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Akutagawa's apartment looked empty. Well, technically it was empty since there was nobody in it. But it felt empty. It felt lonely. As if it was bare. There were no pictures or awards or anything that could tell a story of the person who lived there. Almost as though no one inhabited it to begin with.
And yet, Akutagawa did live there. He had been alone for most of his life, so he supposed the abandoned and empty feel suited him and his lifestyle. That is, until a certain weretiger came into his life.
And thanks to that idiot, the way his life was didn't seem right anymore. His apartment seemed empty whenever Atsushi was not in it. His jobs seemed to drag on longer whenever Atsushi was not joining him on them. His life seemed so much darker without that stuttering and infuriatingly adorable dumbass with him.
But, Akutagawa considered, he would look rather stupid if he just continued to stare at his apartment in the open doorway instead of just walking in like a normal person would. As the door closed behind him, Akutagawa couldn't bear to look at the emptiness anymore. How had he handled this before? It felt so uncomfortably cold.
Sighing, Akutagawa dragged himself away from the door and walked into his room. Bad mistake. His room felt even colder. Maybe since it was filled with too many memories of Atsushi. Nights spent cuddling. Nights spent at the large window stargazing. Nights spent on the floor playing games when neither could sleep. Nights spent watching films and getting increasingly annoyed when Atsushi would comment on the little plot points.
Akutagawa felt a twinge and his eyes sank a little lower. Internally, he screamed at himself. You saw Atsushi a few days ago. You do not need to think about him. But he did. Atsushi always consumed his thoughts. Every little thing seemed to remind Akutagawa of his… What was Atsushi to him? A partner? A friend? Something more? Akutagawa didn't know, but he didn't particularly care. He was Atsushi. He didn't need a label to be in Akutagawa's life (especially not when it didn't look like Atsushi was going to leave any time soon).
And suddenly, a thought occurred. The epiphany he felt was strange and awkward, but it was too correct to be ignored. Akutagawa missed Atsushi. It was ridiculous and stupid and completely and utterly irrational, and yet, it was true. Regardless of how many times he saw Atsushi in a week, Akutagawa was sure he would always feel a little colder and a little more lonely when they were apart.
Confusion seeped into Akutagawa's mind. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't exactly ask to meet up with Atsushi; it was late at night and he wanted to be in his bed. But the nagging feeling of having something missing refused to leave. It clung on, and it forced Akutagawa awake.
Until he remembered something.
Delving into his wardrobe, Akutagawa dug out a hoodie. It was white, the fabric slightly frayed at the ends, with black lettering across the back that had faded overtime until the words were no longer legible. And despite all of that, it was Akutagawa's favourite hoodie. Simply because it wasn't his hoodie at all; it was Atsushi's.
Without a second thought, Akutagawa pulled the hoodie on and was immediately engulfed with the smell of Atsushi. It smelt of the sea and of fresh linen. Smiling slightly, Akutagawa relished the feeling of being wrapped in Atsushi's scent. It felt like a hug. And it was warm. Even that was ridiculous considering it had been sitting in his wardrobe for god-knows how long.
But it was undeniably full of warmth. Maybe not because it was literally warm. Still, it was warm because it was Atsushi's. His memory lingered in the fabrics of the hoodie, and even the way it felt around Akutagawa's shoulders seemingly engulfed him in a hug that screamed Atsushi .
And, with a small smile, Akutagawa realised that he didn't feel quite as lonely anymore.