Chapter Text
Yu Narukami wakes up to a blinding headache and a title too big for his name. Hero Knight rolls off his tongue into his lap, the words mangled in his mouth but made true once said aloud, and they dye him in old-worn colors that suit him like recently bought shoes biting at his heels. The armor clanks as he stands up; the quietness echoes in his ears when he realizes he’s alone in the middle of a cardboard forest.
Yu looks behind him and finds nothing, no one, except painted trees twisted and withering in their staining canvases, extending as far as the eye sees. Beyond that, a fog so thick it makes his head swim in murky waters. He then looks forward and finds a yellow brick road slithering out into the horizon.
His path is set—duty calls him onwards.
The memory of the Shadow that has taunted, overpowered and demeaned them haunts his steps. Now he’s been thrown into a dungeon that demands him to playact the role of righteous monster-slayer to reclaim the lost kingdom. The tranquility of his daily life.
Fine by him, Yu thinks with conviction, although his friends are nowhere to be seen.
No matter. Loneliness is an old companion anyway, even if its presence has been missing for the last year. He knows how to withstand its sinking claws, knows how to ignore the black spots in the periphery of his vision. Yu’s the Hero, after all. Reliable, understanding and unbreakable. Companionship will be his strength, not his weakness. He won’t be undone—the concept is not even written in his character sheet.
A deep breath. His right hand settles on the toy sword fastened around his waist.
Regardless, Sir Yu must march on ever beyond, to conquer dread, solitude and sorrow.
(A monster follows him, step by step, silent but ever-present.)
. . .
Down the gold-lined path Yu walks on, on, on, not looking anywhere else but in front of him—especially not to the sides and certainly not behind lest what’s not there swallows him whole.
Then, amid the ever-thickening fog, a chance encounter.
. . .
Yu isn’t surprised when the first soul he crosses paths with turns out to be Yosuke. First meetings aren’t always written in the stars, although Yu wishes to believe this one is and will continue to be—an Ariadne’s thread for when the world around them has devolved into a farce, so to speak.
It must be written down, too, then, for Yosuke to always end up with his ass up in the air, somehow. This time around, he’s dangling from his ankle, tangled in a simple snare trap.
“Finding me funny?” Yosuke grumbles once he’s spotted.
“Yes,” Yu answers with cheek. He doesn’t attempt to fight the smile that has overtaken his mouth even though he should. “Nostalgic too. You sure do like getting stuck.”
Yosuke huffs. The action loses any edge when performed upside-down. “Har har. I’m so very happy you enjoy meeting me in embarrassing positions.”
“It is you,” Yu hums. He isn’t lying; he’s simply not telling the full truth either. It’s Yosuke, in the way his shame and frustration burn bright and scathing until the heat inevitably simmers down to an inviting, easy warmth once the moment passes. Yosuke has yet to realize the impression he prints on others, and Yu won’t ever comment on it because it’s too telling of him.
“Yeah, whatever. A helping hand here? Blood’s going to my head.”
So Yu does. The threadbare rope gets cut and Yosuke lands in a heap with a pained yelp, only to quickly spring back again. Like one of those daruma dolls that always stand back up however much you push them around. Scruffy, scrappy, spunky. Pathetic, as well.
Yet persistence is such a good look on him.
Yu takes this last thought and folds it into a tiny enough piece to swallow down his throat, away from the mind.
Once standing, Yosuke eyes his pristine breastplate and the fancily decorated scabbard at his side, daring enough to poke at it. In answer, Yu pointedly looks down at Yosuke’s own outfit: a tattered leather armor and a dented shield.
In the same breath Yosuke’s mouth falls ajar from surprise, the physical reminder of their situation sobers Yu out of any playful grin.
“We should get going. I doubt the shadow will have the patience to wait around for long.”
“But what’s with this getup?"
“An armor. To help slay the monster.” The admission becomes easier now that he’s practiced in the role. “Because I’m the Hero Knight in this story. At least for this dungeon, it seems.”
Yosuke contemplates him for a long, long moment. His eyebrows slant in sharp angles, his mouth in an even sharper downwards slopes. The shadow mirror of a similar expression worn within the darkened aisles of Junes when Yu failed to be what he was supposed to be flickers into existence, its spark fickle and equally dim. Under Yu’s watchful gaze, it wanes, shrivels, shrinking down until it becomes nothing but what any other person would have believed to be little more than the shaky memory of an optical illusion.
(Yu so frantically, thoughtlessly hopes Yosuke’s got something to say about any of this. Instead, however—)
Yosuke says: “Thus sayeth the script, sure.” A sigh. “And guess I gotta be the one to help you on the way? What were those called… squires, I think?”
The title clacks against Yu’s teeth, neither quite right nor quite wrong. “Yes, I suppose.”
Yosuke readily nods. “Okay then. So. That shadow. His deal is, what, fairy tales?” His nose flares with annoyance. “Again?”
Yu shrugs. “We’ll defeat it either way.”
“Of course we will.” And here Yosuke beams with a conspirator's confidence, openly, familiarly, accompanied by a brazen wink, and melting Yu’s worries into sugar and caramel. “It’s you and me, right, partner?”
Yu returns the smile heartily. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” This one title is so much more fitting than any other, after all.
They set off, together. Sir Yu looks behind him and finds Squire Yosuke filling the empty space that was once there. He then looks forward and follows the paved golden path, all so sure Yosuke will follow.
And Yosuke does. Of course he does. Through the endless fog before them and the looming threat of the visible outlines of many shadows hidden within, Yosuke’s presence becomes a warm balm against his cold back—so reassuring Yu considers forgetting all about what is to be expected so he can lean back. He doesn’t, because he has learned better than to succumb to such base desires.
Still, the world shines brighter, clearer, prettier now despite the haze. Sir Yu doesn’t comment on this either.