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Everything hurt.
That was all Akutagawa could think about during the car ride back to their hotel. Thank god Atsushi learned how to drive because if Akutagawa were at the wheel, he’d have tossed them into a ditch by now to end his suffering.
It burned under his ribs. Every breath felt like pushing razor blades down his windpipe.
He knew he had overdone it a good three hours ago when he had to step away from the fight for a second and cough violently just out of earshot from Atsushi. He knew he was in for a real world of pain when whoever the hell they were fighting released a dust-like spore that he got a real good breath of. Instantly, he was coughing so hard he was scared he would suffocate before he was killed by who they were fighting.
Luckily, whoever it was was cowardly enough to run away from the battle under the cover of their own smog.
Akutagawa knew that if he hadn’t been busy hacking, he and Atsushi probably could’ve caught them. Inwardly, he blamed himself in full for this and would be beating himself up about it later. Outwardly, he was going to tell everyone it was Atsushi’s fault.
Akutagawa could feel the rattle of his breathing in his chest as they approached the hotel paid for by the agency and Port Mafia. He was praying Atsushi wouldn’t notice too.
It wasn’t that Akutagawa was ashamed of his illness. He actually was impressed with himself for being able to keep up with the rest of the Port Mafia despite it. However, he would sooner die than tell anyone other than Gin about it. It was a weakness, one that could be exploited.
He also hated the pity. He was plenty capable on his own, if that wasn’t evidenced by all his feats. He did not need or want help with things people wouldn’t help anyone else with. Akutagawa figured this would be common sense, but the last few people he told made a point to help him with simple tasks. Now no one got the privilege of knowing.
He knew his illness would kill him one day. He made his peace with it, learned his limits, and didn’t dwell too much on the ‘tragic’ death he would one day face. In his eyes, it was life. Everyone died, but why did it matter so much how and when?
He followed Atsushi up to their hotel room, ready to pass right out on the bed.
“I’ll heat us up some dinner,” Atsushi hummed.
Akutagawa would’ve declined and been happy to sleep without eating, but he knew how this routine worked. If he didn’t eat, Atsushi would just nag him and he didn’t want to deal with it.
He really didn’t know why Atsushi cared so much.
He lowered himself carefully, hoping the other wouldn’t notice him wincing, and knelt onto the zaisu set up by the table.
They weren’t exactly friends, but even Akutagawa could admit that they were past their initial rivalry.
They ate their room service leftovers in silence, like usual. He found that in the quiet of their various hotel rooms, they played nicer with each other than they did everywhere else. Maybe Atsushi liked the peace, or maybe it was just a quiet understanding that they needed the silence for a bit.
Akutagawa picked at his meal, his body aching too much to eat a proper portion. Atsushi gave him a little frown but didn’t comment. He could feel the weretiger’s eyes on him as he stood up and made his way to the bed. He hoped he didn’t notice how slow he moved.
Akutagawa hardly bothered changing out of his clothes, keeping Rashomon on his bed, as he listened to Atsushi lock up the door and put away the takeout. He took slow, measured breaths, which he hoped would make the pain ease up. They didn’t.
Atsushi clicked off the lights, and Akutagawa closed his eyes.
He slipped into sleep quickly, if only to keep himself from the unbearable pain in his lungs.
The clock read 1:00 when he woke up. He felt as though he had swallowed a handful of mud in his sleep, with the familiar pain in his chest and terrible itch in his throat. It was dark, but he could hear Atsushi sleeping in the other bed.
Akutagawa was used to this, by now. It was more of a nuisance than anything that worried him.
He stumbled to the bathroom and shut the door before coughing into the sink. He tried to be quiet about it, but there wasn’t much use when he could hardly catch his breath.
He could taste the blood in his mouth before he saw it painting the pristine hotel sink.
It used to scare him when it got this bad. He remembered calling for Gin desperately one night when they were younger. He’d mostly blacked out the memory of the shock and horror on her face, but he could fill in the blanks on his own.
He laid his head on the cool counter, panting. Every breath rattled and ached in his chest. His shirt clung to his body with sweat.
Over his panting, he hardly heard the bathroom door creak open.
He had apparently forgotten to lock it. He’d lived alone or with just Gin his whole life, so much that it wasn’t a reflex for him to hide things too hard.
He wished it were right now. Atsushi looked horrified, more so than he ever did when one of them got hurt on missions.
Akutagawa could kind of understand the look on his face. It wasn’t every day someone saw him hunched over a sink full of blood.
“Where are you bleeding?” Atsushi demands more than he asks. Before Akutagawa can catch his breath enough to say, Atsushi is looking all over his arms and legs, pressing on his stomach and sides in search of a wound that isn’t there.
Maybe it is there, but not there there.
Akutagawa wished he’d remembered to grab Rashomon off the bed. He wanted to claw Atsushi’s arms away. Not that the touch was unwelcome, the second his hands were away he wanted them back, it’s just that his touch always made Akutagawa feel flustered.
He assumes it’s the warmth in his hands. Those same hands are covered in blood or those of a tiger half the time he sees them. It’s downright unnatural how he cradles Akutagawa’s skin like it’s fine china.
Akutagawa doesn’t have to explain because a second after their eyes meet he’s looking away and coughing into the sink, adding to the little puddle of blood by the drain.
Once his coughing subsided, Atsushi guided him away. He bit back a remark about how he’s sick, not blind. He kept his biting words to himself and sat on the closed toilet lid.
Atsushi’s hands had found purchase on his shoulders, looking at his face with a scrunched expression. For all of half a second, Akutagawa felt like something precious. Something worth cradling with soft hands and a concerned expression.
Atsushi pulled away and walked out. Akutagawa really and truly hated that he missed his hands.
Maybe he just wanted to feel cared about. That had to be what it was. It had nothing to do with how flustered Atsushi’s touch made him.
Akutagawa could force himself to believe that until Atsushi was walking in, carrying a cup of water. He settled himself on the hotel floor and handed him the water, looking up at him from the tiled ground.
Akutagawa would send Rashomon on anyone who looked at him with so much concern. He looks at the cup in his hand instead of Atsushi’s too kind eyes.
“Was it the spores?” Atsushi asks, tone laden with the same worry on his face. Akutagawa wants to punch him so much that he forgets the question for a second.
He had nearly forgotten about the fight in all his agony.
“No,” he said before taking a long sip of water. It didn’t help anything.
Maybe the spores had a hand in it, but this was Akutagawa’s normal. This was nothing special, not even the worst it’s ever gotten.
“Then what?” Atsushi asked. His voice was hushed, like he was scared of knowing.
Akutagawa was scared of telling him. He’d been avoiding this for a while with Atsushi specifically, and avoiding it with everyone else for even longer. He was capable, he didn’t need Atsushi to start checking in on him in battle. He didn’t need him to slow down for him.
Akutagawa liked not talking about it. He liked keeping it close to his chest where only he got to dictate what he could and couldn’t do. Gin had given up on trying to keep him safe from himself a long time ago, and she knew his limits. Usually better than he did, but still. She never stopped him from deciding things for himself.
Atsushi looked deeply worried.
Akutagawa looked away to cough into his hand. He felt the blood drip down his face.
Atsushi grabbed a towel off the counter and wet it under the sink. He sat back on the floor and raised it to Akutagawa’s face.
He considered pulling away purely for the purpose of being difficult. Before he could the wet towel hit his skin and suddenly he wasn’t so against it anymore.
Atsushi wiped away blood and sweat alike with such gentle care that Akutagawa almost didn’t notice the hand that rose to rest gingerly on the other side of his face. He felt the nail softly scratch his skin and soft thumb pads rubbing over his cheekbone with such affection there was nothing he could do but lean into it and let his eyes slip shut.
Maybe it was the aching pain in his throat and lungs, or maybe it was how tired he was, but this was the best thing he’d ever felt.
When he opened his eyes, they focused on Atsushi’s. He was looking up at him with so much devotion. The kind only partners in battle that could have for one another. The kind that say “I will jump in front of bullets for you” and “You’re the worst” at the same time.
And Akutagawa felt a tight pain in his chest that he had never felt before. He wanted to rip his guts out a little more than he did earlier.
“Akutagawa?” Atsushi hummed, tapping his cheek with his thumb. “Tell me what’s wrong. You’re scaring me.”
He took a deep breath and looked away from his face. The room was less warm now, and he felt unwelcome without the kindness in Atsushi’s eyes. He hated that he wanted to look again. Hated that he liked it and knew he liked it.
There was a pleading in Atsushi’s expression that compelled him to explain.
“I have a…condition,” he said slowly. “I got it when I was younger. It damaged my lungs permanently. I think my ability makes it worse, but I’ve never been sure.”
Atsushi’s face softened, which Akutagawa didn’t think was possible.
“Is it dangerous?” he asked.
“What do you mean? It’s not contagious.”
“Will it hurt you?”
“It hurts a lot. I just coughed up blood, detective.”
“Stop being a jerk, you know what I mean.”
Akutagawa sighed. This was the part he didn’t like.
As much as he could pretend to be indifferent, he never did like to hurt people. You get over it when you join the Port Mafia, eventually. It’s part of the job.
Akutagawa still tended to hesitate.
He worried his bottom lip with his teeth before answering. “It’s likely that it will kill me one day, yes.”
He saw Atsushi’s heart break, something in his eyes shattering like dropped glass. He would normally say it’s pathetic, to care so much about your rival like that. Right now he wanted to take it all back and say it was a joke.
“Why do you…care?” Akutagawa asked before he thought about it.
Atsushi looked almost offended. “Why do I care?” he echoed.
All he could do was nod dumbly.
“Why wouldn’t I care? I don’t want anyone to die. Especially not you.”
“Why me?”
“Do you really think I don’t care about you?”
Akutagawa felt his face flush. There was no embarrassment, just a deep, horrible, awful feeling in his chest.
Affection.
“I don’t…know.”
“Akutagawa, I’ve almost gotten myself killed for you more times than I can count on one hand. I figured you’d know by now.”
He really, really wanted to kiss him.
Of all times to realize you have a crush, this felt like the worst, in his opinion.
And, if you were wondering, everything still hurt.
Atsushi sighed and stood up, tossing the cloth toward the sink.
“We’ll argue about this in the morning, you’re clearly too tired and hurt for it right now. Can you stand without keeling over?”
To prove himself, he stood. Not without coughing softly into his elbow with the effort, though. No blood this time. Atsushi checked.
He led him to the beds and down onto his own. Usually, Akutagawa would argue that he could do things himself. He liked Atsushi’s hand on his lower back too much, unfortunately.
As soon as he was under the covers and comfortable, Atsushi walked around to the other side of the bed and joined him.
Akutagawa was pretty sure he was about to either have a heart attack, kiss him, or punch him in the teeth. He didn’t know which one he’d like more.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m not leaving you alone.”
“It’s been like this for years. I’ll be fine.”
“That’s not the reassurance you think it is.”
The bed was small. It was a hotel, after all. Their legs brushed under the sheets and Akutagawa felt something other than a cough bubble in his throat.
“I care about you too, for what it’s worth,” he confessed quietly. For someone like him, that was as close to a love confession as he’d ever get.
Atsushi studied his face in the dark, eyes almost like they were in his weretiger form. Sharp and nearly slitted like those of a cat. He could feel them raking over his face, searching for something.
“We’ll talk about that in the morning, too,” he decided, lying back in bed and closing his eyes.
Akutagawa copied him, closing his eyes. He figured that was the end of it, they’d sleep with their legs awkwardly close, a burning ache in every part of Akutagawa, and deal with things in the morning.
He coughed again, the millionth time. His throat was raw and every breath hurt a little more than the last.
Atsushi settled a hand on his back and rubbed slow circles.
He didn’t know how, but it helped. He had the best sleep he’d had in maybe years.
Downside, he woke up cuddling his supposed rival. The downside wasn’t the cuddling, it was that he liked it. Enough to curl up into him and pretend to be asleep for a little longer.