Work Text:
🂱
It's a windy night in Yokohama, tree leaves float in the air as if they were fallen stars looking for their way home. Autumn paints the landscapes with deceivingly warm color, but the cold envelopes the tiger and the dragon as they walk through the streets, clothes torn and skins bruised.
Nakajima holds Akutagawa up by the waist, waiting for the tiger's healing effects to take place so the gash on his side will stop stinging. But his main worry is his partner's limp and the incessant coughing that forces them to stop every now and then and makes the pale man spit out blood and gasp desperately for air.
"I'm fine." Akutagawa grunts for what might be the hundredth time and attempts to walk forward on his own, just for Atsushi to catch him hurriedly again when pain makes him fold over on himself.
Atsushi wipes the other man's forehead. He sighs, frustrated but ever so patient as he brushes his knuckles briefly against his cheekbone. Wide, grey eyes are fixed on him; there are small leaves scattered on his hair, forming a yellow and orange crown against the shiny grey, and all resentment is brushed aside in Akutagawa's heart to give way to the tenderness that the sight sparks on him.
The mafia's dog swallows hard, his voice is even more hoarse than usual. "... You're pretty," he admits, deadpan, and immediately resumes walking, yanking the weretiger along, who becomes a stuttering mess for the next block, to Akutagawa's amusement.
"I- You- why would you say- I mean- Thank you, but! You... You! A-a-aren't you thirsty?" he finally manages a coherent sentence out. "I'm dying for a sip of water..." He deflects.
Without a word, Akutagawa steers them to cross the street towards a coffee shop, the pain on his leg now seemingly unimportant. He asks for two glasses of water, too tired to play with how absolutely terrified the barista is at the sight of one the city's most wanted criminals. There are cookies on the counter, ready to be tucked away for the night after closing, and Akutagawa asks for one of those too.
"That'll be 300 yen," The young barista hesitates to even charge them. Ryuunosuke turns to stare at his makeshift cane, already chewing on the cookie.
"What?" The oblivious man asks. "Oh, no. Don't tell me you don't have money..." Akutagawa keeps chewing, not a single word to defend himself.
After throughout inspection of his pockets, Atsushi concludes "I... Don't have any money either."
They leave the debt to Kunikida's account and move on.
"I didn't know you liked baked goods," The tiger points out. "You look like the type to only eat salty food."
"I have a preference for sweet things." Ryuunosuke's eyebrows twitch with bemusement. "What do you like, Jinko?"
"Hmm, I enjoy homemade things," The tiger smiles, even when his stomach growls, all the energy from lunch already spent. "Ochazuke's my favorite."
Atsushi tugs at his loose tie when he realizes the agency's dormitory is nearby. He glances at his reluctant companion for the night. "Akutagawa, how far am I supposed to take you?"
The black-haired man snaps out of his thoughts, his hand briefly grips the other's shoulder a little tighter. "I'll be fine on my own."
He tries to let go, but Atsushi pulls him closer. "No way! You've tried that already and I had to lift you up from the floor. I'm not doing that again!"
The dog growls. "Taking you into the mafia's territory in these conditions is too dangerous."
"No more dangerous than leaving you out on the street like this! There's-" The tiger stops abruptly, realizing he probably woke up the whole neighborhood shouting like that. He sighs, softening his tone, "Kyoka is out tonight, you can stay in my room."
Akutagawa chokes on his own spit at the thought. "See? There's no way I'm leaving you on your own like this!" Atsushi goes on, as if the coughing fit had happened only to help him prove his point.
"I said I'll be fine!" Akutagawa snarls into his elbow. "It's not the first time I have to get home on my own while injured."
Atsushi steps back, worried eyebrows knit together. He stares at the wet patch on his companion's leg, glistening under the lamplight, at his white shirt that isn't white at all tonight, coated with the red and brown of half-dried blood, at the layer of sweat coating his face, his labored breathing, his dazed, ever so stubborn gaze.
He reaches out with his hand, slowly, knowing the other startles easily, and pulls a few twigs out of the black strands of his hair. The fondness in the gesture makes Ryuunosuke want to run, but his body isn't responding anymore. He knows the feeling well, when any wrong movement can make him collapse, when he can't fight his illness and win over it anymore.
"You've got a fever," Atsushi points out, exasperated but trying to appear composed. "Leave your ego aside for a minute. Stay the night." He pleads in that quiet voice that makes Ryuunosuke's heart skip.
Akutagawa bites the inside of his cheek, lowers his gaze, and steps into the weretiger's space, draping an arm over his shoulders. Atsushi smiles, the dog scoffs with pretend irritation, and they walk in tandem again under Yokohama's starry sky.
🂲
Waking up isn't always a pleasant experience for Atsushi. Nightmares haunt his nights, knocking at his door with wounds that even his ability can't fully heal, voices he wishes he could forget, faces and bodies in states no one should see. He often gets up drenched in sweat, struggling to breathe and praying that the place he'll see after opening his door won't be the orphanage, or a bloody battle camp, but his home.
Today, the tiger opens his eyes peacefully, wrapped in a tangle of limbs; legs and arms intertwined, a mane of thick, black hair spread over his chest, the comfortable weight of Ryuunosuke Akutagawa resting on top of him. He freezes for a moment, convinced that he's hallucinating, then the memories of the previous evening flood back into him and his first goal of the day becomes remembering if he has paralon somewhere in the dorm and all the breakfast recipes he can execute decently.
Ryuunosuke's soft snoring halts for a second, his breathing turns labored and the first thing he feels before opening his eyes is his sore throat, then nimble fingers raking through his hair. He shakes his head, only to realize it wasn't an insect, but his partner caught red handed in a moment of quiet affection, and also that he's spread very comfortably on top of him. He hugs tighter at the tiger's waist, turning his head over to nuzzle his chest, to which Atsushi turns bright red.
"Ah, good morning," he mutters, sleep and concern clinging to his sweet voice. "How are you feeling?"
Akutagawa grunts, not ready to talk so soon after waking up. He can hear Atsushi's heartbeat, and he savors the moment, saving the precious sound and how it speeds up when he lets his hand trail down under the other's shirt in his memory. He doesn't hesitate to crawl further up, hiding his face in the other's neck to bask in his smell. Nakajima grabs him by the waist, shivering and ticklish, he giggles with confusion.
"You're warm," The dog points out after a bit, taking one last breath close to his partner's pulse before sitting up and wiping the sleep off of his face with his hands, coughing dryly as he makes the effort to stand up from the futon.
"Wait, Akutagawa-" Atsushi tries to warn him of his injury, but he stumbles before he can even finish saying his name. The tall man sighs, baffled at how far his coat is from him when he reaches out for it, and intuitively wraps rashoumon around his injured leg to get the support he needs before standing up again, a good night's rest having restored the strength necessary to use his ability.
He heads for the door, already coughing again, and Atsushi rushes behind. "Just a second, I think I have some medicine somewhere around here!" He begins searching inmediately. "Don't want you getting a fever on the way home!"
Ryuunosuke halts, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and observes as the weretiger scrambles around for the pills and a glass of water, a fond grin gracing his face. "I don't need it," he declares, but waits for it anyway, if only just to spend some more time with the object of his affection.
Reluctantly, he swallows the pills, grateful for the water's aid in softening his aching throat. "Stay for breakfast," Atsushi pleads, guessing the other man is as hungry as he is, but Akutagawa declines, hand already on the door handle.
"Don't mention this to anyone." It's basically an order, but he gazes dotingly at the other man while he says it. "Enjoy your day, Atsushi Nakajima."
And just like that, he's out the door, oblivious to how the tiger's knees turn weak at the first mention of his name coming from those ashen lips.
🂳
The order came in at eight in the morning. By eight thirty Akutagawa was already wreaking havoc at the indicated place. He'd kept his promise not to kill just fine, he could send the message to the fools who dared to challenge the mafia in equally as effective ways, maybe even more so: A broken leg, a severed hand, the destruction of something important to the overconfident rebels; as long as the lesson gets through, the methods don't matter. He has to thank the weretiger for that, he's become a better strategist since their little deal came about, and putting a little more effort in the mundane jobs makes the days less boring.
The grey-haired man isn't very happy when he hears the news.
Ranpo half-heartedly skims the newspaper, procrastinating on a pile of documents until he can find someone to relegate them to. "Ah, Atsushi, isn't this your boyfriend?" He comments casually, to which Atsushi blushes furiously, at first because he's flustered, but then that quickly turns to anger and shame.
Port Mafia's hellhound sweeps corporate building in the western side of Yokohama. 30 wounded, 23 in critical condition, no deaths at the time of publishing...
Atsushi taps his foot anxiously on the floor, a deep scowl settles on his face; he can't stand to read the full article. "No, that's not my boyfriend," he replies, uncharacteristically grave. He can feel the ghost of a calloused hand over his ribcage, and what had kept him smiling to himself all morning has turned to a bitter stab on the chest.
He sits down at his desk, tense, hoping paperwork and the satisfaction of Kunikida's approval after hearing another batch of it has been completed might replace the guilt that's slowly eating away at him.
Just an hour or so before those people's lives were irreparably turned upside down, Atsushi had been offering that man to stay for breakfast and giving him medicine to make sure he gets home safe. He might as well have mutilated them himself. The thought makes his chest feel bruised and hollow. "Dumb, so dumb. So stupid." He mumbles under his breath.
Ranpo observes him carefully, doesn't dare to question him or poke too much, though his hands itch to reach for his glasses and find out for himself where exactly the sudden mood swing came from, because that clearly wasn't just from the news. He places the pile of papers he had been ignoring on his young coworker's desk, laughing quietly at the thought that he picked up the most equally useful and perplexing habit he could have from Kunikida.
🂴
Atsushi Nakajima sits at the park, staring at the pile of dry leaves on the path. He's so still, the only part of him that moves is his hair and the rare loose thread on his clothes whenever the wind brushes past him. He has spent the first hour or so after work like this for the past couple of days, taut fingers curled around his shirt as he hugs himself, forming a barrier against the world with his limbs while all the thoughts he didn't make space for throughout the day come pouring down.
It should come as no surprise that said thoughts are buried deep with the weeds the mafia's dog has planted in his mind. It's enough to have to accept that the man who swore to end his life has also become synonym with safety, tied to the very instinct of survival in his heart; the thought that he has to start building his walls up with him again so he can feel at peace is unbearable.
Accepting Akutagawa's violence goes against his very outlook of life. He'd tried to make the man understand that before, or at least meet him in the middle, and it ended in Atsushi turning a blind eye to his cruel nature in the long run (whether that happened consciously or not, he doesn't want to decide; cannot, right now). Sure, they quarrel from time to time about the best next move in a joint mission, but ever since he realized Ryuunosuke truly keeps his promises, he has lowered his guard little by little.
Lowering his guard doesn't make him any less sensitive to brutality. Quite the opposite. Atsushi has been on the sharp end of violence for as long as he's been alive, which only makes him even more delicate when he allows himself to not expect it from someone.
"That's right," The tiger moves for the first time since he sat down, just a little gesture, a frown obscuring his face, "I don't know what Akutagawa's life has actually been like." When did he come to know violence for the first time? What made him cling to it the way he does, the way Atsushi tries and fails to escape from it?
A small hand wrapped in red and yellow in front of his face pulls him out of his spiral. "Eh? Ah, Kyouka! What are you doing here?" He looks up at her. Too late to pretend he's okay.
"What is bothering you?" Her mellow voice rings in his head.
She sits down beside him, offers him a lollipop. His smile doesn't reach his eyes when he takes it and thanks her. He yawns, and Izumi pretends not to notice that the tears he wipes off don't come from that, or that his deflated demeanor doesn't come from simple fatigue.
It takes him a few minutes to build up the courage, scratching at the sides of his fingers and mulling over the right words, but he won't be able to look her in the eye if he doesn't tell her.
"That day you had to travel to solve the case in Yokosuka... I brought Akutagawa to sleep over in our dorm..." He explains through gritted teeth.
"I know," she replies, unbothered.
"Y-You do?!"
She asents calmly. "The place smelled like him when I came back."
His stomach turns anxiously. "And then he went and raided a building the next morning... He hurt dozens of people, changed their lives for the worse. Didn't kill anyone, but all the same..." He lowers his gaze, jaw tense at the thought. And I was cuddling with him just an hour prior.
"Didn't he get ordered to do it?"
"... Well, it happened on behalf of the mafia."
"Then, he was doing his job."
That startles him. "Kyouka?!" He looks at her like they're miles away from each other, "What do you mean?"
She holds the cellphone hanging from her neck, contemplates the last dandelions of the year blooming in front of them. "When you're in the mafia, there's no other way to survive." She states it plainly, distantly. It makes Atsushi shiver.
"But he hurt you too, didn't he?"
"Kyouka, I'm happy for you."
She nods. "But I don't resent him anymore."
"I see..." The tiger replies wistfully.
He reaches down, picks up one of the white puffballs among the unkempt grass, and studies it briefly, as if bidding it goodbye, before blowing on it.
He wishes that loving Akutagawa could stop feeling like he's betraying himself.
🂵
Hands are part of the most vivid pictures in Atsushi's memories.
The director's steady hold of the tools he used to deliver his cruelty; Dazai's gentle touch lifting the tiger's fog from his mind; small, delicate hands mixing a bowl of warm soup; somebody's tight grip on a gun threatening disaster; his own hands protecting what is dear to him; or his claws...
Sometimes he rouses in the middle of the night, thinking about Shibusawa. Intellectually, he's made peace with it, but that doesn't mean his brain won't torture him about it. He swears it's the same part of it that makes it a monumental task to come anywhere close to thinking he's worthy of all the good things that have happened to him since he got rescued by Dazai.
Maybe it's also the same part that makes him dream of nimble, scarred fingers with chipped black lacquer running over his body, the part that made the metallic smell of blood feel pleasurable instead of terrifying, makes him ache to kiss away the confusion that never leaves those black eyes and lay with Ryuunosuke not just to recover but to rest.
Except it's the other way around: Intellectually, he feels like he's getting dragged in all directions, but god, he can't forget that stolen morning they shared, the sweet flavor of indulgence...
Atsushi opens the door of the closet, gasping for air.
He's agile despite his dazed mind, knows any indication that something is wrong will wake Kyouka up and that's the last thing he needs because guilt is eating away at his chest and he can't have this conversation tonight, even though he's all but confirmed to her that-
He puts his head under the cold tap, letting it wash his dried tears and force him out of the cramped space he so often retreats into. "This is a rotten cause..." he mutters to himself, drying his face off with a soft towel, only to break down crying again because he's got a soft towel in his hands, and one would think he's already used to being out of poverty, but he feels like an ungrateful brat and the room is closing in on him again.
🂶
He ends up having to step outside. He stares at the moths clashing into the lamplights, the occasional bat flying through the shadows, listens for the rats and the insects crawling on the floor, the distant breathing of his coworkers resting peacefully inside the dorm.
He wanders nearby, focuses on the pavement beneath his bare feet, until he can’t feel it; the cold wind hitting his face, until that fades into the background as well. The longer he walks, the farther in he retreats back on himself, until he's too lost in his thoughts to hear the clacking of dress shoes approaching from behind. A hand covers his mouth, another arm pulls him back by the chest, and he has just enough time to feel scared before he realizes who it is.
"Caught you off guard, weretiger?" Akutagawa's hoarse voice growls right beside his ear. Atsushi complains, and the dog only tightens his grip on the shorter man. "Calm down, I will not hurt you."
Nakajima growls, ready to get his claws out; and then he considers the possibility that he's being protected from something, which doesn't make things better but gets him to stop struggling against his captor.
Akutagawa chuckles when he slumps in his hold, and the tiger's chest hurts because why does it sound so beautiful, and then he gets released and whatever insult he had ready for the man is forgotten at the sight of that smile.
"You can't just wander around at night and expect to be safe." Ryuunosuke sobers up, spits the next sentence like it's an insult. "I thought you'd be aware of that by now. You're lucky it was me who saw you like this."
Atsushi's stomach turns. He knits his eyebrows together, cheeks red and angry, like a bewildered child. "You're the whole reason I'm out on the street 'like this'!"
"Huh?" The dog frowns. "Whatever do you mean?"
"I-" He feels like the breath has been punched out of his lungs. "I've been having dreams about you," he mumbles. He nearly shuts down and runs back home, but something in Akutagawa's stare and how its usual defiant judgment turns attentive, prevents that.
"In the dreams, we do things I've never thought I'd want to do with you," He grabs at his hair, tugs at it, his volume increasing with every sentence. "because I used to just... get killed or... mauled by you in them, when we first met. But now it's entirely different and... I'm the one who..."
His honey-colored eyes glow under the streetlight, wide and hungry, not unlike Ryuunosuke's, who looks elated that the weretiger sounds so torn and lost and it's all because of him.
The dragon steps closer, leaning down to get a better look at the younger man's face. "How is it different?" He drags the words out like smoke from a cigarette. "What do you want to do to me?"
The weretiger gives him a nervous scowl. He's scared of his partner, in a way he hasn't been for a long, long time.
Akutagawa grabs him harshly by the collar. "Come on, weretiger. Are you backing down?"
Part of Atsushi wishes there had been a hint of hesitation in his body when he stepped forward, grabbed Ryuunosuke by the lapels of his coat and locked their lips together, but the rest of him is starving and it seems the man in front of him is too because instead of getting pushed away he feels an arm wrapping around his waist and a surprised but satisfied groan vibrating against his mouth.
Ryuunosuke's smell swallows him, acidic and a little bit metallic. It's not very different from the way it does when they employ Gekka-juu Rashoumon; the feeling is all-encompassing, it allows Atsushi to let go of his apprehension and give himself in to greed.
Soon, they're grabbing at whatever they can of each other, pulling at clothing, tugging at hair, scratching at cold, scarred skin and biting at warm, wet lips. He feels the taste of blood and welcomes it, pouncing even more fervently as the frustration, anger, and hurt of months melt into desire and need.
It's closer to a fight than the confession he was trying to make; they're far too used to trying to defeat each other, and yet there's no fear this time, no possibility of a catastrophe, no need for survival, just the overwhelming chaos of their pent-up need for one another.
When he opens his eyes again, they're hiding in the dark between the lampposts. He's kneeling on the sidewalk, between the other's legs, and rashoumon is all but holding him hostage.
"So that's what I was missing..." Ryuunosuke is panting so hard it almost sounds like laughter. He pulls Atsushi in for another kiss, then pushes him away just as quickly. "That's what I wanted from you..."
Atsushi looks drunk. Silly drunk. Huge smile plastered on his lips and disoriented eyes, like he's on the verge of fainting.
"I was so ready to get thrown to the other side of the city for that..."
🂷
The day after, there's a quiet understanding at the detective agency that something really good happened to Atsushi, and that he can't talk about it.
He wears a loopy smile on his lips the whole day, writes a little slower than usual, mixes up his errands and blushes furiously at seemingly nothing. Any hint that someone is going to ask him a question makes him jump. He runs away from Dazai twice before lunchbreak, and storms out of the room every time someone opens up a newspaper. Ranpo grins the whole day watching him scramble about.
"I wonder what's gotten into him..." Dazai smiles mischievously, watching Kunikida give the tiger his hundredth telling-off of the day.
Ranpo scoffs. "Don't tell me you set this up, too."
"No, that wasn't part of my plan for them..." He looks satisfied, almost proud. "I do wonder how this will change things though."
"Do you think they're gonna work out?" The little Sherlock chews through a handful of gummy bears. For once, it doesn’t seem like he’s got the answer at all.
Dazai shrugs. "They've got a long way to go." His eyes narrow, his usual singsong voice sobers up just a bit. "I think they're still trying to fix each other. But if they manage to come to an understanding, if they find some semblance of peace with one another... They would become unstoppable."
Ranpo hums half-heartedly in response.