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"Atsushi."
Seven letters. Three syllables.
It wasn't as easy to say as jinko, or idiot, but uttering that out loud without feeling the restraint of shyness catching up in his throat was an improvement compared to the first time when his name mindlessly left Akutagawa's lips. It wasn't as rushed or panicked as before, but much more like a redefined routine. It was foreign, but he would do it over and over again.
"Yes?" Atsushi would turn up his head to face him, a kaleidoscope of lilac and gold met the storms in his own. "Did you need something?"
“Nothing.”
Seven letters. Two syllables.
He had always thought the only seven-letter word he needed was nothing—absence, nonexistent, peace in oblivion. He had always wished to stop waking up to dark alleys and an empty stomach. But then he'd remember the friends he had around him—bustling with life, dragging him into the thought of a tomorrow, hope—more.
Then, he lost them.
Then he wanted more.
Revenge.
Seven letters. Two syllables.
It was the thing that kept him grounded for as long as he could remember.
Seven letters.
Anguish.
Despair.
Outrage.
Seven letters. They were all seven letters—things that made him stand up after falling down, heal everytime he gets bruised. Those were the words he lived by, and the words that are engraved into his skin.
And then he came.
Nakajima Atsushi.
Weretiger.
Atsushi.
Seven letters, three syllables.
First, he was foreign. Seven letters.
“Is this okay?” Atsushi had asked when he cupped Ryuunosuke's face with both hands. The murmur of the city still present in the distance, and he was sure Gin was lurking in the corners. And was that Higuchi in the bushes?
Then he'd answer, letting the world slip through the gaps of his fingers as he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
Suddenly, the world was falling apart and Atsushi's breath was the only thing that kept them grounded.
“Yes.”
And then his lips were tourists visiting Ryuunosuke's—an attraction nobody had dared to visit until now. The tourists liked it there.
And the tourists stayed.
Second, he had the same rhyme as idiotic—seven letters—sometimes even foolish—seven letters—or even complex.
“Out of the two of us, you're the complex one!” Atsushi would grumble, making that face that involved scrunching his nose and crinkling his eyes. Ryuunosuke would say it looks utterly ridiculous and ugly, but here he was, relishing the endearing look on Atsushi's face.
Ryuunosuke would roll his eyes anyway. “And how's that?”
“Have you seen your fashion taste?” Atsushi raises up his hands as if his face didn't scream aggravation loud enough. “Or even your taste buds! I swear you eat the most disgusting foods!”
Ryuunosuke would just roll his eyes. Again.
“I'm not the one who tried making a cake for my boyfriend, failed and ended up complaining over it to said boyfriend who didn't know how to comfort him.” Atsushi would giggle awkwardly, remembering the last time he had dealt with trying to make something for Ryuunosuke that was supposed to be edible.
Atsushi would smile anyway. “At least I tried! You don't even try making me those things.”
“Because I am aware of my lack in talent. You, on the other hand, would insist on effort when I already told you that the bare minimum is enough.”
“You can't blame me, can you?” Atsushi's smile would still be absurdly pasted on his lips, threatening Ryuunosuke to kiss him. “This is a privilege.”
“This,” he waved his hands in front of him, gesturing to both of them. “is not a privilege. It's nothing.”
Seven letters.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.” He mirrored.
“Technically, it's something.”
“What?”
“It's not nothing.” Atsushi said in a matter-of-factly. “It's not minimum. This is maximum.”
Seven letters.
“How so?” Ryuunosuke's lips quirked at the edges, as if Atsushi's lips had a magnetic pull on his.
“This,” he gestures to both of them. “is the farthest I've got into a relationship. It's only fair to call it the maximum.”
“Okay.”
“You're not gonna shut me down?”
Idiotic.
“Not now.”
Foolish.
“I love you.”
Complex.
Third, he had become more. He started sounding like payback—seven letters—then curious—seven letters—then welcome—seven letters—then central.
He looked down at Atsushi laying on his chest, his eyes closed and his breathing heavy and stuttering. The first time the slept together, Ryuunosuke couldn't sleep because he knew he'd wake up to another nightmare and send Atsushi flying. Or maybe because he fancied staring at Atsushi's soft eyelashes caressing his cheeks.
Damn it.
He just wanted to sleep.
But Atsushi's facial expression made him more awake. His face scrunched up and his mouth was whispering incoherent words. Ryuunosuke was aware of how nightmares felt like, but he wasn't aware of how it looked like on someone else.
“Atsushi,” he said once, shaking him up. He woke up with a start and swung at Ryuunosuke who expected something like that from someone who had frequent nightmares. It was not unusual for someone who had such a past wake up from slumber peacefully.
“Shit,” heaved breathes and darkness engulfed Atsushi's senses as he stared at Ryuunosuke. “Shit, sorry. I—”
Ryuunosuke gave him a pat on the back and realized his cheeks were stained with tears. He reached up to Atsushi's cheeks and wiped them off his face. He seemed to lean into his touch as he steadied his breathing, trying his hardest to not look vulnerable in front of Ryuunosuke.
Private.
Seven letters.
There were very few things he didn't share with Ryuunosuke. There was his food, because Ryuunosuke was tasteless and he would clearly insult his food, then there was his scars, his past.
“I won't ask. But you know, this is the first time I've seen you crying.” He said, ignoring Atsushi's gaze and finding the window more interesting. “Do you ever cry like this?”
“I don't like being seen like this.” The unexpected show of honesty made Ryuunosuke frown.
“Me too.”
“Not even with Gin?”
“Specially not with Gin.” Ryuunosuke sighed. He then glanced out the window, which they forgot to close. “I don't like being weak.”
Damaged.
Seven letters.
Atsushi didn't say anything. He only moved to grab Akutagawa's hand and slid it under his own shirt, making him gasp in return when he felt the lining of the burns and scars. He retreated his arms as soon as Atsushi let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
Tainted.
Seven letters.
“I don't like taking off my shirt.” Atsushi confessed, wiping some of his tears. “I know telling you this won't help me with what I dreamed about, but this is my vulnerability. It's the thing I can't run away from.”
And he told him everything. From the orphanage, to the torture, to the driving out, to begging and screaming and everything that made him feel like shit everyday for the next two years. That these days were better days than before and that he grew from them, but the memories still followed wherever he went. It was snark and bitter, but kind and sad. It was two things in one and many things in nothing, but Ryuunosuke understood.
Sometimes, Atsushi seemed as if he was invincible. As if nothing got under his skin—like he was unaware of what pain tasted like between his teeth.
Then at these times—he was still vulnerable.
Then suddenly, he was welcome.
Seven letters.
“You know,” Akutagawa said as he did the same with Atsushi did before hand. He guided his hand on the small of his back to the middle section. “Your past is fundamentally unrelated to who you are now. But we don't have to run away from them.” Atsushi retreated his hand as he stared at Akutagawa's eyes. “They're from the slums. After our parents died, me and Gin had to roam the slums and live on stolen food to survive. Some people weren't kind and punished us for it. We've had friends and they all got killed.” He threw him a single, small smile that packed reassurance. “I still dream of death sometimes.”
Two separate tears slid down Atsushi's cheeks again, and he forced his sobs down back his throat as Ryuunosuke leaned onto him. “Is this okay?” He laid down and pulled onto Atsushi who made home in between his arms.
Through silent sobs and a stilling breath, he answered. “Yes.”
That time, Ryuunosuke fell asleep, and Atsushi didn't dream.
Fourth, he'd become natural. Seven letters. Three syllables.
“Are you done?” Atsushi asks as Ryuunosuke closed door behind them. They were on another mission again, and back then he was against working with the weretiger—now, it was natural.
Like he had always been here before everything else. Like he had already existed in Ryuunosuke's life and he just wasn't aware of it.
“Would you shut your mouth, they could hear us.”
“Sure.”
“I hate you.”
“Tell me something I don't know.”
Okay asshole.
“You're lovable.” Seven letters, three syllables.
“What?”
“You're genuine. Primary. Nuclear.” Seven letters, three syllables.
“I—” Ryuunosuke's hands already found home on his waist, lips already pasted on his neck.
“You're limited.” He looks up, as if searching for more. “You're a current I am willing to flow with—”
“Okay stop.” Atsushi giggles as he tries to push him away. “We're in the middle of a job.”
“Mhm.”
“I'm serious.”
Seven letters.
“That works too.”
“What?”
Ryuunosuke laughs. “Nothing.”
And last, he was Atsushi. In all his seven letters, three syllables glory. A jumble of letters, a match of syllables, a hymn sung with the thump-thump-thump of Ryuunosuke's heart. He was the ache making itself welcome in his ribs, and he was the looming cure for the numbness rooming there.
All his life, Ryuunosuke had always wanted nothing.
Seven letters.
Then he'd wanted revenge.
Seven letters.
Then he'd wanted options.
Seven letters.
But now, all he wanted was Atsushi.
Seven letters. Three syllables.
And he had never been so satisfied.