Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ryuji's new abode is far less convenient than his Tokyo address. The rehabilitation facility he had moved for is practically in the countryside, and the route there is a winding one.

First, Yusuke spends half an hour on the ◇◇ line, which tends to be crowded on Saturdays thanks to the after-school rush; he boards the train expecting to stand the entire time, and he does.

Then, it's a matter of making the transfer to the ◎◎ line. Though it's mid-September, the last dregs of summer heat are determined to put a damper on the walk; in the ten minutes it takes Yusuke to get to the station, he's practically drenched in sweat.

The next train he boards is the first stop of the line. He's easily able to grab a seat without much competition; he's one of maybe ten people entering the carriage. A welcome development, as he has a little over an hour until he reaches his stop.

While long, the journey isn't unpleasant. The scenery transforms to a rustic view, houses and buildings sprawled out quite leisurely compared to Tokyo's efficient use of space. It's a contrast Yusuke doesn't often have the opportunity to observe, so he takes his sketchbook out of his bag to jot down ideas as they come. The gentle (and occasionally not-so-gentle) sway of the train provides a challenging environment, but if inspiration strikes, one must heed its call. And sometimes, expecting imperfection—knowing each stroke of graphite carries the risk of a wild swing—can be somewhat freeing. In moderation. With all the experience he's gained in the back seat of the Monamobile, Yusuke has leaned not to tempt motion sickness too recklessly.

Ryuji texts throughout the trip to check where Yusuke is. For someone so careless in his own affairs, Ryuji's fairly conscientious when coordinating with others. He's already waiting, bicycle at the ready, as Yusuke exits the station.

The first thing Yusuke says to him is, "Your hair is different."

"Hello to you, too," Ryuji retorts with a wry lilt. Yusuke barely pays him any mind, opting instead to reach over and tug at a chunk of black hair. "Hey, uh—watch it!?"

It's coarser than it used to be. Yusuke remembers a lighter, more feathered texture. Now, it feels not unlike a worn paintbrush. Is it due to layering dye over bleach? Or is it the brand of dye? Or could it be because of how recently the dye had been applied?

The depth of the shade, a pure jet black, doesn't suit him at all. How odd to think of this as akin to his natural hair color, especially considering the artifice by which it currently exists. Although… the incongruity is only so egregious due to the cooler undertones. A subtle hint of sun-warmed brown would restore a great deal of cohesion.

"Why did you change it?"

"Well… I dyed it right before school started proper. Y'know, fresh start." Ryuji shrugs as much as he can, the gesture made awkward since he's still being tugged around by Yusuke's hands. "My, uh, grandmother's kinda old fashioned, so it worked out."

"Blond hair suits you more."

It's only after Yusuke's verdict that Ryuji ducks away, fending off Yusuke's persistent hands. Apparently that had been the last straw. "It's been weeks since we last saw each other and the first thing you do is call me ugly?"

"I said nothing of the sort."

"Yeah, yeah." Ryuji rolls his eyes, grabbing Yusuke's bag and dropping it into the basket of his bicycle. "Will you get on already? We gotta book it before anyone gets on our case about you ridin' on the back."

As Yusuke discovers, Ryuji's definition of 'treating to dinner' now includes 'cooking together'. Yusuke ends up responsible for dicing the vegetables—"Since you were always slicin' up shadows!"—while Ryuji prepares everything else. The rice cooker had already been started, perfectly timed for when they'll finished their dish. They're making some variation of vegetable stir-fry with ground pork.

Truth be told, Yusuke's skill in the kitchen is sorely lacking, and Ryuji's guidance is much appreciated… with the caveat that he doesn't offer much. It seems Ryuji's the type of cook to go without a recipe, which means all instructions and explanations are vague at best. Nevertheless, Yusuke will endeavor to learn what he can—being able to feed oneself is a valuable skill for a person in his position.

There's a certain companionship in preparing a meal together. Time passes pleasantly as they share space, immersed in their respective tasks. Once Yusuke's done with his own part, he hovers close as Ryuji puts it all together. Heat the pan a moderate amount before adding a generous helping of oil and a couple cloves of garlic. Add the meat—which has been marinated, of course—then set it aside before cooking the vegetables. Once the vegetables are cooked through, add the meat back in along with some light seasoning. The most important part is to have the pork marinating for at least half an hour beforehand, preferably more; that's where most of the flavor comes from.

As Ryuji continues stir-frying their dinner, Yusuke's attention is free to wander elsewhere. "I'm curious, why the impromptu invitation?"

Over the sizzling oil and the intermittent sound of the spatula striking against the pan, Ryuji lets out an impressively audible huff. "What, a guy can't hit up his pal for no reason?"

"Of course you can. I'll always be there for you."

Ryuji stills.

He glances towards Yusuke.

In that brief moment, there's what looks to be a sentimentality to his bearing. Something in the way he carries himself. The slant of his shoulders, the angle of his head, contrapposto in such a way that, illuminated by the relentless sun yet burning through the windows of the kitchen, evokes a certain depth of emotion…

Ryuji pivots fully to point his spatula at Yusuke. "Big words from a guy who had to be bribed!"

Yusuke could graciously concede the point. He doesn't. "I merely responded to what you offered."

"You're so full of it," Ryuji retorts, no bite to his words. "Buuut, to be honest, I invited you over because everyone else is out for the weekend. Ryokan trip. Wanted to take advantage of it as much as possible, y'know?"

And while Yusuke is certainly grateful for the opportunity and excuse to spend time with a dear friend, he can't help but point out, "Surely it would've been more convenient to invite someone in the area. One of your new teammates, perhaps."

"Eh, I'm not really close like that with anyone yet. Hey, can you get the bowls? Here, on my right—" he gestures to a cabinet with one hand, turning off the stove with the other. As he moves the stir-fry to a serving plate, Yusuke takes it upon himself to get them each a hearty serving of now-finished rice.

Dinner is delicious. While it likely pales in comparison to anything Akira could produce, the dish is both flavorful and light, mixing well with the rice. And there's a certain degree of satisfaction that comes from eating the fruits—or, the vegetables and meat—of their collective labor.

The first serving is wolfed down with a shared enthusiasm; the appetites of high schoolers remain unmatched. It's only during seconds that Ryuji starts with: "So, how've you been?"

Yusuke stares, baffled by the unexpected small talk. "You should know, considering how frequently we text."

"Yeah, but like—it's different, y'know? Texts and calls can miss a lot of stuff. Especially when the guy you're tryin' to reach has a habit of goin' AWOL." He punctuates the rather pointed remark with a raised eyebrow.

This, Yusuke concedes. Old habits die hard, and he's not making much effort to change the intensity of his focus while engaged in his art. He has, in fact, prioritized art supplies over his phone bill on occasion. And… despite the fact that he's known his fellow phantom thieves for some time now, having contacts saved on his phone continues to feels a little foreign; he's still getting used to maintaining lines of communication.

As requested, Yusuke talks. He talks about being dragged to Nakano Broadway and helping Futaba hunt for vintage collectibles ("Woah, she actually got the whole set? I hear Swan's impossible to find."). He talks about helping Makoto and Haru unpack their new apartment, very generous with advice for decorating their space ("Oh yeah, I'm sure they're gonna want a mural in their rental."). He talks about somehow finding the time to do karaoke with those that remained in Tokyo; in their group, not a single one had gone before ("They stuck you on tambourine? The entire time? Just how tone-deaf are you?").

As they talk, there's something in Ryuji's expression that reads as… a little starved. Not physically, of course—dinner was very satisfying, and Ryuji has always been mindful of caring for his runner's physique. It's a strange look for him. But it disappears before Yusuke can parse it further.

Naturally, considering the lengths it took to get here, Yusuke invites himself to stay the night (which Ryuji had anticipated, of course). Ryuji's new room is more spacious than his previous one, and much more clean. His collection of manga is neatly arranged on a bookshelf instead of littering the floor in haphazard piles, and there is a shocking dearth of miscellaneous wrappers. But, despite having moved some time ago, it seems many things have yet to be unpacked—the posters and figurines that he'd displayed so proudly in his old room are nowhere to be found. Though Ryuji's room right now is by no means empty, it does seem lacking.

After taking care of their respective nighttime routines, Ryuji unfolds a futon of notable quality. It's immediately obvious that the futon is an upgrade from the slightly ragged decades-old one Ryuji used to have. Yusuke feels a little wistful for its familiar embrace… until he experiences the luxurious comforts of bedding that is younger than his own years.

Ryuji turns off the lights. He tends to fall asleep rather swiftly—perhaps a boon that comes from being an athlete—and yet, the room remains quiet for some time, completely devoid of Ryuji's incessant snores.

"Hey, Yusuke… you awake?"

Yusuke gives a hum of acknowledgment, and is met with silence.

And more silence.

And more silence, still.

"You really should learn to cook," is what Ryuji eventually says. "Stop tryin' to live off beansprouts."

"Meddlesome as ever," Yusuke retorts. Surely, his nagging can't have been what was weighing on his mind, but it's too late to warrant an investigation. Yusuke's already in the process of drifting off, his consciousness rapidly fading as the day catches up to him.

No matter; Ryuji will speak his mind when he's ready.

Chapter Text

Yusuke is nearly interrupted from his monologue by a knock at his door, but the point he's making is far too important. He continues typing furiously, outlining various facets of freedom to capture and the methods by which he intends to do so in order to make a worthy offering to the Gods of Art! 'Painting the same thing'—how ludicrous! How insulting! This disrespect simply shall not stand!

Then the incessant pounding starts to get on his nerves.

With a click of his tongue, Yusuke wrenches the door open to tell off whichever miscreant saw fit to bother him so late in the evening. But, instead of delivering his prepared torrent of complaints, he finds himself rather taken aback.

"Ryuji? What are you doing here?"

"Yeah, hello to you too. Glad to see you're alive," Ryuji says blithely, stepping through the threshold. His black hair is still a jarring sight. He digs through a bag filled to the brim with convenience store purchases, then drops a rice ball into Yusuke's hand.

Despite his confusion, Yusuke unwraps it and takes a bite. It's grilled eel. What it lacks in quality is made up in flavor; the sauce is powerfully salty. Yusuke shamelessly pilfers more from the bag, but even with a full stomach his sour mood does not abate.

"You're welcome to stay, though I may not have the wherewithal to be a proper host," Yusuke warns.

Ryuji looks around, no doubt taking in the chaotic state of Yusuke's room. Canvases of various sizes in various stages of completion are propped against the wall, edging the entire perimeter of the room. Loose papers—sketches, notes, assignments, etc.—are scattered about the floor. In some neglected corner lies unopened textbooks (which are probably covered in a careless amount of paint). "Midterms gettin' to you?" he asks with a mild hint of amusement.

"My grades are in much less dire straits than yours," Yusuke snaps, and Ryuji raises his hands in a startled gesture of placation.

"Woah, is that how you're gonna treat the guy who just fed you?"

He raises a fair point; although it's the truth, there's no need to overstep from amicable ribbing to outright hostility. "My apologies. It appears I'm still heated from an earlier exchange." To make up for it, Yusuke offers half of his fifth rice ball.

Ryuji accepts the gesture without even commenting on being the recipient of his own snacks (quite gracious of him). Instead, he asks, "Wanna blow off some steam?"

"You certainly have a lot of hobbies," Yusuke remarks as they enter the batting cages. Or rather, the waiting area just outside the batting cages; the awning they're beneath gives way to an outdoor enclosure surrounded by fencing. While the fencing is adequate enough at preventing balls from flying off the roof or hitting any bystanders, it is obviously discolored with age. Thick green netting separates a modest five cages, which are cages in name only—beyond the netting is an open lane matted with artificial turf. At the end of each lane is a contraption that launches the balls, fortified behind more fencing. Above hang worn targets with faded splotches of color. This is clearly an older establishment; the decor, machinery, and equipment are all at least twenty years old, if not more.

"Without track, I had a lot of time on my hands," Ryuji replies. "This was a good way to get some energy out." Usually, when he references this period of his life, there's a hint of anger, or bitterness, or regret. However… his tone is casual as he leads Yusuke into an empty cage. Which is excruciatingly green. Between the netting and the turf, the evening sky provides the only reprieve from the powerfully artificial shade. "When was the last time you actually got some exercise?"

Yusuke scoffs, ready with a retort—and stalls. When was the last time he had gotten a proper workout? His career as a phantom thief came with many opportunities for rigorous activity, but aside from summer break, there hasn't been any incident to bring him out of retirement.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. You really gotta take better care of yourself."

Ryuji's admonishments are at this point barely register. In some ways he's quite similar to Makoto—though, whereas her primary focus is the mind, Ryuji's is the body. If Yusuke listened to the both of them, no doubt he would be perpetually in peak condition.

Ryuji measures a few bats against Yusuke's chest to pick the best size. He explains some basic operations about what to do and to expect. After that, he fishes a modest handful of tokens from his pocket and offers half to Yusuke. "Want me to show you how it's done?"

"Seems simple enough." Yusuke has performed far more impressive feats of athleticism in the Metaverse; hitting a ball will be child's play. As Ryuji steps into the waiting area, Yusuke inserts a token and selects the intermediate pitching speed. Once the machine starts, he only has a few seconds to ready himself for the first pitch.

A loud mechanical clatter signals the launch of the baseball. Yusuke keeps his eye trained on it until the timing seems right, then swings with all his strength—

And flings the bat while the baseball whizzes past him. The bat flies to the opposite wall, bounces off, and rolls to a stop at the middle of the floor several lanes away. In the face of Yusuke's egregious miscalculation, Ryuji bursts into laughter.

Given that each token redeems twenty pitches, it's a rather long wait until Yusuke is able to retrieve his bat. Luckily, the cages aren't crowded. The two other batters are gracious enough to hold off on their practice until Yusuke is able to reach safety.

Duly humbled, Yusuke inserts another token—this time resolved to maintain an iron grip.

The next round bears some improvements. The bat stays in Yusuke's hand, for one. He even manages to hit a ball, though it bounces off with a dull thunk at a humiliating angle. It's also the only ball he hits.

Ryuji has at this point stopped laughing enough to begin heckling. "With how much you swung your katana around, I thought you'd be better at this."

"To wield a katana requires a certain degree of refinement," Yusuke retorts, refusing to yield even an inch of his pride.

"Yeah, and it'd probably help if you learned the actual form for batting before wasting another token."

Ryuji enters the cage and steps in close to adjust Yusuke's stance, nudging his feet wider apart and pushing his center of gravity lower. Ryuji also shifts his grip so that his hands are closer together on the handle of the bat. Guiding Yusuke by the wrist, Ryuji positions where the bat should start and slowly arcs the path it's supposed to follow. Once Yusuke gets a sense of the full range of motion he needs for a swing, he unbuttons his collar to move with less obstruction.

Throughout this process, Yusuke is made intimately aware that athletes are astonishingly desensitized to skinship. He keeps this observation to himself; if he were to voice it, no doubt Ryuji would sputter something about Yusuke's own lack of personal space.

Ryuji clears his throat. "Y'know, I was thinkin' of challenging you to some friendly competition… but I'm not sure you're up for it."

Ryuji has always been quite proficient at provoking Yusuke's competitive spirit. His goading is unfortunately warranted—hitting a ball has not been child's play, and as helpful as his instruction has been, he's still guaranteed an easy victory.

Yusuke holds out his bat. "Model it for me."

Ryuji obliges, playing the next round. Not every swing is perfect, but he hits far more than he misses, and is able to land a few home runs on the suspended targets hanging in the distance. The set of his shoulders as he anticipates the pitch, the way he draws back, the release of tension as he steps forward into the swing, the twist of his spine in the follow-through—it's not unlike how he swings his weapon of choice around in the Metaverse.

And, as Ryuji gets into the swing of things (so to speak), an unbridled grin takes over his face. Gone is the arrogant posturing as his expression blooms into an infectious cheer.

Ryuji has never been one for restraint, but he rarely gets to keep momentum before something stops him in his tracks—whether it's his friends (Yusuke included) preventing the consequences of an ill-conceived impulse, or whether general circumstances simply don't allow for it. To see him so unimpeded is a rare treat. Though Yusuke keeps focus on his primary objective—stealing Ryuji's baseball techniques—he can't help pulling out his sketchbook and jotting down some wild haphazard sketches.

After the last pitch, Yusuke holds up his hand out of habit and receives a high-five. Baton passed, he inserts his token and prepares himself. And, with the first pitch, he manages to mimic the perfect form. The ball strikes the bat with a satisfying metallic impact that vibrates up Yusuke's arms and buzzes into his shoulders. The ball sails high through the air and, in fact, strikes one of the home run targets, triggering canned applause.

"Hell yeah! Nailed it!" Ryuji crows, as if he were the one to make the hit. Yusuke preens in the small window he's afforded before the next pitch is launched.

After Yusuke gets his bearings, they hold their friendly competition. In the end, Ryuji wins with his advantage of experience: seven home runs to Yusuke's four. Despite the loss, he's satisfied with his performance. Ryuji even records a video to brag on his behalf to the rest of their friends.

In total, they spend a good hour in the batting cages before departing. It's not a hobby Yusuke would pursue in the long term—his wrists ache from the exertion—but rigorous exercise after a prolonged lack is indeed refreshing, as is the cool evening breeze and the idle conversation that follows.

"Perhaps I did need to blow off some steam," Yusuke concedes as they wait at the station.

"Yeah?" Ryuji asks, tilting his head curiously. "You were lookin' kinda wound up. Everything alright?"

Thus removed from the circumstances that provoked his ire, Yusuke is able to reflect on himself with a more level head. "In hindsight, I was being unduly protective over my art." Not for the first time, and certainly not the last. The boundaries between artist and audience require constant refinement, particularly for him. "This current subject… it's quite dear to me. If hope is what enables me to seek a path out of despair—the beacon I wish to provide others—then freedom is what empowers us to take that path together. But therein lies the paradox; how do I capture that which must defy captivity?"

"Hell if I know. I never get what you're goin' on about," is Ryuji's helpful reply to what was supposed to be a rhetorical question. "But I gotta say, even though we always get on your case for overthinking things… it's kinda cool."

"It's rather miserable."

"Well, yeah, it sucks for you, but that's why your art looks the way it does." Ryuji pauses, brows scrunched in thought. "Not that you should go back to all that 'suffering artist' crap. More like… when you get committed to what you're gonna make, you put your all into makin' it? But I guess that kinda goes without saying."

And yet, those words do strike a chord. Yusuke's efforts aren't only for the end result—the painting itself may be the most important part for him, but the process, the way he chooses how to express himself, is particularly pertinent to his relationship with freedom. In this endeavor, perhaps it's less about captivity and more about creation.

He'll have to think about it more. For now, he should probably attend to present matters. "Will you be staying the night?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, if that's alright? Didn't actually come here with much planning, to be honest," Ryuji confesses with a sheepish look. Not that he needed to, it's obvious considering how little he packed. Which is to say: nothing. "But if it'd be too much of a hassle, I could probably crash at LeBlanc."

"While my accommodations may be meager in comparison to what Boss has to offer, it would be my pleasure to have you over." Yusuke's eager for any opportunity to make up for all the times Ryuji has been a generous host to him, even though he can't match the generosity he's received. For one, he only has a single futon to unroll. As they solidify their plans, a thought occurs to Yusuke. "What brought you to Tokyo?" he asks.

"Oh. I dunno." Ryuji shrugs, evading his gaze. "Just feelin' restless."

Must be quite the feeling if it pushed him to take a two hour journey so late in the evening. But he doesn't elaborate further.

Chapter Text

"Someone's popular," Ryuji jokes as Yusuke silences his notifications, thus ending the stream of default text tones that had been plaguing them. "Who's blowing up your phone?"

"Ann had a question. It can wait," Yusuke replies. Which is technically the truth. It would be in everybody's best interests to be less forthcoming about these concerns, but he'd like to avoid outright lying if he can help it. Deception belongs in the field of phantom thievery rather than amongst friends.

Ryuji accepts the explanation easily enough. He's fairly used to being on the receiving end of Yusuke's negligent texting habits. "Tell her I said hi," he says, despite the fact that Yusuke had already put away his phone.

It's understandable for Ann to raise these concerns. Ryuji has been transparently evasive as of late, and Yusuke has had ample opportunity to witness it firsthand.

About twice a month, on weekends without track meets—and sometimes on weekends with track meets—Ryuji has made the long trek to Tokyo. As a result, they've spent quite some time together. Not as much as they had prior to the move, of course; between Metaverse excursions and meeting up at LeBlanc (or elsewhere), they used see each other once or twice throughout the week.

Then again… considering the overnight stays, it could perhaps be argued that they're spending more time one-on-one after the move versus before the move.

To some extent, it's been comforting. There's a camaraderie that comes with sleeping in close quarters. Preparing for bed and waking up in tandem has a domestic charm, and having company does mitigate some of Yusuke's worse sleeping habits. Also, it's quite convenient to have a model readily available after some moderate-to-severe cajoling.

But the frequency of these visits is rather odd when considering the punishing commute against Ryuji's full schedule of physical therapy and track obligations and schoolwork.

Whenever this is brought up, no matter how directly or indirectly, Ryuji manages to wave it off. He'll have a reason for coming over—recruiting Makoto's strategic prowess to pull him through third year and beyond, catching an exhibit for some property of media within his interests, and so on—or he'll insist that no reason exists. Or he'll create a reason on the spot, such as showing Yusuke what Tokyo Dome City has to offer.

Yusuke has never been before, which is what prompted Ryuji to insist on this outing to what is apparently "a classic Tokyo thing to do". While Yusuke didn't particularly have much interest, he does enjoy the nearby garden—Koshikawa Korakuen has a pleasant atmosphere even in the winter—so he allowed himself to be dragged along and toured around the area. Though he refused to board the roller coaster.

At present they're in line for the ferris wheel. Unlike the one at Destinyland and Sapporo—Yusuke's only points of reference—this one is unique in construction for its absence of a central axis. The gondolas are hung around the outer ring and are ferried as if attached to a conveyor belt, allowing room for the roller coaster to run through its center.

Thankfully, the line isn't terribly long—the overcast sky and the threat of rain has deterred all but the most determined patrons. That there's a wait at all speaks to the popularity of the attraction.

"It really never stops moving, huh," Ryuji remarks. "Kinda like a ski lift."

His comment betrays an unexpected lack of familiarity. "When you insisted this was a classic Tokyo activity, I'd assumed you spoke from experience."

"I mean, I've gone to some of the hero shows here… but mom always had a weird work schedule." For some reason, the way Ryuji admits this sounds almost like a confession; a secret. "We didn't have that much time. Plus, there were always a bunch of other things to do. So when you said you've never been, it made me realize that I never got to do this either." As he stares at the ferris wheel, his smile takes a wistful edge. "Now that I'm away from Tokyo, I started wanting to do the things I missed out on."

Here seems like the perfect opportunity to follow up with some discreet questioning about how life since the move has actually been. Unfortunately, it's then that the employee waves them over, and the moment vanishes. They start their ascent.

Though it's only the cusp of evening, the winter sky darkens like spilled ink. A light rain starts to fall, pattering against the gondola (and how fortuitous it is that the rain waited until they were under shelter). Streaks of water trickle down the window and distort the glittering lights of the scenic cityscape that surrounds them. The effect is quite atmospheric. Yusuke idly sketches various aspects of this view, including Ryuji; while the abhorrent shade of dye is still prominent, at least some of his natural hair has grown out. The contrast is easy enough to capture through the use of crosshatching. However… the expression on paper never seems to match the one on his face.

"By the way," Ryuji starts, interrupting Yusuke's thoughts, "since it's basically your birthday, I picked up something for you." In fact it's well over a month until Yusuke's birthday, but nevertheless he pulls out a small paper bag with the logo from one of the stores they passed by earlier; he must've doubled back at some point. "Don't worry, I'll have an actual gift for when we all get together for your actual birthday," he adds, an unnecessary disclaimer.

Even though Ryuji doesn't always understand Yusuke's aesthetic sensibilities, he's attentive enough to make a guess about what aligns with his tastes. The bag contains a phone strap made of fabric from a recycled kimono, a wave pattern composed of navy blue and white—to some extent, it evokes the sash of his phantom thief outfit.

"How thoughtful." Yusuke immediately puts it to use, threading it through the case of his phone.

"When I saw it, it reminded me of you. Even though you're barely on your phone. Maybe this'll help you keep track of it," Ryuji teases.

He has a point; it's easier to be attentive to possessions that have sentimental value. "It's a nice reminder that I occupy your thoughts."

"You really have a talent for makin' things sound weird. But, I guess you're not wrong?" Ryuji lets out an awkward laugh. "Lately, I always feel like I'm looking for you."

"Why?"

"I dunno…" Ryuji trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. Then he aims a light, playful kick towards Yusuke's shin. "Probably because you need someone lookin' out for you, yeah?"

"Not particularly," Yusuke says.

In the silence that follows, the light rain against the carriage becomes deafening. Ryuji's expression freezes, stricken, but Yusuke catches only a glimpse before he ducks his head and fixes his gaze out towards the window. "Oh," he says.

Yusuke is no stranger to unintentionally provoking others. On occasion, he can be indelicate, oblivious, or prone to a fixation that blinds him to all else. But Ryuji's always quick and upfront about perceived transgressions (sometimes excessively so). Conflict has been telegraphed—whether it's light bickering or serious arguments—and he can usually be expected to make his grievances known.

But he doesn't.

Ryuji is still for the remainder of the ride. No tapping, no shifting, no fidgeting, no movement at all. His hands are clenched on the fabric of his pants. In the absence of their comfortable camaraderie, what fills the void is a thick, near tangible tension. And they finish the ride in silence. While the remainder of it must have been no more than ten minutes, it feels like an eternity.

As they disembark, Ryuji clears his throat and strains an unconvincing half-smile. "I'm actually… I think I'm gonna head home."

A flood of thoughts and questions flow through Yusuke's mind. What happened? Ryuji's belongings are still at the dorms. He would probably get home around half past eight. Should Yusuke apologize? What should he apologize for? Ann would probably know. Is this related to what has been bothering Ryuji?

Absurdly, what comes out of his mouth ends up being: "Weren't you planning to stay the night?"

"Yeah, I just—" The rest of the smile falls. After abandoning his poor attempt at a facade, he just looks tired. "I'm not up for it."

He walks away.

Yusuke watches him leave with a bitter sting in his chest.

Chapter Text

Upon reflection, Yusuke becomes certain that waiting too long to address the situation at hand will result in Ryuji's continued avoidance of the matter. No—better to strike while the iron is hot (or rather, while the emotions are raw).

It's early afternoon when a terse couple of knocks sounds against the door. Yusuke opens it to reveal Ryuji. His hood is up, his shoulders are hunched, and his scowl is irate. Though, it's difficult to tell how much of his ire is due to the lengthy trip and how much of it is due to the cold. In any case, Yusuke ushers him in. "Thank you for making the journey."

"Again," Ryuji emphasizes.

"Again," Yusuke acknowledges.

"Yeah, well. I did leave my stuff at your place. So." He scuffs his heel at the threshold, still wearing his shoes. He doesn't expect to stay long, it seems. "What's this talk I just had to be here for, huh?"

In truth, there is no way to start this conversation in a way that Ryuji would be willing to receive. Best to simply rip the bandage off. "I realized after the fact that my words could be taken more callous than intended, which would have been understandably upsetting for you. However, I don't believe I was wrong."

After that opening statement, Ryuji stares. Then lets out an incredulous laugh. "Great. Thanks! Totally worth the two hour trip. If that's it, I'm gonna go ahead and get ready for another two hour train trip back home—"

"The fact of the matter is that I have never needed anyone to take care of me. While there are many gaps in my knowledge, I've spent much of my life taking care of myself. Perhaps not as well as others, but I have confidence in my ability to survive. And… there are many things I can live without." As Yusuke says this, Ryuji's defenses visibly lower, the set of his shoulders softening into sympathy. His bleeding heart remains eternally on his sleeve. But before Ryuji can cut in with his kindness—"Why do you keep looking for me?"

Thus disarmed, Ryuji sputters for a second. Then he says, with less anger and more self-deprecation, "I mean, I thought you needed someone lookin' out for you, but guess I was wrong—"

"No. I am asking, why do you look for me? What are you looking for? I'm well aware of what I seek from you." A new perspective. Companionship. Care. "But according to you, there's nothing you gain from our time together."

"That's not true!" Ryuji's outburst seems to startle him; he shakes his head, clearly unsettled without anger as a shield. "Would you quit puttin' words in my mouth? I never said anything like that!"

"You might as well have," Yusuke retorts, knowing full well how unfair he's being. In all honesty, some of his own hurt mingles with the provocation. He pushes relentlessly onward. "Why are you looking for me?"

"I don't know what you want me to say! Why do you keep asking the same thing over and over!?"

"Because I want to know what you need from me, Ryuji." As per Ann's advice, this is the crux of what Yusuke anchors himself to; what he refuses to compromise on. "I'm worried about you. Everyone is."

At that, Ryuji flinches, and all the chaotic tension seems to drain from him. "Oh," he says, eventually.

While he doesn't look in danger of collapse, he does look unbalanced. Yusuke reaches out to steady him, to guide him inside. Ryuji somehow has enough wherewithal to take off his shoes. Since Yusuke's seating arrangements are still limited to one single stool that is perpetually covered in wet paint, they end up sitting on the floor together.

Throughout the past few months, Yusuke has been particularly fixated on his personal project. As such, his room is fit to burst with even more paintings than usual. Environments, gestures, abstractions, experiments involving style and process—upon any encounter with the feeling of freedom, Yusuke strove to create something that could evoke the experience.

Surrounded by all these bright and vivid paintings, Ryuji curls into himself with a defeated resignation. The contrast is… gutting.

"There's nothing wrong," he says with his head buried in his knees, hiding behind his crossed arms. Rather unconvincing, but Yusuke holds his tongue and waits for Ryuji to continue. "It's just… it's complicated."

"What is?"

"Family stuff. Track stuff. Everything. It's complicated," he repeats.

Yusuke hums in consideration. The past minute alone has yielded more than the past few months. "Will you tell me about it?"

It's hard to read Ryuji's reaction without being able to see his face. He's usually quite the open book, expressive to a fault. For a moment, it seems he might refuse to elaborate. But then he starts, hesitant, as if straining to pull the words out of himself. "Mom… didn't talk to my grandmother for years, and it's kinda my fault."

"That can't possibly be true," Yusuke says instinctively, only to be met with a derisive scoff.

"Well. It is. I got into trouble, they fought about it, things blew up."

The temptation to ask for additional detail is quite strong—when did this happen, why did this happen, how exactly this translates into "fault"—but Yusuke restrains himself; evidently, any attempt to correct obvious misconceptions will not be heard. Best to keep focus on maintaining momentum. For now.

"Me wanting to try rehab got them talking again, since she lives in the area. And she's fine," Ryuji's quick to clarify. "Things with her are fine now. But she's really… she's kinda stiff, y'know?"

"Which is why you dyed your hair."

"Well, yeah. But it's not like she was gettin' on my case or anything, I just—I don't want to make anything… worse."

Withholding from refutation is proving quite the challenge. As brash and shameless as Ryuji can be, he has a bad habit of inexplicably submitting himself to an absurd standard of responsibility.

"And with track, I dunno, it's kinda awkward around the other guys? Like, they're friendly enough, they've all been more than decent about rehab, nobody's giving me a hard time or anything. And I like being on a team. I like being on this team. Nothing's wrong," he emphasizes again. "But—"

As Ryuji cuts himself off he looks to the side, cheek pressing into his sleeve. It's difficult to tell whether he doesn't know the emotion he's trying to articulate or whether he doesn't want to name it. But Yusuke has his own guess. "You're afraid."

"…You've really got no tact at all." Almost imperceptibly, Ryuji's fingers dig into his sleeves, vise-like. "Not that it matters much, but fine. Yeah. What the hell, sure! The last meet's comin' up, and after the season ends it's do or die with college prep, and the stakes are gonna keep getting higher, and I just keep thinking, am I gonna screw up? Am I gonna ruin another team? Am I gonna wreck things for mom again? Because that's what I do, I get carried away, and I make dumb mistakes, and, and it took much for all this to be set up for me, I can't waste this chance, I can't, I can't let everyone down, but I always—I just—" Ryuji's breath stutters as the words tumble from his mouth, and he reaches up with a trembling hand to grip at his hair with a concerning amount of force.

Prying at his too-tight grip would doubtlessly make things worse, but being a mere observer to the throes of his distress is unbearable. Helpless, Yusuke can only lay a gentle hand over Ryuji's. "Deep breaths."

"Yeah, I-I know!" Ryuji snaps, still on the verge of hyperventilation. "Just—give me a sec, alright!?" He smacks Yusuke away, but in spite of his belligerence, somehow his hand finds its way into Yusuke's. His grip is initially as tight as when it was buried in his scalp, nails digging into Yusuke's knuckles, but it loosens quickly even as he still desperately gulps for air. Despite the state he's in, he knows how important Yusuke's hands are for his craft.

This does prove vital context for some of Ryuji's recent behavior. It seems that in his determination to not make enemies of those around him, he's made one of himself. But, with everything Yusuke's learned, his original question still remains unanswered. "Why did you keep looking for me?"

"You're really not gonna let that go?" Ryuji speaks with a slightly staccato cadence, still shaken by the vestiges of panic. He doesn't raise his head. "Maybe you didn't need me, but it, it felt like you did. Like, I could do stuff with you, and for you, and you'd. Want it. I guess that's what I was looking for." A derisive laugh escapes him, along with a conspicuous sniff. "Pathetic, right?"

"To be wanted?"

"…Yeah." For that single word, his voice comes out rough, almost broken, and it's…

An arresting departure from his usual demeanor.

In an overwhelming sea of uncertainty, he had been trying to anchor himself to something he knew to be true: that Yusuke would want him. And he's right, though he doesn't seem to realize it. In fact, through all these convoluted mental leaps constructed to conceal and avoid bringing attention to everything that has been weighing on him, he's worked himself around to thinking the opposite. How fascinating, to see him in such a fragile state of honesty.

It's in that moment a certain emotion unfurls within Yusuke's chest. His hands itch for his sketchbook—but no, now would be an inappropriate time.

Instead, with his free hand, he tilts Ryuji's chin up to face him.

"Ryuji," he says. "I've missed you."

At this distance it's impossible to overlook the piteous glaze of unshed tears. But in spite of Ryuji's abject misery—and all his previous efforts to conceal it—he doesn't pull away. "…What are you even talking about? I come over all the time."

"You do," he acknowledges. "And I admit, this comes from a selfish place. What I already receive from you is quite substantial—your time, your attention, your care. Especially your food." At that, Ryuji huffs in some combination between amusement and exasperation. "But it's not enough."

"Wh—!?"

"Let me finish," Yusuke says with an audacity that leaves no room for argument. "It seems to me that as time goes on, I receive less and less of you. I don't hear what's on your mind. I don't see how you feel. I don't know your life. Despite everything you give to me, you've withheld what I would consider most important. And I want you, Ryuji. All of you."

Ryuji's face burns a feverish red as he's left utterly speechless. His bashful expression is quite rare; his wide pupils haloed by rings of rich brown, a dramatic arch to his brows, his trembling lips pressed together. How endearing.

"Moreover," Yusuke continues, "to be pathetic is to be human. Why not embrace it?"

"…Huh?"

This conversation has unveiled an intriguing dimension to the concept of freedom. As it turns out, freedom isn't limited to dramatic visuals, bold strokes, vivid colors; it can be a delicate, fragile thing in desperate need of nurture.

Spreading arms to emphasize his conviction, Yusuke declares: "Bare yourself to the world, just as you have bared yourself to me! I'll accept nothing less!"

Ryuji's jaw drops as he stares at Yusuke's sustained pose. Then, he starts to laugh. And as he keeps laughing, he doubles over and chokes on air and descends into a coughing fit. Yusuke smacks him on the back a few times, which helps a dubious amount.

"—Okay, okay, I'm good," Ryuji manages to say, rolling over to lie supine on the floor. Despite his haggard breaths, he has a wide grin plastered on his face, one that Yusuke hasn't seen in quite some time. "Man. There's something wrong with you."

Yusuke lets the comment pass uncontested. Instead, he gives Ryuji's hair a light ruffle. "I do believe you deserve a reward for such stunning vulnerability, wouldn't you agree? Sushi seems appropriate for the occasion."

Ryuji lets out another laugh as he leans into Yusuke's hand. "I'm pretty sure you just want to eat fish."

"Even if that were the case I don't see the issue, seeing as it's my treat."

"It better be, after you put me through all that!"

Which is fair. There were certainly more delicate ways to approach the situation. But Yusuke can't say he regrets putting Ryuji through the emotional wringer. The release of catharsis has left them both in a state of accomplishment and exhaustion not unlike a rigorous workout (and less sore). He can make up for it by spoiling Ryuji, for a change; it would be an appropriate use of the funds from his most recent sale.

Yusuke offers a hand to help Ryuji up so they can head out and claim their prize. As an experiment, he lightly threads their fingers together into a loose hold and tugs. Ryuji doesn't seem to notice just how easily he yields, and something about his thoughtless acquiescence sends Yusuke's beating heart into a whirl. Perhaps freedom and surrender go hand in hand. He'll have to think on it more, but that can wait until after their meal.