Chapter Text
Minato is… quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that makes you a good listener—the kind that makes you seem like you’re not all there. Like even when he’s standing right beside you, he’s really somewhere else, listening to something else. Buried so deep inside himself that not even sound can reach him. Somewhere that light has never touched.
It should make him bad company, but it doesn’t. Minato is exceptional company. Transfixing, even. And it’s not just Ryoji who thinks so. He’s seen Minato’s phone. It’s an endless stream of inbound texts, a hundred colorful characters vying for his attention. Most of which are left unread.
Which should be rude! Shouldn’t it? But when Minato doesn’t text back, it doesn’t feel like an insult. You just sort of assume he had something more important to do.
Maybe it helps that Ryoji is so different. ‘Opposites attract,’ and all that. Minato’s silence gestures at hidden depths, abyssal-dark and ocean-deep. And Ryoji is all surface.
“Something about him just feels so… free,” Ryoji says dreamily. “Do you know what I mean? Like nothing he says is ever forced. Like he’s achieved, oh, I don’t know, nirvana, or something; only he doesn’t have to tell anyone, because he doesn’t have anything to prove.”
“Uh huh,” Yukari says, stifling a yawn.
She’s sitting across the table from him, twirling her straw in her iced latte and trying to look like she’s not bored out of her mind. In her defense, Ryoji is kind of a broken record. It’s all, ‘blah blah blah, Minato, blah blah blah, mirrored souls, compliments and complements and Minato Minato Minato.’ Like, seriously, get a hobby.
When she looks up, Ryoji’s eyes are shining, his hands clasped earnestly. “Don’t you think so, Takeba-san?”
“For sure. Totally.”
She only agreed to go on this stupid date to annoy Minato into actually doing something, instead of just staring holes in the back of Ryoji’s head and brooding at him. But she hadn’t expected to spend the entire date talking about her housemate. Wasn’t Ryoji supposed to be popular with girls?
“…so mysterious!” Ryoji is gushing now. “You get the sense that he’s always thinking about something important, something real.”
“Mhmm.” A few tables over, there’s a girl wearing the cutest little cropped halter, hemmed with lace and embroidered with tiny purple roses. If Ryoji were just a little less attentive—if he’d go to the bathroom, at least—Yukari could probably sneak away for long enough to ask where she bought it. But he hasn’t.
The shirt isn’t really in her palette. That girl has the hair for it, long and dark and silky-straight, but Yukari is a summer; jewel tones wash her out. Maybe it comes in pink?
“…do you do, anyway?”
Yukari looks up to find Ryoji smiling at her, clearly waiting for an answer. Oops. She was totally not listening. “Sorry, what?”
“In your club! The Specialized Extracurriculur…” He frowns thoughtfully. “You know, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard the full name! Just the acronym. You have to admit, it’s a little mysterious.”
Oh. Oh. Unfortunately, Mitsuru explained their cover story back when Yukari was busy hating her. And now it’s way too late to ask. “Oh, um… our senpais would be better at explaining…”
“I don’t think Kirijo-san likes me very much,” Ryoji says morosely.
“What,” Yukari snickers. “Did you make a pass at her or something?”
“I only said that, with that hair and those boots, she’d—”
“No, stop, I literally don’t want to know. You didn’t hit on Sanada-senpai too, did you?”
“Well…”
Hah!! “You didn’t.”
“If it’s any comfort, I don’t think he noticed.”
She can’t help snorting a laugh. “Ryoji-kun! You are relentless!”
“People like it!” he protests, but he’s grinning, too. “It makes them laugh!!”
“Some people. If you try that stuff on the wrong person, you’re gonna get your butt kicked, you know.”
“Well…”
“Oh my god. Please tell me this story.”
To her relief, Ryoji seems to forget about SEES after his second story makes her laugh so hard that coffee shoots out her nose. And good riddance. Girl talk is way more fun than prying into her supernatural extracurriculars.
* *
* * *
* *
Minato and Ryoji are a weird combo. It feels like they shouldn’t get along—like Ryoji’s charm-offensive should bounce off the brick wall of Minato’s total disinterest in everything that isn’t music. But every morning before class, Junpei finds Ryoji sitting on the edge of Minato’s desk, chatting or gossipping or just going over last night’s homework. And Minato doesn’t even shove him off.
“You guys are a weird combo,” Junpei tells them, settling backwards into his seat. “You know that, right?”
“What!!” Ryoji gasps. “No way!! Minato and I are made for each other! We’re like rice and curry! Peanut butter and jelly! We even finish each other’s…” He looks hopefully at Minato.
“Homework,” Minato mumbles, swapping the papers in front of them.
“Minato is better at math, but I’m better at classic literature!”
“He’s not. I just think it’s boring.”
Ryoji flings a wrist over his brow. “Minato-kun! Is there no poetry in your soul? Where’s your passion?”
“Lost it.”
“I can help you look for it!! Maybe you left it at, hm… Mandragora?”
Minato snorts. “I can’t today.”
“…Would you rather do Wuck?”
Minato shakes his head. “I’ve got plans tonight. For my club.”
“I’ll come too!! I could help you carry the… art supplies?”
“Nope.”
“The clipboards?”
“Nice try.”
“Minatooooo,” Ryoji whines. “Tell me what you do at your club!!”
“Not gonna happen.”
Ryoji throws his hands up. “Do you hate me? Do you like seeing me suffer?”
Minato shrugs.
“It’s the I Hate Ryoji Club, isn’t it.”
Minato nearly smiles. “I dunno. Yeah. Could be.”
Before Ryoji can argue, Ms. Toriumi sweeps in. “Iori! Sit properly! And Mochizuki, sit at your own desk, please. In a chair. And open your books to page 146. We’ve got to get through all of these conjugative particles before lunch.”
* * *
When the last bell rings, Ryoji slams both hands on Junpei’s desk with a startling slap. “Junpei! I’m investigating a mystery! Do you want to come?”
Oh, boy. “What kind of mystery?”
“It’s about Minato,” Ryoji says seriously, to Junpei’s total lack of surprise. “He’s being mysterious. And he’s busy a lot, and he still won’t tell me why! Do you know, the other day, he told me he couldn’t go to the mall, because he had plans? So I went on my own, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“And do you know who I saw?”
Junpei could take a guess, yeah.
“I saw Minato!! At the police station! Talking to the police!”
Yeah, that sounds like his leader, alright. “So…”
“So I want to know why! I want to know what he gets up to when no one’s looking!” Ryoji’s eyes light up. “Maybe he’s a superhero!”
Yikes. That’s… sort of scarily close to the truth. “Dream on, dude. Just ‘cause you’re obsessed with the guy doesn’t mean he’s got superpowers.”
“Well, I’m going,” Ryoji pouts. All the girls think that Ryoji’s so cute, even though really he’s a sulky little brat. “Are you coming or not?”
Junpei considers his options. He could A. let Ryoji run around unsupervised (and potentially reveal the secret purpose of SEES); B. try to stop Ryoji (and inevitably make him even more curious); or C. go along for the ride and run interference.
“Fiiine,” Junpei sighs. “But we gotta get ramen after. And you’re buying.”
“Deal!!!”
* * *
Sure enough, as soon as they get to Paulonia Mall, they spot Minato.
Junpei has to admit: out-of-context, Minato’s SEES errands do look pretty mysterious. Minato stops by the police station to buy a bunch of weird jewelry from a cop. He heads to the convenience store to stock up on sodas and salves and a whole freakin’ sleeveful of skill cards. He wanders down an alley and then just stands there, zoned out, while the crowd churns past.
“See?” Ryoji gasps. “See? Look! That’s weird, isn’t it?”
Junpei looks. His leader is just idling in an alley, blank-faced and utterly still. “I dunno, dude. I think he always looks like that.”
“But I’ve never noticed that door before!! Have you?”
“…Huh?”
“What?”
“What door?” Junpei asks impatiently. “What are you even talking about?”
“The door! The door he just went through!”
Junpai squints at him. Ryoji is always weird, but he’s not usually hallucinations-weird. “What is that, a metaphor or something? He’s just spacing out. He does that all the time.”
“Hm,” Ryoji says. “Hm. Are you quite sure?”
“Yyyyes?”
“Right,” Ryoji mutters. “Right, of course. Yes, of course.” All at once, his furrowed brow smooths into a smile. “I’m probably just hungry! Did you want to get that ramen?”
“You read my mind,” Junpei laughs, and leads the way.
* * *
Ryoji has a nice meal. He laughs and jokes and flirts with the girls at the neighboring table until Junpei threatens to finish his bowl for him. He walks Junpei to the station and waves at the train till it leaves the station.
And then, of course, he goes back.
* *
* * *
* *
Elizabeth loves her job. She loves learning new things about humans! She loves learning new things, in general. She loves seeing the world through her guest’s eyes; laughing and loving and—well. Not living, exactly. But definitely laughing and loving.
When the Velvet Door opens, she feels a little thrill. “Oh! Hello! And welcome! To the—”
—and then she stops. Because. That isn’t her guest.
“Oh,” she says. “Hm.” In the whole span of her existence, she’s never seen anyone turn up uninvited. “Well… hello, anyway.” She isn’t sure yet if they’re welcome.
“Hello!” the stranger—the not-guest—greets her, smiling. “It’s nice to meet you! What sort of a shop is this?”
Elizabeth looks uncertainly toward her master. He meets her with a Mona Lisa smile that says, I’m not going to help you, either because I can't or because I don’t feel like it.
“Well!” she says, closing the Registry with a brisk snap. “This is, of course, a very normal shop!”
The stranger nods obligingly. “I can see that!”
“So of course, like any other normal shop, we sell… goods? Or… services?”
“Some shops sell both,” the stranger confides.
This is new information. Elizabeth leans forward, intrigued. “Then we certainly offer the same!”
“Oh, good! Great! How fun! So what sort of goods and services do you offer?”
Ah. Another challenging question. “Well…”
“Well?”
“It’s only that—” She hesitates. “Well. I… suspect that you’re not supposed to be here? But, on the other hand, you couldn’t be here if you weren’t.”
The intruder seems to take that in stride. He nods at her, attentive.
“So I’m unsure what exactly I can offer you!” Persona Fusion isn’t for the faint of heart, after all. “Our services are rather… specialized. And our goods are very expensive.”
“I see,” the stranger says sadly. “So I’m probably not here to buy something.”
“I don’t believe so, no.”
“Then… maybe I’m here to hang out?”
Oh! That hadn’t occurred to her! “It’s certainly a possibility!”
He grins at her. “I’m Mochizuki Ryoji. Ryoji-kun, if you like. I was looking for my friend, but I wouldn’t say no to a bit of company… Did you maybe want to do some karaoke?”
“Karaoke!” Elizabeth gasps. “A performance within a performance! A dizzying whirl of self-conception and sound! The layers of meta-artistry… like an aural croissant!”
Mochizuki Ryoji’s grin widens. “So you like karaoke?”
“I couldn’t say! I’ve never been so fortunate as to try!”
His smile goes a little sly as he offers her his elbow. “Then let me be so fortunate as to escort you. I think you’re going to like it.”
* *
* * *
* *
Ken is wandering toward the shrine, lost in thought, when Koromaru jerks the leash out of his hands and bolts.
“Koromaru!!” Ken gasps. “Y-You have to be more careful!” He tries to catch up, but he’s too slow, his legs too short to keep pace with a dog sprinting at full speed. Stupid short legs. Stupid half-grown body. If he were older, or taller or stronger, he could have kept this from happening. But he isn't. And now Koromaru might run into traffic, or pick a fight he can’t win, or—just—die, offscreen, alone, without anyone around to hold his paw.
But when Ken whips around the corner, he finds Koromaru unscathed, squaring off with some total stranger.
The stranger is tall, skinny. Dark-haired, like Minato, but with much better posture. Dressed in a Gekkoukan uniform. Holding out both hands, palms-up, to Koromaru.
“Oh!” the stranger says, presumably to Koromaru. “Oh, hello! Do I know you?”
Koromaru doesn’t wag his tail. He doesn’t tuck it between his legs, either. He holds it straight out, perfectly still, like he’s still making up his mind.
“I think I maybe do,” the stranger says thoughtfully. “Maybe we’ve met? Through a mutual friend, maybe?”
The question sounds innocent enough. That’s why Ken is so shocked when Koromaru bares his teeth and growls.
“S-Sorry!!!” Ken gasps, rushing forward to grab Koromaru’s leash. “I’m very very sorry! He’s never done anything like this, he’s usually so well-behaved!”
To his surprise, the stranger snaps his fingers and grins. “You!”
“Um. Yes?”
“You’re that grade schooler who lives with Minato!”
Ken hesitates. “You… know Arisato-san?”
“Haha! Do I!”
Oh! Well…good. Arisato-san wouldn’t go around associating with degenerates or dog-kickers. “Then it’s, um, nice to meet you. And I’m very sorry for the inconvenience.”
“Not at all!” the stranger laughs. “Your friend here just wants to protect you! I guess he doesn’t like how I smell. Sorry, Koromaru-san.”
Oh. Huh. Did Ken already say Koromaru’s name? He’s pretty sure he didn’t. But where else would this person have heard it?
“I should, um.” Ken clears his throat. “Yamagishi-san was planning to cook tonight, so she’ll need me to—” keep her from brewing nuclear waste, mostly. “—help out.”
“Oh, that’s right! You guys cook your own meals, don’t you? I used to have a kitchen. I think.” The stranger’s smile flickers, suddenly melancholic. “Not that it matters now.”
Oh, geez. What is it with Minato and attracting broken, grieving strangers? Ken doesn’t really get it, but the sadness in this high schooler’s eyes feels—familiar, somehow. Like maybe this stranger already lost his whole world.
…Ken knows how that is.
“You could,” Ken mumbles, then forces himself to stand up straighter. “You could, um, come and cook? In our kitchen? If you want.”
Arisato’s friend lights up. “Do you really mean it? I wouldn’t be in the way?”
Ken hesitates. “Um—”
—but when he looks to Koromaru, the dog has changed his tune. Now he’s wagging furiously, shoving his snout hard into the stranger’s palm.
“Yes,” Ken decides. “It’s not a problem. The dorm gets a stipend for food.”
* *
* * *
* *
Fuuka is aware of the new transfer student. Mochizuki Ryoji, a go-with-the-flow type. Popular and even-keeled. A charmer and a flirt. And in spite of it all, a true friend of Minato’s. (Mochizuki is friends with Iori, too. But Fuuka has a little less faith in Iori’s judgment.)
Still, she’s surprised to see Mochizuki wandering into the dorm with Koromaru and Ken, of all people.
“Amada-kun!” she greets him, smiling. “Welcome home!”
What she means is: Are you okay? Is this okay? Do you need help? But Ken doesn’t give a straight answer. He just smiles vaguely and nods.
Reluctantly, Fuuka calls on her Persona. There's a patter of rain, a shower of impossible assurance. He’s uneasy, Lucia whispers. But not afraid. Not uncurious, either. But he doesn’t want to stay.
“I see you’ve brought home a research assistant!” Fuuka says kindly. “Thank you very much, Amada-kun! You’re free to go. Mochizuki-san can help with dinner tonight.”
Ken hesitates. “I-I don’t mind, ah—”
“Take the night off!” Mochizuki laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “I might not be good at everything, but I can definitely take orders.”
Fuuka straightens up. This is her chance! Her opportunity! She might not be of use in combat, but she’s nothing if not a strategist. “Then leave it all to me!”
“You have my sword,” Mochizuki tells her solemnly. “Just tell me what to do.”
* * *
So, of course, in 19 minutes and 46 seconds, the smoke alarm screams to life.
Ken’s already disappeared out the front door, escorted by the estimable Koromaru-san. The seniors barely flinch. Fuuka full-on screams. Mochizuki flutters unhelpfully around her, fanning the smoke alarm with a baking tray and assuring her that she did her very best.
When the cacophony finally quiets, Mochizuki and Fuuka breathe simultaneous sighs of relief. As does the figure reclining against the door jamb.
Minato.
Oh, thank goodness. Fuuka sends a little prayer of gratitude up into the sea of human consciousness. Isn’t that just like her leader? To appear in her hour of need, just in time to save the day?
Across the kitchen, Minato quirks an eyebrow at her. (He’s asking if you’re okay, Lucia whispers.)
It’s not until Fuuka gives him a little nod that Minato rolls his eyes.
“You guys,” he says. “This smells rank.”
Mochizuki lights up. “Minato-kun!!!!!”
“Seriously, the whole dorm stinks. What are you even making?”
“Well!!” Ryoji huffs. “Can’t you tell? We’re making curry!”
“So why is it blue?”
“Oh! Well, that’s just because of the dye!”
“Of course,” Minato mutters. “So why is it sparkling?”
“Because of the glitter!!!!!”
Minato looks from Ryoji’s face, to Fuuka’s, to the bubbling glittering pot. Then he sighs. “Okay. Move over.”
“Are you going to cook with us?” Ryoji gasps. “Just like a married couple!!”
“There are three of us,” Minato reminds him.
“A married throuple!!”
Fuuka lets out a nervous little squeak.
“Don’t worry, Yamagishi-san,” Ryoji assures her. “I’ll be a very nice husband. Not a big bully like Minato, who won’t even tell his own husband what he does at his club.”
“It’s mostly volunteer work,” a new voice puts in. Kirijo Mitsuru, leaning over the counter on her way to the stairs. “Under the Kirijo group’s nonprofit branch.”
“I love volunteering! I volunteer to volunteer!”
“Invite only,” Kirijo says coolly, and disappears up the stairs.
* *
* * *
* *
The next time the lobby doors fly open, Aigis is standing behind them.
Ryoji blanches. Because it’s Aigis. Cute, blonde, terrifying. Awkward, dogged, terrifying. She’s the worst possible combination of his fears: she hates him, and she still won’t tell him why.
He drops behind the counter, yanking on Minato’s sleeve. “Hide me!!”
“Why.”
“Because you don’t want me to die!!!”
“…Don’t I?”
“No!!” Ryoji huffs. “You actually really don’t!!!”
Minato's mouth twitches. “Oh my god, fine. Stop trying to fit in that cupboard. You can hide in my room.”