Chapter Text
Emotions had been something utterly foreign to Akutagawa. He had always been able to name them, but to feel them was a different matter.
For the longest time, Akutagawa hadn't felt at all, at least not to the extent a human being was supposed to.
He might have felt something akin to attachment, born from responsibility, not quite care, for the children of the slums.
Safe for that though, Akutagawa had been whoelly indifferent to everyone and everything that surrounded him.
Perhaps he had cared for his comrats back then after all, because even if he couldn't remember feeling particularly careing or affectionate towards them, he remembered the all consuming Rage that overtook him at their death vividly. Before, he had never felt anything so raw, so primal; perhaps it was the first time Akutagawa had truely felt.
Rage had become a part of Akutagawa's very being. The feeling made him human, but simultaneously it had made him a beast, a monster, something entirely cruel and alien.
Through Rage Akutagawa had earned the feeling of life and through it he had earned his titel as the mad dog of the Port Mafia.
Since that fateful day, Akutagawa had felt many other emotions: Respect, Fear, Hatered, Disgust, Jealousy, most of them all consuming and very much unfavorable.
Akutagawa had been convinced that Rage was all he had, that he would never be capable of feeling anything beyond his pain.
He wouldn't have dare to dream of feeling well. Calm or hopeful or tender. Even with all his newfound humanity, he found himself too monstrous.
And yet, as Akutagawa was dangling above the ground, seized by the head by a being above his comprehension, it wasn't Rage that consumed him. His thoughts were drowning out his physical pain and time seemed to slow.
Akutagawa knew he would die here, he knew that this was the end, the ultimate proof of his failure.
But he didn't feel Rage, no, and neither did he feel self hatred or fear.
*The Weretiger once said, he could see phantoms of his teacher..*
The Weretiger..?
Akutagawa was dying, he could see Dazai right there infront of him, could hear the sweet melody of his teachers piano, so why did his thoughts cling to the Weretiger? Why when the hallucination of his ex mentor told him he fought well, why did he agree?
Akutagawa had failed him, had he not?
His chest ached, not from the blood pooling in his lungs, nor from hatred. Akutagawa felt sorrow.
He mourned his efforts and the Tiger's sacrifice and the tender feeling in his heart. They would all go to waste...
He wanted so badly to live on, to go back to a point in time before the Weretiger had sacrificed himself to save Akutagawa, maybe even before he himself had done the same, back on that ship.
Akutagawa didn't want to die in vain, not after the damn Jinko gave him everything he had left.
Akutagawa's sight blurred, the images of Dazai playing piano melting together as tears welled up in the corners of his eyes.
Tears? How strange...
Had Akutagawa ever cried before? He couldn't remember...
He hadn't cried when the children were slaughtered in the slums and he hadn't cried when Dazai had abandoned him. So why now?
Crying only when faced with his own, inevitable death.. how very unbecoming.
Akutagawa slowly blinked. He would feel the pressure on his head increase, Blood running down his face, painting his vision red and mixing with his tears.
Someone once told Akutagawa that ones own life would flash before their eyes in the face of death. So why? Why was his mind consumed by images of the damn Jinko instead?
*People can't live, unless someone tells them it's okay to go on*
*Akutagawa, for six months, dont kill a single person*
*Just the two of us?*
A soft, warm feeling spread through Akutagawa's body. Maybe, Akutagawa though, it was better like this. His life wasn't much to look back on anyway..
The world seemed to melt together before his eyes. Colors and shapes, illusions and reality blending into one, strangely beautiful view.
It vaguely reminded him of stained glass.
Through the surreal blur, Akutagawa could make out claws, tearing deep gashes into existence, shattering space, rewriting reality, and he could see the Weretiger..
"Akutagawa?! I'm here to help!"
The tears finally fell from his eyes.
If seeing illusions of Atsushi Nakajima in his final moments was the only mercy the Gods would ever bestow upon Akutagawa, that would be enough.
He could die like this, Akutagawa thought.
His skull cracked and splintered appart, his vision disappearing in a flood of blood and pain, but what did it matter now?
He would gladly die for naught, as long as he got to see his partner one more time in his last moments.
But die, he did not.
Consciousness did not fade away from Akutagawa and his tears never hit the ground.
Time itself rewound and suddenly he was in the past, facing the god, trying to shield himself against its blow. And infront of him, guarding him from his inevitable death, was the Jinko...
_____________________________
The ocean twinkled in the fading light, dyed purple and gold by the setting sun.
Akutagawa stood on the roof tops, watching the water from his usual spot. He wasn't on the phone though, or plotting an assault like he usually would.
Akutagawa's chest was filled with a strange feeling, heavy and calm. He didn't have a name for it. Perhaps some emotions simply couldn't be explained with mere words.
A few days had passed since the battle at the airport and Akutagawa's mind was finally settling. He felt exhausted in every way.
His body was aching horribly, lungs feeling like they'd been scratched raw from the inside, and his thoughts were constantly racing with feelings Akutagawa failed to name.
When he first got back after the battle, Akutagawa had been worried about Gin. He had not heard of his sister, not since he had attacked the Black Lizard and Higuchi while controlled by the vampirism.
He could have never forgiven himself, if his inability to defeat Fukuchi in battle had resulted in his siblings death.
Luckily, the illimination of what remained of Bram Stoker, along with Dostoyevsky, had reversed almost all harm done by the vampirism and Gin was currently recovering under the Bosses' watchful gaze.
A soft gust of wind ruffled Akutagawa's coat.
He slowly turned his back on the ocean, letting his eyes roam over the city instead. They lingered in the distance, behind the horizon and outside his field of vision, outside of the Mafia's territory even, where he knew the Detective Agency building was located.
The Armed Detective Agency.
Even after all their efforts in the battle, they had not been able to fully clear their name of the terrorism allegations.
According to Mr. Nakahara, the Agency had closed down temporarily.
His heart clenched in one of the many new emotions Akutagawa still failed to name. The Agency's fate did not affect him, should not concern him, and yet he felt a soft sting at the thought that he and the Jinko would never cross paths in that way again, whether that be on joined missions or opposing sides.
What would become of their promise? Now that all foundation of what connected Akutagawa to the Weretiger had collapsed, what reason did he have to keep it and come fight Akutagawa to the death, once the six month mark was reached?
Fight him to the death. There was that unfamiliar pain again. He still wished to kill the Weretiger did he not? Of course he did, Akutagawa lied to himself. Besting him in battle was what he lived to do, it's what he had to do to gain the approval he so longed for, it should not hurt him to think about.
Wheather his opponent lived or died had never been of any concern to Akutagawa, there was no reason for the Weretiger to stray from that truth, it was a rule without exceptions.
Akutagawa slowly made this way down from the roof.
His feet carried him across the plastered streets and closer to the centre of the city.
A deep sigh left his lungs.
He would not be able to rest properly unless his thoughts settled down, and his thoughts would not settle unless he spoke to the Weretiger.
He was not searching him out of his own volition, that's what Akutagawa tried to tell himself.
His stepps quickend.
Where would the Weretiger be at a time like this? At home? Out eating? He had no clue. In the end Akutagawa knew much less about the younger man than he had expected.
How come he knew about the thoughts of his past, that haunted and shaped him, but not what he might do to pass the time?
A silly thought, what the Tiger did to leisurely pass his day was unimportant information.
He scanned the city for any sign of the man, Restaurants and benches, hundreds of people and not one was the person he was looking for.
The sun had long since set, leaving the streetlamps to cast their warm glow over the city, when Akutagawa finally gave up on his search and collapsed onto a park bench.
His body shook with violent coughs and Akutagawa spat a mout full of blood into his hand.
His ears were ringing, which is why he almost missed the familiar voice calling out to him.
"Akutagawa?"
He flinched slightly, more surprised than scared and turned his head into the direction the voice had come from.
He was greeted with a pair of very familiar eyes, purple making way for gold, pupils narrowed in a way that made them appear unusually feline and blown wide in.. In what? Shock? Surprise? Fear? ..Worry?
Akutagawa found it difficult to distinguish between them.
"Weretiger."
Atsushi blinked quickly, as if he had forgotten to do so previously.
"What are you doing here? This part isn't Port Mafia territory?"
Atsushi's tone wasn't accusatory, and yet Akutagawa felt called out.
"I was simply taking a stroll, what's it to you, Jinko?"
Akutagawa failed to bring his usual tone of animosity back into his voice. Why, he was not certain. Should he not feel angry? Was that not the emotion the Weretiger drew forth from him?
Atsushi hesitantly glanced down towards Akutagawa's palm. It was still, very obviously, coverd in blood.
"Are you..?"
Akutagawa scoffed quickly, interrupting the Weretiger.
"Oh please, Weretiger, spare me your pity, I am perfectly fine without it."
From the corner of his eyes he could see the Weretiger's expression shift again. Disappointment? Maybe hurt? Akutagawa just couldn't read them. The emotion was negative, that he knew, and it caused his own heart to clenche painfully.
Atsushi didn't speak again, just watching Akutagawa carefully wipe off his hand with his hankerchief.
"Actually, Weretiger, I was looking to speak with you again,"
Akutagawa could see the Jinko's face light up with- with what? Joy perhaps? That couldn't be.. All he knew was that this emotion certainly was of the positive kind. It made for a drastic contrast to the crushed expression that followed, once Akutagawa kept talking.
"I hope you haven't forgotten our promise, don't think that after the latest events, I'm just letting you go. The six month mark will soon be upon us, prepare yourself."
He pushed himself of the bench, quickly turning his back on the Jinko. He could not stand to keep looking into his eyes, how honestly they reflected each and every emotion that naturally came to the detective. And he could not handle the unexplained pain it sparked within Akutagawa.
He wanted to leave, hurry and flee from this situation. However in his attempt to appear unbothered, he did not make it far enough to escape the Weretiger's next words.
"How can you still wish for my death, after everything that happens, Akutagawa? I can't believe you!"
The Jinko's voice was so heavy with emotion. What was it this time? Akutagawa could only guess. Despair, desperation maybe? Anger?
It mattered little.
"To kill you is my only ambition in life. Once I defeat you, I will finally prove that you are inferior to me. I was under the impression I had made the importance of that clear to you before. What ever bond you believe us to share can not, and will not change this", Akutagawa lied.
Was it a lie? It felt like it. But did he not mean ever word? Was he not speaking his own truth?
"After the events at the airport, I kinda thought we were over this. I thought I could trust you, Akutagawa. That was foolish of me to think",
his voice hardened, as he too, turned his back on Akutagawa,
"I really thought, you could change, become a better person and stop killing for good, like Kyoka.. and Dazai.
Maybe I gave you too much credit. But don't worry, I'll be there. I will defeat you if I really have to"
With that, the Weretiger left without another glance back.
Akutagawa stood frozen, watching the Weretiger disappear into the dark of the night. His heart was beating fast, or maybe it wasn't beating at all. It felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.
His lungs churned painfully and Akutagawa felt the sudden urge to scream.
Instead he let out a broken laugh that was quickly overtake by coughing.
Him? Change? Had the Weretiger really thought that? How could he possibly ever escape his Rage? He was born a beast and he would die that way. So why did it hurt so bad?
What was it that hurt?
Disappointing the Jinko? Loosing the faith he had had in him? He didn't care. What did his opinion matter. He knew he could not change, he knew he could not escape fate just like he couldn't escape death. What did it matter if the Jinko belived in him, if he thought otherwise?
The only person who's opinion mattered was Dazai.
It wasn't. He knew that.
Liar.
Dazai's approval had become something meaningless a long time ago. He had thrown away his life, what little remained of it, for the Jinko, twice. How hypocritical..
How could he claim that this was purely so the Weretiger could die by his own hand instead?
Perhaps he had had the chance to change, once upon a time. Perhaps, at one point, he could have earned the Weretiger's trust and deserved it. But Akutagawa was far past that point.
He had long since been doomed to live his life controlled by Rage. Controlled by Dazai.
If he truely wished to kill the Jinko, it did not matter. The choice was not his. And if it had been, he had surely made the wrong one.
The Tiger and him weren't meant to fight together. As beautiful of a thought it might be. One of them had to die, and if Akutagawa did not act in time, it was sure to be him.
He felt that overwhelming sense of grief again. But this time it was not the thought of his own death that triggered it; had it been the last time?
Why did it hurt so bad?
Akutagawa's chest heaved, the feeling was familiar, grounding, the pain ripping him out of his own head as he doubled over and collapsed onto the street.
He coughed violently, dark blood speckled the concrete, followed by something unusual.
Akutagawa was accustomed to coughing like this. It wasn't rare for him to collaps, trying to stabilise himself against the nearest wall and spit blood.
Sometimes the blood was thinner or thicker, bright red or dark enough to be mistaken for black, sometimes it was clotted together, making it look more like he spat out a chunk of his own flesh instead.
But never before had he coughed up something that wasn't blood. Something white. Something pretty and delicate.
He frantically blinked a few times, clearing his vision and reached for the forgein object with shaky hands.
It felt soft in his hand, smooth and cool, surprisingly fragile. He held it up to his face.
It took Akutagawa a moment to realise what he was looking at. It appeared to be a single flower petal.
It was almost pure white, with the exception of some darker spots on its inside and was elegantly curved backwards.
Akutagawa never really cared for flowers before, he thought the act of gardening to be an undesirable task. He associated it with his childhood, crawling in the dirt and digging up weeds for the other children and himself to eat.
However, looking at this petal it suddenly occurred to him, why humans treasured flowers so.