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It’s a slim, elegant file with a luxe cover. The bindings are strong, and there’s even a clasp at the edges to keep it shut. The softness of it, as well as the smell of it tells Atsushi that there’s some sort of animal product involved, like mink or leather.
The Boss only uses this type of stationary for important documents, and if he’s sending the White Reaper himself to deliver this info in a briefcase disguised to look plain and nondescript, then whatever is inside must be valuable indeed.
Sweat rolls down the boy’s face in rivulets, and his sweater is soaked through the back. Translucent hair clings to furrowed brows, and he wipes at his nape with his gloved hands in vain. The humid air is thick enough to swim in and is boiling with heat, while the burning rays of the hot sun feel like they’re setting his dark clothes on fire, baking him within. The most the boy allows himself is to pull the zipper down the high neck of his ankle length coat. A ribbed turtleneck sags underneath, revealing the glint of something wrapped around his neck, thick and white, with silver studs.
Such clothes would be the norm in the middle of winter, after snowfall, but he won’t even unzip his coat the whole way, face bloody red with heat exhaustion and something else that makes him grasp at the fabric over his chest. The brick building is in the distance, but despite his discomfort, he slows his steps. Civilians see him and give him a wide berth, and once they see his scowl, the radius around him increases.
A cute, brick building with office spaces on the upper floors and a café on the ground levels.
Uzumaki makes great coffee, but it’s what’s upstairs that always brings him the most grief.
“Kid cheer up!” a shopkeeper calls from the side. The boy blinks at the sound, then shuffles over, scuffing his dark boots.
“Good afternoon,” he greets. The man can only sigh at the whole thing, stiff and awkward.
“You always look like you’re having the worst time whenever you come here. We really that bad, Nakajima?”
“N-No, of course not! I just always have a bad time with someone here! It’s not you guys!” the boy splutters. He collects himself and gives a small bow. “Oh, thank you for the candy last week. I shared it with someone and we both really enjoyed it.”
The man grins, skin tanned and rugged from the sun, and the boy wishes that he was out enough during the day for his skin to tan like that too.
“That’s good. Oh, the miss from the grocer wants you to try the dashi she made, so pick it up when you’re down with your errand here, yeah?”
Nakajima’s eyes sparkle at the words, and he nods.
“Alright, thank you for telling me! Ah, see you!”
“See ya, kid.”
The shopkeeper watches as the kid hurries down the street, an extra pep in his step. A little more and he’d be skipping like a child.
When the boy first appeared, pale haired in dark clothes like some ghost, the locals were wary. The Mafia is strong, and even new recruits are not to be underestimated. The monthly tax that they all pay is painful, but they have no choice, lest they face destruction.
The boy used to appear at the end of every month, circles under dull eyes to collect thick envelopes of cash. Needless to say, his reputation was shit, and the grocer had half a mind to slap the kid every time he came over.
Until one day the boy took half the cash out of the envelope and gave it back.
“The tax has been decreased,” he muttered.
It was strange, to say the least.
The boy must’ve been good enough at his job, since he stopped appearing to collect the protection tax, but the new amount stayed. Someone from an izakaya started the stories first. One night, he’d been struggling to move crates of bottles for recycling. The part timers had all left early, when someone lifted the crate from his arms. He turned around, and the kid was holding a basket in each arm like it was nothing.
“Where… Sorry, um, where do these need to go?”
All he could do was point towards a corner with a dropped jaw.
It was fun trading rumors after that.
The new Mafia kid escorted a child home after dark.
The new Mafia kid was spotted mewling at the local strays.
What really cemented the kid’s place in their hearts was after someone gave him some leftovers, as thanks for helping with a small task, and his eyes were shining, all over some cold food.
A kind child stuck in a horrible situation.
That’s what they all realized.
So, they ignore the blood on his clothes sometimes. They pretend to not see the snarls he accidentally gives when stressed. They spoil him a little, if only to make sure the dying glow in his eyes never truly disappears.
It’s stupid to expect air conditioning in the halls, but the boy wishes it was there. Trapped in the stairwells, the air is stagnant, and anyone else might’ve passed out by now. He reaches the office, then knocks with a clean set of three against the glass.
“Come in,” a deep voice calls out.
“It’s Nakajima,” he says, slipping in and closing the door with a soft click. “Excuse me, Mr. Kunikida, I have documents from the Boss.”
The man gets up from his desk, tall, with his golden hair tied off at the nape of his neck. The way he jolts up from his seat is rushed, even for the arrival of important documents.
“Thank you for coming. I have the key. Are you alright, Atsushi?”
Atsushi smiles, lips pushed up into a small curve.
“I’m fine, thank you for your concern,” he answers, rolling up the sleeve of his coat. A thick manacle is clamped around his wrist, beeping with a soft, constant rhythm. It’s chained to the briefcase.
Kunikida procures a micro-USB and inserts it into a slot on the manacle, and he sighs as the beeping stops and the device unclamps from the boy’s wrist. He takes another moment to inspect the fast-fading chafing on Atsushi’s wrist, the the rest of him before taking the briefcase. Atsushi is drenched in sweat, from the stress or the heat, he’s not sure. The air conditioning in the room is set at a comfortable level, but the boy’s cheeks are flushed and feverish.
“You can wait here until we finish processing everything.”
“Of course.”
Kunikida mutters something under his breath about ‘the nerve of that man!’ as he hurries to the back office, but Atsushi doesn’t bother heightening his hearing to pay attention.
The tension in the place is undeniable, and usually Atsushi would want to get out as soon as possible, but it looks like his arch-nemesis isn’t here, and the cool room is too valuable to abandon just from some awkwardness. He ignores the stares from the others and closes his eyes while on the couch, worrying about small things like leaving sweat on the couch.
“Kid, if you want, I can teach you how to disarm stuff like that next time.”
Atsushi blinks and peers up at the red-haired man looking down at him. He straightens his back and shakes his head.
“No, there’s no need to trouble you like that. Even if my wrist gets blown off, I’ll regenerate, so it’s more of an extra safety feature than a threat to me. But thank you for the offer Mr. Odasaku.”
The man huffs and runs his fingers through his disheveled hair, mussing it more than usual.
“And the offer will always be there.”
“I understand- wait!”
He jumps up and scans the entire office in a second, pupils turning into cat-like slits in the process. If Mr. Odasaku is back then-!
“Weretiger.”
“Akutagawa!”
The man has eschewed his coat in favor of lighter clothes more suited for the heat. The entire office is dressed in a reasonable way, to the point that the Weretiger looks even more out of place. Akutagawa wipes the sweat from his face with a towel, pushing his white-streaked hair away from his cheeks and neck.
“Looks like you haven’t fried from the heat yet. Pity,” he mutters at Atsushi.
“Siscon,” the boy spits back, wasting no time in cutting straight to where it hurts.
A gleaming blade slashes out, but Atsushi catches it with a transformed arm, black claws gleaming.
“You haven’t been walked yet?” Akutagawa jeers, adjusting his tie, mocking Atsushi’s collar. “You can just fry your brain outside in that coat and become a real dog.”
Akutagawa glares deep at Atsushi.
The boy responds with the same level of aggression.
“Akutagawa,” Haruno calls, “the President said to get our guest some tea.”
Her heels clip as she walks over, unfazed by the events.
“Akutagawa, I already brewed some. You can add the ice yourself, right?”
The man withdraws the strip of cloth coming from his clothes, and Atsushi undoes the transformation on his arm. As Akutagawa prepares the tea in the kitchen, Odasaku knocks on the doorframe, alerting the man to his presence.
“Akutagawa, I know it’s difficult, but we are in a truce right now. I don’t know why the Port Mafia keeps sending over Atsushi, but if anything happens…”
Akutagawa stares back at his mentor, at Odasaku’s kind but stern eyes. He owes too much to this man to let his personal feelings put them all in possible danger like this. Plus, to be kind right now is what someone on the side of light would do.
It’s where he is right now, and he needs to put in the effort to belong here every day.
“I understand. I…” he parses through his feelings, wondering how to explain them.
“You hate him?” Odasaku offers. The older man often tries to help him through his emotions but hate feels too simple for what’s happening right now.
“I don’t hate the Weretiger. I hate- I hate his core. What makes him him,” Akutagawa stumbles, glaring at the pale ice cubes.
Odasaku stares back, taking a moment to formulate his reply.
“That’s… That’ll be complicated,” he finally says with a deep sigh.
The heat, strange feelings – it all makes one want to sigh.
Akutagawa reappears, and this time, he takes a deep breath and centers himself. The damn Weretiger is right there, just sitting there. He doesn’t need to go on the attack the moment he gets over.
He does not need to go on the attack.
No matter how hard he tries, the scowl won’t leave his face, and he slams the tray down onto the coffee table.
“Here.”
He’s not insulting the Weretiger right now, and that’s good enough.
The Weretiger rolls his eyes then pours himself a glass. Still, there’s a gratefulness there as he chugs the whole glass in one go. Akutagawa narrows his eyes, then takes a seat on the opposite side of the couch, observing the situation. The Weretiger ignores Akutagawa and drinks some more iced tea. He looks on the verge of illness, with blood-red cheeks, heavy sweat, and clear heat exhaustion that looks like it could turn into heatstroke at any moment.
Kindness. Be kind.
“If it’s that hot, why are you dressed like that? I get that you’ve sucked up to enough of the local population that you could kill someone and still get away with it in public but advertising yourself like this is excessive.”
The Weretiger ignores the jab and has a sheepish expression as he puts down his glass.
“… Something happened and… Er, these were the only clothes I had.”
Even if he tries to keep it off his face, he still smiles at Akutagawa, hiding behind the rim of the glass.
“Thank you. For the tea, and for asking.”
Irritation spikes through his system, like needles in Akutagawa’s bloodstream. His entire body tenses, and Rashoumon twitches at the hems. The Weretiger can’t ignore the sudden hostility even if he tries, and he slams down his tea with a loud groan.
“Okay, what did I do this time?!”
Even while trapped in the darkness, the Weretiger is still kind, still weak with softness. While Akutagawa needs to strain to keep himself kind and worthy of the light, the Weretiger exudes it, almost effortlessly. He can smile without restraint just from some kind prodding, he helps strangers even when his own heart is dying from the death he’s forced to dole out – he’s just kind through and through.
If he were on the side of the light, he’d be like a bright sun, a shining hope for those around him. Instead he’s trapped on the side of the dark, but even then, he can still gleam, a glowing moon in that suffocating night.
The Weretiger’s so kind without even trying, while Akutagawa is on the side of good and still needs help fully embracing it. He has something that Akutagawa wants without even working for it, and whenever they cross paths it’s like he’s flaunting it – an innate thing that makes the Weretiger who he is, but still angers Akutagawa to his very core, nonetheless.
He empties the pitcher over the Weretiger’s head.
Odasaku covers his face, Tanizaki is staring in shock, and Kenji is already grabbing a towel. He owes the boy a meal after this, for helping him smooth things over with the Weretiger after getting angry like this.
The Weretiger slams his palms on the coffee table and stomps to his feet, cold tea dripping from his hair and clothes. He glares up at Akutagawa, and the man hopes that it’s just tea on the boy’s face, and not tears welling up in the corner of the boy’s eyes.
“Do you really hate me that much?!” the weretiger screams, and oh crap those are definitely tears.
“Why don’t you just kill me, huh?! Go for it, just kill me – make me bleed out, cut off my head, just do it you fucking coward!” the Weretiger screeches, and Akutagawa can only stare back as the boy spreads his arms and waits.
“I thought so!”
The Weretiger runs out of the office, his coat knocking over the cups on the table as he leaves.
Someone taps Akutagawa on the shoulder. He looks up, and it’s Kunikida, handing him a slim binder.
“He needs to bring this back, or he could be punished.”
Kunikida’s not even trying to lay off the guilt this time, and he looks at Akutagawa with disappointed eyes. Kenji runs over, handing him a towel. His bright, innocent stare stabs into Akutagawa’s soul like millions of tiny daggers.
“Go make up with him. You hate him, but you don’t hate-hate Atsushi, right?”
He sighs and takes both things.
“I’ll be going for a bit.”
He moves around to a window in a backroom, just in time to see the Weretiger moving through a backstreet. After a few simple calculations he slides open the window and jumps out, using Rashoumon to slow his fall and time his landing perfectly in front of the boy.
The Weretiger screeches and jumps back, claws extended and hair sticking straight up, until he sees who it is. Now that Akutagawa is taking a clearer look, eyes unclouded by anger, the Weretiger’s eyes are red and puffy, making his whole heat-exhausted self even more of a mess.
… Akutagawa definitely feels a little guilty now.
“You forgot this,” he says, handing out the folder, “and I apologize. Here.”
Atsushi takes the folder first, then dries his hair with the towel.
“Thank you,” he mutters, patting at his neck with the towel as well. “I guess I should also thank you for cooling me down for my walk back.”
“The Port Mafia pays well. How did you run out of clothes?” Akutagawa asks, choosing to ignore the topic of the Weretiger crying.
Maybe it’s because the Weretiger is more relaxed, or hadn’t expected to run into anyone, but the zipper of his coat is pulled down more than before, almost to his sternum. There’s a small triangle of pale flesh there.
Wait.
The Weretiger is wearing a high-neck sweater. Why is the skin on his chest exposed? Were his clothes damaged? That could explain the ‘incident’. The boy sees Akutagawa staring, then yelps and zips up his coat, face flushed enough that he looks like he’s in the middle of a deadly fever.
“If-If your clothes are torn, I can fix them,” Akutagawa offers, swallowing his pride. It’s the least he can do for making the Weretiger cry.
“N-no, it’s fine!” the boy stutters.
“Don’t be too modest,” Akutagawa snaps, “It’s a simple enough task with Rashoumon.”
“Really, you don’t need to!”
Here he is, offering an olive branch, and the Weretiger still has the nerve to-
He grabs the zipper and yanks it down before the Weretiger can do anything about it.
Akutagawa’s eyes widen, and just when he thinks they can’t get any wider, he feels like they’re going to pop out of their sockets.
There’s a gaping window in the chest of the Weretiger’s sweater, and the top is disheveled enough that the pink of one of the Weretiger’s nipples is peeking out. The boy covers his face, and Akutagawa chokes as he finishes unzipping the boy’s coat. No pants, just sheer tights, the edge of his boxers and the welt of the tights exposed under the hem of the sweater.
“Weretiger. What… the hell?”
“The Boss was just messing around today, alright?! He ordered me to wear this today! I don’t know why he likes teasing me the most like this – he doesn’t even bother Mr. Chuuya like this!”
… So that’s why the Weretiger was so quick to cry today. He was already stressed by his clothes, probably about to pass out from heatstroke, and Akutagawa throwing tea over the boy was the last straw.
The Weretiger stands there, covering his face in shame, binder forgotten on the ground. Akutagawa sends over a tendril to scoop it up, then grabs the Weretiger by the wrist.
“Let’s go.”
“Wai-wait! What?!”
The Weretiger clutches at his coat as Akutagawa begins to drag him back to the Agency.
Akutagawa hates the boss for a variety of reasons, his trapping of Gin always making the anger in him flare up.
Right now, though?
He detests the boss of the Port Mafia.
He slams open the door.
“Does anyone have any clothes we can lend him?”
It’s a sudden request, and Tanizaki is the first to respond.
“I think I have a spare shirt and some shorts, but why?”
Akutagawa rips open the Weretiger’s coat without hesitating. The boy shrieks and clutches at his lapels, but the sight is already burned into everyone’s eyes. Odasaku frowns at the revealing thing, while Kunikida is already preparing choice words for the next encounter they have with the boss.
“I’m-I’m gonna go right away!” Tanizaki yells, rushing out of the office with a red face.
Without letting go of the Weretiger’s wrist, he pulls the boy back toward the couch for visitors and sits them both down.
“My wrist…”
Akutagawa lets go, glaring at the outfit the Weretiger has on.
“The boss just harasses you like that?”
“N-No, I can tell it’s just to tease me; it’s not harassment.”
“Does he do it to anyone else?”
The Weretiger’s eyes widen.
“No, I’d never let him make Gin uncomfortable like this! I promise!”
That’s nice to know, but still not very reassuring, and not the point of the question. Whatever.
“When did it start?”
“Right around our truce, I guess. It doesn’t bother me that much, really!”
Akutagawa doesn’t even need to have an Ability to know that that’s utter bullshit. The boy is still sweating, and he presses his lips into a thin line.
“You can take off your coat, you know? We’ve already seen your outfit, and it’s way too hot to be wearing anything like that right now.”
Discomfort wins over the shame, and the Weretiger peels his coat off his skin, covering his legs with it. The sweater is sleeveless it turns out, and the open chest is still crooked, making a nip slip almost guaranteed. The Weretiger flinches as Akutagawa reaches toward him, but blushes as the man straightens out his sweater, finally noticing why the man did so in the first place.
“I never pegged the boss to be that big of a bastard of a pervert.”
“I really don’t think it’s for sexual reasons,” the Weretiger sighs. “I think my reactions just make him less bored, and he likes that.”
“Still a pervert.”
“… Maybe.”
The two of them peer up at each other.
There’s a beat of silence, then-
Atsushi breaks into peals of laughter, while Akutagawa smiles, a real smile that makes his eyes crinkle up at the corners.
The whole office watches in shock, at the first time a conversation between the two has ever ended without screaming or threats, and in laughter no less.
Dressed in Tanizaki’s clothes, a loose tee and some shorts, Atsushi looks very young. He hides his hair under a baseball cap and gives Tanizaki a deep bow.
“Thank you so much. I’ll return them as soon as I can.”
“It’s no problem. I’m glad you’re feeling better now.”
Now that Atsushi’s calmed down, his tone is soft and professional again. Still, Akutagawa frowns at the curve of baby fat in the boy’s cheeks that’s always been covered by the high collar of his coat, and the slight frame of his body that’s disguised by layers.
“Weretiger, I never asked, how old are you?”
Atsushi scowls at Akutagawa and clutches the binder to his chest.
“Eighteen.”
… That’s barely older than Gin.
Atsushi sees Akutagawa’s frown, then gives the man a bow.
“Thanks for the help.”
He leaves without another word.
Atsushi takes the time to pick up the dashi stock from the lady at the grocer (who gushes over his clothes, frowning when she hears they’ve been lent to him), and drops it off home first. When he arrives back at the Port Mafia headquarters, he’s changed back into the outfit Dazai gave him.
Chuuya sees him as he’s moving down the hall, done from whatever debrief he had with the man.
“Atsushi, are you alright?”
He nods, but Chuuya doesn’t look convinced.
“You’re allowed to tell him ‘no’, understand? I’ll vouch for you.”
Chuuya’s always been nice to him – it helps during the really bad days.
“I’d rather it be me than Kyouka or miss Gin.”
“Alright, but if he ever does something to cross the line, I’ll be the first to punt his ass out one of those fancy windows in his office.”
Atsushi laughs and smiles back at Chuuya’s mischievous grin.
“Thank you, Mr. Chuuya.”
“Anytime, kid.”
Just in case though, Chuuya waits for a few minutes after Atsushi disappears behind those guarded doors. He knows how much Dazai hated the proclivities of the previous boss, Mori, but he can’t help but worry at this sudden new hobby of Dazai’s. It feels almost as if he’s treating the boy like Elise.
The irritation and worry stick in his head, and he makes a note to annoy Dazai for the reason why later. Dazai hated Mori with a burning passion, and he’s an annoying schemer on top of it all. He turns around and leaves.
“Was Akutagawa there?”
“Yes.”
A strange question, but Atsushi answers honestly. The Boss stares back and smiles with a glassy stare, backlit by the setting sun. He’s wrapped in bandages, but Atsushi shrinks under Dazai’s dissecting stare. That single, uncovered eye is enough the make the Tiger inside him bristle, and he tightens his clasped hands behind his back.
“Why don’t you return the clothes in person to the Agency, the next time you go? We’ll need to collaborate again soon anyways. There’s a new group in town that has been a bit, ah… impudent, lately.”
“I understand,” he replies, struggling to keep his voice firm and his eyes on the ground.
Atsushi’s body is freezing, yet hot sweat runs down his back. Is the Boss angry at him for changing out of the outfit? Will Atsushi get punished? He hopes it’s just pain, and not something that will tear at him mentally.
The Boss gets up, and Atsushi squeezes his eyes shut.
A hand cards through his hair with soft movements.
“Good job. You’re dismissed.”
Atsushi nods and leaves the room with light steps.
Dazai watches as the boy rushes out, but still takes care to not slam the door. He looks down at his palm, remembering how soft Atsushi’s hair felt on the skin.
“… Not even a ‘thank you’, huh? Guess it really is impossible to have anything be like that other place when it comes to me.”
The man unravels the bandages around his skull and gazes out the window, watching Yokohama with wistfulness in his eyes.
Atsushi pats his head as he moves towards the elevator, exhaling in relief. Looks like the Boss was in another one of his strange moods again, but he’s glad he didn’t get punished. He doesn’t know when he’ll see the Agency again, but it’s best to wash Tanizaki’s clothes as soon as he can and buy something small so that he doesn’t come back empty handed.
What does Tanizaki like?
… Could he ask Akutagawa?
He looks at his wrist, where Akutagawa grasped it so firmly out of worry for him.
It’s not hopeless. Maybe they could actually be friends.
The idea makes his heart feel like melting sugar, and he presses his wrist to the big smile on his face, as to not embarrass himself in front of the guard posted in the elevator.
His wish comes sooner than expected.
It’s on his day off, and he’s in the library looking for some textbooks on math and English, about to grab something to read for fun, when his eyes widen, and he ducks behind a shelf. It’s Akutagawa, looking through some novels, mulling over which one to get. He watches for a few seconds, then moves over, keeping his steps quiet, but not silent.
“I liked this translation of ‘Crime and Punishment’ the most. They have a really good glossary in the back for all the Russian terms too,” he says, pointing at something higher up on the shelf.
For a moment, Akutagawa doesn’t recognize who the stranger is, then jolts.
The boy’s hair is stiff with temporary black dye, and he’s wearing contacts, but on second glance, it’s Atsushi Nakajima.
“Weretiger.”
“Please don’t call me that in public…”
“Nakajima.”
“Thank you.”
Atsushi squirms, and he glances up the shelf again.
“Fine, I’ll trust your taste for today.”
Akutagawa’s approval sets off a beaming smile from Atsushi, and he shifts his pile of books to one arm to balance on his toes and get the book for Akutagawa. The unbalanced weight make Atsushi sway, and the older man quickly pulls the boy down before an impending disaster can happen.
“It’s fine. I’ll get it.”
Rashoumon wraps around the book and pulls it down for him, making Atsushi pout.
“It’s fine, the Tiger makes me strong, you know?”
“There’s a different between working hard and being stupid.”
Atsushi can’t argue against that, and he shifts the books in his arms. Akutagawa takes half of the pile, placing Crime and Punishment on top. He takes some time to look at the titles on the spines of Atsushi’s books.
“You’re… treating me like a kid all of sudden. It’s kinda creepy.”
“You are a child,” Akutagawa says, the insult out before he can stop it.
Atsushi groans and rolls his eyes.
“I knew I shouldn’t have told you how old I am.”
“Too late.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Middle school to early high school mathematics. English for beginners. Now that Akutagawa thinks about it, he knows nothing about Atsushi’s past.
“Nakajima, you’ve never gone to school?”
Atsushi breaks eye contact, holding his books close to his chest.
“Anyways, I want to get Tanizaki something, as thanks for lending me his clothes. Do you know what he likes?”
“Naomi.”
“I… I know that.”
“Naomi likes sweets.”
Even with dark contacts in, the boy’s eyes are bright and charming. Akutagawa glances back at the books in their arms. There’s a strange impulse churning in his gut, and he doesn’t know whether to indulge in it or ignore it.
Atsushi blinks, then smiles at Akutagawa, dazzling him.
“I get it! If I bring something that Naomi likes, then Tanizaki will be happy about it by extension! Thank you!”
Screw it.
“I can help you with the material. There’s a café nearby, after all.”
Even when things were rough, he remembers how he and Gin made their own little makeshift classes, teaching each other various subjects. Even in that pathetic state, they still learned as much if not beyond the subjects in these textbooks during and after their time in the sewers.
… If Atsushi were to ever lose the Mafia, it’d be difficult for him to get honest work.
For some reason, the idea of that makes Akutagawa’s chest twist in worry.
“You… You don’t mind?”
“You’ll be a charity case.”
Atsushi wilts, and Akutagawa’s ready to knock his head into the shelves at this rate, when the Weretiger looks back up and nods, determination in his eyes.
“I’d like that. Thank you.”
Naomi’s eyes are wide, and she resists the urge to smoosh her face into the window.
Akutagawa and Atsushi are sharing a table and a pot of tea at a café, books spread open between them as the man scoots closer over to gesture at whatever the Weretiger is writing. Atsushi frowns while listening to Akutagawa, but it’s Akutagawa’s expression that has Naomi reeling.
Akutagawa looks so damn happy, his warm smile unnoticed by Atsushi or even himself. His eyes are crinkled at the corners as he watches Atsushi fondly.
“Is that a date?!” she gasps, turning towards Tanizaki. The young man looks just as shocked, and before he can stop his sister, she zooms in on her phone and snaps a blurry picture.
“I mean, it looks like one, but we know how they are,” he says.
“They were laughing together last time!”
“It could’ve been a fluke.”
“It’s happening again right now though!”
“I don’t think we should call it a date that fast though…”
“We’ll force it out then!”
“Naomi, wait- their privacy!”
She texts Yosano a photo.
[opinions????]
Tanizaki sighs and tries not to drop Naomi’s bags.
It’s interesting to see Atsushi like this.
It’s disgusting just how servile and pathetic the Weretiger can be sometimes, carrying himself without a shred of pride, but right now, he doesn’t think everything about that is that bad. Atsushi swallowed his pride and accepted Akutagawa’s help. Even as he groans over just how sparse the boy’s knowledge of various subjects is, Atsushi nods and doesn’t argue back – he works to correct the issue.
Too little self-respect and pride is an issue, but the boy’s humbleness and eagerness to set aside personal discomfort to benefit himself is just another side of that coin. If that could be balanced…
Akutagawa stops himself.
The Weretiger isn’t Gin, and he’s part of the enemy, no matter how unwilling Atsushi is about the whole situation. Atsushi’s focused on the practice problems, his free arm drifting towards the tea pot. Maybe they’re crazy for ordering hot tea on a hot day, but the air conditioning inside is cold, and the pot is propped on a ceramic stand with a candle inside, keeping it warm. He slides the whole thing further away, so that Atsushi won’t burn himself or spill scalding tea onto himself and books.
Regeneration be damned, burns still hurt, and Atsushi doesn’t seem like the kind of pervert who enjoys suffering.
“There! Is this right?”
Atsushi looks up at him expectantly, and he goes through each step of the work.
“You need to get better at organizing your equations and values,” he says, and Atsushi’s face falls.
“But, it’s correct.”
The down expression snaps around in a second, excitement clear on his face
It’s nothing like his usual expressions, which are already cheerful and bright. Atsushi’s eyes are narrowed like that of a happy cat, sparkling, lips parted in a wide smile as he tilts his head.
If he weren’t wearing those dark contacts, Akutagawa’s sure those irises would’ve looked like a polished gem.
“Good job.”
Atsushi’s eyes widen and he leans in, his grin broadening.
“Really?!”
“…Yes.”
Another strange idea jumps into Akutagawa’s head, reckless and rude. Then again, they’ve already insulted each other to hell and back before, so what’s a little rudeness?
“Nakajima. There’s something in your eye.”
“What? I don’t feel anything?”
“There is. Don’t move.”
He cups Atsushi’s cheek in one palm, ignoring the sudden warmth he feels, then plucks the colored contact out of the boy’s right eye.
The iris is even more beautiful than Akutagawa expected. It refracts the sunlight streaming through the windowpanes within itself, iridescent slivers of light spreading out to even the sclera. The reflections make his eyelashes sparkle with a rainbow hue.
It reminds Akutagawa of the suncatcher in the café below the Agency, and how the crystal makes light scatter and sparkle.
The boy gasps and jerks away, scowling at lens on Akutagawa’s fingertip.
“That’s a terrible joke, you know!” he says, covering his eye.
His face is bright red, and Akutagawa remembers how feverish Atsushi was last week.
“I’ll go get us something cold to drink – you look sick.”
Atsushi slaps his palms to his cheeks, then flails between covering his eye or his red face.
“N-No, it’s not like that! Y-you, do you realize what you just – argh! Whatever!”
He jumps up, shoving his things into his backpack in a haphazard mess, then runs out of the café.
Akutagawa sits in place, staring at the empty space next to him.