Chapter Text
The air reeked of alcohol.
It was intoxicating, sickening and made Ryuji dizzy from where he was standing.
They’d just gotten back home from the theater. With what little money his mother could scrounge from her savings, she’d taken him there for his birthday. Just so he could see one of the last showings of his current infatuation– A dumb, childish superhero movie that had been playing over and over during commercial breaks. It was amazing being able to see it in person after months of begging, wishing, even praying. They pretty much had the theater to themselves too, meaning Ryuji could yell and gasp however loudly he wanted while his mother just laughed at him and patted his back affectionately. They couldn’t afford the overpriced popcorn or candy though. So instead, they snacked on a snuck-in packet of crackers.
He would never have let his mother take him out if he’d known this would be how their night concluded.
Because anytime the smell of booze lingered, he would be in one of his… Moods. A complete 180 of how he acted in public– whereas he’d not be sober, but at the very least reserved and respectful. Work was stressful, he made that adamantly clear to both Ryuji and Ma. Tonight must’ve been especially bad because there were already several bottles littering the living room, the poison inside of them dripping onto the carpet, tainting it, right beside the older flecks of maroon. Even though the carpet had never been white, it had only gotten more grimy the longer they lived here. It could barely be called beige anymore.
He was there, standing in front of them– over them– fists white-knuckled holding a beer bottle neck with his angry, pitch black eyes pinning them in place. Exhaling, heaving, like some sort of gruff buffalo, preparing to charge at the littlest sign of movement. He’d been waiting for them to come home for quite some time.
He parts his crusted, disgusting lips, releasing more toxins into the air.” Where th’ell have you been?”
Ma places a trembling hand on Ryuji’s shoulder, squeezing while her other hand reaches behind his back, probably for the door knob…
His dad lunges forward with alarming speed. Faster than the two of them could react. With his free hand, he simultaneously slams the door back shut from where it had barely been cracked open and corners them. Ryuji flinches so hard that he stumbles backwards into the shitty coat hanger rack only his dad used. It wobbles precariously on two legs before mercifully landing back on all fours.
“Answer me!”
“W-We went to watch a movie. F-For Ryuji’s birthday.” Ma stutters out. The hand on his shoulder bunches up the fabric of his worn-out jacket. The seam running underneath his arm pit drags upwards, digging into the tender flesh there and he almost lets out a gasp of pain. But no, he wouldn’t make a sound. Not that he could with his vocal cords tied into a knot, forming a painful lump in his throat.
His old man leans his head back so far he almost stumbles, and smirks wide, baring his slick, yellowed teeth.
“Your birthday, huh? I almost forgot… But I didn’, ‘cause I got ya somethin’.” He slurs, gesticulating the hand holding the beer bottle. Liquid sloshes out and splatters on the tops of Ryuji’s worn-out shoes. If he thinks hard enough, he can imagine it sizzling like acid, eating through the fabric and burning him. Branding him.
“He can open presents later, it’s almost 11 at night. He has practice tomorrow.” Ma rushes out and moves while she talks. His old man, luckily, lets her usher Ryuji out from where he’d trapped them. But it's a small victory.
All of that relief blows away when he’s yanked backwards by the hood of his jacket so hard he falls to the ground. His dad bursts out laughing, hard enough that he starts choking and hiccuping, gagging even. He stops it all with a long swig from his half-empty bottle. In fact, he finishes off the entire thing in one go and tosses the bottle into the living room along with the rest of them. It clunks loudly against another.
“I told’ya I had a gift. It’ssssmall so he can open it right now.”
“Tetsu–”
“Shaddup woman! C’mere, Ryuji. It's in m’ pocket.”
As much as he wants to run away, escape from the situation, Ryuji knows that if he doesn’t humor him, there’ll be hell to pay. And he doesn’t want this day to end horribly. It’d been so good up until now…
He unsteadily gets to his feet, and his legs are trembling underneath him. His father’s figure looms over him, intimidating him. Especially with the entry-way lamp shining behind him, casting his face in shadow. His hazy eyes and the small rivulet of poison dripping from the corner of his mouth catch in the light. He cracks his lips into a vile smile again, and it takes all of Ryuji’s willpower not to grimace. He reeks.
“There ya go. Was that so hard?”
Ryuji says nothing. Tetsuya frowns and the already deep lines on the sides of his mouth deepen. He clenches the hand behind his back tighter where he’s presumably holding Ryuji’s gift. Said boy gulps nervously. What could his father have possibly gotten him? Nothing good, that’s for sure.
Finally, the man pulls his hand out from behind his back and holds his fist out in front of Ryuji. Slowly, he flips his hand over, but keeps his fist closed. Small enough to fit in his palm, then? Maybe it was a cigarette…
“Happy birthday you little shit.” And then his dad unravels his fist… And flips him off. Ryuji just stares at his hand blankly. Uncomprehending for a moment.
His dad bursts out into obnoxious laughter, each breath sending more and more fumes into the air, right into Ryuji’s face when he wheezes and Ryuji scrunches his nose. He doesn’t know what he was expecting. Eleven years with this man and he still manages to fall for his tricks.
When he regains his breath– and footing, he has to keep himself from toppling over by grabbing the wall–Tetsuya looks down his nose at him.
“Well, how’d you like it?”
“You’re an asshole.”
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
He did not mean for that to slip out, oh god. It just… It just came out before he even had time to think. His throat immediately closes up once the words slip out of his mouth and he freezes.
The room goes completely silent. Even the commercials running on the television just in the other room pause.
It feels like the tundra. Ryuji’s ears are ringing, his heart slamming against his ribcage because he knows he just lit a match on a pool of gasoline.
And then everything happens at once.
His father lets out an inhuman snarl and his mother yanks Ryuji backwards only to shove him into the hallway, towards the bathroom.
“Go!” She whisper-yells but he can’t just leave her, not when he was the one who lit the match.
“But–”
“Go!” She repeats, louder.
Hands, rougher and larger than Ma’s, shove him into the wall. His head impacts right next to a framed picture and sends it crashing to the floor. It shatters on impact, glass exploding everywhere. Behind him, his mom gasps and his dad’s thundering footsteps stop.
“Look what you did, you ungrateful little shit! Clean this up!” Tetsuya spits.
The hands return. They force him to the ground, on his hands and knees. The glass presses into his skin, blood bubbling from fresh, tiny scratches. A whimper attempts to push itself from his throat, but he forces it back down. Don’t show weakness. He will only exploit it.
“I said, clean it up!”
With no other option, he uses his bare hands to begin scooping up the glass. He can’t stop trembling. He really doesn’t want to get cut. It’ll only make him angrier. Like a bull, see red and flip out.
“Hurry up!”
A kick to his side causes him to drop all of the shards, rebreaking them into tinier pieces and scattering them even further.
“You will never disrespect me like that ever again! You hear me?”
His mom is pleading, begging for him to stop, saying “it’s his birthday” and “he’s only a kid”. “No”, his father says.” He thinks he’s a man now, using big words like that. He’s going to pay for his actions like one.”
The boot raises again, he closes his eyes, whimpering before–
Ryuji gasps and the top of one foot catches on his other ankle. He tumbles all the way to the ground. Though, he manages to roll just before falling face-first into the track turf.
He lays there for a moment, chest heaving and mind racing. The sky is lit with orange hues, the clouds have turned a golden yellow. It reminds him faintly of his old, worn-out shoes.
A memory. It had been a memory, and nothing more.
A repressed memory. He hasn’t thought of it in a long, long time.
Why… Why now? Why come to the forefront of his mind at a time where it was irrelevant? Nothing triggered it. He’d only been jogging, listening to music, thinking about the past year.
Damn, his elbow stings. A quick look and, yep. He scraped it up. Little bubbles of blood align the straight lines of scratches. Curse his traitorous brain, and curse his dead-beat dad for somehow causing him pain despite being out of his life now.
Speaking of, life has been… Stagnant, if he had to describe it with one word.
Not a single moment of it has been particularly interesting as of late. And perhaps, Ryuji should take that as a blessing. It means no conflict, no menial issues and no pain.
But it’s been boring , especially without the Thieves.
That isn’t to say that it hasn’t been good, however. He’s taken up running again, even joined his highschool’s track team. Classes are easy enough, and passing them has been so much easier without incredible distractions. And by moving closer to the hospital, physical therapy is affordable. Everything that could possibly be going in a positive direction in his life is going as such.
And yet, Ryuji is undeniably lonely, and life is so monotonous.
Wake up, train, go to school, come back home and make dinner, sleep. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Well, he did have a short fling a few weeks ago. Had. She was… Too serious and condescending, and really wasn’t his type. He hadn’t even really meant to accept her Valentine’s Day confession, it just… Sort of happened. But it’s over, so whatever.
But, why? Why, in a world where he finally has control of his life, has friends, a growing career and a loving mother, is he lonely?
Perhaps it’s the typical isolation felt once the end of high school approaches, a time when everyone picks up a shovel and carves their own trail. Or maybe it’s the sting of moving schools in the first place. Sure, Mishima ended up transferring with him (neither of them realized they’d both transferred to the same school until literally running into each other on the first day), but Mishima is one guy. A great guy, if not weird. But still, one guy.
Of course, this question is not without a blatant answer. Ryuji may be an idiot, but he’s not hopeless. And so, the answer lies clear as day:
The Thieves are no longer as thick as they once were. And Ryuji is still longing for the good old days.
Makoto and Haru have gone off to college, pursuing their degrees at esteemed universities that Ryuji doesn’t even want to think about. The tuition makes him feel a bit sick, if he’s being honest. Ann is traveling the world as a rising model. He’s seen her on the billboards more than a couple times (each time stabs him with longing and regret). Futaba is still around, but Ryuji hasn’t found the time or money to pay her a visit. He spent a majority of his savings on moving apartments, and is continuing to spend more of it on physical therapy. He was never particularly close with Yusuke, and the guy probably would find his company more of a nuisance than an enjoyable pass-time. Even Akira, who he (used to) texts endlessly every day, has felt more than at arms-length.
Being busy is one thing, but it’s been a while since any of them have truly met up or interacted outside of short phone calls and texts. Or maybe that’s just Ryuji’s side of things. He’s pretty sure Haru and Makoto are sharing an apartment, so at least they have each other.
“Sakamoto! The ‘ell are you still doing out here?”
He jerks his head in the direction of the voice. His coach, Sasaki, stands underneath the awning outside of the gym. Coach has his bag slung over his shoulder, cap over his balding head and a perplexed scowl on his face. In his haze of confusion, Ryuji quickly glances down at his sports watch and nearly chokes. He’s been at the track for the past three hours. Running both himself and his mind in circles.
Recently, it’s as if he steps out of time for hours. Time becomes a concept, one he doesn’t comprehend, like most things (math, mainly). Hours will fly by in mere minutes, and yet some minutes will feel like hours. It’s nauseating being tossed around by time conception so rapidly. He swore that only thirty minutes ago, he was lacing up his cleats in the locker room and heading out to the track. However, after being brought back to reality, Ryuji recognizes how fatigued his body is. That, and his elbow stings to high heavens.
The music that had been droning through his earbuds cuts out. Looks like his phone decided to give up, just like his bum leg almost does when he stands up. His throat is so parched his spit gets stuck halfway into a swallow. His tank top is soaked through with sweat, clinging uncomfortably to his lower back and stomach. And yeah, his leg is pulsating painfully, essentially screaming profanities at him as he makes his way towards Coach.
“Lost track of time. Damn, is it really seven already?”
Coach lets out a disbelieving huff of air.” You know, usually I’d be impressed and pleased with someone who is willing to practice outside of track hours. But you?” He pauses and scrutinizes Ryuji, eyes lingering on his bleeding elbow and trembling legs, “Sakamoto, go home.” He wipes his hand down face and lumbers back towards the gym.” And put something on that elbow!”
“Alright alright, I’m goin’.” Ryuji throws his hands up in surrender and heads back to the locker room. He is decidedly not limping. Or, he’s trying not to, at least. Lest Coach would have him on the bench for the rest of the week. Like Hell he’s going to be a benchwarmer at the peak of track season.
Three hours , and that entire time he’d been in his head, reminiscing. Like some kind of dissociative anime girl. Scratch what was previously stated, maybe he was hopeless. There is only so much lower he can go at this point.
Ryuji takes a brief cold shower, his haze dissipating into the drain. Back into complete awareness, he begrudgingly wraps his right thigh in athlete's tape after spritzing it with menthol, followed by bandaging his elbow. His physical therapist was probably going to lecture him for the fifteenth time in his next appointment.
He’s never been a space-y kind of guy. That was more of Akira’s thing. That guy can stare off into space for hours on end and only react when someone finally shoves him. Said someone is Ryuji, the vast majority of the time. And yet, just like today, the clock distorts. His fitful sleep hasn’t helped either.
Every night, for nearly a week, he’s awoken two hours before his six am alarm in a cold sweat. It’s gotten to the point that he sleeps with a towel underneath him, and only in his briefs underneath a thin sheet. His efforts are fruitless, as no matter what he does– ice pack, fans, meditation, even less meat– , sweat is there to make his morning extra sticky. That, and a dull headache. Luckily, pain can be nulled with a couple pills.
After patting himself dry and dressing, Ryuji gathers his things and heads out of the locker room. He pops in his earbuds before remembering that his phone had died. They get haphazardly shoved into his hoodie pocket afterwards.
Two of his trackmates are slouched against the gates of the campus. Silently, he pleads that they don’t notice him. As it turns out, luck is not on his side, and they immediately perk up as soon as he’s within a six-foot radius of them. It’s kind of scary, actually. Twin mischievous grins curl, revealing jagged teeth.
“Hey buddy! We missed ya today. Where’ve you been?” One of them asks. He attempts to walk past them. They, as per usual, don’t take the hint and walk on either side of him. Before he can respond, a broad shoulder bumps into him, and causes him to ricochet off the other. He huffs and hip-checks him back. A game of who-can-withstand-push-and-shove ensues until all three of them are laughing and shoving each other around. Anyone witnessing would probably think they’re fighting.
Ryuji is deemed the winner after he sends one falling into a bush and the other stumbling into the bike lane. Which was empty, of course.
“Sheesh! You gotta watch yourself, man! You coulda shoved me out in traffic.” Lackey one, Takana, half-jokes, siddling right up beside him again until Ryuji pretends to lunge at him. Lackey two, Nakamura, slings an arm around Ryuji’s shoulders, unperturbed by the aggression that’d just taken place.
“Listen, I wasn’t the one who started this fight. I’ll sure as hell end it though.” Ryuji cracks his knuckles for emphasis. Takana raises his hands in surrender.
“Heard you got booted off the track by Coach again. Why do you stay over there so late, anyway?” Nakamura asks, and he lets go of Ryuji after getting his head roughly scrubbed. How did they find that out so quickly? It’s been like ten minutes!
“Runnin’ is fun man. Not much else to say. And why are you two here so late?”
“Tutoring.” Takana sighs,” Also, that's a boring answer. Can’t you come up with something cooler?” He’s disappointed, for some reason. There’s an intersection ahead he can ditch them at.
“Oh sure. I’m actually training to be a drug-runner for a well-known Yakuza group in a couple a’ weeks. I need to be in tip-top shape or I’m ‘effin dead.”
Takana and Nakamura burst out laughing simultaneously. It makes Ryuji grin wildly. His joke hit the hammer right on the nail.
“Sakamoto, a Yakuza? Good one. You’re way too dumb and loud to ever last in there. ‘Sides, you don’t even got a single tatt.” Nakamura snorts, wiping a faux tear from the corner of his eye.
“That’s what you think.” And before they can ask more questions, Ryuji speedwalks towards a crosswalk.” Gotta run, see ya guys later!”
“Hey, what about game night!” Tanaka cries out, but it goes mostly unheard as Ryuji focuses his limited attention span on getting home. A wave of exhaustion is fogging his thought process all of a sudden, and he really wants to get some good sleep tonight.
Well, if he could manage to get any, that is.
Occasionally, and especially at night, there will be brief moments where he swears something is watching him. He’s not a firm believer nor denier of the existence of ghosts, but if this week has been anything to go by, maybe he is a bit superstitious. And when he notices he’s being watched, there’s always a glimpse of yellow, just for a fraction of a second, in the corner of his vision. If he doesn’t turn his head, out of his peripheral vision, he can make out the shape of two glowing eyes. To say it unnerves him would be an understatement. Akira tells him that he’s probably just imagining things, even if he asks Ryuji to keep him up to date on his “hallucinations”. Ryuji isn’t sure if he hopes he’s imagining things or if there’s actually something there. Either way, he really needs it to stop.
Think of the devil and he shall appear. As he’s passing an alleyway, someone whispers something unintelligible. In the second he doesn’t turn his head, the yellow eyes are there in the shadows, staring at him. Beckoning him, yet disappearing as soon as he turns. Sweat gathers behind his neck the longer he examines the completely barren alleyway. A small breeze sends chills down his spine as it cools the moisture there.
Not today. Not any day, thank you.
He continues his trek home, speed walking until he manages to get to his front door. If it takes a few tries to get the key into the lock, nobody but himself is there to witness. The relief he feels as soon as he plants his back against the now closed and re-locked door is immeasurable, and now the exhaustion is really killing him.
There are a couple blankets haphazardly thrown across the back of the couch in the living room. A couple stray moving boxes lie dusty and untouched in desolate corners, full of mementos and pictures he nor his mom have found time to go through. The bills sit open and crinkled on the kitchen counter. Ryuji should check how much rent has gone up. He’d been meaning to apply for a couple jobs now. The only problem is, he hasn’t found much time to work. That, and his last job went poorly. Who knew dropping even just one piece of ice in the airfryer would be so bad… It was an accident too!
The vast majority of his free time is spent at the gym. Ever since partaking in the changes of heart, he’s upheld a strict and strenuous workout routine. Of course, he doesn’t need to keep exercising at the intensity he currently is. The Phantom Thieves have disbanded, afterall. But it’s a lot of fun to try and complete his own little challenges. Sort of like game quests. Add five more pounds to his deadlift. Now ten. Now twenty. How many pull-ups can he do within a two-minute interval? How many curl-ups?
It wouldn’t be unreasonable to say he’s kinda… Beefy , as Ann likes to put it. Ryuji isn’t completely sure if that’s meant as an insult or a compliment. Beef ramen is his favorite food, so is she saying he is what he eats? He’s probably overcomplicating this.
His change in physique has also meant needing to buy more clothes. With what money, though, is the question. Him and Mom sold a lot of their things before moving, not only because they couldn’t afford to move it all, but also because they needed the money. It isn’t a big deal to Ryuji, it just means his t-shirts are a little tight around his biceps and chest. He was more of a tank top kinda guy anyhow.
The kitchen is a bit of a mess. Pots from the previous night sit in soapy dishwater in the sink, the trash is nearly overflowing. A few mysterious stains linger on the counter among random sheets of paper, and his mom’s ashtray is missing from its typical spot on the bar. It must’ve been moved to the balcony. Mom didn’t smoke often, but when she did, she made sure it wouldn’t stink up their clothes. Going to school reeking of cigarette smoke wouldn’t be a favorable look. Not that he smokes. He knows breathing that shit in would mess with his lungs, and he kind of needs those for running.
Ryuji opens the fridge and scans over its contents. Condiments stare back at him, and he sighs before settling on a small tupperware container of boiled eggs and a bottle of chili. It’s not ideal, but he doesn’t feel like throwing together a meal, no matter how low-effort it may be. Besides, there’s nothing quite like eggs and chili sauce. It’s one of his lazy snacks. He makes quick work of the container and tosses it in the dishwater to deal with in the morning.
On his way to the bathroom, the boards creak noisily underfoot. The sound sends an uncomfortable itch in his stomach and he immediately lightens his foot falls, borderline tip-toeing. In the bathroom, he releases the tension in his shoulders and resumes his night routine. First, by grabbing his bottle of– Oh, that’s right. He’d run out of the prescription a few days ago. The orange bottle gets tossed in the trash next to the sink. He makes quick work of brushing his teeth and flossing, cringing at the initial concoction of mint and residual egg. And finally, finally off to bed he goes.
Off to his sad, no blanket, single sheet, one pillow bed. Now that it's in his sights, it's hard to make the effort to change clothes when he could cave and just collapse already. Each second away is a second wasted of sleep, a sleep that he’s been craving frequently. Tonight though, it’s hitting especially hard. He must’ve seriously overdone it at the track this evening.
His only solace is being able to escape reality through dreams. Unfortunately, he doesn’t dream often. Less unfortunately, that means a lesser chance for nightmares. But when he does have them, it’s worth every sleepless night.
Big breasted women, clad in lace bikinis. Their tiny waists would make his fingers itch with the need to grab, to feel the surely velvety skin of their love handles. They would giggle at him, all bubbly and light, like the soda he gets from the vending machine everyday during school, maybe even lay a hand on his shoulder.
Of course, those are the ideal dreams. Other times, he dreams of his friends. Not that they aren’t ideal! It’s just, dreams are meant for things that are unattainable . Ryuji supposes that friends were unattainable at one point in his life, but certainly not now. Though, maybe dreams of them would stave away the omnipresent loneliness he’s been feeling.
He’d dream of Ann and her giant pigtails that defied the laws of physics, of her insatiable need to eat every single sweet within a five mile radius until all pastry shops were sold out. Of Akira and the ever-present mischief that lingered in his posture, in his eyes and in his inflection, and of his genuine smiles. Of Yusuke and all of his artsy-fartsy weirdness, but also of his unmistakable passion of which has always impressed Ryuji. (He especially liked the dreams where Yusuke would garnish a perfect bowl of ramen for him, beauty and elegance down to the last noodle.)
Dreams of Mona were… Less warranted. They often consisted of yowling cats and razor-sharp claws. Makoto was in a similar boat. She’s great and all, definitely looked killer in leather and on a motorcycle. But she’s been a tyrant over his homework way too many times for him to dream of anything else. Haru ends up being a supporting character in his dreams, lingering in the background drinking tea. Futaba would kill him for saying it, but she’s usually in the background, if not getting wrapped up into hijinks with Akira.
Dream or not, everything else fades from his mind as soon as his head hits the pillow.
–
And then, he’s waking up again on freezing asphalt.
The grimy, stone cold floor beneath his cheek is the first thing he registers. He groans, disoriented, and pushes himself up off the ground, barely managing to pry his eyes open in the process. There’s a pulsating headache absolutely pounding his brain and clouding his vision. The pain is nearly nauseating, though it seems to slowly dissipate as the seconds pass.
The second thing he registers is that he is in his Phantom Thief outfit. The stark yellow gloves stick out like bolts of lightning against the cobalt floor. And for a second, he’s enthralled. God , he has missed being a Phantom Thief. They’d disbanded over a year ago– A year! It’s been so long since he’s felt this comfortable in any kind of clothing. His PT attire was like a second skin.
Even better, he can sense the presence of William around him like an aura. He has missed that guy too! (If he were being more observant, if he had more time to be observant, he would’ve noticed how integrally unsettled William felt. His aura was practically buzzing with uncertainty.)
And then a third, very pressing thing, registers, and all of the giddiness he’d been harboring shatters immediately. His stomach, heart and ass promptly drop to the floor. Sure, he was already sitting on the ground, meaning it wouldn’t take long to hit, but now he had no organs to keep the frostbite of icy dread from filling his chest.
Tattered bell bottoms, clawed boots. An abundance of black leather straps that sounded suspiciously kinky out of context. An ugly as all Hell helmet with arcing horns and red eyes to boot. And to top it all off, mauve and concrete stripes, obnoxious beyond belief. Oh, and that saw blade-esque blood-red sword is also a sight to behold. Ryuji squints at the looming figure in an attempt to stave off the lingering blurriness. Maybe it was a trick of the light, or a vision.
A few seconds pass, and the guy doesn’t disappear. It takes a while to process.
Akechi? I thought he was dead. Wait. Did I die? Is this hell? Shit!
And then, Ryuji has a moment of clarity.
Why the ‘eff am I getting so freaked out? This is a dream! MY dream! What the hell is this bastard doing here?!
“I’m inclined to ask you the same question.” Akechi scoffs, and scrapes the end of his sword against the ground. Sparks fly out from the impact, briefly illuminating the surrounding area. Nothing but moist concrete and rusted, metal bars.
He must’ve said that last part out loud.
Ryuji pushes himself up to a stand and is surprised by the wave of vertigo that nearly knocks him back on his ass. He shakes his head and stares right back at Akechi, before popping his knuckles, followed by his neck in either direction.
“The only one askin’ questions is gonna be me, because this is my dream! Now, why are you here?”
Akechi tilts his head up, revealing a cold, crimson eye. That’s Akechi alright.
“Well, if this is your dream, I want to know why you’re dreaming of me in the first place.”
Ryuji splutters.
“W-Well, it’s probably because I want a do-over!” He’s not actually sure why he would ever be dreaming of Akechi, but the first thing that came to mind was to fight him. Ryuji is very simple.
“A rematch, then?” Akechi’s smirk takes on a dangerous edge. His teeth sharpen into an eager snarl, like a fox opening its mouth towards a rabbit. Ryuji can practically hear the way every muscle is suddenly pulled taut across his body.
“Hell yeah!”
“My therapist did say that dreams were an outlet for harbored feelings to be released, so,”
His sword clangs against the ground after being discarded as Akechi opts to crack his knuckles instead.
“I’m going to revel in beating the shit out of you.”
Wait, did he say therapist?
Ryuji barely manages to catch the first fist, pure instinct allowing him to halt its violent momentum.
The second one has his vision whiting out when it impacts his jaw head on.
He staggers to the side, already tasting blood, which he promptly spits out. Right on Akechi’s boot.
“You effin’ bastard–” He cuts himself off as he throws a right hook. It meets air, and his gut meets a knee.
And then, from there, Ryuji does indeed, get the shit kicked out of him.
Of course, he isn’t completely at a loss. He did manage to crack that annoying-ass helmet with a conveniently-timed punch, blood splattering across his brass knuckles.
Yet, he questions if he should have even celebrated for just one glorious moment, because Akechi retaliates by leaping into the air and slamming Ryuji’s face right into his knee.
His nose breaks with a sickening crack and blood is already gushing, two red streams arcing as he flings backwards and into a wall. It’s so quick, so brutal, that he doesn’t even have time to holler out in pain. Instead, a sharp, quivering inhale takes precedent. The impact against the wall jars him to a stop, but he loses the ability to regain his footing. The floor welcomes him generously, bruising both his shoulder and head in one fell swoop.
Cool air rushes around his swelling face. His mask had flown off. He hadn’t even thought to use his Persona, and now, it’s like the metal garment is mocking him, watching him from a distance as boots click heavily towards him. Blood is cascading out of his nose like a goddamn fountain and somehow, his gloves are already coated in the stuff.
Boots. Just like…
He makes an attempt to stand up, but a sharp heel is driven into his shoulder, halting his progress. Even though he manages to resist being shoved back to the floor, there’s ice cold metal against his temple. He belatedly realizes, with his foggy consciousness, that Akechi has a gun to his head.
“Checkmate.” The bastard whispers, and cocks the gun with the flick of his thumb.
Ryuji lets his head hang and his eyes close in defeat.
Click.
Nothing… Nothing happens.
He tries again.
Click. Click. Click.
“Hm. How interesting.” The boot digging into his shoulder lifts and Ryuji nearly falls all the way to the ground with relief.
“You live to see another dream, fate has decided.”
The bastard leaves . Waltzes right out of the strange, underground dungeon they’d just decorated with flecks of blood.
Ryuji groans in anger and exhaustion and slumps the rest of the way to the floor to give his muscles a rest.
If William is still here, maybe Ryuji can conjure up a healing spell.
Well, he would , if he even had any.
This was one shitty-ass dream.
“Hey. Kid.”
…
“Hey! Get up!”
Electricity zaps down Ryuji’s spine and he yelps before flinging himself up into a sitting position.
“Agh! Who the ‘ell?” Ryuji looks around. Someone snaps their fingers to his left. He looks over.
William, in all his Shadowy glory, is staring down at him. There aren’t any blatant tell-tale signs of emotions on his face, mainly because he doesn’t have one. But Ryuji definitely feels sympathy and exasperation emanating from him like a cool breeze.
“Look kid, we don’t have a lot to work with. Didn’t exactly plan to go on any solo missions, but I’ve got a low-level Dia spell.” William is already charging it up, Ryuji is still trying to process what he’s saying.” It’s not much, but we gotta take what we’re given.”
In the distance, Ryuji hears a faint metallic grinding against concrete. It’s as if someone is dragging a long, heavy chain on the ground. He grimaces.
“Man you are so out of it. Alright look, we’ve gotta bounce, or we’re gonna die. So get your ass off the ground and run.”
“Don’t gotta tell me twice, damn.” William’s urgency spurs Ryuji into action. He knew that grinding sound was familiar.
Facing the Grim Reaper solo? In his dreams. Well, he can’t say that anymore.
He snatches his mask and uses a few electricity spells to spur him out of the corridor faster, all the while his body fights against him. If he were any less fit, there would be no way he’d be able to get himself off the ground. He skitters around a corner, nearly sliding into the accompanying wall on slick stone.
“William! Could’ja explain some things to me on the way? I’m really ‘effin confused right now!”
William materializes next to him, skating seamlessly on his floating speedboat-turned-hoverboard.
“Can’t lie kid, I’m not sure myself what’s going on. What I gather is that you’ve somehow stumbled into a Palace.”
Ryuji’s heart skips an entire beat.
“So this is a real Palace? Like, I’m not dreaming?”
“If you were dreaming, I don’t think Akechi would have free will. And he beat the shit out of you. I’d be more concerned about you dreaming that than what our current predicament is.”
“Where– Woah!” Ryuji narrowly avoids getting his head cleaved off by a low-hanging bar dangling from the ceiling by ducking. The chains are getting fainter every corner he turns.” Where’s everyone else?”
“I can’t sense their presence. They aren’t here.” William’s voice is devoid of emotion, but he feels distressed to Ryuji.
“And Akechi? That was the Akechi?”
“Yeah. And something funky is going on with his Persona…”
Ryuji files that bit of information away in his very limited subconscious file cabinet. He’s probably going to forget it later regardless of his efforts.
“I’m so damn confused! So it’s just me and that bastard in here? Alone? ”
“Well, if you’re not counting the Shadows, you two are the only Persona users here, yes.”
Once the chains get out of earshot, Ryuji slows down to a jog and then into a brisk walk. His left leg throbs at the same time his still broken nose does, creating a weird sensation across his body.
“This is ‘effin insane. I’m– I’m asleep, aren’t I? How the hell am I in a Palace if I’m asleep in, uh, real life?” The emphasis is meant to be placed on his confusion about the Palace, but he becomes confused at how he should refer to the land of the conscious. Real life seemed to fit, but that made it seem like he was currently in a video game. This is way too much to think about, and he definitely isn’t getting paid enough for this.
“Sorry kid, I’m just as confused as you are. But don’t panic, ‘kay? Regroup with Crow and figure out what’s going on.”
“You want me to go back to him after he pulled a fast one on me?”
“I gotta figure out what’s wrong with his Persona! And he’s your only ally at this moment in time.”
“Fine,” Ryuji groans and slouches as he trudges deeper into the catacombs.
The place reeks of mold and metal. On the floor there’s a thin layer of grime that is occasionally slicked up by a shallow puddle. Where exactly the water was coming from, Ryuji isn’t sure. If it even is water. It has the same consistency of water, but it’s tinted ash, borderline black in color. Despite running a far distance into the area, he has a feeling that he’s heading in Akechi’s direction anyways. All of the fast turns he made weren’t on a whim. In any given forked pathway, only one gate would be open, save for that one he had to jump through. Thinking back, Akechi probably broke down the bars to that one gate.
A few hallways later, Ryuji hears something cry out before getting cut off. He follows the source of the noise into a large body of the dungeon. It appears to be a small dining hall of sorts. Off to the side, picking up remnants and loot from a now disintegrating Shadow, stands Akechi. He doesn’t even turn around to acknowledge Ryuji.
“I nearly kill you after you initiate a fight, and your next great idea is to follow me?” Akechi scoffs. The clasp on his main belt clicks audibly as he finishes putting away his loot.
Ryuji crosses his arms and favors his left leg. The other foot taps impatiently. “I ain’t exactly happy about doin’ it, but somethin’ is definitely going on here.”
“Indeed, and I believe that thing is your idiocy. Go away.”
“No! Just listen, man–” Ryuji steps towards him, wanting nothing more than to crack the other side of his helmet.
“Your attempts at reconciliation are futile. Leave before I kill you.”
“You kill me here, an’ I’m dyin’ in reality too!”
That makes Akechi pause. He turns around, narrows his eyes at Ryuji.
“What are you talking about?”
“This– Well, I thought it was a dream. But it’s not. At least, I don’t think it is. Ain’t no way my brain is coming up with some crazy plot twists n’ shit like this on its own.” Ryuji huffs and gestures between the two of them.” Anyway, I’m Skull, like, actually Skull. And you’re really Akechi. And we’re in–”
“A Palace." Akechi finishes." I gathered as much.”
“So you figured out that this was a Palace but not that I was the real deal?”
“I’ve had my fair share of impersonating Shadows. I don’t like to take chances. And who knows, maybe this is your Palace.”
“Hah. Okay, sure. Have you found anything out to prove that?”
“What does it matter to you?”
“Well, we’re kind of stuck here together. An’ as much as I hate you, I kinda value my life more.” Not really. If he could just get one good hook in...
“We don’t need to team up. I don’t do teammates. Or friends, for that matter.”
“Probably because you’ve got a stick up your ass 24/7…” Ryuji mumbles. Akechi’s sword clicks in its hilt when he reaches to grab it.
“What was that?” Akechi grits through his teeth.
“You heard what I said, I don’t like to repeat myself.”
“You talk big for someone who got their ass handed to them a mere hour ago.”
Ryuji feels his eye twitch. This man seriously gets under his skin. “Yeah? And you talk like we’ve never worked together before.”
“We haven’t.”
“Maruki? The whole thing with Akira?”
Akechi pauses again. Out of the corner of his eye, Ryuji swears he sees Akechi's hand tremble. He clenches it into a fist before Ryuji can comment about it.
“I have no recollection of such a Palace.”
And then Ryuji realizes something. Something that was very obviously a pressing issue, but because he’d been so preoccupied with being disoriented and annoyed, it’d bypassed his mind. Despite being incredibly important.
“Wait a damn second, how the hell are you alive?”
Akechi leans back on his heels and crosses his arms. Cocky.
“Simple, Endurance. You really thought I’d let Shido’s cognition of myself kill me?”
That’s right. The real Akechi only remembers up until the end of Shido’s Palace. Even then...
“Yeah, but then the ship sank…”
“I’m not a rock. I can float.”
Ryuji blinks in bewilderment. This guy is literally insane. Before Ryuji can inquire more, Akechi asks a question of his own.
“Speaking of, how are you alive? You got yourself blown up.”
“You saw that, huh? Well, in your words, it's simple. Endurance.” Ryuji smirks and Akechi seems to bite his tongue. His crimson eyes narrow at him haughty though.” Yeah, I got a bit toasted, but came out fine.”
Ryuji wasn’t fine after the explosion. Physically, mostly. Mentally was a bit of another story. One particularly bad burn on his left ankle remains, the skin ever so slightly mottled in scar tissue. The real pain came when everyone seemingly turned on him the moment they saw him on his feet. But that was a thought for another time, not when a sadistic murderer is standing less than five feet away from him.
“Seems we both escaped fated doom. No matter, I’ll leave you with your broken nose and be on my way.” The prick turns around, his cape swishes, and begins walking towards the broken door on the other side of the room.
“Wait, you’re leaving? ”
“No sense in having you drag me down. I want to get out of here.”
“And you think I don’t?”
“Find your own way.” He continues to walk away.
“I thought you were supposed to be the smart guy! Ace Detective! Power in numbers and all that shit.”
“I work alone.”
“And I work with intelligent people, you’re clearly not one of ‘em!” God, I hate this guy!
Akechi finally stops. And turns around very sharply, fingers curled into claws. That familiar murderous glint in his eyes returns. “That’s rich coming from you. Out of your gang of self-righteous children, you’re probably the least competent, imprudent and most mindless member. Congratulations on achieving a feat that was seemingly impossible. In fact, I recall you dragging them all into trouble more than once. Perhaps it’s not intelligent people you work with, but pitying people. And I for one, garner no sympathy nor pity towards you.” Akechi nearly spits out the last few syllables.
It takes a moment for the words to process, but once they do, it leaves a nauseous tingle in Ryuji’s gut. Akechi, silver-tongued as he was, managed to press on the button that hurt the most. Ryuji isn’t stupid enough to fall for his obvious low-blow, but that doesn’t mean doesn’t get a bit riled up over it.
“You– You want to talk about pity? The one getting pity ain’t me, it’s you. You and your bloodlust for revenge, your carelessness for innocent people and your complete and utter selfishness. You’re a murderer, and a horrible person. Sure, you got a shitty dad, but that’s no excuse for–”
“You know nothing .” Akechi hisses. He’s poised to attack and Ryuji, under any other circumstance, might be more cautious, but he’s too pissed to care.
Something in the distance rattles.
“I know enough to figure out that you should be in one of these cells” Ryuji jerks his thumb towards one of the many unoccupied, rusted cells.” And for the record, you also know nothing about me.”
“I don’t want to know any more about your useless, pathetic life as a crippled athlete.”
Ryuji clenches his fists so hard that all of his fingers pop in a ripple.
“At least my life wasn’t lived with blood on my hands!”
That’s the final blow. Akechi unsheathes his sword and lunges. Ryuji instinctually dives out of the way. He pops back up in time to bend under another vicious swipe.
“You are trash . You amount to nothing.” Each sentence is punctuated with a swing. Ryuji steps backwards, and slips on a grimey part of the stone floor. He falls backwards onto his ass. Akechi stands over him, sword raised. Ryuji only glares at him with divine hatred, heart beating so hard it feels like it’s about to leap out of his throat.
They stare at each other, unmoving. Each muscle pulled taught as a bow string.
Metallic groaning just down the hall goes unnoticed by both of them.
“But you’re right.” Akechi breathes. He lowers his sword and relaxes his posture.” Excuses aren’t a viable option for me. Neither is more blood on my hands.” Ryuji wants to tell him that he’s probably got his blood on his hands already, especially after that gruesome nose break from earlier. But he doesn’t. Something changes in the atmosphere. Like the air pressure dropped.
Ryuji carefully gets back to his feet. They regard each other with a staring contest. The air pressure lowers again and it nearly sends a chill down Ryuji’s spine. Where the hell is that coming from?
The answer arrives in the form of a very unexpected visitor. The Grim Reaper’s towering figure hovers into the room and over the both of them, its chains screeching against the stone floor.
“Shit! We gotta ru– What the ‘eff are you doing?” Akechi has his pistol drawn and is pointing it straight at the Grim Reaper’s head. His arm is somewhat comically stretched upwards to reach.
“You’re the runner. I’ll handle this.”
“You– You do realize that’s Death, right? You’re going to fight Death?”
“I’ve done it before.”
“And got insanely lucky! Let’s go!” Ryuji grabs his shoulder, because he isn’t going to let the guy kill himself. Not until they have answers. Akechi rips his arm out from under his hand.
“Don’t touch me.”
“I’ll touch you if it means not letting you get yourself killed!” Ryuji blinks and then cringes, despite the severity of the situation.” Not in that way.”
Akechi glances at him with such a look of disgust and disappointment that it nearly makes him burst out laughing.
That urge to laugh turns into a scream as the Grim Reaper sweeps his scythe down at them, seemingly waiting for a moment of distraction to strike. Leave it to Ryuji to get both of them killed.
Everything goes black before the impact. Did he… Did he pass out before the hit?
Silence. Darkness. Is this purgatory?
Ryuji flings out of bed the moment his consciousness returns to him. His legs get tangled in the sheets which causes him to land heavily on his side with a thud . There’s hot liquid dripping all down his face and onto his neck, where it pools at his clavicle. He pats his face frantically with a trembling hand. Through blurry vision, he spots stark red against the calluses of his fingers. And it’s not a small amount. Nearly his entire hand is coated.
“Oh, ‘Yuji, did you fall out of bed? Are you–” His mom’s sweet, concerned voice jolts to a halt. Ryuji flicks his wide gaze up at her, still hunched over with his hands hovering under his chin to catch the blood dripping from it. She becomes impossibly pale.
The scream she lets out will haunt Ryuji for the rest of his life.