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Five years changes a lot.
Atsushi isn’t the same person he was when he was 18 years old and Akutagawa isn’t the same as when he was 20. They’ve been through a war, through death and destruction, through loss and pain, but they’re still alive.
And better than they were before, Atsushi thinks. Their struggles have made them who they are (Akutagawa disagrees with him, but he’s always been the pessimist between the two of them). Both of them agree that suffering, having been something they’ve experienced first hand, is something they can go the rest of their lives without.
It’s not as hard as they had originally thought it would be either. Atsushi makes a decent amount of money working for the Armed Detective Agency and Akutagawa has a bank account with enough to retire comfortably on (Atsushi doesn’t ask where he got the money from and Akutagawa doesn’t volunteer answers). Atsushi works, Akutagawa...does something Atsushi is fine not knowing about and at the end of the day the two of them come home to one another.
Five years ago, Atsushi would never have imagined that he would be willingly sharing a bed with Akutagawa Ryunosuke.
He’s willing to bet that Akutagawa would agree with him on this, and that thought amuses him. It took a while, but the two of them are more similar than he had ever thought, and that’s probably why they fit so well together. Atsushi is gentle where Akutagawa is rough; Akutagawa is brave where Atsushi is cowardly. It’s a balancing act, one that’s taken them some time to perfect but that he wouldn’t trade for the world.
Things are better for Atsushi and Akutagawa than they have ever been, but the past won’t be forgotten so easily.
There are still times when Atsushi finds his partner curled up on their bed, hands clenched so tightly that his nails are cutting into his palms, creating small crescent cuts that ooze bright red blood. When he gets into moods like these, he tends to lash out at anyone and everyone--Atsushi knows this best of all.
Still, he also knows exactly what Akutagawa needs to hear when he gets into these dark patches. And it’s never been in his nature to leave someone who is suffering alone.
Those nights he crawls carefully into bed, stopping just before he brushes against Akutagawa. Sooner or later, the other will look at him-he always does. It breaks Atsushi’s heart to see someone he cares so deeply about look so utterly broken. He doesn’t know what Akutagawa went through in the mafia, won’t even pretend that he can begin to fathom the horrors the other has faced, but he’ll be damned if he won’t be there to support his partner whenever he needs it.
It’s a slow process; Akutagawa shies away from touch even on his best days, but Atsushi is nothing if not patient. He starts slow, with gentle brushes of hand against hand-his pinky latching onto Akutagawa’s, his thumb rubbing circles onto the back of the other’s hand. Eventually, Akutagawa shifts his weight slightly, scooting back on the bed just an inch and Atsushi knows he’s been given permission to do more.
He’s free, then, to lay fully down on the bed and pull the other close to him. Akutagawa is a few inches taller than he is but allows his head to be tucked under Atsushi’s chin all the same, allows the younger man to fold his arms around him in a protective cage.
Akutagawa’s fingers grip onto his shirt, threatening to choke Atsushi, but he knows the other would never hurt him. Not anymore.
He’s quiet and gentle when the other gets like this. Akutagawa is not one to showcase his emotions, but Atsushi understands him all the same. One hand tangles in Akutagawa’s hair; the other loops firmly around his waist and presses against his back, reassuring the other that he is here, he is not alone.
He speaks into the quiet of the room, simple words filled with love and affection.
You’re not there anymore.
You’re amazing.
I care about you.
Slowly, Akutagawa relaxes in his arms. His hands uncurl, leaving Atsushi’s shirt wrinkled but no worse for wear, and his body relaxes from the hunched ball of pain until he’s lying in a boneless heap in Atsushi’s arms and the two of them fall asleep like that-Akutagawa first, and Atushi afterwards, being lulled to sleep by his partner’s steady breathing.
They don’t speak about it the next morning, not in words anyway. They wake up in a tangle of limbs, Atsushi first, and he gently nudges the other awake. Akutagawa is always difficult to rouse on nights after he slips into one of his dark places, so it takes some doing but eventually the other’s eyes flutter open.
He stares at Atsushi, face impassive, and mumbles a ‘good morning’ which Atsushi returns. A kiss is pressed to his chest, right above his heart and Akutagawa’s hands clutch at his shoulders. It’s not a traditional thank you, but it means just as much to Atsushi.
Akutagawa isn’t the only one who suffers, though.
There are still times when Akutagawa hears snuffling and whimpering nearby, and when he looks up, he catches Atsushi rubbing at his eyes fiercely and refusing to meet his gaze. The younger man will brush off his questions, assuring him that he’s fine, that it doesn’t matter, that Akutagawa shouldn’t worry about someone like him.
Akutagawa doesn’t let him speak more after that; he’s moving across the room, grabbing the other firmly by the arm and marching him towards their bedroom, resolutely ignoring Atsushi’s protests. Atsushi finds himself being pushed towards the bed, and he doesn’t have the strength to fight the other. He collapses face first onto the mattress, determined to keep his tearstained face from Akutagawa.
And Akutagawa lets him, climbing in behind him and wrapping his arms around Atsushi’s slender frame. He clings tightly to the younger man, pressing light kisses against the back of his neck, nuzzling against his jaw and humming quietly. He says nothing, just holds Atsushi tightly against him, letting him cry out whatever dark thing has welled up inside him, born from his years at the orphanage.
Words have never been Akutagawa’s forte.
Atsushi understands him all the same.
Every kiss means ‘I care’, every nuzzle means ‘it will be okay’ and every quiet hum means that Atsushi is wrong, he’s valid, he matters, and Akutagawa will always be there to let him know that.
Eventually, Atsushi cries himself into exhaustion. When he wakes up, Akutagawa is still curled around him protectively. He twists in the others embrace so that he’s face to face with questioning gray eyes and gives his lover a tired smile. His arms wrap around Akutagawa’s neck and his face is peppered with kisses until Atushi is content to simply bury his face into the other’s neck. Akutagawa, who is so against elaborate displays of affection, lets him, pressing one kiss to the top of Atsushi’s head.
And sometimes, no one suffers.
On rare nights, when he’s pressed firmly up against Akutagawa, drawing mindless patterns on the other’s arm with the older man resting his chin on top of Atsushi’s head that he thinks that no matter what life throws at them, they’ll be alright. They’ve been through so much already, so what’s a little bit more?
Five years makes a big difference, after all.