Chapter Text
"Come on, man- sir- just once-"
The loud voice of Tachihara was cut off by the blade pressed to his throat. He glared daggers at Gin, who stared back at him coolly, dark grey eyes icy and unreadable, the sharp, cool edge of her blade never wavering. Tachihara's hand instinctively went for his gun - if Gin wanted to pick a fight so bad, she could have one - before Hirotsu- san's voice cut through like a knife.
"Do you two really intend to begin a fight? Now, of all times?"
They both froze. Gin's knife slowly lowered.Tachihara's hand dropped limply to his side.
Neither of them were foolish or disrespectful enough to aggravate Hirotsu-san, who already tired of their bickering on a daily basis. It hadn't improved much once Tachihara had learnt that Gin was, in fact, a girl, and Akutagawa's younger sister at that.
Akutagawa's! Their brooding, terrifying superior! The man he just about managed to pester without meeting death! (Although he came very close at times).
No wonder Gin had always looked torn between disdain and amusement whenever she heard him call Akutagawa-san "Aniki-san."
He had seen the resemblance after that, though. Same dark hair, obviously, even if Gin's were far longer and Akutagawa's side tips slowly faded to white at the end. Same dark eyes - though Gin's bordered on grey whilst Akutagawa's was such a pure black that it swallowed his pupils. Rather creepy. His eyes were wider and rounder too, almost doll-like, his skin an unhealthy shade of white compared to Gin's healthier pale shade.
So many things made sense after that. How willing Akutagawa was to berate him or Higuchi if they messed up, or even Hirotsu, the rare times when the older, respectable man actually managed to incur Akutagawa's wrath (which was saying something, Tachihara was sure Akutagawa held some respect for the man. He'd been here longer than everyone, probably even when Akutagawa wasn't the leader of the Port Mafia's Guerrilla Attack Force, and by extension, their superior. Now that was a strange mental image) but never seemed to lash out Gin or scold beyond a few sharp words or general scoldings for the entire group.
Hmph, of course the man exhibited favouritism for his younger sister.
....
......
It's not like Tachihara didn't try and call him Aniki-san and everytime was met with a glare so threatening he nearly never used it again.
....
......
He could never live up to Tachihara's late older brother, not that Tachihara ever imagined the thought. Why did he even bother?
The only thing it made him more wary of was antagonising Gin in Akutagawa's presence. The man was scary. Only an inch shorter than him, a year older than him, concerningly light and slight beneath his coat, but everything about him was terrifying, from his ability to his eyes. Tachihara just about walked the line where he managed to annoy the man without meeting death, but he didn't want to risk the chances when it came to Gin.
Speaking of Akutagawa, Tachihara chanced a glance at him.
Akutagawa, lost in thought, almost didn't notice the way the Black Lizard quietened and were watching him.
Tachihara gazed at him, confusion and something unnameable in his bronze eyes. Hirotsu's expression was unreadable, perhaps slightly perturbed but respectfully neutral. He knew Gin well enough to read the concern in her eyes despite her blank expression. And Higuchi, predictably, looked at him with wide, worried eyes, mouth already opening again.
They had just finished a successful mission. A rare one for Akutagawa (and sometimes Higuchi) to attend, he usually gave the orders without attending missions with them, more often sent on dangerous solo missions. The Black Lizard were the most competent, lethal, elite assault and assassination unit in the Mafia, after all. Hirotsu as their captain, Tachihara and Gin as their secondary commanders, all operating underneath him.
So why were they looking at him like that? He'd already issued the orders, they'd fought, been successful, and were heading back to the Port Mafia headquarters.
Higuchi, predictably, was the first one to speak. "Akutagawa-senpai! Are you alright?"
No survival instinct whatsoever.
"Obviously, Higuchi. Don't ask foolish questions." He responded curtly, looking ahead again. What was she asking that for?
"It's just...you didn't answer. We were talking about going out for drinks as a celebration." Her voice wavered, but she persisted, as usual.
Akutagawa's dry silence screamed "And?"
"You'll come too, right?" Tachihara spoke up next. "Come on, man- sir! You never join us!"
"No."
He was so, so tired. Night after night of no sleep, all work, and pushing himself had darkened his already bad circles under his eyes and lent a sharper edge to his already blunt tone. His lungs ached more than ever, forcing him into frequent cougning fits. He failed to recognise that his exhaustion was beginning to show, though.
He didn't notice the heavy silence that followed. The way the Black Lizard exchanged silent glances. The way Tachihara's brows furrowed, Hirotsu's eyes flickered, Gin's gaze did not waver, Higuchi's lips downturned.
Tachihara was the first to break the silence, chattering on about some nonsense he refused to comprehend. He walked slightly ahead, as usual, lost in his own thoughts.
He hadn't been....motivated, this mission. Every mission, every task taken on, was completed with ruthless efficiency, a drive and passion to become stronger. Someone worthy of living, worthy of acknowledgement from Dazai-san.
This time, he'd simply ripped apart the enemy silently. No monologue, no hoping for a strong foe, not a flicker of passion behind the movement. Just mechanical, brutal movements of Rashōmon without him bothering to take a single step. He knew the Black Lizard noticed - had seen them exchange glances, the way they watched him subtly afterwards.
And if he could feel that creeping numbness beginning to run through his veins again - the kind he hadn't felt in six years - then that was no one's business but his.
He could hear them behind him. Tachihara's voice going on - how he was so social was beyond him - Hirotsu's occasional replies, Gin most probably answering with her board instead of verbalising. Despite everyone now knowing her to be a girl, she retained the habit of not speaking much unless necessary. As for Higuchi, she was almost as talkative as Tachihara but too busy multitasking between talking to them and keeping up with him.
"Akutagawa-senpai...." Her voice faltered when the man didn't even deign to look at her.
Akutagawa wondered why she continued to persist all the time. His short temper and sharp, cold distance refused to push her away.
She was relatively competent, and that was all he cared about. But her presence annoyed him, how she insisted on running after him, bothering him, even asking about him and his health and worrying over him
Why would anyone in their right mind worry over him? A useless, weak man who was barely worthy of the oxygen he inhaled.
He didn't understand why Higuchi acted this way. Why she persisted even after he kept his distance, even after he'd be cold, curt and harsh. Even after she'd mess up and he'd berate her harshly, she'd apologise and persist.
Why?
They slowed at a side street, making one last effort to convince him.
"Come on, big bro! Join us for once!" Tachihara's voice was light and playfully whining, but there was an undertone of a plea there. Higuchi's eyes were just as pleading.
"We'd appreciate your presence, Akutagawa-kun."
Hirotsu's voice was neutral and pleasant, enough to not aggravate him. The older man was technically underneath him in rank, but Akutagawa didn't need him addressing him with the honorific 'san.' He never particularly cared what he was called - let alone by Hirotsu, who used to be technically superior to him when he was just Dazai-san's mentee and didn't hold the position as leader of the Port Mafia's Guerrilla Attack Force. The habit persisted of addressing him as "Akutagawa-kun." Akutagawa didn't care to be called anything else by the older man whom he found grudgingly respectable.
It was Gin's eyes that nearly won him over in the end - the silent plea and worry in them. He hated to see that look in her eyes, but he couldn't. Not this time.
Akutagawa gave a simple, short shake of his head, covering his mouth to cough, and continued onwards, leaving them there. Higuchi made to go after him, but Tachihara caught her arm and pulled her back.
"Leave it, Nee-san."
"But Akutagawa-senpai-"
"You can't run after him everytime he's in a mood." His tone was resigned. "He'll blow up on you. Give him some space."
Despite Tachihara's flippant words to describe Akutagawa as merely 'being in a mood', he was beginning to worry too.
Akutagawa worked late into the night, uncaring of how the sky had darkened outside the window, how the words on the page were beginning to blur as his body, habitual of sleep-deprivation, was beginning to tire after five nights of no sleep. Even if he often went nights with little sleep, he'd at least get a fitful two or three hours, contributing to the permanent dark circles under his eyes that no one had ever seen him without.
He was glad that Chuuya-san was away for a mission this week, otherwise his superior would have certainly noticed by now and barged in to force a break upon him.
Akutagawa's pen wavered, every inch of his body aching. He should rest. He knew his body required it. Even he didn't usually push himself so brutally without an ounce of sleep or sustenance.
He couldn't bear to go home, though. To go home would be to lie in the dark with nothing but his spiralling thoughts.
....
.......
What was the point?
Why did he sit here, filling out paperwork? A menial task he usually disliked - fighting was his preferred forte, the only thing he could sit still for was reading a book.
Because it was part of his duty as a Port Mafia member, a particularly high-ranked one.
He had money. Rank. Answerable only to the Five Executives and the Boss himself. He was brutal, efficient, sent on solo missions given by the Boss himself when needed. His job gave him a handsome pay - he was no longer a struggling orphan desperately fighting for his and his group's survival.
Yet he was beginning to feel achingly like that lost, numb orphan again.
At least when he had his group - the eight of them alone in the world, orphans fighting for survival - he had purpose. The cruelty and unfairness of life beat him everyday, but even through the worst of fights, the worst of adult beatings, the most horrific experiences, he managed to drag himself up. His group - his sister - would not survive without him. He was their leader, the ability user feared throughout the slums.
....
His group was dead. Mercilessly slaughtered when he was fourteen. If he had not met Dazai-san that night, he would have surrendered himself to revenge, despite his younger sister's pleas, the only survivor besides himself.
Dazai-san's acknowledgement was his reason to live, the drive that forced him to keep going, that brought passion and emotion into his actions.
Yet all was for naught, it began to seem.
Akutagawa was not as blinded when it came to Dazai as people thought. He knew. He knew the man used Akutagawa's need against him when necessary. The man - the boy he had been, only two years older than Akutagawa but so much older and sharper than his years - had been harsh, brutal and efficient. Yet it had sharpened Akutagawa, made him stronger. He had never detected true sadism in his actions, only efficiency.
But would Dazai-san ever grant him his acknowledgement?
Akutagawa didn't think so. Not anymore.
He had a new, shiny toy now. The weretiger. The fool who had just as tragic of a past but a purer heart, yet was habitual of wallowing in self-pity despite being gifted with connections, ability, Dazai-san's approval.
Akutagawa understood all too well the way the past could weigh one down - he would be hypocritical not to admit to himself that he was just as hung up on Dazai - but the fact that the weretiger persisted in doing so even in better conditions now infuriated him.
He had connections. Friends. A job that cared, people who cared, an enormously useful ability and healing.
Akutagawa was a lone survivor, clinging on to a thread of a man's acknowledgement that didn't seem to ever come, cursed with a lung disease that would soon kill him and a frail body.
Yet Dazai-san had chosen the weretiger over him, and made it clear at every turn.
Why bother to go on?
He would never earn Dazai-san's acknowledgement, and by extension, any purpose. Everything about his existence was meaningless.
He had no one clinging on to him for survival anymore- Gin was happy now, stable. A job that paid her well, an easy camaraderie with her coworkers that he'd begun to pay attention to.
If he was gone, she'd live. He hated the thought of her mourning, but surely she'd get past it.
The Port Mafia would lose a valuable member, but he was sure that he could be replaced. Akutagawa was known to be cold, blunt, with his short temper and shorter tolerance for any sort of incompetence.
Who would ever miss him?
Gin would move on. Higuchi could take over his role. The Black Lizard would be fine. Chuuya-san did get far more involved than needed in his life, but the man would be fine.
So if he died, everything would be fine. His pain would stop. He wouldn't be cursed to slowly lose his strength, until he was bed-ridden and weak and helpless as his lung disease took him. He didn't have long, after all. Less than a year.
Akutagawa refused to succumb to it in such a humiliating manner.
And besides, there lay no reason or purpose in continuing his cursed existence, the one that gave him nothing and only brought misery and unfortunate.
So perhaps....perhaps he ought to-
A knock broke him out of his thoughts. He hadn't realised when his pen had fallen from his fingers, when his head had lowered, how long he'd been immobile.
He called out a curt acknowledgement and the person entered.
It was Hirotsu.
The man bowed his head respectfully, holding a sheaf of documents. The earlier drinking bout he'd gone on seemed to have had no effect on him.
"These require your signature."
Akutagawa didn't react outwardly as the man approached, but internally he wondered.
Hirotsu could have easily sent a subordinate to him with the papers, why come personally?
He dismissed the thought and picked up his fallen pen, quickly signing where needed.
"Thank you."
Hirotsu stepped away, keeping a respectful distance, but he lingered a moment too long. Akutagawa's dark eyes raised to him, meeting them sharply.
He wasn't sure why it caused Hirotsu's brows to lower slightly. The man's words came out normal enough.
"Akutagawa-kun." He lowered his head slightly. "Forgive me, but you seem...unwell."
Akutagawa's initial reaction was to make a sharp, cutting comment, or tell the man to mind his own business, as he would have done with anyone else.
But he just about held himself in check. He did hold a modicum of respect for the veteran- most in the Mafia did. Hirotsu was respectable, efficient, composed, brutal when required and never more.
"I am perfectly well." Akutagawa answered flatly.
Hirotsu didn't comment on the obvious lie. He simply nodded, brows still lowered a tad, and turned to leave.
He paused at the door, hand on the doorknob, and said quietly "It is late. I hope you will rest soon."
Akutagawa didn't have time to respond before the man was gone. He stared at the door for a moment, watching it close behind him.
As Hirotsu walked away, he felt a familiar sinking sensation.
He was a veteran of the Port Mafia. He was efficient. He'd seen many come and go. He'd watched the former Boss's descent into madness, watched him fall and the rise of Mori Ougai, a sharp man whose genius mind kept the Port Mafia running.
He'd watched Kouyou flourish from a young, desperate girl to a cynical, graceful woman. He'd watched Chuuya grow from a short-tempered, hot fifteen year old to the refined but blunt man he was today. He'd watched Dazai defect from a teenager with dark eyes and a darker smile to a man whose eyes held a lighter gleam, even if that genius mind remained the same.
He hadn't watched Akutagawa change much.
Akutagawa had grown taller - a small, malnourished boy to a taller but still thin man. He'd grown somewhat more rational and less impulsive, even if his emotions still drove much of his action. But he remained stubborn, pushing everyone away and pushing himself to his absolute limits
But throughout the six years Hirotsu had known him, he had never seen the boy - or man he was now, but compared to Hirotsu the twenty year old felt like just a boy - look so....he'd never seen the boy's eyes deaden so much.
Akutagawa's eyes were always dark. Pure black, indistinguishable from his pupils. In all his time, Hirotsu had never seen eyes so gone. Even Dazai-kun's eyes had never been so dark - they had been empty once, reminiscent of a demon, whilst Akutagawa's eyes managed to be simultaneously voids yet overflow with emotion, with drive, with passion.
But now, those eyes were deadening in a lost, hopeless way that Hirotsu recognised and did not want to see.
When Akutagawa left, it was nearly two in the morning.
He walked the streets, eyes tracking the sky. A clear canopy of ink with twinkling silver stars, moonlight casting a soft glow over the port, the silence broken only by his occasion harsh coughing fit.
It was peaceful. It was, once, a sight he would have quietly appreciated in a life full of bloodshed in violence.
Yet now, even this could bring him no real pleasure. He wished to become one with the feeling. To end. To be nothing.
He couldn't allow himself to die such a pathetic death by his lung disease. Nor did he wish for an enemy to kill him, to boast that they had taken down the Port Mafia's Hellhound, the Ability User of Destruction and Despair. And he could not bear to continue, to live, no purpose or reason in the world. It was unbearable.
Such an intimidating title for such a pathetic man.
No, if he were to die now, it must be by his own two hands.
Akutagawa felt nothing at the decision. Suicide was Dazai-san's thing, usually. The irony of him succeeding before his mentor - no, former mentor, he corrected himself - was palpable.
He was Akutagawa Ryūnosuke, and he would end himself soon. He wasn't sure when or how, but he knew in his heart that it would happen.
When he stepped through his apartment, he knew instantly that Gin had been waiting.
His footsteps were near silent as he entered the living room. Gin was sat on the couch, her head lolled back, fast asleep. Her lethal assassin senses should have altered her instantly to the second presence (even if he moved virtually silently when he wanted to, holding his breath to hold back his coughs), but she was out cold. She looked - Akutagawa realised - more tired than usual, even after a drink or two.
The moonlight cast an ethereal glow over her features. The mask had been removed, revealing soft features, so akin to his but more delicate. The dark eyes closed in sleep, long lashes resting against her flushed cheeks - effects of the earlier drinking, even if Gin rarely allowed herself to get truly drunk- soft lips slightly parted. The lovely curve of her sweet face, so young to be the Mafia's most lethal assassin.
Akutagawa watched her and felt a strange, aching twist in his chest, somewhere where most feelings had died, but not for her.
Gin. His younger sister by two years. His delicate, sweet sister who had grown into such a silent, lethal assassin. He was proud of her - he truly was - but he had failed her. He'd had no choice but to bring her with him into the Port Mafia. She'd flourished - always begging him to allow her to help him out more, him refusing because she was too weak, too liable to become injured - yet Akutagawa could not help but wish he could have somehow given her a better life, a more normal one.
But she was fine now. She had the Black Lizard. She had her job. She had money, a roof over her head, food - all the things he used to fight for to bring her.
She'd be fine without him.
His feet carried him off before his mind caught up - taking a blanket from her room and draping it around her shoulders, his hands hesitating before gently positioning her head in a way where it wouldn't cause her neck to ache the next morning.
Her eyes fluttered open, drowsier than usual. Akutagawa concluded that she had definitely gotten tipsy, even if not outright drunk, otherwise her senses were much sharper usually.
His pale fingers lingered as they brushed a stray strand of dark hair away from her face, and her hand came clumsily up to press it against her face.
"Nii-san...." Her voice was groggy, only half conscious.
Akutagawa stilled for a moment. After they had joined the Port Mafia, quiet moments alone between the two had become much rarer.
Gin's eyes were half open, but watching him with drowsy concern. He let out a quiet "hmm?", not drawing his trapped hand away yet.
"You don't....look okay....like...back when we...in the slums...." Her words were mumbled, but Akutagawa understood what she meant - only she could know how he used to look like, how horrifyingly dead his eyes used to be, what a numb, emotionless beast of a boy he had been.
In response, he allowed his knuckles to brush her cheek - an achingly tender gesture he hadn't made in a long time, only once or twice when she'd been seized by the throes of illness and in danger of death - and pulled his hand away gently.
"Go to sleep, Gin."
She wanted to persist, Akutagawa knew, but the drowsiness was pulling her under, and her eyes slid shut again, lashes settling against her cheek.
He withdrew silently to his room, prepared for another sleepless night.