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Turning over the flyer in his hands, Ren’s trying to figure out the chances that Ryuji’s actually… this dense.
“A… couple’s day?”
“Dude, it’s totally cool,” Ryuji’s saying, shoulders shrugged, no big deal. “Tickets are so cheap, I bet everybody there’ll totally be goin’ with friends.”
The advertisement’s of a couple, their age, making a heart with their joined hands. Everything’s pastel-pink, bubble letters ballooning off the page. Ren’s pretty sure they set up a Tunnel of Love. He looks from the paper to Ryuji, eyebrow quirked.
“Hey but look man, if it's weird or whatever—“
Ren clicks his tongue. “Didn’t say that. Mostly just surprised you didn’t try Ann first,” he says, lets some teasing drip right on through.
Ryuji groans, dropping his head forwards.
“Dude, you serious? She’d kick my ass just for askin’.” He shudders, dramatic and full-body. "Plus, what if we had to, like, hold hands?” Ren’s eyes roll up to show all white, laughing a breath out his nose. “Pretty sure we’d both hurl.”
“So you’re saying,” Ren starts, face blank as a page, “you’d rather hold hands with me?”
Ryuji doesn’t miss a beat.
“Over Ann?” he says, “Duh.”
Ren blinks once, hard, no idea if Ryuji’s serious or just… okay, yeah, maybe he is that dense. So, Ren kicks a foot out to trip him up while they walk, a defense for Ann’s honor. He gets a playful shove for his trouble. Ryuji kicks at his feet as they go, trying for a flat tire or a slip-up, them both causing a scene like the dumb teenagers they are.
“So, Dome Town. Tomorrow?” Ren says, when they reach the platform to part ways.
Ryuji’s eyes go wide, his eyebrows shooting up. “For real? You’ll go?”
Ren rolls his eyes and smiles, turning towards home as Ryuji sings thank-yous at his back.
This might be worse than White Day.
Walking into the park, there’s more balloon than sky. It’s not even crowded, but there’s no groups here—every open ride is a two-seater. Every drink is buy one, get one, heart-looped crazy-straw and all.
Dome Town was always a pretty popular date spot, but this—this is another level.
And Ren’s still not sure that Ryuji even—
“Dude,” he says, punching Ren’s arm. “Cheapest tickets ever! What should we ride first? How about the—huh?”
A group of employees catches their eye across the way, a few looking them up and down. They’re whispering something Ren can’t catch, but he sure can guess.
Ryuji crosses his arms. “Uh, why’re people lookin’ at us weird?”
Ren rolls in his lips, pointing his chin at another cotton candy-pink Lovers sign hanging over their heads.
“I don’t think we look very, uh... convincing.”
“That’s it?” says Ryuji. “That’s dumb. We just gotta do some coupley shit, right?”
Ren laughs a little. “Ryuji, I don’t know if that’s—“
But he doesn’t get to finish—because Ryuji’s grabbing his hand, threaded fingers and all, and pulling him along to the heart of the park.
“Whatever dude,” he yells, “I wanna go on something cool. Let’s go!”
And Ren just lets himself be dragged.
The roller coasters are nothing. The climb gets him just like it did when they were kids, that shake that starts out in his gut and vibrates down til his fingertips feel numb—but he’s grown up now. And as long as Ren looks straight ahead, vision narrowing so the track blocks out the blue sky they’re in, he gets through it. The hard part’s over with quick. Then the rest is just him and Ryuji. It’s a game of who can make the better face when the camera snaps their picture, it’s a contest of whose wind-blown hair looks dumber.
Ryuji outshines the mid-August sun, and Ren’s content to let himself be blinded.
They walk, shoulders bumping, always a joke and a laugh between them. Getting along like old friends, his mother would say. They pass another sign, bright letters and bright smiles, a couple advertising their special sale. And Ryuji grabs his hand again, making a mirror of them. And yeah, of course it’s for show, it’s so they don’t get kicked out for a false discount or whatever—but now Ren’s really, really wondering just how dense one guy could be.
“Aw, don’t be a chicken, man,” Ryuji’s griping. He’s dragging Ren along, Ren all but digging his heels into the pavement, and he’s saying, “Futaba said we can see the whole freakin’ city from up there!”
Ren strains his neck looking up, where the highest car of the ferris wheel goes past the treetops and all the way into the clouds. Birds probably can’t even get that high, and maybe they should be worried about a plane flying past. This can’t be safe, right? They shouldn’t—
“So, we going or what?”
Ren licks his lips. He scaled a pyramid last week. A month ago, he was in a bank so far up there were clouds floating past. His heartbeat was still and sure, no tremble in his fingertips. Ryuji’s counting on him now like he counted on him then.
So he says, “Yeah.” He flexes his fingers, makes believe they’re covered with gloves, and he says, ”Let’s do it.”
It’s sort of funny that Ren was worried he’d blush, because now he’s as white as his knuckles around the metal railing in front of him—you’d have to pry them off with a crowbar to loosen his grip. Ryuji’s fussing around in the seat next to him, fists curling and uncurling and a restless leg bouncing, no idea how to help or reassure. Ren wants to tell him it’s fine, he’ll be fine, but that he’s really gotta relax because if he moves around any more he’s gonna start rocking the car, and then Ren’s gonna either lose his lunch, or his mind.
It’s better if he just looks at the floor. Ryuji’s shoes are a soft, light blue, a nice calming sky-color with white stripes on the sides that Ren’s eyes can trace over and over for something to focus on. His vision isn’t wobbling. That’s just the arc of the ferris wheel as they’re going up, or maybe it’s the wind. Just the wind, swaying the car where they’re suspended in the air, five-hundred feet off the ground and into the sky and—okay . It’s not a long ride. It’ll be over before he knows it. And then they’ll have solid ground beneath their feet, and he’ll have beaten this stupid wheel and never have to come back and—
An arm comes around his shoulders. A warm palm fits over his blanched knuckles. Ren’s eyes move from the ground to Ryuji, close at his side. He’s red up to his ears, staring firmly ahead—also stiff as a board, but he’s not letting go.
“I uh,” he starts, voice scratchy—clears his throat and tries again. “I used to be really afraid of storms when I was a kid. Thunder would start, I’d see a flash or whatever and I’d just lose it, you know?”
Ren’s wide-eyed and open-mouthed, fixed on Ryuji’s face taking up the whole of his vision. His profile against the bright blue sky and the sunlight on his hair makes him look like something out of a dream, and Ren can’t make his eyes blink shut.
“Dad used to make fun of me.” He scowls a little, then shakes his head and brightens right up. “But mom would always try to distract me. I’d be under the bed, or coverin’ my ears or whatever, and she’d come in and give me a hug. Just, like—makin’ me feel safe, or whatever.”
Ren’s heartbeat is slowing, just a little. He’s listening to every word like a trance, hanging on to it all, and his grip on the bar is loosening. The taut line of his back is relaxing against Ryuji’s side as he talks.
Ryuji laughs a little, going a shade redder when he says, “She used to sing sometimes, too. I dunno know any good songs, or maybe I’d try for you—oh, hey, looks like we’re at the bottom.”
Ren blinks, steeling a glance out the side, and he’s right. They’re done already—he hardly felt a thing.
When he looks back to Ryuji, still so close they’re sharing breath and mid-summer sweat, Ryuji could be solid ice for all he moves. His eyes flick down and back up again, eyes to lips, lips to eyes.
Ren flexes his hand on the bar, the one Ryuji’s is still covering, and maybe that snaps something. Ryuji’s an open book, realization sparking across his face a second before he snatches his hand away, jumping back so fast you’d think he touched a hot stove. Ren stares after him, opens his mouth to ask, but he doesn’t get that far.
“This is—” he says, all in a rush, ”—a bad idea.” He scrambles out of the car, and away from Ren. Before he can speak Ryuji’s slamming the door, and rushing into the shifting crowds.
Ryuji’s halfway through the exit turnstile when Ren calls his name.
He’s breathing hard and dripping sweat, relief that he’s still in the park rushing through like a cold breeze—because it wasn’t hide-and-seek so much as it was a race. Ren didn’t have to check the bathrooms or the snack bar. He didn’t have to ask around or call his cell, because with how close they were in that seat, escape was the only thing Ren saw written on his face.
Over his shoulder, Ryuji sees him and closes his eyes like he’s bracing. There’s effort when he turns himself around to face Ren, his eyes cast on the floor.
“Look,” he says. “I thought it would be—dude I wouldn’t have asked, you know, I mean, it’s not like I—“ he huffs a quick breath out and runs a hand through his hair, mussing the spikes in a way that makes Ren’s stomach flutter like they’re back on the ride, way up high. “Geez. M’sorry, is all. I wasn’t trying to make shit, like—weird.”
He says weird like it’s sour on his tongue. He still won’t look up, and that defeated way his shoulders slump forwards makes Ren want to—do something stupid, probably.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” he starts. “You—“
“Just let me,” he snaps. “I ain’t that smart, man, but I can at least know when I screwed up—”
Ren says, firm, “You’re not dumb, Ryuji.”
Ryuji scoffs, a disbelieving, dismissive thing that hits Ren hard in the chest. His face has this pinched look, eyebrows turned down like Ren’s saying the sky is green, but all at once he doesn’t care. Ren hears people talk. They say the same shit about him, and it’s not like he’s hanging out with Ryuji to bolster his reputation. Ren’s always known what he’s getting into. And what the hell does he care? They’ll all find something new to talk about.
“People can say whatever they want,” says Ren, thumbs sticking in his pockets. “They see test scores or whatever and think it means something, but I know you. And I know you’re not stupid.”
Ryuji’s voice is wary when he says, “You mean that?”
He’s been lied to so many times—Ren can see it in the guarded look on his face, a thin layer protecting an old, festering wound. Ren’s been there, too. Hell, he still is. They’re both just trying to stop the bleeding.
Ren shrugs, bumping his shoulder. “Hey, I don’t have the best grades either.” He smiles, wry. “You calling me dumb now?”
Ryuji bumps his shoulder, cracking a smile.
“Maybe we’re both a couple of idiots,” he laughs.
Ren’s complaining, “Hey.” Them both walking back towards the park, he’s laughing, saying, “Speak for yourself.”
Ryuji stops short, his face going stony-serious. He rubs at his nose, looking away from Ren. “Really though, m’sorry. Didn’t know you had, like, a thing with heights.”
“It’s not what I usually lead with,” says Ren, mildly, even when parts of him haven’t stopped shaking. “Sorry if I freaked you out.”
“I mean…” Ryuji spreads his hands, palms up. “I’ve seen you jump over, like, chandeliers and shit. And a stupid ride is what gets you?”
Ren pushes out a laugh. His step is a little wobbly even now—him feeling too light, like he’s still hanging up there with nothing below. He’s breathing slow, filling his lungs through his nose to keep steady.
He shrugs. “Sometimes… it’s just different, you know?”
Different like either end of a knife, different like daytime and midnight. They overlap at times; just like the rest of them, Ren’s two halves of a whole meeting to compliment the best of both. They’re still him, of course—every mask is, and he knows that—but at times like these, the gap between Ren and Joker feels like bridging continents.
Ryuji rolls in his lips, a thoughtful look on his face. “I guess I know what you mean.” He blows out some air. “Nothing like kickin’ ass in the Metaverse and then going back here, just to realize you’re… well, nothin’.”
Ren gives him a funny look. “I mean… they’re us too, right? Being scared doesn’t make you nothing.”
Punching him on the arm, Ryuji says, “That mean you’re ready for another ride?”
Ren’s face is a blank canvas when he stops and says, “Hell no.”
And then Ryuji’s laughing again, crinkling his eyes and lighting his face. He’s pointing across the park, saying, “How about that one, dude?”
And maybe Ryuji’s kidding, but screw being embarrassed. Everybody’s got a fear—Ren’s faced a half a dozen of his own since he got to this city. Maybe it’s okay to hold on to some of them.
So Ren grabs his hand, threaded fingers and all, and drags Ryuji for a change.
It’s barely the height of Leblanc. And maybe it’s rainbow colored. And maybe there’s a couple cars decorated with flowers and ladybugs and they’re the oldest people riding it—but neither of them care.
Ren’s breathing easy, letting the wind ruffle his hair while half the little kids on the ride make fun of them. Ryuji’s face is split in a blinding smile, lit up as the sun creeps behind the trees and it nears closing time. Ryuji’s arm circles back around Ren, fitting like it’s always been there. This time, he leans right in—them both blushing and blaming it on their laughter.
And when the fireworks start, lighting up the sky behind them, they’re on their third ride—and Ryuji still hasn’t let go.