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Akutagawa has very long fingers. He’s long in general, Atsushi determines after several weeks of covert study, through quick glances and peeking around corners and brief, terse conversation. Working with Akutagawa irritates and intimidates in turns. His aloof attitude leaves Atsushi cold; Akutagawa has to look down several inches to look at Atsushi’s face, and every time he does Atsushi finds himself unable to look away from his dark, dark eyes.
The night sky is dark, too—it might be the most trivial observation Atsushi has ever made, but it’s the only thought swimming through his mind as he lays splayed out on the wet ground. The ground soaks and soaks through beneath him. Somewhere, a middle distance away, the sounds of fighting continue to roil. Atsushi’s shirt lies in ribbons, his ashen skin split straight and clean across his stomach.
He blinks at the wavering stars.
The decision had been easy. Atsushi has had worse injuries; many of those worse injuries were caused by Akutagawa himself. Atsushi succeeded in protecting his partner. He regrets nothing.
“I don’t regret anything,” he rasps when he feels thin arms hefting his body off the ground. He doesn’t get a response.
--
Something soft against his bare skin. Red glow piercing his closed eyelids and the faint smell of food—broth, he thinks—in the air. Atsushi’s eyes open to the familiar setting of his small flat, and he brings his hands up to brush the unfamiliar blanket covering him.
He swings his legs off the bed and winces only slightly at the pull of his freshly-healed wound. The night’s sleep has knitted him back together, and he takes a moment to stretch tentatively to test how far he can push himself this quickly after what would be a life-threatening injury on someone else. Yosano always encourages this experimentation, and Atsushi knows better than to cross her.
Atsushi reaches for the ceiling, then does a few torso twists, then reaches for the floor. Satisfied with the limberness of his muscles, he glances around the room. A bowl of chazuke sits cooling on the counter, and Atsushi blinks at it in confusion. Crossing the room, he scoops up the bowl and sniffs experimentally. No note, no indication that anyone had been in the room—but someone must have carried him home, cleaned him up, and stayed long enough for the chazuke to still be warm.
Unsure whether or not his advanced healing would protect him from poisoning, Atsushi decides to put the food in the fridge until he can speak to everyone at the Agency—and Akutagawa—to see if anyone knows who might have left it for him.
When he arrives at the Agency, everything is calm as if no one knows that Atsushi and Akutagawa were waylaid by a dozen attackers the previous night. The only person who acknowledges him is Kunikida, who gives a jerky nod of approval and says “I appreciate you not using your injury to get out of work like some people might try to. I left paperwork on your desk.”
The day passes more or less the same as any other day, apart from Atsushi’s continue confusion about how he woke up this morning. However, Atsushi’s hand can’t help but stray to press against his abdomen every now and then, to rub at the flat new skin there. This isn’t the first time a dire injury has been whisked away by his ability, but the feeling of strangeness hasn’t yet lessened.
But Atsushi doesn’t dwell. When he leaves the Agency that evening, he smiles at the people he passes on his way, looking forward to the meal he plans to make when he gets home. However, the first thing he sees when he begins to prepare to cook is the chazuke he put away that morning. Distracted by the work of the day, Atsushi hadn’t even asked anyone at the Agency if they’d been to his dorm that morning. Anyway, Atsushi knows that there’s really only one person who reasonably could have been in his home that morning, only one person who might’ve thought he’d need breakfast made for him.
Atsushi and Akutagawa’s partnership is still too new for Atsushi to always be certain where they stand. However, even a few scant weeks of working together has been enough for Atsushi to learn where Akutagawa lives, though the knowledge is supposed to only be for emergencies.
He wraps the bowl back up and sets out for the nearest train station.
--
Akutagawa’s apartment is on the seventh floor of a very clean, modern building across the city from Atsushi’s dorm. Atsushi squares his shoulders as he hits the buzzer, trying to swallow down his nervousness about the welcome that Akutagawa might give him.
However, the person that answers the door is not the person he’d been expecting. Atsushi jumps a little bit, taking a step back even though he really shouldn’t be that surprised.
Gin regards him coolly, then steps aside, waving Atsushi into the apartment and closing the door behind him when he shuffles inside.
“Brother isn’t home. He came home suddenly early this morning and left not long after. He was very upset.” She takes a seat on the couch and folds her hands in her lap. Atsushi lingers in the doorway.
“I—I came because there was food on the counter when I woke up and I wasn’t sure how it got there, so…” Atsushi trails off, feeling awkward and ungrateful for the gesture that someone had clearly meant well.
“I was the one who left food for you,” Gin replies. She relaxes back against the couch. “I knew that Brother’s distress this morning must have had something to do with you and the mission you were on last night. He never talks about what you two do together, but I still knew. He asked me to check on you. He’s mentioned how much chazuke you eat in the past.” She glances to the side, shrugging slightly. “I can see that you didn’t eat what I made. Maybe I should have left a note.”
Atsushi takes a couple steps forward. “Thank you anyway. It smelled really good, I just—“
“No need to explain.” Gin stands up and takes the bowl from him, walking towards the sink to dump it out.
“Wait!” Atsushi interrupts her, and she stops, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Why don’t we just make some more together? Or I can make something else! I want to thank you for taking care of me,” he says in a rush.
Gin smiles slightly. “Alright. I have errands to run, but they won’t take me long. I look forward to seeing what you cook.”
She goes to the door and shrugs on a long, light tan coat. On her way out the door, she says “Brother texted me to say he’d be home soon.”
The door clicks shut on Atsushi’s noise of surprise.
--
Atsushi breathes deeply and lets himself be lulled out of his anxiety by the sound and smell of vegetables sizzling in the pan. The Akutagawas have a much better-stocked kitchen than Atsushi keeps in his tiny dorm, but he tries to resist the urge to experiment too much considering who might be eating his cooking.
Atsushi doesn’t remember anything after being lifted off the dewy grass. But Akutagawa must have gotten him home somehow, must have carried him up the stairs to his apartment, must have wiped the blood from his skin. What can Atsushi even say to thank someone like him for something like that?
“Man-tiger?” Akutagawa says behind him, and Atsushi sucks in a deep breath, and turns around.
Akutagawa looks the same as ever against the neutral tones of his apartment—impeccable clothes, ragged hair, tall and hunched and thin. But Atsushi has seen him in the night, remembers him in a halo of ink, strong enough to stop bullets, powerful enough to blot out the stars.
He swallows.
“Akutagawa. I came to thank you—and Gin—for everything last night, and I also apologized for not eating what she left you and I volunteered to cook and she said I should even though she had to leave and you’d be back—“
Akutagawa crosses the room in several graceless strides. He crowds Atsushi back against the cabinets and Atsushi lets him, sensing no violence in his intent. Akutagawa reaches past him to turn off the stove, and then stays. This close, Atsushi can’t help but notice all the features his stealthy observations over the past few weeks have only given him impressions of. His thin mouth, the hollows of his cheeks, the lashes of his eyes—Akutagawa’s hands grip the counter on either side of Atsushi and keep him caged in, but rather than feeling fearful, Atsushi stares directly into Akutagawa’s eyes.
They’ve never been this close, this peaceful. Even once they stopped being enemies, even after they began their partnership—only fighting has brought them close together physically. Until now. Atsushi focuses on his breathing, and on memorizing the distinct color of Akutagawa’s eyes reflecting the warm light of his home.
After several long moments of scrutiny, Akutagawa is the one who breaks their eye contact. He glances to the side the same way his sister does—uncomfortable and wary of being judged. “Man-tiger…” he says again, hoarsely.
The spell is broken. Atsushi puffs out a laugh. “When are you going to stop calling me that?” he demands, half-teasing, half-serious.
Akutagawa has no retort. Instead, he shuffles even closer, and drops his head onto Atsushi’s shoulder.
Atsushi stiffens momentarily. He feels hair tickling his skin—feels Akutgawa’s sweat-sticky forehead rub at the crook of his neck when he shifts position. Akutagawa’s hands drop to hang at his sides.
“Akutagawa?” Atsushi asks softly, tentatively resting a hand between Akutagawa’s shoulder blades.
“Never do that again,” Akutagawa says, audible only because his mouth is only a few inches from Atsushi’s ear.
“Never do what?”
One of Akutagawa’s hands comes up to press against the soft give of Atsushi’s stomach, and Atsushi understands.
“Let’s sit down,” Atsushi murmurs, brushing over Akutagawa’s hair and slowly walking them back towards the couch, not breaking contact. They sit down, Akutagawa still keeping his face down and pressed against Atsushi’s shoulder, though Atsushi does catch a glimpse of his teeth gritted and his eyes screwed tightly shut.
“You know that I always heal. I’ve healed from worse in less time.” Since he hasn’t been told no, Atsushi continues gently stroking Akutagawa’s hair.
“That doesn’t mean you should willingly walk into danger. You—“ Akutagawa swallows. “You’re important. And.” Akutagawa reaches out slightly, but then curls his arm back hesitantly. Atsushi takes Akutagawa’s hand and pulls that arm around his middle, since Akutagawa wouldn’t do it himself.
“I’ll always do anything to protect the people I care about. After I went down, you did the same for me. I trusted that you would. And we’re both alright.”
Akutagawa falls silent, and Atsushi closes his eyes. He tips his head back to rest against the back of the couch and relaxes to revel in their closeness for as long as it lasts. Neither of them is used to gentleness, to physical intimacy, and, quietly, they both decide not to pull away.
“The mafia never gave me a partner, just subordinates,” Akutagawa eventually says. “When you leapt in front of me, I…I have never felt anything like that before. I don’t know how I will react if we are ever in that situation again. Partnership…this will take work.”
“It will be worth it,” Atsushi replies without thinking. Without thinking—but a smile splits his face anyway, and Akutagawa presses in closer.
When they fall asleep like that only a few minutes later, both of them dream warm and soft dreams, of sinking into the soft cushions, of the catch of two calloused palms, of one quiet moment stretching out into a lifetime of quiet moments, and always a place to call home.