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“How much longer?”
“It’s barely midnight.”
A quiet growl of apparent frustration came from Chuuya’s right. The man clothed in black, huddled in the corner of the room—the epitome of night itself—cast a quick and sharp gaze his way, the glare visible even in the near-to darkness. The wind outside beat at the thick frame of the abandoned building, quiet whistling permeating the silence. Moonbeams cast fine lines of light on the ground, almost resembling the bars of a prison cell. The two men sat up against the same wall, still keeping a good distance between them.
A stakeout. The boss had called for one in the hopes of wiping out a group of fugitives just barely on the rise. A rumor had gone around, talking of their plans to somehow overwhelm the Port Mafia, and it became clear that this threat—however measly it may be—had to be dealt with.
Therefore, not wanting to waste any time, he had two of his finest members in combat sent out to the enemy organization’s meeting place. These two happened to be none other than Nakahara Chuuya and Akutagawa Ryūnosuke.
One of brute strength, possessing an ability dealing with gravity manipulation and a havoc-wreaking, interminable force. The other a ruthless killer with an equally unique ability, often unruly in the way of character, to a point where he became uncontrollable.
Ever since the infamous team ‘Double Black’ had split, the half that remained with the Port Mafia, the weapon of ultimate destruction—incomplete. Incomplete, but not useless. Nowhere near useless.
They’d offered him the position of executive, after all. Since Dazai Osamu, formally dubbed Mr. Bandage Bitchface by Chuuya to his coworkers, had packed up his shit and left. They needed someone to fill the position. He was no Dazai, practically the opposite—what Dazai had in intellect, Chuuya matched in strength. What he had in heartlessness, Chuuya crushed with gusto.
He would’ve refused if he had a choice, seeing what it had done to Dazai himself. But the boss’s grin that didn’t reach his eyes told him all he needed to know—so he sold his soul.
Therefore, he still found himself on many missions, many other jobs—but never with this kid.
The one that seemed to have a one-track mind. The one Chuuya assumed had an unhealthy obsession with Dazai.
At the mention of his name in his thoughts, Chuuya scowled, involuntarily kicking a fragment of rock across the space. It ricocheted off the wall, flying past him and nearly grazing his cheek.
The same voice again, “What are you doing, Nakahara?”
“Trying to pass the time.” Chuuya murmured, leaning his head back against the wall. (Gently, so his hat wouldn’t be damaged or soiled by the dirty concrete.)
“I see.” Akutagawa remarked, his tone deadpan.
Well, this was going to be a blast.
Chuuya couldn’t help but side-eye him, observing his movements. Or rather, lack of movement. He sat as still as a statue, gray eyes unblinking. His arms folded tightly over his chest. Pale skin and thin figure partially illuminated by the weak moonlight. Almost reverent. He supposed that someone who looked so much like the personification of darkness would worship it.
Moments later and he found himself staring. Mysterious. He realized that he knew only very little about the boy. Despite working in the same organization and seeing each other in passing, not much. A few random facts here and there, not limited to his apparent obsession with that bandage-whore Dazai. He had served under Dazai, been crushed under his heel—the idiot playing the role of a mentor for the kid. Once in awhile Chuuya had stumbled in, interrupting what barely held any resemblance to a ‘training session’. The man had thrown everything he had at Akutagawa, insisting that it made him stronger and less likely to fall victim to things such as torture or whatever hardship he might encounter. It only resulted in making him grossly obsessed, almost infatuated with Dazai in the long-run, thirsting for just the slightest bit of praise.
It made Chuuya feel utterly sick to his stomach. To watch someone with so much potential reduced to a hollow shell begging for recognition.
Perhaps a part of it came from his unresolved hatred for his ex-partner. But most of it felt like something else. Like the unfairness of the situation, the aura it produced; it had begun to pervade his own and ultimately rub off on him.
As his mind whirred with thoughts, his eyes never left Akutagawa, who now had actually started—quivering?
Sure enough, he seemed to be trembling just the slightest bit, knees drawn up closer to his chest. Chuuya simply narrowed his eyes in suspicion first.
“You okay?” he finally asked, making the kid abruptly freeze.
He didn’t even bother to make eye contact, grumbling, “I’m fine.”
Chuuya pursed his lips, appearing unconvinced. A gloved hand drifted to his hat to readjust it. “Are you sure?” he pried, doing his best to sound sincere—but not too sincere.
Akutagawa quickly coughed before responding, “Fine. I’m just cold.”
“Oh. Then come out from your little bat-cave. It’s gotta be freezing as fuck.”
“I said I was fine. What difference will a few centimeters make?”
“Just making a suggestion,” Chuuya hummed defeatedly.
Soon enough, he heard rustling, and seconds later Akutagawa sat closer to him, fully out from the cover of his corner.
“Better?” he called, but caught Akutagawa shaking his head.
“Hardly.”
“You’re hard to please,” Chuuya mumbled under his breath, beginning to shrug his jacket off his shoulders. Akutagawa’s stare fell on him as if he’d suddenly transformed into an alien.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Taking off my coat. What does it look like, dumbass?”
“Wh-what are you going to do with it? It’s freezing—” he immediately fell silent when Chuuya draped it over him. The breath caught in his throat, and he could only make a sort of choking noise. Chuuya swore he glimpsed pink rushing to the kid’s cheeks.
Maybe it was spur-of-the-moment kindness. Maybe it was everything he had been mulling over earlier. Whatever it happened to be, it certainly surprised them both, but Chuuya had resigned himself to the action already. He slumped back against the wall, somewhat enjoying hearing Akutagawa sputter. Flustered. Something Chuuya deemed uncharacteristic of Akutagawa. He would’ve never thought the two words would coexist in a sentence, unless a ‘not’ sat between them.
But, no. Akutagawa was definitely, completely flustered.
“Y-you’re an idiot.” he hissed, Chuuya only able to react with a smirk. “If you get cold—”
“It’s my own damn fault, I know.”
“I’m glad that we’re on the same page.”
He noticed Akutagawa’s hands gently gripping the fabric of the coat, wrapping it tighter around himself. Fortunately, it seemed he had stopped shivering like a pet fresh from the bath. His expression held too many emotions, all swirling into one still-sheepish mess. Cheeks still flushed, he closed his eyes and let out a frustrated sigh.
To be honest, the cool breeze barely tickled Chuuya’s skin. It felt somewhat icy, but perhaps he had just adjusted to wearing so many layers that now temperature regulation was no longer a problem. He toyed with his hat, trying to position it properly. Unaware of the other eyes on him, he continued for about another minute, only stopping when Akutagawa interrupted him, “What are you doing?”
Chuuya let his hands drop with a dissatisfied noise. “Why do you have to know every little thing I’m doing?” He paused and looked over, only to be met with a blank stare. “I was fixing my hat.”
“For five minutes?”
“It wasn’t even five minutes.”
“Why are you here?”
The abrupt change of subject made Chuuya’s frown tighten. “To keep you in check.” That part was true—the boss had specified how Akutagawa often disobeyed or simply ignored orders, and how Chuuya could serve as a buffer for that obstinance.
“Wha—why do I need to be monitored?”
“Because you’re always going off and doing your own thing. It’s starting to cause a lot of trouble. And that blonde girl you’re always with isn’t so eager to stop you.”
“It’s not my fault.” he protested, his tone almost whiny-sounding.
“Yeah, sure.” Chuuya crossed his arms. “Let’s just drop that, okay?”
“Fine. How much longer?”
“You just asked that earlier.”
“Well, I demand an answer—”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, kid.”
“Wh-what, afraid to fight?!”
“Says the man snuggling into my coat.”
That must have been a slap in the face for Akutagawa, his eyes went wide. In response, he only loosened his hold on Chuuya’s jacket, but still kept it somewhat around him. Obviously, the frigid air still battered the poor kid, too much to even let go of a coat to prove a point. And Akutagawa did seem to like flaunting his pride. Whatever little bit he had.
Clearly sickly from the moment Chuuya had first laid eyes upon him, every trivial thing apparently got to Akutagawa much more easily than the average person. A blatant example: this whole situation. Chuuya would’ve assumed that the outfit—vampire dress and all—would be enough to protect him from the elements.
“Huh,” he thought out loud. Akutagawa didn’t even blink. He had gone silent, and maybe even totally unresponsive from the previous blow. ‘Serves you right for trying to talk back to me.’
The stubbornness had almost become a nuisance by now, if it hadn’t already before. Some part of Chuuya reluctantly admitted that it sort of fit Akutagawa’s character and made him seem—
He mentally cut himself off, unsure of what word he would’ve used in the empty space of that sentence.
Annoying? Well, maybe that was true. But it didn’t quite fit for this specific situation. He looked over, as if the answer lies within the man himself.
Scanning the huddled form, he suddenly noticed details that never stood out to him before. Certain aspects of his face—like his eyelashes. Dark to contrast the almost washed-out skin tone, as well as thick and naturally wavy. The pronounced jawline, slender neck, his whole body one elegant, coordinated dance. A perfect embodiment of grace.
Beautiful? Chuuya’s eyes widened at his own confession, his breath temporarily arrested. How can obstinance contribute to beauty—how can Akutagawa, of all people, be beautiful?
Another look, just a simple glance—and it convinced him.
‘Shit, he’s pretty.’
Even stubbornness somehow made him more desirable.
‘Now I’m sitting here on a stakeout. With a guy I just realized I’m really attracted to. Aaaand he’s kind of wearing my clothes.’
As if on cue, Akutagawa coughed loudly, disturbing the quietness. He brought his hand to his mouth, continuing for a good five more seconds before regaining his breath. Chuuya studied him blankly, shifting unconsciously towards Akutagawa.
“If you want your coat back, too bad. I’ve already commandeered it.”
“It’s my coat, and I can take it back if I want to.”
Akutagawa scoffed, turning his head away.
Quite frankly, Chuuya didn’t particularly want to take the jacket away from him. The whole scene before him filled his stomach with a fuzzy, tingly, warm feeling. He just now noticed how tiny it looked, shrouding those bony shoulders, reluctantly remembering how even Akutagawa towered over his own height. Reflexively groaning at said realization, Chuuya reached up and grabbed the collar in his brief flutter of anger. This elicited a sharp gasp from Akutagawa, coupled with an annoyed sound spilling from his lips.
“No. You can turn into a block of ice for all I care.” he mumbled apathetically, desperately trying to escape Chuuya’s grasp.
“Fine, fine. I won’t take the coat,” he hummed in a purposefully affected tone, letting go of the article of clothing with a dramatic flourish. His hand still hung in the air above as he continued on inching closer. Finally, he seized it once more, gently flung half of it overhead, and smoothly slid under to join him.
When it re-landed on their shoulders, it just barely managed to cover them both. Akutagawa had resumed his flustered expression, only able to stare in disbelief at the man pressed up against his side. Chuuya leered proudly, waiting for the inevitable protestation.
Sure enough, it followed shortly after. “Did-did you not hear a word I said?!”
“Ah, but I didn’t take it from you. We’re sharing. Problem?” Chuuya whispered, purposely keeping their faces close—for intimidation purposes, he convinced himself.
The blush on Akutagawa’s face only spread further, reaching the tips of his ears. Once again, Chuuya found himself captivated, blue meeting gray in twin gazes. Foreign breath hit his cheeks, warming his own face.
“N-Nakahara—” Akutagawa stuttered breathily, the end of the word catching in his throat. “H-how much longer?”
“Don’t care.”
“What?”
“I said, I don’t care.”
“Well, I do—”
“Shut up.”
And he most certainly did, almost cowering under Chuuya’s stare. Chuuya thought he must’ve looked pretty damn serious. He couldn’t—help himself.
How could he have gotten swept away so easily? Before, he had never even thought about so much as glancing in the kid’s direction. But now, something unspoken and unexhibited suddenly rang out to him. Helpless. For the first time, Akutagawa looked helpless.
Maybe it was just Chuuya’s eyes playing tricks on him, maybe he had misidentified the emotion—but whatever it happened to be, that didn’t matter.
It changed his view. He no longer looked at a killer, a criminal, or any other word that could describe the man in front of him—he was looking at an angel. A beautiful, innocent creature who had suffered so much and deserved so much more than that. Chuuya didn’t quite know how, but he could see through the mask and the broken human being with clipped wings that hid beneath it.
And that very cold, hard exterior cracked as soon as Chuuya softly cupped the face before him, bringing it closer to his own—and kissed him.
The first thing he noticed—soft lips. Soft, timid lips that tightened along with the rest of Akutagawa’s body upon the sudden contact. Though he didn’t try to shove Chuuya away, he sat completely frozen, as if the slightest movement would disrupt the order of the universe.
The order of the universe had already been disrupted. Chuuya was kissing his subordinate, both of them huddled under his jacket. Something that never would’ve crossed his mind even just minutes before.
Gradually, Akutagawa seemed to relax, and Chuuya felt hands gently rest on his thighs, while his own wrapped Akutagawa in a loose embrace. Pausing, Chuuya hesitantly pulled back, blinking his eyes open to study him momentarily. The fleeting glimpse of the pretty, bushing face proved enough to satisfy him, and lips were recaptured.
The kiss deepened, hands finding new and foreign places on each other’s bodies. With each movement, the jacket slowly began to slide to the floor. Chuuya relished in every little noise that escaped his partner. He never imagined that he would see Akutagawa come undone in such a way.
He tasted sweet. And Chuuya didn’t want it to end.
Akutagawa acted so unnaturally delicate, like a complete and utter virgin. With every little touch, Chuuya made sure that he treated him like a fragile fragment of glass. Sharp edges and all.
“An angel,” Chuuya murmured through the kiss, feeling Akutagawa falter slightly. The decent smoothness of the kiss briefly vanished as each tried to regain composure after the slip. Unfortunately, it ended in both of them breaking away—Akutagawa gasping for air, and Chuuya simply awestruck.
He felt so much—a complete rush of emotions, each more powerful than the previous. Admiration, concern, respect, obsession, love.
Chuuya had kissed people before, of course. A shitton of guys, girls, and more. Most of the time he was half-drunk, easily swayed by petty compliments about appearance and vintage wine. But kissing Akutagawa evoked something different within him. It all happened so fast; he felt like he had known him for a lifetime and just three seconds all the same. The kiss had uprooted satisfaction, new affection, and a romantic flame kindling within. Poetic it may have sounded—but he couldn’t conjure any other words to describe it.
He forgot everything in that split second. The mission, the cold, the sordid floor they sat on—and could only take in the face before him.
I want to protect you.
I want to make you mine.
I want to give you the happiness you deserve.
You’ve spent so much time in the darkness—do you even remember the light?
Will you let me show you it?
“Nakahara.” Akutagawa blurted, his tone wispy and voice somewhat croaky. His hands had trailed up to his lips, fingers resting there as if he couldn’t even fathom what just occurred. “What was that?”
“I’m sorry—shit. I was too forward, wasn’t I?”
“J-just—what are your intentions, exactly?” Akutagawa had turned red again, holding his temples as he focused his gaze elsewhere.
“Well, shit, I saw you and then I just—I don’t know! It happened! You’re the one who was being so damn irresistible.”
This got Akutagawa’s attention, who made a very loud and obvious, startled noise. “Irresistible?” he repeated, quieter.
Nodding, Chuuya cracked a tiny smile. “Very. I don’t know what particularly causes it, but I’m kind of drawn to you.”
The younger man suddenly regained control of his stubborn-ass self. He growled, “D-do you even hear yourself—?!”
“Loud and clear. And I agree with everything I’m saying.”
“We are on a mission. On the job, for Christ’s sake.”
“Oh, come on. When did you get so serious about your work?”
With that, Chuuya leaned in again. He ghosted his lips over the pale, slim neck, subtly enjoying how it rendered Akutagawa speechless. The only sounds he could hear—heavy panting and his own heart thrumming in his chest. Akutagawa went rigid and seemingly stifled a moan, only to mewl and squirm when Chuuya nipped at his skin.
“Agh, Nakahara,” he snarled, lightly pushing Chuuya away. “What the fuck!” he spat accusingly, promptly sliding away to retreat into his corner. He left the jacket behind, pressing his cheek to the concrete and narrowing his eyes.
Chuuya pouted back at him, bringing his jacket back into his arms and beginning to roll it up. “I’m here if you get cold again.”
Sure enough, Akutagawa’s uncomfortable body language didn’t go unnoticed. He crossed his arms, teeth already visibly chattering after mere seconds. Genuinely, Chuuya felt sorry for him, but knew the doggedness he currently dealt with. His mind subconsciously hoped that it wouldn’t last.
As his pity meter rose, Akutagawa only looked colder and colder. It felt as if he knowingly enticed Chuuya himself, doing utterly pathetic things even in the light of his pride. Unfair. Completely unfair.
He felt a little guilty for springing something like that upon him without much prior warning. But, then again, if Akutagawa had told him to stop or anything like that, he would have listened. He didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, and would wallow in sheepishness for it.
Frown deepening, his own gloved hand inched towards the huddled figure, moving on its own. He stretched out his arm, reaching far enough to poke him.
“Come here.”
“No.”
“That wasn’t a request. It was an order from your superior. Get your ass over here,” Chuuya growled.
Hesitantly, Akutagawa turned his head, narrowed gray eyes meeting blue once more. Chuuya’s serious expression didn’t dare to waver, neither did his determination.
Curse his secret soft spot. Curse the unlikely pretty boy next to him. Curse—everything, really.
“You know that you can’t,” Akutagawa muttered disdainfully, gaze dropping to the floor.
“Can’t what?”
“You’ve already crossed the line with—whatever that was earlier. Are you forgetting where we are, who you are?”
Sighing, Chuuya leaned back but kept his arm outstretched. “I don’t really care. It’s not like anyone can see us, anyway.”
As if considering, Akutagawa craned his neck towards him. Chuuya only flexed his fingers as a tease. With a mumble of discordant curses, the younger man slunk over to him and took a seat beside Chuuya, who wrapped an arm around his tiny waist.
“Mm, you should probably eat more, too,” came the whisper, spoken like the unconscious realization it was. It went unheard. He straightened up, offering up his shoulder for Akutagawa to lean on.
Akutagawa declined. He brought his hand to where Chuuya’s rested on his hip, pushing it off in one swift motion—he seemed to have come to his senses. A shame.
“Nakahara-san,” he began, scowling and sliding away when Chuuya tried to touch him again. “I—I’m confused. Where the hell is this coming from?”
With a little smirk, Chuuya just shrugged. He didn’t offer any more explanation than that—he felt he didn’t need to. He’d forgotten that he was dealing with Akutagawa Ryūnosuke, the most oblivious person on the planet. Denser than a block of osmium.
“Then, I… I would prefer it if you didn’t do anything to jeopardize our positions.”
“Yeah, ‘cuz cuddling is definitely going to let the goons know where we’re at.” He leaned back, putting his hands behind his head. “It’s the most well-known of mafia taunts.”
Managing to speak through his blush, Akutagawa scoffed, “I wasn’t referring to our situation, though it’s something to keep in mind. You’re an executive. Don’t let your fooling around want ruin your place in the organization.”
“I’m not fooling around. Is a man not allowed to kiss another man under the stars?! The mood is set by the moon, the circumstances, the wind breathing bits of poetry into our ears,” Chuuya sighed, enjoying his verbose rambling, “all whispering of undying love.”
“Are you fucking drunk?”
“I’m in love, dumbass.”
“Wh—with who?”
Chuuya’s neck almost snapped in two when he turned to look at Akutagawa. Is he for real? “Who did I just kiss?”
As if piecing it together for the first time, Akutagawa’s face practically went up in flames. “You—that wasn’t just trying to distract me? So you could—attack me? For insubordination?”
“Kissing is another famous mafia taunt, now?”
“Nakahara-san, I’m being seri—”
“Nah, wasn’t a taunt. I told you that you were cute.”
“Y—you said—a lot of things.”
“Uh huh, I did,” Chuuya hummed. He was enjoying this side of Akutagawa. Childish, in the sense of innocence. Who would’ve guessed that this was the same man regularly found in a battlefield of bloody corpses, blushing because some unlikely suitor complimented him. “But, yeah, I—I don’t know, man.” The redhead had lost all his poeticness in the embarrassing aftermath. “Like I said, you were looking really adorable. I was into it. You were like a little damsel in distress.”
“I am no such thing!”
“Calm it, princess.” He held up his arms in defense. “Here are my feelings, do what you want with them.” With another exaggerated gesture, he shoved his hands in Akutagawa’s direction, as if serving him a silver platter.
Akutagawa only stared at them, expression unreadable. Poor thing probably didn’t understand a thing that was occuring. He still shivered, his own fingers trembling against his mouth. Tightly-sealed, pink lips that Chuuya wanted to pry open.
“You don’t gotta decide now. Just know that they’re there.” Chuuya shoved his hands back into his pockets, blowing a stray strand of hair from his face. He looked back at Akutagawa—seeing him sitting back on his heels, hands curled into fists on his thighs, head down in apparent shame. “Hey, don’t let it eat you up like that—“
“That was cruel.”
“Huh?”
Rubbing his cheek, Akutagawa scoffed. “Springing such a weighted topic upon me before we’re even off-duty.”
“Yeah, I suppose I could’ve timed it better. You didn’t exactly stop me, either.”
“Hnmnnmmmn.” Akutagawa made a sort of grumbly-muttery noise and hid his face.
Chuuya smirked.
“Nakahara-san?”
“Yeah?”
“H-how much longer?”
“Mmm, maybe ten minutes. Lost track of time, though. Could be earlier.”
Silence fell between them again. They still sat close, though not too close to raise suspicion among nonexistent eyes.
Chuuya’s fingers tapped some unfamiliar beat, hoping the tune would reach the man next to him—an obscure, musical plea for replicating the same exchange they’d shared earlier. It didn’t reach him—partially, at least.
For when Chuuya rolled his shoulders back in a semi-stretch, Akutagawa leaned over and lightly rested his head atop one. He froze briefly, but relaxed at the touch. He took it as answer to his proposition, or perhaps a mere truce. Regardless of the meaning behind it, the feeling of his subordinate’s breath on his cheek somehow calmed him and made his heart race at the same time.
Akutagawa seemed to communicate better through actions and body language rather than words. He curled in, closer to Chuuya’s form (and probably his body heat). Without saying a word, Chuuya tried again, ghosting over Akutagawa’s pale hand and ultimately laying his own on top of it.
They existed like this for a while. In this world-between-worlds. A stasis in which neither knew how the other viewed them. It gave them both a sense of peace, although it was unorthodox.
They both would stay there together forever, if they could.
“How much longer?”
“Hmmm…”
“Nakahara?”
“Shh. Quiet.”
Akutagawa heeded the near-to command, turning his cheek to get more comfortable and almost nuzzling Chuuya in the process.
This was nice. He could get used to this.
He suddenly craved more missions with Akutagawa, more time spent in his company, besides infrequent passings within the mafia headquarters. He wanted to see more of this—the stubborn angel who somehow felt content to rest on his superior’s side. The young man with the eyes of a forlorn child. The fragile kid who was never warm enough. The embarrassed vampire that blushed after everything. The poor, battered creature who’d spent too much time in the darkness, aching for just one sip of light.
Chuuya wanted to be the one to show him. The one to show him the real world, outside the rigid confinements of the mafia that forced everyone to see through black-and-white goggles.
He would give him as much light as he could manage.
“What’ll happen if the enemy sees us like this?” Akutagawa piped up after a long beat of silence and soundless thought.
“Dunno,” Chuuya only hummed, ruffling his hair with a fond smile.
He tried to ignore the distant clamor of ever-approaching footsteps.