Work Text:
If anything Kunikida had steadfastly repeated to him over the past several months was true, then the office was primarily a space in which work was meant to be done. Atsushi almost winced at the memory of Kunikida’s brusque voice echoing in his ears.
“Remember, Atsushi,” he had said with a passion, leaning down so that his spectacled eyes were level with Atsushi’s wide ones, “The best preparation for good work tomorrow is to do good work today. No slacking off.”
Oh, Kunikida. The poor man would have an aneurysm if he could see him now.
“Never have I ever…” Dazai pursed his lips as he twirled a strand of hair, his free hand propped up on his desk with fingers splayed out. After a few seconds of silence, his wandering eyes fixed on the figure across from him. The brunette’s lips twisted into a mischievous smile.
“Never have I ever gotten into an entirely one-sided fistfight with a seagull for taking my precious, but irredeemably hideous hat.”
“Are you f***ing serious right now,” Chuuya growled back at him, glaring holes into his head as he lowered one of the fingers on his own raised hand. “You still haven’t paid me back for that.”
“Me? After five whole years?” Dazai’s eyebrows shot up in a show of feigned innocence. “I thought you were satisfied with knocking the living daylights out of that poor bird. I still hear its cries of agony sometimes, haunting my dreams.”
Chuuya jumped to his feet, expression dark as night. “I blame the bird less than I blame the s***head who stuck french fries in my hat in the first place,” he snarled, raising his other hand in a threatening gesture.
“Okay, ah, Tanizaki, it’s your turn, isn’t it?” Atsushi blurted before Chuuya’s one-sided fistfighting tendencies could resurface. The redhead huffed and lowered himself back into his seat as everyone’s attention shifted to the teenager.
Atsushi glanced around the strange circle of people as Tanizaki formulated his statement, his sister’s arms looped around his neck. Oh, yes. Kunikida would most likely go into cardiac arrest on top of his aneurysm if he knew that the Armed Detective Agency that he knew and loved was playing a stupid party game with two of the Port Mafia’s most feared members.
Yes, the ADA members sent Chuuya and Akutagawa uncomfortable looks every now and then–all except Dazai and Ranpo, who looked more smug and bored (respectively) to possibly be uncomfortable–but there had been no major incidents. That is, no one had been impaled or crushed like a tin can or chucked out the window as of yet. Atsushi wasn’t sure if Akutagawa had even moved a single muscle since the game had begun.
“Ah, Chuuya is going to hate this,” Dazai sang after engaging the ADA in a long and mostly made-up spiel about the value of taking frequent breaks to participate in enjoyable social activity. Perhaps “engage” was too strong a word; the majority paid no attention to him until he mentioned games. When Dazai suggested “Never Have I Ever,” Atsushi felt equal parts curiosity (“I’ve never heard of this game before!”) and dread (“If Dazai likes it, that’s probably not a good sign”). This balance tilted sharply toward the latter as his mentor whipped out his cell phone and dialed a number, leaning back in his desk chair with a smirk on his face.
“Hey, Chibi,” he said after a little while. “I’m bored. You in?”
Atsushi could hear the angry shouting coming from the other end from where he was sitting several feet away. He could make out the occasional phrase, such as “suicidal bastard,” “piece of crap,” and “if you’re dead before I get there I’ll kill you.”
Dazai made a motion to end the call, but paused before he hit the button. “And tell Akutagawa- kun that Atsushi -kun really wants to see him too,” he drawled into the receiver. He made eye contact with Atsushi as he hung up, his impish grin widening at the horrified expression on the latter’s face.
Atsushi, frankly, had no clue why Akutagawa actually showed up. Of course, he didn’t necessarily mind that he did. He sometimes found himself almost enjoying the mafioso’s company when they weren’t at each other’s throats. The Port Mafia’s Mad Dog somehow had a way of explaining situations and plans in a way that Atsushi could actually understand, which made him feel firstly like he was contributing something, and secondly like they really did work together well. Dazai teasingly called it “chemistry,” and though Atsushi protested, he couldn’t really find a better word for it. He felt energized, electrified by the other’s presence–not just on their joint missions, but also in their occasional trip to the odd café or park post-victory and even just in passing conversation.
But he could guarantee that there were places that Akutagawa would rather be at this very moment. Especially when he was dressed in an outfit that made him look like he belonged on the cover of a Vogue magazine. He wondered idly how many bowls of chazuke his outfit was worth. But that wasn’t relevant.
Naomi bent down to whisper something in Tanizaki’s ear, and a grin slowly spread across his face as he sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Never have I ever mistaken salt for sugar after dumping it into my tea.” He met Atsushi’s mortified eyes with a twinkle in his own. “ And drinking the whole thing.”
“One time,” Atsushi whined, ducking his head as the weight of everyone’s stares fell on him. “It was one time . You know my sense of taste is crap.”
“Crap? Dude, your taste buds are beyond salvation,” Tanizaki cackled. Yosano sent Atsushi a sympathetic, but amused look. Naomi and Kyouka stifled giggles with their sleeves.
“No wonder you live on nothing but tea and rice,” Akutagawa muttered, adjusting the dark sunglasses that perched on his dainty nose. (What kind of person wears sunglasses indoors?) “One would think that with your acute sense of smell, your sense of taste would be at least proficient enough to keep you from potentially poisoning yourself.” He raised a thin eyebrow. “I’ll keep that in mind for the future, I suppose.”
Atsushi sent a glare in his direction. Figures that the first words that the black-clad emo wannabe would say were insulting.
That…was an insult, right?
“Oi, Dazai…wait…don’t tell me…” Chuuya’s face screwed up in disgust. Atsushi glanced at Dazai’s raised hand and counted, yep, four fingers. He had put one down as well.
“Seriously, you guys, how does that even happen?” Yosano muttered, shaking her head ruefully. “What’s your excuse, Dazai?”
The brunette grinned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “The difference is pretty easy to miss,” he drawled, “when everything’s just tasted like metal to you for years.”
Ah.
An awkward silence descended on the group.
Atsushi shifted in his seat. “Maybe you should, uh, have that checked,” he suggested half-heartedly. He glanced at Yosano, who gave a limp shrug. Dazai gave no indication that he heard his suggestion, continuing to stare at the same spot on the wall. The silence continued for a few more uncomfortable seconds.
Kyouka nudged Atsushi’s leg with her foot. “It’s your turn,” she whispered.
Well, crap. Okay, what hadn’t he done?
Saved Yokohama? Check.
Fought big bad guys? Check.
Worked with big bad guys? Check.
Gone on brutal–though unconscious–murderous rampages? Check.
Made some awesome friends? He glanced around the circle appreciatively. Check. Though he was very much on rocky ground with the two wanted criminals in the room.
Been a part of the Port Mafia? Boring. Not enough pizzazz. He could already imagine the complaints he would receive for such an obvious statement, especially if it was interpreted as accusatory toward the two members of said organization.
Had a complete and loving family? Well, no, but he didn’t know if this was the time or place to rake up his childhood trauma again. Especially given that it was unlikely that anyone else could lower a finger. Yeah, “uncomfortable” would hardly begin to describe the situation that would ensue.
“Atsushi?”
The weretiger furrowed his brow even further at Kyouka’s prodding and the several impatient sighs that sounded around the circle. Why the heck was it so hard to think of something? His heartbeat picked up at the pressure of nine pairs of eyes staring at him expectantly.
“Hurry up, we don’t have all day,” Akutagawa grunted.
Okay, okay, okay. Atsushi cast his eyes around the room, frantically searching for any inspiration.
Aha! A pink mug sat on Ranpo’s desk, depicting a cute little cat with the words “Feline like going back to bed” printed under it. The detective prodigy had probably snagged it off of the boss’s desk. It was something, at least.
“Never have I ever curb-stomped a stray kitten.” The words flew from Atsushi’s lips before he had a chance to really process them. He slapped his free hand over his eyes as he instantly regretted every decision he had ever made up to this point.
Yosano snorted.
Chuuya burst into outright laughter. “What the f***,” he gasped. “What kind of psychopaths do you think…”
His voice faded, and Atsushi peeked through his fingers to see why.
He was met with the sight of Dazai slowly lowering one of his fingers, a darkly amused smile on his face. Everyone sitting in the circle–including those who were guilty of breaking at least three quarters of Japan’s criminal laws–wore aghast expressions at this admission of coldhearted cruelty.
“What the f***?” repeated Chuuya, his voice almost a full octave lower.
“Dayum,” whispered Ranpo.
“An explanation might be nice?” choked Yosano.
“Well, you see…” began Dazai, but he stopped and grinned again. “No. It’s a lot funnier without the context.”
“It’s not f-”
“Ah, Kyouka- chan , it’s your turn, isn’t it?” Dazai turned toward the ADA’s youngest member, ignoring the cacophony of outraged protests directed at him.
Kyouka pursed her lips thoughtfully, her big eyes glittering in concentration.
“Never have I ever…been in love.”
Well. That certainly took an unexpected turn.
Silence greeted her innocently bold declaration. Atsushi glanced around the circle at his friends’ conflicted expressions as his own mind raced.
“What…does being in love mean? To you?” Kenji piped up from his seat beside Kyouka, scratching his head and staring pointedly down at his shoes.
She thought for a minute. “I guess it means you really, really like them? Like you’re always thinking about them and you want to be around them all the time. You’re happy when they’re happy and you’re sad when they’re sad.”
Oh, these lovely, innocent children.
Kenji nodded before slowly lowering one of his fingers. His ears were a bright red as he directed his characteristic smile toward the floor.
Dazai was the next to lower a finger, whistling cheerfully as he gazed out the window. But even his nonchalant manner couldn’t hide the slight flush creeping up his neck from under his bandages.
Chuuya lowered his finger next, his face turning almost the same shade as his hair as he scowled at the ceiling. He muttered something about a “stupid game” and how “ridiculous” it all was.
But the last thing that Atsushi could have expected was to glance back at Akutagawa and see him holding four fingers up–a whole finger less than the five he had held up about ten seconds ago. Nor did he expect to see the barely-noticeable reddish tinge touching his cheeks.
The revelation that the cold-hearted and sullen mafioso was, in fact, capable of falling in love was fascinating to say the least. And no, he was not at all curious as to who exactly it was that Akutagawa had fallen for.
Okay, maybe he was a little curious. And that curiosity alone was responsible for the sudden uptick in his heart rate.
“Ah, it’s my turn isn’t it?” Kenji’s voice pulled Atsushi from his musings. The boy hummed thoughtfully. “Never-”
“Wait a sec, Kenji- kun .”
All eyes turned to Ranpo, who tilted his office chair back at a precarious angle, sucking on a big purple lollipop. He stared at Atsushi through narrowed eyes.
“Come on, why’re you tryna lie? You’re not fooling anyone, ya know.”
Atsushi blinked, his mouth dropping open slightly in surprise. “I…um…what?”
Ranpo lifted his eyebrows. “You gonna make me say it aloud for you? Put a finger down.”
The weretiger felt a wave of heat suddenly spread to his face. He forced a nervous chuckle, glancing around at the amused and inquisitive faces around him. When he met Akutagawa’s eyes–without the barrier of the sunglasses, which he now held carefully between his fingers–he felt immediately compelled to study the floor instead. “I…don’t know…”
The detective pulled the lollipop from his mouth and grinned. “What, you want me to say who it is? It’s-”
“Okay, okay!” Atsushi interrupted, his face flaming. He lowered a finger, all the while calculating exactly how much time it would take to throw himself out the nearest window. As he was, it would probably take about six seconds to reach the window behind Dazai’s desk. If he used his ability, however, his tiger form could probably reach it in less than two. Given his regenerative capabilities, a fall from this height wouldn’t do any damage in the long run, and-
“Never have I ever been in love with someone whose name starts with one of the first ten letters of the alphabet.”
Was Kenji actually out to subject his seniors to the maximum amount of humiliation possible? Wasn’t this against the rules? How did they even get to this point in the first place? When Atsushi turned to look at the boy, he saw no traces of malice–on the contrary, it looked as though Kenji had somehow humiliated himself, with the way his face was turning a shade redder than his sunburn.
Four fingers went down–the same as before, minus Kenji. The owners of said fingers devoted themselves to finding interesting stains on the floor, ceiling, and walls to focus on.
“A’ight, I’mma head out.” Atsushi stood up and managed to take two whole steps toward the window before Dazai reached over and grabbed the end of his belt.
“Where do you think you’re going, Atsushi- kun ?” Atsushi could hear the derisive smile in Dazai’s voice.
“…The bathroom?” Oh, yeah, they were gonna buy that. Especially since the Agency’s bathroom was right out the window. Damn, he really needed to start actually thinking before he spoke.
The brunette snorted, yanking Atsushi back toward his chair. “Yeah, okay. Sit tight for a couple more minutes. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m about to win.” Dazai waggled his last upright finger at the weretiger as he reluctantly sat back down. Akutagawa scoffed lightly, but Atsushi noticed a glimmer of genuine amusement in his eye when their gazes met.
“Looks like it’s my turn,” Yosano said with far too much relish. She crossed her arms, smiling down at them like a sadistic queen condemning her poor subjects to death. She held her five fingers up like a trophy. Atsushi gulped.
“Never have I ever fallen in love with my work partner.”
Atsushi inadvertently sucked a huge glob of saliva down his windpipe and promptly began hacking up a lung. Tears sprang to his eyes as he doubled over in his chair, his face a violent shade of red. At least this gave him an excuse to hide his face as he quickly spiraled into a state of panic.
Crap. What was he going to do? Wasn’t this a little too forward? He couldn’t just admit to something like–
“What is going on here?!” Kunikida’s horrified voice echoed through the room, cutting through the silence broken only by Atsushi’s desperate coughs. “What are you all…what is the meaning of this? Fraternizing with known criminals? Just you wait until the president hears about this!”
The bespectacled detective’s face grew red with indignation as he continued spitting out expressions of disbelief and exasperation. Those seated in the circle exchanged uncomfortable looks as his tirade dragged on for several more minutes.
“Well, it looks like it’s my time to leave,” sang Dazai as he abruptly jumped up and dashed past a stunned Kunikida to the door. Atsushi and the two mafiosos rose from their seats to follow suit as the blonde cleared his throat, clearly not done.
“And I won, by the way.” Dazai winked and was out the door before anyone could say anything more.
The room was absolutely still for about three seconds before Yosano shouted a laugh that shattered the silence. Ranpo sucked on his lollipop, wearing a grin almost as big as his ego. Tanizaki exchanged a look of equal parts surprise and amusement with his sister.
“What…that bastard…” Chuuya spluttered, his eyebrows drawn together in a dark scowl. “If…it’s not Kunikida…then…”
His eyes widened in realization, and his face’s reddish hue darkened a shade. “Dazai!” He roared, shooting past Kunikida through the open door. Loose papers scattered in his wake.
Atsushi used this moment of chaos to finally succeed in slipping out the window. His feet hit the pavement lightly, his tiger legs providing all the grace and balance of a cat. He turned and began walking along the sidewalk with his now human legs, his shoes tapping an increasingly rapid rhythm. He found himself running (why was he running?) in the direction of his apartment. He wasn’t thinking anymore; all he knew was that he had to put as much distance as possible between himself and the entire situation behind him.
“No, no, no,” he repeated to himself between gasping breaths. No, it wasn’t true, it wasn’t true, it was true, and he couldn’t help it. This was the worst, this was terrible, this was absolutely humiliating.
He didn’t get very far before something grabbed his ankle mid-stride. He promptly faceplanted onto the pavement, letting out a groan of pain as he was dragged into an alley. He lay still for a second before reaching for his nose. When he confirmed that it was not broken or bleeding, he flipped onto his back and glared at the person who had tripped him.
“That wasn’t nice.”
Akutagawa stared back down at him, entirely nonplussed. A tendril of living cloth protruded from his black turtleneck. “You were running. How else was I supposed to get you to stop?”
Atsushi groaned again, shaking his head as he slowly sat up. He screwed his eyes shut against the headache he felt growing inside his skull. “Maybe you could’ve just let me leave. Usually, when people are running away, it means that they want to get away from-”
“How many fingers were you holding up at the end?”
The weretiger’s eyes shot open. He stared at Akutagawa’s face and was met, once again, with an entirely unreadable expression.
“I’m sorry?” he asked dazedly. Maybe something was lost in translation there. There was no way that Akutagawa was-
“Are you deaf? I asked how many fingers you were holding up after Yosano- san took her turn.”
Nope. It sounded just as ridiculous the second time.
“Why do you want to know?” Atsushi hugged himself defensively. He returned the scowl that Akutagawa gave him. “It’s none of your business.”
“For the love of- stop acting like a child and just answer the question.” The weretiger blinked at the note of urgency that crept into the mafioso’s voice. His face warmed under Akutagawa’s intense gaze.
Oh God . Akutagawa wouldn’t be harassing him for no reason. He could think of two possible explanations for his persistence. Firstly, he was trying to determine whether their partnership would continue to work going forward. It would make perfect sense if Akutagawa equated romantic feelings as weakness, so if he admitted to putting a finger down, their fragile partnership could easily end here and now.
But if the second option was true–that Akutagawa was asking out of pure curiosity–what then? There weren’t many ways to interpret that, and each one made Atsushi cringe in embarrassment.
“What would you do if I told you that I put a finger down?” Atsushi clearly had not yet learned the delicate art of how to shut up. He resisted the urge to slap himself, and instead focused on Akutagawa’s steely-gray eyes.
The mafioso raised his eyebrow almost imperceptibly. “Well…” he began, before trailing off. Atsushi blinked. Though Akutagawa was sparing with his words, he was rarely truly at a loss for them (save for when he was being scolded by Dazai).
“…I would accept this piece of information and move on as usual.” He finally broke eye contact with Atsushi and instead preoccupied himself with picking minute specks of dust off of his black shirt.
“That’s it?” Atsushi couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice. Still seated on the ground, he leaned back on his hands to get a better look at the other’s face.
Akutagawa sent him a glare, though it lacked much of its usual venom. “Of course. What else would I do? Mori- san and Dazai- san both want us to continue working together. I can’t very well disobey orders, can I?”
Atsushi scoffed, shaking his head. “Really.”
He then stilled as an idea suddenly struck him. One that sent chills down his spine.
“Wait. How many fingers were you holding up at the end?”
The mafioso blinked, then huffed. “That’s none of your concern.” He turned to leave.
“Hey.” Atsushi reached out and lightly grabbed the hem of Akutagawa’s dress pants. “Why won’t you answer the question? I answered it, didn’t I?”
The latter turned his head, narrowing his eyes. “No, you did not. You answered my question with a hypothetical.”
“Ugh. Can you please be reasonable, for once?”
Akutagawa paused, much to Atsushi’s surprise. He pulled his pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and fiddled with them as he directed his gaze in the other direction. “…What would you do if I told you that I put a finger down?”
The weretiger’s eyebrows shot up as heat flooded his cheeks.
Oh.
Okay.
Well.
Having his own words directed back at him was interesting.
What was he supposed to do with that?
“Ah.” A perfect response. As eloquent as could be.
“I see. Goodbye.”
“Wait!” Atsushi tightened his grip on Akutagawa’s pant leg as the latter made a move to leave. “I- wait.”
Akutagawa turned back to look at him again. Atsushi’s heart skipped a beat at the light pink tinge of his cheeks. He looked so…embarrassed? Vulnerable? A strange expression to see on the face of the Port Mafia’s Mad Dog.
“Sit down for a sec.”
After a moment of hesitation–despite his deadpan expression, Atsushi could somehow see the conflict playing out inside his head–Akutagawa huffed and complied. His eyebrows drew as he slowly lowered himself onto the dirty concrete.
“To be honest…I don’t really know what I would do.”
Akutagawa’s head shot up, his eyes burning with an intensity that made Atsushi gulp. He continued, “I mean…I don’t really know how this would work out, practically speaking.”
“Precisely why I answered your hypothetical the way I did.”
“Okay, but-” Atsushi swallowed again, reaching out tentatively to take Akutagawa’s hand. To his surprise, he let him do so. The weretiger carefully held his former enemy’s hand in his fingers, examining the fading scars on his knuckles and his carefully trimmed nails. He wondered how many people this man had killed with these hands. How many times he himself had almost died at these hands.
How many times had Akutagawa hated these hands for the destruction they wreaked? How many times had these hands given a gentle touch to a sister, a comrade in hard times? Yearned for a caring touch in return? How many times had these hands wiped away their owner’s tears?
After a moment of hesitation, Atsushi lifted the hand and brushed the knuckles with his lips. He felt Akutagawa flinch slightly at the gentle touch.
“But…that’s not to say that it couldn’t work out.”
Akutagawa inhaled sharply. He tugged his hand out of Atsushi’s grasp, cradling it to himself. “That’s just wishful thinking. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe.” Atsushi surprised himself with how even his voice was. “But how are you so sure that this will end badly?”
The mafioso scowled at the ground, curling his hands into fists. “There’s no realistic way that it could end up any other way.”
“Then think outside of the box.” Atsushi reached toward Akutagawa’s face and brushed a few strands of coal-black hair behind his ear. “Who says any of this has to be realistic?”
A moment of silence followed as Atsushi continued to fiddle with the other’s hair. He twirled it between his fingers, wondering at its smoothness and pure white of the tips. The white intermingling with streaks of black as he looped it around his finger reminded him of yin and yang, the balance of harsh cruelty and serene gentleness–evil and good–residing within the man sitting in front of him.
His hair was so…soft. Unexpectedly so.
Akutagawa’s chuckle was so soft that Atsushi almost missed it. He would have mistaken it for a derisive scoff if he hadn’t noticed the slight upward curve of his mouth.
“Think outside of the box? I’m not surprised to hear that from someone who can’t think inside a box to save his life.”
Atsushi’s face flamed with embarrassment. Memories of being trapped inside semi-trucks and storage containers flashed through his head. “Seriously? That’s what you’re going to bring up right now?”
Akutagawa laughed again, just as lightly as before, and Atsushi smiled despite himself. The mafioso nudged his finger with his own, and Atsushi responded by gently lacing their fingers together. After a moment, a pale thumb passed over his own, just once, but with enough care to almost make Atsushi tear up. He disentangled his fingers from Akutagawa’s hair as he scooted a few inches closer, right up against his side. Akutagawa’s arm was warm through the shirt sleeve, and he found himself leaning into the touch. His head landed on the other’s shoulder, but when he felt Akutagawa flinch, he jerked his head back upright.
“Sorry,” Atsushi murmured. “I didn’t mean-”
The mafioso reached over and wordlessly pulled Atsushi’s head back down on his shoulder. His hand lingered there, buried in Atsushi’s hair as he sat in perfect shocked stillness. Letting out a small sigh, he began stroking his silver locks as delicately as if he was petting a baby bird.
Atsushi glanced at Akutagawa’s face, making sure not to move his head. Never had he seen the mafioso so…unguarded. So tranquil. Like he knew that there was no danger, nothing to be wary of, nothing to fear in Atsushi’s presence. The thought made the weretiger’s heart swell.
“I realize I never took my turn back at the detective agency,” Akutagawa said suddenly. His voice was low, a deep and pleasant rumble that resonated through Atsushi’s body.
“Hm?”
“I never got to say what I have never done.”
Atsushi chuckled and shifted his head into a more comfortable position on Akutagawa’s shoulder. “Well, if it means so much to you, you can go ahead and take your turn now, if you’d like.”
Akutagawa hummed before nodding slowly.
“…Never have I ever told someone I loved them.”
Atsushi blinked in surprise, but was careful not to make any sudden movements, as though he were dealing with an easily spooked animal. Well, that wasn’t necessarily too far from the truth. In the most affectionate way.
“Not even your sister?”
“No. We expressed…love…in a more practical way. We didn’t waste time with paltry words, but showed that we cared for each other through concrete action.”
“Ryunosuke, I love you.”
Akutagawa stiffened in surprise even as Atsushi mentally slapped himself for the umpteenth time that day. Never would he have imagined that he would say those three words to the person whom he had considered his worst enemy up until just a short time ago. And calling him by his given name? An extra flourish that added to his mountain of regretful embarrassment.
The mafioso cleared his throat. Atsushi noticed through his mental self-beatdown that though Akutagawa had stopped stroking his hair, he hadn’t retracted his hand.
“I…don’t think…I can…”
Atsushi sighed. “I know. That was…unfair.” A glimmer of mischief came into his eye, and his lips tilted into a small smile. “Especially for someone who can’t even get himself to call me by my given name.”
Akutagawa straightened with a touch of indignation.
“It’s always ‘ jinko ’ this and ‘ you fool ’ that. Sometimes the occasional ‘ Nakajima.’ ” He pouted. “Is Atsushi not a name fit for speaking? Is thine mouth too pure to utter the syllables of mine title? Or is it the other way around–is thine tongue too sullied to dare speak this sacred name of mine?”
The mafioso lightly shoved his head, his fingers resuming their course through his hair with a renewed vigor. “You’re insufferable.” Atsushi noticed with some relish the hint of amusement that came through his voice.
They sat in comfortable silence like that, seated in the quiet alley, perfectly content in each other’s company. The seconds turned into minutes, which turned into at least half an hour. Still, they sat, listening to each other’s breathing and the faint ambient noises of the street.
Atsushi finally broke the silence. “Man, I wonder what happened with Dazai- san and Nakahara- san . They kinda rushed out of there, didn’t they?” he murmured lazily.
“Atsushi.”
And though the words that Akutagawa left unsaid were enough to fill an entire book, Atsushi was able to interpret them as easily as if he were reading them off the page. He smiled gently, squeezing their entwined hands.
“I love you too.”