The humidity is suppressing, but the scrutinizing of the cops is asphyxiating.
His eyes train on the stone floor, cool and sticky beneath bare feet. There are words jammed in his throat,
(We didn't do anything, go away, please, (not again), stop looking at me, don't touch me)
but they refuse to come out. And he doesn't know why they still affect him like this, because it's been a year and a half now, so shouldn't he be over this?
In that moment, wave upon wave of relief lay into him as Yusuke handles pressing inquiries. Ren supposes he's used to investigations, having been an ex-student of the notorious Madarame. He recalls the times Yusuke would arrive at Leblanc, fatigue clinging to his movements and voice as he recounted the number of reporters that harassed him upon leaving Kosei's grounds. As time went on, he grew to dismiss them in a calmer manner. It was awful of Ren to think so, but he's almost glad Yusuke went through such an ordeal.
He couldn't talk to these people alone.
"Very well," one of them says. "I ask for your cooperation should you notice anything suspicious. Our main concern is the well-being of people like you."
Ren's teeth clamp down on his tongue. The familiar sting rings sharply to his brain, but he's done this once before. He can do it again. The metallic taste as his teeth tighten is familiar too.
Yusuke dips his head in a nod, taking a step back towards the door. "Noted. We will be on the lookout." He pauses, one leg inside, the other out. It's an invitation, Ren realizes, and he sidles in the space between Yusuke and the wooden frame of the doorway. Reading Yusuke's body language had never been an easy task, but he's grown used to it over the months they've spent together.
The interior of the apartment consists of combined living room and kitchen. There's a low coffee table with two cushions, and Ren realizes that he forgot to ask his parents about the kotatsu. It's not as if they were home enough to use it – why let it collect dust? – being married to their job and whatever social life existed outside of one another and Ren.
A few paintings align the walls of the hallway that splits off into three rooms, all by Yusuke, obviously. There is a special one tucked away in the studio, away from visitor's eyes, but neither stored away. It suffered enough of its life inside closets.
Sojiro had been the one to return the 'Sayuri' despite Yusuke's protests. Giving him a day to think on it, he eventually caved and requested he take the last memento to his new home with Ren. It was odd revisiting Leblanc without it looking down on customers and workers alike. The walls bare once more save for the jars of coffee beans that sat on shelves.
"Are you alright?" he barely registers the lock clicking into place.
He makes an affirmative noise at the back of his throat. "Just thinking how the Phantom Thieves would jump at the call. Probably have them confessing the next day."
"Ren."
The words no longer clog his throat, but he still feels cornered. He can read Yusuke's expression without looking, pick out every line that creases along his brow when he's concerned. Ren swallows. Hard. Counts to three, then turns, makes sure the mask is on right, the smile that he's practiced for years, the one that is capable of shrugging off questions and persistent friends and family. "It's fine," a pause. "Really."
Yusuke frowns.
He turns, takes one step. Two. "I'm worn— I'm exhausted, and I need to get up early. Don't stay up too late working on your magnum opus."
Ren means to leave on a humorous note, brush off any remaining concern and hopes Yusuke gives a chuckle in response as he normally did. When it doesn't come, Ren hopes not for the first time that he can fall asleep before Yusuke climbs into bed.
Middle school was a stepping stone that had been too slick. He's not sure how many times the new current sucked him under, having been tossed into an atmosphere that he struggled to adapt to. His parents would tell him the same thing – "Keep up your studies", "Be on time", "Do well on your entrance exams" – and perhaps it had been their way of comfort. Maybe it was the only way they knew how to ease racing pulses and shaky knees.
It didn't always work though.
The mantra would phase in and out of his mind as he worked, buried in workbooks to the eyes, struggling to memorize different characters and subjects simultaneously.
Indeed. Middle school had been the first step to into a new world. And middle school had been the first place he disappointed his parents.
"This is unacceptable," his mother had said, and Ren would have preferred if she raised her voice. Tranquil disappointment sank in deeper, a wound that took longer to heal.
He hadn't been able to look at her that evening. "Sorry," he had said, wincing at the way the word tripped from his mouth. They never sounded good enough aloud.
Nothing was ever good enough.
"What were you doing this past weekend? You know your father and I are the first to have graduated college in our immediate families. We expect the same from you. They won't notice if you can't score above average."
Excuses – because really, that's exactly what they were – flew in and out his mind, chased away by the part of him that feared a further scolding. I thought I could study more, I thought I could be ahead for the next test, I thought I knew the kanji—
"I let your last score go, but this is the second time," his mother had slid the paper across the table. "I will be talking to your father about this, and we will set aside the amount of time per day you need to study."
The 77% glared at him as well.
All he could do was nod.
"Go to your room. We'll talk more tonight."
"What the hell were you thinking?"
"We taught you not to meddle in other people's business."
He knew they weren't going to defend him from the disapproving look of the cops.
It still hurt though.
"You're not supposed to let your emotions control you."
"This isn't going to affect just us, but you as well, Ren. A criminal record? Who's going to take in that kind of student?"
No one, his mind had responded pathetically.
"I don't know," his mouth had said quietly.
.
..
Through the fogginess of his own mind, he could make out the figure of three people. Tall men in black, eyes cold and hard, and it didn't take long for him to register the pain wasn't just coming from his face. He could feel it pulsing along his body, his legs, his wrists, and there was a stubborn itch in his arm. He had recalled how the drug loosened his tongue, but it was not enough for them.
Nothing was good enough.
As things became clearer, he could feel a bit of fight plastering to every nerve in his body.
When the third needle neared too close, he thrashed. There was a burst of pain in the side of his head, splashes of white splattering across his vision, and maybe the chair toppled then because everything was sideways and dammit it hurt—
.
..
—Takemi had blinked in surprise, and it hadn't been the first time Ren had seen her eyes rimmed with such shock. It took a while for his mind to catch up, but he noticed the syringe lying on the ground, having smacked it out of her grip, and he was standing, the blood loud in his ears as it pounded against his brain.
"I'm s-sorry," he had stammered. The paper crinkled loudly in the silence. "I... I don't think I can do a medical examination today. I thought I could, but I can't—"
She had shaken her head. "Don't. You don't have to explain."
He had said nothing.
"Would you like to talk about it?"
It. She knew what 'it' was – they all did.
He shook his head.
Ren awakes with a sharp inhale of breath. It's enough to make him hitch, and he pushes himself away from the warmth pressed against his back. He thinks he hears his name, but his feet are already carrying him to the bathroom and he barely has enough time to stick his head over the toilet bowl before the vomit expels itself from his mouth, sloshing against the porcelain basin. His back lurches, he dry heaves, repeats, more bile burns his tongue.
Hunched over, he feels his feet slip out from under him. The tiles scrape his knees and elbow through his clothes, his breath saws in and out of him, and shit he can't move. He must look disgusting, vomit clinging to his lips, and he spits in between his gasps.
He starts at the grip on his arms, hands that slide to his own, holding them gently, and through the cloud of tangled thoughts, he can vaguely feel Yusuke's chest against his back. "It's okay, breathe in, out..." his voice brushes against Ren's ear, and he can hear him counting. "What can you see?"
Ren blinks, hard. "Y-Your—" he struggles to swallow. "hands, the floor—"
His senses begin their slow crawl back to life. Ren distantly feels Yusuke rubbing the back of his hands, his wrists, in small circles. And he's not sure how long they stay like that, but Yusuke gently rocks them back and forth. He's talking about something, and he struggles to make out the words. It isn't until he sees the worry lining Yusuke's eyes does he realize he moved.
They stay like that, a jumbled mess of limbs, his head against Yusuke's chest. A steady beat that hums at a slower tempo than his own palpitating heart. And for the first time since the cops knocked on their door, he feels content.
There's a cup of green tea on the nightstand, soft steam crawling upwards in lazy curls. Ren's eyes begin to close at the feeling of Yusuke's fingers carding through his hair. They're on the bed again, blankets piled at their feet. His pulse slows to a jog, breathing mellowing as they stay together. He sighs shakily at the tender caress of his words, the gentle brush of Yusuke's lips against his cheeks, his neck.
He should apologize – that's what he does when he causes worry, it's all he can do – but he doesn't, focusing on his own breathing, on Yusuke's, on the heavy scent of the tea.
(Yusuke may have made the beverage a bit too strong out of his own panic...)
"Ren?"
"...Mm?"
A gentle touch against his forearm. "I'm not... quite good at this, but I ask you rely on me," Ren says nothing. "We're together now. I don't want you to feel alone."
He feels a lump in his throat. It's a generous offer, and he knows he has friends. Yusuke was special, understanding, and it wasn't right to keep so much from him.
The truth is, he wasn't okay. He's still plagued by nightmares like the pathetic child he is. And the more he tried to convince Yusuke that he was fine, the hollower the words rang in his own ears. But to burden him with his own problems? After everything Yusuke's been through? Would it be fair?
"You could never make me feel alone," Ren says softly, curling further against the warmth of Yusuke's body. "I trust you, I do—"
His voice is firm, but there's no malice. There rarely was – especially when he talked to Ren. "Then let me help. You've done more for me than I could ever ask."
A bitter, one note laugh bubbles from his lips. "I guess you'd want to return the favor."
"This is certainly not about favors," Yusuke counters. "You're my friend, my partner, and I intend to be there for you just as you have for me."
He sighs, brings Yusuke's fingers to his lips. "I don't deserve you," at the responding chuckle, he adds. "Thanks..."
Ren tries to shove away the topic, feeling sleep prod at his mind, tugging at his limbs. It would take time. He trusted Yusuke, cared for him, but was he ready to put such a burden on him? The last thing he wanted was to bog down Yusuke with his own issues. In the end, he supposed they both needed to heal. And as he feels himself dozing off, he figures with Yusuke, maybe they could. Together.