Work Text:
Really, all Akutagawa ever wanted is a good 8-hour sleep.
Straightforward, simple, but apparently not that easy to achieve as the loud knocking on his door stops him from attaining his much desired slumber.
Groaning, he aggressively throws a pillow on the ground, grumpily stomping his feet as he walks towards the entrance of his home. With half-lidded and half-woken eyes, he opens the door and —
“Hello! I’m Atsushi, your new neighb—Akutagawa?”
The boy stares at him, mouth agape and eyes comically wide.
And if Akutagawa hadn’t yet been fully awake before, he certainly is now.
“Jinko,” Akutagawa breathes, “Why are you in front of my house at ass o’clock in the morning? How did you even know where I live?”
“.... Well, if you live here — I’m … I’m your new neighbor, apparently.”
Akutagawa mouths an oh, then peeks his head out and turns to the side, where Atsushi’s now house apparently is. That explains the boxes he’s been seeing, then. Apparently it’s not the first time Atsushi’s deprived him of his sleep as well, especially with the ludicrous moving company truck he’s been hearing these past few days.
“Why?” Atsushi tilts his head in confusion. Akutagawa elaborates a bit more, “Out of all the places in Yokohama, you chose to move here. In this street. Beside my house.”
Atsushi scoffs. “It’s not my fault. I didn’t know!” he rolls his eyes. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t care. I'll still be here anyway.”
Akutagawa grits his teeth. “You are insufferable.”
“Well this insufferable boy is trying to be nice to his new neighbors,” Atsushi hands him a plate with a slice of matcha cake. “Here. something I baked.”
“You sure do like putting your tea everywhere you can. rice, now cake ….”
“You’re complaining. Sounds like you don’t want it. I’ll just take it then, I guess,” Atsushi’s about to grab the plate back but Akutagawa stops him.
“I didn’t say that.”
Atsushi smiles. “So you want it then?”
“I didn’t say that either.”
“So you don’t want it.”
“I didn’t say that either!”
“So you w—”
“Yes, yes I want it! Now please go before I actually choke you to death right here in this very quiet neighborhood,” Akutagawa groans, while Atsushi smiles triumphantly. “God, Jinko, you piss me off so much.”
“Likewise, Akutagawa. Anyway, I still have a lot of things to unpack, so bye!” Atsushi walks away, but stops a moment later, when he’s halfway through his home.
“Oh, by the way, please return the plate later!”
Akutagawa flips him off.
It's silent for a few days.
Which, he shouldn’t be that surprised about it — he’s never really talked to his neighbors, including the former resident that used to live where Atsushi currently resides, and he never really complained about the noise there either.
But then again, this was Atsushi he’s talking about here. The ever so loud and annoying Atsushi who can’t seem to shut his mouth off for a good second, and Akutagawa had already prepared himself for the noise he’s going to get as his neighbor. Except Atsushi doesn’t knock on the door to get back his plate like Akutagawa had expected him to. Except the noise doesn’t come.
Maybe until now.
“Even at 3 in the morning, you’re making tea?”
Akutagawa whips his head up so fast from brewing tea, eyebrows furrowed as he glances on where the voice had come from. When he sees where, and whom the voice belongs, he scoffs.
There Atsushi is, his window open a few meters away from Akutagawa’s own window as he leans on his kitchen countertop with a mug on his one hand, facing Akutagawa’s direction.
“And you’re drinking coffee.” Akutagawa says. “You have no right to ask that.”
“Yeah, well.” Atsushi laughs, taking a small sip from his mug. “I couldn’t sleep, so, you know.”
Akutagawa rolls his eyes. “Then should you really be drinking that if you can’t sleep? Wouldn’t that just make it worse? Foolish Jinko.”
“Aw, is the Rabid Dog worried about me? I’m flattered.”
“Shut up. Seeing your face at 3 in the morning annoys the hell out of me.”
“Annoyed, huh?” Atsushi takes one last drink from his mug and puts it on the countertop, then walks towards his window, making him closer to Akutagawa’s.
Akutagawa nods. “Very.”
“Yet you’re still here talking to me.” Atsushi smiles (smirks?) as he continues to stare directly at Akutagawa. He doesn’t know why his hands are starting to sweat all of a sudden—it’s probably the heat from the tea. Right.
“It’s called developing a good and peaceful relationship with your neighbor,” Akutagawa says, taking a sip from his tea as Atsushi laughs.
“I didn’t know you cared for that kind of thing, Akutagawa. Just a few days ago you were literally threatening to commit murder to me in this neighborhood.”
Akutagawa just simply rolls his eyes. “Why are you still even in your kitchen? You’re already done with your coffee. You can get out of my sight now, you know.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll wait for you until you finish yours.”
“I don’t get the point why.”
“I don’t get the point why not.” Atsushi says. “And it’s the first time you’re not talking to me with a hiss or a scowl. It’s quite an interesting thing to experience.”
“Don’t worry, the attitude will come back in the morning. You’re thankful I’m too sleep-deprived right now to actually think about cursing you in my head or planning my attack that would make me kill you.”
Atsushi laughs hard, echoing — and, across both of their kitchen windows, among other things, it’s the only sound Akutagawa hears — it shouldn’t have twisted certain veins in his heart and lungs like complicated knots, but it does. Somehow.
He doesn’t know why.
“Coffee again?”
Atsushi glances at him across his open kitchen window and shakes his head, then looks back at what he’s making. “Tea this time.”
“Oh.”
“Mhm,” Atsushi gently picks up the yunomi, leans back at his kitchen counter as he usually does and takes a sip. “Pu-erh.”
It’s fallen into a routine, this — whatever this is — the drinks at night, the banter, the exchange. The talk about what supermarket coffee brand is the best and if getting a pricey coffee bean grinder for your home is worth it or not. It’s like this, Akutagawa thinks, the him at night is different than when he sees Atsushi at work in the daylight, and he’s pretty sure Atsushi thinks the same too. He’s not sure why it is, perhaps the moon or the silence or the domesticity and the subtleness of the whole entire situation that causes them to both time out for a few hours away from the shouting and scowling they usually do to each other when it’s not nighttime.
Regardless, it’s a good thing. There’s a reason why Akutagawa chooses to keep his kitchen window open at all times, after all.
“Good taste.” Akutagawa takes a sip of his oolong and nods approvingly of Atsushi’s choice of tea, “didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Are you saying I generally have bad taste on things?”
“Well, you wear suspenders for work clothes. That says a lot.”
Atsushi scoffs, as if not believing what he’s just heard. “Says the one who wears a Victorian coat 365 days a year.”
“It’s actually crucial to my Ability, in case you’re stupid enough to not realize that.”
“Yada yada yada,” Atsushi teases, giggles. Oh god. Giggles. “details, details, Akutagawa.”
“I was just saying.”
Atsushi hums. “Sure.” He takes a sip of his tea and makes a sound of satisfaction, staring into his cup after admiring it. “You know, I’ve got loads of kinds of tea here, mostly given by the Agency. They know I’m very fond of them. I should brew you some tea next time and show you how good I am at it.”
Akutagawa scoffs. “Really? I’ll be the judge of that, then.”
Atsushi’s smile widens, his eyes evidently glowing. “Good!”
Akutagawa smiles, subtly, something he rarely does. He doesn’t know if Atsushi had seen it—he doesn’t know why he cares, too.
He also doesn’t know why this situation all feels so uplifting—how it feels like a cold pillow on both its sides, how it feels like a pain reliever patch after successfully using his entire body for a fight earlier that day—how it feels like he could get used to it.
Perhaps, in his mind, talking to Atsushi at night and at day isn’t all that bad, after all.
The routine that originally happens only in the middle of the night starts to shift into something more quite quickly — the more being them actually conversing like proper neighbors and friends even in daylight, so much so that Atsushi had now started to visit Akutagawa’s home from time to time.
Friends. Huh. That’s one way to call it. Was it okay for Akutagawa to call whatever they have, that? He might have to ask Atsushi later.
A knock comes loudly outside Akutagawa’s door. He stands up immediately from the comfortable position he was in and speed-walks towards the entrance of his house, opening it and revealing Atsushi who was holding a whole cake, a dopey smile on his face.
“Hey! I made this cake and was hoping you could eat it together with me?” Atsushi peeks inside and eyes the television. “Maybe watch a really shitty TV drama while we’re at it?”
Akutagawa looks at the chocolate cake and then to Atsushi, eyebrows furrowed. “Just you and me? Together?” his pointer finger goes back and forth between himself and Atsushi, “Are you saying we should eat a whole entire cake with just the two of us together?”
“Well—we don’t necessarily have to finish it. I’ll give half of it to the Agency, probably.”
Akutagawa slowly nods. “Whatever, come in.” he says, walking and sitting back on the couch he was sitting on while browsing through the television channels. Atsushi immediately heads towards the kitchen, then quickly comes back later with two slices of cake, putting it down on the coffee table before sitting beside Akutagawa on the couch.
“You know, I just realized you’ve never given me back the saucer plate from the matcha cake I gave you the first day we spoke.”
Akutagawa shrugs, taking a bite out of the sweet dessert. “Does that matter?”
“No, not really, just wondering why. You could’ve forgotten about it or—” Atsushi smiles smugly. “Maybe you haven’t given it back because you want to come over again and see me? Or . . . maybe because it’s one of my possessions?” he says teasingly, eyebrows raising up and down.
Akutagawa rolls his eyes. “Foolish Jinko. Why would I bother doing that? You can literally just look around this place and see items of yours everywhere. A saucer plate is nothing.”
Atsushi’s eyebrows are furrowed, confused, before he looks around and lets out a small and slow oh, his eyes drifting towards every corner of Akutagawa’s living room.
The small blue checkered handkerchief he owns lying on a small round table, a forgotten black leather glove on another, a thing he has a lot of, and — as if remembering something from his little trip to Akutagawa’s kitchen a while ago — a missing tiger mug of his is probably there too.
“Oh, you’re right.”
“Yeah, right. I was wondering how long it would take you to notice.” Akutagawa takes another bite of the cake, and admires for a short while how perfectly it fits his taste. Now, it could’ve been because of the fact that Atsushi could’ve possibly remembered their conversation a week or two back about how Akutagawa likes his chocolate dark but not overly bitter and his cake only a little bit of frosting, but Akutagawa tosses it all at the very back of his head and just concludes that it was probably a coincidence.
“I probably wouldn’t if you hadn’t pointed it out.” Atsushi chuckles. “It’s weird. Do I really come by your house that often and spend time with you that I actually have started to leave things here?”
“Depends,” Akutagawa focuses his gaze on the television, a scene of a parent-in-law and wife confrontation happening in the scene. “How often is your often? Because if it means coming by my house every four days and messaging me one too many times during the day and seeing each other across our kitchen windows at 3 am every day, it certainly is.”
Atsushi lets out a hearty laugh. “That’s true. That is very often, considering the fact that we were at each other’s throats just about a month and a half ago. Quite odd.”
“Mhm, and it’s probably because of how annoying you are. It just grew on me.”
“I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment, but thank you … ? I guess?” Akutagawa chuckles—something he often finds himself doing whenever Atsushi’s around. “But no, I don’t think it’s that, though?”
“Hm?” Akutagawa hums, questioning. Because what is it, if not that?
“Okay, because listen, right,” Atsushi puts his fork down and turns to Akutagawa, facing him, the drama on the TV long forgotten by the both of them.
“You know how they say opposites attract? Aren’t we exactly like that? Like how most times, in our conversations, I speak and you just listen. And in general, we sort of like — balance each other out.” Akutagawa hums, urging him to continue. “And I guess back then we never really had a decent talk outside of work. We hadn’t even talked at all. And then I became your neighbor and that sort of became like a bridge? Then boom—” Atsushi clasps his hand together, “we clicked almost immediately.”
“Yeah, well, probably also how we’re both fond of the same stuff—books and teas and music—things outside of work. If we had known each other carrying only the information we have of each other of our beliefs and work and nothing more, the chances of pigs flying would probably be more likely than us becoming friends.”
Atsushi stares at him dumbfounded, eyes going a little wide. “Did you just say friends?”
Oh. He had slipped. Was Akutagawa not supposed to say that? His hands are getting sweaty as he purses his lips together. “Uhm—am I not … am I not supposed to say that?”
Atsushi quickly brings his two hands up and waves them, shaking his head, “Oh no! I mean—there’s nothing wrong about it! I do consider us as friends now, just—I’m just surprised you would admit to that. That’s all.”
Akutagawa lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding back. “I see.”
“Mhm.” Atsushi sounds giddy. “Now I can tell everyone whenever I’m in danger, ‘I’m friends with the Akutagawa Ryuunosuke!’ it’s got a nice ring to it, isn’t it? Could automatically save me from dangerous situations.”
Akutagawa glares at him, though with no bite, as Atsushi erupts into laughter for the umpteenth time that day. “You truly are foolish, Jinko.”
If there’s one thing Akutagawa hates about spending time with Atsushi, it’s the silence that immediately comes after he’s left and gone home.
It’s like the silence feels so cold.
But Akutagawa had been fond of it before—the idea of grabbing a random book from his esteemed collection of Haruki Murakami novels as the tranquility envelopes him, his book and him in their own little world without a word, as well as the idea of him writing rather messy short stories with only nothing but pen strokes echoing through the whole house. It’s comforting, almost feels like the temperature of oolong tea that’s been left for a few minutes - a bit cold, but the warmth is mostly still there.
Now, it’s almost scary.
And for Akutagawa, a man who had committed countless bloodstained crimes, to say and admit that wholeheartedly — it’s certainly saying something.
Because this all feels strange now, he figures, now that he’s seen and experienced the exact opposite of all - of all this, is - when instead of basking in his dimly lit living room reading, he now gets to listen to Atsushi rant about the annoying kids who pick on the petals off his newly-bloomed Aquilegias, the sound of Atsushi complaining about the lack of grocery supplies Akutagawa has on his pantry, the humming he makes as he whips out something quick in Akutagawa’s kitchen. The telling of how his day went. The little things.
The radio silence that comes right after the echo of Atsushi’s laugh after he leaves almost somehow stings Akutagawa in a way he doesn’t really quite know how to comprehend. After all, it’s hard to think of anything else but Atsushi. When the mind can’t seemingly think of anything but Atsushi, and Atsushi is not there to fill the thoughts in his mind, it starts to become so empty and void of anything.
And god — god, Akutagawa had never felt so alone before.
There’s a certain point in their relationship where Akutagawa had started feeling something different, something more —when and how, he wasn’t sure.
When and how he had put a name on that feeling, however—that was a completely different story. And this time, he remembers it as clear as the sky in summer’s June.
It’s one of those nights where he craves coffee instead of his usual calming tea at 3AM, and, of course, he goes to the kitchen, his window there opened, already expecting to see Atsushi.
When he gets there, Atsushi doesn’t notice him—he probably doesn’t even notice anything at all—as he sways clumsily around his kitchen, his eyes closed, the tune of a random Miki Matsubara song that Akutagawa ever so faintly hears enveloping him. The song is over and another song plays next, yet he still doesn’t take notice of his lone audience and just continues to sway around like a more subtle and put-together drunken fool.
It’s like there is nothing else in this world but him. At that moment, Akutagawa can’t help but think the same—especially when he sees the view of Atsushi smiling, his eyes closed, dancing so freely, and god —he is so beautiful like this, so forgiving, so graceful, so divine. The dimly lit kitchen lights hovering far above him and the mug with coffee that’s probably long dropped to room temperature accents him in a way that it’s just so right —like he’s the main character out of a coming-of-age film or a popular young adult romance novel.
Despite not being able to prepare and drink coffee, Akutagawa’s heart is thumping so hard, as if it’s begging to come out of his rib cage.
And this time, he knows the reason why.
Of course, as one does after realizing that you harbor feelings for someone, you avoid said someone and ignore them for days. Reply to them with one-word messages when they text you. Pretend you’re not in your house when they knock on your door. Keep your kitchen window closed while making tea or coffee at 3AM.
And of course, because Akutagawa is a fool, he does exactly that.
It’s not his fault, really. Falling in love with someone like Atsushi—or just someone in general—it’s scary. It’s not like Akutagawa can simply act normal and continue hanging out with Atsushi, despite the fact that one day he had decided he wanted to kiss the living hell out of him and hold his hands and, if possible, never let go. Well, Akutagawa could try, but it’s extremely difficult especially when he’s trying not to think of how beautiful Atsushi’s eyes are every second of the day.
And of course, the problem of thinking of what to do next.
Perhaps the realization of being in love with your work partner slash neighbor slash (former) enemy is much easier than realizing that you actually have to do something about it. Hell—Akutagawa’s never even been in love before this—heart always locked up in this tiny space between his bones, and now—to feel the feeling of wanting to give that very heart to somebody—surrendering it, offering it without asking for theirs back, giving it away so easily—it’s riveting. Milk churns up in Akutagawa's belly, and it curdles up before it dissolves into pure void and nothingness. It's almost gross and disgusting.
But then, it’s like this — when he starts to think about Atsushi, Akutagawa feels his heart letting go, like ripping the skin out with a butter knife and grabbing it with your hands while his smile occupies the gap in your brain. Atsushi giving you a slice of cake he’s baked, Atsushi watering the sunflowers in his backyard, Atsushi laughing, or Atsushi existing. Then perhaps it’s not as gross and disgusting anymore.
Whatever goes.
His chest hurts that it’s almost suffocating and —
Atsushi.
He will never love such a horrid and sinful man and —
Atsushi. His head nuzzled on Akutagawa’s shoulder, his antique silver hair on Akutagawa's hands, the soap opera playing on the television.
But does it matter if —
Atsushi. Atsushi below the cupboards, the doltish dance he makes under the kitchen lights, and the —
Atsushi. the sunrise and sunset in his eyes, the december in his skin, the angel in his voice, Atsushi, Atsushi —
And when the demons get the best of Akutagawa; he tries to replay the look of a toothy grin on Atsushi's face, like a scene from his favorite film over and over and over and over again, until he falls into deep silent slumber.
It’s difficult to think about anything else if it’s Atsushi.
When he invites Atsushi over to his home after ever so obviously avoiding him for a whole lot longer than he should’ve, it’s when the boy comes knocking literally three minutes after that it only just starts to sink in him that wow, he actually was going to do this.
He was going to confess to Atsushi.
Akutagawa opens the door slowly, expecting an overly-loud Atsushi bombarding him with questions. Yada yada, details, details. He had prepared for that already.
Instead, he’s met with an Atsushi staring at him straight in the eye, his purple-gold eyes usually so bright and vibrant now almost lifeless and dull, his mouth in a subtle frown. He’s wearing mismatched slippers.
Atsushi grabs both of his wrists and furrows his eyebrows. “Why—why were you avoiding me? Was it something I did? Did I do something wrong? Is it about work? Are you okay? Did anything h—”
“Jinko, listen to m—”
“Was it the Mafia? Did the Mafia tell you to cut all communication with me because I’m an enemy? You know you could’ve told me if that was the case, right? We would have found a way to talk t—”
“No, Jinko, it’s not the Mafi—”
“Are you being threatened, then? Do you have an important mission to do that you completely want me out of? Are you in danger? I’ll help you no matter how life-threatening it is, as long as you’re—”
“No, no, I’m completely safe, Jinko.”
“Then—then—” Atsushi sighs, deep and hard and loud and achingly slow, “Is it something that I did?”
“No, Jinko, you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.”
“Then what is it?!” Atsushi says, almost as if frustratingly, running a hand through his hair. “Do you know how worried I was, Akutagawa? You weren’t talking to me nor answering my calls. Your kitchen window was always closed and I thought—I thought something terrible had happened to you!”
Akutagawa purses his lips together, his hands balling into fists, his eyes closed. “I’m in love with you.”
He sees Atsushi stiffen, his two hands on his waist now gone, comically wide eyed as he walks two steps back. “I—you—what?”
“I know, okay? I know you don’t want this. I know you’re disgusted. We may like the same things but I know I’m a terrible man, and you know that as well. I’ve hurt and killed so many people and made so many lives miserable and I—I don’t deserve you at all. A god-sent angel like you. I know that even from the very start.” Akutagawa bites his trembling lower lip. “But you were so sweet and you always made me so happy and made me feel like home. You made me forget about everything else in the world except you, you foolish Jinko—when we watch those stupid dramas together or eat sandwiches together, you make me feel as though we’re not … we’re not this . Not a detective nor a member of the Mafia.”
“You made me feel like Ryuunosuke, Atsushi. No Rabid Dog. No Diablo. Just me and you and our little talks at 3 in the morning and the cups of tea and coffee that we have. I love you so much, Atsushi, and I understand that you don’t.”
“No—Akutagawa—you don’t understand. I was just surprised.” Atsushi holds his one hand, their fingers entangling together. “I feel the same way too.”
“Huh?”
“I’m not disgusted. I do want this. So badly, in fact. You’re a good person, Akutagawa, and you deserve to be loved. I love you too, so much, that it hurts me to see you putting yourself down like this.” Atsushi walks closer to him, one hand on his and another on his hair, tucking one side of it behind his ear. “You’re so precious, Akutagawa. So beautiful. You make me feel like home too, in so many ways.”
The next few moments pass on to Akutagawa like a blur. Atsushi’s lips are on his, the faint taste of strawberry still lingering on the younger’s mouth, his free hand unconsciously coming up to grab on Atsushi’s neck. It is so incredibly intoxicating, and he knows drunkenness shouldn’t taste this good, but it does, now.
And they are so beautiful like this—so forgiving, so graceful, so divine.