry and graceful he is as he moves, or how his sharp eyes shine, dangerous and confident, when he’s got a Shadow right where he wants it.

What would it be like in the Shadow’s place, Joker looking at him with that wicked, dangerous glint in his eye, exuding cool confidence…?

Uh, hello, earth to Ryuji. That’s an effin’ weird thing to wonder about.

Joker had that same deadly, impish air to him back when he awakened to his Persona for the first time; looming over Ryuji, powerful and wild.

He didn’t think so back then, or maybe just was too scared to really notice, but… it was kinda hot.

Beneath his mask, his face gets warm. He can’t seriously be thinking that Joker is - er, was - hot. Come on, dude, really?

It’s difficult to argue with the wave of heat that rushes over his whole body as he thinks about that look in Joker’s eye, though.

***

Keiji pops up behind Ryuji, peering over his shoulder at his phone screen.

“Are you playing a game?” he asks.

Ryuji startles, neary dropping his phone as he scrambles to close the ‘Am I Gay’ quiz he’d had open on his phone’s internet browser.

“You’re supposed to be doin’ your homework.”

“I finished it already,” Keiji says. “Can we watch Featherman while we eat dinner?”

“Sure,” Ryuji says, because why not? Ms. Okabe hasn’t told Ryuji that it’s against the rules, so it’s probably fine.

“Yay! Mom never lets me watch t.v at dinner time.” Keiji bounds into the other room, happy as a clam.

Well. One time won’t hurt anything, right?

“Have you heard about the Phantom Thieves?” Keiji asks when Ryuji joins him in the living room. “Everyone at school likes them.”

“For real?”

“Yeah. They’re like real life superheroes, don’t you think?”

“Uh, yeah,” Ryuji says with an awkward laugh. “They sure are.”

Lucky for him, Keiji doesn’t notice how forced the laughter is. He’s too busy turning the t.v on and changing the channel.

The Phantom Thieves sure are getting popular lately - the Phansite has been super active, full of requests and supportive comments. The news has even talked about them. The popularity is the reason Medjed caught wind of them, so it’s not all good, but Ryuji would be lying if he said the positive attention didn’t feel nice.

Speaking of Medjed, they’re about halfway through the Palace with plenty of time to spare. Because it’s summer break, they’ve had a lot more free time to spend in the Palace, so it’s been easier this time around, despite the setbacks in the beginning (seriously, why’d they have to go chase down a freakin’ bandit?)

Summer break also means Ryuji’s been babysitting Keiji a lot more - he’s out of school on break, too, so he’s home during the day when his mom’s at work. Ryuji doesn’t watch him every day, but once or twice a week he hangs out at the Okabes’ place to keep an eye on Keiji during the day. It’s not exactly Ryuji’s idea of a fun way to spend his summer, but he’s getting paid for it and he really is coming to care about Keiji, so it’s not that bad.

“Ryuji,” Keiji says over dinner, while Featherman is on commercial. “What do girls like?”

Shit. If Ryuji knew that, he wouldn’t be single.

That’s not true. The idea of dating a girl sounds… weird. And unappealing. He likes girls, but even a hot girl isn’t Ak -

NOPE. Cut that shit out.

“I dunno,” he says to Keiji. “Why?”

Keiji’s round, childish cheeks go bright red. “I have a crush on a girl in my class. It’s a secret! You can’t tell!”

“Well why don’t you just ask her what she likes, man?”

A crush on a girl in his class… man, shit would be way simpler if Ryuji were in the same boat. If Akira were a girl, this would all be so easy. He’d ask him out in a heartbeat.

Wait. Shit. That makes it sound like he wants to ask Akira out. Which he doesn’t.

Okay. He might.

He opens the internet browser on his phone again. The ‘Am I Gay’ quiz is still there, half complete.

He’s not into guys, really. He’s never once in his whole life been interested in a dude. He doesn’t want to go on dates with a guy, or kiss a guy, and he certainly doesn’t want to sleep with another guy.

Except Akira, of course.

AGH. NO. WAIT. He doesn’t want to do that stuff with Akira, either!

…

…Does he?

Now he’s thinking about it, though. About going on a date, somewhere real fancy. About Akira comin’ to his place to pick him up, dressed up all nice. About going to a fancy restaurant or somethin’ and holdin’ hands across the table in the dim candlelight. About walking Akira home from the station afterwards, and sharing a kiss beneath the streetlamps, maybe bein’ invited upstairs and…

Ryuji’s face burns like someone struck a match on it; so hot that steam could come out of his ears.

“Are you okay?” Keiji asks from where he’s sitting with his dinner on the floor. “Your face is really red.”

“I’m fine,” Ryuji squeaks. “You’re missin’ your show.”

It’s later that evening, after Keiji’s mom has arrived home and relieved Ryuji of his babysitting duties, that he gets a call from Akira. He’s at the station, waiting for the train he takes to get home, and he steps away from the platform in search of a quieter place to talk.

“Hey, dude, what’s up?”

On the other end is a voice Ryuji doesn’t recognize. “Are you young mister Kurusu’s friend?”

“Who is this?”

“Lala Escar -”

The line is overtaken by jumbled, staticy shuffling.

Now it’s Akira on the other end of the line. “Ryuji,” he says, dragging out the end of the word. “Are you…” A pause. “...Can you come to Crossroads?”

“Huh? Why?”

There’s that shuffling sound, and then Lala is back.

“One of my… patrons was sharing her drinks with your friend,” she says. “I can’t send an inebriated teenager out into the red light district unsupervised, and when I asked who he could call to help get him home, he said ‘Ryuji.’ That’s you, yes?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Ryuji says, before moving his phone away from his ear so he can check the time on it. It’s not too late, he should have plenty of time to go help Akira and still get home. “I’ll be there soon.”

He has to pay for the train fare out to Shinjuku, which sucks, but it’s not a huge deal. At least he’s not in his school uniform this time.

When he steps inside Crossroads, someone immediately throws their arm around his shoulders and leans their weight upon him. He's never been inside the place before, since he had to stay outside when they'd come seeking information about Kaneshiro. It's difficult to focus on the decor, or the other patrons, or the drag queen behind the counter, though, with Akira leaning, solid and warm, against him.

“Hey, dude!” Akira says, grinning.

Sitting at the bar nearby, a woman with short black hair laughs.

“Sorry,” she says, louder than necessary. Her face is flushed and her eyes are glossy. “Take good care of my little informant, will you?”

Ryuji and Akira walk back to the station, Akira’s arm around Ryuji’s shoulders the whole way. He doesn't seem to really need Ryuji's supervision, as he doesn't wander off or anything. Ryuji thought he'd be wrangling an unruly teenager, but Akira's perfectly content to walk with his arm around Ryuji, laughing and talking loudly about whatever comes to his mind.

"Hi," he says when they get squished up against one another on the train, facing one another. "Come here often?" Then he laughs, the sound light and cheerful amid the din of the train's other occupants.

When they get to the front door of Leblanc, Ryuji stands by and watches as Akira fumbles with the key to the door. His movements are typically very precise and exact, so it’s kind of funny to see him out of his element.

Ryuji doesn’t have any interest in drinking, but he’s not mad at Akira for it, either. Just ‘cause he’s got hangups about it doesn’t mean nobody else can ever drink, that’s not fair. It’s not an issue as long as nobody’s gettin’ hurt, right?

And he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel happy in a weird, prideful way when he heard he was the person Akira called for help.

“Alright,” Ryuji says once Akira manages to get the door unlocked. “I’m gonna head home now.”

Akira, standing in the doorway, frowns at him. “You’re leaving?”

“I made sure you got home with no problem, that’s all you needed, right? If you need help with somethin' else, I'll stay.”

“No, I wanna…” he trails off, distracted, eyes tracking a stray cat down the street. “I wanna hang out more.”

Shit. He’s pouting, brows in a sad, sloped shape.

Ryuji can’t say no.

“Eh, alright,” he concedes. “We can hang out for a little bit, I guess.”

“You’re so…” Another pause, during which Akira takes Ryuji’s hand in his. “...You’re the coolest!”

Akira drags Ryuji inside by the hand, and then kicks his shoes off carelessly, right there in the cafe. Then he heads for the stairs at the back of the cafe, while Ryuji pokes around the kitchen and gets a glass of water.

Ryuji takes the glass of water upstairs. Sitting on Akira's work desk is the painkillers they usually take into the Metaverse - Ryuji picks them up.  He leaves both the water and the pills on the windowsill by Akira’s bed, so they’re nearby in the morning, in case Akira feels like shit when he wakes up.

Akira's already sitting on the wooden floor, fumbling with the ancient ass game console.

"Play a game with me," he says, patting the floor next to him. "You should... Uh. You should get more piercings."

Hm. Not relevant.

"You..." Akira trails off, distracted by twisting the cord of his game controller. He never does come back to finish the thought.

Ryuji sits down next to him, and Akira loops his arm through Ryuji's. They sit on the floor, side-by-side, arms linked, and play Power Intuition for a while. Akira’s gameplay is sloppy and uncoordinated, and he loses every match. It doesn't appear to bother him - he's laughing boisterously and joking around, leaning his head on Ryuji's shoulder as they play.

After the tenth round or so, Akira tosses his controller to the side. He lifts his head from Ryuji's shoulder and turns fully in his seat, so his whole body is facing Ryuji.

“Hey,” he says, reaching over and placing his hands on either side of Ryuji’s face, forcing him to turn and look at Akira. “Turn around.”

“I’m already turned around,” Ryuji laughs.

“Your… you have a cute laugh,” Akira says, and a sunny smile breaks across his face. “Turn all the way around.”

Ryuji does as asked, turning his whole body to face Akira. Now they’re sitting, both cross-legged on the floor, so close that their knees touch.

Akira doesn’t do anything for a moment. He just holds Ryuji’s face in his hands, eyes flitting about Ryuji’s form, studying his features.

"I want ramen," he says, as if he's not cradling Ryuji's face at the moment. "We should get ramen."

"Dude, it's too late for that."

"Tomorrow, then. It's a date."

It's just a saying, it doesn't mean they're actually going on a date. It makes Ryuji's stomach do a nervous flip, anyway.

“You’re handsome. Thanks for helping me,” Akira says, dropping his hands from Ryuji’s face down onto Ryuji’s knees. "Did you know... you. Your eyes. They're... pretty."

“Yeah, no problem, dude," Ryuji replies. He doesn't mind helping, and it's not like Akira's been too much of a handful. "And, uh... thanks?"

Akira leans forward a bit, into Ryuji’s personal space. “You’re… you’re my best friend, man.”

“You’re mine, too.”

“I’m yours,” he repeats, voice low and reverent, as he inches forward a bit more. He’s smiling; his skin is alive with a cute pink flush. He’s looking in Ryuji’s eyes, holding eye contact in the dim light of the attic. A few loose hairs fall across his forehead in soft curls, and Ryuji longs to reach out and brush the strands away so he can get a clearer look at Akira's sharp features.

When he said ‘You’re mine,’ Ryuji hadn’t meant it in, like, a Valentine’s ‘be mine’ sort of way. He’d meant that Akira is his best friend, too. Akira’s repetition of it surely is the same, right? He definitely didn’t mean it in a romantic way.

God, he wishes Akira had meant it in a romantic way.

His immediate thought after that is to deny it; to insist he doesn’t long for Akira to want him in that way. But sitting here in the dark attic, Akira leaning in close enough that Ryuji can feel his breath and the warmth of his body, his hands on Ryuji’s knees… it’s getting really hard to believe that these feelings roiling inside him don’t mean anything.

It’s quiet in the attic, and crickets chirp outside the open window. Moonlight dances across the foot of the bed and the worn floorboards; it plays across Akira’s pretty, flushed face. Summer air spills into the stuffy attic, the overbearing swelter of daytime having dropped to a pleasant, mild evening.

Nothing is real except this moment, here in the attic of Leblanc; nothing exists to Ryuji except the warmth of Akira's hands on his knees, the look in his eye; his presence is all-consuming, sweeping Ryuji up in it until Akira is all he can sense.

“You’re the … my best friend," Akira says again. "I love you, dude.” His hands slide up just an inch upon Ryuji’s legs.

Ryuji swallows around a lump in his throat. Akira definitely means that platonically; he prefaced it with ‘you’re my best friend,’ so the meaning is obvious. Ryuji loves him, too. Of course he does. He’s Akira’s right hand man.

He’s so close; his grey eyes are dark, smoldering; he glances down at Ryuji’s lips for half a second before making eye contact again. He smells like coffee and laundry detergent and the faint hint of whatever he’d been drinking at the bar - the alcohol smell would usually repulse Ryuji, but it’s far from his mind in this moment.

Ryuji’s heart hammers in his chest, racing like a runaway train. He wants to kiss Akira, a feeling that is not exactly new - he just has been pushing it to the back of his mind. It's undeniable in this moment, though; he is fascinated with the way the silver moonlight highlights the shape of Akira's lips. He thinks about taking Akira's face in his hand, in a mirror of how Akira had held his face earlier, and kissing him.

Akira's still hovering, right up in Ryuji's personal space. His eyes are half-lidded; he draws an uneven breath. His tongue darts across the swell of his bottom lip, and Ryuji watches the brief movement as if it were the single most interesting thing he's ever seen. They're so close now, it would be easy to close the small gap between them. It would be easy to lean in for a kiss.

But Ryuji doesn't know if Akira would want to kiss him. He doubts it. And besides, Akira's not sober, and who knows what it would mean for their friendship, and... and Ryuji's only just now admitting to himself that he wants to kiss Akira at all.

Ryuji loves Akira as a friend, of course. But there's something else beneath that; something Ryuji's known about for a while and hasn't been able to face. He’s been an idiot. It sucks to admit, but deep down he’s known for weeks. Ann was right. He’s been denying it; turning away from the truth at every opportunity, too stubborn to face it.

He can’t lie to himself about it anymore.

He has a giant, stupid effin’ crush on his best friend.

Chapter Text

The walls of the hospital are eggshell white, with framed paintings of landscapes between the rows of doors. The fluorescent lights buzz in the clinical, cold hall. The sound of footsteps on the tile floor echoes from somewhere out of sight.

On the doorknob of room number 315, Ryuji’s hand trembles.

He’s come here alone. He knows his mom said she’d go with him, but he already causes her so much trouble. He couldn’t ask her to confront her abusive ex just for his sake. He could have asked Akira. This visit to the hospital is very personal, and it’s not that he doesn’t trust Akira with such personal stuff. It’s just that Ryuji feels like this is something he needs to do alone - whatever’s waiting for him on the other side of this door is something Ryuji has to face with his own bravery. He knows his mom or Akira would have come along, but he needs to do this without leaning on someone else’s strength to get him through.

Maybe this was a bad idea. He doesn’t even know why he’s here, really. He doesn’t want an apology, and he doesn’t expect one, either. If he just wants to get this shit off his chest, don’t they say it’s better to write a letter or somethin’ like that?

He should go home. He should go home, and hug his mom, and leave his piece of shit dad to rot away in his hospital bed all alone.

He opens the door to room 315.

The lights are low inside the room. The air is still and quiet, with the faint beeps of various machines and the low murmur of a wall-mounted television being the only sounds. There’s a lady (his dad’s girlfriend?) in a chair near the window, and a man that Ryuji doesn’t recognize is sleeping on the bed in the center of the room.

“Hello?” the woman says. “I’m sorry, did you get the wrong room?”

“No, I… this is room 315, right? I’m Ryuji.”

“Ryuji…? Oh! His son, of course.” She stands up from her chair, laying a hand on the slumbering man’s shoulder. “Dear, you have a visitor.”

“Oh, no, you don’t gotta wake him up -”

Too late. The man’s eyes open.

“I’ll give you two some privacy,” the woman says, walking past Ryuji and out the door into the hall.

Ryuji comes further into the room, to stand near the foot of the bed. His dad looks… different. His skin is pale; the whites of his eyes are yellow-hued and bloodshot. His salt-and-pepper hair is cut short, and he’s hooked up to a myriad of tubes and machines that beep and blink their little lights. He’s thin and frail - is this the same guy who beat his wife and son all those years ago? If he got up and tried anything now, Ryuji could break his thin, sickly body like a twig.

People have said Ryuji looks more like his mom, but staring at his father’s face, he feels like he’s looking at his own aged-up reflection; his own face, weathered by age, blinking back at him from the hospital bed.

“Ryuji?” his dad croaks.

His voice causes fear to grip Ryuji in its cold, icy grasp. He wrings his shaking hands together and looks at his shoes, unable to make eye contact. It’s been so long since he heard his dad’s voice, but he could never forget it. How many times did he listen to that voice in the other room, ranting and berating Ryuji’s mom? How many times had Ryuji listened to that voice scolding and cursing at Ryuji himself?

“Yeah,” Ryuji says, voice small. He feels just like that little kid again, tiny and powerless and frozen in fear.

“It’s been a long time. You’ve grown.”

“Yeah,” Ryuji says again. “Well, that’s what happens when you’re gone for years.”

“You never reached out,” his dad says, as if that explains his absence.

“Neither did you.” Not that Ryuji would have wanted him to, but Ryuji was a kid. It wasn’t his responsibility to be the one to reach out, was it? “Why’d you bother to do it now? What do you want from me?”

“I just wanted to see my son again. Is that so wrong?”

“For you? Yeah, it is.”

“Ryuji,” his dad frowns. “Don’t be like that. You’re, what, nineteen now? Surely you’re old enough to be a little more mature.”

“I’m seventeen, which you’d know if you gave a shit.”

“Is that any way to speak to your father? I see your manners haven’t improved since you were a child. I was hoping we could have a nice reunion, but it seems that you haven’t outgrown your temper tantrums even after all this time.”

 Ryuji’s hands tighten into fists. “Like you got any room to talk about tantrums. You’re the one who was always flyin’ off the handle about nothing.”

Laying in the hospital bed, anger flashes across Ryuji’s dad’s face. His jaw tightens, his eyes darken. All at once, he’s no longer a frail, dying old man - instead, in that instant, he transforms into the same angry, violent drunkard Ryuji remembers from so many years ago. It’s like being taken back in time to those moments, like Ryuji’s being zapped back into his childhood home, stomach dropping and heart racing as he braces for the hit that he knows is coming. 

Of course, it doesn’t come. Not now, at least. Because Ryuji’s not that powerless kid anymore. Now Ryuji’s seventeen, standing at the foot of his sickly father’s hospital bed.

“I wouldn’t have had to be so stern with you if you hadn’t been such a brat back then,” his father says, and Ryuji thinks that if he weren’t so feeble he would have hit Ryuji. “You were always such a difficult child; noisy, always failing your classwork and disrespecting me. Your mother was just as bad, and clearly in my absence she’s continued to fail you. You look like a thug - no son of mine would ever -”

“You just found excuses for beatin’ us! It didn’t matter what me or mom did, you’d get pissed off and hit us, anyway!”

“I was parenting you. Your mother would have let you get away with anything, someone had to keep you in line. That makes me the bad guy?”

“Yes! Because that ain’t ‘parenting,’ it’s just physical abuse!”

“You were always causing so much trouble for me. If you’d been a better student and shown a little more respect, I wouldn’t have had to discipline you so often.”

So it was Ryuji’s fault for bein’ too loud. It was Ryuji’s fault for doing badly in class. It was Ryuji’s fault for tryin’ to stand up for his mom. It was Ryuji’s fault for lookin’ at his dad wrong, or breathing in his direction, or having the nerve to exist in the same room.

“So it was my fault? You’d come home from work in a pissy mood about your job, or traffic, or whatever, and you’d take it out on me. I accidentally spilled your beer? You’d hit me. You were mad at somethin’ else and I was nearby? You’d hit me. I was playin’ too loud or gettin’ on your nerves? You’d hit me. I was a kid, dammit!” Ryuji’s teeth grind. “The only good thing you ever did was finally leaving me and mom the fuck alone.”

His dad sits up in the hospital bed, blankets pooling around his waist. “You’re exactly the same brat you were back then,” he says, voice dripping with acid. “Even now, you still need a stern hand to put you in your place, it seems. I thought I was doing what was best for you, but maybe I should have been more strict.”

“I hate you,” Ryuji spits, blood boiling. He’s never hated anyone more than he hates the piece of shit in front of him. “I dunno why I even bothered comin’ here. You’re an abusive jerk now just like you were before.”

“And you’re an ungrateful, disrespectful child, throwing a tantrum.”

Ryuji’s whole body is one tense, rigid line. He’s glaring at his dad, brow furrowed and eyes dark, as if he could launch a Zionga at the asshole right now (he can’t, of course.)

He has to… do something. Run, or punch something, or scream into a pillow. Anything to get this angry, restless energy out of him.

He turns on his heel and storms out of the hospital room.

His dad’s girlfriend is standing against the wall in the hallway. She jumps when Ryuji slams the door behind him. She probably heard everything that just went down, but what does Ryuji care? Maybe it’s good that she heard - she should know the truth about the asshole she’s dating.

Ryuji pays her no mind as he beelines down the hallway. He has to get away from here. He has to get away from his stupid dad, and his stupid girlfriend; away from anyone who might want to talk about what just happened.

He speedwalks through the winding, clinical hallways, taking turns at random, too pissed to think about where he’s going. Finally, after several minutes, he stops and catches his breath. His legs burn from the effort of walking so fast and so far, his pulse races and his ears ring and his eyes prickle with tears. He slumps against the wall, sliding down until he’s sitting on the cold tile floor. He hugs his knees to his chest, resting his head on the tops of them and drawing trembling breaths. He clenches his hands tightly, short fingernails digging into his own skin.

This was stupid. Deep down he’d felt like it was important he come here, but that was wrong. He shouldn’t have come. What did he think was going to happen, his dad was going to be a changed man, and they’d have a polite conversation? Did he think if his dad was a good person now; if they could get along during this visit; that he could finally make a little bit of peace with this all?

His dad’s just the same as he was, and Ryuji is angrier at him now that he has been in years. It didn’t even feel good to look his dad in the eye and tell him how horrible he was.

At least he doesn’t have to wonder. At least he knows without a doubt that his dad is and always has been the asshole Ryuji remembers. But that’s such a miniscule silver lining that it’s hard to feel like this was all worth it.

Sitting on the floor of the hospital, he fishes his phone out of his pocket.

“Hey, man,” he says into the speaker, voice wobbling. “Are you home?”

By the time he makes it to Leblanc, he’s calmed down a lot. He’s still pissed off, but it’s simmered down enough that he’s not clenching his teeth and fighting the urge to punch something. The stress of what happened at the hospital has left him with a throbbing pain in his temples, though.

Akira’s sitting on the step outside, watching Mona nap in a sunbeam in the summer afternoon.

“Hey,” he says when Ryuji rounds the corner. He stands up and comes over to meet Ryuji halfway between the corner and Leblanc, laying a hand on Ryuji’s shoulder. “You alright?”

“I’m…” Ryuji starts to lie, but he doesn’t have it in him to lie. Not to Akira, anyways. “No, man, not really.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Ryuji’s quiet. Does he want to talk about it?

Akira doesn’t pry. “Wanna go kill some time at the batting cages?” he asks instead.

They walk the short distance to the batting cages here in Yongen, each paying a small fee to get in. The guy at the counter seems to recognize Akira.

“Nice to see you again,” he says, taking Akira’s money. “The advanced course today, like usual?”

“No, just the regular one,” Akira says, ushering Ryuji up the stairs to the rooftop cages.

The conversation goes in one ear and out the other for Ryuji, who's still in his head about everything that happened today.

Ryuji bats first, while Akira watches. He’s definitely improved since he played baseball with Keiji that time - all his time in the Metaverse has given him plenty of practice in timing his swings correctly, though that’s not to say he’s great at it. Just that he’s better than he was.

It feels good, working out the remnants of his temper by whacking the baseballs as hard as possible. He doesn’t care where they go, he just relishes in hitting them. He doesn’t hit a single home run, but he wasn’t exactly aiming for perfection, so he doesn’t mind.

He bats until his arms are tired with the effort; until his remaining anger is gone, leaving in its place exhaustion. The stress and the emotions of the day have utterly sapped him of his energy, and it’s only mid afternoon. Is he too old for an afternoon nap?

They trade places then, Akira coming in to bat and Ryuji stepping out to watch. Or, he was planning on stepping out to watch. But Akira takes the bat from him, lines up in the middle of the batting cage, and then turns to Ryuji.

“Hey,” he says. “You know the proper way to bat, don’t you?”

“Uh… yeah?” Ryuji’s always been a sports guy. Just ‘cause he only did track doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to play other sports. He remembers P.E classes learning the correct way to hold the bat and all that kinda shit.

“Will you show me?”

“It ain’t hard,” Ryuji says. He comes over to stand behind Akira.

“Then teaching me won’t be hard, either.”

Ryuji wraps his arms around Akira, placing his hands atop Akira’s and guiding Akira’s hands to the correct place, at the very end of the bat.

“You’re supposed to hold it way down here,” he says. “And your grip’s all wrong, dude.”

It’s funny, Ryuji’s not usually on the teaching side of situations like these. He shows Akira the right way to swing, although even with Ryuji’s help they don’t actually manage to hit the ball. Ryuji blames it on himself. His brain is fried - today has already been so trying, and now he’s got Akira in his arms, his front pressed to Akira’s back, Akira’s body warm and firm against Ryuji’s. He’s pliant, allowing Ryuji to manipulate his posture and the placement of his hands on the bat, putting up no resistance. Holding him like this, with no space between them, Akira's body heat and scent and the solid, sharp lines of his form are all inescapable. Ryuji's mind was already lagging today and now it's positively swimming with how good it feels to wrap his arms around Akira; how nice it is to hold Akira so close.

So, yeah, with that kind of distraction, maybe it’s not a surprise Ryuji got the timing wrong and they didn’t actually hit the ball. Timing is the part he struggles most with, anyway.

With each swing of the bat, Akira's hands move further and further away from the place they're supposed to be. Ryuji has to keep putting his hands over Akira's and moving them back down.

“Stop movin’ your hands, dude, they’re supposed to stay down here,” Ryuji says. Due to their position, with Ryuji behind Akira but still looking ahead of them, his face is next to and slightly behind Akira’s head; lined up just right for his breath to brush across the shell of Akira’s ear when he speaks.

In Ryuji’s arms, despite the brutal summer sun beating down on them, Akira shudders.

It’s quiet between them for a minute or two, going through the batting motions, Ryuji guiding and Akira following.

“I saw my dad today,” Ryuji finally says. “I should’ve just stayed home, but I went all the way out to the hospital to see the asshole.”

“It didn’t go well, then?” Akira says.

“No, it went really effin’ badly. He’s just like he was when I was a kid. All this time and he ain’t changed a bit.” Ryuji’s getting mad all over again just thinking about it. His jaw gets tight.

“Do you regret going?”

“Huh? I dunno. Don’t ask me hard questions.”

“Sorry,” Akira says, an edge of laughter in his voice. It helps lift some of Ryuji’s foul mood.

“It was stupid. Goin’ to see him didn’t do anything.”

“What were you hoping it would do?”

“I dunno. Didn’t I say not to ask me hard questions?” Ryuji says, with a tiny laugh of his own. “I guess… I thought maybe he’d be different? Or that seein’ him would make me feel less angry about all the shit he put me through.”

“But it didn’t?”

“It didn’t. It just proved he’s exactly the same guy I remembered.”

“That’s kind of good, in its own way, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess. I just… when am I gonna stop bein’ so mad? I talked big to the track team about movin’ on from the past and livin’ for yourself, and I’m still… I’m…” his voice starts to shake, becoming uneven on the ends of the words.

“Hey,” Akira says, turning in Ryuji’s arms to face him. “You know, still being mad at your dad for abusing you doesn’t mean you’re living in the past. Maybe you’ll always be mad. Nobody said you had to forgive the guy.” He places his hands on Ryuji’s face. It doesn’t feel charged like it had the night Akira got drunk at Crossroads and held Ryuji’s face the same way - no, today it feels comforting. Grounding. His hands are a steady and gentle presence; a reminder that Akira is here. A reminder that he cares.

Ryuji’s quiet for a moment.

“I… I was still scared of him. Ain’t that stupid? Some sick, dyin’ old man and I was scared of him, just like I was a kid again.”

“Not stupid,” Akira says matter-of-factly, leaving no room for argument.

“You think it was dumb of me to go?”

“No,” Akira says. “I think it was brave of you, man. And I think you’ll figure all this shit out, too, by the way.”

A smile finally breaks through Ryuji’s cloudy mood. It’s small, but it’s there.

“You think? I ain’t very smart, you know.”

“Hey, what have I told you about talking about my friends that way?”

Maybe Akira’s right. Maybe Ryuji will always be mad at his dad for the shit he did. Or, maybe, one day he won’t be so mad about it. As long as it ain’t eatin’ him away from the inside, does it matter?

Chapter Text

“Man, it’s all couples here,” Ryuji groans, watching the crowds milling about Dome Town in the summer swelter.

“You don’t know that,” Akira argues. “They could be related. Or friends.”

Ryuji eyes a pair of young adults who walk by, hand-in-hand.

“Dude, I’m pretty sure they’re couples.”

He and Akira probably look like a couple, too, right?

It makes Ryuji feel fidgety and restless to think about. It’s not the worst thing in the world if people think he’s into guys, he’s long since stopped caring what strangers think about him and he doesn’t think there’s anything shameful about bein’ gay. And, well, apparently he is. Into guys, that is. So people wouldn’t be wrong if that’s what they thought.

But people thinking he and Akira are a couple makes him all nervous. It comes too close to the truth about his feelings. A truth he’s still coming to terms with; a truth he has no intention of Akira finding out about.

“Well, what does that matter to us?” Akira says, setting off in the direction of the park’s biggest roller coaster. “C’mon, ride the roller coaster with me.”

“I barfed last time we rode that thing. And the line is huge! Let’s find somethin’ we don’t gotta stand in line for.”

“There’s going to be a line for everything, you know that, right?”

“Let’s find somethin’ with a short line, then. We can come back to this later.”

Akira fishes in his pocket for the paper map of the park, unfolding the wrinkled page to peruse the various attractions listed in the map’s legend.

“They have a roller skating rink in one of the buildings,” he says. “We can try that.”

Roller skating would not be Ryuji’s first choice, but he’s willing to try anything once. And it’s indoors, with air conditioning, which is a definite point in the roller rink’s favor.

On a nice summer day like this, it seems most park patrons are more interested in the rides outside, so the line to get into the roller rink is… tolerable.

“Have you ever roller skated before?” Akira asks as they wait for their turn to pay the entry fee and rent some skates.

“No,” Ryuji says, watching the people who are already skating. “Have you?”

“Yeah, I’m… okay at it.”

That’s not a surprise. Akira’s good at freakin’ everything, and Ryuji’s seen some of the stunts he pulls in Palaces - he must have a good sense of balance and decent spatial awareness.

“You think they have games and shit here?”

“In the roller rink, or in Dome Town?”

“Dome Town.”

“Yeah, probably. Why?”

“I dunno. I was thinkin’ about trying to win a prize for Keiji.”

“Who’s Keiji?”

“The kid I babysit in my building.”

Akira laughs. “The little guy’s growing on you, huh?”

They pay the entry fee and the rental fee for the skates, and then find a bench to sit down and lace up their skates.

Ryuji tries to stand, but immediately finds he's having a hard time staying balanced. The skates roll on the floor, and his center of gravity feels off. He's already wobbling before he even makes it onto the rink.

“Here, hold on to me,” Akira says, reaching out and taking both of Ryuji’s hands in his own. It’s the kind of thing you’d do for a child who was just learning to skate.

“I ain’t a kid,” Ryuji grouses, but he doesn’t pull his hands away. He can’t lie, he does feel more stable with Akira supporting him, and he’s not mad about holding his hands, either. None of that makes it less embarrassing to need the support, though - it seems so childish to him, to be learning to skate, unsteady and awkward, relying on the presence of someone else to keep him balanced. It’s like riding a bike with training wheels, in a way.

When Ryuji’s fully on the smooth surface of the skating rink, Akira releases one of his hands. He keeps hold of the other, though, and the two skate side-by-side, holding hands. They don’t go very fast, since Ryuji’s still unstable. He wobbles, unable to balance himself, but thanks to Akira’s steadying presence, he at least doesn’t fall… at first.

It’s really only a matter of time before he does lose his balance. He’s not accustomed to the bulk of the skates compared to a normal shoe, and he fails to account for the skate’s larger size.

In short, he trips over his own freakin’ skate.

Akira tries to steady him, grabbing him by the arm. It’s a hopeless endeavor, though.

They both go tumbling to the floor of the skating rink. Ryuji hits the ground first, landing on his back on the smooth surface of the rink with a painful thud. In his attempt to help Ryuji balance out and not fall, Akira ends up knocked off balance, as well, and he comes crashing down next, landing on top of Ryuji.

“Ow, shit,” Ryuji groans, pushing himself up on his elbows and surveying the mess of limbs he and Akira have become. “I didn’t mean to drag you down, too, dude. Sorry.”

Akira is laying on top of Ryuji, their legs tangled up together. He braces his hands on the floor by Ryuji’s head and pushes up, lifting his head but still leaving them pressed together from their stomachs to their feet.

“It’s alright,” Akira says. He’s so close to Ryuji - they’re sharing the same space on the floor of the skating rink, legs tangled, hips slotted together, faces nose-to-nose as if they’re about to kiss.

The position makes Ryuji’s heart pound. Akira’s body is solid and warm atop him; his breath ghosts, ticklish, across Ryuji’s cheek when he exhales. This close, Ryuji can see all the complexities of the color in Akira's eyes, the warm tones flecked with darker greys.

“Uh,” Ryuji says, very intelligently, scrambling to extract himself from beneath Akira’s body. If they weren’t in public, and if his feelings for Akira weren’t a secret, he wouldn’t have minded being there, pinned beneath the long, elegant lines of Akira’s body…

But his crush on Akira is a secret, which makes him flighty about anything that could even hint at his not-quite-platonic feelings. And they are in public. So the situation is just awkward.

Akira pushes himself up so he’s sitting on his knees, before getting fully to his feet. Then he holds a hand out to Ryuji - a gesture which is appreciated, because Ryuji’s still not particularly stable on his skates and needs the extra support to stay balanced as he stands up.

“You okay?” Ryuji asks.

Akira laughs. “I’m fine. You broke my fall.” A pause. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, I’m fine, man.”

Akira’s still holding his hand, even as they start to skate again. Ryuji would be okay on his own. He might have to rely on the wall for balance here and there, but he’s on his feet and moving, so he’d probably be fine. Getting goin’ is the hardest part.

He doesn’t tell Akira, though; doesn’t make any effort to release Akira’s hand.

“You said you’re pretty decent at this, am I slowin’ you down?” he asks instead.

“It’s fine.”

“That don’t answer the question.”

“Could I skate faster on my own? Sure. But I came here with you. The point is to skate with you.”

“Can you do tricks?” Ryuji asks. He’s starting to drift slightly in Akira’s direction, but he’s not concerned with steering his skates. He’s mostly letting Akira guide them, dragging Ryuji along. It makes sense that he’d drift in Akira’s direction - Akira is pulling him in that direction, literally.

“What kind of tricks?”

“I dunno. Cool ones?”

“No, I can’t do any tricks. I said I’m okay at skating, not great.”

Ryuji sighs. “Lame.” He drifts closer.

“Like you’ve got room to talk.”

“Hey! I’m doin’ fine!”

Just as Ryuji says that, he bumps into Akira. Maybe he should have paid more attention to the gradual drift of his skates, but it’s too late now.

Their shoulders bump. The collision does not affect Akira, but it does disrupt Ryuji’s balance. He’s able to put a hand out on the wall of the rink and save himself, but not before he wobbles, holding Akira’s hand tighter in a desperate search for something to stabilize him.

“Did you almost make us fall again?” Akira asks. “Man, Ryuji, it’s like you’re looking for ways to get me on top of you.”

Ryuji startles, dropping Akira's hand like he's been burned. He stumbles, tripping over his own skates. Then he goes down hard, landing flat on his ass.

At least he didn't drag Akira down this time.

“Ryuji!” Akira exclaims, laughter on the edges of his voice, as he skates over to where Ryuji sits. “You good, man?”

Ryuji looks up at Akira, who stands above him, backlit by the neon lights of the roller rink like some kind of neon-colored angel. His grey eyes are full of mirth, sparkling behind his big goofy glasses.

“I’m fine,” Ryuji says. It’s true, mostly. The collision didn’t hurt. But his emotions are still tumbling and crashing around inside his chest, like his heart didn’t get the memo that the stumbling and falling and crashing is over.

They skate for a while longer, but Ryuji gets hungry. So, they return their rented skates and set out in search of something to eat. Ryuji misses the air conditioned skating rink the second he steps back outside into the harsh summer sun.

“We should ride the roller coaster before we eat,” Akira says. “Less likely to puke that way.”

So they shift objectives, heading back in the direction of the roller coaster. The line for the ride is long and awful, but it’s made bearable by the easy, aimless conversation between Ryuji and Akira.

“What do you wanna do after this?” Ryuji asks, kicking a pebble around on the pavement as he waits in line.

“Eat.”

“After that.”

“Uh… ride the ferris wheel.”

The ferris wheel? Really? Sure, Ryuji’s down for pretty much whatever, but he can’t say he was expecting Akira to choose the ferris wheel, of all things.

The summer sun bears down on them as they stand in line. People come and go, crowds pass. The din of people talking and the sound of the coaster clacking on the track fills the humid, sweltering afternoon.

They sit at the front of the roller coaster, because everyone knows that’s the best spot. Akira has to take his glasses off and hold them in one hand, so they don’t go flying off his face when the ride starts.

The coaster takes off like a shot across the tracks; as soon as it starts climbing the first hill, Akira scoots closer to Ryuji, grabbing his arm and holding on tight. He’s cheering and laughing, the sound lost to the roar of the coaster and the sound of the wind whipping by them. He doesn’t seem scared at all.

He holds onto Ryuji, anyway; his shoulder pressed close to Ryuji’s, clinging to Ryuji's arm, sitting so near that their thighs touch on the seat.

Ryuji’s legs are jello when he gets off the ride, but he doesn’t puke, so he calls it a win.

“Ferris wheel time,” Akira says. His hair’s all messed up and ruffled from the roller coaster, and his glasses are still off.

“You argued with me earlier about the whole park bein’ couples,” Ryuji says as they board the ferris wheel. “But ridin’ the ferris wheel is definitely couple shit.”

Akira doesn’t say anything. He just closes the door to their pod, and then sits down next to Ryuji.

The ferris wheel begins its slow climb.

“Do you still want to try and win a prize for Keiji?” Akira asks.

“Sure. Maybe they have a shootin’ game or something I can try.”

It’s quiet for a moment. On the seat between them, their hands lay close together. Their fingers brush, just barely.

“Your hair’s all messed up from the coaster,” Ryuji says. Without thinking, he reaches over and brushes some stray, unruly curls away from Akira’s face.

Akira doesn’t stop him. He allows Ryuji to brush his hair away, warm grey eyes meeting Ryuji’s. They hold eye contact for one charged moment, Ryuji’s fingertips still brushing Akira’s face softly, frozen in the movement of tucking a curl behind his ear.

It is quiet in the ferris wheel pod. The sounds of the park are far below them, getting quieter and more distant as their pod climbs closer to the top of the wheel.

“Thanks for coming here with me today,” Akira says. “I’m having fun.”

Ryuji drops his hand back to the seat, where it had rested earlier. “Huh? Yeah, of course, dude. You don’t gotta thank me for hangin’ out with you.”

Akira turns to look out the window, at the park and people below them. Ryuji admires the shape of his profile against the bright, cloudless sky. His hair’s still pretty messy, and his cheeks are red from the heat and the sun. Afternoon sunlight illuminates his form, revealing a warm undertone to his hair that’s only noticeable in direct sunlight. His features are sharp and striking in profile; Ryuji's eyes trace the slope of his nose and the shape of his jawline, as if he's trying to commit them to memory - and maybe he is.

On the seat between them, their hands touch - more than a slight brush this time. Akira’s hand moves, bringing his fingertips to rest on top of Ryuji’s hand. It’s just his fingertips, it’s not like their hands are completely overlapped. But the small contact makes Ryuji feel all warm and fluttery; his brain zeros in on the contact, and the skin beneath Akira’s fingertips tingles like it’s been hit with an electric shock.

The ferris wheel is a couple thing. He and Akira aren’t a couple, but they’re here together. Alone in the comfortable quiet of the ferris wheel pod, the park and its visitors small as ants below them. Right now they’re the only thing that seems real to Ryuji; the only thing that exists as far as he’s concerned is this ferris wheel pod, bathed in vibrant afternoon sunlight, just Ryuji and Akira sitting side by side.

They’re not a couple. It makes Ryuji’s chest tight.

Does he want to be a couple? He hasn’t thought about it. He’s still wrapping his head around the crush in general. What would that even be like? They already hang out so much, would dating be that different?

He doesn’t know. He just knows he wants to be with Akira like this, comfortable and easy. And he wants to kiss him, too. But none of that means they have to date. It’s one thing to imagine going on a date, and holding hands, and stuff. It’s something different to actually seriously date someone, long-term and exclusively.

Dating. For real dating, as an official couple. Not just going on a single date together. Real, long-term dating. Does he want that?

…It doesn’t matter. Because he and Akira aren’t going on any dates at all, even casual ones. He and Akira are just friends. He likes being Akira’s friend; he’s happy being Akira’s friend.

He hates that he feels an ache, deep in his chest, at the thought.

He looks at Akira across the small pod. Akira’s already looking at him, his expression warm and fond. His eyes shine with affection.

“You’re gonna be sunburnt,” Akira says. “Your face already looks burnt.”

Ryuji stares at Akira’s soft expression, at the small smile on the corners of his mouth.

“You are, too, man,” he says. There’s something else on the tip of his tongue. Something that feels alarmingly like ‘Can I kiss you?’ Something that feels far too close to the overwhelming emotions that Ryuji's bursting with but trying to keep contained.

He stops talking, lest the words slip out on their own.

On the seat, Akira traces a finger across Ryuji’s knuckles, his touch soft as a feather. Ryuji imagines wrapping an arm around Akira, or leaning his head on Akira's shoulder. Or the reverse: Akira putting an arm around Ryuji, or leaning his head on Ryuji's sunburnt shoulder. It would be nice; Ryuji longs for it even despite the humid summer air.

As it is, Ryuji just basks in the gentle feeling of Akira's finger along his knuckles.

If dating was just this, except they could kiss, then yeah. He wants that. And as for anything more serious than that, well… it’s not like he’s given his future much thought since the track team blew up. But he knows he wants Akira to be in it. He’d always assumed it’d be as a friend.

But as a partner… a long-term partner, where they’d live together and be exclusive. Have dinner together every night, and wake up to each other's sleepy faces every morning...well. He wouldn’t have complaints about that. In fact, as he thinks about it, a lump forms in his throat. More than 'wouldn't have complaints,' he... thinks he wants that. A domestic life together with Akira, someday in the future. Comin' home from work and being greeted by Akira, spendin' the weekends at the fishing pond, cooking meals together, laying down each night with his arms around Akira.

Yeah, he thinks he really wants that. It's probably just stupid puppy love that comes with the 'new crush' thing.

At least, that's what he tells himself to ease the squeezing feeling in his chest as he thinks about a mundane, domestic life with Akira.

Right now, in the seclusion of the ferris wheel pod, he has a much more immediate want: to kiss Akira's pretty face. To hold his hand, and lean across the small space, and kiss the corner of his smile and the tip of his nose and his ruddy, sunburnt cheek.

Akira's looking at him, still stroking his fingertip over the ridges of Ryuji's knuckles. He has that same warm look on his face. It makes Ryuji's heart do flips. Does he look at all his friends like that? Or is this softness; this fondness and warmth; reserved for Ryuji only?

That's stupid. He has other friends who he cares about. His time and his affection are not Ryuji's exclusively. Ryuji's dumb for thinking otherwise, even for a moment.

He sort of wishes it was something just for him; sort of wishes the small, private smile was something only for Ryuji's eyes. He knows it's selfish to think so, but he can't help it.

He'll take whatever time and affection Akira gives him and he'll be happy with it - Akira's his best friend, so any time spent with him is good.

But if he wishes, deep down inside, that he had just a little bit more of Akira; just a little bit more of his attention, and his time, and the sound of his laughter... well, nobody has to know. Even if deep down he wants to have a future together; even if he daydreams about it like some sappy freakin' schoolgirl; it doesn't mean he's dissatisfied with how things are. As long as he and Akira are friends, as long as he can still stand at Akira's side, he really will be happy.

That doesn't stop the longing, though. Doesn't stop the yearning, pining ache in his chest.

Chapter Text

The summer sun bears down on the crowded beach; the laughter of beach-goers and the sound of the water lapping at the sand fills the afternoon.

“So…” Ann says, dragging out the word. “How are things going? With, you know, your whole… situation.”

Ryuji blinks at her. “Huh? What’re you talkin’ about?”

“Your…” Ann pauses, as if searching for the right words. “Your crush.”

Ryuji chokes on his soda, making some undignified sound.

“Wh - huh? I dunno what you’re… I ain’t… ugh. Why’d you bring it up in front of everyone?”

“Well, I was trying to be subtle, and you didn’t get it.”

“And it ain’t a situation ,” he grumbles. “It’s nothin’.”

“So you haven’t told her.”

Has she lost the plot? What’s with the ‘her’ pronoun? She knows damn well that he’s crushing on Akira, who is not a girl.

Oh well, not like Ryuji’s gonna correct her on it, right in front of all their friends. He’s not ashamed of liking a guy, but he isn’t sure he’s ready for everyone else to know just yet.

Akira looks up from his lunch. “You have a crush on someone, Ryuji?” There’s an unusual edge to his voice; something flickers across his expression, but he schools his face back into impressive neutrality before Ryuji can decipher it.

Ryuji fidgets with the tab on his soda can. “I guess.”

“Oh,” Akira says. He looks back down at his food.

“Ooh,” Futaba pipes up. “Ryuji has a crush? Who is it? I demand details!”

“No way.”

Futaba pouts. “No fair, Ann gets to know.”

“I ain’t tellin’!”

Ann really thought he’d have confessed his feelings to Akira? No effin’ way that’s happening. One, confessing something like that is just embarrassing. Two, Akira’s admitted that he has his eye on someone, so it’s not like Ryuji would stand a chance even if he did confess. Three, he and Akira are friends first and foremost, and teammates after that. Confessing and the inevitable rejection might make things weird, in the friendship or on the team. Ryuji’s got a good thing goin’ here, with Akira and the Phantom Thieves, and he is not about to mess it all up because he’s got a stupid little crush. His friendship with Akira matters to him too much, and so does their mission as Phantom Thieves.

So, yeah. No chance in hell that he’s telling Akira about his dumbass crush.

It’s just a little crush, it’ll probably go away in time. It’s probably not even worth confessing to Akira, it’s that inconsequential. He’ll be over it in no time.

He willfully ignores the fact that it’s been growing stronger for months with no signs of slowing down.

“How’s Shiho doing?” Akira asks.

Ryuji’s grateful for the change of subject, but something about Akira’s demeanor seems… off. Ryuji can’t place what, though.

Ann’s eyes brighten. “She’s doing really well in physical therapy, and she’s going to be starting school again soon.”

“You ain’t bothered that she won’t be comin’ back to Shujin?”

“No. I’m a little sad, I guess, but I totally get how she feels. I want her to be happy, and wasn’t it you who told me that she and I still live in the same city. We can hang out anytime.”

Physical therapy. Ryuji looks at his bad leg, flecks of sand stuck to his damp skin. He could probably do somethin’ like that to make his leg improve.

He’s been holding out hope that it would get better if he just got used to runnin’ again, but that hasn’t been the case. Deep down, he thinks he kind of knew; injuries like that don’t just fix themselves because you do a little bit of running. It takes special exercises and stretches to build the strength up again, and even then it might not ever be quite the same. He’s not the world’s smartest guy but he knows a lot about sports and takin’ care of his body and he knows career-ending injuries don’t just go away.

It’s just… really painful to admit that he probably won’t ever be able to run track again.

He doesn’t miss the team, and he doesn’t want to go back to how things were. But… he does miss the sport. It was the one thing he excelled at, and he was passionate about it, too. He’s passionate about his work with the Phantom Thieves, but he doesn’t excel at it the way he did track. And it’s not like he can’t enjoy and be passionate about more than one thing at a time.

If he’s really, truly, brutally honest with himself, he’s probably screwed himself over worse by trying to force his leg to get better on his own. Running on it, ignoring the pain and the injury, could be doing more damage than he started with.

It’s the first time he’s admitted it to himself, and it leaves an acrid taste in his mouth; kills his appetite for his lunch.

Even if he started some kind of rehabilitation program, his leg might be too screwed to ever allow him to run track again. And even if can run again, odds are he's never gonna be able to get the same kind of times he was getting before the injury. And it’s not like he could run track competitively without going back to the team, something he definitely does not want to do.

So what’s the point in thinking about rehab at all? That part of his life is over, despite the lingering ache in his chest when he thinks about never being involved with the sport again.

He longs to run again, but he doesn’t want to go back to the team. Despite the abuse from Kamoshida, and the incident with the team, and all the baggage he carries in relation to track, he does still miss the sport - it was something he really was passionate about; something he really gave his all to. He has the Phantom Thieves now, and he gives his all in that, too. But track is something he still cares about, despite how much pain has surrounded it in his past. And he probably won’t ever be able to run like he used to, and he doesn’t want to join the track team again, anyways, so by all accounts he shouldn’t care.

But something deep inside him still misses being an active competitor.

He doesn’t know how to reconcile all of these things. The abuse, his injury, his desire to run but not join the team again… he doesn’t know how to make sense of it all; so much of it is painful, or contradictory, and it’s all downright confusing.

It’s easier to just not think about it at all.

They finish their lunch and the girls go off to ride the banana boat that they nicely did not invite any of the guys along for. So the guys are all left to entertain themselves on the crowded beach.

Ryuji won’t pretend he doesn’t look at the swimsuit-clad women. But they really don’t pique his interest the way they otherwise might have. Just like the day of the fireworks festival, where he’d definitely looked at Ann and Makoto in their yukatas but was far more preoccupied with Akira - there are undeniably some attractive women on the beach today, and he does look. But they’re not Akira, and Akira’s pretty much all his brain can focus on nowadays, so they don’t hold his attention.

Akira, on the other hand… now there’s someone that has Ryuji’s attention in a chokehold. Sometimes Akira can come across a little bit girly, but he’s also a dude. This is a fact that is undeniable now, as Ryuji is faced with the flat, angular planes of his bare torso; the faint trail of dark hair below his navel, the breadth of his shoulders.

It is also a fact which does not make Ryuji feel any less flustered at the sight of him. It’s only been a few weeks since he finally realized his stupid crush, and it’s kind of weird and new still, to be into a dude this way and to actually admit it, rather than bury it under denial and a million excuses. If this had happened a few weeks ago, Ryuji would be waging a war in his head about this, insisting he was not interested in Akira the same way he was the bikini-clad women on the beach.

It’s stupid to try and pretend otherwise now. Akira’s got girly features, but he’s definitely a dude, and that doesn’t make Ryuji think he’s any less attractive. Ryuji’s man enough (now, at least) to admit that he finds the sharp angles of Akira’s form even more compelling than he finds the curves of the beach-going women.

Whatever, he thinks Akira’s hot. Not despite his masculine features, but including them. So, yeah, okay. He's definitely into dudes. Maybe he should have realized sooner, but denial’s a hell of a thing.

All this to say that he’s currently watching a drop of water run from the ends of Akira’s damp hair, down the side of his neck and across the ridge of his collarbone. He watches the drop of water and he imagines following its path with his hands, maybe, gliding across the smooth expanse of Akira’s chest, or his mouth, teeth pressed into the column of Akira’s throat, not too hard.

Man, that’s… you shouldn’t think that stuff about your best friend, even if you have a stupid freakin’ crush on them. Don’t make this weird, Ryuji.

‘Don’t make this weird’ is a task that’s easier said than done, unfortunately, because Ryuji is both a hormonal teenager and looking at the object of his affections, bare from the waist up and dripping with water that glimmers in the afternoon sun.

Ryuji watches another bead of water roll across Akira’s skin, down the planes of his stomach, to the top of his swim shorts. He’s still thinking about following the water drops with more than his eyes. His mouth goes dry; his heart races in his chest.

“I’m gonna go see what Yusuke’s doing!” he says, far louder than necessary. He turns on his heel in the sand and speedwalks in the opposite direction of Akira. He doesn’t even know if Yusuke is over there, he just picks a direction and gets moving.

He does find Yusuke over this way, kneeling in front of a small pile of sand.

“Ryuji,” he smiles. “Have you come to assist me with a sandcastle?”

A sandcastle? Sure.

He sits down near the sand pile, opposite to where Yusuke sits, and begins packing sand tightly into the mound. It’s quiet for a while as they add sand to the growing pile, adding water to make it all clump together.

On the other side of the mound, Yusuke begins shaping it into pillars and pointed spires, carving out little windows and doors. Ryuji tries to match his work; tries to shape his side of the mound into something resembling a castle. But it’s a futile effort. His pathetic tower just crumbles as he tries to shape it.

“I believe the sand needs to be more damp,” Yusuke says.

“If I put any more water on it, it’s gonna be soup, dude.”

Yusuke pauses. “I could certainly go for some soup.”

“Dude!” Ryuji laughs. “If you don’t want your sandcastle to have one ugly side, stop thinkin’ about dinner and help me.”

Yusuke scoots across the sand to sit nearer Ryuji, and begins shaping Ryuji’s side of the sandcastle to match the other.

“You think it’s big enough for the lobsters to fit inside of?” Ryuji asks, digging a moat in the sand around the castle.

Yusuke’s whole demeanor brightens. “The lobsters! Wonderful idea, Ryuji. Come, make the castle taller.”

Ryuji stops digging the moat and starts piling more sand on top of the mound. Yusuke has abandoned shaping the castle and is also packing more sand on top.

“Hey, guys,” comes a familiar voice to Ryuji’s left; a shadow falls across the misshapen, lumpy pile of sand. “Building a sandcastle?”

Ryuji looks up to see Akira standing over them, hands in his pockets.

“Akira, you’re just in time.” Yusuke says. “Sit, help us build a castle worthy of a lobster’s beauty.”

Akira shrugs, and then sits down on Yusuke’s other side.

“So, Ryuji, who’s the lucky girl you have a crush on?” Akira asks. His tone is light and casual; all traces of whatever had seemed off earlier are gone now.

“Nobody.” Ryuji stares at his hands, frozen in place atop the sandcastle. “It’s nothin’, man, really.”

Akira’s quiet. It’s unusual for Ryuji to keep a secret from Akira. Does this secret bother him? It comes across like Ryuji just doesn’t trust him enough to admit who his crush is, so if he’s hurt by that, Ryuji would understand.

It’s not a matter of trust, though. It’s just that Ryuji is not trying to confess his feelings. He can’t really explain that without admitting his feelings to Akira, though, so he’s in a bit of a catch-22 here.

Well, Akira never told Ryuji who it is he has a crush on, either. So they’re even.

“Is it someone we know?” Akira asks.

‘Uh, yeah, it’s someone you know,’ Ryuji thinks, but he sure as shit can’t say that.

“I dunno,” he says instead. “She… goes to our school.”

That’s not a lie, technically.

“Oh,” Akira says, and he won’t look at Ryuji - he’s got his full focus on the seashell he’s sticking on the sandcastle, above the door Yusuke had carved earlier. “Are you going to ask her out?”

“Can we talk about somethin’ else?”

“Sure. Where are the lobsters now, Yusuke?”

Yusuke has resumed shaping the castle into an actual castle rather than a lumpy sand pile. “I left them in Futaba’s care. I believe she’s with our belongings right now.”

“Probably ain’t used to bein’ in the sun this much,” Ryuji says. “I bet she’s hidin’ out under an umbrella or something.”

“Hey, take it easy on Futaba. This was a big step for her.”

“I ain’t picking on her. Just sayin’ she’s probably redder than those lobsters by now.”

“I believe the castle is ready” Yusuke says, standing up and brushing sand off of himself. “I must go find Futaba and retrieve our guests.”

He walks away from the sandcastle, leaving just Akira and Ryuji sitting around it.

It’s… tense. Or maybe Ryuji’s just kind of on edge. He won’t look up at Akira, because he’s worried that if he does he’ll end up right back on the same train of thought as earlier, and he really is trying not to be weird. It's silent between them, the air filled with the ambience of the other beach-goers. Tension hangs between them like a cloud, heavy and stifling in the summer afternoon.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Akira says. “But do you actually have a crush on a girl at Shujin?”

Ryuji digs his hand into the damp sand, fidgeting mindlessly. “Yeah,” he lies.

“Huh. You never mentioned anyone, so I guess… I’m just surprised.”

“It’s, uh. It’s kind of a new thing.”

Akira hums in acknowledgement.

Ryuji finally looks up at him. He’s sitting across the sandcastle, grey eyes downcast. He’s frowning. It makes Ryuji feel shitty. Akira’s his best friend, he tells Akira everything. And now he’s got this secret he won’t spill. It’s gotta be hurting Akira’s feelings, to think Ryuji just doesn’t trust him enough to talk about this.

“You don’t know her, she’s in my class,” Ryuji continues lying. He can’t tell Akira the truth, but maybe he can spin a believable enough lie that he thinks Ryuji’s confiding in him, and then his feelings won’t be hurt.

“Oh,” Akira says. “You’ll have to point her out to me if we pass her in the halls or something.”

He’s still frowning. Ryuji doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t know what he can do to make his sunny smile come back.

“Anyway!” he says, hopping to his feet. “I’ll race you to the water.”

“Huh?”

“Loser pays for all the games next time we’re at the arcade.” Then he takes off across the sand.

“Wait!” Akira says, scrambling to his feet and running after Ryuji. “You had a head start!”

They make it to the water at the same time, pushing and shoving each other to try and pull ahead. By the time they’re waist-deep in the water, one of them goes under - it’s unclear who goes down first, and whether they trip or are pushed. Either way, they drag the other down with them. Both of them tumble, grappling with each other, into the water. Akira’s laughing, that sour mood from earlier gone, the musical sound of his laughter blending with Ryuji’s own and the splashing of the water.

It's good. It’s the best sound Ryuji’s heard all day.

Ryuji might not know what's bothering Akira, but as they roughhouse in the warm water, he seems back to his usual self. Ryuji doesn't even think about his stupid crush, either, too preoccupied dunking Akira's head under the water and getting splashed in return. When he's not in his head about the crush, being with Akira is still so... easy. Ryuji could never knowingly do something that would screw that up.

Even if that means he sits on his little secret and never, ever lets Akira know.

Chapter Text

The Hawaiian air is crisp and fresh, the salty scent of the ocean is inescapable. The sun shines down on them relentlessly.

“Ryuji, would you give me a hand?”

Ryuji looks up from where he’s smearing sunblock across his arms. “Sure, man, what’s up?”

Akira’s standing there on the sand, the bottle of sunblock in one hand. “Will you get my back for me? I’ll do yours.”

“Yeah, of course.” Ryuji steps closer, close enough that he could reach out and touch Akira.

Akira looks at him. “Hold on, you missed a spot,” he says.

Then he reaches over and rests his hand upon Ryuji’s face, swiping his thumb across a little splotch of sunblock that Ryuji hadn’t rubbed in thoroughly. His hand is warm against Ryuji’s skin, his touch is soft and caring. He allows his hand to linger there for a moment that feels like an eternity, standing on the sand, sun bearing down on them, his hand cradling Ryuji’s face like it’s something precious. Their eyes meet, and neither one looks away.

They stay like for a long, charged moment, before Akira finally drops his hand away from Ryuji’s face. He passes the bottle of sunblock to Ryuji and then he turns around, putting his back to Ryuji.

Ryuji doesn’t mind doing stuff like this. He’d do it for any of their friends, no questions asked.

He squeezes a glob of sunblock onto his palm and then slaps his hand down onto the center of Akira’s back. The sunblock splatters across Akira’s skin, a few flecks even land on Ryuji.

“Ow, hey, what the hell?” Akira says. He's laughing, the sound light on the ocean breeze, so Ryuji knows it didn't actually hurt.

Ryuji rubs the sunblock into Akira’s skin, mentally mapping out the contours of his back; the curve of his spine and the breadth of his shoulders. His skin is warm and smooth beneath Ryuji’s hands. He’s sure to be thorough with the sunblock, partly because he doesn’t want Akira to get sunburnt, and partly because it gives him an excuse to touch Akira’s bare skin; to run his hands across his lithe, sinewy form.

When he’s done, he passes the bottle of sunblock back to Akira and turns so Akira can return the favor.

The sunblock is cold against his bare, sun-warmed skin. Akira’s touch is firm, hands gliding across Ryuji’s back and shoulders, rubbing the sunblock into his skin. He works his way from the middle of Ryuji’s back, moving up onto his shoulders and the back of his neck - his thumb brushes just behind Ryuji’s ear, and Ryuji shivers. Then Akira’s hands make their way down again, all the way to where Ryuji’s swim shorts sit. The feeling of his hands on Ryuji’s lower back, right where his spine dips, makes Ryuji’s temperature spike and his heart beat heavy in his chest. 

But before he can linger on the feeling, Akira steps away. The abrupt change has Ryuji reeling, brain still caught up on how it felt to have Akira’s hands on his body.

“All done,” Akira says. “Let’s go find the girls.”

They meet up with Ann and Makoto, and spend some time bumming around on the beach. They probe the locals for info about the Phantom Thieves, and Ryuji will admit to feeling prideful when even people from overseas have heard about them. Other than that, they mostly just hang out. They swim a little bit, they sit in the scorching sand and talk, everyone else buries Ryuji. Normal beach day stuff.

Ryuji makes a valiant effort to not be distracted by Akira. Unfortunately, even his best efforts are nothing compared to the fascination he feels at every little effin’ thing Akira does. Currently, he is watching like a hawk as Akira eats a soft serve ice cream cone. This probably should not be fascinating, but Ryuji’s mind is a scary place, capable of making anything… interesting , if the circumstances are right. The ‘right circumstances’ being: is it a hot girl or Akira? (Mostly Akira nowadays.)

Ryuji is thinking about kissing him, which is par for the course. There’s a bit of melted ice cream smudged on Akira’s bottom lip, and Ryuji thinks about kissing him and allowing his tongue to dart out across Akira’s lip, licking away the bit of melted ice cream smudged there; about following that up by pressing his teeth against the swell of Akira’s bottom lip, gently, of course.

Akira’s ice cream is melting rapidly in the Hawaii sun, dripping down the side of the cone. He licks the drop away, before it makes a bigger mess. Then he licks his ice cream in one long stripe, from bottom to top. As he does so, he meets Ryuji’s eyes, though not with any kind of intention in his gaze. He only makes eye contact because he happens to look up and Ryuji’s already staring. It would be harder not to make eye contact with the way Ryuji’s focus is trained on him. But he doesn’t look away, either, he just blinks at Ryuji while he eats his ice cream, completely unassuming.

The eye contact is the final straw; Ryuji has to look away, feeling way too warm, his train of thought barreling full speed down the gutter. God, he’s being so effin’ weird.

“Is something wrong with your ice cream, Ryuji?” Makoto asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You aren’t eating much.”

In his hand, Ryuji’s own ice cream is melting, dripping down the cone and across his hand. He’d kind of forgotten it was even there.

“Oh, uh, no! It’s fine!”

It feels like a million pairs of eyes level suspicious looks at him. In reality, it’s only three pairs of eyes, but it’s enough to make Ryuji sweat anyway.

“Oh. Well, it’s melting,” Makoto says. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Never better!” he says, definitely overselling it. He very pointedly does not look at Akira, who is enjoying his ice cream, absolutely none the wiser.

***

Ryuji sulks down the empty hotel hallway, on his way to the room Akira and Mishima are sharing.

Freakin’ roommate invited his girlfriend over, what a load of bull.

It’s not like Ryuji’s gonna stick around to see what his roommate gets up to with his girlfriend. Yeah, not interested. And it’s not like he can go ask Ann or Makoto to crash with them - even if they were fine with it, they’ve got other girls roomin’ with them who might not be.

So, he’s off to beg Akira to help a bro out.

Lucky for him, Akira and Mishima are willing to accommodate. Though there’s only two beds.

“You can sleep on the couch if you want, but we don’t have a spare blanket for you to use,” Akira says. “Or you can share my bed if you’d rather, I don’t mind. It’s gotta be comfier than the couch, anyway. At least you’d have a blanket.”

“Oh,” Ryuji says, fiddling with a loose thread on his shirt. “Sure, if you really don’t mind.”

Akira scoots over to one side of his bed and pats the empty spot on the mattress. “Nah, I don’t mind. Get over here, bro.”

Ryuji climbs onto the bed, shifting and getting comfy on his side of the mattress. On the other side, Akira is flopping down, too.

This isn’t weird. He doesn’t mind sharing a bed with Akira. They’re friends, and friends do stuff like this. It doesn’t mean anything, despite how Ryuji’s heart races.

Whatever. He rolls onto his side, facing away from Akira so he can’t see him. If he can’t see him, maybe he won’t feel so fidgety and nervous. Maybe he can pretend he’s not there at all. He pulls the blanket over himself, and is met with resistance as Akira also tries to pull it onto his side.

Man, Akira’s a total blanket hog. That’s… well, it’s just a fact about Akira. But it’s something most people don’t know. Something kind of intimate in a weird way, a little fact you could only ever be privy to if you were with him in bed.

Behind him, Akira’s moving around on the bed. Ryuji can feel the mattress dipping and shifting as he does. 

“You’re hot,” he says around a yawn.

HUH? Ryuji’s heart rate shoots up, his ears ring. He whips around to look at Akira.

Akira, laying with his back to Ryuji, continues: “Like a space heater.”

Yeah. That… makes sense. Hot as in temperature. Ryuji runs warm, that’s all Akira meant.

Ryuji’s heart sinks, bitter disappointment crashing over him. Of course that’s all he meant.

They lay in silence for a long time. Ryuji can’t fall asleep, despite the quiet and the stillness and his exhaustion.

“How’s it been, roomin’ with Mishima?” he whispers. He’s pretty sure Mishima is asleep on the other bed, so he’s not too worried about him overhearing their conversation. It would be pretty embarrassing if he did, though, since they’re talkin’ about him.

“It’s all phansite, all the time,” Akira whispers back. “To be honest, it’s kind of stressing me out.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Thinking about our next target and stuff all the time… I can’t escape it even by leaving the country.” A pause. “It’s stressful being the leader.”

“Huh. You don’t show it.”

Akira shrugs, the motion awkward and stunted because he’s laying down. “I try not to. Not good for morale, you know? I’m the leader, everyone is relying on me to have the answers. How can everyone else feel confident if I’m not?”

Ryuji frowns through the dark at him. “We’re your friends, man. You can talk to us.”

There’s a wry smile on Akira’s face; it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Sometimes that makes it harder,” he says. “All my friends’ safety is in my hands.”

“Dude,” Ryuji says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Sure, they rely a lot on Akira to guide them in the Metaverse, but they’re not stupid. Each and every one of them knew what they were signing up for - they all knew the danger they’d be facing. If something goes wrong in a battle and one of them ends up hurt, they don’t blame Akira for it.

Well, nobody blames Akira except himself.

“Hey, don’t tell anyone about this,” Akira says. “Like I said, it’s not good for morale.”

“That ain’t true.”

“It is true, man. I’m the leader, so I… I have to be strong for everyone else.”

That makes something unpleasant stir inside Ryuji, caught halfway between sadness and anger. Akira’s been through so freakin’ much already, and he works his ass off to facilitate all their Phantom Thievery. He’s always out meeting new, useful people, or picking up jobs to earn cash, or taking charge in fights. He’s the only one who never sits a fight out - except Ryuji, but that’s just because Akira always chooses him to be the front line. If Ryuji wanted a day off, Akira would allow it. But Akira himself gets no such luxury.

He’s always workin’ himself to the bone, and now Ryuji’s hearing that he stresses about their missions and everyone’s safety. And he carries that burden alone because he thinks he has to seem strong for his team’s sake.

He gets on Ryuji’s case for being self-sacrificing, but he’s no better. His self-sacrificing just looks different.

“Well, you can talk to me about anything, and it won’t make me doubt your leadership. C’mon, man, I thought we were close enough that you’d know that by now.”

“I know,” Akira says. “I’m talking to you about it right now, aren’t I?” Then he laughs, a small sound with the faintest traces of a bitter edge.

It’s quiet for a few moments. Not a stifling sort of quiet, just a comfortable lull. Ryuji reaches across the empty sheets between them to find Akira’s hand, and he touches it gently; just a brief brush of their skin.

“Everyone thinks you’re killin’ it as leader, you know,” Ryuji says, voice soft.

Akira looks over at him, that wry smile from earlier replaced with something warmer. “That’s good to hear.” His hand brushes back against Ryuji’s.

After that, it’s quiet for a long time. Ryuji lays on the plush hotel bed and tries to sleep, but all he can think about is Akira. About the way his heart had leapt earlier, when Akira had said ‘you’re hot,’ and Ryuji had thought he’d meant it in a ‘I’m attracted to you’ sort of way. For that split second, Ryuji thought Akira was into him.

But he’s not. Why would he be? Akira’s got a crush on someone else; probably someone smart and clever and talented, like Akira himself is.

Someone Ryuji doesn’t think he could ever hope to compare to.

Ryuji frowns, pulling the blanket up to his chin. On the other side of the bed, Akira is lying on his back. His head is turned; he’s looking at Ryuji through the darkness.

“You alright, man?”

Silver moonlight shines in his eyes, a stray curl falls across his face. He’s close enough that Ryuji can smell the sunblock and the salty scent of the sea that clings to him. But it feels like he’s a million miles away, across oceans of empty, cold bedsheets.

Ryuji’s throat is tight around an unpleasant lump.

This is nothing. It’s just lying down and going to sleep. So why is it so damn hard?

Akira’s got a crush on someone else - someone who’s not Ryuji. Ryuji has him, platonically; has his friendship. He’s grateful for that.

But this is the first time he’s really felt the sting of all the ways he doesn’t have Akira; all the things he wants and can’t have. In the stillness of the night, tucked in bed next to his best friend, Ryuji feels he could suffocate beneath the weight of all the impossible things he longs for; could be sick with how much he wants .

And everything he wants is on the other side of the mattress, looking at him, eyes the same color as the silver moon. He’s there, sleepy and gazing warmly at Ryuji. But he’s not Ryuji’s, not in the way Ryuji wishes he was.

He’s not Ryuji’s, and he never will be, and in the silence and the dark of the hotel room, that fact is inescapable. This - sharing a bed, this moment of relaxed, sleepy mundanity - is a farce. A snapshot of the sorta things Ryuji wants with Akira, but that he’ll never have. He thinks about his future, picturing what it could be if he and Akira were together, like he had that day on the ferris wheel. Going to bed beside Akira each night, making dinner together, all that stupid domestic shit… he wants it, and this is as close as he’ll ever get to having it.

He has Akira’s friendship and he’ll always be happy with that. But that doesn’t make this hurt any less.

Akira reaches a hand over, runs his fingers through Ryuji’s short hair before his hand comes to rest on Ryuji’s cheek. The touch is uninvited, but far from unwelcome.

“You look upset, dude, are you okay?”

The softness of Akira’s deft hand on his face; the tender way he touches Ryuji… it’s too much and it’s not enough. It’s a tease of the things Ryuji yearns for, just enough to make Ryuji ache for more. If Akira knew how Ryuji’s heart clenches and his chest gets tight; if he knew how his gentleness makes Ryuji feel like he can’t breathe, would he let up?

Would Ryuji want him to?

“I’m fine, just tired,” Ryuji lies.

Akira looks at him, studies his face. Ryuji fears what he might see there - he’s an open book to Akira on his best days, and he wonders if Akira can read his feelings clearly across his expression.

“Me, too,” he says. His hand leaves Ryuji’s face, and Ryuji misses it instantly.

Beneath the blanket, Ryuji’s hands ball into fists. He’s full to bursting with all these things Akira makes him feel; doesn’t know what to do with all the feelings Akira inspires in him. He wants to grab Akira by the shirt and pull him into a kiss, he wants to press his face into the crook of Akira’s shoulder and breathe him in, he wants to find some kind of outlet for all of these emotions. But he can’t. All he can do is drown in them.

On the other side of the bed, Akira rolls over onto his side, putting his back to Ryuji.

Ryuji lays in the dark and stares at Akira’s back for a long time, far past when Akira himself falls asleep. He’s so tangled up inside, he doesn’t know what to do.

***

Ryuji nuzzles his face against the solid, warm shape in front of him, still mostly asleep. Wakefulness is slow to come to him, but it does come; he cracks his eyes open and squints in the morning light.

The warmth he finds himself snuggled up against is Akira, of course. He’s still asleep, laying on his side, facing Ryuji. In his sleep, Ryuji has pressed himself close to Akira’s chest, one arm slung across Akira’s waist. He moves back slightly - he doesn’t want to escape Akira’s embrace, perfectly happy tucked beneath his chin and against his chest. He just moves far enough that he can see the room beyond Akira’s body.

The window is open slightly, letting the warm breeze drift into the hotel room, carrying the scent of the ocean brine. The curtains blow, slow and lazy, in the quiet morning. Morning sunlight, bright and cheery, filters in through the open window and falls in angular shapes across the bed and its occupants. Birds sing outside, light and carefree, the sound like windchimes.

Next to him in the bed, Akira’s slumbering face is lax and peaceful, his hair spread messy and dark across his pillow. The warm morning sunlight lays across his form; caresses his face like the gentle hand of a lover. It shines in the unruly curls of his hair, catches in his eyelashes and dances upon his fair skin; highlights the shape of his cheek and the bridge of his nose. The rise and fall of his chest is slow and even; he’s close enough that his breath wisps, ticklish and warm, across the top of Ryuji’s head.

Sitting up just enough to turn and look at the other bed, Ryuji finds that it is neatly made. Mishima is nowhere in sight. Geez, what time is it?

He lays back down, arm still across Akira’s waist, hand twisting the fabric of Akira’s shirt where it rests against his back. He should probably get up. They both should. But to extract himself from the bed and Akira’s warmth, to shatter the dreamy moment… it’s something Ryuji can’t bring himself to do.

It’s a moot point, because after a moment, Akira stirs.

He mumbles something as he wakes, pressing closer to Ryuji.

“Morning,” he slurs, his voice low and sleepy. It makes something stir inside Ryuji. Something Ryuji does not want to confront, especially when he’s laying in bed with Akira, still tangled up in the blanket and each other.

He doesn’t seem to be fully awake yet, eyelids fluttering but not open. He wraps an arm around Ryuji, trapping Ryuji against his chest.

“Mornin’, dude,” Ryuji says, and he tries to wiggle out of Akira’s grasp despite how desperately he wants to stay.

Akira’s eyes finally open, blinking in the morning light. He yawns, but does not untangle himself from Ryuji. Instead, he ruffles Ryuji’s hair, his motions lazy and slow, and then presses his face against the top of Ryuji’s head, closing his eyes again.

“You smell like the beach,” he says with no urgency in his voice.

“We gotta get up, man. I think we slept in late.”

Akira sighs, but does relinquish his hold on Ryuji.

When they meet up with everyone else, they get an earful from Makoto for being late. And Ann gives Ryuji a very knowing look when she notices him and Akira arriving late, together.

Whatever she thinks happened, she’s wrong. They were in a bed only a few feet from Mishima, it’s not like anything could have happened. And Akira’s not into Ryuji, and Ryuji won’t make a pass at him for the sake of their friendship, and… the look Ann gives him still makes his face go all warm and red. Just the unspoken implication of something happening is enough to shake him up.

They don’t really spend the day doing anything different than they do back in Tokyo, which is lame as hell. Even going to the beach isn’t really new, they just did that at the end of summer break. You’d think coming all the way to a different country would be more exciting.

Still, it’s the end of their trip now - their last free afternoon in Hawaii before they depart for home tomorrow. Akira’s phone is blowing the hell up, Ryuji can hear it chiming from Akira’s pocket. Seems like he’s got tons of people who are looking to spend time with him today.

Ryuji’s probably just gonna end up palling around with Yusuke or Mishima. Not the worst way to spend an evening, all things considered.

That’s what he’s thinking, at least, as the group splits up to do their own thing. He’ll find Mishima or Yusuke and hang out with them for a bit, no worries. Akira clearly has other people vying for his time, and it’s not like Ryuji doesn’t have other friends.

To his surprise, though, Akira doesn’t wander off. In fact, he stays on the beach with Ryuji.

“Do you have plans?” he asks.

“Uh,” Ryuji says. “No?”

“Wanna hang out?”

“Yeah, of course, dude.”

“Awesome. Come on, take a walk with me.”

It’s late afternoon, the sun is getting low on the horizon - it’s not sunset yet, but it’s getting close. The beach outside the hotel is quite busy, packed with students and locals alike, enjoying the weather as the day winds down; Akira heads off in the opposite direction of the crowds. Ryuji follows, jogging lightly to catch up with him and then falling in step beside him.

They walk side-by-side, to an area of the beach that’s far quieter. The waves lap at the sand as they walk along the place the tide meets the shore; seafoam cascades across their bare feet. The sun is sinking ever lower, the sky fading from cheery blue to warm purple.

“Have you had fun on the trip?” Akira asks as they walk.

“I guess,” Ryuji says. “It’s been the same shit we do back home, though.”

“Maybe that was the point? To show that different places have a lot in common, or something?”

Ryuji laughs. “I don’t think so, man, but nice try.”

A breeze is rolling in off the ocean, it rustles Akira’s hair slightly. Backdropped by the water, sparkling blue-purple in the twilight, face and shoulders tinted a lively red from all the sun he’s gotten this week, stray curls blowing softly in the breeze, Akira is… he’s…

He’s beautiful. It’s corny as hell, but it’s true. He glows beneath the setting sun, his eyes are warm and soft.

Ryuji’s heart is in his throat.

He feels like he did last night, so overwhelmed with his feelings that he is helpless to do anything but drown in the face of them.

Akira's hand brushes against Ryuji's as they walk; he links their pinkies. They’re not holding hands, but they’re not not holding hands, either.

“Well, are you looking forward to going home, then?” he asks.

Ryuji shrugs. “I dunno. It’ll be nice to sleep in my own bed, at least.”

“I bet you miss your mom, huh?”

“Oh, shut up!”

“I wasn’t teasing,” Akira laughs. “I think it’s sweet that you and your mom are so close.”

Ryuji does miss his mom, he won’t lie. It’s not really ‘cool,’ but it is true. It’s nice that Akira doesn’t tease him about that sorta thing. All the things Ryuji thinks are uncool about himself, Akira seems to like - he told Ryuji he was cool back at the monja restaurant that time, after Ryuji admitted he still cared about the track team’s fate.

It’s… nice. To have someone who likes even the lamest parts of him.

He likes all the lame parts about Akira, too. Akira’s prone to making bad jokes and doing stupid bits. Sometimes, he really hams it up in the metaverse, past the point of being cool. He can be surprisingly sensitive, he’s unironically given his houseplant a name, he collects plushies and souvenirs for his room, and he’s got those big goofy glasses that aren’t even real.

And Ryuji thinks he’s the coolest guy he’s ever met.

“You’re the coolest dude ever,” Ryuji says, because he’s thinking about it and he’s not sure if he’s told Akira that before.

Akira’s face brightens, until it shines brighter than the setting sun.

“Here I thought you were the coolest guy ever,” he smiles.

When he’s with Akira, Ryuji really does feel that cool. Or, at least, he doesn’t care so much if he isn’t.

“We can’t both be the coolest,” he says.

“You wanna fight about it?” Akira asks, still smiling, mirth playing in his eyes.

“What?” Ryuji laughs. “No, I don’t wanna fight.”

“Put ‘em up, Sakamoto.” He throws an arm around Ryuji’s shoulders and pulls him close, so he can reach with his other hand to ruffle his hair.

“Dude,” Ryuji tries to fight his way out of Akira’s embrace. In the end, he doesn’t fully escape - his squirming just knocks them off balance, and both of them tumble into the tide at their feet.

“If you wanted to go swimming, man, you could’ve just said so,” Akira says. Water beads up on his hair, catching the last rays of evening light, shining like little stars amidst the dark backdrop of his curls.

They don’t bother standing back up. Instead, they stay sitting side-by-side in the tide, allowing the warm waves to wash over their legs.

“It’s so quiet out here,” Akira say, looking back the way they’d come, at the crowds who are far off in the distance now. “Hey, I have something for you.”

“Huh? For real?”

“Yeah, for real. Why would I lie about that?”

Akira fishes around in his pocket for a moment, and then holds out a silver bracelet

“Dude,” Ryuji says, taking the bangle. The smooth, polished surface is broken by a vine covered in oblong leaves, which is engraved around the full circumference of the bangle.

Akira’s face falls, just slightly. “I mean, if you don’t like it, man, you don’t have to take it.”

“Oh, no, it’s nothin’ like that! I just… you didn’t have to buy me stuff, man.”

Akira shrugs. “Well, I bought you something anyway.”

Ryuji puts the bangle on. It suits him, it’s not dainty or girly at all, and the vine on it is subtle enough that from afar it just looks like a metal bangle.

“Uh, thanks,” he says. “You really didn’t have to, though. I don’t have anything to give you.”

“That’s fine. I didn’t do it to get something in return.”

The sun is fully setting now, dipping so low that it meets the ocean on the horizon. The sky is alive with fiery oranges and blazing reds; beneath it, the waves sparkle in the same colors.

They sit close enough that their shoulders bump and their legs touch. If he were bolder, or not afraid of losing the friendship, Ryuji would lean his head on Akira’s bare shoulder.

But he’s not bold enough; he is afraid of ruining the friendship.

And so he doesn’t do it.

He pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his head on them, digging his toes into the damp sand.

Akira is looking at him, which makes butterflies erupt inside his chest. The sunset is beautiful, glowing warm and golden over the ocean. Akira should be looking at that instead of Ryuji. But he's not. He's got his soft gaze fixed on Ryuji, unwavering, as if Ryuji's the most interesting thing here.

Ryuji is looking at Akira, too, maintaining eye contact. Akira’s wet bangs stick to his face, the orange sunset drapes itself across the flat planes of his torso and shines on the angles of his face. Ryuji's hand rests in the tide between them, the silver bangle on his wrist gleaming in the amber light of sunset. Akira places his hand atop Ryuji's on the damp sand.

Ryuji wonders what Akira sees when he looks at Ryuji. Wonders if Ryuji’s eyes brim with affection the way his heart does. Akira can read him like a book, and he’s always had a bad poker face. He wonders if his expression gives away how he feels about Akira. He’s been trying to keep it a secret, but maybe it’s never been a secret at all.

He’s too afraid to find out. He just sits beneath the firey sunset with Akira, the tide washing over their feet. It's pleasant; he's happy to have this moment.

He's happy to have every single moment they share.

Chapter Text

Everyone is gathered in Akira’s room to talk about the information Makoto was able to get from her sister’s laptop regarding potential next targets, but there’s an elephant in the room.

Principal Kobayakawa’s death.

At the assembly that morning, some students were whispering, saying it could’ve been the Phantom Thieves. It wasn’t, of course, they don’t kill people. And nobody online seems to be saying that sort of thing. If anything, the people online are super supportive of the Phantom Thieves.

Which, depending on who you ask, is a different problem altogether.

Ryuji likes the positive attention. Weren’t they trying to make a name for themselves so they could inspire hope in as many people as possible? And it doesn’t hurt that having so many people be vocally supportive of them just… feels good. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying the attention while still helping people.

The others don’t seem to agree. Ann, Makoto, and Yusuke in particular voice their trepidation at the way their popularity has exploded lately.

All of that is neither here nor there. They’re supposed to be deciding on their next target today, not talking about the principal and their boom in popularity.

Okumura’s benefitting from the mental shutdowns, it seems. At least, that’s what Sae Niijima’s data suggests. So it seems likely that he’s causing them somehow. And Futaba’s already verified the guy’s got a Palace. He was winning in the poll on the Phansite, too. Ryuji’s all on board, ready to jump into that Palace.

“That settles it, then. That guy’s totally our next target,” he says.

Morgana nods. “That’s right. Okumura was at the top of the rankings, after all.”

Sitting on the foot of Akira’s bed, Yusuke frowns. “Hold on. That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s evil. If we jump into this too carelessly… And beyond that, this Phantom Thieves fad is unsettling.”

“Yeah. The excitement levels don’t feel normal. We might want to let things calm down a bit first…” Ann says, fidgeting with the end of one of her pigtails.

Ryuji looks at her from across the room. “You too, Ann? You’re just gonna go against what people want?”

“Huh? No, but…”

Futaba sighs, closing her laptop. “Looks like we’re not gonna agree today, then…”

“Some team you are," Mona scoffs, seated on the table next to Futaba. "What’s with all the hesitation? I can’t stand this! Even you, Ryuji! You just back down the second someone disagrees with you!”

All six people turn to look at him.

“What?” Ryuji says. What the hell? Ryuji’s on Morgana’s side about this! They both want to take down Okumura, so why’s he calling Ryuji out? If he’s mad about the hesitation, then call out Ann or Yusuke! They’re the ones who don’t agree.

Er, well, maybe don't call them out, either - they're entitled to their own opinions about this. They swore they'd only act if everyone agreed, and everyone here is allowed to have their own opinions. The unanimous decision thing wouldn't mean shit if everyone was forced to go along.

Mona continues, unperturbed. “I guess all you've been talking about is using the Phantom Thieves name for popularity, anyway. Getting hyped up over the support is fine, but getting conceited is unacceptable.”

Ryuji hates to admit it, but his temper flares. “Hey aren’t you actin’ for your own benefit here too?” The cat’s had his own agenda since day one! He’s been open about that. It’s not even really a bad thing, Futaba has also admitted to having a selfish reason. It’s just hypocritical to act like Ryuji’s here selfishly when he’s not and Mona is.

“My appearance might have changed but I'm still an admirable human. At the very least, I'm more admirable than some vulgar blonde monkey!”

“You little…!”

“Fine. I can take on some small-time target like Okumura on my own. Sorry, but it looks like I’ll be getting the credit for solving the mental shutdown mystery.”

And before anyone can get another word in edge-wise, Morgana’s little form is vanishing down the stairs.

“You didn’t have to yell at him like that, Ryuji,” Ann scowls.

“He started it! He dragged me into it for no reason!”

“Hey,” Akira says. “Let’s all calm down. There’s no point in fighting about it. Our time’s better spent looking for him.”

Urgh, whatever. That freakin’ cat is always takin’ jabs at Ryuji for no reason. Ryuji was on his side tonight! He wants to target Okumura, too. But Ann and Yusuke aren’t sure, and they promised they’d only take someone down if the whole group agrees unanimously. It’s selfish of Morgana to be so mad at everyone else for not being sure. And he had no reason to be so mad at Ryuji. What, he’s mad that Ryuji backed down and didn’t argue with Ann and Yusuke? And then the name calling, too…

It makes Ryuji’s blood boil. He’s been working on his temper, really, but man he’s pissed.

Despite his lingering anger about the whole evening, Ryuji still goes out and helps the group scour the Yongen streets for Morgana. They search for quite a while, but there’s a million little nooks and crannies a cat could sneak off to; a hundred little places a cat could hide if it really didn’t want to be found.

As expected, they come up empty-handed.

“I don’t think it was personal,” Akira says to Ryuji later, after everyone else has gone home for the night. “He’s seemed kind of off lately, I think something’s been bothering him.”

“It ain’t even just tonight. He’s always bein’ a jerk to me.”

Akira frowns. “I know. I’m sorry, man, I should’ve stepped in sooner.”

“It ain’t your fault, dude.”

“I could’ve told him to knock it off.”

“You have before. Really, it ain’t your fault.”

“When he’s home, I’ll talk to him about it.”

The next time they see Morgana is two days later, when they go to Okumura’s palace searching for his little furry ass. He’s there, sure enough, but he doesn’t seem at all interested in talking about what happened. Him and his new friend, Beauty Thief, just say hurtful things to the Phantom Thieves and then run off, deeper into the Palace.

Cool. That was productive. Ryuji sure is glad they came all this way lookin’ for his ass. His attitude really made it worth the hassle.

Yeah, not so much.

With a few days between him and his fight with Morgana, Ryuji gives some thought to what he said. Laying in bed at home, he considers it.

Has he been too caught up in their popularity? The positive attention feels really good, he’ll admit. But it’s not wrong of him to be enjoying it. They’re still helpin’ people, so what’s the issue?

Urgh, whatever. Morgana was just lashin’ out at Ryuji for no reason, like freakin’ always.

They go to Mementos to try and find Morgana, because someone’s been doing requests from the Phansite and it hasn’t been the Phantom Thieves.

“You need to apologize to him,” Panther says as they sit at the entrance to Mementos and wait.

“For what? Like I said, he started it.”

“You yelled at him, too.”

Ryuji scowls at his hands. “Fine, I’ll apologize, whatever.”

Panther has a point, he guesses. He did yell at Mona. But he wasn’t nearly as out of line as Mona was! Mona dragged Ryuji into it over nothing, and called him rude names, and said he’s only in this for fame. If anyone needs to apologize, it’s Mona. Still, with a bit of time to simmer down, he can admit he shouldn't have reacted how he did. Morgana didn't have any business gettin' on Ryuji the way he did, but Ryuji's trying to be more than his temper. He shouldn't have let Morgana get a rise out of him.

Beside him, Joker lays a gloved hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” he says. “I know what you’re thinking, man. I’ll talk to him about it. Right now we just need him to come home.”

Ryuji sighs. His whole team’s actin’ like he drove Mona off on purpose, as if Mona’s not always bein’ a jerk to Ryuji. As if Ryuji is the one in the wrong for the fight Mona started.

He did yell at Mona, even if Mona started it. His temper got the better of him. So he supposes he does owe Mona an apology for that much, at least. He's really not even all that mad about what happened anymore - as quick as his temper comes, it's often just as quick to leave. So he'll apologize.

It just would be nice if the rest of their friends had his back on this a little more, because it kind of sucks that they're all so willing to point out where Ryuji was wrong wile givin' Mona a pass.

Well. At least Joker’s got his back.

When Mona and Beauty Thief (who they’ve since deduced is one Ms. Haru Okumura) make their appearance in Mementos, Ryuji does try to give an honest apology. He still feels like Mona should be apologizing more than he should, but he truly is trying to be better about his temper and he really is sorry it got the better of him like it did.

Mona doesn’t want to hear it, though. He seems touched, at first, that everyone came all this way to find him. But right when it seems like he’s ready to come back, his expression falls and he runs off onto the abandoned train tracks of Mementos.

Damn cat. He’s probably too proud to come back because he knows he was out of line and would have to apologize.

They chase him around the tracks for a while, but it’s fruitless. He can turn into a freaking car, so there’s no chance in hell they catch up to him.

And so they leave Mementos without Morgana.

They’re all standing in Shibuya, waiting to cross the street, when they hear a familiar voice crying out for help.

Morgana.

Following the sound, they find him crumpled on the ground in an alleyway. Nearby, a man has Haru by the arm.

Whatever the dude’s got planned, he abandons it when a group of six witnesses come running over. He says somethin’ about being Haru’s fiance, and then he sulks off down the alleyway.

Futaba, kneeling next to Morgana, helps him to his feet.

“I’ll apologize for what happened earlier,” Morgana says, head hung low. “So, would you let Haru rest for a while?”

Ryuji kneels down to be on Morgana’s level. “Of course.” They would have helped Haru even if Morgana didn’t apologize. Even if things between them are tense right now, Haru clearly needed help. And so did Morgana. Fight or no fight, they wouldn’t turn their backs on someone who needed help.

All eight of them - Morgana included - return to Leblanc.

When they arrive, Akira takes Morgana and Haru upstairs. Just them, though. He politely asks everyone else to stay downstairs for a moment.

Ryuji can hear hushed voices drifting down the stairs, but they’re too quiet to tell what’s being said. He hopes Haru’s okay. She’d said that guy really was her fiance, but whatever was happenin’ sure didn’t look like some lover’s spat.

When they’re all allowed upstairs, they find Haru is laying on the peeling old sofa, a blanket over her. She’s awake, but her eyelids droop.

Everyone spends some time speaking in quiet voices about nothing in particular. Haru falls asleep on the sofa, and nobody has the heart to wake her - they just let her rest there as long as she needs. Mona seems cagey at first, staring at the tabletop and not speaking much.

Finally, though, he spills what’s been on his mind.

“I ran away, because… I’m useless to you all. Futaba’s much better suited to navigate, and I can’t do as much in combat as everyone else. I know my goal to reach the Mementos depths and find my true form is selfish. I can’t have you all risking your lives for my own selfish goal; for someone useless like me. This can’t be called a fair deal anymore, so… I think we should split up.”

Haru sits up, rubbing her eyes.

“Oh,” Morgana says. “Did we wake you?”

“No.” She pats Morgana on the head. “You should stop lying. You love being here, don’t you?”

“Of course not!”

“Don’t you remember what you said to me when I found you in the Metaverse? You said you were going to get stronger and make everyone here acknowledge you.”

Mona’s tail swishes, he stares at his paws.

“I was lying to myself, too,” Haru continues. “Saying I was doing this to stop my father’s awful actions wasn’t true. In truth, I just… I don’t want to get married. I can’t stand that creep! That’s how I truly feel.”

She turns to look expectantly at Morgana. Morgan remains quiet for a long moment, tail whipping back and forth, ears twitching.

“I… At first I just thought of this team as a temporary dwelling, until I could get my memories back. But… I wasn’t making any progress on recovering my memories, and I don’t have anyone I want to save or get revenge on. In short, someone like me has no reason to stay here.” His ears flatten, he frowns as much as a cat really can. “But, despite that… this team is the only place I can belong! I want to stay here forever, even if I don’t have a good reason to belong here!”

Ah, well, shit. It’s hard to stay mad at the guy after a heartfelt confession like that.

“You should’ve just said so,” Ryuji laughs.

“Yeah,” Ann smiles. “We want to stay with you, too.”

“Then my mind’s all set! This is where I belong!” Morgana pauses for a moment. “I’m, uh, sorry to have worried you all. And…” he looks at Ryuji. “I’m… sorry about what I said to you, Ryuji.”

Oh.

Ryuji blinks at him.

Morgana keeps talking. “I was out of line the other day, but not just then. I’ve been pretty hard on you.”

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Ryuji says. “It’s all water under the bridge now.”

“Well, if you’ve forgiven me that easily…” Morgana says, mood brightening instantly.

Ryuji’s not really one to hold a grudge most of the time. Sure, Morgana was outta line the other day, but he apologized. And obviously he was goin’ through something - Akira had been right, it wasn’t personal at all. At the end of the day he and Morgana are still teammates; are still friends. The apology is nice, but Ryuji forgave him the second they heard him pleading for help in that alleyway.

He leans across the table to ruffle Morgana’s fur. “Glad you’re back, dude,” he grins.

Beneath his hand, Morgana purrs.

“Glad to be back!”

***

Three days later, Ryuji is out and about on Central Street with Ann. She's just finished up a photoshoot in the area and he was already killin' time at the arcade, so they met up for lunch at the cafe. The conversation has drifted wildly off track, and now Ann's grilling him about Akira.

"I can't believe you don't plan to tell him."

"Are you freakin' crazy? Of course I ain't gonna tell him!"

Ann leans forward, resting her chin in her hand. “You totally should tell him, but it's not like it's my business, really," she shrugs. "I can see why you like him, though. He’s easy to love.”

Ryuji’s thoughts race at her words, his mind pulled in two separate directions.

“Who said anything about love?” he asks, tripping over his words in his rush to get them out. “And, what does that mean? Are you into him, too?”

“No, I’m not,” Ann laughs. “I just meant, he’s charming and he’s nice. I don’t have a crush on him, but I get it. I wouldn’t be surprised if other people are crushing on him.”

Other people? Nobody at school likes him, they all think he’s just as much a pain as they think Ryuji is. One of their friends, then? Makoto, Futaba, Haru? Hell, maybe even Yusuke, Ryuji doesn’t know for sure which way he swings.

It leaves a sour taste in Ryuji’s mouth. He’d never thought about it before. Not that he doesn’t think anyone else could have a crush on Akira - he thinks the freakin’ world of Akira. In fact, his high opinion of Akira just makes him feel more uneasy about Ann’s words. He thinks Akira’s the coolest, prettiest, nicest guy he knows. Of course other people probably feel the same way. He just hadn’t ever given it any thought before this moment.

He already had no plans to confess his feelings to Akira, but he’s more sure of that now than ever before. Akira’s got a crush on someone, and there’s the possibility one of their friends has a crush on Akira. If Ryuji confessed, not only would he get shot down and make things weird in their friendship, but there’s the chance it could make things weird with whoever else in their group might have feelings for Akira, too. Besides, if whoever Akira’s crushing on is in their group, then there’s a high chance his crush is mutual. And Ryuji knows damn well he can’t compete with their friends in that arena.

“Does one of our friends like him? Is that what you’re tryin’ to say?” he asks.

“That’s not what I was saying at all,” Ann sighs. “One of our friends might like him, I don’t know. I was only saying that I understand why you like him.”

It doesn’t make Ryuji feel any better. Now that he’s thought about it, the idea won’t leave his head. Akira’s freakin’ awesome, it’s not at all unlikely that someone else in their group feels the same way about him that Ryuji does.

It makes Ryuji queasy to think about.

“I guess if someone else does have a crush on him, it would probably be one of our friends, huh?” Ann says. “Considering how most of the people at school still treat him.”

That’s sort of Ryuji’s whole problem right now. If he didn’t think it was likely one of their friends had a crush on Akira, he’d feel a lot better. He still wouldn’t plan to confess, but he’d at least feel less crappy.

“Yeah,” he says listlessly.

“Things at school have gotten so much better for me since Kamoshida admitted everything,” she says. “It pisses me off that it hasn’t gotten any better for you and Akira.”

“Well, it ain’t like Kamoshida had anything to do with Akira’s record. He leaked it, but he wasn’t involved with how Akira got the record in the first place.”

“When you put it that way, I guess it makes sense that Kamoshida’s confession didn’t change anyone’s mind about Akira. But still, it’s been months. You’d think people would realize by now he’s not the guy they all thought he was,” Ann says.

One more shitty thing to bring Ryuji’s mood down even more. Awesome. It’s great things at school are better for Ann, he’s genuinely happy about that.

But he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him mad that nothing has improved for Akira.

And as for his own standing at school, well… taking Kamoshida down was never about improving his own social standing. So he hasn’t really thought about how his situation may or may not have changed since then.

Shit. Maybe hangin’ out with Ryuji is part of why Akira’s reputation is still so bad. It’s not like Ryuji is a model student, hanging out with him is probably makin’ Akira look worse.

Whatever. He tries to focus on the good - Ann’s life at school is way better since that creep confessed, and Shiho is doing well after her suicide attempt. That’s great news.

None of what happened was ever something Ann wanted, and she faced so much shit from her peers about it. They all acted like she was easy, or dating Kamoshida, when the reality is that she was being harassed by a teacher. It wasn’t ever her fault, and their classmates were so cruel to her about it.

It’s really great to hear that their classmates have realized they had it all wrong and have started treating her more nicely.

… Huh. What happened with Kamoshida wasn’t Ann’s fault. It wasn’t Shiho’s fault. It wasn’t Mishima, or the rest of the volleyball team’s fault. It was nobody’s fault but Kamoshida’s, and the other adults who knew about the abuse but kept quiet. Ryuji’s always known this to be true.

He stews on this for a moment.  It was Mishima who called Shiho into Kamoshida’s office the day he assaulted her. Kamoshida tried to blame Ann for it, saying he did it because she wouldn’t sleep with him. But it wasn’t Mishima’s fault. It wasn’t Ann’s fault. And the suicide attempt wasn’t really Shiho’s fault, it was just her desperate attempt to escape the abuse.

Ryuji would never in a million years blame any of them for what happened. The blame sits squarely on Kamoshida, and Kamoshida alone.

As he sits there in the cafe thinking about this, a different thought comes to him. For the first time, he wonders if his lashing out at Kamoshida was a sign of his violent temperment, or if it was like Shiho’s suicide attempt - a desperate, last-ditch effort to escape his mistreatment, a vulnerable, abused teenager at the end of their rope.

Kamoshida wanted the track team gone. He would have ended it one way or another, no matter what Ryuji had done. He’s known this ever since that day in April when he awakened Captain Kidd. Kamoshida’s Shadow said as much - ‘if your coach hadn’t opposed me with sound arguments, I would have settled it with just breaking his star’s leg.’

If the abuse and Shiho’s suicide attempt were never Ann, or Shiho, or Mishima’s fault... If the track team would have ended up disbanded no matter what Ryuji’d done…

Is it really fair that Ryuji blames himself for the way the track team imploded? Is it his fault? Was it ever?

“Ann,” he says in a tiny voice. He feels tiny right now. “Do you think it was my fault, what happened to the track team?”

“Uh, no. Of course not.”

Ryuji stares at the ice floating in Ann’s fruity drink, as if his gaze could bore a hole into the ice cubes.

Her response is not a surprise. All of his friends have told him that his past with Kamoshida wasn’t his fault. He’s heard it a bunch of times already.

He just never believed them. Despite how many times his friends told him, he never felt like it was true. This whole time, in his heart, he’s truly felt like it was his fault. He’s the one who broke. The whole team was enduring Kamoshida’s shit, and Ryuji’s the weak link who snapped and dragged the whole team down with him. His friends’ platitudes were nice, but they never changed Ryuji’s feelings.

This is the first time he’s ever felt like they might have been more than mere platitudes.

It’s… overwhelming. You’d think realizing he was never at fault for any of that shit would be freeing, would feel good. But it’s… complex, and confusing. He doesn’t feel good at all, actually. His guts are all twisted up and his throat is tight around a lump. It’s like a boulder has settled on top of his chest, heavy and painful, crushing his lungs beneath its massive weight until he can’t breathe. He’s spent so long blaming himself. But if the track shit wasn’t his fault, then what about the way he’s been thinking of himself? What about all the mean things the track team said and did that he let them get away with because he thought that he deserved it?

If it was never his fault, then he never deserved any of the cruelty - from himself or from anyone else.

And that effin’ hurts .

Chapter Text

Ryuji’s sitting in class, staring out the window and definitely not listening to whatever Dr. Maruki is prattling on about at the front of the room. Man, since when did the counselor give lectures, anyway?

Eh, not like Ryuji is sad to be missing whatever lecture would’ve taken place if Dr. Maruki wasn’t here.

He’s staring outside, lamenting that summer is already slipping away, when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

Akira: Hey, are you doing anything after school?

Ryuji: No. Wanna hang out?

Akira: Yeah. Meet me by the front gate.

When Ryuji gets to the school gate after classes let out, Akira’s already there. He’s leaning against the stonework, looking out toward all the students milling about.

“Hey, dude,” Ryuji says as he approaches.

“Hey. Wanna go to Chinatown with me?”

“Uh, sure? What do you want in Chinatown, though?”

“I just want to see it. May as well see all the sights the big city has to offer while I’m here, right?”

“Oh, yeah. It feels like I’ve known you forever, so I forget that you ain’t from around here.”

Akira smiles, bright as the sun. “It feels like I’ve known you forever, too, man.”

They head for the station, falling in step beside each other.

“If you’re lookin’ for stuff to see in the city, you should go to the Skytree,” Ryuji says as they board the train. “Or seaside park. It’s got a great view of the rainbow bridge.”

“I don’t know,” Akira says, being jostled about by the other passengers boarding. “It depends. Are you offering to take me?”

He and Ryuji do all sorts of stuff together, and goin’ to see the sights wouldn’t be much fun alone, so he’s just asking if Ryuji will tag along. Ryuji knows that’s all it is, but it kinda sounds like he’s flirting. He’s not , but it still makes Ryuji’s heart beat faster.

They arrive in Chinatown, passing beneath the huge blue gateway. Immediately, Ryuji’s vision swims with signage for stores and restaurants.

“Have you been here before?” Akira asks. The streets are busy this time of day, and Akira’s words are nearly lost to the din of the city’s bustle.

“No. I hear they have all kinds of interesting food, though.”

“I’ve heard that, too. That’s part of why I wanted to come.”

“What, you brought me along to help finish all the food you buy?”

Akira laughs. “Yeah. I’m just one dude and I’m trying to sample as many things as I can. I can’t finish a whole order of anything or else I'll get too full too quickly.”

“Yeah, right. I saw how you ate at the Wilton buffet that time. And haven’t you completed the hardest challenge at Big Bang Burger?”

“I’m just one dude,” Akira repeats, as if he didn’t even hear Ryuji. “I’ll need someone to help me finish all the food I’m gonna buy.”

Oh, well. Not like Ryuji’s opposed to a culinary tour of Chinatown. In fact, he’s quite on board.

They walk side-by-side, shoulder to shoulder, through the crowded streets. The decor around here sure is something. Hanging above the street are strings of cheerful red paper lanterns, running in diagonal lines between buildings. One string in particular is even shaped like a dragon, with a head and gaping maw on the front lantern while the rest of the lanterns in the string form a segmented body. There’s a ton of signs advertising foods Ryuji isn’t familiar with - he knows the plan is to stuff themselves silly, but he’s honestly overwhelmed by all the options. Where the hell do they even start?

“What kinda foods did you wanna try?” he asks, watching the people coming and going on the street.

“I’ve heard a lot about some kind of dumplings with broth in them. I want to try that. Otherwise, I figured we’d just get whatever seemed interesting.”

“You know this place is kind of a tourist trap, right? I don’t think the food’s gonna be that anesthetic.”

“You mean authentic ? Even if it’s not, it’s still stuff I don’t get back home. And I am kind of a tourist, right?”

It reminds Ryuji of their earlier conversation. Akira is sort of a tourist in Tokyo in a lot of ways. And if he really wants to see the sights, there’s plenty of them to see.

“You really want to go to the Skytree with me?”

“That came out of nowhere,” Akira says. “Yeah, dude. We can make a whole day of it. I’m sure there’s more to do in Sumida.”

“If I’m gonna play tour guide for you, then you’ll have to return the favor and give me the grand tour of your hometown.”

Akira huffs a laugh. “If you want, sure. There’s nothing to see there, though.”

“That don’t matter,” Ryuji shrugs. “You’ll be there, so it’ll be fun.”

It’s the first time they’ve talked about what their friendship might look like when Akira’s probation is over. Akira will be leaving Tokyo in seven months, and like hell Ryuji’s gonna let their friendship fade. They can be friends long-distance, and visit each other when they get a break from school. Hell, they have phones. They can still talk every day, even if they can’t see each other as often.

“I’m bein’ serious, you know.”

Akira doesn’t say they’ll stay friends after he leaves town. At least, he doesn’t say it in those explicit words. He doesn’t have to.

Instead, he smiles and says “Yeah, I’m being serious, too, man.”

And that tells Ryuji all he needs to know, really.

They walk aimlessly through Chinatown, weaving through the throngs of people and making pointless chit-chat as they go.

They buy an order of those dumplings Akira had mentioned - just one order, which they share. They’re pretty good, but Ryuji makes a mess (and burns the hell out of himself) when he tries to bite one in half and the scalding hot broth inside of it spews out. They split a bun that’s shaped like a panda, tearing it into two ragged, uneven portions that were supposed to be halves - Akira gives Ryuji the larger of the two pieces. It’s good, too - it’s sweet, so he thinks Ann would probably like it.

Ryuji, world’s biggest fan of meat, really wants to try Peking duck, but it’s expensive and he’s running low on cash. He’s standing in front of the shop and staring in the window at it, downright drooling at the scent that wafts out of the shop, and trying to make peace with his duck-less lot in life, when Akira grabs him by the hand.

“You wanna try it, right?” he asks, dragging Ryuji inside.

Akira only buys half a duck, not a whole one, but it’s more than Ryuji could have afforded and they probably couldn’t have eaten a whole duck, anyway. They share the duck, too, though it’s kind of awkward since it can’t be easily split.

 They try a bunch of other things, too - sesame balls, small buns shaped like a hedgehog, some kind of pudding. Everything’s pretty tasty, but by the time they’re done, Ryuji couldn’t bring himself to eat anything else, no matter how delicious.

They wander the streets, looking at souvenirs in the more tourist-trap type places, admiring the paper lanterns, and getting their fill of street food. They get a little bit lost, but since they don’t have a specific destination in mind, they don’t really care.

By the time they’re heading back through the streets toward the station, the afternoon is fading into purple twilight. The neon shop signs and the paper lanterns all blaze to life, casting the whole area in a warm, red-orange hues.

They walk close together beneath the soft light of the lanterns, eating little egg tarts; their shoulders bump. Between them, Akira links his pinky finger with Ryuji’s. Summer is on its way out, giving way to the mild beginnings of autumn - the evening is pleasant and cool, the air filled with the chatter of the crowds, the buzz of neon signs, and the music of Akira and Ryuji’s laughter.

Akira shines like the sun; glows beneath the orange lanternlight and the fading traces of sunlight. His smile is as bright as the paper lanterns overhead, his eyes twinkle like the stars that are starting to peek through the twilight.

Beside him, Ryuji can’t breathe, caught in a tidal wave of affection, helpless to do anything except be swept up in the moment and the sound of Akira’s voice.

He wonders if this is what love feels like.

“Hey, I rented a movie I think you’d like,” Akira says as they pass beneath the huge gate from earlier and officially leave Chinatown. “I have to return it to the rental place soon, so, uh… wanna come over and watch it with me? Assuming you don’t have anything going on after this, of course.”

“Sure, dude. As long as it ain’t a chick flick, I’m game.”

They take the train to Yongen and then walk the short distance to Leblanc. These backstreets are quite familiar to Ryuji now - he’s walked this path from the station to the cafe about a hundred times. He doesn’t live here like Akira does, but the Yongen backstreets and the coffee scent of Leblanc are beginning to feel like a home away from home to him - he can only imagine how Akira must feel about it.

Akira gets them each a soda from the beat-up old refrigerator downstairs, and then both of them head up to the attic. Ryuji settles on Akira’s lumpy mattress while Akira gets the dvd put in the player and starts the movie. Then he flips off the lights and joins Ryuji on the bed, squeezing into the space between Ryuji and the wall.

The movie Akira thought Ryuji would like is an action flick, about a guy on a quest to get revenge for a loved one’s murder. He was right, Ryuji does like it - not that it takes much beyond cool fight scenes and a badass hero to get Ryuji invested.

They sit side-by-side on Akira’s bed, backs against the wall. The mattress isn’t exactly big enough for the two of them to sit on while leaving lots of personal space, so they end up pressed together from their shoulders to their ankles. Ryuji doesn’t mind, although somehow his arm ends up trapped behind Akira. Then he does mind, because he’s getting that pins-and-needles feeling in his fingers and it’s annoying as shit.

“My arm’s fallin’ asleep,” he says, trying to pry his arm out from the place it’s pinned between Akira’s back and the wall.

“Sorry,” Akira says, sitting up and freeing Ryuji’s arm. He doesn’t lean back again, though. Instead, he climbs over Ryuji’s leg and slots himself in front of Ryuji on the bed. Once situated there, he leans back, resting his back against Ryuji’s front, head resting on Ryuji’s chest.

Oh. Uh. Well, that’s… that fixes the ‘arm falling asleep’ problem for sure.

They sit like that for a while, halfway between sitting and lying down, Akira seated between Ryuji’s legs, leaning back against him.  Slowly, Akira’s eyelids droop, he stifles a yawn.

It’s quiet between them, the sound of the movie filling the silence. In the dark attic, light from the old television flickers across their entwined forms.

Akira has dozed off, laying against Ryuji.

A warm, fuzzy, affectionate feeling blossoms inside Ryuji as he looks at Akira’s face, relaxed as he sleeps, high points of his features catching the light from the television while shadows pool in the low points. As cute as he is, he probably shouldn’t sleep in his glasses, right? That’s a good way to break the damn things.

Tentatively, as if any movement made too quickly will wake Akira, Ryuji reaches up and takes the glasses off Akira’s face, folding them and putting them on the floor by the bed - it’s not ideal, but he can’t reach anywhere else to stash them. Then he brushes some unruly, dark curls away from Akira’s slumbering face; tucks them behind his ear so he can see Akira’s features more clearly.

Akira makes a little sound and shifts, rolling over onto his side and bringing his hands up to rest near his face atop Ryuji’s chest.

Is he… awake? His eyes are still closed, his breathing is slow and even. Ryuji can’t tell.

He risks it, and runs his fingers through Akira’s dark hair. It’s softer than he thought it would be.

In his lap, Akira sighs. He still seems to be asleep, though.

Ryuji cards his fingers through Akira’s curls again, scratching his short nails softly against Akira’s scalp.

Akira hums, a quiet, contented little sound. His eyes open and he looks up through the low light at Ryuji.

Ryuji stops what he was doing immediately, dropping his hand away from Akira as if touching him burns.

“Uh,” he says, face going hot.

“It’s fine, dude,” Akira says, voice low and warm. “You weren’t bothering me. It was kind of nice, actually.”

Oh. It’s embarrassing as hell to be caught red-handed, but if Akira doesn’t mind - if he liked it, even - well, then Ryuji doesn’t see any reason to stop. So he doesn’t. He keeps stroking his hand through Akira’s hair slowly, occasionally scratching his scalp or smoothing his hair with a petting motion.

They watch the rest of the movie that way - Akira curled up, resting on Ryuji, Ryuji idly stroking his hair.

“The main guy in this movie’s kind of hot,” Akira says, offhandedly.

“You think?”

“Look, man, don’t judge my taste too harshly, alright?”

“I ain’t judging.”

Ryuji watches the action scene unfolding on the screen, some gunfight between the main character and the bad guys. He’s not as enthralled as he usually is by flashy fight sequences, though.

The main character is pretty standard for an action hero - buff, with muscular biceps and a toned chest accentuated by his tight shirt, though his facial features are softer and less rugged than the usual tough guy character. He’s got short, bleach-blonde hair and big brown eyes. Personally, Ryuji doesn’t see the appeal - though he’s yet to find a dude other than Akira that he thinks is hot, so maybe his opinion isn’t relevant.

The guy in the movie… is he Akira’s type? Does Akira have a type?

“Do you still have a crush on someone?” Ryuji asks.

“Yeah.”

“Is… is it a guy?”

“Yeah.”

Hm. He’d sort of assumed it might have been - it was kind of implied by the context of the conversation where Akira admitted to having a crush. But it wasn’t confirmed one way or the other, so it’s good to know for sure.

Not that it changes anything. Whoever the lucky guy is, it’s not Ryuji. So it doesn’t matter, really.

“Have you told anyone else about it?”

“About my crush?” Akira asks, looking away from the movie and up at Ryuji. “No. You’re the only person who even knows I like guys, so…”

“You could tell ‘em you like someone without mentioning that it’s a dude.”

“I could. But if I tell them, they’re gonna want details and they’re gonna push me to ask him out. I saw how Ann was grilling you about your crush at the beach the other day. I want no part in that.”

Ugh, yeah. Can’t blame him there. Ryuji wanted no part in that, either. Although, it’s not like he’s mad at Ann about it. She’s got good intentions, and she’s been there for Ryuji to confide in about this whole crush thing.

He runs his fingers through Akira’s hair again, the motion happening mindlessly, like it’s as natural as breathing.

“Who is it?” he asks. “Your crush, I mean.”

“Oh.” In his lap, Akira’s form goes tense and rigid. “Uh, you don’t know him.”

He understands why Akira doesn’t want to tell their friends about his crush, but why won’t he tell Ryuji who it is? He trusted Ryuji enough to admit he does have a crush. He trusted Ryuji enough to come out to him.

But he won’t tell Ryuji the name of the guy he’s crushing on. If it’s someone Ryuji doesn't know, then there’s absolutely zero harm in giving Ryuji the guy’s name. It’s not like Ryuji would know who it was, so he couldn’t tease him for his taste or potentially tell the dude - not that he’d spill Akira’s secret like that, anyway.

He doesn’t like the nasty feeling that wells up in him about it. He’s a hypocrite if he’s bothered by this, isn’t he? He won’t tell Akira who he’s got a crush on - he won’t confess who the true object of his affections is, but he hasn’t given Akira a name, even a fake one.

Knowing that doesn’t make the sour feeling go away, though.

Ryuji frowns at the old crt television.

Whatever. Just try not to linger on it. Maybe he just won’t tell Ryuji who it is because Ryuji doesn’t know the guy, so having a name would be meaningless. Knowing the dude’s name doesn’t actually provide Ryuji with any meaningful information if the dude’s a stranger to him, right?

Yeah, that’s probably it. Akira won’t admit a name because it wouldn’t be relevant to Ryuji what the dude’s name is.

Still, he’s bitterly, bitingly, miserably jealous of whoever the guy is.

He fidgets with the ends of Akira’s hair, twirling the end of the curls around his finger. His hands brush the back of Akira’s neck as he does so - in his lap, Akira’s shoulders go tense; he draws an uneven breath.

Well. Whatever. Being jealous doesn’t do anything, does it? Well, it doesn’t do anything except make Ryuji feel like shit, at least. So he tries to put it out of his mind and focus on the movie.

Despite his best efforts, he still thinks about the mystery guy. He must be one hell of a guy, to win Akira’s affections. Akira’s so great - cool, and funny, and kind, and smart, and so pretty it’s stupid. What kind of dude could have enamored someone as awesome as Akira?

Whoever it is, Ryuji has a sinking feeling that he couldn’t ever compare - nor that he’d ever stand a chance with Akira regardless. Akira’s way out of his league.

Resting against Ryuji’s form, Akira is silently watching the movie, oblivious to Ryuji’s turmoil. His body is warm against Ryuji’s, his weight leaned back against Ryuji is solid and comforting; an unyielding, grounding presence.

Ryuji wants Akira to be happy, of course, but deep down there’s a part of him that hopes Akira never makes a move on his crush - because if Akira started dating some other guy, Ryuji doesn’t know what he’d do. He’s not the jealous type usually, but the thought makes a pit form in his stomach. He’d never express that feeling to Akira, and he feels shitty for even thinking it because he knows it’s selfish as hell. But he can’t help how he feels.

Just like he can’t help how his heart soars when he and Akira are together, he can’t help the sour pit in his stomach when he imagines Akira dating someone else.

Chapter Text

Not to give Okumura any kind of props, but this has gotta be the coolest Palace they’ve  been in so far. The pyramid was pretty sick, too, though… and the bank was a must for a group of thieves. Still, they’re in freakin’ space, dude!

The Shadows here are way different than any others they’ve faced - every other Shadow has been more or less… organic, humanoid or animalistic in shape. These are robots, made up of sharp lines and precise angles. Well, the floating round ones are not so sharp and linear, but they’re just as inorganic; perfect spheres with blinking lights and rotating rings.

Despite their strange shapes, so far, the Shadows here haven’t been that tough. A lot of ‘em have had weaknesses, and with Oracle’s help analyzing them, exploiting those weaknesses hasn’t been an issue. It helps that their group is so large now - if anyone gets too fatigued to fight, they can just switch out with somebody else. And between the different Personas on the team and the ever-changing stock that Joker can use, they always have an answer for whatever the Shadows throw at them.

Ahead of Ryuji, Joker launches himself onto the back of a Shadow, planting his feet firmly on the smooth, metallic surface of its body as he grabs for its face. Ryuji couldn’t possibly tell what part is the face and what part isn’t, but Joker seems to have no such issue.

The robotic Shadow whirrs and beeps beneath Joker’s sleek form, before it melts into a puddle of bubbling, jet-black goo.

Any second now, the Shadow’s true body will emerge from that goo and then the fight is on. Ryuji tumbles out of his hiding spot, running out to meet the Shadow. Joker is falling back from the bubbling, inky sludge, and the two of them fall in line together perfectly. The rest of their current lineup - Noir and Queen - are quick to join them.

The shape that emerges is… a lady. With a big, dark hat and a long cloak that billows around her floating form.

“Be careful,” Oracle says. “That one’s strong.”

On Ryuji’s left, Joker is twirling his dagger in his hand, his gloves vibrant and blood-red amidst the cold steel of the space port. His gaze is focused forward, sizing the Shadow up.

Then he tears off his mask. His hair and tailcoat whip wildly around him, blown by the power emanating from the Persona that manifests behind him. He launches a magical attack at the Shadow, a flurry of ice crystals shattering across its form.

The Shadow moves in an instant, bringing its cloak up to shield it from the attack. The ice bounces off the cloak as if it were a wall.

Ice crystals, fine edges sharp as razors, pelt Joker where he stands. They scratch at his exposed skin; a few small trickles of blood drip down his cheek.

Ryuji moves next, grabbing at his own mask. He feels the familiar presence of Captain Kidd looming over him; feels static buzzing in his fingertips. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, his skin tingles as sparks dance across it. They haven’t fought one of these things before, and they don’t know if it has a weakness. The strategy for this sort of situation is to just try whatever they can; Joker would tell him to try his magic, no matter how weak. But Joker doesn’t have to tell him, because he already knows.

He unleashes a Zionga at the Shadow. It connects with a crash, electricity skittering and arcing across the Shadow’s body, sparks shimmering in the air around it.

The Shadow recoils, but only for a moment.

Shit. If it’s got a weakness, it ain’t electricity.

“Queen, Noir, your magic,” Joker says, wiping a drop of blood from his face - all he ends up doing is smearing it into a red, smudged shape across his skin.

The Shadow is overwhelmed by magic from Queen and Noir, and it screeches and falters for a second. But it recovers quickly, waving its hand in a grand gesture. Fireballs manifest in front of it and come soaring toward the Phantom Thieves.

Joker leaps out of the path of the fireball with ease, springing backwards without issue. Queen and Noir also evade the attack - not as easily, but it’s enough to keep them from being caught in the inferno.

Ryuji is not so lucky. Even after months of running, his body still doesn’t respond the way he wants it to, and he’s not as fleet-footed as he once was. He makes a valiant effort, lunging to the left, but it’s not enough. He manages to evade the worst of it, but embers still dance across his face; the edge of the fireball catches his waist, singing the leather of his costume and burning the skin beneath. Stinging, burning pain blossoms across his side.

He doesn’t have time to think about it. Joker is ahead of him, launching wind magic at the Shadow; Noir is approaching from its back, hoisting her heavy axe in preparation to strike.

“Skull!” Queen calls to him from somewhere on his right. Familiar green sparkles skitter across his form. The pain in his side lessens, but does not vanish.

“Thanks,” he says, and he tightens his grip on his club. The Shadow’s not weak to electricity, so magic is out. Back to ol’ reliable - hittin’ shit really hard with his weapon. He waits until Joker’s magic has dissipated, so he’s not putting himself in the line of fire, and then he winds up for a swing.

The Shadow goes down after a few more minutes. Despite having no weakness they could find, it was still one Shadow versus four Phantom Thieves. It was strong, but in the end it stood no chance.

They press on, deeper into the Palace, through the airlocks. It’s… weird, and maybe a little bit scary to jump out of the airlocks and into the open vacuum of space. But it’s also something he sure as hell isn’t ever gonna get to do outside a Palace - hell, it’s something nobody is likely to do outside a Palace - and it is undeniably pretty effin’ cool.

They stop in the next safe room they discover, taking the opportunity to regroup and assess their progress. They’ve come a long way by now, and looking at the map, it doesn’t seem there’s much left to go. Everyone is feeling alright, and so they decide to push on for today. Hopefully they can find the treasure today, but it’s difficult to tell - they never know what’s to come, and even when it seems they’re close to the end, something could always happen to set them back.

After talking to the team about their progress and poring over the map, Joker dismisses everyone from their little impromptu meeting and begins emptying his pockets of the medical supplies he carries.

It’s routine, by now, the process of patching up after a tough fight. Those who weren’t fighting are standing around making hushed conversation, while those who were fighting are all tending to their wounds. Joker is spreading their medical supplies on the table, tossing gauze and bandages to those who need them.

Ryuji flops into a chair at the table, yanking his mask up so his face is left bare. He starts to untangle himself from the top half of his costume, fighting with the buttons and singed fabric.

Damn Shadow lit his ass up like an effin’ torch. He’s sure he’s got burns pock-marked across his face, and as he squirms his torso out of his costume, he’s not surprised to find burns scattered across his chest and arms, as well.

Ryuji grabs for the topical burn treatment they keep on hand - some kind of sticky, thick ointment that stings like a bitch when applied. Still, it’s better than havin’ to clean blood and dirt and grime away from an open wound, although he’s had to do plenty of that in the last few months.

“You should clean those first,” Joker says, sitting down in the chair next to Ryuji. He’s pushed his mask up off his face, just like Ryuji has.

“Why? Ain’t like they can get infected.”

Joker scoffs a little laugh. “Burns can get infected, dude.”

Well, shit.

He puts the burn ointment down and searches the table for something to clean his burns with. He knows they have some kind of antibacterial liquid meant for this kinda thing, he’s used it before. Where the hell is it?

“Here,” Joker says, laying a hand on Ryuji’s bare shoulder. “I’ve got it, man.”

Ryuji assumes "I've got it” means Joker’s got the antibacterial solution he’s looking for. Which he does - he’s wetting a piece of gauze with it right now, as Ryuji looks on. That’s not what he meant, however, a fact which Ryuji realizes when Joker does not pass him the bottle. Instead, Joker reaches over and starts cleaning Ryuji’s burns for him.

It’s not unusual to help each other patch up after a fight. The truth is, sometimes there are wounds you just can’t reach to take care of your own. Ryuji’s lost count of how many times he’s cleaned and bandaged a wound on one of his teammates’ backs, or had someone do the same for him.

This is beyond helping, though. Joker does all of the work, while Ryuji does nothing except sit by and allow Joker to care for him.

Joker’s touch is gentle as he wipes each of Ryuji’s burns. It doesn’t feel good; the medicine stings and the burns are so fresh that they still ache. Despite that, it’s… nice, to be taken care of in this way.

He wipes clean each burn, and then picks up the burn ointment Ryuji had been using earlier. His hands are warm on Ryuji’s skin, his touch light. He applies medicine to the burns scattered across Ryuji’s face, holding Ryuji’s face gently in one hand as he does.

 Then moves down to Ryuji’s shoulders, where his burns are less numerous. Joker treats any that he finds, sliding his hand down Ryuji’s arm - over the curve of his bicep and the length of his forearm, until he reaches Ryuji’s wrist. At that point he moves his attention to Ryuji’s other arm, repeating the same process, treating any burns he finds as he brushes his hand across Ryuji’s bare skin.

All that remains now are the burns flecked across Ryuji’s chest. Akira is just as diligent and gentle as he treats these burns, and the task goes by quickly due to the burns being small.

Then he moves to treat the largest of the burns, which sits low on Ryuji’s stomach, near where his hipbones disappear beneath the fabric of his costume’s bottom half. Joker’s touch is still feather-light, and his hands don’t wander - he stays on task, touching only the large burn as he treats it. Still, Ryuji’s muscles jump beneath Joker’s fingertips, his breath catches in his throat. His heart hammers heavy in his chest as his mind is completely overrun by the feeling of Joker’s warm hands brushing across his abs. Joker’s hands are so close to… nobody’s ever… 

Ryuji’s brain short-circuits. All he can think about is Joker’s hands sliding beyond the fabric of his costume, inching lower across Ryuji’s hips. Geez, it’s really warm in this damn safe room, the stuffy air bears down upon him like it weighs a ton. His mouth is dry and his palms sweat.

Joker is unaware of the way Ryuji’s chest clenches and his heart races. He continues caring for the burn, none the wiser. When he’s finished, he sits back in his chair and starts rifling through their medical supplies.

Ryuji sits there for a moment, wrangling his unruly thoughts back into something resembling coherency. And then he wriggles back into his costume, fighting to untangle the sleeves where they’ve gotten flipped inside-out.

Beside him, Joker is shrugging out of his long tailcoat and assessing his arms for any wounds. He got out of the fight without any burns, unlike Ryuji - in fact, he’s hardly hurt at all. He’s got a few red spots that will likely blossom into dark bruises, and a few small cuts from the ice attack the Shadow had repelled back at him, but that’s the extent of it. The cuts are all on his face, as the fabric of his clothes took the brunt of the damage everywhere else.

Still, his face has a scattering of little cuts and dried, smudged blood trails. That will all need to be cleaned, no matter how small the cuts are.

“Here, dude, let me help,” Ryuji says, and he reaches over. Joker’s holding a piece of gauze that he’s dampened with the wound disinfecting wash. Ryuji takes the wet gauze from him.

They sit facing each other, side-by-side at the table in the safe room, bandages and ointments spread out on the table near them. Ryuji places one hand on Joker’s cheek, holding Joker’s face steady, and begins wiping the dried blood away from Joker’s skin.

Joker accepts the help wordlessly, closing his eyes and relaxing into Ryuji’s touch. Ryuji’s movements are slow and gentle, wiping smudged blood away from the small cuts on the swell of Joker’s cheek. He tucks Joker’s hair away from his face so he can clean the few cuts on his forehead, wiping over each one tenderly. There’s one near Joker’s eye, where his mask doesn’t cover, and Ryuji is particularly gentle there.

Then he begins putting a thin layer of antibacterial ointment over each little cut, applying it just as softly as he’d cleaned the blood away. He uses one hand to cup Joker’s chin, gently turning Joker’s head this way and that as he works, ensuring no cut is skipped over. He brushes his thumb across each cut on Joker’s cheek, and then across the one near his eye, his touch light as a feather on the soft, delicate skin there.

When he’s finished his task, he doesn’t let go of Joker’s face. He just stays there, one hand cupping Joker’s chin while the other rests upon his cheek. Between them, their knees touch; Ryuji has leaned quite far into Joker’s space as he worked and now their faces are close enough that Ryuji’s breath rustles the ends of Joker’s dark curls.

After a moment of no movement, Joker opens his eyes. His gaze meets Ryuji’s.

“All done?” he asks, but it comes out as a low whisper. His hands, which had previously been resting folded in his lap, come to rest on Ryuji’s legs, just above his knees.

Ryuji’s head swims with the feeling of Joker’s soft, warm skin beneath his hands, and Joker’s hands on his legs, and the way Joker smells - not like coffee, since his Metaverse costume doesn’t carry the scent of Leblanc, but instead like clean laundry and something mild and earthy that Ryuji can’t place.

He swallows hard, heart beating fast against his ribs. Joker’s leaned forward a little bit, now, too; they’re both leaning into each other’s personal space, still making eye contact. The moment feels infinite, like it stretches on endlessly.

In reality, it’s only a couple of tense, charged seconds. It’s shattered by Mona, who has been sitting on the corner of the table the whole freaking time. Ryuji had just gotten so swept up in the moment that he’d completely forgotten - not only about Mona, but about literally all of their other friends who are also in the room patching up.

“Ugh,” Mona groans. “Why don’t you two just ki-”

“Hey Mona!” Joker interrupts, way louder than necessary. He extracts himself from both Ryuji’s personal space and Ryuji’s touch, slapping a hand onto Mona’s head and ruffling his fur. “I think I dropped a bottle of painkillers somewhere, why don’t you help me look?”

They never find the bottle of painkillers.

***

Ryuji leans back in his seat in the planetarium, folding his arms behind his head.

“Ain’t the Palace enough space for you, man?” he says, and he’s (mostly) joking.

Beside him, Akira elbows him lightly. “Hey, if you didn’t wanna come you could’ve said no.”

The lights in the planetarium dim; the projection flickers to life above them.

Ryuji’s never been to the planetarium. It’s not really his thing. He’s only here today because Akira invited him, and even lame shit is fun with Akira.

It’s quiet as the show begins. Ryuji tries to focus on the information being given, but he’s the world’s most distractible person, especially when he’s supposed to be listening to something educational. It’s not surprising that he ends up paying more attention to how the projected stars twinkle; how the planets move and orbit.

Beside him, Akira’s hand brushes his. Then again, a moment later. And then a third time.

Ryuji looks over at Akira. What’s goin’ on? Is Ryuji, like, invading his arm rest or something?

Akira’s looking up at the night sky projected above them. It’s difficult to make out details of his face through the low light, but as far as Ryuji can tell, nothing is amiss. He just looks like he’s enjoying the show.

On the arm rest between them, Akira’s hand is turned palm-up.

Ryuji blinks through the darkness at Akira’s hand. That’s… if Ryuji didn’t know any better, he’d think Akira wanted Ryuji to hold his hand. But… he’s definitely not, right? He wouldn’t… that’s just…

Ryuji tears his gaze away, heart fluttering, face warm and pink. If Akira wanted to hold Ryuji's hand, he’d just do it. He’s a bold guy. So his hand there on the arm rest isn’t… it’s nothing.

But what if it is something? What if it… what if he does want Ryuji to hold his hand?

Swallowing around a lump in his throat, Ryuji reaches over to the place Akira’s hand is laying on the arm rest; he lays his hand atop Akira’s.

Akira doesn’t turn to look at Ryuji, doesn’t take his eyes off the projected galaxy above them

But he twines his fingers with Ryuji’s; brushes his thumb across the back of Ryuji’s hand.

“Hey” Ryuji whispers through the darkness. “Hey, dude.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh, all the shit that happened with the track team and Kamoshida… do you think that was my fault?”

“No,” Akira says, without pause. “Not at all.”

Of course that’s what he’d say. He’s told Ryuji this before. Ryuji’s moved past thinking his friends only say it wasn’t his fault to spare his feelings - he thinks they truly mean it.

He wants to believe it as much as they do.

He’d never blame anyone else for their abuse. He doesn’t blame Ann for what happened to Shiho, and it’s sort of the same in a way - Kamoshida used Ann’s actions to justify what he did to Shiho, just like he used Ryuji’s actions to justify what he did to the track team. So it wasn’t Ryuji’s fault, really.

Of course he knows Kamoshida’s the one responsible for it all. He’s the one who was abusin’ them and who ultimately broke up the team.

But that doesn’t lessen the guilt Ryuji feels, because it was Ryuji’s actions that Kamoshida used to justify his shit. Despite what Ryuji knows, logically, to be true, it still feels like it was Ryuji’s fault. Because he’s the weak link who snapped beneath Kamoshida’s abuse, while the rest of the team was enduring it. Because he’s the violent, angry screw-up who was just acting on his nature when he hit Kamoshida. Because he’s… because he’s him , so of course it was his fault.

He’s so tangled up inside, stomach twisted into queasy knots. His brain can understand how, just maybe, he really wasn’t to blame for it all. But his feelings…

And beyond that, it’s… kind of scary, to think it wasn’t his fault. Because when he thought it was all his fault, it sucked, but it… it was easier, in a way. To cope with it being his failure and his screw up that caused it at all. The guilt was miserable - is miserable - but at least it’s familiar. When he believed it all happened because he was a violent punk who deserved it… at least that was a reason.

But more and more lately, he’s thinking maybe he wasn’t the cause. And if he wasn’t the reason, then what was? If he wasn’t the reason, then… then it seems there was no good reason for it at all. Seems he and his teammates were abused and had their dreams shattered and their lives turned upside down, because they just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time - they were just unlucky that they came under Kamoshida’s fire.

All that suffering. Totally senseless; a case of bad luck and nothing more.

That’s so much harder to cope with, somehow. And all the facts and logic in the world don’t change how he feels, even when how he feels isn’t logical at all.

He feels just as confused and lost as he did when the whole thing happened. Like all the progress with it he thought he’d made has been stripped away - like all the coping he’s been doing has been totally ineffective, a band-aid slapped on top while the wound beneath has festered.

He stares above him, at the domed ceiling of the planetarium and the stars projected there. It’s pretty, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the things he’s seen in Okumura’s Palace; the endless, inky black expanse of space, the thousands of little pinprick stars glowing amongst the darkness.

He feels like one of those stars; small, lost in the cold, endless dark.

No, that’s… it’s not true. It’s easy to feel that way when he’s too in his head about all the complicated shit goin’ on inside him, but it’s not true. Maybe a year ago, but not now - now he’s a different guy than he was back then, and he’s got friends. He’s got a place to belong, and people to support him.

On the arm rest between them, Akira’s hand is warm in Ryuji’s. He’s still brushing his thumb across the back of Ryuji’s hand, his touch light against Ryuji’s skin.

He feels really confused and twisted up right now, about Kamoshida’s abuse, about what happened to the track team, about his own role in all of it. But he’s not lost, and he’s not alone. His place is with the Phantom Thieves; with Akira - so if he’s a star, out there in the cold and oppressive darkness, then he’s one in a constellation. If he’s a star, then he’s a star reaching out to the other points of light and warmth amidst the vacuum.

After all, even on the darkest nights, no star shines alone.

Chapter Text

“Hey, dude, wanna go get somethin’ to eat? On me this time.”

Akira blinks at him. “Sure. You don’t have to pay for me, though.”

“Nah, I want to. Don’t worry about it.”

They go to the monjayaki restaurant where they’d gone to eavesdrop on Yamauchi that time, and true to his word, Ryuji pays for both of them. He’s got somethin’ he wants to tell Akira, so it’s his treat today. It’s the least he can do to repay all the things Akira’s done for him.

“I heard the track team’s tryin’ to ditch Yamauchi and get their old coach back,” he says as they take their seats in the restaurant. “I guess… they’re finally walkin’ their own path.”

“Are you satisfied now?” Akira asks from across the table.

Ryuji hums, contemplating this for a moment.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he finally says. “Uh, they… they asked me to come back. To the track team.” He fidgets with his straw, clinking the ice around in his drink.

“And…?”

“I said ‘no.’”

“You don’t wanna go back?”

“Nah, dude. I’ve told you that before, haven’t I? That ain’t where I belong now.”

He can’t lie. When he’d gotten the text inviting him back, there was a part of him that wanted to say yes. Part of him that misses the sport and longs to go back to competing again. But goin’ back to the team isn’t what he wants, and he’s not gonna try to cling to the past just ‘cause he misses running. In the past, he’d thought that the team wouldn’t take him back anyways, but that’s not true now. Everything that happened between him and the team is water under the bridge now. They’re personally asking him to come back. If he wanted to return, they’d welcome him.

But he doesn’t want to. If they’d asked him six months ago he might’ve said yes, but… things are different now.

“You know, people at Shujin talk so much shit about you,” he says.

Akira shoots him a deadpan look. “Gee, thanks for reminding me.”

“Hey, let me finish!” Ryuji laughs. “People talk so much shit, but you just… do whatever you think is cool, and don't care what other people think about you. Wherever you decide to be, that’s where you belong.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, dude. You’re so freakin’ cool.” A pause.  “Before I met you, man, I didn’t have anywhere I could fit in. But lately I’ve realized that… as long as I’m bein’ myself, I'll always have somewhere I belong. It ain’t the same place as before, but it’s damn good. And I’m… I’m glad I found it.”

“Yeah? Where is this place?”

Ryuji grins, a little laugh escaping him. “Huh? Whaddya mean, dude? It’s next to you, of course. I guess that means… your place is next to me. Or maybe ahead?”

Across the table, in the warm light of the restaurant, Akira beams at him.

“Your place is next to me, huh?” he says, and his eyes shine with affection. “I think so, too. You’re my right hand man, after all.”

“You know it, brother!”

Akira’s his best friend, and havin’ him around has totally changed Ryuji’s life. Being with him makes Ryuji want to be the best possible version of himself, makes Ryuji feel like he really can become the best version of himself, makes Ryuji feel like he matters, like he’s more than his reputation or his past or his shitty exam scores.

Ryuji doesn’t tell Akira often enough just how much he’s changed Ryuji’s life for the better. He doesn’t say often enough how happy he is to be his right-hand man. They’re two peas in a pod, and bein’ two peas in a pod with Akira feels like exactly where Ryuji was always meant to be.

“Did you invite me out just to tell me that?” Akira says, still smiling. “You could’ve just said it, you didn’t have to take me on a date, you know.”

“Huh - no, dude, it ain’t like that. I just -”

“I’m kidding, man,” Akira laughs, and he lightly kicks Ryuji under the table. “You’re my best friend. Of course your place is next to me, and mine is next to you.”

Ryuji positively glows, heart soaring, through their meal, and through the whole train ride home. He really does care for Akira. Wherever Akira decides to be, he makes it into a place he belongs. And wherever Akira decides to belong, that’s where Ryuji belongs, too, because Akira is Ryuji’s place in the world. It’s good to tell Akira as much, and it’s better to hear Akira agree with the sentiment.

***

“Ryuji!”

“Whoa - hey, buddy,” Ryuji laughs, as Keiji comes bounding full-speed to greet him in the doorway, throwing his arms around Ryuji’s middle and clinging on tight.

Ryuji ruffles Keiji’s short hair and then extracts himself from Keiji’s vice-like hug.

“Can we go to the park today?”

“Sure, but you know the rules. Homework first.”

Keiji groans, sulking toward the couch. “But homework is boring,” he whines.

“It ain’t my rule, dude. You’re gonna have to talk to your mom about that one.” Ryuji says, and when Keiji walks by him he snatches Keiji around the waist and heaves him up into his arms, holding him upside down. “And no poutin’, either!”

Keiji’s frown disappears instantly, and he wiggles in Ryuji’s grasp, laughing and thrashing. His squirming does earn him his freedom - Ryuji gathers him up in his arms more fully, so he’s not dangling upside down, and tosses him onto the faded old couch.

Keiji stands up on the couch - something Ms. Okabe probably would not approve of - and then leaps at Ryuji.

“Whoa, Kei -”

He lands on Ryuji and knocks him off balance, dragging both of them onto the couch cushions.

“Now you’re in for it, man,” Ryuji says, rolling over and grabbing at Keiji.

Keiji scoots backwards along the couch, trying to scamper out of Ryuji’s reach. It doesn’t work, and Ryuji gets a hold of his ankles, dragging him back down the couch until he can reach to give Keiji one good noogie.

“No,” Keiji wails, the sound broken up by his laughter. “Let go!”

“For real, or so you can get me back?”

“For real!”

Ryuji relinquishes his hold on Keiji, freeing him.

“Sorry, buddy, did I hurt -”

Keiji stands up on the couch again. “Not for real!” he jeers, and he launches himself onto Ryuji’s back.

“You tricked me, that ain’t fair.”

“Is so,” Keiji argues, hanging from Ryuji’s back like a freakin’ monkey, arms around Ryuji’s neck.

Ryuji reaches behind him and grabs blindly for the back of Keiji’s shirt. He balls the fabric up tight in his fist and uses that to pull Keiji over his shoulder, pretending to slam him down onto the couch (What really happens is that Keiji slinks, boneless and uncooperative, over Ryuji’s shoulder and then lands softly on his back atop the cushions.)

“Alright, homework time for real,” Ryuji says, getting up off the couch. "Oh, I almost forgot. I brought you somethin'."

Ryuji fishes in his pocket for the little keychain he'd brought. It's shaped like the Phantom Thieves logo - Keiji has mentioned liking them, and when Ryuji saw it in the shop he thought of Keiji.

He won't pretend there wasn't a small part of him that bought it 'cause he likes how popular the Thieves have been and was just excited to see their logo being sold on merch. Some of the group are tentative about their popularity exploding the way it has, but Ryuji likes it. It's awesome, to have so many people look up to, and rely on, and admire them, isn't it? It's great to feel like people adore them - adore Ryuji. He's not used to that feeling.

Keiji is happy to receive the little keychain but he still complains about his homework. Still, he gets to his feet and goes in search of his school bag.

When Keiji’s homework is finished, they make the short walk to the neighborhood park, just as promised. The autumn afternoon is cool and pleasant, with a slight breeze; the park is quite busy today, with lots of kids of varying ages playing on the playground equipment.

Keiji spots some kids from his class, and he runs off to play with them. Ryuji finds a bench to sit down on that’s within eyeline of Keiji, and alternates between watching Keiji and texting Akira.

It’d be nice if Akira were here, he thinks, because then he’d have someone to talk to. They’re talking over text, but that’s not the same as being here in person.

The thought makes an image flash in Ryuji’s mind - him and Akira helping Keiji with his homework, and making dinner, and then all three of them walking to the park together. Like… like some sort of little family.

Ryuji is way too young to think about kids, and there’s no effin’ way he’d wanna be a dad. Not now. Not ever. But… the idea of sharing such mundanity with Akira makes something deep in his chest ache.

That’s not the only feeling that stirs inside him, though. Because up til now, he’d never thought of himself as anyone important in Keiji’s life. He’s not, really, he’s just the babysitter. But… Keiji’s dad isn’t around, and he’s never mentioned an uncle or grandpa, so what kinds of male role models does that leave him? Teachers at school, and… Ryuji.

Not that Ryuji would ever claim to be a father figure to Keiji, he ain’t even close to that. But… he is a role model to Keiji, isn’t he? Keiji clearly looks up to him, at least.

His guts all twist up into nauseous, painful knots. Him , a role model for a kid? Why does that make his jaw tight and his palms clammy? Why does it scare him?

Ryuji’s… he’s just like his dad, ain’t he? He’s violent and angry. The last thing he wants is to be a role model for a kid, man. He can’t… he…

He takes a long, uneven breath. Across the playground, Keiji is racing his friends through the crisp autumn afternoon. Keiji spots Ryuji watching and waves to him with big, exaggerated gestures.

Ryuji stands up from the bench and heads over to where Keiji is.

“We’re racing!” Keiji says as soon as Ryuji’s within earshot. “Do you wanna go next?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’d kick your butt, anyway.”

“No way!” Keiji exclaims. “ I’d kick your butt.”

“No shot.”

“Race me! If I win, you have to do my homework next time.”

“And what if I win?”

“Then I’ll do your homework!”

Ryuji laughs. Yeah, let the grade-schooler do his homework. If one of his friends were here, they’d say somethin’ like ‘Why not, Ryuji? It’s not like your grades can get any worse.’

“Alright, you’re on,” he says.

Keiji’s face lights up. “Really? Yay! Okay, the starting line is over here.”

Ryuji races Keiji, and all of Keiji’s friends. And, predictably, he wins by a landslide. He even tries to go easy on them, but he still totally smokes ‘em.

“You’re so fast!” Keiji says as they make their way home an hour or so later. “How’d you get so fast?”

“I ran track for a while,” Ryuji says.

“Wow, really? So you’re, like, really good at running?”

Ryuji laughs. “I guess so.”

“Can you teach me?”

“Huh?”

“Can you teach me how to run fast?”

“Why’d you wanna learn that?”

“So next time I can beat all my friends when we race and then they’ll have to do my homework for, like, a whole year.”

“Were you betting your homework with your friends, too? Dude..”

“Come on, teach me! Teach me, teach me, teach me! Please!”

“Alright, I’ll teach you! Geez.”

“Yay!” Keiji cheers, and he practically skips on the way back to the apartment, a bouncy, happy spring in his step the whole way.

***

This is definitely the most impressive celebration they’ve had. Even goin’ to the Wilton buffet has nothing on having the entire Destinyland park all to themselves.

He knew Haru’s family was rich, but seriously, this is nuts.

“You should put the cat ears on Morgana,” Ryuji says, leaning back in his chair.

“What? Don’t say such stupid stuff.” Morgana protests.

Ann’s face lights up. “Oh, that would be cute! Then he’d have two pairs of little kitty ears.”

“O-oh,” Morgana’s tail swishes back and forth. “Well, in that case…”

Futaba cuts him off. “Eh, the headband wouldn’t fit him anyway.”

The conversation shifts to the topic of the Destinyland parade, which will not be happening since there’s not enough staff here to do it - it’s just the eight of them here, so a whole parade is overkill, anyway.

Ryuji zones out as his friends chat around him. Beneath the table, something brushes his hand. He looks over to his right, and finds Akira is already looking at him. When Ryuji meets his eyes, Akira offers a small, warm smile and then looks away, turning his attention to the rest of the group.

Beneath the table, his hand brushes against Ryuji’s a second time. This time, though, Ryuji catches it in his own hand and twines their fingers together.

Akira doesn’t do this with their other friends… does he? Ryuji’s never seen Akira hold anyone else’s hand, or look at anyone else the way he looks at Ryuji. Ryuji’s never seen Akira lean his head on anyone else’s shoulder, or curl up in anyone else’s lap like he had during their movie night a few weeks ago. But… their other friends have never seen Akira do all of that with Ryuji, and it definitely has happened. Just ‘cause Ryuji hasn’t witnessed it doesn’t mean it isn’t happening.

Maybe he could ask one of their friends. Maybe he could pull Ann, or Makoto, or Yusuke aside and ask if Akira holds their hand, or leans against them, or anything like that. He could ask what it’s like, when they’re alone with Akira - does he look at them all soft and warm and fond? Does he sit so close that their bodies touch, so close that they’re sharing the same space?

Thinking about the possibility that the answer is ‘yes;’ that Akira does those things with everyone… it makes Ryuji queasy.

And even if the answer is ‘no,’ if Akira only does those things with Ryuji, it doesn’t mean anything.

It doesn’t mean anything, no matter how much Ryuji wishes it did.

In his pocket, his phone vibrates. Who the hell is texting him? Everyone he talks to is right here at the table with him.

Akira: Hey, is something wrong? You’re frowning

Ryuji: Nah, I’m fine, dude

He sends the message and then turns to flash a big, bright smile at Akira. It’s forced, but it’s not exactly false - he is having fun tonight. He’d just gotten wrapped up in his own thoughts for a moment, that’s all.

Akira: Good. I like it way better when you smile

The fireworks have started up by now, and all of the other Phantom Thieves are watching them, enraptured. Across the table, Futaba is flirting with Yusuke in a dramatic, overdone way. Sayin’ ‘It’s so beautiful, but not as beautiful as you,’ and shit like that. It’s so stupid and sappy and it makes Ryuji’s face red and warm to admit, but… that’s how he feels about Akira. Ugh, he’s stooped to the point of romance movie cliches now? Come the freak on.

Akira really is beautiful, though; in the darkness of the evening, the fireworks throw a rainbow of colors across his features. Soft yellows and oranges dance in his eyes and highlight the shape of his lips; vibrant blues and greens outline the swell of his cheek and the ridge of his collarbone; gentle pinks and purples shine in the curls of his hair and bathe his whole form in dreamy, pastel hues. The stupid romance movie cliches are apt, because Akira himself is like something from a sappy, stupid chick-flick; cast in the flickering rainbow of the fireworks, still holding Ryuji’s hand below the table.

He’s beautiful, and Ryuji doesn’t even feel weird thinking so. Not anymore, at least. It’s just a fact of life by now. He’s Ryuji’s best friend, and he’s just some guy, and he’s the cool, competent leader of the Phantom Thieves, and he’s smart and funny and kind, and he’s Ryuji’s place in the world, and yeah, okay, he’s pretty as hell.

And Ryuji is in love with him.

When the thought crosses Ryuji’s mind, it isn’t startling. It doesn’t surprise him. The thought comes to him gently; softly, like the way Akira holds his hand. It comes to him quietly, like seeing an old friend again - calm, and easy, and warm, with no fanfare, just familiarity and comfort.

Ryuji loves Akira. Of course he does. The thought’s not startling because the feeling isn’t, either; the feeling is the same old feeling he’s been drowning in for months. The same old feeling that has been building and building and building inside him until his heart is full to bursting with it.

It’s the same feelings he’s always had for Akira. It’s the same feeling he felt when they went to the beef bowl place that first day, and when Akira called Ryuji his friend for the first time. It’s the same feeling he had when Akira invited him over to play video games the first time, and the second time, and every time after. It’s the same feeling he had on the beach in Hawaii, and sharing snacks in Chinatown, and the other day when he told Akira his place was at his side, and every other moment between now and April.

It’s not different, it’s not separate. It’s the same affection he’s always carried for Akira. Trying to pinpoint where this feeling started and the platonic love ended is impossible; it’s like trying to cleanly separate two colors on a gradient.

He loved Akira then and he loves Akira now. Even if the specifics are different, the feelings really aren't.

Between them, hidden under the table, Ryuji squeezes Akira’s hand, rubs his thumb tenderly across the back of Akira’s hand.

And Akira squeezes back.

Chapter Text

Ryuji stares at his dinner, pushing his food around on his plate listlessly.

“Ryuji, you’re not eating much. Are you okay?” his mom asks from across the table.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just not feelin’ so great.”

“Are you getting sick? It is flu season, you know.”

“I dunno, maybe.”

Ryuji is not catching a cold, or coming down with the flu. He’s not sick at all.

The truth is just something he can’t tell his mom. He hates keepin’ secrets from her, but… it’s Phantom Thief stuff, so she can’t find out.

It sucks, though, because when shit gets hard, his first instinct is to turn to Akira, or his mom. His mom can’t be allowed to find out what’s happening, and Akira’s already dealing with enough as is without listening to Ryuji complain, though, so… it kind of leaves him nowhere to turn.

They’re… they didn’t kill Okumura! He’s sure of that. They did everything the same as always. But the people online… the people who were their fans… all seem to think otherwise.

Some effin’ fans, huh?

And that’s not even the worst part, because now it’s starting to look like they’re being framed - not just for Okumura’s murder, but for all past and future mental shutdowns. And they definitely weren’t behind those!

Futaba found that copy-and-pasted code on the site Medjed used to threaten them, and then the same sorta code on Mishima’s Phansite, tampering with the polls. The polls asking who should have their heart changed. The polls that Okumura had the most votes in.

 In short, they’ve been walkin’ into a trap since freakin’ July! Even as they try to worm their way out of this, they could be stepping into another trap.

And that’s not to mention how the whole freakin’ spike in their popularity was probably manufactured by whoever’s settin’ em up. Ann and Yusuke had been right, their surge in popularity back in September wasn’t normal at all.

Ugh. Ryuji’d gotten a big head about how popular they were, how they were still helpin’ people so it was fine to relish in the positive attention. He’d even bought some of the merch that started popping up in stores. But it’s because of that sorta attitude - and that popularity - that they ended up here, right? If they’d been focused on their real goals, on helpin’ people rather than just doin’ what the public wanted, maybe they wouldn’t have ended up going after Okumura  and then none of this would’ve happened.

But then what would’ve happened to Haru… Okumura still was a piece of shit who deserved to have his heart changed…

This is all so damn confusing. Even if their decision to target Okumura was partly based on those polls, it was also to help Haru. Even the Medjed stuff was a set-up, but they didn't really have a choice in that matter - there's no way they could've ignored the threats being made, right? Still, Ryuji himself was pushing to target Okumura even before they met Haru, because that's what the public wanted them to do... he wanted people to like them, to cheer them on, to rely on them. He liked being the hero.

In hindsight, it's easy to see a million places they could've gone wrong. They should’ve paid more attention when they found out their Principal suffered a mental shutdown. They should’ve chosen their target organically, not relying on some poll just to appease the public. They should’ve been more careful, and more aware of how their popularity was exploding, and Ryuji in particular feels like he let the fame get in his head. What happened to the kind of caution and careful planning they had for Kamoshida and Madarame and Kaneshiro? Then the Medjed stuff happened and they didn’t have a choice, but… they should’ve thought more about the waves they were making. It was awesome at the time, to hear that even people overseas had heard of them. But bein’ that big of a deal, especially doing something they knew the cops didn’t approve of… they should’ve known that would be a bad thing.

Ryuji remembers griping that heroes who stayed in the shadows were lame, but… he was bein’ stupid. He just wanted recognition. The Phantom Thieves stay in the shadows so they don’t get freakin’ caught, not because it’s cool. What they’re doing was bound to cause a stir, but they… they should have been more mindful of just how big a splash they were making.

But they weren’t. And now someone else has used their popularity to trap them, backs against the wall, into taking the fall for someone else’s crimes.

The SIU is looking into them now, man… what the hell are they going to do?

Ryuji looks at his mom across from him at the dinner table, and his chest hurts, his throat gets tight. He can’t go to freakin’ prison! He doesn’t wanna go to prison, of course, but… it would absolutely tear his mom up if he got arrested. He can’t do that to either of them - himself or her.

So that leaves them no option, huh? They were relyin’ on Makoto’s sis to get their intel about the state of the investigation into the Phantom Thieves, but that well has dried up. Makoto was right, they need intel before they can make any kind of plan to get out of this. Goin’ in blind is just gonna get them trapped again.

Which leaves Goro effin’ Akechi.

If Ryuji’s appetite weren’t gone before, it sure as hell is now.

He does not like Akechi. He does not trust Akechi. The guy’s had nothin’ but bad shit to say about the Phantom Thieves since way back in the spring. And he works with the freakin’ cops! Obviously, that’s why Makoto wants to use him for intel, but… the guy’s a walking risk to them. And he’s supposedly some detective prince, so he must be pretty smart, right? Even if they try to press him for info in a subtle way, who’s to say he won’t pick up on what’s happening?

Ryuji’s hand tightens around his chop sticks. He’s not even holding them as if to use them to eat anymore, he’s just white-knuckling them in the silence of the kitchen.

He effin’ hates being backed into a corner like this. He’s angry.

And he’s scared.

This reliance on Akechi as a source of intel is precisely how they end up inviting him to be the guest at their school festival. The plan is that Makoto will interview him, which is standard procedure for these sorts of guests. Except she’ll try to squeeze some useful info out of him with carefully worded questions.

Again, Ryuji does not like this plan. Even if Makoto is precise and calculated with her questions; even if she’s careful not to give anything away… there’s no way to know Akechi won’t catch on to what’s happening. They’re inviting danger by doing this. They’ve already fallen into a massive trap, and although he said on t.v the other day that he doesn’t think the Phantom Thieves are murderers, they still can’t trust he won’t turn ‘em in to the cops should he discover their identities. He’s been vocally disapproving of their actions for months, no doubt he’d like to see them caught, even if he doesn’t suspect them of Okumura’s murder.

Still, what other option do they have?

It ends up being a moot point. Because Akechi pulls them all aside and shows them photos taken near the headquarters of Okumura Foods.

Photos of them, leaving the Metaverse, appearing from thin air where they hadn’t been before. The conversation is brief, and one-sided as all hell. Akechi lays it out for them. He does not think they killed Okumura, nor caused the mental shutdowns. He saw the guy that did, the black masked intruder… and he wants to catch him. His proposal is simple: the Phantom Thieves help him with this task, and he will play the mole for them with the cops. The real criminal is caught, the Phantom Thieves escape arrest and wrongful imprisonment for a crime they didn’t commit, all is well.

And if they don’t, well… he’ll take what he knows to the cops, including the photos.

In the end, it’s not like it’s much of a proposal. It’s just outright blackmail.

The whole thing really sours the rest of the festival. It was at least kind of fun before, but now… Ryuji’s too angry, and too antsy, and too on edge.

He and Akira go to the post-festival party, but neither one is in much of a partying mood. They can’t talk about it here, where any random person could overhear, but it’s eating away at Ryuji. They really don’t have any choice but to do what Akechi wants?

Sitting in the crowd at the party, Ryuji’s hands tighten into fists. He hates feeling so damn powerless! He thought bein’ a Phantom Thief meant he wouldn’t have to knuckle under to shit like this anymore - meant he wasn’t that powerless kid he used to be.

Guess that was just a nice thought, and nothing more.

As he’s wallowing in this shit, teeth clenched and jaw tight, the student hosting the party calls him, of all people, up on stage for the ‘Student Sharing Special.’

Because of-freaking-course he does.

“So,” the host says, and he pulls Ryuji right to the front of the stage. “Do you have anything to share with the school?”

Ryuji blinks dumbly at the massive crowd of students. “Uh,” he says, very eloquently.

“How about those Phantom Thieves? Any theories on who they could be? Goro Akechi seemed to imply they’re someone at this school. What do you think?”

“Uh,” Ryuji says again, a  little more panicky. Shit, what the hell is he supposed to say? No effin’ way he’s sayin’ one of their names. Does he pick someone random? If he does that then the host is gonna ask him why he suspects that person, though, and it ain’t like he’s gonna have an answer.

In his pocket, his phone vibrates.

Akira: Need some help? I can volunteer to share something.

Ryuji: Like what, man?

Akira: I dunno. I’ll stand up and yell something really juicy to take the heat off you. Something like ‘I love you, Ryuji Sakamoto.’

Ryuji: Dude, no way!

On the stage, beneath the lights, Ryuji begins to sweat. Those are his only options? Try to lie his way through talkin’ about the Phantom Thieves, or let Akira confess his love in front of the whole school and deal with rumors about them bein’ gay for each other for the rest of his high school career? He’d rather dive head first off the stage and knock himself unconscious.

He sure as hell cannot get through a whole conversation about his Phantom Thief theories. He is not a good actor, nor a good liar. And as for the second choice… he is gay for Akira, and that makes it so much worse. He hasn’t even told his friends that he’s not straight, let alone the whole damn school. To Akira, it’s just something stupid he can yell that would be interesting enough to draw people’s attention away from Ryuji. To Ryuji it’s way deeper than that.

There’d be some truth to it for Akira, too, right? Although he isn’t in love with Ryuji, he is into guys. Maybe he doesn’t mind basically coming out in front of all their peers. But it sure as shit would bother Ryuji, and that’s not mentioning how it cuts way too close to the truth of Ryuji’s feelings for Akira. If he had to go on, pretending his feelings for Akira are purely platonic, all while the whole school is talkin’ about how they’re definitely dating… God, he wants to bash his head in just thinking about it. School is already hell, he is not trying to make it worse by essentially coming out in front of all of his peers and then trying to pretend the talk of him and Akira dating doesn’t totally eat him up inside.

Not that Akira knows he’d basically be outing Ryuji to their whole school, since he doesn’t know Ryuji is into dudes. And Akira doesn’t know that Ryuji wishes they really were dating, so hearing their classmates gossip about them as if they were together would absolutely freakin’ kill him.

Akira is ignorant of precisely how miserable it would make Ryuji if he stood up and told the whole school that they were in love. But that does not make it any more appealing than just bullshitting his way through talkin’ about the Phantom Thieves.

In the end, Akira does stand up and shout that he’s in love with someone. The host latches onto this immediately, and drags Akira up on stage. Ryuji is shooed away, and he’s never been so thankful to be shooed in all his life.

“You’re in love with someone, huh? Who is it?” the host asks.

Akira, cool as a cucumber, doesn’t falter. “Oh, you wouldn’t know her. She goes to a different school.”

Beside him, the host visibly deflates.

After the party, they sneak up to the school roof just to be away from the crowds. It’s late, and the sun has already set, plunging the rooftop into darkness.

“Being up here sure brings back memories, huh?” Ryuji says as they step out from the doorway and onto the roof proper. It’s so warm inside the school with so many people and so much body heat. Comparatively, the chill of the autumn evening is blissful.

“We can start coming up here for lunch again, if you miss it,” Akira says, and Ryuji can’t tell if he’s being serious or not.

“That’s not what I was sayin’, dude.”

This was their first hideout, back when it was just them, Morgana, and Ann. It was so much simpler then, especially looking back on it now that they’re knee-deep in shit with Akechi and the cops.

Ryuji leans against one of the old, weathered desks, crossing his legs. “You ever miss it, when it was just us?”

Akira leans on the same desk, right beside him. “I don’t know. I don’t think about it. Do you?”

“Yeah.”

“You think about it, or you miss it?”

Ryuji shrugs. “Both, I guess.”

“Would you go back, then? Do things differently?”

“That’s a loaded question, man.”

Of course he’d do things differently. They’re probably gonna be framed for a murder, and they’re bein’ strung along by Akechi with no choice but to comply. Ryuji’s been in some sticky situations before but never anything this bad.

So, yeah. He’d do things differently.

“Thanks for savin’ my ass during the Student Sharing whatever. I woulda been screwed if you hadn’t spoken up.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” Akira says, and he nudges Ryuji lightly.

Ryuji stares at the floor, at the blue-hued shadows that pool in the corners. It was easier back then, when they were just thinkin’ about taking down Kamoshida, sure. And sometimes he does miss the simplicity of it, before things got so crazy. And given the circumstances now, duh he’d do things differently.

But he doesn’t regret his time with the Phantom Thieves. Doesn’t regret a single moment he’s spent in the Metaverse, changing hearts and doing what they can to help people. They might have gotten a little sidetracked by the fame, but even when he had the wrong motivations, he can’t make himself regret the work they’ve done to help people.

Despite that, he’s powerless and scared in the face of their current circumstances.

Beside him in the still, quiet evening, Ryuji wonders if Akira is scared, too; wonders if he’s just hiding it for the team’s sake, like Ryuji knows he does.

He scoots a little closer, so their shoulders touch. Akira turns at the contact, and meets Ryuji’s gaze. His eyes are dark, like the night sky above them. His expression is perfectly even, letting nothing through the neutral, stoney mask Akira has perfected.

Akira’s expression doesn’t have to give anything away, because Ryuji knows, anyway.

Ryuji doesn’t have the answer, and he doesn’t know what to say. All he can do is be here, in the silence of the evening; all he can do is be at Akira’s side as they face down what’s to come.

Ryuji drapes an arm across Akira’s shoulders. Akira leans into the touch, slumping against Ryuji’s body just a bit.

All Ryuji can do right now is be there. So being there will have to be enough.

***

It doesn’t get any easier in the coming days. Akechi had given them time to think over their answer, but their choice is obvious - Akechi’s blackmail made sure of that. Still, they can’t rush into anything without careful consideration first.

In the time since the school festival, there’s been a bounty placed on the Phantom Thieves. Thirty thousand yen. It's mind boggling. It doesn’t feel real. To be an actual wanted criminal with a bounty on them… if Ryuji were in better spirits, he might laugh, it’s so crazy.

It gets to him more than he’d like to admit, and his temper flares. He’s not proud of it, but he yells and punches the worn, old sofa in the attic of Leblanc. They’re so freakin’ powerless to do anything about this. Without a lead on who the real culprit is, they can’t do anything to prove their innocence. And they can’t do anything about Akechi’s blackmail, either. They’re backed into a corner on two separate fronts.

His friends are similarly downtrodden, defeated and glum looks on everyone’s face. Futaba even suggests ‘ending it now’ and Ryuji is afraid to ask precisely what she means by that. They’re really gonna lose here? To the piece of shit who’s been causing the mental shutdowns?

Ryuji feels just like he did when Kamoshida broke his leg. He feels just like he did before he awakened to his Persona, when he thought he, Morgana, and Akira were all gonna die in the Palace that day because of his reckless, stupid decisions.

No matter how hard he looks, he doesn’t see a way out of the situation they’re in.

As he sits there in Leblanc’s attic, that powerless, frustrated feeling gradually gives way, though. 

He might not see a way out of this. But… he’s got teammates who’re way smarter than he is, so it’s not like he’s the only one looking. And like hell he’s just gonna roll over and let the real culprit get away with their crimes and frame the Phantom Thieves. He decided when he awakened to Captain Kidd that he was done rollin’ over and taking the lashing life wanted to give him. If he’s gonna go down, he’s gonna fight like hell first.

They’re gonna figure this out. They’ve had their backs against the wall before, and they’ve always been okay. The people in the attic with him, all looking lost and scared… he knows them; knows they’re all way more resilient than they ever thought they could be. They’ve proven it, haven’t they?

Ryuji never has known when to give up.

He calls Akira later that night, to apologize for his outburst.

“About me yelling earlier,” he says, laying on his bed in the dark. “Bein’ framed and the added bounty… it all felt like such bullshit. I lost it. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, man,” comes Akira’s voice, static-y and warped, from the other end of the line. “It’s big of you to recognize that, though.”

Ryuji’s quiet for a moment, staring at his ceiling. “Maybe I haven't changed at all since that time we went up against Kamoshida.” Akira says it’s fine, but it’s just like Ryuji to get mad and fly off the handle about stuff, huh?

“That’s not true.”

It’s quiet again. Ryuji’s made up his mind - he’s gonna fight, he’s not gonna just accept being framed like this. His resolve is solid; unwavering.

Still, there’s more he needs to apologize for. He was way too caught up in the fame - he’s known as much since shit hit the fan last week. It’s time he owns up to it, properly.

“I wanted to be a Phantom Thief ‘cause I thought even someone like me could be a hero. It… made me so happy to be depended on. Guess it all went straight to my head.”

Akira’s end of the line is silent for a prolonged moment, Ryuji’s words hanging in the air like thick smoke, before Akira finally speaks again.

“It’s really alright, man. In the end, none of us should have put any stock into that poll on the Phansite.”

“Yeah, but… I was thinkin’ about popularity more than everyone else. Mona even called me out on it that day we had that fight. I thought, as long as we were still helpin’ people, there was no harm in enjoyin’ the positive attention. But I ended up doin’ Phantom Thief stuff to make people like us, and helping people was a nice bonus. It should’ve been the other way around.”

“You realized it now, so it’s not too late to be better, right?”

He’s right, of course.

“Yeah!” Ryuji says, and he sits up in his bed. “I can start by changin’ who I am right now.”

Akira laughs, the sound distorted by the phone. It’s the first time he’s laughed in days, and it makes Ryuji’s heart soar; it steels his resolve further.

“Hey, don’t go changing too much, dude. Some of us like you the way you are, you know.”

“... Thanks, man. For listenin’. I gotta call and apologize to everyone else now, especially Haru and Futaba. I think I scared ‘em earlier. But I’ll talk to you soon.”

“You don’t have to thank me, dude. I’ll talk to you later.”

***

They meet with Akechi a day or two later to give him their final answer, and Ryuji feels a lot more at peace with it all than he did before. He’s still not happy about the circumstances, but he knows they’ll figure it out. They always do. He won’t let anything happen to his friends, and he knows they feel the same way - especially Akira, who he knows would go to the ends of the Earth to keep their team safe.

At least, it seems, them and Akechi have a common goal.

Akechi wants the real criminal caught. The Phantom Thieves want the real criminal caught - for their own sense of justice, and so they don’t take the fall for crimes they didn’t commit. And as for the Phantom Thieves themselves, well… they’re not exactly on the cops’ good side, even though they’re innocent of the mental shutdowns. But Akechi says he won’t turn them in as long as they go along with his plan and disband their group after.

So, that’s it then. They don’t have a choice in the matter. They’re going to work together with Akechi to change Sae Niijima’s heart, in the hopes that her sense of justice will prevent her from falsifying evidence and makin’ shit up just to close the case. If the cops have it their way, their desperation to end the case will result in either an innocent bystander or the Phantom Thieves - also innocent - being charged. But since Sae is overseeing the case, if she comes to her senses, maybe that won’t come to pass.

Hearin’ how the cops are so crooked they’d make shit up just to close the case… it pisses Ryuji off again, but for a different reason. He’s not mad at their circumstances, he’s mad that the police are just as rotten as every other shitty adult whose heart they’ve changed. The cops may not be on the Phantom Thieves' side, they might not approve of what the Phantom Thieves are doing, but they’re still supposed to be there to protect people and punish criminals. It turns out they’re all just as spineless and scummy as the people the Phantom Thieves have faced in the Metaverse, and that makes Ryuji mad just like any rotten adult does.

Akechi says his own personal ethics won’t stand for an innocent person taking the blame for the crimes of another. Ryuji doesn’t like the guy, but he can at least empathize with that. There’s only one person Ryuji wants to see charged for these crimes, and it’s the real culprit - the guy who’s really causing all the mental shutdowns, the guy who killed Futaba’s mom, and Haru’s dad, and countless other victims.

As long as they and Akechi have that goal in common, then maybe this uneasy alliance could work. Ryuji doesn’t have to like it - none of them do.

It ain’t like they have another option. They’ll make it work.

Chapter Text

“How’d I end up bein’ the one carrying two?” Ryuji says, shifting his grip on the large pumpkins he’s carrying down the street, from the little grocery store in Yongen back to Leblanc. They’re stacked in his arms, one atop the other.

Beside him, Akira is carrying a pumpkin of his own. But just one.

“Because you’re strong,” Akira says. He’s looking at Ryuji, but not at Ryuji’s face. Ryuji can’t pinpoint where, precisely, Akira’s gaze is lingering, though. His arms, maybe? His shirt?

“What’re you starin’ at, do I got somethin’ on my shirt?” he asks.

Akira averts his eyes. “No, it’s nothing.”

Uh… okay?

They round the corner, turning onto the side street that Leblanc is on. Sitting on Leblanc’s front step is Futaba, who is roughing up Morgana and squishing his cheeks.

“We brought one for you, too,” Ryuji calls to her.

“Thanks. Should we really be relaxing at a time like this, though?” Futaba frowns, releasing Morgana from her grasp.

“You heard what Akechi said. He wants to wait to send the calling card until the 19th. It doesn’t do us any good to rush through things, especially now. It’s best if we’re slow and strategic about this.”

“Sure, but last time I checked, carving pumpkins wasn’t part of our strategy.”

“Hey, taking time off is important, too, right?” Morgana says. “Being too on edge will just cloud our judgement.”

“Yeah, what he said,” Ryuji says, putting the pumpkins down on the pavement in front of Leblanc.

Futaba relaxes a bit, fidgeting with the stem of one of the pumpkins. “Like you would know, Ryuji. You just wanna slack off.”

“Ah, whatever. This is the thanks I get for carryin’ a pumpkin all the way here for you?” There’s no edge in his voice; he’s not really mad, he knows she’s just giving him a hard time.

The four of them - Ryuji, Akira, Futaba, and Morgana, spread out on the ground in front of Leblanc to carve their pumpkins. Well, everyone except Morgana is carving a pumpkin. Morgana mostly just lays on the sun-warm pavement and watches as everyone else works.

They clean the guts out of their pumpkins, and Futaba hams it up, acting like she's pulling some alien life form out of hers. Akira keeps throwing pumpkin seeds at Ryuji, and then acting clueless when Ryuji looks up. Morgana tries to eat a seed, spits it out in disgust, and when he's told that they're safe to eat raw but are usually eaten roasted, he makes Akira promise to save some to roast later so he can try them cooked.

They have to use some of Sojiro's knives from the kitchen to carve their pumpkins, but he won't care... probably. Akira goes inside to get the knives and Sojiro doesn't stop him, so it's fine. A kitchen knife is not exactly the best tool for the job, though - frankly, it's a miracle Ryuji makes it through with all his fingers intact. Ryuji carves a generic jack-o-lantern face, with triangular eyes and jagged grin.

"Like the Persona Jack-o-Lantern?" Akira asks.

"No, but that would've been a good idea. Damn, I should've done that."

"Then we would've matched, because I carved Jack Frost."

It's stupid, but... Ryuji kind of wishes their pumpkins matched. God, what is he, a preteen girl? That's the stupidest shit his crush has made him think, and it's made him think some real stupid, sappy shit.

Futaba has carved a little kitty face on hers, which she proudly states is Morgana.

"It looks nothing like me!" he sputters. "And the eyes are all crooked."

"Hey, be nice!" Futaba says, and then she ruffles his fur.

Ryuji's always looking for excuses to hang out with Akira, but it's good to spend some time with Futaba and Morgana, too. He'll be the first to admit he doesn't hang out with Morgana outside of times their whole group is gathered, and Futaba's still (relatively) new to their group, so he hasn't spent a ton of time with her, either. Plus, Halloween is big for street parties, and drinking, and shit like that. Ryuji knows Futaba's probably not doing anything like that, so it's nice that she still gets to do something fun for the holiday.

Speaking of parties, Shibuya's a major hotspot for that sorta thing. Akira's never celebrated Halloween, really, bein' from such a small town, so he and Ryuji plan on going out to Shibuya tonight. Like Akira said before, he may as well see the sights and do all the big city shit while he's here, right?

He and Akira make plans to meet outside the station later, and then Ryuji heads home for a couple of hours. He has chores to do, and wants to have dinner with his mom, and he has to put his costume on before they go out.

Ryuji's costume is a pirate. With his Persona bein' a pirate and all, he couldn't choose anything else. It's got a long red coat, and a big hat, and a fake mustache that he wears for all of three minutes before it gets far too itchy to tolerate. It's got an eye patch, too, that he wears although he's sure the way it messes with his vision is going to get really old, really fast.

He gets to the station later that evening. Night has already fallen, but the lights of the station mean it's not really dark. He scans the crowd of costumed people for Akira, but comes up empty handed. He must have gotten here first. That's unusual. He shoots Akira a text to tell him that he's arrived and where he'll be waiting, so meeting up is easier.

Ryuji: I'm here, dude. I'll wait by where that politician is always giving speeches. You know the spot.

Akira: I'm here, too. Are you a pirate? I think I see you.

Oh, he's here already. Did Ryuji just overlook in him the crowd? He scans the crowd again.

"Boo," comes Akira's voice from behind Ryuji.

Ryuji turns to look at him, and his words die in his throat. "Oh, hey, man. I must've... missed... you... what the hell is that costume?"

Shit, no wonder Ryuji didn't see him. He's dressed as a freakin' girl! A pretty damn convincing one, at that.

"Is it weird?" Akira asks, and it is so strange to hear Akira's voice comin' from a girl.

"Uh," Ryuji says, staring. He knows he's staring. "No? Just... surprising."

Akira laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkle. Shit, is he wearing makeup?

"Hey, I told you that day we went to Shinjuku that I might've said yes to doing drag."

Is this weird? Ryuji said no, but, like... is it? He doesn't know. He certainly feels weird about it. Not in, like, a judgy way. Akira can wear whatever the hell he wants, Ryuji would never cast judgement for that. And apparently what he wants to wear is a... cop costume. He's got a long, dark wig on and a police hat.

"Why'd you dress as a cop, dude?"

"For the irony. That's the weirdest part for you, not the skirt? That's very cool of you, man."

Ryuji's still just looking at Akira, taking in the details of his costume. It's made entirely of black leather - probably faux, but it's not like Ryuji can tell. He's got a short-sleeved shirt, and a skirt, and gloves that go past his elbows, and tall, high-heeled boots. It all fits him astonishingly well - the shirt clings to the flat planes of his chest, the boots hug the curve of his calves. Where did he get all these women's clothes? Better yet, where did he find a women's police costume that fits him so damn well?

"Ann helped me with the makeup and the wig and stuff," Akira says, as if anticipating Ryuji's questions. Ryuji wasn't going to ask that, but that does explain some things.

"Cool," Ryuji says, and it comes out as a strange squeak. "Well, let's get movin', man."

"Aye-aye, captain," Akira says. "Get it, because you're a pirate?"

Ryuji gets it. He's just a little distracted trying to dissect the way he feels about Akira's costume. It's... oh, man, he feels humiliated for even thinking it, but Akira's kinda killing it? Like, he kinda looks hot? Ryuji thinks he looks hot all the time, though, so that's not really anything new. The skirt is certainly something, though - Akira hardly even wears shorts, so a skirt is... a lot.

Whatever. Whatever! Just don't think about how his best friend looks kinda hot in a skirt and high heels. Or how his red lipstick shines in the low light and draws attention to the swell of his lips. Or how the heels exacerbate their modest height difference - typically Akira's only a smidge taller than Ryuji but now he's several inches taller and that makes Ryuji feel. Something. That he won't name.

Sure. Just don't pay attention to any of that. Easy-peasy. No problem.

Yeah effin' right.

It's a good thing this is happening after Ryuji's come to terms with his crush, because he can't imagine the wires that would cross in his brain if he had to make sense of the fact that Akira makes for a hot girl before he could even admit that Akira was a hot guy.

They push their way through the crowds. There are lots of people here, and tons of festive decor on the windows and buildings. Despite the late hour, there are also lots of shops open, trying to capitalize on the crowd. Ryuji and Akira wander aimlessly through the busy streets, laughing and peering inside festively decorated shop windows.

After a while, they reach a side street that's less busy. There are a few people standing about, but the lights are dim and the sounds of the crowd are distant and muted.  They stand here for a minute or two, getting their bearings and discussing where to go next.

Beside him, Akira’s shoulders are pulled up close to his ears. He’s got his arms folded across his chest, hands resting on his biceps and he’s rubbing his hands across his exposed skin.

“Are you cold, dude?”

“Yeah, a bit.”

“That’s what you get for wearin’ short sleeves and a freakin’ skirt this time of year,” Ryuji sighs. Still, he shrugs off his long pirate jacket and tosses it at Akira.

Akira blinks at him, holding the coat in his hands. “Won’t you get cold, man?”

“Nah, you know I run warm, anyway.”

“I guess that’s true. You’re like a space heater.”

“You’ve told me that before.”

Akira puts the pirate jacket on. It makes for a funny look - his lady cop costume, with this big, red pirate coat that’s all jagged and torn on the bottom.

Although the mismatch undeniably looks silly, it makes Ryuji feel kind of weird. Even without the coat, he’s still obviously dressed as a pirate. And even with the coat, Akira clearly is not. To any passers-by, it’s easy to see that Akira’s wearing Ryuji’s coat. It ties them together, in a way - a cop wearing a pirate’s coat, and a pirate missing his coat. They’re obviously, like, a set. A matching pair, or somethin’ like that. If they got separated, people could still probably tell they’re here together.

In short, it makes them look like a couple. Or, at least, something resembling a couple.

It makes Ryuji’s heart flutter. They aren’t together. But Ryuji can’t pretend that he doesn’t kind of like the possibility that people might think they are. He sort of likes that people might see Akira in Ryuji’s coat and think that Akira is his . It’s weird, and possessive, and there’s no way he’d ever say it out loud to anyone, least of all Akira. But he does like that Akira wearing his coat makes them so obviously identifiable as a pair - it says that Ryuji is Akira’s and vice versa.

Or maybe he’s just overthinking it, because he’s got a dumb crush and crushes are excellent at making people think stupid, inconsequential shit is actually a big deal.

They walk side-by-side through the throngs of people. It's hard to make conversation through the din of the crowd and the music playing, and they get bumped into and knocked around quite a bit. Finally they spot a shop selling Halloween-themed desserts, and they break from the crowd to investigate - and to find a place with fewer people.

They go inside and peruse the menu. The shop is selling buns in festive shapes and colors, but they don't have a flavor listed. The mystery is... off putting. But not so much that Ryuji doesn't want to try one.

"Just one?" the vendor says as he rings in Ryuji's order. Then he motions to Akira, who is standing off to the side, not paying attention at all. "Or did you want one for your girlfriend, too?"

His... his girlfriend?!

Ryuji's whole face lights up like a freakin' torch. He'd thought earlier that it was kind of cute, how he and Akira looked so obviously like a couple. He shouldn't be surprised to hear someone refer to them that way. Still, saying it out loud like that is so... well, it's one thing to think they look like a couple. It's another thing entirely to hear people refer to them as one.

"Uh," Ryuji says, brain fizzling, train of thought wrecked. "Uh. Sure."

"Two, then," the guy at the counter says, and then he tells Ryuji the total.

Ryuji pays for their buns on autopilot, and then goes to where Akira is standing - not quite out of earshot, it seems.

"Did that guy call me your girlfriend?" He asks as soon as Ryuji approaches. "Oh, you got one for me, too? Thanks, man."

"Yeah," Ryuji says, forcing a laugh. It does not sound believable even to himself. In fact it sounds like he's being held at gunpoint and told to pretend everything's fine.

Akira takes one of the buns. "Still no clue on the flavor?" he asks. Then, he says, "Is... the idea of us dating, is that funny?"

Panic grips Ryuji. Shit. Dammit. No, he didn't mean that. Shit.

"No," he blurts, in a hurry to get the words out. "I wasn't... I didn't mean... no, it's not funny." WAIT, he over-corrected, he sounds too desperate about it now. "I mean it's not not funny either." NO, SHIT, that still doesn't sound right. "It's neither funny or not funny. It's nothing. Whatever. He was talking about someone else. How about this party, huh, haha?"

Akira stares at him, eyes gone kind of wide, as he chews a bit of his bun. The wide-eyed expression and the eyeliner and the mascara... it all makes him look kind of doe-eyed.

"Are you... good, man?" he asks.

"Totally tubular, dude, no problems here."

Akira's still giving him that wide-eyed look. "Alright," he says, kind of slowly. "I think the buns are pumpkin flavored. Do you want me to pay you back for mine?"

They stand near the shop, where the crowd is thinner, and make stupid aimless conversation. It's fun, to hang out and people watch with Akira - they point out interesting costumes they see in the crowd, and make stupid jokes, and they each have another bun from inside the shop. Akira's lipstick gets a bit smudged when he eats, and it makes Ryuji feel supremely weird, because in movies and shit, smudged lipstick is like... from kissing, right? Like, it gets smudged because the lady kissed someone. If he and Akira were to kiss right now, it would probably smudge Akira's lipstick even more. Which is something Ryuji never thought he'd ever be thinking about. God, Akira in lipstick is so... urgh, whatever. As if Ryuji didn't already spend enough time admiring the shape of Akira's lips. The rest of his makeup is distracting, too... the mascara that enhances his long eyelashes, the spots of blush on his cheeks that makes his skin appear lively and ever-so-slightly flushed, the dark eyeliner that accentuates his sharp eyes.

Ryuji should kick Ann's ass for doing this to him.

***

They call it quits on the party after a while, and head back to Leblanc to kill the rest of the night. The jack-o-lanterns they'd carved with Futaba are sitting on the stoop out front, glowing orange in the dark night. Akira's looks the most recognizable - and most neat - but it's kind of cute, to see them all lined up there together, in a weird, domestic way.

Or maybe Ryuji's crush is just making little things seem like a big deal again.

They go inside and spot Morgana asleep on one of the booths. There's no reason to bother him, and he usually stays downstairs when they're hanging out, anyway. So they go upstairs without waking Morgana.

Akira tosses Ryuji's pirate coat onto the sofa in the attic, and then tugs off the long, black gloves he’s been wearing all night. Then he slips out of his tall boots, leaving his legs bare save for his tights. That’s what that garment is called, right? It’s not like Ryuji knows the name for women’s clothes.

“Are those uncomfortable?” he asks, climbing onto Akira’s bed and sitting with his back against the wall, right by the window.

“My shoes?”

“No, your… socks, or tights, or whatever.”

“They’re stockings, not tights,” Akira says, and he joins Ryuji on the bed, except he sits perpendicular to Ryuji - at the head of the bed, with his legs stretched out across the mattress in front of Ryuji. “And no, they’re not so bad.”

“Ain’t those the same thing?”

Akira laughs. “I thought so, too, but Ann told me they’re different. I guess tights are one piece that goes all the way up, kind of like pants? But these are just, like, tall socks.”

“Oh.”

Akira leans backwards, sliding down into a slumped position, halfway between sitting and laying.  His skirt rides up with the movement; Ryuji’s eyes zero in on the newly exposed skin. It’s not really anything, Ryuji’s seen girls around the city in shorts that leave less to the imagination. But it feels like a lot, because it’s Akira . Ryuji can see the top of Akira’s stocking - the band at the top is kind of lacy. Why is it lacy, what's the point in that, it's under the rest of his costume. The dark, lacy fabric is nestled snugly against Akira's mid-thigh, and above that, there's an inch or two of bare skin. The hem of his skirt obscures anything else from view, laying uneven and wrinkled across the smooth, pale skin of Akira’s upper thigh. Shit, that little stretch of exposed skin is very, very distracting. And the contrast of his fair skin and the dark lace is equally as enthralling.

Akira is unaware of this. He’s taking off his little police cap and his long, dark wig. Then he runs his hand through his real hair, rustling it until it lays in its usual messy style, curls falling across his forehead. He leans his head back against the wall and sighs.

“The boots were kind of uncomfortable, though, I won’t lie,” he says, building off of the earlier conversation. “And the makeup feels really weird.”

“Was it worth it?”

“I don’t know. Did I pull it off?”

Ryuji swallows hard. There’s a lump in his throat he hadn’t noticed before.

“Yeah,” he says. “You kinda did.”

Akira lifts his head and looks at Ryuji. His brows are raised, just slightly.

His intrigued gaze makes Ryuji feel all squirmy, like if Akira looks too close he’ll find out way more about Ryuji’s feelings than Ryuji ever wants him to.

But then Akira just lets out a little laugh. “That’s good, because it was a lot of effort. I even shaved my legs for this costume, man.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. On the plus side, my legs are really smooth now. Ann wasn’t kidding when she told me that’d happen.”

Is it… is it weird that Ryuji kind of (actually, really ) wants to feel? He’s pretty sure Akira wouldn’t mind, but he’s having a hard time forming the words to ask.

Tentatively, he reaches out and lays a hand on Akira’s ankle. Thanks to the appeal of the dark, lacy band at the top of the stocking resting snugly against Akira's skin, and the strip of bare thigh above that, Ryuji hasn't really looked at the rest of Akira's leg. He's looking now, though, and is discovering that there's something unexpectedly alluring about this, too - the dark fabric hugs the shape of Akira's leg, and something about how it's not fully sheer yet also not fully opaque is making Ryuji's brain fizzle; how it toes the line between being revealing and also somehow not.

Akira blinks at him through the low light of the room. There’s a long, agonizing moment where nobody moves; nobody speaks.

“Oh,” Akira finally says. “Did you want to feel? The stocking’s probably in the way, dude.”

And then Akira hooks a thumb under the decorative, lacy edge of his stocking and slides it off - over his knee and down the curve of his calf, in a move that makes Ryuji's palms sweat. Akira flings the stocking carelessly toward the sofa where his other discarded costume pieces lay. And then he flops back into his slumped, half-laying position. His legs are nearly in Ryuji’s lap, resting atop the mattress right in front of where Ryuji is seated.

He looks kind of funny now; half in his costume and half out, one stocking on and one leg left bare, skirt riding up high on his thighs, wig, gloves and hat gone, full face of makeup still intact. Something about it makes a fluttery, butterfly feeling erupt inside Ryuji’s chest.

Ryuji lays his hand on Akira’s ankle again, on his bare skin this time. Akira doesn’t react to the touch at all.

Slowly, as if moving too fast will spook Akira and make him change his mind, or scare him off or something, Ryuji slides his hand up Akira’s leg. His skin is warm and soft beneath Ryuji’s hand. He wasn’t lying, his leg is very smooth.

Ryuji’s hand glides further up Akira’s bare leg, touch light. There’s a fading yellow bruise on his shin, probably from the Metaverse sometime recently. Ryuji tries to be gentle when he passes over it, in case it’s still sore.

He’s arrived at Akira’s knee by now, and he falters for a moment. The air in the attic is thick and unbearably heavy, smothering Ryuji beneath its weight. He stills his hand in its place atop the spot where Akira’s kneecap protrudes.

Ryuji looks up at Akira’s face. Akira meets his gaze before glancing down at the place Ryuji’s hand rests on his knee. Akira’s biting his lip; he draws an uneven breath.

Feeling bold, or maybe just stupid, Ryuji inches his hand up past Akira’s kneecap and onto the bare skin of his lower thigh.

It’s really warm in this attic. Which is strange since it’s the end of October and it’s drafty as hell. But Ryuji feels way, way too warm all of a sudden. It’s, like, suffocatingly warm and the air is thick and Ryuji’s heart is racing like a runaway train inside his chest.

His hand slides higher on Akira’s bare thigh, across the expanse of fair, soft skin that was hidden by the top of his stocking earlier. He hates to admit it, but his hand shakes just slightly. He’s moved slightly, still seated where he was before, perpendicular to Akira, but he’s turned to face him now; as his hand has moved higher upon Akira’s leg, Ryuji has turned more and more to face him.

Akira’s hands are resting atop his lap, and he’s fidgeting with his own fingers. His grey eyes are dark, his face has gone pink in the dim light of the attic. His flushed face and dark eyes and smudged red lipstick makes him look like he just got kissed stupid. They make eye contact, and Ryuji thinks very much about crawling over there and actually kissing him stupid. It would be easy to crawl atop Akira, to kiss him and press him into the mattress, to hike his hand up beneath his stupid freakin' skirt...

He can’t, of course, because he staunchly refuses to make a move on Akira like that, and who knows if Akira would even want to kiss him, anyway, but… man, Ryuji really wants to kiss him. He’s probably imagining it, but he thinks he sees Akira glance at Ryuji’s lips, as if he wants to kiss him, too. Akira wouldn’t… he doesn’t think of Ryuji like that, but in this heavy, charged moment, it’s easy to pretend that he does.

Ryuji’s own breathing has become uneven and a bit faster. Does Akira notice? The storm of butterflies from earlier has migrated from his chest; now the fluttery feeling has settled low in his stomach.

His hand inches higher, movement slow and unhurried. The hem of Akira’s skirt, which is still hiked up from where it rolled up as he slid down into his slumped position, now brushes the tops of Ryuji’s knuckles.

“Ryuji,” Akira says, and his voice sounds weird; strained and kind of breathy.

“Is this… okay?” Ryuji says, and his voice sounds strange to his own ears.

His head swims with the feeling of Akira’s skin beneath his hand, and the sound of Akira’s voice, and the sharp breath Akira draws when Ryuji’s fingertips slide under the hem of his skirt by just a centimeter.

Akira nods, his dark curls fall across his eyes with the motion. “Yeah,” he says, voice quiet and soft. He reaches one hand toward Ryuji, leaving the other in his own lap. He rests his hand on Ryuji's shoulder. From there, his hand drifts up to the back of his neck; his fingers stroke across the short hair at Ryuji's nape.

The touch makes Ryuji's mouth dry; he lets out a shaking breath.

A voice from downstairs pierces the otherwise quiet attic, shattering the moment like glass. “Hey, Akira, are you home? You could’ve told me you were back!”

Morgana comes trotting up the stairs at the other side of the room, peeking his little furry head into the attic.

A million different feelings crash over Ryuji all at once; panic, embarrassment, and beneath it all, a tinge of bitter disappointment. Mostly, though, it’s the panic that grips his heart.

Ryuji tears his hand away from Akira as if he’s been burned; he makes the motion so quickly that he bashes his elbow against the wall in the process. Damn, that’s gonna leave a bruise…

“Morgana!” Akira exclaims, lurching up into a sitting position, so fast that he nearly collides with Ryuji. His face is as red as Ryuji’s face feels.

Beside him on the bed, Ryuji is grimacing in pain, holding his elbow.

Morgana looks at them, eyes narrowed. Ryuji’s sure they make for quite a sight right now - Akira half in and half out of his costume, Ryuji babying a painful elbow, both of their faces flushed bright red.

“Uh… am I interrupting something?” Morgana asks.

“No, not at all,” Akira says, and he tugs the end of his skirt down where it had ridden up earlier, smoothing the fabric. Then he folds his hands atop his lap again, like they had been before Morgana entered the room.

Morgana’s suspicious eyes dart between them for a second, and then he takes a few steps into the room.

“I didn’t know Ryuji was here,” he says. “You should’ve woken me up when you got back.”

“Sorry, Mona,” Akira says. “I didn’t know you were waiting up for me.”

“Of course I was! You’re our leader, it’s only natural that I… well, uh…”

“Aw, Mona, were you worried about me?”

Morgana’s tail swishes. “No! It’s just… who knows what could happen at a big street party like that?”

Ryuji scoots off of Akira’s bed, grabbing his pirate coat off the old sofa where Akira had left it.

“Well, uh…” he says. “I should probably head home. The trains’ll stop runnin’ soon, and they’re probably gonna be packed ‘cause of the holiday..”

“Oh,” Akira says, the ghost of a frown on his pretty features. “Sure. Uh, thanks for hanging out tonight.”

Ryuji wants to ask if they’re good, if everything is cool between them after… whatever that was earlier. But acknowledging it out loud is downright mortifying, especially with Morgana right there. So he doesn’t mention it.

“Yeah, of course,” he says instead. “You know I’m always down to hang out, man.”

As he’s on his way out of the cafe, Ryuji can hear Akira and Morgana talking. He can’t hear most of the words, just the vague sound of voices upstairs.

“Seriously, the two of you…” he hears Morgana say, but he can’t make out the rest.

He makes the walk to the station, feeling all twisted up and confused. Man, what the hell was that? Why did he touch Akira like that, dude? Akira’s too damn smart, if Ryuji keeps doin’ weird shit like that then he’s gonna catch on to Ryuji’s stupid crush. And god, why did Akira let him do it? He wasn’t, like, uncomfortable and just not speakin’ up, right? Ryuji asked if it was okay and Akira said it was.

And the… the whole thing was so… ugh, whatever. Just ‘cause Ryuji felt all worked up about it doesn’t mean Akira felt that way, too. Ryuji wanted to kiss Akira so effin’ badly, and felt that the moment was tense and charged. But that doesn’t mean anything, because the way it felt to Ryuji and the way it felt to Akira could’ve been totally different. Sure, to Ryuji it felt like they were on the cusp of… something. Something significant . But that doesn’t mean they were; it doesn’t mean Akira felt that way. It just means Ryuji’s a teenager who was getting a handful of his crush’s bare thigh and was probably way too into it.

God, he’s probably made things between them so freakin’ weird, huh?

But as he’s waiting for his train, he gets a text from Akira.

Akira: Thanks again for going to my first real halloween party with me. I had fun.

Ryuji stares at the message, which is as casual as could be. It's so... nonchalant, like nothing happened other than the party.

Maybe… things aren’t weird after all?

... Huh.

Chapter Text

Across the quiet, still attic, Ryuji watchs as Akira grimaces and rubs at the spot his neck meets his shoulders.

“Dude," Ryuji says. "Is somethin' bothering you?”

“Just a little sore, is all," Akira shrugs. "All the fighting in the Metaverse really takes its toll, I guess.”

“Don’t you stretch or anything beforehand, man?”

Akira blinks at him. “No. Do you?”

“What? You gotta warm up before doing exercise like that! You’re gonna hurt yourself if you don’t.” They’ve been training together for months and Ryuji still hasn’t drilled that into his head enough? Geez… 

“It’s not usually a problem,” Akira argues.

“That don’t mean it’s a good idea.”

“It’s fine. If I feel really bad, I have Kawakami come and give me a massage. I just haven’t had the money for it lately.”

Ryuji’s train of thought, previously occupied worrying about the very real chance of Akira hurting himself, derails.

“WHAT?”

“What?”

“You’ve been getting massages from your homeroom teacher?”

“Huh? Yeah. I call the maid service on that old public phone downstairs and request her. I lay down on the bed and she gets on top -”

“Dude! Stop talking! I don’t wanna hear any more! Your homeroom teacher comes over in a maid outfit and sits on top of you and rubs you down, that’s so effin’ weird!”

“It’s not! Nothing happens!”

“It’s weird as shit, dude.”

“It is not, there’s no funny business.” Akira taps his pencil absently. "You can't say anything, you're the one who wanted to call the maid service in the first place with 'Operation Maid Watch.'"

"Difference is, I didn't know it was one of our freakin' teachers at the time."

Akira frowns at Ryuji for a moment, before turning his eyes back to his homework.

It is absolutely weird, no matter what Akira says. 

Still, the thought of Akira sittin' over there hurting makes him frown. Ryuji knows all about taking care of sore muscles - he's rubbed the aches out of his own muscles after track practice tons of times. He could do the same for Akira. There's no reason for Akira to be in pain if Ryuji could do somethin' to help.

“I could do it for free, you know,” he says, before his brain has a chance to catch up with his mouth. “I used to massage myself after track practice, so I know how. Kind of.”

“Really?” Akira says, looking up from his homework paper.

“Yeah. I might not be great at it but at least it’d be free. It's stupid to just sit there hurtin' if you don't have to, right?” He means what he says -  If he can do somethin' to help Akira feel better, he wants to do it.

Ryuji's man enough to admit, though, that the idea of Kawakami - or anyone else, for that matter - coming over and straddling Akira and touching him… it makes something nasty and bitter stir inside him. It's not why he offers to do it, but he can't pretend that jealous pit in his stomach doesn't exist. It’s not like he has any reason, nor any right, to be jealous. He’s not owed some kind of exclusive rights to Akira’s time (or to the privilege of touching him.)

So he just tries to put it out of his mind. It's stupid to be jealous, and it's completely irrelevant to the fact that Akira's in pain and Ryuji wants to alleviate that pain if he can.

Across from Ryuji, Akira shrugs. “Okay. If you don't mind, then sure.”

Akira pushes his homework aside and stands up from his spot on the floor. From his own spot, cross-legged on the worn wooden floor, Ryuji watches as Akira grabs the back of his shirt and pulls it over his head.

If Ryuji’s train of thought had derailed earlier, it is at this point where the derailment explodes into a smoldering fireball, killing all onboard.

“Uh,” he says, very intelligently. “Do you take your clothes off when Kawakami does this?”

Akira laughs, the musical sound echoing in the stillness of the attic.

“No way,” he says. “I know you’re supposed to do a massage on bare skin. But I’m not taking my clothes off around my teacher.” There’s a chair at the work table near the foot of the bed, and he tosses his shirt across the back of it. He places his glasses on the corner of the work table. “With you, though, I don’t care. Hell, we’ve been to the bathhouse together. What’s the big deal, right?”

Yeah. Right. What’s the big deal, Ryuji?

Akira lays face down on his bed, arms at his side - he leaves the rest of his clothes on, which is good because otherwise Ryuji would have broken into a million tiny pieces, or spontaneously combusted or something. Ryuji sits his own (woefully incomplete) homework aside.

Ryuji gets up, bad knee protesting, and climbs onto the bed next to Akira. “I’ll just, um. Be here, I guess,” he says, swinging one leg over Akira’s body so he can hover on his knees above him, one knee on either side of Akira’s slender hips.

Uh. Okay. Um. This was, perhaps, a bad idea. He did not think this through before he made the offer and he is realizing now that he really should have. He still wants to help Akira feel better, though, and it'd be obvious something was up if he backed off all of a sudden. What kind of excuse would he even give? 'Oh, sorry, dude, I got super flustered and weird about being on top of you in your bed.' Yeah, no effin' shot he'd ever admit to that.

Okay, Ryuji. Remember what you used to do for yourself after track practice. It might be a little different on the back instead of the legs, but it’s gotta be similar enough, right?

He places his hands on the small of Akira’s back, applying gentle pressure. He tries to slide his hands, slow and even, up Akira’s back, but there’s too much friction between their skin.

“That kind of hurts,” Akira says. “And not in a good way.”

“I think my hands are too dry,” Ryuji says, stopping his motions. Funny how they could be too dry when his palms are sweating so much.

“There’s lotion on the windowsill. Are you sure you don’t mind doing this? I feel kind of bad.”

“Huh? Why?” Ryuji asks, covering his hands in lotion. It smells like coconut.

“I don’t know. Because you’re doing something so nice for me, and I’m not doing anything for you.”

Ryuji places his hands on the small of Akira’s back again, trying a second time to press slow, measured strokes along his skin. It’s not as good as a massage oil would be, but it’s better than the drag of dry skin on dry skin.

“You’ve done tons of things for me before, man. It’s nothing.”

That’s the truth - he doesn’t say it to spare Akira’s feelings. God, since they met, Ryuji couldn’t count the number of things Akira’s done for him. And besides, it’s not like Ryuji’s keeping score between them. He’s not concerned about it being tit for tat or anything; he doesn’t do nice things because he wants favors done in return. Plus, he just... likes doing nice things for his friends. He likes knowing his friends - Akira especially - will come to him when they need help, or support, or a favor. He's leaned on Akira for so much, it's nice to be the one being relied on for once.

His hands have reached the tops of Akira’s shoulders, and he takes some time to rub his neck as well, thumbs brushing up behind Akira’s ears and smoothing away the hair that curls at his nape. Then he restarts his path, placing his hands back where they’d started and applying more pressure this time. Below him, Akira sighs.

Looking down at Akira, Ryuji’s heart leaps into his throat. He looks like he’s asleep at first glance - his head is turned to the side, eyes closed and features relaxed; light catches on his eyelashes and the gentle curve of his cheek. Thinking back to when they met, Ryuji remembers feeling that Akira was plain - unremarkable. How did he ever think that? Nowadays, he thinks Akira’s prettier than all the girls Ryuji knows (and all the guys, too, if that matters.)

He gets to Akira’s shoulders again and this time moves his hands out along the full width of them, pressing with the ball of his hands into the muscle. Geez, he’s more solid than he looks. Logically, Ryuji knew this, but knowing and feeling are different things.

Yeah. Ryuji really needs to start thinking before he speaks. This was a tremendously stupid idea. It’s difficult to retain his composure when he’s got Akira beneath him, half-naked in his bed. His body is warm and pliant beneath Ryuji’s hands; the skin of his back and shoulders reddening as Ryuji presses his hands, firm and even, into Akira’s flesh. The light in the attic, somewhat dim as the sun has begun to sink low outside, drapes itself across Akira’s form and highlights the contours of his muscles, the dip of his spine and the angle of his shoulder blades, and the slope where his neck and shoulders join. Ryuji follows each contour, rubbing his hands in slow circles, pressing hard - up his spine, one hand on each side, to his neck and then across the breadth of his shoulders.

He finds a knot near one of Akira’s shoulder blades and presses into it with his thumb. Below him, Akira lets out a small hiss.

“Sorry. Did that hurt?”

“A little,” Akira says. “I think that’s kind of par for the course, though. I’m fine. I’ll tell you if you’re hurting me for real.”

Ryuji presses into the same spot again, working the knot out, and Akira outright groans.

Ryuji’s mouth goes dry as the samsara (that’s the name of that famous desert, ain’t it?) His heart races. All at once, it becomes his single-minded mission to hear as many of those sounds as possible.

His chest feels like someone set a million butterflies loose inside it. Nothing exists outside of this attic. The only thing that’s real to Ryuji right now is the solid weight of Akira’s body beneath him; the warmth of Akira’s skin.

“You’re so nice,” Akira says, voice low. “You know you don’t have to do this, right?” The end of the sentence is distorted around a tiny moan.

Above him, Ryuji’s face burns worse than it already was. His whole body is on fire, and the timbre of Akira’s voice is not helping that. Maybe Akira’s voice didn’t actually sound like he thought it did; all low and slightly husky. Maybe Ryuji’s just hearing what he wants to hear, wishful thinking or projection or something.

“I know I don't have to,” Ryuji says, and his own voice sounds kind of low and breathy - does Akira notice? His head and his thoughts are starting to feel hazy. "It’s fine. I wanted to hep you, man." He's dizzy with the heady feeling of Akira’s warm body beneath his hands, and the smell of coconut lotion, and all the little sounds he’s drawing from Akira in the otherwise silent attic.

“You’re better at this than Kawakami,” Akira says around a groan. “You’re stronger than her.”

The praise makes Ryuji blush all the way to the tips of his ears. He silently thanks whatever God is out there that Akira is laying down and can't see how red his face is.

Better than Kawakami. It makes that jealous, bitter part of him swell with pride. And because his brain is very sluggish and very stupid and very, very distracted, he just keeps freakin' talking, even though he really should shut up.

“Then you should stop callin’ her, and let me do it instead. It's stupid to pay her to do it when I can do it for free,” he says as he seeks out the hard knots of muscle among the lithe, sinewy form of Akira’s back and shoulders. God, it's as if it’s his personal mission to say the most humiliating shit he can.

Akira’s breath hitches as Ryuji presses hard into another knot. The sound makes heat coil low in Ryuji’s stomach.

“I can’t ask you to do that, man,” Akira says, and it’s so absurd it makes Ryuji want to laugh. Akira acts like this would be some kind of chore for him.

As if doing nice things for Akira could ever be a chore to him; as if Ryuji finds it burdensome to do favors for his friends. As if Ryuji’s not chomping at the bit for any excuse to touch Akira. As if Ryuji hasn’t had countless sleepless nights thinking about drawing these sorts of pleasured sounds from Akira - perhaps not in this specific context, but those details hardly matter. As if everything happening right now is not being carefully, meticulously filed away in Ryuji’s brain.

He has enough control over his runaway mouth to not voice these thoughts, at least.

“I don’t mind,” he says instead.

“I would feel like I was taking advantage of you,” Akira says. “You’re way too willing to do stuff for other people.” He makes another little sound; above him, Ryuji bites the inside of his cheek hard.

“That’s rich, coming for Mister ‘got arrested trying to save a woman I didn’t even know.’”

A surprised laugh bubbles out of Akira, light and happy, and the sound makes Ryuji’s heart soar. He can’t see Akira’s whole expression from where he is, but can see the corners of his eyes crinkle with mirth. It makes a completely different feeling wash over him - it doesn’t replace how he was feeling before, but it mixes with it; some fusion of love and happiness and desire. It’s overwhelming; but he’s used to it. Seems like nowadays, everything he feels for Akira is overwhelming; like a tidal wave he’s helpless in the face of.

The conversation dies off after that, and for a few minutes the only sounds are the little  sighs from Akira, and the bed creaking as Ryuji shifts his weight upon it.

“I’m not being too rough, am I?” Ryuji asks after pressing particularly mercilessly onto one knot. “I’m h - it’s. Uh. It’s hard. To know if I’m using too much force. Easier to tell when I’m doing it to myself.”

“You’re not. It’s nice; feels good.” Akira says, and the words all run together.

It feels good. Awesome. Ryuji’s making him feel good.

Thinking about that makes Ryuji’s heart pound.

Ryuji’s getting flushed and flustered, thinking about the fact it’s his hands and his actions making Akira feel good. There are other ways he could make Akira feel good; many of them, in fact. Ryuji could make an extensive list right now of a bunch that he’d be very, very interested in trying.

As Ryuji’s fighting a losing battle against his hazy, distracted thoughts, Akira turns his head as much as he can without sitting up, and looks up at him.

It’s a weird angle, and Ryuji can’t see his whole face. However, he can see spots of color on Akira’s cheeks; can tell his grey eyes are dark. Akira’s gaze dances across Ryuji’s form - from his face (undoubtedly very red) and then down. Ryuji can't tell exactly where Akira's gaze lingers, but it does linger.

Akira looks for a moment, intense gaze making Ryuji feel like a bug beneath a magnifying glass on a sunny day. And then, without speaking, he rests his head back down. His form has gone all relaxed and languid beneath Ryuji, and he sighs.

Relaxed. Must be nice. Ryuji wouldn’t be able to relax right now if he was shot with a tranquilizer dart. He stops the hard press of circular motions and instead goes back to applying steady pressure with his palms, gentler than earlier, gliding his hands across the smooth, pliant expanse of Akira’s shoulders. His hands are starting to hurt from the work, but he doesn’t mind. Bit by bit he lightens up, until he’s just stroking his hands, soft and soothing, over Akira’s red skin.

“Thanks,” Akira murmurs.

“No problem, dude,” Ryuji says, and in the back of his mind he wonders if Akira would have let any of their friends do this - to see him laid out on his bed, bare skin waiting to be touched; to soothe his sore body until it melts to putty beneath their hands - or if it’s a privilege just for Ryuji.

He hopes it’s the latter, but it would be a weird thing to ask, so he resigns himself to never knowing.

His hands have come to rest on Akira’s bare waist. From this spot, Ryuji’s able to rub his thumbs in idle little circles on Akira’s skin, right where his spine curves, just above the top of his pants. The motion could hardly be described as massage at this point, but Akira doesn’t seem to mind - in fact, he appears quite content. His eyes are closed; the rise and fall of his breathing is slow and even. If Akira were a cat, he might be purring.

In another world, Ryuji could lean down and place a kiss on Akira’s skin, right at the nape of his neck; could press his own weight down against the lithe, willing planes of Akira’s body. Where his hands are resting now, it would be easy to slide them around to Akira's sides - Akira's laying flat on the mattress, but Ryuji wonders if he'd lift his hips enough to allow Ryuji's hands to slip all the way around to his front. Even though his hands tremble at the thought and he wouldn't be able to see where he was working, Ryuji's pretty sure he could undo the button and zipper if Akira allowed him to.

Shit, his head spins and his ears ring as he thinks about it.

Beneath him, Akira shifts, rolling over onto his back. It’s awkward and unexpected - Ryuji’s still straddling his hips, hovering above him, trying to not touch Akira with any part of his body except his hands. When Akira rolls over, his leg brushes against Ryuji’s inner thigh. Ryuji draws a sharp breath; his heart stops for a second. Despite nothing… untoward happening, the soft brush of Akira’s leg against Ryuji’s thigh short-circuits Ryuji’s brain (or, what’s left of it) completely. His body feels so warm that he thinks steam could come out of his ears.

Having escaped that panic-inducing moment (mostly) unscathed, Ryuji is faced with a second, somehow worse situation. Which is that now he’s straddling Akira, nearly sitting in his lap, looking down at him. His face is no longer obscured by his shoulders, and Ryuji can take in a hell of a lot more details about him that he couldn’t see before.

He’s laying on the mattress beneath Ryuji, grey eyes downright smoldering, dark and intense. He hasn’t put his stupid shirt back on, which reveals the fact that his skin is alive with a pleasant pink flush. His hair is mussed from having his head down earlier, and it splays across his pillow in a messy, dark halo around his head. He’s looking up from below his lashes, making direct eye contact with Ryuji.

Holy effin’ shit. 

The air between them is charged and heavy. Ryuji’s palms sweat; his pulse races. Akira’s a vision straight from the deepest, most embarrassing, most secret recesses of Ryuji’s mind.

Can Akira tell? Can he read these emotions across Ryuji’s expression? Can he tell Ryuji’s burning with want? The want to hold, to kiss, to touch his bare skin again, to coax more of those little pleased moans from him. God, does he want; so much it could eat him alive, could burn him down to cinders. He wouldn't even mind, he'd be burnt up by it happily; willingly.

He smiles at Ryuji, but it’s not the sunny smile Ryuji’s used to, or the mischievous one he’s come to know, either. It’s smaller, more intimate - or maybe it’s just the way his eyes burn that makes it feel that way. Whatever it is, Ryuji’s still wound up tight, and Akira - flushed, eyes dark, and still half-naked, looking at him with that expression on his face - makes Ryuji feel like he’s been set alight. He’s looking at Ryuji as if Ryuji’s some kind of beauty; as if, between the two of them, Ryuji’s the real vision. As if he’s seconds away from pulling Ryuji down to him.

Or perhaps Ryuji’s just projecting his own feelings onto Akira, because he can’t stop thinking about pressing Akira down into the mattress; about pushing their bodies together and feeling the long, elegant lines of Akira’s form against him.

Akira reaches toward him, and Ryuji’s heart leaps into his throat; he feels lightheaded. Holy shit. No way. Is he gonna pull Ryuji down to kiss him, or to slot their hips together, or to allow Ryuji's body to cage Akira in against the bed?

... He’s not.

Instead, he closes his fingers, soft and tenderly, around Ryuji’s right wrist.

“I thought your hands might hurt after you worked them so hard,” Akira says, voice like honey. “I figured I’d return the favor.”

Cradling Ryuji’s hand in both of his, he turns it over slowly, his touch feather-light. He coaxes Ryuji’s fingers into uncurling one by one; he runs his fingers along Ryuji’s palm in light, exploratory motions. It’s directionless, barely-there contact. He presses their palms together, comparing the size of their hands - Akira’s hands are longer and slimmer than Ryuji’s; more elegant and lithe, like many things about him.

After a moment of this soft, aimless touching, he presses his thumb into the center of Ryuji’s palm, and then slides his thumb out along Ryuji’s pinkie finger, all the way to his fingertip. He repeats this, starting at the palm and moving out along each finger of Ryuji’s hand, applying firm pressure and soothing the cramped muscles.

Ryuji watches like a hawk; commits to memory the feeling of Akira’s hands on his. Akira’s hands are warm; soft, with a few small rough patches from where he holds his dagger in the Metaverse. His movements are slow and deliberate.

When Akira finishes with Ryuji's right hand, he releases it. It comes to rest on Akira's stomach, mostly so Ryuji can steady himself, perched atop Akira still - although, the chance it gives Ryuji to touch Akira's bare skin again is certainly not unwelcome.

In the meantime, Akira takes Ryuji’s left hand into his grasp. He does the same simple, aimless, exploratory motions for a moment; touching just for the sake of touching; before he transitions to rubbing the tension out of each part of Ryuji’s hand just like he had done on the other one - from palm to the tip of each finger.

Nobody’s ever touched Ryuji this way - soft, touching him for seemingly no reason other than to do it. And nobody’s ever rubbed the cramps out of his sore muscles, either; never touched him with the intent to soothe his pain. It makes Ryuji’s throat tight.

Akira is watching their hands together, expression fond. His brows are sloped, the ghost of a smile on his features.

God, Ryuji wants to kiss him. He wants it like a starving man wants food - ravenously, so much it makes his chest ache. He wants to take Akira’s pretty face into his hands and close the space between them; wants to kiss Akira with the force of all the emotions he makes Ryuji feel, wants to kiss him until they’re out of breath; until all he can sense is Akira.

But he can’t.

“Thanks,” Ryuji whispers, as if he’s not suffocating beneath the weight of all these things that he wants but cannot have.

Akira smiles and presses a little kiss to Ryuji’s palm. The contact is like a shock; all of Ryuji’s senses zero in on the spot where Akira’s lips touch his skin. He’s struck by the urge to cradle Akira’s face in that same palm; to tease his thumb across the swell of Akira’s lower lip before leaning in for a real kiss.

But, of course, he doesn’t do it.

“Don’t mention it,” Akira says back, and now he’s looking at Ryuji’s face; making eye contact with that same soft, fond expression on his handsome face, affection twinkling in his eyes.

Ryuji's overflowing with all these feelings, full to bursting with want, and longing, and so much love he could drown in it. This stupid crush is gonna be the death of him.

***

Ryuji lays in his bed that night and thinks very, very hard about what happened. And not in a weird way, either. The night they went to Destinyland to celebrate an (at the time) successful heist, Ryuji had wondered if Akira is so... touchy with everyone the way he is with Ryuji. They hold hands sometimes, and lean on each other, and sit so close their shoulders and legs touch. If they're together, then odds are they're touching in one way or another. It's not that Ryuji minds it - quite the opposite, actually. He likes being so close to Akira. Slumping against him slightly as they sit side-by-side, or linking their pinkies as they walk, or putting an arm around Akira's shoulder... it's natural, and easy.

But Ryuji can't help but wonder if Akira is like that with everyone. Ryuji's never seen him act that way with anyone else, but that doesn't mean it doesn't happen when Ryuji's not around. Maybe he's just a touchy-feely kinda guy. But if he's not, if he acts that way only with Ryuji...

It's so easy to write things off as being because they're friends. Yeah, he and Akira hang out with each other more often than with their other friends, but that's because they're best friends. Yeah, Akira's always invitin' him out to do stuff, but friends do fun things together, so that doesn't mean anything. Sure, Akira's always touchin' him, and lookin' at him all soft and fond. Of course Akira's fond of him, they're friends.

But what happened earlier that evening... that's a lot harder to explain away. He hadn't thought about it much at the time, because his brain was not exactly firing on all cylinders, but he's pretty damn sure he didn't imagine the charged atmosphere between them, or the heated way Akira had looked at him, or the unusual tone in Akira's voice. Hell, Akira kissed his freakin' palm! How the hell does bein' friendly explain all of that stuff? Sure, maybe some of it was projection or wishful thinking on Ryuji's part, but there's no way he made all of that up. And that's not to mention Halloween, either... he'd thought he was the only one who felt the tension between them that night, but after tonight, he's not so sure.

It's so confusing. Akira's admitted that he has a crush on a dude. He won't give Ryuji any more details, and Ryuji's just been explaining that away, too - he won't give a name because Ryuji doesn't know the guy, so a name would be useless. Shit like that.

But what if he won't tell Ryuji anything about his crush because Ryuji is his crush?

Ryuji groans, pressing the balls of his hands over his eyes, brows scrunching together. He's being stupid about this. There's no way Akira likes him, right? Because Akira's... well, he's Akira. Like Ann told Ryuji that time, Akira's easy to love. He's awesome, and funny, and kind, and talented, and definitely way out of Ryuji's league.

Compared to him, Ryuji is...

His stomach drops, his heart sinks. Something bitter and unpleasant washes over him, until he can't breathe beneath it; it burns the back of his throat and makes his chest tight. He screws his eyes shut tight, pressing his hands over them with more force.

Compared to Akira, Ryuji's nothing. He's not smart and capable, he's not charming and pretty, he's not quick-witted. He loses his cool when things get tough, unlike Akira's flawless composure. He's not tactical or good at makin' hard choices, and he's not even half as good in battle as Akira. What was it Futaba said that time, that she 'sensed no charm' from Ryuji? He's short-tempered and violent, loud, always makin' stupid social blunders and sayin' the wrong thing, he ain't smart... Akira would never like him. He's...

Well, he's Ryuji. And that's the whole problem.

Still, there's a little part of him that can't help but wonder.

Chapter Text

“Ryuji,” Akira says, reaching out to cradle Ryuji’s face in his hands. His grey eyes are warm and shimmering with affection. “I’m in love with you.”

“Dude,” Ryuji croaks, stunned and stupid.

Akira crowds into Ryuji’s personal space. “I want to kiss you. Will you let me?”

Pinned between a wall behind him and Akira in front of him (and, frankly, thrilled to be trapped there,) Ryuji nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Please.”

And then Akira kisses him, sweetly at first. It doesn’t stay that way for long, quickly devolving to something more heated.

“You can touch me, you know,” Akira says, pulling away for just a moment. His hands leave Ryuji’s face in  favor of taking Ryuji’s hands and guiding them to his own waist. Then he kisses Ryuji again, one of his thighs slotting between Ryuji’s.

.

.

.

Ryuji wakes with a jolt, head spinning and stomach all tied up in knots. There’s a dull ache in his chest, and his pulse pounds in his ears. 

What the hell?

He sighs heavily, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, as his brain catches up with reality. There’s no Akira, no kiss, no body pressed against his. He’s alone in his bed, tangled up in his blanket that he’s kicked halfway off in his sleep.

It was a goddamn dream.

He drags a hand down his face and groans. He’s dreaming about Akira now? Seriously, what kind of guy dreams about his best friend kissing him? He’s so far gone it’s embarrassing.

He rolls over in bed, pressing his face into his pillow. Just his freakin’ luck that the one time he has a real, genuine friend, he ends up developing a stupid crush. He’s such an idiot for catchin’ feelings like this. He can’t see a world in which Akira likes him back, so what the hell is he supposed to do? How’s he supposed to get over this shit without distancing himself from their friendship? And what the hell is he gonna do when Akira leaves Tokyo next April? It was gonna suck anyways, but now he’s in love with Akira, so it’s gonna be extra painful to say goodbye.

He’s in love. That thought makes him sour, too. His first time fallin’ in love and it’s both unrequited and with his best friend. Man, he thought his first love was gonna be some cute girl. They’d go on a couple of dates, then become an item officially, and he’d realize he was in love with her, and they’d date all through high school or something like that. And instead what’s happened is that he’s had a huge sexuality crisis and then spent months pining hopelessly for someone way out of his league.

Theoretically, even if Akira does like Ryuji - which Ryuji is still not convinced of - it doesn’t change anything, does it? Sure, if Ryuji felt certain there was no risk of screwin’ up their friendship, if he was positive the crush was mutual, he might be willing to confess to Akira. But thinking in the back of his mind that Akira might like him is a far cry from being certain. And besides, the timing is awful. They’ve got so freakin’ much on their plates as is, with the cops breathin’ down their necks, and Akechi. Put simply, there’s just much bigger fish to fry.

Ugh. It’s all such a tangled up, confusing mess. The sound of Akira saying ‘I love you’ to him in his dream still rings in his head, like some kind of miserable echo.

He grabs blindly for his phone, and squints at the display. It’s half past four. Way too freakin’ early to be awake.

His finger hovers over Akira’s contact in his phone for a moment. It’s four in the morning, though, who calls at this hour? Akira’s probably asleep anyway. He should put his phone away and go back to sleep. But he’s all frazzled, and his brain won’t shut the hell up about Akira, so he knows he’s just gonna end up layin’ there ruminating on the miserable state of his dumb crush.

“Hey, dude,” comes Akira’s voice on the other end of the line, words running together. “Are you okay?”

Well the low, rough sound of Akira’s sleepy voice doesn’t help anything . And the fact that he jumps immediately to worrying about Ryuji is kind of sweet…

“Uh,” Ryuji says. What did he plan on saying if Akira picked up? He doesn’t have anything to talk about. “I’m fine, man.”

“Oh,” Akira says. “Why’re you calling so late, then?”

“Sorry. Um. Did I wake you up?”

“Yeah, you woke me up, it’s four a.m.”

God, he’s so effin’ stupid. He shouldn’t have called, he’s bein’ a pain by waking Akira up when he didn’t even have anything to say.

“Sorry,” he says again. “I was just… uh…”

Akira laughs, the sound slow and sleepy. “What? You were just awake at four a.m thinking of me?”

Ryuji’s face gets so hot that he thinks it could catch fire. Yes, he was awake at four a.m thinkin’ of Akira, but there’s a certain… implication , to thinking of someone in the dead of night, isn’t there? It makes it sound like he was thinking of Akira in, like, a weird way. Which he wasn’t. He wouldn’t…. or, at least, he wouldn’t call Akira about it.

He wonders if Akira meant to imply that when he made the joke in the first place. Probably not, right? Like, come on, he… he definitely didn’t mean to insinuate that Ryuji might’ve been…

He curls in on himself, covering his burning face with his hands.

“I just couldn’t sleep,” he finally says, and it’s the world’s worst excuse for this weird as hell late-night call, but at least it’s an excuse.

“Yeah, well I could,” Akira says, deadpan snark dampened by his sleepy tone.

“Sor -”

“Don’t you dare apologize a third time, dude. You wanna just talk for a while?”

“Nah, man, I don’t wanna keep you awake.”

“It’s fine,” Akira says, and the sound is distorted around a yawn. “So, you weren’t laying awake thinking of me, what is keeping you up? What’s on your mind?”

Ryuji puts his phone on speaker and lays it on his pillow next to his head. “No, it was you,” he says, because he’s sleepy and stupid and his brain-to-mouth filter is terrible at the best of times.

On the other end of the line, Akira’s breath catches for a second.

“Huh?”

“Uh. Sorry. That was…”

“Holy hell, man, stop saying sorry,” Akira says with a small laugh. “You apologize way too much.”

“That ain’t true.”

“You apologized the other day when Makoto healed you in the Palace.”

“That’s different.”

“Bullshit.”

“If you’re gonna give me a hard time, I’m gonna hang up.”

“That’s fine, then I can go back to sleep,” Akira says, but even over the phone Ryuji can hear the smile in his voice.

Ryuji doesn’t hang up.

The line goes quiet for a long moment.

“So, uh. You were thinking about me? Like, for real?”

“You said ‘for real,’ ain’t that my thing?”

“Answer the question, Sakamoto.”

Ryuji swallows hard. “... Yeah.”

“You do that often? Think about me in the middle of the night?”

Ryuji has a habit of puttin’ his foot in his mouth, but no effin’ way is he answering that question.

“Nah, dude,” he says. “I just… had a weird dream.”

“So, do you frequently have dreams about me?”

Dammit, shit, that is NOT better than admitting that yes, he does frequently think of Akira when he’s all alone late at night.

“Wh - no, that ain’t what I said!” he sputters.

Even distorted and static-y over the phone, Akira’s laugh makes Ryuji’s heart swell.

“I was joking, man.”

It’s quiet again for a while. Ryuji's chest aches terribly; he wishes Akira were here. Hearing his voice over the phone is still nice, and he'll see him tomorrow at school. But in the silence and the darkness of his bedroom, he wishes Akira were here with him now. It's stupid, to miss him when they see each other more days than not, but that doesn't change how Ryuji feels. He longs to curl up next to him, like he had in Hawaii; to watch moonlight fall across Akira's relaxed face, to feel the warmth of his body, to reach out beneath the blanket and find a patch of bare, soft skin to idly stroke his hand across. He wants to hear Akira's sleepy laugh in person and not just over the phone. He wishes he could have woken up from his dream and found that reality was even better; that Akira was here, and did love him, and would tell him as much in the stillness of the night.

But Akira doesn't love him, at least not like that, and he's all alone in a bed that feels too big and too empty. It crushes him, an unmovable weight upon his chest.

If this is how he feels now, what is he going to do when they're not even in the same city anymore?

“I wish you didn’t have to leave in April,” Ryuji says, voice quiet. It's only the tip of the iceberg of 'things Ryuji wishes' but it's true nonetheless.

“Me, too. It’d be nice if I lived in Tokyo for real.”

“If you lived here for real, we could’ve been friends way before now.”

“Yeah, right. You were the star of the track team, I bet you were popular. I was lame back home. No way you would’ve bothered with someone like me.”

It’s weird to hear Akira talk about himself that way. He’s the furthest possible thing from lame, at least to Ryuji.

“No way, dude. We woulda been friends. You’d be stuck with me no matter what.”

Akira yawns. “That’s nice to think about. I wish we really did grow up together.”

“What was it like for you, growin’ up?”

“Dull. I think that’s why I like Yongen so much, it’s not the same but it’s… similar. Kind of quiet, you know? Anyway, I’m sure your childhood in the city is way more exciting to talk about.”

“Well, I don’t care if it ain’t exciting, I wanna know.”

“I’ve already told you some stories.”

“C’mon, you gotta have more.”

“You’re a weird guy,” Akira sighs. “I guess I can tell you more, but don’t blame me if it’s boring as hell.”

Ryuji pulls his blanket up to his chin and listens to Akira talk about his hometown; about his family, and the friends he had before his probation, and the stuff he got up to in a small, slow-paced rural town.

He falls asleep listening to the sound of Akira’s voice, and his dreams are full of Akira again - this time set in a mundane future, far removed from all the excitement of their lives as Phantom Thieves, where the two of them live slow, domestic, happy lives together in Yongen.

***

“Come on,” Keiji says, dragging Ryuji by the hand down the hallway of the apartment building. “You said we could practice today. Come on!”

“I’m comin’, dude, geez.”

“You’re gonna time me again today, right? Right?”

“Sure, if you want.”

“I gotta know if I’m getting faster!”

“So you can make your friends do your homework.”

“Yeah!”

Ryuji smiles despite himself. It’s hard not to find Keiji’s excitement about running kind of cute, in a younger sibling sort of way. It… reminds Ryuji of himself, a little; of how eager he was to see his time improve when he first started doin’ track. Man, for a while there, lowering that time was all he thought about day and night.

Keiji’s form is still far from perfect, and Ryuji reminds him for the hundredth time to stop flailin’ his arms so damn much. But his time is better than the last time Ryuji timed him, so something must be working.

Keiji is ecstatic to hear his time has improved. He’s catching his breath after running, but the huge grin on his face belies his excitement.

“If your time is even lower next time, I’ll take you to the arcade,’ Ryuji says, ruffling Keiji’s short hair.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. I’ll pay for you to play any games you want.”

Keiji’s excitement increases tenfold.

“We’re going to the arcade!” he cheers, bouncing around the sidewalk in front of the apartment building.

“That’s not what I said!” Ryuji laughs. “You gotta get faster first!”

Ryuji doesn’t know if Keiji’s going to get any faster. Hell, even if his time doesn’t improve next time, he thinks he might take him to the arcade, anyways. If his time improves, it’ll be a celebratory arcade trip, and if it doesn’t improve, then it’ll be an arcade trip to lift Keiji’s mood.

Man, a few months ago, the thought of totin’ Keiji around the subway system made Ryuji nervous. It’s a surprise to himself, how easily Keiji took to him, though, and how easily he took to the whole babysitting thing in turn. Who would’ve thought Ryuji would be good at takin’ care of a kid?

It seems like he’s doin’ a good job coaching Keiji, too. He’s getting faster, and his form’s improving.

… Huh. When he’d started trainin’ with Akira, Akira’s sprints got a lot faster, too. Ryui remembers specifically that Akira’s time would improve even when Ryuji’s didn’t.

Maybe he’s… kind of a good coach?

It feels bizarre to think such a thing. Since when is he good at anything besides hittin’ shit? He’s spent so long feeling like that’s all he was good for, and the way people treat him only proved him right.

But looking at the stopwatch on his phone, displaying Keiji’s improved time, he… he’s got proof of the contrary. Not just his friends telling him he’s good at other stuff to spare his feelings, but real proof.

His chest feels tight and kind of funny, there’s a small lump in his throat.

Maybe… he’s got more goin’ for him than he thought.

They hit the Palace the next day, trekking through the drab corridors behind the game rooms. Ugh, what a freakin’ bore - the concept of infiltrating a casino was so exciting, and the flashy neon out front, the blinking and beeping of the machines… it all got Ryuji so pumped up to get the hell in there.

The reality is far less thrilling, though. The back, staff-only halls all look the same, and they loop in ways even more confusing than Kaneshiro’s bank vault had. The games are all rigged. Hell, they had to go sit through an actual court case to gain access to the highest floor - the boring shit is spilling over into real life!

And then, of course, there’s Akechi tagging along for the ride.

What a goddamn let down this Palace has turned out to be.

At least they’re almost finished. Two more games, and then they should have enough coins to get over that bridge and into the treasure room.

Two more bullshit, rigged games.

The maize is downright miserable, pitch black and teeming with Shadows. Everyone walks through single-file, holding hands so nobody gets separated in the darkness. Joker leads the way, of course, but even with his guidance, there’s no way to dodge all the Shadows in there.

If walking in this inky blackness was a pain, fighting is even worse. Ryuji only gets a few short glimpses at the Shadow - Joker casts a fire spell that throws orange-red light across the walls and lights up the Shadow’s form briefly, and Crow’s stupid sword gives off a faint glow. But that’s the only light they have to go on. Ryuji casts an electric spell, but the light from that lasts a mere split second, like a lightning strike glowing in the clouds; the light comes and goes in milliseconds, far too quickly to allow him to get his bearings. At least Joker’s fire spell had fizzled and smoldered for a few moments before dying out.

Which means Ryuji’s pretty damn useless. He’s not gonna start swingin’ recklessly. No way he’s gonna risk hitting one of his teammates.

… Although, maybe hittin’ Crow wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Ah, man, that’s shitty to think, no matter how much the guy pisses Ryuji off.

‘I don’t want to hit anyone, even when they make me mad,’ he reminds himself. ‘Hittin’ people don't solve shit.’

He crushes that little, bitter part of him and tries to focus on the fight - not that there’s much to focus on, since he can’t freakin’ see anything.

The maze is downright miserable. And Ryuji does not exactly love the next game, either - sending Joker in to fight in an arena all by himself. He believes in Joker one hundred percent, but he doesn’t relish the idea of sendin’ him into a fight all by himself when they know the damn thing’s gonna be rigged.

Still, it is kind of fun to watch Joker fight. Ryuji’s seen him fight lots of times, but he’s never been able to just watch - any time he’s gotten distracted watching Joker, he ends up gettin’ his own ass kicked. Ryuji’s captivated by Joker anyways, so this just gives him a moment where it’s fine to get absorbed in watching Joker’s skillful, agile movements. (In short, it gives him an excuse to watch Joker like a hawk, the way he always wants to do in battle but can’t.)

Watching him now, it’s funny to think about what he was like when they started all this. Ryuji remembers how he struggled to get the upper hand and tear off a Shadow’s mask, how on that first day his transformation had flickered in and out, how he’d had to scramble to avoid that big Shadow they fought with just the two of them in Madarame’s Palace. Now he sidesteps attacks fluidly, commands his Personas like they’re an extension of his own body. He’s gotten so fast, too, something Ryuji takes a little bit of pride in. It was Ryuji who was trainin’ with him, right?

Man, Joker’s so freakin’ cool. Ryuji’s given him a hard time about his thief costume but even that’s grown on Ryuji - the long coat trailing behind him as he moves, the flashes of his bright red gloves as he wields his dagger. The guy’s just cool, and a great leader, too. He’s really grown into the role since April; as his repertoire of Personas grows he just becomes even more deadly, and by now, six Palaces deep, he’s gotten quite confident, as well - he’s level-headed, capable, and dangerous, and he knows it. It’s so different from how he usually carries himself in the real world, although sometimes that impish, wild side does shine through.

That cool confidence, his ability to take charge… Ryuji quite likes those things about him. He has this stupid crush already, and confidence is hot, so Ryuji was pretty much doomed to find it particularly interesting to see Joker when he’s being Joker rather than Akira .

So yeah, okay, Ryuji doesn’t like sending Joker in to fight all by himself. But it can’t be helped, and he’s got the utmost faith in Joker’s abilities. Things are going well down there, and he’s not really worried. So he does take the chance to ogle a little bit, whatever.

Their whole group, except Crow, cheer raucously for Joker when he wins each round. By the time he wipes out the third wave of Shadows and is declared the ultimate victor, most of them are on their feet cheering for him. And, of course, Ryuji’s voice is the loudest.

They take the card containing their coins up to the bridge, and, in a move they should not be surprised by considering everything else here was rigged, Sae’s Shadow tries to stop them by increasing the amount they need to cross. Ryuji starts to get mad, hands tightening into fists at his side, but then Crow goes on a whole spiel about how he’s been winning coins in secret or something? Ryuji honestly can’t follow the math and he checks out of the whole long-winded explanation pretty damn fast. He traces the shape of the doorway with his eyes and half-listens as Crow prattles on, listing numbers that go in one ear and out the other. The math isn’t important, they have enough coins to cross and that’s all that matters, ain’t it?

Still, Ryuji does have to (begrudgingly) give Crow props for winnin’ all those extra coins because without him, they would’ve been screwed.

Ugh, Crow. He puts Ryuji in such a sour mood. Although much like the math for the coins, a lot of the recent conversations the Thieves have been having have gone over Ryuji’s head a bit. But they know damn well he’s been in the Metaverse as early as their social studies trip to the T.V station, ‘cause he commented on somethin’ Mona said. He’s lyin’ about how he found out about the Metaverse, and he’s blackmailing them into going along with his own schemes. They can’t trust the guy as far as they could throw him. Still, Ryuji has to play nice. They gotta make him think they don’t know anything’s up, they gotta go along with his plan for now.

For Ryuji, it’s the ultimate exercise in hidin’ his temper.

He thinks about it even after they leave the Palace for the day. Things are still so damn messy. One wrong move and it’s over. Between the cops and Akechi, they have no room to freakin’ breathe. He'd by lying if he said it didn't scare him, even just a bit.

Still, Ryuji trusts his friends. Akira, Ann, Yusuke, Makoto, Haru, Futaba… even Mona, the smug little cat. Like hell Ryuji would let something bad happen to any one of them. And he knows they feel the exact same way - each and every one of them would go down fighting to protect each other. If the cops, or Akechi, or anyone else wants to take them down, they’re gonna have to try way freakin’ harder than this.

Chapter Text

Ryuji stares at the newspaper in his hand, text obscured by the way the paper wrinkles and creases beneath his white-knuckled grip.

The obituaries.

His dad.

A storm of emotion takes off inside him, each intertwined and twisted with each other, so it’s impossible to pick them apart one by one. Shock, and relief, and guilt for feeling relieved, and anger, and a sharp pang of sadness that makes him recoil.

Sadness. What’s that all about? It ain’t like he’s gonna miss his dad, it ain’t like he’s gonna grieve for the asshole.

He’s not happy about the news, either, exactly - he hates (er, hated) his dad, but he wouldn’t wish death on the guy. He’s not like that. Still, there is a bit of relief as he stares unblinking at the photo of his dad printed next to the short obituary; at his own face looking up at him from the page of the newspaper. The guy’s gone now, for real. He can’t hurt Ryuji, or Ryuji’s mom, or anyone else, ever again. He can’t put any other kids through the kind of pain he put Ryuji through, he can’t come back into Ryuji’s life and hurt him further,

Ugh, why’s he feel so messed up about this? He knew it was coming, and he’s not gonna miss the guy. He shouldn’t feel anything - his dad hasn’t been around for years, whether he’s alive or dead makes no difference to Ryuji. He shouldn’t feel any particular way about this at all.

But… he’s gone. He was an awful father, but… he was still Ryuji’s dad.

Ryuji’s never missed the guy a single day in his life. Him and his mom have been gettin’ by fine on their own, and his mom is so awesome that she more than makes up for what his dad lacked. But now that his dad is well and truly gone - not just off living a new life somewhere else, but actually gone, so is any shot Ryuji ever had at having any kind of relationship with his dad. It’s stupid, because he never wanted a relationship with his dad, but now that it’s impossible, it’s really hitting him. No dad there to teach him to drive, or how to tie a tie, or to go fishing with in the summer, or to build model kits with. His dad wouldn’t have done that shit, anyways, but… until right now, Ryuji hadn’t really thought about it. He hadn’t really mourned the father figure he never had; the father figure he will never have. Even if his mom were to remarry, there’s so much in his life that his dad wasn’t there for; moments he shared with just his mom, moments he’ll never get back.

He loves his mom to the moon and back. He’s never once felt that she left him lacking for a good parental relationship. He’s never even missed his dad. It’s not that he minds sharing his moments with only his mom. It’s just that until now he’d never thought about the sort of father-son relationship he was never able to have.

And thinking about it; about the things most kids get to share with their father that he never had… it’s surprisingly painful. It’s grieving the death of what he could’ve had, in another life where his dad wasn’t an abusive prick.

What the hell is he supposed to do with that feeling?

Urgh, whatever. He crumples the newspaper and throws it at the trashcan, far harder than necessary. It misses the can and bounces off the wall, landing on the floor and rolling over to stop near his feet. Somehow it’s the picture of Ryuji’s dad that ends up facing up at Ryuji, perfectly discernible amongst the crumpled paper.

He kicks it across the room, grumbling. He can’t think about this shit today. He’s got plans to go see Akira, to check in on him after the whole ‘interrogation and narrowly escaping murder’ thing yesterday.

Leblanc is quiet, as usual. There are no customers in the dining room. Sojiro doesn’t say anything when Ryuji walks in, but he does give Ryuji a knowing look that makes Ryuji feel nervous and awkward. He hurries up the stairs at the back of the cafe, desperate to escape.

“Hey, man,” he says, peering inside the attic before coming fully up the stairs.

“Oh, Ryuji,” Akira says, and his voice is flat and listless. He’s still in his lounge clothes, and his hair is messier than usual. He’s sitting at the work table in the corner, pieces of junk scattered across the surface.

“Sorry, I prolly should’ve called before showin’ up…”

“It’s fine.” A pause. “Did you come all this way just because you were worried about me?”

“Nah, dude. You know I ain’t the worryin’ type.” A pause. “Alright, maybe I was kind of worried, I guess.”

Look. Ryuji’s got the utmost faith in his fellow Phantom Thieves. He trusted in the plan they’d all come up with, in Futaba’s ability to remotely activate the Metanav, and in Akira’s ability to win Sae Niijima over and get her help. His worry wasn’t born of doubt. But if something had gone wrong, Akira could’ve ended up dead for real. So, yeah, that made Ryuji worry a bit.

“Well, I’m glad you came over,” Akira says, getting up from his work table and moving to sit on his bed.

“Really? I was kinda thinkin’ you looked dead tired, so maybe I shoulda let you rest.”

Akira folds his legs atop his mattress and pats the empty space next to him. “No, I appreciate the company.”

Ryuji sits down next to him on the mattress; the bed groans in the silence of the attic. He stares at the spot between them on the bed, where Akira’s hand rests. There are bruises blooming, purple and red, across his wrist, peeking out from beneath the long sleeve of Akira’s shirt.

Ryuji’s jaw goes tight, he clenches his teeth. The way they treated Akira, man… it makes his blood boil. He’s glad Akira’s home and safe, of course, but thinking about the whole situation leading up to now just pisses him off. The cops, beatin’ on Akira and drugging him, Akechi, forcing them to go along with his plan just so he could get Akira arrested and then try to kill him…

Akira lays a hand atop Ryuji’s balled fist.

“Hey,” he says, voice quiet.

Ryuji swallows hard and turns his head away, staring at Herb the houseplant in the corner. Its leaves have started to wilt again, edges going brown and splotchy.

He hates that his gut reaction to shit like this is still anger. He wonders if he’ll ever stop being so effin’ angry. He’d thought he’d been doin’ better, trying to own up when his temper gets the better of him and apologize and shit… but none of that changes the fact that getting mad is still his first reaction.

“It’s okay if you’re mad, you know,” Akira says. “I am, too.”

Ryuji just stares at the dried, dead leaves on the houseplant. There’s a lump in his throat and he doesn’t really know why. He’s just… relieved to see Akira’s okay, and pissed off about everything that’s happened lately, and… nobody’s ever validated his anger like that before; nobody’s ever told him he was right to be mad. Then there’s all the shit with his dad, too… a lot is coming up all at the same time and the raw emotions of it all burn the back of his throat.

He finally turns to look at Akira again. There’s a fresh bruise marring the soft curve of one of his cheeks, and his skin has an unusual pallor. He really does look exhausted, but he’d said he wanted Ryuji here, so Ryuji’ll stay. He’ll be here as long as Akira needs him to be.

Ryuji reaches out and wraps his fingers tentatively around Akira’s wrist, turning it over in his hands and surveying the bruise that encircles the entire circumference. There are a scattering of little scrapes as well, spots where the handcuffs bit into his skin.

He pushes Akira’s sleeve up, and Akira puts up no resistance. There’s a collection of smaller scratches and bruises here, hidden beneath his sleeve - Ryuji runs a hand across them.

Tender and soft and gentle aren’t Ryuji’s strong suits but in this moment, from the bottom of his heart, he wishes they were. He knows Akira’s not fragile; he’s not going to shatter beneath the weight of all this shit. He knows Akira like nobody else; he knows better than anyone that Akira’s too damn resilient to be broken down by the awful things life keeps throwing at him. Still, the world’s been so damn hard on him… the assault charge, probation, the stress of leading the Phantom Thieves, now Akechi and the cops and the interrogation. He deserves a freakin’ break.

Akira would never ask for someone to lean on, Ryuji knows that. But he’d still like to be here for him, even if Akira won’t ask. Tenderness ain’t his thing, really, but he wants to try.

He’s pushed the fabric of Akira’s sleeve up as far as he can, just past his elbow. The cuff is too small to fit over Akira’s bicep, so it can’t be pushed up any further, and Ryuji’s mindless examination of Akira’s bumps and bruises comes to an end.

He sits there on the bed next to Akira, holding Akira’s wrist in both of his hands. It’s silent in the room, and the chill of the late-autumn day seeps through the drafty old walls and bites at his skin.

He wishes he knew what to say. What do you say in a situation like this, though? The guy got arrested, framed for a crime he didn’t commit, nearly murdered, and now has to hide so nobody knows he’s alive.

“I’m glad you’re okay, man,” he says, and it’s a miserable, pathetic attempt to vocalize all the tangled, choked up feelings that are sitting heavy upon Ryuji’s chest.

“I thought you weren’t that worried about me,” Akira laughs, but his eyes don’t sparkle with the same joy as usual; there’s no mirth in the sound.

“That don’t mean I’m not glad you’re home.” He traces his thumb idly along Akira’s inner wrist, right along the bruise the handcuffs left there. The skin here is soft; thin and delicate. Just beneath Ryuji’s thumb and that purple bruise, Akira’s pulse hums in his veins - a reminder that he’s here, he’s alive and sitting in the stale, chilly attic.

“Home,” Akira says, staring at his lap.

“Sorry, I guess this ain’t really your home, huh?”

“No, it is.”

Akira looks so… small, sitting on the bed in his loungewear, mottled with scrapes and new bruises, dark circles under his eyes, staring downcast at his own lap. It’s not at all like his usual demeanor - the impish, dangerous, wild look in his eye as he’s dashing through the Metaverse, or the warm, playful glow to his expression while they joke and laugh over a beef bowl.

Akira’s always tryin’ to take care of everyone else, always finding solutions to people’s problems and lending an ear when they need to talk. He gives and gives and never takes.

Someone else should take care of him for a change.

Ryuji scoots closer to him on the bed, mattress dipping beneath his weight as he shuffles over.

The motion makes Akira look up. He makes eye contact with Ryuji for a moment, and then leans his head on Ryuji’s shoulder.

They sit like that for a long time, Akira’s head on Ryuji’s shoulder and Ryuji tracing idle shapes on the delicate skin of Akira’s wrist.

“You prolly hurt like hell after yesterday, huh?” Ryuji finally says, his voice quiet.

Beside him, Akira shrugs.

“Do you wanna go across the street and have a bath?”

There’s a beat of silence before Akira speaks. “Could be nice, I guess, in this weather.”

Ryuji huffs a tiny, half-hearted laugh. “I meant ‘cause a hot bath is good for relaxin’ - oh, wait, you’re supposed to be in hiding.”

“If there’s anyone else there, I don’t think they’ll recognize me.”

They make the short walk to the bathhouse in Yongen. There’s nobody else here at this time on a Monday, so they have the run of the place.

Ryuji doesn’t feel skittish about Akira’s bare skin, far more invested in taking care of him than he is in leering.

“Um,” he says as he peels himself out of his own clothes, preparing to sit down on one of the stools and wash himself off before getting into the bath. He glances to his left, where Akira is three stools down doing the same. His hands itch with the desire to care for Akira; to show him some damn tenderness in the midst of all the chaos lately.

Halfway through undressing himself in preparation for the bath, he abandons that activity and drags his stool over near where Akira sits.

“Uh,” he says again, and he reaches out to brush away some of the curls that lay across the nape of Akira’s neck. “I can, like… wash your hair or somethin’ for you, man.”

Akira stills, freezing for half a second. The room echos with the sound of water dripping; it is still and silent otherwise.

“There’s no need for all that,” Akira says.

“Nah, dude, I… I want to. Like, I don’t mind. Um. N-no pressure, though, I was just offerin’.”

“Oh." Another beat of silence. "Sure, thank you.”

Ryuji wets Akira’s hair, and then lathers shampoo in his hands until it's sudsy and foamy. Then he works the suds into Akira’s dark hair, starting at his scalp and working down through Akira’s curls. He rubs the shampoo into Akira’s scalp in rhythmic, slow circles, for longer than is strictly necessary. Then he moves through the length of his hair, until his hair is slick and shiny with shampoo. His heart is in his throat as he does so. Akira's so... he's so capable, self sufficient. Ryuji had halfway expected Akira to refuse his help, so the fact that he didn't; that he's allowing Ryuji to perform an act of care like this. It stirs up a flurry of emotions in Ryuji. 

He'd be willing to take care of Akira all the time; he'd be glad to do it. He's glad to do even just this small act.

When that is done, he rinses the soap out, carding his fingers through the wet strands as he does. Then he begins aimlessly stroking Akira’s hair and lightly scratching his short nails along his scalp, like he’d done that night they’d watched a movie after going to Chinatown - Akira had liked it then, so he takes a few moments to do the same thing now. 

In front of him, Akira sighs. The tense line of his shoulders has steadily fallen into a relaxed, soft slope. His hair looks different wet, the usual lazy curls weighed down by the water so they form messy waves instead. It makes his hair seem longer than it really is. Ryuji runs his fingers through a few more times, gently untangling any knots he finds. 

Ryuji washes Akira’s back for him, too. The beating Akira had endured during the interrogation is less obvious here, with fewer scrapes and bruises scattered across the bare skin of his back and shoulders - but fewer does not mean none. Ryuji’s touch is especially light over any such spots. He doesn’t think about the shape of Akira’s muscles or the curve of his spine like he had that night when he’d given Akira a massage; he focuses solely on the act of washing the dirt - and weight - of the last twenty-four hours off of Akira’s skin. Just as when he’d washed Akira’s hair, his movements here are slow and purposeful. Seeing the little bruises on his fair skin makes that nasty, angry feeling bubble within Ryuji again, but he does his best to ignore it. This is about Akira, Ryuji won't let himself be distracted from taking care of him.

When he’s done, he goes back to where he’d been seated originally and resumes readying himself for the bath.

“Thank you,” Akira whispers, as if he hadn’t already said thanks.

“Yeah, don’t mention it, dude.”

They go into the main bath, and sit near each other in the hot water - not so close that it’d be weird or indecent, but near enough that Ryuji could reach out and touch Akira if he wanted to.

It’s mostly quiet between them, just the sound of the water lapping at the edges of the tub when one of them moves. The solemn mood hangs in the hair like the steam that rises from the bath, but the hot water is pleasant; heat seeps into Ryuji's body. He hadn't realized how much he could really use a nice bath himself, but now that he's here, he's realizing just how tense he's been lately. There's been so much goin' on, of course he's been stressed out. He's just been thinking about Akira more than himself. He slumps down into the water and sighs. If it's this nice for him, it's probably a million times better for Akira - his body probably hurts after everything he's been through, sore from the way the cops had treated him, muscles achy from being stuck handcuffed in the same position. And Akira's definitely been more stressed than Ryuji.

Ryuji catches a glimpse of a large, especially dark bruise on Akira’s stomach and his temper flares again, he tightens his jaw and twists his hands into fists beneath the water. What the hell did they do to cause a bruise that freakin’ gnarly…? He considers asking, but thinks better of it.

"Nothin’ beats a hot bath, am I right?" is what he says instead.

“Yeah," Akira says after a moment. "This was a good idea."

“I’m full of good ideas.”

A tiny smile breaks across Akira’s face. It’s small and weak, but the whole room is brightened by it; it’s the first ray of sunlight breaking past the clouds after a storm.

“I don’t know about all that,” he says.

“Hey!” Ryuji exclaims. It echos in the empty bathhouse.

Across from Ryuji in the hot water, body cradled by the steam that rises thin and wispy, Akira laughs. Like the smile, it’s a small thing. But for the first time all day, Ryuji sees that familiar light in Akira’s eyes; that little spark inside him that Ryuji’s come to adore so much.

‘I love you,’ he thinks. The thought comes to him as easily as breathing.

But he doesn’t say it.

“Are you coming back to Leblanc after this?” Akira asks as they’re dressing again after their bath.

“Yeah, unless you don’t want me there.”

“I want you there.”

“Then I’ll be there, man. Until you tell me to get lost.”

“May as well move in, then.”

It makes him think about that stupid, domestic future he keeps daydreaming about, like a lovesick fool. May as well move in.

Maybe there’s a world where he gets that mundane, cliche shit after all. He’s still hard-pressed to believe it, but there’s that voice in the back of his head that can’t help but wonder. And it’s getting stronger; louder.

They leave the warmth of the bathhouse and brave the biting late-autumn air for the walk back to Leblanc. Then they lay on Akira’s bed together, wrapped up together beneath his blanket to fend off the chill that leeches into the attic. The bed and the blanket are really too small to accommodate both of them, but they make it work.

"Agh, your feet are cold, dude, get 'em off me!" Ryuji says squirming and kicking beneath the blanket.

Akira's smiling again, the ghost of laughter dancing along his features. He's still not up to his usual energy, but it's better than it was earlier - even the barest hint of light on his expression is better than how he'd looked before.

"Sorry," he says, and he presses his cold toes harder against the warmth of Ryuji's leg.

They lay there together on their backs, Ryuji’s arm around Akira’s shoulders and Akira’s head on Ryuji’s chest, and make aimless conversation. Their voices are low and hushed, soft whispers in the still afternoon. Akira’s less talkative than usual, and there are several prolonged stretches of peaceful quiet - Ryuji listens to the people in the streets outside, watches dust dance in the afternoon sunlight that filters through the window and falls in slanted shapes across the wall and floor. Akira's body is warm and solid against him; another little reminder that despite everything, he's still here in the quiet attic of Leblanc today - he's home safe and sound, even if he's a bit battered.

“What’re you thinking about? You’re quiet.” Akira says, as if he’s not also been quiet today. He's turned his head so he's facing the rest of the room, his ear is on Ryuji's chest.

“Nothin’, just counting those glow-in-the-dark-stars on the ceiling,” Ryuji says. “You?”

“Nothing,” Akira parrots, stifling a yawn. “Just listening to your heartbeat.”

“You want me to go so you can get some sleep? I already told ya, I’ll be here til you tell me to kick rocks. So if you want me to go, just say so.”

“I want you to stay,” Akira says softly, voice barely above a whisper.

“Then I’ll stay, man.”

Chapter Text

Ryuji and Keiji walk together through Shibuya, Keiji bounding ahead of Ryuji by a few paces. His winter coat is a little too big on him, the green fabric worn and faded in some places. He’s always happy when Ryuji’s babysitting him, but today they’re going to the arcade like Ryuji’d promised, so there’s extra pep in his step.

“Alright,” Ryuji says as they step inside the arcade. He fishes some money out of his pocket and hands it to Keiji. “You can play whatever you want, but you gotta stay close to me. Deal?”

“Deal!” Keiji says, brown eyes sparkling with the neon glow of the arcade cabinets.

Ryuji follows Keiji through the arcade as the kid bounces from game to game like a ping-pong ball. Ryuji's smiling despite being dragged around by a grade schooler - he really does care about Keiji, and his joy is infectious.

They play a racing game together (Ryuji wins,) and a fighting game that Keiji wins (Ryuji throws the match on purpose.) Then Keiji plays a shooting game which he performs badly at, and a crane game that he fails to win a prize from. He recruits Ryuji to try the crane game, too, but he doesn’t have any luck, either. They play a different, single-player fighting game that Keiji makes Ryuji beat for him, then the shooting game again. Finally, Keiji uses the last of his arcade money on a gachapon machine.

“Are you hungry?” Ryuji asks as they leave the arcade.

Keiji is fighting to get the gachapon capsule open. “Yeah. Can we have Big Bang Burger?”

“Sure,” Ryuji says. “Need help openin’ that?”

“Yes, please.” Keiji hands the red, plastic capsule over to Ryuji, who pops it open and hands back the little Jack Frost figure that was inside.

It’s a short walk to Big Bang Burger. Keiji stands next to Ryuji while he orders, playing with his Jack Frost toy on the countertop.

Ryuji lets Keiji choose their table, and they sit down near a window to eat their lunch. Ryuji has to confiscate both the Jack Frost and the little alien toy that came in Keiji’s meal, because he’s playing with them more than he’s eating. Keiji pouts about it, but only for a moment. Then he gets distracted sticking fries under his top lip and pretending he’s a walrus.

“I got a buy-one, get-one coupon for some crepes. You can have the second one since you ate all your lunch,” Ryuji says as they carry their empty trays over to the trash.

“Really?” Keiji exclaims, whipping his head around to look at Ryuji.

“Yeah - woah, hey, look where you’re going!”

Keiji turns, but not fast enough. He still ends up walking smack into another customer.

He yelps, stumbling back a few steps. From behind him, Ryuji watches as the other customer’s tray of food tilts backwards, and then tips fully over; it’s as if the moment plays out in slow motion. The lady’s food and her drink both fall - her burger and fries hit the floor, while her soda crashes against her body and spills on her. Ice cubes and fries scatter across the tile floor, her burger lays in several separate pieces - a top bun here, a piece of lettuce there.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Ryuji says to the stranger.

“I’m sorry,” Keiji says, voice wavering. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” the stranger says, mostly to Keiji. “Try to be more careful next time.” She bends down to start picking up the fries on the floor.

“I’ll clean it up,” Ryuji says, and he bends down, too. His knee gives a painful protest, but he ignores it. “And I’ll, uh… pay to replace your food, too.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Nah, it’s our fault, so…”

He hands some yen to the lady, and then resumes cleaning the mess as best he can, piling all the ruined food into the little container the burger was originally in.

The lady thanks him and then heads in the direction of the counter. Keiji kneels down next to Ryuji to help clean.

“... Am I in trouble?” Keiji asks, voice small, as he picks the spilled cup of soda up and starts putting the ice cubes back inside.

“Huh?” Ryuji looks over at Keiji. He’s frowning, lower lip quivering, eyes downcast and damp. “It was an accident, wasn’t it? Why would you be in trouble?”

“Because I messed up that lady’s lunch,” he says. “And I made a big mess. Dad would’ve been mad at me.”

Ryuji sits back on his heels and reaches over to ruffle Keiji’s hair. “Hey, it’s alright. Messes can be cleaned up, no big deal. I don’t seem mad, do I? And neither did that lady, right?”

Keiji looks up at him - there are big, wet tears in the corners of his eyes, his little face all twisted up in a frown. His hair sticks up in odd directions where Ryuji had ruffled it. He sniffles, then rubs the tears away with clumsy hands.

It’s kind of weird that Keiji jumps right to assuming he’s in trouble. He said his dad would’ve been mad about this… yeah, Ryuji can relate.

There’s a weird tightness in Ryuji’s throat. If he’d been out with his parents and he’d knocked a stranger’s food all over the floor… man, his dad would’ve tanned his hide. He can imagine it now: his dad grabbing him by the arm and yanking him over to apologize to the other customer; the way his face would contort in anger, the acidic tone in his voice as he berated Ryuji, the physical punishment that he’d receive when he was at home and away from prying eyes.

He looks at Keiji, who’s gone back to picking fries and ice off the floor; thinks about the way his voice had wobbled and how his face had looked, all scrunched up and sad when he’d thought he was in trouble. He’s just a kid, it was an accident… no way Ryuji would’ve been mad at him, man.

Once upon a time, Ryuji was also a scared, sad kid who thought for sure he was in trouble for somethin’ he didn’t mean to do. A kid without a good male role model, a kid who liked video games and Featherman and sports.

It’s like a funhouse mirror; like looking back in time and seeing himself at that age.

The difference is that Ryuji would’ve been right to be scared of his dad. But Keiji doesn’t need to be scared of Ryuji; doesn’t need to fear he’s in trouble.

Keiji could never do anything that would make Ryuji want to hit him; could never do anything that would make Ryuji consider it even for a moment. Keiji’s just a kid, he could never deserve to be treated that way - no kid could ever deserve to be treated the way Ryuji’s dad treated him.

Ryuji swallows back the shaking, uneven feeling building inside him.

No kid ever deserves that shit, and Ryuji… he was just a kid, too.

His throat burns, there’s a weight that settles upon his chest and suffocates him beneath it. There’s a million different things all racing through his mind, and he can’t decipher any of them clearly. His dad and Kamoshida; the abuse and the feeling deep down he kind of deserved it all by bein’... him; how he’s the violent punk who lashes out, who punched Kamoshida, and how that makes him just like his dad. But he’d never hurt Keiji, so is he like his dad after all? Keiji looking at him all sad and teary-eyed, and how cold someone has to be to see a kid like that and want to hurt them, how effed up his dad must’ve been to see Ryuji like that and want to hurt him, and… and…

There’s so much going on; his eyes sting and his stomach twists into knots. He can’t breathe, can’t even think , just sits there frozen halfway through cleaning the mess on the floor of the Big Bang Burger.

“I’m really not in trouble?” Keiji asks.

“Uh,” Ryuji says, fighting to reel his racing thoughts into coherency. “No way, man. Like I said, it was an accident. Just be more careful from now on, yeah?”

“Okay,” Keiji says, but his eyes are still downcast.

Ryuji doesn’t like Keiji being so glum. They were having such a good day, too… he doesn’t want this to ruin it, especially because it really wasn’t a big deal at all.

“Man,” he says facetiously, picking up the paper cup and the burger container that are now filled with melting ice cubes and food from the floor. “It sucks that I don’t know any kids who like crepes.”

“Hey,” Keiji says, hopping up from the floor to follow Ryuji to the trash cans. “I like crepes!”

“I got this buy-one, get-one coupon, but nobody to share it with. Guess I’ll have to eat them both all by myself.”

Keiji’s laughing as he clings to Ryuji’s arm. “No, you were supposed to share with me!”

“Sure is a shame,” Ryuji says, dragging Keiji with him out of the restaurant and into the sunny, late-autumn day. “There’s definitely nobody I could give the other one to.”

Keiji’s laughter rings in the chilly air, all the way to that crepe shop Ann likes so much. And Keiji gets a crepe of his own, plus half of Ryuji’s.

***

Ryuji sits at home later that night and thinks about the day; about all those mixed-up, tangled feelings he’d had. They haven’t gone away, and as he thinks about it, they roar back to life inside him.

He can’t imagine ever wanting to hurt Keiji - or any other kid, for that matter. Of course he knew that no kid ever deserves to be abused, that abusing kids is completely effed up. But he… he’d never really thought about it before; never stopped to consider that ‘no child deserves to be abused’ included him. Of course, if he’d been asked if he thought he deserved it, he would’ve said no. But deep down he’s been carryin’ this feeling like… like maybe he somehow did .

It’s another of those things where logic and feelings don’t match, and he doesn’t know how to reconcile them. He knew, factually, that his dad was in the wrong for the shit he did. But he knows he ain’t smart, or good at most stuff, he’s loud and crass and always causin’ trouble. So it’s… well, it’s hard not to feel like maybe he did deserve it. Or, at least, some of it. Just like he feels that pang of guilt about the track incident, even though he knows Kamoshida was the real bad guy in that situation. Some of the abuse, in both cases, is probably his fault, because he’s… he’s him . He’s a bad son and screw-up and a violent punk.

For the first time, though, he’s starting to wonder if all that is really true.

Urgh, it’s all so confusing! How can he be pissed at Kamoshida and his dad, can know they were the ones in the wrong, but still feel deep down like maybe it was sort of his fault, anyway. He’s so sick of his head and his emotions not bein’ on the same page about this shit.

He stares at the t.v in his living room, unseeing. Even if Keiji was a bad kid, if he caused trouble and got into things and was loud and failed his classes - if he was like Ryuji - he still wouldn’t deserve to be abused the way Ryuji was.

Even the worst, most delinquent, out-of-line kids don’t deserve that.

So… Ryuji didn’t either. No matter how he feels deep down, he didn’t.

He doesn’t know how to make his feelings match the facts, though.

Maybe he should just… try bein’ nicer to himself? Akira’s always on him about actin’ like he’s not as important as other people, and he’s always thinking about how he’s such a pain for those around him; how he’s a violent asshole just like his dad. Hell, if anyone else said that stuff about him, it’d piss him off. So maybe he shouldn’t say that stuff, either.

It’s not much, but it’s something, right?

Besides, maybe he really isn’t like his dad. He’s always felt like he was - he’s got a temper just like him, and he lashes out with violence. He hit Kamoshida that day, and that proves it.

But now Ryuji wonders if his dad beating him and him punching Kamoshida in a desperate bid to escape the abuse… are they really the same? Kamoshida wasn’t a defenseless kid or an innocent woman. Kamoshida wasn’t Ryuji’s frightened, battered family. Kamoshida was a no-good asshole who’d been tormenting the team - and Ryuji especially - for weeks. And Ryuji had snapped beneath the weight of the abuse.

He dismisses the thought. He’s just looking for excuses to justify his own shitty actions - saying Kamoshida had it coming doesn’t mean anything. His dad could’ve said the same thing about Ryuji, right? Saying he hit Kamoshida because he had it coming isn’t any different than whatever justifications his dad might have cooked up to justify his own violence.

Just excuses and bruises and shitty, violent guys, all the way down.

… Still, he thinks about Keiji’s sad, scared face; imagines how his dad might’ve felt looking down at Ryuji’s own fearful face. Ryuji would never hurt a kid, would never even feel the smallest inkling of wanting to. His dad, however, obviously felt differently.

So, bare minimum, that’s one thing that separates them.

He feels so damn messed up. Nothing makes sense, and his feelings are all over the place, and all the logic in the world doesn't change that.

He slumps down on the couch cushion he’s sitting on; blobs of color on the t.v screen swim in his unfocused vision.

What is he supposed to do?

Chapter Text

The cold weather has kept most of the crowds away from Seaside Park tonight, which is all the better since technically Akira’s supposed to be in hiding. He’s already going out to see his other confidants around Tokyo, though, so the concept of being ‘in hiding’ was lost on him even before this little outing. Still, the fewer people, the better. Ryuji’s happy to be hanging out with Akira, but not if it means someone recognizing him and ruining all they’ve worked for the last few weeks.

They buy some hot chocolate and a baked sweet potato from a vendor, and then make their way to the area that overlooks the Tokyo bay. Across the bay, Tokyo looms, lit up so bright it drowns out the starlight. On the right-hand side, the Rainbow bridge is itself bathed in a kaleidoscope of multicolored lights. Above the whole scene, the crescent moon plays peekaboo amongst the scattered clouds.

Ryuji and Akira lean against a railing. The metal is cold, at first, but warms up quickly beneath their bodies.

Ryuji tries to unwrap the paper from around his sweet potato, fighting to do it with one hand since his other hand is busy holding his hot chocolate. In the struggle, all he manages to do is drop his potato over the railing.

“Aw, shit,” he says, peering over the rail where his treat has splattered on the pavement far below.

Akira leans over to also peer down at the potato, now smudged on the ground.

“Do you want to share mine?” he asks.

They stand there for a while, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, overlooking the bay in the snow, sharing a sweet potato and talking comfortably.

Beside him, Akira basks in the moonlight and the glow of the streetlamps. His hands are wrapped around his cup of hot chocolate, little wisps of steam rising from the cup and vanishing into the night air. There’s a galaxy of little snowflakes caught in the dark curls of his hair. His face is ruddy in the cold - his cheeks and the tip of his nose are pink, and a few stray snowflakes are melting on his skin. The bruises from the interrogation are mostly healed now, leaving behind fading yellow ghosts of themselves.

Winter already. Where has all the time gone? It’s only four months now until Akira’s probation is over - something that’s been on Ryuji’s mind a lot lately, since their current target is the whole reason Akira’s on probation at all.

“Can’t believe it’s already December,” Ryuji says.

“I know. Seems like it was just summer break, huh?” He turns to look at Ryuji, a small smile on his face. His eyes are sad, though.

Ryuji finishes the last dregs of his hot chocolate, fidgeting and running his thumb across the rim of his disposable cup.

Everything’s so… complicated now. Hard to believe it was less than a year ago when they were shooting the shit over mounds of food at the Wilton Buffet, without a care in the world. None of them were wanted, there’d been no plots to kill them, no crooked politicians out to see them destroyed, the future of Japan wasn’t hanging in their hands.

Ryuji wasn’t in love with his best friend back then, either, but that doesn’t really compare to all the other shit. Still, it is yet another way in which things have become… messier since last spring.

“I’ve been teachin’ Keiji how to run,” Ryuji says, for no reason other than it’s something to talk about.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s doin’ alright with it, and seems like he’s having fun. His time’s gone down a lot.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re a good coach. You were coaching me, too, so I’d know.”

Ryuji’s face goes warm. “I thought that, too, but it’s kind of embarrassin’ to hear you say it.”

Akira laughs, the sound like bells in the crisp, cold air.

God, the stupid shit Ryuji would do to hear that laugh every freakin’ day for the rest of time.

“It’s weird,” Ryuji says. “I miss track a lot. I dunno if I could ever run again, and I don’t wanna go back to a team - at least, not Shujin’s team. But teachin’ Keiji has been… sorta fun. It ain’t the same as competing, but it’s fun in its own way.”

“Why wouldn’t you be able to run again? Physical rehabilitation is always an option.”

“Yeah, but even if I did that, it’s probably never gonna be the same, you know? And besides, I’ve been pushin’ myself so hard without doin’ rehab. I’ve probably just made it worse.”

“If you still love track, you should pursue it. Even if you don’t get the same sort of times you could before.”

“I dunno if I want to, though, is the thing. Ah, whatever, it’s all really confusing! Let’s talk about somethin’ else,” Ryuji frowns, and then he latches onto the first topic that comes to mind. “I think they have festivals and shit out here in the summer, we should’ve come then.”

“There’ll be other summers,” Akira says, and it makes Ryuji’s heart feel light and floaty. There will be other summers. Ryuji’ll visit Akira in his hometown, and of course Akira will come back to Tokyo to visit, too.

There will be other summers. And other winters, and springs, and autumns, too. There will be other lazy moments playing video games, and afternoons at the arcade, and easy-going conversations even if they have to happen over the phone rather than in person.

It takes some of the sting out of knowing how soon Akira’s probation will be ending.

“The view of the skyline is really nice from here,” Akira says. “The bridge is beautiful, too. Look how the lights reflect off the water.”

“You’re soundin’ like Yusuke.”

Akira laughs again, just a small sound. “He’d probably love this. We should invite him next time.”

“You’re already plannin’ a next time? And besides, we could’ve just invited him tonight.”

Akira looks away from the Tokyo skyline and the rainbow lights of the bridge that glimmer in the night. He turns his eyes to Ryuji, instead. There’s something in his eyes that makes butterflies erupt in Ryuji’s chest

He smiles, more genuine than before. “I’m glad it’s just us tonight,” he says. His voice is warm and soft and low.

Ryuji swallows hard, but doesn’t avert his gaze.

Come on, no fair. Akira can’t go around just sayin’ shit like that. Doesn’t he know what it does to Ryuji’s heart? It’s… it’s so close to stepping over the line of ‘friendship’ and into uncharted territory, it makes Ryuji’s head spin. There’s no way he meant it that way, though, right? Because there’s no way Akira likes Ryuji the way Ryuji so desperately, achingly wishes he did.

… No, that’s… it ain’t true. He’s supposed to be nicer to himself, dammit. He tries his best to snuff out the thoughts that plague him, telling him Akira’s too good to like him that way. It’s not true, it’s not true, it’s not true ! No matter how he feels about it, feelings ain’t facts.

He’s… he’s got more goin’ for him than being violent, right? And the stuff with the track team wasn’t his fault, despite the guilt that curls, unpleasant and heavy, in his chest. At the very least, Akira likes him enough to be his friend, so there’s somethin’ there he’s fond of. Maybe Akira does mean for his words to sound so romantic. He could like Ryuji, no matter how Ryuji feels about himself.

He doesn’t know if he truly believes all of that - at least not yet - but he’s trying to.

Akira presses closer to Ryuji, which is an impressive feat considering they were already standing with their shoulders flush up against each other - Akira’s left squeezed up against Ryuji’s right. He reaches his hand over to twine his fingers with Ryuji’s.

“You sure hold my hand a lot,” Ryuji says.

“I like holding your hand.”

Ryuji stares at their entwined hands, backdropped by the rainbow lights that dance on the surface of the deep navy water of the bay. He gives Akira’s hand a squeeze.

“Yeah,” he says. “I like holding yours, too.”

The Tokyo skyline and the Rainbow bridge are pretty, especially glowing like beacons in the night. They have nothing on Akira, though, Ryuji thinks. His sharp eyes softened by affection, the highpoints of his face that catch the ambient light while shadows pool in the lowpoints, his messy hair, and the shape of his small, private smile, and the way he positively lights up every room he walks into; how he glows brighter than any star, brighter than the lit-up windows in the skyscrapers on the other side of the bay, brighter than the rainbow lights of the bridge.

Everything goin’ on lately - for the Phantom Thieves and for Ryuji personally - has been so effin’ hard. But being with Akira is still so easy; like it’s second nature, like it’s what Ryuji was created to do, like his place in the world is right here at Akira’s side.

And his place is with Akira, of course. He’s told Akira that already. It feels more and more true with every passing day, though.

Akira’s still holding his hand, brushing his thumb idly across the back of Ryuji’s hand. It makes Ryuji’s heart clench, tight and heavy, in his chest.

Akira touches him reverently, as if he’s something - some one - precious. Ryuji doesn’t get it, really, but he wants to; thinks he could start to.

Even still, between the two of them, Ryuji thinks it’s Akira who’s truly precious; who deserves that kind of reverent, gentle touch.

The confession is right there, on the tip of his tongue. I love you . It’d be like nothing to say it, the words threaten to spill out on their own. But he can’t, because things are still so chaotic right now, and he can’t be certain it wouldn’t ruin the friendship, anyways. Even if he recognizes the signs, even if that voice in the back of his mind keeps getting stronger (the one that suggests perhaps Akira feels the same way,) he can’t be sure. And they’ve got enough on their plate as is, with Shido and the Palace and the election.

He swallows the words down, bottles them up as best he can.

It feels like they’re going to spill over, anyway. Like he’s going to burst with the enormity of this feeling.

Akira releases his hand, and Ryuji frowns at the loss of contact. It’s short lived, though, because then Akira wraps his arm around Ryuji’s waist. His hand settles on Ryuji’s side, right above the spot where his winter coat ends.

They stay that way for a while, watching boats come and go in the bay, leaving wakes that ripple out into the water and make the reflections of the city’s lights and the rainbow bridge and the smiling crescent moon warp and dance.

“Hey,” Akira says. “Are my fingers cold?” He wriggles his fingers until they manage to sneak beneath the bottom of Ryuji’s coat. Then he squirms them past the hem of Ryuji’s shirt, too, so he can dig his cold fingertips into Ryuji’s warm, bare skin.

Ryuji yelps, twisting away from the sensation and pulling out of Akira’s embrace.

“Not cool, dude! I’m so gonna get you back for that.”

“I’d like to see you try -” Akira says, cut off by his own undignified little yelp as Ryuji lunges forward and presses his cold hands to the vulnerable side of Akira’s neck, under the snuggly collar of his coat.

This tomfoolery devolves quickly, until they’re both just roughhousing and shoving at each other uselessly, laughter ringing out in the empty park and echoing across the wide expanse of the bay.

When they finally stop goofing off, Ryuji sighs and leans against the railing again.

“Are you nervous? About the Palace and the election and stuff?”

“The Palace? No,” Akira says, leaning the opposite direction on the rail, his back to the bay. “The election? Yeah, I guess.”

“I can’t believe that of all the rotten people in the world, we’re takin’ on the guy who got you arrested in the first place.”

Akira shrugs. “You might be more fired up about it than I am.”

“What, you aren’t glad to be changing the heart of the guy who ruined your life?”

It’s awful, what happened to Akira. It makes Ryuji’s blood run hot just to think about it. But at the same time, it’s only because of his probation that he came to Tokyo. If he’d never gotten that assault charge and been shipped away for probation, he and Ryuji never would’ve met.

Ryuji doesn’t believe in fate or anything like that, but him and Akira meeting that day feels like more than just a stroke of luck; more than just dumb chance.

Still, none of that means it’s not gonna feel great to take down the guy who caused so much bad in Akira’s life.

Akira’s quiet for a moment.

“Being sent to Tokyo on probation didn’t ruin my life,” he finally says. “I feel like my life only truly began when I got here.”

Ryuji blinks at him. Fat snowflakes fall around them lazily, the scene is silent.

“That don’t mean it ain’t gonna be awesome to change that asshole’s heart.”

“It feels good to change any shitty person’s heart, though.”

“Yeah, but this one’s personal. Even if comin’ here didn’t ruin your life, he’s still caused you so much trouble.”

“I don’t know,” Akira says. “I think everyone else is angrier about all of that than I am.”

“I know,” Ryuji frowns. “I have been since the day you told me about it. You gotta be angrier for yourself, dude.”

Akira’s grinning at him, all warm and goofy. “Yeah? I seem to recall you being more worried about Ann after Kamoshida confessed, rather than your own beef with the guy.”

Ryuji can’t stop the smile that breaks across his face to match the one on Akira’s.

“Yeah, whatever,” he says, and he looks back out at the cityscape across the bay. It’s the exact same city he’s always known; it’s the exact same city now as it was one year ago. But, somehow, it looks so different. Everywhere he goes he sees another memory with Akira, or reminders of their work as Phantom Thieves. Akira came into his life like a whirlwind and flipped everything on its head, and now the whole city is alive with pieces of the last nine months

He doesn't think Tokyo - or anything - will ever feel the same again.

He wouldn't want it any other way.

Chapter Text

Shido’s Palace looms, the Diet building piercing the blood red sky. It reminds Ryuji of Kamoshida’s Palace, in a way - the sky there was the same ominous shade.

As they prowl the long, maze-like halls, Akira’s steps are as confident as ever. No hesitation, no fear; just the sure, even strides and the familiar level-headed air. He’s unflappable.

At his side, Ryuji feels the same - he’s not scared, he’s not worried. He’s just set in single-minded determination.

Shido thinks of all of Japan as disposable; his cognition is of the country drowning while those who earn his favor are afforded the luxury of his arc.

Millions and millions of people he’s willing to throw away.

Ryuji’s hand tightens on his club, his teeth clench hard.

What a piece of shit, man. They’ve seen so many scummy people, in Palaces and Mementos. But nothin’ like this.

This ain’t one school bein’ terrorized, or even one city. It’s all of Japan. The whole effin’ country!

The cognitions on the boat - the people Shido plans on bringing with him, the people he’s decided deserve to be onboard - are just as goddamn awful. Each and every one leaves a sour taste in Ryuji’s mouth, until it’s all he can think about. A shitty dude who wants to bring his circle of other shitty dudes to the top with him, while everyone else drowns.

All of Japan. Ryuji pictures his mom’s face, her eyes soft and warm despite the exhaustion on her features. He pictures Keiji’s sunny grin. He looks to his side and sees Joker and Panther and Queen; thinks of Mona, Fox, Oracle and Noir who are trailing close behind them.

All of those people and more who Shido will sacrifice for his own damn gains.

Ain’t no way in hell he’s lettin’ that happen.

The only thing stronger than his anger at all the world’s rotten adults is his desire to protect the weak who are victimized by those adults.

If they don’t do it, nobody will. He knows, because he’s lived it. He’s seen it time and time again. His loved ones and his friends and even Ryuji himself… there was nobody to save them, nobody to protect them when they needed someone.

Ryuji’d be dead in the ground before he left someone to suffer like he - and all his loved ones - have had to.

That’s easier said than done, of course. The Shadows here are tough. But it’s gonna take more than a few strong Shadows to stop the Phantom Thieves. A plot to betray and murder Joker didn’t stop them, so no way a couple of Shadows are gonna be the thing that does ‘em in.

Still, that doesn’t mean he’s not completely wiped by the time they leave the Palace for the day.

The anger - and the protective resolve - don’t waver, despite the ache in his muscles and the exhaustion that settles heavy and insistent on his shoulders.

His mom’s not home when he gets there, working late again. He kicks his shoes off in the doorway and collapses onto the couch. His body is absolutely dragging, but his heart is ablaze.

He lays on the couch, sprawled out like a starfish, for a long time, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the Palace. About Shido, about all the people Ryuji cares about and all the people Ryuji doesn’t know but who he wants to protect, anyway.

Finally, he picks up his phone to check the time. And, on autopilot, he clicks the little ‘call’ button next to Akira’s contact.

Akira picks up on the second ring.

“Hey,” Akira says, and his voice is tinny and strange over the line.

“Sorry,” Ryuji says, sitting up. “I know it’s late.”

“It’s fine. What’s up?”

Ryuji swings his legs over the side of the couch so he can stand up. His body - especially his bad leg - protests, but he ignores it.

“I dunno,” he says, on his way into the kitchen. “I just had a lot goin’ on in my head.”

“Yeah? You wanna talk about it?”

Ryuji pauses. Does he wanna talk about it? There ain’t really that much to say, is there? At least, not anything that hasn’t been said before. Shido’s scum and Ryuji is fired up to see this through. But Akira knows all of that already.

Sometimes it feels like Akira knows more about Ryuji than Ryuji himself does.

“Just… the Palace, you know?” he says, as if that’s an explanation.

Akira hums in acknowledgment.

“I can’t stop thinkin’ about it. If there’s a heart we gotta steal, it’s definitely Shido’s. We can’t let him run free. I want to avenge you, that goes without sayin’,” he says, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder to free his hands as he digs through the kitchen for something to eat. “But it’s more than that, man. If we let him run the country, the weak will be totally effed. Ain’t it our duty to protect them?”

“Yeah,” Akira says.

“I know I said before that heroes who lurk in the shadows are boring, but I was wrong. Those heroes are way cooler.”

On the other end of the line, Akira laughs. The sound is small and distorted by the phone.

Ryuji tears the paper off a cup of instant ramen, frowning as he does so. He’d been such an idiot before… he’s already apologized for gettin’ so caught up in the fame, and he’d meant it when he did. But seein’ Shido’s Palace, knowin’ the kind of country he wants to make… it really puts it into perspective for Ryuji. When they started this Phantom Thief stuff, they wanted to help people. It was enough if they could help even a single person with each heart they changed. But this is unlike those early days. It ain’t about bein’ popular, or helping individual people. This is all of Japan! A whole country’s worth of weak and vulnerable people who’d be totally screwed by Shido if he’s allowed to go unchecked.

They’re the only ones who can stop it. The thought doesn’t make Ryuji feel special or cool like it might once have.

Resolve steels in his heart. He doesn’t feel like a badass, he feels like this is his duty . He ain’t cool for havin’ the powers he does, he just owes this to the weak people sufferin’ like he did. He isn’t some badass hero, this power to change hearts doesn’t make him cool, it’s not a vehicle for fame and positive attention. It’s a call to action; a responsibility he can’t ignore.

It’s quiet for a moment. Ryuji puts water on to boil for his ramen and listens to the dead air on the phone.

They’ve come so far. So much has happened. Taking down Shido ain’t gonna be easy, but Ryuji’s never doubted Akira - or the rest of their friends - for a single second. They’ve made it through everything up to now, this last hurdle will be nothing.

His heart feels heavy with words unspoken, though.

After this, everything will settle down. Things won’t be so crazy.

His throat gets tight.

He’s been thinking that when things are less chaotic, he might confess his feelings to Akira.

‘When’ is quickly becoming ‘now.’

Every minute he keeps his feelings to himself is one more minute he’s losing; one more minute closer to the day Akira leaves.

Come April, he doesn’t want to regret those minutes he wasted.

“Hey, Akira,” he says, shattering the tense silence. “After we’re done with Shido…”

He freezes up; feelings there but words all jumbled.

“Yeah? Is something on your mind, Ryuji?”

Ryuji  leans against his kitchen counter, slumped and defeated. “No, nevermind,” he sighs.

What was he even gonna say? Was he gonna ask Akira on a real date? Tell him about his feelings?

He keeps saying he’ll do it when there’s not so much goin’ on… well, pretty soon there won’t be so much goin’ on. But even without that excuse, he still can’t find the right words to say what he needs to say. It’s killing him trying to keep these feelings to himself, though. They’re enormous and powerful, and he’s small and powerless in their wake; a boat caught in a storm, a tree set ablaze by a forest fire. It’s going to drown him, going to burn him up to cinders and he can’t do anything about it - wouldn’t know what to do even if he could.

At Seaside park the other day he’d thought it would be easy to say what he needed to, but now that he’s actually trying to say it, he finds it’s far more difficult than he anticipated. The feelings are there, bursting at the seams, ready to spill right out. But getting his tongue around the words is a different matter. If Akira were here, if Ryuji could act instead of speak , this would be different.

“I just… uh…” he tries again, but the words all get jammed up in his throat; bottlenecked, too many things all trying to escape all at once.

“You…?” Akira eggs him on.

“I like dudes,” he blurts. It’s related, tangentially, to what he wanted to say, but that doesn’t change the fact that  it’s not what he wanted to say.

“Oh. Since when?” Akira says, and Ryuji can picture the look that’s probably on his face right now - pretty eyes kind of wide behind his big ol’ glasses, brows raised.

"Uh, I dunno. A while ago."

"That's cool. So we're the same, then."

Ryuji frowns. "Yeah."

Why can't he just make the words come out? He really does want to! He wants it so much that the sheer force of his stupid wanting and pining and yearning could kill him.

But the words won't form.

He stares at his instant ramen and gets queasy, sick with the way he feels; completely and helplessly overwhelmed by it. Akira’s here, on the other side of the phone line, he’s still in Tokyo until April. He’s unflinchingly, unwaveringly at Ryuji’s side. He’s here , in all the ways that count.

Ryuji feels so isolated, anyway. Like there’s more than just the crackle of the phone line that separates them; more than the distance between Ryuji’s apartment and Leblanc.

More and more, trying to keep his feelings shoved down is making him feel like he’s hiding. Like he’s shying away from Akira’s warmth, like he’s keeping part of himself stomped down and smothered. He doesn't want to do that anymore, but when he finally stops shying away and tries to be honest, the words won't come out.

He leans his elbows on the table and rests his head in his hands.

On the phone, Akira speaks. “Are you okay, Ryuji? You got quiet.”

“I’m fine,” he says, and he doesn’t know if he’s saying it to assure himself or Akira.

He feels so much, and so strongly, about Akira. Akira deserves to know. Ryuji wants him to know. He thinks Akira likes him back, despite the nagging self doubt that insists Akira’s too good for him - he’s not blind, he’s seen the signs. And at this rate, even if he didn’t think Akira liked him that way, he might be willing to spill his guts out anyway, just to make this ache in his chest go away; just to stop feeling nauseous with these unspoken feelings.

But he ain’t good with words, and there’s so damn much he wants to say. Where does he even start? How does he make Akira get it when Ryuji himself can barely wrangle these feelings? It feels like nothing he could say would ever be enough to make his point, like no words in the world would ever be adequate for what he feels for Akira.

So he doesn’t say anything. 

It’s fine. He says he’ll do it when things calm down, and while that will be soon, they still have to finish the infiltration and steal Shido’s heart. It’s better if he doesn’t distract Akira with this shit, anyway.

Still, he sits alone at his table and suffocates; burns away into smoke, capsizes under the might of the waves.

Chapter Text

Shit, shit, shit…!

Water rushes into the halls of Shido’s Palace; the Phantom Thieve’s feet splash in the shallower parts as they book it through the long, winding corridors.

They clamber out of a window. The ship has tilted far to one side as it’s began to sink, leaving the side of the building closer to horizontal than vertical. The whole group of Thieves finds their uneven footing on the concrete side of the building, watching as the deep navy water rises, swallowing more and more of the ship with each passing second.

They’re stuck. They’re gonna go down with Shido’s god damn arc.

Dammit! Ryuji scans the scene - the water, crashing and rolling in dark waves across the deck of the ship, the looks of panic and fear on his friends’ faces. His palms sweat inside his gloves, his ears ring. They’re gonna freakin’ die here.

There’s a lifeboat, at the other end of the deck. There’s some dry ground below it, where the water hasn’t risen high enough to swallow it up yet - someone could stand there to release the lifeboat if they could just get to it. But there’s water between them and that patch of concrete, rising higher and higher. And the ship has skewed at a harsh angle, meaning it’s a sharp incline up to the lever to release the lifeboat. It’s doable, but… that slope would be difficult to climb. The concrete is damp, there’s no handholds, the angle is sharp. And they’d have to get over there in the first place, which means getting across the violent waves between where they stand and the rest of the deck. Swimming across it ain’t gonna happen, the water’s rolling violently, rushing and swirling as it’s displaced by the sinking ship. So… jumping across, then…?

Urgh, if someone’s gonna do something, it has to happen fast. They don’t have a lot of time before the whole ship goes down.

A million thoughts race through Ryuji’s mind. The ship is sinking quickly, but it feels as if time slows to a crawl. He’s the fastest runner on the team, especially since he’s gotten back into training again after meeting Akira. If anyone has any hope of making it up that incline and to the lifeboat at all, let alone in time to matter, it’s him, ain’t it? He can’t just stand here and wait for all his friends to drown.

Besides, it’s not like it’s any more dangerous to go for the lifeboat than it is to stay standing here watching the water levels rise. Either way he’s risking a watery grave.

He takes a long, studying breath. At his side, his hands clench and unclench in nervous fists. His heart races, his vision narrows until all he can see is that lifeboat on the other side of the deck.

Someone has to do this, and he’s the only one who can. He might not bring a lot to the team except hittin’ shit, but he can do this, dammit. He knows he can.

He can’t afford to doubt.

He adjusts his footing on the concrete wall. It’s downhill from here to the water, and then back uphill to the lifeboat. He gets a running start toward the water, praying against all odds that the extra momentum of running downhill will be enough to get him across the gap.

He leaps across the dark, thrashing waves and lands safely on the other side. The landing is harsh, and pain shoots through his bad leg, but he doesn’t have time to think about that; he hardly feels it at all, adrenaline roaring through his veins and blocking it out. He gets into proper sprinting position and then takes off like a shot up the deck of the boat.

His body is tired, his stamina is low - they’re fresh off fighting Shido’s Shadow, who was no pushover, and Ryuji was on the frontlines like always. His muscles burn, overworked already and now being pushed far beyond that. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that lifeboat, like a beacon shining in the night, coming ever closer.

The incline is tough, even for him, and his feet slide once or twice on the wet concrete, but he makes it. By some freakin’ miracle, he makes it. It takes one last leap to reach the lever, and then the lifeboat is dropping into the water close enough to Joker that he’s able to pull it in and hold it steady for everyone else to climb inside.

Ryuji hangs from the lever, watching as his friends (and the lifeboat) approach. Their expressions are a mixed lot - some relieved, some still clinging to the last bit of fear that hasn’t quite faded. Joker’s expression, though… it’s warm, full of fondness and pride

Huh. Ryuji… made him proud?

The thought snuffs out any fear he was still feeling. How can he be scared when his friends are all safe, and are coming over to get him, and Joker’s looking at him like that?

He shoots Joker a thumbs up and a big grin, so caught up in the moment that he doesn’t notice the low rumbling sound coming from the deck of the ship.

And then there’s a deafening, bellowing sound and searing, blinding heat blasting across his body.

Everything goes black.

.

..

…

Ow, shit, where is he?

He opens his eyes. Above him, streetlamps twinkle in the dark night. The moon hangs low in the sky. The ground is cold and damp below him.

Man, his head hurts. He sits up, and the movement makes him wince. Man, his everything hurts.

He sits there for a moment, getting his bearings. He’s in the grass outside the Diet building. His whole body throbs and aches, his ears are still ringing from whatever that booming sound was inside the Palace.

Shit, the Palace…!

He made it out, obviously. But where is everyone else?

He drags himself to his feet and looks around. He doesn’t see anyone - not even a security guard - at first. But he hears someone. Multiple people, even. Familiar voices that he couldn’t forget if he tried.

He follows the sound, and finds his friends all standing together beneath a street lamp. They’re… crying. Well, some of them are. Ann’s face is in her hands, Futaba’s glasses are pushed up as she wipes at teary eyes, Haru’s sniffling and holding back the waterworks.

Ah, shit… what happened? Did something go wrong?

“Hey,” he says as he approaches. “Why’s everyone cryin’? Did we lose the treasure or something?”

Seven pairs of eyes all jump to focus on him.

“Wh - why are we crying?” Ann says, voice wobbling. “Because we were worried about you, dumbass! That’s - we thought you died!”

HUH?

“Died?” Ryuji exclaims. “But I’m -”

He’s cut off, because Ann throws herself onto him and hugs him so tightly that it knocks the wind out of his chest.

“Don’t scare us like that!” Haru admonishes, rubbing at her damp eyes before throwing her arms around Ryuji, too.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to scare anyone!”

“Yeah,” Mona says. “Don’t do reckless stuff like that!”

“I wasn’t…” Ryuji starts, but he lets the sentence trail off. He wasn’t bein’ reckless, but he’s getting the distinct impression that trying to explain that to them isn’t gonna make a difference. Not when they’re all so worked up. It ain’t like they’re really mad, anyway; the way they’re all coming, one by one, to wrap him in a group hug is proof enough of that.

All six of his human friends hold him in a big embrace, arms all tangled together around him, for a moment. Morgana doesn’t join in, since he can’t, but he does sit nearby, purring and flicking his tail. The hug kind of hurts Ryuji’s battered, sore body but he doesn’t really mind. It’s nice; to be surrounded by the warmth of his friends’ presence, to be held tightly as if he’s someone they’re afraid to lose.

He is someone they’re afraid to lose. A few months ago he would’ve ended the thought with ‘isn’t he?’ but that nagging little uncertainty is nowhere to be seen in this moment. There’s no question there - he is someone important to them, their embrace and their sniffles and the damp spots of their tears on his shirt leave no room for doubt.

He tries to hug them back, but can’t wrangle his arms out of the web of limbs to wrap them around anyone else.

“You were so brave!” Haru says when they finally release him. “Thank you for saving us!”

“It was nothin’,” he says, face heating up. “Someone had to do it, right?”

“Hey,” Akira says as they all start off for the train station. “Will you come back to Leblanc with me? Just for a minute, I know you’re probably exhausted.”

“Uh, sure. No problem.”

Akira and Ryuji make the trip to the cafe in relative silence. He’s not… mad at Ryuji, right?

“Dude,” Ryuji says as they step inside the dark cafe. “Are you mad at me?”

“What?” Akira says, pausing halfway to the stairs. “Why would I be mad?”

“I dunno, ‘cause you’re always on me about puttin’ myself in danger to help everyone else.”

“You think I’m mad about the lifeboat thing?”

Ryuji stares at his feet. “Maybe. But I wasn’t bein’ reckless, man. It ain’t like I knew the boat was gonna blow up like that. When I decided to go for the lifeboat, I figured it wasn’t any more dangerous than stayin’ put. It ain’t fair to be mad about me willingly puttin’ myself in danger, because I didn’t.”

“I’m not mad, Ryuji.”

“Oh. Then why’d you want me to come over?”

“Come upstairs,” Akira says, going in the direction of the stairs himself. “I just wanted to make sure you were really okay. Check for injuries, patch you up, that sorta thing.”

Huh. He’s not mad, just worried. Ryuji can handle that.

They both go upstairs and Akira begins by spreading their medical supplies across his work desk. It’s the same stuff they bring with them into the Metaverse, so Ryuji’s quite familiar with the variety of items.

“I’m really okay, you know,” Ryuji says as he watches.

“You got blown up, dude.”

Okay, it is hard to argue against that. If someone else had gotten caught in an explosion the way Ryuji had, he’d want to be extra sure they were okay.

He takes off his shirt and allows Akira to give him a once over. There’s nothing on his front - some red welts that will probably bruise, the scar near his hip from the time that female Shadow in Okumura’s Palace lit him with a fireball. But nothing that needs cleaned or bandaged. He had his back to the explosion, though, so it makes sense his front escaped the whole thing scot-free.

“You were cool tonight,” Akira says as he works on cleaning a spot on Ryuji’s back. The medicine he’s applying stings terribly, and Ryuji winces, face all scrunched up.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’m really proud of you, man. You totally saved our asses.” A pause. “Man, this burn is huge. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“I dunno. My whole body kinda hurts, so I guess I didn’t notice.”

It’s quiet for a while as Akira cleans and bandages Ryuji’s wound. His hands are light, his touch soft as a feather as he works. Ryuji stands motionless near the work desk and looks at the stuff in the attic - the shelves near the staircase, cluttered with stuff that’s not Akira’s, the old video game console that they’ve spent so many lazy afternoons playing, the assortment of trinkets on Akira’s shelf. It’s hard to believe this place was just a dusty old attic before. Now it’s Akira’s home.

When Akira is satisfied that Ryuji’s been adequately cared for, he gets to putting the medical supplies away. Ryuji puts his shirt back on, and then turns to look at Akira. They’re both crammed into the space at the foot of Akira’s bed, boxed in by the bed and desk. As a result, they’re standing quite close together.

“You really ain’t mad?”

“Really,” Akira says. “But… don’t scare me like that again, man.”

“I wasn’t tryin’ to scare you.”

Akira swallows hard. “I know. But I was scared, anyway. I thought you were dead, man.”

“I’m fine. All good here. Nobody died.”

“I thought you did, though,” Akira says, and he steps closer, drawing an uneven breath. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt, but you… if something had happened to you , Ryuji, I…” his voice is small; private, like his words are a secret just for them. He reaches out to grab Ryuji’s hands and he holds them tightly.

“Sorry for makin’ you worry,” Ryuji says, and it’s the truth, but the shit with the lifeboat all feels a million lifetimes away right now. This time he inches closer to Akira.

They’re so close now; Akira’s breath is warm against Ryuji’s skin. Ryuji can feel the heat of Akira’s body, and he smells like clean laundry and coffee. His hair falls across his forehead in a soft curl, and without thinking, Ryuji reaches up to push the strands away, fingers brushing softly against the shell of his ear as he tucks the curls behind it. Then he allows his hand to rest on the back of Akira’s neck, fingers tangled in the ends of his hair. Now that Ryuji can see his features more clearly, he can tell his sharp, silvery eyes are softened by warmth.

Akira inches somehow closer, encroaching further into Ryuji’s personal space. One of his hands relinquishes its hold on Ryuji’s hand to come up and cradle Ryuji’s face, while the other moves to rest upon Ryuji’s waist, firm and unwavering. He tenderly strokes his thumb across the skin of Ryuji’s cheek, the touch light. He’s close enough now that their noses bump.

Ryuji’s heart races, pounding like a drum in his chest. The closer Akira gets, the harder it is to breathe; the more his head swims. He feels like he should say something, maybe. If he could find the words, he might tell Akira the truth about his feelings - might tell Akira how much he loves him, how havin’ him around has changed Ryuji’s life in so many ways, how Akira gets Ryuji like nobody else ever has, how Ryuji wants to do all the stupid domestic cliches like fall asleep together every night, and cook dinner together, and go grocery shopping, and watch bad t.v to laugh at it. He’d tell Akira how his smile lights up the whole effin’ room, and his lame jokes and bits aren’t funny but they still fill Ryuji with fondness. He’d tell Akira how even in the boring and slow moments when they’re not doin’ anything fun, Ryuji just wants him, his time and his laughter and his affection. Maybe that makes Ryuji selfish, but so be it.

He can’t find the words, though. He’s not exactly a well-spoken guy, and these feelings are so vast and overwhelming he couldn’t begin to put it all into words. He’s full to absolutely bursting with the way he feels; it seems nowadays that these feelings are bigger than Ryuji himself is. He wouldn’t have the first clue how to make Akira understand.

So he doesn’t say anything at all. He just leans in a tiny bit closer, tips his head up slightly. The change in angle brings their lips a hair’s breadth away from kissing.

“Ryuji,” Akira says, and their lips brush, just barely, when he speaks. His voice is low, but nonetheless heavy with… intention? Question? As if he’s asking permission for something, seeking some sort of answer from Ryuji.

There’s no question asked, but Ryuji answers, regardless.

“Yeah,” he breathes, and his voice cracks on the word. His fingers tighten in the curls at the nape of Akira’s neck. God, does he ever want . It consumes him, burns him up like a match; he wants whatever he can have of Akira, whatever Akira will give him. He’s so tired of wanting, so tired of burning, so tired of choking on all these feelings as they threaten to spill over.

There’s a pause, the air between them heavy with tension; they’re teetering on the edge of something and Ryuji is more than ready to take the freakin’ plunge already.

Words aren’t his strong suit, he’s always been more prone to acting than to carefully articulated dialogues. This feeling in his chest, like a million butterflies set loose, is more than he can keep contained; is too much for him to keep bottling up and pressing down. He wanted to confess the other day over the phone, and this ain’t a confession. But it’s the best Ryuji can do.

He leans in, closing the miniscule distance between them, And finally, fucking finally , he kisses Akira.

Akira freezes for a fraction of a second, his form motionless against Ryuji’s. But it’s short lived, because then he’s kissing Ryuji back.

Ryuji’s stomach does a fluttery flip, his heart leaps into his throat. Akira didn’t push him away, didn’t recoil in disgust, didn’t say ‘Hey, I’m flattered, but…’ No, he leaned into it, reciprocated. 

There’s a part of Ryuji that’s not surprised. He suspected this - it’s why he was bold enough to make a move at all. Still, there’s another part of him that wonders if perhaps he’s dreaming this - maybe he was knocked unconscious when the Palace exploded and he’s actually lying in the cold, damp grass outside the Diet building, having a vivid dream. Maybe he’ll wake up any second now and the press of Akira’s lips on his will be nothing more than a fading phantom lingering from the dream.

But he doesn’t wake up. He tightens his fingers where they’re still tangled in the curls at the nape of Akira’s neck, and the warmth of Akira’s body, Akira’s pulse thrumming beneath his skin, is grounding and undeniably real.

It’s like he’s been drowning, and now he’s drawing the first breath of air into burning, oxygen-starved lungs. It’s been six goddamn months of pining, and wishing, and suffocating beneath the weight of all the impossible things he longs for. Now the floodgate is open, and he doesn’t have it in him to stomp it all down anymore. When they part briefly, Ryuji chases Akira’s mouth, kissing him a second time more intensely.

Akira doesn’t shy away from the second kiss, either, and Ryuji’s heart soars . He feels he’s walking on air.

They part properly then, though Akira doesn’t go far. He leans his forehead against Ryuji’s, a huge grin across his pretty face.

Ryuji knows his expression mirrors Akira’s, he can feel his own bright smile that he couldn’t possibly hope to contain.

“Akira,” he croaks. “I love you, dude.” The words feel inadequate, but it’s something . Maybe it doesn’t convey the full breadth of his feelings, how he’d move mountains to see Akira smile, how he hates to think who or where he’d be without him. But it’s a start, it gets it out in the open.

Akira kisses him again, just a small peck, smiling into it. “I know,” he murmurs against Ryuji’s lips. “I love you, too.”

Yeah, Ryuji thinks he knew, too. But it’s still nice to hear; it sends Ryuji’s heart fluttering. He wants to hear it again, he wonders if Akira will say it a second time. Hell, Akira could say it a thousand times and Ryuji doesn’t think he’d ever get sick of it. Not after six months of dying to hear it.

“Will you… say it again?” he asks when they break the kiss.

Akira laughs, pressing his forehead against Ryuji’s. His eyes shimmer in the dim light of the attic, all fond and warm and soft. “Yeah,” he grins. “I love you. I’ll say it as many times as you want to hear it.”

Afterwards, they sit together on Akira’s old, lumpy mattress and make idle conversation. Ryuji should really go home, it’s late and he’s had a long day, but he can’t bring himself to go. Not now.

“If you knew… like, about my feelings and shit. Why didn’t you say anything til now?” he asks, holding Akira’s hand and fidgeting with his fingers.

“Until last week, you never mentioned being bisexual or anything. I thought maybe you were still working through all of it. I didn’t want to bring it up if you were, like, in the middle of a sexuality crisis or something.”

“Oh.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Ryuji’s face gets warm. “I, uh. Didn’t think you liked me,” he admits sheepishly. “And then I… didn’t know how to say it. You know I ain’t good with words.”

Akira laughs, positively glowing. “I couldn’t have been more obvious.”

“Don’t make fun of me, dude,” Ryuji laughs. “I figured it out eventually! Cut me some slack!”

Akira looks at him for a long moment, beaming, expression warmer than the sun.

“Why wouldn’t I like you?” he finally says.

“Huh? I dunno, because you’re you and I’m… just me.”

“Well, as luck would have it, I like when you’re ‘just you.’”

“C’mon, dude, that’s sappy.”

“You confessed that you’re in love with me, aren’t I entitled to a little sap?”

“Save it for valentine’s day or something!” Ryuji says, no edge in his voice. In truth, Akira could be as sappy and mushy as he wants, Ryuji certainly doesn’t mind.

Urgh. Wait. Valentine’s day… that’s… he doesn’t even know if they’re gonna do anything for Valentine’s day. They’re not a couple.

Are they?

“Are we, like, dating now?”

Akira blinks at him. “Do you want to be?”

Ryuji’s face gets a bit warm. It’s stupid, because he’s already done the hard part - actually confessing - but he feels very bashful about answering that question.

“I dunno,” he lies, because deep down he wants to grab Akira by the shoulders and shout ‘YES! Please!’ but being that eager seems like it’d be offputting.

Akira shrugs. “Nothing has to change, if you don’t want it to. Just… tell me what you want things to be like between us now, and we can figure it out from there.”

“I wanna do the same stuff we already do, but I get to kiss you and hold your hand and go on real dates and shit. And I… don’t want either of us to do romantic stuff with anyone else.”

“Moot point, we already hold hands all the time,” Akira points out. “Anyway, you want to be exclusive, then?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“We can do all that stuff and not be a couple, you know.”

“And what if I want to be a couple?”

“Then we can do all of that other stuff and I’ll call you my boyfriend when I tell people about you.”

“... You tell people about me?”

Akira rolls his eyes. “Not the point, don’t get off topic.”

“Do you wanna be an item?”

“Yeah, but if you don’t, it’s fine.”

“I do. Want to date and be your boyfriend and shit.”

“Wow. That man of mine has such a way with words,” Akira says, voice full of gentle and affectionate sarcasm that has no real bite.

Ryuji’s face gets warm again. “Dude, you’re bein’ so hard on me tonight,” he says, but his voice is light; there’s no hurt behind it. He knows Akira’s just joking.

“That’s crass, talking about me being h -”

“Alright! Moving on!”

Akira’s laughing again, even as he speaks. It makes the sound of his words all wavery and uneven. “Sorry,” he says. “Was that joke too far?”

“Moving on, I said!”

It goes quiet for a moment.

Ryuji fidgets with a loose thread on his pants. “So we are dating. Officially.”

“Yeah,” Akira says.

“Do you think everyone else is going to be surprised?”

“No.”

“But they don’t even know I’m into dudes. Well, Ann knows, I guess, but nobody else.”

“Still no.”

“Are we gonna tell them?”

“I don’t mind either way. I haven’t come out to them, but I don’t think they’ll care that we’re in gay love or whatever.”

“Man, why’d you have to say it like that?” Ryuji frowns.

Beside him, Akira’s grinning like the cat that got the canary.

Geez. His stupid jokes are out in force tonight.

There’s another moment of comfortable quiet, before Akira speaks up.

“... Ann knows you’re bi?” he asks, that shit-eating grin faded into something smaller and more intimate.

“Ugh, yeah… she found out about my crush on you.”

“Dude, she knew about my crush on you ,” Akira laughs. “Has she been stuck in the middle of our stupid pining this whole time? I think we owe her an apology.”

There’s a lull in the conversation. Akira reaches out to touch Ryuji, brushing his thumb across a scrape on Ryuji’s cheek.

“You’re really okay after what happened, right?”

“Huh? You mean in the Palace? Yeah, dude, I’m fine. Really.”

“You should probably get going,” Akira says. “The trains will stop running soon,”

“What, just can’t wait to get rid of me?” Ryuji jokes.

“Never. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Despite his reluctance, Ryuji does leave. Akira walks with him to the station, and they stand together while they wait for the train.

“Get some rest, dude,” Akira says as the train pulls in. Then he leans over and gives Ryuji a quick kiss on the cheek.

Ryuji feels like he’s floating the whole way home, aching body be damned. Akira loves him. Right now, in this moment, nothing else matters as much as that.

Chapter Text

After the world goes back to normal, after the Thieves find themselves back in Shibuya as they know it and have said their goodbyes for the night, Ryuji's first thought is that it's freakin' Christmas eve.

“Hey,” he says, jogging over to catch up with Akira. “You wanna do somethin’ for the holiday? It’s okay if you’re too tired, man, I get it.”

“I’m not too tired, we can hang out.”

“Awesome. Um. What do you want to do?”

Akira shrugs. “Maybe we can see some lights? I’ve never seen any huge light displays, and I’ve heard Tokyo has some good ones.”

“Oh, Christmas lights! That’s a great idea!”

“And then we can buy a cake and go back to Leblanc for a while, maybe?”

“Sure, dude, if we can find any cakes at the last minute.”

Ryuji stands in the middle of Shibuya and looks on his phone for nearby light displays. There’s plenty of lights strung up around the city, but a proper display would be ideal. Akira’s only in Tokyo for one Christmas, so they’d better make it count, right?

… Ugh. That thought puts a damper on the mood. The one Christmas they get together before Akira has to leave, and it’s… this. Bodies aching after the absolute marathon of fighting they had to do, emotions raw from everything that’s happened, and it’s so last minute they might not even be able to find a Christmas cake to share.

Still! It ain’t ideal, but nothing ever is, right? It’s been a tough day, and there’s an undeniable twinge of sadness deep in Ryuji’s chest when he thinks about how this is the only Christmas they’re gonna get together before Akira leaves the city. But that doesn’t mean it’s the only Christmas they’ll ever have together - next year, Akira can come visit for the holiday, right? Just ‘cause Akira’s leaving Tokyo in April don’t mean he’ll never be back.

And they still have this time together. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing. At least they got their confessions out of their system in time to actually celebrate Christmas as a couple.

They decide on a light display in Midtown, and then take the train there. 

“There’s a big Christmas Market at Dome town,” Ryuji says as they board the train. “Sucks it’s already so late, we prolly won’t have time to go tonight.”

Dome Town… it makes Ryuji think of Akechi - they were talkin’ about how the Dome looks like pancakes that day he overheard Mona. Funny how something that seemed so inconsequential at the time ended up bein’ such a big deal. If he hadn’t butted into their conversation and asked about pancakes, Akira might have actually died in that interrogation room.

It’s hard for Ryuji to feel as angry about that as he did before, though. Just a week or two ago, they… they saw him in Shido’s Palace. Ryuji didn’t agree with the dude, and he doesn’t forgive him for what he did - to the Phantom Thieves or to the countless people he caused mental shutdowns in. But after what they saw in the Palace, it’s difficult to say Akechi was an outright villain. He was in the wrong, and he did a lot of awful things. But the guy was a victim, too, in his own way.

In the end, it even seemed like he was startin’ to come around on working together. He and the Phantom Thieves both wanted to see Shido taken down, there’s no reason they couldn’t have worked toward that common goal… they didn’t have to be enemies. Even after everything Akechi did, Ryuji would have been willing to work with him to take down Shido. They all would have.

“Dome Town…” Akira says, and Ryuji knows he’s thinking about the same thing.

Ryuji frowns, too. “Maybe it’s for the best that we didn't go there, actually.”

Akira shrugs, reaching over to hold Ryuji’s hand as they walk. “I… should’ve tried harder to help him.”

“Huh? You mean Akechi? Dude, you did all you could. More than most people would’ve.”

“But it wasn’t enough.”

“Let’s… talk about somethin’ different.”

They don’t talk about anything, though. Silence falls upon them as they exit the train at their station. It’s a bit tense, given the previous subject matter, but to be honest, Ryuji feels sort of tense, anyway. A lot has happened today, and although he tries to enjoy this time with Akira, he’d be lying if he said all that ‘vanishing from reality, Mementos fusing with the real world, fighting a God’ stuff wasn’t nagging at the back of his mind. How is he supposed to just forget it all so easily?

They walk hand-in-hand through the light display, and for perhaps the first time ever, Ryuji doesn’t feel nervous butterflies at the thought that someone passing by might think them a couple. They are a couple now, there’s no secret feelings he’s trying to hide that would make him feel bashful about that perception. And although he knows there are surely some people who would take issue with their relationship, it’s not like he gives a damn about that shit. He’s not under and illusions about how he appears to other people, and in the end the people whose opinions really matter he knows would be supportive.

Although, that reminds him… he hasn’t told his mom. About his sexuality or this new turn in his relationship with Akira. He doesn’t have any reason to think she’ll react badly, but… he understands now why Akira felt scared to tell Ryuji he was into dudes back in the summer. Even though he knows it’ll go fine, he’s scared to sit down and actually talk to his mom about it all. He’s gonna have to, eventually. If he and Akira stay together, it’s gonna get really hard to hide that he’s got a boyfriend.

Akira’s his boyfriend. It’s still kind of wild to think about. The novelty hasn’t worn off yet.

“Hey,” Akira says as they walk. “Is this our first official date?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so. Feels kinda weird to call it that, though. We hang out like this all the time.”

“So we’ve been going on dates for months, is what you’re saying.” Akira laughs, and the corners of his eyes crinkle cutely.

Ryuji tries to commit the sight to memory; wishes he could see that kind of soft, warm joy on Akira’s face all the time. If he had it his way, Akira’s handsome features would never be marred by a frown ever again.

“I freakin’ love you, dude,” he says, because it crosses his mind as he watches snowflakes melt on Akira’s skin, ruddy in the cold.

Akira stops for a moment, and then a little, gentle smile blossoms across his face.

“I love you, too,” he says, and he swings their interlocked hands between them.

Despite the bitter, biting cold of late December, and the weight of the day’s events, it is nice to be here with Akira like this. It’s always nice to be with him, but after a day like today especially, Ryuji’s glad to not be alone. Akira’s presence is warm and grounding, it keeps Ryuji from thinking too hard about the deep, pit-of-his-stomach fear he’d felt today when they’d literally vanished from reality.

“So what kinda stuff do you usually do for Christmas?” Ryuji asks.

“Nothing, really. I’ve never dated anyone before, and it’s not like there’s a lot to do back home.”

“Oh,” Ryuji says, and he feels his face go a bit warm. “I’m… the first person you’ve dated?”

“Yeah. Does that surprise you?”

“A little bit. Uh. So. Was I your first kiss, too?
Akira nods, his curls falling across his face with the motion. “Sure were - you’re blushing, it’s sorta cute.”

That does not make Ryuji blush any less.

“I ain’t cute, man, c’mon.” A pause. “I thought for sure you’d have dated someone before, dude. You’re so…”

“So what?”

“I dunno. Easy to love?”

Akira’s smiling again, his features catching the soft glow of the holiday lights. He looks like some sort of angel, bathed in the gentle light, snowflakes caught in his hair like little stars amid a dark night sky.

“Speak for yourself,” he says, and he leans in to bump shoulders with Ryuji.

They make inconsequential small talk as they walk slowly through the light display. It’s beautiful - the colorful lights twinkle in the night and throw rainbow halos of light across the surrounding scenery.

“Were you scared today?” Akira asks out of nowhere.

“When?”

“Just… at all.”

“Sure. I mean, dude, we… we, like, stopped existing. Yeah, I was scared.”

“And with the Holy Grail and stuff?”

“Hm… Nah, not really.”

“You weren’t?”

“No. Were you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I was afraid for myself so much as I was afraid of what would happen if we failed.”

“I wasn’t even worried about that. You know why? Because we’re the freakin’ Phantom Thieves, man! No stupid cup was gonna stop us.” It's true. He's not the type to doubt his friends, especially Akira. And although the prospect of fighting a God was intimidating, he never has known when to quit. Even thinking about it now just fills him with the same burning determination he'd felt before - the same steely resolve to do what he thinks is right that he's been feeling ever since he awakened his Persona back in April. The disappearing shit was scary in an existential way, of course, but the Holy Grail? Nah.

Akira laughs, a small sound. “Your faith in us is reassuring.”

“I’ve never doubted you for a second, dude.” A pause. “I guess… we were the Phantom Thieves. That’s all over now, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Mona said we destroyed the Metaverse, so…”

“That’s kinda sad, ain’t it?”

“We’ll just have to solve problems like normal people now.”

“Aw, that’s way less cool,” Ryuji groans, and he only sort of means it.

“We’ll always be the Phantom Thieves, though.”

“Hell yeah! Persona or no Persona, we’re a team for life. Bonds forged in battle or whatever.” Ryuji looks over at Akira when he says it, and finds Akira is already looking at him.

There’s a small smile playing on his face, and his eyes are soft and warm, brows slanted gently. He’s looking at Ryuji as if the sun rises and sets in his smile; as if all seven wonders of the world are contained within his features; as if he’s the sun and the moon and all the twinkling stars between them.

Ryuji leans over to kiss him, because now he can do that whenever the whim strikes him - which would be all the time, if they didn’t have responsibilities and lives and things like that.

They finish their walk through the light display, and are even lucky enough to find a shop that still has Christmas cakes in stock despite it being so last minute. Akira pays for their cake, and they catch the train back to Yongen - although shielding the cake from getting smushed on the subway is a herculean task.

Midtown had been quite bustling with couples there to see the lights, but Yongen is as slow and sleepy as always. It’s nice; Ryuji really has grown to love these quiet backstreets. There are many places in Tokyo that will never be the same to him after this past year, but Yongen especially has been forever changed in his eyes.

They drop their coats carelessly across one of the tables once they’re inside. The cafe is warm and smells like coffee and curry - something else that will never be the same for Ryuji now, as those scents will forever make him think of Leblanc and Akira. The lights inside are low and soft; the windows are frosted over and outside them, snowflakes drift past in slow, lazy trails.

They sit at a table in the empty cafe to share their Christmas cake. Usually they’d sit across the table from each other, but tonight they sit side-by-side in the same booth. Beneath the table, Akira’s hand rests on Ryuji’s bad knee. He traces idle shapes overtop the fabric of Ryuji’s pants. It’s quiet; there are no other people passing by outside, and the din of the station doesn’t carry far enough to reach them. It’s as if they’re the only two people in the entirety of Tokyo right now - just Ryuji and Akira, sitting close enough that their thighs touch, sharing a Christmas cake in the low, orange-yellow light of the cafe. The light display had been nice, certainly, and it was great to walk hand-in-hand with Akira through the display. But this is better; this comfortable, private moment, relaxing together after the chaos of their day… it’s good. It feels like home here, with the warmth of Akira’s body so close to him, and the steady and grounding touch of Akira’s hand on his knee.

“I didn’t have time to buy you a present,” Akira says. “We got together so close to the holiday, and everything has been so chaotic… sorry.”

“That’s okay, dude. I didn’t have time to get you anything, either, so we’re even. Besides, we still get to hang out. That’s somethin’, right?”

“Oh, so close to being a good line,” Akira laughs. “What you should’ve said was ‘Your company is gift enough.’”

“Dude, that’s corny as hell. I’d never say something like that.”

“Says the guy that told me ‘being free is like how I feel when I’m talking to you.’ Face it, man. You’re not above being a little corny.”

It goes quiet for a moment, a comfortable and peaceful lull in the conversation.

“I can’t believe that Persona you summoned tonight,” Ryuji says. “I didn’t know you could do somethin’ like that.”

“I didn’t, either.”

“It was badass! You’re always so damn cool.”

Akira huffs a little laugh. “You’re good for my ego, you know that?”

“... That ain’t why you like me, is it?”

Akira quirks a brow at him. “I was joking. Of course it’s not why I like you.”

“Oh, y-yeah, of course! Obviously! I knew that.”

“I like you because you’re kind,” he says, and he leans over to press a quick kiss to Ryuji’s cheek. “And you’re brave.” Another little kiss. “And you were on my side when nobody else was.” Another kiss. “And -”

“Alright,” Ryuji laughs, putting his hand on Akira’s face and pushing him away. “I get it, man, you don’t gotta suck up to me like that!”

Akira relents, slumping against Ryuji in the booth.

“I’m exhausted,” he sighs, leaning his head on Ryuji’s shoulder. “It’s been a long day.”

“I can go and let you get some rest, dude.” It has been a long day - first the depths of Mementos, then the Holy Grail, and then the path to the tower and fighting a freakin’ God. Yeah, it’s been one hell of a day. Ryuji gets it if Akira just wants to sleep, because he also kind of just wants to collapse into his bed and sleep until New Year’s.

“You could stay over, if you wanted,” Akira says.

Ryuji’s whole face goes hot. “Um, what do you mean?”

Behind his glasses, Akira’s eyes go wide. His face flushes.

“Not, like, in a weird way,” he says, apparently just now realizing how it sounds to invite your boyfriend to stay the night after a date on, like, the holiday for couples to do romantic shit. “Not that it’d be weird. Um. I just. Didn’t mean it that way.”

It’s so unusual to see Akira flounder like this. It’s cute, in a funny way. And it makes Ryuji’s heart clench in his chest. Akira’s this flustered about him , of all people.

“No worries, man,” Ryuji says. It’s strange. A week ago, Akira inviting him to crash here wouldn’t have had any connotations like that. Things haven’t really changed much since they started dating. They still do all the same stuff, and hang out, and call each other ‘dude.’ They’re still best friends. But at the same time, there also is a ton that has changed. It’s… kind of awkward, finding his footing in this new relationship they have. He didn’t think he was capable of feeling awkward around Akira, as close as they are, but he was wrong.

They finish what they want of the cake, and put the remaining portion in the old refrigerator in the kitchen. And then they go upstairs to Akira’s room together. He knows there’s nothing untoward going on, no funny business is in the cards. But it still makes Ryuji’s stomach do a strange little flip to be standing in Akira’s room, alone with Akira, in this way.

Just another thing that used to be comfortable that is now laden with tension and subtext that wasn’t there before.

The two lay on Akira’s bed together, side by side like always.

“Are we sharing the bed?” Ryuji asks. “I can sleep on the couch, if you want.”

“I want you to sleep in the bed with me,” Akira says. “Unless you don’t want to, of course.”

“No, I want to. I just wasn’t sure if it’d be… weird, or anything.”

“It’s not weird. I don’t have any ulterior motives, I promise.”

“I mean, it’s… I wouldn’t mind… if you did. Um. Not… now, I guess. Just. Generally.”

Akira’s smiling softly at him, his dark hair falling across his face and pillow in unruly curls. There’s mirth in his eyes, like he’d be laughing at Ryuji if he weren’t too nice to do so.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that,” Ryuji says, with no edge in his voice at all.

“No, don’t mind me. Please, go on. What were you saying?”

“Ugh, c’mon,” Ryuji groans, turning away.

Akira does laugh then, curling in closer to Ryuji, pressing his face against Ryuji’s shoulder and draping an arm across Ryuji’s stomach.

“Sorry,” he says, and he totally sounds like he means it and not like he’s still stifling back a few giggles. He sighs, then. "You know, we've been through a lot. You and I, I mean. It's been you and I since the very beginning." He pauses for a beat. "I'm glad it was you, man."

The room falls into silence after that. Akira wraps himself around Ryuji like a clingy cat, and they lay together and watch the snow pass by the dirty attic window. For all the crazy shit that’s happened today, right now it seems that the whole world has come to a crawl; like this easy, comfortable, warm moment could stretch on endlessly.

Ryuji wouldn’t mind one bit if it did.

Chapter Text

Dawn breaks on a fair, mild morning. January first.

New Year’s day.

Ryuji’s not really the prayin’ type, but he thinks he should stop by the shrine this morning, anyway. He’s got this weird feeling that he just… should.

It’s pure coincidence that he bumps into Ann on the way there, and then Yusuke, and then Makoto, and Haru, and Futaba…

By the time they get to the shrine proper, the only one missing from their group is Akira - and he’s right ahead of them at the shrine already.

Huh, what luck.

He invites everyone to go out to lunch after their shrine visit, but everyone already has plans. Haru’s going somewhere with her dad, Futaba’s going shopping with her mom.

That… something seems… off, in a way he can’t articulate. It’s just a fleeting, passing feeling, barely worth a thought - there one minute and gone the next.

Whatever. He’ll see if the track team is down to grab lunch with him.

Not everyone on the team is available, but Nakaoka and Takeishi are. They meet up at Ogikubo for ramen.

Huh. It feels like it’s been a really long time since Ryuji ate ramen with them here like this. It definitely hasn’t been, they come here after practice all the time.

There’s that feeling again, that passing incongruency in the back of his mind.

They did come here all the time. They do .

He laughs at something Takeshi said that he didn’t hear, and pushes the egg around in his ramen.

Things are going so well. His sprint time is improving by leaps and bounds, it seems. He’s far and away the star of the team - he’s sure he’ll be up for a scholarship, and his coach has expressed the same thing.

Still, there’s this feeling deep down that something is off. It just started today, he felt fine yesterday.

Yesterday. Did he feel normal yesterday? What was he even doing yesterday? Or the day before, or the day before that? Christmas, Halloween?

It all feels so… hazy. Like he’s remembering it all through a thick haze; like looking through a fogged window and seeing only vague silhouettes and blobs of colors.

What did he do all summer? When did he and Ann become so close that he would be happy to run into her at the shrine this morning? How’d he come to know Yusuke?

“What’s wrong, Sakamoto?” Nakaoka asks, already halfway through his own ramen. “You suddenly don’t like ramen or something?”

“Oh,” Ryuji says, and he looks at his own bowl, still untouched. “No, I’m… not feelin’ so good today.” He takes a bite of his lunch. It’s delicious, as always, but something about it just aggravates that uneasy, off-kilter feeling he has. This… reminds him of Akira, not of hanging out with the team after track practice. Why would it remind him of Akira, though? This place is the track team’s spot.

Has he ever even brought Akira here before? For some reason, he can’t recall. They’re friends, sure, but they aren’t, like, that close.

And, urgh, that feels wrong, too. He and Akira are friends, of course, but...

It makes his stomach hurt and his chest ache in a bizarre way. His head throbs, a sharp pain shooting through his temple and pulsing behind his eye.

He doesn’t feel much like eating anymore.

“I… think I’m just gonna head home. Thanks for hangin’ with me, though.”

“Oh,” Takeshi says, rather blankly. “Sure, dude. Hope you feel better soon.”

This is all… nothing. It must be. What else could it be? He just… doesn’t remember last year because it was so normal. Nothing exciting to remember, so it all blended together. That’s all, right?

His head throbs again, his pulse rushing in his ears. Ugh, he really doesn’t feel right. What a way to start the new year, huh?

His mom is home when he arrives. That seems a little strange, too, in a way he can’t quite place. Add it to the list of other things that seem out of the ordinary even though they’re not.

He sits and watches television with his mom for a while, and then helps her cook dinner later in the evening. It’s easy to get sucked into a day of mindless couch-potato binge watching, at least. And he’s happy to spend time with his mom, too. It doesn’t make that nagging feeling go away, but it makes it easier to ignore.

That’s how his next few days go. He doesn’t see much of Akira, or Ann, or Futaba, or Haru, or Yusuke, or Mona. He kills time at the arcade, on a hot streak setting high scores like it’s nothing. His mom’s home for dinner every night, so he eats his fill of home-cooked food. And he sees the track team plenty, runnin’ together or going to the movies or just taking up space at the Big Bang Burger.

In fact, it seems his relationship with the team is better now than ever before. They did stuff outside of practice together sometimes, sure. Ryuji’d say they were friends. But not like this.

Everything is… good. Great, even. He pals around with the team, and there’s never a wait to get into Ogikubo despite the fact there’s usually a line, and his mom’s home all the time, and his favorite game goes on sale, and a hot girl hits on him and gives him her number. His sprint time keeps getting better, he doesn’t have a single temper flare, and his leg doesn’t hurt at all.

Huh? Why would his leg hurt, anyway?

Everything is awesome lately. He’d be insane to complain about it - in fact, he couldn’t find anything to complain about if he tried.

But that feeling doesn’t go away. Everything is great, but he feels… out of place. Like a ghost in an old house, walking paths that don’t exist anymore. He feels disconnected. It feels like… a dream, hazy and fuzzy, color running at the edges. When he laughs at something his teammate says, it feels like it’s someone else making the sound. When he helps his mom cook dinner, it feels like someone else moving his body. It’s like watching his life play out in front of his eyes like a movie, he’s here but he doesn’t feel like he’s connected.

He’s happy, but deep, deep down, he thinks maybe… he shouldn’t be?

He does give in and look online for anything like this. The internet says some people just feel this way sometimes, it’s, like, a mental health thing.

So it’s… it’s just. Derailation or whatever. It’ll go away. Eventually.

With that in mind, it’s a little easier to stop worrying at it so much - easier to stop spiraling about what the hell is happening to him to make him feel this way.

That doesn’t mean the feeling itself goes away, though.

It comes to a head a few days later. He’s hanging out with the track team outside Shujin - the gates are closed, but they met up to run around the block for practice. Plus, Ryuji’s got some good news to share.

“Woah, you got scouted by a college?” Nakaoka exclaims, leaning against the Shujin gate.

“Pipe down, dude! It’s not, like, a final decision or anything. I guess Shujin’s gotten word of somethin’ like that, is all.”

Honestly, the news is so good that it almost outshines that strange, out-of-place feeling he’s been having. A track scholarship is what he’s been working for, this has been the goal from day one. Honestly, it’s so exciting, when he first heard he had to pinch himself to see if he was dreaming (that would have explained the hazy, foggy feeling lately, too.) But the pinch didn’t do anything; he didn’t wake suddenly in his bed.

So, it’s real, then.

Takeshi claps him on the back cheerfully. “Still, that rules! No surprise, I guess. You made the podium at Nationals, after all.”

That uneasy feeling is back, for a split second, at that comment. He made the podium at nationals? Did he?

… He did. (He did?)

It doesn’t sound right, but it must be. It is. It’s true, Takeshi wouldn’t lie, of course it’s true.

It’s true?

… It… it’s true. He made the podium at nationals. Because he’s been working so hard and his time has been improving so much.

These thoughts - and the feeling - pass in a flash, there and gone so quick that he doesn’t have time to linger on them.

“I’m just doin’ my best so I don’t get laughed off the team,” he grins, back to feeling excited about the whole ‘scouted by a college thing.’ That stupid derail-station shit be damned, he’s worked hard for this and he’s not going to let some fuzzy, weird, mental health shit ruin his excitement about it.

He’s making plans to get a beef bowl with Nakaoka and Takeshi - who graciously offer to treat him to celebrate the good news - when Akira appears in front of them.

He hasn’t really seen Akira much since the new year.

“Oh,” Nakaoka says. “Did you come to congratulate Ryuji, too? Someone sure is popular!”

Akira’s making a strange face. He’s frowning, his eyes dark and stormy behind his glasses.

“Are you happy to be running again?” he asks, completely ignoring both Nakaoka and Takeshi’s presence.

“Well, yeah, of course,” Ryuji says. He loves running, what kind of a question -

Wait. Again? He never stopped running, did he? What’s with the ‘again?’

“Ryuji,” Akira says, and there’s an edge to his voice that makes Ryuji’s heart clench. “Do you like this reality?”

Whuh?

“Do I like it? Haha, duh,” Ryuji laughs, but the sound comes out wavering and uncomfortable. “I mean, I’ve worked so hard for it, right? I did a hell of a lot of growin’ last year, if it weren’t for that, I… I’d probably be… I’d probably…”

Last year. He did a lot of growing last year? That… feels true, feels more real than anything has in the last few days. That foggy, uneasy, out-of-place feeling roars to life inside him. The excitement of the college scouting had drowned it out, but it’s back now with a vengeance. Alarm bells are ringing in his head, screaming that something just ain’t right .

What happened last year, anyway?

“How do we know each other again?” he asks, because he can’t remember. Why can’t he remember? What did he do last year? He said he did a lot of growing, so why doesn’t he remember?

Emotion flashes across Akira’s form - his jaw tightens, his shoulders stiffen. But it’s fleeting; he schools himself back into perfect neutrality with surprising quickness.

Looking at Akira’s face for the first time since they saw each other at the shrine, something else stirs within Ryuji. A terrible, mournful ache blossoms in his chest. He - this is - he’s… lonely. Despite how much he’s been hanging out with the track team, how much time he's spent with his mom, he’s lonely. He misses something. Someone . Akira’s sharp eyes, clouded with emotion, his big fake glasses, the curls falling across his forehead just-so… it makes a lump form in Ryuji’s throat, makes his chest hurt like there’s an open, gaping hole in it. A hole where there used to be someone.

Looking at Akira right now, Ryuji feels like he’s looking at an old photo of a loved one who’s passed away; there’s this awful, suffocating feeling, lonely and grief-striken. Like he’s mourning someone he once loved.

“Keep thinking, man,” is all Akira says. “I’ll be waiting.”

And then he turns and goes in the direction of the station.

As Akira turns to leave, a memory strikes Ryuji; cuts through the jumble and confusion clouding his mind like a lightning strike. A sinking ship; water, deep and navy blue, swirling and swallowing the ships’ deck; a lifeboat, backdropped against a sky full of twinkling stars; adrenaline and burning muscles and the feeling of wind on his face; a calm moment afterwards, a warm and familiar body in front of him; the scent of coffee.

It’s just a flash of disconnected snapshots, like a montage from a movie. But it makes Ryuji’s vision swim. The edges of his view start to fade and distort, like shadows moving in his periphery. That throbbing pain in his temple from the other day is back again, dull but growing stronger.

“I… think I’m gonna head home,” he says to his track friends. “Thanks for offerin’ to buy me a beef bowl. Another time, maybe.”

By the time he gets home, his head hurts so bad that even just the lights of the apartment make him cringe. He lays in his bed in the dark and stares at his ceiling.

Last year. Those memories. Akira. He thinks, desperately trying to connect the dots. It just makes his head hurt more. It doesn’t make sense, what were those memories? How did he and Akira become friends? Why can’t he remember so much of last year?

He and Akira met at the station that day, and then they… they what?
He wracks his brain. Slowly, more details from that day come to him - small, unimportant things at first. It had been raining, hadn’t it? Ryuji had first seen Akira standing beneath an awning, away from the rain. And… Ann had gotten into a car. Ryuji was… he was… mad about that, right…? Yeah, he’d been pissed off about Ann gettin’ into Kamoshida’s -

OH SHIT. KAMOSHIDA.

His head throbs harder, in time with his pulse. Kamoshida. What happened with Kamoshida? Something happened with him, argh, it feels like it’s right there; like it’s just beneath the surface, like Ryuji’s so close to breaking through the haze that’s shrouding all his memories of last year.

Ryuji groans and covers his eyes with his hands. Kamoshida. He was going to expel them. They were late to school that day, but that’s not why the expulsion was on the line. Something… about the volley ball team. About Shiho Suzui. Shiho. Shiho.

She… jumped off the roof? Because Kamoshida had -

A knot twists up in Ryuji’s stomach.

Shiho Suzui tried to kill herself, because Kamoshida had forced himself upon her. How could Ryuji have forgotten that? Her suicide attempt was a huge deal at school.

And they - Ryuji, Akira, Ann, and Mona - had made Kamoshida confess. But Mona wasn’t the blue-eyed teenage boy Ryuji knows, he was a… a cat?

Ryuji sits bolt upright in his bed.

The Palace. The Metaverse. Akira awakened Arsene that day they met! They changed Kamoshida’s heart, they formed the Phantom Thieves, how did he forget?

It comes rushing back all at once, it’s like he shattered whatever fog has been hanging over his brain lately. The Phantom Thieves, Shido, Akechi, the Holy Grail.

He’s not on the track team anymore. Kamoshida broke his leg and he punched the guy, and the team was broken up. And Futaba’s mom, who she said she was going shopping with the other day, she’s dead, killed by Shido’s cronies. And Haru’s dad, too!

And… Akira, he… fuck, dude, he’s been acting like they were friends, but not super close. He forgot just how close they were; Ryuji’s place is next to Akira. For god’s sake, they’re supposed to be dating! How did he forget?

Why did he forget? Why are dead people seemingly alive and well all of a sudden? What the hell is going on?

Chapter Text

The halls of the… Palace? Are clinical and stark white. Is this a Palace? Is this the Metaverse as Ryuji knew it? It feels similar, but not exactly the same. They destroyed the Metaverse, right, back in December? So this can’t be the Metaverse.

But he has his Phantom Thief outfit on, and Captain Kidd is crackling with electricity behind him as he mows down a Shadow. So it… is the Metaverse?

Whatever. Not important.

Behind, echoing down the long winding halls, he hears his friends’ footsteps.

“Skull!” Queen is shouting. “Slow down, don’t run off on your own!”
But it’s white noise to Ryuji.

The lot of them had just happened to run into each other at Leblanc that morning. Imagine Ryuji’s surprise when he came in to talk to Joker, and found everyone else was already there for the same reason. It was lucky that Oracle knew Joker had gone to Odaiba, and once they all arrived there, the Palace looming over the city was… hard to miss. From there it wasn’t hard to guess that’s where Akira was.

And if he’s in a Palace, he’s probably in danger. Palaces ain’t exactly the safest place in the world.

Besides, Ryuji’s got a million things he has to say. A million apologies he needs to make.

Ryuji can hear shouting a little further ahead; a familiar voice drifting down the hall.

Joker.

He picks up the pace. As he gets closer, heart pounding, the sounds of a fight become clearer. Joker’s voice calling forth a Persona, something crashing against the tiled floor, yelps of pain.

Shit, that doesn’t sound good. His pulse rings in his ears as he rounds a corner and bursts through a huge door.

In front of him, Joker and Crow are standing together. In front of them, a Shadow hovers, blood-red energy whipping around it. Ryuji’s never seen a Shadow look quite like that, energy swirling like that is usually a Persona thing, but it’s never been red. And… what the hell is Crow doing here?

There’s someone else, behind the Shadow, but Ryuji can’t see who it is - and doesn’t care to know right this second. Much more pressingly, he sees the Shadow winding up for an attack.

Time feels like it slows to a crawl. His eyes dart between Joker and Crow - kneeling, battered and weakened - and the Shadow, glowing ominously on the other side of the room.

Dammit, there’s no way they can take a hit like the one coming their way.

He doesn’t even think about it. One second he’s standing in the doorway, mind racing as he assesses the scene, and the next moment he’s leaping out to shield Joker and Crow from the incoming attack.

He braces for impact, setting his feet firmly on the floor and crossing his arms in front of his face to block the worst of it. With a terrible shriek, the Shadow unleashes a flurry of slices. It doesn’t feel good, but Ryuji takes it well enough - the sleeves of his costume are shredded, his arms bloody. But he’s still standing.

This close, he can see the other person is… doctor Maruki? The freakin’ school counselor? And Joker’s friend Yoshizawa is being held aloft by a group of slimy black tendrils.

None of this information does shit to clear things up. Seriously, what the eff is going on? Crow is alive, and Maruki is in a palace, and Yoshizawa’s here, and there’s a Palace in the real world, and their Personas are back even though they destroyed the Metaverse, and everyone - including Ryuji - was in some kind of trance until just yesterday.

Nothin’ makes any god damn sense.

Not that it’s a good time to ask questions, because the Shadow is still rampaging.

Ryuji falls in line next to Joker, just like he has a hundred times before; right back where he belongs.

***

Ryuji jogs down the hall to meet Akira outside his classroom.

“Dude,” he says, grabbing Akira by the sleeve. “Can you come over to my place after class? I need to talk to you.”

“Oh,” Akira says, blinking at him. “Sure.”

They walk to the station together after school, and take the train to Ryuji’s stop. The short trip to Ryuji’s apartment complex is made in tense silence.

“Look, man,” Ryuji says, stepping into his bedroom, followed closely by Akira. “I wanna talk about what happened. With Maruki and shit.”

“Sure,” Akira says, closing the door behind them.

“I’m…. I know I really messed up, dude, I’m sorry!”

“It’s… fine,” Akira says, voice carefully restrained so as not to give anything away.

“No, it ain’t fine. I can’t believe I got caught up in bein’ on the team and shit like that.”

“I mean, is that… what you want?” Akira asks, sitting on Ryuji’s bed, perched uncomfortably on the edge of the mattress. “A world where you’re on the track team, like last year didn’t happen?”

‘Like we didn’t happen’ is implied, but goes unsaid.

Ryuji sits down next to Akira on the bed. “No!” he says, louder than necessary. He reaches over to hold Akira’s hand, looking right into Akira’s eyes as he speaks - Akira’s gaze flits away for a moment before coming back to meet Ryuji’s.

“But Maruki… he says he's giving people the lives they want.”

“Well, I mean, do you believe him?” Ryuji stammers. “It’s not - I don’t want that, man, I…” He drags his free hand down his face, sighing. “When I talked to him at school, I told him about the track stuff, so maybe he just assumed that’s what I wanted? I - I don’t know, dude.”

“You were happy in that reality, though.”

Ryuji tightens his hold on Akira’s hand. “I’m happy in this reality! I don’t wanna go back to the track team, I don’t wanna forget about the Phantom Thieves, I don’t…” he trails off.

He did enjoy being on the team again. And he can’t pretend he doesn’t miss running, that the track scholarship wouldn’t be nice. But that… it doesn’t mean he wants to be on the team again. It’s confusing and complicated, and he’s felt tangled up about it all for months. This confusion isn’t new.

He was happy in the world Maruki made for him, but it… it wasn’t real . It was a life, but it wasn’t his . He was happy, things were good, but he knew deep down there was something wrong; something missing.

Akira’s just looking at him, brows slanted in little sad shapes. The corners of his mouth are turned down in the smallest ghost of a frown. He opens his mouth to speak, but Ryuji cuts him off.

“Just… listen, man, please? I know I really let you down, I’m s’posed to be there for you, have your back and shit. And instead I just… went along with the life Maruki gave me. It was lame as hell, I know. Sure, I guess there’s part of me that still wishes I could run, and score a track scholarship to make things easier for my mom, and Doc’s reality could’ve made that happen, but… I don’t wanna go back to Shujin’s team. And besides, it ain’t even a hard decision. All the bad shit that happened with the team and Kamoshida,all the shit with Shido and the cops and the Holy Grail. It’s all part of my life, man, I’m here ‘cause I made it through all the hard shit. I can’t just throw all that away.”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” Akira says, but he’s still got that sad look in his eyes.

“I fought for this reality. We fought for it.  This world, where we went through all that hard shit together, is where I belong. My place is next to you, dude, I meant that before and I mean it now. I’m… really sorry.”

“It’s okay, Ryuji.”

“Man, stop forgivin’ me so easy! I mean, you… were probably hurt, right? You’ve supported me through so much, and on top of that, I’m supposed to be your boyfriend. And I just threw it away like it meant nothin’.”

“It’s really okay,” Akira says, and he gives Ryuji’s hand a quick squeeze. “You woke up and you’re here now, and that’s what really counts.”

Ryuji releases his hold on Akira’s hand so he can instead grab Akira’s face in both hands. There are a few scrapes and bruises on his face, and it makes Ryuji feel sick. He’s been in that Palace, workin’ like hell to save the reality they and all their friends fought for. And Ryuji’s just been takin’ it easy, givin’ in to Maruki’s brainwashing like none of last year mattered at all.

“I don’t wanna live in a world where we didn’t go through all our shit together,” he says, stomach twisted up into queasy knots. “Runnin’ and track scholarship be damned.”

Akira’s quiet for a moment. Then he leans in and kisses Ryuji’s cheek.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he says, and the warmth in his voice and in his touch feels completely, utterly undeserved.

Still, despite himself, a little smile breaks across Ryuji’s cloudy, serious expression.

Ryuji throws his arms around Akira in a fierce hug, pressing his face into the curve of his shoulder and breathing in the familiar clean laundry and coffee scent that always clings to him.

“I’ll make it up to you, man.”

Akira laughs a bit, his hands coming to rest on Ryuji’s waist, fingers sneaking just below the hem of his shirt to touch the barest hint of skin.

“It’s fine!” Akira says. “I forgive you, man!” A pause, before he says more quietly: “I missed you, by the way.”

“I missed you, too, dude. From now on, I’m gonna fight with all I’ve got. So all you have to do is depend on me, okay?”

“I already do.”

It’s quiet for a while, before Ryuji finally speaks up.

“Um, did you have plans after this, or…?”

“No, I don’t have anywhere to be. Why?”

“No reason, I just,” Ryuji laughs, the sound somewhere between embarrassed and nervous. “I just. Uh. Didn’t want you to go yet.”

“I can stay for a bit, if you want.”

Ryuji still feels all twisted up and weird about what happened. He was so lame, a bad friend and a bad boyfriend, to just throw everything away like he did. And he really has missed Akira, in a weird way. He’s been lonely, despite how buddy-buddy he’s been with the track team in Maruki’s reality. The artificial bond with them has nothin’ on how he feels about Akira, after all - friendship foisted on him by Maruki could never stand up to the genuine bond he’s formed with Akira through trials, through hard times and good times and all the days in between.

He just… wants Akira to be here. Even if just for a little while.

They sit on the floor and play Train of Life for a while, making easy small talk. Eventually they both end up flopped backwards, laying together and staring at the ceiling. Outside, little snowflakes drift past the window. The world carries on, alien and strange and warped completely by Maruki’s influence. But in Ryuji’s room it’s warm and familiar, a small pocket of something real among the illusions.

“You were cool when you swooped in and saved us from that attack the other day,” Akira says.

“Yeah? You’re not mad about me puttin’ myself in danger?”

“I mean, I wish you hadn’t. But if you hadn’t been there we would’ve been screwed. And,” he turns to smile at Ryuji, “I was too happy to see you to really be mad.”

Ryuji grins at him, reaching over to ruffle his hair roughly. Beneath his hand, Akira laughs. Ryuji's heart swells, until he could burst with all the affection that wells up within him.

God, he was stupid to go along with Maruki’s shit. All the things in his life - even the bad shit - have made him who he is. Turnin’ his back on that means turnin’ his back on everything he knows, everything that makes him him , all his loved ones and how hard he’s fought to be here today.

And, beyond that, he was stupid for believing the track team, a scholarship, and bein’ the picture perfect track star like he used to dream of could ever make him happier than this - just being here, in the comfortable quiet, laughing together with Akira beneath the sunbeams that fall in through the window. Being with Akira is where he should be; it’s where he wants to be. Nothing else has ever been so real; has ever reached right down to the heart of him this way.

He’d throw away his track career and the scholarship and every other thing Maruki tried to ‘improve’ in his life if it meant he could have even one more easy, lazy afternoon like this with Akira. He’d do all the hard shit; the Kamoshida stuff, the times the Phantom Thieves had their backs to the wall, the struggling and fighting and hurting; if it meant he could hold Akira’s hand just one day more.

Chapter Text

Maruki’s Palace is on a scale completely incomparable to the others they’ve seen - even Shido’s arc has nothing on this. His power to alter everyone’s reality is unmatched, too. They really didn’t know what they were getting into when they decided they had to stop him.

But that doesn’t matter; it doesn’t change the facts. He’s imposing onto people his own ideas about what would make people happy; regardless of if they want it or not. The Phantom Thieves can’t just turn a blind eye to that - for the sake of the public, but also for themselves. They don’t want to live in a reality governed by Maruki. It would eliminate all the troubles in their pasts, would ease any of their painful traumas.

But Ryuji’s made up his mind already - as soon as he snapped out of Maruki’s spell, he knew he couldn’t go along with this. The things in his life Maruki wants to erase, they’re part of what made him who he is. They’re part of his life, good or bad; he fought like hell to make it through the hardships he’s faced, and he’s a different person now than he was before because of it.

He can’t just turn his back on all that.

Of course, there are people who surely would like to live in Maruki’s reality. Maruki’s claim of creating a world without pain does seem to be true - everywhere Ryuji goes, he sees people in high spirits, overhears people talking about how wonderful things have been. People really are happy.

It gives the thieves pause for a moment. Is it really their place to take all that away from people? If people really are happy, is it right if they choose to rip that away?

The answer’s obvious to Ryuji. Maybe he’s just hard-headed, or too dumb to see the nuances everyone else sees. But they fought the Holy Grail and destroyed Mementos because they didn’t think people should be controlled by a God, living under someone else’s thumb. That’s no way for anyone to live - it’s not freedom, it’s not happiness, it’s an effin’ prison sentence.

His opinion on it ain’t any different now than it was then. Just ‘cause Maruki’s reality makes people happy doesn’t mean it’s right. People shouldn’t live at the whims of someone else like that; shouldn’t avert their eyes from the painful truths.

Ryuji’s done his fair share of runnin’ from the hard things in his past. He let himself become some sharp-toothed, aggressive version of himself; became angry and bitter. He thought he was keeping himself safe that way, pushing back against a cold and uncaring world.

And he’d been effin’ stupid for thinkin’ that.

Because doing that didn’t solve a single goddamn thing. 

Hardening himself and pretending it didn’t hurt only allowed the shit to fester. It wasn’t until he faced it - until he owned all the bad shit in his life, accepted it for what it was and started trying to make peace with it - that things started to look up.

It’s been hard, sure. Tryin’ to cope with all the stuff about his dad, and the track team, and Kamoshida, and his reputation. It’s been painful and confusing and really effin’ difficult.

But it’s better than bein’ the angry, bitter guy he was last spring.

If he’d kept runin’ from shit, if he’d kept pushing it away and wallowing in the anger, he never would’ve grown past any of it at all.

Maruki wants to make sure nobody ever has to hurt ever again. It sounds admirable, at first.

He thinks about this as they prowl the wide, clinical halls of Maruki’s Palace. They don’t have any clue what sorts of powers Maruki might have; he’s already demonstrated abilities far exceeding anything else they’ve seen. There’s no way they’re going to be able to talk him into seeing their point of view, either, so Ryuji’s got a sinking feeling that they’re going to end up in a physical confrontation.

It’s sort of a shame, in a way. Ryuji doesn’t agree with Maruki, but he can see that the guy really doesn’t have ill will. He’s doing what he thinks is right, just like the Phantom Thieves are. Nobody here - Phantom Thief or otherwise - wants to see people suffering. It ain’t like Ryuji relishes the idea of shattering Maruki’s reality and forcing people back into their painful real lives. He doesn’t want people to hurt.

But hurting is part of life, isn’t it? The bad stuff is just as much part of life as the good stuff.

Obviously, it would be ideal if they and Maruki could reach a peaceful solution, but neither party is willing to budge, so that probably isn’t happening. Maruki ain’t like the Palace rulers they’ve seen before, he’s really not a bad dude. Ryuji doesn’t want to fight him (and he doesn’t want to learn what sorts of things Maruki might be capable of if it does come to blows.)

But he’ll do it. His convictions are too strong to allow him to even think of backing down.

Not that he has a lot of time to linger on the thought of Maruki’s abilities when he’s currently staring down a massive, draconic Shadow. Its metallic skin glints dangerously under the harsh fluorescent lights, its tail swishes back and forth across the floor slowly, making a dull scraping sound as it does.

Shit. What the hell is that thing?

“This one’s really strong,” Oracle says, an edge of panic in her voice. “Be careful.”

Oh, cool. That really makes Ryuji feel so much better.

Panther’s able to put it to sleep with her magic before it can make a move, which buys them a couple of extra moments to assess the situation.

As always with unfamiliar Shadows, the first couple of attacks are more for intel than anything else - an attempt to scout out a potential weakness. Joker’s electric spell is blocked outright, and Violet’s bless magic is… middling. Magic ain’t really Ryuji’s strong suit, and Joker’s tried electricity already, so he doesn’t waste his time with his own magic. He just winds up for a swing with his bludgeon.

“Skull, wait!” Oracle shouts, but it’s too late. He’s already swinging, too much momentum behind the action to stop on a dime.

The sound his weapon makes as it strikes the Shadow’s hulking, metallic body is extremely loud; a metal clanging sound like someone smashing pots and pans together. It leaves Ryuji’s ears ringing, but he doesn’t have time to linger on that. The force of his attack is redirected, as his weapon bounces harmlessly off the Shadow’s armored skin and comes careening back toward Ryuji.

His own freakin’ attack hits him squarely in the forehead. His mask takes some of the impact, but the force still causes his mask to press painfully into his face.
“I think it repels physical attacks,” Oracle finishes her thought, even though it’s a little late.

Luckily, at least, the thing is still snoozing, so while hitting himself in the face with his own damn attack was surely not Ryuji’s finest moment, it’s not as awful as it could be.

“I don’t think this one has a weakness at all,” Oracle says after a moment. “At least, I’m not seeing one.”

“Of course not,” Ryuji grouses, and he only sort of means it. “Because shit can never be easy, can it?”

“Skull,” Joker says, interrupting Ryuji’s general complaining. “Switch with Crow.”

Huh? Ryuji’s never been asked to swap with someone before. He’s always been on the front line, fighting at Joker’s side.

Joker looks over at him. “It’s immune to electricity and physical damage. This one just isn’t for you.”

He’s right, of course, because he’s Joker and he’s smart and tactical and always right. Ryuji doesn’t like it, but he won’t make Joker tell him twice - he’s not in the habit of refusing when Joker gives him an order, anyway, but especially not against a strong Shadow like this. Joker’s judgement is far better than Ryuji’s about this stuff, there’s a reason Joker’s the leader and Ryuji’s not.

So he falls back, letting Crow step up to take his place in the fight. He won’t pretend his pride doesn’t hurt a bit as he does so, though.

“Are you alright?” Queen asks as he falls in line next to the rest of his teammates who aren’t currently in the fight. “That hit to your head looked pretty nasty.”

“I’m fine,” he says, but Queen casts a healing spell over him, anyways.

Ryuji stands by in case he’s needed in the battle, and watches everyone else fight. On the bright side, at least he gets to unabashedly admire how cool Joker is, right…?

The sting of being asked to switch out doesn’t last long. He knows Joker’s just making the best call for everyone’s safety. It’s sort of weird, because he expects to feel like absolute slime about it, but he doesn’t. If he’d had a showing like this last spring - hitting himself with his own weapon and then being asked to swap out because he has literally zero way of damaging the Shadow - he’d have felt like a waste of space on the team. He expects those feelings to come now - expects that any moment the nagging little voice in the back of his head will pipe up and tell him how he’s bringing nothing to the team because he’s not actually good at anything except hitting shit and apparently not even that anymore.

But the thoughts never come. He just stands by and watches his teammates as they dispatch the Shadow - Panther keeps it asleep so it can’t fight back, while Joker, Violet and Crow all lay into it with their magic. And when the fight’s over, Joker has Ryuji and Crow switch again. Ryuji comes back to his rightful spot at Joker’s side, and feels secure in the knowledge that being there as Joker’s right-hand man is his spot on the team.

***

Ryuji collapses into his bed as soon as he gets home that night, body aching. Man, those Shadows are just gettin’ tougher by the damn day. Maruki’s Palace is really on a whole other level. It’s a good thing they’ve got so many teammates - and so many smart, tactically-minded people to help make plans. If they were in for this much shit back when it was just Ryuji, Akira, Ann and Mona, they never would’ve stood a chance.

Ugh. His bad leg is aching, protesting the amount of running and jumping and climbing he did today. Stupid effin’ leg injury, maybe he should see about physical rehabilitation. It might not get him back into running as a serious competitor, but it might help this damn pain.

Running track… that’s the last thing he wants to think about, especially after what happened with Maruki’s version of reality. He fell for that shit so easily, and got to see what it would’ve been like if his track stardom hadn’t been cut short.

It leaves an acrid, bitter taste in his mouth.

There’s something about the whole situation that’s been eating at him; something beyond just how uncool and shitty it was of him to fall for it. Maruki’s ‘ideal’ world for Ryuji was one where he was still the star of the track team, and well on his way to getting a track scholarship. Where Kamoshida didn’t ruin all of that. And it’s true that Ryuji was happy in that reality.

He doesn’t know how to reconcile that happiness with the fact that he really doesn’t want to go back to that. He wasn’t lying when he told Akira that he wants to live in this reality, the one he and his friends have fought so hard for. Being happy in Maruki’s reality makes him feel like a traitor or something.

Still, being on the track team again was a painful reminder of just how badly he misses the sport. He truly doesn’t want to go back to the Shujin team - they invited him months ago and he turned them down. He doesn’t belong there anymore, that part of his life is over.

Even if he wanted to join the team, he probably couldn’t, anyways, because of his leg. He could try physical therapy, but he’s been runnin’ on it since last April without doin’ rehab, so he’s probably made it worse. Even if he could get to the point he could compete again, he probably couldn’t ever get the same times he was getting before the injury.

His track career is well and truly dead. It’s bittersweet, but he’s known it for a while. It doesn’t do a damn thing to make him miss bein’ involved with the sport, though.

He rubs the ache out of his sore leg, scowling as he does so. It’s over, man. You can’t go back, you don’t want to go back, why are you still so damn hung up on it?

Maybe he should start runnin’ with Akira again. They were trainin’ together when they first met, but they kind of fell off, more interested in hanging out than in training. But running with him made Ryuji miss track a little less, so maybe he should talk Akira into picking the habit back up.

He supposes he was kind of coachin’ Akira before, huh? He wouldn’t have ever called it that back then, but he was. And just recently, he was teachin’ Keiji to run. Doing that stuff was fun, in its own way. It obviously wasn’t the same as runnin’ in meets or anything, but… it was still nice.

The thought’s sort of funny. Ryuji, as a coach. A delinquent punk like him, bein’ someone to look up to; someone trusted to guide and teach. As if!

But… he was… sort of good at it, too, wasn’t he? Both Akira and Keiji got way faster after Ryuji started helpin’ them. 

… Huh. He stares at his bad knee, skin red from his work massaging the sore muscles, and mulls this over. There are ways to be involved with the sport without being a competitor, right?

Maybe the idea of him as a coach ain’t as funny as he thought. Maybe his track career isn’t over quite yet.

Chapter Text

“Have you been to the aquarium before?”

“Of course I’ve been to an aquarium. I know I live in a rural area but it’s not like aquariums don’t exist outside of Tokyo,” Akira says with a little laugh.

“I meant this aquarium! Have you gone to this aquarium yet?”

“No, I haven’t. Sumire invited me, but I didn’t end up going.”

“Oh,” Ryuji says, but it’s lost in the din of the crowd as they step off the train at the station.

Akira waits until they’re out of the station, away from the crowd and the announcements over the loudspeaker, before he picks the conversation back up.

“Speaking of Sumire,” he says. “I… might’ve told her we’re dating.”

“Really? I don’t care, but… why? We haven’t even told Mona yet, and he lives with you.”

“She came over to Leblanc the other day and said she had feelings for me. So I had to tell her I was already spoken for. She asked who it was, and I wasn’t going to lie to her about it.”

“She what?”

“It’s not a big deal. Honestly, it sort of sucked. I felt really bad shooting her down. Are you jealous or something?”

“Nah, I ain’t jealous. Just surprised.”

Akira scowls, but the expression is so exaggerated that it’s obvious he doesn’t mean it.

“What, it’s a surprise that girls like me? Is that it?”

“I didn’t say that!” Ryuji laughs. “I know you’re popular with chicks. Felt like shit when I had a stupid crush on you, knowin’ you could’ve had your choice of girls.”

“Aw, well, it worked out. Because my pick of girls was you.”

“I ain’t a girl!”

Akira pays for both of their entry to the aquarium - he insists he should, since he invited Ryuji here today. They make their way through the rooms of the aquarium, peering into tanks of varying sizes and reading the little informational plaques posted near each one. Between the two of them, they make a game of reading the fish listed on each plaque and then trying to find each fish in the tank, like an aquatic I-spy.

As he’s scouring a tank for a yellow butterfly fish, there’s a moment where Ryuji catches a glimpse of his own reflection in the aquarium glass.

He’d always thought he looked like his good-for-nothin’ dad; always saw his dad’s face looking back at him inside the mirror.

Today, he sees his brown eyes, warm and soft. The spikes of his hair, the dark roots growing in again already. The shape of his little shaved eyebrows.

It’s not his dad looking at him from the glass. It’s just… Ryuji.

He stands a little straighter, holds his head a little higher. 

He doesn’t look like his dad at all. Why did he ever think otherwise?

Beside him, Akira must notice the little change in his demeanor.

“You’re in a good mood,” he says. “If I’d known you liked fish this much, I would’ve invited you here way sooner.”

“Of course I’m in a good mood, dude, I’m hangin’ out with you.”

Akira smiles, but rolls his eyes. “We’re already dating, you don’t have to lay it on so thick.”

“What? You think I’m flirting with you?”

“Aren’t you?” Akira laughs.

“No, I’m just… tellin’ the truth. I dunno.”

“You’re joking. All this time, I thought you were flirting when you said cute stuff like that.”

“Huh? You say ‘all this time,’ as if it’s somethin’ I do a lot.”

“It is!” Akira says. “You were seriously not flirting with me when you said your place is next to me? You were not hitting on me when you said talking to me makes you feel free? Dude, I thought you’d been flirting with me since, like, June!”

“No, I wasn’t flirting! I was bein’ honest!”

A bright grin breaks across Akira’s face, shining in the low blue-hued lights of the aquarium.

“Dude,” he says. “That’s honestly really cute.”

“They were earnest confessions of friendship. Testaments to our bro-ness. They were not cute.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, man,” Akira says, still grinning.

Ryuji stares at him and tries to sear the moment into his memory. The way Akira’s smile makes the corners of his eyes crinkle, how  his sharp grey eyes have their edges all softened by warmth, the way the aquarium water casts wobbling spots of blue across his face, the wispy, wavey spots of light refracted onto his hair, the soft blue halo cast on his form as he’s backdropped by the water and the tropical fish. The affection that wells up inside Ryuji is familiar - he’s stood in the face of these feelings, small and powerless beneath them - many times.

But unlike before, he doesn’t have to fight them back; doesn’t have to drown in them.

Instead, he shoves Akira’s shoulder playfully and then swings their entwined hands between them.

“I love you, dude,” he says, because he spent too long pining to deny himself the simple pleasure of saying it aloud.

They walk hand-in-hand through the aquarium, making conversation about the fish. Akira gets engrossed in a bit where he assigns human names to the fish. Ryuji’s opinion of this bit are that it’s not funny, just weird. Why would the mantis shrimp be named Angela? What makes that funny? After a few more of the exhibits - and a handful more aggressively human names - it’s not weird anymore, just wearing out its welcome.

Still, enduring the stupid joke is completely worth it for the way Akira’s face lights up when Ryuji points to a little angelfish and says, matter-of-factly, “That one looks like a Robert to me.”

The aquarium isn’t very busy at this time on a weekday, so they take their time in each room, feeling no hurry to move along. The fish are pretty - way prettier than the stuff Ryuji sees at the fishing pond

“We never caught that big fish at the fishing pond,” Ryuji says, only because the thought crossed his mind. “It’s too damn cold to go fishin’ now, though…”

“I’ll come to visit next summer and we can go fishing again. We’ll catch it for sure.” Akira says, running his thumb idly across the back of Ryuji’s hand. He’s looking straight ahead, at the colorful fish swimming in small schools.

Urgh. Come visit. That reminds Ryuji just how close it is to the day Akira has to go home.

Ryuji frowns. “Can’t believe it’s already February.”

“Yeah. My probation will be up soon.” Akira turns to glance at Ryuji briefly. “What’re we…” he starts, but he lets the sentence trail off, incomplete.

“Huh?”

“What are we gonna do? About… us.”

Ryuji blinks at him. “What do you mean, dude?”

“We’re going to be in different cities.”

“Well, duh.”

“So what does that mean for us as a couple?”

“Wait! Dude, are you breakin’ up with me?”

The question startles a laugh out of Akira.

“No!” he says, smiling despite himself. “I’m just asking, you don’t want to break up when I leave, do you?”

“Hell no!”

“So we’ll do the long-distance thing, then.”

“Of course. C’mon, man, I thought that was a given.”

“I’m just making sure.”

A pause.

“Uh, you… don’t mind bein’ long-distance, right?” Ryuji asks, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Of course I don’t mind. Phones exist, we can still talk all the time.”

“And we can visit each other when school is on break.”

“Sure. I owe you a grand tour of my hometown, don’t I?”

Ryuji laughs. Man, it must’ve been way back in September when they’d talked about Ryuji visiting Akira’s hometown and gettin’ the tour. It feels like that was a lifetime ago, though.

They stop in the gift shop on their way out of the aquarium. There’s plushies and magnets and snowglobes and all sorts of other assorted fish-themed goods. In the end, they decide to get matching keychains - Ryuji wants something cool, like a shark, but the only offerings are lame (i.e less deadly) fish. Akira chooses an angelfish. Since there’s no shark keychains, and Akira wanted them to match, Ryuji gets an angelfish, too; they make a perfect pair of on their respective keyrings.

Walking home from the station that evening, Ryuji fidgets with the keychain he bought in the aquarium gift shop, thinking about today. About April.

Akira’s probation is ending. The day will be here before they know it.

But so what? Akira was right, they have phones. And with school breaks and weekends, it’s not like they’ll never see each other again. It’s not ideal, but Ryuji loves Akira far too much to let a little bit of distance get in his way. Love converts all, or whatever the saying is.

Nah, a little bit of distance ain’t the end of the world. They’ve overcome worse odds.

***

Ryuji had silently been dreading this. The day they have to confront Maruki. The day they have to make him see things their way. Because after today, his reality will become permanent - if they’re going to stop him, if they’re going to get their real lives back, they have to do it now.

There’s been this sinking feeling in Ryuji’s gut (a feeling he thinks everyone else shares) because Maruki’s powers are so far out of their league. The guy has the power to literally overwrite reality and make it whatever he chooses. He’s got the ability to alter Mementos and everyone’s cognition. They’ve never faced someone on that level, and if he’s capable of crazy shit like that, then who knows what else he’s got up his sleeve?
Still, they have to do this. Like hell Ryuji’s just gonna roll over and let someone else decide what his life should look like; like hell he’s gonna turn his back on all the bad shit he’s been through, or the world he and his friends have fought so hard to carve a place for themselves in.

There’s a lengthy discussion before they go into the Palace about what to expect. They suspect Maruki’s a Persona user, though they have no clue what sorts of things his Persona may actually be capable of. In the end, Joker decides on himself, Ryuji, Queen, and Panther for the starting lineup. Ryuji’s glad to be in it - nobody wants to fight Maruki, of course, but if he has his choice between fighting or sitting back and playing support while everyone else fights, Ryuji’d prefer the former - he just ain’t a support, take-a-backseat kinda guy, especially not when there’s so much at stake.

His conviction doesn’t do a lot to quell the fear that sits in his chest, heavy and cold. They can’t afford to screw this up, and they’ve never fought anyone as strong as this before.

Inside his gloves, Ryuji’s palms sweat.

Standing at the top of Maruki’s Palace, the nerves increase tenfold; Ryuji’s stomach is tied up in queasy knots. They talk for a moment with Maruki, but it’s clear they’re not going to see eye-to-eye - one party has to bend to the other’s will through force, because neither one is going to give in willingly. It would be nice if they could’ve just talked it out, but everyone knew that wasn’t an option even before they got here today.

Still, Ryuji does have to give the guy a little credit. They might not agree, but Maruki’s clearly just as dedicated to his cause as the Phantom Thieves are to theirs (and truly believes he’s in the right, too.) It’s admirable, even if it makes them enemies right now.

Shit, is this going to be a ‘fight to the death’ sorta thing? Is Maruki so dedicated he’d kill them? The Phantom Thieves have been assuming they’ll be able to beat Maruki soundly enough he’ll relent, but what if he keeps fighting even after they’ve beaten him? What if he never gives in, no matter how badly he loses?

Ryuji won’t kill him. Even if he wants to stay stubborn, they’ll… they’ll figure something out. If he’s lost the fight and is weakened, then everyone else can hold him back while Joker steals his treasure, or somethin’.

The Phantom Thieves don’t kill and they ain’t about to start.

Long, dark tendrils emerge from around Maruki. Their source isn’t evident at first, but it’s his Persona. It’s gotta be, right? It looks just like the crap they saw connecting his Palace to Mementos.

The nauseous feeling in Ryuji’s stomach kicks into high gear. His heart hammers, racing in his chest. His hands tremble as he watches Maruki’s Persona manifest behind him.

Joker fires off a magical attack, and one of the many tendrils intervenes, wrapping itself protectively around Maruki and absorbing the blow on his behalf. It doesn’t seem to even feel it, either; it doesn’t react, doesn’t recoil, doesn’t show any sign of having taken damage at all.

Panic starts to settle on Ryuji’s chest, heavy and stifling. Can they actually do this? They’re never going to get anywhere if they can’t even hit Maruki - sure they can wail on his Persona all they want, but the Persona’s not going anywhere unless Maruki does, and Maruki’s not going anywhere as long as his Persona’s here to protect him.

It’s a perfect catch-22.

At his side, Ryuji feels something nudge his hand.

Looking down, he sees Joker’s hand reached out to him. Joker is looking ahead of them, at Maruki. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t turn his attention away from Maruki and that strange, alien-looking Persona behind him. He just holds his hand out to Ryuji in silence.

Ryuji takes Joker’s hand in his own, the neon yellow and bright red of their gloves clashing in a familiar way - there’s a flash of memories in his mind’s eye: baton passes, and handshakes, and extended hands to help one another up after they take a hit. He’s seen their hands together like this a million times. They’ve been through so freakin’ much together. They’ve faced so much shit, had their backs against the wall time and time again. And they’ve always made it out.

He holds Joker’s hand tightly, squeezing it as if it’s the only thing keeping him grounded; a vibrant red lifeline in the chaos of dark tendrils and magical attacks and the knowledge of just what is at stake today.

Akira squeezes his hand back.

Ryuji’s never been one to doubt himself or his friends. He’s not going to start now. He draws a long, steadying breath, and, with his free hand, reaches for his mask.