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Chapter Text

ATSUSHI

“What do you think will happen?” asked Atsushi, leaning against the imposing brick wall. The other’s facial expression did not falter in the slightest.

“Are you asking for my opinion?”

It had now been one week since the conclusion of the vampire epidemic. Normalcy had returned, with countries beginning to rebuild, and the Armed Detective Agency had finally regained its reputation. Even Dazai was back at the Agency.

It almost went unnoticed that the Agency’s debt had not been settled. Swept under the rug, Ranpo called it. Why, had it not been for the Port Mafia, the Agency would have collapsed from within. 

In conclusion, the two groups had reached an agreement: in exchange for the Mafia’s assistance, the Agency was forced to fork over one unlucky member to join the Mafia. Anyone would do, they said.

Tomorrow will be an important day; tomorrow will be the decision day. One Ability user will be recruited into the Port Mafia. Who that person would be was the hot topic in the Mafia as of late. 

As for Akutagawa, however, he did not pay much attention to any of it. 

Atsushi sighed. “I… Yes. I mean, who do you think it will be?”

“I suppose if it were Dazai-san, perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad,” reasoned Akutagawa, a glint of hope glazing over his eyes.

Atsushi didn’t respond, but he continued anyway. “So long as they don’t weigh me down. I trust Fukuzawa-san’s judgment.” he said with one final sigh, not bothering to look up.

It might have been an impressive feat that Akutagawa had met him there at this time of night, at this dreadful airport in central Yokohama. The same place where Fukuichi’s life had been taken that day. In the same place, Akutagawa nearly made him, too, a vampire. It was by coincidence that they both came back every day since that fateful night, yet they were not entirely surprised to encounter the other.

Since the Army of Mankind had been created and the Agency’s revival made headlines, it wasn’t true they had become closer. No, that wasn’t it.

A few days ago, they were talking to Dazai, and Akutagawa nonchalantly referred to Atsushi as “my partner.” Dazai had relentlessly teased him for it, and Atsushi hated it. 

Nevertheless, he could tell Dazai was proud. Dazai reminded him that it was around this time that he and Chuuya were referred to as Double Black, similar to the events now. So that was it. Atsushi never brought it up with Akutagawa. If he thought of them as partners, then that would suffice until the end of their six month deal. The six month deal. It was ironic that even now, if given the opportunity, Atsushi wasn’t sure if he would be willing to cut Akutagawa’s throat in one fell swoop.

It was a foolish idea, but Akutagawa had saved him; he sacrificed himself for the longevity of the Agency. Sure, he was under Mori’s orders and he had instilled loyalty towards Dazai. But he could have left unscathed had he sacrificed Atsushi. Nevertheless, at the end of the day, it was a promise--and Atsushi always kept promises.

A thought suddenly popped into Atsushi’s head. “What if it would be—“ he stopped, feeling a bit foolish at what his next words would have been.

Akutagawa almost laughed. “Don’t put the idea in my head. If they choose you,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger his way, “then that is an ill choice indeed.”

Atsushi rose. “I should go.” There was an urge to say more, to question Akutagawa a bit, but neither of them had been great at conversation anyway. 

He might have been ill, expecting a “good luck!” and instead receiving a slight nod. It was inevitable that what happened tomorrow would significantly change his life, so nurturing unnecessary thoughts would serve to complicate things and cloud himself more than he already was. He had more pressing matters to think about.

Fukuzawa made his way to the heart of the meeting room, a bland, uninspiring space for a decision that would affect the lives of those present for years to come. He met Mori’s august eyes and promptly shook his hand. 

Some of the Mafia’s most prominent pillars were present, including Mori himself. Chuuya, Kouyou, Hirotsu, even Akutagawa. Nearly nobody wanted to miss this, but Akutagawa’s face held a look that made Atsushi wonder if he’d truly wanted to be here, or had been coaxed into attending.

Behind Fukuzawa lined the Agency’s ability users. They looked pitiful, like livestock being auctioned to wealthy businessmen, with the way the mafiosos' eyes flickered between each of them with hungry expressions. The only difference was that they had not been branded yet.

Atsushi had given it some thought, who would be chosen. 

At first, his mind went to Tanizaki, to whom Hirotsu spoke about having true assassin capabilities, given his Ability. It was a precarious possibility, having experienced his true potential firsthand. Although Tanizaki wasn’t necessarily a combat user, Atsushi recognized his proficiency as a melee combatant himself.

Despite not being an Ability user, Ranpo was a viable choice as well. It wasn’t long ago that he proved himself to one of the Mafia’s most formidable executives. Recruiting a strategist as versatile as Ranpo would give the Mafia the upper hand against the Guild and Agency.

And lastly, himself. The organization that beamed for his head so many months ago, who stopped at nothing to obtain it, was a fair trade—the weretiger, an asset that would be of great use to the Mafia—to repay so many of the Agency’s debts. He had considered this prospect many times before, but the idea still intimidated him.

It was pathetic, thought Atsushi, to think of it like this. Like one of the cruel Mafia executives still looking between each of them, wondering feverishly which Ability user they could milk information from or force to do their dirty work. Just like Kyouka once experienced herself.

Fukuzawa and Mori’s hands remained interlocked for what couldn’t have been more than a couple seconds, but what felt like a solid minute. The air was thick and terribly heavy with anticipation.

“Well, then,” said Mori. “Come forward.” His eyes were big and bright, and his smile was captivating yet ferocious . With gloved hands, he motioned in a few silent directions while a couple of lower-ranking mafiosos made their way to his side, bowing. 

One week ago, upon the conclusion of the vampirism, Fukuzawa summoned the entirety of the Agency to an urgent meeting. His motive was not stated, but the reason was clear.

Atsushi knew it was serious as well because Dazai was there. Dazai had never attended those meetings during his imprisonment in Europe, but, well, even before that, he never attended them anyway. His spot next to Ranpo was always vacant, and yet there the man was. 

At the front of the rectangular table stood Fukuzawa with furrowed brows. “I’m going to cut to the chase. If it is fine with all of you, then I propose a conclusion to our predicament.”

He glanced at Ranpo, making the others wonder if perhaps whatever idea was about to be spewed out was the responsibility of the Armed Detective Agency’s greatest detective. 

“Eh..” Ranpo had remarked, popping a mint into his mouth without hesitation before shamelessly locking his vault stashed with other sweets.

So when he announced that it would not be the Agency members deciding their fate, but Fukuzawa himself, the room went completely silent. 

But the more he thought about it, the more Atsushi reasoned with the idea. He had considered volunteering for his colleagues’ sake, but this revered things entirely. Fukuzawa’s opinion was absolute, and nothing could change that.

~

“Don’t worry,” said Dazai, snapping him back into reality. He placed a bandaged hand on Atsushi’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Atsushi-kun, because everything is going to be alright.”

Atsushi smiled, but had to shake off the feeling of beady eyes burning into him. Like stifling, red anger, boiling hot, and fresh. A strange feeling it was, but it was true that sometimes his tiger senses would falter in times of anxiety.

It was sometime between this and the moment when over a dozen bodies locked his way. His temperature immediately soared, and for a moment he swore he saw the headmaster standing above him, saying, “Did you steal again?” before muddy moments of hitting and kicking bombarded his weak body. His stomach dropped tenfold, something akin to what it felt like to plummet 31,000 feet from the Moby Dick all those months ago.

“Atsushi?”

“…Atsushi!”

Finally, he looked up. To his left, Kyouka expressed a pained sadness. He could tell she wanted to speak up, but her tense shoulders spoke only of hesitation. So instead, she turned away with a guilty look. To his right, Dazai still clenched his shoulder, but now the grip was looser, more reluctant. Voices and movements blurred together, and it was completely, wholeheartedly unbearable. 

“If there’s anything you want to say, Atsushi-kun…” he heard being whispered.

But this was all okay. Each Agency member was in reverence, knowing that by attending this meeting today, they potentially forfeited their identity completely to the Port Mafia’s discretion. Atsushi was no exception.

He stood up and made his way to the center of the room, just as the humble mafiosos had. He imitated them, bowing once before declaring, “Hello, Mori-san. I am Nakajima Atsushi.” and extended an assertive hand forward. Mori accepted this and shook it.

“Welcome to the Port Mafia.”

Back on the Agency’s side of the room, all remained quiet except for one Kenji, who uttered some, “Dazai-san, don’t you think we should have told him?” To which Dazai simply shook his head, and he understood. 

Atsushi took the safety from his gun. Nothing special, a weapon even a common underground delinquent could master if given enough training. Now, he certainly wasn’t the brightest in his division, but it couldn’t be too difficult, right? He lined it up as closely as he could to the blood-red bullseye ahead. Squinting, he gingerly pressed his finger against the trigger before pulling down. 

“What are you doing in the shooting range?”

At the same time, the recoil of the weapon made the boy stumble back a great deal. The gun nearly fell out of his hands as he began to regain his posture. He felt a little bit guilty there, as though he were at the orphanage, and the headmaster caught him sneaking bread twice in the same week again.

“Akutagawa?”

“It’s not even loaded,” scoffed Akutagawa. 

Atsushi was clad in a long, black coat with fur comparable to Byakko. His black pants reached his ankles, although they could hardly be seen by the ensemble that was his overcoat. Even his thick boots made a bit of a spectacle, having added an inch or two to his height. Initially, he protested this transformation, but Chuuya said it would be better to leave his past life behind, to help him adjust, and that this was “exactly what he needed.”

Atsushi looked at the gun, then back at Akutagawa. He woefully allowed his arm to fall to his side. “Are you here to make fun of me?”

“No.”

“Were you going to teach me how to shoot this thing? Atsushi asked instead, fiddling with the item in his hand as though it were a toy.

“No.”

“So you came here to watch me train!” he exclaimed with eccentricity, half joking and half curious to see the other’s reaction. 

But instead Akutagawa remained silent, prose from his position several meters away. When he didn’t budge, Atsushi suspected he’d truly hit his breaking point this time. “Earth to Akutagawa?”

“First of all,” he began. “Stop playing with that. And besides, even if I did help you, one fool could not hope to achieve any level of mastery in arms combat.”

Right. He was speaking to Ryuunosuke Akutagawa, the Port Mafia’s rabid dog. But after a while, Atsushi began to question that title. Rabid dog? From what he could see, Akutagawa was troubled, sure. But he never had a deep conversation with him, so the only feelings he held toward Akutagawa were surface level.

“Your time is more worthwhile in chasing shadows.” 

Okay, maybe the word going around the underground was right about this one.

Atsushi deliberately held out the handgun, almost like an offering. He looked at him with narrow, sharp eyes and a stern stance. He did not say anything, but his eyes did all of the talking for him instead. They said, “Please, help me.”

Akutagawa hesitated for a moment before walking the few feet between them and closing the gap. He plucked the gun from Atsushi’s drawn hands and stopped. “Your gloves,” he said.

Atsushi nodded, understanding. “I can’t create any sort of grip with them,” he replied before carefully removing the black leather protectants. 

“Yes…”

Before Akutagawa could say anything further, he spoke up. “It’s not that I want to become someone like you. But--”

“Does using firearms make you me? I would consider your response carefully,” Akutagawa interjected.

A pause, then, “No. I suppose not.”

“Is it your Ability?” he questioned, humming.

Atsushi nodded. “I can’t use it. I already tried to, but it's uncontrollable now.” 

As an official member of the Armed Detective Agency, Atsushi was able to utilize the full extent of President Fukuzawa’s Ability, “All Men are Equal”. This alone allowed him to harness his tiger abilities as a detective. Only through this Ability was Atsushi able to help out in missions and defeat numerous attacks from the Mafia, Guild, and other underground organizations.

“Is this who you are now?” Akutagawa criticized. And it was true. In the Port Mafia Atsushi was no different than the lowly mafiosos that bowed their heads to Akutagawa—or the Black Lizard at that. 

I don’t deserve the right to call you my partner. No. I don’t deserve you. I shouldn’t be here. I can’t use my ability right now. Am I weak too weak for you now?

Still, Akutagawa stepped behind him, his hands clutching the gun. After loading it, Atsushi couldn’t ignore the way Akutagawa’s hands shook, whether it was from inexperience or unease. He strongly presumed the latter. Still, his finger gripped the trigger, and after finding the suitable target, he pulled down.

The initial quell of the bullet sent Atsushi flying back a few steps, but a ready hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him upright. 

After he overcame the loud shrill, Atsushi adjusted his eyes. He expected shards to pierce through the air, as he’d seen in the movies, but he sensed nothing. He looked up to discover that the bullseye remained untouched. To its left, on the wall, held a small yet noticeable hole. The bullet. 

…?

He silently cursed himself. “I’m rusty,” said Akutagawa, but he knew that wasn’t any excuse. 

“How?” and then, “When?”

Akutagawa thought about how much he should say. “Ever since then. I haven’t picked up a gun nor have I resorted to weapon-based violence. Typically when I do, it only results in casualties.”

For a moment Atsushi bit back the urge to smile. “You…”

“No, weretiger, I haven’t broken our promise.”

Atsushi didn’t doubt one bit that Akutagawa would keep his word. But he didn’t suspect that the other would relinquish firearms for the sake of upholding their deal; that for six months, for the chance to finally settle their differences in a battle in which they both offered up their lives, Akutagawa swore not to take the life of any human being, underground or civilian alike.

And because his back was to Akutagawa, he allowed himself to falter for a moment, to smile. For the first time since he parted from the Armed Detective Agency, a tinge of content spread through his body.

“Stand up straight,” said Akutagawa suddenly. “You have no excuse to slouch. Why is it that Chuuya-san is absent yet your gravitational pull to the ground rose so significantly?”

Remembering what he was here for, Atsushi obliged and fixed his stance. “Okay, I’m sorry. But there’s no need to be so rude about it.”

“Do you wish to receive my assistance or not?" Akutagawa prodded.

Of course, I do. Denying that—or you, for that matter—never crossed my mind in the slightest. How many times must I reassure you? But if you ask, then you will receive my answer each time. 

“ Yes. ”

“And you want me to teach you the same way Dazai-san does?”

Atsushi squinted a bit, not understanding what the other was getting at. “I…? I don’t know.”

“This was the same way he taught me,” Akutagawa contorted, barely wasting a breath.

And then it all made sense. The beady eyes, the feeling of loath. He chalked it up to his own anxiety, yet he realized now that, no, he wasn’t wrong—was Akutagawa jealous ? He remembered the warm feeling when Dazai placed a hand on his shoulder in reassurance, reminding him that everything would come together.

Atsushi bit his lip, unsure of what to say. If this was anybody else, he probably would have embraced them in a tight hug and validated their feelings. Though Atsushi had a reasonable suspicion that he would be swatted away the moment he so much as lifted a finger in Akutagawa’s direction.

Still, it was worth a shot. “Do you want to talk about this?”

Akutagawa huffed. “As if.”

This was expected, of course, but he couldn’t help but slump a bit at those words. Once in a while he wished Akutagawa would allow himself to be helped; oftentimes it felt like he was talking to a brick wall.

He dropped the gun in Atsushi’s hands and stepped away, boots clacking as they echoed throughout the expansive room. That could’ve been the last of it, but instead Akutagawa added, “Same time tomorrow?”

A big, stupid grin spread across his face. “I’ll be here.” Atsushi bit back the urge to include, In more ways than one.

Chapter Text

AKUTAGAWA

“Here,” said Akutagawa as he slid a few papers onto his desk.

Being a high-ranking executive in the Port Mafia, naturally, he was granted the luxury of having a personal office. It was spacious but bare. The shelves were empty, save for a few scattered novels. Dust had begun to settle in a few small crooks here and there, as well as in other hard-to-reach places. Sometimes Gin would come and scoff at it, which, admittedly, tugged at his heart a bit.

Atsushi was also promised a workspace for himself. However, being a new recruit, he was still awaiting the completion of all the necessary preparations.

So, for the past week, Atsushi had mainly spent his time lounging around in Akutagawa’s office. He would splay on an ornate couch in the corner with some of Akutagawa’s novels -- a history, a horror Gin had bought years ago, and other stories he’d long forgotten having purchased. He wondered if the weretiger had the capacity to interpret the literature. If he wasn’t spending his time fooling around, Atsushi would ask meaningless, stupid questions, such as, “What’s your favorite color?” to which they would sit in silence for a few minutes before he replied, “Black.”

“I should’ve guessed, Akutagawa-san,” replied Atsushi with a sigh. “Mine’s white.” 

Recently he had been promoted to the Black Lizard division. Atsushi’s rank was akin to Gin, Higuchi, and now formerly Tachihara’s. Because of this, he’d developed the distasteful habit of adding an honorific to Akutagawa’s name when speaking. Akutagawa suspected the weretiger had begun to speak in such a revolting manner as a result of this new, lowly rank.

In conclusion, Atsushi was inconvenient, unfavorable, ill-timed, all thus words under the sun. The moment he received an office of his own would alas be a time for great commemoration. 

Yet Akutagawa said nothing about the use of the honorific. Ignored it entirely.

Sitting across his desk in a slightly worn leather chair, Atsushi took the papers from him and held them to the light. Like a hidden message would surface by doing this. “Thanks. So… What is it?” he asked ingeniously, thumbing around the sheet.

“Just read the paper.”

Unsatisfied by this sharp remark, Atsushi exhaled rather dramatically before looking down.

Invitation to Bal Masqué

Masquerade Ball. Formal attire required

Upon visiting, guests must show a method of identification and invitation to an approved staff member. Only through this procedure will entry be permitted. 

Located at xxx-xxx-center. Plus ones will be denied at the entry. 

Hosted and authorized by Camille Dubois

Date: xx/xx/xx

There were some other details too, but it seemed more like a translation toward the bottom rather than more information.

“Where did you get this? inquired Atsushi. His eyes held a glint of something -- hope -- that he couldn’t hope to hide even if he really tried. He was an open book, a picture book at that, that even a child could flip through and provide a wildly accurate summary of.

Akutagawa knew the reason for the starry eyes of the boy before him. It sickened him. He let out a short series of coughs, for which he tried, really tried, to shoot down the weretiger’s absurd ideals but ultimately failed. He collected himself.

“Chuuya-san,” replied Akutagawa through jagged breaths. “I wanted to do this mission by myself, but he insisted the weretiger accompany me. So here we are now.”

Upon hearing the word ‘ mission ,’ Atsushi’s eyes lit up again, the same as before. It was clear now -- though not that Akutagawa had yet to surmise it perfectly -- that Atsushi was finding reconciliation in the Mafia and was pleased at the thought of performing a mission for his organization.

He continued. “Mori-san believes this group to be the heart of a large-scale criminal operation.”

“Why’s the Mafia getting involved?” 

“Some of our agents, albeit disposable ones, have been scouted by this French organization. Though not many, a couple have accepted and left to join this crime syndicate,” he explained. “They probably have Ability users, too, at this point.”

Atsushi nodded slowly at this. Hesitant.

Akutagawa narrowed his eyes and straightened his posture. “I can tell Chuuya-san if you so wish to back down.” He said this in full understanding that this wouldn’t be the case.

“I’ll go,” said Atsushi, unsurprisingly. “Your health isn’t so great right now, is it?” 

Akutagawa recalled his earlier coughing fit and how the only other person who knew, really knew, of his condition was in this very room. He felt, regardless of his condition, though, that the new mafioso had already made up his mind about this from the very beginning.

Akutagawa almost wished the other had denied him, retreated at the last second. That way he wouldn’t have to deal with the naivety sitting across him. It was certainly within his authority to reject Atsushi this opportunity —  his use of the honorific confirmed their stance — but neither Chuuya nor Mori would be satisfied with such an outcome. He sank further in his seat, a bit troubled.

“I’ll make the arrangements, then,” he settled on. 

What blurred line that had previously been their relationship was finally distinguished: Akutagawa was a high ranking member of the Port Mafia, and now Atsushi served under him. If he jumped off a bridge, he was certain the boy would follow him in pursuit thinking he had crafted some master plan. Though naive, his loyalty was commendable.

Atsushi formed a bittersweet smile. His expression snapped back to business. “How will we infiltrate?”

The two discussed plans for around half an hour. In the end, they’d formulated a plan solid enough to be considered fairly reliable. Akutagawa would review it with Chuuya some other time. For now, the plan was simple.

It was a masquerade, so obviously they needed disguises. This wasn’t a problem, considering that they would have to hide their identities anyway. The fact that the event was a masquerade ball would only protect the duo more.

If they couldn’t discover the perpetrator behind the French group -- which Akutagawa later discovered after some investigation, was called La Voie du Crépuscule, or The Path of Twilight in English -- it was decided they would befriend other attendees and gain their trust. 

Once they’d figured out who ran the place, it was smooth sailing from there. Immobilize their boss, unravel their plan, and bring honor to the Port Mafia’s name. Of course, it wasn’t as simple as that, but that was how Akutagawa described it to his slow-witted partner before him.

“La Void de Crepe--” Atsushi pronounced terribly. The words slurred in broken syllables, and even Akutagawa, though not fluent in the language himself, could hear the heavy Japanese accent and insecure pacing on his tongue.

Akutagawa, having had enough of this, suddenly stood up from his -- their -- desk; he came back with a stack of thick books frayed on the edges. He dropped them on the desk with a loud thud to accompany the fall. Consequently, some of the dust spread throughout the air, causing him a series of uncontrollable coughs.

“French textbooks?” asked Atsushi as Akutagawa sat back down. If his decay in health troubled him, nothing of the sort appeared in his expression.

“Yes. We mustn't waste any time. We have fifteen days before Crépuscule,” Akutagawa had called it, shortening the French organization’s title, “Once ‘Crépuscule' opens the ball masquerade, we will infiltrate.”

“ Crépuscule,” Atsushi tried, gingerly touching the foreign word. “Can’t we just say Twilight ? That’s the translation, right?”

“Inevitably, you’ll have to get used to learning the language,” he replied coldly.

He quickly stifled a complaint, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed. 

“What will be faster? Your tongue, or their sword?” asked Akutagawa, although it wasn’t a question meant to be answered. “Book,” he concluded, sliding the writings his way.

Atsushi accepted the book and leaned forward in his seat. He wasn’t looking at Akutagawa anymore, not really. Instead, he was browsing through long lists of adjectives, grammar rules, and translations. “What about you?”

“My proficiency in the subject will suffice much beyond your mere fifteen days.”

Fifteen days. That was all they had to plan for this operation. To Atsushi, this time was meager. In fact, at the Agency, he was used to accepting missions on the spot. This could hardly be considered a challenge.

He stopped paging through the book, choosing not to comment on the rude remark. “Akutagawa-san, you really know some French?”

“Enough to get by.”

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, but not enough to actually be noticed. “Well, looks like I’ll be studying here for,” he checked his watch, “the next six hours.”

“Right now it’s 4 o’clock. Don’t tell me…”

“It’s the only way I’ll get proficient enough.”

Akutagawa held a bewildered expression. “You’ve barely been inducted into the Mafia and you’re already choosing to work overtime? In my office?” 

The way Akutagawa had said this made it seem like he was inconvenienced by Atsushi’s presence, and so the boy responded, “I was planning to do so, yes. If not here, then I could find somewhere else. I’m sorry for troubling you, Akutagawa-san.”

The words stung a little. Okay, a considerable amount. But the feeling was suppressible, and so suppressing is what the mafioso did.

“You know, a few books won’t be enough to make you a linguist. You’ll need videos, listening skills, even conversations.” asserted Akutagawa. 

“I know.”

He was infuriating at this point. “So why--?”

Atsushi looked up at him again, damn him with that hopeless look , and sighed once more. “You said it yourself. I’ll have to get used to learning the language. If I want to be of any help during this mission -- to you -- I think this is the least I can do.”

Fool.

He’d heard enough. Akutagawa stood up, heavy chair noisily creaking against the floor like an anchor scratching against the bottom of the sea. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised if the people on the floor below them heard the sound. 

He made his way to the door. His expression was firm as he turned the knob. He almost walked through the door, and maybe he should have, but instead he turned. “Hurry up, won’t you?”

~

Once they arrived at Akutagawa’s car outside the Mafia’s headquarters, Atsushi stopped in awe. It was a sleek, expensive-looking vehicle that the other probably couldn’t attempt to name if his life was on the line.

Atsushi hesitated. He looked toward the passenger seat and the back seat, wondering where to go. Certainly, the back seat would be more comfortable for them both. They’d be able to enjoy silence without interfering or overstepping each other’s boundaries.

“What are you doing?” Akutagawa finally asked in amusement after watching the event unfold before his very eyes. “Just… sit next to me.”

Well, the Mafia certainly paid well. This car was living proof of that fact. After shutting the door behind him, he fidgeted in his seat, as if unsure what to do with himself now.

Once they made their way onto the highway, Akutagawa spoke up first. “If your words are as true as you made them out to be, consider this a favor. I can’t have you loitering on my premises while I’m not there,” he stood to reason.

“So, the place we’re going is-?” asked Atsushi, but it was clear he already knew the answer.

“—Yes… My apartment.”

It was true that the weretiger had a place of his own, and Akutagawa knew this very well. But if his suspicions were true, then…

Atsushi settled into the plush cushion, relieved at these words even though he should be startled. “Ah, uhm. I know you probably don’t want to hear this — you know, especially from me — but… After everything with me leaving the Agency, Kyouka-chan wouldn’t look me in the eye anymore. Really, I haven’t gone back to our home since.”

Now this was news to Akutagawa. He’d already had a solid understanding of the former, but Atsushi had been out of the Agency for well over a week. Just where the hell has been staying all this time?

Atsushi continued before he could get a word in. “And Dazai told me, as a matter of fact, that I was welcome to keep living there. But Kyouka-chan — I just couldn’t live under the same roof as her, because now she thinks I’m a monster . A few days ago,” he added, “I was worried about her. I checked under the mat — where the key always is, by the way — and it was still there. I wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or nauseous.” 

He finished with a breath of relief, like he’d been holding those words in for forever. As if he were a dam, and the water had slowly built up until cracks began to form and water began to trickle down the sides.

Akutagawa fell silent. He shouldn’t care about this information. This was someone he was destined to kill. And Kyouka? She was much better off without him now. Neither he nor Kyouka were people he was concerned with anymore. After all, he—

“Akutagawa, are you okay? You look really shook up.”

After all, he had treated them both the same way Dazai had treated him all those years ago.

So, Akutagawa felt as though he owed the weretiger this much. “Gin, after joining the Mafia and dragging her along with me, she couldn’t look me in the eye either. After all, the Mafia was never suited for someone like her. Did you know, though?”

“Hmm?”

He stopped for a moment, but he knew what he was going to say. “It took years. But she settled. Of course, we’re not the same as we once were, but she loved me then as she does now.”

“You’re saying—- Kyouka-chan loves me still, even after all that’s happened?”

Akutagawa nodded. “One does not have to like someone to love them.”

Atsushi was looking out the window now as if he were in deep thought. He hummed a melodic tune that Akutagawa vaguely remembered but couldn’t recall the words to.

“Your words are well thought out. Thank you for making me realize something.”

“What?”

“Never mind,” said Atsushi. 

Akutagawa accepted this. Perhaps they’d overshared a bit too much at this point. Atsushi seemed to reciprocate this feeling because, after five minutes, he was out cold in the passenger seat.

And Akutagawa sat back, pulling into the driveway that led to his flat. He pretended to not notice how earlier, for a split second, Atsushi had dropped the honorific. Yes, he’d almost missed it. But he didn’t.