Chapter Text
“Yo, what’s your type?”
Ryuji used to run (once pretty literally) in circles of dudes where that question counted as normal small talk, right after asking the other guy’s name and where he lived. So, now that Ryuji knew Akira’s name and that he lived in Yongen-Jaya, along with a lot of other stuff like what Akira sounded like when he tore his face off and screamed bloody murder against a weird Kamoshida clone, naturally, that was the next question Ryuji asked.
Akira responded with a blank stare. “Type?”
“Like, what kinda girls you’re into! Man, do you need me to spell it out?” Maybe Akira couldn’t hear him properly over the noise of the beef bowl shop? Or his ears got damaged in that castle?
Akira filled his mouth with some rice and chewed through the question. Ryuji waited patiently for the answer. Well, as patiently as a guy bouncing his leg.
“…Smart?”
“Is that it, ‘smart?’”
“Maybe… kinda mean, too?”
“Mean? Are you for real?”
“Not mean mean. Like, someone who pushes me. Makes me better?”
Ryuji took his turn to stare. “Shit, I meant like, ‘I like long hair’ or whatever.”
“Sorry.” Akira had the sense to at least look embarrassed about making this weird. But, the guy had torn through a ton of scary enemies using the power of a gigantic dandy bird-devil and saved Ryuji’s life. He could forgive some social weirdness.
“No, don’t be sorry! It’s cool, you’re a romantic! Personality over looks. Some guys are like that.”
Akira tugged on one of his absurdly puffy curls and asked, “So, what’s your type?”
“Glad you asked!” Ryuji slammed his chopsticks down so he could count on his fingers. “I’m into that formal, polite type! The kinda girl who’d still use an honorific after a year of dating! With a beautiful voice, soft, shiny hair—long hair, too—and smart, but like, the ‘knows things’ kinda smart, not top of the class, cuz I don’t wanna feel like I got no clue what she’s talking about, and she’s gonna dress super cute, and be into all kinds of pretty stuff! That’s my ideal type!”
Akira stared at him for a long second, before he said, “So… everything you’re not?”
“Wha—” It took Ryuji a second to realize Akira wasn’t slapping him with a savage burn. “I mean, yeah? I’m not so wrapped-up in myself that I wanna date someone just like me, y’know?”
“I don’t know.” Akira gave Ryuji a little smirk. “I met you today.”
“Come on, don’t be such an asshole!”
“Sorry, sorry. How long is ‘long’ hair for you?”
By the end of the most insane day of Ryuji’s life, he had a really strong sense that Akira was special. He took a while to warm up, which Ryuji could understand. Poor guy got catapulted from the boonies to Tokyo like, yesterday. He acted like a fish who had never touched water, but once he figured something out, he went for it, no fear. A slick, sarcastic side started to peek out as they figured out the Metaverse, how to stop Kamoshida, how Ann could help them, and how the Phantom Thieves could help everyone. Akira became a trusted friend Ryuji relied on real quick.
And then they met Yusuke Kitagawa.
Yusuke goddamn Kitagawa.
Yusuke Kitagawa had the body of a string bean stretched out on a clothesline. He had the vocabulary of an imperial courtier from a bygone age. His train of thought twisted harder than the Thunder Dolphin. He had his priorities totally ass-backwards, starting with art, followed by painting, moving on to beauty, then appreciation for aesthetics, then justice against evildoers, and only then did he remember dinner. He had whittled down his full school uniform to just the shirt and pants, pure white and void black, which drew Ryuji’s eyes to his porcelain-pale face with lashes like butterfly wings. Yusuke moved like a snowfall, fought like the conductor of a hundred-chair orchestra, spoke like a bass guitar—Ryuji’s spine shivered like a plucked string every time. Sure, Yusuke’s hair barely reached his ears, and he probably didn’t own any cute clothes, and he called everyone by their first names, but none of that mattered. Ryuji could feel it; undeniably, irresistibly.
Within eight days of meeting him, Ryuji had all the heart-pounding, day-dreaming, palms-sweating symptoms of a massive crush.
So he told Akira, like, instantly.
Akira’s eyebrows vanished into his hair, but he took the news calmly. “Is this why you were showing off in the Palace the other day?”
“Probably? I dunno, this is just too freaking crazy,” Ryuji groused. “I can’t stand what Madarame’s done to him, so I wanna help him, but I want him to think I’m strong and cool too? I get so mad and scared any time anything hurts him, y’know? He’s… he’s just…”
“Everything you’re not,” Akira supplied. “In a good way.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that! You get it!” That was another good thing about Akira; he got shit. “But I don’t know what to do, man.”
“I mean, I am a little surprised. You didn’t mention guys were your type.”
“Yeah, that…” Ryuji sighed. It felt weird to look back and realize there had ever been a day when he hadn’t trusted Akira with everything. “Locker room talk is just always about girls. It was safer to play along and pretend guys weren’t hot too. It kept the team together. Y’know, when I had a team.”
Akira nodded and thankfully dropped that problem to focus on the first one. “So, how do you wanna approach Yusuke?”
“I dunno, man. I can’t just blindside him with this shit. I have no idea if I’m his type at all.”
“You could ask. You asked me.”
“This is different! I wanna know if I’m his type! What if he only likes brainy, fancy girls? My heart’s on the line!”
“I could ask?”
“I mean… Yeah, that’d help, I guess.” His heart still thudded a mile a minute, but Akira’s offer to wingman meant a lot. “But even if he’s into m-me, or someone like me, that’s just talk. I’d still have to—actually tell him. With my words.”
Akira tilted his head, and an idea flashed behind his glasses. “…Maybe not.”
“Whaddya mean?”
“You need to be clear with him, but it’s more important that you speak his language. So, you should paint something for him.”
“Are you nuts?! I haven’t painted anything since elementary school! And I don’t know the first thing about art! Yusuke’ll think I’m making fun of him, or mocking his talent—”
“He’s not like that, and you know it,” Akira interrupted Ryuji’s imaginary catastrophe. “Even if you can’t paint anything good, he’ll see how hard you worked to understand something that matters to him. That’s how I do it.”
“What, confess to Yusuke?”
“Connect with people. I speak their language.”
“You lost me.”
Akira sidled over and thudded his fist against Ryuji’s arm. “C’mon, don’t mope. Just give it a shot. Paint something that shows how you feel.”
Ryuji grumbled and scuffed his sneaker on the roof. “Okay, but you gotta figure out if he likes dudes first. I can’t shoot my shot until I know if there’s something to hit, y’know?”
“On it.”
Akira got ‘on it’ a few days later, in a Mementos run. Yusuke took shotgun in the hopes that the Monavan’s front-seat would settle his carsick stomach. Akira’s janky driving had been fine when it was just the three of them, but now that they had a queasy teammate, he had to make some compromises.
(Ryuji wanted to be the one who rubbed Yusuke’s back and gave good advice about keeping his gaze on the horizon, and then Yusuke would give him a smooth, grateful smile, and hopefully say something sexy like, “A brave warrior and gentle caretaker? You are truly full of surprises, Ryuji. Will you surprise me more?” And then Ryuji’d—)
“Hey Fox,” Akira broke the van’s silence. “What makes someone a great model for painting?”
Ryuji locked his eyes on Morgana’s rearview mirror, the only way to see Akira’s face while sitting behind him, trying to give him a suspicious glare. Akira had his eyes on the road.
Yusuke answered Akira’s question head-on. “In the broadest terms, it is a matter of aesthetic interest. That frequently corresponds to excellence of physical construction, but every person has features worth glorifying when viewed with inspiration. Beyond that, the only concern is patience on the part of the person posing. Paints do not dry quickly.”
Dammit, patience? Ryuji wanted to know if Yusuke’s lips tasted dark and cool as his voice, like, yesterday. But on the other hand, if Yusuke traced his fingers on Ryuji’s cheek and told him to stay somewhere, Ryuji could probably wait a week before he got bored. Maybe two, if Yusuke asked him to be good.
“Gotcha. It’s not about physical attraction, right?”
Ryuji noticed Ann go stiff in the back seat with him, but she relaxed when Yusuke replied, “Not at all. While artists frequently depict the objects of their affections, I haven’t experienced that desire myself.”
Akira’s eyes flicked to the rearview and finally met Ryuji’s, all sly. “So you’re saying that stuff with Panther was all aesthetic.”
“Yes, exactly. Was that not clear?”
“Don’t worry. Do you want to paint someone you’re in love with?”
“I would need to fall in love first.”
Please fall in love with me, please fall in love, please fall in love, please please please please please—!
“Ever given any thought to who you want to love?”
“Not particularly.”
“How about the broad strokes? What about someone who’s really different from you?”
“Hm… a relationship centered in contrasts…” Yusuke pondered that option. “Yes, I would find that appealing. We must have some common ground, as I could never tolerate any romantic attention from a person who detested art, or someone of deplorable character, but otherwise… that suits my tastes.”
Ryuji’s heart thudded hard enough to rattle his ribcage. Holy shit. Was this actually happening? Please, let this be happening!
“Would you be okay with a relationship with a guy?”
Moment of truth. Ryuji could feel Ann staring at the back of Akira’s head with absolute bafflement. Their fearless leader still had a lot to learn about smooth topic transitions, but Akira had the balls to break any social ice, like one of those Arctic-explorer ships. Yusuke glanced to the side and quirked his head. Silence returned to the van. Ryuji’s face would melt if Yusuke didn’t say something soon.
“…Has this entire conversation been an elaborate proposition?” Yusuke said at last.
Ryuji clenched his knees like he could rip his kneecaps off and bean Akira in the back of the head with them. I trusted you, man! You said you could handle this!
Shockingly, Akira kept his cool. “Nah, I’m married to Phantom Thieving. Just, if you like guys, that’s okay with all of us. Right?”
“T-Totally!” Ann blurted out, the stammer a little less than convincing, but Ryuji knew the score with her (and exactly how much she cared about Shiho Suzui) so her hesitance had more to do with getting called out for eavesdropping on this freaking pear-shaped conversation. “Just—be your true self! That’s what we’re all about!”
“It doesn’t matter one bit to me,” Morgana chimed in. “Or at least, cool and stylish courtship matters way more than who you’re courting!”
Ryuji couldn’t do anything but jam his thumb in the air and nod. He hoped to whatever god gave a shit that the gloom of Mementos and the backseat of the Monavan would keep Yusuke from noticing the wildfire blush just under Ryuji’s mask.
“Well… thank you all for your support,” Yusuke said, still a little bemused in that dreamy sort of way. Any time something totally ordinary would catch him by surprise, Yusuke would pause and get all thoughtful, and he’d blink and smile softly and just marvel at the moment. Those moments made Ryuji’s stomach flip over how cute he looked. “It seems you all have sharper senses on these matters of attraction than I do. I am glad to be in the company of those who would not judge me for finding the male form beautiful. It is rather frustrating, that almost every divine embodiment of beauty is a goddess. There’s no variety.”
With leaderly command, Akira ordered, “Most kissable guy in art, go.”
“Helios, as depicted in Merry Joseph Blondel’s The fall of Icarus.”
Ann whispered, “That was fast!” while Akira followed up, “Why?”
“While we often condemn Icarus for his ill-fated flight, depicting the solar charioteer as such a handsome man means the viewer cannot help but have empathy for Icarus’ mistake. How could he not yearn to be closer to that unattainable god?”
Yusuke liked guys. Or Yusuke liked art guys enough that maybe, just maybe, he might like real guys. Akira glanced back in the Mona-rearview one more time with a little smirk.
Now Ryuji just had to figure out who the hell ‘Helios’ was.
Okay, so Helios was blonde, which Ryuji took as a good sign, but Yusuke would have to compromise on the cascading ringlet curls.