Chapter 15

The pillow beneath him is threadbare and worn; soft to the point of discomfort. It's not the type of thing his parents would keep around the house—not unless their opinion on useless, opulent things have changed since the last time they'd come home.

It takes him a full minute to realize that wasn't, in fact, at home. Then another to realize that he wasn't even, technically, in Japan anymore.

His eyes ripped themselves open despite the complete exhaustion weighing down every part of his body. Seeing the ceiling stop and turn into a blank slate of smooth, affectless stone revives the last memory of where he'd been—meeting up with Sakamoto and Takamaki on the school roof. The sky's blue is difficult to imagine inside of the almost mirror-like glaze of the solid foundation, the endless skyline—only disrupted by massive buildings—is limited to just above him; if he jumps, he thinks, he could most likely reach the ceilings water-like trance with the tips of his fingers.

That is, of course, if it weren't for the ball-and-chain connected to his ankle; grounding him, quite literally.

Moving his eyes inside of their sockets causes an intense burning he doesn't recognize as the need to blink until his body forces him to do it for him. When they reopen, he notices first, that his glasses are missing; a barrier he doesn't recall removing. His hands, moving blindly across worn, scratchy sheets—or what he assumes are an attempt at sheets—he doesn't find the comforting ridges of the fake lenses. Across the room, something stirs, and draws his attention. His lack of glasses—of defenses; and sense of awareness—feel entirely stripped away. He tilts his head down, the angle bordering on uncomfortable, and stares at a massive gate that separates him from his wardens, Justine and… Caroline, and Igor, the proprietor of the Velvet Room.

His gaze casts out over the sights in front of him. The views in the distance are blocked by passive steel pillars—not dissimilar to the skyscrapers blocking his sky's view—and behind that, lie to identically dressed wardens with a shared set of eyes; the girls' eyes shine bright amber, even in the shadows cast over their faces by the lip of their matching hats. It's painfully reminiscent of the girl from the Metaverse; whose hearing aid was still in his jeans pockets. His heart clenches in reminder. In place of their missing eye, an eyepatch with a foreign character V glows no-less brightly.

It's blinding; but not enough to distract him from the sneers that distort their faces when they notice, before he does, that he's awake and inside of the Velvet Room.

He approaches them, still contained behind the prison's bars, his right foot a good distance behind him as he can't quite manage to drag the ball his ankle is attached to across a rather sharp crease in the floor's design.

Igor begins speaking as soon as his hands make contact with the bars, using them for support in lieu of his leg.

"First off, I would like to begin by congratulating you, Trickster." Igor's thin, gloves fingers smooth out and mimic the motion of offering him a toast, "For breaking the first seal."

First seal? His mind echoes, somehow still asleep despite being on his feet.

"The merging between our two worlds advances with your progress of taking down a palace of substantial size." Igor continues, a sharp smile makes his lips crook awkwardly, "It will, no doubt, spark the turning point in your rehabilitation; as well as see a great increase in your power within both worlds, together."

He frowns; confused.

Igor extends a hand in a grand gesture, before sniffling sharply. The man across the room retracts his extended hand, adjusts the handkerchief sticking out of his breast pocket, but doesn't bring it to his face; even as he sniffles again. In front of him, Coroline's begins to tap loudly against the stone floor, sending solid, echoing beats across the rounded prison.

"Surely you have felt the increase in your power? The draw of your persona within your natural realm." Igor questions, addressing him for the first time—seemingly—since they've met.

Even now, though, he can feel the faint pulse of Arsene's—and the others—presence, from within him. The dull smoke of intrigue as Igor's words grow more and more confusing.

Akira nods. From beyond the bars, Igor's grin grows more massive, and he has a hard time, more than usual, looking the man in the eye.

"Excellent." The man rumbles, sounding sinister despite the praise he's offering. "As a reward, of such, allow me to bestow something upon you. You may find it useful during your endeavors, of that, I have no doubt."

The prison falls silent, save for the persistent tapping of Caroline's leather shoe tapping on the ground.

Before he can raise his hands in question, something drags him out of his own existence. Again, he is flooded with memories that aren't his own. The visions, this time, however, are coated in a film of dark blues and blacks. Thick, rope like strands of white are the only things that draw his attention away from the varying shades of azure that seem to coat the world unnaturally. The glowing strand, when his eyes follow one to its end, finds a shadow-figure that he has a hard time identifying as human until it—she, he notes—steps into a light source, dismissing her shadowy pallor for one of bright, icy blue. The line, as he follows it again, thinking that he's mistaken, winds back into this other person. The strands flow out of him, to the people he finds surrounding him. One catches his eye, blindingly radiant, more so than the others; it resembles a chain. Thick, glowing links chain together. The spikes adorning the flattened curves of each band keep him from running his hand over it. He follow it forward though, with his eyes and his heart nearly stops at the overwhelming surge of emotion that floods through him. The atrophy of exhaustion fades into pure, incomparable bliss; he's not sure how to describe it.

The figure, coated in a blue haze like the rest of those around him steps forward, a frown marring her wide face. He catches a splattering of freckles, all cobalt under the alterations to his vision. The rest of her body, aside from the elegant features of her face are hidden behind dark hair and the girl directly in front of him. A sudden urge flares to life inside of him, and, despite himself, he grabs onto one of the chain's sharpened bands. Akira knows, without a doubt, that he loves this girl; even if it's only the first time he's ever seen her face.

Igor guides him out of the azure memories with a chuckle. The sound kills all of the emotions that had been welling inside of him, the memory of gripping the chain like a rose with its thorns intact becomes blurry.

"That, Trickster, is called, in a rudimentary fashion, Thief Vision." The man explains, crossing one leg over the other underneath his impressive desk.

He blinks a few times, somehow unused to seeing in all colors. Akira follows the gleam of his shoes rather than attempt to continue the façade of maintaining eye contact with the man.

"It allows one—a thief, the ability to see threats, items of interest, and of course… the bonds that the thief has made." Igor's hand extends forward, gloved palm upwards, "Come, Trickster, hone this new tool."

The extended hand snaps, and his vision, as bleary as it had been before, shifts suddenly into the same gradient of blues and blacks from moments ago. "Excellent." The man at the end of a small, almost imperceptive thread says.

"The power of your bonds, I feel, are still tentative; growing. But…" The blue facsimile of Igor waves his hand. The silken strand shatters, sending fractals of ivory onto the azure shaded floor below them. "Easily breakable." He finishes forebodingly.

The thread, in the next instant, reemerges from thin air, connecting the two of them through the prison's bars once more; this time, however, it is a fraction thicker, maybe a centimeter around, but more noticeable than before. His previous unease with Igor, which had spiked at the warning, drops down, lower than it had ever been. The instant change has his palms clamming up, and he's quick to wipe them on his pants, still transfixed in the sights in front of him, as a thread, then two, emerge from somewhere within him. They're quick to attach themselves, shooting out in wide arcs towards either side of the entrance to his cell, to the two wardens. When it locks onto either of them, burrowing inside of them, they turn in unison to stare at him.

"Our master has placed a great trust within you. It seems only fitting that we place the same faith within you." Justine speaks first, softly as usual.

"Y-yes, we're expecting great things from you, inmate!" Caroline is quick to add, jutting out her baton to rattle against his cage. She laughs when he jumps, startled.

"Of course, I trust you will find powerful allies using this new gift." Igor says, silencing Justine and Caroline as they begin to speak. "With it, spotting those with the potential to be useful should go smoothly, I've no doubt..."

Somewhere, deep within the prison, though Akira has no way of knowing if it comes from above him or below, or even which side, an ear-piercing scream echoes off each of the Velvet Room's walls, reverberating into his cell and causing him to clasp his hands over his ears, cutting off whatever it was that Igor was saying. It reminds him, fitfully, of the tortured students within Kamoshida's cognition, but ends as soon as it begins.

"I believe that means our time is up." Igor, once again, waves a hand towards him. As soon as his gloved fingers twitch, Akira finds the world fading into black.

When his eyes open the next time, an overwhelming since of vertigo overcomes him and the urge to vomit doesn't relent until he rolls onto his side; it's only then does he take notice of the sturdiness of whatever is keeping his head from the floor, causing his thoughts to drift back to his parents' house in the country. The smell of the air is different from home, though, and he knows he isn't there; he's in Tokyo, under probation.

Akira sighs, feeling weary despite having woken up three times today.

"He's awake!" A voice calls, somewhere above him. Suddenly, he's hyperaware of multiple gazes lingering on his body and he pulls the panels of his school blazer closer around him.

"Joker!" A voice calls, just in front of his face, and he jumps from the sheer unexpectedness from it. The temporary nausea fades quickly, and he manages to pull his eyes open before the shock frays his sense of control.

Morgana's face is just in front of his, the darkened contours of his expression are drawn wide and he has a hard time looking the cat in the eye before his gaze drifts towards the cement just beyond the messy curls hanging down his face. He wonders, rather idly, if he should start preparing to start waking up in strange places.

"Joker?" Morgana calls, still in front of him. Akira opens his eyes once again, wondering when they'd manage to close without him noticing. The voice startles him into awareness.

"Are you okay?" Another, more feminine, voice calls; when he manages to glance upwards, he spots Takamaki kneeling above him, the curls of her hair threatening to smack into his face as she darks even closer. Without warning—or permission—his hair is scooped back from his face, and a warm, damp pressure presses onto his forehead. "You don't feel warm…" She comments. The heat is retracted, but he feels her fingers in his hair even after she drops the mass of it. The sensation isn't something he's used to, and borders on ticklish, but he's futile to stop it.

His arms are too tired to ask her to stop—though, he doubts she'd understand anything less than a physical intervention. His back is too numb for him to consider adjusting the vertebrae, as uncomfortable as he is. His legs are asleep, tingling painfully under his school trousers and inside of the dark leather of his shoes.

His vision, once again, fades into a dark sheet. But he doesn't pass out, and it's not until he notices this that he realizes that the sky, his hair, and Takamaki's hand had all turned varying shades of blue.

He sits up, then, panicked. Despite Igor's words, seeing things like this—using the Thief Vision without intending to—was something he's sure that he's dreamt up, somehow. The world is still blue when he blinks, and remains that way until his eyelids start to tire from the effort. He keeps his eyes open, staring at the altered atmosphere, taking in Takamaki's unreadable expression and watching her hand, still hanging in the air from where it'd been in his hair. In front of her, Morgana is a still rendering of his usual form. When he spots Sakamoto, just beside him, he wonders how he hadn't noticed the other boy before. All of these things, even the loose gravel under his fingers, are cast in bright shades of blue. Except, of course, the tendrils of pure white that stick out of him, imbedded in one side of his chest and jutting out towards the other three in thin, white strands.

Knowing what he does now, he recognizes them for what they are—his bonds. Seeing that they're there isn't what surprises him though, he knows what they are after all. It's seeing them connected from himself, to those around him; not the thief whose memories he had shared, and not within the Velvet Room.

He shared connections with these people; a bond between him and them.

His face, and chest—and underarms—all reacted to the suddenly realization with a sudden influx of heat. His cheeks warmed, burning hot against his face.

"You okay, dude? You're lookin' warm… another force pushed against his forehead, rough and somehow warmer than his body was feeling.

Opening his eyes once more, Akira spotted Sakamoto's arm pressed against his forehead. Everything was—thankfully—back in a full spectrum of colors, letting him forget about the things he'd just seen.

"You ain't warm, little sweaty though." Sakamoto diagnoses a minute later, pulling his hand back and wiping it on the place where Akira's head had just been resting; he watches, as Sakamoto's fingers wipe off his apparent clamminess onto his uniform's pants. His face, already burning, blazes in both shame and embarrassment.

He'd been sleeping on Sakamoto!

Akira had seen a similar instance before, on a bus back home of tourists falling asleep on a local. He was one of those people!

Shame wins over, in the next instant, and he finds himself standing in the moment after, bowing his apology for the inconvenience before, shakily, heading towards the roof's exit; Morgana would be able to catch up, hopefully bringing his now absent bag with him. He manages to get down one flight of stairs and onto the first year floor before his teammates are shouting for him to stop.

"H-hey!" Takamaki shouts, the sound of the roof's door slamming shut serves as punctuation, "Akira-kun!" She barks.

His feet cement themselves to the ground.

Probably for the best, he deliberates, staring at the still lingering first years, now staring at him, then at Takamaki and Sakamoto as they dash out of the stairwell. Drawing attention so soon would probably…

"…I'll sue!" The memory plays back so vividly he glances around to make sure that he still wasn't in the countryside. In the time it takes for him to reassure himself, Takamaki and Sakamoto are blocking the next set of stairs, towering over him despite the negligible differences in all of their heights. Morgana is cradled in Takamaki's arms, with two school bags hanging from her arms; one crooked in each elbow that sway rhythmically as she catches her breath.

The threads are still there, distracting enough that he doesn't hear what Sakamoto is saying until the world renders in color once again.

"…Hello?" Sakamoto drawls out, waving a hand—the same one that had been on his forehead a few minutes ago—in front of his face. The blond's leg is tapping, the same one his head had been—rather uncomfortably—lying on; the same quirk he had after long moments of silence within Mementos or in Kamoshida's palace. Akira has the feeling he should say something, but his hands are limp by his sides; the faint feeling that had rendered him unconscious on the roof was threatening to override the adrenaline and embarrassment of the situation.

"Dude!" Sakamoto finally shouts. He flinches, the reaction unavoidable, unlike the step he takes backwards.

Takamaki jumps as well, nearly tipping over the edge of the steps she's guarding if not for Morgana's weight keeping her forward heavy.

"What's wrong with you?" The thunder is replaced by lightning, Sakamoto's voice is quiet, but has an edge to it; one he's keen to spot almost instantly through years of listening for it. Unlike the other times, though, he doesn't have a response; nobody here can understand him, not without the barrier of his phone. Its weight is like a brick in his pocket but he can't quite figure out how to lift it, or what, exactly, is wrong with him; he's confused even by his own actions.

It hits him, like the thunder of Sakamoto's voice; the idea. He raises his hands, then stops, catching the numerous gazes still locked on him. Time has stopped in the hallway as first year students stare at the criminal, the delinquent, and Takamaki holding a cat.

Akira turns around, ignoring the confused—and Sakamoto's outraged—reactions from his teammates, and returns to the roof.

He's not distracted by the sky, or the horizon, or the gravel that crunches under his feet.

"I'm scared." Akira says it quickly, fingers tingling, forbidden yet mandatory. "I've never had…" He hesitates, even after recognizing that they don't understanding anything he's saying. "I've never had friends before and I'm not sure what to do." His feelings regarding Kamoshida, his past, present, or future, the Velvet Room, and Mementos are all ignored during his confession.

"Akira-kun…" Takamaki says, he catches something in her tone—she's easier to read than anyone he's ever met. It's an almost sad expression she makes towards him, the blue in her eyes squints down and she wipes at them before turning to Sakamoto, who's stunned still, looking stony, but not blank; though Akira has trouble identifying what expression the blond might be making.

"I think he wants to teach us, Ryuji." Takamaki deduces, pressing at Sakamoto's waist with her elbow, causing the boy to jump.

"Uh." Sakamoto retorts, his face drawing up, "H-how d'ya figure?" He questions, Sakamoto's pinning gaze is cast off of him. The two start whispering quietly between them, Morgana dropped to the floor, along with all of their school bags.

Akira twists around, letting himself get absorbed into the distance once again. He kneels by the fence that Suzui had climbed over. Looking at the same sight she had not even a week before.

Tokyo really was beautiful, despite the smell.

A minute later, a hand presses down on one shoulder, followed by another on his other side. He turns towards the first, finding Sakamoto, then Takamaki appears in his peripheral.

"We want to learn." She says, the teeth between her smiling lips shines under the overhead sun.

Sakamoto lowers down beside him, also smiling. "I guess it ain't really fair that you gotta text for us to understand, y'know?"

"Hey!" Morgana crawls between the thin space between his folded up legs and manages to get in front of him, "How am I supposed to learn something like that?" He yowls, "I don't have any fingers in this body!"

Akira pauses, wondering if he's genuinely offended Morgana for a moment before Sakamoto and Takamaki start laughing, then cackling. They both end up on the floor, he and Morgana between them.

Morgana catches his eye, staring at him intently behind oceanic pupils.

Akira shrugs in response, pulling out his phone for the first time.

"I'm sure Sakamoto or Takamaki will translate for you. It's not like you need fingers to talk to me, either. I'm not deaf." He turns it around, letting Morgana get absorbed in his explanation. The rod-straight quality of his tail droops towards the ground, curling into one of the fence's pockets just behind him.

"I guess…" The cat mutters, looking away.

Akira feels guilty, but it's not like he can give Morgana fingers.

"I'll teach you after we get your body back." He informs.

Morgana's ears perk up and he, too, starts to laugh; though Akira doesn't have an idea as to why.

He festers there, under the mild sun in the spring breeze, surrounding by his teammates, all of them still giggling with each other with him in the middle.

Akira presses at his throat, probing around his Adam's apple with chilly fingers. The pad of his fingers slide down, over the useless contours of his neck. There's a depraved, buried sadness that threatens to well up, but he drops his hand from his throat, and the feeling washes away. It leaves him wondering, with one last, poisonous thought, what his own laugh would sound like. He curls his hands around his knees, holding himself together with the gesture until the laughing—mocking—does down around him.

His teammates are in higher spirits than when he'd escaped from the roof, and smile at him when he glances in either of their directions.

"So, celebration first or tutoring first?" Sakamoto drawls, crossing both of his hands behind his head.

"Sensei." Takamaki tacks on.

Sakamoto tilts his head back, looking at the blonde, "Huh?" He rebukes.

Takamaki winks at him, as he had any idea what it meant, "You gotta call him 'sensei' if he's gonna be—wait a second…" The girl beside him rips his phone from his folded up arms, the contortion of his position making his reaction to slow to consider stopping the girl before her eyes rove over his two messages to Morgana.

"'Sakamoto' and 'Takamaki'?" She squeals, offended but Akira really isn't sure why; across from her, Sakamoto snorts, the blond darts his eyes over to him, staring.

"For real?" He groans out, "I told ya to call me by my first name—what is this, twice now?" The man beside him ponders, pulling one hand out from under his head to tap at his chin. A smile interrupts the frown that had been cast over Sakamoto's face not a moment ago, then another laugh; this one considerably shorter than the last.

"Don't you think, Ryuji" Takamaki interrupts, turning the laughing fit into a still silence, "That Akira-kun, should call us by our given names; since we're friends and on the same team."

Sakamoto shrugs in response, not bothering with words.

Akira's face heats up, still, at the use of his given name.

Takamaki sighs, loudly, like Ryuji's thunder but more gentle than the guttural shout from the back of his throat. "Please, Akira-kun, call me Ann" She implores, she laughs, under her breath and he has a feeling it's an intentional doing, "I mean, it's weird, you know. Having a friend call you by your family name, even when you're fighting side-by-side against a guy wearing lingerie."

He doesn't bring up the fact that she turns into Panther when he refers to her in the Metaverse. Nor does he bring up the fact that considering using their first names is enough to reignite the blush threatening to crawl up his chin. He doubts it would change her mind.

Akira glances to his left, towards Sakamoto—Ryuji; then again to his right, avoiding eye contact with Takamai—Ann.

Instead, he nods slowly when she gazes at him expectantly, and she smiles brightly.

"Okay, okay!" She squeals, leaning in even closer, "How do I sign my name."

He, briefly, considers offering Takamaki in response, but thinks wiser of it.

Akira juts a thump out, "A", then drops his fingers towards the ground, opening them wide, "Ne." It's not a perfect translation, Western names more difficult to reproduce in writing—and, subsequently, JSL—but it would sound the same if spoken out loud by someone translating.

Takamaki—Ann mimics the signs slowly, then more quickly. "Awesome!" She chirrups, repeating her name several more times.

"Me next! Me next!" Sakamoto—Ryuji orders, sitting himself up again.

He folds his thumb over his pinkie and shows Sakamoto the back of his hand, the other boy mimics the motion, "Ryu." Dropping the hold on his thump and folding in his ring finger, they both finish. "Ji." It's smoother, translates easier due to its Japanese origin.

His two teammates practice their names, then each other's. Akira watches for a minute, then drops his gaze to Morgana, who looks intrigued.

"What about our codenames?" The cat conjectures, his lip curling up, revealing sharp canines. "I'll admit, it will be useful being able to communicate without risking alerting any shadows."

Akira nods in assent; he hadn't really thought that far ahead, but he's glad that somebody was.

"Hell yeah!" Ryuji hoots, staring at him expectantly once more, so Akira decides to do his first.

He grabs at his head, slowly putting distance between his two fists. "Skull." It's not elegant, and might be slower in the Metaverse than using Sakamoto's actual name, but Sakamoto smiles anyway.

"It's kind of like shampooing your hair, isn't it?" Takamaki giggles, rubbing fingers across her own scalp.

Akira pauses, considering, before turning to her and rubbing his fist over his cheek in a circular motion; technically the word for cat, but he figured it was close enough.

She mirrors him as well, working small circles into her cheek while laughing, "Are you sure this is right?" She questions.

"You look like a maid café worker." Sakamoto comments with a snicker, drawing his own fist over his face to mimic the gesture.

"Morgana next!" Takamaki orders him. He glances down at his roommate and teammate, Morgana's oceanic eyes are wide, more so than usual; eager, is how Akira thinks he looks.

Pinching together his thumb and index, Akira exposes the underside of his rest. "Mo." Then drops his hand, forming an inverse victory sign, "Na."

"Hmm." Morgana hums in front of him, lifting a paw to reiterate the gestures. They come out crude, bordering on meaningless without fingers to articulate, but Akira finds himself nodding anyway, not wanting to upset him further.

"What about you, Akira-kun?" Takamaki inquires, "Your codename is Joker, right?" Morgana affirms for him with a nod that distracts Ann for a moment before the three of them are staring at him once again.

Akira extends his flattened hand, "Jo," then pushes out his three first fingers, sticking his thumb between the two others. "Ka." Another rough translation.

"If you want, you could make your own sign for your codename. It'd probably raise complications trying to remember them inside the Metaverse."

Ann gapes at him, having read it first, "Y-you can do that?"

He shrugs in response, extending his phone to Sakamoto.

"Sweet!" The blond turns his attention towards Takamaki across from him, "Better think of somethin' before you get stuck with maid café."

Akira sits between the two, letting them deliberate and rehearse the few signs he taught them while he stares off into the distance. Morgana is sitting in his lap, staring off too. Nothing particular catches his attention, he's brain slightly overwhelmed with the strange warm feeling that's thrumming under his skin like a second heartbeat. It's distracting, pulling him out of his city-watching, but also out of his memories; leaving him trapped in the moment, listening to Sakamoto's blasé cursing and Ann's scolding in response.

Takamaki groans. "I can't think of anything!" He glances at his phone, they've been on the roof for almost two hours.

"Same." Ryuji sighs out, leaning back on his hands and looking up towards the cloudless sky.

"What time is it, Akira-kun?" Ann questions a moment later, breaking the spring's silence as soon as it starts.

He turns the screen towards her and the blonde jumps in response, "That late?!" She screeches, pushing herself into standing and gathering her things before running towards the roof's door. Wrenching it open, she looks back at them before calling back, "Sorry! I gotta—work thing!"

Akira wasn't aware she even had a job.

"We can celebrate tomorrow, yeah?" The blonde doesn't want for either of their answers before she's stomping down the stairs. A minute later, Akira can see her running past the school gates below them, her light hair making her as easily identifiable as the way she rushes through the slowly moving crowds around her.

"I should get goin' too," Sakamoto says as Ann disappears around a corner. Akira glances towards him, nodding, "Ma gets worried if I'm not home before dark." The blond rolls his eyes but there's a smile pinned onto his face, leaving Akira unsure if the boy is actually annoyed or not.

Ryuji takes to his feet slowly, gasping sharply when he puts pressure onto one of his legs. Then juts a fist towards him. For a moment, Akira thinks it's going to collide with his head, but it stops an easy distance away from him. Instinct makes him flinch away, and if Sakamoto notices anything, nothing in his expression gives it away. The fist lingers, extended towards him for a moment before he recognizes the gesture.

A broad smile works its way on Ryuji's face when their fists collide. Akira pulls back his hand, letting it settle awkwardly on Morgana's back.

"See ya." Sakamoto calls from the roof's door before it slams shut behind him.

He lingers on the school's roof, watching as Sakamoto strolls past the school's gate, his pace as slow as the wave of people around him, but with bright hair giving him away as easily as Takamaki. He, too, disappears around a corner, escaping from Akira's view in a moment. The warmth in him fades. He's not sure where it came from, but he notices its absence as much as he notices the sweat dripping down his sides under his uniform, as much as the heat the Morgana was radiating into his lap.

Eventually, he gets up as well, leaving the roof behind. This time, there's no students waiting at the bottom of the steps, staring at him with large, questioning eyes. No wary glances as he makes his way to the ground floor and out of the Shujin's gates himself. There is, of course, a stream of people guiding him down the street, and another to lead him to the platform in Shibuya.

LeBlanc is still open when he pushes through the door. Despite the near silence in the café—only the coffee makers percolating and the television hanging on the far wall making any discernable noise—each seat in the place is taken and Akira does a double-take. Everything in Tokyo had been so loud, especially the people—his treacherous bath house experience proof of that—yet LeBlanc was quiet. Sakura-san looked up when he opened the door and quickly jerked his head towards the attic.

Taking the cue, Akira scurries up the steps; he didn't expect, however, for his caretaker to follow him up and grab onto his arm.

He jumped at the contact before he was whirled around, coming face to face with his stern looking guardian for a moment before he dropped his gaze to the panels beneath them.

A sigh broke the near deafening silence that had been built up into the café, gruff from tobacco or maybe from talking to customers all throughout the day; he wasn't sure which.

"Can you help out downstairs tonight?" Sakura-san asks, straight to the point as is each time his caretaker speaks to him.

Despite the bone-deep exhaustion that's settled into his bones, he finds himself nodding towards the floor, knowing he's not in a place to refuse if he wants to keep a roof over his head. Defying authority figures hadn't really been his strong suit anyway. He places Morgana onto the bed, hoping the comfort would be enough to stop the cat from trekking into the café while Sakura-san is there.

Sakura-san sticks him in an apron just as a line of customers comes walking through the café's door. He doesn't think he's ever seen anyone actually walk in the place before. His guardian—now his boss, he supposes—hesitates for a moment before handing him a small notepad and pen. Identical to the ones he'd handed to him on his first day here.

"Write down what they want, make 'em legible." Sakura-san instructs, "Don't worry about the prices, I'll handle it after I make it. Got it?" His voice is low and close enough to his face that he's reminded of Kamoshida's office.

Akira swallows, taking the items and wondering why his hands are shaking.

All of the people who had walked in were male, all wearing the same thing with the same scowls on their faces. He approaches the one occupying his spot first, furthest from the café's entrance, but closest to him and Sakura-san.

"House blend, plate of curry—I'll be payin' for these three as well." The man says, waving a hand towards the similarly dressed men who walked in with him. He writes down the order as they come out, then sidesteps towards the next one.

The next man has a dark, piercing look underneath his bowl-cut. "I'll have what he's having." His voice is darker and deeper than the look he shoots Akira; at this point, the stare is like a physical presence that he can't quite shake off as he rewrites the same order.

He sidesteps again, still aware of the heavy stare from the second customer. "Blue Mountain; extra rice with my curry." That's a weird name for coffee, he comments, writing down the order as clearly as he can.

The fourth customer on the order is as ordinary as the first, wearing a dark suit with dark, slicked-back hair. His cheeks are unnaturally red when he asks, "What's good here, Akinari-kun?" Akira panics for a moment before realizing, as the man leans on the counter to confer with his companions, that the question wasn't aimed towards him at all.

"Just get the house blend, Daiki." The second man says, his gaze still on him; Akira shudders, staring more forcefully at the notepad in his hand.

"Guess I'll have the house blend." The man laughs, slamming a hand on the bar as he does so. He jumps, and the café seems to do so with him. Swallowing, he writes down the final order and tugs the sheet from the ream.

Glancing around, Akira spots part of Sakura-san around the corner, hidden away inside the small kitchen. The man is dumping ingredients inside of a large pot and the smell splashes into the air as much as it does onto Sakura-san's apron. He doesn't look like he wants to be interrupted, but seems to notice he's being watched and turns to look at him. Akira steps forward and hands him the order. Sakura-san takes it without a word and sends him back into the café with a wave of his hand.

An elderly couple approaches the register as soon as he turns around. If he's not mistaken, they had been in the café when he left for school that morning, though he has no way of actually knowing.

"Oh." The wife says, not looking up from her purse. "I wasn't aware that Sojiro hired a part-timer."

He doesn't dispute her claim, instead he nods quietly. Bowing with a smile, not dissimilar to the girl from Big Bang Burger had done when he'd walked in the day prior. He takes her check and money from her shaking hands; the math is easier to manage than getting the cash register behind the counter, but he does manage to get it open and offer her change; only for her to refuse it, insisting on leaving him a tip as a welcoming gift.

Akira puts the money back in the register, only for her to scold him into stuffing the yen into his apron pockets. He does as requested, and is given a wrinkly smile for it. The man next to her, presumably her husband, chuckles airily and quickly escorts his wife out of the café. He bows to them once again before they disappear out the door.

He puts the change back in the register as soon as their faces disappear from the door's glass panes. When he turns towards the group at the end of the bar, the man is still staring at him and Akira loses his gaze on the rack of coffee beans behind him. The door opens again, though, drawing his attention as another group is quick to fill the table that the old couple had just deserted. Two parents and an equal number of children.

"I've seen this place a dozen times walking from the station." The wife says, "Never thought to walk in until I smelled whatever it is you're cooking." The husband laughs when she does.

Akira smiles; the curry really is something special, aromatic not even beginning to describe it—when he can keep it down, that is.

They order the curry, as predicted; Sakura-san scowls deeply when Akira hands him the order.

Probably because they didn't order any coffee, he justifies, maneuvering platefuls of curry onto the bar and avoiding Sakura-san as he comes in right after with steaming cups of coffee. The rest of the afternoon and most of the evening follows the same pattern.

It's been dark for a few hours before Sakura-san tells the rest of the customers to leave, though at this point it's only the group of businessmen and another elderly couple still lingering inside. The man that had been staring from before shoots him a last glance before disappearing down the corner towards the station; Akira shivers, nerves fried after endless hours of standing and avoiding conversations while taking orders.

Sakura-san locks them both inside of the café with a flick of the lock after spinning the sign to Closed. The older man leans against the door, and sighs wearily.

He starts to dismiss himself to the attic, but Sakura-san stops him before he can ascend the stairs.

"Stick around and clean up—I uh, wanted to talk to ya before I left for the night." Akira nods, picking up a broom to brush up the mess around the table.

Cleaning continues silently between the two of them until Sakura-san deems the place clean enough, then slaps something onto the counter as Akira is putting away the mop. The noise causes him to flinch, thunderous in an otherwise silent, almost lethargic, café.

"Good work tonight." Is all Sakura-san says before strolling out of the door, "Lock up behind you." He couches from the doorway. His guardian is gone in the next moment, lost in the darkness beyond LeBlanc's glass window.

Behind me… He questions the turn of phrase, then turns his attention to the items Sakura-san had slammed onto the counter. On the otherwise clean counter, lay a golden key, the ridges of it worn into a dull brown. Most likely to LeBlanc. The other was a card of some sort. Arsene made his presence known then, a flicker of intrigue as Akira pinched the card between his fingers to pull it from the bar's smooth surface.

Yongen Onsen! PASS

It made his heart stop a little, recalling his previous attempt at using the facility. An event that Sakura-san didn't know about.

He's being nice. It was more likely that his guardian was saying thank you, repaying a debt that Akira wasn't owed, than showing consideration.

Still apprehensive, he still ended up going to the bath house and presenting the pass; LeBlanc locked up behind him using the key Sakura-san had left him. He didn't use the actual springs this time, though, instead choosing to dart into the sectioned off showers and quickly wiping himself down with complimentary soap and shampoo that smelled like tea leaves before getting dressed in his sleepwear and locking himself back into the café, avoiding the look of the attendant as he left.

Morgana was waiting at the top of the stairs by the time Akira made it across the café.

"Joker!" Was called as he pulled himself up the wooden steps. "Ryuji was calling you on the phone-box." He informed.

Akira flicked the light off and climbed into bed, Morgana following just behind him, a dark shadow in an even darker room. The phone was like a miniature sun shining right into his eyes as he opened Ryuji's messages.

He doesn't remember what any of them said, however, falling asleep just as they begin to load; the burning of his retinas not tethering him to consciousness, nor the questioning calls of Morgana as the cat tumbles over him.