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The sky is clear, the air is dry, and the wind is cool.
Atsushi is wet and warm and red.
Everything around him is wet and red and he thinks he might be choking on the scent of copper.
He’s on his knees, but he doesn’t know how he got there, and his eyes are fixated uncomprehendingly on the body on the ground in front of him – so wet and so red and reeking of copper.
There are gash marks tearing open the person’s torso. No one could survive such injuries for long.
Atsushi can already catch the scent of death in the air, hidden beneath the copper of blood.
He needs help – he knows he needs help.
But he just murdered someone – who will want to help him now?
Dazai would help him, but he would be so disappointed. Kyouka would help him, but he was supposed to be her saviour.
He was never supposed to be a murderer. Not again.
He pulls out his phone and scrolls through his contacts in a haze. Fukuzawa? He would punish him. Kunikuda? He would yell. Yosano? She would pity him. Ranpo? He would know too much, see too deep in Atsushi’s soul. Kenji? He was too young, wasn’t made for this. Lucy? He’s already asked too much from her. Akutagawa? No. Just… no.
There was one other contact outside the Agency he could call – a number punched in by Dazai as an emergency contact. Dazai had made him promise to call the number if he ever got in over his head.
Now, Atsushi was in over his head and had no one else to call.
He clicked on the contact and pressed the phone to his right ear, listening to it ring and ring and ring. He doesn’t count the rings, but focuses on them, because if he lets his mind wander his eyes will find that body again and—
“Who is this?” A gruff, masculine voice comes through the phone, and Atsushi flinches.
“Atsushi. Nakajima. Nakajima Atsushi.” He stutters through giving his name, and there’s silence on the other side. For a moment, Atsushi is scared the other man hung up.
“The Agency’s pet tiger,” The man says, voice less gruff and more curious, “How did you get this number?”
“Dazai-san gave it to me,” Atsushi tells him honestly, “He told me- he told me to call if I ever got in over my head.”
“And have you?” The man asks, sounding intrigued, “Gotten in over your head?”
“I killed a person.” Atsushi says bluntly. He’s met with silence, “I don’t- I don’t know what to do. I don’t have anyone else I can call. Please… I need your help.”
“Text me your location,” The man says, then the line goes dead.
Atsushi does as he was asked, sending a text with his location to the contact.
Then, he waits, staring at the red-stained ground beneath his knees, the scent of death slowly overpowering that of blood.
There’s footsteps approaching from behind him, loud and quiet to Atsushi’s ears at the same time, confident and not at all bothered by the body they’re approaching. It can only be one person.
“Get up, tiger,” The voice from the phone says, clearer and deeper, “I already called a clean up crew. You need to get out of here before they see you.”
Atsushi nods, but doesn’t move. He needs to move, but his body feels locked in place, frozen in time.
He took a life.
“Tiger,” The voice repeats, then sighs, “Atsushi. We have to go.”
Still, Atsushi can’t move.
Then there is someone crouched in front of him, and he’s looking in the face of Nakahara Chuuya, a man he’s never spoken to before today, a man he’s only seen in pictures. A Port Mafia Executive.
“Atsushi, if we don’t go right now, all of Port Mafia is going to know you killed someone,” Nakahara tells him bluntly, “And if all of Port Mafia knows, it won’t be long until all of your friends know, and I’m guessing you don’t want that, considering you called me. So, get up.”
Nakahara’s words ricochet in Atsushi’s skull, and he finally finds himself climbing to his feet on unsteady legs, his eyes closed, because if he opens them he will look, and if he looks—
An arm wraps around his waist, steadying him, and he isn’t asked to open his eyes.
“Let’s get out of here, yeah?”
Atsushi walks, but he does not open his eyes. If he opens his eyes, the body will be there. They may have left it behind, but like the Headmaster, he just knows it will be there, staring at him with a torn open torso and dead, dead eyes.
Atsushi uses his other senses instead. He lets Nakahara guide him with the arm around his waist and focuses on what’s around him.
He hears the water – not too close, but not far. They aren’t going back to the dorms. Wherever they are smells musty and not well used, but not so unpleasant it has Atsushi screwing up his nose – not like back there, with the copper and the death.
He doesn’t know where Nakahara is taking him, just trusts him blindly, because Dazai told him to. Because he has no other choice. Because Nakahara hadn’t needed to answer that unknown number, hadn’t need to come get Atsushi, doesn’t need to be taking care of him now that they’re away from the place Atsushi took a life.
He doesn’t know how long they walk for, but it can’t have been more than ten minutes before Nakahara is pulling him to a stop, and he finally opens his eyes.
They’re in a backstreet with a dead end that isn’t frequented by anything but feral cats and rats.
They’re standing at the passenger side of a sleek black car.
In the place where Atsushi- in the place where it happened, Atsushi had been on the edge of Port Mafia territory. It hadn’t been on purpose; it was just where the fight ended up. At the time, Atsushi was worried about crossing the boundary, even with the truce between the Agency and Port Mafia, but now he’s glad. He’s glad, because the clean up will look like a Port Mafia job that strayed out of their territory. Glad because he had an ally so close.
Was Nakahara an ally? Atsushi had to assume so, he had come immediately when Atsushi had called, had called a clean up crew, had guided him away from the scene.
“Thank you,” Atsushi croaks out, voice hoarse from disuse and tension.
Nakahara just looks at him for a moment before opening the passenger door and pulling something out, shoving it against Atsushi’s chest, “Put this on.”
Looking down, Atsushi sees it’s a black hoodie. He follows Nakahara’s order to put it on without question or complaint. Nakahara flips the hood up to cover his hair and most of his face.
“There,” Nakahara says, clicking his tongue, “Good enough. We’re going back to my apartment. Can’t have anyone recognizing you in Port Mafia territory right now, though. Lotta smart people in the Mafia. A dead person with claw marks and the Agency’s weretiger spotted in the same area around the same time? Dead giveaway.”
Atsushi flinches at his words, but Nakahara doesn’t apologize, just pushes him into the car and closes the door behind him.
The other man then climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, pausing for a moment with his hand on the gear shift.
“It’s gonna be okay, y’know,” Nakahara tells him, surprisingly soft, “I’ll take care of it. Just… rest, I guess. Won’t take long to get to my apartment.”
Atsushi doesn’t question why they’re going to Nakahara’s apartment – he would do anything and go anywhere to avoid the Agency members right now. He doesn’t think he can look a single one of them in the eye, knowing what he did.
He doesn’t think he can handle the shame that would wash over him when they look at him with disappointment and disgust, because they expected better from him.
He especially doesn’t think he can handle Kyouka’s heartbroken expression as she realizes the pedestal she put him on crumbled beneath his feet, that it was never real to begin with.
“Hey, tiger,” Nakahara’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and he realizes suddenly that they’re parked in a parking lot, not the dead end ally, “You with me? We’re here.”
Atsushi nods, pushing open the passenger side door when Nakahara makes to exit his own side.
Nakahara walks over to the passenger side before Atsushi even manages to stand, which is lucky, because when he does move to stand his legs give out beneath him, and the only thing that keeps him from hitting the asphalt is Nakahara’s arm catching him around the waist.
“Easy,” Nakahara says, and while he doesn’t sound annoyed, his voice is neutral in a way that makes Atsushi feel like a burden.
He feels guilty for calling Nakahara, for putting all this on him, for making the other man take care of him.
But Nakahara doesn’t say anything else as he carefully guides Atsushi to the apartment building attached to the parking lot, his grip on his waist tight but gentle, keeping him upright and moving.
Atsushi isn’t quite in the state of mind to fully take in the building when they enter it, but even through the haze clouding him he knows it screams fancy and expensive. Not surprising for a Port Mafia Executive, but way out of Atsushi’s element.
Atsushi is used to the Agency’s dorms, with its worn down wooden exterior and mess of a courtyard – though Atsushi and Kunikida did their best to clear out that space to make a better training area a few months back.
He wasn’t used to shiny floors that squeak under his cheap boots and chandelier’s that sparkle from the ceiling, nor was he used to elevators that aren’t rickety like the one at the Agency’s headquarters.
He doesn’t say anything as he lets Nakahara guide him through the lobby and into one of the two elevators, hitting the button for one of the highest floors. For his part, Nakahara seems completely calm and unbothered by how out of place Atsushi obviously is. But they didn’t run into anyone, so he supposes it doesn’t matter anyway.
They thankfully reach the floor Nakahara requested without incident – not surprising considering how high up they were going. Anyone else calling the elevator was more than likely going down, so there was no reason to stop and pick up anyone else on their way up.
Nakahara leads Atsushi a couple doors down in the hallway before turning to a door to the left and pulling out a ring of keys on a chain attached to the inside of his jacket. He picks a key with ease and uses it to unlock the apartment door, pushing it open, all while still keeping an arm wrapped around Atsushi.
In another situation, another timeline, another world where he hadn’t just killed someone, Atsushi would find it impressive how capable Nakahara is at multitasking. But that isn’t this world, this timeline, this situation, and instead Atsushi just feels sick, because seeing the Port Mafia Executive’s apartment is a harsh reminder of why he’s here.
Nakahara goes to guide Atsushi into the apartment, but Atsushi plants his feet in a panic as he feels his chest start to burn. He reaches up to fist his hand in the shoulder of Nakahara’s jacket, which earns him a glare that quickly turns to concern, then panic as Atsushi clasps his hand over his mouth.
Nakahara lets go of Atsushi’s waist and shoves him into the apartment, slamming the door behind him as he continues to shove Atsushi through the apartment until they reach the bathroom.
Atsushi didn’t have any time to get a layout of the apartment as he was shoved through, too focused on not throwing up on the nice floors. The second he sees the toilet, he drops to his knees in front of it and loses his breakfast.
He sees Nakahara leave the bathroom from the corner of his eye and assumes the other man is giving him some privacy – there’s no way he’s turned off by a little vomit, after all, not with a job like his.
He’s surprised when, after his throat is raw and his stomach empty, Nakahara returns with a glass of water and some salty crackers. He hands the water to Atsushi without a word, and Atsushi sips it slowly, lest he make himself sick.
“Need more?” Nakahara asks after the glass is empty, and Atsushi shakes his head. Nakahara holds out a hand, “Come on, let’s get you to the couch and you can have these crackers. I’m not letting you eat on the bathroom floor; I have standards.”
Atsushi reaches out weakly and latches onto the Executive’s hand with his own, letting the other man pull him to his feet, Nakahara’s other hand hovering at Atsushi’s side to ensure he keeps his balance.
Once he’s sure Atsushi isn’t going to collapse, Nakahara moves so he’s beside Atsushi – and Atsushi is only slightly surprised that the bathroom is big enough to accommodate them this way – and presses a hand against the small of his back, urging him forward.
Atsushi moves without complaint and exits the bathroom and enters the main area of the apartment. Its large and under furnished, with just a couch, an armchair, a coffee table, and a flatscreen TV worth more than multiple months of Atsushi’s salary.
Even through the current state of haze in his mind, Atsushi thinks it’s kind of sad.
Nakahara guides Atsushi to the couch and hovers over him as he sits, handing him the packet of crackers.
“Eat,” Nakahara instructs, then, softer, “Are you cold?”
Atsushi shakes his head, and Nakahara frowns.
“You’re shaking.”
“Oh,” Atsushi croaks, not having realized, “I- I’m sorry.”
Nakahara rolls his eyes and crouches down in front of the space where Atsushi sits on the couch.
“You are in shock,” Nakahara says slowly and clearly, “You need to eat and you need to wash up. Then you can rest. Can you do those things for me?” Atsushi nods, “Good. Five crackers, that’s all I ask for now. Do you think you’ll be able to handle a shower or should I get a bath ready?”
“I can shower,” Atsushi assures him, even though he’s not fully confident about that himself.
Nakahara stares at him for a moment before nodding and standing back to his full height.
“Eat,” Nakahara tells him gruffly, “I’ll get the shower ready.”
With that, Nakahara turns on his heel and heads back towards the bathroom.
Atsushi looks down at the packet of crackers in his hand and feels his stomach recoil at the thought of eating them. Still, he told Nakahara he would eat them, so he carefully unravels the packet – thankful that it was already open, because he doesn’t think he has the strength to do it himself – and pulls out a cracker.
It feels like it takes all his energy to chew and swallow the cracker, leaving his mouth dry and chalky. But he takes out another, then another, until five are gone and he feels a little more like he’s coming back into himself.
He’s not sure how that makes him feel.
Does he even deserve it? He’s a killer. If he can’t even save—
“Tiger,” A voice cuts through his thoughts, and he blinks up at Nakahara. He doesn’t know when he returned, “Shower’s hot. Let’s get you into it.”
Atsushi nods and gets up on unsteady feet, Nakahara’s arms bracketing him distantly, ready to catch him if he loses balance. Luckily, Atsushi is able to stand on his own and make his way back to the bathroom, Nakahara walking behind him with his arms out in case he is needed.
They enter the bathroom and Atsushi distantly notes that the toilet has been flushed and cleaned, and feels shame bubble up inside him.
He glances at the shower – a simple glass cubicle with a detachable shower head that’s hanging down from it’s hook and already running, steaming up the cubicle. There’s a chair in the middle of the shower, obviously put there for Atsushi’s benefit, but he can’t bring himself to be anything but grateful.
“You get undressed,” Nakahara tells him, and Atsushi’s face flushes red before he continues, “I’m gonna go find something for you to wear when you’re done. I’ll close my eyes and leave it just inside the door. Do not lock the door. I can and will pick the lock, and it won’t be fun for either of us.”
Atsushi just nods in agreement, which makes Nakahara frown, then pause.
“Do you… need help getting in the shower?” Nakahara offers, “I won’t look, just make sure you don’t fall and split your head open.”
“Please,” is the only word Atsushi can force out, but Nakahara doesn’t look at him like he’s weak, just nods.
“Get undressed and tell me when you’re done,” Nakahara tells him, “I’m gonna hang the towel on the shower door handle so its closer for you.”
Atsushi nods again, suddenly too tired to feel embarrassed as he strips with the other man in the room.
“I’m done,” Atsushi tells him, and the older man stays true to his word, never looking directly at Atsushi as he helps guide him into the shower, only putting his hands on him briefly when the younger first steps onto the wet tiles – an insurance in case he slips.
Once Atsushi is seated in the shower, Nakahara closes the door and leaves the bathroom.
Atsushi doesn’t feel weird using the other man’s soaps and shampoo – in the orphanage everyone shared toiletries. The only thing Atsushi is missing is a toothbrush and paste, but he’s not surprised Nakahara didn’t leave that in the shower.
Maybe he can ask for that after he’s done showering – he doesn’t want to bother the other man more than he already has, but he can still taste the bile behind the crackers and it makes him feel gross.
He is gross, he thinks, as he watches pink water flow down the drain as he sprays himself with the shower nozzle.
He’s disgusting, not worthy of being a human being, not worthy of being alive.
He finishes washing off, scrubbing with soap and shampoo until his skin is raw and his scalp is burning and the water is clear again.
He turns off the water – unsure how long he’s been in there, but he had heard Nakahara drop off the promised clothes at some point, and he hasn’t called out to check on Atsushi, so the weretiger figures he probably took a decent amount of time, but not too much.
He’s feeling a bit better, not quite clearheaded but not physically weak like before, so he chances standing up and exiting the shower himself.
He stands on the bathmat and towels off quickly so as not to leave the bathroom wet. He ruffles his hair with the towel, but gives up trying to get it dry quickly when he starts to grow tired, letting it stay damp.
The promised clothes are behind the door – a pair of grey sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. No underwear, but he can’t blame Nakahara for not wanting to share that. He pulls on the sweatpants first, which ride up above his ankles in a slightly uncomfortable manner, but considering the height difference Atsushi has with the other man, he’s not surprised the pants aren’t the most comfortable on him.
Next he pulls on the t-shirt, which fits him surprisingly well – even a little loosely. Which means it’s especially large on Nakahara, an image that makes him smile slightly. He imagines the other man looks cute when he wears it, likely only ever in his own apartment when he knows he won’t be getting any guests.
Shaking the thoughts away, Atsushi hangs the towel where he found it before stepping out of the bathroom.
Nakahara is lying on the couch with a book, but his head snaps towards the younger when he hears the bathroom door open.
He frowns, “Your hair is still wet.”
“I… was too tired to dry it,” Atsushi admits quietly, causing Nakahara to click his tongue. Atsushi flinches in shame and Nakahara softens.
Placing his book open facedown on the coffee table, he gets to his feet and herds Atsushi back into the bathroom. He closes the toilet seat lid and grabs Atsushi by the shoulders, forcing him to sit before going back and grabbing a new towel.
He rummages through a cabinet on the far side of the bathroom and pulls out a hairdryer, a comb, and a brush.
“I’m going to dry your hair,” Nakahara leaves no room for argument as he plugs the hairdryer in in an outlet close to Atsushi, “There’s no way I went through all this work just for you to get sick because of some wet hair. You look like a drowned cat.”
Atsushi makes a slightly offended noise that is drowned out by Nakahara switching on the hairdryer.
Nakahara runs his fingers through Atsushi’s hair, using expert fingers to undo large knots carefully. He’s surprisingly gentle, and Atsushi closes his eyes as the other man points the hairdryer at his wet hair.
Atsushi keeps his eyes closed, half-asleep, as Nakahara works on untangling and drying his hair with a mix of his fingers, the comb, and the hairbrush. His eyes stay closed as the hairdryer turns off and Nakahara runs the hairbrush over his hair a few more times before letting out a pleased hum.
“You fall asleep on me, tiger?” Nakahara asks, sounding amused, and Atsushi’s eyes flutter back open.
“No,” Atsushi mumbles half-heartedly, too tired to put up a fight, and Nakahara lets out a quiet chuckle.
“C’mon, let’s get you to bed,” Nakahara says, pulling him back into a standing position and guiding him back out of the bathroom.
They cross the apartment and Nakahara pushes open another door – this one opening up into the man’s bedroom.
There are black-out curtains drawn, though Atsushi can still see sunlight peeking through a gap, so it isn’t late in the day, despite how tired Atsushi feels.
Nakahara leads him to the bed in the center of the room and firmly pushes him down by his shoulders to have him sit on it.
The sheets beneath Atsushi’s hands are cool, soft silk that he immediately wants to sink in forever.
“Get some sleep,” Nakahara says, gently pressing a hand to the side of Atsushi’s head and pushing him down until he’s lying with his head on a silk pillowcase, the pillow itself soft as a cloud.
Atsushi lets out a soft sigh of content as he’s covered with a soft blanket, but there’s still something nagging him.
“Nakahara-san,” Atsushi starts, but is immediately cut off.
“Chuuya,” The other man says firmly, and Atsushi pauses for a moment.
“Chuuya-san,” Atsushi tries again, and Chuuya lets out a small huff of displeasure but doesn’t correct him again, “Why are you doing this?”
Chuuya sighs, running a hand through his long hair, “Let’s talk about that once you’re feeling a bit better. For now, just sleep. You’re safe as long as you’re with me.”
Chuuya doesn’t specify exactly what Atsushi’s safe from – there’s a lot of things he needs protection from right now. The police, the Port Mafia, the Agency.
He doesn’t think the Agency would hurt him purposely, but they’re on the side of the law, they might feel they need to turn him in, even with the lack of evidence thanks to Chuuya’s clean up order. But the disappointment… Atsushi is glad he has Chuuya’s protection from that.
“Stop thinking,” Chuuya says gruffly, flicking his forehead, “Sleep. You need it. Clear your head.”
Atsushi simply nods, curling up into a tight ball not unlike a cat, and closes his eyes.
He expects to struggle to fall asleep, given the events of the day haunting him, but he finds sweet darkness overtaking him almost immediately.
A scream wakes Atsushi, and it takes Chuuya bursting into the dark room, the lights from the main room illuminating him from behind, for the younger to realize the scream came from him.
He doesn’t remember what he was dreaming about, not specifically, but he remembers the smell of copper and death and red, red liquid.
He half expects to still be covered in it.
“I’m sorry,” He croaks out towards Chuuya, who just shakes his head and makes his way into the room, flicking on the bedside lamp.
Next to the lamp, on the bedside table, is a full glass of water and a small blister packet of pills.
“Painkillers,” Chuuya explains, snagging the packet and popping two pills out, handing them over to Atsushi, “Shock can be a bitch on the body.”
Now that the adrenaline of the nightmare is fading, Atsushi can feel a pounding in his head and a soreness in his muscles. He places the two pills on his tongue and swallows them with a couple gulps of cool water, soothing his raw throat.
“I’ll make you some chamomile tea with honey,” Chuuya announces, moving away from the bedside table to head to the kitchen, but Atsushi grabs his wrist.
“Don’t leave,” He whispers, shame creeping up on him, but the fear of being alone outweighing any embarrassment, “I don’t- I don’t want to be alone. Don’t leave.”
Chuuya pauses, “Come with me. It’ll be good to get you moving again. You’ll recover faster.”
Atsushi nods, sliding out from under the blanket and turning on the bed to sit on the edge. He takes a shaky breath before pressing his feet against the cold floor and pushing himself into a standing position.
Chuuya watches but doesn’t hover like he did earlier that day – was it the same day? A glance at the curtains shows darkness where there was light when Atsushi laid down.
“You’ve been out for about five hours,” Chuuya informs him, catching his glance, “It’s only eight pm now.”
“I go to sleep at nine,” Atsushi blurts out, the filter between his brain and his mouth seemingly broken.
Chuuya blinks at him.
“Guess we better get you that tea fast, then,” Chuuya says, amusement obvious in his tone, and Atsushi feels his face flush.
Chuuya jerks his head, indicating for Atsushi to follow him as he turns on his heel and heads back out the bedroom door.
Atsushi follows obediently, if a bit unsteadily, as the other man makes his way through the main room and off to the fairly spacious kitchen in nestled into its own area in the back right corner of the apartment.
Chuuya pulls out a stool from the counter and pats it before rounding the counter and setting the kettle to boil.
Atsushi gratefully collapses on the stool, his legs shaking from just the short walk from the bedroom to the kitchen.
When did he get so weak? Was this his punishment for what he did – for the life he took?
If so, he was getting off much too easy. He deserved to be punished worse than the orphanage – worse than the chains, than the drownings, than the nail driven into his foot. Worse than anything he’s ever experienced.
“Hey,” Chuuya breaks Atsushi out of his thoughts with a bark, snapping his fingers in front of his eyes, “Get yourself out of your head.”
The kettle whistles, and Chuuya turns his back to Atsushi to pour the water into two mugs he must have set out while Atsushi was lost in his thoughts.
Chuuya turns back to the younger.
“You asked me earlier why I was doing this,” Chuuya reminds Atsushi of his groggy request, “Do you still want to know?”
Atsushi simply nods, but Chuuya doesn’t seem bothered by the response.
“It’s a little because of you, and a little because of Dazai,” Chuuya grimaced as Dazai’s name was forced past his lips, “As much as I hate the shitty mackerel, I still trust him. And, evidently, he still trusts me, if he gave you my number and told you to call if you got into trouble. I don’t take trust lightly, the fact he trusted me to help you meant I couldn’t just leave you stranded.”
“What about me?” Atsushi asks hoarsely, bringing back the first part of Chuuya’s statement.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Chuuya says, smirking slightly for a moment before his expression drops into something more serious, “You ain’t a killer. And hearing your voice on the phone – I knew what happened was tearing you up. I’m not in the business of leaving people to their own self-destruction.”
Chuuya turns his back to Atsushi again, removing the tea bags from the mugs. He grabs a jar of honey and spoons some into each mug before stirring them one at a time. When he’s done, he brings both mugs to the counter and slides one towards Atsushi.
Chuuya leans against the counter, opposite to Atsushi, and blows softly on his tea to cool it faster. Atsushi simply wraps his hands around his own mug, revelling in the warmth.
“Why not just take me to the Agency?” Atsushi asks softly.
“I just told you,” Chuuya says, pausing in his blowing, “I don’t just leave people to their own self-destruction. Going to the Agency after what happened would have broken you.”
Atsushi flexes his fingers around the mug, closing his eyes to breathe in the scent of chamomile.
“Thank you,” He says quietly, barely a whisper, eyes still closed.
Chuuya doesn’t respond, but Atsushi hears a brief pause in him blowing on his tea, so he knows the older man heard him.
“It’s gonna be way past nine by the time you’re done drinking if you just hold your mug like that,” Chuuya informs him, and Atsushi huffs.
“I don’t think I would want to go to sleep at nine even if I hadn’t just slept for five hours,” Atsushi admits, opening his eyes and finally taking a sip of his tea. It’s still boiling hot and burns his tongue, but he doesn’t mind the pain, and the tiger heals it in seconds.
He looks across the counter with half-lidded eyes to find Chuuya sipping his much cooler tea and watching Atsushi closely.
“What’s that s’pposed to mean?” The man asks, and Atsushi shrinks in on himself a little.
“I- nightmares,” Atsushi admits, then tries to quickly cover it, “And I don’t want to take your bed all night like that.”
“The couch is actually pretty nice,” Chuuya tells him, gracefully ignoring the comment about nightmares.
“Maybe, but it’s your bed,” Atsushi insists, and Chuuya rolls his eyes, taking a few more sips of tea. Atsushi does the same, finding the temperature reasonable – for him at least, he’s always had high tolerance for pain and heat.
Or maybe that was just built up from his time in the orphanage, from the beatings and burnings.
“So we share,” Chuuya shrugs, and laughs when Atsushi splutters, choking on his tea.
Atsushi shoots the older man a lighthearted glare, knowing he spoke while Atsushi was swallowing on purpose.
“We can’t just- just share a bed!” Atsushi exclaims once he’s recovered from his coughing fit, but Chuuya just raises an eyebrow.
“Why not?” Chuuya asks casually, like he does this every day.
Maybe he does?
“It’s,” Atsushi pauses, “Well, wouldn’t it be weird?”
“Only if you make it weird,” Chuuya shoots back, “I have a king-sized bed, tiger. There’s enough room for two adults to sleep in it without touching.”
Atsushi doesn’t really have an argument to follow that, so he stays silent.
“We’ll go to bed for your nine o’clock bedtime,” Chuuya’s tone is teasing, “And if you can’t fall asleep because you slept all day or you’re scared of nightmares, we can talk. I’m usually up until at least midnight, anyway.”
“I’m not scared,” Atsushi blurts, sounding like a petulant child. His voice sounds less rough now that he’s had some of the tea and honey, and it no longer feels like a cheese grater is scraping at his larynx when he speaks.
His muscles feel more relaxed, too.
Atsushi won’t admit it out loud, but he thinks part of his feeling more relaxed is due to the man across from him moreso than the tea.
“Being scared isn’t a bad thing,” Chuuya shoots back, “It makes you human. Shit, I’m scared all the time, I ain’t afraid to admit it.”
Atsushi blinks at Chuuya’s confession.
“What are you scared of?” He asks, then quickly backtracks, “No, wait, I’m sorry—”
“Failure, mostly,” Chuuya cuts Atsushi off, “Failing my position in the Mafia, failing my subordinates, failing my friends. Just… failing.”
“But you’re so confident,” Atsushi says quietly, and Chuuya shrugs.
“I said I was scared, not that I let it control me,” Chuuya tells him, “You can be scared and confident at the same time. I know my job. I know what I’m doing and I know I’m good at it. Unfortunately, that doesn’t take away the fear. Nothing does. I’ve just had to accept it’s a part of life.”
Atsushi goes to take another sip of tea, only to find his mug empty. Chuuya notices and takes it from him silently, moving to place both his own and Atsushi’s mugs in the sink. He glances at the clock and smirks.
“Bedtime,” Chuuya tells Atsushi, “I’m gonna get changed real quick then we can lie down. Just wait there or on the couch or somethin’. There’s nothing ADA worthy in this apartment so I’m not worried about snooping.”
“I wouldn’t—” Atsushi starts, but Chuuya cuts him off by holding up a hand.
“I know, I was just teasing,” Chuuya says, making his way into the bedroom, “You’re a fun one to tease, tiger.”
With that, the bedroom door closes, and Atsushi finds himself alone.
Atsushi has always hated being alone – from when he was in the cage to when he’s the last one in the office doing Dazai’s paperwork. He even preferred being picked on by the other orphans or beaten by the staff or getting his limbs cut off by Akutagawa to being alone.
Atsushi hates it, because when he’s alone it’s just him and his thoughts, no buffer, no safety net.
He supposes the tiger is there, too, in a way, but he tries not to think about that. He doesn’t think he’s ready.
Especially not after what the tiger did earlier that day.
No, he doesn’t want to be alone, and he shamefully feels himself begin to panic.
He gets to his feet, wobbling and having to clutch the counter to stay upright, but he doesn’t want to be alone. He can’t be alone another second.
He doesn’t think he can move, suddenly feels frozen, but then he’s somehow in front of the bedroom door and he brings his fist up, thumping on the door heavily.
He’s panting and knows he’s panicking and he doesn’t want to be alone.
Chuuya swings the door open, face already contorted in concern, and thankfully he’s already changed, thankfully Atsushi didn’t interrupt, thankfully he doesn’t have to be alone.
“I’m sorry,” Atsushi pants quietly, shamefully, “I didn’t- I didn’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be alone.”
Chuuya looks at him for a moment, something soft overtaking his expression, “Well, it’s a good thing we’re gonna be sleeping together, then.”
It’s teasing, Chuuya’s way of trying to lighten the mood, and Atsushi hates that it doesn’t work. Hates that his brain got him so riled up and panicked about simply being alone for five minutes that Chuuya’s efforts are wasted.
“Can we lie down?” Atsushi asks, voice soft and apologetic, and Chuuya smiles at him.
“’Course we can, tiger,” Chuuya says, stepping aside, “You lie down and I’ll turn off the lights. I know my bedroom well enough to get around in the dark, but I don’t know if I can trust you not to trip and break something.”
Atsushi gives Chuuya a weak smile as he slips into the room and makes his way to the bed, crawling back into the spot he slept in earlier and covering his shaking – when did he start shaking? – form with a corner of the blanket.
As he said, Chuuya waits until Atsushi is settled before he turns off the light.
Likely thanks to the tiger, Atsushi can see very well in the dark, though he said nothing of it to Chuuya. He was tired and didn’t want to walk in the dark, even if he could see well enough in it.
Regardless, his eyesight in the dark is well enough that he can track Chuuya as he makes his way from the light switch across the room to the other side of the bed. Atsushi lies on his back and watches out of the corner of his eye as Chuuya climbs onto the bed and takes his own half of the blanket, settling down on his stomach.
“What about the lights outside?” Atsushi asks suddenly, a little too loudly, startling Chuuya as he remembers the lights still on in the kitchen and main room.
“Eh?” Chuuya takes a moment to recover, “Oh, they turn off on their own after an hour of no movement. Too many late nights where I fell asleep on the couch with the lights on. I hate wasting energy like that.”
Ah, a rich person feature – something a Port Mafia Executive could definitely afford. It is good for the environment, though, Atsushi supposes. And something about the way Chuuya said he hates wasting energy seemed personal.
There were a lot more layers to the man that saved him earlier that day than Dazai had lead him to believe.
Atsushi lets out a quiet sigh in the silence of the room and turns over onto his side, his back to Chuuya.
He’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.
Will it, though?
He’ll have to return to the Agency in the morning – he can’t miss work. And Ranpo will know, there’s no way he won’t. He’ll tell the President, and soon the whole office will know.
Will they kick him out? Send him to the police?
There’s no body – Chuuya’s clean up crew took care of all evidence of the murder, but that doesn’t change the fact a murder was committed – that Atsushi took a life. They could probably still find something to charge him with – were there cameras in the area? Did Chuuya’s clean up crew take care of any of those, too?
Even if they couldn’t charge him with anything, there was no way the Agency would want to keep him.
He killed a person in cold blood – or, well, the tiger killed someone who was trying to kill him, but the details don’t matter.
At the end of the day, someone is dead by Atsushi’s hands.
Atsushi is shaking again, and there’s something he suddenly wants, but—
“Chuuya-san?” Atsushi whispers into the silence.
“Hm?” Chuuya responds, not disinterested, but a simple acknowledgment.
“I- could you—” Atsushi cuts himself off, “Nevermind, sorry. Good night.”
“Just ask, tiger,” Chuuya tells him, voice gentle yet firm. Atsushi swallows thickly.
“Could you hold me, Chuuya-san?” Atsushi asks quietly, face hot from embarrassment.
There’s silence for a minute, and every second that passes Atsushi feels more and more like he’s made a horrible mistake, then—
“Yeah, I can do that,” Chuuya says, then there’s rustling, then a body is pressed against Atsushi’s back and an arm is being slung over his waist, “This okay?”
Atsushi clutches the arm holding him with one of his hands and nods, not trusting himself to speak.
He’s no longer shaking, and he feels safe again, the warmth of Chuuya’s body radiating from behind him and the arm keeping him close but not holding him in place.
He can leave the embrace if he wants, Chuuya isn’t trapping him.
But he feels so safe he can’t imagine wanting to escape the hold.
How funny it is that a Port Mafia Executive – someone so dangerous, with so much blood on his hands – can make Atsushi feel so safe.
Safe from the world, safe from his family friends, safe from the future, and, most importantly, safe from his thoughts.
“Do you want to talk for a bit?” Chuuya asks softly from behind him, his voice rumbling near Atsushi’s ear, still slightly gruff even when he’s trying to sound gentle – not that Atsushi minds. He’s found that he likes the other man’s voice.
He doesn’t think too deeply about that.
“Yes, please,” Atsushi practically whimpers – he needs to keep out the bad thoughts.
“Do you want to tell me what happened today?” Chuuya asks slowly, carefully, and Atsushi tenses. He doesn’t know – he wants to tell Chuuya, but he also doesn’t, “You don’t have to. We can choose a lighter topic. But I think it might be good to get out there.”
Atsushi starts drawing patterns on the arm wrapped around him as a way to stay focused, to stay present.
He makes a choice.
“I was on a case,” His voice is rough, forced out, “There wasn’t supposed to be an Ability user.”
“But there was,” Chuuya deduces easily, and Atsushi nods jerkily, still careful not to hit his head on Chuuya’s face behind him.
“There was,” He says simply, “I don’t even know what the Ability was but it was- it was bad. It made me feel awful. It made me want to die.”
Chuuya lets out a hum of understanding, tightening his grip on the younger as Atsushi presses harder with his patterns.
“We fought, all the way to the border of Port Mafia territory,” Atsushi continues, “When we got there, I thought I could hide out there and call for back up. But the Ability user wouldn’t let me escape, and I thought I really was going to die, but then the tiger- the tiger took over. And that was it. It was just… blood everywhere and a corpse in front of me. I just… sat there. I don’t know how long. Then I called you.”
Chuuya flinches, and Atsushi realizes he dug his nails into the man’s arm. He lets go and starts to apologise, but Chuuya’s thumb starts rubbing slow circles against him – a silent forgiveness.
“You know it wasn’t your fault?” Chuuya says softly, thumb still rubbing circles, “You were being attacked, and the tiger made the choice. Not you. The tiger struck the blow, not you.”
“Can I really make that excuse twice?” Atsushi asks bitterly, even though Chuuya doesn’t know the details of the first time.
“You can make it as many times as the tiger makes the choice to kill someone,” Chuuya tells him, with no room for argument, and suddenly it feels like a weight is lifted off Atsushi.
It wasn’t him, it was the tiger.
Even if no one else believes him, even if no one else accepts that as the truth, Chuuya believes it.
That’s enough for now. That has to be enough for now.
The Agency had overlooked what happened with Shibusawa – would they do it again? It was the tiger acting in self-defence again, after all. Not the same situation, but similar.
Not the same situation, but neither were Atsushi’s choice.
Was the tiger really his saviour?
He doesn’t know, but his eyelids feel heavy.
“Tell me something about yourself?” Atsushi requests the body behind him, who lets out a hum.
“I love the stuff, but I pass out after two glasses of wine,” Chuuya tells him, and Atsushi huffs a laugh.
“Something better. Deeper,” Atsushi tells him, “I told you what happened today. Tell me something meaningful.”
“I miss Kyouka,” Chuuya admits, and Atsushi starts in surprise, “I’m close to Ane-san – Kouyou, that is – so I saw a lot of Kyouka. I know she’s better off with the Agency, but I can’t help but miss her. She was like a niece to me.”
“You can visit,” Atsushi tells him softly, “Or meet up with her. We don’t keep her on a leash.”
Chuuya hums, but doesn’t give an answer, “Where is she living? You guys don’t have that many dorms. Is it with that doctor lady?”
“Oh, no, she’s with me, actually,” Atsushi informs him, and feels the older man tense behind him.
“Aren’t your dorms one room?” There’s a dangerous tint to Chuuya’s voice, but for some reason Atsushi can’t bring himself to really be scared. A little nervous, but not afraid.
“Ah, I sleep in the closet!” Atsushi says quickly, and Chuuya relaxes behind him again.
“So you’re still in the closet, then?” Chuuya asks, amusement obvious in his voice but Atsushi doesn’t get the joke. Chuuya seems to realize, because he elaborates, “It’s a gay joke. Gay – and other – people say they’re in the closet when they aren’t open about their identity yet, basically.”
“Oh,” Atsushi says, “I don’t know that I’m gay. Are you?”
“I’m bi – I’m down for any gender,” Chuuya tells him, “Have you never had a crush? You don’t like anybody in that way?”
Atsushi pauses for a second, thinks.
“I think I might like someone a bit,” Atsushi says slowly, “But I still have to figure it out.”
“Guy or girl?”
“Guy.”
“Huh, so you are in the closet,” Chuuya snickers, and Atsushi slaps the arm holding him lightly.
“What about you?” Atsushi asks shyly.
“Am I interested in anyone?” Chuuya asks, and Atsushi hums in confirmation, “I’m starting to be.”
Atsushi’s heart skips, but he forces himself to calm down.
“Guy or girl?”
“Guy.”
Atsushi hums, not sure what to say next. Chuuya beats him to it.
“Are we really talking about guys like teenage girls at a sleepover?” He asks, voice thick with amusement.
“I don’t know, I’ve never been a teenage girl at a sleepover,” Atsushi shoots back, even though it sounds lame even to his ears.
To his surprise, Chuuya laughs, and Atsushi feels it vibrate against him.
“You know, you’re a bit of a brat,” Chuuya informs him, and it’s Atsushi’s turn to laugh.
“You like it,” Atsushi teases, and Chuuya hums.
“Maybe I do,” Chuuya says, causing Atsushi’s face to immediately flush.
They fall into an easy silence for a few minutes.
“Chuuya-san?” Atsushi starts, but Chuuya cuts him off.
“You can really just call me Chuuya,” The older tells Atsushi.
“Chuuya-san,” Atsushi repeats, half to be a brat and half because he has trouble dropping honorifics, “Can we see each other after this?”
“I don’t see why not,” Chuuya says contemplatively, “We’ve got a truce between our organizations and as long as we don’t share anything about our respective organizations, we won’t be doing anything wrong. Let’s just hope the truce holds for a while.”
“I hope it becomes permanent,” Atsushi says tiredly, voice slightly slurred, “It’s nice, being with you.”
“It’s nice being with you, too,” Chuuya says softly, “But I think you should close your eyes now.”
Atsushi does, his eyes fluttering shut as he listens to the soft breathing near his ear.
He’s asleep even faster than he was earlier.
When Atsushi wakes, it’s still dark – partially because of the black-out curtains, partially because it’s only five in the morning.
At some point in the night he had rolled over and pressed his face in the crook of Chuuya’s neck, throwing one of his own arms around the older man – embarrassing, but not the end of the world, especially if it happened while Chuuya was asleep.
What was the end of the world was that he had no idea where he was in the city and needed to get back to the dorm so he could get changed into his own clothes and get to work on time, because he had a feeling it was going to be a long day.
A day he might never come back from.
He unhooks his arm from around Chuuya and tries to put some space between them, but the other man’s arm is in a vice grip around Atsushi’s waist.
With a sigh, he pokes Chuuya’s cheek a few times until he gets a reaction.
“Chuuya-san,” Atsushi whispers, wanting to wake the other man gently.
“Chuuya,” The other man grumbles, eyes still closed.
“Chuuya-san,” Atsushi repeats, a little louder this time, “I need to get to work and I don’t know where I am.”
“Work?” Chuuya repeats, finally blinking his eyes open. If he’s surprised by their closeness, he doesn’t say anything, “It’s Saturday.”
Oh.
Atsushi had been so caught up in his thoughts the day before that he had forgotten it was the last day before the weekend. Meaning he had two days to prepare for the Agency’s reaction to what happened. Meaning he was in full-panic for nothing, because he had time.
Which was both good and bad, because time meant time to prepare, but also time to overthink.
“You’re overthinking,” Chuuya mumbles, “Go back to sleep. I’m not getting up at five in the morning and you’re too comfortable for me to let go.”
With a small smile, Atsushi flings his arm back around Chuuya’s body and burrows his face in the crook of his neck – Chuuya was comfortable, too, after all, and if he gets to cuddle with Atsushi then Atsushi gets to cuddle with him.
It’s something that makes sense at five in the morning, at least.
Atsushi next wakes to Chuuya trying to creep out of bed, small amounts of light spilling out through the crack in the curtains.
“Chuuya-san?” Atsushi mumbles questioningly, blinking sleep out of his eyes.
“Shh,” Chuuya whispers, “Go back to sleep. It’s still early.”
Atsushi ignores him and sits up, “Stop making me go back to sleep.”
“When else did I do that?” Chuuya asks with a frown, and Atsushi rolls his eyes, because of course he doesn’t remember, he hadn’t even fully woken up.
“I woke up at five this morning, not realizing it was a Saturday,” Atsushi informs him, “I wanted to get up anyway, since that’s when I normally get up, but you told me to go back to sleep because you weren’t getting up and I was comfortable. And I had no choice because you were latched onto me like an octopus.”
Chuuya’s face turns pink at Atsushi’s words.
“Sorry about that,” He says, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m not a morning person. And I’m a cuddler, I wasn’t trying to take advantage of you or anything, I swear. It wouldn’t have even happened if you hadn’t asked me to hold you last night… Not that I’m blaming you! I just—”
“Chuuya-san,” Atsushi cuts him off, “I thought I was supposed to be the overthinker.”
“Brat,” Chuuya sighs, but he smiles fondly at Atsushi, “C’mon, I was gonna make breakfast. You’re helping since you’re awake.”
“What are we making?” Atsushi asks, and Chuuya hums.
“Pancakes?” Chuuya offers and Atsushi nods.
“I like them extra fluffy, just a heads up,” Atsushi informs the other man, and he rolls his eyes jokingly.
“So demanding,” Chuuya chuckles, “I suppose I’ll see what I can do.”
“Mm, good,” Atsushi smiles at him, even though he isn’t looking. He hesitates a moment, and then, “Thank you, by the way.”
“What for? Pancakes?” Chuuya asks, tilting his head.
“No,” Atsushi pauses, “Well, yes, thank you for making pancakes, but I meant everything else. Everything you did yesterday.”
“Well, it seems like it made you want to stick around, so,” Chuuya smiles up at him, “My pleasure. Wish it could have been under better circumstances, though.”
They enter the kitchen and Atsushi notices the mugs still in the sink from last night, so he goes to clean them while Chuuya grabs pancake ingredients.
“You and me both,” Atsushi sighs, though he’s not sure if the other man hears him over the running water of the sink.
The events over the previous day still haunt him, but the conversation about the tiger being the killer helps ease his mind, as does the fact he has time to get himself together before he faces the Agency.
“How are you feeling?” Chuuya asks once Atsushi is done washing the mugs. He doesn’t give Atsushi any direction to help, so the younger goes to sit on the counter stool he had been perched on the night before.
“Better,” Atsushi tells him honestly, “I feel like I can breathe again.”
“Still overthinking?” Chuuya inquires as he stirs the pancake batter.
“Always,” Atsushi smirks, then lets it drop to give a more serious answer, “It’s not as bad now that I know I have time before I have to face the Agency. And what you told me about the tiger helped a lot.”
“I’m glad,” Chuuya gives him a soft, genuine smile as he turns on the stoves and preps a pan.
“Do you want me to do anything?” Atsushi finally gives in and asks, a little annoyed he was told to help then left to sit there doing nothing.
Chuuya lets out a hum as he begins to pour pancake batter onto the pan, “Nah, I’m good. You just keep sitting there looking pretty.”
Atsushi bristles like a cat, “Chuuya-san.”
“What?” The man asks, still focusing on cooking, “I’m being serious. I like looking over and seeing you there. Besides, there’s not really anything for you to do unless you want to take over and have me sit around looking pretty.”
Atsushi lets out a humph, but doesn’t move from where he’s sitting, trying – and failing – to suppress a smile.
Chuuya, of course, chooses then to glance over at him, and grins when he sees his smile.
“Shut up,” Atsushi grumbles, and Chuuya’s grin widens.
“I didn’t say anything,” Chuuya says, returning to his cooking duties, “Get some plates ready for me, tiger?”
Soon enough, the pancakes are done and piled on two plates, with two empty ones sitting side-by-side on the counter.
“Normal,” Chuuya says, placing one plate of pancakes in front of the plate next to Atsushi, “And extra fluffy.” The second plate of pancakes goes directly in front of Atsushi, who looks at Chuuya with wide eyes.
“You didn’t actually have to—” Atsushi starts, but Chuuya holds up a hand.
“I wanted to,” Chuuya says with no room for argument, “Now eat.”
They both eat their pancakes in pleasurable silence – after Chuuya curses and rushes to grab the syrup, that is.
It’s nice, and Atsushi feels happy and as fluffy as his pancakes, which are delicious.
He also didn’t realize how hungry he was until he took his first bite, his appetite suddenly flooding back to him after a long day with little food. From Chuuya’s pleased look, he’s guessing it’s a good thing he’s feeling up to eating again. The shock from the previous day finally worn off.
“Chuuya-san,” Atsushi speaks up once their done eating.
“Chuuya,” The other man replies without missing a beat, turning in his stool to look at Atsushi.
“How does someone—” Atsushi takes a moment to put his thoughts together, “How does someone come out of the closet?”
“I’m gonna guess you mean metaphorically, since you sleep in a closet, yet you’re here now,” Chuuya jokes, and Atsushi smiles for him even if he thinks it’s a little weak, “There’s no real way to come out, you just… Say it, I guess? Some people make a celebration out of it, some people just tell one person at a time. It all depends on how you feel. Why?”
“What if someone wants to come out of the closet, but they’re not really sure… what they are?” Atsushi asks hesitantly, “They’ve figured out one thing for certain, but everything else is still confusing?”
“I mean, they could just say that one thing they know and leave out all the rest for another time,” Chuuya shrugs.
Atsushi nods. Takes a deep breath. He’s always been one to charge headfirst into things, this is no different.
“I like you.”
Chuuya falls off his stool and Atsushi immediately gets off his to kneel down next to the fallen man, “Chuuya-san! Are you okay?”
“You can’t just—” Chuuya sits up and gasps out a breath, “You can’t just say that.”
“You told me to!”
“I didn’t know that you were going to say that!”
“I’m sorry! I take it back!”
“No! I don’t want you to take it back, I want—”
A sudden banging from above them makes them realize they were shouting, and both go red as they realize the upstairs neighbour heard them.
“I’m sorry,” Atsushi whispers, “I didn’t know it would upset you so much.”
“I’m not upset,” Chuuya whispers back, “You just caught me off guard.”
“Still,” Atsushi clears his throat but keeps his voice low, “We haven’t known each other long. I should have—”
“I like you, too,” Chuuya cuts him off, voice back to normal level, “That’s why I was so caught off guard. I don’t care if we haven’t known each other long, it’s more fun this way. We’ll get to know each other along the way.”
“So you… want that?” Atsushi asks, “Want me?”
“More than anything,” Chuuya responds with iron resolve, and Atsushi smiles, biting his lip.
“We should get off the ground,” Atsushi observes, and Chuuya nods.
Since he was just crouching, Atsushi gets up easily, but Chuuya fell off his seat, so Atsushi offers a hand to pull him up. Chuuya accepts it, but Atsushi misjudges his weight and pulls him a little too hard, causing the older man to stumble into him.
They end up with their bodies pressed together, faces close enough they can feel each other’s breath.
Chuuya slowly reaches up and curls the fingers of one hand in the back of Atsushi’s hair, using the other hand to grasp his shoulder.
In turn, Atsushi grips the sides of Chuuya’s waist with both his hands.
“So, I already told you I want you,” Chuuya says lowly, “Do you want me?”
“More than anything,” Atsushi parrots Chuuya’s words, smiling as the older man rolls his eyes lightheartedly.
“You’re such a brat, tiger,” Chuuya tells him, and Atsushi grins.
“But you like it,” Atsushi says, and Chuuya doesn’t deny it.
Atsushi licks his lips and slowly ducks his head, his lips just millimeters from Chuuya’s when the older stops him.
“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” Chuuya breathes against his lips, and Atsushi feels his own lips twitch slightly in a smile.
“You’re not,” Atsushi tells him, hands tightening on the other man’s waist, “Trust me, if you waited until I wasn’t recently traumatized to kiss me, you’d never find the time.”
“That’s concerning,” Chuuya says, and Atsushi can feel his smile as he finally presses their lips together.
The kiss is soft and chaste, like Chuuya knows it’s Atsushi’s first and wants to make it good, doesn’t want it to go too far too soon.
They kiss again, and again, just soft brushes of their lips, and Atsushi can’t help but think Dazai would probably drop dead at the sight of his old partner being so gentle.
Finally, they pull apart, but not far – Atsushi rests his forehead against Chuuya’s while the older man smiles up at him.
“Does this mean you’ll go on a date with me?” Atsushi asks, and Chuuya huffs.
“Only if I pick the place and get to pay,” Chuuya tells him, and Atsushi hums in contemplation.
“Only if I get to pay for the second date,” Atsushi says. Chuuya grins wolfishly.
“Already planning for a second date, huh, tiger?”
Atsushi doesn’t know how things are going to go with the Agency when he goes to work on Monday. He still doesn’t know how he feels about the previous day.
But he knows that somehow, in everything awful, he found something good, and he is going to cling to it with everything he has.