‘Cause I'm a jealous, jealous, jealous boy | Part 1
Synopsis: How do they react when someone flirts with their significant other?
Tags: Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Protective, Flirting, Dark Undertones, Romantic Tension
Warnings: Mild possessiveness, subtle manipulation, slight intimidation, jealousy, dark themes, possible emotional manipulation
(Part 2)
Sunday
Sunday's golden eyes narrowed slightly as he noticed the unwanted attention being directed at you. He observed for a moment, his dignified demeanor never faltering. However, the subtle tightening of his jaw betrayed a deeper emotion simmering beneath the surface.
With graceful steps, he approached, his halo casting a faint glow behind his head as he effortlessly inserted himself into the conversation. His hand rested lightly on your shoulder, fingers cold yet reassuring. "I see you’ve caught the attention of someone who doesn't understand boundaries," he said, voice dripping with a twisted kindness. The flirtatious individual faltered under his gaze, the intensity of his golden eyes—sharp and knowing—dismantling any sense of power they might have held.
"Allow me to guide you somewhere... more peaceful." Sunday murmured to you, leading you away. His grip, though gentle, carried an unmistakable possessiveness. His twisted desire to shield you from discomfort played out in his actions—control, protection, and escape from the harshness of such interactions.
Yet behind the composed facade, there was a flicker of possessive jealousy—he would never admit it openly, but the notion of anyone causing you discomfort stirred a dark satisfaction in ensuring they never approached you again.
Dr. Veritas Ratio
Dr. Ratio’s gaze flickered toward the scene, noting the discomfort painted across your features as the unwanted attention continued. His lips curled into a smirk, an amused scoff escaping him as he closed the distance between you and the offender. The sheer confidence in his posture made his presence impossible to ignore.
"You seem... intellectually challenged," Ratio remarked bluntly to the flirt, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and condescension. "You see, my partner isn’t interested in primitive gestures of attraction. They prefer stimulating conversation, something you appear incapable of providing."
He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close with an air of smug satisfaction. "Allow me to demonstrate what true compatibility looks like." His words, though cutting toward the flirt, were meant to reassure you. Ratio didn't bother hiding the possessive undercurrent in his tone.
In his mind, you were already his equal, intellectually and emotionally, and there was no room for such trivial distractions. His jealousy manifested not in anger, but in a pointed display of superiority, ensuring no one would dare challenge his place beside you.
Aventurine
Aventurine watches the flirtation unfold from across the room, his smile still present but with a hint of something darker behind it. His magenta and cyan eyes flicker with amusement, though his gaze lingers on your discomfort for a moment too long. Slowly, he saunters over, his every step deliberate, like a high-stakes poker player revealing a winning hand.
“My, my,” he begins, slipping an arm around your waist as he pulls you close. The flirt freezes under his penetrating stare. “It seems you’ve miscalculated,” he says, his tone smooth as velvet, yet there's a razor-sharp edge beneath the surface. “You see, this one belongs to me.”
Aventurine lets the words hang, watching the flirter with a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. His fingers play absentmindedly with one of his golden rings, the subtle gesture adding to the tension. “And I don’t share my investments.”
The flirter takes a step back, realizing they’ve lost this particular gamble, and mutters an apology before disappearing. Aventurine chuckles softly, turning to you with a playful smirk.
“Honestly, darling,” he says, adjusting the collar of his overcoat, “the nerve of some people, thinking they can play a hand they’ve already lost.” His eyes gleam mischievously as he leans in closer, whispering, “Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered. No one dares touch what’s mine.”
There’s a flicker of possessiveness in his tone, subtle but unmistakable, as though you were a precious prize he wouldn’t let anyone else even attempt to claim. Though his demeanor is playful, you sense the jealousy simmering beneath his charm, a silent reminder that in Aventurine’s world, risks are calculated, and he never gambles on what he’s already won.
(If this gets 10 likes/hearts, I'll post a suggestive fic of Sunday and Part 2 of this 🤭)
Cassie McKinnon and the Hidden Truths — Chapter 19 is OUT:
🖤 “Even Magic Has Shadows” 🖤
Detention misery 😵💫📬
Hogwarts Halloween chaos 🎃🦇
Cassie being so normal about it (lying) 😭
And that creeping, cold little feeling that something is… off 👀🕯️
Read it and come SCREAM at me in the comments because I need to know: are we laughing, panicking, or both? 🫠💥
The warm water hitting his body helped soothe his nerves. He wasn’t usually someone who got stressed easily. But this time, he couldn’t stop the unpleasant thoughts rushing through his mind. A serious injury. It could lead to a permanent disability.
“Oh God…” he thought. “Here I go again…”
Letting the flowing water wash over him was the best solution he could come up with to drown out the negativity. But it wasn’t working.
Flashes of the volleyball match played in his mind. It had all started with a pointless bet. Or rather, he didn’t even know what the bet was. He’d only agreed to play… because of her. He didn’t care about winning. He just wanted to see how she played. Very few people ever sparked his interest—she was one of them. At first, he’d been sure he could beat her with minimal effort. But things had gotten serious, and he’d gotten caught up in the heat of the game. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been that competitive. Just thinking about it made the blood in his veins rush with a strange kind of thrill.
Lust.
Yes, that girl reminded him of so many feelings he had long forgotten—anger, excitement, fear, ambition, curiosity, surprise…
But lust?
Was he really feeling that toward her too?
He remembered the moment she jumped for a spike; the ball having deflected off a teammate toward her right side. Her entire body had tensed in perfect harmony, her legs spread slightly in mid-air. As she hit the ball, he focused entirely on how her torso flexed so gracefully. Well… maybe not just her torso. Maybe… her breasts. Okay, maybe not a little.
“Damn it…” he muttered.
Thinking about what had gone through his head at the exact moment she landed and twisted her ankle made him feel awful. Then came that scream of hers—
There was something strange in the sound. No—seductive was more accurate. But he preferred calling it strange.
At first, he’d kept his distance, watching with cold eyes from afar. But when it became clear her pain wasn’t going away, he walked over to help.
“Stay away from me!”
That sharp voice and piercing glare.
Lust.
The doctor had said it was a torn meniscus. She was given a two-week rest order. Whether it would fully heal would depend on how things will progress.
It’s strange. No one recalls when the Theater was built; just that it’s always been there. No one can recall seeing anyone come and go outside of showtime, either. Performers in costume and mask; lion men, dancers, puppets on strings and more, all gathered together for a single night to put on a spectacular display for the public before vanishing without a trace.
When not illuminated by its brilliant gold marquee lights, and caught in a cloud of music and wonder, the Theater is all but silent. Dead. Shrouded in tangible mystery that no one ever seems to question. Because the Theater has always been part of the landscape, seemingly since before the town around it was ever conceived.
Even more mysterious is the owner. Never mentioned by name, nor seen by the human eye. He speaks only through his staff, and the various performances put on by the Menagerie troop. There have been whispers before…whispers that maybe this phantom Puppeteer isn’t even human at all. But no one has seen him, so that can hardly be true.
The only fact that people do know, is that there have been strange disappearances in the town ever since it was built. Adults, children, animals…seemingly plucked from the sidewalk never to be seen again. Some say they merely ran away or died some horrible death. Others claim that they can see familiar faces behind the masks and costumes at the Theater, forced to perform like little wooden marionettes across a stage for the enjoyment of others.
But most, if not all, know to stay away from the Theater outside of showtime. Because any rule breaking in view of the great, haunted marquee? Well…may just end up with you as part of of the show.
[can be read on Ao3 as well]
[part one] [part two] [part three] [part four]
“Mi-shi-ma.”
Mishima recognized the cheerful voice, but he only saw a blur before he was pushed into the dark tool shed. The wood was cracked and splintered, letting in slivers of light. Not enough to see his attacker. “Kurusu…?”
“Hmm?”
Mishima shuddered at the warm breath ghosting across his neck. “Wh…What are you doing?”
“I tripped.” The soft chuckle that followed the obvious lie was far from innocent.
‘Bull!’ Mishima took a shaky breath, releasing it slowly. “I already told you, I’m… I don’t—I’m not scared of you!” No, that wasn’t right. The door creaked open before he could correct himself, flooding the small space with light. Mishima would describe the look on Akira’s face as hauntingly terrifying, but he felt no fear, just as he’d been told.
Akira licked his lips, a wolf circling its prey. “I always knew you weren’t. I need your help, Yuuki.” He slipped an arm around Mishima’s shoulder, keeping just an inch of distance between their bodies. “What do you think happened to Kamoshida? Do you really believe he had a change of heart?”
“Yes,” Mishima blurted out without a second thought. “Because—” He emitted a sharp cry of pain after biting his tongue.
Akira’s fingers gently squeezed Mishima’s shoulder. “Because…?” he prodded.
“I set up an unofficial site. I meant it as a joke, but people have taken it seriously.” Apprehension forgotten, Mishima dug out his phone and pulled up the proof of his efforts. The mobile layout had a color scheme identical to the one chosen for the “calling card” delivered to Kamoshida. Tapping a few links, Mishima held the higher for the other to get a good look. “A few names were left by people suggesting their hearts needed changing. Those same people came back later to say that it happened!”
Akira chuckled softly as Mishima bounced in place.
“I wanted to show you and Sakamoto. You guys seemed interested in Kamoshida’s case. But… I guess you already found it.” Mishima peeked up at the brunet with shy admiration. “I’m not sure how you do it—”
“All in due time,” Akira interrupted, giving Mishima’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “I’ve had my eye on you for quite a while now, but Ryuji thought you were still innocent. I’m really glad I don’t have to give you a roundabout explanation.”
“You needed my help…?” Mishima reminded him.
Akira’s eyes shone. “Yes. I’m taking Ryuji with me to take care of a few corrupted hearts tonight, but I need you working on a bigger project.” He used his free hand to pull something from his jacket’s pocket.
Mishima gaped at the note dangling in front of him. It was an original “calling card”, but the recipient was not Kamoshida. ‘Which means…!’
“If you’ll make a few copies of these for me, it’ll really be a great help. There’s also something else, but... it can wait until the end of the month.” The contemplative look on Akira’s face vanished, replaced with exaggerated glee. He was indeed glad for Mishima’s help, but with all his brand new toys, he had to put on a show. Leaning down, Akira pressed his lips to Mishima’s cheek, feeling it slowly grow warmer. “Don’t get caught, okay?”
“Yes,” Mishima rushed out, slowly accepting the “calling card”.
Akira gave Mishima another “good luck” kiss on the afternoon of May 31st. Which may have been a mistake on his part, but he had no intention of taking it back. This one was on the lips. The short brunet became frozen in place, the stack of papers almost slipping from his hands. They were smaller than Kamoshida’s, printed on a firm cardstock. Akira used his index finger to hold them in place, waiting for Mishima’s brain to come back online.
“Stop doing that!” the smaller teen hissed, drawing himself away.
Akira plastered on his best smile, “I can’t help it. I love teasing cute boys.”
Mishima’s eyes grew impossibly wider, the calling cards rustling as he trembled. “That’s not… funny. Anyway… I need to go.” He pointed over his shoulder, unable to take his eyes off Akira’s smiling face. “If I stay too long, they’ll figure out the camera is on a loop.”
“They won’t,” Akira argued. “You’re too smart for that.”
Mishima was already backing away with slow, calculated steps. Akira’s smile was blinding, made worse by the afternoon sun shining high above his head. Mishima had no interest other than the weird friendship they already had, but this person was toying with his emotions in a horrible way. With a quick bow, he disappeared to complete his task.
Humming softly, Akira headed in the opposite direction.
—
Sir Madarame Ichiryusai, a great sinner of vanity whose talent has been exhausted. You are an artist who uses his authority to shamelessly steal the ideas of his pupils. We have decided to make you confess all your crimes with your own mouth. We will take your distorted desires without fail.
The argument between the thieving artist and staff member meant nothing to him. Akira’s main focus was Madarame’s body language. Of course Madarame would be upset; his evening was being threatened. No. Akira needed another sign that the Shadow was on full alert. Madarame’s previous stomping came to a halt and he appeared almost relaxed despite the threat looming over his head. That was what he was looking for. Akira browsed through the exhibit, slowly making his way to the exit. Once outside, he tried not to skip back to where the other two waited.
Ryuji straightened from his slouched position immediately after spotting him. “Well?”
“He read it,” Akira hummed. “Since he’s not at the house, let’s enter the Palace from there. Less chance of being caught.”
“This ends tonight,” Yusuke told them, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Ryuji grinned, bumping shoulders with his boyfriend. “We’ll show ‘em.”
Akira trailed behind the couple, bottom lip caught between his teeth. It did nothing to hide the excitement brewing in his eyes or the wild smile still spreading across his face. It was now or never. The sooner they ended things, the more time he would have to play with his favorite boys.
xxx
Even though they entered with a mission to complete, Joker decided to test his new ability one more time. He started them from the bottom floor where Shadows were somewhat weaker. The creepy zombie chicken whined at him and Joker lifted his hand to his mask. He closed his eyes, trying to remember what he'd felt last time. Fear. Rage. Protect what's mine. He ripped the mask free. Apsaras remained and Succubus joined her. Joker let out a breathless laugh. "The power of thought really is amazing."
Skull shared in his excitement with a loud hoot, and Fox reprimanded them both in a stern voice.
Luckily for them, bullets were Onmoraki’s weakness. A few shots from Joker downed the creatures, leaving them vulnerable to an all-out attack. Pleased with the results, Joker marched forward.
After making their way to the central garden, the small group took a break in the nearby safe room.
"How do you remember their weaknesses?" Yusuke inquired, katana flat on the table they sat at. Ryuji leaned back in his chair, eyes locking on their leader.
Akira brushed his hair from his eyes, using his mask to conveniently hold them back. Ryuji smirked at the action. "It seems pointless to just say I remember. I think the Persona I can summon tells me. I carry everything we've faced off against so far, so they remind me what hurts them." He sighed deeply, lowering his head. "It sounds stupid."
"It does," Yusuke hummed, never one for mincing words. "But considering all that I've seen—everything that I'm experiencing... I'm willing to believe you." He reached across the table, covering Akira's gloved hand with his own, and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You are very strong. Joker."
Akira inhaled sharply and Ryuji righted his chair with a laugh, "I was wondering when that perverted side of you would make an appearance."
Akira opened his mouth to argue, but was silence by a sharp squeeze to his hand.
"If I recall, Ryuji..."
Ryuji's smug grin melted right off his face and he sunk deeper into the chair to hide from Yusuke's voice.
"You were the one that provided Akira with an oral service all because—and I quote—you wanted to shut up him up." Akira looked across the table, smirking at the blond's embarrassed blush. "We're all perverted," Yusuke sighed, slowly removing his hand from Akira's. He folded both arms over his weapon. "Maybe that's what drew us together."
A moment of silence followed, hanging thick and heavy in the air. Joker slammed his hands down onto the table, pushing himself up out of his seat. "We won't get anywhere moping around. We don't have long to go.” And with that, they took the quickest route—traveling through safe rooms—to make their way to the to the highest level traveled.
—
Fox would have enjoyed racing through a landscape similar to M. C. Escher’s Relativity print, had it not been for the annoyingly bright gold surrounding them—blinding them—at every twist and turn. In addition to the maze that was the room itself, another riddle soon barred their way, and it came in the form of Madarame’s most famous painting.
The “Sayuri” was his specialty. Fox knew every detail about the painting and helped guide Joker towards the right path after eliminating the fakes, though they were all probably counterfeit.
After freeing themselves from the maze, the trio of rogues rushed down a hallway of insurmountable vanity. Madarame’s portrait lined every inch of the walls. Skull faked throwing up as Joker pushed the heavy double doors that would lead them to their destination, and the Treasure.
Chaos greeted them in the Main Hall. Skull walked into Joker’s back when their leader stalled, making him aware of the blaring alarms. He stepped out from behind him, surveying the area. The oversized display area was surrounded by guards, all running back and forth with no apparent destination. Looking up to the rafters Madarame’s Shadow screamed at, Skull saw human-shaped silhouettes, but then quickly reminded himself that the Shadows of a Palace always appeared humanoid until their masks were ripped off.
Madarame only noticed their presence when Fox called out to him. “Meddlesome vermin,” he growled. “They’re everywhere!” He stretched out his arm to the guard on his left. “Is this what you’re looking for?” Tucked beneath the masked Shadow’s arms was a golden frame. Madarame smirked, eyes aglow, as he stared down his nose at the small group. “I suppose I can grant you a gift before you die—a glimpse of the genuine “Sayuri”…!”
Fox took a step ahead of the others, moving closer to the man he’d once called his foster father. “Genuine…?” The painting he’d treasured for most of his life really was… fake?
Madarame nodded at the Shadow and the guard moved forward, flipping the golden frame into an upright position. Gone was the gentle plume of lavender smoke that covered the bottom half of the painting. It revealed that the subject of the painting cradled a baby dearly in her arms. The reverent, caring look on her face was for the baby she held.
Fox’s eyes widened behind his decorated mask. He’d known Madarame helped his mother, but had still been too young to remember her before she passed. In a fit of rage after not delivering a painting on time, his mentor had spat at him: “Her skills and talents were quite astonishing. That’s why I decided to look after her. The only reason I took you in was due to my ties with your mother! You belong to me! If you have even a fraction of the talent she did—” A conversation he had never shared with Ryuji, for fear that he would’ve killed the real Madarame.
The painting, however—Fox could practically feel the love emanating from it. A mother’s love. “Mom…!”
It was a surprise reveal, even to Joker, but he left the theatrics to Skull. The blond released a loud, drawled, “hah?!”
Madarame’s condescending look returned as he gave them another long-winded explanation. “Indeed it is. This was painted by your mother. It’s a portrait of herself. A woman who knew her death was coming painted her last wishes for the son she would leave behind.”
Skull stepped forward, electricity crackling beneath his boot, eyes alight in rage and a desire for destruction. “You stole something that personal?! You’re lower than scum!”
“Call me what you wish!” Madarame’s Shadow roared. “Your mother and the artwork she created—they’re all my works of art! That goes for you as well, Yusuke! I’m going to reap you for the sake of my future.”
Gaze unwavering, the katana wielder stared at the golden figure directly across from them. He chose to ignore their enemy addressing him as a personal object. “I’ve heard that you destroy your “art” once they outlive their usefulness… Did that include my mother as well?”
With all the research done, that thought never once crossed Joker’s mind. Her death was the result of a seizure. Madarame proved him wrong. “—if I don’t call for help and leave her be, I could obtain her painting with no strings attached.”
Joker moved on instinct, reaching out to cover Skull’s trembling fist with a hand. His actions were also to ground himself. “You’re a thief, and a murderer.”
Fox inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. There was no point doting on the past. Even if Madarame wasn’t the foul man standing before them, his mother would never have received proper health care. He could now tell himself her life was better; peaceful. That still didn’t excuse Madarame—Shadow or not. “Thank you, Madarame,” Fox chuckled, hand resting leisurely on the hilt of his sword. “You were kind enough to share the truth with me.” The blade was eased out of the scabbard. “It’s unfortunate that every reason for me to forgive you has disappeared without a trace.”
Having been looked down on, Madarame’s Shadow threw another temper tantrum. His features distorted as they expanded, and the trio of vigilantes found themselves staring at five separate paintings.
“Now you think you’re art?” Yusuke scoffed, fully unsheathing his blade. “You’re a despicable fiend who wears the skin of an artist.”
—
Battling Madarame was tedious and frustrating. Every piece of himself was weak to different attack types. The mouth regenerated on physical attacks; the eyes, to elemental skills. The nose was the easiest to drop. The right eye went next.
Skull was aiming for the left eye when something suddenly washed over him. It felt like spider webs clung to every inch of his body and he brushed madly at his arms. That’s when he noticed the black of his outfit was even darker than before. It was almost as if he were covered in shadows.
Something about Shadow Madarame's sudden “attack” on their teammate didn't sit right with neither Fox nor Joker. Skull swung his arms to get rid of the dripping black ink. His hair was as pitch black as the rest of his attire. "What the hell was that...?" Skull muttered, spitting ink after it dripped into his mouth. He faced the floating pieces of a face, eyes narrowed behind his messy mask. "What the hell did you do to me?!"
The left eye regarded him briefly before the mouth soared down to attack. Skull held up his pipe in defense, but the bulky frame still bowled him off his feet. He knew for a fact that he was strong enough to take a hit and keep moving—some of his own attacks required a sacrifice to his health—but now he felt weak where he was sprawled. The frame reared back, only to snap forward, the mouth open wide. Skull jerked, feeling the teeth cut through his clothes and sink into his flesh. And then the pain was gone. He looked to Fox first, an apology in his dark eyes, before turning to stare pleadingly at Joker.
Fox's katana clattered to the ground after slipping from his fingers. Joker couldn't look away from the empty eyes that continued to stare blankly at him. Skull's body fell lifelessly to the ground after being released, a dark liquid pooling with the previous ink. Joker watched the blood spread, growing brighter and brighter the further it flowed from the ink blotches.
"Ryu...ji?"
Fox's voice sounded distant in Joker's ears. Red, red, red. Skull was dead, all because of him! No. He turned to stare at the paintings that were now melting into a puddle of ink. From it rose a figure. Madarame. Ryuji would never get up again, so why should he? Joker saw red, and then... darkness.
—
"...ra. Akira! Stop! Akira, snap out of it!"
Joker blinked away the darkness, squinting when the gleam of Madarame’s Palace assaulted his eyes. Madarame lay at his feet, cowering, something dripping onto the ground near him. The source was his glove, stained black. The only thing black in this world was the ink this charlatan artist produced and Joker hoped he tried to rip out the Shadow’s heart.
Shifting his gaze from the sniveling creature, Joker found Fox sitting in the pool of ink and blood, Skull cradled in his lap.
Joker bared his teeth in a silent snarl directed at Madarame, but Fox's desperate voice stopped him from lashing out.
"He's not going anywhere. Joker, I need you to think. There has to be a way to... to wake..." Fox tightened his arms around the lifeless frame. "I can't live without him."
Joker took a step back, closing his eyes in thought. If they took him from the Palace in his current state, there would be no bringing him back. 'Bring back... revive!' "I'm so stupid," the trickster sighed. He opened the right side of his jacket and reached into the darkness. A small bead was held between his fingers when he removed his hand. "Arsene." The gentleman Persona appeared in a flurry of feathers and dark laughter. "Keep an eye on him."
Madarame whimpered and covered his head.
Joker hurried to where Fox sat, taking a knee near Skull's head. He cradled it gently, slipping the bead past his lips. He whispered an apology after having to force it down his throat, drawing his hand away with the hope that it worked. The diagonal rips in the blond's outfit slowly began mending themselves, working their way upwards until Skull drew in a sharp, shuddering breath. His mask pushed aside, Yusuke clung tight to his lover, breathing in deeply the unique scent that was Ryuji and the leather of his outfit.
Skull ripped off his mask, wide eyes staring up at Joker. "Did I...?"
"Don't," the brunet hissed. Pixie materialized at his shoulder. She fluttered down, pressing a kiss to Ryuji's forehead, before disappearing once again.
Ryuji was very familiar with the winged Persona and knew she aided in his recovery process. After three failed attempts to free his right arm, he pushed at Yusuke’s shoulder with his left. "Oi. Let me go."
"Never," the artist whispered, voice barely audible where his face was buried against Ryuji's chest.
"You have to." Ryuji ran a gentle hand over the dark locks. "This is your fight. He's your demon. You need to face him, one last time."
Yusuke ducked out from beneath the hand, placing a kiss to its palm, and reluctantly released Ryuji. He pushed himself back onto his feet, reaching down to offer Ryuji assistance. Another gloved hand appeared beside his, courtesy of Akira. Ryuji grinned and accepted both, springing up when they pulled him.
—
Even in his last moments, the Shadow spouted nothing but nonsense to Yusuke.
“No one cares for true art… All they want are easily recognizable brands!” Madarame’s Shadow tripped over his own feet and fell, still holding tight to the original “Sayuri”. Yusuke calmly strode up, each step slow and deliberate. “I’m a victim in this too! Wouldn’t you agree?!”
Never had Yusuke felt such a strong urge to raise his hand against someone, but he buried the dark desire, and stopped his advances right at Madarame’s spread feet.
“The art world revolves around money after all,” the Shadow babbled on in explanation, hoping to be spared. “You can’t rise up without any money…!”
Akira dug his heels in after wrapping both arms around Ryuji. The blond still managed to drag him several feet as he snarled at the vain creature. “Why are we listenin’ to your bullshit?! You belong in the depths of hell then, because none of the money you own is yours! Yusuke is suffering because of you! Some of your former students committed suicide after you ruined their lives!”
“Ryuji.” Yusuke smiled placatingly over his shoulder at the blond.
Ryuji calmed, only to snap at Akira instead, hissing ‘pervert’ even though he made no attempt to remove the arms around his waist.
“That’s why… Yusuke, you should understand! Being a poor artist is truly miserable!” Madarame clutched “Sayuri” protectively against his chest. “I just didn’t want to return to that life!”
Yusuke’s eyes burned a deadly silver as he stared down at the sad excuse for an artist. His kick to dislodge the painting was light. Once it was out of harm’s way, he pressed the heel of his boot against the Shadow’s neck. “Don’t you dare speak of the world of art.” Each word was laced with ice and the promise of painful death. He shifted his stance, forcing Madarame to tilt his head back as he put more pressure into his foot. “You’re done for, along with this abomination of a world.”
Ryuji found himself sharing in Akira’s excitement—the brunet practically rutted against his back. This was a Yusuke whose company he could definitely enjoy.
Yusuke removed his foot, only after leaving Madarame with the strict order to confess all his sins and crimes. As the Shadow caught his breath, he stooped down to collect the “Sayuri”.
"There are others like you," Madarame hurriedly stated, pushing himself into a more upright seated position.
Akira stepped out from behind Ryuji at that reveal, a wary look darkening his features. “Who?”
“Does it matter…? I had to increase security, because everyone kept trespassing!" The sudden surge of anger left Madarame feeling hollow and he sighed softly, his posture crumbling, along with his form. “Sayuri” was gone. He had no Treasure to keep the museum open. As more of his form melted away, the Palace began falling around them.
“Yusuke!” Ryuji shouted, holding out a hand. Akira stood ahead of him, warily eyeing their surroundings as more and more of the building continued to fall.
In the time that he'd known him, Ryuji had no recollection of ever seeing Yusuke cry. The tall brunet had one arm wrapped around Madarame's Treasure and his free hand clutched the end of Ryuji's school jacket. His head was lowered, but Ryuji could hear the soft sniffles. Akira stood several feet away, hands in the pocket of his school slacks as stared in the opposite direction gave them their privacy.
"Yusuke." Ryuji pried the hand from his clothes, only to have Yusuke latch onto him instead. He smiled. "Hey. C'mon. We're going back to Akira's. I already told my mom. We'll talk about everything—" His gaze cut to Akira's profile. "—tomorrow."
Yusuke wordlessly nodded. With a deep breath, he raised his head.
Ryuji couldn't hold in his laugh and received a chastising frown for his efforts. "Because your face is the same even though you were just crying!" He used their joined hands to pull Yusuke in, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "My cyborg boyfriend." Yusuke didn't reprimand him for his actions of public display, which was all the proof Ryuji needed that he was exhausted. "Akira. Let's go."
Akira looked away from Madarame's house to assess the couple. Yusuke leaned against Ryuji's side, trying his hardest not to be obvious how much he desired the contact. Ryuji masked his worry behind a wide grin. Akira thought his mask to be perfect, but now he wasn't so sure. These two were a force to be reckoned with. They were putting cracks in his facade.
With a small smile, he shortened the distance between them. Akira clapped Ryuji on the shoulder as he passed to take the lead. They were going to his apartment after all.
—
Yusuke released Ryuji after they crossed the threshold of Akira's apartment. Safe room. A small smile tugged at his lips at the comparison and looked around for somewhere to set “Sayuri”. Akira's hand covered his and Yusuke was surprised he had no objections when the painting was pried from his fingers.
"I have a workroom," Akira told him. "It'll be safe in there."
Yusuke nodded. He felt unsure of his emotions, considering everything that took place in that horrid Palace, and feared that his voice would betray him, so he remained silent during preparations for sleep. When Akira pulled out the futon, Yusuke tugged at it until it was released. He took the brunet's hand instead and led him into the bedroom.
Ryuji was sprawled diagonally across the bed. Despite their previous argument, Akira now realized his mistake; he was too invested in this couple. Instead of “Ryuji”, he saw “Skull”, bleeding out on the Palace floor. Akira felt his mask develop another crack and fought to free himself from Yusuke's hold.
"We're all scared, idiot," Ryuji sighed. He sat up, pushing aside the covers, and spread his arms wide. "Unless you're a shitty sleeper that rolls a lot, there's enough room here for all three of us."
Akira took a deep breath, exhaling it slow enough that his mask could repair itself.
Yusuke put all his efforts to waste, shattering it with the softest kiss against his lips. "Thank you," he whispered.
Ryuji grinned at Akira's bewildered expression. It really was great seeing the bastard knocked down several pegs. He hopped from the bed and swooped in, easily lifting the troublesome transfer student onto his shoulder. Akira protested as well as flailed, glaring up at the couple after being unceremoniously tossed onto the bed. His temper was ignored and Ryuji climbed over him, settling at his back. Yusuke turned off the lights before slipping in in front of Akira. His hand ghosted over the slender hip, curling around Akira's back.
“I was going to congratulate you on not getting hard because I picked you up," Ryuji mumbled against the nape of Akira's neck. “But I can hear your heartbeat."
"He's not." Yusuke's ankles were tangled with Akira's, his leg conveniently trapped between the other's thigh. He could feel no stir of arousal.
“I’m angry, that’s why,” Akira spat. "This seems very unfair." A lie. Anger was the only emotion he could conjure to hide his nervous excitement; Akira was quite content with his current predicament.
“Life’s not fair, idiot.” Ryuji hummed and threw his arm over Akira's waist, chin hooked over his shoulder. "Go to sleep, pervert."
Akira had no idea how long it took before he managed to fall asleep, but he had the fleeting thought that he felt more at home trapped between these two boys than he ever did in his family house. It was only after burrowing his way against Yusuke’s chest and having Ryuji’s arms tighten around him that Akira felt his subconscious slip away. Even if he didn't dream tonight, it wouldn't matter; he was living it.
So, i saw that your request are open. First time requesting here, so sorry if i didn't respect the rules.
Can i ask Harumasa and any character you want with a reader who fight with grenades. People usuamy avoid the reader a bit because they think they are a moving grenades, but they mainly have snack outside the battle field. But inside the reader is in a corner of the battle field and with a grenade launcher: "Oh, *character's name* its not just a big weapon. Its a grenades launcher", in the most calm way possible
English is not my first language and if i break any rules i' sorry. Bye
Dessert and Detonation
Summary: You’re Section 6’s newest recruit, notorious for wielding grenades—both feared and misunderstood by your teammates. Paired with the lazy yet brilliant Asaba Harumasa, you discover that your explosive skills and his precise efficiency make you an unstoppable team. Outside the battlefield, you mostly snack and avoid attention, but when cornered, you calmly reveal the true power of your weapon: a grenade launcher. Amidst chaos and fire, a quiet bond forms between the walking grenade and the lazy genius.
Warnings: Violence/ Explosions/Combat Scenes, Mild Blood/Injury (Hollows and battlefield casualties), Dark Undertones (Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome, limited lifespan), Mild Language, Depiction of strategic destruction (grenade use, property damage).
The briefing room was unusually quiet that morning. Section 6 of H.A.N.D.’s Hollow Special Operations wasn’t known for silence—especially not when Harumasa was there, reclining lazily against a chair with his arms folded, eyes half-lidded in his usual half-asleep, half-amused way.
But today was different.
Because today, you were there.
The new recruit.
The “walking grenade.”
No one said it out loud, but everyone thought it.
You sat a few seats away from Harumasa, chewing on a rice cracker while scrolling through the mission data on your holo-tablet. Crumbs dotted your uniform like flecks of ash. When you looked up, a few teammates quickly looked away—like you’d pull a pin if they stared too long.
Harumasa watched this in silence, head tilted slightly, a faint smirk ghosting over his lips.
He’d seen this kind of reaction before.
People feared what they didn’t understand.
Still, the idea of someone using grenades as their main weapon was... unconventional. Even for Section 6.
He decided he liked that.
The mission briefing wrapped up. Another Hollow infestation. Urban sector, minimal civilian presence. Standard containment protocol.
Harumasa stretched and yawned. “So,” he murmured, glancing at you as the others left the room, “you gonna snack your way through the mission too, or do you save that for after the explosions?”
You looked at him, unimpressed, popping another cracker into your mouth. “Snacking is fuel. Explosions are dessert.”
He chuckled softly. “That so? I’ll keep my distance, then. Don’t wanna get caught in the blast radius of your appetite.”
You shrugged. “People already avoid me. You might as well join them.”
Harumasa’s eyes—bright, intelligent, and quietly tired—studied you. “Maybe I’m lazy, but I don’t like doing what everyone else does.”
You blinked. “So you’re saying you’re too lazy to avoid me?”
He grinned. “Exactly.”
The mission began at dusk.
Ether winds rippled through the ruined streets as the team split into pairs. You were, unsurprisingly, assigned to Harumasa.
“Guess I’m your handler today,” he said, checking the tension on his compound bow, Dormant Tide. The twin blades shimmered faintly with restrained Ether light. “Don’t blow me up, yeah?”
“No promises,” you replied with a small smile, flipping a grenade in your hand. It hummed softly with compressed Ether—beautiful, deadly, perfectly stable. For now.
He raised a brow. “You handle that thing like it’s a snack.”
“Maybe that’s why people think I’m dangerous,” you said lightly.
He laughed under his breath. “Or maybe they’re just not used to someone so calm holding death in their hand.”
You looked at him. “That’s rich coming from the guy who uses a weapon that can split into two swords mid-air.”
He gave a lazy shrug. “Efficiency.”
You smirked. “Explosions are efficient too.”
Hours passed. The mission went smoothly at first—clean kills, coordinated movements, minimal Ether expenditure.
Harumasa fought with elegance, every shot from Dormant Tide precise and economical. You fought with rhythm—grenades tossed with uncanny timing, detonations echoing like a percussion symphony.
But then, everything changed.
A tremor.
An Ether surge.
And suddenly, the city block beneath you groaned and split apart.
Hollows poured from the fissures like shadows come alive.
Your comm crackled. “Section 6, regroup at sector D—!”
Static.
Cut off.
“Figures,” Harumasa muttered, firing an arrow that split mid-flight, slicing through two Hollow forms. “They never make these things easy.”
You reloaded your launcher with mechanical precision, eyes scanning the battlefield. “Left flank’s collapsing. We’re surrounded.”
He clicked his tongue. “Tch. Hate when that happens.”
“You sound very concerned,” you said dryly.
“I’d be more concerned if it meant I had to run.”
You smirked faintly, stepping forward as the creatures closed in. “Then let’s not run.”
The first wave came fast—twisting, shrieking shapes lunging through smoke. You fired a volley, the concussive blasts illuminating the dusk.
Grenade pins clinked. Ether detonations painted the street in gold and crimson.
You moved fluidly, almost lazily, as if every explosion was just a breath in your rhythm. Harumasa covered your blind spots, arrows flying like streaks of lightning.
“Not bad,” he called out. “You’ve got good aim for someone everyone’s afraid of.”
“Maybe they’re afraid because I have good aim,” you shot back, tossing another grenade behind you without even looking. It detonated mid-air, obliterating a Hollow creeping up behind him.
He blinked. “...Remind me never to piss you off.”
“Too late,” you teased.
But even prodigies tire.
Your grenades were running low. The Hollows didn’t stop coming. The air shimmered with Ether distortion.
Harumasa’s breathing grew uneven; his fingers trembled briefly as he notched another arrow. You noticed—the faint pallor on his face, the sweat at his temple. You’d read his file. Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome.
He noticed your stare. “Don’t,” he muttered.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t look at me like that. I know my limits.”
You exhaled slowly. “Then save your strength. I’ll handle this.”
He frowned. “You’re out of grenades.”
“Who said I was?”
You reached for the last device at your hip—not a standard grenade, but something heavier, longer. You clicked it into the modified tube slung over your shoulder. The mechanism whirred to life.
Harumasa blinked. “Wait—when did you have a—”
You gave a small smile, calm even as the Hollows closed in from all sides.
“Oh, it’s not just a big weapon,” you said, lowering the launcher and taking aim.
“It’s a grenade launcher.”
The next moment was thunder.
A single shot.
A heartbeat of silence.
Then the entire street erupted into a controlled inferno.
The blast wave rolled out in a perfect arc, annihilating the encroaching Hollows but leaving the two of you untouched within the eye of the explosion.
When the smoke cleared, the ground was scorched black.
Harumasa let out a low whistle. “Efficient.”
You smirked. “Told you. Dessert.”
He stared at you for a long moment before breaking into a laugh—quiet at first, then genuine. “You’re insane. I like that.”
Later, when the team regrouped and the extraction drones began their sweep, Harumasa leaned against a ruined wall, his bow folded and strapped to his back. You sat beside him, munching on a packet of sweet biscuits, completely unbothered by the soot and chaos around you.
He eyed the snacks. “You ever stop eating?”
You offered him one. “You ever stop pretending you’re not exhausted?”
He hesitated before taking it. “Touché.”
Silence lingered between you for a while—comfortable, for once. The others gave you both a wide berth, but you didn’t care.
“You know,” Harumasa said eventually, “people think I’m lazy because I avoid effort. But really, I just hate wasting energy on things that don’t matter.”
You glanced at him. “And I’m guessing I matter enough that you didn’t avoid being my partner today?”
He smiled faintly, eyes reflecting the dim light of the setting sun. “You’re efficient. I respect that. You don’t waste your energy either—you just make sure it explodes in the right place.”
You laughed softly. “That’s... oddly poetic.”
He shrugged. “Maybe it’s the Ether talking. Or the sugar.”
The quiet stretched again, broken only by the distant hum of drones and your continued munching.
After a while, he spoke again, voice softer. “When I was younger, I used to think the only way to live was to burn bright and fast. Like a spark in a storm. Now I think... maybe it’s enough to burn just long enough to see the fireworks.”
You looked at him, and for a fleeting moment, saw past the smirk and lazy drawl—the fatigue in his eyes, the awareness of his own limited time.
“Then,” you said, tossing another biscuit his way, “I’ll make sure the fireworks are worth it.”
He caught it with an easy smile. “Deal.”
And as the night fell over the ruined city, you both sat in companionable silence—two anomalies in Section 6: the lazy genius and the walking grenade, quietly sharing snacks under the distant crackle of fading stars.
His introduction was brief. Kurusu Akira; that was all these faceless classmates needed to know. The only seat available was next to the obvious delinquent, who stood out from the rest of his peers. They were all society’s rejects, though.
The blond’s eyes grew sharper—his glare more murderous—the closer he got to the desk, but Akira was immune to stares like his. He’d been receiving them for as long as he could remember, and the ones that came from his own household were worse.
Akira pulled out the chair to take a seat, only to have it kicked away.
“Sakamoto!”
Sakamoto directed his glare at the teacher in the front of the room, giving Akira time to collect his chair. It was kicked away again once he had it back behind his desk, but this time Sakamoto grinned cheekily at him, wordlessly egging him on to do something.
Akira didn’t believe the third time was the charm. He spun his desk sideways and slammed it against Sakamoto’s, pushing until he effectively trapped the blond against the wall. A low murmur of surprise and shock rolled through the classroom. “I don’t have time to play games, thug. We’re all here because society rejected us. No idea what you did, but…” Akira grinned slowly, leaning forward so he could whisper, “I killed a man.”
“Get the hell away from me, you freak!” Sakamoto hissed, scrambling to free himself from the desks.
Akira placed a hand to the back of his chair, holding it and the blond in place. “Momentarily. I just want to clear the air between us since we’ll be sitting next to each other for the next year. I have no intention of harming you, and you will hold no ill will towards me. Got it? Now then, I’m going to put my desk and chair back, and you’ll sit here quietly.”
Akira released Sakamoto’s chair, using both hands to carefully move his desk back to his original spot. He smiled graciously at the terrified student that pushed his chair closer to him and took it, settling it behind the desk. His eyes cut over to Sakamoto and the blond visibly jumped. With a soft hum of approval, Akira took his seat.
Sakamoto snatched up his bag and stormed across the back of the classroom, slamming the sliding door after walking out. Akira chuckled to himself. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad here after all.
Sakamoto was missing for the remainder of the week.
At the start of the new week, Akira found himself laughing out loud when he stepped into the classroom. The scowling blond had dragged his desk to the back of the room, out of Akira’s range. He crossed the room to his desk, hanging his school case from the provided hook, and straddled the chair backwards so he could give the scowling teen his full attention. “Did I scare you, thug?”
“Stop calling me that, ya freak! why the hell aren’t you in jail?!”
“My dear parents are government officials and would rather the family name stay untarnished.”
Brown eyes widened. “…you literally got away with murder?” he squawked.
Akira chuckled softly, “I did. It was ruled as self-defense. There was even a witness.” The bell rang then and Akira pouted at having their heart-to-heart cut short.
Sakamoto clutched the edge of his desk, forcing himself to remain seated. He couldn’t walk out again. If he missed too many days, he wouldn’t even be considered for graduation. It mattered because he had someone that needed his support. He promised he’d take all the steps necessary to become someone capable of representing the up and coming artist.
Sakamoto Ryuji was a juvenile offender. He’d beaten his dad after the sad sack of bones laid a hand on his mom, then turned around and sent his P.E. teacher to the hospital. That fight caused both parties casualties, but Ryuji’s care was mediocre at best. Lucky for him, his mom took him to a back-alley doctor that properly set his leg. Running was out of the question now, which meant kissing his track scholarship goodbye.
Ryuji sighed deeply and decided the world outside of this last-ditch dump was more interesting. He disliked the transfer student even more now for unknowingly dredging up the past he’d laid behind him. Ryuji could always ask Mishima for his notes to copy. His classmate was more than willing to offer his assistance.
On his third week at the new school, Akira decided he needed a little more excitement in his life. It was time to up the stakes in his cat and mouse game. His prey was too fun to ignore.
Ryuji was roused from his lunchtime nap by the sound of a dragging chair. He lifted his head, ready to tell off the asshole, but almost jumped out of his seat after finding the transfer student smiling down at him.
“Kitagawa Yusuke.”
Ryuji’s body moved on autopilot. The chair clattered noisily to the floor after he shot out of it, fingers twisted up in the material of Akira’s shirt. He slammed the brunet against the chalkboard at the back of the classroom, their faces mere meters apart as he growled, “Don’t mess with me.”
Akira smiled, chuckling darkly. “I’ve been messing with you ever since I walked into this classroom. You’re such a pretty little toy. Not even worthy enough to be a pawn.”
Ryuji didn’t give a shit what the bastard said about him–he’d heard it all before. “Leave Yusuke alone. It’s me you want, isn’t it?”
Akira’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Maybe I want you both.”
Ryuji snarled, dragging him forward only to slam him back against the wall. The class was huddled on one side of the room now, the teacher already gone to collect the principal, or maybe a police officer.
“My sweet Sakamoto.” Elegant fingers ghosted down the side of his face and Ryuji shuddered, repulsed, under the gentle touch. “I can help you get what you want. A future. For you, and your beloved.”
Ryuji blinked, his grip loosening in that moment. Akira bared his teeth in a feral grin, swapping their positions in the blink of an eye. Ryuji’s front was pinned to the wall, his left arm twisted behind his back, just shy of being painful. The other was trapped against the chalkboard by Akira’s right hand. “But you, and your beloved, will belong to me. Do you accept?”
“Hell, no,” Ryuji spat, his chest rising and falling sharply, pushing him back against the transfer student more than he’d liked.
“Hmm.” Akira released the blond, springing back when Ryuji wildly swung out. He skipped backwards with a wide smile, arms spread wide in a mocking challenge gesture.
Ryuji settled for punching the chalkboard to vent his anger rather than the smug face presented to him. He counted in his head, each digit accompanied by a sharp breath, until he could slowly inhale and exhale. Ryuji dropped his arm to his side just as the classroom door flew open and two officers burst in. Akira was already seated, along with everyone else, looking innocent as ever. Ryuji picked up his fallen chair and glared at the men.
“Your teacher said there was a fight,” the broader of the two uniformed men stated. His hardened gaze swept around the classroom before landing on Ryuji with a sneer. “Why are you out of your seat?”
“A bee came in the window—scared the piss outta me.” Sakamoto bit back a grin as a few students snickered at his response. “I wasn’t gonna let it sting me. Chased it back out, and that’s when you showed up.”
The officers surveyed the room. No one looked worse for wear other than Sakamoto, but his story would explain his flushed appearance. He knew most of these students wouldn’t lie for a delinquent like him, so maybe the fault was the teacher’s this time around. With a sigh, the man elbowed his partner out of the room, indicating that the teacher at the opposite door do the same.
Ryuji sank into his seat with a muffled curse, burying his head in his hands. He’d been swayed by Kurusu’s sugar-coated words, and they haunted him even now. Could there be a future for him and Yusuke? No one would question their relationship, considering their background. The art society already dubbed Yusuke as eccentric because of his style; of course, he’d take a male lover. But to be led around by the nose by someone just as bad as the adults that locked them both away…
Ryuji lifted his head, a silent snarl curling his lips after finding the undesired subject of his thoughts smiling at him.
xxx
Kitagawa Yusuke loved a brooding Ryuji. He became a posable subject with no complaints. The young artist sat Ryuji down and Ryuji slouched forward, elbow braced on his knee as he kept his head elevated with his hand. The Thinker. Yusuke could work with that. He flitted around the room and decided the best place for him was on the floor in front of the blond. He crossed his legs and balanced his sketchbook in his lap.
“He’s pissing me off so much,” Ryuji hissed.
Yusuke hummed, studying the creases in the other’s brow. He’d heard the story of this Kurusu Akira enough times to know that Ryuji would talk himself into a slump. He was not expecting to be included in their arguments, however. His hand paused on the thick parchment, head rising slowly. “Pardon?”
“He knows, about us. Threatened me by mentioning you.” Ryuji reached his slump sooner than expected. He bowed forward, head between his knees, arms bracketing his head. “I don’t care what he does to me, but I can’t let him get to you.”
Yusuke set aside his supplies and rose onto his knees. He covered Ryuji’s hands with his, pressing a light kiss to the sun-gold crown. “Despite my appearances, I am quite capable of taking care of myself. Besides… aren’t you the one that said I'm, and I quote, effin’ weird?” Ryuji choked out a laugh. Yusuke smiled, “Why would anyone want anything to do with someone as weird as me?”
“Because they’re not as dumb as I am to see you’re effin’ amazin’.” Ryuji lifted his head, stealing a kiss from the unsuspecting brunet.
Yusuke closed his eyes and sat back onto his calves with a sigh, “You’re a walking contradiction. I’m either weird or amazing. I can’t be both. And you are not dumb. You excel in other areas that aren’t related to the subjects they teach at school.”
“You sure as hell can be both!” Ryuji argued, jumping to his feet. “And was that a roundabout insult?!”
Yusuke opened his eyes to stare up at the blond from his floored position. He knew Ryuji liked to stand tall sometimes, considering he was the shorter one of their pairing. Yusuke bared his neck, a playful smile curling his lips.
Ryuji tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, releasing it with a curse. “You don’t play fair, man. What time is your creepy guardian coming back?”
“Not for another few hours. Here is fine. You might ignite some creative thoughts in me. I’m already overflowing with thoughts of how much I adore you.”
“Hate you, man,” Ryuji growled, yanking Yusuke up high enough for him to lean down and crush their mouths together. Yusuke smiled against the bruising kiss, which only further served to light a fire in Ryuji.
Yusuke tucked his purchases into his bag and thanked the bookstore owner with a low bow. Jinbocho was one of his top five places to visit. It housed the amazing book shops Yusuke loved to frequent when he could afford it. He straightened up under the weight of an intense gaze. Yusuke had gotten no physical description of their mysterious foe from Ryuji, but he knew it was Kurusu Akira that stared at him from the opposite side of the bustling street. The head of dark, curly hair tilted right and there was a faint hint of teeth as the teen grinned. Yusuke felt a strange combination of fear and excitement. He tightened his grip on the strap of his bag and began moving in the direction of the station.
“Gorgeous.”
Yusuke shivered at the whispered word and forced his feet to keep moving forward. One in front of the other.
“Have you ever considered a self-portrait?”
Yusuke took a few slow steps before finally stopping to address the stranger. Akira’s smile was brilliant and Yusuke’s nails dug into his palm around the strap of his bags. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I understand what you’re referring to.”
Akira laughed, the sound light, yet dangerous. “Your canvas bag. You’re obviously an artist. Have you thought about doing a self-portrait? Because you’re gorgeous.”
Yusuke bowed his head. “Thank you for the compliment, but I don’t think I’ll make a good subject.”
Akira’s face took on an innocent appearance of confusion. “Someone disagrees. I’ve seen a portrait of you. It doesn’t capture any of your beauty and inner strength, though.”
Yusuke took a step towards the teen, eyes narrowing. “Who would dare…?”
Akira’s smile slowly lost its innocence, his gray eyes cutting through the artist, leaving him with that feeling of terrified excitement. “I can show you if you like,” he hummed
“No.” It was an automatic response, conditioned into him by Ryuji, but Yusuke had also lost interest in his stalker.
Akira’s smile twitched as though he hadn’t expected the refusal. The innocent facade melted away and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Ryuji warned you, huh? Didn’t think he was that smart.”
Yusuke’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that. Ryuji is brilliant. If it wasn’t for him, I don’t know where I’d be right now.”
“Hmm.” Akira tapped his pursed lips. “At my side, not being used by Madarame? You’re obviously the brains in the relationship. Encourage him to give me a chance. Promise you won’t regret it.” With a wink, Akira disappeared into the next wave of browsers and shoppers.
Yusuke left the violence up to the rest of society, but right now, he felt a strong desire to pick up a wooden sword once again. It would mean going back to the school where he was an outcast even amongst other artists, and hiding; biding his time to use their kendo room. Ryuji would have to come with him to be on the lookout, and the blond hated Kosei more than his own school. Yusuke closed his eyes, listening to the bustle of Japan’s citizens with the hopes of calming his fraying nerves.
—used by Madarame.
He gritted his teeth and fished his phone from his pocket to place a call.
“Wassup, man?”
“Please meet me at my school.”
Ryuji was silent for a few moments and Yusuke pictured him fighting with his thoughts. “Yeah, sure. Only because I love your lanky ass.”
Talking with Ryuji was a relaxing act in and of itself. “My ass is not lanky.”
“Nope. It’s gonna be mine after we graduate, though!”
“One hour,” Yusuke sighed with a shake of his head.
“Yes, dear.”
He was smiling at the end of their call, but Akira’s words still created more niggling thoughts in the back of his mind.
xxx
Ryuji gave Yusuke a treat while he practiced his stances and strikes, congratulating him on his amazing control at the end. Truth was, Yusuke couldn’t move after being serviced by Ryuji’s skilled mouth. The blond laughed from the kendo dojo to the showers, all while carrying Yusuke in his arms.
Yusuke protested, worried about his leg, but Ryuji flashed him a wide smile. “Don’t worry so much. That lady did an amazing job. And I get to set off all the metal detectors.” Ryuji set Yusuke down and helped him with removing his hakama and keikogi of the kendo uniform. He sneered at the material as he folded it, and Yusuke found himself mesmerized by his hands. Ryuji knew exactly where each pleat needed to be.
The world may see Ryuji as a crude brute, but Yusuke saw more than that. He was skilled and stronger than anyone he knew, but he also had a soft side. Sometimes it was his belly when he ate too much ramen and forgot to work out, but other times it was when he fretted to Yusuke about his mother and all the stress he kept burdening her with. His medical bills, school fees, and she still had to pay for their apartment and everything in it.
Yusuke was under Madarame’s care, but there were times he felt trapped and smothered. The man took his worst paintings and sold them off as his own. He gave his best works to Ryuji for protection. Yusuke had yet to see a single yen of profit. He wasn’t in it for the money, but it would be nice to not have to live off water.
Speaking of… He stepped out of the shower and into Ryuji’s waiting arms and a towel. If he were to do a portrait, it would be of this beautiful boy. Yusuke dreaded the next words coming out of his mouth, but they promised never to keep secrets. “I believe I ran into Kurusu today.”
Ryuji stopped patting down the lean frame and fixed Yusuke with a glare, brows tightly drawn.
“He told me to persuade you to change your mind, and that I belonged at his side.” Yusuke took the towel to complete the job. They couldn’t stay here forever after all.
“You’re not some thing to be owned,” Ryuji growled, his free hands clenching into tight fists. “Neither of us are. Why is he so stuck on us?! I just met him a month ago. He scares the shit out of me…”
“I as well,” Yusuke sighed, setting his towel onto the bench so he could step into his underwear. “But I feel there is a truth behind his words.” He waited for the explosion, but it never came. After pulling on his pants, Yusuke turned around to find that Ryuji looked troubled.
The blond threw his arms in the air with a frustrated scream and the brunet smiled. There it was. “I feel the same way and I hate it! If he wasn’t so friggin’ creepy…”
“Maybe—” Yusuke pulled on a borrowed top, making a face at the graphic design. “Maybe we should see what he has to say. See if he’s stringing us along. If he is, I’ll report him to the police.”
Ryuji’s shoulders slumped in defeat, a tired grin creeping onto his face. “Why are you with me?”
“Not again,” Yusuke sighed. He collected his belongings, carefully placing his clothes into his bag, and took Ryuji by the hand to lead him out of the club room. “Because it was my choice. I didn’t do it to get back at anyone. I don’t pity you. I’m quite fond of you. Now, be quiet so we can sneak out of here, you bad influence.”
Ryuji snorted, pulling his hand free of Yusuke’s, only to link their fingers together. “I came when called. You were the one that wanted to break into the school.”
“It’s not breaking and entering if you already attend.”
“Spoken like a true criminal.”
Yusuke shut him up with a smile and a kiss.
Akira was genuinely surprised when Ryuji approached his desk at the end of the week. The school day was over and the blond was usually amongst the first out of the classroom. He hid his surprise with a taunting smile. “Here to kick my chair with me in it?”
“Shuddap, damn it. Yusuke said we should talk.” Ryuji backed up, freeing his hands from the pockets of his pants when Akira jumped to his feet. If he wanted to pick a fight instead of talk, then so be it.
“With you alone, or all of us together?”
“Together,” Ryuji mumbled, wary of the thinly veiled excitement in the teen’s voice. “Tomorrow, at Jinbocho.”
“Excellent,” Akira laughed breathlessly, his eyes aglow. The guy was clearly trouble, but this was what Yusuke wanted. Akira took a few steps towards him and Ryuji backed away, putting a few more feet of distance between them. “You’ll be standing at my side soon enough,” the brunette chuckled, cheeks flushed a faint pink.
Ryuji felt dirty just staring at him and skirted around the other teen. “10 o'clock. Don’t be late.” He stepped out into the hallway and slammed the door closed behind him. “Fuckin’ pervert.”
Unfortunately, he couldn’t meet Yusuke today; the art student would be Madarame’s lapdog at an art event. That meant Ryuji would be spending the day with his mother. He smiled at the thought, realizing that could never be a bad thing. They ended up going shopping and making dinner together. It was a pleasant distraction to keep his thoughts from tomorrow.
xxx
Ryuji went to sleep happy and woke up with dread sitting low and heavy in his stomach. He dragged from room to room as he prepared for the day, nibbling at his breakfast and causing his mom to worry. She questioned if he was all right and Ryuji forced a smile as he choked down his eggs. At 9:15, he left his house to meet Yusuke at Shibuya’s Station Square. They headed for the platform whose train would take then to Jinbocho.
Yusuke used his bag to hide the fact that his hand was in Ryuji’s jacket pocket along with Ryuji’s, both trying to squeeze their nervousness away. Yusuke was almost dreading his decision when they stepped off the train, his hand sliding free of Ryuji’s, but he’d picked such a public location for safety reasons. If things got out of hand, they could run and hopefully lose their stalker in the crowds. The couple had been browsing for almost ten minutes when Yusuke felt that piercing gaze, same as last time. He touched Ryuji’s arm as he turned around.
Akira made no attempt to hide and waved at both boys once he had their attention. He raised an eyebrow at them, asking permission to join their side of the street. Yusuke nodded slowly. Akira moved in a casual gait, sidestepping quicker shoppers, until he finally stopped in front of the couple. His smile was almost carefree, but held a mischievous edge. “I’m so glad you decided to give me a chance. I was afraid I’d have to resort to more drastic measures.”
Ryuji stepped protectively in front of the taller teen and Akira grinned. “Do me a favor and check your phones? I don’t have your contact information and I wouldn’t know the first thing about hacking, but if your phone has it, hopefully you’ll believe me… Maybe.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug.
Ryuji pulled his phone from his pocket, never breaking eye contact—Akira wouldn’t have it any other way—until he had to look at the device to find any foreign apps. Yusuke murmured something behind him just his eyes spotted the black and red icon that he had no recollection of ever downloading. It looked like it belonged to a game he would be interested in.
“Don’t touch it,” Akira warned after noticing the way Ryuji’s thumb hovered. He inclined his head to the end of the street. “Let’s take a walk?”
“What is it?” Yusuke asked as they started moving. He stood on Ryuji’s left, farthest from Akira.
“Don’t call the cops on me yet.” Akira rubbed the back of his neck, letting his hand linger. “It’s…” He blew out a sharp breath. “It leads to another world. A… cognitive world.”
Yusuke pressed his hand down sharply on Ryuji’s shoulder and forced the blond to the outside. “A world of thoughts?” he inquired, shifting his gaze from Akira’s profile to the strange app on the phone he still held. “I understand we’ll definitely be at your side because people will label us as crazy, but how does this ensure our freedom?”
“You’re still thinking about society,” Akira sighed. “When you see what you’re capable of in this other world, you won’t even care what society thinks.” Akira’s eyes darkened, his fingers curling into a fist. “Society will be at your mercy.”
Ryuji could taste blood as he bit down on his tongue to keep himself from screaming at the psycho walking with them. Instead, he settled on a harsh whisper, “You’re demented. Why the hell didn’t they lock your ass up?!”
“Why, indeed?” Akira chuckled. “Ryuji. Would you like to pay a visit to your old school? See how well Kamoshida’s doing for himself?”
Yusuke hooked both arms beneath Ryuji’s, holding him back as he snarled and spat obscenities at Akira. Ryuji’s arms were outstretched, hands struggling to get a hold of the brunet. People gave them a wide berth and Yusuke frowned over the blond’s head. “If you have nothing more to say, Kurusu, I believe we’ll be on our way. Sorry for wasting your time.”
“You didn’t. Just seeing you both is enough to get me through a day. I guess I’ll have to show you. It won’t be today, and not here. Ryuji—”
“Sakamoto to you, you disgusting piece of shit!”
Akira smiled, a somber gesture. “Sakamoto. If you ever decide to go back to your old school, I’d say that’s the best time to go ahead and test out that app.” With a hand against his chest, he bowed low at his waist and continued forward.
Yusuke watched him pause a moment at one of the book stalls, only relaxing after he made a purchase. His smile as he thanked the shop owner lacked the emotion he showed them. It was a courtesy smile. He remembered he still held Ryuji hostage when the blond jerked against his arms. “Would you like to go the gym and burn off some of your anger?”
“Hell yes,” Ryuji growled. "And then we can put back on all the calories by eating sushi.”
“No,” Yusuke sighed. As much as he would love to indulge in such a delicacy, it was out of their budget.
“Yusuke.” Ryuji stamped his foot like a petulant child throwing a temper tantrum. “I’m too pissed off not to splurge right now.”
"There is no logic in the words you just uttered. Instead of splurging, you can model for me.” Yusuke whispered the rest of his suggestion into the blond’s ear.
A wide grin broke out on Ryuji’s face and he pumped a fist in the air. "Sounds like a plan to me! Dude. The first thing we need to do after coming into money is have a nantaimori¹. You’ll be the dish, of course.”
“Of course,” Yusuke chuckled. He would do anything to keep Ryuji happy. Besides, it sounded fun. Realizing they were still in public and standing too close to be the norm, Yusuke reluctantly released the other teen.
It didn’t take long to understand the reason why there was distance between them now, and Ryuji’s grin dimmed to a faint smile. “Ne, Yusuke? Let’s just… get ice cream.”
Yusuke hated to see Ryuji hurting, be it physical or emotional pain. Right now, it was a little of both. He couldn’t hold him until they were away from prying eyes. You won’t even care what society thinks. It was a tempting thought, but also impossible. Yusuke curled his fingers around Ryuji’s wrist, frowning as wide brown eyes stared back at him.
“Dude…”
“We don’t care about society, do we?”
“I care about your future. We can’t, not until you make a name for yourself.”
“That could be years from now,” Yusuke argued, his grip tightening. Ryuji grinned and Yusuke, in that moment, hated the sight of it. He knew the next words would be something sappy and reassuring.
“You know I’ll wait as long as it takes, right? You’re my future.”
“I dislike you and your pure heartedness,” Yusuke whispered. “But I return your sentiments. I wish I could be as free as you are right now. Let me indulge today and hold you this way. If you stay a few steps behind me, it’ll appear as though I’m dragging you along.”
“Okay!” Ryuji cheered. Yusuke shook his head and couldn’t help wondering if he’d ever smiled this much in his life before.
-
They ended up on the floor of Yusuke’s work room, sharing a pint of ice cream between them. Ryuji sat between Yusuke’s legs, eating the frozen treat until he received a firm squeeze. He held a spoonful of the treat over his head and hoped Yusuke was quick enough so it didn’t drop in his hair or down the back of his neck.
They finished the container together and Yusuke frowned at the canvas he had propped against Ryuji’s back. He tilted it to and fro, but the results remained the same. “I think I drew melted ice cream.”
Ryuji wiggled free to have a look and ended up laughing himself onto the floor. “You have… you have to give that to the old man! Just… add some kind of flourish!”
Yusuke kicked him out with a kiss.
Having to see him every day already pissed Ryuji off. Having to see him every day and not be able to smash his fist into that smug face made Ryuji livid. There was no excuse he would accept for having salt rubbed in his wounds the way Kurusu did. The problem was, the app was still on his phone, after he spent a week constantly deleting it.
That app, plus the strong desire to prove the bastard wrong, was what had Ryuji hiding in the alcove beside the school that housed a few vending machines. He was never one for hiding, but he was also not supposed to be anywhere near Shujin; didn’t want the great Kamoshida to feel his life was being threatened. He glared at passing students from beneath a hood, something dark twisting inside of him. No one cared what his life had become because now he was no longer a hindrance to theirs.
Ryuji heard the volleyball team was the pride and joy of the school from Mishima, the “pawn” Kamoshida decided he no longer needed. He named the boy Ryuji’s accomplice, getting them both transferred. Mishima was happier at the new school, he’d told Ryuji one time as he handed over his notes to be copied. He had been a victim, just like everyone else; now he was free.
Ryuji slumped against the nearest vending machine, eyes now glued to his phone and the mysterious app that almost seemed to be pulsating on the screen. “Damn perverted Kamoshida…” With a frustrated growl, he jabbed his thumb onto it. “Actin’ like the school’s his goddamn castle…” And then the world shifted. Literally.
xxx
Ryuji fell to his knees, emptying his stomach onto the ground below. He could still feel each blow from those freaky “soldiers”. It felt like his ribs had broken when the armor covered foot landed in his stomach, but as he clutched it now, there was no immediate pain. He would have died, had it not been for that black clad figure destroying everything that touched him and chasing away King Kamoshida.
Ryuji hadn’t heard the footfalls, but a shadow now classed away the sunlight and he feared the worst; Kamoshida had come to finish the job now that he knew he was here. He lifted his head slowly, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, and was met with the emotionless mask of Kurusu Akira.
“Sorry. I got there late.”
Sorry? Got… where? Ryuji’s breath caught in his throat and he lurched forward with another wave of nausea. Akira deftly stepped to the side of the mess and held out a napkin once Ryuji was finished. “He…” the blond panted. “The guy in black… was you. Then, I could’ve died?”
“Yes.”
Angry tears welled up in Ryuji’s eyes. Because of his impulsive nature, he would’ve left Yusuke, and his mother, all alone in this world. “What the hell was that place…? How come I felt everything?” Now that his adrenaline was fading, Ryuji’s chest did indeed hurt on a more internal level.
Akira noticed and pulled his school case from his shoulder. He rummaged around until he produced a bottle, and held it out to Ryuji. He rolled his eyes at the suspicious stare. “It’s not poison. It’s to help heal you.”
“Why the hell are you being so nice?” Ryuji pressed a hand against his knee, the other splayed against the glass front of the vending machine, and tried to force himself to his feet. He made it, but almost fell over at the sudden onslaught of pain tearing through his body. “…if I die, you can have Yusuke all for yourself.”
Akira uncapped the bottle and calmly rose to his feet. He curled his hand around the back of Ryuji’s head, forcing the mouth of the bottle past his lips. Ryuji sputtered, the contents spilling, and choked down what did make it into his mouth. With renewed vigor, he slapped the other’s arm away and slammed him against the opposite vending machine.
Ryuji wasn’t just violence and impulse. He had a brain in his head that he used. Sometimes emotions did guide most of his actions, but his brain was still in charge. The pain was gone, so it obviously wasn’t a poison. “You didn’t answer me the first time. What the hell was that place?”
A smile crept onto Akira’s face. “The cognitive world.”
At the end of their discussion, Ryuji was no closer to understanding, and his head was practically splitting open. As always, he smiled for his mother to keep her from worrying, downed some painkillers, and crawled into bed after sending Yusuke “luv ya, babe”.
Ryuji was uncharacteristically quiet and it worried Yusuke. They walked the Ueno Art Museum as Yusuke was want to do when he needed inspiration. Usually Ryuji made fun of the paintings. Now, he stared off into space, following on Yusuke’s heels out of habit. “Do you want me to kiss you in front of everyone?” Yusuke asked as a test.
Ryuji hummed softly, eyes focused on the abstract art piece decorating the wall in front of them. It took several moments before Yusuke’s words caught up with him and he jumped away from the taller teen, arms raised to ward off any kisses.
Yusuke’s expression was not pleased. “Welcome back. Would you be kind enough to tell me what’s on your mind?”
Ryuji shook his bad leg in a nervous twitch before hanging his head. “Cognitive stuff. It’s real, man. Real and painful.”
The museum was a thing of the past now. Yusuke herded Ryuji through living and marble figures alike, until they were outside with no chance of being overheard. “What happened?” He stressed each word.
“I was stupid and let that idiot’s words get to me… and went to the school. I used the app. I was literally in another world, Yusuke. I got my ass kicked in another world, Yusuke. My head hurts thinking about it…”
Yusuke squeezed Ryuji’s shoulders gently, looking around at their surroundings. Knowing there was another reality out there made him question their existence in this one.
“Hey.” Ryuji patted Yusuke on the cheek, returning his glare with a weak grin. “If you wanna talk to Kurusu again, I’ll let him know. Just tell me when.”
Madarame’s art exhibition was in a month. If he wanted answers, it would have to be before that. “This weekend. He can come to the house.” Ryuji’s eyes widened, but Yusuke’s next words crushed his argument. “He probably already knows where I live.”
The blond kicked at the ground. “Damn it. You’re probably right. He’s like Sadako or some freaky supernatural shit. Call his name or think about him and he appears.”
Yusuke smiled, “Shall we test this theory?”
Ryuji arched an eyebrow, shoving his hands in the pockets of his brightly colored jacket. “Dunno, man. What’ll you do if he actually shows up?”
“Discuss this cognitive world sooner than later.” He cleared his throat, though the wide smile on his face ruined the seriousness he aimed for. “Kurusu.”
A new voice entered their conversation. “I prefer sooner rather than later.” An annoyingly familiar voice.
“What did I tell you?! Yusuke!” Ryuji threw his arms in the direction of the shadows cast by the building where the subject of their discussion stood in casual clothing.
Akira waved once he had their full attention and strolled out from the protection of the building and into the afternoon light. He twisted a lock of his curly hair around his finger, watching the boys with mild interest and amusement. “Where shall we go for our discussion? Oh. I know. Untouchable. Such a name guarantees we won’t be overheard. I’ll reimburse you for your constant traveling. Maybe even throw in some takeout sushi.”
“I just hear bribes,” Yusuke sighed. “The only reason I’m agreeing to this is because I know Ryuji would never be able to concoct a lie as extraordinary as saying he was in another world.”
“O-oi…” Ryuji leveled a hooded glare at the art student’s profile. “Your faith in my abilities are astounding.” The look Yusuke gave the glaring blond was blatant love masked as tolerated fondness.
Akira hid his grin behind his hand, glad that the glasses helped to obscure his eyes as well. He wanted them both, and wanted to be needed by them. Only then would he feel complete. He buried his true emotions behind a plastic smile and lowered his hand from his face. “I’m not bribing you. We can get burgers from Big Bang since it’s not too far from the shop. I just want you to feel comfortable.”
“We were comfortable before you forced your way into our lives,” Ryuji snapped.
The fire burning in his eyes was always Akira’s undoing; the real reason he teased the boy relentlessly. “You were just barely surviving,” the brunet sighed, waving a hand. “If you’re not hungry, that’s fine. We have a long train ride for you to decide.” With one last smile, Akira put a little bounce in his step as he turned his back on them and headed for the distant station.
“I just wanna… strangle him, or something!”
Yusuke patted the blond crown. He didn’t know Kurusu the same length of time Ryuji did, and their first meeting was not as hostile, so he felt frustration rather than anger. Was the strange boy leading them on? Had he hypnotized Ryuji into believing this other world exists? What were his intentions, other than breaking them free from society’s chains? Yusuke unconsciously raised his hand, rubbing his chest. He blinked, slowly, feeling a dull ache there. “You punched me?”
“You were lost in your head.” Ryuji shrugged. “I couldn’t kiss you. Besides, he’s almost out of sight.”
Yusuke had grown used to taking Ryuji’s wrist and did so to tug him along. Ryuji stared at the back of Yusuke’s head as they rushed to catch up with Akira. What would their lives become if they gave in and believed Kurusu’s bullshit? That power he showed in the other world—would Ryuji develop it? With power, he could face Kamoshida once and for all without fear of death or incarceration. Ryuji yanked his wrist out of Yusuke’s lax hold and snatched his hand instead.
Yusuke stared in surprise. The surprise turned to concern when Ryuji started running. “Your le—”
The grin the blond flashed at him silenced his protests and he lengthened his strides until they were running side by side for the train station, hands still together.
Akira waited for them just beyond the gates. He watched them approach, flushed and breathless, and decided he would destroy anything that stood in the way of their happiness.
Even if it’s you?
Akira grinned at the smooth voice in his head. ‘They’ll have to do that on their own, Arsene. Only then will I back off.’
xxx
Akira paid for their lunch at Big Bang and they took the takeout with them to the back alley of Shibuya’s central street. He ate his while on the move, tossing the empty containers in a nearby receptacle. Akira threw open the door to Untouchable, the bell ringing loudly to announce his arrival. “Mune-chan! Did you miss me?”
Ryuji choked on air, almost dropping his bag at the unexpected outburst.
The rugged man seated behind the counter flipped the page of his magazine. “If you break anything in the back, you’ll pay with your hide.”
“Love you, too, Mune-chan!” Akira waved his arm at the shell-shocked teens, beckoning them to join him behind the counter.
Yusuke glanced at the shop owner, but Iwai Munehisa paid them no mind, so Yusuke cautiously tugged Ryuji along with him. They inched around the corner of the counter, trying their best not to touch anything.
“Wait.”
They froze in place, Ryuji trembling against Yusuke’s back.
Iwai lowered the magazine and lifted his head, eyes roaming over the boys in contemplation. “He doesn’t bring anyone here. Can you guys travel to the other world like he does?”
Akira poked his head out of the back room, the downturn of his lips telling them he was displeased by having his lifestyle placed on display. “Mune-chan, you talk about unnecessary stuff. Shouldn’t you be more concerned about your brothers trying to find you again?”
Iwai exhaled deeply and returned to his magazine. “You’re having dinner with me and Kaoru tonight,” he mumbled, kicking his feet up onto the counter.
Akira’s expression morphed into fond exasperation. “I’ll go to the gym to work off my Big Bang then.”
Ryuji perked up, but then realized they didn’t trust Akira. He would have liked a gym buddy.
The back room was cluttered, but there was enough room for everyone to sit comfortably. Ryuji ate out of his bag, his cup on the floor beside his chair. Yusuke carefully laid everything out into his lap. Akira tried not to watch them and settled on shuffling a few things around to keep himself preoccupied.
“You’re wasting time,” Yusuke pointed out. “It would not be the best etiquette to eat and talk, but you’ve already finished your meal. We’ll just listen.”
“Yeah, dude.” Ryuji’s mouth was already full of food, etiquette be damned. “Explain this shit again.”
Akira smirked, turning his chair backwards to straddle it. “Very well then. Do you want the long version? It begins with my run-in with my first victim. Or would you like the abridged version?”
Ryuji’s burger halted inches from his mouth. Yusuke pushed his fries around in the box. “Does your victim have anything to do with the cognitive world?” he asked softly.
Akira rocked forward, his chair on two legs for several moments, before setting it back onto the floor. “I’m not sure. He died on the way to the hospital.” His gray eyes darkened, turning almost black behind the lenses of his glasses. “He was a politician. I actually think he was a cabinet minister when the accident happened. So, yeah, he was sort of a big deal.”
Ryuji set the remainder of his sandwich down, the last bite of it sitting heavy in his stomach. He was struck speechless at such an enormous reveal.
Akira’s smile was a broken excuse of what it could be. “Yeah. I killed an important adult of the government. I pushed him away from a woman he was assaulting and he fell, hitting his head on a guard rail. The woman I protected called an ambulance, but he died en route.” Akira removed his glasses, his hand replacing them. Remembering that day and the dark days that followed was always a struggle. They drugged him to find out the truth, and he never did recover from it.
“My parents disowned me as payment for keeping the entire thing under wraps. They covered his death up with a hit and run excuse and I was banished… here. Sorry. That has nothing to do with the cognitive world.” Akira laughed, the sound muffled by his hand. “Arsene—the name of my gentleman Persona. He came to me after their drugs stopped working. At that point, they attempted to beat the lies out of me in interrogation. I can’t remember that night too well, but I know he offered me a second chance.” Akira dragged his hand up his face, combing his fingers through his hair. “I sound ridiculous, don’t I?”
“Yes,” Yusuke admitted without hesitation. He’d lost his appetite and returned his meal to its original package, which now sat at his feet. To hear that adults—law enforcement—had implemented such underhanded methods upon a minor was sickening. It sounded like Kurusu had almost died while in their custody. How would they have written that off? Suicide? “I’ll only believe your story if you describe this Persona in detail. Ryuji will confirm it for me.”
Akira did as was asked of him. From Arsene’s top hat to his bladed heels. The blood red of his outfit, and his enormous wingspan.
“Yeah,” Ryuji muttered. He would never forget it. Kurusu had crushed the weird black and white mask and there was an explosion of power that freed him Kamoshida’s clutches. A demonic angel, if such a thing were possible.
Yusuke sighed deeply and crossed one leg over the other, folding his arms across his chest. “What can you tell us about this cognitive world? Other than the fact that you can summon an ethereal being to help you fight your battles.”
Akira sat up straighter in the chair, slipping his glasses back onto his face. They weren’t leaving. Did they believe him? He cleared his throat and plastered a grin on his face. “It’s been trial and error for a while now, so I can only tell you what I’ve learned.”
xxx
Iwai saw the couple to the door with the excuse of flipping the sign to Closed. "Hey. Wait."
Ryuji, who was farthest ahead, stopped to look back at the shop owner. He still looked dangerous in his eyes, but they were still alive, so he counted that as a plus.
Iwai rubbed at his neck, fingers pressing against the gecko tattoo. "He sees something in you kids. Stupid brat would show up every other day, asking me for my best model guns. If they weren't fake, I would've been concerned. But then he helped me work through some bad shit I had in my life, and I kind of found out on my own about his freaky powers. Basically, what I'm yammering on about—don't judge a book by its cover."
"Not to be rude, but I don't believe I need your advice on something I've never done before in my life. Perfect example." Yusuke used his free hand to indicate at an unsuspecting Ryuji. "My partner."
Ryuji's mouth fell open. He found his voice, only to growl, "Soon to be your ex, in every sense of the word."
"He's smarter than his looks make him out to be," Yusuke finished with a flourish aimed in the blond's direction.
Iwai looked between the couple. His laugh started out as a soft chuckle before blossoming into something hearty that left him breathless. "You're perfect for him. Take it easy, kids, and stay out of trouble." Iwai disappeared into Untouchable, closing the door. A few moments later, the sound of the deadbolt sliding into place could be heard.
Yusuke stepped away from the door, moving to the waiting Ryuji's side, and they both started walking. "Should I not have talked back to the yakuza member?" he murmured after a few steps.
"Probably not a good idea," Ryuji replied, his voice filled with trepidation.
Yusuke pressed his lips to Ryuji's forehead before they made it around the corner for Central Street. "Just in case I never see you again."
"Don't joke!" Ryuji kneed the taller teen in the back, though it only caused Yusuke to stumble, and stormed past him.
Yusuke righted himself, smoothing a hand down his back, and just like that, his thoughts were back in Untouchable. There was no telling who would die first. Kurusu said they both had the ability to use these so-called Personas, but to unleash them called for dire situations; where all other options are exhausted, and you realize no one is there for you other than you. Yusuke’s gaze swept from Ryuji’s back, down to his calves. That gait was deliberate. Yusuke saw the scar almost every week. Ryuji tried to hide his limp.
Yusuke was startled from his thoughts when a hand was suddenly thrust at him. Ryuji had different glares, or maybe only Yusuke could tell them apart. Even with just the blond's profile visible to him, he knew Ryuji was oozing 'I'll protect you' pheromones. Yusuke accepted his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze to tell him that he would do the same, and allowed himself to be pulled along.
Ryuji still hesitated with going back to that other world. Kurusu warned them that Kamoshida's "Palace" needed to be destroyed. He said he'd be going every day until it fell. Now that he knew what to look for, Ryuji could see the lines of exhaustion creeping onto the transfer student's face, hidden when he forced himself to smile or laugh.
Mishima unknowingly helped kick Ryuji’s ass into action one Saturday. He timidly approached the blond’s desk in the corner, phone hugged against his chest. His eyes were bright, but with something akin to revulsion or shock, not excitement. Ryuji dropped his left leg back onto the floor and leaned forward after the phone was placed onto his desk. Mishima hit play and a shaky video began.
It showed nothing but sky, and then the tops of buildings. A young girl in a very familiar uniform came into focus, standing at the edge of one of those buildings. Her long hair, pulled back into a ponytail, floated in the wind. It happened in slow motion. The background voices grew panicked—some excited, as she tipped forward and off the edge. There was a scream of "Shiho", and the camera finally found the girl on the ground below, body twisted and unmoving. It cut out suddenly and the screen went blank before offering suggestions for the next video to watch.
Ryuji could hear his blood pounding in his ears. Kamoshida. This had Kamoshida written all over it. No one at a prestigious school like Shujin would ever think about committing suicide. Mishima's voice pulled him from his dark thoughts.
"Her name was—" He cleared his throat, fingers trembling as he picked up his phone, "Her name is Suzui Shiho. She was on the girls’ volleyball team. When he was frustrated in a way... that beating me couldn't change, Kamoshida asked me to get Shiho. I never thought..." The phone pinged softly and Mishima checked the new news forwarded to him. "She's in ICU..."
Ryuji's chair scraped along the floor, his hand slamming down onto the surface of his desk, and Mishima took a few cautious steps away from the isolated desk. "Perverted piece of shit..." he growled, nails digging into the wood. His leg, this girl's suicide attempt—how many more would have to suffer under the tyranny of King Kamoshida? His eyes automatically sought Kurusu's, and the brunet nodded imperceptibly, but Ryuji still caught it. They were going back to the other world, together, to put an end to Kamoshida.
Ryuji flopped back into his chair, hands covering his face. "Mishima," he groaned.
"Y-yes...?" The timid brunet stared at the top of the golden crown. "Sorry... and thanks."
Mishima was elated, but also worried. Why would Sakamoto apologize or even thank him? Did he plan to do something about Kamoshida?
"Sakamo—"
A hand landed on his shoulder and Mishima could feel his small lunch of yakisoba bread attempt to make a reappearance.
"Mishima, right?" Akira smiled sweetly. "Go buy me something to drink."
Ryuji lifted his head, glaring over the tops of his fingers. "Don't bully him."
"I-It's fine," Mishima stammered, waving his hands. "I'll just... I'll go, get us all something to drink." He inched out from under Kurusu's hand before bolting from the classroom.
Ryuji scoffed and settled for staring at the faint scrapes in the wooden surface of his desk. "Piss off. If we suddenly start being the best of friends, we might both get arrested."
Akira ignored him, staring at the door Mishima disappeared through. "To think you had someone so useful here all this time."
"Shut up, get some actual sleep, and tomorrow, we'll take care of Kamoshida."
Akira smirked. "Good to know you can make plans all on your own. Even one as simple as that."
Ryuji pounded a fist into his desk, brown eyes narrowed sharply as they focused on the brunet. "Get the hell away from me!"
Akira's smile widened and he executed an elegant bow. When he straightened up, it was to walk back to his desk.
Mishima stumbled back into the classroom and almost choked on the tension. Sakamoto glared swords at the back of Kurusu's head, who idly flipped the pages of his book, unaware of the danger looming behind him. He delivered Kurusu's drink first and received a smile that sent chills down his spine. He placed Sakamoto's drink on his desk next and got a growl for his efforts. Mishima sank into his seat, pressing the cool can against his forehead, and startled even himself when he began laughing. Beneath his fear, he felt a budding excitement being in the same class as the worst delinquents of the school.
xxx
Ryuji donned a hooded jacket, necessary now to hide his blond hair from curious bystanders. Yusuke wore a thin sweater, covered by a beige jacket that flared at his hips. Ryuji wanted to peel him out of his pants. Along with Kurusu's simple V-neck white top, covered by a black blazer, and dark denim jeans, the two of them stood out the least. What was bound to attract attention was the fact that all three were huddled together in the vending machine alcove.
"We look like we're plotting a murder," Ryuji groaned, slapping a hand against his face.
"We might be," Kurusu hummed.
"Not helping!"
"What about the alley?" Yusuke suggested, pointing across the street.
"Yeah. Because it won't look so damn weird when three dudes walk into an alley!"
Yusuke lifted his shoulders in an innocent shrug. "We can go at different times?"
"Nah. It's alright. I know this side of town." Ryuji was already walking away. "You two go, try not to get caught, and I'll meet you there."
-
Ryuji made his reappearance with quiet steps and a slap to Yusuke's backside. Akira had never seen the art student blush so red before, and filed the memory away for later use. It was a good look on him. He shook his head and reminded himself they had a mission. Akira pulled his phone from his pocket, meeting the other’s eyes. “Ready?”
When the trio walked out of the alley, a towering castle stood where the school once was.
Yusuke looked from the castle to Kurusu, doing a double take at the sudden change in outfit. “Wha…?”
“Yeah. He’s into some kinky shit. Also, his name is Joker.” Ryuji rudely brushed past the masked figure. “We’re here to beat the shit of Kamoshida and break his effin’ heart.” He remembered it, despite being under the duress of pain. He remembered the broken grate where they climbed out of the Palace.
“Change,” Joker corrected, adjusting his crimson gloves. He brought up the rear of the group, Yusuke just a few feet ahead of him. Unlike Ryuji, who was almost to the building. In truth, he was lying to them, and to himself. He would indeed like to break this Kamoshida’s heart. He hurt his favorite toy.
“Hurry up!” Ryuji shouted from across the way.
“This is supposed to be an espionage mission,” Joker sighed, placing a guiding hand to the small of Yusuke’s back. They took off in a light jog to join the impatient blond.
“No shame,” Ryuji muttered, toeing at the carpet below his feet once they were inside. Kamoshida had no shame, creating a place like this in his head; waltzing around in a robe and pink-fucking-briefs. Considering what the man did to his students, Ryuji wasn’t surprised. This was Joker’s territory, however, so Ryuji held back with Yusuke and watched the mask teen kick ass.
Despite all their sneaking around, it was a simple accident that put them right into Kamoshida’s path. They were leaving the self-proclaimed training hall—a torture dungeon, really—when they wandered through the main hall, only to get their exit barred by a handful of armored soldiers, and the King himself. Yusuke managed to sneak away to the upper level unnoticed. He sank into a crouch behind the handrail, peeking through the baluster.
Joker tried his best, but he was just still one being. Arsene, and the few other Shadows he talked into joining him, were only as strong as he was. And this golden “soldier” was obviously stronger than them all. Had he failed? His plan had been to triumph and prove to the others that he was worthy or their time and attention. Joker coughed, the sound wet, and found humor in the fact that he couldn’t see his own blood on the gaudy red rug.
Ryuji sank to his knees, saving their enemy the trouble of having to force him there before they executed him. He never thought Joker would get beat down. He’d fought so many of those strange creatures as they made their way through the Palace, always emerging victorious. What was different now? Was Kamoshida that strong? No. He shook his head. Kamoshida wasn’t strong. His lackeys were. Ryuji lifted his head, eyes narrowing at the armored foot pressing Joker into the carpeted floor. This one was different from the others. Stronger. He didn’t like the weird teen, but he didn’t deserve to be treated like shit by Kamoshida. No one did. Joker wasn’t useless scum.
“I… am not trash!” Ryuji’s body stiffened, eyes bulging as his body was wracked by a different kind of pain.
Yusuke, who watched from the safety of the balcony, clutched at the baluster bars so tightly, his nails began bleeding at their edges when they couldn’t put a dent in the marble. He wanted to help, but if he died here as well, who would go back to the real world and speak of their escapades? He would get imprisoned—locked away for spouting nonsense about a second world, but that was fine. If Ryuji wasn’t with him, there was no need to keep living.
Ryuji writhed across the carpeted floor, hands clutching his head as he howled in pain. There was a voice! Power—yes!
Since your name has been disgraced already, why not hoist the flag and wreak havoc…?
Saliva trailed down his chin, dripping onto the floor as he struggled to get his breath. He could no longer find a voice to scream; just garbled noises tumbled from his mouth. Ryuji’s fingers dug into his skull, but the pain never subsided, and he curled in on himself, only to lash out, his legs kicking feebly at the air.
I am thou, thou art I… There is no turning back!
Ryuji couldn’t see it, but Yusuke couldn’t look away. Ryuji’s eyes shone yellow. A burst of blue flames washed over his face and Yusuke almost jumped down to the ground floor to put them, but the fire dispersed and those gleaming yellow eyes glared out from behind a half-skull mask. It was graphic and bloody, but Yusuke saw art in the way the crimson droplets flew as Ryuji ripped the mask from his face with a scream. An explosion of light as he brought forth a power from within. He was free of society’s shackles.
Yusuke inhaled sharply at the wide-eyed look of uninhibited pleasure on Ryuji’s face, his Persona hovering behind him. “…Captain Kidd,” he whispered, repeating after Ryuji.
Ryuji flailed, struggling to free himself from his own bed sheets. When he finally managed to recognize the familiar surroundings of his room, he collapsed back onto the bed and covered his face with both arms. Had it all been a dream? A hallucination brought on by Kurusu’s trickster ways? Ryuji let his arms fall away and squinted at the various surfaces in his room in search of his phone. He found it on the floor beside his bed, which meant he’d fallen asleep with it.
The first thing Ryuji noticed when he unlocked his phone was the mysterious app, which clarified that last night had not been a dream. “Captain… Kidd.” He fell back onto his bed and stared blankly at the ceiling as he recalled the surge of power he felt after awakening his Persona. Ryuji rolled over, burying his face into his pillow to muffle his laughter. He didn’t need his mother to check on him when he didn’t have a reason for why he was going crazy.
After that fit passed, Ryuji pushed himself up into a seated position, sitting cross-legged, and gave his phone his full attention. There were three new texts—two from Yusuke and one from an unknown number. He opened Yusuke’s first.
I’m sorry to disturb you so early, but I woke up feeling like yesterday was a dream.
Was it? A dream? You have a Persona.
Ryuji grinned at his phone. “I have a Persona,” he whispered with restrained glee. He moved onto the next message which was short and concise.
I gave Kurusu your number, as well as mine. Please. Let me know you’re okay.
Ryuji checked the time on his phone and was genuinely surprised to find that he’d woken up at the usual time. Maybe he wasn’t as tired as he thought. He put the mobile down and climbed out of bed to get his day started.
-
It was on his way to school that Ryuji remembered he never responded to Yusuke, and he never checked the other text. Once he was on board the train, back pressed against the closed door, he whipped out his phone to rectify that mistake. Sorry, sorry! You’re probably freaking out in class. I’m okay. I’m heading to school right now. With that out of the way, he opened the other message.
Kurusu Akira here, invading your phone.
Kitagawa gave me your number. We can talk after school, if you’d like.
Ryuji frowned and decided to be just as much of a jerk as Kurusu had. Who says I’m coming to school?
Maybe because we’re on the same train?
Ryuji’s head snapped back and forth, looking for the familiar mess of curly black hair. His phone vibrated again in his hand.
You’re going to break your neck. I got a seat, but I can still see you.
Ryuji growled low in his throat, fingers moving heatedly across the screen. How many times do I hafta call you a stalker before it sticks?! There was no indication that Kurusu was going to respond, even the though the text had already been seen. With a defeated groan, Ryuji shoved his phone in his pocket and let his head fall against the door at his back. The rest of the ride was uneventful—no response yet from Yusuke nor Kurusu, not that the latter mattered.
Ryuji exited the train like everyone else, readjusting his school case to wear as a backpack, even though it wasn’t its intended purpose. He’d almost forgotten about his stalker until he felt a familiar sense of dread. Ryuji looked to his right to see the brunet walked the street with him at a respectable distance. After being caught, Kurusu simply smiled, but made no motion to get closer. Ryuji groaned and crossed the street to join him.
“Are you sure you want to be seen with me?” Kurusu questioned. “Wouldn’t want to get arrested, would you?”
“Don’t care,” Ryuji muttered. “It seems like we’ll be seeing each other a lot. So…” He shrugged his shoulders, looking down at the ground. “You can call me ‘Ryuji’ if you want to.”
Akira adjusted his glasses with a nod. “Okay.” He stayed silent for several moments before speaking again. “Would you like to go see Kamoshida?” Akira took a few more steps before finally stopping to check on the other teen that had fallen behind. “I’m not being a jerk like last time. Even though I had an ulterior motive then.” Akira’s eyes brightened in realization behind his glasses. “Never mind. We have Mishima. He’s very useful.”
“I already told you not to bully him,” Ryuji grumbled, kicking at a stray pebble as he joined Akira.
“But it’s fun to watch him squirm.”
“Pervert.”
They were back to normal.
-
Mishima missed homeroom, but Akira could correctly guess why. He slipped into class from the back door and Akira tapped at his chest before pointing. Mishima looked down and he hurriedly shed the Shujin blazer, rolling it over his arm as he made his way up the row to his desk. Akira propped his head up with his hand, a devious smile tugging at his lips. Things were going according to plan.
Ryuji kicked Akira’s chair at lunchtime and a collective gasp spread through the classroom. “Lunch,” the blond mumbled, ignoring everyone.
Akira smiled, his hands folded demurely atop his desk. “Yes, it is lunchtime. Are you going to buy me something?”
Ryuji’s glare hardened and he kicked the chair again before walking out. When he returned, he dropped a canned beverage and a wrapped bread onto Akira’s desk before moving to his own and grabbing the chair. He dragged it back to Akira’s desk, nodding Mishima in their direction. The dark-haired teen joined them, his phone in his hand. He laid it down on the desk and everyone leaned in to view it.
Ryuji’s can crunched as he reflexively crushed it in his grip. He tore his attention from the Shuujin outfits and murmuring students to the bulletin boards the video zoomed in on. Any available surface space was littered with a red sheet of paper; a logo decorated the top of the sheet and looked suspiciously like Arsene. A ransom note—that was the font used, Ryuji assumed. He couldn’t believe Akira sat and cut out each letter to meticulously paste it. Scratch that. Akira probably did do that.
Once there was a perfect close-up of the note, Mishima paused the video. Ryuji was the one that read it out loud. “Sir Kamoshida Suguru, the utter bastard of lust.” A slow grin crept across his face. “We know how shitty you are, and that you put your twisted desires on students that can’t fight back. That’s why we have decided to steal away those desires and make you confess your sins. We hope you will be ready.” He fell back into his seat with a cackle, almost spilling the last of his drink on himself.
Mishima smiled sheepishly. “I… don’t really talk with anyone else, and I thought you two would be interested in this.”
Ryuji snapped to attention at the tinny sound of Kamoshida’s shout. Mishima fumbled for his phone, but Akira’s hands covered his, pinning them to the desk. Ryuji stared back at the frustrated face that stared up at him. With all his scapegoats gone, Kamoshida had no one to blame but himself. Ryuji’s grin was downright sadistic. Akira released Mishima, who slowly reached for his phone. He closed the video app, suddenly nervous with his current station, and excused himself back to his desk.
Today was going to be an amazing victory.
xxx
Even with just the three of them, they managed to defeat the King. Yusuke joined them in the alley with rushed and breathless apologies. Ryuji silenced him with a kiss. “You have a life, Yusuke,” he whispered against parted lips. “You being here gives me even more strength than Captain Kidd.” Akira called them disgusting, dubbed Ryuji as “Skull”, and led the way into the perverted castle.
Yusuke’s stealth was useful when they finally faced off against Kamoshida himself. Joker gave him a model gun, courtesy of Iwai, and told him to hide on the balcony and wait for his signal.
The image of Takamaki Ann being slurped down the giant Shadow’s mouth was something Skull didn’t need haunting his memories. Joker reminded him that was how Kamoshida viewed her, but the likeness was too uncanny for Skull not to be freaked out.
Joker gave Yusuke the signal while Kamoshida rambled on about being innocent, and a perfectly aimed shot knocked the crown—the Treasure—from Kamoshida’s head. From there, it was a piece of cake for Skull and Joker to destroy the pathetic shell of a man. Knowing the Palace would collapse once the Treasure was gone, Joker mapped out the quickest exit prior to their final battle.
Ryuji blamed his actions on the adrenaline coursing through his body once they were back in the real world. Back in the alley where they’d started, Ryuji had Akira pinned to the alley wall, his leg forced between the other’s thighs. The bespectacled teen let out a throaty laugh and ground down on the imposing appendage.
“Disgusting.”
“No more than you.” Akira smiled, the fingers of his right hand toying with the hair at Ryuji’s nape while his left beckoned Yusuke closer. “Your turn next,” he told the taller teen. “We’ll go after Madarame and you’ll both be free.”
“What do you get out of this?” Yusuke questioned, moving closer.
Akira’s left hand cupped Yusuke’s jaw, thumb ghosting over his lips. Ryuji reminded him of his place with a sharp, upward thrust of his thigh and he moaned through it. “I get you. Both of you. If you’ll have me.”
Yusuke glanced at Ryuji before focusing on the flushed teen. He lifted his hand, placing it against Akira’s, and leaned into the touch. Ryuji’s claim was more visceral. He attacked the pale neck presented to him, biting down hard before sucking a second bruise into the skin.
He was finally accepted. The thought alone was enough to send him spiraling out of control. Akira shuddered against the wall, head thrown back as he came untouched. The front of his trousers darkened with a stain. His companions were the only things keeping him from meeting the ground, his body twitching from the aftershocks of his solo enjoyment.
Ryuji lapped at the wound and held the arm around his shoulder in place. He pulled his leg away and supported the limp body that sagged against him. Yusuke mirrored his actions on the left and they carefully made their way out of the alley. From there, they carried Akira back to the train station.
Akira was coherent enough to mumble his address and Ryuji was surprised to find he didn’t live too far away. “I’ll take it from here, babe. I don’t want you going out of your way.”
Yusuke curled his fingers into the material of his school pants to keep himself from reaching out to drag Ryuji against him. Akira acted as a wonderful barrier. “Stay out of trouble,” Yusuke whispered.
Ryuji gave him a lopsided grin. “I always do.” With a chuckle, Yusuke bid them farewell.
Ryuji’s smile diminished as he was left with the deadweight of a perverted teen. “You watched me, didn’t you?” he scoffed, glancing at the distracted attendant before tapping his pass and dragging Akira through the gate with him. “You knew who I was the minute you walked into that classroom. You were probably so excited, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” Akira whispered, swaying away from Ryuji as he tried to support his own weight.
“Keep still, dumbass. You’re already wearing the uniform of the shittiest school in the district. They’ll think you’re an underage drunk.” Ryuji exhaled deeply. “They probably already think that. Train’s coming, pervert.”
Akira smiled against Ryuji’s shoulder, his neck throbbing from being marked. “Wouldn’t you say I’m your pervert?”
“Never.” Ryuji pushed him forward after the doors opened and Akira stumbled in with the crowd, the blond following close behind. Even though they were forced to stand, bodies pressed close together, the train ride was uneventful. When they disembarked at their designated station, Akira had composed himself enough to walk on his own. He moved with confidence, seemingly undisturbed by the mess coating his underwear.
They walked the backstreets of Yongen-Jaya, turning left at the supermarket. Ryuji slowed to a stop, the old theater behind him, and stared up the stairs that led to clinic where he’d been treated. He shifted his stance, putting most of the weight on his left leg. Should he go in and say hello? Almost a year had passed since the incident.
“Do you want to visit Tae?” Akira’s voice cut into his thoughts. “I believe she’s still there.”
Ryuji gritted his teeth. Despite everything they’d just been through, the other teen still pissed him off. “Of course you know Takemi. You perverted stalker.”
Akira smiled sweetly. “Call me what you want. I’m happy now. I hope I can do the same for you and Yusuke.”
Ryuji scoffed and turned away from the building. “Let’s get you to your place and out of those nasty clothes before you get stuck in your underwear permanently.” Akira’s laugh floated back to him as Ryuji followed along.
Akira lived on the third floor of a complex, the window of his living area facing the town down below. Standing in front of the glass double doors, Ryuji could see the lights from the old theater and market as clear as if he stood right in front of them. “Did you spy on me from here?”
Akira’s voice came from somewhere behind him. “No. Officially I moved here in April, but my parents sent me to the clinic last year to find evidence to use against Takemi. They claimed she was making black-market drugs. I endured being her guinea pig so I could record each of our sessions. In the end, I destroyed my evidence. The reason why… was when you and your mother came in. Takemi chased me out of the back room and I sat at the window out front during your entire procedure, redirecting customers and making new appointments. You were probably too drugged to remember me when you left.”
Just remembering that day brought on a weariness Ryuji hoped to forget. Hearing that Akira had seen him at his lowest didn’t help. Takemi had gone out of her way to make her small office space into an operating room just for him. He would visit her this Sunday, if just to thank her.
“You and I remember that day differently.”
“Shut up,” Ryuji growled, his voice low and dangerous.
“I will never forget that day. I could tell you were in pain, but you didn’t want your mom to see. You probably didn’t want anyone to see. You… were so beautiful—so strong.”
Turning away from the curtained doors, he found Akira standing in the middle of the room, naked as the day he was born. Even his glasses were missing. Ryuji’s eyes were drawn to the bite mark and darkening bruise of his neck and he felt a twisted sense of pride to know he left it there.
“Thank you, Ryu—Sakamoto, for today.” Akira shifted, his hand rising to tug at the dark curls covering his forehead.
Ryuji briefly wondered if the unbreakable Kurusu had a nervous habit, but the thought was easily pushed aside. Instead, he wondered if this was how Yusuke felt whenever he looked at a blank canvas. Akira’s naked body was begging to be spoiled. He would leave bruising fingerprints and more hickeys—all in places only he and Yusuke would be able to see. "I was scared for nothing,” he began, taking slow steps toward the middle of the room. Akira blinked in confusion. “You want to be owned, don’t you? And I told you, you can call me ‘Ryuji’.”
Oh. The brunet smiled, the gesture coy, and dropped his arm to plant his hands on his hips. “It depends on who’s looking for the job of being my owner. I will admit, I didn’t know what I was feeling when I started out, so I gave in to the childish habit of teasing the object of my affection. You’re perfect, Ryuji. Unfortunately, I’m not apologizing for anything.” Akira jutted his hips out with a cocky grin.
Ryuji fisted his hands at his sides, forcing himself to take a step back before he acted on the dark desires swirling inside him. “Disgusting.” He was talking about himself now. Did he feel the same way about Akira? When had those feelings developed? The anger he directed at the transfer student could easily be redirected at himself. Ryuji had betrayed his thoughts of Yusuke and their relationship with a stranger. He shook his head in hopes of banishing his confusion. Did Akira like Yusuke as well? They all needed to sit down and have a talk, about everything.
Unfortunately, it was time for Ryuji to say his goodbyes. A kiss was far more intimate than the mark he’d left on Akira’s neck. Yusuke had also been there to witness it and raised no argument. With that in mind, Ryuji told himself he could still tease the bastard for all the emotional trauma he’d caused. Closing the distance between them, he bypassed Akira and continued towards the front of the apartment. His right hand lingered behind him, fingers dragging across the bare skin of the brunet’s abdomen.
Akira shuddered under the fleeting touch, desperate to chase after it. He kept himself rooted in place, eyes following the blond.
Ryuji opened the door and placed one foot over the threshold before stopping. He took a moment to grin toothily over his shoulder. The outside lights filtering into the apartment were reflected in his eyes, making them glow an unnatural yellow. “I’ll see you in school. Joker.”
The door closed on Akira’s whimper.
Notes: If you actually made it through this train wreck and liked it, please press the little ❤︎. It’s also posted on Ao3 ⬅ *gestures*, so kudos there too.
Yup. I’m totally begging. I am not above begging... *grovels*
ETA: notes and my own headcanons
ETA 2: baton pass - a summary of “the transfer,...”
ETA 3: “beauty & vice” - the continuation of “the transfer,...”
[can be read on Ao3 as well]
[part one] [part two] [part three] [part four] [part five]
"Mune-chan wants to see you both tonight," Akira sleepily muttered over his plate of scrambled eggs. He was startled awake after Ryuji's spoon clattered from the bowl, to the tabletop, and finally, the floor.
"Why...?" the blond choked out, eyes wide, almost bursting from his head. Yusuke picked up the fallen spoon, rinsed it off, and returned it to the bowl of cereal.
Akira shrugged, chasing his eggs with his fork as he pushed them around the plate. "I think he has an anniversary present for you for putting up with me."
"If he kills us—"
"Don't be ridiculous, Ryuji," the art student chided, bringing the plate of pancakes to the table.
Akira found the energy to grin as he snatched two off the top. Ryuji dragged one onto his bowl. They lapsed into a weird silence, void of awkwardness and tension, but still not calm enough. Yusuke brought his plate to the table and took a seat.
Akira watched him take a bite of his pancake, head propped up by his hand. "Yusuke," he drawled.
Curious gray eyes regarded him, the taller teen ever-so-patient as he waited for a question or comment to be tossed his way. Akira's gaze shifted to Ryuji, who was too busy trying to drown his pancake in his cereal to notice, then back again. He decided he liked things the way they were. "Never mind."
xxx
Unfortunately, they had school to contend with.
“We’ll topple the next Palace on a weekend,” Akira groaned, still waving even after Yusuke disappeared. He had no problems skipping, but his companions needed to attend. Akira wanted nothing more than to return to the comfortable pile he'd woken up in this morning. He settled for Ryuji's shoulder as they rode the train and was doubly glad the other teen didn't push him away.
—
Rather than feel comforted by the fact that Sakamoto and Kurusu remained civil and well-behaved during the school day, each teacher was filled with trepidation by the end of their class.
At lunchtime, Mishima produced Ryuji's three tier bento box with an energetic "ta-da". The blond grinned, dragging his chair around to share Akira's desk with him. "I thought you might have forgotten it, but then I realized this is my chance!" With a sheepish smile, Mishima unwrapped the bento and placed a box in front of each of them. "It's not as awesome as yours was, but I just wanted to say... thank you."
Ryuji lifted himself from his chair just enough to tousle Mishima's dark hair. "There's no need to thank me. We’re both idiots, that’s all."
"You're too modest," Akira sighed as the blond dropped back into his seat. Instead of another argument breaking out between them, Ryuji merely switched his lunch box with Akira's. "Mature," the bespectacled teen scoffed, but the amusement was there in his eyes.
"They're all the same," Mishima laughed, opening his for the big reveal. A simple setup with the traditional foods.
Akira picked up one of the small rice ball, holding it next to his face to mimic the grin it wore, courtesy of seaweed pieces. Ryuji picked up a piece of sausage, shaped like an octopus, and took a large, exaggerated bite, leaving behind the smallest piece of “tentacle”. Mishima could only continue to laugh at their antics.
xxx
"Ryuji," Akira whined. He stood at the school gates with Ryuji and Mishima.
The blond shuddered, a scowl forming on his face. "Don't do that. It's disgusting. And what the hell do you want?"
"Take Mishima on a date for me."
"What...?" Ryuji stopped in the middle of the street, fixing the brunet with an incredulous stare. His gaze shifted to Mishima, who blinked innocently at him, before he rounded on Akira with a snarl, "Why the hell can't you take him on one?!"
Akira smiled. "Contrary to popular belief, I actually work. I've been neglecting my jobs, so I thought I could swing by the flower shop this afternoon. Before we go to Untouchable."
Ryuji looked conflicted for a few moments before giving in with a loud groan. "Fine. We'll go to the beef bowl shop. It's nearby. Or did you have someplace else you wanna go?"
The question was directed at Mishima, startling him from his thoughts. He was so used to people talking right over him that he forgot these two were different from those of his past. He smiled, "That's fine."
"You usually like to go to the diner," Akira murmured.
"It's fine," Mishima laughed, the sound genuine and pure. Having this argument—an argument about who would spend time with him, and where—he never thought he would ever see this day. And even more amusing, they referred to the sudden outing as a date. "I get to spend a day with Sakamoto."
"We can go to the diner," Ryuji mumbled, shoving his hands into the pocket of his slacks. He cocked his head, grinning at his fellow delinquent. "They can both be loud, but I can give you a fancy steak date." Mishima found himself blushing and he had no idea why, nor how to stop the heat creeping into his face.
Akira held back his reply on "fancy dates", knowing he would have more opportunities in the future. He leaned into Mishima's personal space, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
"Stop that," was hissed at him from his victim, accompanied by a rude shove from Ryuji.
Just the way he liked it. With a laugh, Akira took the lead, leaving the impromptu couple behind. They were all going in the same direction. The trio parted ways at Shibuya's station square. Akira headed down while Ryuji and Mishima made their way to Central Street.
xxx
Akira had just finished selling a handmade bouquet that impressed even him, when his phone chimed and alerted him to a new text. He shot the owner an imploring look and she waved him off, taking over at the front of the stall when he disappeared behind a wall of flowers. Akira checked the message, knowing it could only be from a handful of individuals.
Ryuji: Yusuke says he wants to talk.
Me: We can talk at Untouchable.
Me: Two birds, one stone. Mune-chan still wants to see you.
Me: He can treat us to dinner at the dinner.
Akira grinned, knowing fully well that would get a rise out of the other boy.
Ryuji's response was immediate. Hell no. I'm worried about why he wants to see us.
Me: Mune-chan is a teddy bear.
Ryuji: Grizzly...
Akira laughed softly. When Yusuke gets here, come rescue me.
Ryuji: As you wish, leader.
Leader. With a content hum, Akira pocketed his phone and flounced back to the front of the stall. He would make the best bouquet ever!
—
Akira started untying his apron the moment Ryuji peeked uncertainly around the display of flowers. He folded it, tucked it away, and handed a few pieces of yen to the smiling young woman. On his way out, Akira grabbed two flowers from a display.
Fluffy was the only thing that came to mind when Ryuji accepted the multi-petal, pale yellow flower. Yusuke was handed a white one, which he cradled gently in his hands. With his hands free, Akira could now use his phone. His fingers flew across the screen, and then he shoved it back into his pocket, grinning at the confused teens.
Ryuji dug out his phone.
Perv: Longing.
“Waiting,” Yusuke read aloud from his own phone. He lifted the flower to his lips, smiling at the petal's soft touch. “You’re an interesting guy, Akira. Also, this won’t survive.”
The mood lightened, Akira laughed and made to take back the flower blossoms. Ryuji held him at arm’s length, a glare rooting him in place. “You gave ‘em to us. Why would you take ‘em back?”
Akira had no response and settled for a defiant frown. “Because Yusuke just said they wouldn’t survive.”
“We can press the petals.” As he made the statement, Yusuke brushed a thumb over one of the soft folds. “I can also put a petal in amber to turn it into a pendant that I can keep on me forever.”
Ryuji grinned cheekily. “What he said.”
Akira was starting to regret his impulsive nature around the couple. Most of his time at Rafflesia was spent brushing up on flower language to make the best bouquets for their few customers. Once he figured out that the camellias they carried had different meanings—and what those meanings were—he couldn’t stop himself from buying them to share with those closest to him. The mistake was inadvertently telling them the meaning behind his gifts.
“Let’s just go to Untouchable,” Akira sighed. He picked up his nearby school case and slung it over his shoulder.
By the time they arrived at the airsoft shop, the flowers were forgotten, safely tucked away in school cases. Akira threw open the door to Untouchable, the bell ringing shrilly overhead. "Mune-chan! I brought victims. I already know where we can hide the bodies."
Iwai tilted his head back, glaring at the intruders. He knew better than to ask if any cops or detectives hung around outside when Kurusu visited—the boy hated them as much as he did, and pushed himself up out of the swivel chair. Akira dutifully flipped the sign to close and locked the door. With a wave of his hand, Iwai ordered them to follow him to the back room. Once they were all gathered, he apologized gruffly for the small space.
Ryuji's fingers dug into Yusuke's palm, but the artist remained stoic and calm. It was all he could do to help Ryuji's nerves. Iwai Munehisa could be termed a dangerous man, so Ryuji had every right to be fearful. However, Yusuke put a little trust in Akira; he would never let any tragedy befall them. He hoped that message was conveyed to Ryuji.
Iwai pulled a case from the top of a metal shelf, setting it on a nearby table. He popped the locks and flipped the lid. Akira, being close enough to see the contents, let a grin split his face. He turned, eyes aglow as he stared at Ryuji. "How much?" he asked, almost breathless.
"On the house," Iwai chuckled. "It's a gift to them for putting up with you."
“I knew it.” Akira pouted, or tried to. His grin refused to wane, so it made for an alarming expression. "Mune-chan. I'm an angel." The snort came from Yusuke, wiping the grin from Akira's face. The art student cleared his throat, looking innocently at the clutter to his left.
Iwai's soft laughter drew all attention to himself. "You two really are a good match for this idiot. I'll give you yours first." Yusuke nodded and remained silent in waiting.
Akira tapped the back of Ryuji's free hand with his fingers. He aimed for a reassuring smile, whispering, "He'll need both hands." Reluctantly, Ryuji uncurled his fingers from around Yusuke's hand. Seconds after he took Akira's, the shopkeeper produced an assault rifle.
Yusuke's eyes widened and he reached for the weapon. "It's not...?"
"No. This is a gun enthusiast shop,” Iwai reminded them. They would find no loaded weapon here. “Kurusu usually asks for pistols, so I thought about what might suit you."
"In the other world," Ryuji murmured, taking a step closer in the small space.
Yusuke accepted the weapon and he turned it over and over in his hands, memorizing every inch of it. Bottom lip held between his teeth in an act of restrained excitement, Ryuji looked expectantly at the man. Iwai smirked and pulled his hand from behind his back. He spun the weapon on his finger before holding it out to the blond teen. A shotgun.
"It suits you," Akira laughed. When his hand was released, he tucked both into the pockets of his pants and watched as his friends enjoyed their new spoils.
"Customization and maintenance will fall on you." Iwai directed his statement at him with a slight nod of his head. "And those you'll have to pay for."
"Gladly." Akira grinned. He would do anything to keep his boys happy and safe.
Yusuke recovered first, bringing the rational thoughts with him. "Akira."
"Hmm?"
"How are we to hide these? You have a handgun, which can easily slip into your pocket. Ryuji can possibly hide his in the back of his pants. Mine..." He held up the replica assault rifle with one hand and indicated to himself with the other. Iwai tipped his hat, hiding his smirk.
"I'll carry them," Akira offered. "In my school bag." There was no amusement or fear in his eyes, and he smiled in a carefree manner. "If they catch me, what else can they do to me, that they haven't already?"
Akira's head bowed under the weight of Iwai's hand. "Idiot," he grumbled. He pulled away, waving his hand at the other boys. "Take care of him for me. And I'm sure there's something important you need to talk about. When you're done, I'll take us to the diner." He indicated to the replica guns in their hands with a lazy smirk. "Those can't come." With that, he made his way back to the front of the shop.
"Did you put him up to that?" Ryuji mumbled, tucking his shotgun under his arm.
"I told you, he's a teddy bear. Instead of worrying about me—"
"Someone has to," Ryuji snapped.
Akira rolled right over him. "I'd like to hear what Yusuke wanted to talk about."
"It's nothing major or important. Madarame contacted me.” Yusuke hooked a finger into the trigger of the assault rifle and pulled. Nothing happened.
“Did the bastard apologize?” Ryuji grumbled.
Yusuke tore his gaze from the replica weapon to stare between the two. “Yes. He also informed me that the police charges against myself and Ryuji have been dropped."
Ryuji’s mouth fell open, only to snap shut. “Me?” he sputtered.
Yusuke’s smile was small and gentle. “I never hid our relationship from him. He's a charlatan, but still observant. He could tell when you visited, only because that’s when I provided the best work." Ryuji's glare softened into a grin and he leaned in for a kiss.
Their behavior in no way meant that he had been forgotten.
Akira sighed, looking around. It was where they'd had their first serious talk, but now it looked smaller. Maybe it was because his companions were larger than life in his eyes now. He stepped towards Yusuke, but the art student curled an arm around his waist. "Not escaping," Akira laughed, a reassuring pat placed to Yusuke's shoulder. “I just don’t think this is the best place for me to tell my story.” He covered Yusuke’s hand with his own, glancing sideways at the other brunet. “Saturday. Madarame’s exhibit is Sunday. He’s already showing signs that our efforts weren’t in vain.
“Yusuke. Let’s wait until then, please. We had a plan, remember?” Akira smiled. “We watch Madarame fall apart and then enjoy curry at Leblanc.” He shuddered under Yusuke’s twitching fingers. “Now, let’s go get a free meal out of Mune-chan.” Akira shifted his gaze over his shoulder, to Ryuji. “Maybe we can all become better friends.”
“Sometimes,” Ryuji sighed. “Just sometimes… You can be terrifying.”
"This is true," Yusuke agreed, removing his arm from around Akira’s waist. "But I'd like to think you won't hurt those you care for." He used both hands to hold out the replica weapon.
"Are you sure?" Akira drawled. Free of the loose hold, he turned around to give Ryuji his full attention and the sweetest smile. All while slipping Yusuke’s rifle into his school case.
Ryuji stepped into the brunet’s personal space, thrusting his shotgun into Akira’s open hands. "I won't forget what you did when you first showed up, but I'll overlook it and agree with Yusuke on this one."
Akira clicked his tongue in distaste, adding the weapon to his bag as well. "You guys are no fun anymore." He spun on his heel and marched to the front of the store. Iwai was on his phone at the door, talking in hushed tones with someone on the other end of the call. He nodded at them as they all filed out and opened the door to lead the way.
—
Iwai had business with an old colleague that needed taking care of, and his go-to spot was the diner. The boys were just an excuse, but he did pay for their meals; an extension to the gifts he'd already given them. He made his exit first, leaving the teens behind.
When the unlikely trio walked out of the diner for the evening, Akira found his gaze wandering, drawn to Big Bang Burger. A girl—a Shujin student, going off the pattern of her skirt—stared up at the burger franchise. Akira could only see her profile. He liked to believe he was adept at reading people, but he couldn't get anything from her. Empty. Whoever this girl was, she had already resigned herself to fate and had nothing left to live for.
Akira could hear the faint calls from his colleagues, but couldn't bring himself to look away. A head of pale brown curls, that looked soft to the touch, turned slowly in his direction. Even paler brown eyes met his. Akira was forced to tear his gaze away from hers when a sharp pain ripped through his head. He felt hands on his shoulders and back; distant voices asked if he was okay.
Akira squinted around the dissipating pain to find the subject of his attention slowly lowering her hand from her head. Those brown eyes were darker now, alive with emotions that had once been locked away. Akira leaned into the nearest body with a soft chuckle. If he played his cards right, they could have another to help them in their quests.
xxx
Before going to bed that night, Akira received a text from Ryuji.
Ryuji: 1 attachment
Akira muffled his groan into his pillow. It was an image of the pale yellow flower in a thin vase with water.
Ryuji: my mom gave me the vase.
Ryuji: let's see how long your love stays alive.
Akira peeked at the new messages before shoving his phone beneath the pillow. He never removed his hand, and fell asleep loosely holding the device.
Akira didn’t remember much about school on Friday. The day was over before he could begin paying attention and that was good enough; his patience was wearing thin waiting for Sunday’s arrival.
Mishima placed a notebook on his desk with a wide smile. “These are today’s notes. I’m not sure if you’ll need them or not. We did cover some new material.”
Akira smiled up at him and scooped the book from his desk. His school case didn’t need packing, since he’d never taken anything out of it, and so he handed the book off to Ryuji. The blond wordlessly took it and slipped it into his case. “You’ll get it back on Monday.”
“That’s fine,” Mishima told him, hands tucked behind his back.
“Do we have plans today, Ryuji?” Akira shifted in his seat, turning towards the quiet blond.
“No,” Ryuji mumbled, latching his case shut.
“Great.” Akira pressed his hands together in a joyful manner. “Let’s go to the arcade.”
Without taking ‘no’ for an answer, he literally dragged Mishima and Ryuji from the school, to the train, and finally to the arcade. Hours ran away from them as they moved from machine to machine. Ryuji played the role of “sourpuss chaperone” by not participating, but he was finally smiling and Akira countered that as a win.
With Big Bang right across the street, it was easy to soothe the beasts that were their empty stomachs. It was at the table that Ryuji received a text from Yusuke asking to visit him. Akira waited until their trash was taken care of before pulling Mishima to the side and whispering in his ear.
The trio parted ways at the Station Square, Akira waving with more enthusiasm than necessary.
—
Yusuke was not waiting for them at the school gates, so Ryuji led the way to the dormitories. After just one knock on a closed door, he let himself in.
Yusuke looked up from his task to nod in greeting. He was packing a bag. “I actually had an ulterior motive for calling you over,” he stated, his back to the duo. “I’d like it if you can hold a few of my things for this weekend.”
The travel bag looked to be the last of things. There was a large, covered square that had even Ryuji wondering if Yusuke intended to paint over the weekend. A sketchbook was good enough. His own things were already packed. His mom practically kicked him out of the house after learning he’d be spending the night at Akira’s again.
Akira hovered restlessly while still trying to remain out of the way. Yusuke smiled at him after zipping the bag shut. He indicated to everything that covered the bed. A travel bag, a standing tote that was almost filled to bursting with books and papers, and the unknown, cloth-wrapped square. Akira felt it pointless to remind him that he was only staying a day and a half.
Ryuji received the bags and a kiss (on the lips); Akira received the unknown square and a kiss (on the top of his head); Yusuke kicked them both out with a jovial “see you tomorrow”.
When it came time to part ways, Ryuji carefully secured the wrapped object with Akira and sent him along with another kiss (to his forehead).
Akira spent the entire night cleaning up, which meant he was exhausted when the sun attempted to disturb his rest. Lucky for him, there was no window in his bedroom; just walls. The door was ajar, but the sliver of light that peeked into his room never reached the teen sprawled across his bed.
—
Akira peeled his face from the drool-damp pillow when the incessant chiming refused to stop. He stopped himself from throwing his phone across the room and instead checked it. The clock read forty minutes after twelve, which meant it was lunch time. It also meant he’d only had roughly five hours of sleep. With a begrudged moan, Akira unlocked the screen to check the sudden barrage of messages.
Someone had created a chat and added him to it. The avatars at the top of the screen were reflective of Ryuji, Mishima, and Yusuke.
Ryuji: Wake up, idiot!
Mishima: I hope you’re not sick.
Yusuke: They say idiots don’t get sick.
Akira could hear Ryuji laughing as lines of “hahaha” filled the screen. When he started typing, everyone erased whatever prior comment they were previously creating. And waited. It would be so easy to take Ryuji down with him. He was still trying to win Yusuke’s favor, so the art student was untouchable. Mishima was a deviant, yet pure soul. Mishima would be his scapegoat. With a sleepy smirk, Akira sent off his message.
Me: Mishima. We’re having a sleepover. Do you wanna join us?
Akira never saw any of their responses. He silenced his phone, slipped it under his pillow, and placed his head atop it. Another two hours of rest was in order.
xxx
Ryuji would have kicked down Akira’s apartment door if Yusuke didn’t still have the spare key. He did barge in after it was opened, stumbling out of his shoes along the way. “Mishima said he’s not coming!”
“Thank you for that message.” Akira sat comfortably at the counter, one leg crossed over the other. “But why are you yelling? Are you jealous?”
“No!” Ryuji dropped his bag at the edge of the couch while Yusuke closed the door quietly behind them. “I’m tryin’ to figure out just how crazy you are. We’re the ones the run around changin' people’s hearts! We're the ones he worships!”
Akira’s smile widened. “I’m not the one shouting it from the rooftops.”
“He knows,” Yusuke surmised, “What we can do.”
Ryuji’s head snapped from his boyfriend to the pain in his ass, recalling the quiet exchange at Big Bang. “Did you—?!”
“Mishima’s not stupid, and neither are you.” Akira sighed, hopping down from the stool. “Who do you think helped with Madarame’s calling card? Yusuke made the original and I handed it off to my cute assistant to copy and distribute. Who do you think delivers the filth we find in Memetos?” He took a few steps towards the couch, but stopped, and crossed his arms over his chest. “It would be an insult to all of us if I thanked Kamoshida for sending you all my way, but… I’ve been chasing you for a while.”
“Shujin was your first choice when you transferred,” Ryuji sighed, suddenly tired. He sank into the couch, burying his face in his hands. “Just when I didn’t think you could get any creepier…”
“You have to commend his devotion. To you, and to his plans.” Yusuke sat next to the blond, smiling at the surprised Kurusu.
Akira reigned in his shock to grin. “See? Someone gets me.”
“Only because he’s as strange as you.” Ryuji dragged his hands down his face with a groan. “What are we doing to pass the time? And what are we having for dinner?”
—
Three cooks helped speed things along, and dinner turned out great. Dinner and a movie.
After cleaning up, the trio retired to the bedroom. Akira hung back, staring at the bed Ryuji now willingly climbed into. He smiled, remembering their first fight over sleeping arrangements. ‘Now look at him.’ And look he did, only to realize that he wasn’t the only one.
Both Ryuji and Yusuke were watching him; waiting.
With a deep sigh, Akira removed his glasses, folded the legs, and set it down onto the nightstand. Yusuke made room for him and he climbed into the occupied bed. “I… already told you about the woman I defended and her powerful attacker.” Akira was unable to stop his flinch when Yusuke rearranged them into a more comfortable position. He forced himself to relax, trying to piece together enough memory fragments for a coherent story.
“I have no recollection of how I got to the interrogation room…”
There were no thoughts in his head. Not even the pain registered. The dark-haired teen was slumped over the cold metal desk, blood dripping from his mouth. There were no visible open wounds, just bruises that would take weeks before they healed. A thought: how could his parents let this happen to him? The suspect twitched at the pinch in his arm and his vision blurred again. Waves crashed over his head and everything became a distant memory. Was he even breathing? He was jolted into an upright position, a faceless shadow spitting at him.
Prisoner. Fate. Sealed.
Empty gray eyes slid shut, chasing the whisper. Did those words have a meaning? As a prisoner, was his fate sealed? Another sharp blow sent him to the floor and all traces of the strange voice vanished. He squinted against the darkness tainting his vision and realized that the papers fluttering in his face were what whispered in his ears.
"Give...name, you…shit!"
'...my name?'
The fresh taste of blood told him the wayward thought was spoken out loud. Taking the clipboard with shaking hands, he stared at the line, unconsciously running his tongue over the new cut splitting his lip. Am I signing my soul away?
The laughter started soft, before spilling out of his brain. He never knew laughter had a physical form, but the winged being in front of him looked like his "laughter". Those ebony wings spread wide, tips brushing the opposite walls.
What's the matter...? More laughter followed the question, the ethereal being tossing its head back. Are you simply going to watch? If you forsake yourself, your death will be at their hands. Was your previous decision a mistake then?
'No.' His actions had been just. The outcome had been unforeseen.
Very well. Vow to me. I am thou, thou art I... Thou who art willing to perform all sacrilegious acts for thine own justice! Call upon my name, and release thy rage! Show the strength of thy will to ascertain all on thine own, though thou be chained to Hell itself!
"Ar...sene." The clipboard clattered to the floor, the boy's body falling beside it. His screams bounced off the walls, drowning out the shouts demanding he "shut up".
x
Akira stretched his left leg out alongside Yusuke’s, leaning back against the solid frame. He smiled, unable to show sadness or regret. What happened then, made him who he is now. "Nobody ever asked if I was okay. There was someone else… A woman.” Akira closed his eyes, but her face never came into focus. “She saw what they'd done, but was more concerned about getting a statement."
The hollow laugh that rumbled up from his chest sounded almost like Arsene’s on that foggy night. "The first thing I did when I got out, I made those bastards pay. Crooked cops. Oh! That was also the first time I learned about Mementos." Akira only paused to take a breath, but it was more than enough time to get smothered by a heavy body and strangled by long arms. What a happy way to die.
With a breathless laugh, Akira pushed until Ryuji relented and climbed off him. The blond didn't move too far away. He radiated concern and anger. He was a gorgeous flame, and Akira almost wished he could draw like the teen still holding him from behind. He tapped at the tight arms and they loosened enough for him to rearrange them into a better position. Neither asked him whether the interrogating officers were still alive. He hadn’t killed them. He just ruined their entire existences, like they had done to him.
"I can't believe those fuckers did that," Ryuji growled. "...to a goddamn kid! What the hell is wrong with the police?!" Akira's hand landed gently on his right leg and he remembered, immediately, just how flawed their justice system was. He snatched Akira's hand in his own, squeezing tight enough that it was sure to be painful. "I'm sorry."
Akira grinned and gave their hands a playful shake. "Don't be. Because of everything, I'm here... with you two. I lost a few marbles, but I am quite content."
Yusuke's soft laughter danced across his neck and Akira shuddered, squeezing back on Ryuji's hand. Not tonight, he told himself. Akira closed his eyes and forced himself to think about that hazy night; all the pain he felt during his punishment for a crime he never committed.
"When they released me to my parents…” Akira let his eyes open, but they remain half-lidded. His lips curled into a disdainful grin as he remembered his loving family. "They took one look at me and decided my suffering wasn't punishment enough. I had to listen to them tell me I was no longer a part of their lives before I could patch myself up. I don't think I slept that night. I stayed up, and packed... everything that was mine. Because I knew what was coming."
Yusuke's arms fell to his waist and Akira assumed it was so the other teen didn't accidentally choke him to death. The appendages squeezed him tightly; wordless condolences for all his suffering. Akira shifted his gaze to the quiet blond. Ryuji looked downright livid. He gave their hands a gentle squeeze, but that did nothing to ease the crease in his brow. "I'm totally bringing the room down," Akira joked, knowing full well it would do nothing to ease the heavy tension.
The bed bounced as Ryuji shuffled closer, folding his and Akira's hands in his lap. The remaining space between them disappeared as Ryuji’s mouth slanted over his. Yusuke’s words came back to Akira as he gave into the kiss. He has this ability to kiss things better. The kiss ended far too soon for his tastes, Akira chasing Ryuji’s lips as he moved away.
Taking a few deep breaths, Ryuji finally released Akira's hand so he could tangle both in his short locks. "What are we?"
A silence fell, neither awkward nor tense. It was a silence begging to be filled with answers.
"You are becoming someone very important to me," Yusuke whispered against Akira's unruly hair. "But I have yet to see you as anything more than a friend. Everything you’ve shared with Ryuji—will share with Ryuji—I know you need it and I won’t stand in your way. Maybe... with time."
Akira blinked, slow and deliberate, taking in the new information. "Knowing I have a place in your heart—in your thoughts... That is good enough for me, Yusuke."
Yusuke smiled, "Ryuji will love you enough for both of us."
"Oi..." the blond protested with no true argument to back him up. He dropped his hands from his hair, eyes narrowed at Akira with no heat behind his glare. “If Yusuke’s says I love ya, then I guess I do.”
Akira grinned, the gesture reminiscent of the permanent smile Arsene wore. “I accept your confession and this twisted relationship.”
With a huff, Ryuji pecked him on the lips before stretching over him. Akira slouched down and tilted his head to better see the brunet’s face. A gentle smile was directed at him before Yusuke gave Ryuji his attention. Akira closed his eyes, enjoying their warmth.
Miraculously, Akira didn’t wake when the couple rearranged him into a more comfortable position. Yusuke stretched out behind him and Ryuji climbed in from the foot of the bed. Once settled, Ryuji couldn’t stop himself from pressing a finger to the bridge of Akira’s nose. A wrinkle formed as Akira frowned at the disturbance to his sleep. Cute.
Ryuji removed his finger with a grin and fisted his hand beneath his head. A quick glance upward told him Yusuke was halfway to la-la land. It only seemed right to follow.
The television was muted; the newscaster still discussed Madarame Ichiryusai’s appalling public display. It took several minutes before everything finally sank in. Ryuji collapsed against the cushions as he laughed uncontrollably. “It’s just like Kamoshida! Except… better! Did you see his face?! That old man had tears and snot running down his face!”
His companions were jostled, but remained silent as the blond expressed his glee. Akira crossed one leg over the other, his hands folded demurely in his lap. His joy was restrained. His joy was centered around the fact that the public were finally starting to take notice of them. Society even named them. Phantom Thieves— “…of hearts,” he finished aloud in soft whisper.
Ryuji finally calmed down enough to give his boyfriend his full attention. “Oi. You’re making that face. You’re not happy? We all know crazy over there is happy.”
Yusuke didn’t have to see Akira to understand how their host felt. He stared at the television—more specifically, Madarame’s wailing face frozen in the upper corner. The false artist’s confession was pushed aside to make way for more news, snapping Yusuke from his blank state of mind. He lifted a hand, brushing his bangs aside, and chuckled softly. “I’m elated.”
Yusuke barely had time to blink before Ryuji was in his lap, mouth covering his. “One more year,” the blond stated after pulling away, his voice low and husky. “One more year and we’ll be free.”
Yusuke looped his arms around Ryuji’s waist, tilting his head to smile up at his best and brightest muse. “We’re already free. Thanks to the leader of the Phantom Thieves.” He finally gave Akira his attention. The brunet practically buzzed in place where he sat. “I believe a trip to Leblanc is in order.”
xxx
A familiar voice alerted the occupant of the dark room and the small figure rolled closer to the cluttered desk, picking up discarded headphones. The muted lights of the computer screen filled with code revealed a redheaded young girl.
“—Ryuji.”
“Nobody’s here! The Boss is in back washing dishes. I doubt he can hear us. We’re supposed to be celebrating! Madarame’s in jail… because of us!” There was a muffled sound, then Ryuji’s voice returned, “This curry is amazing, though!”
The shadowed figure let out a soft giggle, “Of course it’s good. Sojiro’s curry is the best!” Their good mood gradually faded as they drifted in and out of the trivial conversation.
“—bitter. Boss! Can I have a soda instead? Yusuke. Do you want this?”
“I’ll take it.”
The young girl drew her knees close to her chest at the voice. “Kurusu… Akira.” From the recorded conversations, Kurusu Akira was the one in charge of changing hearts. “Maybe…” With a shake of her head, she pushed the current Leblanc session aside and recalled one that had taken place a few nights ago. There was still another capable of cognitive travel. The task would go to the most successful. A thief or a detective.
No one can help you.
“Nononono.” The headphones were pushed down, replaced by clenched hands to drown out the harsh whisper.
You deserve to die.
It’s your fault she’s dead!
Drawing her feet up into the chair, the redhead curled into a small, protective ball in hopes of stopping the harsh whispers. It did nothing to stop her own thoughts; thoughts that agreed with the numerous voices. She let out a pained whimper and remained in her hunched position until the voices faded away. How much longer could she wait? Before everything became unbearable…
xxx
That night, Ryuji and Akira found out what they thought to be a blank canvas was, instead, a completed and framed painting. Yusuke carefully unwrapped the mysterious square, revealing the gentle colors of the original Sayuri. Akira recalled him leaving with it; he never imagined it would return.
Yusuke picked up the painting, his smile just as gentle as the woman permanently captured on canvas. “I’d like to give this to you. Akira.”
“What!?” Ryuji squawked.
Akira was struck speechless, unable to comprehend Yusuke’s words.
Yusuke held the painting at arm’s length. He was too young to remember her, but in his heart, he knew; he could feel her warmth and love. “The thought of selling it never crossed my mind. I would be no better than Madarame if I did that. But you, Akira…” He lowered the painting to stare over its frame at the two frozen boys. “I believe you will treasure it as dearly as I do. Ryuji already has several pieces,” Yusuke smiled at the blond, receiving a grin in return, before giving Akira his attention once more, “So it’s only fair that Akira has something as well.”
“I couldn’t,” Akira stammered out. “I… It’s… No.”
Ryuji snickered, slinging an arm around the brunet’s shoulder. “Never thought I’d see the day. You’re at a loss for words and not aroused.”
“Shut up,” Akira spat, pushing weakly at the blond. Ryuji never moved, only tightened his hold. “Yusuke. That painting is… You said it yourself!”
“I know what I said. Maybe try a different approach next time and not threaten people—”
“My specialty,” Akira whined. He yelped after Ryuji playfully pinched him.
“If it wasn’t for you,” Yusuke continued, “I would never have this memory of my mother. If it wasn’t for you…” He trailed off with a soft chuckle. “Please, take it, Akira. It’s the least I can do, after everything you’ve done.”
“This drab apartment needs some life anyway.” Ryuji turned them both so they faced the wall behind the sofa, and extended his free arm. “I say, put it right there. When we walk in the door, we’ll see it.”
We. Akira ducked his head to hide his grin. “Yusuke—”
“Thanks aren’t necessary,” Yusuke cut in. “Let’s go ahead and put it up. I’ll sleep out here on the futon.” Neither Ryuji nor Akira argued; they both understood Yusuke’s intentions.
“That means you two get to be intimate without my interference.”
No arguments there either.
—
Ryuji gave Yusuke a good night kiss before wrapping an arm around Akira’s neck. The brunet waved as he was forcibly dragged away. When the door swung inward, Yusuke looked away to stare up at the serene painting. With a whispered ‘good night’, he climbed into the futon under Sayuri’s loving gaze.
