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Atsushi isn’t sure if he still has a place where he belongs. Yes, the Port Mafia has been his home for years now, but—
Is it really home without Dazai being there?
It’s no secret how hard it has been. No Mafia boss takes his own life. Usually they die of old age or someone makes them disappear and takes over, but—
But with Dazai— Things were different. And now Dazai is gone.
And maybe it was Atsushi’s fault that all of this happened. Wasn’t it his job to protect Dazai? Doesn’t that mean he had to protect Dazai from himself, too?
The coffee tastes bitter, black as the night, no milk, no sugar. Cafe Uzumaki is empty, only the owner, whistling a melody and drying a cup in his hand, is present, not paying Atsushi any attention. It’s almost peaceful, a certain calmness taking over the entire place, making it feel like a safe space where nothing bad can happen.
It’s Atsushi’s bubble of loneliness and spiraling.
Atsushi isn’t sure if these thoughts matter, the ones about Dazai. He isn’t sure if anything matters at all. At the end of the day, Dazai is gone and, most likely, Atsushi is the one who failed him.
He was there, he could have done something, try to stop him even. Maybe if he wouldn’t have been so busy with himself at that time, maybe that would have made a difference?
Atsushi startles, thoughts evaporating, as the chair next to him scrapes over the ground. He doesn’t need to turn his head to know who is settling down next to him. So Atsushi keeps on staring at his black coffee, waiting for the other to say something, anything.
“Matcha, please.”
It’s always matcha.
“Don’t you get bored of it?” Atsushi asks when the tea arrives.
“Don’t you get bored of your coffee?” Akutagawa asks in return.
Atsushi shrugs, then shakes his head slowly.
“Did you sleep?” The detective stirs through the milky green in his cup.
Atsushi bites his lip. It’s always the same with Akutagawa. Everytime Atsushi settles down in cafe Uzumaki he magically shows up, as if he has an eye on the entry and comes around the moment Atsushi settles down. He’s the one who pops his bubble of self-pity and forces him to move out of his space of seclusion. It’s been like this ever since—
“I know you didn’t.” Akutagawa sighs. “Look at me, will you?”
Atsushi turns his head. “And what does it matter if I did?” He asks, glaring at the other through tired eyes.
The detective takes a sip of hot tea before setting the cup down again. “You come here whenever you can’t sleep.”
“So you have your answer.” Atsushi stares at his coffee again.
“I do. If it’s about Da—”
“I don’t want to talk about him,” Atsushi stops him.
He really doesn’t want to talk about his boss— ex-boss. Whatever either of them has to say, it doesn’t matter.
“Alright, apologies.” Akutagawa takes another sip of his tea. “I still think you should find a way to sleep.”
“Oh, really?” Atsushi asks sarcastically.
“Yes, really.”
Of course, Akutagawa replies earnestly. Sometimes Atsushi wonders if the man can ever let loose. Then again, it’s Akutagawa. A very serious Akutagawa.
“Any suggestions?” The mafioso asks, allowing himself to keep the conversation alive.
“You could come to my place,” Akutagawa offers. “Excuse me, could we have two strawberry cakes?”
“I don’t want any cake,” Atsushi mumbles, not really protesting.
Going to Akutagawa’s place sounds like a pain. There is a chance that the whole Armed Detective Agency would be there too and Atsushi isn’t really keen on seeing any of them. It’s not that he dislikes them. For the most part they are alright and Akutagawa likes them, so Atsushi can’t hate them. They just aren’t his usual crowd.
“Thank you so much,” Akutagawa says politely when the owner places down two tiny squares of strawberry cake.
“Itadakimasu.”
Atsushi grumbles the words after Akutagawa, then he starts digging into the sweet dish.
“For someone who doesn’t want cake you sure eat fast,” Akutagawa comments when Atsushi finishes his meal. “Have you been eating?”
“What are you? A parent?” Atsushi asks, mildly annoyed.
Now, Akutagawa smiles. The right corner of his mouth pulls up slightly and the steel gray eyes light up momentarily.
“Not that I know of,” he replies to which Atsushi responds with an annoyed groan.
At a much slower pace Akutagawa eats his own slice of cake. The coffee is long cold when Atsushi pours it down his throat.
He doesn’t mind cold coffee. Actually he doesn’t mind anything at the moment. Maybe that’s why he lets Akutagawa drag him to the ADA dorms. It’s ridiculous that Akutagawa sleeps at a place like this with paper thin walls and someone like Kunikida living on the same floor.
“Won’t the others complain?” Atsushi asks when they come to a halt in Akutagawa’s room.
“They are at work,” Akutagawa informs him.
The detective walks over to the futon, unfolding it before fluffing it up. Then he settles down in front of the chabudai in front of the window crossed legged. Idly, he opens up the newspaper and starts reading, leaving Atsushi to face his back.
“What are you doing?” Atsushi asks, still standing in the entry awkwardly.
“I am reading,” Akutagawa responds. “The question is, what are you doing? Undress and sleep.”
Atsushi sighs. Akutagawa can be rather determined about what Atsushi does and doesn’t do sometimes. It’s not often, only when Atsushi isn’t keeping up with taking care of himself properly, which, to Akutagawa, is eating and sleeping. As troublesome as it may feel at the moment, in retrospect Atsushi is always thankful for the other’s keen eye and extra attention.
He slips out of his cloak, hanging it up on the coat rack. Uncomfortably he raises his hand to his throat, pressing against the turtleneck and the collar underneath. It stings, a familiar burn and a constant reminder of what he is.
“Do you need bandages?” Akutagawa asks without bothering to look at the other.
Atsushi bites his lip. “I can keep it on. It’s probably better,” he mumbles.
The other shakes his head as Rashoumon opens one of the kitchen cabinets and gets a roll of clean bandage for Atsushi. Thankfully the other takes it before pulling his turtleneck over his head.
He unbuckles the collar, sighing in a mix of pain and relief when the iron spurs edge out of his skin. They are tainted in blood when Atsushi stares at the leather band in his hands. It’s always the same, ugly but necessary.
“Need help?” Akutagawa offers.
“It’s alright,” Atsushi replies, voice hoarse.
He doesn’t want to subject Akutagawa to his self harm. That’s his own burden to carry, one that doesn’t need to be shared with others. Although Akutagawa has seen his injuries, Atsushi still prefers to avoid the other’s gaze when they are exposed.
Carefully, Atsushi wraps the bandage around his neck. Just like every time when he does that he is reminded of the bandaged man who changed his life.
One can say about Osamu Dazai what they want. He was a cruel man, evil even at times. But to Atsushi, he was always a savior. Dazai was the one who took him in when he had nowhere else to go, the one who gave him a home and showed him what family is.
Now, he is gone.
“You know,” Akutagawa starts, finally turning around to look at Atsushi. “Just because he isn’t here anymore doesn’t mean that you are less of a person.”
Atsushi flinches at the words. Did he say something out loud? Or is Akutagawa just that good at reading the room? Or, perhaps, does Akutagawa know how he feels?
“I know that,” Atsushi whispers, slipping into his shirt again and placing the collar onto the countertop.
“You need to take care of yourself, Atsushi. There are people who need you.”
“I couldn’t protect who needed me.”
Akutagawa shakes his head. “Maybe not him. But there are many more people that still need you, you know.”
“...”
Atsushi walks over to the futon. He kneels down next to it and stares at the bedding. It’s not the first time he is here to sleep. Ever since Dazai passed away he’s been sleeping here an awful lot during the day. Usually Akutagawa goes to his office once he is sure Atsushi has fallen asleep. When Atsushi wakes up he leaves the dorm behind him, not bothering to wait for the other to return.
It’s been like that for a while now and maybe Atsushi is getting too comfortable. Maybe he is being a burden.
“Kyouka needs you,” Akutagawa says. “And me, I need you too.”
Atsushi glances at the other who seems to be invested in the newspaper again. He’s now started filling out the crossword puzzle.
“Thank you very much in French,” Akutagawa mumbles.
“Merci beaucoup,” Atsushi replies absentmindedly. Upon realizing what he said he follows up with an explanation. “Chuuya, he—”
Akutagawa nods. “Merci beaucoup. For everything you did. I like having you around here, it helps me, too.”
“It—” Atsushi hesitates, unsure of his next words. “Thank you, Akutagawa. It helps me, too.”
This time, Atsushi gives Akutagawa a smile back. Then he crawls into the futon, Akutagawa’s futon.
“Thank you for letting me sleep here,” Atsushi mumbles.
“Anytime, really.”
Atsushi closes his eyes, sinking deeper into the sheets. His mind is still clouded by thoughts of Dazai, haunted even by that night where he jumped, but something about being here always helps to get his mind off it. Maybe it’s the scent of the sheets, so different from his own bloody, smoky one. Maybe it’s the rustling of paper whenever Akutagawa turns a page. Atsushi doesn’t know.
When he wakes up, night is setting over Yokohama. As Atsushi passes the chabudai to get his collar, he notices a plate of food with a sticky note on it.
“Eat.”
For the blink of a second Atsushi hesitates, then he settles down in front of the table. Carefully, he unwraps the three perfectly shaped onigiri there. They are almost too pretty to eat, but the grumbling in Atsushi’s stomach begs to differ.
As he sits there, chewing on the filled rice balls, filling out the empty spaces in Akutagawa’s crossword puzzle, Atsushi comes to realize. Maybe Dazai showed him what family is so he can find his own, and maybe Akutagawa and Kyouka are exactly that.