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“The flower that blooms in adversity is the most rare and beautiful of all.”
-- Fa Zhou, Mulan
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Atsushi felt exhausted and completely absorbed.
He was covered in sweat and dirt, gasping for air as he swung his claws aimlessly. He never considered himself much of a fighter, but in just this one sitting, he thought, he had fought harder than he ever had in his life.
How long had they been at this?
He didn’t know.
He lashed violently at Akutagawa, baring his teeth. Whether he had missed or not he wasn’t aware, but he was quickly snapped back into reality by the tendril spiraling up his leg, constricting around him. His heart lurched in his chest. The tendrils twisted and threw him up into the air, then held him there for a brief, terrifying moment, before slamming him back down again. Chunks of earth went flying on contact, rousing a thick cloud of dust.
Atsushi cried out.
His shoulders roared with pain, nerves shot. It felt like every inch of him was engulfed in white hot flame. He felt paralyzed. He felt gone.
He weakly shifted his body, trying to rise to his feet, but the oppressive pain that bloomed through his back forced him back down. He coughed and writhed. In his delirious state of exhaustion and agony, he felt it was the perfect moment to give up. He wanted badly to simply close his eyes and let this corporeal feat melt away. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He shakily pitched himself onto his elbow with a low, drawn out groan.
"Ughh..."
Just then, emerging from the encompassing dust, came the ruthless Akutagawa, eyes piercing the cloud with a thick, horrifying poison. His fangs flashed through the haze. He was oddly alluring in this way, looking almost canine--and utterly venomous. It was hard to think straight. The arms of rashomon spiraled hypnotically from his back like a spider, weaving their way towards Atsushi, cutting their way through the dust incisively.
Atsushi felt certain he was going to die. He wanted to beg or plead or cry out. But there was no time. The spider-like tendrils wrapped him from neck to knee, squeezing with a claustrophobic, suffocating pressure. He could not move or breathe in these confines. Atsushi desperately writhed, trying to wiggle himself from Akutagawa’s grasp.
In what he figured were his last moments, he saw a flash of Akutagawa’s eyes. They were thin and violent, red like two pools of freshly drawn blood. They were the kind of eyes that could eat you alive--incise you cannibalistically. He uttered a prayer under his breath, body taut with anticipation.
‘Maybe this is it,' he thought.
But as he writhed, eyes fixed to Akutagawa, he felt the grasp of the tendrils suddenly falter. The pressure got a little lighter. It no longer felt so crushing. Atsushi’s heart fluttered anxiously.
Was it possible Akutagawa was sparing him?
He looked to the ruthless mafioso, who now seemed to be folding in on himself. He was bent over, hands around his stomach, clenching his teeth as he began to cough. At first, his exhalations were mild and airy, like he just had something in his throat. But as time passed they grew more violent, characterizing themselves with a deep rattle in his chest. He doubled over, falling to his knees as he clutched at his torso. He coughed deeply--over and over.
The tendrils slowly released themselves from Atsushi, unequipped with the focus to keep him still anymore.
Atsushi watched with deep confusion as the violent coughing fit shook Akutagawa’s frame. His back spasmed convulsively with every hack, as if something awful was exercising its way out of him. It was pitiful, almost.
He saw a brief glimpse of Akutagawa’s face, twisted in pain with a feverish glow dusting his cheeks. He looked like he might burn up from the inside out. Atsushi shifted towards Akutagwa, hesitantly extending a hand to his shoulder. Was it wrong for him to feel bad?
His fingers lightly brushed Akutagawa’s shoulder before Akutagzwa snapped his head back up again, looking as if he was going to snap back out of it and lunge again.
Atsushi jumped. But Akutagawa just bent back over and continued coughing, letting the tendrils fall. Thick spots of blood began to drip to the ground, making sickly wet sounds as they splashed. The blood was coming from his mouth.
Atsushi looked on in horror. Akutagawa’s face fumbled between determination and sorrowful submission as his lungs collapsed themselves. He desperately wiped the blood from the corners of his mouth, tainting the sleeves of his coat. He spat a few more bright drops of blood before stabilizing himself again, huffing weakly with slow, ragged breaths. His forehead was moist with sweat.
“...Akutagawa?”
“...Jinko,” he sneered.
“Akutagawa-- are you okay?”
Akutagawa grimaced wickedly, attempting to straighten himself out.
“Don’t pity me, weretiger. Fight back!”
Atsushi flinched as Akutagawa tried to use rashomon again, instinctively drawing his claws and baring them fiercely. But when Akutagawa folded over again, clutching his chest and groaning, Atsushi felt he could relax.
What was happening? Was he ill? Did Atsushi injure him?
Not that he should care, since he injured Atsushi. But Akutagawa looked weaker than Atsushi had ever seen him. It was a weird look on him; it didn’t really suit his face. Still, something seemed clearly wrong.
Atsushi still felt bitter about the fight -- Akutagawa had almost killed him! But coming off his high of adrenaline, Atsushi felt the usual goodness return to his heart. It was too much for his own good. He couldn’t help looking at Akutagawa this way.
"Akutagawa, we don’t have to do this. Why don’t you sit down?...”
Akutagawa glared at him, but was unable to muster his usual look of intimidation. The color had drained from his face.
“Are you trying to worm your way out of this, Jinko?”
His abdomen curled as another wave of weakness washed over him.
“No, it’s not like that, Aku! Well-- I mean, I would like to stop this, but--”
Akutagawa struck Atsushi across the face with his fist. Atsushi coiled back against the force and fell onto the back of his pelvis.
‘That’s gonna bruise,’ he thought.
His face stung. He suddenly felt wholly irritated.
“Akutagawa! I don’t want to fight!”
Akutagawa hurled another swing. Atsushi spat as he was knocked to the side again.
“You want me to lower my guard. I will not…”
Akutagawa was now shuffling on top of Atsushi as Atsushi attempted to block his swings. Akutagawa was clearly running out of steam, judging by the absence of his ability and crude use of his fists. He was still coughing intermittently, blood crusting in the cracks of his lips. What had come over him?
Atsushi swung back with one of his paws, hitting Akutagawa in the chest. He was knocked backward, and a cry of agony ripped from his throat. He fell to his knees, shaking and hacking. He began to form a small puddle of blood at his feet. He almost looked like he might throw up as his face flushed again, blooming with a feverish rose coloration.
Atsushi’s stupid heart began to feel bad again. He got up and dusted himself off.
“Aku…”
Akutagawa went from his knees to flat on the ground.
“Aku! You are really unwell!”
Akutagawa could not respond. He simply trembled as his body expelled more and more blood from its lungs.
Atsushi rushed to Akutagawa once again, knowing this time it was very unlikely he would try and fight back. He bent down to his level, biting his thumb in concern. Was Akutagawa dying? He sure looked like it. He looked like hell, in fact. Atsushi was completely unsure of what to do. The pain in his own body was still frying through his nerves. He needed someone else. He needed anyone else.
He cursed himself for wanting to help him after such a violent fight. It was just his sappy nature, he supposed.
He placed a hand on his forehead. It burned. He was trying to console Akutagawa, but in such a state it seemed futile.
“Aku, it’s ok, I’m going to get someone!...”
Akutagawa rolled on his side in agony. Atsushi placed his head on his lap, still keeping his hand on his forehead. This action was subconscious, almost as if he was trying to protect Akutagawa somehow. Of course, it would be of no actual use, but it felt so caring that Atsushi just couldn't let go.
“Jinko…” he croaked.
He was heaving, and his eyelids seemed to be weighing themselves down.
“I will get someone, Akutagawa!”
His head swayed on Atsushi’s lap, and his vision began to blur. The image of Atsushi looking down at him, dirty and beaten, swam through his eyes, distorting itself and becoming fuzzy. Had he always looked so delicate?
Akutagawa heaved, and with one final, weak cough, fainted on Atsushi’s lap.
“Akutagawa!” Atsushi cried, but he could not hear.
His world faded to an inky black as his mind withdrew.
Akutagawa was now unresponsive.
--
When he awoke, Akutagawa was lying in the infirmary, sandwiched between thin, light sheets and surrounded by a curtain of thick plastic. His head was foggy. Not many thoughts passed through his head other than a staunch confusion as to why he was here and what had happened. He groaned.
He could hear people talking distantly from behind the curtain. Their voices were muffled. One was rather high, probably a young woman, and the other was rather deep, probably a young man. He wanted either of them to come to his room right now and tell him what was happening.
They didn’t--not for a very long time. He waited what seemed like forever for someone to come see him. This was rather expected. Finally, however, a few pairs of footsteps seemed to get fairly loud outside his door, and he heard it open. A few people whispered to each other, saying things he could not make out, but that had an air of desperation to them. He wanted to know what they were saying, like a highschool girl wanting to feel ‘in’ on the latest gossip.
Eventually walked in Atsushi Nakajima, bandaged around his neck and shoulders, and now looking fairly clean. He was not wearing a hospital gown like Akutagawa was--just his normal attire. His face looked uncertain and careful. He greeted him with a small smile. Akutagawa’s eyes ran over the large bruise that had bloomed over his right cheek. It was dark and inky from when Akutagawa had punched him so hard. He suddenly felt awkward looking at Atsushi’s face.
“Hey, Akutagawa…”
Atsushi waved shyly.
“Jinko, what have you done with me?”
Atsushi’s brow furrowed. He paused at the question.
“Why, I haven’t done anything?”
Akutagawa’s face went back to a grimace. This was his usual look, as it happened.
“You put me here,” he said, sounding accusatory.
“I did,” Atsushi retorted. “You were coughing up a whole lot of blood, remember? I talked to a few of the nurses once I was patched up, but they could only give me a surface level explanation for your privacy. But what they told me was…” He suddenly trailed off, not wanting to complete his sentence.
Akutagawa went cold. Did he know? God, what was there to hide anymore…
“So you know, then, do you?” Akutagawa sighed. “I knew someone would find out eventually.”
His voice was dead and flat, lacking the venom that is usually harbored. Atsushi’s heart twisted at this statement.
“So you are ill! Akutagawa, why didn’t you tell me?”
Atsushi’s voice was high and pleading.
“I didn’t tell anyone, weretiger. Why would I? It is a weakness to be exploited, that’s all.”
He weakly turned his head to the side as he talked, averting the weretiger’s eyes. Those words felt like glass in Atsushi’s heart. He wondered how he could keep something so awful from him.
“Aku, no. You need to tell people so you can get hel--”
“What do you think Dazai would think of this, Atsushi?” He used his name. “What happened in battle with you would have cost me my life against anyone else. And if it didn’t kill me, it would humiliate me. You’re kind, weretiger--sickeningly so, but this is a weakness that I cannot go around flaunting. Do not suggest otherwise.”
Atsushi sighed. He walked over to the side of Akutagawa’s bed, the side Akutagawa had turned his head towards. When he positioned himself in this way, Akutagawa avoided eye contact once more by turning his head the other way. Even so, Atsushi caught a glimpse of his face. He looked slightly teary eyed. Maybe it was just the light, but he looked upset, certainly.
Atsushi rested his hand on Akutagawa’s chest, a gesture that felt all too intimate. It made Akutagawa flinch. He wanted to snarl at him or hit his hand away, but he just couldn’t bring himself to. It felt nice, and Akutagawa was starting to feel bad for attacking him so relentlessly. That’s part of why he didn’t meet his eyes when he felt Atsushi staring— he knew it would twist his heart strings around.
“I know you don’t consider me a friend, Akutagawa, but I know now. So if there’s anything you ever need from me, I’ll be here. And if there’s anything you ever want me to do for you, I’ll be here. And if you ever want to confide in someone, I’ll be here. I have never seen you as weak—hell, you almost killed me, how could I? But even if you don’t feel very strong, I can always help pick you back up again…if you’d let me. I sort of like you, Akutagawa.”
The speech was so sweet Akutagawa thought he was going to get cavities—or throw up. He grimaced in disgust, but underneath it all, something in his heart softened. It was warm in his chest—not from pain, but from something much kinder. It was intimate.
“I sort of like you too, Atsushi,” he said in a volume so low that it could barely be heard.
He coughed a few more times into his hands, and Atsushi smiled.
Suddenly, Atsushi’s ears pricked up at voices speaking behind the wall, and he disappeared behind the plastic curtain.
Before he did, however, he flashed a tender, boyish smile to Akutagawa, eyes bright with something indescribable and youthful.
It made Akutagawa’s chest heave with affection. It gave Akutagawa a sense of hope. This boy had suddenly had him wondering if under all his violence and flaws, there was maybe something softer to be had. It felt good. Really good.
Akutagawa’s eyelids slipped shut as he inhaled a shaky breath, and as the time passed, he was slowly lulled to sleep by the sounds of people passing. He was peaceful for once. He wasn’t fighting or grappling for Dazai’s approval. He was just sitting with himself and Atsushi’s words.
‘Such kind words,’ he thought to himself.
He drifted off sweetly into a deep, placid slumber, and his leaden bones suddenly felt just a bit lighter within him.