Chapter Text
AKUTAGAWA
“Here,” said Akutagawa as he slid a few papers onto his desk.
Being a high-ranking executive in the Port Mafia, naturally, he was granted the luxury of having a personal office. It was spacious but bare. The shelves were empty, save for a few scattered novels. Dust had begun to settle in a few small crooks here and there, as well as in other hard-to-reach places. Sometimes Gin would come and scoff at it, which, admittedly, tugged at his heart a bit.
Atsushi was also promised a workspace for himself. However, being a new recruit, he was still awaiting the completion of all the necessary preparations.
So, for the past week, Atsushi had mainly spent his time lounging around in Akutagawa’s office. He would splay on an ornate couch in the corner with some of Akutagawa’s novels -- a history, a horror Gin had bought years ago, and other stories he’d long forgotten having purchased. He wondered if the weretiger had the capacity to interpret the literature. If he wasn’t spending his time fooling around, Atsushi would ask meaningless, stupid questions, such as, “What’s your favorite color?” to which they would sit in silence for a few minutes before he replied, “Black.”
“I should’ve guessed, Akutagawa-san,” replied Atsushi with a sigh. “Mine’s white.”
Recently he had been promoted to the Black Lizard division. Atsushi’s rank was akin to Gin, Higuchi, and now formerly Tachihara’s. Because of this, he’d developed the distasteful habit of adding an honorific to Akutagawa’s name when speaking. Akutagawa suspected the weretiger had begun to speak in such a revolting manner as a result of this new, lowly rank.
In conclusion, Atsushi was inconvenient, unfavorable, ill-timed, all thus words under the sun. The moment he received an office of his own would alas be a time for great commemoration.
Yet Akutagawa said nothing about the use of the honorific. Ignored it entirely.
Sitting across his desk in a slightly worn leather chair, Atsushi took the papers from him and held them to the light. Like a hidden message would surface by doing this. “Thanks. So… What is it?” he asked ingeniously, thumbing around the sheet.
“Just read the paper.”
Unsatisfied by this sharp remark, Atsushi exhaled rather dramatically before looking down.
Invitation to Bal Masqué
Masquerade Ball. Formal attire required
Upon visiting, guests must show a method of identification and invitation to an approved staff member. Only through this procedure will entry be permitted.
Located at xxx-xxx-center. Plus ones will be denied at the entry.
Hosted and authorized by Camille Dubois
Date: xx/xx/xx
There were some other details too, but it seemed more like a translation toward the bottom rather than more information.
“Where did you get this? inquired Atsushi. His eyes held a glint of something -- hope -- that he couldn’t hope to hide even if he really tried. He was an open book, a picture book at that, that even a child could flip through and provide a wildly accurate summary of.
Akutagawa knew the reason for the starry eyes of the boy before him. It sickened him. He let out a short series of coughs, for which he tried, really tried, to shoot down the weretiger’s absurd ideals but ultimately failed. He collected himself.
“Chuuya-san,” replied Akutagawa through jagged breaths. “I wanted to do this mission by myself, but he insisted the weretiger accompany me. So here we are now.”
Upon hearing the word ‘ mission ,’ Atsushi’s eyes lit up again, the same as before. It was clear now -- though not that Akutagawa had yet to surmise it perfectly -- that Atsushi was finding reconciliation in the Mafia and was pleased at the thought of performing a mission for his organization.
He continued. “Mori-san believes this group to be the heart of a large-scale criminal operation.”
“Why’s the Mafia getting involved?”
“Some of our agents, albeit disposable ones, have been scouted by this French organization. Though not many, a couple have accepted and left to join this crime syndicate,” he explained. “They probably have Ability users, too, at this point.”
Atsushi nodded slowly at this. Hesitant.
Akutagawa narrowed his eyes and straightened his posture. “I can tell Chuuya-san if you so wish to back down.” He said this in full understanding that this wouldn’t be the case.
“I’ll go,” said Atsushi, unsurprisingly. “Your health isn’t so great right now, is it?”
Akutagawa recalled his earlier coughing fit and how the only other person who knew, really knew, of his condition was in this very room. He felt, regardless of his condition, though, that the new mafioso had already made up his mind about this from the very beginning.
Akutagawa almost wished the other had denied him, retreated at the last second. That way he wouldn’t have to deal with the naivety sitting across him. It was certainly within his authority to reject Atsushi this opportunity — his use of the honorific confirmed their stance — but neither Chuuya nor Mori would be satisfied with such an outcome. He sank further in his seat, a bit troubled.
“I’ll make the arrangements, then,” he settled on.
What blurred line that had previously been their relationship was finally distinguished: Akutagawa was a high ranking member of the Port Mafia, and now Atsushi served under him. If he jumped off a bridge, he was certain the boy would follow him in pursuit thinking he had crafted some master plan. Though naive, his loyalty was commendable.
Atsushi formed a bittersweet smile. His expression snapped back to business. “How will we infiltrate?”
The two discussed plans for around half an hour. In the end, they’d formulated a plan solid enough to be considered fairly reliable. Akutagawa would review it with Chuuya some other time. For now, the plan was simple.
It was a masquerade, so obviously they needed disguises. This wasn’t a problem, considering that they would have to hide their identities anyway. The fact that the event was a masquerade ball would only protect the duo more.
If they couldn’t discover the perpetrator behind the French group -- which Akutagawa later discovered after some investigation, was called La Voie du Crépuscule, or The Path of Twilight in English -- it was decided they would befriend other attendees and gain their trust.
Once they’d figured out who ran the place, it was smooth sailing from there. Immobilize their boss, unravel their plan, and bring honor to the Port Mafia’s name. Of course, it wasn’t as simple as that, but that was how Akutagawa described it to his slow-witted partner before him.
“La Void de Crepe--” Atsushi pronounced terribly. The words slurred in broken syllables, and even Akutagawa, though not fluent in the language himself, could hear the heavy Japanese accent and insecure pacing on his tongue.
Akutagawa, having had enough of this, suddenly stood up from his -- their -- desk; he came back with a stack of thick books frayed on the edges. He dropped them on the desk with a loud thud to accompany the fall. Consequently, some of the dust spread throughout the air, causing him a series of uncontrollable coughs.
“French textbooks?” asked Atsushi as Akutagawa sat back down. If his decay in health troubled him, nothing of the sort appeared in his expression.
“Yes. We mustn't waste any time. We have fifteen days before Crépuscule,” Akutagawa had called it, shortening the French organization’s title, “Once ‘Crépuscule' opens the ball masquerade, we will infiltrate.”
“ Crépuscule,” Atsushi tried, gingerly touching the foreign word. “Can’t we just say Twilight ? That’s the translation, right?”
“Inevitably, you’ll have to get used to learning the language,” he replied coldly.
He quickly stifled a complaint, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“What will be faster? Your tongue, or their sword?” asked Akutagawa, although it wasn’t a question meant to be answered. “Book,” he concluded, sliding the writings his way.
Atsushi accepted the book and leaned forward in his seat. He wasn’t looking at Akutagawa anymore, not really. Instead, he was browsing through long lists of adjectives, grammar rules, and translations. “What about you?”
“My proficiency in the subject will suffice much beyond your mere fifteen days.”
Fifteen days. That was all they had to plan for this operation. To Atsushi, this time was meager. In fact, at the Agency, he was used to accepting missions on the spot. This could hardly be considered a challenge.
He stopped paging through the book, choosing not to comment on the rude remark. “Akutagawa-san, you really know some French?”
“Enough to get by.”
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, but not enough to actually be noticed. “Well, looks like I’ll be studying here for,” he checked his watch, “the next six hours.”
“Right now it’s 4 o’clock. Don’t tell me…”
“It’s the only way I’ll get proficient enough.”
Akutagawa held a bewildered expression. “You’ve barely been inducted into the Mafia and you’re already choosing to work overtime? In my office?”
The way Akutagawa had said this made it seem like he was inconvenienced by Atsushi’s presence, and so the boy responded, “I was planning to do so, yes. If not here, then I could find somewhere else. I’m sorry for troubling you, Akutagawa-san.”
The words stung a little. Okay, a considerable amount. But the feeling was suppressible, and so suppressing is what the mafioso did.
“You know, a few books won’t be enough to make you a linguist. You’ll need videos, listening skills, even conversations.” asserted Akutagawa.
“I know.”
He was infuriating at this point. “So why--?”
Atsushi looked up at him again, damn him with that hopeless look , and sighed once more. “You said it yourself. I’ll have to get used to learning the language. If I want to be of any help during this mission -- to you -- I think this is the least I can do.”
Fool.
He’d heard enough. Akutagawa stood up, heavy chair noisily creaking against the floor like an anchor scratching against the bottom of the sea. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised if the people on the floor below them heard the sound.
He made his way to the door. His expression was firm as he turned the knob. He almost walked through the door, and maybe he should have, but instead he turned. “Hurry up, won’t you?”
~
Once they arrived at Akutagawa’s car outside the Mafia’s headquarters, Atsushi stopped in awe. It was a sleek, expensive-looking vehicle that the other probably couldn’t attempt to name if his life was on the line.
Atsushi hesitated. He looked toward the passenger seat and the back seat, wondering where to go. Certainly, the back seat would be more comfortable for them both. They’d be able to enjoy silence without interfering or overstepping each other’s boundaries.
“What are you doing?” Akutagawa finally asked in amusement after watching the event unfold before his very eyes. “Just… sit next to me.”
Well, the Mafia certainly paid well. This car was living proof of that fact. After shutting the door behind him, he fidgeted in his seat, as if unsure what to do with himself now.
Once they made their way onto the highway, Akutagawa spoke up first. “If your words are as true as you made them out to be, consider this a favor. I can’t have you loitering on my premises while I’m not there,” he stood to reason.
“So, the place we’re going is-?” asked Atsushi, but it was clear he already knew the answer.
“—Yes… My apartment.”
It was true that the weretiger had a place of his own, and Akutagawa knew this very well. But if his suspicions were true, then…
Atsushi settled into the plush cushion, relieved at these words even though he should be startled. “Ah, uhm. I know you probably don’t want to hear this — you know, especially from me — but… After everything with me leaving the Agency, Kyouka-chan wouldn’t look me in the eye anymore. Really, I haven’t gone back to our home since.”
Now this was news to Akutagawa. He’d already had a solid understanding of the former, but Atsushi had been out of the Agency for well over a week. Just where the hell has been staying all this time?
Atsushi continued before he could get a word in. “And Dazai told me, as a matter of fact, that I was welcome to keep living there. But Kyouka-chan — I just couldn’t live under the same roof as her, because now she thinks I’m a monster . A few days ago,” he added, “I was worried about her. I checked under the mat — where the key always is, by the way — and it was still there. I wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or nauseous.”
He finished with a breath of relief, like he’d been holding those words in for forever. As if he were a dam, and the water had slowly built up until cracks began to form and water began to trickle down the sides.
Akutagawa fell silent. He shouldn’t care about this information. This was someone he was destined to kill. And Kyouka? She was much better off without him now. Neither he nor Kyouka were people he was concerned with anymore. After all, he—
“Akutagawa, are you okay? You look really shook up.”
After all, he had treated them both the same way Dazai had treated him all those years ago.
So, Akutagawa felt as though he owed the weretiger this much. “Gin, after joining the Mafia and dragging her along with me, she couldn’t look me in the eye either. After all, the Mafia was never suited for someone like her. Did you know, though?”
“Hmm?”
He stopped for a moment, but he knew what he was going to say. “It took years. But she settled. Of course, we’re not the same as we once were, but she loved me then as she does now.”
“You’re saying—- Kyouka-chan loves me still, even after all that’s happened?”
Akutagawa nodded. “One does not have to like someone to love them.”
Atsushi was looking out the window now as if he were in deep thought. He hummed a melodic tune that Akutagawa vaguely remembered but couldn’t recall the words to.
“Your words are well thought out. Thank you for making me realize something.”
“What?”
“Never mind,” said Atsushi.
Akutagawa accepted this. Perhaps they’d overshared a bit too much at this point. Atsushi seemed to reciprocate this feeling because, after five minutes, he was out cold in the passenger seat.
And Akutagawa sat back, pulling into the driveway that led to his flat. He pretended to not notice how earlier, for a split second, Atsushi had dropped the honorific. Yes, he’d almost missed it. But he didn’t.