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Faintly, Atsushi can see the crowd forming down on the ground. Some snap pictures. Some call for help. Some simply ogle at his displayed body.
Atsushi can’t even remember how he ended up in this position. He was fighting this man, this odd man, who wouldn’t stop insisting on Atsushi’s repentance. The words were horrifying to hear, Atsushi’s been trying to seperate himself from his religious upbringing ever since he left the orphanage.
But clearly, his sins will follow him everywhere he goes.
His hands ache from where they’ve been nailed into the tall cross, and the tight rope binding his ankles rubs and agitates his fragile skin, but he’s unable to move entirely. And even if he were to free himself somehow, even in his weak state, he’d still have to fall the atleast fifteen foot drop to the hard concrete ground, and his ability isn’t working, he’s probably way too weak for it.
He always thought that when the headmaster said he’d be crucified for his sins, that it was a metaphor. But here he is, hung up like Jesus himself. Maybe if the headmaster were still alive, Atsushi would be able to blame this on him.
But no, this is all his fault. If he weren’t so weak, so sinful, then he wouldn’t be here.
He deserves it, really. He’s sinned so much in his life that this feels like the only appropriate punishment. He’s betrayed God repeatedly, with his selfish ways. His ugly desperation to live, even when he doesn’t deserve it. His filthy, disgusting queerness. His… love, for Akutagawa.
His body screams to be let down, to stop the pain and suffering and the humiliation of the civilians ogling his strung up body. But his mind knows better than to ask for freedom. He doesn’t deserve it. Dirty sinners like him don’t deserve peace.
Blinking his eyes open, Atsushi notices someone just behind the crowd, standing frozen and shocked at the graphic, flamboyant display of real life crucifixion. Even with his blurry eyesight, Atsushi knows that it’s Akutagawa, as the older man scrambles for his phone and frantically yells at someone over the line.
Atsushi really hopes it’s not Dazai. He doesn’t think he could handle the way the man would look at him, knowing Atsushi deserves this. He’d be so disgusted at the sight of his subordinates sins so blatant. Even worse, if Kyouka were to show up. She’d lose all respect for him immediately, knowing how devilish he is.
As Akutagawa pushes through the crowd, people gasp and yell at his brashness, but Atsushi’s in too much pain to care. “Jinko!” He hears, muffled through the static in his ears, but that oh so familiar calms him, in a way, though it sickens him to acknowledge it. That voice is like a warm blanket in a blizzard, and he’s stuck with the aching need to be embraced by the mafioso, just to be close to home and feel comforted for once.
The voice is fuzzy, but Atsushi manages to make out panicked, trembling, half cognitive rambles. “The weretiger! He’s- He’s been crucified. Honest to god, crucified..! Please, he’s by Yokohama Bay, I-I don’t know what to do..!”
How odd, Atsushi thinks. Those words are so unlike Akutagawa. First off, he doesn’t know why he even cares, nevermind why he’s so panicked. And for the whole, ‘I don’t know what to do’, it sounds so weak, so helpless. The Akutagawa that Atsushi knows would sooner cut off his own arms than confess incompetence.
Atsushi is unsure how long he’s up there for, until the agency’s car speeds to a screeching stop infront of the crowd, before Kunikida, Dazai, Yosano and Kyouka practically dive out and sprint over to the towering cross. Childlike cries come from Kyouka, breaking Atsushi’s retched heart entirely. She shouldn’t see him like this. She’s a strong girl, but Atsushi knows this’ll leave her unable to sleep for weeks, like after the Moby Dick. He feels so, so pathetic.
“Okay, okay. Kunikida, you wait at the bottom, you’ll need to catch him. I’ll climb up and take out the nails.” Dazai says.
“Wh- No, i can just use Rashomon to remove them! Why waste time climbing up like that?” Akutagawa interjects, voice angry and trembling.
“Because he’s got open wounds with rusty nails in them, Akutagawa. You’re far too reckless to take them out carefully enough. You’ve done your part, now stand back.” Snaps Dazai, his voice ever so cold.
Akin to a frustrated child, Akutagawa refuses. “No! Atleast let me catch him! I-I’ll use Rashomon, that way there’s no chance of him falling to the ground.” Atsushis immediately shocked at Akutagawa’s nerves, standing up to Dazai.
“…Fine.” Dazai grunts, storming off to begin his treck up the cross. He doesn’t grunt, or pant, simply climbing and climbing until he’s right beside his subordinate, strung up like a puppet, exhausted and hurt and looking near dead.
Dazai doesn’t waste a second before pulling a sharp pocket knife from his trousers and swiftly slicing through each string of rope tying his feet to the holy wood.
When Atsushi gains movement of his legs back, he doesn’t do anything. He just lets them dangle aimlessly, too tired to move, too tired to do anything at all except hope that it’s almost over.
Sharp pain singes Atsushi’s palms, forcing a small, weak whimper from his throat. “I know, I know.” Dazai soothes, sounding strangled, and a little bit furious as he yanks the rest of the nails from Atsushi’s left palm, before climbing over to the other side and repeating himself.
And then, he’s falling. Like Lucifer falling down from heaven into hell, right where he belongs. Just like Atsushi.
The drop last only seconds, but he feels like he’s flying for years, suspended in the moment. And the moment he land in the blanket of Rashomon, he knows he’s safe. Such a sharp contrast to the way he used to view that ability, and the man who possesses it. It was once something that haunted his dreams, something to watch for when trekking through alleys and dark corners.
Now, Atsushi knows better than to assume it’ll hurt him. Now, it just feels like home.
In mere seconds, Kunikida is scooping him out of the fabric and holding Atsushi close to his chest in a bridal carry, too wary of Akutagawa to trust him with such a fragile boy, in such a delicate state.
Blinding light flashes in Atsushi’s eyes as Yosano blares a small flashlight into them, analysing every piece of his body that’s either slashed and bruised from the initial fight, or burned from ropes and punctured by nails. The look on her face, urgent and slightly scared, tells Atsushi that his injuries don’t look great.
“We’re wasting time here. We need to go back to the agency now.” Dazai grunts, sparing a glance to Akutagawa as he tries to get a look at Atsushi.
“Please, please can we hurry up, i want him to be okay.” Kyouka sobs.
Through grunts and arguments, as Atsushi is laid across Kyouka and Yosano in the back of the car, he catches the eye of Akutagawa, still frozen as he watches Atsushi be prepared to be taken away.
And somehow, Atsushi manages to force his cracked lips into a soft, grateful smile.
And through the pain and exhaustion, Atsushi managed to mouth three words. Three soft, intimate words, that leave Akutagawa gasping, blushing and mouthing right back.