Yusuke was a creature of unbreakable habit. He enjoyed order and structure, and liked to know when he was expected to do things and how he was expected to do them. The slightest disruption to his routine would send him spiralling, leaving him in a horrible mood for the rest of the day.

Today was one of those days. Madarame had invited a guest over without warning Yusuke beforehand, and that had sent him into a tantrum of epic proportions. He didn't like strangers and he didn't like surprises, so this was a particularly detestable event in his eyes.

Madarame dragged him downstairs despite his vehement protests. "I don't want to," whined Yusuke, trying to pull his arm out of Madarame's grip. "Let me go!"

"Oh, grow up Yusuke!" snapped Madarame. "You're not a little kid anymore, and this whining is completely unacceptable for someone your age. Sometimes you must do things you don't want to do. That's life, and complaining isn't going to change anything. Now, you will behave and act normal in front of this curator, or I will ground you for the rest of the week. Do you understand me?"

Yusuke squirmed in his grip. "But it's so difficult Daddy. I don't like new people."

Madarame scowled. "I am not your father. What do you call me?"

"Sensei," sniffed Yusuke. "Do I really have to do it Sensei?"

"Yes, the curator is expecting to meet you. I'm not having you embarrass me again," said Madarame, shoving Yusuke into the living room.

The curator stood to greet them as they came in. He was an aggressively friendly man, who immediately went to shake Madarame's hand with a wide, toothy smile on his face. "Is this your son?" he asked brightly.

"No, he's my student. I took him in after his mother's death," explained Madarame, pushing Yusuke forward. "Why don't you say hello Yusuke?"

Yusuke mumbled a hello, doing anything to keep from making eye contact, which was made difficult by the fact that the stranger seemed to be attempted the exact opposite at every opportunity. "I apologise for his behaviour," said Madarame. "He's a little shy."

He punctuated the last word with a sharp glare. Yusuke curled further in on himself.

"I understand," laughed the curator. "My daughter's shy too. Anyway, what layout are we thinking for this new exhibit?"

Madarame and the curator launched into a lengthy conversation about the upcoming exhibition, thankfully leaving Yusuke out of it. He didn't want to talk anyway.

All this stress of meeting a new person was making him feel a bit shaky. Similar to how a kettle filled with boiling water needed a way to release the rising pressure, he had found his own way of release. It varied by situation and circumstance, and today it had manifested as fluttery fingers. The curator hadn't noticed, still engrossed in the work that Madarame was showing him.

Madarame shoot Yusuke a murderous glare and reached over a hand. He pinned Yusuke's wrist to the table, forcing his hands to a standstill. The curator happily continued with the conversation, having not noticed at all.

"Quiet hands," hissed Madarame. "You know the rules."

Yusuke knew he was in trouble.

Nothing happened until the curator left. Madarame was cruel, but he wasn't stupid. He never struck Yusuke in public and never in front of others - he had his reputation to worry about after all - but things were different behind closed doors.

As soon as the front door slammed shut, Madarame struck, like a viper leaping from the brush. He yanked Yusuke forward, sharp nails digging into his wrist. Stumbling, Yusuke desperately tried to regain his footing, but was thrown of balance again when Madarame smacked him on the side of the head, sending him lurching to the left. He was lucky enough to grab a hold of the coffee table before he hit the ground.

His ear was ringing with discordant chords of a half-finished song, and his vision was blurred, but he could still make out Madarame's scowling face.

"Sensei, I—"

"Ten fucking minutes! That was all I asked," screamed Madarame. "And you couldn't even do that. What is wrong with you?"

Yusuke stared down at the ground. "I don't know…" he muttered.

"You don't know?" Madarame said incredulously. "I'm not having a retard for a student. You need to learn to control yourself. No more of that stupid fidgeting. I've let it go on for far too long anyway."

"But I can't control it," said Yusuke.

"You will learn. You are not a wild animal that is completely lacking in self control. I raised you better than that."

"Sensei, you can't—"

"I'm doing this for your own good Yusuke. No one is going to take you seriously if you act like that. Now go to your room and think about what you've done," spat Madarame. "Don't think I'm feeding you after this outburst."

Things only got worse after that. Madarame stayed true to his word and punished Yusuke for the fidgeting whenever he saw it. That didn't mean that Yusuke stopped though; he just learned to hide it in front of his mentor. He learned to bottle it all down and release it when he was on his own so he could avoid the punishment.

Even so, the pressure was always building, hissing and screaming to be let out. Sometimes he couldn't stop it from erupting out of him. Those where the worst days. He would be left shaking and crying, scratching at himself, trying to alleviate that crushing feeling deep down in his soul.

He was only hurting himself – he knew that – but it was the only way to make himself feel better.

Madarame didn't understand it, just as he had never understood anything about Yusuke. As always, he resorted to violence. He would smack Yusuke on the back of the head every time, repeating the same words.

"Quiet hands."

Like how a dog can be made to salivate at the sound of a ringing bell, Yusuke was conditioned to associate exhibiting these behaviours in front of others with fear. With pain. Whenever Madarame had guests over, he played the role of the perfect protégé and dutiful student, exactly how Madarame wanted him to, so that he could avoid his ire.

Not once did he question it.

Madarame just wanted what was best for him.

That was the only explanation.

As sad as it was to admit, Yusuke had never had friends before he met the phantom thieves. He had always been too busy with his art and studies and never had enough time to socialise. No one at his school liked him enough to talk to him anyway.

The closest person he had to a friend when he was a child was Natsuhiko, who had been more like a brother to him, but Natsuhiko left when Yusuke was ten years old. Ysuuke didn't even get to say goodbye. He just found his bed empty one morning and was informed of his departure over breakfast. Yusuke never quite forgave Natsuhiko for leaving him like that.

The Phantom Thieves were a motley crew, but they were the kindest people Yusuke had met in a long time, so he was happy to call them his friends. They were all kindred spirits, people who had been beaten down and abused by the world, and people who wanted change.

He found solace in their friendship. It was comforting to be around people who were so much like him, who had similar pasts and experiences, and who could understand him.

That day he was reminded of how kind the Phantom Thieves were.

Yusuke had started yet another one of his passionate rants – this time about an artist from the Edo period, who was well known for his unique handling of colours and composition – and instead of blowing him off and ignoring him, as he had expected them to, everyone was paying attention to what he had to say.

And he loved it. Art was a second parent to Yusuke (it had certainly done more to raise him than Madarame ever had) and he would happily ramble about it for hours on end. Once he got going, he could rarely force himself to stop.

There was a lull in his ramble, and he realised how rude he was being. "I apologise," he said. "I let that go on a bit long, didn't I? I have a bad habit of running my mouth. It won't happen again."

"We don't mind man," said Ryuji. "Art makes you happy and shit. We get that."

"It's like me and computers," added Futaba, who was crouching on the couch and fiddling with the ends of her hair. "Sometimes you've just got to talk about these things."

"Whatever makes you happy Yusuke," said Ann.

"We're your friends," explained Ren, leaning dangerously far back in his chair. "We only want you to be happy, and if this is what makes you happy, go for it." Haru and Makoto nodded in agreement.

Yusuke couldn't stop himself. He felt bubbly and ecstatic. All that energy had to go somewhere and he found his hand flapping, quite without his input or permission. He rocked on his heels, riding that wave of joy.

It didn't last long however, and a wave of horror came crashing down upon him as soon as he realised what he had done. Everyone was staring at him and he was frozen in place.

It was like he was the painting in Madarame's palace. That damn thing haunted his dreams. He would never forget it – the reminder that he was nothing than a thing to the man who raised him. The man he thought of as his father. It sneered at him, as he tossed and turned, reminding him that he would never truly be free.

A tiny sliver of his brain knew that Madarame was gone, and couldn't hurt him anymore. But it was overwhelmed by everything else that was screaming at him that he was in danger. That he needs to run and not look back. But he couldn't even do that.

They'll only hate you after this.

He tried to force himself to say something – anything – but couldn't force out a single sound. He swore that he couldn't breathe. Everyone's eyes were on him. His heart was racing, pumping adrenaline through his veins that he wouldn't even use because he was too terrified to run, let alone move.

"Yusuke is something wrong?" asked Ren, ever the gracious leader. Yusuke wasn't sure if he would be able to handle it if Ren hit him. He was usually so composed, but Yusuke knew he packed a mean punch. He had seen him use it on shadows before.

Maybe, if he uses it on you, you'll turn to dust and blow away as well. Then you won't bother them anymore. They'll be happy that you're gone.

"I can't— I don't— I need—" he stammered, unable to form the words correctly. Everyone was staring at him. This was so humiliating.

Ren cast a desperate look to Futaba, who nodded and swayed to her feet. She inched toward Yusuke and reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. Yusuke flinched and she pulled away.

"You need to breathe Yusuke," said Futaba. "I know it's hard, but you need to breathe. In for four, hold for seven, and out for eight. Come on, do it with me."

Yusuke took in a single shaky breath. And then another. Soon, his heart stopped palpitating at a million miles an hour, and he finally felt stable.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I don't know what came over me. I- I don't know. It simply happened."

"It's okay. You were just having a panic attack. Have you never had one before?" asked Futaba.

"No…" said Yusuke. "I can't believe I lost control like that in front of everyone. This is mortifying."

"No one's going to judge you or anything. These things happen," said Futaba, with a shrug. Everyone else nodded. "Do you know if anything triggered it?" she asked.

Yusuke chewed on his fingernails, a nervous habit that he never managed to kick, despite Madarame's best efforts. "You'll think it's stupid."

"We won't. Trust me."

"I am different to other people," he admitted. "I always have been. When I was young, I had bad habits that were beginning to cause problems, so Madarame took it upon himself to… fix my issue."

Futaba frowned. "You don't mean..?"

"He used to hit me. It was never anything that bad, and never enough to bruise or scar, but it was adequate, and corrected the problem. I believe losing control and exhibiting that behaviour again in front of others was enough to remind me of it. I apologise for worrying you all." He bowed his head, staring down at the ground.

There was a long, empty silence, which was broken by Ryuji. "Dude. He was abusing you."

Yusuke blinked. "And that's… bad?"

"Of course it's bad!" exclaimed Ann. "He hurt you. It's no wonder you're afraid of him."

"Why didn't you tell us?" asked Ren, staring Yusuke down.

"I didn't think it was important…"

Futaba walked over to the couch and took her previous crouched position. "So, Inari, are you autistic?" she asked.

Yusuke scowled. "I don't see how that's relevant. I was diagnosed as a child, but I grew out of it."

He was a little surprised when Futaba cringed and Ren shook his head. "You don't grow out of autism Yusuke," said Ren, as gently as he could. "It's a part of who you are."

"But I'm not autistic anymore! I'm not. Madarame fixed me," exclaimed Yusuke.

"Man, not to rude or anything," interjected Ryuji. "But he lowkey traumatised you. He didn't fix shit."

"Hitting someone for stimming is like punishing your puppy for wagging it's tail," said Makoto. "You're just doing what your body wants you to do. It's normal. We all do it." She gestured between herself, Futaba, and Ren.

Yusuke's eyes widened. "You mean, you're all like me?" he whispered.

"Yes," said Ren "You're not alone."

"Thank you," he mumbled, rubbing at his face with the sleeve of his shirt. Why was he crying? "You're all too kind.

Ryuji rolled his eyes. "Nah. We're just not shitty people like that bastard. Sorry if that's rude or whatever, but it's true."

Yusuke couldn't stop himself from snickering. "That's absolutely true. He was a grade A asshole"

"Group hug!" announced Haru, launching herself at Yusuke. Soon, Yusuke found himself in the middle of a crushing group hug with every single Phantom Thief except Morgana, who was still peacefully sleeping on the windowsill.

"You're a bit weird," said Ryuji. "But you're our weirdo."

It was Yusuke's turn to decide where the group went on their weekly outing, and he chose the planetarium. Natsuhiko had taken him there once, when Yusuke was about ten years old. Looking back, he knew it was because Madarame had come home drunk again and Natsuhiko didn't want him to see that.

It was funny how many of his good memories were tainted by hindsight.

Even so, the day stood out in his mind. It was a single happy moment in the sea of abject misery that was his childhood. Natsuhiko had spent the entire evening pointing out different constellations and telling Yusuke stories about them.

Even after Natsuhiko left, Yusuke remembered the stories. He would trace the constellations onto his palm and whisper the stories to himself, desperately clinging onto the few things he had left of Natsuhiko. He remembered every single word, exactly how Natsuhiko had told him.

He and his friends found their seats and settled down. The lights flickered on above them, stars appearing in the dark expanse. He remembered Natsuhiko daring him to try and count them. It was impossible; there were just too many. An incomprehensible number.

It was beautiful. He would paint it, but he could never capture its majesty quite right. All the swirls of purple and blue and black, with pinpricks of light shining through, filled the entire domed ceiling. It would never fit on a canvas.

Futaba leaned over and whispered to him, "Do you know any stories about the stars?"

"Are you sure you want to hear?" replied Yusuke. "You know how much I can go on about these things."

"Of course. We all want to hear!" said Ann. Yusuke looked around to the smiling faces of his friends and couldn't help but grin himself.

"Okay," he said, flapping his hands, as he collected all the right words. Flapping was his favourite stim. There was nothing quite like it for that fluttery, excited feeling in his chest. "Can you see those three stars over there that form a line?" he said. "They are a part of a constellation called 'Take No Fushi'. They represent a bamboo cane, being held by a young girl. The story stays that she and her sister were carrying buckets of water balanced on canes of bamboo, when they were attacked by a fearsome Oni. There was no escape, so they climbed a rope towards the sky. The elder sister became the moon, and the younger sister became the stars that trail after her…"

Everyone was listening to him. No one minded his stimming. He knew, for the first time in years, that it was okay to be himself around those he loved.