CONTENT WARNING: The section beginning with "Mishima took a deep breath in and out" contains a brief threat of forced outing, while the section beginning with "Yusuke's breath was almost shallow as he stared at the art shop" contains recollections of homophobia and abuse. Please take breaks or skip sections as necessary. Stay safe.
9/22 – Thursday
After School
Akihabara
Mishima took a deep breath in and out. "Okay," she began, "Ren? You'd tell me if I was doing something stupid, or if I was wrong or something, right?"
Ren raised an eyebrow. "Where's this coming from?" The two of them were in a small alleyway near an arcade, a place that had probably been the site of some illicit activity at some point, but was now thankfully devoid of prying eyes.
"I dunno." Mishima leaned back against the nearby wall and sighed, her hands in her pockets. "We're out here looking for someone, and it's half just for my own…" She trailed off at the sight of Ren's sheepish smile. "Oh. I, uh, I forgot to tell you what we're investigating, didn't I?" She scrunched up her face.
Ren chuckled. "Sorry, I didn't want to make you feel bad. I am curious, though."
Mishima nodded. "Okay. Okay, uh…so there's someone going around tagging stuff – like spray paint, I mean – in and around Shibuya, with the Phantom Thieves symbol and messages supporting the Thieves." She pulled out her phone, scrolled through it for a moment and then turned it around.
"Right," Ren said, leaning a little closer to glance at the graffiti, "I've heard about that a little, I think. Some chatter on the Phan-site about it. Uh, 'the King,' right?"
"That's what they've signed all their stuff as, yeah." Mishima pocketed her phone. "And I kinda thought…well, ever since Medjed said the Thieves attacked them, there's been sort of this steady influx of people making new accounts just to be assholes, like comment on how the Thieves should disband and stuff, and telling people to call the police instead of posting their requests." Her voice was low and bitter, and she glanced away.
Ren blinked. "I haven't seen that much of that," he said, almost wincing at his own surprise.
But Mishima smiled. "Yeah, I've gotten pretty good at filtering it out. It's not perfect, but I've thrown a couple checks in there for new accounts, so it's caught most of the messages before they make it to the public side." The corner of her mouth fell, as if trying to keep both a smile and a frown at the same time. "But all the spam recently has been about this King person, ever since that bullshit Detective Prince called them a public menace."
"Right," Ren said, guilt swimming in his stomach at the internal reminder that he'd hung out with Akechi only a few days previous. Somehow it was hard for him to pin the two Princes together, as if the smiling television celebrity and his sharp, smirking friend were two entirely different people. He wondered if either of them was really the 'actual' Akechi, or if both were simply affectations.
"I guess I got it in my head that, like," Mishima continued, "someone tagging the Thieves this much must be trying to call out for help, right?" She smiled, and there was something hauntingly knowing about it. "Which is kinda dumb, probably. I mean, just as likely as if they got helped by the Thieves or something."
Ren shook his head. "No, I think your instinct's probably right." He reached up to twist a strand of hair around a finger. "I'm a little ashamed I didn't put two and two together sooner. That makes a lot more sense."
Mishima nodded, looking a little surprised, maybe appreciative. But neither emotion stuck, and she glanced away. "It's also just…cause I'm kinda sick of getting messages from those assholes on the Phan-site. I mean, if we can help the King, and they stop putting up graffiti, then that's like, a victory?"
"Ah," Ren said. He smiled, and rested a hand on Mishima's shoulder. "So, this time? I am gonna say I think you're a little wrong on that."
"Right," she mumbled, almost sinking further into herself.
"Not that I think it's bad for you to want assholes to leave you alone," he continued, "or that helping this person won't get them to stop. You deserve better, and maybe the King will dial it back. But I don't think that'll make those people stop. They'll find something else, like, literally anything."
"Yeah," Mishima said. She seemed to lean into Ren's touch for a moment. "You're right. I think I knew that, but it's still just so fucking annoying, you know?" She ran a hand back through her hair. "I hate thinking like I'm proving them right or something."
Ren shrugged, and lifted his hand. "Yeah, I get you. I don't think you should worry too much about that, though. I think they'd probably like it if you went out of your way just to prove them wrong."
Mishima chuckled. "Probably." She let out a long, frustrated breath, but a smile found its way onto her lips. "Sounds like another no-win scenario."
"A bit of one," Ren agreed. "Probably best just to–"
Footsteps snapped a silence into the conversation, and Ren barely had time to blink before someone whipped around the corner and practically bowled him over, shoving past with enough force to send him stumbling.
A clatter of hollow metal on pavement. The startled yelp from Morgana in his bag. Two wide brown eyes from underneath the bill of a red baseball cap.
Everyone stopped moving. Like three deer in one set of headlights, all staring at each other. The owner of the elbow to which Ren could blame for the growing bruise on his arm was a kid, probably early middle school. He had a blue jacket with the hood up, shaggy brown hair poking out of his hat, an oversized backpack slung over one shoulder and a glare that could probably cut through metal. His gaze flicked from Ren down to a cylindrical metallic object on the ground between them; it must have been dislodged when they collided.
"Let me get that for you," Ren said, leaning down and picking up the object. The boy flinched back, both hands on the strap of his bag. "Hey, it's cool. No worries, you're not in trouble or anything. Here's your, uh…" Spray paint. It was a silver can with a black cap, definitely spray paint, even if the labels had been torn off.
The boy looked an instant away from bolting, but thankfully Mishima was quicker on the draw than Ren. "Wait, hold on, we're looking for the King!" He froze, focus whipping towards her. "Do you know where we might be able to find them?"
"What do you want with him?" the boy asked, somewhere between fear and fury.
Him. It might have been just a guess – and a fairly educated one, given the epithet – but something about the way he said it…Ren had a feeling the kid wasn't just guessing. "We want to help. We figured he's been reaching out, trying to get the Thieves' attention." Ren paused. Okay, this was sort of a gamble, fingers crossed the boy wouldn't turn and run. "There's someone's heart he wants to change, isn't there?"
He blinked. "I…I dunno." He turned his head, staring at the wall, posture tense.
"I'm from the Phan-Site," Mishima offered. Ren couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, that was even more risky than his idea. "I can make sure the Thieves see whatever request he makes. He could even make the request privately if you let us talk to him."
The kid tensed. For a solid few seconds, he didn't say a word. "You're the mod," he said. It wasn't quite a question.
"Uh," Mishima said, and winced; and Ren wasn't sure why at first, but the implication smacked him in the face a second later. Right. She'd told the site she was trans. Fuck, okay, uh, damage control time, how could he spin–
In one smooth motion, the boy fished out his phone, and the sound of an artificial lens snap rang out through the alleyway. "You tell anyone," he said, furious gaze locked on Mishima, "about me, or about the King, and I'll show the whole Phan-Site what kind of a scrawny weirdo you are."
Mishima's face went white, her entire expression eclipsed with fear, and a bolt of equal fury leapt into Ren's throat. "Do you actually believe in the Phantom Thieves?" he asked, his voice low. "Or do you just want to use them to change someone's heart?"
The kid flinched, but he snarled back in kind. "Shut up! You don't know anything, okay!?"
"I know the Thieves," Ren replied, "well enough to know they'd never pull something like this. You think a Thief would ever threaten someone, even to protect themselves?"
"I…" He hesitated. Blinking as if honestly considering what Ren was saying. Then he looked away. "No. They…wouldn't." The kid seemed torn, stuck between two extremes. After another breath, he reached his phone back and then lobbed it across the few-feet distance between them.
Ren caught it, blinking at the boy. "Uh," he said.
"So you know it's deleted," the kid explained, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on the far wall. "Just don't…do anything else, okay?"
"Okay," Ren said. He glanced down at the photo of himself and Mishima, and deleted it. Immediately, the next most recent photo queued up, and Ren couldn't glance away fast enough before his brain processed the sight. The kid, and a young man with similar colored hair and bags under his eyes. They were smiling, the older boy crouching down to make it into the photo, and the sight sent a little ache through Ren that he couldn't quite place. "Do you want me to toss it back, or–"
"Just put it down," the boy mumbled. "Paint too."
Ren did, and took a few steps backwards; Mishima copying the motion. "Thank you," the girl whispered, looking more than a little relieved. He just nodded back as the middle schooler retrieved both his phone and spray paint can, stuffing them in pocket and bag respectively.
"Um." The kid shifted in place. "You said…you could do a private request? Like, just you and the Thieves see it?"
Mishima nodded. "Yep. I promise, just the two of us, and them."
He pursed his lips. Hesitant still, so utterly divided. "Hanae Oda!" he blurted out, then flinched. "That's…the name. That's the heart that…that he wants changed." And with that, as if he couldn't bear a second longer, the boy turned and bolted. Rushing down the alleyway as fast as he could, turning the next corner and slipping out of sight.
"Hanae Oda," Morgana repeated, squirming his head out of Ren's bag. "Looks like we've got another target for the next Mementos trip." He nudged Ren in the cheek with his head. "But maybe next time, let's not trust a middle schooler at their word."
Mishima raised an eyebrow at the cat. "Is he…normally this talkative?"
Ren shrugged, and reached up to scritch under Morgana's chin. "Only when he's got something to say."
9/22 – Thursday
Evening
Café Leblanc
Haru
Ren! (•◡•) /
I know this is short notice, and I apologize for that.
But do you think I might be able to trouble you and Mister Sakura for something?
Ren
I guess it depends on the thing
Happy to ask Sojiro though
What's up?
Haru
So, I was thinking…
I harvested my newest crop today, and I was hoping to put them to use while they're still ripe.
Ren
You harvested them on your own?
Haru
Yes! I am quite strong, after all.
ᕙ(`▿´)ᕗ
Ren
Haha, I know
I mean you could have asked everyone to help again
Haru
That's entirely fair..
I didn't want to trouble you all.
But, regardless, I messaged you for business!
(`▭´)ノ
Ren
Alright alright haha
Business away
Haru
From what Makie has told me, you're somewhat of a talented cook.
Ren
Wait really?
Makoto said that?
I mean, I do my best
I only know how to make two dishes though
Besides microwave food but I don't think that counts
Haru
I see. (⊙.⊙)
Might either of those dishes make use of bok choy in any significant capacity?
Ren
The ramen probably could
Haru
Then that will have to do!
Ren, would you be so kind as to teach me how to make ramen?
Ren
Oh
Uh, yeah totally
Hm
Okay go with me on this one
How do you feel about sharing studentship?
Haru brushed off her apron – even though she hadn't yet started – and smacked her cheeks twice, fiercely determined as if they were to be slaughtering Shadows and not cooking dinner. "Where shall we begin?"
"By washing your hands!" Sojiro called from the nearby booth.
Ren couldn't help but laugh. "We already did that!" he called back.
Futaba squinted at the photocopied version of Sabi's recipe – which had a distinctly obscuring effect on the already half-legible text. "This either says to marinate a chicken or call the king of France for afternoon tea."
"France doesn't have a king," Ren replied, "so chicken it is."
"Feels bad to waste spice packets," Futaba noted, watching the ramen boil next to the stove. "Those are always the best part of making ramen. Tasty, tasty spices."
"Not for homemade," Ren said, lowering his knife to glance over his shoulder – he'd taken over cutting vegetables, just in case the wriggling suspicion in his gut had correctly evaluated the dread in his sister's eyes and the tension in Haru's when they'd reached that part of the recipe. "That's what all the stuff in the marinade is for."
Futaba seemed to consider that, and he could almost see her eyes ignite with excitement. "Wait, holy shit, can we put that in the marinade?"
"Next time, sure." Ren chuckled and faced the cutting board again. "Fun part of cooking: you get to experiment like that."
"Ohoho!" He could hear her rub her hands together. "Make way world, evil food scientist Doctor Sakura is gonna blow your freaking mind!"
The rustle of Sojiro's newspaper. "Does it have to be evil food?" The café owner chuckled. "What about a nice casserole?"
"Ew, gross," Futaba laughed. "Come on Sojiro, everyone knows there's no point doing science unless it's evil. That's just common knowledge."
"Wickedly tasty," Ren said.
"Fine, fine," Sojiro chuckled. "Not like I can complain much, if it tastes good."
Haru made a little humming noise from her spot in front of the stove. "Ren, could you remind me what the next step is?"
"Ah, right." He put down the knife and scooted over next to her. "Okay, next is deglazing, so you're…" Ren blinked down at the broth-filled pot. "Uh. You already did it."
"Oh!" She started in place, offering a little sheepish smile. "I'm sorry, I think I got ahead of myself. Did I miss a step?"
He shook his head. "No, no, not a problem. Just surprising, it looks like you got everything." Ren nudged just a little closer so he could turn the burner down. "We leave that to simmer for a bit, and get started on the eggs."
"I see," Haru nodded. "I assume the chicken as well."
Ren checked his phone. "Yep," he confirmed. "Chicken should come out of the oven right as the broth is ready."
"How serendipitous," Haru said, with a little knowing smile. "Almost as if you'd planned this from the start, Mister Amamiya."
"What can I say?" he chuckled. "Taba's not the only evil food scientist around here."
"Ooh, the hero has become the villain," Futaba said, with one of her habitual mischievous laughs. "What a twist!"
"Not to me!" Morgana teased from his perch on Sojiro's stool behind the counter.
Futaba leaned back in the booth and patted her stomach. "That was so good," she said, grinning up a storm.
"Bok choy was a good addition," Ren added, with a little nod to Haru. "Added a nice crunch."
She giggled. "I'm quite glad to hear that. And for what it's worth, I found it quite delicious as well."
"Super tasty," Futaba agreed. "Totally worth the wait."
"Sounds like you should consider making it from scratch more often," Sojiro suggested.
She glanced over her shoulder and waggled her chopsticks at him. "Don't push it, buster."
"That's Mister Buster to you, kiddo," he replied, starting to fold up his newspaper, scooting out of the booth.
"You heading back home?" Ren asked, taking Haru's empty bowl and stacking it atop his own before standing as well.
"Thank you," Haru said.
"Yep, just about tuckered out for the day." Sojiro stretched his back, and tucked the newspaper under his arm. "Futaba, shouldn't you be getting to bed too?"
"Eh," she mumbled as Ren took her bowl as well. "I mean, I'm not that tired…" She hummed something inaudible under her breath.
Ren sent a glance towards Morgana as he took the cat's now-empty broth dish as well; thankfully, the feline caught the implication. "Oh, Futaba. Didn't you say you were going to show me that one anime you like? The one with the magical talking cat in it?"
Futaba's eyes lit up. "Oh! Yeah yeah, totally!" She sprang out of the booth with newfound vigor. "Morgana, let us depart. All night watch party, here we come!"
Sojiro raised an eyebrow. "You're having a party with…the cat?"
"That's Mister Cat to you, Sojiro." She stuck out her tongue, and then rushed out the door, with Morgana close behind.
"I swear," Sojiro mumbled, sighing despite the smile on his face, "I don't know where that girl gets her attitude from."
"Look in a mirror anytime recently?" Ren asked, dropping the dishes in the sink.
Sojiro snorted. "Guess it must be me, considering you're just as much of a punk as she is." He nodded to Haru. "You have a good night, little miss. And don't feel bad about twisting Ren's arm if he won't walk you back to the station."
Ren just rolled his eyes as Haru laughed. "Thank you very much, Boss. And thanks once again for the use of your kitchen."
"You just keep making good soup like that," he said, turning to leave, "and you're welcome to use it whenever you like." And with that, the man left, the chime of his exit echoing through the now quiet café.
Ren hopped up on one of the nearby stools – he could have sat back down in the booth, but something about it being just the two of them made that prospect…awkward, to say the least. "Hey, Haru, can I ask you something?"
"Of course." She pivoted in the booth to face him. "Ask away."
He reached up and twisted a lock of hair between two fingers. "I'd assumed," he began, "that you asked me to teach you because you didn't have much experience cooking. That's not the case though, right?"
"Oh," she said, blinking at him. And then the young woman burst out laughing. "I apologize! I didn't mean to mislead you; I know my way around the kitchen quite well. I simply haven't had the opportunity to learn ramen before."
"No worries," he said, offering a little smile. "I mean, sorta my fault for assuming." He shifted in place. "Hope this isn't rude to say, but couldn't you just have…gotten a recipe online?"
"I certainly could have," she agreed. "I suppose…" Haru paused, like she was gathering her thoughts. "Cooking has always been something quite important to me, ever since I was young. Since my father was so busy, and we couldn't afford to eat out very often, I needed to cook dinner for him more nights than not." There was something simultaneously bitter and sweet about her tone, a nostalgia tinged with something that Ren could reasonably assume was frustration. "On the weekends, when he was less busy, he would cook with me, and teach me new dishes. That became one of the only times I got to see him smile."
"I'm sorry," Ren said. "I didn't mean to bring up rough memories."
"It's not your fault," Haru assured. "I find myself reminded more and more these days, since I awakened to Milady." She let out a long breath. "But as to your question, learning new recipes is something quite important to me, something worth sharing with others. I wouldn't wish to give up that opportunity."
Oh. That was…huh. "Thank you for sharing that with me, then," he said. "That…means a lot, I think."
Haru smiled at him, and stood up. "You're very welcome, but it's nothing, really. I simply wanted to confirm if what Makie said was correct."
"And what's the verdict?" he asked, standing as well.
"Hm," she said, tapping her chin and furrowing her brow. "Hard to say."
"Really?" He laughed. "That bad, huh?"
Haru giggled. "Oh, far worse. I think I'll have to take you under my wing next time." She turned towards the door, making to leave.
"The student has become the teacher." Ren stepped over the light switch, flipping them off before going to join Haru. "I'll look forward to it."
9/23 – Friday
After School
Ueno
Yusuke's breath was almost shallow as he stared at the art shop, that small hole-in-the-wall place with a faded sign reading 'Paint Brave.' Ren could see a woman inside through the single dirty window, short black hair and a tank-top showing off her lightly tattooed arms, taking a drag on a cigarette. "Do you think that's her?" he asked.
"I'm not sure," Yusuke said. "I…I just don't know."
"She's got the same color hair," Morgana noted. "But I don't see any other similarities."
"Only one way to find out." Ren glanced towards his friend. "Hey. I've got your back, you know. That's why I'm here."
Yusuke sent him a little smile, then faced forward again. "Thank you," he said, his voice a little firmer now, as if he'd found some measure of strength. One last breath, and he took hold of the handle, pulling open the door, Ren a step behind him.
The store itself was quiet, and small, a half dozen shelves packed with a wide variety of artistic instruments: brushes, paints, easels and more than a few items Ren couldn't identify by sight. Yusuke's focus was singular, however, and he made his way to the counter without so much as batting an eye at the inventory.
"Can I help you?" the woman behind the counter mumbled around her cigarette.
"Would you happen to be Miss Masumi?" he asked.
She just nodded.
"I," Yusuke continued, "am a former student of Ichiryusai Madarame, and I would like to talk to you about Toshiko Kitagawa, ma'am. If that would be alright." Ren almost flinched at his absurd forwardness; but he did note the young man hadn't said his own name. If Masumi really was who she thought he was, then there wasn't much doubt she would have recognized that.
Masumi blinked. She reached up, taking the cigarette from her mouth and pressing it against a nearby ashtray – as she did, Ren could see one of her tattoos more clearly. Barren branches following the nerves on the inside of her arm, and cherry blossom flowers against her wrist. The sight made something inside him flutter, like recognition, like startling yourself in a mirror. The woman's eyes flicked towards Ren. "And who the fuck are you?" she asked.
"Uh," he said, "moral support?"
"Right," she said. Masumi cracked her neck and groaned out a sigh. "You know if you'd come here a couple months earlier? Probably would have thrown your punk asses out of my store." She smirked. "Just so happens, I'm in a pretty good mood. You heard the news on your old bastard teacher?"
"His trial concluded, yes," Yusuke said. A little stiffness in his voice. That was news to Ren, but he bit back his surprise. It made perfect sense why Yusuke wouldn't want to talk about that. "Twenty years." He pursed his lips. "Not…quite long enough to account for all he's done."
Masumi nodded. She leaned over a little, staring Yusuke right in the eyes. The woman let the silence stretch. "Yep," she said, leaning back, smiling what seemed a little more honestly. "That look in your eyes is the real deal. You've been fucked up by the old motherfucker too." She chuckled, her voice low and gravelly. "Alright, kid. You wanna hear about Toshiko." Masumi straightened up, crossing her arms. "What do you already know?"
Yusuke nodded, looking a little lost for words, stumbling over his breath. "She painted the Sayuri," Ren cut in, pulling the woman's gaze off his friend, "apparently after…uh, you. And Madarame–"
"Desecrated it," Yusuke said, a cold anger flashing behind his eyes. "He took something sacred and beautiful, and twisted it to serve his own needs. And then, when you threatened to expose him, he hid the painting as insurance against you, to keep you silent."
Masumi laughed. A barking thing, rough around the edges, and it sent a confused silence into both Ren and Yusuke. "I dunno how you got the fucker to sing," she said, miming wiping away a tear, "but you definitely got all that from him."
"Er," Yusuke said, "how do you mean?"
"Cause that's one-hundred-percent his side of the story." She chuckled again. "It's not all the way wrong. But he never had the full picture, never could have." Masumi's expression became somewhat soft, melancholy. Like she was thinking of something nostalgic and long since gone. "Toshiko and I met in college. We were basically nothing alike. She was all straight-laced and overachieving; and gay as shit, guess we had that in common."
Ren couldn't help but laugh, and a glance at Yusuke showed a strained smile that probably held back a similar sound.
"Dunno what she saw in me," Masumi continued, "but…she saw it. Goddamn did she see it." The woman ran a hand back through her hair. "We got together. Shit happened. We graduated, decided to move into an apartment with the two of us, and she got pregnant. And from there, you can probably follow the logic." Ren could almost hear Yusuke gulp down some measure of nervousness. "When we got back from the hospital, Toshiko went right back to the easel. Kid would cry in the middle of the night, and she'd get up and nurse him, rock him back and forth and just sit and paint. Took a couple months, but…fuck." Masumi took a slightly unsteady breath, and looked away. Like she was holding back tears.
"She was painting the Sayuri," Yusuke said, "wasn't she?" His voice was so quiet, so careful, as if afraid speaking too loud would shatter the moment.
Masumi smirked. "She was. But that's not what she called it."
A pin could have dropped and deafened the silence that followed that statement.
"What do you mean?" Ren asked.
"Madarame." A shudder in Yusuke's tone. "That was…his design, wasn't it?"
"Sure was," Masumi said. "Toshiko wanted to call it Winter Blossom; I thought it was a little too on the nose. We never did have a chance to agree on the name." She leaned back against the wall behind the counter. "Funny thing 'bout the kid. Lil guy was supposed to come out in March, and we used to joke that we could watch the cherry blossoms start to bloom out the hospital window after Toshiko delivered." The woman chuckled. "But that fucking kid decided to get born in the end of January. Month and half early, the little bastard." She smirked, and then it faded.
"She painted…" Yusuke began, his voice wavering. "Cherry blossoms on a barren branch. That was to represent him, wasn't it?" Fuck. There was something tight in Ren's chest that made him want to pull at his shirt, some bitter ache he couldn't place.
"Yeah. Right on the money there." She squinted at the young man. "Hey, you wouldn't happen to…I mean, since you were a student too, and all." And she pursed her lips, glanced away. "You know what, never mind. I guess it doesn't matter, at this point."
Ren glanced between the two, each clearly lost in their own awful thoughts. "How did Madarame get the painting?" he asked, trying to drag the conversation back in the only way he knew how.
"Ah, right." Masumi shook her head, as if ridding herself of some distraction. "Shit was tough, after the kid was born. I took a fucking desk job just to make ends meet, and we still got short of rent every month. And then, Toshiko got sick." The woman's fingers clenched against the counter. "And who should waltz back into her life but that scumbag, offering to take us in. Not like we had much of a choice, but I still wish…I dunno." She let out a tense breath. "She got worse. Hazy, like she was looking through me, through the kid, through everyone. And I was at work or passed out most of the time, too tired to notice…" A shudder passed through her. "That piece of shit took everything. I dunno if he forged the will, or just got Toshiko to sign off when she wasn't in her right mind. Or, fuck, maybe she really did just think that was the best way for the kid to manage. Better with him than me."
Ren found the truth settling like a bitter film across his tongue. "Painting and custody, right?"
Masumi nodded. "Everything. All she had, anything he could legally claim as her possessions, and the kid to boot." She smirked in a distinctly forced way. "I tried to take him to court and got laughed out. We weren't married, and the cretin was a family friend. I was just her fucking roommate, far as the legal system was concerned." The woman closed her eyes, massaging the bridge of her nose. "Dunno if he hid the painting cause he was nervous or pissed, but it's not like that would have changed anything if he didn't. He made it clear he'd call the cops on me if I so much as looked at the kid, and he already had money enough to put me behind bars for the rest of my life. So, I ran."
"I'm sorry," Yusuke whispered. "I'm so sorry. That must have been–"
"It's the past," she said, sharp. Not quite angry, more uncomfortable. "Someone fucked me over, and I got my vindication." Masumi shrugged. "Not like lingering gives me anything." She rested her elbow on the counter and her cheek on her hand. "That's all I've got for you, kid. So, buy something or scram."
"Ah," Yusuke said. "Yes." He hesitated. One hand at his hip, on the hoop of silver keys dangling there. "Would it be alright if I showed you something? I believe you, of anyone, deserves to see it."
Masumi sighed. "Yeah, sure, whatever. Make it quick, okay?"
Yusuke nodded, fishing out his phone and unlocking it. Ren caught a glance of red that knocked the breath out of his lungs before Yusuke placed the phone, facing the woman, on the counter.
She glanced down at the photo of the Sayuri that hung in Leblanc and her eyes widened. For the longest time, she neither moved nor spoke. And then Masumi snatched up the phone, staring at it as if proximity would disprove its existence. "How did you…" she said, almost breathless. "That's fucking impossible, he…he fucked up the only one she ever painted, and even if…I mean, he only would have–" And she paused. Her eyes slowly traveling up to the young man standing in front of her. Masumi carefully placed the phone back down on the counter. "Come over here." Her voice was almost a whisper.
Yusuke stepped closer to the counter without a word.
She leaned over, staring at his face as if trying to pull some truth through the skin. Her gaze to his eyes, his hair, the shape of his face; and Masumi's careful gaze fell away, inch by inch, into something that was almost shock, and almost hope. She reached up a hand, touching her son's cheek. "Yusuke?" she breathed.
"Hello," he said, giving a smile even as his eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry it took me so long to–"
Without a word, the woman took a step to the side and vaulted the counter, knocking a display case of markers off the side, scattering them across the floor. She was hugging him. Ren hadn't even seen the motion through the initial surprise, but she had her arms around Yusuke, holding him tight. And he was crying, clinging to her, holding onto her shirt as if letting go would cause her to vanish.
Ren looked away – he didn't want to disturb the moment – but he found a smile alongside the prickling feeling in his eyes.
Big big thanks to Jane for beta-reading and letting me use the name of one of her OCs for 'Sayuri'
