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Akutagawa Ryunosuke was a man of many talents: fearsome, unyielding, and driven by a thirst to prove his worth to Dazai. There was nothing that could sway his determination—well, except for one tiny, inconvenient detail that he'd kept buried deep inside. Akutagawa, the Rabid Dog of the Port Mafia, had a secret so humiliating that he would never let it see the light of day.
He was a cat person. He wholeheartedly loves them. Some (his sister, the only one who knows this secret of his) might say that he’s obsessed with them.
But there was a twist to his love for cats—he was allergic to them. Fate, it seemed, had a wicked sense of humor. And so, to protect his reputation and his pride, Akutagawa had decided to say he likes dogs more (when asked), a stance he wore like armour to hide his weakness. Dogs, especially those that stand guard, like an Akita or a German Shepherd.
His distaste for cats was only a facade. In truth, he admired their independence, their silent elegance, their ability to purr in the warmth of a sunbeam without a care in the world. Cats were everything he aspired to be: aloof yet commanding attention, serene yet fierce. But none of that mattered when one sneeze could give him away.
No one must know of this weakness.
~
That fateful day when he met Atsushi Nakajima for the first time, he knew he was in trouble.
As soon as Atsushi transformed into that white tiger, Akutagawa's nose twitched. He felt the prickling sensation creeping up his nostrils, the itch that he so desperately wanted to scratch. Atsushi lunged at him, claws extended, teeth bared, and Akutagawa could barely focus—not because of the attack itself, but because of the desperate need to sneeze.
If Dazai was to know of this, he would call him weak.
‘Having an allergic reaction and can’t even stop it? What was our training even for? You’re such a weakling, Akutagawa. This is why my new subordinate is so much better than you.’
He shook his head to stop thinking about it. However, his eyes started watering, and he felt his composure slipping. He fought the urge to rub at his nose, swallowing back the embarrassment of his weakness.
He hated Atsushi. He told himself it was because the weretiger was Dazai's chosen disciple, the one his mentor deemed worthy of saving. But in reality, part of his hatred stemmed from this. Atsushi was a living reminder of everything Akutagawa secretly adored but could never have. His allergic reaction to that weretiger only added to his resentment, making him loathe the fact that this creature stirred something in him—a desire to reach out and touch, to pet his hair, to scratch behind those twitching ears, and the tail,, oh my rashomon, the tail is cutely swaying while the tiger trying to attack him.
He coughed and turned back his focus to attacking the other again.
Akutagawa made it his mission to never let Atsushi know the truth. He let the hatred simmer, convinced himself it was genuine, all while denying the truth that lay buried beneath his scowls.
Until one day, everything changed.
They had been fighting—again. Atsushi’s determination clashed with Akutagawa’s relentless drive, their battle a dance of steel and claws. The clash of their abilities sent shockwaves through the air, dust rising up. Atsushi, in his tiger form, launched himself forward with a feral growl, but this time, something was different. The strain in Atsushi's eyes, the slight hitch in his breath—it was clear he was nearing his limit.
Just as Akutagawa was about to land a decisive blow, Atsushi faltered. He collapsed, his body reverting to its semi human form, with the ears and tail still out. The weretiger’s breath was shallow, consciousness fading fast. For a moment, Akutagawa just stood there, the dust settling around him, staring at his rival’s frail(?) body.
He told himself to walk away, to leave Atsushi where he lay. But something tugged at him, some invisible force that he couldn't quite shake. Akutagawa hesitated, then reluctantly approached the unconscious body of his enemy. With a sigh that was more exasperation than anything else, he crouched down and, almost without thinking, slipped his hand beneath Atsushi's head, lifting it gently onto his lap.
His fingers hovered above Atsushi's hair, trembling slightly. This was wrong, he told himself. This was foolish. And yet, he couldn't resist. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he let his fingers sink into the soft, silvery strands of Atsushi's hair. He stroked gently, feeling the texture beneath his fingertips, a quiet sigh escaping him as he traced the curve of Atsushi’s head. His hand moved with an instinctive tenderness that surprised even him, and for a moment, he allowed himself to indulge in this.
He scratched Atsushi’s ears softly, the gesture feels so familiar yet so alien. The feeling of contentment that washed over him was both terrifying and exhilarating. He could pretend, just for a second, that he wasn’t Akutagawa of the Port Mafia, that he wasn’t the ruthless fighter who hated this man. Just a cat person, gently petting a cat.
And then suddenly, Atsushi's eyes fluttered open.
Akutagawa froze. Atsushi stared up at him, wide-eyed and utterly confused. For a moment, neither of them moved. Akutagawa's hand was still tangled in Atsushi's hair, his expression betraying the slightest hint of panic before he quickly masked it with his usual scowl.
"Akutagawa?" Atsushi's voice was hoarse, disoriented. "What...what are you doing?"
The words hit Akutagawa like a punch to the gut, and he jerked his hand back as if he’d been burned. He opened his mouth to spit out some fierce remark, to insult Atsushi for being so weak, so careless—but nothing came out. His throat was dry, and the words tangled in his mind, jumbled up with the truth he couldn't admit.
"Don't misunderstand," Akutagawa snapped, turning his face away, his cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of red. "I was merely checking if you were still alive. It wouldn't do for you to die so easily, not before I defeat and kill you at our agreed date of our duel."
Atsushi blinked, still dazed but catching on to the way Akutagawa’s ears were ever so slightly pink. A slow smile spread across Atsushi's face, a kind of smug realization dawning in his eyes.
"You're a terrible liar," Atsushi said softly, sitting up. He was careful not to move too suddenly. "You know, you could've just said you like cats."
"I don't," Akutagawa retorted instantly, his voice sharper than he intended.
"I prefer dogs. They're less... troublesome."
Atsushi raised an eyebrow, looking far too amused for Akutagawa's liking.
"Sure," he said, and his grin widened, "because dogs don't make you sneeze, right?"
Akutagawa's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched, and for a split second, Atsushi swore he saw the hint of a pout—an honest-to-god pout—on Akutagawa’s face.
"If you ever speak of this," Akutagawa hissed, his voice low and dangerous, "I will end you."
Atsushi just laughed—a genuine, light-hearted laugh that echoed through the air. And for the first time, Akutagawa didn't entirely hate the sound.