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but if, in the end, i lose my voice
will you forget about your love for me?
canary in a coal mine, the crane wives
i.
Akutagawa tears down the door to Atsushi’s dorm two days after he’s been allowed to move back into it.
It happens on a Thursday evening, while Atsushi is staring at the meager foodstock in his cupboards and trying to figure out if he has enough ramen for three people, or if they should just order takeout again. Except he doesn’t exactly have a lot of money at the moment, and neither does Kyouka, and Sigma hasn’t been allowed access to everything from the Sky Casino, so—
He’s sort of stuck.
And then the door comes crashing down.
Atsushi shrieks, jumping so high he bangs his head against the cupboard door. Usually, Dazai is the one barging in unannounced, but he just picks the lock, and he’s still in a wheelchair, which means it can’t be him. Kenji has the strength to break down the door, but he would just knock like a normal person.
Through that process of elimination, Atsushi has a strange feeling he knows who it is.
“What is your problem?!” He demands, stomping over to where Akutagawa is standing in the doorway, a looming presence cloaked in all black. His hands are comfortably resting in his pockets, and Rashoumon has already retreated back to the safety of his coat.
He simply shrugs, then steps into the dorm, brushing past Atsushi.
“I didn’t say you could come in!” Atsushi calls after him. But he can’t push him back outside when he has to pick the door up and attempt to lean it against the doorframe in a way that makes it appear still attached to the hinges. Kunikida is going to be so pissed if he finds out it’s broken. Atsushi will have to find someone to repair it. Fukuzawa probably knows—
Atsushi bites his tongue, shoving the door back into the frame. It’s crooked, but it stays up when he lets go, and that’s all that really matters.
Maybe Yosano will know someone who can fix it. He’d rather not burden Kunikida with another damage report right now.
After having dealt with the door issue, Atsushi slinks back into the kitchen, where he finds Akutagawa frowning into the open fridge.
“Can I help you?” Atsushi snarks. He’s really not in the mood for this right now.
Akutagawa huffs. He closes the fridge and moves onto the still-open cupboard.
“If you’re looking for all your fancy expensive foods, I don’t have them,” Atsushi bites out. “I don’t have anything because I just got back in here two days ago, and I’ve been a little too busy to get groceries. I’m sure you’ve still got your generous Mafia paycheck, so I don’t know why you’re trying to beg off of me anyways. Plus, there’s two other people living here now, so we don’t have room for you. Now can you leave?”
Akutagawa turns to him, frowning. He holds up two fingers, furrowing his eyebrows, as if questioning the information Atsushi just gave him.
“Yes, two. Sigma-san is helping Yosano-sensei with stuff in the office right now, and Kyouka-chan is in the bathroom. And I doubt she’ll be happy to see you here without prior warning!”
“It is not the strangest occurence,” Kyouka’s voice sounds from behind Atsushi. He jumps again, and Akutagawa snorts, which earns him what Atsushi hopes comes across as a very nasty glare.
Kyouka bows her head. “Good evening, Akutagawa.”
Akutagawa bows back, fully folding himself over at the waist. “Kyouka-chan,” he greets, voice rough. Atsushi realizes it’s the first thing he’s said since he arrived. Weird. Usually, by now, he would have unleashed a barrage of obnoxiously pretentious insults including no less than three ‘weretiger’s and at least one ‘fool’.
“We have tea,” Kyouka says.
“No we do not!” Atsushi exclaims, even though they definitely do. “Kyouka-chan, we can’t just—”
“The Port Mafia is our ally now,” Kyouka reminds him. She drifts across the room, pulling out the teapot to start boiling water. “Besides, he wouldn’t come here for no reason.”
Atsushi side-eyes Akutagawa. “So, what, Dazai-san put him up to this?”
Kyouka shrugs. Akutagawa shakes his head.
“Then why are you here!?”
Akutagawa purses his lips. Why he suddenly seems intent on giving Atsushi the silent treatment when he was the one who broke in, Atsushi cannot possibly fathom. He might trust Akutagawa in a battle now, but that doesn’t mean he wants him in his home. And it doesn’t mean he enjoys spending time around him. He’s stubborn and rude and mean and loves nothing more than doing whatever he can to get on Atsushi’s nerves. Including, apparently, refusing to actually speak to him.
“The only tea we have is green,” Kyouka says. “Is that okay?”
Akutagawa nods. Then, he sits down at the table. As Atsushi is trying to wrap his head around what the hell is currently happening, the door falls down again, and Sigma yelps.
Atsushi swears under his breath, dashing away to help her.
“Sorry, sorry!” he picks it up from the ground, gesturing for her to walk through. “Akuatagwa decided to pay me a surprise visit, and apparently he can’t KNOCK like a NORMAL PERSON!” Atsushi shouts, making sure Akutagawa can hear him even from where he’s hiding away at the table. He doesn’t respond. Of course.
Sigma furrows her eyebrows. “Akutagawa?” she questions.
Atsushi sighs, haphazardly jamming the door back in place. “From the mafia. Dazai-san keeps forcing us to work together. He’s a bit taller than me, has black hair with white tips, always dressed in black, super pale, got turned into a vampire…” Atsushi gestures vaguely, searching for some other defining characteristic to list off. “His entire life’s purpose seems to be to aggravate me.”
“Um.” Sigma stares at him, blankly.
“Just— he’s in the kitchen. Kyouka-chan decided to make him tea.”
“…Okay.”
Atsushi trudges back to Akutagawa and Kyouka with Sigma trailing after him. Kyouka has taken a seat beside Akutagawa, and Atsushi has a momentary panic when he realizes she left the kettle unattended on the stove, but—
She’d only just put it on when Sigma returned. It can’t possibly be boiling yet.
“Sigma-san, this is Akutagawa,” Atsushi introduces. “Akutagawa, Sigma-san.”
Akutagawa bows his head politely. Still silent. Now that Atsushi has noticed the lack of speaking, it’s sort of starting to creep him out. From anyone else, he wouldn’t mind, but from Akutagawa, it’s…almost foreboding.
Like when a canary in a coal mine stops singing.
“It’s nice to meet you, Akutagawa-kun.”
“He said we can use his card to order dinner,” Kyouka pipes up. She pulls a sleek black credit card from her sleeve, holding it up for Atsushi to see but not handing it over. A good choice, probably. Right now, Atsushi would be inclined to go on a shopping spree as revenge.
He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, he said we can use it, did he?”
For the first time since he arrived, Akutagawa’s expression flickers into one of anger. His lips curl back, reminiscent of a dog about to attack. Finally, Atsushi thinks. Something familiar. They can resort to their typical back-and-forth; they can fight and break something and then Akutagawa will leave.
But before he can say a word, Sigma interrupts. “That’s very kind of you. Kyouka-chan, did you pick a restaurant to order from?”
Kyouka nods. She stands, passing the card over to Sigma, and then turns to look through the takeout menus. Atsushi simply watches, eyes wide, as she pulls one out, hands that to Sigma as well, and returns to the stove to check on the water.
Atsushi pinches his arm.
He does not wake up in the closet of the bedroom, which means this is not a strange dream, which means this is all really happening. After looking over the menu herself, Sigma places it down in front of Akutagawa, and he points out what he wants. She takes Kyouka’s order next, and then asks Atsushi for his.
He wants to scream. How is everyone else just okay with this!? How does no one else think it’s weird? Why won’t Akutagawa talk to him? Why is he even here??
Atsushi picks something off the menu at random, and Sigma steps out of the room to place the order. Kyouka is still standing at the stove.
Unsure what else to do, Atsushi sits down across from Akutagawa.
For a moment, they simply stare at each other.
Akutagawa has taken to wearing a different coat now, though it’s still long and black with a tall collar. It doesn’t quite cover the scar across his throat. It’s faded somewhat, since Atsushi saw him last after the battle at the airport. When he spent hours in Anne’s Room, sitting, waiting, wondering if nullifying the vampire ability would save Akutagawa or simply kill him a second time.
He’d been so afraid of losing him again.
But now he’s alive and everything is back to normal, except it’s not, because Fukuzawa is dead and Akutagawa isn’t talking and Sigma is living with Atsushi and Kyouka and the world almost ended and the Agency all but went up in flames and Dazai is in a wheelchair and Kunikida is having problems with his hands and Ranpo hasn’t spoken to any of the younger Agency members since the airport battle and—
Atsushi wants something familiar.
He wants Akutagawa to insult him, to call him an idiot, to argue with him. He wants anything at all to remain the same as it was before.
When Akutagawa literally broke down his door, he thought maybe he could have that.
But nothing that rises from the grave can come back the same.
“Do I get to know why you’re here?” he asks miserably.
A pained expression flickers through Akutagawa’s eyes, but he doesn’t offer an answer. He simply shrugs.
Hesitantly, Atsushi questions, “…Do you know why you’re here?”
Akutagawa opens his mouth, then closes it. His gaze drops to the table, brow furrowing as if deep in thought.
Finally, he shakes his head no.
—
Akutagawa returns two days later, no more than an hour after Atsushi’s door has been officially fixed, once again tearing it down so he can march into the dorm uninvited.
“What is your problem!?” Atsushi shouts. Kyouka merely blinks at the scene, then resumes drinking her tea. In the other room, Sigma groans.
“You realize you could just knock and I would let you in, right?”
Akutagawa raises an eyebrow, as if asking Would you?
Eh, that’s fair. He probably wouldn’t. For good reason!
“Are you still giving me the silent treatment?” Atsushi grumbles as Akutagawa completely ignores him, pushing past him to sit at the table with Kyouka. He nods politely to her, and Kyouka returns the gesture.
Atsushi huffs. “Guess that’s a yes, then. Fine, I didn’t want to be bothered by your voice anyways.” With sharp movements, he pours another cup of tea and slams it down on the table in front of Akutagawa. Then, he marches off to the other room where Sigma is reading a book she borrowed from Yosano.
“He’s so obnoxious.” Atsushi collapses onto the floor. He’s trying to subdue the burst of adrenaline that flooded his veins as soon as Akutagawa entered the dorm, but it’s not exactly something he can just will away. He’s antsy and restless. He’s expecting a fight. But Akutagawa won’t say even a single word to him.
Why?
It doesn’t make sense!
“Is he?” Sigma turns a page in her book. “He doesn’t seem so bad to me. Apart from breaking the door down.”
“It’s all an act,” Atsushi promises. “He’s probably just playing nice since Kyouka-chan is here. But he’s insufferable to be around, I promise. He hates my guts for no good reason. He wants to battle me to the death in, like, four months. He scheduled it out to the minute! Who does that!”
Sigma purses her lips. She still doesn’t look like she really understands, or even believes Atsushi is telling the truth. Ugh, maybe that’s Akutagawa’s plan—to make Atsushi look crazy in front of his own roommates. He’s literally the worst person in the world.
“Atsushi-kun,” Sigma says carefully, “he hasn’t said more than a word in the entire time I’ve known him.”
“That’s the thing!” Atsushi jumps back to his feet and takes to pacing the room. It expels some of his energy, at least. “He’s never been like that before. We always argue. I don’t understand what his problem is! It’s like he’s trying to drive me crazy by refusing to talk to me! Which, like, whatever. That’s fine. I don’t want to talk to him. But he keeps showing up here, so obviously he just wants to bother me, except that seems excessively shitty even for him, so—” he breaks into a groan. “I just don’t understand.”
Sigma hums. “You seem to think this is about you, but…what if it isn’t?”
Atsushi freezes. “Huh?”
“You’re convinced Akutagawa-kun’s motivation for everything he does centers around messing with you,” she explains. “But he doesn’t seem like the type to do that; that’s Dazai’s move. Maybe this has nothing to do with you. Maybe it has to do with him.”
Atsushi glances back towards the kitchen. It seems like a stretch, all things considered, but…the world is so different now. Everything is changing. Maybe Akutagawa has changed too.
Would that really be such a bad thing?
His hands curl into fists at his sides. His fingers itch to draw blood. Things between him and Akutagawa have never been quiet, and Atsushi is afraid—
He doesn’t want to lose Akutagawa. He doesn’t want this thing between them to weaken to the point where any pressure will shatter it completely. Tigers cannot handle fragile things; they are made to tear apart enemies with sharp claws. Atsushi was not raised to be gentle.
How can he be trusted with a new version of Akutagawa who does not bear his teeth at every encounter?
Atsushi slumps.
Kyouka pokes her head into the room. “Akutagawa offered to pay for dinner again,” she says. “Can we go out to eat?”
Atsushi looks to Sigma, who shrugs. “Is that allowed?”
“We can go to a restaurant in mafia territory,” Kyouka suggests. “They won’t question us.”
“Fine,” Atsushi relents. “But only because Akutagawa is paying.” Truthfully, going out to eat at a nice restaurant sounds incredible. They haven’t even been able to go to the ramen place down the street since the Agency was first declared terrorists, and with Kunikida still working tirelessly to build their reputation back up, Atsushi hasn’t wanted to show his face in public much.
Their names have been cleared, but the memories of the general public cannot be wiped.
So to finally have a chance to eat something other than takeout and cup noodles…
Atsushi’s stomach grumbles eagerly at the thought.
Kyouka nods. “We should leave soon. Kunikida-san worries when we’re out too late.”
—
The prices on the menu make Atsushi’s head spin, and he almost feels bad about Akutagawa paying for three extra meals, until he remembers that Akutagawa still hasn’t said a word to him. Maybe he’s being irrationally petty, but he feels like he deserves to have one decent conversation after everything that happened. They hardly had a chance to talk after the vampire ability was nullified, and now Akutagawa is being all weird, and Atsushi still has nightmares about their fight against Fukuchi, and—
“May I take your order?”
Atsushi starts, gaze swinging wildly over to the waiter. They’re dressed in a white button-up and black slacks, a frown etched across their expression. On their shirt is a name tag that reads: ELA.
Sigma orders first, and then Kyouka. Once Kyouka is finished, she gives the waiter Akutagawa’s order as well. Weird. Atsushi can understand Akutagawa refusing to talk to him, but to push it as far as making Kyouka talk to a waiter on his behalf just doesn’t make sense.
Atsushi shakes away his confusion. He can worry about it later.
He orders a sandwich that must be seasoned with gold dust considering the price, and then the waiter collects their menus and walks away. Silence falls over the four of them once more. Atsushi picks at his fingernails.
He wants to ask why Akutagawa is being so weird, but he doesn’t want to have this conversation in front of Kyouka and Sigma. So instead, he continues awkwardly avoiding eye contact with him until their food comes. The same waiter brings it out to them, eyeing them all judgmentally as they set the food on the table and leaving them with a curt, “Let me know if you need anything.”
Atsushi offers them a grateful smile. They wink at him before turning away.
Akutagawa rolls his eyes.
“What?” Atsushi hisses. “I’m just trying to be nice. Unlike you.”
Akutagawa flips him off, then picks up his fork and starts poking at his food. Atsushi wants to say something mean, but then he remembers his earlier conversation with Sigma and decides he’s better off just digging into his own meal and ignoring Akutagawa completely.
It’s a quiet affair, considering Akutagawa isn’t speaking, Kyouka doesn’t talk much, and Sigma tends to not initiate conversations. It’s almost nice, except for the fact that Akutagawa’s presence makes the silence ominous rather than peaceful, and Atsushi still doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel about this whole sudden change in his personality.
The food is good, at least. Not enough to constitute the outrageous price, but Atsushi won’t sweat it when it’s not coming out of his bank account.
Once they’ve finished, they step back outside into the cool evening. The sun is just beginning to dip down towards the horizon, painting the sky in an array of oranges and pinks. There’s a slight breeze, which ruffles Atsushi’s hair, but isn’t enough to truly chill him.
He falls into step beside Akutagawa as they begin walking to the nearest bus stop.
“Hey,” he mumbles.
Akutagawa purses his lips and raises an eyebrow. Atsushi realizes that he has absolutely no idea what to say. “Thanks for saving my life”? “Sorry you got turned into a vampire”? “Do you want your other coat back because I definitely kept it even though that’s probably weird”?
He pushes all that aside in favor of a more neutral, “We haven’t really gotten a chance to talk since…everything.”
Akutagawa hesitates. He shrugs.
Atsushi scoffs. “Okay, well, if you don’t want to talk to me, you don’t have to come over to my dorm. You know that, right? No one is forcing you over there. Or if Dazai-san put you up to this, tell him to screw off. He’s just fishing for entertainment since he can’t walk right now.”
“What.”
Atsushi trips over his own feet.
He manages to catch himself before he faceplants on the sidewalk, but only barely. He whirls around to look at Akutagawa, expecting to see him laughing at his misfortune. Instead, he’s met with a wide-eyed confused expression.
“Dazai-san?” Akutagawa clarifies, grimacing as if the name physically hurts him to say. His voice comes out rough and scratchy, like he has a sore throat, and—
Oh.
Atsushi’s gaze drifts lower, down to the scar running across Akutagawa’s throat. The one he’s been trying to avoid looking at, at all costs, because it only brings back memories he’s trying so hard to bury as far beneath the surface as possible. The vampire virus seemed to heal injuries, but maybe it was an incomplete healing. If even Yosano’s ability found a limit in restoring Kunikida’s hands so long after he lost them, it makes sense that any healing that came from the vampire virus would be imperfect.
Just because it revived Akutagawa doesn’t mean it perfectly patched his vocal chords.
“Oh,” Atsushi mumbles, feeling strangely numb. “You can’t talk.”
Akutagawa snarls. In a flash, Rashoumon has Atsushi pinned against the wall with a blade at his throat. And just as quickly, Demon Snow materializes behind Akutagawa with her katana against his neck. The translucent blade hovers milimeters over the scar.
For a moment, the world stops.
The silence rings in Atsushi’s ears.
Akutagawa grits his teeth. He retracts the sharpened tenril of his ability that made home against Atsushi’s skin, but he does not let him go. He continues staring intently at Atsushi. Waiting for something.
“Sorry?” Atsushi tries.
Akutagawa’s glare hardens. What had they been talking about before? What had triggered Akutagawa to actually say something?
Dazai. Right.
“You didn’t hear about Dazai-san’s injuries,” Atsushi guesses.
Akutagawa hesitates, then shakes his head. Demon Snow vanishes.
“Yosano-sensei has him in a wheelchair right now,” Atsushi explains. “He broke his leg when he was in prison, and then he was still walking around on it once he got back to Yokohama, which made the injury worse. And since Yosano-sensei can’t use her ability on him, he has to heal the long way. Except…”
Rashoumon tightens her grip on Atsushi’s shoulder.
“The doctors don’t think his leg will ever fully heal,” Sigma finishes. “Yosano-sensei said he’ll likely have to use some sort of aid in order to walk for the foreseeable future.”
Rashoumon goes limp. Lifeless. Like she did when Akutagawa’s coat was wrapped around Atsushi’s body, moments after dragging him away to safety. But now, Akutagawa still stands with his face mere centimeters away from Atsushi’s, still breathing, still alive still alive still alive.
Atsushi reaches out on instinct, fisting a hand into the fabric of Akutagawa’s new coat. He half-expects a violent retaliation.
It never comes.
Akutagawa’s expression is unreadable.
“Dazai-san will be okay,” Kyouka chimes in. It must be the wrong thing to say, because Akutagawa flinches like he’s been hit, then backs away from Atsushi, ripping out of his grasp. He shoves his hands into his pockets, turns on his heel, and walks away.
Atsushi wants to go after him.
Instead, he clasps his hands together and looks to the ground. Something tells him that Akutagawa will find him again once he’s ready, and seeking him out before then will only make things worse.
“Let’s go,” he mumbles. “We don’t want to worry Kunikida-san by getting back late.”
— —
Gin comes home from work in a bad mood, which has been happening every day since the vampire virus was nullified and they jumped back in with no break because unlike Akutagawa, they weren’t left with any lasting injuries. They won’t talk about it, but Akutagawa can’t respond anymore, so he supposes it doesn’t matter much.
It’s just like the good old days.
Gin kicks off their shoes, and they hit the wall with a loud thunk. Their coat is thrown haphazardly towards the chair but misses its mark and falls to the ground. Their mask follows, and they let out a frustrated huff in response before marching back to their bedroom.
Akutagawa takes another sip of his tea. It’s lukewarm because his throat can’t handle anything too hot, or too cold or too hard or too spicy or…
It’s best if he doesn’t ruminate on the foods he now struggles to eat.
The TV offers background noise, volume turned down low, but when Gin emerges from their bedroom, the first thing they do is shut it off. Their hair hangs loose, and they’ve changed out of their work clothes into pajama pants and a faded t-shirt that Akutagawa knows originally belonged to…someone else.
Tachihara hasn’t been seen since the Boss sent him to confront the captain of the Hunting Dogs, allegedly. But after learning he was originally part of the Hunting Dogs’ group, Akutagawa isn’t convinced Mori didn’t have him secretly executed in the chaos of all that was unfolding during that time. Half of the mafia had been turned into vampires, but the executives maintained control of their minds and bodies throughout the entire affair. It would have been easy for Chuuya or Kouyou to make Tachihara disappear in the midst of so much madness.
Akutagawa won’t tell Gin his thoughts, though.
He won’t waste his voice on something that will only make them feel worse.
After shutting off the TV, Gin drops the remote on the ground and slips out to the kitchen. They return a moment later with a quart of chocolate ice cream and make themself comfortable on the opposite end of the couch.
With shaky movements, Akutagawa signs, “Any news?”
Gin purses their lips and does not answer. Which means, no, there is still no word from Tachihara.
Akutagawa doesn’t say anything else. He can understand sign language far better than he can copy the correct movements with his own hands, because Gin only learned after joining the mafia. Before that, they created their own signs for anything important, but it was a far cry from a full language and much of those memories have been lost to time.
They didn’t need a crude child-made signed language once Gin had the resources to learn a real one. And Akutagawa didn’t need to sign once he began forcing himself to speak.
They sit in silence for a while, until long after Akutagawa has finished his tea and Gin finally returns the ice cream container to its rightful spot in the freezer. Only then do they ask Ryuunosuke, “How was your day?”
He shrugs.
They roll their eyes.
“I would like to return to work.”
Gin frowns. “You’re still recovering.”
“And what if I have recovered as much as I can?”
Gin tilts their head, confused. They gesture to their throat, then point at Akutagawa’s with a raised eyebrow, reminding him that he has not regained his ability to speak. Then, they point to his wrist, which he has Rashoumon wrapped tightly around, acting as a makeshift brace because he hates wearing the one the mafia doctors gave him but he can’t deny that it does help ease the pain.
Akutagawa taps his fingers against his knees. He opens his mouth, but all he can manage to get out is, “Dazai-san,” before his voice breaks and fades out into a grimace.
Disgust overtakes Gin’s expression. They sign harshly, “Dazai is no longer in the mafia! Who cares what he thinks?”
Akutagawa shakes his head, raising a hand to interrupt them before their rant can go any further. They don’t have a sign for Atsushi, exactly—typically Gin will just use the sign for tiger paired with an annoyed expression. Akutagawa isn’t a very expressive signer, but he assumes they will know who he’s talking about when he says, “The tiger said Dazai-san is suffering permanent injuries from his time in prison.”
Gin blinks. “What.”
“His leg,” Akutagawa elaborates. “He is in a…” He fingerspells wheelchair, unsure what the correct sign for that is. “If Dazai-san’s body cannot properly heal, what makes you think mine can?”
Gin looks him over, as if seeing him for the first time. As a child, he was bestowed the title of The Silent Killer, and then he followed Dazai into the mafia, and he and Gin switched roles. Gin maintained their stance of not speaking while Dazai coaxed speech out of Akutagawa at the cost of blood and bruises, and it worked.
Until now.
Akutagawa could train himself to speak again; he did it once before. But the pain this time is different because it’s born from a physical injury rather than a mental block, and he’s afraid speech therapy would do no good regardless of if it comes from Dazai’s iron fists or a licensed therapist. And if he has no choice but to give in—if he regained his life at the cost of his voice—
He does not wish to revert back to the Silent Killer who lived on the edge of death in the slums. He does not wish to lose all the good he has gained while with the mafia.
“You don’t have to speak,” Gin reminds him. They told him that over and over and over again after they first joined the mafia, back when Dazai would beat the words out of him and Akutagawa would simply let it happen because he believed speech was integral to being good enough. “It’s as true now as it was back then. Speaking aloud does not determine your worth.”
Akutagawa believes that to be true for Gin, and for anyone else, but when it comes to himself…
A bitterness settles in the back of his throat.
Dazai gave him his voice, years ago. And it was Dazai’s plan that ultimately led to him losing it again. Somehow, he is always the one pulling the strings.
Even wheelchair-bound, he has his fingers around Akutagawa’s throat, cutting off his breath, pressing his thumbnail against the scar left by the sword that took his life. Even reborn, Akutagawa cannot escape his hold.
But even Dazai is not immune to lifelong injuries, and for the first time, he seems to have something in common with Akutagawa. An open wound that will never heal.
—
Akutagawa returns to the weretiger’s residence two days later.
His mandated vacation time has not yet run out, and he has not found any better way to spend it. The apartment is too empty while Gin is away, and he is loath to bother anyone from the mafia when he knows they are still trying to patch up everything left in ruins by the mass vampire infection. With Tachihara gone, Gin and Hirotsu are shouldering extra work, and Higuchi is covering for Akutagawa himself while he is away. Chuuya, too, has been utterly swamped with mafia business—though the only time Akutagawa sees him outside of work is when he is dragged along to a bar.
Kajii is, perhaps, the only person who has not found his workload instantly multiplied, but Akutagawa is rarely in the mood to deal with that level of chaos.
And so, he finds himself in the weretiger’s kitchen once again.
Kyouka never spoke much while with the mafia, and now, her silence is a comfort. The new roommate—Sigma—is someone Akutagawa has yet to get a good reading on. There is something strange about her that Akutagawa can’t quite put his finger on, but she seems to respect his lack of speaking, so he has decided to offer her a begrudging morsel of respect for that alone.
“AKUTAGAWA!” Atsushi bellows from the doorway. He stomps into the kitchen, jabbing a finger in his face. “Can you stop knocking the door down? What is wrong with you!”
Akutagawa merely shrugs. He’s found his silence seems to get under Atsushi’s skin, which is just as well, because he would hate to have to give up needling the weretiger entirely now that his voice has failed him.
Atsushi growls, the sound exceedingly tiger-like. Akutagawa takes a sip of his lukewarm tea. Absently, he wonders if Atsushi can purr as well. Perhaps he can ask Kyouka at some point.
Atsushi throws himself down into an empty spot at the table, glaring at Akutagawa the entire time. Then, his gaze zeroes in on the mug in Akutagawa’s hands. “Hey, wait— That’s the mug Jun’ichirou got me!”
Akutagawa looks down at it. He did think the cat whiskers on it were a bit strange, but Kyouka hadn’t scolded him when he pulled it from the cupboard, so he assumed it wasn’t something especially important to anyone. Perhaps Atsushi should have labelled it. Or he should have been home when Akutagawa first came over instead of dropping in halfway through his visit.
What a terrible host.
“He got it for you as a joke,” Kyouka points out.
“That’s not the point! I don’t— GAH!” He runs a hand through his hair. “Never mind. Whatever. I’m going to shower.” He marches away, grumbling angrily under his breath. Akutagawa is unsure what his problem is. Kyouka has been such pleasant company; why can’t Atsushi be more like her?
“He’s been stressed lately,” Kyouka says. “We’re still waiting for Kunikida-san to decide what to do about Sigma-san’s entrance exam, and he’s having trouble being patient about it.”
Akutagawa raises an eyebrow. Entrance exam? For what?
“Dazai-san has done the last two,” Kyouka continues, “but he’s not supposed to over-exert himself right now, and Kunikida-san doesn’t want to put something like that on him when he can’t even walk.”
That doesn’t exactly offer the explanation Akutagawa was hoping for. He wants to clarify his confusion by signing, but Kyouka does not know sign language. So his hands remain glued to Atsushi’s mug, and he figures he will have to let his questions remain unanswered.
He forgot that loneliness so intimately woven in with silence. The two are inseparable—they were back when Akutagawa and Gin were living in the slums, and they still are now when Akutagawa has been robbed of the voice he won through blood and bruises. He does not understand how Gin deals with it.
Silence was once where he found comfort. But now—
“I’m sure Kunikida-san will figure it out as soon as he has time,” Kyouka finishes. “He’s just been even busier than usual now that he’s the Agency’s president.”
Right. Akutagawa forgot—
The Agency suffered the ultimate loss in the wake of the Decay of Angels incident. The mafia lost a handful of men, and Tachihara is gone, but their Boss and executives remain steadfast as ever.
The battle at the airport cost the Agency its leader.
Akutagawa nods in agreement, because it’s one of the only responses he can offer now. He drains the rest of his tea, then stands and walks away. Kyouka doesn’t call after him, so he ventures deeper into the dorm until he finds himself standing outside of the bathroom. Atsushi is supposed to be showering.
There is no telltale sound of water running.
He knocks on the door, then wiggles the handle without waiting for a response. It’s locked. Unsurprising. He supposes he shouldn’t tear down the bathroom door, but he’s debating using Rashoumon to pick the lock when Atsushi calls out, “Kyouka-chan?”
Akutagawa kicks the door.
Atsushi groans.
A moment later, the lock clicks and the door swings open. Atsushi’s eyes are red-rimmed and he’s still fully dressed and his hair is dry. He levels Akutagawa with a half-hearted glare. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Sorry about your mug,” Akutagawa signs, because he knows Atsushi won’t understand it. His eyes track the movement, but the bewilderment in his expression proves Akutagawa’s theory was correct.
“I don’t—” Atsushi falters. He lifts his own hands, looking them over with a frown. He huffs out a sigh. “I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me. Obviously. I don’t know why you keep coming back either when you clearly hate me!”
I don’t hate you, Akutagawa thinks. And then he steps back, blinking in shock, because—
What?
Since when does he not hate the weretiger?
(The scar across his throat itches. You know when, a voice says in the back of his mind. It sounds like Dazai’s.)
“Can you just leave me alone?” Atsushi pleads. “I can’t do this with you right now. I can’t take the time to figure out what this—” he makes a vague, sharp, gesture with his hands, “ —means, and I’m not in the mood to play an endless game of charades with you when I know you don’t even want me to figure out the right answer! I don’t want you coming in here and stealing my roommates and my mug just because you did one good thing, and the two of us are not friends, so just—” his shoulders slump. “Just go away. I can’t imagine the mafia boss kicked you out for saving the world.”
Akutagawa snorts, and it hurts his throat, but the pain is worth it.
“I SAID—!”
“I am on temporary leave,” Akutagawa informs him.
Atsushi goes quiet, snapping his mouth shut. All of the fight seems to leave his body at once. Pathetic. He tilts his head. “Huh?”
“To ‘recover’.” Akutagawa forms air quotes with his fingers. He could offer further explanation, but even such a fool should be able to figure out everything else he could possibly add. Atsushi is, after all, the only living witness to Akutagawa’s sacrifice.
“The mafia offers sick leave?”
Idiot, Akutagawa thinks. He turns on his heel, ready to leave, but he’s stopped by Atsushi grabbing hold of his wrist before he can take so much as a single step.
“I’m glad you’re getting time off to heal,” he adds. His grip doesn’t falter. It burns, as if Atsushi is searing the print of himself onto Akutagawa’s skin. “I know a lot of the Agency members could use that too.”
Akutagawa nods slowly. He doesn’t tell Atsushi how badly he hates this forced break because he has no way to occupy his time, or how the endless silence he’s found himself in is the perfect environment for a constant rerun of the memory of what it feels like to die. He doesn’t remind Atsushi that he has sought out his company to entertain himself despite the sharp tension that still sits between them, digging into Akutagawa’s throat like a spiked dog collar.
Pressing directly against the scar.
“If you want to stay for dinner,” Atsushi says slowly, “we’re going to be making sushi.”
Akutagawa does not know how to “make” sushi. He has never been particularly skilled when it comes to anything cooking-related. But Gin is on a mission and Higuchi will be staying late at work and Chuuya hasn’t had a moment to breathe since long before the airport battle and Tachihara is gone and—
He nods again.
Atsushi offers him a weak smile in response. It may be a dying olive branch, but it is a symbol of peace all the same.
ii.
When the door to the Agency office opens, Atsushi thinks nothing of it. He’s desperately sifting through files, trying to find any information that will aid in the case they’re working on. Even Dazai seems halfway stumped by it, having dropped his typical lazy, irresponsible, act in order to help out Atsushi and Kyouka. Though, Atsushi is fairly certain it’s just so Kunikida won’t feel like he has to get involved.
Regardless, despite it being hours after the office has closed, Atsushi ignores the sound of the door opening. It’s not until a strained cough follows that he frowns and looks up.
Only to be met with the sight of one Akutagawa Ryuunosuke.
His coat is draped over one arm, and he wears a black turtleneck that covers the scar on his throat. He looks nice, Atsushi thinks vaguely, before promptly slamming the door on that train of thought and focusing on the much more important detail of a mafia member being inside the Agency office while Kunikida is still here.
“Oh,” Dazai mumbles.
Atsushi stands to his feet. “What the hell are you doing here?!” he hisses. “You can’t be here! Get out!”
Akutagawa starts, then shifts his gaze over to Atsushi. He moves his free hand, and Atsushi notices there’s a brace on his wrist, mostly covered by his sleeve but hooked around his thumb and peeking out just enough that Atsushi can clearly see what it is.
(He remembers: On the ship with Fukuchi, Akutagawa’s wrist shattering. And the same one breaking again when Atsushi fought him as a vampire.)
(He thought the vampire virus healed the injury, but maybe it could only partially fix that, too.)
Akutagawa opens his mouth.
“No,” Atsushi interrupts, voice harsh. He marches over to him, grabbing hold of his arm, not wanting to risk touching his wrist, and drags him out of the office. He hears Ranpo snickering behind him, but that’s a problem he’ll have to deal with later.
“Don’t talk,” he instructs as the door shuts behind them. He shoots a wary glance towards Kunikida’s office, and when that door doesn’t immediately open, he breathes out a sigh of silent relief as he guides Akutagawa to the stairwell. Out of immediate view, at least. The last thing Atsushi needs is Kunikida finding out that not only has he been repeatedly allowing Akutagawa into his dorm, but also that the guy followed Atsushi into the office for some reason.
Atsushi doesn’t stop until they’ve gone down two flights of stairs, far enough away that Kunikida shouldn’t hear them even if they start yelling at one another. Though—with Akutagawa’s seemingly limited speech, Atsushi isn’t sure how likely that is.
He shoves Akutagawa against the wall. “What are you doing here?!”
Akutagawa blinks. Tilts his head. He points at Atsushi, then off to the side, shaking his head. He points to himself, moves his hand over in the direction he pointed last, and brings it between them, pointing at the ground.
Atsushi does not know what that means.
His confusion must show on his face, because Akutagawa huffs and whispers, “You were not home.”
Atsushi throws his hands up in frustration. “I’m working! Why were you at my home!? You do realize mafia members technically aren’t allowed on the premises, right? That’s, like, common sense.”
Akutagawa blinks again. Atsushi cannot tell if his blank expression is genuine confusion or if he’s just playing dumb. He brings his free hand up over his head, pinky extended while his other three fingertips rest against his thumb, and mimics placing something on his head.
“I cannot understand you,” Atsushi reminds him. “Maybe your mafia paycheck can handle the strain of sign language classes, but I barely got to learn how to do long division, and I don’t have the means to pay for someone to teach me an entire new language.”
Akutagawa scrunches his nose. “It is not hard.”
“Can you say something useful instead of insulting me?!”
Akutagawa’s lips twitch. For half a second, Atsushi thinks he might be about to smile. But then he reigns his expression back in and simply shakes his head in response.
Atsushi is going to slice his throat open again. How did dying and coming back only make him more annoying? Isn’t that supposed to have, like, major positive effects on someone’s character development? The manga he’s been reading on Jun’ichirou’s suggestion have been seriously misleading.
He scrubs a hand down the side of his face. “Listen, Kyouka-chan and I are working on a case, so we won’t be back until late tonight. And Sigma-san is here with us because she brought us dinner. Next time you want to come over, can you tell us ahead of time so you know if we’re actually going to be there or not?”
Akutagawa gives him a look like he’s just said the dumbest thing imaginable. Why this is, Atsushi can’t possibly fathom, until—
Akutagawa pulls his cell phone from his pocket and holds it out to Atsushi.
“What’s that for?”
Akutagawa huffs. He turns it on, taps on a few things, then holds it out again. Now, the screen shows a place for a new contact to be added.
“Oh.” Atsushi’s cheeks heat. Right. Akutagawa has no way to contact him, because while they’ve been in several life-or-death battles together, they never did anything as mundane as exchanging phone numbers.
He puts his number into Akutagawa’s phone, then sends himself a message so he’ll have the corresponding info.
Akutagawa takes his phone back, looks it over, then nods approvingly. He slips it into his pocket and then walks away without another word.
Atsushi watches him until he’s out of sight, baffled at what just happened. After several minutes of standing in place, stunned, he trudges back up to the Agency office.
Once he’s back at his desk, Dazai asks casually, “How’s Akutagawa-kun doing?”
“Fine,” he lies.
His phone vibrates, and he pulls it out. On the screen is a message from a still-unsaved number that has to be Akutagawa’s, because it says: I will be arriving at your dorm in three hours. Be there.
Atsushi decides not to respond.
—
Akutagawa shows up exactly when he said he would, three hours after he sent the text on the dot. Atsushi swings open the door, debating if he can pull the Kyouka-chan is trying to fall asleep card even though she’s still in the shower and not yet actively going to bed, but his train of thought is promptly cut off when Akutagawa immediately shoves several very heavy books into his arms.
“What the—oof—” Atsushi stumbles under the weight of them. Amusement glints in Akutagawa’s eyes as he brushes past Atsushi, heading for the kitchen. “What are these for?!”
Predictably, Akutagawa doesn’t answer.
Atsushi looks down at the top book on the stack. The cover says: Japanese Sign Language (BEGINNER).
Frowning, he follows after Akutagawa. By the time he makes it to the kitchen, Akutagawa has already poured himself a cup of tea and taken a seat at the table. Atsushi drops the books on the other side, then sits down as well.
“Why?” he asks, not even knowing exactly what it is he’s asking an explanation for.
Akutagawa gestures vaguely at the books. He sets his cup down, then signs something, movements slow and careful as if that will better help Atsushi understand him. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t. Because Atsushi does not know any sign language!!!
“How many times do I have to say—?!”
Akutagawa reaches forward, tapping the cover of the top book with his index finger. Atsushi glares at him. He flips it open, then taps something else.
Atsushi looks down at the page. There’s a series of illustrations of a girl as she signs Nice to meet you. She starts with both hands in front of her, palm down, placing her right hand on top of her left one. Then, both hands come up to chest level, index finger extended. Her left hand remains in front of her chest, palm out, while her right creates a wide circle before coming to meet the left hand.
Akutagawa snaps his fingers. Atsushi looks up, and Akutagawa does the movement himself, slow and precise. Then, he points at Atsushi.
Hesitantly, Atsushi lifts his hands. He mirrors Akutagawa’s movements: right hand on left hand, then both upright with his pointer finger extended. Right hand circles around to meet the left.
Nice to meet you.
Akutagawa’s lips twitch again, and this time, Atsushi is certain it’s the barest hints of a smile.
— —
Akutagawa’s first day back at work consists of a whole lot of nothing.
He’s basically told to stay in his office and read over other people’s paperwork for mistakes, though at least Chuuya is nice enough to offer him a sympathetic smile and a promise that this will only be temporary when he drops off files.
Akutagawa offers him nothing more than a polite nod, and then he’s left alone again.
He lasts approximately seven minutes before he pulls out his phone and opens his text conversation with Atsushi, which currently consists of exactly two messages. He doesn’t text often—the only person who can reliably get a response from him is Gin—so he’s not quite sure what to say. Or if he should say anything at all. Gin sends him dumb images they find on the internet, but Akutagawa does not use any of the social media sites they waste their time on, so that is not an option for him.
He navigates to his camera roll, but that is rather empty as well. There are some pictures Gin took of themself and Higuchi, photos from when he went grocery shopping and didn’t know what flavor of chips Gin wanted, and…pictures Gin took of themself and Tachihara.
Akutagawa closes out of his camera roll, something bitter settling in the back of his throat.
Sometimes Gin sends him videos of cats. Perhaps Atsushi would like that. He is, essentially, part cat himself.
Yes, that sounds like a good idea.
He searches Google for Cat Videos, but none of the immediate results are quite what Akutagawa wants. He’d like a cat that resembles Atsushi’s tiger form. White, maybe with black markings or—
He does another search, this time for White Tiger Pictures.
Perfect.
He spends upwards of twenty minutes scrolling and saving the pictures he likes best, gathering an entire collection, should he ever require more. Then, he finally re-opens his text conversation with Atsushi and sends one of the many pictures he saved.
Satisfied, he sets his phone aside and resumes doing paperwork. He hardly has time to read through a single paragraph before his phone screen lights up with a response.
He glances at his phone, then back to the report. Phone. Report. Phone…
He drops the report and reads Atsushi’s response:
???
Akutagawa frowns to himself. He isn’t entirely sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. So he sends another picture and waits.
Akutagawa
Attachment: 1 image
Weretiger
I don’t understand you
Akutagawa
Attachment: 1 image
Weretiger
Is this some sort of psychic attack??
Akutagawa
Attachment: 1 image
Weretiger
Okay I know you can’t speak much, but that definitely doesn’t affect your ability to text. What is your problem
Akutagawa
I am helping you find your family.
Atsushi
…
Not funny
Attachment: 1 image
This u?
Akutagawa stares at the picture Atsushi sent. He tilts his phone screen, squinting. It seems to be a photo of a black cat, though the shadows falling over it make it hard to see much beyond the eyes, glinting red in the strange lighting. It certainly does not resemble him at all.
But of course the weretiger would send something so foolish.
Akutagawa
No.
Attachment: 1 image
Atsushi
STOP SENDING ME TIGER PICTURES
Akutagawa smiles to himself. If he had known saving Atsushi’s number to his phone would open such a wondrous new avenue to bother him, he would have done it sooner. At this rate, he may burn through his entire collection of pictures in one day. He’ll just have to search for more. Maybe Gin has some good videos, too.
He spends the morning alternating between skimming over reports and sending tiger pictures to an increasingly annoyed Atsushi, until he gets a text from Kyouka saying, Atsushi thinks you are attempting to give his phone a virus, to which he responds, I do not know what you are talking about. He does, however, stop sending photos. For Kyouka’s sake.
He eats lunch at the mafia headquarters with Gin and Higuchi—leftover soup, warmed up in the microwave but not too hot so as to not aggravate his throat. Gin absently picks at their own store-bought sushi while Higuchi spends most of the time ignoring her food in favor of typing on the laptop she brought with her for some reason.
It isn’t exactly common for them to all eat at the same time, but it still feels oddly empty. There’s a seat beside Akutagawa that remains unoccupied, and Tachihara was always the most talkative one. The silence without him is an oppressive reminder of his absence, and it’s not as if Akutagawa or Gin can fill it. Higuchi won’t, either, because she’s more focused on doing work than using her lunch break to relax as she should.
Akutagawa lifts another spoonful of soup to his mouth, blowing on it softly before swallowing it down. The warmth feels almost soothing, though he misses eating hot things. He misses not having to be careful about what he eats in the first place. He’s growing tired of soup.
He thinks of Atsushi and the others at the Agency. He’s only been to their office the one time, when he showed up at Atsushi’s dorm and found no one at home. It was strange, seeing how much smaller their space is compared to the Port Mafia headquarters. Akutagawa could manage without seeing many of his coworkers for weeks, but the Agency members must show up and face one another all day every day.
Akutagawa can usually ignore the hole left in Tachihara’s place because they don’t directly work together. And, likewise, Gin and Hirotsu and Chuuya could manage just fine while he was on a mandatory leave and they do not have to deal with his lack of speaking because they don’t have to see him most days.
But Atsushi walks into the Agency office every day and sees Dazai in a wheelchair.
(Akutagawa still can’t get the image out of his head. He’s seen Dazai bandaged and wearing casts and walking with crutches, yet—
the wheelchair drove home the idea of permanence. What’s wrong with him now isn’t something that will ever heal.)
He wants to ask Higuchi if she’s heard anything about it—from Chuuya, maybe. But he does not feel like straining his voice and he can’t imagine Higuchi would appreciate such an interruption right now regardless. So he simply continues eating, the vacant space to his left digging into his side like a knife between his ribs.
—
When Akutagawa returns home, the lock is broken. Crushed in some show of impossible strength, and mangled enough that the door cannot fully shut.
Rashoumon emerges from his coat on instinct as he nudges the door open. He stalks inside, preparing himself for an attack, though everything seems to still be in place. Nothing else broken, nothing obvious stolen, so what—
Akutagawa freezes.
There is a weretiger on his couch.
“Hey!” Atsushi greets with a grin. “You kept knocking my door down, so I hope you don’t mind the little issue with your lock. I don’t have a key and no one was home, so,” he shrugs.
Rashoumon shoots out towards him, tendrils sharpening and aiming for any weak points. The tiger can heal him, and Akutagawa has plenty of experience cleaning bloodstains.
Atsushi yelps, ducking out of the way, losing his balance and tumbling off the couch. The sight is so humorous that it gives Akutagawa pause, and Rashoumon stops in her tracks. He brings his fist up to cover his mouth, turning his laugh into a cough.
Atsushi glares at him. He pushes himself to his feet, brushing his pants off as if there’s any dirt in the apartment that could have sullied them, then picks something up off the couch and tosses it to Akutagwa.
Rashoumon catches it.
She brings it to Akutagawa’s waiting hands, then settles back into his coat. He frowns. It’s one of the books he gave Atsushi last week.
“Kyouka-chan and I have been trying to learn together, but she said it would be better to practice with someone who actually knows what they’re doing,” he explains with a sheepish smile. He scratches the back of his neck. “No one else I know is fluent, so I thought I’d stop by and ask for some tips.”
Akutagawa signs, “If you do not know sign language, how do you expect to understand my advice?”
Atsushi hesitates. Slowly, he brings his hands up and responds, “Slower?”
Akutagawa huffs. He throws the book back at Atsushi, silently delighting when it hits him square in the chest, and marches out to the kitchen. Gin should be returning soon, and Akutagawa would like to call in a takeout order before that happens, because if he doesn’t, Gin will insist on being the one who does the speaking even though they abhor talking on the phone.
He rifles through a few drawers until he finds the menu. He tosses it onto the counter, then pulls his phone from his pocket.
“What are you— Are you about to call in an order?!” Atsushi demands.
Akutagawa looks up at him, blinking. He stomps over, throws the book onto the counter, then snatches Akutagawa’s phone straight out of his hand. He points an accusing finger. “You shouldn’t be talking that much!”
“I can do—”
Atsushi slams his hand over Akutagawa’s mouth. Unsure what else to do, Akutagawa bites his palm.
Atsushi yelps, jerking his hand away. “What the hell was that for?!”
Akutagawa shrugs. He wants to say, It’s not as if you have never been bitten by me before, but he gets the feeling that isn’t the response Atsushi is looking for. Nor does Atsushi seem too keen on the idea of him speaking aloud, which is strange, considering he’s spent the past two weeks all but begging him to say anything at all.
“You really are like a rabid dog, I swear,” Atsushi grumbles. He grabs the menu and shoves it into Akutagawa’s hands. “What are you getting?”
He tilts his head, hoping it accurately displays his confusion.
Atsushi waves Akutagawa’s phone around. “I’m going to order for you. Obviously. Point to what you want.”
Akutagawa hesitates. He points to his own order, and then to Gin’s order.
“You want to order both things?” Atsushi clarifies.
He nods. He signs, “For my sibling.” When Atsushi stares blankly at him, he signs sister and then brother and then sibling again.
“Oh! Gin-san!” Atsushi copies the sign for ‘sibling’.
Despite the clumsiness of the movements, Akutagawa offers him an expression of approval. He points to the menu, and then to Atsushi.
“Eh?”
Akutagawa repeats the movement, harsher this time, and when he points at Atsushi he makes sure to point to his mouth. Surely a fool can figure out what that means.
“You…want me to order food for myself too?”
Akutagawa nods. He digs his wallet out of his pocket and passes his credit card over to Atsushi, then gestures for him to hurry up. Thankfully, he’s able to understand. He dials the restaurant’s number and places the order.
“You know,” he says, once he’s hung up and passed Akutagawa’s things back over, “you could just order food with an app next time.”
Akutagawa wrinkles his nose in disgust.
Atsushi laughs. “It’s super easy!” He brings out his own phone, then opens some app Akutagawa truly has no interest in learning about. “See, with this one, you can pick from a bunch of different restaurants and you don’t have to actually talk to anyone. Well, except for when the delivery guy shows up, but I guess only then if you want to be nice, and you probably don’t care much about that. Kyouka-chan and I do this sometimes, but it costs extra ‘cause of the delivery, so we have to be careful about using it too much. Although that’s obviously not an issue for you either.”
Akutagawa snorts. It’s true that money is the least of his concerns now, but he can at least appreciate Atsushi’s determination to be careful with how he spends his. All necessities were hard to come by in the slums, so when you had them, it was vital to make them stretch as far as possible.
“Anyway, next time, you should try that. Or I’ll show you how.”
Akutagawa raises an eyebrow. Next time?
Atsushi smiles innocently. Whether he understood the unspoken question or not remains unclear.
While they wait for the food to arrive, Akutagawa begrudgingly helps Atsushi learn more signs. He skips around in the book, pointing out ones that he knows from experience are used most often in day-to-day conversation. Atsushi complains about jumping from the front to the back to the middle and then to the front again, but he keeps up well, all things considered. His movements are still hesitant and jerky, but Akutagawa supposes he can’t comment much on that considering he has similar struggles himself.
It doesn’t help that his wrist can only handle so much movement before it begins to tense up, aching in protest of being used as it’s supposed to be.
In fact, the pain is just beginning to flare up when the food arrives. It offers the perfect distraction for Akutagawa to tighten Rashoumon around it in place of the brace he’s supposed to wear, and Atsushi will be none the wiser. He does not need to know anything more of Akutagawa’s recently-gained weaknesses. The fact that he was able to take note of his inability to speak without being directly told is humiliating enough.
Atsushi darts towards the door to get the food, presumably so Akutagawa won’t attempt to speak to the person who has come to deliver it. As if he has any interest in striking up a conversation there. He lets him go, though, if only so he won’t have to carry the bags back to the kitchen himself.
He glares at his wrist. For some reason, this does not convince it to stop hurting.
Akutagawa can vaguely make out the sound of Atsushi accepting the food, and then the door shutting. There’s a beat of silence which is followed by a strangled yelp and, “Please don’t kill me!”
Ah. Gin must be home.
Akutagawa has half a mind to leave the two to their own devices and see what happens, but then he decides he would rather not deal with the damage of a fight in the entryway considering how reckless Atsushi is, so he makes his way over to them.
He finds Atsushi with his back against the wall, Gin across from him holding a knife to his throat. Atsushi still has the takeout bags in one hand, though both of his arms have been transformed into tiger limbs.
Gin looks over at him, a death glare etched across their face.
“He showed up unannounced,” Akutagawa explains.
Gin stares at him. With their free hand, they sign what he can only assume to be, “And you let him stay?”
He hesitates. And then he shrugs, because he’s realized he has no good defense apart from the fact that he broke into Atsushi’s dorm first, and this is simply fair repayment.
Gin huffs. But they step back, sheathing their knife. They shoot one final scowl at Atsushi before brushing past Akutagawa, purposefully bumping into him to make him stumble, and heading to their bedroom.
Once they’re out of earshot, Atsushi hisses, “Your sibling is terrifying, man! I thought I was going to die!”
Despite himself, Akutagawa smiles smugly. “Your tiger is no match against a skilled assassin? This is good to know. I will keep that weakness in mind.”
Atsushi grimaces. “I don’t know exactly what you just said, but I’m pretty sure it was an insult.”
“Perhaps. Come; we should eat while the food is still warm.” He doesn’t wait to see if Atsushi understood him; he simply turns on his heel and strides back to the kitchen. He does hear footsteps following him shortly, which means the weretiger has at least one modicum of common sense hidden somewhere inside that thick skull of his.
Once in the kitchen, Atsushi sets the bags down and begins pulling everything out. He doesn’t even have to ask what food belongs to who, correctly guessing what Akutagawa ordered for himself and what he ordered for Gin. It leaves a strange feeling lingering in Akutgawa’s chest—one he can’t quite put a name to. It’s not exactly a bad sensation, though that fact in and of itself makes it unfortunate.
Atsushi pries the lid off of his food, then hesitates. “Should we wait for your sibling?”
Akutagawa shakes his head. Gin may very well take their food into their room, depending on what sort of mood they’re in. Surely Atsushi’s surprise appearance did not help if they were already upset, which is rather likely, given the general pattern of the past few weeks.
Atsushi clasps his hands together in thanks, then breaks his chopsticks apart and starts digging in. Akutagawa merely watches for a moment, astounded at how casual this feels. It should be strange to have the weretiger in his apartment, sitting across from him, eating takeout. But strange is far from the word he would use to describe it.
Upsettingly, when he searches for the most accurate descriptor, all he can come up with is that it feels right.
He does his best to shake that thought away and begins eating as well. His movements are slow and careful, as his wrist is already threatening to render itself unusable, even with Rashoumon acting as a brace. If his only company for dinner were Gin, he would simply suffer through relying most heavily on his left hand to eat, but he cannot afford to let Atsushi see that. So he chooses pain instead of vulnerability.
Gin returns when Atsushi is halfway done with his food and Akutagawa has hardly made a dent in his. They take one look at him before telling him, “Eat with your other hand.”
Akutagawa glares at them.
“You’re not even wearing your brace.”
Akutagawa drops his chopsticks so he can reply, “I have Rashoumon.”
“That is not the same. The doctors have told you that. Where is your brace?”
“Do not.” Akutagawa’s gaze flits towards Atsushi. “We have an enemy in our midst.”
Gin snorts. “An enemy you welcomed into our home with open arms?” They flick his forehead. “You’re an idiot.” Then, they turn away. Akutagawa doesn’t think much of it until they reappear a moment later with his wrist brace in hand.
“What’s that?” Atsushi asks.
Gin ignores him, gesturing for Akutagawa to hold his wrist out so they can help him put it on. Something akin to anger boils up inside of him, hot and embarrassing, and he refuses to do as he’s been asked.
Gin throws the brace in his face. “You’re so annoying!”
“I do not need your help!” On the last word, Akutagawa’s movements ring a bit too harsh, and pain sparks through his wrist, leaving the latter half of the sign weak as he grimaces.
“Um,” Atsushi says eloquently.
Gin turns on him. “You were not invited here. If you do not like it, leave!” Once they’ve finished, the anger in their expression melts away, and they blink as if confused.
Hesitantly, Atsushi tells them. “I’m just repaying your brother for all of his visits to my place. I didn’t mean for you to get caught up in it.”
Akutagawa pointedly turns away from Gin so he doesn’t have to see whatever it is they’ll have to say to that. As if it is his fault he was forced to stay home from work and left with no one to keep him company apart from the wretched weretiger.
A moment later, Atsushi laughs, and Akutagawa whirls back around on instinct. Not because he wants to see it, but because if the weretiger is laughing in his apartment behind his back, he is certain it must be at his expense.
“He’s broken my door down, like, four different times,” Atsushi says. Gin’s eyes have come alive with some horrible twist of excitement and mirth. Akutagawa is suddenly sincerely considering walking into the ocean and letting the waves carry him away. “So I thought it was only fair that I drop by his place. Kyouka-chan gave me the address.”
Gin snorts.
Everyone Akutagawa knows is a traitor.
But—
Gin has also opened up their food, removed their mask, and begun eating. Out here, with Akutagawa and Atsushi, instead of locked away in their bedroom. And they’re smiling.
Such good moods are so rare for them these days. Akutagawa supposes, perhaps, he could let a few things slide if Atsushi is offering Gin a sufficient distraction from their woes.
Atsushi catches him staring. He points a chopstick at him. “You should put that brace on your wrist. It’ll help.”
Akutagawa scoffs. “And how would you know that?”
Atsushi squints, hesitates, and then replies, “I’m not exactly sure what you just said, but I can take a guess. And it’s because these—” he holds up a gloved hand, wiggling his fingers, “are compression gloves. And they help with my pain.”
Akutagawa blinks.
How can he admit such a weakness so easily? And to say it as if it means nothing—as if it is a simple fact about him that he would allow anyone to know. It is foolish, surely. Akutagawa could use this against him.
But there are things Atsushi can use against Akutagawa too. His wrist, his voice, his sibling, his home address. There are many things Atsushi knows that could be used to end Akutagawa with one well-planned move.
He picks the brace up from where it fell, pushes his sleeve up, and tugs it on. Gin leans over to help tighten it properly, and though he typically uses Rashoumon for any assistance he requires with it, he allows them to do so without complaining.
Once they’re done, they repeat, “Eat with your other hand.”
Akutagawa purses his lips. His eyes flit to Atsushi, and then down to his food.
Oh, well. He supposes Atsushi has already seen enough. Watching him eat left-handed cannot possibly make this situation any worse than it already is.
—
After dinner, Gin takes a shower while Akutagawa resumes teaching Atsushi the basics of sign language. On Atsushi’s request, he does not show examples of the signs himself in order to allow his wrist a chance to rest. Because of this, they end up mostly reviewing what they went over before dinner, including how to fingerspell words.
For the most part, Atsushi picks up the alphabet signs quickly—though he struggles greatly with the sign for せ. It is not a particularly hard sign, in Akutagawa’s opinion, but Atsushi’s hands cannot seem to form the correct shape no matter how hard he tries.
“Like this?”
Akutagawa frowns. His index finger is bent too far down again, giving the illusion that he is merely flipping Akutagawa off. And while he knows that isn’t the intention, he returns the gesture—with his left hand, so Atsushi cannot argue about him straining his wrist.
“I’m trying!” Atsushi cries. “It’s not my fault my fingers won’t work right!”
Akutagawa huffs. He has grown tired of this struggle when there is no improvement to be seen, so he determines it is time to take matters into his own hands. Literally.
He moves closer, grabbing Atsushi’s hand. He doesn’t think anything of it until the warmth of Atsushi’s skin is pressed against his fingers, and suddenly, his heart has crawled up into his throat. He momentarily forgets how to breathe.
Then, he brutally shoves aside whatever repulsive sense of longing presented itself in his chest at first contact.
He nudges Atsushi’s index finger up a bit, so it’s bent in half and curled over. With his other hand, he holds down Atsushi’s ring and pinky fingers, leaving his middle finger and thumb as the only ones extended. せ.
For a moment, he holds Atsushi’s hand in place. He doesn’t want to let go.
(It would be easier if Atsushi argued—if he yanked his hand away, face wrinkling in disgust. But he doesn’t. He lets Akutagawa hold him without complaint.)
In the end, the moment isn’t broken by either of them.
Behind Akutagawa, Gin clears their throat, and whatever stupor he fell into shatters. He jumps back from Atsushi. When he turns to look at them, there’s some strange, unnamable, expression on their face. It makes his skin crawl.
“S-sorry, Gin-san,” Atsushi stammers out. Akutagawa has absolutely no idea what he might be apologizing for, but that is neither here nor there.
Slowly, Gin asks, “He’s teaching you sign language?”
Atsushi’s cheeks color, flushing a pretty shade of pink. “Just—just a bit. I figured it would be nice to know, since I’m sure Dazai-san will eventually want us to work together again and all. Plus Kyouka-chan doesn’t always like to talk, so I can teach her too! And, like, if there’s ever a case or a mission or something where I have to be silent, or if we get a Deaf client at the Agency, it’ll be great to already have that knowledge!”
Gin nods, though they look a bit bewildered. They turn to Akutagawa, “You agreed to teach him?”
“How am I to insult him if I cannot speak and he cannot understand sign language?”
The confusion immediately dips into annoyance. They roll their eyes, then drop back into the chair beside Akutagawa before shoving his shoulder. “Your turn to shower. You stink. I’ll take over.”
Akutagawa raises his hands to object.
“No,” Gin cuts him off. “You need to rest your wrist as well.”
He looks to Atsushi. He is hesitant to leave him and Gin alone together. Not because he fears a fight may break out, but because…
He frowns. There is something, he thinks, inside of his chest that is not being allowed out. And it is something that has to do with Atsushi. He is curious as to what it might be, but he worries that if he unlocks the cage and allows it to spring free, destruction will befall the two of them.
Just like on the ship, during their battle against Fukuchi. When they trusted one another with their lives, and Akutagawa gave what was left of his to allow Atsushi a chance to escape. When Fukuchi slit his throat, and the last thing he saw was Atsushi’s hand through the fog, reaching towards him, straining against Rashoumon as she dragged him away.
There was something back then, too, beating at the bars of Akutagawa’s ribcage, trying to tear him apart from the inside out.
But this time, when he looks between Atsushi and Gin, it is softer. It is a gentle death that he knows he does not deserve.
“I don’t mind,” Atsushi says, a kind smile on his face. “And besides, your wrist needs a break.”
Gin gives him a thumbs up.
There is a gentle death inside of Akutagawa—a silent death, left in the hollow of his lungs now that the disease has been violently ripped out of them. It aches like his throat, but it holds him tenderly in its hands, singing him softly to sleep.
He does not want to leave Gin and Atsushi alone together, because if they get along, he will be forced to confront the fact that that is, ultimately, exactly what he wants. He wants to pull both of them into this silent death, into a cavity of his heart, and hold them there forever. A place with no more swords, no more guns, no more blood, no more despair. No more everlasting pain.
Just the three of them, in peaceful silence.
It is sickening, to wilt with such desire.
Akutagawa stands to his feet, shakily, then turns his back and walks away.
iii.
“Tiger,” Atsushi signs.
“Tiger,” Kyouka repeats aloud, copying the movement.
“Yep! Okay, next one.” He signs: “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Kyouka says and signs at the same time.
“Good job! Umm… okay, how about—”
The door to the break room swings open, and Dazai hobbles in with Ranpo on his tail. He’s been graduated from the wheelchair to crutches now, which Yosano said will probably stay with him for the rest of his life. It’s the only way to get enough pressure off of his leg to allow him to walk, she’d explained.
As far as Atsushi can tell, Dazai is pretending to be okay with it.
“Hey,” Ranpo greets. He pokes Dazai’s shoulder, and without another word, Dazai huffs and sits down in the nearest chair. He drops his crutches on the ground next to him.
Atsushi and Kyouka return the greeting as Ranpo prances over to the fridge. He throws it open and begins rummaging through it.
“What are the two of you up to?” Dazai asks.
Atsushi tries to think up a lie, but before he can, Kyouka answers, “Learning sign language.”
“They literally have a book out,” Ranpo calls over their shoulder. “Use your eyes, Dazai-kun. Don’t be dumb.”
“I’m making conversation!”
“Boring.”
Dazai rolls his eyes. Then, he leans forward, resting his chin on his hands. “And why are you learning sign language? I can’t think of anyone I know who uses it.” He taps his chin. “Well, except—”
“We just thought it might be useful!” Atsushi blurts out. A nervous laugh bubbles up in his throat. “Right, Kyouka-chan? Like, in case we get a client who uses it! Or—something like that.”
Kyouka hesitates, then nods in agreement. Atsushi breathes out a sigh of relief. He kind of doubts they managed to fool Dazai, but he just really doesn’t want to have to admit the truth out loud. Because then Dazai has solid evidence for the inevitable taunting that will come as soon as he finds out—
Atsushi swallows thickly.
Dazai’s smile stretches too-wide across his face. “How thoughtful of you.”
(For some reason, Atsushi gets the feeling he isn’t talking about learning for potential clients.)
Ranpo stands up, arms full of several containers of food. They kick the fridge door shut behind them, then prace over to sit beside Dazai, dumping everything on the table. “Which do you want?”
“None of them.”
“Not an option.” Ranpo picks up a container, seemingly at random, opens it, and sets it in front of Dazai. “Ta-da! Lunch!”
Dazai wrinkles his nose.
“Don’t be like that; Yosano bought these especially for us because we’re both so shit at taking care of ourselves.” Ranpo shoves a pair of chopsticks into Dazai’s hands. “Now, eat up!”
Dazai sighs as he breaks the chopsticks apart. He idly stirs the rice, gaze fixing itself back on Atsushi. “I used to know a few signs myself, you know. Like—” he sets the chopsticks down. Signs—
Atsushi blinks.
It’s not a sign from any of the books Akutagawa gave him. It’s a sign Gin taught him one night, when he arrived at their apartment before Akutagawa had returned from work. A mutilation of the sign for gun—the name given to Dazai in the Akutagawa siblings’ tongue.
Atsushi’s blood runs cold.
Dazai’s smile doesn’t change, but it suddenly looks sharper. Bloodier. Atsushi is struck with the violent reminder that he was once part of the Port Mafia, and he was good at what he did.
Kyouka frowns. “We haven’t learned that sign yet.”
“It seems like Atsushi-kun has.”
Kyouka turns her confusion onto him, but Atsushi’s voice fails him. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say—doesn’t know enough about Dazai’s history with the name sign he was given to make a comment on it. He’s hardly even been given straight answers about what his relationship with Akutagawa was like when he was in the mafia, though he can draw several conclusions based on the rippling aftereffects still on display.
Kyouka copies the sign. “What does it mean?”
“It means Dazai’s being a dick,” Ranpo cuts in, flicking his ear.
Dazai pouts, and just like that, whatever dark demeanor temporarily overtook him snaps and shatters, crumbling away like it was never there. And the Dazai that Atsushi is used to seeing takes his place. He sticks his tongue out at Ranpo. “Takes one to know one.”
“If I was a dick, would you suck m—” Ranpo coughs into his fist. “I mean. Shut up. Eat.”
Dazai bats his eyelashes. “Eat what?”
Atsushi feels like he’s intruding on something here.
“Shut up,” Ranpo hisses, gesturing vaguely towards him and Kyouka. Dazai sighs, but he does start eating his food. Ranpo sits beside him, more than a respectable distance away, and does the same.
“They’re weird,” Kyouka signs.
Atsushi snorts as he nods in agreement.
—
When Atsushi ends up being the one to walk Dazai back to the dorms at the end of the day, he’s fairly certain it was somehow entirely orchestrated. However, he isn’t smart enough to outwit Dazai, and he has to assume Ranpo is in on it considering they’re the only one who could’ve stepped in if they deemed it necessary.
So he holds the elevator door open while Dazai carefully steps in and prays to any gods that might be listening that this won’t be as awkward as he fears.
The elevator ride is silent. Dazai’s shoulders are hunched, and he keeps one hand on the railing, crutch held in place between his waist and the wall. He gets tense in elevators, Atsushi has noticed. He wonders if that’s a new thing, or just something he only recently managed to pick up on. Many things about Dazai are an enigma that Atsushi has given up on unraveling.
Lucy waves to them as they pass through the café, and Atsushi calls back a pleasant greeting. Dazai merely nods, seemingly more intent on getting outside than stopping to chat. Maybe his leg is bothering him. …Should Atsushi ask if he needs a break? Or offer to carry him on his back? He wouldn’t be able to use the tiger’s strength, but he might be able to manage…
He’s still contemplating this when they step outside, and immediately, Dazai strikes up a conversation. “So, Atsushi-kun, have you made any new friends recently?”
Atsushi blinks. “Huh?”
“Oh, you know,” Dazai shrugs, as best as he can manage with the crutches. “Typically when someone starts learning sign language, they’re doing it for a friend. Or a sibling.” He tilts his head towards Atsushi, bangs falling into his eyes.
He knows.
There is no doubt in Atsushi’s mind that he knows.
The question is just…how much?”
Atsushi wrings his hands together. “Well, I mean— It wasn’t even my idea, to begin with. But I’m glad I started learning! I—I really do think it could be helpful in a lot of situations. Besides, just ‘cause we dealt with one world-ending crisis doesn’t mean there’ll never be another, and we’ll have to be able to communicate somehow, right?”
Dazai pauses, his expression pulled down into a frown. He almost looks—genuinely confused?
“Are you intending to save the world with Gin-kun next time?”
Atsushi stops as well. “Am I—what?”
“You’re learning sign language because of Gin-kun,” Dazai explains slowly, as if Atsushi is a child and not someone who knows their actual motivation for doing things. “Because you think it will make you look good to Akutagawa-kun if you can communicate with his sibling.”
“No?” Where in the world did Dazai get that idea? “I’m learning because Akutagawa—”
Oh.
Dazai doesn’t—
Dazai doesn’t know.
“Because Akutagawa what?” he bites out, dark and threatening, and Atsushi absolutely does not want to answer anything spoken in a tone like that with the truth. He needs to come up with something else, immediately.
“Because Akutagawa—” he chokes on his words. It was a secret he was entrusted with, and now he’s spilled it to the one person Akutagawa would least want to know. All of the progress they’ve made is going to be torn to shreds from this one mistake. Think, Atsushi, THINK! “He— He said—”
Dazai’s expression twists into something unreadable. Something sour, something almost remorseful, except he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to feel guilty over past mistakes, so that can’t really be right at all. And then he turns away, too quickly for Atsushi to consider it any more. “I see,” he muses.
Atsushi sincerely hopes he doesn’t.
“He still prefers silence at home.”
Atsushi has no idea what the hell that means. But it’s an excuse, and so he’s going to grab hold of it. He sighs like he’s been found out—like Dazai has once again seen straight through him.
“Yeah,” he mumbles. “I didn’t…”
“It’s fine,” Dazai says airily. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I did what I needed to.”
Atsushi does not ask. He doesn’t say anything else for the entire remainder of the walk home.
—
The Akutagawa siblings’ apartment is not, exactly, what Atsushi would describe as silent.
He can’t stop thinking about the wrong conclusion Dazai drew, replying the words over in his head, trying to pry them apart to discover the meaning hidden beneath, but he has thus far come up empty. He still prefers silence at home.
Except—Akutagawa keeps the windows cracked in the morning, so the sounds of the city seep in. And Gin enjoys playing music or letting the TV run during the day. There’s the hum of the air conditioning, and the ticking of the antique clock on the wall, and while Gin doesn’t speak, they respond audibly with laughter or a tongue click or a sigh.
Silence, Atsushi has learned, is not synonymous with a lack of speech. The Akutagawa siblings’ apartment is not one with much spoken language, but it is not silent. It is not even quiet.
Atsushi knew true silence, a long time ago, locked away in a cell with his knees hugged to his chest, shivering beneath the scraps of fabric he called clothing. Silence is dark and it is lonely and it is oppressive.
The Akutagawa siblings’ apartment is always, always, alive.
Cupboards are opened and closed, faucets turned on and off, light switches flicked up and down. The shower runs, the toilet flushes, the upstairs neighbors make the ceiling creak. Chairs scrape across the floor, a knife clatters against the counter, Akutagawa knocks on Gin’s door before entering their room.
He still prefers silence at home.
Atsushi wonders if Dazai ever once stepped into the Akutagawa siblings’ home while he was with the mafia. He wonders if that really was true once, or if Dazai is making assumptions based on what he knew of Akutagawa years ago. But even then—
It doesn’t matter anymore. I did what I needed to.
He thinks himself in circles until he finally breaks. He’s at Akutagawa’s apartment and they’ve just finished eating dinner and Gin isn’t home yet, and they’re not talking because Atsushi is practicing signing, but it’s still not silent, and he has to know.
He needs to know.
“Why does Dazai-san think you like silence?” he blurts out.
Akutagawa furrows his eyebrows. “What?”
“He…he told me a couple weeks ago that you… He said you ‘prefer silence at home’. What does that mean?”
Akutagawa flinches like he’s been hit. Instantly, Atsushi regrets bringing it up at all. He should have tried harder to snuff out his curiosity, because this amiability between them is still fragile, still so breakable, and Atsushi didn’t want to ruin it.
“It doesn’t matter,” Akutagawa signs stiffly.
“Okay!” Atsushi squeaks. “Yeah, that’s fine, that’s— You don’t have to answer. I was just curious, because he—” he falters. “I—”
“You what?”
“I’m going to stop talking now.”
Akutagawa stares at him. Atsushi debates running away. But he’s pinned in place by that dark gaze, paralyzed, and it’s not exactly fear that is seeping through his veins because he isn’t scared of Akutagawa—not anymore. He’s not scared Akutagawa will hurt him. He’s scared that—
He’s not afraid of Akutagawa; he’s afraid of losing Akutagawa.
He squeezes his eyes shut, and for some reason, he admits, “Dazai-san knows I’m learning sign language.”
No response comes. Atsushi wasn’t expecting speech, but he figured Akutagawa would either snap his fingers to get Atsushi’s attention or just unleash Rashoumon on him. Probably the second. Definitely the second. It’s not as if it would cause lasting damage, except maybe a stain the carpet.
Atsushi cracks one eye open.
Akutagawa’s hand is on his throat, thumb tracing the scar. He’s looking at Atsushi as if staring straight through him.
Then, he blinks, and something seems to snap into place. His body language changes, twists into one of violent defense, and Rashoumon lashes out, one sharpened tendril against Atsushi’s throat.
“He what?” Akutagawa growls.
“I’m sorry! He saw Kyouka-chan and I practicing, and then he confronted me about it after work, and he thought I was learning because of Gin-san. Because, I guess, I don’t know—he thought I wanted to get on your good side for some reason?” He forces out a strained laugh. As if the notion is ridiculous. As if he doesn’t know exactly why Dazai would think as much. “But, obviously that’s not why I’m learning, so I—”
“You told him.”
Rashoumon breaks the skin.
Atsushi yelps, crawling backwards. “No, no, I didn’t!” He throws his hands up over his face. He would rather Rashoumon tear his arms apart. It would hurt less and heal easier.
But as soon as she makes contact with his hand, she stops. Flattens. Wraps around his wrist and tugs it down so Akutagawa can look him in the eye.
“Dazai-san is not a fool, unlike you.” Akutagawa’s voice is rough, but he gives no indication that the words are hurting him. Atsushi doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. “Surely he has now learned of my predicament, because you could not keep your damned mouth shut—”
“No!” Atsushi cuts in. “He didn’t, I swear!”
“What believable lie could you have possibly fed him?!”
“I don’t know! He came up with it on his own; that’s what I asked you about!”
Akutagawa snaps his mouth shut. He tilts his head. A silent gesture for Atsushi to explain, though he’s sure he only has one chance and a limited amount of time to mend the tears he’s just put in their relationship.
(Why’d he have to go and rip his claws through it? Why couldn’t he have just shut up?)
“That was when he said you still prefer silence at home.” Atsushi’s gaze falls to the floor. “Then, he said it doesn’t matter and he did what he had to do. I don’t know what that means. I didn’t think it was my place to ask.”
For one moment, Akutagawa’s expression is taken over by fiery rage.
Then, it goes blank.
“Weretiger,” he says.
Atsushi grimaces.
“Get out of my apartment.”
— —
When Gin comes home, Akutagawa is still seated at the table, staring straight ahead. He hasn’t cleared away his dishes or Atsushi’s. He hasn’t cleaned up anything. He has hardly moved since he kicked Atsushi out.
“What happened?” Gin asks. “Where’s Atsushi?”
Akutagawa blinks slowly. It takes him a moment to unravel the signs and translate them in his mind, and it takes another moment for him to debate whether or not he should respond with sign or speech.
Dazai believes he still prefers silence at home. It isn’t an entirely incorrect assumption, though he and Gin had begun speaking more before—
“I told him to leave.”
Gin frowns. “Why?”
Dazai said it didn’t matter anymore. He did what he had to do. But Gin climbed the ranks of the mafia until they achieved the title of Black Lizard Commander without speaking a single word. He did what he had to do, except it doesn’t matter anymore, because Akutagawa was rendered voiceless in the end anyway. The years of forcing himself to speak because he thought it was necessary for Dazai’s approval mean nothing.
Dazai is gone, and so is Akutagawa’s voice.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Gin tells him when he offers no response. “I’m not blind. I can tell you like him.”
“I do not!” Akutagawa exclaims, his throat still scratched raw from his earlier argument with Atsushi. But now, he cannot hold back the crack in his voice or the following wince of pain.
“You do! If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have let him come here. And you wouldn’t have gone to visit him. I think I know what it looks like when you’ve got a crush on someone, even if you’d rather literally die than admit it.” Gin pauses. “Oh wait. You already did that.”
Akutagawa grits his teeth. “I will not take such slander from someone who is in love with a traitor.”
Gin stumbles backwards. “I—”
“You think I didn’t know?”
“That is a bold accusation coming from someone who still worships the ground Dazai-san walks on,” Gin hisses. Their voice slices like a knife across his throat. He would know.
He wants to argue, but he can’t.
He is only upset with Atsushi because he still cannot grapple with the fact that Dazai sees him as weak and useless, cannot stomach the idea of Dazai knowing their agonizing struggle over his voice was all for naught. He would not call it worship, but Akutagawa has never quite known what that word means. Is it a fancy way to say loyalty, or is it something darker? Something bloodier? Something like a noose around a throat, tightening and taking your breath?
(Something like bleeding out on the deck of a ship, convinced you had finally fulfilled the only purpose you were born and raised for.)
Gin walks away without another word.
The silence is heavier than it has been in four years.
iv.
Atsushi tries not to let it bother him.
Really, it was only a matter of time before the precarious peace between him and Akutagawa shattered. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up, shouldn’t have let his heart attach itself to someone who has only ever expressed distaste towards him.
(Except, it’s been more than just that—it’s been Akutagawa helping him learn sign language and buying him dinner and searching for him when he wasn’t in his dorm. It’s been sacrifice and silent understanding and fond smiles and Hurry up and go.)
It’s not like Atsushi fell in blind. But maybe it’s easier to pretend he did.
He shifts his focus to his other friends—the ones that are not currently ignoring him. He has Kyouka and Sigma and Lucy and Dazai and Jun’ichirou and the rest of the Agency. He and Kyouka still work their way through the sign language books, with Sigma occasionally joining them. He walks Dazai home sometimes, when Ranpo and Yosano are busy or when Dazai attaches himself to Atsushi’s side in a silent plea to give him a break from them. He frets about Sigma’s entrance exam, which Kunikida swears will happen as soon as he gets a chance, but Atsushi is pretty sure he hasn’t yet given it a single spare thought.
It’s fine, really.
Lucy brings leftover pastries from the café. Dazai takes one to Kunikida, who is still shut away in his office. Dazai and Ranpo get into a fight about who should conduct Sigma’s entrance exam, and Atsushi has to cut the argument off before they can tear each other to shreds with their words. He asks Kunikida about it, and Kunikida assures him the argument was baseless and he’s made no decisions concerning the matter.
It’s fine. Really.
Atsushi doesn’t mind sharing a dorm with both Sigma and Kyouka. He doesn’t mind waiting. He knows Kunikida is stressed!
Everything is fine!
Everything is—
“Hey,” Lucy says as she sets a drink down in front of him. “Are you, like, doing okay?”
Atsushi blinks up at her blearily. “I didn’t order this.”
“Correct.” Lucy tucks the tray she brought it out on under her arm. “You’ve been moping around here for the past hour. What’s up?”
Atsushi stares down into the cup. White chocolate mocha. The drink both Lucy and Akutagawa make fun of him for liking. The drink Akutagawa taught him the sign for, because he asked Atsushi’s coffee order so he could teach him how to order it in sign language. He’d wrinkled his nose in disgust, then beckoned Gin over to make sure he got the sign right because, “Why on earth would anyone ever order that monstrosity?” (rough translation).
“It’s stupid,” he replies. Because it is. The world almost ended and the Agency lost its leader and Atsushi’s sitting around upset because his dumb crush ghosted him.
“Probably,” Lucy agrees. She sits down across from him. “But tell me anyway.”
“It’s…about Akutagawa.”
Lucy raises an eyebrow. “The emo mafia guy? What about him?”
“He—”
(It sounds so pitiful. He’s ignoring me. They’re supposed to be enemies. Why wouldn’t Akutagawa ignore him?)
“I thought we were getting along,” Atsushi explains. “I mean…we were. But…I don’t know. Dazai-san said something, and I asked Akutagawa about it, and he got pissed and told me to leave. And I haven’t heard from him since.” He wraps his hands around the warm mug in front of him. “Like I said. It’s stupid. It doesn’t matter.”
“Clearly it does,” Lucy argues. “If it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t be so miserable.”
“I’m not miserable!”
“Well then you wouldn’t be—” she waves her hand vaguely, “whatever it is you are right now.”
Atsushi purses his lips. He doesn’t want Lucy to be right, but he can’t exactly form an argument against her. So instead, he takes a sip of his drink. It’s warm and sweet and Atsushi thinks of drinking tea with Akutagawa in both Akutagawa’s apartment and his own dorm. He thinks of Akutagawa drinking from that stupid cat whisker mug Jun’ichirou got him as a joke—the one that was silly, but made his heart swell up with joy all the same because he didn’t just get gifts growing up.
“I should have known this would happen,” Atsushi laments. “Akutagawa doesn’t know how to hold onto nice things.”
Lucy shrugs. “Then teach him.”
“I don’t think I can,” Atsushi admits. He flexes his hands. His compression gloves hug them tightly, helping soothe the pain that runs through them but never enough to cure it completely. Never enough to permanently fix his grip. He still drops things—pens, files, chopsticks—when his hands hurt too much to hold on tightly. He can’t stop himself from letting go, and while the gloves work as an aid, they’ll never be a cure-all. “I don’t know how to do that either.”
Lucy opens her mouth to reply, but before she can, the bell above the door rings, signalling a new customer. She turns to greet them, but her words get lost in the back of Atsushi’s mind somewhere because—
The person who just stepped into the café has long black hair, pulled over their shoulder in a low ponytail. They’re dressed in a long, flowy, white skirt and a deep purple shirt, and Atsushi honestly might not even recognize them if not for the fact that he’s seen them dressed down from their typical work attire several times now.
They smile at Lucy, bowing their head politely, before fixing their gaze on Atsushi. “May I talk to you?”
Atsushi swallows. Gin doesn’t look angry, but he’s still sort of afraid for his life.
Lucy glances between them like she’s expecting a fight.
“It’s fine!” Atsushi promises. “They’re a—friend?”
Lucy looks to Gin, who nods. She narrows her eyes, but after a moment, her shoulders drop and she relents. “Fine, fine.” She slips out of her seat. “I should get back to work anyway. Let me know if you need anything, and—” she waves her hand vaguely, “think about what I said. Give yourself more credit; you detectives all do a pretty good job of holding onto each other. That’s what makes you so strong.”
She walks away, and Gin takes her place.
Atsushi smiles weakly.
“My brother doesn’t know I’m here,” Gin starts, signing slowly so Atsushi can follow along. “I came to ask…for help.”
“Help?” Atsushi asks.
Gin glares at him.
“Sorry!” he squeaks out. He signs the word instead, and Gin nods, so he continues, “Help with what?”
“My brother…” Gin hesitates. Starts to sign something, then stops. Bites down on their lip. Atsushi can feel Lucy watching them from behind the counter, her gaze burning holds straight through him. The only people who know he’s been learning sign language are Kyouka, Sigma, Dazai, and Ranpo. Unless Lucy has seen the books. He hasn’t exactly been trying to hide them. But she never asked, so he assumed she hadn’t picked up on it, but she might have just asked Sigma…
At least Dazai hasn’t been talking much to anyone apart from Ranpo and Yosano lately. And Kunikida, when he’s allowed, but he knows better than to mention any of the Agency members hanging around mafia members to Kunikida. Atsushi has it on good faith that Chuuya was over at his dorm at least once recently.
Gin sighs. “He misses you,” they finish. Except—
No, that can’t be right.
“Repeat?” Atsushi requests.
“Akutagawa misses you.” They use his name sign this time, so there’s no mistaking who they’re talking about. “But he won’t say so.”
Atsushi scoffs. He doesn’t know exactly how to sign his response, so he speaks aloud. “I’m pretty sure he hates me.”
Gin rolls their eyes.
“Last time I talked to him, he yelled at me to get out, and I haven’t heard from him since,” Atsushi points out. “That’s, like, textbook ‘I hate you’ behavior.”
“We are talking about Akutagawa.”
Atsushi opens his mouth. Then, he snaps it shut. While that is true, he also did very royally fuck up in nearly exposing Akutagawa’s inability to speak to Dazai. So, like, he’s mad for a valid reason this time. Unlike all of the other times when he decided he wanted Atsushi dead just for fun, or because he was jealous, or whatever.
But he can’t sign that, and he won’t say it aloud, so he ends up just sort of cringing in response.
“I want you to talk to him.”
“What?!” Atsushi demands. “No way! He’s gonna try to kill me!”
Gin signs, “Tiger.”
“I am not going to let him attack me just because I’ll heal!” he hisses. “That’s outrageous! I don’t even care about him. If it’s that serious, he can come to me himself.”
“Please?” Gin tries.
Atsushi folds his arms over his chest. “No.”
“Atsushi-kun~” Lucy calls out.
Gin whips their head to look at her, eyes growing wide. “Does she know Japanese sign language?”
“No,” Atsushi answers, and he sincerely hopes it’s the truth.
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Lucy confirms, “but I know what the tiger-kitty was saying, and I know he was just talking about Akutagawa with me, so I think I can guess what this conversation is about. You must be one of Akutagawa’s friends?”
Gin hesitates, then nods.
“Anyway.” Lucy strides back over to their table and comes to a stop beside Atsushi. She puts her hands on her hips, looking down at him with a frown. “If you are talking about Akutagawa, isn’t attacking you, like, how he shows he cares?”
“It is not.”
“Kyouka-chan said—”
“She doesn’t know—!”
“It is,” Gin signs.
“What’d they say?” Lucy demands.
Atsushi sinks lower in his seat, pouting. “I’m not answering that.” He doesn’t need to deal with someone whose love language is attacking. That’s insane! He’d be better off never talking to Akutagawa again! Seriously, he should be grateful he stopped talking to him; it’ll be way better in the long run.
(Until something else happens that puts everyone in danger, and Dazai decides they need to work together again, but they’re back to square one and so they fail again because they’ve lost the trust they built and Akutagawa ends up with another sword slicing through his throat, but this time, there’s no vampire to save him—)
“He doesn’t attack you,” Atsushi tells Gin.
Gin snorts. They don’t say anything else, but that alone gives Atsushi the distinct feeling that his claim was incorrect. Which—
He’s never seen Rashoumon lash out at Gin, but he has seen them and Akutagawa get in arguments with one another. He doesn’t always understand what they’re saying, but it’s obvious in the sharpness of their signing.
He thinks about what he told Lucy only a few minutes ago: Akutagawa doesn’t know how to hold onto nice things.
Whereas Atsushi is more likely to simply allow the nice things in his life to slip out of his hands because he feels as if he will never deserve them, Akutagawa doesn’t wait around for things to leave. He has to push them out of his life first.
He has to attack.
But Gin has already put in years’ worth of effort proving they will stay. Gin has been with Akutagawa since they were born. Atsushi came into Akutagawa’s life just as quickly and as violently as he could leave it.
Gin takes their phone from their pocket. They take a moment to type something, then pass it over to Atsushi so he can read it:
Ryuu does not know how to be vulnerable with people. Even people he let himself be cut open for. You will get nowhere by allowing him to scare you away; he needs someone who will bear their teeth and claws right back at him.
Something heavy settles in the pit of Atsushi’s stomach.
His tiger claws can cut straight through any ability. He is the one who can tear down the Rashoumon-esque armor Akutagawa has encased himself in.
He hands Gin’s phone back over. “I’ll think about it,” he says, though deep down, he knows he won’t be able to stay away from Akutagawa forever. That isn’t how anything works between them. Ever since they met, they’ve been tugged back together over and over again. By Dazai, by circumstance, by coincidence, by the bloody longing lodged in their throats.
Inevitably, Rashoumon will break down Atsushi’s door and the tiger will tear apart Akutagawa’s.
“Thank you.”
As Gin stands to leave, the elevator dings, and they let out a strangled gasp.
Lucy moves, half-stepping in front of Gin, though the damage has already been done.
Dazai stands next to Yosano, and his smile flickers violently. Worse than when he was speaking with Atsushi about Akutagawa, like he physically can’t pull it back onto his face no matter how hard he tries.
“Well,” he chirps, “what a surprise!”
“Just because I can’t use my ability on you doesn’t mean I won’t kick you out for starting an argument with a customer who has done nothing wrong,” Lucy warns. “I don’t care about your leg. I’ll drag you out and throw you into the street.”
Dazai clicks his tongue. “How mean! Though, if I’m not mistaken, your innocent customer hasn’t ordered anything. Wouldn’t that mean they’re just loitering?”
“I haven’t gotten a chance to make their drink yet, geez,” Lucy returns easily. “You’re worse than my manager. Pardon me for wanting to talk to my friends.” She turns to Gin, offering them a kind smile. “Give me a moment. I apologize for your wait.”
She shoots Dazai another glare, then stomps back behind the counter, grumbling under her breath.
Uneasily, Gin sits back down.
Yosano huffs. “Now I see why Ranpo refused to come down with us. It’s nice to see you, Gin-kun.”
Gin nods politely. Atsushi has no idea when or how they met Yosano, but he figures it doesn’t matter. Their gaze drifts back to Dazai. Their expression is unreadable.
“Dazai-kun,” Yosano chides, “let’s go. You shouldn’t stand around for so long.”
“But I’m not—”
“You misunderstand.” Something malicious glints in Yosano’s eyes, and Dazai shrinks away, though he can’t escape her hand reaching out to grab hold of his arm. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”
A strained laugh escapes him. Yosano tugs him through the café, and he struggles for a moment before finally wriggling out of her grip. He dodges her next grab by shoving one of his crutches into her hand, then signs what Atsushi assumes is supposed to be, “How is your brother?”
“Dazai,” Yosano says, catching his hand before he can say anything else. She forces his crutch back into it. “Stop harassing them.”
“I’m just—”
“You’re being an asshole,” Lucy calls out. “Seriously, I’ve never seen you like this before. What’s your problem?”
“I’m fine,” Dazai spits out.
“He’s on his period,” Yosano answers. Dazai flips her off. Lucy barks out a laugh as Yosano all but drags him out of the café.
As soon as the door shuts, Lucy shakes her head. “Sorry about him. What would you like to drink? It’s on the house, after that.”
Gin shakes their head. “I don’t need anything.”
Atsushi translates.
“If you don’t tell me what you want, I’ll just guess, and if it’s not something you like, it’ll go to waste,” Lucy threatens.
Gin orders a latte. While Lucy is focused on making the drink, Atsushi asks Gin, “Are you okay?”
They hesitate. Lift their hands, and then lower them again. Furrow their eyebrows. They nod, slowly, but Atsushi can tell there’s still more they want to say. They sign Dazai’s name, and then pause. They spell out CRUTCHES.
“Oh.” Atsushi tilts his head. “Yeah… I thought you knew about that?”
“I did,” Gin confirms. “It’s different…” they gesture vaguely. Atsushi thinks he understands what they mean. It was one thing to be told Dazai sustained a pretty serious leg injury in Meursault, but it was another thing entirely to see him collapse at the airport and be rendered completely unable to stand on his own. It’s one thing to know Akutagawa is supposed to wear a wrist brace, but it’s another thing entirely to see him grimacing in pain after signing for too long and struggling to eat with only his left hand because his right has given up on him.
“Was it like that with Akutagawa for you too?” Atsushi asks.
“No,” Gin answers simply. “When we were young, he didn’t like talking either.”
(Atsushi remembers: Dazai said, He still prefers silence at home.
And suddenly—he has an idea of what that could have meant.)
—
Three days later, Atsushi bids Kyouka and Sigma farewell for the evening, telling them not to wait up for him or worry about making him food. They don’t ask where he’s going, but he’s sure they can hazard a pretty good guess. It’s not as if he’s great at keeping secrets, especially from people he lives with, especially from Kyouka.
He takes the train across the city, to the fancy apartment building on the edge of Mafia territory where Akutagawa and Gin live. He rides the elevator up to their floor, strolls down the hallway, then unleashes his ability and tears the door off its hinges.
(He’ll apologize to Gin later, but he figures this entrance is only fitting.)
It takes exactly three seconds before Rashoumon is at his throat. But Atsushi only grins in response, even as Akutagawa’s glare hardens and his ability presses harder against him.
“I should kill you,” he threatens.
“You’re still a couple months early.”
Akutagawa stares at him. Atsushi stares back. Backing down means giving up, and that means letting Akutagawa go, and Atsushi doesn’t want that. He refuses to give in so easily. If Akutagawa wants to push him away, he’ll have to kill him.
(And, honestly, Atsushi thinks maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.)
Finally, Akutagawa breaks.
Rashoumon retreats and he steps back, gesturing for Atsushi to come inside. Because he’s polite, he sets the door upright himself before calling off his own ability and following Akutagawa into the apartment.
“You are lucky Gin is not home,” Akutagawa grumbles.
“And you’re lucky I don’t duct tape your mouth shut,” Atsushi shoots back. “Stop talking. I’ve been learning sign language for a reason.”
“Fool,” Akutagawa shoots back.
“I’m not the one straining my throat for the sake of arguing.”
“You are insufferable.”
Atsushi laughs. He’s giddy with the sensation of seeing Akutagawa again, dizzy with something he can only describe as joy. It’s awful and exhilarating at the same time.
Akutagawa sits down at the table. Atsushi follows suit.
“Why did you come back?” Akutagawa asks.
“I talked with your sibling. They said you missed me.”
“I did not—”
“Don’t lie,” Atsushi interrupts. He folds his hands together, looking away. “The truth is…I guess I missed you too.”
Silence, for a moment. Then Akutagawa raps his knuckles against the table so Atsushi looks up at him. He asks, “Why?”
Anxiety swoops through Atsushi’s stomach. He’s never done this before—doesn’t know the rules or if there’s a script he should follow. He’s never had a reason to do this before. He’s not sure how Akutagawa will react. He might go for blood.
“Why do you think?”
Akutagawa purses his lips.
“Gin-san told me…you didn’t like to talk when you were a kid,” Atsushi says carefully. “But there’s more to it than that. Isn’t there?”
“I should kill you,” Akutagawa repeats.
“You can try.”
They stare at each other again. In quiet, but not exactly silence, because this apartment is still far from silent. Even when they aren’t talking, Atsushi has learned to read Akutagawa’s expressions. The twitch of his lips, the raise of his brow, the tilt of his head. Each miniscule movement means something. It’s an entire language Atsushi wants to spend the rest of his life learning to interpret.
“Selective mutism,” Akutagawa answers, finally. “That is what the doctors called it.”
“Selective mutism,” Atsushi repeats. He’s never heard of it, but he knows what the words mean separately, so he can draw a half-painted conclusion of what all it might entail.
Akutagawa nods. “After I joined the mafia, Dazai-san gave me my voice. …And then his plan took it away.”
That idea rubs Atsushi the wrong way. It takes him a moment to place why. He doesn’t know the specifics of selective mutism, so he can’t speak as to how easy or difficult it is to train one out of it—which he has to assume is what Dazai did to Akutagawa. That alone seems cruel, though Atsushi is certain it’s not an uncommon occurrence. But there’s still the issue of—
“Dazai-san didn’t ‘give you’ your voice,” Atsushi corrects. “You don’t need to speak to have a voice.”
Akutagawa scoffs.
“I’m serious!” Atsushi insists. “I’ve never once heard Gin-san speak, but I wouldn’t ever call them voiceless. They just use a different language to communicate. Someone who only speaks English isn’t voiceless just ‘cause you can’t understand them, so why would it be any different with sign language?”
Akutagawa opens his mouth. And then closes it again. For several long moments, he merely stares down at the table, brow furrowed, deep in thought.
And then he admits, “I don’t know.”
“I’m sure it’s not as easy as just agreeing with my view on this,” Atsushi continues, “but not speaking aloud doesn’t make you any worse than the people around you. Regardless of whether it’s because of something you were born with or because of an injury you got later on in life. And I know you don’t think any less of Gin for not speaking, so you shouldn’t think any less of yourself either.”
“Dazai-san—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Atsushi interrupts, reaching across the table to catch Akutagawa’s hand in his and prevent him from saying anymore. His fingers are cold. Atsushi wants to shift his grip, linking them together, but he refrains. “You saw it yourself. Dazai-san isn’t immune to injury either.”
Akutagawa lowers his hands. Atsushi lets go slowly, his touch lingering, and as soon as they’ve separated, Akutagawa’s fingers twitch.
Almost as if he wants to reach back out for more.
“Would you like to stay for dinner?” he asks.
Atsushi grins.
For a moment, everything is perfect. Atsushi swears time could freeze and he would be happy to live here forever. What they have is still delicate, but Atsushi swears he will protect it with his life. He’s learning how to hold onto the good things in his life, and he’ll force Akutagawa to learn too. Even if it kills them both.
Then, the door comes crashing down and the peace of the moment shatters.
“Idiot!” Akutagawa signs harshly.
“Sorry!” Atsushi calls out. “I’m still enacting revenge for the damage Akutagawa did to my dorm!”
Gin appears in the doorway, a frown etched across their face. They look between the two of them.
And then they smile.
“I don’t mind. He deserves it.”
Akutagawa gapes. Atsushi laughs.
v.
Akutagawa knocks on the door to Atsushi’s dorm.
As much as he enjoys simply barging in, he supposes that technically isn’t good form, and he has Gin with him today. They would certainly chastise him for such recklessness. Especially since it may inspire Atsushi to give their door the same treatment. Again.
Sigma is the one to greet them, ushering them inside with a smile. This dorm is an atrocious place for a gathering of any sort, given how cramped it is, and Akutagawa intends to complain about it until he steps into the kitchen and is met with the sight of Atsushi laughing.
His mouth goes dry.
He looks away, as if Atsushi is the sun and he is afraid of being blinded. He supposes, maybe, he can forgive the lack of space. Especially when Lucy moves aside and gestures for Akutagawa and Gin to fit themselves in beside her, and Gin shoves him down next to Atsushi, so close he could suffocate. It hurts, but Akutagawa can’t imagine wanting anything else.
“How are you?” Atsushi asks.
“Terrible.”
Atsushi pouts. Akutagawa’s lips twitch up into the barest hint of a smile. Messing with him is something that he will always enjoy, though his breath catches in his throat and his heart stutters in his chest when Atsushi shifts just enough that their knees knock against each other.
“The food should be here soon,” Lucy says. “Anyway, Gin-kun, how was your day?”
Gin answers with slow signs, each of which Lucy’s eyes carefully track the movement of. Akutagawa figures he should leave them to their conversation, so he turns to face Kyouka instead, greeting her with a polite nod.
She returns the favor.
They talk until the food arrives—a mixture of speech and sign, with Atsushi acting as translator or Gin writing things down on their phone when needed. Conversation flows far smoother than Akutagawa expected.
When he was first told to limit his speech in order to allow his throat time to recover, he desperately hoped it would be a temporary restriction. But time stretched on, and his condition refused to improve, and slowly, he began falling back into the familiar comfort of non-spoken language.
And then—
Akutagawa went to the Agency office. Because he had nothing better to do, because he wanted to see Atsushi, because he didn’t think about the fact that Dazai might be there too. And there he was, in all his untouchable glory, bound to a wheelchair.
Atsushi had told him as much, but Akutagawa hadn’t believed him until he saw it with his own eyes. Dazai faced countless injuries during his time in the mafia, but never anything that lasted. Never anything permanent. Other people died or lost limbs or found themselves with injuries that rendered them unfit for their role, but not Dazai.
Never Dazai.
Until…
As it turns out, no one is untouchable. Not even Dazai Osamu.
There’s a knock on the door, and Lucy jumps up to get the food, dragging Sigma along with her. Atsushi turns to Gin and signs, “You and Lucy seem to be getting along well?”
Gin’s cheeks flush, and they resolutely look away. “She’s nice.”
Atsushi grins.
Dazai always acted as if Akutagawa’s preference for silence was a mortal sin, but perhaps that was only because Akutagawa allowed himself to be convinced that was true. Gin stood their ground, refusing to speak when they weren’t comfortable with it, and they were allowed to climb the mafia ranks without saying a word.
Akutagawa dredged up a voice because he thought it would make him someone worthwhile. He cut open his chest and extracted it, only to lose it again seven years later, and—
When he was first told to limit his speech in order to allow his throat time to recover, he told himself that he desperately hoped it would be a temporary restriction. But the truth is, from the very beginning, there was something comforting in the quiet.
It is just a comfort Akutagawa does not deserve.
Still, when Atsushi signs the name Gin gave him a lifetime ago, affection tainting his expression as he silently calls for Akutagawa’s attention, he cannot help but smile in return.
— —
Atsushi knocks on the door to Akutagawa’s apartment.
It’s only a moment before he answers with a confused frown. He raises a hand, but before he can say anything, Atsushi reaches out, grabbing hold of it. He links their fingers together and tugs Akutagawa out into the hallway.
“Wh—?”
“Shhh,” Atsushi interrupts. Akutagawa glares at him, but he doesn’t try to speak again. Nor does he raise his free hand to sign.
Atsushi drags him up to the roof. He brought food—still warm, because he picked it up from a place only a few blocks from Akutagawa’s apartment, timing it so he would arrive before Akutagawa ate dinner. There’s a blanket in his bag as well, which he spreads out before gesturing for Akutagawa to sit down.
“What is the point of this?”
Atsushi shrugs. “I’m celebrating.”
Akutagawa raises an eyebrow. “Celebrating?”
Atsushi pulls their food from the bag—ramen for both of them, and no spice for Akutagawa so as to not hurt his throat. They both fold their hands together in silent thanks for the meal, and then Atsushi wrenches the lid off of his container and starts eating.
For a moment, Akutagawa simply watches.
Then, he asks, “Is the reason for your celebration a secret?”
Atsushi hums. “Technically, I’m not supposed to say anything to anyone. But Ranpo-san said they would turn a blind eye if someone I trust won’t spill anything to anyone else somehow found out about it.”
“Are you attempting to make me jealous of your friends?”
“Huh?!” Atsushi drops his chopsticks. “What are you—? No! I meant—” he scrubs a hand down the side of his face. “I was trying to be cool and suave!”
“You failed.”
Atsushi glares. The corners of Akutagawa’s mouth twitch upwards, and Atsushi’s gaze catches on the sight. Momentarily, he forgets what he was saying. He wants to reach out and—
He clears his throat, shaking his head. “I meant I trust you won’t tell anyone. Which is why I’m celebrating with you! Also Dazai-san’s idea of a ‘celebration’ was to drag me to a bar with him, Kunikida-san, and Ranpo-san, but that kind of sounds like a nightmare and I can’t legally drink anyway. So I…said I had other plans.”
“Your other plans were to accost me in my own home?”
“Says the one who broke into my dorm on multiple occasions.”
Akutagawa huffs. Finally, he breaks his chopsticks apart and takes a bite of his food, leveling Atsushi with an expectant look. Atsushi sort of wants to drag this little game out for longer, but he’s practically vibrating in his seat, so he relents.
“Kunikida-san gave the go-ahead for Sigma-san’s entrance exam!” he exclaims. “He said he thought about it and talked it over with Dazai-san, and he doesn’t have time to oversee her exam himself so—he’s trusting me with it.”
(The words are so heavy now that Atsushi says them aloud—but it’s like a weight off his shoulders at the same time.)
“Obviously Dazai-san is still going to, like, oversee whatever I do, but he told me he’s not going to help me unless I’m actively dying. Probably just ‘cause he doesn’t want to do any extra work, but,” he shrugs, “whatever.”
Akutagawa nods slowly. “You will do well.”
“What,” Atsushi replies instinctively. Because there’s no way Akutagawa just said something nice to him—especially not when Atsushi himself is still reeling from Kunikida’s decision, unsure if it’s really the right choice or not. Dazai is much more experienced in this sort of thing and Ranpo has been with the Agency the longest and Yosano is way smarter than him and—
“I will not repeat myself, weretiger. You know what I said.”
“You…you really think so?”
Akutagawa shrugs. He continues eating, hiding his face behind his bowl, though Atsushi can see the color that creeps into his cheeks.
Warmth floods through his chest.
They don’t talk much as they finish their food, instead letting the sounds of the city wash over them. It is quiet, but not silent, and the quiet is something Atsushi has grown to love.
Even after their food is gone, Atsushi doesn’t speak first, for fear of shattering the peace blooming between them. There is something else he wants to say—one other reason he came here, encouraged by Lucy and Kyouka and Sigma. There is a sign he learned just for this.
But he waits until Akutagawa waves his hand, drawing his gaze from the city spread out before them and back to his face.
“Why did you come here? Surely you have other friends to celebrate with.”
“Yeah, but I wanted to tell you.”
Akutagawa tilts his head.
Atsushi’s heart hammers loudly in his chest. He’s dizzy with anticipation and afraid he may ruin everything again, but—he promised himself he would try. He promised himself he wouldn’t let this go without leaving claw marks that will never fade.
He lifts his hands, shakily, and signs, “Can I kiss you?”
“Fool,” Akutagawa responds.
Then, he closes the distance between them and kisses Atsushi himself.