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The paper plate in Atsushi's hands continues to grow in weight, no doubt the result of his relentless piling of food onto it. Kunikida had taken one look at the overflowing mountain of food and reminded him not to waste any of it and eat it all—though he still slipped an extra fruit parfait onto Atsushi's plate, before marching off to yell at Oda for forgetting to set out the rest of the food he had prepared.
And quite a lot, he had prepared. It fills half the buffet tables—which are actually just all the office desks pushed together and draped with mismatched holiday tablecloths that have probably been hauled out of a storage closet. Curry stew in a big pot, fried chicken, potato salad, and then a few more salad bowls—incase someone doesn't like potato salad. The rest—cakes, a tray of cookies, parfaits, and whatever deserts and drinks there are to name, had been brought by the rest of the agency.
Strings of twinkling fairy lights trail along the ceiling beams, leading all the way to the top of a Christmas tree sitting near the window, its branches decorated with ornaments: glittering baubles, paperstars, and one, large sheet of paper taped proudly at the very top. An unmistakable drawing of the agency—tiny little figures resembling each member, all of them clustered together and smiling.
Like—
A family. The word makes Atsushis throat burn. Not unpleasantly—he just thinks that Kyoaka and Kenji did a very good job with the drawing.
He ducks past a hanging snowflake and makes a beeline for the sitting area, where a certain stone faced individual currently resides.
"Having fun?" Atsushi asks, plopping in the seat besides Akutagawa's.
Akutagawa doesn't look up from his tea, thumb circling the rim of his cup. "What does it look like to you, Weretiger?"
"I'll take that as a yes." He hums, nudging his plate closer. "Here, you should try some of this stew that Oda-san made. It's super good."
"I already have."
"Ah. Then you should try these cookies."
"Aready have."
Atsushi stares at him.
"Oda-san made me taste test everything."
"Made?" Atsushi tilts his head. "Or forced?"
"I'm delighted to see that you're using that prune-sized brain of yours to think."
He kicks Akutagawa under the table. "Merry Christmas to you too, asshole."
Akutagawa turns to look at him, giving him what is supposed to be one of his signature death glares. But Atsushi finds it hard to feel intimidated. Or scared, for that matter. Not when Akutagawa is sitting there in a Christmas sweater. With a ridiculous reindeer stitched across the front. A sweater that perfectly matches the one Atsushi himself is wearing. Thanks, Oda-san, Tanizaki-san.
"The only merry thing," Akutagawa says coldly, "will be the reflection of your splattered blood across the poorly decorated windows."
"Hey! Me and Kenji-kun put alot of effort into setting them up!"
Akutagawa lets his eyes slide over the string lights crookidly stuck to the windowswill with dry disdain. "Clearly not enough effort."
"And what exactly have you done to contribute to todays party?"
For a moment, Akutagawa stares at him, dark eyes sliding over his face and he feels himself growing hot under the attentive gaze. "Rashomon."
"Wait—“
"Thats enough, kids."
"Oda-san!" Atsushi turns immediately towards the older man, grateful for the interruption.
"What did I say about not fighting eachother?" He asks midly, tilting his head and causing the santa hat atop it to sway with the motion. "And specifically on Christmas?"
Rashomon retreats back into Akutagawa's sweater.
Oda's gaze shifts to Atsushi. "Did you like the food?"
"Yes, it's really delicious!"
"Good." Oda nods in satisfaction before turning to Akutagawa. "You should tell Atsushi-kun about some of the agency's Christmas traditions. Its his first Christmas with us, afterall."
"And what If I don't."
"Not the first time you've ignored me," Oda replies calmly.
Atsushi perks up. "Traditions? There are traditions? What traditions?"
Just then, Kenji appears, arms full with some sort of green plants that appear to be tied together with red string. "Did I hear the word traditions?"
More decoration? But Atsushi thought they had finished setting up already.
He leans forward slightly. "Kenji-kun? What are those?"
"Oh, these?" Kenji beams, shifting the bundle in his arms. "They're mistletoes! They grow all over the trees back home. I figured I'd pick a whole bunch for today!"
"Mistle...toes?" Atsushi tilts his head, noting the uncomfortable shift of Akutagawa's body besides him. "What are they used for?"
"Well—" Kenji starts, words cut short as Rashomon suddenly explodes out of Akutagawa's sweater, several tendrils slicing and twisting through the air and knocking the plants out of Kenjis hold.
They scatter everywhere, falling to the floor, landing on chairs and tables just as Kenji blinks. "Whoa!"
"You—!" Atsushi turns to Akutagawa, fists colliding with his chest in between words. "Seriously? Just—what is—wrong with—you?!"
He might as well be punching a brick wall. Akutagawa gives him no reaction, eyes remaining locked on Oda with an emotion unreadable to Atsushi.
Eventually, Atsushi begins to understand what is wrong with Akutagawa—or the entire agency, for the matter—when he is pulled aside by a smirking Ranpo who nurses a candy cane between his teeth.
"Ranpo-san?"
"Open."
"Wha—mmph!" Before Atsushi can demand an explanation to the suddenness of the situation, Ranpo unceremoniously shoves a mint into his mouth.
The candy melts like snow on his tongue. "What was that for?!"
"No need to worry yourself with such trivial matters." Ranpo grins around around the candy cane, swinging his legs over the edge of the table that he's perched on.
But it is exactly that grin that plants seedlings of worry in Atsushis stomach, and he frowns. “A—Are you saying my breath smells bad?”
Ranpo snorts. “No. On the contrary, your breath smells like cookies.”
“…Cookies?”
“All the cookies you’ve been stress-eating,” Ranpo continues, humming.
Leave it to Ranpo to provide him with absolutely unhelpful answers—despite the fact that he undoubtedly knows everything from who had second helpings of food to exactly why the entire agency has been acting so strange all evening. “Then why the mint?!”
The detective shrugs. "Why not?"
Atsushi lets out a long sigh. "And why was Akutagawa dragged away by Yosano-sensei just earlier?"
"Wouldn't you like to know." He reaches over and ruffles Atsushi hair like he would with a disgruntled cat that is asking for too much attention. "There there."
"Yeah—actually—" He swats the hand away, huffing. Ranpo is smart enough to know that pets won't get him out of this. "I would like to know—"
"Oi, brat!'' The ever familiar voice of Kunikida echoes from behind him.
Oh no.
He steels himself—Kunikida doesn't sound particularly furious, so maybe he just wants help with something? Surely this isnt another ruse to drag him into. Kunikida would never entertain such childish matters.
But before Atsushi can even turn, a hand yanks him back and spins him around, and then Kunikida is planting his hands onto his shoulders and steering him away from Ranpo, who gives him a wink and a salute.
"Wah—Kunikida-san? What are you—?"
His protests fall on deaf ears as Kunikida continues to push him forwards. "Come, now. Don't make this harder than it has to be."
"Make what harder—!?"
Atsushi looks up just in time to see a glowering Akutagawa getting pushed forwards by Oda.
"Let go of me right this instant or else—" Akutagawa threatens, but the red haired man simply blinks like he's trying to remember what day it is.
The day of Atsushis impending doom. Apparently. Both boys are herded towards the center of the room, and no one of moves to help or intervene.
They’re pushed forward one last step and then both Kunikida and Oda withdraw their hands at the same time, leaving them to stand mere inches apart.
Atsushi nearly stumbles again, instinctively reaching out and grabbing Akutagawa’s sleeve to steady himself.
“Don’t touch me," Akutagawa snarls. But he doesn't pull away, just swivels his head and narrows his eyes at Kunikida and Oda, who stand by the food table, watching them with raised eyebrows.
"Jeez, sorry." He yanks his hand away and turns to give the two men a questioning look.
Oda gives him a thumbs up, but its hard to tell what he's thinking because he has the same inscrutable expression that makes it impossible to tell whether he's really annoyed or just thinking about dinner. And Kunikida, well, he's Kunikida.
"Is this one of the agency's Christmas traditions?" Atsushi looks around, because he knows they're being watched by everyone even if he can't see it. Sure, he was stupid enough to let himself be lured into this unnamed scheme, but he is not that stupid. "To stand with someone who annoys you really badly?"
Someone snorts, it sounds suspiciously like Tanizaki, but he's holding a conversation with Naomi and Kenji.
Akutagawa glares down at him. "I will hang you from the Christmas tree. Now. Look. Up."
He follows Akutagawa's gaze, eyes landing on a sprig of green that hangs from the ceiling above their heads, pale berries catching the warm glow of the room.
"Oh!" He blinks. "It's the pretty flower thing." He tilts his head, studying the odd plant. "What was it called again? A wissle toe?"
"Mistletoe," Akutagawa exhales, but not unkindly. If Atsushi wasn't already watching him, then he would have probably missed the faint twitch at the corner of his lips, threathening to pull into a smile.
It makes Atsushi smile. And there's probably something wrong with him, because he enjoys their proximity. "Right. So what's the purpose of this mistletoe?"
And then Akutagawa isn't looking at him anymore. But rather to the side, jaw clenching in what Atsushi can only assume is awkward discomfort.
"Don't ask such foolish questions."
"But I wan't to know!" Atsushi whines. He doesn't understand why Akutagawa won't meet his gaze, and why the tips of his ears have turned a bright pink.
"Well, if you insist on being so infuriating.” Akutagawa releases a breath through his nose, jaw clenching as he clearly weighs how much dignity he’s willing to sacrifice. "The tradition dictates that two individuals standing beneath the mistletoe are expected to…”
Atsushi braces himself.
“Kiss,” Akutagawa finishes off.
Kiss.
Kiss.
The word echoes in the expanse of Atsushi’s mind like a bell. Suddenly everything makes sense, but also doesn’t, at the same time. Ranpo’s mint. Kenji’s doubled enthusiasm. Yosano dragging Akutagawa away. Kunikida exchanging looks with Oda the entire day—which Atsushi had written off as quiet flirting (because, well, they are together, and that is just how they are). Tanizaki and Naomi shushing each other earlier when they passed by Akutagawa and Atsushi. Oda’s thumbs up.
Atsushi’s eyes widen and he looks down at his feet, unable to bring himself to meet Akutagawa’s gaze. The worst part isn’t that the agency has set him up into kissing Akutagawa. No. The worst part is that he wants to. And he shouldn’t. But he does.
He knows that he’s being selfish for wanting. Knows that every bone in his body lacks dignity and fills in for it with desire. He looks up at Akutagawa and nearly startles when he sees that the other is already looking down at him.
Where anger or disgust should be, there is…nothing close to that. Instead, those dark eyes seem to darken with an unreadable emotion that Atsushi struggles to read. But it renders him breathless all the same and he finds himself in desperate need of breaking the silence.
“Um…and what would happen if the individuals beneath the mistletoe don’t…kiss?” Atsushi mumbles.
Akutagawa draws his lips into a thin line. “Nothing.”
“Nothing,” Atsushi repeats, nodding.
A beat passes by. A beat in which Atsushi bites his lips and lets his mind stir in thought. It’s just a kiss, there’s no need for him to be making a big deal out of it. A quick peck, a fleeting press of lips that will prove to the agency that Atsushi isn’t totally hopeless. Well, not that he’s going to do this because the agency wants him to. He wants to. But—
“Let’s do it.”
Akutagawa eyes widen just a fraction.
“I mean—“ Atsushi stammers. Why did he have to make it sound like they were going on another mission together? A mission that he really wanted? “Only if you want to, of course—it’s totally fine if you don’t—we can just—“
Cold, slender fingers grasp his chin and tilt his head up as a hot breath—Akutagawa’s breath—brushes over his mouth. “You speak far too much.”
And then there are lips on his—firm, sure, unyielding as they steal the breath from his chest. His stomach swoops, practically collapsing in on itself as Akutagawa applies pressure to his bottom lip with his own, dragging his mouth against Atsushi’s like he’s trying to memorize the exact measurements of them and put them away to mind.
Atsushi can only grip the front of Akutagawa’s sweater amidst the sea of pleasure, bunching up the fabric between his trembling fingers and pulling the other man closer, closer, until their noses bump and their chests press. Until Atsushi is tilting his head up and silently demanding for more.
And when it is given to him—when Akutagawa takes Atsushi’s bottom lip between his, sucking and pulling and biting, Atsushi gasps into his mouth and the kiss turns opened mouthed.
The kiss turns—
Wait.
The Christmas party. The agency. The— the—
Atsushi pulls away with a gasp and a shudder, chest heaving, body burning with the heat of a million fires that he can’t seem to extinguish.
There’s a ringing in his ears, distant, muffled by the fog of emotions that warp around his head like a ball of cotton. He's vaguely aware of some sounds beyond that barrier: a chair scraping, someone choking on ther drink, an arm being slapped. He thinks there might be more but he doesn't let himself process it.
If he does, he might actually combust.
Maybe ignorance is the answer for this one. So he dares not look around. But then that leaves him with no choice but to stare at Akutagawa, to take in the man’s equally disheveled state: chest heaving, fists clenched, eyes darkened by an unmistakable hunger that makes Atsushis legs weak.
No one has really told him what happens after carrying out this so called Christmas tradition (Which Atsushi is only fairly certain isn’t something the agency made up just to get him and Akutagawa to kiss—because it was Akutagawa who explained it to him. And Akutagawa doesn’t lie. Especially not for the sake of kissing Atsushi. And yet—)
It’s all too much and Atsushi can’t stop thinking about how insanely good it felt to be kissed. To kiss back, to share a breath and exchange heat like they are one. Atsushi doesn’t even think, he steps forward and buries his face in Akutagawa’s chest out of embarrassment—and because he can’t handle looking him in the face for any longer.
Akutagawa stiffens for a moment. “What do you think you’re doing, weretiger?”
He presses his face harder into Akutagawa’s chest, mortification burning through him. “What do you think I’m doing?!” he hisses. “We just— we just kissed in front of everyone!”
And Akutagawa is way too composed for his liking! Why is Atsushi the only one out of the two of them who is realizing the gravity of the situation?
He feels Akutagawa exhaling sharply, hands hovering awkwardly in the air, unsure of where to touch.
“You were the one who wanted to do it.”
“Okay—! But that doesn’t mean I’m immune to embarrassment! How am I—how are we supposed to face the entire agency like that?!”
Akutagawa is quiet for a moment, then, ever so quietly, “Is it really embarrassment? Because you were the one gasping into my mouth just moments ago.”
The words, rough and gravelly, send a pleasant shiver down Atsushis spine. “Oh my god, you are so horrible, so—“
His words tangle up when he feels the weight of Akutagawa’s arms settling around him, hands pressing against his back and forcing him to bury deeper into Akutagawa’s sweater.
Atsushi freezes, but Akutagawa pulls him closer and he melts. Body letting go of all the tension and simply existing in that solid hold.
For a second, he feels like he might cry, unravel to the softness of such an embrace. He’s never been held like this. He’s only ever had himself to hold. Always ending up with his knees drawn against his chest and his arms circling around them, making himself as small as humanly possible.
But now, someone else is holding him. And not just anyone else. Akutagawa.
“…See?” Akutagawa mutters. “Not so unbearable.”
Atsushi huffs weakly. He doesn’t say anything, he knows that his voice is probably all disgusting and scratchy from the stupid emotions that he wishes to kick away.
Then Akutagawa speaks again, breath ghosting over Atsushis hair. “…What do you think about getting back at Kunikida and Oda?”
Atsushi blinks, then tilts his head up.
Their eyes meet, and something akin to understanding passes between them.
Atsushi’s lips pull into a small, wicked smile.
“I like the way you think.”