Chapter Text
His body is a mess of numb limbs, weak from what feels like centuries of lucid dreaming. When he commands his arm to rise to stop the white light from tormenting his tired eyes he has to convince himself that it was he who commanded his hand to rise, that those thin, pale fingers belong to him with the dryness of their knuckles and the dried blood on their cuticle.
The room smells of bleach and his body is bare except for a gown. A hospital, then, he thinks as he sees the IV stuck in his left arm, but as his gaze wanders around he notices that it is nothing more than a vague imitation of a hospital room.
His hand fumbles with the IV and he thinks about pulling it out, but his fingers are numb and he has no energy to move more than this.
He takes a deep breath, expecting the familiar obstruction of air that triggers the cough every time he takes a deep breath, but his chest feels strangely light.
He licks his parched lips, moving the fingers of his hand one at a time. Index, middle, ring, pinky, thumb. He repeats. He still finds it hard to believe that his body obeys him; he lies in wait for the involuntary movements, the unquenchable thirst for blood. So long being a supporting actor in his own actions, watching them from the inside but not taking part, takes its toll. It's not that he fears it will happen, accustomed to this after so long of tercearized existence, but he awaits it like a death row inmate awaits the lethal injection. Resigned.
The memories of the last while are hazy. He floated between unconsciousness and partial consciousness, where he saw himself acting but without being able to take the reins. He perceived, like if it were other people's emotions, a need for destruction that differed completely from his own. He is not far from being destructive—he embraces violence as his only nature, but there was no hatred or anger in his actions. It was an empty yearning, with no goal outside of violence itself. It was vulgar.
It takes him a few minutes, minutes in which he feels only the ticking of a clock and his own breathing, lighter than it has ever been before, but he manages to sit up on the bed and rip the IV out of his arm. He looks down with the intention of resting his feet on the floor, but is shaken by a dizziness from which he does not immediately recover.
The door opens before his vision clears and he opens his mouth, allows his lips to begin to formulate the word, because he can't help the destruction that rises in his chest: Ra-...
"Akutagawa?"
He keeps quiet. He blinks once, twice before he can raise his head, but he knows that voice, he knows who he's going to find. His eyes meet a pair of violet and gold eyes, the twilight contained in a gaze; those eyes he saw once in what seems like another life and which he made a point of memorising, in case they were the last thing he would ever see.
Atsushi opens his lips in surprise. If Akutagawa were more conscious right now, he'd feel good about himself for catching him off guard. Did you think I'd die so easily?
But he had died, and Atsushi now saw a corpse walking, and Akutagawa has no energy to rejoice in his moment of astonishment.
Silence stretches on for a few more seconds. Atsushi enters the room, closing the door behind him with his free hand. In the other he holds three roses that he places in a vase that Akutagawa hadn't even noticed.
"You've been asleep for a while," he says, but doesn't look at him. Look at me. Look at me. "Almost two weeks, even with Yosano's help. Dazai's trying to figure out the possible repercussions of…"
He doesn't say more, but he doesn't need to detail what happened. Akutagawa knows.
"Gin came by this morning," he adds after a pause, stroking the flower petals. Red roses. Cliché. In another life, Akutagawa would have scoffed. "I'll call her after Yosano checks on you. She's not here now, but she should be back soon."
Atsushi speaks because he's not used to silence. Akutagawa feels a migraine forming on the left side of his head and opens his lips to beg for silence, but Atsushi drops into a chair, hides his face behind his hands and doesn't speak again. The silence does not comfort him.
It takes a while before Atsushi straightens up to look at him, though he still doesn't look him in the eye. Akutagawa brings a hand to his neck, where his gaze falls, and brushes the scar with his fingers. Of course.
"I thought you…"
His voice is barely more than a whisper.
"I almost killed you after," Akutagawa murmurs matter-of-factly. We're even, he tries to say, because he hates it when Atsushi concentrates so hard on things that have no relevance.
"Do you remember that?"
He seems genuinely astonished, but Akutagawa doesn't understand what all the surprise is about. Of course he remembers. He remembers the blood, the hunger, the sound of limbs being torn off. Atsushi's screams, his pleas for him to wake up. He remembers fighting to take control, I didn't die for this, lies and more lies told inside him to disguise the real reason why he was desperate to save him, tearing at the walls that kept him from consciousness, as if someone was there to see him. As if they were not words that were born and died inside him. Even in his worst moments he can't be completely honest with himself, but that's not new.
He responds with a nod. His mouth is dry, and he's not in the mood to expose all his thoughts in broad daylight. Not there, not with him.
"Then... you know…"
He looks embarrassed, another of the useless things Atsushi wastes his time on. As if there was anything to be ashamed of between them. As if they were not two sides of the same coin, their reasoning always laid bare for the other to read and understand better than anyone else, better even than oneself. Of course Atsushi wouldn't just be grateful that he saved his life; he had to worry about why. Why me, why, why, why if I don't deserve it.
"Why does it matter?" he asks instead of answering his doubt, because he'd be damned if he was going to make it easy for him.
"You died for me."
"You're alive. Be glad."
"It's not that I'm not grateful to be alive," Atsushi counters, his mood as volatile as it always is when he talks to him. At least that's a constant. Some things never change. "But you didn't have to die for me."
"I was going to die, anyways," Akutagawa says, and thinks he really shouldn't be having this conversation now , when he doesn't know what day it is and still fears his body will lunge against his will, bloodthirsty, eager for destruction. "I was dying. Maybe I am dying."
"So what? Saving me was your last heroic act?" Atsushi hisses. He has no right to be so upset, but Akutagawa prefers it that way. To this is accustomed to. If Atsushi were to look at him with pity for the rest of his days, he wouldn't know what to do.
"No." He closes his eyes. The headache is unbearable. He wants to go back to sleep. "I had to make a decision and I did. That's all. Were you planning to regret it your whole life, if I died? To throw away the chance I'd given you?"
Atsushi slumps back in his chair and clenches his fists in his lap. Akutagawa assumes that he wants a complex, wide-ranging talk; he wants the words to leave Akutagawa's mouth incessantly, to explain everything there is to explain. Akutagawa cannot offer him that. His emotions have a weight that he prefers to carry on his chest for the rest of his days, because in a world that has done nothing but take everything away from him, at least this is his to keep.
(Complex emotions, all transformed into anger because being angry is easy. They will be ruined inside him, but he is used to the rot).
He moistens his parted lips, looking away from those eyes. They are more violet than gold, for some reason, and they reflect the truth that lies at the back of Atsushi's mind in such a way that Akutagawa feels he is invading a terrain that is prohibited to him. He couldn't lie even if he wanted to, with such transparency.
"I'm sorry," he says, and the apology is so absurd that Akutagawa almost has the energy to laugh. Almost.
"You are sorry all the time."
"I'm serious."
He knows. That's the worst part: that Atsushi is sorry all the time. He lives as if he carries the sins of the world on his shoulders, as if every misfortune is his fault. If Akutagawa were any other kind of man, he might take the trouble to explain to him that this is nonsense.
But he is Akutagawa.
"Someday your guilt is going to kill you, and I won't be there to sacrifice myself for you."
"Oh, shut up, you're a disgrace." He runs a hand over his face, exasperated, and that pleases his companion.
"So much for thanks," Akutagawa mutters.
"I liked you better when you were asleep."
The older rolls his eyes, but a wave of tranquility washes over him. This is the dynamic he is used to. It keeps Atsushi from digging into his emotions by focusing on everything he hates about Akutagawa, which is easier to cope with. He is more accustomed to war than to calm; you cannot ask not to be exalted by every caress to the one whom no one has touched without intending to harm him.
"Don't do such a thing again."
"Save your life?" He's trying to upset him, but this time Atsushi doesn't take the bait. When he answers, his voice is so soft that Akutagawa has to restrain himself from cringing instead.
"Don't die."
Akutagawa sighs. He doesn't know what to answer, so he doesn't. He moves his feet back and forth just to check that everything is in order, that his body is his body, and before either of them can think of anything to say, the door opens and the Agency doctor looks at Akutagawa as if she's seeing a ghost.
He assumes he is, in a way.
At first, Yosano refuses to allow him to return home. She has to check his stability, the state of his lungs and that his mind is in order, she says, and Akutagawa would have decided to escape if it weren't for two reasons: 1. No one has returned his clothes and he won't go outside without the possibility of using Rashoumon (the hospital gown is not the best choice for a weapon); 2. The Agency's doctor is disturbing.
So there he stays. Several people stop by to see him: the blond boy in farmer's clothes gives him a chocolate, the orange-haired boy checks his stables when the doctor is gone. Kyouka pauses for a moment at the door and they do nothing but exchange glances for an eternal moment, and Akutagawa hears the echo of his own words:
Is that man worth sacrificing your life for?
Ironic. Who knew he would be the one to end up giving his life for the weretiger in a battle that was lost from the start.
Is his life that precious to you?
It was a good question. Akutagawa still doesn't know the answer.
For a moment, he thinks that he and Kyouka are just going to stare at each other for hours, as if they are waiting to talk to each other through the power of the mind. Then, she bows.
"Thank you for saving Atsushi."
He blinks. And then, because there's nothing else he can say:
"Do not thank me."
She straightens up and looks at him. She has huge eyes that give her an even more innocent look than she already has because of her age, and those eyes sparkle like he has never seen them sparkle before. It's funny. She looks brighter even as her facial expression remains the same.
She walks over to the bed and sets a rubik's cube down next to where he's sitting. He looks at it curiously.
"Yosano is not going to let you go anytime soon. It's to keep you entertained."
Without giving him time to say thank you, she turns and walks briskly away. Akutagawa takes the bucket in his thin, pale hands (are they his? are they his?) and sighs.
The feeling he gets every time he sees Kyouka is heavy. Knowing that she found a reason to live that isn't inherently destructive results in a sort of comfort because she is but a child, but he can't help but resent her a little. He was a child too, after all; an orphaned, starving child with nothing to live for with an ability destined to consume everything.
(Sometimes he feels his heart consuming itself little by little, flaring the emptiness in his chest until there is nothing but a black hole where emotions should dwell. He'd like to blame Rashoumon for that, but it's not her fault that no one has taught her how to be kind. She's just an extension of himself).
Gin comes to the room that same night, her hair cascading down her back, and wearing a light blue dress. She sits in the chair the weretiger had occupied and takes his hand. Her skin emanates warmth; that doesn't surprise him. She was always the warm one of the two.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. He doesn't know why he apologizes. For dying, maybe; for carrying the infection that ended up landing on her too, or so he heard. For never being the brother she needed, even when he proclaimed to do everything to protect her.
In his eagerness to protect her he ended up abandoning her.
(He knows what abandonment is. He sees it represented in empty eyes, charming words, shots to the face. He sees it in the light he can never reach because he is bathed in sins he never wanted to claim as his own until his hands were stained with innocent blood, and now there is no escape. Only a few are worthy, and he is not among them).
"Don't apologize," she says gently. "Regret doesn't suit you."
He smiles a little, amused, and clutches her hand. This is real. He couldn't imagine that feeling if he tried. He's unable to replicate that same warmth.
"I see Atsushi changed the flowers," she comments absently as her gaze falls on the vase containing the three roses, and Ryunosuke frowns.
"Since when do you use his name?"
"Every time I came to see you he was sitting in this chair. We would talk. It was more entertaining than talking to you."
Akutagawa tries to picture the scene. Gin isn't much of a talker, even to him, so he imagines that the weretiger did what he does best: talk nonstop about meaningless things. Gin is quiet, but friendly; she must have eventually succumbed to the chatter.
And that led them to be friends, apparently.
"Do you fraternize with the enemy?" he asks, and she plays with a lock of her hair.
"I tried to stab him the first time I saw him," she confesses.
Akutagawa watches her for a second before laughing. His laughter is brief, and he covers his face with his hand, but it is enough to make her smile.
I adore you, he thinks. He could never say it, but he feels it. He wishes she knows.
He can't fall asleep, so he drags the chair to the window and sits down next to it. He feels vulnerable at the sight of his bare legs, and though he tries to convince himself that there is no danger, he cannot calm his anxieties. So he stands guard.
The night is clear and the moon is full. He still doesn't know what day it is, but he has decided it makes no difference.
He holds the rubik's cube in one hand, already completed. It's simple and not distracting, but he'll use it anyway. It's a gift.
The place is silent and he hears his breathing, feels it in his body. It's as if he's too aware of himself, of the blood coursing through his veins. It's overwhelming.
The stars can't be seen, so he invents them.
(Until he was fifteen, he could not find Polaris; at that time, it took on a blood-red glow. Now, the Polaris that inhabits his imagination glows gold and violet).
The sun is not yet peeking out when the door opens and he jumps up, on guard. The figure in the doorway is familiar. He could not mistake that for any other.
"I thought you'd be asleep," his mentor's voice says. He doesn't sound animated. The absence of emotion makes him clench his fists. "You look like a scaredy cat. Sit down, Akutagawa."
He doesn't obey, like a child bent on reclaiming his autonomy with small acts of rebellion. It's pathetic and doesn't make him feel any better, but he prefers to stand.
Dazai settles in the center of the room. He doesn't look any more tired than usual, which isn't saying much because he always looks like someone who's had two hours of sleep at most. It doesn't seem to bother him.
"I couldn't come earlier," he says. He puts his hands in his coat pockets and stares at him. Akutagawa struggles not to look away. "We're still doing damage control. It's tough, but Rome wasn't built in a day."
He smiles with his characteristic relaxed attitude and pauses, waiting for an answer that doesn't come.
"To tell you the truth, I was beginning to think I'd never see you leave the bed again," he confesses as soon as it becomes clear that Akutagawa won't say anything, starting to walk around the room. He stops by the roses and looks at them with an air of absence, as if he's not thinking about what he's saying. Akutagawa knows him too well to believe he's speaking without a prefabricated speech. "Those were hard days, but I'm glad it's all over."
It's not over. He still hears screams in his mind and smells the blood in the air; he still finds it hard to recognize this body he inhabits and it doesn't feel like his own. He fears he will pass out and wake up covered in human remains without knowing how he did it or why the iron taste on his tongue is so strong. He fears closing his eyes and that all this is nothing more than an attempt by his brain to protect him, making him hallucinate that he has awakened so that the animal thirsty for life that controls his body can do so freely.
He fears, fears, fears. He won't admit it in front of Dazai, but he assumes he knows it.
(Dazai reads him like an open book, but Akutagawa knows he will do nothing. He never does anything when it really matters, not when it's about him.)
The silence stretches on for a moment longer. It is strange that Dazai speaks empty words, and Akutagawa suspects that he's mulling over something he doesn't want to express. He almost wishes he couldn't find the words and kept it to himself. Whatever it is, he's too exhausted to hear it, with how draining any interaction with him is.
"I don't know whether to say I appreciate your efforts or I'm sorry for what happened to you."
"You don't have to say anything," he whispers, looking back at the window. It's a moonless night. It must be cold outside, the way the glass is fogging up.
He doesn't care about empty words or cheap pleasantries. He doesn't need them. Dazai can say a thousand things and feel none of them, and to be lied to to his face, Akutagawa prefers silence. He's aware that he has not yet won his favor because for that he would have to be strong, and to die in battle is no sign of strength. Not when you were already a dead man.
(He begins to wonder if his approval is worth fighting for any longer, if there is any point in destroying himself piece by piece in order to hear words he doesn't even know if he will be able to believe.
If he does, what comes next?)
"You may not believe what I say," Dazai says, as if reading his mind, "but I think you did a good job in that fight.
"Of course I did," he whispers. His legs shake, so he's forced to sit back down. "I saved the weretiger. That was my duty."
"You know that's not what I mean."
He doesn't know, so he chooses to remain silent. The few visible stars twinkle softly and he counts his blinks, like when he was a boy in that slum and couldn't sleep. The memory comes to him as if it had happened in another life.
"Akutagawa—"
"If you've come to take pity on me, I'd prefer you left."
Silence. Then he hears the footsteps moving away, the brush of Dazai's clothes as he moves. He stops for a moment. Akutagawa doesn't turn to look at him.
"You know I'm not the pitying type," he says. "I'm surprised you think I can feel sorry for you."
Despite that, he opens the door and leaves, so Akutagawa thinks he's lying to him once again.
(He suspects he will never find out what words Dazai intended to say to him tonight, but he no longer cares.
He wonders if the return to life won't have returned him morphed into little more than an empty shell, absent of real emotions. If he ever had any).
Yosano arrives early in the morning to check that everything is stable. Akutagawa lets her work, following her every command silently and without complaint. Not that he enjoys this situation, but he's in no mood to upset a doctor. The sooner she sees that he's alright, the better.
"Everything seems to be in order," she says, holding his arm outstretched and feeling one of his veins. She doesn't seem to be doing it for any particular reason besides pure curiosity. "You'll have to go to a real doctor to have your lungs checked, but I'm pretty sure you're not sick anymore."
He blinks.
"Real doctor?"
"Mm-hm. I know very little about real medicine." She squeezes the vein site to feel for a pulse. His veins look a strong shade of blue under his skin, so pale it might as well be transparent. It's not a pretty picture, but Yosano seems fascinated by it. "I don't usually need real knowledge, you know. I have Thou shalt not die. I know just enough to save Dazai's ridiculous life if necessary, but we have to send him to the hospital if something very serious happens. With you I had to learn a few more things because you wouldn't wake up and no one trusted to send you anywhere else. You took your time. How do you feel, kid?"
Awful, is what he'd say if he was honest. He didn't sleep all night, so his body feels heavy, his heart is fluttering. He feels weak.
It's not something he intends to confess to the young woman, though, so he pulls back a little. The touch on his arm starts to get annoying, but if she notices, she's determined to ignore it.
"I'm not a kid. I feel fine."
Yosano opens his lips to speak, but the door opens and they both turn to see who's coming in. It's the short detective with the glasses.
"Your boyfriend has arrived," he says, nodding to Akutagawa, and his smile makes him look very proud of himself.
"Huh?" Akutagawa whispers as Yosano sighs, letting go of his arm.
"Atsushi," she clarifies. "You'd be surprised by how many hours he's been stuck in here. Fukuzawa ended up saying that his job was to keep an eye on you to give him an excuse to spend the day stuck in here without us claiming he wasn't working."
"Yosano!" Atsushi complains, bursting into the room. He's holding a book in his left hand and is flushed to his ears. The short detective steps out of the way, chuckling.
"I'm telling him the story. He deserves to know, doesn't he?" she says. She has a glint of amusement in her eyes. "I can also tell him how you asked me to save him…"
"If you're done, go!" he exclaims, hiding his face behind one of his hands. Noticing that he has been rude, he looks up and adds, "Please."
"Yes, yes, I'll give you alone time," she murmurs, "I'll come back later. You should try drinking water. Do you like tea? I'll have Kyouka bring you some tea, see if your stomach can tolerate it."
He doesn't have time to answer before she leaves. Akutagawa tilts his head in confusion. The situation is hilarious, but strange. Atsushi still hasn't recovered from his bout of embarrassment, and Akutagawa would love to tease him, but he's not in the mood. That's serious. Maybe he really should go to the hospital.
He gets up from the bed to fetch the rubik's cube he had left on the small table, next to the flowers. He's only wearing his underwear under his gown, but he doesn't mind exposing his bare back. Atsushi is too correct to attack a sick man.
"Hi," Atsushi says, but his voice sounds strange. "Don't listen to Yosano. Or Ranpo."
Ranpo. So that's his name.
"Mm. Gin also told me that you were always here."
"Oh." He sighs, dropping into the chair. Then, as if he had to justify his presence: "I was worried that something happened to you while you were alone."
"You thought you owed me something."
He would expect him to refuse, adopting that Kantian moral of his: I did it because it was the right thing to do. You wouldn't understand, of course, because you don't know anything about morals. A dog only knows where to bite.
Nevertheless, Atsushi raises his shoulders.
"I guess. You had saved me, and I just... I don't know. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to return the favor."
Akutagawa sighs and sits back down on the bed, disassembling the bucket to start putting it back together.
If Atsushi were smarter, he would know that he owes him nothing. They were (are) a team; they saved each other constantly. They didn't always die doing it, of course, but it was something they did almost unconsciously. Part of being the new generation of Soukoku was that, no matter how much they hated each other on a daily basis, on the battlefield they were one body and protected each other as such.
He's not going to tell him. If he doesn't notice, that's his problem. It doesn't hurt that the weretiger owes him a favor either.
"I'm awake now," he says instead. "You have no reason to keep coming back."
"I can leave, if that's what you want."
It's not what he wants. He's used to solitude, but Atsushi's presence doesn't bother him as much as he's used to saying. He's not going to ask him to stay, but he hopes he interprets his silence for what it is.
So Atsushi crosses his legs, opens his book and reads aloud with the awkwardness of one who is not used to it, his voice a soft melody, his eyes more violet and golden than ever. And Akutagawa can pretend that this is what they are, this is what they should always have been; two young people existing in the same universe, away from darkness, destruction and death. After twenty years of anomalies, no one can blame him for snuggling into the first shred of normality he is granted.
They can return to war and hatred another time. For now, Akutagawa wants to pretend that his hands are not stained with blood.
(Atsushi's presence is like the sun. Not only in the overwhelming sense that everything seems to orbit around him, as if the gravitational force pulls misfortunes and blessings in his direction, but in that he conveys a warmth that Akutagawa cannot be a part of. He has always been a nocturnal animal, a dog that hunts at night. Even when he wants to pretend, he cannot help but be aware that they belong to two different worlds.
But, like the moon, he can't help but wish for a bit of that light every now and then. Even if it's not forever. Even if it's not his own.
Is his life so precious to you?, asks the voice in his mind, and Akutagawa thinks he knows the answer.
He cannot belong to the light, but he can wish.
He can always wish).
Three more days pass before he is given clothes to wear and permission to leave. In those days, Yosano checked on him daily, Kyouka brought him tea, Kenji (the farmer boy) brought him food and Atsushi... Well, Atsushi was there. He read, talked and changed the flowers. The red roses became white. Dazai didn't visit him alone again, and the rest of the agency didn't interact with him much.
He hears knocking at the door as he is finishing dressing and waits to finish buttoning his shirt before giving permission to pass. The door opens and on the other side is Atsushi, because of course it would be Atsushi.
"I was told you're leaving today," he mutters.
As he enters the room, Akutagawa notices that his coat is hanging on his arm. It appears to be clean, or as clean as a garment that has seen so many battles can be. He wonders if Atsushi has washed the coat in the hope of removing the remnants of that last fight from it, even if it didn't have his blood on it. The coat had been there for him at many times, but in the final battle it was on a body that put it to better use.
He would like to see that as a good thing; being the support should not be a bad thing. But having to give up his ability to win only shows him what he knows and doesn't want to see.
Men like me do this with the useless.
"I thought I should return this to you," Atsushi adds, coming up to him, and holds out the arm where he holds the coat.
Akutagawa takes it and looks at it for a moment. He puts it on silently, feeling the familiar weight on his body, the vibration of an ability that is always ready for attack. He's used to this, but he does not know how comfortable he feels now. The coat represents his protection and the weight of expectations he will never fulfill. A gift, a curse. A commitment. I will eat from your hand until the day I die; and if you leave me a few years later, I will crawl to you like a hungry dog and take whatever you offer. Even if it kills me.
(The dog knows no betrayal, only loyalty. It will always return to where it has eaten).
Atsushi follows his movements with his eyes, holding his hands behind his back, swaying a little in place. On the table where the flowers rested was the book that Atsushi read every day. He didn't finish it; is barely halfway through. Akutagawa thinks he won't know the ending now, but he won't say anything. He had tried too hard to pretend that he wasn't interested in what he was reading to complain now.
He knows he will walk out that door and he and Atsushi will go back to being what they were before: partners when it's convenient, rivals the rest of the time. Akutagawa will walk through the Agency's door and return to the darkness he is used to, and Atsushi will remain in the light that belongs to him, and all the thanks in the world will not be able to bring them together.
He wonders, not for the first time, if he is allowed to wish for anything. If there is anything human left inside him worth nurturing, or if he will die again as he has lived. Being a starving beast.
The silence drags on for longer than is acceptable, so Akutagawa ends up ducking his head a little to say goodbye. Atsushi gives a small bow. He doesn't smile when he straightens up, and that's fine. That's fine.
He's about to leave without saying anything, but the man with the glasses (not Ranpo; the tall one) says something that sounds like "Manners" and Kenji cuts across his path asking him when he'd be back and remembering a promise to go harvesting that he'd made to him on the second day of his involuntary internment, when he was so tired from going two nights without sleep that he didn't even know what he said. Akutagawa murmurs "soon" and bows his head to bid him farewell. He greets Kyouka as well, a brief nod which she returns in the form of a bow, and thanks Yosano for his help. She pats him on the back so hard that he almost goes face first into the ground. Adorable.
He's still coming down the stairs when he hears the voices coming from downstairs and almost feels the urge to retrace his steps and hide under a desk. He'd let Yosano treat him with that chainsaw resting in the corner of his office if they promised him he wouldn't have to put up with this.
"Are you going to tell me you're not happy to see me, Chuuya?"
"If you don't put your arm away, I'll break it in twenty different places," Chuuya's jaded voice says, and he can hear the exaggerated sound of offense Dazai lets out.
"You are cruel. Look how you treat me."
"Throw yourself into a river."
"I've already tried that."
He clears his throat once he gets there, because Chuuya is so focused on glaring at Dazai that he doesn't notice his presence. They both turn to look at him. Dazai's smile doesn't waver, and that's just fine. Things begin to take on an air of normalcy that should bring him some comfort. He's back, and everything is pretty much as it always was.
He doesn't know why he's not happy because of it, but he's not going to think about it.
"You look awful," is the first thing Chuuya says. Akutagawa lets out a sound that falls short of laughter.
"I'm glad to see you too," he murmurs, approaching where they are standing. He puts his hands in his pockets and stands next to Chuuya. He doesn't look at Dazai.
"Won't you stay for a while? "Dazai offers, too cheerful for the situation in general.
"If I spend two more minutes with you, I'll die of stress," is the reply Chuuya gives, nodding to Akutagawa for them to leave.
That is what they do. A comfortable silence falls over them. Akutagawa didn't expect Chuuya to express immeasurable joy at seeing him, and his calmness is even a relief. They get into a new gen car that Akutagawa doesn't remember seeing before and his companion drives for a few minutes before breaking the silence.
"Mori will put you to work soon. There's still time to return to the Agency, if you're not ready yet."
Akutagawa longs for nothing more than a return to normalcy. Maybe that will quell the feelings he doesn't want to name. Maybe then he can squash them until they disappear. If he reminds himself of who he is, he should be able to empty himself of any shred of warmth that pretends to make a home in his chest.
"I am more than ready," he says simply. If Chuuya doubts his words, he doesn't let him know.
When he arrives at his apartment, he checks the calendar to see what day it is.
It hasn't been six months.
I keep my promises.
He can keep the no-killing part for the remaining months. About the end of the deal, he's not so sure he wants to keep it anymore.
(He does. He has to. Killing him won't do him any good except remind him why good things should be kept out of his hands. He soils, he stains, he trashes.
Killing him will serve as punishment for daring to desire, for a second, what he doesn't deserves. Not even death can atone for his sins).
On good days, it only takes him a few minutes after waking up to recognise his body as his own and know that he is still in control.
On bad days, he has to bleed for the pain to remind him that those pale, thin limbs are his.
I am alive, he reminds himself as the blood drips from his forearm, warm and thick. I am alive and this is real.
It doesn't feel that way, but it's only a matter of time.
When he and Atsushi meet again, the war has not yet started, the night is dark and the sting of unhealed wounds is the only thing keeping Akutagawa's feet on the ground.
It's hard to sleep when his dreams take him back to his death, to the slums, to the lifeless bodies of small children. His dreams show him the eyes of one demon and transform them into those of another demon entirely; they show him the deaths he could not prevent and all the road he travelled to reach his own. You are weak: choose your punishment.
His coat is heavy on his shoulders and he keeps his hands in his pockets so as not to expose his clenched fists, though he doubts there are many people wandering around this area in the middle of the night. That's why it's so surprising to meet the weretiger.
Well, that, because he didn't expect to see him again until a new battle was born, and because he's wandering around like a lost cat in the middle of enemy territory.
Atsushi looks as surprised as he does.
"Akutagawa."
It sounds like he doesn't believe his eyes. How long will it take before Atsushi can see him without seeing a ghost?
"Weretiger," he says too, without using his real name. (It used to be to diminish his existence and exalt his own. Now, he fears he would stains the syllables of his name). "I do not know if you are aware, but you are in Port Mafia territory."
"Oh." Atsushi blinks and looks around, as if he's just noticed that he's not walking around his apartment. "Oh. Of course."
Atsushi looks at him again. Gold and violet. More gold than violet tonight. Akutagawa thinks he might be able to reproduce the exact tones that adorn his gaze from memory, if necessary.
"I'm inclined to think it's not your habit to wander into enemy territory at four in the morning."
He doesn't mean it as a joke, but Atsushi lets out a little laugh.
"Do you wander much this late at night?"
Only when nightmares show me the image of your outstretched hand, he thinks, but doesn't say.
"Maybe," he mutters instead. "Tell me what you're doing here, weretiger."
He hesitates, possibly debating whether to tell the truth or not. But they're alone at four in the morning, and what harm can it do to be honest.
"Sometimes I have nightmares," he says matter-of-factly. "The orphanage. Those I've killed."
What would it feel like to be able to remember the face of every person you've killed and feel guilt for them?
(Only one of the two of them has a beast living inside him, and oddly enough, that person is the more human of the two.
The tiger has been taught how to attack, but he has taught himself to be gentle.
An old dog learns no new tricks.
Only one of them has a beast living inside him. Hold out both hands and see which one bites first).
"Do you count my death among them?" he asks, because he knows nothing about gentleness or how to be anything other than brutally direct, and expects the same from the others.
If Atsushi grimaces, he pretends not to notice.
"Sometimes I dream that your blood is on my hands," he confesses, as if hoping for divine forgiveness. "I dream that I killed you because that's what it felt like. I didn't have the sword in my hand, but…"
"Ridiculous."
Atsushi watches him without blinking, immediately falling silent. He sees the regret in his gaze for expecting anything other than an attack from him. Akutagawa wishes he could enjoy hurting him, but finds himself searching for the words to clarify what he really wants to say.
"If I chose to die to save you, the decision was mine alone," he says. Atsushi frowns slightly, but he won't let him argue. Not about this. He was never in control of anything in his life, and he doesn't intend to let him take away the control he had in his death. "You didn't hold the sword in your hand, nor did you force me to make that decision. I won't explain it to you again, so open your ears and listen: at that moment, you were worth more alive than dead."
"And you?"
The question shouldn't hit him the way it does. And you?
And me?
"I was already a dead man," he answers, repeating himself because in the end it all comes down to that. Even now he's a dead man, even if his illness is gone without a trace. "What is its relevance, if it was just the death of a murderer and I'm here now anyway?"
Atsushi averts his gaze. He clenches his fists. The words that leave his lips catch him so off guard that they almost force him to take a step back.
"The only time you've ever smiled honestly at me was when you were dying."
You damn fool. Hurry up and go.
Perhaps he can only allow himself honesty when death caresses him and he's incapable of measuring its consequences.
"I don't see how that's relevant," he counters, cloaking himself in coldness to protect himself.
But the tiger is a tiger, and knows nothing about barriers.
"Sometimes I dream I kill you and the last thing I see is your smile."
And Akutagawa could be polite, respond to his sincerity with a dash of his own:
When my dreams do not show me the demon's eyes or the corpses of children, I dream of a last war in which I kill the tiger to prove that I am a hunter, but the tiger's fur is soft and its eyes are violet and golden and when its light goes out I feel miserable, for I have killed many, but never such a magnificent being, and then it no longer matters whether I am strong or not, but that the tiger is a boy and that boy is the sun, and now you have golden blood on your hands, and where do you bury the sun when it goes out.
But honesty is a luxury he cannot afford because death has brought him back, so he has to bore his eyes into the others' and whisper:
"You could never kill me, Nakajima."
He could be referring to strength, pretending that Atsushi's incapacity is due to a difference in their abilities, but they are both aware of what he means.
(The tiger only attacks in self-defense, and no one could blame the tiger for attacking the rabid dog that lunges at it with murderous intent. Even if it's not the dog's instincts, but what it has learned; even if the dog was once a puppy in the wrong hands).