Chapter Text
For so long, the only thing Akutagawa Ryuunosuke ever asked for was approval. And even that, only from one man--the Port Mafia executive robed in black and bandages wrapping white around him, staring down at him with one cold eye and a tiny smirk of condescension and contempt.
Dazai Osamu. ‘No Longer Human’. The Demon Prodigy who had taught him everything but given him nothing. Why was it so painful? One would think the pain would lessen over time, but each new barbed phrase pushed through his heart once again.
And then Dazai had abandoned him--abandoned all of them--betrayed them to join that Armed Detective Agency he seemed to love so much. He’d just left! Like it all meant nothing. And maybe, to him, it didn’t.
But that wasn’t the worst of it, oh no. The worst part was that weretiger. A beast who couldn’t even control his ability when he encountered Dazai, but then--Dazai had taken him in and given him a home and friends and encouragement and everything Akutagawa had never had, and it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair. Why was that tiger better than him? Why? He was just a weakling who couldn’t control his ability or his emotions. It just wasn’t fair.
That was what he’d thought, anyway. Yet he’d seen the weretiger, Atsushi, grow--he’d seen the change in Dazai, the light in his eyes that hadn’t been there in the Mafia. And he’d wondered, what’s so special about their Agency, that brings light back to everyone who goes near it?
Kouyou had spoken of that, when they’d taken Kyouka, had spoken of the light that Agency had in a warning tone. But he was curious, he couldn’t deny it. In so little time, she and the weretiger had grown so attached to each other. He’d seen them out together, sometimes, talking, laughing, sometimes eating crepes or other such things, sometimes smiling as Kyouka hugged a stuffed rabbit to her chest, sometimes simply walking together.
He didn’t understand why his chest ached so much when he saw that, why no amount of coughing could clear the painful lump in his throat.
It didn’t matter, not really. He had Gin, for one thing. Higuchi treated him like he was some sort of god. And then there was Chuuya.
Chuuya, who had suffered the repercussions of Dazai’s abandonment just like Akutagawa, who would go into pure rage at even a mention of the ex-mafioso's name. The casual way he’d talk about just wrapping his hands around the taller man’s throat and squeezing, or digging a knife between his ribs--Akutagawa was numb to such threats and comments by now, but there was definitely a time when he, like most, would’ve been disturbed by such things.
Still, he had doubts about whether or not Chuuya actually meant it, considering that he’d had Dazai at his mercy several times and yet the suicidal maniac kept showing up alive and well.
The important thing, though, was that Chuuya understood him. At least a little bit.
He’d showed up on Akutagawa’s doorstep after the Guild incident with a bottle of wine and a smirk, and hadn’t asked to be invited in; had just walked in like he owned the place… Lovely.
Still, the wine had been good, what little he’d had of it anyway, and watching Chuuya rant about how he was wasting his time looking for acknowledgement from Dazai had been… almost amusing, if a little bit pathetic.
It had been much less amusing and much more pathetic when a thoroughly-drunk Chuuya had gone on a miserable and angry rant about how Dazai had abandoned him, and then collapsed face-first onto the table and stayed there for the next half hour while Akutagawa tried to figure out what to do with him.
In the end, he’d had to drag Chuuya--who was heavier than he looked--all the way back to his own apartment, at which point he’d collapsed himself, trying to catch his breath and not cough his lungs up.
All in all, it hadn’t been the best day, but at the very least it had motivated him to try and get over his own issues. He didn’t want to end up passing out on other people’s tables. It sounded humiliating, and he really had better things to do with his time.
First step: getting used to the weretiger, most likely. Gin had suggested that he try a peace offering of sorts, but what? He didn’t know what the tiger--Nakajima, he reminded himself, since he was trying to be nice, would like. And he wasn’t going to just ask.
He’d put his mind to the task of figuring it out, and in the meantime, he’d found himself being dragged into some semblance of a friendship by Chuuya. Why, he wasn’t sure--but the petite executive(not that he’d call Chuuya that to his face) seemed to be determined to succeed, whether that be through showing up with more wine(which always ended the same way), or engaging him in official conversations(which usually turned less than official rather quickly), or even just helping him hone his ability… which always bewildered him, since he was still standing and not in excruciating pain at the end of it.
“Well, of course,” Chuuya had said, sounding very bewildered himself. “I’m not Dazai.”
No, you really aren’t.
Dazai would never have showed up and drunkenly ranted at Akutagawa for an hour before having to be dragged all the way home.
Dazai would never have used what should have been time on duty to have idle conversations like they were friends instead of superior and subordinate.
Dazai would never have been so lax with his training, would never have allowed him to get away with anything less than his limit and beyond that.
But…
Dazai also would never have allowed himself to be emotionally vulnerable, to let Akutagawa know how he really felt underneath everything.
Dazai would never have treated him like a friend, like anything other than the Port Mafia’s rabid dog.
Dazai would never have been satisfied, would never have said ‘that’s good enough, you’ve done enough.’
How was Akutagawa supposed to feel? Everything was different, and he didn’t know if that was good or bad. It felt… it felt…
It felt good. To be treated like a person instead of a tool, or put on some absurd pedestal like Higuchi did--was something he hadn’t really thought about in so long.
He didn’t understand, but he decided he rather liked it. Rather liked Chuuya, and the slow relationship they were starting to build.
...If continuing to build that relationship meant having to drag a drunken mafia executive across Yokohama every now and then, well, he’d just have to learn to live with it. After all, it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do with his time, and the exercise might be good for him.
Besides, when it came down to it, Chuuya wasn’t so hard to deal with, he supposed. The fact that he was so small helped make the load a little lighter than it otherwise might have been...
He’d just have to make sure that he never, ever, ever said that out loud.
Still, now that he thought about it… maybe he didn’t need Dazai’s approval so much after all.
Maybe Chuuya’s would do just as well.