Work Text:
Days are passing slower than they used to. Atsushi Nakajima is aging faster than he wants to, stuck under the floor of a rusty law firm, managing a bar that doesn’t pay him well enough.
There’s a shortage of workers, too. He, in his adolescence, and Nakahara-san — his boss and the only other employee who works the bar — are faced with countless men who think their job is to serve drinks and a little more than that.
Atsushi doesn’t understand how Chuuya does it. The beginning was easier, not as many guys had made any advances on Atsushi because he looked and behaved like a child. But a lot can change in six months — his hair has grown out longer and his eyes have been dulled, no longer was the light that shined in them before. He’s grown into an adult and people are starting to notice.
And that was great! This is what Atsushi always wanted, to stop acting and being treated like a child. Now that he has done so, however, the world has gotten crueler.
The night begins with Chuuya opening up the door that leads to the basement of the law firm — where the bar is — and setting up for the night. Atsushi changes his clothes in the back and does some tidying up, and by the time that happens, customers start to pile in.
Everything is fine until they start to close up shop. There’s a few lingering customers, meaning they’ll have to work overtime, but a particular man waltzes in later than usual.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite boy,” The man, a regular at the bar whose name Atsushi has no clue, makes himself at home on one of the stools. Atsushi hasn’t had any bad experiences with him yet, but that will all change tonight.
“Hello, sir,” His polite smile was first genuine when he started to work here, but now it’s more of a gritting-his-teeth smile. “What can I get you?”
“Eh,” The man sours, “I’ve been coming here long enough. What type of employee doesn’t know their customers like the back of their hand?”
Atsushi suppresses a scowl, “Sir, it would be much easier for you to tell me your order—”
“I shouldn’t have to tell you my order.”
Atsushi has developed quite the temper over the past six months, he thinks Chuuya’s had an influence on him — but he needs to stay professional. Even with a short temper, Chuuya’s professionalism tops any high-class celebrity Atsushi has heard of.
He shuts his eyes, inhales deeply, and puts on his best smile. “I’m human, sir. My apologies for forgetting your order, but there are hundreds of men that file through here each day.”
“Which entails?”
“Which entails,” Atsushi jerks back in surprise when a pardoning hand comes into few, rough with painted nails, thin wrists and prominent veins. Chuuya nudges him aside, “that you aren’t special. What’s your usual?”
Chuuya deals with the man in a manner that Atsushi could only dream of — it’s almost like Chuuya doesn’t even get angry, like he doesn’t get frustrated with these condescending men who look down on them and expect them to serve like they’re lapdogs.
Atsushi sulks in the back while Chuuya talks the intoxicated men at the sidebar into leaving for the night, convincing them that they can come back tomorrow night and all the drinks would be on the house — they’ll be too hungover to even think about coming back tomorrow, and too caught up in their post-drunken state to remember Chuuya’s promise.
He’s cleaning the rims of the glasses when Chuuya walks in on him, sighing to himself. That temper Atsushi spoke of earlier hasn’t been something he’s experienced first hand. He used to hope that he would never be the one under Chuuya’s scrutiny, but now, all he’s been hoping for is a fight.
Something that would let him express his anger, his ferocity towards the world and all these men, towards his useless parents, to that idiotic headmaster at the orphanage, at Akutagawa for walking out on him.
If being under Chuuya’s wrath will give him that, he’ll take it.
Lost in his thoughts, the glass slips from the cloth he’s cleaning it with, falling in slow motion. Atsushi watches as it crashes to the ground beautifully, the collision causing tens of tiny pieces to fly everywhere. Chuuya winces, but Atsushi — having his back turned to him — can’t see it.
Atsushi doesn’t do as much as sigh when he kneels to pick up the pieces with his bare hands. Chuuya watches with intent, eyes narrowing when the cloth never leaves Atsushi’s hands.
Shards of glass scrape his unmarred flesh, cutting into the tips of his fingers as he continues to pick them up carelessly, tossing them into the dustbin without a second thought. Pain doesn’t phase him anymore.
(Chuuya, an observer, knows this isn’t the way things should be. Atsushi shouldn’t be immune to wincing, to feeling pain, to showing emotion. Chuuya only knew one other person who’d been like that, and now they aren’t here anymore. He would hate to see history repeat itself.)
“Nakajima,” He steps forward, shoving Atsushi lightly so his back hits the wall with a small thud. He sweeps the glass out of the way with his boots, and the shards make their way into the dustpan easily. He dumps the pieces in the dustbin, not opting to worry about it now.
Chuuya kneels down next to Atsushi, a disgustingly awed look in his eye. Atsushi flushes under his intense eyes, he always has. He needs to work on that, and soon, before Chuuya can realize Atsushi doesn’t just see him as a frightening boss or a coworker or friend—
“You have blood on your hands.”
Atsushi looks down, and oh.
Yes, he does.
He didn’t notice that before.
Chuuya’s eyes are prettier to look at than the blood that coats his fingertips. The cloth he used to clean the rim of the glasses is still clutched in his other hand, and without caution, he wipes his bloody fingers on it.
His boss chuckles, huffing a breath of laughter against Atsushi’s cheek.
“You remind me of somebody.”
That isn’t good. Atsushi should be Atsushi in Chuuya’s mind, not somebody else—
“Who?” He finds himself asking.
“You don’t need to know his name. But he was lanky and skinny and his bones didn’t fit in his body quite right. And he always looked dazed and confused, even if he was smarter than he knew.” Chuuya’s head falls against the wall with a light thud, “And he didn’t feel pain quite right, either. And he always had this empty look on his face.”
“You sound like you’re describing me.” Atsushi tries to joke.
“That’s the thing,” Chuuya turns his head, staring up at Atsushi’s yellow eyes that seem to glow brightly in the dimly lit room, “He wasn’t aware of it, but you are. Which means you’re not emotionless and numb, you’re angry, but you’re not… him.”
“Is that a good or bad thing, Nakahara-san?”
“That depends on who you’re asking.”
“I’m asking you.” Only your opinion matters to me.
“That’s,” He pulls Atsushi down by his neck, adjusting himself so he’s laying his head on Atsushi’s shoulder, “great, Atsushi.” He says in a rush of cold breath, like it’s a sinful thing to be saying in the first place.
“You’re glad I’m not him?”
“I’m glad you’re you.”
What that entails, Atsushi has no clue. But Chuuya is happy for him, and him alone, and he’s glad that Atsushi is not this person he speaks of — which is bittersweet, since Chuuya’s words curl with a hidden saccharine lilt when he speaks negatively of this person.
Atsushi hopes that Chuuya will speak of him like that one day.
“Chuuya-san,” Atsushi calls out, knotting his blood-stained hands with Chuuya’s calloused own. “What do you do… to deal with it?”
Chuuya hums, pensive, “With loss, or with that feeling you can’t shake?”
“Both.”
Chuuya abruptly scoots closer to him, burying his face in Atsushi’s neck. The tips of his ears tint red with color, cheeks dusting pink. Chuuya’s gentle, and Atsushi needs gentle, even if he wants wrath.
“You find somebody new, and you heal.”
Atsushi wants to rip the world apart from its core, to destroy the sun that shines in the sky because it’s happier than he is, wants to burn from the inside out until he’s nothing. All Chuuya has to do is light the match, but he doesn’t. He closes this chapter for Atsushi, ridding him of all the oxygen that fuels the fire, and smothers him with a new beginning.
“Have you found somebody new?” Atsushi knows the answer, but he needs to hear it.
“No.”
“Do you..” Now isn’t the time for hesitance, Chuuya doesn’t want hesitance, “Do you want somebody new?”
“If you’re going to continue to be like this, no, I don’t. But,” He frees himself from the suffocation of Atsushi’s scent, pulling away from the hollow of his neck, “If you’ll make an effort to get better, then yes, I want somebody new.”
Chuuya wants somebody new and it’s Atsushi.
Not yet — it’s not Atsushi yet. He’ll have to see the light in the world again, he’ll have to teach himself how to love again, to see that other side where the grass is greener. Chuuya will help him, he believes that much.
“And, Atsushi,” Chuuya is straddling him, knees on either side of Atsushi’s hips. He brushes the poorly-cut fringe out of Atsushi’s line of sight, helping him to see clearer. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t tell me you’ll try to improve and proceed to break that promise.”
Atsushi, for once, gives himself leeway. He allows himself to do instead of think about doing. Chuuya is pulled in by his waist and maneuvered against Atsushi’s flat chest, hands naturally wrapping around the nape of his neck. How they got together was unplanned, but they always planned to get together one way or another.
Chuuya lips are smaller and easy to capture, even with inexperience. He’s perfect, as Atsushi has assumed when he’s hugging himself to sleep at night, wrapping his arms around his middle pretending they’re Chuuya’s. He smells like alcohol, but he tastes — he tastes like a new beginning.
“I promise.”