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Joint missions with the Port Mafia are suspiciously frequent lately.

Atsushi doesn’t think too much of it until the third joint mission of the month—and consequently, his third team-up of the month with Akutagawa. Even though the mafioso has stopped trying to kill him every time they meet, Atsushi’s weretiger senses are always on alert whenever he sees black tendrils or an unfriendly snarl come from the man. Which is all the time.

(Atsushi is sure that Akutagawa’s going to break his no-killing-people promise one of these days, and that he’s going to be the first victim.)

But, as Kunikida tells Dazai whenever he complains about having to be around the microscopic hat-rack slug for more than an hour, Atsushi just needs to suck it up. Dazai, for some reason, seems dead set on making the two of them the new soukoku, and when Dazai is determined to do something other than attempt new methods of suicide (a rare sight indeed), everyone in the Armed Detective Agency, and even the Port Mafia, knows it best not to oppose him.

So here Atsushi is, shoulders clenched as he follows behind Akutagawa, heading into the Port Mafia’s main headquarters building, maintaining at least two meters distance between him and Akutagawa. 

Atsushi doesn’t understand why he needs to be there too; it’s not like he’s a member of the Port Mafia. Hell, it’s not like he’s welcome in the Port Mafia either; these guys even had a bounty on his head not long ago. He shivers a little whenever anyone looks at him, something close to disgust on their faces, having a member of the Armed Detective Agency intruding on the upper floors of the main building.

“Pick up the pace, Jinko,” Akutagawa orders gruffly. “I want to finish the mission as soon as possible.”

Realizing how far back he’s fallen, Atsushi lightly jogs to catch up to Akutagawa, who makes no effort to wait for him. “Yeah. Me too,” he responds awkwardly. “I want that too,” he adds uselessly.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Although this is the third mission Atsushi has had with Akutagawa just this month, interactions with him aren’t getting any less uncomfortable. Things have always been bad between them; although Atsushi’s leg regenerated, and although Akutagawa woke up from his coma, neither of them have quite forgiven the other. Even now that the animosity has been mollified slightly, all that’s left is pure awkwardness. Atsushi doesn’t know why that is. Dazai and Chuuya claim to hate each other’s guts, but there’s always an air of unbreakable, undeniable trust whenever those two interact.

Atsushi doesn’t think he’d trust Akutagawa with his left pinky.

Before they enter Chuuya’s office to go over the details of their mission, since Dazai and Chuuya are the official people in charge of the limited Port Mafia and Armed Detective Agency alliance (limited to just soukoku and shin soukoku, of course), Akutagawa turns to face Atsushi and does something that Atsushi has never seen him do before: he pouts.  

And then something else strange happens. Atsushi’s heart skips a beat.

Atsushi holds his breath, trying not to let Akutagawa sense that something’s wrong, but Akutagawa seems preoccupied with whatever he wants to say, forehead wrinkling in discomfort, as he frowns to himself.

“Jinko,” Akutagawa finally grits out, cheeks flushing. “Good . . . job on the mission today.”

Atsushi feels the room spin. Was he poisoned with something during the mission? Is he hallucinating right now? Because that seems a lot more probable than Akutagawa complimenting him, however forced it may sound.

“You did a great job.” Cough. “You’re getting stronger.”

Oh god. Maybe Akutagawa was poisoned during the mission. There’s no way in hell he would say all these things willingly.

Inexplicably, Atsushi steps forward and lays the back of his hand against Akutagawa’s forehead to feel the man’s temperature, but he feels an intense spike of regret and a small jolt of fear shoot through his veins as soon as he does.

Face bright red, Akutagawa looks like he’s about to kill him.

Wrong move.

Worried for other reasons now—including whether he’s going to live long enough to even debrief with Chuuya—Atsushi jumps back and rambles out an apology, bowing a full ninety degrees. “SORRY! I’m sorry. Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I just—I, I wanted to make sure you didn’t get poisoned on the mission, because—did you just compliment me? Haha. Maybe I just heard it wrong. You definitely didn’t—”

“Shut up, Jinko,” Akutagawa mumbles, covering his face with his hand, trying to hide the vibrant peach tint of his cheeks. “Don’t embarrass me any further. Let’s just get this over with.”

Atsushi lifts his head, maintaining his ninety degree bow, mostly just to avoid eye contact with Akutagawa, and nods fervently. “Yes, of course. Let’s do that. Yes.”

🐾

When Atsushi returns to the agency, Ranpo gives him a weirdly amused look. Ranpo rarely ever gives him the time of day, so to have the detective treat him like an odd specimen to observe . . . it’s a bit demeaning. Atsushi frowns in response and opens his mouth to ask, “Do I have something on my face?”

Ranpo just laughs and opens up another bag of chips. “Nope. I just see you had fun on your mission.”

Atsushi’s face grows warm. “That’s not—”

“Oh?” a voice from behind him sings. “Did something happen with Akutagawa-kun?”

“Dazai-san,” Atsushi whines. “Nothing happened.”

Dazai laughs, a light cheer to his voice. “Sure, sure, Atsushi-kun. I’m sure that you and Akutagawa didn’t passionately make love in the throes of post-mission arousal and adrenaline!”

“What the fuck.”

Smiling triumphantly, Dazai twirls around, wipes a tear from his eye, and, in the tune of that weird double suicide song, sings: “You can’t have shin soukoku without Akutagawa-kun and Atsushi-kun—”

“DAZAI-SAN—”

Horrified, Atsushi looks over to Kunikida for help, but the blonde man just pushes up his glasses, glances over, and sighs, effectively turning a blind eye. Ranpo just whistles quietly at his desk.

Officially betrayed, Atsushi buries his red face in his hands and sighs. And if his mind wanders, reliving the memory of seeing Akutagawa pout and blush all pink, then no one is the wiser.

🐾

“Oh,” Dazai exhales, looking like a sad puppy. “That’s all that happened?”

“Why do you sound so disappointed?”

Dazai’s eyes flit around the room like he’s keeping some sort of secret, so Atsushi can’t help but wonder what that secret is. He wonders if Akutagawa is in on it too.

“The best partnerships are partnerships that get along!”

“Dazai-san,” Atsushi deadpans. “You and Chuuya-san hate each other.”

“And?”

“I don’t think that you’re in a position to judge me and Akutagawa for not getting along.”

Dazai wags his finger. “Ah, my dear Atsushi-kun. That is where you are wrong. Chuuya is a tiny smelly slug, so it’s only natural that I try and squish him every time we see each other. But you and Akutagawa-kun have a bright future ahead of you, wedding bells and all!”

Atsushi squints. “Have you been taking more of those mushrooms?”

“Unfortunately, I am wonderfully sober right now.”

“If you were sober, you would realize that, if it weren’t for the limited alliance, Akutagawa would murder me on sight.”

“That’s how he shows affection.”

Atsushi’s yellow-purple eyes narrow even further, his shoulders shrugging up to his neck. “You seem to forget that the hate between us is mutual. He cut off my leg once, you know.”

Dazai sighs fondly. “Ah, young love. I remember when Chuuya and I were at each other’s throats.”

“You still are.”

Pink cheeked and bright eyed at the younger’s words, Dazai jumps to his feet. “You’re right, Atsushi-kun!” he yells on his way out the door.

“Wait, Dazai-san! Where are you going?”

“The Port Mafia headquarters!”

Bizarre. This entire day has been bizarre.

🐾

Only a few hours later, the day takes an even stranger turn.

When Atsushi is about to leave the agency and head to the dorms, he spots a black cloaked figure waiting at the building’s entrance, sunglasses and everything.

Oh no. Is Akutagawa planning to kill him after what happened earlier? Is this the day that Atsushi finally meets his untimely death? Maybe there’s some way that he can avoid Akutagawa, Atsushi thinks for a moment; however, that hope is squashed the moment he realizes that this is the only exit from the building (because screw fire code) and that Akutagawa is rather intensely staring at him right now.

Atsushi gulps, steeling himself for whatever is about to come, and steps forward. 

“Jinko.”

“Um, what are you doing here?”

Akutagawa’s face scrunches up, mouth pursing before he lets out a soft sigh and says, “Dazai-san suggested that I walk you to your dorms.”

Once again today, Atsushi’s head spins. He blinks, staring at the older man, black clothes stark against pale skin, pale even when bathed in the orange of the Yokohama sunset. His sunglasses cover half of his face, but Atsushi notices a light pink blush dusting his cheeks, like he’s fighting through the embarrassment.

Without even realizing it, Atsushi mumbles under his breath, “Cute.”

Atsushi swears that he sees Rashoumon peek out from the tips of Akutagawa’s coat. “What, Jinko?”

“N-nothing!” Atsushi yells, waving his hands in front of his chest, trying to avoid getting into a fight right in the street. Kunikida and Yosano would kill him if he and Akutagawa damaged the building. Akutagawa may be able to pay for the repair costs, but Atsushi sure as hell can’t. “I didn’t say anything!”

Frowning, Akutagawa mutters a quiet, “Fine. Let’s go. You’re wasting my time.”

“You don’t need to walk me home, you know.”

Akutagawa grumbles something inaudible.

“Huh? Speak louder. I can’t hear you.”

“Dazai-san is making me,” Akutagawa repeats.

Oh. That makes sense. Akutagawa would do anything that Dazai asks. And that would also explain the slight pink blush on his cheeks. (Atsushi doesn’t know what the slight discomfort in his upper chest or the sudden tightness his ribcage means, but he decidedly ignores it.)

“But why is Dazai-san making you?”

And, oh god, he’s blushing again. It’s even easier to see in this rose-tinted light, cherry blossoms blooming right below Akutagawa’s cheekbones. Atsushi tries to ignore the tug at his heart, but he hears himself let out a tiny whine, hopefully inaudible to Akutagawa.

“You don’t need to know that, Jinko.”

Atsushi pouts. Most likely, this is just part of Dazai’s (futile) plan to help him and Akutagawa get along better. Atsushi can’t see any timeline in which he succeeds in this mission, but Dazai-san is Dazai-san: notoriously unstoppable for only the worst of plans.

He doesn’t even see how Akutagawa walking him home would even help them get any closer. They already spent last night and this morning together. Even though the mission was undoubtedly a success, things are just as uncomfortable as ever.

“Fine—”

Interrupted by a loud stomach growl, Atsushi groans in embarrassment. Akutagawa already sees him as a burden; Atsushi doesn’t need any more reason for the older to hate him. But he can’t help it! He hasn’t eaten all day, since he spent the morning finishing the mission with Akutagawa, and the entire afternoon at the office filling out paperwork and getting bullied by Dazai.

“Are you hungry?” Akutagawa asks.

Before today, Atsushi never thought that that question could be asked with so much contempt, but it seems he was proved wrong.

“It’s fine! I have instant ramen at my dorm, so you can just hurry and drop me off.”

Akutagawa frowns, an annoyed scowl on his mouth.

Atsushi doesn’t know how he manages to piss off the mafioso no matter what he does, but he supposes that there’s nothing he can do about it.

“Instant ramen?” Akutagawa asks in disbelief, disdain apparent in his voice.

“Yes, instant ramen.”

Atsushi’s paycheck of the month hasn’t come in yet, and he already has to save up for crepes with Kyouka a couple times a week, so money is a little tight at the moment. He’s not embarrassed about it, despite the look that Akutagawa is giving him. He thinks he’s climbing his way up in the world; humble starts beget fortunate journeys after all!

Akutagawa scoffs, looking genuinely unhappy. “No wonder you’re so damn useless all the time. You’re not eating properly.”

“You said I did a good job on today’s mission!”

The mafioso ignores Atsushi, speeding up to walk in front of him, taking a sudden right turn.

“W—Hey! My dorm isn’t that way.”

“Just follow me, Jinko.”

“Where are we going?”

“Shut up and be quiet.”

Atsushi decides to play his trump card. “Dazai-san wouldn’t be happy with you if he saw us right now.”

Akutagawa stops right in his tracks, turning around to glare at the weretiger. “You don’t know anything about Dazai-san.”

With a victorious grin, Atsushi puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “Well, I’m the one that sees him everyday . . . ”

Never in his (albeit short) time working at the agency did Atsushi ever think he’d fight over Dazai, especially not with a member of the Port Mafia, but Atsushi is nothing if not adaptable, he thinks.

No matter how angry Akutagawa seems at first, the man erupts into a fit of coughing shortly after, and all his anger seems to be forgotten. Atsushi always did wonder why Akutagawa’s lungs seem so weak; he doesn’t seem like a smoker after all . . . Then again, Atsushi never considered Dazai to be a borderline alcoholic, but he was proven wrong on that front . . . Atsushi will never understand the mafia.

For the rest of the walk, Atsushi lets Akutagawa lead him. They don’t talk or fight much, but mostly because Atsushi spends the entire time gawking silently at their surroundings.

Akutagawa has led him into the affluent part of Yokohama that surrounds the Port Mafia buildings. Atsushi doesn’t think he’s ever been here. Whenever he and Akutagawa went to the Port Mafia headquarters, they went via car, and Atsushi never bothered to look out the window.

The glass buildings and the intricate ornaments are blinding to Atsushi, who’s never known anything but the rundown orphanage until a few months ago. 

The streets are lined carefully with crab apple trees, almost in bloom, the white-pink petals fluttering in the wind against the wild poppy color mottled across the sky—the sun quietly setting, the stars peeking behind the bark of the trees. Wealth practically drips from all the foliage.

“Stop holding us up,” Akutagawa orders, not even trying to hide his annoyance. “It’s just trees.”

“Why are we here?” Atsushi wonders, running to catch up, trying not to trip over his own feet.

“I’m going to feed you properly, since you can’t seem to do it by yourself.”

“What?”

“Do you have hearing problems, Jinko?” Akutagawa gruffs, as if this situation is entirely normal. “I said I’m going to feed you.”

“Y-you, what?”

Akutagawa groans and mumbles under his breath, “I don’t understand how Dazai-san ever thought this was a good idea.”

“You don’t need to always do what Dazai-san tells you to do,” Atsushi grumbles. But then his stomach growls again, and he tries not to salivate at the thought of having a proper, expensive dinner for once in his life. Whatever. Akutagawa already thinks he’s pathetic; no need to save face in front of him.

Stubbornly, Akutagawa gives him a sharp look and insists, “You could never understand how I feel about Dazai-san.”

A beat.

“That came out wrong,” Akutagawa adds on, a fierce blush coloring his cheeks.

Atsushi blinks. “It’s fine, Akutagawa. I . . . I know how you feel about Dazai-san.”

It’s not like Atsushi doesn’t know about Akutagawa’s massive crush on Dazai. Hell, everyone in Yokohama knows about Akutagawa’s crush on Dazai.

Atsushi knows how Akutagawa feels for Dazai, so why does his chest feel tight all of a sudden?

“Really?” Akutagawa asks, the dark cloud around him visibly brightening up.

“Yeah. Everyone knows, I think,” Atsushi answers. Except Dazai, honestly, but Atsushi isn’t going to tell Akutagawa that. Dazai is so self-absorbed most of the time that Atsushi is sure he hasn’t noticed. The only thing that Dazai seems to care about (other than new methods of suicide) is “how the tiny hat-rack has even survived twenty-two years without being squished and stepped on by normal sized humans.”

“Hm.”

The air is a little less awkward between them; Atsushi doesn’t particularly know why, but he isn’t going to complain. After a couple more minutes, they’ve finally arrived at a barbecue restaurant: one, from the looks of it, that Atsushi definitely cannot afford.

But when he tells Akutagawa that, the man promptly laughs in his face.

“Don’t be stupid. I didn’t expect you to be able to pay for anything,” Akutagawa dismisses before turning to the hostess and asking for a table for two.

Atsushi isn’t sure how every single word that comes out of Akutagawa’s mouth is somehow filled to the brim with condescension, but it isn’t as biting as it probably should be. Yosano always tells Atsushi that he has no sense of dignity. In hindsight, maybe that’s why he let Dazai drag him into the Armed Detective Agency in the first place.

“We’re having all-you-can-eat barbecue,” Akutagawa says. “I won’t be eating that much, so eat your fill and make sure we don’t get overcharged.”

To hell with Atsushi’s dignity. He’ll gladly take all the insults and all the mocking from Akutagawa if it means he can eat like this.

🐾

“You eat like a pig.”

Mouth stuffed with beef, Atsushi can only grunt out an incomprehensible Moh I do mot!

Akutagawa’s eyes narrow. He scoffs and puts a small piece of meat in his mouth, chewing quietly.

(And if Atsushi didn’t have his eyes closed, tearing up because he’s probably never had barbecue this good, he might’ve caught a glimpse of Akutagawa sneaking a peek at him, a small curl of fondness on his lips.)

🐾

The next day at the agency, Dazai is there before Atsushi, which is weird, because Atsushi doesn’t think that that’s ever happened before. As he goes to his seat, he looks over at Kunikida, who, presumably for full minutes now, has been gawking at Dazai like he’s looking at a ghost.

“Good morning, Dazai-san,” Atsushi greets slowly.

“Why, it’s a lovely morning, At—su—shi—kun!” Dazai croons, drawing out each of the syllables in Atsushi’s name. “I hear that you had a wonderful dinner date with Akutagawa-kun.”

(Are Dazai and Akutagawa in contact?)

“Well, you did force him into doing it.”

Dazai frowns. “No, I never told him to have dinner with you! That was all him. I only insisted that he be your knight in black, flimsy armor, and walk you home!”

“I can walk myself home just fine.”

“Ah, but you wouldn’t have gotten a free dinner if my dear, but not as dear as you, kouhai hadn’t brought you home!”

Atsushi can’t argue with that, nor can his still sated stomach. The entire meal, Akutagawa looked at him like he was some sort of monster, devouring plate after plate of beef. In Atsushi’s defense, it was all you can eat, so Atsushi did indeed, eat all that he could. 

Last night, after learning the wonders of Akutagawa’s lavish lifestyle (being able to afford eating barbecue, all-you-can-eat everyday . . . Atsushi has to keep his mouth from watering), Atsushi briefly considered joining the Port Mafia. To hell with the light.

“It was delicious,” Atsushi concedes.

“Therefore you should let Akutagawa take you out to dinner again tonight!” Dazai concludes. “I’m sure you haven’t ever had proper katsudon, have you?”

Atsushi feels his breath stutter, if just for a moment.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Then it’s perfect! I’ll tell Akutagawa-kun.”

“Dazai-san, please don’t.”

A chime sounds from Dazai’s phone. “Ohohoho. Too late! Don’t worry. It’ll be Akutagawa-kun’s pleasure! Mafia members are always paid more than they know what to do with. Trust me, I’d know.”

“Because you were a mafia executive in the past?”

Dazai chuckles. “Yes, that too.”

🐾

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“Shut up. I wanted to,” Akutagawa insists, blushing warmly. Atsushi can’t comprehend the inexplicable fluttering feeling in his chest, right where he thinks his heart must be, when he sees the older man cover his flushed face with his palm, but the feeling is present nonetheless.

“Is Dazai-san that important to you?”

Akutagawa seems taken aback, lips just barely curling downward. He looks disappointed? “This has nothing to do with Dazai-san.”

That doesn’t particularly make any sense to Atsushi, since that seems to be the only reason why they’re at dinner together right now, but he doesn’t push. He isn’t going to risk Akutagawa kicking him out of the restaurant before the food’s even arrived, so he just tries to stay silent.

But, for some godforsaken reason (Atsushi blames Dazai—it’s probably his fault, anyways), Akutagawa actually seems to want to make conversation.

“Um. Do you . . . have anyone important to you?”

Atsushi tries not to look too surprised, but he thinks he’s gaping like a fish right now because Akutagawa is glaring at him. Once the initial shock wears off, he tries to actually consider Akutagawa’s question.

Someone important to him, as important as Dazai is to Akutagawa. It’s hard not to construe that question in a romantic way, given Akutagawa’s blaring crush, so he answers it in the way he deems appropriate.

“No, I’ve never been with anyone romantically before.”

Atsushi tries to read the look on Akutagawa’s face; it’s a weird amalgamation of relief, anger (or maybe that’s his natural state of being), and . . . happiness? Is that happiness? Atsushi doesn’t think that he’s ever seen Akutagawa happy; even when Dazai praised him for the first time—after they took down Fitzgerald—he just passed out, no visible joy on his face at all.

“Romantically? Who said anything about romantically, Jinko?” Akutagawa spits, as if the gravity of Atsushi’s words just settled in.

Oh. Oh fuck. Atsushi slipped.

It’s an unspoken rule, Atsushi has learned, not to mention Akutagawa’s crush in front of Akutagawa. He doesn’t exactly know where he learned it—he thinks it might’ve seen Tachihara about to mention it, and then Gin whacked the boy’s head suddenly, and all was quiet.

“Um,” Atsushi dumbly utters, trying not to panic at the sight of Rashoumon now hovering over the table, an outright feral look in Akutagawa’s eyes. “I . . . have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You said romantically. Did Dazai-san say anything to you?”

“W-what? No, I promise that Dazai-san doesn’t know about how you feel!” Atsushi rushes to say, hoping to quell Akutagawa’s worries that the object of his crush knows about his crush. Dazai tends to be the densest person on earth when it comes to romance, seeing how he thinks asking women to join him in a double suicide is anything but an fruitless and rather insulting endeavor.

“Don’t be stupid, Jinko. Of course Dazai-san knows. I’m asking you if you know.”

“I, um, maybe?” Atsushi squeaks out.

Everyone in Yokohama knows about Akutagawa’s dumb crush. That’s . . . that’s what Akutagawa is talking about, right? Atsushi’s doubt is placated quickly because what else could Akutagawa be so paranoid about?

Volcanic red erupts on Akutagawa’s cheeks, glowing as red as Rashoumon. The restaurant, as packed as it is, doesn’t seem to notice that the prelude to a murder is happening right at this moment, and Atsushi prays to buddha, God, and whatever other deity out there, that he can manage to get Akutagawa to calm down before anyone does notice.

“It’s, it’s fine! I’m fine with it! I’m fine with how you feel about—”

Akutagawa stands up. “If Dazai-san told you to play along with this—”

Instinctively, Atsushi reaches out to grab Akutagawa’s arm. Akutagawa looks down to where his arm and Atsushi’s hand collide, and his face seems even more heated. “No, I promise he didn’t. This—this is all me.”

Akutagawa sits down, and he looks like he’s about to pass out.

“So, this is fine with you? How I feel?”

Atsushi nods; and he means it. “Completely.”

Akutagawa’s mouth curls into a smile, small and shy as if he can’t help it, cheeks still stained the color of ripe peaches. Atsushi’s heart beats unevenly at the sight in front of him, but he thinks he doesn’t mind being on edge like this if it means that he can see a happy, blushing Akutagawa more often.

🐾

Things are odd lately.

He’s going out to dinner with a Port Mafia member at least five times a week, and Dazai forces him to relay all the night’s events the morning after. Dazai seems really invested in his and Akutagawa’s friendship, if he can even call it that.

But the oddest thing of them all is that Atsushi likes dinners with Akutagawa for much more than the food. Akutagawa, when he’s not being a wet rag, is actually kind of pleasant to be around; he’s blunt, genuine, and honest with Atsushi and himself. He speaks fondly about his sister, Chuuya—it’s a nice contrast to how Dazai speaks of Chuuya—and Kyouka. Akutagawa actually seems happy that Kyouka has found a place outside of the mafia where she feels like she belongs. 

(It makes Atsushi wonder if Akutagawa would ever leave the Port Mafia, but the thought quickly leaves his mind. Thinking of an Akutagawa who isn’t part of the Port Mafia is just strange. Hell, the world where Akutagawa isn’t part of the mafia might just be the world where Atsushi is.)

Atsushi doesn’t know what to make of this blooming friendship. Before he joined the agency, he had no friends; he didn’t even know what it meant to create bonds with other people. Now, so many people are close to his heart, people he wants to live for, people he would die for—it’s overwhelming. He never thought he’d have this many people who cared for him, and he never thought he’d have the capacity to care for this many people.

Friendship is new to Atsushi, most of all friendship with a member of the mafia.

They should be enemies; Atsushi knows that.

Honestly, the only people who seem to be completely on board with the limited mafia-agency alliance are Dazai and Chuuya. No completely sane person would be, after all that’s happened. They don’t really even have any reason to trust each other; not like Dazai and Chuuya, whose unspoken, unwavering trust in each other seems to be something that’ll never break. 

They aren’t true partners; Atsushi knows that. And yet—they have dinner almost nightly, Atsushi enjoys the other’s company, and he’s sure that Akutagawa doesn’t hate him nearly as much as he used to.

Are they friends? Atsushi feels a shiver run down his spine at the thought.

However, friendship still doesn’t explain that stubborn, persistent arrhythmia Atsushi feels whenever he’s around Akutagawa. It isn’t fear or caution like it used to be; it makes him feel warm all over, it makes his chest feel all tight, and it makes him feel like there are butterflies in his stomach.

And Akutagawa: Akutagawa looks a lot happier with him—happier than Atsushi has ever seen him before, all shy smiles and embarrassed blushing extraordinaire. (Atsushi finds this new Akutagawa really, really cute.)

He’s at his desk at the agency, a pile of paperwork covering his face, as he thinks this over.

“Yosano-sensei—!” Ranpo shouts, making Atsushi’s ears perk up. “Atsushi is having heart problems.”

“Wh—”

Yosano—who was standing next to Kunikida’s desk, trying to convince him he needs her quirk over a papercut—turns to face Atsushi. “Heart problems?” she asks, confused.

“Yes,” Ranpo answers, munching on another stick of matcha Pocky. “Stomach problems too.”

“Ranpo-san.”

“But it’s over that mafia hound.”

Yosano lifts her eyebrow, suddenly very interested. The rest of the office seems to be listening in too. Atsushi cringes, damning his cruel fate. Rarely ever does Ranpo pay any attention to him, and when he does . . .

“Ohoho? I see,” Yosano says, a smirk on her lips.

At least Dazai isn’t in the office; Atsushi doesn’t think he would survive that. But then Atsushi realizes that he doesn’t know why Dazai isn’t here.

“Wait, where’s Dazai?”

“Hey. Don’t try to change the subject,” Kyouka injects quietly.

“Kyouka-chan,” Atsushi pleads, but to no avail.

“I think he’s at the Port Mafia again,” Kunikida replies, clearly displeased.

“Do we have another joint mission?” Atsushi groans.

Kunikida pushes his glasses up. “No. He’s just fooling around over there, that bastard.”

Atsushi’s forehead wrinkles up. “And they just let him do that?”

“I think whenever they ask he just says he’s bringing lunch to his husband,” Yosano explains.

“Oh okay,” Atsushi says, as if that explains everything.  His brain’s too busy processing these strange, new, inexplicable feelings for Akutagawa—his enemy, his partner, and his friend?—to fully register what exactly Yosano just said.

“Speaking of that waste of space,” Kunikida pipes in, “Atsushi. Would you mind going over to the Port Mafia and dragging Dazai back to work? We have four new complaints about him.”

Atsushi regrets ever joining the agency. “Why me?”

“You go to the mafia headquarters more than anyone else here. It won’t be as strange if you go. Dazai isn’t answering any of my calls, so it’s the only option.”

With big puppy eyes, Atsushi looks over at Kyouka. He would much rather take bullying from the rest of his coworkers than have to step foot in that building.

“I’m a fugitive from the Port Mafia,” she deadpans.

“Yeah,” Atsushi grumbles, “but so is Dazai-san, and that never stops him.”

🐾

When Kunikida ordered him to go over to the Port Mafia headquarters, he clearly didn’t think it through. Atsushi is standing outside the building, the guards refusing to let him inside without a legitimate reason. Atsushi has tried everything save breaking in.

He’s started to beg on his knees, dignity be damned, when he sees a certain lithe figure emerge from the building.

“Akutaga—”

“Get up. You’re an embarrassment to the alliance.”

Atsushi hurries up to his feet, bowing to all the guards as he follows Akutagawa into the building.

“Thank you so— ”

“Why are you here, Jinko?” Akutagawa demands. “I didn’t think we had another mission planned until next month.”

“Kunikida-san forced me to come here and retrieve Dazai-san.”

Akutagawa freezes and stares at Atsushi, excitement poorly hidden on his face.  “Dazai-san is here?”

Something unpleasant spikes through Atsushi’s chest. He can’t quite put a name to it. Seeing Akutagawa get all excited over Dazai . . . Atsushi doesn’t know why that leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

“You didn’t notice him? Kunikida-san said he was just fooling around.”

Akutagawa scoffs; his surprise wears off quickly. “He’s probably bothering Chuuya-san,” he explains, and leads Atsushi to the elevator, pushing the button for the fifteenth floor.

“Is that normal?”

“For those two, yeah. Sometimes Dazai-san drops Chuuya-san off at work and hangs around here for a couple hours before leaving. Chuuya-san always tells him he’s gonna be late to work, but Dazai-san never listens.”

Atsushi nods, because that does seem like something Dazai would do, and that does explain why Dazai is always hours late, but the dots don’t quite connect. “Dazai-san drops him off at work? Do those two live together or something?”

Akutagawa looks at Atsushi like he’s dumb.

“Jinko, you do know that Dazai-san and Chuuya-san are married, right?”

Atsushi coughs, eyes going wide as he leans against the wall for support. “W-WHAT?”

“They were stationed in America together sometime after Dazai-san’s eighteenth birthday, and I think he tricked Chuuya-san into signing marriage papers.”

Because Atsushi knows Dazai all too well, the first question that pops into his mind is, “Does Chuuya-san know?”

Akutagawa blinks. “I’m not sure about that one.”

For the remainder of the elevator ride, Atsushi is left gaping. Dazai is married? To a Port Mafia executive?

“Did no one really tell you?”

“I . . . ” Suddenly it all makes sense. Yosano did say that Dazai claims to visit his husband at work, which didn’t register at all in Atsushi’s head at first. And then there are all of the weird things Dazai says that don’t really make sense out of context: things about the Port Mafia salary, things about how Chuuya is bad at cooking or how Chuuya has bad morning breath or how Chuuya has bad taste in clothing. And it also explains Dazai’s unreasonably expensive lifestyle; there’s no way that asshole can afford an endlessly replenishable stash of bandages for fashion’s sake. “Oh my god. Dazai has a husband.”

And as the elevator doors open, another realization cuts into Atsushi’s brain. “Oh. Is this . . . is that okay with you? The fact that Dazai is married to Chuuya.”

Akutagawa squints, looking really annoyed. “Why wouldn’t that be okay with me?”

Suddenly defensive, Atsushi jumps back a little, trying not to let himself get mauled in enemy territory. “No! I mean, just that, you’re . . . you,” he explains weakly.

“I have no idea what you’re trying to say.”

“You—you know, aren’t you—” In love with Dazai-san?

“Atsushi-kun! What are you doing here?” Dazai cheers loudly, interrupting Atsushi from finishing his question, a small Chuuya in bridal carry.

“Put me down, shitty Dazai.”

“Nope! This is your punishment for leaving poor me in bed alone this morning. It was so cold! I need my little space heater next to me—no matter how much of a stupid blanket hog he is!”

“I’m going to kill you,” Chuuya hisses, but from where Atsushi is standing, he doesn’t seem too menacing, given how peaceful and content he actually looks despite the scowl forced on his face.

“Um, Dazai-san,” Atsushi interrupts meekly. “Kunikida-san sent me over to bring you back. He said there are a lot of complaints you have to file.”

Dazai’s mouth twitches guiltily.

“Idiot. Are you out asking women to perform a double suicide with you again?”

“Is my dear chibi worried that I’m stealing the hearts of women?” Dazai asks, all too coy. “Don’t worry! Chibi is number one in my heart.”

“I’m worried that you’re going to go to jail one of these days. The bail on your head would bankrupt me.”

Dazai twirls around with Chuuya in his arms, cheering triumphantly, “Chibi is worried for his dear husband!”

“I told you, shitty mackerel, our marriage isn’t legal! I wasn’t sober, and we were barely eighteen!”

“Drunk marriages are the best marriages!”

“Go back to work, dumbass. It’s almost noon.”

“No. You can’t make me!” Dazai says, running away, Chuuya in his arms, into the executive’s office, locking the door behind him. 

Atsushi sighs. Mission officially failed.

But, from inside Chuuya’s office, Atsushi hears Dazai yell, “Akutagawa-kun, I wish you the best of luck! Take him out to lunch!”

And then Chuuya, shortly after adds: “Take him to the Italian place we went to with Ane-san last week!”

Confused, Atsushi turns to face Akutagawa, only to see that the other is covering his face with his hand again, a not-so subtle blush on his cheeks.

“So, Jinko,” Akutagawa mumbles roughly from behind his palm. “Do you have lunch plans?”

Atsushi thinks he might be going crazy.

🐾

“My sister really likes the arrabbiata here,” Akutagawa mentions offhandedly.

“I think I met your sister once. Like, outside of when everyone was trying to kill me.”

“You have?” Akutagawa asks, surprised.

“Yeah,” Atsushi says with a smile. “She’s very pretty. I mean, not in that way, I mean, yes in that way, but not like—”

“Calm down, Jinko. I know what you’re saying.” One end of Akutagawa’s lips curl up, amused at Atsushi’s little freak-out.

Atsushi flushes, thighs pressing together awkwardly; the way that Akutagawa’s looking at him right now is much too endeared to be real. Atsushi doesn’t think that anyone has ever looked at him with that much fondness. He must be seeing things.

“Sorry. Habit. I mean: rambling, it’s a habit from when I was younger. Sorry.”

Akutagawa’s mouth purses. “Don’t apologize when you’re around me,” he demands, ears going pink. “It bothers me, when you apologize like that. It’s not your fault.”

Atsushi’s lips part as he blinks dumbly. Apologizing is his second nature; it’s been instilled in him just as easily as breathing. In all his eighteen years, no one has ever told him that it’s okay to not apologize, to not be sorry. (No one has ever told him, it’s not your fault that you were born.)

Akutagawa’s words mean so much more than anyone could ever understand.

“Me and my sister, we grew up with . . . not the best circumstances too,” Akutagawa reveals slowly, looking everywhere but at Atsushi. “So I have the right to tell you: stop fucking apologizing all the time.”

Atsushi thinks he could cry, but he thinks Rashoumon would lash out at him, so he just lets the tears silently collect at his waterline, and wipes them away when Akutagawa isn’t looking.

“Okay,” Atsushi mumbles, wincing at how weak his voice sounds. “Sor—” he bites his lip. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing, Jinko.”

🐾

Atsushi comes to the conclusion that he is definitely going crazy. His heart becomes increasingly more and more unstable whenever he’s around Akutagawa, and his stomach definitely has butterflies swimming inside it. And of course, he doesn’t understand why.

However, like always, the other agency members ruin whatever introspective mood Atsushi was hoping to maintain.

“How’s it like?” Dazai asks the next morning. “Having Akutagawa as your glorified sugar daddy?”

Atsushi nearly knocks over everything on his desk.

“My what?”

“Glorified sugar daddy,” Kyouka repeats.

“Kyouka-chan, you’re too young for this!”

Kyouka narrows her eyes. “I’ve killed—”

“Anyways!” Dazai butts in, jumping in front of Kyouka. “He’s been wining and dining you for weeks now. How is it? Having someone pay for expensive meals? Isn’t it nice?”

“H-he, he has not been—!” Atsushi sputters.

“Fine, my dear virgin-kun,” Dazai sighs. “He’s been courting you for weeks now. And rather unsuccessfully if you haven’t realized yet!”

“VIRGIN-KUN?”

“Is he wrong?” Chuuya asks, eyeing Atsushi.

A loud groan comes from Kunikida. “Why is he here?”

Chuuya swings his legs from where he sits on top of Dazai’s desk. “This idiot’s always bothering me at my work, so I decided to annoy him for once.”

“Chibi could never annoy me at work! He’s too tiny for anyone to even notice—OW!”

Dazai whines, rubbing where Chuuya smacked him on the head.

“Mafia members should not be allowed in the office,” Kunikida grumbles to himself.

“I agree,” Kyouka mutters quietly, glaring at Chuuya.

“Virgin-kun didn’t answer my question,” Chuuya sings. How he continues to carry on, even as everyone but Kenji (who looks at him with glittering eyes filled with reverence and awe) glares at him, Atsushi will never understand. “Is Virgin-kun a virgin?”

Blushing bright red, unbelievably bright red, Atsushi shouts, “That is none of your business!”

Dazai chuckles. “So that’s a yes.”

“Good,” Chuuya says, nodding his head in approval. At least he and Akutagawa-kun are in the same boat.”

“I—” Atsushi feels his face grow hot. “Why are you bringing up Akutagawa?”

“Because as my precious kouhais, I feel responsible for both your sex educations!”

“Kunikida-san,” Atsushi whines, looking at the blonde man for help. “I’m being sexually harassed.”

“No, Atsushi,” Kunikida dismisses, not even lifting his head up from his paperwork, “you’re being educated.”

"KUNIKIDA-SAN.”

🐾

As the days go on and as their dinner (and now lunch) dates become increasingly frequent, Atsushi notices that his problem is only worsening. He doesn’t even know what to call it because he doesn’t know what these feelings are. He definitely didn’t feel this way when he started to befriend those at the agency: he never felt this sort of thrumming anxiety—nervous excitement whenever he sees Akutagawa waiting for him outside the building, the man’s signature coat and sunglasses galore.

He would ask Dazai about it, but he’s sure that Dazai would say something stupid about young love or something. And that’s where Dazai is wrong, because this—this isn’t love.

This definitely, definitely is not love.

Atsushi couldn’t possibly—

(Atsushi doesn’t have the capacity for something like that. Atsushi has spent eighteen years fighting for the right to live. Love has never even been an option for someone like him.)

Dazai might be wrong about the nature of his and Akutagawa’s relationship, but Atsushi must admit that Dazai’s plan is actually working. When the next joint mission actually comes around, his and Akutagawa’s teamwork is truly much better than before; Atsushi supposes that’s what happens when your teammate isn’t actively thinking of ways to abandon you and or kill you.

After they’ve taken down the enemy and infiltrated the base, Akutagawa gives Atsushi this smile, his cheeks blotchy-pink, flushed from overexerting Rashoumon, but Atsushi feels his heartbeat go absolutely wild. He tries to disguise the slight whimper he lets out as a tiger’s growl, but he knows it’s not convincing at all.

“Are you okay, Jinko? You look lightheaded.”

Atsushi’s breath stutters. “I’m fine. I promise.”

“You better be.”

Atsushi speaks before his brain registers it. Echoing Akutagawa’s words from their last mission, he finds himself saying, “You did well on this mission. You’ve definitely gotten stronger.”

Akutagawa’s pupils darken, mouth parting slightly. “I, you—”

“Lightheaded, Akutagawa?”

The other man scoffs, eyes blown wide and Atsushi’s heart feels strangely warm. “You wish, Jinko.”

Not love. Whatever this is; this definitely is not love.

🐾

Despite finally eating proper meals and no longer needing to ration his instant ramen stash, Atsushi still has bad days. This is one of them.

Akutagawa brings him to a different sort of restaurant this time. This place is much homier and a lot smaller than where he usually brings Atsushi. It seems like a family-owned place, so Atsushi wonders if Akutagawa knows the owners, but the thought doesn’t linger in his mind too long. 

Rashoumon gently pokes Atsushi’s cheek.

“Don’t look so miserable, Jinko. I’m feeding you.”

Atsushi forces a smile on his face, hands in front of his body defensively. “No! I’m fine! I’ve just . . . had a long day.”

Akutagawa hums contemplatively, studying Atsushi’s face, hands crossed over his chest. “Whatever. Just don’t mope so loudly.”

Atsushi nods sincerely. He doesn’t really know why he feels so off today. Nothing at work seemed to go right for him: Tanizaki spilt coffee all over him, he got lost with Ranpo on the way to the station, and Kunikida scolded him for almost getting him and Ranpo kicked off the case because they were late. Hell, even Dazai looked disappointed in him today. Kyouka is away on a mission with Kenji, so he couldn’t even get crepes with her to make himself feel better.

“I’m fine now,” Atsushi insists.

“I didn’t ask how you were.”

Ouch. Atsushi feels something cut at his insides; it feels like Rashoumon slicing up his heart. Atsushi can’t help the frown that manifests on his face, can’t help the way he shrinks in on himself. Atsushi has a bad habit of wearing his heart on his sleeve, even though he knows it’ll backfire. Old habits die hard.

“Sorry, Akutagawa,” he finds himself mumbling.

“I told you to stop apologizing to me, Jinko.”

“Then what am I supposed to say?”

Akutagawa scoffs. “Hell if I know.”

Atsushi’s lips pull down into a frown, and they fall into silence.

The quiet chatter of the restaurant becomes white noise; it’s all that Atsushi can hear. The two of them usually find things to talk about, no matter how small, so to have silence fill the space between them just feels wrong. It’s taken them weeks to get to this point, and Atsushi feels guilty that he’s letting his bad day ruin all the hard work both of them have put into this friendship.

“I’ve had a bad day,” Atsushi explains apologetically.

Akutagawa looks uncomfortable, like he doesn’t know how to respond, but before Atsushi can ramble out an apology, he asks, “Do . . . you want to talk about it?”

Atsushi feels something close to relief wash over him, Akutagawa’s question acting as silent confirmation that he does care about this blossoming friendship of theirs.

“It’s just—nothing seemed to go right for me today. I tried really hard to make myself useful at the agency, but I just couldn’t.”

Akutagawa bites his lip, gnawing on the flesh as he tries to think of something to say.

It’s awkward, Atsushi will admit, but he realizes that this is also new for Akutagawa. He doubts that the mafioso has many friends—he means that in the most inoffensive of ways (after all, Atsushi spent most of his life friendless)—so opening up is not something that Atsushi expects Akutagawa to have much experience with.

“That’s what I hate the most about you.”

“Really?” Atsushi gapes, incredulous and offended. “It took you that long to come up with that response?”

Akutagawa rolls his eyes—as if he was expecting his words to elicit a different response. Atsushi feels heat emit from his body, the tiger inside him starting to take over his baser instincts.

“You don’t need to constantly prove yourself to others, Jinko,” Akutagawa utters, giving Atsushi a sharp look. “Even just breathing is okay. It means that you’re alive and that you’ve made it this far. That’s enough to be proud of, even if you are useless.”

Oh.

That actually makes Atsushi feel better. A lot better.

“Thank you,” Atsushi mutters in awe, heart thrumming pleasantly in his chest. “I didn’t expect it, but—you’re actually a really good friend.”

Akutagawa takes in a breath, blinking slowly. “A friend?”

Atsushi grins; and for the first time today, he feels truly happy. He’s absolutely certain when he says, “Yeah. You’re my friend, Akutagawa.”

“I’m your friend,” Akutagawa repeats, face scrunching up, looking incredibly displeased—but Atsushi doesn’t quite understand.

“Friend,” Atsushi echoes decisively, believing that his confidence will dispel the discomfort on Akutagawa’s face. “We’re friends.”

A few seconds pass, but the unhappy look doesn’t ever leave Akutagawa’s face. Atsushi is about to ask what’s wrong, but then Akutagawa is standing up, pushing his seat back, and tossing a credit card down on the table. “You truly are a useless waste of space, Jinko,” he spits out. And before he storms out of the restaurant, Atsushi is able to make out the hurt look in Akutagawa’s eyes, the flush of humiliation coloring his cheeks, and the angry purse of his lips.

Atsushi is left alone in the restaurant with two servings worth of food in front of him, a platinum credit card thrown on top of a pile of napkins, and a heavy sensation in his chest that feels a lot like guilt.

🐾

“I don’t even know what happened, Dazai-san.”

Akutagawa has stopped taking Atsushi out to lunch or dinner. Atsushi cries a little inside when he realizes he had to eat instant noodles for dinner for the first time in two months.

Dazai is incredibly displeased at the news, like it’s his friendship that Atsushi fucked up. “You ruined months of hard work, effort, and planning on my end.”

“All I did was call him a good friend, and he stormed out of the restaurant!” Atsushi whines, burying his face behind his forearms on the desk.

A beat. “You called him a good friend,” Dazai repeats, like he’s just solved the puzzle.

Exasperated, Atsushi sighs, “Yes. How many times do I have to repeat myself? He said something nice to me, I called him a good friend, then he called me a useless Jinko and threw his credit card down before he left. I can’t go inside the Port Mafia building and I don’t know where he lives, so I can’t even return the credit card!”

The agency is silent for a few seconds.

“Atsushi-kun, does Akutagawa walk you home every day?” Dazai asks, much too innocently to not be laden with mischief.

“Yes, after we get dinner. The only exception is when he’s away on a Port Mafia mission.”

“And, does he pick you up for lunch sometimes?”

“Yes, sometimes.” Atsushi doesn’t understand why Dazai is asking him all these questions. They don’t seem relevant at all.

Dazai sighs. Everyone else in the office looks just as exasperated—except for Ranpo, who just looks like he’s having a blast. “Has it ever occurred to you that Akutagawa-kun thinks that you two are more than friends?”

Atsushi blinks. “Of course not.”

Naomi rolls her eyes and snuggles into her brother’s side, muttering under her breath something about how she’s lucky that her dear onii-sama isn’t so oblivious. Even Kunikida seems mildly annoyed at Atsushi.

“Atsushi-kun,” Dazai croons, malice lining the sweet tone of his voice. “You and Akutagawa have been dating for the past few weeks.”

“Huh?” Atsushi utters. A few seconds pass. “HUH?”

Kunikida, who has remained mostly silent whenever it involves Akutagawa or any mafia members of the like, finally snaps: “Dazai,” he starts, voice calm but biting, “why did you recommend someone so stupid to the agency?”

A cold chill washes over Atsushi’s body, but his face rivals the heat of the sun’s surface, blotchy-red and embarrassed.

“Akutagawa-san really likes you,” Kyouka mutters in that quiet, sincere voice of hers. “He doesn’t go out of his way to hang out with people he doesn’t respect.”

Oh god. When Kyouka-chan gets involved . . .

“B-but, Dazai-san, ” Atsushi whimpers. He’s on his last leg; he’s fighting a losing, uphill battle. He recognizes that. “Doesn’t he like you?”

For once, everyone gives Atsushi an understanding, pitiful look; they can’t exactly blame him now. All signs point to Akutagawa liking Dazai; yes, in that way. The entire time Atsushi’s known either of them, it’s been a fact of nature.

But the thing is: none of them are entirely normal.

Atsushi’s always seen Akutagawa as some sort of lovesick puppy, lovesick for Dazai, but that’s where he made his first mistake.

Akutagawa wasn’t inviting him out to dinner everyday out of loyalty to Dazai; Akutagawa did it because he wanted to, because Dazai was helping him.

“Don’t be stupid. Akutagawa-kun would never win against Chuuya in a fight to the death!” Dazai cheers dreamily, stars in his eyes. And then, much softer, he adds: “But even though he adores me, he adores you much more.”

As Dazai, self-absorbed as ever, rambles on and on about what a good husband Chuuya is, the gravity of the situation finally clicks in Atsushi’s head—all of the puzzle pieces coming together. When they went out to dinner that one time, Akutagawa asked Atsushi if he knew how he felt, but he wasn’t asking if Atsushi knew how he felt about Dazai, but how he felt for the boy right in front of him.

And, oh god; Atsushi said yes. Atsushi said that it was okay with him. Atsushi said that he was okay with how Akutagawa felt.

Has Akutagawa thought they were . . . together ever since then?

No wonder Akutagawa seemed hurt when Atsushi referred to him as a friend. No wonder Akutagawa practically broke up with him. Atsushi never thought that it would take a breakup for him to realize that he had a boyfriend all along.

Atsushi is an idiot.

The words come before Atsushi can even register it; he mutters under his breath, inaudible to the rest of the agency, “Why would he . . . ” Like someone like me?

Atsushi doesn’t understand. He’s just Atsushi, a poor orphan with not even a penny to his name. There isn’t anything that Atsushi can say he likes about himself with confidence: he doesn’t consider himself attractive or particularly smart, even. He only knows how to fight because that’s how he survives, that’s how he finds worth in this absurd world.

Breaking Atsushi’s session of self-pity, Dazai laments, “And to think that all this time I thought you loved him back!”

“HUH?”

“Sorry, like, love, whatever. It’s all the same.”

Love: how could Atsushi possibly love another human being when he doesn’t even love himself? He doesn’t even like himself.

No—Atsushi doesn’t love Akutagawa. Atsushi fights for the right to live; it is not in his nature to love. Love is not something that someone like him should fight for; furthermore, love is not something that someone like him should ever hope to have.

Dazai is right about a lot of things, but this is not one of them.

The arrhythmias in his chest and the butterflies in his stomach do not mean that Atsushi is not in love with Akutagawa. Just because Atsushi can visualize their first . . . date clearly—Akutagawa’s figure against the white-pink petals in bloom, the cataclysmic orange of the sky, smeared with wine and marshmallow—does not mean that Atsushi returns Akutagawa’s feelings.

It doesn’t mean anything, the way Akutagawa flashes in Atsushi’s mind whenever he thinks of all the things he loves about Yokohama.

“No,” Atsushi says, swallowing a gulp, willing himself to ignore the bad taste in his mouth. “I don’t. I don’t like Akutagawa back, I mean. At least not in the same way he likes me.”

(Atsushi has never told a lie in his life; he thinks this might be his first one.)

🐾

Atsushi goes home that night alone, hungry, and agitated. As he boils water for his instant cup ramen, he realizes that this is the first night in weeks that he hasn’t eaten out with Akutagawa. The last time he ate at his dorm was when the older man was away with Chuuya on a mission in the Middle East. And even then, Akutagawa had sent one of his men to bring takeout to Atsushi’s place. (That’s something he’ll never tell Dazai.)

It’s not that he just misses the fine dining; sure, all of his and Akutagawa’s interactions outside of missions tended to center around meals, but Atsushi finds that his stomach isn’t the only thing that feels empty. 

There’s no way about it. He misses Akutagawa. He misses the unfriendly scowl, the annoyed snarl, and the occasional shy blush. He misses the other man’s blunt words, uncaring truth, and different perspective on life.

Atsushi can’t help but wonder if Akutagawa still abides by their long running no-killing-people promise. And for some reason, Atsushi’s quiet heart thrums at the thought of Akutagawa changing for him.  

The kettle starts to whistle, and Atsushi forces himself to stop thinking about Akutagawa. He has to let go of that friendship; he already ruined it by being an obtuse idiot. Atsushi can count all the friends he’s ever made on one hand, but he’s never lost any of those friends. Atsushi doesn’t know what to do. There isn’t any way to salvage this.

What can he do? Text Akutagawa, tell him that he’s sorry he can’t return his feelings, that he didn’t realize how the other felt, that this was all because of some dumb misunderstanding on his part?

Akutagawa might actually kill him if he does that, and contrary to popular belief, Atsushi does have some shred of self-preservation left.

Hell, he doesn’t even have Akutagawa’s number, and with how mad Dazai is at him right now, there’s no way he can get it. Moreover, he doesn’t even know where Akutagawa is. For all he knows, the mafioso could be off in Europe or America.

When it comes down to it, Atsushi has two options: he can either somehow find Akutagawa and apologize, or never speak to him again until their next mission. He’s leaning towards the latter right now.

As he fills his styrofoam cup up to the line with boiling water, Atsushi considers banging his head against the counter. He wonders if that method of suicide appears in Dazai’s weird handbook.

When he joined the Armed Detective Agency, no one ever told him that he’d have boy problems like this. 

🐾

It takes Atsushi less than two minutes to scarf down his sad excuse for dinner. He glances at the clock: it’s 8 p.m. and Atsushi just begins to feel sorry for himself.

Pitifully, he flops onto his tatami bed and starts to play a game on his phone, trying to ignore the growling of his stomach. Dazai insisted that he download this app so that he can have his first in-game friend, but Dazai is so high level that Atsushi feels pathetic whenever they team up together. But as the game is loading up, Atsushi receives a text from an unknown number.

+81 45 XXX XXXX
hey
open up

Oh no. Is Atsushi about to get robbed? He doesn’t exactly have anything of worth in his dorm, but he can’t afford to have to replenish his measly stock of cup noodles and dollar store snacks. That’s at least thirty dollars he’ll never get back.

Nakajima Atsushi
hello??? who is this
please don’t rob me
im a struggling 18yo
i live off a detective’s salary
so basically minimum wage

+81 45 XXX XXXX
stupid jinko
its akutagawa
whatever
dazai-san gave me a copy of your key
im coming in

Atsushi gapes. “WHA—”

The door opens, and Atsushi scrambles to his feet. There Akutagawa is, wearing his stupid sunglasses indoors and all. 

“I’m here for my credit card,” he informs.

“Of course.” Atsushi nods and runs over to his bag to retrieve it. Spring is only midway, but Atsushi feels a bead of sweat run down his forehead.

When Atsushi returns with the credit card, he notices that Akutagawa is staring at the styrofoam cup of noodles sitting on the counter, mouth pursed with disdain. Atsushi flushes, humiliation glowing beneath his skin.

“I see that you haven’t abused my credit card,” the man comments as he plucks his credit card out of Atsushi’s hands, although it sounds a lot like, I see you’re still as poor as ever.

Atsushi swallows dryly, knees threatening to buckle from how nervous he is. Avoiding eye contact, the boy murmurs out a quiet, “Yeah.”

Then after a beat of silence, it occurs to Atsushi that this would be an opportune time to apologize. Raising his head to look Akutagawa in the eyes, he opens his mouth to apologize: “I’m sorry that I—”

I’m sorry that I don’t feel the same way. 

Atsushi’s mouth goes dry, and he can’t seem to finish the rest of his statement.

He goes to try again, but then—

“Don’t think that I’m weak enough to need an apology, Jinko,” Akutagawa coldly interrupts, pride steadfast in the way he holds his head up high. “I’ve moved on.”

This should be good. Akutagawa has supposedly moved on, and Atsushi never returned his feelings to begin with. This should be a win-win situation, but Atsushi only feels like a loser right now.

Atsushi blinks, gulping down his heart and willing it to go back to where it belongs, lodged deep in his chest. Resolutely, he fixes his eyes onto Akutagawa, takes a deep breath, and says, “I don’t think that you’re weak at all.”

And he means it.

Akutagawa leaves just as fast as he came, but the guilty, red-hot feeling in Atsushi’s gut never leaves. It feels an awful lot like regret.

It takes Atsushi hours to fall asleep that night. He falls asleep thinking about how hurt Akutagawa looked, and how terrible his attempt was at hiding it.

🐾

Life moves on, and things quickly revert to how they were before he started having dinner with Akutagawa.

Everyone at the agency treats him like he just went through a breakup; at least, that’s what Atsushi has collected, since they’re treating him an awful lot like they treated Kunikida after his last girlfriend (whom he professed to be his Ideal Woman) dumped him last Christmas.

Everyone, except Dazai.

Dazai has been giving him the silent treatment ever since the night Akutagawa came to his dorm; hell, the silent treatment would be an understatement. Dazai is pretending that Atsushi doesn’t even exist: he walks straight into him at the agency, gasps that he just felt a ghost bump his shoulder, and whines to Kunikida that they need to hold an exorcism.

It’s been like this for weeks.

Atsushi doesn’t even know why Dazai is mad. It’s not like it’s his friendship that was ruined.

Life isn’t fair. Atsushi is convinced that he went about things in the best way possible. Even if he did feel the same way about Akutagawa (which he doesn’t), what would even come of it? They’d date? The thought of it makes Atsushi sick to his stomach—or makes the butterflies flutter even more rapidly. Either or. They’re both the same when it boils down to it.

Atsushi decides to carry on with life; since their joint missions have stalled, there’s nothing else he can do but carry on as if nothing happened. Whenever he has enough money saved up, he buys crepes for him and Kyouka, buys instant cup ramen and cheap snacks for himself and for Ranpo (who eats junk food because he actually likes it, unlike Atsushi who cannot afford anything else), and dreams of the day he can go back to that all-you-can-eat barbecue restaurant with his own money.

Atsushi decides to carry on with life like it was before Akutagawa, but it doesn’t last long. One April morning at the agency, Atsushi receives a text.

+81 45 XXX XXXX
jinko

Atsushi stares at the message. He never saved the number, but he recognizes it instantly.

Nakajima Atsushi
yes?

+81 45 XXX XXXX
come to lupin bar (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)
ill be waiting ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

Atsushi isn’t an idiot, no matter what everyone says. He looks over at Dazai’s empty desk, reads over the messages again, and groans. It doesn’t take a genius detective to figure out what’s going on.

🐾

Of all the things Atsushi expected to see once he got to the bar—Dazai holding Akutagawa hostage; Dazai playing with Akutagawa’s stolen phone; Dazai doing something—Nakahara Chuuya guarding Lupin’s front entrance was not one of them.

“You actually came,” Chuuya utters, just as surprised as Atsushi.

Atsushi gulps, remembering that this is the Port Mafia executive with the power to destroy all of Yokohama in a heartbeat. He bows, ninety degrees and then some. “I, I did!”

“I can’t believe Akutagawa is sad over you.”

Atsushi blinks. Akutagawa is sad over me?

“He is?” he ends up asking, standing back up straight.

Rolling his eyes, Chuuya walks up to Atsushi. Atsushi has to tilt his head down to face Chuuya directly, but he still feels as frightened as ever.

“You rejected him, right?” Chuuya’s voice is calm, but his eyebrows are crumpled together angrily. Crossing his arms, he taps his foot on the ground, waiting for Atsushi’s response.

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

Atsushi inhales sharply. “I did, and I tried to apologize, but he cut me off,” he defends.

“I didn’t ask for your life story, kid,” Chuuya dismisses, knocking on the door with a frown. “HE’S HERE,” he shouts—before muttering an annoyed, “Shitty Dazai owes me for this.”

“What’s going on?” Atsushi asks, forehead wrinkled, a pout on his lips. “What does Dazai want?”

“Hell if I know. One of the mackerel’s shitty plans. Just go in,” Chuuya replies, already walking off, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Wait—”

“Beat up Dazai when you get around to it, okay? You might not be able to turn into a tiger with him, but a good punch to the gut always gets him,” Chuuya yells as he turns the street corner, leaving Atsushi alone at the bar’s entrance.

Atsushi stands there for a few seconds. He knows that Akutagawa is probably in there, Dazai too, maybe, so he steels up the courage to face both of them.

He turns the doorknob and steps in to see that it’s just Akutagawa, hands tied behind his back, docile as he sits on one of the stools, the entire bar empty.

Atsushi’s cheeks redden. One, because Akutagawa looks awfully cute right now. Two, because Akutagawa is tied up. Atsushi feels his brain start to malfunction, the tips of his ears turning pink.

“Akutagawa?”

Akutagawa lets out an annoyed grumble.

“Did Dazai—?”

“Yes.”

That explains why Akutagawa hasn’t tried to leave, or hasn’t untied the sloppy rope around his wrists.

“And the texts too?”

“Yes.”

Akutagawa’s phone seems nowhere to be found.

Atsushi steps closer, but it only results in Akutagawa glaring at him ferociously. Atsushi finds it hard to be scared, however, what with how obedient Akutagawa is just sitting there.

“Do you want me to untie you?” Atsushi offers.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Is that a no?”

“I said it doesn’t fucking matter, Jinko.”

Atsushi’s eyes narrow. Akutagawa does look uncomfortable, but he’s not exactly being the nicest, so Atsushi decides to leave him be. He can already see the regret forming on Akutagawa’s face.

“Can I go?”

Akutagawa panics. “Wait—”

“Yes?”

Akutagawa presses his lips together, cheeks tinted a soft, stubborn pink. “Dazai-san wants us to talk.”

“If Dazai-san won’t even talk to me in person,” Atsushi starts with a frown, “why is he trying to get us to talk?”

“None of your business, Jinko.”

“Of course it’s my business.”

“Dazai-san has the right to ignore you.”

Of course Akutagawa would be on Dazai’s side.

“Dazai-san isn’t even involved.”

Akutagawa scrunches his nose. “Yes he is.”

Atsushi groans, exasperated. “God, you were right back then,” he grumbles. “I don’t understand what you feel for Dazai-san.”

Akutagawa’s Adam’s apple bobs. “It’s not—” Cough. “Dazai-san said that you thought it’s romantic. It’s not. Romantic.”

“I know that now,” Atsushi mumbles, trying not to stare too much at the way Akutagawa’s cheeks are stained pink; even in the low light of the bar, Atsushi can’t help but obsess over the slight pout of Akutagawa’s lips, all stubborn and prideful.

“I just want him to respect me.”

Atsushi frowns. “He already does.”

“Not as much as he respects you.”

Is that what this is about?

“Dazai-san was different when he met you,” Atsushi tries to rationalize. He’s never really understood Dazai and the way he treats Akutagawa, nor has he ever understood Akutagawa’s unwavering loyalty to Dazai, no matter how shittily he’s treated.

“I don’t need you to explain that to me.”

“Then why am I here?”

“I told you . . . Dazai-san wants us to talk.”

“About what?”

“Dazai-san . . . said that you’re lying.”

Atsushi furrows his brows. “I’m lying?”

Every word that comes out of the older man’s mouth seems forced; Atsushi prides himself for having the patience of a saint to wait for him to respond.

“About—” Akutagawa’s voice is a shy, quick whisper, but Atsushi still hears it. “About how you feel.”

“Dazai-san doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Dazai-san always knows what he’s talking about.”

Atsushi balls his hand up into a fist, angry because he can’t argue against that.

“And how does Dazai-san think I feel?”

“I don’t think you need me to tell you that.”

“I don’t think I have anything to tell you at all.”

Akutagawa purses his lips.

“I’m really sorry, Akutagawa,” Atsushi says, deciding that he should leave soon. He goes to untie the rope around Akutagawa’s wrists, realizing that even though they seem deceptively loose, they’re rather hard to undo. Typical Dazai.

“I’m sorry too,” Akutagawa mutters, rubbing his wrists once they’re finally free. “That you don’t love yourself enough to be honest with yourself.”

Atsushi pauses. “What?”

Akutagawa turns to face the bar instead of Atsushi. “You put your life on the line during every single battle, hoping to gain the right to live, as if someone will grant you that right one day. It makes sense that you fancy yourself as the miserable orphan who isn’t capable of love.” And then, much quieter, much more vulnerable: “I know the type.”

Gritting his teeth, Atsushi holds back the tiger urge to sucker punch Akutagawa. “Fuck you.”

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Akutagawa,” Atsushi growls, not even able to hide the fact that he has no idea how to respond to that, because yeah. Akutagawa is right.

“Leave if you want, Jinko,” Akutagawa says, swiping a bottle of gin and a glass from behind the counter. “I’ve said all I wanted to say.”

“You’re sick in the head.”

“Yeah. At least I’m honest with myself.”

It’s only nine in the morning, but Atsushi feels angrier than he’s been all week. “You’re a liar too, Akutagawa. You said you moved on—”

“And I have.”

“Then why did you let Dazai-san tie you up, steal your phone, and message me to come here?”

Akutagawa takes a drink, glass pressed to his lips. Atsushi feels his neck grow hot. “Because Dazai-san insisted that we needed it.”

“Are you just Dazai’s goddamn puppet?”

“Whatever it takes to get him to respect me.”

“For god’s sake, Akutagawa. He already does.”

The bottom of Akutagawa’s glass clatters against the wood table. “You wouldn’t understand. Everything in life is handed to you.”

Atsushi laughs. “Do you really think that?” he gapes. “I was abused in an orphanage for eighteen years of my life—”

“I’m not a big fan of the suffering olympics, Jinko,” the older man interrupts, giving Atsushi a dismissive and cold glance before revealing, “but I’m an orphan too. The Port Mafia even killed all my friends. Boo fucking hoo.”

Atsushi gulps; he didn’t know that.

He feels like he understands Akutagawa a little better now.

“Dazai-san gave me a place to belong—just like you. Except, unlike you, I had to earn it.”

“If you hate me so much, then why do you—”

“I don’t fucking know, Jinko. I didn’t choose to develop feelings for you,” he bites out rashly.

I didn’t choose to develop feelings for you.

Atsushi’s heart is beating so fast he thinks he might pass out. His heartbeat is all he can hear for the next few seconds. He doesn’t even register the annoyed glare Akutagawa gives him until Akutagawa speaks up.

“Why’ve you gone mute?”

“You—” Atsushi swallows. “You’ve never said that.”

Akutagawa looks even more annoyed. “Said what?”

“That you have feelings for me.”

Akutagawa’s cheeks burn up, flushing pink hot in embarrassment, shame, and anger probably too. “Don’t be stupid. You knew that already.”

“You lied earlier, then. You said that you moved on.”

Ten seconds pass. “Alright. Fine,” Akutagawa concedes, trying to keep his voice as nonchalant and calm as possible. “I lied. You caught me. Happy now?”

“You like me,” Atsushi mutters, awed.

Akutagawa white-knuckles his glass, ears just as pink as his cheeks. “What—did you not believe it? Do you need to hear confirmation to understand?”

Atsushi wipes his sweaty palms on his pants, looking Akutagawa straight in the eye. “I didn’t quite believe it before,” he confesses as sincerely as he can. “It’s, it’s different. Hearing it in person.”

Before, Atsushi knew it, but he didn’t understand it till now. Akutagawa likes him. A few months ago, Atsushi wouldn’t even have thought it was possible for people to even want to be his friend; the thought of someone liking for who he is—and for everything he isn’t—is unfathomable. But Akutagawa does. Akutagawa likes him: a shitty excuse of a human being who struggles to give his existence worth.

After a few moments of stillness, Akutagawa blinks. “Does it change anything?”

Conscious of the fact that he’s been standing up this entire time, Atsushi decides to sit at the stool next to Akutagawa. Slowly, he answers, “I don’t know.”

Akutagawa releases his death grip on his glass. “That’s not my problem.”

After taking in a deep breath, Atsushi chooses to take a risk, to throw all caution to the wind, to completely contradict everything he’s done these past few weeks and completely negate everything he’s said just now.

“It could be.”

A beat. “What?”

Atsushi spent eighteen years of his life playing it safe, and the moment he stopped—the moment he joined the Armed Detective Agency—he got his first taste of what it truly means to be alive.

“It could be your problem too. If you want.”

Akutagawa breathes in sharply. “I thought you were dead-set on lying to yourself.”

“You made a good argument.”

“Really? Is all it took me spelling my feelings out for you? Is that what it took to get it in your puny Jinko brain?”

“I never had a proper education.”

“No shit.”

Atsushi clears his throat. “But I want to figure it out. What it means to—” What it means to love. What it means to love another person. What it means to love myself. What it means to be loved. “Live.”

“Okay,” Akutagawa says, forehead wrinkled, like he’s trying to maintain a look of annoyance. But he seems happy; even Atsushi can see that.

“If you want,” Atsushi starts. “It would be nice if you could help me. Figure it out. Figure out what it means to—” Love. “Live. What it means to live.”

Akutagawa’s pupils darken, eyes lidded. “Are you sure about that?”

“I think so.”

“You think so? That isn’t good enough.”

For the first time in weeks, Atsushi feels lighter than air, heart opening up wide. It feels like something he deserves. 

“I want it. I do. I want you. All of you."

Akutagawa’s eyes blow wide open, and he falls into a massive coughing fit. Atsushi laughs, pink-cheeked like a falling cherry blossom—inconsequential, weightless, and light. If this is what it means to be alive, Atsushi wants to spend the rest of his waking moments chasing this feeling.

“You better not take that back, Jinko.”

“I won’t,” Atsushi says, and he means it.

Akutagawa is trying to hide his smile, but Atsushi can see it: the stubborn and persistent curl of the corners of his mouth, the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips, the pink dip of his Cupid’s bow. Atsushi wants to understand him—all of him.

He means it.

outtakes

“So . . . dinner?”

“It’s nine in the morning, Jinko.”

“You’re drinking gin straight from the bottle.”

“And?”

“Forget I asked,” Atsushi sighs.

“Don’t pout like that. I’ll take you out to brunch.”

A quick beat. Atsushi stares at Akutagawa, doe-eyed, confused, and curious.  “What’s brunch?”

“Oh my god.”

🐾

“Wait, why did Dazai-san even bother tying you up if he knew that you weren’t gonna try and leave?”

Akutagawa stares at him blankly. “Because he thinks you’re secretly a closet pervert.”

“W-What?”

. . .

“Wait. You were okay with being tied up for that?”

Akutagawa just shrugs.