Chapter Thirteen: The Stranger in You
Akihiko Niijima had an ashtray on his desk in his small study, back when Sae and Makoto were still little. Many times, when peeking around the door always left ajar, little Makoto would catch her father smoking by the open window. She held her breath, and tried to make herself as small as she could so he would not see her. He did every time, but still let his daughter play spy. Just a moment later, he would put out his cigarette and cast a loving look at the door. That was when she would come out from hiding to sit on dad's lap to keep him company while he worked.
Such a simple, quiet memory was a treasure to Makoto Niijima. For the longest time, it translated to her as a memento of her father's diligence; until recently, it never occurred to her that those moments in solitude were for Akihiko Niijima to reminisce on the past, on the days when his wife was alive and healthy. The ashtray, a square, fogged thing cut from rough glass, became a repository for reflection. Makoto managed to fish it out of a sealed box in a cupboard rarely opened. It now sat on her desk.
This was now her repository for reflection. Staring at it for as long as she did unearthed memories, both fond and sad, about her father and herself. To her surprise, it invited her to engage in the same process her father did. This apartment had less windows than the one back in Akanedai, so her only recourse was to go outside and light a cigarette. She seldom smoked; it was something she kept for those few hard, restless days, all tied to the pressure even a brilliant student like her went through in the first year of university. This was one such day, for a vastly different reason.
It had been no more than two days since she last saw Akira. Somewhere within that period, hints of trouble reached her attention: the possibility that her boyfriend may be going through hard times. Yesterday, she messaged him, hoping he would feel comfortable enough to tell her if something was indeed wrong.
No reply. For safe measure, she called him afterwards, four times across the remainder of the day. No response.
After the first unanswered call, she messaged Ann, picking her words very carefully so as not to worry her friend. But as it turned out, she herself had troubling words for Makoto. Something happened in LeBlanc, early that day, according to Yusuke, who witnessed it when visiting the café for breakfast. A series of calls between the former Phantom Thieves followed, the ones to Akira increasing in urgency.
Silence. It was not the first time he kept something from her.
That morning, Sojiro Sakura left Akira in charge of the café while he met up with a restaurant owner recently moved into the neighbourhood. There were still a couple of hours before class, and Akira could make use of the experience. The thought that something could go wrong never crossed Boss' mind. When Yusuke visited LeBlanc that morning, it was only he, Akira, and small talk. Suddenly, Akira fell quiet as he stirred the pot. Yusuke thought nothing of it for a few seconds until he noticed his arm was idle. The young artist stood from his seat and went to his friend behind the counter.
And he saw Akira's hand, strongly clung to the pot's burning-hot rim. Motionless, though the skin on his hand was well burnt when Yusuke saw it. Hardly a thought after the shock of what he saw, Yusuke ran to take Akira's hand off the rim, violently tipping over the recipient and its contents all over the floor. Though he could joke on the travesty of wasting good curry, his only reaction was horror at seeing Akira drop limp before his eyes. His face, an absent, glass-eyed mockery of his usual self, lips trembling, head slumped like a stringless puppet, like a vegetable.
And somehow, a dried cascade of tears on a blank face. He was muttering something, words Yusuke could not understand however close he tried to hear.
Struggling to keep his rising panic at bay, Yusuke looked for the first aid kit and treated Akira's hand as best he could. As Yusuke spoke to Makoto over the phone, it was as if he was reliving the episode. All he could think to do was grab Akira's shoulders and shake him back to consciousness. It worked, after a few minutes. Akira was himself again, albeit confused and just catching sensation of his burned hand. Shame followed at seeing the mess on the floor, and Yusuke's dire concern, painted all over his face.
Boss returned half an hour later. Although he had no way of knowing what transpired, he could sense something was indeed wrong. He noticed Akira only recently started cooking a fresh pot of curry, as well as the remains of a hastily cleaned floor. And ever the observing one, he noticed how the young man kept his hand stored in his pocket. Yusuke's peaceless quietude made a dead giveaway. With only a raise of an eyebrow, Sojiro quietly pried an explanation out of Akira.
He claimed to have been distracted by the television while he stirred the pot, burned his hand and tipped the curry over. Yusuke recounted how coolly he tried to convey it. In a way, it was not entirely a lie, but Yusuke knew better. With a mixture of annoyance and concern, Sojiro looked at Akira's hand and treated with a more practiced way.
"He said it was just stress." Yusuke's words return to Makoto, haunting her with an echo from an event past, something she could not quite place.
The young painter lost his phone in the commotion, and found no way to contacting anyone until he ran into Futaba in the afternoon. The word then spread along the intimate circle around Akira, and so did the shame. Had Yusuke not been there that morning, would anyone have noticed a thing? It all fell as a frightful surprise to Ryuji, Ann and Haru. There was a possibility Morgana was still in the dark about this. Makoto was not the only one, and yet she felt a stab twisting in her heart.
It mattered none that nobody could see. She told herself that she should have.
Anger grew from the sadness and the worry. She knew he would have kept this from her, from the rest also, in much the same way as he kept quiet on Christmas Eve. At the start of their relationship, it seemed as if the uphill battle would be figuring herself out, how she wished to live her life, how she felt about sharing a path with somebody. All throughout, and even before, Akira had been there for her, quietly confident, patient, reassuring. Despite the inevitable pain of distance, she had taken a deep breath and let him in with loving abandon.
Yet it seemed as if he could or would not let her in. Joker long stopped his baleful flourish in the Metaverse, but the mask stayed on. The worst came later, when she thought of calling Dr. Tae Takemi to inquire about him. The hesitation to her pause was all she needed to hear.
That is when Makoto made up her mind.
On one shoulder, she had an imaginary Eiko, and on the other, an imaginary Hifumi, each providing counsel as the young woman tapped on the spent ash of her cigarette. How was she to approach this? Jovial, irreverent Eiko told her to put him on the spot, shame him into admitting he had a problem. Discreet, passionate Hifumi suggested intimacy, corner him in the warm confidence between lovers. In the end, Makoto heeded them both.
With nimble, infallible fingers, she typed.
"Akira. Dinner tomorrow. Not taking no for an answer. I'm picking you up tomorrow at the café."
Biting her lip, she debated whether to add something else to warm the tone of her words, something to remind him that he is cared for, regardless. To her surprise, he beat her to it.
"I'll be here."
A slight pause.
"I've missed you. And I love you too."
Makoto stared at the screen for a few seconds. The presence of he, even through a text message, was a reminder that he was not lost to himself, not yet. She, and the rest - they would not let him, ever.
[ ]
Night gave way to dawn. Early morning thoughts began to dispel before the light.
Her self-scheduling was as strict as usual, even though Makoto knew she had plenty of breathing room. She had already gone through a considerable portion of the material to be covered that week, and the next. Her birthday was coming up after, and she knew she would have no way, or desire, to disentangle herself from the occasion. If not for Sae's reminders and surprises after their father's death, April 23 would have passed her like an unheard whisper. She did not celebrate her 18th birthday, but Sae made up for it at the end of the Phantom Thieves' case. And Akira made her 19th the loveliest day when he visited her.
Her sister, her friends, her boyfriend – they made those dates matter again.
Would the same Akira be looking to surpass it for her 20th? Marked days on the calendar meant little now.
Shower, breakfast, checking her bag twice for good measure, a little preening, a spray of perfume for an important day, a kiss on Sae's cheek – the morning ritual did not lose its significance over routine. The sunlight that accompanied on the way to her commute found her resolute. Makoto pulled out her phone aboard the subway car, and messaged everyone in a chatroom she created the night before. Her question met five answers, all confirming for dinner at Arancia.
Futaba: Btw, I told Mona.
Ann: How did he take it? Is he okay?
Futaba: not rly
Ryuji: I guess even he didn't notice. This sucks.
Yusuke: I hope he'll accompany us too.
Futaba: Yeah, I'm smuggling him in. Makoto, you sure the guys at Arancia have no problem with the hasty reservation?
Makoto's eyes dropped at the visible lack of humour in Futaba's messages. There was hardly a more poignant sign of the gravity to the situation. Though she paid it only a passing thought the day before, she realised how heavy the news must have been on everybody else, not just her. Surely, if they all worked together, he would be well.
Makoto: Yes. One of them is a close friend of Akira. He vouched for us.
Haru: That's good. Will they be joining us?
Makoto: I'm hoping he'll be able to. We're keeping this close, but if we can have a little more help, then all the better.
Ryuji: Fuck! How is it that nobody could tell a thing? What the fuck?
It was so much like Ryuji to express his frustration like this. It was he who, many times, expressed the collective emotions of the Thieves; whenever hopeful, whenever furious, whenever sad. Such lack of discretion was the price for wearing his heart on his sleeve. It was fortunate that Ann was at his side to comfort him, but being Akira's oldest friend, perhaps not even her might soothe his inner storm. Morgana was another story altogether: he was Akira's companion day and night, in Tokyo and in Kawasaki. All at once, the mental image of the cat's sorrow made it impossible for Makoto to keep her face neutral.
Ann: It's not use blaming anyone, Ryuji. And it's not your fault either.
Haru: Guys, let's just be ready. We will sort this out.
Makoto: Thank you, Haru. I'll be seeing you later today. Please take care. I love you all.
The young woman put her phone in her bag. She closed her eyes and breathed slow and deep as she waited to arrive at the station. Prying some hidden serenity out of her heart to face the world outside did not come easy to her.
[ ]
Makoto worked a little of a sweat as she headed for the subway after class. Dinner was still a few hours away, but she yet hoped to have some time with Akira alone. He must be about to arrive himself at the café. She always felt a spark of excitement inside whenever she went to LeBlanc to see him, even before they started dating. It felt like it shone through her skin when she visited for her first Valentine. The look on his face - hopeful, a bit shy, but happy to see her when she walked through the door - was immortal in her memory.
The spark remained, even now.
She walked into LeBlanc, and the first face she saw was Sojiro Sakura's. There was a shadow on his face that made him look older, but not out of age. Instead of his usual greeting, Boss only showed a sad smile, nodding towards the stairs to let her know Akira was expecting her.
Makoto stopped after a couple of steps.
"Boss…"
"Kid says he's just stressed. I don't buy it."
"I'm sorry. I should have-"
"Don't, Makoto-chan. Just take him out for some air, a laugh… something." The man rubbed the back of his head. "Don't care how. I'm getting Dr. Takemi to see him tomorrow."
"I promise you, I'll take care of him."
"Yeah."
With anticipation within, Makoto climbed the stairs to find Akira sitting on the edge of his bed, eyes fixed on a paperback with several bookmarks sticking out. She hoped it was the room's lighting fooling her, but he looked pale. True to Yusuke's account, his hand was bandaged, a thin sliver of warped skin peeked out at the upper end. He only seemed to notice her presence when she was a meter away. But when he did, the tint of exhaustion in his eyes gave way to that look – hopeful and a little shy, and in spite of all, happy to see her.
She wasted no words on questions. The young woman dropped her bag at once, and went forward to hold his head in her arms, pressing her lips on the top of his head. Her fingers tangled with unruly, black locks. And she could tell by the way he returned her affection that he felt a necessity to see her.
"How are you?" Her voice came out weaker than she expected.
"I'm doing fine, Queen." He looked up at her, flashing a ghost of his puckish smirk.
"Is that right? Well, you do look like you could do with a bit of leisure. I know just the place." She smiled as she spoke.
"Where will you take me?" He teased.
"You'll see." She mirrored his playful tone.
"You sure this won't cut into your studying? It's a weekday, after all."
Makoto chuckled. "Really? You're asking me this? I've read already like half of the curricula. I need this too every now and then. Otherwise, I may be become a robot."
"Beep boop."
Despite having designed the plan for that day, she momentarily wished they could just stay in and be together.
"Let's go, Akira."
[ ]
The air inside of Arancia at 5 in the afternoon was lively and carefree, tinged with the reverie of students and street artists. There was a second storey at the end of a tight stairwell. Though it was no less eye-catching than the rest of the place, it usually got filled the quickest because of the privacy it afforded. Makoto made sure to reserve it early. On his part, Yasunori Kujo, waiter and reformed delinquent, told her she only needed to ask and it would be done – such was the treatment he sought for any of Akira's friends.
He had no way of knowing about Akira's situation, but he still cast a worried look when he saw the couple walk through the door. The busy rhythm that day may have proven a good excuse for him to keep his distance. By now, Makoto thought, he may have heard something from the others.
"It's a bit too loud down here. Let's go upstairs."
"Lead on."
A slight squeeze around his hand, for both affection and worry. The sound of their feet against the steel steps rang in Makoto's head like chains and gates smashing closed. They came onto the floor to meet the rest of their friends, all seated around the rectangular table, and two vacant seats. Makoto somewhat expected the rest to show some degree of enthusiasm, even if minimal. But even the smiles that were there betrayed inner turmoil. She was not the only one to notice a change in their friend.
Akira was quiet. The sum of the factors spelled it clear for all: this was an intervention.
"Hi, guys." The young man spoke with a slight edge in his voice. "Good of you to join us… for dinner."
"Akira…" Haru spoke hesitantly.
"Is… is something the matter? Why do you all look so down?" He tried to sound as calm and collected as he could.
Ryuji met his gaze with red eyes, visibly unsure of what to say. Ann clung tight to his arm.
"Akira. I think it's best if we took a seat and had a talk." Makoto tried to ease him into the moment.
"About what?" He turned to his girlfriend. His earlier ease had been replaced with suspicion.
Makoto was suddenly at a loss for words. Her lips trembled as she desperately searched for the right way to put it.
"About you." Morgana came to the rescue, emerging from Futaba's bag.
"Morgana? What is going on?"
"Dude… that's what we want to know…" Ryuji sounded drained. "What the eff?"
"Please, let's just sit down, Akira." Makoto placed her hand on his shoulder. She sensed a hint of recoil in his muscles.
He took a step back, never removing his gaze from his friends' eyes.
"I think I'm gonna go now."
"No!" Ann sprung to life. "Please, we're just making sure everything is okay! That's all!"
Her words did not seem to make a dent in his apprehension. He made a more aggressive attempt to leave, prompting Makoto to hurry ahead and place herself between the stairwell and he. Forced into this perspective, Makoto felt a sting in her chest when seeing something she never thought would be directed at her in his eyes. She saw anger.
"Dinner, huh?"
"I'm sorry…" In spite of the distress, she did not avert her eyes from his.
"Don't you…"
"Don't take it out on Makoto!" Futaba yelled out loud, diverting all attention to her. "Look, this all got off wrong! We really just wanted to see you! We want you around, is that so bad? But… we're worried, cause, maybe we think you're not okay… you don't look okay."
"Akira." Yusuke stood up. "I told them about yesterday morning. Should you take it out on anyone, it must be me." Haru looked up at him as he approached to Akira. "I told them, and I would do it again, without a second thought. I saw you."
"You saw nothing." Akira shook his head. He was calmer now.
"I saw you hurt." Yusuke approached, head high as if challenging. "I did a poor job of it, but I bandaged your hand, and shook you awake. There's no truer seeing than that."
"That's just…"
"For eff's sake, man…" Ryuji gritted his teeth. "Cut the bullshit already!"
"There's no way you can convince us otherwise anymore." Haru spoke dryly. "If that's what you were trying to do. Dr. Takemi told us you haven't been well for a while."
"You told her to keep it a secret." Futaba said.
"Just hear us out. We will back off if there really is nothing wrong." Ann spoke with conciliatory tone.
"We promise." Morgana said, sounded the smallest he has ever been.
Akira turned behind him.
"Please." Makoto whispered.
Yusuke's hand on his shoulder made him turn to look at everybody once more. The intensity of his gaze did not waver as he met all, not even as the shame flooded his stomach. Reflected in their eyes, he saw the object of his anger – he saw himself, and the petty, primitive way of his response. He saw his own fear, and sensed a myriad terrible thoughts lagging behind. For the past twenty four hours, the precise phrasing eluded him. He now had a closer approximation: he felt undeserving of his friends.
The weight of it all bent the vector of his gaze. He nodded and took a seat.
Elbows on the table, he passed his hand through his hair, apparently only now noticing how tired he felt. He took his time to begin. Though he could not bring himself to look at Makoto in the eye, he appreciated how she tangled her fingers with his.
He spoke slowly. They listened patiently.
"I'm not really sure when I first knew something was wrong. I've had this vague feeling that events have been missing. Like they're passing me by… No, no, that's not quite right. It's as if they're happening to someone else, but not to me. It hasn't been that long, I don't think. But I'm also not positive. I know it didn't start before I came back."
A pause. Nobody said a thing.
"I've been looking at my notes from school, at the way I look, and the way my classmates behave around me. And, it feels like I've been normal. Like everything's going the way it should. I have the memory of things, but I don't recall actually hearing or reading them. I figure there's no harm if everything's working properly. Most everything else is normal. When I'm around you guys, that feels real, like it's happening to me. Exercise, music, gardening, that too. Cooking…"
As if reading everybody's thoughts, he looked at his bandaged hand.
"I guess I am missing some of the important things…" He acknowledged. "It's not all. Sometimes, I feel like something happened. I'm not sure I'm phrasing this appropriately. But I'm left with an odd feeling that I was sad or angry a moment ago. I know I felt scared the most recent time, but I don't know why."
"Was that before or after yesterday?" Makoto asked him.
"Before, as far as I know… I… I can't even really trust what I think I feel or remember. It's all just a…." For a moment, his eyes drifted towards some random thing in the room. He sighed. "I haven't slept since I found out about my hand and all… I know there's something wrong with me, guys."
This is real. This feels real.
Please, let this be real.
"I'm scared." He spoke with no discernible mood. From the corner of his eye, he caught the deep red of Makoto's eyes, laden with compassion. He wished to throw himself at her arms. Instead, he gently removed her hand from his, and pulled back on his chair. "Excuse me. Be right back."
Ryuji pulled back as well, the chair's legs screeching against the floor.
"It's okay. I just need some air. I won't leave."
The sounds of Arancia continued, but their ears only registered silence.
"I should have been there for him." Morgana said. Futaba instantly took hold of the feline and embraced him, weeping bitterly against his dark fur.
Ryuji leaned his head against Ann's shoulder, looking like he was about to follow suit.
"God damn." An outside voice intruded into the scene. Lean Yasunori looked on in disbelief. "Sorry, guys. I really didn't mean to overhear or anything. The manager just asked me to check up on you all. But… god damn. Strider is going through all this?"
"Who are you?" Yusuke questioned.
"Oh, name's Yasunori Kujo. Akira and I were stuck in Juvie for a bit. Hell of a guy." Remembrance got a sigh out of him. "I knew there was deep stuff he was dealing with, but never thought it'd be like this. You guys hear me, though, this won't put Strider down. No way. I know him well."
Everyone looked at him, finding nothing but conviction in his crudely adolescent factions.
"Was he cool behind bars?" Ryuji asked.
"The coolest. Fuck yeah. Even on his own. But with you guys around, not even God will break him."
The unwitting accuracy of his statement fell on knowing ears. Makoto smiled bittersweet.
"We'll be back." The young woman said, gathering herself and climbing down the stairs.
She found the way to the entrance somewhat disorienting from this side, but it may have been the miasma of emotion what dazed her. True as he said, Akira was standing just outside the soda joint with his back towards the door. He was smoking a cigarette – his fourth since the day of the incident.
"Give me some light?" Makoto approached from behind.
"O-oh!" Akira was genuinely flustered by his girlfriend discovering his vice. "This, I don't…"
"Neither do I. Don't worry." She smiled conspiring. She tapped on the bottom of the pack she carried. It was almost full. "When were you gonna tell me?"
"Never, if I could help it."
"That's very mean of you." She put the tip of her cigarette against Akira's and puffed. "You would strip me of moments like this?"
Akira chuckled. His mood was slightly brighter than minutes ago. He also had the perfect retort to her comment, and it was tempting to let it out just to see her expression. But now was not the time.
"You're aware this changes nothing, yes? We'll be by your side, no matter what happens." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I will be by your side."
"I don't wish to burden you, or anyone."
"Love is not a burden. If this were happening to any of the others, to me, would you give up? Say yes, I dare you. I'll smack you."
"Maybe that'll fix me."
"I'd rather not. That's a fine face you have, and I happen to like it a lot."
Columns of ash formed between idle fingers.
"Akira." Makoto closed her eyes. "I mean it. I don't care what happens. I will be with you for as long as you want me around."
"Makoto…" He began.
"Good days. Bad days. Health or illness. I will be with you."
"That… sounded remarkably similar to wedding vows." Akira turned to her.
"I know." A kiss on his cheek. "Come. Let's go back to the others."
[ ]
Back upstairs in Arancia, the mood shifted. The gloom that hung over them and clung to their heels remained, but there was enough light to see that Akira Kurusu was still himself. Something ailed him, but his heart and will were unmistakably his. All chairs were pulled aside, and the eight made a circle of an embrace. Love was indeed not a burden, as a dark time of the soul may declare. Love was a promise. And all eight would uphold it.
After Futaba and Ryuji dried their tears, Yasunori climbed to take their orders. There was a certain pride in his expression at seeing how the atmosphere changed. Faith was one of the few things he could rely on throughout his troubled life, and he saw it recompensed.
The time for soothing the wound was past. Now was the time to know what was to come.
"In this time that I've stayed awake, I decided to look up what may be happening to me. Scaremongering aside, I think I found it. It's called dissociation. It's a mental health problem. In rough terms, it's a process of disconnection from one's memories, feelings, identity. There's plenty of disorders around that spectrum, and they've been apparently on the rise."
"Such is life in Japan, I suppose." Morgana thought out loud, briefly distracted from the can served for him.
"Shit, dude. How are we gonna fight this thing?" Ryuji was more like his old self by now.
"Therapy, I guess. Seeing a psychiatrist. Sitting in one of those fancy chairs, and baring it all." Akira smirked. "I can't wait."
"Baring it all. That sounds kinda filthy. What do you think, Mum-koto?" Futaba asked.
"Well, it does imply being emotional nude, so… maybe?"
"Nudity and red curtains. How fetching." Akira mused.
"Red curtains?" Ann arched an eyebrow at her friend.
"Yeah. On my latest episodes, if you will, I've had this weird mental image of thick, red curtains, like velvet."
"Doesn't that sound an American director's trademark?" Haru wondered.
"Yes. David Lunch." Yusuke impregnated the syllables with a distinctive tone of admiration.
"Freaky. Nude mental Akira enveloped in red curtains." Futaba considered. "Oooh, does that transition from freaky to kinky? What do you say, Mum-koto?"
Makoto was wide-eyed.
"Makoto… are you actually imagining it?" Ann teased.
"Guys…" Morgana stood on his hind legs.
"Yo, Makoto." Ryuji waved his hand.
"Uh…" Haru gulped.
"What is this…?" Yusuke looked above and around.
"WHAT THE HELL!?" Ryuji yelled in disbelief.
"Mona…" Futaba reached out for Morgana.
"Everyone. Stay calm." Makoto's voice rose over the rest. Though her words were clear outside, she did not know what to make out of it within. "Akira. You and I, let's…" Her words faded in her breath.
"Akira?" Morgana climbed atop the table.
Their friend was silent, unblinking. The casual street attire that he wore was replaced with a very familiar number: the guise of the Joker, leader of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts. His mask rested steady on his face; the stylised outlines around the eye sockets of which only highlighted the fire in his eyes. They shot knives ahead in front of him, towards a slit in the middle of the thick, red curtains that surrounded them all. There was no up or down, only darkness in their stead.
Peeking from the opening in the curtains, there was bright light, beckoning.
