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Ryuji is pretty stupid.
It’s not self-deprecating; it’s a fact. If he weren’t stupid, he wouldn’t have such terrible grades, bad enough that he doesn’t even need to check to know he’s at the bottom of the class in every test. If he were actually smart, he wouldn’t have punched Kamoshida in the face back then, even though he knew that was what Kamoshida wanted: for Ryuji to act out, to show his true colors. He wouldn’t have ruined the track team’s dreams, wouldn’t have let the promise of a track scholarship evaporate right before his eyes like that. He wouldn’t have let his mom down. He wouldn’t have had to hear her apologize to him, as if anything was her fault at all.
It wasn’t her fault. Ryuji’s just dumb.
Dumb, delinquent kid. That’s all he really is.
-
The day after his dad finally walked out on them, his aunt came to visit. Ryuji didn’t see her often, and still doesn’t. All he knows is she’s the oldest in the family, a few years older than Ryuji’s mom, and that she married rich, so unlike them, she lives in the nice part of town.
It was a long time ago, so Ryuji doesn’t remember much. But he remembers sitting on the living room couch on an early Satuday morning. Pokémon was playing on TV, but he wasn’t watching. Instead, he kept his ears trained on the conversation his mom was having with his aunt in the kitchen next door. Snatches of it drifted over to Ryuji, and he remembers catching words he didn’t understand back then, words like alimony and custody and settlement. He remembers his aunt’s voice, raised and insistent; his mother’s voice, quiet and subdued in response.
What he remembers most clearly about that day, though, is this: his aunt, kneeling down so she’s eye-level with him. Her hands, clasping his shoulders. Ryuji remembers the smell of her perfume, her long nails painted a deep shade of red. The look in her eyes when she told him, more serious than he’d ever seen her in his life, “You’re the man of the house now, Ryuji. You have to protect your mom from now on. Okay?”
Ryuji remembers being scared. Even at the age of eight he’d known, acutely, the heavy weight of the burden that had just descended upon his shoulders. He remembers looking back at his aunt, her serious eyes and heavy perfume and long red fingernails, and he’d said, his voice very small, “Okay. I promise.”
-
The thing is, though, Ryuji didn’t know how to be a man. The only man who’d been in his life at that point was his dad, and he was—well. There was nothing about him that was worthy of emulating.
But Ryuji had to be a man, because he had to protect his mom. He hadn’t been able to protect is mom before, which is why she always ended up getting hurt—getting hurt protecting him. So now he had to be the one to protect her instead, because dad was gone and mom worked two jobs to put food on the table. And sure, Ryuji wasn’t really book smart, but he could do this much at least. He’d puff his chest and square his shoulders; he’d fight anyone he needed to fight, and even if he got hurt he wouldn’t cry. Dad was gone now, so he was the man of the house, and he’d protect his mom because that’s what real men do.
-
He was fourteen the first time he heard the word being used.
Sure, he knew what it meant. He’d seen it online and in texts. But he’d never seen someone use it, right in front of him.
Not to him, not directed at him. To Nishiyama, the quiet kid in his class who wore glasses and always kept his hair shaved short, who was terrible at sports and kept to himself. Ryuji’s never spoken to him. Nishiyama didn’t seem to have many friends. Every time Ryuji saw him he was reading, or doodling, or studying. Alone.
“Fag,” someone on the basketball team had said, spitting the word right at Nishiyama’s face. Nishiyama kept his eyes trained downwards. He didn’t say a word.
Ryuji didn’t say a thing either, just stared and stared. He wasn’t sure why his heart was suddenly hammering a mile a minute in his chest.
He knew what the word meant. He’d seen it before. He’d just never heard it being spat out with such disdain. Such pure venom.
Hurriedly, he shoved the rest of his books into his bag. He had to get back home. He didn’t have time to linger.
-
Ryuji’s mom wasn’t a very expressive person. Even when dad left, she never screamed or yelled or cried—or at least, not in front of Ryuji. She used to say Ryuji got his expressive side from his dad, back when she was still trying to pretend that everything was okay. She’d smile, faintly, as if there wasn’t a light bruise blooming across her cheek, and tell Ryuji that that’s just how he is.
(After he left she finally stopped pretending.)
But the day the track advisor called his mom in to talk about college and scholarships, Ryuji saw her smile brighter than he’d ever seen in his entire life. She looked younger, suddenly, like the worry lines etched deep into her face had vanished in that single moment. Her hands were clenched tightly in the fabric of her skirt the whole time as they sat in the faculty office, her smile broadening as words like promising and talented and full-ride washed over the both of them.
On their way back home, she’d suddenly stopped, turned to Ryuji, and hugged him. It occurred to Ryuji, all of a sudden, that he’d grown so much taller than her. She was short enough that she barely went up to his chest, but when she put her arms around him, he felt like a child again, small enough to curl up against her warmth.
“I love you,” she said. “I’m so proud of you, Ryuji.”
And Ryuji felt like finally, finally, he’d managed to do something right by her.
“I love you too,” he choked out, but the words were stuck in his throat, coming out raspy and hoarse and wrong.
His aunt’s words from all those years ago were ringing in his head. He held onto his mother and thought, I can finally protect you now.
-
And then because Ryuji was Ryuji, he went and fucked that all up.
And the worst part of it all, worse than the glares of his ex-teammates, worse than the mutterings of traitor and bastard that followed him in the hallways now, worse still than the way everyone in school looked at him like he would never amount to anything in life—the worst part of it all was that his mom never even got angry at him.
“Sorry,” she said, very, very quietly, and that was the worst part.
-
The first time Ryuji heard the rumors about the new transfer student, he’d snorted. A delinquent who’s even worse than me, huh, he thought. That’ll be a nice change of pace, at least. Ryuji tried to picture what he’d be like. Probably some freakishly tall yankee with piercings and a shaved head. Man, that’d be a trip.
Except when Ryuji actually meets him, he’s the same height as Ryuji and skinny as a twig, glasses and messy black hair and wearing his uniform completely pristine. He looks so perfectly normal that Ryuji’s thrown off guard for a moment.
Well, that is until they find themselves trapped in a castle and Kamoshida appears wearing nothing but underpants and a cape, and well. Things very rapidly go downhill from there.
-
Transfer student’s name is Akira Kurusu. He’s quiet, but he’s way gutsier than he appears to be on the surface. Ryuji’s seen him beat the shit out of enough Shadows to know that by now.
Ryuji likes him a lot.
Not—not like that, of course. They’re friends. Best friends, even. Ryuji hasn’t really had friends at all since the whole Kamoshida incident. But now he has Akira, who is snarky and funny and clever, and sometimes Ryuji thinks he’d trade the entire track team for someone like Akira in a heartbeat.
Ann joins the group, and Ryuji likes her too. She’s headstrong and plucky and her heart’s in the right place. He doesn’t like her romantically, though. She’s pretty, but Ryuji thinks he’s probably known her for far too long to be interested in her. But It’s fine—he likes it this way, him and Akira and Ann and Morgana. They’re a team. They’re the Phantom Thieves, damn it!
For the first time in years, Ryuji has a sense of purpose again. So he stays out of trouble, doesn’t argue with teachers, doesn’t raise his voice in class.
He saves the money they earn from Palaces, quietly replaces broken appliances and buys new sponges and silverware. When they run out of milk he buys a new carton without telling his mom, throws the old one out where she won’t find it. He drags Ann along with him to help him choose, and he buys a new wallet for his mom for her birthday.
He lies and tells her that he found a new part-time job. She looks at the gift for a long moment, just staring at it silently. Then she looks up at Ryuji, smiles in that same faint way.
“You’re staying out of trouble, right?” she asks.
“Yeah,” Ryuji replies, but his tongue is thick in his mouth. He swallows, and hopes his face isn’t burning with shame. If his mom notices, she doesn’t say a word.
-
Ryuji spends almost all his time on the Phantom Thieves now. If they’re not infiltrating Palaces, then they’re making plans or canvassing for information. And when they have a day off, he finds himself almost inevitably spending time with Akira.
“Being free is like how I feel when I’m talking to you,” he’d said. Akira had just looked back at him, confused, but Ryuji didn’t how to express it in any other way. It’s just that whenever they’re hanging out together, eating ramen or watching a movie or talking about their next mission, he feels… lighter, somehow.
He’s not Ryuji Sakamoto, the traitor of the track team. He’s not Ryuji Sakamoto, the delinquent with the deadbeat dad. He’s not Ryuji Sakamoto, the boy who had to grow into a man way sooner than any kid should ever have to.
He’s Ryuji. Just Ryuji.
He doesn’t know how to articulate that to Akira, though. His tongue is thick in his mouth again, and he can’t think straight when Akira’s staring at him quizzically like that. So instead he shrugs says, “I don’t know how else to explain. I just feel… free.”
But Akira looked back at him like he understood what Ryuji was trying to say anyway. Suddenly his heartbeat is accelerating; his palms are getting sweaty. What the hell’s going on?
Fag, that basketballer had said, all those years ago. Ryuji shakes himself, grins at Akira to mask the sudden roiling in his chest. “Well,” he says. “Guess that’s enough training for today. Let’s head home, yeah?”
Akira doesn’t reply immediately. He looks at Ryuji thoughtfully. Ryuji really wishes he’d stop doing that.
“Sure,” Akira says, eventually. “Let’s go.”
-
Things feel like they’ve shifted, somehow, after that day. Ryuji goes about his days as always, planning with the Phantom Thieves, hanging out with Akira and Ann, going to school, trying to keep himself out of trouble. In some way, it’s as if nothing’s changed at all, and when it comes right down to it, nothing has changed, really.
Except now sometimes he catches himself staring at Akira for just a beat too long. Things that Ryuji had never even noticed before now won’t stop catching his eye. The way the light glints off Akira’s glasses sometimes. His habit of fiddling with his gloves when they’re exploring Palaces. The secret little half-smile that tugs at his lips when he’s being snarky.
Ryuji doesn’t know why it’s happening, and he doesn’t know how to make it stop.
It’s discomfiting. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like that swooping sensation that rises up in his chest every time Akira smiles at him. He doesn’t like feeling a twang of guilt every time he asks Akira out for ramen or a movie.
So Ryuji deals with it the only way he knows how: by ignoring it, and praying that it’ll eventually go away.
-
It doesn’t go away.
-
The Phantom Thieves are going so well. People are finally starting to sit up and take notice. Everywhere Ryuji goes, it’s all everyone is talking about. And yeah, the whole giving people courage thing is great, but secretly, Ryuji’s favorite part of it all is the recognition, because he’s spent the past two years being looked over and looked down on. They’re not looking down on him now. They start going for bigger targets, an artist and a mafia boss. Yusuke joins the team, and then Makoto.
Akira doesn’t have quite as much time for him anymore.
And Ryuji knows Akira’s busy—he has a part-time job, and he has to help out with Leblanc, and he actually studies (unlike Ryuji), and he has other friends.
He goes to the underground mall with Ann and watches movies with Yusuke and spends time with Makoto after school.
He still hangs out with Ryuji, of course, but it’s different now. Sometimes they’ll be laughing, in the middle of a conversation, when Akira’s phone will buzz with a text from someone else. And Akira will look down at the notification and smile at whoever it is, and Ryuji’s chest will burn.
He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know how to make it stop.
He doesn’t like it.
-
“Hey.”
Ryuji looks up from where he’s chilling by the vending machines. He squints up at Ann, who stands in front of him, one hand on her hips, the other one holding a juice box.
“For you,” she says, and throws it at him. Ryuji startles, but he manages to catch it. He looks down at it—it’s orange juice, his favorite. Ann knows him just a little bit too well. Frowning, he unwraps the straw and sticks it into the box just a little too harshly. It’s not that Ann’s unwelcome; Ryuji just hadn’t been expecting company.
“Can’t a guy get some goddamn alone time?” he mutters.
“No,” Ann replies, sitting down next to him and crossing her legs.
There’s silence for a long moment. Ryuji sips from his juice box, and Ann stares ahead, not really looking at anything in particular.
“Listen, if you’re not here to talk about anythi—”
“I’m not interested in Akira,” Ann interrupts. “Romantically, I mean.”
Ryuji blinks at her.
“Uh, okay,” he says. A long pause as Ann looks at Ryuji meaningfully. Ryuji still has no idea what Akira has to do with anything. “Wait, are you trying to hit on me?”
Ann punches him in the arm. It hurts way more than Ryuji will ever let on. For his credit, all he does is wince. Slightly.
“No, you idiot!” she huffs. She turns away from Ryuji. “I just meant—I meant it won’t hurt my feelings if you end up dating him.”
“Wait, what?” And whatever Ryuji was expecting, it wasn’t that. “What the hell—where did you even get that idea from? Are you insane?”
“Well, you’re not exactly subtle! Even Yusuke’s noticed!”
“There’s nothing to notice! Just mind your own damn business, Ann!”
“I’m just trying to be a good friend, there’s no need to shout at me—”
“I’m not some fucking homo, okay?”
“Ryuji, just hear me out—”
“Just shut your mouth, you crazy bitch!”
And Ryuji can see the exact moment the insult hits Ann. Her eyes widen, and though her lips are parted as if she’s about to say something, no words come out. Ryuji can see, clearly, the hurt that flickers across Ann’s face, hurt that quickly morphs into anger, and instantly, he knows he’s gone too far.
“Fine,” Ann says, quiet and sharp. “I’ll just go then.” She stands up, dusts her skirt off, and turns to leave. Ryuji just sits there, silent and dumb.
Stupid. Stupid, stupid Ryuji.
-
They’re supposed to convene for a strategy meeting today, but Ryuji texts the group to tell them that he’s feeling sick and heading home for the day. Ann doesn’t reply, but the rest of the group sends him their well-wishes, and it just makes him feel even worse.
He’s back home, lying on his bed and staring up at the ceiling when his phone buzzes. When he reaches for it he realizes it’s a text from Akira.
Akira: Hey. Are you okay?
Ryuji stares and stares, and then shoves his phone under his pillow so he doesn’t have to look at it any longer.
I’m not some fucking homo, he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut. I’m not. I’m not. I’m not.
-
He skips school the next day, gets his mom to call in for him. She doesn’t try to make him go.
Ryuji’s still in bed, his face buried into his pillow when he hears his door click open. He hears his mom’s footsteps as she walks over to him, feels his mattress dip with her weight as she sits down next to him.
“I’ll be heading off to work now,” she says. Ryuji doesn’t look up, just makes a muffled noise of acknowledgment.
Suddenly there’s a gentle hand carding through his hair and his mom’s voice, very quiet: “I love you no matter what. And you can tell me anything. You know that, right?”
Ryuji’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest.
“I know,” he says. His mom scratches her nails lightly across his scalp, and then her hand is gone and she’s getting up to leave. It’s only when he hears the door finally swing shut again then he finally turns over, staring up at the ceiling.
-
Ryuji: I’m sorry.
Ryuji: Can we talk? I cut classes today but we can meet up somewhere in Shibuya if you want.
He stares at his phone, waiting for Ann to reply. She’s in class so he’s not sure if she’ll even see it, but he can’t help but wait anyway.
It takes barely a minute for his phone to buzz with a notification.
Ann: Fine.
Ann: Meet me at Big Bang after school.
Ryuji exhales. After school. That gives him a good four hours before he has to get up.
He flops back onto his bed, his mind racing with thoughts. He thinks about Ann. He thinks about his mom. Mostly, though, he thinks about Akira.
His phone buzzes again. He picks it up, surprised.
Ann: You’re paying for me, though.
His chest is still tight, but somehow, it feels like the pressure’s let up, just a little bit.
-
Ryuji ends up getting to Big Bang early. It’s relatively empty when he arrives, the brief lull of peace between the workplace lunchtime crowd and the after-school crowd. He gets his food and then gets a booth in a corner of the store, somewhere quiet where they won’t be interrupted.
His palms are sweaty. He wipes it surreptitiously on his jeans.
“Be a man, Ryuji,” he mutters to himself. “You can deal with this.”
“Are you talking to yourself?”
His head snaps up immediately. Ann gazes back down at him, looking faintly amused. Ryuji turns away, flushing.
“You scared the crap out of me,” he mutters.
“Great,” she replies. Ryuji huffs. “I’m gonna go get some food, watch my stuff for me.”
And then she’s gone and Ryuji’s left staring at his half-eaten burger and Ann’s bag sitting innocently in the seat across from him. He can’t ignore how crazy nervous he is anymore. Jesus. Fuck. He can do this. He wipes his palms on his jeans some more, but they’re still sweaty. How are they still sweaty?
Ann’s back far too fast, sliding into the seat across him with a full combo meal.
“Are you really gonna eat all that?” he says, and then immediately winces. Why the hell did he say that? He’s here to apologize, not insult Ann some more.
“I’m hungry,” is all Ann says in reply, perfectly blasé. She picks up a fry and pops it into her mouth. “It was eight hundred yen, by the way.”
“Eight hundred? Seriously?”
“Are you complaining?”
Ryuji falls silent, taking a bite out of his burger so he doesn’t have to speak. For a moment they eat in silence, surrounded by the bustling noise of the rest of the store.
Ryuji chews, and swallows. Ann’s still looking down at her own tray, nibbling delicately at a fry.
He inhales.
“I just wanted to apologize,” he says, finally. “I was—I shouldn’t have said that. It was shitty of me.”
Ann continues chewing thoughtfully. She pauses, taking her time before she answers.
“I’m not going to say it’s okay,” she says, “because it wasn’t.”
“I know,” Ryuji replies. “I’m sorry. I just… I got mad, and I lashed out. But that doesn’t excuse what I did.”
Another long pause.
“Okay,” Ann says at last. “I accept your apology.”
“Oh.” Ryuji’s chest suddenly feels light with relief. Ann peers at him, the corners of her lips twitching.
“Were you worried I wasn’t going to forgive you?” she asks.
“Well—yeah. You’re scary when you’re mad, you’re know?”
“I’ll treat that as a compliment,” she says, cheerfully. But then her expression grows serious again as she continues, “I wanted to apologize, too.”
“Huh?” Ryuji blinks. “What for?”
“I—well. I shouldn’t have… made assumptions. I should’ve been more sensitive.”
“No, that was…” Ryuji trails off. God, why won’t his palms stop fucking sweating? This is getting ridiculous. He picks at the fabric of his jeans, looking down. “I… I think I kind of needed that.”
His chest hurts. His face feel hot, and he thinks his hands might be shaking, just a little. He’s spent so long trying to be a man, but when it comes right down to it, what does being a man even mean, really? For the longest time, he thought it’d meant being strong, not showing the slightest hint of weakness. He feels pretty weak right now, though. His gut reaction is to run away, or to fight his way through it. Fag, that classmate from middle school had said all those years ago, but what did he know? What did the guys on his track team know? What did his dad know? Maybe he’s been doing it wrong all these years, he thinks. Maybe he hasn’t had to try all along.
“I think I didn’t want to admit it to myself,” Ryuji says, the words leaving him in a rush. “I think I was scared of—being different. I think I’m kinda fucked up, but I think I’m starting to realize that me… being into Akira doesn’t really have anything to do with that. In fact, I think he’s maybe the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time,” he admits, and his face is burning, and his chest still aches, but when the words leave his mouth he knows, immediately, that it’s true. It’s absolutely true.
Ann looks at him thoughtfully.
“Does it hurt you to think that hard?” she muses.
“Hey, listen, if you’re just going to be an asshole about this—” he begins hotly, but she waves a hand in front of his face, silencing him.
“Sorry. Kidding,” she says. She smiles. “I’m really happy for you, Ryuji.”
And there it is again—the feeling like he’s just had the wind knocked right out of him. But in a good way. But in the best way. Like he’s been carrying around this burden for so long, but it’s finally been lifted. He feels lighter. Brand new.
“It’s been a long time coming now,” Ryuji admits. “Not just—the Akira thing. A bunch of other stuff I gotta deal with, too. But I think that was the wake-up call I needed.”
“It’s surprising to see you be this mature, Ryuji,” Ann says.
“Hey, listen, you’re totally ruining the moment here—”
“I know, I know. I just couldn’t resist.” And then suddenly Ann’s getting up, and she’s leaning forward to hug Ryuji across the table. It’s weird and awkward, because there’s a table and both of their half-eaten burgers between them, and she’s standing up but Ryuji’s still sitting rooted to his seat, but it still makes a warm mixture of happiness and gratitude rise up in Ryuji’s chest.
“I’m really happy for you, Ryuji,” Ann says. “I know I said it already, but it bears repeating.”
“Thanks, Ann,” he murmurs, softly. He closes his eyes, and hugs her back.
-
There’s only one person left to talk to now. And he’s the scariest one of all.
Ann had tried giving him advice, but all she’s told him was to be himself, and Ryuji isn’t really sure what himself really is anymore, so what’s the use of that?
Ryuji is pretty stupid. It’s not self-deprecating; it’s a fact. He doesn’t like thinking too hard about things. He’s always been a take it as it comes kind of guy. But lately he’s been thinking a lot about his life—and yeah, he’s only sixteen, but a lot has happened to him in those sixteen years. He grew up thinking it was his responsibility to be a man, to protect his mom, but now that he thinks about it, he was just a fucking kid. What the hell was he supposed to do?
His mom’s the strongest woman he knows. No, she’s the strongest person he knows, period.
Ryuji’s starting to realize that maybe he's protecting her not because he's a man, but just because he loves her.
Ryuji's starting to realize that maybe it's okay to just be whatever he wants to be.
He wants to tell someone. He feels like he’s just reached a breakthrough. Ryuji’s not smart, but he’s capable of this much. He wants to tell someone, but the only person he can think of telling is Akira. His bro. His best friend.
Ryuji wants to tell him. He wants to tell him everything.
-
Ryuji: Hey. Can you meet me on the rooftop tomorrow after school? There’s something I wanna talk about.
Akira: Sure. I’ll be there.
Ryuji: And leave Morgana at home for the day.
-
By the time Ryuji gets there, Akira’s already sitting on one of the rickety chairs, fiddling with his phone. Ryuji pauses at the stairs for a moment, just looking. Akira, with his messy black hair and pretentious fake glasses and skinny twig limbs, and Ryuji was stupid for even thinking for a second that what he feels for Akira could possibly be in any way platonic.
“Hey,” he says, and Akira looks up, sliding his phone back into his pocket.
“Are you okay?” Akira asks.
“Huh?”
“You were out sick yesterday.”
“Oh. Right.” Ryuji sits down on the table next to Akira, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was just allergies. I’m fine now.”
“Okay. I’m glad.” Then Akira’s gaze turns sharp, serious. “So, what’s up?”
Well. Here goes nothing. Whatever happens, happens.
“I like you,” Ryuji says.
Akira stares at him. His expression is indecipherable. Ryuji stares back. He thinks he might have stopped breathing. His heart is doing cartwheels in his chest. He would very much like it to stop doing that.
“Okay,” Akira says at last. “Cool. I like you too.”
Wait.
“Wait, what?”
Akira just looks at him and shrugs.
“It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” Akira says casually. “We already hang out all the time anyway. It just means we get to kiss in addition to all that normal stuff.”
“Hold on, who said anything about kissing—”
“Do you not want to?”
Oh shit. Oh shit. Akira’s looking at him, smirking, and Ryuji’s entire face is on fire. He’s going to die if Akira doesn’t kill him first.
“M-maybe,” Ryuji mumbles. Akira’s smile shifts into something softer, warmer. Like he's been waiting for Ryuji to say it for a long time now. And maybe he has. And maybe this is what they've been hurtling towards, all this time, all those training sessions and bowls of ramen and late-night text conversations. Freedom, Ryuji had said. Yeah, freedom. That's what it is. That's what Ryuji feels right now.
“It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” Akira says again. “I like you a lot, too.”
He places his hand on top of Ryuji’s; it’s warm. Ryuji’s skin tingles with Akira’s touch.
It took a lot of work to get here. And it’ll take a lot of work from here on, too.
But maybe sometimes, just like this, it doesn’t have be hard. Sometimes it can just be the easiest thing in the world.