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Quiet nights alone used to mean fear. A sense of dread hanging over him as he struggled to fall asleep, only to be met with chaos once he managed.
First the cold floor in a cell, hands and feet chained, like a beast in captivity.
Then it was the cold, damp alleyways of the Tsurumi and Naka wards.
Third, a futon in a small apartment. Suited to one person. Where the nightmares started to let up and allow him some peace of mind.
And last, but not least, a shared queen-sized bed situated in a high-rise penthouse overseeing the centre of Yokohama’s Naka ward. Here, the nightmares stopped.
It wasn’t the bed that kept them at bay, rather the person that had offered it to him. Offered his home, companionship.
His love.
When Atsushi met Chuuya there wasn’t some big fanfare, no fireworks or some instant infatuation. It was normal. Almost as if they hadn’t been on opposite ends of the law, opposing organizations. There was little fear on Atsushi’s end despite the warnings, and no hostility on Chuuya’s despite the expectations. They just talked, like normal people did. They grew closer like regular friends did. A growing sensation within Atsushi that he was positively enamoured with the older man’s entire being. Someone so seemingly perfect that it had to be a farce.
And it was, though he didn't mind it. Having that mask slip just a little behind closed door proved Chuuya was still undoubtedly human.
It made him want to explore those uncharted waters even more, those waters that were getting to know the man that he truly was. Ignoring the growing pit in his stomach, the fluttering of his heart, the nervosity he experienced when the other came a bit too close. He knew he was well and truly in too deep, only sinking further. He wanted to go down that path, but he also feared the consequences of what he’d find at the bottom.
Rejection, the inevitable sensation of drowning. Those were his expectations based on his own value, how he saw himself.
Nakajima Atsushi was a man with nothing to offer except himself, the idea that for some people that was enough, was foreign to him.
‘Worthless, ugly, an eyesore.’
The words that had been etched into his skin, whilst invisible to anyone else, were scars that Atsushi looked at day by day. Was confronted with his every waking second he spent. Nobody saw what he saw.
So it was when he received a call from his friend, completely inebriated, the sentence “Want to talk to you” barely audible, that the distress from his growing fondness evaporated for just one second. That he dropped everything and hurried over.
Chuuya liked to drink.
He didn’t like to get drunk.
A clear distinction Atsushi had come to find out, because being drunk meant relinquishing control over yourself. Something the older man absolutely hated with a passion, for fairly personal reasons. The mafioso was a lightweight, but he absolutely knew the limits of his own body. So if Chuuya was alone, and drunk, then that at least was worthy of some concern to the detective.
He found the other slumped over his desk by the time he arrived, awake, but seemingly deep in thought. A discernible rose tint draped over his face.
He didn’t know what he expected, he didn’t know what he even wanted.
Anything but this.
“I like you”
It was the only sentence he had spoken that night that was clear, without a hint of a slur or uncertainty, and yet it was the one that had fucked the younger man up the most.
Repeating to himself in panicked, hushed tones that Chuuya was intoxicated, so he couldn’t mean it.
He was just saying things, nothing more.
He’d forget in the morning.
Atsushi wouldn’t.
He’d take care of his friend and pretend it never happened.
‘You can’t do that’
He really couldn’t
When Chuuya woke the next morning completely sober he asked in a directive voice what he had said. The detective wasn’t a liar, and he wasn’t the kind to keep something like that a secret, no matter how badly he wanted to sweep it under the rug.
He expected denial, and instead was met with “Oh” “I really meant it, though.” Not a hint of shame palpable. All the young weretiger could think about was the ‘why’ of it. He didn’t ask, because he knew there was no point to the question.
The fear returned, not because of rejection, but because he could never give what the other man deserved, the realisation that he was more afraid than anything that Chuuya would give him a chance, only for him to mess it up by being himself. He wanted this more than anything, but a with mind so doubtful of itself, steeped in fear, he couldn’t. It felt selfish, like accepting the other’s feelings was a sin. Like he’d somehow fooled the man into thinking Atsushi was anything besides himself. There was a desperate, small voice in the back of his mind, yelling at him that it was okay to indulge. It was okay to accept.
It was okay to be loved. It was okay to love.
He couldn’t as he was. And Chuuya was perfectly fine with that. Simply giving the younger man a genuine warm smile and a softly uttered “Don’t worry, I understand.”
That’s where it should have ended, the detective thought. That’s the best way to end it, let Chuuya find someone else, someone worthy. Someone not so broken, unlovable, and insecure. He deserved that more than anyone else. He wanted Chuuya to be happier, and he felt like the only achievable way to do it was to crush his own feelings, stomp them down, and wait until the older man had moved on.
Letting go, he realized, was severely challenging. Falling in love was easy, letting go of love was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do in his life. Atsushi was weak, frail, and stupid. He couldn’t do it.
Feelings only continuing to grow larger until they threatened to spill out. The more he wanted to distance himself, the closer he ended up getting.
He tried to tell himself, remind himself about all the negatives surrounding the redhead.
He’s killed people.
‘So have I’
He’s a port mafia executive
‘Dazai-san used to be one too’
He’d kill you if he was ordered to
‘If he didn’t, he’d be executed for disobedience’
A pointless endeavour, to say the least. There was no argument, none that he believed. He wasn’t a good person, but neither was he strictly a bad person.
He was just Chuuya.
The same one who helped old- and disabled people cross a busy street when he thought nobody was paying attention to him ‘because he had a reputation to uphold’.
The guy who would drop whatever he was doing when he stumbled across a crying, lost child to make sure they got back safely no matter what.
Chuuya never yelled at Atsushi, never got impatient with him, and when he raised his voice at him it was purely out of concern, not frustration. Atsushi was the only one treated this way by the older man, who could blow up at the slightest of provocations from Dazai, or raised his voice in anger whenever his authority was called into question by anyone.
So when they found themselves behind locked doors, with all the time in the world at their hands, that’s when he broke. Tears spilling out almost as rapidly as the pace he was speaking at, the mafioso patiently sitting there, listening to the younger air his heart, his mind and all of his worries.
It all came back to the scars, and when Chuuya asked to see them, for the first time there was no hesitance in Atsushi. Gloved fingers traced the outlines of the marks adorning his stomach, down-cast eyes focused on the stories they told. A comfortable silence, only broken by a soft uttering of “I’ve never thought you were unsightly. Not once” sapphire eyes staring right back at his own as these words were said. The chain of hesitancy that had governed Atsushi’s actions, his self-control, snapped that instant. When he finally decided to give in to his selfish desire, to believe in his own merit a little more, and to trust Chuuya, who hadn’t wavered in his feelings for a single moment since that day a year ago. Clutching at the redhead’s shirt while strong arms wrapped him in a comforting warmth. Embracing one another like they never had with anyone before.
Never once did he care about Chuuya’s position, who he was, and it never mattered. He never dreamt of the other leaving the mafia, he never judged him for that affiliation. Dazai once asked him what he’d do if Chuuya was ordered to go after him, kill him. All he could think to say was “I hope he’d do it, for his own sake” Dazai wasn’t satisfied with that answer, but didn’t question the younger man any further either. When he came back about an hour later, a bitter look on his face he grumbled a low “He better keep treating you well”. A snarky comment to most people, but Atsushi understood he simply had difficulty admitting to himself that Chuuya was capable of doing things right, still being a bit petty while trying to accept it.
Their complicated relationship was a topic Atsushi had never dared to breach, one the redhead himself would never willingly bring up. He thought it was fine that way, because it wasn’t his business to begin with. It just became exceedingly difficult to ignore once the younger man realised that something about it plagued Chuuya’s mind. Something he would brush off immediately when the topic was so much as hanging in the air, not spoken aloud. It was a vulnerability that the man wasn’t willing to expose, and Atsushi would’ve let it for what it was if it wasn’t so clearly affecting the mafioso in ways that were clearly deeper and more scarring than the other was willing to admit.
It was none of his business, he knew that. He kept telling himself to ignore it, respect Chuuya’s wishes.
Some days Chuuya lingered in front of the mirror, looking at himself with eyes that were unfamiliar to the detective, a swirl of different emotions mixed in together, almost as if whoever he was staring at wasn’t the same person. It didn’t happen often, but when it did it was a tell-tale sign of Chuuya’s own mental state declining. Those days Atsushi made sure to just be there for him as much as he could, taking all the workload off the elder’s shoulders that he could take. He knew Chuuya would trust him when he was ready for it.
And he did.
Something had happened, spurred the older man on. Atsushi wasn’t sure what it had been, but he didn’t care. He’d never seen Chuuya cry until that day, so he dropped everything he was doing to wrap his arms around him, reassuring and comforting his sobbing lover that he was there for him and always would be. When the mafioso had ultimately calmed down, in a small voice he thanked the detective, thanked him for looking at him as his own person. Thanked him for never comparing him to someone else. Atsushi didn’t need to ask questions about that, for it was immediately clear what the other meant. What he wanted to say, and what partially seemed to plague his mind so much.
“Naturally, I fell in love with you after all” he had chuckled lowly. It left him wondering who would still spend their time comparing Chuuya and Dazai. The two weren’t alike at all, and were both incredibly competent in their own ways.
“Cheeky brat” the redhead had responded, a small smile gracing his face now.
All of it, the years of getting to know one another, getting comfortable with each other’s habits, was just a setup. A beginning. Confident in the statement that they knew each other better than anyone else did. Their nightmares kept at bay by each other’s presence. So this, all of it, was a natural progression of things. Chuuya’s slender fingers going through white hair, an almost serene sense of safety hanging over him. The man sitting next to him was everything to him, and knowing the other felt the exact same way about him was a luxury he’d spend every lifetime he had appreciating. The motion stopped as he felt a surge of sudden movement. An epiphany visible on Chuuya’s face as he looked down at Atsushi.
“Will you marry me?”
It was almost funny, how casual it came. No fanfare, no big gestures. That’s how they liked it, he supposed. This was their normal and Atsushi was here for all of it, he couldn’t be happier about the fact that he’d be able to be there for as long as they both would live. Spend all of his life with his lover, give himself, and everything he was to him. Couldn’t be happier to know that that was all Chuuya wanted, that it was enough, that he was enough.
Closing the distance between them, he muttered a fond “yes” before capturing the other’s lips in a soft kiss.