Work Text:
When Gin and Ryūnosuke received their first payments from the Port Mafia, by mutual unspoken agreement they immediately cashed their checks and stored the money safely in their tiny apartment, sewn inside their couch cushions in flattened plastic bags. Their second checks were squirreled away possessively in the same way. Ryūnosuke could barely understand why you would let something so important as money be kept out of sight in a bank, to be turned into an abstract number that could be stolen or withheld. It felt much safer to have it where he could physically protect it.
But one day he overheard one of the other new recruits bragging about the new slippers he had been able to buy his mother, and this provoked a round of bragging over who had foolishly wasted the most money on their loved ones. Ryūnosuke listened in silence, uninterested in the topic and unable to offer his own contribution…and as he considered those facts about himself, he suddenly wondered if he was being somewhat foolish and selfish himself.
“Gin,” he asked that night. “I would like to purchase more suitable clothing.”
“Suitable for what?” she replied, not lifting her eyes from the torn pants she was sewing. Her training was different from his but just as physically intense if not more; Rashōmon could help him repair his own clothes but she had no such shortcut. He too could sew and wash clothing but his hours were longer than hers so she had taken up the task before he could offer.
He wasn’t even sure what she would choose to wear if she were given options. They essentially lived in their worn-out black and grey clothing.
“Suitable,” he repeated, more confident of his decision. “Let us go shopping.”
Going into a store with money to spend on nonessential items seemed like a bourgeois indulgence, and he could tell Gin felt equally intimidated. He didn’t want her to hold back, so he pushed himself to pick up a sweater and look at it casually like he belonged in the store and would not be chased out for stealing once the salespeople noticed him.
“Go on,” he instructed her. “We must use half of our paychecks each so that we are dressed properly. We can save the rest if we need to.” He saw her back straighten and she headed with more confidence towards a pile of folded shirts. She was short enough to disappear behind the racks and he almost smiled at the thought of her stalking the perfect blouse.
He considered his own options. He didn’t know how to express this to anyone other than his sister, and frankly had no interest in sharing his thoughts with anyone else, but Rashōmon’s reaction to clothing was important. Ryūnosuke himself did not care if something was unflattering on him, or was attractive, or expensive or cheap - but he felt distinctly different in some outfits, and the feeling of comfort he gained far outweighed worrying what strangers thought of the results. Fools could easily be ignored, but ignoring Rashōmon’s reactions was like ignoring a needle in your mouth.
Dazai-san’s coat was one exception, but he’d won that argument in the end; it was warm, it was high quality wool, there was plenty of cloth to work with, it was from the man who had saved his life…and getting Rashōmon to work with it had been a nightmare. Putting his arms into the sleeves of that coat had felt vaguely dangerous at first, like reaching into a dark hole with an angry animal hiding inside. The coat unraveled slowly, created dull edges, actually resisted his commands - and Akutagawa had fought and fought and fought until eventually stubborn Rashōmon gave in and worked like his own two hands again, to his relief. The stress of their disagreement actually made his skin itch and bleed after wearing the coat for too many days in a row, but the disobedient wretch minded him now.
He checked on his sister instinctively; Gin was still looking around and the greatest threat to her safety was that she might collapse under the number of clothes she had selected to try on. Very well. Ryūosuke awkwardly looked through the selection of clothing, letting his fingers brush them so Rashōmon could decide. His Ability expanded through the clothing like opening a new and strange world of information. Having this many options of sensation was so novel. He rather enjoyed it. Joining the Port Mafia had its downsides, but the ability to see and feel so many soft clean clothes, and to let Gin feel them, was a worthy prize. Rashōmon flowed effortlessly through cotton, rubbed itself over suede and velvet curiously, and seemed almost confused by the slipperiness of polyester before sliding into it. Leather must have felt like skin to it, and they both instinctively rejected the sensation. Snaps and zippers were ice cold metal in Rashōmon’s mouth; it depended on its mood. He briefly considered letting Rashōmon run wild through all the clothing in the store, all the clothing collapsing into shreds as it unwound for his use, but it was the same sort of insane giddy urge that led you to consider swerving your car into a tree. So he let Rashōmon mouth its way through the store and any piece that it hesitated long enough over, Ryūnosuke added to his pile.
He glanced over the top of the clothing rack and saw Gin staring back, pink-cheeked and happy as she held up a long-sleeved linen shirt in his direction. He went to her side and touched the sleeve, and Rashōmon practically zoomed into it, to his shock. Gin giggled at his expression. Rashōmon, for its part, gave him the image of a puppy with a mouthful of crushed flowers.
Ryūnosuke examined the shirt. She had to be kidding. The sleeves buttoned at the wrists and had all this….extra cloth everywhere.
Rashōmon enjoyed extra cloth.
What was all this…frilly stuff?
Rashōmon enjoyed extra cloth!
He ran his fingers over the…frilly stuff. He could feel the subtle textures, and as opposed to the shredded rags of the past, these holes and loops were by careful design. There was a faint raised pattern of dots woven into the fabric itself. For such a light and delicate-seeming piece of clothing, it was sturdy and well-made. It would not tear easily…white was a disadvantageous color, but…
“It can be bleached,” Gin said with a hopeful little smile. She had crooked teeth and didn’t like smiling much, so when Ryūnosuke saw her little snaggletooth peeking out -
Ryūnosuke added the shirt to his pile.
The white shirt was size M, and much to his chagrin was embarrassingly loose on his body and came all the way down to his wrists. Buying new clothing made him aware again of the appalling weakness of his pathetic body; loose clothing was forgiving of his physical shortcomings. He could feel Rashōmon making frantic laps through it, making the fabric quiver almost imperceptibly. There was an attached scarf-like thing that he’d had to untie to put the shirt on, and he fumbled through re-knotting it in the mirror. Rashōmon tugged at it, making it visibly flutter.
“Stop it,” he ordered. What was this thing? Why was it so complicated?
When he emerged, feeling distinctly ridiculous, Gin clapped her hands. “I like it!”
He was baffled.
“Try your coat on over it,” she urged, holding out Dazai-san’s coat. He pulled it on, expecting the sleeves of his new shirt to get dragged up to mid-elbow or the loose shirt to make his coat feel uncomfortably tight, but to his surprise he had no difficulty. The shirt sleeves were so long that they stuck out past the edges of his coatsleeves, and he could no longer directly feel the oppressive itchy weight of the coat rubbing directly against his skin. In fact he felt almost cool and comfortable. He must have smiled, because Gin smiled again. “I think you should wear long-sleeved shirts. Let’s get lots of them!”
Ah yes, Gin also didn’t like his coat for some reason, but they had both been street kids for so long that he thought it foolish to be so picky about useful free clothing. But in all other matters her opinion was generally good enough for him…although he was mildly relieved when she suggested multiple turtlenecks and long-sleeved shirts for him in neutral dark colors that hid blood and dirt well. Rashōmon didn’t mind them, but didn’t have the same excited reaction that it had to the loose white shirt.
Maybe Rashōmon cared about fashion more than he did?
Rashōmon was not the boss of him, he told himself firmly. He was not going to have an entire closet of frilly blouses even if both of them begged him.
He still planned to buy everything Gin selected for him, including that silly white shirt.
While Gin was doing her second round of shopping, he went around with Rashōmon again, letting it feel carefully. When it stopped and returned to a particular item, he put it in with his own purchases and completed them while waiting for her, putting this item in a separate bag for later presentation.
Back at their apartment over tea (his was heavily sweetened and hers very little; she was always more balanced about things) he took out this separate bag and presented it to her. She took it, confused. “What’s this?” she murmured. She set the box on the small table and opened it.
Ryūnosuke cleared his throat. “You’re supposed to have a piece of clothing from the person who brought you into the Port Mafia. I have been remiss.” She started to say something, but instead smiled as she opened the box and lifted out part of the white sun dress he’d bought. Gin’s style was fairly modest, he’d noticed from her other selections, and Rashōmon liked the material. She’d probably wear one of her new cardigans with this. Ryūnosuke didn’t care about fashion, but he generally approved of the outfits that made her seem happy and comfortable.
“Thank you,” his little sister said. She almost seemed about to cry; why was she crying? Her smile was so wide despite its trembling so he was able to reassure both himself and Rashōmon that this was a good thing. He’d never been able to give her anything nice like this before and did not want to fail her with his incompetence. She laughed. “But isn’t it supposed to be one of your own pieces of clothing?”
“I bought it,” he said firmly. “So it’s mine. And now it’s yours.” He glared at her. “It will match my - that ridiculous white shirt you insisted I get.”
“I’m glad you got that one! You should have let me buy that for you,” she giggled.
“No,” he snapped; she wasn’t to waste any of her money on him. Then he realized how that had come out and explained, “I want you to buy things for yourself. You may purchase me something another time.”
“If I bought you a new coat would you wear it?” she ventured.
“Occasionally, yes.”
“If I gave you a new winter coat would you get rid of this one?”
After all this effort wrangling Rashōmon into accepting it? What would Dazai-san say if he knew Ryūnosuke did not wear the coat he had been given? Dazai-san did not have weaknesses like a sister (as far as he knew - he would like to know more about Dazai-san so he could figure out how to please him) so it would be no excuse in his eyes. “No, and I request that you stop asking.”
She lowered her eyes and seemed to withdraw a little. “I understand.” She put another biscuit on his plate and poured him some tea. The water was cooling; they needed to freshen up the hot water. Rashōmon reached into the kitchen and turned on the heat under the kettle again.
“Why don’t you like my coat?” he finally asked. He hated disappointing her but he also didn’t understand why she was so insistent.
Gin sipped her tea. “You’re allergic to wool,” she said gently, which felt like part of the truth.