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Ren.
Twenty-seven years lived on this Earth, and for the very first time in his seemingly picture-perfect life, Ren Amamiya desperately wishes for a parallel universe to exist.
Because maybe then, he wouldn’t have cut it close with the natural force of Death one too many times for his own liking. It’s been a decade since the Phantom Thieves ceased their duties of changing the hearts of the corrupted, and while he can still operate a Makaronov with deadly accuracy, he’d much prefer a dull, peaceful evening over a tense-filled battle with another Yaldabaoth any day.
And maybe in that same timeline, he won’t just excel at brewing Yusuke’s regular cup of joe of Ethiopian Yirgacheffe. Rather, he’ll be well-versed in capturing the characteristic flavours of a wide range of varieties – with beans traversing from the towering trees in Hawaii all the way to the family-run farms in the lush jungles of Colombia – and he’ll have a plethora of knowledge to share. Maybe then, he won’t just be ogling that glass siphon coffee maker, sitting in his virtual shopping cart on Amazon for months now. It won’t be taunting him with screams of “Buy me, buy me.” Instead, it’ll be basking in the warm morning sunshine in his kitchen just like how he wanted it to be: Pristine, clean and free from unsightly stains.
And maybe – just maybe – his obsidian-tinged hair wouldn’t be in a constant state of disarray. He wouldn’t have to apply copious amounts of hair gel to tame the stringy birds’ nest after his showers. And certainly, he wouldn’t need Makoto Niijima’s constant assistance in combing out the messy bedhead – albeit, he secretly enjoyed the ten-minute session of lying against her lap while she blew the gentle warm air against his nape.
Makoto Niijima.
Inhale.
Exhale.
A heavy-hearted sigh.
God damnit.
And most definitely, in that alternate cosmos where the budding flowers were in a constant, breathtaking state of bloom, the skies often clear without a single piece of cottony fluff and the air quality a hundred-fold purer (Crispy and clear), Ren Amamiya would not be buckling weakly at the knees and dry-heaving in front of the bathroom mirror like an idiot as he practiced his ten-minute proposal speech, scratching out superfluous adjectives and declarations of sweet, pure love that made him cringe.
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But, he's getting ahead of himself. It's time to start at the very beginning - the very catalyst that triggered an uncontrollable chain reaction of self-doubt and timidness that will inevitably lead to an early demise.
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Ren's a wishful thinker. Often times, he finds himself daydreaming up fantastical realities - be it in the solace of his stifling hot bedroom, with his slow-as-a-turtle laptop computer and a stack of research papers that he pours over while sitting at Leblanc's countertop, in the crowded and stuffy library where he was completing his graduate school dissertation.
But one thing is for sure: There are certain matters that, no matter how ludicrous his fantasies become in the depth of his imagination, will always remain a constant.
One, his life will always involve Makoto Niijima. No exceptions.
Two, they were, was and will always remain deliriously and passionately in love with one another.
Ren will continue to relish in her squirmy reactions whenever he coquettishly flirts with her during their morning commute. He'll change it up a bit from time to time, but there's nothing else that makes her tremble better than a sly touch here and there, and an endearing peck to the cheek before they part for the day. "I'll see you later" has become a trademark phrase in her daily vocabulary, as have bashful finger hearts as they stood on opposite platforms to continue their travels. It's a gesture typically witnessed amongst the world of Japanese pop idols, and while he does raise a suspicious eyebrow at her sudden cuteness and questions where she picked up the habit from (Most likely Ann), he's definitely not opposed to it.
Makoto will carry her childhood phobia of the dark into adulthood - only to find a remedy no better than his comforting embrace. During one of their unsuspected power outages, he'll shush her with "There, there" and a soothing "Everything will be okay". Indeed, she recovers quickly, but she'll continue to hold a vice-like grip over his wrist. "Skin-to-skin contact works better than anything else," she says. Not that he minds.
Ren will preen at his appearance in the mirror (Really, what needed improvement?!), and then casually state, "I need a haircut". Makoto will only tell him not to waste his money at the hair salon since apparently, she 'can do a much better job'. She does, by the way. He hasn't needed to pay for a stylist ever since his permanent move back to Tokyo.
Unchangeably, Ren will always leave his shared office at the university a few minutes earlier than usual. Sometimes, he'll carry a box of expensively-crafted chocolates with him - other days, it may be small bouquets full of sprigs of forget-me-nots, baby's-breath and lavender irises. He'll always be there, idly scrolling through his phone in the lobby of the public prosecutor's office. Makoto's not the type to be expressive, but her heart will always warm considerably when she sees him first at the end of a difficult workday. He'll take her briefcase without saying another word about the endless pile of paperwork that she needs to file; instead, he'll compliment her. Like"I really like seeing you in trench coats".
(In particular, a black knee-length double-breasted jacket that billowed out from behind. Did she make that purchase because it reminded her of his own Metaverse outfit?)
But above it all, they'll be in love. And happy. Happy about the simplicity they brought to their relationship. They'll find comfort in each other, just like how Futaba did with curry rice.
At least, until three: It comes in the form of a text message, which Makoto confesses is somewhat insincere. But then, an actual invitation arrives in the mail within two days - pale-pink, speckled with sparkles and neatly addressed to Ren Amamiya and Makoto Niijima in fancy cursive. A wedding invitation to Ryuji and Ann's wedding celebration.
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Arm in arm, Ren and Makoto will walk down the aisle as their best man and bridesmaid, respectively. Ren hasn't attended many weddings before (And even if he did, it was probably to watch his cousins first/twice-removed exchange a nauseating kiss with their betrothed), but there was something about this one that seemed - strangely off.
It wasn't Ryuji whom, despite often showing up to formal events hosted by Haru disheveled, stood before the small group with undeniable pride. And no, it's not the pocket square that's throwing him off. And it's no surprise that Ann looked undeniably gorgeous as always, shyly trekking the carpeted floor in a stunning shade of cream.
But then, his gaze falls to Makoto standing opposite of him. It's not like this is his first time seeing her so dressed-up (This time, in a modest sky-blue ensemble that accentuates her womanly figure without blatantly showing much skin). And yet, the way her hair curled ever-so-perfectly underneath her chin, with the bouquet of daisies and blooming peonies in her grasp, had his heart racing uncontrollably. He doesn't concentrate on Ryuji's overly emotional vows, or watch Ann dab away the crystalline tears with her gloved fingers when she chokes out, "I'm so thankful that I have an idiot looking after me".
Because all that Ren was wondering was, how would Makoto look in a wedding dress?
And four, it's only there, when they're looking into each others' eyes at the towering altar, that the sudden epiphany hits him like a tidal wave.
Why it's taken him such a long time to realize, Ren isn't sure, but better late than never.
Ten years together, and he knows now. More than ever, he dearly wants to make Makoto Niijima his for the rest of his life.
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In his imaginative reality, Ren should be able to put his suave, debonair demeanor on full display when he pops the question of, "Marry me?" with the engagement ring presented to her. Down on one knee, a tailored suit, the works. Maybe in the privacy of her apartment, or at Leblanc with their friends surrounding them, applauding and boisterously arguing over whom will play the role as best man and maid of honour (Obviously Sae). Or maybe, he'll want to be spontaneous and take her to somewhere that she hasn't been - she's always brought back travel guides to Okinawa and Hiroshima for his 'daily dose of nighttime reading'. Regardless, he’ll sweep her off her feet with ease as she, flustered but eyes alight with happy tears, stumbled out a clumsy yes in an intimate proposal, basking in the warm afterglow of her acceptance.
Well, at least that's what he wants to happen. It definitely will not play out like this.
Oh, God. Most definitely not like this – where he’s been constantly pulling out the velvet box from the depths of his drawer for the past three weeks, rotating the engagement ring between his fingers as if to detect any flaws (There weren’t).
And then, he’ll dramatically slam his head against the hardwood counter with gusto, followed up with a strangled cough of, "This is ridiculous.”
It's true. Proposing shouldn’t be this hard. But apparently, it is – especially when he's striving for nothing less than perfection.
And the challenge only continues to intensify by a hundred-fold with each passing day when realistic imagery of her saying no perpetually haunts his dreams like a vicious reoccurring plague.
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Morgana.
Morgana isn’t one of those typical housecats.
He’s a strange sight to behold to any observant eye with his own sapphire-blue orbs that twinkled with mischief when his senses alerted him of glimmering gold or silver trinkets within his reach. And it’s absurd to say, but said cat seems to display an incredible amount of intelligence to rival that of a human adult.
Put two and two together – alongside his natural curiosity, sniffy nose, and typical cat-like tendencies – and what unfolds is a rather comical spectacle.
Ren nearly trips over his own two feet, flushing to the roots of his hair, when Morgana prods a nosy paw at the velvet box with a tutting expression on his face. A whirlwind of thoughts tornadoes through his mind: He kept it hidden from view, did he not? And wasn’t the cat supposed to spend the day at Leblanc with Futaba?! Not that it matters now: Morgana sees through his panicky state straightaway; he’s a terrible liar, especially when it comes to Makoto. And all of the dust coating the exterior surface just provides further evidence that Ren’s been struggling for a while now.
So instead, the cat smugly teases with his tail twitching back and forth in excitement, “You can’t fool me.”
“I uh, I – “
“Oh, Ren,” The cat sighs, his disappointment in the older man evident. “Tell me. How are you twenty-seven!?”
“Mona,” Ren argues. Or, he tries – he definitely tries, but it’s pathetically futile. “Age doesn’t matter.”
Had it been anybody else, Morgana would’ve simply agreed and let things run according to how fate would’ve allowed it. But this is Ren – the intelligent Trickster that overthrew a malevolent God and won by a landslide victory after suffering through an eventful adolescence full of unwanted criminals breathing down the back of their necks. If he managed to get through that, then –
A wedding proposal should be infinitely simpler. Right? Right?!
Morgana performs a dramatic leap off the bed and then scurries up onto Ren’s makeshift desk littered with papers, notebooks, and a battered toolbox. “Ren, you’ve defeated a God, for Christ’s sake,” He states bluntly. “Besides that, you and Makoto have been together for ten years now. Ten years! And if that doesn’t tell you she wants to be with you – hey, don’t give me that!” He cautions suddenly, jabbing his paw at the weary-looking man. “Clearly, she wants to spend the rest of her life with you, too. Why are you waiting? Someone will snatch her up if you don't get a move on!”
Ren’s lips mouth something inaudible to the ear, and Morgana demands, “What’s the matter with you?!”
“Mona,” He repeats, louder yet still soft-spoken. “It’s not as simple as just asking her to marry me. I mean, yeah, we’ve talked about it before.”
The cat chuckles as brief memories of furniture shopping ("I quite like IKEA furniture, don't you?"), apartment viewing ("Should we start saving?"), and talks of ‘When we’ ("I know this is a somewhat selfish request, but when we finally have a place of our own, can I ask you to brew coffee for me every morning?") pop back into his subconscious. “Oh, don’t I know it.”
“I want to make it memorable, but not cheesy to the point that she’ll projectile vomit. Romantic with just the right touch, but I don’t want it to be a storybook cliché. See, I want it to be – perfectly imperfect. Makoto deserves the world, and so much more. It’s the least that I could do for her.” Ren’s desperation leaves his system in a huff, and Morgana takes in this information with new-found respect.
Gun-wielding, knife-slashing Joker aside, Ren was also a sensitive, passionate hopeless romantic, huh?
"And obviously,” Ren sighs yet again. “I’m trapped in an impasse at this point.”
Okay. So maybe, just maybe, Morgana should cut the younger man some slack. Being a cat means that he lacks the ability to fully comprehend the complexities that came with romance (His short-lived crush on Lady Ann didn’t teach him much, other than discovering his ideal type consisted of leggy models with long hair), but he can tell that Ren is trying. Maybe he ought to be more sympathetic.
“I must say, I’m almost envious that I’m not human,” Morgana murmurs in awe.
“Don’t be. It’s infuriating.”
“Alright. Well, here’s what I think. Nothing expresses those three words better than presenting her with something you built with your own two hands.” That piques Ren’s interest, and Morgana can see the cobweb-covered corks whirring about in his brain in a steady rhythm. “So, why not make her something?”
While it is quite out of character for his girlfriend, it surprised him to know that Makoto was actually quite sentimental and developed attachments to material objects she had fond memories of. Like that worn Buchimaru pencil case from high school that her late father bought to reward her, and the motorbike figure Ren gifted her with hard-earned cash from his numerous part-time jobs. It still sat on her bedside cabinet without a single speck of dust as if it had never been removed from its box. Or the now-broken Buchi calculator she presented to him before returning to his hometown after his probation ended –
“It should help you keep up with your studies,” She had said at the time, almost wistful when she pressed it into his grasp. He remembers how he had to shake off her hand, albeit reluctantly so. She, too, didn't want to let go, either. “Even if we’re apart.”
They’ve celebrated many birthdays and anniversaries over the years, but truthfully, none of their gifts exchanged cuts it close in terms of pricelessness to the first memento that they shared. That calculator didn’t just help him in performing basic arithmetic equations; it also provided him with the drive and determination to conquer his university entrance exams and establish a place for himself in Tokyo. Better schools and programs, sure, but most importantly, it was where his home was – where Makoto was.
(The power of infatuation really does manage to triumph over the worst enemies – high school biology included.)
“You know, Morgana,” Ren begins slowly, his frustrated expression easing into a relaxed smile. “You may be right.”
Yet another victory for me, the pretentious cat thinks snidely to himself as he performs yet another daring hop, landing precariously within the soft confines of his leather messenger bag. “Don’t underestimate me; I can wow anybody so long as I put my heart and soul into it!”
“Yes, yes.” Ren’s face is considerably lighter when he says this. “Just like your Lady Ann.”
“Enough chit-chat! Let’s go to the store!”
(But despite it all, Ren would rather go to Hell and back before ever admitting to Makoto that he accidentally destroyed it during a Calculus exam in his second year. Differentials were, as the name implied, difficult.)
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And so, it begins. Several torturous late nights, with Ren slaving away at the calculator underneath the dingy fluorescent lamp, a tiny screwdriver and scrap pieces of metal and plastic keys as his only companions. Morgana, unfortunately, does not provide much in terms of moral support. Sure, he may have wielded some magical powers, but he still goes through the natural course of aging just like any other house pet. He drifts off into a deep, dreamless slumber while a mumble of words slurs out of his mouth incoherently – something like, “You can do this, Ren.”
The project itself is tiresome. The complexity of the poorly-drawn blueprint leaves his brain in a constant doozy, his eyes constantly dry up from all the squinting and the fatigue gnawing at the musculature in his lower back has started to interrupt his sleeping schedule. Those ailments, he can nurse with actual remedies. No big deal.
Declining Makoto’s suggestions for spontaneous dates after work, however, was an entirely different story. Christ, of all the days that she had to be radiating bursts of energy like the sun, it had to be this week?
“So, do you have any plans tonight? I want to try this cheese foam bubble tea in Shinjuku. It sounds – intriguing, doesn’t it?”
“Ah, I think I’ve been tested for lactose intolerance. Takemi says I should avoid dairy for a while.”
“Ann says a new desserts parlour just opened near Shujin. Would you like to come with me tonight?”
“My glucose has been – out of norm. I know; I’m only twenty-seven and I’m not taking care of my health. I will, I promise.”
Suffice to say, it took much willpower to refuse. And ten times more brainpower to come up with excuses that didn’t sound like pure horseshit.
(Although, dear Lord, he sincerely hopes that she doesn’t start assuming that he’s committing infidelity.)
Makoto’s an open book: She may say she’s fine with it, but her trademark curt nod and the flicker of discontent is too noticeable to be dismissed. But Ren tells himself as a form of encouragement: Missing a handful of dates now wouldn’t matter in the long run.
The end result’s going to be worth it.
By the fifth night – a Friday evening with the hour hand inching towards eight – Morgana opens up one bleary eye to monitor Ren's progress. The older man senses the cat creeping up on him, and he whirls around in his chair, presenting the modified gadget towards him with a delighted beam radiating across all four corners of his room.
A few moments later, Morgana’s eyes light up. He’s impressed – no, that’s not right. Amazed. He didn’t think that the young man had it in him, but this was the jack-of-all-trades Joker that he’s trained over the course of a year. Obviously, he’ll pull through, no matter what the challenge was.
“I see. All those nights making lockpicks and Megido Bombs for our Palace infiltrations weren’t for naught.”
“Did you expect any less from me?” Ren questions, securing the second-to-last piece in. Only one more to go. He props it carefully back onto the counter, fanning it with his hand to accelerate the drying process. It's not in him to act pretentious (Aside from when he desperately wanted to showcase his versatile skills to Makoto when she first joined), but the project turned into a great success. A job well done if he did say so himself, and this is coming from someone who crafted the ultimate lockpick that could break into any treasure chest. Once it was complete, he'll place the silver band into the tiny indentation he crafted in the center which would spring open under her voice command. The engagement ring would then reveal itself before her bewildered eyes.
Ren can already imagine the picture-perfect scenario playing out in his mind. The execution would be flawless; her crimson irises would squint into half-moon spheres as she nodded out her “Yes”. It’s almost symbolic in a way. They parted and went their separate ways with the calculator, and some years later, it’s bringing them together again – and with any luck, she won’t be opposed to starting a new chapter in life with him by her side. He can’t guarantee that he wouldn’t shed any ugly tears during his confession (It’s Makoto, after all), but the prospect of seeing her face blissful and euphoric – it’ll be worth everything.
“Well, you were under my tutelage,” Morgana quips, bringing Ren out of his fantastical stupor. “I’d be surprised if your proficiency deteriorated.”
DING DONG.
Ren’s brows quirk upward in suspicion as he takes a look at the wall clock ticking away behind him. “I shouldn’t be expecting any visitors.” Discarding his gloves, he sneaks over to the peephole, only for a bellowing yell to resound from the hallway.
“OI, REN! I KNOW YOU’RE STANDIN' THERE. OPEN UP!”
“Oh, look,” Morgana says in disdain, watching Ren unlock the door for Ryuji Sakamoto to saunter in. “It’s Mr. Big Mouth.”
The sudden visitor, carrying visible signs of a late Summer tan in his trim physique, snorts. “Mona, don’t be salty just because I ended up marrying Ann.”
“For the umpteenth time, I am not salty!”
“You can’t lie,” Ren says, his face smug as Ryuji shambles towards Ren’s bedroom and plops onto the four-poster. According to his schedule, he still has two weeks before he needs to change his bedsheets, but Ryuji’s a walking waterfall. God, Ryuji needs his own designated seat the next time he decides to drop by. “You’ve got a really beautiful green halo radiating around you, Mona.” Turning his attention towards Ryuji, he asks, “So, what’s got you coming over?”
“How ‘bout you take your girl on a date sometime?” Ryuji demands with one eye open. “Makoto’s complainin’ bout ya!”
Wait. Makoto, confiding in Ryuji?! Without speaking to him directly first? Was he still living on the same Earth? “Wait, what?” Shell-shocked, Ren pulls his office chair opposite of Ryuji with his hands folded underneath his chin. “She is? What’s she saying?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say complainin’,” Ryuji corrects. “She's talkin' about how you’ve been too busy to spend time with her. C’mon! The work can wait! Ann can only handle squeamish Yakuza thrillers for too long!”
Thank God for Ann. Ren sends his friend a sheepish grin, only for Ryuji to grimace in return. “Bro, you really want to make my wife miserable?”
“Tell her I’m thankful, but she won’t have to take over my spot any longer. I'm not goofing off, though. I actually am busy with something. Take a look.”
“Wait,” Ryuji hurriedly gets to his feet and glances at the makeshift instrument sitting on the desk, completely mystified. “Ren. This is just a calculator. All that time you could be spendin’ with Makoto, and you’re workin’ on somethin’ that you can do with your brain?! What the fu – “
“VOICE NOT RECOGNIZED. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.”
Morgana’s mouth falls agape as he whispers, “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Ren?!”
And it’s right then and there that Ren realized he had committed a fatal mistake.
Ryuji has the black cube in his hand and – oh, my Lord – started to rotate it side to side, and then (Because, oh, fuck, the man is completely captivated by a talking gizmo) front and back.
“Oh, hey, y’know what? This is actually pretty cool! What does this button do?”
“Ryuji!” Ren breaks into a sprint, his hand outstretched to snatch the fragile calculator back. “Don’t!”
But he’s just a little too late. The calculator combusts in the blonde man’s strong grip with a devastatingly loud crash, disintegrating into tiny pieces that scatter across the hardwood floor.
The rest of Ren’s warning fades into a solemn quietness as he heaves out heavily, “...Squeeze that.”
An awkward, stilted silence ensues. The apartment window is open by a tiny crack, but the air is heavy with undeniable tension.
“Ryuji,” Morgana growls, cutting through the stillness. “You clumsy oaf!”
Under normal circumstances, Ryuji’s hare-brained expression would’ve contorted into one of seething anger. He’s not one to take criticism well – especially when it came from a damn feline whose fur made his nose twitch every few seconds. But his eyes shift from the hissing cat to Ren, silently gathering up the salvageable pieces into a small box.
He only has a good view of the back of his head, but Jesus. His aura – he looks ready to kill.
“W-what?! What did I do wrong?!”
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Ryuji & Ann.
If Ryuji were to pick a few adjectives to describe Ren, ‘calm, ‘collected’ and ‘cool as a cucumber’ (Yes, he's not dumb and yes, he knows it’s a phrase) would generally pop up in his mind. Even during their short-lived stint as the Phantom Thieves, the stoic Trickster barely showed the slightest hints of panic – even when the situation grew dangerously dire.
Self-composure was something Ren mastered, but Ryuji lacked. He’s working on it, though – and he’s improved heaps since settling down with Ann. He now understands the concept of an ‘inside voice’; he doesn’t pound his balled-up fists onto hard surfaces when he’s infuriated and he sought solace in running again – well, mainly because he wanted to practice for the upcoming Tokyo Marathon to impress his ever-bodacious wife, and secondly, he savoured the release of those feel-good endorphins that kept him peacefully Zen.
Slow progress, but it’s still progress.
Now, if only Ryuji took heed to his mothers’ advice when he was a wee toddler: “Be a good boy, and don’t touch anything.”
Because then, this ridiculous Cold War probably could’ve been avoided. Okay, so maybe he should take a leaf out of a child’s book and keep his hands to himself, but he's starting to have second thoughts about the entire ordeal.
Seriously, Ren’s the one who’s behaving like an idiot. It's been a week. One week. How many times must he apologize in order for Ren to forgive him?! Why’s he behaving like he blew his one chance to propose!?
“Ryuji,” Ann ends up saying, thwacking him around his head after eight days of childish bickering and unwanted temper tantrums. If she doesn’t succumb to natural causes, then her husband’s lack of tact will be the cause of her early death. “Accident or not, you destroyed all of his hard work. The calculator is important memorabilia in their relationship! I personally don’t blame Ren for acting out.”
“C’mon, Ann.” Ryuji’s muffled groan reverberates through their bedroom as he smothers his face in a pillow. Suffocation seems mighty attractive right now. “Not you, too! It was just an accident!”
“An accident that you could’ve avoided if you don’t put your hands on everything you see!”
The blonde man peeks out from the pillow and narrows his eyes at her. “For real? But hey, I ain’t gettin’ any complaints from you.”
Drat, he’s got her tongue-tied for once. Why is it that he can always turn the tables with the mere mention of – ugh. “T-that is NOT what we’re talking about here! And – ” She makes a futile grab for his intrusive fingers creeping towards the hem of her tank top, but he has her caged within his clutches and she’s melting into a pool of embarrassment all the while. “Ryuji Sakamoto, screw you!”
“Hell yeah, ya sure will!”
“Ryuji,” She wheedles, but really, with the way she has her nimble fingers wrapped around the zipper of his shorts to pull him close, can the young man truly resist? “We need to help Ren!”
“You first!” Shirt discarded, his mouth is latched onto hers in a dominating kiss as he mumbles, heated and dangerously seductive, “Ren later!”
And the answer to that question, obviously, is no. He can’t.
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It takes some persuasion and a lot of high EQ on Ann’s part, but eventually, Ren agrees to meet them up for a quick coffee at Leblanc with Morgana in tow; normally, he wouldn’t have joined, but the cat hasn’t seen Lady Ann in nearly three weeks. It’s long overdue. Ann hoists the feline into the air, rubbing his head in an affectionate manner as she coos about his weight gain.
Ren, on the other hand, is only two steps in when he suddenly finds himself in a brotherly chokehold with Ryuji ruffling his hair energetically. “I missed ya, buddy!”
Right away, Ren’s initial anger bubbles away into nothingness. There's only so much he can hold for so long for the one person he called his best friend.
Sojiro prepares their orders swiftly – a hot chocolate for the loud-mouth, and caramel macchiatos for the others – but rather than returning behind the counter to eavesdrop (Which wasn’t necessary with Ryuji’s presence), he sidles up next to Ren, clearly not in a rush to get back to the dishes beckoning him in their soapy glory.
“Boss, you haven’t quit smoking yet?” Ren asks, wrinkling his nose as the pungent wave of tobacco smoke hits him.
“Kid, don’t reprimand me,” Sojiro chastises, tapping the younger man on the forehead. “I’ll eventually kick the habit. For now, how about you start telling me why you’re waiting so long in making that girl your wife?”
Oh, God. No wonder the troublesome two invited him out. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Hey, cut that crap!” Ryuji roars, banging his palm against the spotless table. Thank God he’s not the Hulk. “You need help. We’re givin’ you help! That’s what ex-Phantom Thieves do for one another!”
Morgana pops into view from Ann’s lap and while rolling his eyes, exclaims, “This is just like high school all over again.”
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An hour later. Three more drinks. A platter of freshly-cut French fries.
And they’re still not done brainstorming ideas.
“I’m tellin’ ya, Ann. Ren ain’t going to do some shitty mating dance in front of Makoto!”
“Why won’t you believe me when I say that I’m not making this up? I’ve seen him dance – what the hell, Ryuji, you were there, too! You two danced together! The song was some feel-good anthem and had lyrics about making the most of your day!”
“Were you hallucinatin’?!”
“You know what hallucination means?”
“Of course!”
Suffice to say, they’re never going to come to a consensus at this point.
At first, their ideas were quite solid. Ann initially suggested a romantic boat ride underneath the shade of the blooming orange and yellow at Inokashira Park (Morgana’s head tipping up and down vigorously in agreement), but Ryuji immediately shuts it down with a condescending, “Ann. It’s gonna be November soon and the leaves are already fallin’. You want them to be swimmin’ around like ducks with those annoying kids on holiday?! Jeez, I would consider myself an idiot sometimes but damn.”
“Oh, and you're some genius!?”
To which Ryuji then stated, unbearably enthusiastic, “Yo, I got it! Destiny Land! Get down on that knee in front of that fake-ass castle, and she’ll say yes for sure!”
And then Ann would snipe back, “If that’s such a brilliant idea, then why didn’t you take me there?”
“I um – okay, never mind.” The blonde nods his head towards a silent Sojiro, tackling their unwashed plates after sitting at the unproductive table for half an hour. He needs some form of stimulation, and the bickering amongst the trio wasn’t helping. “Hey, Boss! What do you think?”
Sojiro chuckles, amused. “What do I think?”
(Amidst the smooth jazz instrumental lulling in the background, Morgana meows, ‘Hey, I’m here too, y’know!’)
“You’ve got plenty of experience, don’tcha?!”
That foolish boy really thinks I was some ladies’ man back in the day. The very thought has him bemused – was it the goatee that he sported, or his neatly-trimmed sideburns that gave off such a flowery impression? Eh, whatever. It’s flattering.
“You’re giving me too much credit, Ryuji, but,” He turns towards the expectant group, wiping his hands on that moldy-looking apron. “All I can say is, keeping it simple does the trick.” Directing his attention to Ren, he adds, “Your lady doesn’t seem like the type to be flashy or want extravagance. So, take it from an old sap like me. Telling her that you love her is enough.”
Had it been anybody else who said this, Ren would’ve cringed to the very core. But this is Sojiro – a man of culture who has accumulated enough life experience under his belt. They might not be related by blood, but he definitely served as a much better father figure with his sound advice (And for certain illegal activities, such as housing a criminal under his roof). There’s a certain security to his words that makes Ren believe that those three words would suffice.
Well, almost believe.
The lack of self-confidence is evident in his body language as he twiddles his fingers together, almost like a bashful schoolgirl debating whether to raise her hand to answer a question. The doubt eats at him from the insides like a disease that thrived on his endless list of insecurities, and it leaves him nauseous. He’s not one to let something so silly get in the way of achieving his goals, but anything that has to do with Makoto leaves him – soft, weak and vulnerable. Ann glances him with an almost pitiful gaze. The poor thing. It’s almost devastating.
Ryuji is never one to beat around the bush. He gives Ren a rough shove on the shoulder, shouting whilst coating the entire table with his spit, “C’mon, bro. I’m the one who gets terrified shitless! Not you! You’re the handsome-as-crap Wild Card, man! The fuck?!”
“Ryuji!” Appalled, Ann’s worrisome glaze morphs into a threatening glower as she gives Ryuji a good tug on the ear. “Stop hassling Ren! Had you properly proposed, I’m sure you’d be feeling the same way!”
“W-wait,” Morgana stammers. “You never told us how it went down!”
“Another time!” Ann gives Ren a once over, and then adds with a consoling smile, “Take it from me, Ren. I personally think you’re overthinking this.”
“But Ann, I – “
“Yes,” She presses on. “Makoto herself does have rather high standards when it comes to men – don’t give me that look, we’ve talked about it – but she has never said a single terrible thing about you throughout the course of your relationship. She loves you entirely for who you are. I think it’s very sweet that you want to propose to her in the grandest, fanciest way! But at the end of it all, it won’t change her answer! Why are you so hesitant? Is it because you think you’re – ah, how should I say it? Unworthy?”
God damnit. It’s like she can read his mind.
“I mean like, why, though?” Ryuji butts in, perplexed. “Just because she’s a high-ranking police commissioner, and you’re still working on your dissertation in law school? You’re on your way to becomin’ a prosecutor, dude! It ain’t gonna matter where you are in life right now when you both are gonna be a total power couple!”
“Ryuji, let me just say one thing. It’s freaking odd hearing you use these words.”
“He’s finally using that English-Japanese translator I bought him, but anyway,” Ann adds matter-of-factly. “The bottom line is: Don’t sell yourself so short!”
“She has a point,” Sojiro agrees. “Kid, give yourself some more credit.”
“You’re settin’ the bar too high for yourself, Ren.” Ryuji slides his empty mug to the side, folding his hands underneath his chin. “Chill for a bit, won’t ya?”
“Pun intentional?”
Ren can literally see the question mark pop up above the blondes’ head, and he can’t help but stifle a laugh when he questions, “Uh, what?”
“It flies way over his head, Ren.” Anytime that Morgana has an opportunity to make a sarcastic jab at the blonde, he’ll definitely take it. “Don’t bother.”
“Hey, I can understand stupid jokes too, ya dumb cat!”
━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━
Four hours. Yes, it did take nearly half the day, but eventually, they did come to a unanimous decision. It’s often said that ‘simplicity is the ultimate sophistication’, and in retrospect, their relationship was exactly that. It started as an awkwardly wholesome situation, full of pseudo-dates at the packed diner and shooting rounds upon rounds at the arcade in Akihabara. It’s still a heated debate on whom fell for whom first, but at this point in time, it didn’t quite matter anymore. Ultimately, Ren had no regrets in telling her, “I’ll be your study partner.”
(Smugly, Ren believes that if he delivered that same pick-up line now, Makoto would still crumble into dust. It’s fucking gold.)
Ann’s right – maybe a trip down memory lane would be best: A re-run of that Yakuza movie that she thoroughly enjoyed, followed by a brief stroll through Shujin’s grounds and then finally, to the dingy, dark arcade where he first taught her how to shoot a plastic revolver where he would then propose to her by placing the ring inside a crane game for her to pick-up.
Not many people in this world were fortunate enough to marry their first loves. So, why not give Makoto a chance to revive those fluttery butterflies that only her high school sweetheart could bring?
“Hearing about it makes me swoon. She’ll be so floored,” Ann sighs romantically, but it all subsides into disapproval when she watches Ryuji shovel the last bits of curry rice into his mouth.
“Ahem!” Morgana coughs suddenly. “Lady Ann, I believe it’s story time now?”
Midway through chewing and swallowing, the glutton chokes on a single grain and splutters uncontrollably, “D-don’t you dare!”
“Ryuji, ‘don’t you dare’ won’t stop me from asking. Rather, it just prompts me to probe even more. So, what was it? Giving her a Ring Pop instead of actual jewelry? Or – ”
“Alright, alright! Get off my back already, won't ya? If you must know, I just needed three things,” Ryuji interrupts crudely, checking off each item with his fingers. “Ann taking a shit on the toilet; her forgetting the toilet paper roll and the ring that I put inside the roll just ‘cause I thought it’d be hella funny – OW! Ann, stop punching me!”
“And Ann,” Ren says slowly, chewing his lower lip to stop himself from laughing at the heartwarming anecdote. It wasn’t the most conventional way to propose, but hey – Ryuji managed to pull off this ridiculous stunt with his own Ryuji-esque charms. “Said...yes.”
“Only ‘cause I told her I’d buy the two-ply from then on if she said yes. Aren’t ya glad that you didn’t marry this monster, Ren?”
“Contrarily, I’m just glad that you two made it to your mid-twenties without murdering one another.”
“Ren,” Ryuji deadpans with all seriousness. “Believe me. The sex does wonders to help – “
“RYUJI!”
“OW, OKAY, ANN. I GET IT. I’LL SHUT MY TRAP!”
Morgana, on the other hand, has slipped off the counter in despair with a high-pitched screech as he tumbles onto the ground with a shattered, broken heart.
━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━
It’s a lovely Saturday afternoon. Warm sunlight shone brightly overhead without a single cottony puff in the unclouded sky. Shibuya is bustling with pedestrians; some caught in an unfortunate weekend shift, but otherwise, most were couples of all ages – some in their high school uniforms carrying ice-cream cones, some pushing baby strollers, some using walking canes – that stumbled about on the packed sidewalks in a leisurely pace.
Ren and Makoto, of course, were one pair out of the many.
Makoto sees him on the daily whenever he picks her up at five o’clock sharp to walk her home and catch up on her day during their transit, but it’s been a while since they’ve actually spent quality time with each other. She doesn’t like to show her displeasure, especially towards Ren, but the excuses – no, she won’t say that, his reasons for saying no definitely got under her skin.
But even without prompting her to say anything, Ren suddenly suggests a spontaneous date out of the blue.
Makoto was somewhat reluctant at first. “Forgive me for saying this, Ren, but...”
“I know,” He had replied. “And I’m sorry for my absence. It’s long overdue, of course, but I’d like to make it up to you tomorrow if that’s okay with you.”
But then magically, whatever hesitation she masks in her voice disappears altogether. Of course, it is. Even without his heartfelt apology, she would always agree. How could she ever not be okay with the anticipation of seeing him? To always hold him and his perpetually cold hands close?
So, here she is, eagerly waiting the train operators’ voice announcing the arrival to Shibuya Station. She’s not too sure why, but there’s a certain je ne sais quois about the impending date that leaves her nerves a jittery mess – she can’t tell whether it’s excitement or just mere curiosity. When she had questioned what the day looked like, he kept the plans tight-lipped. He didn’t disclose any of the activities that they would be doing today; all she was left with was an expectant text message of, ‘I’m looking forward to seeing you.’
Likewise, Ren, she thinks to herself while clutching her phone close to her chest.
At last, the automatic doors spring open. Makoto hurriedly steps off the train and out into the platform, turning her head this way and that. Not a moment too soon and a pair of familiar arms engulf her in the tightest embrace possible.
“Ren.”
Strange. Makoto’s normally reserved about public displays of affection, but today, there’s something different in her behaviour. Perhaps it’s just him being his optimistic self, but the persistent thrumming he detects through her pleasant caress tells him otherwise.
“Just - a few more minutes,” She whispers soon after as an affirmation.
And of course, with his heart soaring at her affection, he’s more than willing to comply.
It’s only after he releases her from his hold that he realizes: They’re unintentionally matching. She’s wearing a calf-length skirt in a pleasant shade of evergreen with a plain white dress shirt tucked in. And Ren, too, had selected an unbuttoned oxford shirt with a pair of trousers in an alternating checked pattern of green and black. If that didn't scream 'couple', well, he didn't know what else did.
“Ren.” There’s a teasing smirk gracing her pretty face when she says, “Are you sure you weren’t the one stalking me this time around?”
“Or, I just so happened to have a good look into your mind today,” He replies, pinching the bridge of her pert nose cutely. “You look – “
Ravishing? Oh, hell no. Delightful? No. Stunning? Always.
So, he settles with the one compliment that she loves best. “Beautiful. I like your hair up, too.” Flicking the tiny ponytail sticking out the back, he murmurs, “When you have just your bangs framing your face, it brings out your eyes.”
It’s unbelievable how Ren has this uncanny ability to make her feel so loved. Random passerby’s and coworkers often tell her similar things – if it wasn’t a passing remark about her ensemble for the day, then it’ll be something about her hair or that hairband, or even demure features like the unique colour that made up her irises. She’s heard it all; yet, there’s such a distinguished difference when receiving a flattering remark from someone who mattered, and someone who didn’t.
“Thank-you.”
And he takes her hand in his, smiling as they both simultaneously ask, “Shall we get going?”
"Stop reading my mind, you."
"How can I help myself?"
━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━
Really, Ren secretly wished that he possessed the ability of telepathy. Maybe then, things would be so much easier.
But as it turns out, the date has been occurring rather - well. So far, so good. Makoto thoroughly enjoyed the movie, watching the blood-filled, gory scenes playing before her with tightened fists. She's seen this at least a hundred times now, but she still reacts as if it was her first time seeing it. She ends up tossing the remainder of her popcorn into the air in the final five minutes of the movie, and Ren can only chuckle: How cute.
She marveled at their quaint lunch - a tiny hole-in-the-wall serving Spanish cuisine in Shibuya, but appreciated the service much more than the seafood paella, stating, "I know tipping isn't necessary, but I'm so tempted." And when he took her on a detour through the gate of their old high school, she hooks her pinky around his and murmurs, "Imagine how my life would be like if you weren't there to help me find my way."
Alright. No complaints. Makoto's in a good mood, as is Ren - even though his back is somewhat clammy with a thin sheen of sweat, and he has restless butterflies fluttering away in his stomach. But is this apprehension, or just him running high on endorphins and the beautiful emotion known as euphoria when he delivers the ring?
He's happy to say: It's the latter.
"Ren, you're very touchy-feely today," She notes, nodding towards their entwined hands as they ascended the escalator from the platform and into the throng of tourists littering the giant electronic mecca, Akihabara. He's swinging their arms back and forth cutely, but the smile that's spreading across his face is ten times more delightful to the eyes. "You're not usually like this. Something on your mind?"
Yes. "Maybe it's the fact that I like seeing you in skirts," He gestures to the bottom half of her outfit. Crossing the street, they stop in front of a pair of glass doors, stamped in black text: "GIGOLO'."
"You see me in skirts all the time, especially when I have conferences to attend. What's different about today?"
Cat's got his tongue. He doesn't know what to respond with. So, with an uneasy laugh, he tries to redirect her attention to other things. Pointing at the occupied first-person shooter with the screen splattered with pixelated blood, he says, "Remember how you didn't last two minutes on this game? Man, Makoto, you really - you really sucked."
"I, Ren - " Slightly peeved by his comment, Makoto huffily snaps with a flustered blush, "I do NOT suck! I have vastly improved!"
"FYI, I don't intend to teach you how to treat your girlfriend, but that's not a nice way to treat your lady there, Ren!"
Scoffing, Ren smirks as a twenty-year-old Shinya Oda steps into their periphery. The boyish baby fat the rambunctious preteen used to carry in his cheeks has melted away, revealing a chiseled jawline dotted with acne scars. Even when he's at work and wearing that awful checkered outfit, he's still a looker - but Ren will always see him as the infamous King that taught him Bullet Hail.
With a gleeful but welcoming smile, Shinya takes both of Makoto's hands and shakes them with vigour. "Hi there, onee-chan!"
"Oh, uh," Taken aback, she glances at the young university student skeptically. She wasn't even shaking his hand anymore; rather, it was Shinya that was flinging her lifeless hands this way and that. "Onee-chan?"
"Ren's told me allll about you! Gosh, you're so much prettier in person!"
"Ah, I see now. This is the King that you used to talk about, hmm?" Makoto says at last, following Ren and Shinya towards one of the vacant crane games overflooded with Buchimaru plushies. She can't help her exhilarated squeal, unconsciously pressing her palm longingly at the glass. "I can't believe they still manufactured Buchimaru-Kun?!"
"I love me a grown woman who still cuddles with stuffed animals," Ren teases. Pulling out a worn-out coin pouch, he passes it to her. He has fifty-thousand yen in coins, jostling to be used. "Help yourself." With any luck, she'll catch a glimpse of the diamond ring beckoning to her, wrapped in the tiny pandas' arms sitting precariously on the first row.
"I um, I'm just letting you know, Ren. I'm not very good."
"That's absolute nonsense," He disagrees with a shake of his head. "If you can use a sniper rifle, I don't see how this would present itself as a major challenge. Go for the one on the right! I think it's easier, if it helps you."
"Onee-chan. Go for it!"
Goodness gracious, this Shinya really is too enthusiastic for his own good. "A-alright."
━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━
As it turns out, being well-versed in firing bullets and manipulating the metal claw are not mutually inclusive.
The coin purse is completely emptied, with Makoto apologizing again for the umpteenth time as they exit the arcade at six o'clock in the evening. At least she came out of the arcade game with a souvenir: A two-feet tall doll that would make for a great cuddle companion. Alright, so maybe the money wasn't a complete waste.
"Ren, are you sure you have enough money on your transit card to make it back to your neighbourhood?"
He does. But it's not like he's going straight home after dropping her off. Maybe he should just jump off Tokyo Tower while he's at it. Because honest-to-God, how unbelievably bad can one person be at crane games?! How does one manage to knock off a Buchimaru-Kun plushie, positioned just right so that it was within her reach?
Well, apparently, Makoto managed to do all that. She knocked it down within ten seconds into an inconspicuous corner, and Shinya already knew: There's no way even the best of the best would be able to retrieve that, much less a tiny ring wedged against the corner of the glass. Nothing that he can do; just an unfortunate situation.
Inevitably, she's ringless, and so is Ren.
“Actually, Makoto,” Ren says abruptly when they reach the station gates. “I need to make a detour at the arcade again."
"Did you forget something?"
"I um, I need to use the washroom."
"Oh. But, there's one here, right? Unless you forgot something. I'll come with - "
"Do you mind waiting for me here?”
“Um, okay, sure?” She definitely doesn’t sound ‘sure’, especially considering his brows were furrowed so deeply that indicated some sort of problem. “I mean, so long as you’re not dropping a visit to the maid café.”
Ren forces himself to exhale a laugh, but it’s biting and completely unnatural to the ear. And he's quite sure Makoto picked up the uneasiness. Before she can say anything else, he hurries back to the deserted arcade. Shinya's standing at the counter, unamused.
“Shinya," Ren calls out, storming in with a fuming expression. "The ring."
"You don't have to tell me twice!" Shinya cries out, fumbling underneath the countertop for the box that he had been protecting. Handing the box back to Ren, he presses his hand against his forehead while grumbling, "Jeez."
Ren's sunshiny disposition from earlier has dissipated into nothingness. In place was pure hostility as he pockets the jewelry box back into his trousers. "Jeez, what?"
"I take it back. Your lady really sucks. Hey, here's a question for ya. Why didn't you just grab the ring yourself, and then ask her to marry you?!"
...Good point. And to think, Ren's supposed to be some erudite scholar?! No, this wasn't even related to intelligence at this point. Who cared if he was in grad school? This is pure common sense that Ren seemed to have forgotten existed. Oh, my God. "Look, I didn't think this through. I thought it'd be a nice idea for her to pick it up herself."
"Nice idea, my ass!" The younger boy exclaims. "Yeesh! I'm never asking you for dating tips, or proposal tactics ever again!"
━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━
From: Ann Takamaki
Sent At: 6:03 P.M.
How’d it go? I’m expecting good news!
From: Ren Amamiya
Sent At: 7:02 P.M.
Ann, a question. Have you and Makoto played crane games recently?
From: Ryuji Sakamoto
Sent At: 7:05 P.M,
...Faaaack, bro. You didn’t!
From: Ren Amamiya
Sent At: 7:06 P.M.
How does she go from firing AK-47s, to sucking so horribly at an arcade game?!
From: Ryuji Sakamoto
Sent At: 7:10 P.M.
Why didn't you just get it for her yourself?!
From: Ren Amamiya
Sent At: 7:11 P.M.
Oh, my God. Don't remind me. I don't want to speak about this ever again.
From: Ann Takamaki
Sent At: 7:13 P.M.
...Yep. She is. But hey, it’s okay! Don’t be disheartened, Ren! Third time’s the charm, am I right?
━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━
Yusuke & Futaba.
Third time’s the charm. It’s a phrase that Ren hears too often; well, at least from those who remain persistent as they progressed towards their sky-high aspirations. But lately, he's not feeling it. In fact, he considers himself somewhat pessimistic: The ‘half-empty’ type with a somewhat bleak outlook – especially when it came to his personal matters – but the famed fortune teller, Chihaya Mifune, forces him to look at things in a more ‘half-full’ way.
“It’s a difficult journey to walk, Ren, but all will work out in the end,” She declares confidently as she flipped over the central Tarot card with a vivacious fire in her eyes. Not that he had any uncertainty in his resolve towards marrying Makoto, but Ren felt utmost relief after seeing the stern-looking woman sitting in between the two contrasting pillars of black and white.
“Seek out the advice of the High Priestess,” Chihaya ordered. “For she will illuminate the road that you must walk to get to your final destination. Listen and take heed to her words, Ren.”
But that's the problem. He can’t do any of that. It’s not like he’s going to ask Makoto directly to her face how she wishes to be proposed to. What’s the point of keeping it a surprise, then? Another two-thousand-yen well-spent, Ren. Good job. At least Chihaya can use that little tip to splurge on something special.
Visiting the ever-so-busy fortune teller doesn’t do much to calm his nerves, so on a cloudy Sunday morning at the beginning of November, he takes the earliest train to Asakusa to mumble a quick prayer to the higher beings. The fifteen-minute visit to the empty Sensoji does much to soothe his erratically racing heart, but if only the gods could actually respond to his desperate plea –
Which came in the form of a lean, blue-haired art fanatic: Yusuke Kitagawa, the newly-appointed Tokyo Metropolitan Art Museum curator, self-proclaimed oil painting expert and fellow crustacean connoisseur, barreling towards him at an incredible speed.
“Yusuke!”
Maybe it’s the fact that they haven’t seen each other in a while, but God damn, seeing Yusuke in a tailored suit is – mind-blowing. The art school misfit is just as willowy and lithe as before, with his tree-like physique emphasized even more after a sudden growth spurt. So, pair that up with a fitted tuxedo, and it’s guaranteed to capture the attention of young women itching for some eye candy.
It doesn’t perturb him, though. Ogle all they want: Yusuke doesn’t care about the speculating eyes that linger a bit too long as he drifts by.
What he does care about, however, is the weariness bearing down on Ren, and wastes no time in inviting him out to an hour-long lunch. Ren ends up agreeing.
“I must say, it is a surprise to bump into you here. Perhaps you ought to come back to visit Leblanc a little more.”
“I think your presence is much preferred.”
Which is true. When Yusuke isn’t busily working on his future masterpieces, he spends every waking moment with his paint-covered easel in the dusty attic at Leblanc, bonding with Sojiro to get in his good graces – mainly for Futaba’s sake. How they ended up together still baffles Ren to no end, but perhaps it was their free-spirited eccentricity that sparked a magnetic attraction.
The idiosyncratic art curator, linking arms with the offbeat computer science grad student oddball: Who knew? Although thinking about it now, they did make a rather adorable pair, especially when they were walking side-by-side: Him, the lanky bigfoot, and her, petite, tiny, pocket-sized and – what was that word she used? - ‘smol’.
The ‘Tol’ and ‘Smol’. He needs to tell Makoto this later.
And plus, he can’t imagine any other person who would be fine being referred to as ‘Inari’ as a pet name.
Once they place their orders, Yusuke wastes no time in starting up the dreadful interrogation. “Something is troubling you.”
“Congratulations, Yusuke,” Ren mutters dryly. "Very observant."
“You put Munch’s ‘The Scream’ to shame. It’s written all over your face.”
“Yusuke,” Ren doesn’t even know where to begin. Drumming his fingers against the table, he says slowly, “Have you ever thought of – you know, asking Futaba to marry you?”
A perfectly cooked piece of lobster meat doesn’t continue its trajectory into Yusuke’s stomach; rather, his throat clenches into an inescapable choke, and the lobster piece dislodges itself and into Ren’s glass of water with vividly dramatic theatrics.
A waiter on stand-by hurries over after Yusuke waves his hand blindly in the air, gasping, “I uh, I need – gah, water!”
The answer to his question then, Ren surmises as the blue-haired man chugs down his glass, is no. Yusuke recovers quickly after sucking in a deep breath, then asks, “Pardon me back there.”
“You are very much pardoned.”
“But I presume that this is related to Makoto?“
Incredible. The mere mention of her name forces Ren to spill everything. And when he says everything, he means it: His worries, his past failed attempts (Was Yusuke trying to hide his snigger at the crane game?! Slick bastard), and subsequently, his growing lack of confidence. It bursts out of him uncontrollably, and by the time he’s finished (His own plate of spaghetti carbonara now cold), he adds dully, “I’m - I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to take over the entire conversation. It’s just – “
“Ren, my apologies.” But the tonality in his voice conveyed no such thing. “But I just find it much more appalling that you decided to seek out help from Ryuji and Ann first.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have a much better way of wowing a woman’s heart. Believe me.”
“I mean,” Ren mumbles under his breath, watching the other man’s eyes glint with newfound inspiration. “We’ve only seen you dating Futaba and she’s not hopping around in joy twenty-four seven, but sure, Yusuke. I’m all ears.”
“Let me ask you a question first. When you think of Makoto, what do you feel?”
Ren’s brow raises as suspicion starts to grow in the pit of his stomach. “Is this one of the methods that help you overcome artists’ block?”
“What do you feel?!”
“Well - “
Hell, a better question would be: What doesn’t he feel? It’s not like there’s only one descriptor that can fully encompass the complex wave of emotions that he experiences when he’s with her.
When Makoto laughs in that dazzlingly characteristic way of hers – eyes squinted, lips parted – he'll follow suit with an earthy rumble of his own like a chain reaction. It’s infectious, the way she giggles, and he wants to hear it. He’ll always want to hear it.
When Makoto’s stressed with wrinkles sprouting across her forehead, he’ll unmistakably run his palm over her brow to help her relax. Because the very sight of her – frustrated with work commitments – when he’s powerless makes his heartstrings twinge.
When he sees Makoto preparing dinner with her back turned towards him, he’ll engulf her in the biggest embrace possible. Not only because she knew his favourites and knew how to add an extra kick to the flavour, but because he wanted to tell her how thankful he is for her cooking.
Of course, this is just the tip of the iceberg. But on second thought, maybe there is one word.
It’s love, he muses with a knowing smile. That’s all there is to it.
Yusuke nods understandingly as if he had just witnessed the next coming of Jesus. “I see it.”
“But I didn’t even say anything.”
“Your eyes convey the ultimate message of happiness. Come with me. I’ll help you.”
“Yusuke, I uh, I’m thankful for the help. But you just got hired. And besides, aren’t you supposed to be working right now? You’ve taken an extra half hour for your lunch.”
“Love is a much greater masterpiece than any other Van Gogh that I need to analyze for the fifth time because my fellow colleagues are completely incapable. And if it’s for your eternal happiness with Makoto,” Yusuke suddenly stands up, terrifying Ren shitless as he bangs his palms excitedly against the table cloth. “It takes all precedence! Now, let us go!”
“Uh, where?”
Dragging Ren by the wrist, Yusuke exclaims, “Back to the art museum, of course! I know the exact piece that you need to help you get started!”
━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━
Ren generally appreciates nature. He loves the quaint tranquility provided by the lush greenness of forests, and the animals that make the valley its natural habitat: The beady-eyed crows, the hyperactive but fluffy rabbits and the –
The fucking red-crowned crane. Seriously: Fuck this ridiculous animal and everything about it.
“Be kind to the paper, Ren,” Yusuke tuts as Ren (Yet again) tosses the piece of cherry-blossom-pink to the side, while he folded a flimsy blue square into a smaller rectangle with ease. “Trees are indispensable resources that should be treated with care.”
“If we were folding airplanes, I could totally do that,” Ren rewinds the tutorial video back to the beginning and sets the playback speed to 0.75. Yes, there are certain things that even the near-perfect Joker can’t handle. “Ow, shit! I need another Band-Aid.”
And paper was one of them.
“I think It's time for you to wear a pair of gloves, don’t you think?” Yusuke suggests, glancing over at the horrific sight: Ren’s fingers covered with lacerations and tiny red nicks. He places his finished crane into a cardboard box daintily, sighing.
Fifteen down. Nine-hundred and eighty-five more to go.
“Gloves makes everything clumsier,” Ren replies, his eyes never leaving the piece in his hands. At last, he manages to finish the crane – albeit a little wonky here and there with strange creases found in places where they shouldn’t be. “I just need some more practice. I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it.”
As expected of the skilled Joker: He picks up on the technique rather quickly, and in no time at all, finished the seventeenth crane with no paper cuts.
“I find even one hundred difficult to complete without the proper environment.”
“Which is what?” Ren laughs. “Espresso, lobster and lo-fi hip-hop?”
“Tell me. How do you find the motivation to do all this?”
“Well,” Ren purses his lips together, deep in thought. A ghost of a smirk uplifts on his handsome face as he replies, “I guess, when you find the person that you truly want to marry, you’ll do the unthinkable for them.”
“Even if it means risking your skin and the possibility of bleeding to death to fold a thousand cranes?”
“Yes. You know that famed Japanese legend, right? Where they say if you have the patience to fold a thousand of these, you’ll be granted your deepest desires?”
Oh, Yusuke most definitely knows. He’s not one to believe in such fictitious superstitions, but even he has to admit that Japanese tradition has a particular allure to it. “What’s your wish? For her to say yes?”
“Well, that’s obvious,” Ren chuckles. “But that aside, I would want all of her own dreams to come true. I know, I know,” He adds, sensing Yusuke’s scrutinizing gaze on him. “It’s overused, I know, but wishing for her happiness is just as – if not more – important to me.” A small smile unconsciously forms on his face as he continues, “Makoto’s not perfect, and there are times when I still see her struggle.”
“How so?”
“Well, work is one example. She tries to maintain that pure sense of justice and instill that in others, but at times, her authority is questioned and it makes her doubt whether she’s doing the right thing, especially when she's dealing with the higher-ups.” Ren’s voice wavers ever so slightly when he says this, but Yusuke understands why – it was the main reason why she had joined the Phantom Thieves in the first place. She had always been the quintessential student council president, chained to the control of manipulative adults as they groomed her into being their puppet. It wasn’t until meeting their group – or more accurately, Ren – that had changed her pessimistic outlook on life.
“Makoto has a strong resolve in doing what she believes is right,” Ren continues. “But I can see it. I see her apprehension, and I can only say so much to help. All I would want is to see her live life according to her own expectations, and not for anybody else. I don’t want to see her make unnecessary comparisons, or to ever feel a lack of self-worth.”
Oh, my God. This is – incredibly touching. Yusuke suddenly jumps to his feet, bolting towards the door. Just before he has his hand wrapped around the knob, Ren calls out curiously, “Now, just where are you going? I can’t do all of it by myself!”
And the starry-eyed artist shouts back, “Getting you more paper from the gift shop! Just give me two minutes!”
Lies. He came back in ten, panting and sweating like a pig. “Colour coordination is everything!”
━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━
Origami, Ren ends up realizing after a week of restless nights with cardboard boxes surrounding his feet, is a huge time investment. Albeit, it was very therapeutic and he’ll definitely be taking it up as a new hobby after all this is over.
“And now,” Yusuke says after Ren parks his car along the deserted side streets of Yongen-Jaya at seven o’clock on a Sunday morning to beat the morning hustle and bustle. “All you need now are the final touches.”
Out of all the places that he could’ve proposed at (Her apartment, his tiny studio, a secluded room at the art museum), Ren decided with Leblanc’s attic as the setting stage for their hard work. The homely café fulfilled the role as Makoto’s home away from home when he had returned to his hometown; according to Sojiro, she came often, masking it as visits to Futaba to help her study and unpaid assistance when things got busy.
In reality, she was holding onto a tiny sliver of hope that Ren would impulsively drop everything back home, and walk in whenever the welcoming bell clang. It was silly of her – silly, he agrees when she shyly admits this, but so, so heartwarming.
And well, that aside, Leblanc held a lot of precious memories for them, too – like ‘studying things that they lacked experience in’.
Oh, boy. Not much else has to be said after that.
“Alright,” Ren says, clasping his hands together. “Let’s get started.”
A grumpy, sleep-deprived Ryuji greets them outside the locked door with his hands tucked deep within his pockets. “Ren, ya owe me.”
“Hot chocolate on me.” The taller man says after clasping a hand on his friends’ shoulder. “Now, let’s go.”
While most of the cranes were already strung together with red thread, there was still a whole box of one hundred pieces remaining. Ren was much nimbler with needle and string, so while he worked on the last few bunches, Yusuke was assigned the duty of design and decoration. Should the crane chains hang like vibrant curtain drapes from the ceiling? It’ll make for a marvelous sight, that’s for sure. But wait, should he decorate the staircase banister with them first like sparkly Christmas tinsel?
“Rather than asking Ryuji, we could’ve asked Ann to come help,” Yusuke murmurs after deciding the former plan was much more tasteful. He observes Ryuji’s placement of the fragile pieces with a watchful eye. “She has a certain skill for interior design.”
“No offense, bro, but I don’t like you spending one-on-one time with my wife,” Ryuji snaps. "You told her to strip for your dang paintings, remember?”
The cloudy gray irises suddenly narrow into a steely, hostile glint. “Oh, yes. The fault is clearly mine. All my heart yearned for was to capture beauty for its entirety to share with the world. And in accordance, that's my problem?”
Cling.
“Oh, hell no. You are not sayin' this crap!”
Ren’s ears perk up. That’s odd. Was it just his imagination playing tricks on him?
Cling. Cling.
Nope. It’s not.
“Unlike you, I'm not some uncultured swine - "
Ren presses a finger against his lips in an attempt to shush the bickering duo. “Guys, shut up!”
In the middle of their ministrations, the tinkling echo from the welcoming bell forces Yusuke’s head to snap up, his body suddenly tense and on red-alert. “Wait,” He whispers, eyes narrowing. “Did you hear that?”
Rhetorical question. Ren caught it the first time around. How were these two individuals ex-Phantom Thieves if they couldn’t even detect the slightest of sounds?! Discarding the seventh chain of cranes to the side, he stealthily creeps towards the staircase and steals a peek at the intruder.
“What? What do you see?”
The blood in Ren’s veins runs chillingly cold as he catches a glimpse of the familiar braided headband that a certain someone wore on the daily. Holy. Shit. “Oh. Oh, no.”
“What is happening?!” Ryuji presses in a frantic hiss.
“Ren, if you don’t respond to my question, I can’t - “ Yusuke's complaint fades into nothing more than a mere whisper – because standing, just seven feet away, was the very person that shouldn’t even be here in the first place.
“Mako - Makoto?!” What in the hell is she doing here?!
“For real!? Lemme see!” Ryuji hurriedly pushes Yusuke aside, gapping, “Miss Ex-Prez?!”
And peeping out from behind Makoto’s silhouette is a dark shadow – standing just below five foot one – that Yusuke knows all too well. “’Sup, Inari?”
“And Fu - Futaba?!”
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Judging by the sweaty fitness apparel she had most likely just finished her morning workout routine and decided to stop by somewhere along the way back to her apartment for breakfast. It's inevitable; she does have a rather voracious appetite and it wasn't simply satisfied with celery sticks or hard-boiled eggs as snacks.
But how in the world – or, more accurately – why in the world did the gods decide on “Leblanc” as one of her many options? Honest-to-goodness, he doesn’t mean to be crass, but were the heavens just fucking with Ren at this point?
“It’s uh, it’s very early, isn’t it?” Ren exclaims as enthusiastically as possible, bounding down the steps two at a time to block their view of their display-in-progress. Oh, he remembers now: She signed up for an intensive yoga and cardio boot camp around the area. He supposes it makes sense since Leblanc was only two blocks away –
But, still. Giving her a once over, he comments, “Makoto, I would give you a hug but – “
“I’m not the most appealing right now,” She giggles. “I know. Not to worry.”
(Oh, but how wrong she is. Ren enjoys the view of her in a pair of flattering running shorts and a white crop top that showed the traces of her well-developed abs.)
“What - ah, I mean, please do not get me wrong,” Yusuke says, his back as stiff as a board. “I - we are very happy to see you, but why would you be here so early on a Sunday morning?”
“I was actually just about to take the subway back,” She explains casually, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed against her chest. ”But then, guess who I bumped into along the way!” She gestures towards the younger woman standing idly behind her.
Oh, my Lord – Futaba. Why. Just, why?! Now, while Ren enjoys the younger girls’ presence and would go to any length imaginable to protect her against the evils polluting this world, this was definitely not one of those times. Damn. Is this what they call good timing?
“Opening shift for me!” Futaba sings, holding up the keys. The false cheeriness in her face disappears, replaced with a deep frown soon after. “Dangit, I really wish I could sleep some more, though.”
Ren chokes out a cough into his elbow. As you should be!
“Question!” She suddenly pipes up. Oh, no. Not now. This was the last thing that the panicky trio needed. “Why are you guys here? And – “ Futaba squints her eyes, humming for a moment before saying, “Why do y'all look so messy? Are you three – “ An ostentatious gasp escapes her lips as she says with bright eyes, “Don’t tell me! Are you guys living out my yaoi dreams?!”
Ren smacks his palm against his forehead while Ryuji bellows in a frantic uproar, “Not on your damn life!”
“Makoto, I dunno if it’s just me, but this is looking awfully suspicious,” Futaba mumbles. And this time around, Makoto doesn’t try to argue. Being a seasoned police commissioner means that her internal alarm tends to be ten times more sensitive than most. And if Futaba can tell that something is out of line, then –
Makoto takes one dramatic step forward, and a seemingly petrified Yusuke shuffles two steps back. Not because he’s recoiling from the droplets of perspiration dotting her forehead, but because he still carries an internalized fear of the strongest woman in the universe.
(A little dramatized obviously, but that image of her pummeling her enemies with her brass knuckles while screaming, “Fists of justice!” will forever be ingrained in the back of his mind.)
“Inari!” Futaba squeaks, pointing a guilty finger at her boyfriend. “Spill all the deets this instance, or I’m going up there!”
“Um, er, it’s um.” Shit. They failed to account for something like this, but it’s too late for regrets now – what are they going to do?!
While Yusuke continues to deflect Futaba’s verbal assault (“No, you are being abysmally foolish! I am not hiding a woman upstairs and making the attic my personal love cave!”), Ren squeezes his eyes shut to mumble a quick apology to the blue-haired man.
He has an idea in mind – albeit, it’s not the best solution, but they’ll be at a standstill if he doesn’t say anything. I'm sorry, Yusuke, but I’m going to throw you under the bus for this one.
“It’s - “ Voice faltering, Ren sucks in a deep breath before finishing, “It’s for Yusuke.”
The blue-haired man sends Ren a dirty glare. No. Forget dirty, it’s bordering on scandalized outrage. How dare he drop his name like this!
“Really? Yusuke?” Makoto asks in contemplation.
“Uh, I uh,” Times like these, he knows that saying no would bring about World War 3.5. Plus, they would never believe their story if he pushed the blame on someone as rough as Ryuji.”Y-yes. It is still a work in progress. Please, do not proceed any further.”
“Well, I suppose that makes sense. Ryuji doesn’t strike me as the type to have the patience for artwork,” She laments (“Oh, c’mon, Miss Prez! I’m waaaay better now!). “I just find it somewhat odd that you would do it here.” Something still seems abnormal; with her police commissioner brain at work, she probes as lax as she can, “What’s it called? Maybe you could describe it for us?”
(Internally, Ren is screaming, WHY IS SHE DOING THIS?!)
“Ah.” Even the tiniest syllable is a struggle to say. This must be why Makoto doesn’t step in to head the questioning for arrested criminals often – her presence is much too intimidating for a regular person to bear. “No.” He declines with a curt shake of his head, the navy-blue locks falling carefully across his eye. “My apologies.”
Yusuke can literally feel the daggers digging into his shoulders through Ren’s onyx orbs. No?! Yusuke, are you crazy?!
Futaba, clearly irritated and driven close to curious insanity, attempts to push her way past the three men that practically towered over her. But the forceful grip that Ryuji has wound around the younger girls’ waist prevents her from proceeding any further.
“Ryuji, let go!”
“It’s - ow, I am NOT your punching bag! Why do y’all like smacking me so much?! It’s for - “ And unmistakably, he blurts out in the spur of the moment, “It‘s for you!”
(Things just from went zero to a hundred real quick.)
“Wait, me? Why me?” Futaba drivels out, unconvinced with her legs kicking in the air. “I’m no art aficionado!”
Yusuke’s shifty eyes dart from a paralyzed Ren, back to a quizzical Makoto, and then to Futaba.
"I'm waiting!"
...I’ll explain this to you later, Futaba. But right now, please just react as normally as possible. Drawing in a dramatic inhale, he brazenly announces with self-assured flamboyance, “Recently transpired events have stimulated something within me. Futaba, hear this and take note. I request your hand in marriage!"
Futaba's eyes blink. Rapidly so. As do Makoto's. But honestly, she's more shell-shocked than anything. "E-excuse me?!"
"And I am not going to take no for an answer!"
Ren can't even think of anything else to say. Instead, he palms his forehead once again (It's bound to leave a bright-red mark at some time with how many times he's done it today), exasperatedly tired. Oh, my God.
(Of all the things that he could've said. Really. Really?! Why didn't Yusuke just say it was a birthday present?!)
Because at that exact moment, a thunderstruck Sojiro walks in, footsteps boomingly loud. Makoto’s shrill shriek pierces through the silence as the newly-bought groceries fall to the ground with an ear-splitting crash.
From the looks of it, he most definitely heard the latter part of Yusuke’s declaration.
As if things weren’t bad enough already. Well, this just took the cake.
“You WHAT?!”
“Boss.” Yusuke greets in acknowledgment. He hands his arms raised in surrender as if pronouncing that he absolutely meant no harm in nonchalantly dropping such a gigantic bomb. But, that’s the thing – anything that has to do with Futaba will ignite an unstoppable, protective rage deep within Sojiro, even if the underlying feeling behind the moment should be one of happiness. Edging closer towards the door, he has a hand latched onto the door handle of the entrance as he visually plans out his escape route. Down the street, past the worn-down movie theatre – maybe he can hide inside the supermarket? “P-please. Allow me the chance to explain this.”
Sojiro’s clenched fist – purplish veins pulsing erratically – trembles as he splutters, “B-Boy, sit down.”
“...My apologies,” Yusuke says slowly, barely turning it a smidge. “But I must decline.”
And he ends up taking off, sprinting for dear life as Sojiro roars behind him, all dignity lost and forgotten, “BOY, COME BACK HERE!”
Futaba’s cries can be heard a mile away as she gives chase; Sojiro, carrying a broom threatening to wallop Yusuke on the behind, and Yusuke, dashing past the shopfronts with his long limbs swinging this way and that. His stance is reminiscent of the inflatable tube men seen in those American television sitcoms, flying in all directions on the driveways of car dealerships.
“Sojiro, n-no! Don’t - oh, man! SOJIRO!”
Back inside Leblanc, an eerie stillness descends upon Makoto, Ryuji and Ren as they exchange petrified stares with one another.
The thing is, Makoto has always had a fairly good impression of Boss – not just for the delicious coffee that he prepared with care and precision, but for the protective, fatherly aura that he radiated.
But now?
She’s not so sure whether she shares that sentiment anymore. Swallowing thickly, she asks in a stammer, “S-should we help? We should, right?”
“...” Ren pauses for a moment, but instead, gestures towards Ryuji for the final decision.
To which Ryuji breathes out airily, “Nope.”
━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━
From: Futaba Sakura
Sent At: 7:16 P.M.
REN.
From: Ren-Ren
Sent At: 7:20 P.M.
Yes, Futaba. At your service.
From: Futaba Sakura
Sent At: 7:21 P.M.
DO YOU REALIZE WHAT YOU’VE DONE?!
From: Ren-Ren
Sent At: 7:26 P.M.
Accidentally assist Sojiro in the manslaughter of your future husband?
From: Futaba Sakura
Sent At: 7:27 P.M.
Do you know how many times he got hit with the broom?!
From: Ren-Ren
Sent At: 7:29 P.M.
C’mon. You’ve seen how he is in the Metaverse. He can dodge one-hit kills easily with his high level of evasion. A broom should be easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy.
From: Ren-Ren
Sent At: 7:30 P.M.
P.S. Congrats. Ryuji says ditto.
From: Futaba Sakura:
Sent At: 7:32 P.M.
HAHAHA. I’M NOT LAUGHING. AND YOU’RE NOT FUNNY.
━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━
Futaba (Sorta).
The welcome he receives from Futaba the day after is, put it bluntly, less than friendly.
The moment he enters her room – just as messy and disorganized as it used to be – he feels her palm deliver a smack to his forearm. “You jerk!”
“Now, what did I do?”
“You contributed to Inari’s trauma. Now, fix it!”
“Futaba,” Ren begins matter-of-factly. “Just throw Yusuke in the broom closet for an hour or two. It’s the best way to overcome his fears of cleaning supplies.”
“...What kind of friend are you?!”
“A great one. Anyway, what’s up? You need something, besides physically abusing me?”
Futaba’s sullen frown suddenly lifts into a cheeky grin. “I know about your little problem, Ren-Ren. Annnnnd, whaddaya know? I’ve got the solution to all your problems right here!” She whips out a black USB, tilting it back and forth in between her fingers like a pendulum. “It’s a harmless virus that will boot up after installation, and it’ll help pop the question for you.” Smiling triumphantly with her teeth showing, she pounds a clenched fist against her chest. “See! I’m a genius! You can win Makoto over easily!”
Oh, so that’s what she’s getting at? He won’t lie; he is impressed that she managed to conjure up a workable code within twenty-four hours, but still. It shows a huge lack of sincerity, especially if he’s relying on her to do most of the grunt work. “Futaba, I appreciate it and I’m not dismissing your skills as a top-notch programmer,” Ren says, waving it away as he sank onto her mattress. “But that’s just taking the easy way out. If I were to do it, I’d want to do it myself.”
God. She knew he would be stubborn as a mule. How could she forget? Ren’s infamous for his unshakable iron will. When he sets his mind on something, he needs to carry it out to fruition. Sure, his wild tenacity came in handy when negotiating with rude Shadows in the Metaverse – but come on now!
“Ren,” She says, resting a hand against her cheek as she squatted down onto her office chair. “I know you’re a smart cookie, but it takes eons – and I am talking eons because I had to teach myself with incompetent online tutorials – to learn how to code and program something like this properly!”
“And like I said, it’s my proposal. I want to do it properly.”
“Ugh, just look at yourself!” She snaps furiously, her face reddening into a bright shade of volcanic lava. “Have you looked in a mirror recently?!” To prove her point, she shoves a shattered hand mirror in his face. “You’re already so burnt out from work, and your very own eye bags themselves are heaving around shopping bags. I want to see you and Makoto happy as can be, so don’t waste my hard work – take it!”
“No!”
“Ugh, Ren! Why are you so impossible to handle?!”
One moment, she’s sitting locked in an intense staring contest with the older man. And the next – well, she‘s not exactly sure what inspired her to do this, but hey, if this is what it takes to drill the message into Ren’s brain, then so be it. Leaping ungracefully from her chair, she wraps her thin limbs around Ren’s neck and his waist, screeching hysterically as she forces the USB into his sweaty palms, “TAKE IT, YOU JERK!”
Whirling around dizzily, Ren (With Futaba clinging onto him with no signs of letting go) screams back, “Futaba, get OFF me!” In the heat of the moment, he struggles to get the bedroom door open and the two stumbles out into the hallway, dancing dangerously close to the fifteen-feet high staircase.
“Not until you accept!”
“Futaba, for the last time, what don’t you get by no means – “
“REN, WATCH OUT FOR THE – !”
The warning comes a second too slow, and the two ends up tumbling down, down, down the steps as if it were a Slip-N'-Slide (A very painful one at that).
“OW!”
“SHIT, OW!”
“REN, YOUR FOOT IS IN MY FACE! OUCH!”
“WHAT THE FU – !”
The commotion that ensues is loud; deafeningly loud to the point that even Sojiro could hear it from outside. Ugh, what were those kids doing this time?! First, an impromptu proposal that would've given him the biggest heart attack known to mankind and render him catatonic and now...a catalytic explosion?!
But when he hurries in, he’s dumbfounded to find – Ren? No, make that Ren and Futaba, their gangly arms and legs entangled and twisted into awkward positions. Futaba has a hand covering her eyes, groaning in pain, while a nasty, purplish bruise was starting to pop up on Ren’s elbow.
“What in tarnation are you kids doing?! Destroying my house?!”
Dazed, Futaba mumbles, “Nothing.”
“Exactly right,” Ren says, struggling to get to his feet. “Nothing. Although, Boss, do you have an ice pack somewhere? Don't bother giving one to this ballistic, orange-haired koala.”
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Haru.
Two months. Two months is a very long time for some people. That’s sixty days. Some would’ve shed ten pounds by now. Others – namely, women who were recently engaged – would've hired a wedding planner. Or at the very least, had taken their gossipy girlfriends and family members for an afternoon of fabulous high tea and dress critiquing.
But regrettably, that’s not happening.
A crestfallen Ren’s growing more impatient by the day; Makoto’s urging him to take a day off work and visit Tae as soon as possible. And if the engagement ring were given a life of its own, it’d most definitely be sitting in sorrowful despair as it grasped desperately for a chance to see the light of day.
Assistance, however, often comes in a wide variety of forms. And for the filth-coated velvet box, it came in the form of a puffy-bobbed Haru Okumura: Heiress to the giant conglomerate, Okumura Foods, and the sole owner of a rather successful coffeehouse in Naka-Meguro.
From: Haru Okumura
Sent At: 8:02 P.M.
Shall we have some tea and cake tomorrow afternoon?
Staring at the message preview on the screen, he places the phone back onto the desk and laughs. He’ll give it to her: She’s clever to disguise their impromptu meet-up as a new dessert taste test, but he’s not one to be fooled. He sips on the fruity rooibos tea, nodding appreciatively at the taste of raspberry, and devours his second piece of cookies-and-cream cheesecake within five minutes. But when Haru places her folded hands in her lap, Ren knows: Haru has ulterior motives hidden up her sleeve.
“So,” Haru begins in that cheery cadence of hers while setting her teacup on the saucer daintily. “I’ve been hearing certain things within our circle of friends. My apologies; I’m not normally this gossipy.”
“Let me guess,” Ren begins, setting his cream-covered fork down. “It was Ryuji?”
“Actually, it was Ann and Futaba-chan,” Haru corrects with a saccharinely sweet smile. “May I make a suggestion in the future? Please call me if you need additional help with arts and crafts. I know Ryuji isn’t exactly the brightest tool in the box, especially when it has to deal with something as intricate as origami.”
“I'll keep that in mind,” He laughs, almost humorlessly. “Haru, you can be as brutally honest as you want to be. I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”
“Oh, Ren," Haru coos empathetically. "Don’t ever say that about yourself.”
Ten years in the cutthroat world of business and entrepreneurship, and she’s still just as soft-hearted as she was back in high school. What a rare gem. “Believe me," She continues in that reassuring tone. "I’m aware that wedding proposals are difficult. This is especially true if you want to make it memorable for Mako-chan.”
“It’s not even about memorability at this point, Haru,” Ren confesses, playing with his fingers. "Don't get me wrong, I have no intentions of giving up, but whatever attempt I try - it just feels futile. You know that quote, right?"
"If at first you don't succeed, try, try again."
"Right. And try as I might, I just can't seem to catch a break." He rests his chin against his palm, deflated. His obsidian orbs are misty as he looks into the deserted street before him. "I'm saying it now: The universe doesn't want us together."
Not prone to violence, Haru uncharacteristically smacks his forearm gently. "You know very well that's not true! Otherwise, how would you have lasted a decade together? Or, nine together with one year of long-distance, but still!"
"I'd like to prove them wrong, but look. Ryuji accidentally smashed that calculator beyond proper repair - and Makoto's going to murder me if she found out. I made a terrible mistake by taking her to play crane games when I should've played it in her place had I actually thought about it in a step-by-step manner, and to make matters worse, I had to be told off by a college kid who implied that I was an incompetent boyfriend."
"And," Haru finishes thoughtfully. "You committed your second atrocity by not alerting Futaba-chan."
Ouch. She really hit him where it hurts. Running a hand through his hair sheepishly, he mumbles, "I mean, I wouldn't put it like that."
"Have you considered that maybe you're thinking about this a little too hard?" She suggests helpfully. "Perhaps there was an alternative meaning to Boss' words when he told you to keep it simple."
"He said telling Makoto that I love her is enough, but I just - " His hands fall to his lap in defeat. "I just don't think it is. You're one of her closest friends, right, Haru? Has she ever mentioned anything to you? Anything at all?"
Haru doesn't reply. Instead, she refills his emptied cup of tea and sets the pot down before resuming with a soft clear of the throat. He's not getting it, is he? She thinks she has his issue pinpointed. His devotion to putting Makoto's happiness over everything else renders her an emotional ball of tears, but that's where the root of the problem stems from. He believes that she deserves the 'crème de la crème' of proposals, but he's getting lost amongst the numerous YouTube videos full of happy couples and cringeworthy proposals.
In reality, maybe all Makoto is seeking from Ren is a simple question that has a simple answer.
But then again, she thinks to herself with a clearer head, she could also be wrong. She doesn't want to say too much in fear of intruding on another couples' personal affairs. So instead, she swallows her wisdom and replies, "Well, Mako-chan has stated that she would love to take a motorcycle ride with her boyfriend. She mentioned that it would be the 'icing on the cake' to the end of a perfect day. Granted," She adds hastily after witnessing a hopeful twinkle deep within his eyes. "This was years ago. I'm not sure how accurate that information may be - "
Her caution goes in one ear and drains out the other. Haru - he should've consulted Haru straightaway. Wise, wise Haru - maybe that wisdom is something only found in business majors. He may not have a proper motorcycle license, and while there's a part of him (The sensible, logical side) that was telling him that this was going to yet another terrible idea, the risk-taking daredevil (Rebellious Arsene at work again?) overwhelms him with a sly jut to the ribs.
"Play to your strengths, Master."
And thus, that is what he'll do. Bowing his head, he half-jokes, "I'm forever grateful for your cake and your imparted knowledge. But in addition, I need to ask you for a favour."
"As I would expect." But as she says this, Haru senses a growing feeling of dread. She doesn't like it. She really, really doesn't. She's not fond of motorbikes already (The noise, the exhaust, their contribution to air pollution), and Johanna was already an exception since she existed in the cognitive universe (Plus, she personally found the unique-looking Persona very stylish and chic - very Makoto, if you will). But here? In present-day Tokyo full of inept drivers that threatened to run down anybody going ten kilometres below the speed limit? She can smell the foreboding wreckage from a mile away, but seeing Ren so enthusiastic - ugh, she can't stand this. So finally, after staring into his puppy-dog eyes pleading for her support, she tips her head down in an affirmative nod. "I can pass you the contact information of one of my former colleagues."
Well, that was easier than anticipated. "You - you're really willing to do that for us?"
"Why not?" Haru croons as sweetly as she can with her warm honey-brown eyes creasing into half-moon crescents. "I want to see Makoto in a wedding dress just as much as you do!"
"If I wasn't dating her, I'd think that you're the one who has a crush on her."
A ghost of a crooked smile graces her red-coated lips before saying, "You never know. After all, I didn't confirm anything now, did I?"
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It's the Monday of a long weekend. The skies were once again bright and full of warmth, tinted with a rainbowish hue. The weather forecast had threatened a sudden downpour with lightning all week, but Ren's constant prayers for good weather were finally answered.
At first, Makoto was skeptical of a spontaneous motorbike ride through the scenic Izu peninsula: A vibrant seaside community, just south of Tokyo, with lush greenery, picturesque landscapes worthy of being printed on postcards and crystal-clear ocean waters, brimming with sea life that crashed onto the craggy rock formations. Not that she didn't want to go - contrarily, she would love for nothing more than to a chance to travel at high speeds, zipping along the freeway whilst enjoying the view.
She sat, stunned, a week prior at their favourite ramen joint as he excitedly proposed his plan.
"It's expected to rain, though," She had said with a deep frown on her face. "I appreciate having the wind whipping my face as much as the next person, but I wouldn't want either of us to get hurt for the sake of fun. Plus! I'm the only one that has a motorcycle license! As a police commissioner, I forbid you from partaking in any illegal activities that can get you fined!"
But oh, how wrong she is to underestimate him. Where there's a will, there's a way.
So, here they are, signing off their waiver forms and filling out the necessary information at the counter of the motorbike rental shop. Despite the unusually warm weather for late October, they're both wearing leather jackets, thick denim and gloves (Red for him, white for her) as a means to protect against the possible elements of nature. She has a long, billowy scarf wrapped around her neck as well - damn. Now, if only she still retained that skintight navy-blue and black ensemble from the Metaverse. Then, she'll really live up to the name of Miss Post-Apocalyptic Raider.
The black leather jacket she's donning actually isn't her own; she's not one to make such a luxurious purchase unless she knows she'll wear it often. Rather, it was Sae's. Albeit, it does look a bit oversized and the sleeves are a little long, but it's Makoto. She'll do anything justice. He makes a mental note to himself to take her leather jacket shopping as soon as possible.
"Something on your mind, Ren?" Makoto asks as she strides over towards him. She can't contain her excitement as the owner, a former member on the board of directors at Okumura Foods, hands them their helmets. Once again, red for Ren, and black and navy-blue for Makoto. He guides them over towards their motorbikes, showing them the ropes on how to accelerate, how to brake and stop - all the works. "In short," He concludes gruffly. "Don't break your necks out there. I don't need an accidental death staining my business."
"Awfully - morbid of him." Makoto comments, boring her gaze into the retreating back of the grumpy elder. "Anyway, you were saying?"
"What are the odds that we would be wearing our respective colour schemes in the Metaverse here, too?" Makoto watches as he pulls the motorcycle helmet snugly over his head, and almost unconsciously, her tongue ends up sliding across his lower lip. Apparently, unostentatious acts as simple as securing a helmet in place could leave her temporarily speechless. Ridiculous.
"You did always have a fondness for red," She says finally, patting the leather seating of the dark-blue Kawasaki Ninja model. "Well, she's no Johanna, but I think it suits me."
"With that scarf, and the helmet? It doesn't just fit you to a tee. Makoto, you put Akira to shame."
"Oh, Ren. Please," She tuts with a faint flush. "I don't need any more strange nicknames. A-anyway, let's get going. The day is too beautiful to be wasted away just talking."
"Wait." Before she can hurriedly start up her own engine (His compliments are starting to get under her skin again, leaving her flustered underneath all that black leather), Ren hops off his own bike and yanks the helmet out of her trembling grasp. Brushing back a stray lock of hair behind her ear, he slowly places it over her head and then drags it down, letting the tips of his fingers linger a second too long on her cheeks. The sly fox - he knows her weaknesses like the back of his own hand. But how does he magically make this so much more intimate than it should? Her heart's aflutter when he fastens the strap and tightens it around her chin, smiling in that crooked way that once again causes her breath to hitch. Seeing the bewilderment in her eyes erupts a chuckle from the base of his throat. "I know you said you wanted us to have some fun today, but remember Lieutenant Niijima. Safety precautions always come first, alright?"
Lieutenant Niijima: Another well-known weak spot of hers. "A-agreed."
Against the thunderous roar, Ren tosses her a small nod. "Hey. I have an idea. Let's have a race to get to the first checkpoint first. And because I'm a gentleman." Another Chesire Cat-like grin. "I'll give you a headstart."
Whatever inappropriate thoughts that linger disappear right away. Taking place was an equally competitive smirk that showed no signs of backing down without a fight. "You, give me a headstart?" Incredulous. He shouldn't look down at her so condescendingly. "I wholeheartedly accept your challenge. And don't you dare hold back, Ren. I know when you're purposefully letting me win."
He guns the bike with both hands on the handle, as does she. Just before he takes off, he gently prods the bulge sticking out of his left pocket. She hasn't detected it yet - good.
"Do your worst, and go full throttle."
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"And um, uh, as evidenced through our - "
Midway through the weekly financial reports meeting, the jumpy heiress lets out a belting squeal of agony. "Ah!"
The presenter, a recent Tokyo University graduate with beads of sweat dripping down his forehead due to first-presenter anxiety, drops his cue cards onto the table and hurries to her side, apprehensive. "Miss Okumura. Are you - are you alright?!"
"Fine. F-fine."
At least, that's what she tries to believe. But honestly, no, she's not fine. Despite her seemingly peaceful demeanor, she knows she can't hold her hysterics in for any longer. Her eyelid has been in a constant state of twitching ever since waking up. Like Yusuke, she's not one to believe in superstitions. And yet, she can't shake off the uneasiness jolting about in her nerves. Had it been the right eyelid that was spasming convulsively, she wouldn't be as worried.
But it's the left one. Didn't someone tell her that if it was the left eyelid, it's often a premonition of a bad omen looming overhead? She doesn't want to sound fanatical, but she desperately needs to know. God, she knew she shouldn't have promised Ren. That was such - such a horrible plan. And to think that she went through with it!
"Let's take a break." Out in the hallway, she exhales a sigh of relief and then pulls out her phone.
From: Haru Okumura
Sent At: 10:32 A.M.
Please, Ren. I implore you. Be safe. Please ensure that your helmet and Mako-chan's are completely secure before going on your excursion.
And then, ten minutes later (Because what if she's wrong, and they're actually having the time of their life?) -
From: Haru Okumura
Sent At: 10:40 A.M.
Oh, and most importantly, have fun!
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And actually, they did. For about an hour, anyway.
Up until that split second where the front tire of Ren's motorcycle had - did it hit a nail? Or did a piece of sharp glass pierce through the rubber? Nonetheless, he let out an atypical shout for help when the motorbike began to spin out of control during a rather curvy uphill turn. Gripping the handlebars and turning it wasn't helping, and nor was the brake. Jesus, didn't the owner perform weekly maintenance on these?!
But thank God (Or, you know what? Screw him, this is all luck). Thank his lucky stars that Morgana forced Ren through extensive physical training. Just as the motorcycle was about to keel over and skid against the road, Ren had prepared himself for a triumphant jump into the air, performing a one-handed backflip. The flinch on his face is unmistakable when his knee makes impact with the ground. That was going to leave an ugly scar. The scorching hot pavement burns painfully through the newly-formed lacerations that tore through the material in his gloves, but it was either that or - ugh, no. He doesn't want to think about it.
The vehicle continues its trajectory downhill, but only comes to a full stop and then subsequently ignites into a burst of red-hot, orange flames within the blink of an eye. The black smoke is irritating both the eyes and the nose, only adding to his dazed state. There's no way to save the vehicle now, and Ren - well, Ren knows that Haru's going to have a difficult time explaining herself to that ex-board member. But hey, was this his fault?
(Yes. Partially, yes.)
Ren had nearly broken his neck and accidentally killed himself - and still lived to tell the tale. It's official: The Grim Reaper was adamant on robbing the Trickster of his life.
Makoto, only a few meters behind, immediately slams the brakes. She doesn't give two shits whether or not she was going to be fined for damages - why did it even matter when Ren nearly died?! Before the motorcycle even comes to a complete stop, she hops off, letting it topple to the ground. Helmet tossed to the side, she presses a hand against Ren's backside to help him stand. Or so she tries, but it's all in vain. She, herself, is shaking. "Ren, what - what on Earth happened?! Oh, my God. Y-You're bleeding, too. Ren, I - what, God, what am I doing?!"
She's had innumerable experiences dealing with high-pressure situations before (Hell, she's had a gun pointed to her temple during a shoot-out involving a mafia member), but when it involved the one person she loved, she loses all sense of reason. Distressing for both of them, to say the least.
"Makoto," Ren calls out sharply, gripping both sides of her face. "Breathe. I'm alive. It's okay."
"C-can you please not say that?" She retorts. "You - what'll happen if you leave me behind again?! Ren, what if you aren't as lucky next time?!" Without any warning, her head drops with a thud against his bony shoulder. That gasp for air, the wetness soaking through his jacket. She's so furious to the point that she's crying - and it's only making Ren's insides curl in anguish even more.
Like Ann, Makoto's face isn't suited for tears, but he doesn't blame her. She brings up a good point. "I'm sorry," He says finally after hearing her sniffing subside. "Forgive me, yeah?"
And at last, she looks at him squarely in the eyes, the whites bloodshot, "...You should be."
While she made the call for an ambulance, Ren muses over the rather eventful morning and finally, chokes out a bemused chuckle. At the end of it all, he's still standing and his heart is still beating. Makoto is, more or less, still safe and no longer writhing in anger (Although he's still not too sure; she looked deathly terrifying). And the ring -
His pocket's empty, he realizes in utmost horror as he attempts to pat the velvet box. The colour drains off his face as he pats his jacket again.
Nothing.
What the hell? He zipped it real tight, he did! He's never been more certain than anything in his life. And yet...
His eyes fall onto the wreckage, still burning away brightly in the distance, and his heart literally falls out of his chest. No. Fucking no. Don't tell me.
Great. The ring's gone now, lapped up by the flames and burned to nothing but ash. Suffice to say, he'll never go on another outing like this ever again.
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From: Ryuji Sakamoto
Sent At: 3:16 P.M.
YOU'RE AT THE HOSPITAL?!
From: Ren Amamiya
Sent At: 3:42 P.M.
Shamefully.
From: Haru Okumura
Sent At: 3:45 P.M.
Oh, goodness. I knew I shouldn't have agreed! Are you hurt? Anything broken? Is Mako-chan okay?!
From: Ren Amamiya
Sent At: 3:54 P.M.
It's not your fault, Haru. I'm fine. Just a sprained ankle and first-degree burns on my knee and my hands. Nothing out of the ordinary for Joker.
From: Ann Takamaki
Sent At: 3:55 P.M.
Ren, stop making jokes! This really isn't funny!
From: Ren Amamiya
Sent At: 3:55 P.M.
Believe me. I'm aware.
From: Futaba Sakura
Sent At: 4:01 P.M.
Sojiro's going to kill you if he finds out! Stop giving the old man heart attacks!
From: Ren Amamiya
Sent At: 4:02 P.M.
Mona has first dibs for first-degree murder.
From: Yusuke Kitagawa
Sent At: 4:03 P.M.
I'm glad to hear you're alright, Ren. Although, Futaba: Plural?
From: Futaba Sakura
Sent At: 4:11 P.M.
NOT THE RIGHT TIME, INARI. >:c
From: Ren Amamiya
Sent At: 4:33 P.M.
And even worse. I lost the ring.
He picks up the buzzing phone warily. "...Hello?"
Only to be met with an agitated chorus of "REN, WHAT THE HELL?!"
(Alongside multiple variations).
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Makoto.
Technically, Makoto wasn't expected to show up to work the next day. In fact, her tight-knit, tight-lipped team didn't want her to come - not because they didn't hold her in high regard, but because she clearly didn't seem in the right state of mind to concentrate on unsolvable homicides after witnessing a near-fatal accident involving her significant other.
"Lieutenant Niijima, you should be resting!" The red-haired investigator cried in protest when Makoto stepped into the office.
But it was precisely this reason - the fact that the matter concerned Ren - that she had to come. Thanks to her subordinates working together, they managed to procure a newly-written case report within twenty-four hours. Makoto skims between the lines in search of anything of interest. Accordingly, the business owner was a retired employee from Okumura Foods. That did strike her as somewhat odd, but it's probably just a mere coincidence.
"Thank-you for your hard work."
"Anytime!"
"But," Makoto crosses one leg over the other, sighing as her subordinate fidgeted uncomfortably opposite her. "Nothing out of the ordinary?"
"None. No malicious intent. No intentional drops of kerosene, no personal grudges from the past," She reports, nodding in affirmation. "Although I must say, Amamiya-san is very fortunate to have lived through a motorcycle incident. Not many can."
"I agree," Makoto says. Closing her eyes, she mumbles tiredly with her back lax against the chair, "I am never letting him on a motorcycle ever again."
"I do applaud him for trying his best."
"Wait," She begins questioningly. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, well, uh," The younger woman smacks her lips together, choosing her words with care. "It's - well, it's not in my position to say anything else since it's a private matter, but we did find something within a two-mile radius of the explosion. Lieutenant Niijima," Finally averting her gaze into the piercing red irises, the redhead is smiling, full of knowing, when she says this. "You may want to head over to the evidence room and take a look."
Wait a minute.
Makoto has an inkling as to what it may be, because if it were true, then Ren's strange behaviour would make total sense. But - no, she's getting ahead of herself. She's not going to believe it until she physically sees it for herself. "Really, now? Like what?"
"Oh, you'll find out." Shit, what are we going to call her now? Lieutenant Niijima, or would it be Lieutenant Niijima-Amamiya? Or Lieutenant Amamiya-Niijima? It's a mouthful, but it does sound super cute.
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Ren.
"Ren." Morgana looks up from the open novel with scorn written all over his grumpy face. "You shouldn't be up and about. If you're thirsty, just let me get something for you! I don't need you trudging around on your crutches when you're crippled!"
The young man shoots the snarky cat a begrudging glare. "I'm not permanently disabled, Mona." To prove his point, he hobbles over to the fridge and pulls out the four-litre bottle with ease. "Thank-you for the concern." Not even a day after his discharge and Ren's already this exasperated with life. How much longer was this bout going to last? Morgana's not the most patient out of the bunch, but he does understand why Ren's in a particularly foul mood despite surviving.
The engagement ring that Ren worked so hard for has vanished without a trace (Possibly in some greedy seagull's nest now, if it managed to survive the horrific flames), and Makoto's cluelessness isn't helping the situation.
"Ren," Morgana says firmly, bracing himself for any backlash. "It's not the end of the world. It's fine to be upset, but you're not going to let one measly thing get in the way of your happiness, are you? That's not you! You know that!"
"It's easy for you to say, Mona," Ren says, dejected. "Well, at least we realized: I'm not good at everything."
"Stop throwing this pity party!" The cat shouts back. "We're not going to give up! I'm going to get everybody together, and once your ankle's better, we're going to brainstorm the crap out of this! You'll see!" Right on cue, the front door to Ren's apartment clicks open.
"If it's Ryuji again," Morgana scowls. "I swear - "
"It's not." Makoto's braided headband pops into view, and Ren's heart warms considerably at the sight of take-out sushi from that expensive restaurant in her hand. Her presence is always welcome here, albeit, why did she leave the office so early (Four hours earlier, to be precise) without notifying him? "Is this a bad time? My apologies for the intrusion, Mona. I just heard you shouting something incoherent."
The earlier pep talk is no longer his focus. "YOU - BROUGHT - SUSHI!'
"Makoto, why are you - " Ren attempts to limp toward her, but she shakes her head and catches him by the elbow gently, easing him into a nearby chair. "I've got you," She says with a smile. "Don't worry."
Uh, oh. That smile. Morgana's seen that smile before. Something's going to happen, and he definitely doesn't want to stay any longer to find out what it is. He sneakily takes the heavy bag in between his teeth and slips out the window without another word.
"I would offer you a cup of tea," He says, watching her get busy in the tiny kitchen. She returns to the table with two mugs - one for her, one for him. "But I'm not exactly in the best form for that."
"Not to worry. I brought - eh? Mona took the sushi?!"
"Let him. He needs to be spoiled from time to time also. Anyway, not that I would never welcome you in, but did you miss me too much at work? Your colleagues won't care if you play hooky?"
"I'm Merciful Makoto. Of course, they wouldn't care."
"Is that right?"
"I came upon a rather interesting discovery at work today," Makoto states, keeping the expression in her eyes leveled and neutral.
"Really?" Ren could make do with some entertainment. He can only play his video games for far too long before losing his brain cells. "Tell me about it. Is it one of the old cases?"
"It's a new one."
"Did you pinpoint a new suspect?"
He really doesn't know that she knows, she realizes. "One could say that."
"How quickly are you pushing your teammates to work after a long weekend?" Ren teases. "Good job, though. What's the crime?"
"Something you have much expertise in: Attempted thievery of my heart."
Wait.
She rummages through her bag for a few brief seconds before pulling out a recognizable velvet box. Whatever heartache he had been harbouring up until that point dissipates when she opens it up carefully to reveal the engagement ring - charred in certain places and missing a large chunk of the tiny diamond crystals. "Would you care to explain this?" She asks this pleasantly. Much too pleasantly for his liking.
And then, it was at this moment that Ren knew: He fucked up.
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Of all the ways that he could've screwed up, he never, ever expected this. The odds of having Makoto find the ring herself after a dangerous situation hovered between 0.00001 and 0.00000001 percent. Frankly, it had never crossed his mind. And for good reason, too - because the probability was virtually non-existent.
Yet, it happened. The unbelievable has happened. His mouth is dry, and he feels his vocal cords contracting and growing hoarse even without talking. Makoto, ever-so-patient, has her arms crossed while awaiting for an explanation.
"Th - this isn't how I - I wanted things to happen," He wheezes. Great, now he sounds like some worn-out train.
"I admit, I'm not the best detective out there, but I deduce that this is why you've been acting so strange for the past few months."
“Alright." Deep breath. In and out. There's no point in hiding anything. "Okay, yes. You've hit the nail on the head. And I'm so sorry that everything I've done thus far - "
"Thus far?" Makoto's eyebrow quirks upward. "During our dates, you mean?"
"Well, that's just - ah, the tip of the iceberg," He laments. "I'm sorry that I'm not living up to the expectations as that charming, suave Joker from the Metaverse. I'm so sorry that I hurt you by saying no to our dates when in reality, I was just doing the preparatory work for your proposal. I just - I just wanted it to be memorable enough." The earnesty in his voice. The conviction that he has towards her happiness. It's undeniably strong. Why are her eyes tearing up? No. That's not right. If she wasn't crying at this point, she'd really consider herself heartless. Still, she maintains her poker face and gestures for him to continue.
"But truthfully, it's an intimidating task, asking someone you love to marry them. I rebuilt that Buchi calculator, only for Ryuji to destroy it just when I was done. Then, I asked Shinya for help at the arcade but - forgive me for saying this - you're not exactly the best with crane games. Things just went from bad to worse when I sought Yusuke for help, and apparently, Futaba's next in line to be wedded. And don't get me started on the motorcycle incident." Ren shudders, thinking back to events from yesterday. "That was a foolish thing to do."
"You're right." She nods coolly. The muddled expression on her face has him alarmed. The worst part is, she doesn't seem impressed in the slightest. "It was a foolish thing to do, but you did."
"And now, look at where this has gotten us," Ren groans, burying his face in his hands in embarrassment. He can't bear to look her in the eye, anymore. "I had intentions of making you cry your heart out from surprise. Not from watching you freak out over an injury. And well, the cat's out of the bag now. I don't - I don't even know how to proceed. Would I ask you to marry me while I'm still nursing an injury? It just feels awful, proposing in a pair of sweatpants. Or, do I wait until I'm better? Plus, I need to take you to the store to get another ring. There's no way I'm letting you wear that shitty thing - "
"Say no more." She orders, holding up her palm. "I've heard enough, Ren."
"Ah." Oh, God. Makoto's going to say something terrible, isn't she? "I - I'm sorry," He apologizes, running a hand through his hair anxiously. "I'm rambling again, aren't I? Go ahead."
But she doesn't.
Her lips stay pursed for a good five seconds. Ren realizes that her prolonged silence is unbearable, almost to the point of traumatizing.
"Why is it that you worry about the silliest things?" Makoto says at last, the thin line breaking out into a kind smile. "You have a sprained ankle, and God forbid that you suffer another collision once you're back on the road. But at the end of it all, you're still fussing over me. You put my needs above yours. You put my happiness over everything else. Really. I don't comprehend."
"You don't understand - ?"
"What I ever did in my past life to deserve such a loving future husband like you."
Loving future husband. Wait, am I hearing correctly? Ren's head snaps up, his pulse throbbing rapidly against his wrist as Makoto brings a folded hand to her lips to stifle her amusement. She's laughing?! "Was that an indirect yes?"
"Make of that what you will," Makoto says, a melodic aria of giggles erupting out of her system in a bright, lithe lilt afterward. "But a little word of warning, Ren: I'm not the type to let go, and I definitely won't let you go to anybody else. I have plans of being with you for life. And I know, I know. It's an unreasonable prospect, but," She shrugs, patting his cheek softly. "If you're fine with that type of arrangement and have no qualms about it, then..."
"I'm sorry." Grabbing her hand, he says, "But please, let me be selfish."
"With what?"
"I just - I just really want to hear it again."
"I'll say it for as long as you want me to say it. Albeit," She says with a dazzling sparkle to her eyes. "Are you sure you'll be satisfied this time? Even when you're decked out in a worn t-shirt without flashy theatrics?"
It's been a while since he's felt this way, but finally, the intense pressure sitting upon Ren's shoulders alleviates. Relief - a warming surge that spreads comfortingly from his humming heart to the very tips of his fingers - swarms over him, leaving him a widely-grinning mess of frazzled emotions. Not that he had any complaints; the dopamine rush from her yes is too good to resist. He gets up to his feet, shushing Makoto's torrent of complaints by wrapping his arms around Makoto's waist and pulls her close.
“You do realize that forever is a long time, Queen."
"Yes, Joker. I'm very much aware."
"But I think," Ren says slowly - not from nerves, no. "That's what makes forever so appealing. I have all the time in the world."
"And that means - "
"Even if I mess up again and again," Ren says, relishing in the way her jaw is uplifting into a secretive smile against his chest. "I think I'll be okay with that. I'll have more than enough tries to get this proposal shtick right to make it up to you. That sounds lovely, doesn't it?"
"Perfect," Makoto replies in agreement at last. "Absolutely perfect."
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"Hey."
"Yes?"
"I'm still planning on getting you a new ring."
"Ah. Ren, I don't think that will be necessary."
"Why not?"
"I want to keep it. Admittedly, it's not the prettiest piece out there, but it has value. It's a memento of all your hard work."
"My embarrassing failures, you mean."
"Actually, if you think about it, it's also proof of how much you cherish me. Just promise me one thing, Ren."
"...I buy you a new calculator?"
"That aside. No more motorcycles, okay?"