Archive of Our Own

“Politics are at the height of corruption.”

Kunikida is staring at Atsushi like he’s meant to know this. Truth is, being confined into one room for most of your childhood means you end up catching up on other things before you start researching about your government — like writing, eating food and how to interact with people. Between basic human necessities and the fucking government, Atsushi can’t say he’s given much thought into the state of affairs in his country.

“Right,” Atsushi replies with a sigh. “So, this politician is corrupt.”

“Most are,” Kunikida responds bluntly. “But this one is an ability user, and we’ve received reports of other ability users encountering her and being dead within the week. Notably, other politicians, but also higher-ups in other organisations like the police and the military.”

Atsushi makes a noise of distaste. “And we have reason to believe she will be at the port?”

“Yes,” Kunikida confirms. “Intel says she’s likely to go into hiding very soon.”

“Atsushi-kun,” Dazai suddenly interjects. “I’d like you to work on this with Akutagawa.”

Atsushi sighs and rubs his temple. “Why?”

“So bitter!” Dazai claims with fake exasperation. “The two of you work well together, don’t you?”

No, not really. They absolutely hate each other. Every mission they end up on resorts to death threats, arguments and, well, accidental trauma dumping from both parties. Akutagawa will try to kill him next month when Akutagawa’s promise to Atsushi expires; so no, they don’t really get along.

However, there is a positive change. Akutagawa lived, for one. After (selflessly?) sacrificing himself and dragging Atsushi through that stupid hole on that stupid fucking ship, the two of them are miles more amicable. They don’t work well together, though, Dazai is completely incorrect about that. Even in such a bizarre, traumatising act; Akutagawa managed to argue with him repeatedly. 

At least Atsushi trusts him now. Sometimes.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Nope!” Dazai grins. “Although, Atsushi, you should be cautious. It seems like this ability is not suited for combat, more so, being something that affects your psyche.”

Atsushi gulps down his breath. “What is… it? Do you know?” 

“Hmm. Hard to say, but it seems like the ability users wind up dead within a week. I’m assuming it’s something like Shibusawa’s fog,” Dazai hums. Atsushi freezes at the name drop. “Something that affects your ability, maybe makes it unstable.”

Atsushi inhales a breath, shuddering off Shibusawa’s voice that’s threatening to say something in his head. “Alright. What’s the plan?”

“I never thought you’d ask, Atsushi-kun!” Dazai beams, before smacking down some papers on the table. “Politician Yaeko Nogami will be departing from Yokohama Port at 9pm this evening. Your mission is simple. Stop the boat.”

Dazai spreads out pictures of a cargo ship; a government-sanctioned boat that Atsushi is assuming Yaeko Nogami will be hiding in. It’s large, unbranded — wouldn’t particularly stand out if you didn’t know what you were looking for. Atsushi focuses on the word ‘simple’. Something within his system is telling him that this will not be simple at all. 

“Akutagawa-kun will meet you in a hideout spot. Please get in contact with him this afternoon,” Dazai asks, and Atsushi nods his head. “And don’t forget what I said. This is a dangerous ability, so please refrain from getting into contact with her. Your only job is to stop the boat.”

“Okay,” Atsushi confirms. “I’ll text him now.”

[14:02] Atsushi: where are we meeting?
[14:05] Akutagawa: Shared a location.
[14:06] Akutagawa: 8pm.

Atsushi sighs as he locks his phone. This is going to be an awful evening.

ᗢ

“Weretiger.” 

Ugh. He’s already here. “Akutagawa.”

“You’re late.”

Atsushi pulls out his phone. 8:03pm. “By three minutes?” he scoffs. 

“Time is of the essence.” 

“The ship doesn’t even depart until 9!” Atsushi defends, folding his arms. Akutagawa scoffs, but the conversation ends there. Awkward. “Did Dazai-san inform you of anything?”

“Not particularly,” Akutagawa mutters.

“We should avoid contact with Yaeko Nogami, according to him,” Atsushi explains. “He told me all we need to do is stop the boat.”

“We should capture her.”

Atsushi rolls his eyes. Of course, even within a collaborative mission, they’re not going to see eye-to-eye. The Port Mafia likes to keep heads as trophies — the Detective Agency likes to solve crimes. “We need to work together.”

“So, help me capture her,” Akutagawa says. “Two against one, it should be a simple task.”

Simple. There’s that word again. It leaves a bitter taste in Atsushi’s mouth. “Well, shouldn’t we stop the boat first?" Atsushi tries to bargain. "That way we can capture her."

He can tell Akutagawa is contemplating this, a beat of silence falling between them. “Very well. We’ll stop the boat and capture her.”

Yeah, sure. Atsushi is getting roped into the capture of a woman that Dazai described as dangerous. With no back-up. That’s fine! He definitely isn’t scared at all. “Just, don’t get too close to her.”

Akutagawa scoffs, curling his lip. “Scared, weretiger?” 

“I already told you, Dazai-san told me to avoid contact,” Atsushi points out. 

“If Dazai-san deems her an undefeatable opponent, this is a trial,” Akutagawa responds, looking out towards the sea with his binoculars. It’s always the same with him, the stubborn bastard. “I see her.”

“Where?” Atsushi gasps, trying to snatch the binoculars. Akutagawa turns his entire body away. “Let me see!”

“You insolent child,” Akutagawa scolds. “She just boarded. Stop causing such a scene.”

Atsushi pouts, then scowls. “Go and knock out the captain. We’ll take Yaeko Nogami alive. Give me a signal to board.”

Akutagawa throws the binoculars to the ground, merely grunting in response and fleeing away. Atsushi huffs out a sigh, grabbing the binoculars and peering out. Akutagawa doesn’t take long to appear on top of the ship, simply staring where Atsushi is standing with a hand to his mouth. Great signal. 

Obviously, chaos endures pretty quickly once security is informed Akutagawa has boarded the ship. He’s surrounded when Atsushi boards himself, however he takes them down with one swipe. “You took your time,” he grunts, followed by a cough. 

“Shut up. What kind of signal was that?!” Atsushi yells back, rolling his eyes. “Any information on where she might be?”

Akutagawa points to the ground. Atsushi sighs, walking until they get down to the hull. With a few slashes of Rashomon, the politician is relatively easy to find. Atsushi maintains his distance, and Akutagawa uses Rashomon to restrain her. “What…? Oh,” she says, a smirk twisting her lips.

“Yaeko Nogami," Atsushi declares. "You will be arrested momentarily."

“What are you? Some kind of shitty detective?” Nogami hisses back. Akutagawa laughs from beside him (asshole). “You two have already fucked up.”

She pulls on the tendrils of Rashomon before it can sharpen, yanking Akutagawa towards her. With one flying punch, he’s on the ground. Atsushi’s eyes widen. “Akutagawa!”

“Shut up, weretiger,” Akutagawa hisses, choking out a cough. He immediately gets to his feet, swinging for her but she evades, kicking him roughly to the ground.

The panic settles in before he can swallow it down. Dazai said her ability wasn’t suitable for combat, but it seems she’s dismissive of Rashomon and has great physical strength. Of course, a woman with an ability that even Dazai fears would be able to fight like this. Her eyes shine towards Atsushi, lunging towards him. Atsushi notices something in her hands; a knife. She stabs his shoulder, and he falls back, grunting. 

“I’ve already got one, but two is my favourite number.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Atsushi grits, ability activating almost instantly and swinging a fist towards her. It hits her, sending her catapulting to the back of the hull with a groan.

“Bad move, Nakajima,” Nogami mutters, lips curling. “Now I have two.” 

“Akutagawa! Get up, will you?!” Atsushi yells. “Retreat!”

“I do not surrender to such feeble fights,” Akutagawa scoffs, although he does get to his feet, dusting off his jacket. Rashomon lunges towards her once more, surrounding her entire body. He squeezes tight, and she passes out. 

“I didn’t even get to interrogate,” Atsushi sighs. “Dazai-san is going to be so mad.”

Akutagawa returns a sigh. “Stupid weretiger.”

“What?!”

“Be quiet."

Atsushi swings the woman over his shoulders, but something stirs in his stomach. He’s still bleeding. He hasn’t regenerated yet. Akutagawa seems unscathed, though, despite taking the brunt of the beating. “Are you… okay?” 

Akutagawa doesn’t answer the question. “There’s a car waiting outside. Come.” 

Atsushi sighs, swallowing down his nerves, and pathetically follows.

ᗢ

When Atsushi wakes up, he feels something he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

Pain.

Sure, he feels pain often. Before his regeneration kicks in, the pain is almost unbearable. But the tiger protects him. This is a pain that Atsushi knows all too well; a pain that makes him feel nauseous; a pain that he’s forgotten. It’s pain that lingers, aches, hurts. The tiger hasn’t regenerated any of his injuries from yesterday.

In fact, he can’t feel Byakko at all. And he almost feels… sickly. 

His phone rings, startling him, and he quickly runs to grab it. “Hello?”

“Atsushi-kun! How was the mission last night?” Dazai cheerfully calls into the phone.

Hm. How was the mission last night? “Akutagawa had orders to capture Yaeko Nogami, so she’s with the Port Mafia.”

“Oh, she is?” Dazai questions, sarcasm lacing his tone. “Because our dear Akutagawa-kun passed out before the politician was effectively captured, and now Yaeko Nogami is on the run.”

What?

“Akutagawa passed out?” Atsushi asks, before pausing. He’s not sure why that’s the first question he asks.

“Atsushi-kun,” Dazai says stenly. “Did you touch Yaeko Nogami?”

“I punched her,” Atsushi admits. “I know you said not to approach, but she lunged for me first.”

“Just a punch?” Dazai asks. “Did you have your ability activated?”

“Yes.”

A sigh. Deep sigh. “Your tiger. Can you feel her?” 

Atsushi looks at his bloody shoulder. “No.” 

“Okay. Come into the office once you’re up.”

The phone line goes dead afterwards. 

Well. Shit. 

ᗢ

Atsushi aches on his walk to work. It’s a sensation he hasn’t felt in so desperately long, not since he and Byakko became one. Depressing, in a sense, that the tiger that Atsushi spent so much of his life running away from is now something he misses so dearly. 

Regardless, he gets to the office in one piece. 

“Atsushi.” 

Atsushi blinks once. Being greeted by Yosano is never fun, but now he’s injured, anxiety creeps into his throat. Her eyes fall to his shoulder, then light up. “Yosano-san, I’m okay,” he says dejectedly.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she grins, grabbing his uninjured arm and dragging him into the infirmary. Atsushi lets out a little yelp at the contact, tender from the fight. He is so weak without Byakko. Dazai follows the two of them, closing the door behind them. 

Yosano starts inspecting his injury. “How did you feel when you woke up?” 

“Tired, achy,” Atsushi admits. “But the injury really is fine, just a stab wound.”

She starts treating it regardless, making Atsushi hiss from the sensation of antiseptic. Dazai blinks at him once. “Has it registered yet?” he asks.

“Uh, she nullifies abilities like you do, but permanently?”

Dazai gestures to a tendril, sticking out from Atsushi’s shirt. Atsushi reaches down to touch it, sharp against his finger, drawing the slightest bit of blood. What the fuck? It reminds him of something. Something he knows like the back of his hand.

Rashomon.

“Oh… shit.”

“Yaeko Nogami’s ability switches two users. She specifically targets duos or partners," Dazai chuckles. "Although she got away, we’re lucky that we get to see insight into just how her ability works — so I suppose that’s something.”

“I need more fabric,” Atsushi sighs, registering the situation at hand. “I’ve only seen Akutagawa use Rashomon from his shirt once.”

“When did Akutagawa not have his coat?” Dazai questions. 

“On the ship with Fukuchi,” Atsushi cringes. “I had the coat; Akutagawa used his shirt to make an escape route.”

“He cut through a ship with his shirt?” Dazai responds. Atsushi nods his head, confusion etching his brow. “Interesting.”

Atsushi manifests another two tendrils, letting her move slowly. Rashomon isn’t something unfamiliar to him. She’s been around him; on him; with him. She’s saved him more times than she’s hurt him. She’s been at his mercy, and he’s been at hers. Atsushi has never been so glad to have Fukuzawa’s ability on him because he’s sure that Rashomon would’ve strangled him to death. Both tendrils wrap around his head and arms, where he’s injured.

Like the tiger, Rashomon is a protector. 

Something about that makes Atsushi’s chest ache. 

“Seems to like me,” Atsushi hums. “I thought she’d want to kill me.”

“Rashomon has protected you more times than hurt you at this point, no?” Dazai questions. Atsushi nods. “We need to fine-tune it. Luckily for you, I’ve trained a rabid dog to use Rashomon. A docile cat will be far easier.”

“I’m not a cat!” Atsushi protests, folding his arms. Rashomon lunges towards Dazai tauntingly, and Dazai lets out a small laugh. “How do you think Akutagawa is getting on with my tiger?”

Dazai makes a noise of contemplation. “The tiger resorts mostly on emotion, so he’s probably struggling. You should go and visit him to help him tame it. I have no doubt he’ll be breaking your promise if he doesn’t.”

Right. Wait, emotion? Emotional is not how Atsushi would describe Akutagawa. Hot-headed, sure, but most of the time, he appears quiet and reserved. There’s a reason that he’s known as the silent rabid dog, after all. 

Then again, Dazai knows Akutagawa far better than Atsushi ever will. 

“I’ll go after work,” Atsushi says wetly. “But… I don’t know where he lives?”

Dazai lets out a gleeful laugh. “Don’t worry, Atsushi-kun! I’ve been tracking his location ever since I teamed the two of you together.”

…Well, okay then.

There’s a tiger in Akutagawa’s room. 

He’s certain. He saw a flash of red eyes. He heard the growl. “Weretiger?”

Akutagawa’s guard is permanently up. He doesn’t get to revel in luxuries such as rest. He activates Rashomon… but she doesn’t appear. “Huh—” he mutters. “Weretiger, now is not the time for games. I seem to be under the effect of this ability.”

There’s no presence of the tiger, that much is known. The weretiger is always quiet within missions, able to pounce before detected. Another strength Akutagawa lacks. He gets to his feet, glancing around the bedroom. It seems to be gone. 

But he can still hear the growling. “Weretiger. Come out. Fight me with your fists if you wish.”

“Ryuu?”

Is Gin the tiger? 

No, they are not. Think rationally. They are behind the door, tapping gently. 

“Don’t come in,” Akutagawa states.

“What’s going on?”

“I think the weretiger is in here,” Akutagawa mutters distastefully. “I cannot hear him or see him, however. I heard growling and saw his—”

The tiger’s eyes are often blue, with swirls of purple from the weretiger's own eye colour. Akutagawa saw red eyes, perhaps grey with a tint of crimson. His eyes. 

He freezes.

“Ryuu?” Gin asks again. 

Akutagawa immediately rushes to lock the door. “Yaeko Nogami is an ability swapper.”

“Huh?” Gin mutters. “What do you mean?”

“The tiger is me,” Akutagawa hisses. “Which means that the weretiger has Rashomon.”

He hears Gin back away. He hears Gin open the front door. Tiger senses. He hears the weretiger. 

Wait— what in God’s name is the weretiger doing here? 

Gin kicks the bedroom door open forcefully (meaning Akutagawa is going to have to purchase a new lock), the weretiger in a tight grip with a knife pressed to his throat. They do not say a word, just look at Akutagawa. “Put him down, Gin.”

The weretiger falls to the ground, scrambling to his feet. Gin leaves silently. “Akutagawa, you—”

“I’m well aware, former weretiger,” Akutagawa sneers, reading his mind. “How do you tame this beast?”

“Revisiting childhood trauma and crying, mostly,” the weretiger jokes. Pathetic. “You have to channel it.”

“I see,” Akutagawa responds, making his way to the mirror. His eyes are shining red, claws attached to his hand, pyjama shirt ripped. He’s going to have to invest in more durable clothing. No wonder the weretiger is normally barely clothed after fighting. 

Not that Akutagawa has noticed.

Channel the beast. 

That can’t be hard for such a heartless dog.

“I… can help,” the weretiger hesitates. 

“I do not require any help,” Akutagawa hisses back. “What are you even doing here?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” the weretiger mutters. “Of course, I don’t know why I expected anything less than the always-hostile Akutagawa. Have fun with the tiger. Don’t kill your sibling.” 

“Do you have Rashomon?”

Like clockwork, a familiar tendril wraps around Akutagawa’s wrist and drags his arm. One yank and Akutagawa stumbles; then, the weretiger lets go. He’s… gained a good level of control already. It’s irritating. “Goodbye, Akutagawa. Get Gin-san to lock themselves in a room somewhere.” 

“Former weretiger, wait.”

The weretiger makes a noise of irritation. “What?!” he snaps. 

“Stay,” Akutagawa asks. Feeble, but he truly doesn’t want to harm Gin.

“What’s in it for me?” the weretiger retaliates, folding his arms.

Akutagawa scoffs. “Don’t make deals like that, you’re not that way inclined. Your noble heart and saviour complex will be truly satisfied.”

Rashomon punctures Akutagawa’s side, drawing blood. The regeneration kicks in quickly, but the pain remains for a while longer. Interesting. Akutagawa will learn a lot for future battles. Shockingly, the weretiger laughs. “Stabbing is fun. No wonder you’re a mass murderer.”

At this, Akutagawa rolls his eyes. “Murder was a part of my job, former weretiger. I find no joy in pain or torture. I like a clean death.”

“Should I take your leg like you took mine?” the weretiger asks, clearly thrilled by this new development. Before Akutagawa can react, Atsushi swipes his leg with a sharp blade. It’s quick, faster than Akutagawa can retaliate. He feels the pain. The leg hasn’t even detached, but Akutagawa groans. 

“I’m not fighting you,” Akutagawa grunts. “You’ve clearly been training.”

The weretiger laughs again. There’s a glint in his eye. A familiar glint. 

Rashomon is a deadly sheath. Akutagawa, of course, knows this better than anyone. She tears through anything. Her dark material could potentially kill a God. She’s slow but calculated, many forms in her twists and turns. Like the weretiger, Rashomon is a part of Akutagawa. It clicks in Akutagawa’s head that she is not just an ability, but a mindset. A mental check. 

Looking at the weretiger in front of him, Akutagawa sees it. Bloodlust.

That means Akutagawa is going to have to go on some kind of emotional journey to tame this animal he’s become; but also means the weretiger is going to have to tame his own demons to not irrationally kill a man. What an utter mess.

Manifestation of the Beast Beneath the Moonlight’s abilities is easy. Akutagawa is surrounded by arms and legs that are much too big for his typical scrawny body, teeth that are razor sharp and claws that can slice through most objects. It’s taking them away that’s hard. 

What an irritating ability.

“How do you get rid of these things?” Akutagawa asks, glancing in the mirror.

“I thought you didn’t need anyone’s help,” the weretiger scoffs. Akutagawa shoots him a simple look and he sighs. “I told you; you have to channel it. Like… become one or some shit. Fukazawa’s ability made that a lot easier for me, but I had no control over it for a long time.”

Become one. Akutagawa takes a deep breath. He’s very familiar with the tiger. The tiger and Akutagawa have met in many different instances. They’ve danced many dances. They’ve been enemies and allies. In all honesty, Akutagawa has spent most of his time since meeting Nakajima in awe of the tiger; a deadly, uncontrollable beast. 

He should’ve known, on their first encounter, that Rashomon and Beast Beneath the Moonlight would be compatible. They fight so well against each other, that of course they would make great partners. That is why the new Double Black even exists. That’s why Dazai paired the two together. 

“Can you give me a reason to live?”

His own words ring in his ears. What a feeble boy Akutagawa was then. Not that he feels much has changed, he still mindlessly seeks approval. Regardless, becoming a Port Mafia member is a reason to live, more so than wallowing and fighting for a meaningless existence in the slums. 

Glancing down at his arms, he almost wishes that an ability like this was his own. 

“My new subordinate is far more capable than you.”

Akutagawa spent much of his energy trapped in those words. It’s not like Dazai was wrong; he was very much correct. The tiger isn’t what makes Nakajima strong, however. It’s his resolve, his dedication, his resilience. Akutagawa only has one reason to live and the rest of him wallows in darkness. Nakajima is like the light, hopeful and courageous, despite his flawed personality.

“You know the reason yourself, don’t you?”

What Dazai hadn’t realised at this point, is that Akutagawa has grown. Refusal of those orders initially is symbolic to that. Akutagawa made his own choice; sure, partly for the approval, but partly because he knew it was the right thing to do. He knew the weretiger should’ve been saved — it’s not like Akutagawa is going to live a long and prosperous life. A life of delusion and light is far more important than a short life of darkness.

When Akutagawa takes another glance in the mirror, Beast Beneath the Moonlight is no longer upon him. He’s just Akutagawa. Shame. “Oh. You sorted that out easier than I expected.” the weretiger says from beside him.

Akutagawa swallows down the uncomfortable feeling in his chest. “Well, I am far less emotional than you,” he attempts to scoff.

“Eh, I wouldn’t put it like that,” the weretiger replies, folding his arms. “You’re just a lot more rational than I am.”

Hm. Akutagawa doesn’t know how to feel about that. “I suppose,” he agrees.

“You must’ve got that from Dazai-san,” Nakajima sighs.

“Don’t speak of Dazai-san like you know anything,” Akutagawa retaliates. 

Getting it from Dazai is a mere understatement. Before Akutagawa met Dazai, there was no regulation over anything. Akutagawa’s deep training and development helped him regulate his emotions — more so than anything else.  

“Righteousness doesn’t take very kindly to me. And there’s only one thing people like me do to useless subordinates.”

Bang, Bang. Bang. 

Akutagawa can barely capture the bullets. Rashomon has never captured bullets like that before, putting them on the floor.

The sound of gunshots is still ringing in his ears. 

He should’ve died at the hands of that gun. Dazai wouldn’t have cared either way.

“Oi! Akutagawa!” 

Akutagawa blinks. The weretiger is underneath him, bleeding from a scratch on his face. Akutagawa abruptly moves, dashing to the other side of the room. Shit. He opens his mouth to say something but closes it again. He doesn’t remember a thing. “Did I hurt you?” 

“You don’t remember anything, do you?”

“I do not,” Akutagawa half-lies. Only the most traumatic moment of his life. “I’m not even sure what happened.”

“Full tiger,” Nakajima sighs. “I barely remember when I’m in that state myself, even now.”

“Even now,” Akutagawa scoffs. “You’re implying you have any control over this giant cat.”

“More control than you,” the weretiger hums, almost taunting him.

Akutagawa has no energy to retaliate. He feels exhausted, more so than after a battle with Rashomon. Surely the weretiger doesn’t feel like this after every battle. He gets to shaky feet, rubbing his eyes, and crawls up into his bed. 

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. 

He’s sure the weretiger doesn’t leave his apartment, though.

ᗢ

For all his faults, Atsushi Nakajima does have some bright ideas. After, perhaps inevitably, Akutagawa cannot tame the beast, Atsushi remembered his own words about the Armed Detective Agency’s President — how he only ended up controlling the tiger after All Men Are Equal was activated.

That’s how Ryuunosuke Akutagawa, former (yes, former) silent rabid dog of the Port Mafia, heartless cur, ended up outside the Agency President’s office, an anxious weretiger beside him. 

He doesn’t have the heart to tell the weretiger that he lost his job. It’s not really in him to drop such an insignificant piece of information. Dazai trusted Akutagawa with this mission, and Akutagawa failed — he’s the only person who gives Akutagawa orders anymore. It’s eating him up. Nakajima has his own shit to deal with, surely. 

“Just bow and keep quiet,” the weretiger hisses, pushing the door open. His posture suddenly changes, so Akutagawa mimics. “President, I’d like to request something, if possible.” 

The president glances at the two of them, eyes following Nakajima, then Akutagawa, then Nakajima once more. “What is it, Atsushi?”

Nakajima instinctively bows, so again, Akutagawa mimics. He’s sure the weretiger will tease him for this later. “Please, temporarily take Akutagawa as your subordinate.”

The president is silent for a while, besides a noise of contemplation. “Under what conditions?”

“Akutagawa and I were hit by Yaeko Nogami’s ability. We have swapped our abilities and will be working together to complete this mission, but Akutagawa cannot control Beast Beneath the Moonlight. I don’t really want to die,” Nakajima explains with a nervous laugh.

Akutagawa almost hisses under his breath. Nakajima gestures for him to bend up from his bow, so he does so, brushing off his jacket. The president stares directly at him. “I have promised not to kill, and I do not wish to break that promise under something… beyond my circumstances,” Akutagawa says, ignoring the weretiger’s insolent whining about not speaking. 

Another beat of silence. “Very well. Until Yaeko Nogami is captured and arrested, you will work as a temporary Armed Detective Agency member. I need you to go out on a case this afternoon, however. Just a minor one. Then, solely on the Yaeko Nogami case.”

Akutagawa immediately bows, and Nakajima does too. “Thank you! Thank you, President.”

“Atsushi, consider him under your care,” the president says. Akutagawa’s own eyes widen. Underneath the weretiger? “Ensure he hones in Beast Beneath the Moonlight with Kunikida. Dazai has entrusted you both to complete this mission.”

“Understood!” Nakajima says cheerfully. “Thank you again.” 

The president hands Akutagawa a pass, which he accepts with another bow. “This will grant you access to work on cases as a Detective Agency member. I expect you to return it after Yaeko Nogami is captured.”

“Understood,” Akutagawa confirms. “I won’t let you down.”

Somehow, he believes it.

ᗢ

The case described by the President previously is a simple armed robbery case. 

Nakajima is accompanying him, for reasons unbeknown to Akutagawa. Probably something to do with the fact every member of the Agency identifies Akutagawa as a heartless killer. He decides not to ponder that thought any longer. 

As they arrive, Nakajima tugs on his sleeve. “You can question him. Not in a mafia way.”

Akutagawa scoffs. “I would assume not.” 

They’re met with a man, not much older than the two of them. “You lot are the detectives?” he slurs. “Ain’t you the guy from the wanted poster?”

Akutagawa sighs, holding up his badge. “I’m an affiliate of the Detective Agency. Can we ask a few questions?”

“Shoot.” 

“Could you inform me of what happened here?” Akutagawa asks, pulling out a notebook he stole from the weretiger’s desk before they departed. “An armed robbery, was it an individual? Gang? Organisation?” 

“A gang, I assume,” the man states, and Akutagawa writes it down. He glances up, and there’s a curl on the man’s lip. One that doesn’t sit right in his system. “Probably three or four.”

“Right,” Akutagawa says. “Can you give me a rundown of the events?”

The man makes a noise of contemplation. Akutagawa doesn’t trust him in the slightest, and the weretiger must feel the same way, because there’s a glow of red by his feet. Interesting. The man gestures to the left of him, and Akutagawa immediately notices a pool of red on the floor. This isn’t the victim - this is the perpetrator. 

In a flash, there’s a shot of a gun. Both of them duck immediately, and Akutagawa scoffs.

Although, he is almost impressed. Minor missions within the Agency previously appeared in his thoughts like saving cats from trees and helping elderly women across the road. This is more like a minor Port Mafia mission — plus, Akutagawa cannot kill. 

The weretiger stumbles, and Akutagawa approaches to smack the gun out of the man’s hand. “I hate measly weapons like this. Weretiger, are you okay?”

“Fine,” the weretiger grunts, getting to his feet. 

It happens before Akutagawa can register anything else. Another bullet, flying right towards the two of them. Akutagawa steps in the way and takes the brunt of it, unsure if Rashomon would devour at this stage of the weretiger’s training. It pierces through the top of his shoulder. Pain. Good. Pain keeps Akutagawa on his toes. “Who’s your accomplice?”

The man just laughs. Two tendrils wrap around his arms, holding them behind his back. “Answer his question,” the weretiger barks from beside him. 

The stranger gestures to another man, standing above them with a gun. It’s pointed towards the two of them, and Akutagawa instinctively shoves Nakajima down to the ground as the bullet fires. Akutagawa turns his back, taking another hit, which throws both him and the original male to the ground. “Fuck,” he mutters.

Akutagawa knows he’s bleeding, possibly even bleeding out. As a man who’s tasted death in the past, this sensation is all too familiar. The numbness, the cold, the sensation in his ears. Yet, he doesn’t feel alone. His tiger is protecting him, fighting with all her might to keep Akutagawa safe.

“My new subordinate is far more capable than you.”  

That’s surely true if it makes him immortal. 

There’s a screaming of his name that he can hear. He recognises it as the weretiger but cannot call back. 

For some bizarre reason, everything fades to black.

Perhaps Nakajima isn’t as immortal as Akutagawa recognised.

Atsushi can’t stop pacing.

Kunikida gave him some paperwork to do, to begin with, but his brain is so scattered that he ended up getting annoyed and completing it himself. He ran a few errands for Dazai but sped through them to get back to the office. He knows he’s driving everyone insane - but he’s sick with worry. And confusion. But mostly worry. 

“Atsushi.”

His body snaps to the noise immediately, head turning after. Yosano is staring at him. “Is he…?”

“He’s awake,” Yosano confirms. 

Atsushi has never run into the infirmary faster. In fact, he’s not sure he’s ever been happy to go to the infirmary. Akutagawa is lying on the bed. He looks… well, angelic, to put it politely. Eyes closed, breathing deeply, lips curled ever so slightly. When the door closes, he opens one eye. He looks so well , nothing like the sickly man he once knew. The tiger must’ve saved him. Surely. 

“Are… you okay?” Atsushi asks quietly. 

“Never better,” Akutagawa grunts, face twisting into a scowl as always. “The tiger saved me. That unhinged doctor you have was extremely disappointed that I had no injuries.”

“I thought the tiger wouldn’t save you,” Atsushi mumbles, taking a seat on the chair. “You saved me.”

“You do not use Rashomon effectively. You’re more useless than ever,” Akutagawa replies. “I had no other choice; we were following an order.” 

Atsushi rolls his eyes. “Here I was, thinking perhaps you’ve had a change of heart.” 

To Atsushi’s surprise, Akutagawa laughs. A small, light chuckle. He follows it up with a cough and sits up from where he’s currently lying. “It’s no wonder you’re such an amicable opponent.”

Amicable. Atsushi’s heart lands in his throat. “What do you mean?”

“The regeneration is rather powerful,” Akutagawa explains. “You surely could keep fighting until your energy is completely out.”

“You know this already,” Atsushi mutters, folding his arms. “You passed your entrance exam, by the way.”

“…That was my entrance exam?” Akutagawa questions. “No wonder. I thought a day-to-day job for a feeble detective would be something far less interesting.”

Atsushi scoffs. “Just like how all the Port Mafia does is kill people? My day-to-day consists of those jobs.” 

“Sure,” Akutagawa mutters sarcastically. “Detectives work on measly things and every Port Mafia job resorts to death.”

Atsushi can’t resist a small laugh at this, letting it escape his lips. “If you’ve regenerated, get up. You have a report to file, Armed Detective Agency member Ryuunosuke Akutagawa.” 

“On what grounds would I file a report?” Akutagawa scoffs. “I despise such work.”

“Too bad. You haven’t got any wannabe-mafioso’s running around here. You’re technically my subordinate, so get up and do your paperwork.”

The way Akutagawa looks at him means that Atsushi has won.

He tuts, and gets to his feet. 

Atsushi smiles victoriously as they enter the office.

ᗢ

Other than the thirty bowls of chazuke Atsushi ate the day Dazai found him, he has never eaten this much chazuke in his life. He’s got to be on his tenth bowl when Kyouka opens the door to their dormitory. Her eyebrow raises at the sight, Atsushi sitting cross legged on the floor with nine porcelain bowls stacked beside him, but she doesn’t say anything. Atsushi swallows his last mouthful. “I didn’t know we owned so many bowls.”

“You must’ve been hungry,” Kyouka observes. “You were worried.”

Observant as always. Atsushi places the tenth bowl on the stack and picks them up. “Perhaps,” he states, placing them into the sink and letting the water run. 

“No perhaps about it,” Kyouka responds. “You were worried.”

Atsushi doesn’t let his jaw clench; despite how much he wants to. He doesn’t say anything, and Kyouka isn’t the type to press, so he cleans the dishes silently. He brings over a bowl of chazuke for her when she’s done. “Didn’t know when you’d get back.”

“Thank you,” Kyouka responds. “Are you better now?” 

Huh. Is he? “I feel a bit stressed. Like, not having the tiger. Other than that, I’m okay,” he rambles out at once, then pauses. “You were right. I was worried.”

“I can imagine you would’ve been. It looked bleak,” Kyouka says between her mouthful of food. “Is he permanent?”

(Ryuunosuke Akutagawa, the constant elephant in his and Kyouka’s living room. Akutagawa hasn’t exactly treated Kyouka in the politest of ways, but Kyouka already explained to Atsushi a few times that she’s happy to bury the hatchet.)

“Akutagawa? No. Temporary until we capture the politician, but the President wanted him to do an entrance exam anyway.”

Kyouka makes a noise of acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything else. But, unlike Kyouka, Atsushi is a pusher. “Are you okay with that? Akutagawa working with us?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Kyouka replies, placing her cutlery into the bowl. “I find it a lot easier to forgive than to dwell.”

“Right,” Atsushi breathes. Kyouka is a lot braver than him, a lot wiser. It’s almost like she’s his older sister figure, rather than the other way around. “He’s changed, I think.”

“I don’t,” Kyouka responds. “The way he is now is the way he’s always been. I wasn’t under his supervision for long, but when I was, he seemed as broken as I.” 

Atsushi didn’t realise he was holding his breath for so long, but when he exhales, it feels like his lungs are on fire. “Do you really think that?”

“I’m pretty certain. After all, cruelty isn’t something innate. If he was truly evil, do you think he could’ve held onto the promise you made?” Kyouka asks genuinely.

“…He only made that promise in the resort that he would kill me,” Atsushi mutters.

“And do you think that when the six months is up, he’ll try and kill you? He’s had countless times to try.” 

Atsushi decides to not answer that. 

It makes everything too real. 

ᗢ

There’s a new development in Atsushi’s training.

He absolutely loves Rashomon. She is so majestic, twirling around his body, capturing dummies in the dojo and obliterating them into shreds, keeping him safe from potential threats; she’s wonderful. He’s also finding ridiculous uses for her, like grabbing the TV remote when he can’t be bothered to move and turning off his alarm in the morning so he can have five more minutes in bed. 

Akutagawa’s going to kill him, surely.

“You need to give me your jacket so I can work out how to use these ridiculous claws,” said-mafioso grunts from beside him. 

Reluctantly, Atsushi hands over his new navy work coat to Akutagawa. Akutagawa shrugs it over his shoulders. Compared to Akutagawa’s coat (which often felt a little tight for Atsushi), Atsushi’s coat absolutely devours him. He looks so dainty.

Akutagawa’s definitely going to kill him. 

Rashomon surrounds his body from Atsushi’s own mind, although at this point, he’s sure the two of them are so familiar that she can act on her own. Once the claws appear, Akutagawa slashes through two dummies. He makes a noise of encouragement, and Atsushi coughs. “Looks like we can still cut through a God, former weretiger.”

Akutagawa throws the coat back to him, which Atsushi scrambles to get back onto his shoulders. 

He misses his tiger, but he loves Rashomon. He wishes he didn’t have to part with either. 

“Does the lung disease come with her?” Atsushi mumbles between another cough.

“She takes up a lot of energy,” Akutagawa says, lip curling. “Meanwhile, I’ve never felt better.” 

“Shall we just not swap back, weretiger? ” Atsushi half-teases, sitting down on the ground. “You can be the weretiger and I’ll be a grumpy bastard.”

“Shut up,” Akutagawa scoffs.

“I have a newfound appreciation for you, you know,” Atsushi says, somewhat out of the blue even to himself. He decides to continue regardless. “Enduring pain and illness like this, it’s braver than anything I could do.” 

“Don’t pity me, you fool,” Akutagawa mutters, giving him a small kick from where he’s sitting himself. “I’m not a strong man.”

“Are you kidding?” Atsushi asks in disbelief. “I just take pain, cry and regenerate. You take pain, use it to your advantage and still almost win against me.”

“Are you asking to fight right now?” Akutagawa bites back. “I still haven’t gotten you back for stabbing me.”

“I think almost mauling me to death makes us even.”

Akutagawa shakes his head, but something in his eyes says something different. Dangerous, and not in a life-threatening way. “I have to be in my right mind for it to be fair, no?”

“Save it for the enemy,” Atsushi says exasperatedly. “I’ve used up all my energy right now, so this will have to do.”

He gives Akutagawa a playful kick, and something like a laugh escapes Akutagawa’s mouth. 

“You truly sound like me.” 

Yeah. Maybe he does. 

ᗢ

“Did you name your tiger?”

Akutagawa scoffs. “Why on Earth would I do such a thing?”

“…I named mine.”

“Of course you did,” Akutagawa huffs. “Probably something ridiculous, no less.”

Atsushi knows Akutagawa too well. He realises this right now, sitting in this silly tea shop. He can read his expressions, his tone of voice, his body language. If he said it was because they’d been working in partnership for five months, he’d almost certainly be lying. 

“Byakko.”

Akutagawa’s hand hits the table, making the China clink. His entire face twitches, lips curled up. Something beautiful happens, something that makes Atsushi’s heart stop. He laughs out loud. His eyes crinkle, hand curling up on the table, the other one covering his mouth; and he laughs.

“White tiger? Lo and behold, I thought you despised the nickname weretiger.”

Atsushi pouts, sipping on his own tea. “She likes it. It helped us have a better relationship.”

“He?” Akutagawa hums. “Interesting.”

Atsushi smiles as he puts his cup down. “Your tiger is a girl, too,” he notes. “Just like Rashomon.”

“Correct,” Akutagawa confirms. “And both protect me well.”

There’s only one word that springs to mind when Atsushi thinks about it. It’s lovely; lovely that Akutagawa has two female protectors. 

In his mind, it makes so much sense. 

Akutagawa has developed a slight issue. 

The tiger is making him soft.

Glancing in the mirror, he stares at his new fangs. It’s not the first time he’s had them, but his vampiric fangs were more inclined to pierce skin and attack; these fangs serve him as a point of protection. He positively adores them. 

He’s uncertain on whether it’s his temporary detective contract, his new understanding of a former opponent or the fact he’s decided to revel in certain luxuries he previously hadn’t — but he’s enjoying his time with the weretiger. Whether they’re training, discussing strategies over tea or bickering in the Agency’s office; he is enjoying it.

“You won’t last long in the mafia if that’s all you’ve got! Or do you want to go back to being a stray dog in the slums?!”

Akutagawa closed himself off at the age of fifteen. It was simpler to become null-and-void from humanity altogether than to let himself become attached to others. The only person he had direct contact with during that time was Dazai, resorting in an unhealthy co-dependency and unrealistic drive for approval. 

He knows this. He has drilled it into himself that he doesn’t need others. 

Somewhere along the line, want and need crossed over. 

[14:02] Jinko: you better be on your way
[14:03] Akutagawa: I will take my time, former jinko. we said 3pm.

Akutagawa wants a better relationship with the weretiger. He doesn’t need one, but he wants it. The conflicting part is that he’s not sure if his desire comes from forced partnership or the fact he genuinely revels in the company of the weretiger. Akutagawa is a ticking time bomb in life or death. He’s uncertain as to why anyone would want to get to know him. 

Atsushi Nakajima is the first person to have treated Akutagawa like a human being. 

And yes, it took a long time — but this is not a relationship where one of them is merely a pawn to the other, and is no longer a relationship where they’re obliged to be amicable for the sake of humanity. They didn’t require things like casual meetings, outings with each other, dinners after training. 

They just did it. Because they wanted to. 

Akutagawa wants to. And from how it feels, so does Nakajima. 

Today is Saturday. The Armed Detective Agency is closed, there’s nothing left to review on the politician case, and there’s no further training necessary; according to Doppo Kunikida. Akutagawa and Nakajima are meeting because they decided to. Because they want to. Nothing to do with work, nothing to do with cases, nothing to do with missions, nothing to do with abilities. 

“Ready for your date?” Gin teases, stepping into the room as Akutagawa Is shoving on his (not Dazai’s, he should probably burn that one at this point) jacket. 

“It’s not a date,” Akutagawa scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I would never entertain such a thing.”

Gin hums. “It’s just the two of you, no?” 

“Just the two of us?”

“Do we need anymore?”

The tiger is making him soft. 

(Or perhaps, he has been soft this entire time. The tiger is just bringing it out of him.)

ᗢ

“You’re late,” Nakajima mutters. “Always complaining about time, yet you’re late.”

“Give over, former weretiger. This isn’t work,” Akutagawa bickers back, folding his arms.

Since gaining Rashomon, the weretiger has changed his style. He has this exquisite navy coat, and longer, beige coloured trousers. It truly suits him; much more so than the scraps of clothing he previously had. Like clockwork, Nakajima says: “You look nice. I’ve never seen you out of work clothing.”

“You flatter me,” Akutagawa deadpans, head turning away just slightly. “What are we doing by the bay?”

The weretiger hesitates. “You mentioned you like calligraphy, right? I thought it’d be fun to attend a calligraphy class. It’s a couple of hours.”

“This urchin lacks a heart.” 

The old women that Akutagawa had the uttermost pleasure to grow up beside are cackling in his ear. He’s barely ten years old when he hears these words for the first time, but they cling to him like Dazai’s stupid fucking coat, even at the age of twenty. 

“You are my trial.”

Akutagawa knows this one is true. He said it himself. Atsushi Nakajima is his trial, although no longer sure that it’s a trial Dazai set for him. He swallows down the thoughts, along with the pounding in his chest. Feebly, he nods his head. “Very well. Lead the way.”

The weretiger smiles, slowly leading the way. Akutagawa’s own mind swirls with a number of thoughts. Nakajima knows what he enjoys, but what does Nakajima enjoy? Akutagawa should surely return this favour, regardless of whether it’s merely a good deed or not. He’s not a fan of being in debt. Should he ask? 

“Hiding your emotions doesn’t make you stronger, Ryuu. It makes you a coward.”

Of course, it would be his own sibling that would help him find some sense and stability. 

“Former weretiger,” Akutagawa says, making Nakajima’s head turn while he continues walking. “What do you enjoy?”

“Out of the blue?” the weretiger responds, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know. I like chazuke and cats. I used to read a lot in the orphanage if I could. I didn’t understand a lot of it.”

Akutagawa makes a noise of contemplation. “Chazuke and cats,” he repeats, not allowing his lip to curl. “What kind of books?”

“Just children’s stories,” Nakajima replies. They walk into a small building as he says so. “Wanna know something embarrassing?” 

“More so than your entire existence?” 

The weretiger scowls. “Asshole. I could hardly read or write when I joined the Agency. Kunikida-san put me in basic Japanese classes.”

“Why would that be embarrassing?” Akutagawa returns. “I was similar. I had no literacy skills until I was recruited by Dazai-san.” 

“No way,” Nakajima scoffs. “You speak like a historian.”

Akutagawa doesn’t mention to the weretiger that he spent his days outside of training to become a collared hound reading classical novels, learning language that impacted his own speech. Nor does he mention that becoming eloquent allowed him to have further distance from his Port Mafia peers. It’s not worth it, he decides.

He simply makes a noise of acknowledgement. “It’s true. I’m not one for telling lies.”

“I suppose it makes sense,” Nakajima responds, pushing the elevator button. “You grew up in the slums, right?”

“I did,” Akutagawa confirms, stepping into the elevator and folding his arms. “No education there.”

“We’re not so different.” 

Akutagawa hums. As the elevator opens, they are met with a scenic, private room. Nakajima offers his reservation upon being greeted, and the two of them take their seats at the table. It’s just them and the tutor — which is incredible for Akutagawa. The table is set with hojicha, wagashi and everything required, including brushes and an inkstone.

How did the weretiger think of such a perfect afternoon for Akutagawa?

After being given their instructions and tutorials, the two are left in peace to create whatever they want. Surprisingly — at least for the two of them — they fall into silence, only the sounds of sips of tea and strokes of brushes filling the room. 

Akutagawa can’t shake off an internal feeling. He shouldn’t be enjoying such trivial things. 

“You’re so good at this,” Nakajima speaks after a period of time. His eyes are fixated on Akutagawa’s work, and Akutagawa prays he doesn’t look up to see where the tips of his ears feel like they’re burning. 

“I’m not a novice,” Akutagawa replies. He glances at the weretiger’s own work, frowning. It’s terrible; splattered with ink and very untidy. “It seems like someone is though.”

Nakajima laughs softly, shrugging his shoulders. “You’ve done this before? I just came for the wagashi.” 

Akutagawa hums in response. “Never at a class. I do practise, from time to time.”

“You’re a man of many mysteries, Akutagawa,” Nakajima replies. 

Akutagawa simply frowns. “Coming from the person who doesn’t even know what he enjoys, former weretiger.” 

“You can just call me Atsushi, you know? Everyone else does,”

“I’d rather not,” Akutagawa scoffs. “I prefer equality. If I’m going to call you anything, I’ll call you Nakajima.”

“Call me Nakajima then.” the weretiger nods. “Guessing Ryuunosuke is off the cards?”

Akutagawa simply shoots daggers at him, before wetting his brush and finishing his calligraphy piece. He writes out a proverb with slight sentiment. 

Fall seven times and stand up eight.

ᗢ

Coffee. Cats. Chazuke. Crepes.

The four things Akutagawa knows that Nakajima likes all begin with the same letter. 

None of those things can compare to what Nakajima did for him on that Saturday afternoon. He didn’t even express his gratitude. Just like the child-sized Gin said in his head, Ryuunosuke Akutagawa is a coward.

Most people assume that the weretiger is childish by nature — but Akutagawa feels like he knows him better than that. Part of his actions and interests are to replace something he didn’t have as a child; but Nakajima is a courageous and strong man, more determined than anyone else Akutagawa has ever met. 

(Akutagawa had tried to ask again, just to ensure that the weretiger wasn’t joking about not knowing his own personal tastes. His response solidified Akutagawa’s greatest fears. 

“I broke from my orphanage and immediately had to become some warped version of a hero. I haven’t had much time to think about what I like.”)

When Gin was at home, for the first time in days, Akutagawa couldn’t resist asking them too. Surprisingly — maybe, although Gin was a significantly better person than Akutagawa could ever be — they came up with a pretty good idea. One that Akutagawa was going to run with. 

As always, Akutagawa is at the Armed Detective Agency. He has nowhere else to go, anyway.

Dazai keeps looking at him, but he refuses to acknowledge him in the slightest. He can’t pretend it doesn’t make him uncomfortable, and he’s certain Dazai knows better, but he doesn’t allow him to talk regardless. 

“Former weretiger,” Akutagawa says, clearing his throat. Nakajima’s head pops up from the paperwork he’s currently filling in, and blinks at Akutagawa. “Do you have plans after work?”

Nakajima thinks for a second. “No.”

“Would you like to go somewhere?” 

Akutagawa’s voice is quiet, and his lips purse into a tight line once the question leaves his mouth. There are several eyes on him most of the time; Dazai and that other tiny detective that doesn’t act his age being the key players. 

Perhaps astoundingly, the weretiger smiles. “Sure,” he responds quietly. 

The two of them dissipate back into their own work afterwards, peaceful silence falling between them.

“Will you be home late?”

Kyouka is blinking up at him with a slight bit of concern. Atsushi doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he’s simply hanging out with Akutagawa, and that’s something they just do now. He doesn’t know why, nor is he going to acknowledge it. He just doesn’t want to tell her, or anyone.

“I’m not sure,” Atsushi responds. “But don’t wait up for me and make sure you eat something. Do you need some money?”

“No!” Kyouka objects quickly. “Save that for yourself. I’ll eat with Kenji and maybe we can have a sleepover.”

Atsushi hums. “Sure.”

With that, he says his goodbyes and makes his way downstairs with Akutagawa. He has no idea where he’s meant to be going, or what they’re doing — but he supposes he dragged Akutagawa out without any inclination last weekend, so it’s only fair that Akutagawa gets to do the same. 

As they make their way to the pier, Akutagawa clears his throat. “I thought… we could go to the theme park.” 

Stunned. Atsushi is absolutely stunned. Why? What? How? Where? What?! Atsushi blinks the confusion out of his face. “You want to go there?”

Akutagawa lets out a noise, almost like contemplation. “I’ve always wanted to go on the wheel. I thought you might like the arcades, maybe.”

Akutagawa thought he might like something. Akutagawa thought about him. 

“That sounds… fun,” Atsushi says, almost registering the reality of the situation as he speaks. “I’ve always wanted to go on the wheel too.”

“Good.”

ᗢ

Atsushi has never been to an arcade.

Almost nineteen years on this ridiculous planet that he had to save (twice!), and he hasn’t stepped foot in an arcade, despite the fact Yokohama’s biggest one is perhaps a twenty minute walk from his office. He’s never revelled in the neon lights, the almost-overwhelming sound of multiple games, and the claw machines.

Atsushi wants to go on the claw machines so badly. 

“Let me,” Akutagawa argues before Atsushi can get a word in, observing the fact he’s staring at the machines. “You paid for calligraphy class and tea last week.”

“I did that because I wanted to,” Atsushi frowns.

“And I did this because I wanted to. Don’t be stubborn, fool,” Akutagawa responds, pulling out his wallet. Although Atsushi sighs, he lets him. Akutagawa places the coins into the machine, and Atsushi goes absolutely ham.

He comes out with two plushies; a cow and a bunny. They’ll be perfect for the two children that often he has to babysit in his own goddamn apartment (who are way more wise and mature than him, and actually babysit him most of the time). When he turns around, Akutagawa - cheeks and ears tinted pink - is clutching a tiger that he thrusts towards Atsushi without a word, head turned away from him.

Atsushi smiles so hard his cheeks hurt.

They clamber into the wheel; tiger, cow and bunny at their feet. Akutagawa, of course, insists on paying for the ride too. Atsushi lets him, as this is the thing he said he wanted to do. A silence falls between them as they board, but it’s entirely comfortable and allows Atsushi to get used to the ricketiness of the ride. It takes them a short while to approach somewhere near the middle, but when they get to the top, it’s absolutely breath-taking.

“You can see the whole of Yokohama from here!” Atsushi grins, turning to face Akutagawa. When he does so — Akutagawa isn’t even looking at the scenery. He’s looking at Atsushi. 

Atsushi’s heart lands in his fucking throat. 

He snaps his head back to the view, pointing at the mountains. “I wonder what’s at the top of them.” 

“It’s just a mountain, Nakajima,” Akutagawa deadpans. 

Atsushi pouts. “I’ve never been, I wouldn’t know.”

“Neither have I,” Akutagawa confirms. “But it’s just a mountain.”

“We live in such a beautiful city,” Atsushi sighs, ignoring the stubborn bastard beside him. “It’s so pretty at night.”

Akutagawa hums. “It is.” 

Now, if Atsushi was potentially feeling a bit delusional, he’d consider the fact that Akutagawa has hardly looked at the scenery the whole time they’ve been up here — especially with the sensation throbbing against his neck that Akutagawa might just be looking at Atsushi. 

He contemplates the fact that he might be going insane, and then something happens. Akutagawa’s hand lands on top of his, on the bar of the ride. Atsushi’s entire body freezes, glancing down, and yep, Akutagawa’s hand is definitely on top of his. Atsushi feels flushed from his neck to his ears. He doesn’t speak a word; doesn’t dare to, in fact.

“I can see the Port Mafia from here,” Akutagawa says after a short while. As he says it, his fingers loop in between Atsushi’s as a casual reminder that they are basically holding hands. 

Atsushi Nakajima is fucking touch starved. This entire interaction doesn’t feel real. 

Regardless, almost like a game, he attempts to remain calm. “Of course you would think about work right now.” 

Akutagawa lets out a small scoff. “Work? I don’t work there anymore.”

Once again, Atsushi’s entire body freezes. “What?” he squawks. 

“Do you really think someone who betrayed the boss’s final word, got executed, infiltrated an entire command unit with Vampirism and still refuses to kill would keep their job?” Akutagawa replies. His voice is soft. Atsushi feels sick. “They let me go.”

“When?” Atsushi asks quietly. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Immediately. There was no point — it doesn’t change anything. I’m fortunate enough that due to my noble acts of saving the entire world, Mori let me go easily and isn’t holding anything against me. He said I was of no use, and I was simply fired,” Akutagawa states simply. 

He’s still holding Atsushi’s fucking hand. 

“So… you’re just… free…?” Atsushi asks, broken and jumbled. He can’t get his head around this. 

“Yes,” Akutagawa confirms. “Although I still respond to Dazai-san. He’s the only person who gives me direct orders, now.” 

“You’re working on the politician case because of Dazai-san’s orders?” Atsushi asks. 

“Dazai-san asked me to work with you on this, which I accepted,” Akutagawa states, trying to reverse the narrative just slightly. “He also asked me to capture her — but I failed that as my ability dissipated and I passed out.” 

Atsushi sighs. Then, he does something that is, in his mind, bold. He turns his hand so it’s no longer gripping the bar, rotating it and lacing his and Akutagawa’s fingers together. “I’m sure this was a test from Dazai-san, once again.”

“I agree,” Akutagawa states. His voice stutters slightly, and Atsushi’s lips draw into a thin line. “Although, I’m unsure why he would want to test our teamwork at this point.”

“Eh, it’s Dazai-san,” Atsushi hums. Their hands fall from the bar, but don’t separate. Atsushi gives another glance. It’s just hand holding. He needs to pull himself together. “He doesn’t need a reason for anything. He does what he wants.”

“I’m going to miss the tiger,” Akutagawa says quietly. As he does so, his thumb rubs over the top of Atsushi’s hand. Embarrassingly, Atsushi shudders. He prays to whatever God may exist that Akutagawa doesn’t notice. “I like having her.”

“I like having Rashomon,” Atsushi agrees. “But I miss my tiger.”

“I miss Rashomon,” Akutagawa repeats. “If the politician’s ability was to give us both, I’d say keep her free.” 

Atsushi lets out a small laugh. “What an ideal world.” 

ᗢ

Kyouka and Kenji are still awake when Atsushi returns home.

He hands them the plushies without a single word, before locking himself in his closet and screaming into his pillow. 

(No, the closet is not a hidden irony, thank you very much.)

ᗢ

A childish call of his name is the last thing Atsushi needs right now.

However, Dazai is his mentor, so it’s something he hears almost daily. 

The elder approaches his desk via his own chair, swirling around before using Atsushi’s desk to stabilise himself. “We have intel.”

Intel… Intel… “Oh. The politician?” Atsushi asks. Dazai nods his head with a small chuckle. “What’s going on?”

“Luckily, I’ve asked a few friends to keep an eye on her,” Ango, then. “Her ability was recently used in Sapporo.” 

“…That’s so far away from here,” Atsushi sighs. 

Dazai hums in agreement. “Good job the president has agreed for four people to fly over there then, isn’t it?” 

Oh. “Right,” Atsushi mumbles. “Who’s going?”

“Kunikida-kun, Akutagawa-kun, you and I,” Dazai confirms. “Two sets of partners.” 

Partners. Atsushi lets out a sigh of relief. “What’s the plan?”

“You and Akutagawa-kun, without your abilities, will capture her. Kunikida-kun and I will be the brains. We’re assuming she’s being hidden by some high-up individuals, but she should be easy enough to find,” Dazai says with a shrug. “Ango will be giving me intel. Once she’s captured, I’ll nullify her ability and we will all go back to normal and get that corrupt woman in jail.”

Simple enough then. “No abilities just for Yaeko Nogami, right?”

“Yep,” Dazai grins. “Knock yourself out with Rashomon to get to her. The two of you have been training, right?”

“I’m going to miss the tiger.”

Atsushi nods. “I’ll go and let Akutagawa know.” 

Nakajima is nervous. 

Akutagawa knows enough about him by now, to know that much. He’s not sure what is making him nervous exactly, but with Osamu Dazai and Doppo Kunikida also next to them, he doesn’t get much opportunity to ask. 

The airport is loud. Akutagawa despises it and has to use a counterfeit passport to not alert passport control that one of Yokohama’s most wanted criminals is about to take a domestic flight. Dazai, useful for something besides Akutagawa’s personal insecurities, got Ango to sort one out for him. 

Still, he too is on edge. 

“Akutagawa-kun, Atsushi-kun. You’re sitting next to each other on row 58.”

“Understood,” Akutagawa confirms. Nakajima just nods his head. What is wrong with him? At least he might get an opportunity to ask on the plane. 

Once they finally board and sit in their respective seats, Nakajima is pressed together so tightly that Akutagawa can’t pretend that nothing is going on anymore. He edges in close, keeping enough distance to not startle him. “Are you okay?” he asks quietly.

“I’ve never flown on a plane before,” Nakajima whispers back. 

That’s what’s wrong with him. Thank heavens. “They will warn you when it’s about to take off, give you a safety announcement, the plane will depart and then we will be in the air. Turbulence is normal but can be painful to your ears and make you feel queasy. It’s a short flight, so I can’t imagine it’ll be much trouble.” 

“O-okay,” Nakajima says quietly. 

Glancing quickly around them for any prying eyes (nosy detectives), Akutagawa decides to place a gentle hand on Nakajima’s arm. He leans over and points out the window. “Watch out here. It’s scenic when we take off. It might put your anxiety at ease.”

Nakajima glances down at his grasp, before following Akutagawa’s finger out of the window. Akutagawa doesn’t dare move his hand away. He’s not sure if he can. He also can’t take his eyes off him, like the night at the amusement park. 

Ryuunosuke Akutagawa has lost all sanity. 

As the plane takes off, Nakajima fully tenses up, and in a desperate attempt to calm him down, Akutagawa allows himself the luxury of running his thumb across Nakajima’s arm. “Look at the clouds.” 

Amused by the smallest of things, Nakajima lets out a small gasp and eases back down. “It’s… so pretty,” he breathes.

Akutagawa hasn’t looked at the window once. Just the other orphan who sits beside him, with his ridiculous haircut and sunset-coloured eyes; bright and glassy at the clouds beneath them. 

“Yeah. It is.” 

ᗢ

Of course, each duo is rooming together.

Surprisingly, Osamu Dazai isn’t as much of a bane to Akutagawa’s existence as he previously imagined. Both rooms are twin rooms. 

(Akutagawa is slightly disappointed, but he’s swallowing that down.)

Compared to previous Mafia missions, the room is quaint — but Nakajima seems to be very impressed by even staying in a hotel, so Akutagawa decides that it’s perfectly adequate. “Wow!” the weretiger exclaims, practically running around the room. “It’s so big. A double bed, just for me!” 

Akutagawa bites on his cheek to stop himself from smiling. “I dread to think what measly dregs you live in under the Agency.”

“I have a futon,” Nakajima deadpans. “In a closet.”

Ah. That certainly makes sense. The weretiger collapses on the bed, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh of relief. Akutagawa glares at him. “Take your outside clothes off and shower first, you heathen.”

“But I’m so tired,” Nakajima whines. 

“I’m showering, then,” Akutagawa responds with a sigh. 

Akutagawa returns to the bedroom after his shower, drawing the curtains and climbing into his own bed. Nakajima isn’t asleep, mindlessly scrolling on his phone, so Akutagawa pulls out the book he brought with him and keeps the lights on for a while. 

Eventually, without a word, he goes into the bathroom and Akutagawa hears the shower turn on. Thank God. The weretiger doesn’t take too long, returning to the bed in his pyjamas when he’s done. Akutagawa can’t bring himself to look at him.

Despite everything, he feels irritated.

After a long moment of pause, he hears the bed next to him move. “Are you okay, Akutagawa?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Akutagawa responds.

Nakajima hums. “You seem tense.”

“I’m on an Armed Detective Agency mission with a man that has tormented me since I was a young teenager,” Akutagawa responds. “Everything feels like a test. I can’t really relax.”

“Oh,” Nakajima replies. Then, he moves, sitting on the edge of Akutagawa’s bed and turning so they’re facing. Akutagawa blinks, putting his book down. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

“They’re not exactly ideal for combat.” 

Nakajima smiles. “I suppose you’re right. They suit you.” 

Akutagawa’s heart stops. He’s surely, surely lost his mind. “Thank you.” 

At this, the weretiger’s eyes widen. Then, he returns to smiling. Almost like a smirk. “No witty comments?”

What’s the use? He has no energy to think of one. “No.”

“Don’t worry about Dazai-san,” Nakajima says after a moment of tension. “I’m here, and you’re here as part of the Agency. He won’t be that hard on you.”

As much as it annoys Akutagawa, he knows it’s true. The real Dazai, or at least the one Akutagawa knows, never appears when the weretiger is around. Still, something in his jaw clenches. Rivalry. Tension. Insecurity. Jealousy. Nakajima will never know any of that. 

As always, Akutagawa’s own pathetic mind is going to ruin him. 

“I’d like to sleep.” 

“Right,” Nakajima says, eyes diverting. “Sleep.” 

As Akutagawa goes to lie down, his bed shifts and he hears Nakajima sigh as he climbs into his own, flicking off the lights. Akutagawa closes his eyes, but he can hear that stupid weretiger thinking and fidgeting. “Are you ever still?”

“You’re insufferable!” Nakajima yells, making Akutagawa flinch and turn sharply to face him. “One minute you’re touching me, reassuring me, doing whatever — the next, you’re cold as ice! I don’t understand you!”

“I don’t recall asking for your understanding,” Akutagawa responds before he can stop himself. 

Nakajima scoffs. He’s hurt. “Of course. Goodnight, Akutagawa.” 

ᗢ

Nakajima is still (rightfully) cold with Akutagawa at breakfast. 

The four of them are sat amongst the table, Kunikida and Dazai squabbling over something meaningless.

(“Sapporo’s ocean has healing properties. Write that down.”

Kunikida opens his notebook, beginning to scribble when Dazai says: “I’m fucking with you.”

The pen snaps, notebook slammed on the table, and Kunikida’s hands are around Dazai’s neck.)

Nakajima has hardly muttered a word, pushing the food around his plate with his beautiful head resting against his dainty hand. Akutagawa has stolen about four glances since he sat down. It’s all he can manage. 

Osamu Dazai notices everything, of course, because as they’re about to depart for the mission, he roughly grabs Akutagawa’s arm with a little bit too much grip, keeping them a reasonable distance from the two in front. “Fix whatever you fucked up.”

Akutagawa clenches his jaw. 

“Next time you fuck up, I’m shooting you five times and punching you twice. Got it?”

Inhaling a breath, Akutagawa lets his eyes close for a second. “I plan on it,” he grits. “Must you intervene with everything?”

“Don’t forget that I know exactly what you are like, Akutagawa-kun,” Dazai retorts. “Do not fuck this mission up for us again.”

Akutagawa would like to argue that he didn’t fuck it up to begin with. He’d like to argue that Dazai probably planned on Akutagawa being too headstrong to simply let that woman be arrested without consequence. He’d like to argue that the whole reason that they are even in Sapporo is because Dazai knows and assumes the worst in Akutagawa. 

He doesn’t. 

He simply nods his head, breaks from his grip, and walks a little bit further ahead from him. 

Ryuunosuke Akutagawa is a coward.

ᗢ

Today is potentially Akutagawa’s last day with his tiger.

There’s a number of emotions in his stomach. Relief and guilt being the main two. Sentimental sadness is the overwhelming one. “Nakajima.”

“What do you want?” 

His voice is sharper than ice. They’re on their own; Kunikida and Dazai are already on their way to a safe spot until the politician is restrained. Akutagawa and Nakajima are in a taxi, on their way to an intel-linked location where they believe she is hiding. They haven’t spoken at all. 

“I apologise for being irrational and closed off,” Akutagawa says. He can’t bring his pathetic gaze from his lap, but Nakajima’s head turns to him. He senses it. Akutagawa swallows down a breath. “I didn’t want to disclose how I was feeling, but I shouldn’t have behaved in such a way.”

Silence. 

Painful silence. 

Then, a hand on his thigh. Akutagawa stares at it until he loses focus in his vision. 

“I don’t know the depths of your and Dazai-san’s relationship, but I shouldn’t have pushed,” Nakajima mumbles after far too long. “So I’m sorry, too.”

Akutagawa ignores the feeling of undeserving that surrounds him. He places his hand on top of Nakajima’s. “I don’t want you to feel like I am closing myself off to you. Nor do I want to treat you so… temperamentally.”

“You are temperamental,” Nakajima argues back softly. “Ryuunosuke. Look at me.”

Akutagawa can’t. “Later,” he dejects, barely looking up at Nakajima. “We can talk about it properly later. How I’m feeling and my relationship with Dazai-san.”

“...Okay. Whatever you need.” 

ᗢ

Intel is never reliable from the Special Division Unit. 

Akutagawa has been in the Port Mafia long enough to know that, if they don’t care enough about a mission, the intel will be dire at best, non-existent at worst. He was also under the assumption that Dazai had a fool-proof plan to capture Yaeko Nogami, but he now believes that to be untrue. 

There’s no sign of anything at this enclosed building, and Akutagawa and Nakajima have been staking it out for seven excruciating hours.  

Plus, they’re hardly speaking. Mostly Akutagawa’s fault and choice. 

“I’m bored,” Nakajima whines from beside him, huffing out a sigh after. “This is a dead end.”

Akutagawa hums. “Dazai said one more hour and we can go back to the hotel.” 

“Entertain me for an hour then,” Nakajima mutters, prodding Akutagawa’s cheek. Akutagawa freezes in his spot. “Tell me a funny story.”

“Do I look like the kind of individual that has colloquial stories to tell?” Akutagawa scoffs back, letting himself rest against the wall they’re currently sitting by. “I spent my childhood in rock bottom Yokohama, then my teenage years in the mafia.”

“Nothing funny ever happened in the mafia?” Nakajima retaliates. “What’s Nakahara-san like?”

Akutagawa wouldn’t really know. He never got close to anyone. “Like an elder sibling to most, I assume. A drunk, too.” 

Nakajima hums. “Not close? Who are you close to?”

Akutagawa distances himself from everybody. “Does the term lone wolf mean nothing to you?” he attempts to retort. “I work alone.”

“Yawn,” Nakajima deadpans, pretending to stretch. “You literally have a partner.”

“Now.” 

“Right, right,” Nakajima mutters. “What about Gin? You’re close with them, right?”

Akutagawa reflects for a second. He doesn’t mean to cause a delay in their conversation, but it’s a question that truly stuns him. “I suppose so. We care for each other in a particular way. Until the mafia, we were perhaps too close.”

“What changed?” Nakajima asks, nosy as ever. “Feel free to not answer that.”

“We were separated when we joined. Gin trained under someone called Verlaine, and obviously Dazai-san was my mentor. When Dazai-san left, Higuchi looked after the command unit because Mori was concerned that I would become too biased,” Akutagawa responds. “It’s not really mafioso-code to have two codependent siblings working together. We moved in together last year, but we didn’t see each other too much because of our work schedules.”

Nakajima nods his head. “I take it you’re not close to Higuchi?”

“I treated that woman like shit,” Akutagawa scoffs, before his brain can stop himself. “I hoped she’d quit most days.”

“Because of incompetence?” 

“Because she’s an individual that should’ve never joined the mafia. Far too sensitive and emotional.” 

“Oh,” Nakajima replies. A beat of silence. “So you do care.”

“Shut up, Nakajima.”

ᗢ

The dead end was, essentially, a dead end. 

They definitely wasted eight hours. The other two detectives didn’t even bother to wait for them in the hotel, after Nakajima finished his phone call with Kunikida. 

Like the mission, their hotel room is mostly silent. Nakajima showers first this time, so Akutagawa goes second. When he returns to the room, the two huge beds are pushed together and Nakajima is doing something that Akutagawa can only describe as nesting, with a devious look on his face.

Ryuunosuke Akutagawa is fucked.

“Do you have no concept of personal space?” 

“I saw your eyes light up,” Nakajima replies with a roll of his eyes. “Get in. It’s therapy time.”

Akutagawa scoffs. “Do not interrupt my reading time.” 

“Whatever, Ryuunosuke,” Nakajima mutters. “Just get in the fucking bed.”

The silence is driving Atsushi crazy.

He knows Akutagawa isn’t giving him the silent treatment (not like he can say the same, at least not earlier this morning), but he’s peacefully reading his book with those stupid (beautiful) glasses on his face like he doesn’t have a care in the world that Atsushi is waiting to at least fucking talk to him.

“Akutagawa.”

“I told you not to interrupt my reading time.”

“Oh my God,” Atsushi groans. “You’ve been reading for like, an hour. You said—”

“And I will,” Akutagawa interrupts. “Let me finish my chapter.”

“Fine. I’m turning the light off as soon as I see a 33 at the top of that page.” 

Atsushi huffs after saying this, grabbing his phone. He’s met with four cat videos from the Tanizaki siblings, a selfie from Dazai with Kunikida in the background, face red, and two texts.

[21:02] Kyouka =^.^=: i hope you’re having fun in sapporo.
[21:03] Kyouka =^.^=: pick me up a souvenir.
[22:22] Atsushi: i’m on a mission not a holiday
[22:24] Kyouka =^.^=: sure.

Atsushi takes one glance at the book again, squinting. He puts his phone on the bedside table, shuffling so he’s fully under the covers, and waits. As patiently as he can. After what feels like another hour (probably like 2 minutes), Akutagawa puts the book down and slips further down into the bed, flicking off the light. 

There’s a significant amount of distance between them, considering two double beds are pushed together and they have their own duvets. 

Atsushi pushes his desperation to one side.

“I cannot stand you,” Akutagawa says, almost all of a sudden. His voice is so quiet that it comes out like a whisper. “I cannot stand you, Atsushi Nakajima.”

“I’m not fond of you either,” Atsushi scoffs, burying himself further into his duvet. 

“I mean it. You’re insufferable, impatient, over-confident and unbearable. You’re quite literally the bane of my existence,” Akutagawa groans. “I’ve never encountered something so tortuous in my entire life.”

Atsushi hums. “Where are you going with this exactly?”

“Every single day since I’ve met you, I-,” Akutagawa exhales a shaky breath. “Fuck. I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Not for one solitary second.” 

As Atsushi goes to open his mouth, it’s almost like time stops. The whole world stops. Atsushi, certainly, he stops; stops breathing, stops moving, stops thinking. Every word in his throat, air in his lungs, stops. His gaze falls onto Akutagawa, breathing ragged, a peek of moonlight glossing over his face. 

Eventually, after what feels like far too long, Atsushi exhales. Then, his mind clears. “That must have been very troublesome for you, Ryuunosuke.”

“Shut up, I swear to whatever God—”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you either.” 

Atsushi contemplates his actions for barely a second, utilising Rashomon (weakly crafted from his pyjamas), to push himself so he’s on Akutagawa’s side of the bed. The entire time, Akutagawa doesn’t say a word; doesn’t even let out a breath. Atsushi lets a tendril wrap around Akutagawa’s hand, lacing between his fingers, a warm red glow between them. 

“I missed her,” he breathes, like it’s something he’s been holding onto for a long time.

“I’ll miss her, as well.” 

Akutagawa slowly lifts up his hand, observing the spirals around his fingers. “You honed her in well.”

“We were already quite well-acquainted, no?” Atsushi asks in response. “It’s not like she didn’t trust me. Can’t say the same in return.”

“No?” Akutagawa questions. Atsushi is still staring at him, expression soft. He’s so beautiful like this, and it’s entirely unfair. “I saw her in your eyes the first night the abilities swapped.”

“I wanted to kill you,” Atsushi admits. “I wanted to kill you so bad.” 

Akutagawa’s eyes crinkle. Almost like he’s smiling. “I’m sure you did.” 

ᗢ

(Akutagawa tells him everything that night, although Atsushi is sure he spares some of the details. Berating taunts, humiliation and torture — all because he was just a child that wanted a will to live. Pushing others away to become a strong mafioso, even his own family, because he believed that was the only way he could move forward.

He tells Atsushi about how the only reason he wanted to kill him was the desire to fulfil his order, and how when that need went away, he felt lost. He tells Atsushi about wallowing around without a purpose when he was fired from the Port Mafia; but with no desire to die at the same time. He tells Atsushi about how, in what he assumed was his final moments, his will to live became stronger than ever.

The worst of it, he tells Atsushi about how he views himself. Broken, weak and, in his own terms, feeble. Atsushi disagrees. Ryuunosuke Akutagawa is the strongest person he’s ever known.

Frightfully, Atsushi’s not sure how he’s ever going to look at Dazai in the same way again; even if he does believe he’s changed for the better.)

ᗢ

Day two is no different to day one; the two of them sitting on some shitty wall in the cold while Kunikida and Dazai are surely nice and warm in their safehouse. It’s been an hour, and Atsushi is bored , freezing and tired. He wants something nice to eat and to actually explore Sapporo. 

“Anything yet, Atsushi?” his ear blares, Kunikida's voice drilling into his ear.

“Not a thing,” Atsushi mumbles back after clicking the button. He lets his head rest on Akutagawa’s shoulder with a yawn, swinging his legs. “I’m already sick of this.”

“You would last about 2 hours in the Port Mafia,” Akutagawa scoffs. “Rest if you want. I’ll wake you up if anything happens.”

Atsushi lets out a small noise. “How am I meant to go to sleep with no back support?”

When he blinks up, Akutagawa rolls his eyes. Nonetheless, he gets up from where he’s sitting, moving so he’s behind Atsushi. He shifts in his position, moving so Atsushi is between his legs, and places both hands either side of him. Atsushi falls back onto his chest with a satisfied smile, letting his eyes fall shut. “Insufferable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Atsushi mumbles. 

It’s probably about ten minutes of peace before Akutagawa squeezes gently on his arm. “Go.” 

“Seriously?”

“For heaven’s sake, Nakajima,” As Akutagawa gets up, Atsushi falls back with a small yelp. “And be quiet.”

Atsushi scowls up at him, getting to his feet and following as Akutagawa approaches closer. He glances down at Akutagawa’s hand, wanting to touch, but no, they’re on some stupid mission which is probably going to resort to nothing and leave them out here for another shitty 8 hours. 

Much to Atsushi’s surprise, there actually is something to go after. A black car, but the driver stood beside it has an all-familiar badge on his uniform that Atsushi recognises as something Yaeko Nogami also had on her in their first fight. Akutagawa must’ve recognised it too. “Should we flag down a taxi?” he whispers. 

Akutagawa nods his head. So Atsushi does so, near the side of the road. When they climb in, Atsushi grins at the driver. “Could you kindly follow that black car?” he asks, flashing his badge. The taxi driver squints at the badge, but simply nods. “You noticed, so why don’t you update Dazai-san and Kunikida-san?”

Akutagawa clears his throat, but nonetheless, clicks his earpiece. “We’re following a car we believe belongs to the political party affiliated with Yaeko Nogami,” After a few murmurs of yes, Akutagawa’s hand drops. “Dazai-san said good work.”

“To you?”

Akutagawa, once again, simply nods his head. Atsushi smiles to himself, before tilting his head to keep an anxious eye on the car in front. It pulls up in front of a white building. “Could you go around the corner?” Atsushi asks the driver. “We’ll compensate you for waiting with us.” 

Perhaps Atsushi is too nice; too trusting; too naive. There’s a lot of things people describe him as. The taxi driver pulls out a gun once they’re around the corner. His hand is shaking, pointing it directly at Atsushi’s head. Akutagawa clears his throat. “We’ll make this easy for you, as we’re clearly in the right place. On whose orders have you ambushed us?” he asks.

There’s no answer, just a gunshot. Akutagawa’s hand moves, but at the same time, Atsushi finally unlocks devoured space! Take that, Yaeko Nogami. The bullets fall straight to the floor, and Atsushi uses a tendril to smack the gun out of his hand. The two flee the car before there’s any further interruption. 

Atsushi wraps Rashomon around Akutagawa’s waist before they can even think, flinging them up to a high point out of the way, enough to hide but also to see. Akutagawa grunts slightly, but then he smiles. “You should keep her.”

“Shut up,” Atsushi retaliates. “Don’t flirt with me on the job.”

As much as Atsushi wants to revel in the flustered look on Akutagawa’s face, he realises they’re short on time and clicks his earpiece. “Taxi driver was onto us. We’re watching over the building. Akutagawa is pinning you to our location right now.”

“You know what to do, Atsushi,” is Dazai’s response.

He sure does. 

It’s time to find his tiger.

ᗢ

Over the past few weeks, Atsushi has perhaps forgotten that Akutagawa is a former mafioso.

Not because Akutagawa doesn’t have a fuck with me and I’ll kill you vibe, but maybe because he’s seen him in such an open light, since the ability switch. 

Akutagawa sneaking into a private government entity without a bat of an eye is hot. And Atsushi has a really important mission that he should be focusing on now, instead of the way his partner just picked a lock with a paperclip and smashed an alarm system with a tiger claw.

“Stop gawking,” Akutagawa scoffs. “We have about 30 seconds until we’re ambushed by gun-wielding idiots.”

Right. The mission. 

If Atsushi was a corrupt politician with a powerful ability, where would he hide? Probably somewhere unobtainable, or maybe somewhere obvious. Nogami hid behind some boxes in the hull the first time; but she wanted to be chased down. This time? She must be somewhere different, with access to food, water and rest.

“Dining room,” Atsushi says aloud. Then he shakes his head. “Look for dining rooms.”

“I didn’t receive the floor plan,” Akutagawa retorts sarcastically. “How am I—”

“Shut up. Use your fucking tiger senses to sniff out food,” Atsushi squabbles. Akutagawa opens his mouth, but closes it again, lips pressing in a firm line. After a couple of seconds, he points to a door just left of the first stairwell. “Good boy.”

Once again, a missed opportunity to see Akutagawa flustered, because he immediately grabs the two of them with Rashomon and flings up to the room Akutagawa pointed out. Akutagawa scoffs, dusting himself off when Atsushi lets go and yeah, he is blushing. “We’re not in some comic book, you know? You can use your legs.”

“But Ryuunosuke, it’s so fun to fling across buildings.” 

“Utterly intolerable,” Akutagawa scoffs, tips of his ears still pink. “Go first.”

“You better have my back, partner,” Atsushi mumbles, breaking down the door with a tendril. He just about registers that it’ll be his last use of Rashomon and bids a silent farewell as he steps into the room, hand on the blade in his pocket. 

The room itself is empty, but Atsushi is a good detective, despite what others might say. He knows better than that. As he enters, everything happens so quickly. He’s on the floor with a seething shoulder in his pain, there’s a gunshot, a cry of a woman’s voice and a body on top of him on the floor. All that registers is a shout of his last name and the words hurry up, Dazai-san.

Then everything goes black. 

Because of course it does.

In Akutagawa’s mind, if the mission ended well, both of them would be unscathed.

Atsushi Nakajima is not unscathed. Although, Akutagawa realises, for someone with such strong armour and workforce; he’s not very tolerant of pain. He supposes that comes with the tiger ability, because a mere stab in the shoulder would only spur Akutagawa to fight harder. 

He wishes he would just wake up.

Of course, Yaeko Nogami was arrested on sight. Even government officials were unaware of her whereabouts, which is pretty noble if Akutagawa says so himself, to be hidden in such a lucrative place. Akutagawa shot her in the shoulder, and it felt damn good. One touch of her forehead from Dazai, and everything was back to normal.

Other than Atsushi Nakajima will not wake up.

Akutagawa opted to ignore Dazai’s teasing, when the two of them brought Nakajima back to the hotel room. 

("I knew I should’ve ordered one bed! The two of you can’t keep your hands off each other, can you?” and “God, the new Double Black is just like the old.” were Dazai’s shitty jokes, after seeing the two beds pushed together with a mountain of blankets and duvets.)

Akutagawa nestled Nakajima up carefully, and tended to his wounds without a single flinch from the other; wrapping his shoulder in bandages. It didn’t matter though, because as soon as he’d finished tying it, the injury completely disappeared. 

Shamefully, he spends the rest of the afternoon picking at his fingers with anxiety, pretending to read his book, even mindlessly watching the garbage television channels that came with their hotel room, until eventually, a slurred “Ryuu?” came from beside him. 

“Jesus Christ, weretiger. One stab?”

Nakajima bolts upright, flexing his shoulder immediately. “Ah, Byakko.”

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous, preposterous even. “Stupid weretiger,” he mutters under his breath, throwing his book to one side. He folds his arms, like the immature child he is, and huffs out a breath.

“Worried about me, Ryuunosuke?”

“Shut your mouth.”

“I told you to have my back. You—”

“Shut up. Since when are we on a first name basis, Atsushi?”

With the very last amount of his puny confidence, Akutagawa tilts his head to look at Nakajima. He’s clearly very pleased with himself, eyes shining when he meets Akutagawa’s gaze, lips curled perfectly. “Did you shoot that bitch?”

“I did,” Akutagawa confirms quietly. “The minute she touched you.”

“You didn’t—”

“I keep my promises, weretiger. I shot her in the shoulder,” Akutagawa interrupts, huffing out a breath. “I still have to kill you.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll kill me, you hate me, bane of your existence,” Atsushi mutters, rolling his eyes and lying back down on the bed. 

“I never said hate,” Akutagawa responds, lying down himself. “I refuse to save your insufferable self another time. Tolerate pain.”

“Repeat that first bit.” 

“Absolutely not.”

ᗢ

Two things about being a temporary Armed Detective Agency member are bothering Akutagawa. 

Firstly, how does an organisation this incompetent even run? Fukuzawa himself is an incredible president, but the members of this organisation are all either literal children or mental children.

Secondly, the Dazai in front of him is not his Dazai. This is something that Akutagawa has been acutely aware of since the defection; but being faced with it head-on has been overwhelming at best. 

“Kunikida-kun is taking me to the beach!” Dazai calls cheerfully, clinging onto the man’s arm. “So you kids have fun.”

Akutagawa cannot fathom a response. Just a quirk of his eyebrow. 

(“This is not the time to be slacking off, you shit-for-brains! We should be doing our paperwork in advance so we-,"

“Would it kill you to have a day off, Kunikida-kun?! Speaking of kill, how deep do you think the ocean is out there?”)

Nakajima is looking at him expectantly when the two of them walk away. 

“What do you want, Nakajima?”

“Ice cream,” Nakajima responds. “Maybe some lunch. And you’re paying.”

Insufferable. 

Of course, they get ice cream first. Nakajima wants to eat it by the coast, so they eat it by the coast. They get soup curry for lunch, because Nakajima wants to eat soup curry. Akutagawa pays for everything, because Nakajima wants Akutagawa to pay for everything. 

“You should get a new coat,” Nakajima says, between a mouthful of food that he eats like a pig, somewhat out of the blue. “I miss your knight outfit.”

“That was a temporary loan from Stoker-san,” Akutagawa scoffs. “I’m unemployed, in case you’ve forgotten. I’m not willing to dip into my savings to satisfy your fetish for armour.”

“Damn,” Nakajima sighs. “You should still get a new coat.”

Nakajima wants Akutagawa to get a new coat. 

Currently, he doesn’t have Dazai’s. He brought what he considers a spring jacket, simply black and denim. Without a job, he doesn’t have much need to buy a new coat; but he is fatigued with Dazai's.

“Very well,” Akutagawa sighs. 

Nakajima smiles like he’s won a war. 

ᗢ

“Is everything you wear black?”

“Coming from someone who’s wardrobe consists of one button down and one pair of trousers?”

Nakajima sighs, scanning through the rack of clothing in front of them. “I’m broke. You have more money than sense.”

“Ridiculous,” Akutagawa scoffs. “I saved my pay checks for salient things, like an apartment and an education for my sister.”

Nakajima glances at him once, eyes shining like twilight, before returning to the clothing in front of him. He hands Akutagawa a few jackets, mostly dark in colour. “Try these. Don’t just settle for the black ones.”

“Pick a few things out for yourself while I do. I’ll pay for it,” Akutagawa mutters, before stalking off to the changing room. Nakajima has picked out a variety of coats; different styles and shapes. There’s a tweed jacket, dark grey with a detailed checked pattern. Akutagawa coughs once before exiting the changing room. “Nakajima.”

The other looks up from his clothing rack, holding a few items in his arms. When his eyes scan the coat, before Akutagawa’s face, it’s like the whole world ceases to exist for a few seconds. “Yeah,” Nakajima breathes. “Get that one.”

Akutagawa grunts out a noise of agreement, unsure that he can even speak. He scoffs as he turns on his heel, darting back into the changing room and shoving his own jacket back on. He gathers what he needs, including another one of the coats in black (just in case), and returns to Nakajima’s side. 

“You picked a black one too?”

“I’d hate to get blood stains on the tweed one.”

“Right,” Nakajima smiles. “Makes sense.”

Akutagawa doesn’t look at the total when the purchases scan through the machine. He uses his credit card, unsure if Mori knows he still has it, then heads out the door without a single word. Nakajima follows behind him, practically beaming, and it’s like all the desperate air has left Akutagawa’s lungs. 

He coughs. 

“Is there anything you want to do?” Nakajima asks from beside him. He loops his arm through Akutagawa’s, pulling him closer. Akutagawa stares down for perhaps a second too long, then blinks once. “Want to get some tea?” 

“Yes,” Akutagawa confirms. “You’ve run me ragged.” 

“Shut up,” Nakajima scoffs. “Shopping isn’t that tiring.”

ᗢ

Akutagawa wakes first. 

His entire nervous system immediately kicks in, because Nakajima is pressed against his side, face so close to Akutagawa’s that he can feel his tiny, sleeping breaths. He looks peaceful, at ease. Akutagawa can’t tear his eyes away for a single second.

Gently (and hesitantly) he curls one hand around Nakajima’s waist, keeping him in their heart-stopping distance. Akutagawa has forgotten how to breathe or even function, but he knows that this moment cannot end so suddenly. 

Nakajima stirs. “Ryuu,” he mumbles sleepily, though makes no conscious effort to move. The proximity between them is so small, and when Nakajima opens his eyes, Akutagawa’s mouth entirely dries up.

“We should move,” he whispers, cowardly.

Nakajima smiles, dazed. “Five more minutes.”

Akutagawa can spare five minutes. He could spare all the time in the world, if he truly wanted to. As his rationality kicks in, he thanks whatever God or Demon watches over him that he packed his suitcase the night before; just for the ability to entertain this for a few moments. 

As Nakajima comes to, his own hand tightens a small fist into Akutagawa’s shirt, clutching at the fabric as a silent message for him not to move an inch. He blinks a couple of times, a crooked grin on his face. “So pretty, even when you just woke up.”

“Nakajima."  Akutagawa hisses, ears burning even further than he deemed possible. Golden and purple eyes twinkle at him, in somewhat of a response, and in that split second Akutagawa realises Nakajima is going to kiss him—

“If you two don’t get your sorry asses downstairs in the next five minutes, we will leave you in Sapporo!”

The pounding on the door and shrieking voice that Akutagawa can only familiarise as a banshee startles them both, but Nakajima more so, clunking their foreheads together. Akutagawa groans, clutching the dull ache, and Nakajima laughs.

Doppo Kunikida. Akutagawa may have to break his promise a month earlier than planned. 

(“Kunikida-kun!” a familiar voice wails in the background. “Leave the sleeping lovebirds alone!”)

ᗢ

Before they board the plane, Akutagawa pulls Kunikida to one side quietly. The elder looks at him with a bewildered look, and Akutagawa simply clears his throat. “Do you keep in touch with Stoker-san?”

“Bram Stoker?” Kunikida questions. “I do.”

“Would you be able to give me his contact information?” Akutagawa responds, barely meeting his eye. “I would like to get back in touch with him.”

“You can take the window seat,” Akutagawa says from beside Atsushi, who is once again nervous to board a plane.

“I had it on the way here, it’s only fair you have it back.” 

“I’ve boarded many flights,” Akutagawa responds. “This is only your second.”

Atsushi deems that fair. He grins through his anxiety and takes the seat by the window, Akutagawa next to him. Immediately, there’s a hand gently resting on his lap, and Atsushi exhales a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. Akutagawa knows him so well, it’s unfair and cruel. 

“Look at the clouds this time,” Atsushi mutters. “Not at me.”

He’s not sure if Akutagawa obliges, but he doesn’t say anything in retaliation, simply spreading his bony fingers across Atsushi’s thigh and drumming them gently. Atsushi holds his breath and fixates on the clouds; white and grey beneath them.

He doesn’t really want to go back to Yokohama.

ᗢ

Before the ability swap, Atsushi could easily go a week without hearing a peep from Akutagawa. It’s been two days since they returned from Sapporo, and he feels like he’s going stir crazy. 

[14:02] Atsushi: when will i see you again
[14:04] Ryuunosuke >:( : soon jinko. i’m busy.
[14:05] Atsushi: doing what!!! you don’t have a job!!!
[14:06] Ryuunosuke >:( : insufferable and demanding. 

Atsushi huffs and puts his phone down on the desk, putting his head in his arms for a single second before Kunikida yells at him to do some work. “I swear, if that mafioso-,”

“Former mafioso.”

“-even so much as starts to make you act like Dazai…”

Atsushi drowns him out, opening up his laptop and pretending to type to get him off his back. 

ᗢ

Atsushi’s jaw drops to the floor when he sees Akutagawa for the first time since Sapporo. 

Three weeks. It’s been three weeks, along with a string of text messages and one singular phone call from Akutagawa which told him he was flying to Ireland (what?) — yet Akutagawa appears before him, in his own office, unannounced; wearing armour??? “Pick your jaw up, jinko. I’m here for a meeting.”

“You-!” Atsushi practically screams, lunging at Akutagawa before he can stop himself. “Where the hell have you been?!” 

“Stop causing a scene in your place of work,” Akutagawa huffs, pushing him off. “I’ll talk to you when I’m done.” 

“Akutagawa!” Atsushi screams again, but the other just keeps on walking, all the way to the president’s office. Kunikida throws Atsushi to the ground and restrains him there.

“Get a hold of yourself. You haven’t finished your paperwork,” Kunikida grips, but Atsushi’s limbs are flailing. “Get back to your desk, brat.”

Atsushi clenches his jaw, stiffening before Kunikida lets him go. He throws himself back to his desk with a grunt, folding his arms and reading through the stupid email that stupid Kunikida sent him, sparing stupid glances at the stupid office that stupid Akutagawa is currently in. 

When the door opens, Atsushi immediately gets to his feet and tackles Akutagawa, pinning him to the wall. “Answer me, asshole! Where have you been?!”

“Ireland, I told you,” Akutagawa grunts. “Do you rebuke all of your visitors?”

Atsushi’s mouth runs dry, glaring at Akutagawa once before he lets go of him, fingers brushing against the metal once. “I swear to God-,”

“Come to dinner with me.” 

“...Fine.” 

ᗢ

“Are you going to keep repeating yourself or are you actually going to allow me to explain?” Akutagawa growls. God, he looks so good, so good, it’s absolutely unfair and Atsushi wants to cry. “I went to Ireland to see Stoker-san. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, jinko, but I’ve been having a mild identity crisis.”

“No shit,” Atsushi mutters, folding his arms. The waiter takes their order, exchanging a glance at Akutagawa which makes Byakko hiss from beneath him. He glares at them as they walk away. 

“I suppose my conclusion is somewhat of a freelancer. Helping organisations with mundane jobs as a knight,” Akutagawa explains, although the words make absolutely no sense, garbled in Atsushi’s brain. Akutagawa rolls his eyes. “I have no desire to join an organisation, but I want to be your partner. I asked your president for direct permission on cases where you or Dazai-san will need my aid. I will also be helping Chuuya-san, on occasion, with non-criminal mafia jobs.”

“What about pay?” Atsushi whimpers. “Where are you getting an income?”

“The mafia redundancy package is, ironically, rather good. I perhaps haven’t mentioned this, but Dazai-san gave me two options when he recruited me. Join the Port Mafia, or enough money to ensure Gin and I never go hungry again. I explained this to Mori-dono before I lost my job; and he gave me as much money as Dazai-san originally offered when I returned from Sapporo.”

…Ryuunosuke Akutagawa is a rich knight. 

“You want to be my partner,” Atsushi whispers. “I despise you.” 

“That’s fine. Our promise concludes next week,” Akutagawa says, smiling. Atsushi is going to cry, because this is so unfair. “You can try and kill me then.”

“I absolutely hate you, Ryuunosuke Akutagawa. I will kill you. I will,” Atsushi pleads, although he’s not sure who or what to. “I will kill you.”

“Right. And you’re the bane of my existence,” Akutagawa responds simply. “Food’s coming. Keep yourself together for at least one meal.” 

“Fuck you.”

ᗢ

“There’s a promise I haven’t kept.” 

Atsushi freezes from where he’s sitting, drinking an almost sickly-sweet coffee that Akutagawa has made him in his apartment. Not that it’s a big deal. It’s totally fine. It’s decaf (he’s jittery enough, according to Akutagawa), and it satisfies something that he didn’t know he even needed. His mouth opens, then closes. Then it opens. “What promise?”

“I vowed to somebody that I would solely be kept by them for my entire lifetime,” Akutagawa says. “They broke their promise to me, first. I kept it until now.”

Dazai. Akutagawa is referring to Dazai. 

Atsushi settles on taking another sip of his coffee. He’s learned better than to interrupt Akutagawa when he’s on a sentimental trail of thought. 

“I don’t know how to deal with it.”

There it is. “Have you tried speaking to them?”

“I can’t.” 

Atsushi sighs, swallowing the last of his drink and putting the cup down. Definitely decaf. “Where’s the coat, Ryuunosuke?” 

“I’m not telling you.”

“You’re impossible,.” Atsushi hisses. “Where is it? In your wardrobe? You went all the way back to the Port to retrieve that fucking-,”

Akutagawa points to the coat rack. Atsushi gets up from his seat, grabbing the stupid, smelly, blood-stained black coat and throwing it at Akutagawa. “Jinko.”

“Let’s go, Akutagawa. Now or never.” Atsushi practically barks, walking out the front door before Akutagawa can get an answer in. Surprisingly, Akutagawa follows him. 

Atsushi Nakajima. A hurricane.

Akutagawa follows him, clutching onto the fabric that binds him between past and future with an energy that he cannot bear. He cannot stand it, all the way up to the top of the Armed Detective Agency building. His body is filled with an energy that makes Akutagawa feel like he’s going to keel over any second; a melancholic irony for someone who’s died once before.

A coat. A stupid, ridiculous coat. It’s the only thing that holds him from being the person he wants to be. 

“I’m not holding your hand.” Nakajima mutters as the elevator door opens. “Go in there yourself.”

Akutagawa takes one glance at him. Atsushi Nakajima. The weretiger. Jinko. Shame tightens his mouth shut, so he looks away and exits the elevator alone. He exhales the breath he’s been holding for the entire thirty seconds that the elevator moved; and pushes the door open.

“Akutagawa-kun? What a pleasant surprise.”

“Be quiet,” Akutagawa mutters. He slams the jacket down on Dazai’s desk. “I’m returning something I borrowed.” 

“This old thing?” Dazai slurs. “I didn’t really need it back.”

Anxiety pricks at his skin like needles. There’s no air, inside or outside, that Akutagawa can inhale or exhale. His lungs rattle, and his chest is tight. “Too bad. I don’t want it anymore.”

Devastating silence. 

“Good,” Dazai murmurs, voice smooth like honey. “Good. I’ve been waiting for this day.”

“I don’t need you, Dazai-san. I don’t particularly want you either.”

And with that, Akutagawa finally remembers how to breathe. It comes too quickly, eliciting a cough from his chest. He pulls a hand up to his likely grimace face to mask it. “Very well. I’m not sure you ever did.”

“I’ll be taking my leave,” Akutagawa says with a bow. He meets Dazai’s smiling eyes, just once, and then turns his back from him completely, hand reaching for the door.

“Oh, Akutagawa-kun?” Akutagawa freezes in his spot completely, hand still extended. “You did well. I’ve never been fond of dogs, but you were a relatively good one.”

Akutagawa has never left a room so quickly in his life. 

(Nakajima stares at him when he gets to the bottom of the Detective Agency building, in that ridiculous cafe that fronts it; clutching two hot drinks in his hands. He opens his mouth, but Akutagawa lifts up his hand.

“I don’t want to hear a word from you.”)

ᗢ

Akutagawa wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting, the time when Nakajima said he slept in a closet on a futon.

Perhaps he thought it was tongue-in-cheek; or maybe he didn’t quite believe that Dazai could ever be cruel towards the self-righteous weretiger.

This is cruel. An apartment no bigger than Akutagawa’s kitchen, for two people (plus Nakajima often mentions having visitors at the apartment including the farmer-turned-detective and the boy that has a peculiar relationship with his sister). It’s outright, blatant cruelty. Fortunately, it’s currently empty, but it entirely feels too small to even host the two of them.

Nakajima snaps him out of his thoughts. He’s staring at Akutagawa like he’s prey (and has been since Akutagawa stepped into the Detective Agency office a mere few hours ago), breathing slightly too hard. Akutagawa pragmatically goes rigid in his spot. “I swear-,” 

“Atsushi.”

Where Ryuunosuke Akutagawa is a coward, Atsushi Nakajima is brazen. Akutagawa has barely stepped through the door when Nakajima is clinging onto him, forcing his figure back against the grey structure with a fist through his hair and a hand on his hips. There is zero distance between them, not a single gap. “You-,”

“Do not ask,” Akutagawa snaps, and Atsushi blinks once; half-lit eyes with silver eyelashes batting against his cheeks. “Don’t you dare ask. I might pass away again.”

“I can’t have that,” Atsushi replies, words against Akutagawa’s lips before he kisses him; heavily and messily. It’s clumsy, almost rough, entirely desperate, but Akutagawa would be a liar if he didn’t reciprocate the same energy once the fog in his mind cleared. Both of his hands clutch tighter, almost balling a fist into Akutagawa’s hair and he simply pries his head back while Atsushi leaves his mouth, gently kissing and biting across his jaw. 

Akutagawa keens a noise, and Atsushi freezes in his spot. “I’m not a piece of glass, Atsushi.”

“Oh fuck,” Atsushi whispers back. “You need to get this armour off now.”

ᗢ

They’re sitting in the same office, and yet Akutagawa cannot resist tormenting the partner that sits metres from him.

[15:03] Akutagawa: i will collect you from the office when you are finished.
[15:04] Jinko: are you my business partner or my boyfriend
[15:05] Akutagawa: yes.

Watching Atsushi snigger and lock his phone, Akutagawa smiles to himself victoriously. He’s sitting on the tacky leather sofa provided by the Detective Agency, with a cup of hojicha from the president and some case files that Kunikida has offered him.

(If you asked Akutagawa whether becoming the Armed Detective Agency’s glorified errand boy was part of his plan when he had his minor quarter-life crisis that involved him fleeing to Ireland for three weeks and ((embarrassingly)) crying in Bram Stoker’s castle, he probably would’ve told you to die. 

Ultimately, the inevitable happened. Atsushi Nakajima is involved, and whatever he wants, he gets. Apparently, that desire is to see Akutagawa in his knight outfit, sitting pretty on a sofa like a doll. His words, not Akutagawa’s.)

“It’s surely the butler,” Akutagawa mumbles after digesting the case; a simple murder-mystery that involves a rich family, a butler, a maid and a gardener. The only underpaid staff was the butler, although the maid had a slight vendetta, the ‘man’ of the house was paying her ample amounts of money. The gardener was completely innocent.

Ranpo, who Akutagawa now knows by name rather than childlike-sweet-toothed-pest, beams at him. “Very good, Akutagawa-kun. You should’ve just worked here.”

“Can I have another one? I still have two hours to wait,” Akutagawa sighs. 

“No saving cats from trees today? What about an active case?” Kunikida asks, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I’m working on something that might be of interest.” 

Akutagawa makes a noise of agreement, placing his cup down on the table and getting up from his seat. Kunikida passes him another file. Akutagawa flits through the papers, four murders in the port. It’s something familiar to his own personal hell. “Did the police give you this?”

“Yes,” Ranpo confirms, answer muffled by a lollipop that hangs out in his mouth.

“I’d advise not to continue. Black Lizard Command Unit: Port Mafia,” Akutagawa says, placing the papers down on the desk again. “I’m aware you still have an alliance.”

“Better give this one up then,” Dazai interrupts, picking up the files. “Know anything about a motive?”

“Another criminal organisation, Americans,” Akutagawa responds, looking at the former mentor in front of him. “The case mentioned something about wealth, no ability users. I’m sure you can figure this one out though, Dazai-san. You’re a former executive, after all.”

Dazai smiles. “I’m sure I can. Although, Kunikida-kun, I hate working on such silly cases! Throw it in the shredding pile.”

(Akutagawa realises, at this point, that this is the closest thing to happiness he can fathom. He decides it’s enough.

Finally, in almost twenty-one years; it’s enough.)