Archive of Our Own

His hands were trembling; he knew not from the feeling of it, but from what he saw as he looked down at the crimson slash of red across his palms, the faint smell of metal wafting from the ink that stained his hands. He felt numb, unaware of his surroundings. He was there, but at the same time he wasn’t.

He glanced up through strands of black hair clumped together with blood, barely making out the figure that loomed before him. He blinked once, twice, but the tears that welled in his eyes continued to do so with no signs of halting. His vision was murky and warped, but Dazai’s eyes locked upon his were as clear as the gun that he aimed at his forehead.

Even through tainted vision, akutagawa could see the way Dazai’s eyes shook.

The older clenched his jaw, teeth bared like a rabid dog. His face contorted into something of agony and despair, like he was choking back a sob, but not even a trickle of wetness contoured
his eyes.

Underneath the darkness that coated his pupils, Akutagawa couldn’t point out a hint of regret in Dazai’s eyes. They bore into his head like lasers, but no empathy for what he was about to do to him seemed apparent.

Dazai grit his teeth, eyebrows furrowed. “You’ve never lived up to my expectation, not after all the shit you did, not after all the lives you took, not after risking your own worthless life just to prove a point,” he spat. Each word directed at him felt like a knife driving deeper into an already-conflicted wound. “You think i should be flattered?” he scoffed. The grip on his gun only got tighter as he spoke. “I should be offended you think so lowly of me, Ryuunosuke. I’ve built you up and trained you relentlessly, and this is how you fucking repay me?” At this point, he was so overwhelmed with pure rage that the gun he held wasn’t pointed steadily at Akutagawa anymore. Dazai’s hands shook almost as much as his own. Despite how much he struggled to keep his composure, his words never faltered. “You’re a fucking scumbag. No- not even,” he laughed, but it was cut short. “You’re as fucking useless as the goddamn chewed-up gum stuck at the bottom of my shoe.”

Akutagawa didn’t process his thoughts as he hit the floor, already breathless from the weight of Dazai’s words on his back. The wind that was knocked out of his lungs as he fell hadn’t fully registered until he desperately gasped for a breath of air. Dazai’s shoe on his chest didn’t help him any better; it only dug deeper into his skin.

Akutagawa felt like screaming, crying and yelling until his throat was ripped from the inside-out, until he physically couldn’t handle the raw pain anymore. It was unbelievably overbearing, the nagging thoughts that scraped at the insides of his head: ones that consisted of Dazai‘s insults and his own doubts. He just wish his mentor would just fucking shoot him already and put him out of his misery.

But he couldn’t even recognize him anymore. It wasn’t the gun that was aimed at him that made him realize that, or his intent to kill his former subordinate. That feeling was always there, it wasn’t something that shocked Akutagawa completely, but the unwavering look in Dazai’s eyes as he looked down at the other was a sight he wouldn’t ever forget no matter how desperate he was.

This wasn’t the first time Dazai aimed a gun at Akutagawa, neither was it the first time he had a flair for killing the younger. But Dazai never lost his temper the way he had now, and it was terrifying.

Akutagawa felt his ribs crush in on him, around his heart, pushing and pulling against his insides like multiple pinballs rolling through his intestines. He felt sick, both physically and mentally.

He felt a surge of anger and resentment course through his body following the wave of sorrow that overcame him earlier. Akutagawa nearly retaliated, welcoming the burning sensation on his back as he began to activate his ability and call on Rashomon.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t know why, maybe he was too scared, too exhausted, but that feeling of rage that blossomed in him soon fell away as quickly as it emerged.

Akutagawa’s eyes were barely hung open, like a weight was pulling them closed.

Dazai spoke again, but his words came out only in a feeble whisper in contrast to the frenzied screaming from earlier.

“Atsushi always had more potential than you. You’re nothing more than a disappointment.”

His heel only pressed further into the boy beneath him, but the pain was muffled. The pain akutagawa felt wasn’t physical anymore. After years of torment, he would finally be free.

The mention of Atsushi startled him; he knew that Dazai had always liked Atsushi more than him, catering to him like he was his younger brother, but he never expected the older to voice it, especially in such a manner that made it seem like it was something not to be taken seriously, like it wasn’t personal. It was very much personal, but akutagawa knew. He knew he was never loved. Dazai didn’t care about the weight his words carried; that, or he had no idea how much they impacted the one at the other end of them. Dazai probably never felt an ounce of sympathy for Akutagawa, even after all the years they spent together.

It was easy to admit he was jealous of Atsushi and the admiration Dazai held for him, but after months that soon turned into years of directing all of his anger towards the boy who didn’t even ask to be taken in by the Armed Detective Agency, Akutagawa realized that he’d been upset at the wrong person this entire time.

It took him until he was on the brink of death by Dazai’s hands that it had all been for nothing.

The gun clicked, and all Akutagawa saw was white.

A shrill scream cut through the night air. The boy lurched forward, tumbling to the ground, eyes burning with tears made of acid. He let out a strangled cry, holding back the bile that began to rise at the back of his throat. His eyes were open, but he couldn’t see. Everything around him was black and he couldn’t bare it. The faint reminder of the nightmare that forced him back to consciousness burned behind his eyelids mercilessly.

He looked down at the palms of his hands, drenched in black. The metallic taste of blood inched along the inside of his mouth, and even with the constant swallowing, he couldn’t force away the flavor that lingered on his tongue.

Flaming tears trickled down his cheeks like poisonous snakes.

“Akutagawa?” the voice that spoke sounded muffled.

The boy clenched his fists. The name called from the mouth of the latter seemed foreign, like it didn’t belong to him.

“Akutagawa?” the voice called again, clearer this time. He could sense the urgency in the other’s tone.

Hands rested on his shoulders, delicately and barely there, like it was afraid of startling a rabid animal.

“Akutagawa,” the voice fell to a whisper, “what’s wrong?”

Everything around him was still dark and he couldn’t pinpoint who was talking to him, calling a name blindly into the air. His heart was pounding against his ribs like a bird in a cage.

“Where am I?” the boy spoke; his voice sounded like it come from someone else, someone far away. He wasn’t sure what was what anymore, all he knew was the nightmare that lingered in the depths of his memories. He clawed weakly at his scalp in a desperate attempt to rid his head of the haunting image of the barrel of a gun.

“You’re at the Port Mafia headquarters, Akutagawa. You’re in your room. You’re safe. I’m here with you.” Whoever spoke to him did so in a soothing manner, and it slowly began to ease him.

Akutagawa began to recollect his thoughts, his senses coming back to him as he took in his environment. Across from him sat Atsushi, balanced back on his haunches as he looked over at Akutagawa nervously, the hands on his shoulders never faltering.

If he wasn’t in such a distressed state of mind, Akutagawa would’ve been furious letting the other view him in such a vulnerable position. But he couldn’t muster up the energy to care anymore.

His stomach suddenly lurched, shaking his insides. Akutagawa pressed a hand to his mouth, doubling over from the pain that erupted inside him. An inhuman noise emerged from his mouth.

Atsushi gasped softly. “Oh, shit. Shit, Shit. C’mon, we need to get you to the bathroom so you don’t barf all over the carpet and get us both in trouble.” The weretiger grit his teeth as he mustered up all his arm strength to lift up Akutagawa, who seemed to have doubled in weight overnight. Atsushi dragged him towards the bathroom across the room, careful not to make any sudden noise that could potentially wake up the others that were sleeping in the rooms just a few meters away. Surprisingly, Akutagawa’s scream from earlier didn’t reach anyone besides Atsushi, who had been sleeping on the futon right beside him per Dazai’s orders.

Atsushi managed to bring the other to the bathroom in one whole, although Akutagawa was barely managing to hold on. He was still shaken up from the whole ordeal just a few moments ago, and he could hardly walk or see straight, too. He was able to reach the toilet, where he threw himself over the lid and emptied the food he consumed earlier (which, frankly, was only a bowl of miso soup).

Atsushi was crouched beside him, grimacing as the older gagged and coughed, not bearing to look at him for the sake of both of them. Atsushi had his hand on Akutagawa’s back for reassurance, and he could feel the cold sweat that drenched the latter’s shirt.

The white-haired boy didn’t say anything regarding the topic, because he knew Akutagawa would get upset with him, but it concerned him to see Akutagawa in the current state he was in; tears staining his cheeks, streams of sweat trickling past his forehead and down his neck, shivers racking his body. He wondered what could’ve possibly caused this to happen to Akutagawa, whether it was a nightmare or something worse.

On the other end, Akutagawa swallowed back the bitter taste in his throat. The pain in his chest was the only reminder that he was still alive and breathing, and he hated every second of it.

He blatantly ignored Atsushi when he spoke to him, the words becoming a mumbled mixture of sounds when they entered his ears. All Akutagawa focused on was the fading image of his nightmare, desperately trying to regain every last bit of it but failing miserably. The only thing he could remember was the lingering feeling of worthlessness and vulnerability, and the haunting figure of Dazai holding a revolver to Akutagawa’s forehead.

Akutagawa couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment in his nightmare that shifted his perception of his internal world and the external one he was unfortunate to have been born into. There was something about the position he withhold and the one that his mentor held in the past that had latched onto him and didn’t let go, ingrained into him like the lasting words on a tombstone.

What akutagawa managed to remember, however, was that he had become the one thing he feared the most.

Power was one of the only things that drove akutagawa forward. Being weak wasn’t an option, not in his eyes, so when he found himself in the position he was in currently, vomiting into the toilet, with only a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, he felt naked. He suddenly became conscious of everything, especially of the way Atsushi looked at him with such pity and concern in his eyes. He hated it. Akutagawa despised it so much.

“Why are you here?” Akutagawa asked with a sour tone, side-eyeing the younger. Atsushi visibly flinched, taken aback by the sudden question. His surprise merely lasted a second.

“It’s not important. Are you alright? I mean, obviously you’re not,” Atsushi huffed out a strangled laugh. “I was just a bit concerned, since this is... unusu-”

“You’re turning red, Weretiger,” Akutagawa interrupted. “Don’t do that.”

Atsushi only flushed more, completely caught off guard by Akutagawa’s comment, and he frantically searched for an excuse as to why he was getting so flustered by someone like him, and also searched for an answer as to why he had gotten so nervous when Akutagawa had looked at him, really looked at him, with something other than malice or spitefulness in his eyes.

Akutagawa stood up and headed towards the sink, while Atsushi spouted nonsense, trying to defend himself from whatever he assumed Akutagawa had meant from what he said earlier. The words entered one ear and left the other, and Akutagawa was too exhausted to even bat an eyelash at what the other was saying.

He leaned over the sink, letting the faucet run as he dipped his head into the water. Akutagawa’s thoughts blurred into an incoherent jumble and his eyelids burned with exhaustion. All he wanted to do was sleep, but at the same time it was the one thing he wanted to avoid at all costs.

The weretiger stood behind him, against the farthest wall of the bathroom. His eyebrows met in the middle, drawing worry lines across his forehead, and he opened his mouth to speak again but no words formed, so he pressed his lips closed. Akutagawa blinked wearily at him from the mirror.

“I have to go,” he spoke suddenly, his words cutting through the tense atmosphere like a blade through skin. Atsushi let out a noise of retaliation.

“Go? Go where?” The look on his face displayed discrepancy as he moved to block the door, but he fell away quickly when Akutagawa shot him a glare as he left the bathroom. He bolted down the dim lit hallway towards the dorm room, and Atsushi had no choice but to race after him. Methods to keep Akutagawa from leaving racked at his brain, but none of them seemed plausible as the other darted around the room, complete disdain plastered on his face.

“Hey,” Atsushi’s voice was no louder than a whisper, “Hey, hey- Akutagawa.” The boy flinched at the sound of his name, pulling on his coat at the same time. He tilted his head just slightly towards Atsushi, who stood at the doorway, staring at him with furrowed eyebrows and down-turned lips.

Akutagawa didn’t know himself where he was going, or why he had the urge to escape from the sight of the other, but his chest was throbbing and his head continued to spin, and all he wanted to do was run away. 

“Are you sure? I mean,” Atsushi huffed, “where are you planning to go at this time? and, and, were you not just barfing into the toilet two seconds ago? You can’t go anywhere in this state.” The boy’s concern filtered through his words and shocked Akutagawa.

In all honesty, Akutagawa felt so unbelievably pathetic showcasing his sworn enemy a side of himself that he kept hidden from everyone around him; a side only Dazai and his own sister have ever witnessed. He already knew of the image Atsushi held of him, and he was so afraid, so fucking afraid, of tainting it more than it is already. He already held Atsushi at such a pedestal, even though he was so unwilling to admit it, that he wouldn’t want a person who had Dazai’s validation — something he so desperately wanted — view him in the way he viewed himself.

Akutagawa was terrified of showing his true self.

He didn’t become aware of Atsushi slowly closing the distance between them until the latter reached out to grasp at his shoulders, all hesitance in his previous actions disappearing. tThe words that Atsushi spoke thereafter were no longer laced with cautiousness, but with a strong sense of anger and impatience.

“Akutagawa, Akutagawa. God! Are you even listening to me? Listen to me, for fuck’s sake. I don’t have a clue what happened to you just a second ago, why you woke up screaming like a goddamn banshee, but you have to fucking listen to me when i tell you to stay put and not to leave this building. You hear me? I can’t risk you hurting yourself by letting you run around carelessly. And, and- yeah! I know you’re capable of defending yourself, I know that better than anyone, but please, I can’t let you leave. I, I don’t know what’s going on with you, what you’re thinking or feeling, but, but... you don’t look good. You- you look pale, paler than normal, and sick, and... I need you to stay so I can take care of you and figure out what’s wrong!” Atsushi sucked in a breath, strangled and weak and defeated, hanging his head low, afraid of what Akutagawa was going to say, of how he was going to react, because Atsushi had never displayed this much affection towards the other — never expected to — but he would be lying if he said that he didn’t care about the other, even if it was just a little bit.

Akutagawa didn’t react right away, letting an awkward silence hang between the two of them, but the hands on his shoulders didn’t falter. Atsushi was unbelievably stubborn, but because of that Akutagawa felt like he could let his guard down, just for a second, just for a brief moment he wanted to let himself feel vulnerable and let himself be cared for.

Akutagawa let himself fall, fall into the weretiger’s arms, rest his head on the other’s shoulder, because he was so fucking exhausted that he couldn’t muster up the strength to care anymore. All of his emotions from all these years of torment had built up inside him, and it tired him out so damn much. Those emotions broke down his walls that he so relentlessly built up to hide behind, and now in this moment, he watched as they crumbled.

Atsushi‘s hold was warm, a warmth Akutagawa had never felt in his life, a warmth he so desired by the one he looked up to, but instead he received it from the boy he swore to kill since he first met him.

And it was an unforgettable feeling; one that Akutagawa welcomed with open arms.

Atsushi held him with arms wrapped around his neck. Initially, he had been surprised by the sudden display of affection, but it soon deteriorated as he hugged Akutagawa back, embracing him because he knew that the latter needed it now more than ever. He decided to push all his former feelings aside, the ones that made him hate Akutagawa, because despite all of the things the other has done to make him despise him so much, the strong urge of helping others overcame it; Akutagawa was just as human as the rest of them. Atsushi knew that being with Akutagawa in a moment where he felt so weak was far important than all the other moments they shared together. 

Akutagawa’s arms had fallen to his sides as he let Atsushi embrace him. His nose poked at the fabric of the other’s shirt, and the white hairs on the nape of his neck tickled Akutagawa’s face. Every spot on his skin that came in contact with Atsushi’s burned like fire on paper, but it only relieved him, a warm pleasure of pain as a sacrifice for a hurting comfort.

The awkward silence that enveloped them was soon replaced by a silent share of reassuring words.

After a few longing moments, Atsushi shifted on his feet, the grip around Akutagawa loosening as he held him at arm’s length to look at the other’s face.

Akutagawa avoided eye contact, his eyes resting on their bare feet, a deadpan expression worn on his face. Atsushi was unsure of what Akutagawa was feeling in that moment, whether the hug was something intentional, or if he was so out of it that the intimacy between them grew unnoticed.

“Akutagawa,” Atsushi breathed out. Akutagawa’s name on his tongue was far from foreign, each syllable pronounced with attentiveness. Atsushi ignored the rapid beat of his heart.

“You- you should sit and rest,” he paused when Akutagawa looked up at him, “You don’t have to sleep... if you don’t want to. It’s nearly dawn anyway,” Atsushi chuckled, a delighted noise that rumbled from his mouth. Akutagawa felt the tips of his fingers tingle as he watched the shy smile on the younger boy’s face, a genuine expression of amusement that Akutagawa never imagined he would ever witness.

The black-haired boy sighed, setting himself down on the mattress, the thin blankets crumbled at the foot of the bed. His fist gripped a handful of the fabric, anchoring himself to it before he decided to ignore Atsushi’s pleads and storm out.

“Well...” Atsushi began, “Do you... ah, I don’t know...” he muttered. Akutagawa looked up at him from his spot on the bed with half-lidded eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?” he said it with a feeble voice, curiosity taking the best of him. There was a hint of nervousness in his tone, almost like he was afraid of the answer to his question.

Akutagawa’s grip on the blankets tightened, eyes flickering anywhere but Atsushi’s eyes. He was visibly tense, unsure of whether he wanted to talk about his nightmare that had shaken him up more than anticipated.

Akutagawa couldn’t remember the specific details of his nightmare, of the angry words Dazai had spat at him before he shot him with the same revolver that he threatened him with many years ago, but it bothered him nonetheless. He silently thanked his brain for letting him forget most of the dream, because if he was able to recall those words, he would become nothing less of a monster, and that was something he wasn’t prepared for. Akutagawa was terrified of his humanity being ripped away from him, the little sliver of it he had left.

But the way Atsushi looked at him, with eyes so wide, full of hope, glimmering like orbs in a night sky, Akutagawa suddenly felt like giving himself up to the other, letting go of the incessant need for Dazai’s approval that ruined his life no matter how many times he tried to think otherwise. The look in Atsushi’s eyes was so expressive, a glint of something Akutagawa would never imagine obtaining for himself, and although his philosophy was preventing him from escaping the bonds that kept him grounded at one spot in his life, he felt the urgent desire to ignore the effects of his upbringing up until this point. Akutagawa was jealous of Atsushi, an intense, consuming feeling, but those emotions he held for the other and the one he looked up to drained him so much, and he wasn’t sure how long he could hold up the facade for. Watching the myriad of colors swim in Atsushi’s eyes made him dizzy, like he was hypnotized. He wanted more.

Akutagawa looked away, a part of his brain calling him a coward. Atsushi picked up the clues in the other’s movements, and he knew he shouldn’t press any further about the incident. Akutagawa was grateful for that; he didn’t want to witness Atsushi’s reaction to his nightmare. He didn’t want him to lose that glimmer in his eyes.

“It’s alright,” Atsushi affirmed. “I’ll leave you alone for a bit.”

Akutagawa looked up again. “Stay.” His voice gave out at the end when he processed what he had said, a crack in the word when he spoke the last syllable. Atsushi’s eyes widened, although he tried to conceal his shock. The former didn’t bother hiding it anymore, albeit he felt embarrassed by the change in attitude. It was something he never would’ve imagined voicing outloud; asking for the comfort of another person, especially when that person was his supposed rival. He wanted to regret it, but when Atsushi slid onto the mattress beside him without hesitation, he found himself enjoying the presence of the other. Even though his usual self would’ve ran away by now, Akutagawa could no longer help it. With the moon casting its glow on the window, he felt like the two of them were the only people left in this world.

“Yes, I mean, yes, of course. Whatever you like,” Atsushi stammered. “How are you feeling?”

Akutagawa didnt reply right away, contemplating whether it would be okay to tell Atsushi the truth or not. He felt an urge to keep quiet, to not tell him just yet. Maybe there will be another moment where the two were close enough to disclose such information. For now, it was something Akutagawa wanted to keep hidden, before he completely decided to open up to Atsushi.

The acceptance that Akutagawa and Atsushi were going to have future moments such as this slipped past Akutagawa’s mind, almost naturally so.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m fine, Nakajima,” Akutagawa chose to say. he watched as Atsushi nodded from the corner of his eye, violet-yellow eyes tracing the movement on the older’s face. Akutagawa’s eyebrow twitched.

“I can make you some tea, if you’d like,” Atsushi said eventually. He didn’t tear his eyes from Akutagawa. The latter blinked.

“Yes, actually. I would like that.” Despite Atsushi’s lack of knowledge in the culinary arts, his skill in making tea was pristine. Akutagawa recalled the time Dazai had brought green tea to the Port Mafia headquarters, stating that it was all Atsushi’s doing as he handed it out to the mafiosos who accepted it with content. Akutagawa made a mental note to try and thank Atsushi later for his surprisingly good talent at making tea.

When Atsushi left down the corridor, Akutagawa let out a strangled breath, shoulders slumping in defeat. He felt relieved, he wasn’t sure why, but Akutagawa felt like he could finally relax, even if it was just for a few moments.
 
That relief lasted but only a minute, as something in the corner of his peripheral vision caught his eye. Akutagawa’s curiosity got the best of him, and his feet carried him to the adjacent desk from where he sat.

Upon the wooden desk sat a few unknown books, stacked neatly in a corner. A thin layer of dust coated the cover of the top book, one without a title. Akutagawa didn’t think much of it, for this wasn’t even his room. To be fair, he didn’t really have a specific dorm room, as he was never looking for sleep, something so unnatural to him. When he joined the Port Mafia, Mori had given him a room to share with Gin —his sister — but even then he only ever slept in that room a handful of times. A personal bedroom wasn’t one of Akutagawa’s needs; if he wanted to be alone, he didn’t have to put in an effort to scare away those around him into leaving him in solitude.

Now that the subject became aware to him, Akutagawa wasn’t sure how earlier that night he ended up on a bed, asleep. He didn’t know how long he had been sleeping, or why he was there in the first place. Most of all, he didn’t even want to begin to question as to why Atsushi Nakajima of all people had been sleeping in the same room, a mere couple of feet away.

Akutagawa avoided sleep because he deemed it a waste of time. On top of that, he wasn’t keen on having nightmares occur every time he lost consciousness only to wake up in a cold sweat, sobs scratching at his throat as he stopped the urge to have a coughing fit. Mori almost always had work for Akutagawa to do anyway, and he eagerly accepted the tasks to avoid the feeling of uselessness. Even when there wasn’t much to do, he always found some form of labor. The port mafia rarely had breaks, and as a relentless mafioso ability user, Akutagawa pressured himself into living up to his title.

Akutagawa continued to observe the objects adorning the desk, eyes flicking from left to right. He took account of the hand sanitizer in the corner, along with a box of bandaids. There were a few crumbled sheets of paper thrown astray, but Akutagawa didn’t bother picking them up. This wasn’t his room, after all.

He turned just slightly, towards the item that initially caught his attention. Akutagawa felt his breath catch in his throat, eyes widening in inherent shock. Je didn’t process it right away, and just stared.

The picture frame was coated in silver, and it glistened in the moonlight like it was polished and new. The photo inside, however, was desaturated in the corners, and there were folds marked deeply into the paper, like it had been tucked into a pocket for a long time.

In the photo, with a black and white filter like it was taken in the 80’s, sat Ango, Oda, and Dazai in that order. They were perched on bar stools, and Oda held an alcoholic drink in his hand with a round ice cube floating in the middle. Two of them had emotionless expressions plastered on their faces, looking dead set into the camera — except for Dazai, who presented himself with an uneasy smile on his lips. The atmosphere was tense, sad almost, like there was something deeper present in their eyes. Especially Dazai, who was the only one smiling, seemed to know more than what was shown on camera.

The three seemed like strangers to akutagawa, despite them being affiliated with the port mafia (albeit only temporarily). Even Dazai, who seemed foreign in his old mafia attire, bandages covering the majority of his face, triggered an all too-familiar feeling deep down in Akutagawa’s gut. He tried swallowing down the bile that began forming at the back of his throat, but the aching feeling in his chest forced it back up, and Akutagawa coughed violently in a feeble attempt to rid his mouth of the bitter taste that had settled on his taste buds.

The boy gripped the picture frame weakly, fingers tense around the lining. The initial shock soon subsided, replaced by burning feelings of confused anger, overcoming Akutagawa in waves as he sought for an answer to his various questions.

Why was there a picture taken of Dazai, Ango, and Oda from over five years ago? Why was it framed, and kept here? Was Atsushi holding onto it? How did he get his hands on the photo, one with a history behind it that Akutagawa swore Atsushi didn’t know of, and why?

Unpleasant memories began flooding Akutagawa’s mind, memories he promised to keep locked away, memories that — despite his silent pleads — broke free anyway, and now he stood trembling once more, flashbacks of Dazai and what he did to him replaying in his head like a film.

Suddenly it felt like a dozen hands were closing in on him, on his face, on his neck, on his arms and his body until he felt like he was trapped in one confined space, cold fingers pressed to his nose and mouth, preventing him from breathing.

Akutagawa heaved desperately, like his passageway became clogged with debris and dirt, and the air around him turned into something unbreathable.

He blinked harshly, once, twice, focusing on one spot on the wall in front of him until Akutagawa could finally swallow a breath.

The overwhelming sense of panic drifted for a bit, while the boy attempted at regaining his composure, but he suddenly jerked his head up until his eyes met the ones in the window reflection; dark slits with a murderous intent visible beneath them. Its familiarity struck akutagawa in the gut, and he felt a genuine pang of fear.

He stumbled back, Dazai’s relentless eyes boring still into his skull, and he tripped over his own feet, and Akutagawa hadn’t noticed he fell on his back until he attempted to take a breath and his lungs gave out, like a weight was pressed onto his chest. He was stricken with fear, so much so that all he focused on were Dazai’s eyes in the reflection of the window, but in a blink of an eye, they were gone, no remnants that they were ever there left. The lingering feeling of familiarity struck Akutagawa.

Now, Akutagawa sat on the wooden floor, his body leaning on his elbows as he attempted to pull himself upright, but every inch of his body was shaking so much that he struggled to get himself up without slipping.

Akutagawa squeezed his eyes shut to try and shut out the image of Dazai that appeared every time he opened them. Once he opened them again, his eyes traveled to the fallen picture frame that laid on the ground, face down with the back of the photo exposed. Akutagawa took a glimpse of the words written messily on the back.

“To Dazai.”

His eyes fell away, jaw clenched.

The door behind him opened with an agonizing creak, and behind it revealed Atsushi, who stood with two cups held tightly in his fists. He looked slightly disheveled — now that Akutagawa took a closer look at him — and his clothes were tattered and worn, clinging loosely to Atsushi’s frame. 

The weretiger stared at the boy on the floor, eyebrows furrowed in sheer confusion, absorbing the scene in front of him. An awkward silence hung in the air.

Atsushi was the first to speak. “Why- why are you on the ground?” He hadn’t moved from his spot at the doorway, and Akutagawa hadn’t moved from his spot on the cold floor.

Akutagawa realized then how ridiculous he looked, moving to get up when Atsushi spoke again.

“Hey, what’s that on the floor?” he questioned, stepping over Akutagawa to pick up the picture frame. The cups of tea were left abandoned on the desk.

Akutagawa suddenly leaped to grab the frame before Atsushi could, but the latter had already grabbed it, and now it rest in the palm of his hand.

Akutagawa pressed closer until he took note of the crack that appeared on the glass, spiraling right down the center of the frame. Atsushi’s eyebrows furrowed even more.

“I thought I hid this better,” he stated solemnly, placing it in the desk drawer before Akutagawa could find the words to protest.

Atsushi pushed past him, pressing the cup of tea into the other’s hands before settling on the bed, lapping gently at the steaming water.

“Why do you have that photo?” Akutagawa finally asked, 1 out of the dozen questions that burned in his head. Atsushi’s eyes met his, head still bent to drink the tea. His gaze dropped quickly.

“Dazai gave it to me. He didn’t want to hold onto it anymore; something about it being a painful reminder of his time in the Port Mafia, I guess. He asked me to hold onto it, although I’m not sure why. I’ve learned not to question that man.” Atsushi looked at Akutagawa again. “I’m sure you can understand why.”

Atsushi’s reply answered about two of Akutagawa’s questions, at most.

He decided against questioning him more, however, even when his curiosity was at its peak. He realized that he probably wouldn’t get much out of him anyway, and a part of him was denying the need to know the answers to his questions.

Akutagawa finally acknowledged the cup of tea in his hands, slowly bringing it to his lips with thin fingers gripped around the handle, swallowing hesitantly as he felt Atsushi’s deep-set eyes on his face. Despite the staring, it wasn’t something Akutagawa felt completely bothered by, seemingly comforted by the thought of Atsushi presenting an unknown curiosity to the boy — one that didn’t affect him as it normally would‘ve.

The weretiger felt too close. Then again, Akutagawa didn’t want to push him away.

The tea felt sweet and bitter on his tongue, a familiar taste that quickly distracted him from the previous events. A taste that accompanied him on late-night trips to the Yokohama port, a taste that accompanied him when the cold wind enveloped Akutagawa in a painfully comforting feeling, a taste that accompanied him when he passed directly in front of the Armed Detective Agency in hopes of catching a glimpse of Atsushi (something he would never admit, though); a taste that he felt pour down his throat as he walked faster during those nights, faster than normal, to avoid thoughts that seemed to cling onto him like leeches. He would drink the tea in a desperate manner, downing the entire cup before he disappeared into the darkness, away from the streetlights that glowed unnaturally bright in the dead of night, away from the agency’s building, away from that damn weretiger — who now sat in front of him, eyes still on Akutagawa, lips still on the brim of the cup, and he would look away when the other felt confident enough to look in his direction, as if his staring wasn’t blatantly obvious. Akutagawa swallowed more, the liquid running across his tongue, before his throat didn’t feel dry any longer, and words became easier to form in his mouth.

“Come with me, Weretiger. Before I change my mind.”

Akutagawa watched as Atsushi hesitated, eyebrows knitted across his forehead, the gears in his head slowly turning as he came up with a dozen different ways to escape if Akutagawa was planning his murder right then and there. But the way the black-haired boy spoke to him was with empty malice; a sudden hint of harmless fortitude replacing the threatening aura that was usually present in his tone.

Atsushi finally stood up, giving Akutagawa a questioning look as he slowly followed behind him.

The hallway was quiet aside from the pair’s footsteps that padded softly against the wooden floor.

Akutagawa kept his head hung low, hands balled into fists as he buried them in his coat pockets, forcing himself to keep his shivering to a minimum. The dorm rooms at the Port Mafia headquarters were always kept at a low temperature, partially one of the reasons why Akutagawa always kept his distance from it. He couldn’t tolerate the cold, despite it being the only thing he felt.

The only evidence that showed Atsushi kept following him was the sound of him sipping on the tea. His footsteps were unusually quiet, and Akutagawa’s abnormally loud, so it easily drowned out the noise of the other. The slurping, however, was still echoing against the walls, and Akutagawa clicked his tongue in annoyance. He glanced over his shoulder, glaring at Atsushi, who only glared back, sticking his tongue out like a child. The former rolled his eyes, continuing on down the hallway, stomping louder in an attempt to rid the constant sound of the weretiger drinking the tea. Atsushi only drank it louder.

Even in (near) complete silence, the two still found ways to annoy the other. It was almost impressive.

Akutagawa neared the end of the hallway, passing a door with a poorly written sign taped to it. He recalled it as dazai’s old dorm room. On the paper read “DAZAI’S ROOM” in a multitude of colors, scratched on messily. Below it read in smaller letters “Shut up, you bastard.” Akutagawa easily recognized it as Chuuya’s handwriting. He wondered why it was never taken down, especially by Chuuya himself, but he guessed even Chuuya didn’t bother tearing apart a memory from the past, even when it was something so childish.

The two approached the empty stairwell that loomed intimidatingly above them. They made their way to the top, Atsushi steadily in line behind the other.

Akutagawa stopped in front of the door, one with an exit sign illuminating the top, bathing the corner in a deep red. Atsushi peeked over his shoulder as he motioned to open the door. He reached out, snatching his arm away before it could reach the door knob.

“Wait. The fire alarm — won’t it go off?” Atsushi observed. “This is the fire escape right?”

Akutagawa paused, confused, then regathered his thoughts as he realized.

“Oh right.” He looked down at the weretiger, who stood a step below him. “It’s broken.” The door fell open, the fading moonlight illuminating the once dark hallway. Atsushi lifted an eyebrow.

“What happened?” he asked, curiosity evident in his change of tone. 

He recalled an incident five or six years ago, involving one of Chuuya and Dazai’s daily arguments. He hadn’t been there when it happened, but he heard word from Gin of what occurred that night — something along the lines of “Chuuya throwing a ball of compressed gravity at Dazai’s face, hitting the fire alarm in the process.” It was honestly a relief, to be honest. Kajii was always setting off the fire alarm with his bomb contraptions, so the Port Mafia never got around to fixing it after Chuuya had broken it. It saved the rest of them the annoyance of having to listen to the awful blaring of the alarm every week.

In response to Atsushi’s inquiry of what had happened, Akutagawa simply replied with, “Chuuya happened.”

Atsushi paused, then stifled a giggle behind him, covering his amused face with calloused fingers. The boy across from him turned around, looking down the stairwell as the moonlight slipped around him and enveloped Atsushi’s face in a soft glow. His eyes were pinched shut in a content manner, and despite half his smile being buried behind his hand, a corner slightly curled up over the arch of his index finger. Akutagawa couldn’t help but stare like a lost puppy.

Once Atsushi’s smile faded, Akutagawa turned around as if he saw nothing. He felt unworthy of laying eyes on someone who displayed such a look of delight; especially someone like Atsushi, who shared a part of him far too personal for his enemy to witness.

Atsushi didn’t seem to notice the way Akutagawa looked at him, and instead continued up the staircase until the two of them stood shoulder-to-shoulder under the lucid sky.

Akutagawa swallowed the lump in his throat and managed to say, “Come, let’s sit down.”

Atsushi nodded obediently. They both found a spot at the edge of the roof overlooking Yokohama, feet dangling over the edge as they absorbed the twinkling lights beneath their exposed toes. The wind carried a sweet scent to it, eliciting a quiet hum from Akutagawa. He soon felt his muscles relax.

Atsushi visibly relaxed beside him as well, stealing glances over at Akutagawa who pretended not to notice. It was hard, however, since his gaze felt like a visible force against his side.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Akutagawa calmly drinking his tea that had already dropped a few degrees due to the chill from the night breeze. Atsushi nonchalantly knocked his foot against the other’s.

The serenity felt nice after the constant pounding of Akutagawa’s heart from his sudden nightmare, and Atsushi’s presence seemed to calm him down more than anticipated. He expected the weretiger to stress him out more than initially, but it was quite the opposite. Akutagawa would’ve never have thought that Atsushi had the ability to soothe him. They haven’t even argued once tonight, albeit it baffled the black-haired to no extent. He decided to give the other credit for maintaining a harmonious atmosphere.

Akutagawa became so caught up in his own drifting thoughts that he paid no attention to the boy beside him, holding his bruised fingers in his palm.

“What, what are you doing?” Akutagawa asked, eyes slightly widening in surprise. Atsushi’s touch was cold against his, but he knew his own wasn’t any warmer.

The weretiger huffed, lifting Akutagawa’s hand up so they both could see it better in the dim light. He took note of the countless scratches that littered the skin on his palm and fingertips. Now that he took a good look at them, Akutagawa felt them throb with pain, burning red.

“What the hell happened to your hands?” Atsushi asked almost angrily, staring daggers into his palms.Hhis own hands looked no better, the only difference was that his bruises weren’t fresh, tainting his skin a muddled green.

Akutagawa didn’t pull away yet, letting his fingers rest between Atsushi’s. The other didn’t seem to notice.

“I fell.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I did. Didn’t you see me on the floor?”

Atsushi squinted his eyes, searching for any signs of dishonesty in Akutagawa’s eyes. He sighed after realizing there was none.

“Fine,” he dropped the other’s hand. “Those are some pretty bad bruises. You should get them checked out.”

Akutagawa scoffed at Atsushi’s comment, a soft chuckle escaping from his lips. The white-haired boy blinked at him before giggling along, shielding half his face with those bruised fingers of his. There was nothing particularly funny in that moment that could’ve made the two of them laugh in unison, but a lighthearted aura encased the two in an isolated box of their own, and so they laughed at the tension between them — or rather, the lack thereof.

They laughed as if they have been friends for years, as if they weren’t enemies bound to kill each other. They laughed like children, because God knows the two were stripped of any moments that could’ve fulfilled a somewhat normal childhood. They felt the need to look for those moments once again; even when they had no idea where to search.

They found themselves on the rooftop of the Port Mafia headquarters at five in the morning, the sun threatening to spill over the horizon. Two adults who were desperately searching for reasons to be children again, and they had found it in each other.

Akutagawa drank his tea once more, a soft smile still lingering on his lips.

“You know,” Atsushi began, “they’re starting to call us the new Double Black.”

The boy sitting beside him looked over, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. The weretiger knew his eyes were on him, yet he refrained from meeting them, instead resting his gaze on the buildings beneath their feet. Atsushi leaned back on his hands, ignoring the way the uneven concrete dug into his palms. 

“Who is calling us that?” Akutagawa asked, vaguely remembering the multiple attempts Dazai had into making the two of them work together.

Atsushi knew, too, that Dazai was persistent in having the two be partners. He was going to mention his name, but decided against it; a part of him felt the need to avoid bringing him up in the conversation to prevent any sudden decline in mood.

“People; here and there. I have my connections,” Atsushi said with a grin.

Akutagawa stayed silent for a few moments afterwards, the thought of them following in Chuuya and Dazai’s footsteps as the new Double Black flooding his mind. He knew it wasn’t too far-fetched, as they have shown in the past their abilities in coordinating quite well (looking past the rapid tirade of insults they throw at each other every minute). If Akutagawa continued to dwell on it, he knew he would come to regret ever considering the idea, but in the spur of the moment, it didn’t seem too bad.

“We can barely get along. How would we be partners?” Akutagawa could’ve agreed, but his ego was far too big and he wasn’t keen on crushing it to please the weretiger. What he said wasn’t a complete lie, either.

Atsushi’s grin only got wider, cockier even.

“We seem to be getting along just fine now, aren’t we?”

Akutagawa’s breath hitched in his throat and he attempted to inhale, resulting in a flurry of heaving coughs. His hand instinctively clutched his chest. He would be lying if he said that Atsushi’s statement didn’t catch him off guard, but then again, lies never stopped him.

Atsushi visibly shifted, suddenly growing uncomfortable as he searched for a way to console Akutagawa. The latter stopped coughing before he could figure something out, and Atsushi sighed in relief.

“You alright, dude?” Atsushi asked, then paused after he realized what he had called Akutagawa.

The boy next to him flinched, hand still gripping onto the front of his shirt. He shot the weretiger a glare before dropping his fist and and grabbing hold of his nearly-empty cup of tea. He drank the remains to ease the scratch in his throat.

“I’m fine,” Akutagawa said hoarsely. The words came out more aggressively than intended, so to compensate, he relaxed his gaze until his placid facade made itself present. Atsushi seemed to adopt that facade and placed it on himself, concealing his worries with an indifferent expression. 

The silence fell upon them once again, until Akutagawa was the one who, surprisingly, broke it.

It had been nagging him ever since the two of them step foot onto the roof, and now it bothered Akutagawa to the brink of annoyance.

“Take my goddamn coat, Weretiger. It’s exasperating watching you tremble like a wet cat.”

Atsushi blinked, opening his mouth to retaliate but no words came out except a strangled sound that mimicked the surprised grunt of a tiger.

Fitting, Akutagawa thought.

He pressed the cold jacket into Atsushi’s arms, silently regretting it as the cold wind made its way around his frail body. Goosebumps arose throughout his pale arms and he fought the urge to press closer to Atsushi for warmth. The latter didn’t put on the coat right away, gripping onto it with his hands as his thumbs rubbed circles on the fabric. His expression was unreadable as he stared intently at it before slipping it around his shoulders.

“Thanks,” Atsushi mumbled, fiddling with the sleeves as his chills soon ceased.

Even though Akutagawa and Atsushi were about the same height and had the same figure, Akutagawa noticed that the collar stretched a bit too far on the weretiger’s neck, and the sleeves fell a bit too long on his hands. The coat snugged his waist, although a bit looser than the way it hugged Akutagawa, wrapping around his body like a mold.

“Aren’t you the one who’s always cold?” Atsushi argued.

Akutagawa simply huffed, turning his head away to show his reluctance. He continued to ignore the cold air that threatened to tear into his fragile skin.

The black-haired boy found himself staring at Atsushi for a beat too long, and the other didn’t fail to notice. He glanced over, eyes glazing over Akutagawa’s own in a feeble attempt of reading him. They sat close enough to touch skin, the space between them subtracting as time passed. The two didn’t notice that they both had unconsciously moved closer with every word they spoke to each other. At other times, they would go at such lengths to avoid the other, to place more empty air between them in fear of edging too close, but this moment proved otherwise as they let their feet dangle over the edge of the towering Port Mafia building, bare feet rocking back and forth and catching the wind between their toes. They were always so desperate to anger the other, so it was a surprise for the two of them to sit in such utter silence and peace. Both Akutagawa and atsushi Wondered why they hadn’t done this earlier, staying mute in order to preserve the serenity that they persevered for. Usually, five minutes wouldn’t last without one of them provoking the other with insults or unnecessary comments. They pretended not to notice the development of their relationship, even after the constant bickering was thought to have thrown their relationship over the edge.

They were destined to be enemies, yet Atsushi only pressed his thigh against Akutagawa’s as if the past was nothing but unimportant memories. They shared a sunrise that otherwise wouldn’t be witnessed sitting side-by-side. They shared Akutagawa’s coat, even after the boy insisted for Atsushi to wear it himself. The weretiger was far too persuasive, so akutagawa succumbed to the warmth being offered to him for the first time, even if it was both literal and figurative.

They shared that warmth as if it was the last good thing they would have, because they knew their future would only consist of pain from then on. They knew this, and that’s why they allowed the rest of their cares to float away like dust in the wind.

In a few moments time, the sun spread its vast arms around the sky, encasing it in a multitude of soft hues like a painter wielding their brush. The moon whispered its last goodbye as the stars flickered their final lights before retreating across the horizon. 

Akutagawa hummed, pleased, when the heat from the sun’s light bathed him in a benevolent hug. His skin tickled from the new sensation, the suffocating chill dying down as the rays engulfed them. 

The city had not yet bustled to life, only a few cars roaming the streets, and so Akutagawa was able to pick up on Atsushi’s steady breathing from beside him. He turned his head discretely only to realize that the other had his eyes closed, his head raised towards the changing sky. For a mere second, Akutagawa was sure the boy had fallen asleep, but Atsushi stirred, and violet-yellow eyes met his.

“The view is quite nice,” Atsushi commented, turning his gaze back towards the sunrise. 

Akutagawa remained quiet, yet found himself silently agreeing nonetheless.

His own gaze hadn’t left Atsushi’s, even after the other broke eye contact moments prior. He traced the delicate features on the weretiger’s face, mesmerized by the way the sunlight shifted as it grazed his cheeks. Akutagawa never saw Atsushi in the way he saw him at that moment, previously blinded by rage that he never sought out the boy for he was, never made an effort into searching past face value. Now, however, entranced by the way colors danced on Atsushi’s face, he looked like everything Akutagawa wished to be. Yet, the feeling wasn’t coated with jealousy as it typically would’ve been; he only watched on with pure admiration.

“You should learn to be less obvious when staring,” Atsushi teased, a humorous grin playing on his lips.

“Fuck off, Weretiger.” The other bit back a cough and swiftly looked away from Atsushi, finding anything seemingly interesting on the streets to focus his attention on. Akutagawa was unwilling to admit his disappointment from having been found out so quickly.

Atsushi only gave a mild chuckle in return, tugging onto the coat in order to cover his exposed skin. Akutagawa inched closer instinctively, shying away from the cold wind. The weretiger noticed this and attempted to hide the redness creeping up his cheeks from the close proximity the two were. Unfortunately for Atsushi, it was no longer dark out, and so he failed inevitably. Akutagawa felt his lips flutter into an amused smile.

A few moments passed submerged in serene silence, a mutual offering from the both of them in order to enjoy the sunrise in its entirety.

The night had fallen away as quickly as it came, and Akutagawa’s nightmare soon drifted towards the back of his head, courtesy of Atsushi. Akutagawa wouldn’t forget the scarring image of Dazai’s tormented face and the shallow barrel of the gun in between his eyes, but for the time being, he managed to forget, and he suddenly had it in him to thank the weretiger he so wished to despise.

“I ought to get going now,” Akutagawa spoke into the wind, the words vanishing in the air. He stood up from where he sat, shaking off the tingles that struck his legs the moment he stretched them out. Time had slipped from his hands, and he didn’t desire a lecture from Mori first thing in the morning. Despite his reluctance to being late to work, the time spent beforehand was worthwhile — Akutagawa didn’t attempt to deny it.

Atsushi watched as the other began making his leave, quietly observing, thoughtful eyes following his every move. Unspoken words sat on his tongue, a burning reminder.

Akutagawa was descending down the fire exit when Atsushi scrambled to his feet to chase after him, his coat still clinging to his shoulders. The wind whistled past his ears, ringing incessantly, but he brushed past it without giving it a second thought. Atsushi was unsure as to why he followed Akutagawa, unsure about the entire night, frankly, but they were both in too deep to care.

Atsushi’s hand found Akutagawa’s, and the latter flinched aggressively, spinning around on his heel to give Atsushi a sullen glare. He spoke not a word, even when hundreds of them danced in his mouth.

Atsushi’s lips formed an unspoken sentence; the only noise escaping was a strangled sigh. Akutagawa felt the other’s fingers tighten their grip on his wrist. He was almost certain Atsushi could feel his rapid pulse beneath the skin that concealed it.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments — ones that stretched far too long for the air between them to remain void of awkwardness.

“Your coa-“

“Thank yo-“

The two paused mid sentence, eyes widening in surprise.

“You first,” Akutagawa mumbled, avoiding facing the weretiger who looked at him with inquisitive eyes. Atsushi hesitated, releasing his hold on Akutagawa’s wrist once the reality of it came to light.

“Your coat — I’m giving it back. It’s far too cold to be walking around without one,” he announced, pulling it off and handing it to the other in a swift motion. Akutagawa blinked down at the black fabric before slipping it around his shoulders, the warmth settling around his bare skin from its previous occupant. He was always aware of the way the coat felt on his body after having been worn by Atsushi; the few times he had allowed him to don it. Whether it was because of the lack of times Akutagawa actually took his coat off, or it was simply because of the impression Atsushi would leave on it each opportunity given to him, it made his heart beat a couple times faster than normal. Atsushi even left a bitter, yet sweet, scent to it, a foreign smell that contrasted the usual bloodlust that wafted from the coat. Akutagawa let himself bask in the comfort it brought, momentarily forgetting it’s origin.

Atsushi took a step back, an unreadable smile presented on his lips. He hid his hands behind his back, but Akutagawa had already noticed the way his fingers trembled (Although, he was unsure why).

“Thank you,” Akutagawa uttered. Atsushi knew he wasn’t only referring to his coat being returned.

The weretiger nodded feebly, and Akutagawa couldn’t help but furrow his eyebrows at the eye bags that stained the skin under Atsushi’s eyes. A wave of guilt overcame him, even when it wasn’t his intent in keeping the other awake throughout the night.

“You should get some sleep,” Akutagawa insisted. He watched with careful eyes as Atsushi bit his lip and waved his hand in retaliation.

“No, no, it’s quite alright,” he demurred, “Kunikida will scold me relentlessly if I go to work late. I’m used to not sleeping very much, anyway.”

Akutagawa didn’t need to voice his agreement for the point to get across.

He turned to leave once more, nearing the bottom of the stairwell, when Atsushi suddenly yelled, “Wait!” and he felt a hand grab him again. it was desperate, and Akutagawa felt Atsushi’s fingers hesitate when he let go. It was normal for Atsushi to act spontaneously, but the air that day turned the gears in his head the opposite way.

The same hand that held onto Akutagawa’s arm reached up until Atsushi’s palm shielded his eyes, and all the other could see was calloused fingertips and bruised skin. All he could feel was Atsushi’s warm skin against the contrasting cold of his.

“Just once,” Akutagawa heard Atsushi whisper, and the words felt so close that they echoed in his head. Atsushi’s breath fanned his face, and he was unsure of how to react because he could sense how abnormally close the weretiger stood in front of him, albeit most of his senses stopped working from the unexpected lack of proximity between them. Akutagawa stood frozen on the steps, feet stuck to the concrete like he stepped in tar, but he almost didn’t want to move. He was painfully conscious of what Atsushi was about to do, yet he didn’t act against it.

I shouldn’t. I should stop. Atsushi should stop. We can’t, we can’t.

The side of Akutagawa’s mind that knew this was a horrible idea screamed objections, yet the side that wanted something to satisfy himself after all the sacrifices he made in the past was evidently larger and more persistent, and Akutagawa was excruciatingly exhausted from acting like everything was an inconvenience to him.

Because of that, he allowed Atsushi to lightly press his lips against his own, a burning desire evident through the way he kissed Akutagawa. It was disguised by a hesitant facade he had shown the entire night, revealing itself the moment their lips met. The kiss was so subtle, so soft and reluctant that Akutagawa could barely sense it, yet knowing Atsushi’s lips were on his made every nerve in his body jump to life, and he could’ve sworn he never felt more exhilarated in his life than the moment the boy he pretended to despise no longer kept his distance.

Akutagawa absorbed the sensation that the kiss brought, every brush of skin that met his own, every tickle presented upon his lips from the weretiger’s own. A childlike kiss, so vulnerable and sweet and innocent; it made him momentarily forget where they were, who they are, what they did in the disastrous world they call home. Akutagawa was sure the kiss was one made of daydreams he wouldn’t dare acknowledge, so he relished the moment before it fell away and he would beat himself up about it later.

Atsushi pulled away before Akutagawa could process the kiss further, and he soon found himself aching for the taste of Atsushi’s lips and the warmth the contact it brought upon his. Akutagawa’s stomach flipped in on itself, sending a menacing chill down his spine as his skin threatened to catch on fire in every area that became exposed to the weretiger’s flushed skin. Atsushi’s hand lingered on top of the other’s eyes; Akutagawa knew full well that the boy wanted the moment to last just as long as he did.

A few moments passed, unbeknownst to the two as it felt like an eternity stretched exponentially. However, they both knew all good things must come to an end.

Atsushi stepped back, his hand slipping away from Akutagawa’s roseate face, sending an unpleasant rush of cold air to the latter’s bare skin. The expression Atsushi wore on his face was comprised of a million different emotions, as if he was unsure of which to settle on. With thick eyebrows furrowed across his forehead, the weretiger was everything except unsure — an explicit determination situated between the complexities of his squinted eyes and pursed lips. Akutagawa couldn’t even fathom what the boy was so confident about, because in that moment, all he felt was a surge of utmost vulnerability.

A thousand and one words were situated at the tip of Akutagawa’s tongue, yet only silence came from his mouth when he parted his lips even slightly. He merely stared blankly at the boy in front of him — like a deer in headlights — thoughts attempting to string themselves coherently in the jumble of Akutagawa’s mind. Atsushi’s voice grew distant in his ears, as if he weren’t standing just a meter in front of him.

“Akutagawa.”

Atsushi’s lips pulled into the faintest of smiles, eyes shining with an unknown sadness as he bit back the urge to shiver from the wind that only seemed to drop a degree lower despite the sun glossing over the city. However, it wasn’t the only reason as to why goosebumps lined the skin of his thin arms.

The weretiger spoke again, but his words were carried by the gust of air that flew past Akutagawa’s ears, ringing incessantly. Not only were Atsushi’s actions completely out of character, but he established a sense of tranquility through his poised demeanor; one that Akutagawa had never witnessed. His mind took a mental note of the new aspects he saw of Atsushi that night in excessive detail.

A moment passed, then a few more. Without a word in response, as Akutagawa had been too caught up in his mind to conceive a proper sentence, he turned and descended the stairs of the roof. Atsushi stayed silent, unmoving, watching the other leave his presence. His gaze seemed unexpectedly gentle on akutagawa’s back, and the chills that had previously tormented his skin melted back into the comforting warmth provided by his coat. However, he settled with the reason of Atsushi’s undeniable adoration.

With the realization of that, he turned his head — just slightly — and connected his eyes with those of the weretiger’s. The traces of a smile tickled his lips, and as he strained to snap the corner of his lips back into place, he nodded. A simple acceptance, and understanding. Atsushi returned the gesture.

Akutagawa allowed himself to feel something good in his life for once, swearing to himself that the torment will come later. With the sugary fragrance of tea and Atsushi on his lips, he exited the building with a blank, yet warm, mind. The cold was only temporary, after all.