Chapter Text
His eyes flew open, his lungs on fire. He breathed in sharply, stifling a scream and sitting straight up. He looked around wildly, only to find he was safe. Everything was fine. He felt his futon beneath his palm as he sat up, and he could hear Kyouka's gentle breathing from the other room.
Atsushi's eyelids fluttered closed, and he grit his teeth.
The nightmare had made another return, the blood and sights the same. His dream even reminded him of his scratched throat, screaming Akutagawa's name.
He got up, a restless adrenaline made from fear pumping through his body; it's what made falling asleep no matter how exhausted he was harder. He slid open the tiny closet-turned-bedroom's door, careful not to wake Kyouka.
The girl may have been as silent as a mouse due to being shaped into an ideal assassin, but Atsushi had always naturally been as stealthy as a feline. He was deathly quiet as he snagged his jacket and slipped on a pair of second-hand sneakers, and he made a foolish, split second decision.
And then he was out the door.
He hadn't needed to change, he generally slept in casual clothing (sometimes his work clothes if he was that egregiously tired), and the size of his paycheck meant he really couldn't be bothered to actually purchase proper sleepwear. Underneath his jacket was a loose fitting grey T-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans.
He shivered in the cold night air, quickly heading down the stairs that led to the floor level of the Agency dorms, and he didn't look back.
He had where he was headed memorized— although he'd only ever been to this destination twice before.
After walking for what felt was too short yet too long, Atsushi finally saw a skyscraper building, its shape a looming shadow in the onyx night.
Atsushi squared his shoulders and walked right in, ignoring the ungodly hour he was doing this in, and just where exactly he was strolling into. He was actually kind of too tired to really care.
The lobbyist was snoring at his desk, and no one besides a camera saw Atsushi stalk into the elevator, impatiently press a button, and then the solid steel doors shut.
Atsushi rushed out the elevator the second it opened again, the wine red carpet under his feet muffling his steps, as if they'd make any sound in the first place. He hurried down the hall, a certain apartment's numbers tattooed into his mind.
When he eventually found the door, he knocked once, twice, and then waited.
Nerves of unease flooded him, but Atsushi didn't have time to dwell on them for long, because Akutagawa answered the door in less than a minute.
The mafioso stared at him, his narrowed eyes as black as his raven hair.
"Jinko."
"Akutagawa."
"It is 3 in the morning."
"I couldn't sleep." Atsushi broke eye contact, looking past Akutagawa, yet not staring at anything in particular. "Can...I come in?"
Akutagawa gazed at him for a few solid seconds, before breathing in. "Yes."
Akutagawa turned his back to Atsushi and let the detective enter, the door swinging shut behind him.
There was a minute of silence as Atsushi kicked his shoes off, and he half expected Rashomon to pick him up and throw him out a window at some point.
"So, jinko," Akutagawa moved back to face him, and he looked like a dog about to bite. "You couldn't sleep so your course of action was to bother me, in my home? At this hour?" He inquired in the foyer, sounding as snappy as he always did with Atsushi— an irritation that was more force of habit than genuine.
"I— well, yeah," Atsushi realized his decision was sounding stupider the more he thought about it. And when Akutagawa said it out loud. But it felt inexplicably, hauntingly right."And why are you up, Akutagawa?"
"Work." The mafioso scowled, "Wait here, fool." Then Akutagawa disappeared into his kitchen and Atsushi's tiger-level hearing picked up on the sound of a kettle being filled and placed on a stove.
Atsushi took a seat at the small dining table outside Akutagawa's kitchen, and took in the sights of the older man's home for the third time. It was his first visit that wasn't related to a mission, and everything still seemed new, expensive. Akutagawa lived incredibly lavishly for someone who also frequented at discount stores.
A few minutes later, Akutagawa came back with two mugs of steaming tea, as if Atsushi randomly visiting him in the dead of night was a common occurrence. But it always seemed to be this way with them, in the way they would adapt to the other in a wordless understanding.
"You're bold, weretiger, if you think I wanted see you again. This afternoon has been enough for a week," Akutagawa commented sarcastically. "Tell me why you're here before I turn you into a tiger skin rug." The sarcasm lessened.
"It's my nightmares, which you could probably guess," Atsushi told him before looking at his tea, watching the dark green liquid reflect his ghostly pale face back at him.
"No, I did not poison it."
"Whatever you say," Atsushi complied before taking a sip, tasting the rich, roasted flavor of houjicha on his tongue, accented with sugar.
"What is the state of your nightmares this time, jinko?"
"The same as before. I think, anyway. Turns out talking to you about them didn't help. Not that our conversation was useless," Atsushi hurriedly amended, "but it didn't help me in that way."
"This discussion could have been held over a phone call." Akutagawa grumbled as he drank his tea.
"I'm not here just to talk." Atsushi protested, before blushing at what he'd say next. "I was thinking...that maybe I could stay the night here."
Akutagawa very calmly choked on his tea.
"You are insane after all." The mafioso hissed out, and he refused to let his heart stutter at the detective's words. But his body didn't really like to listen.
"I'm not! It's just— I thought, maybe, that..." he paused. What had he been thinking? It seemed like his desperation to stop his nightmares and the mental hounding of the dreams were overlapping with his desire for his crush.
He'd lost count of how many times it'd gone through his mind, but he once again asked God why did he have to fall in love with Akutagawa Ryuunosuke of all the fucking people in the world?
"I don't know." Atsushi ended up saying, and he sighed. "But can I crash here? Just for the night?"
"Fine." Akutagawa allowed, his voice littered with annoyance, but his heart was filled with anything but.
"Thanks."
Atsushi's solemn smile made Akutagawa's heart hammer against his ribcage, threatening to break free.
"And what will you do if resting here doesn't fix your problem?" Akutagawa asked skeptically. He didn't even understand the logic behind why Atsushi sleeping in his home would help.
"Who knows," Atsushi drank more of his tea, finishing off the dregs of the warm drink. "It's not the first time I've had problems related to this sort of thing." He pulled his mouth into a frown, forever thankful that his hallucinations of his Headmaster had dissipated, but forever lost without the abusive voice to guide him.
"You have an incredibly nonsensical solution this time around," Akutagawa dryly noted, "whereas generally you're more on the intelligent side of things."
Atsushi's ears turned red as he processed the veiled comment.
Akutagawa leaned forward as Rashomon snatched up Atsushi's empty mug, and the detective was suddenly very aware of the space between them, and the lack of it at that.
Akutagawa's face was inches from his, their noses almost touching and the older man's silver gaze pulling Atsushi in.
"Why don't you consider true love's kiss to be an answer?"
"W-what?" Atsushi spluttered, flustered as all hell. Then he blinked and Akutagawa backed away, gone as fast as he'd come, both of their cups in his hands.
"You seem to be so fond of childish fairytales. You haven't given true love's kiss a thought?" Akutagawa explained, a mocking sarcasm heavy in his tone. As much as Atsushi would normally have a retort to shoot back at the mafioso's teasing, his brain was in shambles.
Akutagawa couldn't just come that close to him and expect him to be able to think coherently afterwards.
"Um...no." Atsushi desperately scrabbled for words to string together that wouldn't make him sound like an idiot. What just happened?
"Besides, true love's kiss is used for things like curses, not nightmares, Akutagawa," he corrected, red patches still bright on his cheeks.
Akutagawa headed back to the kitchen and dumped the cups in his sink, feeling an odd mix of exhaustion tearing at him and an undulating excitement clashing with it.
The weretiger visited me to seek for help... Akutagawa thought to himself as he began to quickly wash and rinse the mugs, feeling the warm water hug his cold hands. ...interesting.
He put the cups to dry on the dish rack and went back to the dining room, only to find Atsushi throwing a pillow and blanket on his couch in the adjacent living room.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"I gave myself the liberty to grab sleeping supplies from your closet." Atsushi bit his tongue on saying something about how Akutagawa's pretentious mahogany grain closet was worth more than his and Kyouka's dorm.
"I'm going to slice you into ribbons. Do not act as if you live here." The mafioso warned him, no malice in his words. "You can't just go through my things,"
"Well too little, too late. I already stole your pillow," Atsushi countered, wanting to get back at Akutagawa for that true love's kiss remark.
"Cat burglar." Akutagawa retorted.
He got a pillow thrown at his head for that.
~~
Atsushi lied still as a statue on Akutagawa's couch, a snug pillow against his head and a warm blanket on top of him. He couldn't really complain about his conditions, the quietness filling the living room to its brim was swimming with a peaceful night's sleep.
Yet he turned to his side, staring at one of the couch cushions in dissatisfaction. He still couldn't sleep.
Actually, if he were a normal government sanctioned detective, or even just a random bystander, he shouldn't have been able to sleep. No one with a sane mind would feel safe in the fatal den of the Port Mafia's rabid dog.
But this being Akutagawa's apartment wasn't Atsushi's problem.
He squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to block out the demons that'd wrap their hands around him in the night and replay those bloody visions.
He really didn't know what he'd been thinking, now that he had what felt like an eternity to think about it.
Why did he come to Akutagawa for peace of mind? Why did he think the man who allegedly hated his guts could help? Why did he think sleeping here would help? Why was he haunted by the sickening fight on that boat?
He was too tired to come up with an answer for any of those.
But in his heart, hidden underneath a bed of everything else that made him him, it was the same reason as to why he'd called Akutagawa earlier that day. It just felt right.
Everything with Akutagawa felt right.
Atsushi managed to drift into a restless, twisting sleep with that thought being the last on his mind. Time ticked by on the grandfather clock planted next to the couch he was on, its rhythmic swings almost a melody.
Unfortunately for Atsushi, his sleep didn't last long. Just short of an hour later he gasped awake, eyes wild again and breath stuttering.
He cursed.
In vain, he tried to forget his dream, and the split of Akutagawa's neck that followed. Akutagawa was alive for goodness' sake. He was merely in the room down the hall.
Atsushi was just so tired, he couldn't stand it. He slid off the couch, shoulders sagged and mind nagging at him to just sleep, just give in. But another part of himself wouldn't allow it.
He'd made enough stupid decisions today. He'd make just one more...
He dragged his feet over to Akutagawa's room, opening the door and revealing a pitch black room. Atsushi didn't care.
Akutagawa, a light sleeper made even lighter by his lifestyle, was instantly awake at the creak of the door.
"Move over," Atsushi ordered, at the side of his bed.
"Weretiger—" Akutagawa started, bewildered.
"Shut up," Atsushi yawned as he curled into the bed beside Akutagawa, who had indeed, on instinct, moved over.
This blanket was a lot warmer, Atsushi noticed. The pillow was softer, too. The lull of sleep seemed irresistible now, not a taboo.
Atsushi was suddenly asleep in a couple seconds after he was in the bed, leaving Akutagawa speechless.
His breathing was soft and evened out gradually as Akutagawa watched him. And Akutagawa...really didn't know what to do.
So the weretiger, tired and most definitely irritable, had fallen asleep in his bed voluntarily.
He could deal with that. He was Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, for God's sake, some stubborn detective couldn't make his will crumble that easily.
Probably.
Well, at least this wasn't the first time he'd dealt with a slumbering weretiger. He remembered them on the ride back from a mission, both temporarily bandaged, in the back of an Agency supplied army vehicle, and energy spent, the white-haired boy had fallen asleep on his shoulder.
Akutagawa had done everything in his power to keep his face still, and his body stiller, but that memory burned him every time he thought of it. The weretiger had been incredibly warm on his shoulder.
What had he done then? Exactly, nothing. He'd let the detective sleep against him until they reached the Agency. He'd do that now, again.
He exhaled quietly, lingering on the sleeping face of Atsushi, his features too pretty for his own good, and then lied down, turning over and refusing to look again, as much as he longed to.
To Akutagawa's surprise, he fell asleep incredibly quickly, his own breathing soon matching the boy next to him.
~~
Atsushi was met with a room full of sunlight when he awoke. He squinted his ametrine eyes as he adjusted to the brightness, sitting up groggily.
The clock next to him on a nightstand said it was 1 o'clock.
That was normal, as of late. He'd always wake up at 1 in the morning, or 2, or 3, it didn't matter with his sort of dreams.
His thoughts paused.
Wait. No, it wasn't 1 o'clock in the morning. The sun was up. It was the afternoon—
Afternoon? Atsushi blinked again, looking around the room he was in. Shit, I overslept.
I haven't overslept in weeks. He thought happily.
He threw the blanket off of him and turned, planting his feet against the floor, which was a dark, polished wood, the color of ochre.
Ah.
Now he remembered.
This wasn't his home.
Heat sped to his cheeks in record time, his skin a mix of cream and roses now. He would've kicked himself if he could.
What the hell was I thinking last night?! Shitshitshit. Why would I sleep in Akutagawa's—
"So you're finally awake." A gravelly voice observed, coming from the doorway.
Atsushi's head snapped up to see Akutagawa standing in it, holding a cup of tea and wearing casual clothing.
He tried to not linger his gaze on the muscle of Akutagawa's arms and how well-defined they were in that ashen turtleneck sweater, or how his hair was just a tad bit messier than usual, which made him look, for lack of a better word in Atsushi's vocabulary, hot. The detective was not very successful.
"You sure are brave to stroll into my bed like that, jinko." Akutagawa snarled, coming into his room and everso closer to Atsushi, who was not in the proper state to bicker right now. "First coming here in the night, and now my bed."
Atsushi's blush inadvertently deepened when he heard the way Akutagawa phrased his remark and he had to remind himself that all he'd really done was sleep. Which was perfectly innocent. Literally sleeping together.
"Do you like to think you own the place?" the mafioso asked, a similar question to the night before.
"No." Atsushi replied, "I just couldn't sleep, okay?" his voice quieted. "Sorry."
Akutagawa rolled his eyes. "It's not as if I care," he lied, once again, the false words like ash on his tongue.
"I thought you did care about me," Atsushi looked up at him again, trying to sound casual but there was an unmistakable weight to his words.
"I care about you, fool, but I do not care whether or not you barged into my room to sleep." The mafioso clarified. "Although your oblivious boldness is ridiculous." He commented under his breath.
Atsushi let it slide.
"Um, well...thanks for letting me stay here." Atsushi got up and stretched, and Akutagawa tried and failed to not look at the sliver of abdomen the weretiger revealed by doing so. Really, the jinko needed to wear proper shirts.
"I think I slept fine. I didn't wake up, anyway," Atsushi yawned, hiding his feline fangs behind his hand. "Er— how did you sleep?"
"Efficiently enough." Akutagawa sipped his tea and Atsushi realized how thirsty he suddenly was. And hungry. He absentmindedly wondered if Akutagawa ever stocked up on the ingredients for chazuke.
"So, is your aggravating nightmare issue solved?"
"Oh, uh.." Atsushi put his hand to his forehead, clearing his mussed bangs from his face. "I'm not sure. But I slept well, so I think so?" a small smile was planted on his lips when Akutagawa's question, and more importantly, his concern, sunk in. Sure, it was in his own way, but hell, he really did care about Atsushi after all.
"It better have." Akutagawa remarked. "I don't want to deal with you moping around like a wounded beast anymore."
"I wasn't moping!" Atsushi scoffed. "I've just been so tired lately. And my nerves were fried."
"What a whining jinko..." Akutagawa whispered into his mug before turning around and exiting the room, leaving Atsushi alone.
The detective wondered briefly if Akutagawa was going insane.
He really didn't care about me sleeping in his—? he couldn't finish the thought, and couldn't bring himself to actually think head on about his course of actions.
He'd slept in Akutagawa's bed. Maybe the sleep deprivation had really made him go insane.
But, regardless, it seemed Akutagawa didn't mind Atsushi in his bed (in the most innocent way possible), and perhaps, just perhaps, his haunting had vanished. The memory of Akutagawa on that boat, in that cursed moment in time, had loosened its grips on Atsushi, even if just a little bit.
His stomach rumbled again, and he decided to get up and see what Akutagawa had to eat, even if the mafioso looked like he ate coal and nightmares for breakfast.
He passed by Akutagawa's full length mirror propped up against the wall and flushed, the heat searing under his skin. His silver hair was a case of bed head, and his clothes were rumpled. Akutagawa had seen him like this. Sure, the older man had seen him bloody and beat up and quite literally dismembered, but Akutagawa had never seen Atsushi so...domestic. Something in the weretiger's heart grew tighter.
At least the bags under his eyes were lighter.
When he finally made it to the kitchen after washing up in the bathroom adjacent to Akutagawa's bedroom, he thought the kitchen seemed too big for an apartment yet just right for the type of home Akutagawa had. The taller man was hovering over the stove, his back to Atsushi.
Atsushi immediately picked up a sweet scent, not needing his tiger senses. Butter, flour, blueberries...
"What are you making?" he asked, peering over the mafioso's shoulder.
"Pancakes." Came the reply. "And do not approach me that comfortably. This isn't your home." Akutagawa turned his head and eyed Atsushi. They both pretended to not notice how close their faces suddenly were.
"What, gonna kill me for it?" Atsushi snorted, before sitting down on a stool at the counter, a makeshift dining table connected to the kitchen counter in an L shape.
"Don't test me."
"Why are you making pancakes, anyway?"
"You don't care for them? Then I won't make you any—"
"Wait, wait, no!" Atsushi rushed to say, undeniably craving pancakes, "That's not what I meant."
Akutagawa shot him another glance of gunmetal. "I know you would complain if you don't eat anything at all, and I'll split you apart like automatic doors if you annoy me any further. Henceforth, breakfast."
"I'm surprised you know how to make pancakes."
"And I'm surprised you know how to read," Akutagawa flipped a pancake onto a ceramic plate the shade of the sky, "yet here we are."
Atsushi rolled his eyes, before a sliver of a memory surfaced on his subconscious. Ranpo-san and Dazai-san said boys were always teasing or mean to whoever they were crushing on...
Atsushi shook his head, getting rid of that notion. It hurt too much to be hopeful.
By the time he was back to himself, a stack of four blueberry pancakes was in front of his face, steaming and drizzled in a honey syrup that looked as thick as vintage wine.
Akutagawa threw a knife and fork at him, which he caught instantly.
"I presume you don't eat with your hands, despite being the fleabag you are."
"I'd insult you too, Akutagawa, but I have pancakes to eat."
~~
After a breakfast of sugar-sweet pancakes and conversation softer than Atsushi ever expected, yet it was all he'd ever really wanted, the weretiger suddenly realized he'd disappeared in the middle of the night hours prior.
"Kyouka-chan is probably worrying about me, shit." Atsushi panicked, "I feel so bad. I should've left a note or something."
Akutagawa glanced at him from across the counter-makeshift-dining-table, before grabbing his phone off the marble top.
Atsushi looked at him suspiciously. "What?"
The raven-haired man dialed a number.
"Hello? Yes, Chuuya-san, give Dazai-san a message for me, if you will."
Atsushi heard a tinny, garbled string of invectives from the redhead before a few more quick words that were too quiet for him to make out. The Mafia executive sounded busy.
"I have a feeling he, or invalids from the agency, will be looking for the weretiger."
Atsushi could hear Chuuya's answer this time.
"And? What's your message then, kid?"
"Tell them that the weretiger spent the night with me," Akutagawa passed along, before hanging up. He usually never hung up on a superior, but he was sure Chuuya wouldn't mind this time around. Atsushi's reaction was worth it, anyway.
Akutagawa looked up from his phone to see Atsushi gaping at him.
"What did you just do?!"
"Solving your problem, which I seem to be doing quite often as of late. Now your precious little agency will be informed." Akutagawa put his phone away and began to clear their dishes, grabbing his and Atsushi's syrup-stained plates.
He also did it to hide his smug grin.
"I can't believe you," Atsushi shot back. "You can't just do things like that— are you smiling?"
"No."
"You're so annoying," Atsushi groaned. "What am I going to tell the agency?"
"You say this as if I lied in my message. It was nothing but the truth." Akutagawa wandered over to the sink, dumping the plates in and turning on the spout.
"Yeah, but— Akutagawa, you know I'm... we're not supposed to mingle with the Port Mafia. None of us." Atsushi's two truths came to contradict each other. He wanted more time with Akutagawa, to get him know him even more and, potentially, one day tell him how he felt. But his loyalty lied with the agency, didn't it?
Akutagawa's half-smile disappeared. "I am aware."
"But I want this." Atsushi said suddenly, his cheeks coloring pink at the sheer honesty. Akutagawa threw him a glance.
"Just...I don't know, this— it's strange, but I like being able to be comfortable here," Atsushi felt a lump in his throat, "with you."
"You have been in my company plenty of times before, jinko. We're partners, after all." Akutagawa tried to keep the strain from his voice.
"But that's just whenever Yokohama is in danger or there's some mission we have to be together for. I..." Atsushi laced his hands together, fidgeting. "I just want to be able to see you, whenever. With less requirements of having to save the world."
"You want to be friends." Akutagawa stated plainly.
No, Atsushi immediately answered in his head. I want to be so much more than friends, Akutagawa.
"Sort of," was what came out, a half-truth.
"Back in the park, you said my death put things into perspective," Akutagawa calmly started, "is this what you meant by it?"
"Yes. Well, no." Atsushi felt like he was saying too much yet not enough. "When I thought you were dead, it just made me think. And now that you're back, it's like— I can just finally breathe again. Having breakfast with you and talking at the park," oh, he was going crazy, "it's all so normal. And I like that, even if I'm not supposed to."
Akutagawa looked at him curiously, dishes done and hands dry. Atsushi felt his skin heat from the gaze, knowing what he had just said was a hairsbreadth away from a real confession, for what he really felt for Akutagawa to come tumbling out.
"We are both far from normal, jinko. Ourselves and our lives included."
"I know that."
"But I don't disagree with you on the desire."
Oh, Atsushi's heart was going a million miles per hour.
Akutagawa was closer now, so much closer, about six inches away from where Atsushi was perched on a stool.
"I don't believe anything would stop you if you're stubborn enough to put your mind to it, weretiger." Akutagawa continued, "and though I doubt it, we could try to have a more normal relationship."
I don't want a normal relationship, Akutagawa, I want you—
Atsushi took his chances.
One moment he was sitting down and the next he was up, grabbing the neck of Akutagawa's shirt and kissing him.
You could argue that he was throwing everything away, ruining a budding relationship of synchronized partnership on the battlefield, but he didn't give a shit about fighting anymore. He didn't want Akutagawa for Rashomon, or to help save the city when needed, he wanted Akutagawa for him.
And back on the Boswellian, he'd been too late to realize that.
He wouldn't make that mistake again.
He felt Akutagawa's hand come up to grip his hair, buried in the base of his neck, pulling him in. The kiss deepened, something that tasted like figs and sugar and desperation.
It took Atsushi a second to realize Akutagawa wasn't pulling away, or even murdering him. He was kissing back, and Atsushi felt it in the returning crush of lips, sudden and hungry.
"Jinko," the older man breathed when they parted, Atsushi's chin being held in-between his thumb and index finger. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Kissing you," came Atsushi's reply, and he felt stupid for it but he didn't know what else to say, not with Akutagawa looking at him like that.
"Why?"
"Because I like you," Atsushi confessed, the simple truth a flooding relief. He was going to add a sarcastic gibe to his sentence to attempt to recover, but before he could, Akutagawa's lips were devouring his.
He felt the edge of the counter against the small of his back as he walked into it, gripping his hands on the marble behind him, sinking into the kiss. Akutagawa's hand slipped from his neck to his cheek, cradling his face, while his other hand was now on his waist.
"So," Atsushi managed to get out, eyelids low, "does this mean you like me, too?"
"Yes," Akutagawa rumbled, not moving his hand from Atsushi's porcelain face. "If that was not obvious already."
"It wasn't! You always act like you want to rip my guts out!"
Akutagawa gave him a dubious look.
"Was I obvious?" Atsushi's voice cracked, but he was too elated to fully care.
"No. In fact, I feared you didn't care for me at all."
"You're stupid," Atsushi pressed another kiss to the mafioso's lips, light and delicate, "why wouldn't I like you?"
Akutagawa's mouth was in a thin line, "I don't deserve this."
"Maybe, but I don't care," the detective replied, voice soft and his eyes softer. He just wanted a normal relationship with Akutagawa, without the danger and without the conflict. He didn't care if that was too much to ask, he'd always feel the same about the raven-haired man.
The next kiss he received told him that his feelings were quite returned.
Deciding to call Akutagawa up and asking him to meet at that park was a risk that Atsushi was eternally grateful that he took.
And he knew that his nightmares would stop— at least the one's of Akutagawa's death. They'd have to, because Akutagawa was here, alive and all his.