Archive of Our Own ^beta

The treasures of life come in thousands of shapes and sizes. 

Riches, homes, land, all things that needed to be protected as if humanity were still slinking around in the dark ages. People killed for these things with the greed of their forefathers – always searching for another treasure worth fighting to keep aand regret wasn’t often something that followed. Instead it was victory burning like flames in their veins. Instead it was the gold that came with being the tallest upon the podium, instead it was the cheers of strangers when performances went above and beyond their finite expectations. It was the chill of pride as they looked down upon their broken competitor. Humans will always bite and claw at one another to succeed in life and that is why every man continues to use his brothers as stepping stones, that is why sports and games were founded when civilization rose from its sunken graves, and it is something Atsushi had realized far later than he should’ve. Perhaps if he realized this a bit earlier he would have fought harder to make it to the top. Perhaps he would have unsheathed his blade to cut down all of his enemies as a samurai but instead he is nothing but a kind hearted fool who must work for sloppily handed bowls of rice.
Still, despite the what ifs, there was something he’d forever value more than gold or silver or mere bronze thrown to those who stayed below the glass ceiling. 

Memories. Beautifully grand pieces of existence that will always remain with their bearer until their flames die out. They are special shards of time and space given by the gods to the mortals walking upon Earth’s surface, able to bring a kind of euphoria stronger than any sort of drug could ever hope to be. They may wield the power to push a man to the edge with his live teetering on a fine scale of anguish as well as the power to bring a man back from the pits of despair into the light of day once again. One dip into the horrors of someone’s past is equivalent to taking a dip into a raging sea after all. Memories themselves are something fragile– it is easier than breathing, shattering one’s ability to recall an event mere days prior. Age may do it, head injury may do it, anything may tear such a right away from someone. So for all of eternity humans bathed in blood, gore, and glory, have found themselves mourning what they have seen out of fear of losing sight of such pieces of their lives to the winds of life. 

Tomorrow will always come and the sun will always rise beautifully against the skyline, but what of yesterday? What of the people those poor souls have met, have changed?

What of the years prior? 

What of Atsushi’s childhood, laid to rest after some point in his teenage years?

The memories of such events are brief and blurry in his mind and yet they are worth more than any place he has moved in and out of, any money he may spend for brief moments of pleasure, any tragic story his ancestors may have told him if given the chance. His small vat of memories are beautiful and, god, they are his alone. Never would Atsushi have to share and even if he wanted to, never would he be able to give them away in full. No one would be able to take them from him, betrayals could not kill the past, and so they would become the most valuable thing in his mind; Fickle moments that continue to slip through his fingers the older he grows. It would be an eternity before those prior moments lost their shine to the young man because of their rarity in his mind. If they are so easy to forget, to lose sight of, surely they are worth their weight in gold. Perhaps they are worth more as the years creep up on him. For still, just as with every valuable, there’s something that wishes to take them from him. Every waking hour Atsushi fights a losing battle to keep his memories, forever grinding his teeth as the flow of life pushes him forward and away from how things used to be. There was no person he wanted to harm, no man he’d be elated to shove down, save for time itself that endlessly worked to eat away at his most prized possessions. Things that could once easily be recalled were reduced to moments of hesitance as Atsushi tries to find what detail had filled the empty space in his mind. Frustration would harden his features and desperation echoed through his head during the latest hours of the night when the moon sang her lullabies high above as the stars are humming the chorus.
His thoughts are question ridden. Every day is a quest to find what had been lost during his rest. 

What was that joke Kyouka had once said?
When had they done this, or that- where had they eaten dinner all those months ago?

What was it Mother said upon her deathbed?
Minor infractions in what should have been one long string of consciousness haunted him morning, day, and night. There was no way to tell what was gone until all that remained was one big gaping space, a black hole where they once were. Frantic attempts to bring back something too far in the past would one day turn into reluctant acceptance, Atsushi knows, but now he’s content to struggle against the currents of his ever flowing mind. Hope still kept his younger years close to him. Hope kept close the feeling of his knees hitting the mushy ground of a rice field after being fired; hope kept the annoyance that came with damp clothing brushing against his skin after days of long, terrible work beneath a typhoon of storm clouds well equated to a rageful god above.. Hope had frozen over his most beloved treasure like a frosted flower in a field, forever keeping every second at that one annual festival preserved; for in that memory was his first glimpse of another boy just like himself. Another boy who despite all of the years he has survived the trials of life, he has never managed to forget.
Time could twist whatever it wished– time is an unstoppable force after all. It is one of the only constants that may never be shaken, created to keep moving no matter the obstacles in the way of its never ending path of work in the form of the sun moving about and the seasons shifting throughout all of Japan every year– but this one thing, this single memory will forever be one that Atsushi will keep hidden underneath his ribcage and right beside his bloody, beating heart until the day that he dies. This single night, never repeated or replaced, will remain the ruler of his thoughts every night and day. No matter where he may be, no matter who he may be in attendance with, this fact remains the one true and unmoving thing in Atsushi’s life. A memory like this is one that he must hold onto; for when you are a poor teen struggling to live in the streets of yokohama you don't have anything else to grasp onto. 

The scene in question goes as follows: 

It was a night of excitement, the night of the winter festival, and Atsushi Nakajima most certainly had been the happiest boy in Japan as a whole. Everything had been just perfect in comparison to the torturous days prior and he couldn’t find a single thing to sulk over. The little boy’s poor lifestyle had no effect, nor did his rosy nose or his hovering mother. 

It had been a snowy night, one in which the roofs in the city were painted in white and the wheels of carts were dangerously icy. And yet despite the freezing temperatures the courtesans visiting from the red light district were dressed as usual, their breasts perked up beneath their layered kimonos that hardly did anything to shield them from such a terrible chill, and the wealthy patrons of the festival strolled about free in their best festival wear. They dressed in vibrant colors–none in white for they did not wish to be drowned out by the snow–with beautiful pieces hung in their hair and around their arms. It was a dashing array of class and expression all throughout the streets and the gardens of frosted lanterns and frozen plants. 

In contrast to all of these unforgettable outfits, Atsushi had been bundled up tight by the demand of his mother. Although he would have really been fine in absolutely nothing, she decided that she would rather him complain than fall ill when they could not afford medicine. Even then, it was hard for him to get a cold at all. 

His rounded cheeks only made his point stand out even more.

They walk with the current of the crowd and not once does he complain about being too hot. It would be terribly mean seeing as his mom was also trying to enjoy the festival, who is he to take that away? Instead, he asks something else entirely.

“Mom, can we see the skaters?” Atsushi smiles up at the young woman gripping his hand tight as can be. It hurts how hard she squeezes but alas, he would have been swept away by the crowd if she didn’t hold him as such. There is a brief period of silence in which he is left feeling embarrassed about asking at all. Should he have stayed quiet? 

He struggles to see her face as she looks all around at the market stalls set up mere feet apart from the next. She seems to be searching for a place that they may eat for free that is not packed with a line so long it would take hours to get through and he’s happy for the effort. His stomach rumbles with painful hunger and he, if only for a moment, worries that she will be angry with him for asking too many questions if he were to complain about his stomach. But instead of this terrible result, when she does look at him there is nothing but absolute warmth upon her face. If Atsushi were to reach up and press one of his chubby little hands to her cheek he would be met with the kind of comforting lull of heat that could soothe a child to bed with ease. It is that heat that will without a doubt remain with him throughout his entire life, a constant buzz of comfort and love that forms in his chest before blossoming into a pretty bush of budding flowers. 

Atsushi’s mother wears a kimono of blue and gray that hangs ever so slightly from her shoulders due to her dwindling frame. The outfit itself is familiar and yet he cannot place why that is. Perhaps he could have asked. He could have begged her to speak with him a bit more before they lost the opportunity forever but alas, that is not what happened. Instead she smiled at him with a small crack of her lips filling with a line of blood from how terribly cold and dry they must have been. “Are you sure? If we see the skaters it will be hard to make it to the kintsugi displays–don’t you want to see the tiger selection?” Her voice is nothing but love and care deeper than the grave that she will soon be confined to. Neither her nor her little boy know of her fate right now, hand in hand as the world all around them fades into nothing but an unimportant jumble of messy conversations and excited squealing while they gossip and talk about what they want to see most. 

Atsushi must be his mother’s absolute carbon copy for they have the same round face, the same full cheeks and the same exact pale hair. He sees a few darker grays poking through very now and then and he may only equate it to be something adherently stress related. She is a rather thin woman– distantly, Atsushi can recall his father once voicing his wishes to see her plump like a rich wife– with wrinkled eyes and sweaty hands at nearly every moment of the day. Atsushi loves her more than life itself standing in the center of that festival like the star of a story told in a teahouse of two souls destined to be torn apart.
“I’m sure! We can see the tigers when I make them on the pots from Daddy’s work!”

In the face of her son’s joy spreading across his rosy cheeks, his mother laughs and lifts him up into her arms. It is rare– her having enough energy to lift him off his feet– but it seems her determination to give him what he wants outweighs her lack of strength. And so they are off like adventurers fighting through the waves of this grand crowd. On and on they push past the fire breathers and singers belonging to the higher noble families in Yokohama. Of course they fail to amount anywhere close to the fame of the Mori dynasty but they have enough sway to be notable. Not notable enough for Atsushi’s mother to pause and glance. 

She walks with a smile on her face, humming every now and again when her white haired child squeals and points at an ice sculpture of great magnitude or a collection of amazing swords hung above an armory stand where a rather odd owl-like man stands with a lovely yellow outfit hanging from his body. The stalls beside him also draw the boy’s gaze– one is occupied by a man sitting on a cushion as incense burns at his side, before him sitting a young woman with a painted face. Her eyes are shut as he reads a set of cards to her with oddly painted characters upon them. Atsushi squints to see that the back of the cards matches his red and black robes. The other stall is occupied by a third owl-like being. She is a woman similar to the first two with heavy chain linked bracelets hanging from her arms and blue robes falling along her plump body. She shouts– squawks really– at her customers as she waves her hands about and tries to sell a powder box with odd dust covering it. They all have similar feathers dusting the sleeves in the colors of their respective robes. Atsushi would have to go there if they got back in time. 

His attention is drawn away from them once more as he and his mother continue on. Her breath hitches every now and again when she huffs at someone shoving past them for their rude behavior. They must move faster than before to try and get past the ever thickening crowd. It seems that the closer they get to the ice arena the more people have gathered into pods of at least a thousand simply to see the show. Atsushi has always heard of Yokohama’s love for the ice dancers but he himself has never attended one of the shows. Will it really be that interesting? He has no idea! But oh how excited he is! Atsushi’s heart pounded in his little chest as they grew closer and closer to their destination. Closer to the source of cold in this area. Closer to where the chatter grew to an all time high, rumbling the entire arena structure. By the time they make it to the entrance they are met with seats packed everywhere. Women dressed in beautiful kimonos gossip and wave their hands to express excitement for the show, men laugh and speak amongst one another while discussing the cold air all around them. Atsushi has never seen so many people gathered in one great big space. The lights come from chemically altered flames held before magnified screens of glass to create spotlights so bright he’s sure he would be blinded by if he had to skate on the ice, the seats are made into rows stacked on top of one another. It’s one of the greatest things he’s ever seen.
He does not know that it will soon be topped by the essence of beauty.
Atsushi stares in awe and only pauses when his mother hunches a bit to whisper in his ear.
“I cannot sit down by the ice.” She sounds sad, disappointed that she must break this to him.

“Why? Is there no room?”
“It’s because I am poor, Atsushi. I will sit up here, I want you to go watch the show. Walk down to the edge of the rails and do not bother any of the wealthy, okay? They won’t mind you if you don’t bother them.” Her voice is something dripping with sweetness as she nuzzles his hair and sets him down on the ground where he wobbles on his feet for just a moment. The request seems insane to her child. Leaving his mother up here to go watch the show? But how will she see? How will he find her afterward?
She seems to read his mind, ruffling his hair.
“If you get lost, find a kind man or woman to bring you home. Do not accept help if offered, only if you ask. Do you understand?”
Atsushi nods, smiling once more. “Alright! I’ll see you afterward and I’ll tell you all about it!”
“I’m sure you will. Go now, little tiger.” The moment her hand lifts from his hair she expects him to run off but he doesn’t. He instead charges forward and wraps his arms around her waist in a hug so tight it makes her laugh quiet as can be. 

“I love you mama!”
“I love you even more. Really now, go! The show will begin soon!”
This time he really does run off. 

Atsushi watches in awe as he descends the stairs past hundreds of thousands of people all around. His shoes tap, tap ,tap against the ground as he continues onto the lowest levels of the arena. He wonders if all the people he passes feel just as excited as he does. 

So many people with so many lives! What do they all think? Have they all been here with their mothers as well? His thoughts run wild like a swarm of beasts in a jungle and only do they stop when he has reached the bamboo fence painted black with charcoal. It is here that Atsushi stands closer to the ice than anyone else around. As the crowd all around continues to chatter and converse his face is assaulted by the cold air wafting from it, making him just a bit more glad he was dressed so warm. There have yet to be any skaters on the ice it seems for they are likely waiting on full nightfall to take place which gives him at least a few minutes to occupy himself. He first decides to just watch the ice but after about thirty seconds he grows tired of trying to find any scratches along its oddly perfect surface. Left with nothing else the little boy decides to eavesdrop on the rich people around him instead.

 (His mother would frown at such a rude action but he’s only a boy! And a boy like him gets bored so very easily!)

The first distinct conversation he hears comes from behind him to the right. Two voices belonging to women fill his ears-one is much higher than the other and yet they both sound happy as can be to be. Atsushi turns around for a moment, looking at them and tilting his head at what he sees. The girl on the left has an odd head of pink hair tied up by red silk ribbons to match her beautiful kimono. It is a pink so light and dusty that it almost seems white in comparison to the more vibrant cherry blossoms that drift up from the base to her waist. The one on the right looks different–not quite opposites but different enough that it’s notable– because the hair falling from her head is black. Her kimono is black as well with purple designs on each part of her kimono in the shape of myrtle flowers. Atsushi is sure he has heard of what such flowers mean before but the memory escapes him like many others. These two women sit side by side with their hands folded together at their sides as they speak. The pink haired girl hums ever so slightly. “I’m excited to see who they have skate tonight! Are you?” She glances at her partner whose deep violet eyes shine bright as can be when addressed. It’s the shine of hope and relaxation after years of suffering. It looks as if she has won a war lasting thousands of years.

“Yes, I hear that Osamu has been replaced because they married him off.” Her voice is quiet, monotone but not dull. 

Her bright lady gasps. “Really? Oh what a shame, he was so beautiful!”

Atsushi knows he should look away but the boy can’t help but stare at them together. He notices they both wear similar necklaces with a massive pendant hanging down just beneath their collarbones. The one with black hair wears a pink gem while the pink headed one wears a purple one. Perhaps they gave them to one another? Did they switch? He has no idea! 

“You’re better than him, Madoka.” The dark haired one says quietly. The other– deemed Madoka– blushes. “Homura, you’re too sweet!” 

Atsushi can’t help the warmth in his chest. 

He has never seen such joy on someone’s face before. 

His mother has never giggled at his father that way, his father has never held his mother’s hand so gently it could be considered a butterfly kiss. Is this what love is? Is love meant to be gentle and resonating, found in the smile lines on their faces and the scars of battle in their eyes? Atsushi would like to believe that. And while now, standing here, he is nothing but an eight year old boy with no fortune to his name or dynasty from which he came, he is sure of one thing. He would like to be in love. If this is what love is, he would like to feel its lovely brush of cheer in his life. Would he be so lucky to fluster another the way these two ladies do? All he has ever seen– felt, even– is a fight to survive. His mother loves him with quiet far off stares as she cradles his head against her lap, loves him with glittering tears as she weeps and apologizes for the life he lives. And his father loves him with quiet grumbles of exhaustion, yellowed eyes nothing but dull amber gems worn away after every long day of working in the fields trying to keep a living. His father loves him with the scraps of food on the table and the fist fulls of rice he sneaks from the fields in which he slaves away. And Atsushi has never thought there could be more than that to something as unimportant as love. He never thought there could be something like this, gentle yet lively. They are youthful, wealthy, and they love one another. He would consider it to be money that changes their relationship status but something quiet and meek whispers to him that: No! They would be in love even if they were servants!

If one day this boy does not remember these two women, his foundation of love, he will still recall the everlasting pull they have on his actions. For if everyone loved the way they did, boundless and eternal, life would be a never ending gift.
He is torn from his thoughts by a loud shriek coming from up above. At the moment of this tone, the entire arena silences in one odd wave. The rich and the lesser all filter off into whispers and then into silence like they’ve been scolded by the gods themselves as all of the spotlights except for one are put out. 

One spotlight remains. 

One lone light shining down on that beautiful sheet of ice. 

Instead of shining directly at the center as Atsushi expected it to, it instead shines at a curtain of red and black silk hanging down over an entrance. On it is a family crest, or so he assumes, and behind it is a dull flickering light. He is level with this curtain for if he were to slip under this railing he would be on the ice without a single drop. Face to face with this flickering candlelight. Atsushi almost considers it to be an odd piece of decoration before the candlelight behind the curtain goes out and beneath the spotlight, before the audience of thousands, it is pulled up by someone who goes unnoticed as the sound of a blade cuts onto the ice. There is one beat of silence. One simple moment where the crowd tries to catch a look on who replaces their shining prodigy Osamu. What they are met with is not one of Osamu’s elder siblings or he himself, no.
Instead they are met with a child.

He is dressed in a kind of black attire that looks completely different than his predecessor’s. Osamu had always been known for his dashing brown curls and pretty face on the ice. He never acted nervous or anxious in any way because he practically owned what he skated upon. 

This boy has a different appearance. His hair is a shade of harsh onyx with the slightest hint of white at the tips that brush just against his cheeks, his skates are black, his outfit is fashioned with little tendrils of red and black silk along his arms and waist overtop of the fabric falling down and stopping at his knees. Everyone is silent as he swallows, takes a breath, and moves his hands up into the air. In the silence he flicks his wrists and shifts his feet into a v shape–a starting position that many have seen before. 

 It looks like a man raising hell from below. 

They all wait for him to begin his routine, to move, but instead of starting off with a normal crossover he moves forward and jumps into an immediate axel. As he does so the tassels on his outfit wave in a delayed motion almost giving the impression of a dragon moving with him. The boy’s face is a blur as he spins. The entire motion from start to finish is entirely effortless, smooth, and he lands it with the same ease that he had going into it. It’s the work of a professional coming from this child as if he were born on the ice, born to skate every moment of his life. He may not be as good as Osamu, may not be as famous, but he’s damn near more impressive. And the crowd seems to agree wholeheartedly as it erupts into cheers, the stands rumbling with the feverous roars of thousands as they watch this child skate around into several twirls and hops without breaking a sweat. Atsushi hears the crowd–by god they are loud enough to deafen the poor boy– but he only truly sees the skater. He sees that nervousness, the slight tremble in his wide dark eyes. 

This boy…

This boy is the most beautiful thing Atsushi has ever seen. 

This boy has paler skin than most– so much so that it would be a cause for concern if he wasn’t such a showstopper– and eyes that almost seem red as the light bounds off the ice and against his face like the moon reflecting the sun's light in a marvelous poem. This boy has the sort of grace that reminds Atsushi of an angel bathed in black. This boy is absolutely perfect.

 Atsushi feels his heart pounding in his chest like a drum being beaten endlessly. It slams against his ribs in a march formation, counted off by the throb of his body. Thump, for the small gasp that falls from his mouth, thump, for the squealing of the crowd as the skater cuts across the ice, violent as can be. Atsushi’s heart pounds with the strength of a marching band and it hurts like hell. His stomach feels light with butterflies, his eyes are wide as can be. How can a boy be so pretty? How can a boy hear the screams of thousands and stand there silent as if he doesn’t hear them at all? All of these questions are left without answers as Atsushi leans just a bit over the railing, jaw on the ground. Everything feels like insanity around him as he hears shrill cheers and rumbling roars. Is this what the festival is like when the skaters come out? It’s terrifying–where is his mother? Does she see him here or has she been hurt? And where are the girls from before? Do they see what he sees? Atsushi is terrified and yet it all fades away as he watches this show. He tries his best to memorize every bit of the boy from his spiky hair to his thin body. As he does so, a question comes to his mind like an explosion. 

Is love one sided devotion and admiration?

This is the question that has remained with him his entire life. 

That was ten years ago. 

Now, eighteen years old, Atsushi sits on his futon watching the sunrise like it has every day before now with the kind of contentment that only a man in need of rest could have. He has yet to find someone to love, yet to find someone to stroke his white hair as he rests, but he is alive and well. His heart still beats although it has never pounded so fiercely again, and although his memory is spotty, it works well enough for him to recall that his mother died two weeks after that night at the festival and his father followed not too long after. He never can recall what happened for them to leave their only living child to fend for himself in the bustling streets of Yokohama. The memory of the festival is the last he can recall of his mother and the only one that includes the only person he has ever loved in a romantic sense. That skater was in every dream of his, every fantasy of a better life. Of course Atsushi never heard his voice, never learned his name despite knowing he could learn the latter if he tried hard enough. It was simply too hard to be let into the conversations about noble families at work when you were busy trying to make as much money as possible to feed yourself and others–take for example the old woman down the road that cannot go to work. Or the older man that runs a shop a bit further into town who just lost his wife and his will to live along with her. Atsushi has far too much to lose to waste time on conversing and learning about who that boy might have been. So in his head the boy will remain in the quiet mornings, sitting and sifting through that memory just to recall every bit of him. His dark hair, his sharp eyes still glossy with fear of such a large crowd. Atsushi has learned to be content with loving and longing for someone he will never know like a needy animal. Similarly, Atsushi has learned to be content with spending every single morning like this in his chilly home watching the sunrise just outside of his open sliding door. He only decides to leave this post when the door behind him slides open into the only other room of his– their– home.
“Atsushi? I have to go to Lady Sasaki’s teahouse now, will you be alright to get to work?”

A quiet voice comes from the doorway. It is smooth like rainfall, meek like a rabbit’s would be if he could personify one. Atsushi turns to look at the girl whom it belongs to and is immediately met with a sight he has seen so many times before even if he can’t quite recall every single one. Maybe he’d like to remember more, but the present is as beautiful as the past. The girl addressing him has a sharp face and long black hair that holds the texture of silk– the shine of it as well– falling down her kimono. Atsushi smiles widely as he sees her, the snow outside falling into the back of his mind. He needn’t worry about the horrors of life when he has this. He has a sister, someone to care for, and that should be enough. It is enough. Them two living in their little home, poor as can be but happy because he gets to come home from work to be greeted by her at the door showing him the bit of leftover food she was given by the teahouse workers.

He nods slightly. 

“Yeah I’ll be fine. It hasn’t snowed too much.” It’s a bold faced lie in actuality and one look outside could tell her that much because absolutely everything is covered in snow. The roofs of houses, the roads, the frozen ponds and bamboo fountains. It’s mostly powder on top of the compacted layers from yesterday’s snowfall but it’s enough to keep most people inside today so that they may eat and prepare themselves for tomorrow’s events. Kyouka rightfully tilts her head to the side just enough to let some of her black hair fall off her shoulder as if waiting for him to say he’s kidding with her. At this, Atsushi goes a bit red. Must she call him out without speaking at all? It’s not that big of a surprise to either of them, Atsushi has never been good about staying home when ill even if he must be helped out of bed. A fever is not worth a missed day of work, a deadly infection is nothing but a little itch that he can put off long enough to work. There’s no good reason for it as he has been told hundreds of times he can stay home whenever he wishes but alas a hard worker is going to do just that: work hard. As his eyes are casted down, he glances at what Kyouka plans on wearing to work today. The red kimono she wears is ripped along one of the bottom seams and one of the sleeves, sloppily sewn like a patchwork art piece, and Atsushi would simply love to buy her a new one one of these days. Maybe that can be his reason for going to work today despite the terrible leftovers of the storm from the night prior that left his room cold enough to extinguish his lamp.
Kyouka frowns at him as if she can hear his thoughts. For such a petite girl, he sure feels scrutinized beneath her chilled glares of judgment. She’s more strong willed than he is despite their difference in age and Atsushi believes with his entire heart that if she spoke harsh enough to him, he would shatter into a million little pieces. His relationship with conflict has never been a good one per say but Kyouka could absolutely tear him apart if she had any reason to do so. If he didn’t love her so dearly, he would fear for his life. 

“I see.” Kyouka’s dim voice floats through the air with the chilled breeze from outside carrying it about. For a moment Atsushi thinks that is all she has to say but he realizes he’s wrong when she continues speaking even as he opens his mouth. “Come home earlier tonight, I want to see you before the festival tomorrow.” Out follows a short request that doubles as an order, for Atsushi would never deny his sister. For Kyouka, the world. For Kyouka, his life and anything he had seen. She’s never asked for anything more than his time and his safety and he finds it truly honorable because he doesn’t understand how she’s so okay with it all. He feels sorrow for her because she must live in a place like this instead of a noble family’s home where she really would have the ability to boss others around. Kyouka deserves to be in a place of wealth where she may attend a party with her friends and drink tea instead of being forced to serve it to the giggling girls at Lady Sasaki’s establishment. Oh how he wishes she could be one of them happily lounging knowing that they will go home only to feast upon whatever they could dream of. In another life he would make that happen for her, but for now he nods once more and rises to his feet with a short grunt at the sound of his weaker knee popping. He’ll worry about that once it actually begins hurting later tonight.

“I will, I promise. Tell Lucy I said hi!”
“She won’t be glad to hear it.”
With a short smile Kyouka waves and slides Atsushi’s door shut once more as she exits on her way to work. Nothing but a sighing boy remains in her absence. Atsushi is left to get ready for the upcoming work and stress, left to suffer at the hands of poverty another day. All of this remains heavy on his shoulders as he slides his outside door shut–struggling against the snow as he does so– and begins to change into other clothes. His night garment hits the floor and is soon replaced by a well washed Yukata that he would have to be sure to thank Fukuzawa for. His boss is a stone-faced man with lean muscle and silver hair that reminds Atsushi of a katana’s blade. Really he owes his life to the man as he found Atsushi literally sitting on his ass after being thrown out of his last job with no money or place to go and still decided to give the scrappy boy a chance. Among his other coworkers, Yukichi Fukuzawa’s son is the most notable to him. Ranpo is chubby, green eyed, and loud, twenty six year old who has a full head of well combed hair that has yet to thin and that sticks up at the ends no matter what they all have tried to do to fix it. The two of them don’t seem to be related by blood but Fukuzawa treats the round-faced boy as such even when he complains about being put on field duty so Atsushi never questions it. That would mean his bond with Kyouka would be challenged and he would hate to be a hypocrite for his own sake. Something so unkind would make him sick. 

But despite how thankful he is to have been brought off his ass, Atsushi really really does not want to go to work today. Maybe if he had nothing to do he would be happy to show up and chat but he knows just as well as anyone else there that the upcoming festival will require more food be made. This means hundreds of families will be asking for everything they have in the fields– that has yet to freeze– without any sort of etiquette in such dire times, and they’ll probably hurl fish at them all like they did last year when they ran out of rice! He and his coworkers will be worked to death, Atsushi thinks with a saddened sigh as he slips on his sandals that he then wraps with a layer of bandages to keep in at least some warmth when soaked by the snow.

As Atsushi continues to get dressed, getting himself ready for the coming day ahead, a boy mere months older than him stirs in his luxurious bed as the door to his room is slid open by an older woman. It is still mostly dark outside, the room covered in shadows of coolness that only disperse in the face of the lantern that the woman strikes a match to light in silence. She doesn’t move to shake the teen awake nor does she begin to tidy up with him still in bed, all she does is stand by his bedside with folded clothes balanced in her arms and a blank look on her aged face. It is a quiet morning. The boy sits up in this prolonged silence only after a few minutes have passed as it seems her time means nothing to him because he doesn’t rush to get her work out of the way. He takes his time as he slowly rises and stretches his arms up into the air with a short yawn. Upon him opening his eyes their gazes meet in a clash of equally darkened looks. Her features hold the wilting shadows of age found in the wrinkles and blemishes along her face while he has a glare of ichor. He doesn’t jump when he sees her standing over his bed, watching him sleep. Instead the raven haired boy pushes the blankets off of his thin body to stand up and face the cold in his thin night garments like a king would. His pace is leisurely and graceful but not quite tired, his eyes are dark and dreary but they do not flutter with exhaustion. Perhaps they would be, but sharing such a shameful weakness is forbidden. At least to him it is. So they do not speak out of the possibility of him being too tired to do so. She does not smile at him and he does not smile at her as he looks at the garments she holds. They don’t share any sort of pleasantries, no short motions of any kind.

The woman–who carefully steps back to give him room to stand on her bandage bound foot–looks to be about fifty years of age at least with round sunken eyes and pursed lips painted with powder like the rest of her face. (It normally would be a waste of expensive makeup powder if used on a servant but this house has always held important values of beauty inside the confines of their decorated walls and outside the grounds of the manor. Having enough makeup for your daughters and your servants was a sure sign of wealth for a noble family, the kind of wealth not many can say they have experienced.) Her kimono is another sign of wealth from the family she works for as well, for it is not made of cotton but instead a beautiful red silk that would make most women fawn with jealousy. She doesn’t seem to care at all that he neglects thanking her for bringing him his things this early and that in itself is due to years of silent encounters just like this one. From him being bathed when ill as a child to him being clothed in the morning like this, the list goes on and on but he doesn’t know her name. He has no reason to ask, after all. This woman is old and unimportant compared to him, yes? He is the star of a dynasty, the bearer of his family crest now that he is the only son of age that has yet to be married. And what is she but a useless servant? She must clean up after him, she must tend to his bruised ribs after a terrible spell of illness. All he needs to do is have enough mercy to tolerate her in his space long enough to keep from bringing shame to his family, for what would his father think if one of his sons laid hands on a worker? The same that would be casted upon him brings nothing but bitter, bitter annoyance. He wouldn’t strike this woman anyway, he has no reason to, but the mere fact that she could ruin him so easily brings a disgusting taste to his mouth. It lingers there like a poison or a vat of stomach acid after coughing up bile. 

The fact that this manor is rich is no surprise when you look at her as a servant compared to the boy she stands before. He is taller than her by a foot or so but thinner by a landslide, ribs pushing against his skin just enough to be seen when he drops his robe. His waist is thin and curved like a flattering painting, his thighs and core have just enough meat on them to be considered lean with muscle from his lifetime spent skating day in and day out. 

The woman–without missing a beat that would cost her her head–looks away with an expression as blank as it was when she entered. The only difference now is the shadows that dance behind her in the flickering lantern light. 

How she does it is a question in itself. Looking away from him is like avoiding a fallen angel standing before you, the last bit of grace on a God forsaken Earth. His eyes are nothing but ice, his lips do not curl or pull into a snarl yet he looks mean enough without them doing that much. Just the slight furrow of his brows is enough to make someone beneath him feel small and if not that then his lanky form will do the trick. It’s clearly natural for him, that kind of cruelness that can be masked to the point of hardly lingering around him like some terrifying shadow. An aura of pride and distaste for being bothered with having to wake up so very early. 

Rising before the sun gets a chance? Terrible. If he were any more frail, he would be weeping. His hair is black like the essence of night itself save for the ends of the tails that frame the front of his face which are snow colored white. His skin is pale like moonlight, eyes dark like coal. The only way to describe him is ethereal. It is not the kind of ethereal that a pretty woman would have with fair skin and gentle eyes, no, his is so sharp that it is breathtaking. How he has not been wed yet is a question that is nearly impossible to answer because it makes no sense.

Sadly, he covers up his body after a brief moment spent unfolding the robe she brought for him. One arm after the other is slipped into the clothing still warm from being held in a heated room, one side is folded overtop of the other as the woman swallows and hands him the belt to tie around his little waist. Oh how beautiful he is.
They are back to silence that is only disrupted by the woman opening her mouth. It’s so sudden that he must do his best to not scold her. His annoyance is reflected in the daggers he glares at her. “Ryuunosuke-san.” She stands firm before him, not yet backing away despite the clear distaste on Ryuunosuke’s face. It is from years of work here since before he was born without a doubt. She has nothing to fear at all and it makes his frown soften just a bit in the face of someone not entirely helpless. It’s a small sign of respect as he looks away from her and walks over to his table of cosmetics. First, Ryuunosuke grabs a brush that he dips in black before bringing it up to his eyes to paint a harsh line of eyeliner along his waterline and lower lashes. Second, he grabs a comb and brings it up to run it through the black locks of hair atop his head. Not once does he respond verbally to the woman, not until he combs through the final piece falling just against his ear. It is then that he looks in the mirror, catches sight of the woman standing there, and clears his throat. “What is it?” The teen’s voice is raspy as it falls from his throat due to lack of use. A short cough follows and she steps forward to help but stops when he holds a hand up to stop her. She sighs. “Your father wishes to know if you will be having tea with him today. If you are feeling ill, I will tell him you cannot come.” Her brows have furrowed ever so slightly watching him dab the spit from his lips with a folded square of cloth after his small fit of coughs. Ryuunosuke shakes his head. “No, I will be fine. It’s the cold air.” He turns around to face her. “Is that all?”
She shakes her head, bowing deeply. “Your brother wishes to see you now instead of after you meet your father. I don’t know the reason why, forgive me child.” The sincerity in her voice is enough to make him sigh. “Very well then, you may go.”

She does as she is told, walking away from his bed and towards the door once more. As she slides it open she pauses, shifting his night robe in her arms that will soon be washed when she takes it to the other servants. “Ah, Ryuunosuke-San? We all look forward to seeing you on the ice tomorrow. You will do spectacularly.” Before he may respond–good or bad– she bows deeper than before and slips into the hall to run off. Ryuunosuke is left alone to look at himself in the mirror.
It’s a terrible sight.
He is beautiful, he has been told so his entire life, but there is nothing to be proud of when his lungs burn with each and every breath. How he skates tomorrow will mean everything to the coming year yet he can't help but dread how torturous those burning breaths will be. Thousands may watch him faint if he fails to control himself. Thousands will watch his father run out on the ice to cradle him and run off with him like they did all those years ago if he fails to keep himself in order. So he practices now with a short breath in through his nose– holding his cough– and a slow breath  out of his folded lips. It whistles for just a moment and it irks him. It irks him because why must the festival be tomorrow? Why must his insolent brother call for him this early in the morning when he had plans to go out? Ryuunosuke has no idea so he decides to go find the answer himself. He walks to his door and slips out into the hall with the lantern in hand that the servant woman lit for him, stalking to the left as he squints and looks around. This hall is familiar, of course it is, it’s the sight he's seen his entire life when he was well enough to walk about as a child. The floor is without a single creaking floorboard, the decor is as polished and pretty as usual. Ryuunosuke catches sight of a vase of spider lilies that should not be alive in these conditions but they prevail nonetheless. The same flower is found on the black outfit he wears, red lilies rising up from the base of the body and the base of his long sleeves. Akutagawa has always found the flower intriguing. It glows upon graves and places ridded with death. Having it grow upon him has always been a design choice that his father found silly. 

There . At the end of the hall Ryuunosuke sees a flash of light coming from behind a sliding door. In the quiet he can hear the sound of a giggle as well that floats out from beneath the door as if they are the only two people in existence. He would smile if it didn’t seem so pointless to him. So he frowns as he continues on, sliding the door open without caring for knocking. 

The sight he is met with is more of a relief than he lets on. 

His brother’s room is larger than his but it is separated by a pair of sliding doors, behind them his bed and other personal areas. The space he enters into now is a sort of lounging space with lanterns hung from all four corners and gold pottery set in a few spaces alongside trophies and sculptures of all kinds. The hanging curtains and the rug are red with gold embellishments, the same holding true for the two cushions on the floor where he sees two very familiar men sitting side by side instead of across from one another as you normally would be when drinking wine over top of a tray. 

On the left sits his brother’s husband: Chuuya Nakahara. 

Ten years ago, a family arrived with a collection of riches and interesting things in an attempt to win the favor needed to wed their youngest son to Ryuunosuke’s eldest brother. Both boys were twelve, he can remember it clearly. He was eight when he met Chuuya for the first time, a proud boy with flaming red hair and freckled cheeks that made him look like a summer born child. It was odd because none of his other siblings married so young but he didn’t mind the redhead, in fact he quite liked the boy. He was kind and gentle with his fiance's younger siblings, he was nice even when he decided to live there away from his family. Not once did Chuuya shout at Ryuunosuke or his twin, not once did he shout at any of the younger kids or the older ones. He was everything Ryuunosuke wasn’t. Kind, passionate, healthy. But never did he feel envy, instead it was admiration. When Ryuunosuke, a little boy, asked his brother why he didn’t put up a fight against their father marrying him off, all he got was a small hum as his brother painted his cheeks with blush and a few words that he always remembered. 

“Oh Ryuu, Chuuya had to fight father to let him marry me!” 

Ryuunosuke never commented on the smiles the two boys wore or the relaxation he saw on his brother’s face when he was told that he would be replaced at the festival by Ryuunosuke.

Now, Chuuya sits there twenty two years of age with the same fiery red hair pinned back by a ribbon holding the top layers and a pin right above his ear. His robe is a crimson red that clashes with the blue robe hanging off of his husband’s body, a color that Ryuunosuke only sees his brother wearing in the privacy of his own bedroom. Chuuya’s face is flushed red thanks to the glass of wine in his hand as the rather sober man beside him turns to look at Ryuunosuke at the door. Ryuu takes a breath, bowing his head and slipping the door shut with his bare foot to avoid dropping his lantern and cloth for covering his mouth. “Osamu, you wished to see me?” The raven haired male swallows deeply as he waits for a response to come to him. Osamu has always been a difficult person to speak with because he speaks in concealed plans and double edged metaphors if he doesn’t believe you deserve the answer handed to you. His curled brown hair is a sight that isn’t repeated in their family as are his round russet eyes and sly smile. No matter the context, It’s always a gamble whether or not he will be smiling or glaring at you and neither are necessarily good. But one thing that does remain true is that Ryuunosuke doesn’t have to worry about a harsh argument right now because of Chuuya’s presence. Not only does he smooth out Osamu’s edges naturally, he also scolds the younger for being cruel to his siblings. Ryuunosuke knows that Chuuya realizes this himself for he is aware albeit unreasonably drunk for the sun to still be rising. It must be a celebration of the festival or simply them enjoying being married. Ten years since they married, ten years of a marriage so strong Ryuunosuke wouldn't believe it if he weren't there to see Chuuya practically worship Osamu. He does it now, a hand splayed across the taller’s waist and a content smile on his face as he sits with the man he loves more than anything. Chuuya looks more lovesick than drunk as he presses a kiss to Osamu’s cheek before he smiles at Ryuunosuke.
Ryuunosuke frowns deeper. These two are hardly the definition of love, instead they are a singularity. The way Chuuya adores Osamu isn’t normal or to be expected, no, love is never able to be that beautiful. Love is something else entirely. Love is-

“Ryuu, come sit. Have a drink if you’d like, I have no reason to tell Father.” He looks up from his bow only to realize that Osamu’s eyes are on him and him alone. Russet meets black, brother meets brother. They stand in a staring contest for a few breaths but it is cut short as Ryuunosuke moves to sit across from the two connected lovers. He wouldn’t ever dream of being defiant enough to ignore an order disguised as an offer. Only a fool would do such, and Ryuunosuke thinks himself to be more than a simple buffoon. He has worked far too hard to overcome the troubles of life to be reduced to such. So to that he carefully lifts a small glass of wine still sitting on the table that glistens in the light and tips it back. It tastes bitter yet rich as it spills down his throat. Osamu hums as if it is tea his younger brother drinks before him instead of alcohol. “How did you sleep?”
“Well enough to wake early. And you two?” Ryuu glances up with a bitter look due to the wine.

“I haven’t slept a wink. Chuuya, however, slept soundly.” Osamu hums and glances to the redhead whose smile grows just a bit fonder as he dips his head in agreeance at Ryuu. Ryuunosuke’s bitter glare softens at the edges. “I did, and he’s a liar. I made him sleep.”
“Chuuya means that I offered to go to bed with him.”
“I had to roll you up in a rug.”
Osamu rolls his eyes and flicks his hand. “Chuuya is far too dramatic.”
Chuuya huffs and looks at Ryuunosuke once more, smile growing caring like an older brother’s should. It leaves a hole in Ryuunosuke’s chest. “Are you feeling well? You look a bit paler than yesterday at dinner.” Chuuya’s brows furrow ever so slightly as the teen clears his throat and nods just a bit. “It’s the cold weather, I’m sure. I never fare well in the winter. On the other hand, may I ask why you asked for me?”
It’s Osamu’s turn to smile as he sips from his little glass of wine, making a nasty face and sitting it right back down like it was straight poison in his mouth. Wine has never been something he enjoyed and if it weren’t for their fathers caring ways Ryuu is sure the brunette would have an entire stash of sake hidden in their room. The possibility of him having it anyway is high, for Osamu is stubborn as can be no matter the circumstances.

 “Well that’s easy, I wanted to know how you were doing for the festival tomorrow.” Osamu has this look, the kind that screams I have more to say to you but I can’t with my husband at my side without being scolded. Osamu continues after a brief pause to let his words sink in. “It is your tenth anniversary, Ryuu. I never reached mine because Chuuya swept me away from the ice so I can’t imagine what’s going through your head.” The brunette’s gaze softens. “ Are you alright?”

Ryuunosuke is silent for a few moments but when he speaks it is a grumbling tone that he has used countless times before. It is the stubbornness that comes in the face of the fake gentleness on his brother’s face. What reason does Osamu have to be kind to him other than wanting to punish him for not training enough? It’s infuriating. “Why wouldn’t I be? Skating is easy to endure no matter how many years I’ve been doing it.” The teen pauses. “The ice is nothing but another job for me.” He speaks with the kind of nonchalance that a child may have when believing he is the king of the world facing a puny beast.

Osamu tilts his head. “Really? You skate with no passion, no love for the ice?

The teen huffs. “Skating is nothing but work. I have worked hard to get where I am because that’s what I was told to do, not because I had some dream to skate before a crowd.”

The way he speaks…it is plain arrogance. It is the reason that Osamu’s gaze turns dark once more– the look Ryuunosuke is used to– and it is the reason that his brother shakes his head in disappointment that is only quelled to a simmering annoyance by Chuuya’s grounding squeeze against his waist against the blue robe. “Osamu…” The redhead murmurs a warning.
“Ryuunosuke, what is love to you?” 

It seems that both Chuuya and Ryuu had been expecting the brunette to explode into a fit of angry yelling and insults because the looks on their faces are priceless. Chuuya’s jaw is left dropped, Ryuu’s eyes widen for just a moment before he forces them to narrow once more. It’s such an odd question, such an unanswerable question. What is love to him? He knows his family loves him in some way–his father watches him with pity when he is feeling ill, his second born son. Ryuunosuke knows his twin sister wishes the best for him, and wishes for him to be happy wherever he is. He knows that his younger siblings know him as more of a busy ghost filtering about the house with doctors in his room often when they were younger, he knows his eldest sister wants to shield him from the dangers of the world best she can despite being busy with her own husband. And that is it, right? Osamu loves him by blood, loves the success he breathes onto Ryuunosuke. Is that it? So what is love? Is it pity? Is it good wishes, admiration, or protection? Is it pride? Ryuunosuke frowns as he broods. No, that’s not it. What is love? What do all of these relationships tie to?
The answer is born as a shiver finds its way crawling down his spine.
“Love is pain. It is…brutality.” He looks up from the wine to see Osamu’s dark expression. He must be looking at him in disgust for such an answer.
“Pain?” Chuuya questions.
Ryuunosuke nods slowly. “All of it, the love others have for me, is painful. The ice has bruised my skin and broken my bones, my own lungs have tried to strangle me to death. I am loved the way I am because of my illness and the beatings life has given me. That is what love is; painful and brutal.”
Silence.
Pure and utter silence. Chuuya’s grip on Osamu’s waist lessens as Osamu stares at his kin with that same dark, disgusted look on his face. His eyebrows are furrowed, his eyes squinted and his lips pursed in thought. Terrible. This is simply terrible. Ryuunosuke wishes to leave now, to leave this thought here. But Osamu refuses to let him go so easily.
“I see. Ryuunosuke, why do you think I married Chuuya?”
Ryuunosuke pauses. “To escape having to skate for the crowds. You never wanted to stay.”

Osamu shakes his head. “No. I married Chuuya because when I first saw Chuuya I believed I was seeing the most beautiful thing in the world.”
The raven haired boy goes to say something but the redhead cuts him off.
“I married Osamu because he made me feel passion in a way that only he could silence the buzzing of discomfort that corrupted my senses.” 

And they sound sincere as can be as Ryuu watches them, two souls tied together, with a dark frown on his face. Nonsense. That isn’t love. It can’t be, not for him at least. There is a deeper meaning here, something that he must find to skate better. Is that it? Is this a punishment for not skating last night after dinner to train? What a pitiful excuse to torture him this early in the morning. Osamu must despise him for no one full of love would force a tired man to sit through this terribly disguised lecture. His expression darkens and his fists clench at his sides. 

“Is there a point to all of this? I came here to be taught, not to have a senseless conversation with two drunks.”

The same annoyance remains in his expression as Ryuunosuke rises to his feet, bowing sharper than before when he turns and walks to the door. This time he does not bother taking his lantern with him. The spouses watch him go, Osamu raising a hand to stop Chuuya from calling after Ryuunosuke who merely growls and slides open the door. 

“I have somewhere I must be. I will see you two at dinner tonight.” 

Out he goes, leaving behind the roundabout conversation that lacked any bit of reason or sense.

Ryuunosuke finds his way downstairs in the blink of an eye, palms burning from how tight he clenches his fist. To call him angry is an understatement, no, he is irate. The sun is just now over the horizon now and yet he is awake. Ryuunosuke is dressed, awake, ready, and all he has gotten out of it is a poor excuse at philosophy from the two fools upstairs. He feels poked at in a way that he cannot explain as he quickly passes by the grand altar at the center of the upstairs foyer. Several candles are lit upon the table, flickering about like little spirits being captivated by the presence of the boy before them. They move about in a little show of life, of passion, and they nearly go out as he storms away from them with a low hiss of disinterest. Ryuunosuke prays silently for no one to wake as he passes by their rooms; first is his eldest sister's room with the sound of a gentle shuffling coming from inside as he passes which is no surprise considering that Koyo is soon to be up; next is his youngest sister’s room where the sound of snoring can be heard from behind the door, something he could have predicted for little Elise; then there is his little brother’s room with nothing but dead silence being heard as it seems Yumeno is still dead asleep. He never does go by his twin’s room for Gin’s door is back by his own. He should feel relieved that no one else is awake to speak to him but his annoyance blinds him, makes him glare at the shadow filled hall ahead of him as he reaches the stairs. He descends them as quickly as can as he considers the time he has to himself.

The way he chooses to spend it is not taking himself outside to grab his skates and train nor is it to lay back down and rest. Instead Ryuu finds his way to a small cupboard that he has hidden behind a pot before he reaches into it and slips out an over layer for his outfit. It is black from the hood to the base which causes it to blend beautifully with his robe hanging off his body.

 The hood pulls up over his hair as easy as can be to keep himself concealed enough to go to the poorer side of the city. Now it would be a mistake to consider him intrigued by the lesser people of Yokohama; he considers them a waste of time just like the rich. What Ryuunosuke desires is the quiet walk through the city side of people too busy to enjoy fun and games. So out he walks in his warm pair of boots that he slips on quick as can be by the door, out he walks sighing ever so slightly. His heart pounds in his chest in his fit of anger. Why would Osamu be so cruel? He would rather be struck than to be teased like that, and Chuuya as well? Horrible. It’s all so horrible that it lingers in his mind all the way up to the moment he is halfway through the poor district of Yokohama that is flooded with people living far worse than him.

It’s always a cultural shock seeing the difference between the district in which he lives and this slump, but it gets a bit easier over time. He begins to expect the things he sees when his boots sink into the snow and his hood is pummeled by snowflakes falling from up above. All around him are snow covered buildings and children walking about, bundled up with charcoal in baskets on their backs—they pay him no mind as they work and try to make their way home— and a collection of frowning men who make their ways to seamstress houses and any food houses that may be open this early in the morning. They are all working class citizens, a few lower than that as well, the ones who have no doubt ran from the families in which they were meant to serve by the system of casting. It’s like an entirely different city around here compared to home; the architecture is old and slightly worn out on every building, the faces of those all around are worn and bland. He almost feels glad that he wore this hood not just for identity’s sake but for the simple fact that he wouldn’t put it beneath these people to attack someone with a trace of life in their features. (The fact that he bears resemblance to a ghost need not be mentioned.)
So with a cough Ryuunosuke tugs his cloak just a bit tighter around his shoulders and shudders at the biting cold all around. Snow is different on the ice because of how much he moves. Whereas he hardly gets cold at all thanks to the adrenaline in his veins, but now as he walks slow as can be in an attempt at tranquility, all Ryuu can think about is how bone chatteringly freezing it is. His teeth chatter against one another like trembling pearls with every step he stomps into the snow; his face burns with the chill of the blowing wind coming his way, not as much as his lungs though. The boy’s lungs are practically on fire in the face of this terrible cold biting at him endlessly. He wishes to be back in bed for a split second as the snowflakes thicken, wishes to be before a warm fire as he draws his eyes shut and begins to walk even faster than before. He can’t stand to be out here in these conditions so he decides to instead try and find a teahouse. Down the road– if his sharp memory serves him right once more– there is a place always more empty than others. The tea tastes fine compared to other places he's been in around here, so he assumes town drama is the reason behind many’s refusal to go there. He sets off for the place with the kind of pep in his step that a determined dragon would carry and nobody manages to stop him on his way. They look at him for brief moments, this figure shrouded by the darkness of the fabric on his body that has begun to carry snow, and continue walking after taking in the sight. Ryuunosuke pays them absolutely no mind, nor does he open his eyes. If he did he would be blinded by snow and short gusts of wind, making the former idea his pick out of the bunch. 

Everything will be fine when he arrives at that teahouse.

At least that is what he thinks. 

The fact of the matter is, however, that Ryuunosuke’s path is soon blocked by a wall only an inch shy of his height. The wall in question stands tall turned away from Ryuunosuke but at the final moment before they collide it turns and yelps in the face of the cloaked being running towards it. Ryuu himself has no clue that it is there until his slightly hunched over form is slamming into the shoulder of this wall face first with enough force to draw out a gasp from its mouth. Yes, the wall has a mouth to his annoyance. It seems that Ryuunosuke’s morning has just gotten far worse because the ‘wall’ he just slammed into is actually a boy. A boy who has only a moment to meet Ryuunosuke’s widened eyes in a short glance of confusion at what he sees before they are skidding back on the ice of the boards they stand on. 

If Ryuu was a genius, he would have shoved the boy away in time to land face first on the snow as he would have been more comfortable dealing with the pain of a frostbitten nose than having to deal with what he actually faces. Instead of this perfect result, however, he is tortured by the reality of the panicked boy’s hands reaching down to his center to wrap around his waist so that he may be pulled close in an embrace to brace for impact. 

Ryuunosuke nearly screams. 

They meet their fate in the snow in a tangled mess of limbs and silence that has caught the attention of practically everyone close enough to make out the situation and the boy beneath him is so unmoving that he considers the possibility of having killed the poor man. No one dares to approach them or to question if they are both fine, nor does Ryuunosuke as he leaves his state of confusion to realize where he is. Right now, in the middle of a public space, he is practically being cradled in the arms of another boy. His own hands have come to be splayed out against the other’s chest, fingertips digging into the smooth surface covered by a working man’s yukata as he swallows the lump of terror in his throat. The boy’s hands have come to rest on his lower back as if he would have been in unbearable pain if he were to be touched by any of the snow that the male beneath him took the brunt of, and yet all of this is not the worst part of it all. Ryuunosuke realizes it a moment too late as he takes a breath of surprise only to be given a small gasp in response. It is then that he notices his nose is jammed into the curve of the other’s neck and his lips have brushed against that skin with every breath of shock falling from his own lips. 

It’s horrific, being touched. It is horrific being treated so gently by a stranger, being held as the other gently moves his arms away from Ryuunosuke’s waist after a short moment of silence. Ryuunosuke takes the opportunity to prop himself up on his arms so that he is over top of the boy without sitting down. It’s a painful position to hold for too long but it’s better than the contact that would come otherwise for he doesn’t think he’s able to stand up right now with his boots soaked trying their best to grip the sheet of ice. It’s almost ironic, a skater’s worst enemy becoming the very element their talent is used for. 

On the other hand, it’s hard to think about their positions as he finally gets a view of just who lay beneath him. To say that his breath hitches is an understatement. Ryuunosuke expects a man with bleak features and thinned out hair but instead he is met with the epitome of youth. The boy has a mole just beneath his eye that marks a spot of beauty–a little black dot that holds the same intense color of void that the streak running down the side of his choppy bangs does. Black, like Ryuunosuke’s hair. Black, like the hood still covering all of his face in shadows. The boy has uneven bangs and dashing white hair that he has never seen before– usually, in the stories he has heard, hair only turns such a color with age or with stress–falling in a splayed mess upon the snow. His skin is less pale than others Ryuu has seen, cheeks just a bit smudged with soot from likely helping someone handle a fireplace. He is a worker and yet he lacks the dullness of all these other streetwalkers, a worker and yet he doesn’t try to shove the taller one off to get back to his duty.

Ryuu is glad for his hood because if it were not there he is sure the entire street would notice his obvious staring. And truly, he must be gawking at this point because really , who is this boy? Who has he trampled?
The boy, instead of reading Ryuunosuke’s mind and offering an answer, turns his expression of shock to one of panic in the blink of an eye. It doesn’t take much to see his pale cheeks redden.
“Are you alright!? I’m sorry, I should have been watching where I was going!”
“I ran into you if I remember correctly?”
“Well yes-no-I was standing in your way. Are you hurt? That was a rough fall.”
“I fell on you so I figure the only one hurt would be you.” 

The boy goes to speak but cuts himself off with a sheepish smile that resembles an embarrassed fool. It is warm and friendly as if they are simply childhood friends instead of strangers who have found one another by chance. He smiles at Ryuunosuke as if he isn’t hidden by shadows, as if the other isn’t hovering over him like a demon wishing to steal his soul away. And it is so very odd, so different. Akutagawa has never seen such genuine kindness on anyone before. Chuuya has always been kind but it is different because they share a home, they are connected to one another through Osamu, but this boy is a complete stranger. He isn’t related to any of the servants in their manor, he isn't a worker who ran off. He’s just a random boy who Ryuunosuke managed to trample and yet he smiles like none of that just happened. 

If Ryuu were one of the people watching he would assume they were enjoying time at a party with one another from how gentle the other’s full face looks. His eyes are gentle and they are captivating. Like a sunset torn straight from the sky, a gradient of colors upon a horizon. Ryuunosuke must force himself to shake his head so that he doesn’t linger on these foolish ideas. No stranger should be this nice, he must be bad news. 

“Well…I’m alright.” The boy laughs softly, quietly, like they are laying on a bed of feathers instead of the cold hard ground. Ryuunosuke almost chokes, nearly dies, as the pale headed male speaks once more with that same softness to his words.

 “Here, let me help you up.” The smiling fool offers and acts without getting an answer, slipping his hands down to his sides so that he may push himself up with his feet held firm against the ice on the textured bottoms of his bandage wrapped sandals. For a moment they are in an oddly tied up position—Ryuunosuke’s arms feel like jelly trying to stay over top of him, their stomachs are pressed close together—that is soon fixed by two hands slipping to grasp beneath Ryuu’s shoulders to then lift him onto his feet at the same time as the other. Not once during this entire event does the cloaked teen comment or thank the other for being forgiving, for being kind. . Instead they stand quiet until the boy clears his throat and bows as deep as an emperor's guard would at the stoop of a throne or a follower at a God’s altar. He bows with the kind of respect that one would have for life itself, the kind of respect they are expected to have for their elders no matter their age. It’s pure and unbridled, the kind of respect and kindness fueling his every move before the Son of a Yokohama dynasty.

The thought disperses after Ryuunosuke is reminded of the hood on his head by the look of interest he gets from the boy. 

Does he-

“I’m Atsushi Nakajima. May I ask your name, miss?” 

Ryuunosuke would like to die now. Right here, right now. Before the other can realize his mistake, before the people all around look at them again. He wills it to happen with his eyes furrowed in silence, the only thing visible beneath the cloak being his lips thinned into a frown and his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. It seems, thankfully, that the sight is enough to bring a gasp from Atsushi’s lips as his face flushes even more. Oh how foolish he looks. Ryuunosuke considers strangling him. The snow falls lighter than before, thinner than before when they fell. What a chance, right? The weather brings them together like this only to shy away right after. It’s unfathomable, the disrespect. 

Atsushi clearly thinks the same about what he just did.

“Oh…oh! I’m-oh I’m so sorry! I simply assumed without thinking because you’re very light! And your waist is easy to grasp. Your…well… not like that! I’m so sorry!” Atsushi’s face grows redder by the second as his hands wave senselessly in front of him, tinted in the same flush of color as his face from being chilled by the snow. He’s digging a bigger hole for himself, ruining any chance of sneaking away unbothered by the hooded stranger who stands silent as he pleads and begs for forgiveness. Ryuunosuke seemingly agrees as his visible frown dampens even more and his arms come to be crossed over his stomach. He says nothing. No angry Yelp, no hiss of annoyance. He’s simply silent and it makes poor Atsushi feel like he may faint right there. 

Can Atsushi truly be blamed for mistaking him for a woman? He does have the necessary figure! Honestly…If Atsushi ignores the other’s Adams apple and rough voice for just a moment he is met with a robe as beautiful as can be poking out from beneath the black cloak, lovely boots covered in snow, and shoulders so narrow that the other looks fragile as can be. Such delicacy is enough to draw his mind away from the other being a woman or man because wow. Atsushi can see nothing but his lips—smooth and pale with a smidgen of red as if whatever he had painted there before was rubbed off somewhere along the way—but even that feels like a gift. The two pieces of hair that brush against the boy’s chin are colored sharply, white at the ends and black from there on up beneath the shadows. Atsushi has seen that hair before. Once, years ago, he saw that hair on the ice. But it’s impossible, right? Why would one of Ougai Mori’s beautiful sons come to the slums in such horrible weather? Of course the stranger is dressed alarmingly nice compared to those around them but is it nice enough to make him that boy? Is he truly who Atsushi thinks he is, or is it the snow clouding his senses? Perhaps Atsushi is just tired, just hungry. But he has never been one to leave things unsaid out of fear of forgetting to return to the topic, so he clears his throat and folds his hands behind his back as he looks deep into the shadows concealing the other’s face. 

“If I may…what’s your name?” 

Ryuunosuke freezes. 

Does this boy recognize him? It’s impossible, really, because not once has he come to this part of the city wearing something that didn’t conceal his face at the very least. Ryuunosuke is careful– sneaky may be a better term– But perhaps it isn’t. Maybe his hood fell off when they fell and Atsushi caught sight of his face, maybe he recognized the other’s overly nice clothing that wasn’t made for a place like this. The thought makes Ryuunosuke feel light headed with embarrassment. He simply wanted to walk, to escape the persistent annoyances waiting for him at home, but instead he has been caught in the act of sneaking out. How idiotic. But Atsushi may not know. He may have no idea, no clue, so Ryuunosuke tries to think of a name to give that will not sell him out to the other boy. He searches his brain for an idea, for some sort of disguise or fake alias to give. He could say a servant’s name but that will simply leave him sounding like a liar–the fact that he is a liar is unimportant–and if he tries to make up a fake name on the spot that he has never heard he may just end up naming himself after the last teahouse he saw. Atsushi cannot be that idiotic, he may be a worker but he isn’t dumb enough to be walking around with a loud group of friends or calling at women walking. 

After a long silence filled with as much discomfort as possible, Ryuunosuke clears his throat.

“Akutagawa. My name is Akutagawa.” 

Ryuunosuke Mori goes unsaid as Atsushi squints and hums at him. Him, now dubbed Akutagawa. He couldn’t recall where the idea for this name came from at first but it comes to him only moments later– Ryuunosuke’s memory is simply impeccable–in the form of a detailed piece of art flashing along the forefront of his mind. 

What comes to mind is a short memory that is years old, one older than his years in the festival. Even then Ryuunosuke can recall it like it was yesterday. He was five laying in his father’s arms in the middle of the ice, body too weak to stand and head too fuzzy with pain to do anything but sniffle and stare at his father’s creased eyes. Ryuunosuke remembers how everything had been so numb at that moment . He hadn’t felt the chill of the air or the wetness on his body even when he had stopped, nor had he been able to feel anything but his own burning breaths and the sting of tears on his cheeks. His ankle had been fractured falling from an axel and his head had cracked against the ice hard enough to leave him completely delirious. It was supposed to be a simple attempt at practicing while his father sat and had tea with his elder sister as Osamu practiced on another part of the ice, and yet it didn’t end up that way. Ryuunosuke had tripped on the toe pick of his blade, had crumbled on the ice, and his father was the one to run to him. In a state of confusion and pain, only some of what his father said stuck. The gist of it was a man named Akutagawa had been caught in a terrible battle against a great tiger; forced to fight by his general’s order. In the end due to his bravery he managed to tear the being limb by limb to the point of being celebrated as a war hero by all in his home country. The story surely had to have been made up to keep him conscious, something other than the pain roaring in each joint as his siblings lifted him up, and yet he remembers it anyway.

 So he will be Akutagawa today for Atsushi. For this strange boy that carefully reaches a hand up towards his head, he will be Akutagawa.

The panic sets in a moment later.

Atsushi is reaching towards his head. Where his hood lies, where his real identity is concealed beneath shadows a plenty. Ryuunosuke wants to jump back, to dive away and throw the other boy to the ground before running away as fast as he can. He would go home and lay down and pretend that he simply went for a walk around their frozen garden so as to avoid any trouble; but he feels frozen in place by the look in Atsushi’s eyes. Those sunset paintings flash nothing but warmth at him in the most snowy weather of the year; those eyes burn into his face like sunbeams wishing to melt him into nothing but a foolish heap of boy on the ground. Ryuunosuke has never seen a look so intensely caring in his entire life. In all eighteen years in which he has roamed the earth, never has something so different come to face him. It’s so painfully different that it keeps him in place with his hands clutching at the side of his robe. It’s so full of power— of genuine emotion with no hidden edges or cruel tints—that Ryuunosuke does absolutely nothing as Atsushi’s thick fingers come to rest against his chin. Three of them reside there and they are hot. Hot like fire against his freezing skin as the other gently rubs something away just beneath Ryuunos-Akutagawa’s lips. The motions are small and meek but they leave the ravenette feeling dizzy, and weak, and confused.  

How could he be so bent out of shape over a stranger? And why is he not trying to snap the other’s wrist for touching his skin with dirty hands? So many questions with so little answers. 

But Atsushi hears them nonetheless. (Akutagawa is beginning to believe that the white haired boy is a psychic.) And the boy smiles as kindly as can be at the taller being before him. “You had a bit of dirt on you, from my neck.” 

Atsushi hums like he has done nothing insane, like he has not touched a sickly man, like he has not broken every rule Akutagawa set for himself in the face of others in public. Does Atsushi really see nothing odd about what he has done? Is it really just normal around here to touch people out of nowhere? At home he would have smacked someone stupid enough to do such a thing and they would have then been punished by his father, possibly thrown out as a whole. 

And yet he keeps his hands to himself, swallowing the lump in his throat that sits in the face of Atsushi’s hand still hovering just before his face. Sure enough there is the remainder of that soot rubbed onto the pads of those fingers; which at least means Atsushi isn’t a liar. 

“You didn’t think to tell me that before you touched me?” Ryuunosuke asks sharply—at least that’s what he would like to think. In reality it comes off as more of a weak question due to his voice wavering, lips parted into a surprised O shape—while his sweaty fists unclench at his sides. They feel like jelly, so much so that he cannot bear to keep them tight enough to bruise. When did he become such a fool? Perhaps it was this morning when he awoke earlier than normal, perhaps it was when he sat and spoke with Osamu and Chuuya, or perhaps it was something in the making. Did he truly fall from grace so fast that he could not catch it; or had he been slowly drifting down into the raging pits of fire beneath where the angels trot? Was Ryuunosuke so stupid as to not realize the tickle of his robes were instead the gusts of wind against his face as he fell? Now look at him. Silent, fallen, poisoned by the queerness of the being before him. 

It gets worse when Atsushi giggles and bows once more. “Sorry. I just figured you wouldn’t believe me. Are you sure you’re alright? Here, I could get you some tea at the house down there? My sister works there, you know, and it’s lovely inside.” Atsushi's voice comes clear as day, his request straightforward, and yet Ryuunosuke cannot get a single word out of his own mouth. He wishes to tell this fool off, to tell him that he would never stoop so low as dining with a poor boy covered in soot and melting snow. He can imagine the exact way to say it, how he will cross his arms and cock his head back in arrogance, and yet he can’t get it out. It remains tangled up on his tied tongue like a fish caught on a line. 

Atsushi stands there smiling as if he has won a war. Something so bubbly and happy should shrink away from someone like Ryuunosuke so why? Why does he stay? At this point he must be deaf or stupid or something! Him staying is nothing but trouble—and then it hits Ryuunosuke. Maybe this boy is simply a lunatic. Truly he must be, the way he acts is so overly loving that the fact it is towards a stranger raises a series of flags. 

Atsushi tilts his head. 

“No? It’s alright if not! I really don’t min-“

What happens next is nothing but a flash of movement and confusion. 

Atsushi reaches his hand into the air once more to run it through his white hair—the motion is swift and snappy—and Ryuunosuke bolts. The motion clearly came off as hostile or curious; but, to be fair, both of these options are enough to set Ryuunosuke off. Whichever one it was didn’t not matter because the outcome is the same in any case. He turns on his heel that scratches against the icy ground– digs it into the snow– and he runs. He runs like hell, like a thief. Atsushi calls after him with his eyes wide and his brows tilted in concern and it simply makes Ryuunosuke’s pounding heart beat harder. First this idiot is kind, then he is touchy, now he is worried!? Ryuu can hardly help the hiss of discontentment that rips from his throat. It’s so very sickening but that disgust fuels him. He runs like Hermes on his way to Olympus with a message for the Gods; swift on his feet and quick as can be to the point of nearly gliding over every patch of ice and slick on the ground. Ryuunosuke rides with the fervor of Sisyphus running from Thanatos upon his escape from death; terror and confusion in his bones and the shadows following close behind. It happens so fast that he never looks back to see Atsushi’s face or to reply to the calls of confusion and concern. All he feels is the pounding of his heart and the burning of his lungs as the air shortens in his throat, every breath a gasp. Ryuu doesn’t stop running once he is past the edge of the slums, his feet still pounding against the snow in a thudding symphony that has lost its conductor.

 He doesn’t have a reason to run now. 

While Atsushi was crazy and weird, he can’t hurt Ryuu this far away; he’s only human after all. So fear of danger of any kind can’t be the reason for him fleeing.  Perhaps it is the simple idea of someone like Atsushi existing in any world. Someone so effortlessly selfless and kind should not exist in a place where anything but genuineness is rewarded graciously. Someone like Atsushi, quick to care and easy to admire? He’s practically an oddity in all of Japan as a whole. This is why Ryuunosuke runs. 

He runs until the small sliver of warmth he'd brought is nothing but a memory for dear Atsushi, who runs it over in his mind like a precious jewel until he's sure that it had even happened in the first place.

-

Against all odds, they meet once more. 

It is the following night as the festival is in full bloom, snow pouring down on them all. The glittering flakes are big and fluffy, children giggling and trying to catch them on their tongues while their families settle among the thousands of other people in the stands for the show. At least 500 stalls have been set up in the streets filled with different arrays of decoration, masks, weapons, foods, art pieces, and just about anything you could think of. Kitsune pots specifically catered towards animals? Of course, the stall is run by a meek woman next to a stall selling chazuke and another that offers trivia games to those who are interested while waiting for the show to begin. 

 Tonight is more busy than usual for one special reason: this festival marks ten years since Ryuunosuke Mori replaced his older brother Osamu. 

The excitement is practically explosive. Not only are there far more guests than normal adding to the amount of pre Performance cheers, but there is also the collection of esteemed guests in the special collection of seats guarded by sword wielding men close as can be to the ice. In them resides Koyo Mori; the eldest of the Mori dynasty and the first to get married although her husband is not present due to being whisked away into a war. Her pink tinted red hair is held in a complete updo for the occasion unlike its normal half up half down ordeal, decorated nicely with gold hairpins to match her jewelry and her kimono. She wears one that is bright pink fading into a salmon hue with cherry blossoms along it. Beside her is Yumeno Mori; a small boy with split colored hair and oddly configured eyes. They resemble that of a myth of some kind with the kind of mischievous shine in them that a demon would have. He is dressed in a navy hued robe in which every accent is a slightly dull yellow. He is improper as can be compared to his sister for he holds a raggedy doll close to his side while yawning and trying to kick the girl beside him in a way that won’t be noticed by their company. Said girl—Elise Mori—is the youngest of the daughters. Her kimono is a dashing red with the faintest white accents along it and her hair is an eye-catching blonde that resembles white gold. Each curl in it is elehamtly wound, not a single stray flying about, and she seems proud of this as she sits up straight as a child can. Sitting to the left of Koyo is Osamu himself in a black kimono with his hands folded carefully in his lap as his husband. Holds an arm around his shoulders. Thousands scream at the sight, some weeping at such a child-like act of love between the two spouses as Chuuya hums and tilts his head to the side a bit. He is, of course, wearing a crimson robe darker than Elise’s. 

And at the end, most rare of all, is Ougai Mori himself.

To see him attending one of these shows is like seeing a God scrolling through the street in broad daylight. It is similar to seeing the emperor outside of his palace living life before the crowds. People murmur and snicker in excitement among other things and yet Atsushi may be the one person in this arena that feels excitement for a reason deeper than simply finding this skater pretty or admirable. (Save for the boy’s family.)

Atsushi was in love with him.

And of course it is not something he would ever admit out loud to anyone out of fear of sounding insane because he has never actually met the boy before. Many would argue that you may not feel love unless you know the person you love in every way—intimate and all— but Atsushi disagrees. Ten years marks the anniversary of the other’s career just as ten years marks the very first day Atsushi fell in love for the first and (as of now) last time. Tonight marks the night Atsushi’s life was forever changed by a man who hadn’t a clue he existed. At least that is true to him now; for you see, getting ready to skate onto the ice is none other than Ryuunosuke himself. Ryuunosuke who still bears the terrible memory of their puzzling encounter the night before. Of course Atsushi bears it as well but he remembers Akutagawa , not Ryuunosuke. The two are separate entities, one of which is currently wiping the remnants of powder from his hands onto a velvet cushion. 

Ryuu’s cheeks have been dusted with a rosey red and both of his eyes have been lined with a harsh black liquid liner to bring out his features. 

The entire dressing area is rumbling with the force of the crowd’s screams and he has not even stepped out onto the ice yet. Will this truly be the most grand performance of his career? It sure seems like it. Everything has been amped up in some way shape or form— the tails of hair framing his face have been curled with thicker heated rods, his skates have been blessed with incense, and that’s only the beginning of what has changed—and his own body feels more alert. More ready in the sense that there is nothing holding him back from skating. 

For one, Ryuu doesn’t think of Atsushi as he finishes the final lace on his left skate or as he pins the final pin against the waist of his outfit. This is a massive relief considering how much he suffered the night before dreaming of the fool. 

Two, he has practiced this specific show for the entire year. For hours on end he has slaved away on the ice as Osamu watched and critiqued him

And three, he has never failed before. So he readies himself with squared shoulders and a sharp breath in and out as he stands quietly before the curtain over the doorway leading onto the ice. There are several moments of silence in the room before a gong rings out loud and true loud enough to silence an entire city of people all at once. It is his cue to come out and so he does as he must in the same fluent way he has done it for years. Except this time he does not step out onto the ice to fix himself into a starting position in the middle of it all. 

Ryuunosuke instead takes a breath—one sharp, quiet breath— and turns around so that his back is facing the ice. Darkness comes a moment later, for his eyes slip shut to take in his final moment before the show, before the grand event. As planned for months now, before the silence stretches on a second too long Ryuu bends his knees, shifts his feet, and jumps. He jumps into the air, backwards, and enters the ice in a landing so that he zips out to the center facing backwards. It leaves the crowd in a state of shock— the speed in which he comes out is impressive as can be— before they are once more enveloping his body in the vibrations of their praise and astonishment. He wonders if this is what the king of the colosseum felt as he held up the bloody severed head of his slain enemy; this pounding pride that rumbles deep

The snow falls in thick waves like feathers making their way down from the heavens. It adorns Ryuunosuke with the look of an angel in black. He soars too fast to be covered by snowflakes, he soars too fast to be human. So he is an angel. Fallen, his feathers coming to join him on the ground after his descent. The bubbling fury of fame given to him by thousands rises through his veins as he cuts into a quick crossover followed by a spin that comes off so smooth it is enchanting. The crowd watches as he moves with more ferocity than ever before, more fervor than any skater has before him. Their eyes examine every finite detail from the twist of his skates to the bounce of his hair every time he enters a spin, picking him apart as critics should.  

They examine from their seats as Ryuunosuke moves about as if he is something greater than an angel–something like a demon or a reaper dressed in black on the ice. The ideas float about the crowd like they have simply latched onto snowflakes but the most righteous idea of all resides right in Atsushi’s mind. 

He watches Ryuunosuke skate with only one actual thought in his head.

What is on the ice is no angel or devil, not a human, instead it must be a dragon.  

Atsushi watches the ice be cut into shreds by Ryuu’s blades like he is a starving man encountering salvation for the first time. In the ten years that have passed since the night he first came here, this boy became everything Atsushi could ever dream of. His body is lanky and sleek as it flies past him standing as close to the rails as possible as he did when he was a child– no one has the time to scold him as it would entail taking their eyes away from the ice where Ryuu drags a hand over his stomach in a seductive manner that would get anyone less famous ostracized from the community– so that he may catch every little detail possible. Atsushi’s chest is warm with admiration, his face set ablaze with absolute longing. He has never been able to get past this feeling of devotion for someone he has never met before and if he were any smarter, he would be worried. 

Atsushi knows it must be rude to be so in love with someone without ever learning their name but what can be done? He’s already dug his own grave. 

Ryuunosuke is proud and aggressive like a dragon born beast ripping apart its enemies or an explosive cloud of malevolent shadows. Atsushi is obsessed with the passion that the other carries like a weight growing off of his back. He likes the rush of being close enough to hear the wind whistle against Ryuuosuke’s form as he flies by with his eyes focused and his body angled just right. Atsushi is so obsessed with it that he is late to realize the other is getting ready to move into a jump whilst making eye contact with him. 

Their eyes meet across the way, sunsets and black voids, like they were meant to see one another. For just that moment Atsushi is hit with the thought of Have I met you before? that comes with a feeling of confused buzzing in his limbs, but it is over almost as quick as it begins.

It is a different story for Ryuunosuke. 

The moment his eyes shift to glance at the crowd he expects to see his siblings and his father watching with varying looks of pride and critique on their faces. He is ready to huff in response to Osamu’s raised brows as the cold air beats against his bare legs and shoulder; but instead of this, Ryuu is tortured with the sight of that grinning fool Atsushi looking right at him. Their eyes meet as his foot is lifted for him to hug his arms close to his chest so that he may jump into an axel. The look is swift but it lingers and looms like a plague huffing lewdly against the back of his neck. It hisses at him, taunts him, and Ryuunosuke wonders if fainting on the ice will count as an exciting show to honor his tenth year. Atsushi has that same idiotic warmth on his face but there is something so much worse on his face now. It looks like he has just encountered the most wonderous mythical creature to ever exist, for his brows are raised and his mouth is ever so slightly agape. The second thing Ryuunosuke notices in this split second where time has slowed to a stop is that Atsushi is wearing a different robe tonight. It is far cleaner than the one he was wearing yesterday morning. Is it a gift from someone? 

Ryuunosuke cuts the thought short.
Why is this fool following him? Was being kind to a stranger not enough for Atsushi? It’s so horrifying, the idea of someone being loving enough to spread that love to everyone no matter what they give to him or take from him. So horrifying that Ryuunosuke is shocked as time speeds back up and his eyes break away when he is reminded of the fact that he has already committed to this axel. He cannot shy away from it into a waltz jump, not now, for he is rapidly ascending into the air by the time he gets the idea. So he goes through with it despite being unsteady. He goes through with it and he lands it only to bite back a yelp as his ankle bends a bit too far left. 

Osamu is the first to notice it. The curse that slips from his mouth is quick and loud–although it might as well have been a whisper as the crowd’s cheers were loud enough to topple an empire–and Chuuya must grab him by his arm to keep him from yelling at Ryuunosuke. Osamu does not know what his brother has been distracted by but that landing was bad. It was so bad that he notices his father’s violet eyes furrow and a frown of worry find its way onto his face. Recovering from that landing is damn near impossible because one, Ryuu would either have to have the ability to reverse time or two, be able to make crumbling to the floor look as if it was a part of the show. Of course he could do that but Ryuunosuke is frail, he always has been. The fact that his ankle didn’t break is a blessing from the Gods. Ougai’s expression makes it clear that he himself seems to be sharing the same thoughts as his eldest son. Neither of them can think of a plausible way for Ryuunosuke to fix this.
The moment a third idea comes to Osamu’s mind, Ryuunosuke has already begun to do what he was thinking. In one swift motion to keep his ankle from bowing and snapping in half, Ryuu lets it slide out from under him as he angles his other skate and places a hand on the ice. His body shifts to form immediately and the crowd reveres it like it was planned all along. Hydroblading-Ryuunosuke is hydroblading– and it is absolutely genius.

The spontaneous figure is flawless from start to finish and although Ryuunosuke will never know it, Osamu is the first and only member of his family to jump up and cheer. 

-

The walk out of the arena is a long, hellish experience. Atsushi has never been afraid of crowds per say, but that isn’t to mistake his indifference for enjoyment. The people exiting are as loud as they were cheering while people shout in excitement about what they have just seen out there. Atsushi can’t really blame them. If he had someone to speak to–which he doesn’t because Kyouka decided to open her own stall with Lucy and a few other girls from the teahouse to give out sweets and little accessories they made to the giggling kids walking with their distracted parents, a sort of daycare–he would be screaming and tearing his hair out as he discussed that show. The boy on the ice had looked at him. He had looked at him and their eyes had met and Atsushi had been close enough to see how painful that landing was. Had Ryuunosuke limped off the ice? Was he alright? Atsushi doesn’t know and that simply adds to the craze of it all.
However, he’s much too tired to stay out and ponder something about someone he will never get close enough to to comfort. So after what feels like an eternity Atsushi finally breaks free from the crowd and makes his way past the still-raging streets of the festival. It will continue throughout the night into the early morning without a doubt as some people have taken off work for the celebration– Fukuzawa actually closed their place for the next week while still promising to pay the workers– but Atsushi is spent. Bed sounds absolutely heavenly right now even if it is taking the form of a rock hard futon on the ground. Everything is fine as Atsushi makes his way into the street past the festival reserved areas. The difference is almost creepy, for the moment he steps through an alleyway to the other side he is met with silence everywhere save for behind him where the bustling street still resides. It’s always been a common thing in Yokohama for the residential roads to be free of traffic which means he will have an uneventful walk to the other side of town where he and Kyouka’s house sits unbothered by the crows and the performers. There is only one performer he would want inside of his home and said performer is currently nowhere to be found. 

That’s the thought that Atsushi will never get to finish, one not cut off by memory or anguish. It is instead cut by the sound of coughing and annoyed remarks from behind where the white haired teen resides. He quickly straightens himself up just enough to be reasonably put together before turning around and immediately feeling like he's covered in mud thanks to the wealthy being he is met with. It is the skater with a slightly wobbly leg that he seems to be trying to not put too much weight on due to his ankle; a skater with a beautiful gemstone outfit and snow soaked blades. Standing merely five feet away from him and growing closer limp by limp is the skater whom Atsushi has loved his entire life. Standing before him is his muse in the flesh and it is simply so shocking that he has no comeback when the ravenette stops in from of him and sharpens the dark glare on his overly pale face. 

"Why were you watching me?!" Is what the angry boy shouts at him. It feels like a gift.

"What? I- your show- I mean it was wonderful!" Atsushi tries to plead for his innocence but he is cut off by the glaring skater’s remark that follows. 

"Yesterday as well! You keep appearing, why must you follow me?! Are you lost or simply stupid? "

Atsushi has never been more confused. He met one person yesterday and that was Akutagawa. But that boy ran from him, right? He is gone. He was frightened like a jumpy doe would be when pursued by a wolf after nearly throwing a fit over being touched. Akutagawa had been tall and covered in a cloak with only the pale lower half of his face visible and- 

“You weren't- were you?” Atsushi hasn't a clue how to make sense of this. He's not entirely sure if he even wants to, really, people didn't tend to be this sharp with him. Just like on the ice, Ryuunosuke is no different than a jagged split of lightning in the night sky. “Stupid, then. Do you wish to attach yourself to my shadow? Am I your babysitter now, you babbling-” Akutagawa pauses to make a strange gesture with his hand. Atsushi raises a brow. This is going to haunt him for a long while, ingrained with the embarrassment that's begun to carve its way into the back of Atsushi's poor mind. How is this the conversation they're having right now? What kind of luck has been leading his life thus far? “I’m sorry?” Atsushi stumbles for a moment, his gaze downturned. It'd be wrong to feel giddy here, wrong to try and smooth this over into something nicer, so he does the first thing that comes to mind and apologizes. There's a shaky pause as Akutagawa seemingly struggles to inhale through the cold, but that sharpness returns a moment later. “You should be."

Perhaps it's foolish of him, perhaps they'll never meet again, but Atsushi finds himself tossing turning underneath his thin blanket the night after. So he writes. For the first time in a long while, Atsushi turns the sharp hiss of Akutagawa's–Ryuunosuke’s–tongue and the chill of the air into words upon the page. He can't help it. There's nowhere else for it to go but onto the yellowed paper of the empty book left to him by one of his parents. It flows from the tip of his brush so smoothly that there is no way for him to stop–the kanji practically appear there and before long he has filled five pages in words detailing their two encounters and everything he has been able to memorize about them.

Atsushi rereads everything he has just written with a tired smile on his face and he thinks that even if he never sees Ryuunosuke again, he will be fine simply recalling the existence of their meetings on these pages. 

The next time they meet is by chance just like the first time and the time after that. 

This third meeting took place on a snowy day; the clouds thick overhead as the sun began setting over the horizon. The festival decorations had finally all been torn down and thrown into storage for next year’s events and people had gone back to their normal lives and schedules. Everything should have been normal once more for the citizens of Yokohama; for the Mori dynasty, but instead Ryuunosuke had found his way into the slums once again after a heated argument with Osamu regarding his jumps on the ice. Infuriating as it was, what made it worse was the fact that his father agreed with the concerns his brother had. The argument had started as a small conversation of bickering at the dinner table and it had evolved like a flame doused in gasoline as others began to join in. Osamu was quick to change from constructive pieces of criticism to insults just as Ryuunosuke was quick to change from sly remarks to angered screams. By the time Ryuu had thrown his chopsticks hard enough to knock over and shatter one of the tall pots of sake onto all of their plates, the entire family was in disarray. Yumeno and Elise were quick to turn to the childish act of crying as their rice was drowned in alcohol; Koyo took to silently shaking her head at a seething Ryuunosuke; and Osamu was already glaring daggers at his younger brother with the red marking of a shattered teacup against his forehead courtesy of their prior yelling match. Sitting beside him is an angry Chuuya, his narrowed eyes directed at both Osamu and Ryuunosuke for their separate faults. They–the table– had only gone quiet when Ougai screamed for them to stop, and they only erupted once more when Ryuunosuke turned on his heel and ran out of the house in nothing but his sake soaked robe. 

As a result, with numb feet he now begrudgingly walks through the slums as punishment for the argument he caused. This doesn’t stop him from cursing Osamu’s name with every single step he takes– every single one leaves his feet and legs prickling with the painful feel of icy needles– nor does it make him feel bad in the slightest. 

Ryuunosuke must look like a lost wreck or a helpless maiden, his eyeliner running down his cheeks from the snow melting on his head that had fallen off of the roof when he slammed the manor’s front door. He would have gone back if his ego wasn’t set ablaze by every one of his family members’ glares–fuck, he wishes he had. He feels hot with rage yet frozen by the climate in which he walks.

 Why must Osamu always tear him a new one? It is one thing to be forced to sit and bear the lecture of love being some sweet, gentle thing, but for him to be humiliated in front of his entire family? He would sooner wish to see the brunette commit suicide than agree with him on something that doesn’t need to be argued. They were not always this bad–Ryuunosuke remembers when he was young always sneaking into the older boy’s room when his chest hurt too bad to sleep, or the other coming to his room when he was bedridden. Their conversations would never be very detailed but they were meaningful, gentle. It all faded by the time Ryuunosuke was put on a pair of skates. The first time he stepped foot on the ice he had fallen and bruised his ribs only to be shouted at by dear Osamu. Who knew a little boy could become so hateful overnight? 

It is so horrible that he doesn’t realize he’s being yelled at until the source of the voice is already running towards his rage-ridden figure. It takes one glance for Ryuunosuke to realize who it is. 

“Ryuunosuke! What are you doing here? Are you alright?” Comes Atsushi’s panicked voice as his hands reach out to grab onto the taller boy’s shivering shoulders. His hands are gentle against Ryuu’s body as he looks into those dark eyes–they are endless pits of void, emotions guarded by a harsh shell adorned in spikes and scales belonging to a dragon. Atsushi searches for an answer of some kind, anything to explain why the other is all the way out here before a bad snowstorm. 

Ryuunosuke is silent in thought as he examines the emotions swirling around those colored jewels on Atsushi’s face. He awaits an aggressive remark or some angry hiss about how he is holding up the shorter boy’s schedule, something about how he is foolish for coming here because he knows he is-but Ryuu receives none of this. 

What he is given instead is a small, shattered gasp from Atsushi’s lips as the other gives him an up-down.  Atsushi is first taken aback by the bloody splinters of wood on the other’s fingers from whatever had occurred before he came here but nothing prepares Atsushi for what he sees when his eyes travel to the lower half of Ryuunosuke’s body. His shaved legsThey are red and soaking wet dug deep into the snow and it’s a horrible sight. Atsushi feels ill– not because he thinks Ryuunosuke is disgusting, never would he think such a thing– but instead because of the fact that Ryuu must be in complete agony right now. Atsushi has felt the pain of his bare hands being stuck in a pile of snow for a while but having to support your body on numb feet? That just won’t do. He would be a monster if he let Ryuunosuke continue on like this, so in a moment of panic he bends down and wraps an arm around the boy’s waist and knees before sweeping him off his feet like he weighs nothing more than a simple feather.
“What are you doing?” Ryuunosuke hisses out as Atsushi begins walking with him swept up into his arms.
“Taking you someplace warm. Your feet will fall off if you stay out here!” Atsushi shakes his head in exasperation and continues on without paying a lick of attention to the annoyed complaints coming from the black haired boy’s mouth. 

-

Late at night beneath a small flame of flickering candlelight, Atsushi smiles and dips his brush into ink as he glances over at the blanket folded on the floor. It must still smell like the soap he let Akutagawa wash himself with and it must still be warm as the other one hadn’t decided to leave until Atsushi was confident enough in the warm winter boots– consisting of animal fur and warm coals wrapped in enough layers of bandages to fill in the loose space, for the other had much smaller feet, and to provide comfort in the cold night– he gave to Akutagawa. He would have liked it if the other took the blanket to stay warm on his journey but keeping him in one place was like trying to tame an animal. 

The words simply flow out onto the paper like the smoke billowing from his candle. 

January 3rd

I saw Ryuunosuke Akutagawa again in town on my way home from my first day back at work. (Fukuzawa kept true to his word, we all were paid over our time off!) 

I wasn’t expecting to see him again, but I’m not upset at all.

I know his last name is truly Mori, but something about it just doesn’t fit. Whenever I go to say it, despite only knowing him for a moment in time it feels wrong. Like I've been calling him Ryuunosuke Akutagawa my entire life and I will be upsetting some higher power by changing it on my own. I don’t really have anything I’m willing to lose to a god, so I’ll leave it.

When I saw him he looked…lost. He was wandering with this angry look on his face more intense than the ones that seem to reside there naturally. Not only was he alone and lacking a warm cloak of any kind, he was also without shoes or socks! I wondered if something terrible happened with his family, as he seemed reluctant to stay here but more stubborn when it came to being given the choice to go home. He refused to let me get the wood from his hands so he pulled the splinters out on his own…but I was able to hold the rag covered in alcohol to douse the spot in something to clean. (better than the soap and oils given to him to clean his hands and feet.)

 I think that he may warm up to me eventually, we may even become friends!
Kyouka told me today that Lucy almost burned a man’s face off with a pot of boiling matcha today and I believe it, Lucy is always snappy when I visit.

January 5th 

Akutagawa was in the city again today. He seemed less lost than last time but he was a bit quiet when I approached him. I’m starting to think that’s a normal thing for him. He had his favorite–I can only assume since he wears the pattern so much– flower on his robes again and a warm pair of boots. The same boots I made for him! I didn’t expect him to keep them but he did. He acknowledged me while on his way to a teahouse and it felt nice being seen by someone you have been staring at longingly your entire life.

 Even if you just learned his name. I don’t think I’ll forget him, but just in case I’d like to keep writing these notes. Is that cheesy? 

Probably.

January 7th

I think Akutagawa has a schedule of some kind. He isn’t seeking me out, at least it doesn’t seem that way, but every two days he comes to town dressed in the same robes and the same boots with the wrapped coal pieces in them, the same hair on his head. It reminds me of my own but the inverse, black with white instead of white with black.

He doesn’t call out to me but he won’t ignore me when I speak to him. Today we chatted quickly before I had to run off to deliver some wrapped crops to Mrs Ming’s home. 

I think he seems a bit snappy at first but he’s really interesting! I like how his cheeks flush when he’s cold. 

He coughs quite a bit whenever he talks too fast. I would have spoken longer before going to deliver the crops but he coughed into his elbow and stared at his sleeve in silence before simply walking away without bowing. Perhaps he was reminded of something he had to attend to?

Kyouka got a raise today.

January 9th

Akutagawa came to town and went on a walk with me! He seemed much calmer today and didn’t mind me following him. I really enjoyed it, you know? We went past the frozen water streams and the fountains in front of the ceramic studio across town. I haven’t gone this far in years, Kyouka likes to stay home and I don’t want her to freeze outside in the cold. 

However old you are, future Atsushi, I want you to remember how warm Akutagawa’s eyes were when I showed him the spider lily murals that the girls from the common families painted along the graveyard walls. I hadn't thought it was possible for another human being to be like him. Don’t ever forget that his gaze was bright and so very alive. Remember!

Jan 12th

Akutagawa had something going on the other day, but I wouldn't push too much on the things he'd done outside of us. Being a mere day late bothered him more than the sight of some guy getting sick by one of the udon places nearby. He seemed to be entirely past it, shifting over it with a shrug already as if it'd been weeks ago. Put me on edge a bit, I'll admit, the way that he wouldn't even look at me while mumbling about it, so I tried to make our day together better than most. It's easier to heal from something if your circumstances lighten up, right?

If not for him, then for me. Every sour expression twisted my stomach into these horribly tight knots. It was actually kind of impressive! I think he'd roll his eyes if I were to say something about it. I've learned it's something that comes often with “stupid opinions”, but I nearly shouted about it after he started frowning down at his shoes. A few bits of (in his words) too sweet cotton candy later and Akutagawa didn't look as tense anymore.

Jan 14th

Akutagawa is back on schedule! I didn't really think he'd take the chance of stepping off course again, but it's still nice to have him joining me again. I'd had to grab his hand to keep him from running right into someone else after walking past a few bright vending machines. So what if it was great? So what if I want to do it again? Well, really, it's not something I'll deny. It was strange, but he held mine back for just a moment longer than usual before returning to that usual picture of grace. There wasn't a part of him that looked any different during it. Is this normal now? Recounting it like this makes me feel like a child almost, as I haven't stopped thinking about it and it hadn't even phased Akutagawa. Later there was a bit of a smile on his face just for a small second when tried it again- this time he refused to allow me. He didn't look mean doing it. Next time, I'll try again.

One day, I think, I'll show this to him. When you see this Akutagawa, I hope you know how much every little thing meant to me. I hope you come to realize that even if you don't remember these things, I did. I remember and I want to relive that stupid feeling all over again. 

As their meetings continue, life goes on. 

The snow continues falling albeit less and less as the days come and go, babies are born and people die. Everything is as it should be. Atsushi and Ryuunosuke meet every two days and never is there a missing encounter between them. They remember the spot to meet every time, Atsushi has learned to be content with following wherever Akutagawa walks without complaining or making the mistake of inviting him somewhere else. He notices a few times that Akutagawa is often clutching a small cloth in his hand with red stains on it and yet Atsushi is never able to figure out where it comes from. He only ever sees it when Ryuu figures he isn’t looking. 

Ryuu has stopped coughing as much, or at least it seems that way. Every now and then Atsushi will still have to turn around and wait as Ryuunosuke clutches at his chest for a moment or two whilst complaining that just because you look like a tiger does not mean you must run like one.  

All is well. And along the way, Atsushi can’t deny that he’s fallen in love. He knows the feelings are his and his alone, for Akutagawa still will not share anything more than the bare minimum with him, but they are still there. They are alive and oh so comforting. He admires Ryuu even now the way he did when he was on the ice with prolonged looks and awestruck smiles. It is love at its best; the one sidedness is only to be expected after all. He writes of all these instances like they are simply the greatest muse–like Ryuunosuke is the greatest muse. 

On the first of February, Gin Mori is woken up in the dead of night by a loud thud from across the hall. Not a soul besides her seems to be stirring in the house as everything else is silent. She waits for another thud to come before she decides to get up but nothing happens. All is quiet once more. No animals shift outside her window, no people shift in the corridor. She must have been the only one to hear the noise–perhaps because of her light sleeping. The young woman would truly like to go back to sleep before morning light but something tells her that would be a horrible idea. So she rises from her bed with a quiet groan, sliding open her door only to see candlelight flickering from inside the room across the hall. There is a moment where she looks around in silence to see who walks about, confused as can be. Why would Ryuunosuke be up so late? He has always been an early riser but they were sent to bed merely an hour or two ago and there is no way he is up and ready to get to another day. Or perhaps he truly wished to get up and something stopped him. The thought is a dark one supported by a flood of memories that all come at once. It has been years since his last flare up but that’s not to say it couldn’t happen again. Was the doctor wrong about him healing?
She considers laying back down, coming to ask what it was in the morning, but a feeling in her gut directs her to slide open the door with that mysterious light emitting from inside instead of going back into her own dark room. 

Gin simply blinks when she sees the clean space all around. 

The lanterns are burning from their perches as the cool air flows in from the cracked open courtyard door, the bed is slightly ruffled but still presentable. Nothing seems out of the ordinary until her eyes shift to the center of the room. There, splayed out on his back, is her twin brother. On his chin is congealed blood that has been smeared across his jaw by the limp hand sitting beside his head, on his body is his black night robes that have slipped down to his elbows only to reveal claw marks on his ribs. She can only assume that the marks are of his own doing–like he was being strangled, she notes, without doubting the truth in that statement–and the blood on his chin only supports that theory. 

Ryuunosuke is not moving.
His chest is not rising and falling, his eyes are not fluttering. 

He looks dead-

“Ryuunosuke.” Her gentle voice slips out in a panic. Gin carefully reaches down to press a hand to her brother’s lips. 

Nothing. Not one gust of air. 

“Ryuunosuke!” A whisper tears itself from her throat as her controlled panic turns into genuine mania. She grips his shoulders and shakes. Shakes him up and down, his head lulling to whichever side she shakes him. Her brother is unresponsive and she feels nauseous. He said he was fine, he swore he was fine. Merely two weeks ago he had crossed his heart and put his life on the fact that his lungs were fine and it was simply the cold air drying them out but he must have been lying because here he lay in her arms as light as a child. So light that she could lift him and carry him to their father’s room. But she does not. She can hardly see through her tears enough to fold her hands over one another before playing them right between his ribs. As tears drip onto Ryuunosuke’s smooth chest–the salty drops landing in the scratches left there by his now cold hand–Gin pumps. 30 times, then she presses her lips to his own to breathe into his open mouth. 

The Gods must be watching in intrigue at the sight; a twin trying to save their other half with breaths of their own life. 

Gin has no time to pray to these Gods as her hands begin to pump once more. She pushes rough as can be and she fears that she may crack his ribs, but after about thirty seconds, just after Gin breathes into his mouth once more in a final attempt to save him before screaming for help, Ryuunosuke gasps. The breath is short and quick as it hits Gin’s face and it’s such a relief that they let out a sob as they wrap their arms around Ryuunosuke’s middle to sit him straight up so that he can breathe better. Gin holds him up as he lets out a series of rough, sharp gasps. They both sit in silence for a minute or two after he finally can sit up on his own albeit wobbly. 

Ryuunosuke is the first to break the silence. 

“You can’t tell father about this.” His voice is rough and raspy as his eyes look towards his bleeding chest. 

Gin must bite back a scream. 

“Ryuunosuke, you were not breathing. How am I supposed to know this won’t happen again?” 

“Because I am not helpless. I was simply-”

“You thought the same thing when you fell unconscious on the ice that day. Do you know what happened then, Ryuunosuke? I had to watch your limp body be carried off somewhere that I could not follow! You were pronounced dead, you know?”

“Gin…”

“I have to tell father, or Osamu, or Koyo, or the doctor for that matter. I cannot be the one who lets you die because you’re too stubborn to admit you’re ill again!”

Ryuunosuke sits, staring weakly at his wounded chest as Gin shouts at him. Her tears have not yet stopped running down her cheeks and her heart still races with the terror of finding her brother half dead on the floor. 

Ryuunosuke shakes his head. "You cannot tell them, or anyone for that matter."

He rises to his feet quick as can be, wobbling weakly for a moment. When he regains his footing he makes his way across the room to his vanity. Gin watches as he looks in the mirror, picking up a powder puff before bringing it to his face to dab away at the blood from his mouth. He then moves it to his chest, wiping away the blood still oozing from the scratches that broke skin. It’s all done in silence as if he simply assumes she will listen to him because he told her to. 

So she stands as well, stomping her foot and throwing her hands up in anger.

 "Why!? Give me one good reason why I should not go wake father right now because I know you don't have one! What could possibly be enough to-”
Gin goes silent as Ryuunosuke slams his fist down against the vanity so hard that it cracks the mirror. It splinters into glass shards in the bottom corner before spreading into a cracks that draws itself across his reflection’s throat like he is being beheaded by his own spout of fury. Ryuu has never been the type to be physical when angry. He will glare and shout and storm off while cursing your name but he will not throw a punch or slap you like any other deranged boy would. Neither of them speak as his body whips around and Gin is met with the sight of her Ryuunosuke– cold and uncaring– clenching his fists as tears well up in his dark eyes. Their watery eyes meet, his wide to combat her own narrowed pair.

She has never seen her twin cry before. 

The raven haired boy’s face grows desperate. “Because I cannot do this again! I can’t be confined to a single bed rotting away while you all live your lives without me. I can’t be stuck inside again, not now. I have so much–too much– to lose!” Ryuunosuke’s words fall from his mouth like a senseless stream that he can’t control. Every word is more wet than the last and by the end of the sentence his voice is breaking as he clenches his fists at his sides. It’s weird seeing someone so prideful and arrogant be reduced to a weeping mess. It’s weird seeing someone so hateful be overcome by the same emotion they have been giving to others their entire life. Ryuunosuke has been reduced to nothing but a mess standing before Gin with hunched shoulders and his head hung in shame. 

He looks like a hellhound that has just been denied its duties guarding the gates of hell, he looks like a statue weakened by time after spending years withstanding the onslaughts of snow and storms. He bears the weakness of a sad child as he stands before her. 

He knew he was ill. 

Gin takes a breath to try and calm herself. One deep, slow breath, before she steps towards him. When she reaches him she stops and looks at his face covered in shadows. Their brother’s features bear the weight of a fallen hero. They bear the features of a man who has fought so hard to keep himself cold and uncaring all his life; a man who has just shattered beneath the weight of something he has tried so desperately to ignore. Ryuunosuke looks like a man who has lost everything and after fighting to get it back it is all being taken away once more against his will. It is then that Gin really sees how exhausted he is physically. His cheeks are more sunken in than normal, his skin is paler.

It is then that Gin realizes what her brother had been doing before fainting. She looks towards the black smudges on his fingers and throat, towards the pile of black powder on the ground and on the legs of the vanity, and she realizes. It is powdered charcoal the same hue as the black hair growing from Ryuunosuke’s head. With a small sigh Gin raises a hand to pinch and rub a lock of black hair between her fingers. This time Ryuunosuke does not shake her off as she pulls her hand away only to be met with a white strand of hair left and black charcoal on her fingers. This is not the first time Ryuunosuke has done this. When he was young, he tried to hide the fact that the stress of being ill had turned his hair white by painting his hair black with charcoal as well. Of course it was much easier to figure ut his plan then, for he was a kid, but with age comes cleverness it seems. Gin’s eyes travel to the only visible pieces of white at the tips of the tails resting against his face. They are from the very first time he was sick; the time when all of Yokohama believed he would die as a babe. Of course he would leave them there to keep them all confident in the fact that he was healthy, Ryuunosuke has always been slly like that. 

Gin wants to be mad, wants to yell at him. He clearly expects it from her, his eyes barely lifting from the ground to meet her face as her mouth opens up. 

What she says instead is unexpected. 

“When you leave, where do you go?” Her eyes lift from his hair to his wet face. 

Ryuu silently contemplates what to say. The idea of lying must cross his mind as his mouth opens and then shuts again. Gin waits for him to speak. 

“To the lesser side of Yokohama. There is a boy there. He’s so unusual that it disgusts me; he is far too kind, too pushy and obnoxious-”

“Do you hate him-”

“But,” Ryuunosuke raises his hand up to silence his twin. “He’s the kindest person i’ve ever spoken to. His hair is uneven and choppy but it is his , and his face is round with these pale freckles that you can only see when you look closely. He has a sister and he loves everyone like they are lifelong friends. He has the warmest hands and the most adorable smile and-” Ryuunosuke goes quiet, head lifting to look Gin in the eye. 

She has never seen so much life on his face before. His cheeks have flushed, his eyes have lightened to the point of being bright as the sun. 

“And?”

“I love him. He’s so gentle and caring and it’s nothing like what I believed love was meant to be but I love it. I love him Gin, and I can’t lose him. I can’t lose him.” Ryuunosuke says this with the desperation of someone speaking on their last breath and she can’t blame him for it; he very well may be. 

They are silent for a few moments before Gin wraps her arms around Ryuunosuke’s waist and buries her head into his chest. 

“I love you, Ryuu. Don’t forget that.”

He doesn’t hesitate to hug her back. 

“I could never.”

Gin laughs gently, stepping back to place both of her hands on his cheeks so that she may wipe away his tears. “I won’t tell anyone. Not a soul.” 

“Swear it, Sister?”

“Swear it, brother.”

The next day, Ryuunosuke waits for Atsushi outside of his work building to ask if he'd like to go to a teahouse with him. The other agrees in a heartbeat without paying a lick of attention to the shocked coworkers behind him that gawk at the sight of Ryuunosuke Mori standing mere feet away from them. 

And thus begins their series of meetings that become something more than brief, tolerable experiences. Both of them are able to agree on the fact that it is the most exhilarating thing they have ever done– having to sneak around with one another in broad daylight and of the night– and they are both able to agree on the fact that it has begun to mean more than simple fun. It’s meaningful, their quiet glances in the dark. It’s meaningful, their hearts connecting over time. 

-

On the tenth of february, Ryuunosuke and Atsushi sit together in a teahouse drinking with no one else around. Ryuu does not touch his cup even after Atsushi has finished. In the lull of their conversation, the white haired teen tilts his head.
“Do you believe in soulmates, Akutagawa?” He asks it offhandedly to which the other boy grunts and hums ever so slightly.
“I didn’t, but I do now. There is too much sorrow in life for there to not be someone to endure it with.”
“Huh…” Atsushi nods.
-

On the Eleventh of February, Atsushi shares a bottle of Sake with Ryuunosuke sitting on the small porch outside of his bedroom. Atsushi sits sprawled out as Ryuu rests with his legs crossed over one another. Their hands are so close together that Atsushi feels as if he may be suffocating. 

“My brother in law likes the stars.” Ryuu comments, continuing as Atsushi hums. He pays more attention to Ryuunosuke’s face in the moonlight as he sits wrapped up in Atsushi’s haori. 

“Does he?”
“He does.”
Silence washes over them as Atsushi makes the brave move to braid their fingers together. He waits for Ryuunosuke to gag and pull his hand away or to have sake thrown in his face but instead Ryuu shifts to lay on his back and hold the other’s hand tighter as he shifts closer in the cold night.

“Stupid, right?” Ryuu yawns, burying his alcohol flushed face into the crook of Atsushi’s neck.

“Yeah…so dumb.” He whispers, hoping that Ryuunosuke cannot hear his heart pounding in his chest.

-

These meetings continue for weeks, the date switching to February twenty-Eighth in no time.

Come morning, Ryuunosuke finds himself standing in front of Atsushi’s home. He remembered the way to it a bit from the night they met when he was barefoot in the city all those weeks ago,  but now it’s easier to find than his own home. 

So here he stands with his hand rising to rap a series of knocks against the sliding door. Five short knocks is all he gives before standing and waiting. The snow is falling lighter today, the sun shining up above as he stands there before the door. Does he have the wrong house? No, that’s not possible. His memory has never lied to him. Perhaps Atsushi has already left for work?

Ryuunosuke begins to turn away but pauses when he hears the door open behind him. 

“Akutagawa-san?” Comes a dainty voice. He recognizes it as Kyouka’s– when he was here that night, she sat and shared tea with him. He appreciated how quiet she was– and he finds out he is right when he turns to see a short girl standing there before him.

He clears his throat. “Is Atsushi home?”

A knowing look passes over her features. “He is. Wait here, I’ll go get him.” 

One nod later and Kyouka has disappeared from view. The person who returns is none other than Atsushi himself. He looks cleaned up but frazzled as if Kyouka had simply barged into his room and forced him to comb his hair and get dressed in his nicest robes. He wears one that is black with a brand new white layer to go over top. The white robe has handsome flared sleeves and black tendrils growing up from the cusp. It looks good on him. 

“Akutagawa? Is everything okay?” Atsushi asks with true concern in his voice that makes Ryuunosuke’s heart beat just a bit faster. 

“Atsushi.” The taller blurts out. “Can you come with me? I want to take you somewhere.” Ryuunosuke shifts his feet around impatiently as the other examines his appearance. Ryuu wears the same familiar robe of black with crimson spider lilies growing upon them but instead of it being tied it is open with a different material robe of bright red beneath it. Their outfits reflect one another in the style sense.

Atsushi flushes and nods as he steps outside.

“Yeah! Where are we going?” He asks the question as Ryuunosuke wraps his hand around Atsushi’s elbow and walks along the paths that have begun to flower. They do not go towards the teahouse or the graveyard. Atsushi wonders why. 

Akutagawa answers him nonchalantly. “To my home.”

“Yeah, alright! Wait…your manor!?” The teen gasps as Ryuunosuke lets out a small giggle, smiling. 

“Yes, you fool. To my manor where my family is. If you’re loud we’ll be caught so try to act normal.”

“Oh yeah, cause it’s normal to be going to the largest house in the entire city while you trot around on forbidden adventures with the richest man in Yokohamas son!”

“See? I figured you would understand eventually.”

“I was being sarcastic!” 

-

The place where Ryuunosuke takes Atsushi is none other than the manor as promised. But instead of going inside and coming clean to a jury of wealthy people, they sneak around back to a beautiful iced out spot. It is the largest form of a rink Atsushi has seen–save for the festival rink–and it takes his breath away. The sun reflects off of the ice like a sheet of pure crystal that has a completely smooth outer layer. Atsushi can only imagine the work it must take for the poor servants to smooth all of that out after Ryuunosuke has practiced upon it. But what he is more worried about is the fact that something heavy is being dropped into his arms out of nowhere.

Atsushi gasps at what he sees.

“Skates? But how did you know-”

“I checked the width of your shoes when you dozed off the other night. I had them made for you by my head servant. Do you like them?”

“I…of course I do! I don’t know how to skate though!” 

Ryuunosuke hums. “You’ll learn.”

After both boys have laced up their skates and run through the lesson of getting Atsushi to move around on his own, they are smooth sailing. Ryuunosuke shows off small spins and twirls and despite Atsushi’s request, he keeps denying trying any big tricks. Atsushi is far too happy to notice anything off. They are in paradise, just them. They skate like they were born to be out there together even though Atsushi is less than perfect in his movements, and Ryuunosuke slows to grab him every now and then so that they are waltzing about. They skate until their ankles are sore and they must sit to eat berries from a bush and after that they are right back on the ice laughing and trying to copy one another. It’s messy and it is senseless but it’s fun. It’s beautiful in a way. Ryuunosuke must stop to cough every now and then; he also needs a break every few minutes because he is feeling weak but Atsushi chalks it up to him not skating as much recently.

The truth is, Ryuunosuke has never felt so loved before. He has never felt so in love before. Everything is as it should be, serene and warm. He can’t help the smile that crosses his face. This is what he has been missing. He understands what Osamu meant now about Chuuya being worth more than a way off the ice, he understands now what everyone has been trying to show him all this time. Love is not brutal because Atsushi’s hands are gentle as they touch his own to twirl him around on the ice. Love is not dangerous because Atsushi catches him when he falls from his body becoming weak. Love is nothing bad, instead it is everything perfect. Love is the smile on Atsushi’s face and the warmth of the setting sun. Love is the gentle looks they share as they dance, love is every late night spent dreaming and drinking hand in hand.

Ryuunosuke feels love as he trips over a divot in the ice, senses weak. He falls into Atsushi’s arms with a small gasp that the other returns with a laugh as one of Akutagawa’s arms wraps around Atsushi’s neck. His other rests against Atsushi’s bicep as the boy giggles and moves his hands to Ryuunosuke’s waist. They spend the next moment giggling– more so Atsushi as Ryuunosuke simply smiles and stares with lidded eyes. Everything is quiet as their eyes meet; the birds quell their chirping; the wind stops its whistling; and Ryuunosuke’s heart is beating out of his chest. He stands there before Atsushi on the ice, smiling like a fool. Atsushi smiles back at him with the same warmth, the same adoration present in his eyes as Ryuunosuke tilts his head a bit, brushing his fingers against Atsushi’s cheek. 

Ryuunosuke’s chest feels tight. Too tight. He opens his mouth to speak.

“Kiss me.” 

“What?” 

“Kiss me, Atsushi.” He sounds like he is panicking and Atsushi can only assume it is out of embarrassment. He doesn’t comment on it as a blush creeps its way up his neck. Kiss him? Well of course. He does as told and leans in, connecting their lips in a perfect scene of beauty and youth. This is what love is; Ryuunosuke Mori (Akutagawa) and Atsushi Nakajima on the ice with one another. 

The kiss is broken as Ryuunosuke slips forward, limp against the other’s chest. Atsushi giggles and catches him in an embrace tighter than any they have shared before, more loving than any they have shared before.

“Are you tired, Akutagawa?” Atsushi hums as he spins around with the other in his arms. 

He is met with silence. 

“Akutagawa?” 

Atsushi looks down and shifts the boy in his arms only to be met with a serene face. Akutagawa’s eyes are shut, his face pale. 

He isn’t breathing.

“Akutagawa?”

That night, as the sun dips over the horizon, the Mori family is drawn away from their meal by the screams of a boy from outside. That night, Ryuunosuke Akutagawa dies in the arms of the softest thing he has ever known.