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Teenagers often traveled in groups, Atsushi noticed. Of course he would often see the solo high schooler, reading at a table for one or in pairs, walking down the streets with someone else. But as far as he could tell, they often moved about in small, tight-knit groups. There was almost always a light-hearted air around them, smiling and laughing amongst themselves. They kept their laughter restrained as the moved about the bookstore, but with Atsushi's heightened senses, he heard them and even bits and pieces of their conversations.
He didn't mind it. It made him smile and wonder what it would've been like to have gone to high school like a regular teenager. Being a part timer, Naomi sometimes brought her homework with her to work, occasionally seeking aid from their coworkers when she struggled with an assignment. Kunikida was surprisingly patient as he walked her through some more difficult, complex calculus problems, and she wound up often going to Atsushi, of all people, for aid when she had a literature assignment.
Flattered though he was, and as eager as he was to help, the more he spent time with her and Junichiro, the more distant he felt with them. The more detached and isolated. Especially when they talked about silly or bizarre instances at school.
Atsushi wouldn't even have a comment, he'd just smile, nod his head and listen, occasionally making the minor quip if prompted. But when neither was looking at him, he would frown and shift awkwardly in his seat. He didn’t feel relief until after the subject changed.
Still, he wondered what it would’ve been like. To have done something so.. normal.
His fingers pressed hard against the binding of the book in his hands, before relaxing with an exhale. Atsushi glanced at the book’s cover and title once more, observing and considering, and felt the shift in the air beside him. The soft tap of shoes against the floor greeted him, along with the shuffle of fabric.
“Are you going to buy it or not?”
Atsushi hummed, skimming over the summary on the inside jacket before closing it. He turned with a small smile. “I think so. Just give me a few more minutes to check out.”
Akutagawa made a small grunting noise, shrugged his shoulders and crossed his arms, waiting for Atsushi to finish paying. Once he was done, the book tucked away into a small bag that hung by his hip, they walked out of the bookstore without any verbal exchange. Large groups of people gathered together made Akutagawa uncomfortable, Atsushi noticed over time, though he managed to blend in and become unnoticeable well enough, despite his distinctive appearance and sordid reputation.
They never made a concrete decision to sit by the coast as dusk fell, warm cups of tea in hand. It was something that went unsaid between them; much had changed in the time that their partnership fostered. The Atsushi that first came to Yokohama could’ve never imagined sitting beside its most wanted criminal under a peaceful sunset with warm hibiscus tea in hand.
Akutagawa had a book of his own and they read, silent and lost in their own respective worlds as the rest of Yokohama kept moving around them, the bustle of it all. But neither noticed nor paid much attention. It was difficult to say how much time passed before Atsushi lifted his eyes from his book to the man sitting next to him.
Akutagawa’s glasses, slightly tinted in the reflection of the sun, hung securely on the bridge of his nose as he read and his brows were perfectly relaxed. His skin possessed none of the strain it usually did around the eyes, and the dark strands of his hair hung around his face. The fading light of the sun emphasized the sharp curves of his cheekbones. He seemed perfectly at ease as he read. Atsushi couldn’t remember the title of the book, but he seemed to enjoy it. It was a rather slim book with a strange creature on the cover; it looked like a kappa.
The corner of his mouth quirked upward and though he was reluctant to break Akutagawa out of his peaceful lull, his mouth parted before his brain could stop him.
“How’d you learn how to read?”
Blinking, Akutagawa looked up from his book, as if he’d forgotten that Atsushi was there at all. A quizzical expression was on his face and his eyes narrowed slightly. “What?”
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Atsushi added quickly, cheeks reddening with sudden embarrassment. He wanted to hide his face behind the book he’d just bought; the last thing he wanted to do was ruin this fragile... thing that’d grown between them since the beginning of their partnership. “I understand if you don’t-- it’s fine--”
“I’m not going to stab you for asking me a simple question, Nakajima,” Akutagawa cut in, dryly, silencing Atsushi’s anxious rambling in an instant. He closed the book and tucked it away by his side. “I think we’re well past that point.”
Well, at least he doesn’t seem angry or annoyed, Atsushi thought wryly. He still had trouble reading Akutagawa’s expressions sometimes, though he liked to think he was learning.
“What brought this on?” Akutagawa asked, not unkindly.
Using his thumb as a makeshift bookmark, Atsushi closed his book and pursed his lips. He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of teenage laughter, still in their uniforms as they walked by. Probably heading out on their train ride home, he guessed.
“It’s-- It’s nothing,” Atsushi lied, poorly. “I was just curious, is all..”
He could feel Akutagawa’s skepticism burn into him and he kept his head down, staring at his fingertips, fiddling against each other. The sound of the city and the ocean beyond the railing at the pier drowned out the silence. Atsushi was sure the question would go unanswered-- until he heard Akutagawa’s slow exhale.
“I taught myself,” Akutagawa said, a murmur that without his superior senses, Atsushi would’ve had to strain to hear. “There was-- There was no one else around who could teach me, or Gin. We taught ourselves to read from whatever books we could find.”
Akutagawa’s hands tightened into fists against his chest, arms crossed as he spoke, and he kept his stare averted so that Atsushi couldn’t see his eyes; the things he didn’t say gave Atsushi all the more clues he needed, and his chest tightened for the man who’d become his partner. He felt a small, somber smile form.
The details had slowly begun to build over time; in the things they shared and the things they didn’t. Things said, and not. His own background was made plain for the world to see, Akutagawa’s was much harder to gauge. He revealed so little of himself, Atsushi had to grasp whatever pieces he could find to create a bigger picture.
Atsushi wondered if he could someday know everything about Akutagawa Ryuunosuke.
How many books did Akutagawa and his sister find abandoned on the ground while they lived in the darkest depths of Yokohama’s slums, the unspoken shame of the city? Did he teach her, she teach him, or each other? What were his favorites of those he found? Atsushi felt a sudden want to know.
“I mostly taught myself, too,” Atsushi admitted softly, looking down at his hands, folded in his lap on top of the book.
Akutagawa paused and turned towards him. His thin brows furrowed. “..Did they not have classes?”
It was hesitant, the words slowly coming out, and yet Atsushi’s shoulders still stiffened. He had to close his eyes and exhale slowly, relaxing his tightly curled fingers against his book. He lightly dragged his nail against the cover.
“...They did,” Atsushi finally said, “To a certain extent, anyway. I can’t say I really spent much time learning during those classes.”
Atsushi didn’t elaborate and Akutagawa didn’t ask. Atsushi was relieved.
Sometimes, he could still feel the skin ripping on the back of his knuckles from the pointer the tutor used, slapping his hand when he spoke out of turn or answered something incorrectly. Atsushi wasn’t the only one to receive such discipline, but the crack of metal against skin felt so much louder against his own.
“There was a library, though,” Atsushi added brightly, a false sense of cheer to change the subject and keep the memories at bay. “That’s where I really learned to read. Nobody else used it that much except me. It was almost always empty and quiet in there. It was.. It was nice.”
Atsushi’s better memories of that place belonged solely to the library, where he could leave reality and walk into a world that was warmer, brighter, perhaps not always happier, but different. He would spend hours there, muttering words new, old, and unknown to him under his breath, memorizing them and the characters. He used to hide in the reference stacks when the Headmaster came looking for him, his current book cradled against his chest as shivers racked his small body.
Some of the children had blankets or toys from their former homes that they used as anchors. Atsushi had nothing but the books no one read.
He continued, rambling without realizing, and the false cheer no longer felt fake; his fondness was solely for those books and Akutagawa listened without a word. His silence wasn’t awkward at all; it was a comfort.
Akutagawa seemed to understand without any words needing to be said; just as they fought together without a single verbal exchange.
By the time Atsushi was finished, the sky was growing dark and the city lights brighter. Gooseflesh rose on the back of his neck at the faint breeze and he wrapped his arms loosely around himself. He watched the lights flicker on the surface of the water.
Atsushi felt the body next to him shuffle closer and he looked up; Akutagawa’s ever staid profile stared out onto the sea, but his body was warm. Atsushi could feel it from how close he was.
“Do you ever think about it sometimes?” Atsushi asked softly.
Slowly, he edged closer until their hips lightly pressed against each other. Akutagawa didn’t shirk away. He remained cross legged and still on the bench.
“About what?”
Their elbows brushed against each other.
“Going to school. What it would’ve been like. How.. normal, it would’ve been?”
The noise of the city was distant and Atsushi could hear the faint sound of waves licking against the side of the pier, the soft wind that made him lean further into Akutagawa’s warmth, not minding how thin and sharp all of the other man was.
“...There’s no use in thinking about such things,” Akutagawa said, “Nothing about either of our lives has ever been ‘normal.’ It cannot be changed.”
Atsushi hummed, faintly smiling. “No, it can’t.”
You’re a poor liar, Akutagawa.
To anyone unsuspecting, they were just two young men who seemed to be of college age, the same as any other; not children who’d never known something as easily taken for granted as normality. Their skin had been stretched by the world and their bones were tired, a mutual anger and distrust now faded away into a growing flame of understanding that no other shared.
The well-worn copy of Treasure Island remained perched in Atsushi’s lap as he fell into a light nap against Akutagawa’s shoulder. White-tipped strands of hair brushed against his forehead. The back of Akutagawa’s knuckles brushed against Atsushi’s thigh.
The city lights flickered aqua on the water.