Chapter Text
There was always something calming about Leblanc—the way the aromas of coffee and curry intermingled, playing teasingly upon your palette before you even took the first bite. Sojiro’s curry was a study in masterclass, the deeply rich and complex flavors boldly innovative to your senses. The brew of coffee Ren had made for you was almost the opposite, though the attention to detail was no less admirable in its execution. Ren’s coffee was tangibly filling in both its warmth and taste profile, the hint of bitterness that crept up at the end of each sip somehow reflecting the aura he sometimes gave off when he was stressed or uneasy.
You listened to the steady stream of water pour out of the faucet as Ren washed the leftover dishes from a previous customer, his understanding of your need to be alone for the moment an unspoken decree that kept him busy as the TV chittered on in the background, relaying the evening news. You paid it no mind, each spoonful of curry more pleasing than the last, each one healing the dull ache you’d felt before trudging into the cafe, your hair and uniform soaked from the brief, late-September shower that had overtaken Shibuya.
The way he’d said your name when he saw you—gray eyes widening imperceptibly behind his thick-framed glasses—was enough to make you stay, even as logic and reason threatened to pull you back out onto the backstreets of Yongen-Jaya. You would have waited outside forever if Morgana hadn’t spotted you through Ren’s window, his voice tinny in the rapid downpour as he called down to you, paws pressed against the glass, his tail swishing rapidly behind him. You’d motioned to the black-and-white cat, hoping to deter him, to make him forget that he’d seen you there, staring up at the window like some strange stalker, but Morgana’s persistence caused a wave of guilt to wash over you, his obligation toward you as a Phantom Thief and friend causing curiosity and worry to creep into his bright, blue gaze. He’d taken in your drenched vest and the way your hair had clung to the sides of your face, as if you’d been hoping to hide from him—or perhaps, even, the rest of the world.
With the last customer of the evening gone, Morgana was able to saunter downstairs; you watched him leap onto the chair posted at the counter, his eyes impassive. “How do you feel?” he asked after a beat, small, white fangs peeking out as he spoke. “I bet it was nice to get out of the cold.”
“It was,” you replied, hoping your voice remained steady—neutral. After taking the last bite of curry on your plate, you set your spoon among the dredges. “I’m sorry it’s so late. I didn’t mean to bother you.”
“It’s no problem,” you heard Ren say, though he hadn’t paused to look at you. “Sojiro left for the night, anyway.”
Boss certainly was a handful at times. Although he was occasionally crabby, his heart was in the right place. Even so, if he knew you were here after hours, he wouldn’t let you or Ren hear the end of it; that man had a peculiar mind, always jumping to unsavory conclusions when it suited him. You wouldn’t have minded the implications, your thoughts supplied as you downed the last of your coffee, fingers pinched around the cup’s handle. As long as it was Ren—
the dependable leader of your ragtag group, the one who never failed to have your back in a Palace as Shadows leapt out at you from every corner, threatening to swallow your very existence—it was perfectly acceptable. As long as it was Ren, you would be fine with whatever Sojiro’s brain concocted.
Stupid , you heard yourself say, the voice in your mind both faraway and uncomfortably near. That’s why you have this problem in the first place.
You dipped a hand into your schoolbag, hand closing around your phone.
He would understand, wouldn’t he? He of all people had to understand. He was a Phantom Thief. He was Joker.
You were painfully aware of Morgana’s stare as you scrolled through the icons on your phone, your index finger hovering over the garish red eye of the Metaverse Navigator’s logo.
You’d been there for Futaba’s Palace. It had been a giant and elaborate pyramid, the sweltering heat from the sands outside in sharp contrast to the cool, closed off interior. She had confronted her Shadow, the cognitive being born from the trauma of having lost her mother, Isshiki Wakaba. It hadn’t been a particularly volatile Shadow, you remembered. Just a distantly protective one with the urge to unveil the truth to Futaba without the cloud of deceit the horrible adults in her life had placed over her. When you’d asked Morgana if any other Shadows were capable of that kind of self-awareness—a misguided self-sufficiency—he’d admitted that he wasn’t quite sure.
“Why are you so curious?” Morgana had wondered, peering up at you as you ate your lunch, ears drawn slightly back.
“No specific reason,” you’d said, grains of cooked rice rolling unpleasantly against your tongue.
Yet, Morgana was perceptive—unnaturally so, even for a talking cat.
When you’d glanced up, you had found Ren looking at you, his traditional, Friday yakisoba pan untouched.
“Morgana,” you found yourself saying, your voice strangely hollow, the weight pressing against your chest almost too much to bear. “Can I ask you something?”
He nodded, his tail twitching. “Of course.”
“Could you remind me again why a Palace is born?”
Morgana’s eyes grew larger before receding again. “That isn’t like you to ask a question like that. You aren’t Ryuji.”
A meaningless jab, perhaps intended to make you laugh or crack a smile. When you didn’t, his glossy fur bristled at the base of his spine.
“Please, Morgana,” you said, tongue thick with remorse. “Just remind me.”
He tipped his head in Ren’s direction before returning his gaze to you. “A Palace is born from a person’s distorted desires,” he finally said, pausing only to gauge your reaction, the way your brows pinched and your shoulders tensed. “These desires could be anything—from a creep preying on high school girls, to a man obsessed with money and baser wants. The desire has to be especially strong, though—otherwise, their personal Treasure will end up in Mementos. When a Palace has formed, that means the person’s desires have far exceeded their ability to contain them.”
Your stomach churned at his explanation, the coffee and curry threatening to make a reappearance.
You really were that twisted, you conceded. There was no way around that fact now.
Your cellphone clattered against the table at the booth Ren had initially guided you to, your hand unable remain steady as your whole body shook.
Somewhere between your conversation with Morgana and your inability to think straight, Ren had finished the dishes, the ties of his familiar green apron hanging listlessly at his waist as he stopped to call out to you. You ignored him, head thumping softly against the worn but polished surface of the table, your arms sliding around you, fingers creating grooves in the cloth of your blouse as you clutched at your biceps. Morgana approached you from your left, Ren on your right, his large, warm hand falling to your back as his thumb hooked against your nape. It was a startlingly intimate gesture, but Ren was your leader—he was used to offering contact and support when someone needed it, even accustomed to offering distance when he sensed it was necessary. He was always in tune to you and your needs, mindful of your less-than-stellar home life and your wish for escapism. It was why you frequented Leblanc, why you came early in the morning on Sundays or during the after hours on weekdays, your frame slumped against a chair in his room, hands working furiously at the controls on his retro game console as you tried to take your mind off everything that was bothering you.
He was good with people, even if they weren’t good with him. Having been pushed to the very boundaries of society, Ren was a natural at reading situations and people.
Maybe that was why he was so good for Makoto. He could read her even when she couldn’t effectively read herself.
“Hey,” Ren said, his voice soft. “It’s going to be okay.” He said your name again—warm and coaxing, innocent in the way it implored you. “Did something happen at home?”
How could he know? You’d never given him the impression that it was anything else; nothing to indicate that sometimes, the tears weren’t because of the way your mother pressured you into forgoing college in favor of helping her with expenses, or the way your father was never around to relieve the burdens and stress of living on the edge from paycheck to paycheck. Part-time jobs could only offer so much, she would reason. Sooner or later you’d really have to contribute. Being a Phantom Thief had lifted some of that pressure, had given you an outlet to take out your frustrations. Your mother hadn’t questioned where the occasional extra money came from, the times when you’d all splurged on celebrating after taking down a Palace filling you with guilt. Your share of the spoils rarely ever went to treating yourself. Feeding your younger sibling was far more important than that.
“Nothing at home,” you replied, the heels of your palms pushing against your eyelids. “I promise it has nothing to do with that.”
You felt Morgana press his small body along your thigh. You weren’t Ann, you told yourself. It was a harmless gesture. A consoling one.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Ren said, his breath fanning against your ear, the heat of it burning off the frayed ends of a string long drawn taut inside of you. “I promise I won’t pry.”
I want you to , you thought, his genuine concern making you greedy—greedier than you’d ever been.
If Ren knew what you harbored in your heart, it would only make him withdraw, turn into himself.
You were also sure Makoto wouldn’t be as understanding as you hoped.
Joker and Queen were the ultimate pair—the leader and the tactician. Good both in the Metaverse and out of it. The couple that Ryuji envied, the one that Ann aspired to emulate, the kind Yusuke wanted to capture in art, the one Futaba poked fun at but wholeheartedly accepted, the duo that enriched Haru’s romantically-inclined heart even as it evoked tendrils of harmless jealousy.
You could never hope to compete with that. Never.
All the other Phantom Thieves were so much better than you. They were satisfied with the status quo among the group dynamic. They carried no ill will.
You were no better than the shitty adults you fought to stop.
“Ren,” you murmured, hating how desperate you sounded, the way his name filled every corner of your mouth. “ Please , you have to promise not to think any less of me.” A selfish request, but one you felt compelled to make nonetheless. “You have to promise that I can still be a part of the team.”
“Of course,” he replied without hesitation, and his earnestness only dampened your resolve. “You always have a place with the Phantom Thieves.”
It was easier not to look at him, you realized. You avoided his eyes, focusing solely on his mouth, the way his lips curled, the subtle dip of his cupid’s bow.
You were wrong to do this, to sow this discord. There’d be no turning back.
“I was playing around with the Metaverse app last week, after I got home from school,” you began, swallowing down the bile threatening to make its way to your throat. “I basically triggered it by accident.”
You found the strength to unfurl yourself like a flower, hand reaching for your phone, fingers moving through the app’s history.
The keywords stared back at you mockingly.
“Unrequited. Wild Card. Love Hotel,” Morgana recited slowly. He tilted his head to meet your gaze. “What is this? Don’t tell me…”
You shifted away from Ren before he could pull his hand off you. “It took me a bit to figure out the last trigger. I never imagined it’d be that .”
Before Morgana could finish saying your name, you cut in. “I have a Palace. It’s at my apartment complex.”
The revelation hung in the air, its presence like a shroud descending upon all of you in pervasive, undulating waves. You suddenly wanted to vomit.
Ren’s brows furrowed, his expression thoughtful rather than unpleasant. “Futaba had a Palace, too. We’ll just have to take care of it, won’t we?”
“I’d rather you not,” you said, closing the app with a grimace. “Palaces aren’t dangerous, right? I only told you because you’re our leader. I don’t really want to keep it a secret from the others, but there are more important things to take care of than this.”
Ren’s hand closed over yours, the newly formed callouses on his fingers scraping pleasantly against your feverish skin. “Whatever’s happening, it’s not more important than helping out a teammate.”
“It is ,” you tried to reason, wincing as your voice cracked. “It’s something I have to deal with, not any of—“
You were effectively silenced, the little bell atop Leblanc’s door ringing as someone entered the cafe.
So concerned with tending to you, Ren had forgotten to change the sign from open to closed.
“Oh, am I interrupting something? I apologize.”
You knew that voice anywhere, had heard it on TV on more than one occasion, during interviews and television specials that featured fresh young faces changing Japanese society for the better. He believed in his own justice—a righteous justice that didn’t have any regard for the kind the Phantom Thieves doled out in order to save others. In many ways, he was the antithesis of Ren; while your leader gave no qualms about pleasing anyone he had no interest in, this boy smiled at everyone in nearly the same unnerving manner, the way his mouth curved at the corners more feline even than Morgana. There was a mask there, you were sure. Not the kind you and the other Phantom Thieves wore in the Metaverse, but the mask Ren had crafted for himself with his glasses—a way to keep up appearances, to sidestep unpalatable questions and give society the impression that he was a functioning, well-meaning young adult. This boy’s mask was far different though, its sophisticated properties belying the unfathomable darkness you often suspected he carried underneath.
Albeit Ren was cordial, the mood had shifted. “No worries. I was just about to close up.”
“Is Sakura-san not here?” Akechi wondered aloud, gloved fingers cupping his chin. “That’s a shame. I was hoping I’d be able to catch him.”
Akechi was never good news. He unsettled you, more so than any of the adults who made their desires openly visible.
Morgana peeked out from behind you, his eyes shrewd as he gave Akechi a once-over. You instinctively pushed his head down.
You bristled when Akechi’s gaze traveled from Ren’s face to your own.
“Hello,” he said, his tone pleasant and endearing. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
Not long enough, you wanted to say, but you let the words dissolve on your tongue. “Yeah,” you replied. “I heard the Phantom Thieves have been giving you trouble lately. Your popularity took a surprising dip.”
Akechi seemed genuinely troubled by your comment, his concerned expression retreating almost as soon as you saw it. “Society is quite fickle, I’m afraid. One day you’re on top, and the next you’re clawing at the bottom, trying to find a way out. I try not to let it bother me too much. I will always stand by my convictions, even if they don’t align with popular trends.”
Admirable , you thought, even if you didn’t believe for a second that he’d been wholly unfazed by it all.
You placed your elbow against the table, your chin finding the palm of your hand. Ren began clearing your dishes. “Sometimes we violate the expectations people have of us,” you said, consciously aware of the way Morgana stiffened against your leg. Ren was out of earshot by the time you spoke again, the dishes clinking noisily in the sink, the spray of water passing over them in a steady stream. “When you violate those expectations, you also end up violating the implicit trust someone may have had in you.”
You caught the way Akechi’s brown eyes flickered. Without Ren as a buffer, his stare was disturbingly unyielding. “Is this a fear you’ve had? Or perhaps you’re speaking from experience?”
You squeezed your left hand into a fist beneath the table, nails biting into your palm. “Does it matter?”
You’d never spoken to Akechi before. Not like this. Not without the other members of your group standing by, tackling him head-on as a unit.
Your skin prickled at his probing gaze, the smile he flashed you trademark in its brilliance. You hated it.
“Not particularly, no.”
When Ren returned, it felt like a breath of fresh air. His warmth enveloped you, even as it saddened you.
“I suppose I’ll be going now,” Akechi said, as if taking the hint. “Remember, if you have any information—any at all—about the Phantom Thieves, please don’t hesitate to contact me.” He winked before turning on his heel, his hand tugging at the handle of the cafe's door. He paused at the threshold, lids heavy as he regarded the chilly night air with a melancholic look. “Please do stay out of trouble, Ren. I wouldn’t want our friendship to be compromised. And you,” he added, glancing over his shoulder, his eyes taking you in—the way your body froze at his entreating, fixated gaze. You felt your face flush with color, your cheeks puffing up as you sucked in a breath.
It was a look you craved from Ren. Inquisitive, touched with a hint of fondness.
It was strange, seeing it on Akechi. It didn’t matter that it was most likely artificial. No one had ever really looked at you like that before.
“Do be careful with that honesty of yours.”
As soon as he disappeared, Morgana hopped onto the table, tail moving back and forth as his ears twitched. “I hate that guy. Always acts like he’s got all the answers even when he doesn’t.”
Your body slackened, all the pressure and tension leaving your frame as you splayed out in the booth. “You never know. Maybe he does have all the answers.”
Morgana huffed. “He doesn’t deserve that much credit.”
Palms resting on your stomach, your gaze slid to Ren, his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans as he eyed you with unveiled worry.
“Are you going to be okay?”
Did he want you to answer that honestly? You caught the laughter that bubbled in your throat, stamping it down. “Yeah, I guess.”
Morgana tilted his head. “We can sort out the issue with your Palace tomorrow. Don’t think we’ll just forget about it either,” he remarked, sauntering up to you on the edge of the table. If he’d been in his Metaverse form, you were sure he would have given you a sterner expression.
“You can stay,” Ren offered innocuously. “Sojiro wouldn’t mind.”
You had stayed over on more than one occasion in the past; on nights when you had remained at the cafe well past closing and when the trains had stopped running, Sojiro would put you up on the condition that no “funny business” was allowed at his place of business. Even if he saw you and Ren in that way, Ren clearly didn’t, so the sleepovers weren’t anything more than a friendly form of companionship. Ever since Ren and Makoto began dating, you wondered how often he brought her here, how many times they had slunk up to the attic, an arm around her shoulder or his hand settled at her hip. You wondered if she laughed in that poised way when he kissed her cheek, or if she unraveled, his mouth slanting across hers, her fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as his hands moved to cradle the back of her head. Although you had first pegged Makoto for the type to not have sex until she was married, your opinion of her had slowly metamorphosed, the sly looks and gentle caresses she planted on Ren’s arm or thigh hinting at something intimate and unspoken between them. Ren was a teenage boy, you reasoned—a teenage boy who probably liked and thought about sex as much as the next male his age; he was the kind of boy who wasn’t afraid to express his wants and desires to a girlfriend more than eager and willing to be his equal out of the bedroom as well as in it.
The thought of Ren having sex with Makoto left your throat feeling closed and your chest heaving.
You rose from the booth as a wave of nausea overtook you.
“I can’t stay. I have to go home.”
“It’s not safe for you to be out on your own at this time of night,” Morgana argued. “Besides, tomorrow is Sunday. It’s not like you have school.”
“I don’t have any clothes,” you rebutted, the corners of your eyes pricking.
“You can borrow mine,” Ren replied, his smile lopsided. “I know they’re not a perfect fit but you can manage.”
You glanced at the clock, the ticking secondhand moving in rhythmic bursts. “Fine. You guys are way too pushy.”
“Let me finish up here and then we’ll head upstairs.”
You nodded, watching Ren as he moved about the cafe like a dutiful worker bee. He washed down the surfaces with cleaner and a spare rag as the TV finished its news roundup for the night, the anchorwoman on camera flashing the audience a cordial smile just as the shot cut away from her.
“Hey,” Morgana called out to you, his tone soft, voice little more than a hush. “Can I ask you something?”
You turned to him, your hand reaching out to pat him affectionately on the head. “Sure.”
“Those keywords we saw on the Metaverse app… Do they mean what I think they do?”
You stared at Morgana for the longest time, his blue eyes boring into yours, saying all the things he didn’t want to say aloud, asking all the questions he didn’t have the will to give form and shape.
“What do you think they mean?” you asked, matching his volume, the words small and inconsequential in the tiny space of the booth.
Morgana lowered his head, his whiskers brushing against the inside of your wrist. “It’s because of Ren, isn’t it?”
It felt freeing to have him say it; a current of relief crested over you, cleansing in its embrace. “You really are a smart cat, Morgana.”
His eyes became hooded as he whispered your name. He didn’t have the heart to remind you that he wasn’t, in fact, a cat.
Your vision clouded and shimmered, and before you could stop them, the tears fell, wet and heavy against the leather chair beneath your head.
At this angle, you hoped Ren couldn’t see that you were crying.
You felt Morgana’s weight settle against your chest, his tiny paws dimpling your blouse. “You should tell him. He’ll find out eventually, won’t he?”
You shielded your face with trembling palms.
“Do be careful with that honesty of yours,” Akechi had said, the lilt of his voice penetrating your jumbled thoughts.
He didn’t know a damn thing about you, aside from the fact that you were friends with those who were suspected of being the Phantom Thieves. Yet his advice resonated with you now in its simplicity and the way it said everything while saying nothing.
“If we ever get to that bridge, we’ll cross it,” you told Morgana, any energy you’d managed to retain before melting away from your body in long, cloudy wisps. “I don’t want to be the person that ruins someone else’s happiness.”
“Your happiness matters too,” Morgana replied. “It’s because you’ve neglected it for so long that you have a Palace now.”
You were accustomed to neglecting yourself for others. This was no different.
“I’d rather we not talk about this right now, if that’s okay.”
Morgana opened his mouth to say something, but he paused, thinking better of it.
You were thankful your tears had stopped by the time Ren’s shadow hovered above you, blocking out the cafe’s overhead light.
“You up for a game of Golfer Sarutahiko before bed?” he asked, gray eyes soft but alert. You had always admired Ren’s thick lashes, the way they dusted his fair cheeks. He wasn’t wearing his glasses you noticed, the barrier that separated him from other people something he often forwent in your presence. You liked to think it was because he trusted you with his true self—the young man accused of a crime he hadn’t committed, the boy from another life in another town not so far from Yongen-Jaya. His parents hadn’t exactly been the nurturing sort, he’d told you once, his fingers absentmindedly thumbing the page of a novel he’d been allowed to check out from the school library. He’d looked the most honest you’d ever seen him then, chin tucked against his hand, eyes lowered to the table. Although they hadn’t explicitly told him that he’d have been better off minding his own business, the fact that they’d been more than willing to let him serve out his probation in another location had been especially telling to you.
“I love my parents,” he’d insisted. “They just didn’t understand why I did what I did.”
“Do you regret it?” you’d asked him, the question tumbling out, unbidden.
He’d looked at you as though he’d been asked some form of that question once before.
“No,” he’d said, the corner of his mouth curling upward in a smile that bordered on sardonic. “No, I don’t.”
“Ren,” Morgana began to chastise, tail shooting straight up. “You’ll ruin your sleeping—“
“Sure, I’ll play,” you said, lifting your prone body from the seat, secretly enjoying the way Morgana tumbled off you with a half-strangled shriek. You flashed Ren the brightest smile you could manage, your cheeks straining to hold it. “Don’t get mad if I beat you again, though.”
Ren’s own smile widened, the tilt of his mouth reminding you of your Palace escapades. It was close to the smile he flashed in battle when he had the upper hand against a particularly nasty Shadow. It made you bristle, a pleasant shiver skating along your spine.
“Has it ever crossed your mind that I might have let you win?”
You threw an arm across the back of the booth’s chair, your eyes peeking up at Ren through the curtain of your hair. “You’d never, Mr. Joker.”
Your heart nearly leapt to your throat as he closed the distance between the both of you, his gaze peering over you, sizing you up.
You saw something flicker behind Ren’s eyes, slivers of black spilling into his gray irises.
A coil tightened in your belly, the hard knot threatening to come undone.
You wanted to reach out, to thread your fingers through Ren’s hair, to feel the strands against your skin, silky black against your palm.
He was too close, you knew. Far too close. There was always a faint hint of coffee on him at all times, the heady aroma blending almost perfectly with his familiar scent.
Of course you had a Palace. You wanted every part of Ren—every part of him that you couldn’t have, every part of him that belonged to Niijima Makoto. It would be easy to close the distance, to slide your mouth across his, to feel his lips react to the unexpected gesture.
Just give in, a voice echoed faintly inside of you. Make him yours.
It’d be simple, a portion of your mind supplied. Show him the side of yourself you locked away from the rest of the world, the one that craved Amamiya Ren’s warmth and affection—the side that wanted to tug on the thread of darkness that existed in the very depths of his person.
Joker was the Wild Card. A wearer of all masks. A schoolboy by day and a Phantom Thief after hours. He was also the boy who’d captured your heart.
It’s easy. So easy. You willed your body to move, propelling it forward, inch by agonizing inch.
You hadn’t expected Morgana to land on Ren’s head with a shrill cry, his weight nearly toppling your leader over and onto the cafe’s floor.
“Weren’t you two planning on going upstairs?” Morgana asked as Ren caught him by the scruff of his neck with a less than pleasant look.
So that was how it was going to be. You eyed Morgana with a neutral glance despite the storm roiling in you, pressing against your flesh.
“Warn me next time,” Ren said, depositing Morgana onto the seat beside you with a soft thump.
“Sorry. I thought I saw something on your head. Must be those feline reflexes.”
You lifted Morgana in your arms, cradling him to your chest. You ignored the way his nose twitched. “How noble of you, trying to help out a friend in need.”
“I’d do anything for our leader,” he replied, mouth twisting in the only kind of smile a cat could give. “And you, too.”
You squeezed Morgana’s middle a little more forcefully than necessary, his startled yelp pleasing you. “Thank you, Morgana. I’ll try to remember that.”
You waited for Ren by the stairs as he shut off all the lights, the wood creaking beneath your shoes while you ascended the steps, the light of his attic bedroom guiding you forward. It was a bit cleaner than the last time you’d seen it, the souvenirs stacked along the shelves on the right-hand side making it appear homey and welcoming. Morgana slinked to the ground as he slid from your hold, his frame leaping into Ren’s bed, where he proceeded to groom himself.
You slid onto the sofa as Ren searched through his clothes, your eyes traveling the length of his living space with a critical eye.
His room felt different somehow, like you were seeing it for the first time again. It made you feel jittery.
“Here,” Ren announced, appearing in your field of view with folded clothes. “I’ll wait downstairs for you to change, okay?”
You trusted him. Even Ryuji had a bit more decency than that.
“Come on, Morgana,” Ren called out. “Let’s give her some privacy.”
Their shadows melted into a shapeless form along the wall by the stairs as they descended together.
You stripped, making sure to leave on your bra and panties; Ren’s clothes settled heavily on your skin as you pulled down the hem of his shirt over your thighs. You were thankful for the string on his sweatpants, the ends of it dragging over your toes as you cinched it against your waist.
Against your better judgment, you lifted the neckline to your mouth and nose, briefly inhaling his scent and the fresh smell of laundry detergent.
This was bad, you thought, your eyes sliding closed, Ren’s face forming easily behind your lids.
This was much worse than you ever could have imagined.