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After a glooming peace, the world had become bright and shining. Every bit of life became exponentially more beautiful, more entrancing, more captivating. Eventful at times, but manageable. The reward certainly outweighed any risks taken. Perhaps a month had passed—maybe even a few days or mere hours, but Kunikida could hardly discern one perfect moment from the next.
Yet, after however long had passed, he still hadn’t told anyone about his—development.
That development came in the form of a very skinny, very dangerous, very adorable man named Akutagawa Ryuunosuke. Who was not only public enemy no. 1, but the sole occupant of Kunikida’s heart. And ideals.
After a tumultuous beginning to their “relationship” that came in the form of an emotionally charged, waterlogged confession, the two had finally settled into some form of familiar routine. Well, as familiar as it could get—being on opposite sides and determined to keep up the secret. Not only for safety’s sake, but also their respective pride.
Now, Kunikida knew that he couldn’t have hidden it from Dazai or Ranpo if he tried. After he came into work the next day beaming, they knew exactly what piece had clicked into place in the puzzle of his life. Thankfully, they didn’t spread any rumors, nor did they bring it up to the president. The latter of which Kunikida was dreading, hoping that he never needed to have such a chat.
Not that he wanted this relationship to end, of course. No, he’d persevere in its existence till the very end. Though it was foolish to think it could continue completely in secret. But he was going to try his damnedest to keep it up for as long as he could.
Especially since it was getting harder and harder. Both Kunikida and Akutagawa being men of very particular (and similar) taste, Dazai and Ranpo had managed to scout out all of their regular meeting places. Including that small teahouse that used to be hidden from the outside world. They’d even tried to meet up in a random alley once, only to find the two lounging against the garbage bins, grinning in satisfaction.
So, earlier that day after his lunch break, he’d texted Akutagawa the following:
7PM? have an idea for dinner
Akutagawa had responded later, a bit closer to 3, saying:
That would be satisfactory. However, I expect that your coworkers will find us out once more.
Kunikida, having expected such a thing, hid his devious smirk as he typed out his response.
I think i know somewhere they won’t, trust me
Fine. came the curt reply, followed shortly by another: See you then.
Kunikida was locking the door of the agency, in the midst of throwing his bag over his shoulder, when he turned and saw a familiar silhouette staring up at him from the top step.
“Holy shit!” he yelled with a start, key clattering to the floor. “Warn me next time!”
“Sorry,” Akutagawa said, though it didn’t sound very genuine. “I checked the perimeter and saw that everyone had left. I thought I would come up to meet you.” He bent down and picked up Kunikida’s key, holding it out for him.
The small lanyard dangling between Akutagawa’s fingers wasn’t enough to prevent their hands from brushing as Kunikida took the key back.
Kunikida tried to keep the flush from rising to his cheeks as he answered, “How nice of you.” He smiled brightly, meaning every word. “However, now you have to go back down the stairs you just walked up.”
Akutagawa merely shrugged, already turning on his heel. Kunikida fell into stride beside him, making sure to take each step slowly so they could stay close. (He’d learned quite quickly that his height often led to him inadvertently sprinting ahead whenever they walked together. There’d been more than one occasion where a very breathless Akutagawa would come running from behind to clutch at his sleeve—some attempt to get him to stop. It worked, of course.)
“You look nice,” Kunikida commented after looking Akutagawa over. Fondly, of course. He still had his typical black coat (though the collar wasn’t popped), but actually didn’t look as vampire-goth as usual. “Oh, you’re wearing the sweater. Do you like it?”
It was very simple and pale green—a favorite color of Kunikida’s. Akutagawa looked so nice in actual colors. And it swallowed up his slender frame in the most endearing way, even when Kunikida had gotten what looked to be the proper size.
“Yes,” came the gruff response, close to a grumble. “I still don’t know why you bought it for me.”
“I forgot your birthday! It’s the least I could do. Your sister cornered me in an alley to let me know—”
“Perhaps you should’ve considered I did not tell you on purpose. I do not like when people make a fuss.”
Kunikida snorted, holding open the door for Akutagawa as they finally reached the café on the first floor. The waitress waved happily at them, which Akutagawa ignored in his apparent misery.
“It’s my duty to make a fuss over you,” he responded with a cheerful grin.
Pouting, Akutagawa deftly switched the subject. “Where are we going?”
“Surprise.” Kunikida stepped out onto the pavement, breathing in the cool night air. He looked over to his companion, who didn’t appear satisfied with the response. He spoke his next words with surprising ease, “Can I hold your hand?”
He found it easier to ask for permission whenever they were in public. Akutagawa had started getting used to the random outbursts of small affection in doses, but only when they were alone.
“...sure,” came the quiet reply. Akutagawa awkwardly stuck his hand out to the side, and Kunikida gladly took it.
He spent a moment just relishing in the feel of the small hand in his, brushing a thumb over the calloused joints and bony knuckles. Akutagawa’s hands were the furthest thing from soft, being in a profession that didn’t afford him the luxury. But they were unmistakably his.
After one final squeeze, he started toward their destination for the evening. Akutagawa stayed quiet at first, swinging their hands together in perhaps the most adorable way. But Kunikida didn’t point it out, because he knew when he did, he’d stop out of embarrassment.
“How was your day?” Akutagawa finally asked, breaking the comfortable silence between them.
“Same old, same old. Glad to end it with you,” Kunikida commented casually, enjoying Akutagawa’s scoff and blush. “How about you?”
“Fine.”
“Is that an ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ fine or a ‘nothing happened’ fine?”
“The latter. I didn't even get to commit a crime.”
Kunikida tutted. “What a shame.” He grinned broadly. Even if he didn’t agree with crime committing in general—he couldn’t fault Akutagawa for doing his unfortunate perfection. And being humorous when talking about it.
“I know you do not care for it, but it really does make the day more interesting.”
“No, I completely understand. We didn’t have any cases today, either. It’s been quiet.” Kunikida hummed.
Akutagawa tilted his head. “Too quiet?”
After thinking for a moment, Kunikida shook his head. “Just slow. Maybe it’s because I don’t worry about the mafia so much anymore.”
“Ah. Good to know. We will now strike when you least expect.”
Even with his monotonous tone, Kunikida could tell Akutagawa was joking, so he let out a small laugh. It grew once he saw a tiny, satisfied smile surface on Akutagawa’s face. The smile lingered briefly and disappeared, as they often did. But it was still a sight to behold.
He gave Akutagawa’s hand an affectionate squeeze, which was sheepishly returned. They continued on walking in comfortable silence, enjoying their time together. Eventually, they fell back into casual conversation about books, since work was lackluster. Kunikida had found that Akutagawa often enjoyed breaking into the agency to leave a novel on his desk. Recently, he’d just finished a book of translated Anatole France works, which they were discussing now.
“He was alright, I’ll wager.”
“Only alright?” Akutagawa frowned slightly, then sighed. “It seems I have failed.”
Kunikida snorted. “No, I don’t think so. Maybe it’s just better in the original language. I don’t know French very well—er, actually, I don’t know French at all.”
“Nakahara-san told me to read him. He is quite fond of the French.”
Kunikida was about to comment when a soft jingling noise approached them. He looked down and saw a gray blur hurtling toward them. As it slowed down, it morphed into a kitten; a fluffy little thing with a bell dangling from its collar.
Akutagawa spoke before Kunikida could even react properly.
“Cat.” He heard the murmur beside him in an utterly fond tone. The mafioso crouched low to the ground, immediately extending a hand. Kunikida watched in awe as the kitten sniffed Akutagawa’s hand curiously before bumping its head against it.
“I’m sorry. What just happened?” Kunikida blurted, eyes still wide as Akutagawa scratched under the cat’s chin. It purred softly before nudging closer to Akutagawa.
“A kitten has come to us,” Akutagawa said definitively, still petting it. With the most care Kunikida had ever seen him exude.
“Yes, I see that,” Kunikida mumbled. “I didn’t know you liked cats.”
“They are far superior to dogs.”
Kunikida didn’t have a solid opinion on the matter. All animals were delightful. Yet, he couldn’t help blurting, “But Atsushi?”
Akutagawa actually hissed at him. “Doesn’t count,” he answered simply and turned his attention back to the kitten, clicking his tongue. The cat nuzzled against his leg before Akutagawa gingerly picked it up. It didn’t protest at all, instead curling into Akutagawa’s chest with an audible, happy purr.
Charmed by the scene, Kunikida couldn’t help but grin and suppress an “aw.” (One thing he’d learned quite quickly during his time with Akutagawa was how much the man hated being called cute or anything close to it. Yet the scene was downright adorable. Too adorable to ignore.)
“I don’t think it’s a stray. It has a collar,” Kunikida commented, reaching out to pet the cat. Surprisingly, it allowed this—perhaps comfortable enough in Akutagawa’s arms. “And he’s quite cuddly, it seems.”
“I will name them Rashomon 2.”
“What?” Kunikida blurted. He didn’t know whether to comment on the ridiculous name or the implication that Akutagawa was going to steal someone’s cat. Well—maybe it wasn’t below a mafia member—
Akutagawa finally brought his gaze away from the cat to glance at him, tilting his head.
“Maybe we should take it to the vet or something—”
“There he is!” came a shrill voice, screech echoing from across the street. A small boy dashed over to meet them, tugging along an exhausted-looking woman—most likely his mother. “Kitty!” he called, reaching out his grubby hands toward Akutagawa, who immediately recoiled.
“Is this your cat?” Though it was obvious, Kunikida wanted to be certain.
The boy nodded, practically frothing at the mouth as he tried to snatch the kitten from Akutagawa.
“Perhaps you should have taken more caution. Obviously, you are unworthy of caring for this precious creature, and therefore do not deserve to have it back,” Akutagawa said in a deadly serious tone.
Kunikida made a shocked noise that coincided with the boy’s own sound of dismay.
“Excuse me?!” the mother protested, indignation evident despite her fake smile.
“You heard me—”
“Okay, okay…” Kunikida gently pried the cat from Akutagawa’s hands, surprised he met very little resistance. He held the animal out to the boy, who gladly scooped the kitty up. It cuddled to his small chest with a soft meow. “Sorry about that,” he said with a breathy laugh, “he was just kidding.”
“I was not—!”
“Sh. Anyway, hope you take good care of the little guy.”
“We will. Thank you, mister!” The boy turned back to his mother. She shot them both a dirty look before leading her son away.
Akutagawa let out an annoyed sigh. “The poor cat. I hope he fares well.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine. You, however, are not allowed to just take some child’s cat because you think he’s irresponsible!”
“It is tame compared to my other crimes,” Akutagawa answered with a shrug. As if that made it acceptable.
“Well, then, let’s not add catnapping to that lengthy criminal record of yours.”
Akutagawa looked as though he was about to retort, but Kunikida grabbing his hand easily silenced it. Briefly enjoying the flustered look he received, Kunikida proceeded to drag Akutagawa to their destination.
“Kunikida.”
“Yes?”
“This is a diner.” Akutagawa paused as if for dramatic effect. “An American-themed diner.”
“Correct.” Kunikida nodded, quite proud of himself. He crossed his arms and took in the scene—the neon-illuminated chrome exterior clashing horribly with the rest of the brick building complex. Delightfully kichty and conspicuous at the same time.
Yes, no one would think two men of their tastes would dine there. Especially after—
“I suppose what recently occurred has left your mind.”
“All the more reason that they wouldn’t look here! The prices are high, too. Smells like a tourist trap to me.”
Akutagawa sighed, crossing his arms. “This will certainly put all of my foreign-themed troubles behind me.”
Kunikida’s face fell, and he quickly backtracked, “We can go somewhere else if it makes you uncomfortable!”
His partner only snorted, shaking his head and heading for the door. “Let us try it. Perhaps the irony will make it more amusing. I only hope they have tea.”
“Hey, it’s not like I took you to Texas,” Kunikida protested. He rushed to hold open the door for Akutagawa.
Thankfully, it was a weeknight, so the place was relatively empty. Some couples and a small family were eating at some booths. Just peaceful enough to not bring attention to the mafioso’s presence.
The establishment was decked out with themed memorabilia, complete with checkered floors, Elvis on the jukebox, and the staff in costume. Though the waitress that greeted them seemed less than ecstatic to be working in the colorful environment.
Akutagawa made a face as he sat down, the red plasticky leather squelching audibly—even above the faint jives of “Hound Dog.”
“I do not appreciate the song choice,” Akutagawa grumbled as he hid his face behind the menu.
“I can change it if you want,” Kunikida offered, already hopping to his feet.
“Sit down!” his companion hissed. “There’s no need.” When Kunikida didn’t seem convinced, he peeked out from behind his menu to insist: “I am fine.”
At ease, Kunikida smiled good-naturedly. “Alright. Then let’s just enjoy our time together.”
Akutagawa seemed to deflate—though Kunikida understood it as tension leaving his body. Wonderful; he wanted nothing more than a relaxing evening between them.
After the waitress returned to ask for their drink orders (water and tea, pretty much their standard) and deliver them both, Kunikida started glancing over the extensive, colorful menu.
“What looks good to you?”
Akutagawa hummed, pursing his lips. “I am not that hungry. I will probably get a salad.” He stirred a few sugar packets into his inferior tea, menu still in his other hand.
“What? Not even a burger? Feel free to splurge, I’ll pay tonight.”
Akutagawa set down his menu to frown at him. So cute. “That’s stupid.”
“No, it’s called a romantic gesture,” Kunikida protested, trying to ignore his growing flush.
“It is a foolish gesture. Especially considering my salary. I should be the one to treat you.”
“Next time.”
“You said that last time.”
“You pick the place, then.”
Akutagawa suddenly went quiet, all the fiery protest seeping out of his gaze. His eyes were dark and serious—but not in their typical murderous cesspool.
“What is it?” Kunikida asked, tone softened.
“...I do not understand you sometimes.” Akutagawa sounded awed, fascinated—perhaps bordering on a touch of fondness.
Kunikida himself was taken aback by it. “What… what do you mean?”
“You are indescribably selfless. And you don’t seem to realize it.”
Feeling his face warm, Kunikida scratched the back of his neck. “I—I’m flattered, but… Ah, we’re just talking about dinner, though—?”
“No. More than that. I,” Akutagawa paused to take in a deep breath, looking as if he perhaps regretted starting this train of thought. Kunikida did his best to keep his gaze open and sympathetic, trying to coax him into continuing. Eventually, he spoke up again:
“I think... being in the mafia for practically my entire existence has caused me to disregard the value of life. And I would’ve never dared to admit it. Especially since meeting you. Nakahara-san and a select few seem to be the only ones who care about their subordinates dying or getting injured. But it’s nothing compared to you. Your selflessness.”
Kunikida blinked in disbelief, finally finding his quiet response, “You think so?”
“Yes.” Akutagawa bit his bottom lip, looking toward the window. “It started to rub off on me, but I know I will never be anywhere close to your level. The only time I’ve been as protective over something as you have with strangers is my sister—and it’s almost shameful for me to say but... I find myself thinking I might do the same for you.”
Dumbfounded by this revelation, Kunikida fought to keep his mouth closed—not wanting to gape. It seemed inappropriate when compared to the vulnerability Akutagawa was displaying. His pride surged. It showed how comfortable they’d become with one another.
Akutagawa suddenly blurted, “I’m really sorry if that disgusts you or something—“
“No,” Kunikida stopped him firmly. “The exact opposite. You have no idea how much it means to me.”
(On the inside, Kunikida would prefer that Aku try to live for his sake instead, but didn’t voice it. Not yet, because this was seemingly a breakthrough for him.)
“I… want to try. I’m so fucking tired and depressed after realizing I most likely wasted the last decade of my life. Maybe more. I was unable to find purpose within myself. And instead chased for something, someone to bestow it upon me.
“I think that you’ve shown me something close to it. More than Dazai ever has and more than he probably ever will. Which makes me both sick and grateful. Mostly the latter. I couldn’t see it. Not until everyone else told me how much mellower I seem. It’s hard to realize you’re on edge when you’re on edge your entire life.”
Kunikida paused, his chest filling with warmth. “I’m glad that I could show you something better. I couldn’t help but think that it was my mission ever since getting to know you.” He faltered. “Well, ‘mission’ might be a trite term, given the circumstances… but it was on my mind.”
Akutagawa stared up at him for a silent moment. Then, seemingly all at once, his features softened, his shoulders slumped, and he let out a soft sigh.
“Thank you,” he paused, taking in a deep breath, “Doppo.”
Not expecting the familiar address, Kunikida felt his breath stop short in his throat. The redness that surfaced on his cheeks, though, was not from the lack of oxygen.
A squeak left Akutagawa’s mouth, and he blurted out a protest, “Ah, I—I mean, Kunikida-sa—!”
“Don’t apologize! Um… Ryuunosuke.” Kunikida felt a shiver travel down his spine just calling Akutagawa by his first name. And what a pretty name it was. Like a line of poetry. “But—I was glad to help you. It wasn’t a favor.”
Akutagawa nodded, slow and contemplative, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “...I’m also obligated to apologize.”
Kunikida blinked. “For what...?”
“That we have to be like this. This way.”
“What do you mean?” Kunikida knit his brow, watching Akutagawa fidget in his seat before he answered.
“On opposite sides.”
“Oh, but—!”
Akutagawa cut him off before he could protest about fate, “And—though it’s not in my best judgment considering where I stand... I feel the need to express my adamant disdain for being a part of the Port Mafia. I feel little for the majority of the people in that organization because I realized how little they care for me. I can only think of a select few I would give up my life for theirs to prosper. Gin, of course—Nakahara, Kouyou—even Higuchi at times. But that’s probably because I value my own life so little.”
After the tirade, Kunikida could only smile solemnly and drop his gaze to meet Akutagawa’s. “I think you’re more selfless than you lead others—and yourself to believe.”
Akutagawa sighed, “I would not... misidentify a lack of proper self-worth as selflessness.”
Keeping up his smile, Kunikida reached over and gently patted Akutagawa’s hand. “We’ll work on it, okay?”
“Okay.” Akutagawa threaded their fingers together slowly.
“Good.” Kunikida gave him a firm nod, squeezing his hand. “Don’t discount your strong points, even if you’re just realizing they exist. —And about the mafia, if you really, really wanted a way out—I’ll do everything in my power to help you.”
Akutagawa looked up at him with those big gray eyes, reminding Kunikida of an especially persuasive puppy. Not that he already promised he’d do something, anything for Akutagawa. “Really?”
“Really,” Kunikida affirmed.
Fidgeting again, Akutagawa stared off to the side. “...I would offer some display of affection but there seems to be a table between us.”
Kunikida didn’t hesitate in getting to his feet, scooting around the edge of the table to go in for a hug. Surprisingly, Akutagawa let him (not always the fondest of PDA). He did tense and squirm a bit before returning the embrace, but it still made Kunikida’s heart warm.
They kept it short, each having a shared internal aversion to PDA. Still, Kunikida couldn’t resist lightly stroking Akutagawa’s cheek. He always enjoyed watching his skin turn red beneath his fingertips. And, as he started to move back to his side of the booth, Akutagawa surprisingly scooted over to make room for him. A spot which he eagerly took with a fond grin.
“This night is already shaping up to be one of the best,” Kunikida murmured, relishing in Akutagawa’s flustered eye roll.
If the mafioso was going to retort, the opportunity never came as the waitress came to take their food orders. Kunikida couldn’t tell if her sudden subtle repulsion was because of their closeness or Akutagawa’s resting glare. He felt a bony arm snake around his own, thin fingers absently stroking at his shirt. The sudden spike of affection from Akutagawa—glorious!—Kunikida would happily die in this moment.
He wanted to kiss Akutagawa. Very, very badly. But that might overstep and bring them into nausea-inducing PDA.
“Just a salad? You’re welcome to have some of my fries,” he offered.
Akutagawa shook his head. “I do not expect much of this establishment, to be frank.”
“Damn your high-class mafia tastes!” Kunikida pounded his fist on the table to match his theatrical display.
“I am not snobby. I’d simply prefer to have outings in settings that befit… the situation.”
Kunikida understood as much, but also preferred the casual nature of this specific date. No bells and whistles; they could pretend they were some normal couple escaping mundane day jobs. “Well, if we could go anywhere unrecognized, where would you want to go?”
Humming in contemplation, Akutagawa turned his gaze toward the window. “Well,” he started after a beat of silence, “there is one high-class restaurant. Mafia, though. They don’t ask questions. But they import their tea.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. And they serve a very good fig cheesecake tart.”
“The very best, I’m sure. Knowing your standards on fig-flavored things.”
“Of course,” Akutagawa nodded as his chest puffed up a bit.
With a soft smile, Kunikida set his chin on his free hand. “I’m sure we’ll make it there. I’ll dress up. We can pretend it’s some kind of… uh… business meeting. That maybe went a little too well.”
Akutagawa’s face flushed, and he shook his head. “Tch. I don’t handle many diplomatic missions, for lack of a better term. I’m much too ‘volatile,’” he spat the last word as if he’d heard it in a formal complaint.
“I don’t think so,” Kunikida protested, pouting.
“Must I remind you again that you rarely witness my day-to-day operations?”
“W-well, from what I’ve seen, you get things done… um, quickly and efficiently.” Kunikida tugged at his collar.
“Thank you.” Akutagawa sidled in closer to him. Kunikida could easily discern the waves of subtle pride radiating from his person.
And, because there was but a sliver of space between them, Kunikida also felt the vibration that emanated from Akutagawa’s pocket.
“Damn it, they know I’m off tonight,” he groaned as he dug into his coat. Kunikida mourned the loss of warmth as he moved to answer the call. “What the hell do you want?”
Despite his urge to eavesdrop, Kunikida also heard his own ringtone a moment later. He jumped in his seat, searching his pockets until he found his phone tucked against his Ideal.
“Hello?”
“Kunikida-kuuuun,” a scarily familiar voice sounded over the other end of the phone. Kunikida had half a mind to snap the damn thing in half. “Dazai, here! Just letting you know we’re in an impromptu battle with the Port Mafia! Although your beloved beau isn’t here,” Kunikida paused to look over at Akutagawa, who was still arguing on the phone himself.
“You can’t handle it yourself?”
As if on cue, distorted gunshots and high-pitched yelling sounded in his right ear.
“Fine. I’ll be there as soon as I can!”
“ Near the agency! You’ll hear it when you get close! Please hurry!”
The call cut off. And Kunikida stared at his phone in confusion. He couldn’t remember the last time Dazai had called for backup. And even with the commotion, he said very little to explain the specifics of the situation.
Suspicion invaded his mind, but he wouldn’t dare risk any of his coworkers’ safety.
“I am very sorry,” Akutagawa spoke up. “Chuuya-san asked for my assistance—”
“With the agency. That was my call, too.”
“Oh.” Akutagawa blinked, frowning.
Kunikida scratched the back of his head, pulling out some cash to cover their drinks. “Yes, very awkward. But I figured it’d happen at some point. I just didn’t think it’d crash our date.” He slid out of the booth, instinctually offering a hand to Akutagawa. To his surprise, the man actually took it and stood.
“We cannot exactly walk there if they expect us to be on time.”
“Ah, my car’s back near the agency—”
Akutagawa started walking past him, heading out the door without many words. Kunikida followed after him, figuring the man was in “mission mode” and unlikely to explain himself. They turned into the nearby parking lot.
“Your car is here?”
His boyfriend looked back at him with the most devious look. Charmingly devious. But still devious.
“No.” Akutagawa walked up to an old lemon—one of the windows half-rolled down. Slipping his hand inside, he unlocked the driver-side door.
“Ryuunosuke! You’re stealing a car!”
“Relax, I’ll bring it back.” He hopped in, already pulling out the circuitry to hot-wire it.
“I—I can’t believe I am witnessing you do a crime—”
Akutagawa snorted, fiddling with the wires. “You’ve seen me do worse. I’ve done worse to you. Get in.”
“I can’t believe I’m assisting you with a crime,” Kunikida pleaded as he got into the passenger seat. Very reluctantly.
“We’re merely borrowing it.” He continued his work with unsettling nonchalance, satisfaction sweeping his expression when the engine hummed to life. Barely waiting for Kunikida to put on his seatbelt, he pulled out of the parking space and barrelled toward the street.
“Jesus Christ!” Kunikida gasped as he slammed into the side of the door—honestly surprised the thing didn’t collapse.
“You want to get there fast, yes?” Akutagawa’s features stayed cool and calm despite his maniacal driving.
Kunikida gripped the assist handles with a vice. “In one piece!”
Akutagawa just glanced over and scoffed, “Relax. I have been driving since I could reach the pedals.”
Narrowing his eyes, Kunikida dared to ask, “when was that?”
“12, maybe.”
“That—that was a red light!” Kunikida’s worries of how the mafia treated their younger recruits died in favor of critiquing the wild maneuver.
Akutagawa didn’t seem perturbed. “Quickly and efficiently.” He smirked. “That is my strong point. According to you.”
Well, that had come back to haunt him—sooner than Kunikida imagined. He didn’t have much more time to dwell on it as Akutagawa deftly weaved the car through the crowded streets. As they approached their destination, the red brick of the agency illuminated by the occasional flash. At one point, the ground seemed to shake, and Akutagawa slammed on the brakes.
“What are you—?!”
“We cannot walk in together.” Akutagawa started reversing—at the same excessive speed, mind you. “It’d be incredibly obvious. I don’t even need stealth training to know that.”
Kunikida rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. “I suppose you’re right. How about you wait here, count to ten—thousand and—”
“My people need my assistance, too,” Akutagawa interjected. “And I like to be punctual when my coworkers might be dying.”
“Then, fine!” Kunikida threw his hands up in the air before crossing them tightly over his chest, huffing, “We’ll walk in together and pretend that nothing happened.”
Cracks lined the asphalt, tinged red, green, and purple with the glow of opposing abilities. Smoke filled the ashy air, occasionally bursting in tinny explosions from bullets or Tainted Sorrow. The fog shifted as Nakahara barked orders to his underlings, the sparse detective agency (consisting of Dazai, Yosano, and Tanizaki) looking a bit worse for wear.
Two new figures entered the arena. Not suspiciously at all.
“Oh, shit, it’s—Ry—fuck, Akutagawa!” Kunikida’s very convincing cry rang out in the sudden silence.
Akutagawa activated Rashomon in a terrifying display that did not match his emotionless speech, “Oh. It’s you. Curse you. I don’t even know your name, detective. That’s how little I know of you.”
Both sides stood in a confused stupor, neither daring to move as two senior members faced each other in perhaps the most awkward standoff known to mankind. Until it was interrupted by a sing-song exclaim:
“Are you trying to fool us? Because it’s really not working!”
Dazai doubled over in a fit of howling laughter, much to the dismay of his partners. Yosano hoisted her cleaver over her shoulder to cast Kunikida a look that could only be described as disappointed. Tanizaki just gaped at the newly arrived couple. The doctor reached over with her gloved hand to close his jaw.
“What the hell is this, Ryuunosuke?” Nakahara demanded, dropping to the ground with a graceful thud.
Akutagawa simply shrugged, though his face was red. “You called me on my day off.”
“I would’ve thought you kept business and pleasure separate, you uptight bastard!” Nakahara shook his head in disapproval, his reprimand dissolving into a chuckle. “I can’t—I really can’t—oi, all of you, you’re dismissed!” he yelled to his underlings, who clutched their guns in a kind of daze. “Don’t speak a word of this or I’ll have your balls ripped off. Enjoy the night off.”
Mumbling in confusion, the mafiosi obeyed the word of their superior, filing quickly out of the battle scene. Thankfully, there weren’t any casualties or fatal wounds on either side, the lovebirds having arrived to save the day.
“My, Kunikida, quite the scene you’ve caused,” Yosano chided as the blonde staggered toward his comrades. Akutagawa was occupied by one of Nakahara’s lectures.
“I feel like this is some sick prank,” Tanizaki groaned.
Yosano tapped her chin with a smirk. “I’m quite surprised—even though Ranpo is never wrong, it was still hard to believe when he told me.”
Kunikida sputtered. “I—I thought—!”
“He’d keep his mouth shut? Unlikely.”
Sighing, Kunikida deflated. “No, I thought we were more stealthy than that.”
“Stealthy? BA-HA!” Dazai guffawed, running up from behind and throwing an arm over Kunikida’s shoulders. “You seriously think I didn’t know you were making out with Akutagawa when I called?”
“You were making out?” Tanizaki echoed with a look of utter disgust.
“We were not making out!”
“We were simply having a meal,” a new voice interrupted. Tanizaki jumped back, Akutagawa standing but a few feet away, closely monitored by Nakahara. “Which will now have to be rescheduled, I suppose.”
Kunikida broke away from Dazai to face him, frowning apologetically. “I’m sorry—”
Akutagawa snorted, “do not apologize for the incompetence of your coworkers.”
“Hey!” Tanizaki protested, held back by Yosano.
“Or the impudence of my superior.”
Chuuya started for him. “Oi, you little—!”
“I still had quite the lovely evening. And, well, it isn’t exactly over,” Akutagawa trailed off in a mumble, gaze darting to the side.
Kunikida blinked in disbelief. “I—yeah, no—no it’s not. It isn’t. You’re right.”
“Wow.” Chuuya twisted up his face with a snort, “smooth one you picked there, Ryuu.”
Dazai gasped. “How dare you, Chuuya~! Kunikida-kun is perfectly suave when he wants to be!”
“Oh, yeah? Like showing up to help out his buddies with the enemy as his date? Real smooth, Dazai,” Chuuya retorted.
The two went head to head, engaging in a furious debate about the compatibility of Yokohama’s latest power couple—Yosano egging them on and Tanizaki unable to look away.
Neither pair noticed Akutagawa grab Kunikida’s hand and drag him away into the streets.
“That went swell,” Kunikida said with a dramatic sigh. They’d stopped at an empty park, listening to the bugs chirping in the twilight. Their thighs touched from their spot on the bench, Akutagawa watching the sparse fireflies flicker in the night air.
When Akutagawa didn’t respond, Kunikida continued his tirade, “I wish they didn’t butt into my life so much. Even before all this, they were still meddling. That’s all they do. Nosy brats. Why can’t they just stick to their job—!”
His rambling was stopped by a pair of lips against his own, lingering with a spark that sprung warmth in his chest.
“Sorry. I wanted to enjoy the quiet.”
“No. No, yeah—that’s good,” Kunikida rambled, his face red. He stared off into space, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. When he gained the courage, he glanced over and saw Akutagawa in a similar state—red-cheeked with a faint smile aimed at his feet.
“Tonight was good. Even with its disruption,” Akutagawa said softly.
“Yeah.” Kunikida blinked, sinking back into the bench. “I guess you’re right.”
They stared off into the cluster of trees, leaves rustling softly to the faint rhythm of car engines.
Tonight was good. Everything was good.
Perfect, even.
After some more pleasant silence, the words rushed out of Kunikida, “Um. Can I kiss you? Again?”
“Please.”
Had the gods ever created a better response? Or a better man to speak it?
Under the glow of a street lamp, their lips met once more, arms entwined to create one form. The earth stood still for them.
All Kunikida could think was: this is ideal.