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Typically, he isn’t in the habit of returning home by way of literally scaling the apartment building, though sometimes in the interest of avoiding his neighbors he succumbs to the impulse. Tonight, the hour late, the sky pitch black, but the air barely less than warm, he has the distinct suspicion that he will find something if he ascends to the rooftop.
His instincts do not disappoint him.
Alone, laying on his back with hands resting under his head, is the weretiger. He does not react to Akutagawa’s arrival, not so much as sparing him a glance as he carefully steps closer, eyes fixed on the sky above. The moon’s is the only real light that shines upon them, the stars having long since winked out from the light pollution of the city.
At first he sits beside him, leaving enough space that they will not touch accidentally, but could, hypothetically, reach out to one another. The thought is tempting. He leans himself back slowly, first onto his elbows, then fully onto his back, legs outstretched to mostly match Atsushi’s position. He folds his hands together on his chest, and stares upward.
It’s otherwise empty, save the occasional blinking light of an aircraft in the distance or some such.
“There’s nothing there, weretiger. Unless you’ve gone mad.” Eyes still raised to the sky, he resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh. That wasn’t how he wanted to strike up conversation, but of course his habits get the best of him here as well. His only saving grace is the “natural resting bitch face” Atsushi loves to remind him that he has, to excuse the frown he wears.
“There is though,” Atsushi responds after a beat. “We just can’t see them here, but that’s okay.”
“I’ve never seen the stars.” His entire life is held in this city, their city, and he knows nothing else.
“Neither have I.”
Akutagawa turns his head to look at his rival-partner-companion and swallows at the sight of his profile. Atsushi’s expression is neutral, perhaps pensive. There’s nothing up there, Akutagawa would insist. Beside him, however, is—
“Well, maybe I have, and I just don’t remember,” Atsushi corrects himself, unaware of the thoughts he just snuffed out. “But I don’t think that counts. I did try to, sometimes. There was a window high up in my usual mostly underground cell in the orphanage. We were far enough away from the city that I potentially could have, I think. When I knew I was alone down there, I’d angle myself in different spots from it to try to peek out. The surrounding trees always blocked the view. So unless I did while first on the run from the tiger,” he snorts derisively at himself, “I’d say I haven’t. I’d like to, though, someday.”
“Why?” He hears himself ask, caring less for the answer and more to hear Atsushi simply keep talking.
“Why not?” is Atsushi’s rebuttal, finally making eye contact. “The pictures always make it seem pretty, but it would be different to see for yourself, don’t you think?”
Truthfully, he has little interest, though he would concede it is indeed better to do things oneself.
Evidently, the weretiger is learning to read his mind outside of battle as well. He should be concerned about this, he figures, but can’t bring himself to care in this moment, surrounded by the dark, encased in the open air together.
Atsushi smiles easily at him, and shifts a touch closer, like he has a secret he’s about to share. “I wonder if stars really do sparkle in people’s eyes, like they say.”
Something brushes his elbow, and he looks down. Atsushi’s hand is barely grazing him, but lingers all the same.
“I hope we get to find out, one day,” Atsushi whispers when Akutagawa looks back up at him. Akutagawa hopes he isn’t mishearing the invitation in those words.