Archive of Our Own ^beta

Atsushi was half-asleep when he heard it: the soft, nearly inaudible sound of a knock at his door. He didn’t stand up at first—whoever it was could find another Agency member to go bother—but after a minute or so he thought of all of the worst-case scenarios. It could be Ranpo, horribly lost and coming back from a late night with his writer friend; it could be Kyouka in need of comfort after a particularly harrowing nightmare (she’d just gotten her own apartment at the Agency and the nights were rough); it could be Dazai looking to drag him off on some mission that, of course, he would never say no to. 

He waited quietly for another knock to come, and it did, but this time it was far more urgent. Atsushi sprang fully awake as the hair on the back of his neck stood up. That was an “I’m in danger” knock if he’d ever heard one. Just when he was about to open the door, the person on the other side knocked even louder, practically pounding on it. Whoever it was cared very little about all the people sleeping nearby. 

He cracked the door open to peek out and see who was standing on the other side, then damn near slammed it right in their face. All he needed was a flash of black-and-white hair and charcoal eyes to know exactly who he was dealing with, and God, he was too tired for a fight. 

Atsushi opened the door a little wider after sliding some shoes on, subtly readying himself in a combative stance, but Akutagawa never struck. There was something off about him, Atsushi realized as he studied the other man’s face.

For a few moments, the two of them stood in complete silence—Akutagawa looking earnestly at Atsushi, trembling slightly, and Atsushi trying not to let his mouth hang agape. 

“It’s cold out,” Atsushi finally said—offhandedly as if discussing this blustering wind with a good friend. It was all he could think to say. He felt a little stupid.

What about, “What the Hell are you doing here?” his mind screamed.

Akutagawa managed a quick, raspy, and clearly painful “Yeah” before lifting his sleeve to cover his mouth and splattering it with blood. For only a second, Atsushi was too stunned to move. Soon enough, though, he snapped himself the fuck out of it and took a step back to look at Akutagawa fully. He felt like an honest-to-God idiot when he realized that the man was nothing short of doused in his own blood, which was currently pouring from his torso and down his body. He coughed blood, too. Atsushi blinked, and Akutagawa collapsed to the ground.

“Wh—” was all he got out before stopping himself. Who was he asking? The now-unconscious mafioso bleeding profusely all over his doormat? 

Part of him wanted to leave Akutagawa there to die. It would be satisfying, wouldn’t it? He’d come out of his room in the morning, and Akutagawa’s lifeless body would be sitting like a gift right at his doorstep. Atsushi promptly shook the twisted thought from his head, although he still didn’t totally understand why he was being expected to help him. 

Another, more shameful part of him, writhed with jealousy at the idea that anyone but him could do something like this to Akutagawa. In that confusing, whirling moment, Atsushi wanted to hunt down whoever it was, if only just to eliminate the competition. 

Competition, he thought bitterly. There’s no competition. I could kill this guy in a heartbeat—he wants me to. Akutagawa knows that I’m the one who’s supposed to take him down if anyone. Doesn’t everyone else know that, too? 

Truthfully, Atsushi didn’t know what was wrong with him. Despite their whole “sworn enemy” thing, he’d never held such sickened malice towards Akutagawa before, so why now? There had always been intense dislike, but Atsushi had only ever seen Akutagawa as an irritating rival—an itch that he couldn’t scratch. Perhaps the odd circumstances planted odd thoughts into his mind. 

Realizing that he was spending far too long trapped in his own muddled thoughts, Atsushi snapped into action and hoisted Akutagawa’s limp arm over his shoulder, dragging him inside. 

He’s bleeding all over my floors, too. I just cleaned those. 

For that reason, and that reason only, Atsushi chose to toss aside his hatred and take care of Akutagawa. Okay, if it could even really be called “taking care.” It was more for his own gain than anything, obviously—if he did this, then he had leverage over Akutagawa. He was owed a favor of sorts. That could definitely be useful. 

Atsushi felt himself grow a little bashful as he shucked Akutagawa’s torn coat off of his bloodied frame. 

How’d he let that happen? He wondered silently, eyeing the several holes and gashes in the typically impenetrable material. He tossed the coat over onto the bathroom floor, which would be much easier to clean the blood off of, and made a mental note to try and fix it up later. (Though that was more than he owed—he was sure that there was a Port Mafia member who could sew). 

His hands shook when it came time to take Akutagawa’s shirt off, and he almost wanted to close his eyes so that he wouldn’t breach the other man’s privacy. He then remembered that if he wanted to give Akutagawa any medical attention at all, he’d need to just bite the bullet.

The pants are probably overkill, Atsushi remarked but then saw even in the dark that they too were covered in blood. Ergo, fucking up his newly cleaned floors. God. 

It felt wildly indecent, dragging a nearly naked (okay, that was dramatic) and still bleeding Akutagawa over to the tiled bathroom floor, but in the end, it was purely business. Atsushi saves Akutagawa’s life, so he’s owed a favor. The quicker Akutagawa recovers, the quicker he gets the hell out, and the quicker the two of them can get back to their regularly scheduled activities: being nemeses. 

In the future, Atsushi would just have to try his absolute hardest not to remember every curve and detail of Akutagawa’s body under the several layers of clothes that he usually wore.

Don’t be weird, he told himself. 

Removing the towel that he’d placed against Akutagawa’s side the second his shirt was off, Atsushi saw just how bad it really was. It was nothing that he hadn’t fixed up on himself before, but never in such a fatal place. The blood had stopped pouring with such terrifying magnitude, at least.

As he cleaned the wound (first order of business—after that, he’d have to clean the rest of him, because there was no way he was going anywhere near the rest of Atsushi’s apartment so dirty), Atsushi slipped into a sort of mindless routine. Well, obviously, it wasn’t a routine because nothing this insane had ever happened to him before, but it felt simple. He didn’t have anything to stitch with, so he settled for putting more pressure on the injury and wrapping Akutagawa’s torso as tightly as possible with bandages. It wasn’t perfect, but it stopped the bleeding and kept anything from getting in the wound. 

Fortunately, (fortunately? Seriously?) he was still breathing, and his heartbeat was still going steady beneath Atsushi’s warm palm. 

This is so weird, he thought as he dampened another towel with warm water and used it to clean the dried blood off of his enemy. This is so, so, so, SO weird. 

He hated this man with all that was in him. Akutagawa, who was so cocky and heartless in everything that he did. Akutagawa, who (for whatever reason) seemed to think that Dazai belonged to him or something and used the man as his driving force in his allyships and rivalries. Akutagawa, who had ruined Kyouka for ever truly feeling okay about herself and her ability. 

Akutagawa, who got the bed while Atsushi grabbed the spare blankets from his closet and slept on the floor. 

Atushi stared at the ceiling, then over at Akutagawa, then back at the ceiling. He hoped that Akutagawa was warm enough because it would be really embarrassing if, after all that work, the bastard and his shitty immune system got hypothermia from still being barely clothed (Atsushi had been kind enough to lend him some shorts, at least). 

Isn’t that what you want? He didn’t know. He had no idea. 

There was something about the twisting and unbridled hatred that he’d been spitting out earlier that felt so wrong coming from him. Atsushi wasn’t a hateful person—he’d always believed that love and hate were two sides of the same coin, and both were equally difficult things for him to do—but Akutagawa’s very presence brought out a new, admittedly terrifying side of him. It felt like a scream that ripped through his throat, drawing blood on the way out. It felt wrong but, somehow, cathartic.

He concluded that it was probably the shock of it all—seeing Akutagawa so injured in such an uncharacteristic spot. (How had he even known which apartment was Atsushi’s? Was Atsushi doing the whole nemesis thing wrong?) That churning, uneasy feeling would probably be gone with Akutagawa’s departure from the Agency’s apartments. 

He looked over at Akutagawa one more time, spotted his drying hair moving with a stray gust of wind from the creaky architecture, and decided to put one more blanket on him for good measure.

…

Atsushi woke up to the near-deafening clatter of breaking glass. 

“Shit,” someone swore. Atsushi shot up, confused as to why he was sleeping on the floor so far from his bed for a split second before remembering exactly how he got there. Just as he now expected, the source of the noise was a still-shirtless Akutagawa hurriedly trying to make his way to the bathroom among the mess of broken glass on the floor. In his rush, he didn’t even see that Atsushi was awake. “Shit, shit, shi— agh!”

Atsushi frowned as he remembered the stack of plates that had previously sat on the counter, now scattered in a million pieces all over the floor.

Akutagawa stepped on a stray piece of glass and made it the rest of the way to the bathroom hopping on one leg. Atsushi would probably be laughing if he wasn’t so intrigued. Akutagawa was in the bathroom for all of thirty seconds before coming back out, no more clothed than he had been when he went in, holding his clothes. They were all torn and still damp with blood. 

It was then that he realized Atsushi was staring at him. 

“Weretiger,” he nodded, avoiding eye contact like the plague, and walking to the door. 

“You’re leaving? Like that?” 

“What the hell do you propose I do?” Akutagawa spat.

“First of all, you shattered all my plates, and now there’s a mess in my kitchen.” Akutagawa looked like he had never cared less about anything in his life. “Second of all, you don’t have clothes on.”

“I have clothes on,” Akutagawa corrected, gesturing to Atsushi’s shorts and his own shoes. Atsushi stifled a scoff. “I don’t need your charity, Weretiger.”

“I wasn’t offering charity. I was just pointing out that you look ridiculous.” He truly did. Akutagawa’s hair was gross and stringy with dried blood, and he’d been cleaned off for the most part, but that didn’t hide the bandages that were now stained dark red. “And you’re still bleeding.”

As if on cue, Akutagawa swayed a little where he stood and leaned against the wall for support. 

“I’ll get it figured out,” he grunted, holding his side and wincing. 

“Not without cleaning up the plates, you won’t,” Atsushi demanded.

“I’m bleeding profusely from my side, Weretiger—you think I care about your damn plates right now?” Atsushi wordlessly walked into the bathroom and returned with fresh bandages and some antiseptic, holding them up.

“If I clean you up and stop the bleeding, will you clean the plates?” Akutagawa glared at him, then walked further towards the door. “I saved your life, asshole! I could’ve left you to die, you know. You came to me—the least you can do is make my life a little easier.” 

“I—” Akutagawa sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, still clutching his ribs with the other. “The Detective Agency was closest—I didn’t know where else to go,” he mumbled as he walked towards the mess of broken glass. 

He spent a couple of minutes silently shuffling it into a pile with his foot (Atsushi decided not to get mad at him for dragging his shoes all over the apartment), then bent down to pick it up. When he did, he buckled and collapsed, coughing violently as he did so. 

“God,” Atsushi hissed and ran over, bandages and antiseptic in tow. Akutagawa sat pathetically next to the pile of glass, coughing and wincing, and Atsushi crouched by him. He took off the bandages carefully and discarded them in the trash can. “Sit back.” 

He did. He leaned against the counters, tilting his head all the way back as Atsushi grabbed a towel from the counter and started to clean him up again. He was delicate when he dabbed the rubbing alcohol-soaked towel against Akutagawa’s wound (which looked significantly better than it had, but still bad), but Akutagawa still let out a pained noise. In a moment of weakness, Atsushi put his hand on Akutagawa’s and squeezed it lightly, trying to distract him from the pain. 

Clearly, it was a moment of weakness for both of them, because it kind of worked.

Finally, the hard part was over and the bandages could go back on. This had been far less awkward when Akutagawa was unconscious because now Atsushi could feel every twitch and jolt in his body as he crowded close to him and put the bandages around his torso. 

“Trying to suffocate me?” Akutagawa grunted. 

“Trying to stop the bleeding,” Atsushi corrected. “You’re welcome.”

Akutagawa didn’t say thank you, though he was probably grateful. He only nodded weakly and bit his lip. 

“There.” Feeling like he had been far too nice, Atsushi patted Akutagawa’s side right where the wound was as he sat back on his heels. Triumph swelled in his gut seeing Akutagawa bite back another agonized yelp. 

He desperately wanted to say “All better! Now, get back to cleaning,” but he didn’t. Instead, he stood up and offered Akutagawa a steady hand that he could use to hoist himself up. 

“The glass—”

“It’s fine,” Atsushi said reluctantly. “Just go.” 

A look of surprise flashed across Akutagawa’s face—he looks good when he’s not scowling, Atsushi thought involuntarily—before he nodded curtly. He picked his disgusting clothes up off of the floor and walked to the door without so much as another glance. As soon as he opened it, though, the cold came rushing in, biting at the warm apartment air. He shut the door. 

“I, uh—” He looked absolutely humiliated. “It’s…cold. Outside. I’d be fine, usually, but I’m—uh, I’m—”

“You want clothes,” Atsushi deadpanned. When Akutagawa sucked in a breath and met his stare, Atsushi rolled his eyes and took his time as he rummaged through his closet trying to find something that he wouldn’t need back. There was no way he was going to find Akutagawa again to get his clothes back, so whatever he took, he’d have to keep. His collection of clothing was meager, though, so every item would be somewhat missed. Finally, he found a hoodie that he hadn’t worn in a while and didn’t particularly like and tossed it across the room to Akutagawa. “Will the shorts be fine? Or do you want pants, too?”

“It’s fine,” Akutagawa lied. He’d started shivering, so Atsushi rolled his eyes again and audibly sighed, then got back to rummaging. He found a tattered pair of sweatpants that would hardly be warmer than the shorts, but at least they would cover more skin. “Cool,” Akutagawa held up the items of clothing when Atsushi gave them to him. They looked at each other for a moment, and Atsushi felt his face go hot. “Are you going to watch me change? Or…”

“Right!” Atsushi whirled around, heart beating erratically. 

“Okay,” Akutagawa said sheepishly after a moment. “Uh… thanks. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Atsushi replied too quickly. “See you again…soon, probably. When we’re fighting.”

“Whatever,” Akutagawa huffed and left the apartment quickly.

…

The next time they fought (well, crossed paths, really) was when the two of them were sent after the same criminal by their respective organizations. Atsushi couldn’t help but think that Dazai had meddled a little to make that the case, but that didn’t matter, because he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Akutagawa get the job done first. 

The target had wronged the mafia, apparently, but in doing so he had also acquired an insanely illegal sum of money and killed several, so both the Port Mafia and the Agency were after him. 

“Weretiger,” was all that Atsushi needed to hear before he transformed halfway and stood at the ready, waiting for Akutagawa to strike. “What are you doing here?” 

“Taking this guy down…?” Atsushi gestured to the man who stood, a gun in each hand, between the two of them in the dark alley. “What are you doing here?” 

“The same,” Akutagawa mumbled. “Damn it.”

They locked eyes for a split second before breaking into action, both running towards the target. Atsushi’s ability let him run much faster than Akutagawa could ever dream of running, but Akutagawa’s ability could lunge forward long before he got to the criminal, so they reached him at the same time. 

“I—” Atsushi stopped just short of the target, staring at where Rashoumon’s tendrils snaked around him before Atsushi could do anything at all. “Can you stop? This is my job.”

“It’s my job, too! Back off, Weretiger,” Akutagawa growled and lifted the man off of the ground. He yelped.

“Put me down!” He demanded, showering Akutagawa with bullets that never hit. 

“On it,” Atsushi snapped, transformed fully, and used the wall as a launchpad to help him jump up and capture the criminal from Rashoumon’s grasp. 

“Hey!” This time, Akutagawa’s ability bound Atsushi, and he dropped the criminal. Atsushi went back to his half-transformed form and whipped around, then thrust himself at Akutagawa, trying to get him to the floor. The two of them broke into a petty fight that lacked all of the flame that had once been there—neither wanted the other hurt, they just wanted to curb the incessant irritation.

“Let me do my job, you useless Weretiger—” 

“It’s my job! I bet I got the orders first,” Atsushi growled through bared teeth. 

“Bet you didn’t— ow!” Atsushi landed a punch while Akutagawa was talking, but he quickly withdrew his hand when he heard his head hit the pavement with a sick crunch. It was as if his arm acted on instinct, muscles coded to protect Akutagawa when things went too far. Maybe it was their promise, but that didn’t seem like all of it. What was the much more likely explanation for his concern was what had happened a couple of nights ago. 

“Shit, I’m— I’m sorry!” Atsushi transformed all the way back to his human form and cradled the back of Akutagawa’s head. It took him several seconds to come around, but when he did he shoved Atsushi off of him aggressively. 

Atsushi hit the wall much harder than Akutagawa had clearly intended because a look of immense, cold concern washed over him when Atsushi didn’t get up.

“Are you oka—” He cut himself off. “I, uh… you… you can get up, right?” 

“I’m fine,” Atsushi mumbled and rubbed the back of his neck. Their odd stalemate came to a close when they, at the same time, realized that the man they had been trying to capture had managed to escape and leave no trace at all of where he went. “Damn it.” 

He turned to run (not after the target, just… away from this) but was stopped by Akutagawa calling out for him. 

He turned slowly, putting his guard back up. He had gotten far too close and, in turn, let Akutagawa get too close.

“What?”

From his coat, Akutagawa brandished a small bag. Rashoumon raced towards Atsushi, but he didn’t flinch. It stopped right in front of his face, the bag hanging off of it. He grabbed it tentatively, peered inside, and was met with neatly folded gray clothing.

“Is this…”

“Your clothes.” Akutagawa turned away so that Atsushi couldn’t see his face. “I’ll… see you.” 

He used his ability to pull himself up onto one of the buildings leering over the alleyway, leaving Atsushi staring after him, stunned and confused. 

He took his hoodie out of the plastic bag and, as if he had no control over his own actions, smelled it. It didn’t smell like it did when it had been sitting in Atsushi’s closet, meaning that Akutagawa had washed it. The thought made a small smile twitch at his lips.

…

The next time they saw each other, it was for a mission that they were both sent on. Definitely Dazai meddling. The Port Mafia and the Agency had been in a semi-truce ever since the Decay of Angels presented themselves as an enemy, making things significantly harder for both organizations.

The truce didn’t make Akutagawa and Atsushi’s rivalry go away, though. They were still planning on fighting for real—fighting to kill—in around six months, but as that date drew closer, that expectation seemed increasingly inane. Things were getting… complicated? Was that the right word?

They were enemies, but lately, Atsushi had found himself saving Akutagawa more than fighting him. They were enemies, but Atsushi had slept with the hoodie on his pillow every night since Akutagawa gave it back because he thought it smelled nice. They were enemies, but every time Atsushi thought about seeing Akutagawa, his heart fluttered. 

Yeah, complicated was definitely the right word.

“Weretiger,” Akutagawa nodded when they approached each other. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Atsushi stared at the tall building that they stood in front of because that seemed easier than looking at Akutagawa. This mission probably wouldn’t require any combat—it was purely lookout that would benefit both the Port Mafia and the Agency—but it would require the two of them to fake an amicable relationship. 

The hotel restaurant was dimly lit with soft piano filling the air. The atmosphere was slightly more romantic than Atsushi had been anticipating because when they asked for a table for two, the hostess raised an eyebrow, but he tried his best not to look too caught off guard. Atsushi was grateful for the dim lighting then, he supposed, because he was sure that his face was cherry-red.

“This is a pointless mission,” Akutagawa mumbled once they sat down. “‘Lookout’ my ass.”

“It’s not pointless,” Atsushi whispered, trying to look as happy as possible so it would look like the pair were having fun. A man at the bar locked eyes with Atsushi, and he kicked Akutagawa. “And that guy is who we’re after.”

He said that last sentence through his teeth, and Akutagawa closed his mouth; a silent acknowledgment. The man looked away, back to his drink, and Atsushi visibly relaxed. It wasn’t like the mission was particularly difficult or risky, anyway, so he had no real reason to be so tense—all they had to do was keep an eye on the target and, if needed, keep him here for longer than necessary so that Dazai and Chuuya could search his hotel room. 

At least Dazai was suffering, too; he hated working with Chuuya. 

“Right. Well, I’m not going to fail this because the tiger can’t play nice,” Akutagawa huffed. Atsushi gaped.

“I can’t play nice?” He tried not to raise his voice too much and sincerely hoped that to anyone watching, their argument looked like playful banter. “I’m nicer than you! So far, all you’ve done is brood and complain.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Akutagawa took a careful sip of water, eyes burning holes into Atsushi’s warm face. “Why are you doing this, anyway? Doesn’t the Agency have bigger fish to fry?”

“We’re working on it,” Atsushi muttered. The Decay of Angels had proven to be quite the hurdle, so while the Agency was figuring out what the hell they were going to do, they would continue business as usual and try to do as much good as possible to counter the bad. That included risking being arrested for the sake of a simple recon mission that would aid an arrest. “He’s suspicious of us.” 

He made a minuscule gesture towards the man at the bar, who had been looking over at their table in intervals of only a few minutes.

“We’re not very good at acting like friends.”

I don’t think friendship is the implication here, Atsushi thought. Saying that would surely be going too far, though, so he shrugged. 

“Amp it up, then,” he challenged, then leaned forward and shoved Akutagawa’s shoulder a little. He fake-laughed loudly, and the man at the bar looked away. Akutagawa was stunned still for only a second before shoving Atsushi back. He didn’t fake-laugh, but that was okay—Atsushi supposed it would be fine for him to assume the role of the joke-teller and not the one laughing. 

“You look like an idiot,” Akutagawa said, face annoyingly neutral (bordering on adoring—how did he do that?).

“Stop it, God, you’re too funny,” Atsushi wiped a tear from his eye with his napkin, suddenly very aware of the approaching waiter.

“Gentlemen,” she greeted with a smile, “what will we be doing for drinks tonight?”

“Let me see,” Atsushi scanned the menu for something that wouldn’t make a noticeable dent in his wallet, but everything cost far more than he’d prepared for. “I’m alright with just water, thank y—”

“It’s okay, darling.” Atsushi froze. Nothing was off about Akutagawa except for a tinge of red at the tips of his ears that was only noticeable if you were really looking. How could he say something like that so casually? “I’m paying. We’ll have a bottle of your Merlot.”

The waiter nodded and hurried off, looking a little bit ruffled.

“Darling?” Atsushi hissed. 

“What? You told me to amp it up,” Akutagawa took another sip of water. 

“I know, but… I—” He couldn’t find the words or any semblance of coherence. “I can’t even drink.”

“Oh, right,” Akutagawa scrunched up his nose. “You’re a wanted criminal already. What’s a little alcohol?”

“You’re an enabler,” Atsushi accused. He’d drunk before at office parties and bars—no one had been super serious about him being a year or so under the legal drinking age—but this felt different. “And I hope you know that you’re paying for that,” he added bitterly.

“I said I would, didn’t I, darling?” If it was a joke, then Atsushi didn’t catch the punchline. His mouth went dry, and his heartbeat sped up. He was learning more and more about Akutagawa by the day; more and more things that would make fighting him impossible. 

He now knew how Akutagawa felt breathing steadily in his arms, and what he looked like while he slept, and what his laundry detergent smelled like, and what his skin felt like, and what his voice sounded like when the sardonic edge was taken off of it.

They didn’t feel like enemies, anymore—not really.

…

“Atsushi.” 

“I’m sorry! I really am!” Atsushi sat at his desk while Dazai paced in front of him. “It won’t happen again.”

“You had one job,” Dazai complained. He did have every right to be annoyed, admittedly. Atsushi letting himself get distracted by how good Akutagawa was at pretending to like him had nearly cost them the entire mission. The target had gotten up from the bar, and Atsushi had been so swept up in the act that he hadn’t even noticed. He was meant to warn Dazai and Chuuya, at the very least, but that didn’t happen. “How did you let it happen?”

“I don’t know—one second, we were just talking, and then we… I don’t know!” Atsushi was humiliated, to say the very least.

“This is twice, now, that Akutagawa has let you get off task during a mission,” Kunikida pointed out from his desk. Atsushi nodded weakly while Dazai raised an eyebrow.

“Could this have anything at all to do with him leaving your apartment one morning wearing your clothes?” Atsushi turned furiously red, spluttering and waving his hands around as Kunikida turned all the way towards him, jaw practically on the floor. 

“Atsushi!” He gasped. “If— Jesus, if you’re having romantic relations with members of other organizations, then that’s something that we should know so that we don’t send you on missions together!”

“They’re not romantic relations! Or, any relations! Nothing is going on!” 

“I know what I saw,” Dazai hummed. 

Atsushi’s heart began to beat the way it had started doing for only Akutagawa. Dazai never got up before he had to, so why did he have to be awake on the one morning that Atsushi was relying on everyone sleeping in? 

Just then, Atsushi’s phone buzzed with a message from the one person that he was sure wouldn’t be texting him. 

Akutagawa messaged, ‘Was Dazai angry?’ then, ‘It’s Akutagawa, BTW.’

They had each other’s numbers so that they could coordinate before the last mission, but all planning had happened over a phone call, so no texting was necessary. Meaning that was the first text that Akutagawa had ever sent him.

“What are you blushing about? Kunikida is in the middle of scolding you.” Dazai’s tone was disapproving, and he was reading over Atsushi’s shoulder before Atsushi had the chance to hide his phone away. Then, the phone was taken from his hands entirely and being shoved into Kunikida’s face. “See? Case and point.”

“That means nothing! Nothing is going on. Just… stop sending me on missions with him and call it a day.” Atsushi stood up, yanked his phone out of Dazai’s hand, and loudly announced his lunch break to the now-silent office. As he walked, he texted Akutagawa back.

Akutagawa had texted again in the short time that it took to get his phone back, the message reading ‘I know how he gets.’

‘No,’ Atsushi typed back.
‘He was fine - Kunikida did most of the scolding.’
‘Dazai doesn’t really get mad.’

The response was nearly instantaneous. A quick message packed with all sorts of layers that Atsushi had yet to peel back. ‘Oh.’

Oh. Oh?

Had he been expecting Dazai to get angry? Angry enough that Akutagawa of all people felt compelled to check on him? That felt wildly uncharacteristic. The only time that Dazai had been even a little angry at him was at the train station, but even that was fleeting, and it was nothing compared to other people’s anger. Dazai’s simple, quick slap paled in comparison to other things that Atsushi had seen.

He didn’t want to go get lunch, although that was where he said he was going, so Atsushi went back to his apartment. As he approached it, though, he caught a flash of raven-black hair with hints of white. What?

“Akutagawa,” Atsushi called, but that only made him run faster down the street. “What are you doing here? Stop! Akutagawa!”

He half-transformed to run faster and finally caught up to Akutagawa when there was virtually nothing for Rashoumon to wrap around and use as leverage. They were in the middle of the street. Atsushi grabbed Akutagawa by the arm and dragged him to the pavement in a vicelike grip. 

“Let me go,” Akutagawa grunted. 

“Why were you outside my apartment again?”

“Nothing! It wasn’t anything,” he was red in the face but his breathing was steady, so it wasn’t from the exhaustion of running. 

“You look nervous. It wasn’t nothing. Did you need me for something?” Akutagawa shook his head vigorously and, again, tried to free himself from Atsushi’s grasp. It didn’t work. 

“I just…” He took a breath. “You didn’t respond to my message.”

“It had been, like, two minutes. You came all the way from the port in two minutes because I didn’t answer your text?” Atsushi began to laugh, but he caught the look of worry on Akutagawa’s face and stopped.

“Are you sure that Dazai wasn’t angry?” Atsushi nodded. He didn’t know where all of this was coming from. “Okay. Sorry for the commotion, then. I felt like I had to check up on you because, well, it was my fault that you messed up in the first place. I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I thought that I had somehow subjected you to Dazai’s anger, but…”

There was something else on his face. Something colder but white-hot at the same time, and looking at him felt like being burned by ice. It seemed a little bit like contempt, but not quite. It was something sicker, greener—something that spread through Akutagawa’s very blood and had stakes in every part of his livelihood. Akutagawa was envious. Atsushi didn’t understand.

“He’s not an angry person,” he explained. “So, no worries!”

Akutagawa glared at him, looking a little bit like he wanted to cry.

“He’s… not? He’s not an angry person?” He laughed incredulously. “That’s a sick joke, surely. The Dazai I know would’ve shot me for making a mistake like that. I’m lucky that I only had Chuuya to answer to.” 

That had to have been an exaggeration. Dazai would never shoot someone over a mission as trivial as this. Even the one time that he’d slapped Atsushi had been over something far more serious. Akutagawa was hardly making any sense. 

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m not,” Akutagawa spat. “How dare you? How—how do you do it? How do you make such stupid mistakes over and over? How are you not dead?”

A chill went through Atsushi’s body because he got the feeling that Akutagawa did not mean dead at the hands of an enemy. No, from the way he was trembling slightly, Akutagawa meant dead at the hands of Dazai.

“Akutagawa,” Atsushi started.

“You have no idea, do you?” He scoffed. “No, of course not! You’ve gotten the changed Dazai. Your Dazai would never shoot at you over a failed mission, would he?”

“He…” He shot at you? He messed you up that badly? He was such an angry person that the prospect of me dealing with that made you scale the city in less than two minutes? 

“My mistake, then.” He didn’t look apologetic at all. He looked furious. “I didn’t know.”

With that, he tore his arm from Atsushi’s grasp and walked away, and Atsushi didn’t stop him. 

Atsushi walked back to the Agency slowly and with a lot on his mind.

…

Since their argument, Atsushi had thought about nothing but Akutagawa. His thoughts were a constant stream of maddening uncertainty where he just didn’t know what to think or who to trust. 

Before, he’d been complaining about knowing too much about Akutagawa to really call him an enemy, but now…

Well, the two of them couldn’t be further from enemies, because Atsushi didn’t want to hurt Akutagawa at all. In fact, he now understood why he had been so intent on the two of them being nemeses. It was because of Dazai. Somehow, Dazai had weaseled his way into being the villain looming over the two of them, taunting Akutagawa with Atsushi, and it made sense. Atsushi knew that Akutagawa had been mentored by Dazai, and he knew that Dazai had essentially abandoned him, but he had no idea that it still clung so closely to Akutagawa’s soul.

He’d always considered Akutagawa’s obsession with gaining Dazai’s approval to be a little pathetic, but not now. He couldn’t honestly say that he’d ever felt anything close to Akutagawa’s hatred and simultaneous yearning for Dazai, but he could sympathize.

(Remembering his snarky little comment from when they were fighting in the mines, Atsushi cringed. How could he have been so insensitive as to say it was no wonder that Dazai had up and left Akutagawa?)

The crushing regret was why Atsushi was currently making his way over to Yokohama’s port to try and find Akutagawa and make amends. Or, to pull out of their little deal. He wouldn’t fight Akutagawa in six months or ever, because he didn’t see any point in kicking someone while they were down. 

“Nakajima?” Atsushi whirled around, readying his claws, and saw Chuuya standing just behind him. He didn’t look at all put off by Atsushi’s presence, just mildly amused. “What do you want?”

“I— uh, I need to talk to Akutagawa,” he said hurriedly. Chuuya cocked his head to the side.

“What do you need with him? You’re not going on another mission, are you?” Atsushi was trying to think of something not-weird to say to explain his business at the Port Mafia headquarters but was coming up short. “Oh, I’ll kill Dazai—I told him that you two aren’t allowed on missions together anymore.”

“No,” Atsushi assured. “I just… I said something to him the other day. It was rude.”

Chuuya looked incredibly suspicious. 

“You hurt your sworn enemy’s feelings and want to apologize to him?” Atsushi shrugged, a wordless ‘more or less.’ Chuuya chuckled. “Whatever. He’s out right now. Should be back in a few.”

He gestured to a rickety chair a few meters away, and Atsushi nodded his thanks, sitting down and bouncing his leg as he waited for Akutagawa. He didn’t have to wait long, but it was going to be a bit of a chase to get him to listen because when the man rounded the corner and saw Atsushi he turned right back around and all but sprinted in the opposite direction. 

Atsushi rolled his eyes and began to follow him. 

Akutagawa had clearly just gotten back from some other fight because he had a nasty gash on the side of his face and was running far slower than usual. Rashoumon also glitched weakly every time he tried to use it to make himself go faster. In no time at all, Atsushi had Akutagawa pinned to the floor with his foot, making sure to not put too much pressure on his chest for fear of his rasping breath becoming even shorter.

He coughed a few times before fishing around in his pocket for something and bringing a small inhaler to his lips a second later. Atsushi raised his eyebrows and took his foot off of Akutagawa, instead offering a hand to help him get up. Akutagawa swatted his hand away and, in the same instant, shoved the inhaler back into his pocket like nothing had ever happened. 

“What the hell, Weretiger? Are you going to hunt me down every time you see me?” Atsushi blushed. He didn’t know why (well, he did—it was this nagging thing that had been hanging over him for a bit, now, and it was so not important at the moment), and he tried to hide his face while he answered.

“I’m not hunting you down,” he refuted. “I need to talk to you.” 

“Okay, then. Talk.” 

“Okay,” Atsushi agreed and took a breath. Akutagawa was off of the floor now, looking at Atsushi from where he stood only an inch taller. “I want to… call off our agreement.”

“What?” Akutagawa reeled. He looked desperate, furious like he’d just been punched, and he took a step back. “No! You—what?”

“Akutagawa, I’m not going to hurt you,” he confessed. “Not now, not tomorrow, not in six months, I… I can’t.”

“Yes, you can!” It sounded a little bit like Akutagawa was pleading with Atsushi. “What the hell do you mean, you can’t? You can! You’ve hurt me before!”

“I have, and that’s exactly it. I don’t… it doesn’t make me feel anything but shame,” Atsushi wrung his hands as if he were admitting to an elementary school crush and not the deepest aversion that he had ever felt. It had never mattered so much, but at that moment Atsushi felt completely perpendicular to harming Akutagawa in any way. 

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Akutagawa warned. “We’re enemies.”

“I don’t feel that way.”

Akutagawa had never looked so scared. He recoiled as if Atsushi had slapped him. 

“I can be your enemy,” he continued, “but you will never be mine. I will not fight you.”

“Why? What did I do? Am I not worth fighting—not worth hating?” He demanded an answer. Atsushi didn’t have one that he could say out loud. “You were the only person who cared enough to be someone to me, so what now? You just leave?”

Atsushi was absolutely speechless. Was that what their rivalry had been to Akutagawa? The only solid relationship in his life?

He wanted to say so much. He wanted to tell Akutagawa that he was worth hating, but even more worth loving, and Atsushi had turned that page like someone reading the most captivating book of their life. The more he went, the more he learned, the harder it was to go back. 

“I don’t have to leave,” Atsushi promised, but that wasn’t good enough. Akutagawa shook his head over and over.

“But you are,” Akutagawa accused. “You’re leaving because you don’t want to fight me. Because I’m not enough. You don’t hate me, do you?”

Atsushi stayed silent and still. 

I love you, he screamed to himself. It didn’t leave his mouth. 

I love you, I love you, I love you. 

“I hate you,” Akutagawa faltered through the words like they hurt him to say. Atsushi stepped away and put his arms out, leaving his entire torso exposed and vulnerable. 

“I can still be your enemy, Akutagawa—you just can’t be mine. Let’s cut our deal short. Kill me now, if you’re going to kill me at all.” He said it because he knew that Akutagawa wouldn’t. Or, he hoped, because love and hate were two sides of the same coin, so if it wasn’t hate…

Akutagawa didn’t move a muscle.

You love me, too, Atsushi wanted to say. The words clawed at his throat, but he kept them down.

Instead of saying anything, he moved a little closer, still keeping himself entirely open to any attacks. 

“Hit me,” he demanded. “Do it now, or admit that we aren’t enemies.”

“I will,” Rashoumon’s tendrils shot from his back like a spider’s legs but never surged to attack Atsushi. He looked defeated despite being the one with all of the power. “If—if we’re not enemies, then what are we? I hate you. We couldn’t be anything else.”

Maybe it was both. Maybe Akutagawa’s feelings were less like heads and tails on a coin and more like day and night. They might seem like opposites, but from space you see one bleeding into the other as they follow each other everywhere. You can’t tell where day stops and night starts. 

Boldly, leaving behind all of his rationality, Atsushi took one more step forward. He and Akutagawa were no more than a foot apart, and Akutagawa still didn’t strike.

“What do you want?” Atsushi asked.

“To fight! I want us to hate each other, I—I don’t know why you won’t just fight me like we promised.” Closer. Atsushi moved closer, looked closer, and he saw every speck of fear in those pitch-black eyes. “Stop doing that—this isn’t how it’s meant to go. You’re supposed to want me dead, and I’m supposed to want you dead, and— God— Atsushi, will you get away from me?”

Atsushi did the exact opposite and pulled him into a crushing hug. Akutagawa yelped but made absolutely no moves to get away. He didn’t hug back, but he did let his head drop against Atsushi’s shoulder. It was only after a minute or so that Atsushi realized Akutagawa was shaking with some soundless emotion that he recognized as crying when a tear soaked through his shirt. 

“I don’t hate you,” Atsushi vowed. Somehow, he’d managed to convey it in a way that didn’t confirm all of Akutagawa’s worries. Somehow, everything his mind had been screaming at him for the past few minutes was channeled into those four words, and Akutagawa cried harder. 

I love you, he didn’t say. Akutagawa didn’t say it either.

“I do,” he sobbed. “I—I hate you, but it’s not you that I hate. I hate…”

He cut himself off, face still buried in the crook of Atsushi’s neck but arms still rigid at his sides. 

“Why are you worth Dazai’s time and not me?”

“Whether or not Dazai thinks you’re worth his time means nothing,” Atsushi insisted. “You’re worth more than what he thinks.”

If only you knew what I thought you were worth. 

Finally, Akutagawa’s arms moved, and he hugged Atsushi back, holding him tightly around his waist. At some point, he stopped crying, but they stood like that long after the fact. 

“I don’t know what we are if not enemies,” Akutagawa mumbled against Atsushi’s skin. “Friends, right?”

And Atsushi, however happy that their pathetic fighting had come to an end, felt the sting of rejection lingering where his body met Akutagawa’s. He nodded without another word and held him tightly until he let go. 

They walked aimlessly in silence until Akutagawa’s phone rang—Chuuya calling—and he picked it up in a rush. 

“Sorry,” he winced. “I ran into the Weretiger.”

Back to Weretiger, then. Okay. He’d used Atsushi’s name once—was that it?

“No, I did not take him down,” Akutagawa groaned. “I’m coming back, now. Relax.”

“See you later,” Atsushi smiled before Akutagawa had the chance to awkwardly end the encounter.

…

“Where did you go?” Kyouka was waiting in Atsushi’s apartment when he came back, sitting cross-legged on the futon like it was hers. She frowned at him. 

“I was out,” he replied shortly, unable to hide his downbeat tone. She tilted her head in curiosity, and God, it was always something about Kyouka that made Atsushi want to spill his guts. “I talked with Akutagawa.”

“You talked with him? What for?” Atsushi shrugged. There was nothing that he was thinking that deserved to be said out loud. Clearly, it hadn’t mattered that much for Akutagawa. If ‘I don’t hate you’ and ‘you’re worth more than what he thinks’ were just vacuous declarations of friendship, then was there a point in repeating them? “You seem sad.”

“I’m not,” Atsushi sighed.

“Does Akutagawa not like you back?” He sat up like he’d been electrocuted, gaping at Kyouka as she stared at him earnestly. Was she being serious? “Oh, man. He doesn’t, does he? Rough.”

“I— what? How could you possibly have gotten that? I didn’t tell anyone!” He watched as Kyouka shrugged. She acted like what she just did was nothing at all and not a deciphering of the feelings that Atsushi had been harboring for months without knowing it. “Kyouka, I don’t know what to do.” 

Atsushi flopped onto his back and covered his face with his hands.

“Is it so bad to just be his friend?” How the hell did she do that? Kyouka was so purposefully obtuse with everything that she did—pretending not to hear orders, ignoring social cues, acting like she didn’t understand a task so that she could get out of it—and Atsushi always forgot that she could be damn smart when she wanted to be. When it came to nosing around in Atsushi’s business (especially his love life), Kyouka’s intellect rivaled Ranpo’s.

“It is,” he wailed. “The thing with being his enemy was that I didn’t have to think about how bad I was in love with him. I could mask it as hate.”

“And you can’t do that now that you’re friends because now it’s just love.” Atsushi nodded helplessly. “Well, are you sure that he doesn’t feel the same way?” Another nod.

“I told him that I love him.”

“You did?”

“I—” No, he didn’t. He said that he didn’t hate him. Not the same. 

“That’s what I thought,” Kyouka smirked self-assuredly. “So, you aren’t so sure that he doesn’t feel the same way.”

“I guess not. Ugh.” Atsushi groaned loudly and buried himself under his blankets. “Whatever. I don’t care. How was your day?”

…

Atsushi slept fitfully. Well, calling it sleep was generous. After Kyouka (reluctantly) went back to her apartment for the night, Atsushi shut his lights off and stared at his ceiling for hours on end, waiting for his mind to be quiet. It didn’t. It was a maelstrom of worry about what the hell he was going to do when he saw Akutagawa again. He was going to have to figure out some way to act normal knowing that he was soul-crushingly in love with the man.

At around one in the morning, Atsushi was so tired that he thought he must be hallucinating the knock at his door. Then again, maybe not—it sounded exactly like it did the first time, right down to the cadence, and Atsushi’s heart leaped out of his chest as he stood up and rushed to the door before his visitor could knock again. 

This time, he didn’t ready himself in a fighting stance; he didn’t need to. He just stared at Akutagawa and took in every part of him. The way his hair softly reflected the moonlight; the way his eyes swam like the midnight sky; the way he didn’t dare move until Atsushi invited him in. 

“It’s cold out,” Atsushi whispered. He could’ve laughed at the irony—the stark contrast between this time and the last time that Akutagawa had been to his apartment. 

This time, instead of collapsing, Akutagawa swiftly stepped forward and captured Atsushi’s lips in a kiss. 

It was everything that their argument earlier had been—honest, desperate, and absolutely maddening. Atsushi was nearly too stunned to kiss back (nearly), but he came to his senses when he felt Akutagawa draw back, and then kissed him with twice the fervor. 

Akutagawa stumbled forward, pushing Atsushi and himself further into the apartment so that they could escape the cold, never once pulling away from the kiss. His hands made their way to Akutagawa’s hair. He sighed against Akutagawa’s lips over how soft it was, and Akutagawa held his face with both hands. 

“I’m an idiot,” he muttered when they parted, and Atsushi nodded absently. “I didn’t—” Atsushi shut him up with another kiss, and one after that, and another every single time Akutagawa tried to open his mouth. It had only been a few days since Atsushi realized that he wanted this, but he had wanted it for far too long. They could talk later.

At some point, Atsushi felt the backs of his knees hit the edge of the couch, and he fell back onto it, taking Akutagawa with him. 

The two of them kissed for what felt like just a few seconds, but it was nearly one-thirty by the time Atsushi pulled away and decided that he was fine with talking. 

“I didn’t get it, earlier,” Akutagawa admitted. “When you told me that you didn’t hate me, I—”

Atsushi bit his lip. Admittedly, his wording was not the strongest, and they could’ve been doing this hours ago if he had just cut out the middleman and said that he loved Akutagawa.

“I was confused.” Akutagawa sighed and shuffled over on the couch, leaving some room for him to sit cross-legged. “But I get it, and I love you, too.”

Atsushi knew that Akutagawa was the only person who would’ve possibly made that connection that fast. He knew that he was being cryptic and unclear at the time, but he also had full faith in Akutagawa’s ability to read him like a book.

“I loved you long before I stopped hating you,” he sighed. Atsushi stared at his face—stared at the way the silver moonlight spilled in through the windows and cast an angelic glow on his pale skin. “It’s not perfect, but I do… yeah. I mean it.”

It kind of was perfect, in Atsushi’s humble opinion. It was messy, convoluted, senseless, and it was so undeniably Akutagawa that Atsushi couldn’t help but love it. He didn’t mind that there was still the issue of Dazai, who hung between them like a wicked puppet master, because Dazai had nothing on what had just happened. 

“I was so scared of you not wanting me as your enemy,” Akutagawa continued, and it was probably the most that Atsushi had ever heard him say, “because I knew that if I was forced to stop hating you, then I’d just be left with the fact that I was really, really in love with you.”

“You knew?”

“Yeah? I’ve known since… well, probably since just before that night when you saved my life.” Akutagawa rubbed the back of his neck. “I came to your apartment because I wanted an excuse to stop hating you, and I just ended up hating you more. And loving you more.”

“I didn’t know,” Atsushi laughed breathily. “Until, like, three days ago. When you texted me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Akutagawa decided. 

No, it didn’t. Nothing mattered except for the fact that Atsushi was now totally allowed to cup Akutagawa’s jaw and softly kiss his lips. That wasn’t nearly enough, though. He kissed Akutagawa’s cheek, his jaw, his forehead, the corner of his mouth, and every other part of his face that he could reach until Akutagawa’s crimson flush was obvious even with only the moon to illuminate the room. He had never wanted to handle someone with such care before.

“To—stop—to clarify, this does not mean we’re just friends, right?” It was a stupid question, so Atsushi didn’t honor it with a response. Instead, he pressed their lips together once more and hoped that it was answer enough. 

I’m gonna have to talk to Kunikida about this, aren’t I? Atsushi’s mind wandered while they kissed each other lazily, laying back on the couch. Nah, that’s bullshit—Chuuya and Dazai have been together for years without needing to tell Kunikida. To hell with his “inter-organizational paperwork.”

If he had been thinking about paperwork or the end of the world, it wouldn’t have made a difference, because nothing mattered outside of the small bubble of warmth that let the two of them in from the cold to find solace in each other’s arms.