#SHIBUYA IS RIGHT AROUND THE FUCKING CORNER HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO MAKE IT THROUGH THIS DOUBLE WHAMMY FUCKKKKK

[scarlettroubles]

I could look at you all day

my commissions are still open for anyone interested!

[myelocin]

REQ #6, #7, & #8 | Stories in Passing

synopsis:

Req #6 | @hoshino-a​ : The stranger always standing across your platform never failed to leave you both amused and irritated all at once. What you didn’t expect, was to actually come to stand face to face with him.

Req #7 | @souheii​ : Doritos, capri suns, and midnight talks with a stranger at a half empty grocery store parking lot wasn’t a common occurrence, but you suppose not all bad either.

Req #8 | Linette : Your spontaneous trip to the nearby 7/11 didn’t usually end up with conversations with a monochrome-haired man with golden eyes shared under a starless sky with strawberry ice cream, but perhaps there’s a first for everything. 

 characters: Miya Atsumu, Iwaizumi Hajime, Bokuto Koutarou

#6 Miya Atsumu | For Lena | Platform 2, Ginza Line, Tokyo

He wasn’t much of a stranger to you at this point considering how you’ve filed him in your brain as the “fake blonde bitch who thinks train schedules are a competition,” for the past week or so.

Jumping into a new schedule meant that you had to take an earlier train than usual to the busier side of town to clock in at work on time.

What’s interesting on your new schedule, though, is the guy you always see standing at the platform opposite of yours across the train tracks. To be fair, he was pretty good looking, and you would be a liar if you didn’t admit that. Side swept bleach blonde hair, a dark undercut, prominent brows and a fairly acceptable fashion sense. Save for the checkered fanny pack he always wears though; you figure he could do better than that.

Then again, to each their own.

He was there every day and stopped right across you every time so you figured the two of you must be running on a similar schedule. That wasn’t much of a problem considering the fact that you’ve known yourself to be rather observant and by the third day already could pick out a few familiar faces in the morning crowd.

What was the problem though, was the stranger who always managed to stand across you on the opposite platform made it seem like his lifelong mission was to smirk at you every time his train arrived first. The glance with the telltale smirk was quick, and could have been just chalked up to a trick of the mind—but the way his eyes glinted as the corner of his lips lifted into a smirk when you looked straight at him on the days your train approached first confirmed your suspicions.

So just like that, the bleach blonde stranger had quickly become a fixture in your morning routine. Your eyes met at least twice every day, but you still didn’t know his name nor he—yours.

What you hadn’t expected though, was stepping into the train at 3:02 PM headed to Shibuya and seeing him, checkered fanny pack and all, staring straight at you as he took one of the fully occupied seats in front of the only available area for you to stand in.

And like a normal person with a sane mind which you consider yourself to have: you ignored him completely.

From your peripheral vision you could practically see him scoff before he looks straight at you and says, “For the record I arrived first.”

You nod, not sure whether you want to answer or not, but the grandmother stares at him in a way that even has you feeling bad, that he motions to stand up, quickly saying, “Take my seat.”

You shake your head and tell him, you’re getting off soon anyway, so he stays.

He looks at you, then at the grandmother shrugging when she shakes her head towards him (really, you still feel bad), and tells you, “If I didn’t know any better I’d take that this is just a ploy so I feel bad and take ya’ out for coffee or somethin’ after this.”

You roll your eyes, “Only if we get off at the same station.”

He smirks, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes again because it looks just as pompous as the one from earlier this morning.

“That’s a deal,” he says again and for the rest of the train ride you ignore him, quickly taking a seat on the opposite side when one opened up. The seemingly unending rush hour of Tokyo filled the train back up in less than a minute, so you suppose the stranger would think he just lost you in the crowd.

And because fate decided it wasn’t on your side that day, of course, the second you make it three steps out of the train, you see him from the exit next to yours waving at you.

“Well,” he says, “Wouldja’ look at that. If I didn’t know any better maybe fate’s on my side today after all.”

He’s still laughing when he shoves his hands in his pockets and fully faces you.

“Miya Atsumu,” he says, introducing himself with a smile that feels familiar despite it being the first time you’re seeing it.

“Lena,” you reply. His eyes crinkle again in a way that has you thinking maybe fate’s trying to tell you something today after all.

 -

#7 Iwaizumi Hajime | For souheii | lmao pls just think random grocery store but at like, 04:07 AM

A half empty grocery store parking lot on the other side of town at four in the morning wasn’t exactly your best idea up to date, but you guess the quiet it provides could be a redeeming factor.

The past night had simply been another one of those nights where the sandman decided to completely skip over your house, so in result, sleep could not find you even as you toss and turned for a solid hour or so. And if there was one good thing about midnight (or really, early early morning at this point) runs to the grocery store it was the feeling of aimlessly walking around the aisles and feeling so separated from the world.

The thing is, aisle three with the Doritos and Capri-suns looked the exact same whether you were there at 4AM or 4PM. The same redundant music plays over the speakers as the same monotonous beep of the cash register molds together as background music. But something about walking around there at 4AM just felt other worldly.

So you suppose that’s the reason why you hopped in your car after deciding you were far from sleep and the reason why you’re spending dusk leaned against the trunk of your car munching on doritos and sipping from your juice packet.

But the gods must have decided it was high time for some company because eventually the owner of the car parked across yours came back from what looked like his midnight run and did the same.

On a regular day (and under daylight) you would have jumped back in your car and drove away because one: you’re wearing a faded tshirt that looked 3 sizes too big for you, and two: your hair at this point hasn’t made acquaintance with a hairbrush for the past 10 hours maybe.

But, it may have been his stance that had you relaxing immediately, the fact that this dude was fucking hot, his superior choice of Doritos flavor (it being cool ranch), or your belief about grocery stores under moonlight being otherworldly that had you staying put in your spot.

Though really, it was just him settling in a position similar to yours and popping his bag of chips open while telling you, “Don’t worry about me, just do your thing,” that made you throw a thumbs up in his direction and stay.

Apparently his name was Iwaizumi Hajime and that his roommate had come home drunk so he decided the best option was to leave the apartment all together.

“Cheers,” you call out, raising your juice pouch in offering.

“Cheers,” he replies, doing the same with his Gatorade bottle and laughing with you.

You spend the next few hours making comments about nothing in particular, sharing the mutual silence as the two of you tear through the packaging of the snacks in your respective plastic bags.

In moments like these, you don’t really bother to learn much about the stranger sharing the hours before daylight with you, but curiosity makes you ask tidbits about him anyway as he does to you.

And as the eastern side of the sky begins to light up with touches of the burning sun’s flames, you come to know that Iwaizumi Hajime is a gemini who used to play volleyball in high school, that he loved catching cicadas as much as he loved to release them, and noticed that his mouth pushed up to a pout whenever you said something that teased him.

He, on the other hand learned that you love the rain as much as you love the sound of wind chimes, and that you crack your knuckles when you’re nervous—which he teases at that has you pouting.

Though only the skies witness how the both of you spent the minutes watching the sunrise by stealing glances at each other whenever the both of you thought either was looking.

When you dust off dorito crumbs from your shirt and unlock your car door Hajime calls out your name telling you he’ll shoot you a text soon.

This time you smile. Because despite the break of the day and the rising chatter of people driving in and out of the world waking back up—Hajime’s smile on your mind still makes the moment feel otherworldly.  

 -

#8 Bokuto Koutarou: Linette | 7/11, 01:14 AM

The best conversations happen with strangers you meet because of the uncertainty of how long they’ll stay.

Then again, people are generally like that. But in this case, strangers that you meet at 1 in the morning while you stop by a 7/11 for ice cream means that it feels a little safer to be more unfiltered.

Much like he was, you suppose. It took no more than three steps in the store, and a nod of acknowledgement to the part timer who welcomed you for him to bellow a loud “hello” in your direction. And much like you expected, your greeting in return had been more on the awkward side.

“Late night munchies?” he said as he stood up, brushed off the crumbs on his shirt and followed you to the freezers in the back.

You nodded, and tried to limit your focus to which kind of ice cream you even wanted before jolting in surprise as he stood right next to you—perhaps a little too close and pointing at the strawberry flavored tub on the left side. He only laughed at your response before picking up a tub and gesturing to the counter.

“My treat,” he said, and up until now, you still have absolutely no clue what possessed you to agree. But you did, so now ten minutes later, you’re sitting across Bokuto Koutarou, the stranger from the 7/11 right outside your apartment unit sharing an ice cream tub he bought for the two of you to share.

Conversation with him was, for one, interesting.

He didn’t exactly pry but when you did talk you could practically see the focus glint, striking and evident in whirlpools of gold. You didn’t know much about him either—most of the things he said was information you really could have done just the same without but he put it out there anyway.

“Any reason why you’re out here at 1 in the morning buying strangers tubs of icecream and eating them outside a 7/11?” you ask and he shakes his head, laughing. You think about how fitting relaxed laughter is for him.

“Not really; just felt like eating shit tonight,” is his reply and you nod your head, not really curious enough for further explanation.

“You usually say yes when strangers offer to buy you ice cream at 1 in the morning?” he asks, returning your question with the same tone as you face him pointing your spoon in his direction in your defense.

“Not really,” you say, laughing, “just felt like trusting strangers tonight.”

“That’s deep,” he comments, nodding before scooping up more ice cream and popping the smooth in his mouth.

“Midnight conversations tend to run deep,” you reply, then scoop up and do the same. You smile, strawberry ice cream always reminded you of nostalgia.

The man across you laughs exhales, slumping further down his seat as he looks up at the sky. There’s not much stars in the city, but the way he smiles when he closes his eyes would make you think like he’s looking at the Milky Way itself swirling the secrets of the universe into the sky.

The silence you shared with him felt profound, almost.

“I don’t think you’d have the same conversation if you met me here at 1PM, though,” he tells you.

“You morph into a different person or something?” you laugh, responding.

“Something like that,” Bokuto says again and continues to face up; he’s still smiling, and you take note of that too.

“Different person or different thoughts?” you ask, and he nods at you, face scrunching up in thought at your question. He looks a little silly, you think.

“Different person, same thoughts, but usually with a filter,” he answers after some time, laughing.

“Then should I be glad I’m talking to you now?” you ask.

Bokuto sits back up before leaning on the table with his elbows, his eyes locked on you. The spark in his eyes look somewhat like the reflection of the streetlights behind you with how bright they are, but the flicker tells you it’s just a trick of the eye. Though, regardless of that, you find yourself entranced as you stare back at him.

“That depends on you,” is his answer to the question, so you counter with, “Does that mean I’ll get to meet this other person?”

Bokuto laughs and you notice how it echoes in the quiet street. “I guess so.”

When he turns to face the starless sky again and smile as if he’s watching the universe unfold, you do the same.

Strangers really do have stories to tell; in this case, you find yourself suddenly intrigued to learn all about his.

 -

[maxfieldparrishes]

shake the bones

Part IV. Insomnia is a bitch. 

(read on AO3)

The night air is chilly, but Kallen pays it no mind as her feet take her wherever they please.

She stumbles as the side of her foot comes down hard on a seam in the pavement, but she rights herself and finds her footing, running on with wild abandon into the night. Tokyo does not sleep and neither does she, no matter how tired she feels or how heavy her eyes are and she's come to learn that, when these agonizingly slow nights find her, there's nothing she can do but meet them where they are.

She runs past her favorite corner store, past the train station that takes her to school, towards the river, dodging those in her way. Most of the passersby are drunk and smiling, turning to look at her with bleary, glassy eyes as she sprints past them. One group has a man who shouts after her, but she forgets about him as she pushes herself into a sprint to make a light.

The park is full of shadows when she arrives, and the only sounds she hears are traffic and night birds, just as she wanted. The Shibuya river is a trickle, a narrow canal compared to the width of the Kano and the estuaries where she'd grown up, but there's something soothing about being near flowing water. Kallen takes a minute to take in the sight of the Shibuya, the lights of the city glinting on it through the trees, but then her restlessness seizes her by the throat and she has to run again.

She has two options: run until she vomits, or scream at the top of her lungs for an hour straight. Running doesn't bring the cops or piss off the neighbors, so that's what she chooses.

Kallen remembers all the trees in Izu. Beech, black pine, cedar--cryptomeria, she remembers Naoto had called by its Latin name. She remembers Naoto taking her into the woods, a little girl with coltish legs and too much energy, quizzing her on birds. As she runs, she pushes herself to recall as many as she can: Pacific loon, greater short-toed lark, Japanese skylark... She takes a ragged, gasping breath--barn swallow, Pacific swallow, Japanese waxwing--and tries to ignore the burning in her calves. Japanese thrush, Eurasian tree sparrow, Japanese bush warbler, and she falls to her knees, hard, in the middle of the path, rolling off to lay panting next to a cypress tree.

She wonders where that little girl went. Kallen is sure she doesn't know.

Kallen raises a fist and pounds it against the tree trunk, the rest of her body still. Whatever it is that hovers over her, she can't fight it, and she can't outrun it. All she wants to do is run until she collapses, to push herself, feel nothing but strain until she forgets herself.

There's something bubbling inside her, water or lava, she doesn't know. Geyser or volcano?

Kallen raises her hand and wipes sloppily at her face, smearing snot, sweat--and are those tears?--but she stays laying where she is. Hopefully, no one will come by and question why there's a young woman laying on her side under a tree, in a deserted park, at three in the morning.

She gives herself five more deep breaths, then she'll get up. Otherwise, she has an utterly bizarre feeling that whatever possesses her on these nights is going to drag her back home, face down on the pavement, by the nape of the neck. It's not rational, but it motivates her to move when otherwise she'd just lay there, blinking and sleepless, until the sun comes up.

Kallen pushes herself upright, sighs, shakes the dirt and leaves from her hair, and begins her run back.

-

When she sees her apartment complex, Kallen slows herself into a jog for the last few blocks. Her street, so busy in the morning, is silent and still now, the few lights peering out from the windows muddied and dim. But soon, she knows, there will be a slow trickle of people, then a flood of them, as they all rush out to make their way to school, or work, or wherever it is they're going.

She had left Lelouch asleep on the sofa he had moved, and he hadn't stirred as she tiptoed past and silently shut the door behind her. Hopefully she can return and slip inside, back in her room, without waking him; if she's really lucky, her door won't squeak at all.

Technically, she's supposed to use the main entrance. But the service door is easily wiggled opened, and it's far closer to her apartment than walking all the way around to the front of the building. Kallen slips inside, jogs up the stairs to the fifth floor, trying to remember all the while why she wanted a fifth floor unit (a little bit bigger and a private bathroom), and sticks her hand down what passes as the pocket of her leggings to find her key.

Slowly, incredibly carefully, she inserts the key and presses it to the inside of the lock, making sure to maintain the pressure as she twists it open, and then takes the knob in her still-sweaty hand and twists that too. Kallen tiptoes inside and turns to press the door almost silently shut, bracing a knee against it as she turns the lock to the "closed" position, not noticing that the small lamp on her bookshelf is on. To be fair, the light from said lamp is super dim, so dim that if she turns it on in the daytime it's almost like it isn't on at all.

"You know, for a woman who's so deadly in a Knightmare, I'm surprised you aren't more aware of your surroundings outside of one."

Kallen leans her head back and closes her eyes. "First of all, save it, because I'm not in the mood. Second of all, you were asleep when I left."

"I was." Lelouch stretches his legs out in front of him, sweeping them to the side to sit fully up. "I think I just missed you. I heard the door squeak and by the time I fully woke up you were gone."

Damn that door. "Well, I'm back, so you can go back to sleep," Kallen says, moving to take the yoga mat from its spot under the side table and unrolling it in front of the television. "This doesn't make much noise." But as she starts her post-run routine and goes into Downward-facing Dog, stretching out her hamstrings and back, she notices that Lelouch is staring at her, and his expression is... unamused.

"So this is it, then?"

"What are you talking about?" she asks between deep breaths, pedaling each foot before stretching her heels down to the ground.

"Are we not going to talk about the fact that you decided that three in the morning was an excellent time to go for a run?" Lelouch sits up straighter. "Where did you go?"

"One, I'm an adult and I can run at three a.m. if I want to, it's none of your damn business," Kallen responds, "and two, Shibuya."

"You ran to Shibuya?"

"Yes, Lelouch, I ran to Shibuya," she says, lowering herself into Cobra, keeping her breathing rhythmic. "Most people are capable of running. Some of us even enjoy it." Kallen finds it in her to be amused by his glower.

"Fine, fine. You can do what you want," he says, with an airy sigh and a wave of his hand, "but why?"

Crap. "No other time to do it," she says, after one beat too long, and she knows that Lelouch knows she's lying. Kallen hopes he'll drop it, and decide it's too early in the morning for an interrogation, but death hasn't made Lelouch any less ruthless.  

"Really. So you do this every morning?" he asks. "This is your routine?"

Kallen pushes herself back into a runner's lunge. "Just drop it."

Wrong thing to say. Lelouch has never let anything go in his entire life, both the first half and the second. "What's going on?" he asks, and there's genuine concern underneath the irritation, and that little hint of concern pisses her the fuck off.

"Nothing."

"Kallen," he starts, his tone even and so annoyingly rational, that she comes out of her forward fold with a vengeance.

"What?" she snaps. "You want to know why I ran? Because I can't sleep and I can't stay here all night and stare at nothing. So I go for runs. I don't want to stay awake, but I can't sleep. I don't... I don't shut off. I never have. When this kind of night hits me it's just... there's really nothing else I can do but run."

Lelouch is staring at her again, slightly shell-shocked. "Do you have trouble sleeping a lot?" he asks.

"Don't psychoanalyze me," Kallen snaps again. "Do you think I have trouble sleeping?"

"I wouldn't really know, considering I've been... dead," he says, "but I'm going to go with yes."

"A-plus, here's a gold star." Kallen starts to roll up the mat. "Now you know."

"Yes," Lelouch says, "and the question is, what are you going to do about it? You can't function like this."

That stops her dead in her tracks. "What am I going to do about it? I have tried everything. Valerian root, melatonin, benadryl, everything. What are you going to do about it?"

He doesn't have an answer ready for that. Lelouch has always had a plan for everything, but he cannot fix Kallen, just like he couldn't fix Nunnally, or C.C., or Suzaku. He cannot make her better. When the world was wrong, before, he had fixed it. But this is different. "What about seeing a doctor? There are options for medications," he asks, resisting the urge snark back at her.

"Pills are out of the question." Kallen waves her hand. "You get one guess as to why."

"Right." Lelouch blinks and puts his elbows on his knees. "So... that's it?"

"That's it." Kallen stows the mat underneath the side table. "Nothing else to do about it. Not right now, anyway." Turning her back on him, she says, "I'm going to take a shower. You should try to sleep," and goes off without a backwards glance.

He had tried to stay awake, but the light was still low and the night still held sway outside, and the sound of the shower running provided the white noise he liked, and he had fallen back asleep before he realized it was happening.

Lelouch had wondered about the shadows under Kallen's eyes when she first picked him up, but chalked it up to her grueling schedule, as she had told him when they arrived. Now he knows better.

When he woke, Kallen was gone, and the clock told him it was well before the time she needed to leave by. Lelouch wonders if she had slept at all. He doubts it.

He needs her to help him, but Lelouch think he needs to help her first. Kallen is loyal, honest, one of the strongest people he knows, but she is struggling. Neither is she happy, and though it may be self-centered, Lelouch's first thought is that he didn't die and come back to life for her to be miserable in the new world they helped make together.

His second thought is that there's no food in the apartment. Lelouch grabs the apartment phone, the sticky note with Kallen's cell number, and leaves a voicemail with a grocery list.

[def-march]

ANCIENTS

Characters: Joshua and 777 Length: 11 google docs pages (approximately 4200 words) Desc: a small fic I made for @the-composer <3 Love ya, H!!

Summary: Just as the iconic era of the 80s was ending, 777 had died alongside his two best friends, Tenho and BJ. Struggling to make ends meet in their new life as a trio of Support Reapers, they’re visited one evening by a mysterious stranger with orders to retrieve the singer, and bring him face to face with non other then the Composer himself for a little “talk.”

“Seven, do you remember when we first met?”

The punk glanced at Joshua, trying to formulate thoughts in how he was going to answer as he cracked open one of the beers he brought along. 777’s eyebrows furrowed as he took a sip of his bitter drink.

“Ya finally invite me t’yer special place on 104 just to talk?” He grunted, “lame.”

“But, do you?”

777 sighed with a smile as he put his drink down on the ledge beside him. The city suddenly seemed to have quieted down from in top of the tall building, even though he knew it wasn't the case. Time felt slowed and muddled until he opened his eyes once more.

“Really, Joshie, ya think I can forget that easily? Give me some credit here, dude.”

------

When the doorbell rang in the middle of the day, everyone in the trio was tense that it could have been another eviction. (There's really not much room in a city like Shibuya, and besides, three youthful Support Reapers weren't immune to the rules of the living. They were a handful of trouble for everyone they knew.)

It was Tenho who answered the door after the 3rd ring, revealing the tall man in the snakeskin suit and flowing black hair. However, the most unnerving were the eyes, completely shielded away with glasses that were tinted so dark, a starless sky would look bright.

“W-who are you?” Tenho felt his voice shake, even though a part of him knew that this person was not alive by any means of the word.

Without any other words, the stranger moved past Tenho and BJ, despite cries of protest of not inviting the stranger in for starters. The way which he walked was silent, and filled with Grace as he made his way to the younger 777 sitting in the couch, arms crossed with a fierce scowl.

“Your presence is requested.”

“I ain't goin’ anywhere.” The young adult replied, narrowing his eyes as he glared daggers and tightened the grip he had on his red sweater. “I refuse.”

“That isn't very advisable.”

“I don't care!” The scowl grew into a snarl, hackles rising like a dog. “I don't know you, so why should I trust ya? Ya just can't walk right into my damn house, for fucks sake!”

“I was requested to retrieve the Support Reaper who has been causing problems. You seem to not know the meaning of 'respect,” Sven Saintclaire.”

“What did you call me?” 777 bared his teeth as he snapped right up onto his feet, hands clenched. He could feel the heartbeat in his ears. He could see his two friends from the corners of his eyes, faces concerned about the situation, unknowing what to do of the stranger, and of the fury that 777 harvested.

“YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO RIGHT T’CALL ME THAT!” The young singer shrieked, throwing a punch at the man. Without hesitation,  the man caught the blow and twisted the hand harshly to the side, earning a cry of pain from 777 as he dropped to his knees, glaring up at the other.

It really hasn't been that long since he became a Reaper. After his Game, he knew that he desperately had to work on his temper and.nit jump straight to violence, but really this dude just waltzed into his house like he owned the damn place! How was he supposed to react?!

“I did warn you, it was inadvisable.” The black haired man glowered at the boy, who shrunk down out of fear. “For someone who interests the Composer, you are a brat.”

---

777 followed the intruder, not really paying attention to the direction they were heading, as he was fixated on the person himself, observing the calm and collected movements he made with every stride.

Rain was beginning to fall in the form of a light mist. The way the water interacted with the Underground was peculiar. He could feel the cold wetness as the droplets fell, but they never landed on him. It passed right through, leaving 777 dry. Despite being part of the UG for just over half a year now, whenever it rained he was either inside or on the plane of the RG. He shivered.

This new life he accepted was...strange for lack of better words.

777 looked up again, and to his surprise Megumi had turned his head to look at the rock star wannabe, piercing golden eyes peering out of the side of his glasses, causing 777’s heart to halt and jostle around in surprise. “Your staring is impolite; I suggest now that refrain from it when you meet Him.”

“Where else am I supposed to look? I've been livin’ in this dump of a city before I died long enough, I know where shit is.” 777 spat with a grunt, digging his hands further into the sweaters pockets.

Megumi was silent, and then he turned his head away and continued walking without acknowledgement of the young Reapers words.

777 frowned and resumed his pace, trailing after the other. “Ya know, ya never told me yer name.”

“Apologies, it must have slipped my mind. My name is Megumi Kitaniji… and yourself?”

“Cut that politeness shit, Meggy, you already know my name…”

Megumi couldn't hide the displeasure in his face at his new nickname, his nose wrinkling up with disdain, but ultimately decided to ignore it, getting this Support Reaper to Him  was already proving difficult enough. “Yes, it is Sve-”

“Like, the hell it is! I refuse to be called by that anymore! That's the old me!”

“It is what is written on your papers, it is what I will refer you as. Out of curiosity, what is your calling name then, hm?”

777 was quiet, eyes casting down on the sidewalk. Megumi stopped, causing the singer to walk right into him.

“HEY?! What gives!?”

“As I expected, you haven't thought ahead on the matter of your new name. Unfortunate.”

“No, you're fuckin’ wrong! I do have a name, asshat!”

“Then do tell.”

“Triple Seven! My name is Triple fuckin’ Seven!”

Megumi blinked in surprise, despite his facial expression remaining neutral. “Pardon?”

“You heard me! Triple Seven, like, three sevens?” 777 took his hands out of the pockets, tightening the fists until he could feel his nails digging into his skin as he looked up at Megumi, violet eyes unwavering. “MY NAME IS TRIPLE SEVEN!”

Megumi was quiet, bringing a hand to his chin in thought. This young man had such a strong vibe coming off of him, even though he has been here for a relatively short time. His personality was headstrong, as he was warned about, but it seemed to be worse than what he was even informed of. His whole character was...odd, to say the least.

“It sounds to me like you're trying to convince yourself, rather than me.”

777’s face melted into shock. Megumi was right; he was still coming to terms with his new identity after death, but before he could retort, Megumi spoke, “We have arrived.”

777 looked around, sewers, how nice. These people certainly did have shitty taste. Maybe they had tea parties with the rats. “Whatever,” he grumbled, following Megumi through the concrete passages, the smell of sewage reeked from every possible crevice.It was just one room after another, wasn't it?

He admittedly wasn't paying attention, so when they came into a bright room, that looked furnished and well, nice (even if it wasn't exactly his style,) he was a bit shocked.

“Aye, ya got booze. Nice.” 777 grinned, eyeing the bar and the many bottles on display behind it.

“Touch it, and I won't dare to hesitate on lopping your hand off.” Megumi hissed, golden eyes glaring from the sides of his shades. “I am aware you are an alcoholic. You may have a drink after, if you'd like, but you will pay for it. Come with me.”

The singer rolled his eyes, and followed, coming into a room that was suddenly spacious. A throne in the center with a glowing figure. 777 had to squint, but he did not falter beyond that.

“Interesting,” the figure spoke, his voice sounding like smooth chimes laced in silk. “You have no fear.”

“Should I? You're just like a mega sized neon light, really,” the singers voice was laced with sarcasm, clearly unimpressed. “Does only shades over there get a pair of glasses, or are ya try’na ruin my corneas?”

The Composer chuckled a bit. How entertaining this Reaper was. Not only that, but he was resilient and resisted against falling down against his powerful vibe washing over him. It was almost impressive.

“My apologies, I should have taken into account how my beauty is blinding.”

The rocker sneered as the light died down. 777 stopped squinting, eyebrows arching in surprise to see someone who's age was indefinite, but was clearly youthful, perhaps an older teenager or a young adult much like the Reaper himself, standing with a proper posture, right in front of him.

“Is this better?”

“I guess,” 777 snorted. “Ya look like a princess.”

“Do not talk to the Composer in such a manner,” Megumi spoke up, posture rigid, as if he was the one who was offended and not the pretty boy standing in front of them both.

“Megumi, relaaax, I take it as a compliment you see. I should not be seen as anything but royalty.”

“Yer porcelain skin would make a mighty fine throw rug.”

“Sir-- please,” Megumi started. “He's being rude-”

“Megumi, despite how long you have been part of the Underground, you still are extremely uncertain of your newfound status as Conductor. I suggest kindly, that you only speak when you're being referred to. Just watch, please.” Joshua sighed, rolling his eyes and placed a hand on 777’s shoulder. “Between you and me, he can be sooo protective, it's silly really. He's not new to the UG but he's  new to the position of Conductor; really needs to loosen up a bit...”

“Don't touch me.” 777 snarled, causing the Composer to take his hand off the Reapers shoulders in slight surprise.

“Got it.” He didn't really feel like getting his fingers bitten off, especially in a setting like this. He needed this Reaper to trust him, even if it was only a little bit. Provoking would only make the matter at hand worse. “No touchy touchy~”

“What d’ya want?”

“My, extremely straight to the point, aren't you?” Slightly annoying, but it gave him the impression he wouldn't have to butter up anything he said. The Reaper clearly had already come to terms that he was dead and not returning to the living. The only issue at hand may be the personal Vendetta against the one who ruled the UG.

“At least tell me who ya are, “Mr. Composer”.” The sarcasm in the singers voice definitely wasn't going anywhere, nor was the heavy air quotes he made as he spoke.

“A bit of an irritating brat, aren't you?”

“Of course; gotta keep up my rep.” 777 cracked a smile, crossing his arms. “I aim to please.”

“My name is Yoshiya Kiryu, but you may call my Joshua like the majority of those around me.” The Composer tilted his head, Ash blonde bangs falling over his face as he analyzed the Reaper. How peculiar of a personality; he really didn't care what he said to someone of authority, did he? Joshua returned a soft smile, finding that things from here on out would be entertaining, at the very least.

“I'm sure you're wondering why you're here-”

“Yeah? Kinda? I thought that part was obvious.”

Joshua rubbed his forehead, an irritated sigh leaving his mouth. Nevermind, would this be entertaining or borderline aggravating? “Will you please stop interrupting me and allow me to get straight to the point, you're only wasting your time here and prolonging the visit so be patient and kindly shut up.”

When no other smart alec comments were made, Joshua mumbled a relieved 'thank you’ to the Higher Plane. God.

“What I wanted to talk to you about was your points,” he began, clasping his hands in front of his face, his smile crumpling into that of a concerned frown. “You seem to be an exceptional Reaper of sorts, despite you not having the strongest Underground abilities, you have miraculous control of your vibe…” Joshua trailed off, listening to the music that this Reaper emitted. It was heavier than most would be, louder too, but it was steady and stable. The beat was consistent, a heart of a drum beat and a guitar solo of his heart on top of the static that was common among souls of the UG.

‘If he keeps developing at the rate he is currently,’ Joshua hummed as he thought to himself, ‘then it could very well be possible that it would only get louder and more refined; perhaps the static will vanish completely and the song will be in it's best form…’

“Is it true that you mastered the ability to shift planes within the first couple of weeks of becoming a Reaper?” Joshua couldn't help but blurt out the question. Normally Reapers took at least the first month to be able to figure out how to go back and forth between the RG and UG, and even then for those prodigies, it would still be a strain on their bodies, but here was a Reaper phasing in and out like liquid through a strainer. It was essentially effortless.

“Sorry, it's just-- you do so poor regarding most abilities in the underground. You have trouble summoning Noise, pins are almost completely useless for you, and your psyches as a Reaper are limited to brute force, but yet you somehow have extraordinary abilities in regards to your vibe and you are above the average Reaper when it comes to imprinting.”

“And?”

“And?” Joshua's sleek brows furrowed, momentarily stunned by the question. Didn't he know how atypical that was?! No, of course not, this Reaper had a brain full of songs and spare parts.

“It's absolutely fascinating!” Joshua couldn't just put it into words how intrigued he was with the other, it made him feel giddy with excitement. 777 couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in mild confusion; he wasn't around long enough to actually understand anything about him that Joshua thought was so amazing, but yet here he was, the Composer Himself acting like a preschool kid learning about dinosaurs. Joshua, catching wind if his actions, cleared his throat and straightened out his posture back to the professional facade it was before.

“I do believe you could potentially see yourself rank up if you get better in the other areas of performance, but enough of that,” Joshua paused, tapping his pursed lips with his delicate porcelain fingers in thought.

“The real reason I called you down, aside from my own fascination, was how you are with Players. You seem to be able to erase them without much of a second thought, but with others you will hold yourself back or even help them. It's not against the rules by any means, but I don't recall many Reapers, or even some at all, taking as much mercy onto the Players as yourself. Does this correlate with your abilities, by chance? Why do you do it?”

It wasn't really that hard for 777 to answer. “It's because I relate to them. I went through the Game, and I hope I became a better person because of it. They show potential, they deserve a chance to better themselves and it's going to only get harder with every passing day in the UG. They deserve that one ounce of hope.” 777 looked away, towards the ground. It felt weird hearing the words come from his mouth. It wasn't the entire truth by any means, but he hoped it would satisfy. For now, at least.

He just doesn't want anyone to go through what he did during his game. He wants to be that ounce of hope to help a Player through the day. 777 just wanted to mean something good for once.

“I think it's partially 'cuz I feel more human after the game, ‘specially compared to most Reaps that I've seen.”

Joshua's eyes widened slightly. Most Reapers would say they felt less humane, more monstrous, no longer inhibited by the rules of the living. In the Underground people could be who they truly were underneath their flesh and skin. It made sense though, here in front of him stood a Reaper who felt more human, one who not only frequented the RG, but interacted with it, taking pity on it and the people who walked that plane.

“We we're all human once, but when I was alive I stripped myself of my own humanity earlier than most would. The Game showed me how I was before was just. Wrong. That's not the way a human should act, no one should be like how I was.”

“We were all...human...once…” Joshua repeated the words slowly along his tongue. They felt foreign on his lips, like trying a new dish from another culture and being unsure of the taste. Was it like or dislike? Too spicy or too sweet?

“You seem to have a good grasp on yourself as a person.”

777 couldn't help but burst out laughing. “If I did, I don't think I'd even be dead!”

“True.” Joshua hummed. “May I ask what was your entry fee to the game?”

“My voice. Not just my physical voice, but my metaphorical one, too. I couldn't ever bring m’self t’ try and bring out what I really thought and wanted to say.”

“How unfortunate. And the fee you have after becoming a Reaper?”

“I don't know.”

“Do you feel discontent because of it? Not knowing the fee you lost to become who you are now?”

“I think bein’ a Reap was the bes’ thing to ever happen in my life.” A pause. “Unlife.”

“After life,” corrected Joshua.

“Whatever.”

“And why might that be?” Joshua asked. He could already guess the answer, he just wanted to hear it for himself. A confirmation of sorts, just to know how he should approach the Reaper in the future, if this Reaper would allow him to, anyways.

“I get a new identity. I get to be better than what I was before I died.” 777 looked to the side. “I can achieve my dreams like this, without havin’ 'em be wasted away t’ nothin’.”

“What dreams are those?”

“I wanna be a rockstar. I wanna influence people, show 'sm they're not alone in the world, that there's people jus’ as angry as 'em, just as upset as 'em, and together we can make a difference.” 777 narrowed his eyes, looking back at Joshua. “I don't fuckin’ know why I'm tellin’ ya all of this, I don't even know ya.”

“You know my name.”

“And nothing else.” 777 snorted, crossing his arms. “My turn to ask questions, then.”

Joshua blinked in surprise. He really didn't think the tables would turn so sharply onto himself, but he should have at least  guessed as much, considering how the Support Reaper was acting.

“Do you have any dreams?”

“I've been dead for a long time, and I am the godly influence of a city, I don't think I have time for dreams--”

“Thats bullshit!” Joshua stumbled back in surprise at the sudden hostility and passion that was in the others voice. “Everyone's gotta have dreams, if you're older ya jus’ had more time t’plan yer attack an’ tackle em!”

“I do suppose, you may be right.”

“I know I'm right,” snorted 777, a smirk on his face. “Ya may be dead but that don't mean ya can't feel alive.”

“That's rich in itself, coming from someone who has stated they feel more human.”

“Bold of ya t'assume that feelin’ human meant like ya felt alive.”

Joshua frowned at those words. They had only just met, and this guy got it; he understood. Humans don't have to feel alive, they do not even have to feel. They just had to be, and continue being. Not one person in the world wished themselves alive, but many wished themselves dead.

777 could say that he didn't have a grasp on who he was as a person all he wanted, but he had a grasp on emotions and how they functioned, whether he realized it or not. You didn't need a reason to feel the way you do, you just had to exist. Did it often make sense? Of course not, but the world wasn't black and white and things were changing and evolving so much that it made the Composers head spin in circles the more he thought about it.

But really; what was going on in that mind of the singer? A sense of feelings but not a sense of self; the emotion of anger but where was the guilt?

Joshua pushed a strand of his Ash blonde hair behind his ear, watching the singer in an unnerving silence. Neither of them spoke, but each of their minds was frantically thinking. When should I go? Do I let him stay?

The Composer breathed in, an idea trickling through his head. Why would he doesn't and wonder about what the other was thinking when he could see for himself? He had control over the UG, after all, he could just scan the Reaper and send him on his way, back to whatever shit hole he crawled out from.

Joshua closed his eyes and concentrated, feathers falling from his wings as he explored the mind's eye. There was nothing there.

Almost nothing.

He could see a door, locked and chained shut with an animal in front, growling through bared teeth and intense violet eyes that shone through a fury that was masked with rage, but hidden underneath was the familiar defensiveness of fear.

Triple Seven here, Joshua thought, with the lull of a sadness that he and the singer shared, but we're no strangers of. Is afraid of opening up...

Suddenly, the vision shattered like glass as he was knocked out of his meditative state. Stunned and falling to his knees, he could barely register what had happened. He reached a hand up to his face, feeling the warm, sticky blood gushing out his nose and between his finger tips.

“--SIR!”

Joshua waved his hand, signaling that he was fine, that Megumi should stand down and out of the way. He looked back up at 777, mouth agape in shock.

“You felt that?”

“I dunno, but did ya feel that, bitch?” 777 shouted, both hands clenched as his sides, as if he was prepared to through another punch. Blood dripped down from his right fit into the floor.

“Don't  fuckin’ try to scan me if yer preachin’ 'bout trust an’ shit if ya don't act on it! Ya want me to trust ya, and respect ya and whatever else bullshit ya want, yer gonna have to earn it like a normal fuckin’ person!”

Joshua's face of shock melted into a small giggle, before molding into a full blown laughing fit. He didn't care about the searing pain he had of a broken nose, he didn't care about Megumi frantically wanting to help him. This was definitely more entertaining that he had anticipated, he really just couldn't help but laugh in response.

The pain, the anger, this Reaper really was so human compared to the hardened Composer, he couldn't help but laugh at how alive he felt, tears forming in his eyes as he snorted. Joshua wiped the blood out from under his nose, starting at his bloodied hand, still laughing to himself.

“I can't believe you hit me.”

“I got more where that came from is ya decide to pull that shit again.”

Joshua looked up, back to his hand and the concrete floor, covered with blood drips, and back to 777. The smile never left his face as he got up, offering the singer his gentle hand as a truce. “I'll keep you under my watchful gaze.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” 777 snorted, looking at the hand and rolling his eyes. Yeah right, he wasn't going to take it from such a prissy boy, Composer or not. Spinning around in his heels, he turned to walk in the other direction-- away.

“Wait! The Composer hasn't dismissed you yet!” Megumi called out, taking a few steps forwards, only to be stopped as Joshua held his arm out, blocking the Conductors charge.

“Let him be.” Joshua said, glancing at Megumi and back to the Support Reaper, waving his hand in farewell at him.

“Goodbye, Triple Seven! Until we meet again!~”

“Ya didn't call me Sven.” 777 looked over his shoulder in surprise, stopping his walk to turn around and stare. Even though Joshua was socked in the face, there was still warmth to his icy cold facade, deep in his mulberry eyes.

“Of course not.” Joshua smiled softly. “This is who you are now.”

---

“I remember the outcome going a bit differently, don't you think? I distinctly recall you grovelling at my feet, kissing the very ground I walk on.”

“Duh, you probably had a goddamn concussion thanks to my fist.” 777 rolled his eyes, finishing off the can of beer in his hand and tossing it down the roof of 104, eyes following up as it fell until it could be seen no more. “We've known each other for a long time now, huh? Man, we're so fuckin’ old…”

“Absolutely ancient.”

[books-and-dragons]

Congratulations on 400 followers! If you're still open to taking prompts, I got an AkiRyu idea in my head of Ryuji sending Akira text messages and voicemails while he's in prison after Christmas, just like general things of how things are going with him and the rest of the gang and of course telling him how much he misses him. Don't feel obligated but I thought I'd give it out!

THANK YOU!! And g o d when I read this prompt I fell in love with it, I am really sorry if it reads disconnected or anything along those lines at all…..this was such a good prompt and wow thank you for sending it to me!

Fandom: Persona 5Summary: Maybe, if he rang Akira’s number, he could pretend that it was all okay….that Akira could hear him, listen to him from Juvie. That he’d respond with snarky comments and carefully calculated plans to escape. Instead, he gets the same message every time.

‘You person you are calling is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone’

The attic of Leblanc was empty, the only sign someone had been living there the odd trinkets lying around the room. Bedsheets folded neatly at the end of a bed, all properties orderly and clean. Crafting tools hidden away.

The one thing lying out of place was a phone, plugged in to the wall, abandoned.

Accidentally left on sound.

The first time it rang was just a matter of hours after the phone’s owner had left, gentle chiming breaking through the silence of the attic, past the loud outcries and sobs from downstairs.

“Hey, Akira? This is just some stupid prank, isn’t it- well you can stop it now! Come on dude it’s Christmas- let up the jokes for one day. We’re all waiting on ya- well, I am- but you’ve really convinced the others, they’re cryin’ and all. Talk about a harsh prank dude. Just get back here already, we’re waiting with your presents!”

The next time the phone rang, the voice on the other end wasn’t so cheerful.

“….Boss wasn’t joking, was he?…. DAMN IT! Why the HELL do you always have to turn yourself in?! Who gave you the right to decide what was right for the entire team?! We’ve just killed a God and now you’re leaving? To make some shitty police officers happy, are you kidding me?! Why do you ALWAYS have to do things on your own- did you ever even think to talk to us about it. Hell I was with you last night- what do you not trust me?! Is that was it is?! I-“

Another voice interrupted. Higher pitched, more feminine,

“Ryuji? RYUJI! Come on hang up-”

“No, Ann, get off!”

Something thudded to the ground, there was a flurry of rustling. The sounds of a struggle, a fight.

“Can’t you see we’re all upset-”

The line was cut off.

“A-Akira? S-sorry for the call earlier….I-I guess I got a bit worked up, huh?….Geez…”

A shuddering breath.

“Dude, this is my third call today….your voicemail’s gonna get totally packed….when’re you even gonna get to listen to them….”

A sniffle.

“Talk about a shit Christmas. We could barely focus, nobody was really in the mood for celebratin’….”

He took a deep breath, when he spoke again his voice was thick with emotion.

“Why did you have to go?”

“Hey….it’s me. Again. We held a meeting today, it’s not the same without you at the head of the table. Makoto keeps stopping to hear your confirmation but-” Another deep breath, “But you weren’t there. Between you and Morgana….the thieves feels empty.”

“We’re gonna get you out of there. Even if I’ve gotta do it myself.”

“Futaba asked me to go talk to her today, we met at Leblanc for coffee and curry. I think Boss has been hiding how much he misses you, today when he was serving us he went to tell you it’s your turn on dishes-”

There was a pause.

“He didn’t say much after that, but apparently he’d been all ‘mopey’ too- Futaba mentioned adoption. I dunno if it was a joke or not, but I think he should. And not just because that would mean you’d stay with us- with me- once you’re back. I mean…there’s still your parents, but you don’t mention them at all. I know we already talked about this, but I mentioned it to Ma and….well….dude, do they even know what’s happened to you?”

“Anyway, Futaba’s apparently been going through your phone and she saw all my voicemails. I thought she was gonna laugh at me, but she just wanted to talk it over, she reckons it’s a good idea, and promised she wouldn’t mention it to anyone else.”

“She’s called for another thieves meeting tomorrow, apparently it’s about what she found on your phone. But you know Futaba, she’ll not say anythin’ just to watch us suffer…..I’ll call back tomorrow and tell you what she says.”

“We’re getting you out.”

Unhesitating, the words rushed out in a flurry of excitement.

“Futaba found the contacts of all those friends of yours on ya phone, and we’re gonna try recruiting them to help out! By the way dude, just how many people do you know?! An effin’ fortune teller? Really?”

The laughter was light, relaxed, a tone completely contrasting from past calls.

“Apparently Makoto wants ‘words’ about that guy from Untouchable, but I dunno why she was so surprised. Maybe it was when Futaba mentioned he probably had been in the Yakuza- by the way, if that’s true, you gotta tell me everything!…Right after I kick your ass for associating with the Yakuza to start with.”

“We’re all meeting up tomorrow to make an actual plan.”

There was a long pause.

A deep breath.

“It’s New Years tomorrow.”

When the voice returned, it was back to the heavy, emotive tone the voicemail system had been receiving so frequently

“It’s New Years and you’re stuck in a jail cell. Cold and alone. It’s complete BULLSHIT!”

Something clattered in the background.

“We were supposed to spend New Years together! Share one of those stupid kisses that all couples do for the new year, and you’d get all blushy about it because you’re such a sap for romance, and we’d be together and happy and for FUCK SAKE IT ISN’T FAIR!”

Choked sobs broke him off, before the message was promptly cut.

In the pitch-black of the Leblanc attic, the screen of a phone broke through the darkness, chiming ringtone cutting through the silence.

A minute passed, and the alert of a voicemail pinged.

“Happy New Years, Akira!”

The voice, initially cheerful, fell flat. Dull and tired.

“….I miss you. It was worse, being in Shibuya, watching all the other couples kiss with the New Year, knowin’ you’re not there. Knowin’ that your miles away, locked awa-”

The voice hitched. A deep breath.

“No. I’m not going there again. Our plan!  Let’s focus on the plan….” Another heavy sigh, before his voice lightened, “We’re all goin’ to track down and talk to your ‘friends’, try persuade them to campaign for your release. Hell it’s you, as if they’re gonna say no. How can anyone say no to you….”

In the background, cheers of merriment echoed.

“I swear Akira, we’re going to get you out of there.”

“It took us a few days- but we found everyone! And they agreed to help! Dude, this is great!”

A light chuckle and whooping cheer of victory.

“I dunno what stuff you’ve been up to, but they all claimed they were in your debt- you’re incredible, ya know that?  You’re finally gonna get outta that hell hole!”

…

…

“Hey….Makoto mentioned something today, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it….the police, they’re treatin’ you okay, right? I-I mean, last time they had you-”

A hitch of breath, ragged breathing,

“I-I can’t take that again Akira, I can’t. Every time I think about it all I see is you, all bruised and brok-broken-”

A cry,

“This is all my fault. I shoulda stayed with you that night, stopped you goin’ the next mornin’. I knew somethin’ was wrong and I said nothing- godDAMMIT!”

A dull thud cut through the sobs, as if something had just been kicked.

“Some shitty boyfriend I am, can’t even protect you from this. How useless.”

There was a soft flump, as if the speaker had taken a seat.

“I miss you. Shit Akira I miss you so much. Nothing’s the same here with you gone. Shujin’s so much more quiet, sure there’s Ann and Makoto and Haru, but it’s not the same. I never know what to do with myself, I can’t go the the gym because we always train there together, the Arcade is too empty without you there….I forgot how alone I was until I had you, and now I don’t know what to do without you.”

More sniffles, a muffled whimper,

“I’ll get you back Akira. I promise.”

The January chill was only broken by the sun breaking through the windowpanes of Leblanc’s attic, the cold being of little deterrence to the functionality of the phone on the workbench, as it began to ring again.

“Hey man, you wouldn’t believe the gossip at Shujin right now. Apparently, word got out about you bein’ in juvie, and at the same time as people started hearing that you were testiyin’ against Shido. Those rumours started last week, but it’s gotten worse…..everyone’s pretty much convinced you’re leader of the Phantom Thieves.”

Briefly, there was a jingle, as if something were being fidgeted with.

“It got outta hand before we could do anything about it. Besides, since those rumours people are lookin’ at us even more weird than usual- it’s kinda creepy. At least you don’t have to be dealin’ with that right now…. Makoto says it’s only a matter of time before someone asks us about it though. Geez can’t people mind their own business….”

A loud bell chimed, deafening even across the phone.

“Well, that’s the end of classes. I said I’d meet Ann, we’re gonna go check up on the progress with that weird doctor round the corner from Leblanc. By the way, we’ve gotta talk about that when you get back, doing shady ‘clinical trials’…. what the hell man….”

“It’s been a week since I left you a message….sorry about that man. Everything’s been so busy, plannin’ the whole campaign and shit to get you outta juvie, never had time to make a call….but it’s all worth it, because once that journalist finishes her article, the campaign will be finished! All those friends of yours really pulled through. Hell, you’re all buddy buddy with a politician?! Dude!”

“I can’t believe it’s nearly over.” They sighed, “We’ve been working to this for weeks. Once Sae hands over the case file, there’s no way the judge won’t overturn your arrest! She doesn’t know much about what they’ll do with the whole ‘record’ thing, but still….”

“I can’t wait to have you back.”

The attic of Leblanc was spotless, polished and dusted surfaces, fresh linen sheets over the bed in the far corner of the room, ordered stack of ‘borrowed’ DVDs on the side. Various trinkets reflected the light from the sun streaming in through the windows.

All ready for the return of its inhabitant.

The only current occupant of the room grinned around at it, slumping onto the worn sofa as he dug out his phone, one hand tapping onto the phone number was was all too familiar, the other running through his bleached locks, fingers lightly tugging at strands as he hit the green call button.

Ironic, he couldn’t help but think, as the phone rang just feet from him, that default pinging sound Akira seemed to use for all his alerts. He let it ring.

Eventually, he was sent to voicemail.

“Well dude, today’s the day! You’re gettin’ outta juvie!” Ryuji grinned, “Everyone went all out, we’re gonna surprise you when you get here- Boss is already on his way. He’s gonna be hours early but when Futaba pointed that out he didn’t really seem to care. The sooner you get your ass back the better, if ya askin’ me!”

Ryuji played with a loose hem on the sofa, “It’s just gonna be the thieves, and I mean don’t get me wrong I love those guys but….is it selfish for me to wish they weren’t coming over? That it was just you and me?”

He sighed, pulling at the thread, “I haven’t seen you in nearly 2 months, all I wanna do is pull you close, and spend all night cuddlin’ and holdin’ you under the blankets, make up for all them days we lost while you’ve been gone…but no. I have to share. I’m your effin’ boyfriend, don’t that mean I get boyfriend privileges? Like the privilege to kick our friends outta Leblanc?”

Ryuji dropped the thread, a soft smile on his face.

“Suppose if you were here you’d tell me to be patient right? Well, I’m done being patient! When you get here, I ain’t lettin’ you go! Screw anyone else feelin’ uncomfortable or shit!”

It was at that moment that a chime rang throughout the cafe, and Ryuji groaned.

“Bet that’s Yusuke, why the dude always turns up early I dunno…..”

Slowly, one thumb ran over the back of his phone.

“I suppose I oughta go say hi, right? Fine. But only cos I know next time I talk to you, it’ll mean I can hold you, you’ll be here, with me, back where you belong…..and I ain’t ever letting you go again.”