#Sakura has always been much more jumpy and fearful

[scoriarose]

An update on Sakura, who when I first got her would panic and blindly flail (sometimes throwing herself into her water dish or other unpleasant things) now coming to me of her own choice when I talk kindly to her.

This is months of work from both of us. She has worked very hard to be brave, and I've been trying very hard to show her that humans can be kind, safe, and good. This moment means so much to me, at one time I wasn't sure we might ever get here.

I won't deny her sister Scoria helped greatly. I've seen her comfort Sakura when she was scared, and Sakura be infinitely more confident with her sister near. Sakura would watch Scoria and me cuddle, and learn by watching her trusted sister.

I hope that with more patience, and love, and consent based interactions we can form a bond too.

No matter what happens though, I will love her and her sister and do anything to be sure they are happy.

[ryntaia]

You really should write about Yusuke picking up Futaba in Yongen-Jaya and taking (carrying? dragging?) her all the way to Shibuya. Cause I would read the hell outta that. 8D

Okay I have been meaning to get on this one for the LONGEST time so I absolutely had to get this one slammed out once I got my computer back. It’s time for Yusuke Rank 10ing the fuck out of Futaba before the player can even give it a shot. Out fuckin’ done. 

           She was not the rambunctious and argumentative girl from a mere week ago.

           Yusuke could slightly understand it. They had spent only a week trying to accumulate a years long shut-in to her greatest fear: the world outside her room, and the people that occupied it. Even then they could only really say they had made mild process with Futaba Sakura. She was still jumpy, scared, and uncomfortable around strangers and large groups in particular. But they needed her at the hideout. Within a mere day she had become what was easily their greatest resource as Phantom Thieves. Besides, she deserved to be part of their group with the efforts she had put forward. Sooner or later, she would have to be brought out to Shibuya.

           Busy, clustered Shibuya.

           And Yusuke Kitagawa didn’t have a car or the money for a taxi.

           In retrospect it had probably been a misguided idea to pick the hacker up and bring her through the train line from Yongen-Jaya to Shibuya, but Yusuke had let out earlier than them and he had figured that she needed to be at the meeting. Now he was regretting it greatly as people whispered around the redhead girl, her face buried in her knees and her back curled into the fetal position against one of the walls of the train. Futaba’s breath came in sharp, jerky huffs. She wasn’t even getting that much room—only the amount that the jammed train would allow as it sped across the tracks.

           This was a mistake. Yusuke’s mind echoed desperately while he tried to keep a straight face. He scanned the train quickly; nothing but staring faces and pointing fingers. It was enough for someone WITHOUT a fear of crowds to have a nervous breakdown. For the girl shivering in the corner, who had seemed so wild and self assured previously, it was likely akin to a complete barrage on her senses.

           He kneeled down next to the redhead; she was so small that he easily shadowed her. Her whole body flinched, registering the changing in light through her fingers. Delicately, uncertainly, slowly, Yusuke reached out and grasped at the headphones slung around her neck. He pushed them over her head and across her ears. Such large earpieces would easily muffle the discussion being thrown around about the girl shaking on the floor. Her fingers drew away from her face slightly; her eyes blinked blearily as they cleared of tears and adjusted to the new light. Slowly Futaba registered the strands of red that had tangled in her hands and the lines across her hand, then looked up.

           Immediately she looked back down.

           Yusuke bit his lip. He had been told before by other students—girls, mostly—that the expression that he usually wore could be a bit intimidating. Taking one hand away from the earphone, he rubbed his own cheeks, as if it would loosen his stern face up a little bit and bring the redhead back into reality. Pinching his own cheek, he pushed fingers underneath Futaba’s chin and lifted her face. The action was met with surprisingly little resistance.

           For a moment she stared. Then, almost without her permission, a small giggle spilled out of Futaba’s lips. It seemed mismatched with her tear streaked, red face but it was very welcomed at the moment. One of her fingers lifted from her knees to take the cheek that Yusuke wasn’t pinching. Lightly, almost teasingly, she pulled at it herself—the artist unconsciously found his eyes softening and a small smile teasing at the side of his lips. She laughed again.

           “Inari has really stiff cheeks.” She commented. One of his eyebrows cocked in irritation but the smile stayed plastered on his face.

           “I told you not to call me that, brat.”

           “Inari, Inari, Inari. No one tells Futaba Sakura what to do.” She was staring pointedly at Yusuke’s stomach—the one place where she could see the least amount of the people behind him. Her tone was defiant but her eyes were still wide with obvious fear. The artist released his own cheek, his hand moving almost on its own to curve around the hacker’s head. He kept his arm at a safe distance while laying firm fingers on the back of her hair to push her head down lightly.

           She blinked in confusion, trying to process everything.

           His mouth was close by her forehead, breath hot on her skin.

           The hand once on her chin was now on the side of her earphone, holding it firmly in place.

           “Do not listen to their words, concentrate on the silence of your earphones. Do not focus on them, focus on me. We don’t get along and I’m not sure if we ever will if you keep calling me INARI…” Futaba stifled another giggle. “…but you know me. Now all I ask is that you focus on me and don’t let them decide on what you do and what you are. You say no one tells Futaba Sakura what to do? I’d say from your sharp tongue and defense of your belonging, that’s true. So don’t let them tell you what to do. After all, why should someone who doesn’t even know you be allowed to have power over you when even I certainly don’t have that power?”

           “My power.” Futaba mumbled quietly, staring down at the white fabric on Yusuke’s school uniform. It looked like a comfortable silk—he went to Kosei, she remembered. Kosei was a special prep school. She really was just trying to think about anything but her situation. And surprisingly, it was working. They didn’t affect her, those people…they didn’t have power over her.

           The train seemed to come to a steady halt right as she was beginning to drift off, enveloped with an unusual and foreign feeling of comfort. Immediately she snapped to attention as the train occupants filed quickly out of the train car into Shibuya Station. Their interest in the girl huddled awkwardly in the corner seemed to wane as soon as they were alert to their schedules again. Quickly the train car emptied as Futaba was brought back to her feet by balancing on Yusuke’s arm. In retrospect she would repaint the scene with her knees not shaking awkwardly as she was led into the station with the large crowd.

           “Would you like to clean up your face before we go meet with everyone?” Yusuke asked quietly, almost sympathetically. Futaba brushed a hand across her face—she could feel the salty lines on her cheek cutting through reddened skin. All she could give was a lame nod as she was led over to a fountain to have her glasses plucked from her face. Yusuke pulled out a pair of small towels from the art kit at his side and Futaba raised a brow.

           “For cleanup after painting.” He explained, wetting the surface lightly and patting the girl’s face. She made a face as the rough surface ran across the sensitive skin, but it took the salty lines away with it. Before she could even touch her face, it was squirted with a burst from the fountain directed by the artist’s thumb followed by a fluffing with the second towel. “You’re lucky I just bought these. Normally they’d be covered with old paint.”

           Futaba was quiet as her face was toweled off, the heat of the train car fading from her face along with the blemished red of the tears. Her glasses were popped back onto her face as soon as the dry towel pulled away; she shifted the bridge of her nose to adjust them over her brown eyes. Her vision took a few moments to focus, finally adjusting in on the image of Yusuke folding up the towels and placing them carefully back in the bag at his side. She shifted her backpack up her back self-consciously.

           “Hey, Ina…Yusuke?”

           “Mmh? You’re going to be calling me by my name from now on?” Yusuke turned to the hacker with a smile on his face. And god did the sincerity in that smile almost kill Futaba right there and then. It took all of her willpower to not slap her hands over her mouth and run like a madwoman. But no. She couldn’t just turn tail and run from him—from the Phantom Thieves. Not after what they had done for her.

           “D…dream on.” She huffed, pulling out the wrinkles in her shirt and taking a more frustrated tone to cover up how exhilarated and happy he was making her feel. “You’ll always be Inari to me. But! But.”

           “But?”

           “…Thanks, Yusuke.”

           He stared blankly for a moment, then his expression melted into the most sincere smile that Futaba had yet to see from him. And along with it, it felt like her own insides melted with it as the tall boy offered his hand out to the hacker. “I think we should get going. Everyone is going to be waiting for us, aren’t they? Their little Alibaba, was it?”

           “I was thinking more like Oracle.” Futaba wagged her finger in his face. “But hey, they’ll be waiting for their Inari too.”

           “That’s Fox to you.”

           “I’m sure.” She gave an exaggerated wink, slowly regaining her composure as they waded through the crowds of Shibuya Station—all of them now feeling so invisible and inconsequential. “Inari.”