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There are hardly any peaceful moments in Atsushi’s life. As an agent, as an ability-wielder, as a designated combatant. He lives between moments of pure terror and flooding relief. Courage does little to stifle the strain, but it helps. Of course, Atsushi is relatively adapted to this routine, so his expectations for calm simplicity are minimal, if they exist at all.
Assuredly, there are few serene moments in Atsushi’s life.
But this is one:
It’s early - very early - orange rays whisper the arrival of dawn. Waking slowly, Atsushi is as groggy as the sun. He opens his eyes only marginally, blinking away the blur of sleep, enough to see a head of dark hair and a sharp nose on the pillow over.
It is an exceptional view. One he isn’t granted often, but one he adores nonetheless. He’s greeted with a shine angled by the window's pane, falling and dancing and settling between midnight waves. Akutagawa’s hair is perpetually messy in the mornings. Though, Atsushi pointedly ignores telling him, lest he pats down the unruly pieces with a standard frown. He’d done it before and Atsushi was thoroughly dismayed. Now, he knows to wordlessly enjoy the sight. And he does well to remember his silence…though, speech would be difficult to procure amid the stunning scene before him, regardless.
A prism of brazen red and gleeful yellow beam through his otherwise muted strands. Atsushi admires this rare pocket of quiet beauty and smiles in endearment. He wants to reach into it - run his fingers through the highlights and brush a thumb across a gold-painted temple. But he knows better than to touch.
Loathsome to disturb the peace, he lets the lull of stillness keep him pleasantly drowsy.
Summer in Yokohama always lights a new day far before the city rises, so he sighs breathily in the inherent indolence of the hours before he’s required to assume any responsibilities.
Atsushi had accepted a deserved calm only recently. The past summer had been marked by jittering tension and an abundance of uneasiness. Through his precarious eighteenth year, any allotted lethargy would have been unimaginable - scolded and renounced by a mind still hellbent on earning a right to existence. The subsequent months, however, brought the second birthday shared with oddities of beloved detectives, an unexpected confession followed by heated lips, and lessons in granting intrinsic permission for happiness.
It is wonderfully simple, he’s since found, to allow contentment to seep into his bones when a steady hand rests on his waist.
As one does now. Lithe fingers splayed over his hip and a thumb in the dip of his side. An additive of warmth to the outside air’s increasing temperature and June’s ever-present humidity.
Atsushi basks in their balmy cocoon.
He shouldn’t touch, but shimmying closer to body heat and smooth skin is currently irresistible. So, he does. Tangling a leg between two others and tucking his nose to Akutagawa’s chest. The quiet shuffle is enough to rouse the mafia member - senses honed through years of perilous missions.
There’s a grunt of annoyance, then a clumsy mumble, “Your hair’sn mface.”
“Mm, sorry,” Atsushi giggles lightly as Akutagawa presses a frown into his hair.
“No you’re not.”
“That’s true.”
A corner of his mouth twitches up, displacing a tendril in the process. Atsushi grins sleepily, leaning into the man against him.
His next moment of consciousness is met with wafting pepper and green onion and fish.
Atsushi has never been one to ignore food, so he follows his nose, letting the savory air carry him out of bed, tripping across the floor as he reassembles an outfit of the oversized t-shirt and shorts that had been hurriedly discarded the previous night, and into the kitchen. He picks up a pair of glasses that had been plucked off and neatly folded on the island after dinner; the eyewear had been unconducive to greedy tongues.
Akutagawa murmurs, “Good morning,” and passes him a cup of creamy caffeine. Atsushi grins in thanks and rests a hip against the island. He silently observes Akutagawa manning the stove with perfectly ruffled hair - one hand devoted to stirring and the other occasionally pinching his own mug’s handle; Atsushi watches the coffee’s steam twist up, marring his glasses in fog with each sip.
Atsushi wonders if every morning could begin this way and what might be necessary to make it possible. Keeping this man - this man currently focused on a pan of vegetables, attentive with tasks to a fault, endlessly reliable - who hides smiles against Atsushi’s neck and always reaches to intertwine their hands…keeping him close feels essential.
Atsushi wonders if they could start with shared sunrises.
But, it was not granted often. Which, at the moment, made this scene a growing curiosity.
He cleared his throat lightly, “So, don’t misunderstand, I am appreciative, but…you decided to make us breakfast and coffee because…?”
Akutagawa raises one brow, clicking a haughty tongue, “Because I am exceedingly kind.”
Atsushi snorts and receives a glare in response. But there was little heat behind it and Akutagawa grins into his coffee when he thinks Atsushi isn’t looking.
A moment later, Akutagawa ambles over, letting their breakfast simmer. He kisses Atsushi’s temple before properly answering the question, “I thought I’d let you sleep in. You needed the rest.”
“Shit, did I look that tired?”
“Mn. There were bruises under your eyes,” Akutagawa gently swiped a thumb on the delicate skin where dark circles resided hours ago, then across a high cheek bone, “but they’re better this morning.” It wasn’t accusatory; it was attentive.
Atsushi smiled, unperturbed.
They ate slowly and chatted about nothing and rested feet on neighboring chairs. Plates were stacked and rinsed and snide remarks exchanged in tandem. The kitchen lightened with the rising sun.
All the while, Atsushi wonders if he deserves this bliss.
He can’t, of course. Right?
A wretched child who grew into an abhorrent adult will never amount to more than a repulsive existence. This was all he’s been taught; all he’s known.
Unlearning is messy and thankless. But, he’s tried.
Still. Has he earned any happiness on his own merit? Atsushi can’t be sure. And if that must be questioned, his right to any indulgence must be waived…right?
Regardless, he always asks too much. He shouldn’t ask too much.
Akutagawa recognizes the whirling thoughts. Murmuring, “Want to talk about it?”
“Huh? About what?”
“About whatever is distracting you from enjoying the rest of your coffee.”
“Oh. That. That’s not necessarily relevant,” sounding entirely unconvincing.
“You sounded entirely unconvincing.”
Atsushi winced at his own transparency, “Honestly, it’s quite menial. Extrinsically unconcerning.”
“If it concerns you, it concerns me.”
Atsushi frowned, turned away, and said lowly, “You don’t owe me anything.”
“Well, you see, I suppose I want it to concern me. I say that selfishly and for no other reason; neither of us should feel indebted to the other.” Atsushi fidgeted with his hands, unsure how to respond. After several seconds of silence, Akutagawa lightly tapped Atsushi’s jaw back toward him, further probing the matter, “Tell me what’s wrong. Let me help you fix it…but only after I finish my coffee.”
Akutagawa smirked, and Atsushi met eyes until the levity dancing through the other’s drew humor from his own. They tipped back the remaining contents.
The former brought empty, espresso stained mugs to the sink but returned to Atsushi’s side afterwards. Sighing, “Nakajima, nothing will be solved by silence.”
“I know that. There’s not even an issue, I swear. I just- I think I expect too much from…this.”
Atsushi motions in the space separating the two of them and notes the slight crease that forms between the other’s brows.
“Then, should I tell you exactly how much I value this?”
Chewing the inside of his cheek, “You are not obliged to humor me.”
Akutagawa frowns, humming from the back of his throat, stepping forward until only centimeters remain between their noses, “If you have some notion that I view us with flippancy, then you are gravely mistaken. Believe me. You have allowed the existence of happiness in my world, and for that, I will greedily keep you as close as you’ll have me.”
Incredulity raised his brows, “Are you saying that to make me feel better?”
“Of course, but that hardly diminishes its truth,” relayed with sincere affection in Akutagawa’s dark eyes. Ah, those eyes that ensure Atsushi’s fortitude and all the fondness he’s ever known.
To shrug away sleep beside him - he who is more beautiful than any sun they may rise to meet - Atsushi craves this intensely. Perhaps it is enough to force the proposition from his tongue.
Don’t ask too much. Don’t ask too much.
“I believe you. My musing - it’s just…something I want. Something that would be nice. For me, at least,” perpetually paranoid of non-reciprocation.
Expression softening, “All you have to do is ask.”
Which sounds simple enough - to ask for something he wants. But in practice, less so. Anything he wants has always felt like a luxury. To fulfill a desire is an extravagance afforded to those who are worthy of that allotment…those who are not himself. This was something he’s always known. A truth he has continually compensated for. The resolute stone he’s dug trenches around.
Some lessons are ingrained in a body. Unlearning cannot always erase lines intrinsically carved.
As established: courage does little to stifle the strain, but it helps.
Atsushi gulped, hoping to swallow bravery.
“Uh, well, then…wake up with me?” Don’t ask for too much. Don’t ask for too much. “In the morning. Every morning. Would you wake up with me?”
“Every morning? Is this a proposal?”
Shit. No. That is far too much.
“Ah, no, no, I didn’t mean it like that!” Flailing arms wave to dispel the conjecture; Atsushi had missed the sparks of mischievousness in the other’s eyes.
Akutagawa chuckled lightly, snaking an arm around Atsushi’s waist to pull him closer. He whispers, “As long as you keep the coffee stocked, I would happily spend every sunrise in your arms.”
He’d momentarily forgotten: contentment can be simple.
He lets warmth seep into him from the hand splayed above his hip.
Slowly, hesitantly, a grin curves Atsushi’s lips as the anxiety drains away with the other’s touch, “I swear to never run low on grounds.”
“That’s all I could ever want,” Akutagawa pressed kisses along the underside of his jaw. Each one sent pleasant warmth through his veins.
Tilting his head to allow better access, “Me and…coffee?”
“More so the latter but I do prefer both.”
“Rude.”
“Honest.”
“Fair.”
“Mm-” Atsushi had threaded fingers in messy hair and brought lips to fully cover his own, effectively quieting the other. The silence is an unintended, but not unwelcome, consequence.
They kiss, letting hands and mouths roam until lungs draw more gasps than proper inhales.
Akutagawa, ever more responsible than Atsushi, retained enough clarity to ask, “While I would be inclined to continue-”
“You should definitely continue.”
Akutagawa huffed a laugh, “Don’t you have work?”
“Mn. Wait, what time is-” he checked his watch, “oh, shit!”
And after donning his customary uniform, adding a hard press of lips as an apology for a hasty exit, and pulling his messenger bag from the closet, Atsushi sprinted along familiar sidewalks.
Trampling through the doors, Atsushi was lacking breath and eloquence. The entirety of the office had paused responsibilities to observe the disheveled state of their coworker.
Exertion was a red stain that had crept down his neck as he attempted justification, “I am– so sorry– there was, I mean, that is to say–”
“Kid,” Kunikida frowns with mild annoyance and unusual concern for Atsushi’s discomposure, “Catch your breath first.”
He does: hands on his knees for the next thirty seconds. Only straightening when his chest fills appropriately and his flush has been reduced to a pink tinge across his nose and cheeks.
He clears his throat, “Right. There was something that held me up at my apartment. And I, uh, didn’t realize how late in the morning it was until,” he looked at his watch, “eleven minutes ago.”
“Ah, that’s reasonable,” Dazai declares cheerily, “Everyone understands unexpected distractions that draw you entirely preoccupied–
Relieved by the leniency, “Exactly–”
“–with whoever bruised your lips this morning.”
Wait.
Yosano adds, “And your jaw!”
What?
Junichiro joins, “And your neck! Look there!”
Oh…no…
Atsushi is wide-eyed with embarrassment, fretfully moving his hands to cover all the places noted. His face burns, coloring enough to blend with the light marks from another’s mouth.
The office dissolves into laughter. Atsushi wishes he would spontaneously combust.
A moment after the initial fun, the giggles soften and they refocus on their work.
Yosano is the one to place a hand on his shoulder, smiling bright with understanding, “Atsushi, we don’t mind. It seems like you had a good morning,” winking, “Just…set an alarm next time? Or, maybe, two alarms?”
He mutters his begrudging thanks and unpacks his satchel, organizing files until his complexion fades to his customary paleness. Atsushi pouts at his desk - mainly for petty dramatics; he is well acquainted with his coworkers’ pestering and antics.
But for the remainder of the day, he grins - sporadically, helplessly - at his peaceful memory of the early morning’s sun blanketing dark hair. He wonders if that same image will procure itself in subsequent sunrises and then remembers he has them all to discover.
And those little moments of quiet affection…well, the other agents graciously pretend not to notice.
FIN