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taintedkibou · 6 years

Text

beauty & vice - part five

[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.

Yusuke rushed ahead, ignoring Madarame’s pleading cries behind him.

xxx

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.

[part six] (end game...)

#p5 #persona 5 #p5 protagonist #kurusu akira #sakamoto ryuji #kitagawa yusuke #ryuji x yusuke #ryukita #akira x ryuji #akiryu #pegoryu #akiryukita #pegoryukita #dark undertones #fanfiction #my fiction #fic: beauty & vice

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taintedkibou · 6 years

Text

beauty & vice - part six

[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".

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.

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