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There’s loose concrete under his feet, and he feels every single one.
(At the same time he feels none).
He’s so exhausted. He’s heard the news of Dazai escaping prison, a call from a hasty Ango with a lot of wind in the background, some muffled noises that Atsushi’s Tiger registered. It sounded like Dazai, but it also didn't. The man's voice his Tiger registered felt so raw, borderline alien. If Atsushi were to put a finger on it, he would say Dazai was in pain.
Atsushi expressed his worries to Ango, asked what was going on, but the only reply he got was a muffled don’t worry, he’s all in one piece.
Not quite promising.
It’s night time already, a little bit later than a simple night time can resume. Atsushi lifts his arm, hand tucked inside his pocket for a split second so he can grab his phone. Atsushi looks at the screen, it’s 1 a.m.
Yeah, a little bit later than night time .
It’s night, and it’s cold. Atsushi will soon have to buy some winter clothes, because those he usually wears won’t protect him. Winter, cold, makes him think of coats. Coats makes him think of beige and black. Black makes him think of gray eyes, sharp words and an even sharper ability. Both of the last ones who have pierced Atsushis’s body more than once. He tries not to go through those thoughts, but it’s impossible to ignore when said man is so close by.
The steps in sync with his own, following him since they left the airport, through train stations and several blocks. The person, the one who’s always clad in black, a dramatic white shirt with a cravat that Atsushi thinks it’s very annoying, is following him, a few meters of distance between them.
Akutagawa hasn’t said a single word once he went after Atsushi.
Neither has Atsushi.
It’s night, and it’s cold, and Atsushi is being followed by Akutagawa for a couple of kilometers now.
Atsushi sighs, there’s a tension in his body that just won’t quite leave him because Akutagawa has been following him in silence for kilometers, has just been chasing after him in silence and making himself known, his steps not as careful to not make himself unnoticeable. Atsushi amuses himself with the duality of that.
The silence of words and the loudness of footsteps.
It’s very Akutagawa of him.
(It’s very Akutagawa of Atsushi to remain in silence, too.)
Atsushi feels calm before the storm. But that’s exactly it, the calmness he’s feeling, the emotional organization he’s holding on to, grows heavier and heavier like a monster at every crunch of concrete under boots behind him. He glances at the sky, and it’s mirroring the feelings inside him. The clouds are heavy, glowing slightly red because of the lights of the city: light pollution, Kunikida has taught him. There’s a storm coming, and he wonders if he will make it home before it falls.
(Alternatively, he wonders if he will make it home before he or Akutagawa say a word.)
There’s a lot to think about that happened in such a short span of time, and the more he wonders, the worse it gets. Here’s what he can pick apart in his thoughts:
- Dazai escaped prison.
- Fyodor is dead. (Atsushi does not know how).
- The control Bram Stoker had over the entire population has been overridden by Aya and her boldness.
- Fukuchi did not mean to end the world (even if he came close to it).
- Akutagawa died.
- Akutagawa died saving him.
- Akutagawa died and was revived.
Atsushi’s breath shatters with a thousand little sharp blades inside him, because that’s the only explanation to how much he hurts on the inside just because of this thought. The pain bubbles and bubbles like foam from a bath bomb that Kyouka bought once. It’s not because Akutagawa died, it’s not.
(It most definitely is.)
It’s not because he came back, and even so, Atsushi doesn’t think he has in himself to talk about it. It’s stressful and he would rather talk about it with Akutagawa another day. Maybe never.
Atsushi is the epitome of controversy, because he can’t think without refuting himself, give himself a pat for suffering, or just look at Akutagawa who’s still following him.
Sounds come from above him, a calm pitter-patter. Atsushi looks up and is met with only darkness, a black mass above him. It takes him a second too long to realize that that’s Rashomon, protecting Atsushi from the oncoming rain. In surprise, Atsushi looks back at him, and realizes this is the first time he has looked back since they’ve left the train station.
It’s dark, but Atsushi can see that Akutagawa’s eyes are red rimmed from exhaustion. The bite on Atsushi’s neck throbs at the eye contact. The spot where Akutagawa’s fangs sunk is red, purple, sore, and Atsushi is very sure that it will leave a scar.
Flashes of it came back to him, the white-hot pain, his body wrecked, torn apart and defeated in Akutagawa’s arm as Akutagawa bit and drank. The Tiger inside him roared then.
When he was a child, Atsushi read in a biology book that when tigers roar, the sound can be heard for kilometers.
Inside his head, the Tiger’s roar felt like nothing he’s ever heard. It made his blood chill and curl in itself, it made his head feel like an erupting volcano, all he could hear was the sound and the pain .
The Tiger does not like submission.
The Tiger does not like being a prey.
It has made it very clear before.
Back to the present, Atsushi looks at Akutagawa. He looks frailed. Atsushi wouldn’t call Akutagawa an expressive person by any means, but the tired shoulders, the downcast eyes, just-as-much downturned mouth. The silence still speaks loudly. Looking at Akutagawa makes Atsushi feel things, so he doesn’t. For the first time in weeks of paying attention to everything, Atsushi turns himself off to the world and continues walking.
Atsushi stops at a red light for pedestrians, the first one he’s encountered since he started his walk home, and he counts the blocks until his destination. Four, if he’s counting right. It’s not like he’s trusting his math at this time of the night. All he wants is to get home, his bed sounds so inviting, but Akutagawa chasing him is just as impossible to ignore as the cold he’s feeling.
With the strength he doesn’t have in himself, Atsushi opens his mouth. “If I don’t speak with you till I get home, will you even leave?”
Akutagawa’s surprise doesn’t go unnoticed by the Tiger. Atsushi can feel the Tiger’s literal ears perking inside him, and this is how Atsushi knows that the Tiger is also curious.
Hesitation is tangible, Akutagawa replies. “You know the answer, jinko. ”
Yeah, Atsushi knows. He would very likely get himself in the way between Atsushi and the door, or break in. Whatever he sees fancy, Atsushi can even imagine the scene unfolding before his eyes.
The reply doesn’t get Atsushi by surprise, but the fact that he feels himself huffing in amusement does.
“Yeah, I know.” Atsushi replies, part of the tension flowing out of him like the wisp of smoke that appears when he breathes.
Akutagawa’s eyes are so intense on him that Atsushi can feel himself being pierced. It happens often, but it’s one of the few times that Akutagawa’s gaze isn’t aggressive. It’s just… intense, questioning even.
“Can’t we talk tomorrow?” The traffic light turns green for Atsushi, so he starts walking again.
Akutagawa’s reply is fast. “No.”
On this block, there’s an alleyway.
(How poetic. Always meeting each other in alleyways.)
That’s exactly where Atsushi leads them. He sees the entrance, and mindlessly enters. There’s nothing that could pose a threat to shin soukoku . At least not tonight.
Atsushi sighs, tension coming back to him like a rubber band snapping in place. There’s too much that could happen in an alleyway, at 1 in the morning, with Akutagawa. He could die for this, as far as he knows.
(No he wouldn’t.)
Turning around is just as hard as opening his mouth was a few minutes ago. It’s interesting, this position he and Akutagawa have found themselves in. So rubbed raw, so many hours carrying tension and fear for their lives, they’ve become jaded. Even if it’s for a few hours, even if it’ll all be back in the morning, it’s weird.
Exhaustion sings a song that Atsushi knows by heart, but this time’s different. This time the melody’s the same, but the lyrics are foreign to him.
Atsushi wonders what these lyrics will say.
Facing Akutagawa is hard. Atsushi isn’t one to run away from things, not anymore, but this estranged situation has him falling back into the old habits.
“Talk.” Atsushi’s voice is too soft to order.
Akutagawa looks at him squarely in the mouth. Just then, at this millisecond, Atsushi realizes something.
“You don’t know what to talk about, don’t you?” Atsushi muses.
Akutagawa looks away, but soon they’re back on Atsushi’s face, his eyes. “I had a plan.”
Atsushi walks around the alley, because he can’t stand being still. The ground is surprisingly clean, considering they’re not in a very fancy part of Yokohama. The walls around them are made of red brick and gray cement, there’s trash containers not very far from where they are. Not the fanciest place for them to meet, but it’ll have to work.
Above him, Rashomon crackles with red energy. The drizzle is starting to become a downpour.
He prods, because there’s nothing his mind has come up with. “What was it?”
There’s a noise, and Atsushi looks around to see Akutagawa cracking his neck. The sound is loud , dear God. Atsushi faintly wonders if Akutagawa is filled with the same nervous energy he is.
Atsushi’s eyes hone in on Akutagawa’s neck. There’s a white scar there. Thin, almost unnoticeable, but nearly ear-to-ear. Such a small scar for something that made irreparable damage to Atsushi’s mind (and heart).
“I would drag you somewhere in the airport.” Akutagawa starts. “But that didn’t work. So plan B was to follow you home and talk at some point.” Akutagawa looks at him, almost expectantly, waiting for Atsushi to say something, but Atsushi just hums, urging the other to continue. “And then we would chat about… things.”
Calling everything they had to talk about “ things” was the understatement of the century.
Akutagawa moves weirdly, as if he’s never been on the giving end of a conversation, never been the one who had to talk instead of listening. Atsushi’s attention zones in on the way he stretches his fingers at his sides, the way it moves. It’s too dark for Atsushi to see the details on his own, but the Tiger assists and Atsushi gets a quick glimpse of the scars in his hands, the nerves and bones jutting out.
There’s a question stuck in his head, eating the edges of his already exhausted brain; there's no brain-to-mouth filter that Atsushi decides to turn on. He just asks.
“Did it hurt?”
Did it hurt when you were contaminated, turned?
Did it hurt when you were forced to do things?
Did it hurt when you died ?
Akutagawa gives it a thought. He’s intelligent, Atsushi always thought so. Because of this, Atsushi knows that Akutagawa will read between the lines.
There’s a strange peace in his face, when Akutagawa speaks again after a few seconds of silence. “A little.”
There’s no explanation to this.
It does.
Atsushi doesn’t know what’s going on.
He knows.
At first it’s the nose tingles. Then, the lump on his throat. Afterwards, the center of his face starts to prickle.
The last symptom comes soon. The blurry vision.
“I’m sorry it hurt.” Atsushi whispers, because he can’t.
He can’t speak or think louder than this. He hears steps, at least, which is good because his sight is compromised and his sense of smell can’t be trusted for now.
The blurry vision turns into wetness in his cheeks and Atsushi is crying. He’s crying in an alleyway, in the dark, at possibly 2 a.m, Akutagawa approaching him, and Atsushi has been broken before, but this type of shattering feels odd with the other man’s presence.
Then Akutagawa says what Atsushi never thought he would.
“It was worth it, in the end.”
Atsushi’s cracking. The control he holds tightly is escaping him.
Objectively, it was worth it. Somewhat together, they’ve saved the day. Akutagawa got revived. Akutagawa saved Aya.
But Akutagawa is an intelligent person, and so it’s Atsushi. Not like Rampo, or Dazai, but enough so the two of them can speak the same language. And with this, Atsushi knows that Akutagawa isn’t talking objectively.
Perhaps death made Akutagawa softer, as if he were a flower, one that was born dry and with time, with an ultimate death, became alive. But that’s too much wondering. They’ll go back to their default mode after some sleep.
That’s as scary as Akutagawa’s death itself , Atsushi tries to play himself.
“I hate you so much.” Atsushi holds himself till the end, making his voice sound somewhat normal, ignoring the lump on his throat and the way his face still pricks.
Akutagawa stands three steps away from him.
Atsushi continues, even if his control slips like sand between his fingers. “It was awful, seeing it happen. Being so powerless against it. I can’t forget it.”
It’s no lie. After it happened, after Akutagawa died, Atsushi must’ve spent a couple of hours missing. Feeling so much pain that his entire body ached, and all he could do was run away and hide .
"I don't think I can either." Akutagawa speaks in a half-air half-voice.
Atsushi still feels the prickling on his nose and the burning in the center of his face. But at least his eyes aren't leaking anymore, that's something. A little bit less embarrassing.
“I’m so confused, Akutagawa.” Atsushi vents. “Where do we even go from here?” And just because Atsushi has no pride anymore, he sniffs. “Who are we?”
Akutagawa sighs, “Jinko—”
Atsushi’s voice feels somewhat similar to Rashomon’s energy crackles. “Don’t Jinko me! Come on we’ve been through too much for you to keep calling me that fucking stupid nickname.”
Eyes widening, Akutagawa stifles a laugh behind pressed thin lips. “Are we cursing now?”
Atsushi walks closer to Akutagawa, not enough for them to be in each other’s spaces but enough that they can try if they want to. The rain is louder, there’s a small waterfall falling around them because of Rashomon.
“Oh come on, you know I have a mouth as dirty as yours.” Atsushi, for the first time in hours, smiles. It’s not a trained, exhausted smile he’s offered to the Detective Agency, but a genuine one. “I just don’t use it while I’m working.”
There’s an innuendo in what Atsushi’s said, but he tries not to lose his guts and become a blubbering mess for now. It’s not the goal here, and some innuendo won’t make him step back or cower away from this conversation.
Akutagawa wants to talk?
Then they will talk.
“You died, Akutagawa. I mourned you, and now here you are standing in front of me.” Atsushi explodes, because how can he not? “Pardon me if I don’t know who we are anymore. I’ve lived through the regrets, because even while we were fighting I was fucking wondering if you would drop dead as soon as Bram’s control over you went down. I’m so angry at everything, and so glad as well, because you’re not dead! But that’s exactly it! You’re not dead and I don’t know what to do with it!”
Atsushi’s voice reverberates through the alley, and each word he says he sees Akutagawa raise to his level. Body tensing, face frowning, ready to explode at the same level Atsushi is. Because if there’s one thing they’re able to do, is to keep themselves on each other’s toes and work in tandem.
“I’m not dead, Atsushi!” Akutagawa screams back, his voice hoarse and loud. It rattles Atsushi’s bones.
It’s the first time Akutagawa has ever said his name properly.
(It’s also very fitting that it happened right when they’re arguing.)
“Yes, you’re not! And I don’t know what to think about it!”
Akutagawa flares. It’s so quick, but Atsushi’s used to it so he sees everything go down. Akutagawa groans, grits his teeth, and soon one of Rashomon’s tendrils is circling his waist tight and almost painfully.
He brings Atsushi closer with a movement of his wrist, and now they’re invading each other’s space. “Should I die for you again , Atsushi?!” Soon, there’s a hand on Atsushi’s jaw, fingers digging on his skin. “Because I wouldn’t regret, just like the first time.”
The sob that breaks free of Atsushi’s mouth is loud. Soon he’s crying again, he’s a mess because he’s so tired, so rubbed raw, that there’s no way in hell to keep his emotions in check. He’s not even trying anymore.
He can’t look at Akutagawa’s face, not this close. If he does, he’ll see the way his eyes are also pained.
“Please don’t.” Atsushi whispers.
He can’t, because Akutagawa is holding his chin so tightly he can’t bear to move, but if he could, his head would be on Akutagawa’s shoulder. He’s sure it’s not a comfortable shoulder. Akutagawa is a bony, bony , person. So, he does the second best thing he can do.
Atsushi closes his eyes tightly.
“What do you want?” Akutagawa’s voice is rough, mean, and cutting, but Atsushi knows this. He knows his desperation because it’s the one that lives inside of him.
(The Tiger, the creature that keeps desperation at bay, is incredibly dormant now.)
He’s got no structure to reply now, only sob and cry . Everything he’s been holding in, every tension he hid through these last few terrifying months, goes out of him like a dam breaking.
The hold on his chin loosens. Faintly Atsushi can feel Akutagawa’s cold fingers on his warm cheeks, drying his tears in simple swipes with a gentle pressure. As if Akutagawa knows how to dry tears.
(He does.
Akutagawa is nothing but a very caring brother, so of course he knows.)
Atsushi’s waist is still restrained by Rashomon, but his arms aren’t. With shaking hands and closed eyes, Atsushi slowly snakes his hands around Akutagawa’s waist and hugs him.
Akutagawa is just as bony as Atsushi has ever known, but there’s something different in this version of the man standing in front of him: he trembles like a hummingbird. Akutagawa is shaking, controllably so but still is, like a very big hummingbird in Atsushi’s arms.
With this, Atsushi hugs him tighter.
They’re in a weird position, with Akutagawa’s hand stuck on Atsushi’s cheek, while the other one floats around uselessly and Atsushi holds on as tight as he can. They stay like this, with the rain falling, the puddles wetting their shoes, Rashomon as protection above them and still not letting go of Atsushi’s waist, never letting go.
It takes some time for Atsushi’s dead grip to turn into something less intense, and even more time for him to breathe without hiccupping his way through oxygen. But in the meantime, Atsushi cries so much that his head eventually starts to pound.
Akutagawa holds him through it, never letting go.
“What do you want?” Akutagawa asks again, once Atsushi’s more in control of his body. He refuses to remove his head from Akutagawa’s shoulders, though. Akutagawa’s clothes smell like concrete dust, Atsushi realizes belatedly.
Atsushi shakes his head, because he doesn’t want to have to say it. In response, Akutagawa sighs.
(Later in the night, Atsushi will lay in bed and wonder about the softness in which Akutagawa treated him.)
“Can I show you what I want?”
Because Atsushi trusts Akutagawa with his life, this is something Atsushi agrees to. He nods, and feels when Akutagawa untenses and tenses again in his arms. He would’ve said something about it, but he doesn’t. They’re toeing suck a delicate line here, that Atsushi would rather keep his jokes very buried under the pile of emotions.
Akutagawa uses the hand on Atsushi’s cheek to guide him to raise his head. Out of Akutagawa’s shoulder, the air is much more humid and energized. He slowly dares open his eyes, and he’s met with Akutagawa looking at him with the lightest expression he’s ever seen the man using.
(It looks exactly like the way he looked at Atsushi when he died.)
Atsushi knows what’s happening, he closes his eyes and waits still and relaxed and waiting. He and Akutagawa are two sides of the same coin, he knows what Akutagawa’s doing before he does it, and vice versa.
This is no different.
Akutagawa moves, oh-so slowly, getting closer and closer until his breath ghosts over Atsushi’s mouth. Time stops, Atsushi swears by everything that right by this second, they pressed an on-hold button for the entire world.
Akutagawa hovers, breathes in and out, and does it once again. It’s not hesitation, Atsushi knows it because he doesn’t feel any. No, it’s something else.
Appreciation, perhaps.
Atsushi counts his breaths and by the fifth, there’s the gentlest of grazes on his lips. There’s not a single thought in Atsushi’s mind other than the feeling of unbridled relief and sense of belonging.
He wishes to move, but Akutagawa was the one to offer to show him, so as a gentleman, Atsushi stays still, doesn’t rush it. The graze recedes, only for a second to come back more intensely.
Akutagawa kisses him.
Now, both of them are shaking like hummingbirds.
Akutagawa’s lips are… they feel so good. Akutagawa acts so good for Atsushi, that Atsushi whines at the back of his throat, hugs Akutagawa gentler but in a way that makes them come closer, bodies touching from lips to thighs.
The kiss ends too fast for Atsushi’s liking, and Akutagawa’s voice sounds wrecked when he speaks.
“This is what I want.”
Atsushi opens his eyes now, because how can he not? The man he fought against with claws, teeth and tail, who also fought by his side innumerous times, who died for him, has kissed him and Atsushi needs to look at him.
The world is softened and hazy when he opens his eyes, the rain so loud around them that the only reason Atsushi can hear Akutagawa is because of how glued to one another they are.
It’s raining, and they’re a mess, with clothes rumpled and dirtied, but Atsushi can’t think of anything better than to pull Akutagawa closer and kiss him again. Atsushi sighs into the kiss, opens his mouth slightly and there it is . Their lips fit together perfectly and this time the world doesn’t stop around them. Instead, Atsushi feels everything.
Including a small tendril of Rashomon rubbing his back, like the gentlest of snakes. Akutagawa’s hand that’s not on his cheek reaches for him, just above the point where Rashomon’s wrappings on his waist ends. There’s so much of Akutagawa on Atsushi.
The hand on his waist, the other on his cheek.
Rashomon on his waist and back.
Akutagawa’s lips on him.
Atsushi is in love .
He’s been for some time now.
And heavens above, this is overwhelming right now.
They break the kiss apart, but they stick close. Foreheads touching, Atsushi keeps his eyes shut, breathing in and out as they steal each other’s oxygen. They stay like this for so long that the rain turns into a drizzle.
Both of them sigh, almost at the same time, and back away from one another. Just then Atsushi is brave enough to open his eyes. He can feel his heartbeat in every single inch of his skin, bubbling with energy and happiness.
Akutagawa’s lips are a little bit swollen, there’s a small red spot forming on his forehead where they were touching. Atsushi wonders if he looks in a similar shape.
“I have to go home.” Atsushi says.
“Come to my house.” Akutagawa’s reply is so quick, lacking a brain-to-mouth filter, and Atsushi snorts. Akutagawa frowns in response.
“Kyouka…” Atsushi says, and there’s no need to elaborate further. Akutagawa hums in understanding. “But you can walk me home.”
It’s cute, the way that Akutagawa looks serious but feels eager. “I’ll take whatever Jinko offers me.”
As Akutagawa walks him home, Atsushi doesn’t wish to ask any complicated questions. Not when they’re feeling like uncapped wires. So he doesn’t ask what they are, who they are, again. There’s no need to.
Today, they won their tomorrow.
With that in mind, he can just ask Akutagawa tomorrow.
And every day after that.