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Atsushi’s just showered when a quiet knock comes at his door, his sensitive hearing picking it up even over the noise of the rain outside.
He’s still fumbling to do up his pyjama shirt’s buttons with one hand as he opens the door, but stops as the light from his apartment falls on his visitor.
“Ryu—A-akutagawa?”
Akutagawa is standing on his doorstep, wet hair sticking to his forehead and resembling a drowned cat so closely that Atsushi has to hold back a fond snicker. His coat is damp, too, and the longer Atsushi looks at him the more he realises how much paler than usual Akutagawa looks.
“Atsushi—,” Akutagawa starts, and his voice is little over a thin rasp. “I wanted to… to see you—”
He breaks off to cough into his hand, and Atsushi notices he sways a little on his feet, pitching forward slightly with the force of it.
Before it can turn into a full-blown fall, Atsushi steps forward to steady him. At the same time, Rashomon reaches for the walls on either side, as if on reflex, and Atsushi sees the dark tendrils waver and then fade to nothing as he gently catches Akutagawa by the arms.
Akutagawa isn’t used to being cared for by anyone but himself. It shows on his face, in his weary dark eyes and in the way his brow creases in confusion as he registers Atsushi’s hold. The reaction is uncharacteristically delayed, and the quiet breaths Akutagawa gives have a rough drag to them.
One of his sick spells, then. Atsushi doubts Akutagawa has ever been truly well in his life, with how frequently bouts of illness like this seem to hit him. Even on his good days, Atsushi itches to fill his pockets with menthols for that cough of his.
Atsushi’s hands are careful on Akutagawa’s arms, and when he moves them it’s only to trace his fingers up to Akutagawa’s chin, and brush the long pieces of hair back from his face. He and Akutagawa are still learning the whole relationship thing, but Atsushi is fairly certain he knows how to handle this situation at least.
His touch lingers on Akutagawa’s jaw as he asks, “Tea?”
Akutagawa’s cheeks colour a little at the closeness he’s still unused to, but he nods and murmurs, “Please.”
Tentatively, he lifts his own hand to place it over where Atsushi’s rests on his face, unable to completely still the shaking of his fingers. Atsushi knows Akutagawa’s not used to this, to showing affection. But he’s trying, and every time he does Atsushi feels something in his chest twist in a way that’s not exactly unpleasant. For his own part, Atsushi is much the same, if a little bolder in his actions. Right now his focus is being consumed by the soft part of Akutagawa’s lips, and by how he could stretch up onto his toes and press his own mouth to them, if he wanted to.
And then Akutagawa turns away sharply, another coughing fit wracking his body. His thin frame shivers a little with the breeze blowing in through the still-open door behind him, and Atsushi firmly puts kissing aside for now, at least until Akutagawa is properly warm and dry. He tugs Akutagawa further into the entryway with one hand and presses the door shut behind him with the other.
“Come on,” Atsushi says, with a gentle squeeze to Akutagawa’s hand once his coughs have eased. “I’ll put the tea on.” He’s turning to head towards the kitchen when he realises Akutagawa hasn’t let go of him.
“Wait.”
Atsushi turns back to face him, quirking an eyebrow, and is met with the quick press of Akutagawa’s lips to his own cheek. It’s brief, and Akutagawa’s skin has yet to warm up since being outside, but Atsushi feels his own face heat with the contact.
“I— I missed you,” Akutagawa mumbles, suddenly very absorbed in toeing off his shoes. He looks just as surprised at himself as Atsushi feels.
“I missed you too,” Atsushi says softly, unable to stop the smile breaking over his face as he forces himself to turn away for real this time and head down the hall to the kitchen. There’s a warm, bright spot humming deep in his chest the whole time he busies himself finding mugs and putting the water on to boil, and it spreads further through him with the sound of Akutagawa’s footsteps entering the room.
When Atsushi turns away from the stove Akutagawa is standing in the middle of the kitchen like he’s not sure what to do with himself. His fingers keep twisting and untwisting in the frilled cuffs of his shirt, the same as the other handful of times he’s been here since the beginning of first their professional partnership and then later, their less professional one.
Atsushi suppresses a fond sigh, because Akutagawa’s nervousness is sort of adorable, even if his coat is currently dripping onto the floor.
“Ryuu?” Atsushi asks, stepping up to Akutagawa and brushing his fingers over the damp fabric of his cravat. Akutagawa’s eyes widen a bit at the touch and the name, but his right hand almost automatically comes to rest on Atsushi’s hip in return. “You’re all wet,” Atsushi continues. “Can I take this off?”
That hint of colour comes back to Akutagawa’s cheeks, and all he can manage in reply is an affirmative duck of the head. Atsushi is gentle as he unwinds the fabric from Akutagawa’s throat; he knows the both of them have had enough rough touches for a lifetime. He also knows that the low, sharp breath Akutagawa lets out when Atsushi’s fingers warm fingers brush his skin has nothing to do with discomfort.
When he finally puts the cravat free and lays it to the side on the kitchen table, Atsushi turns his attention to Akutagawa’s black overcoat, raindrops glistening on the material. He slides his hand from Akutagawa’s throat down to the buttons on the front of the coat, watching his face for any sign of fear or anxiety. The coat is Akutagawa’s strength, his protection. Rashomon may be able to manifest in any piece of clothing on Akutagawa’s back, but Atsushi has never seen him use it without the coat. And though he aches for Akutagawa to realise that he doesn’t need to defend himself when it’s just the two of them, he remembers his clawed fist colliding with Akutagawa’s flesh and doesn’t blame him for any reservations he might still have.
But the coat is wet, Akutagawa is ill, and Atsushi is not about to let him catch a chill on top of it all. As if to prove his point, Akutagawa coughs again, covering his face with his sleeve, the sound thick with fluid. Atsushi waits it out, hand still pressed to the buttons over Akutagawa’s chest, feeling his lungs expand and contract sharply with every cough.
“This is wet, too,” Atsushi says, voice quiet. “Can I…?”
A long, silent moment passes before Akutagawa gives a rough exhale and says, “Take it off. Please.”
Akutagawa falls silent again as he lets Atsushi take the coat off, watches him undo each button and lifts his arms for Atsushi to slide the sleeves off. And then Atsushi’s folding the coat and placing it carefully over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, and Akutagawa is left in just his ruffled white dress shirt and dark pants, and he looks so delicate Atsushi can’t help but wrap his arms around him. The fabric of his shirt is soft where he presses his face into Akutagawa’s shoulder, and the light pressure of Akutagawa’s hand coming up to stroke at the back of his hair makes Atsushi feel like he’s drowning in him.
“Thank you,” Atsushi murmurs into the side of Akutagawa’s neck. His own throat feels tight. “For trusting me.”
Atsushi’s whispered name is all he gets in response, along with Akutagawa’s other hand tracing over the notches of his spine through his pyjama shirt. His weight rests a little heavier on Atsushi, which Atsushi doesn’t mind because it only serves to press them closer together.
The kettle chooses this moment to start whistling, and Atsushi regretfully has to detach himself from Akutagawa to pour the tea. A creaking of wood behind him says Akutagawa’s finally decided it’s okay to sit down in his own boyfriend’s kitchen without being asked to.
Tea brewed, Atsushi places the two mugs on the table and sits down across from Akutagawa. And again Akutagawa surprises him, reaching out with the hand not wrapped around his steaming mug to twine his fingers with Atsushi’s.
Atsushi gets the feeling physical affection is easier for Akutagawa than words. He’s not about to complain about it, either; he’s happy to fill in the silence himself.
“If you’d come over earlier I could have made you dinner,” Atsushi says. The thought brings another involuntary smile to his face.
“I didn’t plan on it.” Akutagawa takes a sip of his tea before continuing. “I just— it was too quiet, at home.”
“Gin’s away?”
Akutagawa nods. “I never used to mind it; being alone, I mean.” His lips quirk wryly. “I’ve gone soft, I suppose.” The because of you is unspoken, but Atsushi hears it all the same.
“Do you— do you regret it?” Atsushi doesn’t drop his gaze from Akutagawa’s, though he can’t help but hold a little tighter to Akutagawa’s hand.
“You’re asking if I regret you.” It’s not a question. Akutagawa’s expression is unreadable, and Atsushi worries for a moment that he’s pushed him too far too soon. And then a short cough interrupts him, and when it’s over he breathes out heavily and re-twines his fingers with Atsushi’s. “I don’t. I’m not— good at this, but you. You make things better.”
Akutagawa’s words are clumsy, but the raw honesty behind them makes tears prickle at the corners of Atsushi’s eyes.
“Stay over,” Atsushi murmurs. Akutagawa starts to speak, but Atsushi keeps going before he can deny the offer. “It’s pouring out there and you’re already not well, and please, just stay, I want you to—”
“Atsushi.” Akutagawa cuts him off mid-ramble. There’s something that looks like amusement quirking at the corner of his mouth. “I wasn’t planning on leaving in the first place.”
“Oh.” Atsushi’s blushing, can feel the flush colouring his face. “Well. Good, then. I’m glad we sorted that out.”
Akutagawa laughs, low and quiet, and Atsushi’s whole body feels lighter, despite his face still being beet-red with embarrassment. The laugh ends in a barely-muffled yawn, and Atsushi has to forcibly remind himself that Akutagawa is sick, and thus needs things like rest and tomorrow, a square meal, and that leaning over their mugs to kiss him like he wants to will probably just end in tea being spilled everywhere. So instead, they finish their tea, and Atsushi’s collecting the empty mugs when he sees Akutagawa vanish into the bedroom.
“Do you want a dry shirt or something?” Atsushi asks, mugs still in hand as he peers around the bedroom door. Akutagawa is looking between the futon and himself with a sort of confused frown on his face, which is both hilarious and ridiculously cute. “I think I have a spare pair of pyjamas you can wear?”
“This is fine,” Akutagawa says, fiddling with the hem of his ruffled shirt. “My coat kept most of the rain off me.” He’s still wearing that tiny frown, but Atsushi figures that might be more out of general awkwardness than anything in particular.
“I’ll be back in a second, then.” Atsushi ducks back to the kitchen to dump the mugs by the sink and quickly wash up. Every now and then a faint cough breaks the relative quiet of the apartment, and just that little reminder that Akutagawa is here, staying the night because he missed Atsushi, is enough to make his heart feel like it’ll burst from his chest. Washing the dishes seems to take an age.
When he’s finally done, he returns to the bedroom with his whole mind filled with Akutagawa. He steps through the open bedroom door, and feels his entire body freeze.
Akutagawa is sitting cross-legged on his futon, flicking through one of the few novels Atsushi normally keeps in his tiny bookshelf, dressed only in his white shirt, dark pants folded neatly in the corner of the room. And honestly, Atsushi feels a little overwhelmed, because for one thing, the way Akutagawa is squinting at the book without his reading glasses is so adorable he could cry. His hair has dried over the course of the evening, but the way it’s dried has left it all messed up and fluffy. And then there’s the way that Akutagawa’s ruffled shirt falls over his bare thighs, which are slender and possibly even paler than his face; he just looks so soft Atsushi aches to hold him.
“You’re staring,” Akutagawa says, and when Atsushi blinks his focus back he notices Akutagawa is blushing under the scrutiny.
You are so beautiful, is all Atsushi can think, and then Akutagawa goes even redder, looking back down at the futon, and he realises he said that out loud. Oops.
Atsushi starts, “Ryuu, I just—” but Akutagawa is raising his hand from the book, and something faint and white spirals out from the cuff of his shirtsleeve to wrap around Atsushi’s wrist. Rashomon.
Atsushi holds his breath, but the tendril only gives a gentle tug in Akutagawa’s direction. “Come here,” Akutagawa murmurs. “Please.”
Without consciously making the decision to do so, Atsushi is stumbling over, led by Rashomon’s pulling and Akutagawa’s wide, dark eyes. He practically drops himself into Akutagawa’s lap, knocking the book out of his hands and landing pressed chest-to-chest with him. Atsushi barely even notices the pressure around his wrist disappear, caught up as he is in Akutagawa’s breath on his face, Akutagawa’s hand on his back, and Akutagawa’s other hand sliding up to tip Atsushi’s chin towards him.
“Atsushi.” Akutagawa’s voice is barely above a whisper, but it feels so loud for how close they are. Atsushi makes a questioning hum in the back of his throat.
He gets his answer in the form of Akutagawa leaning in to fit their lips together.
It’s slow, almost hesitant, and Atsushi sighs into Akutagawa’s mouth when his lips part just that little bit further. The hand that was on his chin slides down to rest on the side of his neck, and in return Atsushi lets his right hand fall to Akutagawa’s hip, tracing circles into the jut of bone. Akutagawa shivers against him at the touch, his other hand at the small of Atsushi’s back pressing them closer together as he tilts his head to kiss Atsushi deeper. For the second time that evening, Atsushi feels like he’s drowning in him. His head spins, and whether its from the kiss or the lack of oxygen, Atsushi can’t tell.
Regrettably, he does have to break the kiss to breathe, but before Akutagawa can get that kicked puppy look on his face, Atsushi’s dragging his hand through the back of Akutagawa’s hair and trailing kisses over his jawline. Akutagawa lets out a noise that might be a whimper, but it doesn’t make it all the way out because Atsushi’s pressing his mouth to Akutagawa’s again, swallowing the sound. Against him, Akutagawa is both pliant and tense at the same time, practically clinging to Atsushi at the same time as being hesitant to take more than he ought. It makes Atsushi want to give him everything he has, anything he could possibly want from him. It’s absolutely terrifying. Atsushi loves it.
A small, hitching tremor in Akutagawa’s chest is the only warning Atsushi gets before Akutagawa is breaking the kiss to turn aside and cough, thick and rough, into his hand. It lasts for a while, the coughs wracking Akutagawa’s body while Atsushi strokes his shoulder. When it’s over, Akutagawa can only breathe heavily for several moments, and Atsushi should not be noticing how kiss-swollen his lips are right now, when he’s just finished coughing his lungs out (although there is, thankfully, no blood on his teeth this time, like there has been in the past).
“S-sorry,” Akutagawa manages when he gets his breath back, not meeting Atsushi’s eyes. “I wanted to— keep going.”
“Hey.” Atsushi puts a finger under Akutagawa’s chin, coaxing him to look up. “It’s not your fault you’re sick. We can do this another time.”
Akutagawa’s brow creases, just the tiniest bit. “Do you not… want to?”
This time, Atsushi can’t stop the involuntary snort that escapes him. Akutagawa is ridiculous. “Of course I want to, idiot. I wouldn’t— I wouldn’t kiss you like that if I didn't want you.”
Akutagawa still doesn’t look quite convinced, so Atsushi takes his right hand and presses it to his own chest, over his heartbeat.
“Feel that?” he asks. His heart is still pounding significantly faster that usual from the kiss, from Akutagawa’s touch. Akutagawa nods, eyes wide. “You did that,” Atsushi continues. “That’s what you do to me. That’s how I feel about you.”
“I— I feel the same,” Akutagawa whispers, leaning in to press his forehead against Atsushi’s. He’s shaking, just a little.
“I know,” Atsushi says, because he does. Akutagawa doesn’t need to say what Atsushi can already read in his face and his actions. “C’mon.” He nudges Akutagawa’s forehead gently with his own. “We should sleep. You’ll feel better if we do.”
Akutagawa just hums his agreement, eyes drifting shut a little already. He lets Atsushi manhandle him around until his head is resting on the pillow, Atsushi joining him curled up on his right side, before pulling the covers over them both.
“Is this okay?” Atsushi asks quietly, wriggling until he’s managed to rest his head between Akutagawa’s shoulder and his chest. Their legs are tangled under the sheets, and Atsushi already feels himself beginning to drift with the rhythmic rise and fall of Akutagawa’s chest under his head. “Tell me if I’m making it too hard to breathe.”
“Aren’t you uncomfortable like that?” Akutagawa murmurs. Atsushi feels the words hum through him when he speaks, and shakes his head. “If I cough in my sleep it’ll wake you,” Akutagawa protests. “And I’ve been told I have a very bony everything.”
“Don’t care,” Atsushi mumbles, worming himself closer to Akutagawa’s (admittedly quite bony) side. Akutagawa may be pointy in all the most inconvenient places, but his skin is soft and warm, and beside him feels more secure than any number of locks on a front door could.
“But I—”
“Shh,” Atsushi cuts him off, leaning up to press his lips softly to Akutagawa’s. “Sleep,” he whispers against Akutagawa’s mouth, and then rests his head on Akutagawa’s chest again.
“Okay,” Akutagawa whispers, and the last thing Atsushi feels before sleep takes him is a hand dragging gently through his hair.