5/21
Iwai prefers not to use names. They are, he has come to accept, a necessary inconvenience of life. It is easier for him to attach a short descriptor to an image. His customers fall frequently into this classification.
Short haired weasel.
Anime haircut.
Sweatshirt obsessed virgin.
That isn't to say he never uses names. He just opts for the simpler option when it suits him. Kaoru gets his own name. A few others, too.
When the door opens and two girls step inside - the taller one holding it ajar for the shorter - he dubs them, 'tallish short haired girl,' and 'pink cardigan girl.' They are not something he expects to see in his shop. Getting to be the norm around here. He lets his gaze drop back to the magazine he'd been reading, and listens to two sets of footsteps, one receding deeper into the store, and the other approaching him, and stopping just short of the counter.
"Hello," comes a voice, cool and mature.
Iwai groans, shuts the magazine as loudly as it allows itself to be, and rolls his head up until he's facing 'tallish short haired girl.' "Need somethin'?"
"I'm hoping you could help me. I'm looking for a gift, for my boyfriend."
His metaphorical hackles rise. The way she'd said 'boyfriend' felt off, like she was pushing the word out of her throat. He jerks his head towards the many replica firearms lining the wall behind him. "These don't make romantic presents. Can't you make him chocolates or whatever?" That's what girls who like boys do, right? He thinks to ask Kaoru, then smiles. That one wouldn't know.
"I'd rather get him something more personal. He's a gun enthusiast. I believe he's shopped here before, actually."
Iwai thinks of 'short haired weasel,' and 'anime haircut,' and 'sweatshirt obsessed virgin.' No way one of them landed a girl this anatomically correct. "Describe him."
She frowns, then says, "Um, well, his name is Akira Kurusu."
Iwai keeps his face under control. "Sorry, I don't know anyone by that name."
Her eyes narrow a fraction. "Are you sure? Akira is a fairly common name."
"Then I must only know a bunch of uncommon people." He mentally kicks himself. He's doing it again. Giving lip. Being cute. His defenses are up. The situation reminds him too much of others he's been in. Interrogation rooms and solitary lamps burning dull fluorescents into his retinas. But this isn't a cop, it's a high school girl. And this isn't a precinct. It's a shop. His shop.
Still, something's off about the girl. It's her poise. Her precise way of speaking. It reeks of law. He learned a long time ago how to sniff something like that out.
Iwai wrestles his mind back under control and thinks. Akira has never mentioned a girlfriend. There's that blonde girl, but they definitely aren't together. So, who was this? And Akira - for all his faults - wasn't stupid enough to tell some outsider about their little arrangement, was he?
He stops himself. Technically, Iwai hasn't done anything illegal. Burner phones were on the up and up. That they were the favorite of drug dealers and criminals was irrelevant.
"This... what'd you say his name was?" He asks.
"Akira Kurusu."
"Right, this Kurusu guy. Did he say he was here?"
Rather than answer, tallish short haired girl says, "He's tall, and lean. His hair is black and messy, and he wears glasses."
He rolls the dice. "Oh," he mutters. "The quiet one. Yeah, I know him."
The girl blinks, but it's enough for Iwai to suppress a smile. Hadn't expected that answer, eh? "He's been here a few times. I don't ask for names, on principle. You're his girlfriend?" He looks her up and down and flashes his most repulsive grin. "How'd he manage that?"
Her face reddens, and her next sentence starts with a stammer. "Do you remember what he bought?"
Iwai presses his sudden advantage. "Seriously. How'd someone like that kid get someone like you?" It's one of the older tricks. Make the one asking the questions answer questions. Uncomfortable questions. He's seen veterans of the interrogation exchange crumple with just a few well-intentioned sounding barbs.
This girl, though.
The red leaves her cheeks. She says, "I punched him in the face."
His composure fails him, and he barks a laugh. The sound is sharp and pinballs its way through the shop. It surprises even him. The girl looks nonplussed. "Guess that's one way to stake a claim," he says.
The corners of her mouth curl up. "I suppose. Do you recall what he bought?"
He throws up a not-too-casual shrug, and raps his knuckles against the glass of the counter. "Just a pistol or two. Big ones, but cheap. Not the kind that would fool anyone." Disclaimers are important.
"I see." She finally peels her gaze from him and stares down through the glass counter. Her eyes brighten a fraction, and she points at a replica revolver on the shelf inside. "Could I see that one?"
Iwai opens the cabinet and removes it. He holds it out, and she lifts it up better than any amateur he's seen. With a flick, she pops out the loader, spins it, and snaps it back. The sound is dulled by the fact that it's plastic, but the heft of it is similar to the real thing. "You've got an eye," he tells her. "That's a Type 26. First-"
"It's the first Japanese revolver adopted by the Japanese military," she replies. "It's old. Hasn't been used since the second world war." She turns it over, eyes wide in admiration. When she catches him staring, she says, "I'm at the top of my class."
"Want to buy it?"
Her face freezes, and she sets it back on the counter. "I don't think so. I'm not sure it would suit him."
"I wasn't sayin' you should buy it for him." At this, tallish short haired girl's lips suck in, and her eyes begin to run over the gun, again and again. He smiles despite himself. She's actually considering it.
"Thanks, but no. If you had to recommend something for Akira, what would it be?"
"The most expensive thing in the store," he replies.
She fixes him with a tired gaze, but the edge is gone. She looks almost comfortable.
He decides to keep her off-balance. "If you don't want the gun, I've got some brass knuckles. In case this boyfriend of yours gets out of line again."
She smiles, and looks about to reply, when an exclamation of excitement echoes from the back of the store. "Oh my!"
Iwai glances over tallish short haired girl's shoulder, and sees 'pink cardigan girl' step out from the shelves. "Look at this one, Mako-chan!" She calls, absolute joy sketched across her face.
She holds a replica RG-6 Grenade Launcher, primarily used by the Russian military.
"What," he says.
Tallish short haired girl's smile grows. "That definitely suits you, Haru."
#
Yusuke finds the batting cages at the top of an exacting set of stairs. The entire experience of ascension leaves him feeling quite surly upon reaching them. Surprise snaps into him. Having never been to a place such as this, he had assumed it alight with the banter of young ruffians, put upon parents, and the clatter and clanging of baseballs and their respective bats.
All he finds is a napping clerk behind the cash register, and his new acquaintances sitting outside the furthest cage from the entrance.
Ann, he sees, has her elegant fingers wrapped through the chain-link, her eyes faraway and mouth folded in on itself in worry. A piece begins to construct itself in his mind, before he thinks to wonder what she's worried about.
Ryuji spins a baseball bat in a slow rotation in his hands, the top of the blunt object flat against the ground, revolving like a drill going nowhere. Bespectacled Akira leans against the wall, hands casually stuffed into the pockets of his uniform, a tired look writ across his face.
The cat sits with its tail dangling off the edge of a thin, metal bench. It is the first to see him enter, and when it meows, the eyes of the others snap to him.
Ann speaks first. "Yusuke, hi."
"Good afternoon," he says, and sets his schoolbag alongside the cage. "It is-" He starts to say, but a pang stabs his stomach, and he distracts himself from the sensation with exaggerated movement, and takes a seat next to the cat. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, and dabs at the sweat that has bubbled up along his forehead. "Apologies. It is good to see you all. May I ask what prompted you to call me out here?"
He has a lot of work to do. The muse had pierced him the night before, and he'd gotten a significant amount done. Yet, he'd stopped himself before completion, and so had had to forego dinner. It's not something he is worried about. He'll stagger his finish dates sometimes. The accentuated hunger makes him feel the art all the more, and the delayed gratification he receives for a job well done is worth every cold sweat and spell of dizziness.
His mind drifts to the meal he might request from Sensei. Perhaps some takioyaki. Or sushi. Or curry. Or udon. Or soba. Perhaps even a hamburger, or something exquisite and foreign. Something French, or Italian. Their fare is supposedly delectable. He may be able to convince Sensei to spring for pizza. Or pasta. There is that shrimp-thing he has seen in some magazines. Or perhaps he will forego all of that, and simply pick a place at random. His daily sojourn to Kosei takes him past many an enticing hole-in-the-wall establishment, the smell of their rich dishes wafting out into the stale Tokyo air, snaking its way into his nostrils, infecting him, and-
"Yusuke?" It is Akira's voice.
He blinks himself back to the present, and feels the flush of his skin. His stomach quivers. It no longer growls. "I am sorry," he says, quickly. "I seem to have lost myself for a moment. You were saying?"
"We wanted to ask you somethin'," Ryuji says, his eyes and tone hard.
"By all means."
"Yusuke," Ann starts, and glances at the other two boys - as well as the cat, oddly enough - before she continues with, "What was your mother's name?"
The question gallops through him, and it is a long moment before he can say, "I admit, I did not expect that. Why do you wish to know?"
"You said she was a painter, right?" Ann says. "We wanted to know if we could see anything by her. Anything she painted."
"Ah," Yusuke smiles, and he knows from experience that it must come off as sad, but that is truly not how he feels. "Unfortunately, she never painted anything of note. Sensei says that, had she lived, she would have become one of the greats."
"Was she an apprentice to Madarame too?" Akira asks.
"Indeed. He took me in due to his affection for her." Then he adds, without even thinking about it, "He's a great man."
The three - no, four if you count the cat - exchange chary looks with one another. Yusuke begins to wonder just why they asked him all the way to Yongen-jaya. He begins to wonder why they are the only ones at the batting cages. He begins to wonder if these fellow teenagers have ulterior and sinister motives. Am I to be mugged?
"Yusuke," Ann says, insistent. "What was your mother's name?"
"Well, if you must know, it was Chisako Kitagawa."
He can feel the tension that dashes about their bodies when they steal looks at each other this time. It pumps through him and the headache behind his eyes that he's been carrying since waking, builds in pressure by a few fractions. He rubs his temple with one hand, and rests the other on his leg. "I would like to know why you are asking me this. I am beginning to suspect ill intentions." He glares at Ryuji. "Be aware, that I no longer believe you were just exercising that cat yesterday."
The scowl doesn't leave Ryuji's face. The cat meows.
"Why were you at the atelier?" Yusuke demands. He punctuates the question, by curling his free hand into a fist and bringing it down on the metal bench. It is meant to intimidate, but it only hurts his hand.
"Yusuke," Akira says, and Yusuke cannot stand how many times his name has been said in that tone of voice. Soft, and hesitant. As if they pity him. As if he were some kind of victim. As if they were in any place to look down on him. "I think you should talk to a friend of mine," the boy continues. "She's a reporter, and-"
The word slices through the fog in his mind. "Ah-ha!" Yusuke shouts, and stands. The sudden movement makes his head spin, but then the anger hooks him in its arms and he forges ahead. "I knew this situation stank of villainy! You want me to talk to a reporter? Why? So you can write an article on Sensei? Are you so unsatisfied with his lack of appearances, of his refusal to cater to the whims of the media, that you have to stoop this low? Vultures! How dare you disrespect his privacy? How dare you use me to do so?" The last few words he yells, and the four - cat included - jump at the sudden shift.
Good.
"To think I believed this the seed of genuine friendship. When in truth, it was conspiracy!"
Ann pats the air with her hands. "Yusuke, calm down. We-"
"Conspiracy, I say!" Tiny specks of kaleidoscopic colors pepper his vision, but he ignores them. "Sensei told me to never talk to you people, that you're all parasites, swarming and devouring, seeking to profit from his fame and talent!"
Akira steps up to him. "Did you just say Madarame told you to never talk to reporters?"
Yusuke feels his breath grow more ragged, the inside of his chest rattling like an empty paint can with a single yen coin in it. "I will not betray his confidence. I will not trample on what Madarame has given me!"
And then Ryuji closes the distance between them, seizes Yusuke by the shoulders, and gives him a single, solid shake. He hears the words, "Get your shit tog-" but then a rumbling darkness rises up to claim him, and he sees and hears no more.
#
Yusuke drops to the ground, out of Ryuji's grasp, and lies still.
The Phantom Thieves look at him, then at one another.
"Nice going, Bonehead," Morgana hisses. "You killed him!"
#
Tae Takemi is beginning to believe she's lost all control of her life.
The slip had started what feels like forever ago, but has been aggravated by the persistent presence of one particularly troublesome schoolboy.
First, Akira Kurusu had shown up at her place, blunderingly, albeit cutely, determined to get his hands on 'medicine.' She had fingered him a perfect candidate for her experiments, and so their relationship had begun.
Then, she'd found the bruises on his body.
Then, he'd gotten the shit kicked out of him by that teacher, and had made her lie.
Then, he'd shown up, hands shaking like leaves, having just witnessed a death.
Then, she'd found the PhanSite, and put two and two together.
And with each 'then' she dug herself deeper and deeper into the shit. Aiding and abetting doesn't feel harsh enough for what she's doing.
So, when Akira bursts into her office, in the middle of the afternoon, accompanied by his entourage of two blondes and a cat, carrying - between the three of them - an unconscious boy, Takemi is decidedly having none of it.
"Kurusu," she yells, unable to contain herself. "What the actual fuck?"
"I don't know," the boy stammers, not bothering to wait but storming through the waiting room to the exam area. "He just fainted at the batting cages."
Takemi feels a - what her mother used to call - 'murder smile' carve itself across her face, and shoves herself to her feet, and is halfway to the door she'd seen them go through, before she turns, runs back into the waiting area in her fucking high heels, locks the front door, and shoves a 'Closed' sign into the window.
Then, she sprints to the exam room, which is terrifically crowded.
"He was shouting at us," Akira is telling her, at the same time the blonde girl is saying, "We don't know what happened but he lives in a really crappy building and do you think the dust-" and she cannot hear the rest because the blonde boy is shouting at the cat, "Stop saying it's my fault, dammit," and the cat is hissing up at him, as if insisting that it is, in fact, most definitely his fault.
And so Takemi shouts, "EVERYONE SHUT THE HELL UP!" and everyone shut the hell up, including the cat.
She push her way through the sea of teenagers and leans over the prone boy on the exam table. "Who is this?" She snaps, as she feels for his pulse. It's there, and not too faint, she's happy to see. His breathing is steady as well.
"His name is Yusuke Kitagawa," Akira says.
"What happened to him?"
"He fainted."
"Where?"
"At the batting cages down the block."
"Did anything hit him? A baseball or anything?" She gingerly presses her hands to his scalp. There's no tender bits or bumps that she can feel. Her practiced eyes roll over his complexion. It's pale. Other things begin to alarm her.
"No."
"What was he doing, right before he fainted?"
"He was upset with us. He thought we were-"
"I didn't ask what he thought. I asked what he was doing."
Akira clears his throat. "He stood up really fast and started yelling at us. I don't know, he seemed kind of unsteady the whole time. Even before he was mad. Then, he just collapsed." The cat meows, and Akira says, "Ryuji shook him, once, but I don't think that's what did it."
"Nice to know I'm not the only doctor here," Takemi replies. "Is he diabetic?"
Even with her eyes on the unconscious Yusuke, she can almost feel them staring at each other. "We're not sure," Akira says. "I don't think so."
"I'm guessing you don't know his medical history either."
"No, I'm sorry."
So she was in the dark. Fine. "You," she says, and points to the blonde boy. "Take that cat and get out of this room."
Ryuji gulps but doesn't argue. He scoops the cat up, and exits.
"Have you contacted Yusuke's parents and told them what happened?" She wants to know if she's going to have to.
Akira glances at the girl, who doesn't reply. The silence stretches too long.
"Well?" She snaps.
"Yusuke is an orphan," Akira mutters, and Takemi's hands hesitate for a moment, before they continue their examination. "He's got a guardian. We haven't told him." There's a hitch to his voice, but Takemi can't be bothered to try and figure out what it means.
"Alright," she says. "Both of you, get out."
The two scurry from the room, and leave Takemi with the thought that one of these days, Akira Kurusu is going to need a doctor and it'll be because of something she did to him.
#
Time goes by. The four thieves sit in Takemi's waiting room, silent. Akira can't speak for the others, but he doesn't know what to say. The whole thing has exhausted him, and every time he thinks this, he feels a stab of guilt. What he should be thinking of is Yusuke's wellbeing.
But what can he do?
What can any of them do?
Eventually, the door to the exam area opens, and Takemi sticks her head out. "Kurusu," she says, and jerks her head for him to follow her. He does so, after casting wary glances at the others, and she leads him to an empty exam room. "How's Yusuke?" He asks.
Takemi leans against the exam room's empty desk, and points to the exam table. He hops up onto it. She crosses her legs, and leans forward, like she always does, but there's no fey seductiveness to it this time. "You said he has a guardian. Who is he?"
"Is he okay?"
"Answer the question, Akira."
He finds his throat dry, and needs to wet his lips a few times before he can say, "His name is Ichiryusai Madarame. He's a famous painter. Yusuke is his apprentice." He almost adds, 'one of many,' but keeps that to himself. He wants to see where this is going to go.
Takemi nods, and her brows furrow. "Your friend is severely malnourished. The symptoms you described are consistent with that diagnosis."
"Malnourished?" Akira asks. "You mean, like, he's not eating right?"
She shakes her head. "As in, I wouldn't be surprised if he's not eating at all." The words are like twin hammers against his chest, but as he absorbs this, Takemi continues on. "He's underweight. His skin is the wrong kind of pale. You told me he was dizzy from just standing up. Exertion caused him to faint."
"I... I didn't know," he says. "I've only known him a few days. I thought... but, not that."
Takemi looks thrown. "This isn't your fault, Kurusu."
Akira shakes his head. "We invited him out. We asked him questions he didn't want to answer. We pushed him. He-"
She cuts him off. "Stop it. Now. You didn't know. You couldn't have known. It's not your fault. You need to not freak out right now, Kurusu."
The words cut deep. She's right. He nods. "Sorry. Like I said, I've only hung out with him a few times. I've never seen him eat anything. I don't even think I've seen him take a sip of water."
She smiles then. It isn't much, and there's little feeling behind it, but it's a smile, and it makes him feel a bit better. "As much I don't appreciate you barging in with unconscious teenagers, you did the right thing, bringing him here."
Akira leans his back against the cool wall of the room. He shuts his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath.
Then, Takemi says, "I'm going to call the police."
His eyes open. "What?"
"This is child abuse," Takemi says, and she stands. "I need to notify the authorities."
A million thoughts sprint through his mind, and Akira jumps off the table. "Please, can you wait a bit? We-" but he stops.
Takemi is staring at him, and the smile is gone now. "Let me guess," she says. "You're going to change his heart, right?"
"Y-yes."
She nods her head towards the door. "Those two blondes out there. I'm guessing they're Phantom Thieves too?"
Akira doesn't reply, but Takemi nods as if he had.
"I'm sorry, Akira," she says. "But I'm not doing this again. I didn't call the police with you and I should-"
"Even if you had, it wouldn't have changed anything," he says.
She holds up a hand, palm out. "Even if that's true, it doesn't change the fact that Madarame's neglect of Yusuke's nutritional needs constitutes child abuse. I am reporting it."
Akira feels his hands ball into fists. "It won't matter. They won't do anything."
"You can't know that."
"Yes, I can."
She looks away from him, not out of shame or guilt or anything like that. Her eyes are still determined. "Well then, I can't. And I choose to believe that someone is going to give a shit and stop this." She puts her hand on the doorknob. "I won't tell them anything about you. I know you won't listen to me. So, you do what you need to do. I'll do the same." She opens the door, and steps out.
#
Madarame stretches across the bed, and yawns. It has been a long day. He'd spent most of it at the gallery, entertaining questions and critics and the usual sycophants. It had gone well enough.
The bathroom door opens, and his girlfriend steps out. She is dressed in the new lingerie he'd bought for her, all black and lacy, and she looks at him seductively, and poses with her hands on her hips, and a little shimmy that makes him smile. Then she nicks her toe against the edge of the dresser, and he scowls. She's drunk. Again.
Before he can be bothered by this for too long, his phone rings. He groans, but reaches for it. There are few people who would dare call him afterhours, and the reasons for doing so were typically good ones.
He freezes when he sees the number is unregistered. He shoots out of bed, faster than he's been in years, and leaves the room, ignoring the protests of his girlfriend. His throat is dry by the time he answers the phone. "Hello?"
"Madarame-san," comes the voice. "Evening, hope I'm not interrupting anything. I'm calling on behalf of your third favorite customer."
He feels a knot tie itself in his chest. "What is it?"
"Hey now, no need to get snippy. This is a courtesy call, after all. We're trying to help you out. Give you a head's up."
"Fine, fine," Madarame snaps. "Just tell me what it is."
"Geez, man. Relax. Or don't. One of your little shitbirds is about to fly the coop."
"What?" He may talk in nonsensical idioms, but that doesn't mean he appreciates it when they're served to him.
"I'm sayin' you've got a problem on your hands. One you need to deal with."
"Oh, for God's sake! I've had enough of your nonsense." He pulls the phone away from his ear, and holds it before him like a microphone, before shouting into it, "Why don't you put your boss on, and maybe he can speak like a normal person and explain whatever damn garbage you're spewing at me!"
There is a brief bit of silence. Then, the voice says, "Hold on."
Madarame feels his pulse shudder in his neck.
More silence, then a new voice. "Madarame." It is not a question. The voice is smooth and soft, but though this is not a voice he has ever heard before, Madarame knows the person speaking is neither.
"Yes?" He manages.
"What about this do you not understand?"
"I just think that if your people want to tell me something, they should speak plainly."
"I would think a man of your stature and artistic sensibilities able to cut through the trappings of veiled speech." There's no humor in the voice, only thin annoyance.
"Please," he says, after swallowing. "Please just tell me what's wrong."
"Yusuke Kitagawa," the voice says. "He's at a doctor's office in Yongen-jaya. The physician just called the police. Apparently, your apprentice is severely underweight and malnourished."
"Fuck," Madarame spits. That stupid boy! "Wait, how do you know that?"
"We have people in the police," the voice replies. "Anything reported to the authorities, related to you, gets passed along to us."
"I... I don't-"
"Let's keep this simple," the voice says. "Whatever method you use to cut your students loose, do it. Now. Yusuke Kitagawa has become a liability to our arrangement. I will not tolerate liabilities to our arrangement."
He surprises himself by finding something resembling a spine. "You don't have to threaten me," he states. "Don't forget that I'm vital to your operations and-"
The voice interrupts. "You've overestimated your importance. You use your scam to make money. We use your scam to make money. But it's not our only scam. It is, however, your only scam. If the scam goes away, we have other scams. If the scam goes away, you don't. Don't misunderstand me. I don't like being misunderstood. The collapse of your scam would inconvenience me. But eventually, things would settle for me and mine. There's always another scam." A pause, and then he says. "You should really remember that, Madarame. There's always another scam."
The line goes dead.
##
A/N: Happy Wednesday! I'm glad the last chapter was so well received. Thanks for reading! I'll see you guys on Friday!
Also, I'd like to mention that the initial seed for the Takemi x Yusuke scene comes from Vivvav's 'Confidant Roulette.' The whole thing is great and well worth your time. Check it out!