Chapter Text
For the first time in a very, very long while, the Phantom Thieves had a moment to breathe. No new palaces had popped up, and there was really no need to go into mementos, so Ryuji found himself with an abundance of free time. Of course, he made the conscious decision not to spend it catching up on schoolwork. How could he? When running had been taken away from him the year prior, his muscles began to ache and yearn for something to keep them occupied. After running for so long, catching his breath took far more effort.
So Ryuji had taken to biking. It worked the same muscles as running, but he found that he could do it for longer, and as a bonus, was cheaper than the subway. Nothing could give him the same high as running, but biking around the city was far better than sitting on his bedroom floor playing video games all week, especially for his physique.
Late one night, Ryuji found himself routinely biking along the side of the road, when his cellphone started ringing in his backpack. He usually kept it there so it wouldn’t fall out of his pockets while he was biking, and figuring it was just one of his friends wanting to hang out, he let it go to voicemail. It was getting late, anyway, and Ryuji didn’t want to strand his mother during dinner. But mere moments after it fell silent, it began to ring again. So, attention sufficiently stolen, the bleach-blonde pulled over and stopped in an alleyway to dig out his phone, only to find that it was none other than the leader of the Phantom Thieves calling. He slid his thumb across the screen to answer the call.
“Man, I gotta get home, it’s—”
“SKULL!”
Shocked, Ryuji nearly dropped his phone onto the uneven pavement below, scrambling to get a better grip on the device as he wracked his brain for reasons Akira would be calling him Skull over the phone. “J-Joker?”
“HELP!”
There was a loud booming noise on the other end before the call cut out, leaving Ryuji standing alone in the middle of the alley, trying to process what he’d heard. “Joker? Joker!” He immediately tried calling his friend back, but nobody answered. So, he panicked—there was no way for him to know where Akira was. What happened? Was he…
No. ‘Think, Ryuji…’ Akira had called him Skull. He must’ve been in the Metaverse, but their phones didn’t work the same there… so that only left one option.
Ryuji tossed his phone back into his bag and high-tailed it to the nearest train station, pedaling as fast as his dingy bike could carry him without breaking down. Akira could only be in mementos. If he wasn’t, then Ryuji was out of ideas, and that scared him more than anything. Not caring for trivial things like the law, the boy flew down the staircase leading into the underground train station still on his bike, swerving madly to avoid people who’d stopped walking to gawk at him. He eventually skidded to a stop and hopped off, running into the bathroom to dip into the Metaverse where nobody could see.
“JOKER!” Skull shouted, faced suddenly with the entrance to mementos. “I’M HERE!”
It was beginning to strike Ryuji that he should’ve called in backup, but it was too late for that. He needed to find their leader before law enforcement in the real world showed up to arrest him for being a public disturbance. Or… before Akira… The thief started to sprint, and was struck with a sharp pain in his side, winding him for a moment. He’d been out riding his bike all day, and exercise did not come as easily as it used to. “JOKER?!”
Yelling was going to draw unwanted attention from shadows, but without a response, it might’ve been impossible for Ryuji to find Akira. Mementos was huge, representing the pent up disdain of everyone in Tokyo. There was no way he had time to search through all of it alone, especially if his friend was in serious danger. Even after minutes of this, his desperate screams were met not with Akira’s voice, but the cackling of a strong shadow from deep within. It seemed to be calling out for Ryuji, beckoning him to come running to his friend’s rescue. With no other options and no time to plan, he did. Ryuji followed the haunting laughter to what would surely be his doom.
It had to be a trap. Every instinct in his body warned Ryuji to turn around, but he couldn’t risk leaving Akira at the mercy of whatever was down there.
Ryuji charged in, cursing his leader for going in alone. The Phantom Thieves were always much stronger as a team, and although Joker himself was easily a powerhouse, they all knew that entering the metaverse by yourself was stupid. He managed to follow the shadow’s echoing taunts to a small area deep in mementos, occupied only by two figures; an enormous shadow, and Akira, passed out on the ground in his Shujin uniform.
That meant a lot of things, none of them good. Joker hadn’t ended a battle without his mask since before the thieves defeated Kamoshida. Skull assessed the shadow, burdened with a sudden panic. This was a powerful enemy, and not only was he fighting it alone, but he was fighting it without Joker. Ever since they’d first met, Ryuji hadn’t fought once without their leader at his side. And he thought Akira hadn’t fought without him, either, but…
Ryuji didn’t have time to think about that; he needed to kill this shadow. It appeared to have been readying an attack, confirming Ryuji’s gut feeling that there was a trap. A wall of fire shot forward, which the delinquent barely stumbled out of the way of. The pain in his side and up his leg became blinding. “Hey! That’s fightin’ dirty!” Ryuji gasped, trying harder to ignore it. “Captain Kidd, let’s end this!” He informed his persona to attack, every bolt of lightning draining more energy from Ryuji’s body—more energy than he had to give. The shadow had already been considerably weakened by fighting Akira, but that didn’t appear to be giving the conscious thief any sort of a leg up. He gritted his teeth in frustration, pulling something from his bag in a last-ditch effort. Akira had given all of the Phantom Thieves special items to be used only in emergencies; Ryuji’s was some sort of doll that had a low chance of killing an enemy instantly.
Ryuji didn’t know how the doll worked, but he crossed his fingers and tossed it at the shadow, knowing that if it failed, and he had no energy left to fight—he and Akira would die in mementos. The doll smacked into the shadow and began radiating some kind of dark energy, which the shadow noticed, frozen in place. The Chariot and his persona watched with bated breath as the shadow swatted at the doll, attempting to destroy it. As soon as the object and the monster made contact, an explosion boomed in the center of the battlefield, and Ryuji hurriedly shielded his eyes, collapsing to the ground in a combination of shock and exhaustion. He was dead. Surely it hadn’t worked, and the shadow launched an attack his way to end it all.
After a few moments, though, he remembered the pain in his side. He was disabled for life—that pain was the reason he could no longer run. A burden that could only be lifted by death, all because of one man. If it still lingered… he couldn’t be dead yet. Ryuji slowly opened his eyes, only to see that both the shadow and the doll had disappeared, leaving nothing but Akira’s limp body and a pile of loot on the battlefield.
Although he wanted to collapse, cry, laugh, or all at once, Ryuji needed to get Akira out of there. With help from Captain Kidd and the last of his own strength, he hauled his leader out of the tunnels, collapsing against the bathroom wall of the train station as they were transported back into the real world. Ryuji groaned, feeling himself grow even weaker once Captain Kidd parted, remaining in the Metaverse. “Akira… Kira, wake up. C’mon.” The boy at his side groaned, filling him with relief. “Oh, you’re okay… thank god.”
“…” Akira said nothing, slowly but surely waking, and Ryuji grabbed two water bottles from his bag, offering one to his leader.
“You’re lucky, you know. I almost didn’t pick up the phone.”
The boy, rubbing his eyes open, looked at the water bottle and frowned. “Que?”
Ryuji blinked in surprise. “Uh… what?”
Akira frowned. “Qui es-tu?”
That was definitely French—with a Japanese accent, but even so—an unmistakable language. The only problem is, as far as Ryuji knew, Akira did not speak French. “Um, dude, I have no idea what you’re saying,” he admitted. “Can you speak Japanese?”
“…Je ne parle pas japonais.” He stated matter-of-factly, confusing his friend further. But… there was a glint of recognition in Akira’s eyes when he finished whatever he was saying, getting a proper look at Ryuji despite all the confusion. “Mon char?”
Frustrated that he couldn’t understand, Ryuji grabbed Akira by the shoulders and shook him. “Did you hit your head?! Snap out of it, I can’t understand this French crap!”
For some reason, being shaken seemed to do the trick. The leader swatted at Ryuji’s hands, groaning. “Wh—? Hey, cut it out! What’s going on?!”
Ryuji glared at him. “Oh, don’t you dare! I hauled ass over here to save you from getting murdered, and you repay me by pretending to be French?! I’m supposed to be at home eating dinner with my ma! She’s probably worried sick! What the hell is wrong with you?!”
Akira acted genuinely lost, looking between his own hands and Ryuji’s wild eyes boring into his soul. “I’m… I’m sorry? I don’t know where I am, I-I don’t speak French…” The boy mumbled, attempting to rub his face, seeming shocked by the presence of glasses. “Wh…where are we?”
“The train station bathroom,” Ryuji rolled his eyes, trying to stand up, only to get winded and slide back onto the tile. He must have pulled a muscle… considering the nerve damage he already had, that was not good. “You almost died, you know that? Dammit, Akira… we both did.”
The other boy sat silently with his hands in his lap for almost a minute before responding, seeming to register the weight of the situation. He glanced up, not staring at Ryuji, but the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. They both looked disgusting. They stared at their own reflections before Akira spoke up. “I’m sorry, but… who are you?”
Ryuji did not have the energy to entertain this. “Seriously, now is not the time for games,” he growled. “I’m pissed off, don’t you get that?!”
“I do! I do, I’m sorry.” Ryuji whipped his head towards Akira in surprise. His friend seemed to cower when he raised his voice, eyes wide as saucers behind those thick glasses. “I know something bad must’ve happened! But I swear, I-I don’t remember anything! My name is Akira, and… and that’s it!”
Ryuji didn’t want to believe him. He was mad, and tired, and beaten to hell… but what reason did Akira have to lie? When had the leader of the Phantom Thieves ever done something like this? Sure, they’d tease each other, but never like this. Never. Not since… “So, you only remember your name? How does that make any sense?”
The raven-haired boy sighed in relief. “You do believe me, after all… I didn’t remember my name either until you called me Akira just a moment ago, actually. Before you shook me awake, my mind is all fuzzy.”
“No,” Ryuji was so tired. But hearing that story… It reminded him of Morgana. Morgana who finally came to terms that he was never going to remember who he used to be… who would never be human again. “No, Kira, that’s not possible. Please be kidding.”
Akira said nothing.
“Shut up!” Ryuji shouted. “You’re lying! You have to be!”
The black-haired boy flinched again when Ryuji raised his voice, scooting away from him slightly. He winced, obviously still sore from getting beat up. “Please, I’m not! I’m not lying! I don’t know what’s happening!”
The tension was pierced by a loud ringtone, causing both the boys to yelp in shock. It wasn’t coming from his own backpack, so… Ryuji watched as Akira fumbled through his uniform pockets, eventually pulling out his phone, squinting at the screen in confusion. “Who is… Futaba?”
Ryuji held his hand out, practically begging for Akira to hand it to him. Thankfully, he did. Futaba was crying when he answered the phone, and she sucked in a gasp. “Akira!”
“…Futaba.”
“Ryuji?! Oh, thank god you’re together! Where is he?”
Ryuji sighed. “Kira’s with me. But listen… I…” he trailed off, and suddenly heard Futaba slam her desk with her fist, sending some figures and keys flying for sure.
“Where the fuck is he? Do you know how long we’ve been looking for you two?! What happened, Ryuji?”
He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him, panic clouding his judgement. Time being different in the Metaverse, they must’ve both been gone for a long time... oh god. Was his mom okay? Ryuji felt sick. “I really don’t know! I found him in mementos, and… d-does Akira speak French?”
Futaba was briefly silent, and for a moment, only her keyboard clacking could be heard. “…What? Why does that matter? And why are you two in a train station bathroom an hour from here?” She demanded, voice still laced with venom.
He really didn’t remember. Or care. “Does he or not?”
“No! Blondie, you have two seconds to tell me what’s happening before I remotely detonate your cellphone!” She hissed, an obviously hollow threat slung through the phone out of frustration. Ryuji knew how she felt. Without much of a choice, he explained what he could to Futaba. And, understandably, she thought he was pulling the world’s worst prank on her. She wanted to speak with Akira herself to confirm things, and so Ryuji passed the phone over, trying his damndest to listen in before Akira was suddenly handing it back to him.
“Holy shit,” She choked from the other end of the line. There was a sincerity to her raw emotion that made Ryuji’s heart clench.
“…What?”
“He actually lost his memory?!”
Apparently, Futaba’s short interaction with Akira had fully convinced the girl, even when Ryuji still wasn’t sold. “How’d you know?”
“It’s Sakura intuition!” She snapped. “Just believe him already! Now… what exactly did he say in French?”
Ryuji tried hard to remember. “Um… well, a lot, actually, and it sounded like he knew what he was saying. But all I remember is… he called me ‘mon Char.’ But, like, it was different from how you say other words. I knew he was calling me that, like he thought it was my name.” When he finished speaking, Futaba mumbled something, and Ryuji sighed. “Louder, please.”
“Shut up. Why would he call you his chariot? Is that some creepy bdsm joke?”
Ryuji rolled his eyes. “No, that’s sick! He’s never called me that before! Chariot is what Morgana calls Captain Kidd.”
She barely acknowledged his words, easily picking the important information out of the banter. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. “You’re sure he said mon? Hah, that’s… uh oh.”
The blonde sat up suddenly, not minding the effort it took as much when his physical pain took the back seat to his worry. “Uh oh? What’s uh oh?” This also seemed to startle Akira, who stopped picking at his perfect cuticles to stare at Ryuji like a deer in headlights.
“Our personas are arcane, Ryuji,” Futaba groaned. “They each have true names based on the Arcana! Arsene is the Fool, Carmen is the Lover, and Captain Kidd is the Chariot, or le Char. So if whoever spoke to you knows French and identified you as the Chariot persona, you must have been talking to Arsene!”
A loud bang on the bathroom door startled both Ryuji and Akira, the former of whom dropped the latter’s cellphone, and shouted “Uh, occupied?!”
“It’s Yusuke!”
Ryuji sighed in relief, but Akira seemed to still be confused. “Futaba must’ve told him where we are,” he explained to the poor boy before shouting “come in, ‘s not locked!”
The blue-haired Phantom Thief opened the bathroom door nervously, looking between the two of them, and broke into an obnoxiously large smile. “Oh, thank god! You’re both alright!”
When he looked back down at the phone, Futaba seemed to have hung up, so Ryuji focused his attention fully on Yusuke. “Yeah, well, not really. Akira doesn’t remember anything.”
Yusuke shot him an odd look. “Like, he doesn’t remember what happened, you mean?”
“No,” Akira interrupted, seeming annoyed. “I don’t remember anything at all! Why does nobody believe me, am I really that much of a liar?”
The artist blinked in shock. “What? Oh good lord, no! You would never! We’re just… I just don’t know how this could happen!”
“Yeah, well, neither do I.”
Akira’s sentence ended with an awkward pause, broken immediately by a massive yawn. It was only then that Ryuji remembered how tired he was. Not only had the boy biked for nearly four hours, but he also fought a shadow by himself and carried Akira out of mementos, all with a side stitch. He could’ve passed out then and there, with how the exhaustion hit him like a wave, had Yusuke not intervened. “Ryuji! Stand up! Neither of you are going to sleep yet, especially not here! You’re both going home, and you’re going on concussion watch immediately! Do you understand?”
When his friend’s harsh words snapped into him, Ryuji could barely manage to mumble a response. Yusuke sighed, picking him up with a considerable amount of effort. Ryuji would’ve found it hilarious under almost any other circumstances. “Akira, his bag, if you would. I have a taxi waiting for us on the street.”
***
Ryuji couldn’t recall anything that happened after that, his mind clouded with fatigue. He woke up the next morning with a start, however, whipping his head around to take in his surroundings, and letting out a strangled yell for—“Akira?!”
The door to the room creaked open, and only when he saw his mother, standing there wide-eyed, did Ryuji realize that he was in his own bedroom. She rushed to his side, letting out a deep sigh in relief as she threw her arms over his body. In that moment, Ryuji felt kinda dumb for calling out to Akira instead of her. “Hey… you’re awake!”
The boy groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Wh…what happened? Where is he..?”
The woman sat up, sniffling, and her bloodshot eyes sent a pang to Ryuji’s heart. “Kurusu’s sister is watching him, and his doctor friend said he’s fine. That Yusuke boy said you guys got into a street fight, and Kurusu has a concussion... she also said that both of you will be fine.” Ryuji relaxed, knowing that by his sister, she meant Futaba. If Futaba thought Akira was fine, he was fine. “Do you need anything, kid? Breakfast, water?”
“I gotta see Akira.”
His mom sighed. “I know, baby. But he’s resting, and so are you, alright? You can see him tomorrow. Please… don’t strain yourself. It will only keep you bedridden longer. Just let me help you today.” She brushed his matted hair away from his forehead, rubbing circles there with her thumb in a way that made the boy wish they could just stay there forever. The others could tease him all they wanted, but he really was a mama’s boy. Without her, he’d… probably still be suffering at Kamoshida’s hands. Nobody else gives him the will to fight like she does.
Ryuji nodded hesitantly. “You’re right… sorry, ma. Can I have pancakes?”
She beamed, satisfied that he’d given in so easily. “Sure! I’ll go to the grocery store, alright?”
His mother kissed him on the forehead and left his room after some time, walking lightly on her toes and gently closing the door behind her so as not to disturb him. Ryuji laid there and listened, hearing her footsteps disappear for a moment, before eventually the sound of the keys in their key dish rustling accompanied by the apartment door closing alerted Ryuji that he was alone. The boy threw off his covers and wasted no time with clothing, wrestling on his chucks and a worn out hoodie before shoving himself through his bedroom window and climbing down the fire escape.
As long as she didn’t open his door (which she usually didn’t without permission), his mom would assume Ryuji was asleep. It didn’t feel good to lie to her, but he knew his leg injury couldn’t get much worse, so it may as well not hinder him. He had a few hours to see Akira if he was careful. Without his bike it took a bit longer than usual, especially since Ryuji was still sore from the day prior, but when he arrived at Leblanc to find Futaba already waiting, he perked up. “Hey! Is—”
“Go rest, Ryuji,” Futaba pushed her glasses up on her face. Before she could even complete the action, her friend noticed how tired her eyes looked—how it was worse than usual, like his moms had been. “According to your phone's satellite location, it took you approximately thirteen minutes to make a five minute walk. You need to heal, or you could seriously destroy your leg.”
The blonde sighed. “Seriously, do you track me all the time? I’m not going back, Futaba, so you may as well let me in.” He took a step towards the door, and she maneuvered her body back in front of him. “Move.”
“No! Listen, he’s… he really doesn’t remember anything. You’re not going to get much out of him,” she admitted frantically. “We have to think of every possibility before confronting him, or searching for a solution!” Ryuji had stopped listening to her, picking up the skinny girl, to which she let out a surprised cry. “Hey! Put me down!” He did, to his credit, but on the opposite side of his own body, giving himself ample room to swing open the front door of Leblanc and step inside. Futaba followed Ryuji into the empty cafe, a string of curses flowing from her mouth.
“Morning,” Sakura mumbled as the teens stormed past him towards the stairs. “Keep it down, Futaba, you’ll scare away the customers.”
“Oh, can it!”
By the time the two made it into the attic, practically wrestling each other the entire way, Akira was wide awake and squinting to stare at them, his huge frames nowhere to be seen. “Futaba? Who’s that?”
“It’s me!” Ryuji exclaimed before she could say anything, breaking out of her choke hold and making a beeline for Akira’s cot. “It’s Ryuji!”
“The blonde boy from last night,” he nodded, causing Ryuji’s heart to sink in his chest a bit. “Sorry, you never introduced yourself… um, it’s nice to see that you’re up and moving, though.”
As an athlete, Ryuji had seen concussions before. Akira was not concussed. The boy was speaking normally, moving with ease, and seemed to be absorbing information generally easily; just plagued with the usual sleep deprivation that hung around Akira regularly. The memory loss had to be something more, and Ryuji had no idea what to do about it. “Yeah, it’s, uh… I’m glad you’re okay, too. You really looked beat up.”
“Ah… about that. What happened exactly?”
Oh. Oh. That was why Futaba didn’t want him to see Akira. Ryuji had managed to put together some important pieces from the night prior thanks to his call with her, and just never had any time to acknowledge them. Not only had Arsene supposedly appeared in the real world—in Akira’s body, no less—but Akira had been in his school clothes when Ryuji found him. If Akira was no longer Joker, and Arsene wasn’t in the Metaverse anymore…
Akira was susceptible to having a palace.
The thought of it alone made Ryuji’s skin crawl, and his words stuck in his throat as he tried to dance around talking about how he actually found his friend, passed out and maskless in mementos, or as any normal person would see it, the depths of Tokyo’s train system. Thankfully, Futaba stepped in.
“You guys got into a pretty bad fight. Ryuji found you unconscious,” she informed him, seeming to have already come to the same conclusion as Ryuji; Akira was a different person all of a sudden. Informing him that he was involved with the Phantom Thieves, no less acting as their leader, would be a huge stressor. They didn’t need that at the moment. “We’re not really sure what they did before that, though, especially since you’re not really bruised and nothing’s broken. I guess we’re just lucky that your knight in shining armor showed!” She elbowed Ryuji playfully, which did not make him feel any less like he wanted to throw up.
“Oh… I see. That is weird,” he mused. “Thank you. Uh, so, what’s with my memory?” And there was the question of the day. Which, unfortunately for Akira, nobody had an answer to yet. He seemed to realize this, though, and nodded. “You don’t know… That’s fine.” It was evidently not fine, but there wasn’t really much anyone could do about that. “Just don’t worry about me, okay? I don’t want to interrupt your lives.”
Futaba groaned. “Ugh, even without your memory, you are annoyingly selfless. Why are you like this, Akira?”
He did not seem to have an answer to that, so Ryuji interjected. “Futaba… can I have a second with him?” She glanced up at the delinquent, clearly confused, but conceded when she saw his expression. He was begging her. He needed this.
“Fine! Dr. Sakamoto knows best…” She sighed, waving goodbye before storming back downstairs, only to earn a brief scolding from Sakura. Ryuji watched the stairs for a moment, absently eavesdropping on the familial spat, before Akira cleared his throat and reminded Ryuji where he was. The boy spun around to meet his friend’s eyes, grinning apologetically.
“You wanted to talk to me?”
The blonde stared blankly, and after a few moments, he sighed and sat gingerly on the edge of Akira’s bed. “Yeah… it’s kind of dumb though. And not really… your fault…” He clenched his fist. “I’m sorry. If this stresses you out, you can say no. It’s just that, when bad things like this happen, you’re always the person I come to. And same with you. That’s how I found you last night, you… you called me.” Akira nodded, staying silent so Ryuji could continue. “And I don’t say this a lot, but I’m scared. I need someone to rely on like that. I know this might be weird, but—but—” He paused, looking away. “—can I still come to you like that? Even now? I’m not someone you know. And i-it feels like Akira is gone, even though you’re right next to me.”
Akira didn’t say anything, allowing Ryuji time to relax. They both knew that if they kept up the pace of their conversation, Ryuji was going to cry, and Akira seemed to somehow know that Ryuji really didn’t want to cry. After a few minutes, when his breathing had slowed, the dark-haired boy spoke. “Ryuji, how long has Akira known you?”
It was odd to hear those words coming from Akira, but Ryuji ignored it. “Um… a few months,” he admitted, embarrassed. “But we’ve gone through a lot together. I swear it’s like I’ve known him my whole life.”
Akira nodded. “…Well, my memory only extends the past twelve hours. And from the moment I woke up, do you know whose face I saw?”
“…Mine.”
“Yep,” he nodded. “Shaking the life out of me. And from my perspective, I’ve known you my whole life, Ryuji. So, you can come to me whenever you want, and I will go to you if I need help. Because you know me better than anyone in the world.” He spoke with his whole heart, and Ryuji felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Not only because he had another back to lean on, but because for the first time since that stupid phone call ended, Ryuji could feel the presence of his best friend.
A few months ago, Akira would never have said something so sincere like that to someone he’d just met. Hell—they’re talking about the guy who wanted to leave Morgana in Kamoshida’s palace to die. So Ryuji turned around and wrapped his arms around Akira, despite the soreness in both of their bodies, and squeezed him tight, much to the other’s surprise.
His Akira was still in there. Ryuji just needed to find him.
Eventually, Ryuji knew he had to leave and head back before his poor mother knew what was happening. The boy sighed and made to leave, only for Akira to stop him at the top of the stairs. “Hey, Ryuji?”
The blonde looked over. “Kira?”
“…Are we, um… are we closer than the others?”
Stricken by the odd thought, Ryuji let out a brief laugh. What kind of question was that? “Duh. Why’re you askin’?” Had he come on too strong? Did this blank Akira not want him to be so… touchy? Maybe Ryuji had been too eager to ask such bold questions the day after Akira woke up with no memory. A thousand doubts ran through his mind before his friend could even explain the intent of the question.
Akira frowned, rubbing his face with one hand. It was turned away slightly, so Ryuji couldn’t see him properly from across the room. “Uh, just… a gut feeling. That’s all.”