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The average person, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke would not die for.
Nakajima Atsushi is a magical weretiger detective, and thus, not the average person. Akutagawa has died for him multiple times. He has done the same for him.
Akutagawa knows just how long it takes for his leg to grow back after it’s been cut off and yet has no idea how many sugar cubes he takes in his coffee. Too many, probably.
The average person, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke would not give up killing for.
Nakajima Atsushi is his partner, and Akutagawa has never had one before. He is not the average person. He does not kill. He holds Dazai’s approval loosely in his fist, and so Akutagawa must kill him.
His hands are calloused from work. Work that involves leaning over a mountain of paperwork, not wrapping his hand around a gun. His hands are careless as he rips a line of fabric off his shirt and gentle, if unpracticed, as he wraps it around the wound on Akutagawa’s shoulder.
Later. Later he will kill him, and Atsushi’s blood will only be remembered for being spilt. Now he is dabbing at the blood that runs down Akutagawa’s shoulder like he is something that ought to be clean, something like a human.
“You’ve made eye contact with me while dying,” Akutagawa says just to say it.
“You did the same to me,” Atsushi replies, unimpressed. “And I wasn’t actually dying.”
“You had no way of being sure. So, it was revenge?”
“In a way. And I didn’t die. You did.”
“Planned?”
“You think I planned to be stabbed by God?”
“You seemed quite eager to jump at the opportunity.”
“I’m not Dazai,” Atsushi says like it’s nothing. He lifts Akutagawa’s arm to ensure there are no further injuries he’s missed; quite correctly reasoning Akutagawa would not tell him should he have gotten anything non-fatal. Upon finding nothing more, he gives a hum of approval.
“Obviously not,” Akutagawa says with a scowl like it’s everything. A pause of deliberation before he decides to just ask, “So? Have you been made of paper this whole time?”
“Are you making a joke right now?” Atsushi demands, voice high pitched. He tugs Akutagawa’s sleeve back down and over the bandages.
“You’re a bookmark, are you not?”
“That’s not even what that means,” Atsushi grumbles accusatorily, although he doesn’t seem all that upset by it. He stands up and offers Akutagawa a hand to help him off the busted car hood he’d deemed satisfactorily clean enough to wrap up Akutagawa’s wound atop.
Akutagawa accepts the hand that pulls him up because Atsushi is making a fool out of him.
“What day is it?” He eventually asks.
“The-“ Atsushi begins before hesitating and shaking his head, expression apologetic. “I don’t know. My phone’s gone. Why?”
“We were close to our fight to the death,” Akutagawa replies curtly.
“Akutagawa!”
“Weretiger.”
“We just saved the world and you’re still thinking about killing me!?”
“I am always thinking about killing you.”
“Not when you thought I was dead,” Atsushi retorts.
“I had bigger things to think about.”
“So, you admit it.”
“Like saving the world,” Akutagawa continues, unimpressed and with far less shame than what Atsushi feels is necessary.
The two face each other, glares scribbled all over the both of their faces until Akutagawa breaks the silence.
“I’ll buy you a new phone.”
“Of course you- you’ll what?”
“Buy you a new phone,” Akutagawa repeats as if this is something Atsushi should have expected.
“What?”
“Buy you a new phone,” Akutagawa sighs.
“I heard you, just why?” Atsushi emphasizes helplessly.
“Because I will.”
Atsushi is about to check to make sure this is still Akutagawa before remembering this circular conversation is proof this is still Akutagawa. The thought is more comforting than it has any right to be, and he’d really rather not think about it.
But Akutagawa, his Akutagawa, has light in his eyes that wasn’t there before. It doesn’t make the pain he and his friends have been through worth it—they are hurt, and despite his friends being alive, the weight in his chest is still there—but Akutagawa has lately been looking more alive than he’s ever seen him and it makes everything a little less bad. And that’s more than enough.
It's surprising, what dying can do to a man. Atsushi swears he will not let it happen again.
Upon remembering he’s just sworn to keep alive the man itching to fight him to the death, Atsushi groans and drops his head onto the nearest surface that just so happens to be Akutagawa’s—luckily uninjured—shoulder.
“Oh,” Akutagawa says.
Atsushi smells blood and fabric softener. Akutagawa. And then he—he jerks his head up.
“You haven’t been coughing.”
“I haven’t.”
“Why?”
Akutagawa sneers but there’s something shallow to it.
“Presumably because I’ve already died while my lung disease was killing me.”
Atsushi hesitates, rolling the words around in his mouth for fear of their being crushed the moment they pass his lips.
“So, you’ll live?”
Akutagawa doesn’t respond immediately. He brushes dirt from his coat and turns around as if just to ensure Atsushi can’t read him while he says, “It seems so,” Which is certainly one way of telling Atsushi that his partner, who has just died, won’t be leaving him again any time soon.
“I have an idea,” Atsushi says slowly, words too heavy to be simply spit out.
“What?” Akutagawa demands all too quickly.
“We move the day of our fight to the death,” Atsushi proposes seriously.
“You have a date in mind?” Akutagawa scoffs, still not facing him.
“No,” Atsushi admits. “Just, later. Yeah, later.”
“All of that we’ve been through and you’re still a foolish weretiger,” Akutagawa says through a sigh, but he doesn’t sound upset.
He walks off without fighting the idea, which is answer enough. The weight in Atsushi’s chest lessens some, just enough that he can breathe for the first time in a while. Akutagawa throws him a glance as if just checking he’s still there, and Atsushi knows he can breathe, too.