Archive of Our Own

Holidays in the Agency were just like everything else in the Agency—too rowdy for Atsushi’s tastes. But he’d never turn down a free meal, especially if it was a feast as grand as the one in front of him.

The desks had been cleared and pushed together in the middle of the office, creating the illusion of an enormous dining table. It was covered in dishes from end to end, and they were all presenting contributions each detective had made to the buffet, from Kenji’s delicious homemade stew to Atsushi’s very store-bought cake. If not for the fact that their chairs had wheels and he could see papers bursting out of the filing cabinets lined up behind him, Atsushi would be able to trick himself into believing he was in a cozy home dining room instead of a building where heinous crimes were solved.

It was December 24—Christmas Eve, and the Armed Detective Agency had decided to spend it together, thanks to their collective lack of romantic partners as well as their propensity for random-onset teambuilding exercises. The entire morning had been a blur of red and green festivity. Atsushi had eaten so many chicken dishes, he worried he might start laying eggs. And there was something incredibly nerve-racking about how strict Kunikida was with the preparations. It was like celebrating Christmas according to the instructions of your boss, which was funny, because Fukuzawa was sitting to Atsushi’s right and he felt a whole lot calmer about that.

He’d amassed a pile of small gifts under his seat, various trinkets and cards given to him by each of his coworkers, and just thinking about how considerate they all were was enough to choke him up again. He shoved down the tightness in his throat with a mouthful of potato salad.

It was the first Christmas Atsushi had ever celebrated, and he was learning all kinds of things. For example, Ranpo was capable of sitting with good posture, after a stern look from Fukuzawa. Tanizaki had a surprisingly broad knowledge of Western movies. Even Kyouka, who he’d believed he knew everything about by now, was teaching him how to fold elaborate origami patterns out of the napkins.

As unacquainted as he was with the holiday, he imagined Christmas didn’t normally involve wrestling your mentor’s sixth glass of eggnog away from him at one in the afternoon. But nobody else was surprised by Dazai’s antics, even Kunikida who was in the process of struggling with him, so maybe it did.

Atsushi peered over at Yosano, who was seated opposite him and watching the scuffle. She’d cut the vegetables on her plate into equal chunks with surgical precision. When the two of them made eye contact, she grinned sharply.

“Having a good time?” she asked.

“Yeah!” Atsushi chuckled nervously. “I mean, I’m not sure how these parties are usually supposed to go, but today has been a lot of fun!”

She tilted her head at him. “‘Supposed to go’?”

He put his cutlery down, gnawing at the inside of his cheek. “…Well, they didn’t celebrate Christmas with me at the orphanage. I’ve never actually done anything like this before.”

The table fell silent. He squirmed as the room’s attention landed on him. Dazai abandoned his quest for eggnog to put one of his hands to his chest with a melodramatic gasp.

“Is that really true?” His reaction was akin to what it would be if Atsushi had confessed to murder. “We’re your first Christmas?”

Atsushi nodded slowly. His chest panged. Here he was, killing the mood with his terrible past while everyone else was having fun. He cursed his big mouth. Why couldn’t he have just sat quietly and enjoyed his meal?

But Dazai didn’t look at him with pity as expected. Instead, his face stretched into the glee typical of when he’d come up with an evil plot.

“In that case, there’s only one thing to do. We have to make sure Atsushi has the best work Christmas party ever!”

It was a declaration that seemed to shake the windows. Kunikida thrust out an arm to keep him in his seat, sensing he was about to climb onto the table. Dazai pouted.

Murmurs of approval rumbled through the other detectives. Naomi stared at Ranpo meaningfully, who pulled a face but nodded in assent. Atsushi felt lost, like he was standing on the cusp of something, but whether it was good or bad, he couldn’t figure out.

“What else can we have him do?” Tanizaki asked. “Tree decorating?”

Plates abandoned, the Agency members began to gather around the tree by the office’s entrance. It glittered with colorful lights and shiny baubles.

“Ah, it’s already been done.”

“I can go out and find a new one!”

“No, Kenji, that’s… that’s alright.”

“Something feels missing, though.”

Dazai elbowed Kunikida’s side. “Hey, did you have to be so organized? Don’t you know it’s a bad omen to decorate the tree too far ahead of schedule?”

“Don’t you blame this on me, I was only— wait, is it really?”

Dazai cocked his head in faux confusion. “No, why would it be?”

“You—!”

Scratching his cheek, Tanizaki suggested, “Maybe we can take some of them off?”

He reached out, taking a bauble from the tree as if picking an apple. He passed it to Atsushi, who then awkwardly hooked it back on in the same spot. A beat passed in silence.

“Uhh… so do you feel fulfilled?”

Atsushi went to answer, but was interrupted by a tug on his sleeve. He turned to see Kyouka staring at him.

“Help me put this up.”

In her hands was a little yellow star. It clicked in everyone’s minds what the tree had been missing. The top was bare of any signature piece. It appeared Atsushi would be able to play a part in decorating, after all.

Smiling, he put his arms out, expecting to pick her up. But she pointed down at the floor. “I’ll stand on your back.”

He blinked twice. Yosano snickered, and he sent a dry look in her direction before dropping to his hands and knees.

Kyouka was far from heavy, but her heel seemed to find the exact spot to press to cramp the muscles on both sides of his spine. He grimaced. “Have you put it on yet?”

“Nearly.” Her other foot joined the first. He barely managed to suppress a grunt.

When his dignity was impossible to salvage and his vertebrae were bruised, Kyouka stepped down. Her cheeks were bright with happiness, and the complaints Atsushi had been intending to let loose slipped away from him. He returned his vitriol to Dazai, patting out the wrinkles in the back of his shirt.

“Is that all?” he asked.

Dazai shook his head. “Who do you think I am? We’re just getting started.”

“You haf t’glue the sides,” Ranpo said, muffled, before gulping down a piece of what used to be the gingerbread house’s roof. “With frosting.”

He gestured at the icing tube. The table had been cleared to make room for his project, which he had somewhat begrudgingly agreed to let Atsushi partake in.

There were two walls left from the original kit that hadn’t fallen victim to Ranpo’s stomach. Atsushi propped them up against each other like a house of cards, setting them in place with a pump of frosting.

It wasn’t much of a house. A tent would be more accurate. A very ugly gingerbread tent.

Naomi frowned. “Maybe it would look better with sprinkles?”

Encouraged, Atsushi emptied the one remaining packet of sprinkles over the top of his construction, but most of them rolled down the sides to spill across the table. He hissed out apologies to Haruno who had just finished wiping down the desks.

“I don’t understand why you all care so much about making it look pretty,” Ranpo whined. “The fun part is eating it, anyway. Try some already.”

Nobody raised any objections, so Atsushi broke away a chunk of gingerbread and popped it into his mouth. His eyes went wide.

“Hahaha, look at his face!”

“Woah, is it that good? I want some.”

In mere seconds, Atsushi was pushed away from his creation, his coworkers descending upon it like a wake of vultures. He laughed at the commotion and, still lapping at the sweet taste on his teeth, drifted back over to the pile of gifts waiting for him under his chair.

He’d been given an assortment of food vouchers which, despite his being full, made his mouth water at the thought of all the chazuke he could buy with them. There was a tiger-themed phone charm he’d gotten from Kyouka. Kenji had blessed him with a tiny succulent. It was jarring how such small things could fill him with so much joy.

He was smiling to himself, organizing his pile neater when he heard shuffling and the tearing of wrapping paper.

Somehow it had escaped his notice, but beside him was Kunikida, who’d evidently had the same idea and was sorting through his own gifts. In his hands, freshly unwrapped, was a long trench coat of an olive green, and he was scrutinizing it with narrowed eyes.

One glance, and Atsushi couldn’t stop himself from blurting, “That kind of looks like—”

“Dazai’s, I know.” Kunikida pinched the bridge of his nose. “His most recent fixation is ‘matching partner outfits’, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. I’m not sure he understands the social expectations between coworkers.”

He held the coat out in front of himself, and it unrolled to touch the floor. It was fitted to Kunikida’s shoulder width with perfect accuracy.

“Did he take your measurements?”

Kunikida rolled his eyes. “Of course he didn’t.”

It was impossible to tell whether Kunikida was happy with it or not. Atsushi fiddled with the charm in his hands. “Well, uhm, it’s really nice!”

A pen click. “I wish you weren’t right. It even matches my notebook.” Kunikida flipped open the notebook in question, and scribbled something down. “Now I have to thank the bastard, which was probably his goal from the beginning.”

He muttered under his breath, before turning his probing eyes onto Atsushi. “That reminds me, did you bring a coat today? I had to move all of them to make room for the decorations, but I didn’t see one in your size when I was rearranging the rack. Let me know if I’ve lost it.”

“Oh no, I…” Atsushi trailed off. He didn’t want to bring the mood down again. But it didn’t matter, because he could see the exact moment Kunikida pieced together that he had nothing of the sort.

Again, he was met with no pity. Kunikida scanned him from head to toe, and then loudly cleared his throat.

“Oi, Dazai,” he barked across the room. Dazai pointed at himself in question. “Ye— Obviously I mean you, idiot. Take Atsushi down to the market and get him a coat, since you clearly have an eye for it. It’s only going to get colder over the coming weeks.”

Dazai rose from where he’d been lounging on the couch, stretching his arms above his head. “Wow, so bossy. I was comfy, you know.”

“Get comfy helping out your juniors, for a change. I’d do it, but I still have a few more of the Agency's end-of-year objectives to go over with the president.”

With that, Kunikida pushed his glasses up his nose, gathered his belongings to his chest, and marched off in the direction of Fukuzawa’s office.

“Alright.” Dazai cracked his back. “Let’s get moving.”

“You don’t have to,” Atsushi said. “I mean it, I don’t get cold very easily.”

Dazai waved him off. “I’ve been desperate for an excuse to abuse a certain someone’s credit card at the market for a while now, don’t ruin this for me.”

He winked, peeling open the front of his coat to reveal Kunikida’s wallet in the inner pocket. Atsushi dragged a tired hand down his face.

The market lights cast a warm glow over the street, and Atsushi fluttered along the row of stalls, enticed by the handmade jewelry and fried snacks. His enthusiasm was closely followed by Dazai’s, who made a point of shouting and embarrassing him whenever they were surrounded by enough people.

“Isn’t this fun? You can experience even more Christmas traditions out here! I have two important ones in mind…”

He didn’t elaborate, tapping a thoughtful finger against his chin. If not for the temperature, Atsushi would have agreed to spend hours checking out everything the outside world had to offer. But his proclaimed resistance to the cold was not showing up for him today, and his shivers quickly drew him towards the stall at the end of the street, where many winter coats were on display.

Faced with all the options, he found himself hesitating. It wasn’t until Dazai dived forward, pulling a white one off of its hanger, that he tried anything on.

It was thick and puffy, and wearing it he felt more marshmallow than he did mantiger. But it kept out the cold, and the black insides were so soft and comfortable he’d swear he could fall asleep standing upright.

“It’s…”

The coat was nothing like Dazai’s, nor was it like the green one Kunikida had been given to match. It wasn’t anything like Akutagawa’s, tattered yet imposing. It was short, and it made his shadow on the road very round. Wrapped up in it, Atsushi was reminded of when he’d buried his arms into the tiger’s fur. That similarity was what solidified his decision.

“...amazing. I’ll take it.”

Dazai raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You haven’t tried any of the others.”

Atsushi nodded. He shrugged it off and handed it over to Dazai, who looked over the moon to be paying using Kunikida’s card. Before Atsushi knew it, he was swaddled in a coat he could call his own, zipping it up his neck with one long swoop of his arm.

“You want anything else? They have hot chocolate and snacks.”

Still cheerful, Atsushi shook his head. “No, thanks. I think I ate enough earlier to sustain me for the rest of the month.”

“If you say so.” Dazai clapped his hands together. “By the way, there’s something here I want you to see.”

He beckoned Atsushi along, directing him away from the market stalls and toward an area where there were fewer delectable smells but no less people. It wasn’t until they came to a halt beside a large neon sign that Atsushi realized what was going on.

Yokohama on Ice, it read. Dazai had dragged him to an ice skating rink.

“This is the last and most important tradition,” Dazai said, with a slight grin that betrayed nothing about his intentions.

“Didn’t you say there were two more?” Atsushi pointed out.

Dazai patted his head. “You’re misremembering things. I’ll get us skates.”

Atsushi surveyed the rink. There were a reasonable number of people shooting around, mostly in groups or couples, with the most confident among them skating nearest to the center. Just the sight of the skates’ blades cutting through the surface of the ice made him jittery with nerves. He could fall and get his arm sliced off. He had experience in that area, and it hurt like hell.

But he couldn’t turn tail and run, because as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Dazai was back by his side, a pair of skates in each hand.

“Ready?”

Swallowing, Atsushi toed off his boots and sat down on a nearby bench. The new footwear was tough to put on, and he struggled to lace them onto his feet until Dazai knelt down with a chuckle, tying them securely for him with neat bows.

“You’re making me feel like a babysitter right now.”

Atsushi flushed with embarrassment. “This whole thing was your idea! I don’t know how to do any of this!”

Dazai laughed again. “I know, I know. Relax, by the end of today you’ll be an expert.”

“You think?”

“I promise. Would I lie to you?”

The captive audience in Atsushi’s brain answered with a resounding yes. But he was in a good mood, and he really loved his new coat. So he decided to take Dazai at his word, for once.

Making his way over to the rink in his skates felt like balancing on his tiptoes, and it was with some trepidation that he opened the gate to the ice. He could sense Dazai’s excitement, hovering behind him, and Atsushi had no doubt that Dazai could feel his apprehension just as easily, radiating off of him in dense waves.

Dazai still hadn’t put on his skates. “I’ll be right behind you, just get moving.”

“O-Okay,” Atsushi said, stepping onto the rink. The surface was slippery, and he wobbled on his feet.

“I… I really don’t know how to do this.”

“You’re doing great. Keep going.”

Atsushi positioned himself so his back was to the entrance. A group of people whizzed past him, and he followed them with his anxious gaze.

“You’re good?” Dazai checked.

“I think so.”

“Good.”

Two palms pushed him forward, and Atsushi flailed as the force sent him flying. He looked over his shoulder in a panic. “Wait, you promised you’d teach m—!”

He collided with someone, hard. He gasped, cold air chilling his already dry throat, and braced himself for the crack of his skull against the ice, only for his body to stop inches above the ground.

He was… dangling. And that made a new kind of dread pour into his stomach, because there was only one possibility that could result in that outcome.

Preparing himself for the worst, he dragged his eyes up to identify the person standing over him. He saw folded arms. A murderous glare. Clothes that were moving on their own, too purposeful to be caused by the wind. Of course, it could be no one else but Akutagawa.

He was bundled up in many layers, his milky complexion almost completely covered by a wool scarf. He even had earmuffs with cheesy reindeer antlers attached to the headband. Not the sort of thing he would buy for himself.

Atsushi glanced back to see an empty space where Dazai had been, and sighed.

“I can’t say I expected to meet you here, weretiger. Enjoying your last holiday before your demise?”

Last? It was his first. He only got to have one?

“…Right. Hi. Am I allowed to ask about…” Atsushi motioned at the fluffy antlers poking out of Akutagawa’s hair. Akutagawa’s expression darkened in an instant. It seemed the earmuffs were off-limits.

Akutagawa set him upright on his skates again, but not even a full second passed before they were giving out from underneath him. Fingers wrapped around his upper arm in a harsh grip.

“Do you not tire of being so endlessly pathetic?”

Atsushi staggered, trying to regain his footing. “I’ve never done this before! Cut me some slack!”

“Cats are supposed to have a refined sense of balance.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m not a cat,” he gritted out. It was hard to adjust his feet to rest on a much smaller surface area. Even after he’d stopped sliding, he was still wobbling, and his incompetence was extra mortifying when side by side with Akutagawa’s perfect poise.

“How the heck are you so good at this?” Atsushi asked, cautiously dragging his feet forward and outward in an attempt to skate.

Akutagawa scoffed, but answered, “Me and my sibling would often go down to frozen lakes in wintertime.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

Akutagawa looked smug. “Extremely.”

It took a lot more effort than he’d anticipated, but gradually, Atsushi made his way across the stretch of ice he'd ended up in. Akutagawa kept pace beside him, the critical angle of his brows not easing up even a little. Atsushi understood how competitive skaters must feel when their skills are torn apart by an unforgiving coach.

“That’s why I’m here now,” Akutagawa said.

“Huh?” Atsushi blurted, attention drawn away from his feet.

“Because of my sibling.”

“Oh.” He figured that was Akutagawa’s roundabout way of questioning him. “I’m just here because Dazai made me try this.”

Akutagawa’s expression hardened at that. It wasn’t surprising—it was rare to get a positive reaction out of him after bringing up Dazai.

They continued to skate in silence, the quiet permeated by nothing except Atsushi’s sniffles. The temperature was starting to make his nose run. But he was getting the gist of how to move his legs—as long as he kept a regular rhythm, and didn’t think about it too hard, he didn’t falter.

Even more promising, Akutagawa’s hand had fallen from cutting off all circulation in his arm to nudging him forward at the elbow. Atsushi considered it a testament to his progress.

They were approaching the far end of the rink. After travelling in a straight line for the entire duration of his time on the ice, Atsushi had to make his first turn. Successfully. Without falling on his ass. He cursed Dazai once more for betraying him. Now he was about to make an even greater fool of himself, and Akutagawa would surely hold it over his head for the rest of his short life.

And there was another problem.

Akutagawa’s fingers were still there. Guiding him at the curve of his wrist now, descending. Atsushi’s heart was in his throat. Akutagawa didn’t seem to be aware of the change in position, too focused on steering Atsushi around the curve of the rink without sending him directly into the wall.

It was Atsushi’s own lack of focus that doomed him, because all of his concentration had strayed to the sensation of Akutagawa’s gloved hand instead of the movement of his skates, and he skidded. Letting out an undignified yelp, he grappled for purchase on something, anything, just for his fingers to catch and lock between the ones he couldn’t stop thinking about.

His other arm flew out parallel to the ground in an attempt to reestablish his center of gravity. He found it, but when he finally straightened up, he noticed Akutagawa was motionless. He followed his gaze to their joined hands.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, loosening his grip in alarm, before clumsily adding, “Th-Thanks.”

He expected Akutagawa to scoff and shrug him off. And he did scoff—with a derisive roll of his eyes to accompany it—but then he skated ahead, not breaking his hold on Atsushi’s hand.

The contact was more painful than tender, and Akutagawa tugged on him in a way that was to keep Atsushi on his feet rather than to keep him close, but they were holding hands nevertheless.

He was holding Akutagawa’s hand. Akutagawa. Port Mafia hellhound, professional killer Akutagawa. Maybe this was that magical Christmas spirit Dazai had waxed poetic about all morning, but it felt more likely that Atsushi was just reaching the end of his days.

While it made him much less stable mentally, there was no denying it was easier to keep his balance like this. Even if he believed pigs were flying, hell had frozen over, and the deserts had flooded.

“What’s with that repulsive look?" Akutagawa snapped. "Make no mistake, this is solely for convenience.”

“I didn’t even say anything,” Atsushi grumbled. “Besides, I still haven’t asked. Why are you helping me skate, exactly?”

Akutagawa kept his eyes forward. “I have my doubts about this notion, but your designation as my trial implies that our individual capabilities are at least comparable. If my supposed ‘equal’ is such a pitiful excuse for a human being, it reflects poorly on me, no?”

Atsushi couldn’t understand what any of that had to do with his ice skating ability, but he nodded along anyway.

“...Sure, whatever.”

He chanced another peek at Akutagawa's face. If he was already in such a weird mood, then maybe no questions were off-limits after all.

“So what’s up with the antlers?”

If Atsushi hadn’t already been watching him, he wouldn’t have picked up on the miniscule wavering of Akutagawa’s skates. Akutagawa side-eyed him in warning, but the festivities must truly have been getting to him, because he didn’t chop Atsushi up into tiger prosciutto. “My… assistant… was delusional enough to believe it was an appropriate gift. Unfortunately, my sibling shared her sentiment, so my fate was sealed.”

“You can’t say no to your sibling, huh?” Atsushi mused. The memory of being used as a step stool flashed through his mind. “I get that.”

They continued around the rink for several more laps, during which Atsushi built up the courage to confidently—and all too happily—break away and skate solo. Funnily enough, the air managed to enter his lungs without a problem when he wasn’t suffering through Akutagawa dragging him along, making them indistinguishable from the couples on dates.

Being less concerned with his own performance, he came to notice how at ease Akutagawa appeared while skating. It came naturally to him. Akutagawa was always graceful, but there was something hypnotic about his body control, and that was where Atsushi decided he had to get off of this rink before he made any other observations about Akutagawa that landed too close to admiration.

Completing one final lap, he propelled himself over to the gate, and stepped out onto solid ground. He heard the scrape of ice and metal as Akutagawa pulled up behind him, apparently also getting tired of skating. Without saying a word, Atsushi trotted over to collapse on the bench he’d used before to put his skates on.

He was able to yank them off, thankfully without having to ask for help with the laces. After returning to the comfort of his boots, he wandered back to the gate of the rink and was surprised to see Akutagawa had yet to make his way home.

This bizarre hour of respite from their usual friction left him with many questions, but instead of prying any further, Atsushi chose to comment on the white flakes that had begun to drift down, brightening their surroundings.

“Hey, Akutagawa,” he whispered. “It’s snowing.”

“I can see that,” Akutagawa said, blunt as ever.

Atsushi stuck out his tongue, trying to catch one in his mouth. When he spared Akutagawa a glance, he was regarding him like he was roadkill on the edge of the pavement.

“You don’t have to stay here,” Atsushi muttered, bitter. “I’m not sure why you haven’t left.”

The reminder woke Akutagawa up from his reverie. He scowled. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

He spun on his heel, content to leave Atsushi in the snow. It was his standard rudeness, and yet in that brief instance, Atsushi saw him not as the Port Mafia's guerrilla squad leader or a threat to his life but a regular guy around his age, who he could’ve met at a café or bar, or in college, in a very different life. A regular person who he’d been ice skating with, who he’d hung out with. For no reason other than to spend the time.

“Bye, I guess,” Atsushi said. “Merry Christmas.”

Akutagawa didn’t return the well-wishes, because it wasn’t another life, and in this one, they were enemies. He probably didn’t want Atsushi to have a happy holiday season at all.

But even so.

“Hold on,” Atsushi called out. To his surprise, Akutagawa stopped for him. “What’s that?”

Something had caught his eye. Across from where Akutagawa had turned to leave was an arch, wound together out of branches and festive lights. In the center of it, an attractive plant hung down, tied at the stems with a red bow. White berries sprung out in clusters between the leaves. It was intentionally highlighted, distinct from the rest of the decor.

Akutagawa looked incredibly awkward, all of a sudden. “It's a… festive tradition.”

Atsushi lit up. What an amazing coincidence, that he would stumble right into one after participating in them all day.

“How does it work?”

“I don’t care to tell you.”

“Oh, come on. It can’t take up that much of your time.”

“Time isn’t the issue. It’s an obscene custom for people without any decorum.”

Atsushi huffed. “You think everything is obscene. Shouldn’t I get to try out all the customs, since according to you, it’s my first and last Christmas?”

Akutagawa’s plans to leave seemed to have been discarded in favor of arguing with him. “I don’t think that’s a rule.”

“It’s the least you could do if you’re planning to kill me!”

There was a mounting tension throughout Akutagawa’s body. He came across as a separate individual from the Akutagawa who had been so fluid and relaxed while skating. His forehead puckered as he frowned. “I do not… believe it is appropriate.”

“Explain to me what about it has you acting so odd, at least.”

Staring Atsushi down, Akutagawa’s shoes scraped against the asphalt as he stormed over to the dangling leaves. He pointed up. “This is for partners.”

Atsushi followed him over, blinking. “But… that’s good, right? We’re partners. Partners in”—he paused, contemplating—“saving the world.”

Akutagawa’s nose scrunched up. It was an expression Atsushi had never seen on him before, and it took some restraint not to burst out laughing in his face. His amusement must have shown, because Akutagawa loomed over him in anger.

“No, you imbecile. Romantic partners osculate under this ridiculous plant.”

“Oh,” said Atsushi.

He’d never heard of osculating before, but he could gather the context based on how Akutagawa looked like he’d tasted something foul. Atsushi glanced up.

The leaves he’d thought were pretty taunted him now, and he had to cough out a lump that was collecting in his throat. Why were they still standing underneath it? Surely this was the right time to jump back and awkwardly laugh the moment off, and never mention it again. But his legs wouldn’t move, and Akutagawa was so close, a small cloud of mist escaping his lips with every breath.

“You’re right, I guess I don’t have to try everything,” Atsushi said, pulling at the base of his gloves.

He saw the tendons in Akutagawa’s jaw flex. He had that homicidal sheen to his eyes again, the one that Atsushi hadn’t been a victim of since they’d made their six-month agreement. Why was he mad at him this time?

“Do you want to?”

“Do I— what?”

“Do. You. Want. To.” Akutagawa tore his eyes away, redirecting his wrath to the innocent passersby. “Try everything.”

Atsushi opened his mouth to reply, but failed to find the words. Because how was he supposed to reply to that? Was Akutagawa suggesting that they, right here and now—

“Forget I asked,” Akutagawa said curtly, and went to move away, but Atsushi’s hand darted out, clamping around his wrist.

And it was so humiliating. So humiliating he might die on the spot. Because this was Akutagawa, the person he promised himself he’d never forgive, the person who would smile as he watched Atsushi drown. But there was no immediate recoil at the offer he’d made, no crossing of boundaries that sent Atsushi running away in disgust. In his mind was just a small, harmless curiosity.

Maybe harmless was the wrong descriptor.

There was something miragelike about Akutagawa, backdropped by the falling snow. Atsushi felt half-lucid, his focus vignetted, and the clearest thing he could make out was the fibers of Akutagawa’s scarf, for some reason. Interwoven red and black. Not an uncharacteristic color choice by any means, but…

“Weretiger.”

Somewhere in the background, he could feel Akutagawa’s gaze on him, the irises more silver than ever.

“Akutagawa,” he said in response, and it sounded awful to his own ears. Full of an urgency that even he didn’t know the origin or intentions of. He could see the hitch of Akutagawa’s breath in the vapor that escaped his parted lips.

Akutagawa’s wrist was unmoving between his fingers, and if he was bothered by Atsushi gripping it tight enough to ache, he didn’t voice his complaints.

“This will not…” he tapered off, uncertain like the language had become foreign to him. “We are still…”

Atsushi nodded. He didn’t know whether it was to reassure Akutagawa or himself. “R-Right.”

In one startling change of pace, the world shifted from being in slow motion to moving too fast. He saw himself tug at Akutagawa’s arm, bringing him closer. Akutagawa stumbled, and over his scarf the tips of his ears were pink.

Atsushi was drunk on it all—the crispness of the air, the hot pumping of his blood, the snowflakes in Akutagawa’s bangs, the way Akutagawa was looking at him like he was a completely different person. Like they were both different people, who came from different circumstances and pledged different allegiances.

His fingers fell from Akutagawa’s arm, because it wasn’t enough, and slid into the opening of Akutagawa’s coat, diving under the sweater he was wearing and thumbing at the hem of the shirt he had on underneath that. Akutagawa swallowed once, very noticeably, and perhaps it was to hide that shyness and protect his image that he grabbed Atsushi’s shoulders roughly and pressed their mouths together.

It didn't make sense to be surprised, since he knew it was coming, but Atsushi couldn’t stifle the gasp that rose out of him. And how he wished he had, because it turned their kiss from chaste to open-mouthed and he could’ve sworn he’d just felt a swipe of Akutagawa’s tongue.

A panicked force inside of him wanted to grab at Akutagawa’s face and ask—What the hell are we doing? Shouldn’t you be killing me?—but it was overwhelmed by a desire much greater, one that told him to dip his fingers under the final layer of Akutagawa’s shirt and feel his skin, so he did. Goosebumps broke out across the soft expanse of Akutagawa’s stomach, and Atsushi had no idea if it was caused by his touch or the exposure to the cold. Either way, it sent Akutagawa’s teeth into his bottom lip, so he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Akutagawa was both the last person on Earth he’d consider as his romantic partner and the first person that sprung to mind when he heard the word ‘partner’ on its own. He didn’t know how to reconcile those two points. He understood even less why people kissed under white berries, or why he’d believed kissing Akutagawa would help him get to the bottom of it.

But Akutagawa was so real, tangible, unlike so many of Atsushi’s other nightmares. He had dug himself into Atsushi’s story with meathooks, leaving bleeding wounds that even the tiger couldn’t negate. To this day, Atsushi would be hard-pressed to list more than a handful of his good traits.

He was learning that most of the monumental people in his life weren’t good. Some of them changed for the better, and others never had the chance. He wondered which category Akutagawa fitted into.

Under the impression that he could find the answer through touch, he took a step forward, hungry, into space that wasn’t there, and Akutagawa was forced to step back to accommodate. He moved with Atsushi in tandem, and they fell into a coordinated rhythm much faster than they had on the ice, and Atsushi’s discovery that he was better at kissing Akutagawa than he was at skating was so horrifying he wanted to curl up and die.

And they’d been at it for too long. Akutagawa had probably just intended for a quick peck, to check off a box on Atsushi’s Christmas bucket list and then be rid of him as soon as possible. The longer this continued, the worse the comedown would be. They both knew that, and yet whenever one of them would draw back for a breath, the other would pursue. They weren’t underneath the berries anymore, so there were no excuses.

He and Akutagawa always made each other act so stupid.

In a sudden burst of self-discipline, Atsushi ripped himself away. He knew he must look a mess, and he felt like one—his legs were jelly, and he was struck by the need to devolve into a second coughing fit. Akutagawa was glaring at him, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, and Atsushi decided that maybe he absolutely hated this holiday.

“My bad,” he said, voice cracking, like he’d stabbed Akutagawa instead of what had actually happened. He didn’t know why he was apologizing. Akutagawa’s expression went sharp in that spiteful way it always did whenever he saw Atsushi on the verge of an emotional meltdown.

“You are so irritating,” he hissed, before closing the gap between them and kissing him again, short and hard. It felt more like a slap.

Then he pulled his scarf back up to its previous height, covering the lower half of his face. He dug his hands into his pockets, pushing his coat tighter around his middle.

The aftermath was as uncomfortable as Atsushi had feared it would be. The tension was too much. His lungs were burning from trying to breathe evenly and pretend the wind hadn't been punched out of him.

Akutagawa remained close by, like he was waiting for a signal, but Atsushi couldn’t work out what it could be. All he could hear was the wind in his ears. Akutagawa must have realized that he wasn't going to be given whatever it was that he wanted, because a careful neutrality settled over his features. Atsushi couldn’t shake the suspicion that he’d just failed some kind of test.

He had to break the silence.

“I’m… you’re not gonna win our fight,” was what he went with, because nothing else was coming to mind. He couldn’t pull his eyes from Akutagawa’s damp hair, the snow that had melted and glued his bangs to his forehead. “And neither will I. It won’t be like that.”

“What would you know?” Akutagawa retorted, but it was spoken softer than his outward mannerisms would suggest. He didn’t waste another second before brushing past Atsushi and leaving him there, with his lips and fingertips and stomach hurting, watching him go like a goddamned idiot.

“You can thank me by singing a Christmas song!” was what Dazai was jeering at Kunikida as Atsushi opened the door to the office. “The more heartfelt, the better.”

“Hey,” Atsushi greeted. Dazai froze where he had pulled himself on top of a filing cabinet.

“Oh, it’s my favorite protégé! How’s it going?”

Atsushi unzipped his coat and hung it on the rack, painstakingly organized by Kunikida. The office was toasty, and full of pretty lights, and by the time he’d made it over to Dazai his residual anger about his mentor’s actions had all but fizzled out, chased away by the pleasant energy of the room.

“It's going fine.” He wanted to kick himself. He should be tearing Dazai a new one for ditching him with a guy like Akutagawa, but he couldn’t bring himself to confess what had happened between them in front of all of his friends. “You need to keep me out of your awful plans.”

Dazai beamed. “But you had a good time?”

“I…”

He couldn’t disagree. Like it was some immutable rule of the universe, for him to be unable to deny Dazai’s accusation. From the renewed happiness of being with the Agency, to the lingering warmth of his coat, to the electricity still channeling through his body, put there by slender fingers curling around him and holding him close—there was no room for rebuttals.

Rather than answering, Atsushi moved, so both Dazai and the rest of the Agency were in his field of vision. He took a breath. “Thank you. I had a really nice time today.”

The moment it left his lips, his eyes stung, and he balled his hands into fists so hard his palms cried out in protest. His coworkers stared at him, shocked. Then, they were everywhere, surrounding him with smiles and comforting pats, and he was laughing. His shoulders shook with the force of it, and for the first time in his life, all he could think about was the future.