Archive of Our Own

Dusk arrives and the enemy has fallen. The blood covering Atsushi’s clothes is still fresh as he drops to his knees beside an inert body, though the wounds are completely gone. Atsushi is not a fan of pain, but he almost wishes he had bled some more. To have scars. That would give him something else to think about besides the face devoid of color of the one he used to call an enemy and wouldn’t know what to call now.

His body feels sweaty, but he has never felt so cold before. He stretches a hand toward the tangle of dark hair covering the head of the body (it can’t be a body, he thinks, because until a moment ago he was standing upright), but retracts it before he can reach out to touch it. He takes a shuddering breath. All of him is trembling.

“I am sorry for your loss, young tiger,” the vampire says solemnly. His figure casts a shadow that falls over them, but falls short of covering Akutagawa’s face, which looks paler than ever in the orange sunlight.

Atsushi moves his hands without a clear purpose before grabbing the guy by the shoulders and hugging him tightly against his chest. He’s freezing. He thinks, irrationally, that perhaps receiving some of his warmth will make Akutagawa feel better.

The wetness on his cheeks is proof that he’s crying. He doesn’t know when it started. He’s not sure if he will be able to stop at some point, or if his fate will be to remain kneeling next to a lifeless body, covered in blood, crying until he falls too.

“You took him from me,” he says. It’s not the vampire’s fault. Bram Stoker was as predisposed to this as the rest of them—that is, he wasn’t at all. Atsushi, still, needs someone to blame. He needs it because the other option is to blame himself.

“Your friend was dead when I turned him,” he replies calmly. The accusation doesn’t move him at all. Atsushi feels the urge to claw his face off just to let something out, but for that he would have to let Akutagawa go, and he doesn’t want to leave him alone on the ground. Not again. “By deactivating my ability, he returned to his previous state. I could, of course, get him back on his feet; he would be but an empty shell, not even a shadow of the man you once knew.”

Atsushi clings to Akutagawa’s body more tightly. Tears fall non-stop but he doesn’t sob, he doesn’t utter a sound. He covers Akutagawa’s head with one hand, resting his cheek on his head.

“He’s dead,” he whispers more to himself than to the vampire.

“Not quite.”

When Atsushi looks up, his eyes first meet the large, curious eyes of a girl standing to Stoker’s right, partially hidden by his body. He’s forced to raise his head so that he can look at the vampire’s face. He grants him a blank stare in return.

“Excuse me?” Atsushi whispers. He hates sounding so hopeful. He barely manages to see through the tears.

Before Stoker can elaborate, the sound of a helicopter is heard.

(Atsushi would’ve run to embrace Dazai as soon as he saw him descend from the helicopter, smiling despite the blood covering him and a noticeable limp, but for that he would’ve had to let Akutagawa go, and he had already decided that he was not going to leave him alone on the ground again.

Dazai’s expression darkened for a second as he saw Akutagawa there, pale and lifeless in the arms of the one who had once called him an enemy. He regained his composure immediately, but if Atsushi had been paying attention, he would have seen surprise and something akin to pity tinge his gaze for a second.

Chuuya’s expression was unreadable).

Akutagawa is not dead.

He’s not alive either, if Stoker is telling the truth. He’s in an unusual state, oscillating between life and death as if standing on a tightrope. If Stoker were to reactivate his control over him, Akutagawa would rise again, but just as he had said, he would be more of a puppet than a person.

His body remains under the Agency’s protection. Chuuya asked, at one point, if they could take him away to perform a proper burial, but the very hint of taking Akutagawa for dead put Atsushi in a terrible mood. “He needs time,” Dazai said. No one was sure how much.

Atsushi wouldn’t have hesitated to give him back if he were dead, but he’s not. If Stoker is telling the truth.

(Yosano says she can’t find his vital signs and has failed to bring him back with her ability. Stoker says they are looking for the wrong solution to a problem that is not their expertise).

He’s different from Sigma, who sleeps but breathes, has stable signs, is alive. Being unconscious is different from being dead. Akutagawa is neither.

Atsushi no longer spends most of his day sitting next to Akutagawa as if waiting for him to magically wake up. His friends were starting to worry about him, so he had to make a decision, and now he has tried to get back to normal. Sort of. He acts while looking for answers somewhere, anywhere.

He can’t use the Page to bring him back, which would be the logical solution, because Dazai would never allow it─something about altering reality in that way disturbs him lightly, and Atsushi hasn’t tried to ask what. He doesn’t know if Stoker would be willing to help him instead of saying sinister things or cryptic phrases, and even if he wanted to help, he doesn’t know where to find him. Atsushi thinks that talking to Ranpo will put him in an awkward position.

Days go by and he, try as he might, can’t find the solution. He had never heard anything like this; about existing in a limbo, in an eternal state between life and death. How long can he live like this? His body doesn’t rot, doesn’t consume itself. Will he exist trapped in that place for the rest of eternity?

He doesn’t spend all day with the body, but he always goes to see it for a moment. He hasn’t been returned to Port Mafia, so Yosano has made a corner for him in the infirmary specifically so that she doesn’t have to see him when she goes to check on Sigma or perform a routine checkup with Dazai. Atsushi assumes that he’s the only one of them with any interest in sitting next to Akutagawa, not-so-dead but not alive as he is. He doesn’t blame them; the sight of him in his current state is unsettling to say the least. It’s not as if he visits him for pleasure, but to remind himself of his most urgent mission.

The problem is that he doesn’t know where to start.

He looks at Akutagawa’s expression and thinks he has never seen him so relaxed. Is this the only rest that people like them can give themselves? Maybe this should be the end, maybe that would be the merciful thing to do on his part. Should he let it go, in this state that is too death-like to be anything else? Hand him over to the Mafia, let them do what they must, end this once and for all?

Akutagawa rests with his eyes closed on the stretcher, covered up to his neck with a thin white sheet. He might as well be asleep. Atsushi can’t give up without trying first, is what he decides. Akutagawa has saved him, and he wouldn’t feel good about himself if he couldn’t return the courtesy.

Propping his elbows on the stretcher, he hides his face in his hands and sighs.

What is he supposed to do?

Night falls with Atsushi still in the Agency offices, alone except for the Director, who is behind a closed door doing who knows what. He stayed late with the excuse of finishing his overdue paperwork, but really, the idea of going home to lock himself in the closet and spend the whole night without sleep doesn’t sound too tempting to him. He’s exhausted, and he’s not sure that’s going to change anytime soon.

His computer is the only screen on in the whole place, and all he gets to hear is the sound of his own keyboard as he types and deletes, types and deletes. That’s why the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs comes through crystal clear, causing Atsushi to stop all his movements and frown.

One of his coworkers might have forgotten something. It wouldn’t be strange, if that were the case. The thing is, Atsushi thinks he has memorized all the Agency members’ footsteps by now, and the ones he hears now are not recognizable to him.

He stands up, his state of guard raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He thinks about alerting the Director, but doesn’t want to bother him about something that could well be just his own paranoia. If Atsushi has to fight, he’ll eventually find out and come on his own.

He hopes they don’t have to fight. Remodeling the office is an ordeal.

He approaches the door stealthily, breathing slowly. He hasn’t transformed yet, but he feels the tingle under his skin that shows him his ability is ready to activate when he requires it. Before he can reach the door, it opens quietly, revealing a tall, slender figure standing on the other side.

Atsushi jumps back, frowning. When the figure takes a step into the offices, he manages to recognize it as Stoker. He looks exactly the same as the last time he saw him at the airport, with everything and the same serious expression that Atsushi finds uncomfortable.

“Good evening, young tiger,” he says. His voice is a quiet sound, but it reverberates throughout the office nevertheless. Atsushi clenches his fists.

“What are you doing here?” he asks in a low growl. He doesn’t hate him because of Akutagawa, but that doesn’t mean he wants him around. Much less in his offices, at this hour. He thought he had no intention of attacking them on his own, that he had no interest in meddling in their affairs.

Stoker remains impassive. He advances the distance that separates them until they are face to face and Atsushi must raise his head to look him in the eye. He cannot be intimidated, even though Stoker is imposing in the way that only a being beyond humanity can be.

“Pardon me the intrusion,” Stoker says, though he doesn’t seem sorry at all. “It is fortunate that I find you here. I have something to tell you that I suspect might be of interest to you.”

Atsushi blinks. The tension in his muscles doesn’t ease, but intrigue causes him to relax his expression a bit. He tilts his head lightly and narrows his eyes.

“Was it necessary to come at this hour?”

“Being outdoors during the day, while not severely hurting, is incredibly annoying. I didn’t think I’d find anyone here at this hour.”

Atsushi is tempted to ask what his plan actually was, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a deep breath.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“It is related to the black-haired young man who died on the ship. The first vampire of this new era.”

Atsushi’s pulse races. He can’t find a way to contain the trembling in his hands, so he clenches his fists on either side of his body. He says nothing, he doesn’t trust what might come out of his mouth, so he just watches Stoker hoping that the light of hope, absurd and childish, is not too evident in his gaze. He can give him a guide, a starting point. If he gives him a nudge in the right direction, then he will give himself body and soul to the cause, bring Akutagawa back even if he ends up in pieces.

If he, on the other hand, comes to quell any illusions Atsushi might have of getting him back, then Atsushi will let him go.

“In all my centuries of existence, I have known very few beings with a longevity comparable to mine,” Stoker says. “Lots of years before I succumbed to Fukuchi Ouchi, I met a man whose ability doomed him to survival. I sought him out only to find that he has not moved from the place where I last saw him.”

His voice, no matter how hard he tries to keep it in the most neutral tone, softens a bit at the end. Stoker’s eyes are locked on Atsushi’s, but for a second it feels as if the vampire is seeing right through him, as if his mind is elsewhere. It takes him a second to compose himself and continue, forcing himself to adopt a neutrality and distance he doesn’t seem to feel at all.

“Ovidius owes me more than one favor, and has reluctantly agreed to accompany me here. I cannot promise that he will help you, or that the conditions will prove to be to your deepest liking, but his skill may provide you with an opportunity to bring that young man back.”

As the words leave Stoker’s lips, Atsushi manages to feel lighter. There is a chance. The relief of knowing that there is a chance to get him back, however slim, fills him in such a way that he has to restrain himself from laughing like a man who has fallen into madness.

“I’ll do anything,” Atsushi mutters firmly. “If there’s a chance, I’ll take it.”

Stoker gives him a look that he doesn’t know how to interpret. It looks as if he had been waiting for him to refuse. As if Atsushi could do that, as if he could simply leave Akutagawa for dead and knowing that Akutagawa walked to death’s door without hesitation to keep him alive like this life of his was worth something─enough to give up his own.

The sacrifice brought him awareness of something that had long been cultivating inside him: he wants Akutagawa alive. Whatever it takes.

“It won’t be easy,” the vampire says and hands him a note with an address before turning to head for the door. “We will be waiting for you tomorrow night. Inform those you care about about this: the mission you plan to embark on is a dangerous one, young tiger.”

“Why are you doing this?” asks Atsushi before Stoker can retreat. He pauses to look over his shoulder at him.

“Someone asked me to.”

Atsushi begins to wonder who could have asked him such a thing, but then he remembers the girl with short hair and big eyes staring at him as he cried clinging to Akutagawa while refusing to let go.

“I wish you the best of luck,” Bram concludes. As he walks through the door he’s lost from sight, as if the darkness has swallowed him up.

“I have a chance to save Akutagawa,” Atsushi announces to Dazai the next morning, when he finds a moment alone with him to discuss the matter without having to subject himself to the burden it would give him to communicate the matter to everyone at once. 

He will explain it to him and Kyouka because, even with all they all have been through, they are the ones he finds it easiest to talk to. He appreciates them all a lot, but something connects them in a specific way that he doesn’t know how to explain.

Dazai, who until that moment had his head thrown back in his chair and his eyes closed, opens them and watches him with renewed curiosity. He smiles, but the gesture doesn’t look genuine.

“Yeah? What’s the plan?”

Atsushi looks down at the papers in his hands, swallowing. He rests them on the desk and arranges them just for the sake of doing something with his hands and having somewhere to look other than Dazai’s eyes.

“I saw Stoker. He came exclusively to tell me he has a way he can help me solve this whole problem.”

Dazai hums, but doesn’t comment. His silence makes Atsushi even more nervous.

“He has told me that it is dangerous. I don’t know the details, but…”

“Will you risk it?”

Atsushi directs his gaze in his direction. Dazai’s eyes are locked on him. He fails to see through his expression, that attempt at a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. As much as he sometimes wishes he had an easier time reading Dazai, at this moment he thinks maybe it’s for the best.

“I owe it to him,” Atsushi replies. He didn’t intend for the comment to come out so bluntly, but he doesn’t take it back. Not because Dazai deserves the bite, but he needs to make it clear that this matters. To him, at least. “You said everything went according to plan; well, I disagree. This is something I feel I need to sort out.”

(“Did the plan include his death?” Atsushi asked at some point in those weeks, after spending hours staring at Akutagawa’s motionless figure, pale in the white light.

“I was hoping to bring him back,” was the answer Dazai gave him, but Atsushi, as confident as he is that his mentor is always one step ahead, doesn’t quite believe him.

There is something about him that speaks of failure, but Atsushi must make the caveat that he might be reflecting his own feelings onto Dazai. Atsushi, with all they’ve recovered, doesn’t feel like this is a battle won at all).

Dazai blinks. There is a pause. A hesitation. It’s rare to see Dazai hesitate so openly.

“All right,” he says at last. Any tinge of emotion in his voice is so obviously false that Atsushi can’t help but wonder why he even tries. “I hope you’ll come back.”

Atsushi nods firmly.

“I will.”

Dazai’s smile widens, but he doesn’t look too convinced. If Atsushi didn’t know better, he would’ve thought he was afraid.

(Ranpo stops him for a moment before everyone leaves just to look him in the eye and wish him good luck.

Atsushi is not surprised that he found out, but the seriousness on Ranpo’s face alerts him even more than Bram’s words. Only then is Atsushi convinced that he will be in real danger).

Kyouka has grown a lot in the last time.

Not so much physically; although his features are gradually maturing, that’s not where the change lies. Little by little, she’s learning to handle herself more naturally in the outside world. It’s a good sign, Atsushi assumes, that even if they will never stop being outsiders in this world, at least they can still get used to an ordinary life.

So far he didn’t allow himself to think about what would happen if he failed. If he ended up getting trapped too. He doesn’t plan on letting that happen, but seeing Kyouka’s relaxed expression and how tiny she looks when she’s wearing the pink pajamas with bunny patterns he gave her some time before everything went to hell, it relaxes him to know that while she would suffer his loss, at least she’s already found a place to belong.

That doesn’t make this any easier. 

“You’re not eating,” Kyouka points out calmly.

Atsushi looks down at his untouched plate where the food rests, surely frozen by now, and sighs.

“Kyouka,” he mutters. She hums softly to indicate that she hears him. “I have to go. There’s something I have to do, and it’s going to be dangerous, so I wanted to…”

He’s not sure what he wanted─to warn her? To say goodbye? He doesn’t want to turn this into a goodbye. He has to return, he can’t afford to fail at this, not only for himself but for Akutagawa. For Kyouka, too, who has already lost too much.

“It’s not an Agency mission,” Kyouka says. It doesn’t sound like a question. He shakes his head.

“I wanted to warn you so you don’t worry. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She nods. To her credit, she doesn’t look worried at all.

“Does it have to do with Akutagawa?”

Atsushi gives a small wince. He ends up nodding, because there’s no point in lying to Kyouka. It’s clear she’s asking only to confirm something she already suspects, so if he tried to hide it, she’d only get more suspicious. He has no reason to lie to her either; why would he try to deceive his own sister?

She doesn’t comment on the matter. She gives no sign of approval or otherwise, which Atsushi receives with some relief. Had she openly shown herself to be against it, then he would have been forced to disappoint her.

The rest of the evening is spent in a blur. As Atsushi prepares to leave, Kyouka approaches him and briefly hugs him from behind. It’s such a quick hug that he doesn’t even get to react before it’s over.

“Be careful.”

“I will,” he tries to reassure her.

He turns to hug her again, this time properly, pressing her against his chest until she relents a little and tries to put some distance. He’ll come back. But, if he doesn’t...

“Tomorrow it’s your turn to cook,” she whispers.

Atsushi smiles. “Mh-hmm. I’ll have to hurry back.”

Breaking away, Atsushi runs a hand through her hair and turns away.

He leaves without daring to look back.

The place where Stoker sent Atsushi is actually a mansion.

It’s in a corner of Yokohama he’s never been to before, and the mansion stands tall and imposing. It looks somewhat spooky, with its dark walls, its spiky railings, a certain gothic style that reminds him of somewhat childish depictions of terror, the typical place where the protagonists of the story should stay away from.

He supposes it is appropriate for a vampire to cite him in such a place.

He pushes the gate of the grating to enter the small path leading to the porch and it opens with such a loud screech that Atsushi grits his teeth and wrinkles. As he moves forward, he wonders why is he here, seeking favor from someone who owes him nothing and whom it would be more appropriate to distrust. Why did he crawl desperately in the direction of the first one who offered to give him something.

He hesitates before knocking on the door, but what choice does he have?

The door opens and on the other side is Bram Stoker in all his glory.

“We’ve been expecting you,” he says, beckoning him with his arm to come in.

The inside of the mansion is as dark and gloomy as the outside. The walls, though not as dark, are covered with paintings that seem to follow him with their gaze and objects that he fails to recognize, but give him a bad feeling. He observes every detail with curiosity, advancing silently a few steps behind Stoker. He lets him guide him up the stairs to the second floor, and then he opens the door.

The room is lit by candles. There are many books and a strong smell of incense that makes Atsushi feel nauseous; a desk covered with papers and two large, dark red sofas facing each other, separated by a small, completely empty table.

Sitting on one of the sofas is a young man. He must be barely in his thirties; he has short, curly, brown hair and large eyes that look slightly green illuminated by the candles. He has hard, firm features, with a few freckles bathing his skin. He wears a black three-piece suit and gloves of the same color. Between his fingers smokes a lit cigarette.

The young man does not turn to look at them. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling and he hums softly to a tune that Atsushi does not recognize.

Even after Stoker starts to approach the stranger, Atsushi lingers a second longer under the doorway.

“I brought the person I mentioned to you,” Stoker says. His voice sounds softer as he speaks to the young man. Sweet, even.

The young man doesn’t look at him.

“Come in, kid,” he murmurs. “Have a seat.”

He takes a puff and releases the smoke as Atsushi crosses the room to sit across from him. Only then does he realize, as he pays attention, that one of his legs is a prosthetic. He has a scar running across his left cheek.

Bram remains beside them as nothing more than a silent presence. He doesn’t even bother to sit, standing off to the side, as if pretending to be nothing more than a spectator.

“What’s your name, lad?” the man asks. He moves the pointer and middle fingers of his free hand restlessly.

“Atsushi,” he replies. He hates the slight tremor in his voice, barely perceptible but present.

“Hmm. My pleasure. I’m Ovidius.”

Ovidius drops the ashes into an ashtray he has resting on the armrest and closes his eyes for a second.

“Bram tells me you’ve lost someone.”

Atsushi swallows, tapping the floor with one of his feet. The atmosphere is strange there. Heavier. The aroma of the cigarette mixed with that of the incense almost manage to make him vomit, though he no longer knows if his stomach is churning from that or from nerves.

“He told me you could help me,” Atsushi murmurs.

Ovidius hums noncommittally.

“It’s been ages since I’ve done anything like this,” he comments, but he doesn’t seem to be addressing anyone in particular. He doesn’t look at his interlocutor at any point. “I had sworn to myself not to do it again. It’s exhausting, after a while.”

His gaze shifts to Stoker. He returns his gaze without reacting. They do nothing but stare at each other for a moment that feels eternal, and Atsushi can’t help but feel like an outsider invading a place he’s not really allowed in. Stoker tenses his back a little and the young man sighs, looking at nowhere again.

“You may have better luck than those who came before you, Atsushi. From what Bram has told me, the soul of your..., of the person you seek, has not gone too far.”

“How are you going to help me?” he asks impatiently. He fears he has been too rude, but honestly, he has no time to waste.

Ovidius doesn’t seem impressed at all. He blinks slowly, as if his eyelids feel heavy.

“My ability allows me to send you to the place where souls rest. Call it Underworld, Avernus, Hades, or whatever you see fit. The entity that protects them does not always approve of delivering souls for the living to bring back, but your case is special. The problem will be getting to this entity, and then the way back. Especially the way back.”

He doesn’t get it, but he doesn’t interrupt him. He doesn’t think Ovidius is going to give his words too much attention, whatever he says, so he thinks it’s futile to try to interrupt his train of thought.

“It’s called Metamorphosis─isn’t that what death is all about, in the end?” Ovidius stubs out his cigarette and drops it in the ashtray. Atsushi looks at Stoker only to find him staring at his friend. Friend . Are they even friends? “I won’t be able to send you in more than once and I can’t get you out once you’re in, so you’ll have to be careful not to ruin it. At best, you’ll come back alone.”

At worst, Atsushi imagines, he wouldn’t come back at all.

He takes a deep breath and nods. Only then does Ovidius turn his gaze to him.

“What kind of things might I encounter there?” he asks. He needs to prepare himself.

Ovidius lets out a sharp, bitter laugh.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I’m not allowed to go in. I’m not allowed to die, either. You’ll have to be prepared for anything.”

He hasn’t stopped smiling, but he looks strangely pained, as if he’s been punched in the stomach. His fingers haven’t stopped twitching.

Well, it won’t be the first time Atsushi has had to improvise.

“You could die, or risk your life and come back empty-handed, or, even if you achieve what you set out to do, you might find out it’s not what you wanted. Are you willing?”

Atsushi doesn’t hesitate.

“Of course.”

With a sigh, Ovidius removes the glove from his left hand. His hand is covered in pale pink scars. He stands up and walks over to where Atsushi is standing, stopping less than a step away.

“Good luck,” he says, and before Atsushi can understand his words, he rests his index and middle fingers on his forehead, the room is illuminated with an orange light that makes him think everything has caught fire, and suddenly everything goes dark.

Atsushi wakes up in a dark and cold place. Everything is spinning and his heartbeat is pounding in his ears.

He slowly straightens up. His head feels like it’s about to explode, so he’s forced to close his eyes for a moment as he presses his hand against his forehead. He takes a shaky breath.

Opening his eyes again, he looks around.

It’s barely possible to see through the darkness. The ground seems to be covered in fine dirt; he can’t make out his surroundings for more than a few feet. He tries to activate tiger vision only to find that he cannot make use of his ability.

He lets out a shaky exhalation. Ovidius might have warned that-though, then again, he didn’t know too much about this place.

He stands, trying to steady himself on his legs. His knees shake and he staggers forward a bit, but manages to regain his balance. He manages to hear the sound of rushing water in the distance and something that sounds very similar to the muffled sound of many voices intermingled.

He closes his eyes tightly and opens them, trying to adjust a little to the darkness. The place that once seemed to stretch out into infinity now looks rather narrow, like a hallway. The walls look like rock. A cave?

Taking a deep breath, Atsushi begins to walk. He follows the sound of water and voices, thinking that maybe he will find something or someone able to explain to him what the next step is.

The air feels heavy. It is damp and frosty; Atsushi feels the cold seeping into his bones. The path seems to shrink and enlarge, shorten and lengthen as he moves forward somewhat awkwardly, still a little dizzy.

At times he feels as if a hand is brushing his body or face; at others, a voice and the faint tickle of an exhalation in his ear, whispering unintelligible phrases. Chills tingle down his spine, but nothing has tried to stop him yet. He thinks he can handle the discomfort, though it reminds him so much of the orphanage. Cold, dark, alone. He thinks he hears the sound of dripping water, though it seems to be coming from deep inside his head, from outside, from everywhere at once. His body sways to the side as the ground seems to shift beneath his feet and he drops down hoping to find the wall to hold on to, but his body falls hard to the ground. He inhales deeply to catch his breath, but it feels as if he is not breathing enough, as if the air lacks oxygen.

He moves on all fours until he manages to get to his feet, resting one hand on his chest. Gathering all his strength, he breaks into a run.

The time is strange there. He could have run for hours, or for a few minutes. He feels as if he is losing consciousness at times, although whenever he reacts he realizes that he’s still running. Then he sees a faint light, and picks up his pace. The ground burns as if he were stepping on ice, and only then does he notice that he is barefoot. 

He falls to his knees once he crosses the entrance to this dimly lit place. There he finally manages to breathe; there is an opening above, many meters high, through which the little light enters. It’s as if the moon is pointing right above him.

Looking to his side, he finds the source of the sound of water just a few steps away. A river, is his first thought, but he doesn’t get to see how wide it is; the end is lost in the darkness. The water runs slowly and falls into a small waterfall. From right there come the voices, now so loud that they stun him.

He covers his ears and squints. He feels a tightness in his head that does not let him think, he feels dizzy and lost. What should he do? What should he do?

He tries to stand up, but he feels something clinging to his ankle, to his leg, to his clothes. He looks down only to realize, not without some horror, that there are several pairs of hands. The voices speak at once ─help me, let me go, get me out─ , the faces are wrinkled, greenish, as if they were decomposing bodies. Atsushi tries to step back but a pair of hands pulls at his shirt and makes him sway forward. The river is closer than he thought, or has come closer, or....

The light of an oil lamp shines close and the bodies, screeching, move away from him. Atsushi pulls back so hard that he falls into a sitting position and begins to crawl away from the shore. He notices, absently, that he has blood running down his leg where he was grabbed.

The earth burns his skin as if he were resting on hot sand. He stands up, but his bare feet burn. He’s not going to heal while he’s here. The tiger can’t help him.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a living one here,” a voice comments.

Atsushi looks in the direction of the light and sees the face of a young girl, with long jet-colored hair. She wears only a long white robe down to her feet. He frowns lightly.

“Who are you?”

“I watch over souls. I guide them to the place where they belong.” She looks toward the river. Her eyes change color, reflecting the flames. Red, yellow, orange. She looks young, as if she were a teenager. Somehow, Atsushi is reminded of Kyouka. “They didn’t want to drag you with them, but this place isn’t kind to the living. It’ll kill you if you spend too much time here. What’s your mission?”

Atsushi bites the inside of his cheek. His insides burn. Will he burst? 

“I’m looking for someone,” he murmurs.

The girl nods softly.

“Of course you do.”

Atsushi breathes. He shifts a little in place, grimacing as he takes the soles of his feet off the ground for a second.

“Akutagawa Ryuunosuke. He─I’ve been told that he’s not dead. That he’s trapped here.”

She turns to look at him. Her eyes have turned completely white, as if she’s turned them to the back of her head. Her hair begins to float and looks like it’s made of ash.

“He died in battle,” she murmurs. “Or should have died. His soul hasn’t reached the place where it belongs. Do you want it back?”

“Yes,” he breathes out. It sounds like prayer. “I need to take him with me.”

“Why?”

Atsushi tries to think. Why? Why? Because he owes it to him? Is this retribution, life for life? Is that his only interest?

He takes a step back, as if stepping away from the light. Returning to the darkness soothes the burning in his body a little.

“Because I want him to live,” he replies. That’s the truth. He can try to pretend it’s about anything else, but in reality, it all comes down to the same thing. “I can’t let him die like this.”

“Without peace,” she says, and her voice is identical to Atsushi’s. She tilts her head at an odd angle. “I need him to live long enough to understand that the world out there can be something other than hostile.”

Atsushi shrinks back, recoiling a little. It’s not as if she’s reading his thoughts; it feels as if she’s digging inside him, stirring the contents of his insides and plucking them outward.

“You will help me,” he interrupts her urgently.

She blinks and her eyes return to their previous state, shifting depending on the lighting. She clears her throat.

“I can only guide you on the way in,” she says, now in her normal voice. “The way back will be your problem.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

The girl takes off walking without another word. Atsushi follows closely behind her, trying to ignore the sharp pain in his feet.

Several hands tried to pull him, but after they got far enough away, they couldn’t try anymore. He can’t hear anything. He does not know whether to consider that a relief or not, because the sepulchral silence is not to his liking.

He hears the sound of a clock, but that can’t be coming from anywhere else but his mind. His body doesn’t feel on the verge of exploding as long as the light from the lamp doesn’t hit him directly, so he takes care to stay covered by the girl as they walk away, and away, and away.

“Where are we...?” he tries asking, but she hushes him, so he falls silent again.

Sometimes the earth seems to want to swallow him up. The one time he tried to grab the girl by instinct to keep his balance, the touch felt like he was going to electrocute himself. So he could only lean on himself.

He feels that they will walk forever.

“Atsushi,” a voice whispers.

Atsushi stops.

“Atsushi,” the voice repeats more clearly this time.

“Akutagawa?” Atsushi says, looking around.

“Eyes on me, young boy,” the girl with the fire says, but Atsushi is too distracted trying to find Akutagawa.

She only pauses for a second to look over her shoulder at him before continuing. She’s not going to wait for him. Atsushi feels it doesn’t matter.

“Where are you?” he asks aloud, turning on his heels, trying to look everywhere at once.

A hand wraps around his arm and tugs. Atsushi doesn’t try to resist.

“Atsushi,” whispers the voice─Akutagawa. “Why did you kill me?”

Atsushi’s lips tremble. “I didn’t─I didn’t want this to happen,” he tries to explain. That’s why he’s here. He has a mistake to make amends for, doesn’t he?

“I’ve bled for you,” Akutagawa says. “It’s only fair that you stay with me here. Trapped for eternity.”

Atsushi shakes his head.

“No. I have come to take you back.”

“I’m not interested in going back. Stay. Suffer what I have suffered.”

Sadness washes over him. Would this be the fair thing to do? To die with him. For them both to remain trapped here for eternity. Is this what he really wants? Perhaps he deserves it, after all. Maybe the reason Akutagawa has been trapped this long is because he was waiting for him. Would he be doing him a favor? He doesn’t want to die, but he might, if it would grant him the chance to bring closure to all of this.

But it doesn’t make sense.

Atsushi digs his heels into the ground as he stops. The hand doesn’t stop pulling, and when he tries to resist, the nails of the owner of that voice dig into his skin so hard that they make deep wounds that begin to bleed immediately.

If Akutagawa died for him, why would he ask him to die too? What would be the point of the sacrifice? Atsushi doesn’t want to stay. He wants all this to have been worth it.

(Akutagawa doesn’t call him Atsushi. For God’s sake, Akutagawa never calls him Atsushi.)

Atsushi looks around. He no longer sees the girl.

Cursing under his breath, he covers the open wound on his arm before breaking into a run in the direction he thinks she was heading. At times it feels like plants are wrapping themselves around his ankles, but he struggles free and keeps running.

The path splits in two.

He stops moving forward and shifts in place, hopping from one foot to the other, trying to think. Left? Right? He feels like his head is going to explode from the pressure of the place. He hasn’t stopped bleeding from any of his wounds. The place seems to be calling for him non-stop, wanting to take his soul.

He can’t allow that. He has too much to lose.

He looks at the two possible paths, trembling lightly. He needs a sign. Something to guide him.

“Akutagawa!” he shouts. He can’t be far away, can he? Hasn’t he been told that he hasn’t gone where he should? “Akutagawa, I came to look for you!”

He receives no reply. His heart is pounding in his chest. He feels like his legs might give out on him at any moment, but he can’t let that happen. He still has to make his way back.

He squeezes his wound harder. Blood trickles through his fingers.

He can’t fail. He can’t afford to fail. If he has to be consumed by this place, so be it, but not before getting Akutagawa out of there.

For a moment, only silence and darkness accompany him. Atsushi tries to regulate his breathing. Then, a small light flashes over his head and he heads towards the path to the left. It could be a trap, but in the absence of options the best he can do is risk it. He won’t help himself at all by standing there until he finds a divine sign.

So he follows the light. Nothing tries to stop him on the way. A mist catches up with him but he keeps going, eyes fixed in the small star that shines a few steps ahead of him. He passes through an entrance where the place expands and he finds himself between dozens of shadow-like figures that, when you look closely, start looking like humans. Their faces are distorted and lost, as if made of smoke, so Atsushi can’t make them out; he needs to move forward in the midst of them to follow the light, which has stopped in the center of the place and high above, so he does. The shadows give no sign of sensing his presence even as he passes through them, though doing so sends a chill so deep it aches in his bones.

The light disappears when he reaches the center, leaving him alone among all these ghostly images. He looks around in despair, biting his tongue to endure a groan of pain. Then, a few meters away, he sees a figure that looks more solid than the rest, not so much like a ghost as it does like a living person.

He takes a step closer, and then another, and then begins to run in their direction. “Akutagawa,” he calls, trying his luck, before catching up.

Akutagawa turns around. He’s dressed the same way he was the last time he saw him alive: he’s not wearing his coat, and his white shirt is covered in blood. His eyes widen.

“Weretiger,” he breathes out. Atsushi never thought he would be so glad to hear that nickname said by him. “It’s you.”

“It’s me,” Atsushi says, stopping a step away from him, breathing through his mouth. 

For a second, they do nothing but stare at each other. Atsushi hesitates, but he’s come all this way to reach him, he deserves this.

He breaks the distance that separates them and throws himself at his body to hug him, praying that he won’t go through it like he did with the rest of them. He doesn’t. Their bodies collide with such force that Akutagawa takes two steps back, and though he lets out an exclamation of surprise and doesn’t reciprocate the embrace, at least he doesn’t push him away. So he’s satisfied.

He bursts into laughter for no apparent reason, and suddenly the laughter turns to tears as he clings to him with all his might. He’s here. He’s real, he can feel him, hold him in his arms and sense his breathing. He never wants to let him go again.

“You fool,” Akutagawa mutters, but his voice is soft. There’s fondness in it, too, deep and barely hidden, and it makes Atsushi cry harder. “You look like a mess. What are you even doing here?”

“I had to find you,” he whispers. Akutagawa is thin and cold, but when his hands finally rest on Atsushi’s back, he’s convinced he has never been so happy to hug someone in his life. “I have to take you back.”

“Weretiger, you…”

Akutagawa interrupts himself and gently pushes Atsushi away. He scowls and looks behind him, so Atsushi turns around.

His gaze meets the eyes of the person Atsushi least expected to meet here, now, after so long. The director looks at him with the same coldness that characterized him in life.

“I sensed the presence of a living soul. The guard said he lost you on the way, so I didn’t think you would make it this far,” the orphanage director says solemnly.

His gaze sweeps over him from head to toe. Atsushi doesn’t feel able to react.

“I’m afraid you’re deeply hurt. Any longer here and you will begin to fall apart.” With his hands behind his back, the director approaches. Atsushi takes a step back. “You have shown profound bravery, but your journey will possibly end here.”

That snaps him out of his trance. Clenching his jaw, he shakes his head. His wounds bleed, his feet burn, his entire body begs for rest, but he can’t let it end here.

“I’ve come to find Akutagawa,” he says. “I don’t plan to give up.”

The figure in front of his eyes changes. Atsushi sees it take on a hundred different forms before stopping at the figure of a young man with red hair. Akutagawa’s gaze lights up in recognition.

“I thought Ovidius had stopped doing these things,” the man says, sighing. “You can try, Nakajima Atsushi. On one condition.”

“What?”

“You must walk ahead of him. You can’t turn to look at him until you both walk through the opening to the outside. The rest of the souls will possibly try to block his way─you cannot stop to help him. You will not hear him, you will not perceive his presence. If you turn back for whatever reason, his soul will return with me and you will have to leave alone, or stay here forever. Did you understand?”

Atsushi swallows, but nods. His hand gropes for Akutagawa’s to pull him closer to him, tugging until Akutagawa is behind his body. He doesn’t resist, and when Atsushi looks at him, he sighs.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Akutagawa says.

“And yet here I am. And I won’t leave without you,” he whispers.

Akutagawa sweeps his gaze over him before granting the only response Atsushi needs: a single nod as his gaze tinges with assurance.

The other figure has changed again. It’s now a small, dark-haired, big-eyed boy. Akutagawa doesn’t give him more than a brief glance.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” his childish voice says.

Atsushi turns and starts walking.

The silence is even more pronounced now, as if finding Akutagawa has cut him off from the world. He hears no sound at all except his own footsteps and the incessant pounding of his heart thundering against his ribcage in an accelerated rhythm, as if he wants to escape his confinement.

“Akutagawa?” he calls once, looking down at his feet only to restrain the urge to look over his shoulder and check that he’s there.

He has to believe he’s there. He has to trust that Akutagawa is following him, that he will follow him all the way, that they will make it to the end.

But what if he’s been lied to?

What if this was all a deception to make him retrace his steps, leave this place, never to be able to return?

Atsushi clenches his fists at the sides of his body and takes a deep breath.

Akutagawa is behind him. It can’t be any other way. If he cannot believe in anything else, then he must believe in him, in the strength of his will.

He doesn’t find it as difficult as he would have expected.

The earth no longer seems to want to swallow him up, but his wounded feet complain with every step he takes. He doesn’t stop. He can’t afford to stop now.

When they reach the river, the path is deceptive again, but the souls are no longer trying to hold him.

He hears them at his back, saying you can’t leave, take us, stay. He closes his eyes and hastens his pace a little, just a little, for if he doesn’t move away then he will not be able to restrain the impulse to turn to help him. Helping him would be the undoing of them both.

(What if the souls catch him? What if they drag him downstream and Atsushi makes it all the way to the end only to realize he’s arrived alone?)

Atsushi has to believe that Akutagawa is still behind him. He hugs himself, digs his fingernails into his arms, takes a deep breath.

He bites his lower lip so hard he makes himself bleed.

Akutagawa will be fine. He has to be.

“Akutagawa?” he tries again.

The silence he receives in response is deafening. His temples throb. A few hands brush past his ankles, as if coming out from under the earth, but they don’t hold him. There is something that interests them more.

He pauses. He tilts his head slightly, thinking about turning to look. He doesn’t want Akutagawa to get hurt.

He doesn’t open his eyes. He continues to move forward blindly.

(Akutagawa?, Atsushi calls every few minutes.

“I’m here,” Akutagawa mutters in reply each time, though he knows he doesn’t hear him.

He notices that he tenses up and that restraining himself from looking back takes too much effort, that he always manages to stop just in time, that it costs him a lot not to be able to check that he’s there.

Shaking off the muggy, rotten hands of those who plan to drag him into the abyss, Akutagawa tells himself that he cannot afford to die today).

Opening his eyes, Atsushi sees an entrance that was not there before.

The place where Atsushi woke up was a place covered in gloom. Now, as if they were about to leave a cave, an entrance opens in front of them, letting the place be illuminated by sunlight.

Atsushi starts running.

The path seems to lengthen and shorten, widen and shrink, but nothing stops Atsushi. Not even when he loses the strength in his legs and falls to his knees on the ground; he soon gets up ungracefully and keeps running.

When the fine soil turns to grass and the sun’s rays touch his skin, Atsushi laughs.

He opens his arms, letting the sun bathe his icy skin in its warmth, and laughs with such genuine joy that it vibrates throughout his body.

He hears a sound behind him, like someone falling, and turns around.

Akutagawa’s breathing is labored and he’s on his knees, his hands clutching the grass tightly, his body completely covered by the sun. When he raises his head, he’s smiling.

Atsushi drops to his knees in front of him, taking his face in his hands, because he has decided some time ago that he will never leave him alone on the ground again.

“It’s you,” he says, and laughs again. Akutagawa's hand goes to stop around his wrist. It’s a good feeling, as if he’s not the only one who needs to hold on to the other.

“It’s me,” Akutagawa whispers in response, and Atsushi doesn’t think he has ever seen him so happy.

Before Atsushi has time to ruin this moment with an impulsive action, such as bringing their foreheads together, hugging him again or telling him I love you, his vision blurs and he loses consciousness.

The last thing he sees before passing out is Akutagawa.

(Ovidius opens his eyes.

Bram’s hand is on his forehead, as if taking his temperature. His head is in the vampire’s lap.

“The lad made it,” he whispers, and he’s smiling, despite himself. “He really did.”

Bram looks at him and nods.

“He woke up and ran off, saying he had to go see that boy,” he explains.

Ovidius always remains unconscious for a while after using his ability, and struggles to move for even longer. Sometimes it takes him days to get up. It’s the first time in his entire, long existence that he feels this has been worth it.

“I don’t know how he did it,” he says. He doesn’t think his friend understands. Bram, like him, has no soul worthy of walking such paths; his immortal selves are destined for eternal existence, without rest, without glory.

Bram seems to ponder for a moment.

“He trusted,” is the only answer he grants.

Ovidius hums thoughtfully. Such a wonderful thing, to trust).

Atsushi runs through the nighttime streets of Yokohama as fast as his aching body allows him—he has no injuries, but he feels tired, as if he’s taken a beating.

He runs relentlessly until the streets become those he does recognize and a little more until they become familiar. He turns the corner of the street leading to the Agency and, as he’s approaching, the front door opens and a figure stumbles out of the building.

Atsushi stops a meter away and Akutagawa raises his head, holding onto the wall with one hand and the other holding his abdomen.

Akutagawa’s gaze softens. Atsushi watches him while trying to catch his breath.

He’s alive. They both are.