Work Text:
“Kunikida-san!” Atsushi shouts- he sees the white bolt speeding towards the other man’s back, and by the time he turns around it’ll be too late. His body moves before he can stop it- he has no idea what this adversary’s ability is, but the only thing he can think of in the moment is saving Kunikida-
His limbs morph. He feels the surge of strength he always gets when he transforms, and with his increased speed, he barrels into Kunikida in time, taking the brunt of the blast.
They’re engulfed. The light burns behind Atsushi’s closed eyelids.
~~~~~~
“Atsushi.”
Someone pokes his shoulder.
Atsushi squeezes his eyes shut and groans- it feels like someone’s been jabbing his side with a stick, the deep, muscle-and-bone ache that settles after being kicked in the ribs- but he doesn’t remember being beat up. The background noise of city cars and bikes and peoples’ footsteps against pavement comes from his right. He opens his eyes and squints upwards.
“Kunikida-….san?” He croaks. For some reason, his throat and lips are sandpaper-dry. His voice rasps along his clammy tongue and sticks to the insides of his cheeks.
Kunikida sighs in irritation and- worry? Relief?
“We were attacked by an ability user near headquarters.” He mutters, sliding one warm, dry hand under Atsushi’s upper back to help him sit up. He’s lying under the awning of the cafe on the first floor of the Agency headquarters- the pavement is cold and prickly through the back of his shirt, and the sky is dark, lit only by the streetlamps that line the sidewalk.
Atsushi licks his parched lips and winces as his side protests to his movement. He tries to get up, but his knees buckle and his palms sting, and he brings them up closer to his poorly-adjusted, blurry eyes to peer at them- the palms and fingertips are scraped and oozing blood, and Kunikida purses his lips.
“Ah.” He says.
Kunikida frowns at him, worry lines creasing his forehead.
“What were you thinking, idiot?” He admonishes him, still steadying his shoulder with one firm hand. He slides his arm around Atsushi’s chest. “Come on, we have to get inside.”
Atsushi bites the inside of his cheek and stands. The leg on the side that aches nearly gives out, and he falls onto Kunikida’s shoulder. They hobble inside the cafe together- luckily Kunikida scrawls a quick ‘coffeehouse key’ onto a notebook page and it materializes in his hand with a flash. He deposits Atsushi surprisingly gently in a booth and makes his way to the counter of the cafe, pulling an emergency first-aid kit out from under it.
“Let me see.” He mutters, gesturing to Atsushi’s side. Atsushi complies, sliding his suspenders off his shoulder and untucking his shirt. Kunikida bats his wrists away when he tries to start unbuttoning the front, forgetting about the cuts and scrapes on his hands, and he pulls his arm out of the sleeve so his side is fully exposed.
Ah.
Kunikida glares blackly at the injuries, as though they’ve personally offended him- on Atsushi’s side is a bruise about the size of a cantaloupe, dark and mottled blue-red-purple, and he winces as Kunikida makes to touch it, examine it, press his fingertips lightly around the edges.
“We need more bandages. And ice.” He sighs, the dark expression fading off his face as he looks back up at Atsushi. “Come on.”
He helps Atsushi up again, leaving the paltry first-aid kit on the tably, and they make their way slowly to the elevator in the hall- it dings softly when they arrive at the Agency’s floor, and Kunikida props him up against the wall befoee taking the notebook out of his pocket and scribbling a hasty 'lockpick set’ onto the page. The aforementioned item drops into his hand.
Atsushi half-laughs.
Kunikida doesn’t look at him, but rolls his eyes, sliding the picks expertly into the keyhole and making short work of the lock.
“Should…” Atsushi smiles wanly, the pain still sharp in his mind, “Should the Agnecy get better locks?”
Kunikida makes his way back to him, supporting him again.
“It doesn’t matter much.” He shrugs minutely. Atsushi feels the movement where his arm is looped around Kunikida’s shoulders. “If an ability user like the Guild or the Port Mafia were to come after us, there’s no lock in the world that could stop brute power, or they could come in through the windows. This is mostly to avoid petty theft.”
Atsushi blinks.
“Huh.” He says.
Kunikida settles him in his desk chair, Atsushi letting out a sigh of relief, and goes to rummage through the infirmary for bandages- she does keep some on hand, despite her ability, for smaller scrapes or, god forbid, scenarios where she is unaccounted for or unable to perform.
“Off.” Kunikida points at Atsushi’s half-on shirt, tearing open an insta-ice pack and crushing it in his hands to activate the chemical crystals. “We need stop the swelling.”
Atsushi complies, hissing when Kunikida presses the ice pack to the bruise on his side and tells him to hold it there with the backs of his hands- he ties Atsushi’s discarded shirt around it and the other man’s midsection, securing both the ice and its place against his injury, and gets up, returning to the infirmary.
When he returns, he’s carrying a basin of water, a roll of gauze and tape, and a tube of antibiotic.
“Put your hands in the water.” He instructs, and Atsushi feels the water with his fingertips- perfectly warm- and he dips his injured hands into the basin, sighing as the warmth encompasses his cold fingers. The sting of warm water washing away congealing blood is almost negligible.
Kunikida waits a minute before rolling up his sleeves and dipping into the water with a cloth, taking Atsushi’s fingers surprisingly gently- he coaxes the rest of the blood into the water and cleans the wounds, focused and methodical, brow furrowed. At some point, Atsushi finds himself staring at him.
“Kunikida-san,” he says, “what happened? Where are we?”
Kunikida doesn’t look up, but responds.
“The ability user who ambushed us was a recent hire of the Port Mafia.” He says quietly. “Apparently he has the power to send people to whatever time he wishes, but they return to their proper time after several hours.”
Atsushi blinks.
“Ah.” He says. “Then that light-”
Kunikida nods slightly.
“I believe we’re in the future.” He continues. He lifts Atsushi’s hands out of the water and sets about dabbing ointment on the wounds, then taping pads of gauze against Atsushi’s skin.
The room is silent.
“Finished.” Kunikida sighs after a little bit, wiping his hands and tucking the tape back next to the packets of surgical gauze. “I have some over-the-counter painkillers in my desk-”
He leans past Atsushi to slide his desk drawer open and freezes.
Atsushi peers over his shoulder. His eyes go wide.
Everything is as it should be- the neatly-arranged papers, the precisely organized supplies, the spare notebook in the back, the small stack of business cards in the bottom left- except for one thing which is obviously, glaringly new.
A photo.
More specifically, a photo of them.
A photo of them, sleeping together on the same tatami mat- there’s a blanket over their legs, but Kunikida’s arm is clearly wrapped around Atsushi’s shoulders, and Atsushi’s head is tucked into Kunikida’s chest. Whenever it was taken, it was early morning- Kunikida recognizes his desk in the corner of the photo, and a shaft of soft light illuminates both their peaceful, sleeping faces.
Atsushi’s mouth drops open slightly. He looks back at Kunikida.
Kunikida’s face is completely red.
“I-” He stammers, not moving- not moving, still leaning over Atsushi, close enough so that if he wanted, he could press his nose into the other man’s neck with hardly any movement- he jerks into action, slams the drawer shut, and backs away quickly. After a quick, frantic look around, he grabs the basin full of bloody water.
He coughs.
“I’m going to rinse this out.” He mutters, pushing his glasses up his nose and turning tail and bolting to the infirmary.
Atsushi is left sitting at his desk.
Hesitantly, slowly, he eases the drawer open again- the picture is still there, and Atsushi picks it up with bandaged fingers, taking in the sight, and flips it over.
Kunikida-kun and Atsushi-kun are so cute!
-Dazai (12/4/17)
Atsushi snorts before he can stop himself- the message is written in purple ink, and he can feel the mischievous malice in every word, every stroke of the pen- more than likely, this is a photo that Dazai took to embarrass his partner, but it makes Atsushi’s face heat and his stomach flip. Does this mean, in a year, Kunikida and he…
He replaces the picture in the drawer and shuts it.
A feeling of steely resolve begins to curl in his gut.
Kunikida-san’s reaction…
The timestamp…
He tenses his hand into a fist, forgetting, for a moment, his injuries- he winces and relaxes his fingers as soon as they twinge- he gets up, steadying the makeshift ice pack against his ribs and makes his way into the infirmary.
Kunikida is leaned over the sink. The basin is washed and dried, sitting on the counter, but the other man is staring into the stainless steel, knuckles white from the strength of his grip on the edge.
“Kunikida-san?” Atsushi makes his presence known. Kunikida whirls around.
“What are you doing, standing up?” He says immediately, rushing to support Atsushi. “you idiot-”
Atsushi kisses him on the cheek.
If his complexion had recovered from earlier, the blush comes back full force- he almost drops his arms in surprise. His eyes go wide.
“Atsushi-” Kunikida begins, voice disbelieving.
Atsushi interrupts him- not something he would usually do, but for some reason, a warm feeling is spreading through his chest. Courage. Kunikida makes him feel courageous.
“I like you, Kunikida-san.” He says, honestly.
Kunikida stares at him for a moment.
Then-
he laughs.
Not precisely a laugh- more of an exhale, a happy-relieved-joyous-incredulous sigh, an instinctual expulsion of air from the lungs after hearing some incredible news- he wraps his arms around Atsushi’s shoulders, careful to mind his injuries, and presses his warm, dry, soft lips to Atsushi’s cheek.
“I like you, too.” He mutters breathlessly against Atsushi’s skin, as though he’s trying to imprint the words into his memory. “You unbelievable, insufferable brat.”
Atsushi presses against Kunikida’s cheek, bumps Kunikida’s ear with his nose, and smiles.
“Better than painkillers.” He mumbles happily into Kunikida’s neck.