(A/N: Before you start, I'd like to quickly inform you that this is not only a crossover of content, but also an alternate universe. To make the struggles that Futaba and Yusuke face in the cursed gallery believably difficult, I opted to make it so that personas do not exist. Futaba still has to deal with the death of her mother, and Yusuke with Madarame's abuse-however, they ways in which they handle their respective situations are no longer influenced by ripping off their masks and changing hearts. Instead, they have to use their own willpower and strength to overcome their obstacles (both in the gallery and reality). Finally, I implore you to visit the blog "yeosiin" on tumblr if you love the cover art as much as I do! My wonderful friend drew the picture, and she deserves so much love! With all that in mind, please enjoy this series!)

In the early afternoon, under a gray sky, Futaba Sakura finds herself standing at the entrance of a looming skyscraper. A shoddy sign placed firmly in the middle of the sidewalk announces a limited-time viewing of the artist Guertena Weiss's works on the fifteenth floor; this is the sole the reason that she traveled all the way to the very heart of Tokyo. It wasn't her choice to come here, of course. If it were up to her, she would be relaxing in the comfort of her air conditioned room, watching a livestream. But Akira and Sojiro were insistent that it would be good for her to learn how to spend time around strangers if she wanted to function like a "normal person" in society. She's not entirely sure what part of her could be considered "normal", but the idea of being able to walk into a room without feeling the need to duck for cover behind the closest object is a pleasing one.

A group of people pass by on the sidewalk behind her, and Futaba steps closer to the ever-present Akira, nervously jumping when the edge of someone's bag brushes against her back.

"...Can… Can we go home now?" she asks.

Sojiro fixes her with an annoyingly stern stare. "I just spent all this time driving here, and you don't even want to step inside?"

Futaba shakes her head, her oversized glasses sliding down her nose as she does so. Sojiro sighs and fiddles with the brim of his hat, looking unsure of himself. As much as he tries to be firm with her, Futaba is all too aware that he's willing to concede with whatever she wants if she shows even the slightest hint of discomfort.

Before Sojiro can come to a decision, Akira glances at Futaba over his shoulder. "Why don't we at least go inside the gallery? You might feel better once you see it."

His gray eyes are filled with a blinding amount of kindness directed solely towards her. He was the only reason that she even left her room this summer, though the method with which he got her to leave was incredibly annoying. Once Sojiro let it slip that Futaba was staying with him, Akira came over a couple of mornings every week and tried to get her to talk to him through the locked door of her bedroom. He absolutely refused to leave, even when she finally broke her silence and yelled at him that he could find better ways to spend his summer break. No matter how she threatened him-whether it was that she would hack into his phone and email embarrassing pictures to everyone in his contacts, or send an anonymous report to the police about some made-up threat to get him in trouble with his parole officer (which she never would have really done)-he kept coming back.

Eventually it got frustrating enough that she threw open her bedroom door to directly confront him, only to find he was sitting on the floor outside of her room with a magazine in one hand, smirking as if he'd always known she was going to make an appearance. He'd been way too smug about her finally leaving the tomb of her room, but his efforts were a step forward for both of them. From that point on, he encouraged Futaba to accompany him whenever he went around the neighborhood to run errands. Her high social anxiety had prevented her from leaving Sojiro's house for an entire year, but she found that walking alongside Akira somehow made being around others a little more manageable and a little less scary.

Sojiro had nearly toppled over from his place behind the counter in Leblanc when she'd entered for the first time with Akira at her side, and the satisfaction she felt at seeing the surprise on Sojiro's face was immeasurable. His mood significantly improved after that had happened, and Futaba couldn't help but feel that she never would have seen Sojiro so happy if Akira hadn't helped peel her away from the sanctuary of home.

What was perhaps the most impressive in all of this was Akira's reason for helping her. One day she finally asked him, "Why?", and all he told her was, "You should try to enjoy yourself while you can." Maybe it was due to the looming threat of possibly being arrested for any reported misdemeanor that caused him to say that, but Futaba was highly impressed with his outlook on life.

...Which is how she came to find herself being unable to say "no" to him when he told her that one of his friends had suggested they visit an art gallery together. He'd insisted it would help her get used to crowds in an unfamiliar environment, and Sojiro agreed right away with the notion.

Akira's eyes study her now as he patiently waits for her answer on whether or not they'll venture into the gallery. After a long, tense moment, she hangs her head and sighs. "...Fine. But let's not stay too long!"

Akira beams at her, and even Sojiro's lips tilt up in a smile. Their pride in her decision is both encouraging and somewhat obnoxious-it makes her feel a bit like a puppy going through obedience training.

"We'll just take a look at what the exhibit has to offer, and then we'll head right home. Unless you want to stop for sushi after we leave…?" Sojiro allows the question to hang as he raises an eyebrow expectantly towards Futaba.

She shakes her head once again. "Nope, this is gonna take up all of my energy. That's like asking me to fight a boss when I'm, like, way underleveled. Can we have curry when we get back instead?"

Sojiro blinks a few times before letting out a slightly confused chuckle. "Sure, sure. Now let's hurry inside. It's too hot to be standing out here talking like this."

With that, Akira gently nudges Futaba forward, pushing her to walk alongside him. The lobby of the skyscraper isn't a challenge to get through-it's very spacious-but when they stand in the elevator to get to the floor in which Guertena's exhibit is being displayed, Futaba finds herself being pressed against the back wall as a throng of people suddenly enter with them.

"C-Couldn't we have taken the stairs…?" she asks, trying to fight down the nauseating panic welling up inside of her.

"Not with these knees," says Sojiro. "You'll be alright. It won't take too long."

Akira nudges her and holds out his elbow, quietly giving her permission to hold onto him. She grabs his arm with the ferocity of a drowning person reaching for a liferaft. Being able to hold onto someone familiar eases the panic in her enough that she feels like she can breathe somewhat normally again.

By the time the elevator finally gets to its stop on the fifteenth floor, Futaba, Sojiro, and (the now slightly battered) Akira are the only ones left inside.

"...Why didn't anyone else stop at the gallery with us…?" she asks as they step out of the elevator.

Sojiro shrugs. "I don't think people appreciate art as much as they used to. These days you can see what you want from your phone, and it's only worth visiting a gallery to most if the artist is well-recognized. Though I guess I can't say too much… I didn't even hear of this artist until Akira mentioned him."

Futaba blinks in surprise as she comes to realize that the elevator had left them directly at the doorstep of the gallery. A large banner drapes down from the ceiling, baring bold letters declaring "WELCOME TO GUERTENA'S EXHIBITION". A picture of a white-haired man is plastered next to the words, presumably a photo of the artist himself.

"...He's a lot better looking than that Madarame guy everyone keeps talking about. I see him everywhere," Futaba says, not addressing anyone in particular. That doesn't stop Akira from quietly nodding in agreement.

Sojiro guides them to the reception desk at the front, where a bored-looking man sits. "Welcome to Guertena's exhibition," he drawls in a tone that is quite unwelcoming.

Sojiro is unphased by the man's apparent boredom. "Thanks. I'd like three tickets."

"You don't need tickets. The exhibit is free."

"...Oh, really? That's good news for my wallet," Sojiro says, patting his back pocket in which the bulge of his wallet is clearly visible.

"Why is it free? Does his art suck that badly or something?" Futaba asks. She is met with an appalled glare from Sojiro, and the receptionist is staring at her in an equally unpleasant way. The only one who hasn't turned to make a face at her is Akira, and she can tell he's trying not to laugh because of how he's biting his lip.

"I'm sorry about that… Futaba, why don't you take a look around the gallery by yourself for a moment? There aren't many people here, so you should be fine, okay?" Sojiro says.

"You mean you want me to stop embarrassing you now?" Futaba asks, raising her eyebrow at him. Despite playing it coy, she feels nervous at the thought of actually wandering the gallery alone. He's right that there are hardly any people around, though. From where she's standing, all she can see is a couple standing alone in front of a painting.

"Ah-no, that's not what I mean…" Sojiro looks as if he's getting more flustered by the moment-though that doesn't stop him from issuing more commands. "Akira, just let her wander on her own for a minute. I want you to help me get some information about this Guertena guy."

The receptionist finally pipes in. "There's two floors you can look around. This one and the one above, which you can get to with the stairs to your right. Just don't break anything, or you'll have to pay for it."

Futaba sticks her tongue out at him, annoyed by his attitude towards her. "I won't!"

With that, she takes her first few steps towards the gallery, trying to give herself courage by imagining herself as the protagonist of an anime. The hero of a show wouldn't back down from an adventure, and neither will she.

"Hey, will you really be okay?" Akira asks quietly as she passes by him.

She takes a deep breath and nods. "...Yeah. You're in here, and it's not as crowded as the elevator. I'll be fine. I'll just scream really loudly if I need help."

"...Please don't disturb the other patrons in here," the receptionist says, looking weary. Futaba stubbornly pushes her glasses up onto her nose and ignores his warning. Without much thought in her decision, she decides to wander up to the second floor to start her tour of the gallery.

Right away she can tell she won't be impressed by Guertena's art. The very first painting she sees once she's at the top of the stairs is of a woman holding a newspaper. Real impressive. Not like she couldn't see that in real life if she willingly stepped outside every once in a while.

The painting next to it is blocked entirely from her view by an extremely tall and skinny man. In a somewhat bold but uneloquent move, Futaba approaches the painting and ducks to stand in front of the man to look at it for herself.

The painting is significantly creepier than its neighbor. It depicts a man being hung by his ankle with a red rope. His eyes and mouth are drawn like dark, hollow holes sunken into his face, and Futaba can easily imagine him being a monster in a horror game. She notices that it's fittingly titled "The Hanged Man" via a plaque at the bottom of the frame.

The man standing behind her clears his throat, startling Futaba out of the morbid reverie she'd fallen into looking at the painting. She tilts her head back to see that his arms are crossed over his chest, his face clearly etched in an expression of annoyance. Even from her awkward below-the-chin view of him, she can tell that he's handsome. His features are fine, his face long, and his eyes sharp-an appearance shockingly akin to that of a fox. His dark hair hangs just over his eyes, the bangs catching in eyelashes that are thicker than her own. His skin is smooth and unlined, suggesting that he's close to her own age. Futaba isn't a patron of the arts, but she feels that he could easily be someone's artistic muse.

"Would you be so kind as to step out of the way?" he asks in a voice that is unexpectedly deep-it doesn't match the delicate first impression he leaves. Futaba stares at him for a moment, expecting to feel the familiar onset of choking, crippling anxiety caused by confrontation from a stranger to well up inside of her. However, the feeling never rises. He doesn't scare her, she realizes-in fact, there's something about him that reminds her a bit of herself. A light is missing from his eyes, giving them a certain lifeless quality. It's the kind of characteristic that can only be found in someone that's been broken before. No matter how hard he smiles or cries, that light won't come back. She's the same way-the death of her mother scarred her so painfully that she can't ever truly feel satisfied. However, there are people capable of making the burden lighter.

Akira would try to help this stranger as he had helped her, Futaba decides. Following this thought, she spontaneously arrives to the conclusion that she can act normally around him. She knows she isn't cut out to be the healing, touchy-feely force in someone's life, but at the very least she can be herself and hope for the best.

"...Haven't you been looking at this long enough?" she asks. "Your joints are going to need oiling if you keep standing here."

His eyes narrow at her comment. "My joints," he says in an overly dramatic tone, "are perfectly oiled. Now please, step aside."

Futaba decides to listen and get out of his way, fearing that he'd try to stomp her if she attempted to tease him further. The top of her head isn't even close to the height of his shoulders, and the wear on his leather shoes gives her the impression that he's stepped on many different things before.

Once she's moved, his attention is immediately reabsorbed by the painting. He's making the same expression she makes when watching a particularly enthralling anime, but she can't comprehend how he could find such bliss in a boring-albeit creepy-painting. It doesn't move, it doesn't light up… She tilts her head and leans forward a little so that she appears at the edges of the man's line of sight. His dark eyes flicker towards her before quickly darting back to the painting.

"...Are you looking for a clue?" Futaba asks him, folding her hands behind her back. Her question apparently confuses the man enough that he looks her way again.

"A clue…? What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know… In video games, there's always a clue hidden behind a painting or something, and you need it to advance to the next level. Is there a secret to this painting or...?" Despite explaining it as clearly as possible, he doesn't seem to understand what she's saying. She can practically envision question marks surrounding him.

After a moment, he shakes his head. His hair falls into his eyes as he does so, and he tucks a strand behind his ear. "...I'm looking at this simply because it evokes a dark emotion from me. I've never attempted to paint something as harsh as this myself… Look at the strokes by the eyes and mouth. They are wide, as if the brush was pressed down angrily… I wonder if Guertena covered the original painting…? Did someone criticize him?"

Futaba stares at him as he rambles on about the magnificent mystery of the art, not at all seeing it through the same rosy-glass that he is.

"So… Are you an artist or something…?" she interrupts.

He falters mid-speech, clearly annoyed that she stopped him before he could go on. After a moment, he collects himself and straightens his posture, his chest puffing with pride. "...Yes, I do consider myself an artist. I'm not as great as my sensei, but I like painting for what it is. Nothing expresses the heart as clearly as a brush taken to a canvas."

"You could have just said 'yes' or 'no'."

His pride deflates out of him as fast as it had entered. "If you have nothing but sarcasm to offer, then please go to another part of the gallery and leave me alone. You clearly don't know how to appreciate the arts."

"Are you going to start kissing the painting if I walk around the corner? Is that why you want me to leave?" Futaba teases. She's delighted that he has such a wonderful reaction to her words. He tries to talk back; he doesn't just stare at her blankly.

His narrow eyes flicker in anger. "I'll have you removed from this gallery if you keep this up!"

"You'd snitch on me?!"

He haughtily tilts his head back, peering down at her over his nose. "I most certainly would. As a matter of fact… Are you here with your parents? I'd like to talk with them as well, if you insist on keeping this up."

The thought of this guy telling Sojiro that she's being a bother is enough to send her into a mild panic. With a face as sly as a fox's, she has no doubt that he'd make up something in order to paint her in a bad light. Futaba takes a step back to indicate surrender. "Okay, okay, I'll leave you alone. Have fun with your paintings, Inari."

A smug smile crosses his face. "Thank you. I'm glad we could-wait, what did you call me?"

Futaba takes another step back and holds her hands over her head, pantomiming animal ears. "Inari. Like the fox." She drops her hands to her sides and decides to abruptly end the conversation, fearing that it would become boring if she allowed it to go on for too long. Turning on the heel of her sneakers, she gives him a wave over her shoulder. "Later!"

Inari lets out a few sounds of stuttering protest, but they quickly die out as she walks away from him and allows a display of mannequins in colorful dresses to act as a barrier between them. When Futaba decides she's far enough away, she pauses in place and looks over her shoulder to see if he's still watching her. Unfortunately, it seems "The Hanged Man" holds more sway over him than she does; his focus is back on the art. He was actually kind of fun to speak with, even if the conversation was only a few minutes long…

Futaba shakes off the urge to go back and argue with him more and instead rounds the corner of the gallery in search of art that would be more entertaining to look at.

She finds it immediately. Stretching across an entire hallway is an incredibly odd mural that appears to have been drawn with crayons and chalk instead of paint. It must have been covered with some sort of wax paper, because whatever was scribbled down looks as if it's been run through a blur filter. The plaque hanging under the very center of the mural reads, "Fabricated World".

As Futaba attempts to study the painting's contents a bit closer, the overhead lights flicker. She freezes as she waits to see if the power is going to cut out, but is relieved when a few moments pass and the lights remain on. Still… The temporary cut of power brought an unexplainable tensity with it, as if something unnatural had made its way towards her in the blink of an eye. Surely not, as there isn't anyone else with her in this hallway… The smell of crayon wax suddenly burns her nose, and she glances back up at the mural to see that something's changed.

On the corner of the mural closest to her, someone wrote "Futaba Sakura" in red crayon, the kanji done in a shaky hand as if by a child. She lets out a startled gasp and backs away, her mind immediately calculating several different explanations as to how her name could have appeared directly on an artist's completed canvas. The conclusions she arrives to are entirely incoherent and illogical, leaving her to flee the area and seek the comfort of both Akira and Sojiro…