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Atsushi loves his new best friend.
He met the boy last week.
It had been a rough night. The orphanage director was kind enough to give him another one of his lessons; ones he sure will come in handy in the future. Atsushi returned to his small, run-down room, about the size of a closet, in the early hours of the morning.
Pale moonlight managed to bleed through the dirt caked to the old glass. It cast shadows along the walls, creeping up toward the ceiling like the long legs of spiders. As he crawled in bed, exhaustion worn deep into his bones, he noticed the shadows start to move.
A part of Atsushi knew he should be scared. When he told the other kids about the things he would sometimes see out of the corner of his eye or late at night when he was almost asleep, they would be terrified and make fun of him. Call him creepy. But Atsushi was more curious than he was scared. Something told him that the shadows wouldn’t hurt him.
He followed the long lines down with his eyes, watching as the shadows overlap with the cracks in the peeling wallpaper, until he was staring directly next to his bed. The shadows slipped underneath, fitting seamlessly with the darkness beneath it. With both hands on the edge of the bed, Atsushi leaned over and peered into the void.
A pair of eyes stared back. The pupils were large and surrounded by a dark, empty gray. Nearly the same color as the stone floors Atsushi cleans so frequently.
“Hi.” He called out to whatever was lurking beneath. “You can come out.”
All around him, the shadows started to move. They wriggled and writhed in place. At first, they looked intimidating, the edges sharp as razors and more knife-like appendages sprouted from the main tendrils, but none of them moved closer to Atsushi.
He sighed and returned his head to his upside-down position. “I know you’re not going to hurt me.”
The creature’s eyes narrowed.
“If you wanted to, you would have by now. Right?”
For a while, nothing happened. Atsushi took its silence as confirmation.
“It’s okay,” he reassured, using as calm of a voice as possible. “You can come out.”
Slowly, the pair of eyes, seemingly floating in the nothingness, moved closer. Once they were close enough for Atsushi’s eyes to cross, he sat back up in his bed. From beneath the mattress, though the space itself was limited and very tight, a boy around Atsushi’s age emerged.
His body reminded Atsushi of a cat. His spine curved and lengthened as needed until he could crawl out and be fully exposed. When he turned around, Atsushi couldn’t help the smile that split his face in two. The boy’s eyes were even more vibrant in the light, and with his pupils contracted, Atsushi got a better look at the shining, silver rings around the midnight voids.
He had to force himself to stop staring.
The rest of his body was thin and spindly just like the shadows still crawling up the walls. His hair was thick and dark and fell down the sides of his face, framing it, ending in a silver-white color that matches Atsushi’s own.
“What’s your name?” Atsushi finally asked.
It didn’t speak, but a voice called from inside Atsushi’s mind.
Akutagawa.
“Aku—Akutama—Akuma?” Atsushi found the name hard to pronounce with his meager six-year-old abilities.
Akutagawa, fool. I am no devil.
The boy didn’t have horns, so he supposed he was right. “I’ll just call you Aku.” He extended his hand. “I’m Atsushi!”
Akutagawa said nothing and made no move to return the gesture.
Atsushi wasn’t deterred. He retracted his hand and then patted the bed next to him. “You can sit here with me if you want.”
Though Akutagawa leered at him again, he still sauntered forward. The shadows moved along with Akutagawa, sliding down the walls until they shortened and pooled at Akutagawa’s feet, obediently staying behind as he climbed onto the bed next to Atsushi.
Excited, Atsushi turned toward his new friend. His hands were in his lap and his legs were crossed to make more room. “So, if you’re not a devil, then what are you?”
“That is of no importance. ”
“Of course it’s important!” Atsushi lowered his voice. He got too excited again. “You’re my new friend!” he whispered loudly.
“ Friend?” Akutagawa questioned.
“Yeah. Friend. That’s why you showed up here, right? To be my friend?”
“I was observing.” Akutagawa moved to mirror Atsushi’s posture. But his back was unnaturally straight and there was something off about the way he carried himself. Like he was trying hard to appear human. “I find you interesting.”
Heat rushed to Atsushi’s face. He covered his cheeks, unsure of what was happening. There was no way he had started to become sick, right?
“W-Well,” he stammers, “I hope I can be interesting enough for you to stick around.” He gave his new friend a soft smile. “I want to be good to my first friend.”
“Do it again, do it again!”
Atsushi puts his hands over his mouth. He didn’t mean to squeal in delight. If the director finds out, he knows he’ll be in big trouble, but he can’t help it. His favorite part of the day is actually each night. Akutagawa crawls out from under his bed and spends time with Atsushi. They talk—or, more accurately, Atsushi talks while Akutagawa listens—but it’s nice to have someone who takes an interest in his stories.
Earlier, he saw some other kids at the orphanage playing with a flashlight. They made shadow puppets on the walls. Atsushi wasn’t allowed to join but it did give him the idea to try it out with Akutagawa.
“You’re so good at this, Aku!” he whispers excitedly under his breath.
“It is of no consequence. I fail to see how this amuses you.”
Atsushi pauses and thinks for a moment. His tongue peeks out from between his lips as he loses himself in thought. Then, his eyes widen and he sits straighter. “It's because I’m having fun with my friend. That’s all.”
Atsushi scoots closer to where Akutagawa is sitting on the floor. Their backs are against Atsushi’s bed. His fingers trace the outline of where the shadows extend from next to Akutagawa’s body, and Akutagawa flinches.
Atsushi pulls his hand back like he’s been burned. “S-Sorry.”
“It is fine. I was startled. I am not used to… others.”
Though Atsushi isn’t the smartest, it’s easy enough for him to read between the lines. He hangs his head low. “I’m not used to it either.”
The mood shifts and the air becomes tense. Atsushi’s throat tightens and his eyes burn. He’s gotten used to holding back tears, so he doesn’t cry, but his hands tighten into fists against his thighs. His nails dig into the meat of his palm. But then, something is sliding between his fingers, unfurling them, and placing them into an odd position.
Atsushi finds that he doesn’t hate the touch. It’s soft. Gentle. Warm. It’s unlike anything he’s used to.
“Look.” Aku’s shadows lift Atsushi’s hands. “You are capable too.”
When Atsushi’s eyes rise from the floor, he sees the shadows cast by his hands along the wall. “A rabbit,” he whispers in awe. “This is so cool.”
He stares at the image for as long as he can, a smile creeping across his face. He holds it until his fingers start to cramp and his joints begin to ache.
“Better than the other kids. Their shadows are weak and pathetic.”
“That’s mean, Aku,” Atsushi pouts. Still, he leans into Akutagawa’s space and rests his head on Akutagawa’s shoulder. “But… thank you.” Quickly, Atsushi wraps his arms around Akutagawa’s shoulders and hugs him, then pulls away just as quickly. He scoots back to his original position, putting space between them, but still, his face heats and electricity buzzes under his skin. He doesn't think he’s ever been so happy.
Atsushi turns, and though it might just be a trick of the light, but the tips of Akutagawa’s ears seem to flush pink.
“You’re a good friend, Aku.” Under his breath, as Akutagawa returns to the intricate dances he creates with his shadows, Atsushi adds, “The best.”
The chill seeps deep into Atsushi’s bones.
His body shivers, both from the cold and as he’s wracked with sobs, his tiny body not capable of holding in the intensity of his emotions. He curls in on himself, hugging his limbs close and desperately trying to gather some warmth.
As he chokes down another round of tears, he feels a presence appear next to the bed.
“Something is wrong.”
Atsushi is now used to Akutagawa’s funny speech. He knows that his friend likes to make statements, ones that sound like observations, when really he’s asking a question. He’s trying to understand.
A desperately needed warmth blossoms in Atsushi’s chest.
Though he didn’t say the exact words, it’s the first time someone has cared to ask about him.
He knows he can’t lie (sometimes he wonders if Akutagawa has the ability to read his mind), so he goes with, “I—I’ll be fine.”
Atsushi sits up and tries drying his eyes with the back of his hand. All it does is spread them over his face and cheeks. With how hard he was crying, snot drips down his nose. He tries to wipe that away too, to no avail. The entire process only worsens his appearance as he begins to cry again out of frustration. He’s sure he makes a pretty pitiful sight. He wouldn’t blame Akutagawa if he just left—
“Disgusting.”
Atsushi’s heart sinks and his head lowers. He stares at the jagged, broken nails on his fingers and picks at the dirt beneath them. But before he can withdraw too far into himself, the long, shadow-like tendrils sprout from behind Akutagawa, and one moves in Atsushi’s direction. He doesn’t flinch. He sits there, obediently, waiting as Akutagawa uses his shadows to help dry Atsushi’s tears.
His heart aches.
Nobody has shown him this level of kindness.
“You continue to be a helpless fool.”
Though Akutagawa’s words are harsh, his tone is not. It’s not the same as the director, or the other orphans as they spit and call him names like earlier. Akutagawa’s words are like a playful punch to the shoulder, rather than the stab of a knife between his ribs.
Akutagawa joins Atsushi on the small dilapidated bed.
“You are upset. Did they harm you again?” Akutagawa’s shadows shiver and sharpen for a moment as he asks the question, then return to their more fluid, ambiguous form.
“N-no.” Atsushi sniffles. “Well, not in the same way.”
Akutagawa turns in his head and stares at Atsushi intently with those deep, silvery eyes.
Sitting against the headboard, Atsushi still curls in on himself, tucking his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. He rests his head on his knees and faces his friend, trying to stop the shivering.
“The other kids were… they were saying you aren’t real.” Emotion tightens Atsushi’s throat again. Just thinking about the incident has him upset all over again. “They were calling me stupid and crazy. Which, was fine, since I’m used to it, but then—” Atsushi takes a breath. He tries to steady his voice. His fingers dig into the meat of his calves, letting the pain ground him in the moment, rather than allowing himself to be pulled back to the moment. “Then they started saying things about you. And I just… I got so angry. ”
Atsushi sits up and looks at his friend through the wet sheen of tears. “So, I yelled and screamed at them back. I called them names. But then the director heard me.”
Now that the words have started, they flow as seamlessly as Akutagawa’s shadows do from his body, spreading and pouring out until there’s nothing left. He’s never had to learn how to stop because he’s never allowed himself to start in the first place. “I got lucky though. All he did was take away my pillows and quilt for a few days. It could have been worse.”
A silence hangs between them. Atsushi isn’t sure if Akutagawa was still listening, but he doesn't necessarily mind. It’s enough to just have someone sitting next to him.
“It is winter.”
Atsushi huffs a laugh. “Yeah. I’ll be fine for a few days though. I’ve done it before.”
“That is inhumane.”
This time, Atsushi does laugh. It’s small and quick but still a genuine laugh. “Coming from someone who isn’t human.”
Atsushi flinches when something warm presses against his side. When he looks, he recognizes Akutagawa’s shadows. They climb up his arms and then wrap around his shoulders. “What are you doing?”
The tendrils expand downward until Atsushi is effectively wrapped in a dark, midnight cocoon. Immediately, his muscles relax and the grip he has on himself loosens.
“You were cold. And you said they were warm.”
Atsushi sighs, both in relief and exhaustion. “They are. Thank you.”
He closes his eyes. They sting slightly, and the weight makes them difficult to open again. Finally, Atsushi’s breathing evens out. He’s much more relaxed. Calmer. Safer.
The shadows gently tug Atsushi downward until he’s lying in his bed in a more comfortable position.
“You do not need the others. They are unworthy of you.”
“I don’t think they see it that way.”
“They are imbeciles.”
Atsushi chuckles. “You call me a ‘fool’ all the time,” he retorts, giving the best impression he can of what Akutagawa’s voice sounds like in his mind.
“That is different.”
Sleep quickly crashes over Atsushi like a wave. He fights it, struggling to stay afloat, but it’s difficult with the warm shadows engulfing him and pressing against his body like a thick layer of blankets. He hums in contentment. A noise he’s not sure he’s ever made before.
On the edge of sleep, Atsushi whispers, “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Aku.”
Atsushi still doesn’t open his eyes, but can feel Akutagawa moving closer. He nuzzles against his friend.
“Sleep. I will be here when you wake.”
The thought comforts Atsushi and brings an easy smile to his face.
It doesn’t take long for Atsushi to give in to his exhaustion and let sleep take him. Just before his consciousness fades, he adds one final thought, his voice so small he’s not sure Akutagawa can hear. “You’re right. I don’t need them—” Atsushi yawns— “All I need is you.”
Atsushi sits with his back against his bed and bounces a ball against the ground. It hits the wall just a few feet in front of him, then returns to his hand. He hands the ball, made completely from shadows, back to Akutagawa. “Your turn.”
Rain smacks against the window and thunders against the roof. In the far corner of Atsushi’s room, a puddle continues to grow as water leaks from the ceiling.
Akutagawa mirrors Atsushi’s movements. As Atsushi watches, he gets the distinct feeling that Akutagawa is holding back. It looks like he’s barely using a pinkie’s worth of power to bounce the ball back and forth. Akutagawa is still very much a mystery to him.
But still, Atsushi doesn’t have it in him to care. Especially now, with dozens of children seemingly getting adopted overnight and several others getting hurt by freak accidents happening around the orphanage due to the lack of maintenance, it seems that more and more, Akutagawa has been his only company.
Atsushi doesn’t feel lonely—he could never feel lonely when he has Aku—but there’s something else there. It makes him feel like the mere two feet in between them spans for miles. The thought makes him uncomfortable.
“Hey, Aku?”
His friend turns his head, but continues bouncing the ball perfectly, over and over again, tapping out a steady rhythm. “Yes?”
“Are you happy?”
Akutagawa catches the ball and holds it in his small, pale hand. “I don’t understand the question.”
“Are you happy?” Atsushi takes the ball from Akutagawa, turning it over in his own hands as he thinks. “I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile. You must like playing with me since you show up every night, but… are you having fun?”
Akutagawa’s brows pinch together. “If I smile, does that mean I’m having fun?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Atsushi answers.
“But you smile often. And I do not think you are happy when you smile.”
Atsushi freezes. He looks up and tries to get a read on Akutagawa’s expression, but it’s as stony as ever. Part of him wants to run and hide. It’s like someone just found out a big secret and told everyone at the orphanage. But another part of him likes it. He feels seen , like someone is truly looking at him for the first time in his life.
He feels understood.
“I guess that’s true.”
The moment his expression falls, Akutagawa calls out to him again.
“If I smile, does that mean it would make you happy?”
“Yeah, I guess so. As long as you mean it.”
Akutagawa turns his whole body to face Atsushi. He sits cross-legged, with his hands on his ankles. He stares at Atsushi intently, as if he’s using all of his focus, then his lips press together.
The more Atsushi watches, the more he realizes it’s unnatural for Akutagawa to smile. It takes him a moment to be able to mimic the expression. The corners of his lips waver until he’s able to curl them upward, and when his lips part, Atsushi’s eyes widen.
Akutagawa’s smile is blinding. His teeth are so white, Atsushi almost has to squint. But more than that, his teeth are sharp. Like blades, they come to sharp points, perfectly slotting between one another and somehow not harming himself. His smile stretches all the way across his face, and not in the same way that Atsushi’s does, but quite literally all the way across his face. It’s as if the top and bottom of his face are in two separate parts.
Atsushi can’t help but lean forward. He crawls, closing the distance between them, until they’re face to face.
His eyes continue to widen in amazement. He follows the lines of Akutagawa’s teeth as if seeing them up close means he can somehow gauge their sharpness more accurately.
Then, Atsushi gains a smile of his own.
“You have fangs like me! Just a lot more of them!” Atsushi sits back onto his haunches and hooks his fingers into his mouth, spreading his smile wide. “See?”
Proudly, Atsushi displays his sharp canines—something nearly everyone comments on once they’ve seen his smile. Some find it creepy, some find it gross. But Atsushi has always secretly liked it.
“They are not fangs, you fool. There are too many of them.”
“I already said that,” Atsushi says, rolling his eyes. “Can I touch them?
Atsushi doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s reaching out. He touches one of Akutagawa’s lower teeth. A sharp pain pricks his finger and he jerks his hand back against his chest. “Ouch!”
In the blink of an eye, Akutagawa scurries away. He squeezes into the corner, his arms and legs on either side of the wall like a caged animal. His eyes are wide and his shadows are as far away from Atsushi as possible.
“What’s wrong, Aku?” Atsushi puts his finger in his mouth to lick away the blood. It’s coppery. Not a taste he enjoys, but one he’s been familiar with. “Did I hurt you?”
“No!” Akutagawa’s voice roars in Atsushi’s mind. He’s never heard him speak this way before. It takes all of Atsushi’s control to not cower. He knows Akutagawa is not like the others who have used that voice with him. “I’m the one who hurt you. I caused you pain. I am no better than the others.”
“What are you talking about?” Atsushi goes to crawl in Akutagawa’s direction but Akutagawa rears back. Instead, Atsushi leans against the side of his bed. He relaxes and gestures to the seat next to him. “It was an accident, it’s okay. It was my fault anyway. I should have waited for you to say something.”
“You cannot always blame yourself when others hurt you, fool.”
“I know.” Atsushi gives him a sad smile. “I know I shouldn’t do it with others but… I know you would never hurt me on purpose, Aku.” He gestures to the seat next to him again. He continues with his voice lowered. “I know you’ve been protecting me.”
This seems to calm Akutagawa. His muscles relax and the shadows standing straight up against the wall return to their more free-flowing natural state.
Atsushi holds up his finger and shows it to Akutagawa. “See? It’s already all better.”
Though hesitant, Akutagawa makes his way back to Atsushi’s side. He really does remind Atsushi of an animal. He’s wary. Alert. Like the feral cats outside Atsushi would try to feed. They didn’t trust that someone would be so genuine and kind. It makes Atsushi’s heart ache and swell. What has Akutagawa been through himself to be this way?
Once Akutagawa has returned, Atsushi sits there in silence for a while. He knows that it helps him to just have Akutagawa there, sitting quietly next to him, so he thinks maybe it will help Akutagawa too.
A hollow noise grabs Atsushi’s attention. He looks in front of him at the smooth, round ball bouncing in his direction.
“I do not want to hurt you.”
“I know.” Almost imperceptibly, Atsushi scoots closer.
“It is my duty to protect you.”
“I know.” Again, he closes the distance between them, noting the hint of warmth as he gets closer to Akutagawa’s body. Finally, Atsushi rests his head on Akutagawa’s shoulder. “It was an accident. I forgive you.”
Akutagawa doesn’t speak again but he also doesn't try to move away. Atsushi takes that as a win. Keeping his head on Akutagawa’s shoulder, he starts bouncing the ball again, listening to the rhythmic thumping against the walls and floor.
“Do you trust me?” Akutagawa finally asks.
“Of course,” Atsushi answers quickly.
Something changes in the tone of Akutagawa’s voice. It’s something Atsushi hasn’t heard from him before, so it’s hard to place. “If we could be together all the time, would you like that?”
Atsushi’s eyes light up. “I would love that!”
“What if it meant you had to leave the orphanage?”
Atsushi thinks for a moment. He chews on his bottom lip. “Well, will you be there?”
“Yes.”
There’s something resolute in Akutagawa’s response. It’s reassuring. Atsushi smiles. “Then yes.” Atsushi wraps his arms around Akutagawa’s shoulders, just like he’s done with his shadows previously. “All I want is to be with you, Aku. Always.”
Nervous excitement crawls beneath Atsushi’s skin. He paces around the small room, waiting for his friend to appear. Every once in a while, he’ll bend down and peer beneath the bed frame, then return to his pacing once he finds it empty, occasionally wiping his sweaty hands on his pants.
“You need to work on your patience.”
Atsushi whips his head around. “Aku!” He covers his hands over his mouth, just like the first time they met. “Aku!” he tries again, this time with more control over his voice.
Akutagawa slithers from beneath the bed. “I do not go back on my word.”
“I know! I’m just really excited.” Atsushi is practically vibrating, his feet tapping back and forth now that Akutagawa is in front of him. “We get to go home with you, right?”
“Yes.” Akutagawa’s brows pinch together, as if the word is unfamiliar. “Home.”
Atsushi smiles bright. He’s never really had a place to call home. But something deep in his heart tells him that if he’s with Akutagawa, he can finally have one. “What’s your home like?” Atsushi figures he probably should have asked sooner, but it also doesn’t matter much. Atsushi doesn’t have anything to bring with him, and Akutagawa said he didn’t need anything anyway. Plus, he trusts Akutagawa. He’s sure it’ll be great.
“It is much different than this.” His answer is vague but his eyes are sincere. “But I will be there.”
Atsushi nods. “Right!”
Akutagawa reaches out. His hand grabs Atsushi’s. Again, it’s surprisingly warm, and Atsushi allows their fingers to entwine. “You will not be able to come back. Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Of course.” Atsushi’s back straightens and he lifts his chin. “All I need is you, Aku.”
Unprompted, Akutagawa smiles wide. His sharp teeth glint beneath the moonlight. “I am all you need,” he repeats back.
Akutagawa kneels, then crawls beneath the bed. Their hands stay clasped tight. Once Akutagawa is underneath, he turns around. Only his eyes are shining through the darkness, as if Akutagawa has become one with the darkness itself. He urges Atsushi forward.
Without a hint of hesitation, Atsushi follows behind, disappearing into the abyss.