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The first time they met, he was a terrifying yet frail specter. That persistent cough, ghostly pale skin, and thin frame dwarfed by his serpentine coat. The next few times, his appearance was hardly important enough to register. But as the tentative alliance ticks on, it seems their partnership will be a more permanent situation. They start training together occasionally, and that’s when Atsushi really notices it. While he himself has muscle over his ribs these days, his partner does not. He looks every bit as emaciated as he did the day they met. Thinking back on it, he probably wasn’t in any better shape at the time, but with a safe place to sleep and coworkers always reminding him he doesn’t have to earn the right to eat anymore, he’s filled out his tall frame with lean muscle. He stares at Akutagawa as they walk into the gym.
“Do you have something to say or are you just asking me to hit you?”
“Ah- it’s nothing. Sorry.”
Akutagawa is unconvinced, but lets it drop for now. They spar- or at least try to- but something is off.
“Pull your punches again and I try to kill you for real, weretiger.” He snarls.
“You’re already wheezing, dude. Let’s just take a break, maybe get some lunch.”
“Are you taking extra lessons from Dazai? I haven’t met anyone this ready to die in a while.” He sends a strip of fabric sailing towards Atsushi, who easily dodges.
“You just missed me by a mile with that. I don’t want to fight you if you aren’t feeling well.”
“Don’t pity me! What opponent would ever allow me to take a sick day?”
“None, but I am your partner. I want you to be okay so you don’t get us both killed cuz you wouldn’t rest!”
“Fine. We’ll go then. Don’t be confused, I am doing this solely for your benefit. I am perfectly alright to continue.” He marches out of the gym, not bothering to check if his partner is following.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night. What do you want for lunch?”
“I already told you that I am waiting on you. Do not push your luck, weretiger.”
“Dude, relax. I only asked what you want to eat. You don’t tell people that stuff.”
“And it appears you answered your own question.”
“Are you this obstinate all the time or just with me?”
“Only with people I don’t respect.”
“Man, come on. I’m trying to be nice because we have to work together- on the orders of your idol, might I add.”
They’ve been walking at a stiff clip while bickering, Akutagawa leading the way. He stops so suddenly that Atsushi nearly crashes into his back.
“We eat here.” He says, and pushes open the door of what looks like some guy’s house. Atsushi has no choice but to follow, although he isn’t thrilled with the prospect of barging into a residence unannounced. At least it looks kind of like a restaurant on the inside, but that doesn’t explain why it’s in a mostly residential block, or why Akutagawa would know about it. He doesn’t exactly seem like the type to hunt for hole in the wall shops, unless- uh oh.
“Hang on, is this a-”
“Yes,” He says, covering Atsushi’s mouth with his coat, “It’s also on several foodie tour lists, so do not say anything that would damage the good name of this business.”
“But-” Atsushi tries to say, but the fabric over his mouth presses harder.
“For the record, it is a very good restaurant. Do not make me regret bringing you here.”
“Okay.” He says as the fabric is slowly removed from his face.
The man at the counter looks up to greet his guests, eyes hardening when he sees who they are.
“Ah, hello sirs! What can I do for you today?” He addresses the second part to Akutagawa alone.
“We’re just here for a meal.”
“Of course. What would you like?”
“Whatever you want to make. Any requests, weretiger?”
“Um, do you have a menu?”
“Nope, I make different stuff everyday!”
“Then, whatever you want to make is fine for me, too.” He says, embarrassed, “You already knew that and wanted me to make a fool of myself.”
“It would be hard to make you a bigger fool, weretiger.”
As the shopkeeper walks away, he hums a nonsense tune under his breath. Once he thinks he’s out of earshot in the kitchen, he says something peculiar.
“Wow, two in one day! Usually big names like you guys only show up if something’s wrong. And you brought guests! I must really be a good chef.”
He is of course not out of earshot of a tiger, who wastes no time relaying this information across the table.
“Well, he is a good chef. Anyone in the company would know that. It’s not surprising that someone else with rank is here.”
“Yeah, but who would bring a guest? Isn’t this location somewhat secret?”
“The tour lists are public. If the guy is smart, he’d just say he read about it on one of those.”
Something nags at Atsushi, but he chocks it up to being in a mafia front restaurant. Their food arrives quickly and it’s not what he expected.
“Stew?”
“Yup, I love stew. I let it cook nice and slow over a few days. Should be good.”
And it is very good. Akutagawa drops his normal cool demeanor to shovel it in his mouth like a starving dog. It’s hard to watch, but Atsushi can’t seem to look away. He knows he was like this too, a couple years back.
“Quit staring at me or I’ll remove your eyes.”
He looks back to his own bowl. Seeing his partner eat like this solidifies what has been bubbling around in his mind for a while. The guy doesn’t get enough to eat. The question now is why. He has to have money given his work. Is he not allowed to eat by his superiors? Does he purposefully refuse? Is he just not hungry? No, it can’t be that last one. The way he eats means he’s starving. He has that cough and seems somewhat sickly overall. He’ll never heal if he doesn’t eat. But there’s no way Atsushi could force him to do anything, even something as simple as eat. Besides, he really doesn’t want to do that. As much as it pains him, he cares about his partner. They don’t really even dislike each other anymore, might even hold some fondness, but both would be loathe to admit that.
“Do you want your eyes removed, weretiger?”
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize I was looking again.” It’s true.
“What is going on with you today?”
“It’s just... do they not feed you in the mafia?”
“What?”
“You’re so thin and you ate that whole bowl of stew in under five minutes. I’m worried. You need to be in fighting shape.” He tacks on the last bit quickly, trying to cover what he just admitted to.
“You’re worried about me?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
Akutagawa just gapes at him like he grew a second head.
“I mean, I didn’t have enough to eat growing up but I made sure I was getting three meals a day as soon as my first paycheck cleared. I remember what it’s like to be so hungry all the time. I don’t want anyone to suffer through that, including you.”
“I did not bother changing my habits after recruitment.”
“But you could if you wanted to.”
“I suppose. If it gets you to shut up and train for real I would consider.”
“Yes! Ah, I mean, yeah. That would be a good idea.”
He doesn’t get to enjoy his partner’s oddly open mood for long. Familiar arguing is steadily making its way from the back of the restaurant.
“For the last time, I did not cry! It was dusty in there.”
“In the movie theater? Do you think they don’t vacuum?”
“Judging by the floor of that place, I would assume so.”
“Ah, you would know what the floor was like better than I. You’re much closer to it, after all!”
Dazai’s laughter is cut off by a knee to the stomach. Doubled over, he finally spots his protégé at the table.
“What are you two doing here during work hours? I thought I taught you better than to slack off.”
“We stepped out for a lunch break.” Atsushi says, ignoring that the biggest slacker in the office is chastising him.
“He was being a baby and wouldn’t spar unless I ate something.”
“I was not! You could barely stand! When’s the last time you ate anything?”
“Tuesday?”
“It is Friday! What is the matter with you?” Then he turns to Chuuya, “Can you help me make sure he eats?”
“Not really my area. That said, has it really been that long?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Yeah, okay, so that’s worse.”
“If you’re so concerned, why not spend some time together? I think our favorite cat has experience recovering from such things.” Dazai says with a cheshire grin.
“Absolutely not.”
“I wouldn’t love it but...”
“You’re truly that concerned, weretiger? I already told you I don’t want your pity.”
“It’s not pity! I’ve been where you are and I don’t want to watch you suffer. I want to-” He pauses, considering which phrasing is least likely to land him in the hospital, “I want to help you.”
“How about this, if my health is truly as poor as you say and I get us in trouble in the field, you can do whatever you want with me.”
“That assumes we survive getting in trouble.”
“It’s the best offer I’m going to make.”
“Fine, deal. I wish you weren’t so stubborn.”
“Same here.”
It hasn’t even been a full day when the pair is tapped for their teamwork. An ability user planted a bomb in the middle of a crowded subway and sealed all the exits. The only way to stop the ensuing carnage is to defeat the user. Unfortunately, his ability is not making bombs. That would be easy enough to deal with. No, his ability allows him to launch any metal object that weighs less than 10 pounds at supersonic speed and the pair need to steal the detonator from him. Atsushi is wrapped in the black armor provided by Akutagawa, cloth coming to shield him from the hail of shrapnel. At first, at least. The guy is fast, standing on the metal he controls to dodge with absurd speed. Eventually, he’s cornered, Atsushi on one side, Akutagawa on the other. Atsushi winds up to land a knock out blow on the guy’s jaw, right as the fabric surrounding him goes slack. Akutagawa has collapsed on the ground, exhausted from keeping Atsushi’s armor as well as his own ranged attacks active. Atsushi hits harder than he meant to, but successfully renders the bomber unconscious. He’s also missing a few teeth, but their doctor can give him those back. He snatches the detonator and shoves it in his pocket before running to his partner’s side.
“Akutagawa! Are you okay?”
He kneels beside his partner, shaking his shoulders. Akutagawa doesn’t wake. Atsushi grabs him and sprints toward the ADA. He harnesses the power of the tiger to drive his legs faster, faster, desperate to bring his teammate, his friend to a doctor. He careens into the office, Akutagawa still thrown over one shoulder.
“He passed out and I can’t get him to come back. Please, we need Yosano. I can’t lose him.”
“I’m right here. Hand him over and stay put. I’ll bring him back in one piece.”
“Thank you. Here, take him, just please, please-”
“I got it. Sit down and relax.”
He sits, trembling and panting from exertion.
“What happened out there?” Dazai asks quietly.
“Yes, what about the bomber?” Kunikida is much more forceful.
“Bomber’s unconscious. I knocked him out. Detonator’s in my pocket. I don’t know what happened to Akutagawa, he just passed out. He didn’t get hit. He just collapsed like a rag doll.”
“Hand it over, we’ll work on getting the thing defused.”
Atsushi places the detonator on Kunikida’s desk, hands still shaking.
“It seems you won the bet you made.”
“Huh?”
“At the restaurant, you agreed that if he got you in trouble, he’d let you do whatever you wanted with him. It seems he’s yours now.”
For some reason, a strange heat blooms in his cheeks at the thought of Akutagawa being his.
“I just hope he’s okay.”
Ranpo arches an eyebrow, but says nothing. Atsushi will figure it out himself soon enough. Yosano returns with a grim expression on her face a few minutes later.
“He’ll be alright. I used my ability but quite frankly I didn’t need to. His blood sugar was just too low and he passed out. Thou Shalt Not Die should have fixed that lung damage he had, though. I’ve been looking for an excuse to get him on the table. But my ability still has limits. I can’t make up for years of malnutrition. Atsushi, come with me.”
Wordlessly, he follows to where Akutagawa lays on the cot, his already small body looking even smaller in the nest of blankets around him. Atsushi sits the chair beside him, still shaking. His eyes open slowly, then he sits bolt upright. Thankfully he’s still too weak to activate his ability.
“What happened?” He says frantically, his put together facade entirely crumbled.
“I got the bomber while you were passed out.”
“I passed out?”
“Your blood sugar was the lowest I have ever seen,” Yosano says, “It’s a small miracle you’re even alive.”
“So I suppose this means I lost our wager.”
“Who cares, you scared the hell out of me! I thought that you died! You crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut and I thought that was it. I thought I’d lost you forever.”
“You don’t need to waste your tears on me, weretiger.”
Atsushi reaches up to feel his own wet cheeks. He swipes at his eyes but can’t get the tears to stop. In fact, they’re bubbling up faster than before. He chokes back a sob and turns away from Akutagawa. He doesn’t see that his heartbreak is mirrored on the other man’s face.
“I lost the bet. I will do whatever you say for as long as you ask, or until I am deemed healed by your doctor.” He says softly, offering what little comfort he can to his partner.
“I have a proposal for you boys about that. I want you two to move in together. 24/7 monitoring, ability to eat meals together, and perhaps you’ll learn more about how to take care of each other in the future. One can only hope.”
“I will do whatever is asked of me.”
“What about Kyoka? She still lives with me.”
“She can bunk with me for a while. Might be nice for her to get to know someone else whose powers were used by Mori. We could commiserate.”
Atsushi silently leaves the room, returning with Kyoka in tow.
“Are you will to stay with the doctor for a while so I can help him?”
She nods and says, “Even if I was scared of him when we worked together, everyone deserves a chance to reach the light.”
Akutagawa isn’t sure he deserves her kindness after everything he put her through. Still, he says nothing, just bows his head in shame. Maybe he’ll be able to apologize to her someday, but for now his remorse is silent.
“Thank you.”
“Alright, that settles it. Kyoka, pack your stuff and bring it to my dorm. You got somebody to bring your stuff here, Akutagawa?”
“Yes. I will call him. He won’t be pleased but he’ll do it. He’s not one to let anyone go back on a bet.”
A few hours later, everyone is moved in. True to his word, Akutagawa’s helper was not happy with the situation. One look at his coworker’s guilty expression and the protective tiger behind him stops him from complaining, though.
“It’s light work for me anyway,” Chuuya says, “Although packing a moving van is a little below my pay grade. You sure didn’t have much stuff. Talk about spartan living. Mattress on the floor, bookcase, desk, dresser of clothes, like eight identical coats... I brought everything but damn. Wasn’t much to bring.”
Interrupting his rambling, Dazai pats him on the shoulder, making him momentarily drop the stack of books he had been floating up the stairs.
“Watch it, bastard! It’s not my stuff you’re risking here.”
“I know, that’s why I waited for you to bring the books. They’re all pretty beat up already. I was hoping one would land on your foot but I guess it’s not my day.”
They keep arguing, Dazai tailing Chuuya and taunting him, reveling in the curses and growls he gets. All work in the office is paused, with the exception of Kunikida who appears to being doing Atsushi’s work in addition to his own.
“You get a few days off. It’s difficult watching your partner’s illness, I’m sure. Rest up and come back as soon as you can.” Kunikida tells Atsushi.
“I’ll tell the boss you’re stuck here on an extended training assignment with Atsushi. He’s not gonna be happy, but with the alliance I don’t think he’ll raise a fuss. If you want, I can tell him the details, that you lost a bet and are stuck being nursed back to health like a baby bird, but I doubt you want that.”
Akutagawa shakes his head. “No one needs to know anything beyond it being a partnership exercise.”
“Alright. You have my number. Call me if you want me to bust you out of nursemaid jail.”
“I willingly surrendered to these terms. I won’t be asking for any assistance.”
“Funny how the next generation also lost a bet and ended up as a dog to the detective agency, right Chuuya?”
“Shut up, I know you cheated on that game.”
They leave, voices fading down the hallway and leaving Akutagawa and Atsushi alone in the dorm. It’s oppressively quiet. Akutagawa sits ramrod straight on the couch. Atsushi walks to the bathroom and splashes water on his face. It does little to hide the puffiness that comes from crying.
“So, what do you want to eat? I’ll order takeout. Usually I cook but I’m too tired for that tonight.”
“Something with chicken.”
A better response than the other day. Atsushi orders chicken fried rice for Akutagawa and beef lo mein for himself from the place around the corner. The ADA was there for a job once and the food was so good it made repeat customers out of the entire agency. It arrives quick and still hot. Opening the bag, he notices that the owner included a few egg rolls on the house with a note telling him they’re glad he brought a friend over for dinner. He sets the food out on the table and starts to eat before realizing that Akutagawa hasn’t moved from the couch.
“Come eat. You can try some of mine too, if you want.”
He sits and picks up one of the egg rolls. It’s still crispy, the filling inside warm and salty. The pork is tender and the cabbage still crunchy. It’s one of the best things he’s ever eaten, not that that’s saying much. He wolfs down the first one in two bites before lunging for the second.
“Slow down, you’re going to make yourself sick. I would know, I threw up on Kunikida’s shoes on a company trip to a nice restaurant.”
“Did you really?” He pauses to look up, forcing himself to take smaller bites.
“I absolutely did. It was a really fancy place, too. I was so embarrassed. And poor Kunikida was ready to throw up, too. Of course it had to be him, the most stiff and proper guy at the table. I think he burnt those shoes.”
Akutagawa laughs genuinely for the first time in he can’t remember how long. The image of Atsushi’s tight laced and long suffering coworker with vomit on his shoes, then solemnly burning them in the alley behind the agency is far too vivid not to react to.
“The worst part was what I did after. I apologized of course, but then tried to wipe it off with a napkin and just smeared it all over and it smelled terrible and I threw up again. At least I missed his shoes the second time.”
“Did you get to finish your meal?”
“Yeah, actually. We moved to a different table and Kunikida washed his shoes and pant leg in the bathroom. The staff cleaned the floor and everyone ordered their entrees. I got pasta and everyone kept me talking so I couldn’t just blindly shove food in my face like I did with the appetizer.”
He grows solemn for a moment, takes a slow sip of water.
“You know, I don’t think I would have changed my habits either without the agency pushing me. I remember that for all the pain of hunger, it was still my routine. My normal, even though it wasn’t really normal at all. It’s hard to change things even if they hurt.”
“And you want to do that to me.”
“If you’ll let me.”
“I lost the bet-”
“Forget about that for a second. Do you want me to help you? I won’t force it on you.”
“...I realized that my behavior can endanger people other than myself. If I had passed out sooner, the bomber could have gotten away or worse.”
“What would’ve been a worse scenario than a bomb going off in the subway?”
“I know he would have either run away or killed you. The bomb goes off either way, but...”
“I get it. Believe me, I get it. I about lost my mind dragging you here.”
“No, you don’t get it. If he had killed you, I would’ve burnt this city to the ground to find him.”
“Ah. So that’s what would be worse than a bomb.”
“Yes, weretiger. We both know I’m far more dangerous than an amateur’s bomb. And I am much harder to stop.”
They eat in silence for a while. Atsushi is surprised by how much the small man across from him can put away. Four egg rolls and a large portion of fried rice. Eventually, he pushes the leftovers away and yawns. He stands and plods into his new bedroom, returning after a few minutes in an oversized black t-shirt and-
“Are those hello kitty pajama pants?”
“Do you have a problem with that?”
“No, no, they’re just not what I expected.”
“I don’t sleep in my jeans.”
“But they make pajamas with other patterns.”
“And what do you think would be more fitting?” He’s daring Atsushi now.
“I don’t know, if it was going to be Sanrio, why not Kuromi? Just skulls? I wouldn’t have pictured you wearing pink is all. I thought you’d be emo in your sleep, too.”
“They were a gift.”
“And you didn’t immediately tear whoever gave you those limb from limb?”
“No, I’ve long grown used to his antics. As have you.”
“Ah. Yeah, that does sound like something he’d do. They’re actually kind of cute on you.” He blushes at his unintentional admission.
Akutagawa ignores that, unwilling to unpack it after such a long day. He walks back into the bedroom and returns with a pillow, which he promptly chucks at Atsushi’s smiling face.
“Throw that back to me, I’m going to bed.”
“Okay, you asked for it.”
The pillow is snatched from the air by a tendril of fabric from the t-shirt before it can reach its target. He carries it like that to the threshold of his room, turning briefly to Atsushi and quietly, almost inaudibly even to the tiger, wishing him good night.
The night goes by quickly. Neither man sets and alarm to wake in the morning. Sliding out of bed after 10 am, Atsushi rifles through the kitchen cabinets for a suitable meal. He wants a certain level of indulgence for his new roommate, wants to make up for the years of gnawing hunger he’s been through. He starts making pancakes from a boxed mix. Not the most complex dish, but good with chocolate chips and syrup. He wishes he had whipped cream too, but doesn’t tend to keep that sort of thing in the house. He doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth. Maybe he could go ask Ranpo if he has any.
The clatter of the pan on the stove and electric mixer wakes his partner, who blearily steps out of his bedroom. He sits quietly on the couch, looking around like he isn’t sure if he’s still dreaming. The soft cushion beneath him and doting motherhen of a partner in the kitchen hardly feel real. This isn’t something that could ever happen to him, he isn’t treated as more than a weapon or hound. He doesn’t need to be treated as more than that. Even that is better than what he was before.
“You realize only two people will be eating that, right?” He says, gesturing to the ever growing stack of pancakes.
“Yeah, well, this is how much the box made,” Atsushi omits that he used two boxes, just in case, “If we have leftovers we can save them for tomorrow or bring them down to the office.”
“Do you have any plans for what I’ll do while I’m here?”
“Hmm. I guess I hadn’t thought that far. Rest and recover, eat, maybe train if you’re up to it. Think of it as a few weeks of vacation. I’ll probably bring you along when I have to start working cases again.”
“Hardly a vacation if I’m doing your job.” He says, although truthfully this sounds better than he could have ever hoped for.
“Yeah, that’s true. I guess you could do your own thing while I’m at work.”
“And die of boredom in your house?”
“I’m not locking you in here, you know. You can come and go as you please, my only rule is that you actually put some effort into recovering.”
“I suppose I wouldn’t hate accompanying you to work. It feels like the least I can do to repay you for living in your house, eating your food, disrupting your routine.”
“You don’t owe me, dude. I asked you to do this.”
He doesn’t have a response for that. They lapse into silence as Atsushi brings over the tray of pancakes and two plates. He has syrup and butter, but Akutagawa takes his plain.
“The chocolate is sweet enough,” He claims, “I don’t need to add stickiness to it and ruin a perfectly good breakfast.”
Neither comment on the fact that their “breakfast” is occurring after 11 am. Atsushi tries to engage his partner in conversation so he doesn’t eat so fast he chokes. Their talk is idle and unimportant, neither saying anything of interest. But it works to stop Akutagawa from making himself sick. He still eats like a dog worried someone will steal his food away, though. He’s hunched over the plate, eyes occasionally flicking up, watching for... something. Atsushi isn’t sure what his partner thinks will happen if he isn’t constantly vigilant. It’s going to take a lot of work to domesticate the hellhound, he thinks.
“Alright, we still have a dozen pancakes. Will you admit you made too many? I can see there are two boxes in the trash, you know.”
“Like I said, we’ll just take them over to the office. It’s not too many if we share them with friends.”
Akutagawa treats the brief walk to the agency with the same solemness as a condemned man walking to the gallows. Atsushi considers trying to comfort him but decides he likes his organs inside his body. They push through the office doors side by side.
“Hey, everyone! We brought food.”
The entire staff swarms the platter and the pancakes are gone in a matter of seconds.
“See, I told you I didn’t make too many.”
“You absolutely did. You were slaving away in the kitchen for far longer than necessary.”
“I like to cook, it wasn’t like it was torture for me.”
The other detectives look on at their idle bickering. Their shy but brave tiger seems to come out of his shell with a little prodding. It’s weird to see him out of uniform in the office, in just a plain t-shirt and sweatpants. He’s more relaxed than they usually see him, casual clothes bleeding into a casual demeanor. It’s even weirder to see Akutagawa, hellhound of the mafia, in too-big pajamas.
“Did you borrow those pants from Atsushi? You really need to go shopping for clothes that aren’t cloaks, man.” It’s Tanigaki that decides to poke the bear.
“What? No, I would never-” He pauses, realizing with dawning horror that he wore his house clothes outside, into the ADA, in front of his old mentor.
“Lay off him, he had a rough day yesterday. Besides, we aren’t here to work, just dropping off some late breakfast.”
Atsushi takes a small step towards his partner, an unconscious move to guard him. Akutagawa would normally be insulted by the insinuation that he’s weak and needing protection. For some reason, though, it feels good to let himself be taken care of. Maybe their similarity in past misery has softened him. He moves to take shelter at Atsushi’s side, almost leaning into him. If anyone caught that, they didn’t dare say it. They walk back to the dorms, still close together but not quite touching. They remain that way as Atsushi queues up a movie, then sits back on the couch. Akutagawa had not realized how tired he was, all the time. He wants nothing more than to rest in the strange safety he’s found here. Slowly, so slowly, like a snail that got hit with a tranquilizer dart, he allows himself to slump over. He’s half asleep on a very startled Atsushi’s shoulder.
“Are you alright?” His voice is high and tight.
“I do not remember ever being able to let my guard down.”
“That doesn’t exactly answer my question, and raises several new ones.”
“I think I have always wanted to. Please allow me this.”
“Yeah, alright. You get some rest, okay?”
Akutagawa hums and tucks himself tighter to Atsushi’s side. What in the world is going on with him? Did he hit his head when he passed out? No, Yosano would’ve fixed that. Does he really trust me enough to watch his back while he genuinely rests for maybe the first time in his life? Atsushi is flooded with these thoughts, but underneath there’s a buzz of satisfaction that his bid to get his partner healed up seems to be working. Perhaps a bit of pride in being deemed strong enough to protect his friend, and something unnameable swelling in his chest and flushing his cheeks.
He barely watches the movie he put on, instead focusing on the warm sensation of his partner on his shoulder. A fierce protectiveness is blooming in him, his arm moving without consulting him first. Arm slung loosely over his partner’s shoulders, pulling him gently to rest his sharp cheekbone against crook of Atsushi’s neck, breath warm and steady on his skin. Akutagawa unconsciously shifts, hand sitting on his partner’s chest, feeling the quickening of his heartbeat. They stay like that for hours. Atsushi isn’t sure how long it’s been, but the movie has long since ended and he can’t reach the remote without disturbing his partner. He starts to nod off as well, head lolling back on the couch cushion. When he wakes, the sun is much lower in the sky. Almost time for dinner.
“Hey, wake up. I’m hungry.”
Akutagawa wakes slowly, lifting his head from Atsushi’s shoulder, blushing ferociously when he realizes he’s been sound asleep and drooling on his partner’s shirt. He jerks away and turns his back to Atsushi.
“I am so sorry, I do not know what came over me. I won’t burden you like that again.”
“Whoa, hey. It’s alright. It wasn’t a burden to help you rest. This is what I asked for, remember?”
“Perhaps, but I doubt you signed up for me getting so loose and sloppy in your presence.”
“Dude, you were relaxed, not sloppy. This is exactly what I wanted.” He stands and stretches, “I’ll heat up the leftovers from last night. Find something you want to watch.”
Akutagawa catches the remote tossed to him and silently starts flipping channels. He’s back to treating every event as a funeral, appearing to have rebuilt and strengthened the walls around himself. Atsushi promises to rip those down too. He brings his partner dinner on the couch, sitting a respectable distance away. Taming a dog that’s never known anything but the streets requires a light touch. He’ll let the nervous hound make the first move, waiting until his ears aren’t pinned back anymore.
The TV plays some true crime show quietly in the background but Akutagawa can’t hear it over the ringing in his ears. Did he really allow himself to show weakness in front of the weretiger? He rolled over and showed his belly to that beast. He can hardly believe how soft he got after seeing the tiger cry over him. Under the pretext of the bet, he was planning to let himself be cared for like a pet project. But this is a bridge too far. It’s dangerous to feel this way, every wild instinct in him is screaming at him to run and never look back at the man making him weak. Still, another part of him is screaming to bury his face in the tiger’s shoulder and never let go. It scares him that the part of him that wants to be tamed is so much louder.
“Hey, your food’s gonna get cold if you keep spacing out like that.”
It takes him a moment to even register that he is in fact still holding a bowl of fried rice. He takes a small bite. The comforting warmth of the food, the smile on the face beside him, the softness of the couch is all too much. He feels tears burning in his eyes and tries desperately to hold them in. It’s all too good, much too good for him, but he wants to hold on tight to this comfort. Can he really have this?
“Am I allowed to feel this good?” He whispers, death grip on the bowl in his hands.
Atsushi doesn’t respond right away. How could he? What is he supposed to say to that? Is this the same guy who’s renowned for his ruthlessness? The rabid dog of the mafia is on the brink of tears at the thought of being allowed to eat and sleep in safety.
“Of course you are.” He says eventually, “I want you to feel good.”
He blushes at how that last bit could be interpreted in different context. Still, he’s able to see all those defenses cultivated over years and years of fear and neglect crack and shatter like an eggshell under a steamroller. Tears stream silently down his cheeks. He tries to hide behind his dark bangs, but he knows his partner knows what’s happening. He eats the remainder of his food, focusing on the flavor so he doesn’t come apart completely. Once his sets the bowl aside, he feels a lifetime of grief clawing at his eyes. He lets out a shaky breath. If he cries now, if he lets himself find solace in those strong arms...
He howls. It takes Atsushi off guard, the pained, wordless cry ripping its way from his partner’s throat. The howling breaks off into short, stifled sobs. Unsure what to do with the comfort he was so long denied, he cries. He denied himself any emotion at all for so long, then clung to his rage as his only lifeline to humanity. Twenty some odd years of emotion now burst from him, threatening to tear him apart at the seams. He knows he shouldn’t look at the man he knows is looking at him. If he sees that care, he’ll never be the same.
But would that really be so bad?
He looks up, and sure as the sun setting in the west, his dear partner is waiting with open arms and concern in his kind eyes. He flings himself into the embrace, hands clenching in the back of his partner’s t-shirt. He doesn’t know how long he stays there, allowing his agony to finally flow out of his eyes. One hand rests on the small of his back, thumb rubbing slow circles there. The other cradles the back of his head and gently tangles into his hair. It feels like nothing he’s ever experienced. Shaking and still sniffling, he leans away to look his partner in the eyes. There is no pity, just understanding. He reaches a trembling hand to cup his partner’s cheek. The tears have stopped, leaving him exhausted in the arms of a man he tried to kill the first time they met. That same man now presses a gentle kiss to the crown of his head. Tears threaten to return at the gesture. Despite his desire to stay curled against the tiger’s strong chest forever, he forces himself to pull away.
“I need to shower. I smell like a panic attack.”
“Alright. I’ll go after you’re done. I probably still smell like one from the bomber incident.”
The water is warm and soap smells nice. He borrows some of Atsushi’s stuff because his 3-in-1 body wash must have gotten left behind in the move. It’s all still a little too much, but he feels better after getting clean. He towels off and wraps up his hair to dry. It’s at this point that he realizes he will have to go from the bathroom to his room to get clothes. Not ideal, but they’ve seen each other undressed in the locker room all the time. Why does this feel different? Is it because he’s in his house? Because he was sobbing into his chest not even half an hour ago? Probably the latter, although the former doesn’t help any. Taking a deep breath, he steels himself to make the worst ten step journey of his life. He tightens his grip on the towel and makes a quick dash into his bedroom. He hustles to change into fresh pajamas as soon as he has the door closed. By the time he’s done messing with his hair, Atsushi is already the shower. He sits on the couch and hates how much he already misses being pressed into his side.
Atsushi is nearly panic stricken under the warm spray of the shower head. He knew that Akutagawa was underweight, but somehow all the times they’d seen each other in the gym didn’t do justice to just how starkly his ribs press against his skin. He reaffirms his promise to keep his partner warm and well fed. A spark lights in his stomach at the thought of his partner’s newfound emotional softness bleeding into a softer frame. He pushes that thought down as fast as it shot up. He’s providing the first comfort this man has ever felt in his life, whatever little twinge of desire that was can wait.
He steps out of the bathroom in old grey sweatpants and a t-shirt he got for donating blood. Much like his own lounge clothes selection, Akutagawa is dressed much the same as last time, although the pants are blue and black plaid this time. He takes a seat next to his partner, recognizing that the word now holds more meaning than strictly business. His arm is slung over the back of the couch, an open invitation to assume their earlier positions. Without hesitation, Akutagawa tucks himself tight to Atsushi’s side. He fits like he was molded to belong there. He leans down to press another gentle kiss to his partner’s dark hair. Hair that smells like his shampoo, he realizes. A small swell of possessiveness drives him to hold just a little tighter to the bony shoulder under his palm.
They watch TV like that, neither feeling the need to talk about what just happened. The only issue arises when they start to get ready for bed. Both linger in the doorways of their rooms, unwilling to go any further but unwilling to ask for what they want. Instead, they opt for a stare down, both silently pleading with the other to make the first move.
“If you want, you could-”
“Could I maybe-”
And that’s all it takes. Both settle under the covers of Atsushi’s bed, pressed together from head to toe. They’re tangled like headphone cords forgotten in a pocket and thrown in the wash. They’ve always been two halves of a whole, now pulled together like magnets and just as hard to rip apart.
“Goodnight, Atsushi.” It’s the first time Akutagawa has called him that, and feels like the first time anyone’s ever said his name.
“Goodnight, Akutagawa.”
---
A week passes like that. It’s time for Atsushi to go back to work, but neither of them want to separate. They need to at least somewhat hide what’s been developing behind closed doors, though, so they settle for Akutagawa tagging along to the office but keeping their hands to themselves and lovey dovey eyes to a minimum. Ranpo will know the moment they walk in, but he’s easily bribed to keep his mouth shut about deductions made involving his coworkers personal lives. This time, they make the journey to the office in work clothes, a box of chocolates concealed inside Akutagawa’s cloak.
“Hi guys. Sorry I was gone so long. It took a little time for us to get used to living together.” Not technically a lie, but it was much less arguing and much more scaring each other half to death by waking up screaming in the night. The first couple nights sharing a bed were rough.
“And you brought your partner.” Ranpo says, obviously aware of what this means.
Akutagawa subtly snakes a tendril of coat across the floor, carrying the bribe over to the guy who knows too much about everyone in that damn office.
“Well, you know, I figured with the alliance it would be okay to tap him to work here for a while.”
“And so you... tapped him?”
The tendril of fabric accelerates, almost throwing the box onto the desk.
“Well, that certainly is nice of you. I’m sure he’s used to keeping busy. Anyway, Kunikida’s about to have an aneurysm from overwork. You’d better go tell him you’re back.”
“Thank you, Ranpo.”
No sooner do they walk into the conference room where Kunikida’s hunched over a forest’s worth of paper than does the office start gossiping.
“Something weird’s going on with them, right?” Tanigaki says.
“Who knows?” Ranpo replies, quite pleased with his most recent hush payment.
“You do! You’re the guy who knows, that’s your whole thing.”
“I don’t know, I think we should give them privacy,” Kyoka says quietly, “When’s the last time you saw either of them so relaxed?”
“She’s right, whatever they’re doing certainly improved their teamwork, which is all we need to care about as coworkers,” Yosano sticks her head out of the infirmary, “The hellhound looks like he actually slept for once in his life. Leave them alone.”
“Okay, but I don’t really want my coworker dating a mobster.” Tanigaki says.
“What do you think this is, West Side Story?” Yosano says.
“No, actually I feel like that’s a pretty normal position to have even outside of a musical, quite frankly.”
“Atsushi is full grown tiger, he can take care of himself.” Kyoka is quick to defend her friend.
“Why is ‘don’t date a terrifying mafia man’ the minority position in this office? I mean, what if someone else in the office was dating a mobster?”
“Yeah, what if.” Dazai smirks.
Of course, the tiger hears all of this. He’s not sure why the office still gossips about him when he’s anywhere in the building. It’s not exactly a surprise that they weren’t particularly good at hiding the change in their relationship, but it’s nice that most of the office is supportive. Dazai’s comment is... something, but it doesn’t seem like he’s against the concept. He’ll fill Akutagawa in later, for now the priority has to be stopping Kunikida from pulling any more hair out over the two of them.
“Hey, Kunikida. We’re back. How about you take second away from the papers? I’m sure we can handle it.”
“The papers are the only thing in this office that doesn’t blow me off. No one worked at all this week! ‘Oh, we’re all so worried, we’re just going to gossip and solve the great mystery of what’s going with Atsushi.’ We weren’t hired for that! And you both did not improve the gossip situation by showing up with breakfast at almost noon wearing... forget it. Here, take this case and get out.”
“Sorry about that! We’re going.”
As soon as the conference room doors open, the tittering outside ceases. Bewildered by the chaos that is the inner workings of the famed and feared ADA, Akutagawa tucks the case file into his coat. One nice thing about being able to manipulate fabric? Pockets that shift to fit any item.
“Kunikida’s about to have a heart attack in there. We’re going on a case, be back later. I would suggest all of you do the same unless you’re trying to shave years off the poor guy’s life.”
“I still think he’s going to go postal someday. Get back to work unless you want to shave years off your own life.” Akutagawa adds.
As they head out the main door, Atsushi calls over his shoulder.
“I don’t know why all of you bother talking behind my back when you know I can still hear you.”
Several people curse and reveal that they did not know he could hear them. They apologize for basically complaining about Atsushi to his face for years at this point. He forgives them, but tells them to knock it off. As soon as he’s out the door, they start chattering again.
“Did anyone here know he could hear us? Put your hand down, Ranpo.”
“So we just trash talked his new scary boyfriend and now the ruthless hound is going to hear all about it. Great.”
“You were the only one trash talking!”
“You realize he can absolutely hear you now, too, right? Quit prying and get to work.”
“Wow, I’m surprised you’re not against this, Kunikida. So straight laced and all.”
“Leave me out of it! I’m not saying anything about this except not to talk about it during work hours!”
“Wow, I can see your pulse in your neck!”
“For the love of God, do your jobs!”
The last part even Akutagawa can hear. The whole block probably heard it.
“Is it like that all the time?”
“More or less.”
“Poor Kunikida.”
The case is at a bakery within walking distance from the office. Supposedly several high profile businessmen have died of liver failure within days of eating pastries from this bakery, provided by a third party caterer to three different end of quarter parties. Their deaths were determined to be due to amatoxins, a naturally occurring toxin in certain mushrooms. A particularly nasty way to die, as it gives a brief reprieve from physical symptoms, leading the person to believe they’ve recovered, before causing total liver failure. High enough doses liquefy the liver to the point where it can be poured out of the body at autopsy. One of these mushrooms is called the destroying angel. An alarming little detail, but potentially unrelated. If mushrooms are the poison of choice, it’s hardly up to the poisoner what they’re called. Still, it makes the hairs on the back of Atsushi’s neck stand on end.
The bell on the front door chimes as the two walk in. They’re just there to ask some questions for now. There’s no proof that it was the baker who actually poisoned those men, it could have been the caterer or one of the several people in attendance at all three events that had an axe to grind with the victims. In fact, given that only top brass of the stockbroking world got sick and none of the guests or even small company heads did, it seems more like a personal attack by someone trying to frame the baker.
“Hello, ma’am. We’re with the armed detective agency and have a few questions for you.”
“Oh, geez. First the police now you. I had nothing to do with those poor businessmen’s deaths. I didn’t even know who they were until their pictures were in the newspaper, alongside a picture of me listed as the top suspect. No one eats here anymore and I can’t even blame them. Would you eat somewhere that’s supposedly run by a poisoner? At this rate, I might have to close down. I love to bake, but can’t keep the lights on if no one wants my food.”
“I’m going to level with you. I don’t think you or the caterer did it. I just want to take some samples of your equipment, if you don’t mind.”
“Go right ahead.”
Atsushi bags a few swabs from the counters and mixers, surfaces that were likely in contact with the poison if it were prepared here. Akutagawa meanwhile is on the phone, absolutely grilling one of his subordinates.
“No, I don’t care if it was stolen and not sold. Who took it? What do you mean the cameras were down? That’s it, I’m coming down there. You better have a better explanation by the time I get there.”
He claps shut his flip phone (which Atsushi still thinks is the funniest thing in the world) and sighs heavily. He opens it again, dials, and taps his foot while it rings.
“Something’s come up and I need you to come get me. Yes, I was, I still am, he’s coming with. No, it’s not- just bring the car.” He hangs up and sighs again, “I suppose your coworkers aren’t the only annoying ones. It wasn’t the baker or caterer and I think I know who it was. Time to go to my office.”
“You mean-?”
“Almost certainly. In fact, I’m certain enough to eat here. We will return later to try your wares after getting the real culprit.”
“Well, you two were a lot nicer but... stranger than the cops in here earlier. Good luck with everything.”
A black sedan rolls up to the curb and the two slide into the backseat. The driver asks where to and Akutagawa gives a warehouse number. They’re heading to the port. Atsushi is still nervous going there, even with a truce that supposedly should protect him. He’s less concerned with a guard dog at his side, but it’s still not a comfortable destination. They get out of the car and the tiger trails behind his partner as he strides towards a large cinder block building. Seagulls crow over head, sounding the alarm at the two visitors to what is mostly their domain. Akutagawa walks into the open shipping door at the south end of the warehouse, Atsushi still walking slightly behind him. He worries that it seems like he’s using his partner as a meat shield to the grunts who stop to acknowledge the powerhouse who just decided to grace them with his presence.
“Who took that box? I’m sure whoever did knows exactly what I’m taking about. A box of imported produce, shall we say, gone missing right before a high profile poisoning case. Who would be dumb enough to steal from us? Or, more likely, who would be greedy enough to accept a hit job and do such a sloppy job of it?”
One of the grunts has grown pale. He tries to make a break for it, but fabric wraps around his ankle and hauls him into the air, dangling like a rag doll.
“Who hired you? And do not attempt to lie to me. I will find out regardless of if you tell me, the only thing you’re determining is the speed of your death.”
“It was some American asshole. He wanted to destabilize then buy out the companies those guys owned. Real scheming bastard.”
“Was he blond? Good looking but in a sleazy way, perhaps?”
“What? No, he was some old wrinkled ball sack looking guy.”
Atsushi rifles through the case file, looking for any attendees who fit that description. Unfortunately, that’s like half the crowd at such events. Not all the profiles list nationality, so it could be almost any of them.
“Would you be able to identify him if we had a picture?”
“Yeah, probably.”
Atsushi stands at Akutagawa’s side, holding the file in front of the poor airborne man hanging from the cloak.
“Would you please turn him right side up so he can see the pictures?”
“Or you could hold them upside down.”
“Just flip him before all the blood rushes to his head.”
Several of the workers flinch at the casual demands made of the ruthless mad dog. They prepare for the detective to be turned to mincemeat, but instead his commands are followed.
“Thank you,” He then turns to the man now held by several tendrils of fabric around his wrists and ankles, “I’m going to flip through this. Tell me when you see the man who hired you.”
He turns the first few pages, man in the air shaking his head at each one. Then, he nods and tries to point with his restrained hand.
“That’s him.”
“Alright, let’s go get him.” The tiger starts heading back towards the waiting car, “Bring the thief alive, please. We should drop him off at the agency.” He adds.
“Cuff him. I don’t want to waste my energy containing him.” His partner huffs.
Atsushi does, and hauls the man easily over his shoulder to drag him to the car. Akutagawa follows silently, not thrilled with the prospect of being sandwiched between his partner and his ex-subordinate. He take the middle seat anyway. If anyone asked, he would say it’s because he’s the smallest and he’s just being polite. Really, though, he’s just unwilling to let anyone else be smushed up against his partner’s side.
The arrest is easier than expected. It seems the killer had suddenly grown a conscious (rare in stockbrokers) and was on the brink of turning himself in. True to his word, after nabbing the real culprit, Akutagawa insists on returning to the bakery. He even drags the chief of police along to issue the bakery owner a formal apology. The baker is beside herself with relief, thanking the duo profusely. She attempts to hug them both, Akutagawa prickling like a cat tossed into a bathtub.
“I’m sorry,” She says, “I’m just so grateful to the two of you. Grab anything you’d like, it’s on the house. You especially, young man. Can’t let my savior go walking around looking like a stack of toothpicks. I’m a baker, after all. Don’t they feed you at the agency?”
“He’s new.” Atsushi answers quickly.
“They take very good care of me there. I looked significantly more like a walking corpse a week ago.”
“My, my. Come in any time, my boy. Anything you want, it’s on me for as long as you need.”
“I could not possibly accept that. You need to make sales to keep the lights on, right?”
“You’re a real peculiar fellow. Alright, just for today, then. I insist.”
He wordlessly points at a cheesecake on the bottom shelf of the display case. It’s thick with caramel drizzled over the top and pecans pressed into the surface. The cake itself is swirled with plain and chocolate flavors. The baker cuts him a generous slice and hands it over. He tries to surreptitiously put money on the counter but finds it back in his pocket a minute later, along with a note scrawled on receipt paper. Try that again and I’ll send you home with the whole thing, it says. He can’t help but smile a little. Giving up on paying the lady for her services, he takes a bite of the cake. It’s delicious, rich and creamy texture somehow not overbearing. Despite being given nearly a quarter of the cake, he demolishes the whole slice while the police chief is talking to reporters. A news crew caught wind of the story and rushed over. The whole block is full of spectators, neighbors wondering what all the fuss is about. Akutagawa puts his empty plate down and steps outside, Atsushi hot on his heels. He has a glint in his eyes that means he’s up to something, and for as much as his behavior has improved, some of his plans are still ill-conceived.
“It was foolish to presume her guilt. Your mistrust has kept you from a talented and innocent baker.” He calls out the door.
The crowd murmurs for a moment, then starts to move towards the bakery. It looks like she won’t be closing any time soon. The duo takes a moment to say goodbye, then makes for the door before the crowd arrives.
“Hey, new detective! Take the rest of this with you. It’s really the least I can do to repay you and I’ll be making plenty of sales today.”
She knows she has him cornered. If he attempts to argue, the crowd will converge and trap him inside the bakery. He shakes his head but takes the to go box with the remainder of the cheesecake. He can’t help but think she might do well at the ADA, if this level of stubbornness and scheming is her norm. The news crew snaps a few photos of the detectives and the baker before also ducking out to avoid the crowd.
The front page of the paper the next morning is mostly consumed by a picture of the baker shaking Atsushi’s hand while Akutagawa stands nearby with a small, fond smile on his face. The paper is practically launched into Atsushi’s face as he walks into the office. Akutagawa isn’t with him today, deciding to take a day off. After all, it’s not technically his job.
“So you two are definitely an item, then.”
“What the hell did you have to do to get him to look at you like that?”
“Are you sure he wasn’t replaced by a pod person overnight?”
“Congrats on your new dog!”
“All of you are terrible at your jobs. Except you, Atsushi. Good job.”
All of them talk over each other to the point that Atsushi has a hard time telling who said what.
“Yeah, yeah. I guess we weren’t that subtle, huh?”
“You two were as subtle as a brick to the face.”
Nothing really changes with this revelation. Atsushi keeps his promise to take care of his partner and treat him to many, many good meals. Something blossoms between them in between bites of each dish, something warm and soft, the petals unfurling, growing comfortable with time. Love is who you break bread with, who you cook for after a long day, and there is much love in that dorm now.