#txt.fic

“Yo, Mishima–" Ryuji hollers across the aisle of the video store, causing multiple people to look his way, including his intended target. "Have ya seen this one?”

“You really don’t need to be so loud,” Mishima nearly hisses at Ryuji as he steps over from the opposite side of the aisle.

"Didn't realize we're in a library."

Mishima huffs slightly in response, but does lift his hand to grab the cover of the movie Ryuji's holding to take a look at it–some sort of action movie Ryuji's never heard of. "Oh, this is a really good one!" Mishima looks up at him, his enthusiasm palpable. His eyes are practically shining as he speaks. "It's about this kid who got himself in trouble with this crime boss and has been trying to work his debt off for years and years. He finally pays it off at the same time he finds a girl he really likes, but he ends up having to–."

"Hey, hey," Ryuji interrupts, pulling the movie back from Mishima's grip. "Don't need the whole thing explained to me, man." He gives Mishima a little smile–the guy can be kinda sensitive about his enthusiasm. Ryuji does his best to avoid putting him out. "You said it's good?"

Mishima returns the smile with his own. It's a little shy, but it's a smile regardless. "Yeah. It's a little cheesy, but it's a good kind of cheesy, you know?" Ryuji hums, flipping the dvd over to glance at the back. "I hear ya." The synopsis seems interesting… A little more romantic sounding than Ryuji usually goes for. "...I'll keep it in mind." He puts the case back onto the shelf, genuinely taking a mental note of the title. 

Between the palaces and Mementos, school work (or at least the attempt of), and general Thieves activities, Ryuji hasn't really had the time to slow down and watch a movie recently. Plus, holing up in his room and popping a dvd in by himself seems so boring.. This is definitely more of a group activity-type movie. 

Who'd watch it with him though? Mishima seems obvious, since the guy clearly likes it. But he sounds like he'd just talk about fun facts the whole time. Hard pass. 

Second choice is Akira, but Akira's been so busy playing leader for the whole group… He always says he's happy to make time for Ryuji, but… is just watching a movie together worth the time? Mishima says it's good, but will Akira like it? Ryuji will feel so bad if he doesn't. Such a waste of time for the guy. He's so busy! But… wouldn't hurt to ask, he guesses. If anyone isn't gonna mind hanging out and not doing much with him, it'd be Akira.

For now, Ryuji tucks his hands into his pockets, and settles himself over Mishima’s shoulder to read the summary the guy is currently reading. …Maybe Akira would like this one too.

–

"So, uh…"

It's cloudy today. Gloomy as hell, actually, but Ryuji and Akira are out walking the streets of Yongen-Jaya anyway. Mona elected to stay back at Leblanc–in case it rained, he said.

"There's this movie I saw when I was hangin' out with Mishima at the rental place the other day."

"Mhmm."

Ryuji continues: "It seemed cool. He said he's seen it an' liked it 'n' everything. I'm not the biggest movie guy on my own, but I was wonderin' if, like… you'd wanna watch it some time?" Akira does that little laugh Ryuji likes–the one where he just huffs out his nose with a smile on his face. It's cute–charming. Uhh, endearing or whatever. Yeah.

"Let's go rent it."

"Wuh–now?!"

"Yeah. I have a membership."

Oh. "Okay," Ryuji answers lamely. Akira smiles at him. Ryuji smiles back, feeling a little lighter than before.

–

Movie in hand, the duo return to Leblanc about an hour or so later. They clamber through the cafe with a brief hello to Sojiro, then pop up the stairs in record time. Morgana shoots them both a scowl from his spot on the bed, but curls right back up anyway to continue his nap.

Ryuji's a little embarrassed to admit it, but he missed doing casual hangouts with Akira. Just the two of them (kinda), doing something for the hell of it just because they feel like it. It's nice. It's comfy.

Ryuji pulls up chairs to the tv while Akira gets the disk into the player. Curtains get shut, shoes get kicked off, and the two boys land themselves into their respective chairs.

"Ready?" Akira asks, his eyes peeking at Ryuji over the top of his glasses. Ryuji grins loosely at his friend as he tosses his arm over the back of his chair.

"You know it."

Akira grins back, and starts the movie.

–

The movie itself was pretty good, but the best thing about it–or really, about that whole day–was that it jump started a movie craze between Ryuji and Akira.

Akira's a busy guy, so they unfortunately can only watch something every other week or so. It's less than Ryuji necessarily would like, but it's certainly better than their almost non-existent hangouts they had fallen into before.

Not that Ryuji was put off by the lack of his friend hanging around him for non-phantom related stuff. He gets it. Akira's a cool guy, so he's busy with other people, like, all the time. This sudden shift in his schedule where Akira always clears the one night for just Ryuji is honestly so cool of him. They've had a great track record of watching good movies too–or at the very least, ones they've enjoyed, so Ryuji never feels guilty about taking up Akira's time.

Recently, someone dumped a whole box of dvds off at the second-hand shop by Leblanc. The owner sold the whole thing to them for dirt cheap. There's definitely a lot of stuff they don't really care about in there, but they found several movies with this same American comedian as the star. He's actually kinda great, though some of the movies have been better than others. When Akira busts out a dvd case from his bag with the usual guy on it though, Ryuji knows they're gonna have a good time.

–

Movie nights start dwindling as winter crawls in. They get busier than ever with the Phantom Thieves' stuff, so eventually movie night stops altogether. It's... not Ryuji's favorite, but it is what it is. The bright side is they're out here making a difference in the world, and if Ryuji's gotta sacrifice his usual hangout with his best friend for a while to make it happen, then it'll be worth it.

It's a nice surprise though when suddenly, after all the drama following Sae's palace, Akira approaches him again about it.

"I miss it," Akira admits from under his grey hood. They're walking around  Yongen-Jaya again, like they used to. Maybe Akira shouldn't be wandering around like this right now, but Ryuji knows how cooped up he feels stuck at Leblanc all the time. 

"Let's do it then!" Ryuji grins at him, maybe a touch too wide. He's excited, and maybe a little desperate to relieve his best friend of his stress, even if it's just for a couple of hours. "We can go to my place, if you want."

Akira looks at him then, tucked under his hood. He looks tired, especially with the deep bags resting under his eyes. Regardless, the smile Akira pulls onto his face is so, so soft. Ryuji's cheeks color, but in this moment, he doesn't care. He's entirely focused on his best friend. 

"I'd like that," Akira says, his tone just as soft as his smile.

"C-cool," Ryuji responds immediately, which only makes his face brighter. Akira laughs lightly, causing Ryuji to shoot a grin his way. 

Akira smiles back.

–

“Sorry about it bein’ so messy.”

Dirty shirts lay on Ryuji's bed and floor, clearly tossed off without a care for where they land. A few shoe boxes rest in various spots, mostly tucked up against furniture, with a lucky box actually having both shoes resting on top. The others only have one, if at all, with the other shoe resting nearby. The latest manga Ryuji's been reading sits open on the floor, its spine most definitely creased as a sacrifice for keeping Ryuji's place. In the center of it all, Akira stands, another one of those content smiles on his face he seems to like wearing so much. 

“I don’t mind.” Akira says, all low and soft and patient.

“I do!” Morgana calls as he leaps up onto the bed, stomping his little kitty paws into the comforter as he tries to find a spot to claim.

The cat decided to tag along with them, stating he had to make sure Akira got home safe afterwards. Ryuji knows it’s really because the cat wanted a change of scenery himself, but he could never call Mona out on it without starting a fight.

Ryuji rolls his eyes at Morgana as the cat finally finds a worthy spot on the bed. Akira tosses Ryuji another smile and a shrug, then pulls the dvd he's been keeping in his jacket.

It's the animated movie they had talked about watching next, the last time they did this. Something about firefighters and arsonists who end up on the same side to fight a greater evil.

A grin overtakes Ryuji's face as a warmth blossoms in his chest. Akira will always and forever be the most thoughtful guy Ryuji knows–who remembers stuff like that? Especially from so long ago.

Ryuji grabs his laptop off his nightstand. The thing's old and definitely needs to be replaced, but it does have a dvd tray, thus it gets the honor of spending its old age in Ryuji's care til the thing kicks the bucket. He sits down with it after, just right there on the floor, and boots it up as Akira pulls his jacket off, tossing it on the bed.

"Surprised that thing's still running," Akira comments as he sits himself down, taking his usual spot near the bed so he can lean against it.

Ryuji chuckles, tossing a glance towards Akira as the laptop loads. "I know. I'm hopin' it can last til after I graduate."

"If it doesn't–" Akira hands over the dvd once Ryuji motions for it– "I'm sure Futaba has a spare lying around."

Ryuji gets the movie loaded in, popping the tray back into the laptop, then sets the thing down on the floor, far enough away that they won't be kicking it, but close enough that they can both see. He pulls himself back after that, taking his spot next to his best friend there against the bed. 

The movie begins to play.

–

Ryuji jumps awake as something thumps against his shoulder. He fell asleep–obvious enough by the way his shoulders and behind hurt from the bed and floor respectively–and it seems he wasn't the only one.

Akira's upper arm is pressed fully against Ryuji's, with the guy's head tossed back on the mattress. He's completely out, and his position leaves his glasses dangerously close to falling off. The position also leaves Akira's face incredibly close to Ryuji's.

The realization colors Ryuji's cheeks, causing the teen to snap his head away from Akira. Ryuji shifts, fishing out his phone from his pocket, closest to his friend. The screen lights up his face, causing Ryuji to wince from the brightness. He angles the screen away from Akira, just managing to catch a glimpse of the time despite the weird angle.

It's nearly midnight–definitely later than either of them had planned. There's no way he's sending his friend home this late. Especially not when Ryuji knows Akira's been having a rough time relaxing lately. Waking him up feels like it should be criminal.

…But sleeping sitting up like this cannot be great for your body. Ryuji sighs softly, then turns his head slightly towards his friend.

"Akira," he calls, keeping his voice quiet. He'd love to avoid the sharp wrath of the nearby cat if he can help it.

No response.

Damn.

"Akira," Ryuji calls again, a touch louder this time. Again, there's no response, so Ryuji puts his phone down and pulls his body away from Akira, fully turning towards him. He reacts in time to catch Akira from falling to the floor, though his hands landing on Akira's upper arms has the added effect of jostling the teen awake.

Akira lifts his head from its spot on the mattress to look at Ryuji, blinking slowly as he processes the situation. He locks eyes with Ryuji, then smiles that damn smug smile. Ryuji can feel his cheeks heating up in anticipation.

"They're nice, right?"

Ryuji immediately pulls his hands from Akira's arms, his face flaming as he sits back. Akira laughs all low again, the noise really rubbing salt into Ryuji's wound. How dare his brain like that noise right now.

"Movie's over," Ryuji announces, standing up. Akira yawns, pulling his glasses from his face so he can rub at his eyes.

"What time is it?"

Ryuji pulls on the drawstring overhead, clicking on the light. The whole room is bathed in a yellow hue, breaking the peace. He sees Mona curl up tighter.

"11:38ish," Ryuji answers, returning his attention to Akira.

Akira blinks up at him, then returns his glasses to his face. He pushes himself up to stand, causing Ryuji to step back a tad to give him the space.

"Well, I guess we should go then."

"What?" Ryuji immediately responds, following it with a scoff. "Dude, it's almost midnight. I'm not sending you home–the trains aren't gonna be runnin' by the time you get to 'em."

Akira blinks at Ryuji again, and it's this time Ryuji realizes it's a quirk of the guy being so sleep deprived. He's processing the situation. Probably.

"Oh."

Ryuji snorts, leaning down to close his laptop. "Yeah. So just stay here." He stands back up, looking at Akira again. "You can take my bed."

Akira looks away from Ryuji to look at the bed. Morgana lies smack in the middle of it, either very deeply asleep, or very determined to look like it. A small smile quirks up the corner of Akira's lip. Ryuji coughs into his fist, a slight blush playing on his cheeks.

"Where are you gonna sleep?" Akira returns his attention to Ryuji, once again pulling his glasses off. It's for good this time–the teen folds them up and places them on the nightstand. "The couch." "I can sleep–."

"No," Ryuji cuts Akira off. "My ma would wake you up when she leaves. An' I've slept out there before. Just take the bed, man."

Akira smiles softly at him, defeated. Ryuji's stomach does a little flip.

"Okay."

Ryuji nods, clearing his throat. "Well, I'll leave ya to it." He steps away from his friend, heading over to the door. He pauses though, turning back around as he realizes he needs sleeping clothes. And maybe Akira does too. 

"Do you want some sweats?" he asks as he diverts course to his closet.

Akira pauses, then smiles once again. "Sure."

Ryuji does his best not to let any of the empty figure boxes he's just shoved into the closet come tumbling out as he opens the door. Once it seems fine, Ryuji wastes no time in locating his comfiest sweats for Akira. They're grey, with teal and white stripes lining the outside seam. Nice and plush fabric too, without being super heavy. Those get tossed over to Akira, then Ryuji grabs some old, tatty purple ones for himself. They kinda match his jacket.

"Thanks," Akira says to him once the closet door is securely closed, the teen taking a seat on the bed.

Ryuji nods again, then walks over to the door, for real this time. "I'll see you in the morning," he says as he pulls it open.

"Mhm."

Ryuji steps out, turning himself around so he can close the door. He lifts his gaze to Akira, who looks back with that soft smile curled on his face again. That smile turns into something a touch more smug after a moment. Ryuji's face colors. He's been staring. 

"N-night, man."

"Night, Uji."

you break out into the halls of the stadium and while you’ve made it out of the crowd in the stands, you’re met with the exiting mob. it’s like swimming against the current, just on land rather than water. and you’re trying desperately not to push anyone, sticking close to the outskirts so you’re not fighting against too many people, taking your time to pick your way through the throngs of concertgoers.

but the closer you get to the backstage entrance yeonjun showed you earlier, the more restless you become. you haven’t seen soobin in a month because of this tour, and facetime calls are a sad excuse of a compromise; you’ve missed seeing the real thing in person since he kissed you goodbye in the entrance to your apartment with a promise of calling you the second he touched down in america. more important than anything right now is to see him face to face, to hold him to your chest and not let go for minutes on end.

what transpired tonight feels like a fever dream: stadium show, sold out, every single seat filled. this is what soobin and the boys have been working towards their entire career, and they made it. and you were here for it. when you’d initially booked your flight to la, you hadn’t considered the milestone tonight and tomorrow night would be for the boys; you simply missed soobin and you’d wanted to see him. but halfway through the show, it hit you just how monumental all of this really is.

and that realization now is manifesting into an incessant need to see choi soobin right this second. you barely stop long enough to flash the security guards at the backstage entrance your badge, proving that you’re allowed to be back there, before you’re taking off again in the direction of the dressing rooms. away from the fans, your tears, happy as they may be, flow freely and you nearly get lost a couple of times before the green room finally comes into view, door wide open and laughter pouring out like audible warmth, steady and comforting and like home.

you dash towards the room, coming to a short stop in the threshold, a hand braced against the cool metal frame. the five boys are goofing off, wiping sweat from their faces and munching on snacks to tide them over until they get back to their hotel, laughing and shoving at one another as they joke around in a bid to burn off adrenaline. they’re so wrapped up in their own little world that not a single one notices you. something or other about taking matters into your own hands, you suppose.

“hey! choi soobin!” you call, out of breath and wild with anticipation and excitement. a month apart is coming to a very surprise close and when the boy in question whips around, eyes wide and round like a deer in headlights, it’s all you can do not to melt under his discerning gaze, watching as he blinks once, twice, three times while he registers that you stand before him, eyes just as wide and breathing just as heavy. but when he finally catches up to reality, the expression that crosses his face is priceless.

“oh my god!” he says, blindly setting down whatever he was eating on the table behind him before he rushes across the room to you. his embrace comes in hot and fast, arms wrapped tight around your waist in the blink of an eye, so much momentum that the two of you stumble into the hallway, still locked together. “oh my god, what are you doing here?”

he pulls his face away from your neck to really get a look at you. his eyes shine with tears and stardust, catching stray beams of light in the hallway. he looks like he can’t believe any of this is real and honestly, you don’t blame him because it doesn’t feel real at all to you either.

“i came to see you, silly,” you respond, smiling up at your precious boyfriend. you sink your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, wrap your arms a little tighter around him, shuffle a little closer. you’ve wished to be back in his embrace every night for weeks and now you’re here and it feels like the first time all over again: special and warm and one of a kind. “i missed you and i couldn’t wait anymore, so… here i am.”

soobin smiles brightly and who are you to not return it?

“here you are,” he repeats, untangling his arms from around your waist, only to cup your cheeks in his hands to leave a million and one kisses on your face. he giggles the whole time, nuzzling his nose along your skin and whispering sweet nothings between every one. “‘m glad you’re here. thank you for coming.”

when his mission of pressing kisses to every square inch of your face is complete, he winds his arms around you again, leaning his cheek against the top of your head. he rocks you back and forth in that hallway for so long, just holding you against his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady under your cheek. you missed this, you missed him, but you’re glad that he went away to chase his dreams.

“‘m so proud of you, binnie. you did so well tonight,” you say quietly, voice trembling on the last few syllables. your fingers curl tight into the back of his shirt, not so much to wrinkle it but enough to anchor yourself against him as you feel the tears bubbling up.

soobin smiles, felt in the way his cheek rustles against your hair. one hand presses warm and comforting into the small of your back, the other soothing the space above. it’s a little ridiculous, the way you’re the one crying when he’s the one who just played a three hour concert to a sold out stadium of over twenty thousand people, but you are so overcome with pride that you can’t help it. he’s fought so hard to get here, he deserves this more than anyone you know (the other four boys excluded).

soobin shushes you softly when he feels the first few tears seep through his shirt. “shh, darling. you don’t need to cry. it’s okay.”

he coos at you over and over, breathy little chuckles wracking through him every once in a while, whispering about how cute and sweet and lovely you are. he reiterates time and time again that really, there’s no reason to cry, but through your attempts to catch your breath, you tell him that you can’t help it, that you’re so overwhelmed with pride and love that the only way your body knows how to release it is through tears, which makes him giggle even more and hold you even tighter.

“my baby, always so sweet to me.” his voice is soft and gentle, warm against the top of your head. “i made it this far because you always believed in me. i’m glad you were here to see it all.”

you sniffle and nod in assent, muttering a “me too,” voice still thick with tears. you’re gradually coming down off the adrenaline of the night, glad to have the sweetest boy in front of you holding your pieces together. when you finally do calm down enough, he leans back, arms still linked around you and a soft smile on his face.

“it’s about time for us to clear out of here for the night. wanna come back to the hotel and have dinner?” he asks, tilting his head to meet your gaze, eyes still shining with that silver stardust. you nod again and he smiles that pouty little smile of his. his hands take their rightful place on your cheeks, soft thumbs wiping away stray tears, and he kisses you slow and gentle. “so cute… c’mon. let’s get out of here.”

soobin moves away reluctantly, but links your hands together when he turns back towards the green room where yeonjun, beomgyu, taehyun, and kai have been watching it all unfold. you’d be lying if you said it doesn’t look like all four of them are a little misty eyed themselves, but you won’t embarrass them like that. 

: : bonus

soobin lays on his side facing you, his eyelashes fluttering against the soft skin of his cheeks as he sleeps. his breathing is slow and steady, comforting even when his exhales breeze across your face. he looks peaceful like this, a sight that you’ve missed since the moment he left you in korea.

as you study his features, you’re overcome with that pride again because it still hasn’t set in that tonight has been monumental. it feels like a dream you’re about to wake up from but don’t want to, but how could it be anything but real? he and the boys have worked so hard to get to this point. you saw the old tweets fans were bringing up. this has been the dream since day one and it’s come true. how special is that?

you can feel the tears welling again, pricking at the back of your eyes in the dark, and you sniffle as quietly as possible. but as though he has a radar for your emotions, soobin shifts, cracks an eye open and then the other when he realizes you’re about to cry again. he giggles breathily in the near-pitch black of the hotel room and scoots in closer, wrapping his arms tight around you.

“no more crying,” he whispers, nuzzling his nose against your hairline. the amusement in his voice is nothing short of sincere and playful; it’s not chastizing or annoyed, just simply warm because you care about him so much that you feel affected the same way he does. he presses you soft to his chest, a hand rubbing soothingly at your back. “no more tears tonight. go to sleep.”

you nod against him, snuggling in close and melting into a warmth that is distinctly his. you can’t ever be apart from him again; you miss this when he’s away, never able to get good sleep because you’re always hyperfixated on the cool, empty space next to you. but now, you’re slipping away like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“missed you, soob,” you say quietly. “don’t leave me again.”

he laughs silently, just a little tremble of his shoulders to prove it ever happened, and scoots impossibly closer. “next time, you’re coming with me, i promise. but at least you’re here now.”

he’s right. at least you’re here now. and you don’t plan on leaving again for a while.

"hyun?" you ask quietly, testing the waters. he doesn't react much, but he shifts against you, his fingers tightening in your shirt. "do you want to lay down?"

taehyun nods then, just a bit but it's noticeable. you try to accommodate him as best you can, knowing he (likely) doesn't want to let go yet, but you have to turn off the stove. to meet both needs, you let him keep his arms wrapped around you, but this time leaning against your back rather than your front. you take it slow, your feet shuffling together towards the kitchen.

with that taken care of, you move to the living room, the couch much closer than your bed. you get situated, leaning back against the cushioned armrest, and taehyun follows suit, slotting himself between your legs and his face buried against your sweater. he hasn't returned to tears yet, but you can feel the way his breath and shoulders shudder against you.

it is so very clear that he isn't ready to do much of anything still and who are you to push him into anything other than this? you don't need to know what caused this, whether it's a combination of things that happened over the week, at least not now. if taehyun deserves anything, he deserves silence and as much physical comfort as he needs.

his breath seeps through your sweater, thick as it is, warming you from the outside in. as much as he's taking comfort from you, you're diverting just as much from him. you've had a difficult week too, but not so much that you felt that things were too insurmountable to handle. still, holding him like this, you realize how much you needed this. as much as you'd like to be the one being held, getting to comfort him and crowd him against your body to share your heat and softness is therapeutic in a way you've never thought possible.

without thinking, you bury one of your hands in his hair, letting your nails drag gently across his scalp. he shivers against you, which suggests tension, but instead, he melts even further into you, his cheek pressing so tightly against you that you're certain he'll have the knit patterns imprinted into his skin for hours after.

but you bristle a little at the way he reacted to your hand in his hair, unable to stop yourself from smiling to yourself. you want to entertain him on this, so you keep your hand tangled in his hair, smoothing your fingers through the strands gently, smiling when he sinks further and further into your embrace. you can feel as the tension in his shoulders burns away, the muscles getting looser and looser the longer you let your fingers linger in his hair.

eventually, after what you assume is at least an hour, taehyun finally speaks, voice scratchy with a lack of use and tears still caught in his throat. he's quiet, apologizing for ruining the night, and you jump at the chance to tell him he has nothing to apologize for, that things like this happen sometimes and mental health is nothing to ever feel apologetic about. instead, you hold him tighter against you and ask if he still wants to have dinner, promising to order dessert too because you think he deserves it.

The apartment across the yard has been empty for a few months now. 

For Zhongli, the patio and soft grass between the buildings outweigh the stomping of neighbors upstairs. She’s seen the lackluster balcony gardens some of the other tenants maintain. It’s not due to a lack of trying, oh no--even the most dedicated of gardeners can only do so much with so little room. Her little Qiqi’s garden, however, flourishes under both the space and care they can offer it. Several of the other ground floor tenants, Zhongli knows, strive to have plants as well loved as theirs. 

When beautiful new rose bushes seem to appear across the yard, planted carefully around the little patio connected to the usually-empty apartment, Zhongli is surprised, to say the least.

She hasn’t caught sight of their new neighbor yet. However, she can only imagine them as one of two people: a young lady with a busy schedule, who knows how to be brutally efficient in the mornings before Zhongli is even up, tending to her rose bushes’ every need and then disappearing to go to her day job, or an older gentleman with ample time on his hands, shelves lined with every horticulture book known to man, who just so happens to be excellent at avoiding Zhongli’s watchful eye.

Her first guess seems to be the correct one, when several days later, the previously empty apartment’s slider opens, and out steps a young lady--a touch younger than Zhongli imagined--with a head of fiery, messy curls. To her surprise though, a young man follows her out, a handful of years older than the girl most likely, sporting similar hair and a proud smile as the young lady seemingly inspects the bushes.

Zhongli watches from her living room as the young lady stands and smooshes her (presumably) brother’s face, who laughs as he grabs her wrists and tugs them away. They chat there for a moment, and then the young man pulls a cutesy watering can out from just inside the slider door, steps around his sister, and begins watering the roses.

It’s late in the evening, and normally around this time, Zhongli is helping Qiqi bathe and get ready for bed. Tonight, however, Qiqi is staying the night with the other family with a child in this section of the complex--her first ever sleepover. Zhongli’s husband doesn’t return until nearly midnight on the weekends, so she’s left alone for the first time in their little apartment in many moons with just her teacup and her books.

With her reading light on next to her, Zhongli realizes she must have been obviously staring at them, if the brother turning and looking directly at her is any indication. The young man pulls on a smile though and offers Zhongli a wave. She waves back mildly, somewhat caught off guard, widening the young man’s smile. He turns back towards his sister then, who’s also looking in Zhongli’s direction, and escorts her inside, that cutesy watering can still gripped in his hand.

Zhongli hopes she’ll see him around more often now.

As it just so happens, she does.

The young man seems to work on the weekdays, while on the weekends he usually appears midday on his patio, athletic wear on as he leaves through his slider with nothing but his phone and a pair of earbuds. She’s purposefully looking out for him now, and when he returns home sweaty and panting, Zhongli turns her gaze elsewhere.

It’s early Thursday evening when she finally talks to him, only after nearly bolting out into the yard in panic after hearing Qiqi’s soft voice choke up and dissolve into sobs. Zhongli nearly rips the screen door off to get to her child when she sees the young man knelt in the grass in front of Qiqi, a first aid kit lying open next to them.

The young man’s voice is soft as he asks Qiqi about her day, doing what he can to distract her as he pulls thorns from her little hand. Qiqi, normally not one for conversation with anyone she doesn’t know, answers through her blubbering, doing her best to tell the young man the plot of a children's book her teacher read to them today.

Qiqi’s no longer crying by the time the young man is wrapping the last bandage around her finger. Zhongli can’t help but notice the colorful characters printed on them, some she vaguely recognizes from when Qiqi’s cartoons switch over to the older kid’s programming in the afternoon. Zhongli only has a moment to wonder if maybe this new neighbor has a kid of his own before the two have gotten up from the grass and walked their way over to her, still in the doorway of her apartment.

“Hi, Mama,” Qiqi greets quietly as she gently pulls her hand from their neighbor’s, stepping forward to instead get picked up by Zhongli.

“Hello, darling.” As soon as Qiqi is settled on her hip, Zhongli lifts a hand to brush some of Qiqi’s hair out of her face, speaking once more. “Are you alright?” A nod. Zhongli turns her attention to their neighbor from there. “What happened?” The smile the young man gives her is a bit on the guilty side, like he had personal responsibility for a child that isn’t even his. “She tried to pick one of my roses with her bare hands, ma’am,” he answers, voice boyish and, frankly, lovely. “I was just coming outside as she tried--I didn’t react in time. But, uh,” he pauses, one of his hands lifting to rub the back of his neck. “I keep a first aid kit right by the door, so she didn’t suffer for long.”

“Oh,” Zhongli replies, blinking at the man. “Thank you.”

“Of course!” He says with a bit of a laugh, though Zhongli can hear the slight nerve in his voice anyway. Surely she’s not intimidating in her cooking apron of all things.

“Well,” Zhongli starts, returning her gaze to her daughter. “What do we say, Qiqi?” Qiqi squirms under the gaze of her mother, her face flushing as she tucks herself up against Zhongli, mumbling her thanks to the air behind Zhongli instead of towards their neighbor. The young man laughs good-naturedly regardless, his stiff shoulders relaxing with Qiqi’s shyness.

“You’re welcome, Qiqi. Oh!” He perks up, quickly turning towards his own apartment. “One second!” The young man half-jogs over to his patio, stepping just into the threshold of his apartment and reaching towards the same spot Zhongli sees him grab his watering can from. Instead he pulls out a pair of pruning shears and a single glove, steps back out, and beelines to one of the rose bushes. Zhongli hears the snip of the shears after a second despite the young man putting himself between her and whatever he’s cutting, and when he turns around, he’s holding a beautiful rose by its long stem, his gloved hand pulling off the leaves towards the bottom.

“If you cut about an inch off the bottom of this every time you change the water, it should last a while.” He holds the rose out to Zhongli as he steps up to them, a small smile on his face. Zhongli can admire his features more readily like this, and takes delight in noticing the stroke of freckles across his nose and cheeks.

“Thank you.” She returns his smile as she takes it, which only serves to widen his own, a set of dimples revealing themselves to her. How darling.

The young man shrugs. “Consider it a gift for being understanding. I know my mom wouldn’t have been as calm as you if one of my siblings was under the care of someone she doesn’t know, no matter how brief.”

Zhongli laughs, much to the obvious delight of their neighbor. “Why don’t you tell me your name then? So you’re no longer a stranger.”

He laughs again, then smiles at them both, though his eyes return to Zhongli barely after a second of looking at Qiqi. “Ajax, but my friends call me Childe.”

“Childe, then.” Zhongli nods, then jostles Qiqi a little on her hip, pulling a little disgruntled noise from her daughter as she’s dislodged from her hiding place. “This is Qiqi, as you heard earlier. You may call me Zhongli.”

“Zhongli,” Childe tests, his deep blue eyes wandering over her face. Zhongli feels her cheeks flush ever so slightly. She sincerely hopes Childe doesn’t notice.

To help distract, Zhongli speaks. “Well, I suppose I should put this rose in some water...”

“Oh!” Childe blinks, then laughs, light and happy. She can guess the young man is laughing at himself. “Yeah, that would be good.” He steps back from their patio with a smile, passing his pruning shears from his ungloved hand to the gloved one, then waves to both Zhongli and Qiqi, a pleasant smile on his face. “When that one dies, I don’t mind replacing it. Just let me know.”

“I will,” Zhongli nearly whispers, watching as Childe drops the leaves he plucked into the dirt his roses rest in. He pulls that single glove off as he looks over his shoulder back towards Zhongli and Qiqi once more, giving them both another smile and a wave. Zhongli lifts some of her fingers from her rose to wave in return, watching as the young man smiles just a touch more, then steps into his apartment, returning his tools to their spots.

Zhongli hums as Childe comes back out once more to collect the first aid kit still in the grass, then she finally turns away, stepping back into her own apartment. She bends over to place Qiqi down, then stands back up and turns herself to close the slider. She spots Childe standing on his patio then, eyes clearly glued to her, and she pauses, her hand resting on the handle of the door. The young man seems to snap out of whatever trance he was in around then and hurriedly stumbles inside his own apartment, his slider nearly getting slammed in his rush.

Zhongli blinks at the commotion, then shuts her own slider in a much calmer fashion. “I suppose…” she starts as she watches Childe’s silhouette disappear from the little amount of the interior of his apartment she can see, then huffs in amusement. What a peculiar young man. She closes the blinds over the door, then makes her way through the living room, gently patting her daughter’s head. “I suppose we should start on dinner, lest we risk your father’s grumpiness by waiting any longer, hm?”

“Well, now that all that’s settled, we have some time to waste until their two hours are up,” Venti says as he turns towards the Traveler and Paimon, a grin blooming across his face. “Let’s go get a drink, shall we?”

The Traveler smiles awkwardly at the bard as they begin their march from under the city’s Barbatos statue to Angel’s Share, Paimon huffing indignantly as she floats along. “You know they don’t drink, bard! You only suggested it because you don’t know how to do anything else!”

Venti laughs, jovial and completely lacking any shame, which only further riles up Paimon. “So? A good drink always tastes better in good company! You can get grape juice or something.” The bard hops down the steps, two at a time, the traveler following in suit as to not be left behind. “Besides—” Venti pauses near the bottom of the staircase, turning himself back towards his companions, gazing cheekily up at them— “what else are you going to do while we wait to check up on our students? Those commissions no one has posted since the festival began?”

Paimon’s cheeks puff, her little hands balling into fists. “You—!!”

“Ahaha, there you are! Figures I’d find you two mixed up in the sprite’s shenanigans.”

Venti’s cheekiness drops the moment he hears that laugh, a thin smile taking its place as he turns to the presence at the bottom of the staircase. The Traveler’s attention snaps to the Harbinger below just as quickly as Paimon’s, who gasps loud enough for them both. “Childe?!”

“Hey!” The Harbinger greets the three of them with a wave, his smile genuine as far as any of them can tell.

“I thought the shame of losing our little contest would have driven you back home by now!” Venti lilts, bounding down the rest of the steps to land in Childe’s space, that forced smile still plastered on his face.

“Ahh, no, see—” Childe grins at Venti, a little too toothy, this smile much more fitting with the dangerous man the Traveler and Paimon now know him as— “a loss leads to more practice, and more practice leads to more polish, and more polish always warrants another go.”

Venti levels the Snezhnayan with an unimpressed stare. “So you’re here for a rematch,” he states.

Childe laughs, pleasant and warm, the epitome of friendliness. It’s so easy to be drawn into that sound if you know little of the man.

“Not yet! Rather, I heard you’re offering the masses lessons in poetry?”

The question catches both the Traveler and Paimon off guard, and if the silence between the four of them singing louder than any cricket is capable of is anything to go by, it’s surprised Venti too.

“You actually, uh...” Paimon starts after a beat, fidgeting her hands as she speaks, “just missed—.“ 

The sudden clap of Venti’s hands coming together cuts the fairy-creature off, his tone much more amicable than it just was. “I am! And these two are my assistants!” Venti gestures over to the Traveler and Paimon, who have now finally joined the other two at the bottom of the stairs. “You did actually just miss our assignment period though,” the bard stresses, offering a pitying expression that clearly irks the Harbinger. Paimon saw his fist curl.

Childe laughs mutedly, lifting said fist to his torso, casually smoothing it out over the front of his uniform. “That’s... unfortunate.”

“But!” Venti chimes, switching his demeanor in a heartbeat, leaning forward enough to force Childe back a step. “I’d be willing to let you join late, as long as you’re willing to pay the fee!”

The laugh that falls from Childe’s mouth this time is much fuller than his previous one, amusement dancing across his face. “Sure, sure. How much is it?”

“Welllll~” Venti’s index finger comes to rest on his chin as he turns his head conspiringly towards his two assistants, the corners of his mouth curled up in such a way that it practically screams mischief. 

“Since you missed the beginning of the class,” Venti begins as he turns a more scholarly expression towards Childe, his index finger tapping against his chin, “we’ll have to catch you up one-on-one. On top of that, you’re cutting into our break time, which we were really looking forward to after all our hard work with our other students...”

Paimon suddenly seems to brighten up in her spot next to the Traveler, catching onto the scheme the bard is putting forth. The Traveler can practically see her vibrating with her habit of greed. “Seriously! Paimon had to explain the ins and outs of poetry so much, Paimon’s jaw hurts!”

Childe’s eyebrows raise as he appraises the bard and the fairy, and when he glances to the Traveler, they can tell he’s not convinced. However...

“Well, why don’t I just owe you double and we move on?” the Harbinger suggests, his attention returning to Venti.

Venti laughs, delight ringing through the air. “Sounds good to me!”

—

The trio filled Childe in on what information he missed from their earlier class within a few minutes, despite how long both Paimon and Venti alluded to it taking beforehand. Childe didn’t seem bothered over paying double for something that hardly took five minutes, but knowing his spending habits after witnessing everything in Liyue, the Traveler wasn’t surprised.

By the end of it, they assigned Childe a poem to be read and critiqued by the bard as they did the others, and soon enough, the four of them parted ways with an agreement to meet at the Goth Grand Hotel later in the day.

The trio’s idle time passed by swiftly, mostly due to the hilichurl camps nearby the city they decided to clear instead of day drinking. The walk back into town and to the Fatui delegation’s temporary place of residence ate up their remaining time, and though they were clearly invited to the building by the Harbinger earlier, the guard at the door seems unconvinced.

“‘Poetry lessons’ hardly seem in the realm of the Lord Harbinger’s interests,” the doorguard, Luke, states in response to the explanation he’s been given regarding the trio’s presence.

“Well, what else do you expect him to be doing during the Windblume Festival?” Venti asks as he tilts his head curiously, a teasing smile on his face.

Luke scoffs, haughtily turning his head to the side. “The matters of the Lord Harbinger’s love life aren’t mine to divulge. Besides—“ the Traveler raises a hand to cover their sudden smile as Luke continues on, amused over the guard’s predictability. Always a talker, this one. “—last I heard, his partner is in Liyue anyway. What use would he have for the festivities of a Mondstadt festival?”

The mention of a partner has Venti perking up like a dog offered a treat, Paimon now joining the Traveler on covering a smile of her own. “Ohhh, his lover is in Liyue, huh~?” Venti sing-songs. “He must be wanting to send them an authentic piece of his time in another country! How romantic!”

The Traveler and Paimon are both left giggling behind the bard as an embarrassed flush blooms over what’s visible of Luke’s face, the Fatui man clearly only now realizing he’s once again shared too much. “Shut it, you twerp,” Luke spits, trying to reign the conversation in his favor, “unless you want the Lord Harbinger shutting you up himself!”

“Must you threaten my guests, Luke?”

Four heads turn towards the amused voice of said Lord Harbinger, who currently has his upper body partially leaning out a window of what can only be assumed is the foyer. His head is propped up on one of his hands, leaving him looking picturesque under the warm sun and soft breeze.

Venti cackles unabashedly as Luke stammers out an apology in Childe’s direction, Childe’s amused smile pulling into a grin.

“Let them in before you spill more of my secrets,” Childe waves as he pulls himself back into the building, tone light. Luke mumbles an affirmative to the no-longer-present Harbinger and opens the doors of the hotel for the three guests, Venti happily making his way inside with the Traveler and Paimon close behind, the doors softly thudding closed once they’re through.

The foyer of the Goth Grand Hotel hosts two sets of socializing spaces to the left and right of the rug running through the room, decorated with high quality rococo couches, loveseats, and chairs. At the back of the room is the counter, most likely vacant of staff due to the occupation of only Fatui here. On either side of that, stairs leading up, the space required for that leaving the room quite open.

Childe is seated in the room alone, in a chair to the left of the entrance, watching his guests with thinly-veiled amusement. He’s perched so one elbow rests against the armrest of the chair, that hand providing support for his head. He’s leaning heavily to the right, his left leg crossed over the thigh of his right, left hand loose and casual in his lap.

“Someone looks comfortable,” Venti comments good-naturedly as he makes his way over to the couch angled perpendicular to the armchair, the Traveler and Paimon following his lead.

“I am!” Childe laughs as he lifts his head from his hand, regarding the three of them with a bright smile. “Mondstadt is just so lovely right now, what with all the vitriol your people have for us Fatui.”

Paimon huffs, crossing her own legs in the air as she mimics Childe’s positioning, only a lot more balled up. “Well, can you blame them? You guys are always up to something!”

“Ahaha, a fair assessment,” Childe muses as he unfolds himself, planting both feet on the floor as he leans towards the coffee table in front of him. There, he snatches the top paper from a stack of several and offers it in Venti’s direction. “Well, shall we? You’ve more students to see, after all.”

“That we do,” Venti hums, taking the paper from the Harbinger. He sits up properly in his seat then and turns his eyes to the paper only briefly, quickly returning them to Childe. “Would it bother you if I read this aloud?”

Childe grins and waves a hand through the air, casually dismissing the need for permission. “By all means.”

The bard smiles and nods, then once again settles his gaze to the paper, clearing his throat before beginning.

“‘Words come easy to me,’” Venti begins, voice light and pleasant. “‘Over dinner, drinks, the shore. But there are some far more challenging, said aloud than written down.’”

The room is quiet save for Venti’s soft countenance. Childe’s gaze has drifted down to the rest of the pages on the table, where the Traveler can clearly see scribbles and scratches of other versions of the poem Venti’s currently reading.

“‘Surely you know by now, how irreplaceable your presence is, to a man so solitary.’”

Paimon looks to the Traveler then, head tilted in a silent question of who the Harbinger could possibly be talking about—at least until—.

“‘How every word that falls, from your lips and graces my ears, is a sweet treasure, more decadent, than any wine or dessert.’”

Paimon’s eyes widen, and she starts rapidly smacking her hand against the Traveler’s shoulder, pieces being put together. She’s excited, despite how hostile she may or may not be towards the Harbinger. The Traveler can’t help but laugh silently at her antics.

“‘Mondstadt prides itself on freedom, but the freedom you’ve given me, will forever be the envy, of the City of Wind.’”

Venti pauses here, though with a brief glance, the Traveler can see another verse written, just two lines. The script is just messy enough to keep them from making out the words before Venti’s laughing stiltedly, catching the attention of all those in the room. Childe’s eyebrows raise in a silent question, and after a beat passes without an answer, he lifts his upper body to sit up straight.

“What?” Childe laughs, the lightest dusting of color painting his cheeks as he leans back into the chair, the iron grip he’s taken up on the armrest betraying his calm. “Don’t want to finish it, little sprite?”

Venti huffs out a laugh of his own and tosses the paper back in Childe’s direction, who catches it out of the air like it’s a precious thing. Which, honestly...

“To be honest, I was expecting the same sort of mess as your form with a bow, but that was actually well done!”

Childe’s smile turns tight, mirrored perfectly back at him by Venti. The tension is palpable. Concerned, the Traveler turns their attention to Paimon, who meets their gaze with a mildly alarmed look of confusion.

The moment passes as Childe breaks eye contact with the bard, folding the paper in his hands. “Well, as unhelpful as you were, I do owe you,” Childe says as he places the piece of paper on the coffee table. He reaches under the jacket of his uniform after, pulling out a hefty pouch of mora and tossing it carelessly into Venti’s lap. It doesn’t take much thought to how much is in there when the Traveler can practically see Venti’s eyes sparkling—most likely, it’s much more than their efforts today are worth.

“Now,” Childe hums, regarding the three of them with a pleasant smile, “get out.”

—

Luke was more than happy to doubly unwelcome them as the trio stepped out from the hotel with a shout of scram! for good measure, since he apparently decided his Lord Harbinger’s icy dismissal wasn’t enough.

Venti pockets the pouch of mora with a guilt-free grin despite their initial critiquing session lasting a grand total of five minutes max, turning his attention to the Traveler and Paimon.

“Well! Next stop is the Knights of Favonius’s headquarters!” Venti announces with a clap of his hands.

—

The nighttime scene during the Windblume Festival mostly seems to consist of lovers holding hands, playing music, feeding one another food, or in that unlucky instance where the Traveler picked the wrong side path, being tangled together.

The PDA is near unbearable, but Paimon’s never ending hunger has driven them out in search of festival food. Admittedly, everything they’ve tried so far has been mouthwatering, and almost makes up for the trauma both the Traveler and Paimon now have with that one path. Luckily, they’ve wandered into a quieter section of the city, most of the festivities contained to the main street and surrounding areas.

“‘...is a sweet treasure, more decadent, than any wine or dessert.’”

The words coming from somewhere above the duo are immediately recognizable as the work of one Eleventh Harbinger they had already heard earlier in the day. The Traveler and Paimon share a startled look as the voice continues—one they just as easily recognize as Childe himself.

“‘Mondstadt prides itself on freedom, but the freedom you’ve given me, will forever be the envy, of the City of Wind,’” Childe recites, to the sky or to another, they can’t tell. Then...

“‘I love you, dear consultant.’”

A low, rumbling laugh floats down upon the duo then, and the Traveler and Paimon both freeze up.

“I never quite took you as the ‘waxing poetic’ type, Ajax,” Zhongli comments, voice something too tender for these two intruders to be hearing.

“When in Mondstadt,” ‘Ajax’ replies, his tone fond.

“Indeed.”

There’s a quiet moment that neither the Traveler or Paimon are quite sure what to do in, until they hear a deep purr of Childe’s given name. That scares them away immediately, the sound of the Traveler’s footsteps rushing back down towards the main street. 

His classroom wasn’t his typical hangout spot for lunch. Usually, he sat outside with the rest of the team, barking laughter and friendly shoves all around. Today though, the rain beats against the roof of the school with reckless abandon, threatening to take away the ceiling just as it took away the sun. There is nowhere comfortable for their team inside— they’re too loud, too rambunctious, so staying separated when they were confined like this was the most merciful act they could have on the school.

It’s not like Ryuji didn’t have other people to sit with. Honestly, some of the guys on the team were definitely cool enough for him to hang around with solo, and Mishima had always offered a hand to him on the days he wasn’t feeling too hot. Sometimes he was content to just be by himself even, but the rain put a damper on his mood like no other. It’s easy to read on him: he stays firmly planted at his desk with his feet up on the empty chair across the aisle, bento in his lap and a scowl on his face. He’s unapproachable at best and an earful of biting remarks at worst, so maybe that’s why the smile from the transfer student sitting with Suzui a few aisles over and several desks forward throws him off so bad.

Suzui’s clearly explaining… Ryuji, probably, to the guy, who seems unbothered by the eye contact they’ve suddenly made, even with Ryuji’s intense don’t-even-look-my-way aura. It’s somewhere between off-putting and intriguing, the way the transfer student refuses to lose their staring contest. Suzui seems to notice what’s happening between them, if her coy smile is any indicator. Not that Ryuji can notice when his eyes are glued to the stormy grey of the transfer student— Kuroro? Kusuri? He’s not seen a color so intense before, hadn’t even known eyes could be that color. Their contest gets broken by one of the classroom doors opening, Ku-whatever looking away first. Gotcha, Ryuji grins as a newly crowned staring contest champ, before a familiar hand is suddenly snaking its way into his lap to snag one of his pieces of melon.

“Get your own, Takamaki,” Ryuji barks, smacking Takamaki’s hand away roughly enough for her to recoil, but gently enough for her to keep her hold on the piece.

“C’mon, we can share! Sakamaki lunches were always the best.” He can’t help the smile that flashes across his face at her teasing. Middle school was just the two of them sharing their hauls at lunch until Suzui came along and made it three. It fell back to two again when Ryuji left them for lunch with his team instead, and had stayed like that until this new guy, apparently. The idea of being replaced briefly bounces around in his head, even if he hadn’t touched that open spot in their group nearing on two years.

“You only like me for my melons.” 

Takamaki laughs, though it doesn’t nearly sound as bubbly as it used to. “What can I say? Your mom did good.”

Ryuji laughs at that, mood shifting for the better. Takamaki could always manage that regardless of how badly Ryuji wanted to sulk. Maybe he shoulda taken that open slot back before it was too late.

“Come sit with us,” Takamaki offers, snagging one more piece before half turning away from him, offering him the view of the transfer student and Suzui again.

“So you can eat the rest of my food in the comfort of Suzui’s lap? No thanks.” Takamaki laughs again, this one definitely lighter, like he struck something he wasn’t really aware he was digging for. Huh.

“Fine, keep brooding over here. I bet Kurusu has something better than you anyway.” She walks off with that, practically jumping the other two for whatever food they have as soon as she’s in range.

Kurusu, he notes absently as he watches the transfer student’s glasses lift up his face with the rise of his cheeks, that smile from earlier returning as Takamaki fights Suzui for one of her jelly cups.

“Grape’s my favorite, hands off!” he hears Suzui shout as she battles Takamaki for the little thing of plastic, too absorbed in the way Kurusu’s hair frames his face as he once again turns his head towards Ryuji, smile friendly and inviting.

Maybe his spot is still there, even if it’s been collecting dust all this time. Kurusu doesn’t seem like the type to steal anyway, even if his hands have been flipping his pen around the whole class with the proficiency of someone who definitely knows how to pick a lock.

Maybe he can pick the one keeping Ryuji in place over here, despite the stormy eyes practically asking for his company.

Stormy eyes that match the sky behind him, actually.

Rhydon falls, and despite how perfect every inch of his team is, Green can’t find it in himself to be surprised.

He knew he was going to lose the moment Red pushed open those doors. The expression on his face, the determined scowl Green’s seen every time they’ve battled since their first in Gramps’s lab, told Green his time as Champion was up.

It was never really his to begin with, they both knew. Green hadn’t ever beaten Red, and honestly, he couldn’t even picture what that would be like. Would he actually feel satisfaction in seeing Red’s final pokemon fall? Red has never looked pleased about it. Why would Green? Especially now— now that Green’s lost their final rematch, now that Gramps has finally arrived even though Green let him know two full hours ago he’d won, taken the throne, now that he’s stripped of his title and all his hard work and everything he’s ever dreamed of—.

He seethes. It’s a white hot disappointment eating at him from his very core, digging roots and sprouting vines, chomping and chomping at him until he’s in front of the League building, tears burning his cheeks and blurring his vision.

Red followed, apparently, or else it wouldn’t make sense why Kanto’s newest Champion was sprawled on the stone beneath him, shielding his nose from Green’s view. Green draws his fist back like it’s a foreign object. He hadn’t thought a moment like that would have been a blink-and-ya-miss-it deal, and yet. His eyes slide from his hand and meet Red’s dazed form, shock turning into that same white hot burn from before, and he’s on fire, ready to consume Red in his flames.

“Why couldn’t you just let me have this one thing?”

He hadn’t intended for those to be the words he left Red with, but they were. A little slice into his interior, showing the rotting, unwanted, festering guts to the boy that obviously doesn’t care.

“You really need to speak up about this, Ryuji.”

Ryuji sighs, letting his head smack against the top of Akira’s couch, eyes closing. “I know,” he starts, face twisting up as Akira presses his fingertips into the meat of his thigh through his pants, massaging. “S’just…” His head rolls, eyes opening back up to look down at his friend, who’s knelt on the attic’s floor before him. “It’s a normal thing, yaknow? Hate botherin’ others with it.”

Akira lifts his eyes from where his gaze has been boring into Ryuji’s leg, eyebrows drawn down, set in his patent scolding position Ryuji knows all too well. “Well, bother me. You know I’ll let you sit out once I know.”

The scowl that comes onto Ryuji’s face is automatic at the phrase, hackles rising. “I don’t wanna sit out. Nothing’s worse than sittin’ out.”

“Ryuji.” Leader voice, ouch. “I just meant you need to rest,” Akira stresses, staring Ryuji down for a beat before returning his attention to Ryuji’s thigh. “You push yourself too hard. I appreciate your strength; we all do—” Ryuji scoffs, which immediately earns him another scolding glare, which jeez, okay— “but you never let yourself breathe. I’m afraid something’s going to go wrong one day because you’ve pushed too far, and I can barely stomach the thought of that, let alone it actually happening.”

Ryuji bites his lip, gaze falling to his lap, where it wanders to Akira’s hands, fingers still methodically pressing into the fabric. Ryuji’s had the same thoughts before, but about their leader. There’s no telling how exhausting having all those personas in his head must be, and the fact that the team would be practically useless without Akira scares him. Sure, Ryuji’s assets can be covered by their leader if he’s not on the front line, but that means Akira’s taking the exhaustion Ryuji could be handling instead, and that’s not anything Ryuji feels great about. He can shoulder all that, there’s no need for Akira to do it instead.

He lifts his eyes back to Akira’s face, mouth opening to start explaining why he can’t take a breather, when the expression he sees stops him. Akira’s stare has always been intense, but coupled with the knitted eyebrows, the soft frown on his face… Ryuji can’t bring himself to continue this.

“Okay.” Ryuji pulls his hands from their places on the armrest and couch cushion, scooping up Akira’s from his lap. His fingers curl around Akira’s palms, grip firm. He squeezes as he returns his eyes to Akira’s. “I’ll— I can do that.” Nerves spike under the stormy grey gaze of his leader, so Ryuji’s eyes dart to the side as his cheeks begin to color. “Bother you, or whatever.”

Akira smiles, then twists his hands to hold Ryuji’s properly, fingers lacing. Ryuji looks back towards him as Akira squeezes their palms together, the flush of his cheeks deepening as Akira speaks. “Thank you.” 

Ryuji flounders for a response, his mouth opening and closing several times over as Akira keeps their gazes locked. It’s disarming as hell, and there’s nothing coming to Ryuji’s rescue. Is it hotter up here suddenly? He thought it was raining— it definitely was when they got here.

Another beat, and Akira lets go, dropping his own gaze back to Ryuji’s lap— no, his thigh. “Anyway,” Akira begins as his hands return to the fabric of Ryuji’s pants. “Call your mom. I don’t want you walking any more today.”

Ryuji blinks, then huffs out a laugh, moving to pull his phone from his jacket’s pocket. “Oooh, you gonna wait on me tonight?”

“Yeah,” Akira answers, throwing Ryuji one of his other patent expressions: the Joker Smirk. “Curry sound good?”