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Atsushi should probably get back to the agency.
He was sent out by Kunikida to deliver a previous case’s notes and reports to the police chief sometime around noon. The sun was still high up in the sky then, bright as ever.
It is beginning to set now.
The light has dulled into a vivid shade of orange with specks of pink and purple meshing together. They fall onto the river like a mirror painted with no image in mind. As if the painter dipped a huge brush into several buckets of different colours and splashed it across the transparent canvas just because.
Atsushi imagines himself holding the brush. He imagines being the canvas; thinks of the colours splaying against his skin. He wonders how it must feel to take in and absorb the coolness of various shades, all mixed and blended and smudged and erased, until he is born anew. He wants to know what it feels like when the blankness and emptiness that makes up your very existence is glossed and covered, altered into a dreamscape.
The setting sun is beautiful. And Atsushi doubts if he were to be turned into a painting, it would be as easy on the eyes as the scene right before him.
He sighs, feels the light breeze laying heavy on his shoulders.
He has been sad lately. A little down. Maybe this is why Kunikida has still not rang him up to get back to the office, unusually letting him be.
He sighs again.
Atsushi knows he has no reason to feel like this. He has a roof over his head, full three time meals and an abundance of clothes that do not really fit into the tiny closet of his room anymore. There has been no clash with any villainous organisation for quite some time either, their peace treaty with the Port Mafias still standing strong. Even Akutagawa calls him by his name now. Sometimes.
Life for Atsushi has been steady. Comfortable. Two years ago, a life like this was only real in his dreams. It is in his hands now. The dream which seemed impossible once, now lies tangible in his beating heart and warm limbs. He should be happy. He is happy. Most days, just the thought of being alive and safe is enough for Atsushi to stay satiated and buoyed beyond measure.
But today, it’s not and Atsushi doesn’t know what to do.
It feels like nothing will ever be truly enough for him. There will always be a part of Atsushi scratched too raw to heal again.
Atsushi has made peace with it, this very fact that he will remain broken.
It doesn’t mean that he has to like it.
If he wasn’t born with the power of the tiger thrumming in his veins, what would his life have been like?
Atsushi wonders.
He wonders a lot. He thinks about a life without ability, a life without struggles, a life where his fundamental years weren’t jarred with abuse and ridicule. A life where he wasn’t loathed for simply breathing.
Who would Atsushi be in a life like that?
He doesn’t know.
Atsushi can think and think about a perfect life but he cannot imagine himself existing in it. He fears tainting it.
Pathetic. He is so pathetic.
He can’t even dream freely without the chains of taunts and scorns tying him down even though it has been years since he had to bear those kinds of beatings. There are no scars on his skin, no blemishes, nothing to show to anyone when he says he has suffered and here lies the hurt. There’s no proof of his misery.
Isn’t that the most terrible thing of all?
To be beaten into purple-blue while the red spills out from some place in your gut as you are stabbed, again and again and again, until your vision blurs and you aren’t even sure if the hand hurting you isn’t your own. You lose your sense and your mind and your breathing, the pain flares in your body everywhere as you hear them laughing, mocking and jeering at your mangled limbs while they tear your torn skin further with a manic smile on their mouth and black spirals in their eyes. And finally, when they are bored and tired, you are left alone only to realise you are lying in a pool of your own blood which makes you heave and cry and scream in a cage built solely for you. Just when you are on the brink of losing it all, a mercy comes in the form of a man with power enough to upheaval this very place your tormentors reside in. All they ask is for you to show where it was that you were hurt and you — a fool, a monster, a freak — have nothing but a blank slate for a skin as your hope to be saved is extinguished once more and you are alone but alive, exhausted but existing; you are a liar of a child.
Pain without proof is not abuse.
This was Atsushi’s reality for a long time.
He realises how wrong he has been. He understands just how badly he was treated and no child deserves all that he has gone through.
Still.
A traitorous part of his mind whispers — No, you deserved it, that maybe it wasn’t because he was a child but because he was, to put it simply, Atsushi.
Atsushi with his weird hairs, weird eyes, weird spotless skin, weird weretiger ability, weird fucking everything. He is so weird.
“No, no, no,” Atsushi mutters, shaking his head.
He can’t go down this path right now. He has paperwork to finish, case reports to read then write notes about, buy the rice for his chazuke and get some rags and cleansing materials for the monthly cleaning day of the Agency which is approaching soon. There is so much he needs to do. He can’t lose what he has gained and fought for to some hauntings of the past in his head.
The past is past for a reason.
Atsushi is in a better place now. He is stronger. Safer. He has people who he can call family. Friends, he can share a meal with. There are places to visit, sights to explore, books to read. Atsushi has so much to live for. And even before, when he had no one to rely on, nothing to look forward to; he lived, he survived. He can do this again.
Survival is his primal instinct, regardless of all that goes on in his head.
It’s okay if he is a bit bothered by the nightmares which were once real, some sleepless nights won’t kill him. It doesn’t matter if every time he intakes a breath and a sudden choking feeling fills his senses like there is an invisible noose around his neck. There is not. There is nothing that can kill him and it should be soothing to know. It should be a blessing to someone like him.
It’s not. It’s not and Atsushi doesn’t know what to do.
He is okay. He is fine. He has to be. As long as he doesn’t die, he is alright.
A strong tide surges over the folds of the river as some water spills over onto the concrete. Wind blows. The sunset spilled onto the small waves wavers a little but it doesn’t go away.
It’s here, right here by Atsushi’s side.
Tsurumi. Sunset. Wind.
It is all so familiar of that day, Atsushi, for a second, thinks he is imagining the figure waving at him from the opposite side of the riverbank. But, no. Even after he rubs his eyes, the figure remains steady and if possible, waves at him more vigorously now that Atsushi has noticed it.
“Atsushi-kunnn,” the man bellows out loud.
Yeah, there’s no mistaking it.
Atsushi takes in a deep breath, feels like his first in a long time as the unseen rope around his neck loosens itself for some reason. “Dazai-san, ” he yells back and doesn’t stress on the honorific because he is not Dazai, thank you very much. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?” comes the instant reply, almost whining.
“What are you both doing down there?!” demands a third voice, as someone who sounds exactly like Kunikida shouts from the bridge above. No, wait, it is Kunikida. There is no one else who can replicate the sharp intensity of that glare with so much accuracy that even from this far, Atsushi can feel it drilling holes in him.
“Morons! Shut up! This is a public space! Maintain some decorum! Dazai! Go to Atsushi and then talk like a normal person! And Atsushi!”
“Yes?!” He involuntarily yells, the response drilled under his skin at this point.
“Take it easy!”
What.
“Ah, Kunikida-kun is so unfair,” Dazai drawls, complaining, managing to cross the distance over to sit by Atsushi’s side in an impossibly quick time. He is not even panting. Atsushi isn’t even going to begin with asking how, the simple reasoning of it’s Dazai is more than enough of an explanation for anything and everything Dazai does.
“He chews me out for breathing just a second too long and then goes on to not say anything to you even when you skip work. This is biasness at its finest. Kunikida-kun is cruel!”
Kunikida covers one of his hands with his Ideals and puts up his middle finger, flipping the comment off. Putting his hands down, with a nod in Atsushi’s direction, he retreats into the direction of the office.
Dazai gasps. Atsushi smiles. He likes these people so much.
“I think Kunikida-san is being kind, in his own way.”
“You are not the one who got shown the finger in daylight. Your opinion doesn’t count, Atsushi-kun.”
“You deserved that, Dazai-san. Kunikida-san is never this…”
“Violent? Ruthless? Hostile?”
“Strict! Kunikida-san is never this strict with anyone else. Don’t you think that the problem resides with you here and not him?”
Dazai gasps, again. “How could you, Atsushi-kun! Here, the pitiful little old me thought if no one understands me, at least you, my precious subordinate would, but no, I have to bear this betrayal weighing down heavy on my fragile heart. What if it breaks? I can already hear it cracking under your deception of my faith.”
“This is why Kunikida-san is the way he is to you.” Atsushi mumbles, exasperated.
“Stop! Stop! Have some mercy on me, Atsushi-kun. Where has my cute catlike underling gone?”
Atsushi bristles. “I am not catlike! I am not cute either! And underling? What underling are you talking about? Kunikida-san guides me more than anyone else. He is more of a mentor than you can ever hope to be!”
Dazai gasps, for the third time. Putting a hand over his chest, he shakes his head, “Too much, Atsushi-kun.”
Wincing, he accedes. “Yeah, that was a little too much. Also, uncalled for. I am sorry, Dazai-san. I didn’t mean it.”
A hum.
“Are you angry?”
“No. I am heartbroken. You better take responsibility. Your words pierced my soul and wounded me terribly.” Dazai says, pouting like a child.
Atsushi, despite whatever he said, fills to the brim with the kind of warmth only Dazai is capable of extracting out of him. “My sincere apologies, Dazai-san. How would you like for me to make it up to you?"
Dazai tilts his head to look at him. Atsushi holds his stare.
There is something about Dazai’s eyes.
At one glance, there is nothing remarkable about them. They are just another shade of brown. Many people have brown eyes, some a touch lighter, some a touch deeper but at the end of the day, it’s just brown.
The brown in Dazai’s eyes, though, is far more captivating than anything Atsushi has ever seen.
One day, Atsushi vows, he will name the exact brown his eyes are made of. And hopes that by the time that day arrives, he doesn’t feel this drawn to drowning into them.
Dazai chooses to extend his hand then. Curling all his fingers into a loose fist, he raises his pinky finger towards Atsushi and says, “Promise me.”
Atsushi, despite being terribly confused, easily acquiesces and intertwines his finger with Dazai’s. “Promise you?”
He gets a nod in return and just like that the easy air around them transitions into something serious. It isn’t quite dread that rises into Atsushi’s stomach, it’s a little brighter than it, a mix of anticipation and a knowing feeling that whatever Dazai will say next is going to be important for Atsushi, almost life changing.
“Promise me that you won’t forget about me being here, Atsushi-kun. I want you to know that I am always here.” A rare kind of hesitance passes over Dazai’s face, the shadow unlocking something vulnerable in him. “For you,” he says. “I am here for you.”
Atsushi’s breath stutters. The noose around his neck loosens itself completely. Warmth and affection all explodes inside him. A sudden burst of feelings, he never could have seen coming.
“I thought you hated pitiful people, Dazai-san,” Atsushi says, chuckling. He can’t quite help the tears prickling in his eyes and waver in his voice.
Leave it to Dazai to be cruel even in his kindness.
“I don’t pity you.” He tightens the hold of his finger on Atsushi’s and doesn’t ease it until Atsushi has no choice but to look at Dazai. “I don’t pity you,” he repeats, softer.
It’s like he is back to being eighteen again.
A boy with tattered clothes and growling hunger in the pit of his stomach who met a stranger in a sandy trench coat with no money in his pockets but a promise of food despite and softness on his tongue when he asked his name that Atsushi felt compelled to answer, if not return the same due to his lingering wariness.
It was a strange meeting with a strange man accompanied by an angry colleague of his who seemed to despise his very existence. Atsushi only agreed to go with him because there was food on the table. If he was any wise or tactful, he would have refused. He should have refused but he didn’t have much of a choice then.
It doesn’t feel like much of a choice, even now, when Dazai looks at him like that and Atsushi has no option but to comply with his wordless command and keep looking back.
He is not hungry anymore but he is sad. He is cold and tied to the abrasions of his childhood, he feels frail. He is not sickly skinny like when they first met but he is still Atsushi.
Atsushi, who cries easily and feels deeply, sensitive to a fault and dutiful to his job, holding strange fondness for this strange man who is no longer a stranger but a wielder of Atsushi’s dreams.
Dazai, just from the tip of his finger, feels so very warm that Atsushi thinks if he were to melt by this heat and waxed into a creature or reformed into a painting, he wouldn’t mind any of it if it happened to be by Dazai’s hands.
There is no person Atsushi trusts more than Dazai.
Oh, Atsushi thinks, as he realises now what Dazai has been trying to say. But actions are all about interpretation and words are all about honesty.
He wants to hear it from Dazai himself.
“What is it, then?” Atsushi asks, sounding small but determined. “If it is not an act of pity then what does this promise mean, Dazai-san?”
Dazai is visibly taken aback.
Atsushi knows that even though words come easily to Dazai, they are rarely honest. He is not malicious on purpose but he isn’t used to being sincere. This is why Atsushi cherishes moments like these that much more where he is able to tug loose the masks over Dazai’s face and Dazai is too dulled down by the surprise to pull the string away from Atsushi with any of his usual swiftness.
Atsushi feels his tears subside and stick onto the curls of his lashes, watches Dazai watching him and smiles with every bit of honesty and affection he holds for Dazai. He tries in a way unlike his and in the only way Dazai knows to convey that nothing Dazai ever does or says will make Atsushi not want to stay by his side.
“I…” Dazai starts, looking constipated.
Atsushi nods, infinitely patient, urging him to continue.
“I care for you, Atsushi-kun,” he lets out in a single breath. “I care for you. A lot.”
This simple admission took a lot out of Dazai and the fact that Atsushi can tell so is proof of just how out of depth Dazai must be feeling. Atsushi rushes with a force of pride for this man who can save lives without batting an eye but verbalising his feelings takes the life out of him.
He is so hopelessly endeared, he doesn’t think much before gushing out as well, “I care for you too, Dazai-san.”
“I know.” And he is back with a blink and a smug smile on his face. This is the Dazai, Atsushi is most familiar with. “Now, fulfil the promise, Atsushi-kun, my hand is getting tired of holding itself up, c’mon, c’mon!”
“Yes, yes,” he says, laughing. “I promise you that I will always remember you being there for me.”
“Good,” Dazai nods. “Should we seal the deal, then?”
Uh oh. Atsushi does not like the mischief swimming in Dazai’s eyes.
“Seal the deal?” he repeats, wary.
Finally unfolding their fingers from their twine, Dazai takes back his hand and starts wringing it around. “Do you know how this promise emerged, Atsushi-kun?”
Atsushi shakes his head in denial. Taking Dazai’s lead, he also rotates his hand here and there and does it gently when he finds it protesting at a particular turn.
“‘Pinky promise, whoever lies will be made to swallow a thousand needles.’”
“A thousand needles!?”
“Yeah, but it was just an expression to use, Atsushi-kun. The real thing was the finger cut-off. It was called yubikiri. Back in the mafias when they weren’t particularly headed by anyone, this started. It was an oath to keep the lower dogs in a straight line.”
Atsushi didn’t miss the glance Dazai gave him at his last words. He is silly to think that Atsushi would ever mind his past when he holds nothing but genuine curiosity about it. “How?”
Dazai doesn’t show it but the lines in his shoulder relax at Atsushi’s simple query.
Silly.
“After a settlement was reached, the deal has to be sealed with a pinky swear which really meant that whoever broke the promise has to have their finger chopped off.’’
“So… you are telling me to chop off my finger?”
Dazai laughs. It is a merry sound, echoing around them endlessly.
It is a pretty sight too. Dazai washed in the colours of dusk, illuminated by a gentle amusement.
Really pretty.
“—sushi-kun? Atsushi-kun, are you listening to me?”
“Huh? Yeah, Yes. I am listening! Very nicely! Prettily, even!”
“Prettily?”
“Prettily!”
“...Alright.”
Dazai looks at him like he is acting stupid. Which, rude.
Talk about living in a house of glass and throwing stones at others’, Dazai-san!
Atsushi doesn’t call him out though, he knows he has little time to prepare for whatever antics Dazai is yet to pull when he sees the glint in his eyes shine brighter than ever. It is at its brightest when he is annoying Kunikida but Atsushi will gladly take the second position here concerning the matter of the competition.
He sighs at the expectant look Dazai is giving him and decides to bite the bullet. “How do you propose we should ‘seal the deal’, Dazai-san? I am not cutting off my finger for you even if it will grow again.”
“Have some faith in me, Atsushi-kun. I will never ask you to hurt yourself for me.”
Atsushi squints his eyes, doubtful.
“Fine!” Dazai glares at him playfully. “If it is not needed for any of our missions or plans, I will never put you in harm’s way knowingly.”
“I know,” Atsushi grins, smug, much like Dazai does when he knows he has been successful in pulling someone’s leg.
“You are learning all the wrong things from me.”
“Because you never teach anything right.”
“See, see! You were never this mouthy before. Does my authority mean nothing to you?”
Atsushi doesn’t even begin to dignify that with a response.
The expression he gives Dazai must be chilling enough, for Dazai stops blabbering off nonsense immediately and murmurs something about unfair colleagues everywhere.
Against himself, Atsushi smiles again.
Dazai is annoying and sometimes Atsushi wants nothing but silence to bask in and be by himself. Provened how detrimental it can be for him to do so by his thoughts going haywire just some time ago, he is immensely thankful for Dazai and Kunikida to pull him out of the sea of his musings. He has indeed forgotten for a moment that he had people he could rely on and he doesn’t have to go through any of it alone.
Dazai’s promise was as much of a reminder as it was an assurance.
That the world can start spinning off in the opposite direction tomorrow and Atsushi can lose his way but Dazai, even then, especially then, will find Atsushi and stay by his side.
Two years ago, this was also one of the things Atsushi could have never imagined having.
The Dazai then was prone to self-harm at any convenience, easily giving in to the voices in his head or whatever else that urged him to end it all. Atsushi doesn’t know if Dazai won’t do something like that again someday but it’s also true that he hasn’t tried to do any of it in a long time. He doesn’t think pride is the right sentiment to attach here but he also doesn’t have anything else to define the bubble of appreciation and relief and joy rising higher and higher within him.
“What are you thinking about, Atsushi-kun?”
Atsushi takes his eyes off of the melting sun and turns to Dazai to see a serene smile on his face. It is one of his real ones. They are getting more and more frequent in their occurrence and really, how can one person hold the entirety of your being in their hands and not even blink at the weight of it. It’s absurd.
“I am thinking when will it get better, Dazai-san,” he answers instead. Atsushi doesn’t specify it, he doesn’t need to.
Surprise makes Dazai’s mouth twitch, the smile on his face pulls in itself into something small but doesn’t lose the sincerity of it as he takes a moment to reply, “I don’t know.”
“No?”
“No.” He chuckles. “I don’t know when it will get better, if at all.”
“Oh.”
“But it gets easier.” Dazai leans down to level their gazes and moves closer to whisper into his ear, like he is telling a secret and trusting Atsushi to keep it safe, “If you are not alone. If you find someone to stick with you even at your worst, it gets a lot easier.”
“Have you found that person?” He can’t help asking, his curiosity reigning higher than the embarrassment colouring his cheeks pink due to their current proximity.
Dazai remains wordless as he shifts back a little and stares at Atsushi for a bit too long than should be normal.
It isn’t that Dazai’s closeness makes Atsushi uneasy, not at all, it’s just his insides that feel a little too fluttery for comfort and the wired functionality of his limbs and senses somehow come undone under that heavy gaze.
Atsushi doesn’t back down, though.
And neither does Dazai as he says, cheekily, “Take a guess.”
Take a guess, huh.
Which implies a yes that Dazai has indeed found someone who gives him the hope to live. That person who makes him happy, who vows to stand by Dazai through thick and thin, who is ready to face hell and beyond to keep Dazai safe. Someone who Dazai doesn’t mind letting step inside, invading the space and privacy he has taken such painstaking care to build. This is the one person Dazai trusts more than anyone and he has found them.
It is a good thing, right?
Atsushi should be happy. Dazai is even trusting him by telling such a thing even when he knows how much secrecy he prefers. So what, if he comes beneath that person and Atsushi isn’t the first one Dazai thinks of to share something this personal with? It is only natural.
And yet.
And yet, a part of Atsushi shrivels up just at the mere thought of someone else than him witnessing the exact length of Dazai’s lashes and knowing about the tiny mole he has near his left eye usually hidden under the fall of his hairs.
There is someone aside from Atsushi who Dazai will allow to get this close and let them see all the intricacies he is shaped of even when it was Atsushi who discovered them all first.
Or at least, he hopes he is the first one because to imagine that they were already there for Dazai and it was Atsushi who came after and dug up the ground to bloom flowers in a dream that will never come true, it will hurt him to the point of killing him.
Maybe this is the way Atsushi is meant to die: by the hands of someone he loves but can’t have and not by a stranger who might be powerful enough to inflict a fatal wound but not deep enough to kill his heart along with the rest of his body.
He really is stupid.
Dazai has done him the favour of telling something so personal, the least Atsushi can do is wish him well keeping aside his feelings. “I hope they treat you well, Dazai-san. You deserve it.”
Atsushi means it even if he can’t look at Dazai while saying it lest Dazai catches the sadness in his eyes, already being so good at predicting Atsushi’s emotions and thoughts. Atsushi doesn’t want Dazai to become aware of his feelings for him and burden him by forcing him to be considerate of them.
He should stop it at that but the rope binds itself around his throat once again and Atsushi feels like if he doesn’t get out the words now he might never again get the chance to.
“Dazai-san,” his voice cracks. “If there ever comes a time when it’s needed for me to die, don’t hesitate to make that choice. The tiger doesn’t feel like a part of me or maybe it is me and I still haven’t been able to accept that fully, I don’t know if I ever will. I don’t know,” he repeats, shaking his head, tears blurring his vision. “So if there comes a day the beast goes feral and I lose all control, can you kill me then? You will be the only person capable of doing it and I know it is selfish to ask for something like this but would you grant me this one request? Please.”
Atsushi doesn’t notice the hand moving towards him until his face is bound in a vice-like grip and he is forced to tilt his head up to meet Dazai’s eyes.
Ah, he thinks, managing to form a thought like this even now somehow, so this is how Dazai-san looks when he is mad.
Really mad.
Did he say something wrong? Did Atsushi ask for too much just then? He must have. Dazai has never gotten angry with him like this before but Atsushi can’t fault him for it. There is a limit everyone possesses for people like him and he must have crossed it for Dazai today.
“You are not to utter a single word from now on, Atsushi-kun. Until I permit, you aren't even going to let out any noise.”
Oh, he definitely messed up.
The hold on his face tightens and Atsushi can’t help letting out a hiss of pain nevertheless. “Do you understand?”
Atsushi nods once, slowly.
“Good.” Dazai eases his grip. “How did the conversation even go from me saying I am here for you to you asking–no, begging me to kill you? Which, by the way,” he glares, “you have got a lot of nerve. How dare you steal my aesthetic? It was fine till bickering but to learn something like this as well, you have really outdone yourself, Atsushi-kun.”
Something catches in Dazai’s voice.
Too busy seeing the flicks of anger lighting up in his eyes like flames, it takes a while for Atsushi to notice the unusual stiffness in Dazai’s posture. Dazai is always relaxed, a languid air about him that doesn’t really blow out no matter where he is and who stands before him.
He is never tense like this. Emotions act differently in different people and sure, Atsushi has never seen Dazai’s anger before but he just knows that this tension in his limbs hasn’t risen from any fury.
It’s something else.
Intaking a sharp breath and hunching into himself as he directs his gaze away from Atsushi, Dazai speaks again, “Kunikida-kun is right, I really am a bad influence on you. The sickness in my head is enough and yet, you… you just had to go and catch it too. You were supposed to be an exception, Atsushi-kun.”
The hand on his face loosens its hold. It’s shaking, he realises belatedly.
“Why is it so easy for everyone to leave me?”
Guilt.
An unfounded, unnecessary and completely misplaced guilt. That’s what it is. Atsushi knows how it feels to get lost in your own mind of made-up fears, entirely disassociated from the reality you are in.
It is like looking into a mirror.
Atsushi really messed this up a big time.
“Dazai-san—”
“You are not supposed to speak.”
Okay, so he is still here. Not too lost then. He can hear Atsushi just fine. Good. Great. He just needs to make Dazai look back at him.
“I have also learnt how to defy orders I don’t want to follow from you, Dazai-san.”
“Is that supposed to be a joke? Because I am not in the mood to laugh, Atsushi-kun.” Dazai glares up at him.
Finally.
Despite the threat clear in his voice, Atsushi can’t help letting out a sigh of awe. Dazai’s emotions are just so transparent on his face. If only it could have happened due to a better reason, Atsushi would have let himself rejoice and even poke a quip or two at Dazai. He would have gotten the sharp comments in return, the quick back and forth turned into a full-blown bickering session and a deuce would have been called forth by the time the sun set down entirely and the moon emerged as they decided on their weekly outing place by the time they reached the apartment complex together and bid their farewell for the day.
This is the way it was ought to go.
He has to fix this.
He has to let Dazai know that it is not his fault those words came from Atsushi’s mouth and even if Atsushi might not be Dazai’s first choice, Dazai will always be Atsushi’s first and last.
“I am sorry,” he begins. “Can I speak now, Dazai-san? I want to tell you something.”
“You already did. No need to ask permission from this lowly one. It doesn’t matter to you, anyways.”
Atsushi holds back a grimace. He can really do with less sass but alright, guess he deserves it this time. “It matters,” he admits. “Your permission, opinion and remarks, all of it matters a lot to me.”
Dazai imperceptibly softens. “Fine, but one wrong word and I am never talking to you again.”
He perks up, grinning.
Dazai narrows his eyes at him in return.
Atsushi keeps smiling, despite. He really, really likes Dazai.
First things first, though. “I don’t want to die, Dazai-san.”
Dazai goes rigid once more but doesn’t stop Atsushi. He has pulled his walls back up again but Atsushi can see the efforts it is taking him to not show just how thoroughly he was affected by everything he said.
“I don’t want to die.” He reiterates and confesses, “Not now, not anytime soon in the future and definitely not for as long as you are here. My request for you didn’t come from a place of depression. I don’t even know if there is a way for me to die without the tiger kicking in its abilities and preventing it. So the thought — what if I am unable to die, has been there from the moment I became aware of my power. I am probably overthinking it, no, I am definitely overthinking it but I don’t want my death to be in vain, Dazai-san.”
Atsushi closes his hand into a fist, the one which was held by Dazai before and was vowed a promise of lifetime as he continues, “If we face a powerful enemy one day and all hope is lost and we have no option but to let one of us face the end, I would like it to be me. You must think I am being a coward, right?” He chuckles, ruefully. “I can’t help it. I don't think I will be able to bear losing any of you. It would kill me. And if it turned out that it’s indeed tough for me to die, living alone would kill me too. I just thought it would be better to choose my own death than suffer a life of no definite end.”
“I don’t trust myself, Dazai-san,” he says, his throat clenching. “I am not sure if the reign I have over my abilities is enough to keep going on. There are days when this feeling is amplified, when it feels like nothing I do is ever going to be enough and I feel empty but my head is buzzing from constant noises and memories which I desperately want to get rid of. But,” it’s getting difficult for him to breathe but he pushes through, “they shaped me and are as much a part of me as any of my limbs, I cannot separate them from myself. I have been trying but I can’t let them go. This is my sickness, Dazai-san. I have it too.”
Dazai widens his eyes.
His own fall shut as he finally says what he has wanted to for a long time. He is late, he knows but it doesn’t matter. All Atsushi needs is for Dazai to know that for him it was never a matter of choice, it has always been just Dazai.
“I just… I just want to die by the hands of someone I can entrust my heart to, Dazai-san. For me, it can only be you.” There, there. He has done it now. “I know I don’t deserve it and it's not right of me to ask this of you when your heart clearly belongs to someone else but is it okay if I,” he swallows, “if I surrender my last breath to you?”
“No.”
And who was Atsushi kidding that it doesn’t matter? That he only wants Dazai to know?
Liar. Liar.
You wanted him to say yes. You wanted him to hold you close. You wanted him all for yourself.
Atsushi lets out a soft noise of hurt in the back of his mouth. “I am sorry for burdening you, then.”
Dazai clicks his tongue. “Atsushi-kun, look at me and hold out your hands. I am really annoyed so you better do it at once and not make me repeat myself.”
It takes a moment for Atsushi to gather his senses but he complies.
Dazai’s hands are warm over his.
Is this some sort of apology? Some form of placation? Was Dazai aware of Atsushi’s affections for him and is offering his touch as a reprieve so Atsushi doesn’t crack and break and scatter on the spot?
If it’s so, then Atsushi doesn’t want it. He is not that weak.
“There is no need for this.”
Dazai ignores him.
“What are you even doing, Dazai-s—” he jolts as Dazai suddenly brings up Atsushi’s palms to rest over his cheeks, making him hold his face and keeping a firm grasp onto his wrists.
“Look at me, Atsushi-kun.”
“I am looking at you.” He can barely hear his voice over the thundering of his heart.
Dazai shakes his head, minutely so. “Look at me,” he commands, emphasising. “What do you see?”
Brown.
His hairs, his eyes, his skin. All of it is some tint of brown and Atsushi sees home in its shades. A warm embrace. A solace. Something which goes beyond just being a mere colour.
It is an overlooked hue. More than often, the brown that makes up this place is shadowed by the green of the leaves, the blue of the sky above and the sea below, the yellow of the sun or the white of the moon. No one looks at a garden and sees the bark a tree stands upon in favour of admiring the countless flowers blooming in various delicacies of pinks, reds and the likes.
But he does. Atsushi has always seen it.
This colour fills up the blanks which are left untouched by the vibrance of life. A necessity for the mundane; its beauty lies in its commonness.
For Atsushi, brown marks the beginning of his entire world.
And it is all he sees when he looks at it, at Dazai.
“Brown,” is his only answer.
Dazai gives him an expression like he has said something really idiotic. “How astute,” he remarks. “For someone who spends an incredible amount of time stealing glances at me, you sure are very observant.”
Heat rushes up his face, darkening his cheeks. Atsushi sputters, “You–I don’t–no, what, I…” he trails off. “I am sorry,” he squeaks out, at last.
Dazai huffs. It is not a laugh but close to it.
Atsushi feels mortified. He is an idiot.
“It’s alright,” Dazai says, amused. “It’s the same for me. I like to look at you a lot too.”
He squeezes his hands. Hands that are still resting on his face. Hands that belong to Atsushi. Is this for real? And what did Dazai say just now?
It’s the same for me. Huh.
I like to look at you a lot too. Huh?
It doesn’t make any sense. Nothing he is doing or saying makes any sense.
Dazai leans closer to rest his forehead onto Atsushi’s. “Don’t malfunction on me now,” he says.
If this is Dazai’s idea of loosening his nerves, then he is doing — respectfully — a pretty shit job at it.
“I am fine,” Atsushi says, like he is getting strangled, trying to look at anywhere but Dazai and failing spectacularly because Dazai is all he can see. Literally, this time.
“I believe you.”
Atsushi gazes up to glare at him.
Dazai moves back a little, giving him the much needed space to breathe.
But, wait, Dazai should be smug. He should be smirking and boasting, proud of his antics that drive others up a wall.
He is doing none of it, Atsushi notices.
Instead, Dazai looks… soft.
There's nothing else to describe the expression he is wearing right now. The sharpness of his features is worn down into something gentle. A rarity on its own. Even his aloofness is cradled by a touch of wariness, a sense of distance in his madness, so for him to make a face like this, open and genuine and trusting, it has to mean something.
What is it? What does Dazai want him to see so badly? And why him? Atsushi isn’t the one who should be privy to seeing Dazai like this.
“I don’t understand, Dazai-san,” he confesses. “I don’t get it.”
He receives a sigh in reply. It doesn’t do anything to erase the softness over his face. “You are going to make me say it after all, huh, Atsushi-kun. Very well.”
Atsushi feels his hand twitch slightly onto Dazai’s face. The anticipation brims under his limbs, making his skin tingle with it.
“I like you.”
He tilts his sideways. “I know? But thank you for saying it anyways, Dazai-san and I like you too, of course.” Atsushi does not know why Dazai made it a big deal to say something so obvious.
Dazai sighs, looking bone-tired. “I should have just listened to Ranpo-san before. This is hopeless.”
“What?”
“Nakajima Atsushi!” he yells, suddenly.
Atsushi straightens in alarm, in spite of himself.
“I, Dazai Osamu, 24 years old, currently working at the Armed Detective Agency as a private detective, a former executive in the Port Mafia, possessing a supernatural ability called No Longer Human which allows me to nullify any and all abilities, wants to declare that I have romantic feelings for you! That I like you! I like like you! Like, as in, I always want to see you, kiss you, protect you! Only you! There is no one else for me! There could be no one else for me but you! You are my someone better! The one who makes me want to live another day just so I could see your smile and be the reason behind everything that makes you laugh! Do you get it now, Atsushi-kun?! I want to live for you!”
Dazai is breathing heavily by the end. All his declarations, revelations and wants reverberate against the gentle waves of the river and make their way to echo in Atsushi’s ears. The light of dusk falls over them both and it’s the feel of Dazai’s hairs under and over the tips of his fingers that truly sinks in the meaning of Dazai’s words within him.
Dazai likes him.
Dazai wants him.
Dazai wants to live for him.
“I want to be with you,” Dazai says, again, confirming to Atsushi that this is not a dream he manifested out of the desires hidden deep into the crevices of his beating heart. “In any way, you want me. It doesn’t matter if something changes between us from now or not, none of it matters more than the fact that I want to be there for you. I want to see you bloom.”
Dazai takes his hands again, holds them in his own and each second travels like a minute as ever so gently, Dazai presses his lips once onto the centre of his palm of his right hand then left and like he didn’t just kiss the palest of his skin, he puts his hand back onto his face.
Atsushi sees all of it happening like it isn’t his pair of limbs that Dazai is swaying here and there so easily. It is an out of body experience. No, nevermind. He is very much in his body. Shaken and shocked, surprise all etched into his face slurring down his tongue, he almost yells too, “Dazai-san?!”
Dazai, definitely expecting his outburst doesn’t even flinch and with an infuriating calm, says, “I sealed the deal. You can’t back out now.” With a grin, he continues, “This is how one seals a pinky promise. You never let me complete it by sealing it so I did it now. Honestly, Atsushi-kun, did you forget already? Our promise. About me being here.”
Atsushi is still reeling so hard, so off-kilter, he is almost dizzy with the rush of blood and warmth and feelings scrambling to unravel the knots tied under his words. Seal. Deal. Yubikiri. The Promise. Yes, he remembers.
Dazai clicks his tongue at Atsushi’s silence. He doesn’t look mad anymore but there is something sad, heavy beginning to settle onto his features.
Strangely, the urgency to speak is replaced with the need to take in the sky above them first. A startling thought comes to him then:
No sky is ever the same.
It can be close, similar to that one special day that changed your life but it isn’t the same. Just like Atsushi isn’t and nor is Dazai. Not anymore. They have changed.
To Atsushi, even when it felt like he didn’t and it all seemed just as bad as the days of his grey childhood, the change is inevitable and no fear, no insecurity, no doubt are festered strong enough to dismantle the truth that resides in the small proximity between him and Dazai, the closing distance and hearts beating wild under the web of bones and veins.
“I have been really dumb all this time,” Atsushi says, smiling wide, even as the tears begin to moist his eyes.
“Yes.” Dazai pulls him close and he goes willingly. His hands on Dazai’s face and Dazai’s hands on his. It is something Atsushi would like to get used to. “Super dumb.”
“I am sorry.”
“You should be. Do you know how it feels when the person who gives you life asks you to kill them? The mere thought of it is repulsive enough to make me heave out my guts. I can never do it, Atsushi-kun. I will never do it.”
Atsushi bites back a reply.
Dazai raises a knowing brow. “And I am aware you are itching to make me say the opposite but I will not do whatever you asked me to and that’s final.”
He opens his mouth to protest but Dazai then immediately turns sombre. His rapid changes in mood are not as much of a whiplash as they used to be, but they are still enough to make Atsushi pause and wait.
“I regret it, you know,” Dazai begins, unusually quiet. “Raising my hand on you, slapping you when you were panicking and you just needed to ground yourself. There were far more gentle ways to tether you back to reality but I chose the worst of them all and did something I shouldn’t have. It’s late and probably doesn’t mean much now but I want to apologise, Atsushi-kun. I am so sorry.”
Atsushi didn’t know Dazai was capable of making a face like this — the shape, tender; features, remorseful. He looks so small, it feels like Atsushi could break him by words alone and Dazai would let him.
As if.
The hell would freeze over before Atsushi ever does something to harm and hurt Dazai in any way.
Ah, he gets it now.
This is probably what Dazai must have meant, to see, when the one you hold dearest, bare their wrists out to you and ask you to slither them, ready to bleed out in your arms. Their body, cold and the blood, warm.
Atsushi still has a lot of growing up to do it seems.
“It’s alright, Dazai-san. I am fine now.” He holds Dazai a little tighter, a lot gentler, purposeful in his intentions and careful to parade in the unfamiliarity of the action.
Dazai, all but melts, nuzzling his cheek right back into his hands as a response of his own.
Atsushi’s grip slackens just for a moment. Dazai senses the nervous flicker, opens his eyes lazily to glance at his hands, then at Atsushi, his stare half-lidded and weighted. “Is this okay?”
“You should have asked it earlier, you know. Before the face-holding and making me sit halfway into your lap.”
Dazai shrugs, eyes twinkling, the prior regret shedding to reveal the mischief that makes up his very being. “Guess, I am always going to be late. Do you mind, Atsushi-kun?” he asks, even though he looks like he knows the answer to it already.
Predictably, Atsushi answers, “No.”
“Good.” Dazai nods, hums and it is so easy to be with him like this. So comfortable.
“Dazai-san.”
“Yes?”
“Dazai-san.”
Dazai smiles, gentle and indulging. “What is it, Atsushi-kun?”
Atsushi wants to trace the curve of his lips with his hands. He says, instead, “Let’s go home.”
“Okay,” he agrees easily, “home it is.”
And as they stand, legs jelly after sitting in one position for too long and the slightest bit of chill reaching under their skin, the sun now set fully and the beginnings of a monotone sky rising into its full dark glory as the vibrance of colours fall into a slumber, one of Atsushi’s hand now intertwined with Dazai’s, walking slowly but surely, close and closer, their sides touching and a menial silence of understanding washing over them; Atsushi feels, maybe, for the time in his life, he is right where he was meant to be.
“Where do you want to go this weekend, Atsushi-kun?” Dazai tilts his head down at him.
He does this a lot. Makes up for their height difference by leaning down more than what must be comfortable, goes out of his way to say things he normally wouldn’t waste his breath over if it wasn’t for Atsushi, presents him with gifts with no real use that Atsushi considers unnecessary but can’t help feeling giddy about because Dazai got them for him. With his own money, at that.
That fact is more of an arrow to his heart than any expensive watches and branded shirts.
Atsushi replies, “I was thinking of trying the bakery near the station that has opened recently. The desserts looked promising from the display. I want to try them out.” He pauses to look up at Dazai, “Is that okay with you?”
“More than okay,” Dazai says. Then he smirks, because he can’t help verbalising a smart comment or two every five minutes, quipping, “Decorated appearances are all that one requires to grab you by your throat, hm.”
Atsushi flushes a bright red instantly. “Wouldn’t you know that better than anyone.”
Dazai laughs. It is hearty, it is light and sounds just as beautiful as it did the first time.
Maybe this long shared mundanity of being coworkers slash friends slash undercurrent of something more more more simmering under their skin all the time has helped them to topple out what has been on the tip of their tongues for so long. Which is another can of worms entirely. To imagine that Atsushi has never been alone in the wanting, the longing, the loving, that Dazai has been here all the time like he promised to be and affirmed to him what he must have vowed with himself ages ago because Atsushi needed it; it’s crazy.
Crazy. Yeah. That’s the word.
God, he can’t believe he jumped to conclusions like that. Heard something he didn’t like the thought of and ran with it full throttle.
How can he ever think there could be someone else when Dazai has never even bothered to spare anyone a second glance — flimsy flirtations and forced personas aside — but kept his eyes seared at Atsushi like the sight of his unnatural features and clumsy actions is more worth a pull than any sun or stars or moon or sea can hope to be.
It has been the same for him.
Like parallel lines, he thinks. They have been together all this time, not in that sense by then, of course. They have been together but not, close but not, sharing the same space but seeing different things, having similar experiences but not exactly, alike but so so different in their places and feelings and opinions about everything.
Parallel lines are not meant to cross, are not built to be woven together but if there’s someone who can make them meet and do the impossible, it would be Dazai.
“Do you have enough rice for your chazuke today? You mentioned something about needing to buy more yesterday.”
Atsushi flusters, tongue-tied and so out of his depth with trying to grapple the realisation that these seemingly normal queries, nothing new in their delivery but novel in their purposeful care, have been ever present and so has Dazai’s heart and hands and heat, right there in a reachable distance.
“Atsushi-kun?” Dazai tugs him close with their joined hands.
“No,” he clears his throat. “I mean–yes, I can manage today.”
“Alright. We can buy them tomorrow and get some more groceries together.” Leaning down to his ear, he whispers, “It’s a date.”
Atsushi shivers. Fighting his blush, he tries to adopt a deadpan expression, “With Kunikida-san’s money?”
Dazai puts his spare hand over his chest dramatically. “Do you think of me as someone that cheap?”
Not really, but it’s fun to bicker with Dazai just for the sake of bickering so Atsushi doesn’t relent and stares at him pointedly.
“It can really be your own beloved,” he shakes his head and pouts, ridiculously adorable. “Trust me, Atsushi-kun. I am going to try to be good for you.”
Dazai is so unfair. And so good at being annoying and confessing gravity-defying truths under easy pretences that leave Atsushi overwhelmed with their intensity and grateful for their utterance.
“I trust you,” he ends up saying. He doesn’t know how to wear the same non-committal air like Dazai, all Atsushi knows is honesty and bull-headedness that earns him more harm than good on worse days but it has all turned out for the best in the end so there has been no reason for him to drop this approach so he doesn’t start now.
Looking at Dazai, it feels he has done something right after all when it extracts the same honesty or at least a version of it that Dazai feels the most comfortable showing out of him. “I am grateful.”
And he feels the truth in them. Easing, he says, doubling down, a flutter of wings and petals scratching against his throat, “It’s a date.”
Dazai smiles, eyes crinkling.
It is sweet. Like honey, like melted sugar, like the sun reflecting rays onto the sea. It is all of that and nothing like that. It is unique, it is familiar and it is all for Atsushi.
Dazai can really do the impossible.
Not invincible but infinite. Not fearless but glorious. Not perfect but beautiful. He makes Atsushi feel enough without the need to prove anything.
And maybe that’s all what one needs to stay sane — someone to paint you in their colours, not in the name of possession but reverence, becoming whole at the touch of their skin on yours as you remember who you are when you are needed.
Atsushi is needed, wanted, loved and cared for. He requires reminders. Numerous, at that. The shadows of his past do not diminish, not really, they grow in light, larger than ever. They lose themselves in the black the moon prefers. It’s dark as they near their home, the air is cool, their surroundings are bustling with people chattering and moving as per the pace they have set to their life. He has Dazai’s warmth seeping into him from his side and for now it is enough.