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Akutagawa stares at the crumpled paper in his hand, then he eyes the building ahead of him. He isn’t sure what to make of the two story apartment in front of him. The rundown building doesn’t spark any memory within him, even though the doctor said it might help.
Slowly, Akutagawa shakes his head. His shaky fingers come up to his temples, rubbing them softly.
“Why can’t I remember..?” He mumbles, closing his eyes in hopes to find something in the depths of his memories.
But nothing but blank comes to his mind. His entire memory is just a big white hole. Akutagawa isn’t even able to tell what the last thing is he does remember. There are fragments of his childhood, fuzzy and unclear, but there isn’t much more.
For some reason he still remembers how to speak, how to do every day chores and how to use his ability. Even though Rashoumon scares the shit out of him at times, he found practical use for the ability.
From carrying bags, to pouring himself tea, he used it for pretty much everything at this point. Rashoumon helps him get dressed or hangs up his coat, whenever he needs to go from the hospital to the rehabilitation center.
Life is odd, especially now after being released from the hospital with nothing but an address on hand.
“Akutagawa?” An unfamiliar, yet acquainted voice calls out to him.
He turns to look at the person saying his name. It’s a blond boy with bright brown eyes and very prominent freckles covering his cheeks. He is wearing a big straw hat on his head, paired with a blue jumpsuit over a linen shirt. Honestly, the boy looks totally out of place in a city like Yokohama. He seems more like a farm boy.
“Yes?” Akutagawa responds, voice vibrating with uncertainty.
“W-when did you get back?”
“I—” It’s not hard to figure out that this person must know him well. After all, the boy looks like he is on the verge of tears.
“Do the others know?” The blond kid asks, already wiping at his eyes.
“I am sorry,” Akutagawa starts again, remembering what his doctor told him. “I am sure we know each other, but I really can’t recall your name or— or anything about you.”
The boy’s eyebrows draw up in surprise, then realization washes over him and the surprised expression makes way for concern. “Y-you don’t remember?”
Akutagawa averts his eyes, then bows politely. “I am sorry, I do not remember.”
“You don’t remember,” the boy repeats.
Akutagawa raises again, eyeing the boy, unsure of what to do now. He told him he doesn’t remember but Akutagawa doesn’t know what will come next. He must have had an entire life here, maybe in these dorms. Judging from the kid’s reaction at least, he wasn’t one of his enemies.
“D-does anyone know you are back?” The kid asks again.
Akutagawa shrugs. “I don’t know.”
Now, the boy fishes for a phone in his pockets, flipping it open and dialing a number rapidly. He waits a few seconds, then the line seems to connect and he starts speaking.
“Akutagawa is back!” He shouts into the phone.
Akutagawa watches while the boy continues babbling, telling the person on the other end to come to the dorms. He catches a rushed ‘okay, I won’t tell him, okay’ before the kid hangs up again.
The brown eyes pierce through Akutagawa. “I am Kenji Miyazawa, we used to work together. In fact, we used to work with a bunch of people and all of us have been looking for you.”
“Kenji,” Akutagawa repeats, trying to memorize the name. “Do you know what happened to me?”
Kenji furrows his brows. “You disappeared over a month ago. Atsu— We’ve been looking for you everywhere we could think of, but we couldn’t find a trace of you. I am glad you are back, even though you don’t remember me.”
Akutagawa gives him an apologetic look. “I am sorry. I hope we were great friends.”
Kenji shrugs. “We can be great friends now, too. Do you remember where your room is?”
Akutagawa shakes his head.
“Well, let me show you.”
Kenji walks off towards the apartment building. He pushes his straw hat back, letting it dangle from his neck, and crosses his arms behind his head.
They walk up the stairs to the second floor and Kenji leads him to the room furthest down the corridor. He slides the door open, offering Akutagawa to enter first.
It’s odd to be in a space that seems so foreign, so new, but at the same time feels so familiar and nostalgic. There is a half finished crossword puzzle on the chabudai, accompanied by a coffee cup. The pen is laying on the floor, probably landing there from not being used over the past months. It seems as if someone just left in the morning and has every intention to return.
“We didn’t really change anything, A— There were people against it.”
Akutagawa nods. “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful.”
He walks towards his futon, inspecting the neatly folded up sheets, the two pillows and the worn out plushie next to it. It’s strange seeing these things, his things through the eyes of a stranger.
Even his wardrobe seems foreign when he slides open its door to take a look. There are shirts and pants, socks and underwear, coats and jackets.
Instinctively he reaches for one of the long sleeved turtlenecks in the back, inspecting it closer. Something about it seems out of place. He can’t tell what it is, just that it feels like it doesn’t belong in this room.
Akutagawa turns around to ask Kenji about it when they hear footsteps in the hallway. Both Kenji and Akutagawa focus on the entrance, awaiting the people to arrive.
Two tall men stare at him, both with stern expressions. The taller one has red hair and a three day stubble. The other man is blonde, with a long rattail and glasses. The latter scowls at the sight of Akutagawa.
“Akutagawa,” the redhead starts, voice unsure. “Welcome back.”
Akutagawa shrugs. “Thank you, I guess.”
“Kenji said you don’t remember anything,” the redhead continues. “My name is Oda, Oda Sakunosuke. And this is Kunikida Doppo.”
He points at the blonde dude who still looks rather suspicious of Akutagawa.
“You don’t remember anything?” Kunikida asks.
Akutagawa shakes his head. “I am really sorry, I don’t know who you are. However, this room feels familiar. But I can’t recall any memory of it.”
The two men both frown, exchanging glances.
“Sorry this happened to you,” Oda offers. “It doesn’t change anything for us. You are still part of the agency.”
Kenji grins. “There is just more room for new memories now.”
“Stupid kid, that doesn’t make up for the lost ones,” Kunikida snarls.
“It’s fine,” Akutagawa stops him, smiling softly. “It’s fine. We will make new memories.”
Over the next few days Akutagawa learns a lot through his colleagues. Apparently he is part of an organization called the Armed Detective Agency, a detective agency with ability users. He gets to know Ranpo, who doesn’t have an ability, but is the most skilled detective among all of them.
He also learns about the Port Mafia, an underground organisation that often has conflicts with the ADA, the government and general difficulties regarding his current job. But somehow everyone conveniently forgets to tell him an important detail to his life, one that breaks into his apartment one moonlit night.
“Wha—?!” A voice thunders through the quiet of the night.
Akutagawa gets ripped out of his sleep and sits up in his futon, eyes darting around in the dark. He can make out the silhouette of a man standing in his room, right in front of the window.
“Announce yourself, intruder, or I will make you regret it!” Akutagawa threatens, unsure if Rashoumon is actually capable of harming people.
“R-Ryuunosuke?!” The voice calls.
Then the man stumbles through the room, falling to his knees next to Akutagawa and pulling him into a tight, warm hug.
“When did you get back? Why didn’t you contact me? Do you know how scared I was?”
Akutagawa doesn’t hug the man back, he just tries to remember who he is because—
Maybe it’s the man’s scent, maybe the way his arms hold on to him, maybe it’s the heat of the other’s body seeping through their clothes and sticking to Akutagawa’s skin like a warm blanket — but something about him seems so familiar, so comforting.
“I am sorry,” Akutagawa whispers.
The man’s hands get ahold of Akutagawa’s shoulder, pushing him back to take a look at him in the darkness.
“Ryuu, is everything okay? Talk to me.”
Akutagawa shakes his head slowly. “I am so very sorry,” he repeats, not sure why he feels this urge to pull his own hair out. “I— I really don’t know—”
His voice breaks when he chokes up. A single, lonely tear runs down his cheek. Akutagawa doesn’t understand the emotional response he is having to the situation. He doesn’t remember this man, doesn’t remember the voice, the frame, anything. And still, it feels like he knows him, like he has to know him.
But Akutagawa doesn’t and that suffocating feeling of having no control over the situation, of forgetting everything and not being able to recall someone like this person, it’s swallowing him whole.
“Hey,” the man whispers, attempting to pull Akutagawa closer again. But Akutagawa moves back, much to the shock of the other man.
“I don’t know you!” Akutagawa shouts, his own desperation and pain filling the words with so much hopelessness, it rings in his own ears.
The man stares at him for a moment. Then, his arms drop. “What do you mean? It’s me, we— I—”
He seems at a loss of words but Akutagawa can’t help him. Akutagawa doesn’t remember this person, but this person remembers him.
“I can’t remember,” Akutagawa whispers into the silence between them. He ruffles through his hair with a shaky hand. “I can’t remember you, or Kenji, or Kunikida, or anything. My head— My head, it’s empty. ”
Irritatedly Akutagawa knocks his knuckles against his forehead, as if he wants to show the other that his head is hollow, that there is nothing in his skull.
He can see the man shaking his head slowly. Then an almost silent whisper. “No.”
Akutagawa frowns. “I am so sorry.”
“No,” this time the voice is louder. “You are kidding me, right? You must be. There is no way— Ryuunosuke, please just—”
The man continues shaking his head, slowly lifting himself to his feet. He continues his mumbling.
“Why did no one tell me? Why— Why am I the only one— Why don’t I know that? Why?”
He takes a stumbling step backwards, hitting against the chabudai knocking the empty coffee cup over. It rolls over the wooden surface, falling to the tatami underneath.
“No,” the man repeats once more, finally hitting a wall. “No, this can’t be.”
Slowly, Akutagawa lifts himself out of his futon. He feels bad for the other man, after all, he never wished to come back to a life full of people that missed him, just for him to tell them that he doesn’t remember them.
“I don’t know who you are,” he repeats. “But would you mind telling me your name, so I at least can get to know you? And maybe— maybe you could tell me about our affiliation.”
The man stares at him through the darkness. It’s difficult to tell what he looks like, but the moonlight reflects the silver hair on his head and Akutagawa can see one purple eye shining clearly in the darkness.
“My name,” the man mumbles. “Atsushi. Nakajima Atsushi.”
“Atsushi,” Akutagawa repeats, feeling up the syllables with his mouth to memorize them. “Atsushi Nakajima. I assume that we were close, since you use my first name.”
Atsushi nods slowly. “Something like that,” he whispers.
“Do you want to tell me?”
“What does it matter if you forgot?” Atsushi asks.
There is a bitterness in his voice, a resignation that stings in Akutagawa’s ears. He can’t tell why, after all, he can’t remember, but something about the tone hurts Akutagawa.
“It matters to me,” Akutagawa responds with a shaky voice. “It might help me remember. Or at least we could try and rebuild what we had. It’s what the ADA has been doing so far. They told me about past events and together we are making new memories.”
“The ADA, huh?” Atsushi scoffs. “These bastards didn’t even tell me you are back.”
Akutagawa frowns. “I am sure they had a good reason.”
“Hah.” The laugh is cold, devoid of any affection. “They have a good reason. Do you want to know the reason?”
Atsushi takes a step towards Akutagawa now, but this time his body language isn’t warm and welcoming, this time it is almost threatening. As if there is a beast behind his eyes, waiting to be unleashed.
“I can tell you why,” Atsushi continues, taking another step.
Akutagawa takes the man in, eyes travelling over the fur collar on his open jacket, the knitted turtleneck and the black pants. He doesn’t look anything like the ADA members. If anything, he looks more like—
“They didn’t tell you, because I am Port Mafia. I am the enemy. I should have known that this bastard Kunikida— Ah, it doesn’t matter.”
Even though Akutagawa knows that the Armed Detective Agency isn’t necessarily on the best terms with the Port Mafia, he isn’t scared of Atsushi. He doesn’t even think that Atsushi is an enemy, since the man is standing in his room, in the middle of the night, calling him by his first name and hugging him so tightly only a few minutes prior.
“Port Mafia, I see,” Akutagawa says, his voice unwavering.
Atsushi on the other hand seems to be fighting down the rage in his body. One of his shaky hands comes up, pressing against his throat, as if he is trying to contain something. Akutagawa can see the pain in the man’s eye now, as Atsushi comes to a halt only an arm’s length away from him.
“You can hate me now,” Atsushi whispers. “I was never good to begin with either way.”
Akutagawa bites his lip. He knows that the past him would understand what Atsushi means, the past him would probably not hate him, would probably tell Atsushi that he doesn’t believe that. But Akutagawa can’t remember what he used to be like, he can’t remember their relationship or anything regarding Atsushi.
Akutagawa clears his throat. “I am sure— I am sure that whoever I am doesn’t hate you.”
Now the mafioso lowers his gaze, staring at his feet. “You don’t know that.” The bitterness seeps through Atsushi’s voice. “You can’t know that. If I tell you, you hated me, then there is no way for you to know this isn’t true.”
“I can’t know.” He reaches out to get ahold of Atsushi’s wrist. The man flinches, but Akutagawa’s grip is firm. “I can’t know, but something tells me, Atsushi, that I don’t hate you.”
His fingers encircle Atsushi’s wrist, holding onto it. It feels familiar, as if it’s something so natural, something he’s always done. And still, it feels like something new, too.
Atsushi shakes his head slowly. “I am sorry, Ryuunosuke,” he whispers. “I can’t do this. Not like this.”
He rips his arm out of Akutagawa’s grasp and turns to the window. The same way he got into the room he exits it again. Before jumping out he turns one last time.
“I am happy you came back.”
The words echo in Akutagawa’s head, the gentleness of the tone mixed with that unbelievable sadness making Akutagawa’s heart throb. He knows that there is something Atsushi isn’t telling him, something nobody is telling him.
The next day Akutagawa wants to know more from his coworkers.
“Who is Nakajima Atsushi?” He asks during lunch break.
The room goes silent, everyone lowering their chopsticks, except for Kenji who continues munching on his curry.
Kunikida and Oda exchange glances and it seems as if no one wants to really talk about it.
“I think,” Akutagawa tries again. “I deserve to know.”
Kunikida bites his lips, then he speaks. “He is the white reaper of the Port Mafia. Used to be the bodyguard of their dead boss.”
“A very powerful ability user,” Oda continues, glancing at Kunikida again. “He can turn into a massive beast, a white tiger.”
Akutagawa crosses his arms. “And what does he have to do with me?”
“He is your boyfriend,” Kenji hisses between two bites of curry.
Boyfriend.
Kunikida winces. “That’s an assumption, Kenji.”
“What? They were always together. Akutagawa even slept over at his place sometimes.”
“Neither of them ever confirmed such a rumour,” Kunikida continues, voice condescending.
The conversation fades into white noise as Akutagawa’s thoughts are occupied with the information he just got.
Atsushi, his boyfriend.
Somehow it’s equally funny and sad.
Akutagawa doesn’t know how to puzzle the pieces together. From what the others tell him in the following conversation, no one knows if they even have a romantic relationship, just that they are always together. From joint missions to sleepovers, it was always just Atsushi.
That day Akutagawa comes home to a bouquet of flowers, tiny blue petals staring back at him, placed neatly into a vase. The window is open, making him feel an air of familiarity.
There is a card leaning against the vase and Akutagawa takes it into his fingers, flipping it over to read. The handwriting is messy, as if it’s from someone who doesn’t write frequently. It makes Akutagawa realize that he doesn’t even know his own handwriting.
Ryuu,
Forget-Me-Nots are the promise to never forget the other. I always thought it was a silly phrase when you gave me these flowers, but now I understand that there are some things we can’t promise.
Akutagawa stares at the tiny blue blossoms. Forget-me-nots, what a name for a flower, one Akutagawa intends to remember. He doesn’t need a signature on the card to know who they are from.
It makes him realize, Akutagawa may come to terms with his amnesia, but everyone around him still harbors old memories, memories they can’t forget, memories of a person that used to be Akutagawa, a person Akutagawa doesn’t know anymore.
He tugs one of the flowers out of the bouquet and searches for a pen and some paper in his tiny room. He finds some note paper and envelopes in the drawer of his desk. Once again he tries to remember why he has those, but there is nothing in his mind.
Akutagawa settles down, staring at the blank sheet.
He reaches for the newspaper, attempting to scribble on it a few times to get used to the feeling of writing.
Then he presses the pen against the paper and writes down the words he feels like he needs to share. He seals the envelope, writing the kanji of a familiar yet foreign name onto the back of it.
For Atsushi
He lays the single flower on top of it. He isn’t sure what he wants to achieve with this, but somewhere within him there is hope. One can forget someone, but maybe— maybe one will always remember them.
At least their scent, the feeling of their fingertips against his skin, the way their laugh makes him feel, and the way their words can sting.
Akutagawa gets up from the desk. He opens the wardrobe, skimming through the clothes, fingers finding one of the turtlenecks there. Carefully, he pulls it out and stares at it.
Then, he presses it against his face, burying his nose in the familiar scent of someone. Someone important, someone he never wanted to forget, someone that he wants to remember and he doesn’t know why. But maybe he doesn’t need to know why. Maybe just knowing this is enough.
Akutagawa lays the letter and the flower on the windowsill that night, leaving the window open. He falls asleep with the turtleneck in his arms, holding onto it as if it is his lifeline.
Somewhere this night, in a much darker corner of Yokohama, the white reaper’s tears fall onto a letter. The letter from a man he thought he knew so well who suddenly turned into a stranger.
Dear Atsushi
I must have never wanted to forget about you, no matter what. I know that I can’t remember you, but the feeling of you hugging me, the feeling of you with me, your scent close to me, your wrist in my hand, all of that, it still feels like it’s a part of me, one I can never let go of.
I don’t know if I can ever find the love I felt for you within me again, but I am still me. I loved you once and I hope I can love you again someday.
I know I need time, I am still adjusting to living my life again, adjusting to filling my head with new memories and old people.
So I beg of you, Atsushi, forget me not, just how I won’t ever forget any new memories I form with you.
Ryuunosuke Akutagawa