Chapter Text
FUTABA: inari
FUTABA: inari
FUTABA: inari inari
FUTABA: come look at this video. it’s so cute.
FUTABA: i can tell you’re ignoring me
YUSUKE: I most certainly am not.
FUTABA: i can see when you’re ignoring your phone
YUSUKE: I’m afraid my attention is completely occupied with this drawing.
FUTABA: you are sitting across from me!
FUTABA: i can see when you put down your sketchbook to text me back!
FUTABA: now stop being a huge pain and WATCH THIS CAT VIDEO
YUSUKE: Would you mind holding that expression while I commit it to paper?
FUTABA: omg stop framing my face
“Are you kids seriously texting each other instead of talking?” Sojiro commented from his place behind the counter, shaking his head.
It was nearing the end of summer break, and the weather was oppressively hot. Futaba’s laptop, phone, DS, headphones, gaming mouse, and manga were occupying every square inch of the table that hadn’t been absorbed by Yusuke’s art supplies.
It had been weeks since they had left Ren behind at his — not his home, his home was obviously here, at his parents’ house. It had been weeks since Futaba watched him waving from the window of the van, feeling the gentle ache of leaving behind her key item. Morgana had stayed with him. Don’t split the party, Futaba thought to herself at the time, but they had no choice.
She had been terrified that Ren’s departure meant his friends — their friends — would scatter and she’d be left all alone again, and she was quietly grateful when that turned out to not be the case. Ann in particular made a point of getting them all together at least once a week, and the rest of them had frequently dropped by Leblanc, or texted Futaba with invitations to hang out. She’d spent many an hour at the arcade with Ryuji, watching movies with Makoto or having lunch with Haru. It was by far the best summer vacation she had ever had.
Yusuke in particular had basically taken up residence in Leblanc. At first he dropped by with his usual sketchbook, explaining that it was unbearably stuffy in the Kosei dorms and besides, he could use a good cup of coffee. Then he started bringing canvases. And pastels. And paints. And art books. And increasingly elaborate projects that he would spread across half the counter. Finally, Sojiro decided it was time to establish some rules: no paint, his projects could only occupy a single table, and he had to share that table with Futaba, so there was actual room for non-Phantom Thieves in the cafe.
The first day of this arrangement… may have involved a lot of bickering. Futaba stealing one of Yusuke’s pastels to draw an actual line down the table was what finally got Sojiro to temporarily kick them both out. She felt kind of bad about that and called for a truce the way she always did: by offering to buy food for him.
The very next day they were quietly sharing a table as though that had always been their custom. Sojiro seemed mildly flummoxed and ultimately decided not to say anything.
She’d never admit it, but she actually kind of liked this arrangement. She loved her friends, but generally their idea of hanging out involved actual socializing, which had a tendency to drain her batteries even if she was enjoying herself. Inari, on the other hand, seemed content to sit across from her and occupy himself for hours on end, making no sound but the soft scratch of pencil and the rustle of paper.
Well, sometimes. Futaba looked up as he made a frustrated groan, tossing down his pencil and dramatically running his hand through his hair. She watched with curiosity as he began methodically tearing his latest sketch into tiny pieces. “What did that innocent drawing do to you?”
“It was an utter affront to the eyes and now it will never have existed.”
He finished making his impromptu confetti and brushed the bits of paper into a neat little pile to the side, immediately getting to work on a fresh piece.
Futaba found herself watching his practiced hand dance across his sketchbook, creating a miniature landscape from a blank page.
There was something really nice about taking a few quiet moments to watch him draw. Futaba suddenly felt wistful. She wished summer vacation weren’t ending soon.
Yusuke must have sensed her gaze, because he was looking at her with mild concern. “Is something wrong?”
“N-no,” she said, her voice more quavery than she expected. “Hey, I want to see that when you’re done!”
“So you shall, assuming this attempt doesn’t also result in an irredeemable disaster.” Yusuke smiled serenely and returned to his work.
She felt so sad all of a sudden, and couldn’t understand why.
A few minutes later, Yusuke slapped a page in front of her computer screen. “You wanted to see this, correct?”
“Inari! My game!” She took the drawing — it wasn’t actually the landscape he had been trying to perfect, but a quick sketch of herself, deeply focused on her laptop screen.
“I warned you I intended to capture your expression.”
“You’re so weird, Inari.”
—
Later that evening, Futaba was dipping a fry into a mix of ketchup and mayo. She hadn’t been able to shake the melancholy feeling from earlier and she thought junk food might help, so she was splitting a large order of fries with Inari at Big Bang. Splitting any food with Inari was a dangerous proposition since he had a tendency to forget the “sharing” aspect and inhale whatever was in front of him, but seeing the look on his face if she went to get food without him was much worse. Besides, they were in the middle of an important discussion.
“…so if we were in a simulation,” she was saying, “we’d have no way of knowing that. The whole thing could just suddenly shut down, or reset, and we’d effectively be dead and wouldn’t know.”
Inari looked thoughtful. “I don’t think I agree. There would surely be some way to tell the difference between reality and simulation. If nothing else, I expect some people could feel the difference.” One thing that was nice about Inari was that you could have meandering pseudo-philosophical conversations with him and he would take it seriously.
“What about the people in the Metaverse, though? They were in a fake cognitive world and I don’t think any of them were able to tell.”
“They weren’t actually people, though, just cognitions. I don’t think they were capable of that kind of thought. Actual people are quite different.”
“I guess,” she said, aggressively dunking a fry.
Inari was looking at her with some concern. “You seem upset. I’m guessing this doesn’t have to do with being trapped inside a simulation?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s just — I’m starting school soon.”
“Ah, I see. It’s been some time since you’ve attended school.”
“What if — I don’t know. I’m not even sure what I’m worried about. I’ve gotten better at handling crowds, Ann and Ryuji will be there, and I’ve never had a problem with schoolwork. It should be fine, right?”
“There’s no reason to expect it wouldn’t be.”
“Why am I so wound up about it then?”
Inari made a sweeping dramatic gesture. “Change. Uncertainty. The unknown. Even a change that is fully positive, one that you’re looking forward to, can inspire dread. If you’ll recall, we fought our way through an entire subterranean dungeon that was born of humanity’s fear of change.”
“Fear of change, yeah, maybe. You’re probably right.” She went to take another fry only to realize Inari had finished them off. Honestly, that took longer than usual; he must have been sufficiently distracted by the conversation. “What am I supposed to do about fear of change, though?”
Inari shrugged. “Accept it. It takes time.”
She made a face. “How about you? How do you feel about going back to school?”
“Well, school is not exactly a change for me… to be honest, I’ve always generally enjoyed school.” Futaba had been surprised to learn a while back that not only did Inari excel in all his art courses, but also maintained near perfect grades. He explained it was because Madarame would punish him if he didn’t, but Futaba suspected it was a mix of that and Inari being naturally pretty smart and a perfectionist to boot.
Futaba could see the wheels turning in his head. He opened his mouth as though he were going to say something, then stopped. After a long moment… “How about going to Akihabara after this?”
“You’re suggesting Akihabara? The last time we were there you called it a commercial wasteland.”
“Oh, it’s absolutely a commercial wasteland, but you clearly need some sort of distraction from your current malaise.”
“Man, I must have really been a downer today if you’re taking that kind of drastic measure to cheer me up. I accept, of course.”
So they spent the rest of the afternoon at Akihabara, Futaba spending way too much money trying to get an adorable plush bunny out of a crane machine that obviously wasn’t cooperating. She felt a little better, but the dread was still there, lapping just at the edges of her thoughts.