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goodlucktai · 6 years ago

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past the places where we might have turned

persona 5 pairing: pegoryu word count: 6876 title borrowed from everything you want by vertical horizon summary: Ryuji bumps shoulders with him and says, “Their loss, man. You just keep doing you, and screw ‘em if they don’t like it.” It doesn’t feel like enough. “You deserve to be happy,” he adds, and that feels a little better. Akira’s smile stretches into a shit-eating grin. “Is that a confession?” “I take it back. You’re the worst person I know.” So they end up trying to push each other into traffic, but it still feels good. read on ao3

They tear through the peaceful countryside like it’s their mission to make a mark, gunning the engine and kicking up gravel with every hard turn. They lean out the windows so Akira can hear them coming from whole blocks away, shouting and waving, because it’s the kind of hello he deserves.

His neighbors stare, his parents don’t look pleased, but Akira’s on the sidewalk in front of his house with a bag at his feet and his cat in his arms and a grin on his face about three miles wide.

It’s a grin he used to only wear behind Joker’s mask, one that does something kind of wonky to Ryuji’s heart.

“You’re late,” Akira calls out. His voice is so fond. The phone calls didn’t do it justice. Ryuji missed him so goddamn much. “You didn’t forget about me, did you?”

“As fuckin’ if, ” Ryuji manages in the second before they crash into each other, bodies colliding in an embrace whole months in the making.

Morgana yowls in protest, Ann and Futaba complain about Ryuji getting there first, Akira’s parents watch with cold eyes from the front door--

But Akira is laughing. His hair is soft against Ryuji’s cheek, and his hands are hot against his back, and it feels like they haven’t missed a single minute. It feels like a homecoming, even though it’s literally the opposite of that.

Some jangling, dislocated thing inside Ryuji settles, and he holds on to his best friend as though the world would end around them for a second time if he ever let go.

The last time Akira visited, he stayed at Ryuji’s little apartment for a snatched weekend between school days. There wasn’t enough time in that limited window for him to visit the staggering number of friends he’d made in the city, but obviously he’d make time to see the coffee shop he called home for a year.

Sojiro was surprised that day, when Akira pushed open the door with Ryuji, Ann and Morgana. Ryuji remembers him saying something like, “I thought I’d take you brats out to lunch somewhere,” and Akira quipping back, “In that case, we’re in the mood for coffee and curry. Know a place?”

Sojiro blustered and postured a lot, but it was obvious that he was touched. And it would take armies considerably bigger than the ones they were used to dealing with to strong-arm the former Thief out of his favorite place in the world.

This time, Sojiro knows what to expect. In the middle of a sunny Thursday afternoon, they push past the closed sign on Leblanc’s front door, and Sojiro’s waiting with a full spread of food. Akira breathes in the rich smell of ground coffee beans, the hot cinnamon-ginger of curry on the stove, and lets it all go with a sigh so content it makes Ryuji’s heart hurt.

“You’re sure you don’t mind keeping me for spring break?” Akira asks, setting his cat bag down. Morgana leaps up from it to sit on a stool instead. “I could find somewhere else to stay.”

He could, too. He’s got a lot of crazy adult friends who would happily house him for the next three months without batting an eye. Ryuji thinks of Akira living with that terrifying gun dealer or the flirtatious reporter or the medical practitioner who conducted experiments on him and blurts, “Don’t be stupid, Akira. You stay with Boss or you stay with me.”

“Stupid’s right,” Sojiro snaps, “I said you’re welcome and I meant it. And you’re not staying in the damn attic this time, either, Futaba would have my head. We’ve got a guest futon and a living room with your name on it.”

Futaba cheers “Damn right!” from somewhere in the room, and Makoto scolds him, “You were probably thinking of going to that arms dealer, weren’t you? Honestly, Akira, my sister is a lawyer and we have a guest bedroom and the first person you thought of was the arms dealer.”

“You don’t know that’s what I was thinking,” Akira says with a charming smile that doesn’t fool a single person in the room. Obviously that’s what he was thinking.

“You should come home more often,” Yusuke tells him firmly. “You always get these strange ideas in your head about not being welcome when you stay away for too long.”

And their leader’s face goes soft. “I’d visit every day if I could,” he says, and just like before, they all know what he’s thinking; if he had a choice, he’d never leave.

The first month is a bit hectic, because Akira really does have like a thousand friends to see. His time is always spoken for, though he’s happy to have some of his former Thieves along no matter where he’s going. Ryuji tags along every chance he gets, because it’s a little bit amazing.

Somehow, between being the top student in his class and working a handful of part-time jobs and training to exhaustion in Mementos, Akira had time to make all these connections with people. And he says things like “Hifumi taught me how to play shogi,” or “Shinya’s amazing at first-person shooters,” and it’s enough for someone who knows him well. Ryuji looks at Ann or Yusuke or Haru or whoever he’s with and sees them thinking the same thing.

Everything he ever did was for the Phantom Thieves. He poured his free time and all his energy into learning whatever he needed to be a better leader, earning money to keep their armor up to date, letting an intimidating back-alley doctor drug him just so they’d always have access to curatives.

When he made new friends, he learned things from them, too. Not a single meeting was meaningless. Not a single day was wasted. He seized every opportunity he could in both hands and dragged his team up with him every hard-earned step.

God, Ryuji thinks. He’s so amazing.

“God,” Ryuji says, “you’re such a loser.”

Akira moans at him, burying his face in a pillow to shield his eyes from the mid-morning sun. Ryuji beat him awake by like two hours. That has to be a world record or something. He already texted Ann about it, because it’s kind of a momentous occasion and all that.

“So this is what happens when there’s no Morgana around to make sure you go to bed on time,” he goes on, crouching by the bed. “I can’t believe that cat is the only reason you’re a functioning member of society.”

“Ichiko kept me out late,” comes the pitiful mumble. “I thought I’d swing by to see her for a couple minutes after dinner with Iwai and Kaoru but she was so drunk. She kept telling people I was her ex-boyfriend.”

All Ryuji can think to say to that is, “What the fuck?”

“It’s, er, an excuse we used once to get her out of trouble with her boss,” Akira explains, pushing himself upright as though it's a Herculean effort. Propped up on his elbows, the tips of his dark curls burning red in the sunlight, borrowed T-shirt too big and crooked on his shoulders, he looks both unreal and stupidly human. “I used to work at that bar, and all the familiars are used to her, so no one thought she was serious.”

“You used to work at a bar? And you didn’t sneak us in for free drinks? Fake friend.”

“You can get beer out of a vending machine three blocks from your apartment for six hundred yen,” Akira replies dryly. Then he smirks. “But good boys don’t drink, do they?”

Ryuji sputters, feeling his cheeks burn, and yanks the blanket over Akira’s head so he won’t have to look at his stupid face when his best friend starts laughing at him.

“See if I ever make you breakfast again, you asshole.”

“Wait, wait, you made me breakfast?”

Akira is struggling clumsily out of the blanket, and his voice sounds rusty and a little tired but he’s still laughing. Ryuji can’t think of a single person he loves more in that second.

Because mom had to work late, their breakfast is little more than the most appetizing prepackaged food the 7-Eleven around the corner had to offer, but it’s still Ryuji’s favorite kind of morning. Akira finally manages to peel himself out of bed and sits close enough to Ryuji that their knees bump and fights him for the best melon bread.

It’s so easy, with him.

Haru takes Akira’s hand in both of hers, so soft and sweet that Ryuji thinks the whole world slows down to hear whatever she's about to say.

“How have you been?” she asks kindly. “You haven’t said a word about it.”

Makoto pauses in the act of turning a page for a split-second, enough of a tell that Ryuji knows she’s listening closely. On her other side, Goro's writing slows down. Morgana’s tail is swishing, jewel eyes bright. Their sudden focus makes Ryuji think he should pay attention to whatever’s coming, too.

He supposes it is kind of odd that Akira hasn’t had anything to say about his parents, or his classmates, or his baseball team-- all those things he lost when that dirtbag Shido ruined his life-- but maybe he was just happy to be back. He's been busy, and he's had a lot to catch up on.

But Akira’s gray eyes are unguarded here, among his friends, and so Ryuji sees it. That split-second sadness before it’s wrapped up and hidden away again. He says, “There’s not much to talk about,” but just that says enough.

Because Makoto and Goro dart a glance at each other that speaks volumes, and Haru’s expression crumbles a bit. Behind the counter, Sojiro sighs like he’s just aged ten years.

Ryuji looks at Akira, the most magnetic guy he knows, the guy who made about nine thousand friends in Tokyo within a calendar year, and wonders how on earth he could have spent the last five months in his hometown and come back without anything to talk about.

He thinks of Akira’s parents watching their son’s reunion with his friends from the front door. He thinks of the weird looks from his neighbors. He thinks, for the first time, how weird it was that Akira was leaving for the whole spring holiday and there was no one there to tell him goodbye.

“Hey,” Ryuji says, when they’re walking back to the train station. “Was it okay?”

Because he’s worried and he doesn’t know if he should be or not. He hates the possibility that he should be.

“It was okay,” Akira replies. Morgana’s in his arms, rather than on his shoulder or in his bag, and maybe that’s clue enough as to how he’s feeling. “It just wasn’t home anymore. I was gone for a year, and there were a lot of rumors. I wasn’t the person my parents thought I would be. I didn’t-- keep my head down. I don’t know. I just don’t belong there like I did.”

Morgana says, “You know where you belong, Joker.” It sounds like an old conversation repeating itself, but it makes Akira smile.

Ryuji bumps shoulders with him and says, “Their loss, man. You just keep doing you, and screw ‘em if they don’t like it.” It doesn’t feel like enough. “You deserve to be happy,” he adds, and that feels a little better.

Akira’s smile stretches into a shit-eating grin. “Is that a confession?”

“I take it back. You’re the worst person I know.”

So they end up trying to push each other into traffic, but it still feels good.

Time crawls until suddenly it starts to sprint, and before Ryuji knows it Akira is standing by the cafe door with a couple bags at his feet.

“I have three times as much stuff as I came here with,” he complains, but Ryuji stayed over at Sojiro’s place last night and watched Akira pack every memento with care and affection. He’s not fooled by this act for a second.

“Shut up and give me another hug,” Ann orders. Akira shuts up and gives her another hug. It breaks whatever fragile barrier was keeping the rest of them back, and they converge upon him in a loving horde.

“You're sure we can’t drive you?” Goro asks quietly.

“I stayed like three days longer than I was supposed to,” Akira replies, somewhat muffled against Yusuke’s shoulder. “If you try to drive me, you’ll all either be late for your first day of school or exhausted. I’ll be okay on the bus.”

Futaba’s eyes have been red all morning and she’s starting to cry again, clutching at Akira’s jacket when he wraps his arms around her for the fourth time.

“Come visit on the weekends,” she insists. “I’ll pay for your tickets.”

“We’ll all chip in,” Makoto replies, and it says a lot that she doesn't tell him to worry about his homework instead.

“Iwai said he’d drive Kaoru out to see me,” Akira says carefully. He sounds hopeful. “I know you all think he’s scary, but he’d probably be happy to take a couple of you, too.”

“None of us think he’s scary,” Ann lies. “Where do you get these dumb ideas?”

“Futaba and I will stop by,” Sojiro promises gruffly. “And I’ll bring along whichever hooligan asks first.”

It’s a goodbye that extends almost to the point of Akira missing his bus. Ryuji offers to walk him to the station, and Akira smiles at him and tells him it’s okay. Morgana is wrapped around his neck when he shoulders his bags, purring loud enough to be heard above the ring of the bell at the front door.

Ryuji wonders if Akira needs the solitude now to get used to the idea of being alone again for the rest of the year. His fists clench and he has to steel himself not to reach out and grab him and somehow make him stay. There's a moment that passes between them-- a long look, one that's just for the two of them in this crowded cafe, one that feels stolen in front of the rest of their friends-- and then it's gone.

Akira says, “See you,” like it doesn’t cost him anything to say it, and then he’s gone, too.

"Akira went home?" Mishima says by way of greeting, their first day back in school. Ryuji, slumped bonelessly over his desk, doesn't bother lifting his head and mumbles something affirmative. Mishima leans against his neighbor's desk with a sigh. "It's not the same without him around here. I miss that stupid thing he does with his pencil."

Ryuji smiles against his sleeve. "The spinny thing? He does it with his phone, too. He's such a nerd."

"If he's a nerd, I don't even want to think about what that makes me," Mishima says cheerfully. He's mostly outgrown the self-deprecation that used to follow him around like a gloomy cloud, and it makes him a much more likable guy. "It's hard to believe a person like that spent a whole year single."

"It ain't that hard to believe," Ryuji says defensively. "We were busy as hell last year, case you forgot."

"Oh, for sure," their self-proclaimed publicist is quick to concede. "But I mean-- Ann told me she and Shiho are finally dating. So they must have found time."

The annoying detective tendencies are back in force, Ryuji thinks but manages not to say. Something about this conversation is making his prickly temper sit up and take notice. He props himself up an elbow and mutters, "Where you goin' with this?"

"Nowhere, I guess?" Mishima scratches the back of his head. "Just-- you guys were all really close, y'know? I think if Akira was going to have feelings for anyone, it'd be one of you."

"He'd have told me," Ryuji dismisses it easily. "He tells me everything."

Mishima excepts this with a nod, and heads back to his own class when the lunch break ends. Halfway through English, Ryuji props up his workbook and pulls out his phone.

His chat with Akira is still open from earlier that morning, and the last text Akira sent was an extreme close-up of Morgana mid-yowl, captioned "alarm clock." It made Ryuji smile when he woke up to it, and it makes him smile now. He taps out a reply, keeping one eye on his teacher.

skull 💀 at 1:42pm You know you can tell me anything right?

Almost immediately, a little bubble pops up that indicates Akira is typing, even though he's in the middle of class, too.

✨JOKER✨ at 1:42pm I tell you everything

Ryuji grins. He thought so. If Akira had a crush or a secret girlfriend, Ryuji would know. He'd be the first to know.

He says as much to Ann when they're walking to the hangout spot after school, and she rolls her eyes so hard he's distantly surprised she doesn't sprain something.

"You are so dumb," she says, but she throws an arm around him as she says it. "I'm praying for you."

Nearly a month goes by, and late on a Tuesday night Ryuji is startled awake by the raucous ring of his phone. He rolls over and gropes for it, nearly falling out of bed in the process, and swipes to answer as quick as he can so it doesn't wake up his mom in the next room.

"Whazzit," he mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

"You talk to this idiot!" Morgana's voice yowls at him from the receiver. It's enough of a shock to wake Ryuji straight the hell up.

"Mona? Did you call me? How did-- you don't have hands."

There's a scuffle and a distant, hushed disagreement, and then Akira is there. "Sorry, Ryuji. Go back to sleep."

"Hey, no." Ryuji sits up, forcing his mind to focus. "How many times did I call you in the middle of the night last year? It's cool, man, what's up?"

There's a pause long enough that he starts to think he won't get an answer, and then Akira mutters, "Had a fight with my parents."

Something in the pit of Ryuji's chest goes painfully tight. He violently dashes thoughts of his own father away. "Wanna talk about it?"

Morgana insists yes you do! from somewhere on the other end of the phone call, which means Akira is definitely thinking about deflecting. Considering the entire phone call was coerced, Ryuji shouldn't be surprised. But it does kind of make him feel sad.

"It's stupid," Akira finally says. There's wind on his side of the call, creating a soft crackle of white noise against the speaker. He must be outside somewhere. "They don't think I should move back to Tokyo when I graduate. They're trying to get me into the university dad went to. It's-- if I went there I'd never see you. I'd have to fly out, or spend two days on a train, and I can't-- I don't want-- "

His words are beginning to run together, the way Futaba's does when she's panicking. Ryuji's heart is beating a frantic tattoo against his chest, because it's close to three AM and he's not equipped to deal with this, he never knows what to say.

The last time Akira sounded this bad was the night they brought down Shido's palace. The girls were getting in Ryuji's face, terrified at how close they thought they'd come to losing him, and Akira snapped at them to stand down. His voice was almost unfamiliar and his gray eyes were so big and hurt and scared, and he didn't say anything else, as though for all his charm and wit he couldn't say anything else. Ryuji had simply leaned in the rest of the way and hugged him, and Akira hugged him back just as hard, and they never really brought it up again.

Ryuji isn't there to pull him into an embrace this time, and he can't bear the thought of leaving Akira alone even for as long as it would take to call Haru or Goro, so he reaches for the right words.

"You don't have to do anything you don't wanna do," he says slowly. "I know they're your parents, but they're not your only family. Frankly, you got a scary number of people in your corner. They started a riot for you last year, dude. You're not-- you're never in this alone. Not ever. Even if it was just you and me, we'd make it. It's okay to freak out and be scared, but I swear to god, you're gonna be fine."

Akira's breath is shaky, and he doesn't answer for a long moment. Somewhere behind him is the muted ambiance of night-time traffic, and his footsteps crunching through gravel. Ryuji sits in his warm bedroom and wishes he could pull Akira through the phone and wrap him up in the blanket he always steals when he sleeps over and make him watch stupid videos on Ryuji's phone until the last sharp edge of this bad night is smoothed away into peaceful sleep.

But he can't do that. They don't have magic anymore. All he can do is sit here on the phone like an idiot while his best friend is hurting miles and miles away.

"You and me," Akira says suddenly, like he's found a way out of the pit and he's grasping at the first rung of the ladder.

"You and me," Ryuji reaffirms without a second of doubt. "Hell, Akira. Look at it this way. Even if you move to the other side of the world, you're just gonna have to find an apartment big enough to fit everybody who's gonna move with you."

That draws out a muffled laugh, and it sounds a little watery, but his voice is so much warmer than it was. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You better." Ryuji can feel his heart start to settle, can hear Morgana purring from Akira's end of the call, and thinks, somehow, he didn't fuck this up. "Go home, you loser. You're not a Phantom Thief anymore and you have class in the morning."

"Ouch," Akira says, but he's smiling as he says it. "I'm going. Goodnight, Ryu."

Ryuji says goodbye and hangs up the phone, and gets a text before he has a chance to minimize the call log.

✨JOKER✨ at 3:13am thank you

He scoffs, mostly to ignore how damn pleased he feels, and starts looking up train schedules. There's a two-day weekend coming up, and he's got a great idea. Yusuke would call it inspired.

The noise Akira makes when he sees Ryuji in front of his school is worth changing lines twice and standing for the first half of the entire trip. He runs down the rest of the steps, nimbly weaving through the crowd of his fellow students, and slams into Ryuji at a hundred miles an hour. Ryuji laughs and catches him in both arms, squeezing hard enough to bruise and using the momentum to swing around in a few giddy circles.

"What are you doing here?" Akira demands. He looks so ruffled, his glasses slipping down his nose and his curls all tossed around, that Ryuji can't bring himself to let go right away.

"Well, gee, I dunno." Ryuji rolls his eyes. "It's not like I have any best friends in the area I wanted to visit or anything."

They're attracting a lot of attention, Ryuji realizes. He looks around and meets a few stares dead-on, daring them to say a word. Whether it's his bleached hair or the piercings in his ear or the rumors that supposedly followed Akira around since he came home, no one steps up to Ryuji's silent challenge. Everyone just averts their eyes and moves on, talking in whispers.

"Jesus, do they think you're in the mob or something?" Ryuji mutters as they turn to leave. "A guy like you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Akira's voice is mock-indignant, Joker's cultured leer. "I'll have you know I used to run a very successful organized crime ring."

They get a few more wide-eyed looks at that, three schoolgirls who look alarmed to have overheard them, and Ryuji's mouth is working as he desperately tries not to give in to a grin. "Keep your voice down, man. One of these punks is gonna rat you out, and I'll have to bring the whole gang out here to rough 'em up."

That clears the sidewalk fast. Akira's shoulders are shaking, a hand shoved against his mouth to keep the laughter in. Morgana says, "You guys are the worst. This isn't gonna help Akira's reputation at all."

"Who cares?" Ryuji says, draping a shameless arm around Akira's shoulders, just so everyone who sees them gets the right idea. "He's not gonna be here much longer. Once he graduates he's comin' back home, and everyone there already knows he's a danger to society. He won't have a reputation to worry about."

Akira grins, sideways and silly in a way that digs right through Ryuji's heart like it's got an express pass. He's warm against Ryuji's side, lined up against him like they're two pieces of a matching set, and it's just like every single summer day they had to leave behind.

"Snacks," Akira says, pointing out the conbini on the street corner.

"Lemme check into my room at the inn first," Ryuji says, waving the bag at his side for emphasis. "Then you can show me all your favorite places to sneak off to at three AM."

Something sort of strange happens to Akira's expression. Ryuji would almost call it disappointment. "You're staying at an inn?"

"It's a surprise visit, dude. That means you didn't have time to convince your parents to let one of your hooligan friends stay over." He rolls his eyes and gives Akira a nudge that almost trips him off the curb. "I'm not going to tell all our friends you're a bad host because I didn't get to sleep at your house."

Akira sulks for a moment, because he's a big baby, and then says, "Is the inn cat-friendly?"

"You think Haru's gonna book me a room my best friend can't bring his cat chaperone into? Please. Obviously you're staying there with me, idiot, she reserved it for two."

"Like a staycation!" says Morgana, who picks up the strangest things from all the conversations he listens in on. In a rare show of affection, he jumps from Akira's shoulder to Ryuji's, tail swishing in anticipation. "This'll be fun!"

It is fun, but it has nothing to do with the town.

Akira's hangout spots are quiet little nooks and forgotten rooftop corners, places where he obviously goes to be alone. There's a batting cage that's a lot bigger than the one in Yongenjaya, but Akira walks right by it, waving his hands as he tells a story about a grizzled old shopkeeper he made friends with recently.

"Her name's Miss Ito. She made a grown man cry yesterday because she didn't like how he was talking to his kids," Akira says gleefully. "She's kind of my hero."

"Let me guess, you're gonna convince her to give you a job," Ryuji says dryly. His friend shoots him a flashbang smile that's answer enough.

Akira is balancing on the hand rail as they walk, lining up each neat step without wobbling. Morgana is threading through his feet to try to trip him up, and Akira seems to enjoy the additional challenge.

"If you fall on your ass, I'm taking a picture and sending it to the group chat," Ryuji tells him firmly. "I won't try to catch you at all."

"You'll catch me," Akira says with total confidence, pretending to list giddily to one side. "You're a gentleman."

Ryuji kind of wants to push him off now, actually. He does reach up to take one of Akira's hands, giving him a tug back down to earth. Akira doesn't jump down, but he also doesn't let go, and Ryuji maybe doesn't try his absolute hardest to yank his hand away. There's a group of kids their age at the end of the street, casually leaned against a low wall. They don't make a move or say anything smart, they just stop talking to watch Akira and Ryuji go by.

A small, cowardly part of Ryuji wants to drop Akira's hand and go pick a fight like he's got something to prove. The bigger part of him really ismore concerned with Akira slipping and busting a tooth out on the rail, and so he holds on and keeps pace with Akira's steady progress.

"You're gonna get a ticket or something," Ryuji tries next. "Small town cops are the worst."

"I find it hard to believe you know anything about small town cops," comes the cheerful rejoinder. "City boy."

"Definitely not catching you," Ryuji grumbles, but they both know it for a lie.

That night, the rest of their friends realize where Ryuji is, and there's a storm of messages in the group chat that mostly boil down to "how DARE you leave us out, we're gonna kick your ass Skull." Somehow Haru, co-conspirator, is left blameless. Akira, the traitor, giggles and screenshots his favorite texts to save in the photo album on his phone labeled "RECEIPTS." Because he's actually literally the worst person in the world.

Morgana is out exploring the rest of the inn, and probably begging scraps off other patrons with his big blue eyes, so Ryuji and Akira have the room to themselves. They have a mountain of junk food between them, and a pile of DVDs from the rental store, but two movies in and they're both starting to flag. Ryuji can blame his long commute; Akira's just lazy. How people like Mishima think he has his act together is a mystery.

"Which closet are the futons in?" he yawns, wandering along behind Ryuji as they search for bedding. "Oh, here they-- are."

There it is, anyway. Ryuji pulls out the single futon and they both stand there and look at it for a moment. Haru did this, Ryuji thinks at once. Then guilt creeps along. No, she wouldn't. Not Haru.

"Let's just go down to the front and ask for another bed," Ryuji says, rubbing the back of his head.

Akira glances at the clock, and Ryuji reluctantly follows suit. It's late, and the inn is a privately-owned place, run by a mom and her daughter. Ryuji doesn't want to wake them up over a few blankets any more than Akira does.

"It's okay," Akira says, "I'll just come back in the morning."

"What? No." Ryuji spreads out his arms, as though to block Akira's exit. "That's stupid. We share a bed every time you sleep over at my apartment. We can share one here."

For a brief, fleeting moment, something very fragile darts across Akira's expression. He hesitates, his fingers curled into loose fists, uncharacteristically vulnerable for the space of about two seconds.

And then he relaxes with a smile that's as familiar to Ryuji as his own name, and everything goes right back to normal.

"Just don't hog all the blankets."

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you."

They leave the window open for Morgana, and turn out the overhead light, and leave the TV on with the volume turned down low as they crawl under the duvet. The screen throws flickering shadows across the room, the darkness in the corners stretching and shrinking with every new scene, and somehow it makes the room feel smaller, makes everything feel closer and more intimate and oddly comfortable.

Ryuji finds himself watching the colors as they wash over Akira's face. His glasses are folded by the pillow, and his eyes are impossibly dark. There's a curl of hair hanging over one of his eyes, and Ryuji moves before he realizes he's doing it, brushing careful fingers across Akira's forehead to tuck the stray curl out of the way.

Akira shivers beneath the touch, but he doesn't pull his eyes away from the movie.

"'Night," Ryuji murmurs, halfway asleep already.

"Yeah," Akira whispers. His voice is strangely thick. "’Night."

The rest of the weekend vanishes in what feels like the blink of an eye. The innkeeper was so embarrassed about forgetting the second futon that first night that she tries to give them a discount for their whole stay, but Akira talks her out of it.

"No harm done," he said with that winning smile. "It was just one night."

Ryuji groans as he hauls his bag down onto a bench at the station. "I can't believe you're sending me home with all the extra food."

"You're actually complaining about that?" Akira says incredulously. "You won't be when you actually have snacks in your house for the next two days."

"Shut up," Ryuji says intelligently, and then opens his arms for a hug. "Your turn to visit next."

Akira smiles and slips into his arms like he belongs there. They linger together for a long minute, until the platform starts getting a little too crowded, and then Akira reluctantly pulls away.

"Thanks for coming," he says softly. "I know you only did it because I worried you. It means a lot."

Ryuji is not going to let Akira make him cry after the awesome weekend they just had. He shoves his hands in his pockets and says, "You keep saying thanks, but you got nothin' to thank me for. I'd do more than this for you, easy. A thousand times more. And I want to. You don't have to say thanks, not when I want to."

Akira hitches Morgana's bag up a little higher on his shoulder, and hitches up a lopsided smile sort of unlike the one he was wearing a few seconds ago. "Text me," he says, drawing away. "See you."

Morgana mutters something that sounds like "You're both idiots," and Akira doesn't answer him. Ryuji watches him go until he can't see them anymore, and then he sits down by his bag to wait for the train. His heart feels like it's somewhere near his feet, as heavy as concrete.

His phone chimes, and he pulls it out, happy for the distraction.

👽 at 5:46pm soooo how'd it go???

skull 💀 at 5:47pm anytime you show interest in what i'm doing i feel real fear

👽 at 5:47pm that's very wise.

👽 at 5:47pm but seriously, how'd it go

skull 💀 at 5:48pm it was cool. he showed me around town and stuff. and the inn was great, i gotta thank haru again

👽 at 5:48pm the inn was great?? how great??? DETAILS

But Ryuji's not paying much attention to his phone anymore. He's thinking of the inn, now that Futaba brought it up in her roundabout way, and their first night there. It was easy to dismiss at the time, but he's thinking about it, now-- the way Akira looked at him, and the unguarded gray of his eyes, and the two seconds they stood there with a distance between them that Ryuji had never noticed before.

The way he looked in the half-light, his face inches away from Ryuji's, soft lips pressed together, eyes trained safely on the television screen. The way he trembled under Ryuji's hand, and how close he was, close enough to--

Oh.

Abruptly, Ryuji's on his feet. His phone is chiming again but he ignores it, cramming it into his pocket and snatching his bag off the bench. He makes tracks through the station, up the street, and stops dead at the second crossroad, not sure which direction to run in.

"Fuck," Ryuji mutters. His heart is racing, and he's afraid to stop moving, because reason might catch up to him and make him turn around. There's-- something just ahead of him. Something important. He just has to reach out and grab it, but he's two seconds from understanding, two seconds too slow.

"S'cuse me," a soft voice says behind him. He turns to find a girl about his age, with short dark hair and a baseball jacket. She's got a catcher's mitt in her hand and a pleasant smile on her face. "You're Sakamoto, aren't you?"

He blinks, taken aback. "Uh, yeah. How'd you-- "

"Kurusu talks about you all the time," she says. Her voice is a little brighter. "I'm glad I finally got to meet you. I knew I’d see you around eventually.”

Somehow, it's like the final piece he's been missing. Somehow, it explains all the curious looks they've been getting, walking through town hand-in-hand. Somehow, he's missed it every single goddamn step of the way here.

"I think I've been an idiot," he confesses to this person he doesn't know. She laughs. She's got the wrong idea, but also kind of the right one.

"Luckily, I think you'd have to do a whole lot worse than that for him to wanna break up. He's kind of stupidly in love with you, y'know."

She's happy to give him directions. Akira's house isn't far, and the black and white cat sitting on the low wall just ahead is a dead giveaway.

"Mona!" Ryuji shouts, causing a few neighbors to look over and the cat to give a wild start. "Tell Akira to get his ass out here!"

Morgana disappears up to the front of the house immediately, and a second later the door swings open and Akira tumbles out. His eyes are lined with red, and Ryuji is not going to think about that, because it's his own stupid fault why.

He throws his bag down at the gate and stomps the last few feet between them.

"You tell me everything?" he says scathingly.

"Mostly everything," Akira replies. He looks stunned, like he can't believe this conversation is happening. Like he's daring to hope it means what he wants it to mean, but there's no way. Because Ryuji has been so clueless for so long it's a miracle Akira still has any hope left. "Almost everything."

"How long were you gonna let me hurt you?" Ryuji demands. There's something white-hot in his throat, in his heart, in the spaces behind his eyes. He can't stand that he hurt Akira, that he was hurting him without even knowing that's what he was doing.

He thinks of all those afternoons lamenting about a girlfriend, dragging Akira along when he and Mishima tried to score dates, giving him a Valentine's Day chocolate he didn't even mean. Akira, quiet and commiserating and supportive, while his crush complained about being unlucky in love from the seat right next to his.

"You never hurt me," Akira says firmly. "Don't be stupid. You can't change how you feel."

Ryuji grabs him by the shoulders and gives him one solid shake. He's stupid, but Akira's stupid, too, because it's obvious. "You're my best friend, Akira. I've loved you this whole goddamn time. I dunno if it's love like yours, but it's fucking there. You don't see me crawling into bed with Yusuke, do you?"

Akira laughs, but it's a choked little gasp of a noise. His hands come up to Ryuji's wrists, holding him where he's holding Akira. He says, "Well, there was that one time right after Yusuke's birthday-- "

"Oh my god, shut up," Ryuji blusters, and drags him in for a kiss. It's the most effective way anyone has ever made Akira stop talking. He's still and shocked for a moment, and then he melts right there under Ryuji's hands, and then he tilts his head and kisses back, and oh.

This is why people get all stupid over this stuff.

This is why they make movies about it.

This is what they could have been doing for months.

Akira makes an appreciative noise when Ryuji's grip tightens around his waist. His hands are curled in the front of Ryuji's shirt, and he's shivering again, like he just can't get warm. So Ryuji pulls him a little closer, holds him a little tighter, and thinks he'll have to thank Futaba for that brief conversation on that platform--

And then a sudden realization slams him out of his honeyed thoughts: "I missed my train."

Akira leans against him and laughs like it's going out of style.

"Joker, this is serious!"

"Miss Ito will give you a ride," his best friend says, eyes shining. "I may have, uh, mentioned you to her. She's gonna give you the best shovel talk you've ever heard. You'll probably cry."

"Well, I'm glad I have that to look forward to."

Akira's mother is glaring from the doorway, and a few passing teens are hooting good-naturedly at their display, and apparently a terrifying old woman is going to threaten Ryuji with bodily harm if he even looks at Akira wrong for the entirety of the very long ride back home....

But Akira's gray eyes are dancing and his smile is brilliant and he's altogether the most beautiful thing Ryuji's ever been able to call his, so it's a pretty fair trade.

Ryuji kind of hates that it took him this long to catch up, but he's here now. And they've got the rest of their lives together to figure it out.

#persona 5 #p5 #pegoryu #akiryu #kurusu akira #sakamoto ryuji #takamaki ann #sakura futaba #kitagawa yusuke #niijima makoto #akechi goro #morgana #okumura haru #sakura sojiro #my writing #p5 fic

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blueymoons · 6 years ago

Text

40. I Made This For You & 66. Stay Over

For @hobbeshalftail3469 and @crazymarauder

I give you: Part 3 of the 100 Ways To Say “I Love You” prompt list challenge I’ve set for myself.

“Where are you?” Robin asked her partner as she twirled a pen through her fingers and stared at the ceiling of their office. “I’m still at the office, I thought we might have a drink after your surveillance is done.”

“I’m just down the street. I’ll be up in a mo’” Cormoran’s shout came down the line, almost lost in the noise of the jackhammers that were still tearing up Denmark Street. It sometimes felt to Robin like the roadworks were never going to end.

Three years she’d been working with Cormoran, first as his assistant, newly engaged and high on love and anticipation of a beautiful wedding and a happy future. Then she’d fallen in love with the job and become his partner while hiding from the realization that the man she was planning to marry was jealous and petty. Then she’d married that jealous and petty man, only to realize, walking the beach on her honeymoon that she was likely not only just in love with the job…but also with her partner. It had taken another year, feeling guilty for all of the money spent, and the time wasted on the wedding, before she'd discovered that Matthew had been cheating on her, allowing her to find the courage to initiate the divorce she'd just celebrated the finalization of.

Cormoran was as different from Matthew as night was from day. Matthew had been thin and lanky, trim and golden. Cormoran was huge. Enormous hands, big chest, massive shoulder span, and, most wonderfully to Robin, large of heart.

Matthew had been smaller than Cormoran in so many ways.

Her only regret was that she’d ignored that smallness for so long.

She heard the downstairs door bang as Cormoran entered the building, followed by his heavy tread on the stairs and reached over to drop the pen in the pen holder her dear friend Ilsa Herbert had made her at her first ever pottery class.

It was wonky and misshapen, but it was one of Robin’s most prized possessions. Robin would never forget the shocked and joyful look on Ilsa’s face as she’d noticed it on Robin’s desk three days after she’d given it to Robin, with a slightly embarrassed “I made this for you”, at the Christmas party she and her husband Nick had thrown.

Robin had been a long time without friends of her own, since most of their friends had been Matthew’s mates. She wasn’t sad that she’d “lost” them in the divorce. They’d never been hers to begin with.

But when Cormoran had introduced Robin to his oldest mate Ilsa, shortly after Robin had discovered that Matthew had cheated on her back in uni, she’d felt an instant bond snap into place. It had taken some time and a little awkwardness, but now, after having lived in their spare room for the last few months while she’d saved everything she could to be able to afford a new flat of her own, Robin was an almost permanent fixture at the Herbert household.

A fact that only put her and Cormoran in even more constant contact with each other.

Cormoran swung the office door open with a loudly heaved sigh of relief. “I’m so glad this case is finished,” he exclaimed. “I don’t think I could have taken much more sitting in the park watching that woman massacre art.”

“You got something then?” For the last two weeks they’d been tailing a woman they’d nicknamed Nonet, whose husband suspected her of cheating. So far, they’d not turned up anything other than that she liked to paint really terrible watercolors in Regents Park in the midafternoon. Sometimes she was joined by another young woman who also set up to paint, and seemingly chat, but they’d seen no evidence of Nonet cheating.

“C'mere and have a look,” Cormoran held out his phone to Robin gesturing for her to come to him. She slid around the edge of her desk and moved close to his side. He shifted his weight slightly to the foot closest to her and handed her the phone. This close to him she could smell the lingering tobacco smoke wafting around him, as well as the faint bay rum scent of his aftershave or cologne. It had become an increasingly tantalizing mix of smells over the last three years.

She started flipping through pictures of Nonet chatting to the other woman who was ginger haired and very thin. Cormoran’s arm brushed against the side of her breast as he mumbled, "Here," and reached out to flick to the next set of pictures, impatient for her to see what he’d seen. She knew he didn’t realize he’d brushed against her, but it still sent a frisson of heat through her.

Sometimes she wished he did realize.

“Oh my God!” Robin suddenly exclaimed, her hand grasping the arm he still had extended toward the phone in shock, as the next picture showed the two women leaning into each other, tongues fully engaged in the other’s mouth. “What the…?” she trailed off, completely astounded.

Cormoran’s dark eyes were amused at the shock on her face as she glanced up at him. “I know.” He nodded as he took the phone from her and started the process of emailing the pictures to their Dropbox so that they could be printed and filed in the file to be given to Nonet’s husband tomorrow. “I almost dropped my phone,” he chuckled. He shifted his weight again, and asked “You ready to head to the pub?” with his eyes still on his phone. “I’m dying for a pint.”

“Yep," she nodded as she turned away from him, smiling at the eagerness in his voice. Very little could stand between Cormoran and a pint of Doom Bar. "Let me grab my bag and shut down.”

He hummed low in his throat, a sound she knew to be one of assent, and walked to the door, still fiddling with his phone. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he opened the door, then propped himself against the door jamb, to wait patiently for her to go through her routine of shutting the computer down and cleaning up her desk for the day.

His head was lowered toward his phone, allowing the curls on his head to flop forward slightly. His big hands worked on his phone as he turned, absentmindedly to scratch his back against the edge of the door jamb. He was wearing a light blue button down with the sleeves rolled to just below his elbows, a pair of black slacks and the boots he usually wore when he was going to be on surveillance. He shouldn’t have been as attractive to her as he was.

But he was. And lately there had been something slightly different about him. She just hadn't been able to put her finger on what it was. He dressed the same. His hair was just as unruly as ever. He'd lost well over a stone over the last few months. But none of that was the reason for this nagging feeling of something being different about him.

Brushing the thought away with a small shake of her head she picked up her bag and slung it across her chest as she walked to the door, keys in hand. “Let’s go.”

He glanced up at her, and she noticed a flash of surprise in his eyes as he realized how close she was to him. But he quickly grinned his crinkly eyed grin at her, her favorite one, and swept his arm forward in a mock courtly gesture for her to proceed him out the door. “After you ma’am.”

She snickered as she passed him and stopped, waiting for him to follow her out and shut the door so she could lock it.

As she was doing so, she felt a slight tug on the hair she’d swept up into a ponytail to combat the heat in the office this afternoon. She glanced around with eyebrows raised in surprise, to find him laughing. “I’m sorry. It was too tempting,” he laughed. “You don’t often wear it like this.” He reached up to tug it again. "I kind of like it." His grin was getting crinklier by the moment.

“It was warm today. And I got tired of it being in my face.” She swatted at him, surprised that he’d been so forward. Though they’d only gotten closer over the last year, hugging more often and kissing the other’s cheek in social settings, their physicality with each other hadn’t progressed much further than that. They were comfortable, but not touchy-feely. Not that Robin would have minded that changing.

There had been many times during the course of her relationship with Cormoran that she’d yearned to rub his back consolingly or grasp his hand in support, especially when he was in pain. Occasionally she’d allowed herself to do that. But she’d not made a habit of it, mostly because he tended to stiffen up when she touched him unexpectedly, for some reason.

“You’re like a boy in Primary school. Tugging on the ponytail of the girl he likes,” she smirked as she turned away from him to head toward the stairs with a shake of her head.

Her foot had just lowered to the first step when she realized what she’d said and she whipped back around, words spilling from her mouth, “That is…,” only to see his dark eyes on her and lit with something that made her feel slightly breathless. “I only meant…,” she tried again.

He stepped closer and she stepped back up onto the landing, turning to face him as he neared her.

But he only continued to watch her face as his hand reached out again, grasping her ponytail and giving it a gentle tug, before allowing his hand to slide down the tail of hair to the back of her neck. His head lowered, and her chin lifted as her eyes closed instinctively. She felt his breath against her ear in a rasped whisper, “Are we going to the pub, Robin?”

He stayed there. His hand on the back of her neck. His lips against her ear. Waiting.

And suddenly she realized, maybe he was aware that he’d brushed against her a few minutes ago.

Maybe the something that had changed about him was the way he looked at her. The way he stood closer to her. The way he shifted slightly closer to her when she was near.

Robin had no idea where she found the courage, but standing on the landing, next to the door of the office they shared every day, enveloped in his unique scent of smoke and bay rum, surrounded by his massive body, she turned her head, allowing her lips to graze his ear, eliciting a sharply indrawn breath from him, and whispered back, “Yes."

She felt his shoulders deflate slightly against her, then continued, "Unless you want to ask me to stay over.”

He drew back and once again, this time his eyes were blazing with unbanked lust. He slid his hand down her ponytail again, allowing his hand to cradle the back of her head in his huge palm, then bringing his right hand up to cup the side of her face, brushing his thumb just under her bottom lip, before lowering his lips to hers in the sweetest and most erotically tender kiss she’d ever received.

He kissed her tentatively but became bolder as she responded in kind. Her hands gripped his shirt as his hands cradled her head before sliding lower to wrap around her waist and lift her slightly off the floor, and into his body.

He broke the kiss after a few moments and grinned that crinkly grin she loved so much, his eyes warm and tender on her face. “Robin?”

“Hmmm?”

“Stay over?”

She brushed her hand across his forehead, brushing his curls back into place and kissed him again, murmuring against his lips, “Sure

#cormoran strike #cormoran x robin #cormoran loves robin #cormoran strike novels #corobin #fiction #fanfic #post lethal white #robert galbraith #robin ellacott #cormoran strike fanfic #fanfic writing #strike fanfic #fanfic writer

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