The rain hadn't stopped by midnight.
Takemi had long since turned down the lights in the clinic, leaving the room aglow in soft blues from the machines and a faint golden halo from the desk lamp in the corner. She'd retreated to her office, giving them space. The air was calm now. Still.
The Phantom Thieves hadn't gone home.
Instead, they'd made a kind of camp in the recovery room—mattresses laid out, blankets shared, bandages rustling as bodies shifted, each one reluctant to break the fragile thread that bound them in this moment of safety.
Futaba lay sprawled across the foot of the largest mattress, hoodie halfway over her head, her laptop forgotten as she watched the others through one squinted eye.
Ryuji, now decidedly more feminine in build, sat cross-legged beside her, flipping a rice cracker between her fingers. "So… are we gonna pretend we didn't just admit to being emotionally cracked like fortune cookies back there?"
Yusuke chuckled softly from his spot, sketchpad open but untouched. "On the contrary. I found the honesty... profoundly comforting."
Ann leaned back against a pillow, hair slightly damp from washing away the sweat of the day's fight. She glanced toward Makoto, then Ren, then back again. "It's weird, right? Not in a bad way. Just… like something shifted between us."
Makoto didn't look up right away, but her hand twitched slightly where it lay on her lap. "Maybe it's time we stop calling it weird. Maybe it's always been there."
Ren sat in the center of them all, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, tuned to the smallest gesture—every sigh, every smile.
He nodded. "I think... the palace didn't show us lies. Just parts of ourselves we weren't ready to admit."
Ryuji whistled low. "Well damn, leader dropping truth bombs at 2 a.m."
They all laughed, even Makoto, who covered her mouth to stifle it.
Futaba rolled onto her side. "So what now? Do we just go back to acting normal? Pretend we didn't see the softer, shinier, sexier versions of ourselves?" She wiggled her eyebrows.
Ann threw a pillow at her. "Shut up."
But no one told her she was wrong.
They fell into a long, gentle silence after that.
One by one, they began to settle. Ryuji curled beside Futaba, who mumbled something sleepy and tucked her feet under Ryuji's blanket. Yusuke leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, sketchbook resting on his chest.
Makoto found herself next to Ann, sharing warmth and steady breathing.
Ren remained sitting upright, watching over them.
Until he felt a nudge.
Makoto.
Her eyes were half-lidded, voice quiet. "You don't have to stay on watch, you know. We're safe."
He gave her a tired smile. "Habit."
"You're not just our leader anymore," she whispered. "You're something more now. To all of us. You know that, don't you?"
Ren didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
She shifted closer, resting her head on his shoulder.
And just like that, one by one, the others drew in too. Quiet. Natural. Ann tucked in near his other side. Futaba reached out and touched his ankle. Yusuke's fingers curled loosely in his direction, even in sleep.
Ryuji exhaled from the shadows, whispering, "You're the heart now, man. Or woman. Whatever. We're with you."
And that was how the Phantom Thieves slept.
Together.
Not as rebels or fighters—but as something quieter. Closer. Bound by more than justice now.
Bound by truth.
And between heartbeats, the world outside shifted again.