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Ryuunosuke Akutagawa was not having a good day.
If the dark circles under his eyes were anything to go by, his sleep schedule of late had been less than satisfactory. Gin had been on a solo mission the past two days, and while he knew they could handle themselves, he could never help but worry for them. Nightmares of his sibling dying on the job had often left him waking in a cold sweat in the early hours of the morning, leaving him unable to get the rest he so desperately needed.
And if the nightmares weren’t enough, the Port Mafia had recently been working with the Armed Detective Agency to take down a naive but annoyingly troublesome group of skill-users intent on taking over the city for themselves. This meant Akutagawa was once again forced to work alongside his most loathsome adversary, courtesy of one Osamu Dazai. Not only was he incapable of understanding the weretiger’s insistence on aiding the weak at every turn, but he couldn’t help but be filled with resentment any time the other man was in his presence, an unquenchable rage stemming from the weretiger’s easily-won acquisition of Dazai’s praise and recognition.
The very same praise and recognition Akutagawa had been chasing for years, only to receive nothing but vitriol and apathy from his former mentor.
Normally, his solution to an influx of such issues would be to seek out a certain red-headed executive, who would show up at his apartment with a bottle - or three - of the most expensive red wine available in Yokohama. He would vent to him while they drank, and drank, and drank - until they inevitably passed out on Akutagawa’s leather sofas. The next morning Chuuya would be gone, wine bottles and all, Akutagawa’s burden feeling a little less heavy.
But the executive had been overwhelmed with his duties lately, leaving Akutagawa to deal with his problems on his own. He usually prided himself on his ability to bottle his emotions up, keeping to himself to avoid the judgment of any mafiosi who might doubt his unwavering strength and uncontested power.
Lately, however, he found his troubles to be more than a mere hindrance, his carefully bottled emotions threatening to overflow at the slightest inconvenience.
Unfortunately for Akutagawa, the situation in which he now found himself could not be more inconvenient. He was in the weretiger’s dorm, of all places, lying in wait for a signal from Dazai informing them of their target’s approach. The enemy group of gifteds had threatened the Armed Detective Agency directly, and Dazai had hatched a plan to trap them before they could make any effective moves.
The plan relied mainly on the rest of the Agency members and their Port Mafia allies, who Dazai believed could get the job done on their own. Atsushi and Akutagawa were only to be dispatched as a last resort, an overpowered trump card in the event that something went wrong, and the enemy skill-users made it as far as the Agency’s office.
Currently, Akutagawa was seated on a sofa watching his reluctant partner pace back and forth in his own living room, brows furrowed while he fidgeted with his hands. He was no doubt concerned for his fellow Agency members, though Akutagawa felt such concern was unnecessary - from what he had seen, each of the Agency members was perfectly capable of holding their own in a fight. Akutagawa’s agitation, however, was beginning to reach its peak: they had been waiting for an update for close to three hours now, and the detective had been pacing relentlessly for at least two of them.
“Do you mind taking your anxiety for a walk somewhere else, weretiger? You’re starting to infuriate me.”
Atsushi stopped in his tracks, frowning at the mafioso. “I’m pretty sure I infuriate you no matter where I am.”
Akutagawa couldn’t argue with that. “Even so, I’d much prefer it if you infuriated me out of my sight rather than in it.”
“This is my dorm,” Atsushi huffed, crossing his arms. “I’m not going anywhere. If being in the same room as me makes you so unhappy, you can go wait outside.”
Akutagawa rose from his place on the sofa, about to take the weretiger up on his suggestion when Dazai’s mirthful voice came through in both of their earpieces. “The enemy has been apprehended! Nice job, everyone.”
About time, Akutagawa thought. Atsushi breathed a sigh of relief, the tension visibly leaving his shoulders.
“Oh, and thanks for keeping watch, Atsushi,” Dazai continued. “If they had gotten any farther they surely would have been no match for you!”
A faint click through the earpiece signaled that Dazai had hung up. The weretiger smiled softly at the subtle praise from the older detective, but Akutagawa bristled with rage, a tightly-wound knot tugging at the insides of his chest. It was one thing to know Dazai preferred his new subordinate over him, but to hear and see tangible reminders of his favoritism made Akutagawa’s stomach churn with envy.
In fact, it was one thing for Dazai to praise the weretiger so openly, and another thing entirely to purposefully omit such praise for Akutagawa, despite setting the two skill-users up to work together as one cohesive unit. It was no small error on Dazai’s part, but rather a pointed effort to further belittle the black-robed Hellhound. He knew Akutagawa had been listening in, and more importantly, he knew exactly what to say (or what not to say, in this case) to reopen old wounds. Brief as the comment was, it was one more addition to Akutagawa’s pile of recent troubles, and he could feel the scales of his emotions beginning to tip in the direction of a meltdown.
Akutagawa clenched his eyes shut, fighting an internal battle to shield himself from the effect his former mentor’s words had on him - but exhaustion was catching up to him, and he could feel his strength beginning to wane. He had to leave before his frustration reached a breaking point.
Unfortunately for Akutagawa, it was just then that another source of his frustration - the one still in his presence - began to speak. “I’m glad that’s over. Do you think we could have taken them if they had gotten past the othe-”
Atsushi’s sentence was cut off by his own shriek as Rashomon’s black tendrils darted out from the floor, aimed straight for his head. He just barely made it out of their way before whirling on his attacker. “What the hell, man?! I thought our fight wasn’t happening for a few more months! What’s your deal?”
“Shut up, weretiger,” Akutagawa snapped, brimming with indignation. “I’m sick of hearing your voice, and I’ve got places to be.”
He turned to leave, but Atsushi spoke up before his hand reached the door handle. “Wait, where are you go-”
“I said SHUT UP!!! ”
The room shook as black ribbons lashed out from all angles, tearing the wallpaper to shreds, piercing through the cushions on the sofa, knocking over a lamp on a nearby table and shattering it to pieces on the ground. They retracted just as quickly as they had appeared, and Akutagawa slowly turned to survey the damage he had wrought, only to find the weretiger staring back at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
Akutagawa tasted salt on his tongue, and he furiously wiped a hand at his cheek, his stomach dropping when it came back wet with tears. He made a point not to let his guard fall around his fellow mafiosi, made a constant effort to put up impenetrable walls at every turn. They could never bear witness to his vulnerability, he had decided, lest they realize their own Black-robed Hellhound was capable of showing weakness.
This, however - this was far worse. The weretiger was never supposed to see him like this, like a petulant child in need of coddling. Akutagawa felt his face heat with shame and he turned away from the detective, angrily wiping his tears on his sleeve.
Behind him, he heard the weretiger take a cautious step forward. “A…Akutagawa…?”
Something in Akutagawa’s chest squeezed at the softness in the weretiger’s voice. His name wasn’t meant to be spoken that way, subtly infused with something akin to tender sympathy and genuine concern. But it couldn’t be concern that was coming from the weretiger, he reasoned: regardless of how many times they had worked together in the past, they remained rivals, and he knew the weretiger wanted even less to do with Akutagawa than Akutagawa wanted to do with him.
Besides, Akutagawa was meant to be feared, despised, avoided at all costs - he was not meant to be worried over, cared for, comforted. He had to get out of here before he let himself believe otherwise.
“Leave me be, weretiger,” Akutagawa tried to snarl back, but the reply was feeble at best, his voice hoarse and wet with unshed tears. “I’ve had enough of you for one day.”
He made for the door again, but was stopped this time by a tight hand around his arm. Even in human form, the weretiger’s grip did not want for strength, but Akutagawa tried to wrestle free anyways, sending out Rashomon’s sharp tendrils once more to compel the other to release him. The weretiger dodged the attack with ease, yanking the mafioso back from the doorway with no small amount of force.
“Not a chance,” Atsushi argued, moving to stand between Akutagawa and the door. “You’re really just gonna walk away after…whatever that was? I’ve never seen you this worked up. You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell is going on with you.”
Why is he so determined to keep me here? Akutagawa thought to himself. He quickly wiped away a stray tear threatening to fall down his face as he weighed the odds and found them heavily stacked against him: he no longer had the energy to fight back, and trying to escape was apparently futile.
The damn fool. I suppose I’ll have to reason my way out of this.
“It’s nothing you need concern yourself with, though I can’t comprehend why you would do so in the first place. Despite Dazai’s numerous attempts to force us into a partnership, we’re still enemies, last I checked. Humor me, weretiger: what is it you gain from treating me like a charity case?”
“Quit deflecting,” Atsushi snapped. “And I don’t ‘gain’ anything. I just want to make sure the Port Mafia’s guard dog isn’t about to go off on a murder spree in Yokohama. If you need to get your anger out, take it out on me instead of on helpless people.”
Akutagawa mustered a derisive scoff. “You truly think so little of me that you do not believe I would keep the promise I made to you? Besides, my preferred methods for quelling my frustrations do not include going on ‘murder sprees’.”
“Then what do they include?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It is my business if they involve harming innocent civilians,” Atsushi protested.
“I can assure you they do not. May I leave now, or are you going to continue keeping me trapped here against my will?”
The detective didn’t budge from his place in front of the door. “No.”
“No?”
“I’m not done with you yet,” Atsushi replied, crossing his arms in front of him.
“Not done? What else could you possibly need from me? Stop mincing your words and make your point before I run out of patience,” Akutagawa seethed.
Atsushi shifted, visibly uncomfortable, but from what Akutagawa couldn’t even begin to guess. “I’m still…worried.”
Akutagawa had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. This man truly was an enigma of the highest order. “Yes, I believe we’ve established your misplaced concern for the people of Yokohama. But as I just told you, I have no intention of harming any-”
“They’re not who I’m worried about,” Atsushi interrupted, suddenly unable to meet Akutagawa’s gaze.
“If not them, then who? Spit it out, weretiger.”
Atsushi sighed, clearly backed into a corner. He finally lifted his gaze, and Akutagawa’s breath caught in his throat at the way the sun’s rays illuminated the golden-violet eyes that met his own. “I’m…I’m worried about you.”
Akutagawa blinked. The weretiger was worried about… him? A bud of hope sprouted in some deep and hidden part of the mafioso’s chest, and he made to pluck the weed out by its roots, only to stop himself short. At that moment he was incapable of doing anything but staring at the weretiger, rendered speechless after being struck with such a preposterous admission. For as long as he had been alive, Akutagawa had been protector, guardian, killer if he must, though he had never been afforded the luxury of having someone to look after him. Once, he had made the mistake of believing Dazai might fill that role, only to end up tossed aside like common trash.
He couldn’t be worried over by someone like the weretiger, someone who righteously believed in their cause, someone who helped those in need instead of letting them fend for themselves. Someone not nearly as tainted by the dark as Akutagawa was, someone good. Akutawaga couldn’t have good things - he knew this, he knew this, had accepted his fate long ago.
No, Akutagawa couldn’t have good things. But he would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want them, and lies weren’t exactly his forte; as he had told the weretiger several times before, he was a man of his word.
He came back to his senses as an outstretched hand, warm and uncharacteristically cautious, gently landed on his shoulder to rouse him. Akutagawa froze at the sudden contact, but made no effort to rid himself of it.
“Hey, are you listening to me? I said I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” Akutagawa tried to spit back, but the breaking of his voice betrayed him, and he immediately found himself wishing he had been born with an ability to let him vanish into thin air. It didn’t escape the other man’s tiger hearing, and the hand on Akutagawa’s shoulder tightened ever so slightly.
“Don’t lie to me. I know you better than that by now.”
Akutagawa narrowed his eyes and made every effort to reply with a biting remark about how little the weretiger actually knew, but to his horror, all that left his mouth was a choked-out sob.
Atsushi’s own eyes widened at the sound, and Akutagawa’s feet were frozen in place as the other man slowly inched closer. “Hey,” the detective started, his voice so soft that Akutagawa strained to hear it.
Quit looking at me like that, he internally fumed. Quit looking at me like I’m something worth caring for.
He hated him, he hated him, he hated him, Akutagawa tried to convince himself. But though his mind was determined to loathe the man in front of him, his heart refused to find common ground. He should leave, he should run, he should get as far away from the weretiger as he could while he still had the chance. He couldn’t will himself to move from his spot, however, and Akutagawa was shortly met with the horrifying revelation that though he should get away, he had no real desire to do so.
I don’t want his help, he told himself, his pity. But he looked at the weretiger and felt nothing but trust, safety, mutual understanding.
I can’t stand him, he told himself as he felt his eyes beginning to well with tears. But he looked at the weretiger and felt something light, something dangerously warm, something threatening to make his heart burst into pieces. Deep down, he knew exactly what that something was, though he couldn’t bring himself to name the sentiment.
Akutagawa swallowed harshly, trying desperately to blink back the wetness clouding his vision. He opened his mouth once more to convince the detective that he was fine, he didn’t want his sympathy, didn’t deserve the solace he craved so much, it made his bones ache.
But before he could stop it, Akutagawa was pulled into a firm embrace. A hand crept up to cradle his head against a strong and solid chest, the pulse of the other’s heartbeat underneath it threatening to soothe him into slumber. The gentleness of the action managed to break through Akutagawa’s remaining defenses, and the next thing he knew he was soaking the weretiger’s shirt with his tears, his breath coming out in shuddering gasps.
“Shhh, it’s-it’s okay, Akutagawa, it’s alright. I’ve got you.”
To protect whatever dignity he had left, Akutagawa put all his might into trying to resist the weretiger’s awkward attempt at consolation - but the words crawled their way into his soul against his will, filling his chest with a comfortable warmth. He was helpless to stop his body from going limp against his adversary, his hands clinging onto the other’s back for dear life as he buried his face into the weretiger’s shoulder.
Akutagawa hated everything about the situation - his vulnerability on full display, his inability to stop the sobs wracking his thin frame, the fact that he was being supported and consoled by the person he despised most in this world.
And yet - despite his frustrations, despite his purported contempt for the man holding him as if he were something worthy of compassion, he couldn’t help but relax into the other’s grasp, couldn’t ignore the ease with which he fit into the detective’s arms, like he and he alone was meant to be there.
An involuntary wail threatened to rip its way from Akutagawa’s throat, only to be stopped in its tracks by lips placed to his crown, feather-light in their touch. The weretiger’s arms tightened around his shoulders, and Akutagawa felt the last of his resolve crumble to dust.
“I’ve got you, I promise,” the detective whispered into Akutagawa’s hair, soft breaths ruffling his black locks. “I’m right here, okay?”
And despite Akutagawa’s internal protests, he fell apart in the weretiger’s hold, his shattering pieces held together only by the solid arms encircling his shaking frame, the light fingers wrapping around the back of his head. How utterly pathetic, he thought, that such compassionate ministrations should be the ruin of one of the mafia’s most destructive forces.
How ironic, he further mused, that the man who abandoned him had forced him into a partnership with a man who wouldn’t abandon those in need if his life depended on it. Even if those in need happened to be Akutagawa, it would seem.
Perhaps this had been Dazai’s twisted plan all along. Perhaps he had seen something in the two skill-users that they hadn’t seen in themselves, a missing puzzle piece in each of them that could only be found by the other. He had a knack for that, after all - for seeing through people to their core, for knowing their true motivations and using that information for his own ends.
Though for all his hatred of the weretiger, aiding him in battle came as easily to Akutagawa as breathing. He recalled the times he had used Rashomon to bolster Beast Beneath the Moonlight, wrapping the weretiger in his ability to further extend the detective’s own power. In those moments, Rashomon had been a support for the weretiger to lean on, a shield sworn to protect him, and an unspoken reassurance from Akutagawa himself: a reminder of the weretiger’s own strength, a reminder that he no longer had to fight alone.
And neither did Akutagawa. They had each other now, and Akutagawa found himself startled at the realization that he much preferred fighting with Atsushi by his side rather than fending for himself.
After several minutes of sobbing into the weretiger’s chest, Akutagawa felt his breaths begin to even out, his cries becoming little more than quiet sniffles. The detective must have noticed the change as well, because he pulled back slightly to examine the mafioso’s current state.
Akutagawa stilled as a hand came up to cup the side of his face, the weretiger’s thumb gently wiping away a stray tear under his eye. “Feel better?”
Akutagawa gave an almost imperceptible nod, and the man across from him smiled softly at the gesture. The sight made the mafioso’s heart start beating much too rapidly for his liking, blood rising to heat his tear-stained cheeks.
The pad of the other’s thumb continued to trace the bags under Akutagawa’s eyes, and a deep frown suddenly replaced the detective’s grin. “You haven’t been getting enough sleep.”
Akutagawa looked up to meet the weretiger’s gaze before responding, but he was forced to look away almost immediately. It was too much: the unadulterated kindness, the raw concern and worry flooding the golden-violet eyes mere inches from his face.
He felt as though his very soul was being stripped bare and handed to the weretiger on a silver platter, and he was too exhausted to do anything but trust the other man to keep it intact.
“Nightmares,” Akutagawa replied simply, voice hoarse from crying.
The detective’s frown deepened further, and Akutagawa wondered when exactly he began to dislike seeing such a somber expression on the other’s face. He felt an unexpected pang of guilt at the realization that he was part of the reason the expression was there in the first place.
“You too, huh? Kyouka and I both get them. I try to calm her down whenever she gets a really bad one,” Atsushi admitted, and Akutagawa had a funny feeling he had just experienced the same technique used to soothe the former assassin.
“Anyways, you should stay here tonight,” the detective suggested, walking away to grab a broom for the broken lamp, and Akutagawa cursed himself for missing the warmth of the weretiger’s hand on his face. “Kyouka is having some kind of girls’ night with Yosano and Naomi, so she won’t be back until tomorrow. Besides, it’s getting late. You’re already here, so you might as well just crash on the couch.”
On any other occasion, Akutagawa might have argued against the suggestion, not wanting to prolong his stay in the weretiger’s presence. But he was worn out, frayed down to his very core, and at the moment he craved nothing more than a long and peaceful rest.
“If you insist,” he sighed, taking a seat on the sofa while Atsushi swept up the pieces of the lamp and tossed them in the trash. Akutagawa kept his eyes to the floor, hearing the clattering of dishware as the detective rummaged around in the kitchen, only for Atsushi to return a few minutes later with two steaming mugs of tea. He held one out for Akutagawa and the mafioso took it without a word, taking a sip of the hot beverage and relishing in the way it warmed him from head to toe.
The weretiger took a seat beside him, and for several moments the two skill-users drank their teas in a shared silence - prolonged but missing its usual tension. It wasn’t until Akutagawa set his empty mug down and tried to stifle a yawn that the silence was finally broken.
“Get some rest,” Atsushi ordered, standing up from the couch. “I’ll be in the next room if you need anything.” He turned to leave, but was stopped by a black tendril around his wrist, gently tugging him back in the direction of the couch.
“Hm? Akutagawa?” Atsushi questioned, turning back to face the other man.
Damn it, Akutagawa cursed internally. He had no trouble controlling his ability a majority of the time, but there were moments - if he was sick or tired, most often - that Rashomon would act in what it believed was its owner’s best interests. Moments like now, when his ability had reached out of its own accord to keep the weretiger from leaving his side.
Deep down, he was grateful for Rashomon initiating what he wanted when he failed to ask for it himself. However, he was now confronted with the task of having to explain to the weretiger why his ability had prevented him from retiring to his room. He could already feel the other man’s eyes boring into him, waiting for an answer: it was now or never.
“I…” Akutagawa cleared his throat. “Would you mind if…could you…”
The weretiger blinked, staring at the mafioso in confusion. Akutagawa took a heavy sigh and shut his eyes, deciding to shorten his own suffering by getting straight to the point.
“Stay. Please. ”
The words sounded strange coming from his own lips, but he couldn’t take them back now. He hesitantly opened his eyes, and felt his heart swell involuntarily at the sight of the weretiger smiling at him, the radiant expression alone putting his mind at ease.
“Scoot over,” Atsushi directed, taking back his spot on the couch. Akutagawa did as he was told and the weretiger spread out across the sofa, lying on his back. He looked over to Akutagawa and opened his arms in a silent invitation.
Akutagawa conceded, laying on top of the other with his head flush against a solid chest. One arm snaked around his waist, holding him in place, while another came up behind his head, fingers gently carding through his hair in soothing motions. Though it was an unusually comfortable position, he felt his face redden with heat and suddenly became very grateful that the detective could barely see him in the dark of night - or could he? Akutagawa realized he had no idea whether the man’s tiger senses afforded him better vision in the dark, and made a mental note to ask him about it later. To better understand his greatest enemy, he told himself.
“Weretiger.”
“Hm?”
“If you tell a single soul about this…”
Atsushi chuckled softly, startling Akutagawa with the warm sound. “I know, I know…you’ll take my head clean off my shoulders.” He leaned down to press a kiss to the black locks below him, and Akutagawa sighed, all tension leaving his body at the tender gesture.
“Now sleep,” Atsushi instructed, his own voice tinged with drowsiness as a yawn escaped him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Exhaustion overtook the mafioso, and in the comfort of the weretiger’s hold it took almost no time at all for Akutagawa to start snoring softly on the other’s chest.
And this time, when nightmares roused him awake, beads of cold sweat dotting his forehead, he was no longer forced to deal with them on his own. This time, he was met with soft murmurs into his hair, reassurances of his safety, and a familiar heartbeat - thumping gently in his ears like a lullaby, coaxing him back into a dreamless sleep.