Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You’re hovering,” Atsushi muttered.

“I’m not,” Akutagawa seethed beside him, unmoving.

Atsushi turned to face him, making a slight show of gesturing how wide the rooftop was where they’d perched themselves to stalk their target. Hopefully Akutagawa would get the subtle hint that such close…proximity…wasn’t necessary.

Instead, his partner stubbornly refused to acknowledge him at all, proving that he would likely not move away from how closely he crouched next to him.

“I’m fine where I am,” Akutagawa replied, unprompted.

Whatever, Atsushi mused, This must be one of the weird behaviors he picked up since—

Well.

Ever since the ordeal with the Decay of Angels and the Hunting Dogs was resolved, things more or less returned to normal for the city of Yokohama. Those who’d been infected by the vampire outbreak were nearly all returned to their human forms, thankfully regaining their sense of self and memories. All but Akutagawa. His personality and his mind were restored, yes, but since he was already dead when he’d been turned, his new vampire status could not be reversed.

So things were strange, for a while.

Atsushi spent months recovering psychologically from the incident. Fukuzawa offered to connect him with a therapist who specialized in patients with special abilities. Atsushi shied away from the idea at first, but eventually committed to it, after enough run-ins with his own PTSD ended up making things too difficult for him to return to the field. He begrudgingly kept himself to desk work until things got better.

And they did, eventually.

Once Atsushi was cleared for field work again, Dazai was quick to pair him back up with Akutagawa for missions as he saw fit.

Sometimes Atsushi doubted how important some of these assignments were, but he couldn’t quite care. He was just happy to be doing work outside of the office again. Being kept inside at a desk wasn’t where he thrived. He needed space to roam.

By then, six months had passed since the resolution of the conflict that turned their world upside down. Atsushi struggled with his guilt at Akutagawa’s choice to sacrifice his life for his, while Akutagawa continued to adapt to his new life as a vampire. They were still learning new things about his vampire nature all the time.

Like now, for example.

“Say,” Atsushi took a quick glance at his partner, “would this happen to be a new…”

Atsushi made an open gesture with his hands, not knowing how to phrase this without pissing Akutagawa off.

“…instinct? For you?”

Akutagawa didn’t immediately react. He just kept his crouch, eerily still. He squinted his eyes.

“…Maybe.”

Atsushi went still, subconsciously mirroring his partner, not wanting to destroy the mood.

“Do…you know what this one is about?”

A few moments passed between them, Akutagawa silent and unblinking.

“Not yet.”

Atsushi supposed that was fair enough. You don’t just become a creature with new, foreign instincts and completely understand them all overnight. They just showed up, slowly, steadily over time, and Atsushi assumed Akutagawa figured out what they meant eventually.

Sometimes, when Akutagawa was in a very generous mood, he’d allow Atsushi to brainstorm with him over what a new vampiric behavior meant for him.

Other times he just stabbed him with Rashoumon when Atsushi asked questions he didn’t want to answer.

So far, Akutagawa’s responses had been safely neutral today.

It’s not the first time Atsushi’s noticed Akutagawa hovering too close to him since his change, it’s just the first time he felt brave enough to pry about it.

“Is it like…a coven thing?”

Akutagawa’s eye twitched.

Atsushi mentally braced himself for impact, but after a few moments passed with a noticeable lack of stabbing, Akutagawa answered him, his voice quiet, carefully controlled.

“It’s a possibility.”

Atsushi fought to keep himself from smiling. He knew Akutagawa would distinctly not appreciate it.

Did Akutagawa consider Atsushi someone close enough that he’d subconsciously recognize him as a member of his coven? Or would it feel like more of a pack for him? A colony? Atsushi didn’t know the word for a group of bats, but maybe that’s what it was like for him.

Did Akutagawa now have a sense of community that he’d unknowingly assign to people he cares for?

The thought delighted Atsushi. At the very least, the idea that Akutagawa might have inadvertently been forced to become a social animal was very funny to him. Though, this was just a theory. If it were true, however, he was sure the irony of it would buoy his spirits for the rest of his life.

“I see our mark,” Akuagawa’s voice almost startled him.

The man they’d been tailing was a hacker named Koutei Nakane, a man who’d allegedly planned on releasing information to the public that the government didn’t want unearthed. Either that, Atsushi mused, or he had sensitive information on the government itself that they wanted kept quiet. Whatever dirt he had, the ADA had been given jurisdiction to follow him, investigate whatever they could, and if necessary, apprehend him.

“I know you’re still in the mafia, but the Armed Detective Agency doesn’t have marks,” Atsushi rolled his eyes, “he’s our target, but we’re not killing him.”

Akutagawa made a non-committal noise with his throat.

“Not killing him, Akutagawa.”

His partner scowled at him.

Atsushi knew Akutagawa had kept his promise not to kill anymore. Their duel date had long since come and gone, with a definite lack of attempted murder, but his promise to Atsushi had stood the test of time, regardless. Atsushi tried never to mention it.

“Well, he hasn’t noticed us yet,” Atsushi conceded, “Let’s get going.”

One of the strangest new phenomena Ryuunosuke has had forced upon him since becoming a vampire is being able to smell…everything.

Well, not everything.

But enough to feel like an invasion of privacy.

It made Ryuunosuke deeply uncomfortable to work on missions with the weretiger and unconsciously know and understand everywhere he’d been that day.

He can smell what he ate for breakfast, if he spent a part of his day around other people. If he focuses very intently, he can pinpoint what Nakajima put in his coffee that morning.

It was whole milk and a very nauseating amount of sugar, in case anyone cared to know.

(Which was maddening, since Ryuunosuke could now tell that Nakajima was lactose intolerant, as most cats were. He'd have to scold him into trying a non-dairy alternative before the week was out.)

He hadn’t been able to memorize the scents of all the members of the Armed Detective Agency yet, but Dazai’s scent was easy enough to identify over time, as the smell happened to cling to the weretiger more often than Ryuunosuke would like.

Today, however, the scent Nakajima brought with him was one of the more pleasant, familiar smells he has learned to recognize.

“You still live with Kyouka?” he asked before his brain could keep up with him.

The weretiger’s eyes widened a bit, blinking owlishly as he turned to face him.

They were taking an inter-city train to visit the outskirts of Yokohama. After stalking that hacker for a while—with little to no information gained—they were sent to investigate some of his previous places of employment in the suburbs. The cabin inside the train wasn’t too full; few people took the train from within the city to the outskirts at 9:00 in the morning. But sitting too far from Nakajima caused Ryuunosuke undue stress that he couldn’t categorize, so he sat close to him.

“Yeah, we like living together,” Nakajima answered easily, looking away.

“How…” Ryuunosuke faltered. It felt like he had no right to ask.

“How is she faring? At the Armed Detective Agency? Still…?”

Still what? Still free from the shackles he chose to keep wearing, even after death? Still being embraced and accepted despite her bloody past? Still getting to live through and enjoy her youth, despite the mafia having stolen half of it away from her already? Still better off without Ryuunosuke doing to her what Dazai did to him?

“still…happy?” he settled on.

Nakajima’s whole body relaxed at the thought of her. His face warmed with his smile, as he looked off into the middle distance to contemplate his answer.

“Yes.”

“That’s…” Ryuunosuke looked away from him then, “good. That’s good.”

For some reason, Kyouka’s scent on Nakajima didn’t register as proprietary or unwelcome. He supposed it had something to do with what the weretiger associates as his family.

That was one aspect of Nakajima’s tiger nature that he slowly learned more about in the past few months.

Tigers aren't social animals. In fact, they’re staunchly solitary, rarely interacting with other animals or other tigers unless it’s to kill, fight for territory, procreate, or raise young—which is done alone, without a mate.

(Why Ryuunosuke has thought about how tigers find mates is irrelevant.)

Realistically, though, such a solitary lifestyle doesn’t adequately translate to human behavior, experiences, or development. And as long as Ryuunosuke has had the misfortune of knowing the weretiger, he’d always known him to be unflinchingly social.

Nakajima had told Ryuunosuke bits and pieces about his past at the orphanage where he grew up. But every time he mentioned an experience in passing, it was always something jarringly traumatic, rife with abuse and psychological damage that he had absolutely no time to unpack, much less process or understand.

Ryuunosuke assumed this trauma forced Atsushi to adapt his tiger instincts into behavior that’s more similar to African cats—like lions or cheetahs, who thrive in social groups—and domestic housecats. They naturally fall into forming colonies, prides, or communities of other cats to coexist with, as it aids in their survival in the wild.

Ryuunosuke just happens to be a cat person. That’s the only reason he picked up on this. He didn’t at all google it or anything. Absolutely not. His recent brush with becoming an actual animal of the night himself simply prompted him to do some minimal research on apex predators, that’s all.

He’s gone his whole life a cat person without Nakajima finding out. It wouldn’t do for him to discover it now.

“Wait, can you smell her on me?”

“Yes,” he replied, “I’m starting to figure out which scents belong to which people.”

“That’s so cool!” Nakajima beamed at him, “I don’t know anyone else other than me who recognizes people by smell! It’s so great not to be the only one anymore.”

That was another reason Ryuunosuke found himself asking more questions than he would have normally been comfortable initiating: the confounded weretiger was the only person alive who shared similar predatory instincts, who may be able to explain what he’s going through. As much as the idea infuriated him, the two had that in common now.

The heightened sense of smell wasn’t the only animalistic gift they now shared, but it was one of the most distracting additions to his life that he never had to deal with before. Refraining from asking Nakajima’s opinion on them was too difficult, most days.

It was also why Ryuunosuke tolerated some of the more insensitive questions Nakajima asked at times. He’d normally skewer the idiot and flay him alive for daring to be so invasive, but half the time, he wanted to know the answer to the question himself, so he tolerated it.

It was pathetic, really.

“I hate it,” he said instead.

“Yeah, it can be pretty overwhelming sometimes,” the weretiger said with a sheepish grin, “Overstimulation can be kind of a bitch.”

Ryuunosuke scrunched up his face in distaste.

“…Quite.”

Nakajima already knew all of Ryuunosuke’s senses were now heightened, like his own. The hypersensitive hearing annoyed the shit out of him, but the perfect eyesight hadn’t given him any reasons to complain. His sense of touch was a double-edge sword, but manageable. Helped a lot in a fight. He now understood the mechanics behind the weretiger’s irritatingly quick reflexes.

Smell and taste were much harder to adapt to.

Still were.

Ryuunosuke’s thoughts came to a halt when he felt Nakajima lean against him in their seats.

Well, “lean” wasn’t quite the word he should use. It was more of a neutral press of Nakajima’s left arm and shoulder into his own. A bystander would probably see it as a small sign of camaraderie from one teammate to another.

They were already sitting rather close together, per Ryuunosuke’s new pesky impulses that ended up forcibly revealing how territorial he felt when he was with him.

He hated those, especially. They threatened to expose more of himself than he was willing to admit.

That closeness allowed him to smell the change that was subtly coming over them as Nakajima pressed against him. The scent that Ryuunosuke usually registers as Nakajima’s was being rubbed onto him via his arm and shoulder, extending to him. He was scent-marking Ryuunosuke.

The pressure left his arm as quickly as it came, however, leaving Ryuunosuke agape with confusion, wondering if the weretiger was even conscious of the action. Most cats merely did it on instinct to mark their territory and their colony members.

Oh gods.

Ryuunosuke told himself he simply mustn’t think too hard on this.

“Wait,” Nakajima spoke aloud, seemingly to himself, before he turned to Ryuunosuke.

“Can you smell feelings?”

“Excuse me?”

“Like in the books,” the weretiger clenched his hands to contain his excitement; he always got so worked up when he found out new things about Ryuunosuke’s vampirism.

“In some vampire stories, they can smell emotions, like…”

“I’m going to stop you there, jinko.”

Nakajima waited patiently, smiling.

“I can smell…well,” he thought for a moment, “I think the only feelings I can smell are fear and arousal…” the weretiger’s face reddened instantaneously, “but I think that’s because those are scents that carnivores in the wild can also detect.”

Because they lead him to prey.

To food.

“O-oh…” Nakajima’s voice seemed to fade away for Ryuunosuke as he focused harder on the question.

He didn’t just smell fear or arousal on passersby, however, so he must have to be focused on the person to be able to discern it.

“I think I have to be paying attention to them, specifically, to notice, though.”

Nakajima was looking a little stressed, for some reason.

“That’s…” Ryuunosuke could feel him jitter beside him, restless, “…interesting.”

That wasn’t the whole of it, though.

In truth, Ryuunosuke could likely figure out any ordinary human’s emotional state based off of listening to their heart rate and the flow of their blood through their body. Those two tiny details spoke a lot about a person’s inner feelings. He tried not to focus on those things too often, but it was a thing he could do now.

Blood was now the center of his existence. It would make sense that the movement of blood through the bodies of others would be something his own body would now be attuned to.

The thought still made him sick to think about for too long.

Once the two of them reached the suburbs, they began their investigation of Koutei Nakane’s employment background. What they could find of it, that is.

Public records were limited, but they were able to confirm that the man was an active member of the Japanese military for about ten years. Predictably, he worked with computer systems, medical records, and cyber security. Whether he was honorably or dishonorably discharged was unclear. The education system had some information on him, but it only listed him as an employee of the Ministry of Education, with a date detailing his termination from the board for unspecified reasons.

So far, Atsushi concluded that the man was probably doing something illegal in both institutions, resulting in getting fired or kicked out. But after his period in the education system, his paper trail went cold. The last 15 years were a blank.

When Atsushi and Akutagawa had been tailing him a few days ago, he didn’t think the man looked like much. He was in his late 40’s, early 50’s, maybe, but tall and lanky with an unassuming, neutral air about him. If Atsushi hadn’t been given his photo beforehand, he would have never noticed the man on his own. He had a forgettable face, easily blending into the crowds around him.

Atsushi was too far away from Nakane at the time to get his scent, but he figured that once he’d gotten that, it would be even easier to pick him out in a crowd, despite his blandness.

Akutagawa probably already had his scent, by now. Did his sense of smell cover a further radius than his own?

As he and Akutagawa left the school’s office annex, their research for the day seemingly concluded, Atsushi turned to his partner to ask this very question when his thoughts were cut short.

Akutagawa looked weird.

Off, somehow.

He was naturally a pale-skinned person, but after leaving that building full of people, he looked almost haggard. Like his skin was being pulled too tight across his face, his cheeks sunken, his lips chapped and colorless.

“Are…are you okay?”

Akutagawa startled, gliding a little faster down the sidewalk.

“Hey, wait, hold on—”

“I’m fine, jinko, leave it.”

Atsushi had noticed the physical changes in his partner since he’d been turned; of course he had. Akutagawa didn’t smell like he used to, anymore. His personal scent was still there, but had been commandeered by something new, like an invasive plant. Akutagawa also had a stealthy, fluid grace about his movements now that mesmerized the eye, that tempted a person to look for too long, to let down their guard in their fascination. Atsushi knew, deep down, that it was part of what now made Akutagawa a predatory animal.

Like Atsushi. 

“But Akutagawa—”

Akutagawa swirled around to face him, cutting him off. He abruptly stopped walking, forcing Atsushi in place. His eyes shined in a way that felt distinctly unnatural, and Atsushi gasped.

Akutagawa’s body, his gaze, his reflexes—they were all honed to hunt, to kill, to eat. Atsushi understood, truly, he did. But he’d never been prey before, not really. As Akutagawa’s luminous eyes pinned him in place like a moth to a board, the needle-like pinpricks of fear blossomed upon his neck, the hairs of his arms raising in alarm.

Akutagawa’s stare kept him still, daring Atsushi to move.

He didn’t.

“If you must know, jinko,” Akutagawa’s voice was strained, quiet, as he took a slow, agonizing step towards him, “I am hungry.”

Atsushi’s tiger instincts were on high alert. The predator in front of him was combative, antsy, hungry, but his own impulses were screaming at him to prove to his friend that he wasn’t a threat, that he could be trusted.

Without moving, Atsushi slowly blinked at him. Once. Twice. He didn’t even realize he’d done it until he saw Akutagawa’s shoulders relax.

Akutagawa closed his eyes and took a deep breath, turning away from him.

Atsushi released a heaving sigh, eyes watering in relief. 

His tiger rarely took over like that, (deescalating a fight with a fellow carnivore, his mind unhelpfully supplied), but Atsushi only felt like his movements were his own again once the threat had passed.

“Are you really okay, Akutagawa? You don’t seem like yourself”

Akutagawa paused. Atsushi assumed he was thinking of how much he was willing to tell him.

“I get…irritable, when I go too long without feeding.”

Feeding. What a polite way of saying he gets hangry when he goes too long without feasting on the blood of a human being.

“Well,” Atsushi tried, “how long can you go without it before you start to feel—” he made a gesture that more or less referred to all of whatever Akutagawa had going on, “—like this?”

“About a week.”

He still wasn’t facing Atsushi, and that was surely for the better, for Atsushi’s eyes widened in shock, for lack of knowing what to do with his surprise.

Akutagawa was clearly embarrassed about it, and perhaps a bit uncomfortable with how he’d just lashed out, but one week was the limit for how long Akutagawa could go without having to drink from someone? That seems so often. Maybe it could be worse? But Atsushi didn’t know anything about vampires other than what Akutagawa chose to tell him, so he really was at a loss until his partner could give him more information.

Hell, Akutagawa had been a vampire for over six months now. Who had he been drinking from? He told Atsushi he hadn’t killed anyone, so Atsushi believed him, but wasn’t it hard to feed off of someone’s blood without taking their life?

“Wipe that look off your face, jinko; you have no right to judge me.”

Atsushi blushed in a panic when he realized Akutagawa had faced him again without him noticing, therefore seeing his emotions all over his face. His nervous stuttering was immediate.

“N-n-no! I’m not judging you—!"

Akutagawa rolled his eyes, his usual self trickling back into his voice as he snarked back at him.

“The Port Mafia has access to blood banks all over Yokohama. It’s alarmingly easy for me to get blood to eat when I need it.”

His eyes took on a look of disdain, the one he uses for cheap coffee or instant noodles.

“It just doesn’t taste as good, since it’s not fresh.”

Atsushi was struck with a pang of sympathy for his friend. It’s not like Akutagawa chose this. He wouldn’t even be alive anymore if—

No.

Atsushi halted that line of thought as soon as it appeared. He would not go down that depressive spiral right now. Akutagawa wasn’t dead anymore. He wasn’t. He was alive, he was here. He was okay—

“What’s wrong with your face?”

“Nothing!!” Atsushi yelped.

Akutagawa looked dubious, but seemed to let it go.

“So,” Atsushi started over, collecting himself, “does this mean you’ve never drunk from a real person before?”

Akutagawa’s features became very uncomfortable very quickly, making his answer obvious.

“Well…”

Atsushi forced his mouth to stay closed, tried to keep his facial expressions as neutral as he could.

“In the beginning, I had a hard time…” he looked away from Atsushi, in what could only be described as shame, “…keeping my fangs to myself.”

Atsushi tried not to think about what that meant.

He remembered how many Port Mafia members had been forcibly turned. Many of Akutagawa’s subordinates were among them, including his own sister, Gin.

Perhaps Akutagawa felt guilt over the people he’d bitten when his mind wasn’t his own. Or maybe he was merely referring to having a hard time controlling his bloodlust when he finally did have his self-awareness back. Either way, Atsushi didn’t envy him. He couldn’t begin to understand the complex emotions he had to have experienced since his transition.

“I didn’t kill anyone, though,” Akutagawa glared at him, as if silently challenging Atsushi to ask if he had.

Atsushi raised his hands in mock surrender.

“I wasn’t worried about it.”

Akutagawa’s eyes narrowed.

“Liar.”

Finally, finally the two of them got permission to interrogate their mark, Koutei Nakane, to see if negotiations were possible on behalf of the Japanese government. But personally, Ryuunosuke was hoping the man would run, give him a chase, a hunt, a kill.

Well, not a real kill, but at least a good beating. Ryuunosuke had been itching for a fight for days, and the Port Mafia had kept him on this boring side project for fuck knows why.

It’s not that being around the weretiger made him uncomfortable. Not consciously, at least. It was more that the constant contact exacerbated his territorial feelings over him. They were partners. Unwitting colleagues. They weren’t willingly working together, they were simply being ordered to. There was no reason for him to cling, to hover, to look longer than appropriate.

That didn’t stop him from doing any and all of those things.

And suppression of desires—or at least the conscious act of constant self-control that he could not abate while he was with Nakajima—made him itch for an outlet, any other way to redirect his impulses.

The easiest form of catharsis was always violence. Of course it was. It was what he knew, even before he’d been turned. The only difference now was that his violence now had a limit: the loss of life. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t get a delicious, filling mouthful of torture, maiming, or blood-letting. As long as he didn’t kill, his weretiger would look the other way. He was positively relying on the eventuality of it when he met up with Nakajima for the day’s assignment.

He and Nakajima had agreed to meet at one of Ryuunosuke’s favorite cafés before heading to their destination. He waited outside, near the doors, a to-go sencha tea in his hand that he wasn’t going to drink (couldn’t drink, rather), but would give him a decent excuse to loiter on their property while he waited.

Once Nakajima came into view, his face seemed to light up in recognition. His footsteps sped up, but once he got closer, he faltered.

A strange expression came over the weretiger’s face, and he blinked very rapidly in quick succession, scrunching his nose. It wasn’t like how he’d slow-blinked at him the way cats normally do to express trust and affection—the way he’d done just a few days ago, when Ryuunosuke had made him feel threatened enough to unconsciously use it in his direction—no. These weren’t blinks for Ryuunosuke. They were an attempt at controlling his glass face, so that Ryuunosuke wouldn’t figure out that he was displeased.

It didn’t work.

Before he could say anything, though, Nakajima seemed to come to a realization on his own, schooling his features into something more determined.

The weretiger came to a stop in front of him, took off his gloves in a swift movement that had Ryuunosuke’s pulse stuttering in his veins, got into his space, and promptly began rubbing his bare knuckles onto Ryuunosuke’s cheeks.

No warning, no explanation, nothing.   

Ryuunosuke flailed.

“What are you doing, jinko?”

Ryuunosuke desperately tried to keep the panic out of his voice, though he knew it barely came out above a hissed whine. His shoulders came up in confusion, his clawed fingers unconsciously spread out in alarm, not knowing what to do with them, causing him to drop his undrunk tea.

The damn weretiger simply grabbed his biceps and maneuvered him to the side, away from the foot traffic.

Nakajima had already gotten one hand under his chin to brush his knuckles there before Ryuunosuke had the wherewithal to grab his wrists and seethe—

“What is wrong with you?”

“Stop fidgeting,”

Nakajima’s face had a focus Ryuunosuke usually only saw in a fight. His eyes were clear, his pupils had constricted ever so slightly, and Ryuunosuke could immediately smell what the weretiger was doing. He was scenting him again.

“Jinko if you do not tell me what you are doing and unhand me right this instant—"

“You smell wrong, I have to fix it.”

“What.”

“It’s…” Nakajima sighed, his eyes returning to their usual, calming appearance as he attempted to explain, “You smell different, ever since you’ve been turned.”

“I don’t see why that affects you in any way.”

“It bothers me!” Nakajima began running the palms of his hands up and down Ryuunosuke’s arms instead, like that was any better.

“So my natural scent is terrible to you, now?”

“No!” He screwed his eyes shut in consternation, temporarily unable to form the words to express a feeling that Ryuunosuke hoped wasn’t as bad as he feared.

“It just!! Makes me feel better to mark you with my scent,” he avoided Ryuunosuke’s eyes, “You’re another predator. My tiger needs to see you as a pack mate, or else I feel threatened.”

Ryuunosuke’s eyes darkened.

Threatened.

If Nakajima had told him a year ago that he felt threatened by Ryuunosuke’s mere presence, he would have been fiercely proud of that fact. He would have lorded it over him, relished the satisfaction of making the tiger squirm in his discomfort.

But now?

Now, the idea of making Nakajima feel unsafe made him nauseous. His stomach roiled with it, and for a moment he thought he might be sick.

“W-what I mean to say is,” Nakajima saw his face, saw the transformation there, and stuttered, finally looking back at him, “Scenting you makes me feel safer, because it means you and I are on the same side, you know?”

Ryuunosuke took a long look at him.

“Are we on the same side, jinko?”

“Oh, shut up.”

He pushed Ryuunosuke in the shoulder, showing him exactly how he felt on the topic. He put his fingerless gloves back on, giving Ryuunosuke an exasperated look. It made Ryuunosuke feel a bit less queasy.

The fact that he was now covered in Nakajima’s scent helped a bit, too.

As Atsushi and Akutagawa flew over the rooftops of Yokohama, they had a clear goal in mind. The Port Mafia’s intel was impeccable (illegal means provided pretty effective results, Atsushi was loath to admit), so they knew exactly where and when their target would be out in the open.

According to their intel, he would be leaving a particular grocery store around 10:00 in the morning. That was when he ran his errands, and where he could be found at the time given. So they took up their posts and waited. 

Akutagawa clearly wanted an ambush, but Atsushi talked him out of it.

“We’re only here to speak to him, Akutagawa, not outright attack him.”

“Says you,” he sneered, “you know as well as I do that he’s going to bolt the very second you try to ask him about his illegal activities. They always do.”

Atsushi knew he could be right, but they couldn’t just assume. They had to at least try for a peaceful solution that didn’t result in an altercation.

“I see him!”

The tall man made his way out of the main doors of the store, his arms full of groceries. Hopefully having his arms occupied would mean he’d be less likely to retaliate.

Atsushi walked confidently up to Koutei Nakane, before a very distinct smell knocked him almost flat onto his back.

Atsushi took in a deep breath, mind halting at the scent.

His mind was inundated with flashes of images, memories, things he never wanted to see again that were thrust upon the backs of his eyelids.

Being held down on a soiled table as he was cut open.

Being dragged by his hair down a dirty hallway full of frightened, wide-eyed children who knew better than to try to help him.

Being held, squeezed by hands whose shapes he wanted to forget, being constricted, being choked, being chained to the floor, the metal rattling in his ears—

Was he breathing? Air wouldn’t reach his lungs, he struggled to take in each breath, as he began to hyperventilate.

A hand landed on his shoulder, two hands, one on each of his arms, shaking him out of his stupor.

“Jinko!”

Atsushi gasped, his face wet. Why was his face wet? He felt liquid rolling down his cheeks, dripping off his chin, onto his stationary hands.

Where was he?

Atsushi looked up at the man, now only a few paces away from him. He didn’t recognize his face, still didn’t. But his scent.

This man used to work at his orphanage.

He was sure of it.

He couldn’t see Akutagawa in front of him. He only had eyes for the man who carried the scent of his own torture with him.

He was breathing again, he realized.

Akutagawa’s voice was like a ringing in his ears. He could barely hear him. 

It was only a matter of time before Nakane noticed them. His eyes focused on the two of them in alarm, recognizing Atsushi instantly. He froze for only a moment before immediately running in the opposite direction.

Just like Akutagawa said he would, Atsushi thought, distantly.

Once the man was out of range of his sense of smell, his thoughts began to clear. He was running so quickly. If Atsushi had the presence of mind for it, he would have thought to himself that it was impressive a middle-aged man could run so fast.

But the first thing he noticed was Akutagawa hot on Nakane’s trail, Rashoumon at the ready.

The next thing he noticed was the flash of metal in Nakane’s hands, a gun, pointed right at Akutagawa’s face.

His body reacted without thinking, memories pushed to the back of his mind.

No, his hindbrain insisted, you’re not allowed to touch what’s mine.

His tiger form launched into action, springing into range of Nakane within a few jumps. He pounced onto him, hurtling claws-first into his torso, slashing the gun out of his hand and onto the ground.

He didn’t realize that Nakane had led them into an abandoned, blind alley until it was too late.

His instincts would have warned him sooner had his senses been operating at full capacity.

They would have screamed at him that only traps waited in a dead-end alley. They weren’t meant for proper skirmishes, only for executions.

At least, that’s what his tiger would have told him.

He didn’t have time to react to the second item Nakane had in his pocket. Atsushi was on top of him, midair, on a downward trajectory to pin him to the dirty ground beneath them, when Nakane placed the small bomb against his chest, roughly pushed his own feet against Atsushi, and propelled himself away before the explosion detonated.

White hot pain enveloped his senses.

His hearing temporarily failed him as the pain took over everything else. In a way that felt removed from his physical body, he felt long, wiry arms wind around him and lurch his whole body backwards, away from the blast.

His body began the healing process, but it didn’t spare him from the pain of a literal bomb going off in his face. It had to have been small, a weak explosive at best, to not have killed him, but his thoughts were scrambled. Rational thought took a backseat.

As his senses slowly returned to him, he registered someone behind him, clinging to every part of his body it could touch. Their arms wrapped around his torso protectively, supporting his weight. His feet dangled across the pavement; the person behind him must be the same height as him.

His eyes flew open, and oh, that was a mistake.

Akutagawa

He could hear his own breathing, but didn’t quite understand how he was doing it on his own. He wasn’t aware of his own limbs yet. He must be in shock.

As his faculties slowly returned to him, he realized Akutagawa’s nose was in his neck, his breathing heavy at his pulse point. One of his hands held fast to his waist, the other clung to his opposite shoulder.

Those precious seconds where Akutagawa held him gave his body enough time to heal itself enough for him to be capable of independent thought again.

Akutagawa’s mouth was so, so close to his throat. He knew his fangs lurked just beneath. His breath was hot on his skin, and though he couldn’t see his eyes, he knew what they would look like in this moment, and he refused to look. His heartbeat jackrabbited in his chest like a skittish prey animal, trapped in the jaws of its hunter.

All at once, the intimacy of their position frightened him. He gasped in fear, arching his back in a panic, horror the only feeling in his veins. Such vulnerability meant eminent death in the wild, and he was no longer at an advantage to defend himself.

He thrashed in Akutagawa’s hold for only a second before he was released.

Once he could no longer feel anyone on his body, he took one huge gulp of air after the other, desperate to return his breathing to normal.

The feeling in his limbs returned, as did his sense of smell. As well as his rational thought.

He looked up, and saw that Nakane was nowhere to be found.

Atsushi turned around. Akutagawa was looking at him with a wounded look on his face that he’d never seen before. It looked foreign on him. Atsushi hated it.

The tears hadn’t even dried on his own face yet, though new skin had already replaced what had been ripped away.  

He had no words for what he was feeling in that moment. He didn’t know what to say.

Akutagawa’s voice was soft, but clear as it cut through the silence.

“You’re afraid of me.”

That got his mouth to work again.

“No.”

“You are,” his eyes gleamed.

Akutagawa’s confused, crushed expression flew from his face as quickly as it came.

Disdain replaced it, with a resigned, spiteful anger that slapped Atsushi across the face.

“Don’t worry,” he spat, “you’re the last person I’d ever want to drink from.”

Atsushi felt his hands go cold.

Why did it feel like he’d made a terrible mistake?

Akutagawa turned his back on him.

“You’re safe with me, jinko,” he said, his voice dripping with ice, as he stalked out of the alley without a word.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

When Atsushi returned from his medical exam, Akutagawa was nowhere to be found.

He tried not to feel disappointed about it, but technically his partner had waited for him throughout the duration of Atsushi’s debrief. No one ended up needing any additional information from the two of them before Atsushi was dragged off by Yosano, so perhaps Akutagawa was given permission to leave while he was gone.

He wished he’d gotten the chance to say goodbye to him, but he supposed that wasn’t quite their way. Not yet, anyway. Atsushi still held out hope that he and Akutagawa could be friends one day, if they weren’t already.

Atsushi considered Akutagawa his friend. It was unlikely that Akutagawa felt the same way, but a man could dream.

If you really considered Akutagawa your friend, he thought, you would have told him what you learned about Nakane today.

That Nakane worked at his orphanage. That Nakane had been employed there, for who knows how long.

Based on what they’d learned about him so far, and based on the gap in his paper trail, this led Atsushi to believe he’d been working at his orphanage for roughly the past 15 years. Which coincided with almost the exact number of years Atsushi was interned there.

This led him to the very uncomfortable implication that Nakane very well may have been hired expressly because of Atsushi’s presence there.

Nakane’s skills in hacking, cyber security, and programming, as well as his extensive backgrounds in records and archiving meant that the orphanage mostly likely had him on staff to cover up their illegal work on Atsushi. The people who hurt him had doctorates, lab coats, and equipment that you’d need money to have access to.

You couldn’t just experiment on a weretiger child for a decade and a half and not have a paper trail for bank statements, payroll, and medical records. They would have needed someone like him to make sure they never left any evidence of their work on paper or online.

And for all intents and purposes, he did exactly what he was hired to do. That orphanage was considered completely unremarkable to the rest of Yokohama. It was one of several within the city, and didn’t stand out in any way, passing all of its health and safety compliance checks every year without fail.

Nakane could have helped with those, too, really. 

Was he still working for the people who hurt Atsushi? Had he even left? Was he helping to cover up more damage done to the children Atsushi left behind?

Guilt clenched his gut like a vice. He didn’t explicitly…intend to keep that information from Akutagawa. He was just in too much shock to process the information fast enough to bring it up with him.

He’d felt so many things in such quick succession that morning. It took all of his attention just to gather his wits about him and carry on with the rest of his responsibilities that day; there was no space in his mind at the time for verbalizing what he’d learned before the explosion.

His mind simply seemed to…cut him off from the information until the day’s operations had concluded. He wasn’t quite conscious of that fact until he was done for the day, and had the space to breathe.

It was for this same reason Atsushi hadn’t told the Armed Detective Agency, either.

Even if his memories hadn’t put him into survival mode for a good portion of the workday, would it have even accomplished anything if he had told them?

The ADA cared about him, Atsushi knew. But because of this, he knew that if they understood who Nakane truly was, they’d likely take Atsushi off the mission altogether. At best, they’d consider it a conflict of interest to have Atsushi on the job, and try to pair Akutagawa with someone else until Nakane was apprehended.

Though he knew that was an inherently practical choice, the idea of sending another ADA member with Akutagawa in his stead made him bristle.

This was his assignment; he wouldn’t be replaced just because he had a personal connection to the target.

The worst-case scenario, however, was the ADA finding out how deep his traumas ran with Nakane, and deciding that Atsushi needed to be indefinitely benched from field work again.

Atsushi couldn’t go back to being stuck to a desk. Those last six months were awful. Sure, he grew a lot, and did an impressive amount of healing, but it was still such an uncomfortably dark time for him. He was overjoyed when he was cleared to go back to working on missions. It made him feel like he was actually moving on from the traumatic events the Decay of Angels had wrought upon them.

Being taken off of assignments again would mean all his progress had been for nothing.

He couldn’t bear to think about it.  

So, if he was being honest with himself, telling no one about Nakane’s connection to his orphanage had been an accident, initially. But telling the others became less and less appealing the longer he thought about it.

Maybe he’d tell them tomorrow, instead.

Yeah.

Keeping secrets wasn’t really his strong suit, anyway. And did this even count as a secret? It was just an added detail he hadn’t thought to include before. He could just tell everyone else about it later, when he’d had more time to compose himself. He could make sure he’d fully considered all the angles, then go in with a full plan on how to come off as professional and unaffected as possible.

It would be fine.

He just needed to keep his cool.

Ryuunosuke was jolted out of his thoughts as Nakajima startled beside him.

They’d just gotten off the train, and were headed to the location Mori gave him for their (regrettably ongoing) mission to apprehend Koutei Nakane.

Interrogation was meant to be their next step, but that was before the fucker launched an entire bomb in his partner’s face, so both the Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia were swift to agree on their next course of action being arrest first, ask questions later.

He wasn’t quite sure whether it was Fukuzawa or Mori who acquired the warrant for his arrest, but he was impressed with how fast they got it. His bet was on Fukuzawa, personally, since their altercation with Nakane was just the day before. He didn’t think the ADA wasted time when one of their own got attacked.

However they received access, they had it now. Mori gave him his orders that morning, complete with the address where the man was currently employed, and that he wanted them to make the arrest at 7:00pm. He didn’t specify what kind of establishment it was, so Ryuunosuke assumed it was a government-run facility like a library, hospital, or school. It could have been classified information, for all he knew, but it wasn’t like he cared. All he knew was that he had a scent to chase. The hunt was back on.

That was, of course, once he noticed Nakajima getting visibly uncomfortable.

As they walked down the street, heading to the address Mori gave him, the weretiger began skittishly looking around, clearly nervous.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I, uh…” he stammered, “I recognize this neighborhood.”

Ryuunosuke didn’t know what that was supposed to mean.

“Is that…a bad thing?”

Nakajima didn’t answer him.

When they reached the address provided, Nakajima gasped aloud.

The sharp scent of fear nearly struck Ryuunosuke in the face.

Nakajima’s mouth was hanging open. It looked like he wanted to speak, but couldn’t. His eyes were wide, pupils constricted, the hair on his head fluffing up ever so slightly.

Ryuunosuke took a better look at the building before him.

It was an orphanage.

“That’s…”

Ryuunosuke understood immediately. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

“A-Akutagawa,” he tried again. Closed his mouth. Breathed.

“This is my orphanage.”

The one where he was routinely tortured for most of his childhood and adolescence. From the bits of information he gave Ryuunosuke, it was also a place of profound psychological abuse as well. He knew the weretiger had a complex about thinking he wasn’t allowed to live unless he was of use to people. He knows he got it here.

There was no way he could understand the magnitude of being forced to come back to a place like this, and so soon after leaving it. It had barely been a year since the weretiger had been released from here. It made him feel ill. 

“We’re leaving, jinko.”

“What?”

That got the weretiger to snap out of his daze.

“Why?”

“Nakane works here. We’ll have to go inside to arrest him.”

“Yes,” his eyes were frightened. So, so frightened.

He felt it like a personal offense.

“We can just send someone else.”

“No, I can do it,” Nakajima’s voice was strained, like he didn’t believe his own words. They had an edge to them, a stubbornness. It hurt Ryuunosuke to hear it.

“I’m not saying you’re not capable, jinko,” Ryuunosuke couldn’t help but gravitate closer to him. He had to be close enough to allow touch, if the weretiger wanted it. He got as close as he felt he’d be allowed, silently willing Nakajima to let himself be wrapped into Rashoumon for protection.

But his words had the opposite effect on his partner. Nakajima straightened his back, steeling his features, hardening his gaze.

“I can do it,” he looked back at Ryuunosuke, his eyes clear, “let’s go.”

“It’s not a good idea,” Ryuunosuke shook his head, pleading with his eyes for his partner to change his mind, to see reason. Of all the times to dig his heels in, he was going to choose now?

It will hurt him. He knows it will.

“Akutagawa,” Nakajima took his bicep in his hand, gripping it gently, “I want to do this for me. Please understand. I want…” he faltered, “I want closure…from my memories here.”

He pulled Ryuunosuke ever so slightly closer to him, calmer now.

“Let me try.”

Ryuunosuke had never, not once, been able to dissuade the weretiger from anything he’d set his mind to. But even if he had the power, he couldn’t say no to him when he looked at him like that. No knowing how great a mistake would be ever kept people from committing to them. And, moreover, it was something the weretiger believed he needed. Ryuunosuke couldn’t deny him.

“Alright,” he conceded, “but you’re allowed to change your mind at any point.”

He moved to Nakajima’s side, so that they were standing side by side, facing the building.

“The very second you say you want to leave, we will. Nakane won’t get away if we do; someone else will be able to finish the job for us. Do you understand?”

Nakajima wasn’t looking at him, but Ryuunosuke knew he was listening. He nodded.

“Okay,” Ryuunosuke took the first step ahead, “let’s go.”

The sun was beginning to set, throwing the shadows of the orphanage over them in a way that struck Ryuunosuke as distinctly unfriendly. The golden tint to the rest of the neighborhood was overshadowed by the looming gloom of the building before them.

Nakajima was silent as they ascended the stairs and knocked on its doors. A short, unassuming man in a white coat opened it for them.

“Hello, may I help you?”

Nakajima let Ryuunosuke do the talking as he displayed their warrant for Nakane’s arrest. If the man at the door recognized the weretiger, he made a brave effort of pretending not to. He let them inside, and started off down the main hallway at a neutral pace.

Nakajima kept pace with Ryuunosuke at first, but began to falter within the first few seconds of entry.

His partner immediately became distracted, looking down every hall they passed, stopping without warning, his chest beginning to heave as his eyes took on a glassy sheen.

There were no children in any of the halls. Ryuunosuke didn’t want to know why.

At the end of one particularly dark hallway was a large door, elaborate in a way that reminded Ryuunosuke of a western-style church. Catholic, maybe.

Nakajima stared at it, unmoving, breaths quick.

Alarm bells were going off in Ryuunosuke’s head. They shouldn’t be here. Neither of them should be here. He didn’t give a flying fuck who arrested Koutei Nakane, but it sure as hell didn’t need to be the one person in both agencies who had a traumatic association with the man.

Ryuunosuke tried to think of a way that would comfort Nakajima in a way he would accept. Something, anything to snap him out of it, or at best, agree to leave.

He got in front of him, blocking his view of the door that made him freeze up, and crowded himself into the weretiger’s space.

“Let’s move.”

He knew suggesting that they quit the mission altogether would garnish immediate resistance, so the next best option was just moving him out of that spot. He herded the weretiger with his body, more or less subtly pushing him out of his trance, to force him into action.

It worked, for a few minutes. The man who’d let them inside was still leading them deeper and deeper into the building, without any traces of suspicious behavior, but he was the last person on Ryuunosuke’s mind at the moment.

To keep him steady, Ryuunosuke walked side by side with Nakajima, like the weretiger had done with him the day before, arms and shoulders connected, legs walking in sync. It calmed him, for a while.

That was until they had to pass what Ryuunosuke assumed was the medical ward.

Or, rather, what they told outsiders was their medical ward.

The reaction from Nakajima was immediate.

He gasped aloud, as if he’d been taken by surprise by the onslaught of his own memories of the place. He’d never seen the weretiger so afraid.

He took multiple steps backward in his panic, and started to hyperventilate. Tears sprung to his eyes.

“I-I-I…” he stuttered, unable to speak clearly, “I was wrong,” he brought his hand to his mouth, trying to cover it as he gaped, unable to form full sentences.

“I can’t…” the tears were rolling down his cheeks, slipping past his hand, dripping to the floor, “I can’t do this. I thought I could, I…”

Ryuunosuke was in his space before he could blink.

“What can I do?” Ryuunosuke felt the panic too, just by looking at him. He’d never seen the weretiger like this before, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to help.

“What do you need?”

His hands hovered over Nakajima, waiting for instruction. He couldn’t touch him without permission. He couldn’t. There was no greater sin, not with what his partner had to endure here. What was it he’d said a few days ago? “Overstimulation is a bitch”? Something like that. He would be making things worse if he touched him.

But he had no possible idea what he could do to help, otherwise.

“I need…I need…” Nakajima was clutching his stomach with both hands. Protecting a wound that was no longer there, a phantom injury with reminders he wished to forget.

Ryuunosuke nodded, urging him on.

Nakajima’s violet-golden eyes gleamed in the dimly lit room, pupils constricted in terror as he looked to Ryuunosuke.

“I need Dazai.”

Ryuunosuke didn’t have time to think on why those words hurt him. He was too busy with trying to get his weretiger out of there.

“Where’s your phone, jinko? We need to call him.”

Nakajima’s eyelashes fluttered in an effort to concentrate. More tears spilled down his face as he searched his pockets with shaking hands.

Once he found his phone, he tried pulling up Dazai’s number. It reminded Ryuunosuke of a person trying to use their phone while they were drunk, pressing too many buttons at once, accidentally dropping it, staring blankly at the screen without comprehension. Nakajima mindlessly wiped sweat and tears away from his face as he struggled through his phone.

Once he heard the outgoing call ringing, he realized that Nakajima had accidentally put the call on speaker.

Dazai’s voice sounded foreign to his ears, loud and urgent.

“Atsushi! Where are you right now?”

“Dazai!!” Atsushi cried, the relief palpable in his voice, “I’m at the orphanage, I didn’t know—”

“I’m on my way, Atsushi, but I need you to listen to me very carefully, and do as I say.”

Nakajima blinked through his tears, nodding for a man who couldn’t see him.

“You need to let Akutagawa bring you outside. I’ll be there in five minutes—”

“Wait, what?” Atsushi’s voice pitched, “how did you know where I was? Did you know I was being sent here today?” If Ryuunosuke was correct, that was a lick of anger in the weretiger’s tone.

“No, Atsushi,” Dazai came in clearly, “None of us would have signed off on that if we knew, especially not me. Mori sent the two of you out without consulting us.”

Nakajima held the phone away from his face and covered his eyes with a sob.

“Ranpo figured out where you were. Kunikida and Tanizaki are on their way to arrest Nakane. You can leave.”

Nakajima hiccupped, wiping his eyes.

“Atsushi, please, you need to listen to me,” He didn’t sound like his usual self. His voice was stiff.

“You need to leave. Let Akutagawa bring you outside.”

Nakajima wasn’t listening to him. He just continued to cry.

Ryuunosuke took the phone out of his hands as gently as he could.

“Dazai?”

“You know what to do, Akutagawa. Don’t fuck this up.”

And with that, he hung up. 

Ryuunosuke took a deep breath, pocketing Nakajima’s phone.

Okay.

“Jinko,”

He got close to Nakajima again, and waited for his attention. When the weretiger focused on him, Ryuunosuke was ready.

“We need to go outside. Can I touch you?”

Nakajima blinked a few times in confusion, hesitating. But after a second, he nodded.

Ryuunosuke put his left arm at the small of the weretiger’s back, and his right hand gently grasped Nakajima by his right elbow. He called behind him to the man in the white coat who had stopped to wait for them.

“We’re leaving. Our associates are going to complete the arrest in our place.”

He didn’t turn to see if the man heard him. He just started walking.

He kept his grip firm but gentle as he walked them out as quickly as he could. He tried pressing as much of his body onto Nakajima as he could while they moved, hoping it would be a comfort to him.

As long as it took for them to go into the belly of the beast, leaving it felt like it took little to no time at all.

He only took a hand off of Nakajima so that he could open one of the giant double doors with it.

Breaching the outdoors brought at least a little relief. Ryuunosuke eased his partner down the stairs with one hand on his back, as he frantically looked up and down the road for however Dazai was going to arrive.

Before they reached the bottom of the stairs, a black taxi swung around the corner and made an abrupt stop at the front gate of the orphanage.

Dazai flung himself out of the cab, limbs akimbo, calling quickly back at the cab to remain parked for them.

Ryuunosuke knew what Dazai was capable of, knew that he actually could move quickly when he wanted to, but this quickness wasn’t calculated or graceful; it was reckless and wild.

Before Dazai could even reach them, however, Nakajima sprang forward, running headlong into his arms. He tackled Dazai to the ground, knocking him flat on his ass.

Once Dazai righted himself into a sitting position, the weretiger wrapped his arms around his torso, ducked his head, and let his body crumple into Dazai’s chest as he dissolved into tears.

“I’m sorry, Dazai, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t…I couldn’t…”

As he babbled, he rubbed his cheeks across Dazai’s chest, smudging his tears in the man’s vest. He bumped his head up beneath Dazai’s chin, and before he could rub his scent any more upon him, Dazai’s arms came up and around his torso to hug him back.

He’d never seen Dazai like this before. His face was frozen in shock. His eyes looked almost vacant, laced with a distant fear that looked completely alien on him.

He tucked the weretiger’s head under his chin as Nakajima cried into his sternum.

Dazai was so still, Ryuunosuke wondered if he was even breathing.

One of the first things Ryuunosuke learned about Dazai was that he did not allow people to touch him. He was physically affectionate to some of the people he felt close to, but he had to be the one to initiate it. You couldn’t be the one to touch him first; he learned that early on when he was Dazai’s subordinate in the Port Mafia.

Dazai himself was part of the reason why Ryuunosuke struggled to initiate physical contact with others. The man so thoroughly taught him that touch was off limits, it was hard habit not to integrate into his personality when he was a young, impressionable teenager. Really, it was just a boundary that was specific to Dazai, but it was a habit that bled its way into his social skills (or lack thereof) from then on out.

The only exception Ryuunosuke found to Dazai’s touch boundary was with Chuuya and Kunikida. Ryuunosuke assumed it had something to do with being his partner. Maybe it required a level of vulnerability from him that he would only give to them. Who knew.

The point was that, this time, Nakajima had initiated the physical contact, and Dazai’s surprise was evident.

His deer-in-the-headlights reaction was brief, however. Once he seemed to get his bearings, he clutched the weretiger closer to him, and started rubbing his cheeks atop Nakajima’s head, roughly mussing up his hair.

Nakajima’s legs wrapped around his torso, sitting himself firmly into Dazai’s lap as his mentor stroked his back, his hair. He sat there, speechless, as the weretiger wore himself out.

For the first time in Ryuunosuke’s life, he thought Dazai looked completely out of his depth. His eyes locked with Ryuunosuke’s over Nakajima’s back, and for one, terrifying moment, Dazai looked utterly lost.

The moment passed as quickly as it came, and Dazai’s eyes hardened as they looked at him.

As Nakajima shook in his arms, Dazai seemed to come back to himself, just a little. He whispered softly to the crying weretiger.

“It’s okay, Atsushi, I’m here.”

His confidence was shaky at best, but he clung to him tightly.

“You’re safe.”

Nakajima nodded blearily, keeping his eyes closed.

He looked so young, in that moment.

Ryuunosuke often forgot that his partner was still a teenager. The fact that he was two years younger than him scarcely registered to him, with how competent he was in a fight, and how emotionally mature he was.

But growing up too quickly didn’t mean a person was immune to the demons of their past. He knew that better than anyone. If Ryuunosuke had been in his place, what would he have done?

As Dazai seemed to get a better hold on himself, Ryuunosuke watched as he placed Nakajima’s head in his hands. Dazai leaned down, rubbing his cheeks onto Nakajima’s, smearing his own face in tears. He closed his eyes, and put their foreheads together, leaving them there for a long minute.

“You’re safe, Atsushi.”

As he pet the weretiger’s hair and back, his gazed fixed back upon Ryuunosuke, eyes like flint. It was the exact expression he remembered Dazai wearing when he worked for the Port Mafia. He freed one of his arms to extend his hand in Ryuunosuke’s direction, and crooked his finger once, a clear come here. It was a command, not a request.

Ryuunosuke obeyed him by default. He approached them without thinking.

Dazai said nothing, but pointed his finger down at the ground next to him.

Kneel.

Ryuunosuke fell to his knees on autopilot. He was suddenly very afraid.

Ryuunosuke was the literal monster here, but with one look Dazai could make him feel like a scared, insecure 15-year old again, desperate for praise, hungry for direction and purpose.

Dazai reached out to grab him by the wrist, and pulled him closer.

He twisted Ryuunosuke’s wrist harshly, making him cry out.

“Did you know?” Dazai’s voice was quiet, but his eyes were livid. He hadn’t seen him this furious in a long, long time.

“No, no, of course not, I promise,” Ryuunosuke flailed in his grasp, “Neither of us knew, we just went to the address Mori gave me.”

Dazai’s grip on his wrist rotated, morphing into a hold that was no longer combative. He seemed satisfied with that answer.

His face still held an air of disdain for Ryuunosuke, but anything was better than the unfiltered cruelty he knew Dazai was capable of when someone crossed him.

He brought Ryuunosuke’s hand to Nakajima’s hair, and kept it there, for a moment.

“Akutagawa is here too, Atsushi.”

He moved Ryuunosuke’s hand through Nakajima’s hair.

“He’s here for you too, just like I am.”

Nakajima startled, looking over at Ryuunosuke behind his back. He sniffled as Dazai let go of his hand.

Ryuunosuke took the hint and lightly ran his hand from the top of the weretiger’s hair to the nape of his neck, nodding wordlessly.

He cleared his throat, trying to find words for him.

“Y-yes,” he wheezed, “yes, jinko. I’m here for you.”

He tried rubbing circles into the weretiger’s back, for lack of knowing what to do.

“I’m going to stand up now, Atsushi,” Dazai’s voice was clearer, now.

He got to his feet, bringing the weretiger with him. Dazai smoothed over Nakajima’s clothing, his hair, dusted off his pants. He nodded at the weretiger, seemingly satisfied. Ryuunosuke followed.

“Let’s go home, okay?”

Nakajima nodded dully at him, looking at the ground. Dazai led him to the cab on the curb, and ushered him inside.

Once Nakajima had scooted into the backseat, Dazai turned back to him, facing Ryuunosuke on the sidewalk with an unreadable gaze.

“You’re going to come back with us,” his voice was quiet.

“What?” Ryuunosuke’s heart jumped with nervousness, surprised at being addressed, “Why?”

“He can’t be alone right now. I need you to keep an eye on him tonight.”

Ryuunosuke didn’t understand. Dazai clearly had a rapport with Nakajima. Wasn’t Dazai the obvious choice for such a task? It wasn’t like Ryuunosuke didn’t want to do it, but—

“It needs to be you, Akutagawa.” Dazai’s expression was strange. Discomforting. And oddly still.

Ryuunosuke set aside his confusion and nodded, anxiety pooling in his stomach. Dazai nodded back at him in resolve, clutched his bicep with a rough grip and maneuvered him into the backseat of the taxi. He then crossed to the other side of the car to get in on the other side, putting Nakajima firmly between them for the ride back to the ADA dorms.

As Ryuunosuke squished in next to him, he couldn’t avoid noticing how Nakajima was now drenched in Dazai’s scent. He willed himself to ignore it.

While they were in transit, Dazai explained to them that Nakane had already fled the scene, and was no longer at the orphanage. Once Ranpo discovered Nakajima’s whereabouts, he did some digging, and deduced their target’s new location, sending Kunikida and Tanizaki to arrest him instead. This left Dazai free to collect Ryuunosuke and Nakajima from the orphanage and update them with their new intel.

That also explained why the man who answered the door didn’t look too spooked to see them, nor surprised when they suddenly left without explanation.

Nakajima had stopped crying, by now, but his eyes were vacant. He didn’t react to much on the drive back. Ryuunosuke tried to make sure their arms were connected, their legs, sides. Anything to convey the comfort he thought the weretiger might want.  

Once they reached their destination, Dazai got Nakajima out of the cab and led him to the dorms. Ryuunosuke followed them until they reached the weretiger’s door.

“Akutagawa is going to stay with you, tonight,” Dazai’s voice was calm, but firm.

The confusion was clear on Nakajima’s face as he looked back at his mentor, but he nodded, accepting the information quicker than Ryuunosuke expected. He got his keys out, fumbling with the door for a moment, before Dazai put his hand on Nakajima’s back.

“It’s going to be okay, Atsushi. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Nakajima slowly blinked at Dazai. Dazai blinked back.

Nakajima pushed his door open without further preamble, shuffling inside with all the grace of a bull in a china shop. He knocked into a chair, a table, before setting some of his things down.

Ryuunosuke stood there, completely out of his depth.

“Do you like…tea, jinko?”

Nakajima turned to him with a face that made no sense at all. Were there too many emotions there, or too few?

“Yes, I like tea.”

“I’ll make some.”

He threw himself into Nakajima’s kitchen, opening every cupboard and drawer he could find. In part, he wanted to acclimate himself with the area, to make sure he knew where everything was; he wouldn’t be very good at taking care of the weretiger if he didn’t know where he kept everything.

And kitchens were a safe space for him. Cooking, baking, brewing tea, they were calming tasks for Ryuunosuke. It was a great pity he could no longer enjoy the benefits of eating or drinking anymore, but if he had someone to cook for, that would be a great distraction for how fucking weird this entire situation was.

Ryuunosuke found the kettle (an old-fashioned one, not even electric), set it to boil, and found some frankly sad-looking tea bags in a jar by the coffee machine. No matter. He started at putting some tea together for the two of them before Nakajima’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“I have a question for you, Akutagawa.”

His voice sounded very far away, but Ryuunosuke was afraid to look at him, for a reason he couldn’t name. Something was off.

He turned to look at his partner, and jumped when he realized the weretiger had gotten very close to him, without him hearing. He had just been across the room, near the table, when he’d looked last. He was now only about an arm’s space away, but he hadn’t made a sound.

“What is it, jinko?”

He tried not to betray how nervous Nakajima’s gaze made him. He was eerily still.

“When you drink from humans,” Nakajima took a slow step closer to him, “does it feel good, for them?”

“What?”

“All the stories about vampires say that it feels good for their victims—euphoric, even—when the vampire is draining them. Something to do with keeping them still so that they can’t run away.”

Ryuunosuke took a deep breath in, setting down the mug he was holding.

“Why are you—”

“So, if someone wanted to feel good,” the weretiger stepped ever closer, “and they wanted to stop feeling…bad things…for a while..."

He could see where this was going. He needed to stop this train of thought before it could go any further.

“Jinko, I don’t think—”

“Would you do it?” His eyes shone, his voice almost a whisper, “would you drink from them if they asked?”

The kettle screamed.

Chapter Text

Akutagawa fumbled with the shrieking kettle as it sprayed steam in his face.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Atsushi didn’t care how forward he was being anymore. He wanted this; needed this.

Akutagawa turned off the burner, fumbled with a few things on the stove in an attempt to run from the conversation, but Atsushi wasn’t going to let him. He stood his ground.

Akutagawa swirled around to face him, eyes wide, shoulders hunched. To call him shocked would be an understatement; his reaction was more akin to panic.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” Atsushi nodded. He wasn’t sure what his own facial expression looked like, for it to garnish such a reaction from his partner, but his mind was fixed. This would make him feel better.

It hurt too much. He just wanted to stop seeing things behind his eyes every few seconds. There was no warning for each horrific image, no wearing himself out. They wouldn’t stop. He needed to stop thinking.

“I want you to answer my question, Akutagawa.”

Akutagawa raised his arms as if to put distance between them, but decided against it, awkwardly holding his hands up near him without purpose.

“Uh…your question?”

“Does it feel good, for your victims, when you drink from them?”

“I mean, yes, but—”

“I want it.”

Akutagawa took a deep inhale, eyes wide, and circled around him to walk into Atsushi’s living room. Atsushi followed him.

Before he could reach him, Akutagawa swung around.

“No.”

“Why not?”

Atsushi was sure this was a rhetorical question. Why wouldn’t Akutagawa take him up on this? It would be a simple act of symbiosis, mutually beneficial for the both of them. There was no down-side.

“You’re…not in a good head-space right now,” Akutagawa’s breathing was heavy. He tried not to look Atsushi in the face, but he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

Atsushi took a step closer.

“It wouldn’t be right,” Akutagawa muttered. His eyes started to take on a glimmer that Atsushi now came to associate with success.

“What, does my blood not smell good to you?”

Akutagawa backed into his coffee table, jostling it across the floor. He knew it wasn’t fair to tease him, but Atsushi was determined. He could figure out, by now, that even if his blood was no different from anyone else’s—even if Atsushi wasn’t special—Akutagawa still wanted it.

“That’s not—”

“You’ve never thought about it before?” he cocked his head. Atsushi would feel guilty about goading him later, but that was a problem for future Atsushi. All that mattered was getting what he wanted.

Akutagawa visibly swallowed.

“About?”

“Drinking from me.”

Akutagawa was markedly silent. Atsushi didn’t miss the quick glance his eyes took up and down his body.

Yes. He could work with this.

“You’re not denying it.”

Akutagawa covered his mouth and nose and took a deep breath, trying to escape from him further, before Atsushi caught him by the arm. He made sure Akutagawa was looking him in the eye.

“I want you to use me.”

“No—no, jinko, you have no idea what you’re asking—”

“Yes, I do. I want it.”

Atsushi brought their bodies closer together. Akutagawa’s eyes became fixed upon his neck. Whatever he could see there, he liked. He wanted.

“I can’t…I can’t do that, jinko.”

Akutagawa’s eyes kept moving from Atsushi’s neck, to his eyes, to his mouth. He looked unbearably vulnerable.

While keeping one of his hands on Akutagawa’s arm, Atsushi slowly undid the first few buttons on his shirt, opening his collar. With his free hand, he pulled his collar back and down, so that his neck and clavicle were exposed.

Akutagawa physically recoiled. His eyes were shining, transfixed upon the sight of Atsushi’s bare skin.

Atsushi moved further into his space, crowding him.

“That’s…that’s not fair…”

“Just tell me you don’t want it, and we can forget I ever asked.”

Their bodies were almost touching. Atsushi swallowed. Akutagawa’s gaze followed the motion, watching his throat bob. His eyes darkened. They looked greedy, eager.

Atsushi brought his free hand to the back of Akutagawa’s neck, and gently pressed him forward, leading him towards his open throat.

In one, quick moment, Atsushi could physically see the transformation across his partner’s face as Akutagawa betrayed his true hunger. Atsushi thought, in that moment, that he’d never forget the way Akutagawa looked: ravenous, voracious, starved, as he bared his fangs. It was as if he’d forgotten that Atsushi could see him, in the split second before the plunge.

Then Atsushi felt it.

He’d been so quick, Atsushi hadn’t even seen him move.

That was his last coherent thought before the sensation took him.

It was like his whole body was set aflame, but from the inside out. He felt every vein in his body, and they screamed in pleasure at the intrusion. His blood pulled through his veins for the teeth at his neck, rushing forward for them, magnetized, singing.

Distantly, he felt the two of them stumble backwards, towards the couch, but his mind was too far away to care.

Both of Akutagawa’s arms were around him. One hand was fast around his waist, clinging tight, while the other was in his hair, cradling the back of his head. Akutagawa’s fingers tightened in his hair, harshly pulling them to force Atsushi to bare more of his throat, and he moaned as the pinpricks of pain ricocheted down his spine from his skull.

There was pain, yes, but it felt so fucking good.

He’d never been so turned on in his life.

Akutagwa’s body was on top of him, surrounding him on all sides. He could feel where Akutagawa’s fangs were embedded into his throat, pinning him down. The complete and utter loss of control was almost a greater high than the effects of the draining itself. A high whimper left Atsushi’s open mouth as he blindly chased the pleasure with his hips, rutting against whatever part of Akutagawa was against his groin.

It wasn’t enough. He thought he might cry from the onslaught of stimulus alone.

It was as if his blood had always belonged to Akutagawa, and he was simply taking back what was his. It crooned for him, begging to be taken and consumed until there was no more he could give. Atsushi wanted Akutagawa to have it all, he wanted him to take everything—

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

Atsushi could barely hear Akutagawa’s voice; couldn’t think of anything past how completely and utterly turned on he was. Every nerve ending in his body was alight with pleasure, with sensations he couldn’t begin to name. He wanted to get off, he needed it. He could feel his hard-on in his pants, but he couldn’t reach it. He couldn’t move any of his limbs. If only he could touch himself—

“Jinko—jinko!! Oh fuck I’ve killed him—”

Atsushi wanted to tell Akutagawa he was fine, really, he just now had a raging boner and hopefully Akutagawa wouldn’t notice, and perhaps maybe they could sleep for a while? Or maybe Akutagawa would touch him, take off his clothes, have his way with him…that would be even better…

“you aren’t allowed to die on me, jinko, you promised!”

That got his eyelids to flutter.

“Mmm up. I’m up.”

His head lolled to the side. He was laying down on something soft. Maybe his couch?

“Mmm not dead, Akutagawa…”

He flopped his hand somewhere to his left, and thankfully made contact with something solid. The something solid took his hand in his. Akutagawa’s scent was everywhere; it elated him to know it was in his home, on his clothes, in his hair, in his veins.

Fuck, he wanted him so badly.

“You’re healing ability will restore your blood, right, jinko?”

His voice sounded so…odd. Why did he sound like that? Like he was shaky, frightened.

Akutagawa had no reason to be frightened.

“Yeah, o’course.” Atsushi swayed his head from side to side, to prove his point.

He felt himself being jostled here and there by gentle hands. A pillow was placed under his head, and a blanket that smelled like Kyouka was placed atop him.

His vision was blurry, but he could feel Akutagawa kneeling next to him on the floor, beside the couch. Akutagawa put one had on his face, exposing his neck again, and for one thrilling moment Atsushi thought he’d go back in for more. Shamelessly, he stretched out for him, wanting nothing more than to be taken again by nothing but his teeth and his bottomless hunger.

What he felt instead was a thick, wet tongue laving at the wound on his neck.

Atsushi shivered as new ripples of pleasure reverberated through him, his head rolling back.

Many animals licked at wounds to clean them, in an attempt to hurry along the healing process. At least, that’s what Atsushi assumed he was doing (it’s what his tiger would do, after all). He wanted to tell Akutagawa that such an instinct wasn’t necessary, as his regenerative abilities would heal him on their own. But that would require talking, which was honestly going rather poorly for him.

Also, Atsushi quickly decided that he would rather die than ask Akutagawa to take his mouth off of him. He didn’t care what Akutagawa’s mouth did to his body—eat, suck, kiss, destroy, lick, tear, bite—he didn’t care. Akutagawa could do whatever he liked, and Atsushi would thank him for it.

Atsushi felt Akutagawa’s hands softly pet his hair, smoothing the strands away from his face.

Atsushi opened his eyes fully, focusing them onto his partner in front of him.

“Take me to bed, Akutagawa.”

Akutagawa made a strangled noise as he coughed into one of his hands, trying to hide his shock. His eyes were wild.

“What?”

“I don’t wanna sleep on my couch,” Atsushi was hardly bothered by his partner’s discomfort or confusion. Frankly, it hardly registered.

“My bed’s not far, and it’s much more comfortable. Will you help me?”

He looked down at himself and back up to Akutagawa, wondering what part of his request didn’t make sense.

Akutagawa took a few deep breaths, seeming to recover from whatever had disoriented him. He nodded, reaching for Atsushi, and brought him up to a sitting position.

“How much of your body can move right now?”

“Mmm.”

Atsushi tried moving his arms, and found he was regaining feeling in both his arms and legs.

“I think I can stand, but I’ll need help walking, I think.”

Akutagawa nodded, taking Atsushi’s hand and wrapping his arm around Akutagawa’s shoulder for support. With another look from Atsushi, he stood the two of them up from the couch.

Atsushi wobbled, clearly unused to the sensation, but was sure he could make it to his room without too much trouble.

On his second step forward, Atsushi’s legs gave out, unable yet to withstand his weight. Before he could hit the floor, however, Akutagawa caught him, scooping him up into his arms in a bridal carry.

Atsushi had never known Akutagawa to have much in the way of physical strength. His human body had always been frail and thin, but that never mattered, because Rashoumon could do all the things his physical body couldn’t. It could shield him, bear an astounding amount of weight, and accomplish nearly anything Akutagawa wanted, so Atsushi was very confident his partner didn’t have the upper body strength to bridal carry anyone.

Before Akutagawa was turned into a vampire, he used to have Rashoumon carry Atsushi like a purse when he wanted to transport him somewhere, so Akutagawa suddenly having the strength to carry him—physically carry him—had to be a new vampire perk.

He was too out of it to even be embarrassed, really. He just softly thunked his head against Akutagawa’s shoulder, letting his senses readjust to the land of the living.

Akutagawa walked them into Atsushi’s room, turning on the light as he entered. He tried approaching Kyouka’s bed in the center, thinking it was Atsushi’s, but he patted his partner’s chest softly, trying to get his attention.

“That’s not mine, that’s Kyouka’s.”

Akutagawa’s perturbed gaze drifts towards him in confusion.

“Don’t you only have one room in this dorm?”

“Yeah, I sleep in the closet,” he pointed to the closet in question as Akutagawa took a solid moment to process that sentence.

The judgy look was back.

“Do I even want to know?”

“Oh, it’s not that complicated,” Atsushi waved him off, pointing to himself, “I’m a cat. I like tight spaces. Makes me feel safe.”

Akutagawa’s harsh expression softened, ever so slightly.

“Also…the Agency put Kyouka in my dorm when she first fled…the Port Mafia…and this was the only bedroom…so I wanted her to have it.”

He could hear his words slurring a bit, as these were the biggest sentences he’d formed in a while.

“And we liked it…so we kept it that way.”

Akutagawa nodded at him, opening the closet door and setting him down onto his futon inside. His motions were surprisingly gentle as he laid Atsushi out onto his bed. Akutagawa began to pull up his covers over his body when Atsushi stopped him with his hand.

“Stay with me.”

His vision was swimming a little, but he could see the obvious torment on his partner’s face. Akutagawa opened and closed his mouth a few times, like a fish.

“Gotta make sure I survive the night, right?”

Atsushi got a hand on Akutagawa’s shirt collar, partially so that he could remain sitting up, but also so that he could be touching him, so that he could feel he was close.

“Besides,” he blinked, slowly, his tiger expressing its gratitude to Akutagawa without even realizing it, “Dazai told you to stay with me, so you may as well stay close. I could fly off the handle at any moment…” he chuckled to himself.

“Jinko, please,” Atsushi thought he saw the tiniest of smiles on Akutagawa’s face. He tried hiding it with a scowl, but Atsushi caught it anyway.

“I’m out of controooool,” he flung his whole body back in a bout of sluggish delirium, giggling quietly as he went.

“I definitely took too much.”

“Mmmm.” Atsushi looked up at him from where he laid on his bed, sheltered by the dark safety of his little closet, and blinked twice, smiling, comfortable.

As Akutagawa loomed above him, Atsushi saw it again: the vulnerable, nervous look on his face that meant he wanted to do something he thought he wasn’t allowed. He slowly blinked back at Atsushi.

“Do you like tight spaces, Akutagawa?”

Akutagawa cleared his throat, readjusting himself so that he was sitting on the floor next to Atsushi. He was closer, though, and Atsushi liked that.

“I don’t…think I liked it before I was turned.”

His eyes looked far away, like he was contemplating the life he had before. Before everything went wrong.

He shook his head, looking back at Atsushi.

“Now, though,” he shrugged his shoulders, “I find that I seek out tight spaces…quite often.”

“Vampire thing?”

Akutagawa nodded.

“I think so.”

Atsushi reached out to take Akutagawa’s wrist in his hand.

“Well, if you’re staying the night—like Dazai asked—I would want you to sleep somewhere you feel comfortable."

He pulled Akutagawa forward. Akutagawa stumbled a bit, falling partially on top of him, but righted himself so that he was instead lying beside Atsushi inside the small closet. The space was so small, however, that it forced Akutagawa to be pressed completely against Atsushi to be able to fit into the futon.

Atsushi loved it.

Before he could fully let himself drift off to sleep, he wanted the closet door closed. He slept best when completely ensconced in his dark little haven.

He leaned up, reaching over Akutagawa to shut the door, and in doing so, took a quick look down at his partner.

He hadn’t noticed until now, but Akutagawa’s normally pale skin had pinkened, his face looking livelier, healthier, with rosier cheeks, redder lips, completely unblemished. It was a slight change, but took Atsushi by surprise, once he’d realized:

His blood had done this.

His blood had made his friend happier and healthier.

Akutagawa’s life source was a thing he that he now had to stringently ration out of a bag. Stale blood. Old blood. When was the last time he got to have food that actually physically rejuvenated him?

Atsushi had known for a while that he wanted Akutagawa. But he knew, deep down, that a romantic or even sexual relationship with the man was completely unattainable. He still wasn’t even sure if his partner considered him a friend, yet Atsushi would take anything the man would be willing to give him.

He accepted long ago that he could never have Akutagawa the way he wanted. Maybe this…new symbiotic relationship could give Atsushi the closeness with him he always longed for. Maybe it would finally allow Akutagawa to see him as a friend, or at least someone he could trust as an ally. It wouldn’t be like a real relationship, but he would be needed. He would be wanted, he would be helping his friend live a better quality of life.  

He closed the door to the closet, as he stole one more glance down at Akutagawa beneath his body. His eyes were wide and dark, looking up at him with an expression Atsushi didn’t understand. He couldn’t even see the slate grey of his irises, for how dilated they were, and Atsushi took a quick breath in before he realized he was staring.

He settled down beside and against Akutagawa, for the closet was so narrow that Atsushi never considered the possibility of fitting more than one person inside.

Atsushi wordlessly maneuvered Akutagawa so that they were both laying on their sides. With little to nowhere to put their arms, Atsushi wrapped his own around Akutagawa’s torso, shimmying down his body ever so slightly so that he could rest his head against Akutagawa’s sternum.

Akutagawa tucked Atsushi’s head under his chin, like Dazai had done for him a few hours ago, letting his arms wrap limply around Atsushi’s back.

“Akutagawa?” Atushi’s voice was muffled into his partner’s shirt.

“Yes?” His voice was quiet, but sounded perfectly clear. He might not even have been tired, like Atsushi was.

“You can drink my blood whenever you want, you know.”

Akutagawa stiffened beneath him.

“Are you—”

“You need to eat, okay,” Atsushi rubbed his cheeks along Akutagawa’s shirt, bunted him under his chin, “it’s no big deal.”

He felt Akutagawa’s breaths quicken.

“Jinko—I…I’m not sure—"

“Let’s just go to sleep for now, okay?” Atsushi slurred, “you’re comfy.”

When Akutagawa failed to answer him, Atsushi could feel himself drifting off. He resettled himself, bringing his arms up between his and Akutagawa’s bodies. He felt around for his partner’s shirt with closed eyes, and half-consciously kneaded his hands into Akutagawa’s torso through his shirt. It was so soft, and it smelled so good, the sense of comfort was all-encompassing.

The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was Akutagawa’s breathing slowing down around him. Atsushi felt him wrap his arms around him just a little tighter.

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

Ryuunosuke woke to the sound of someone entering Nakajima’s bedroom. Their soft footfalls combined with a scent he recognized.

Kyouka.

He never thought to question why she wasn’t there the night before. She’d been away from the dorm all night, and was only just now returning home.

A nosy, greedy part of him wanted to know where she’d been. The shadow of his past self wanted to reprimand her for being out all night, wanted to interrogate her on her whereabouts. It was still hard to think of her as a member of the ADA, and not a subordinate who still reported to him in the Port Mafia. A part of him ached at the loss of her position in his life, for reasons he couldn’t place.

As she shuffled around the room, Ryuunosuke delicately freed one of his hands from around the weretiger, who still slept soundly in his arms. He was able to get his phone out of his pocket to check the time. 10:00am.

They’d slept for almost twelve hours. What the fuck. It was a Saturday morning, and neither he nor Nakajima had work today, but how in the hell did they let so much time pass? He hadn’t even woken throughout the night once.

The memories of the night before came back to him in waves.

He’d tried so hard not to give in to the weretiger’s demands. But thinking back on how stubbornly and doggedly Nakajima had offered himself to him, he struggled to keep his thoughts from devolving into mindless hunger and arousal from just the memory alone.

The weretiger’s blood tasted better than anything he’d ever eaten in his entire life.

Logically, he could just explain it away as a hunger bias. Like forcing someone to eat vegan meat when they’re not even vegan, then starving them for a week between meals. Give them a chance at an expensive steak and of course they’ll say it’s the best food they’ve ever had. Their opinion can’t be taken objectively because they weren’t being fed properly to begin with.

But Atsushi Nakajima was not an expensive steak. He was the man he’d unwittingly obsessed over for the greater part of a year. He was the person Ryuunosuke willingly died for so that he could have the chance to live. And he was never, never supposed to act on that obsession.

But becoming a vampire now meant that his desire for the weretiger had now altered to mean both sex and food, an injustice Ryuunosuke felt he would never recover from.

He was never, not ever, supposed to put himself in this situation.

So when he’d finally given in to Nakajima, all coherent thought had been lost. Putting his experience into words felt futile, and thinking about it only emblazoned him with the temptation to take more, over and over, every day, wherever Nakajima would let him—

Ryuunosuke took a deep breath through his nose and closed his eyes, in an attempt to center himself.

He needed to remember the downsides of last night, too. He’d definitely taken too much. His self-control—as threadbare as it was—promptly dissolved when he first got his mouth on the object of his desires. Willing or not, Nakajima was in danger the moment Ryuunosuke agreed to his proposition. If he didn’t have his regenerative weretiger ability, Ryuunosuke was certain he wouldn’t have survived it.

But there was no real way to be sure. Ryuunosuke wasn’t yet convinced that he could safely drink from humans without killing them.

Now you have the chance to practice, his mind unhelpfully supplied. He swallowed, looking down at the beautiful man squished against him. 

This was his first time drinking from a human after Bram’s death. He himself didn’t know how blood drinking would affect his victims until last night. His fleeting memories of turning humans into vampires involved some levels of euphoria for the people he’d bitten, but Bram’s influence clouded most of his conscious thought at the time.

But now, up close, he was able to see the affect he has on his victims.

Distantly, he registered that the experience was arousing for Nakajima. Personally, Ryuunosuke was so lost in the blood that he hardly noticed, but the smell of his sexual desire was hard to miss. It was Ryuunosuke’s first mouthful of live blood he’d ever tasted since having his mind returned to him, so every thought, every sense, was consumed in a single-minded, sanguine frenzy. Thoughts of sex were temporarily ignored in favor of his rapturous hunger.

Only after he’d pulled away, freaked out for a while, and fretted over the weretiger’s well-being did he realize that Nakajima was hard in his pants. He’d covered him with a soft blanket he found nearby, and waited for him to come to cognizance.

Nakajima had responded to blood drinking like he’d been drugged, which was disorienting at first. Eventually, though, it became clear that it was a side to Nakajima that purely existed to torment Ryuunosuke, specifically.

The weretiger had looked at him with those hooded, luminous eyes, his pupils dilated, and had asked Ryuunosuke to “take him to bed”—a memory he would not file away and shamefully revisit later.

He had put all his weight on Ryuunosuke when he tried to stand, but guilelessly allowed himself to be carried when it was clear he couldn’t walk.

He had rested his head against Ryuunosuke’s chest, opening up about his living situation with Kyouka, and his love of tight spaces.

And when Ryuunosuke had laid him down onto his futon, the weretiger had stretched out onto his back (exposing his belly, like a cat does for those they trust) and smiled at him, and blinked at him.

What was Ryuunosuke supposed to do? Reject such blatant displays of affection? It took next to nothing for the inebriated Nakajima to jostle him into his little closet, and nestle him into his futon.

The smell of Nakajima’s desire was everywhere, but Ryuunosuke chose to tune it out. The weretiger was clearly not fully conscious of his movements, his words, his lingering eyes. The temptation to touch him, to indulge in his own growing desire, was ever-pressing, but it wouldn’t be right.

They’d never done this before. The arousal Nakajima was feeling could very well be a side-effect of the blood drinking, for all he knew. It would make sense, if it were. From a vampire’s perspective, it would very much aid in feeding from humans if his fangs had aphrodisiac abilities.  

He wouldn’t know for sure unless they did this again (an idea which he couldn’t afford to think about yet). And he would never forgive himself if he found out that he’d unknowingly taken advantage of the weretiger when he was vulnerable and unable to truly consent. The thought sickened him.  

So he’d allowed the weretiger to manhandle him into a sleeping position that pleased him. He almost stopped breathing when he realized that Nakajima had begun kneading into his stomach through his shirt (making biscuits, as the cat videos like to call it). The weretiger had fallen asleep quickly after.

Ryuunosuke had been wide awake, with emotions high, but he hadn’t felt so full and content in so long. He was so comfortable, and very much enjoyed the closed space of the closet—

Ryuunosuke heard Kyouka close the bathroom door. Now was his chance to escape without being noticed.

He wasn’t sure how to approach what happened with Nakajima, but it was late in the morning and he needed to get home and just…think about all of this for a while until it made sense to him.

He cautiously detangled himself from Nakajima, edged the closet door open, and crept out. He quietly closed the closet door behind him, and when he turned around, Kyouka was standing right in front of him.

His entire body flinched in alarm, but he was very proud of the fact that he didn’t gasp in surprise. 

Her stare was deadly, and her weapons drawn.

Ryuunosuke silently gestured for her to get out of his way, holding a single finger to his lips to keep her quiet. She moved for him, but followed as he left the bedroom.

Closing the bedroom door behind her, she beat him to the front door before he could reach it.

Damn, she’s fast, Ryuunosuke kept his face neutrally blank, I taught her well.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was quiet, but clear. Her eyes were judging him, harsh and disdainful. A dark part of him hoped she’d learned that from him, too.   

“That’s none of your business.”

He tried to side-step her, but she wouldn’t allow him through.

“Did you hurt him?”

Ryuunosuke’s nostrils flared. He didn’t have time for this.

“If I’d murdered him in his home,” his voice, already quiet, dropped down to a whisper, “I wouldn’t take such care to not wake him up, Kyouka.”

Kyouka’s grip on her daggers didn’t flinch.

“I don’t trust you. Not with him.”

Well that makes two of us.

“You can go check on him if you want, but let me pass.”

She didn’t move, but something in her eyes shifted as her cold, unblinking gaze bored into him. For a terrifying moment, Ryuunosuke feared that she understood more than she let on. She relaxed her stance.

“Fine.”

She brusquely walked past him without looking back, and reopened the bedroom door. Taking the out for what it was, Ryuunosuke fled, using Rashoumon to remain as stealthy as he could.

Atsushi woke up alone.

Before he could think to pout about it, he checked his phone. It was noon. No wonder Akutagawa had already left. How could he have possibly slept that long? Atsushi was also an early riser, normally waking with the sun. He had to have slept over fourteen hours.

He scrambled out of bed and took a quick look around the dorm for Kyouka. She was in the living room.

He greeted her with a feeble wave and made himself something to eat before rushing over to Dazai’s dorm a few doors down.

After a few timid knocks, Dazai appeared in his doorway.

“Atsushi,” he drawled, stepping aside, “come in.”

Dazai’s dorm looked like the same layout as his, but in reverse. Atsushi settled down onto Dazai’s couch as his mentor busied himself with making them coffee.

Dazai’s dorm was sparser than his own, but Atsushi had never known his mentor to have people over in large groups, like some of the younger members did. He’d only ever come over when he was alone, and he would bet Dazai preferred it that way.

As different as the two of them were, they both liked their coffee the same way: lots of cream, lots of sugar. Though Dazai sometimes ordered his iced when someone else was paying.

Dazai put the cheap instant coffee in front of him, and sat at the opposite end of his couch, cupping his own coffee near his face.

“How are you feeling, Atsushi?”

“Uh…” he picked up his drink and took a sip, to embolden himself. The coffee was bland, but there was still a comfort to it. That Dazai had made it for him.

How was he feeling? Atsushi’s body felt heavy. No one really asked him that question very often. He certainly didn’t grow up with the sentiment. As a result, he never quite knew how to articulate a real answer to it.

“I…I don’t know, to be honest.”

“Well,” Dazai sipped his coffee, “how did last night go, after I left you?”

Atsushi fought to keep the coffee from slipping out of his hands.

“What?”

“Did Akutagawa stay with you?”

“Oh. Uh, yes.” Atsushi looked away, feeling skittish, “Yes, he did.”

“Well,” Dazai continued, “did it help? Having him there?”

“W-uh, yes, but...”

Atsushi’s eyes caught his. Dazai knew. He knew something. He always did.

But before he could follow that train of thought, he blurted out the thing that had been occupying his thoughts since he knocked on his door.

“Why didn’t you stay with me?”

Dazai’s expression shifted, ever so slightly

“Atsushi…”

“I just don’t understand. I’m comfortable with you. I trust you. Why did you send me away? You helped a lot yesterday. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up when you did—”

“Atsushi, listen,” Dazai angled his body towards him, setting his coffee down, “everyone copes with trauma differently, but you wanted something last night that I wasn’t willing to give you.”

Atsushi’s brain halted.

“What?”

“You wanted someone to hurt you,” Dazai kept his voice calm, but his body language looked rigid, pulled taut, “and I’m not the right person to give you that.”

“I don’t…” he couldn’t find the words, “I don’t understand.” He looked up, locked eyes with him, “that can’t be right.”

“It’s common for some survivors of physical abuse to cope with it using masochism. It makes some people feel like they’re reclaiming their memories, to redefine the pain on their own terms.”

Atsushi shook his head, a denial on his tongue he couldn’t vocalize.

“What did you and Akutagawa do last night?”

Atsushi inhaled sharply through his nose.

“You must have kept him busy, since he didn’t leave the dorms til 10:00 in the morning.”

How?? How did he know that?

When he didn’t respond, Dazai continued.

“Did you two talk about what happened?”

Atsushi couldn’t move.

“Did you cuddle?”

Atsushi held his breath, beginning to understand.

“Did you fuck?”

“No!” the pressure in Atsushi seemed to burst, “we didn’t…”

“So then, what did you ask him to do to make the pain go away?”

Atsushi set his coffee down. He was sure he’d spill it at this rate. He wiped his sweaty hands across his pants, unable to look at Dazai. Of course he’d figured him out. He always could see right through him.

“How did you know…” he looked down at his shaking hands, “…that I wanted…?”

“I didn’t know,” his body was unnaturally still, “not really.” He didn’t like the way Dazai’s eyes looked, how they were sharper now, darker, “but I recognized the look in your eyes.”

Dazai brought his coffee to his lips, his gaze distant.

“It was awfully familiar.”

Atsushi felt tears prickle at his lashes. He didn’t know what to say.

Dazai’s demeanor changed immediately at seeing him shudder. His softness returned.

“It’s okay, Atsushi,” he reached an arm out to him, without actually touching him, “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Atsushi took deep breaths through the tears that didn’t quite manage to fall. He blinked them away.

Atsushi thought of Akutagawa. He thought of his fixation on Dazai, his need to please him, his loyalty to a man who seemed to not care for him at all.

“If someone else had asked you,” Atsushi picked his coffee back up, to keep his hands occupied, “to hurt them, would you have said yes?”

Dazai’s stare glazed over into something foreign, something Atsushi scarcely recognized. It was unnerving, cold, ruthless.

His voice was soft, but dangerous, “I don’t think you’d like the answer to that question, Atsushi.”

A chill ran down his spine.

Atsushi supposed there would always be parts of Dazai that he would not be invited to understand. He was closer to his mentor than most, but he knew very little about his Port Mafia days. He had a sneaking suspicion that this…more frightening version of him was who he was all the time back then. He also suspected that Dazai would forever withhold who he used to be from Atsushi, for better or for worse.

For now, at least, Atsushi was satisfied with not knowing. He had enough on his mind.

Ryuunosuke’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Taking it out, he saw a message from Nakajima, saying, “I meant what I said yesterday. When you get hungry, text me.”

Ryuunosuke blushed at his phone. Looks like the weretiger beat him to the punch to bring up what had happened between them last night.

Dazai forced them to exchange phone numbers when they were first reunited again for missions a few weeks ago. They never really texted each other, unless it was for logistical purposes and meetup locations, but at times like these, it was both a blessing and a curse to have a direct line to him.

He licked his dry lips as he contemplated his answer. He thought about whether responding too quickly would come off as overeager, but on the other hand, taking too long to respond might discourage Nakajima from extending the offer again.

He was quickly becoming aware of the fact that he wasn’t willing to let this opportunity escape him. He wanted to be strong enough to deny Nakajima, but he was slowly accepting the fact that he wasn’t. He was going to drink his blood again. The sooner he did, he rationalized, the better the chances were that he wouldn’t react like a starved animal, like last time.  

It took all of his willpower not to type, “where are you right now?” but instead said, “tomorrow?”

Tomorrow was a Sunday, so both of them had work the next day. Hopefully, this would give Ryuunosuke the foresight and caution to contain himself a bit better when trying this out a second time. Perhaps knowing what he was getting into beforehand would help him have more self-control.

He hoped he wasn’t deluding himself.

When Nakajima sent an affirmative text back, Ryuunosuke sent him the address of one of his favorite restaurants, and a time to meet him. Nakajima gave him a thumbs up, and that was the end of it.

Ryuunosuke tried to keep his hands from shaking as he put his phone away.

The next day Ryuunosuke found himself in front of one of his preferred kaisendon establishments. He figured the weretiger would appreciate their specialty—raw seafood over rice—as a sufficient bribe to get him to attend.

Nakajima appeared on time, face fresh, eyes smiling.

As he used to be a regular here, he was able to get them a table in the back, further away from most of the open spaces. The restaurant was packed, but Ryuunosuke didn’t mind; the more people they were, the less likely they were to be noticed.

“I’m paying, so get whatever you want.”

Before Nakajima could argue with him, Ryuunosuke silenced him with a glare and a quick, “Shut up, jinko.”

Nakajima smothered an unnamed positive emption. As he picked up the menu, Ryuunosuke cleared his throat.

“Since I can’t eat human food anymore,” he began, “we’ll blend in better if we just order two dishes you like.”

Nakajima’s eyes sparkled with interest at the menu in front of him.

“I’m sure it won’t be a problem for you to eat both of them.” He tried to keep a straight face, to not to betray the fondness he felt. He knew how much the weretiger could eat.

“No, it will not.” Nakajima agreed, smiling down at his options.

Once they’d ordered their food, Nakajima brought his attention back to him.

“Why did you ask me to meet you here?” it wasn’t accusatory, just honest, curious. Ryuunosuke wasn’t quite able to read his facial expression.

“You could have just met me at the ADA dorms. You know where they are.”

Ryuunosuke paused, in an attempt to choose his words carefully.

“You’re feeding me,” he fiddled with his glass of wine he pretended to drink, “It’s only fair if I feed you, as well.”

Nakajima’s confusion was apparent.

“You don’t have to do that, Akutagawa.”

“I know,” he tinkered with his silverware, uncomfortable with the level of honesty he was forced to express, “but it’ll be safer, for you, anyway, if you have food in your system before I…” he wasn’t quite comfortable saying it out loud, much less in public, “well…”

“You don’t owe me anything, you know. I’m helping because I want to—”

“Stop talking, jinko,” he fought hard to keep the color from rising in his cheeks, betraying him in their intensity. He couldn’t look Nakajima in the face.

“it’s…hard for me…to accept your help. Like this.”

Nakajima had the grace to keep quiet, to allow Ryuunosuke to collect himself.

“Those are…my terms. For allowing your help.”

Nakajima’s face was doing that annoying thing it did when he was struggling not to smile, but failing spectacularly. His mouth twitched around, not knowing what to do with itself, as his eyes beamed.

“Okay.”

Ryuunosuke exhaled through his nose, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. He deserved an award for being so gruesomely honest and communicative. He wished to never do it again. 

Nakajima thankfully spared him any further embarrassment by taking the lead in the conversation from then on out, until their food arrived. The weretiger chattered amicably, at ease enough with Ryuunosuke to tell him about how things were going at the ADA lately, a little bit about his friends here, a little about unimportant prattle there, but Ryuunosuke didn’t care. He was just happy the pressure of talking wasn’t on him for a while.

And besides. He didn’t mind hearing Nakajima talk about his interests, the people he cared for. He hated to admit it, but it relaxed him. Engaging in the conversation himself became easier, more natural, even if it was just to bicker.

Nakajima had almost finished his second meal when he snapped Ryuunosuke out of his comfortable bubble.

“What if we did it here?”

Ryuunosuke lurched, spilling some of his decorative wine.

“Excuse me?”

That’s when he smelled it again. Nakajima’s desire. It was such a surprise he struggled not to betray too much of it on his face.

Nakajima didn’t look like he was joking. A bit playful, maybe, but he looked like he meant it.

“You’re supposed to eat at a restaurant, aren’t you?”

The question was rhetorical; it had to be. There was no way.

“You can’t think I’d drink from you in a dirty bathroom stall, jinko. Have some standards.”

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “it only seems fair.”

The mirth in his eyes was magnetizing. Ryuunosuke swallowed.

“That’s…” he floundered, unable to formulate a response, “I don’t think…”

“Aren’t you hungry?” he cocked his head, the coquettish little pest. 

His mouth twitched.

“Of course I am,” he lowered his voice, paranoid that they’d be overheard in the bustling restaurant, “but it can wait til we get back.”

For someone who seemed to enjoy having Ryuunosuke hurt him, the weretiger definitely had a sadistic streak when it came to this topic. He had to know when he was being unfair. This was another reason he tried never to put himself in this position: he couldn’t afford to let Nakajima have such an immense advantage over him. Yet here he was, buying his rival dinner so that his conscience could justify physically assaulting him later. 

“I think,” Nakajima leaned forward, painfully unaware of how attractive he looked doing it, “you should come to the bathroom with me, Akutagawa.”

Ryuunosuke could practically feel his resolve crumbling away.

He wasn’t doing this. He wasn’t. It was absurd. It was foolish, and reckless, and could get them caught—

“Fine.”

Nakajima’s smile was subtle, but his eyes betrayed him, dilated in the dim, golden lighting of the kaisendon. He seemed to shimmer in the glow of the ambience around him.

Ryuunosuke followed him like the obedient dog he was.

The men’s bathroom was blessedly—miraculously—empty. Ryuunosuke watched Nakajima check each of the stalls, and verified himself that they were alone. He locked the door of the bathroom behind him.

As soon as the sound of the lock latching hit his ears, it was like a switch flipped within him. He rounded on Nakajima, his restraint thinning at an alarming rate.

Before he could move, he watched hungrily as Nakajima made quick work of unbuttoning his shirt for him, eyes latched onto his.

He crossed the distance in an instant, slamming the weretiger into the wall of stalls as he sank into him in one swift motion.

The blood rushed up to meet him. The ecstasy was immediate, lush, overpowering in its compulsion to drink, consume, devour.

But he’d fed two days before. He didn’t lose himself this time, not fully. That was the goal, after all. To train himself to drink responsibly.

He was more aware of himself, this time. He had his left hand around one side of Nakajima’s neck, maneuvering him, exposing him. The weretiger’s head was thrown back against the stall, eyes closed in as he panted through his rapture. He gasped when Ryuunosuke shifted against, him, spreading Nakajima’s legs to slot himself between them and pinning his hip against the stall behind them with his other hand.

Nakajima groaned into his ear as he took from him, gorging himself on the very thing that kept his partner alive. He couldn’t help gripping the weretiger’s neck a bit tighter at the thought of it. He distantly heard a breathy wheeze leave Nakajima’s mouth.

The smell of the weretiger’s arousal was so tempting, so exhilarating, almost inebriating in its potency. Ryuunosuke wanted to ravish him, take him apart piece by piece until he was screaming. His eyelashes fluttered with the urgency of his own desires as he released Nakajima’s throat, withdrawing his fangs as his body screamed in protest.

He deliberately cut himself off around what he considered the halfway point of being satiated. It physically pained him to do so, but realistically, he had no way of knowing how much his self-discipline would really pay off until afterwards. He licked his lips clean, trying to focus.

Ryuunosuke’s hand on Nakajima’s hip was very close to his clothed erection. He didn’t know if he had permission to reach in, to take his cock in hand and stroke him until he whined for release. He itched to touch him. The inches that separated them felt like miles.

Nakajima breathed heavily beneath him, eyes open now, but lidded. Their breaths mingled, hot and humid. They were so close they could have been kissing, if Nakajima wanted it.

And he did seem to want it.

But Ryuunosuke still didn’t know where the line of consent was with his new power. He didn’t know how to ask. What would he even say? Do you actually want me, or is this a Pavlovian response you can’t control?

There was also the possibility that Nakajima was experiencing a sort of thrall from exposure to Ryuunosuke’s blood drinking. That too held layers of coercion—or worse, mind control—but he didn’t think Nakajima was behaving differently enough for it to be his primary concern. He’d have to ask him more questions, later, when he was more himself. He needed to be sure.

He couldn’t—he couldn’t—fuck him unless he was sure. He just desperately, desperately wanted to, and his mind was helplessly blank with pleasure and comfort at being fed.

He’d already met his quota for honest communication that day. He didn’t have it in him to expose his feelings any further, and really, had no more words with which to ask them.

Slowly—painfully—Ryuunosuke unglued himself from his partner’s body. He didn’t go far, and he didn’t remove his hands, but the distance, as small as it was, gave him the opportunity to ask:

“Are you alright?”

Nakajima looked deliciously rumpled. His shirt front was open and wrinkled, his face flushed, his hair ruffled, his hooded eyes almost black in the low-light, and the bloody imprint of his fangs shone bright on his neck. The image sent a jolt of arousal to his cock that he immediately swallowed down. He felt obscene looking at him like this.

Nakajima nodded.

“Are you able to talk?”

“More than last time.”

Good, he could at least…talk. Gods, the way he was looking at him.

Ryuunosuke couldn’t help smoothing his hair away from his face.

“I took…less, this time,” he brought his left hand back to Nakajima’s neck as he brought his other hand up his torso, slowly making his way to his own bite marks, to the evidence of the monster he was, now.

He couldn’t help wetting his lips as he moved his shirt aside.

He didn’t know if licking the wounds made it heal faster, or why his instincts told him to do it. Perhaps his saliva had healing properties, which aided in recovery? Perhaps it was the predatory, animalistic version of aftercare?

He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. His mind went blank as he gave into his compulsion to lave over the entry wound.

Nakajima took a sharp inhale through his nose and writhed. He swallowed, closing his eyes, and Ryuunosuke felt it against his tongue.

When he withdrew, Nakajima looked as gone as Ryuunosuke felt.

He had to leave. He had to separate them before he did something he couldn’t take back.

“Can you walk?”

Nakajima looked down at his own legs, dubious. He was still standing, so that had to count for something.

“Let’s find out,” his partner said with a shrug.

Ryuunosuke released him, taking enough steps back to allow Nakajima to try to move on his own.

He was successful, if not a bit wobbly. He moved a bit like he was drunk, but he didn’t need to be carried like last time (not that Ryuunosuke didn’t enjoy it, but they were in public, he didn’t want to arouse suspicion in one of his favorite restaurants).

“Do you feel…intoxicated, like before?”

Nakajima giggled a bit.

“Yeah, but it’s not that bad. It’s closer to feeling tipsy, so it’s manageable.”

Good. Good. They could work with this.

“Okay, jinko. Are you comfortable with heading home just yet?”

“We haven’t paid for our food, Akutagawa,” his smile was crooked.

“Well of course we’re going to pay for our food first, you idiot.”

Bickering was good. Bickering was normal. He needed to reestablish boundaries with the horny weretiger trapped in the bathroom with him before unleashing the two of them back into the wild, so it was an important first step.

He took a deep breath.

“We’re going to go back to our seats—”

If he as being honest, the blood affected him, too. It didn’t inebriate him, like Nakajima, but it did loosen him up, leaving him pliant, like taking a low-grade muscle relaxer.

“—and we’re going to pay for the meal, and we’re not going to embarrass ourselves as we leave because they know me, here, and I don’t want them to ban us from ever coming back.”

He'd meant it to be intimidating, meant his glare to be heeded as a warning, but Nakajima just chuckled, low in his throat.

“I’m okay, Akutagawa. I’ll be fine.” His smile looked genuine, albeit a bit foggy. He extended his arm, “Lead the way, then.”

Nervously, Ryuunosuke unlocked the bathroom door. He heard Nakajima following him out as he marched back to his seat with a confidence he did not feel.

Thankfully, their server hadn’t assumed they’d run out on their tab. The kind woman who’d taken their order found them soon enough.

Ryuunosuke was anxious to get the two of them out of there. He felt dirty, like what he’d done was plastered all over his face, and the staff would see it and know. Exhibitionism was never his thing, and though he distinctly did not have sex with Nakajima in that bathroom, the aftermath felt strikingly similar.

Once he’d paid, he ushered Nakajima out of the restaurant and into the night as nonchalantly as he could, hoping beyond hope that the wait staff didn’t notice how red in the face they both were.

Once on the street, Ryuunosuke felt he could finally breathe freely. The night air felt good on his warm, ruddy cheeks.

“I’m taking you back to the ADA, jinko. Let’s take the train.”

“You don’t need to do that, Akutagawa.”

“It’s my fault you’re like this, jinko. You’re not changing my mind.”

He walked next to him, refusing to make eye contact. The weretiger accepted his decision with less arguing than usual.

Once they reached the train, they sat together in amicable silence, thighs and arms touching, the warmth between them tangible and alive. Ryuunosuke could feel his sense of propriety unraveling by the second.

Once they’d reached the ADA dorms, Akutagawa stopped at the foot of the stairs leading up to Nakajima’s door.

Realizing that Ryuunosuke was no longer next to him, Nakajima turned around, an obvious question in his eyes.

Ryuunosuke didn’t want to give him the opportunity to ask. He didn’t trust himself to refuse him if he did. His current track record of refusing the weretiger was evidence enough.

“I…appreciate you doing this, jinko,” he had to move, he had to start walking away, before his partner vocalized what they were both thinking, “I’ll be in touch.” 

He saw Nakajima open his mouth to do just that, but before he could, Ryuunosuke all but fled the scene. It felt wrong, unnatural, to turn his back on him, but there was nothing to be done for it. He needed to know more before he could tempt himself further. His self-control around Nakajima was in tatters as it was, and his limits were nearly depleted. He couldn’t risk being near him a second longer.

He’d almost reached his own apartment when a message from Mori came through, summoning him to the Port Mafia headquarters.

It wasn’t too late at night, so Ryuunosuke thought nothing of it. He didn’t particularly like getting called into work on his day off, but he was supposed to report back tomorrow, so it wasn’t the greatest offense Mori could commit.

He rerouted, even more relieved that he hadn’t allowed Nakajima to seduce him tonight. He would have definitely—without a doubt—ignored his boss if he’d been in the middle of whatever the weretiger wanted from him. He didn’t know what Mori would do in that scenario, and he quite frankly didn’t want to know.

He may be a vampire now, but it was foolish not to have a healthy fear of Ougai Mori. Ryuunosuke wasn’t even sure if his new, preternatural body could die, nor how it could be done, but knew for certain that Mori had a plan for it in case he stepped out of line. Best not to risk it.

Once he’d made it to the boss’ floor, he stepped out of the elevator and knocked on Mori’s office door.

“Come in.”

Ryuunosuke closed the door behind him, composure returned and professionalism reinstalled.

“You asked to see me, sir.”

“Yes,” Mori’s smooth voice was like silk, deceptively soothing, always hiding something darker.

It was with a distracted surprise that he realized Mori had someone with him.

He recognized the tall, lanky man a moment too late.

“I would like to introduce you to a new associate of ours. His name is Koutei Nakane, and he’s going to be helping us for a while.”

Chapter Text

Ryuunosuke’s ears were ringing.

He desperately tried to hide the onslaught of emotions that surfaced at seeing Koutei Nakane cozied up to the boss of the Port Mafia. It took every ounce of willpower in his body to keep a straight face, to feign nonchalance, to flat out ignore the raging tempest of hatred that threatened to leak from the corners of his eyes, his nose, his mouth. He was simultaneously struck with the fear that any attempt to hide his reaction would fail. 

But Mori seemed to be hardly paying attention to him at all, his cold eyes glued to their guest. He seemed to be picking him apart with his own gaze, a mask of grace and hospitality resting easily upon his face. He was a professional liar, after all; it was unclear whether Nakane bought the false sense of security he was being offered.

Mori finally turned his attention to Ryuunosuke, smiling.

“Mr. Nakane will be working as a member of our cyber security team from now on.”

Despite his personal vendetta against the man, Ryuunosuke wasn’t sure why he was being introduced to someone whose department couldn’t be less relevant to his own. What was the point of this introduction? And could he please have a moment alone with Nakane so that he may break every one of his fingers and toes? Perhaps gouge out his eyes? His weretiger did not approve of him killing, you see. Permanent dismemberment was allowed, however.

“Mr. Nakane, this is the commander of my guerilla attack force, Ryuunosuke Akutagawa.”

Nakane deftly pretended to have never seen him before as he bowed in greeting.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Akutagawa.”

“Now, I hate to cut our meeting short, but Akutagawa and I have business to discuss.”

Mori began walking Nakane to the door of his office, genteel and polite.

“Once you walk out that door, you’ll see a man in a grey suit; he’ll show you to your new workspace in the technical operations wing.”

Nakane nodded along, looking very willing to leave any room that had Ryuunosuke in it.

As soon as Nakane left, closing the office door behind him, Mori swept back towards his desk, beckoning him to follow.

It was easier to school his features into a blank slate of neutrality once Nakane was gone. With just him and Mori in the room, he could rely on habit and muscle memory, morphing his facial expressions back under the veil of brisk professionalism he always wore for his boss.

He knew better than to speak first, to ask the question burning at the tip of his tongue.

“I apologize for sending you on a wild goose chase for him, Akutagawa,” Mori seated himself at his desk in one fluid motion, “but I had to make it look like I was as equally invested in his arrest as the Armed Detective Agency was.”

Ryuunosuke took the unspoken permission to speak for what it was.

“I thought the government wanted him.”

“They do,” Mori steepled his fingers, a smirk at his lips, “but if he evaded capture when we tried to arrest him, it’s out of our hands if he goes off the grid, isn’t it?”

Mori wanted Nakane in the Port Mafia. Why?

“I’m not sure I understand, sir.”

“He has information I want,” Mori’s voice turned amicable.

“He had a level of clearance in the military that any intelligence operative would kill for,” Mori’s smile was languid, at ease in the way it was when things were going exactly as planned, “and he has an insurmountable amount of dirt on a number of institutions. The government is wise to hunt for him.”

Ryuunosuke fought not to squirm under his gaze.

“But I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to snatch him up for ourselves. I don’t have to explain how lucrative his skills would be for the Port Mafia. Additionally, he has intel that I have a particular interest in.”

Mori held up a single thumb drive.

“This is the real reason he’s here,” Mori turned the thumb drive around in his hand, “I offered him a trade: the protection of the Port Mafia in exchange for the intel on this flash drive, as well as his conscription into our technical operations division.”

So Nakane understands how delicate his position is here.

“It definitely has the information I wanted on it. But he’s hiding the fact that there are two other flash drives’ worth of material on the subject, so the data is incomplete.”

“How do you know?”

“I have my ways.”

Ryuunosuke didn’t want to know. It was beyond his paygrade.

“I would like you to find the location of the other two thumb drives, and deliver them to me.”

Ryuunosuke’s stomach lurched in anxiety. He hoped his feelings didn’t reflect on his face.

“Me, sir?”

“You’ve been assigned to him since day one. It makes the most sense to keep you on the job, seeing as you already have experience dealing with him. He’s quite the slippery one.”

When Ryuunosuke didn’t reply, Mori continued.

“I don’t care how you get it. Investigation, subterfuge, torture, whatever you like. You have full jurisdiction from me; I just want those flash drives.”

Ryuunosuke nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“Wonderful. You’re dismissed, then.”

Ryuunosuke bowed, taking his leave as quickly as he could without betraying the torrent of violent unease that was ripping through him.

Every step away from headquarters made his vision swim with a blur of sound and color. Crippling nausea, fear, and rage clamored for control of his body. What was fuck was he going to tell Nakajima?

Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself taking the train back into the direction of the Armed Detective Agency.

When he was properly aware of his own body again, he was standing at Osamu Dazai’s dormitory door. He didn’t have the man’s phone number, and it was well past midnight, but Ryuunosuke didn’t know what else to do, who else to turn to.

He knocked, flinching at the sound of the wood against his knuckles. What if Nakajima heard him a few doors down? What if he came to his door to check who it was?

Ryuunosuke heard shuffling inside, and within seconds, Dazai was opening the door, looking down at him with an expression he didn’t understand.

“Can I help you, Akutagawa?”

“I…” Ryuunosuke fidgeted, unready to speak to him face-to face, unprepared for his undivided attention, “can I come in?”

Dazai squinted at him in suspicion, but stepped aside for him, frowning.

Ryuunosuke rushed inside, the dread in his limbs propelling him forward.

Dazai did not sit, but merely walked over to his kitchen counter and leaned back against it, waiting for Ryuunosuke to begin.

“The Port Mafia has Koutei Nakane.”

Dazai’s nostrils flared. His frown deepened as he took a deep breath in.

“Mori just called me in to introduce me to him,” he wrung his hands together, unsure of what to do with them, “I don’t understand what’s going on, why—”

“What did Mori tell you?”

“He,” Ryuunosuke gulped, desperate for air that didn’t seem to want his lungs, “he said Nakane was going to be working for the Port Mafia now, in exchange for safety from the authorities.”

Dazai’s stare was severe.

“A-and that, that Nakane had information that Mori wanted, and he needed me to get it from him.”

“What kind of information?”

“Mori said that Nakane gave him a flash drive of the intel he asked for,” Ryuunosuke’s palms were sweaty; heat prickled under his skin, “but Mori says he’s hiding two more flash drives, and he ordered me to find them, by any means necessary.”

“And you don’t know what’s on these flash drives?”

“No.” Ryuunosuke thought he might throw up.

Dazai hummed, and for a blessed moment, Dazai removed Ryuunosuke from the burden of his gaze, looking off to one side to think aloud.

“I suspected that Mori was the reason Kunikida and Tanizaki were unable to arrest Nakane on Friday,” his lips pursed in disdain, “but I didn’t have proof. Suggesting such a thing to the president during our truce with the Port Mafia would have been unwise without the evidence to back it up.”

Ryuunosuke looked down at the floor, licking his lips in apprehension.

“And Atsushi doesn’t know yet that we haven’t arrested him,” Dazai continued, eyes grave, “seeing as he was sent home Friday night, and has had the weekend off. We were going to tell him tomorrow morning when he came in for his shift.”

That’s right, tomorrow was Monday. How would Nakajima react? Ryuunosuke wanted to run damage control, but didn’t know how. He felt like he was to blame, by association alone.

“Akutagawa, why did you come here tonight?”

Ryuunosuke’s eyes widened, terror alight in his veins.

“I…I didn’t know who to ask—”

“You know what’s on those flash drives, don’t you?”

“I…I don’t,” he gasped, “I really don’t.”

“Then why are you telling me, and not Atsushi.”

Ryuunosuke hugged his stomach, an innate habit carried over from his youth, screaming at him to protect his vital organs from the man in front of him. The man his mind unconsciously and unequivocally understood as his jailer, his idol, his abuser, his reason for living.

“I…I don’t…”

“I think you know. Or at least, I think you have your suspicions.”

Ryuunosuke shook his head. For a horrifying moment, he thought he might cry.

“Nakane had no paper trail during the fifteen years he worked at Atsushi’s orphanage,” Dazai’s eyes pinned him in place, paralyzing him, “and we know he was busy, covering up what the orphanage was doing to Atsushi all those years.

He folded his arms across his chest, looking down at Ryuunosuke in a way that made him twitch with nervousness.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re a fool if you haven’t noticed Mori’s interest in Atsushi.”

His interest? In the weretiger?

Ryuunosuke shook his head.

“The bounty on him last year was just about money, and strategic—”

“Oh, Akutagawa, don’t lie to yourself.”

He couldn’t breathe.

“The ADA has me, Yosano, and Kyouka, three human assets that Mori would have never released willingly. His plan to acquire Atsushi—” he put his hands in his pockets, “—and I’m sure he plans to acquire Atsushi—is not just about getting petty revenge over his own members switching sides.”

Ryuunosuke didn’t want to hear any more. He wanted to leave. He didn’t want to suffer Dazai’s contempt and disgust any longer than necessary.

“I think he intends to make Atsushi your partner in the mafia, like Chuuya was mine,” his eyes softened, ever so slightly, “but not because you work well together. You two being in separate institutions doesn’t affect your efficiency or your results.”

He looked off into the middle distance, seeing past him.

“I think he wants Atsushi as insurance,” he looked back at him, “to make sure you stay in the Port Mafia.”

“W-what…” Ryuunosuke floundered, “Why would he possibly need that? I have no reason to leave the Port Mafia—"

“You’re a vampire now, Akutagawa,” his face was no longer disdainful. It was almost as if he looked hopeful for him.

“You don’t need to answer to anyone anymore. Your talents were near incontestable before, but since being turned, your powers have doubled. On top of that, the incident was a traumatic experience for you. You’re a wild card now, and that frightens him.”

“But I’m loyal, I’ve always been loyal to the mafia, to Mori—”

“He doesn’t care about that,” Dazai’s expression was the closest thing to compassionate he’d ever seen in his direction, “the facts tell him that you’re a risk for defection. Especially since your partner works for a rival organization.”

“But that’s…that’s not…”

That’s not fair. I haven’t done anything wrong, yet.

“And Atsushi,” Dazai continued, “is the person he believes will make or break that risk.”

Ryuunosuke’s thoughts stopped.

“What are you—?”

“If Atsushi was in the Port Mafia, you would have no reason to leave. You would be kept in line, and Mori would believe that the debt owed to him by the Armed Detective Agency had been repaid.”

Ryuunosuke was wise enough not to challenge Dazai on why having Atsushi near would keep him happy. Why being on the same side would discourage him from disobeying Mori’s orders. He wasn’t foolish enough to make Dazai say it aloud, and Dazai, for his part, gave him the mercy of not spelling it out for him.

“The flash drives are about the jinko, aren’t they?” Ryuunosuke fought to keep his voice level.

“Fifteen years is a long time to cover up the detailed experimentation and torture of a gifted child. If there are three thumb drives worth of material, I’m guessing each one covers about 5 years’ worth of records of what they did to him.”

The idea that Nakane still had those records—that he’d kept them as a bargaining chip to save his own skin—made Ryuunosuke want to finally break the promise he’d made not to kill.

The temptation was excruciating.

He itched for the man’s blood, for his suffering.

“Don’t get distracted, Akutagawa.” Dazai’s voice cut through the thirst for violence that threatened to consume him, “You’re right to hate him, but he isn’t the priority, here.”

Ryuunosuke fought his breathing, his anger, tried to calm himself. He tried to be like Dazai: calculating, cold, composed.

“You won’t get what you want if you lose track of who’s pulling the strings,” he narrowed his eyes at him, “Mori is the real threat, do you understand?”

Ryuunosuke closed his eyes, vying for control over his feelings.

“Nakane is no longer the risk to Atsushi’s safety. Mori is.”

He opened his eyes, looking into Dazai’s. It was odd, but remembering Mori as the source of his problems didn’t distress him. It was a familiar feeling, like having your joints ache when a storm was coming. It happens every time, so you know what to expect. Mental preparation was second nature when it came to understanding Mori’s brand of insidious danger.

His boss was a fear he understood, a fear he knew. The familiarity of it was almost a comfort. Almost.

“Well then,” Dazai leaned up off his countertop, “It looks like you don’t need me to tell you what to do next.”

Ryuunosuke nodded.

“I’ll take my leave,” he turned to the door. Before he could reach it, he turned back to look at the man who used to be his mentor, a man he still loved and sought to please, despite everything.

“Thank you. For…”

“Go,” Dazai lifted his chin towards the door, “I look forward to hearing how it goes.”

Ryuunosuke’s skin ran hot in anticipation as he walked out the door.

I do too.

On the train home, Ryuunosuke e-mailed a member of the scheduling department, requesting Koutei Nakane’s work timetable and location. He was promptly informed that the man had been put on third shift, which wasn’t surprising. The Port Mafia did a large portion of their business at night, especially if it was illegal. Data cover-ups and technological subterfuge would be the most useful to them during those hours, so most of their tech ops were working night shifts.

That worked perfectly for Ryuunosuke. He could head back to headquarters right now and question Nakane at his earliest convenience. It was past 1:00am, but if he was actively at work at the moment, he had jurisdiction to interrupt him.

Besides, there was no way Ryuunosuke was getting any sleep tonight, not when the man who hurt his weretiger was comfortably installed in the underbelly of his own workplace, safe and whole.

No. He’ll sleep when Nakane squeals.

He sank down into the lower levels of the technical operations wing, to the floor he was told would house Nakane’s new workspace.

He moved without thinking as he single-mindedly found his way to Nakane’s desk. As he came to a stop in front of him, Nakane jumped in surprise.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Akutagawa?”

“I need you to come with me, Mr. Nakane.”

He patiently waited as the man nervously got up from his desk to stand in front of him. He was taller than Ryuunosuke, but he was smart enough to understand the danger he was in.

Ryuunosuke led him to a separate wing, dipping several more floors beneath the surface.

“Where are we going?”

“I’ll explain momentarily.”

Ryuunosuke tried to pretend nothing was wrong, at least to the best of his ability. He wasn’t the best actor; lying wasn’t his strong suit. He never needed to do it in his line of business, so it wasn’t a skill he had to master over the years.

But he didn’t want to betray how dire the situation was for Nakane. He didn’t want to spook him enough to warrant an escape attempt. A chase would undoubtedly be more fun for Ryuunosuke, and inherently more satisfying when he ripped into him, but this asshole had slipped through his fingers too many times in the last month. He wasn’t going to risk losing sight of him now that he finally had him in his grasp.

Ryuunosuke led Nakane into an unassuming, empty hallway, where he found a room that he decided was suitably soundproof enough to satisfy his needs.

The interrogation room was dim and bare, but clean. It didn’t look particularly menacing, but that was why he’d chosen this one. A single chair sat in the middle of the space.

Ryuunosuke closed the door behind him, locking it with Rashoumon.

“Sit down, Mr. Nakane.”

Nakane, for his part, looked terrified, and shakily sat into the seat in front of him.

Rashoumon fastened itself around him the minute he sat down.

“I need you to tell me where the other two flash drives are.”

“Mori has the only one. There aren’t any others.”

He was beginning to sweat.

“See, I don’t believe you,” Rashoumon kept Nakane bound to the chair, but another tendril wrapped itself around his entire right foot and leg, from his toes to his kneecap.

“We know there are two others. You’re going to tell me where they are.”

Rashoumon began to squeeze against Nakane’s leg, slowly getting tighter and tighter. Nakane’s breaths became heavy, his words slurring through the pain.

“I don’t have them.”

“Sure you don’t,” Rashoumon tightened further, “but you know where they are.”

Ryuunosuke heard a satisfying snap beneath Rashoumon’s grip. Nakane screamed. The vice around his leg and foot was getting to the point where it would begin crushing his bones within seconds if he didn’t start talking soon. A few bones were already broken; Ryuunosuke could feel it.

He had wanted to dismember Nakane so badly, but what if Mori still needed his fingers for him to work at his computer? That would mean mutilating his hands may not be the best course of action. He’d need his eyes, as well, in case Ryuunosuke needed them in his search.

But nowhere in this scenario did Nakane still need his legs.

Nakane begged him to stop, screeching in pain, but Ryuunosuke had been trained in torture by Dazai, himself. If the screams of his prisoners had any effect on him, he wouldn’t hold as a high of a position in the Port Mafia as he did. And this prisoner was someone he had a personal grudge against, so remorse and sympathy were a luxury Nakane would never be able to afford.

Nakane’s bones groaned under Rashoumon, his eyes bulging.

“Okay fine! Fine!” he gasped, drenched in sweat, voice hoarse from exertion.

Ryuunosuke stopped the pressure, but did not abate it.

“One of the flash drives is in Tokyo, in a storage container.” He heaved, “and the other is in a lock box in a bank in Switzerland.”

Ryuunosuke applied further pressure, ever so slightly.

“Where in Switzerland?”

“Geneva.”

Fuck, that was halfway across the world. This was going to take longer than he anticipated.

Ryuunosuke was already planning ahead for how he could possibly include Nakajima in the search, without telling him what the intel was about. He’d have to thoroughly shower and wash his clothing after this, though. He couldn’t risk having Nakane’s scent on him when he went to see the weretiger tomorrow. The smell would give him away immediately.

“You’re going to give me the exact addresses of each of the locations, as well as the keys and passcodes for entry and retrieval. And you will be imprisoned here until I have verified that you’re not lying to me. Needless to say, I will make sure your death takes weeks to kill you if your information is false.”

Nakane was close to passing out from the pain, tears dripping from his eyes, his body shaking.

“Fine, yes, just let go of my leg, please.”

“Intel first,” Ryuunosuke got out a pad of paper and a pen from his coat, “then we’ll discuss whether I’ll leave some of your bones intact.”

Atsushi was typing up a report at the Agency on Monday morning when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

It was a text from Akutagawa, saying, “Can I come over later?” 

Atsushi’s cheeks warmed with delight. Akutagawa had never asked to come to his place before.

He desperately wanted to ask if it was because he was hungry, but he held back. He knew it would make him sound too eager, and he also didn’t want to run the risk of making Akutagawa feel self-conscious about his eating habits. The last thing he wanted was to make his prickly partner think he was making fun of him for something he couldn’t control.

He shot a quick, “yeah” back to him. He wanted so badly to know what the occasion was, but he figured Akutagawa would tell him on his own. He was easily spooked, so Atsushi feared he’d put him off from coming over at all if he asked for elaboration. Best to let him do things at his own pace.

Akutagawa told him what time to expect him, and Atsushi put his phone away with a dopey grin. When he looked up, he saw Dazai leering at him from his desk, chin in his hand and a mischievous gleam in his eyes that propelled him back into his report faster than an irate Kunikida ever could.

At the end of his workday, Atsushi made his way back to his dorm with Kyouka. They walked side by side, arms connected and legs walking in sync, as he preferred to do with her. Touching her and scenting her always eased his nerves.

“Hey, Kyouka?”

She looked to him with bright eyes.

“I’m going to be having Akutagawa over at our place in about an hour.”

Her eyes widened a fraction. She wasn’t the most expressive person he knew, but he understood her body language well by now; this surprised her.

“So, uh…”

“Do you need the apartment to yourself?” her words cut through him like a knife, “I can have a girl’s night with Naomi again, if you want.”

“Wh-what? No!” Atsushi flailed, embarrassed at the implication, “but…maybe? I’m not sure what he wants.”

Kyouka pursed her lips.

“You didn’t ask?”

“Uh…no?”

Her glare was scathing. She had to have learned that from Akutagawa; the similarities were uncanny.

“I don’t really know where I stand with him, so I’m trying to be respectful.” Atsushi put his hands in his pockets, “for all I know, he might just want to go over a new mission we’ve been assigned.”

“Didn’t he take you on a date yesterday?”

Atsushi spluttered, blushing.

“N-no! He absolutely did not.” He turned his eyes away from her, flustered, “We went out to eat together because…because…”

He wasn’t quite ready to tell her what he and Akutagawa were actually doing. He knew it would open up a can of worms he wasn’t ready to explain to her. It was honestly easier if she did think they were dating, or hooking up, or whatever. But that concept was mortifying enough as it was.

“…because I was hungry and he wanted to go over some of the details of our assignment on Friday that we...forgot about.”

“But he doesn’t eat human food.”

“Well I still do, so...”

Kyouka squinted at him, clearly skeptical.

“Anyway,” he tried steering the conversation in a direction that didn’t threaten to expose his rather questionable life choices, “he asked to come over, so I didn’t question it. I’ll find out what he wants when he gets here, I guess.”

Kyouka turned away, facing forward.

“I’ll just spend the night at Naomi’s again. She’s been dying to watch that new dorama that came out a few weeks ago.”

“You hate romance shows, though.”

“Her reactions are amusing,” Kyouka’s eyes crinkled a little, “and she never runs out of things to say about them.”

Atsushi smiled to himself. He loved to see Kyouka thriving in her social relationships. It was still a challenge for her to initiate, sometimes, but she was getting better.

“I’ll text Kenji, and ask him to join,” she got out her phone and began typing, “he also gets very loud and happy when we watch shows like that.”

Atsushi fought not to giggle at her. She’d grown just as much as he had in the last six months.

Once they reached their dorm, she went ahead of him and began packing an overnight bag while Atsushi tried making the apartment look a little nicer. They didn't have much, but it helped him to move some things around a bit.

“I’m leaving.”

Kyouka, efficient and spartan as ever, was at the door, all too ready to abandon him for the evening.

“Okay,” Atsushi approached her to say goodbye, bunting her forehead with his own, “Have fun with Naomi and Kenji.”

He quickly rubbed his hands along her upper arms for a moment, so that his scent could cover her properly. Satisfied, he blinked in farewell.

She blinked back, slipping out with a nod, and a “stay safe,” thrown over her shoulder.

Oh yeah, she definitely thought they were fucking. Atsushi sighed.

Oh well.

Before Atsushi could fret too much over the state of the apartment, he heard a soft knock in the entryway.

He opened the door to an uncomfortable-looking Akutagawa, takeout on his arm and a scowl on his face.

The smell of the food curled into Atsushi’s nose, comforting and immediate.

“You brought chazuke!”

“It’s dinnertime, isn’t it, jinko?” He toed off his shoes at the genkan, “Am I right in assuming you hadn’t thought far enough ahead to feed yourself yet?”

Atsushi took the takeout box from Akutagawa’s arm and began unloading it onto the countertop. His conspicuous lack of food anywhere in the kitchen was explanation enough. He guiltily looked back at him.

“…No.”

Akutagawa scoffed at him and made himself comfortable at Atsushi’s small dinner table. He took out a file of paperwork, a notepad, and a pen. Perhaps he was here for business, after all. 

Atsushi excitedly moved the chazuke to the table, sitting down with his chopsticks.

“How did you know my favorite food!?”

“It’s literally the only food you talk about,” Akutagawa sneered, “It’s a wonder you get any nutritional value at all when you only eat one dish as your source of intake.”

“Bold words, coming from you.”

He kicked Atsushi under the table.

Atsushi yelped, stifling his laughter as quickly as he could. Akutagawa’s glare was vitriolic, but held no real anger.

“I’m bothering you at home during the time you’d normally be eating. I also know how embarrassing your meal regimen is, so bringing you food is an adequate exchange for your hospitality, don’t you think?”

Atsushi shrugged, digging in.

“If you say so. I appreciate it, thank you.”

“Besides,” his face looked awkward again, for some reason, “I have a new mission from Mori that I want your help with.”

Atsushi nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“I have to make two trips out of town to retrieve information for him. One is in Tokyo, which won’t take too long to find, but the other one is overseas.”

A field trip to another country? Alone with Akutagawa?

“Sounds great, when do we leave?”

“Well...” he looked conflicted, uneasy, “This is…just a Port Mafia assignment. The president of the Armed Detective Agency hasn’t been informed about it, because it’s not a joint mission.”

Akutagawa drummed his fingers on the tabletop, clearly nervous.

“Did…Mori actually sign off on you bringing me, then?”

Akutagawa squinted, his gaze sidelong, grimacing with his mouth in a way that made the answer clear.

“He said he didn’t care how I did it, as long as it got done,” his eyes were clear, surer than before, “and it’s…a very important assignment. Getting it done quickly is paramount, and whether I like it or not, you and I get results when we work together.”

Some things weren’t adding up for Atsushi.

“Am I going to have to lie to the ADA to help you with this?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, “would they let you fly off to Europe with a member of the Port Mafia with little to no explanation?”

“Europe?”

“I told you it was overseas, jinko, keep up.”

Atsushi’s eyes widened as he continued to eat his chazuke.

“You might have to give me a little more information before I commit to this, Akutagawa.”

“Did…” he was anxious. He must not be used to hiding information from Atsushi. The thought comforted him, somehow, “…did Dazai tell you about Koutei Nakane?”

Atsushi’s heart sank.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “that we didn’t actually arrest him on Friday,” the thought threatened to take away his appetite, “I’d rather not talk about that, if we can help it.”

“Well, the most I can tell you is that this assignment is connected to Nakane.”

Atsushi snapped his head up to look at him, suspicious.

“How?”

“I can’t give you details,” Akutagawa’s unease was starting to itch at him, “but the intelligence I’m retrieving is connected to our attempts to catch him.”

“Why wouldn’t they want to collaborate with the Agency, then?”

“I can’t…” Akutagawa trailed off, “I’m not able to tell you that.”

Atsushi had a bad feeling about this.

“But getting this intel will help bring him to justice. I can tell you that much.”

Atsushi wondered if this "justice" was something that the ADA wouldn't approve of. Perhaps the Port Mafia was tasked with assassinating him. That would explain why Akutagawa had to be so tight-lipped about it. He couldn’t outright tell Atsushi about the mafia’s plans for premeditated murder without expecting him to tell the ADA.

“Well,” Atsushi tried, “do you think the Agency would let me work with you on this if I told them it was an unsanctioned effort to track Nakane down?”

“I can’t confirm or deny that that’s what we’re doing,” he responded, “but if you think it would work, I would ask.”

Akutagawa’s lips quirked up, eyes on the table, “we could just lie and tell them that I kidnapped you for a few days.”

Atsushi’s stomach flipped. Was Akutagawa flirting with him?

“Somehow I feel like they wouldn’t buy that.” Atsushi fought the smile that threatened to break out onto his face.

“Hmm. Shame.”

Akutagawa was being weird today.

“I’ll ask, though.”

If Atsushi was being perfectly honest with himself, he very much wanted to get permission to fly to Europe on an unauthorized mission to help catch the man who contributed to his traumatic childhood. He wished he knew more, but really, if he understood fully what the Port Mafia was planning, it was likely his conscience wouldn’t allow him to enjoy the trip the way he wanted to.

He’d never been on a business trip before. He didn’t feel like he was allowed something that sounded so fun, given the implications, but how could he refuse? Akutagawa needed his help, and they were partners, weren’t they? He wanted Akutagawa to know that he could come to him for anything, and this was an important step in affirming that.

Akutagawa almost never asked for help. He must really have a lot riding on this assignment.

“It wouldn’t hurt to make a game plan, though, in case they say yes,” Atsushi smiled.

Akutagawa shook his head at the open file on the table, fighting a smirk of his own.

As they pored over the files Akutagawa brought, which appeared at first glance to be a boring list of storage unit details and bank blueprints, Atsushi found himself hoping more and more that the president would let him go.

Conversation flowed easily between them as they coordinated some of the more basic elements of the trip to Tokyo. Akutagawa was a little sassier than usual, making their arguments more fun, more lighthearted.

“I’m not taking you with me to Switzerland unless you promise to eat actually good-quality food on the trip. No fast food, no chazuke.”

“Excuse you, I don’t think they’ll have chazuke where we’re going.”

“Their cheeses are exquisite, I’m not going to let you waste this opportunity—”

“Okay, first of all,” Atsushi held up a finger, “You’ll be fine dining too, so I don’t want to hear any complaints out of you—”

“Jinko!” Akutagawa covered his face with his hands, his ears pink, “stop talking, you’re so embarrassing—”

“What? You don’t plan on eating at all while we’re gone?”

Akutagawa buried his head in his folded arms on the table, making a strangled, beleaguered noise into his forearms before shooting his red face back up in his direction.

“Okay, we have to talk about this,” his silver eyes met Atsushi’s, “before we go any further.”

Atsushi wasn’t sure what he meant, but gestured for him to continue.

“Are you aware,” his partner began, “of the…of how you react to my fangs?”

“What do you mean?”

“The…side effects.”

“It makes me loopy,” Atsushi shrugged, “but that doesn’t bother me. It feels good.”

Akutagawa put his hands together, and brought them in front of his mouth, clearly unsure of how to phrase what he was trying to say.

“Are you aware of the…” he coughed, eyes skittering away, “physical response…you have when I drink from you?”

“Are you not talking about how it makes my brain fuzzy?”

“I am not,” he looked back at him, “I meant the other physical response you have when I…”

Oh.

Atsushi’s eyes widened.

Oh.

His face flushed as red as Akutagawa’s. He covered his own face in his hands, mortified.

“You uh…noticed that?”

“I can smell sexual desire, jinko, did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

“I mean, I kinda forgot?” Atsushi put his arm behind his head, “this past weekend was a lot, I wasn’t quite thinking about that...”

“Well that’s why I wanted to ask—”

“I’m so sorry, Aktutagawa, please don't think too deep into it—”

“No, I think you misunderstand me,” Akutagawa looked serious, despite his blush, “I wanted to know if the reaction was because of the blood drinking.”

Atsushi blinked rapidly, confused.

“What? Why?”

“Well, I quite frankly don’t know all the ways I affect my victims,” Akutagawa looked insecure, for some reason, “and I still don’t understand everything about the way it works…”

“Oh you’re…” Atsushi was beginning to understand, “you thought I was—”

“Do you think it makes you…” he looked pained, “do you think my fangs drug you into wanting sex?”

He looked so frightened at the idea, Atsushi completely forgot his embarrassment.

“No! Akutagawa, no,” he reached forward, without touching him, “it’s not like that.”

Akutagawa’s eyes were shiny. He looked so scared.

Reassuring him meant more than his wounded pride. It wouldn’t matter if he was exposing his stupid crush on the man. He couldn’t let him follow this line of thinking.

“I’ve had those umm…” he motioned with his hand, “...desires…for a while now.” Atsushi hoped he wouldn’t have to explain further.

“So it’s not…a reaction to…?”

“I mean, it’s very possible that you drinking from people will turn them on,” Atsushi was committing to this, he guessed, “maybe it is something that helps you get your food, I’m not sure.”

He swallowed, unable to look him in the eye.

“But for me, I’ve been attracted to you since…before you were turned,” he felt like he would die of shame, but Akutagawa deserved to know, “so…don’t beat yourself up about it, okay?”

He couldn’t look at Akutagawa. He felt the pressure in the air like a physical thing.

All at once, though, he heard a deep exhale from across the table.

“That’s a relief.”

Atsushi snapped his head up to him.

Akutagawa’s hands were on the table, his files forgotten, but he looked like a great weight had been taken off of him. His eyes were wide, and his breathing was heavy, but he looked as relieved as he said he was.

“Why’s that?” Atsushi couldn’t help himself from asking.

Akutagawa seemed to come back to himself, locking eyes with Atsushi with a blush still clinging to his cheeks. He saw Akutagawa swallow. If Atsushi hadn’t already been looking, he would have missed how Akutagawa subtly glanced down to his lips, before raising his eyes back to his.

“Why’s that, Akutagawa?”

Atsushi had no experience with romance or sex whatsoever. He lived his whole life as a prisoner in an orphanage where he had no friends or social ties to speak of. He had no frame of reference for how to flirt, how to ask someone out on a date, how to let a relationship progress naturally. He was more conscious of his lack of romantic awareness around women, since he was attracted to them, but had no idea what to do about it.

With Akutagawa, however, things were different, easier. There was no pressure to be anything other than himself, because there was no reason to impress Akutagawa. He was his enemy. He could say what he was thinking, he could behave impulsively, and as a result, Akutagawa inadvertently saw more of his real personality than most people.

Once Atsushi figured out that he was attracted to him, it didn’t really change anything. He still said what he wanted, did what he wanted. He assumed it was unrequited, but that didn’t mean he didn't want at least a friendship with the person he felt so close to.    

Navigating Akutagawa’s vampire behaviors gave Atsushi his first real excuse to explore ways to get closer to him in his own way. He impulsively tried things out, and saw what worked, and what didn’t. Once he got Akutagawa to drink his blood, it only made sense to keep acting on impulse, on instinct, on what he thought might work to hold his attention.

Now was no different.

“I…” Akutagawa continued to struggle before him, eyelashes fluttering, “I only mean…”

Atsushi decided to have mercy on him.

“Don't worry about it. Nothing needs to change between us, Akutagawa.”

Akutagawa stared. He looked at loss for what to say, but there was an anticipation there. An emotion he couldn’t place.

“I know that,” his eyes were eager. The hunger he’d seen in them before was present, but they weren’t talking about drinking his blood this time. Not really.

“Mmm,” Atsushi nodded.

“Stop looking at me with that face, jinko. It’s unnerving.”

“It’s just my face,”

“Well, stop it.”

He seemed to compose himself, picking his pen back up and clearing his throat, looking back to their pile of paperwork.

“Now, if you don’t mind, we should get back to work.”

Atsushi tried to hide his smile.

“Sure.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Atsushi jolted awake when he heard the lock to his front door jostling open with a key.

Shit.

Kyouka was home.

Panic seized him, driving him up from his place on the couch. He was alarmed to realize that he was naked from the waist down. Before his brain could keep up with him, he reached for Kyouka’s favorite blanket laying over the back of the couch. He flung it around himself, and almost tripped over his own two feet in a manic attempt to flee to their bedroom.

Kyouka opened the front door before he could reach his bedroom.

As her eyes fell upon him, she looked him up and down with a face that Atsushi desperately hoped was simple surprise.

“You’re awake,” was all she said.

“Uh…” Atsushi floundered for something to say, “yeah, I fell asleep on the couch.”

He edged his way towards the bedroom, terrified that she might realize he had his whole dick out underneath her blanket. He’d never felt more embarrassed in his life.

She looked at the blanket around him, dubious.

“I, uh…I was cold,” Atsushi stuttered, “so I’m gonna put some warmer clothes on, be right back!”

And without another word, he slipped inside his bedroom, slamming the door with more force than necessary, every hair standing on end like a startled cat. 

He covered his mouth with his hands and quietly screamed into them. He then scrambled around the room for adequate clothes to cover up the terribly incriminating situation he caught himself in. He’d been walking around, half naked, clothed only in yesterday’s work shirt, after having slept on their couch. Kyouka was a smart girl—who already thought that he and Akutagawa were fucking—so his embarrassment was all-consuming.

After he’d dressed himself in some casual clothes for the day, he heard a soft knock on the bedroom door. He opened it for her.

The excuse on his lips died as soon as he saw the pair of black underwear in her hands. His underwear—ripped on one side—which she gingerly held between two fingers.

“You left this in the—”

“I’m so, so sorry, Kyouka!!” he screeched, snatching the underwear out of her hands and hiding it behind his back, humiliation rendering him a chattering mess, “I…I don’t…”

“It’s fine, I don’t care,” she turned away from him, walking into the kitchen, “I don’t really want to hear about how they got there anyway.”

“W-wait, Kyouka, I can explain—”

“I don’t think either of us wants that,” her expression was pinched, but turned soft as she seemed to take in how distressed Atsushi had become.

“If you treat me to breakfast we can call it even,” her smile was small, but her eyes were bright.

And if Atsushi wasn’t mistaken, he thought he saw a glint of mischief behind them.

The relief he felt at her words was palpable.

“Yes, yes,” he babbled, “yes, of course, wanna go now?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” her eyes crinkled, “we have about two hours before we have to go in for work, so we have time.”

She turned back towards the front door, opening it for the two of them without looking back at him. Atsushi heaved a great sigh behind her back, eyes widening with renewed mortification. There was no beating the Akutagawa-fucking allegations now, was there?

He hurried after her, letting her lead the way. They didn’t talk, but the silence was comfortable. It always was, with her. They never needed to converse unless one of them was in the mood. The normalcy of it all calmed him down, easing him off the sharp precipice of anxiety he’d been toeing across.

The easy silence between them inadvertently gave him the chance to reflect on the night before. His cheeks flushed at the memory. He fought to keep himself from hiding his face in his hands; Kyouka would surely catch on if he did. If he hadn’t woken up the way he had, he would have honestly thought that the whole encounter had been a particularly memorable wet dream.

Atsushi swallowed down his budding arousal at the thought, and mentally revisited the schedule Akutagawa drilled into him. If Fukuzawa gave him permission to leave, they would depart tomorrow afternoon for Tokyo by train. 

Before he got the chance to think any further, though, Kyouka stopped them in front of a sit-down pancake restaurant. Atsushi couldn’t help but smile. 

“I thought you said you were going to broaden your food choices, Kyouka.”

“These aren’t crepes,” she shot back, “these are pancakes. It’s different.”

Atsushi pursed his lips, nodding, “these are just crepes, but fatter.”

“These guys give twice the amount of whipped cream and fruit, since it’s on a plate. And you get four or five pancakes out of it. It’s better.”

“More doesn’t always mean better, you know.”

“When it’s sweets, it does.”

He couldn’t argue with her there.

“Besides, we can get coffee here. I’m sure you want some.”

Atsushi’s face reddened instantly. He cleared his throat into his hand, looking away from her.

“Sure.”

She had no way of knowing how late he had been up with Akutagawa. She may not have even been implying anything by it, either. But he knew Kyouka; she was enjoying this. She only teased when she felt comfortable doing so, so technically Atsushi should count her torment as a blessing.

They were given a table, and placed their orders. When Atsushi’s coffee came, Kyouka quirked her eyebrow.

“An almond milk latte? I’ve never seen you order that before.”

Atsushi laughed a little, trying to keep a straight face.

“Yeah, Akutagawa says I’m lactose intolerant, so I’ve been trying to go without it. I’m having fewer stomach issues now, so he must be right.”

“How did he know that?”

Atsushi shrugged.

“I have no idea. Vampire senses, maybe?”

“Hmmm.” She sipped her matcha latte, a look on her face that probably spelled trouble for Atsushi.

“Oh,” he realized he should warn her about his upcoming trip, since he’d be leaving her alone at the dorm for the rest of the week, “I’ve been meaning to tell you, I’m going to be leaving town for a few days.”

“With Akutagawa?”

Atsushi fought to keep himself from spitting the latte out of his mouth. Before he could correct her, she interrupted his tangled thoughts.

“I won’t believe you if you deny it.”

Atsushi coughed, sure that some of his drink had gone down his throat the wrong way.

“…how did you figure it out?”

“You just brought him up, and then you suddenly jumped to the topic of leaving town without any further context.” Her gaze was flat, but not unkind, “wouldn’t take a genius to put two and two together on that one.”

He guessed she was right.

“Well, I can’t really tell you why I’m—”

“Is it a romantic getaway?”

“N-NO, Kyouka!!” he flailed, eyes wide, throwing his hands in front of himself, face on fire, “why would you even think that?!”

She tilted her head to the side, a skeptical look on her face.

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Actually! No, no I don’t.”

He never thought he could experience so much shame in the span of one morning. But leaving town without telling Kyouka would be out of the question, and she already assumed he and Akutagawa had been hooking up for a while, so he should have expected a conversation like this at some point.

“It’s,” Atsushi stammered, “it’s not a romantic getaway.”

“Hmmm.”

“It isn’t.”

“What are you going to tell the president?”

Atsushi sat back. He’d thought about this ever since Akutagawa brought it up with him. There was no way he wasn’t going to join his partner on this assignment. He’d already decided that last night.

“I’m just going to ask for some personal days off,” he said with a shrug, “I haven’t taken any sick days, time off, or vacation time from the Agency since we started working there, so I assume he’ll let me have them if I ask.”

Kyouka nodded in agreement.

“Don’t,” he started, but stopped himself, unsure how to phrase it, “can you keep this between us? That I’ll be leaving town with him?”

“Of course,” she agreed easily, “I have my own feelings about him, but I’m not going to interfere. He clearly matters to you.”

Atsushi felt like his face would just be permanently pink forever, starting today.

“It’s not like that,” he looked at the table, unsure where to put his eyes, “but I appreciate you keeping it private. For me.”

“I assume you’re also going to tell Dazai.”

Atsushi felt a sigh leave him, with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh yeah, I’m not looking forward to that,” his stomach squirmed with nervousness at the inevitability of it, “but I’ll definitely have to, since he normally organizes all of my joint missions with Akutagawa. And I tell him everything, anyway; he’ll want to know where I am.”

A thought occurred to him.

“I also think…it would be smart for at least the two of you to know, in case anything goes wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“I mean, it shouldn’t!” He moved to placate her, “but with nobody knowing where I’m going, it’s best to have the two of you on call in case of an emergency, don’t you think?”

It felt unfair, putting that on her. But it really was the safest thing to do, in his position. Besides, he trusted both Kyouka and Dazai, and they were more than competent enough to help him if he needed it. He was joining a member of the Port Mafia in secret on a mission that distinctly had no ties to his own organization. He’d be blind not to acknowledge the risk he was taking.

“I agree,” was all she was able to say before their pancakes arrived. Her train of thought disappeared in favor of her breakfast. Further discussion fell off, after that, to Atsushi’s relief.

When he told Dazai after work, later that day, he found himself exactly as uncomfortable as he anticipated.

“Can you tell me what the trip is for?”

“To be completely honest, I don’t know. Akutagawa won’t tell me, but he says it’s going to help bring Koutei Nakane to justice, and having me along will get it done quicker.”

Dazai’s expression was unreadable as he hummed back in response.

“I’m going to need your whole itinerary, including your flight plan, hotel locations, and general schedule for the assignment.”

Atsushi took a deep breath.

“You really need all that?”

“Oh yes. You need at least one person to know where you are at all times in case something goes south on foreign soil.”

So Atsushi was right to think of such a failsafe. Dazai’s lessons must be sticking.

“I don’t have the itinerary, Akutagawa has it, but I can just tell you if that’s okay?”

“Yep.”

Atsushi paused, unsure.

“It’s better if you don’t give me a hard copy of any details of what you’re doing,” Dazai clarified, “seeing as a hard copy can be discovered or stolen by an outsider. Memorizing the information is safest for everyone involved, and leaves no evidence behind.”

It was almost word for word what Akutagawa had told him the night before, when he’d asked Atsushi to memorize the schedule himself. He had been Dazai’s protégé before Atsushi, after all.

Atsushi carefully repeated everything he was tasked with memorizing last night. Periodically, Dazai would smile to himself in a small, secret way that Atsushi knew he wouldn’t elaborate on if asked.

“I’m not surprised the president is giving you the rest of the week off. You never ask for anything.” His eyes sparkled with mirth, “How devious of you, Atsushi. My former subordinate must be rubbing off on you."

Dazai’s smile was too devilish for Atsushi to discredit as innocent. His teasing was far easier to spot than Kyouka’s. How he figured out something had happened between him and Akutagawa, he didn’t want to know, but he tried to pretend the double entendre had gone over his head.

“You know that’s not true, Dazai,” he rolled his eyes at him, “I just have a special interest in this case, for obvious reasons, so I’m seeing it through.”

“If you say so,” he put his hands in his pockets, demure, “And you leave tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Atsushi nodded, “We’re doing the Tokyo portion of the mission tomorrow afternoon.”

“Well then, don’t let me keep you,” he began shooing Atsushi towards his door, “you need to pack. Have you ever even been on a plane before?”

Atsushi pouted.

“That doesn’t matter, I’ll have Akutagawa with me.”

“Yes, yes, he knows what he’s doing,” the shit-eating grin was back, “you’ll be in good hands.”

“Ugh,” Atsushi grimaced at him as he turned away, “I’ll miss you, too.”

Ryuunosuke got a text from Nakajima that evening saying, “I’ll be there tomorrow,” and nothing else. Ryuunosuke was horribly curious, but didn’t feel comfortable prying over text. What had he said to his boss to let him leave? Did he lie? The idea that the weretiger was potentially deceiving his superiors on his behalf gave Ryuunosuke a sharp little thrill, like they were sneaking out past curfew and their parents might catch them.

It didn’t matter, though. He’d ask him tomorrow. He texted Nakajima the time and train station he’d chosen, and tried to calm his rising nerves.

In the span of only four days, Ryuunosuke had gone from having a strictly professional relationship with Nakajima, to…what it was now. That kind of escalation was…rather terrifying, if he were to be honest with himself.

All of his sexual encounters in the past were matters of convenience and one-night stands. He’d never actually had a real relationship before. Nakajima had no relationship experience, either, but there was also no evidence that he wanted one. There was always the chance that he saw Ryuunosuke as an outlet for his stress, or an easy way to experiment with sex for the first time. His eagerness pointed in that direction, at least.

He tried to put the thought out of his mind. He would just have to take things at Nakajima’s pace, to gauge what he wanted from him. He knew, deep down, that even if Nakajima only wanted him for sex, he would accept it. He’d take whatever the weretiger would give him. He was confident that he did not have the courage to demand more, if it would risk pushing him away. No, best to simply keep him happy, and see where it went.

Ryuunosuke arrived at the train station early, the next afternoon. He brought a single, black, rolling carry-on suitcase with him to meet Nakajima.

The weretiger arrived on time, with a large duffel bag wrapped around him.

They boarded their train with minimal fanfare, and Nakajima set his bag onto the floor.

“We aren’t taking these to the shipyard, are we?”

“No,” Ryuunosuke shook his head, “Several train stations in Tokyo have luggage storage. I’ve chosen one that’s close enough to the shipyard but far enough away to keep any unwanted eyes off our trail.”

Nakajima nodded at him, his eyes open and honest.

Ryuunosuke wasn’t used to having complete control over a mission with the weretiger; it was a foreign feeling, but not unwelcome. Between the two of him, he was the only one who’d done any traveling—inside or outside Japan—and the only one who knew how to get where they were going. He wasn’t sure if Nakajima was aware of it, but he had to be putting quite a bit of trust in Ryuunosuke for this to really work.

The thought brought a warm prickle to his skin.

“Did you tell anyone where you were going?”

“Ah, yeah, I told Dazai…” Nakajima’s eyes skittered away, nervous, “He insisted on knowing everything about the mission.”

“Everything?” Ryuunosuke frowned.

“Well, in my defense, I only have the itinerary, not your actual plans or motives, so…”

“So he knows where you’ll be at all times during the trip.” Ryuunosuke couldn’t help his scowl.

Ryuunosuke used to always want Dazai’s involvement in his life, even if most wouldn’t call it a healthy influence. But when it came to Nakajima, his feelings were more convoluted.

He used to burn with jealousy over the fact that Dazai had replaced him with the weretiger. He resented that Nakajima got the newer, kinder version of Dazai, that their relationship wasn’t dysfunctional or damaging like it had been for him. He had many, many reasons to hate his former mentor, but the urge to please him never really went away. Petty rivalry over Dazai’s affection was still a common feeling he experienced when he wasn’t vigilant.

But since becoming a vampire, since developing a closer partnership with Nakajima, he found that this jealousy was being pointed more and more at Dazai anymore, not the weretiger. Dazai was now the one stealing Nakajima’s time, his attention, his love. The type of love they shared was irrelevant. It could be platonic, familial, or as simple as a common savior complex (and Ryuunosuke wouldn’t allow himself to contemplate any other kind of love between them; it upset him too much). But the point was that he did not have what Dazai had with Nakajima, and that fact still stung.

His first reason for living had abandoned him for his second, and the resulting sorrow and isolation made him feel like a perpetual outsider from the two people he cared about most.

Despite this insecurity, he reminded himself that it wasn’t Dazai who was going on a trip alone with his weretiger for five days, so that brought Ryuunosuke some petty comfort. He wished the menace would butt out of their personal business, though. He didn’t want him to be included on this mission in any way.

“…Is that okay?” Nakajima winced, “was it a mistake to tell him?”

Ryuunosuke sighed.

“No, it’s fine. He’s just annoying,” Ryuunosuke turned away from him, “nosy bastard.”

Nakajima chuckled, nodding in agreement.

Ryuunosuke had many reasons for including Nakajima on this assignment—most of them selfish—but a large part of him couldn’t justify leaving the weretiger unprotected in Yokohama for that long, knowing that Mori wanted him. He knew his boss; having Ryuunosuke out of town for a while was the perfect opportunity to make a move, even though he had no idea what such a move would look like.

He was taught to trust no one, and thus knew an insidious opportunity when he saw it. The risk was too great to leave Nakajima behind. He needed to keep him close, keep him safe.

Case in point, Ryuunosuke hadn’t hesitated to crowd into the weretiger’s space on the train into Tokyo. The groups of people around them gave him a convenient excuse to stay close, but his need to hover never really abated. Ryuunosuke would argue that the urge had amplified, for obvious reasons.

The only difference now was that Nakajima didn’t seem to question it anymore. He looked unphased by it, turning his body towards him as they spoke here and there on their hour-long train ride. Their transit was comfortable but quiet as the afternoon sunshine shone through the windows around them.  

They reached one of the bigger train stations of the city and dropped off their luggage before switching trains. The trip to the waterfront was quick, and neither he nor Nakajima noticed anyone following them, or anything out of the ordinary.

Ryuunosuke found the shipping container they were looking for in a sea of identical, drab-looking, green units surrounding it. Had Nakane not been as detailed as he demanded, Ryuunosuke feared he would have never found it on his own.

There was only one lock on the unit, but the passcode was over twenty characters long, and would be unusable for 24 hours if a single incorrect character was used. Ryuunosuke plugged in the password, holding his breath, before a soft chunk unlocked the device in front of him.

Nakajima grabbed the handle on the ground and rolled the large door open for them, letting Ryuunosuke go in first.

“Close it behind us.” Ryuunosuke looked into the storage unit with suspicion, “I don’t want anyone seeing or hearing us.”

Nakajima obeyed, sealing them inside with a swift pull of the handle.

It was musty inside, filled almost to full capacity with furniture, boxes, and even some farming equipment scattered about. Atsushi had never been inside a storage unit before, but Akutagawa seemed to know his way around. How did he know where to look? Atsushi knew he wasn’t allowed to ask, but the curiosity itched at him.

“Stand watch, jinko.”

Akutagawa began climbing into the pile of furniture in front of them. Before he could ask how he would be ‘watching’ with the door closed, his partner swiveled his head around to send him a caustic glare, seemingly reading his mind.

“You have superhuman senses, idiot. Use them while I find what I’m looking for.”

Ah, yes. His hearing, smell, and touch would be helpful in anticipating interlopers, wouldn’t they?

He focused on the surrounding areas around them, listening for trouble. When finding none, he chanced a look over to Akutagawa, who had reached the back of the shipping container and was now using Rashoumon to move bigger obstacles out of the way. He was focused on a large, wide dresser with a mirror attached to it.

Once Rashoumon cleared a place for him to stand, he began tugging open the drawers, in search of his mysterious objective. Rashoumon continued to free up space, forming a path from the door to the dresser, as he rummaged through it.

Atsushi heard a great exhale leave Akutagawa’s mouth in a triumphant “Ha!” as he pulled out a black, steel security box from the bottom-left drawer. It, too, was locked, but he watched Akutagawa punch in the code to open it within seconds.

Atsushi crossed the unit, crowding next to Akutagawa to look over his shoulder at what he’d found.

It was just a flash drive.

Atsushi made a face, underwhelmed. He was expecting something a bit more exciting, like a fancy weapon, documents on a juicy cover-up, or some other ornament one would find in a spy movie.

It took all of his self-control not to lean his whole body onto him. It would have felt nice.

“Are you allowed to tell me what’s on that?”

Akutagawa flinched, jolting back in surprise. He looked oddly guilty, for some reason.

“Fuck, jinko,” he schooled his features quickly, coming back to himself, but not without a hint of skittishness, “you startled me.”

“You didn’t hear me come up behind you?”

“You know you don’t make any noise at all when you’re like this, right?”

“Like this?” Atsushi asked, confused.

“When we’re on missions together,” Akutagawa’s breathing leveled out, “your…tiger, as you call it, comes out more. You prowl.”

“I…guess I don’t really think about it.”

“It must be something you do when you’re focused, but even with my heightened senses I struggle to hear you move when you’re being quiet on purpose.”

“Heh,” Atsushi looked down between them at the flash drive in his hand, and back up at him. “Sorry for surprising you.”

“It’s fine,” he waved him off, “I got what we needed.”

Before he could suggest they leave, Atsushi heard and felt footsteps near their storage unit.

He snatched Akutagawa’s wrist, ears and eyes fixed on the door of the container.

“You hear that?” He whispered.

Akutagawa paused, listening.

“Yes,” he nodded.

Atsushi dragged his partner to the front of the unit, to put his ear to the door. It sounded like there were two people nearby, like they were dawdling in front of the storage unit a few doors down. What were they doing out here in the middle of the day?

“There’s two of them.” Atsushi said, one hand on Akutagawa’s wrist, the other on the door. “You don’t think they’re here for us, do you?”

“Don’t be stupid, jinko,” Akutagawa snapped, “no one knows we’re here. Besides, it sounds like they’re opening up a container nearby. Their business probably has nothing to do with us.”

Atsushi supposed that did sound more likely than the elaborate sabotage he was thinking of.

“But there’s no way they won’t see us if we try to leave now,” Akutagawa rolled his eyes, “We’ll have to wait until they’re gone.”

Atsushi huffed in annoyance. They were just about to leave. Why’d these guys have to show up now?

Atsushi belatedly realized that he still had his hand on Akutagawa’s wrist, their bodies close together as they honed their senses toward their hidden adversaries. If Akutagawa noticed how close they were, he didn’t comment on it.

His partner took a subtle inhale through his nose, looking over at him.

“You smell different,” his expression looked accusatory, but Atsushi knew it was just how his face looked by default.

Atsushi shrugged.

“I dunno what to tell you, nothing’s changed on my—”

He stopped himself. There wasn’t any way he smelled different since he and Akutagawa had—

“Well, I noticed,” his partner looked away, his voice soft, “that you haven’t been…scenting me as much, since last week.”

Atsushi almost smiled.

“I haven’t needed to,” he angled his body into him, unsure how to phrase it, “you, uh…my scent is…very much all over you already.”

Akutagawa turned his head, looking down. Atsushi could practically see the gears turning in his mind.

“Is it because I’ve been—?”

“Well, yeah,” Atsushi thought it was obvious, “you’ve been drinking my blood—which very heavily carries my scent, by the way—on almost a daily basis. Why wouldn’t you smell like me?”

Akutagawa’s eyes locked onto his, heavy with an emotion that Atsushi now understood as anticipation.

Akutagawa didn’t move Atsushi’s hand from around his wrist, but instead moved forward, just an inch, so that their bodies were touching. Akutagawa flitted his gaze to his lips and back to his eyes, a with a heady, dense weight that seemed to pull him forward, like a magnet.

Atsushi couldn't have resisted him even if he wanted to. He kissed him without a second thought.

He pulled Akutagawa into him by his arm, his other hand gripping the side of his neck as he turned them sideways. He shoved Akutagawa backward, into the door of the storage unit, keeping him still against his body as he explored his mouth with his own. He didn’t really know what he was doing, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care; Akutagawa didn’t seem to mind, either.

He had both hands at Atsushi’s neck as he pried his mouth open, licking into him with an urgency that almost forced him backwards. His mouth was so warm, and his tongue felt amazing; Atsushi immediately decided that he liked kissing very much. He wanted more of him, all of him, as much as he’d let him have.

Atsushi rolled his hips forward; he could feel his partner's already hard cock beneath him. Akutagawa hissed into his mouth with a cut-off groan, bringing his hands down between them to unbutton Atsushi’s pants.

Atsushi followed his lead, fumbling to undo Akutagawa’s pants as quickly as possible. The urge to touch him was almost painful.

They pulled each other out of their underwear, Akutagawa making quick work of wrapping both of their cocks around his hand as he rubbed them together.

Atsushi put his forehead against Akutagawa’s, their breaths filling the scant space between their mouths. Atsushi laid his hands behind Akutagawa, against the door behind them, while his partner used their precome to slide his hand over them with each twist of his wrist. Atsushi couldn’t help but hump into him; it felt so good, so satisfying, like scratching an itch he never knew he had.

He reconnected their mouths, hungry for him in ways he didn't even understand. Akutagwa's hand on him felt incredible, their cocks grinding together with a smooth friction that he blindly chased with his own body. He had to chase it, had to feel more. He needed more.

Atsushi panted through a stifled sigh, already close to coming. What was it about Akutagawa that just made him go fucking crazy? He felt inhuman when he was around him; like all it took was one touch for his instincts to take over, dissolving him into a rutting beast.

Atsushi hid his face in the crook of Akutagawa’s neck as the pressure built and built. He felt himself fall over the precipice with a gasp, moaning into his skin as he came, spilling into Akutagawa’s hand as he worked him through his orgasm.

Before he could come down from it, he felt a stinging pain in his wrist.

His eyes flew open as he pulled back. Akutagawa had removed his left hand from the wall behind them, and was holding it to his mouth, teeth latched to his wrist.

Atsushi stared, surprised and newly aroused at the sight of him. Akutagawa’s eyes were closed, his cheeks were red, and there was no mistaking the unmitigated rapture in his expression as he drank mouthful after mouthful of his blood. He looked just as turned on as Atsushi was, his throat bobbing as he swallowed greedily.

It felt different, this time, for Atsushi. He’d never been fed from after an orgasm before, so the sensations he felt simply had a different quality to them. He still felt the high, the drug of the pull of Akutagawa’s fangs, but he felt lighter, floaty, serene. Like he’d been eased into it instead of his usual falling rush.   

Before he could forget himself, he wanted to make sure that Akutagawa finished with him. He brought his other hand off the door, and wrapped it around Akutagawa’s stiff cock. He loved the feel of it, experimenting with the velvety texture as he gripped him firmly in his hand.

Akutagawa moaned around his wrist, eyelashes fluttering from the stimulation, fingers tightly clenching around both of his own.

Atsushi took that as a sign to continue, stroking him with a twisting motion as he peppered kisses into his neck. He couldn’t get beneath his stuffy cravat with both his hands occupied, so instead nosed along any part of his exposed neck he could reach.

He felt Akutagawa shudder has he pressed kisses to his ear, his breath hot on his skin. Before he could stop himself, he bit down hard on Akutagawa’s neck, right below his ear.

Akutagawa came hard in his hand with a muffled shout, spasming under him as Atsushi kept his neck between his teeth, sucking an angry hickey into his skin with a low growl.

When he felt satisfied with his mark, he leaned back. Akutagawa had already removed his fangs, and was staring blankly ahead of them, head back against the door, breathing heavily. His pupils were huge, his face flushed. He looked higher than Atsushi felt.

Atsushi listened to the area around them.

“I think they’re gone.”

Akutagawa’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Oh?”

He blinked owlishly at Atsushi, slowly coming down from his peak. He took a deep breath through his mouth and stood up, moving Atsushi back with him, listening. Atsushi’s limbs felt smooth, delightful, as he moved them.

“Oh, uh, yes,” he nodded, “they appear to have left.” He licked his lips, cleaning them of any leftover blood.

“Let’s go, then,” Atsushi hummed, moving back.

Akutagawa stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“I took a lot, jinko,” he looked remorseful, “I got a little carried away.”

Atsushi’s brain was liquid.

“It’s fine,” he giggled, “I liked it.”

Akutagawa’s face was solemn, but held a gratified tint to his eyes that Atsushi had slowly learned to mean that he was pleased, but didn’t want to show it.

Rashoumon flared out from his back, sweeping in between the two of them to eat away at the mess on their clothes.

Atsushi’s reactions were too slow to realize he had come splattered all over his pants. He would have been embarrassed if he wasn’t so out of it. Luckily for him, Rashoumon could consume anything. Akutagawa must have a variety of sexy uses for his special ability, now that he was thinking about it.

Atsushi looked at him, slap-happy, mischief on his mind.

“Leave it, jinko, I needed to clean us up somehow.” He glowered at him as he tried leading them forward.

Akutagawa opened the door with the handle at the floor, sweeping it up above them so they could pass.

Once they were outside, Atsushi’s inebriation became more apparent. He could walk, but he looked sloshed, with terrible balance and coordination that would have horrified him on a regular day. But as he was at the moment, he didn’t care. It felt too good. The sea breeze on his face, the sunshine on his skin, the smell of salt in the air, it all calmed him to the point of drowsiness, while still buzzing him with pleasure.

He didn’t really remember much of the transit to their hotel after that; it was all blur of noise and saturated pigment.

They took some trains, stairs, escalators, was he carrying his duffel bag? No? Oh right, Akutagawa had it.

Akutagawa held onto him the whole time, but he couldn’t quite remember how. He just knew Akutagawa had him, that he was safe, despite the throngs of people that swarmed around him on all sides.

Atsushi distantly remembered that they were staying at a hotel in Narita for the night, since they were going to have to be up early the next morning for their flight. Narita to Zurich, then Zurich to Geneva, on a Swiss airline Atsushi had never heard of before. In his defense, he didn’t really know any airlines that weren’t Japanese.

Akutagawa set him down on a bed with a white duvet. It was soft. When had they made it to their hotel? And why were there two beds?

“What time is it, Akutagawa?”

“A little after 7:00pm.” He set down Atsushi’s duffle bag next to him on the bed, and rifled through it, looking for Atsushi’s nightclothes.

“Will you be able to put these on by yourself?” he sat close to him, his eyes kind.

Atsushi’s thought of Akutagawa undressing him, and grinned impishly.

“No.”

Akutagawa rolled his eyes. Whether he believed him or not didn’t matter (he didn’t), but he helped him out of his street clothes anyway. After wrangling Atsushi’s limbs into his pyjamas, Akutagawa left his spot next to Atsushi to answer the door, coming back with a tray of food.

“Is this room service?” Atsushi’s eyes were the size of the plates in front of him.

Akutagawa’s lips twitched, fighting a smile as he made a rough noise with his throat.

“Yes, dumb jinko, you haven’t eaten anything all day.”

He pushed Atsushi so that he was sitting against the headboard of his bed, put the duvet over him, and placed the tray atop his legs. He went to sit down on his own bed across from him.

“You didn’t need to get me room service, Akutagawa, that’s so fancy.”

“First of all, it’s me, so I don’t know why you’re surprised,” he haughtily flicked his wrist, “and secondly, we didn’t have the opportunity to get you dinner yet. I couldn’t just let you wander into a restaurant like this.”

Atsushi’s eyes widened in understanding. Even intoxicated, he knew that would be embarrassing.

“Please tell me you ate before you met up with me in Yokohama.”

Atsushi stared blankly at him, his lack of a response answer enough. Akutagawa’s gaze was mutinous.

“Oh you imbecile, I would have never drank from you at all if I’d known you hadn’t eaten since yesterday, you absolute—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Atsushi brought his fork up to point at him, “it’s fine, Akutagawa. I was fine.”

“That was so reckless of you, jinko—”

“Okay, but in all fairness, I brought a lunch with me in my duffle bag, but didn’t get the chance to eat it until after we found your flash drive,” he felt some sense of normalcy returning to him, as Akutagawa’s complaining seemed to center him, somehow, “and secondly, I did not know you would be drinking my blood today, so…”

Akutagawa took a deep inhale through his teeth, sitting up straighter.

“It’s not a problem, I promise,” Atsushi looked over the food on his lap, noticing multiple elaborate dishes that somehow managed to fit on one huge, cedar tray, “we’re still learning how it works, ya know?”

Akutagawa opened his mouth to argue.

“It’s fine, Akutagawa,” Atsushi smiled, “thank you for keeping me safe on our way here. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I drank too much, jinko.” Akutagawa’s eyes were downcast as he bit his lip in shame, “it was my fault. I have to take responsibility when I…”

Atsushi threw a grape at him, hitting him in the forehead. It bounced off of him and onto the floor. Before Akutagawa could react, Atsushi threw a second grape at him, limply hitting him on the chest.

Atsushi snorted into his hand.

“I’ve changed my mind, you can rot in hell.”

Atsushi released the laughter that bubbled out of his chest, doubling over his food.

Akutagawa took what looked like sleeping clothes out of his own suitcase, which had been neatly propped up onto a luggage rack in the corner. He walked towards the bathroom with his supplies, pointing a toothbrush at Atsushi in warning as he walked away.

“Eat your food.”

He disappeared, presumably getting ready for bed as Atsushi wolfed down what looked to be a four-course meal. He hardly even noticed when Akutagawa sat back down onto his own bed, sitting on top of the covers.

“If the last week is anything to go by, you’ll probably pass out as soon as you’re done eating,” Akutagawa pulled out his phone, catching Atsushi’s attention.

“Whatcha doin’?"

“Setting an alarm for tomorrow morning. We’ll have to get up at 6:00am to make it to the airport on time.”

Atsushi yawned, already feeling the weight of the food in his belly. He tried pushing his finished tray to his feet, but Akutagawa leapt up to take it from him, placing it outside their door instead.

Atsushi burrowed into his duvet, his body melting into the bed around him.

“Aren’t you going to go to sleep too, Akutagawa?” Atsushi asked, “You always get tired, too, afterwards.”

Akutagawa nodded, eyelids drooping, “Yes, I just have to finish some paperwork first.”

Atsushi belatedly noticed the few files on his partner’s bed, as Akutagawa made mark-ups with his pen. It looked boring, but Akutagawa looked so pretty, leaning over them. Had he brushed his hair? It looked awfully fluffy. Atsushi wanted to touch it.

He distantly imagined what it would feel like to run his fingers through Akutagawa’s hair as lethargy sunk into him, pulling him down into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

The trip to Narita airport was short and simple.

Normally Ryuunosuke would be tempted to keep the weretiger close to him in a public space crammed with strangers, but he didn’t end up needing to. Nakajima clung to his side throughout the tightly crowded airport, following his lead without question.

The weretiger had been to an airport before, but they had been working against Fukuchi and the Hunting Dogs at the time. They’d been understandably busy trying to prevent a worldwide war, and therefore not actually using the airport for what it was made for. Nakajima had never traveled by plane, so he deferred to Ryuunosuke on most things.   

Before they reached the security line, Ryuunosuke turned to him.

“Remember what I told you about the liquid restrictions?”

Nakajima nodded, gesturing to his duffel bag.

“Oh yeah, I don’t have anything large enough for them to throw away.”

“No shampoos, body wash?”

“Nope! I only use a bar of soap for all of that!”

Ryuunosuke whipped his head towards him and grimaced, disgusted.

“For every—?” he held up his hand, stopping himself, “You know what, I don’t know what I expected.”

Nakajima tilted his head, curious.

“Just get in front of me,” Ryuunosuke pushed him, “they won’t need to look through your bag separately if your belongings are as boring as you say they are.”

Nakajima shrugged, loading his duffel bag onto the conveyer belt and walking ahead of him.

Ryuunosuke took out his laptop, tablet, and phone, setting them into a tub on the conveyor belt beside him. He begrudgingly took off Rashoumon as well, knowing he wouldn’t be able to pass through the airport body scanner with it on.

When he stood inside the body scanner, arms raised, the machine beeped accusingly at him anyway.

“Do you have a watch, sir? Belt?” the TSA agent asked.

“No.”

“Alright, come this way,” the agent brought him to the side, sweeping a wand over him.

Ryuunosuke rolled his eyes. This wasn’t uncommon for him. Sometimes it was his shoes that set of the detectors, sometimes the buttons on his dress shirt. He’d usually have to just let them look him over until they were satisfied. 

Nakajima waited for him a few paces away, watching the exchange with suspicious eyes.

The screening wand crackled as it was passed over him, making noises Ryuunosuke knew the agent would translate as an inconclusive assessment. The agent put his wand down, and asked Ryuunosuke to spread his arms and legs, which he did. The man padded him down, checking nearly every part of his body for dangerous goods. Ryuunosuke noticed the agent’s eyes latch onto the stark hickey at the top of his neck, but he respectfully looked away in favor of conducting the rest of his search.

Ryuunosuke didn’t have any of his turtlenecks packed with him for this trip, so he’d already surrendered himself to the fact that everyone he encountered was going to see it. Part of him was embarrassed, but another part of him secretly enjoyed being visibly marked by the weretiger in a way that others would have to notice.

Nakajima was looking more and more antsy by the second as he watched the agent search him, and looked like he might approach, but Ryuunosuke shook his head at him in warning. The weretiger scrunched his nose in a pout, and stayed where he was.

Ryuunosuke was released with minimal fanfare, and collected his belongings to load them back into his rollerboard at the back of the security checkpoint.

“What was all that about?” Nakajima was upon him in an instant, hackles raised.

“I set off the alarm, so they had to search me.” Ryuunosuke swung Rashoumon back across his shoulders, hardly sparing him a glance, “it’s completely normal when you’re going through TSA.”

“That guy was touching all over you,” his pupils were constricted, “he didn’t do that to anyone else.”

“They have to do it for everyone who sets off the metal detector, jinko, it’s fine.”

Nakajima didn’t look satisfied.

“There’s a variety of reasons you could set off the machines,” Ryuunosuke zipped his carry-on shut, his belongings back inside, “Chuuya’s hair is even enough to set off the scanner, sometimes.”

It always made Chuuya grumpy when it did, Ryuunosuke thought back with a smile.

“What? How?”

“Some detectors only look for metal, but others, like the one we went through, are attuned to specific chemicals that are used to make explosives,” he explained, “If Chuuya’s hair products don’t set them off, his excessive use of bobby pins will.”

That got the weretiger to settle down, a bit.

“And they have to do that whole touchy thing every time?”

“Yes,” Ryuunosuke placed his bag back onto the floor, bringing the handle up, “It’s very normal security behavior, I assure you.”

Nakajima got in front of him, blocking his way.

Before he could process what the weretiger was about to do, Nakajima got into his space, took his face between his hands, and rubbed his cheeks onto Ryuunosuke’s with even strokes. Heat exploded onto his skin, leaving him mute and unresponsive as Nakajima then rubbed his hands up and down Ryuunosuke’s arms, saturating him in his scent as he stood almost chest to chest with him.

Ryuunosuke didn’t question him, but simply waited, face crimson, until Nakajima was done.

When the weretiger stepped back, satisfied with his work, Ryuunosuke saw his eyes linger on the hickey on his neck. His eyes raised back to his own.

“That’s better,” was all he said.

“I...” Ryuunosuke stuttered, “what…?”

“His smell was on you,” the weretiger turned, coming up beside him, waiting for him to lead the way, “now it’s not.”

Ryuunosuke fought to keep his face under control as he broke out into a brisk walk towards their gate.

As they boarded the plane, Ryuunosuke led them towards the front, into first class. Nakajima’s eyes were huge, taking in the interior with fascination. The widebody aircraft had two aisles—one near the boarding door, and the other on the other side of the plane—but their ticketed seats were near the door, so they didn’t need to go far. Each seat was inside its own, partitioned pod, mostly cutting them off from view of the people around them. Each seat—which could recline to lie flat when they were in the air—had a large television inside each cubicle.

“You’re sitting here, jinko,” he pointed to the spot across the aisle from his as he placed his rollerboard into the overhead bin above him.

Nakajima gasped as he sat down, opening up all of the compartments around him (he’d made sure to give the weretiger a window seat, seeing as he’d never flown before), looking at the trinkets that would be his to use for the fourteen-and-a-half-hour flight ahead of them. He found pyjamas, an amenity kit, slippers, sheets, pillows, blankets, and a bottle of water, cooing over each item as he opened everything, excitement clear on his face.

“This is amazing, Akutagawa!” Nakajima beamed, “is flying always this luxurious?”

Ryuunosuke fought very hard not to smile.

“No,” he got his phone charger out of his pocket and plugged it into the outlet next to him, “this is first class. The majority of the passengers are in the back, in economy.” He threw his thumb behind them, gesturing to the aft of the cabin.

Nakajima made a comical “o” with his mouth, looking down the aisle as the throngs of passengers continued to file onto the plane, heading to the back.

“I should expect nothing less from you,” he smiled.

“Now you’re getting it.”

He pulled the menu out of one of the compartments next to him, mulling over its contents.

“You should look at the menu now, jinko, before the flight attendants come to take your meal order.” He gestured with his chin in his direction, pointing to where he could find his own menu.

“They’re gonna take my order during boarding?” Nakajima gaped, “like we’re at a restaurant?”

“Yes, and you should pick a back-up choice to give them, too, in case they run out of the one you want.”

Before Nakajima could do just that, a flight attendant approached them with a tray of champagne, orange juice, and water.

“Would you care for a drink?” she asked Nakajima in English.

Nakajima didn’t understand her, but nodded, getting the gist of her question. When she asked which one, he took a guess at what she was asking, based on the context, and pointed at the orange juice on her tray. She helped him open up his tray table, which was ensconced beneath his flatscreen television, and placed his orange juice down before turning to Ryuunosuke.

“None for me, thank you,” he responded in English.

She smiled, nodding, and moved on to serve the other passengers.

“You speak English?” Nakajima’s eyes sparkled.

“The Port Mafia requires us to be able to speak at least basic English,” he responded, “since we need it to make deals with a lot of our overseas business partners.”

“Wait,” Nakajima looked ahead of him, “What language does Switzerland speak?”

“French and German are the most common languages spoken there, but some regions speak Italian and Romansh,” he thought a bit further, “though in the bigger cities, like Geneva, where we’re going, many people speak English, too, since they get a lot of tourists.”

“Do you speak any of those languages?”

“Some French,” he admitted, “though I’m not the best at it. I can get by, but I might have to fall back on English if I struggle too much.”

“Does…” Nakajima looked around sheepishly, “do any of the flight attendants speak Japanese?”

“There should be at least one or two Japanese speakers on the flight,” he looked behind him, “one in first class and one in economy, if this flight is anything like my last one.”

“Okay,” Nakajima brought his menu back up, “well, at least the menu has Japanese translations!”

After a few minutes, a different flight attendant approached them, a tray with a pen and paper on his arm. He asked Ryuunosuke first for what he would like to eat for his meal after takeoff.

“I won’t be dining today, thank you.” He responded politely in English.

Fortunately for Ryuunosuke, it was common for some first class passengers to forego eating on the plane. Many were frequent business travelers, so there were always a handful of passengers who chose not to eat the airplane food, if they flew that route all the time. 

The flight attendant thanked him, and turned to Nakajima, asking what he would like for his lunch order.

Nakajima looked to Ryuunosuke for direction, uncomprehending.

“He’s asking for your first and second choice for lunch.”

“Oh! I want fish as my first choice, chicken as my second.” He smiled at the man kindly.

Ryuunosuke repeated the information in English for him. He supposed he’d have to get used to translating for the weretiger, seeing as the chances of encountering other Japanese speakers on their trip were going to be incredibly slim.

Once the flight attendant walked away to take the orders of the people behind them, Nakajima climbed out of his seat, crossed the short distance over the aisle to reach him, and crowded into his little pod, leaning against the top of Ryuunosuke’s television.

“We’re so far apart,” his words were pouty, but his expression simply looked curious, attentive, “I thought we’d be sitting closer together on the flight.”

“Did you want to be a coach roach, jinko? We’d have been closer than sardines if we were sitting back there.”

Nakajima looked behind them, at the bustling chaos of the boarding process in the back. He made a face, conceding.

“You’re probably right.”

As the weretiger was practically crowding on top of him in his seat, a thought occurred to him.

“And before you get any ideas,” Ryuunosuke put down his phone, pinning him in place with his sternest glare he could muster, “we will not be joining the mile high club today, do you understand?”

“Mile high club?” Nakajima pursed his lips in confusion, “Am I supposed to know what that is?”

Ryuunosuke’s breath caught in his throat. If Nakajima didn’t know what he meant, he certainly wasn’t going to tell him.

“It’s nothing,” Ryuunosuke waved him off, “don’t worry about it.”

“Hmmm,” Nakajima squinted at him, “okay.”

He climbed back into his own seat, taking some of the blankets out of their shrink wrap and unravelling them onto himself.

When the plane took off, Nakajima’s face was practically glued to the window next to him, agape with interest as he watched the earth fall away beneath them. Ryuunosuke pretended not to watch his every move and reaction.

Once they were above ten thousand feet, Ryuunosuke was able to access the wifi onboard. He got out his laptop and worked on a few Port Mafia reports while Nakajima was served his lunch, keeping an ear out in case he needed to translate for him.

The weretiger wasn’t old enough to drink, by Japan’s laws, but the European drinking age was sixteen, so he watched as the flight attendant recommended specific white wines with the fish he’d ordered. Nakajima merely nodded along, understanding enough when the flight attendant would gesture and point to the drink she was going to serve him. Ryuunosuke knew that Nakajima drank occasionally with the Agency. He knew that the weretiger didn’t exactly seek it out, but if his colleagues were imbibing, he would, too.

Ryuunosuke felt a pinch of jealousy as he watched his partner enjoy a cold, crisp chablis with his meal. He missed fine wine like it was a severed limb. But to be quite fair to himself, it didn’t compare at all to his current dining regimen. 

To cope, he snapped a quick picture of the weretiger drinking his wine and sent it to Chuuya, with a text saying “the gods hate me.”

Chuuya always responded to his texts fairly quickly, even when they were stupid. 

“Your fomo is justified, I’m so sorry.” It came accompanied with a sad emoji. If anyone sympathized with what his refined pallet would never get to have again, it was Chuuya. They texted back and forth for a while, after that.

Chuuya was the only person Ryuunosuke trusted with the knowledge of where he’d be for the rest of the week. He figured that if Nakajima was going to tell Dazai everything (and he’d assumed correctly), then Chuuya, too, would find out about it eventually. Best to have at least one Port Mafia executive in his corner if he could afford it. And anyway, nearly all of his previous trips abroad had been with Chuuya in the past. It was actually his first trip overseas without him.

Perhaps he should take more pictures for Chuuya’s benefit. The thought warmed his cheeks; Chuuya loved Switzerland. France was his favorite, but he often made excuses to take detours into the Swiss Alps, when they were on European assignments. Ryuunosuke hadn’t traveled half as much as Chuuya had, but he’d gone often enough for Chuuya to teach him how to be a proper tourist.

“Chuuya says hello,” Ryuunosuke smirked down at his phone, and back at him, “also that he’s jealous of that chablis you’re drinking.”

“Tell him I say hi, too! And that I can definitely understand why the two of you like wine so much.” Nakajima licked his lips in approval.

“Careful now, jinko,” Ryuunosuke warned, “you’ll feel the effects of the alcohol more quickly up here, because of the high elevation.”

Nakajima’s eyes widened.

“You’ll be fine,” he continued, “just don’t let it sneak up on you.”

He didn’t end up needing to worry. After three glasses of white wine (Nakajima had insisted on trying three different types, for the sake of variety, apparently), the weretiger’s eyes became droopy, and he fiddled with his seat until he figured out how to lay it flat. He quickly got comfortable, arranging his pillows and blankets around him, and promptly passed out for the majority of the flight time.

The flight attendants kept the lights out between meal times, so it was easy for the passengers to loll off to sleep during the long transit across the continent.

After Nakajima fell asleep, Ryuunosuke used the first few hours to catch up on work on his laptop, but eventually couldn’t resist the pull to to close his eyes, either. Everyone else in the dark cabin was nodding off, getting comfortable. He reclined his seat flat, put away his computer, and drifted off without a second thought. When he next woke, there was only about two hours left of the flight. The flight attendants were bustling about, preparing for the pre-arrival meal service.

He got out of his seat to crowd into Nakajima’s cubicle, nudging his shoulder. He looked so peaceful, wrapped up in all his blankets, hair fanned out over his pillow. He was curled on his side, facing away from him. Ryuunosuke had directed him to put his window shade down early on in the flight, so that the sunlight from outside wouldn’t keep him awake.

Nakajima responded to his touch almost immediately, stirring groggily as he turned his face up. He blearily opened his eyes, blinking slowly at Ryuunosuke in recognition.

“Hi.”

“They’re going to serve food again in about fifteen minutes,” he blinked back at him, “are you hungry?”

Nakajima nodded.

“How long did I sleep?”

“Almost ten hours,” Ryuunosuke chuckled, “you were asleep for most of the flight, really.”

Ryuunosuke’s hand lingered on the weretiger’s blankets, unable to look away as he slowly woke up. Nakajima rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles.

“Looks like I should drink wine on every flight,” he yawned, “and here I was afraid I would be bored for fourteen-and-a-half hours.”

“Well, take a look at the menu again for the pre-arrival meal choices” he pointed at the menu that Nakajima had pushed off to the side, “I’ll translate for you when they ask.”

The rest of the flight passed by quickly, after that. It was already past 6:00pm when they landed in Zurich, Switzerland, where they needed to switch planes to make their connecting flight to Geneva.

They didn’t have to wait long before their next flight, and everything about the process felt faster, the second time. Likely because the flight from Zurich to Geneva was only an hour long. The jet lag was starting to wear them down, but they powered through it. Such a short flight was nothing compared to their trek from Japan.

After they landed in Geneva, collected their bags, and deplaned, it was already past 9:00pm. (4:00am Yokohama time, Ryuunosuke realized with a mild headache). It wasn’t quite dark yet outside, but the sun was setting. Nakajima wandered through the terminal, admiring the mountainous scenery through the wide windows, the Swiss Alps hovering just beyond the tarmac.

“We have mountains at home, jinko,” Ryuunosuke couldn’t help but tease him.

“These are different!” he shot back, “It’s not the same.”

Once they got outside, Ryuunosuke got them a cab. They loaded their bags into the trunk of the vehicle as Ryuunosuke gave the driver the address to their hotel. He was a little self-conscious, using his French again after not being able to practice for a while, but the cab driver didn’t seem to care.

“You sound even fancier when you speak French, Akutagawa.” Nakajima told him, his cheeks pink.

“Geneva mostly speaks French, so I’m going to use what little skills I have during this trip.”

The drive to their hotel wasn’t the most scenic, but he knew their spot on the lakefront would be worth it.

“How do you usually practice?”

“With Chuuya, mostly,” he pulled up his phone, checking again that they would be able to get their hotel room so late in the evening, “Also with Gin.”

“How do they know French?”

“Oh, the Port Mafia has connections in France,” he hadn’t considered that Nakajima wouldn’t know this, “We had two pretty high-ranking French agents who worked for us, but one of them is dead now. The other is an executive, like Chuuya. His name’s Verlaine.”

Nakajima looked surprised, but he gestured for him to continue.

“Verlaine is who trained Gin to be an assassin,” he went on, “so he worked pretty closely with my sister, and wanted her to speak his language. I wanted to learn, too, since Mori told me I would be sent on overseas missions eventually, and I’d need to know it.”

“How’d Chuuya learn it?”

“He’s…” Ryuunosuke didn’t want to tell him too much, “he’s known Verlaine for a long time. Their relationship is complicated, but they’re close.”

Ryuunosuke’s limbs felt heavy. How could he possibly want to sleep again so soon? Jet lag was cruel.

“Gin is actually far better at speaking it than I am, but she got more time with Verlaine. They practiced more because of their training together,” he put his chin in his hand, watching the traffic fly by them, “Chuuya and I speak French together when we don’t want people to eavesdrop on us. It’s pretty amusing, actually.”

Nakajima’s grin seemed to split his face in two.

“Do you, now?”

“Shut up,” he squinted at him, “he’s good at it, though. He works these trips abroad all the time, so he gets to use it a lot more often. Stop making that face, jinko—”

“I’m not doing anything!”

“Well you’re thinking something, and I don’t like it, so wipe that shit-eating grin off your mouth.”

Nakajima covered his mouth with his hand, looking away. It was past dusk now, so his partner wouldn’t properly be able to look at his new surroundings. It didn’t matter, though; Nakajima would be able to appreciate the scenery properly in the morning. Ryuunosuke had only been to Geneva twice before, but it was enough to know his way around at least a little. The city wasn’t too large, and was easy enough to navigate.

“We’re here,” their taxi driver informed them.

Ryuunosuke paid him as Nakajima unloaded their bags.

The city of Geneva was shaped in what appeared to be a giant horseshoe around a large lake in the center. Property on Lake Geneva was more expensive than anywhere else in the region, and was predominantly reserved for hotels, designer stores, museums, and tourist destinations.

Ryuunosuke couldn’t really take credit for picking out this hotel on the waterfront, as it was Chuuya who always brought them here in the past. But Chuuya typically had higher standards than he did, and Ryuunosuke saw nothing wrong with keeping with what he knew. Besides, he already liked the staff here. They were always gracious, and he got the impression that they’d worked with wealthy criminal organizations before, as discretion had always been a strong suit of theirs.

Countless bouquets of fresh flowers adorned the interior of the lobby. He heard Nakajima’s quiet intake of breath as he ogled the shiny, modern reception area, his head swiveling on all sides. He stumbled to keep up with Ryuunosuke as he led the two of them to the front desk.

“I have a reservation under Akutagawa,” he told the woman in French.

She pulled up his information.

“I see you requested a room facing the lake, sir,” she started, “but the only rooms available meeting that description have one bed instead of two. Is that alright?”

Ryuunosuke’s breath hitched, willing his face not to react.

“Uh,” he faltered, unsure, “allow me to ask my friend.”

He turned to Nakajima, who was patiently waiting throughout their exchange, but had no way of knowing what they were saying.

“What is it?” he asked Ryuunosuke, expression open.

“So,” Ryuunosuke began, “I ordered two beds, but the only way we can get a lakeview room is if we share—”

“That’s fine.”

Ryuunosuke coughed, unready for such a quick answer.

“At least pretend to think about it.”

“Why? You wanted the fanciest view in the hotel, you should get to have it.”

It sounded so simple, when phrased like that. And the weretiger didn’t seem to have any obvious ulterior motives or expectations. He simply looked happy to be there.

“Look, this trip is for you,” Nakajima continued, “I’m just tagging along. Get what you like.” 

“Well, when you put it like that…” Ryuunosuke turned back to the receptionist, switching back to French, “One bed is fine.”

The receptionist smiled, gave him a nod, and looked down at the screen in front of her, typing away at her keyboard. She made keys for them, and handed them off to him.

She told Ryuunosuke which floors had the sauna, pool, spa, and where he could find the hotel restaurants and bars, should they need them.

“Thank you,” he took their keys, turning back to Nakajima, “let’s go.”

As they made their way to the elevators, Nakajima asked for translation, so Ryuunosuke repeated what she told him.

“A spa?” He asked, “They have a whole spa here?”

“I think it takes up one of the lower levels, but yes.”

As Nakajima processed that, Ryuunosuke wondered if he should set aside a few hours during their stay for a spa treatment. He was sure Nakajima had never splurged on such an indulgence before; he didn’t even know if he’d like such a thing. But he’d ask later, to see if it interested him.  

They found their room with little to no trouble. It was large, sumptuous, with floor to ceiling windows on the far end. One corner of the window could be opened out into a small balcony. Nakajima rushed to the king sized bed to look at the large bar of Swiss chocolate that was laid upon it.

“They just give you free bars of chocolate here?”

“Not everyone does,” Ryuunosuke couldn’t help his smile, “but they do. Did you see the espresso machine?”

The weretiger gasped, looking over to where Ryuunosuke was pointing. He quickly got off the bed and started nosing around their new quarters, fiercely curious.

Nakajima opened up the glass balcony door, stepping out onto the small ledge. Ryuunosuke came up behind him. The view was beautiful. Lake Geneva was gorgeous, even at night, with the jet d’eau fountain lit up with colorful lights as it spewed water hundreds of feet into the air. The boats were alight, the city buzzing with nightlife, tourism, and the general calm that the city always seemed to have about it. Ryuunosuke exhaled quietly behind Nakajima, releasing tension he didn’t realize he’d been holding in his shoulders. He surprised himself with how happy he was to be back.

“I’m so glad you brought me here,” Nakajima turned to face him, his bright eyes refracting the light from inside their room, “Thank you, Akutagawa.”

Ryuunosuke froze, afraid his heart had stopped.

“O-of course, jinko,” he felt like he couldn’t breathe, but blinked slowly at him, to show his affection, “Let’s get unpacked, shall we?”

It was nearing midnight by the time they’d organized all of their belongings and gotten ready for bed. They quickly planned out the following day, so that they could take care of the Port Mafia business first, before doing anything fun.

They both sat on the bed, with a map of the city spread out between them, a few files scattered here and there. As Ryuunosuke explained where they’d go, and where they’d reconvene in case of an emergency, the weretiger nodded along, agreeable, but noticeably drowsy.

“Alright,” Ryuunosuke scooped up the map and bank blueprints, stowing them on the large desk opposite the bed, “we should call it a night before you pass out on me.”

“I’d never do that,” he swayed.

“I have overwhelming evidence that says that you would.”

He turned off all the lights and closed the curtains as Nakajima fluffed out the white duvet, burrowing underneath it. The lamps on opposite sides of the bed were still lit, but he waited until he was settled to turn them off.

“G’night, Akutagawa,” Nakajima curled onto his side, facing the window.

Before Ryuunosuke could ask himself why, for the third time, he’d noticed the weretiger facing away from him as he fell asleep, he belatedly remembered that cats face away from people they trust, while sleeping. It was a sign of safety and comfort, giving the other person the chance to watch their back in case of danger while they’re vulnerable.  

Ryuunosuke took a deep breath, heartbeat in his ears, and watched as Nakajima fell back into sleep as easily as breathing.

“Sleep well, jinko,” he whispered.

Chapter Text

Atsushi woke to the sunlight creeping through the blackout curtains of their hotel room. He usually woke with the sun, back at home, so it was no surprise that the dawn saw him blinking his eyes into the dimly lit room, grappling with the new environment he struggled to recognize.

His body was wrapped around something solid and comforting, his nose almost touching what felt to be soft linens, but firmer.

With a piercing awareness that seemed to physically electrify him, he realized he was clinging to Akutagawa like some overgrown, fluffy leech. It took everything in his willpower not to screech in alarm and mortification, for that would surely wake up the sleeping form in front of him. He must have cuddled up to him in the night, spooning Akutagawa from behind in his sleep.

How embarrassing, he bemoaned behind him, looking around them in distress. I’ll have to be super careful getting out of bed, so I don’t wake him.

He gently took his arm from around Akutagawa’s waist, trying as carefully as possible to keep his movements from being noticed. He nudged his body away from him, gingerly scooting further back, until he could climb out of the bed without Akutagawa feeling him leave.

Once he’d stood up, he took stock of the space around him. The new surroundings were a bit disorienting, so he went around the room, touching everything to make sure the place would smell safe and familiar. It only took a few minutes before he felt satisfied, the new smell calming and grounding him.  

He took a look at his phone to check the time, and almost dropped it when he saw a text from Ranpo that simply said, “I want a souvenir.”

Atsushi covered his face with one hand. Of course Ranpo had figured him out. He may not know exactly which country Atsushi had run off to, but he’d correctly deduced that he’d be traveling overseas for the duration of the personal days off he’d requested.

As he willed his erratic heartbeat to calm down (it’s just Ranpo, he reminded himself, he keeps everyone’s dirty little secrets), he scrolled through his other messages, which were just a bunch of memes Jun'ichirou had sent him in his absence. They were just the right flavor of dumb to calm him down, making him grin like an idiot.

Atsushi sent some quick texts back to Jun'ichirou, feeling a stab of wistfulness at the separation. As much as he was thrilled to be having so much alone time with Akutagawa, it didn’t keep him from missing his friends and wishing they could experience these new and exciting things with him.

He took a peek over at Akutagawa to make sure he was still asleep before quietly dressing into some clothes to wear to one of the restaurants downstairs. He was already hungry, and figured now was a good a time as any to grab breakfast, since Akutagawa couldn’t really eat with him anymore. Better to do it while he was sleeping, so he wouldn’t feel left out.

He swiped up the black credit card Akutagawa left for him on the desk.

“You can’t use your own money on this trip, jinko,” he’d said sternly, “any purchases or withdrawals you make on your own bank cards will leave a paper trail, and it’s of the utmost importance that you leave no trackable trace of your involvement.” His expression was strict, but held another emotion he couldn’t place as Akutagawa had handed him the credit card, which he said Atsushi could use indefinitely. “As far as the Port Mafia is concerned, I’m on this assignment by myself.”

Atsushi pocketed the card and his hotel room key before sneaking out the door and down to the only hotel restaurant that was open at that hour.

He was seated at a table, and pulled up a translator app on his phone, setting it to French. A server quickly approached him. He used his translator app to ask him for his breakfast to go so that he could bring it up to his room. The server smiled kindly to him, politely saying something affirmative in French, before nodding and walking off to put in his order. 

His food arrived quickly (being one of the only people awake had its perks), and he paid for his meal. When he looked up how much the breakfast cost, he was shocked to realize that it cost more than a month’s worth of groceries back at home. Akutagawa wasn’t kidding when he’d said Switzerland was expensive. Atsushi took a moment to yet again appreciate Akutagawa’s Port Mafia salary before taking his box of warm, greasy food upstairs.

He tried to reenter the room as quietly as possible, but as soon as he tried walking past the bed, Akutagawa stirred, noticing his presence. He sat up from his pillow, his dark hair mussed in a frazzled way that made Atsushi feel distinctly warm under his skin.

As Akutagawa yawned, rubbing at his eyes, Atsushi set his food down at the desk and got out his utensils, digging in.

His partner stretched, moving out of the bed in the direction of the bathroom before abruptly stopping in his tracks. His nostrils flared as his subtly sniffed the air.

“Jinko,” he looked at Atsushi, “did you scent mark this entire hotel room?”

Atsushi paused, his mouth full of eggs, and guiltily looked back at him.

Akutagawa squinted at him, and surprised Atsushi by pulling out his phone instead of inquiring further.

“What are you doing?” Atsushi asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” Akutagawa briskly walked to the bathroom, eyes on his phone.

“Wait a minute,” Atsushi swallowed his mouthful of food and clamored out of his seat, stumbling to follow him, “what are you looking up on your phone?”

Before Atsushi could fully catch up to him in the bathroom, Akutagawa turned around, facing him as he read aloud from his screen, “Tigers scent mark intensively when they are establishing a new territory or environment,” he read, his voice still rough from sleep, a smirk creeping onto his face.

“Akutagawa!” Atsushi squawked, “you can’t just google me, that’s so rude!”

“I’m not googling you, jinko, I’m googling tiger facts.”

“That’s…” he stammered, “that’s not…” he tried swiping at Akutagawa’s phone, but to no avail, for his partner was faster, and moved it out of his reach.

“Have you done that before—”

“No,” he answered, a bit too quickly, hiding his phone behind his back.

Atsushi’s mouth fell open, scandalized.

“I’m guessing this means I should put the ‘do not disturb’ sign on our door when we leave,” Akutagawa quickly moved his phone to his pocket, pushing Atsushi out of the way to reach the door.

“The what now?”

“Most hotels have signs on the door handles that indicate whether you want housekeeping to come in or not to tidy up the room,” Akutagawa’s hand went to the door handle, taking off two little paper signs, and showing them to him. They both had phrases on the front, in several languages, but as expected, no Japanese.

“I can’t read those.”

“The red one says, ‘privacy please,’ and the green one says ‘service please.’” Atsushi watched Akutagawa put the red one outside on their door handle, “If you don’t have one of them hanging up outside, housekeeping will still come in once a day to clean the room, whether you’re inside or not.”

Atsushi balked at the idea of someone coming into their space, touching everything, disturbing the scent he carefully placed everywhere.

“Don’t worry, jinko, the ‘do not disturb’ sign is out now,” Akutagawa seemed to be fighting his own face in an attempt to not laugh at him, “no one will enter our room while we’re gone.”

Atsushi nodded, still a little sheepish.

“Now move, I need to change,” he shooed Atsushi out of the way, so he could reach his suitcase. He gathered his clothes and went to get dressed in the bathroom.

Atsushi opened the curtains to let the light in. The view was incredible.

The lake (Lake Geneva, Akutagawa had called it) was a beautiful blue, reflecting the clear sky above. The mountains surrounding the lake were a dark green, with the city beautifully laid out around it. The large fountain in the middle of the lake drew his eye, impressive and imposing on the water. He saw boats all around, including some larger vessels carrying passengers from one shore to another.

“Come on, jinko,” Akutagawa’s voice was soft, but clear, as he drew his attention away from the window, fully dressed, “let’s go.”

They left the hotel, exiting onto the main road that ran along the perimeter of the lake.

The air quality was crisp and clear, the foliage lush, and the sidewalks and roads were clean and well-kept.

“It’s so pretty here.”

“Yes,” Akutagawa nodded, “Switzerland is one of the richest countries in the world, they can afford to keep their cities in good condition.”

They walked along the water, Akutagawa eyeing the craft on the marina.

“At the front desk, you can scan a bar code that gives you free public transportation in the city,” he nodded towards the boats, “that includes the water taxi.”

“The what?”

“See those big boats?” he pointed, “they take people to different stops along the lake, like a bus. If you want to go, later, we can.”

Atsushi gaped, itching to take pictures on his phone. The sun was still rising, but it was late enough in the morning that stores and businesses would be open by now.

“You said I needed to make sure I left no trace I was here,” Atsushi’s eyes were roaming all over, “does that mean I can’t take photos?”

Akutagawa looked away from him, hiding his face.

“It should be fine.” He cleared his throat, and swiveled his eyes back to him, “just don’t post anything online, or show them to anyone until I tell you it’s safe.”

Atsushi figured he probably shouldn’t be taking any pictures at all, and suspected that Akutagawa was taking a risk by letting him. But if he said it was alright, Atsushi wasn’t going to argue.

“Why Switzerland?” Atsushi asked, suddenly.

“What?”

“Why is this intel being kept in a bank in Switzerland?” he asked, “Nakane is Japanese, what ties could he possibly have here?”

“Many wealthy organizations use Swiss banks to hide criminal activity,” Akutagawa explained, “in most countries, if a bank sees anything odd or suspicious, they are legally required to report it and give that data to the government. In Switzerland, that information is protected. The Swiss are famous for keeping client data secure and secret, so it’s no surprise that they’re sometimes used to hide illegal conduct.”

They walked for about twenty minutes before stopping in front of a private bank.

Akutagawa addressed the bank teller in French, asking for the withdrawal of the lock box in Nakane’s account.

Atsushi didn’t think he’d ever get tired of hearing Akutagawa speak French. His Japanese accent was obvious, and he hesitated in his sentences more than when he spoke English (which was an experience in and of itself), but the words sounded so beautiful, so melodic, that Atsushi found himself compelled nonetheless. And if he was being completely honest with himself, it made Atsushi even more attracted to him than he already was. Part of him wanted to simply follow his partner around all day, listening to him speak to the locals. 

He tried not to stare too obviously at him as he spoke, the teller nodding and running off to retrieve the lock box.

According to Akutagawa, Nakane had a safe deposit box at this bank, with the lock box inside it. It required knowledge of the man’s information to gain access, as well as numerical codes—both of which only Akutagawa knew. 

The teller came back with a black security box, and handed it to Akutagawa. He took it from her, thanked her, and that was the end of it.

They were on their way back to the hotel before Atsushi thought to ask, “Why haven’t you opened it to make sure it has what you’re looking for?”

“I couldn’t do it in the bank, they have cameras everywhere,” he kept his eyes forward, “I don’t need anyone other than us seeing what’s inside.”

Once back in their room, Akutagawa punched in the key code to open the security box. Another flash drive was inside. Akutagawa pocketed it, his face pale. Atsushi thought he looked like he might be sick.

“Well then,” he stood up, clearing his throat, “we got what we came for.”

“So that means we can do fun stuff now?”

Akutagawa nodded, distracted. He looked anxious, like something was bothering him.

“Yes, let’s go.”

“I want to do the water taxi first,” Atsushi decided, leading them back out the door with a wide grin on his face. He held open the door for Akutagawa to follow him.

They went down to the front desk to scan the bar code for the free public transportation pass. Once it had been saved to their phones, they crossed the street to file onto the marina and board the nearest water taxi.

Atsushi couldn’t help but huddle close to Akutagawa. The crowds weren’t too thick, not like they were in Japan, but he smelled familiar, safe, and as he led Akutagawa by the arm to the front of the boat, he found them a spot near the railing so they could have the best view.

The vessel shoved off, beginning its route across the lake. Atsushi began his picture spree, taking as many photos as he could. He could hear many languages around him, most he didn’t recognize. He felt his whole body buzzing with excitement as he soaked up the sunlight on his skin and the lake breeze in his hair.

Akutagawa watched him with curious eyes, his expression the closest thing to fondness Atsushi had probably ever seen from him. He still looked a bit constipated, but Atsushi figured he would loosen up if he kept his mind off of whatever was making him nervous.

Atsushi pressed up next to Akutagawa, who was leaning against the side of the boat, looking out at the shoreline. He connected their arms and shoulders, leaning onto him, his body a grounding presence. The wind tousled Akutagawa’s dark hair, whipping it about his pretty face, and Atsushi, weak for him as he was, felt the overwhelming desire to kiss him.

Akutagawa must have smelled the intent on him, for he spoke without even turning to look at him.

“I can’t take you anywhere.”

“That’s not true,” Atsushi smirked at him, “you take me to more places than anyone else I know.”

Akutagawa covered his mouth with his hand, suppressing his smile.

“Insufferable.”

Atsushi chuckled to himself, connecting their legs and hips, making sure as much of him could be touching Akutagawa as possible. He didn’t really need to scent him again, but being in a foreign place was making him more territorial than usual. Everything was new and unfamiliar, so what was his needed to be near and kept close. It comforted him.

As he contemplated asking Akutagawa how he felt about PDA, his phone began loudly ringing in his pocket.

He fumbled into his pants, fishing out his phone, and took a few steps away from Akutagawa.

“Hello?”

“Atsushi!” Kunikida’s stern voice boomed into his ear, “How is your time off treating you?”

“Oh!” Atsushi was hyperaware of the loud wind that Kunikida would undoubtedly be able to hear on his end of the line, “I’m doing well, Kunikida, thank you.”

He felt a pinch of apprehension, illogically worrying that Kunikida would instinctively know where he was, and scold him for sneaking off without leave.

“Are you hydrating? I hope you’re not drinking too many of those sugary coffees, they’re bad for your health.”

Atsushi laughed, his cheeks warming, “I’m getting better about that!”

“Hmmm,” he sounded skeptical, “Are you eating enough? Sleeping well? I don’t want you neglecting yourself, I know how you get.”

Atsushi looked away from Akutagawa, whose eyes followed him with obvious curiosity.  

“I’m eating very well, actually, and probably getting too much sleep, honestly.” He shrugged, despite the fact that Kunikida couldn’t see it, “but I suppose time off is good for that.”

He knew Kunikida was too polite to outright ask where he was, or why Atsushi had requested the rest of the week off to begin with. But he could tell his friend was concerned for him, as he often was, and still wanted as much information as Atsushi would be willing to give him. Not even the proper and well-mannered Kunikida was immune to the nosiness his colleagues felt when routine was disrupted.

Atsushi did some quick mental math. Since it was around 11:00am his time, that meant it was around 6:00pm Yokohama time. Kunikida must have just left the office before calling him.

And it was already Friday. This was the end of the third day he had been away from work at the Agency, so it made sense that Kunikida would check up on him before the weekend began. He couldn’t resist smiling wide through the phone receiver, soothed by Kunikida’s mother henning. Just hearing his voice made Atsushi feel reassured, despite the distance.

“Do you need anything? I’m going to the store in a few minutes, would you like me to pick anything up for you while I’m there?”

“Oh no,” Atsushi demurred, “don’t go to any trouble for me, Kunikida.”

“I insist,” he barked, “I can drop them off at your dorm when I get back.”

Atsushi felt a sudden spike of panic at being discovered, but quelled it.

“Really, I promise, I’m fine, I don’t need anything.”

“I have some valerian root tea I picked up for you yesterday, I planned on dropping it off anyway.”

“Valerian root, huh? I haven’t tried that one, yet.”

Akutagawa perked up next to him, clearly eavesdropping.

“It has many health benefits. You’ll like it.”

“Sounds delicious,” Atsushi noticed Akutagawa inching towards him, subtly closing the gap between them, “I can’t wait to drink it together.”

He realized that Kyouka would be home, even if Kunikida did insist on bringing supplies to his dorm unannounced. He wanted to avoid confirming that he was out of town, however, so he tried to respond as vaguely as possible.

“Well, feel free to drop it off at my dorm later, if you have time.” He told him, “Though don’t go out of your way. I can always get it from you on Monday at the office.”

“Alright,” Kunikida shuffled on his end of the line; Atsushi wondered if he was boarding the train, “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will, I promise.” Atsushi felt his eyes crease with affection for him, “I’ll talk to you later, Kunikida.”

“Likewise! Take care, Atsushi.” And with that, he hung up.

As Atsushi smiled down at his phone and put it away, he startled when he realized how close Akutagawa had gotten. His eyes were expectant, his body language inquisitive.

“That was Kunikida,” Atsushi supplied, redundantly, “he was checking up on me.”

Akutagawa hummed, his gaze analytical, “He must care for you.”

“Oh yeah, he’s like the Agency’s mom,” Atsushi laughed, “he’s always making sure I’m taking care of myself.”

Akutagawa looked at the floorboards beneath them, nodding,

“That’s good.”

Atsushi angled himself back towards the railing to watch the scenery. The water taxi had already made its first stop on the opposite shoreline, and had moved off to cruise onto the next one.

“Though,” Akutagawa brought his attention back to him, “you mentioned valerian root?”

“Yeah,” Atsushi replied, “he said he bought valerian root tea for me.”

Akutagawa’s lips quirked up, trying to smother his smile.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Well,” Akutagawa cleared his throat, “you said Kunikida is a conscientious person, yes?”

“Oh, very.”

“And he’s very knowledgeable,” he went on, “and he reads a lot? Loves learning new things?”

“Where are you going with this?"

Akutagawa lost the fight against himself, closing his eyes in a smile.

“Valerian root is very similar to catnip.”

Atsushi’s mouth fell open.

“No.”

Akutagawa pursed his lips together, nodding.

“It’s got almost all the same components, and is often used as a catnip alternative.”

“You’re bullshitting me.”

“Listen,” Akutagawa covered his mouth with his hand, struggling for composure, “I’m not saying he did it on purpose; you know him better than I do.”

“I’m not a cat, Akutagawa.”

“Big cats also respond positively to catnip and valerian,” he huffed into his hand, “including tigers.”

Atsushi’s face burned.

“You have googled me before, you asshole!” He shoved him backward, as Akutagawa clung to the rail in front of them, finally releasing his laughter.

“At least I didn’t secretly buy you catnip and try to feed it to you without you knowing!” he wheezed over the edge of the boat.

“Kunikida shows his love in unconventional ways,” Atsushi defended, “it’s very possible he doesn’t even know they’re connected.”

“Like I said,” Akutagawa laughed into his hand, “you know him better than I do.”

“Ugh,” he put his face in his hands, “Kunikida why.”

Kunikida wasn’t as physically affectionate as some of the other members of the Armed Detective Agency. It would be horribly on brand for him to research things that tigers like, then gift them to Atsushi as innocuous boons in the guise of boosting his health and well-being.

Akutagawa straightened up, finally taking pity on him.

“Let’s get off at the next stop, jinko,” his voice was calmer now, though not without mirth, “I have an idea for where we can go next.”

“Can we get some lunch, first?”

“Sure.”

They disembarked at the next stop, which happened to be near their hotel. There was a food truck with sandwiches on the quay, so they picked one up for Atsushi to munch on as they walked.

They made their way into the city center, which Akutagawa called “Old Town.” It had beautiful, old-fashioned buildings that Atsushi admired with delight, snapping photos on his phone every few seconds.

They popped into a few souvenir shops, at Atsushi’s request. He remembered Ranpo’s text from this morning; for all he knew, it was a blackmail request in exchange for his silence. Best to play it safe and give in to his demands.

The shops had so many cows on their souvenirs and decorations, it was impossible not to think of Kenji and his fondness for cattle. He could get a souvenir for Kenji, right? With this many cow items to choose from, how could he not?

Atsushi picked out a mug for Ranpo, and a decorative cow figurine for Kenji.

Though, now that he was here, he couldn’t stop himself from buying little trinkets for the others, as well.

He selected an oversized t-shirt for Kyouka; she’d like using it as sleepwear. He bought Dazai a shot glass, a wine glass for Yosano, a canvas tote for Haruno, magnets for Fukuzawa and the Tanizaki siblings, and a set of fancy pens for Kunikida.

Akutagawa picked out a mug, as well as a magnet. Atsushi watched as he doubled back for a lowball glass, taking that to the check-out counter as well.

“What’s that rocks glass for?”

“Chuuya likes whiskey,” was all he said, before turning away from him to make his purchases.

Atsushi realized he hadn’t picked anything out for himself, yet, so selected a mug and a magnet for his dorm. He paid for his souvenirs, and they went back out into the street to wander Old Town for a bit longer, before Akutagawa led them to a bus stop.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he responded cryptically.

Once the bus came, they rode it for about twenty minutes before Akutagawa led them off. Before them was one of the mountains that surrounded the city.

Atsushi blinked up at it, awed by its size and natural beauty.

Akutagawa led him to a station that said “Téléphérique du Salève.” It was a cable car that sent passengers up and down the mountainside.

Akutagawa purchased tickets for them, and they boarded the cable car. It lurched forward, taking them slowly up the mountain at a steep angle. Atsushi had never been more grateful to not be afraid of heights. He wandered around the interior of the car, hands on the glass, looking down as the ground fell further and further away. He snapped some photos, excited for the view at the top.

Once they’d reached the platform at the top of the mountain (“it’s called the Salève mountain,” Akutagawa had told him), the group on the car filed out, pooling across the ledge at the summit.

Atsushi gasped aloud, grabbing onto Akutagawa’s arm as he took in the spectacular sight before him.

Below them he could see the whole city of Geneva, the lake perfectly situated in the center, and the Swiss Alps cocooning the city on all sides. It was a breathtaking sight, and Atsushi pulled Akutagawa closer to him to point out various little things he noticed from their vantage point.

"You're in France right now, by the way," Akutagawa said, apropos of nothing.

"What?"

"The border between France and Switzerland is on the mountain," he explained, "so when you get into the cable car at the bottom, you're in Switzerland, but once you reach the top, you're on the French side of the border."

Atsushi looked around himself, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. He took a copious number of pictures of the summit and their surroundings, before turning to Akutagawa sheepishly.

“Can we afford a picture together?” Atsushi tried to put on his best kitten eyes.

Akutagawa swiftly turned away from him with a deep breath, eyes bulging.

“Fine,” he said to the ground.

Atsushi silently cheered to himself.

“Okay, ask one of these people to take our picture!” he gestured to the crowd around them.

“Surely a selfie would be sufficient?” his face looked pained.  

“No, this view is too good to properly capture with a selfie,” Atsushi scoffed at him, “and here I thought you were the cultured one between us—”

“Fine, fine, I’m going.”

Though Akutagawa looked like he’d swallowed a lemon, he awkwardly approached two girls who were taking their own photos.

He asked in stilted French for their assistance, and when they quirked their heads at him, he switched to English. They nodded emphatically, smiling at the two of them, and agreed, calling out instructions for them to follow.

Though Atsushi couldn’t understand them, Akutagawa did, and he pressed into Atsushi’s side at their request, putting his arm behind him. Atsushi mimicked the action, leaning in. The girl with Atsushi’s phone snapped some pictures, turning the angle here and there to give them options.

Akutagawa handed her his phone, too, asking for her to take a photo with it as well (Atsushi assumed; he understood some English, from T.V. and movies, but conversationally he was hopeless).

She took care to take a variety of photos with his phone, too, handing it back to him with a smile and some kind words.

Akutagawa thanked her, and turned back to Atsushi with pink dusting his high cheekbones.

“Talking to girls is that hard for you?”

“Shut up, jinko,” he pushed him, “I wasn’t going to ask any of the men; they’re not as good at taking touristy photos of strangers.”

“Oh, you know this from experience?”

“Chuuya likes getting photos like this,” he nodded, “He’s got an eye for people who he thinks would be good at taking his picture.”

That implies that Akutagawa would have been in those photos with him, Atsushi mused. If it were just a picture of Chuuya alone, Akutagawa could have just taken them, himself. He filed that little bit of information later, to ask about in the future if Akutagawa was feeling particularly generous.

After about a half hour of walking around and appreciating the panoramic alpine view, they took the next cable car down the mountain.

“Where should we get dinner, Akutagawa?”

They were already back on the bus back towards the city center.

“I want you to try one of my favorite restaurants here. It’s called Relais de l’Entrecôte. They only serve steak and fries, but it’s one of the best steaks you’ll ever eat.”

Once they got off the bus, near Old Town, Akutagawa led him close to the lakefront, where he stopped in front of a restaurant that had a line of people out the door.

“Is it always like this?” Atsushi asked.

“Yes,” he said, “but they just opened for the evening, so we won’t be waiting long.”

True to his word, they only waited for a short while until they were seated. Atsushi chose to sit outside, to better enjoy the scenery.

“When they take your order, all they’ll ask is how you like your steak,” Akutagawa instructed, “and that’s it, then they'll bring you steak and fries.”

“I want it so rare that it’s still mooing,” Atsushi licked his lips.

Akutagawa nodded, as if this surprised him not at all.

When the server approached them, he told her this in French. She wrote their order down, and disappeared.

“All of the waitresses are wearing these…French maid costumes!” Atsushi gawked, “it’s like a maid café, but much fancier.”

Akutagawa coughed into his napkin, but didn’t disagree.

“This restaurant is very famous in Paris,” Akutagawa told him, “but it started out here, in Geneva. This is the original location.”

Atsushi was very impressed with the knowledge Akutagawa would drop here and there about their surroundings, but couldn’t find it in himself to be too surprised. Akutagawa liked nice things, so who was he to complain?

Two plates of steak arrived for them—Akutagawa ordered two of what Atsushi wanted, like before—and Atsushi dug in. The steak was fantastic, covered in a mysterious green sauce that tasted better than any steak sauce he’d ever had. He devoured both plates without issue, which paired beautifully with the red wine Akutagawa ordered for him, as his partner told him more little anecdotes about the city that he’d learned on previous visits.

Their walk back to the hotel was slow and congenial, the lake their constant companion along the way. It was only about a fifteen-minute walk, but Atsushi was pleasantly full, and lethargy was clinging to his limbs, so walking back felt all the more satisfying.

The wind on the lake whipped their hair as they crossed the bridge closest to their hotel. Atsushi made sure to walk with his arms and hips connected to Akutagawa, his affection for him growing by the second.

This trip wasn’t a romantic getaway, like Kyouka said, but Atsushi couldn’t help but notice it was starting to feel like one. The business they came there for had already been concluded, and all they had left to do was enjoy themselves. And why shouldn’t they?

With every step they took closer to their hotel, Atsushi became more and more sure of how he wanted the rest of the evening to go.

Once they got to their hotel, and entered the elevator, Atsushi glued himself to Akutagawa’s side, arm snaking around his waist. Akutagawa turned to him with a blink of surprise, but kept his eyes on Atsushi’s as he led them out of the elevator and to their room.

The room key made an electronic chiming sound as it signaled the unlocking of the door. Atsushi felt like he would burst from the anticipation, that the damn thing couldn’t open fast enough. Akutagawa pushed ahead, letting them inside. Before it could fully close behind them, Atsushi spun them around and slammed Akutagawa’s back into the door, pinning him in place with a kiss.

Chapter Text

Ryuunosuke’s head was spinning.

Nakajima’s body flattened him against the door—the weretiger had all but pounced on him the minute they’d gotten inside the room—as he kissed him with a drive that pushed all other thoughts out of Ryuunosuke’s mind. Nakajima had his hands tightly fisted in Rashoumon, entire form pressed against him, and for a blissful moment, Ryuunosuke sunk into the feeling of relief he felt at having his lips back on his own.

It had hardly been two days since they last touched each other this way, but he didn’t know how often he could have this. He didn’t know what Nakajima even wanted from him; all he knew was that he’d give it to him when he asked. And he was asking now.

After the initial shock of the change in atmosphere, Ryuunosuke slowly regained control of his arms, wrapping one hand around Nakajima’s neck, the other around his waist. The weretiger enthusiastically sought out his tongue with his own, kissing like he wanted to ravage, to consume entirely.

Before Ryuunosuke could formulate a single thought of his own that wasn’t a steady mantra of jinko, jinko, jinko, Nakajima roughly pulled him forward, leading them towards the bed without separating their mouths. He turned them, pushing Ryuunosuke down onto the bed before moving to climb atop him.

Ryuunosuke scooted up in the same moment the weretiger pinned him beneath him with a strength that was doing nothing for his common sense and everything for the desire pooling in his gut. The brief separation allowed Ryuunosuke the split-second chance to use his words.

“Jinko, wait—“

“For what,” his eyes glowed, “I want you, I want you right now—”

“That’s just it,” Ryuunosuke tried to avoid lying flat, as the weretiger was trying to keep him supine beneath him, “Do you know what you want?”

He tried sitting up upon his elbows, but Nakajima pushed him back down, kissing him into the mattress with urgency.

“I don’t care,” he murmured between kisses, “Anything, I don’t care, I just want you—”

“Okay,” Ryuunosuke turned his head away from him, quickly discovering that talking was the last thing he actually wanted to be doing right now, but he couldn’t avoid it, “but what do you like?”

Nakajima kissed down his jaw, transfixed, outright ignoring him.

“Jinko, focus."

“Mmmm,” he said, with a distinct lack of focus.

“Is it sex you want?”

“I think,” he licked a stripe up the side of Ryuunosuke’s neck, ending at his ear, “that would be obvious.”

“There is no such thing as…” his breath hitched in arousal, “you know what, we can talk about that later. My point is—”

“Can I take Rashoumon off, Akutagawa?” his voice—hot in his ear—was soft, if not a little shy, but the implications made his eyelashes flutter in anticipation.

“Stop distracting me, jinko.”

Nakajima chuckled into his neck. He shuddered, feeling the vibration under his skin.

“Alright, this isn’t working,” he didn’t like using his vampiric strength, but when he felt desperate, it was useful to have. He forced Nakajima’s body off of him and flipped their positions, so that the weretiger was beneath him, but kept his own body hovering above him, so that the excruciating temptation of touching him wouldn’t spiral him down into a decision he might regret later.

“You’ve never had sex before,” Ryuunosuke rushed the words out of his mouth, hating the minute distance the second he’d initiated it, and wanting it over as soon as possible, “do you know what you like?”

“What do you mean?” the weretiger looked fucked out already, his breathing heavy, pupils completely eclipsing his irises. He would have to be quick to keep him on task.

“Top or bottom, you idiot.”

“Oh,” Nakajima used that lull in Ryuunosuke’s vigilance to force his body back down, rolling his groin against his for a painfully distracting moment as he seemed to think it over.

“I don’t care,” he said as he closed his eyes, “whatever you want.”

“That’s…” Ryuunosuke choked on his words, fighting for self-control, “that’s not helpful.”

He felt his composure slipping. He wouldn’t be able to keep holding himself off for much longer, the way Nakajima was acting. He knew his limits, and they were rather narrow when it came to the man before him.

“I won’t continue until you give me more to go off of,” Ryuunosuke warned, fearing he wouldn’t be able to keep his word if Nakajima took too long to answer.

“Okay,” the weretiger relented, “I guess…like…before you were turned,” he hesitated, unsure how to continue, “I think I…wanted to be the one to fuck you, back then.” His eyes lit up with vicious intent, “I still do.”

Ryuunosuke nodded, expecting this.

“But,” he paused, looking away from him for a moment, “it feels different, now that you’re a vampire.”

He reached his hand up to Ryuunosuke’s jabot, wrapping his knuckles around it in liquid movements. He did not tug, not yet, but Ryuunosuke suspected he would, when the mood struck him. When the tiger wanted to play with its food.

“You’re a hunter now, like me,” he settled on, “and I’ve never been prey before.”

Nakajima's breathing was heavy, his cheeks crimson.

“I liked being your prey more than I wanted to admit.”

Ryuunosuke also expected this, which was why he had to ask. He knew, by default, that both he and Nakajima were apex predators, and that claiming, taking, possessing, devouring—they were all instinctual for them. For both of them.

He also knew, however, that vampire stories in literature and legend widely utilized blood drinking as a euphemism for sex. The act of drinking blood itself involved physical penetration, submission of the vampire’s victim—be it through glamour, hypnotism, or preternatural violence—and bliss for the prey that unmistakably mimicked sexual arousal.

Lore and legend aside, Nakajima had not only been on the receiving end of this experience numerous times, but repeatedly sought it out. He told Ryuunosuke every time that he enjoyed it, that it felt good for him.

But Ryuunosuke understood an unhealthy coping mechanism when he saw one. It wasn’t lost on him that it had only been a week since his harrowing incident at the orphanage. In the scant seven days since that encounter, Nakajima openly, frequently encouraged Ryuunosuke to feed from him. It sickened him to think about, but the possibility was high that Nakajima only pursued Ryuunosuke’s fangs as a way to escape, to forget, to make the pain go away.

Did Ryuunosuke have the strength of will to stop drinking from Nakajima—a willing participant, and the object of every desire he possessed—if the habit became noticeably harmful for him? He willed himself to believe that he would. But the very thought of having to stop made his stomach clench, made his fangs itch for the validation of the weretiger’s flesh on his own.

But that problem did not exist yet. Best not to look a gift horse in the mouth, while he had it.

“I think,” Nakajima’s voice cut through his thoughts, “I want you to be the one to do it, this time.”

Ryuunosuke inhaled, elation thrumming through him at the admission.

“You’re sure?” He tried not to betray his eagerness.

Nakajima bit his lip, eyes earnest. He nodded, resolute.

Ryuunosuke exhaled raggedly through his mouth, his hands unconsciously falling to Nakajima’s belt buckle as he moved to sit back on his haunches.

The weretiger was faster than him, flinging his shirt off in his impatience and practically shoving Ryuunosuke’s hands out of the way to unfasten his pants and shimmy them off. He threw each item onto the floor, casting them away before turning his attention to Ryuunosuke. His hands hovered near him, unsure whether he was allowed to touch Rashoumon.

Nakajima, still in his boxer briefs, put his knees beneath him to lean toward him.

He knew how important clothing was to Ryuunosuke. Nakajima understood that Rashoumon served as his armor in more ways than one. It protected him in all ways physical, emotional, and psychological. The difference in openness and vulnerability between them was obvious, with the weretiger already almost naked, and Ryuunosuke fully clothed.

Nakjima placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, smoothing his palm down his bicep, leaving his scent behind.

“Can I?” the weretiger timidly asked him, inching closer.

Ryuunosuke kissed him, unable to stop himself. He pulled Nakajima against him, fighting against every muscle in his body not to drink, not to bite, not to destroy him utterly.

Distantly, he realized that he’d never initiated a kiss with Nakajima until now. It had always been the weretiger who’d taken that step between them first, the few times it had happened before.

Ryuunosuke deepened the kiss between them as he reached back to shrug off Rashoumon, Nakajima’s fingers fastening themselves to his chest to unbutton his dress shirt. Before the weretiger could fully finish his task, he broke the kiss to lunge for Ryuunosuke’s neck.

In the split second where he saw the weretiger’s jaw unhinge, his own fangs bared and aimed for his jugular, Ryuunosuke felt an immobilizing spike of fear. But before he could think to defend himself, a terrible rip rung through the room, and Nakajima pulled back with his jabot in his jaws.

Before he could think to react to that particular image, the weretiger dropped it, like a toy he’d lost interest in, and dove back in for Ryuunosuke’s neck, the object of his attention open to him.

He latched onto Ryuunosuke’s throat, biting and sucking as much as he could reach. Ryuunosuke was too stunned and turned on to do much else but stutter,

“You destroyed my jabot.”

Nakajima’s only response was a humming growl as he nosed along his pulse point, dazed and distracted.

“That was…” Ryuunosuke faltered, “you…”

“Is that what that thing’s called?” the weretiger looked up at him with hazy eyes, “it was in the way.”

Ryuunosuke grabbed his chin, harshly forcing him in place.

“Naughty jinko.”

The smell of the weretiger’s arousal doubled around him, his eyes shining and dark.

With a speed only his vampirism could give him, Ryuunosuke trapped Nakajima onto his back, knocking the wind out of him. The weretiger whined beneath him, squirming, the effort futile. He hadn’t fully succeeded in getting Ryuunosuke’s button-up shirt off, though it hung open on his torso, draping over them. His legs were between Nakajima’s, forcing them apart, pressing down on his insistently hard cock.

“You like it when I overpower you, jinko?”

Nakajima appeared incapable of speech, nodding deliriously, eyes closed. Ryuunosuke took one hand off of him to pull down Nakajima’s underwear. To keep him in place, he pressed his forearm over the weretiger’s clavicle, and Nakajima put both his hands around it to ground himself. Ryuunosuke lifted himself off just enough to make room to let him wriggle out of the boxer briefs, discarding them onto the floor.

Nakajima’s cock was beautiful—flushed, heavy, leaking against his stomach. Ryuunosuke gently touched the tip with his finger, sliding it down his length with a hungry awe. The weretiger hissed through his teeth, quivering at the slight contact.

“Before I continue,” Ryuunosuke couldn’t look away from it, licking his lips, “is there anything that’s off limits for you?”

Nakajima was beginning to sweat, breathing hard.

“No.” he shook his head, restless.

“Hmmm,” Ryuunosuke mused, “since it’s your first time, you just need to tell me if I do something you don’t like.”

Nakajima made an impatient, unintelligible noise.

Ryuunosuke tightened his hold, his hand at his thigh, and his arm at his throat.

“Do you understand, jinko?”

Nakajima whined, eyes on the ceiling.

“Yes.”

“Alright then,” and with that, Ryuunosuke flipped him, a startled huff leaving the weretiger’s mouth as he landed on his stomach.

Nakajima tried lifting himself up, but was roughly pushed down by Ryuunosuke’s hand at his back, which earned him a shocked gasp.

“Stay still,” he ordered, “but remember, tell me to stop, and I will.”

He ran the hand on his back slowly down his spine, relishing in the shiver that followed. He settled behind him, lifting his ass a little into the air, spread his cheeks apart, and gave an exploratory lick over his entrance.

The weretiger released a high-pitched noise, jolting in surprise, but kept still. Ryuunosuke took that as permission to continue, and pressed further in, licking deeper inside of him, spreading him wider.

Nakajima groaned into the pillows beneath his head, trying to stifle his reactions to the new sensation. His breathing was haggard, and he spread his legs wider to welcome him.

Ryuunosuke’s restraint slipped at seeing his reaction, and began to eat him out in earnest. The faster pace made Nakajima mewl into his arms, as he started to slowly hump himself backward onto Ryuunosuke’s face, losing himself to the feeling. Ryuunosuke’s grip on him was bruising, but he could tell by Nakajima’s clear enthusiasm that manhandling was encouraged.

The noises he was making were pitching higher and higher, and Ryuunosuke realized that he would probably come soon if he didn’t stop. Neither of them had the most stamina in their encounters leading up to this. for Ryuunosuke, it was his desperation to finally touch the man he’d obsessed over for so long, and for Nakajima, it was likely due to his youth and lack of experience.

Though, every time they’d done anything sexual together, Ryuunosuke noticed Nakajima getting hard again shortly after they’d finished. The weretiger never mentioned it, likely due to not knowing the benefits of having no refractory period (another trait of the tiger, he’d assumed). But Ryuunosuke remembered, storing that useful bit of information away for later use.

That meant that his initial plan of teasing the weretiger to death wouldn’t quite work for his first time. Perhaps later, after his stamina grew with practice, but for now, he had something a little different in mind.

He took one hand off of Nakajima’s cheeks to slowly tease his cock hanging between his legs.

“Akutagawa!” Nakajima cried, “I won’t be able to last if you—”

“It’s alright, jinko,” his own breathing was turning rough, “you can come.”

You’ll be hard again in a few seconds.

It didn’t really matter if Nakajima couldn’t last very long. All that mattered was if Ryuunosuke could.

He gripped Nakajima’s cock in his hand, and dove back into him with his mouth, twisting him in his fist in time with the thrusts and swirls of his tongue.

Nakajima’s back arched as he cried out, spilling onto the duvet beneath them. He heaved as Ryuunosuke kept pumping him, slower and slower, to ease him down from it. As soon as Ryuunosuke released him, he pressed him back down.

“Now,” he said, “I’m going to actually prep you.”

Nakajima’s head swiveled back to stare at him, mouth open.

“I’m not ready now?”

Ryuunosuke fought not to laugh at him. He tried to make his face as non-judgmental as possible, so that the weretiger wouldn’t think he was being condescending.

“Have you ever put anything up your ass before?”

“No.”

“Then it is necessary, I promise.”

He moved off of him to collect lube and a condom from his bag. Because as much as he told himself not to expect anything to happen between them on the trip, he also knew the weretiger’s track record from the past week. He wasn’t particularly shy in seeking out sex ever since he started demanding Ryuunosuke treat him like his own personal blood bag.

“Besides,” he climbed back behind him, “it will feel good.”

The weretiger blinked slowly at him, an unsaid acknowledgement of his trust. Ryuunosuke blinked back.

“I’m not sure if I like how good you are at this.” Nakajima’s eyes were sharp, despite his compromised, lewd positioning.

“Why?” Ryuunosuke squeezed some of the lube out onto his fingers, warming it, “it benefits you.”

Nakajima made a low sound in his throat, eyes narrowed.

“You have experience.”

He allowed himself a small chuckle at that, nodding. He wasn’t sure if Nakajima was pouting because it was a competition for him to see who had more sexual prowess in bed, or if it was because he was being territorial, like Ryuunosuke hoped. As a result, he ignored the statement altogether, and slipped his index finger in.

Nakajima jolted, gasping aloud.

“like I said,” he gently pressed in and out, other hand pressed to the small of Nakajima’s back, “your benefit.”

Nakajima’s eyelashes fluttered, breathing deep as he dropped his head back onto the pillow.

“Make sure you relax your muscles as much as you can.”

As soon as he felt Nakajima do just that, the weretiger released a coarse noise of pleasure, hiding his face from view.

As he stretched him, he moved his finger slowly and carefully to make sure he was comfortable. Predictably, his partner’s erection was back and bobbing under him. Though, quicker than Ryuunosuke expected, Nakajima, bold as ever, signaled that he was well-adjusted by bucking back onto his finger, seeking more friction.

Bratty jinko.

“Are you ready for a second?”

He lifted his head for a breathy, muffled, “Yeah.”

He obliged him, moving a bit faster, to keep up with the pace the weretiger clearly sought. The pace wasn’t Nakajima’s to make, this time, but he couldn’t help but indulge him at least a little.

He poked around, searching for his prostate, and almost surprised himself when he found it, for Nakajima lurched so suddenly he was afraid he’d somehow electrocuted him, with a startled shout forced out of him.

“What the fuck was that?” he exclaimed, turning around to look at him.

“Your prostate,” Ryuunosuke tried to level out his breathing. Nakajima’s emotive reaction sent a painful jolt of arousal to his own already hard cock, which strained tight against his pants. He licked his lips before replying, “Do you want me to avoid touching it?”

“No,” the response was immediate, “you can…I mean…” his face was red, “I like it.”

“Alright.”

He scissored him open between thrusts, subtly adding a third finger, inciting a pleased groan from Nakajima.

“Is it too much?”

“No,” he shook his head, not looking at him.

When three became easier for him, he switched to four, eliciting a small hiss with a “Keep going,” attached to it.

“I think you’re ready.”

He slipped his fingers out, and took off the rest of his clothes as quickly as he could. He got back into place and broke open the condom wrapper. At the sound of the wrapper crinkling, Nakajima looked around, displeased.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s good manners to wear a condom when you have sex with someone, jinko.”

“Well, you don’t have anything I can catch, do you?”

Belatedly, Ryuunosuke realized that his vampire’s healing abilities would have eradicated any STI’s he could have acquired as a human. Not that he’d had any at the time.

“Well, no—"

“Then I don’t want it.”

Ryuunosuke swallowed, unprepared for such a declaration.

“What we’re going to do is a bit messy, jinko—”

“I know,” he moved more of his body around, to face him fully. His eyes were clear and sure.

“Is it like…” he stopped himself, not wanting to insult Nakajima with crude assumptions, “is it a tiger thing?”

“Yes,” his eyes shone, vivid.

“You…” Ryuunosuke wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say it, “you would see it as me marking you, wouldn’t you? Like a claim.”

“Yes,” He nodded, the lust in his eyes unmistakable, “that’s what I want.”

Ryuunosuke realized he was panting, and for a moment worried that he would lose all the self-control in his reserves, attack the weretiger then and there, and show him exactly who he belonged to. But perhaps that was what Nakajima wanted out of this experience, anyway.

Before he could process how infinitely more aroused he’d suddenly become, Nakajima swiped at the condom at his fingertips and flung it across the room.

“You said I was ready.”

Nakajima’s gaze was intense, but Ryuunosuke felt a pinch of obstinance at the action. The look of challenge in the weretiger’s eyes was so pronounced, Ryuunosuke felt it like a brand. He bowled over the weretiger, forcing him back onto the mattress with a bruising kiss. Nakajima responded ardently, opening his mouth and tongue to him to ravish as he wished, his hands flying around Ryuunosuke’s neck.

But Ryuunosuke snaked one hand down his body, thrusting three fingers back inside him, shocking Nakajima with a gasp.

He held Nakajima down by his shoulder, and as Ryuunosuke brought his mouth lower to kiss along his jaw, the weretiger rolled his head back as far as he could reach, baring his neck for him.

He kissed along Nakajima’s throat, sucking roughly, but without breaking skin—still too gentle for his taste, but were he to bite fully, he would draw blood—and the weretiger writhed as Ryuunosuke pumped his fingers in and out of him.

“Isn’t it against your nature to bare your neck, jinko?”

Nakajima keened, eyes closed, trying and failing to make Ryuunosuke give him more.

“Yes,” he breathed.

“Hmmm,” he chewed on his earlobe, whispering into his ear, “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to see you do that.”

“Ah!” he pitched under him, the stimulation becoming too much.

Ryuunosuke moved the hand at his shoulder to clutch his neck, holding him still.

“Will you come again for me, jinko?” He nosed along his hair, relishing in his utter loss of composure.

“It’s,” he stuttered, “it’s too soon, I’m not ready for it to be—”

“Don’t worry,” he crooned to him, soft, into his temple, “just trust me.”

That must have been the right thing to say, for Nakajima’s clenched his eyes shut, his muscles pulling taut for a quick moment, and then he was coming again with a terse sigh, splattering between their stomachs.

Ryuunosuke wondered if it was cruel to push him for a third orgasm when the weretiger didn’t even seem to know what a refractory period was. But greed was a vice they both shared, when the other was concerned. If Nakajima wanted to be taken, who was Ryuunosuke to deny him? He would take until the tiger was sated.

Ryuunosuke sat up, grabbing one of the many pillows that adorned the headboard and placing it beneath Nakajima’s hips.

The weretiger, for his part, was recovering, but still a bit winded, blinking through the aftershocks as Ryuunosuke moved his body about.

“Are you…” his voice failed him for a moment as he caught his breath, “are you not going to drink?”

“No,” Ryuunosuke shook his head, the fervency of his own reaction surprising him. He placed his hand on Nakajima’s chest, to keep him there, “not this time.”

“Why?” he didn’t like that answer, his brows pulling together in distaste.

“I don’t want…”

He didn’t quite know, himself, why he wanted to abstain from his blood tonight. Something about it felt wrong, to inebriate Nakajima on the first night they had sex. It would have been consensual the whole way through, but something about it didn’t sit right with him.

“I want you to be fully present for this,” he decided, “for your first time.”

Nakajima huffed, accepting his answer with reluctance, but after a moment, smiled with all his teeth.

“So you’ll drink from me the next time we fuck?”

“Maybe,” he admitted—suddenly, irrationally embarrassed by Nakajima’s crass words—“if I feel like it.”

“Mmmm,” Nakajima wiggled a bit under him, approval settling onto his features. He got a look in his eye that gave Ryuunosuke the distinct impression that Nakajima had every intention of seducing his next drink out of him.

“Well then,” Nakajima put his hand on Ryuunosuke’s wrist, “I think I’ve waited long enough, Akutagawa.” He looked exhausted, but if he still felt cognizant enough to sass him, he could go another round.

Ryuunosuke smiled at him, and spread his legs apart, lining himself up.

“Jinko—”

“Atsushi,” he interrupted him, “I want you to call me by my real name if I’m going to have your dick in my ass.”

Ryuunosuke exhaled, blood simmering with excitement. He nodded, forcing himself to speak before he lost the courage.

“You,” he faltered, “you can use my first name, as well, when we’re,” he paused, running his hands down Nakajima’s thighs, eye catching on his femoral artery, the spot where he’d drank from him less than a week ago, “like this.”

“Ryuunosuke,” Nakajima clearly said it experimentally, but his expression was avid, covetous, and it pierced Ryuunosuke through with how wildly unready he was to hear it. He shuddered, his breathing fast.

Atsushi. I’m allowed to call him Atsushi.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” he asked, before moving further.

“Ryuunosuke Akutagawa, If you don’t fuck me right now, I will fucking rip you to shreds with my claws and I will not feel bad about it—”

He cut himself off with a punched-out inhale as Ryuunosuke slowly pushed himself in. Each inch made the both of them double over with stimulation, all of their senses directed at their point of contact between them. Nakajima felt so hot inside, so tight around him, it took everything in his power not to come then and there out of sheer elation at the overwhelming, all-encompassing ripple of pleasure that consumed him.

Once he bottomed out, he waited for Nakajima to adjust. The weretiger’s chest rose and fell, sweat clinging to his forehead.

“Move,” he bit out.

Ryuunosuke obeyed, beginning a series of shallow thrusts to get him used to the feeling. He took sharp intakes of breath each time Ryuunosuke slid into him, though he was still taking it slower than he knew his partner would want.

“Faster,” he growled at him, baring his teeth.

Ryuunosuke gave him more, setting a pace that left him crying out every few seconds from the slapping of their hips in rapid succession.

“More,” he looked wrecked, drunk, “more—”

Ryuunosuke, in a stroke of sadism, changed nothing, but kept the pace where it was, making sure it was quick, but not quick enough, and Nakajima understood that he was being played with.

“Ryuunosuke,” his voice was desperate, frantic, "Ryuunosuke please—”

That did it; hearing his first name on Nakajima—no, Atsushi’s lips—was the last straw, snapping the last thread of self-control he had. His hands, already behind Nakajima’s knees, pushed his legs back til they were touching his chest, folding him in half as he slammed mercilessly into him over, and over, and over. He growled over his body, forcing him down, under, open, as he thrust into him with abandon, hammering against his prostate. He hardly heard Atsushi’s wailing sobs of pleasure over the blood in his own ears.

He only barely snapped out of his haze to catch Atsushi reaching for his overstimulated, swollen cock, which rubbed between them as he drove in and in and in.

“No,” he trapped both of his wrists above his head with one hand, leaving one leg hiked up, “mine.”

Atsushi leaned his head back, spine arching.

“Yes,” he slurred, “yours.”

That single admission, small as it was, almost sent him over the edge. He couldn’t hold out much longer. Ryuunosuke reached between them, giving Atsushi’s cock several rough jerks before the weretiger screamed, coming a third time.

As Atsushi clenched around him, he finally, finally let himself go, chasing his pleasure to the end, his orgasm cresting, crashing into him as he cried out “Atsushi, Atsushi, Atsushi,” through each gasping breath.

He released Atsushi’s arms, falling atop him with an exhausted grunt. They shouldn’t lay there, drenched in sweat and semen, but neither of them moved to get up. They couldn’t sleep like this—they wouldn’t sleep like this—but Ryuunosuke didn’t have the power to move yet. He thought he might actually die if he did.

The only sound in the room was the sound of their labored breathing. And for a long while, the two of them didn’t speak, unwinding in the peaceful silence. Ryuunosuke feared they might actually fall asleep like this before Atsushi—Nakajima now (he only had permission to use his name during sex, he reminded himself)—spoke up.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” His voice sounded bewildered, thin.

“In all fairness, I did try to kill you every time I saw you.”

“We could have been hatefucking, though!” Atsushi tensed beneath him, waving his hands in his fervor, “What a wasted opportunity!”

Ryuunosuke huffed, breaking out into a laugh, still laying on him.

“You’re impossible,” he sniggered helplessly.

“You wouldn’t have liked that?” If Nakajima had recovered enough to be cheeky, he must be doing fine, “fucking your enemy?” Ryuunosuke risked a glance at him; his partner’s eyes were mischievous, “Would have been quite the scandal.”

“I think it’s still quite a scandal now, jinko.”

“Nahhh,” he waved it off, “the Port Mafia and the Agency have a truce now. Back when we were real enemies…that would have been so hot.”

Ryuunosuke blushed, pushing himself up to look at him properly.

“Did you really want me back then?”

“I mean,” Nakajima’s skin was still flushed, himself, “I hated your guts, but that didn’t mean I didn’t find you attractive.” He shrugged under him, “it was actually part of your appeal at the time, how much I hated you,” he paused, eyes glimmering, voice dropping, “how much I wanted to put you in your place.”

“Oh, so you did think about it.”

“I said I did, didn’t I?” Nakajima huffed, “I just didn’t tell you how far back.”

Ryuunosuke hummed, pondering how much he should reveal in turn.

“I can’t deny I felt…similarly, since the beginning.”

“Ugh!” Nakajima griped, covering his eyes with one hand, “I can’t believe us!” he quickly regained focus, looking up at him, “Though I will be the one fucking you next time.”

“I’m sure we’ll have to take turns,” Ryuunosuke agreed placidly. Secretly, though, he was pleased that he got permission to do it first.

The fact that he’d been Nakajima’s first in all ways sexual was something that made him feel…deeply possessive. It was an ugly feeling, but one that made him preen in unseen victory against all other potential suitors the weretiger might have had. He wasn’t blind; he understood the effect he had on other people. Nakajima was impossible not to want. He was just grateful he got there first.

“Okay,” Ryuunosuke raised himself up, gently pulling out and climbing off of Nakajima, who hissed, “we need to shower.”

“What?” the weretiger’s eyes were large, “you mean I need to move?”

“You can’t fall asleep with…” he gestured to the mess on and inside his body, “all of this all over you. You’ll feel abhorrent in the morning. And we have to wake up early for our flight.”

Nakajima smothered his face with one of the (frankly excessive number of) pillows around him.

“Noooooo,” he lamented into the linens.

“We’re only scheduled to be here for one day, you knew that going in.”

“But Switzerland is so nice!”

“I agree,” he smiled, “but if we stayed longer, you’d have to find a new excuse to tell your president as to why you won’t be at work on Monday.”

Nakajima flipped the pillow off his face, his eyes bulging in apprehension.

“You’re right, that’s worse.”

“Alright, now get up,” he motioned for him to follow to the bathroom, “or do you need me to carry you?”

“No, no, I can do it.”

Nakajima unsteadily lifted himself up, though wobbled as he tried to stand. Ryuunosuke paused to watch his own spend leak out of him as he stood up, transfixed by the sight. He shook himself, rushing to Nakajima’s side in case he wanted to lean on him. He looked to Ryuunosuke with his mouth agape.

“Holy fuck, man, what did you do to me?”

“There are a lot of crude things I can say in response to that,” Ryuunosuke smothered his smile, guiding him away, “but that’s how it feels afterwards, for a little bit.”

“You saying that from experience?”

“Don’t be nosy, jinko.”

He couldn’t help grinning a little as he got him into the large shower in the bathroom. Nakajima moved like a rag doll, limbs limp and loose.

He let Ryuunosuke wash him with the bar of soap and washcloth the hotel provided for them. Nakajima seemed to appreciate it, closing his eyes as he luxuriated in the feeling of the warm soap and spray. He quickly washed himself afterwards, reaching for his shampoo bottle.

“Can I shampoo your hair?” Ryuunosuke asked, unsure if he was crossing a boundary. He was afraid of coming off as creepy, but he knew how it felt to be in Nakajima’s position, and didn’t know if he had the energy to do it himself.

“Yeah,” he turned around to look back at him, closing his eyes again in that unspoken display of vulnerability and affection.

He didn’t dare say it, but Nakajima was very much reminding him of a cat right now. He tried to put the thought out of his mind as he washed his hair with the shampoo, before doing his own.

Once they'd finished, he toweled both of them off before leading him back to bed. He flung the duvet back, essentially removing the evidence of their mess for them, revealing the clean sheets beneath.

“I’ll be right back, they should have blankets in the closet.”

There was one enormous blanket packaged in plastic on the closet’s top shelf, just as he suspected. He used to run cold, when he was alive, and on their trips abroad together, Chuuya encouraged him to use the additional blanket usually stored in the hotel room. It helped a lot, in the past.

He fanned it out over the bed, and Nakajima climbed under it as Ryuunosuke turned off all the lights and closed the curtains. For a moment of panic, he worried someone had seen them, but with only the lake in front of them, and so high up, it was near impossible for anyone to have been able to see what they’d been doing. Still, the paranoia itched at him. Everything about this mission made him feel anxious. Spending time with Nakajima was a clear positive, but the guilt of lying to him made him nauseous.

That was a problem for another day, however. They had a flight to catch in the morning, so he decided to sleep first, worry later. 

He climbed into bed next to Nakajima, who had already begun to sprawl and stretch under their new blanket. As Ryuunosuke sidled up next to him, Nakajima instinctively turned away, laying on his side. Ryuunosuke curled up, spooning him from behind, his arms around the weretiger’s waist.

Nakajima’s breathing leveled out almost immediately (seriously, how did he fall asleep so fast, and sleep for so long? Was it a cat thing?). As soon as Ryuunosuke pressed his body up against Nakajima’s, he felt the purring again. He suppressed a thrilled noise of delight. Did Nakajima even know when he was doing it? Ryuunosuke bit his lip to suppress himself, and tried to calm down so he could sleep. The weretiger felt so comfortable, it felt so easy to drift off.

Except he didn’t.

He was exhausted, drained, pleasantly sleepy, but sleep did not take him. His beautiful weretiger rumbled in his arms, the steady sound a lulling comfort that should have conked him out by now. But why couldn’t he sleep?

He didn’t want to accept the answer, though he did know, deep down, what it was.

He desperately, fiercely, madly wanted to know what was on those fucking flash drives.

He couldn’t just hand them over to Mori without knowing what was on them. He couldn’t. Mori would hurt Nakajima with the information he learned. He would use this intel to take him into the Port Mafia against his will, imprisoning him there, away from his family at the ADA, making him miserable.

There was no doubt in his mind that Atsushi should never, under any circumstances, be forced into the Port Mafia. The obvious reasons being that it would make Nakajima unhappy, and it would be morally wrong to trap him there. But, selfishly, his strongest motive against it was that Nakajima would surely resent him if Mori succeeded. He’d been a prisoner at the orphanage for most of his life; forcing him into a new prison by a different name would be beyond cruel, and Nakajima would blame him for his part in the transfer.

Because there was no way Nakajima wouldn't find out that Ryuunosuke was the reason Mori was able to bring him over. He would be told, and would then be expected to work alongside Ryuunosuke as his partner, despite hating him for what he'd done.

The thought made his stomach swirl with unease.

But it was also undoubtedly a massive invasion of privacy to look at them. Did Nakajima remember all of it? Had he blocked any of it out? Would Ryuunosuke even be able to handle looking at this information? His fidgety thoughts kept his mind wide awake.

More than two hours passed like this, with Ryuunosuke clutching the purring weretiger, his mind a dithering, wandering, fumbling mess.

He came to a decision. He needed to know what was on those thumb drives. There was no other way to protect Nakajima from what Mori had planned. He was going to hate what he saw, but he knew Mori would have no qualms looking at it, so he would need to armor himself with the knowledge before it could be used as a weapon.

He carefully detached himself from the sleeping Nakajima, who continued to purr and breathe in the deep way a person only does when they’re sleeping.

He nudged himself out of bed, and crept to Rashoumon, who lay discarded on the floor. He put it on, over his naked body. The flash drive they’d collected earlier that day was still inside, as well as his headphones. His vampire eyes could see in the dark, which meant he could root around without needing a flashlight. 

He tiptoed to his suitcase on the luggage rack in the corner and found some fresh underwear to put on. He then pulled out his laptop. He quietly rummaged through his bag until his hand wrapped around the first flash drive—the one they found in the shipping container on Wednesday.

He brought them to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him. He turned the lights on, and sat on the floor against the tub. He turned on his laptop, put his headphones into his ears, and after a moment of brief, silent hysteria, plugged in the thumb drive they retrieved from the bank earlier that day.

He wanted to start with the drive that was stashed in Switzerland. The extravagant lengths Nakane had taken to conceal it meant that the worst intel was probably on it, and that anything on the thumb drive from the storage unit in Tokyo would not have the same level of damning material, if their choice in hiding places was anything to go by.

He took deep, measured breaths as the data launched before his eyes. There were so many files, how could he possibly choose which one to open first? And how could he view them all in one night? The implications chilled him. He was a fast reader, but not this fast. He would have to skim the titles of the documents, to try to search for titles Mori would want.

He passed over files labeled “Experimentation,” “Study,” “Documentation,” skimming the dates attached. Dazai was right, this drive held roughly five years of data. It looked to be years 6-10 of the years they'd started their experiments (meaning they had to have begun at age 3). This made the weretiger between the ages of 8-12 when these documents were created. Ryuunosuke paled. So young.

Unsure which file to open first, his eyes caught a familiar name: Tatsuhiko Shibusawa.

The man we fought during the Dead Apple incident?

What did he have to do with Nakajima’s time at the orphanage? No one knew anything about him, other than the crimes he committed during the Dragon Head conflict and the Dead Apple incident six years later. They fought him. They won. Ryuunosuke didn’t think much deeper into it.

When he, Kyouka, and Nakajima were fighting Shibusawa, he remembered the man goading the weretiger to “kill him again,” implying that Nakajima had defeated him in the past at some point.

Shibusawa spoke to Nakajima like they knew each other, like his morbid fascination was a familiar thing. But he was trying to kill them all, at the time, so it wasn’t at the forefront of anyone’s minds. And when Ryuunosuke had used Rashoumon to trap Shibusawa and Nakajima together inside a giant sphere of his making, the weretiger defeated him. No one heard what they spoke about inside it, and nobody asked. 

The whole incident was so chaotic, no one really thought to question what Shibusawa was talking about. The subject more or less dropped. Did the Agency know about this? How did Shibusawa know Nakajima from his past? And why was he listed on documentation from when Nakajima was between 8-12 years old?

He knew Nakajima would not forgive him for this. He knew this was a betrayal of his trust and one of the greatest violations of his privacy he could ever commit, but he needed to know. He could not protect him if he didn't know what he was up against.

He clicked the file with Shibusawa’s name.

A long list of video files appeared.

I was prepared for some video recordings, but why so many? And why are they under Shibusawa’s name?

Fear seized him. He could turn back now. He could walk away, shut down his computer, and never look at these again.

But he would do so knowing that there were months of video recordings of Tatsuhiko Shibusawa doing something—something they wanted recorded—to Nakajima. He checked the dates. The weretiger was 12 years old in these videos.

Was Shibusawa already an enemy of the state by then? Was that why his actions needed to be monitored this way? He didn’t know.

He picked a video at random and clicked on it.

A box popped up, revealing a dank, dimly lit room, with medical and torture devices scattered all over.

Nakajima was strapped to a chair. It looked to be an electric chair, with bindings for the head, torso, legs, and arms. But only the straps for his wrists and ankles were being used.

Shibusawa looked different. Ryuunosuke had only seen him in his dragon form, or whatever he’d called it. This Shibusawa looked normal, like a regular person. But as the video footage picked up, his stomach dropped as he watched the man walk over to Nakajima with what looked to be a very fancy dagger.

Nakajima shivered in his seat, blinking in fear as Shibusawa came to stand in between the child’s legs. The weretiger was clothed in what looked to be prison garb, but was likely just his orphanage uniform. His stomach clenched as he watched Shibusawa get into Nakajima’s space, the boy shivering, looking away from him.

Shibusawa looked down at him, face unreadable, as he began to unbutton Nakajima’s uniform shirt.

“Do you know what lingchi is, little tiger?”

The boy shook his head, eyes on the large, decorative knife, which looked terribly, terribly sharp.

Shibusawa made a show of slowly opening each button, relishing in the fear it garnished from the child in front of him. In a swift movement, he suddenly swung the dagger around and behind Nakajima, cutting the rest of his shirt off of him, as the boy screamed in terror, shutting his eyes, expecting the worst.

“It’s the method of torture and execution also known as Death by A Thousand Cuts,” he continued, as if he hadn’t been interrupted, dropping Nakajima’s ruined shirt on the floor, “and since you can’t die from it, I’m going to show you how it works.”

Nakajima stilled as Shibusawa clutched the band of his uniform pants, held it out, and subsequently cut them off, leaving him in his underwear. He threw the pants aside, coming back to stand between his legs.

“It was reserved for criminals who’d committed the most heinous of crimes,” Shibusawa’s eyes gleamed with malice, manic with an emotion Ryuunosuke couldn’t understand, “and sometimes, depending on the crime, their death could take days.”

Without warning he slashed a great cut over the top of Nakajima’s exposed thigh. The weretiger screeched in agony, pulling against his binds, pitching forward into Shibusawa’s stomach.

Shibusawa clutched the boy by the hair, lifting him up, and pulled him backwards, so that his neck was fully bared.

He dragged the knife down his throat as Nakajima shivered, crying out in pain between breaths.

“Don’t worry, you’ll heal,” he hummed, “but I will do it fast enough so that the effort will take longer to fix, and that…” he pretended to be sad, “that will hurt.”

He pulled the dagger down his chest, cutting deeply, slowly, agonizingly slowly down the center, as Nakajima wriggled and screamed.

“You know what I want, little tiger,” he reminded him, “give me what I want, and I’ll stop.”

What does he want? Ryuunosuke’s hand was over his mouth, muffling his erratic breathing and treacherous, traitorous body which shook in horror. What could he possibly need from a 12-year old?  

He swiped the knife over Nakajima’s left bicep, and then his right hand. Nakajima gasped in shock, unable to respond for several seconds.

“I…” Nakajima’s eyes were shining, wet with unshed tears, “I’ve told you…I don’t know how…”

“My draconia fog does not work on you,” Shibusawa insisted, blood—his weretiger's blood—spattered across the man’s white clothes, in his white hair, his eyes wild, “I need you to forfeit your special ability to me, now, or I will keep going.”

“Please,” he begged, beginning to sob, “I don’t know,” he hiccupped, “I don’t know how to give it to you, I…”

Shibusawa, whose hand was still in the boy’s hair, yanked back again as he crowded further into Nakajima’s space, smearing his clothes red. He placed the dagger into a hilt at his belt, and brought his other hand to his neck, getting close to his face.

“There are other ways I can hurt you, you know,” he whispered in warning, his nose inches from Nakajima’s. He spread out his fingers, and ghosted them down the boy’s bloody chest without breaking eye contact.

Nakajima’s eyes widened, clearly not expecting such a threat, and in a moment of panic, bellowed at the top of his lungs.

“HELP! HELP! SOMEBODY—”

His mouth was immediately muzzled by Shibusawa’s hand as he towered over him. Nakajima shook with fright, eyes enormous, as he tried to shake his head.

“It would be so easy,” he looked Nakajima up and down, cocking his head, “you’re almost naked already.”

Nakajima shouted through Shibusawa’s hand, fresh tears welling up in his eyes, his body lurching for an escape that would not come.  

“And no one,” his hand left his mouth and gripped his chin, “no one would come to save you if I did it.”

Nakajima cried onto Shibusawa’s hand, choking, looking horrifyingly close to a panic attack.

“However, I would not prefer that method,” His expression was somber, almost indifferent, like he hadn’t just threatened to rape a child, “and I prefer this manner of persuasion,” he gestured to the knife. His façade of pseudo-compassion was impossible to understand, for Ryuunosuke. Did he believe his own delusions, or was he just putting on an act to manipulate his prisoner?

“But you should know that I will go to any lengths to get what I want, and you are withholding it from me.”

Ryuunosuke didn’t understand.

"Please don't," Nakajima sobbed, near incoherence, "please."

“Will you be more cooperative if I continue with the knife?”

Nakajima nodded fervently, his reaction instantaneous. Ryuunosuke was going to be sick. Nakajima clearly already understood physical pain. It was no surprise he would rather avoid sexual violence at all costs, if it were the only form of torture he wasn’t forced to endure.

“Alright,” Shibusawa leaned back up to his full height, pulling the dagger back out, “let’s continue.”

Ryuunosuke stopped the video. He slowly set down his computer, swallowed, and ran to the toilet. He fell to his knees, lifted up the lid, and dry-heaved bile and old blood into the bowl. His body wanted to vomit, but had no food to dispel, so he simply sat there, on his knees, heaving, blinking through tears of his own.

His headphones were still in his ears, which had begun to ring. He wanted to cry.

He was twelve. Twelve. And that was only one video (one he didn't even finish watching), out of the long, long list he found from just that year alone.

He didn’t care when Nakajima had eventually killed him the first time. The bastard deserved it. He was intensely grateful that the weretiger had the honor of being the one to kill him the second time, as well.  

But rational thought was leaking out of him like blood from an open wound. How dare that orphanage allow such heinous things to be done to his weretiger? And how dare they record it? Document it? The details of the flash drives couldn’t all be documentations of torture, but what if they were?

And Shibusawa! Why was he obsessed with Nakajima? Is that what Mori wanted to know? What was it about Nakajima's ability that he needed it so badly that he tried to torture it out of him?

Panic possessed him, taking over every facet of his body. He felt tears falling down his face, but didn't know when he started crying. And in a split-second decision of fury and pain, his body moving like it wasn’t his own, he pushed himself up, disconnected the flash drive from his computer, and shattered it with Rashoumon. He picked up the second thumb drive, the one from Tokyo, and destroyed it as well. He threw the disintegrated remains into the toilet, with the blood and bile, and flushed it.

Only after it was gone, and after he made sure no trace of the flash drive remained on his laptop, did he come back to himself.

As he sat there, chest heaving on the bathroom floor, he distantly realized he was hyperventilating. Were he still alive, he might actually be worried that he’d had a heart attack.

He would have to come up with a lie to tell Mori. No one would ever see those files again, ever benefit from Nakajima’s pain, ever watch, and cover up, and use what happened to him to their advantage. And no one would ever, ever be able to hurt Atsushi Nakajima like that ever again, he would make sure of it.

Chapter Text

Ryuunosuke didn’t sleep that night.

He climbed back into bed, curled up behind Nakajima, and clutched him tight. His tears continued to fall down his cheeks, his nose, onto the pillow beneath him. He willed himself to stop crying, but that only made him cry more.

In his worst moments, all he could do to calm himself was put light kisses to Nakajima’s back. He couldn’t do it too often, though, or else he might wake him. But he laid there, lips wobbling, eyes wet, for the next few hours, until his alarm on his phone went off.

He suppressed his feelings as Nakajima stirred in front of him, forcing himself to store the ugly emotions away. He could not indulge them anymore for now.

They got dressed, packed what minimal supplies they’d brought with them, and left for the airport by cab.

The whole morning passed by Ryuunosuke in a blur. He operated on autopilot as they got through security, got to their gate, and boarded the plane. They had to connect through Zurich, Switzerland, just like they’d done on the way in. The hour-long flight ended without Ryuunosuke even registering it, as they filed out, changed planes, and boarded the long-haul flight from Zurich to Narita.

The two of them had been up rather late the night before, so Nakajima didn’t quite have the opportunity for a full night’s rest, either. This meant that Ryuunosuke was able to avoid Nakajima’s scrutiny for most of the morning, the weretiger’s sleepy disposition making him listless and distracted.

Once their flight to Narita was airborne, Nakajima finally caught on to Ryuunosuke’s uncharacteristic behavior. He cornered him in his first class cubicle, brows drawn tight in concern.

“You okay, man?” He asked with a yawn.

“Yes,” Ryuunosuke, replied, “I’m just tired.”

“You don’t look so good, though.”

Nakajima moved a little closer, standing above him, but touching Ryuunosuke’s legs with his own. Ryuunosuke’s heart clenched, knowing how important physical touch was to Nakajima’s tiger. He could almost see him struggling to keep himself from reaching for Ryuunosuke’s forehead. 

“Are you sick?”

“I…” he didn’t want to rebuff his affections, and therefore tried to answer honestly, “I don’t know if it’s even possible for me to get sick, anymore. I don’t think so, at least.”

“Then…what’s wrong?”

“I’m okay, jinko, don’t worry,” he tried to give him his bravest face, “I really am just tired. I wasn’t able to fall asleep last night.”

“What?! That’s awful.”

“It’s a pain, I agree,” he gave him a wan smile, “but it’s a common symptom of jet lag. Especially when you’re traveling long distances for short periods of time.”

That wasn’t a lie. He and Chuuya both experienced it often in the past, when their visits were as short as this one. It was all too easy to mess up one’s circadian rhythm with such large jumps between time zones. He’d learned that adjusting one’s sleep schedule was half self-discipline, and half hope that your body would cooperate and let you sleep.

Nakajima’s face pinched in sympathy, but he accepted his answer.

“Okay,” he said, still a bit dubious, “You better sleep this whole flight, then.” He brought up a finger and pointed it at him in warning.

“But what if you need me to translate for you?” Ryuunosuke couldn’t help the yawn that followed. Even the idea of staying up any longer felt impossible.

“I have my translator app on my phone, I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll need internet,” Ryuunosuke argued.

“I’ll just purchase it like everyone else,” Nakajima countered.

“Alright,” Ryuunosuke rubbed his eyes, relenting, “just make sure you use the credit card I gave you.”

Nakajima smiled, looking down and around Ryuunosuke’s seat, his eyes playful and wily. If he’d forgotten that Nakajima was half cat, he would have remembered it now, with that look alone. It was too easy to imagine his tiger’s tail swishing behind him.

“I’m not letting you climb into my seat with me,” Ryuunosuke warned, a smile stealing over his face against his will. Nakajima’s eyes snapped back to him.

“I wasn’t gonna.”

“You were thinking about it.”

“Wow,” Nakajima put a hand to his chest in mock offense, “I can’t believe my care and concern are being so rudely rejected.”

“Go away and let me sleep,” Ryuunosuke made a show of opening his largest blanket from its shrink wrap and shooing it in Nakajima’s direction before laying it across his lap.

“But,” he tacked on, leaning over to face Nakajima, “do wake me if you need me.”

“Okay.”

Their flight was to be twelve hours and forty-five minutes long. Plenty of time for Ryuunosuke to catch up on the sleep his body had denied him the night before. He turned away from Nakajima, laid his seat flat, and fell asleep almost immediately.

When he next woke, he checked the flight time. There was only about four hours left of the flight. That was good; it gave Ryuunosuke the time to write up his fake report to Mori about his mission to retrieve the flash drives.

The weretiger was curled into his pod across the aisle, facing away, buried under a mound of blankets.

Ryuunosuke felt a rush of relief. He knew he would not be comfortable writing up the report if Nakajima were awake. His partner couldn’t even see his screen from this vantage point, but that didn’t matter. He knew he’d be too distracted and jittery to type it up while the other was conscious. Guilt chewed away at his stomach like a viscous acid. He took a deep breath before pulling out his laptop.

As he began his report, his thoughts kept wandering to what he’d seen on the flash drive. He should’t focus on it—he shouldn’t—but his mind couldn’t stop replaying the parts of the video that directly mirrored what he himself had done to Nakajima the night before.

Ryuunosuke remembered how Nakajima had willingly bared his neck for him. But in recalling how Shibusawa had forced him to do it—to humiliate and subjugate him—he wondered if it had become a learned response for the weretiger; a survival tactic to keep himself safe from bigger predators.

He remembered how he’d held Nakajima’s chin, holding him in place to maintain eye contact and playfully scold him. Shibusawa had done almost the exact same thing when he was threatening to rape him, as Nakajima cried and begged for physical pain instead.

Ryuunosuke remembered putting his hand on Nakajima’s chest to hold him down as he told him he would not drink his blood. Shibusawa’s hands had also touched Nakajima’s chest, to emphasize his power over him, as the weretiger’s blood had flown freely over his hands.

Ryuunosuke almost had to flee to the lavatory to vomit again, but held it down. Why…why didn’t he stop Ryuunosuke? Why hadn’t Nakajima just asked to top him, instead? Why did he give Ryuunosuke complete control in a situation that looked so similar to his own traumatic past?

He felt tears prickle at the corners of his eyes, before covering them with one hand.

He didn’t understand.

He wanted—more than anything—to fix this, somehow. He desperately wanted to ask Nakajima all the burning questions he had rattling around his skull, but couldn’t do so without revealing what he’d done.

He distantly remembered how Nakajima had instantly questioned Ryuunosuke when he’d told him that a person’s thigh held a major artery. He’d said:

“What, like anyone could cut my thigh and I’d bleed out? That doesn’t sound right.”

Ryuunosuke now understood why the weretiger had asked. Because someone had cut his thigh—with deadly intent—and he hadn’t bled out (though cutting the top of one’s thigh was not close enough to the femoral artery to kill a person). But could the tiger even heal a cut to a main artery in time before he died of blood loss? Ryuunosuke wasn’t sure.

And Ryuunosuke was fluent in torture, due to his position in the Port Mafia. He understood full well that threats of sexual violence were common, if not textbook, methods for getting a victim to talk. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see Shibusawa use it against Nakajima, knowing what he knew about the man.  

He’d never known anyone in the Port Mafia to weaponize sexual assault in their interrogations, but he suspected that some personalities in his organization wouldn’t be above it. When he asked himself if Mori would ever resort to such a thing, he disgusted himself by not being able to come to a conclusive answer.

Thoughts of Mori hurtled him back into the present, and the pressing requirement set in front of him. He figured that the best way for him to lie was to tell as much of the truth as possible—for Mori was a horrifyingly tactical man, proficient in lie detection—so that his story could be as convincing as possible.

He knew Mori could have tailed him, at least to the airport, on Wednesday. He could have tracked his credit card records, tapped his phone, anything he wanted, really. His cyber team was rather impressive. He could even pull camera footage from the bank they’d visited in Geneva, if he wanted to verify his story.

Because of this, he wouldn’t deny where they’d gone, down to the last detail. The only piece of information he’d change would be what he’d found in the end.

Each security lock box had been empty. Nakane had sent them on a wild goose chase, in a last-ditch effort to be kept alive until he could formulate a new plan of usefulness to offer Mori. That was his story and he was sticking to it—except he made it sound far more eloquent in his write-up.

He prayed to whatever deities existed that Mori would buy it.

By the time he’d finished polishing up his report, fussing over every word and punctuation mark, the plane was beginning to land.

Nakajima slept through the pre-arrival meal service, which was just as well. The flight was a red-eye, and though they’d left Zurich at 1:00pm, the time zone change meant they’d be arriving in Narita, Japan at 8:45am the next morning.

They landed, deplaned, and made their way back to Yokohama by train. By 11:00am, they had reached the train station where they’d met up four days before, preparing to part ways for the remainder of their journeys home.

“You need to stay awake for the rest of the day, jinko,” Ryuunosuke warned, “or the jet lag will ruin your sleep schedule for at least a week.”

The weretiger yawned, his sharp canines shining, before giving Ryuunosuke a put-out look.

“That sounds awful.”

“Well tomorrow is Monday. You won’t want to mess up your sleep before you return to work.”

Nakajima sighed in surrender, muttering an “I’m gonna need so much coffee,” under his breath.

The mundanity of the entire interaction—as well as the familiarity of being back home—almost made him forget the emotional duress tugging at his insides. Almost. But he satisfied himself with coming up next to Nakajima, putting their arms together at the shoulder and bicep. He wasn’t sure if that’s how scenting worked for the weretiger, but he wanted to try to replicate it for him.

Nakajima’s eyes lit up at the action, understanding the display of affection for what it was. He closed the rest of the distance between them by bunting Ryuunosuke on the forehead with his own, his hands on either side of his head. He stood there like that, eyes closed to Ryuunosuke, for a solid few seconds before pulling away, blinking languidly.

Ryuunosuke returned the blink, and prepared to switch trains to make it back to his own apartment.

“We’ll talk soon?” Nakajima called to him, hope in his voice.

“Yes,” Ryuunosuke tried to smile at him, but feared the action did not reach his eyes. He walked away, waving to him.

“Text me whenever!” Nakajima waved.

“You’ll see me soon, jinko, now go home.”

Nakajima’s laughter followed him long after he’d walked away. He’d need his strength for his return to work on Monday.

Kyouka attacked Atsushi in a tight hug once he got through the door

“How was your trip?” she asked, eyes curious, blinking slowly.

Atsushi smiled, despite himself, and blinked back.

“It was good,” he tried to keep himself from giving too much away, though he wanted nothing more than to spill everything to her, “I can tell you what our mission was about later, after more time passes. But for now, I have to keep it a secret.”

“Yes, of course,” she nodded, serious, “I’m sure your ‘mission’ was very important.”

Atsushi laughed, unable to help himself.

“Bully,” he teased, his arms tight around her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kyouka pulled his face down to put their foreheads together. He closed his eyes and breathed in the familiar scent of their dorm, happy to be home. She’d never initiated with his style of affection before. She must have missed him.

Atsushi took the hint and rubbed the top of her head with his cheeks, scenting her more thoroughly as she clung to the back of his shirt.

“I noticed neither you nor Dazai reached out to me once while I was gone,” his tone was mischievous as she released him.

“The others at the office were being nosy,” Kyouka tilted her head up, “And I assumed you’d be busy.”

The unspoken desire to respect his space made Atsushi’s chest warm. Kyouka was more intuitive than people gave her credit for.

“You were right about that,” he gestured to his bag, his smile widening, “I got you a souvenir.”

A quiet gasp left her mouth as she stepped back, putting her hands together as she waited for him to unpack it.

When he presented her gift to her, she took it, eyes glittering, before disappearing to their room with a speed Atsushi forgot she had. She came back out with it on, the massive t-shirt dwarfing her in size, her arms outstretched. Her face was expressionless.

“I love it.”

Ryuunosuke had emailed the report to Mori on Sunday night, sick with anticipation.

Unsurprisingly, Mori summoned him as soon as his shift began on Monday. Ryuunosuke, expecting the worst, appeared at Mori’s office door and knocked, his stomach in knots.

“Come in,” Mori’s muffled voice announced from the other side.

Ryuunosuke let himself in. Mori was at his desk, his report open in front of him.

“I received your report,” he began without preamble.

Ryuunosuke nodded, face blank, every muscle in his body focused on relaxing his muscles, his facial features, his eyes, his breathing. In times like these, when his own fear threatened to throttle him, he kept one mantra running in his mind on repeat:

Be like Dazai.

It was who he emulated when he was frightened, who he pretended to be when his future in a conversation was not secure, but it usually worked when Mori’s attention was on him for longer than he’d like.

Whether Mori bought the act of apathetic neutrality or not was debatable, but it usually worked in his favor, regardless. Really, if he did see through him, Mori probably enjoyed the imitation, any memory of his favorite protégé eliciting a fond spike of endearment from him.

Why it worked didn’t quite matter, Ryuunosuke thought. All that mattered is if it did.

“It’s such a shame, really,” Mori put his chin in his palm on the desk, face bored, “I had a lot riding on that information.”

“Is there….” Ryuunosuke tried, “anything I can do?”

“Not really,” he turned his attention back to him, “Your work was exemplary. I verified everything in your account, and cross-referenced it with footage from your interrogation.”

Ryuunosuke did not stiffen his muscles in terror, but forced himself to remain loose, uncaring, empty of emotion.

Mori made a face at the files in front of him, like he’d noticed a bug on his shoe.

“You did everything right,” he sighed, “but there’s only so much you can do with incorrect intel.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Before he could afford to think himself free, Mori continued.

“Let’s go pay Nakane a visit, shall we?”

Ryuunosuke’s mask almost slipped. He nodded, following his boss as he swept across the room, his brisk pace the only sign that Mori was viciously displeased.

Ryuunosuke kept with his stride, but stayed a respectful step behind.

They filed into the elevator and sank to the lower levels, where they kept the prison cells.

Once Mori had led them to Nakane’s cell, Ryuunosuke saw that he was chained to the wall behind him. He looked terrible.

“My subordinate followed your instructions,” Mori began, murder in his eyes and a scalpel in his hand.

“And?” Nakane asked, voice rough from abuse.

“The security boxes were empty.” Mori’s anger was a quiet thing, but few people had ever seen him once he got to this level. And once they saw it, they never lived long enough to see it twice.

“What?!” Nakane’s mouth hung open, “that’s not possible!”

“Who else had access to the safety deposit boxes? The passcodes?”

“There is no one else!” Nakane bellowed, “only me!”

Mori’s arm flew across Nakane faster than Ryuunosuke could blink, as a red line manifested across the man’s jugular. Koutei Nakane’s eyes bulged wide in mute surprise before blood began to spurt forth, his throat gurgling, red spray spilling down and over his shirt.

Mori flicked his scalpel, flinging blood onto the dirty ground of the cell, before wiping it with a cloth from his pocket.

“He’s of no more use to us,” Mori flipped an errant strand of hair out of his eyes, straightening back up before opening the cell door for Ryuunosuke, who obediently filed out.

Only after they’d gotten back into the elevator did Ryuunosuke have the courage to ask.

“How did you know he didn’t have any more information for us?”

“I had him tortured while you were gone,” Mori wasn’t looking at him, eyes forward, “and his story never wavered. Either he had someone relocate the drives, or he already destroyed them.”

Mori was eerily still, his brief spike of ire already beginning to fade.

“Either way, his usefulness had expired.” He turned to Ryuunosuke, a light spatter of blood upon his face.

“Shame, though.” Mori's eyes were empty, “He seemed so promising.”

“I can’t say I’m sorry to see him go,” Ryuunosuke admitted, a bit of his own antipathy bleeding through, “he wasted quite a bit of my time.”

“That he did.”

As they reached the ground floor, Mori held the door open for him to exit. As Ryuunosuke walked off to complete his other assignments for the day, Mori bid him farewell with a somber smile. Ryuunosuke did his best not to shudder.

Returning to work on Monday had been thankfully uneventful for Atsushi. His colleagues had tried probing him for answers on where he’d been, but he was able to dodge their questions easily enough. He told himself he would only give his friends their souvenirs once he knew it was safe to tell them more.

Dazai, for his part, had been blessedly silent throughout each coworker’s attempt at satisfying their own curiosity. Atsushi made a note to thank him later.

Despite his clear joy at returning to his famiy—his colony, as his tiger liked to call it—Atsushi’s mind kept wandering back to Akutagawa, impatient to see him again. 

He told himself he wouldn’t call or text Akutagawa for the first few days after they’d gotten back. He’d never been in a relationship before—and technically wasn’t quite in one at all, just yet—so he was terrified of doing it wrong. He could come off too clingy if he reached out too soon or too often.

Atsushi sat on his couch in his dorm on Tuesday night, thumbing through his phone, trying to decide if it was too presumptuous to reach out. Kyouka was running a shopping errand with Naomi, so he had the place to himself, for at least the next hour.

It had already been two days since he’d seen him. He could text him, right?

As Atsushi’s finger hovered over Akutagawa’s name in his phone, he heard a knock at his door. Interest piqued, he suppressed an impractical rush of giddiness that expected the guest to be Akutagawa. Maybe he was surprising him with a visit?

As Atsushi opened the door, he blinked in surprise at who stood in front of him.

“Mr. Nakahara?”

“Chuuya is fine,” he waved him off, his expression neutral, “Can I come in?”

Atsushi held his breath. This was, without a doubt, the least likely person he expected to see on his doorstep. He stepped aside for him, closing the door behind him.

“Do you…” he had no idea why an executive of the Port Mafia was now in his living room, “do you need directions to Dazai’s apartment?” Atsushi got out his phone and looked for Dazai’s contact on reflex. “I can call him if he’s who you’re looking for—”

“YOU DON’T NEED TO DO THAT—” Chuuya reached for him, eyes frantic, before stopping himself, “Uh, I mean..." he cleared his throat, "Dazai...doesn’t actually know I’m here. I’d like to keep this visit between us, if that’s okay with you.”

“Oh,” Atsushi, temporarily stunned by the strong reaction, put his phone down, “yeah, sure.”

He didn’t quite know what to say. He was actually rather intimidated by the imposing man in front of him. But Dazai clearly trusted him, so Atsushi decided he would try to trust him as well. But he’d never really spoken to Chuuya Nakahara before. What could he possibly need from Atsushi, of all people?

“I have something for you.”

He reached into his pocket, and brought out a flash drive, holding his hand open for Atsushi to see.

“We don’t need this anymore,” he started, “so you deserve to have it.”

“I…” Atsushi didn’t know where to begin, “I don’t understand.”

“Look, if Akutagawa trusts you, I do too,” his gaze was clear and sure, “I know he brought you on his mission to Switzerland. He’s been really fucking dodgy about it, but it looks like you’re the only person he allowed to work on it with him. Makes sense, really.”

Atsushi needed more context.

“Why…are you giving me this?”

Chuuya looked guilty, for a moment.

“Mori wanted me to store it in the archives. He’s lost interest in it.” He said, as if that explained anything.

“Why are you going against his orders, then?”

“Because…” Chuuya stopped himself, his expression haunted, “…I’ve been…” he struggled to find the words, “in your position, before.”

Atsushi plucked the item out of his hand, curious, as Chuuya's eyes flicked down to the drive.

“If I knew…” he took a deep breath in, “if I knew that my…experience…had been documented, I would want the right to either keep the data or destroy it.”

Keep? Destroy?

“What are you saying?”

“The other two flash drives are gone,” Chuuya explained, “We don’t know what happened to them. This is the last remaining piece of evidence that covers what was done to you at the orphanage.”

Atsushi’s brain came to a halt.

“Excuse me?”

“Nakane was lying to us, that conniving fucker,” he continued, unaware of Atsushi’s inner turmoil, “he told Akutagawa where to go to get the last two flash drives, but he was full of shit.”

“You…you’ve had Nakane with you this whole time?” Atsushi felt his eyes water.

Chuuya finally caught on, his whole body going stiff.

“Oh shit.”

Once Atsushi finally found his voice, all he could muster up was a vicious whisper.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Chuuya's eyes widened, horror and remorse plain on his face.

“Wait…I…I thought Akutagawa told you everything—”

“I don’t care where you go,” Atsushi herded him backward, towards the door, “but get the hell out of my apartment.”

“Wait…Nakajima…." he covered his mouth with one hand, looking away, "fuck—"

“Get,” Atsushi’s felt his composure crumbling, each second, each breath a physical struggle. “out.”

He didn’t care how powerful Chuuya was. He didn’t care that he was special to Dazai and Akutagawa. He needed to be alone, now.

Chuuya’s back bumped into the front door, startling him.

“Okay,” he opened the door, got halfway out, and looked back, his eyes troubled, before closing it behind him.

Atsushi locked the door, his body moving like it wasn’t his own. He turned around, put his back against the wooden paneling, and slid to the floor.

Chapter Text

Atsushi wasn’t sure how long he sat on his floor, against his doorway. Time seemed to have divorced itself from his body while he’d broken down in his confusion and grief, hands over his eyes and knees tucked to his chest. He wasn’t sure what kind of noises he’d made, but his voice was hoarse, and his breathing was unsteady.

Once his thoughts cleared enough for him to reach for his phone, he had barely enough presence of mind to bring up Akutagawa’s name and press the call button.

Akutagawa answered on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Come to my apartment,” Atsushi said, his voice unrecognizable to his own ears, “it’s an emergency.”

“Jinko? Are you alri—”

Atsushi ended the call without even looking at his phone. He stared ahead, eyes unseeing, and focused on taking deep breaths, counting slowly to one hundred, tears slipping down his numb cheeks.

The flash drive sat innocuously next to him on the floor. He must have dropped it when he…

Atsushi shook himself, picked up the thumb drive, and pushed himself to his feet on wobbly legs. He put the drive on his kitchen table, sitting down next to it as he waited for Akutagawa to arrive.

He had to have zoned out again, for he wasn’t quite aware of himself until he heard several soft, quick knocks against his door.

Atsushi left the drive on the table and went to let him in.

He opened the door to a rattled-looking Akutagawa.

“Jinko?”

Akutagawa rushed towards him, his hands outstretched—perhaps to check for injuries, Atsushi thought distantly—but Atsushi recoiled, backing away from him with a tearful grimace, shaking his head.

Akutagawa flinched like he’d been physically slapped, his mouth falling open in shock.

“Get in,” Atsushi bit out, his harsh words muffled by his tears.

Akutagawa swept into the apartment, tucking his limbs close to his body in what Atsushi could only describe as acute and piercing fear. Atsushi closed the door behind him.

“What—” Akutagawa cut himself off, visibly swallowing, “—what’s going on, jinko?”

Atsushi walked to his kitchen table and picked up the flash drive and placed it in Akutagawa’s hands.

Akutagawa—who nearly dropped it in his horror, and fumbled to keep it in his grasp—clutched the thing so tightly Atsushi thought he saw his knuckles go white. His eyes were wide, and filled with dread.

“Can you tell me what this is?” Atsushi whispered.

“H-how…” he started, looking up to Atsushi, “how did you get this?”

“Chuuya paid me a visit tonight.”

Akutagawa drew back with a sharp inhale, covering his mouth with one hand. He didn’t question how Chuuya knew where he lived, didn’t ask why his commanding officer had been in Atsushi’s home without precedent.

“What—” his voice faltered, “what did he tell you?”

“Oh, plenty,” Atsushi felt rage burn behind his eyes, “but I’d like you to tell me what this is.”

 Akutagawa looked at him in abject terror.

“Please don’t make me.”

“See,” Atsushi’s mouth twisted into a painful mimicry of a smile, “I don’t actually give a shit what you want right now, Akutagawa,” his cheeks hurt, his whole face hurt, his whole body, his very insides throbbed with pain, “you’re going to tell me what the fuck is on this flash drive, and you’re going to tell me now.”

Atsushi rarely cursed, when he wasn’t with Akutagawa. The man just brought it out of him, somehow. Made him feel things more intensely, more deeply. Now was no different.

“J-jinko…” he began, “I told you I wasn’t supposed to share the details of this mission…”

“Then why bring me at all?” Atsushi threw up his hands, “Did you know Chuuya actually assumed I knew everything purely because I was on that mission with you?”

Akutagawa’s face contorted, clearly uncomfortable. Atsushi felt a vindictive, ugly pride at making him squirm.

“He thought it made perfect sense that you’d bring me along,” Atsushi continued, “seeing as all of the flash drives were about me,” he stopped himself, struggling to say it, “that they were…” he felt his face crumple, tears scalding his skin, “footage of what happened to me.”

Akutagawa’s voice was timid, small.

“So you know what’s on it.”

“Yes I FUCKING know what’s on it, Akutagawa!”

Akutagawa’s face shuttered, his nostrils flaring, as his back straightened, body on high alert to the imminent danger that was Atsushi Nakajima.

“I want you to tell me what else you’ve been hiding from me,” Atsushi wiped his eyes with the heel of his palm, “since you didn’t technically tell me anything so far. I’m the only one who’s provided any information up to this point.”

Akutagawa was shaking. It was subtle, but Atsushi could see it, feel it, his tiger’s senses hyper-aware of everything around them.

Akutagawa stood before him, mouth open, eyes unfocused. He was clearly afraid of revealing more than Chuuya had, and therefore wanted to volunteer nothing that Atsushi couldn’t confirm himself. The thought made his skin itch, made his pulse thrum with ire.

“Well?” Atsushi fumed, “I’m waiting.”

“W-we…” he started, “we…had Nakane.”

“Yes,” Atsushi exhaled heavily through his mouth, “you did.”

Fresh tears spilled out of Atsushi’s eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want him there!” Akutagawa’s voice broke, his eyes watering.

“I didn’t know Mori wanted him until we already had him under our protection,” Akutagawa doubled over, clutching at his arms, “and I was so ashamed…I knew you would feel it as a betrayal if you knew…”

“But that wasn’t your call,” Atsushi said, his voice calmer than he felt, “Mori’s command trumps yours. I wouldn’t have blamed you—”

“How could you not?” he exclaimed, “the people I work for—the people I swore my loyalty to—were harboring the man responsible for—”

“You had no control over that!” Atsushi yelled.

“It would have hurt you,” Akutagawa’s expression was grave, his cheeks sallow, “you would have resented me if you’d known—”

“And this is better?” Atsushi fired back, “You think I don’t resent you now?”

Akutagawa’s eyes shone, and for a minute, Atsushi thought he might cry.

“You wouldn’t have come with me on my mission if you’d known what I was doing,” Akutagawa continued, voice getting rough with emotion.

“I don’t even understand why you brought me along in the first place,” Atsushi made a wide gesture with his hands, “there was literally no point in bringing me—”

“Mori had targeted you!” Akutagawa cried, “This,” he held up the flash drive in his hand, “was the drive Nakane gave him to ensure his safety,” he held it from him like it was cursed, “but Mori knew the other two thumb drives still existed, and he wanted as much intel on you as he could possibly get so that he could force you into the Port Mafia!”

Atsushi’s shoulders drew back. He hadn’t been expecting that.

“You weren’t…” Akutagawa stopped himself, “I wasn’t comfortable leaving you alone here while I was gone. It wasn’t safe for you.”

“So you brought me with you out of pity?” he balked, “because you assumed I couldn’t defend myself?” he felt fury hot against his skin, “Fuck you.”

“W-wait, jinko please, it’s not like that—”

“No,” Atsushi shook his head, “no. You know what? I actually thought you brought me with you because you…”

Atsushi faltered. Really, he believed Akutagawa when he said he’d wanted Atsushi with him because they work well together. That his talents would benefit the mission. Though it became apparent along the way that he was likely there in case anything went wrong. He assumed his purpose was to have Akutagawa’s back because he trusted him.

But a large part of him wondered if he’d been brought along because of how much…fun the trip appeared to be, from the outside.

He couldn’t bring himself to say it, but he thought Akutagawa liked him. He thought he was actually starting to mean something to his partner. They’d had sex. But Atsushi was the one to initiate their sexual contact almost every time. Akutagawa scarcely ever did.

Atsushi felt doubt sink into his belly like a stone. What if Akutagawa only did those physical things with him because Atsushi had thrown himself at him? He had experience, Atsushi knew, and didn’t seem the type for romantic relationships. Would he have even considered sex with Atsushi if he hadn’t been so insistent?

It stung to consider the possibility. But it wasn’t Akutagawa’s fault if he wasn’t interested in Atsushi beyond easy sex. No, unrequited feelings were a bitter pill to swallow—and Atsushi knew, without a doubt, that he would have to face his feelings on that eventually—but they weren’t among Akutagawa’s list of crimes he wanted answers for today.

Atsushi switched tracks, reconsidering.

“But I don’t understand,” he continued, “how could documentation of me being tortured for fifteen years possibly help Mori drag me into the Port Mafia?”

“I suspect he was looking for footage of Shibusawa. I don’t know how he knew you were connected to him, but he wanted to know what Shibusawa had discovered about you,” Akutagawa’s eyes were red, “wanted to weaponize it, to control you.”

Atsushi’s blood ran cold.

“How do you know about Shibusawa?”

Hearing the name alone made Atsushi feel like his heart had stopped, sent chills along his body. The man was the manifestation of his nightmares, proof of his inhumanity, the guilt of his monstrous, bloody nature personified.

“Y-you…” Akutagawa floundered, trying to come up with an answer, “he…when we fought him together, he spoke to you like he knew you. He said you’d killed him, before.”

“Yes,” Atsushi nodded, “but how did you know Shibusawa was on the flash drives at all?”

Akutagawa went still, clearly afraid to speak. A single tear slipped down his cheek. Akutagawa’s face, otherwise, did not move.

Atsushi felt his stomach drop.

“You didn’t.”

“I was afraid, jinko!” he wailed, “I couldn’t just give him those two flash drives we’d found without knowing what was on them—”

“And you didn’t think to ask me?” Atsushi choked, “before invading my privacy in probably the worst way possible?”

“I…” Akutagawa’s tears began to fall down his face more quickly now, “I didn’t know what to do.” He set the thumb drive down onto the counter behind him, “I couldn’t go against my orders, but I also couldn’t let Mori have information that could hurt you without formulating a plan—"

“YOU DIDN’T NEED TO LOOK!” Atsushi screamed, “YOU DIDN’T!”

Atsushi’s entire body scorched with shame, with unmitigated embarrassment at having another human being witness what was done to him. He had no way of knowing precisely what Akutagawa had seen, but he’d at least seen Shibusawa, and that alone was damning enough.

They were both crying openly now. Akutagawa remained rooted to the spot, his face wet.

“I’m sorry, jinko—Atsushi, please—”

“Shut up!” Atsushi covered his face with his hands, mortified beyond recognition, angry, angry, so angry, “I don’t want to hear it right now!”

A long moment of silence enveloped them as Atsushi’s haggard breathing threatened to overwhelm him. He stared at the floor, his brain refusing to process what he’d just heard. When he chanced a look up at Akutagawa, he felt no better.

Akutagawa’s face looked like it would crumble at any moment, but kept his expression still, despite the tears that kept coming down his pale face. It soaked into his bangs, causing his hair to cling to his skin as he blinked through them, keeping his focus on Atsushi.

He waited for Atsushi’s next move, his posture stiff.

“I…” Atsushi felt very tired, all of a sudden. He no longer had the mental capacity to continue this conversation, “I need you to leave.”

“A-Atsushi…” Akutagawa faltered, his lip wobbling.

“I don’t…” Atsushi couldn’t bear to look at him anymore, looking at the opposite wall instead, “I don’t want…just get out.”

Akutagawa choked back a sob, but Atsushi wasn’t looking. He didn’t see his facial expression. Didn’t have enough in him to care at the moment.

He heard Akutagawa walk to the door. Before he opened it, Akutagawa spoke again.

“You should know…” he whispered, voice cracked, “I destroyed those two flash drives when we were in Geneva.”

Atsushi felt the relief like it wasn’t his, like it was something nice that was happening to someone else. He still couldn’t bear to look at Akutagawa, instead turning his eyes to the floor.

“I lied to Mori,” his partner continued, voice soft, “and told him that the security boxes were empty, that Nakane had lied to us about his intel.” He paused, “You’re the only one who knows the truth. Mori must never know.”

Atsushi nodded, to show that he understood, but did not look up. His voice shook as his throat became clogged with tears.

“Please leave, Akutagawa.”

He did not watch him walk out the door, but heard it close, heard his footsteps recede.

His vision swam before him as he stumbled to the door, locking it behind him.

The next week crept by Ryuunosuke in a grey, cloudy haze.

He was listless, unresponsive, though he completed his assignments without issue. He didn’t interact with his subordinates, but rather did the minimum requirements of each mission before disappearing to mope in his apartment. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted to waste away.

He ignored calls and texts from his colleagues if they weren’t about work. He did not eat. Bags from the blood bank were left to waste in his refrigerator. He didn’t feel like he deserved the right to drink it, but even if he did, any blood that wasn’t Nakajima’s had no appeal to him.

He wondered if this was what it felt like to want to die. To have nothing left to live for.

It had been eight days since Nakajima had told him to leave him alone, not that he was counting. He checked his phone every day. What he’d been hoping to see, he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like he and the weretiger had a running text thread. They mainly only reached out to plan logistics and meeting times. So expecting contact from him didn’t quite make sense, but he could only respect his space by waiting for Nakajima to break the silence first.

His wistful scrolling was interrupted by a knock on his door.

When he checked the keyhole, it was Chuuya on the other side.

He opened the door for him, unable to muster a verbal greeting, blinking into the afternoon sunlight.

“Hey, Akutagawa,” Chuuya smiled weakly, “can I come in?”

“Of course,” he stepped aside for him, closing the door behind him.

Ryuunosuke went to sit at his kitchen table, gesturing for Chuuya to sit across from him. He had a black lunch cooler around his arm, from which he drew a bottle of red wine.

“I thought we could have a drink together.”

It was common, back when Ryuunosuke was human, for Chuuya to show up with wine and go over their recent missions together. It wasn’t a proper debriefing without wine, Chuuya always said. Ryuunosuke decided early on that he liked Chuuya’s style of project management.

Chuuya set the bottle down, and shuffled off into Ryuunosuke’s kitchen to dig into his cupboards. After a moment of clinking around, he brought forth two wine glasses and set them on the table.

Once he poured his wine for himself, Chuuya brought out a blood bag from the cooler for Ryuunosuke, filling up the other wine glass and passing it over to him.

“I’m…” Ryuunosuke muttered, “Thank you, Chuuya, but I’m not hungry.”

“Come on, you won’t make me drink by myself, will ya?” His tone was playful, but Ryuunosuke could see the clear concern behind his eyes.

“I can’t, right now, but I’m still happy for the company. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I just…” Chuuya began, but stopped himself, starting over. “Are you doing okay?”

“I’m fine,” Ryuunosuke murmured, his voice quiet.

“Your subordinates are worried about you,” Chuuya leaned his arms against the table, “they said you’re not acting like yourself.”

Ryuunosuke huffed through his nose.

“It’s okay, you can just say it was Higuchi,” he smiled.

“And Gin, and Hirotsu,” Chuuya did not blink, “they care about you. I care about you—”

“I’m alright, Chuuya.”

“You don’t look like you are.”

Ryuunosuke sighed, his eyes fixed on the table.

“Are you eating?” Chuuya asked.

“I’m…” he wasn’t quite sure how to answer without lying, “I just haven’t been interested.”

Chuuya’s eyes widened, understanding bleeding into his facial features.

“Akutagawa,” his voice was stern, “when was the last time you ate?”

Ryuunosuke gave him a pleading look, as if through his gaze alone he could convince Chuuya to let the issue drop.

“That’s not important.”

“I need you to tell me,” he pressed, “and I need you to be honest.”

Ryuunosuke licked his lips, weighing whether he should tell him the truth or not. But really, he knew, deep down, that he didn’t have it in himself to lie to Chuuya. Not to him.

“I last ate on the first day of my mission with Nakajima. When we went to collect the flash drives.”

When he’d drunk from the weretiger’s wrist in the shipping container in Tokyo.  

Chuuya took a quiet breath, trying—and failing—to hide his alarm.

“That was two weeks ago, Akutagawa.”

Ryuunosuke fought the impulse to hide his face in his hands. He settled for placing his chin on his palm, avoiding eye contact.

“You’ve never gone more than a week without blood,” Chuuya continued, “and even then, you get peaky, irritable…you lash out…you said so yourself you’re a danger to the people around you after seven days without it—"

“I know,” he closed his eyes, to hide his shame from at least himself.

“Buddy,” Chuuya reached across the table to put his hand on his arm, “you have to eat something.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Drink this,” he scooted the glass of blood closer to him, “it’s as fresh as legally possible, and it’s type AB—”

Nakajima’s blood type.

Ryuunosuke almost smiled at his gall.

“How did you know—”

“Heh,” Chuuya put his hand behind his head, readjusted his hat, “I just texted Dazai.”

Neither of them needed to ask why Dazai inexplicably knew his colleagues’ blood types. He was just like that, always had been.

When Ryuunosuke remained silent, Chuuya continued, their full glasses left untouched on the tabletop.

“Did you and Nakajima…break up?”

Ryuunosuke winced.

“We weren’t together, Chuuya.”

Chuuya gave him a face that explicitly read as ‘bullshit,’ gesturing him to elaborate.

“We were just…” Ryuunosuke didn’t want to say it, couldn’t bear to say it, “we…”

“I know you were at least fucking.”

“Chuuya!”

“What?” he shrugged, “Mori tailed you two in Tokyo to the shipyards—you know that, right?”

Ryuunosuke rolled his eyes, conceding, “Yes, he mentioned that.”

“If his spies caught you fucking around in public, I don’t think it’s a huge jump for the information to reach me, eventually.”

That was right; Mori did usually keep the executives in the loop for most missions that were of special interest to him. Chuuya had more information on the weretiger’s case than Ryuunosuke had, for a while. It made disclosing his international itinerary to him an even better choice than he’d originally understood, at the time. He didn’t realize that Mori would have seen it as a collaborative effort, giving more credence to his claim in how the mission had gone.

The more insurance the better, really, despite the fact that it had been a complete accident that worked in his favor. Neither Chuuya nor Mori needed to know that, though. 

“What I’m trying to ask is—” Chuuya brought his attention back to him, “—you were drinking his blood, weren’t you?”

Ryuunosuke’s throat went dry. He nodded, unable to articulate himself.

Chuuya nodded back in understanding.

“How often were you eating?”

“On average,” he took a deep breath, not at all wanting to discuss this, but knowing that a headstrong Chuuya was not something he had the wherewithal to fight against right now, “I’d say about every other day.”

Chuuya’s eyes widened a bit, his lips pursing.

“That’s…” he looked down at the glass of blood in front of him, “more often than you used to eat.”

“I would take in blood about twice a week before,” Ryuunosuke tried to wave him off, “it isn’t a big difference.”

“But there’s no question that drinking from a living person tastes better for you,” he argued.

Ryuunosuke licked his lips without realizing, suddenly embarrassed at the idea that Chuuya might see the hunger in his face at the mere memory of Nakajima’s blood in his mouth. He swallowed.

“Yes,” was all he could say.

“Akutagawa,” Chuuya brought his gaze back up, “I know it doesn’t taste as good, but I do need you to drink this,” he gestured to the wine glass of blood, “We can both just chug our drinks all at once, right now.”

Ryuunosuke frowned, his disgust as immediate as it was debilitating.

“I don’t think I physically can,” the thought of drinking it made him feel ill.

“I’m not leaving until you eat.” Chuuya insisted.

“Please, Chuuya, just let it go.”

“Akutagawa, no, I can’t let you starve yourself, you’re my friend—”

Ryuunosuke hissed through his teeth.

“Oi! Don’t hiss at me, boy—”

Ryuunosuke turned away from him, suddenly, irrationally angry.

“Stop pouting, I know you don’t like the ‘f-word,’ but that’s how I see it, you ass—”

“I’m not drinking it.”

Ryuunosuke’s stubbornness flared to life inside of him. He’d just had one of the worst weeks of his life. He hated everything around him, he wanted to be left alone. He didn’t want anyone trying to help him, everything was wrong, he just wanted his weretiger to text him, for fuck’s sake—

“Do you want us to pretend this is about work?” Chuuya’s voice took an edge that usually meant preemptive defeat for whoever was up against him, “fine, we can pretend this is about work.”

Chuuya pointed behind him, to Ryuunosuke’s couch in the living room.

“Sit.”

Ryuunosuke didn’t know why Chuuya was moving them from the kitchen, but he obeyed him on reflex. He stalked into his living room, spun around to scowl at Chuuya, and sat in the middle of his couch.

Chuuya followed, the two glasses in his hands.

“Move your legs,” he pushed Ryuunosuke’s legs open. He sat down in the space between them, onto the coffee table in front of him. Ryuunosuke watched him set the glasses down.

“Now,” his eyes were bright with a fire that would have cowed him, if he had been feeling himself, “I’m going to give you a second option.”

He took off both of his gloves and rolled up the sleeve of his left arm.

Horror struck his entire body like a flashbang.

“No,” he choked on his words, stuttering, “no, no I won’t.”

“If you require a mask of professionalism, I will give it to you,” Chuuya kept his face still, but lit with a bullheadedness he knew would outmatch Ryuunosuke’s, “you are my responsibility.”

“Chuuya please—”

“And a starving vampire,” he handed Ryuunosuke the glass of AB blood, “is a liability, amongst my ranks.”

Ryuunosuke began to shake, looking back and forth between his eyes.

“You’re a danger to yourself and others, until you are fed.”

Ryuunosuke felt his mouth open, felt the air go in and out of his lungs.

“And I am giving you a direct order,” he continued, “to eat.”

Ryuunosuke looked down at the glass, his breathing heavy. This close, he could smell Chuuya. He could smell the blood in his veins.

“I don’t want to do this.”

“I don’t care,” his words were harsh, but his eyes were sad, “You’re hurting yourself, Akutagawa.”

“But I…” his eyes caught on the green veins of Chuuya’s arm, “I don’t…”

“Look, you don’t have to drink from me,” Chuuya wasn’t accustomed to seeing Ryuunosuke’s visible distress, the conflict clear on his face, “but you do have to drink something. The blood in your glass will be enough.”

He refused to admit it. His mind would not accept that he wanted—very desperately—to drink from a living person. He just wanted it to be Nakajima. He didn’t want anyone else.

But his body was beginning to ignore his wishes.

“It’s…” Ryuunosuke felt his resolve slipping, “it’s not fair to you…”

“It’s just food, Akutagawa,” he leaned to the side, “It’s not personal. It doesn’t matter who you get it from, you still need it to survive.”

“But what if I take too much?” he panicked, “The jinko can regenerate if I get overzealous—”

“You’ve had practice drinking from him,” Chuuya’s voice was calm and steady, “just imagine you’re filling the glass here, and try to stop yourself after you reach that point.”

“But that’s so risky.”

“It’s okay, I trust you,” Chuuya looked as sure as he said he was, “you’ll be fine.”

Ryuunosuke prepared to argue, but Chuuya’s gaze dropped from him, his face penitent.

“Besides,” he said, “it’s my fault you and Nakajima had that big fight, anyway…” he tried to hide it, but his remorse was palpable.

“We’ve been over this, it was my fault.” Ryuunosuke didn’t think his mentor would take the misunderstanding so hard, but he had, “I was the one who withheld information from the jinko, I was the one who never told you that I was keeping him in the dark on our mission.”

Chuuya shook his head.

“You’ve apologized enough, Chuuya.”

And indeed, he had.

That evening had been a goddamn disaster. Unfortunately for everyone involved, Ryuunosuke had ignored his phone after Nakajima called him and cryptically commanded him to come to his apartment. Once the weretiger had kicked him out, he finally noticed how many missed calls he had from Chuuya. It was an evening that neither of them wanted to repeat, for obvious reasons.

Ryuunosuke almost forgot his distress in his need to remove the broken look from Chuuya’s face, “There is nothing to forgive. The fault lies with me.”

Chuuya huffed, acceptance taking over his face. Or, at the very least, he understood it for the impasse that it was. Chuuya shifted, returning his attention back to him.

“What’ll it be, then?”

He raised his exposed wrist to Ryuunosuke, who shakily—distantly, as if in his periphery—began to put down the glass of AB blood. He only realized he was gravitating closer to Chuuya’s arm once he heard the piercing clink of the glass on the coffee table.

His eyes latched onto Chuuya’s in a silent plea for permission.

“Go on.”

He felt his fangs in his mouth like a heavy, pulsing entity of their own. He leaned in closer than he already was, mouth magnetized to the bared skin in front of him. He felt Chuuya’s other hand land on his upper back, near his nape, encouraging him forward.

With shaking hands, he wrapped his fingers around the back of Chuuya’s wrist, brought it forward, and sank his teeth in.

Chapter Text

As Ryuunosuke’s teeth sank into Chuuya’s wrist, hot, rich blood rushed up to fill his mouth as he clamped down, hard.

He heard a harsh inhale of surprise from above him, but ignored it, focusing as hard as possible on not taking too much, on just filling the glass in his mind, like Chuuya said. He felt a hand drift into his hair, holding onto him, anchoring him.

His hunger was greater, more acute, than any emotion he’d ever felt. He’d never gone this long without food before, and the relief his body felt was all-encompassing, immeasurable, rapturous. He took pull after pull, eyes almost rolling back in his ecstasy as each synapse fired into his brain yes, more, please—

He withdrew in a panic, unsure of how much time had passed. He was practically in Chuuya’s lap on the coffee table, all shame lost, forgotten, abandoned with his pride and sense of self. He tried to move away, but Chuuya tightened his grip in his hair, moving him back to his wrist.

“No, you haven’t had enough,” his voice was rough, raspy, “I need you to take more.”

Ryuunosuke’s lashes fluttered, overwhelmed, helpless to fight him. Chuuya put his wrist back to his mouth and he latched back on, opening new flesh. He felt, if not heard, a feeble whimper escape through his mouth, lost in his confusion, his need, his body’s drive to survive that had suddenly, painfully reawakened.

Chuuya could sense his fear—or perhaps simply knew him well enough to know what to say.

“Shh,” he coaxed him, clutching him close, folding his body around him, over him, “it’s okay, you’re okay.”

He drank, swallowing again, and again, and again. He was deathly afraid of hurting him, but it was so intoxicating, so good, it was everything he possibly needed—

Chuuya tugged on his hair, pulling him gently backward.

“Alright,” he sounded so far away, “you can let go now.”

Ryuunosuke released him, gasping, as Chuuya waited for him to return to himself, holding him still.

He blinked through his euphoria, felt Chuuya’s blood thrumming through each vein and inch of him, as he forced himself to return to his body, his mind, his apartment. He felt Chuuya pet his hair, felt a drop of blood drip down his chin and onto the table. He looked up to Chuuya, anxiety and dread stirring back to life within his limbs.

Chuuya’s hand moved to his shoulder. He looked a bit out of it, but alive, at least. A strange, foreign part of Ryuunosuke wanted to ask him a million questions about how it felt, wanted to know if Chuuya responded to blood drinking the same way the weretiger did.

“Are you…” Ryuunosuke shifted his body so that he was sitting back onto the couch cushions, between Chuuya’s now widespread legs, “are you alright?”

Chuuya’s hat had fallen off at some point, and was lying on the ground behind him. His cheeks were red—the way they usually got when he’d had been drinking too much wine. His blue eyes were dark and dilated, his breathing unsteady.

“Heh,” he moved his hand in front of his face, watching, mesmerized, as the wounds on his wrist closed, “feels kinda weird, but I’m not gonna die, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

That was, indeed, what he had been worried about.

“I mean,” Ryuunosuke tried again, “I don’t know a lot about how it affects people. I only have the jinko’s experience to go off of. Do you feel…inebriated?”

“Oh yeah, it’s like an acid trip,” Chuuya’s smile was crooked, “but not in a bad way.”

“This is a weird question…” Ryuunosuke really, really wanted to know, and the bliss of finally being full again after weeks of self-depravation was likely making him braver than he usually would be, “but do you, by any chance, feel…”

He didn’t know how to say it without humiliating himself.

“Uh…you know…” he felt his face flush.

Chuuya chuckled to himself. If he knew what Ryuunosuke was trying to ask, he had no intention of helping him.

“I want to know if my fangs have…” he couldn’t bear to look at him anymore, asking the question to the table instead, “aphrodisiac…qualities…?”

Chuuya, as if waiting for him to say it, burst into laughter in front of him.

“I’m so sorry, I had to make you say it,” Chuuya doubled over, hiding his face in his elbow.

Ryuunosuke wanted to die of embarrassment. But at least Chuuya seemed too high to truly care.

“Yeah, if I’m being honest, it did make me a little horny,” he wiped a tear away from his eye, “but it doesn’t matter. I’ll be okay.”

Horrified, Ryuunosuke looked back up and put his hands out to make sure he did not misunderstand him.

“The jinko’s testimony is clearly biased, I had to know if it would make everyone react like that—”

Chuuya just continued to laugh, eyes closed, disregarding his mortification. Ryuunosuke moved to stand, climbing over him to head to the door, desperate to change the subject.

“You’ll need food as soon as possible, to help you replenish the blood you lost,” he checked his pockets before turning back to Chuuya, “You should rest on the couch while I fetch you some dinner."

Chuuya tried to stand, and wobbled precariously.

“Oh shit,” he turned around to gawk at Ryuunosuke anew, his eyes as comically large and gleeful as his grin, “I can barely walk.”

“Yes,” he cleared his throat in an attempt to reestablish his propriety, “the more blood I take, the more…disorienting it is for the person I’m drinking from.”

“You look a lot better, though,” Chuuya calmed down a bit, the sincerity returning to his voice, “Your skin looks all healthy now. You looked really, really sick when I got here. It’s like night and day.”

Ryuunosuke took a deep breath. He couldn’t deny the truth of his words, no matter how much he wanted to.

“Any requests?” Ryuunosuke picked he hat up off the floor and placed it on the coffee table as Chuuya gracelessly flopped himself down onto the couch and began to sprawl.

“I normally love making decisions,” Chuuya stared at the ceiling, his hair fanning out over a decorative throw pillow, “but my head’s empty right now. Something with fried rice.”

“Red meat would probably be a good idea, too,” Ryuunosuke suggested, “you’ll need the iron.”

Chuuya pointed at him without looking his way, “Perfect.”

He turned to leave, feeling a sense of normalcy return to him for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Running errands for Chuuya felt normal, felt like things weren’t falling apart at the corners of his life. Chuuya always was good at giving him something to do when he felt aimless. It was an old pattern that was comforting to fall back into.

He pulled out his phone as he opened the door. He stared guiltily at the string of missed calls from Gin. She’d tried reaching out all week—in person and over the phone—but he’d deftly side-stepped and evaded her at every turn, knowing full well that if he looked her in the face, he wouldn’t be able to hide his feelings from her. And as much as he loved her, he hadn’t been ready to talk.

As he stepped outside, he realized he might finally have the emotional bandwidth to stop avoiding her.  

“I’ll be back soon,” he called over his shoulder, as he pressed the call button on Gin’s name.

Atsushi’s week had been, for all intents and purposes, one of the worst he’d had in a long, long time.

After he’d thrown Akutagawa out of his apartment, he’d found himself knocking on Dazai’s door.

When his mentor appeared in front of him, Atsushi had thrown himself into Dazai’s arms, fresh tears spilling down his face.

Dazai had stiffened in surprise, clearly unused to being touched, but recovered quickly enough to maneuver Atsushi over the threshold and into his dorm, keeping his arms around him.

He’d sat them down onto his couch, and Atsushi crawled into his lap like a large, sad cat, curling his legs close to himself as he buried his head into Dazai’s chest.

Dazai did not ask why he was there, nor did he ask why he was crying. He didn’t say anything at all. But he held him and let Atsushi wear himself out. He rubbed his scent upon Atsushi over and over by wiping his hands over Atsushi’s cheeks and under his chin to remove his tears, by rubbing his cheeks into Atushi’s hair, by petting his back in smooth, strong motions.

They fell asleep like that, sitting in what had to have been a very uncomfortable position for Dazai. But Atsushi wasn’t thinking that far ahead. He needed to be held, and he didn’t care how.

He woke up in Dazai’s lap, then they both went to work the next day like nothing had happened.

His coworkers knew something was wrong. Atsushi wasn’t a very good actor, after all. But for whatever reason (likely Ranpo or Dazai), no one asked him about his sorrowful mood.

Kyouka worked at his desk and kept close to him, sitting as near as possible. She touched him often, ran to get things he needed before he could ask for them, but spoke very little. One day she disappeared and came back with a crepe for him (extra berries, extra whipped cream). He felt her solidarity like a physical thing, but could not bring himself to tell her what happened. He knew she would expect an explanation eventually, but he himself didn’t know when he could give it to her.

Ranpo kept leaving snacks for him at his desk, and even invited him to eat from his sweets stash one lunch period.  

Jun'ichirou kept scooting his chair next to Atsushi’s to show him cat videos, which did make him smile, did help him forget his problems for a while. He sent Atsushi a steady stream of memes and jokes to his phone, which distracted him from his work, but got some genuine laughs out of him.

Yosano would stop him occasionally to groom him, the way he usually did for the younger Agency members. She would smooth his hair down at the frizzy parts, dust off his shirt, fix his tie. In all fairness, he wasn’t taking the best care of his appearance. Yosano wouldn’t say much, just fussed over him before sending him away.

Kunikida took Atsushi on increasingly unnecessary errands. To the grocery store, to the office supply shop, to the post office. Atsushi assumed his presence wasn’t required, as Kunikida’s excuses for having him along sounded fake even to him. But having something to do was nice. And he never had to think very hard when he was with Kunikida. Following his lead was comforting. It was easy.

Dazai kept his distance while they were at work, and acted like normal. But once each day was over, Atsushi would go to his apartment, lay his head in his lap, and let Dazai pet his hair while they watched trash television. When Dazai went to bed each night, Atsushi slept on his couch, curled up in a blanket drenched in Dazai’s scent. He’d wake each morning to his mentor making coffee for him, putting the exact amount of cream and sugar he liked into it.

On the third day of doing this, Atsushi finally brought it up.

“Did Chuuya tell you what happened?” Atsushi asked without looking at him, Dazai’s fingers in his hair. For a man as skinny as he was, Dazai’s lap was a surprisingly comfortable pillow.

“Yes,” was all he said.

Atsushi rubbed his cheek into Dazai’s leg, willing himself not to cry, trying to focus on the TV. He dropped the subject after that.

Kyouka didn’t mention the fact that he didn’t come home for over a week. He felt the guilt like an icepick in his gut, but the idea of talking about it made him feel ill. He wasn’t avoiding her, he told himself. He just didn’t want to be at his apartment. He didn’t want to be reminded of Akutagawa, of their fight, of their more…positive memories, either.

He wanted to make it up to her, somehow. So, eight days after his fight with Akutagawa, he made himself go to the grocery store once he finished his work at the office. He figured that restocking their cupboards with snacks and food would be a nice start to show her that he cared, that he loved her, that he appreciated her despite the distance he needed to take.

He made his way through the busy street, swerving through the masses to avoid the heavy press of bodies around him.

One moment of distraction was enough to fracture his smooth path through the crowd, and he bumped hard into the person in front of him.

He recognized the smell before his mind could register who it was.

Akutagawa

The object of his every waking moment had physically collided with him on the sidewalk, of all places. His horror and discomfort at having to see him so soon quickly evaporated when his eyes caught up to what was in front of him.

Akutagawa looked…good. Very good, to Atsushi’s dismay. He looked like he’d been running, his cheeks flushed and his lips red. Atsushi’s stupid, stupid brain was suddenly and terribly magnetized by how real, how human, how alive he looked—

Atsushi almost gasped when he understood what he was seeing. Akutagawa only looked like that after he’d drunk Atsushi’s blood. His skin never took such a healthy, youthful color when he drank from his bags from the blood bank. It was only ever after drinking from a living person, and as far as Atsushi knew, he was the only person Akutagawa was drinking from.

“Jinko?” Akutagawa took a step closer to him.

He blinked slowly at Atsushi, a silent plea. For what, Atsushi didn’t know.  

Atsushi licked his lips. It wasn’t his right to ask. This close to him, he noticed the scent of another person on Akutagawa. The smell was vaguely familiar.

“Are,” Akutagawa began, stopped himself, “how are you?”

Akutagawa had just been drinking from someone. The thought made Atsushi’s insides churn. He swallowed, summoning his courage.

“Were you…” he faltered, his voice cracking, “you look like…” he felt like any form of the sentence would sound angry, accusatory. Maybe he wanted it to. “Your skin looks the way it looks when you’ve just had fresh blood.”

Akutagawa’s glassy eyes widened in alarm, and to Atsushi’s disgust, guilt.

“I…” Akutagawa’s breaths came heavier. He looked at the ground, and did not deny it. “…yes.”

“Who?”

It was out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

This isn’t your business. You have no right.

Akutagawa’s frightened expression almost made him regret asking. Almost. But the unfettered jealousy that consumed him entirely left no room for other thoughts, for logic, for what was fair.

“Who did you drink from?” he asked again.

It wasn’t until now that he noticed the bags of takeout on Akutagawa’s arm. Akutagawa didn’t eat human food. It was obviously for the person he’d just been with. To replenish the blood they’ve lost, Atsushi reminded himself with acridity. The fact that Akutagawa cared enough to feed them afterwards implied a level of closeness Atsushi was not prepared to face.

Was he sleeping with this person? They never discussed exclusivity; it would be within Akutagawa’s right to have sex with whomever he wanted, especially after Atsushi expressed his desire for space. Blood drinking and sex just went hand in hand, to Atsushi. It was unlikely he was drinking from someone and not fucking them.

Akutagawa was still staring at him with a paralyzed look of panic.

“Do I know them?” Atsushi took a careful step forward, his senses on high alert, eyes searching Akutagawa’s form for any hint of an answer.

He took a subtle inhale, flaring his nostrils, trying to place the scent.

“Jinko…I…I don’t think…”

All at once, shame struck him like a blow to the chest. He had no right to pry like this. He shrank backwards, stumbling over his feet.

“I, I’m sorry,” he backpedaled, “it's not my business to ask.”

He looked at the ground, petrified by his own audacity. Akutagawa took a cautious step towards him.

“We,” Atsushi continued, eyes downcast, “we never discussed whether we’d be sleeping with other people. I’m not,” he chanced a look up, and suppressed a jolt of surprise to see him so close, “but I never asked you not to, so…”

Understanding blossomed on Akutagawa’s face, morphing it into one of fresh apprehension.

“Wha—don’t be ridiculous, jinko, I’m not sleeping with him!” he looked so scandalized, Atsushi thought he would have brought a hand to his chest in reproach had both his arms not been full of takeout.

All Atsushi’s possessive brain heard was it’s a man, then. Akutagawa is drinking from another man.

Atsushi willed his temper to simmer down. He must maintain a modicum of self-control, here. He hardly registered that Akutagawa had denied sleeping with this person. All he heard was the familiarity, the ease at which he referred to them. This was someone Akutagawa knew.

That tiny tell was all it took for Atsushi to recognize the smell all over Akutagawa’s body.

Chuuya Nakahara

He’d only smelled him once before, when he’d come to his apartment last week. Which was why he couldn’t place the scent, at first.

“Chuuya,” he whispered, restraint slipping through his fingers, “it was Chuuya, wasn’t it?”

Akutagawa recoiled from him, fresh fear in his eyes. He quickly came to a decision, springing forward.

“Jinko, I can explain—"

Before he could do just that, Akutagawa’s phone rang in his pocket. He looked to Atsushi imploringly as he loaded all of the bags to one hand so he could check the caller ID.

“Don’t leave,” Akutagawa’s voice shook, “please.” He brought the phone to his ear, “I have to take this, it will be just a moment.”

He looked away from Atsushi, answering the phone with a curt “Yes?”

His body froze, before he erupted, “What do you mean you’re with Dazai now? I was only gone for twenty minutes—”

Dazai. He needed to tell Dazai.

“—I’m not comfortable with you running off before you’re recovered—”

He cut himself off, to listen to who was obviously Chuuya on the other line. Atsushi fought the impossible urge to scream.

Akutagawa hung up the phone, pocketing it with a flush of frustration in his face that left Atsushi reeling. He had no idea Chuuya could garnish such strong reactions from him.

What exactly was the nature of their relationship, anyway? He assumed Akutagawa and Chuuya had what Atsushi had with Dazai. He knew there was trust and respect there, as well as some level of affection. He spoke about Chuuya in a similar way that he spoke about his sister, Gin. He never thought anything of it. But he didn’t know anything about Akutagawa’s relationships in the Port Mafia, not really.  

It wasn’t necessarily ethical, but he knew some people in managerial positions slept with their subordinates. Imbalance of power in a sexual relationship wouldn’t really matter in an organization like the Port Mafia.

He needed to talk to Dazai. He needed to tell someone, or else he felt like the dam would burst and he would spill out every shameful and unfair impulse he felt for Akutagawa.

While he as on the topic of his own assumptions, Atsushi faintly realized that he’d always assumed that Chuuya and Dazai had something…going on. What exactly, he wasn’t sure. But they were close, and if anyone could explain Chuuya’s behavior—or Akutagawa’s, for that matter—it was Dazai. He always knew. Even if it was information he didn’t like, he needed to understand. And Akutagawa wasn’t going to tell him. Not with their current standing.

“I…I have to go.”

Akutagawa reached to stop him, but was too late. Atsushi could hear his plaintive cry at the back of his head as he sprinted away, back towards the Armed Detective Agency. He used Beast Beneath the Moonlight to quicken his pace, to shorten the distance. He hardly registered that he was half transformed during his dash through and over the crowds. He heard Akutagawa’s voice shouting somewhere behind him, even when he was in motion. He must have been following Atsushi, then.

He was at Dazai’s door before he could come back to himself, letting himself in with a wrench of the doorknob.

Dazai had taken to leaving his door unlocked for Atsushi, in the past week. He’d given Atsushi permission to come and go as he pleased, as he was there most of the time. He’d never been more grateful for it than he was now.

Atsushi stormed into Dazai’s apartment, calling for him on reflex.

His eyes immediately honed onto Dazai and Chuuya, who were innocuously sitting on the couch. They raised their eyes to him in vague surprise at the intrusion.

“You.”

Akutagawa pummeled into his back, rushing through the doorway after him. Atsushi spun around to bite back at him, but did not get the chance, for Akutagawa sped past him to put the stack of takeout next to Chuuya on the coffee table.

It was in that moment that Atsushi tacitly realized that Chuuya looked pale, drained of all color. There was a light sheen of sweat on his brow, which would make sense, if Dazai had just collected him from wherever Akutagawa had been…busy with him.

As soon as Akutagawa placed the food next to Chuuya, he quickly fled, returning to Atsushi’s side, silent, abashed.

“Atsushi?” Dazai stood up, “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong,” Atsushi pointed an accusing finger at Chuuya, and felt his discretion crumble, the final tether of his dignity snapping, “is that he has been feeding Akutagawa his blood.”

Dazai did not move, but instead turned his head slowly to face Akutagawa, who flinched, standing stiffly behind Atsushi like a shadow. Dazai’s voice was soft and deadly, his eyes wild.

“Excuse me?”

“Okay, no.” Chuuya was out of his seat and in front of Dazai in an instant, his hand outstretched, “absolutely not.”

Dazai brought his eyes back to Chuuya, his face manic with an expression that Atsushi, quite frankly, understood as ‘do not engage.’

“You have no right,” Chuuya’s expression was resolute, sure, and calm, “to criticize how I take care of Akutagawa.” He was actually angry with Dazai, Atsushi realized, “You are the last person who gets to have a say in that.”

Atsushi, too shocked to interrupt them, could do nothing but fall back and watch. Chuuya pointed at Akutagawa across the room.

“He is my subordinate, and I will protect him as I see fit.”

His eyes blazed, as if Atsushi and Akutagawa were not even there. For a moment, Chuuya looked at Atsushi in understanding—and what he thought might be regret.

“I’m sure Nakajima has had a shit week, too,” Chuuya pinned Dazai in place with his gaze. “How did you take care of him?”

Dazai inhaled sharply through his mouth, and chanced a look at Atsushi. His face was blank, in a way Atsushi scarcely ever saw from him. He understood, in that moment, that this was the mask of neutrality Dazai put forth by default when fear of exposure threatened to reveal more of his emotions than he’d like.

Dazai was afraid.

“Oh,” Chuuya smiled wickedly in understanding, beginning to laugh, “You must have really gone outside of your comfort zone if you’re this embarrassed about it.”

Akutagawa pulled close to him, his aura confused and proprietary.

“Jinko?”

Atsushi did not look at him. Did not want to. It wasn’t Akutagawa’s business how he coped with the past week. But when Akutagawa next spoke, it filled Atsushi with dread.

“Why does Dazai’s apartment smell like you?”

“Shut up, Akutagawa.” He snapped, face flushing.

Chuuya’s hearty laughter brought his attention back to him.

“Don't worry, I don’t actually care,” Chuuya all but beamed at Dazai, a look of triumph on his face, “but you see my point, I’m sure.”

“I disagree,” Dazai’s voice was quiet and poisonous, “letting Akutagawa bite you and drink your blood is not the same as what I’ve been doing for Atsushi.”

“Are you gonna pretend you wouldn’t have done the same thing for Nakajima?” his smile was so gleeful, but nonetheless confident of how right he was. “If he were in Akutagawa’s position, what would you have done?”

Dazai turned to look at Atsushi then, a look of clear conflict on his face. He slowly blinked for Atsushi. Atsushi blinked back.

Chuuya then turned to Atsushi, his face somber.

“He was starving himself,” Chuuya looked grave, and that sentence alone made Atsushi feel like he was going to be sick, “and was wasting away. He needed to eat, so I made a judgement call, and I stand by my decision.”

Akutagawa got as close to him as he could without touching Atsushi. He likely thought he wasn’t allowed to, yet. Good. Atsushi wasn’t sure if he would allow it yet, either.

“Now,” Chuuya continued, ignoring Dazai, who looked grossly offended, but kept his mouth shut, “your business with Akutagawa is your own, Nakajima. And I will not interfere with that.”

Chuuya looked at Akutagawa, his expression softening with clear, unbridled affection, before he turned back to Atsushi.

“But if he is not eating, I will feed him, do you understand?”

A chill went down Atsushi’s spine. The idea that Chuuya could—and would—take care of Akutagawa’s physical needs made his blood boil with consternation. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t—allow that to happen again. He was Atsushi’s to protect. To care for. To satisfy and sustain with his blood and his flesh. Chuuya would not hold that position in Akutagawa’s life. He would not stand for it.

“Yes,” Atsushi responded, stiffly.

Chuuya nodded at him in silent agreement.

“Let’s go, Akutagawa,” Atsushi was gripping his arm before he was consciously aware of it, dragging him backwards. “We need to talk.”

Akutagawa went without resistance, curling into him eagerly, nodding without speaking.

As Atsushi hauled Akutagawa out the door and into the hallway, he distantly heard Chuuya mutter “Good talk,” at his back as Atsushi pulled the door closed behind them.

Chapter Text

Ryuunosuke almost tripped over his own feet as Nakajima dragged him bodily down the hallway of the Agency dorms.

Nakajima shoved his way through his front door, hauling Ryuunosuke over the threshold behind him. Their eyes both lit onto Kyouka, who was sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl in her hands, a line of noodles in her mouth.

She took one look at the two of them, mid-slurp, and promptly moved to leave. Nakajima stepped them away from the door to let her pass, still holding Ryuunosuke by the arm. She took the steaming bowl with her as she walked past them, not even sparing them a glance.  

“Text me when you’re done.”

And with that, she was out the door, closing it firmly behind her.

Before Ryuunosuke could even think to move, Nakajima had pinned him to the door with a possessive kiss.

Ryuunosuke startled, confused, but did not stop him. He had no idea what the fuck was going through Nakajima’s mind right now, but he wasn’t going to complain. He’d missed him bitterly, he’d been empty without him, he would take any form of validation Nakajima wanted to offer.

And what the weretiger was offering, at present, was not a conversation, but Ryuunosuke was desperate, he was weak—he couldn’t even say no to him when Nakajima was pleased. And where they stood now? He would do anything.

Nakajima kissed him with force, with anger, with teeth. He bit his lips, forcing them open, drawing blood that soaked into his tongue, his gums, filling his mouth with the taste of iron as Ryuunosuke felt a growl in Nakajima’s throat that reverberated through his lips. His hands were everywhere, grabbing at Ryuunosuke, pulling him against his body, the contact sharp, demanding. He pulled back for only a moment to mutter into Ryuunosuke’s mouth.

“I’m still angry with you,” his eyes flashed with danger, with the promise of violence, “but…”

He did not finish his sentence, his eyes distracted as they wandered down to Ryuunosuke’s mouth. He claimed Ryuunosuke’s lips again in a blatant display of aggression, prying his mouth back open and licking inside.

Ryuunosuke was quickly becoming dizzy, the demands of his weretiger overriding each and every one of his senses. He felt an overwhelming urge to give Nakajima whatever he wanted, however he wanted, he did not care. he’d missed him so much, he did not care—

Nakajima pulled him away from the door, shoving him into the kitchen and pushing him against the countertop. His body language was combative, predatory, but Ryuunosuke's survival skills were clearly failing him. Nakajima sloughed Rashoumon off of him, dropping it to the floor as he moved to undo his jabot, which joined his coat at their feet. He kept kissing Ryuunosuke as he unbuttoned his pants, shoving his hand into Ryuunosuke’s underwear to grasp at him.

He was already half hard, but at feeling Nakajima’s hand on him, he bucked forward, desperate to please, helpless to deny any desire directed his way. Nakajima’s hand clasped his cock, running his hand up and down, and Ryuunosuke moaned shamelessly into his mouth, deliriously happy to have him back in his arms. Nakajima pulled away from the kiss to pant in his face.

“I don’t want you drinking from other people,” his other hand held him firmly by the nape of his neck, “I only want it to be me.”

“Yes,” Ryuunosuke nodded, without thinking, his vision blurring, “yes.”

“I can’t share you,” Nakajima pumped his cock with tight strokes, making Ryuunosuke’s back arch against the counter, “I thought I could, at first,” he took a fistful of Ryuunosuke’s hair in his hand, forcing him to look him in the eye, “I was wrong.”

Ryuunosuke’s eyelashes fluttered as he whimpered through his mouth. This didn’t feel real. He must be dreaming.  

“You can have me,” he breathed, nodding, “you can.”

Nakajima’s grip tightened in his hair, tightened on his cock.

“I want to fuck you.”

Ryuunosuke felt like he’d lost all brain function. He made a strangled, tortured noise with his throat before realizing that he had not, indeed, given an him an affirmative.

“Yes,” he sought out his lips, to reconnect them, “please—”

Nakajima kissed him back, forcing his tongue back into his mouth as he jerked him in his pants. Before he could get into a rhythm, though, Nakajima yanked his body forward, leading them to the living room.

As the weretiger maneuvered him, aiming him towards the couch, Ryuunosuke’s thoughts fruitlessly tried to organize themselves.

“You—” he stuttered between kisses, as Nakajima bumped into his coffee table, jostling it backward as he shoved Ryuunosuke down onto the couch, “you said we were going to talk—”

“After,” Nakajima climbed onto him, pushing him down, seemingly as inarticulate as Ryuunosuke was, “we can talk after.”

Aksing after what? felt redundant, at this point.

He closed his eyes as Nakajima got his hand back in his hair, fingers tightening as he bared Ryuunosuke’s neck to him. Nakajima kissed down his jawline, sucking into the soft, sensitive skin below his ear, around his jugular, down to his collarbone. He was between Ryuunosuke’s legs, humping into him as he nipped and sucked hickeys into his neck. Nakajima made sure they were above his collar line, above where his jabot normally concealed his skin.

“Jinko—” he whispered, unmoored.

“I want them to see it,” was all he said in response.

“Who?” he felt like he wasn’t even in control of his mouth anymore. His filter was gone.

“Everyone,” his breath was humid and close against his ear, “I want everyone to know.”

“Know what?"

In that instant, Nakajima bit hard into his neck, drawing blood. Ryuunosuke keened, meeting Nakajima’s thrusts with his clothed hips as he clung to his arms, his head falling back.

“That you’re mine,” he snarled into his skin.

Ryuunosuke shivered, afraid he would come undone with just that admission, alone.

“But, I...”

I already am.

Speech was growing increasingly difficult for him. He took Nakajima’s face in his hands and tried to convey how he felt with his actions, instead. He kissed him sloppily, but with fervor, opening a wound on the weretiger’s bottom lip with his fangs.

Nakajima, sensing Ryuunosuke’s newfound resolve, took his initiative as a challenge. With a snarl, he wrestled Ryuunosuke’s hands from him, the resulting struggle tumbling them over the side of the couch and onto the floor.

Ryuunosuke landed on top, but Nakajima bared his teeth and pinned him back beneath him with alarming speed.

Ryuunosuke’s hands flew to the weretiger’s pants, unbuckling them with a quickness he forgot he had. He tugged on Nakajima’s waistband, gesturing for him to take them off. He helped Nakajima unhook his suspenders as the weretiger flung off his pants and underwear, getting back into position on top of him.

Nakajima still had his work shirt, tie, and gloves on, but that didn’t matter, for now. Ryuunosuke wrapped his hand around Nakajima’s swollen cock, which bounced between him as he moved. The weretiger let out a terse hiss at first contact, perhaps not expecting to be touched so soon.

Taking advantage of his distraction, Ryuunosuke pulled at him with smooth, tight strokes as he shimmied his body downwards, so that his head could be laying between Nakajima’s widespread legs.  

He pulled Nakajima’s cock down, towards his lips, and made sure the weretiger could see his eyes.

“I am yours, jinko.”

He took the head in his mouth, hearing a startled, shaking gasp from above him. With one hand on the base of Nakajima’s cock, and the other wrapping around to clutch his ass, Ryuunousuke encouraged him to move down, into his mouth, as he lifted his head off the ground to take him down his throat.

Nakajima released a sharp, pained exhale outside of Ryuunosuke’s line of sight, but in his periphery, he could see both of the weretiger’s hands clawing at the ground on either side of his head, scratching claw marks into the floor.

He bobbed his head, swallowing him down as he gently spurred Nakajima to meet his mouth with his hips, which he did eagerly. The feral noises coming from the weretiger’s throat were intoxicating, made his blood boil with lust, reminded him with a spike of excitement how dangerous his partner really was.

He pulled off, holding his dick close enough to his mouth that Ryuunosuke knew that Nakajima could feel his harsh breaths fan over his sensitive, spit-slick skin.

“You can,” Ryuunosuke fought to catch his breath, his throat scratchy, “you can fuck my face, if you want.”

Nakajima shuddered, closing his eyes in a slow, overwhelmed attempt at controlling himself. As his eyes reopened, one of his hands moved into Ryuunosuke’s hair as his head fell back against the floor.

He looked so hungry, his expression so nakedly greedy as he looked down at him, that Ryuunosuke felt his own hips thrust up at the empty air in anticipation. He knew he must look fucked out to Nakajima, already, his lips wet with spit and precome, his cheeks red. He hoped it would please him. He wanted, more than anything, to please him.

Nakajima thrust his hips down, into Ryuunosuke’s mouth, as he gripped his hair tight. He picked up the pace as he fucked into his face, Ryuunosuke’s throat opening wider and wider to receive him. He choked, making a gurgling noise beneath him, but goaded Nakajima to rut harder, faster, moaning around him with reckless abandon. It felt so good to be used by him, to have him completely demolish any sense of dignity he used to have.  

And besides, he'd never seen the weretiger like this before, with all his inhibitions cast aside, brutality in his gaze, his grasp, his intent. He felt his own legs widen on their own, his neglected cock begging for friction, but finding none. Ryuunosuke held Nakajima’s ass in both his hands as he felt the weretiger’s pace begin to lose rhythm, his thrusting turning erratic as he neared the edge. 

Just as Ryuunosuke thought he might pass out from lack of air, he felt Nakajima’s firm grip on his head tighten to the point of pain, both hands holding him firmly in place as he pushed himself to the back of Ryuunosuke’s throat, spilling into his mouth with a beleaguered, heaving sigh.

Ryuunosuke gagged around him, but held him in place as he swallowed it all, sucking every last drop from him as Nakajima shivered, doubling over him.

As Nakajima pulled himself out of his mouth. Ryuunosuke licked his lips to collect the excess spit that had collected there, breathing heavily as he watched the weretiger carefully.

For a moment, they sat there and caught their breath, Nakajima blinking through his high as his eyes roamed over him.

Nakajima quickly recovered, and brought himself further down Ryuunosuke’s body, so he could reach for his pants again. He moved his legs about, taking each leg out of his slacks, as well as removing his underwear. While he was at it, he took off Ryuunosuke’s shirt, too, leaving him naked. Nakajima made quick work of the rest of his own clothes, afterwards.

He settled between Ryuunosuke’s legs spreading them wide as he looked down at him, his palms smoothing over his torso. He didn't see his claws emerge, but felt them as the weretiger slowly drew his fingers down Ryuunosuke’s sides, small red lines blooming in their wake. Some of them shone wet with blood.

“I have,” Ryuunosuke stopped to clear his throat, his voice hoarse, “I have lube in my coat.”

Nakajima’s eyes snapped to him, an unnamed, intense emotion lighting them up from within. His grasp tightened on Ryuunosuke’s knees.  

“Don’t look at me like that, jinko, I wasn’t sleeping with anyone else, either,” he said in a rush, “but I…”

How could he say it without utterly humiliating himself?

He licked his lips, and took a breath.

“I wanted to be…prepared…” he faltered, “in case we…in case you…”

Nakajima’s obstinate expression cleared with understanding, his hands sliding downwards, up his thighs. Ryuunosuke tried to finish his sentence, unconsciously spreading his legs wider in supplication.

“In case you wanted…”

The weretiger’s body vibrated with a rumbling, gnarling noise—a sign of pleasure, Ryuunosuke assumed, by the fierce, dark look of desire that had stolen over his face—as Nakajima seemed to come to a decision. He abandoned Ryuunosuke on the floor to collect Rashoumon from where it had been dropped in the kitchen.

He was back between his legs before he could blink, startling himself by how fast the weretiger could move. Nakajima had the travel-sized lube container in his hand, popping the cap to squeeze some of it out onto his fingers.

With one hand he held Ryuunosuke down by the chest, and with the other, he brought a single finger to the cleft of his ass to pry inside.

When his finger went in without any resistance, Nakajima startled, locking eyes with his.

“Have you,” Nakajima paused, adding another finger experimentally, which slid in easily next to the other, “have you been…?”

“Touching myself?” Ryuunosuke was already feeling winded, his breathing getting rougher by the second. He let his head fall back upon the floor with a thud, “Yes…” he arched his back when Nakajima slipped a third finger in, “I have.”

Nakajima’s earnestness seemed to render him unintelligible, his eyes large and scrutinizing as they raked over him.  

“Were you…” Nakajima started, before distracting himself with the sight of seeing three of his fingers pump in and out of him, “were you…”

“I wasn’t fucking anyone else, jinko,” he repeated. Somehow, he understood that the weretiger wanted to hear this, needed to hear this, “I only wanted you.”

“So you…” Nakajima’s fingers probed around, inside him, searching for the bundle of nerves that had given him such a pleasant surprise last time, “All this time, you…”

“I thought of you when I touched myself,” Ryuunosuke closed his eyes, meeting Nakajima’s hand with his hips, to quicken the pace, “but it wasn’t the same,” he opened his eyes, fixing onto Nakajima’s heavy gaze.

What Ryuunosuke didn’t say was that he’d been haunted by Nakajima’s earlier promise to be the one to fuck him, the next time they had sex. He’d dreamt about it, obsessed over it, fantasized about it more times than he could count. Of course he’d been fingering himself and imagining it was his weretiger.

He knew Nakajima hadn’t done this before, but he was mirroring what Ryuunosuke had done for him last time, and he was a quick learner. In their first sexual encounter, he’d outright fooled Ryuunosuke into thinking he had sexual experience when he didn't. It was rather impressive, really. Perhaps it was his single-minded focus and desire for acknowledgement. Perhaps it was the animal in him, running on instinct alone. Who knew? Ryuunosuke wasn’t complaining.

Nakajima slipped in a fourth finger, and Ryuunosuke convulsed when the weretiger grazed his prostate, an undignified sound of surprise forcing its way out of his mouth.

Nakajima smiled in victory, seeking out the spot again. Ryuunosuke could do nothing more but lean his lead back against the floor, curl his toes, and cry out.

Quicker than Ryuunosuke expected, the weretiger became impatient, tired of playing with his food. He pulled his fingers out of him all at once, causing Ryuunosuke to heave (he’d have to warn him to be a bit gentler next time), before he quickly flipped him over onto his stomach.

Nakajima climbed behind him, situating him onto his knees. He draped himself over Ryuunosuke’s back, wrapping one arm around him with a squeeze as he felt fangs scratch along his nape. They did not bite, but hovered, for a moment. He felt Nakajima’s hot breath on his neck, and the light touch made him flinch, almost ticklish.

Ryuunosuke felt the teeth retreat as Nakajima leaned back. He lined himself up, and slowly push himself in.

Ryuunosuke’s mouth fell open as he felt his legs widen further with the unconscious desire to take in more of him. He released a gratifying exhale as he felt the delicious pressure fill him up as Nakajima inched further and further inside. Restless, eager, Ryuunosuke rocked backwards, edging him forward.

At feeling him rock back against his cock, Nakajima gasped behind him. Before Ryuunosuke could look behind himself to see his reaction, Nakajima made a displeased, snarling sound, and slammed the rest of the way inside in retaliation, punching the air out of his lungs in one fell swoop.

He struggled to keep his arms upright as Nakajima adjusted to the feeling, his first few thrusts experimental, slow, sending sparks of pleasure up Ryuunosuke’s spine. The drag made him groan. The burn felt fantastic, better than he’d ever imagined. He’d always known his weretiger’s cock would fit him just right, so perfectly, so full.  

Nakajima was catching on, figuring out what he liked as he, no doubt, watched for how Ryuunosuke reacted to each thrust. Without warning, he snapped his hips forward, stealing Ryuunosuke’s breath from him as he set a faster pace.

Soft, pitiful noises escaped his mouth every time Nakajima speared into him. He heard the slap of his skin against Nakajima’s hips as he went faster. It was beginning to overwhelm him. He whimpered, tipping his chin to the ceiling as his eyes rolled back at the stimulus.

Nakajima’s hand fisted into his hair as he pulled his body backward, bringing their torsos together as he continued to fuck into him. The new angle was delicious, hitting deep within him with every rough, piercing thrust.

“You’re mine,” Nakajima seethed in his ear, his grip unforgiving, proprietary, “only mine.”

Nakajima kept a hand in his hair, keeping his head tilted back so his neck was open to him. Ryuunosuke felt Nakajima’s other hand on his thigh, tortuously, painfully close to his dripping erection, but not touching it, letting it bob in front of him as he held him still and mercilessly drove into him.

“Yes,” Ryuunosuke babbled, legs shaking, “only yours.”

He huffed through tears of exertion that gathered at the corners of his eyes. He thought he might die if Nakajima did not touch him.

“Please, jinko—” he wasn’t quite sure what he was asking for, but closed his eyes, “Atsushi, please—”

Nakajima inched his hand closer to his dick, but instead of grabbing it, sank his teeth into his exposed neck. He cried out, back bowing, as fresh blood dripped down his chest from the weretiger’s newest claim. This bite, too, would be visible, even if he wore his jabot. The thought sent a thrill through him.

The rush of adrenaline left him unprepared for Nakajima to release his hair, and pull out. He readjusted, and grasped it again to push his head down to the floor. He pressed Ryuunosuke’s face to the wood paneling, his ass up in the air as he shoved himself back in, causing Ryuunosuke to whine on his exhale with the sharp, new, excellent angle.

Nakajima held his head down as he pounded into him, hard, the thick brunt of his cock slamming roughly into him over and over and over.

He’d never felt so wild, so untethered, so disconnected from the world around him. Nakajima’s thrusts were brutal, animalistic, relentless. For a moment, Ryuunosuke forgot he had a voice at all, heard nothing over the overwhelming onslaught of sensation.

The pleasure was too much, he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. Ryuunosuke screamed into the floor as his orgasm wracked through him, his untouched cock spilling his release out onto the wood beneath his stomach.

Nakajima wasn’t far behind him. His increasingly sporadic thrusts eventually culminated with one, deep lunge forward, embedding himself into Ryuunosuke as deep as he could go. He felt Nakajima’s climax rip through him, feeling the hot rush of his release fill him up around the tight press of Nakajima’s cock. It felt so right—was such an inherently satisfying feeling—that Ryuunosuke surprised himself when a lewd, gratified noise of pleasure escaped him. Nakajima’s grip tightened on him in silent agreement as he rode out his orgasm.

Ryuunosuke felt like his soul had left his body. His vocal cords were shot, having howled himself hoarse with noises so foreign to him that he scarcely recognized them.  

Nakajima pulled out, quicker and harsher than what was strictly polite, and collapsed on top of Ryuunosuke’s back with a pleased chuff.

Ryuunosuke, subsequently flattened, turned his head around to glare at him.

“Must you—”

“Yes,” Nakajima curled his arms around him, squishing the air out of him even further.

Ryuunosuke made a petulant, squawking sound, before giving up, resting his cheek against the cool, hardwood floor.

“Your floor is disgusting now,” Ryuunosuke’s voice was muffled, “I hope you’re happy.”

“Mmmmm,” Nakajima nosed along the nape of his neck, his sense of speech slipping away from him, “yeah.”

Ryuunosuke felt the purring before he heard it. Relief lanced through him at the realization. If Nakajima was purring, perhaps he had forgiven him.

He was terrified to ask, but he needed to. They had to talk about it.

Ryuunosuke sat up, causing Nakajima to slide gracelessly off his back, falling onto his ass with a thud. The weretiger made a disgruntled, trilling noise, but otherwise said nothing. Ryuunosuke turned around to face him, now that they were both sitting up.

“Do you…” Ryuunosuke faltered, blinking slowly for him, “do you feel better?”

Nakajima’s limbs were strewn akimbo, his hair fluffed up from sweat and exertion, his skin flushed. He looked tired, but sated, his eyes roaming over Ryuunosuke. Self-consciously, Ryuunosuke followed his gaze, and looked down at his own body, which was littered with bruises, bite marks, scratches, and blood.

“Yes,” Nakajima’s voice was rough, but his eyes were clear, “I do.”

Ryuunosuke scooted closer to him, but did not reach for him. He didn’t know if he was allowed.

“I haven’t forgiven you, yet,” Nakajima's expression was pulled taut as he quickly looked away, “but I…”

Ryuunosuke leaned in, “Yes?”

Nakajima licked his lips. He huffed at himself in frustration, at a loss for what to say. When he didn’t continue, Ryuunosuke spoke.

“For what it’s worth,” Ryuunosuke scooted closer, hoping he wouldn’t be rejected, “I truly am sorry. For everything.”

Nakajima looked up to face him.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he reached a hand towards Nakajima, stopped himself, “but I did. You’re…” he took a deep breath, “you’re the last person I would ever…ever…”

Nakajima adjusted, moving a little closer, attentive, hopeful.

“I think,” Ryuunosuke tried not to think too hard, just tried to get one word out after another, “I think I’d rather die than see you that upset again.”

Nakajima was still, for a moment, before he burst into surprised laughter, his eyes shiny. He held a hand over his open mouth.

“What?” Ryuunosuke was confused.

Nakajima continued to laugh.

“Nothing! It’s just,” he giggled, a bit delirious, “a very…dramatic way to tell me that you care.”

“Dramatic?”

“No, you’re right, you’re right,” Nakajima clutched his stomach, waving a hand, “continue.”

Ryuunosuke pushed him over, causing Nakajima to flop onto his side with a cackle.

Well, Ryuunosuke supposed, if he was allowed to shove at him, he was probably allowed to reach for his hand.

He covered Nakajima’s hand with his own as the weretiger righted himself, sitting back up. Nakajima interlaced their fingers, which Ryuunosuke understood as permission to continue.

“I have…” Ryuunosuke coughed into his other hand, blushing, “I have very strong…feelings…for you, and I want…” he chanced a look up at him, to find him calm, waiting, “I want…”

“You want what?” Nakajima asked.

“I want to earn your trust back,” he finished, squeezing his hand in his. “I want to start with earning your trust back.”

It was hard to miss the clear pain that still clung to Nakajima’s features.

“It’ll take time,” the weretiger conceded. “But this...” he gestured to their sweaty, naked bodies, blushing to himself, “...did help.”

“How indecent, jinko,” he felt himself smile, “I better make sure no one else makes you as angry as I do.”

Nakajima laughed, unable to stop himself.

“I don’t think anyone could possibly steal that title from you,” he moved closer, so that their legs were touching.

“I want,” Ryuunosuke swallowed, “would you allow me…”

Nakajima tilted his head in interest.

“I would like to...” he struggled with his words, “…you know, take you out properly. Like on dates.”

“You want to go on a date?” he gasped.

“Yes,” he nodded, realizing, “I want the…” he gestured with his hand, unsure what to do with it, “I know you want to be sexually exclusive, and I want that, too. But,” he felt his cheeks warm up, “I want the romantic parts of a relationhip, as well.”

“You want a romantic relationship?” Nakajima’s face was unreadable, but Ryuunosuke powered through.

“Yes,” it was all or nothing, “I do.”

Before he could think to be embarrassed by the admission, Nakajima pounced upon him, almost knocking him down with a firm kiss. He wrapped his arms around Ryuunosuke’s neck, releasing his lips to pepper little kisses around his face. His body rumbled with pleased trills.

Ryuunosuke clutched him around his middle, trying to keep them from toppling over.

“Say something, jinko,” he almost pushed him away in consternation, “Tiger noises don’t count.”

“I want that, too,” he beamed, blinking slowly.

Nakajima’s mouth was making a peculiar, chuffing noise as he rubbed his cheeks onto Ryuunosuke’s. And as Ryuunosuke grappled with the weretiger in his lap, his legs wrapped solidly around his back, he could feel Nakajima’s purr reverberate through him.

“Good,” Ryuunosuke hummed, holding him close, rubbing his own cheeks into the hair at his temples, “Good.”

Chapter Text

Atsushi woke to a knock on his front door.

He slid his closet door open, peering out into the morning sunlight of his and Kyouka’s bedroom. As he quietly shuffled out of his bed, Kyouka stirred in her futon, turning around to look up at him with bleary eyes.  

“What is it?” she rubbed her face, throat scratchy with sleep.

“Someone’s at the door,” Atsushi climbed out of his closet and stood up, his limbs pleasantly sore, “I’ll get it. You go back to sleep,” he gestured to her to lay back down, “we still have about an hour before we have to go in for work.”

As he padded to the entryway and opened his door, he was met with an empty hallway. Confused, he looked down.

A large bouquet of bright orange tiger lilies lay on his welcome mat. The beautiful arrangement was wrapped in a high-quality, well-made wrapping. As Atsushi picked them up, he saw a tiny message attached, that only read “Lunch today?” and nothing else.

Atsushi smiled so hard he felt his cheeks hurt. He quickly shut the door, bringing the bouquet inside.

As he set the flowers down onto the kitchen table, Atsushi got out his phone. He didn’t know anything about the language of flowers, but he knew it was a common way to convey one’s specific feelings. Had he experienced a normal childhood, perhaps he could have learned the subtle art through family, friends, or even classmates. As it stood, he found himself completely clueless.

Akutagawa was very cultured, knowledgeable, and dare he say it, a bit old-fashioned in some ways. There was no way he wasn’t fluent in hanakotoba with his refined manners and posh way of living.

Atsushi quickly got out his phone and googled what tiger lilies signified in the language of flowers.

His search results, however, primarily revealed that they were meant to symbolize wealth, prosperity, or good fortune. But wealth was the common theme every time he tried searching further. Why would he send a flower to Atsushi that represented money?

Good fortune, he could kind of get behind, but it seemed like the appropriate usages for this flower was meant to be for school graduations, or celebrating a new job, or buying a home. It didn’t quite fit their particular…dynamic.

And last Atsushi checked, he and Akutagawa had not established a sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship. What could he possibly mean by sending him these? He picked them up and gave them a small sniff. They smelled wonderful.

“Oh,” Kyouka appeared at his side, warm and solid. She was wearing the oversized t-shirt Atsushi had bought for her in Geneva, “I get it.” She pointed at the flowers in his hands, nodding, “Tiger lilies. Because you’re a tiger.”

“What.”

“They’re from Akutagawa, right?” she moved to check the card attached to it, seemingly satisfied with what she saw.

Atsushi nodded.

“That’s nice of him,” she smiled, before walking away to disappear into their room.

Atsushi fought back a new smile. If that was true, he was never going to let Akutagawa live this down. He’d have to pester him about it when he met up with him for lunch later.

He dressed quickly, and collected all of his souvenirs from Geneva and put them in a bag as he got ready for work.

It had hardly been twelve hours since he and Akutagawa had decided to try dating. Well, Atsushi recalled, eyes widening with embarrassment, that made it sound a lot tamer than what actually happened.

But he couldn’t possibly tell his friends and loved ones, “I violently subjugated my not-friend-not-fuck-buddy through unhinged, jealous sex, which was so cathartic for me that it made me more willing to forgive his previously unforgivable actions.” Yeah, no. He’d just have to tell everyone that they had a fight, but worked it out, and now they’re together.

“Ready to go?” Kyouka asked at his elbow, fully dressed.

“Yep!” Atsushi slung his bag of souvenirs over his shoulder, and they left for the Agency.

On their walk to the office, a thought occurred to Atsushi.

“Hey,” he turned to her, “the night Akutagawa and I had that big fight last week, you never came home. Where were you?”

“Oh,” her eyes widened, “I came home, but I heard the two of you shouting from out in the hallway, so I went to Kenji’s dorm instead and asked him if he wanted to watch a movie.”

Well that’s embarrassing, Atsushi winced.

“I figured you’d be done with…whatever that conversation was, by the time our movie was over,” Kyouka continued, “but when I came back to our dorm, you were gone.”

“Ah,” he nodded, “yeah, I was in Dazai’s apartment by then.”

He heard Kyouka take in a deep breath, like she was preparing herself to ask him something.

“Did,” she stopped herself, unsure, before making herself go on, “did it help? Spending time with Dazai?”

He could hear a slight tremor in her voice, belying emotions he didn’t want to push on too quickly for her comfort. So he answered honestly.

“Yes,” he turned to her, smiling, “he helped a lot. Though I’m sorry I’ve been absent,” he reached for her, taking her hand as they walked, “It was a really bad week.”

“Will you tell me what happened?” her eyes looked wet, whether out of sorrow for him, or for herself, he could not say.

“Yes, of course,” he nodded, squeezing her hand, “I just have to take things one step at a time for now, since it’s still a bit raw. But I’ll tell you everything, even if it’s a little bit at a time. I won’t shut you out again, I promise.”

She nodded back to him, her cheeks pink, and closed her eyes in a relieved smile. She squeezed his hand back, and turned to face forward.

Once they got to the office, Kyouka veered off to her seat as Atsushi set down his things at his desk, preparing to get his supplies together for any regular workday.

“Attention, everyone!” Ranpo called from his perch atop his own desk, turning everyone’s eyes his way, “Our souvenirs have arrived!”

Atsushi made a garbled, constrained noise as he coughed in surprise. Everyone in the office turned to stare at him, their eyes moving down to the bag near his keyboard.

“I’m sure many of you were wondering where Atsushi went on his time off two weeks ago,” Ranpo continued, leaning on one arm as he crossed his legs for dramatic effect. “He was on a romantic getaway in Europe with Akutagawa—”

“Not a romantic getaway, Ranpo!” Atsushi shouted over him, face red. He had to actively fight the urge to curl into a ball under his desk.

“Ehh,” he wiggled his hand from side to side, “you say ‘important Port Mafia mission,’ I say ‘romantic getaway.’ They’re both correct.”

“Wait,” Jun'ichirou put his hand out, “you ran off to Europe? With Akutagawa?”

“Who he is now dating!” Ranpo cheered, pointing one finger into the air.

“Ranpo!” Atsushi cried, covering his face, unready for so much undivided attention.

He did fully expect Ranpo to reveal a great deal of his situation, once he saw that Atsushi was ready to hand out his souvenirs to everyone, but thinking he was prepared for the declaration was not the same as actually experiencing it. He loved and trusted the Agency members, of course he did—they were his colony, his family—but he’d never had a boyfriend before, and had no idea how they’d actually react.

He didn’t quite get the chance to worry, however, before Kenji was jumping onto his back, wrapping his legs around his torso and his arms around his neck.

“Congratulations!” he yelled cheerfully into his ear, rubbing his cheeks onto Atsushi’s from over his shoulder.

Jun'ichirou crowded into his side, ruffling his hair before shoving him playfully with one arm.

“I knew it! I knew it!! I want you to tell me everything—”

“You’re so bad, Atsushi,” Naomi teased, cornering him on his other side, “Did you even wait for the truce with the Port Mafia before you hopped on that?”

“Naomi!” Atsushi squawked.

“You were on a mission?” Kunikida asked, just outside the little crowd that had begun forming around him. He could see the concern there, the clear, unspoken questions he didn’t vocalize, like Was it dangerous? Were you injured? Are you alright?

“Yes,” Atsushi replied, Kenji still wrapped around his back like a koala, “the mission was in Geneva. I can tell you more about it later, but it was more or less a success.”

“So our presents are from Switzerland?” Yosano piped up from behind him, “I want mine.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Atsushi noticed Fukuzawa hovering over Ranpo at his desk, their heads close together. Fukuzawa looked a little surprised, and maybe a bit green, as Ranpo wildly gesticulated with his arms—likely giving the president more details than he chose to give the others. That was just as well. At least he chose not to tell anyone until Atsushi made the first move.

Atsushi, for his part, didn’t quite feel the need for secrecy anymore. Perhaps he’ll omit some of the more sensitive details, but at this point, he was okay with everyone else knowing most of it. Maybe a watered-down, less traumatic retelling, at least.

“Okay guys, give him some space,” Dazai shooed the younger Agency members away from him, “he can’t give you your gifts if you’re in his face.”

Kenji climbed down from his back, rubbing his arm against Atsushi’s as he moved to put some distance between them.

Out of all of the Agency members, it was actually Kenji who had caught on to Atsushi’s animal instincts the fastest. Perhaps it was his love of animals, or his experience on his farm, or even his intrinsic connection with nature itself that made the transition so effortless for him. Atsushi never asked. But Kenji had always been there to elaborate to the others, like he already knew, when Atsushi would go over a certain feline behavior that brought him comfort. He appreciated it now, more than ever, the solidarity through touch that made him feel so cherished, so at home, and so loved.

Jun'ichirou, following Kenji’s lead, pet Atsushi’s hair down a few times, to right the ruffling he’d just caused, before rubbing his palm down Atsushi’s forearm. He quickly stepped back, though, at seeing Dazai’s teasing leer.

“Sou-ve-nirs! Sou-ve-nirs!” Ranpo chanted from across the room.

As quickly as he could, he unloaded his bag of goodies, distributing them to each Agency member as they fought not to crowd him a second time.

Yosano whooped once she received her Geneva-themed wine glasses, quickly disappearing into her office to obtain a bottle of wine to make use of them.

“It’s 9:00am, Yosano, please—” Kunikida’s strained voice carried over the crowd.

“I do what I want, Kunikida!”

Kenji let out a delighted shriek at seeing his new cow figurine. He thanked Atsushi with multiple hugs, rubbed his cheeks onto Atsushi’s shirtfront, and got into his face to bunt their foreheads together to show his gratitude.

Ranpo pulled out a packet of instant hot cocoa from his snack drawer before running off to the break room to use his new mug. It was red, with a white cross on the front—the Swiss flag. The oversized t-shirt Atsushi had bought for Kyouka had the same design. It had become her favorite pyjama piece since he’d gifted it to her two weeks ago.

Kunikida quietly removed himself from the hubbub once he was gifted his elaborate set of keepsake pens. He sat down at his desk and fastidiously tested out each pen, making notes on scrap paper to get used to them. It looked like he’d quite forgotten the rest of them were there.

The Tanizaki siblings compared their magnets with Fukuzawa’s. Naomi tried coercing the president into trading with her. As Fukuzawa’s magnet had a cat on it, and hers did not, he politely declined.

Haruno blushed when she received her canvas tote bag, and immediately went to her desk to begin transferring the contents of her purse into it. Atsushi watched as she proudly hung the filled tote across the edge of her chair.

Dazai blocked his view with his body, boxing him in towards the window.

“Thank you for my shot glass, Atsushi,” Dazai smiled, his gaze affectionate and warm. He rubbed his knuckles against Atsushi’s cheeks as Atsushi closed his eyes to him, tilting up his chin with a hum.

“It was awfully nice of you to get everyone presents,” he continued, his voice quieting down to a low lull, so the rest could not hear them, “considering how busy you were.”

Atsushi’s eyes flew open, stiffening in his mentor’s arms as he felt his face heat up.

“Not a word, Dazai,” he whispered, glaring, “or I’ll break your shot glass.”

Dazai chuckled, pulling him into a hug.

“You know I can’t help teasing you,” he giggled into his hair, “don’t worry, your dirty little secrets are safe with me.”

Atsushi pretended to struggle out of his arms, muttering idle threats of ending their friendship and flailing his fists around as Dazai held him in place and laughed, and laughed.

Lunch came soon, after that.

Atsushi arranged a meetup time with Akutagawa over text, so knew what time to expect him on the street below. His phone buzzed in his pocket, notifying him of his arrival. Without even checking it, Atsushi ran to the window, and sure enough, Akutagawa stood outside waiting for him.

Atsushi brought out his phone to shoot a quick, “be right there,” and called over his shoulder, "See you guys after lunch."

But as he turned around, he felt the eyes of the entire Agency watching him, his phone still in his hands. For a second, everyone was silent.

Jun'ichirou broke the dam first, stumbling over his desk to run to the window.

“Is Akutagawa out there? Is he taking you out on a lunch date?!”

Before Atsushi could deny it, all nine of them (including Fukuzawa!) shamelessly huddled at the windows to gawk down at the unwitting Akutagawa, who either didn’t notice he was the center of attention, or bravely pretended not to see them.

“You guys are so embarrassing—get away from there!!” he screeched as he tried fruitlessly to shoo them away from the window.

“Who knew Akutagawa could be such a gentleman?” Naomi cooed, drawing out her words to intentionally fluster him.

“He’s literally just standing there, he’s not even doing anything.” Atsushi began pushing them individually back towards their desks, “besides, he has heightened senses now, like I do, so he can probably see and hear you guys.”

That got them moving, the potential of being discovered cowing them into returning to their seats.

“You too, Dazai,” Atsushi came up from behind him and clutched him around his middle, dragging him backwards before chucking him back into his chair.

“Awww, Kunikida!!” Dazai crooned to his partner next to him, “You’ve taught our little Atsushi so well!” he pretended to wipe a tear from his eyes as he stretched an arm out to paw at Kunikida, who promptly smacked his hand away.

Atsushi rushed back to his desk to collect his things.

“You’re all dead to me, I’ll be back in an hour.”

He jumped down the stairs two at a time, and practically launched himself out of the Agency’s front doors. He ran up to Akutagawa and took him by the arm.

“The Agency knows about us,” he rushed out. As Akutagawa opened his mouth to respond, Atsushi cut him off with a stern, “let’s get going, before they make it weird.”

A smug look took over Akutagawa’s face as he leaned back, unmoving.

“Would that count as making it weird?” he pointed up at the window, where all nine of them were back at the window, ogling them from above.

Atsushi let out an aggrieved warble before hauling Akutagawa down the street and out of view.

“You don’t even know where I’m taking you,” Akutagawa still had a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Don’t care,” he huffed, face red, “I just want to be out of view. They’re so embarrassing—”

Akutagawa chuckled to himself as he let himself be yanked around the block. Once they were far enough away, hidden from sight, he stopped them to allow Akutagawa to take the lead. He was right, though: Atsushi did not, in fact, know where they were going.

Akutagawa led them to an upscale tonkatsu restaurant a few blocks away from the Armed Detective Agency’s office. Once they were seated, and ordered their food, Atsushi couldn’t help but smile.

“I got the flowers you sent me this morning, thank you.” He fought the urge to take his hand, but wasn’t sure how Akutagawa felt about public displays of affection.

Akutagawa coughed into his fist, pink dusting his cheeks.

“I’m glad you liked them.”

“So, what made you choose tiger lilies?” Atsushi asked, the mischief in his tone slipping through.

“What do you mean, jinko?” Akutagawa looked lost, “They’re tiger lilies. You are a tiger.”

“So you weren’t sending me a hidden message through the language of flowers?”

“What? No, I…” he faltered, and Atsushi watched his hand twitch towards his phone, but kept it in place.

“Oh don’t worry, I googled it.” Atsushi grinned, “Tiger lilies represent wealth. Most of the descriptions online describe it as a ‘good luck with money’ scenario.” He bit his lip to keep a straight face, though he didn’t know how long he could hold it.

Akutagawa’s face lost all color as dread crept onto his features.

“So what are you trying to tell me, Akutagawa?” he pressed, “Are you bringing me into a lifestyle full of financial and monetary benefits?”

“Oh shut it you little shit—” Akutagawa snapped, kicking him under the table, “you think I know hanakotoba? I grew up in the slums, you asshole—”

“But you’re so fancy now!!” Atsushi giggled, dodging his feet with a scoot of his chair, “I assumed you knew!”

“You didn’t know, either!”

A tight “Ahem,” interrupted them, before they realized their server had arrived with their food. They both politely apologized and accepted their meals with abashed grimaces.

“So,” Atsushi cut into his pork cutlet, which had been cooked to perfection, “Is this our first date?”

“Of course not, jinko, don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed, pretending to cut into his own cutlet, but really just pushing his food around so that Atsushi could eat it later, “our real first date is on Saturday. I have it all planned out.”

“Ooooh,” Atsushi’s eyes widened, interest piqued, “Where are we going?”

“It’s…a surprise,” he huffed, fiddling with the cutlery. His cheeks reddened, ever so slightly, as he kept his eyes cast downward, and Atsushi realized this might be what a shy Akutagawa looked like.

He decided he liked it.  

“I did invite you out for more than just the pleasure of having lunch with you,” Akutagawa stilled, finally looking back up at him.

Atsushi felt a stab of anxiety, subconsciously holding his breath.

“Don’t worry, jinko, it’s not bad,” Akutagawa put his silverware down, “It’s just…an update you deserve to know about, considering what you’ve learned about the Port Mafia’s goals in the last week.”

An update? Atsushi immediately felt nauseous. He quickly scanned the interior of the restaurant, looking for exits. Was he in danger?

Akutagawa gripped his hand across the table, startling him out of his panic.

“You’re safe, jinko.” He looked him in the eyes, his silver gaze calm and sincere, “Please, never doubt that, when you’re with me. Not ever.”

Atsushi nodded, squeezing his hand, a silent sign to continue.

“Nakane is dead.”

Atsushi’s breath felt like it was stolen from him. His lungs felt too tight for him as he blinked away, fresh tears collecting at his eyelashes. He wiped at his eyes quickly with one hand and sniffed away his shock.

“Once Mori found out that Nakane had been lying about the flash drives, he killed him in retaliation.”

Atsushi understood that, since they were in a public place, Akutagawa would have to talk about his mission as if his lie—the lie that Nakane had led them on a wild goose chase, that there never were any flash drives in the security lock boxes—was the real story.

Atsushi also wondered if telling Atsushi this in a public place was something he needed to do as insurance for the Port Mafia. To have record of discussing the mission in front of Atsushi in a place that could be filmed, bugged, or recorded for Mori’s peace of mind. Either way, he could ask Akutagawa about it later, when they were alone.

“But…” Atsushi faltered, “how do you know he’s dead? Do you have proof?”

“He did it in front of me.”

To Akutagawa’s credit, he did not look away from Atsushi as he said it. His body shook, ever so slightly, and he looked a bit sick, but his voice was clear and sure.

“I think he…wanted me to see it.” Akutagawa continued. “He even seemed genuinely disappointed that Nakane had wasted so much of my time.”

Atsushi could tell that talking about Nakane wasn’t easy for his partner, either.

“I wanted to tell you sooner, but Mori killed him the day before you and I had our big fight, so I never got the chance to tell you.” He looked down at the table, his expression conflicted, “And last night, we were busy with…”

Before Atsushi could interject, he continued.

“Well,” he sighed, “I wanted you to know this before our date. I didn’t want our time together on Saturday spoiled by news that might be attached to more…unpleasant feelings.” He paused again, before adding on, “But you deserved to know. I’m not going to risk keeping information from you anymore if it’s not absolutely required for my job.”

Atsushi nodded at him in gratitude. It was a step in the right direction, as far as their communication challenges were concerned, so he appreciated the gesture for what it was.

“I also wanted to tell you today because this lunch date is the only free time I have to spend with you until Saturday,” Akutagawa winced apologetically, “I’m booked solid with assignments back to back until then, so I had to take advantage.”

“It’s fine,” Atsushi waved him off, “It’s just work, I get it.”

Akutagawa cleared his throat. His expression turned somber, as he blinked slowly at Atsushi. Atsushi blinked back.

“I hope…” Akutagawa’s voice was thin, scratching at the edges, “I hope Nakane’s death will…” he tightened his fingers around Atsushi’s, “bring you some closure.”

Atsushi smiled, the pain he associated with the orphanage an old ache—an intimate, constant companion.

“Closure for something like what they did to me won’t come overnight,” he conceded, “but Nakane’s part in it specifically will be easier to think about, now.”

He looked down at his plate of half-eaten food. In hindsight, it did feel better to know that Akutagawa had destroyed the other two flash drives. His part in Mori’s plot still sickened him, but his partner still did what he could to thwart his boss, to sabotage the man he’d sworn his loyalty to.

Atsushi still had the first flash drive in his apartment. He’d stuck it in his sock drawer, and had been trying not to think about it for a while.

Despite the chaos that followed, he deeply respected Chuuya’s decision to give Atsushi the surviving thumb drive. It felt terrible, in the moment, but with time and distance, Atsushi realized that It did give him a small sliver of agency in the whole ordeal. It helped more than he realized to know that he had the power to preserve that last bit of evidence or not.  

“Speaking of last night…” Atsushi suspected he already knew the answer, but he had to ask.

“Yes?”

Atsushi squinted.

“Where are all of the marks I left?”

The complaint sounded petulant and childish, even to his own ears, but Akutagawa’s muffled laughter made him feel better.

“I’m sorry,” he covered his smile with a napkin, “I forgot about my own healing ability. I’m still not used to having one. When I woke up this morning, your marks were gone.”

Atsushi felt a pinch of sadness, sighing in acceptance.

“I understand how you feel, though,” Akutagawa continued, “I’d been dying to see my fang marks on your body after drinking from you, but for weeks I’ve had to see all evidence of me erased within minutes.”

Well, Atsushi thought, that is how the tiger works. But that did seem awfully unfair, for both of them.

“Do you think we could attempt to slow our own healing abilities?” Atsushi asked, “or at least experiment with it? To see if we could keep our…well…you know…” he was still a bit bashful when it came to verbally discussing sex.

“No harm in trying,” Akutagawa said, with a tilt of his head. “It would be worth it, to me.”

His eyes wandered down to Atsushi’s collar.

“I’m not kidding. I’ve thought about it an inappropriate amount,” he brought his eyes back up, his eyes now shining with a familiar flash of hunger.

“How unprofessional of you, Akutagawa,” Atsushi teased, “fantasizing about your work partner, and on the job, too—”

“I never said it was on the job.”

“Are you gonna deny it?”

Akutagawa looked like he might actually hit him, eyes wide with malice. Atsushi stuffed more food into his face and pushed his chair backward, to keep his legs safe from another strike beneath the table.  

He snickered at him in victory as he quickly finished his meal out of reach.

Saturday came quicker than he expected.

Akutagawa had given him no instructions outside of wearing casual clothes and being ready to leave by 6:30 in the morning. Atsushi woke with the sun every day, so this wasn’t a big ask.

At exactly 6:30am, Akutagawa showed up on Atsushi’s doorstep in casual clothes, as promised. Atsushi fought not to stare, since he’d never seen him so dressed down. Granted everything was black, so he still looked like himself, but Atsushi felt like his casual clothes were less fashionable in comparison.

“Am I dressed okay?”

“Perfect for where we’re going.” Akutagawa nodded.

They took a train headed for Tokyo, and switched lines once they hit downtown. Atsushi was so curious, he could hardly contain his excitement as he wracked his brain trying to figure out where they were going. He kept getting out of his seat to look out the window, absorbing their surroundings as if it could give him any clues.

Akutagawa remained seated, but kept a hand on Atsushi’s arm or his back, when he chose to periodically stand up, to keep him close in the tight crowd in the train car.

After about an hour and a half of transit, Atsushi caught something in the distance, stood up again, and turned to Akutagawa with his mouth open.

“Holy shit, are you taking me to Disneyland?”

Akutagawa’s face looked nervous and pale. His voice was quiet.

“Is that alright?”

“Oh my—yes that’s alright!” Atsushi almost whooped at the top of his lungs, but they were surrounded by people in the train car, so he would have surely knocked into someone or disturbed the people around them if he had. Instead, he settled for a poorly contained shriek of joy, covering his mouth with his hands.

“I’m going to go to Disneyland!! WE are going to go to Disneyland!!”

Akutagawa’s hands fastened around his elbow, nudging him back into his seat next to him.

“I wasn’t even sure if you’d like the idea—” Akutagawa started, self-conscious.

“Are you kidding!? This is gonna be so much fun!” Atsushi beamed, swiveling around in his seat to glue his face to the window behind him. They were getting quite near the park, now, and would likely have to disembark soon.

As if on cue, the train was slowing to its next stop on the line.

“Come on,” Akutagawa tugged at him, “this is our stop.”

Atsushi scrambled to attach himself to Akutagawa’s hip as they got off onto the platform. Akutagawa led the way, and took Atsushi’s hand in his to pull him along onto the walkway.

Akutagawa threaded them through the crowds, leading them to the front of the park. The front entrance read Tokyo Disneyland in a large, bold font.

As soon as they got inside, Atsushi ran straight for the vendors and shops. He already knew what he wanted, starting out. He made a beeline for the Mickey Mouse headbands, letting go of Akutagawa’s hand to rifle through them.

“Jinko,” Akutagawa’s hand gripped the back of his zip-up hoodie, subtly pulling him backward, “please don’t tell me you’re…”

Atsushi spun around, a pair of unadorned black Mickey Mouse ears in his hands. He could feel the laughter bubbling out of him before he knew what he was doing, inching the ears towards Akutagawa’s hair.

“…I’m not wearing those.”

“Oh yes you are.”

He plopped the black mouse ears onto Akutagawa’s head, fixing his bangs around it. Atsushi pressed his lips together, trying not to lose it as Akutagawa stood still, sulking.

“Have you ever been to Disneyland?” Atsushi asked.

“No,” Akutagawa huffed, “but I—”

“If neither of us have ever been, we’ve gotta do all the stereotypical Disneyland stuff. And that includes the mouse ears.”

Atsushi turned back around, quickly finding a grey pair of mouse ears that matched his hair color.

“See?” he placed the headband on, “we match, now.” As he adjusted it, he couldn’t help but see the small smile that Akutagawa tried to smother across from him. He looked awfully cute, with his black hair all ruffled and his cheeks pink, despite his well-kept appearance.  

“We look ridiculous.”

“We look just like everyone else, here.” Atsushi laughed at him, “besides, I think you look...”

“Don’t you dare say it.” He pointed a warning finger at him.

“Okay, okay, I won’t.” Atsushi smirked, linking their arms, “but you know I’m thinking it.”

“Ugh,” he pulled out his wallet and paid for the headbands as Atsushi fought the physical urge to hop around in glee.  

“Let’s go get some breakfast, I’m hungry.”

They wandered further into the park and found a little bakery called the Sweetheart Café. Atsushi did not choose it because it looked romantic, no sir, but he saw Akutagawa's face flush as he pointed to it, signaling that he’d chosen a place to eat.

Atsushi selected some melon bread shaped like one of the characters from Monsters, Inc. along with a small coffee to drink with it. He brought it to-go, so that they could explore as much as they could.

As they made their way to Cinderella’s castle, the most picturesque part of the park, Atsushi got out his phone to take some pictures.

“This is so cool! I can’t believe I’m at Disneyland!” Atsushi couldn’t stop smiling.

“Neither of us had very happy childhoods,” Akutagawa’s voice was small next to him, his shoulders hunched, “I thought…well…”

He tucked his body in closer to Atsushi’s, his flailing arms and constant photo-taking notwithstanding.

“I figured that we should get the chance to experience this at least once, since neither of us got to do it when we were younger.”

Atsushi stopped, his heart clenching in his chest.

“That’s…” his words failed him, “that’s so…”

Before he could do anything stupid like cry in the middle of Tokyo Disneyland, he shook himself, swallowing the thick lump in his throat.

“This was such a great idea, Akutagawa, thank you—”

“Ryuunosuke.”

Atsushi’s breathing hitched.

“I want…” Akutagawa turned to face him fully, “I would like you to use my first name.” his expression was honest and sincere, “Is that alright?”

“Wh—ye—of—I mean, yes, of course it is,” Atsushi stuttered, “you can—you can use my first name, too.”

“Atsushi.” He wrapped his arm around Atsushi’s waist, squeezing him close.

The action, innocent as it was, made him blush profusely.

“Okay then, Ryuunosuke—” he took a vindictive little thrill out of the clear surprise his partner still experienced at the new name, “—we should get a picture together with the castle.”

They flagged down some kind-looking tourists, who took their picture on both of their phones. Atsushi couldn’t contain his delight at feeling his boyfriend’s head lean slightly into him for the photos. Such open displays of affection were so new to him, he was afraid he’d combust with happiness on the spot.

Atsushi was the most interested in the rides, so they made their way clockwise around the park. It took a while to wait for each ride, but Atsushi didn’t care. One or two of the rides had a premier access pass option that allowed them to jump the lines, which Ryuunosuke had purchased in advance. Atsushi was rather impressed with his coordination skills; he really had thought of everything.

When they were waiting in line at Big Thunder Mountain, Atsushi grabbed Ryuunosuke’s attention.  

“Remember how Kunikida bought valerian root tea for me?” he smiled, and Ryuunosuke nodded for him to continue, “Well, he had me try it at work yesterday.”

Ryuunosuke’s eyes widened, trying to hide his clear interest.

“How…” he muffled his mouth with his hand, “how did it go?”

“It was weird, but…” Atsushi began to giggle, “I can’t explain it. I felt very focused, but I also felt very relaxed.”

He gestured with his arms, struggling to find the words as Ryuunosuke started to snicker at him.

“But I like, wanted to rub my body onto everything, and—don’t laugh, Ryuunosuke!”

“Oh no, you’re not taking this away from me,” Ryuunosuke chuckled, “I am wearing mouse ears—mouse ears!!” he maniacally pointed at his head, “—you can sit through being laughed at over your big cat acid trip.”

“it wasn’t an acid trip, that makes it sound so much more extreme than it actually was—” Atsushi put out his hand, “it was more…soothing…” he swayed a little at the memory. He pursed his lips together before adding, “I tried licking everything in the office, actually.”

Ryuunosuke burst into laughter, though his version of laughter was quieter, more subdued than Atsushi’s. He doubled over, shoulders shaking.

“You licked everything?”

“Don’t forget the rubbing,” Atsushi crossed his arms and looked to the rocky, caved ceiling of the long line for the roller coaster, “I think I headbutted everyone in the office at least once. I would have felt more embarrassed if they all hadn’t encouraged it so much—”

“What, were they petting you?”

“YES!” Atsushi hid his face in his hands, chortling, “but it was really funny. Everything was funny. It felt so nice, it was like my senses of touch and smell were amplified…”

“Did it feel similarly to…” Ryuunosuke lifted his eyebrows, casually pointing to one of his exposed fangs, “…you know…?”

“Not really,” Atsushi mused, “that feels much more intense. Feels very good, but very different.”

“Hmmm,” Ryuunosuke put his hand on his chin, “interesting.”

“Speaking of which,” Atsushi sidled close to him, “You haven’t had any blood in a while.”

They were in a crowd full of tourists waiting in line for a roller coaster, so it wasn’t like they could do anything about it here and now. But Atsushi had definitely been thinking about it.

“I haven’t had any since Chuuya, no.”

Hearing Ryuunosuke say it out loud still made his hackles raise, despite himself.  

“Yes, well,” Atsushi rubbed circles into his back, “That was on Wednesday, it’s Saturday now. it’s been a few days. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

“I am,” Ryuunosuke gave him a suspicious side-eye, “but I’ll be alright for today. Maybe I can…eat…later tonight, after our date.”

Atsushi simply looked back at him with coy eyes.

“Don’t even think about it.” He warned with a smile.

“What? I didn’t say anything.”

“We are in public, jinko.”

“I thought you were going to call me ‘Atsushi’ now.”

“Well, you are still ‘jinko’ to me. I can call you both, if I like,” Ryuunosuke huffed.

Atsushi suppressed his mischievous chuckle as they were finally let onto Big Thunder Mountain.

Once they reached the Fantasyland area, Atsushi noticed a certain smell kept curling into his nose at the oddest times. The scent came and went too quickly for him to pinpoint it, but once he and Ryuunosuke finished the Haunted Mansion ride, he smelled it much closer.

It was immediately familiar, and since the source of the scent seemed to be closer to him than before, Atsushi’s brain registered emotions, instead of identifying factors. He felt overwhelmed by the smell of home, safety, affection—

Why is Dazai here?

He sniffed again, realizing there was a second scent with the first. This one brought forth immediate and strong, ugly emotions, making him want to lash out and fight and—ah yes, that would be Chuuya.  

Atsushi inwardly scolded himself for the territorial reaction. Chuuya was not a threat, he was special to Ryuunosuke, and he loved him. It wasn’t like his relationship with Dazai looked any different. 

He heaved a great sigh, turning to Ryuunosuke as they walked towards Peter Pan’s Flight.

“Did you, by any chance, ask for Chuuya’s opinion on date ideas for today?”

Ryuunosuke turned to him with wide, nervous eyes.

“…Why?”

“They’re here,” Atsushi’s expression was flat, “I can smell them.”

Atsushi wasn’t sure if his nose had a wider radius than Ryuunosuke’s vampiric senses, but it was possible.

“I only just now caught whiff of them,” Atsushi continued, “so you’ll probably be able to smell them, too.”

Ryuunosuke looked about them, his nostrils flaring, before catching what Atsushi was smelling.

“That traitor,” he gasped, affronted, before pointing his finger into the direction of Alice’s Tea Party.

It was a fair distance away, but they closed the distance quickly, to make sure their pursuers wouldn’t realize they’d been caught and flee. They waited for the teacups to stop spinning, standing haughtily at the guardrails until the ride was over.

Finally, once all motion had stopped, they scanned the oversized cups for their wayward mentors. Atsushi saw them first.

“There,” he pointed, and they jumped the railing and made straight for them.

They were too fast for the attendant to scold them, but ran to stand in front of a garishly pink and yellow teacup. Atsushi spun it around with his hands, revealing a gaping, shocked-looking Chuuya and a limp, green Dazai, who had flopped onto the front of the handlebars.

Chuuya made a small wave with his hand, smiling tightly at the two of them. He laughed weakly.

“Fancy meeting you two here,” he tried.

“Oh, come off it, Chuuya, we know you were following us,” Akutagawa stepped aside expectantly, holding his arm out as if to say, get off the ride so I can yell at you privately.

Chuuya gracefully jumped down from the teacup, his hands in his pockets, and looked back at Dazai, who was still slumped over.

“I’ve got him,” Atsushi climbed in, hauling him across his shoulders and carrying him out.

No one interrupted them, since it was apparent that they weren’t cutting the line.

“What’s wrong with him?” Atsushi asked.

“Oh he hates spinning rides,” Chuuya chuckled to himself, smiling, “but he pissed me off earlier, so I made a bet with him that he wouldn’t be able to handle it, just to spite him.”

“Chuuya’s so mean,” Dazai wailed, a dead weight in Atsushi’s arms, “I think I’m actually gonna puke.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you poured your Mickey Mouse bubble tea down my pants, asshole!”

“But it was so funny!” he actually had the audacity to laugh feebly through his nausea.

“Okay,” Atsushi readjusted his hold on Dazai, who probably had the strength to stand on his own by now, but chose not to, “Explain yourselves.”

“Whatever do you mean, Atsushi?” Dazai rubbed his cheek against Atsushi’s affectionately, “Chuuya and I love Disneyland.”

“I have never, not once, heard you talk about going to Disneyland.” Atsushi propped him up, and began fixing his disheveled clothes.

“Me neither,” Ryuunosuke squinted accusingly at Chuuya.

“In my defense,” Chuuya began, “I never said you should take Nakajima to Disneyland, specifically. I said that my favorite place to go on a date was an amusement park.”

“Which is true,” Dazai added with a nod in Chuuya’s direction.

Atsushi looked at Dazai expectantly, his hands on his hips. His mentor didn’t budge, but smiled down at him with all the smugness his motion sickness could afford him.

Chuuya, however, did not have such resolve. As soon as Ryuunosuke tucked in close to him, and gave him what Atsushi thought was probably the poutiest face he’d ever seen, Chuuya broke.

“Okay fine, fine, it was Dazai’s idea.”

“Chuuya!”

“I told him we should leave you two alone, but no—”

“Atsushi’s never been on a date before!” Dazai gestured at Atsushi wildly, eyes on Chuuya, “I had no other choice!”

“You’re just a nosy bastard who can’t mind his own business!” Chuuya turned to the two of them, clearly having had this conversation before, “you see what I have to deal with?”

Ryuunosuke actually smothered a small laugh with his hand, straightening out his face before Dazai could see it.

“Well, now that the jig is up, we better get going,” Chuuya clutched Dazai by the shirtfront, “since we’re already here, I wanna ride Space Mountain.”

Without looking back at them, Chuuya led Dazai off with a wave.

“Do you think they’re gonna keep spying on us?” Atsushi asked as they walked away.

“Probably.” Ryuunosuke shrugged.

“Well, Space Mountain is in Tomorrowland, so we can keep exploring this area while they’re on the other side of the park.”

“It’s A Small World is right behind us,” Ryuunosuke suggested.

“Yeah, let’s get in line!”

The line was long, but Atsushi noticed a few times, while they were against some of the interior walls, that there were a multitude of outward-facing props and designs that made it clear that they were hollow behind them.

“Hey,” Atsushi nudged him, “If we’re quick, we can use Rashoumon to scale this wall.”

“Why?”

Atsushi tried to cover up his grin, but failed.

“Privacy.”

“There are children here, jinko—”

“Not on the other side of these walls, here,” Atsushi pointed to the wall they were waiting against, “it’s completely hollow in the middle. This is all just decoration for the boat ride. There won’t be any people inside it.”

“We can just wait until we get to your apartment—”

“We don’t have to do anything…” Atsushi gestured with his hand, “you know…but I want you to…I want…”

Ryuunosuke’s eyes widened in understanding.

“You want me to drink from you?” he looked less offended than the first time he brought it up, “why does it need to be here?”

“It doesn’t need to be here,” Atsushi demurred, “but I’ve been checking every ride for places we could sneak off to, and this is the only one that—”

Ryuunosuke pulled him closer, interrupting him to whisper in his ear, “So desperate, jinko,” causing him to shiver, “have you’ve been thinking about this all day?”

“Yes,” Atsushi nodded eagerly, his voice thin, “l-longer than that, actually.”

Ryuunosuke pulled back, his eyes roving over him.

“It’s been weeks, Ryuunosuke,” Atsushi continued, “I know you’ve thought about it, too.”

Atsushi knew he had him when he felt his hands clench over both of his arms. Ryuunosuke subconsciously wet his lips with his tongue before visibly swallowing, shaking himself out of his stupor.

“You’re crazy for this,” he looked surprised at himself for even considering it, “but…I suppose…”

“We don’t even need to get on the ride afterwards,” Atsushi said in a rush, “I don’t care—”

Before he could finish his sentence, he felt his stomach drop as the world blurred around him. The sensation felt rather similar to some of the roller coasters they had just ridden. When his body’s equilibrium had righted itself again, they were in the dark, presumably behind the wall of decorative props where they had been waiting in line.

It was quieter back here, and looked like the backstage of a theater, naked wood and support beams covering most of the surface area. Some abandoned or replaced props lay discarded on the floor.

Ryuunosuke moved him backward, further away from the noises of the crowd, to push him further into the depths of the ride, away from prying ears. Ryuunosuke pushed Atsushi up against a support beam as he pressed him into a rough kiss.

Atsushi gasped in surprise at the ferocity of Ryuunosuke’s lips on his own, opening his mouth for him immediately so he could slip in his tongue. Atsushi grasped his partner’s elbows to ground himself as Ryuunosuke held his face in his hands, every inch of their bodies touching. Atsushi felt like he could kiss him forever, but Ryuunosuke pulled away to trail kisses down his jaw, leading to his neck.

His kisses grew harsher as Ryuunosuke tangled one hand into Atsushi’s hair, tugging it roughly to give himself more room.

Yes, Atsushi repeated to himself over and over, yes, yes, please—

When Ryuunosuke bit down, Atsushi’s knees buckled with the wave of intense pleasure that sliced through him. He distantly heard himself moan, but forgot everything about himself as his body was pinned solidly against the wood behind him, forcing him in place as Ryuunosuke drank, and drank.

He felt his cock harden almost instantly, but couldn’t control his limbs. After everything they’d been through in the last few weeks, after their fight, after getting back together, it felt so good to submit to Ryuunosuke’s physical needs. The sheer rush at knowing his partner, his boyfriend, the man he loved physically needed Atsushi’s body to survive—was almost a greater high than the act itself.

Ryuunosuke released his neck with a startled gasp, pushing himself away from Atsushi’s body with slight alarm.

“I’m…” he stuttered, “I’m…"

“You didn’t take too much,” Atsushi placed his hand on his cheek, “is that what you’re worried about?”

He didn’t feel inebriated enough for him to have taken too much. Neither of them had a very good sense of time when Ryuunosuke drank from him, but Atsushi normally gauged the experience based off of how intoxicated he felt afterwards.

He felt pleasantly tipsy at the moment, but his faculties were mostly in order, so Ryuunosuke must have stopped himself pretty early.

“I just don’t want you to be too out of it for the rest of our date,” he looked into Atsushi’s eyes imploringly.

“I think you did a good job, then,” Atsushi replied, “I’m not too far gone.”

“Hmmm,” Ryuunosuke smiled skeptically, “we’ll see about that.”

Atsushi tugged him closer, pulling him back into a kiss. He could taste his own blood in his mouth. It was an odd feeling, but not unwelcome. Atsushi rubbed his clothed erection against Ryuunosuke’s groin, which earned him a puff of laughter into his open mouth.

“Oh no you don’t,” he drew away, “You may be depraved enough to do that here, but I’m not.”

Atsushi knew he would say that, but grumbled anyway, “No one can see or hear us, though...”

“You don’t actually know that,” he smiled, “besides, I need to learn how to feed from you without making it…sexual….” His eyes locked onto Atsushi’s mouth, distractedly, “…every time I need to eat.”

He brought his hand down from Atsushi’s hair to clutch at the other side of his neck, before leaning in to swipe at the wound with his tongue, sending sparks of pleasure down Atsushi’s spine.

“It’s not…” he licked the wounds again, kissing around them, “…sustainable.”

Atsushi wasn’t sure he could keep his focus in the right place, if he kept going.

“I think it’s fine,” Atsushi whispered as he closed his eyes, arching his back to press them closer together.

He involuntarily shuddered as he felt Ryuunosuke’s fangs reappear at his neck. He wanted more, Atsushi realized. The knowledge made him dizzy with greed.

Ryuunosuke forced himself backward with a sharp intake of breath.

“I’m stopping, now,” Ryuunosuke spoke sternly. He wasn’t sure if the declaration was for Atsushi or for himself.  

Atsushi smiled, biting his lip.

“Okay.”

“You’re sure I didn’t take too much? You look a bit drunk.”

Atsushi didn’t know how to politely explain that he was rock hard in his pants and wanted to get fucked in a dark, off-limits, backstage area of a Disneyland ride, so instead he settled for a soft hum in response.

Ryuunosuke squinted at him dubiously.

“I’m fine,” he reassured him, “just…ah…a little riled up, is all.”

That seemed to satisfy him.

“Well then,” Ryuunosuke pulled him forward to stand on his own, “we should get you back into the public eye so you’ll behave.”

“So rude,” Atsushi huffed, grinning, “and to think, I tried so hard to find a place for us to be alone—”

“You can keep it in your pants until we make it back to your dorm, horny jinko.”

Before he had the chance to make fun of him further, he was swept away by Rashoumon and Ryuunosuke’s vampiric speed, which left them outside the building entirely.

“Hey,” Atsushi turned back, realizing they were now at the end of the line.

“I thought you said you didn’t care if we rode the ride or not,” Ryuunosuke smirked.

“You know what? We can see it some other time,” Atsushi waved his hand, “if we went back in, it would remind me of what we were doing, anyway,” he took Ryuunosuke’s hand in his, lowering his voice, “I’d just try to get into your pants again.”

“Jinko—” he steered them away from the ride, pretending to be offended, “you’re incorrigible.”

“It’s for the best, though,” Atsushi relented, “we have more of the park to see, after all. And anyway, my real goal was to feed you, so I got what I wanted.”

In the sunlight, Atsushi could clearly see the warm, flushed color to Ryuunosuke’s skin, now that he’d had fresh blood. It gave him a deep satisfaction to know that hit was Atsushi who had fed him, who had nourished him and brought life back into his features.

“Where to next?”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of colorful rides, themed treats, and laughter. Atsushi didn’t think that he’d never laughed so much in one day.

Donald Duck followed Ryuunosuke around for a while, which irritated him to no end. He tried intimidating the oversized duck with Rashoumon, but the persistent thing merely mimed its own laughter and continued to pester him.

At the end of the day, they watched the parade as it made its way through the World Bazaar. As the performance was coming to a close, Ryuunosuke led Atsushi back towards Cinderella’s castle. The sun had slipped below the horizon, and the sky was getting dark.

“The fireworks will start here in a few minutes,” he said.

“They have fireworks!?” Atsushi felt like he couldn’t get any happier.

“Yes, but first,” Ryuunosuke reached into his black bomber jacket, “I wanted to give you something.”

As he withdrew it from an inside breast pocket, Atsushi saw that it had been cushioned by Rashoumon all day. A wise choice, given their choice of date. The black tendrils of his ability unwound around his gift, which he promptly handed over to Atsushi.

It was a framed photo of their picture they took together in Switzerland, on Mount Salève, with the view of the city of Geneva below them.

“This is the picture we got those English-speaking girls to take of us in Geneva!” Atsushi gasped.

“Yes,” Ryuunosuke smiled shyly down at it, “Remember when you thought I was embarrassed because I had to ask for their help?”

“Yeah,” Atsushi snickered to himself at the memory.

“I was flustered because they called you my boyfriend,” his cheeks, which were already ruddy from Atsushi’s blood, deepened in color at the admission, “They were very kind, but absolutely assumed we were already dating.”

Atsushi couldn’t help it, he burst into laughter.

“Really?!” He clutched at his side, beside himself, “We weren’t subtle at all, were we!?”

“Only to ourselves, it would seem,” he smiled sheepishly.

“We got there, eventually,” Atsushi nudged him.

All of a sudden, Ryuunosuke turned his body toward the castle as the fireworks began shooting off into the dark, starless sky.

Atsushi took a deep breath, eyes sparkling at the bright, colorful display. He took Ryuunosuke by the hand, leaning into him. He distantly felt Ryuunosuke take the framed picture back from him, wrapping it back up with Rashoumon and tucking it back into his jacket as Atsushi watched each firework fall.

Atsushi felt so warm, so grateful, so blissfully happy, he felt his eyes water as he spoke out into the dark.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Ryuunosuke took him by the shoulders and turned him around to face him.

“What?”

Atsushi could see the fireworks falling through the sky behind and around Ryuunosuke’s face. His expression was open, vulnerable, and maybe a little bit frightened.

“I love you.” Atsushi repeated, "Thank you so much for today." He swallowed heavily, blinking away the wetness in his eyes, “you don’t have to say it back though—”

His words were cut off with a firm, solid kiss.

Ryuunosuke pulled back, his own eyes wet and shining.

“I love you too, you idiot.”

Atsushi laughed, a stray tear unconsciously falling down his face. He wiped it away, kissing Ryuunosuke again, before putting their foreheads together in a soft bunt.

“We’re so stupid,” he giggled.

He could practically feel Ryuunosuke’s eyeroll.

“Speak for yourself, jinko—”

Atsushi shoved him, almost toppling them over. Ryuunosuke grabbed onto Atsushi’s hand, steadying himself with a frenetic, muffled laugh.

“I can’t stand you,” Atsushi huffed, between laughs, “You’re the absolute worst.”

Atsushi had almost completely forgotten about the fireworks, as Ryuunosuke took his other hand, connecting their foreheads again. He gently swayed them back and forth as the rest of the world faded away around them.

“Let’s head back to your place,” Ryuunosuke gave him a quick peck on the lips, “we can finish where we left off.”

“Yeah,” Atsushi nodded, smiling, “I’d like that.”