Chapter Text
Not much could scare Ryuji; at least, nothing much in the means of tangible things that play on his senses. Ever since he was little, the loud claps of thunder and the flash show of lightning in the skies dazzled and amazed him when friends ran and hid; a piping hot bowl of ramen that bubbled with the power to burn flesh and tongue never deterred him as the salty, meaty taste slid down his throat; or even the loud vicious BANG of a gunshot echoing through the depths of Mementos made the boy jump with adrenaline in his veins and his nerves on haywire, just like his days on the Track Team.
In short, Ryuji was a tough guy to shake, but when Akira pulled out that glass bottle of molten amber, the young punk froze to his seat.
Like many things, he held a strong connection to the bottle, it’s contents sloshing about as voices called out around the table around him, but wasn’t a welcoming, encouraging emotion—this was raw, untamed fear.
“...How much you want, man?” He locked eyes with Akira’s intense gaze when turned back with the red plastic cup in hand, the dark inky pools burning with a strange power to them that encapsulated the faux-blonde.
“Y-Yeah...” Ryuji managed to spit out, his words rough like sandpaper grazing against his throat.
Out of the corner of his eye, a curious cat crept along the edge of the young punk’s chair before finally ascending up onto the table with a hard thump and a betrayed expressed, “Hey! You told me we were getting sushi to celebrate!”
Makoto’s voice was stern and sharp, slicing through the thick fog of his mind like a polished blade and straight to Ryuji’s ears, “Don’t dodge my question, Kurusu. Where did you get that? ”
“Um, yeah... I’m curious myself too...” Ann mused, leaning forward against the rickety little table.
Akira smirked, a dangerous dagger-like grin that always took a prominent stab to the young punk’s chest as he replied, “...A friend.”
Ryuji opened his mouth to speak, but was held back by the hazy and sluggish stupor he found himself mentally in. Yusuke best him to the punch, “...Do we, perhaps, know what friend it was?”
“Don’t worry abou—“ Ryuji could see Akira’s lips still moving but the moment that seal was ripped and the cap was popped, it was as if he felt engulfed in flames. The smell of a sour fire singed at his nose, and a harsh spice charcoaled his gut in instant nausea. He felt as if he could puke right there and then, but he kept himself focused, paying closer attention towards the glimmer in Akira’s eyes behind the glare of his dirty glasses, or Ann’s rosy pink lip gloss complementing the softness of her face, Makoto’s brow furrowed in a hardened resolve that felt as if he were looking at his own mother— Shit, Mom... I’m sorry —Yusuke's defined profile studying the shape of the bottle-- the bottle, the bottle—
--the bottle that flung across the room with a deafening crash and sent a horrific display of glimmering fragments back at them like wartime shrapnel rocketing through the air and the mangled sobs of begging and pleading reaching his young, absorbing ears and feeling of anger and frustration as he stood his ground to a reward of a hot, wet face were a fist once was and his vision growing dark and the world fading to an inky void of black and Oh God oh God, Mom, I’m so sorry I pissed him off, I’m sorry, I’ll make that son of a bitch pay and--
“--Hellooooo? Earth to Ryuji?” Ann snapped her slender fingers with a sharp crack to pull him back into the present reality. “You okay? You haven’t even touched your drink...”
Touched your drink, touched your drink-- God what the fuck is wrong with you? I’m sorry Dad. Goddamnit you don’t touch my fucking drink, you don’t touch my shit, you don’t touch anything, you understand that dumbass? I’m really sorry Dad. What was that? I’m sorry sir.
Ryuji frowned. He failed to even realize that Akira had already poured and gave him his stupid plastic cup that now sat mere inches from him in all of its wretched, disgusting stench. He could feel a pair of eyes bore into him--Ann’s crystal blue own as they peeked behind her own cup. She broke the gaze for a split second only to take a large gulp and shutter at the sensation of fire--or maybe electricity?--nipping at the ends of her nerves, coursing through her spine, and leaving her stunned for a brief, fleeting moment.
“Y-Yeah... I-I’m fine, o-of course I’m fine!” Ryuji caught himself, forcing a crudely crafted smile to stretch across his face before focusing his attention on Akira. Quite a madman he was, having just knocked back his glass as if it were mere water and smirked smugly to the chorus of both Makoto and Morgana chiding him like a little boy. While Ryuji wasn’t one to be a stickler (or agree with Morgana, nevertheless), the point that Boss was a mere floor beneath them as they engaged in actual illegal activity was, actually, pretty dangerous.
Of course, that wasn’t really the reason Ryuji felt a sense of dread welling and festering in his gut, but that’s what he liked to tell himself; an excuse that hid the truth, really. With that silver tongue of his, Akira managed to even get the Student Council President to hold a filled cup in her hand in celebration in mere minutes after they started
That’s why he was their leader: he wielded a sly and cunning air about him that lured you close, tempting and baiting for you to be near him and you could either feel the protection of a towering brick edifice or the hot lick of a burning flame, depending on who you were...
...just like the old man.
“—Going to celebrate, mind if I say something?”
Ryuji failed to realize he’d zoned out again.
Akira’s slick, deep voice danced about the air between them all in a playful teeter as he poured himself more to drink, “Please, enlighten us, dear Ann~”
Ryuji reminded himself to breathe, to push past that taste in the air of hard spice and sour disgust that threatened to suffocate him . The stairwell was right beside him, just a few feet away. If he left now, he could save himself from the pain, the fear and the memories that already stretched towards the surface of his mind. He could just say his Mom needed him home—that maybe she came back from work early and needed help with dinner. Yeah! That’d work!
Just as he moved to push back his cup, the voices all came back to him at once. Yusuke's stoic tone was the first to settle with a mere “Oh, there he is.”.
The young Kosei student had his cup raised, perched elegantly between his long, slender fingers as if it were a golden goblet in a medieval portrait. Morgana’s childish mews come next with a sarcastic, “You don’t look so good, Ryuji... maybe all that staying up late’s finally taking a toll on you, hehe!”
“Oh, give him a break. He’s been out of it since we got here.” Ann spoke up with honest bluntness but yet Ryuji could still catch the slight concern that wavered in her voice as she continued, “He’s probably just exhausted from the Palace and all.”
“Sonuva bitch...” It was Akira’s guttural growl within earshot that sent a deathly shiver down Ryuji’s spine as he caught the lanky figure reaching for the bottle once again on the table. He hadn’t kept track, but it at least has to be the boy’s third or fourth cup.
“Akira, does the taste not burn your throat?” Yusuke turned with a raised brow towards the flamboyant leader whose usual stone-faced demeanor slipped into a wider grin and a redder face with every sip he snuck.
The trickster merely his head, “Nah... It’s gotta nice kick t’ it, really.”
A nice kick, kick, kick--
--Goddamn pairs of eyes watching him like a vulture waiting for the single false step into death and the sweat beads on his fuzzy little brow as he waits for his mother to take the baited lie and his father to peel the vicious gaze from him and Okay Daddy I told Mommy what you wanted me to tell her I told her that I tripped and fell at school and not that you kicked me a couple times in the legs and the tummy for disobeying you I’m sorry I made you mad I really should have listened please don’t hurt me again I promise I’ll be a good boy next time and--
“--Cheers! T’ ‘nother successful mission an’ t’ the ever growin’ Phantom Thieves--” Akira pauses as the grin of pearly white teeth drops flat onto the hardwood beneath his feet, dark eyes swimming with some kind of inky movement glaring hard at the sober young man across from him, “--Even if some o’ ‘em don’t feel like bein’ a part o’ a celebration.”
Ryuji felt more and more uncomfortable by the second, and awkwardly followed the motions of raising his untouched cup to the ceiling, finally joining in with everyone else as they all ring in the good wishes and comradery together with even more drinks. Ryuji, of course, dropped act right there and then, setting his cup down and fiddling awkwardly with his pocket as he tried to find his phone and distracted his attention towards Morgana who now began to pad towards the stairway, most likely to play watchdog—or, in this case, watch cat.
So much for being a voice of reason, ya damn cat. Ryuji let his thick fingers fumble with the fabric of his pocket lining until he felt a graze of a smooth plastic case on his fingertips. Just say Mom texted you. You need to leave. You need to leave now.
“L-Look, I’m uh... I’m sorry for bein’ a pain in the ass, guys. Mom just texted me and she needs me to help with dinner and--”
By this point, Yusuke reached for the diminishing bottle on the counter and added a couple splashes of amber to the white plastic inside of his cup and Ryuji had to keep from wondering just how many swigs of the shit he’s had now, too. “Hm, odd. I didn’t hear your phone go off.” He knew the artist didn’t mean to sound accusing, but goddamn Yusuke do you really need to be observant at this time?
Ann leaned forward in her seat on the couch, “Wait, I thought your Mom worked late?”
Shit. They’re on to him. Ryuji could literally feel the eyes bore himself him, burrowing deep beneath his shirt, his flesh and muscles, as if threatening to rip him apart from the inside out. He felt the heat rush to his face and the tension build in his panicky chest. “W-Well, she got out early... Y-Yeah, w-we were supposed to have dinner together n’ she told me las’ night but stupid ol’ me forgot, heh, so uh...”
Before the punk could even rise to his feet, he felt a firm, hard grip on his shoulder and it froze him solid into place. There was a toxic look in Akira’s dark eyes looming over him and as he spoke, it was as if a voice bellowed out that isn’t his own, “C’mon, Ryuji. Jus’ one drink.” The venom seemed to seep out of his words, as if dripping like drunken drool onto the table between them.
The faux-blonde felt sick again, the scent of stale whiskey burning his nose and making him recoil in disgust, “N-Nah, I really—“
“Hey!” Morgana hissed from the edge of the room, “Boss is still here—if Ryuji leaves, he needs to be sober!”
“ All of us need to be sober.” Makoto added, finally placing her cup down onto the table with firm recognition, “What we’re doing is illegal—“
“Shhhhhh...” Akira began calmly, nearly tripping over himself as he turned to face the young woman, “We’re fine! Besides, s’not like y’ get drunk ‘mediately.”
Ann moved to speak, but Ryuji’s mind was too clouded with the dark thoughts and cursed pictures and distorted sounds of his past to hear her. Like hell ya don’t... Akira had probably knocked back enough of the shit for all six of them, even including an alcohol-intolerant cat. ... Just wait until it catches up, man... It ain’t gonna be fun.
“Jus’ have uh toas’ w’ me, man.” That wasn’t even Akira’s soft-spoken and meek voice, or Joker ’s sly and sultry voice. This was different, like something dark overtaking him like a powerful shadow from the deepest, foulest depths of Mementos.
The shit liqueur will do to you.
“N-Nah, I really gotta—“
“God damnit Ryuji!” Akira slammed his cup down onto the table, spilling some of the molten amber all over the countertop and the punk’s idle hand that rested there. Another wave of nausea hit him— I gotta go, I gotta go, I gotta go right now. Ryuji moved to pull himself from his seat, a couple stray drops of whiskey rolling down onto his sleeve and pant legs, but that rock-hard grip remained on his shoulder. “D-Dude, y’ ain’t really bein’ uh te’m playa righ’ now.”
“A-Akira,” Ryuji caught the sight of Yusuke's tall frame rising quickly to his feet and pivot over towards the action, moving to carefully peel the drunken delinquent off of him, “I-I think you need to sit down—“
“D-Don’t tou’h me, man.”
Ryuji could hear Makoto’s voice, then Ann’s next as he moved to rip the tightening fingers from his shoulder, the pain beginning to shoot down his arm as if caught in a vice grip. It didn’t help that the meaty talons of both panic and fear dug into him as well like a predator ready to indulge in it’s hunted prey.
The world began to swirl and the floorboards of the attic began to shift off balance—odd for being the only one in the bunch to not even take a sip of the shit and feel this messed up. Ryuji could feel his chest tighten and his head swim and his eyes well up with tears— God, Please no not here—
—and suddenly, silence.
Ryuji opened his eyes to find a stoic, angered Akira staring deep into his own caramel eyes. Everyone else who crowded on the parameters of his vision stood to attention, wide-eyed and almost what seemed like... disbelief? Did he say something? Did Akira? He hadn’t heard or felt anything but as the moppy-haired boy suddenly threw Ryuji’s own shoulder back with a jolt, it wasn’t enough until he heard a deep growl reach his ears: “...Don’t be such a goddamn pussy.”
The world shattered around him in a lackluster display of nothing. No more attic in LeBlanc. No more fellow Phantom Thieves. No more Akira leering deep into his eyes.
Just a single sentence in that familiar, godforsaken voice—belonging to no man but a monster— that was forever branded into his memory: Don’t be such a fuckin’ pussy, boy.
That moment, oh, that goddamn moment when Ryuji’s vision fuzzed in and out of darkness like the static of an old television with the searing, burning heat replacing the feeling in the left side of his jaw and he felt the cold grooves of the hardwood floor beneath his fingertips and his knees and he could taste the metallic pools of blood staining his pearly white teeth to a sinister dark crimson and his mother is screaming and begging for him to Stop it just please stop of course the bastard doesn’t he just scoffs and tosses the weak jab of Don’t be such a fuckin’ pussy as the boy’s eyes well up with tears and he doesn't want to fight he doesn't want to hurt his Mom and make her suffer but the rage fuels him and for the first time Ryuji feels what it’s like to experience malice and he wants to tear this fucker limb from limb so painstakingly slow the sun’ll go down and rise back up and--
“Y’know what? Fine.” Ryuji found himself suddenly acting upon impulse, an irritating anger overtaking him as it drove out every other tangible emotion it could in a rampage, “You wanna drink? Let’s goddamn do it! Then, I’m leaving. Got it?” He kept his sights focused hard and firm onto a whimsical Akira who seemed too loose to even stand on his own two feet steadily at this point. Rough fingers shot out to curl around the untouched cup of whiskey and bring it hastily to his lips. A couple voices echoed distantly as he focused more on forcing himself to ignore the sight of the sloshing alcohol, the smell of the stinging spice-- “Ah, yeah. Cheers to the Phantom Thieves, woo.” Ryuji chimed with a dangerously sarcastic tone that was actually quite unlike himself as well, “Let’s celebrate by losing all goddamn control of ourselves, yeah. Because that’s the cool shit to do, ain’t it?”
More voices. He couldn’t hear them clearly enough to know if they were trying to figure out what was going on or if they were trying to coax him out of the hasty actions. Whatever they were up to, however, it wasn’t fast enough.
One mere drop of the concoction soaking into his tongue was enough to make Ryuji spit up slightly back into his cup in absolute shock and disgust, but he didn’t stop. No, that would have given into Akira’s drunken satisfaction. He couldn’t have that. Instead, Ryuji didn’t think too hard about enduring the punishment of drowning in the entire thing as he knocked back the rest of the whiskey, fighting the urge to vomit straight into the plastic cup.
Ah, that sickly familiar feeling of asphyxiation.
With everything burning--his mouth, his throat, his nose, his eyes--Ryuji finished with a final swallow and struggled to breathe, gasping and reaching for that sweet, sweet intake of air he just couldn’t get a grasp of, it was just too out of reach. He felt his chest tighten and his heart pound and he forced himself to not think-- not to feel --the thick meaty grip of a large hand wrapped around his throat and his vision burning to ash in the corners and the shrill screams of his mother sobbing on the ground and the feeling of just being weightless as a sharp, venomous voice tightens the hand and speaks Knew the whore’d be causin’ trouble bu’ I figured you’d had learned yer damn place, ya piece o’ shit and the anger--oh Lord have mercy the raw murderous intent that sang in his veins--fanned the flames and let them roar into an inferno of fury and I’ll fucking kill you if you lay another finger on my goddamn Mom you asshole and--
---And...!
Sighing loudly, Ryuji merely flicked the empty cup with an angered snap of his wrist at Akira, peeling away to march down the stairs as the burning embers of the alcohol still licked at the back of his throat; too blinded to not even see Morgana scrambling out of his way. The cries of concerns and curiosity behind him melted and gave way to the familiar and more quiet settling of the quaint cafe on the ground level, but Ryuji hadn’t planned on sticking around to admire the scenery. He’d just made it all the way to the door when--
“What in the actual hell is going on up there?” Sojiro’s voice was sharp and firm, but more out of warm, parental discipline instead of the devilishly drunken Hell he just had to endure, and while it was a more warmer of a welcome, the young punk wasn’t in the mood. “I just had to kick out one of my regulars early because you damn kids can’t keep it down up there!”
“...Sorry...” At this point, Ryuji didn’t even try to hide the defeat in his expression and while he kept his gaze down and aimed in front of the door, it was as if the elder could read him like a book. A usually bright and exuberant young man suddenly seemed so downtrodden and beaten...? Not right.
Ryuji shifted in his place to open the door but the same, warm voice reached him again, “...Everything okay, kid?”
“...Y-Yeah... I’m fine...” A hard sniffle betrayed him right there on the spot. He’d crash and burn any second now in a fiery, self-destructive explosion and he needed to get out of there now. “J-Just... not feelin’ too good, that’s all...” Sojiro, most likely still skeptical and hesitant, finally spoke up to bid the young man a good night and safe ride home, but even with sweet freedom just one more additional step out the door, Ryuji paused. “O-Oh, and, uh... Boss?” He turned just slightly to catch the tall, slender frame of the elder in the corner of his eye with the pink and white outfit blending together in a blotted out blur of welling tears. I wish I had a dad like you instead. He wants to say, but he can’t. Ryuji knows he’d damned to carry the weight of that horrific abuse on his shoulders for the rest of his life. Nothing would cleanse him. Nothing would cure him. Nothing would fix him. Additionally, it was not Sojiro’s duty to help carry that burden as well, let alone the rest of the crew. Instead, Ryuji settled with a soft, “T-Thanks for havin’ us over... I-I appreciate it...”
Ryuji took that as his initiative to leave, the soft bell chiming behind him as the door shuts and he made it all about five steps out past LeBlanc before finally succumbing to the eruption of emotions. No longer did he feel blood-red anger but the sudden baby blue of sadness. He crashed hard into the side of a chain link fence, the cadence of the metal rattling pairing in an off-key tune with his mangled sobs as he slid down onto the cold, wet alley floor. He felt weak. He felt powerless. He felt as if he was nothing.
He hadn’t seen that man called Dad in what felt like decades and yet even just the memory of that fucking monster was enough to tear him apart and leave him battered and broken like a used ragdoll.
There’s so much Ryuji wanted to do right now. He wanted to go home and make dinner. He wanted to hug his dear Mom and tell her how much she means to him. He wanted to walk back into LeBlanc and tell Sojiro sorry for having to put up with him. He wanted to go back upstairs and throw the rest of that fucking bottle of whiskey out the goddamn window. He wanted to go upstairs and help Akira calm down for the night. He wanted to take the rest of the crew out of there and make sure they all get home safe. He wanted to let the others know that, no he’s mad, he’s just upset and that there’s a huge reason why and it’s not Akira’s fault it’s just something he’ll have to live with for the rest of his life and here’s why.
Ryuji had so much on his mind but literally no energy to do any of it. He was too drained; too beaten. Instead, he just sat on the ground, his back pressed against this rickety fence and continued to snivel through the pain, physically and mentally.
Eventually, he would pick himself up and make his way home without any issues. Eventually he would make dinner and surprise his exhausted mother with a fresh bowl of hot noodles or whatever else he could craft together. Eventually he would sleep off tonight’s events and tell the others about his breakdown.
But for now, Ryuji needed some time to himself.
It was the first time in years he could cry in absolute peace and solitude.