Chapter Text
The cold concrete digs into Atsushi's stomach relentlessly.
It had been warm earlier, baked by the heat of the sun, but Atsushi has laid here for hours in waiting.
He shifts, trying to ease the sharp bits of stone pressing into his skin, but all that does is pinch the rocks against his ribs instead.
He wants desperately to stand and brush the grit from his clothes, but he can't risk it. Not now, not when he’s so fucking close after all this time.
The winds pick up, pulling up dust and carrying the salty tang from the port’s water. Beside him, Junichiro sniffs and snuffs, clearly trying to ward off a sneeze.
“As long as you're quiet about it,” Atsushi whispers, “and if it doesn't interrupt your ability.”
“It won't,” Junichiro says, but still he pinches his fingers to his nose and swipes. “At least, I hope not.”
Atsushi hums and tries to shift his body again, but the rocks are too far stuck under his abdomen to really be dislodged so he gives up for the moment. He's thankful that his coat is keeping his arms from getting scraped up, at least.
“Are you sure we should be doing this?”
Atsushi pulls his eye from the scope he's been staring through for the last few hours and gives Junichiro a pointed look.
“We aren't doing anything. I am doing something and I dragged you into this, remember?”
Junichiro breaks their eye contact and focuses instead on flicking a piece of dirt away from where he's laying.
“Look, I know you're still new at the Agency, so I promise this will not affect your employment at all. I swear no matter what comes of this, I'll take full responsibility for all of it.”
“It's not that–”
But Atsushi cuts him off. “And, I'll still give you my three days off next week, just like I promised, so if you'd like to leave, now’s the–” Motion catches Atsushi's eye in the peripheral. He turns back to the scope, realigning his sight to find the movement again.
He finds them–a group of three–stepping away from the back entrance of a warehouse. They're heading towards a ship that docked shortly after Atsushi and Junichiro’s arrival, the sailors still working on unloading the cargo into the warehouse.
Atsushi focuses in on each figure, but they're turned away from him. A redhead, a man with slicked back gray hair, and a brunet.
He keeps the scope pinned to the back of the brunet’s head and waits.
“Nakajima, I'm really freaking out right now. It's who you think it is, right?!” Junichiro starts as a whisper, but it pitches high by the end.
“I don't know, and keep your voice down. We might be far away, but we don't know what their abilities are yet.” Junichiro squeaks and shuffles. Atsushi assumes he’s covering his mouth, but he can't risk taking his eyes off the brunet to check. “Also, I told you to call me Atsushi, remember?”
He zooms the scope out just a bit, keeping the brunet still in sight, but wide enough to watch a trail of men follow after the trio. Guards, Atsushi assumes, all of them armed and waiting for orders.
He hears Junichiro fidget again, but it's quiet. “It feels weird when you're my superior.”
“But we're the same age,” Atsushi counters.
“You're still more mature than me.”
Atsushi sighs. He'll have to keep fighting this point, it seems. Junichiro will learn soon enough that Atsushi is nowhere near as mature as he believes.
He’s just…resigned.
No, not resigned. He’s come to accept that there are certain things he can't change in this world, no matter how much he wants to, no matter how much he kicks and screams and begs.
But he's also come to accept that there are things that he can change, really change. And to do that he needs to take hold of them with both hands and–
The brunet turns.
It’s him.
Atsushi watches through his scope as dark eyes scan the area around him and Junichiro.
“Light Snow is still active, right?” He barely whispers it, trying to keep his breathing gentle and steady so that he doesn't shake his aim.
“Yes, why?”
“Because I think he knows we’re here.” He probably should have sent Junichiro back earlier, but it’s far too late for that now. “Whatever you do, do not move and do not deactivate your ability.”
Atsushi adjusts his grip, placing his finger on the trigger as he settles on his aim.
The head would be best for a confirmed hit, but the human chest is far wider and easier to strike if a target is moving. So far, the man hasn't moved since he turned, but that could change at any moment.
He’ll just have to trust in his aim and his handiwork. He’s spent hours working on this rifle, hunched over in his apartment, pouring over manuals and videos, assembling and disassembling until everything was perfect.
And this is his chance to finally make the change he’s been waiting for.
It all happens in a matter of seconds.
He swallows the lump of doubt in his throat and squeezes the trigger. The rifle jerks from the recoil, but the Tiger’s strength keeps his grip steady and his eye remains focused through the scope.
The Boss of the Port Mafia does not move. He doesn't flinch from the sound of gunfire, doesn't duck or dodge, and damn Atsushi is glad he aimed for his head after all.
He watches as the bullet makes contact with flesh, the flash of light erupting from the two conflicting abilities, and that's all Atsushi can risk.
He stands, slinging his rifle to his back, and yanks Junichiro up.
The Mafia guards have already started shooting in retaliation, but their aim is wide and far off mark thanks to Light Snow keeping them hidden.
Atsushi picks up Junichiro, cradling him to his chest and tucking his chin over Junichiro’s head, and runs.
“Keep Light Snow activated as long as possible and do not move.” Atsushi jumps down to a nearby roof, hoping that no other guards appear. The Mafia is well coordinated and if they’re able to cut off Atsushi's escape route, he may just have to fight. And that's not something he wants to do with a non-combatant rookie. “Even if I get hit, do not try to look around. I'm self-healing and you aren't.”
The last thing Junichiro needs today is to experience Akiko’s ability, but Atsushi keeps that unsaid for now. Instead he squeezes Junichiro’s body tighter, trying to keep him as securely shielded as his bodyframe will allow.
He hears shouting from around the corner, but he pushes the Tiger to his feet, bounding between buildings and down alleyways until the voices grow softer and the moonlight guides him all the way back to the Agency dorms.
*
Atsushi's whole world changes when he's fourteen.
He rides in a car for the first time. Headmaster has such a sour look on his face that Atsushi does his best not to ask any questions as he climbs into the backseat.
He stares out of the windows, barely containing himself when the countryside fields turn to city roads. The orphanage has always seemed so vast and all-encompassing, but the farther into Yokohama they drive, the more Atsushi learns just how small it really is.
They finally stop in front of a large brick building and Headmaster leads him through the main entrance, up winding stairs, and through another door. The new room is large and the floor is covered in bright green tiles that gleam beneath Atsushi's feet.
Headmaster points him to a couch and Atsushi sits, staring at stained glass windows and shiny wood.
He watches as Headmaster is led into another room and, as the door closes, Atsushi wonders if this is actually happening or if he's still down in the orphanage basement, chained and dreaming.
Cautiously, he digs a nail into the flesh between his fingers, pressing hard enough to hurt, but the walls stay solid around him and the green tiles still catch the sunlight shining through the windows.
He fidgets with the sleeves of his coat, tracing fingers along tidy, tan stitches to pass the minutes away. He'd like to read one of the books he stuck inside a larger pocket, but he doesn't want to risk getting too absorbed in the story.
When Headmaster finally opens the door, his lips are set in a grim frown, and he motions for Atsushi to come inside. Atsushi's skin pulses as he walks in, the phantom press of his fingernail still aching.
He stands next to Headmaster while a man, who introduces himself as Fukuzawa, stares at him from behind his desk. He looks at Atsushi through sharpened eyes, as if he’s searching for something. Atsushi doesn't know what the man is hoping to find, but he stays as still as his shaking legs will allow.
“What is it,” Fukuzawa asks, his voice as low and gruff as Atsushi expects, “that you wish to accomplish while employed at our agency?”
Atsushi pauses, his thoughts blank.
No one has ever asked what he wants before.
No one has ever cared to know.
Except–
“Do you want to use your ability to save the weak, or hurt them?”
He doesn't realize he’s spoken the question out loud until Fukuzawa responds.
“To save them.”
Atsushi nods. “Yeah, me too.”
Fukuzawa stares at him for a moment longer before turning to Headmaster. “We'll see how he does on a trial basis.”
Headmaster bows and turns to leave, barely offering a glance to Atsushi over his shoulder. “Do not cause them any trouble or I will drag you back to the orphanage myself.” He pulls the door shut behind him and the latch-click fills Atsushi's stomach with dread.
He hadn't considered being left behind by Headmaster, hadn't thought about what leaving the orphanage really means. Where will he sleep? How will he eat? Can he survive in a city on his own? How will he ever find Bo–
“What do you know about the Armed Detective Agency?”
Fukuzawa’s question startles Atsushi, pulling him out of his thoughts.
“I, um,” Atsushi swallows the forming lump in his throat, pushing down the tears prickling behind his eyes. Rumors, really, are all that he knows. Hushed whispers between Sisters in darkened halls. The excited buzz of other orphans as they pour over newspapers and magazines. “Only that you all have abilities, and that you, you can help me. That's what I was told.”
Fukuzawa pushes himself up from his chair and circles his desk, coming to stand directly in front of Atsushi.
Atsushi watches as Fukuzawa’s hand raises. He squeezes his eyes shut as he braces for the slap, but Fukuzawa’s hand lands on his shoulder instead. His heart beats rapidly in his ears as he realizes he’s holding his breath. He tries to inhale slowly, trying to keep himself steady, but it hiccups into his lungs uncomfortablely.
He waits still. He doesn't know the type of man Fukuzawa is. Doesn't know how he punishes, or what he punishes for. But the seconds creep by until Atsushi finally peaks his eyes open.
He doesn't know when Fukuzawa had crouched down. He hadn't heard the shuffling of his feet or felt the pressure change in the hand on his shoulder, but now Fukuzawa’s face is lower than Atsushi's. He stares into Atsushi's eyes, unyielding and fierce, but his voice is calm.
“I cannot protect you from the world, nor the streets of Yokohama, but you are safe within the walls of the Armed Detective Agency.”
*
“You did something stupid, didn't you?”
Atsushi looks up from his computer, fingers still typing out his thoughts as he meets Ranpo's gaze. Ranpo smirks, twirling a sucker in his mouth for a moment before popping it out and then takes a hard bite.
Atsushi listens to him chew and crunch for a moment before sighing.
“Being annoying isn't going to make me talk.”
Ranpo groans, sinking into his chair. He swallows the broken chunks of the sucker and flicks the stick in Atsushi's direction. It misses, but Atsushi will pick it up later.
“I have a guess on what you dragged poor Tanizaki into and I don't want to be right about it.”
“Then stop guessing.” Atsushi flips to the next page of his report. He glances down at the little drawing in the corner, marks the page for replacement, and resumes typing. “Junichiro was invited, compensated, and unharmed–”
“And traumatized,” Ranpo sings out. “He practically cried to me about it when I cornered him in the kitchen earlier.”
“Liar.”
“Ugh, fine,” Ranpo huffs. He digs around in his drawers for more suckers and successfully tosses one on Atsushi's desk. Atsushi tucks it away in his coat for later. Ranpo leans back in his chair, still watching Atsushi type away. “Is it really him? Your Boss and the Boss?”
Atsushi nods, but he can't look at Ranpo's face.
Maybe he is being stupid about this, but…
How can he not want to repay the man who gave him everything?
“Kunikida is gonna be pretty upset that you begged him to make those rifle parts just to use it for that.”
Atsushi grimaces. He definitely doesn't want to think about Kunikida's reaction when he learns.
“Will you keep it a secret?”
“Hmm, I suppose I will for now, but I'm going to need compensation, too.” Ranpo pops up out of his chair and circles round to Atsushi's desk. He leans across, his face close to Atsushi's, and grins.
*
Atsushi stares at the shredded pages of the book in front of him.
He had been so careful with it.
Had asked Headmaster to let him keep it, done extra chores to earn it, kept it safe in Headmaster’s office for weeks until the full moon arrived.
When Headmaster handed it to him only a few hours ago, leading him down to the basement, Atsushi had been overjoyed.
He crouches, cautiously touching fingers to wet pages. It's slimy, like saliva, and Atsushi feels his eyes burn.
He gathers the torn pages, carefully setting them around the floor of his cell. He had only been able to read a few chapters before falling asleep earlier, but maybe he can place the pages back in order, like a puzzle.
Slowly he works, the full moon offering a guiding light to his efforts. His fingers start to ache, the cold nights of spring offering him no relief, but he won't stop until he's done.
The lights flick on overhead. They buzz loudly, growing brighter with each passing second, almost drowning out the sound of the door opening above. He can just barely hear Headmaster speaking to someone at the top of the stairs.
Atsushi tries to gather up the pages he's already organized as quickly as possible while still keeping them in order, but Headmaster arrives before he’s finished.
He hears Headmaster’s irritated sigh and keeps his head bowed down, staring at the ripped and crumpled papers in his hands.
“Open this.”
That's not Headmaster's voice.
Atsushi glances up and sees another man standing beside Headmaster. He's young, probably only a few years older than Atsushi, draped in a long, tan coat.
But what surprises Atsushi most of all is that Headmaster obeys.
He pulls a set of keys and unlocks the cell doors without question or hesitation. The young man waits, looking at Headmaster expectantly, until Headmaster pulls the cell door open as well.
The young man steps inside. The yellow lighting of the basement makes him look sickly when paired with his tired eyes.
He bends, picking up the shredded remnants of Atsushi's book and examines it.
“I believe this is one of the books I had donated last month.” He looks to Atsushi's hands. “I take it you disliked it?”
“No, I loved it!” Atsushi doesn't mean to shout, but he doesn't want the man to misunderstand. “I really loved it, but when I woke up, it was all ripped up.”
“I see.”
The man hands the book back to Atsushi. He tucks the torn pages inside the cover for safety before holding the book tightly to his chest. The man stares at him strangely before shaking his head and speaking.
“I’ve been told that you're unaware of your ability. Is that right?”
“My ability?”
“Correct. I've researched every orphan here and you are the only one with a known ability.”
Atsushi stares at him, trying to comprehend, and then looks to his book, the bite marks punctured through, the jagged scratch carved into the cover, the frayed edges of destroyed paper.
“Is that, is my ability dangerous?”
“That depends,” the man says. “Do you want to use your ability to save the weak, or hurt them?”
Atsushi's gaze remains fixed as he considers the question, so focused on his thoughts that he doesn't notice the shivers trailing up his spine.
“I want to save them.”
“Good.”
The man pulls off his coat, wrapping it around Atsushi's shoulders. Its long ends brush against the ground, but Atsushi burrows into it, soaking in the lingering warmth.
“There is an agency that can help you control your ability, but you will need to work for them in return. Do you think you can do it?”
Atsushi looks up at the young man. He sees his tired eyes, and how skinny he really is without a coat to hide his frame. He sees bandages wrapped up and down his arms and neck and thinks this man has surely suffered too.
He looks at him, and for the first time, he sees hope.
“I can.”
The man nods and turns to the Headmaster as if to leave, but Atsushi still needs to ask.
“What’s, what's your name?”
The man turns back around again, a cold smile on his lips.
“Lately, everyone’s been calling me Boss.”
*
Atsushi has never had his own room before, let alone his own apartment.
It's sparsely decorated until Akiko drags him to the Shopping District, filling his arms with bags and boxes until she's satisfied.
She helps him lay out his futon and put away his new clothes before confirming that Fukuzawa has filled his refrigerator and cabinets with more than enough food.
His head is spinning by the time she waves goodbye, but she barely makes it out of his door before turning around again.
“I think this package is for you,” she says, holding it up. Sure enough, Atsushi's name is typed on the front with the dormitory’s address listed below. “Who would know your apartment number so quickly?”
Atsushi shakes his head, unsure.
He takes the package from Akiko, carefully peeling back the seal, and pulls out a book.
The same book he had destroyed.
“Something from the orphanage?”
“No,” Atsushi says, tracing fingertips across the raised lettering. “From Boss.”
He shows the book to Akiko, but she's unimpressed.
“Well, have fun reading,” she shrugs before turning and walking to her own dorm.
Atsushi is overjoyed.
He had been so busy these last couple of days that he hasn't had the time to finish piecing the ruined copy back together, let alone read the other book he brought along with him.
He sits down at his table and flips the book open and catches sight of ink marks written inside on the front cover in a neat and tidy script. He turns the pages back to the cover and reads:
‘To your new beginnings.’
*
Somewhere along the way, Boss becomes a permanent fixture in Atsushi's mind.
Is he eating okay? Is he sleeping? What's he reading? Will he send Atsushi another book? Will he come see Atsushi again? Or is he visiting other orphans instead?
That thought burns in Atsushi's stomach and he tries to shake it away.
What claim does he have on Boss?
He should be working hard to repay him, not monopolize him.
But, his eyes looked so tired.
And sad.
Slowly, Atsushi traces out his face in pencil. He's far from an artist, but he tries to get the details right. Boss’ cheeks, with just a bit of baby fat still clinging to them. The shade of hair he might have when it's not muted by yellow fluorescents. And his dark eyes, staring deep into Atsushi’s soul.
He draws his face once, twice, until he fills the whole page with Boss’ face.
“Who's that?”
Atsushi jerks up as Ranpo leans over his shoulder. He wants desperately to cover his drawings, but Ranpo has already grabbed the paper from Atsushi's hands. Blood rushes to his face as Ranpo stares at each scribble.
“That’s, um,” Atsushi squeaks, “that’s Boss.”
“Boss?”
“He’s, Headmaster said he’s one of the orphanage's benefactors.”
“Hmm, well, feel free to keep drawing him all you want, but I don't think Fukuzawa will be too happy if you submit your report like this.”
Ranpo hands the paper back to Atsushi and, to his horror, Atsushi confirms that it was one of the reports that was assigned to him.
“I'll fix it right away!”
But Ranpo just laughs and walks back to his desk.
Atsushi stares back down at his paper, not happy with his work, but a sense of pride still fills him.
Even if Boss doesn't visit him again, Atsushi will remember him.
And when he finds Boss again, he'll repay him for everything.
*
“Word on the street is that someone almost gunned down the boss of the Port Mafia.”
Atsushi and Kunikida have just walked back to their dorms after finishing with a late night mission and, at Kunikida's insistence, its corresponding paperwork.
It's nearing midnight now, and Atsushi usually wouldn't mind, but having been badgered into doing the majority of Ranpo's paperwork for the last week in exchange for his silence, Atsushi can feel his stamina depleting rapidly.
He's kind of regretting giving those days off to Junichiro now, too.
Atsushi would love to go inside and curl into his futon and pass out, but Kunikida's hand pushes Atsushi's door open the moment he unlocks it. He shoulders his way inside, grabbing a chair from Atsushi’s table and firmly sits himself down.
Shit.
“And,” Kunikida speaks up again, apparently unhappy with Atsushi's lack of response, “they would have killed him too, if they hadn't used a sniper rifle with a bullet created by an ability.”
“Is that so?” Atsushi hums out.
“It is so.”
Atsushi sighs, flicking on the lights before grabbing the barley tea from his fridge, pouring them both a glass. He hands one to Kunikida before pulling some crackers out of his cabinet.
“Isn't it strange that someone I know just had help with custom-designing a sniper rifle with ability bullets. A man with excellent aim, too.”
Atsushi sets the bowl of crackers in the middle of the table before also sitting down. Kunikida examines the crackers before nodding in approval and taking a few.
“You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you, Atsushi?”
Atsushi sighs again as Kunikida chews, slow and deliberate, but there's no point in trying to wear Atsushi down. He can't get away with lying to Kunikida; he knows Atsushi too well. He joined the Agency shortly after Atsushi–he's seen Atsushi grow into himself, becoming a competent detective and a confident person.
And he knows what Atsushi is capable of.
“It was me.”
Kunikida stares at him, then groans, pinches fingers to his brow, and sets his head down on the table with a light thud.
Yikes.
“He's dangerous, Atsushi.” It's mumbled, being spoken into his wooden table, but Atsushi hears him well enough.
“I know.”
And he does know. He's known it since the moment his eyes fell on the picture stapled to a recent report. It was blurry and dark, but it’s the same face he’s been drawing every single day for four years now.
It was Boss.
He had been so taken aback, staring at the picture of a man, slightly older since he's last seen him, with still-tired eyes and a firm-set frown. He stares until he thinks to read the report. Was Boss a victim, or a witness, or–
Osamu Dazai.
That was the name listed.
And Atsushi knows that name.
His Boss was the Port Mafia boss.
A man practically unheard of, let alone seen, but deadly infamous. His crimes are nearly non-existent, but rumors surround him nonetheless. He usually relies on his subordinates and executives for the day-to-day functions of the Mafia, but recently he's become more active. Regarding what, though, neither the government nor the Agency has figured out yet.
Kunikida looks up at him again.
“Even President treads carefully when it regards the Port Mafia. That man's hostile takeover from the last boss–”
“Was exceedingly violent,” Atsushi cuts in. “I know. I read the report.”
Kunikida places his face in his hands and sighs.
“And you tried to kill him for what reason, exactly?”
At this, Atsushi blinks.
“I wasn't, uhh…” He shifts in his chair, embarrassed. It sounds pretty fucking stupid saying it outloud now, but Kunikida looks at him, fingers partway covering his eyes in…frustration or uncertainty or whatever emotion Atsushi doesn't have the energy to guess at right now.
So he just mutters, “I wasn't trying to kill him. I was trying to get his attention,” and waits for Kunikida’s reaction.
Kunikida stares.
And stares some more.
And stares longer until Atsushi squeaks out, “Can you please just say something?”
“Are you fucking stupid?”
“I know!” Atsushi slams his hands down on the table, hard enough to shake their cups and startle Kunikida. “And he hasn't even responded!”
“Re–, responded?” Kunkida asks.
“Yes! To my note that I had stuck inside with the bullet. Do you know how long I agonized over what to write? Days! And nothing!” Atsushi has stood up by now, tossing his hands into the air, and maybe he's being a little dramatic, but still.
He turns, darting to his bookcases, and grabs several books from their shelves.
“Look at these,” he says, placing them in front of Kunikida and flipping them open to show the ink tidily written on each inside cover.
Kunikida looks down and reads out:
“To your new beginnings…Your aim is atrocious, learn from this…This one has a weird ending, I didn't really like it…I hate dogs, but luckily it dies in the first chapter…Aren't you glad tigers love to swim?” Kunikida looks back up at him. “Atsushi, what the hell is all of this?”
“Every single one of these,” Atsushi says, pointing to his bookcases, all neatly filled with a variety of writing–manuals, novels, text books, print-outs–“are all from Boss, from Dazai. I knew he's been keeping an eye on me, his notes are usually related to something that happens, like the last one when I had slipped off a bridge and fell into the river while chasing a suspect!”
Atsushi starts pacing now, kitchen to table to book cases and back, all of his emotions from the last few weeks, the last few years, crescendoing.
“For four years, I've tried to find him. I've done everything, Kunikida! I've investigated the mail routes and interrogated them enough times to get a temporary ban. President even had to accompany me when I wanted to apologize! There's been no other leads! Headmaster won't say anything no matter how much I beg! That picture, that report, that was the first solid answer I've ever been able to find!”
He can't help how fast his words are rushing out of him now, overwhelming him until he can't even breathe. He stops, hiccuping as he tries to catch his breath again, rubbing at the tears racing down his cheeks.
He doesn't hear Kunikida stand until he's right next to him, looping an arm around his neck to pull him in tight.
“Slow your breathing, kid.”
He lays his head against Kunikida's chest, focusing in on his heartbeat, trying to match his breathing to Kunikida's, just like he was taught years ago.
He doesn't know how long they stand there, but Kunikida doesn't move until Atsushi's tears subside.
“Sorry I called you stupid,” Kunikida says, but Atsushi just laughs.
“Well, sorry for being stupid.” Atsushi pulls back, wiping what he can from his face, before grimacing at Kunikida's vest. “Sorry about that, too.”
Kunikida just shakes his head.
“I would have never guessed that the man you obsessively draw on every single report is the Osamu Dazai.”
Atsushi huffs, “Are my artistic skills really that bad?”
“Better than your math, at least.” Kunikida sighs and then stifles a yawn. “It's late, and we both have work tomorrow.”
Kunikida heads to Atsushi's door, letting himself out, but pauses, turning back to face Atsushi.
“Whatever happens next, don't get hurt,” he says, reaching up to ruffle Atsushi's hair, “or die.”
Okay, okay,” Atsushi says, knocking Kunikida's hand away. “But, one more.”
“One more what?”
Atsushi strikes before Kunikida can move, wrapping his arms around his back and pushing in for another hug.
Kunkida grumbles, but relents, returning the hug until Atsushi gives a final squeeze.
“Thanks for looking out for me.”
Kunikida rolls his eyes as he walks away. “Someone has to.”
Atsushi watches as Kunkida enters his own dorm before closing his door.
He looks at the books still scattered across his table and gathers them up, placing them back onto their shelves.
He runs his fingers across the other books, the ones he didn't want to show Kunikida. The ones that feel too personal, too vulnerable.
He grabs one book, flipping open the cover and reads, ‘My friend wanted to be a writer before he was killed. I always wonder what stories he would have written.’
And another book, ‘Most days I want to die. I've lost count of how many times I've tried, and failed. What do you think keeps me here?’
And another, ‘Stop pitying yourself. Pity yourself, and life becomes an endless nightmare.’
He wants so badly to actually have a conversation with Boss, to share his own thoughts, to reassure him, to cradle that tired face in his hands and, no, stop, not right now…
What he wants to do the most is to offer Boss some kind of hope, any kind of hope, just like he gave Atsushi all those years ago.
Atsushi shelves the final book. He can't pity himself. If Boss didn't get his note, or even if he got it and chose to ignore it, Atsushi won't let that stop him.
He'll find a way to talk to Boss, he just has to try again.