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A 23 year-old Nakajima Atsushi stood staring at a wall of snacks with an obvious air of helplessness. He’d been visiting this grocery store ever since he had enough money to actually walk the aisles without craving death—yet still found himself lamenting over the seemingly endless choices. Now, he was looking on behalf of Kyouka—her birthday was coming up soon. And she was practically an adult, even if she still had those big, childlike eyes that could easily convince him to spend his last dime on crepes or ice cream.
He stared at the chips until his eyes bled, ignoring the incessant humming behind him. Of course, Dazai had decided to tag along once he heard they were “ditching” work. This was Atsushi’s scheduled lunch break, which he was dutifully donating to the service of a friend. But Dazai had somehow managed to slip out from Kunikida’s watchful eye.
“Why are there so many flavors?!” Atsushi whined, crouching down with his head in his hands.
“Consumerism, Atsushi-kun~” Dazai poked at a bag of pickle-flavored potato chips. “Plus, it’s fun. I’d love to make up some chip flavors for a job. Oh, crab!” He headed to the end of the aisle, seemingly in pursuit of the seafood-themed items.
Atsushi only let out another sigh, hopping back up to his feet. Maybe he’d do better with something sweet.
5 years later.
5 years later, and so much had changed since the conflicts that had rattled all of Yokohama to its core. Every organization you could think of, foreign or not, had ravaged the city and taken a bite out of the ADA. Thankfully, they’d persevered. Even as many lives were lost on the other side.
Akutagawa, for one. He still saw the blood spilling from his cut throat, telling him to get the fuck out of there—but perhaps more eloquently said. It was all fuzzy in his mind now, worn down by other nondescript trauma.
Oh, the joys of being a gifted detective.
Still, it was odd to lose your sworn enemy turned unlikely partner—he’d felt a strange void once the fog had cleared after the Decay of Angels’ wrath. An angry, annoyed, and somewhat sad void.
That was all in the past now, and if there was one thing Atsushi had been working diligently to achieve, it was leaving the past behind.
“Mister!”
A shrill voice broke him out of his reverie. He jumped despite himself, letting out a yelp and looking for its owner. His gaze dropped to a small child—a boy who couldn’t be any older than six.
“Sorry to scare you, but I’m looking for the animal crackers. Frosted!” He spoke very well, but with the barest hint of a strange accent Atsushi couldn’t quite place. “You’ll help?”
“Oh,” Atsushi blurted, gathering himself before nodding. “Of course I can!” He put on his brightest smile, thankfully used to dealing with small kids. And happy to help them out.
“Thank you!” The boy grinned. “My papa said to go get them.”
“A-all by yourself?” Atsushi asked, starting to head toward the sweeter snacks. Dazai didn’t even seem to notice his departure.
The boy nodded vehemently. “Yup! Papa says it’s good to be in-de-pend-ent!” he enunciated each syllable as if the word was still a bit foreign to him. “I’ve seen my dad get them enough times, anyway.”
“Oh? Then why wouldn’t he just grab them?”
“He’s not here! He’s buying Papa flowers. He took my sister too. Papa doesn’t like gifts.”
Atsushi blinked in disbelief before finally understanding, breaking out into a softer smile. Two dads. Cute.
They finally came to the spot where the fated animal crackers would be, and the kid dutifully poked each bag (of the frosted variety, of course) to see which was the fullest.
“We’re visiting Auntie for only a week, but I know Dad will want a lot,” he chimed, grabbing the biggest bag in his little hands. “Oof,” he huffed as he nearly dropped it.
“You alright?”
“Just heavier than I thought!”
“Is that all you needed, uh…?” Atsushi trailed off as he realized that he hadn’t gotten the kid’s name.
“Hiroshi! But you can call me Hiro,” he announced as if it were an accomplishment, beaming. Atsushi couldn’t help but return the smile. The energy some kids exuded was just infectious. “What’s your name?”
“Atsushi.”
“Cool name! Do you go by ‘Sushi’? That’s what I call my brother Yasushi.”
Atsushi only blinked at first, his mild incredulity giving way to a soft laugh. “No, not really. But maybe we should find your father.”
Hiro giggled, cupping a hand over his mouth while balancing the animal crackers in the other. “I’m sure Papa will find me first.”
“What does that—?”
“Hiro. Get away from that man.”
A gruff voice cut Atsushi off, his heart racing at the threatening familiarity. He felt something crackling in the air, a red glow on the back of his neck. His head turned reluctantly, met with a black tendril pointed at his chest. Slowly, he brought his eyes upward, met with a familiar steely gaze that he’d seen cutting down scores of men. Now, it held the same ferocity, though it dwindled a bit when he noticed the small child balanced on his hip.
“A-Akutagawa?!” Atsushi nearly screeched, knees turned to jelly. He wavered slightly as Hiroshi ran back to his— “You’re… you…”
“What’s wrong, Papa?” Hiroshi asked, tugging on his pant leg, unbothered by the threatening display toward his new friend.
Atsushi didn’t give him a chance to answer the kid, blurting, “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“Clearly, I am not.”
“I—I-I,” Atsushi scrambled for words but found none, except a pitiful-sounding, “You can’t be a dad?”
“What. So I have stolen these children?”
“Well—maybe—“
“Honestly,” Akutagawa scoffed, bouncing the kid in his arm. “It appears your notoriously single-minded demeanor has not changed in the past five years.” He deactivated Rashomon, which had sprung from the sleeve of his turtleneck—rather than the vampire coat Atsushi had always seen glued to his body.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean—?!”
“Could you keep your voice down? You are making a scene and disturbing Yasushi.” Akutagawa turned to gently shush the child clinging to him, who turned to look at Atsushi with big brown doe eyes. And he’d be lying if it didn’t make him feel like shit.
“S-sorry, I’m having trouble wrapping my head around this.”
“As one would expect.”
Atsushi felt his brow twitch in annoyance. You’d think some of the snarkiness would’ve washed away with—whatever the hell he’d been doing all this time.
“What… where have you been? What the hell happened? I saw you—y’know…”
Akutagawa didn’t answer, instead turning his head toward the door. He set down Yasushi, who immediately gripped his brother’s hands. “I see your father at the front of the store. Why not go see him?”
The two boys looked up at him before Hiro pulled his brother away, both of them stumbling.
Once they were out of sight, Akutagawa crossed his arms and barked, “Have you no decency? I am with my children, and you are whining about the past like an annoying brat.”
“Well, excuse me for trying to put this bullshit together!” Atsushi hissed. His hands clenched into fists. “I saw your head basically get chopped off. And then didn’t you go all bloodsucky—?”
“Ah. Yes, a lot happened. I’d rather not get into it, it’s very troubling,” Akutagawa murmured nonchalantly, gripping the handle of the shopping cart. He sighed and closed his eyes, one hand drifting to hold his temples. “Point being, all that drama finally gave me the opportunity to escape. Wipe my slate clean.”
“Super clean,” Atsushi echoed dumbly. He took a moment to give the man a once-over, finally noticing that he had changed. Akutagawa wasn’t as spindly, the bags under his eyes had faded considerably—he’d even let his hair grow out so the back and front were the same length (now just above his shoulder), and his shit bangs weren’t as shitty. Suddenly, Atsushi was painfully aware of how little he’d changed; he still had the same shitty haircut (except even more jagged from when he’d recently taken scissors to it in frustration).
“Yes,” is all Akutagawa said, eyes raking over his form in tense scrutiny. Atsushi gulped.
“You’re… married?”
“As much as I can be, with the laws here.”
“To a man?”
Akutagawa rolled his eyes. “Is that a problem?”
“No! No, it’s not!” Atsushi waved his hands madly in defense. “It’s—it’s great, actually!”
“Great,” he echoed in a grudging tone.
Atsushi nodded emphatically—though his enthusiasm was only met by another sigh.
“Is it anyone I know?” Atsushi asked, thinking about all the people from the mafia he’d seen. The short guy with red hair who hated Dazai, the guy who threw lemons, the one who turned out to be a spy for the Hunting Dogs… Only one of them seemed viable yet anyone seemed impossible. Unless maybe Akutagawa didn’t want anything of his past lingering—
“Oh, hey, tiger boy!”
An obnoxious voice interrupted his thoughts once more. Obnoxious, heavily accented—overall upsetting.
“Oh, God,” he blurted reflexively.
“Weretiger, I believe you know Twain.”
“Oho, Twain now?” The American leaned in, nudging Akutagawa playfully in the ribs. “Have I done something?”
Atsushi just stared, open-mouthed in pure, unbridled awe. He leaned against a shelf for support.
Mark. Fucking. Twain. How the hell—?
“What’s up with him?” A girl that had been hiding behind the two of them peeked her head out, giving Atsushi a once-over.
“Nothing, Suzuko,” Akutagawa hummed. “I believe he is simply in shock.”
Shock was an understatement.
“Old friends, right?” Twain asked. Damn, his smile was blinding in the most annoying way possible.
“No,” both Akutagawa and Atsushi answered immediately in unison.
Mark blinked. “Oh.”
“I knew you didn’t listen to my rants,” Akutagawa grumbled.
“Hey, I do!” Twain pouted. “It’s just hard to sweep up all the names of your archenemies, babe!”
Babe? Atsushi mouthed in disbelief, unable to process any of this. Just staring at the two of them, side by side, made his head spin as to how they could be a couple. Akutagawa, all pale, monochromatic, frowns and scowls. And then Twain, bright-eyed with orange hair, tan and wearing a ridiculously hideous flannel to match his colorful personality. A reserved Japanese, an outgoing American.
“Uh oh. Think we broke him,” Twain said with a wince.
“Nonsense. Jinko, you should be used to this with the irregular crowd you hang around.”
Atsushi just stuttered, searching for words, anything other than the undignified squeak he made when nothing came to his mind.
“Hey, man, sorry about shooting ya, by the way,” Twain spoke up, thrusting out a hand for Atsushi to shake. Atsushi took it, still utterly stunned. “And the whale, even though I guess that wasn’t me, but it was my boss—!”
“You needn’t apologize to him,” Akutagawa grumbled.
Twain pouted. “Well, I’d feel bad if I didn’t. ‘Sides, it’s good to teach the kids about forgiveness!” He gestured to the three munchkins still crowded around his feet. Atsushi jumped upon realizing they’d been listening ever since Twain showed up.
“U-um, yeah, no—it’s all water under the bridge, as you guys say.” Atsushi laughed, though it was pinched and shrill; he was unnerved by the death glare Akutagawa refused to stop shooting at him.
With a loud laugh, Twain slapped his arm. “Awesome! Maybe we can have ya over for dinner sometime?”
“No thanks!” Atsushi said, at the same time Akutagawa said:
“Absolutely not,” with a dark expression.
“Papa, papa!” Yasushi tugged on Akutagawa’s sleeve, completely unperturbed. “I wan’ pickle chips!” he blubbered.
“Me too!” Hiroshi made grabby hands.
The girl, Suzuko, rolled her eyes. “Boys.”
“A’right, I guess we oughta go,” Twain hummed, hoisting Yasushi onto his shoulder. “Meet you at the front, Ryuu.”
“Bye Sushi two!” Hiroshi yelled as he trotted after his father. Suzuko just sniffed haughtily at him (in an eerily familiar way) before turning to follow. Atsushi waved dumbly, still awestruck by the whole scene.
Akutagawa cleared his throat after an awkward silence. “I will take my leave.”
“Akutagawa, wait!” Atsushi cried as the man turned away, surprised at his own exuberance. The ex-mafioso just blinked at him. “Congrats, and all… You look happy.”
He scoffed, “I do not need you to tell me I look happy, you pathetic—” he cut himself off with a sigh, instead grumbling, “thank you.” Then, his dark form retreated through the colorful aisle of snack foods. Atsushi couldn’t help but smile, just a little, at how odd the entire thing was.
“Atsushiiii-kuuun,” cried a voice from behind. “They’re out of crab!”
Yeah, nothing really had changed for him. But maybe that was okay.