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It was wrong. Dazai knew that. Akutagawa knew it. But it made no difference in the end, despite everything. Whether or not it was wrong, it didn’t stop them. It hadn’t stopped them before, and it wouldn’t now.
The day was like any other, and Akutagawa was alone. His missions had been finished quickly, and no personal injuries had been acquired. No casualties on his side, either, although plenty on his opponent’s. The reports had been done and Akutagawa was released from his duties for the day. So he sat quietly in the living room of the apartment, gazing unseeing at a book in his hand. it was merely for show, although he would have only one visitor today. Even Gin was out, still busy. So, besides his company of one (who had yet to arrive), Akutagawa had no real reason to pretend to be occupied. But then again, without something in his hands, he fidgeted, the sound of his rough breathing and occasional coughing becoming a churning of anxiety in the silence.
Eventually, a knock came from the door. The man on the other side knew full well Akutagawa sat ready for the sound that tore through the tangible quiet. And Akutagawa knew exactly who was on the other side. The knocking was for politeness. Dazai could, and likely would, easily pick the lock.
Nevertheless, Akutagawa put his book down, slotting a bookmark as a placeholder between pages he hadn’t read, and stood. Quickly, but not in a way where he would send things clattering, he hurried to the front door. The lock was already rattling as Dazai began to grow impatient, but Akutagawa was able to open the door for him for once, bowing his head slightly.
“Dazai-san,” he murmured, and stepped aside.
Dazai entered as if he owned the place—and to be fair, he had bought it for the Akutagawas when they had arrived, simply to show that they were completely and utterly at his mercy. The door closed behind him, and he pivoted on his heel, arms crossed.
“I got your mission reports,” he informed Akutagawa, dark eyes boring into the boy. “There is something I would like to know.” He paused, theatrically, then continued without bothering to hear a response. “How come there were… fourteen deaths?”
His voice was flat and devoid of anything but the professionalism he held nearly anytime he spoke to Akutagawa. Despite the amount of times he’d heard this particular tone, Akutagawa stiffened, eyes itching to trail down to his feet. But he made himself hold Dazai’s gaze, relishing in the brief approval that flicked past the murky brown eyes, before answering.
“They fought back,” he said, his voice soft and raspy. Meek and pitiful under Dazai’s judgement. A choked inhale strangled his throat a moment later when Dazai’s fist was delivered directly to Akutagawa’s face. He staggered, barely catching himself, and fully aware that it had been intended only to shock. He was still standing, after all. If it was anything else, he would’ve been sprawled on the floor.
Dazai’s scowl was concrete, set on his face when Akutagawa recovered. “And were your instructions not to keep casualties to the minimum? The group you raided consisted of thirty. You killed half of them.”
Akutagawa bit back his retort that he had, in fact, not killed all fourteen. It would do him no good—especially since his own actions in beginning to kill them had started a domino effect on his coworkers. It was his fault, after all, whether or not he directly ended their lives.
At the lack of response, Dazai let out a steady, prolonged sigh, meant to leave Akutagawa full of apprehension, and doing exactly as it was supposed to. His eyes tracked the younger boy’s face, narrowing slightly.
“How long have you been waiting here so dutifully for me?” Dazai asked, a sudden brightness to his tone. It was terrifying.
Akutagawa took a moment to answer, his nose twitching uncomfortably where it had been hit. It wasn’t bleeding, at least. “…forty minutes,” he murmured. More specifically, it had been forty three minutes, nearly forty four. He ducked his head down, then immediately corrected himself and stood back up.
Dazai’s gaze met his, and a pursed smile grew on the brunet’s face. “Forty minutes, hm? And—shall I be grateful? That you waited so long for me?” The question was not to be replied to. Dazai answered it pleasantly. “No, I don’t think so. Because in those forty minutes, thirty of them were spent finding out how badly you fucked up your mission. I was supposed to spend that half hour making sure the prisoners were all in place. Instead, I found most of them badly injured, and half of them dead. While you sat here with your little book”—his eyes flicked to the unread pile of books on the table—“and paid no mind to how much trouble you caused me. I don’t think that’s worth thanking you for.”
Unable to respond, Akutagawa stifled a cough, gaze darting uncertainly. Gin would be back soon, and he didn’t intend to let her see this. It wasn’t something he strived to display to others.
Noticing this, Dazai hummed. He was always so good at reading Akutagawa’s thoughts, and it was almost maddening in that way. But at least this time, he didn’t mention it. Surprisingly, even, he seemed to agree with Akutagawa’s concern. And so he directed them to the bedrooms.
“You each have your own,” he stated, because he had bought this place, and because he had been here much too many times. He could’ve lived there, with how much he knew about this particular apartment. “It shouldn’t be a problem if we stay in yours for the time being. Although i expect your sister is quite used to my presence here.”
Akutagawa nodded shortly, and followed obediently down the hall to his bedroom. It was big for an apartment, but cozy all the same. Decorations were kept to bare minimum, and, really, the little there was were quite drab. But they made do with it, closing the door and allowing themselves as much privacy as they could as members of the mafia. Dazai sat on the bed, and Akutagawa hovered awkwardly by the door.
Raising an eyebrow, Dazai cocked his head towards the hesitant figure. “this is your room, Ryuunosuke,” he reminded him.
The sound of his given name made Akutagawa flinch, but he nodded, and stumbled to the chair beside his desk. He sunk down, unsure of himself. Dazai, steady as ever, made no notice to this. Instrad, he dropped the conversation of the mission, and stared at him curiously. His eyes spoke much more than his mouth ever would, but Akutagawa had failed time and time again to decipher the intricate cogs of Dazai’s mind.
Then, with a sense of disappointment at Akutagawa’s lack of boldness, Dazai stood with an exhale, sauntering over. He took his sweet time, prolonging Akutagawa’s misery until he stopped in front of the boy. With a smile much less terrifying yet not quite sincere, Dazai bent down, his face level with Akutagawa’s.
“You have a habit of getting nervous whenever we’re alone. Even earlier, when I approached you only for work, you clammed up.” Dazai inspected him thoughtfully. “For such a violent person, Ryuunosuke, you get anxious very easily.”
Akutagawa bit the inside of his cheek until it bled, a stuttering breath leaving him. “I’m sorry,” he managed, “Dazai-san.”
With a single finger, Dazai tapped his nose twice. “It’s Osamu to you, too. We’re alone. Can you not take a hint?” he chided, drawing back up as he shook his head.
“Yes, apologies, Osamu-san,” Akutagawa bit out. The name felt foreign on his tongue, almost bitter, but he allowed it anyway, because Dazai requested such. He wanted to please the man. And if this was how he could do it, then he would.
“Osamu-san,” Dazai echoed, almost amused. “What’s with the formalities? Why not just Osamu? or Osamu-chan?” he joked, tapping his chin. “Ryuunosuke-chan has a nice ring to it, no? Really brings out your vulnerabilities. Hey, Ryuu-chan, why don’t you join me on your bed? That chair looks awfully uncomfortable.”
To prove his point, Dazai plopped back onto the bed, patting it. Akutagawa closed his eyes at the teasing, swallowing several times before he could muster the energy to move. He stood with a half-nod, shuffling towards the bed. Albeit apprehensively, he forced himself to sit, tense beside Dazai.
Abruptly, Dazai reached a hand up, cupping Akutagawa’s cheek. Unable to help himself, Akutagawa drew away from the touch. With a frown, Dazai chased him down, and they collided, bodies sprawling on the bed.
“No need to run,” Dazai told him, when he managed to sit up, somewhat straddling Akutagawa’s hips. He gazed down at Akutagawa, who simply lay there, subjected to this form of torture. Dazai’s coat had fallen to the floor a moment ago, so he moved more smoothly, easily bringing both hands down to hold Akutagawa’s face in his palms. “Besides, there’s no running from me, is there?”
Breathlessly, Akutagawa agreed, squeezing his eyes shut. Because of that, he didn’t notice Dazai leaning down until his face was right above Akutagawa’s, their breaths dancing. Smoky-gray eyes flew wide open, and he jerked up, almost crashing into Dazai.
“Idiot—“ Dazai muttered, as he flew back up, barely missing Akutagawa’s unintentional attack. “Stay still for once, would you?”
Finally giving in to his doubts, Akutagawa spoke, voice unsteady. “What are you doing, Dazai-san?” He remembered right after to address Dazai by his first name, and hurried to correct himself. “Osamu-san.”
“What am i doing?” Dazai repeated. He considered this as he shifted, moving so he sat on Akutagawa’s lap, letting the boy sit up.
“Yes.”
“Right now,” he said slowly, “I’m waiting for you to stop being stubborn. It’s gotten you nowhere—whether from your missions or between us. You like to run away from my advice, even when you plead to God in hopes to live up to my expectations. It’s frustrating, and reminds me every day how difficult people are.”
Akutagawa fell silent, thighs pressing together where they were sitting under Dazai’s weight. He truly did try to do what Dazai wanted. He desperately wished that one day he would get it right—and that one day, Dazai would see him as something more than a meek boy with much to learn.But he wasn’t doing anything right, which he proved to himself day after day. He hated disappointing Dazai, yet still managed to do so more often than not. Even now, in the isolation of his bedroom, he failed to do what Dazai wanted. In a way, it angered himself more than Dazai.
“I’m sorry,” was all he could say, in the end. But he guided himself into Dazai’s hold, allowing his face to be cradled. “I promise to do better, Daz—…Osamu-san.”
Even so, Dazai said nothing. Promises were easily broken, and Dazai expected this one to be, too. Truthfullt, Akutagawa was much less than his status in the mafia. Perhaps he would be known for his ruthless ways as a mafioso one day, but that was all he would have to it. Someone who knew nothing but violence, so that even Dazai could see how much was missing from the boy. Dazai wasn’t much better, but Akutagawa didn’t know when to hold back. Be it to his enemies, or to himself, Akutagawa was someone who would rush through something leaving behind him a wake of dead bodies. If he couldn’t learn, he wouldn’t accomplish anything. Stubbornness seemed the only trait of personality in him.
Still, Dazai leaned forward, tilting his head slightly. In such a way that didn’t fit neither Dazai nor Akutagawa, he slotted his lips gently against the other’s. A kiss bloomed between them—one full of promises made of thorns and regrets piled high. Yet Akutagawa sunk into it, for once not resisting as he was pushed down onto the sheets.
“Ryuunosuke,” Dazai murmured, against Akutagawa’s mouth. Somehow, in some way, the kiss remained soft and chaste, grounding both mafiosos as they strayed from their manmade paths of decaying hopes. It was the one thing they could hold onto, latching on as if it made everything okay. Even when they knew that everything was not, and that, come tomorrow morning, they would regret it all.
“Osamu,” Akutagawa finally sighed out, unaware as the name squeezed itself between their lips.
“Yes,” Dazai agreed, softly, and shifted into the kiss, limbs hugging Akutagawa’s body. “Yes, Ryuunosuke. one day, you can be better. Maybe I could be, too.”
And, though neither could admit it to each other, or themselves, a bud of vulnerability sprouted, snuggling into their near-synchronized beating hearts. If only for them, and only for now.
It was all so wrong, but in a beautiful, twisted way. Then again, both Dazai and Akutagawa were exactly as such. So maybe it would all be for nought and everything would come crumbling down around them one day, but they refused to let go of the smallest blossoms of hope that told them that it was okay. Nobody had to know, and nobody would know. That it was wrong—and that they didn’t care anymore.
The kiss parted, leaving room for air. A door opened somewhere in the apartment, and the sound of footsteps avoided the bedroom. Dazai gazed down at Akutagawa, watching the boy’s breath hitch, his lips already chasing more. For a brief moment, Dazai glimpsed himself in Akutagawa’s eyes—a man with everything, and a man to be revered, and to be feared. He wondered, then, why he always saw a boy in the mirror. One much too much like Akutagawa; younger than he seemed and grappling at the strings that only just kept himself human. Their similarities were unnerving.
They shouldn’t be doing this, was the chant that marched through their minds. They shouldn’t be doing this.
But still they did, and they would, and they would never cease to continue. Because they were wrong about everything: about themselves, and each other, and the kiss that should never have happened.