Prototype (Shin Soukoku & Soukoku Mpreg!) sequel to TGAP

by Spiderweb1998

Summary:

Zachariah wasn’t born to be loved.
He was made — from stolen DNA and empty intentions — then discarded like a failed experiment.

He taught himself how to speak. How to survive. How to wait.

Now, he watches from the shadows.
Akutagawa has gone missing. Atsushi is growing sicker by the day. Chuuya can’t stand without trembling. And Dazai? Dazai’s starting to suspect that the Project isn’t over.

In the heart of a condemned building, a child hums beside a landline no one remembers installing — and finally dials the number he's been memorizing since he was born.

Notes:

Ok so I did do a version of this on wattpad a while ago but I have decided that i need to build up Zach and make him likeable? in a twisted kind of way! i want him to be hated and loved the same way Fyodor is!! and as the manga progresses I get more and more ideas for my bungo OC!! as you all know this is only the first continuation from the get along project but there was another one after this!! if this is a hit i will go ahead and write that one also!!

for more updates and ideas i have don't forget to follow me on twitter!! I have the same name as i do on here :3.

Chapter 1

The cathedral was cold. Colder than usual — but somehow, that comforted the strange child. If you could even call him a child.
Zachariah was the boy's name, he sat at the edge of the altar, legs too thin, clothes torn and fraying like they'd been stitched from abandonment itself. He hummed to a song that didn’t exist — just another noise in a head full of static.. His two-toned hair framed eyes that might’ve been beautiful, if they weren’t so frighteningly empty.

On one side, jet black. The other, bleached white. Like someone had split him down the middle to see which part would break first.. He never gained any features from his Fathers snatched DNA other than that long thick hair on the top of his head, different colored eyes that didn't match and that bleached white hair that almost touched his knees.

His small hands clutched a worn-down stuffed white bengal tiger plush with its face chewed off — not from wear, but from his own gnawing rage.
He stared up at the stained glass, a strange switch in personality as the humming turned into a gentle singing, his legs kicking back and forth, plush falling from his hands as he continued to stare up at the glass behind him. Saints, angels, stories of love and salvation. The light poured in shades of holy blue, but none of it reached him.

He was dirty. Hungry. Confused. And so very angry.
“I didn’t ask to be born, did i?” he mumbled. His voice cracked with a raw, dry edge — like he’d repeated that sentence a thousand times until it stopped sounding real.

“I was told I was a miracle. A... prototype. But all I feel is... noise. Father sounds like he's lyin when he tells me that”
He began to laugh, his personality switching suddenly from a calmness to a simmer of rage. A quiet, broken little giggle that got louder and louder. His eyes watered, and the laugh cracked into a sob. Then back into a giggle again. His shoulders trembled.

“I’m not a person,” he said. “I’m just something He made. For his own selfish ideals..”
A soft click echoed from the hallway. The door creaked open.
Footsteps. Polished. Measured. Expensive.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky stepped inside like he owned the shadows. He wore his usual long black coat, pale hands tucked behind his back, expression unreadable. Cold purple eyes landed on the boy.

“I knew you'd be here” he said in a thick russian accent, his voice echoing down the halls of the empty chappal.. His steps walked on. “Do you find comfort here little one?”
Zachariah didn’t look up. Not at first, his body stiffened his knuckles turning white as his palms grasped the side of him.

“I see you’ve stopped eating again,” Fyodor said evenly. “That’s not very rational of you.”
Zach wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Why’d you make me?” His voice wasn’t like his fathers if that tells you anything about him, it was as if he was socialising with thugs or orphans who fended for themselves.

There was a pause.
Fyodor tilted his head slightly. “Because I needed to prove that control could be... manufactured. Man made..”
Zach flinched. They would have this chat almost yearly to this date.. Yet no matter how hard the child tried to get a different answer it was always the same.
“Not because you loved me?”

Fyodor didn’t answer a small breathy laugh escaping his lips.
Zach finally looked up. His eyes gleamed wet — almost hopeful. “Would you love me if I was useful? If I…”
Fyodor walked closer. Carefully. Slowly.

“I already told you. Love is not the point. Understanding your purpose is.”
Zach's face twisted. His fingers dug into the altar he was sitting on, nails scratching the wood.
“Why do they get to be born and be loved?” he hissed. “Why do they get mothers and fathers and kisses and normal names? I was born in a lab! And now I cry and don’t know why! I laugh when it hurts and it scares people!”

“Who? The orphans you associate yourself with?” Fyodor’s eyes were scary as if he could kill this child with a mere touch of his hand. “N..No..” the child stuttered. His breathing grew erratic. Tears spilled over, mixing with laughter that was far too sharp.

“The kids you are tasked with destroying aren't loved. Do you understand?” Fyodor spoke in an almost condescending way as if he was pulling on Zachariah’s puppet strings, he could never question the man before him.. How could he know and predict the future with such precision?.
“I think I’m broken,” Zach whispered. “Is that what you want me to be?”

Fyodor didn’t move. There was no sign of fatherly tenderness; instead it was as if the chapel had gotten colder since he stepped inside. “No. I want you to function.”
That was the wrong answer.

Zachariah screamed before lunging, slamming his small fists into Fyodor’s coat. Over and over and over. It didn’t hurt, but the sound echoed like a tantrum in a cathedral.

“YOU SHOULD LET ME GO!! I WOULD RATHER BE AN ORPHAN THEN… THEN!!,” he howled his tiny lungs couldnt handle this much screaming it hurt, hurt as if he'd lose his voice if he continued.

Fyodor stood still, letting the strikes hit him until Zach’s energy ran dry and he collapsed at his feet, sobbing. His body curled up like a kicked dog.

Fyodor finally knelt and gently reached toward him. “Zachariah—”

Zach recoiled, shrieking. “DON’T TOUCH ME.”

Fyodor’s hand hovered mid-air. Then it slowly lowered.

Silence.
“I will return later,” Fyodor said, adjusting his coat. “Try to stabilize your thoughts.”

He turned. His footsteps echoed again, retreating until the cathedral door creaked shut behind him.

Zachariah sat in the light of broken saints, staring at the toy he had dropped to the floor earlier, trembling.

“I don’t want to be an experiment,” he whispered.

“I want to be someone.”

He would sit and wait,wait for someone to talk to him.. But no one would come, even if Fyodor had said he'd return he knew that wasn't true. He wouldn't see his father again for at least another 365 days.

Zachariah often wondered what was so special about this day.. Was there a special meaning for his father to see him in this spot exactly the same day and time every year?
He sat in the cathedral long after Fyodor left, the air thick with unspoken things. His tears had dried. His voice had gone silent. There was nothing left to say — not to a god, not to a father, not to the mirror of his own reflection.

But somewhere inside, a thought flickered like the last bit of a dying candle:
“They don’t deserve what they have. Not if I never got it.”

And just like that, the switch flipped again.
He started to smile.

______________________________

Just over a month has passed since the “Get Along Project” — Ranpo and Poe’s bizarre attempt at forced reconciliation. A month since chaos wore the mask of healing, and intimacy came disguised as confinement.

Everything looks like it’s back to normal.
Dazai Osamu is once again attempting suicide almost daily, dragging Atsushi Nakajima into his melodramatic stunts, texting Chuuya just to piss him off, and flirting with danger like it's the only thrill he can feel. Nothing unusual for him.

Atsushi seems back to “normal” too. On the surface, at least.

He acts like the events of last month never happened — like the closeness, the tension, the vulnerability — were all some fever dream. He hardly speaks about it. He doesn’t talk to Akutagawa much either, despite how close they’d grown in that locked suite. It’s as if he’s pretending none of it meant anything.

But something’s off.
He’s slower. Weaker. He blames it on lack of sleep, claiming he and Kyoka stay up late playing games. But it's an obvious lie. Dazai confirms that much when he casually asks Kyoka about it one morning. She denies everything.

“No, we haven’t been playing any games,” she says, frowning. “He spends most nights pacing between his bedroom and the bathroom... or whispering to someone on the phone.”
Dazai nods, lost in thought. He’s noticed it too — Atsushi’s sudden absences, the way he’s been missing work, the quiet withdrawal. It’s getting harder to ignore.

“Leave it to me,” Dazai mutters under his breath, burying his hands in his pockets. His expression hardens, eyes dark with concern. The others at the agency are beginning to worry too.
And with good reason.

 

Dazai heads straight to Atsushi’s apartment, as promised. He knocks once, then twice, voice light but laced with concern.
“Atsushi-kun?”
No answer.

He stares at the door, brows furrowed. That’s odd. Pulling out his phone, he dials the number — and is immediately met with the click of a call being declined.
His lips press into a thin line. “Atsushi-kun? Are you feeling okay?”
A pause. Then the unmistakable sound of wrenching — dry and violent — followed by quick, staggering footsteps across the apartment.
...Is he throwing up?

Without wasting another second, Dazai pulls out the spare key Kyoka had given him — “just in case,” she’d said, voice soft with unspoken worry. He unlocks the door and steps inside.
The smell hits him first.

Vomit. Sweat. Damp air. It’s overwhelming.

The flat is a mess — clothes strewn across the floor, bins overflowing, dishes crusted in the sink. And there, half-slumped against the toilet, is Atsushi. Pale. Shaking. Dressed only in his underwear, skin slick with sweat and his forehead pressed against the cool ceramic.

Dazai covers his nose instinctively, the stench making his stomach twist.

“Well... that’s unpleasant,” he mutters, forcing a smirk as he opens the windows and starts gathering the mess into a pile. “You really should have told me you were this bad.”
“Yeah... I’m sorry for missing work...” Atsushi croaks, voice raw. He winces, then immediately bends forward, coughing so hard it sounds like it might tear something inside him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s been like this since we left the suite... I hope it’s just a bug. I’m losing money…”

He trails off, gagging again. His complexion is ghostly, lips cracked, eyes dull with exhaustion.
“Don’t worry about the rent,” Dazai says gently, kneeling beside him. “Focus on getting better. I’ll wash these clothes and lend you something clean to wear. Did you throw up on your bed too?”
Atsushi groans, then nods weakly.

Dazai frowns, gaze dark with concern.

“You’re staying with me tonight,” he decides. “This isn’t fair to Kyoka. You need someone to look after you.”
He gathers what he can — laundry, phone, keys — while keeping a watchful eye on Atsushi. When the younger man finally pushes himself to his feet, it’s shaky, but surprisingly quick. The fresh air seems to help a little, but not much.

“Here,” Dazai says, shrugging off his coat and draping it over Atsushi’s shoulders. “Wear this. I’ll grab proper clothes once we get to the agency.”
They make their way out together. It doesn’t take long to reach the Armed Detective Agency, and even less time before Atsushi collapses onto a bed in the infirmary and falls into a deep, exhausted sleep.

His phone buzzes on the table nearby, screen lighting up with a message he never sees:
Atsushi? Are you okay? Why have you been calling me… are you in danger?

 

It’s unclear how long it’s been sitting there. The screen eventually goes dark again. Unaware of it all, Atsushi sleeps on — pale, restless, and completely still.
At the Agency, Dazai returns to his desk and plops down beside Kunikida, humming like he hasn’t just spent the morning mopping vomit off his sick subordinate’s floor. His hands move across the desk casually. He even taps a pen to the beat of a song that only exists in his head.

“How is he?” Kunikida asks, walking over, arms folded. Dazai doesn't seem one bit bothered or concerned for that matter. He stretches back into his chair, his arms reaching above himself “He’s not doing well,” Dazai replies. “I didn’t want to leave him alone, so I brought him here. He’s in the infirmary for now. I’ll take him home with me later… he clearly needs someone to take care of him.”

Kunikida nods but frowns slightly, still visibly bothered.

His mind lingers on the strange set of circumstances that have followed since that night, the collective denial from everyone involved. No one talks about it. And when no one talks about something… people start to forget it ever happened.

Until the phone rings.
Kunikida’s screen flashes: Unknown Number.

He hesitates before answering. “..Hello? You are through to the armed detective agency?”
There’s only static at first — and then, the faint sound of something… struggling. A dragging noise. Breathing. Kunikida’s expression darkens. ‘What is that?’ he thought listening to the call with intensity.

“Dazai? It’s for you.” he said, passing the phone over to his coworker and began to track the coordinates to the call, his computer locked onto an abandoned warehouse down near the port.
Dazai lifts the phone without question and holds it to his ear. He too hears someone struggling.. Then his eyes narrowed as he heard someone cough..

“Akutagawa?” he says, shortly after the cough.. He then realised he recognised the heavy, staggered breaths. “Who is this? What are you doing—?” he moved the phone to his other ear as he glanced at kunikida and nodded.

The voice on the other end giggles.

A high-pitched, childish sound. Delighted. Innocent. Unnerving.

‘That laugh’
‘It’s familiar’
‘I have heard one like it before… who was it-’

“Fyodor?” Dazai says, narrowing his eyes. He began to whisper realising that's not who he thought it was. “Is that you? No… you are far too young to be that demon”
“Tehe~ That’s a funny guess,” the voice replies sweetly.

 

Zachariah sits cross-legged on the cracked floor of a condemned building, a single flickering lamp casting long, skeletal shadows across the room. The air is thick with dust, and every creak in the structure above sounds like a warning — the groan of something ancient, unstable, on the edge of collapse.

He cradles the receiver of an old rotary phone, yellowed and fraying at the edges. The coil wraps snugly around his wrist, tight enough to leave faint red indentations. His small fingers drum rhythmically on the casing — not out of boredom, but calculation.

There’s no trembling in him anymore. No tears, no tantrums. Just that quiet, unnerving stillness.
A smile plays on his lips, crooked and too calm for a child.

Laid out before him is a hand-drawn map of Yokohama. Red Xs sprawl across neighborhoods, alleys, rooftops — points of interest only he seems to understand. Some are circled. Others crossed out violently. And one… one is marked with a tiny, smudged heart.

Beside the map lie two photographs. One of Atsushi — pristine, untouched, held in place with a strip of masking tape. The other… Akutagawa. Burned along the edges, curling into ash. The fire devours him slowly, the image blackening until only fragments remain.

Ash flakes onto the map, clinging to the paper like scars.
Zachariah doesn’t flinch.

He hums softly, almost too quietly to hear, his legs swinging back and forth like he’s waiting in a dentist’s office — not orchestrating something dangerous.
Behind him, the lamp sways slightly in the stale air, its chain rattling above a single, motionless figure.

Akutagawa Ryunosuke is strapped to a chair at the center of the room, posture slumped, head lolling slightly to one side. He doesn’t speak. He barely moves. Sweat clings to his skin, and though his eyes remain open, they flicker dully beneath his lashes — like someone trapped halfway between dreaming and waking.

His body is tense but sluggish, his breath shallow. Rashoumon lies dormant, unable — or unwilling — to answer his call.
The ropes that bind him are crude. Makeshift. Nothing that should ever hold a man like him.
But they do.

Somehow, they do.
The building creaks again, louder this time. A chunk of plaster breaks from the ceiling and crashes nearby. The dust that follows settles slowly over Zachariah’s hair, but he doesn’t look up. He lifts the phone again, presses the receiver to his ear, and waits.

There’s panic on the other end.

Good.

A crackle of static hums from the receiver, and Zachariah listens, eyes never leaving the crumbling, bound figure at the center of the room.
He hasn't said a word not yet.
But he smiles and takes a deep breath in before getting ready to speak again.

 

“Bring me the White Tiger,” the voice says on the phone. “And he goes free.” the voice sounds as if he's trading sweets to another party.
Dazai’s expression hardens. “W..what? Who are you?”
The voice hums, then grows sharper, more twisted. “Hmm I don't think that matters right now does it Osamu Dazai?.. Or Maybe I should take something more precious from you instead?”
A pause.

Then:

“Chuuya Nakahara… would be fun to torture. Especially now that he’s bedridden. You already know about that, don’t you? Aww poor thing..” he tuts, he didn't sound like a child anymore.. It reminded dazai of the days he was in the Port Mafia before leaving to become a Detective..he knew it wasn't who he was thinking about, but all he could whisper was the name.. “Kyusaku Yumeno?...no… it's not…you…”

Dazai stared forward for a moment, he was shocked by the silence that became interrupted with a laugh, “do you want me to hold Chuuya hostage instead? He’d be way too easy in his current condition…”

Dazai stiffened; it took a moment for him to collect himself before whispering. “Chuuya is bedridden?”
Another laugh. Then silence. The call ends with a sharp click.

For a moment, Dazai just stares ahead. His thoughts race, his mind spinning through every possibility, every variable. The voice wasn’t Fyodor’s. But it meant something by saying his name…
And somehow… Dazai knows who it really is.

He exhales slowly, then grabs his coat.

“I’m going out for a while,” he mutters, already moving.

He texts Ranpo on the way out:

“Do you have any idea where the Port Mafia are currently hiding?”

The reply comes fast — a set of coordinates. No words. Ranpo knows better than to ask.

Dazai drives straight there.

When he arrives, the heavy front door creaks open — and Gin Akutagawa stands waiting on the other side.

“Can I come in?” Dazai asks, voice low.

Chapter 2

Of course the girl was reluctant. Her eyes were knives — narrow, untrusting, honed sharp through years of surviving Yokohama's underworld. Gin Akutagawa didn’t speak at first. She didn’t need to. Her posture alone promised violence if provoked.

Dazai Osamu faced her with that same half-lidded gaze he always wore, the one that hovered somewhere between amusement and exhaustion. He adjusted his sand coloured trench coat almost sheepishly. "Gin-chan... don’t you remember me? I’m not here to hurt anyone," he said, voice quiet as snowfall, threaded with something too soft to be a lie.

She remained silent, hand tucked into her coat pocket like a coiled viper. He knew what she gripped inside: not trust.

He chuckled, low and tired. "Akutagawa-kun is missing as I am sure you are aware.. being his dear little sister and all... but I’m not here to start anything. I came to negotiate."
There was a flicker of something behind her eyes. Not belief. But doubt, maybe. Doubt that a man like Dazai would lie about this.

"You must be worried," he added, voice dropping into something almost gentle. "I am, too."

Gin shifted her weight, then finally turned, her steps slow but certain. She didn’t speak again until they had walked deep into the heart of the Port Mafia's labyrinthine stronghold. The hallways were quiet, the air thick with the perfume of steel and secrets. Each door they passed bore bolts and biometric locks; this place wasn't a home. It was a fortress.

"You want to see Chuuya?" she asked, without looking back.

"Yes," Dazai replied, the word sitting heavy on his tongue.

"He’s not well."

"I know." He said it like he carried the weight of it in his chest.
She didn’t respond. Just led him down, down into the bunker’s deepest chamber. The final door looked more like a vault than an entryway. She keyed in a code, turned two locks, and paused with her hand on the handle.

Her eyes locked with his. "Don’t make me regret this."
Dazai offered her a nod, solemn and silent.
Then she opened the door.

It slammed shut behind him with the finality of a tomb. The smell hit first — thick, metallic, and wrong. A blend of antiseptic and sickness, too heavy for the air to carry without suffocating on it.

The room was lavish in the way a gilded cage is: soft furniture, rich tapestries, low lighting. But there was no warmth. No life. Only Chuuya Nakahara, curled like a broken flame on a leather sofa, his hat discarded at his side, his face ghost-pale beneath a sheen of sweat.

"Chuuya," Dazai breathed, stepping forward.
The redhead groaned, not bothering to open his eyes. "You again? If you came to fuck me, get lost."
A short, dry laugh escaped Dazai. "Tempting, but no. I heard you were sick. That’s all."

"It’s just a bug," Chuuya mumbled, then winced, clutching his stomach. He tried to sit up, swayed dangerously, and pointed toward a nearby bucket.
Dazai crossed the room in two strides. He caught the container just in time.

Chuuya vomited, body curling inward like a wounded animal. When he was done, he sagged back with a groan, eyes barely open.
"You sure it’s just a bug?" Dazai asked, his voice lower now, edged with concern.
"Mori said it is. Fever. Bloating. It’ll pass."

Dazai studied him, noting the way his fingers twitched against his stomach. "That’s not bloating. That’s your organs staging a mutiny. Who’s looking after you?"
Chuuya let out a hoarse, sardonic laugh. It scraped up from his chest like sandpaper. "No one. I don’t need anyone."

Dazai’s expression darkened. He leaned in closer, brushing damp hair from Chuuya’s clammy forehead. The strands stuck to his skin like they were afraid to let go. "You need Dr. Yosano," he said, gently. "Or a damn miracle. And miracles are in short supply."

Chuuya turned his face away with a weak grunt and raised a trembling arm to push him back. The effort was pitiful. Dazai didn’t move. He didn’t even blink.
"Let me take you to the Agency," he murmured, his voice low and steady. "Let us help."

Chuuya's breath hitched. His pride flared, even now. "And what? In exchange I hold hands with the enemy? Sing a fucking duet with Fukuzawa while I'm at it?"
"In exchange," Dazai said evenly, "you help us get Akutagawa back."

That hit home.
Like a blade to the spine. Chuuya’s eyes sharpened. All the haze vanished in a heartbeat. "What happened?"

"He’s been taken."

The words landed with a thud. No drama. Just weight. Dazai let them sit there between them like a loaded gun.
Chuuya lurched forward. Tried to rise. The room tilted around him. Dazai caught him mid-fall.

"You’ll die like this," he said, voice rough. "You want to help him? Then let us help you. Just this once."
Chuuya clenched his jaw. The fire in his eyes dimmed to a flicker. "Fine," he muttered. "But I better be treated like royalty. I want silk sheets, and brandy older than your sense of humor."
Dazai gave a ghost of a smile. "Only the best."

They exited the room, Chuuya leaning heavily on Dazai. Gin was waiting, eyes narrowing as she took in the sight.
"He’s in no condition to leave," she said, alarmed.

"Well I’m not staying," Chuuya croaked. "We’re going to get Ryunosuke."

Her eyes lit up, a glimpse of hope flashing across her face like a match strike in the dark. "Then I’m coming too."
Dazai raised his hand. "Not yet. Wait for my signal."

She looked like she wanted to argue. Then nodded, stepping aside.

Outside, Chuuya nearly collapsed again. The sunlight stabbed at his eyes. His body shook.
Dazai helped him into the car. The moment the engine started, Chuuya groaned.

The tires screeched as Dazai took the corner too fast, the weight of urgency bleeding into every turn. The car became a cage of steel and noise, devouring the road with hunger.
"You drive like a madman," Chuuya muttered, his head pressed against the cool window, the city blurring like melting watercolor.
"Only when I’m panicked," Dazai replied, voice far too even for the truth it carried.

Chuuya grunted, swallowing against the bile rising in his throat. His hand gripped the door with white knuckles, the other pressed to his abdomen. He was fighting to keep his composure — and barely winning. "Who took him?"
Dazai’s eyes remained forward, unblinking. "A kid. Young. But not... normal."

Chuuya turned toward him, nausea giving way to something colder. His breath caught. "What do you mean, not normal?"
The silence stretched thin, taut with tension. Dazai's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "He knew things. About you. About Atsushi. About me. Things no outsider should know. And then he said Fyodor’s name."
The name was a blade across the quiet.

Chuuya stopped breathing for a second. The fever behind his eyes burned away, replaced with something raw and primal. He didn’t blink. Didn’t move. But the storm in him stirred.
"You think he’s one of Fyodor’s?"
Dazai nodded, his throat bobbing. "I think... I think he’s a prototype. Something twisted that was never meant to survive."
The pause that followed was jagged.

Then: "Then we kill him," Chuuya said, voice barely above a whisper, but sharper than any knife.
Dazai's smile was hollow. Ghostly. "Maybe. But first we find out what he wants."
The car slowed, the Agency coming into view.

Dazai was already moving before the wheels stopped. He yanked the door open and caught Chuuya as he stumbled, looping an arm under his shoulders.
They made it through the doors as Kunikida stormed forward looking extremely frustrated and annoyed. "DAZAI! I am not—" He halted. His eyes locked on Chuuya.
The heat drained from his face. "What the hell is he doing here?"

"Dying," Dazai said flatly. "Can we please not do this now?"
Yosano seemed to appear out of nowhere. One glance was all she needed.
"He’s even worse than Atsushi," she said. "We have space. Let him rest."
Kunikida gritted his teeth but said nothing.

Dazai helped Chuuya into the infirmary. Settled him in a bed. Draped a blanket over him. For a moment, he just stood there, watching the way Chuuya's chest rose and fell.
Then he turned. Left the sterile warmth of the infirmary behind like it was a fading memory, swallowed by the weight of what came next. The hallway was silent, too still, the kind of quiet that warned of storms. Outside, the air was a bit colder than before — sharp, like the first breath after nearly drowning.

He sat back in the driver’s seat, engine still humming, breath fogging faintly in the air despite the warmth. Dazai’s fingers hovered over the call history, tapping the screen with a kind of reluctant resolve. He switched the phone to speaker and placed it on the dashboard, the eerie quiet inside the car growing heavier.
A cold line of sweat trailed down the back of his neck.

That voice — foreign, melodic, unstable — had rooted itself in his mind, digging in like claws. The accent had an unmistakable Russian curl to it, but the pitch and cadence didn’t belong to Fyodor. Still, the resemblance... was too close to ignore.

“I heard the rumours,” Dazai muttered to no one. “Genetic experiments. A prototype child. Fyodor’s delusions were brought to life. But it couldn’t be real, right?” he started doing simple maths in his head... trying to work out if the rumors add up to a 10-14 year old... but before he had the chance to really think about it.
The phone clicked. Connection established.

Silence.
It wasn’t the digital kind — not static, not lag — but something deliberate. A held breath. A predator waiting.

Dazai’s voice, when it came, was calm and clear. “I’m coming alone. Unarmed. Unafraid. I’ll make a deal with you — if you let Ryunosuke go.”

A sound broke the silence: a giggle, light and childlike, far too pleased. Then the voice answered — smooth, syrup-thick with something spoiled beneath. “If the deal is good enough… I will consider it.”
The call was cut out. Abrupt. Purposeful.

Dazai’s jaw clenched as he stared at the phone, the silence in the car ringing louder than the dial tone. He opened a tracking app. The trace had landed — closer than expected. Just around the corner.

He parked a block away. Got out. Locked the car without looking back.
The building loomed like something forgotten. Concrete eaten by rust and mold, windows blanked with grime. He stepped inside and climbed the stairs, each creaking step groaning under the weight of memory and dread.

At the top: a hallway collapsed with dust, door cracked open like a mouth mid-scream.
And within — the eye of the storm.

The boy stood at the room’s center, motionless. Unblinking. Zachariah.
His small frame was thin, almost translucent in the half-light. One side of his hair was white as bone, the other black as an oil slick. Shadows chewed the hollows beneath his eyes. His hands — pale and too steady — held a gun pressed to Akutagawa’s head.

The hostage was bound with cruel precision. Ankles raw. Wrists purple. Rope embedded like vines into bruised skin. His mouth gagged, eyes barely focused. Rashoumon did not stir.
Dazai stepped forward, and for the first time in a long while, he felt something alien clawing at his spine. Fear.

“You disgust me,” he said, voice softer than he intended — not out of pity, but out of survival.
Zachariah didn’t blink.

“If he wasn’t tied,” the boy said, “he’d kill me. And I haven’t decided if I want to die yet.”
His smile widened. Not in joy — in performance.

Dazai studied him. This wasn’t arrogance. It was something else. A hunger for consequence. For spectacle.
“You think this is control?” he asked. “This… puppet show?”

“It’s mine,” the boy replied, the syllables drawn out like a nursery rhyme turned inside out.
Dazai raised both hands slowly. “I’m here for the deal.”
Zachariah tilted his head.

“Let him go,” Dazai said. “I’ll take his place. You’ll have me instead. And when the White Tiger and Chuuya come for you, maybe you’ll finally feel real. Important.”
Something behind the boy’s eyes flickered — brief, like a faulty bulb.

“I don’t know who you are,” Dazai continued, “but I know who made you. And I know what they wanted from you. From me. So why waste this moment on a subordinate?”
Zachariah’s smile faltered.
Dazai had touched the nerve.

“Don’t,” the boy hissed. His hands trembled. The gun shifted. “Don’t ever say their names.”
His eyes, wide now, brimmed with something feral. Pain masquerading as rage.
“I’ll shoot him. I will. I’ll—”

“I know,” Dazai murmured. “I know you’ve imagined it a thousand times. But that’s not what you want. is it?”
Zachariah didn’t move. But his breathing changed — shallow, uneven.

“You want them to see this,” Dazai said. “You want them to choke on what they made.”
Then, like a thread snapped too tight — the boy turned. Jaw clenched. He began untying Akutagawa in violent, jerking motions.
Akutagawa collapsed into Dazai’s arms, barely conscious.

“Dazai-san…” he rasped, eyes wild. “Don’t—he’s lying—he’s not a kid—he gave me the switch—”
But Dazai cut him off. “You have a job. Atsushi needs you. Go.”
Akutagawa’s mouth opened again — desperate — but the ropes left marks on his lungs as much as his skin. He coughed, voice catching.
“No—!”
“GO!”

And Akutagawa did. Because he always obeyed him. Because there was no time.

Dazai sat in the chair without protest. But inside? His heart was screaming.

Zachariah returned — tying him down with clinical precision. His hands didn’t fumble. They knew these knots. These patterns. Like it was rehearsal.
Then — he knelt. A glint in his hand. He brought a small controller close.

“Under your chair,” he said sweetly, “is a bomb.”

Dazai’s pulse kicked hard. He looked down instinctively. The chair groaned beneath him — old metal. Hollow. Hollow enough to conceal a device.
“I don’t have the switch,” Zachariah added, tilting his head. “Akutagawa does. It’ll go off when he’s far enough. Just like I told him to.”
Dazai’s mouth dried.

“You’re bluffing,” he whispered.

“Am I?” The boy’s grin widened again, but the light in his eyes said otherwise. “Didn’t he try to warn you?”
Dazai remembered the way Akutagawa had struggled to speak. His final glance.

He had tried.

Zachariah leaned in until his breath was warm against Dazai’s face.
“I don’t want their love,” he whispered. “I want their shame.”

He stepped back, arms open like a boy at a school play. “I was supposed to be a miracle,” he said, voice lilting. “But now I’m a requiem.”
Dazai felt the world shrink around him.

Then — click.

A sound like a blade sliding home.

Dazai flinched.

Zachariah cackled. “You thought it was the detonator, didn’t you? No... just a toy. See, killing myself is a sin.”
He crouched low again. Inches from Dazai’s wide eyes.

“I don’t want to die. I want someone to choose to kill me.”
The silence was suffocating. Like the walls themselves held their breath.

And in that moment, Dazai felt something new: vulnerability.

This wasn’t chess. This wasn’t logic.

This was chaos wrapped in the skin of a child.

Somewhere below, Akutagawa was still running.

And above, Dazai sat atop a bomb — tied, helpless, haunted — staring into the unblinking eyes of a boy who wanted to burn down the concept of being born.

And waited.

For the end.

Chapter 3

The wind outside the crumbling warehouse howled like a wounded beast, but inside, there was only the sound of panic-drenched silence.
Akutagawa ran.

Not from fear — no, not entirely. He ran because stillness would get him killed, and motion might buy him time. His coat snapped behind him like a living thing, Rashoumon twitching at the edges, sensing danger but finding no enemy to devour.

He skidded to a stop.

Something wasn’t right.

His eyes dropped to the floor, then his breath caught — barely a sound, but heavy in its weight. He stepped cautiously to the edge of the hallway and leaned against the cracked concrete wall. His chest rose and fell in ragged bursts. Sweat clung to his skin like a second sickness.

Then he felt it. The faintest click beneath his boot.

His body froze.

His breath caught again — this time sharper, tighter. He lifted his foot slowly, carefully, and there it was: a small, circular device clinging to the sole of his shoe like a parasite. It blinked red, quiet but steady. Not a pressure-triggered bomb — worse. It was movement-triggered. A pedometer rigged to a detonation threshold.

He knew that light.

Zachariah's smile returned to his mind. That giggle. That soft whisper before he fled — "You’d better count your steps, Black Dog. Ten is your limit."
Akutagawa pressed his back against the wall and exhaled slowly. He'd already taken four steps since he’d left the chair. He had six left.

Just six steps between him and obliteration.

His fingers dug into his coat pocket, gripping his phone like a lifeline. He called Atsushi first. The line rang. Once. Twice.

No answer.
He hissed under his breath, dialed again. Still nothing.

Swearing quietly, he opened Chuuya's contact and hit call.

It was a shot in the dark — he knew Chuuya was sick, possibly worse — but someone had to know. Someone had to move. He couldn't.

The line connected. Static. Then a voice, hoarse and surprised.

“Akutagawa?” Chuuya croaked. “What the hell… where are you? Is Dazai with you? What—?”

“Dazai-san is in danger,” Akutagawa cut in. His voice was low, urgent, but steady. “We were both taken. He’s tied to a chair… there's a bomb beneath it. And I— I’m rigged too.”
Chuuya went silent for a moment. Then: “You’re what?”

“There’s a device attached to my foot. It’s a pedometer, I think. Movement-triggered.” He paused, letting that sink in. “I stopped after four steps. If I take more than ten… the bomb goes off.”
“Fuck,” Chuuya breathed. “So it's connected to your steps. That’s—” A coughing fit cut him off. “—smart. Psychotic, but smart.”

“I need your help,” Akutagawa said. And for once, he didn’t lace it with pride or venom. “I can’t move. If I do… Dazai-san dies.”

Chuuya was already moving. “Alright. Sit tight. Don’t… don’t fucking twitch.”

The call ended. Akutagawa stared at the wall. Time didn’t pass — it hung in the air like a knife waiting to drop.

Meanwhile, in the Armed Detective Agency’s infirmary, Chuuya slammed the phone down and pulled himself upright. He was drenched in sweat, his skin pale and clammy, but he stood.
Beside him, Atsushi stirred groggily from the adjacent bed. “Chuuya-san?”

“I need you to move,” Chuuya rasped. “Akutagawa and Dazai are both in trouble.”
Atsushi sat up, already wobbling on his feet. “I’m still— not great—”

“I don’t care.” Chuuya threw a coat at him. “Neither am I. You feel like vomiting? Too bad. We’ve got ten steps before our partners explode.”

By the time they reached the building, dusk had turned the sky to bruised purple. The city was quiet. Too quiet.

Inside, they moved like shadows — slow, silent, searching. Chuuya went ahead, leaving Atsushi to creep toward the room where Akutagawa was last seen.
The second he spotted him, he knew something was wrong.

Akutagawa was frozen mid-step, drenched in sweat, his coat pooling around his ankles like liquid ink. His body trembled ever so slightly — not from fear, but restraint.
“I thought you’d never come,” he said, barely turning his head.

“I came as fast as I could,” Atsushi replied, panting, still pale. “I can’t believe you’ve been standing like this the whole time. Where’s the—?”
Akutagawa lifted one foot slightly, showing him. The blinking red light on the sole of his boot looked deceptively small.

“Oh, fuck,” Atsushi muttered. “Okay. Okay. I’ll get it off. I’ll get it off without moving you.”
He moved quickly. Tiger claws shimmered into place as he crouched beside Akutagawa, careful to grip the boot’s edge without jostling the man's leg.
“Don’t move,” he said.

“Wasn’t planning on,” Akutagawa spat, though his voice was tight.
The boot peeled back — centimeter by centimeter — revealing not just the trigger but a set of thin copper wires trailing from beneath it up into the fabric.
“Shit. It’s wired into your heel.”

“Keep going.”

Atsushi sliced clean through the boot's sole, gripping Akutagawa’s ankle like glass. He worked fast — faster than he dared — and finally yanked the bomb-laden shoe free.
Then came the click.

Atsushi’s eyes widened.

“MOVE!”

Everything was in slow motion, the two of them couldn't think of what if’s or if Dazai and Chuuya were ready. After all, it didn't wait. He threw the boot down the hall and tackled Akutagawa to the floor, wrapping his body around him as the explosion detonated.
A roar. A flash. The hallway behind them ignited.

Dust. Fire. Silence.

When Akutagawa opened his eyes, he was slightly stunned; Atsushi was draped over him, arms still tight. But the closer he looked the more he realised..He was unconscious.
“…Man-tiger?” Akutagawa’s voice cracked. He shoved the rubble aside and pulled Atsushi into his lap, cradling him tightly.
The younger man groaned faintly.

He was alive.

Akutagawa blinked — not from smoke, but from something far worse rising in his chest.
Relief.

In the distance, more explosions echoed. Then a laugh — sharp, high-pitched, too youthful to belong in a war zone or so you'd think.

From the far side of the building, Dazai emerged. Chuuya stumbled behind him, breathing hard, blood across his chest and a vacant look in his eyes.
“He used Corruption,” Dazai said, slightly shielding Akutgawa and Atsushi with his arm.

Akutagawa stared.

“You— you survived?”

“Barely,” Dazai replied, crouching down beside them. “But you did good, Akutagawa.”
He smiled — a genuine, worn-out smile — and then reached for Atsushi as if to ruffle his hair.

But two eyes burned into him, causing Dazai to hesitate.
“He’s safe!’ Akutagawa growled. “Don’t touch him!”

A silence fell. Heavy. Charged.
Then Dazai laughed softly and raised his hands. “Alright, alright. You’ve got him.”

He stood and turned to check on Chuuya — only to find the redhead had vanished.
“Chuuya?” he called.

Only the sound of distant rubble answered back.

The hallway was suddenly caving behind them.
Chunks of scorched debris rained down in a slow, smothered cascade. The smoke curled around them like dying fingers.

Akutagawa barely registered the blood streaking down his cheek as part of the glass to his side shattered. His hands were still wrapped tightly around Atsushi’s shoulders, shielding him even though the major threat had passed.

Somewhere beyond the wreckage, laughter rang out.
Not human. Not entirely.
It was the sound of something delighted by destruction.
And then… the rumble.. The shaking.
A gravity shift.

Everything — the dust in the air, the loose nails, the very bones of the building — began to sink, to pull, to collapse inward.
Akutagawa's blood ran cold, his ability worked before he could even think… creating a barrier, a bubble of sorts to shield himself and Atsushi.
“No…” he whispered, glancing upward.

Through a jagged break in the far wall, he saw him.
Chuuya Nakahara, suspended in the air like a vengeful god, his red hair flaring wildly, eyes glowing like collapsing stars. His coat shredded and weightless in the sheer force of the gravity storm. Blood ran from his ears, his mouth, even the corners of his eyes — but he smiled.
No — he grinned.

Unhinged.
Free.

He looked like God on earth: Corruption.

Dazai was below him, hands out, calling something that was lost to the roar of spatial distortion. His ability would be needed soon — and Akutagawa knew it.
But not yet.

Because Chuuya hadn’t finished.

Not while the enemy still breathed.

Zachariah darted through the shadows, laughing like a thread-snapped marionette, dodging the collapsing floor as if he’d rehearsed it.
“You’ll never understand it, Chuuya Nakahara!” the boy shrieked, voice cracking. “You only know how to destroy! That’s what makes us alike you and I…we are both unhuman.. Both unnatural and made within a lab—”

He never finished the sentence.

A gravitational fist slammed into him mid-run, crushing the wall behind him into splinters. The floor cratered beneath the force. Screws popped from beams. Bricks cracked like bone.
And in the silence that followed — all anyone could hear was Chuuya’s breathing. Heavy. Animalistic. Each exhale a countdown to collapse.
He stood, a few strides from Dazai. angry and emotional.. Red tears stained his face as he caught his breath.
Then Dazai reached him.

“Enough!” he shouted, his hand touched Chuuya’s chest — skin burning, bones shivering beneath his fingers.
“No longer human.”

The moment his fingers made contact, the ability shut off. Like a breaker switch in a dying city.
Chuuya dropped instantly.

Dazai caught him — barely — and the floor beneath them both crushed into the rubble, Dazai rolled shielding Chuuya. Dazai’s bandages tore, his breath knocked out of him.
But Chuuya—

He was worse.

The redhead writhed in Dazai’s arms, coughing violently, blood staining the collar of his coat. His eyes were wild, unfocused. He was trembling. His fingers clawed weakly at Dazai’s shirt like a man pulled from drowning.

“Shh,” Dazai whispered, trying to press a cloth to his mouth. “You’re back. It’s over.”

The four of them regrouped, the chaos had finally gone quiet.
Zachariah was gone.
The bomb was defused.
But Corruption had left its mark.

Chuuya lay half-conscious in the debris, Dazai gently holding him upright. Blood trickled down his chin, his eyes red and glassy from the internal strain.
“You allowed him to use it? In his current state??” Akutagawa said flatly.

“Had no choice,” Dazai replied without looking at him. “That kid — Zachariah — he pushed too far. He would’ve taken us all down just to make a point. Not to mention if Chuuya hadn't stepped in i would have been dust”

“That was a child?” Atsushi croaked, wiping ash from his face. “He wasn’t even scared of Chhuya?? Did he want to die…or something?”
“He's not just a child,” Dazai said, voice darkening. “He’s a prototype. A weapon made to feel human emotions… and taught to hate them. He’s different…”

Chuuya stirred, groaning. “Don’t psychoanalyze the monster right now… I think I ruptured something. Ah shit.. That hurts!”
“You probably did,” Dazai muttered. “And you’ll be explaining that to Yosano later.”

There was silence for a while…Chuuya really didn't seem well but nor did Atsushi. “Come on,” Dazai said, slipping an arm under Chuuya’s back. “Let’s get you both out of here.”
He nodded to Akutagawa, who began to help Atsushi aswell, They left the warehouse slowly — limping, coughing, bleeding.

But alive.

For now.
____________________________________________________________________________

The ADA infirmary was thick with the scent of antiseptic and tension.

Dazai leaned against the wall beside Chuuya’s bed, arms crossed, eyes unmoving. He hadn’t said anything for minutes now — just stared, watching, waiting.
But it had been a while now, since getting Chuuya into bed…the pain was getting harder to hide.

Chuuya lay back against the pillows, arm flung over his eyes like it might block out reality. He’d peeled off his jacket earlier, tossing it aside when it started to cling too tightly to his sweat-slicked skin. The bandages across his stomach were fresh, done by Yosano herself, but they were already starting to stain through.
He didn’t want to be here.

Not like this.

Dazai was curious, after all the smaller male hadn't even let anyone else see his stomach, so no one knew how bad it was other then Chuuya himself, Dazai went to open his mouth–
“I’m fine,” he muttered, voice scratchy. “I just… need sleep.”

“You said that twenty minutes ago,” Dazai replied without looking away. “But you’re sweating through the sheets.”
“I said I’m fine.”

Another lie. Another cough. This one raked up deep from his chest, and he grimaced, turning his face to the wall so no one could see the blood he wiped onto the sleeve of his undershirt.
Across the room, Atsushi was perched at the edge of his own bed, trying to look like he was getting better — which wasn’t far from the truth. His regeneration had already closed up the minor wounds from the blast, and the bruising along his arms had faded almost completely.

But the nausea hadn’t gone away.

His stomach twisted again. He swallowed it down and took a long, careful sip of water. He glanced toward Chuuya out of the corner of his eye, noticing the way the redhead winced every time he adjusted position.

“Need anything?” Atsushi asked, keeping his voice light.

“No,” Chuuya grunted, tightening his jaw. “I would have asked if I did.. Just don’t talk.”
Atsushi nodded, then looked down quickly — a bit too quickly.

Dazai noticed.

His eyes shifted between the two of them.

Both men were pale. Both sweating. Both clearly trying too hard not to let it show.
“You’re both nauseous,” he said flatly, Akutagawa nodding as he sat observing and not saying anything.

“No, I’m not,” Atsushi said a little too fast. “I mean— maybe slightly. But it’s not… it's better than this morning.”
“I’m just tired,” Chuuya muttered from behind his arm. “Corruption takes a toll. You know that Dazai.”

Dazai walked over to him slowly, crouching by the side of the bed, trying to get a better look at the clearly not ok male. “Then why haven’t you moved since we got back?” he asked. “You’ve barely opened your eyes. You haven’t drank anything. And when you think no one’s watching, you’re—”
“I said I’m fine.”

The sharpness in Chuuya’s voice was undercut by how breathless it came out. His fingers clenched around the blanket. He shifted, and instantly regretted it — a guttural groan escaped before he could stop it.

Dazai’s expression didn’t change.

But inside, something turned cold.

Yosano had warned him earlier:

“He’s not stable, Dazai. You brought him back just barely breathing. He’s hiding the pain, but it’s bad. If you see vomiting, fainting, or abdominal rigidity, don’t wait. Get him out of here. He needs a hospital.”
And now, Dazai could see it.

The sheen of sweat on Chuuya’s temples. The way his breathing caught at random intervals. The stiffness in his lower abdomen — not just from the wounds. From something deeper.
“I think it's best to get you to the emergency room,” Dazai said, rising to his feet.

“Don’t you dare—” Chuuya tried to sit up and immediately doubled over, groaning aloud as his hand flew to his stomach. The tremble in his voice now was impossible to hide.
Atsushi flinched at the sound, rising from his bed quickly — too quickly.

The motion made his vision spin. He grabbed the edge of the cabinet and swallowed hard, the wave of nausea hitting him like a slap. He forced it down again. He couldn’t show it.
Not when Chuuya looked like that.

Not when his pain was real compared to his own.

Akutagawa went to support Atsushi if needed, “I’m okay,” Atsushi said quietly, trying not to waver. “I just… stood up too fast.”
“Are you sure??” Akutagawa asked but Dazai seemed to take over, his voice snapping slightly. “Sit down, Atsushi. Now. I’ll deal with Chuuya.”

“No— I’m—”

“Sit.”

Atsushi obeyed, guilt creeping across his face like a shadow.
Dazai stepped out into the hallway, voice calm but clipped as he flagged down Yosano.

“Infirmary. Now. He’s not just in pain anymore — he’s spiraling.”

She didn’t ask questions.

She didn’t need to.

She grabbed her phone already calling for an ambulance.

Yosano was stern, her heels sharp against the floor as she stepped into the infirmary with her coat half on and her gloves already pulled tight.
"He's going to the hospital," she said flatly. “Ive called for an ambulance they’ll be here any minute”

Chuuya groaned under his breath, curling slightly as another wave of pain shot through his abdomen. "I said I’m fine—"
As the redhead tried — and failed — to sit up properly, his eyes swam with exhaustion. His whole body trembled now, pale and damp with cold sweat. He looked awful. Worse than Dazai had ever seen him.

"You’re not dying in my infirmary," Yosano muttered, Chuuya looked like he wanted to argue again, but all that came out was a whimper and a string of curses as he leaned over the bowl and gagged weakly.

Dazai moved to his side, supporting him without a word.
The gurney came shortly after, and the second they wheeled Chuuya out, the room shifted.
Quieter. But colder.

Atsushi sat on one of the infirmary beds, rubbing his eyes. His healing ability had already patched over the worst of his injuries — but the nausea lingered like a second skin. He blinked and looked up, seeing Akutagawa seated nearby.

The man hadn't moved since they'd returned.

“You should lie down,” Atsushi muttered, voice still scratchy. “You were the one with a bomb strapped to your foot.” he looked as if he was trying to make room on his own bed… but his attempt at moving was enough to show the mafioso how unwell he was.

“I’m fine.”

“You keep saying that. Doesn’t make it true.”

Their eyes met briefly.

It was the first time since the explosion that neither one looked ready to attack the other. Just two tired men done with the day.
The door burst open.

Kunikida.

He looked as livid as ever.

“Dazai,” he snapped, stepping into the room without knocking. “Explain why he is still here.” His finger jabbed toward Akutagawa like a sword. “We’re not a halfway house for Port Mafia criminals!”

“He helped us,” Dazai’s voice came from the other side of the room, getting some of his stuff ready to follow Chuuya to the hospital. “Saved Atsushi, actually.”
“Which doesn’t mean he gets free rein of our Agency—!”

“He’s not walking around like a tourist,” Dazai said. “But even if he was.. I couldn't care less right now.. If he wants to, he can stay with Atsushi until we sort everything out. He hasn’t killed anyone today. Give him some credit.”

Kunikida’s eyes narrowed. “He better not even breathe in my direction.”

Akutagawa didn’t respond. His expression was unreadable. But under the surface, something simmered.
He was being judged.

Fair enough.
He stood up calmly, brushing off his coat. “I have no desire to cause problems.”
“Then don’t,” Kunikida muttered, turning on his heel and storming out.

The room was quiet again.
Then, as if sensing the moment had passed, Atsushi sighed. “He’ll get over it. Eventually.”
Akutagawa didn’t respond. Instead, he stepped out into the main Agency hall.

The halls of the Agency were quiet. Papers rustled. A desk fan hummed.
Akutagawa wandered aimlessly, Rashoumon twitching like a bored pet behind him. He passed desks stacked with books, tea-stained mugs, and more clutter than he’d ever seen in a Mafia office.

Eventually, he stopped at a desk littered with sweets.
Ranpo's.
Out of reflex — maybe curiosity — he picked up a brightly wrapped candy and popped it into his mouth.
“You really shouldn’t do that,” said a voice behind him, quiet but cutting.
He turned.

A man with long bangs covering his eyes stood nearby, petting a raccoon perched on his shoulder.
“I do not believe we’ve met,” Akutagawa said flatly.

“I’m Edgar Allan Poe. Just visiting a friend,” he said, stroking Karl’s fur. “Ranpo-kun usually only shares his sweets with me. And Karl.”
Akutagawa narrowed his eyes, chewing the candy. “So?”

“So.” Poe blinked slowly. “He really hates when people touch his stuff. Just a friendly warning.”
Unfazed, Akutagawa turned and sat at the next desk instead. Ranpo was nowhere in sight, but the scent of sugar lingered thick in the air.
He opened the desk drawer out of idle curiosity.

And stopped.

Inside was a worn, bright-colored paperback.

"My Boyfriend and I Are Having a Baby"
Atsushi Nakajima’s name was written on a sticky note stuck to the first page.
Akutagawa stared.

His mind went blank for a moment.

“What…?”

He flipped a few pages and grimaced. The illustrations were questionable. The dialogue worse.
“Male pregnancy… What a stupid phenomenon,” he muttered.

But still, he tucked the book into his coat.

A few moments later, Ranpo appeared — bouncing as usual, a lollipop sticking out of his mouth.
“I saw that,” he said brightly. “Theft from a desk. Tsk, tsk.”

“Why was that trash in there to begin with?”
Ranpo shrugged. “You’d be surprised what people around here read. Or maybe someone wanted you to find it.”
Akutagawa stiffened. “What are you implying?”

“Nothing~” Ranpo twirled the lollipop between his fingers. “Though, if I were you, I’d ask myself one thing…”
“What?”

“Why did the symptoms start after the candles?” he said, tilting his head. “And who lit them?”
Akutagawa just stared at the two men,as if waiting for one of them to continue speaking, what did they know?

________________________________________________________________________

A few hours had passed.

Chuuya lay curled beneath a heavy white blanket, his face turned toward the window though his eyes were closed. He hadn’t said much since waking from surgery — hadn’t looked at Dazai once. His silence wasn’t cold… just distant. Fragile. Like if Dazai said the wrong thing, he might splinter entirely.

Dazai sat beside him, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the floor.
He hated hospitals.

Not because of the smell, or the silence, or the lights that buzzed too faintly to be noticed by anyone but him. He hated them because they made people look so defenseless. And Chuuya had never looked this weak before..
Not until now.

“…How do you feel?” Dazai asked eventually, voice barely above a murmur.
There was a pause. A long one.

Then: “Shut up, asshole.”

The response was weak. Hollow. But it was still him.

Dazai allowed a small smile to pull at his lips. It didn’t reach his eyes. He leaned forward, resting a gentle hand on Chuuya’s shoulder. The redhead didn’t pull away, but he didn’t relax either.
“At least we know what was making you so ill,” Dazai said quietly.

“I shouldn’t have used Corruption…” Chuuya’s voice cracked, the words slipping out fast, too fast. His hands shifted under the blanket, restless and fidgeting, like they needed something to hold onto or destroy. “I could’ve killed—”
He stopped. Bit down on the words. Swallowed whatever fear was trying to rise.

Dazai’s brows furrowed. He leaned in a little more. “Chuuya. What is it? Just tell me.”
The silence after that was different. Not cold. Not resistant. Just… fragile.

Chuuya’s breath stuttered. He turned away even further, shoulders trembling beneath the sheets. Dazai’s eyes drifted to the IV attached to his arm — blood slowly dripping back into a body that had nearly burned itself out.

“I know I told you to trust me when—”

“I’m pregnant.”

The words dropped like a dead weight between them.
Dazai blinked, once.

Then again.

“What?” he breathed, almost a laugh. “Don’t be stupid—”

But Chuuya didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t deny it.

And suddenly Dazai wasn’t laughing.

“Wait… Chuuya—?”

Before he could say anything more, Chuuya let out a choked cough — then another, harsher. He twisted suddenly, clutching at his stomach, blood at the edge of his lips as the monitor spiked in protest.

The door slammed open and nurses rushed in.

“Sir, you need to step out. Now,” one of them ordered, already reaching for Chuuya. He tried to protest, tried to lift himself up, but the pain hit hard. His body shuddered, and he collapsed back into the mattress.

Dazai was already on his feet. “What do you mean—? He said—he just told me he’s—!”
“Out,” the nurse snapped, pushing him toward the hallway. “We’ll explain later.”

“Chuuya—!”
But the door slammed shut behind him.

Thirty minutes passed.
Dazai sat slouched in a plastic chair in the waiting area, his head tilted back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling tiles like they might answer something.
Pregnant.

No. That wasn’t real. That wasn’t possible.

Except... this wasn’t a normal situation. It never had been.
They had opened him up for internal bleeding and found something else.
And the symptoms had been there before Corruption.
He closed his eyes.

If anyone else had told him that—he’d have laughed.

But not Chuuya. Not like that. Not when he looked so… scared.

Eventually, a nurse gave a soft knock on the wall beside him.
“You can go in now. He’s stable.”

Dazai entered quietly.

Chuuya was lying back again, this time propped up slightly, pale as hell but awake. A fresh IV was taped to his hand, and his other arm was resting limply across his stomach, protectively.
His eyes followed Dazai in, but he said nothing.
Dazai pulled the chair up beside the bed and sat.

They stayed in silence for a moment. Then:
“It’s okay, Chuuya,” he said quietly.

“No,” came the reply, hollow and flat. “It’s not.”
His voice cracked. He rubbed a hand over his stomach, slowly. Not tenderly. Just trying to make sense of what was there.

“I’m four weeks,” he whispered. “I can get rid of it.”
His eyes didn’t water, but his stare was red and dry, raw at the edges. Like he’d already burned through the part of himself that could cry.
“I can’t do this.”
Dazai’s expression tensed.

“Don’t,” he said firmly, rising slightly to reach for Chuuya’s hand. “Don’t say that. That’s not what I want.”
“You think I do?” Chuuya snapped, looking at him for the first time. “I’m in the Port Mafia. How the hell am I supposed to raise anything—let alone a kid—like this?”
“It’s your life,” Dazai said. “Not Mori’s. Not anyone else’s. Yours.”His voice dropped.
“It’s terrifying, I know. But if you did it—if you went through with it—could you live with yourself if you killed it now?”
Chuuya didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

Dazai could feel the answer in the silence.

Finally, Chuuya exhaled slowly and leaned forward, his head falling against Dazai’s chest. His breath shook as he rested there, eyes shut, skin clammy.
“I’ll think about it,” he muttered. “That’s all I can promise.”

Dazai nodded, wrapping an arm gently around his back.
“That’s all I’m asking.”

The silence stretched again.
Then Dazai spoke, quieter this time.

“How did they know?”
Chuuya’s voice was sluggish, but clear. “They opened me up after I collapsed. Internal bleeding. But the symptoms… they were already there before I used Corruption. They did an ultrasound. Found it.”

Dazai’s hand moved to brush his hair back.
“You’re not alone in this.”

“…If I keep it,” Chuuya mumbled, “what then? What do we even do?”
“You’ll have me.”

Chuuya opened one eye and stared. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means…” Dazai hesitated, then gave a small, sheepish smile. “We could get married.”

Chuuya blinked, deadpan. “You’re supposed to ask, you know. Not just declare it like you’re assigning me a mission.”
“Fine,” Dazai said. He leaned closer, his voice soft but steady.

“Would you?”

Chuuya’s brows furrowed. “Would I what?”

Dazai tilted his head, his gaze meeting him perfectly.

“Marry me?”

Notes:

My friend (who I live with) decided to trump so loud while i was writing the bomb scene that it brought me to tears... genuinely couldn't breath for around 5 minutes.

Chapter 4

The ginger-haired male slouched back onto the bed, letting out a deep, weary sigh. His eyes fluttered with exhaustion, the effects of painkillers evident in his drowsy gaze. "Does it really matter if I would or wouldn't? Now isn’t exactly the right time, dumbass."

Dazai sighed softly, resting his head gently against the hospital bed’s edge. A pang of hurt flashed briefly in his eyes, though not entirely unexpected. He traced slow, deliberate circles on the bed covers, subtly brushing against Chuuya’s leg, as if trying to bridge the sudden gap between them.

"When will they let you leave?" he asked, his voice tender but guarded.

"They want me here until I fully heal," Chuuya groaned, shifting uncomfortably. "They’re also giving me advice about male pregnancy. It’s happened only twice before, so rare it's practically impossible."

Suddenly, his words were cut short as he doubled over, clutching his stomach in agony, a violent cough wracking through his weakened body.

"Dazai—the—"

"Hugh!" Chuuya heaved, a guttural sound escaping as he clutched desperately at his abdomen.

Dazai quickly grabbed a bowl, turning his head respectfully as Chuuya struggled with dry heaves. After several tense moments, Chuuya finally leaned back, drenched in sweat, gasping for breath.

"Like I was saying," Chuuya’s voice was strained yet determined, "the male womb is smaller. The pregnancy progresses faster, about five months compared to nine."

"But won’t that mean the baby can’t survive?" Dazai’s voice rose, tinged with panic.

"Let me finish, jackass!" Chuuya snapped irritably, despite his evident exhaustion. "When labor starts, the womb lining comes out, cocooning the baby in a protective sac of fluid."

Dazai grimaced, visibly uncomfortable. "That’s... unsettling."

"And so is your stupid face!" Chuuya retorted, glaring seriously. "If we choose to go through with it, the baby would need hospitalization for another four months. Out of the two previous cases, only one survived."

The weight of Chuuya’s revelation hung heavily in the air, causing Dazai’s eyes to widen thoughtfully, tension thickening between them.

"Now do you see why abortion crossed my mind?" Chuuya whispered softly, vulnerability breaking through his hardened facade. "If I go ahead, would you stay by my side?"

"I'll never leave you, Chuuya," Dazai assured earnestly, a gentle smile finally softening his features. "Whatever happens, I’ll be right here."

A quiet moment lingered between them, the heaviness briefly lifted by mutual understanding before Dazai's curiosity broke the silence once more.

"Wait, you mentioned feeling symptoms even before using corruption. Do you think there’s a chance—?"

"No," Chuuya quickly interjected, gently pushing Dazai away. "The odds are nearly impossible."

"But Atsushi’s symptoms—"

"Just stop," Chuuya sighed, clearly exhausted by the conversation.

—

At the agency, tension mounted as Akutagawa’s persistent presence started to irk Kunikida, leading Kyoka to boldly confront him. Surprisingly compliant, Akutagawa quietly retreated into the infirmary, where Atsushi lay sleeping, blissfully unaware.

Watching Atsushi’s peaceful face, Akutagawa felt a sudden, uncomfortable warmth stir inside him. His hand instinctively reached out, gently grazing Atsushi’s abdomen. His eyes widened in concern upon feeling unusual bloating. Was Atsushi truly that unwell?

At the agency, tension mounted as Akutagawa’s persistent presence started to irk Kunikida, leading Kyoka to boldly confront him. Surprisingly compliant, Akutagawa quietly retreated into the infirmary, where Atsushi lay sleeping, blissfully unaware.

Watching Atsushi’s peaceful face, Akutagawa felt a sudden, uncomfortable warmth stir inside him. His hand instinctively reached out, gently grazing Atsushi’s abdomen. His eyes widened in concern upon feeling unusual bloating. Was Atsushi truly that unwell?

"How is he?" Ranpo’s casual inquiry startled Akutagawa from his thoughts. He swaggered over, munching crisps casually, resting his arm on Akutagawa's shoulder. "He's cute, isn't he? Nice to see you two back together, despite the circumstances."

Akutagawa stiffened, irritation building at Ranpo's familiarity. "He's fine," he replied curtly, avoiding eye contact.

Ranpo chuckled softly, sitting beside Akutagawa and glancing toward Atsushi. "You spoke to Poe, didn't you? He's nice, isn't he?"

"Yes," Akutagawa said tersely, sensing an underlying motive.

Ranpo leaned closer conspiratorially. "Want to hear a secret? Poe and I have been together for three years. Does that disgust you?"

Akutagawa shook his head dismissively. "It’s irrelevant who you love."

"The first Get Along Project involved me and Poe," Ranpo continued, seemingly lost in thought. "A month together, constant bickering… we emerged inseparable." He laughed gently, then his expression subtly shifted, his hand briefly touching his stomach.

Akutagawa noticed Ranpo’s odd gesture but remained silent, perplexed by the shift in mood. Ranpo's green eyes sharpened as he leaned closer. "You had sex. Don’t deny it—I know you did."

"That’s none of your business," Akutagawa snapped defensively.

Ranpo stood abruptly, his playful demeanor gone. "If you break his heart, you’ll regret it. And stealing my sweets is already a crime—don’t do it again." He left quickly, leaving a sour tension lingering behind.

As Ranpo’s footsteps faded, Akutagawa sighed deeply, fatigue overwhelming him. He rested his head beside Atsushi, feeling unusually safe despite their vulnerability. Eventually, exhaustion overtook him, and he drifted into sleep.

Hours later, a ringing phone jolted Akutagawa awake. Groggily answering Atsushi’s phone, he heard Dazai’s amused voice. "Good morning, lovebirds. Kenji left you a gift. Just stay put until morning."

"We don’t see each other like that," Akutagawa muttered defensively.

Dazai laughed softly. "Chuuya isn't around, so feel free to use the other bed."

Blushing slightly, Akutagawa sighed, reluctantly agreeing. He moved to the bed, falling asleep instantly. Their peaceful rest was rudely interrupted by Kunikida’s furious outburst at dawn, chastising Akutagawa loudly.

"YOU TREAT THE INFIRMARY LIKE IT'S YOUR HOME?! WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE?"

Akutagawa calmly rose, ignoring Kunikida’s anger. "Dazai-san said I could stay and watch over Atsushi. Excuse me—I need something to eat." He walked past Kunikida unbothered, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.

The day continued and Akutagawa soon returned, he returned with medication for Atsushi... and yet again not a very warm greeting from the ADA members.
When he walked back into the infirmary he was shocked to see the silver haired male sat up and looking a lot better than he did the day before.

"Morning.." The Male coughed and Atsushi smiled over to him, he was definitely happy to see his enemy. "Ryu..."
"I wasn't sure how you'd be feeling so I brought back some medicine... but you look perfectly fine this morning..." he wandered over to a letter which was placed by the man-tigers feet, he picked it up with wonder...

"Looks like we are getting letters again." Atsushi jokes "it feels so long ago since I've talked to you like this..." He shyly looked down to his hands. "Without being in danger or without Chuuya and Dazai that is.." he added before moving the duvet away from himself and getting out of bed... he wandered around to Akutagawa's side and closed the curtain slightly so they were both hidden.

"Akutaga-"

"You threw up, don't even think about it!" The man turned his head as the male before him rested his knee beside him on the bed and was attempting to climb above him.
"I washed and showered while you were out... the agency has a whole bathroom in case one of us is seriously injured and can not get home."

"The Armed Detective Agency members are right out there, it's foolish to do such a thing..." The male complained but there was a part of him which enjoyed the situation..
Atsushi leant into him and ran his hand roughly through his hair allowing their lips to lock together, they slowly became more passionate and deep using their tongues...

"Hah..." atsushi moaned as Akutagawa ran his palms over his chest and to the back of him, he pulled him closer...
"Jinko...." he whispered, feeling the man push against him more... Akutagawa broke away and gasped with excitement. "We can't do this right now... what if that angry blond guy walks in..."

The man-tiger groaned loudly... punching the man's chest with annoyance. "Do you not know how much I've been craving for you since we left that suite?"

"I understand... I too cannot stop thinking about it, but we can't let that get in the way of our work. We are supposed to be enemies, man-tiger..."

The purple eyes of Atsushi said it all... he wasn't joking around and Akutagawa was fully aware of the fact he wasn't.
"Enemies?" The tiger laughed, his smile different from any other time Ryunosuke had seen. "Explain to me Akutagawa, are we really enemies? We make a pretty neat team." He kept his eye contact with the Male before him...
"This side of you is quite peculiar, yet also quite arousing." He smirked but was shocked to be pushed down harshly against the bed...

The slightly older male wasn't expecting such brute force from the Jinko and so his eyes were wide with shock...
He used his ability, turning his hands into his tiger form.
"I see you are no longer sick?" The Diablo sighed, narrowing his eyes as he had a sudden thought, one which he never thought would come about  with the man-tiger in mind... "feeling like you could dominate me??" He smirked. "Foolish..."

The man above him was looking down at him, his eyes hungry and wild. It was clear he was unafraid to show more dominance than he usually would.

But they were rudely interrupted, as Kunikida rushed into the room and pulled back the curtain...
He coughed into his hand rudely before moving Nakajima away... grasping onto the back of his shirt and yanking him back down to his feet.  "Kunikida?!"

"I have many questions! But I won't ask, just please don't even think about doing something so revolting while we are all in the next room..." he pushed us his glasses and groaned loudly "I see you haven't seen what's inside the envelope Kenji left for you?"

Both Akutagawa and Atsushi looked over to the taller man with shock as he avoided eye contact. "Naomi, Kenji and Ranpo have come together. They quoted " so we can help Nakajima feel better. " So they brought a double room in the hotel by the hot springs. Ranpo insisted we also included Akutagawa... the hot springs should help with your sickness as it's a good way of healing.. and preventing sickness." Kunikida reached out to the envelope and opened it. "The hotel is booked now. So I suggest you get a move on."

"H..hold on..." The man tiger stammered.. "why?"
"Probably because none of us want a port mafia member with us here in the Armed Detective Agency?" The blond haired male pushed up his glasses before giving the Diablo a stern look. "Plus I don't like him."

Akutagawa was quick to snatch away the envelope from the male before him and grasp onto Nakajima's arm pulling him out of the infirmary and out of the Armed Detective Agency altogether.
He ignored the Male and walked on leaving him to follow him with a confused look on his face. He wouldn't tell the mafisto but he still felt queasy and had begun to feel weak. "Wait up." He called and Akutagawa turned his head to look at him.

"What are we doing? Are we going there?" The man-tiger asked, "I don't really like the hot springs." He sighed.

"It'll do you good. I cannot say they are my favourite either.. but if it helps you get better then it's worth it." The thin male sank his hands into his pockets and walked on.

The resort was serene, devoid of guests. Their room was traditional, simple yet inviting, with a sliding door opening directly onto the hot springs. Akutagawa smirked slightly, amused. "Your angry boss was genuinely thoughtful, it seems."

Amid thick steam, they soaked quietly at first, tension gradually easing. "I wonder how Chuuya’s doing," Atsushi mused aloud.

"He'll be fine," Akutagawa assured softly, gaze distant.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Atsushi admitted shyly, cheeks reddening. "I've felt so strange lately."

"It’s fine," Akutagawa reassured, eyes meeting Atsushi’s gently. "I liked it. Perhaps we ought to continue?"

Atsushi blushed deeply, stammering, "Not here—this water's sacred."

"Something feels off," Akutagawa murmured, shifting closer. "Ranpo orchestrated the Get Along Project, didn’t he?"

"Seems that way," Atsushi agreed uneasily. "Nobody understands his true motives."

"He threatened me," Akutagawa admitted, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

"He's protective," Atsushi reassured, chuckling softly. "You could defeat him easily. He wouldn’t risk it."

Their conversation took an intimate turn, the steam blurring boundaries. Akutagawa teased Atsushi gently about the manga he discovered, and Atsushi’s embarrassment quickly turned melancholic as he confessed dreams of impossible fatherhood, abruptly retreating to their room.

Feeling regretful, Akutagawa followed after some time, finding Atsushi visibly upset. Tenderly, Akutagawa soothed him, pulling Atsushi into a comforting embrace. "Sleep," he whispered gently. "If I could, I'd give you a child—but reality denies us."

Steam still curled around them, rising like ghosts from the hot spring they'd just emerged from. The stones beneath their feet were warm with the breath of the earth, and beyond the screen of bamboo, the night hummed with quiet insects and the distant gurgle of mountain water.

Their yukata clung to damp skin, thin fabric doing little to hide the heat lingering beneath.

Akutagawa sat cross-legged on the tatami mat just inside the sliding door of their room, hair slightly damp, shadows licking the hollows of his cheeks. Atsushi knelt before him, robe parted slightly from the dip of his chest to the trembling curve of his thighs, as if even the cloth had grown too shy to contain what pulsed inside.

"You’re flushed," Akutagawa said, voice hushed, but heavy with knowing. "Still warm from the spring... or something else?"

Atsushi’s only answer was a breath that hitched halfway out of his lungs. His thighs shifted—nervous or inviting, it was hard to tell—and Akutagawa's gaze followed the movement like a predator drawn to weakness. He reached out slowly, trailing fingers over the silken inside of Atsushi’s knee, coaxing it aside.

A soft sound broke the stillness—a whine, sharp and breathy, escaping Atsushi’s throat before he could catch it. His hand darted down instinctively, as if to hide himself beneath the robe, but it was too late. His expression had already betrayed him.

"Already like this?" Akutagawa whispered, sliding forward. "I’ve barely touched you."

Atsushi’s eyes flicked up to meet his. Wide. Glossed with desire. He didn’t speak—he didn’t need to. His body leaned forward, robe falling just enough to expose the pale slope of his collarbone. His fingers fisted the edge of Akutagawa’s yukata, pulling him closer with the desperation of someone who'd stopped pretending he could wait.

Ryuunosuke settled between his legs, their robes brushing like moth wings. His hand trailed higher now, over the trembling skin of Atsushi’s inner thigh. “You want it done right,” he murmured.

Atsushi nodded, his breath caught behind his teeth. Beneath the paper lantern’s amber glow, his blush deepened—roses blooming across his cheeks and ears, down the graceful column of his throat.

"You were thinking about it even in the spring, weren’t you?" Akutagawa smirked. “You were already imagining me inside you...”

Atsushi flinched at the words, a raw whimper breaking free. His hips bucked ever so slightly forward—just enough for the message to be loud without being spoken.

And then, their lips met. Not with the sweetness of courtship, but with the savage hunger of two men who had held back for too long. It was open-mouthed, gasping, teeth grazing, spit shared without hesitation. Their robes tangled together, falling loose around them like the petals of unraveling flowers.

Akutagawa’s fingers found that tender space again, the one hidden between Atsushi’s trembling thighs. He pressed gently, circling, watching the younger man’s body flinch and arch and melt all at once. Atsushi moaned—soft and broken—burying his face in Ryuunosuke’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of iron, skin, and springwater.

“You’re already so warm,” Akutagawa muttered, voice thick, laced with a strange awe. “So ready... did you prepare yourself?”

Atsushi shook his head, but his body told another story—open, slick, aching. He reached behind himself with a trembling hand, trying to guide them together, to close the final space between them.

“I want it,” he breathed, then repeated, softer, “I want all of it.”

Akutagawa hesitated only for a heartbeat—then let himself be drawn in.

They joined slowly, but with no hesitation. The first press was met with a gasp—Atsushi’s back arched, his fingers clawing against Akutagawa’s shoulders. His voice caught in his throat, dissolving into moans that would have echoed through the onsen walls if not for the wind outside, rushing through the trees like a chorus too polite to listen.

“Ah—” Akutagawa exhaled, teeth grit as he sank deeper. “You feel... you’re pulling me in.”

Atsushi clung to him like a man drowning. His eyes were half-lidded, mouth parted, cheeks wet—not just from pleasure but from something deeper. Some tender, trembling need that burned brighter than the hot spring they had bathed in.

“Ryu...” he whispered, almost as if praying. “Please... fill me. I want it—want everything. I want you inside me for hours.”

Akutagawa's breath hitched. That longing—it wasn't just lust. It was want in its purest, rawest form. He kissed Atsushi again, but this time slower, reverent.

"You want to be... bred," he whispered against swollen lips, the words half-teasing, half-reverent. “Marked. Claimed. Like you belong to me.”

Atsushi whimpered and bucked again, biting his lip, face flushed red and gold beneath the lantern light. “Yes,” he breathed, so softly it barely existed. “I want to be yours.”

And with that, Akutagawa moved. Deep, steady, controlled—each thrust a declaration. Their robes had long since fallen away, forgotten, replaced by the warmth of skin and breath and need. The scent of cedar and mineral water still lingered in the air, but it was overwhelmed now by the scent of sweat, of shared heat.

Atsushi’s voice rose—beautiful and trembling, head lolling back, hair sticking to his damp neck. “I want you to come inside me,” he whispered. “I want to feel it... stay inside me after... like I’m yours.”

Akutagawa couldn’t hold back. His rhythm faltered, body shivering against the intensity of what they shared.

When he finally gave in, it was with a gasp, a guttural moan, his hands tightening around Atsushi's waist as if to keep them locked together forever.

The world held still for a breath. Lantern light. Wind. The distant bubbling of the spring.

Then Atsushi shivered in his arms, still not done, still trembling with that insatiable hunger.

“More,” he whispered, barely able to form the word. “Don’t pull out. Not yet.”

Akutagawa exhaled shakily and leaned down, kissing him again—this time with nothing but quiet awe. Their intimate exchange was abruptly interrupted when the hut’s sliding door suddenly opened, revealing a familiar figure whose appearance left them both stunned, embarrassment and shock freezing them in place.

Chapter 5

The sliding door groaned open with theatrical slowness.

Causing Akutagawa to act in a split second, no he didn't really care about himself.. But covering Atsushi with whatever he could was now his priority.  "Haven't you heard of knocking?!" he snarled, Rashomon snapping up in a flash to shield both him and Atsushi from view before he even knew who the person was. 

Dazai stood on the threshold, entirely unbothered, hands deep in his pockets. He grinned. “ oh wow, I didn’t realize you two would be making babies. Cute."

Akutagawa frowned, a thought crossing his mind; baby making?? Did he hear us??

Atsushi groaned, face buried in Akutagawa’s shoulder. "Dazai-san... please go."

"No can do! Unfortunately.. I have important news. Hurry and get dressed and follow me to the hospital."

Akutagawa bristled, hand clenching around Atsushi’s thigh with protectiveness. "You can’t be serious."

"Oh, I’m dead serious," Dazai chirped. "Well, not dead yet   but give it time." he said doing a quotation gesture as he said ‘yet’. He stared at the two of them for a few more moments before sliding the door shut, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.

Atsushi exhaled shakily. "Do you think he saw—?"

"Unfortunately ,Yes," Akutagawa muttered darkly, looking down at Atsushi still laying beneath him. "Do we have to go?" Atsushi asked, his hand brushing over the other males in an affectionate way.

"If we don’t, he’ll come back."

And with that they got dressed.

By the time they arrived at the hospital, Dazai had already taken it upon himself to guide them through the back corridors like he owned the place, “oh.. Hi..” he waved at a few of the nurses as if they were friends of his..

Atsushi looked overhead at a few of the names of the ward, they were in the gynecology department, the white haired male looked around and all he saw was women, there really weren't many men about. 

"You’re awfully enthusiastic for someone not visiting anyone," Akutagawa muttered, noticing the way atsushi had gotten distracted. 

Dazai ignored the jab. "Chuuya’s here."

That made them all pause, the three of them looking at one and other with more confusion than before, of course Atsushi and Akutagawa both new Chuuya was unwell, but the Gynecology department?

"Why? Is he okay?" Atsushi asked, “why would he be on this ward?”

"He’s pregnant," Dazai said flatly, spinning around on his heel. The silence that followed was so complete it might've devoured them all.

Atsushi's voice cracked. "I—I'm sorry, what?"

Dazai gave an exasperated sigh "Oh don't play dumb…You heard me."

Akutagawa’s eyes narrowed, he was confused, they all were but there was no study done on male pregnancy right? There was no special ability that would allow that to happen?.

"H-How is that even possible?"

Dazai shrugged. "Gifted biology.. Seems like even some of the nurses here have seen it before, only 2 times apparently..  Strange things happen. Which is why..."

He gestured at Atsushi, expression unreadable. "We’re getting you an ultrasound, some blood work and an examination."

Akutagawa stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "Why does he need all that to happen to him?"

Dazai looked at Atsushi. "Same symptoms. Same... risk factors."

The tiger shifter paled, he had been feeling relatively ok since he got to the hot springs with Ryunosuke.. But did he really have all that to worry about?

Atsushi was asked to go alone in the examination room, Akutagawa stayed elsewhere, wandering the halls and seeing if he could find Chuuya while he was waiting.

At first the nurse drew some blood, sending it off to get checked before being asked to lay back on an examination bed. The nurse’s touch was clinical, she gently feld around his stomach first, checking for swelling or any sign of tenderness.. Next she applied the gel to his stomach.

"Please relax, Mr. Nakajima." He couldn’t, how could he? He was dissociating.. Was Chuuya really pregnant? 

The probe moved in slow, calculated sweeps. 

The room was too quiet. “ I can't see anything yet, I don't think your bladder is full enough," the nurse murmured. Then she frowned, pulling the probe away.. "Let’s try your lower back."

He shifted, heart racing. Could I be pregnant? What happens if I am?? Do I want that? 

Click.

A shadow flickered across the monitor. The nurse hesitated, she was concentrating.. She moved closer to the monitor.. Taking some measurements.  "You're not pregnant," she said carefully. "But you do have a womb." the rest of what she was saying seemed to blur together, she was talking about contraceptives.. Or if he wanted some condoms… something about how he cant have the coil or any other internal contraceptives due to his biology. 

But Atsushi, he didn't hear any of it.. In fact he didn't even think to tell Akutagawa.. He just wanted to run suddenly. He bolted upright, breath ragged. "That can't be—"

She reached for his shoulder. "Wait.. please listen to me for a little while longer Mr Nakajima—"

He pushed past her and fled, down the stairs.. Everything blurring together until finally: The hospital doors burst open.

Atsushi stumbled outside, collapsing to his knees on the pavement. Air refused to fill his lungs. He clawed at his chest, trying to stay upright.

He couldn't think. How could he? So many emotions were going through his mind that he didnt know what to feel.

Then a voice — soft, young — drifted in like smoke.

"Excuse me.. Are you feeling ok? You look sick."

He turned. A boy, maybe ten? Pale. Hair like a theater curtain, half black, half white. One eye is red, the other like glass… he looked too young to be outside a hospital alone. Atsushi looked around trying to find his mother..

"Do you want help? I have something that makes everything better." He held up a small syringe pen. Atsushi blinked, too panicked to think. “wh…”

"-It’s just a little pinch."

"Who are—"

Click, all of a sudden everything seemed to fade, it felt as if all of his blood had drained from his body..  Darkness.

Stone floor. Cold. His skin is sticky with sweat and gel, it didn't smell like the hospital now but it was taking him a few moments to regain his surroundings. He couldn’t move. But when his eyes opened.

And there he was: that same small child from outside the hospital.

Zachariah sat a few feet away, cross-legged with a ruined stuffed tiger in his lap. He smiled with all his teeth. "Oh good!! You looked like you were dying for a few moments.. Wasn't sure if I had mixed up the dosage, it's my second time doing this so??"

Atsushi strained against the bindings. "Why are you doing this? Who are you?” Atsushi wasn't new to being kidnapped and held hostage.. But something about this child didn't add up.. Was this the same kid that had captured Akutagawa?? 

"Because I know the future," Zachariah said brightly. "And yours is very interesting.I could sit here and talk about it all day.. But I am sure you wouldn't want any nasty spoilers would you?"

He crawled closer, head tilted. “I will tell you one thing though, as the Nurse had probably just told you. Is that why you were so scared???” he smiled. It looked strangely innocent.. "There’s something growing inside you. Or there will be. I saw it." he tapped his forehead as if already admitting he could see the future.

Atsushi’s voice broke. "That’s not true."

Zachariah ran a finger down Atsushi’s stomach.

"It is. You just don’t believe me... yet."

Back at the hospital, Akutagawa sat stiffly in the waiting room, foot tapping in sharp rhythm against the tile. He had sat and talked with Chuuya already, he had gotten himself some water and judged every possible person he could have.. About 3 different women had been called for doctor and then left…It had been too long.

He stood and approached the nurse’s station. "Where is Nakajima?"

The nurse glanced up. "I’m sorry, that information is—"

He leaned in, voice low. "Don’t test me. He’s not answering his phone and it's been way too long” She blinked, unnerved. "Oh.. ok.. Let me just check” she said, clicking some keys on her computer. “He left... a while ago. He ran out. Said nothing. I thought he’d gone to find you."

Akutagawa turned sharply. He found Dazai at a vending machine.

"Where is he?"

Dazai shrugged. "He ran. Looked panicked. Didn’t say much."

Akutagawa didn’t wait. He pulled out his phone and dialed. No answer. Again. Then—

A click. A voice. Muffled sounds. Heavy breathing. A cough. His fingers tightened around the phone, listening closer. "Atsushi?"

Nothing.

Then—laughter. High-pitched. Childish. Unsettling.

The line went dead. Akutagawa’s eyes darkened. He traced the call’s last location. He didn’t wait for backup. He listened to instinct.. Closed his eyes as he tried to think where atsushi had gone.. When he reached the outside of the hospital he noticed a syringe on the floor.

Glanced at a building in the far distance and used Rashomon, to swing from building to building.

A window shattered.

Rashomon tore through the ceiling like a blade through silk. Akutagawa landed with a whisper and a growl. Atsushi lay crumpled on the floor, he had a few scraps and bruises.. Mostly around Atsushi’s stomach.

Zachariah looked up, smiled slowly and sweetly. "Ohhh. You survived??. I didn't think the Port mafia were that strong.. I heard through the grapevine-"

Akutagawa’s face remained unreadable. "Step away from him. Now!" Zachariah stood, toy tiger dangling from one hand. "You’ll want to be careful. He’s fragile now. Wouldn't want to use your ability so carelessly now"

"I said—step away."

Zachariah giggled. "You’re going to kill him. You know that, right? If he keeps it. If he gives birth to it.. You’ll watch him die."

Akutagawa didn’t blink. Rashomon surged forward—

—but Zachariah was fast. Too fast for a child. He dodged, danced, spun away like a marionette. He licked his lips. "You can’t stop the future."

"I’ll rewrite it." Akutagawa snapped back.

Zachariah lunged—

—but Rashomon caught him, slammed him hard against the far wall.

Atsushi whimpered coughing slightly as he held onto his stomach. Akutagawa dropped to his knees beside him, checking his pulse, his breath, the bruises forming across his skin.

He wrapped him in his coat.

Rashomon hovered, white and ready to strike again.

Zachariah had made a dent in the crumbling wall he slumped, dazed, eyes half-lidded. "You’re too late. You know that right?"

"Try me," Akutagawa hissed. Zachariah laughed— standing, holding his tiger plush and then disappeared into smoke…

Akutagawa’s arms tightened around Atsushi. "It's alright I’m here now, You're safe," he whispered, but his hand wouldn’t stop hovering protectively over Atsushi’s stomach deep black bruises formed there.

Because he wasn't sure.

Not yet.

Akutagawa wrapped Atsushi carefully, rearranging his clothes with meticulous tenderness, each movement deliberate, almost reverent. "Atsushi? Can you hear me?" Ryuunosuke’s voice carried a tenderness he rarely allowed himself, but the only reply he received was a muted, aching groan..

“It’s alright,” he whispered softly, almost more to himself than to Atsushi, as Rashōmon rose gently from his spine like dark silk, weaving into a cradle beneath Atsushi's limp form.

The tiger-gifted groaned again, pain radiating through his weakened frame, his breaths uneven and shallow. With utmost care, Akutagawa grasped the shattered fragments of Atsushi's phone, remnants of violence he had failed to prevent. His lips pressed into a thin, determined line, Rashōmon's dark tendrils helping him navigate carefully out of the ruin of the abandoned building.

But Akutagawa did not turn toward the Agency nor a hospital—his thoughts charted a different path. His mind, usually disciplined, now tangled in unfamiliar urges; an impulse foreign yet undeniable. He clutched the fragile body close, sensing every slight tremor from the tiger-gifted in his embrace.

Arriving at the Port Mafia’s concealed stronghold, Akutagawa knocked impatiently, urgency radiating from every tap. Gin opened the door, eyes widening in shock, clearly puzzled at the sight of her older brother cradling their known adversary.

“Excuse me,” he muttered softly, brushing past her confusion without explanation, determination overriding hesitation. He strode directly towards the imposing figure of their boss, Mori. After a brief exchange of hushed words, Akutagawa retreated quietly to his allocated room, laying Atsushi down with the same cautious delicacy as before.

Unlike the sparse independence of the Agency, the Port Mafia’s labyrinthine hideaway fostered closeness, its underground quarters a necessity, protection against danger, a cocoon in which they hid and lived. Akutagawa arranged Atsushi carefully upon his own bed, sitting him upright, concern furrowing his brow.

“Are you alright?” he asked again, his voice hushed and gentler than he thought himself capable. Atsushi responded only with another weak cough and a groan that tugged painfully at Akutagawa's heart. The man sighed, retrieving a cloth and water, tenderly cleaning away the dried blood and dirt from Atsushi’s face and wounds.

He lingered close, hesitating before finally giving in to the pull of proximity, settling beside Atsushi with a sigh. His fingertips grazed gently across Atsushi's forehead, marveling at the softness of silver hair beneath his touch, a tenderness blossoming within him, deep and unbidden.

"Mori will see you shortly," he whispered reassuringly, allowing his fingers to trace down the other man's arm in a quiet, affectionate gesture. Unable to hold back any longer, he leaned forward, lips brushing Atsushi’s forehead softly, a kiss of quiet devotion and secret longing.

Abruptly, Akutagawa recoiled, embarrassment flaring hotly in his chest as he turned away, hiding his flushed face in the cool sanctuary of his pillow. His heartbeat quickened in mortification at his own weakness. How could such vulnerability overtake him so suddenly?

He startled slightly, realizing his hand had settled gently over Atsushi's stomach. Memories flooded back, unbidden—an unusual yet strangely sweet recollection. He found himself recalling vividly the days when he and Atsushi had once reluctantly cared for a child together, their animosity momentarily dissolved by mutual responsibility.

"What have you done to me?" he murmured quietly, confused yet strangely delighted by the turmoil within him. He remembered the toddler's innocent laughter, the way the small voice cried out with joy, calling him "Daddy," a term he had fiercely rejected then but found himself revisiting with surprising fondness now.

Atsushi’s phone flashed several times.. Akutagawa took a look, it was the nurse from the hospital, Akutagawa’s heart stopped for a moment. As he listened to the voicemail: “ My apologies Mr Nakajima, your blood results came back.. Its positive, when you get a moment please call me back on this number”

"I can't wait to see it," Akutagawa sighed, words slipping out softly, an unconscious hope stirred by memories of shared affection.

Sleep embraced him gently until harsh knocking rattled his door. He woke abruptly, Mori's authoritative figure looming at the threshold. After a swift check, Mori offered Atsushi medication and exited quietly, leaving the room humming with silence once more.

“I picked up your phone," Akutagawa finally spoke, passing the damaged device to Atsushi, apology heavy in his tone. "That brute destroyed it. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Atsushi replied gently, his voice a whisper as he dialed a number instinctively, missing the missed call and voicemail.. Something Akutagawa would talk to him about soon…

"Hi, Dazai-San," he said calmly, causing Akutagawa to tense involuntarily, silently enduring the irritation that prickled along his spine. "I'm staying with Ryunosuke at the Port Mafia for a while."

When Atsushi smiled softly at Akutagawa, hanging up the phone, an unfamiliar warmth fluttered in Ryuunosuke's chest. Atsushi settled back down, his eyelids drooping wearily.

"Goodnight, Man-tiger," Akutagawa whispered gently, affection softening the teasing nickname. Leaning forward, he pressed another gentle kiss onto Atsushi’s neck, savoring the quiet gasp and the blush that tinged the other’s cheeks.

They fell asleep side by side, each heartbeat syncing in an unspoken rhythm.

Outside, Yokohama's night whispered secrets, stars hidden by city lights, a silent witness to their evolving bond. Unseen threads slowly knitted their destinies closer, an intricate pattern forming from mutual hatred to complicated affection.

And this was just the beginning..

Notes:

Ah!! so we have got to the point where there will be a time skip!!

Chapter 6

Five months had passed more quickly than anyone anticipated, each day blurring into the next amid a storm of whispered rumors and forced confessions.

 

Both Dazai and Akutagawa had found themselves compelled to explain the impossible circumstances to their respective leaders—both had partners carrying their children, a fact that was as absurd as it was undeniable.

 

Reactions varied between acceptance and disbelief, with some demanding answers neither man could comfortably provide. Yet, despite the lingering tension, both the Armed Detective Agency and Port Mafia chose to move forward, guided perhaps by a begrudging understanding formed during the ill-fated "Get Along Project."

 

New Year’s Eve found the two unlikely pairs attending Yokohama’s annual Shogatsu festival, navigating the cold night air filled with laughter, fireworks, and floating lanterns. Atsushi and Chuuya, now visible with pregnancy, had managed to conceal their condition beneath the winter’s heavy garments. But the strain was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

 

Atsushi sat quietly with Akutagawa on a secluded bench away from the festival's bustling center, surrounded by familiar faces—Kenji and Kyoka among them, chatting cheerfully nearby.

 

The gentle laughter of friends felt distant to Atsushi, who was overwhelmed by both nervousness and anticipation.. Yokohama’s harbor always looks so magical this time of year.. Yet he himself had never been to one until now, he had a sneaking feeling something special was about to happen. 

 

Akutagawa’s expression softened uncharacteristically as he gently placed a hand around Atsushi’s waist, subtly stroking his thumb against the side of Atsushi’s barely swollen belly.

Are you alright?” he murmured, his voice unusually tender. “Promise you’ll tell me if you feel even the slightest discomfort.”

Atsushi blushed lightly, nodding. “I promise, Ryu,” he whispered, heart fluttering from the rare warmth in Akutagawa’s eyes.

 

Since Akutagawa had joined the Armed Detective agency, he had changed, both physically and mentally… he had no longer got the problems Rashomon caused and Yosano had reluctantly healed his lung condition. 

Everyone seemed to accept him as the months went by and their unlikely relationship bloomed around them. 

 

Atsushi could have sworn he saw Akutagawa messing with something within his coat pocket but his attention turned back towards the harbor. 

The countdown finally began, each second resonating like a heartbeat in Atsushi’s chest.

It was almost midnight…

Ten... Nine...

Akutagawa’s hand moved from around Atsushi’s waist to the hand nearest to him, tightening nervously. His breath trembled slightly, betraying a hidden vulnerability. Atsushi squeezed back reassuringly, curious and a little fearful.

His eyes flicked over to look at Ryunosuke, his breath sucking in as he realised how safe he felt in this unforgettable moment.

“Ryuu…?”

“Listen carefully,” Akutagawa whispered hurriedly, his dark eyes intense as he pulled Atsushi closer. “I know this is sudden, and maybe I haven’t earned it yet—but I want more than this. More than just…us. I want—”

Three... Two...

“What? I can’t hear you—”

“I want to marry you!” Akutagawa shouted just as the sky ignited with fireworks, illuminating Atsushi’s stunned expression.

The world erupted around them in a celebration of color and light, yet for Atsushi, everything faded into silence, leaving only the raw sincerity in Akutagawa’s eyes.

“w..what?”

________________________________________________________________________

Elsewhere, Dazai was dragging Chuuya along impatiently through the crowded festival streets, weaving between lantern-lit stalls and clusters of revelers. Chuuya stumbled behind, irritation flaring into outright anger.

“Slow down, Dazai!” Chuuya snapped, already breathless from the pregnancy that drained his energy far more than he'd admit. “Have you forgotten I'm carrying your damn child?”

Dazai paused, turning with a playful smirk. “Of course not, my dear Chuuya,” he replied smoothly, gently guiding his irate partner towards the pier where a small canoe bobbed gently on the water. “But you wouldn’t want to miss the fireworks, would you?”

Chuuya sighed, frustration melting slightly as Dazai’s hand warmly steadied him into the canoe. Once seated, he adjusted the folds of his kimono, trying to suppress his discomfort while Dazai took up the oars with surprising grace.

The two of them seemed to be the only two out there on a canoe, but they were secluded and hidden from prying eyes, it seemed as if Dazai really did put some effort into it.

As they drifted farther out onto the serene waters of Yokohama Port, illuminated by the gentle glow of lanterns, Chuuya felt an odd tightness in his chest—not pain, but an uneasy fluttering. Across from him, Dazai's eyes sparkled mischievously yet tenderly.

“You know, Chuuya,” Dazai began softly, reaching across to tuck a strand of fiery hair behind Chuuya’s ear, “I planned this entire evening with you in mind.”

Chuuya raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “Is that supposed to impress me?” his usual look of annoyance fluttering into gentle surprise, after all osamu hardly made an effort. 

“No,” Dazai laughed quietly, moving closer, his voice suddenly sincere. “It’s supposed to remind you how deeply I care… And I do… care about you alot, I don't tell you far as much then I ought to”

Chuuya stared into the gentle warmth of Dazai’s eyes, the usual playful mask momentarily lifted. The sincerity frightened him slightly—it was easier when they were at each other’s throats. Vulnerability wasn’t their strength. 

“Well, thanks for making the effort”

Just as the midnight fireworks began to bloom, their vibrant reflections shimmering upon the water’s surface, Dazai took Chuuya’s hand into his own, holding it firmly yet tenderly.

“This view is astonishing..” the smaller red head said under his breath as it looked as if this whole firework display was made for him.

“I have something I need to ask you,” Dazai murmured, his gaze steady and earnest. “And it’s important you answer honestly.”

Chuuya’s breath hitched in his throat. He could guess what was coming, though the reality of hearing it aloud felt surreal. His heart pounded painfully, drowning out the distant cheering from shore.

“Yes…?” he whispered, more afraid of his own hope than anything else.

Dazai’s thumb brushed gently over Chuuya’s knuckles. “Marry me,” he said simply, his voice soft but firm, leaving no room for ambiguity. “Please.”

Chuuya opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came. His chest tightened painfully—not from discomfort now, but from raw emotion that threatened to spill over. He swallowed, fighting back a rush of tears.

“Dammit, Dazai,” he managed to rasp, gripping the man's hand fiercely. “You couldn’t have picked a better time to make me say yes? If I say no.. you'd probably threaten to abandon me or throw me overboard..”

Dazai’s smile widened with rare, genuine happiness. “Is that a yes?”

Chuuya laughed and nodded slowly, voice cracking slightly. “Yes, you insufferable bastard. I’ll marry you.”

The sky exploded into vivid colors above them, illuminating the two in shimmering radiance. But neither noticed—all they saw was each other, suspended for a moment in time, before reality inevitably returned.

The echoes of celebration continued to reverberate through Yokohama long into the night. Yet for these four individuals—enemies turned reluctant allies, now united by circumstances they never expected—the future felt both terrifying and hopeful.

Their lives were no longer solely their own; they carried new burdens, new fears, and perhaps, the most unexpected gift of all—a fragile chance at happiness.

______________________________________________________________________

The fireworks still continued to burst vibrantly overhead.. 

But for Atsushi, he couldn't fully appreciate the amazing scenery. His mind was elsewhere, trapped in the unsettling echo of Zachariah’s prophetic whispers:

"Your husband... Akutagawa. You marry him. But your child... he kills you."

His eyes widened with fear, looking as if he was about to have a sudden panic attack.. His fingers trembled; it was only a matter of time before Akutagawa would notice.

“Man-tiger,” he murmured gently, sensing Atsushi’s distress. “You’re shaking again. Did something else happen?”

“No, I’m okay,” Atsushi lied softly, forcing a weak smile. But his attention was drawn elsewhere—to a familiar, haunting figure standing quietly among the festival crowd.

Zachariah’s eerie eyes glittered beneath the flickering lights, his presence alone enough to send chills down Atsushi’s spine. 

I.. I’m imagining him again..

 

__________________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, out on the quiet, lantern-lit water, Chuuya shifted uncomfortably in the canoe, his face suddenly pale beneath the vivid glow of fireworks. He pressed a hand to his barely swollen belly, eyes narrowing slightly in discomfort.

“You alright, Chuuya?” Dazai asked, his voice unusually gentle as he noticed the subtle pain crossing Chuuya’s features.

The other hesitated, swallowing thickly. “I don’t know. Something feels...off,” he admitted quietly, wincing as a faint cramp tightened in his lower abdomen. “I thought I was just seasick at first, but... it hurts a little.”

Dazai immediately moved closer, alarm replacing his earlier playful demeanor. “Hurts how? Like contractions?” His voice was steady, but Chuuya recognized the sharp edge of anxiety.

 

“No... It’s too soon for that, right?” His breath hitched slightly as another dull pain rippled through him, stronger this time. “But something's definitely not right. I feel sick—”

Before he could finish, Chuuya’s body convulsed abruptly, forcing him forward as he coughed violently, blood staining his trembling hand. “Huh..” he whispered..

 

“Chuuya!” Dazai caught his partner gently, fear clear in his widened eyes. “We need to get you to shore immediately. Just hold on for me.”

Dazai's fingers shook slightly as he grabbed his phone, dialing Atsushi’s number in a swift, desperate motion.

 

Atsushi’s phone suddenly rang, breaking the tense standoff with Zachariah’s unsettling gaze. He answered instantly, anxiety gripping him as he heard the urgency in Dazai’s voice.

“Atsushi—call an ambulance now! Chuuya’s going into labor, and something’s seriously wrong!”

Atsushi’s eyes widened, a fresh wave of dread flooding him. He exchanged an alarmed glance with Akutagawa before quickly calling emergency services, hands shaking as he relayed their location.

When Dazai reached shore moments later, Chuuya could barely stand, shuddering with agony as blood dripped from his pale lips onto the cold pavement.

 

“I can’t— it hurts so much!” Chuuya cried weakly, eyes wide with fear. He clung desperately to Dazai’s coat, his body trembling uncontrollably.

Dazai held him tighter, voice raw with worry. “Hold on, Chuuya. Help is coming. Stay with me.”

 

As they walked over to a well lit area, a crowd grew around them. Atsushi caught another glimpse of Zachariah, standing calmly amid the chaos, smiling faintly. A horrible realization settled in Atsushi’s chest: the child had known this would happen, just as he knew about Atsushi’s own terrifying fate.

 

Chuuya’s anguished scream broke Atsushi’s paralyzing thoughts.

 

“The baby—it's coming now! Somebody, help me!”

Atsushi forced himself into action, heart racing as he met Akutagawa’s intense, urgent gaze.

“We can’t wait any longer!” he shouted, desperation fueling his voice. “We need to move him!”

 

As the group pushed frantically through the whispering, fearful crowd, Atsushi glanced once more at Zachariah.

The child remained utterly composed, quietly stroking his ruined plush, his whispered words lost in the noise but perfectly clear in Atsushi’s terrified heart. 

 

He was not hallucinating him, the child was here.. watching.

This was only the beginning.

 

"Dazai..." Chuuya groaned weakly, his legs trembling before collapsing abruptly onto the cold pavement. "It’s coming—I can feel it. Something’s wrong... it feels so strange…"

Dazai quickly knelt beside him, alarm written clearly across his features. "Chuuya? Talk to me—what exactly feels strange?"

 

Chuuya's hand shook violently as he pressed it to his abdomen, eyes wide with confusion and pain. "I—I don’t know… it hurts differently…like something’s tearing me apart from the inside." His voice cracked with fear, eyes glazing over with a wave of nausea.

 

Before Dazai could respond, Chuuya lurched forward again violently, coughing and heaving until thick crimson splattered across the ground, vivid and horrifying beneath the festival lights.

"This.. isn't good…?" Chuuya whispered weakly, staring numbly at his blood-stained hand. "Is…is that blood?"

 

Dazai’s heart seemed to freeze, the sudden horror reflected clearly on his face. He reached out, cradling Chuuya protectively as panic swelled within him. "Someone call for help, right now!" he shouted desperately, his voice shaking with urgency.

 

Atsushi and Akutagawa were already at his side, eyes wide with shock. Atsushi turned frantically to the crowd, voice breaking with anxiety. "W-Where’s Dr. Yosano? She was here earlier, wasn’t she?"

"I haven't seen her," Akutagawa replied, quickly checking Chuuya’s pulse, his expression growing grim. "He’s stable for now, but he won’t be for long."

Suddenly, Chuuya arched back with a piercing scream, gripping Dazai’s arm so tightly it left bruises. "Shit—it’s coming now! DAZAI! The baby’s coming!"

 

"Just keep breathing," Akutagawa instructed, trying to steady his own voice despite the chaos. He glanced up, and in the midst of the gathering crowd, saw the haunting figure of Zachariah, watching silently, smiling softly as if enthralled by their agony.

 

Akutagawa's breath caught sharply. "Zachariah…?" He felt a chill run through him, memories of the child’s cryptic, ominous words flooding back. "Why is he here?"

 

Zachariah tilted his head slightly, still clutching his battered plush tiger, eyes gleaming eerily beneath the long forgotten fireworks. "Oops," he murmured sweetly, voice gentle yet dripping with unsettling innocence. "Maybe I mixed up the couples…?"

Akutagawa tensed visibly, feeling dread twist his stomach at the implication, but Atsushi’s voice pulled him back urgently to Chuuya's immediate crisis.

 

"We can’t stay here—he needs to get to a hospital now!" Atsushi shouted desperately, his face pale and frightened.

 

Dazai tightened his grip on Chuuya, voice shaking with fear and frustration. "We can’t move him like this, Atsushi! It might make things worse!"

 

Atsushi’s eyes were wide, near panic as Zachariah’s prophecy clawed at his mind. "Dazai-san, we don’t have time! We need help—now!"

Akutagawa’s voice was firm but strained, trying to calm the panic. "Stay focused! Chuuya’s full-term—if the baby comes here, what's the best way to protect it?"

 

But Atsushi’s fear spiraled further. "Where’s Kunikida-san? He could use his ability? Make something to help!"

 

"And what about Chuuya?" Dazai snapped, his voice raw with anxiety and anger. "He’s vomiting blood, for god's sake! He could be bleeding internally—we can't just deliver the baby here!"

A heavy silence fell over the group, the raw desperation in Dazai's voice shocking everyone present. The reality of Chuuya’s condition was painfully clear now—this was no ordinary labor. Something was terribly wrong.

 

"Dazai-san…" Kyoka whispered gently, noticing his trembling hands, the stark despair in his eyes.

"I can't lose him," Dazai whispered hoarsely, gaze fixed numbly on Chuuya's pale, barely conscious face. "I won't survive it…"

 

Atsushi reached out cautiously, voice gentle yet strained. "He'll be alright, Dazai-san…he has to be."

"The ambulance!" Kenji suddenly shouted, relief flooding his voice. "It’s here!"

 

Medical personnel swiftly rushed forward, gently pulling Chuuya from Dazai’s desperate grasp.

Tests began immediately, urgent voices exchanging grim instructions. Dazai watched helplessly as they placed an oxygen mask and quickly prepared a breathing tube. The sight stole the breath from his lungs.

"He needs help breathing…?" Dazai’s voice broke, anguish twisting his expression as the ambulance doors slammed shut. The siren screamed into the night, carrying Chuuya rapidly away.

 

Akutagawa gently took Atsushi’s hand, voice low and heavy with dread. "We should head back home for now. There's nothing else we can do here."

Atsushi nodded numbly, glancing at Dazai's shattered expression. "Dazai-san? You should come back with us."

 

Dazai hesitated before finally nodding, following in a daze.

 

Returning to the rented place Akutagawa and Atsushi had been staying in, Dazai quietly sank into a secluded spot, grief evident in his slumped posture. Atsushi approached quietly, holding a spare blanket. "Dazai-san, please try to get some rest. We'll visit Chuuya first thing in the morning."

Dazai managed a faint, weary smile, his hand reaching gently to touch Atsushi's swollen abdomen. "You should rest too, Atsushi. Your due date isn't far away either."

 

Atsushi hesitated, concern evident. "Are you sure you don't want to stay with me and Akutagawa tonight? You shouldn't be alone right now…"

"I’ll manage…I'll stay out here" Dazai whispered hoarsely, turning away to hide the pain etched on his face.

 

Reluctantly, Atsushi left, joining Akutagawa inside their shared room.

Once alone, Dazai’s composure crumbled, eyes filling with tears as muffled sobs were harshly spat out of his throat—Dazai's grief finally breaking free.

Ryunosuke wrapped a comforting arm around Atsushi, expression darkening with concern. "Man-Tiger?…what’s really wrong? Something else has been bothering you, even before we knew about Chuuya’s condition."

 

"It’s Zachariah," Atsushi whispered brokenly, tears streaming down his face. "When he kidnapped me, he said our child would kill me—that you'd marry me first, and then…"

"It was a lie, everything that child was saying back then was made believe.. A manipulation tactic." Akutagawa quickly cut in, but his voice shook slightly. The sounds of Dazai’s muffled sobs grew louder, punctuated by desperate, helpless punches against the wall outside, the agony palpable.

 

"Well.. lets say he really can tell the future? What if Zachariah’s prophecy wasn’t about us? What if he meant Chuuya and Dazai?" Atsushi’s breath hitched with painful guilt. "If I had realized sooner, maybe we could have prevented this! Dazai-san looks like he’s falling apart…"

 

Akutagawa grasped Atsushi’s shoulders gently but firmly, drawing him close. "Listen to me. Chuuya is stronger than you think—he won’t allow his own child to kill him. And even if something goes wrong, he’s exactly where he needs to be right now."

 

Atsushi trembled, fear lacing every word. "I'm scared, Ryuu… what if it really happens?"

 

Akutagawa’s voice softened further. "We can’t control fate, man-tiger. But Chuuya isn’t alone, and neither are we. We'll face whatever happens together."

 

Atsushi nodded weakly, burying himself against Akutagawa’s comforting warmth, the faint echoes of Dazai’s anguish still drifting hauntingly from outside their room—an undeniable reminder of how fragile their future truly was.

Notes:

Wow feels so weird adding all these changes to this story now! even though it was wrote just after Nikolai was first introduced in the manga! and as season 3 had just started airing! oh and after reading Stormbringer.. cuz the whole prototype thing really hits home!

How are we feeling about the manga recently?? do we think Akutagawa is gonna finally call Atsushi by his name anytime soon? or will he die once more??

Chapter 7

Notes:

VERY HEAVY TRIGGER WARNINGS MAKE SURE YOU READ ALL OF MY TAGS BEFORE PROCEEDING. (traumatic labor/potential miscarriage)

The night thickened like coagulated blood. Dazai hadn't slept, hadn’t even blinked for hours. As soon as the sky began to bruise with hints of dawn, he slipped out of Atsushi and Akutagawa's apartment and walked the city like a ghost.

 

By the time he reached the hospital, he was soaked in silence. His fingers trembled when he reached the front desk. The nurses took one look at him and didn’t ask his name.

 

"Are you here for Nakahara?"

 

He only nodded.

 

A male nurse led him through white halls that felt too bright, too sterile. Like they were mocking what was happening inside.

"He’s been in and out of consciousness since last night and early hours of this morning," the nurse explained. "His fever spiked to 40.3, vomiting's gotten worse, and... well, he’s showing signs of early labor."

 

Dazai's throat closed. "Labor?"

The nurse glanced sideways at him. "You're the father?"

A nod.

 

"His contractions are inconsistent but frequent. The problem isn’t just the labor. It’s where the pregnancy is located. He’s... uniquely built being a man. It may be difficult but we have seen it happen before.."

Dazai swallowed. "What does that mean?"

"It means the baby’s positioning is dangerously close to internal scar tissue. There were signs of pressure causing minor tearing. We performed an exploratory laparotomy, but thankfully, nothing ruptured."

 

"You cut him open…"

"To save him," the nurse said, voice flat. "And the baby. Plus we haven't seen women coughing up blood before active labour starts. But I have heard from our last male patient that that usually happens due to the changing position of the baby ready for birth.. It could be acid reflux? Or something similar.. Luckily though it looks like blood it may not be."

The door creaked open.

 

Chuuya lay beneath sheets drenched in sweat, curled on his side, gasping between quick inhales of gas and air. His back arched as another wave tore through him. His knuckles were white, twisted in the sheets. His hair clung to his temples, crimson against chalk-pale skin.

 

Dazai rushed to his side. "Chuuya—"

 

"Don’t. Fucking. Touch me," Chuuya growled, teeth clenched. He writhed in place, his body betraying him, hips grinding into the mattress, chasing something he couldn’t reach.

The doctor entered behind them, clipboard in hand. "We believe he's transitioning into active labor. The fetus has shifted position again."

 

"So the baby’s... coming now?"

 

"Possibly. We’re seeing an influx of reddish discharge — consistent with the shedding fluid prior to a specialized birth like this."

Dazai didn’t blink. His eyes were locked on Chuuya, whose moans had turned guttural, primal. He twisted onto all fours, gripping the bed's headboard like a man clinging to a ledge.

"It fucking hurts," Chuuya snarled. His voice cracked with rage, not fear. "It burns—like my goddamn spine is folding in on itself."

 

Dazai moved carefully, placing a hand between Chuuya’s shoulder blades.

"Don’t."

 

The growl was low, venomous. But he didn’t shrug it off.

The next contraction came with a full-body tremor. Chuuya cried out, then collapsed against the bedframe, panting, gasping. His eyes rolled back for a second before fluttering open, dazed.

 

"We're moving him," the doctor said quickly. "To the sterile pool. The sac hasn’t ruptured yet which is expected but there seems to be some activity on the monitors which show that with Fathers pain it could cause issues if we stay like this. It’ll also be safer there and it will also relieve some pressure and pain for Chuuya."

 

Chuuya thrashed. "You’re not fucking moving me!"

 

"If you want your baby to live," the doctor snapped, "you move."

 

Dazai helped. He lifted Chuuya without thinking, holding him against his chest as nurses guided them down a short hall to a room made of dim lights and warm water.

 

The birthing pool shimmered under overhead lamps. Dazai stepped into the water still wearing half his clothes. Chuuya hissed as the heat enveloped him, his body coiling tight, instinctive.

Animal.

He floated, barely, and clung to Dazai’s shoulders as another wave tore through him, he moaned as the water wrapped around his sore hips and tired body, Dazai reached over and grabbed the Gas and Air pump offering some to Chuuya's lips. 

 

"Why the fuck… would anyone want this?" he groaned. "I feel like I’m being split in half." he said as he gripped onto the pump for dear life. 

 

"I know," Dazai whispered, pulling him close. "I know. Breathe. Just breathe."

 

"Fuck your breathing," Chuuya snapped, but he clung tighter, still listening to the brunette and taking deep drags of the gas and air. 

 

Another contraction. A scream. This one didn't sound like rage. It sounded like fear.

 

The doctor leaned over the pool’s edge. "He's crowning. The sac is descending. Once the full pressure hits, you need to push."

"Pressure?" Chuuya echoed, his voice climbing. "I’ve been in pressure! I am pressure! Stop giving me stupid ord..-"

Then his breath hitched—and the next sound was nothing like Chuuya Nakahara.

 

It was a noise torn from the depths of someone who was breaking.

Dazai saw it. The switch. The terror.

 

"Chuuya," he whispered, cupping his cheeks. "Look at me. Just me. You can do this." he pushed the pump to his lips and watched closely. 

"I’m dying," Chuuya sobbed. "Dazai, I swear to god—I can’t—"

 

"You’re not. You’re not dying. But you have to push. Right now." Dazai did everything he could, he knew if he could take away some of the pain he would but for now all he could do was hold him through it. 

 

Chuuya’s eyes rolled back. His body jerked forward. He wasnt even screaming now, it was the type of sound that only someone who had been in this kind of pain could understand..

"that's it.." Dazai spoke as he watched the way everyone was ready and waiting, he knew if Chuuya continued that everything would be ok. 

 

He took in a sharp wincing breath before the doctor spoke again: 

"Push again!" the doctor commanded.

Chuuya screamed, shoving himself back against Dazai’s chest as he bore down.

 

And then—

A blur of red. A bloom of liquid. A weight released.

 

The sac tore.

 

A baby slipped into the water like a dream breaking open.

The room went quiet.

 

Chuuya collapsed, head falling against Dazai's shoulder. Every muscle in his body loosened at once.

He moaned low. Not from pain. From absence. From the sudden and terrifying quiet of no pain at all. Dazai kissed his face gently before wiping away his tears, once he knew Chuuya was ok that's when he got up.

Dazai scooped the baby from the water, holding the slippery, squirming body close. It blinked, stunned by light.

 

"He’s small," one nurse murmured.

"Is he okay?" Dazai asked, voice tight.

 

"Strong lungs," the nurse said as the baby began to cry. "He’s early, but alive."

Dazai looked down at Chuuya, whose eyes were barely open.

 

"Hey," he whispered. "He’s here."

Chuuya groaned. "He better be. After all that."

 

The nurses around him gave a laugh at is sarcasm, but Dazai seemed used to it, he crouched down beside him showing Chuuya their son.

"Want to name him?"

 

Chuuya breathed a shaky laugh. "Hiroaki... Nakahara."

 

"Good name."

"Mmm. Shut up."

 

He slipped into unconsciousness, his hand still clutching Dazai's arm.

 

The doctor took the baby, sealing him inside a specialized incubator chamber, His body was getting attached to all sorts of monitors and equipment but that was to be expected. 

"He needs to be kept under close observations under our NICU unit," the doctor explained. "Four more months. But he's safe with us."

 

Dazai just nodded, eyes fixed on the fragile thing they'd made.

 

The room was still. Dim. Dazai cradled Chuuya close in the pool as nurses moved like ghosts around them.

He whispered to no one in particular:

"I thought I'd lost you. Last night.. I was worried sick" he spoke as he moved the ginger haired male's hair away from his eyes..

But Chuuya, exhausted and alive, said nothing.

 

He didn’t need to.

His breathing said it all.

 

Three days passed like a fever dream.

 

Dazai had called a few times, smug as always. He bragged about the name of his son with a lazy sort of pride, then went on to describe Chuuya's labor in excruciating detail. “He screamed like a banshee,” Dazai chuckled. “I’ve never seen him cry like that. But it was beautiful, in a way. Horrifying. Raw.”

 

“O-Okay, Dazai.” Atsushi's voice trembled with discomfort. “Please… stop. I haven’t had mine yet, and that’s not exactly comforting.”

Dazai just laughed and muttered an apology before hanging up.

 

It was late.

The room was dim and quiet. Akutagawa lay beside Atsushi, half-awake, staring at the ceiling.

 

“Akutagawa?” Atsushi asked suddenly, voice soft and distant. “Do you… still plan on staying with the Agency after the birth?”

Akutagawa tensed. The question had hung over them for days, unspoken. Now it bloomed in the dark like something rotting.

 

“If that’s what you want,” he said flatly. “But the question isn’t me. It’s the child. What will we do with them?”

Atsushi sighed. “I don’t know.” He turned onto his side, wincing slightly. “I’m too tired to think about it.”

They drifted into sleep.

 

The phone rang. Once. Twice.

 

Akutagawa blinked himself awake. He reached for the buzzing device on the nightstand and frowned at the number.

 

Unknown.

He hesitated.

The call stopped.

Then it rang again.

He answered.

 

“Enjoy the time you have left together.”

The voice was sweet. Soft. A child’s voice, laced with something far too knowing.

Akutagawa's entire body tensed.

"Zachariah."

A giggle, lilting. "His first contraction started three hours ago. You were right next to him. But you didn’t feel it, did you? Didn’t hear a thing. That’s how easy it is to miss the moment someone starts dying."

Akutagawa stood, the phone shaking in his hand.

"You’re bluffing."

"Am I? When you hang up, the real pain starts. Blood. Screaming. And silence. You won't make it in time. You’ll call for help. But there won’t be any. Just you. Alone. With him. And the end."

"You're lying."

"I see it already. The way he collapses. The way you scream his name. The way his eyes go blank."

"Shut up!"

He hung up and turned back to the bed, heart hammering.

 

Atsushi stirred.

 

His face twisted, brow slick with sweat. He whimpered softly, then gasped. His hand trembled as he reached beneath the folds of his robe, fingers brushing his thighs—

 

When he pulled them back, they were red.

 

His eyes widened. Horror filled his face.

 

“Akutagawa…” His voice cracked. “Something’s wrong. I’m bleeding—” His breath hitched, panic rising. “Oh god—what’s happening to me?!” he sat up slightly and it hit him. His whole body tensed, a scream tearing out of him, raw and high-pitched, filling the room with terror.

 

It wasn’t the sharp fury of Chuuya’s cries—it was pure, unfiltered fear. His claws split from his fingertips, shredding the sheets as his body convulsed, the pain was so sudden he wasnt able to make a sound.

 

“Atsushi!” Akutagawa grabbed him. “Stay with me—look at me—”

 

“I can’t! It hurts—” he was cut off by a powerful scream of agony, his body trembling from shock. He gasps “I’m tearing apart—” before another scream so loud it would definitely hurt his throat if he lived to see the morning..

 

“I’m dying—” Atsushi sobbed, shaking violently. His voice broke on every word, his chest heaving for breath.. 

 

Akutagawa fumbled for his phone, slick fingers barely managing to dial. Yosano’s voice answered, groggy. “What—?”

 

"Help me!" he cried desperately, putting the phone down by the side of Atsushi. "You are on loudspeaker! tell me what to do!!,” Akutagawa snapped, barely able to keep his voice steady. She was clearly confused... and so Akutagawa elaborated.  “ He's bleeding!? and he's having  contractions it seems as if it's ever second he cant even breath in fully before the next. Tell me what to do, now!”

 

Yosano’s tone sharpened instantly. “.. ok…Atsushi. Listen to me.” she spoke to Atsushi now.. ”You’re in labor. You’re bleeding too fast but you’re not dying yet. That can be perfectly normal.. Like Chuuya explained before, red fluid can be expelled that isn't actually blood. I need you to move—get onto your knees. Ryunosuke, guide him. Hands on the headboard. Do it now.”

 

“I can’t—I can’t move!” Atsushi screamed, curling forward as another contraction ripped through him. He sobbed, clawing at Akutagawa’s arms. “It’s wrong—something’s wrong—I can feel it—I can’t—”

 

“You can,” Yosano said firmly, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Atsushi, do not let go. Ryunosuke, force him up.”

 

Akutagawa wrapped both arms around Atsushi, dragging him upright despite his thrashing. He sat behind him and could feel the extent of the agony.. He pressed his hands to the headboard, holding him steady. “You heard her. Knees down. Hold on.”

 

Atsushi screamed again, his voice breaking into ragged sobs. “It’s too much—I can’t breathe—I can’t breathe—”

Despite Yosano saying that the red fluid is normal, what happened next could not be mistaken for something else. Blood gushed, hot and fast, soaking the sheets. The sound of it hitting the bed made Akutagawa’s stomach twist.

 

“...fuck..” Akutagawa said and Yosano quizzed. “What happened? Explain what that sound was? Did Atsushi vomit?”

Atsushi whimpered his body was a mess now, his arms were shaking and he looked clammy and weak, Akutagawa could feel that Atsushi’s legs were too weak to even hold himself up anymore. 

 

“No, there was just a lot of blood.. All of a sudden” he explained to Yosano, Akutagawa could hear her car now, she was driving towards them. 

 

“Ryunosuke,” her voice cut through the speaker. “Put pressure low, under his stomach. Hold him steady. He’s going too fast. Labor doesn't usually progress at this speed.”

 

Akutagawa did as told, though his hands shook violently. “Stay alive,” he whispered into Atsushi’s ear, his voice raw. “Stay alive, damn you.” He pressed his fingers against Atsushi’s abdomen, it was tender to touch but it seemed to slow the sickly sight of more blood trickling.

 

A sudden shift tore through Atsushi’s body. He screamed so loud the sound cracked into silence. His hips jerked, forcing something downward. His nails dug into the wall, gouging wood and plaster.

“Don’t push yet!” Yosano barked through the phone. “Not yet—wait for me—I’m around the corner..”

 

“I CAN’T!” Atsushi’s voice broke, every word a sob. “It’s coming—it’s tearing me apart—”

Then it happened.

 

A rush of more fluid, thick and red. 

Then the nauseating sound of something hard hitting the soaked through mattress.

 

Akutagawa stared down in horror. A sac, slick and glistening, quivered in the blood. He barely even saw it—his world narrowed to Atsushi’s collapsing body.

 

Atsushi’s head lolled, his breaths ragged. His lips were pale, his eyes rolling back. “Aku… ta… gawa…” he whispered weakly. His blood-streaked fingers clutched at his partner’s sleeve. “Don’t let me… die—”

 

And then he went limp.

 

“Atsushi?!” Akutagawa shook him, voice breaking. “ATSU—!” He pressed his hands tightly against his lower abdomen, knowing he was still hemorrhaging, but what could that do now? Atsushi was drenched head to toe in blood. 

 

“Yosano! He’s not moving! He’s slipping away!”

 

“I’m almost there!” Yosano’s voice snapped from the speaker, sharp with urgency. “Keep pressure—don’t stop. Don’t let him sink. Do you hear me, Ryunosuke? Don’t let him go.”

 

The baby lay silent in the bloody sheets, forgotten.

 

Akutagawa pressed harder, his face pale, wet with tears he didn’t realize he shed. “Stay alive. Don’t you dare leave me. Not like this.”

Footsteps thundered down the hallway.

 

And Akutagawa held his dying lover, willing his body to keep breathing, as the world threatened to close in around them both.

Notes:

if you read my other version of this story on wattpad you'll know the outcome but I still wanted to draw attention to the major trigger warnings in this story.

(I wrote this around 6 years ago and now I am planning to have my own child soon, its weird rewriting labor with more realistic undertones now I know how it actually can be like)

Chapter 8

The air inside the flat was suffocating — heavy with blood, panic, and the jagged edge of Atsushi’s screams. Sheets stuck to his trembling body as he curled against Akutagawa’s chest, pale and slick with sweat.

 

“Stay with me, Atsushi—please!” Akutagawa’s voice cracked, hands pressing desperately against his fiancé’s abdomen as if sheer willpower could hold him together. His breath came in ragged gasps, trembling with helplessness.

 

A sudden pounding on the door jolted him, then it burst open.

 

Dr. Yosano strode inside without hesitation, her coat half-buttoned, eyes scanning the chaos with practiced precision. She didn’t flinch at the sight of blood pooling across the mattress — she moved straight to Atsushi’s side, brushing Akutagawa aside only enough to see him clearly.

 

“Move him up,” she ordered firmly. “Keep his head supported. He’s losing too much blood.”

 

Akutagawa obeyed without protest, cradling Atsushi upright against him. Yosano’s gloved fingers pressed along his skin, tracing for other damage. Her expression was sharp, unreadable, her

mind screamed with one word and one word only:

 

Miscarriage.

__________

 

Then came the wail of sirens outside.

 

The door banged again, this time two uniformed paramedics flooding into the cramped space with a stretcher and equipment bags. Their faces were tight with focus, no names exchanged, no words wasted beyond clipped instructions.

 

“We’ve got a neonate here,” one said, eyes widening at the bloodied bundle towards the bottom of the bed. “Clear his airway quickly and get him on oxygen—now.”

 

The second paramedic already had the incubator ready, moving with quiet urgency, the tiny child looked too small for CPR but these paramedics did not hesitate or wonder those questions as there simply wasn't enough time.

 

Akutagawa’s grip on Atsushi tightened as the medics swarmed the flat. “Don’t take him from me—” He said with desperation as the other paramedics began working with Yosano.

 

“You’re not losing him,” Yosano cut in sharply, her tone a scalpel. “Let us work. Back down Akutagawa…”

 

A thin cry broke through the haze — the newborn, fragile and red-skinned, squirmed faintly in the paramedic’s hands. The sound was weak, but alive. Akutagawa froze, torn between his son’s trembling first cries of life and Atsushi’s faltering breath.

 

“Ryuu…” Atsushi’s voice was barely a whisper, lips brushing Akutagawa’s collar. His eyes fluttered open, glazed with pain. “Save… Itsuki…please..”

 

Itsuki… Itsuki..

 

The name is carved through Akutagawa’s chest like glass. A name they had agreed upon if they were to have a boy.. He pressed his forehead against Atsushi’s, whispering through clenched teeth: “I’ll save both of you. Just hold on.”

 

Yosano’s gaze flicked up, her voice clipped but steady as she addressed the paramedics:

“I’ll use my healing ability.” 

The Paramedics moved, they laid Atsushi down in the mess of the bed allowing the Ability user to unleash her power.. 

 

Dr. Yosano naturally moved over her coworker, gloves already pulled tight, her face set in grim focus. The paramedics rushed their own preparation just in case.. Remaining close behind as equipment rattled in their hands.

 

“Step aside,” she ordered, already kneeling at Atsushi’s side.

 

Akutagawa didn’t move. His grip only tightened.

 

“Atsushi,” Yosano said softly, placing two fingers on his blood-slicked chest. A glow shimmered faintly for a second beneath her palm… a few butterflies appearing as if they were coming from her hand.. But they fizzled out. The light sputtered, like a candle in the wind. She tried again, jaw tightening. Nothing.

 

Her breath caught — not in fear, but frustration. “My ability… it isn’t working.”

 

Akutagawa’s head snapped up. “What do you mean it isn’t working?!” His voice rose, desperate, furious.

 

“I don’t know why,” she admitted, shaking her head, pressing harder. “Something’s blocking it. His body’s rejecting the restoration. If I force it, I could kill him.”

 

“No!” Akutagawa roared. “You’re supposed to save him! That’s what you do—save him!”

 

The paramedics moved in at that moment, one already checking Atsushi’s pulse, the other adjusting the stretcher. “He's stable.. His pulse is still weak and his blood oxygen level is still dipping.. But he's showing signs of stability. We should move him as soon as possible”

 

“We need the room clear,” the other added. “Everyone out.”

 

“No! I’m not leaving him!” Akutagawa snapped, baring his teeth like a cornered animal. His arms locked around Atsushi’s shoulders.

 

“Ryuunosuke.” Yosano’s voice cracked like a whip. She grabbed his wrist, pulling with unexpected force. “You’ll only get in the way. If you love him, let them work!”

 

He resisted, trembling violently, but Yosano didn’t give him a choice. With one sharp motion, she dragged him back, her strength cutting through his desperate thrashing. He clawed at the air, reaching for Atsushi even as the paramedics secured him to the stretcher.

 

“Atsushi!!” Akutagawa screamed, his voice breaking. “Don’t close your eyes—don’t you dare—!”

 

The paramedics ignored the cry, already sliding the gurney toward the door. The baby’s thin cries joined the chaos as Itsuki was placed into a transport incubator beside his father.

 

Yosano shoved Akutagawa against the wall, pinning him there with a hand to his chest. Her eyes burned into his.
“Listen to me,” she hissed. “He is alive. He is fragile. And the only chance he has right now is them. If you fight this, you’ll lose him.”

 

Akutagawa froze, chest heaving, his body shaking with rage and grief. His hands fell limp to his sides as the stretcher rolled out the door, Atsushi’s pale face vanishing behind the paramedics.

 

The flat was suddenly too quiet, the only sound the faint, fading wail of the newborn being carried into the ambulance.

 

After a while Yosano let Akutagawa leave his flat, he was allowed in the back of the Ambulance once things had calmed down.

 

The ambulance tore through Yokohama’s streets, sirens wailing, lights flashing red against the rain-slick glass. Akutagawa sat crumpled in the corner, one hand clutching Atsushi’s limp fingers, the other pressed against the incubator where Itsuki lay beneath a web of wires and tubes. The newborn’s chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven bursts. Each fragile movement felt like a coin tossed against fate.

 

When they reached the hospital, the paramedics moved fast. Atsushi was wheeled straight to the theater, hours passed by, it blurred together as Akutagawa waited outside the theatre.. Until

Atsushi came out and was wheeled toward the intensive care unit.

He knew where Itsuki was, he had been rushed in the opposite direction to neonatal intensive care. 
Akutagawa had no idea how long he had been there, staring at his fiance through the glass. He saw Atsushi on a bed, pale and unmoving, machines breathing for him. His chest ached so badly he thought he’d collapse right there. He should have known…

 

Yosano stayed with him, she knew what was going on and understood the medical terminology so decided to stay by Ryunosuke's side. She stood beside him before speaking:

 

“He’s stable for now. But unconscious,” she explained. “There’s no rupture anymore, his internal bleeding has stopped. His body right now is just too exhausted… It's not shut down but it needs a little help.”

 

“Why didn't your ability work?!” Akutagawa was clearly frustrated.

 

“I'm not sure, It’s as if something is blocking me from bringing him back. I tried my ability twice — nothing. I think I helped a little bit.. I stabilized him.”

 

Akutagawa’s jaw tightened. “Why isn’t he waking up?” he tried to remain calm, that much was obvious but he was understandably annoyed and confused.

 

She sighed softly. “Sometimes trauma forces the body into protective sleep. Call it a coma, call it survival instinct. He’ll wake when he’s ready. Maybe we should just give him time to rest..”

 

“A coma?” Akutagawa’s voice cracked. “For just how long?”

 

“It could be days… weeks… maybe longer. There’s no way to predict it. These hospital nurses and doctors should be able to tell you more than I can..”

 

His hands curled into fists. “A year? You’re telling me he could just lie here for a year? Maybe longer?”

 

Yosano didn’t flinch at his fury. “I’m telling you he’s alive. That’s more than you had an hour ago. Be grateful for that much.”

 

Akutagawa turned away sharply, his throat tight. Alive… but he’s not with me and he has a tube breathing for him and….-

 

A nurse gently approached. “Sir… would you like to see your child?”

 

His legs carried him numbly into the NICU. The sight hit him harder than any blade Rashomon had ever drawn. Itsuki was so small — smaller than his palm, skin red and bruised, a tangle of tubes threaded into his fragile body. A steady beep marked his heartbeat, but the sound was weak, far between.

 

Akutagawa lowered himself into the chair beside the incubator. He pressed his hand against the glass, the barrier cold against his trembling fingers. “So this is you,” he whispered hoarsely.

 

The nurse crouched beside him. “I know it’s frightening. But every wire and tube is keeping him safe. Look here—” She pointed at the monitor. “That’s his heartbeat. It’s holding steady.”

 

Akutagawa’s voice was barely a breath. “And his Father?”

 

The nurse hesitated before answering. “Your fiancé is physically fine. No longer internally bleeding, no ruptures, no damages we can see. But… he isn’t waking. For now, we have to wait and be patient with him.”

 

Akutagawa’s eyes stung, but he refused to look away from the tiny body before him. “He won’t die,” he said, as if daring the nurse to contradict him.

 

She exhaled softly. “I can’t promise you that.”

Itsuki had jet black hair, his hands were so small, Akutagawa couldn't quite believe this miracle laying before him yet at what cost? He wasn't sure if he wanted to do this alone.. He closed his eyes as the words kept repeating. “I can’t promise you that.”

 

The words ripped through him. He stood abruptly, chair scraping loudly against the floor. His fists clenched at his sides. “If Atsushi dies…” His voice dropped to a growl. “I’ll kill Zachariah.”

 

He brushed past the nurse with some force, she almost fell as He stormed into the corridor, fury carrying him until a familiar hand caught his arm — bandaged fingers tightening around him.

 

“Don’t,” Dazai said quietly. His gaze was steady, his voice firm.

 

Chuuya stood a few steps behind, leaning on the wall for support, pale but upright for the first time since his own ordeal. “He’s right, Ryu. Revenge isn’t what Atsushi-kun  would want from you right now..” 

Dazai’s hand was firm on Akutagawa's arm, he could understand the anger. All three of them were in the same boat and had all heard the twisted words which fell from Zachirah’s lips like gospel. 

 

“Go back inside,” Chuuya added. “Sit with your child. You can’t afford recklessness anymore.”

 

“You don’t get it.” Akutagawa’s eyes blazed. “You think I want my son to grow up while Zachariah is free? While his prophecies taunt me? What kind of father sits by and lets them come true?”

 

Dazai’s voice was calm, almost too calm. “What if it isn't a prophecy? What if it’s just manipulation? Chuuya already told me — the chances of two men carrying healthy children at the same time were slim. Maybe Zachariah just twisted the odds to frighten you.”

 

“That’s great,” Akutagawa spat, shaking off his hand. “Exactly what I needed to hear.”

 

“Atsushi will come out of this coma,” Dazai insisted. “But he needs you steady. Not breaking apart.”

 

Akutagawa’s body trembled, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. “Wouldn’t you want revenge if it were Chuuya?” he snapped. “If Atsushi dies, I won’t forgive myself for letting his killer walk free.”

 

“You’re missing the point,” Chuuya said, pushing himself off the wall with a grimace. “Is Zachariah really the one to blame? You were the one who got him pregnant, not Zach. Atsushi doesn’t want your revenge. He wants you here. With him. With your son.”

 

Akutagawa glared at the floor, chest heaving. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he turned, coat swirling around him as he strode away into the night. “I’ll be with him,” he muttered darkly, “after I’ve got Zachariah’s blood on my hands.”

 

Chuuya groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Should we stop him?”

 

Dazai shook his head. “He makes his own mistakes. We’ve done what we can.”

 

Chuuya exhaled and limped back toward the NICU. “Then let’s go see Hiroaki. Our boy needs us more than he needs vengeance.”

 

The night air was cold against Akutagawa’s skin, but his blood boiled too hot for him to notice. He stalked through the alleys of Yokohama with Rashomon flaring at his heels, retracing every place he thought Zachariah might hide. The warehouse. The docks. Empty shadows greeted him at each stop.

 

It was infuriating. Each dead end only sharpened the storm in his chest. If he lied to Atsushi, if he cursed him with fear for nothing… I’ll make him confess. I’ll tear the truth out of him.

 

By the time he turned back toward the Agency’s district, his steps were uneven, his breath ragged. He thought for a moment he’d lost the trail entirely—until he saw him.

Zachariah stood beneath a flickering streetlamp, small shoulders hunched, his half-white, half-black hair catching the light. He was laughing quietly to himself, clutching that battered plush toy in one hand as though nothing in the world was wrong. When his gaze lifted and found Akutagawa’s, his grin widened — too sharp, too knowing for a child’s face.

 

“You…” Akutagawa’s voice tore from his throat, raw and venomous. Rashomon writhed behind him like a living beast, the fabric crackling as it surged forward without hesitation.

 

The boy stopped laughing, his head tilting. The echo of Akutagawa’s boots pounded across the pavement, Rashomon striking toward him like a predator. Zachariah didn’t flinch.

 

“You spoke to Atsushi Nakajima,” Akutagawa snarled, his cloak lashing inches from the boy’s frail frame. “When he was at his weakest — when he trusted no one but you. And you poisoned him with your lies.” His breath caught in a cough, metallic in his throat, but he pushed through it, eyes blazing. “If I’d known then what filth you were feeding him, I would have killed you on the spot.”

 

Zachariah only blinked at him. For a moment, he looked every bit the child he was — small, fragile, almost lost. But when he spoke, his voice carried that same too-sweet lilt that made Akutagawa’s skin crawl.

 

“Maybe you should have.”

Rashōmon slammed him against the wall, fabric tightening around his small frame. Zachariah didn’t fight at first — he only smiled, almost serene.

 

“Yes,” he breathed, voice trembling with eerie delight. “Do it. Tear me apart. Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that what he deserves, for what I told him?”

 

Akutagawa’s jaw tightened. “You dare—”

 

“I want to feel it,” Zach whispered, his laughter bubbling up and then breaking into a scream. “I want to know what it’s like when someone finally decides I’m not worth keeping alive!”

 

Rashōmon constricted, dust and plaster raining down, but Akutagawa’s hands shook. He saw the child’s flushed face, his wild mismatched eyes — and underneath it all, a trembling, desperate plea.

 

“Is this what Fyodor made you for?” Akutagawa spat, his voice sharp as a blade.

 

The reaction was instantaneous. Zachariah shrieked, thrashing violently in the coils. “DON’T SAY HIS NAME! HE MADE ME, HE BROKE ME, BUT HE WOULDN’T—HE WOULDN’T EVEN FINISH IT!” His cries cracked, a mix of rage and anguish. “HE SHOULD HAVE KILLED ME!”

 

Akutagawa stepped closer, voice low, cold. “That’s what you want from me. But I won’t give it to you. Death is too simple. You’ll live. You’ll keep carrying what he left you with.”

 

Zachariah froze, trembling, his ruined plush slipping from his grasp. His face twisted — not in anger now, but in something rawer, almost wounded.

 

“Why… won’t you…?” he whispered, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “You could end it.”

 

Akutagawa withdrew Rashōmon suddenly, letting the boy collapse onto the cold pavement. He loomed over him, coat snapping in the wind.

 

“You don’t get to decide your ending,” he said flatly. “And if you ever come near Atsushi or Itsuki again, you’ll wish I had killed you.”

 

Zachariah clutched his stuffed tiger to his chest, shaking. His laughter returned, but thin and broken, echoing in the empty street. “You’ll regret sparing me… the future doesn’t forgive.”

 

Akutagawa didn’t answer. He turned and vanished into the night, leaving Zachariah curled small against the wall, the sound of his laughter fading into quiet sobs.

 

Akutagawa walked away confused, he didn't understand Zachariah, in fact he had no desire to understand him at all, yet every time he encountered him his emotions only got worse and more scattered. 

 

He couldn't help but wonder if this little freak would crawl back into his life at some point in the future or not.. And if he'd regret the choice he made to keep allowing him to breathe. 

 

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of The Get Along Project series