Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Light wrings in through the thin layered curtains, basking a hued light into the steadily flushed apartment. Notifying the world of the incoming morning, folded up futons laid aside as two figures paced around the area- prepping for another calm day of work between the two. Atsushi stands upon the kitchen with two pans set on the stove, oil being poured steadily into one of them. He stifles a yawn that attempts to leave his mouth, pushing aside a carton of eggs in order to reach for the dishware on the rack. The day begins to shine and he basks in the warming light that warms their apartment, a homely feeling of calmness soothes his usual anxiousness as he moves around the kitchen; cracking eggs into one pan while he toasts up some bread in the other.

A simple breakfast for two people, one that he and Kyoka usually share when they decide to sleep in. As if on cue Kyoka exits the bathroom in her usual attire, heading straight for the table set near their window and setting it up for them along with two small cushions on opposite sides.

”Kyoka, can you take the glasses to the table, I’m almost done.” With a short nod she goes to grab the glasses, Atsushi lets a longing smile grace his face before turning back to his current task; scooping up two eggs on each plate he adds the bread on top and takes them to the table. Orange juice is poured into both glasses with chopsticks already laid about- he gives Kyoka her plate first then places his on the table.

Both detectives say their thanks and begin to eat, Atsushi practically begins to devour his meal while Kyoka takes small bites as she prefers to savor her meals. Checking the clock above their shared bathroom, it showed them to have woken up fairly late- usually Kyoka would leave around eight and Atsushi at nine but somehow they have both managed to sleep in thirty minutes more and would probably arrive at the office around ten, he sighs wondering if Kunikida would let their lateness go and not push. His internal dread catches the attention of Kyoka who looks up at him nudging his foot with her calf. ”Is something the matter Atsushi?” Jolting out of his stupor, he shakes his head. ”No! Nope, nothings wrong.” Laughing half-heartedly as he goes back to his last slice of bread, Kyoka nods before getting up with her plate. ”I’ll be going now, i’ll also talk to Kunikida regarding our lateness.”

Watching her wide eyed he slowly sets down his toast, “Are you sure Kyoka? It’s no trouble for me to talk to him.” She shakes her head, he wonders sometimes when Kyoka began to stop relying on him- his heart pangs. ”Don’t worry Atsushi, I’ll see you at the office.” Giving him a small smile she puts on her sandals and leaves- he stares at the door a little longer than he should before looking down at his flimsy excuse for toast.

‘Well I should get going too’ Standing up, he shakes off the soreness in his legs as he begins to prepare for the day. Placing his plate in the sink alongside Kyoka’s cutely decorated one- he remembers when she brought it back on a trip with Naomi and Junichiro, she showed it to him with barely concealed pride in her handiwork.

Atsushi groans, shuffling through his second batch of papers- courtesy of Dazai and his random bouts of disappearances. Overlooking his partner's case files a sudden knock causes Atsushi to look up, the sound of keys jangling and small mutters could be heard outside the apartment. Giving the door an offending look for interrupting his work he also gratefully thanks it for the much needed break, walking over to the offending sound Atsushi makes sure to not push over the piles that laid stack on the small table. His hand closes over the doorknob before pulling it open, outside stood Kyoka, Naomi and Junichiro.

“Hey Atsushi!” Naomi greets him with a small wave, he smiles at her and returns the greeting.

”Hey, did you all have fun today?” The three of them nodded, he glances at Kyoka and notices her fidgeting stance- she looked slightly down concealing her face as bangs fell over the ridge of her nose, both arms postured loosely behind her back. ”Kyoka?” He calls out to her, Naomi huffs and nudges her a bit. Apparently that was all she needed to regain her confidence, gazing upwards Kyoka finally pulls her arms away and lifts up an object, a plate with pink and blue bunnies all around the rim.

”I made a plate…” Atsushi stares at the adorable platter, the bunnies to stare back. ”Me and Naomi decided that today we should try to dabble in art, so we took Kyoka to a pottery shop near Motomachi, they offered a bunch of art stuff including pottery and painting so we decided to do that for today.” Junichiro gestures to the dish, bags strung up on his arms showcasing that they may have both done some of the pottery themselves. Atsushi leans in closer, taking in the image painted in front of him, “Wow Kyoka! I didn’t know you were such an artist!” Placing a hand on her head, he ruffles her messy hair. She gazes up at him and smiles widely, teeth and dimples all on display.

Her smile makes him waver, eyes bright as the sky on a summer night gaze right back at him, Kyoka’s eyes crinkle at the corners showing her true delight and happiness. A sudden rush of melancholia hits him full force, Naomi and Junichiro must have noticed for they both give him uneasy looks- swallowing his woe Atsushi returns the smile and continues to rub her head delicately. He’s happy that Kyoka can finally be a kid, that she can splash into the childlike adventures she deserves- they both give their goodbyes to the siblings.

He displays her plate on the rack

Entering the building complex, he takes the stairs as usual. Soaking in the calmness of Japan's cool summer mornings, Atsushi already dreads the oncoming morning work that Dazai will dump on him per usual, he wishes he could say no but he isn’t the type to ever deny so he’ll just have to deal with his superiors stunts. Atsushi awaits the day's plans, but first he must turn over both his work and Dazai’s over to Kunikida- a sort of ritual the three have gotten used to. Atsushi does his and Dazai’s work before letting the older man check them over, it wasn't something that they used to do in the beginning but ever since Dazai turned in a form that was less than pleasing and quite horrifically descriptive Kunikida decided to enlist the now daily check in. Atsushi winces at the reminder, it was the first time he ever saw Kunikida actually turn red, really red- Dazai didn’t come to work for a week, apparently he was on ‘leave’ but everyone knew Kunikida had something to do with Dazai’s sudden break from work.

Stepping into the Agency, he’s greeted with the same rambunctious noises of chattering and occasional arguing. Ranpo is the first to greet him, a courtesy not even Dazai or Kunikida decided to grace him with even though Atsushi is their work partner- they exchange waves while he walks to his desk.

Kunikida is angrily stamping every paper thrown his way by the brunette, apparently with unyielded delight at seeing the blonde's turmoil. Atsushi lets a small breath of laughter escape him, approaching the desk must have snapped Kunikida out of whatever trance the papers had on him- Adjusting his glasses, the man gives him a short nod.

“Ah Atsushi, good you’ve come, there are two new files on your desk, you can thank Ranpo for them.” He points at the two separate files on the desk, a vacant expression passes through Atsushi's face. The small twitch in his eye seizes to stop as he hands over his files to the man in front of him.

Chaos ensues between his colleagues the moment Atsushi turns tail. He lets his eyes wander to the cases on his desk, taking his time to look them over once seated. Surprisingly neither one spelled out Dazai’s names and Atsushi thanked the gods he wouldn’t have to work overtime- don’t get him wrong, Atsushi doesn’t mind doing his mentors work, if only half the time Dazai didn’t just drop it on him and scurry off to who-knows-where. Yosano says he’s too soft on the man, and maybe she’s right, how could he not?

Dazai is quite pathetic, so screw him for caring!

Sure Dazai saved his life and introduced him to the Agency, bought him clothes and basic supplies- things the orphanage never dared to even bring up. Helped him practice his handwriting, cook things that aren’t chazuke, he even stayed by his side the first few nights.

Those days were filled with warmth, a cacophony of his mentors' weird jokes and horrible cooking skills yet he loved every moment. Atsushi holds him in high regard, each good day with Dazai overwrites the times when he’s a pain- quite frankly he’s already gotten used to it, so Yosano’s input didn’t faze him one bit.

Under his hands, both files laid atop each other. Stickers labeled A2X74 were slapped on both folders, annunciating the very obvious legal case; the bright red labeling in the middle making Atsushi wary. He’s used to very serious cases, even gruesome ones that are always explicitly saved for Dazai and Ranpo, the boss is very meticulous about the cases they receive, which is why certain roles are given to the members; it’s an unspoken rule between them all, yet it doesn’t ever determine a members strength.

Naomi and Junichiro take care of interrogation as well as minor detective work. The siblings spend most of their time in the office just like Yosano, the doctor rarely leaves the agency unless she needs supplies- even so that type of work goes to Kenji or Kyoka. And on occasion their younger members will take on small missions accompanied by either Atsushi or Junichiro, despite that everyone in the agency understands their position; sometimes there will be times like Fitzgerald’s invasion that every member will be put to the test, and during those trials they are all expected to push forward.

It’s no biggie for them, every member acknowledges each other's strengths and faults. One of the reasons why Haruno brought up a new buddy system for everyone, an incessant waving perches through the corner of Atsushi’s eye. Looking up from the file, Ranpo is flagging him down whilst being ridiculously loud- it earns the man a deadpan stare and sigh from Atsushi. Rising from his desk, and shoving away his bag and other materials to the side- he decides to grace his fellow co-worker with his presence.

“Atsushi!” The detective cheerily yelled, his voice carrying on with a purpose to announce his being there to the world, “I got some work for you today, you up for it?” Ranpo says, he voices it like a question; they both know it’s not.

“Yeah I’ve got it covered,” it’s not like he has anything under his belt at the moment, might as well do some hands-on work instead of files, “what’s the job?”

And of course he’s met with a shit-eating grin, Ranpo twirls the lollipop in his mouth.Leaning back with his legs on the table- Atsushi raises an eyebrow at his friend. Ranpo just smiles, “Boss wants you to get materials for the office, here's the paper-” a paper slides over very obviously written by Ranpo, ” everything is written down on there, what we need, some extra requests and snacks obviously.” Taking the paper in hand, he skims it. Tucking the paper into the pocket of his shirt he gives Ranpo a nod, “I should get going now then, I don’t know when I’ll be back but I suppose it depends where I go for the materials…” Atsushi mutters, mostly to himself but Ranpo seems to agree with him.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered!” Atsushi’s addled brain doesn’t perceive the words of his superior until he gives the man an incredulous look, a hand on his shoulder jolts him from his spot- quickly turning his head to catch the sight of purple hair. ”I’ll be joining you on this outing, Atsushi. ” Yosano voices, seeming to revel in Atsushi's spluttering responses, his face flushed at her appearance.

The doctor was dressed in her usual button up with rolled up sleeves, but instead of sporting her usual long skirt she had forgone it and instead replaced the piece with knee length ruffled shorts. She still kept her black stockings and heels but the change was not warranted at all. The shorts gave off an air of summer, which could be one of the reasons Yosano had relinquished her skirt and went for a more comfy piece of attire.

“Ms.Yosano!” Atsushi all but yells, she snorts a laugh at his reaction; she must have found it funny. ”Yes Atsushi?” Her playful gaze leaves him stunned, he murmurs a small ‘nothing’ which she gracefully accepts. Three of them go over the supplies written on the paper Ranpo handed him, for a simple task everyone decided to objectively make it harder- reading off all the supplies they listed almost caused Atsushi to burst a blood vessel. Most of everything was just office materials, cat food for Haruno’s cat Mii- a very adorable feline that Atsushi will to his death deny ever cuddling with on his off days. Majority of the list just being popular brands of snacks that Ranpo has started to eat, lastly medical supplies for Yosano.

They all chose to ignore the messy lettering of ‘canned crab’ scrawled at the bottom of the paper. Atsushi can almost imagine Dazai’s face of anguish when they come back and reveal they didn’t buy what he wanted, it’s an unfair game to play given that they gave into Ranpo’s demands- however Ranpo doesn’t dump his work on Atsushi every day so it’s a heartfelt decision he can live with.

Yosano and Atsushi prepare to depart from the building, the doctor pats his head twice as she heads back into her office with the promise of being quick- all Atsushi can do is give her an off put smile knowing she just lied to his face. If there's one thing Yosano doesn’t do- it’s being quick, she loves taking her time and Atsushi has been a victim to it, when you're on the ER table as your doctor takes their precious time healing you up while you writhe in agony.

It’s not very pleasant

Nowadays Atsushi leaves all the healing to Byakko, during those times he will watch as the others go into Yosano's office with cracked masks not even attempting to hide their horror at letting the woman take a crack at them. He takes great pleasure in watching them walk to their dooms- of course that has garnered him some harsh contempt from them, especially by Junichiro who always finds himself always injured when working with Atsushi- even when on missions he’ll let himself heal in front of his friend before bringing up Yosano. A fun little scare he likes to give him, but without fail he only receives a glare or harsh nudge to his stomach, they always laugh it up afterwards.

〜✶♣✶〜

If someone ever asked him, who would you put your life in the hands of and his only two options were Dazai and Yosano. He’d be better off asking for a third option, Atsushi was warned- he was warned not once, not twice but three times by Ranpo regarding the doctor's atrocious driving but he disregarded it with a small dismissive wave, and now he’s paying the price. Atsushi is currently on all fours, heaving his morning breakfast onto the concrete floor right outside their destination, dragging in strong breaths in order to compose himself from the nightmare fuel that is Yosano’s driving.

The same doctor is currently rummaging through her bag of tools, not even making any movement to check in on him, her only notion being a small handkerchief that she gifted Atsushi after he fell out of the car and promptly threw up. Taking his time on the floor while Yosano’s distracted allows him to simply reconsider the day's venture and what’s to come, their task is fairly simple, just gather supplies for the agency and then return, very quaint, very simple.

There is no way in hell he’s going on another joyride back to the Agency.

Don’t misread him, Yosano is an amazing woman who’s saved his ass countless times and she's very badass. Like if badassery was a person- It’s Ms.Yosano, which is why it breaks his heart to come to the certain conclusion that her driving is on par with Dazai’s. Honestly it could be fundamentally worse, and he would know for by law he has been subjected to Kunikida’s road rage- using his sleeve to wipe the muck of his mouth, Atsushi gets up, though a little wobbly at first he makes it on his own two feet.

Noticing the still sound beside him, Atsushi turns to see Yosano watching him with an air of regale, he tries to laugh it off at first but she already starts to walk away. Walking to the shopping center, they are met with various stores underneath the half dome reading ‘Yokohama-Bashi’ Crossing into the threshold, immediately Yosano heads towards the stores farther back, his only guess for their first stop being the medical shop. Both trudge forward, multiple vendors standing outside of their stores preaching offers and showing their newest products and what-not, he’s not fully paying attention instead staring straight ahead as to not attract any of the district blood-hounds. Atsushi watches as people attempt to close in on Yosano only to be turned away with a shake of her head or palm, others seem to steer clear of the doctor- he pins it on the fact that she’s a frequent face around the area. Yosano loves to shop, especially with the girls and Ranpo, every once in a while she gives Atsushi a warning or a call about her having a girls day and needing Kyoka- she asks like he has a say in which spoiler alert he never does.

During those days he’s either cooped up in the office or Junichiro decides they should hang out themselves, Atsushi knows the truth regarding Jun’s sudden declarations of ‘Let’s have a boy’s night!’ It's always because he’s jealous of Naomi. Unlike Naomi, Jun is not outgoing at all, Atsushi would say that the ginger's only friends happen to be Kenji and him which intermittently also means Atsushi is a loner as well- sure the Agency members all get along, some would even say they're all like a big happy family! But being a big happy family comes with a price.

No respect for privacy, fights- all the time, stolen belongings and don’t even get him started on their chores. Assigned chores might Atsushi add that in some way or another are swapped around like a game of shell, there's been an instance or two where the boss himself had to interfere after his stash of alcohol went missing, because of Dazai specifically.

Another bag fall’s into his possession, the handles igniting a burn in the crook of his arms as they slide around. Yosano’s heels click incessantly against the marble flooring as they cross into another store, this one being a sweets shop. Somehow the doctor had taken Ranpo’s note from him and is looking through the various indecisions scribbled on the paper, he watches as her eyebrows furrow and she brings the paper closer to her face. “I swear someday I'm gonna take Ranpo’s blood pressure and see it shot,” she hisses under her breath.

“So Atsushi, how was your mission with the rabid dog.” Yosano asks offhandedly, during the start of his time working with Akutagawa, Atsushi might have jostled at the question, probably even would have started a rant about the mafiosos rude manners and such- however he’s learned not to make a big deal out of it. Everyone knows how unpleasant Akutagawa can be towards another, Dazai being the exception in his own mysterious way, somehow it always comes back to his mentor.

“It was a success, we were able to capture the ability user- regardless I somehow ended up losing a leg,” his nose scrunches upwards, reminded of the unpleasant experience once more, “and it’s no thanks to Akutagawa.” Atsushi grumbles earning him a short laugh from the woman. He would even cross his arms for show, the only problem being the bags that block his actions, “Well kid, Fukuzawa said it was a tough mission. I'm surprised you were able to even catch him- read the case and he had a seriously dangerous ability.” Her tone sounded pleased as she plucked a bag of gumdrops off a shelf before dropping it into the shopping cart.

Atsushi hummed in reconciliation, “He was a really tough opponent, Byakko did not like that guy whatsoever, She saved my ass like three times from being stabbed.” Rounding the corner, they stop in front of another selection of candies from South America- many depicting various chilies on they’re logos.

A song plays through the store's speakers, one of the more popular ones that Naomi and Haruno listen to- everyone in the agency prefers jazz or something older. Even Kyoka herself. “All’s well that ends well Atsushi, but a sand ability?” She blows a raspberry, shaking her head at the same time, “sounds rough as hell.” another bag falls into the cart, “Yeah, he was kinda weird though. Went on and on about redemption and all that stuff, started pissing Akutagawa off the more we fought.”

Yosano picks up a bottle of candied juice, the label reading candy apple. She inspects the swirling colors of brown and green- they share a look and grimace at the blend of artificial flavors, “It looks like shit.” Both detectives voice at the same time, a smile is shared before they double over in laughter. “It really does! Who even came up with that?” Atsushi slaps his chest a few times to stop the stream of giggles, Yosano huffs a final breath, “Honestly, the labeling has got to be one misleading concept.” Placing the bottle back, Yosano reels the cart towards the empty cash register- paying the items as Atsushi bags them and heaves them onto his already growing piles of bags.

Leaving the shop they come across a few other newly opened stores, some non recognizable from their former ones, it gives him a sense of nostalgia- watching things change slowly over time. One can’t be too sentimental seeing time fly, Atsushi makes a haste stop in front of one of the newly opened areas, where there used to be a cute clothing parlor now houses an antique shop. Figurines gather at the open window, lined up in rows showcasing the odd little things- many depicting small animals doing tricks or playing dress up, it makes him wonder if Kyoka is into these types of things. Over the months he’s taken guardianship over the girl, all of her expenses fell onto him including small little toys or clothes she would ask for. At first Kyoka rarely asked for anything, seeming content with just being fed and having a roof over her head- but slowly she began to come out of her shell and with that came the courage she would muster up everytime she wanted something- whether it be clothes, food or things to decorate the apartment with.

Not surprisingly Atsushi’s wallet would always take a harsh hit, makes him wonder sometimes if the pay was worth it or not, then comes the slight memory that he has no school or work experience to function outside of the Agency. Nonetheless he does remember the small army of plushies Kyoka has gathered over time, slowly taking up space within the closet of their home.

Still he regards a certain figure, two bunnies skipping over a grass landscape, one holding an outstretched arm or paw? Towards a red balloon, while the other bunny is gazing at the balloon held in between the delicate fingertips of her friend. Both bunnies are dressed in casual attire, the first one in a blue button up with no pants and the other in a red dress with a bow perched at the base of her left ear.

It’s cute, maybe Kyoka would like it.

Yosano calls for him from farther into the halls, he hears the impatient tapping of her heels, so much for enhanced hearing- it may have it’s advantages but god does it become annoying over time. He calls back, slightly jogging to where his friend is.

Both begin to descend further into the back of the shopping center, an area most know to never cross for it leads straight into the alleyways, an area known for its violence and rule breaking, earning it the cringey name of Death Alley, very unimpressive in his humble opinion. Personally Atsushi has only been in the back once, and that was with Junichiro when both decided to see what was up with the area- well news flash it’s called Death Alley for a reason apparently. Not even 5 minutes in, they got jumped. Jumped. By a bunch of wannabe thugs from who knows where, it was a pain having to explain to Kunikida why they looked like shit, not to mention the report they had to write- and the added ones as a form of punishment!

Surveying the area filled with raunchy pin up posters and the occasional propaganda nothing seemed out of the ordinary, some boarded up stores as well as well maintained ones, people loitering around probably from lower crime rings, but what stood out the most to him was how everybody in their vicinity avoided even making eye contact with the two. Every single person stuck to the walls, they wavered from their spots- tracking them as they fell into step farther away from the main plaza, glancing at the doctor beside him he finally figured out why.

A smug smirk is etched onto her face, the corners twitching whenever someone even moves out of place. That would explain why the people were avoiding them like the plague, how they all scattered around them as she walked with unbridled elegance- not paying them a second of attention as her gaze stared straight ahead- unwavering. Though most didn’t even try to stick around as they made their way further into the depths, the alleyways made a sudden appearance.

Seems like they have some common sense not to loiter further into Death. Yosano tips her head to the side, “Atsushi, how have the meds been working for you?” she says hesitantly, her eyes fleeting back and forth between him and the unappealing road. So they were gonna have that talk, the one that always makes his stomach go into knots at the mention of his rather productive dreams- “They’ve been working fine,” they have not, “it’s been a while since i’ve had a good sleep until you prescribed me those.” Atsushi thoughtfully licks his dry lips, the attempt at refreshing his mouth does not go unnoticed. Well he’s also not half wrong, lately he’s been getting in a good solid eight hours of sleep- five if he tries to pull an all-nighter, three if he forgets to take them.

Yosano hums, her face flickering in doubt. Something seems to be bothering the doctor and so he doesn’t push, “I’ve been told by Kyoka you’ve been getting up rather suddenly in the middle of the night.” the walls begin to enclose around them the closer they get to the back, “She’s stated it’s become quite worrisome,” hook, “I understand if you don’t want to keep talking about it, but I am your doctor Atsushi.” Yosano whirls around to face him, bags swinging to a halt as she stops inches from his face, “I need to know if there are any changes in your mood or schedule so I know when to interfere, you may feel like i'm intruding into you personal life-” line, “but please know that I am just interested in your well-being.” The older doctor gives him a- no his sister gives him a soft smile, placing a hand on top of his shoulder- tender and guiding.

Sinker

Abruptly Atsushi’s head snaps upwards, looking around with frightening precision, his sudden movement startling Yosano, yet her hand never leaves his shoulder.

“Atsushi?” She calls out urgently, sensing something is amiss she too starts to look around. The cold metallic smell wafts all around them, a familiar smell- blood. “Atsushi talk to me, what's wrong?” He’s shaken once more, a tad bit harshly but it’s enough to garner his attention.

Yosano is looking at him, her brows furrowed and lips pinched in between her teeth. “Blood.” Is all he musters under his breath, watching the doctor’s face go from worried to determined, she gives a sharp nod, “Take me to it.” Both run off into a sprint with Atsushi in the lead, they run farther into the alleyways as passerbyers look on in confusion- he looks around attentively trying to pinpoint where the smell is becoming stronger, his weretiger senses allowing him to be more clear-cut on where to stop. Which is how he finds himself in one of the many paths shrouded in darkness, if the blood on the floor didn’t speak volumes- the grunts heard did.

Both members share a look of suspicion, an assault is voiced through the alleys; taunts thrown around half-heartedly.

“Little boy thinks he’s the shit!.” A startling voice, a familiar one.

“Don’t heckle him! Let’s just go, we won’t get anything out of this.” A voice whispered harshly, urgency etched into their every vowel.

“At this point, he won’t redeem himself,” The voice sang, “lamb oh lamb, stuck so far down, can’t get up!”

“You eejit! We have got to go now!” Definitely a foreigner, one that somehow has come to cause trouble.

Atsushi’s eyes swept through the darkness, his vision switching to Byakko’s- one person is crouched on the ground, heels sustaining them from tipping over while two others stand before them cloaked in well- worn robes. They seem to be conversing, the one on the ground losing their temper as seen with their erratic movements, they also have a grasp on their side. Atsushi can’t see any blood from where he’s at, but the smell alone tells him that a battle was procured. Shifting slightly to the side, he gestures Yosano to hide behind the wall on his left, both swiftly doing so. He hasn’t deemed it safe to move, interfering head on would be a gamble, also taking into account the injured individual- they had to find a way around. Maybe a distraction? He can scale the wall while Yosano makes herself known, she’s a skilled combatant, could even possibly take on the two herself, but that would also leave her vulnerable. She could heal herself, sure, but only if she is close to death which would put her at a disadvantage.

Well, they could also just go straight in and kick ass.

Catching the doctor's attention, he motions towards the pathway. Phantom words are exchanged, Atsushi drops the bags quietly on the floor and he begins to scale the wall- looking back only once to see Yosano pulling out a cleaver from her medical bag. Partially transformed he has to be extra careful, one wrong move and he’ll meet the floor face first. Be that as it may he makes quick work of his trip topside, briskly throwing himself over the ledge and landing on his hands and feet.

Keeping his body low to the floor, ready to pounce once Yosano has made herself known, he positions himself near the ridge of the injured being, no sound leaves his body. Just like a predator stalking their next unsuspecting target, he waits. Atsushi remembers how much Dazai and Naomi have voiced their displeasure at Atsushi’s ability to be as silent as possible, they’ve called it ‘Soul Search’ his apparently unique ability to grasp someone’s soul like a snake, coiling around them until it is too late to escape. Atsushi won’t deny that hearing them talk about it doesn’t fuel his ego, but the name is downright horrible, couldn’t they have come up with something cooler?

There are times where Atsushi forgets how quiet he is, he’ll only notice when someone yelps in surprise or drops something, before they turn and begin to scold him for startling their daily routines. Not really his fault to begin with, he’s too cat like- or err tiger like for his own good, may come in handy when he’s on stealth missions or just to take the piss out of Dazai, but during a few instances it can be alot. Which is why it only ever happens when he’s in a deep zone, where everything else is just background noise, and it’s just him, Byakko and whatever poor fella he’s locked into- yeah well maybe his friends weren’t exaggerating when they said he becomes a bit too creepy for their liking.

Yosano, as suspected, is taking her sweet time. The voices in the alley have quieted down, no more fighting, just very colorful words being exchanged between buddies. One of the voices down there sounds suspiciously like a certain ginger headed mafioso, he won’t question it, no he just won’t. Doesn’t mean he won’t take into account that they might, just might run into someone from the port mafia.

Anyways all hands on deck, might as well help the very overpowered criminal, wouldn't change a damn thing for them.

Eye’s locked on the sufferer’s below him, he prays Byakko won’t go crazy. She can get out of hand if he doesn’t have a tight grip on her, giving his regards to Yosano- he bids their time.

The glint of metal swings into position, heels scratch over gravel, he waits- eyes lock onto startled figures.

All hands on deck, Atsushi leaps.

Chapter Text

Jumping into action Atsushi strikes the first person that crosses his field of vision. The unknown assailant leaps back as his claw meets the ground, cracking the pavement that would have definitely knocked out the robe-clad individual. Pushed back, the assailant regains their balance, narrowly missing another swipe of Atsushi’s claws as they leap to the left. Clicking his tongue in annoyance, Atsushi steps back to meet his opponent, the person in front of him heaves in a heavy breath. Likely because of Atsushi’s sudden appearance, he gave no time for the stranger to recuperate.

Atsushi watches carefully, positioning himself between the attacker and the person behind him who might just be the mafioso Chuuya Nakahara.

Laughter echoes through the alley, a deep reverberating voice etched into Atsushi’s ears- so much for enhanced hearing. The unknown figure, hunches over as giggles spill from their lips, wasting no time Atsushi jumps back into the fray, mindfully keeping Yosano’s position in mind. She’s off to his left fighting hand in hand with the other attacker- so far both are keeping up with eachothers speeds, but there's no saying when one of them will overpower the other. Moving quickly, Atsushi aims another attack towards them, twisting his body to give his leg enough momentum for a precise kick to the abdomen. Unfortunately the assailant notices, he dodges backwards- they stop only a few inches from him.

The stranger makes direct eye contact with him, causing Atsushi’s breath to halt in his throat. The man smiles coyly. “Well if it isn’t the feisty little cub,” he teases lightly, “didn’t think I’d see you again, but here we are!” Arms spread apart, they gestured widely to the filthy alley. Atsushi sneers, keeping himself at a safe width, “You’d imagine that wouldn’t you.” He drawled dryly.

The man shrugs, unmoved by his words. “Wasn’t shooting for it either,” they remove their hood, auburn hair spills out, “Doesn’t mean it’s not pleasant.” He shoots him a sharp grin.

“How did you escape Kobo?” Atsushi snaps, his patience limited. Kobo lifts a scarred eyebrow- “Didn’t your mother ever tell you it's not nice to pry.” Atsushi winces at the jab, he hadn’t expected that the same man he just finished capturing would be back for seconds. It also pegs the question on how they could’ve possibly escaped, he remembers the special division taking extra care to secure him tightly before they left. Ango even reassuring them that Kobo would be dealt with and sent to Meursault, now he’s gonna have to write a report and talk to the counselor.

What a shit show

Kobo stares idly at him, either waiting for a response or cue for him to continue. Kobo smiles at him, this time softly, as if he means no ill will towards Atsushi. “You know,” he says slowly, “I understand you were doing your job, to be honest I should’ve killed you back then.” He picks at the unseen skin on his nails, milky glazed eyes peering at him under hooded eyes, “But I thought to myself.”

Kobo’s gaze examines him from top to bottom, taking their time to see what Atsushi can’t. Atsushi freezes, wheezes can be heard behind him- grunts of exertion too. The man before him finishes, letting their arm drop back; he looks vacantly at Atsushi. He has no pupils, just blank milky white irises- its fucking creepy. They hold an intense feeling of bloodlust, Kobo claims that he holds no ill intent yet doesn’t even attempt to hide the burning frustration thrumming through his veins- it was a battle of wits. Kobo was challenging him, basically begging him to make the first move, to give him a reason to kill and Atsushi was not gonna grant him that disgusting pleasure. He’s played his fair share of games with Dazai and Kyoka, he knows these types of matches to understand that there is no out.

“What good is there to contain just another mutt?”

Or maybe he's dead wrong, Kobo hastily throws himself at Atsushi, startling them into action. Claws meet dainty sand, the shade a mix between iron and gold, Kobo flicks his wrist sending a wall of gravel to separate them. Moving his body at the last minute, Atsushi sprints around the wall- swiping at the man's arm. They both jump back, Kobo summons spikes of sand before hurtling them at Atsushi.

Stepping in closer, he dances around the assault, only minimally receiving a scrape or two. Atsushi launches himself forward, another sharp swipe of sand appears, striking him in his side and sending him skidding on the floor. Jumping back to his feet, Atsushi pivots his right foot behind him, hurling himself back into the fray. They both dodge and aim hits, Kobo receives a nasty cut to his arm- pulsing fat and dripping with blood. The smell alone fills the air, Atsushi would have expected the man to back away after that particular hit, instead it seems to fuel him even more.

Kobo snarls as he summons more curved attacks at him, Atsushi swivels to the left as another slice is aimed at his shoulder- likely to disable the use of his arm. He throws two harsh punches at the man's face- his head snapping back like a bobblehead. The imagery would have been quite funny if he wasn’t wincing at every gash that littered his body. A particular yank of his hair pulls him out of his haze, Kobo holds an iron-clad grip on his head, lifting up what seems to be a spike he drives it into Atsushi’s shoulder. He screams in pain, pulling himself free and losing strands of hair in the process.

“What! Kitty can’t handle a little fun?” Kobo mocks, shaking their hand free of Atsushi’s poor locks. A sudden pain shoots up his leg, unable to hold himself up any longer Atsushi drops to one knee- looking down he can now tell where the random throb came from. One of Kobo’s spikes has embedded itself into his right calf, slowly inching in deeper- Kobo holds one hand up, clenched in a fist that slowly tightens meaning the spike in his leg is digging inwards. He attempts to free himself of the thorn, keeping a hand wrapped around it, Atsushi pulls- still it does not budge.

So now he’s handicapped, his ears start ringing, blood begins to leave his body at an alarming rate. Byakko whines in distress, his leg can’t fully heal unless he removes the spike- so he decides to leave it in. Every moment is pain, “I’ll fucking kill you.” Atsushi bares his teeth, bloodied and cracked from all the blows exchanged between the pair. His eyes widen in a crazed frenzy, Byakko keeps calling but he shuts her out- black bleeds into white making his already unique eyes brighter in the dim lighting. Kobo only offers a lazy smirk, twirling his hand in an inviting flourish, testing the waters to see what Atsushi’s next move will be. “Don’t tell me you're already tired,” holding an outstretched hand, Kobo makes a show of slowly closing it, “I’ve barely even worked up a sweat!”

His strained smile clearly says otherwise.

“Fuck you!” Atsushi runs forward, slamming a fist into his gut.

Kobo audibly yelps, he notices his slight stumble when he lands the hit. Much too late to defend, Atsushi releases a barrage of punches- sloppily aiming everywhere not hesitating. If he hesitates then an opening will come forth- and he will not let that happen. Kobo falls on the floor, and Atsushi follows- he straddles their waist, keeping them from moving, punch after punch after punch he lets them rain over the man- they flail in desperation, coughing up blood during every turn. Kobo would not make a fool out of him, he captured the man once and he can do it again- the pain has become a numbing feeling, his fists burn coldly- and sweat wracks up on his forehead. Every hit has Atsushi gasping for air, the cool breeze coming over him in freeing delight, gore descending on his face and clothes- painting the floor beneath him in a shade of crimson.

Colorless eyes freeze in fear as he drops another smack, Kobo scratches at his arms leaving crooked gashes, they leak. He can hear alarms going off in his head- but he can’t stop, underneath him is no longer a person, instead there lies a monster.

He can hear the taunts and jabs, the yells and laughs.

Every moment is agonizing, flesh has never looked so appealing under his nails. Kobo must be in pain, yet he’s gone quiet, only slight twitches appearing here and there. Atsushi can hear his own labored breathing, his knuckles bruised and bloody are all he can see. Someone is calling him, it’s not Kobo, it can’t be.

Did he kill him?

Atsushi stops. His right fist hangs in the air, shaking- his vision swims in distortion and colors, trying to make out the puddle of meat underneath him. He can hear Byakko again, she’s crying, his arms are no longer transformed- they haven’t been for a while he notices. The skin is scraped off, flesh peeling over the back of his hand, ichor drips steadily onto the clothes below him. A steady pull drags him down, euphoria easing out of his body.

What has he done?

Oh this can’t be real, he would never. Atsushi slowly pats at the body beneath him- feeling every little crevice of the man's chest. Trying to find something- a pulse- maybe a cough- even a tiny whisper of anything, anything! Instead all that greets him is an unmoving torso, doused in a mix of everything, Kobo’s blood, Atsushi’s tears- some dirt and sand. He tries to find his voice, forcing a sound to escape his clogged throat- rather embarrassingly he falls into a coughing fit.

He hunches over abruptly, arms wrapped around him in comfort, his throat is very dry- parched even.

Shame creeps up on him- was Yosano watching? He keeps his eyes trained on Kobo, watching the stuttering rise and fall of his chest. Maybe he could save him, try and minimize the injuries before calling up Ango. He’s gonna have to figure out what to say to them, explain everything- and what would the Agency think? Oh the Agency! What the hell is he gonna do now, they won’t let it slide, Kunikida definitely won’t. And Yosano will be there too to testify as well- they won’t want him anymore.

He’ll be useless to them. They won’t want a monster, not one like him. He knows Dazai could barely tolerate the beast that lays inside him, now they’ll think he’s a danger to Kyoka. She’s gonna be taken from him, he doesn’t want that. He can’t- Atsushi gasps softly.

He can’t be alone, not with her-

“Atsushi!”

Snapping his head upright, he turns to the voice. Robes blind him as he’s pushed off Kobo, falling away a few feet from the duo he lets out an agonizing gasp, clutching his stomach Atsushi doubles over. He lays on the ground seizing at nothing, one hand wrapped around his midsection- warmth blooms under his fingertips. The spike in his leg has long dissolved into nothingness. He blinks back into consciousness, the pain increasing tenfold as he pushes himself back up onto his feet. Wobbling from side to side, his attention is drawn to the men in front of him.

Both have removed their hoods, one of the assailants is hauling the other over their shoulder. Now that his vision is clear and not muddled, Atsushi winces at the sight. Kobo’s face has been made into puree, one of his eyes swollen- and sharp new scars litter his face, mixing in with old faded ones and possibly reopening others. Cracked blood clings to their unruly hair, sticking to his face- he can even see a few chunks of skin hanging off as they move, bile makes itself known in Atsushi’s throat, all he can do is stare in horror at what he’s done. How could he even let himself do this, Atsushi prides himself in self control- even when the orphanage would test it every living moment he has never broken under the pressure.

Could it have been Byakko? No it couldn’t have, she was practically begging him to stop at first before he silenced her.

The man Yosano was fighting seemed to be in his mid 20’s, green eyes contrasting with his pale unmarred skin, Atsushi can almost say he’s jealous. He has a noticeable beauty mark on his chin- black hair splitting at the middle- coveting the sides of his face. Those same hauntingly beautiful eyes seize onto him- he wears an expression akin to fear, though there lays a hint of sorrow. They fleet back and forth between him and Yosano, like a cornered dog waiting for its chance to attack.

He hesitantly gapes, mouth opening and closing.

“It don't ‘ave to be this way…” He murmurs, his soothing voice holds an undeniable accent.

They hold out one hand defensively, “Ya don’t ‘ave to do this, I know we ‘ave lost eh bit of our heads, but let us go and we wahn’t cause trouble.” He says to them.

Yosano approaches cautiously, her large cleaver laid on her shoulder lazily. “No can do, you stepped into our territory and caused trouble for us,” She shakes her head, “we can’t let you both run off now.” Both Agency members share a look, the option was to fight but Atsushi was in no shape or form capable at the moment and the doctor has noticed. Nakahara still sat on the floor, scrutinizing their every move, yet he made no action to signify he was going to interfere. He actually looked worse for wear, his face was sickly and he would stutter out a breath every minute- likely holding them in to alleviate the pain of their wound.

The man heaves out a sigh.

“I can ‘anhly warn ye,” he nods over to Atsushi, “its goin te get worse fah yer friend ova there.”

Atsushi furrows his brows in confusion, Yosano having the same question in her eyes. She hastily makes her way over- displeasure etched into her movements. She didn’t take too kindly to the man's threat, “I suggest you worry about your own friend.” She replies coldly, the grip on her weapon clenching tightly. “You are to surrender yourself to the Special Division, unless you want another round with me.” Atsushi concurs she must've won her end of the battle, only slight marks blemishing her blouse. She still handles herself with poise, even as exhaustion seeps into her- noticeably because her shoulders sag under the weight of the cleaver. Yosano doesn’t relent nor does she make any sign of coming closer, they both hold a decent amount of ground with the two figures between them, granted they still have cover up top- but Kobo is far too injured to use his ability. “Look we ‘ad eh job, it was grand fightin’ ya missus but I can’t let you take dis lad, if ya do- it’s me ‘ead in de gutter and i'm quite knackered if you can tell.” They emphasize with their free hand, casually repositioning Kobo by bridal carrying them- the man whimpers.

A tinge of remorse hits Atsushi, he did kinda fuck the him up because he let himself get carried away. Kobo may be a criminal but even he doesn’t deserve a fragment of the pain he was dealt with- Yosano’s eyes widen alarmingly, she swings her cleaver and dashes forward. Yelling at him to do the same, Kobo and his assailant glow in an ominous light- rendering Atsushi’s eyes sightless. He attempts to shield himself from the gleaming glare. Hues of brown and white blend together, plunging into the light he grits his teeth at the sharp sting in his leg- he worries at the fact it hasn’t healed yet. During the time he had Byakko should’ve already fixed him up, good as new.

The man still stands there, unnerved by the glow- they look at Atsushi one more time, a frown gracing their face. “I'm sorry fer what you’re about to go thru lad, I can ‘anly wish ye best of luck. Seek me out over a nice drenk- I ‘eard Yokohama ‘as eh splendid selection.” Both criminals disappear in a show of glittering colors- their bodies dissolving into thin air. Atsushi slows his pace watching them in shock- his mouth hung. He can hear Yosano cursing in the background- she sounds irritable, pacing around the dirty alley before making her way over to the executive.

The man's words replay in his head, things are gonna get worse for him but he can only ask how?

Only time will tell

〜✶♣✶〜

The ride back to the Agency was a quiet affair, it took a lot of coaxing from both Atsushi and Yosano to convince Nakahara to travel with them back to headquarters. He was reasonably weary, didn’t care about the alliance at all- during the fight Nakahara had pinched his wound closed with his ability, it answered Atsushi’s question on why the bleeding had long stopped. While for him, he still stayed injured- Byakko hadn’t made herself known after he let her back in, he tries to rationalize that she’s angry at him, for pushing her away. And he feels bad for it, she only wanted to help but instead he hurt her, Yosano had asked him beforehand if he was okay. He couldn’t muster up a response- only nodding jerkily. She fortunately let him go with a pat on his cheek, agitating the small scrapes on his face. During the entire exchange none spoke a word, even small talk wasn’t exchanged- it could be because of the awkwardness of the three of them hobbling over to the parked vehicle, passerbyers eyeing them warily as they drove off. For all that, he had expected at least for Yosano and the mafioso to chatter, Atsushi was quite content with just sitting in the back and watching the buildings pass by- instead he’s being tortured by the tension hanging in the air.

Yosano had called earlier to ask the president to move all members to the meeting room under the guise of a mission, she asked on behalf of Nakahara who adamantly insisted he didn’t wanna be seen with them- let alone let it be known that he was injured and needed to rely on the Agency for help. Seems the man has a lot more pride that he’s not willing to taint, every jostle of the car irritated Atsushi’s wounds, he’s pretty sure the car seats are now dirtied because of him and he’s gonna need to go shopping for another shirt. He’d been thinking about abandoning the whole concept of button ups and opting for a stretchier material, one that wouldn’t break under his ability- and even if a few rips appeared he could sew them up neatly.

Save on money he could use for Kyoka and household necessities.

Two birds with one stone

They’d arrived at the Agency and made quick work of taking the elevator, the stairs were a big nope- the three of them had grimaced when they looked between the two modes of transportation. Cramming into the elevator- Yosano punches the buttons harshly. Her jaw clenched so tight he can practically hear the grinding of her teeth. It appears that Kobo and his friend have gotten under her skin- even during the car ride she drove more so worse than earlier. Yosano wasn’t one to get angry- irritated sure, but never mad. It’s one of the things he liked about her, whenever someone fucks up at the Agency- she never resorts to scolding, she would chastise them before sharing a good laugh and allowing them to go on their merry way, one of the main reasons she was dubbed the icebreaker among them. The title used to go to Ranpo, but slowly he stopped caring and instead would stroke the flames of competition among his peers, he once or twice even started up a betting pool which nobody in their right mind participated in.

All the winnings would go to the detective anyways.

Slowly reaching the Agency’s door, Yosano makes quick work of putting a finger to her lips- a silent plea to stay quiet. Atsushi nods while the mafioso gives a small grunt in response, the ginger’s arms crossed over him tiredly. She unlocks the door quietly as possible, only slight creaks accompanying them as they tip-toe over to Yosano’s health ward, she rushes in pulling both men in with shocking strength and locking the door.

The doctor points at them to sit on the medical beds, giving a quick once over at Nakahara before moving onto Atsushi. Hastily gathering her supplies and placing them on her medical tray, she starts with the mafioso- who puts up a fight. He can see Yosano’s right eye twitching at the man's antics, and Atsushi covers his mouth to stifle a laugh.

The mafioso tugs his blazer protectively over his midsection, “Im fine, I already fixed it so stop hassling me!” Nakahara leans away from the hand in front of him.

Yosano just sighs, eyes cinched shut and pinching the bridge of her nose, “Nakahara I just wanna check your injury, you say you took care of it but using your ability to forcefully shut it is not proper!” The doctor crosses her arms and flings one leg over the other, watching the man incredulously, “Let me check it over, I don’t even have to touch it. Then you can leave and forget this ever happened." She speaks in a tone, one typically used for kids. Nakahara scrunches his nose in distaste, “Or!” the man starts off, “you can give me some meds and let me go.” the ginger shakes his free hand- adding a little pizzazz to his words.

Yosano raises an eyebrow.

“No one’s keeping you here?” She retorts, and is met with a face full of doubt.

“Eh.”

“No one is forcing you to stay here.” Yosano accentuates with small pauses, she places a carefully manicured hand over her medical tray- giving a small shove to roll the cart away. “Or should I rephrase it like this-” she stands up, smoothing her shorts out. Making her way to the door she unlocks it before looking back at the mafioso- he quickly contorts his expression of confusion to a blank slate. “You are free to leave, but as a doctor I recommend you stay so I may check over your injuries.”

Both lock eyes, one full of skepticism and the other of indifference. Atsushi can only sweep between them- he plays with his fingers nervously. On one hand Atsushi would be relieved if the executive left, he can’t quite place where his mistrust of the man began- but him being affiliated with the Port Mafia was one reason alone. While on the other hand, he wouldn’t want the man to trek back to his territory while injured, many things could go wrong for him and then if something did happen to the man- Atsushi would become a ball of ridden guilt for not stopping him. He debates whether he should speak up, whatever enmity Yosano and Nakahara are having can wait- he’s also in a tad bit of pain so being fixed up by Yosano would be the most preferable situation for him.

Atsushi crooks his neck to the side, he nips at his lip, “Mr.Nakahara?” he calls for, trying his best to keep the wobbling out of his voice but promptly fails. His voice cracks into a high pitch at the end, Atsushi’s face flushes when the man stiffly looks at him.

Nakahara stares at him with barely concealed dislike. It only serves to make Atsushi shrink in on himself- the man looks at him like all the others. Namely like a fucking pest. “I think it would be best if you let Ms.Yosano check on your injury.” Nakahara’s eyes darken, and Atsushi scrambles to find his voice again, “Not because of anything necessarily bad! To be honest if you let her fix you up then you’ll be in good shape to leave, I guess it’ll also benefit us because it’ll show that we're still holding up our end of the alliance…” Atsushi continues, his impromptu reasoning coming out of his ass- he doesn’t know whether he fucked up or not because now the man beside him is just straight up glowering. If looks could kill- Atsushi would be dead and buried six feet underground.

Which is still a possibility, but he has a good feeling that it won’t happen yet.

Atsushi wets his lip, waiting rigidly atop the medical bed.

Nakahara has yet to say anything. The man still sitting defensively- his eyes switching between him and Yosano before letting out a small huff. He lifts his hands up in surrender- Nakahara tilts his head in consideration, the look of a man with no other options he gives in. “Fine,” he says breathly, “you can look me over, but the moment you're done I'm outta here.” Yosano wastes no time getting to work- she locks the door again before using her foot to pull back the abandoned tray.

Nakahara steadily starts removing articles of clothing, first his blazer then his button up. He also takes great care of setting his hat behind him. Atsushi lets himself slouch in relief, he was so sure the mafioso was gonna just walk out- not even to look back in scrutiny. He watches Yosano inspect the wound- the skin a raging red with bruises forming. Yosano clicks her tongue, “You sure as hell tried to close it.” She turns to her tray and puts on some fresh gloves.

Plucking a few medical wipes and numbing spray she starts the process, “And you did a pretty good job, but you also ruptured the blood vessels.” She explains whilst wiping down the area meticulously. Nakahara doesn’t wince nor shy away from the touch, though he does hold a slight grimace. “The skin is already starting to tear which means you’ll need stitches.” Nakahara breaths a frustrated sigh, “Well I didn’t have the time to go to a doctor so I decided on becoming one today.” He snaps back.

Yosano snorts and shakes her head- a sadistic glint in her eyes.

“Yeah well we all become one someday, whether to fix up a scraped knee or staple our scars back together.” She responds, like someone dwelling on the past. “The difference between you and I though-” her hands weave towards a fresh needle, prepping it for impact, “- I have healed thousands of men, brought most back to life from scraps, eased their woes as they dredged down the wrong path.”

She tilts her head, the needle slowly puncturing through tanned skin. “However I don’t really do hands on anymore.” Atsushi glances through his peripheral vision, Nakahara sits motionless, the mafioso silently watching Yosano do her work- his face unreadable but his eyes shining in something Atsushi can’t distinguish.

Yosano takes the man's silence as a green light, pushing the needle in through his skin again and keeping up the speed. She looks haphazardly focused on the task at hand, it almost makes Atsushi nervous. And not to make light of their current predicament, he also wishes the doctor would hurry it up, the throbbing has become incessant in his right leg, he’s not in pain but the ache in his bones has finally settled in like a warm washed up wave. Atsushi could go for a month-long nap, one preferably where he’s not harassed by visions of doom and gloom.

And speaking of doom and gloom, the air surrounding the trio was not fucking it.

Yosano went ahead and made everything so morose in the span of like what- five minutes? And yet she has the gall to look entirely at peace! Atsushi can feel the mafioso's brutal anger from the sidelines, and what's even worse is that his temper isn’t even fixed on the doctor -

It’s fixed on him!

The mafioso keeps throwing him weird looks from time to time and all Atsushi can do is try and ignore the attention. Nakahara has made it clear he doesn’t like him- but what does a man have to do to make it stop? Atsushi’s nerves have become a frayed bundle of stupendous mass, tipping at the edge, ready to boil over and snap at the man to look away. Reeling back his anxiety, Atsushi breaths in and out- just like Yosano taught him.

One long inhale- hold- breath out, repeat

He does that for a while, and even with his lids lazily closed he can still see the ginger glancing a few times. He can feel the tension in his body falter a few times, coming in large flutters from his shoulders to his feet. The familiar buzz and trickle that has him shuddering, voices begin to stir into existence, Yosano and Nakahara exchanging a few words as she wraps his torso in bandages.

She finishes it with a tight knot on the side, stepping back to look over her work. Apparently the doctor didn’t deem Nakahara’s face a medical issue- he poses with a few scrapes over the crevice of his sharp jawline, chiseled sharply and is that a glint he sees?

The man in question begins to re-dress, languidly pulling at the folds of his shirt- his chest straining as he buttons up the blouse, Atsushi looks away in shame. Yosano steps over to Atsushi, carefully grabbing his chin and turning his face towards her- she pulls his face to hers before a cool slender hand is pressed against his forehead. “Atsushi, are you okay? You look a bit feverish, damn I should get started on you right away.” her words only manage to bring his flush back full speed, he shakes her hand off to press his own over his cheeks. Willing the burn to fade away, to get him out of his embarrassing predicament, a few excuses lay ready in his mind- yet another interruption is boasted onto them.

Three heads turn simultaneously over to the doorknob rattling, harsh tugs begging to be let in. By that time the mafioso was already dressed, reaching halfway for the hat laying aslant on the bed. A certain and very identifiable voice resonates from behind the door, and at the same time Atsushi watches as all the color drains from Nakahara’s face, as if someone plunged a needle into him and emptied out every last drop of his blood. Yosano acts quickly and she motions Nakahara to the far right corner where other beds are hidden, he goes without a fight, even putting a pace into his step.

Ironically Yosano doesn’t close the curtain, he does. But just before she warns him to stay quiet as she returns back to where Atsushi is still currently seated.

The rattling has turned into poundings on the door, each carrying a childish tune as he guesses- Dazai raps his fist against the poor hatch. His voice permeates its way into the office, a few others join in and he recognizes the majority.

“Atsushi! Yosano!”

Exasperation flickers through the doctor's face, her arms crossing as she pops her hip out. Even Atsushi can say that he’s a bit displeased at the turn of events.

He was supposed to be healed next!

Instead both members are waiting for their idiot colleagues to break down the door, ask questions and then be on their way. Looking back- the nap is something Atsushi is looking forward to more now, he’s sure the president wouldn’t mind giving him a few days off once he hears about Byakko. They watch Dazai fight with the door knob a little longer before the door swings open and reveals their unruly co-workers.

They come in like a hurricane, Dazai at the forefront of it all. He’s looking around innocently but anyone with a good set of eyes can see the man is looking around for any discrepancies in the large room. He walks in smoothly with his arms placed lazily behind his back, Atsushi is still seated on the bed, his arse numb from sitting. It makes him wanna take a walk and shake off the nonexistent stinging prick of needles poking at his ass. Kyoka somehow quietly moved to his side, prodding and poking at his wounds. She questions him, various ones and she doesn’t even take a breath- it’s concerning that she's able to blast off a number of words without stopping once for a breath.

Atsushi places a hand on her shoulder, to placate her growing worries and to soothe his own bubbling irritation. Atsushi smiles warmly, bringing his hand over Kyoka’s and giving it a tight squeeze- she looks up, a myriad of emotions swiftly passing, she settles on a tight smile.

By the time they both look up Kunikida is trying to drag a screaming Dazai out of the office, the man holding onto the door hinges for dear life. Kenji- the poor boy- is also trying to pull Dazai along with his superior, while the twins and Ranpo stay watching from outside- Yosano herself looks ready to cut everyone down from where she’s at.

“Ow, ow, ow! Kunikida that hurts, be more gentle.” Kunikida’s face turns red as Dazai wiggles his ass at him. It only amplifies his co workers strength- as he readjusts his grip and pulls much harder sending both his mentors sprawling to the other side- taking Kenji with them. A loud crash is followed by a collection of yells and complaints that have him noticing the three other occupants gone from the door- a cracked lollipop on the floor. He laughs along with Kyoka, her laugh more subdued than his- she pats her head twice, “You can go Kyoka, im fine just waiting for Yosano to finish healing me.” With a well sought out push he urges her to go out, she gives him a reluctant stare, then nods. “I’ll be waiting for you Atsushi, I hope you get better.” She seems to hesitate for a second, her fingers anxiously playing with the hem of her kimono belt.

“I’ll have the closet ready for you.” And with that she leaves. He watches her go- visibly relaxing when Naomi appears and pulls her away.

The door closes and he lets out a breath, clutching tighter around his stomach- the pain hasn’t subsided yet where he was stabbed and it took a lot out of him not to outright push Kyoka away when she thought of the grand idea to poke him there. Yosano also sighs deeply as she massages her temples and turns away towards the farthest bed. A large crash makes him jump from the bed onto his feet, it also causes him to bump his side and yelp in pain- Yosano comes rushing out looking haggard and pissed. Her eyes searched the room and landed on Atsushi.

He moves his head to the right, an attempt to look over the doctor's shoulder- he understands her turmoil now. The bed that once housed an injured mafioso is now vacant, only remnants of dried blood left in the wake of his escape. Atsushi gives his friend a side-long glance, a sign that he too see’s an empty bed that is in fact not supposed to be empty. They hold each other's stare for a few seconds, after which Atsushi starts to study the room. He lands on a window that was not open when the three first arrived, one that’s lock is laying on the floor broken.

Nakahara had left

Shit

Chapter Text

Atsushi falls back on the plush cushions, arms languidly strewn above him. He’s beyond tired, after his check up with Yosano and a couple of stitches and meds he was released well into the midday- the sun disappearing into the clouds hanging above the port. Yosano said she would talk to Fukuzawa on his behalf, ask for some days off on his part. Hopefully she’ll come back with greater news like paid off days- he snorts at the thought.

The agency is already struggling financially, the blissful days where they somehow found stability long gone. Atsushi couldn’t pinpoint where it all began, one day they had a bustling list of clients; drawers and inventory filled to the brim with cases both major and minor. The government and special division were no exception, they’d helped the organizations as well- Atsushi is pretty sure that Ranpo and Fukuzawa have little get togethers with them, whether willingly or not.

Now as of recent barely any cases have been brought in and it's driving most of them nuts, Kunikida especially-with how much the man spends in the office, you’d think someone would have suspected his slow descent into madness from the lack of work. But it only took about a month and a half for his superior to crack-his dear mentor with his pragmatic drivel and skewed glasses.

Started talking nonsense

Pure utter bullshit

With his conspiracies and skepticism well into the morning-the agency only tolerated it for a day. Ranpo reveled in it by throwing some snide remarks that went over Kunikida’s head and straight into the next day. The insistent muttering of possible cataclysm for the agency and all it stands for drove them mad-Junichiro tried to usher the man home but was instead met with a pointed taser at his chest. Eventually Yosano was called in and she forced him out despite his protests-peace and quiet was restored once more for a whole week.

Kunikida doesn’t like talking about his breakdown and so it never was.

Spoken about that is.

His pillow steadily warms under the pressure of his head and arms. Kyoka hasn’t come back yet so the futon he’d thrown in the middle of the room was only there to accommodate him. He was bored and frankly a bit irritated with the stunt Nakahara pulled, he and Yosano were nagged by the agency after they’d come out of her office. Yosano pulled out with her elegant stride and Atsushi trailing along like a solemn puppy-a wrapped up puppy. Or maybe a kitten would make more sense.

The clock over heading his closet space ticks annoyingly-repeating every moment as time passes. He presses his head back to stare out the patio door-his arms awkwardly bending under the pressure of his head. The sky out was beginning to truly darken-blooming stars littered the night sky like the little fairy lights he and Kyoka saw during last year's Christmas parade. Last year Atsushi was determined to take Kyoka to Yokohama’s annual Christmas parade over at the red brick warehouse, he'd managed it for a while, using the money he had saved from his salaries to buy her gifts and food from local vendors.

Kyoka from what he’d seen was amazed, childish wonder clouding her tanzanite eyes. The both of them spent around three hours in the bustling crowd before joining the rest of the agency. Tanizaki and Dazai spent their remaining time teasing him for giving into Kyoka’s whims, and sure he might have gone overboard with his gifts when he decided to take a second look at Kyoka’s wobbling form holding a mountain of bags filled with toys, supplies, clothes, food and more. But in his lofty mind-she shined brighter than all the stars in the sky.

Maybe he should have actually offered to take some of the load off.

Atsushi after a long moment finally pulls away from the longing night, his arms burning from the strain.

His eyes instead find the popcorn ceiling of his home. Strange patterns and vivid figures paint over his vision-finally signalling that his body must adhere to rest. And so he accepts.

〜✶♣✶〜

The room is cold and dreary, wind flitters around his body encasing him in a storm of sharp pricks and trembling wracks. His hands find the ground, he expects to feel sharp ridges digging into his palms as he pushes himself off the floor. Instead he finds it to be smooth-like butter with small potholes all around. His gaze stays stuck on the floor where he has yet to move from, the bellowing wind gets louder with his gasping breaths, synchronized to the very end as the wind dips down. Cold sweat gathers at the base of his neck-exposed due to his badly cut hair. A simple courtesy the headmaster took upon himself when he saw Atsushi’s hair had grown to his shoulders, now he’s cursed to live with an asymmetrical haircut.

Blue light slowly cascades through the iron bars. Illuminating the dingy old cellar which he calls home-the only home he knows of, one he hopes won’t be everlasting.

Behind him lay a chain connected from the wall to his leg. It rattles with every breath he tries to take but the burning sting of the cold air has him taking smaller ones. Even the most free carries a load of pain, Atsushi thinks. His eyes finally move away from the floor to look around the moldy dungeon, his cot which consists of an old mangy blanket and worn out futon lay askew. Blood specks seeping into the side of his bed-already fading away. Atsushi looks away back towards his hands, he shakily lifts them up and examines the scabbed over scars. Unfortunately for him, frostbite seems likely to take the place of his scars, he sits upon his knees, tucking his weak legs under his butt.

Whether for warmth or comfort, he won’t tell.

Atsushi turns slightly to the bars, the moon greets him back with blindness. And he stares back with defiance in his half lidded eyes-where once they would have been doe eyed now stare emptily in return.

His head tilts weakly to the side, “Do you think he’ll come back?” They say nothing. Atsushi clicks his tongue-it’s a stupid thing to turn to the moon for a decent conversation. “You know,” he continues, “I wish I was you, not a care or worry in the world.”

“If I was you, I’d be laying about-watching the hundreds if not millions of people in the world go about with their days,” no answer, “the good and the bad too I suppose. But mostly the good-I’d like to see what other people-real people do around the world, I mean if you can even see them from up there.” He turns around completely, “I bet it’s really pretty up there, like an elysian field, I read about it in a book. Sometimes when I'm really good the headmaster will let me go to the library and let me choose out some books,” the moon chortles.

He smiles.

“I’ve never seen the outside of the orphanage,” his young hands flutter excitedly, small and docile, ”the headmaster says it’s dangerous for someone like me. He said I wouldn’t last a day out there but just imagine!” His cheeks become flushed as he stutters over the simplest of words, “I’ve read up on things like museums and botany gardens, even astronomy towers and how people can see the galaxy through telescopes. Maybe when I'm old enough and the headmaster see’s how mature I’ve become-I can go sightseeing!”

His eyes widen in surprise-the moon emits a sudden spark of light, as if they have responded. It’s a silly thing to get overly eager from, but Atsushi doesn’t care. For the first time in eight years someone has decided to indulge him in his wild bout of kalopsia. For the first time maybe the moon and him have found a sort of likeness.

They chat for hours-about all sorts of different things. It's mostly him doing the talking but the moon always chimes in with a word or two, he makes sure to mention all the books he’s read, which is practically the whole library they have. At first he was only allowed to read children books but what Ms.Fumi doesn’t know won’t hurt her, the headmaster knows he reads books for big kids and he hasn’t chastised him yet. Atsushi talks about stories from all around the world-myths, legends and all alike.

The story of Orpheus and Eurydice of Greek.

The Sayona of Venezuela.

The goddess Amaterasu of Japan

The Story of Hel and her siblings of Norse

He even talks about the current book he’s reading and how he’s learning other languages. The moon reprimands him for not taking it slow and all he can do is laugh. Atsushi had assumed there was nothing in the word that could ever catch up with him, he was always above the other kids. While they played and had fun outside, he would stay in the warmest corners of their sanction baiting time into passing faster or he’d read and just keep reading. He wouldn’t take in the world outside, but the ones written on pages. The inability to reach out and join them was never Atsushi’s greatest urge but more of wariness-yet the moon holds him in their palm. They’d just met and the moon has taken him.

He’s fallen in love, if it can be-the moon only shines brighter.

They both continue to talk, albeit more intimately. Atsushi reveals himself for what he knows-as a child he is blind. A yonderly fog spreads through his mind and he revels in it. Their small dome of felicity is steadfastly interrupted by the impervious sound of a metal door being pulled open.

Atsushi makes his first mistake of the night.

By turning towards the sound, he disregards the moon. And soon, far sooner than he would have liked, they are gone.

Footsteps make their way down the cobblestone stairs, but Atsushi notices it's not just one pair. He scrunches his nose in confusion, the headmaster doesn’t ever bring anyone down with him. Behind the enclosure of the basement the headmaster comes out from the dooming darkness, beside him another man who looks much younger. Atsushi can’t help but stare enraptured by the headmaster's acquaintance, the man has long silvery hair almost leaning towards blue, his cherry picked eyes and porcelain skin make him look straight out of a fairytale. The man holds himself with an air of prideful elegance-but a warm closed smile is directed towards him.

Words are exchanged between the pair but they all sound muffled in his ears.

The moon greets Atsushi

〜✶♣✶〜

Atsushi wakes with a startled gasp, his hand shoots to clench his shirt in a form of comfort. He struggles to breath-the world so kind yet cruel pulls at him like a fishing line. The darkness of his home is fuzzy, with his free hand Atsushi rubs his eyes harshly. He lifts his head slightly off the pillows to peer at the clock overhead before letting it fall back down in a soft thump, it was no surprise to Atsushi that he would wake up-not a bit.

The sigh that leaves his body is tired and frustrated. He’d forgotten to take his medicine in a fit of impulsiveness to sleep, now he dreads the decision-he could feel the restlessness under his skin. Something in him is clawing to move and Atsushi wants to give in, knowing it would be another sleepless night he doesn’t think laying in bed would be of benefit. He could instead start on chores or other side tasks to prepare for the day, making it easier for him and Kyoka to head out when the time called for. But even so his body wouldn’t move-it stayed grappling for a semblance of control on whether to listen or not.

A small part of him isn’t eager to go to work, for some reason it turns his stomach, and he shudders at the thought.

He instead, against all odds stays in bed. Maybe in hopes that a crossing conviction will suddenly motivate him to move, his hand has long fallen to his side-no longer held onto his shirt like it’s some form of life line. The room is cold-a bit too cold for his tastes and it makes Atsushi instantly recoil, he always runs warm.

He always runs warm

His hands grip the sheets over his midsection and he wills himself not to panic. The breeze around him tightens like a leash around his neck-cutting off his mortal supply of air and he chokes. He can feel himself shaking and he keeps shaking-his bottom lip wobbles dangerously and he bites it to stop himself from releasing a rotten whimper. Goosebumps begin to climb over his body for he is not used to the cold, and he realizes.

He didn’t feel warm in the office, his burning skin wasn’t there to enshroud him like a warm blanket. It’s a maudlin reason to get upset over, he may be overreacting to some degree but he can’t help but goad into his unease. The cloak that once offered protection-now a fleeting memory in Atsushi’s head. It might return-maybe not, but for now he will lament the loss.

He’s forgotten the reason for being awake.

Atsushi rubs at his eyes before letting out a quiet sigh. He still wants to cry.

And the precarious care he’s taken to ensure he won’t slowly dwindles under his fast short lived breaths. It’s funny how easily his emotions can change-like a rollercoaster tipping over a steep drop, he knows not to get emotional over it. It’ll come back, he repeats to himself mentally, in quick succession he says them over and over, and soon they become whispers on the tip of his tongue. A quiet mantra in his quiet home just for his ears only. It goes on for a while and it fills up his mind, not in a good way, instead of easing his worries they become worse. An inevitable worst kinda thing, Atsushi’s always thinking about the worst.

His words sound warbled as he continues to breathe into the night. His hands coming to rest over his chest and he ultimately decides to tug the blanket a little higher, if he’s gonna bemoan the loss of his warmth he might as well do something about it. Time passes and he continues to stay awake, the blanket does little to warm him but it offers a bit of sympathy and he takes it. He still feels shaken and no amount of staring or daydreaming is able to appease him in any way, he shifts slightly to the side and his shoulder grazes something-or rather somebody. Atsushi stills faster than a snake and he inwardly groans at his own stupidity.

He turns his head towards his right where a shadow of a body is curled up, one very familiar. Kyoka lays facing him with her hands tucked under her chin and knees drawn up to her stomach. He can’t help but think she looks like a shrimp and it garners a small morose laugh from him, she’s wearing one of her many dressing gowns and her hair is down and scattered around her-uncaring. He stares at the rise and fall of her chest, her face is a painting of serenity.

Shifting the blanket to cover her more, he in turn faces Kyoka. He must’ve been hogging the damn covers since she didn’t have anything for warmth and it makes him feel guilty. Kyoka doesn’t shift or move as he begins to cover her, he looks at her for a bit longer and the forlorn feeling of everything seeps into his muscles causing him to slump against the futon. He didn't realize how tense he was.

He gently tugs her closer so as to not wake her, tucking her head under his chin. The night thoughts had sucked the ever living life out of him, he still didn’t remember as to why he’d woken up but like every other time, Atsushi would assume it’d be because of a nightmare of sorts-now he definitely has to go and restock on medicine with Yosano if he wishes for a peaceful night.

He lets himself bask in the comfort of his sister and whether out of worry or tranquility he pulls her in closer. She doesn’t peep a sound and instead seems to snuggle under Atsushi for a while before Kyoka lets out a sigh of content and goes back to whatever world her mind drifted off to.

He hopes it’s a pleasing one.

The night went on quickly, and Atsushi gave in.

〜✶♣✶〜

The sudden blaring alarm of his phone had Atsushi jumping out of bed and on his feet. The sound continued to persist like a bomb preparing to detonate and he hastily pats around to find the source. He knows it’s his phone but somehow and not surprisingly Atsushi has managed to displace it, he can almost hear Kunikida yelling in his ear about the importance of keeping track of important files and all that jazz-he groans while throwing the blankets and futon aside.

He ended up waking up alone, Kyoka ever the diligent went to work. Leaving Atsushi to fend off a wrangle of blankets hoarding the floor like lava. Pushing aside a set of pillows he yells in triumph when he finds his phone, fifteen missed calls cover his screen. Yeesh, Atsushi thinks, he scrolls through his phone to find messages from Ranpo and Kunikida, Kunikida is no surprise-actually Atsushi is always getting calls from the man but Ranpo is a surprise, a nice one but over all suspicious.

He continues scrolling while heading into his kitchen, most are calls but a good amount came through in text. Setting his phone down, Atsushi quickly heads to his closet before pattering into the bathroom to change and ready himself.

Yosano hasn’t informed him yet about any possible day’s off coming towards him and he scowls. He continues to button up his shirt before brushing his unruly hair and heading off once again to the kitchen. A simple muffin and tea would be fine, his stomach seems to not be calling for anything more so he jumps onto the counter and eats. He clicks back into his phone and finally decides to read any and all messages he hasn’t answered.

The most recent ones were of Ranpo and Kunikida asking for him to go into the office, Ranpo’s form of messaging is cool and collected while Kunikida had major typos and overall it was fucking illegible.

What the fuck does meatling mean?

He smiles wryly at the screen and continues to eat calmly, no use in getting worked up. He sends a quick message to Ranpo confirming that he would be at the office for the day, deciding to spare himself a headache once Ranpo see’s he’s alive, Atsushi returns to munching on his muffin contently-the flavor is orange. He’s not a huge fan of the flavor or even the fruit but Naomi and Kyoka vouched for it, and so he in turn had turned rather fond of the muffin.

Time passes quickly and he soon finds himself climbing the stairs of the agency while double checking everything is in place in his bag. He almost forgot his keys while rushing to get out of the apartment, only his quick thinking saved him when the door almost closed and locked him out. He winces internally at the reminder of the metal door slamming his poor foot against the railing of his apartment.

He enters the office and is immediately met with cold feet-ironic considering his foot was burning earlier. No one is outright seated where business usually takes place, Atsushi furrows his brows.

The agency is empty with papers scattered all over the desks, Atsushi shifts slightly to close the door and continues on. He keeps one hand on the strap of his bag as he takes it off and places it on his desk before winding down through every door in the office. He checks every room, including the file storage, kitchen, and infirmary. At one point he entertains the idea of just entering the bosses office but holds off on it and instead knocks.

In which he does not get a response

His next point of destination is the meeting room

Yes he probably should’ve checked that one first, and he might have put off on it for the sake of it, and surely he would go right away now that he realizes.

But he’s also not in any sort of rush

Atsushi takes the liberty of lounging a few steps outside the meeting room, and yep he totally hears voices in there. A mix of them actually which is confusing the hell out of him-warily, he decides to get closer to the door, and just stands outside. He can hear Dazai’s tiresome voice which has him recoiling in shock, the man who is unfortunately his mentor rarely comes to meetings let alone to work itself. Atsushi quite literally thinks that whatever is going on beyond the door in front of him is bad news, maybe he should just call in sick and run back home.

He mentally goes through every possible outcome of walking through the doors when the door creaks open-he jumps and turns to see Ranpo.

The detective is lazily leaning against the door after closing it shut with his free hand, the other occupied with a lollipop.

Ranpo eyes him then smirks. “Not going in?” Atsushi shoots the man a glare before crossing his arms.

“I was thinking of it before you showed up…” Atsushi mutters under his breath and Ranpo just laughs. Fucking bastard.

Atsushi huffs hotly and copies Ranpo by leaning on the wall opposite of him. “I don’t know what's going on in there but I want nothing to do with it. I was actually hoping that Yosano would grace me with news of a few vacation days after yesterday's shitshow.”

Ranpo raises an eyebrow dryly, “Must be a shame then considering this whole meeting is about yesterdays-” he emphasizes, “shitshow.” Ranpo must’ve sensed his confusion because he found the need to lean forward and crack open an eye. Emerald green stares at him, probing for something or anything and Atsushi just frowns in response.

“I don’t understand?”

Ranpo closes his eye and rests back into position before shrugging, “Don’t really wanna ruin the surprise but you look like you can’t handle anymore.” Atsushi can’t help but try and coax more out of his colleague-curiosity getting the better of him. He also appreciates the fact he can see how Atsushi’s not really in a good mood-Ranpo for good or whatnot doesn’t seem to be bothered with his gloom and doom making their conversation easier for him to have no need to hold back.

Atsushi lets his hands fall behind his back where they steadily warm smushed up against the wall, “Were in a meeting with the port mafia right now, they came to us for, hear me out-” Ranpo doesn’t even let Atsushi register the information before continuing, “for help!” The detective lets out a huge cackle and Atsushi grimaces at the loudness. Atsushi actually doesn’t find it all that pleasing to know that they’re in the next room, the agency may be on cordial terms with them but the majority on both sides aren’t on good terms with the exception of the bosses and Ranpo who doesn’t care about likeness.

Atsushi averts his eyes from the trembling figure in front of him, if the port mafia is here then so is Akutagawa. Atsushi dreads having to be near the mafioso let alone talk to the man, as of late both of them have been decent to each other-but during the bouts of arguments turned disaster…

No, no Atsushi don’t think like that, Atsushi assures to himself.

He turns back to Ranpo who stares back, “So do I have to go in? I don’t think I'm necessarily needed if Yosano is in there.” Ranpo lets his head fall to the side, feigning the action of thinking by placing his forefinger and thumb on his chin while humming. And that single action forces a smile to creep onto Atsushi’s face, he shakes his head in amusement.

They stay like that for a few seconds before Ranpo says, “No, I personally don’t think you're needed, but both Fukuzawa and the port want your account on the event.” Ranpo pauses to think and he pushes himself to angle off the wall while kicking one foot up-childishly, “Atsushi it’s no problem if you don’t wanna insert yourself into, you know,” he gestures wildly at the air with one hand, “this whole thing but you should definitely be in there at the very least.”

“Sure I understand that, but why?” This actually stops Ranpo who pauses and slowly retreats his hand, he notices Ranpo’s lollipop discarded on the ground.

The detective clicks his tongue, “Do you not want to be in there?” He asks, Atsushi would think that his reluctance to enter was a sign. Instead he holds back the retort and sighs, “No I really don’t, Yosano was with me she knows what happened.”

Ranpo stays quiet, and Atsushi suddenly feels very uncomfortable. He picks at the frayed ends of his belt to distract himself from the dampening mood.

“Does she though?” Atsushi perks up at the question, does she? Of course she does, she was there with him. They talked, they planned, they attacked. “Cause from my perspective-” Ranpo slightly opened his eyes while Atsushi’s widened.

“She doesn’t know about your end of the fight, just the whole running away part and the anonymous warning.” Atsushi lets relief flush his body, so Ranpo wasn’t talking about that. “Yosano said you messed up Kobo pretty badly, mentioned your battle was-” Ranpo stops at what Atsushi assumes, to find the right words,”....pretty rough.”

Atsushi nods dumbly, “It wasn’t pretty,” he averts his gaze at Ranpo’s deadpan expression. “You came in looking like hell Atsushi.” Ranpo retorts. And if that wasn’t the truth, Atsushi snorts.

He definitely felt like hell, what was supposed to be a shopping trip turned into a full on battle. He came back bruised and aching everywhere and not even the protests of his body stopped him from waking up to whatever he was dreaming of, the moon, bars and… Atsushi rubs his temple to soothe the oncoming headache.

Atsushi lifts up his head to see Ranpo studying him, it’s unnerving but he can see a glint of worry in his constant fidgeting.

“Is there something you don’t want to announce at the meeting?” Ranpo asks.

“There’s a lot of things I don’t want to say, especially if it means airing out my business Ranpo!” Atsushi adds irritably. Ranpo just continues to stare and his eyes which were not open earlier peer at him under auburn lashes. And Atsushi, god, Atsushi just wants to turn his back and walk away, he wants to apologize for being an ass, he wants to walk in and see what's going on.

Instead he keeps his feet planted for fear he’ll sway and drop to his knees in remorse.

He decides to settle on staying quiet, if he talks he’ll spill and he’s not ready.

Why does he feel so angry? Atsushi isn’t inherently a malicious person, he knows malicious and angry-he can rule himself out for that. But when someone doesn’t teach their young to see it that way, they can turn from the kind to the cruel. He’s not cruel. He’s unfamiliar with anger, anger gets you nowhere-acceptance carves paths and denial keeps you in place.

Like a carousel

One step forth, two steps back

Always back at the beginning

Atsushi shuts his eyes and breaths, “...I didn’t mean to yell,” Ranpo nods-albeit a little dubious. “No, you didn’t have to, but I’ll let it slide.” The detective waves before crossing his arms, “I'm guessing they're wondering what’s holding me up. I said I was gonna go get some more snacks.” He mentions, Atsushi can’t help but fight back a smile-Ranpo is lying.

The detective can be a gale of contradictions and trying to understand his shift in, well, everything can give anybody whiplash, also Ranpo is a shit liar. The shorter man constantly scrunches his nose as if he’d smelled something bad, always a huge give away when he decides to spin his truths. Atsushi can’t help but think it’s endearing, though the reprimands that come after, not as much.

The mood leisurely lightens under Ranpo’s words and Atsushi decides to soak in it. Ranpo’s derisive remark of going in the room chills him, and Ranpo ever the perceptive one noticed right away he was hiding something. Sometimes Atsushi questions whether the boss was right about his colleague being ability-less, there's also just the off hand chance that Ranpo is good at reading people-but a grown man who can’t even work out how to use a train properly can’t also be a master detective.

To everyone their own, Atsushi thinks. Or he’s just sheltered, and Atsushi purses his lips in bitterness.

He turns back to the man, carefully searching for the right words-a light explanation that won’t give too much away. “I underwent a few…-” his tongue weighs down, no telling could recreate the feelings he felt during Kobo’s fight, it was a horrifying admission-the pain, blood, adrenaline, yet nothing came close to the utter bliss and revelation that hit him like a freight train when he looked down.

When he realized just how heavily he can dictate the lives of people.

“understandings…” he settles on, “And I just don’t feel ready to talk about it.” He hadn’t noticed his arms uncrossed, so he crosses them again. Atsushi paces through his thoughts, but the pressure has him blurting it out before he could stop. “During the fight I did something. And it… it was horrible.” He pauses to look up, Ranpo is looking right at him and it sends chills up his arms-he tightens them instinctively. Ranpo’s eyes flicker downwards and then just as quickly back up to his face, “I didn’t know what I was doing up until the end.” he continues.

“I was in shock when I realized, and I'm only telling you this Ranpo because I know you won’t tell.” It upsets him to know he’s telling the truth, “I felt good, during and after the fight. To know that Kobo’s life rested in the palms of my hands. I wanted to see what I’d do, but then the other one pushed me off,” Atsushi bites his lip, “and I truly saw what I’d done.”

Silence has become common between the two, Ranpo looks at him with a thoughtful face yet doesn’t make any move to respond-waiting for Atsushi to finish and for that he feels eternally grateful.

“I felt good, more than good actually, I felt fucking great!” He chokes out, strangled and hurt.

“I was happy to see Kobo getting what he deserved, and you know what? I almost gave it to him.”

“I was gonna grant him some great final punishment. I was gonna fucking kill him and I-” his vision blurs slightly as he holds back the words that would surely come out choked. “I remember hearing Byakko crying, and I thought I killed him.” He laughs, “Now I don’t feel Byakko’s presence anymore, I thought she was mad at me…” Atsushi trails off, his heart heavy and throat gone. They stew in the silence Atsushi has brewed to try and come to terms with his confession, it’s not an easy thing to bear yourself to another, but he’s managed the impossible before.

Ranpo is the first to break the silence, “Sometimes it’s not easy to confess, to offer up explanations and reassurances to problems or actions you yourself can’t even understand.”

“Doesn’t make you less of a person, it just means you have your own stuff to sort out.” Ranpo gazes upwards, his eyes glazed over. He looks like he’ll cry any moment now, and it just causes the hole in Atsushi’s heart to burrow even further.

“I'm a bad person.”

“No, you're not.”

“Then why does it hurt?”

“Your human Atsushi, pain just comes with it.”

Atsushi closes his eyes, he ignores the trickle that slides down his cheeks. Reluctance grasps at his throat and tears away his skin, not once has he ever felt human. At the orphanage, with the headmaster, the teachers and orphans-the port mafia also made note to remind him as well, the guild hunted him for sport. How can he be human while housing a dormant beast, a tiger who’s claws run deeper than water, he lays awake at night and thinks, he’ll be on the job and think-it always comes down to thinking. And he’s learned that thinking doesn’t do much when met with virtue.

He can imagine himself in early june, out in the overgrown garden where he and the orphans would go out to play. Mostly the other kids-Atsushi was never given the respect or wish to join them, he’d be off picking the dried up weeds or helping prepare the necessary vegetables for the day's meal, meals which he’d rarely get. But during the moments filled with serenity he would stop and take in the view, the port was always visible from the garden and when he was younger, would always think what the point of it was.

The lights were beautiful too.

At times after he joined the agency, he’d stop and imagine if he’d ever passed by one of his colleagues and thought of them as just another fleeting picture. A one time dealing, a glance and then a back-same with the port mafia. And if things had gone slightly different, would he have been the same? It’s silly, Atsushi thought-yet he finds comfort in the various paths he could’ve taken.

Gaining his resolve, Atsushi opens his eyes.

“I'm ready to go in. Shouldn’t keep them waiting I suppose.” He says with all the confidence he could muster, Ranpo doesn’t look convinced and instead simply nods.

They share a brief breather, neither moving from their spots. The door continues to hold back the voices on the other side.

Ranpo opens his mouth, pauses, then shakes his head in mirth. “I just want you to remember one thing, Atsushi, just because the floor is burning doesn’t mean you can’t put it out. Actions will always speak louder than words-even if questioned by others-” abruptly the brunette steps forward and grasps his hands, Atsushi jumps at the burning touch, and just as easily softens under it. “Follow your heart, the concept of leading with your head is bullshit. Your heart will always hold the answers-whether they’re already there or come later on.”

“People who lead with their heads are defeatists, they’ve already accepted the outcomes and won’t ever find the need to change it. Lead with your heart, follow the stars, become the idealist.”

Ranpo smiles, “You’ve done it before, conquer the impossible and don’t stick to one ending.”

Ranpo backs away, his smile replaced with a playful grin. Atsushi rubs at his eyes, using his bared fists to rub away the evidence of their conversation. He feels lighter, to know someone is backed in his corner waiting to help-Ranpo hides behind naivety but Atsushi can now see the years of experience painting his face, he’s wise, Atsushi will give him that. Be the idealist not the defeatist, what an odd thing to say. It’s a bit contradictory considering he explained how good it felt to hurt Kobo, but he thinks… he thinks he gets the gist of it.

‘Lead with your heart, follow the stars, become the idealist’

He wouldn’t mind becoming an idealist, maybe he’s always been one.

Ranpo opens the door and motions them both in, he hesitates for a second. But the small hand on his lower back radiates assurance.

I'm right here

He takes a deep breath.

〜✶♣✶〜

The moment they step in, all eyes shift to the pair. On Atsushi’s side the agency is seated, and the port mafia opposite. The boss is standing near the board with Kunikida flanking the left side of the board.

The room is eerily silent, Atsushi almost, almost, bolts back out the door but Ranpo’s presence keeps him from even moving an inch. The agency all looked peeved and quite frankly exhausted-it almost rivals his own, both agents separate and Atsushi takes the seat in between Naomi and Kyoka; he doesn’t meet Kyoka’s worrying gaze. Instead he looks up at the board and ignores the burning stare Nakahara is aiming his way, his eyes flicker to Yosano who he thinks has been staring at him for a while, her expression blank and jaw pulled tight.

Ranpo sits at the front right in between Kunikida and Dazai, he makes no move to look at Atsushi, his focus is on the board entirely. All the sound has gone out the window, the room continues to sizzle in silence and it makes him want to break it, it’s so entirely mundane in the room that he hadn’t noticed the clearing of Kunikida’s voice, or the continuation of their previous conversation.

Atsushi stays seated like a poised statue, never moving, not even breathing. A file is slid in front of him and he makes no move to open it, he already knows whats in it, he wrote it. Every little detail inscripted on the paper came from his pen-he stares at the beige file, like opening it will somehow shock him back into the world and he chooses not to.

He chooses to stay in the background.

Kyoka has shuffled her chair closer to him, the sound of a grating screech in the bustling room. He doesn’t acknowledge it, no he doesn’t, but his body leans closer to hers and she obliges by pressing against his side. He lifts his arm to wrap around her back, pressing a soothing hand to her arm, he draws circles and that's all it takes for her to relent and sag against him. She doesn’t question him or try to pry his feelings open, she just rests.

Both groups continue to talk and he peers upwards, he hadn’t noticed the port mafia boss attending, the older man is having a silent discussion with the boss while the others listen halfheartedly to Kunikida as he tries to get through the meeting even with Dazai interrupting him every once in a while.

He scopes out the room, apparently Koyo and the older man from the black lizards are the only ones actually participating in Kunikida’s discussion, they have their own files open with notes in the margin. Yosano once or twice chimes in, even while she shoots him worried glances that he meets with terse smiles.

Ranpo has yet to look at him, even Dazai.

Atsushi suspects that Dazai knows something, the man for whatever reason always knows-it makes him feel self-conscious to a degree, there's always the suspecting feeling that Yosano might have inquired something to him, the two are very close-closer than her and Ranpo in some way. Between the two; they always give off the feeling of knowing each other to a deeper level, whereas people only look to skin they both cross to the point of blood and bone. An unforeseen dilemma of morality the two have crossed, Atsushi knows little about their past but even he can see the battling tides behind their eyes.

The clearing of a voice has him looking back up at the source, Kunikida’s hands are splayed on the table, his posture commanding attention. His eyes are targeted at him and Atsushi can’t help but feel like he’s in trouble.

Kunikida clears his throat once more. “Atsushi, I’m going to assume you have not been listening to the last few minutes of our discussion?” Comically, actually hilariously Atsushi gulps and uses his free hand to tug at his collar.

“Well-yes, or actually um-no, kinda? Can you repeat it if-if you don’t mind?” He smiles sheepishly as Kunikida’s eyes narrow. The man in question sighs and begins to massage the bridge of his nose, pushing up his glasses in the process.

“We were discussing the assailants of yesterday's attack-from your file, it now has been revealed that Kobo is in fact not in the special divisions custody but out and about with another criminal aid.” Kunikida looks away, pushing from the table back to the board.

“We find it worrying that someone like Kobo managed to harm Nakahara-” the ginger scowls, “and get away with it. Kobo and his aid pose a threat to both the agency and port mafia.” He straightens up, grabbing the remote on the table and switching the screen-now that Atsushi is allowed to get a good look, Kobo is remarkably handsome.

Atsushi hadn’t really given a second look at the man, but he knew to some degree that Kobo wasn’t ugly. The picture on the screen shows an unmarred Kobo, before the scars and blindness. His brown hair shifts to an orange tinge from the light illuminating him, his eyes surprisingly are a light brown, the tan skin doesn’t make it as noticeable.

Someone wolf whistles on the other side and makes some crude remark which is met with a loud smack. Me too man, Atsushi snorts under his breath. “We need to instill a direct course of action to apprehend the two, if someone like Kobo managed to escape, with or without help it doesn’t matter, they are dangerous and could become a threat to Yokohama.” Kunikida says.

The ginger beside Gin raises his hand lazily, he has one leg propped on the table which he uses to rock his chair. Kunikida raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

”Yes Tachihara?”

Tachihara lowers his hand and pulls himself up, the chair slams roughly on the ground causing him to flinch and startle Kyoka-he quickly appeases her before glaring at the teen.

“Well just wanna point out, how in the hell are we supposed to capture someone with little to no information? You wanna rely on your little prodigy duo-go for it, but even they haven’t said anything. We’re basically chasing ghosts, Chuuya doesn’t know anything about them and the were-tiger hasn’t spoken up once-”

“We have other means of consideration-” Kunikida cuts in but is promptly shut down.

“Okay well hear ye, hear ye! Tell us blondie, what other means,” Tachihara quotes with his fingers mockingly, “do you have for us to consider?” He crosses his arms just as Yosano shoots out from her seat, “Watch it brat-” she grits out, “we are doing everything in our power to capture those two, what the hell have you done!” She extends her hand, “Nothing!” The table shakes under the brutal strength of Yosano’s fist-a quick reminder to not get on the doctor's bad side.

Tachihara’s lips twitch into something akin to a smile, except it’s dripping with malice. He barks out a sharp laugh, the sound of it cutting through the room. He tucks a fist under his chin, he could be taken as amused, but the silver coiled snake behind his smile throws it all out the window.

“Yes , yes, yes keep mentioning our fuck ups, as if you lot of goody-two shoes have done anything life changing yet.” Gin shoots her colleague a look, he continues on, “Honestly, aren’t you guys a detective agency? It’s your job to work these things out-and don’t get me twisted, you’ve saved our asses and us the same, but in what twisted sense of humor did you actually think we trust you guys?” Nobody in the room argues, Junichiro and Yosano have taken it upon themselves to keep venomous gazes on the port mafia, Kenji the opposite-instead he looks between the group with brewing worry.

The bosses stay silent, a battle ongoing between the pair in their own right.

“I believe we are straying from our original discussion.” A flowery voice flies through the room, and Atsushi has to shut his eyes. He’s thankful-really-that Koyo made the brave move to interrupt any discourse within the room. But he really wants to punch her in the face, he dragged Kyoka and him through hell and has yet to take responsibility or at the very least concede to the fact that she fucked Kyoka up mentally.

Atsushi holds no ill will towards Koyo, sure she fucked up yet it came from a place of love-but she just-she went down the wrong path. By inflicting her past anguish on Kyoka, she destroyed her and it took months for him to help Kyoka come back from all of it-even now he can see the fleeting looks Koyo gives her former mentee, wistful and full of sickening denial. And Kyoka never looks back, it’s like a second sense to her, ingrained in her mind.

It makes Atsushi feel proud that his little sister is willing to look at the fuck ups and know it was never right.

Naomi chimes in, in support of Koyo’s declaration, “Yeah! We shouldn't be fighting at all, we need to put our differences aside and focus on the problem at hand!”

Tachihara responds with a vulgar gesture that's shot down immediately by Gin.

Once more a throat is cleared, this time by the boss who’s own fight has dwindled to a lucid spark. The port mafia’s boss is seated with his arms crossed and chin tilted down, as if every little person in the room is but a micro speck of dirt-not worthy of his time.

Fukuzawa raises a placating hand, demanding that the tension diminish and so it does. “I believe that we should give the floor to those who have encountered Kobo Abe, those of us who have not crossed his path have no room to speak. So I would suggest wisely we allow those who have to speak.” The boss gestures to Nakahara who merely grumbles.

The ginger straightens up and threads his hands together, “To be honest, it was my day off.” Nakahara bluntly states, Atsushi pulls his mouth in a fine line-if he doesn’t he’ll probably laugh.

“I was just visiting the market, looking around, making mental notes on errands I needed to run. And I noticed someone was following me, didn’t know there would be two of them-but yeah I realized I was being followed and was gonna confront the punk.”

“So I led him into an alleyway and we started talking, I already knew he was foreign from his accent-my guess would be he’s from europe. Suddenly he just starts making demands, asking me to come with him and he doesn't wanna fight, all that crap.” Nakahara waves his hand, “I said fuck that and activated my ability and so did he. Fucking out of nowhere I get jumped-” he smirks wryly, no hint of amusement in the curls of his outer lips.

“Then it becomes a full on brawl, and I was kicking ass-I was winning and suddenly my ability just, kinda stutters and turns off.” Okay now that seemingly grabs everyone's attention. They all listen with rapt, hungry attention and even Atsushi can’t stop himself from leaning ever so closer. Gin and Tachihara sneak concerned looks with each other and Koyo’s blank face slightly falters. Nakahara continues, “It felt weird-like somebody drained me, and apparently that’s all it took for them to attack. I was able to dodge any fatal blows but they had the advantage. Then my oh so saving graces came and started fighting. At that point I was drained so I was slumped against the wall.” Nakahara’s eyes fleet to him.

Ah

He knows.

Of course he does, the bastard was there watching. And just when Atsushi thought he was in the clear, the gods laughed and poured wine over his head. The two maintain eye contact and a few present look between them in confusion, Atsushi’s jaw clenches in frustration. He can feel the tears clawing up and making a home in his eyes, and he’s sure Nakahara sees it as well. Kyoka’s grip on his arm tightens, like she’s afraid he’ll crack but knows he’s strong enough to not break.

It’s a simple hole in Atsushi’s story, one eye witness and now he’s utterly screwed-a part of him wants to leave, walk away and ignore Ranpo’s words and just leave. Bearing himself once was already a wrenching tug at his chest, at least he did it willingly. If Nakahara has any shred of dignity and compassion he would skip over him, pass over his disgrace.

Nakahara opens his mouth and Atsushi prepares himself, ”I was watching the two of them fight, it got pretty nasty,” he casts his gaze downwards, “your doctor and were-tiger put up a good fight, held them off for a long while.” His tone is clipped.

“Then suddenly I just see the kid skid across the ground, after that I can’t really remember much. I was bleeding out, got a clear cut on my abdomen. There was a lot of talking between the three, were-tiger got that Kobo bastard good-had him knocked out.”

Nakahara looks up in pensiveness, his lips now etched into a frown.

“I just saw the two rush over to them as one of their abilities activated and abruptly we’re all blinded.” He fixes his gaze on Yosano and nods to her, “She hauled me up into they’re car, were-tiger wasn’t in good shape so he had to hobble his way over. After that, well ended up at the agency, assholes tried to break in, used the two as a diversion and left.” He shrugs, like it’s the normalest thing on the earth.

Well at least he didn’t expose him, all’s well that ends well right?

Water under the bridge or some shit.

The group takes his explanation with easy smiles and questionable looks between the three of them, which-hmm-okay, very fucking uncomfortable but he accepts it nonetheless.

This time surprisingly it’s Gin that perks up and says, “What did he say?”

“What did who say?” Nakahara questions.

“The man, the foreigner, what’d he say?”

Now that actually has Atsushi thinking, most of the man’s words were directed towards him. It was a bit sketchy but somewhere deep down Atsushi knows that there's a hidden message behind it. It is startling that Nakahara didn’t catch any of it, but more so Yosano-she looks just as clueless as the rest.

Only he knows, and if that isn’t a bludgering hit than-yeah-actually no, it’s bludgeoning. Simply bludgeoning.

“Let’s ask Yosano and Atsushi, they were the ones who actually talked to them.” Junichiro, his brother from another mother, his best friend, his person, needs to learn when to shut the fuck up. Atsushi loves that boy to death, and right now he wants to strangle him.

Yosano takes that as her cue to talk, she plants her hands on the table and stands. Atsushi also makes sure to send a scalding look at his friend who only shrugs, they stare at each other- neither backing down. It’s a good thing for him that Junichio is just one seat over, pity for him that Naomi is also in the way. Sweet kind Naomi, oh how he could never drag her into their friendly crossfire, doesn’t mean he won’t try to turn her against her own brother.

Junichiro is the one to break their eye contact, and Atsushi can’t help but feel smug about it. He turns his attention back to Yosano who’s in the midst of her own explanation.

“-it was a warning he gave us, except it felt more like a threat towards Atsushi. He told him to watch himself basically, and mentioned that it was gonna get worse for Atsushi, whatever the hell that means.” She growls, suddenly Atsushi feels very warm and protected-Yosano cares for him and she sounds disgruntled at the fact he was threatened, mostly warned he would say.

‘I can ‘anhly warn ye,’ , ‘its goin te get worse fah yer friend ova there.’

Not quite what they said but at least they got the gist down.

“Did he say anything else?” Hirotsu asks, Yosano shakes her head in negative. “That’s all I heard, I was kinda in shock when they made their get away, right infront of us too; the fucking balls of it...” She smiles shrewdly as her body shakes with silent laughter.

“So I was right after all, we are chasing ghosts, very hot ones but ghosts nonetheless.” Tachihara says, and Atsushi agrees wholeheartedly. They are very handsome, he can recognize and appreciate them for the show they put on-even if it landed him in the infirmary.

“We need some kind of lead! It’s just circles at this point so we're essentially back at the starting point.” Junichiro points out, the room agrees.

“Just said that ginger.”

“Oh, piss off you knock off.”

“Bitch are you stupid?” Tachihara retorts, and this time Atsushi can’t hold back a burst of laughter, Junichiro whips his head around so damn quick, it actually startles him. His friend makes a face he knows from heart, his ‘are you for real?’ face. Atsushi just smirks.

Junichiro apparently can’t hold it against him either, his facade breaks and the both of them fall into silent giggles-Naomi smiles softly and Kyoka hides her face but he can feel the small tremors coursing through her body.

“Tachihara, quit it, focus for once in your dull life.” Gin rolls her eyes, Tachihara recoils in mock hurt-his hand gripping at his shirt while swooning towards Nakahara.

“Oh! I love when you get all harsh with me Gin. Keep it up and-,” he leans in suggestively, his lips pressed close to her ear and whispers loudly, “you’ll have me at your feet in no time.”

“Good, you’ll be close enough to lick your soon to be blood off my boots.”

Tachihara shudders and rubs his arms, “God I love when you get all mean.” Nakahara makes a show of scooting away from him by leaning towards Koyo who coos at him in faux comfort. Her hands embracing his shoulders. Akutagawa tuts under his breath, and Atsushi just notices the mafioso for the first time since he’d entered the room. Gin’s eyes narrow in what he suspects is a smile, while Akutagawa instead glowers.

He turns to look at his mentor, Dazai is leaning against the wall behind Ranpo’s chair, his smile still in place-instantly he recognizes the scrutinizing gaze he has on the group opposite of him. His stare switches to him instead and Dazai waves, Atsushi waves back before turning away.

Fukuzawa shares an amused look with Mori.

Koyo claps her hands placidly, “Is there anything else we should add in before moving on? I’m sure we're all very eager to find out the identity of our mystery man.”

Kunikida nods and faces him. “Atsushi, is there anything you want to add in?”

He shakes his head even with Nakahara’s piercing gaze on him, practically driving him into the ground-and so screw him, he can't help but feel flustered! The mafioso is very handsome, good looking and his stare just makes him want to melt into a puddle of goop-to sink into the ground and become one with the dirt.

Nakahara has since pushed away from Koyo, one elbow now perched on the table cradling his head.

“Kid you don’t have to lie, I saw it and you saw it.” Atsushi wavers, and internally curses himself for thinking Nakahara would let it go.

Kunkida looks between them in rapid confusion and Atsushi looks down in shame-unfurling in the deepest pits of his stomach and from the crevices of his bones.

“Is there something we’re missing? Atsushi if you have any important information-it is best to share now so we can move forward.” Kunikida questions, his eyes squinted in suspicion at his prior answer. The room once more is quiet in trepidation, he’s walking a tightrope and Atsushi is well aware of his position currently. Not only did Nakahara’s blatant response hurl him back to the beginning-he also knowingly placed him in a scene where he needs to tell the truth.

In the case he doesn’t, their agreement with the port will fall-and it’ll be his fault. Of course he can spin the truth, mix it all in and hand it on a silver platter to all the starved eyes waiting on the other side. Or he can die where he’s standing; seated, he needs to tread lightly starting now. Atsushi questions if this was all a part of Nakahara’s plan, if he even has one.

The lack of trust in the mafia is daunting, especially for Nakahara. Atsushi was in no place to make demands, so when they sealed the pact, he could remember what the boss said. Said to all of them, in that authoritarian voice of his filled with worry and forbearance.

‘We as of now have no rights to make demands, in the case of war or battles-our lives lay cradled in Mori’s hand and theirs in mine. Trust is fleeting, so be well to remember in our instance, it is necessary. Like me and he, we put the weight of the world before ourselves, Yokohama is our home and our responsibility-we are not the brass nor the Hunting dogs, but we protect with all our might. So that one day, we can look up and see we are not needed any longer.’

Absolute chills that one. Went down in his notebook afterwards, now it’s a saying he keeps on him at all times.

He bites the inside of cheek in thought then opens his mouth, “We did talk for a bit, mostly him,” he makes the action of gulping and moving his head lower, Kunikida’s gaze softens, “he warned me, just like Yosano, said that things would get worse for me and he-he well-he apologized and wished me luck.” Atsushi looks up, tilting his head, “After that he disappeared, I recognized it as Kobo’s ability-seemed he had garnered a bit more strength so that they could both make a get away.”

The mystery of it all really, “And did anything else happen after the encounter between you two?” Kunikida urges onward, his head as bullheaded as his heart. Atsushi can respect that, he can also see Kunikida holding himself back from pressing for more information, it’s hilarious until he picks out the underlying anxiety in his mentor-from his shaking fists to their taut lips.

Atsushi clicks his tongue, a part of him wants to tell them about Byakko-how she has disappeared from both his state and mind. Another part-though just a buzz, is holding him back from speaking out about it. Pulling himself together, Atsushi leans on the stiff chair and ensures Kyoka isn’t moved in the slightest from the concave under his arm.

“Byakko’s gone-” he says, and seeing the raised eyebrows he attempts to backtrack, ”um-well she’s not-or she’s-um I haven’t really felt her presence? Since yesterday after the-erm-the fight and all that.” He sputters which only garners him higher raised eyebrows, great. He groans in frustration, pent up to the core with everything, he didn’t really wanna entertain the idea of Byakko upping and leaving, it’s still a possibility to him and Atsushi knows, he knows deep down she’s not gone-not to him.

Kyoka peers up at him, alarm flashing through her eyes-he smooths out her hair faintly. It calms her down, and in turn him.

Yosano throws her arms up, “Why didn’t you say anything? This is serious Atsushi-and I-I know you don’t like talking about the tiger-” she says it oddly, Atsushi frowns, “or anything about your ability, but this is-no this is worse-you are vulnerable, now what about your ability? Byakko is a part of it, if she’s gone then so is yours.”

Atsushi can feel his frustration boiling, “Yosano, I am not vulnerable nor weak, I didn’t say Byakko’s gone-that was a slip of the tongue-we can’t even be sure if my ability works or not. All I'm saying is I haven’t felt her prattling around in my head.” He points at it, “And what do you know anyways? We don’t know if Byakko’s connected, we don’t know if she had a big influence on my ability, we don’t know if she’s even gone.”

The doctor shakes her head, hair flying recklessly all around-and it seems more washed-out than earlier, “Atsushi I have been studying your ability for months, that tiger is connected-she’s practically your ability! If there is no sign of her, what makes you think your ability is still there?”

“Yosano it’s fine-” he hisses in between breaths, his hand grips the edge of the table, nails digging into the poor granite. “She’s probably off being, well Byakko!” Not the best defense, but it’ll do.

She fixes him with an intense gaze, her usual calm eyes hardening. Her arms are crossed, she’s practically oozing with anger. Does it matter though? No, not really-he’ll just have to match her energy.

“Atsushi, this is serious-very serious, as a matter of fact, you now have nothing to protect you and don’t you dare say you can do it yourself-we all know-everyone knows, that Byakko keeps you safe, anytime you go off on a mission she’s the only reason you haven't landed yourself in my office even when the others come in worse for wear.” She snaps back, all eyes on them again.

If Yosano hasn’t noticed that Atsushi is well aware of the cons that come with Byakko being gone, then she’s stupider than he thought. He pinches the bridge of his nose, “It’s fine, we’re fine. She’s not gone, she’s still there waiting. I just haven’t been in contact with her and she hasn’t reached out in any way.” He should find a way to shift the conversation.

Yosano points at him, seeming to have had enough. She looks at him with barely concealed anger and trouble-her hair has gone from distressed to frazzled, her tan complexion brimming with seething red, more leaning towards coral. She looks a grand mess and if it was any situation than now; he would have teased her for it.

“You don’t understand! Atsushi yesterday we were in battle, was the tiger gone then, is that why you used your fists? If Kobo and that bastard decided to attack at the end, two of whom we now classify as dangerous, if they had used their abilities, you could have been hurt-” Yosano narrows her eyes, he watches her lick her dry lips-he doesn’t feel bad.

“You could have died.” She says, something of a whisper that holds more weight than it should.

A stretch of silence ensues, he watches her cautiously.

“I'm still here.” He replies, it holds nor comfort. He hadn’t intended it too-just a reminder he’s still there. Doesn’t mean his heart doesn’t clench at her words, she’s worried, all he causes them is worry. Yosano shakes her head, she’s on her feet. “It doesn’t matter Atsushi, if you had been hurt beyond my ability, I would not have been able to save you, not without putting myself and Nakahara in danger.”

She doesn’t look at him, even when Naomi herself glides to her and settles a hand on her back.

“I’m still here.” He repeats, his voice falters.

He can see the guilt rolling off of her in waves, it’s unpleasant. She shouldn’t feel that way-he put himself in that position, and any consequence that follows would fall on him.

Yet he forgets the martyrs they hold inside.

“Yosano-” she looks at him with glazed eyes, “i'm sorry.” Do you feel ashamed? A silent question, waiting for a plea of assurance, one he can’t grant easily. She knows the risks, he knows them too.

“Okay…let's settle down.” Kunikida buts in as he guides Yosano back into her chair. They don’t meet each other's eyes, and he keeps it that way.

Kunikida moves back to the front, “Atsushi-” he shuts his eyes, ignoring the pointed look the detective gives him. “Is there any… evidence or signs of Byakko being-” he does a weird thing with his hands, “that can distinguish whether she’s gone or not?”

Now that’s something he’s unsure of answering, when he went over the signs last night they sounded completely reasonable to him. Nevertheless if he says it outloud, he can see how stupid some of it sounds.

“It’s more of a feeling-not a sign. I’m always able to sense Byakko when she’s near; now not so much. She’s gone completely silent on me.”

Kunikida hums absently, his forefinger and thumb tucked under his lip. “That's… not good.” Atsushi makes a noise in agreement, his free hand combing through Kyoka’s hair mindlessly-she pushes her head towards the source of touch, like a cat seeking contact.

Tell me about it, Atsushi idly thinks. He’s been probing at his mind on and off throughout the meeting, consciously or not-it didn’t matter. Nothing there yet, no sign or warm breeze in his mellow head signifying Byakko’s energy, she’s always been a breath of fresh air in his mind; comforting and toasty. Atsushi has seen Byakko’s form in wisps of pale blue, her body barely distinguishable, still he always knows it’s her. She’ll sometimes deem him worthy of a visit in his dreams-they’ll roll around in his landscape, tingling grass with peonies and lilies littering the ground.

And on those rare dreams of his where nightmares swallow up his more pleasant fantasies, she’ll come rushing in baring her fangs at his reveries.

If Atsushi had a mother, he can surmise they’d probably be like Byakko. Strong and overbearing; warm and comforting; protective and fearful.

“It seems, this meeting has taken quite a turn.” Snapping back into clarity, he turns to the voice with wide eyes. Surprised doesn’t even begin to cover what Atsushi feels-he’s flabbergasted. Mori has his eyes languidly open , like it’s taking a great amount of effort to not close them. His hands lay on his thrown over knee-threaded with each other. A sly smile fits snugly on his face-in spite of that everyone knows not to fall for it. Yet Mori plays into it well, anyone else would think he means good, a genuine doctor who totally isn’t the head of a criminal empire.

“It seems to have Mori.” Fukuzawa moves away from his spot, skating over to the front with unprecedented speed-it looks kinda funny.

“Atsushi,” He says, voice booming in the muted room. “When you began to feel the symptoms of losing the tiger, did you perhaps come in close quarters with the unknown assailant?”

Atsushi feels his face twist unpleasantly, the feeling of his body being thrown across the floor remerges. “I did.” He says, “During my fight with Kobo I was stabbed by him. It wasn’t deep, barely went in an inch or two-but we did make skin to skin contact if that’s what you’re asking.”

Fukuzawa nods at the same time that Ranpo speaks, “Did Mr.Fancy hat also come in close contact?” At this the Mafioso jolts-nodding robotically, Atsushi can tell it pains him to talk to Ranpo.

Ranpo snaps his fingers and smiles brightly, he can see the figurative light bulb go off over his head.

“I've figured out Mr.Mystery man's ability!” Ranpo exclaims. They all look towards him, waiting for his oh so deductive expertise to come into work.

“His ability isn’t like Dazai’s, at first when I listened to Atsushi’s summarization; I thought ‘hey that sounds alot like Dazai’s ability!’ but not even when Atsushi has had his ability cancelled by him before-Byakko was still conscious.” Ranpo explained-his words halfway through the explanation began to jumble up as he spit them in rapid succession and it’s taking everything in Atsushi not to groan as he tries to keep up.

“No, instead his ability silences other abilities, specifically corporeal ones.” Nakahara blinks, blinks and blinks again-before he jolts up from his seat, slamming his fists against the table.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean!” He growls, his eyes pinched together and teeth bared. Ranpo only looks smug, his eyes twinkling with ominous mirth-which means he knows something they all don’t. Take that you asshole, he thought-a little shamelessly.

As they both continue to bicker, Ranpo’s smile gets wider and Nakahara gets angrier.

“It means hat rack, that your ability is also corporeal duh!” Ranpo snaps his head forward; mockingly.

“You don’t know that!”

“Then why are you asking?”

“What makes you think my ability is-is some kind of-of living thing!”

“Is it?”

“No!”

“But it’s not working right?”

“That doesn’t mean it’s-” Nakahara stops, he can hear gasps in the background. Oh shit, Atsushi covers his mouth with his finger tips. Koyo also covers the bottom half of her face scandalized, Gin and Tachiahara aren’t even hiding their surprise, Akutagawa looks intensely awkward, and Hirotsu-hmm he just looks the same; composed.

The laugh that bubbles up in his throat is pushed down-no he won’t break now, even though he really wants to. Nakahara’s face is priceless! If only he had a camera.

The agency isn’t faring well either, half of them look surprised except for Ranpo and Dazai-his mentor looks absolutely giddy at the fact. More blackmail for him probably.

Nakahara looks around bewildered at his own confession, slip of the tongue one might say. He sits down rather dazedly, an invisible force tugging him to his seat and he goes with it. His mouth keeps opening and closing, like a blubbering dolphin or beluga? Koyo is watching Nakahara with a disapproving gaze, her painted lips twitching downwards at the corners and her eyes shining.

“Now if I can continue please and thank you!” Ranpo claps his hands, calling for attention effective immediately-and to no surprise it works.

“It affects only corporeal abilities, but a good example of it would be Shibusawa.” Shibusawa.

Of course it would be him.

“During the events of Shibusawa trying to take over Yokohama and all that, his ability was able to separate our own and turn them against us. But in his case he was only able to manipulate both sentient and non sentient-our mystery man can only control sentient. For example Atsushi and Kyoka-” he gestures towards them, “their abilities rely on sentient figures, Byakko and Demon snow are two cases of corporeal.”

“So, if you take away their sentient counterpart, you take away their ability as a whole. Because they are their ability.” His hand tightens around Kyoka.

“But I fear there might be some after effects of the ability.” Ranpo adds at the last minute.

“What are these after effects?” Hirotus questions, Gin and Tachihara look at each other-sick in the face and probably on the verge of throwing up.

Ranpo pauses, his face scrunched up in concentration along with reluctance. His eyes move between the groups present, and Atsushi himself is feeling sick-a cold sickening feeling at what's going on in Ranpo’s head.

“Insanity…” Ranpo murmurs, Atsushi glances at him-and oh-oh that's not fair.

They all turn confused, even Dazai himself stares with uncertainty at the detective.

“I understood a while ago what his ability entails. It’s insanity.” Ranpo whispers, and it’s truly the end if even he looks defeated. He should have known, all those looks, his questions, his pitying smile as they talked.

Ranpo knew from the beginning. And he just served Atsushi a death sentence. If only he never walked through the door.

“Ok-yeah ok-but what does that mean? For Chuuya, what does it mean?” He can hear the desperation in Tachihara’s voice, a vice of resistance-like if he ignores it, it’ll go away.

Ranpo shakes his head, “I- I truly don’t know…” His voice is so small, it’s not supposed to be. Ranpo is loud, cocky and fucking annoying. He’s the best of the best-the greatest detective in the world. A man with such power shouldn't look so down and beaten. He knew, he knew.

Atsushi opens his mouth, nothing comes out. He tries it again-no sound. He can’t speak, it hurts so bad. Like someone shoved their arm down his throat and ripped his voice box out, he thinks he might look stupid for how he’s gaping at the moment yet he ignores it. Ranpo is just shaking his head and refusing to look at anyone.

How can he speak when Ranpo has just put him to death. He overcomes it anyways.

“You figured it out because of me…” Atsushi pushes out, his voice cracking from all the disuse.

Ranpo’s gaze moves over to him slowly, like he’s drinking up every little thing about him-from his hair to his eyes. Memorizing.

Atsushi clears his throat to continue, “When we talked outside; you kept looking at me. Not interrupting, just listening, you knew the moment I told you about Kobo.” Ranpo sighs, it’s a weary sigh-one that only a man who’s lived a thousand lifetimes can make.

“Yes, I did Atsushi.” He confirms, and it takes everything in Atsushi to not just up and leave.

“But there has to be something we can do?” Tachihara says, with the same dreaded tone of lostness.

“It’s not that simple,” Ranpo responds, “I've only worked out a few things, and I have suspicions of who it could be but that could take us a while to figure out.”

“Then let's start now.”

All heads snap up towards Dazai, still leaning against the wall with his infuriating smile. The tightness around his eyes look strained. “You have the files Ranpo, start listing it. We have a good start-we understand his ability, we managed to snag a decent picture of him, and we have both chibi and Sushi’s testimonies.”

Junichiro agrees hastily with Dazai, “Yeah! Yeah, let’s do it. No one fucks with Atsushi and gets away with it.” Naomi nods her head rapidly.

Naomi’s face hardens, it makes her look like a chihuahua, “Ranpo, tell us what you suspect so far about his ability.”

“For starters we know it affects sentients, when hatrack mentioned his ability flickering on and off throughout his fight, I suspect his was fighting against the attackers ability before succumbing to it-that assured me of his abilities origin. Atsushi also revealed some information I presume to be symptoms of it,”

“mood swings, hallucinations, nightmares etcetera.” He lowers his fingers one by one-checking them all off, similar to discarding pieces of chess.

He places his hands on the table before spreading them out, “We know he’s foreign and we know what he looks like.”

“He’s irish.” Nakahara chimes in, “Bastards irish, his japanese was broken and he had the accent.”

Dazai claps his hands happily causing the ginger to scowl, “Great! So now we just need to scour for ability users who are irish. Who knew you were going to be useful after all eh chibi?” Nakahara shoots daggers at Dazai but they do nothing to deter the man’s mood.

Koyo coughs, “Don’t antagonize him boy, he’ll blow a fuse.”

Dazai just beams at that. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I’ll shove my foot so far up-” Nakahara starts, in return Dazai covers his ears and begins blabbering-nonsensical sounds. Like a child.

Atsushi lets his own problems be momentarily forgotten, letting the levity of their argument dictate the next moves his mentor will take.

“Oh boo chibi! Lighten up, will you? We're trying to solve a case here!” He pouts, it doesn’t help that his mentor is also a grown man, it just makes him look unflattering.

“Maybe if you knew how to shut up for once and stop antagonizing me.” Nakahara grits out-his teeth painfully clenched against each other, if he was any closer maybe he could hear them grinding into brittle dust.

Dazai blinks, “Your attitude isn’t appreciated chibi.”

“You're a dick.”

“It takes one to know one snail.”

“That’s the pot calling the kettle black.” Nakahara snorts demeaningly.

Dazai crosses his arms and tilts his head, tongue coming out to taste his lips. “Are we talking in proverbials now? Didn’t take you for kinky chibi.”

Nakahara groans.

The room sounds in silent laughter.

Dazai fixes him a playful glare as he fans himself, “Ah but no I can’t indulge you chibi, you see, me and Atsushi aren’t interested in three.”

Atsushi swivels in his chair, “What.” Dazai bats his eyelashes at him. He can distinctly hear a voice in the room saying, ‘I’ll bring you the twenty tomorrow’. He glares at his mentor who blows a kiss at him, he rolls his eyes.

“Me and Atsushi are monogamous-”

“We aren’t anything Dazai.”

“If you don’t want me, just-.”

“I don’t want you.” Atsushi flatly says. His head has come to rest on his hand, the torturous bending of his arm aching.

Dazai spreads his arms out, his head thrown back and lets out a fucking moan-”I’m free!”

A blur of yellow, a loud yelp, a smack, a groan. Kunikida has smacked the shit out of Dazai, and his mentor now lays on the floor-his body face down and arms beside his head. Oh- and also his legs are bent at an awkward angle, facing the ceiling.

“Did you hear something Chuuya?” Tachihara jokes, a lazy grin on his face. Nakahara peers at him and shrugs, “Must’ve been the wind.”

His response is so fucking normal that Atsushi can’t help but smile. The sombre mood of the meeting, being cut in half by easy smiles and unwitty humor. Once more they delve back into the fray-Kunikida opening up the nearest laptop to crack into their agency’s database, papers are passed and soon everyone in the room is exchanging words. Atsushi is writing on his own, ignoring the conversations and occasional jeers, his paper sits blankly in front of him-his pen balancing on the sheet, it starts to bleed.

Ranpo is commanding the room and taking pleasure from it, he speaks in a bossy high pitched tone, pointing at anyone he takes notice of. Fukuzawa and Mori stay in their little corner, talking with one another-Yosano still has yet to even shift towards him, apparently Naomi opted to switch seats with her brother which now places Junichiro beside him. Atsushi doesn’t really care, he welcomes it in fact.

What he does care about is Dazai hovering over them like a fly. His mentor walks between their seats, asking questions, making small talk or just straight up bothering them. Atsushi can feel the nonexistent vein pulsing in his forehead, Dazai is seated on Kyoka’s end of the side-facing Koyo and making talk with her, she of course allows it with gallant effort even if she’s a bit stiff. Atsushi observes the room, his eyes stopping on Akutagawa.

The mafioso himself is bent over the parchment and scribbling furiously whilst muttering under his breath. His brows furrowed in attentiveness, lips slightly parted as he nibbled on them-the skin plucking off like petals of a baby dandelion. His skin is flushed a perfect shade of cardinal wine, raining down from his cheeks to his hooked nose. And those horrendous bangs of his move in chorus with his head, they’ve slightly grown out, he’s noticed.

They fall over his eyes, and does he-? Since when did he have white eyelashes? They are not completely white, a few askew ones are black. But they look to be carrying piled snow over them, and with his sleepy eyes one would think it’s weighing them down.

He hums to himself, surprised. Akutagawa somehow has very keen senses-which is to be expected, he is a mafioso, and looks up at him.

Grey callous eyes meet his, their bemused one second and then hardened the next. Akutagawa sneers at him, his lips curled in disdain. Atsushi gives him the finger. It only further fuels his scowl.

Turning back to the paper he completely forgot about, he just stares. The room is a cacophony of rumpled sheets and taps of pens, whispers here and there. Kunikida is back at the board-his laptop replaced with a tablet.

On the board, a list of names are placed. He can guess their European ability users since that’s their only reach currently.

Junichiro elbows him, he turns. “You haven’t written anything down. Kunikida’s barking out names so you best catch up.” Atsushi looks down at the elbow still jutted in between his soft ribs, he looks back up. “Let me copy your paper Jun. Better catch up and all that.” Junichiro pushes back while shaking his head, an amused smile on his face.

“Nah, you’ve dug your grave Sushi. Now you’ve gotta push yourself back up.” He retorts even as he slips the paper to him. Atsushi raises an unamused brow, writing down the seven pairs of name’s he sees. “Already on it, don’t you see?” He ups the pace on his writing, scribbling hurriedly.

Junichiro crooks his head over Atsushi’s arm, squinting at his illegible handwriting. “Dude. What the fuck.” He blurts out, gazing at him from under his lashes. Atsushi shrugs, “I think it’s good enough-” it’s really not, “bet Kunikida won’t say a thing. He’ll take it, not realize it’s dog water, then realize it’s too late to give it back since I'll be home snug as a bug.” He pulls his hand back, surveying the notes; he nods. It’s shit.

Placing the pen down, he hands Jun his paper back. “You don’t think he’ll check yours first?” His friend ponders, “Aren’t you like, the first person of interest. Kunikida will be sure to check, but hey! You go man.”

Atsushi gives him a crooked grin, wonky even.

Junichiro propped up his chin with his elbow on the table, his gaze staring into the white walls. It held underlying worry, Atsushi could see his chin tick with a furrow of his brows and tug of his lips. Junichiro’s throat pulses with every dry swallow, holding his tongue and suppressing the need to ask questions. It’s admirable-truly, but he won’t curb his friends desire to know.

Kyoka’s weight isn’t settled in his side anymore, she’s busied herself with her own sheet of paper-giving Atsushi free reign to move as he pleases. Leaning towards Junichiro-his finger probes at the tense shoulder, “What’s got you so uptight? If you’re curious, you know you can ask me dude, I know it’s bothering you.”

“Aren’t you scared.”

He blinks, nonplussed.

Of course he’s fucking scared, anyone in their right mind would be. Atsushi drapes himself on Jun’s shoulder, and lets out a humourless laugh. “Of course I am. Been shitting my pants since the meeting first started.” Atsushi intertwines his hand with Jun’s free one, tracing the faint scars over his knuckles. It brings him peace, Junichiro slumps into him-their heads clashing.

A grunt sounds beside him, “Do you get the feeling that Ranpo knows more than he’s letting on?” Atsushi pauses, then resumes.

“Doesn’t he always…” Atsushi murmurs, his voice overwhelmed by the ensemble of their group. Junichiro snorts, his head ruffling Atsushi’s hair-both hands stay steadily linked, a connection of lulling sympathy. A surge of warmth engulfing his numb body, Atsushi stops himself from twitching, his chilling frame reminding him of his plight in all this.

A touch that solaced like an autumn breeze yet burned like a flaming poker.

Junichiro’s hand moved to instead caress the inner side of his wrist, pressing the pulsing vein filled with odious rot.

“Remember when we traveled to Yamagata?” Junichiro says. “We-we were given two days off after our mission, cause we got injured. And we had the grand idea to travel there but couldn’t decide whether we should take the car or train…”

“And I was the only one who knew how to drive so we took the agency car, told Kunikida we were just gonna run errands. We packed our bags and thought that ‘yeah this will be easy’ with no gps or map, just Kenji’s stories and sheer will.”

Atsushi does remember, it took them around five hours to get to the inn-they kept getting lost even with Jun driving like a mad man. They blasted music and did occasional pit stops for snacks and gas, it was a nightmare.

“We drove and drove for hours! It was so shit man, by the time we got there the car was low on gas, we wasted half our cash on snacks and we were dead tired.” The hand on his wrist stills, warmth radiating like a powered heater. “We got to the inn and passed out on the first day, we were supposed to go explore.”

Atsushi chuckles, “Yeah I remember, I threw up the next day because I ate so much food. We went to the onsen and then we began our endeavor.”

Jun’s hand moves to his hair, stroking patterns into his scalp-the momentum relaxing and reminding him it’s Junichiro beside him. His best friend, closest confidante, his brother.

“The first day we went to the onsen, I was able to wrangle the old lady to give us a private one. We came out looking like prunes-” He huffs into his hair, “than we ate and watched movies. The next day we looked around the area, there were so many shops yet so little time.”

“And then we found the lake.”

Atsushi closes his eyes, and laughs. The fucking lake, Atsushi’s first real brush with ‘death’ as Junichiro so eloquently holds over him.

“We went exploring the forests near the shrine, we said fuck it and stripped down in the middle of fucking winter, like what the hell were we thinking? Butt ass naked-”

“We were in our boxers-”

“Minor details.” Junichiro waves, dismissively. “There was a rope tied to one of the trees, I swung first and fuck it was freezing,” he shivers, clacking his teeth in feign show. “The water was deeper than we expected, so I just-disappeared! I could hear your screams from under the water, you have a very girlish scream Sushi.”

Atsushi swots his arm, Jun laughs. “Then the moment I swim up, you decide to jump in. I forgot cats can’t really swim.” Junichiro puts on a thinking face, Atsushi giggles childishly into his shoulder. “I’m just laughing my ass off and a few minutes pass before I start getting worried. Then I noticed you sunk to the bottom! Like how is that even possible? You weigh like a hundred pounds.”

“I’ll have you know I weigh one-fifteen.”

“No wonder the girls drag you around.” He drolls, tongue lolling outwards and just as quickly disappearing.

“Anyways-I had to swim and drag you up, and then you had the utter balls to try and drown me after I saved your ass.” Atsushi whips his head upwards, face aghast and in faux outrage. “I did not!”

“Yes you did-” he argues, Jun clears his throat and Atsushi settles himself under his head, the latter being an inch or two taller-he never really paid attention. “Anyways, we started fighting in the water, it was cold and I’m pretty sure it started lightly snowing. We got out after an hour cause it was freezing. And we sat atop the fallen leaves, we ate and talked while waiting to dry off-it didn’t work obviously so we got dressed and left.”

“When we got back, we showered and laid in bed. My head was on your lap and you were playing with my hair, just like I'm doing right now. I started to fall asleep, you sang to me.” Atsushi opens and shuts his eyes repeatedly, mouth opening in shock.

“I-I thought that you-that you were asleep.” Jun shifts above him, his brown silky eyes peering down, a soft smile dances on his lips-they move in perfect semblance, each word enunciated in flashes; not too quick or slow.

“Your voice kept me awake.”

Atsushi blinks, it wasn’t supposed to be for him. Atsushi loved singing, in his dreams there was always a trickle of music in the air-one that started back in the orphanage. He picked it up at the tender age of fifteen, singing to himself whether in comfort or out of sheer boredom; the fact that Jun somehow picked it up in his drowsy state is mind-boggling. He doesn’t even sing to Kyoka. His hand cradles longingly in his silver strands, pulling and twirling like fine strands of wheat.

Junichiro bobs his head, like it’s common knowledge between them. “Yep, when you started singing, that’s when I started dozing off. I didn’t know you could hold a note so color me surprised when I heard it the first time.”

“It was nice ya know, then we got a call from Kunikida the next day asking where the hell we were and we started panicking-” he sniggers, “I passed you the phone to make up some sort of lie, instead you made it worse.” He sighs, hanging his head in shame-Atsushi punches him.

“We packed up and headed back, almost crashed twice but we made it safe and sound-except we got a fat scolding from Kunikida. It sucked.” Junichiro finishes, his gaze has since shifted downwards-watching the paper with offensive apathy.

Atsushi’s head had long ached from the constant clash with Jun’s. The room sounded of scratching with a faint scent of chemicals from the use of pens. While they all worked, he and Junichiro floated in their own little space-unperturbed, nobody had yet to come and disturb them; an unspoken agreement to entitle two friends a moment of peace. One well deserved.

A ripple of conceit shoots through his spine, Atsushi believes that he’s earned a small breather-but also a piece within him, young and fragile, a younger version of himself grips at his tethered whims; you don’t deserve this, repeats on and on in his quiet mind.

He stamps it out as quickly as someone would to a fire. Only smoke left to simmer and disappear. ‘I deserve this much, they owe it to me’ Atsushi selfishly thinks, after the hell given to him from beyond, he is justifiably in the right. Junichiro keeps his fingers wrapped up with stray locks of hair, his nails rake cloves and draw the unknown-he doesn’t care, doesn’t even bother to make out the figures drawn in his scalp. All he cares about is the addicting sensation of scratchies being given to him.

Eyes flicking back up, they pause on Tachihara. Who creepily enough stares back-his feet are planted on the table again, hands stuffed in his old jacket. The fur lined along his hood is faded and stiff, a few tears can be seen along the hem of the zipper.

Tachihara plainly studies with such aloofness Atsushi could only question his audacity. Then he remembers the teen is a mafioso. Bitchiness is in their blood. Unless they learned it? Which is stupid, everybody learns from someone. It’s like a right of passage into life, kids learn from their parents, brothers from their sisters and the latter, moms from their mothers, teens from their mentors-so on.

Atsushi learned from Kunikida and Dazai, for fucks sake. Not the most poster-like mentors, but good enough for an orphan like him. Technically those two are the closest thing to parents for him, Kunikida the overbearing, Dazai the… the whatever he’s good at. Other than trying to off himself on a short wednesday he’s not all that bad.

When he decides to break into his dorm for fun, he falls to the bottom of his tier list.

Atsushi holds his own against the mafioso, the two couldn't be that different in age-Atsushi might be older by two years, which only makes him more upset that someone so young works for the port mafia-but beggars can’t be choosers. Atsushi works for the agency, which treads the line of illegality to some, he’s heard whispers from Ranpo about the government becoming more uneasy towards them.

Do any of them care? No, not one bit. In the end the boss and Ranpo always manage to extend their time as a company. Extending their time of employment month by month, little by little, even as their pay gets lower-nobody mentions it.

Tachihara takes his challenge with practiced finesse, his lip rucking up with playful delight. The mafioso tilts his head like a puppy, watching. Gin for all her questionable silence, glimpses at him from the side, a dubious gleam shining from her obsidian eyes. She follows her partner's line of sight, stopping at him. They share an idle stare off before she turns back and shakes her head-she whispers something to Tachihara in which he responds with an uptilt of his shoulders. His eyes never faltered.

Gin turns back to her paper and Tachihara finally calls out to him, “You two fucking?” It’s not a boisterous question, more subdued than anything. Either way Atsushi hikes a brow up-he’s stuck between confused and impressed, nobody in the room perks up at the vulgarity of his question, not even Jun. In all honesty, Atsushi can feel the light snoring coming from his friend, his hand has since laid limp for a while now. Junichiro continues to slumber against his body.

Atsushi jerks his head, “No, we're just really close friends.” This time Tachihara raises his brow skeptically.

“Close friends don’t hold hands.” He pokes.

Atsushi huffs as he crosses his arms, “You’ve just been watching us?”

“You’re interesting, I reckon if you never joined this shit agency the boss would have offered you a place with us.”

“Does your boss have a thing for picking up strays?”

Tachihara laughs, it’s an empty one. Atsushi sees a flicker of hate flash and linger as he continues. “I would say so, don't stop at that though. You could say he takes in runaways too.”

He nods to him, shaking off his words and probing. Apparently they're taking turns now.

“Are you bored? Is that why you're talking to me?” Atsushi asks, it’s harsh and unkind. He doesn’t care though-as much as he would love to have an entertaining conversation, he would rather it not be with a mafioso. Akutagawa himself is enough to deal with.

Tachihara takes his remark with stride and doesn’t hint at being bothered by it. Are all of them good at fucking masking? He was hoping to at least elicit a small reaction, alas the subtle tragedies of poor Atsushi’s life.

“Was that you trying to be intimidating? Cause new flash kitty, you don’t have an intimidating face. I bet if I stepped on it my foot would sink in like pudding.” Tachihara says without an ounce of shame, he also pulls out a bag of chips-which erm the fuck?

“Good thing we’ll never figure it out than,” yes Atsushi, remember, this is a man with a possible degradation kink and an unmistakable need for a fucking ass-whooping!

“...So,” Atsushi groans. “I heard you were kicked out of an orphanage? Maxed out huh.” Was that supposed to be funny? Because if it was, Atsushi is just hysterical, guffawing with unbridled laughter.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I tried,” he passively admits. “There's only so much one can do with their hand,” gross.

Atsushi wrinkles his nose in disgust, he’ll do well to never shake hands with him. “Are you that shameless, or is it like a thing? Do you have a shame kink, is that a thing?”

“Don’t know, wanna find out.”

Atsushi makes a thoughtful noise, “No.”

“Your loss.” He shakes off, popping a chip into his mouth and chewing obnoxiously. He’s been doing it throughout the exchange, eating with his mouth full. The headmaster would have punished him for the lack of manners, possibly locking him up in the shared dormitory and taken away food privileges.

Oh wait, he’s dead! The headmaster has lost his living privileges long ago.

Tachihara wipes his hands on his pants, streaks of red barely noticeable on his denim. “I'm bored, Gin won’t talk to me and Chuuya’s talking to big sis. Also old man Hirotsu is fucking boring, and Akutagawa doesn’t even bother with me.”

“Why not talk to Kyoka or Kenji?” Atsushi decides to indulge the teens' boredom-he’s bored himself and he’ll take what's available. He’s been entertaining thus far if not a little gross.

“I don’t make a habit of talking to kids, last time I talked to Q, they sent me to the hospital.”

Atsushi remembers Q, he remembers the kid very clearly. They didn’t have a nice first time introduction, when he first met the kid, he couldn’t help but soften. That was of course before they sent him down memory lane. Don’t be fooled though-Atsushi adores kids, he used to take care of the nicer ones until they grew up and began hating him too. Their love and admiration is always at best conditional.

Atsushi pokes at his brain, recalling the little blonde girl who’s always beside the port mafia boss. Speaking about her, he peeks to the side and sees her sitting on the man's lap. Happy go lucky with her little doll.

“How about the little girl,” he looks away, “the blonde one.”

Tachihara narrowed his eyes and cryptically said, “Elise?”

“That’s a pretty name-”

“Nobody gets close to her.” He answers, “Not without the boss watching with murder in his eyes.”

“That… doesn’t sound healthy.”

“It’s really not, but we all do things with no sort of explanation for them.” Tachihara says, nonchalantly, Sometimes it’s not easy to confess, to offer up explanations and reassurances to problems or actions you yourself can’t even understand, Atsushi knits his brows.

Ranpo had mentioned something of the sort, Atsushi won’t deny that he hasn’t done something like that, maybe not to Mori’s extent. But people do unexplainable things every day, if not consecutively. Dazai is an example of that in more ways than one, Kenji too ironically-his more innocently than malicious.

Atsushi could feel his stomach scrunch up off-puttingly, just a harsh reminder that the world isn’t as black and white as he thought once. To him there was only evil and good, evil was the headmaster-the devil. The orphanage was hell and he was stuck with unresolved sins since birth. Atsushi wasn’t sure what good was, it could have been anything to him. His first taste of good however could be pointed at Dazai, he helped him find a job, a home, gave him his first meal in weeks after being kicked out-when any passers by who didn’t blink twice could have done the same.

They just didn’t find him worthy.

“I thought that was his daughter?” He decides to ask another question. They’ve already started a running convo, might as well keep it going. Tachihara smiles wryly, scratching his chin.

“Me too, turns out she’s not. Don’t know where the hell she came from but she just did.” Atsushi would have cocked his head at the peculiarity of his wording, instead he stiffened at the small shuffle above him, Atsushi tucks his head closer into the crook of Jun’s neck.

Tachihara eyes him mischievously. Atsushi could only think of what’s going through their head. So far he knows the teen is flirty, gross and unapologetic-normal quality traits in teenagers.

Atsushi must be from another planet.

“Are you sure you're not dating? Is it one sided, are you toying with the poor man's feelings?” He teases, his grin wide as the stupid cat from wonderland. Fits the narrative.

“I'm not gay." Atsushi blurts out, it’s not completely a lie. He is in fact not gay.

“You’re not?” Tachihara reels back inhumanly fast, the chair dangerously tipping over. It sets off a series of windmill arms and Atsushi greedily drinks up the sight-it’s not common to see someone make themselves look like an idiot. Unless they make a habit of it. It’s a fight between the mafioso and gravity; gravity is winning.

Atsushi shakes his head, a smirk plastered on his face. “No I’m not, also maybe if you took your feet off the table you wouldn’t be fighting as hard as you are now to keep your balance.”

The chair snaps back into place, the mafioso shoots him a look of triumph; Atsushi rolls his eyes, slow clapping to show he’s impressed, Tachihara bows and smacks his head on the table.

“Ouch, that one hurt.” He rubs the reddening spot on his forehead.

“Are you and Gin dating?”

Tachihara’s face screws up-the tawny color of his skin turning a nice shade of green. “Nah, between you and me she’s fucking ugly-” his head slams down onto the table again. They let out a high pitched groan as they try to push off; but the hand restraining them doesn’t relent. Gin’s face comes into view as she hisses in her friend's ear, Tachihara’s words are muffled whilst he taps on the table. Atsushi doesn’t dare interfere, he wait’s out the scolding. After a good five minutes Tachihara’s head comes flying upwards, a drowning man finally getting a taste of air. What a shame.

He mutters under his breath and turns back, “As I said before, she’s not my type.”

Atsushi hums then laughs. “I can see that,” he fucking deserved that, he shrewdly thinks. Atsushi does not advocate for violence-he absolutely hates it, he would even personally say he’s a pacifist and it’s ironic considering his line of work and the oh so many times he’s kicked ass over the year.

But, yes, Atsushi does not like any type of violence. It’s contradictory. He doesn't like it but indulges in it anyway. It’s a problem that Dazai has taken up himself to try and change. He praises Atsushi for his passivity, and says it’s all right to wanna keep the peace. Just in certain situations it won't be enough. Other times he’ll ignore passive aggression.

Anyways, Atsushi could understand to some degree why it wouldn’t do good for him to try and aim for resolution. He’s already seen as weak to some; is to others. His ideal goal would be to adapt Kunikida’s mentality, he’s strong, has principles, knows when to utilize empathy and aggression-the man knows what he’s doing. It’s no wonder that he’s one of the best detectives in the agency, if not the best.

“Did you know snails have teeth?”

Okay, now that's interesting, “Seriously?”

Tachihara nods, “Yep, they need em to chew food.” Atsushi’s mind pauses and goes into overload, firstly snails have teeth which is cool or whatever, secondly this motherfucker is being sarcastic-from the roll of his tongue to his sharp grin. And the mafioso is having a grand time watching Atsushi come to that realization, because not even three seconds later he’s laughing.

He rolls his eyes, digging his nails hard enough to leave welts on his arms. Atsushi hardens his stare at the teen across from him, willing for his gaze to set fire to their stupid hair. “Laugh it up asshole, just another fact to add to my list of ‘shit to say when the conversation gets awkward’ file.”

“Hey, Higuchi has one of those!”

Now that he mentions it, Atsushi surveys the groups in front of him for the blonde girl. No sign of her looming behind Akutagawa, who is pointedly still writing stuff as Ranpo rambles on and on about theories. “Huh…” Tachihara perks up; like a dog.

“Yeah, she's not here. She wanted to come but it’s her day off and Chuuya banned her after he caught her shadowing Gin.” Question answered; awesome. Sucks that he was able to read it off of him, Atsushi does not like being seen as predictable. He begins to fiddle with the buttons on his sleeve.

Atsushi nods dumbly, his attention rapidly depleting. “Honestly, I don’t think that would have stopped her.”

“No, it wouldn’t have. But Akutagawa said ‘down boy!’ and she went with it.” He simpers. “Higuchi is weak to Akutagawa, if he asked her to jump off a highway, she would.”

Atsushi eyes widen for a millisecond before schooling his expression, whatever relationship the two have isn’t Atsushi’s business, yet his skin boils at how Higuchi is presumably thought of. Maybe it’s just their boss subordinate relation, but to see that her life is nothing more than fucking expendable just rubs him the wrong way. People shouldn’t be viewed that way, regardless of status or occupation; he hates it.

His fists have turned a ghostly shade, the welts now ripping through the other side. Atsushi doesn’t smile, doesn’t even offer up a sign he’s still invested in their conversation. Instead he finds Akutagawa, his head of black hair shielding his face. Frosted tips lying lifelessly over his paper, gliding with every fruition of information written down. The man that’s made his life shit for the past year, the very same who promised not to kill for six months.

Atsushi can’t keep track of whether he has or not, he isn’t with the mafia. Atsushi’s trust is blind, all he can do is believe in the man to not break it, and it’s a remarkably tough thing to acknowledge.

One part of him is hoping that he hasn’t done any of the sort, that his words are not an empty promise. The other part of him, filled to the brim with unadulterated resentment, is begging for him to break it, to prove that he really is just a rabid dog.

Tachihara is still talking, his voice tuned out by him. He focuses on the mafioso, his hair has long been tucked behind his ear. Giving Atsushi a wide shot of his pursed lips and scrunched nose. Akutagawa’s eyes stay focused on the task at hand, not sensing his gaze once. Ink litters the paper, words hastily written and scratched out-now holding multiple small tears from the force used.

Even with something as delicate, he doesn’t know his strength.

“-so after that, we all kinda bolted in separate ways. Big sis Koyo is scary when she’s mad-especially when she gives us her super calm smile-” Atsushi whips his gaze back onto the mafioso, missing half of what he’s said, doesn’t matter though.

“Has Akutagawa killed anyone yet?” Atsushi speaks up, Tachihara’s face morphs into one of confusion.

The teen smiles tightly, his eyes crinkling with unbridled suspicion. “Don’t know, why don’t you ask him?” He responds, coolly.

Atsushi in return, scoffs-a rather demeaning one, he doesn’t know where it came from. He palms at his chest, attempting to alleviate the rising beat of his heart. “Akutagawa doesn’t take too kindly to me, if I even try to talk to him he’d go straight for my limbs.”

“I wonder why.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s not my fault.”

Tachihara hums, his arms crossed as a finger taps steadily against them-keeping up a silent rhythm. His tone is mildly doubtful, the tension between them has become sour. “Didn’t say it was.”

“But you insinuated it!”

The mafioso’s head dips to the side, his eyes searching for something he can’t find. Which is-actually really rude since he also felt the need to pucker his lips. “Nuh-uh, I’m just tryna say, you…aren’t the type Akutagawa likes.”

“Oh, please tell me then! What is Akutagawa’s type?” Atsushi grits out, frustrated.

“Careful Nakajima, kinda sounding pretty gay right now.”

Seriously!

Tachihara finally relents, releasing Atsushi from the awkward turn in discussion. “Self-righteous, martyr, weak, emotional, you also cry a lot,” he points out, “Akutagawa hates emotion, I'm pretty sure he’s allergic to it.”

Atsushi sputters, “Wha-what does that-what are you even-what-what does that even mean!” It comes out whinier than expected, he flushes. So Akutagawa does hate human emotions, also how is he self-righteous? Honestly he’s more humble than that considering he was treated like shit for the last eighteen years of his life. Atsushi pauses, thinks what he says over, pouts in self-deprecation, and moves on.

Daily affirmations, fuck yeah.

“Oh!” He perks up, “Your also Dazai’s favorite, yeah, Akutagawa fucking hates that. It’s surprising he hasn’t murdered you for it yet?” He says, sounding like a question to himself more than anything, and honestly-Atsushi wonders the same thing every damn day.

Atsushi’s face softens involuntarily. Whether because of the mention of Dazai or pity for Akutagawa he doesn’t stay to find out.

“Don’t pity him Nakajima,” Tachihara says darkly, knowingly “Akutagawa is better off without him.”

“I wasn’t…” Atsushi flinches, then quickly lies. Tachihara looks at him for a moment, roaming him from top to bottom for something even he is unsure of.

Atsushi clears his throat, willing away the awful constriction stuffed in his chest. The feeling is unpleasant, like water was lobbed into his lungs-with no exit to seep out of. “Anyways-” he continues, “you never told me if Akutagawa is keeping his promise.”

Tachihara looks at him, stumped. “Promise?”

“Yeah. He um-he promised not to kill for six months. It’s a part of our deal.”

Tachihara lets out an ah, looking much more composed and on track. “Yeah, no. As far as I know he hasn’t murdered anyone detective-” he grins wonkish, “no wonder my body counts been piling up, seems dear old Aku’s been heaving his work onto us grunts.”

Even if he isn’t doing the killing, Akutagawa is still an accomplice. Standing idly as others are killed on his orders. Typical.

“That’s-that’s um-that's good to know, at least I can sleep soundly now for the next six months!” The joke falls flat, he grimaces at the silence before him. Tachihara’s face is blank, his lips not even set-their paused in a mild frown. The two stew in the silence Atsushi has created, it’s so fucking uncomfortable. While the others chat and exchange jokes-better than his-he is subjected to the mafioso’s piercing gaze, the same one that he’s currently having a stare off with. He can feel moisture building up behind his eyes from the strain, and after Tachihara looks elsewhere, he blinks them away.

“You suck at jokes man.”

Atsushi sighs, resignedly. “I know…”

Tachihara clenches his jaw momentarily, watching him warily. Atsushi has familiarized himself with the expression, usually worn on a person who's holding back a barrage of questions. He can see the uptick of his brow and the muscles in his face stiffening. A common click within a person when they feel found.

“What.”

“I wonder what Dazai sees in you.” He mutters, it’s not malicious but full of curiosity. It doesn't bother Atsushi in the slightest, maybe if it was a couple months back and he was still a fresh baby under Dazai’s guidance-then maybe. He lets himself delve deep into the sudden inquiry.

It’s the same question Atsushi has been asking himself since he set foot into the dorms, when he wakes up and makes breakfast, when he goes to work, and hangs out with the agency. He’s been asking himself that since Dazai confronted him about the headmaster. Instead he responds to the question. “I’m not sure,” his tone curt.

Tachihara looks at him, surprisingly with a vulnerable understanding. Reminding Atsushi that the two aren’t just detective and mafioso, but just two teenagers having a normal conversation without the sense of duty looming over them, maybe in a way-just like Atsushi, Tachihara was in a position of disparity when joining the mafia. Just like Atsushi, he has his own people to look after. At the thought, the edges of his lips curl up, between a smirk and a smile.

The mafioso leans back into his chair, his posture lacking the relaxation it usually pairs with. It’s strained-his casual smile shifting rigidly, like he’s unsure whether to keep it up or change.

“Well, whatever then. When do you think this meeting will end?” Tachihara picks at the skin on his hand.

“When pigs fly.” Atsushi adds, very matter-of-factly. God forbid Kunikida end a meeting without going over it a few times. Tachihara turns to the board, watching Kunikida and Ranpo writing and sticking pieces of notes; overlapping past scribbles. He lets out a ‘tch’ under his breath.

The teen groans loudly, stirring heads towards him. Junichiro jumps up from his spot, the weight leaving an aching indent. Atsushi glances at his shoulder, spotting a transparent mark on his shirt.

“Dude, seriously! Were you drooling on me?” He moves to scrub at the spot, which only leaves him with a damp mark on his sleeve, he purses his lips. Junichiro mumbles incoherently, rubbing away the sleep in his eyes before yawning loudly. Kunikida turns to them sharply, his nostrils flaring irritatedly. This causes Jun to straighten up-Atsushi snorts as he too straightens when Kunikida switches to him. They both share a quick look as Kunikida turns away, Junichiro fighting a small smile and Atsushi pulling his lips but failing when he feels them hike up involuntarily.

Ranpo gathers everybody's attention with a sharp crack as he claps his hands twice. Yosano is pulling the small notes off the board, passing them to Kunikida who hides them away in a file. Kenji’s seat has since been emptied, he’s currently walking around the room gathering the papers from the agency-Atsushi collects his and Jun’s before passing them to Kenji. The boy gives them a chirpy smile, and moves on. Hirotsu has collected his side, papers stacked neatly in front of the man.

“So-” The detective starts, “we’ve made good progress, I’ll be reviewing the papers tonight to try and figure out who our mystery man is. Other than that you're free to conduct an investigation on your own while we do ours.” Dazai sides beside Ranpo, his mouth barely opening as he hears Nakahara say something under his breath, Gin and Tachihara snickering bluntly. At least Koyo had the decency to cover her mouth, though her small smile is still noticeable.

Dazai doesn’t seem blundered as he continues. “Ranpo will have this cracked by tomorrow! So my dear ladies, gentleman-” his voice lowers an octave, “and slugs… Can take it easy and leave this to us!”

Nakahara lets out an indignant, ‘hey!’ Which goes promptly ignored.

Hirotus intercepts smoothly, his voice stern but kind. “We thank you for the offer Dazai, but we will be opening an investigation on our own.” Dazai squints, his smile still in place. “It is protocol for when anything happens to our members. But once again thank you for sharing the information.” Hirotsu bows his head slightly.

Dazai regards the man with a sharp nod, his smile doesn’t slip once even with Ranpo’s insistent staring. This time Fukuzawa comes to the forefront of the table, both detectives parting ways for the boss. The voice starts off booming, calling for immediate recognition of his turn.

“For now we have five suspects on our list. Two of which currently reside in Japan, the others whom we now classify as outlanders are scattered around, whether in our city or not is still unknown.” Mori chimes in from the side, his voice a grand contrast from Fukuzawa-he speaks with elegance and control, it’s unnervingly silky, a dance with the devil.

“The five suspects are as written-James Joyce, William Yeats, Oscar Wilde, Samuel Beckett and a man under the alias Stendhal. All of whom fall under the category of ability users who have managed to enter Yokohama without notifying the Special Division.” He stands up, the little girl-Elise climbs into the discarded chair. “They all meet the appearance Yosano has given us, but I expect-” he glances at his group, who tense under the pointed remark, “that we all give it our best to figure out who he is.”

With that Mori shares a few words with the boss and glides out the room, not before beckoning Elise to follow him. In which the girl glowers but goes along. The others quickly clamber out of their seats, Koyo and Hirotsu giving their goodbyes to the boss and Dazai, he can even see Hirotsu shake hands with Kunikida-the two sharing words as well.

Nakahara just straight up tries to bolt but is stopped by Dazai, who starts up some sort of conversation-Nakahara steadily turning red in the face. Akutagawa lingers behind the executive, with a look of want in his face. The desperation in his face immediately lightens up Atsushi’s mood, he feels a lot better now.

Gin walks over to her brother and stays by his side, every now and then shifting from one foot to the other. What doesn’t surprise him is when Tachihara sidles up beside him-taking up Kyoka’s spot. Kyoka has since left to talk to Kenji, who is adamantly trying to say something but keeps tripping over his words. He can sense Junichiro recoil, but one look from Atsushi aimed behind him has Jun being dragged away by Naomi.

He turns back to Tachihara, the teen letting out a low whistle before shooting him a feral grin. “Jealous, isn’t he?” Atsushi gives him a long-suffering sigh-leaning back to put space between them. “Woah! Touchy, touchy, didn’t mean to strike a nerve kitty. What’s got you in a twist?”

Atsushi fixes him with an impassive stare, “I wanna go home.”

“You have a house?” Atsushi’s brow twitches.

Tachihara clicks his tongue, he can see it pressing up against one of his cheeks. “Nice meeting wasn’t it, totally digging the fact that some outsider is haunting over us.” No, it wasn’t actually. Knowing that some guy unintentionally has dragged him into whatever Nakahara’s found himself in is not nice-whatsoever.

“Shouldn’t you be leaving already.” Atsushi says, the mafioso instead shrugs. He lolls his head to the side, his neck cracking and Atsushi winces. That must’ve hurt.

“Nah, I’ll leave when they do.” He points with his thumb at Nakahara and the others, the executive currently being held back by the Akutagawa siblings-the ginger is thrashing around and clawing at the air between him and Dazai. Dazai watches on with an amused smile, it only grows broader when the ginger manages to aim a hit at the two behind him.

Atsushi regards the group uneasily, his frown deepening whenever Gin gets hit-her groans of pain sounding fucking, well, painful. Meanwhile Akutagawa has managed to dodge every hit aimed at him, which instead hits Gin as she tries to recover. He hears another yelp from her as Nakahara elbows them straight in the chest.

“Does this happen all the time!?” Atsushi voices, his face becoming more horrified as Gin releases a stream of curses. Tachihara studies him sagely, a playful tilt in his voice when he speaks. “No, not really. But since bandages is here and he’s like Chuuya’s number one enemy. You can already guess from their history.”

“It’s sort of like a holiday ya know, happens once every so ever.”

Atsushi slowly turns to him, unbelieving in his movements, his mouth dropped slightly open in horror. Tachihara copies his movements when he notices. Motherfucker.

“Maybe you should stop them?” Atsushi says, his tone slightly becoming smaller with every syllable spoken.

Tachihara makes a face. “And get in between that? Are you fucking out of your mind!” He laughs. Turning away back to the interaction and watching like it’s the same old show broadcasted on tv. “If you’re asking for a death wish, you can go stop it yourself. I’m sure Dazai wouldn’t mind listening to his protege.”

“I’ve asked him to stop breaking into my house. Do you really think that stopped him?”

“As I said before, you have a house?”

Atsushi runs a hand through his hair, his patience running thin. And no, he’s not gonna acknowledge the fact he walked straight into that one. “Yes I have a fucking house! Just what-what do you-what do you see me as?”

Tachihara crooks a finger under his lip, gazing upwardly. And Atsushi is seriously rethinking his choice in career. “Homeless?” He says, dropping his hand and nodding proudly.

“Do I look homeless?” Atsushi doesn’t think he does. He makes sure to always wash his clothes and keep himself tidy. Spraying ungodly amounts of perfume everytime he goes out, and sure sue him if it assaults other people's senses, not any of his business anyways.

“With that god awful haircut you look more than homeless,” Tachihara grins from ear to ear, “you look dead ugly.”

“My hair is none of your business.”

“At this point it’s everyone's business. With having to watch you walk around with that fuck ass bob-”

“It’s not a bob-”

“It sure as hell looks like one. Who the hell even cut your hair?” Atsushi flushes, he can feel the heat licking up his neck. Patience now very dangerously close to hitting the ground, he breathes in consistent vowels. Reminding himself that murder is bad, murder is not good, he’s a detective and-

“Kinda makes you look like a thumb,” your fucking dead.

It’s an empty threat, really, he wouldn’t murder someone out of spite. Atsushi lets his eyes fall shut, willing himself into believing to be the better person, to not jump out of his chair and pull the shit Nakahara is doing on Tachihara.

Luckily Atsushi has been doing something right, for his saving grace-Gin calls from across the room, making a sign with her hands that has Tachihara up and dusting the nonexistent off his pants. Gin and Akutagawa make their way over just as Koyo has gotten a hold of Nakahara, hauling him from the scruff of his shirt. Hirostu passes by him quickly, practically hauling ass, and plants himself beside the teen.

Now Atsushi is facing off four mafiosos, even then Atsushi’s sole focus is on the ginger being dragged outside of the meeting room by Koyo-who regards him with unconcealed dislike before she leaves. You're not the only one, Atsushi internally monologues, Akutagawa is also looking at him, a sneer fixed on his lips-contorting his usual catatonic face. Gin recognizes him and so indulges with a quick dip of her head, he returns it; granted, more hesitant. Akutagawa’s face darkens.

Hirotsu’s gaze slips to him, a respectful- ‘tiger-lad’ escapes his lips. Atsushi looks but makes no move to respond, the man doesn’t visibly take any offense to it-rather he looks amused, as he lifts one grayish brow.

Tachihara however notices, he snickers which earns him a glare from the older man. “Tiger’s got claws huh,” he moves to elbow Hirotsu, but the man side steps, letting the teen tumble to the side. Gin’s scrutiny is palpable at the way she huffs and rolls her eyes.

Hirotsu ignores the boy and turns to speak to the group. “Let us go now, we have no business staying here,” he walks out, the siblings trailing after him, not without Akutagawa shooting him one last glare, Atsushi gives him the finger again.

Atsushi gives his full attention to Tachihara, who has since recovered and is leaning on the wall beside him. He adjusts his chair to make it easier to face him. “Are you gonna stop bothering me now?”

“Are you gonna stop lying.”

The room has since emptied out, but Atsushi hadn’t noticed. He expected the agency to know better than to leave him with a mafioso-either he wasn’t perceived as a threat or they just didn’t think much of it. Atsushi-in a last ditch effort decides to look around, scanning the room; yep totally empty. Chairs lined discarded on both sides, a few papers too and the board has been thoroughly wiped.

Atsushi goes rigid, his hands now placed neatly on top his thighs. Atsushi considers what Tachihara means-his lilt left no room for excuses and unlike anything he’d seen before; the teen came off as intense, his gaze cold and emotionless. He’s a mafioso Atsushi, don’t forget.

His chest pounds in alarm and butterflies explode in his stomach, and the room becomes still. He can hear the rapid intakes of his heaving breaths, each one elongating as he tries to regain control. The room turns and shifts before his eyes, as he scrambles to look anywhere but the presence beside him, he could shut his eyes; it would only prolong the inevitable.

And then there it was, a feeling of dread and exposure. An affliction Atsushi was so sure he had managed to lock away, where the key was lost, embedded into the roots tied close to his heart.

Atsushi was scared, scared of what? What exactly did he have to fear? Nothing comes to mind, his brain checks every crevice and spot yet comes up with nothing. His body racks up small trembles, a freezing gust colliding within, kicking up a storm that only serves to make the butterflies in his stomach fight back. Atsushi feels sick.

Atsushi licks his dry lips. “I don’t know what you're talking about,” he croaks, the lie slips out, making it more noticeable when he hears a scoff.

“That shit’s not gonna work on me were-tiger, believe it or not I’m a mafioso for a reason. The moment you decided to indulge me in small talk-I already figured you out.” Each word a harsh punch to his ego, his shoulders slowly but surely scrunch upwards. He does his best to cut off the window that gives Tachihara a full view of his emotions. He can feel the growing pit of shame lingering on his back, it’s suffocating.

Atsushi searches for a rebuttal, “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Tachihara scrutinizes him for a second, his mask still in place as he sighs and runs a hand down his arms. “You know something, if you’re little talk with shortie outside-which just to let you know, maybe don’t scream at the top of your lungs next time,” he huffs, making the decisive decision to look away.

“Just a forewarning, anyways-you know something, I’m sure even Chuuya picked up on it, and your report hardly matched up with his. Also the staring contest the two of you had-yeah-not suspicious at all, not at all,” he drawls.

Atsushi squints, his lips falling into a tight frown. Now he also has the indescribable urge to bang his head against a wall. A migraine has decided to make itself a home within his head, the pounding-flourishing everytime he gets a glimpse of the fluorescent lights above.

“I know nothing. Don’t get me wrong, I wish I did, but I'm just as blind as the rest.” Atsushi says, cordially.

Tachihara snorts, shaking his head. “Sure you are, you’re a shit liar Nakajima. The dumber side of your crew might believe that, but bandages and glasses? Give them a bit of credit, those two stuck up geniuses have probably worked out how you're full of shit.”

“I still don't know what you want from me. You're chasing ghosts talking to me, maybe you're better off actually conducting an investigation on your own rather than trying to pry information I don’t have,” is all Atsushi says.

“By pulling whatever you're doing, you're putting Chuuya in danger. If you have any tidbits that could help us then you better believe it kitty,” his smile distorts, the laidback presence gone-replaced with hardened resolve. “I will pry it out of you, whether you want it or not.”

Atsushi can feel his face stutter, his hands balled into fists gripping onto the worn fabric of his pants. The threat isn’t an empty one, it’s desperate and hungry. The underlying threat that is posed beside him, wearing a cloak of skin and speaking words of retaliation.

“I don’t have what you want Tachihara, you’ll have better luck interrogating Nakahara.” Atsushi finally says, his words laced with fatigue, already over the conversation-at this point it’s just going in circles.

Silence follows after he finishes, and he can’t help but bask in it. The migraine has gone from being a small irk to a blown out fist fight. He has to shield his eyes from the glow on all sides, even with his head pointed down, he could see the tip of Tachihara’s boots; signaling he’s still there. Instead of thinking about the teen, he focuses on his shoes, the boots are worn down to the soles, barely hanging on by the seams.

The two don’t talk again. He can feel the buzz of his phone go off every couple of minutes, the sensation sending quivering sparks up his lower back side. His hands flutter ever so slightly, the cold finally catching up to him-without Byakko’s warmth, he feels naked; defenceless. Atsushi used to never pay much mind-how he would burn up faster than others, but the stark reminder that hangs over his head only makes him lament that it’s gone.

Byakko is gone, and he misses her. He misses the tiger dearly-they had finally reached an understanding between each other, and she left. It leaves a bitter taste on his tongue-that after everything they went through she turned away without a second glance.

It sucks that something a part of him-imbedded into his essence, rejects him too.

Almost as if he and Byakko aren’t one in the same. She’s the monster that prowls deep in his ribs, clawing at the enclosure locking her away-prowling in the confines of Atsushi’s darkest being. While he is the outer shell; the gatekeeper, with the job of keeping her at bay. Yet during his worst, she’ll come to chase away the ones dragging him underground-her face a gap when he wakes up.

Like a mother she settles deep in his gut, reaching for him with hands gentle and coated with callouses. She protects him and he lets her, he’s felt it, seen it. And in return he only views her as a fluctuating beast. She started a war for him, she never let him go but Atsushi was okay with leaving her, he didn’t want any of it.

Shibusawa was evidence enough. He sensed her unease when they met, and Atsushi didn’t know it was her. He trusted blindly to the first man who gave him the time of day, and Shibusawa knew that. The first person to ever regard him with care, like a moth to a flame, Atsushi was bestowed. And maybe, an inkling of a memory well gone, if Shibusawa still showed him how it felt to be loved-real or fake, with or without the pain, Atsushi wouldn’t have minded falling down with him.

Love is cruel, love is blind, love can be free, love can be a hardness of spirit.

Years pass and he still can’t get away. His feet stay planted on the ground, crawling through the waded grass and blooming flowers. His home just out of reach, a brush of white dusting off towards the meadows-a flurry of carnations waking in their trail. Is it Byakko? Is it Shibusawa? He never really gets past that part, the ground breaking apart and swallowing him up before dropping him off in the same cold cellar.

You can’t catch me now! I’m where the green grass glows, I'm in the air too! What am I Shibusawa! What am I?

I don’t know little one, are you a bird? Maybe a cloud! Who knows, maybe you are just Atsushi.

The biting truth is simple, a child cannot be saved unless there is someone willing to save them. In Atsushi’s case he got lucky, Byakko was willing to fight for him, she tore and ate every last bit of him. She did it out of obligation perhaps, Atsushi likes to think it was done out of a place of love.

But his definition of love is twisted, with no one to teach him how it feels-Atsushi grasped at straws and came to his own conclusion.

Atsushi finally looks up, the room now sits completely empty. Turning to his right, Tachihara is gone. Finally fed up with his wish to not speak anymore. The lights have dimmed slightly and the pounding in his head has come to a halt. Atsushi can feel his face twist up incomprehensibly, he can only wonder what is passing through. In the solemn quiet of the meeting room, he hunches over weakly.

Hands coming up from his lap to press against his dry skin, he presses the pads of his fingers over his face, he expects them to leave red indents. His fingers feel like bars, fighting back the build up threatening to boil over behind his lids. Atsushi closes his eyes, he thinks of Byakko.

All by his lonesome, Atsushi lets himself grieve.

Chapter Text

The agency was tip-toeing around him. No messages, check ins or calls asking him if he’s available to work-he’s essentially been put on house arrest. Atsushi is just about ready to barge into the bosses office and demand he be put back into the books. The stifling air of his apartment is not doing any good for him, he’s gonna go crazy if the light above him flickers one more time.

Fucking house arrest

After the meeting with the mafia, Atsushi headed home like usual, absolutely drained and feeling his trust crumble into fine dust. He was grateful for the peace and quiet, Kyoka didn’t bother him, he was glad for it-maybe she had sensed his aversion of wanting to talk about the day.

Not only that but the few days where he wasn’t working, he spent them doing housework and completing his ever growing pile of past due cases. Courtesy of Dazai-of course.

He and Kyoka have moved past the meeting, falling back into their usual routines and it brings him comfort-even with the growing nightmares and terrors that have him fighting air and causing a ruckus. His nightmares have quite frankly gotten bad, and with Yosano making a point of acting like he’s not there and him being on house arrest-Atsushi hasn’t had the chance to speak with the doctor about opting for another dose of sleeping pills.

Their argument was more harmful than he thought. And Atsushi won’t lie and say he’s not sad, he’s devastated, Yosano and he aren’t on speaking terms-and in some ways, Atsushi feels like he can rely on her alot of the time, and to lose that connection over a measly comment just doesn’t sit right with him.

Even Ranpo has the gall to not speak to him, he would have expected that maybe Yosano would be angry with him, but Ranpo? After the conversation they had, where Atsushi poured all his worries and fears into a chalice, letting the man scarf it down and taste all the ugly bits.

It frustrates him to a high degree, none of them have even bothered to update him on the case-he has to hear it from goddamn Kyoka and Jun, both who frequently visit him during off hours and breaks. Which he allows, the company is soothing and both can be very entertaining to him. From what Junichio has told him, during one of his free days-strutting up to his door and walking in like he owns the place.

Atsushi did give him a spare key though, since he has a habit of locking himself out.

Naomi and Haruno have been running themselves ragged-he ought to invite them over for tea honestly. The two secretaries have been working under direct orders of the boss, moving from territory to territory, attending meetings with the special division and even personally interacting with the port mafia-he doesn’t like it, and Jun heartily agrees with him. Jun had recounted a threap the two had over Naomi informing her brother of a conference she was going to attend with the executives of the mafia-specifically Koyo. Atsushi is all for Naomi making decisions for herself, she’s experienced and grown enough to know what she’s getting herself into, despite that, Atsushi had listened attentively with barely concealed unease.

Junichiro matched him in that category, during their talk, his friend was turning a bright red-his pale skin filling up with the color of irritation. He kept slamming Atsushi’s poor mug on his cheap table, each time it pulled a wince from him, and twice Atsushi had to hold back from snapping at Jun. Yet he couldn’t help but sympathize, his friend even under his raging emotions, was simply worried-Junichiro has a steadfast hate for the mafia, especially after they threatened Naomi during the cannibalism event with Dostoevsky and Pushkin.

Atsushi could see that it was fear.

The day after Koyo had landed a hit on him, and spent a good time in the infirmary, Junichiro had come to him; upset and distraught. His friend had cried the moment he walked in, head down and body slightly leaning; he looked like a wounded dog. It was so bad that he had to send Kyoka to Naomi. Atsushi isn’t good at comfort, he doesn’t know the mechanisms for it or how to understand someone who hasn’t gone through what he has. It’s why Lucy and him get along so well, but at that moment all he could do was hold his friend tightly and swallow his own pain.

Junichiro cried that night, he cried a lot-it was ugly and angry and panicky. A swirl of all the ‘unattractive’ emotions, Atsushi saw him as human. They talked, argued, wept and held each other closely. Junichiro clung to him with such desperation that Atsushi couldn’t help but be reminded of himself in that moment, like at any minute Junichiro would open his eyes and see him disappear in a cloud of smoke. A figment of his imagination, in spite of that Atsushi made sure to prove him wrong-he held him with just as much desperation.

Junichiro is an emotional being, his anger the most prominent. Maybe it’s why they get along so much-his friend, a frenzied wildfire that spreads in seconds when started, and he; a powerful gust of wind, gentle as he further ignites the spark and helps carry on the job. Ever the same, a tranquil stream of rain could put them both out, calming the rumbling beginning of their spirits.

I felt my body dying Sushi, it was so cold and everything was blurry. I was scared, I don’t wanna leave Naomi alone. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die.

So it wasn’t as uncommon to see Junichiro on the verge of hyperventilation. Atsushi’s gotten used to it, he knows the right words to quiet his rage, his comfort foods stocked at the very top shelf of his kitchen-out of reach from the kids and Ranpo. Junichiro is a worry-rat in obvious terms, Atsushi thinks his friend is capable of being more anxious than him in some ways. Or both of them are equally matched in that as well, double the trouble for Kunikida then.

You’re not gonna die Jun. If anyone ever tries to come close, I won’t let them. They’ll have to go through me, and let’s be honest here, who wants to fight a man-eating tiger?

Both of them are too similar for their own good. That night, Atsushi remembers clear as day. They laid out on his balcony-watching the turning night as stars shifted and the moon glowed. Kyoka’s sunken plushies surrounded them as they reclined on Atsushi’s first blanket, pillows shoved hastily under their heads and behind their backs, stacked on top of eachother-like a half assed school project, he only really knows of that because Junichiro said it was one of his first projects in middle school.

Junichiro retold the story of him and Naomi doing it for a class, Jun got frustrated when their tower didn’t make first place and some schoolmates insulted it. So in true Junichiro fashion, he chucked the project out the window, along with several others-landing him in front of their head teacher and a week suspension.

Under the fairy lights, in the dead of night. They talked and talked for hours, smushed up together, Junichiro chasing the heat that radiated off his body, legs strewn over each other and elbows awkwardly jutting at their stomachs. Arms thrown above the blanket, sharing a selection of snacks that would make Ranpo jealous. They talked all night, listening to the music that soared high and wide above the main city, and together, they lulled to sleep.

Now it’s been pure radio silence on the agency's part, after Junichiro visited and left with the promise of coming back-he hasn’t. Shooting Atsushi quick texts about how busy their schedule has been getting along with the increasing meetings with the mafia.

His growing temper had dwindled to a minimum when Kyoka had brought back some particular information about Nakahara. The ginger mafioso has also been laid off from work, apparently Koyo and Hirotsu had talked about their concerns regarding the mafioso, deeming him unfit to continue his line of work.

What sparked Atsushi’s curiosity was the symptoms the two executives have confirmed to align with Ranpo’s suspicions. Kyoka had explained that since Nakahara was the first to encounter the ability, he was the first to begin experiencing the effects-which she not so subtly underlyed, means he will begin experiencing his own sort.

Which only begs the question of what Nakahara’s effects are, and if they will differ from Atsushi’s. Even in the safe confines of his house, Atsushi can’t help but feel antsy as the days go on without any sign of his own dealings with the ability. They prolong between shifts in the days, pushing back the unavoidable that Kyoka had ensured would come to him.

Time passes far too quickly for his liking. Atsushi prefers when the sun is up, it means that he won’t have to sleep any longer. His nightmares always leave a lasting impression on him, and in some type of crassful irony-he never remembers them.

That’s the mystery Atsushi has fixated on, the duality of reliving the unknown-his own dreams yet they really aren’t his.

It’s a sick joke that he can’t help but ponder. He’s stuck on it-like a never ending staircase, going seemingly nowhere but knowing it has an end.

Atsushi has stopped trying to figure them out recently, finding there are other things to focus on rather than his nightmares. Now he sits in the quiet floor of his apartment, stacks on stacks of papers dropped off by Kyoka during her breaks after he had asked her too, he knows Kunikida will be angry to a degree for not taking his house arrest seriously-but in Atsushi’s defense, being locked up will surely speed up the process of his insanity, he needs something to do or else he’ll resort to leaving the apartment; and god knows Atsushi doesn’t need a worried Kyoka searching for him.

〜✶♣✶〜

Atsushi experiences his first effect on a Friday night.

It wasn’t a surprise, in a way Atsushi expected them to start soon and convinced himself ready for it. The first symptoms were sudden aches and bouts of nausea that hit him throughout the day. He didn’t think much when he woke up with his body on fire and his head threatening to blow up from a very intense headache that left him bedridden; he slept it off.

The next time he experienced something was during the mid-day, his legs giving out at random-they had suddenly crumbled beneath him as if someone had swiped at his feet while he was preparing Kyoka’s lunch since she wanted to have a pork bowl that day. The sudden movement had caused Atsushi to drop a pan with sizzling oil onto his arm-starting a flurry of accidents. Atsushi doesn’t remember how but he ended up in his bathroom-running cold water over the stinging burn, the skin centred on his forearm turned a gnarly shade of ginger pink as he washed the area-watching the clear liquid turn a faint red. He cleaned up the kitchen and finished cooking.

After his last accident, Atsushi woke up as usual with his forearm bandaged and feeling more drained than usual. Kyoka as expected was gone, a note left on the reset table asking for her lunch to be made fresh. He crumpled the paper and threw it away, he did the chores as usual-despite feeling his senses and emotions cranked up to a hundred. The noises outside weren’t doing the usual job of calming him, instead he felt that everything was wrong.

Something unpleasant was stirring in his chest as he folded clothes and sweeped nonexistent dust off the floor. In the end, he abandoned his chores and began to make Kyoka’s food-his nightmares that night had left him gasping for air, he chalked up his foul mood to that.

Kyoka had asked for kushiyaki with a side of edamame, and so he began to cook for her. He woke up around one in the afternoon-he wasted thirty minutes on housework, and it left him with half an hour to prepare her meal. Not even past washing the salmon, did he begin to get more frustrated as everything went wrong-cutting the salmon wrong, mixing the seasonings wrong, choosing the vegetables wrong.

The bowl that settled in between his shaking hands fell to the floor, porcelain flying everywhere. Spices coating the clean floors and falling into the crevices between planks. Atsushi had knelt down to clean up the mess he made-picking up the shards and holding them longer than he should. Examining the thin point and cutting into his skin.

He felt an overwhelming mixture of guilt and fear, one minute he was making food for Kyoka, the next he’s back in the orphanage. The headmaster behind him, watching like an all seeing deity-the sharp snap of his paddle raining down on Atsushi’s frail arms whenever he deemed it needed. And Atsushi crying silently-holding himself back as to not give the headmaster another reason to punish him.

Atsushi didn’t remember how long he stayed on the floor-he stopped crouching at one point, his legs tucked under him out of force of habit. Everything blurred together into a singular form, he kept his head ducked and focused on the shadowy feet before him. Atsushi kept on crying, his hiccups blended into the silence he settled himself in. The remnants of his bowl made him cry harder-he reached out to scoop up the pieces, mashing them into each other in hopes it’ll fix itself. His hands bled, soaking the floorboards and all he could think was how to remove it from the ground.

Kyoka had found him only forty minutes later. Expecting to find her meal and instead finding him on the ground, mopping up his pitiful sight. Kyoka didn’t eat that day.

His fourth and final symptom was anything unlike Atsushi had ever experienced-he went two days without any more accidents until Friday night. Kyoka began to make her own meals, whenever Atsushi offered to heed the burden-she would look pointedly at his wrapped hands.

Atsushi would stomp away in anger.

It was nearing seven and Kyoka had yet to return, so Atsushi took advantage by settling himself at their small wooden table with a cup of tea and his files picked apart. He was working on the two files given to him by Ranpo, the first was a case deemed worthy of being reopened, the remains of two college students who had gone missing two years prior were found under rubble of a secluded desecrated area-found by a couple of highschool kids.

The case was sickening to say the least-one girl and one boy, Pandora Riker; a twenty-two year old attending Yokohama City University, she was quite clearly a foreigner. Her photo was one taken in consideration of the people around her-even so he could immediately tell who she was, she stood out considerably.

She was dressed in a flowy blouse tucked into black high waisted pants, a bow replacing where a tie would usually take place. Pandora’s hair was styled in a short bob-reminiscing one of those roaring twenties hairstyles. Her hair a faint ginger, freckles scattered all over and bright blue doe eyes creasing at the camera. Her chubby face accentuated the rosy blush over her cheeks, beside Pandora a taller man wrapped one arm over her shoulder-leaning into her short stature.

The man was circled with a red pen, clearly signifying them to be Masuji Ibuse, the other victim of his case. Ibuse was a tall lanky man, he wore a white shirt tucked into jeans, flared at the bottom-and over he donned a light brown suit jacket. His wavy black hair parted at the middle, coming down to nearly his shoulders. One eye was dilated while the other wasn’t, Atsushi read the rest of his description and found the cause-he was in a car accident as a young boy; it left the muscles in his eye paralysed. Under his free arm was decorated cane, both friends smiled wide and flushed.

Atsushi read the rest of the case, and had to step back for a minute. Two friends kidnapped and tortured beyond repair. Before having their lives snuffed from them and thrown out like common trash.

Pandora was the first to die; she endured torture for a whole month before they fucking bashed her head in and burned her. She was mutilated, her x-rays showing the damage done to her bones-her intestinal tract cut out of her like she were some sort of animal. She was only twenty-two.

Ibuse died three days after her. Having gone through the same exact thing, he underwent medical torture and had his face disfigured to the point of being unrecognizable. He was dismembered and burned just like Pandora. He was only twenty-three.

The next file was a whole separate one but still connected. Atsushi had to mentally prepare himself for it but no amount of breathing could help stop the bile that climbed up his throat.

Victoria Woolf, another foreign student who was friends with Pandora and Ibuse. Her file contained a letter that had gone through hell and back, the paper brown and stained with old marks, two years of being untouched left it in such a state, he set the letter aside and read.

She was twenty-two and attended the same University as her friends. Her body was found entirely elsewhere, not burned like Pandora and Ibuse, but still a rotting mess. Her picture was provided by her parents, Euphemia and Rodney Woolf-two grieving adults who traveled all the way to Yokohama once they received notice of their daughter going missing.

Victoria was a pale and slender woman, her endless black hair curled at her waist. In the picture she wore a long brown shirt of a band, the shirt was far too large for her-almost overlaying the large pair of shorts she wore. Victoria's eyes were a piercing silver, the whites of them visible below the iris making her look cold and calculating-her lips slightly downturned. Beside her stood two far more warmer beings; her parents Euphemia and Rodney, they had wide smiles, looking gracefully aged.

Victoria's case was similar to her friends, only she was kidnapped seven months later. Victoria went through the same process of torture and mutilation-only she was fucking violated. Atsushi could only rub his eyes and hold himself back from cursing the world and its inhabitants-two people sick in the head had taken everything from her. Victoria’s case actually held pictures of when she was found, the decomposition had taken place far too long-it had taken them months to find her, months.

Victoria was tortured with a whip of some kind, her body face down on the floor-utterly naked and highlighted in purples and blues that covered her skin. Her back had inch deep gashes, her head scalped-Atsushi swore he could see some bone. There was bruising over her neck, thighs, arms and hips. She was only twenty-two.

In the end they slit her throat and left her in the basement of an abandoned warehouse.

Their captors were never found and the case was thus forgotten. Until recently when some evidence was found in Victoria that the Yokohama police figured could help cover the investigation.

Atsushi could only stare at the files in anguish, he’s experienced it before-the hopeless feeling of coming face to face with reality. Three people had been murdered, Atsushi wished that Ranpo had kept the case; he was never really good at homicide investigations.

Instead Atsushi pushes through and retrieves the old letter he pushed aside. The paper crunched under his finger tips, dust and residue falling onto the files that he swept away with a single swipe. The letter was stuck together as though someone had purposely glued it shut with some strong holding glue, it took careful prying to get it open-only suffering a few tears in the process.

Atsushi opened the letter and began to skim it.

My dear Will,

It’s been a while has it not Will? I battled against all odds to write to you, but I find myself with pen and paper anyhow.

Will? Another person of interest to his case, Atsushi files that for later.

How are you, dear? I know that you have stopped corresponding to my letters, whether out of wariness or disinterest you best stop doing it. Me and Victoria are worried, it’s been months since you’ve responded to us, you say that phones are too incriminating and now we must write on paper! I don’t enjoy the way I have to rewrite everything when a smudge of ink seeps into it.

I don’t know why you have stopped writing and I can only hope this letter finds you at your best.

Me and Victoria have been attending University here in Japan, and if you’ve read my last one you would know, but Will dear you haven’t always been the best at keeping track. It is quite humorous indeed. Me and Vicky have made a friend during our speaker class, his name is Masuji Ibuse, he’s quite handsome, I’ve taken a liking to him, Vicky is still on the fence about the poor boy.

He looks like one of them rockstars in America, looks straight outta Led Zeppelin, he does. Or maybe Marc Bolan? You still like Marc Bolan right, I sure do. I’m getting off track here Will, you’ll have to forgive me. Anyways, Henry’s anniversary is coming up, I don’t like the idea of you hanging alone, you should come see us for it, even though Vicky seems kind of cold towards you right now, trust me she’s just as worried.

Me and Vicky have been attending a studies class together about Yokohama’s history, apparently there are ability users well regarded here and all that jazz, Vicky was ecstatic to hear about it. Also Rodney and Euphemia send their regards, it’s astounding how they have managed to respond to our letters but not you. And please don’t chastise me, I can feel the rolling of your eyes from my dormitory.

I understand that whatever you're doing, wherever you are, is dangerous. You underestimate me, especially Victoria, she’s the reason you were able to escape safely from your little situation so don’t try and ignore that she is a capable ability user just like you.

Please don’t feel like i’m scolding you in a way, i’m far too young for that, haven’t even grown gray hairs yet. Also how’s life treating you so far, if you ever get my letter tell me, is Scotland really as beautiful as people say.

Don’t forget to write back darling, and if you don’t, I’ll keep sending you letters.

Love, Panda and Vicky

Atsushi folded the letter back up before placing it in the file. He sat in silence as he shuffled to put away his work, hiding the cases above the shelfs in the closet where he usually stored his work. They were close enough that if Atsushi couldn’t sleep, he could just sneak his arm through one of the gaps and pull one out for him to try and figure out.

Atsushi had lost track of the time, Kyoka wasn’t home yet but he tidied up her spot anyways. Shoving the table to the side and setting up her futon, he set his up as well before padding off into the bathroom with a fresh new set of clothes-he figured taking a shower might ease the tension in him from the case. He stepped into the bathroom and set his clothes on the toilet seat, leaving quickly to grab a towel before rushing back in.

He made quick work of stripping, avoiding the mirror as he stepped into the shower. Once he flipped the handle, a slow descending spatter engulfed him-the water shifting from freezing to boiling in seconds, he jumped at the rise in temperature before adjusting it to a luke-warm.

The water did little to assuage him, after reading the case Atsushi was left feeling sick to his core. As he ran his fingers through his tangled hair all he could think about was the three friends, even when he began to shampoo his hair with the cheap dollar store pack he had bought a while ago, running his nimble nails through the scalp of his head, massaging in the wash before diving back under the nozzle.

Water poured over his face, soap sliding down the hilt of his neck and chest. In some mysterious way the subs did not fall into his eyes, and under the pelts of the shower he kept his eyes open. It blurred his vision, he didn’t want to continue the investigation, he didn’t want to go back out and see the faces once so lively reduced to ash. Atsushi stuck to small petty crimes for a reason, he wasn’t good at the big stuff, the stuff that involved having to confront the horrors people will do to get what they want. Atsushi tilted his head up to soak in the water, upping up the temperature with his free hand.

He could feel his face burn from the heat, this time he closed his eyes, not wanting to burn them straight out of his skull-that would be a shit away to get injured and with Byakko gone he doesn’t like the idea of being permanently hurt. The bandages around his hands and forearm would need to be changed lest he wish for an infection, the cuts have sewn shut while the burn is still in the process of healing. He didn’t go to Yosano for his injuries even when Kyoka told him to, he didn’t think he could face the doctor currently.

Atsushi squeezes his eyes shut hard; he can imagine fireworks exploding behind his lids, the darkness bursting in faint colors before fading and settling on the images of charred bodies and chopped hair. He only tightens them, willing the pictures to leave him alone, for the burned corpses of Pandora and Ibuse to disappear in a fragment of colors, for the fireworks to come back. Pandora and Ibuse turn to mist, only to be replaced by Victoria who stares at him from the darkness of the basement, her mouth hung open mid scream-eyes bulging from her skull and rolling so far back they pop into the back of her head.

Victoria lays on the floor, her head the only thing facing Atsushi. And in the darkness of his mind he can only focus on the dimmed lighting that shines from her mid back to her ripped black locks surrounding her in a mock halo.

Her mouth gapes in practice, forming hazy words. Atsushi scrunches up his nose, chin pulled taut as he moves to press the heels of his palms to his eyes. Pressing hard into them he could almost imagine his own rolling into the back of his head, Victoria still lays as her face slowly becomes gaunter and the skin begins to flake off in a mushy mess beneath her. He could only think what she felt during her final moments, was she thinking of Pandora? Did she wonder what became of Ibuse? Had her parents come to mind when the knife was lifted against her throat?

Atsuhsi can taste the bile pouring over his tongue, like sweet pulled candy gel-only it’s bitter and chunky. He swallows against the sick concoction making a home in his mouth, gulping down the water that slides down his face in order to get rid of the taste. Finally, Atsushi pulls his hands away and is met with the yellow flickering lights in his bathroom, his body has adjusted to the heat so he turns it up once more, moaning slightly at how good the heat feels against his chest.

Atsushi begins to lather up his body, using a random body wash that was gifted to him by Kyoka, his sister not liking the bar of soap he was consistently using. He pushes out a large amount over his loofah and begins washing himself, working the scrub from his neck down to his chest-making a point of ignoring the old scars littering his body. Soon enough he’s lathered in soap and suds, the water pushing down all the dirt and grime from not showering the past few days.

Once he is thoroughly rinsed Atsushi turns the shower off, stepping out and reaching for his very fluffy towel and drying himself before wrapping it around his waist. The room had steamed up considerably as he made his way to the sink, he runs a quick wipe over the mirror and starts to finish up. Brushing his hair first before moving on to brush his teeth-all in total it doesn’t take very long until he’s spreading a small amount of moisturizer over his face and arms.

He finished up with changing into a plain white shirt and some very loose fitting sweats, Atsushi grimaces at the way his hip bones jut out against the fabric.The towel had long been discarded on the toilet seat, he grabs his dirty clothes and bundles them up in the towel-setting the set aside to begin his bandaging.

Atsushi grabs the massive first aid kit and sets it upon the counter before going back to gaze at himself in the mirror. He feels his breath hitch in his throat, his eyes ever so slightly widening at the figure behind him. Atsushi pivots around as fast as he can and is met with nothing-he blinks rapidly trying to ascertain if he’s going crazy or not.

He goes back to the mirror-and nope he cannot do this today.

Atsushi goes rigid, feels it down to his bones. Familiar white hair reflects off the mirror, the same familiar robe Atsushi used to cover himself with draping down over their body. The same pale destructive hands hanging limply by their side-the only thing he doesn’t see is their face, he doesn’t think he can handle those eyes.

All Atsushi can do is place his hands on the counter and look away, chanting and begging to whoever is playing this cruel joke on him to stop. It’s not fair, all his patience to forget about him, and that same man stands behind him in his reflection looking alive and kind since the last time he saw him. “You're not real, stop you’re not real, that's not you…” he feels his resolve slip, he wants to turn around so fucking bad, he wants to feel his warmth and everything that Atsushi loved about him under the tips of his fingers.

“You’re-you’re not real…” He presses the pads of his hands against his eyes once more, trying to blink back the tears welling in his eyes, “pleas-please-please stop it, you’re not he-her-here!” An ugly cry escapes his lips, he’s so close to hyperventilating-and Atsushi tries to level his breathing, but with every breath taken, a sob takes its place.

“Why won’t you just leave me alone!” His hands slam back onto the sink, knocking the med kit in the process but he barely notices-glaring at the mirror with red-rimmed eyes glistening with halted tears, “what hav-have I-I done to deserve this! You don-” he swallows the saliva accumulating in his mouth, leaving it effectively dry and his voice ragged.

He can hear the rapid pulsing in his heart, from fear or sadness or happiness he doesn’t care to figure it out, his attention is stuck on his worst nightmare. Atsushi can’t look away from their unflawed skin, it looks brand new-like Atsushi had never left his mark on their face, his sign that Atsushi had fought the battle and won. It angers him so fucking much, that he stands there like a brand new toy-and Atsushi, broken and irreparable, put together more times than he wanted to only to be pulled apart and glued together.

His claws sink into the solid surface, anything to get him a grip on reality-to push the horrible mockery made up behind him. They still have their head down, not moving, not breathing-a horrible memo they are dead.

“Why?” Atsushi grits his teeth, enraged. “Why are you here Shibusawa…?” He whispers, breathily and so full of hurt. That somehow manages to get the man's attention, for after what felt like forever he lifts his head-the same cool smile he always associated with him in place.

It feels fake

Ghost Shibusawa shifts closer, gliding and playing the part of ghost perfectly. Atsushi expected to flinch or even tell the man to stay away, but his body protested against him, he feels his body relax instinctively, and that manages to make his resolve crumble. He feels a surge of resentment and want thrum through the tunnels of his veins, he needs to stop this, to get the hell out of the bathroom before he’s burned alive.

Atsushi blinks, Ghost Shibusawa is almost pressed up against him-his eyes don’t leave the mirror and Atsushi’s heart is ringing in his ears. Ghost Shibusawa smiles again-this time it’s warm, his eyes don’t look dead, they look just like the red carnations he used to collect and make crowns out of-ones that Shibusawa had become accustomed to when he would see Atsushi approach with them, dipping his head low for him to place it around their head full of snowy hair.

“You can’t do this to me…” Atsushi somehow manages to choke out, he can see the tears pulsing and dancing down his cheeks. Ghost Shibusawa cocks his head hauntingly, his eyes meeting Atsushi’s in their reflection, the man takes a second to scan him-and he smiles again.

“You summoned me here, Atsushi.” The ghost finally says, Atsushi shakes his head in denial.

“No I didn’t, I didn’t, I don’t know why you’re here but you need to leave. Get out of my house, out of my mind, out of my life-” ghost Shibusawa blinks down at him, surprise passing in his gaze. Almost as if he hadn’t expected that response out of Atsushi.

Ghost Shibusawa somehow manages to smile wider than Atsushi believed to be possible, “Yes you did dear, I didn’t come here out of my own willingness.” He says, amused. “Why is it that you’ve called me in your state?”

“I didn’t…or well I didn’t mean to?” Atsushi cringes at the word dear, this was not how he expected to have a conversation with his dead abusive guardian.

Ghost Shibusawa hums, as though Atsushi’s flailed response made any sense. “I suppose that makes sense in your own strange way, you’ve always had an odd sense of conversation dear, and it seems to remain unchang-”

“Why do you still call me that?” Atsushi blurts out, he pauses-he didn’t mean to say it out loud. The ghost behind him too pauses, the hand under his chin dropping to their side. They watch him unnervingly, the furrow of his brow becoming more procured as they watch him.

“Well what should I call you then?” They say slowly. “You never once had a problem with it before, why start now.”

Atsushi’s face contorts into one of rage, he slams his fist down on the counter and leans into the mirror. “Yeah, I never had a problem until you almost killed me! I was ten! And you had the absolute gall to lie to my face about caring for me and saying that you-you were goin-going to save me! So yeah, I'm not so fond of that word after all these years when I've finally had someone knock some sense into me about how much of a piece of shit you were.”

Their face is uncharacteristically blank, but the small quiver in their brow and the pull of their lip has Atsushi up and about again. “You don’t get to feel bad! If anything I'm the one who should be angry, who should be hurt and sad and upset-not you! So don’t you even dare try and make me the bad guy in your sad pathetic attempt to take something from me that was never yours! You lied to me, you hurt me and damaged me beyond belief-and while you glide around like the sickening poltergeist you are-like a fly-like a memory no one-no one wants to remember!” Atsushi stabs at his own chest, forcefully and it sends a sharp pinprick of pain throughout his body.

“I have to live with the reminder that I was nothing but an interesting toy you played with for your own sick entertainment. These scars, and these burns are my day-to-day life while you get to laze around and not face your own consequences because you're dead!”

“Because I killed you! And dammit would I do it again!” The bathroom is silent, the only sounds coming from Atsushi as he tries to regain his breath, he needs a cool head there's no reason to run straight to anger-but damn was his head testing his patience, conjuring up every little bit of the man he had locked up and tried to move past from. It was hard when he made the decision, but Atsushi’s sanity and well-being were at the forefront of his problems. He didn’t want to ever think about Shibusawa again, he was okay with the good memories-because they were memories. Things he had already lived through and didn’t have to repeat again, which meant he didn’t have to go through all the pain. And he doesn’t want to.

“You know I love you Atsushi.”

Atsushi blinks away the tears that have become a heavy stream, he braces himself for the oncoming blow-nobody ever says that unless they are about to hurt you, and Atsushi has lived through years of pain from himself and others, he knows what to expect.

“I never meant to hurt you, I wanted to bring out your protection, someone that could take care of you when I would not be around-the tiger.” He places a hand on his shoulder, Atsushi doesn’t feel it, “Byakko was supposed to be your start, a new beginning alongside me. Father and son, you and me, believe me dear I had not believed I was causing you pain; and yes my methods were not…the best I assure you I have had time to think it over. What I did to you has haunted me even in death, I will always carry that guilt.”

“I love you Atsushi, even if you do not believe it I always have and always will. From the moment I saw you in that basement, eyes filled with innocent wonder I only thought to protect you.” The ghost slithers his arms around Atsushi’s shoulders, dropping their head onto his-an affectionate show of things, Atsushi feels anything but affection. All he can think is that he doesn’t want his touch, doesn’t want his apologies or explanations, doesn’t want his love-given too late for him to accept.

“I don’t want it… I don’t need it, it’s too late for that. You took every ounce of my love and devotion and-and you threw it all away and I don’t need you. Not now and not ever-I’m happy a-and I have a good-have a great job, my f-friends care about me. They showed me that love doesn’t hurt, it’s not earned but given. Something you failed to teach me, Shibusawa.” He spits out, his throat hurts from all the yelling.

Ghost Shibusawa smiles, it’s a sad one. “I know dear, but if you never needed me, why am I here? Why am I the one you seek comfort from but not your friends? It’s because you don’t trust them to see the uglier parts of you, even when I knew you were a hideous monster, did I still not love you Atsushi?” They begin to caress his face, tender and stinging. It hurts more to see their hand pass through his jaw, “No one mourns the wicked Atsushi, and isn’t that a bit hypocritical that you still think of me? I have crossed lines that even the most cold-hearted wouldn’t dare tread, I have killed hundreds if not thousands, I have betrayed and sold out allies for personal gain, I have never regretted my decisions, and I am the monster mothers tell their children to hide away from-I do not spare anyone who crosses my path.”

Their fingers trace the faint scars on his cheeks, invisible to the naked eye like spider webs entangled deep within his skin-holding him together through thin threads. Ghost Shibusawa is entwined with the scars he has imprinted on him, while their corpse has long left his world Shibusawa still manages to stick to him. Once upon a time Atsushi could not imagine a life without Shibusawa, he kept him grounded in this cruel world-his soft coated words a symphony of everything Atsushi had wanted to hear from someone, that they loved and cared for him-it was enough that Atsushi had forgotten the world was still cruel in some unforgiving form.

“But the one thing I regretted was leaving you behind. I had driven you to do the unthinkable. My dear Atsushi, my gem hidden in the rubble, my murderer.”

“I am the villain in your story Atsushi, and that is fine. But just remember-” his voice softens, ruby eyes shining under the old fluorescent lights-seeming brighter than life itself for a dead man, “my death does not erase the fact that I loved you, and will always continue too. I was once alive with the shared memories we experienced and it was beautiful-and never will I regret that. You will carry on with them, whether you want to or not; for as long as you exist I will be there, I am your first brush with love and I will be your last. That is our connection, people will continue to speak of me as the beast who destroyed everything it touched-but what they will not know of, is of the boy who stood at the center of the storm, untouched by my unquenchable thirst-because you were enough for me.”

Atsushi’s throat tightens uncomfortably as he opens his mouth and releases a whimper, he tries to speak but no words come out-the arms around him feel like a noose, he can feel himself dissolve under the falsity of Shibusawa Tatsuhiko-his words are empty but Atsushi still lets himself shed bitter tears, the light body behind him feels heavier. He told himself he would not let them burn him, but he fears he’s already been caught in the spark. In some twisted way, Atsushi had lit the fire himself. He sobs into nothingness-the urge to turn around and make him disappear is a strong one, but his fear doesn’t let him, he hates that he wishes Shibusawa were actually behind him, that it wasn’t some fucked up image of what he created Shibusawa into-the man was nothing like the one behind him, he was crueler and meaner-yet his touch always felt like the start of a trickle of snow. Melting in his palms faster than they would in anyone else's-because Atsushi for all he is, was always meant to burn the softest of things.

He entwines his fists tightly, bringing them above his mouth, “...please…please….please…” He chants into the quiet of the room, memories of being on his knees and praying to god to absolve him of his sins-to see past his flaws and love him unconditionally. He asks the same of Shibusawa, but no pleading will ever release him from the guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs into his fists, breathless and pained-as if it’s taking every ounce of lapping up the air in the room to get him to speak again. “I’m so sorry, I'm sorry, I will always be sorry but I know that will never be enough.” Ghost Shibusawa doesn’t grace him with an answer, he continues to hold him, their hand never moving anywhere but his face.

“You can’t do this to me,” he can feel the slick of his saliva hanging off his skin, his nose is runny and they all mix up in a vial of his misery. “Why won’t you just leave me alone? I loved you once and that was enough but you can’t keep me here. This was a mistake, it was all a fucking mistake! So leave already, fuck right off where you came from-I don’t need you, I don’t need anybody. I’ve survived long enough on my own, so leave! Get the fuck out of my house!”

“Get the fuck out!” Atsushi yells with all he’s got, he hollers and rages to nothing but himself. He tugs at the wet strands of his hair, pulling and twisting until he can feel them start to rip. “Get out of my head! Get out of my life! It’s over, you're gone, you're gone!”

A storm is brewing in his stomach, accompanied by a whirlwind of flames that lick up his insides and burn whatever human is left in him. His head is pounding from all the crying and heaving breaths that have been punched out of him, he can’t breath, he’s being tugged under water and the deafening silence in his ears is somehow worse now that ghost Shibusawa isn’t in his ear talking bullshit like he always did.

It angers him, he swipes at the counter shoving everything to the floor, he can hear shattering in the distant parts of the room but he doesn’t falter. “Get the fuck out! Get out and never come back, you’re dead and buried, you shouldn’t even be here! I don’t care if this is some messed up nightmare, I don’t care if you’re here because of me-leave! I don’t need to hear it, all your excuses and lies, everything about you is a lie. You’re the very being of cruelty and you don’t deserve to come back into my life and try to take me down with you-I’m not like you!”

“So leave!” He spits.”Stop haunting me, I’m tired of it-you’re face, you’re words, you’re stupid eyes. Please just leave me alone already!” Atsushi glares at the mirror, he can see how bloodshot his eyes have become, his lips covered in spit from all the yelling. Ghost Shibusawa has stopped smiling, he’s not facing Atsushi anymore-instead he’s perched himself right beside his head. Cherry picked eyes staring at him-though not through the mirror; no, he’s staring at him as if he were there in person-as if his body hasn’t long melded into the depths of the earth.

“I love you Atsushi,” he snuggles in closer, fingers playing with Atsushi’s long strand, “even if you wish to continue to hate me, do what you will dear-I do not hold that against you.”

“You don’t love me,” Atsushi whispered, he says unsurely-some part of him believes that Shibusawa did love him, in his own twisted way-yet all the same.

“I do. I can recall all the times I have showered you with affection, all the times I’ve held you like no other, all the times I’ve put you to bed or laid by your side-recounting stories of my travels. Maybe you can recall the times I have told you, I assure you that those were not lies-even if you believe them to be.”

Atsushi casts his eyes downward, a flush of shame creeping over him. It was like playing a game with him, going in circles with no end. And Shibusawa was winning, Atsushi can’t even brush off his claims because he doesn't even know if they’re true, he’s locked away all memories of him-and even as he tries to push to remember they come up blank. It’s like he’s being blocked out, forcefully pushed away in his own mind-and isn’t that just funny.

“You don’t love me Shibusawa, you loved the image you tried to create out of me. You loved how I leaned into it, you loved knowing you possessed the ability to sway me,” it’s painful to admit, but Atsushi isn’t a naive little boy anymore. “I don’t know what you’re trying to play at, but I won’t fall for your games any longer.”

He moves to look at the mirror for the last time. “You look just like the real thing,” he laughs emptily, no humor in his tone. “But I know it’s not really you, and honestly I rather this is how I remember you rather than how you actually were.”

“Call me stupid, maybe even desperate. You can’t blame a guy for holding onto the past-and I don’t think I'll ever let go,” he laughs again, “you’ll be a bad dream resurfacing on my worst days, or perhaps when I'm in a nostalgic mood.” Atsushi can’t help but quip, knowing that the man behind him can’t ever lay a hand on him again-funnily enough, ghost Shibusawa proves Atsushi’s point; he doesn’t look angry or disgruntled, instead he smiles gingerly. Atsushi returns it.

“I hope I don’t have to see you again, I really do. I don’t think I would be able to handle it and honestly-” he stares back at ghost Shibusawa’s eyes, the same precious jewels that he used to admire, “you are the villain in my story, you will always be some form of evil in my memories-but some small fragment, a tiny piece of me will hold the parts of you where I saw good-”

Ghost Shibusawa laughs. “No part of me was good Atsushi, I had thought we established that?” And suddenly Atsushi can’t bare it, seeing him all young and untouched while he grows older and lives life.

“No, you weren’t,” and god does that hurt to admit, he sees the way his eyes begin to shine again and his mouth trembles violently. “But I really wished you were.”

Ghost Shibusawa clicks his tongue, pursing his lips in amusement and a world of emotions swirling in his eyes. “Did you wish for me to become a better version of myself?”

“A version that wouldn’t have hurt me, yeah I did.” Atsushi says, it breaks his heart when ghost Shibusawa only laughs again-it means he doesn’t believe he was capable of change, not now and not ever. Atsushi forgets that it’s all an illusion, that he’s hurting himself by asking those questions and for some reason expecting a different answer each time-because even in a time where he envisions him to be different, Shibusawa was never going to change and Atsushi knew that.

“All the things you could have wished from me, yet you ask for the impossible,” ghost Shibusawa shakes his head, he leans away from Atsushi-instead opting to settle his hands on his shoulders. “There will never be a timeline where I do not hurt you dear, it is just how things go about sometimes. Did I take pleasure in your harm? No I did not, but did I deem it necessary? Yes I did. If it were not for my involvement in your pain, you would have not led the life you lead now.”

“Pain can be the solution to problems, or it can stagger you in more ways than one. If you let it stop you, there's no knowing where you’ll end up other than a ditch.” He says ominously, it’s a recurring theme for Atsushi that he has long learned to try and not decipher lest he hurt himself.

“I shouldn’t be this kind of tired at my age,” Atsushi responds.

“No you shouldn’t be, but we do not choose the experiences we encounter,” he continues, “if we question the struggles thrown at us, they will never truly disappear-we can only learn from them. And Atsushi, it seems to me you have yet too.”

Atsushi huffs incredulously. “How can I? All my life I’ve been given the worst of the worst-shouldn’t I be allowed to question it?”

“People can be cruel dear.”

He can’t help the snort that escapes him. “That’s an understatement,” ghost Shibusawa only lets out a ‘tut’ at him, shaking his head as if everything he’s said had flown over Atsushi’s head.

“Yes, I suppose it is. But you must accept what has been given to you, and with gratefulness-if it were not for the trials laid upon you, do you truly believe you would be standing where you are? You have survived so far, what makes you think you can not survive the next one? Or the one after that, you are much more resilient than you give yourself credit for Atsushi. Use it dear, and do not forget just because one step is harder than the last that it is not the same.”

“I hate you,” Atsushi mutters, and he doesn’t hesitate to say it-surprisingly it doesn’t feel like a lie either. Deep down Atsushi does truly hate him, he resents everything he put him through-the torture and damage. He doesn’t feel ashamed to show his hatred so openly, it might connect to how he knows for sure Shibusawa can’t hurt him in any way other than words, but it’s something he’s always wanted to just come out and say-Atsushi resents Shibusawa just as much as he does the headmaster, maybe even more.

He finds himself stuck in between two walls, slowly encasing themselves on both sides-keeping him trapped in the same spot. He remembers how Shibusawa’s body was never recovered, it’s a hazy memory, one he had locked away but every once in a while a flash of blank rubies will pass and go. Atsushi left nothing behind for the headmaster to find, he can’t recall if it was out of fear, or out of shame-all he remembers were those dead eyes matching with the colored ground. He does know that the headmaster had been particularly nice to him the next few days-maybe he was made aware of the things Shibusawa was doing to him in the cellar. It didn’t last very long. One mistake and he was back underground envisioning the chance to kill the headmaster himself like he did to Shibusawa. He never got to do it anyways.

“I really do hate you, I wish I didn’t but you make me want to-” he takes a deep breath, hands unclenching from the counter. He tries to find the words-but nothing comes up, it pisses him off more when ghost Shibusawa waits-patiently. Showcasing patience that the actual Shibusawa never had, he was like a ticking time bomb, every little thing would be a danger to making him explode and taking Atsushi with him, a monsoon of flames and debris that would latch onto him but leave Shibusawa untouched, because it was his in the first place; never Atsushi’s.

“You make me feel like my pain isn’t worth living for,” he can feel the thick globs of wetness making a home on his cheeks again, he wipes them away.

And then he punches the mirror

Immediately he can feel the splintering crack of his fist recoil off the mirror, a hot rush of blood exploding through his hand and traversing his body. Atsushi doesn’t deter, he bites back the hiss clawing as his throat and hits the glass pane again-watching as shards rupture beneath his fury. Shibusawa becomes a blur of missing parts, fading as large pieces fall or imbed themselves in his fist. Tears begin to leak again but he continues to destroy the mirror, he punches over and over and over till the point that his fist has stopped processing the flames biting at his skin.

It throbs instead, he can almost hear the surge of blood escaping into a waterfall. It drips over the counter and stains the porcelain sink, Atsushi doesn’t think-he doesn’t ever think. He sobs into nothingness, embarrassing hiccups coming out and stunting his movement. But it didn’t matter as his punches began to come out sluggish, he’d imagine the scene in front of him would look to be straight out of a horror movie-all the blood and bits of skin that the shards probably skinned off him. Not to mention the very much concerning pool of blood that is leaking from him, he thinks his fist might be broken too.shav

The mirror in front of him is no more, most of the big pieces have fallen and shattered while the smaller ones hang on by the old tattered glue attached to the wooden ply. He flicks his eye away from the mess in front of him, up to the ruby one peeking out from one of the last shards that have yet to fall. He can only see half of ghost Shibusawa’s face, the man smiles sleepily-he opens his mouth, words forming over his sickly plush lips.

“Give your life meaning and traverse where the green grass grows, I’m sure you’ll find it,” Atsushi rips the last shard out of the mirror, its edges cutting deep into his hardened finger barely drawing any blood. He throws it to the ground and doesn’t hesitate to stomp on it with his bare foot-his mind is blank, nothing floating in or out all he can think about is getting rid of the unrelenting hold Shibusawa has on him.

His foot is covered with specks of shaving from the glass, every step a throb that sends sparks of thorny pain through his nerves. Atsushi stares down the bare wood of what used to be their mirror, nothing stares back and finally did he release a breath-he expected it to be freeing, but he feels nothing of the sort. An emptiness flees into him, watching and knowing that Shibusawa is gone brings him no sense of contentment, Atsushi thinks something might be wrong with him-but there's always been a problem within him.

He’s not normal, he’s not sane and he surely isn’t a good person. His pain isn’t his, his emotions too-neither his life or being belongs either. He walks a dangerous path with no intention to stop, always moving forward through the danger and unseeing that he for some reason seeks out. But he feels like he’s stuck, going in circles through the same stop over and over and it’s humiliating.

There’s always been something wrong with him, deep in his body that moves like a cadaver, inspected and prodded by everybody around him. He feels it too, he’s a dead man walking, a corpse finding its way from the grave to its home-searching for the memories that have been stripped away. Atsushi doesn’t feel the slide of the door behind him as he falls straight onto the dirty floor, doesn’t acknowledge the sobs wracking through his body, his placid hands finding his bare arms and flaying his dirty skin. Doesn’t acknowledge his agonised wails reverberating through the walls, finding their place in the mundane world. No, he does not think.

His hand thrums dully, the pain still there but lowered to a minimum. He can feel the cracked bones shifting and he cries harder-Byakko isn’t there to heal him. Nobody is there for him and it makes him feel hopeless, he calls for Dazai and Yosano, he yells for Junichiro and Kunikida, he whimpers for Kyoka and Kenji but no one hears him. And soon he becomes quiet.

〜✶♣✶〜

“He’s getting worse!” Junichiro slaps the table.

“This isn’t mild-or a small little-little thing, Atsushi is getting worse and we need to do something!” Junichiro bellows, the meeting room has gone silent and he scrutinizes every individual sitting at the table. While the agency looks more worried than subdued-the mafiosos before him quite literally look like they don’t care, and it's starting to piss him off.

The two groups are currently in a meeting, except for Nakahara, Kyoka and Atsushi who have been deemed unable to come, Junichiro doesn’t care for the ginger mafioso-his sole worry is Atsushi and Atsushi alone. They’ve been discussing what to do with the two after Atsushi started showing his own symptoms-and fuck have they been bad. Not even a day ago Atsushi was rushed into the clinic by Kyoka, looking terrible and covered with blood and refusing to talk to anyone. They were all in a work rush when the two came in, Kyoka was let go early after finishing her work only for her to come back in a crying mess with Atsushi behind her-barefooted and dripping with water.

The two were taken to the clinic and Yosano didn’t let any of them come in! Junichiro felt his soul leave his body when Atsushi walked in, he wanted to be there for his friend but Yosano was adamant they give him space and Junichiro respected that, he really did. But when his friend showed up looking straight out of a crime scene he couldn’t just stay back. What type of friend would that make him? Either a fucking psychopath or a stranger and Junichiro was neither.

In any case he’s sure that Yosano would have let him, and he might as well cut the doctor some slack. When she walked back out she looked like a hundred years had been cut out of her life-tired and weary when they all crowded her. And she finally told them what had happened with Atsushi, while Ranpo and Dazai were able to keep their cool-Junichiro couldn’t, he wanted to burst in there but Naomi’s grip on him kept him from going anywhere. He felt like his own life had been cut short, Junichiro hadn’t met Shibusawa personally-nor did he ever confront the man during the events of their suicide investigation regarding the fog.

But from the tidbits Atsushi had told him about the man, he sounded like a real fucking nightmare.

And finally what felt after hours of waiting was he allowed to see him, his best friend looked horrible. His hair sagged and stuck to his face, dark rings laid under his eyes and he wasn’t dressed in the blood soaked outfit he appeared in. He did though have bandages wrapped around one of his feet, some were on his arms and hands-one plastered on his left cheek. Junichiro remembers when he fell to Atsushi’s side, holding him as if it were their last moment on earth-petting his hair while Kyoka sat on his other side silent as a statue. Atsushi stared at nothing and continued to do so for the entire day.

He was released with Kyoka a few hours after, the young girl denying her part in the meeting they were gonna call-she decided to stick with Atsushi and Junichiro blessed her for that. Now he sits on his chair, the one beside him empty with what is usually Atsushi’s seat-it leaves him unnerved, he doesn’t like it.

Junichiro watches as Kunikida raises a hand, his face impassive as he addresses the room. He has to clench his hand, refraining himself from doing anything that can get him kicked out of the meeting room. He was already given one warning earlier after he got in an argument with one of the black lizards over who was of utmost importance, which obviously is Atsushi.

Junichiro knows little about what Nakahara’s symptoms are, but from the grim looks on each of the mafioso's faces he can tell it’s probably as bad as Atsushi’s. Kunikida has taken the lead alongside Dazai, for once Dazai actually seems to be putting in an effort with trying to figure out what to do with Nakahara and Atsushi-he doesn’t try to shadow his surprise, but it’s not like his colleague is putting any attention towards him.

They’ve been scouring for any information regarding Kobo’s friend, with the small lead they’ve been given it’s not much to head off on. But they're all running out of time, Ranpo and Yosano have taken the role of searching for the five suspects they have written down from the last meeting-one that took place about a week ago. Junichiro glances towards the board, five pictures taped up of their suspects, five people who have gone under the radar in Yokohama, and five people who are suspected to be responsible for his friend's pain. It makes him sick.

He can feel the exhaustion floating about in the room, Kunikida looks like he’d fall dead any second now and Kenji keeps nodding off. Yosano and Dazai at least look fine on the outside-but the tiny twitches and random jolts when called for say otherwise. Ranpo seems decently fine even with the eyebags circling his pale face, Junichiro himself can feel the sag of his weight, each step to the meeting room earlier getting heavier and heavier. He’d been working non-stop after the last meeting, going out to talk to the special divisions counselor Ango and accompanying Dazai to go have a chat with Fitzgerald and his secretary Louisa.

Both of which have been of no use whatsoever, it sucks. He’s tired and aching all over, the soles of his feet run down from all the traversing around the agency and Yokohama. The boss thought it a good idea to put a hold on their usual investigations, turning away clients and posing as closed, which also means their money is running tight and the boss had to whip out their savings in order to pay for the stuff they need for the investigation. At least the port mafia boss was kind enough to offer to help, and he did provide them with some money for their part in it-he doesn’t know the exact cost but judging from Ranpo’s new stack of international candy it must be a lot.

“Atsushi has reported that his symptoms appeared about a week after our last meeting took place, a week after Nakahara’s,” Kunikida announces, the room once again going silent and listening with rapt attention. “Ranpo believes that the timing of their effects could be connected between the time they encountered Kobo’s aid.” He gestures towards the other detective, who in turn pops their lollipop out of their mouth and waves happily.

Ranpo stands and clears his throat. “Yes, I’ve been researching the timing of their encounter since the attack on both of them. And at first I believed that the effects would have started depending on whose stability was worse-my guess was Atsushi but during one of the past meetings when Koyo brought up Nakahara, I figured it began with touch.”

“It’s not that hard to understand now that we know his ability is based on time and touch-the only problem is we don’t know if it’s prolonged exposure. Whether it turns off by itself after a certain amount of time or stays until someone can deactivate it.”

“The worst case scenario is that it’s like Shibusawa’s, it doesn’t turn off unless the user is dead.” Junichiro shudders, he remembers fighting his own clone-how close to death he was and how afraid he was to leave the world alone and scared. And to know that it’s a possibility Atsushi might go through again, it’s the worst unimaginable thing to experience again.

“We also have news to bring to the table,” Junichiro focuses on the voice, the old man from the black lizard has decided to speak up-and he brings a file packet with him. “Both Tachihara and Gin conducted a bit of research themselves and managed to track down two of the aforementioned suspects. Though they were not taken into custody, Gin and Tachihara managed to wrangle a bit of information out of them.”

“By wrangle you mean beat,” Dazai deadpans as he raises a single brow.

“We still managed to retrieve information did we not?” Hirotsu says, not denying nor agreeing-but hey, whos Junichiro to judge he’d probably do the same. Probably.

“What did you manage to get?” Kunikida buts in just as Dazai attempts to respond-Junichiro is surprised Kunikida didn’t go straight to trying to reprimand the mafioso. Dazai turns to look at his partner, offense written all over his face; Kunkida ignores him.

“Samuel Beckett and James Joyce. Gin was able to track down James Joyce in Kamakura through some informants-Gin reported to me that he had no knowledge of Chuuya or the were-tiger, and his ability did not match up with the one affecting Chuuya,” Hirotsu throws one leg over the other. “But he did recognize Kobo Abe, mentioned he knew him from a guild of assassins and hitmen.”

“A guild?” Kunikida glances, but Hirotsu puts a hand up.

“Yes a guild, as for Samuel beckett-Tachihara found him not far from Yokohama, he was in the Kanagawa prefecture. Beckett also held no idea of who the two were but he is involved with said guild. Unlike Joyce, Beckett put up a bit of a fight but otherwise gave us enough information.”

“The two recognized Kobo Abe, more so Beckett than Joyce. But Beckett mentioned how when he was inducted into the guild Kobo led the induction. All he knows is that Kobo is one of the top governing figures in the group, a man that should not be trifled with and who answers to their boss directly.” Hirotsu begins to rifle through the file he brought, sliding out a piece of paper and handing it to Kunikida.

“Tachihara managed to get more information from him, targets, names, origins of many of their members. Most being low class thugs or experienced assassins,” Hirotsu continues as Kunikida looks over the paper given to him. “The guild is an international one, their location based in Asia though the specific area I am still unsure of.”

Kunikida hums noncommittally, obviously enthralled with the paper. “Did you manage to get a name?”

Hirotsu’s face turns solemn. “It is the Rib of Epicurus.” Junichiro can hear the room stall, every little sound a movement thrown into a halt-he looks around confused and he can see Naomi do the same from his peripheral. Dazai and Yosano both react to the name, Dazai’s face twisting in something Junichiro can’t recognize while the doctor just looks shocked.

“The Rib of Epicurus?” Kenji squeaks, the young boy looking around rapidly.

Koyo clears her throat and looks at the young detective softly-though her eyes hold worry. “It is an organization within our border, between Asia and Europe. We hold no ties to them but we believe that they were involved in the Dragon's head conflict six years ago.”

“If Kobo is a part of the rib of epicurus then there could be the possibility that he was involved in the conflict…” Kunikida murmurs, and Junichiro feels uneasy-queasy in a way to know that someone as dangerous as Kobo was right under their noses.

“But wouldn’t he have been a kid during the conflict?” Tachihara questions, glancing at the older man beside him warily-Kunikida lets out a sigh before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes he would have, probably around seventeen to eighteen but back then people didn’t really have a choice in the matter-especially ability users.”

Dazai steps forward. “During my time in the mafia, me and a colleague of mine encountered a couple of their members. They were bottom-feeders, we didn’t think much of them-turns out we should have been keeping an eye on the group,” he smiles sardonically.

“Wait wait wait, what does this have to do with Chuuya then?” Tachihara asks, Junichiro wonders too, if this group is involved in any way it also puts Atsushi in danger of them.

“It means boy, that if Kobo is involved with this guild then we might encounter some problems if he’s still working with them. He holds a high position in the group and that can pose a very dangerous problem.” Koyo responds.

Dazai places himself beside his partner, his gaze moving towards the paper, then says,“Is there anything else that Beckett or Joyce said?”

“Joyce has been cleared, he knows nothing else about Kobo. But Beckett mentioned how Kobo had been going on solo missions for a few years, working alongside foreign ability users and decently known organizations within Europe.” Kunikida turns to pin the paper on the board, standing in front of it for a few seconds before turning his attention back to the older mafioso.

Yosano speaks up from her spot beside Ranpo, hands gripping the edge of the table. “Did any of you manage to learn what their abilities are? For all we know they could’ve been lying.”

Gin perks up at that, her sharp nail tapping the spot in front of her. “I was able to figure out Joyce’s, he didn’t mind telling me as long as I didn’t mention it to the special division.”

“Are you?” Ranpo chirps. Gin just shrugs, her hand coming to play with a strand hanging by her face. “Not unless the boss orders me to, but anyways he told me it’s called ‘The Dead’ basically he’s able to manipulate people's emotions. Nothing too strong or interesting, he doesn’t use it much either from what he told me.”

“Wow, what a super frightening ability from one of our top leading suspects.”

“Shut up Tachihara.”

Ranpo smiles coyly, “And I’m guessing Beckett’s ability allows him to make other people relive their memories and plant fake ones correct?”

Hirotsu nods and everyone makes a point to ignore Tachihara’s squawk of indignation.

“Welp! Seems we can cross them off our lists for now, but we better keep an eye on those two just in case-especially Beckett.” Ranpo pops a chip in his mouth, pushing his feet on the table to lean back. “We’re down to Oscar Wilde and William Yeats, we also need to keep an eye out for that guild-wouldn’t want them to be a pain later on.”

Yosano nods before turning to the table. “We have a lead on Stendhal, the problem is that he’s gone off the radar and nobody knows of his location at the moment. Ranpo and I have been researching and talking to people who know him.” She removes a paper from her file, sliding it over to Gin who takes it gracefully.

“He was working as an international lawyer in Chiba, he had moved his family and all to Japan. A wife and three kids but they suddenly disappeared, we’ve checked flight records and any recent purchases they have made-but nothing. It’s like they’ve been erased.” Yosano frowns, she looks vaguely troubled with their discovery.

Ranpo continues where the doctor has stopped. “After that we couldn’t find anything more, either their dead or have just gone underground for all we know.”

Koyo brings a hand to her mouth. “This is very troublesome…shouldn’t we focus on Chuuya and the boy? Their protection is our type priority.” She finishes with a slight strain in her voice, Junichiro scowls at it.

The room sings in a chorus of agreement.

“Why not let them dorm together!”

Junichiro snaps his head towards Kenji, the young boy smiling brightly as if what he said was the best idea in the world. “If Atsushi dorms with Mr.Chuuya in an area we all know of, we can keep an eye on them,” he says, that stupid adorable grin of his fixed in place.

“Well…” Kunikida is considering it. That bastard is considering Kenji’s idiotic plan. Junichiro decides to jump in before they make any hasty plans.

“What about Kyoka! She can keep an eye on him and someone from the mafia can keep an eye on Nakahara.” Junichiro blurts out, he’s not comfortable letting his friend walk into uncharted territory-even if they have an alliance in place and without the two head honchos here, all the responsibility falls on Kunikida and the mafiosos.

“Oh please! You just don’t wanna be away from your boyfriend.” Tachihara sneers.

“And what would you know about having a boyfriend, asshole?” Junichiro growls, jumping out of his seat and steadying himself on the table. God he hated that knock off bastard, he bets he’s not even a real ginger.

“Brother, sit down! Don’t give him the satisfaction.” Naomi has left her own seat and walked over to him-placing a calm hand on his back and attempting to tug him back in his seat. Junichiro really wished Naomi wouldn’t interfere, Tachihara has been pissing him off since the meeting two weeks ago-being all assholish to Atsushi. Freaking Atsushi! The nicest guy in their hold bunch-except for Kenji, but he’s more naive than kind in a way.

Tachihara snorts before giving his attention back to Kunikida. Junichiro physically has to repress the twitch in his eye-so he settles down too. Making a show of crossing his arms and glaring at the teen.

“it ‘s not a bad idea, if we have them both in one area we can manage to keep an eye on them. Maybe even do shifts to check in every once in a while.” Gin says.

Yosano shakes her head at that. “But we still don’t know if their effects with the ability will or can affect one another. I don’t think we should do that just yet-don’t get me wrong, it’s smart for us to keep an eye on them,” she gets up from her seat, moving to the board where all the information is pinned up. “Yet it will also come with a cost, if their reactions to the ability somehow affect each other then they could hurt themselves. Also if Kobo is in a way related and wants to get ahold of the two, keeping them in one place would be risky.”

“Maybe have them check in with me, I can run a simple diagnostic-let them room for a few days and we can observe for any side effects. If I see nothing during that time period then it’s a safe bet to let them room.”

Hirotsu nods his head in agreement. “Yes that would be wise of us to do, but we must act quickly then; no time to waste.” He turns to Tachihara, the teen on his phone oblivious to his colleague fixing him a look. “Tachihara,” the mafioso looks up lazily, plucking an earphone out.

“Have Akutagawa inform the boss we have made a change of plans and we will be bringing in a batch of news. And tell Higuchi to speak to Chuuya about dorming with the tiger-lad,” the man turns to Kunikida and Dazai. “Is there any specific location we should move them too? I do not think it would be safe for both to temporarily live in your suites.”

“Have them move into my old apartment, the one Mori gave me. Send in some cleaners too-don’t think anyones been in there since it was given to me,” Dazai waves a hand, then turns to Kunikida, “it’s better to have them in the mafia territory, they can guard them better than we can.” Kunikida looks at him skeptical, but nods in agreement.

“I will be informing the boss about these changes, excuse me.” Kunikida slips out of the room, Junichiro knows the boss isn’t with them currently which means he’ll shoot them a call. He doesn’t feel comfortable knowing Atsushi will be on mafia territory, but he also can’t disagree with what they’ve said. The port is well-known and feared, they’ve also garnered a lot of respect from smaller organizations and the special division-it would be dumb not to take them up on the offer.

Junichiro can feel his stomach churn, an unwelcoming feeling settling in his stomach. He rubs absent-mindly at it, alleviating a feeling he knows isn’t there. Now that he knows they can take turns supervising them and checking in, Junichiro is totally gonna take that offer up. He can’t leave his best buddy alone, and Atsushi would probably be bored out of his mind without him.

Hirotsu shares a look with Tachihara and the boy sighs, going back on his phone and typing very loudly.

Junichiro looks away and finds Yosano, he calls for her-the doctor making no movement to show that she hears him, he tries again, no go. Maybe he is saying it a little too quietly so he ups the ante, calling for her at normal volume and thanking the stars that she finally responds. She makes her way over, briskly moving through chairs before she stops in front of him.

“I can take the shifts of checking in on Atsushi, I know that you guys will probably be busier than me.” Junichiro tells her, crossing his imaginary fingers which is kinda stupid, but he’s aiming for luck right now and he’ll take it. Yosano raises a brow, her mouth pinched and he can tell she’s already figured him out. But Yosano is great, she’s awesome and he is so taking her out on a shopping date.

The doctor huffs a breath. “Yeah of course, you’re right we’re all gonna be mega busy so you might as well take the shift. Ask Kyoka or Kenji to accompany you-strength in pairs and all that.” Junichiro throws an imaginary fist bump in his head, he smiles wonkily-giving her a thumbs up and thanking her, he should give her a peck on the hand too for old times sake. Kunikida walks back in, he shares a curt nod with Hirotsu.

“The boss has agreed to the terms, how quickly can we transport Atsushi?” Kunikida asks.

“We can be ready by tomorrow, I have already informed Chuuya and the boss. The boss has agreed to house the tiger-lad during our search for the ability user. We will be using Dazai’s old housing for both of them, so it is best for the boy to pack up enough clothes.” Hirotsu responds.

Dazai claps his hands happily. “Great! So we stick with our current plan. Find out more about Wilde and Yeats, investigate the rib of Epicurus, keep an eye on Sushi and the slug. Easy peasy!” He turns to Yosano. “You should probably let Kyoka dorm with you during Atsushi’s absence, don’t wanna let her stay alone.” she smirks.

“I believe this meeting is adjourned, we will tell Atsushi about the change in plans and have him ready by tomorrow. Thank you for your assistance and tell your boss he has our thanks.” Kunikida begins to take down the stuff from the board, giving them to Ranpo who salutes the mafiosos.

Junichiro watches from his spot as they all begin to shuffle out. Tachihara and Koyo making a point to ignore them, at least Gin and Hirotsu have the decency to acknowledge their group-even if it’s a small tilt of their heads. Ranpo and Yosano are quick to follow suit, the detective bouncing out with a stack of papers and the doctor shaking her head while carrying his bags of snacks. Junichiro too decides to leave, Naomi quick to follow-he gives his sister a headstart while he lingers by the door, watching Dazai and Kunikida talk in hushed tones. Giving them a quick once-over, he leaves with two things on his mind.

Who’s going to tell Atsushi and what is he going to do without him?

Chapter Text

Unfocused blurs of green and pale blue overcast Atsushi as he becomes enshrouded in darkness. They go under an overpass, the rain of colors stilling before disappearing into brown orange hues from the lights suspended above them.

The car jolts from all the bumps on the road, it’s uncomfortably silent. He keeps focus on the outside, each bump sends a tingle of discomfort through his feet. They ache badly, not painful per say but definitely a bother. Atsushi doesn’t really understand how he ended up in a mafia owned vehicle, one moment he was sleeping and the next Junichiro and Naomi had busted into his apartment-saving him from his usual inability to sleep by throwing racks of clothes at him and roping in Kyoka to do whatever they were doing.

He didn’t bother to get up, still sore from the day before. The creak in his bones startlingly stiff from the curled up position he laid in-the closet is not an ideal sleeping space, let alone a good bed. Then he was up on his feet, dragged out by Junichiro and sent to change with Kyoka keeping a vigil watch on him. Atsushi didn’t bother with it, he was far too tired and morose to argue about privacy.

Now he sits in the company of the black lizards, his luggage thrown in the back of the car with all his necessities and a well gone wish to go back home. The car is a very nice looking one, it's decked out and resembles that of a limousine. Atsushi is tucked at the back, hands curled in his lap with his head clashing against the window. He didn’t bother to get fully dressed, throwing on some black jeans and a sweater of some show or band-he doesn’t know. Only that it belongs to Junichiro, it holds a bit of comfort too-might be a reason why he put it on.

Opposite of him are the black lizards, Hirotsu in the middle with Gin and Tachihara flagging him on either side. Before he left Atsushi was confused and unaware of anything-only being clued in by a very overwrought Kunikida, it was weird seeing the agency outside his door. All posed up like they were sending him off to boot camp or college. He left with two suitcases worth of clothes and essentials, a bag with all his work, some medication from Yosano and well wishes from the rest.

Atsushi isn’t gonna lie and say he was paying attention because he most certainly was not. It was barely the morning, and even though he did not sleep whatsoever he was still vaguely tired.

Kyoka had pressed a discman to his hand before giving him a hug-stating she was gonna stay with Yosano during his ‘get-away’ which for some reason did not click in his head until he was well away from his home. Junichiro and Naomi also gave him hugs, he always loves hugs from them-they make him feel warm and fuzzy each time, they also give the best hugs.

Kunikida gave him a firm pat on the back accompanied by Dazai ruffling his hair and giving him one of those very rare genuine smiles reserved for Atsushi. Kenji gave him a hug too and some snacks for the trip-which he would really like to eat but refuses too in the midst of the mafiosos in front of him. Yosano only smiled tersely, while Ranpo threw a bag of candy at him. The president was nowhere to be seen-but Dazai did press a very thick letter in his hand, along with a wink.

Atsushi finds his gaze moving over to the other three, Hirotsu is the picture perfect form of composure. He’s impeccably dressed in his usual rich outfit, his eyes closed but not to the point of unawareness. Atsushi knows that the older man is aware he’s staring, luckily for Atsushi; he doesn’t care and continues on. Tachihara is leaning on his colleagues shoulder, earphones secured in his ears and eyes shut-he’s snoring lightly. Unlike her coworker, Gin is awake and canny-her posture is a little tense but he can’t really fault her for it. Having someone who was your enemy not even a couple of months ago five inches from you would make anyone hypertonic.

Funnily enough he’s useless at the moment.

Gin has her head bowed and fiddles with the holster in her hands, slipping the knife in and out of its pocket. He should probably be a little bit worried at what the implication could mean, but he’s tired and wrung out of his mind. Turns out not sleeping for days on end is really bad for a person's health-go figure. The car is in pristine condition, his eyes roam over the leather seats to the velvet lining on the walls to the mini bar on his right. Two glass cups sit emptily, droplets dripping from the humidity of the inside. A bottle of some sort of alcohol sits half finished right next to it.

He can feel the lids of his eyes drooping every once in a while. Atsushi fights to keep them open but he’ll succumb to a few seconds of shut eye before snapping them wide. It’s repeated periodically, he doesn’t want to sleep, can’t handle the strain of his mind at the moment. And the ability placed upon him is really making it difficult for him to stay awake. Atsushi is human, he knows that somethings just need to happen-ergo, sleep. But he would rather jump off a mountain than go to sleep, in a way he’s gotten used to sleeping at least once a week, using the other days to stay wide awake at night-tracing the contorted patterns of the shelf above him in the closet.

His hands pulse against the strain of his bandages. Pulled far too tightly for his liking and if Yosano had fastened them any tighter than he would be looking forward to loss of blood flow and possible amputation. They prickle everytime he moves, not in a bad way but just uncomfortable-similar to his feet. It’s not damaging but Yosano said they would leave some faint scars, especially since some glass decided to stick root inside the cuts.

He leans his head farther back, watching the lights flicker in and out as the car speeds. They're still driving through the underpass, he’s not familiar with the location but he ties it in with it probably being mafia owned-cut off from the public for their safety.

Jazzy tunes sift through the car, everyone likes jazz for some reason. And being in a mafia owned car with a bunch of mafioso's just makes it very cliche, like he’s in some spy movie. He thumbs at his hands, pulling the ends of his sleeves over his hands-he shivers. It’s a bit cold in the car, he turns to see if the other three share the same sentiment-and to no one's surprise, they don’t.

Either they aren’t cold or are very good actors. Yet another cliche.

It could just be him, after all Byakko did decide to bounce and ever since he’s been more prone to coldness. Not used to the warmth he had lived with for years before being stripped from him. Finally the darkness switches out for the clear sky and greenery of trees and buildings, he can see they are close to the port-not other part of Yokohama has a ridiculously large building reading ‘Mori Corp’ in big broad letters. It’s like a very bad money-laundering situation, too much money and very little time to launder it, so yes, let's invest in a building that clearly screams illegality. No one’s gonna question it.

And of course nobody does, because when something screams trouble people usually turn away from it, not the other way around.

They head onto another route, one going directly behind the buildings near Mori corp. It’s desolate and dirty. Trash littering the walls and posters strung up with old gum like glue, some are falling apart and others layer over them. The car continues on for a few minutes, then makes a sharp turn, going into another passageway down under-a gate similar to the ones used for trains, is lowered for a second before jackknifing up. Atsushi feels himself wince as the car crosses over some very bumpy things, he lifts his feet slightly up off the car floor; and when he deems it safe, puts them back down.

He feels the movement of the car slow down, a strong breeze hits him from his side suddenly and he feels himself flail slightly. Bright dimming lights of the outside world blind him momentarily, the cool crisp air wafting into the car and he shivers again-still not used to the change in temperature. But what he is used to, is the feeling of concrete kissing his cheek, so Atsushi is familiar with his old friend; the ground. The door he was leaning had opened abruptly and he had realized there was no time to stop himself from tumbling out. He panics as he tries to find his grip, for once he opted to not wear a seatbelt and it would become his dooming choice.

Something pulls him out of the vehicle and he struggles to get some footing. His hands press against a firm chest, sparks exploding from his palms. He gasps at the splinter of pinpricks, pulling himself away from whoever had saved him from probably another embarrassing meeting with the ground. His feet twinge as they press hard into the insoles of his worn shoes. The grip on his wrist is unrelenting, and honestly it helps him steady, about a million apologies lay on his tongue as he looks up. A familiar rush of blood pads into his cheeks.

Silver eyes meet his own colorful ones. He barely registers the hand on his hip until the burn becomes too much. Akutagawa watches him with judgemental eyes, the hold on his wrist tightening-Atsushi can feel himself shrink and his hand straining from their grip.

It starts to hurt and he yelps, pulling himself away and backing up a few paces to put some room between them. Atsushi rubs at the reddening spot, cowering a bit under Akutagawa’s gaze-then he decides that Akutagawa sucks and straightens up. He scowls at the older man who only arches a brow boredly in return. They stay staring at each other for a while, and Atsushi sees as he takes into account his current state-roaming his eyes from the bandages peeking out from below the hem of his jeans, to the ones wrapped around his hands.

Someone clears their throat and Akutagawa looks away. Atsushi takes the chance to slip away towards the trunk-expecting to find his luggage; which surprise, surprise, is not there. Now with nothing to keep him occupied he stands awkwardly as the mafioso’s exchange words-specifically Akutagawa and Hirotsu.

“Don’t worry about your stuff, the bellhop took it while you were busy.” Tachihara saddles up beside him, arms perched above his head. Atsushi nods, he’s a bit thorny about the teen. They had left on a bad note, or rather a hostile one. But Tachihara shows no sign of being angry or malevolent so perhaps he had judged too hastily. In fact the mafioso does little to recognize the uneasiness oozing off of him.

He watches the trio start to walk away and he follows.

“So-” the teen whistles, “gonna be dorming with Chuuya, how do you feel about that?” He asks, a jolly dance in his step. Atsushi shrugs, he doesn’t know how he feels-scared? Jumpy? Antsy? He really isn’t sure, for all he knows the executive could make his time there hell or ignore him, he hopes that Nakahara will go easy on him-Atsushi would like minimal interaction with the ginger, mainly for his sanity and to save them both from his lack of conversational skills.

“Don’t really feel anything, it’s a necessary precaution. Just hope he doesn’t hate me-” debatable, “or try to kill me-” possible, “overall I just want to be on cordial terms.” Tachihara makes a noise, Atsushi thinks it’s a laugh.

“He doesn’t hate you, well atleast before the whole-” he pauses, “the whole rooming thing. I think he’s more angry at the fact that you two are gonna be staying in Dazai’s old apartment and not his own. Which makes sense, wouldn’t want you getting any bright ideas if you familiarize yourself with his apartment.”

Atsushi raises an eyebrow. “And what would I be able to do? Contact the agency? Stage a coup perchance? Maybe plan a full blown attack?” He responds wittily. He ignores the tight pull in his chest, simply palming it then remembering he probably shouldn’t be using his injured hand for anything.

Tachihara huffs and drops his arms, digging in his pocket; revealing a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He plucks one out along with a lighter, and Atsushi watches him light the foul stick of death-sticking it between his lips and taking a rather large drag of it. They enter the threshold of the establishment, Atsushi looks around.

The hallway is decked out in red, black and gold. The floor is a black with a single red line in the middle, he notices the material is velvet. The walls aren’t all that different, their red and multiple paintings and portraits hang on the wall, expensive vases dropped on top of posts. Gold intricate carvings are mapped out on the velvet walls-with chandeliers hung on the ceilings. It’s a very beautiful building.

A stick of white is shoved in his face, a lit tip wafting fumes of ash straight into his nostrils. Atsushi stops his pace, turning to the teen; Tachihara looks comfortable, he has a hand in the pocket of his jacket-the other stretched out in front of him.

“What?” Atsushi eyes the stick warily, the smell is gross and he can taste it through the air.

“Want a hit,” Tachihara smirks and waves it around, the stench becoming more prominent and it makes Atsushi’s eyes water. He opens his mouth to retort and the teen smiles wildly-a bitter taste of menthol spreads on his tongue, it’s earthy like grass after rain-a little spicy, but it’s more passive; almost like mint. Tachihara’s lips perk up humorously as he stares, they hold each other's gaze for a moment, then he speaks. “You gotta breathe it in.” He presses the cigarette past the entrance of the tiny gap between his lips.

Atsushi wraps them firmly over the orange tapered edge, he leans in slightly. Tucking the long strand of his hair behind his ear and inhaling.

Which he immediately regrets.

A gust of bitterness assaults his senses, the flavour stabbing at his larynx-or maybe it’s his esophagus. He doesn’t know but it hurts, his eyes water from the heat of the smoke-he tries to stifle the cough building up in him. The taste is absolutely horrible, he doesn’t get the appeal anymore. It tastes of dirt and cinnamon, acidic in a way it reminds him of gas-the pungent smell of the smoke also hurts his nose.

He pulls away and coughs into the crook of his elbow, it’s uncontrollable as saliva builds up in his mouth. Laughter rings beside him, his throat feels dry like a desert and it’s torturous as he tries to regain the reigns of his breath. The tears in his eyes overflow when he decides to turn back to the teen. Tachihara only smirks playfully, the cigarette hanging from his lips as he takes another drag.

“Wha-what the-the actually-that’s horrible-like really bad!” Atsushi wheezes into the back of his hand, ribs hurting and mind fuzzy. Tachihara only laughs. “Acquired taste I guess, didn’t think you’d actually smoke the damn thing. I thought you were smarter than that were-tiger?” Atsushi only glares at him, he wipes the dribble of drool trickling from his lips as he pants for air that isn’t contaminated with smoke. And starts to walk away; furious.

Footsteps ring behind him, speeding and soon the teen is beside him again-still laughing. Hirotsu, Gin and Akutagawa are nowhere in sight, so he’s guessing they went on without them-he only hopes Tachihara knows the way.

Atsushi sighs heavily. “Do you know the way?” Tachihara crooks his neck, the cigarette hanging from his index and middle finger. “Yeah I do, I noticed how the rest went on without us. They’re fast as hell, it’s seriously creepy.”

They cross into another hall to the right, a pair of stairs greeting them. The two head up-side by side.

“I think your stuff was already dropped off at the apartment. Gin also told me that we’re all gonna have a nice dinner together.” Tachihara takes another inhale, then lets the smoke disperse from his mouth. “It was mostly her idea, she wanted to make you feel comfortable with us-she’s either gonna order or cook up a meal herself.”

“Thanks for the um-the heads up, I’ll uh-probably be doing work by then but I’ll be sure to join you guys.” Atsushi responds, it kinda warms his heart to know that Gin is thinking about him. He always thought of her as the nicer Akutagawa, after they came across each other during the whole Katai incident-he shudders at the reminder. Gin was kind and respectful, something very hard to come by nowadays.

Tachihara makes another turn at the end of the stairs, walking into an arched pathway where multiple doors are placed opposite of eachother. Each labeled a number starting from the two hundreds. They continue to progress past the doors, the cigarette beside him leaving behind ash droppings. Soon they make it to another level, this time an elevator at the end of the hall-Tachihara pulls out a key and inserts it, the mechanical door creaking open; Atsushi steps in and waits for him to retrieve the key back. Once both are in, the teen enters a code of some sort and the elevator starts up with a small bounce that almost sends Atsushi careening into the wall.

Tachihara drops the butt of his cigarette, stomping on it until it’s contorted and dripping dust- he turns to look at Atsushi. “In my defense, the housekeepers usually clean up the place-and it’s not littering if I also live here.”

Atsushi stares at him blankly.

The elevator crosses the five hundreds, then the sevens until it stops at exactly nine hundred. He hears the door open and they step into a nicer part of the building. Atsushi can’t help but gawk at the sheer audacity of how expensive everything looks. The walls are red and decorated with various linings of paintings and gold crescent designs, from what he can see is that there is one singular door at the very end. A shimmering plate holding a singular name.

Osamu

It’s platted in lustrous gold, gorgeously carved into the silk metal smoothly. Atsushi runs his fingers over it, feeling the smooth edges of it while Tachihara fiddles with another key. Atsushi has always wondered about Dazai’s time in the mafia, but out of respect he never pried. Dazai usually waves him off when he asks a question or two-he never thought much of it, it was probably insensible of him to ask-not really knowing if he was digging up bad memories on his mentor's part. But the hostility between Dazai and Mori is evident, and if Atsushi has to guess, his memories probably have to do something with the man.

The door opens widely and he steps into the apartment. It’s big and spacious-to his right a maroon couch is placed in front of a small coffee table and cobblestone fireplace. Various knick knacks like books, pens and other trinkets are strewn about-a flatscreen hung on the wall in front. Farther in is a dusty bookshelf, it’s empty-he makes his way to the middle of the room, on his right a kitchen with counters and a wide table in the middle. The kitchen is shaped into almost a square, encasing the space but leaving a large gap for people to enter. He spots some shelves but ignores them.

Hirotsu, Gin and Akutagawa are at the table, mugs out and files dropped. Tachihara takes his shoes off and walks over to the group, they start chatting it up. Atsushi watches and suddenly he feels very alone, he misses Kyoka and the others-his family far. Sending him away for his own safety because they care, not because they want to get rid of him. It’s a pain having to remind himself that he means something to the agency, that they aren’t as cruel to abandon him when he becomes too much.

Akutagawa is whispering in Gin’s ear as she snickers in her hand, Tachihara is leaning on the counter-his hip cocked out and hands placed lazily on the marble table. He’s talking to Hirotsu who is writing on some paper, the man just bobbing his head and making incoherent sounds. Every second the older man's hand will come to swat at the teen in a playful manner and Tachihara just laughs; he laughs in the comfort of his friends while Atsushi’s own have been taken from him.

Before him is a hallway, lights shining in circular shadows. He quickly kicks off his own shoes and starts to peek in the rooms, some locked and others trashed. Atsushi finds one with his luggage in the corner, so he enters it.

Which is yet another example of how the rich spend money on useless shit. For starters, the bed is huge-like it’s as big as his apartment. The enormous size of the cot is double that of a king bed, it’s covered by a brown comforter with a throw placed horizontally right in the middle. At the head of it are pillows, two normal sized ones-three big ones and a body sized pillow being the cherry on top. The bed is wooden with intricate carvings starting from the bottom, up the footboard railing and stops at the overhead slat-it’s ridiculous. Finally a white canopy falls over it, flowing like snow and puddling on the ground-it’s pulled to the pillars and held tightly by a clasp of sorts.

He walks further in and steps over a greenish brown rug, he surveys the room a little more. To his right is a wooden desk with a chair, candles lit and dropped on top of the second layer of it. A closet is opposite of the bed, two brown doors keeping it sealed shut. Right next to it is an open bathroom, indented and he can see two sinks, a shower and another door which he suspects leads to the toilet.

Beside the bed is a small cabinet, one that would be used for socks or small things. A full body mirror is at the corner beside it, he walks over to the wall and pulls open white curtains-ignoring the other cabinet beside him, it houses a record player and some dusted frames. A huge window greets him, overseeing the vicinity of Yokohama. Atsushi thinks he’s seen enough, he should probably start unpacking, well he should unpack lest he want to be backed up on work and dead tired by the time lunch hits.

He rolls his two suitcase in front of the closet, ripping the door open-he’s greeted with a walk in, a literal other room within a room.

He throws the luggage in there before grabbing his duffel bag-he leaves his work bag behind on the bed. He opens the two luggages and rummages through the clothes-he lifts up a shirt and frowns. Each staple piece isn’t his usual work stuff, instead it’s a mix of his normal clothes-he can see a few that belong to Junichiro and Naomi.

Atsushi starts by separating the clothes, shirts off to the shelves first, then pants. He finds a small cubby and shoves his boxers and socks in there. He pulls out five jackets and sets them aside-he sees a noticeable one and smiles. It’s Junichirou’s jet fighter jacket, he could recognize the dark brown leather and fur anywhere-he goes to hang it immediately.

The next suitcase is filled with more clothes. Some belong to Dazai and Naomi, a few shirts of Kenji’s. There's a separate bag filled with his essentials like his brush and bandages, he quickly takes those to the bathroom before returning to the closet. He pulls out two pairs of shoes and puts them aside on the floor. Once all the clothes are folded up and put away he kicks the suitcases under the shelfs and rips open the duffel bag. It’s clear that the bag holds no clothes, so he takes it to the bed and shuts the closet doors.

He pulls out salves and medication from Yosano. A few music discs that are clearly Junichiro and Dazai’s-some plushies and blankets from his apartment, he internally thanks Kyoka for them. The snacks given to him by Kenji and Ranpo he pulls out and takes to the desk. There’s more bandages which he leaves inside the bag. He actually leaves everything inside and slips the duffel under the bed.

All that’s left is his work bag, he makes quick work of grabbing his files and dropping them onto the desk, hanging the bag on the chair.

Atsushi surveys his stuff and finally lets himself slump on the bed-the only thing he had taken from the duffel were the plush blankets. A beige quilt and a fuzzy blue blanket, he straightens them out-nodding to himself happily.

The sound of a rap has him turning to the door he left ajar, Tachihara leans lazily on it-his hand mid knock. “All settled in kitty?” He asks, Atsushi purses his lip looking back at the blankets-he turns away.

“Yeah,” he ignores the name, it’s annoying but not worth getting in a spat over. The apartment is nice and spacious, Atsushi never suspected he would live a day experiencing the luxury of the rich-even if it’s dirty money, he has no reason to complain. The room also isn’t cold so he’s taking that as a win.

Tachihara crosses his arms, cocking his head. “Gin ordered food, we’re all gonna eat right now so-” Atsushi withholds his sigh, he’s tired and was hoping to get a few minutes of shut eye before eating. He doesn’t think he could stomach anything at the moment, he contemplates denying the dinner but the mafiosos’s earlier words rush into his head and he relents. He wouldn’t want to offend Gin in any way-It’d be a shitty start to getting to know each other.

Atsushi stands and the two leave to the kitchen. The first thing he notices is a bag of takeout and plates-the second thing he notices is a mop of ginger hair. He freezes in his tracks, Tachihara gives him a weird look, chasing after what he’s looking at-the teen smirks, like a demon because that's what he is.

“Yo! I brought our guest of honor!” He waves at the group. Atsushi whips around to look at him, eyes wide and teeth clenched. “What are you doing!” He hisses, the teen shrugs-acting on as if nothing is wrong, which really there is nothing wrong, but Atsushi feels wrong and Nakahara watching him also feels wrong-so yes everything is wrong.

“Come off it man, Chuuya’s not scary,” Tachihara leaves him spluttering, he fists the hem of his sweater-watching the mafioso go up to Nakahara and slap him on the back. The executive shifts his attention to the teen and they begin talking.

“Hi Atsushi!” Gin skips over to him, her usual outfit gone. Replaced with a tight fit shirt and some black ripped jeans, her hair is pulled up into a ponytail-a clip holding her singular strand to the side. The mask is gone too, now he’s able to see her pearly white smile and dimples-she looks like a kid.

“Hi…um Gin?” He doesn’t know when they had gotten on a first name basis, but calling her Akutagawa seems plain wrong. Akutagawa is mean and cold, Gin is warm and kind-the girl in question smiles wider and moves to readjust the pin in her hair.

She gestures to the kitchen. “We ordered some food, I was planning to cook but Chuuya said he was gonna come back early so I decided not to-not that um-that it’s an issue or anything! But I figured you guys wouldn’t wanna eat super late in the day, and Chuuya was tired and he doesn’t really eat-not unless you remind him, which speaking of! You’re probably hungry too right? I hope you are cause um…unless you aren’t-and that’s okay too, don’t want to um, force you to eat or anything, just wanna make you feel comfortable and not like on edge or anything-” she was rambling, if Atsushi thought his conversational skills were bad-Gin’s is downright sad. Her mouth is moving faster than her words and she keeps stumbling over them.

Atsushi smiles and it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah that’s fine, I am a bit hungry. Didn’t get to eat in the morning.”

Her eyes widen and she lets out a small ‘oh’, then she grabs his left arm with surprising strength. “Then let’s get you settled in! Tachihara tells me you’re kinda scared of Chuuya-which isn’t bad, when Tachihara first met him he almost pissed his pants, we were about sixteen I think?” She drags him over to the group-chatting his ear off, it’s nice. He doesn’t really do casual conversations unless it’s with Kyoka or Junichiro. But Gin reminds him of Naomi with the way she speaks and fiddles with her hands to show what she is saying.

“I cleaned up the room you’re staying in the best I could, didn’t want you being assaulted by all the dust. There was so much and I almost hacked up a lung-if my poor brother went in there, he’d probably have dropped dead!”

“You set up the room for me?” Atsushi blinks, Gin flushes and fiddles with his sleeve. “Uh-yeah I um-I tried my best, is it okay? I don’t know if I missed anything but If I did I can call a housekeeper-” Atsushi shakes his head rapidly, using his right hand placatingly.

“No! It’s fine, no dust, no dirt or anything. It’s very nice, better than where I live.” He laughs gauchely, tripping over his own feet. Gin keeps him steady and laughs a sweet sound-it’s high-pitched and cozy. He joins her, despite it being more out of awkwardness than humour.

They make it to the table and he indulges in the nice conversation, she begins to take out the food and he offers to help-but he’s met with a stern glare and finger. “You’re the guest Atsushi, it would be rude of me if I didn’t do this for you.”

So he perches himself on one of the red stools, hands holding his weight between his legs. The food smells heavenly, he can feel his mouth watering and god does he want to know what they bought. She brings out beef bowls from the bag, the aroma of ginger, dashi and egg wafting in his face. Gin sets them on mats in front of the stools, taking out some sides like gyoza, edamame and grilled eggplant-soon the bag is discarded into the trash bin and she sets off to bring drinks. Atsushi is served ice tea, he sips on it occasionally. Gin returns and takes the stool on his right, she hands him a pair of chopsticks which he thanks her for.

“Come eat guys, the foods gonna get cold!” She yells out, Tachihara like a dog, jumps on the stool beside Gin, snatching a bowl and giving his thanks before digging in. Atsushi wrinkles his nose and watches rice go all over the place-Tachihara face deep in his food. Gin rolls her eyes at the boy's antics.

“He does that, almost like no one raised him with etiquette,” Gin takes a bite of egg. Atsushi looks back at his bowl, the hunger that he expected to feel not there. He begins to pick at it, mixing the egg into the rice and taking one of the ginger packets-he mixes it in and blows. Atsushi scoops up some of the food and takes a bite, he waits for the explosion of flavor; it doesn’t disappoint. It’s sweet and salty, the tang of ginger mixing in well with the yolk and rice-he takes another bite.

The seats opposite of the three creak and shift, signaling that Akutagawa, Nakahara and Hirotsu have joined them. He continues to eat and make idle chat with Gin, feeling resolute whenever he manages to make her laugh-at one point she snorts rather uncouthly into her bowl and he cackles at her embarrassed face as she wipes the food on her face. He can hear people talking in the background, the familiar snarkiness of Tachihara and the raspy tone of Hirotsu.

“And I saw these really nice earrings at Misty inc. They were pretty emerald ones, I was debating getting them for Higuchi but the options were limitless and I didn’t know what to get her!” She sips her drink. “I don’t really go out shopping, most of my stuff were either gifts or things I already owned so I didn’t know what Higuchi would have liked. She’s also very um-very girlish-” she winces, “and I don’t have very much experience in that category.”

“So I settled with like a ton of magazines and catalogs to figure out what she would like-in the end I got her some hair stuff and blouses for work. We don’t really get free time to go out and stuff, always busy and I figured since she’s a workaholic-might as well get her work shirts.”

“I’m sure Higuchi appreciated it,” Atsushi reassures her, “I remember when it was my first Christmas with Kyoka. God it was a disaster! I didn’t know what she wanted and Kyoka isn’t very talkative or expressive, sometimes she’ll want something but be too shy to ask for it-obviously she’s become a bit more open but at the time I didn’t know what to do.” He sighs, theatrically. “So I got her whatever Yosano or Naomi or Haruno suggested, which made a huge dent in my wallet.”

“But it made her happy, and we had a good day. Minus the food I somehow managed to burn-” Gin laughs. “Has Kyoka become more social?” She asks, with a genuine look of curiosity on her face, “I remember Kyoka during her time here, she wasn’t very open. I’m glad to see she’s doing well.”

Atsushi blinks, stunned. “Well I-um I guess-I’m glad she erm-I’m glad she’s uh-” he stammers, then clears his throat, setting the chopsticks down, “I’m glad to uh-to have her too. She’s one of my best friends, well err-more of a sister really.”

“Yeah it’s rough-” she smiles wistfully into her bowl, “having siblings, one day you’ll be best friends and the next you’ll be ignoring each other.” Atsushi understands, though he and Kyoka don’t really get into altercations-he has with Junichiro, and he’s almost like a brother to Atsushi. Hence in a way, he understands.

“Yeah I guess I understand that, me and Kyoka don’t really argue-but me and Junichiro do. We’ll be close one day and the next try to strangle one another-” he laughs, “the duality of him is insane.”

“Every relationship has problems-” she shrugs and Atsushi’s mind pauses, “as long as you’re there and resolve the issue, you can overcome it.”

“We’re not dating-” Gin’s brows furrow, he can hear a distinct annoying voice beside her saying ‘I thought they were fucking too!’ which he decides to ignore.

“Huh,” she says, he doesn’t know if it’s a good ‘huh’ or a bad one, it’s toneless and he can’t get a good read on it.

“Yeah we’re-we’re not dating, just really close.”

She sips at her tea. “You guys did look awfully close at the meeting.”

He scratches his head, not knowing what to say. “We are close, we’re just not um-attracted to each other? Don’t get me wrong, Jun is a lovely person, but if I had to live with him twenty-four seven I would be charged with murder.” She hums and gives him a cheeky smile-he blinks, then blinks again; he squints at her.

“You’re joking,” she chuckles into her drink. Waving a hand at him as she comes down from her high.

Gin sets the cup back down. “I’m messing with you,” her bowl is half empty, most of it gone except for a thin layer of rice and spring onions. “I’ve clashed with you guys a whole lot to be able to recognize if you two were dating-”

“-I thought they were,” Tachihara peeks from Gin’s side, bowl finished and pushed to the side. “You two were chummy as hell, the sexual tension was overriding all the other grim shit we were hearing at the meeting.”

Gin gives him an exasperated look. “If you had working eyes Tachihara you would’ve known,” she motions her hand in a circle, “not everyone who’s close is dating.”

“But Gin! You should’ve seen them-” Tachihara sways and acts out what Atsushi deducts was him during the meeting, “they were all touchy feely, ‘oh I love you Atsushi, oh we swam naked in a lake and cuddled at the resort-oh Atsushi,’ the tension was there!”

“We did not swim naked,” Atsushi scoffs, “that’s dumb-and it was snowing! Why would we be naked while it's snowing?”

“The question is-” the teen taps his nail on the table, “why the fuck were you even swiming while it was snowing?”

“It wasn’t snowing when we got in.”

“You swam during winter dumbass, of course it’s gonna snow!”

“It was a light snow, not very noticeable. And it had a swing!”

“The swing is very convincing, if I saw a swing I’d try it out too,” Gin chimes in.

Atsushi motions to Gin. “Thank you! The swing was convincing, and we had to try it out.”

“You’re lucky it wasn’t frozen over, imagine breaking a bone cause you crashed head first into a pond of death?” Tachihara snorts.

Atsushi crosses his arms, sniffing haughtily at nothing.

“Oh my god, was it frozen?”

“Yeah it sure was, I totally jumped into a lake that had a very noticeable glacier covering the entire damn thing-of course it wasn’t!” Atsushi says, Gin is now full on belly laughing and he hears a snort from elsewhere in the room.

Tachihara shakes his head. “Don’t know man, it’s hard to tell with you. You look like you thrive on stupid decisions.”

“I’ll have you know I am very level-headed,” Atsushi responds.

“Doubtful-”

“Tachihara here once tried Chuuya’s motorcycle without knowing how to drive one and crashed straight into a warehouse container,” Gin interrupts, Tachihara squawks, enraged and begins to deny her accusation, “he broke his hand and fractured a foot-he had to use a wheelchair for about three months and the boss was furious with him.”

Gin lolls her head towards him and Atsushi can’t contain his laugh. They both chuckle as Tachihara flails his hands, pointing fingers and overall being loud. “Hirotsu had to wheel him around-”

“It’s the least the old man can do!”

“I am right here Tachihara-” Hirotsu states from his spot in front of Atsushi.

“Yeah no shit gramps, were fucking eating lunch together. Have you gone senile from all your years here?” The mafioso taunts, Hirotsu only huffs and takes a gulp of his tea.

“With the way you carry on with your life, you’ll have gone senile before me Tachihara.” Hirotsu pessimistically says, the older man had begun to smoke a cigarette. He passes one over to Nakahara then Tachihara-who takes it a bit more aggressively than his peer. Akutagawa is visibly cringing at the smoke filling the kitchen-he has a hand over his nose and glares at the older man.

Tachihara takes a drag and offers it to Atsushi. Gin recoils a bit, leaning away from the stick, Atsushi contemplates it, he didn’t enjoy last time at all, it was gross but he finds himself taking the offering anyways.

He wraps his lips around it, hesitating for a second, then inhaling a smaller portion-being sure to not repeat his last mistake of inhaling a mouthful. The second time isn’t as bad as the first, he already knows what to expect, the taste is still the same-bitter and spicy. The tang of menthol isn’t so bad now that he knows what its flavour is, still gross but feasible to swallow. He exhales the cloud and hands it back over to the teen-reaching out for his tea in order to lightly rid of the aftertaste, he smacks his mouth a few times, then relishes his hold on the cup.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Gin warily gazes at him, shifting the smoke from her vision. Her eyes flicker to the three opposite of them, a silent form of conversing between the group.

“I don’t,” is all he says and Gin gives him a confused look before letting it drop.

“If the mackerel sees you smoking he’s gonna have a fit,” Atsushi turns to Nakahara, the man is supporting his head on an open palm, the other holding the cigarette. Atsushi just shrugs.

He’s still a little wary of the executive, Tachihara and Gin are convinced the mafioso doesn’t hate him-but Atsushi can tell when dislike is prominent, especially in their mannerisms and expressions. Nakahara was hostile back at the clinic, his dislike of Atsushi clear in the way he kept gazing at him with an expression that could clash with Dazai’s. Both are hard to make sense of unless you know them to an extent, Atsushi doesn’t know what he did to earn the man's ire, he rarely does. People just come to hate him for random reasons.

Nakahara mirrors Atsushi in a way, he hasn’t seen the executive clearly yet until now. He’s not covered in bandages like Atsushi is, but he sags under an invisible weight and the bags on his face are sunken in so deep his eyeballs look like they’d roll out any second. He’s dressed in a white baggy shirt, his hair is pulled up into a high ponytail and gone that awful fedora of his. His bowl lays untouched in front of him, the chopsticks still neatly placed to his side-the only thing that's been touched is his cup of coffee.

“Yeah I know,” he looks back down at his bowl and grimaces-his hunger gone in an instant with just a few choice words. He didn’t even eat that much, just some beef and half the egg-some rice was gone and that's about it, he’d been drinking more than eating. Atsushi places his own chopsticks to the side and pushes the bowl away.

What would Dazai say? He didn’t know his mentor has an aversion to smoking-if he did Atsushi wouldn’t have touched the damn thing, his fingers stink of fumes and he can feel it clinging to the bandages on his hands. The kitchen is now flowing with second-hand smoke from the three lit cigarettes, Hirotsu slides his pack over to Atsushi; a lighter packed neatly in it. It’s an offer, whether a peaceful one or the man has noticed his inner turmoil-Atsushi doesn’t think twice.

He doesn’t take it. But he does flash Hirotsu a grateful smile which is met with an understanding nod.

Nakahara’s gaze jumps from between him and Hirotsu, he shrinks under the attention as Gin launches a venomous look towards the executive who winces under it. “Uh- sorry kid if I uh-if I made you uncomfortable, shit I didn’t mean to,” he says with pronounced difficulty .

Atsushi nods dubiously. “Err-it’s okay, sorry for intruding by the way,” Nakahara blinks.

“I know that the agency and mafia decided to have us, you know-um room together, but um,” Atsushi begins to explain at his confused expression, he knows he’s being a nuisance to them by being there and he feels guilty about it. Atsushi had been made unaware of the decision until morning hit and he was rushed outside and told by Kunikida. He didn’t want to intrude or disrupt the lives of the mafioso’s-he may not like them but being dumped on their doorstep and ordered to take care of him just doesn’t sit right with Atsushi. “I’m still sorry for intruding, I didn’t know we we're gonna be living together.”

“They didn’t tell you?” Nakahara flicks the cigarette with his fingers, ash falling into his bowl.

“Um no they didn’t, not until this morning.” Atsushi watches the executive curse under his breath. Rubbing his fore and thumb against the bridge of his nose, he takes another large drag.

“That fucking sucks, must’ve been a nasty shock for you huh,” It was a shock, to be thrust out of his own home and thrown into another-but Atsushi was used to it, he didn’t really like to get attached. A little icky peeve of his from the orphanage. “I was told on the same day, granted I didn’t care but when they said I had to move into the shitty mackerel’s lair of shit-” he blew smoke into the air, “threw a fit for my grown ass age.”

“Yeah…um it was confusing but I guess I didn’t really question it?” He picks at the skin on his cuticle, the edges ruined from constantly scratching at it. Nakahara makes a noise in the back of his throat, between a growl and a rumble-the executive scratches his chin and Atsushi follows it. The man has a light colored stubble, barely noticeable under the amount of faint freckles blanketing his face.

Don’t get him wrong, Atsushi is still very cross with the executive after what he pulled in the infirmary and meeting. Atsushi doesn’t hate him, he’s just very aggrieved by it-his feelings for the ginger are twisted. A part of him dislikes the fact that their-well-killers! And the other is rattled by how normal they act, how they can all sit and chat and eat with their hands and not feel disgusted by what they’ve done. Atsushi feels guilty when he talks to Gin, she’s kind to him but he knows that the same mercy has not been bestowed on those dead by her hand. Same with Tachihara-except he hates the teen and wants to strangle him, he could make for a good talk with but overall his lack of awareness in regards to what comes out of his mouth always manages to dim the conversation.

Even now as Gin and Tachihara joke around with Hirotsu, his perception of them changes. Even as Gin makes small comments towards Akutagawa, it holds a sentiment of care and warmth. As Nakahara and Tachihara argue playfully-dragging Akutagawa into it, he becomes more unsure about everything.

When Gin shoots him a sportive smile or Tachihara makes a face thinking the others aren’t looking-Atsushi laughs, returning them for jovial laughs and impish grins. Nakahara once or twice will laugh at what he says, the executive hiding behind his cup or working a smile around the nub of his cigarette. Akutagawa is the only one who he doesn't directly speak to-and he’s fine with that.

Akutagawa is the vain of his existence, the meteor that threatens to burn and flush away all that Atsushi cares for. He doesn’t hate the older man, doesn’t really bother too-it’s more of being borderline miffed. He’s so used to the idea of them never turning to cordial terms even with how much Atsushi tries, the mafioso is so hellbent on hating him because of Dazai. When it should be the opposite, all the crap he has put Atsushi through is enough to warrant hatred from him, but he believes himself above that. Sure, he’ll act like an asshole to him, giving back the same energy and all but he doesn’t hate him. Atsushi doesn’t think he’s capable of it, after the cannibalism incident he felt like they had built a solid bond-an unspoken one but still.

And then there was the six month deal. In six months, if Akutagawa hasn’t killed anyone in six months then they would fight-and Atsushi would give his life. Another thing Akutagawa is unaware of, if they reach that mark Atsushi is gonna let the mafioso kill him.

It’s a supposed battle of wills, who has the strongest will to live. And Atsushi knows ruefully it's Akutagawa. Atsushi had spent his whole life not fighting to live, but surviving-and those two no matter how similar, are different. He doesn’t know much about Akutagawa, but his sheer prevalence and strength in climbing over others, clawing to the top is proof of his will. And even if it means killing another to watch the sun rise again, the mafioso would do it-and Atsushi wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t be able to wake up the next day and stomach the idea of someone dying by his hands. He could barely survive Shibusawa and the headmaster. Atsushi is aware he didn’t kill the headmaster, but for all that he had died because of him-he had died searching for flowers to bring him, and as much as Atsushi hates the man it had broken his heart to learn of what became of him. Atsushi supposes Dazai was right, the man was like a father to him-much as one could be.

Atsushi also wouldn’t be able to look at Gin the same. To know he had stripped her of her brother so he could go back to his sister, it wouldn't be fair. Gin surely doesn’t know about the deal considering she’s next to him-talking and sharing stories like their old pals. He wonders how Gin would look at him if she knew. Would she oppose the idea? Would she only cheer her brother to strive for a future? Or would she take him out first?

Akutagawa is a complicated person, he and Atsushi have this sort of understanding between them that neither broaches on. Like two sides of a coin so familiar with the ground it touches, the mafioso is wise and calculating, prone to anger and so unjustly cutthroat with what he believes in.

Contrary to Atsushi’s own nature, he’s foolish and naive, always leading with ease and compassion. He guesses he can understand why Akutagawa doesn’t like him very much, their cut from the same cloth but dyed differently-but he always remembers the ruff scrape of the black coat he always associated with the dark, how it’s thin strings wrapped over his body adding another layer of protection while leaving it’s owner vulnerable. Rashomon protected him during their fight with Ivan, it must have taken a hefty amount of trust on Akutagawa’s part for him to lend her to Atsushi.

The sad thing is that he doesn’t return in. He knows that Akutagawa trusts him, from the moment they paired up against Fitzgerald to Ivan to Dostoevsky-the man had never faltered once in confidence-even when they changed from the rabid dog and were-tiger to Akutagawa and Nakajima. Finally reaching the title double black, bestowed upon them by Dazai-who had passed on his own.

Yet Atsushi doesn’t share the same sentiment. He wants too, he wants to desperately trust the mafioso, still he can’t ever bring himself too. Not without turning sick with disgust and anger, not without questioning his principles, and not without asking himself what they are.

They are the new generation of double black and in six months it won’t exist anymore. Akutagawa will move on and keep working his hardy job, he’ll find another partner to continue the legacy. And Atsushi will be long gone, content with his life and soon revolving with the world. He can’t explain the simmer boiling in his chest, and in some bit of arrogant pridefulness he knows that Akutagawa can and will never be able to recreate double black with another-not without Atsushi.

“You delude yourself into thinking the world has two sides were-tiger, light and darkness, good and evil. That only one can prevail.”

“I don’t think that, I think that good can’t live without the bad-and even if the good somehow prevails, it wouldn’t take long for people to break.”

So yeah, Atsushi is very mixed regarding Akutagawa. And for the months to come he’s going to question it every time they set off on a mission together till the day one of them dies. It’s awfully dull, like the end of a mediocre book.

Someone calls his name and Atsushi looks up. Washing away all his thoughts and resettling himself, his butt kinda hurts from all the sitting, back too. He finds that the table has been cleared and his drink re-filled, Gin is at the sink with Akutagawa, both working together to wash and dry the dishes taken.

“How’re you settling in?” Nakahara is now sitting across from him, during their meal he somehow switched seats with Hirotsu, the other man now in the former's spot. They have another lit cigarette in their mouth with a fresh batch of coffee in their hand.

“Good, I already unpacked and put away some of my stuff,” Atsushi drops his chin on his open palm, “I have some work from the agency to keep me busy.” He still has the two cases from the day before, that still needs to be worked on. Atsushi feels compelled to take on the case, he was gonna give it back to Ranpo before he left-but never brought himself to do it.

The executive nods, then takes a sip of his steaming coffee. “That’s nice,” they delve into an awkward silence, which now makes him wish he were talking to Gin-at least she made an effort to talk, even if it was painful to uphold.

“How are you settling in?” Atsushi asks, it’s painstakingly slow watching Nakahara blink, then point at himself-and only once Atsushi had nodded did he respond.

“Not fond of this place if I’m being honest, but it’s the best we’ll get,” Nakahara takes another sip of his drink and fiddles with the cup, Atsushi thinks it’s because he doesn’t know what to say next. Dazai and Nakahara are another anomaly Atsushi can’t figure out, he knows their some brewing chemistry between them-but Atsushi hasn’t really directly interacted with the two whilst together. Dazai always talks about Nakahara like he’s a dog or annoying fly, but when Atsushi sees his eyes turn fond or his smile curl up a little smoother at the edges-he doesn’t say anything.

“I bet, I don’t know how I’ll get used to this,” he snorts, “it’s so big and spacious, really not like anything I’ve ever seen before.” Atsushi is weirdly uncomfortable with the space of it all. He’s so used to the closet and size of his own living space, when he first moved into the dorms-he thought it was the most breathtaking residence he had ever seen, now not so much.

“Oh yeah, you live in those shoddy dormitories. About a ten minute walk right?” And Atsushi is not gonna ask why he knows that, but cocks his head in affirmation. “Yeah, I share it with Kyoka.” Gin returns, holding a towel to wipe her hands-she switches between them but ultimately begins to talk to him again. She drops it down onto the counter beside her and places a hand on her hip.

“Since we’re all here we’re gonna watch a movie Chuuya, it’s Tachihara’s turn to pick. He wants to watch the matrix,” Nakahara wrinkles his nose. “No fucking way, I swear to god we’ve watched that movie like a billion times.”

Gin shrugs. “Can’t confirm nor deny, it’s either the matrix or cry-baby and we both know that movie fucking sucks.”

Nakahara pulls away his cigarette and gives an affronted look at the girl. “Don’t ever let me catch you shitting on cry-baby again Gin.”

“It’s a shitty movie with no plot and only a hot cast to make up for the absolute fruitlessness of it.”

“It’s fucking John Waters!”

“And I’m Patrick Swayze!” Gin yells back as she walks to the couch. Nakahara ‘tchs’ under his breath, throwing up a finger as Gin settles in between Hirotsu and Akutagawa-the older man is reading a book, his coat and scarf shrugged off and placed on the table. Akutagawa still wears his and Atsushi questions the sanity of that man.

“Fucking brat…” he mumbles into the cigarette, “couldn’t pull off the look of Patrick Swayze even if she had a gun to her damn head.” Atsushi laughs, because he doesn’t know what to say. “You gonna watch the movie with them?” Nakahara gets up from his seat, stubbing out the stick and dropping it into the empty mug.

Atsushi shakes his head, he would like too-but having to sit on a couch with a bunch of mafioso’s is off-putting. He also has the case files he needs to work on, better to be finished than pushed back cause if he does that then he’ll keep doing it and eventually forget all together.

Nakahara moves over to the sink, dropping the mug. “You sure? If you don’t like the matrix I can tell Tachihara to change it.”

“Ah…um now it’s fine. I don’t really watch movies anyway so I wouldn’t know much about it.” Atsushi can recall the last movie he had watched was with Dazai, and it was one of the worst movies ever and so his impression of media literacy has forever become tainted.

Nakahara turns to him with knitted brows, and his cerulean blue eyes seem to sharpen with the light reflecting off the windows. “You don’t watch movies much?”

“Nope!” He places emphasis on the last syllable, giving Nakahara a smile. “My first movie ever was with Dazai, and he kinda ruined it for me so I haven’t been in a theater for a while.” He hasn’t been in a theater since he left it, not keen on being called a perv by the staff.

“Shitty Dazai ruins everything,” he grumbles, raising an arm to scratch at his head-and Atsushi looks away flustered. The executive has very toned arms, and Atsushi has to mentally reprimand himself to not stare, one because it’s rude and two because he doesn’t want to be called out for it. Suddenly one hand shoots out to hold onto the table in front of him, he looks up to the mafioso-his arms have various pink scars, and others that look to be recent; judging by the irritated swelling around them.

They are face to face with one another, so close in fact he can see a faint scar just above his right brow. The man's face is just covered in freckles, the color of copper and chestnut-his lips are a bit plump and brimming with coral. But his eyes are definitely his best feature-aside from his buff figure, which he did catch a glimpse of during their trip to the infirmary. His eyes, it turns out, aren’t cerulean blue-no in fact they're a dell blue, with some specks of dark green. Nakahara is staring at him with an expressionless face-his gaze scavenging for something.

He leans back slowly, what should have felt like seconds turned to minutes. Finally they step back and cross their arms-head dropping to one side. “Do I make you uncomfortable?” Atsushi frowns at the inquiry, he wants to say yes-and he should say yes. But Nakahara is looking at him with genuine worry, he bites at his lip and seems to draw back each passing second he doesn’t answer.

“No,” he climbs out of his stupor-finally,”you don’t, honestly at first I was kinda wary. I thought you hated me but Tachihara said otherwise so I was kinda worried you wouldn’t want me here.” He shrugs, making a point not to look at the man in front of him-he droops slightly and occupies himself with his fingers.

“Why do you think I hate you?” Nakahara asks, he doesn’t sound angry or inconsiderate.

Atsushi shrugs again. “For starters Dazai’s my mentor,” Nakahara’s fingers dig into his arms, and now Atsushi feels like he’s said something he shouldn’t have-like a child being scolded and paying the price. “And I guess…you could also say being a part of the agency is another reason,” the mafioso sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“I don’t hate you, and shitty Dazai has nothing to do with how I feel towards you,” they exhale tiredly, “I barely know you kid to even care about who you are, so consider this a blank slate between us if it’ll make you feel better.”

Atsushi moves to gaze at the mafioso. “You…don’t hate me?”

“Why would I waste my time hating you, I don’t even know you?”

“Akutagawa hates me, and he didn’t know me at first,” Nakahara’s face turns stormy at that, his brows digging into his eyelids-his mouth dragging down and he sucks a breath through his teeth.

“Yeah well Akutagawa will be Akutagawa, can’t really control him in that aspect.”

Atsushi sags into himself, bringing a hand to his face before letting it fall limp in between his legs. He can hear the tv play behind him and Tachihara being loud, he’s arguing with somebody who he suspects is Gin but doesn’t bother to find out.

“If you don’t wanna watch the movie you don’t have to, but the invite is still open,” Nakahara smiles at him, Atsushi takes it as a queue for dismissal and gets up from his seat.

“Thank you Mr.Nakahara, I’ll be in the room Gin gave me if you need me for anything,” the executive waves a hand.

“Just call me Chuuya, none of that Nakahara shit. Makes me feel old as fuck.” Atsushi laughs as he walks away.

“Anyways thank you for the food Chuuya,” Atsushi turns away and walks down the unfamiliar hallway-barely hearing whatever Chuuya had said in return, he walks into the open room and closes the door once inside. He’s tired and sleepy, it was a hassle trying to stay awake through lunch-he pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time, it’s cutting close to six-thirty. He debates on taking a nap or working on the case.

He drops his phone on the bed and falls face first, snuggling into the super soft cushions and sighing in contentment. Grabbing the body pillow beside him he nuzzles into it, and sure enough he starts to doze off. His eyelids drop in exhaustion and every little thing flies out of his head-he should probably take his meds, but instead he lets himself sleep.

〜✶♣✶〜

The sound of something breaking startles Atsushi out of his sleep, he throws himself out of the bed and flies out the room-ignoring how his hair sticks to his face and sweater feeling a hundred times heavier. No, his sole focus is whatever sound had come from within the apartment-he walks into the living room, stunned when he’s met with darkness and no sign of entry.

He walks around for a bit, noticing that the black lizards are gone and so is Nakaha-err Chuuya. Atsushi steps into the kitchen, the microwave displaying the time; it’s two in the morning. He slept for about seven hours, Atsushi surveyed the darkness-his only light being the microwave and the luminosity of the moon peeking through the large windows on both sides of the kitchen area.

The tv is off and nobody sits at the couch, the coffee table is scraped clean-no sign of Hirotsu’s coat and scarf in place. Atsushi peeks around the corners but sees nothing, which is odd-he didn’t make up the sound did he? He squints at the clock atop the door, nothing out of sorts-he doesn’t know which room is Chuuya’s, so he can’t really check up on the executive.

“Atsushi…”

Atsushi looks around the room again, now he’s just confused. But one would initially think that hearing voices in a clearly empty area would garner enough reason to not stay. Nevertheless Atsushi stays, why? Because he’s an idiot and nosy as fuck.

“Atsushi…”

But seeing that the room is empty gives him no reason to stay, unfortunately he’s also curious. “Hello?” He calls out, to no one’s surprise, he doesn’t get an answer back-Atsushi is well aware that it could be another effect of the ability, his last encounter being proof enough; so if he could hallucinate, what difference would hearing voices do? He decides to check around the living room once more, starting from the kitchen to the couch, theirs not much more to look for so he heads back.

Atsushi quickly walks back to his room, not keen on being out much longer. He shuts his door and breathes, he’s anxious and a bit intimidated by the ability-he went through a rough patch the day before, or would it be the day before, before? Since technically yesterday has passed.

“Atsushi,” and welp, yeah, he should have expected that. Before his very eyes is the headmaster (surprise, surprise) and just to be sure Atsushi scrubs his face and peeks through the gaps of his fingers. And yeah, he’s still there.

His very own headmaster stands in front of the billowing curtains, dressed in the same white outfit and clutching onto his cross necklace like a lifeline. He looks absurdly the same as the last time he saw him, his tired and lined face filled with years of old age-the same brown hair and horrible bowl cut of his. Makes Atsushi’s own hair godly compared to his.

“Headmaster,” his voice wavers, he curses himself for it-the man doesn’t make any further action to move, so Atsushi begins to walk. He stops when they are about four feet from each other, the cold breeze from the air conditioner blows harder. “Do you guys just appear during my time of suffering?” The joke falls flat, but internally he pats himself on the back for it-he thought it was pretty funny.

“I take it this is another effect of the ability,” again, no answer-which he’s not complaining about, having to hear the headmaster's grating voice throughout his child one to many times is enough. “I don’t suppose you can like, go fuck off or anything,” and never in a million years did he think he would ever curse at the director, although it took alot of courage to do even if he is a figment of Atsushi’s imagination.

He’s also supremely satisfied by it, Atsushi estimates that his hallucinations can’t hurt nor touch him-judging by his last one with Shibusawa. Though he’s also not happy about having to deal with the headmaster, he understands the gist of the ability, driving the user to insanity in simple terms. Ranpo did warn them about the effects of said ability, mood swings, hallucinations, nightmares and all-but when Atsushi was taken into the infirmary he had a front row seat to Ranpo’s disbelief at his retelling of what went on in the bathroom. On the other hand, he had suspected as much, maybe not to the exete-

A loud clap resounds throughout the room, or maybe it’s in his head. Which is bizarre, because he’s pretty sure ghosts can’t touch people, and he’s positive in that assumption after his encounter with ghost Shibusawa. So in knowing all of that, it shouldn’t be as jarring as he thinks when stuff doesn't go his way.

Which is why he doesn’t think much of the fact that he’s hanging on for dear life onto the footboard, cradling his stinging cheek that steadily warms beneath his fingertips-and gazing up in pure astonishment over the looming presence before him. It is now remarkably evident that his ghosts can in fact touch him, and maybe Shibusawa was just a one time thing, so now knowing that; perhaps it was not a smart idea to curse at the headmaster.

And as a result of his actions, Atsushi receives another slap to the other side of his face that sends him careening to the floor. He gasps in shock, or pain-he’s not sure. ‘Okay, so this is happening,’ runs through his mind, Atsushi strokes the carpet beneath him to ensure he’s not dreaming or sleepwalking-it’s mindless hope, which is quickly shattered when he receives a rather harsh kick to his abdomen.

He grunts at the force, pushing back on the heels of his palm to make room between them. The headmaster glares at him from under the moonlight, one hand still clutching his cross-as if he were exorcizing a demon, and in that sense; Atsushi is the demon. Now that he’s assured himself it’s not a dream, he finally manages to speak.

“Oh shit,” and oh shit indeed, it’s rather raspy, since he’s still recovering from his previous hits-Atsushi can feel the rising pressure on both sides of his mouth, probably swelling.

“Cease you’re foul language boy,” Atsushi’s eyes practically bulge out of his head by the way he’s gaping, having Shibusawa make an appearance was startling enough, but not even what? One day, two days later he’s dealing with the same shit, except it’s the headmaster.

“Oh fuc-I uh err-oh crud…,” the headmaster makes no sign of amusement, instead he’s staring down Atsushi with such animosity he can feel goosebumps rise from under his sweater. “Yo-you’re um-you’re real? I’m not-not making this up am I?”

The headmaster only glares harder, his thick boots vibrating off the ground as he steps closer-in return, Atsushi scrambles to his feet and backs away. “What the fuck, no, no way in hell is this happening,” it doesn’t feel real, he doesn’t want it to feel real, but the faint glow around the director and his animate-living like expressions make it clear that it’s not a lie.

“I suppose you did not call me here intentionally,” the director hums as he looks around the room, his gaze analyzing the room-a critical gleam in his eyes that sharpens the more he investigates. “I did not expect you to join the mafia Atsushi,” he stops before Atsushi, somehow his exterior has turned disgusted, and a part of him wants to defend himself, tell him that he’s not a murderer, that he’s not like them.

“I didn’t,” Atsushi crosses his arms behind his back, barely noting the action, a habit that returned steadfast. His eyes are focused downcast, only keeping track of the headmaster by his shoes-the headmaster hums faintly.

“Then why are you here?” He asks sharply and Atsushi flinches, his hands tighten over each other as he bites back the bile climbing up his throat. “I-I um-I’m here bec-because of um-of-a-a um,” another sharp smack sends his head flying to the right, he blinks back the tears pooling.

“Do not stutter, did I not teach you well enough to rid of the horrendous speech impediment,” the headmaster turns away from him, walking back to stand at the window-his own hands crossed behind his back. “Start from the beginning and do not make me go over there again,” he says, like it’s an easy thing to solve, but not for Atsushi, not for the fact that he had developed it after being hit so many times-still, rather than to argue he listens, because that’s all he’s good for, all he needs in his life.

“I was struck by an ability, me and another person. We were moved to an apartment so we could be watched in case it gets worse,” the headmaster hums again, he’s fiddling with the necklace.

“A fool you are boy,” he spits, “I had hoped you would distance yourself from this type of world, learned of how dangerous it is-yet instead you run straight into it.”

“A fool like so many of your counterparts, it's a shame you haven’t left,” he continues, turning to face him-Atsushi then finally decides to look up. “Do you have a death wish, boy?” No, he wants to scream, no I don’t, he wants to tear at his hair and scream-but he’s stuck, glued to the floor as if he were a rat, he shakes his head roughly.

The headmaster nods. “If you do not have a death wish, why do you persist to keep living this life? Did my lessons not get through your thick skull!”

Atsushi shakes from his spot, his lip is trembling violently as he bites to stop the tremor-he can faintly taste the metallic tinge seeping from his lip where his fang has poked through, drawing blood.

“It is like all my lessons went in one ear and out the other, why do you insist on living this sort of life boy?” Strangely enough…he sounds desperate-as if learning of Atsushi’s involvement in the world of ability users has become inevitable, he looks at the headmaster curiously. Watches as he runs a hand over the necklace, and stares out of the window with a forlorn expression.

“Because it’s the only one I know of,” Atsushi relishes in the headmaster’s defeated face, he drinks it all up, he blames him. Blames him for not giving him a decent childhood, for imprinting all of his own pain onto him-to harden him? To show him life isn’t soft? No, what he did was condition Atsushi into believing pain is common, that it’s a passage for love.

When it’s all bullshit. He was a kid desperate for an ounce of attention from the only man he could rely on, after all the hurt and torture he put him through. The same man who was unaware of what Shibusawa was doing to him-and even after his death, he reverted back to his ways. Not showing Atsushi a fucking ounce of sympathy.

“Did you think even once how I would survive in the normal world?” He asks questioningly, and laughs when the headmaster makes no comment. “I wasn’t shown it, all the other kids got to experience actually hanging around other people. I was kept in a fucking basement!”

“I could barely write my own damn name! I had no money nor experience, only the clothes on my back and the will to live,” Atsushi yells, “so yeah, excuse me for joining up with the first person who offered me any type of help, even if it meant entering the world of ability users.”

“For the first time in years since you kicked me out, I got to experience what a bed feels like. Not some messed up old mangy blanket, I got to eat a full meal, not scraps left over from the food I had to cook for all you ungrateful shits.”

“For the first time in years I was treated right by people who didn’t expect a dime back from me,” except for Ranpo, early Ranpo was mean as fuck, “do you know how many people saw me starving on the streets yet none offered me a hand?”

“Well let me tell you, for two weeks,” he shakes two of his fingers, “for two damn weeks I was looked at like garbage. I had to hunt for scraps and sleep in alleyways-I was thrown out of cafes and restaurants when all I wanted was a bit of warmth.”

“People would watch as I fought and clawed my way through life, they would ogle and judge me for the scars you gave me!” He wheezes, he hadn’t noticed how out of breath he’d become-Atsushi wipes the sweat from his top lip, sniffling so as to not have snot dripping all over. His heart beats rapidly, and the room feels hotter than before.

“You-” he sniffed again, “you left me to die out there. I was spit on and ignored like common trash, and the funny thing is you could have helped me. But I wasn’t worth your attention, just like Shibusawa I was another thing to torment for you own pleasure-”

“Do not compare me to that monster!” he interrupts, spit flying from the gaps between his crooked teeth. “I am nothing like that man, do not ever compare me to that-that thing,” the headmaster points a shaky finger at him, the other still holding on tight to the cross pendant.

“What difference is there! You’re both monsters, you broke me and left me to die!” He yells back, and the headmaster just shakes his head repeatedly, muttering mantras under his breath that Atsushi doesn’t care to hear.

“I did what was necessary! I know my actions were hard towards you Atsushi, but I needed you to become stronger than I ever was, to face the cruelness of this world and know what to do. With you and the other children, I promised myself I would never let you all suffer the same fate that I and my people did!”

“And what load of good that did, huh headmaster,” the headmaster’s eyes widened and he visibly recoiled, “you did it for us right? To make us stronger and to live better lives.”

Atsushi begins to pace up and down. “I bet that did a lot for Chihiro huh? Must’ve helped Fumi and Hajime too. Oh! I suppose that Karen and Kuro are living such good lives right about now!”

He shoots the headmaster a vitriolic glare, and he hopes the headmaster feels every ounce of hatred flowing out of his body. “The funny thing is, I recall that they all died under your supervision. Every single one of them,” he stops a few paces away from the director, and tilts his head closer, “it’s a damn shame they ended up just like your ‘people’ huh.”

Atsushi is slapped again-it sends him stumbling back.

“I did the best I could, to protect them and if you believe that I do not take responsibility for their deaths Atsushi then you are foolish,” the headmaster lowers their hand, bringing it up to their face and squeezing it into a fist-before ultimately dropping it.

Atsushi exhales weakly, then stands up straight. “I will continue to dream of those children, of what they could’ve become,” the headmaster places a hand on his shoulder, the touch light as a feather. “I never thought that I would be the last to die, everyday I spent roaming the earth, I had watched as adults and children alike died from the cruelness of this world.”

“And I strived to keep them alive, but I am not god Atsushi. I could only postpone the inevitable, but when the lord sees it fit I must relinquish my hold on them. It is callous and grievous, regardless I know when it is not my turn to be there any longer.”

“I only wished for you to not be another body bag delivered to me. I have tired of burying my children and friends-and when I was given the paper with your face on it. I was angry, and then relieved that you were still living.”

The headmaster steps away, he had stopped pawing at the necklace. Instead focusing his attention on Atsushi, and no matter how many times he has experienced it, he still grows anxious. “I am proud of what you have become, but I am not happy with your decisions.”

Atsushi feels a surge of anger course through him. Who does he think he is to tell Atsushi that? Atsushi doesn’t care what the headmaster thinks, he’s happy with his decisions, he’s happy living with the agency, he’s happy to know he’s able to save and help people. It’s his life anyways, not the headmaster’s.

Is he happy?

Currently, not very much. He’s angry and frustrated and hurt, knowing that the headmaster still has the power to make him cower in fear, to make him second guess who he is in life and what he’s doing.

“What,” he steps forward, “fucking difference does that make!” Because, in all honesty, it makes no difference. He’s already knee deep into the world of ability users, and already is a well known one after he fought Fitzgerald-not to mention the agency literally works with the government so even if he did decide to fly off the radar, they’d still be keeping track of him.

“It’s my life! Also news flash you’re dead,” he waves frantically towards the man, “so why the hell are you even here?” He knows the answer to that, Shibusawa helped him figure it out-and so did Ranpo in a way. But Atsushi would rather ask then make baseless accusations, though in his case these ‘accusations’ are correct and he’s just stalling.

“I am well aware I have long left this world Atsushi, if I did not know. I would not be here,” the headmaster says, unimpressed and gently-as if Atsushi were a child in need of coaxing.

“Well then that’s that,” in a fit of impulse, he walks past the headmaster to the window-lifting up the latch and pushing both doors outwards, the air rushes past hurriedly-sending both curtains swirling around him. He turns to the headmaster, and tries to ignore how the curtains crash against him.

The headmaster watches him absently, no sign of emotion anywhere in his infuriatingly still like face. He fiddles with the same necklace, turning it over in his fingers and Atsushi might just have to rip it out of his hands and throw it out the window to get him to move. Atsushi can feel the cold creeping up on him, the small hairs on his arms snapping up, it’s freezing to the point it’s starting to hurt a little.

“Get out,” he grits out, trying to keep whatever composure he has left. “Leave and just stay away from me,” which in particular he knows won’t happen, Ranpo said so himself, their hallucinations, and as time wears on it’ll get worse. The headmaster makes no sign of listening, and Atsushi in a fit of anger grabs him by the wrist.

And at that point, he had expected to touch nothing. Though he never really decided to test the theory out, he just thought it was common sense-people can’t touch ghosts. So once more, to no one’s surprise he is proven wrong when the first sensation that climbs up his hand is the feeling of silk. Atsushi pauses, he gapes at his own enclosed fist, holding the ghost's burly wrist-the headmaster in turn, makes no noise or sign of apprehension.

And to a great extent, one that pains him. He begins to drag the headmaster to the window, it’s supposed to be a short walk, yet it feels as if many years have passed. Atsushi focuses on how far the window is, it’s really not but it sure feels like it. He takes a step, then another, then another and keeps at it-and if he’s taking his time, no one is there to quiz him on it.

After what felt like an eternity, he spins on his feet and looks up at the headmaster. They're both standing by the window now, staring at each other. The headmaster is a few inches taller than him, not much but a very noticeable difference for Atsushi who had grown up always having to crane his neck to look at the man. Atsushi now reaches up to the middle of his face, both on equal ground-and something in him sparks up. A revelation, that the man in front of him no longer holds the power to drown him.

“I see that one of my lessons has managed to stick,” the headmaster’s lips turn up, not quite a smile-but more in between. “You look at me with such repulsion, it’s twisting your features boy,” Atsushi ignores the jab, he knows that there's something on his face, a mix of hate and defiance. He’s not afraid to make it prominent, the headmaster is dead, and no longer a lingering adversity to haunt him anymore.

They click their tongue. “Do me the honor of seeing me out won’t you?” Atsushi narrows his eyes, he wants to tell the man to fuck off and never come back, but even as it’s about to fly out of his mouth, he bites his tongue and reels it in. Instead Atsushi juts his head out in a little act of rebelliousness and takes great pleasure in the tick of the headmaster's brow.

He steps aside for the headmaster, watching as he glides by and up the sill. It’s a majestic sight, under the pale moonlight, the headmaster glows a sort of periwinkle-small specks of bright gold appearing around him like fireflies. He clutches at the cross that had begun swaying on his chest, he doesn’t turn nor look at Atsushi, but his side feature is prominent when he speaks-their is no shadow following him, and now Atsushi can’t let himself relax; knowing the man is truly and utterly dead.

“Your story has just begun, Atsushi, with a sophisticated heart like yours. You are sure to find the door to your trial, I could only hope you don’t open the wrong one.”

The headmaster lifts a foot, planting it in the air. And Atsushi is relieved to see him go, Dazai always said it was bad to ponder the past. In spite of that a part in him is calling for the man to not go, to come back from the rotting wood he is trapped in. That a ghost is no replacement for a man who once lived and ran through life just like Atsushi.

The headmaster drops his foot, and his body goes along with it.

A scream rips through the air, and Atsushi doesn’t know where it’s coming from. He doesn't know if it's his or the headmaster’s. Only that it is so violent and ear-deafening it could shatter glass and crack open the ground, he lunges for the man-slamming harshly into the sill and tipping over to find him plummeting down into darkness. And now he knows, the ache in his throat and the droplets of water raining down his face, to the chafed pull of his dry lips.

Atsushi was the one who screamed, his gasping breaths come out croaky and he chokes on his own spit. He yells into the abyss, hands gripping the window sill with horrendous strength-he can feel the wood splinter beneath his fingers, poking through the faintest layer of skin. He continues to scream down where the headmaster fell. He doesn’t feel anything.

His eyes snap open.

Chapter Text

Chuuya doesn’t even get a word in before the were-tiger slams a door to his face. He has to physically restrain himself from breaking down the door and yelling at the boy-instead he takes a big breath in and waits outside patiently.

He knows the kid has had it rough over the past few days, Koyo had informed him the day he was scheduled to move in about what he’d gone through. And seeing the kid walk in covered in bandages and protruding eye bags-looking like he hadn’t slept in days only confirmed Chuuya’s suspicions, that the kid has been affected gravely by the ability.

Chuuya has sympathy for the kid, he knows what the ability feels like first hand. Ever since the fight in the alley way he’d been suffering from fatigue and insomnia-and on those odd days where he’d feel off, Chuuya would sleep and not wake up until days later in their medical bay with Koyo hovering over him. Complaining about the random bruises and aches he didn’t know he had done to himself.

So yeah, Chuuya feels for Atsushi. But he also needs the kid to not be on his shit-list first thing in the morning. He’s supposed to go to a meeting in about twenty minutes, Chuuya figured he’d tell Atsushi about his absence for the day-just because he’s not able to use his ability, doesn’t mean he’s gonna be let off easily by the boss.

They only told him he couldn’t do hands on-which include raids, interrogation, turf wars and such. Nothing about reports and boring ass meetings.

Still, Chuuya needs to head out soon. The apartments aren’t as close to their headquarters, and without his ability he would need to take his motorcycle. Chuuya decides to knock on the door again, hoping the kid won’t try to ignore him-or worse, shut the fucking door on him. He waits for a couple of seconds, before the titular click of the lock is lifted and a flock of silver and black peek through the gap.

Atsushi…looks like shit. The kid's hair is a mess and his bandages are strewn loosely over his hands-as if he were attempting to fix them. Good news is that they look clean, probably because they were changing them when Chuuya decided to knock. The kid looks at him with red-rimmed eyes and sniffles when he finally opens the door wide for Chuuya.

Chuuya arches a brow. “What the hell happened to you?” Probably not a good starter for their morning. And as expected, Atsushi scowls and wipes his nose with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Hi…Naka-uhh Chuuya, is there something I can help you with or…?” The kids trails off, he fiddles with the bandages, trying to get them wrapped into place. God he’s a mess, Chuuya has to stop himself from cringing outright when he drops one of the bandage rolls, unfolding by Chuuya’s feet as Atsushi mutters incessant apologies.

He leans down to pick the roll up, casually throwing it at the kid and watching him fumble to grab it. “I’m heading off to a meeting, won’t be here for probably a few hours,” he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans, swaying on the heels of his shoes. “Just wanted to let you know, there's some stuff in the fridge if you’re hungry,” Atsushi nods slowly, going back to wrapping his hands.

“Oh! Um thanks for…uh letting me know,” the kid lets out a frustrated groan and stops entirely. Flicking the roll onto the bed before turning back to Chuuya. “I’ll uh-keep that in mind, thank you for letting me know…Chuuya,” he nods and gives the kid a small wave, walking away he hears the door shut.

Chuuya walks over to the kitchen, grabbing his keys and phone before putting on his shoes and leaving the apartment. He sends a quick message to Hirotsu and bounces towards the elevator, he gets in quick-tapping the buttons and leans against the metal shaft. His motorcycle is down in the garage, after Dazai blew up his car he’d been relying on his ability to get him places-now he has to use his motorcycle again.

He walks out the elevator down into the garage, spotting his red ride-he walks over a bit more enthusiastically, swinging a leg over and jamming the key into its socket. He clasps onto the clutch and turns it on, lifting the kickstand as he revs it a few times; then he’s off.

It had been awhile since he’d ridden his bike, so the lift off isn’t smooth and he juts forward along with the bike. He drives out of the garage, taking a sharp turn behind the building and using the alley’s as his roads. On bike the ride should be less then ten minutes max-but he bets he can get there in five, he shifts the gear; upping up the speed and flying past everything.

The wind ruffles his hair, pulling back at his skin and attempting to pull him off the bike-he leans in more, swerving through the backstreets and frightening the people using them to traverse. Chuuya slows down and stops beside headquarters, parking his bike and hopping off he walks towards the building-safely tucking his keys into his pocket.

Many of the lower rankers greet him, a unison of ‘Mr.Nakahara!’ and it irks the absolute shit out of him, Chuuya can almost guarantee they practice that crap in front of their mirrors.

He makes his way to the highest tower, taking stairs and elevators alike-it’s a wonder why the boss thought it would be a good idea to make his office the very top of the damn building. Chuuya can feel the heels of his feet aching already.

About halfway through his venture, Chuuya bumps into Higuchi and Akutagawa. The two walk side by side, Higuchi is rifling through random files and handing them off to her superior, who merely glances at them. Chuuya should scold him for that-if he has to suffer through hours of papercuts and ink-stained fingers, then so should Akutgawa.

Higuchi is the first to notice him, her smiling face dimming in shock as she tries to compose herself. Akutagawa bobs his head in acknowledgement, which Chuuya returns-the two catch up to him and they stroll to the office together. Higuchi is still rambling to Akutagawa, the man only grunts every so often-Chuuya has to withhold a sigh each time. Akutagawa isn’t a very social person, let alone amiable-the only people he’s ever seen get any type of reaction from him would be Dazai and Atsushi.

Sure, there are times when Akutagawa is put in an absolute state of emotion that he has no choice but to react-but those are small compared to his unadulterated admiration and respect for Dazai, Chuuya will never understand what is up with that.

When Dazai left, all Chuuya heard was Akutagawa babble on and on about the mackerel, and especially since he was about two years younger than him-he was subjected to a prepubescent boy’s undying adoration for that stinking bastard.

Chuuya does not, to this day-regret making Akutagawa do his missions for him.

Lucky for him, those days are gone. Bummer for Akutagawa, Dazai still dislikes him. But as for the were-tiger…that is much more complicated. Atsushi has somehow always managed to bring the fire in Akutagawa out, when he’d come back from a duo mission with the kid-they’d all be subjected to his ranting and outbursts. It was entertaining the first few times, but now it just looks like an obsession is steadily forming.

They stop outside two red cushioned doors, guards side by side go to open them-the three of them walk in and immediately fall into a bow.

“Boss!” They yell in unison, before standing back up and moving towards the large table-Chuuya spots Koyo and Hirotsu sitting by each other, he takes the seat beside his mentor. Higuchi and Akutagawa follow suit, seating themselves by Gin and Tachihara.

The boss himself is at the foot of it all, young Elise sitting atop the table with a bundle of dolls and coloring books. The boss, with his every knowing smirk, leans in and begins to address them.

“My dear friends, thank you for attending this meeting,” the boss entwines his fingers below his chin, posturing himself as calm-Chuuya isn’t fooled. “I have called you all here to talk about our next steps regarding this situation.”

“One of our own top executives has been targeted by somebody within the guild-the Rib of Epicurus. Kobo Abe has directly threatened this group and we cannot stand by idly,” Chuuya shares a look with Koyo, his mentor's brows pinched and a frown blemishing her pale face.

“I wish to begin planning now, the Armed Detective Agency has already begun to make their move-now that young Nakajima is within safe grounds, they have started to conduct an investigation.” The boss tilts their head to the monitor hovering above ground, as curtains fall over the windows manually. Static light fills the room, bouts of images and information displayed. “I want you all to focus on offense, while Fukuzawa collects information-we shall be making moves to capture Kobo and his operatives, without deviation.”

The boss gestures to Higuchi. “If you will Higuchi,” the battalion leader stands up, her hands overflowing with papers.

“Yes sir! As the boss said, we have been-”

〜✶♣✶〜

Atsushi is not having a good day, after Chuuya had left-he struggled to wrap the bandages from Yosano over his scars and burns. He did a shoddy job at it, giving up halfway through the whole thing. Instead he diverted his attention to the fact Chuuya had left, the executive told him he needed to attend a meeting-and despite his best efforts, he can’t help but be curious.

He thought it over for awhile after Chuuya left, but then figured there were better things to focus on-like his case, and that he did. After of course, preparing himself a sandwich and tea, then he dived into the case. Atsushi knows he shouldn’t try to involve himself on the mission, Kunikida has forbidden him too, and he tried.

But lately his mind has been spiraling, Kobo’s friends' words playing on repeat in his head.

‘I'm sorry fer what you’re about to go thru lad, I can ‘anly wish ye best of luck. Seek me out over a nice drenk- I ‘eard Yokohama ‘as eh splendid selection.’

And Atsushi is contemplating it, going out to find the man. But where would he even start? He doesn’t drink, let alone go out to bars. He only knows three people who go to those things; Ranpo, Dazai and Yosano. They’d probably know where to go, but then again it would be stupid of him to foil what he’s planning to do-besides Ranpo and Yosano aren’t really speaking to him, caught up in trying to find Kobo. Dazai would definitely ask questions, and then that would turn into an interrogation, and then he would tattle on Atsushi.

Basically Atsushi can’t manage to fuck himself over.

He closes the file and pushes it aside, reclining on the chair-he hears his bones crack pleasantly and lets out a small groan. He peers at his discarded sandwich and cooled tea, Atsushi plucks them up and heads over to the kitchen, throwing away the food then placing both ceramics in the sink. He washes them, it’s a quick wash-soap and scrub. He hangs them on the drying rack as he heads over to the microwave, it’s close to ten-Chuuya has been away for about an hour.

Atsushi runs through the possible punishments he may face from the agency if he leaves, and most don’t seem so bad until he reaches case twenty-five; training with Yosano. Not the best outcome, but one that is highly unlikely to happen, and has a low chance of even being considered.

The gnawing voice in his head is telling him to go, to find useful information for the agency and Chuuya. And then the more jaded voice of his-the angel on his shoulder, telling him to wait, to not act rashly. Two things are pulling him apart, and Atsushi runs through his options thoroughly.

He smacks his hands on his thighs and returns to the room, shoving open the closet and grabbing at whatever clothes he could get his hands on. A black shirt, jeans and Jun’s jacket-he shrugs them on, not even bothering to throw his dirty clothes in the bin. He grabs a pair of white sneakers from underneath the shelves-then he goes to the desk and pulls on his messenger back, shoving in whatever he thinks he’ll need. He pauses for a second, then pulls out the duffel bag from under the bed and grins-he stuffs Kyoka’s discman into the bag.

It’s a stupid decision on his part, he contemplates leaving a note but he doubts he’ll be out long. He grabs his phone, checking for the train hours, he’s already missed a few stops but lands on one that leaves at three. Atsushi then searches up how long it’ll take him to get there and winces, it’s a forty-two minutes drive.

Then he remembers a small thing, minute really but it’s enough to spark something within him. Dazai is a known enjoyer of alcohol, he practically lives off it-Atsushi has taken him back home when his mentor is wasted, he talks a lot when drunk.

“Really Atsushi, I’ll take you there one day, a little birthday present.”

“Dazai, you're drunk, save that energy of yours for tomorrow.”

“We can share a whiskey on the rocks at Lupin’s, it was always his favorite.”

He tucks his phone away to walk to the door. Once his sneakers are on he walks out, not leaving a note or even bothering to try and search for keys in case his trip is a failure. But Atsushi is optimistic. Leaving the apartment he heads to the elevator, then down into the lobby-slipping out through the back door and into the garage. Once outside he departs, walking through the alleyways into the bustling street.

It’s bright and early, families out with their kids and teenagers shopping with schoolmates. The street is bustling with activity, shops open and crowded, vendors out on the streets hailing for people to buy their products. Atsushi ducks away from all of it, moving to the side of the street and flagging down any cab that passes. For a few minutes, he watches as cars race down and people cross-he feels his optimism wilting, barely a few minutes into his trip and it’s coming close to being a dud.

Yet the gods are fickle with him and soon a yellow cab pulls up, he gets in-a young woman at the wheel. Her strawberry hair is pulled up into a bun, golden eyes meet his through the rearview mirror-and Atsushi sucks in a breath.

“Hey there,” she places a hand on the gear, starting up the car and heading off, “where are you off too today sir?”

Atsushi snaps out of his fixture, looking away from the mirror to fiddle with the straps on his bag. “Yokohama station ma’am,” the driver hums, keeping a hand on the steering wheel. They pass by multiple buildings, heading into the busier parts of Yokohama. It's a nice day-the early weeks of spring.

“Where are you headed off to? Don’t mean to pry, but you look a little young to be traveling on your own,” the driver says, Atsushi isn’t young and he wants to retort that but doesn’t-he knows he looks young, baby faced even on some occasions.

“Ah, um I’m going to a bar, to see a friend of mine.”

The driver’s eyebrows practically dissipate off her face, she blinks a couple of times then laughs. “Well shit! My bad dude, gosh I thought you were a kid,” she laughs heartily again, shaking her strawberry locks all over.

“Uh yeah,” he scratches his head, “I get that alot.” The driver simply chuckles, plush lips pursed into a small smile. “Bet ya do, them eyes of yours real pretty-look like the northern lights through the mirror.”

The driver laughs again at Atsushi’s sudden flush. He hides behind his hands, grumbling-he’s not used to compliments, let alone any about his eyes. People used to say they were weird and creepy, that no normal person has them. The drive is a short one, not very long-soon he’s dropped off at the train station with a couple minutes to spare, he hands the driver a twenty and bids her farewell.

Atsushi goes to the ticket station, a disgruntled teen is heeding the office-he asks for a ticket to Ginza, a round trip one. The teen hands it over and he pays the fair price for it, he spies the train from the corner of his eye, all types of citizens and foreigners boarding into the early hours of the day.

A tired couple passes him, hauling a young girl in between them-she’s laughing and swinging back and forth. Her parents don’t seem pleased with it, but indulge her with smiles and laughs that please the girl. Atsushi smiles at the scene, they leave and take their own place.

Atsushi isn’t paying much attention when he takes a seat, and doesn't even acknowledge the wheezing breaths coming from his right. The train is packed, people shuffle through the shuttles and into other cars, and Atsushi takes one of the empty seats. He sits down next to an older man, he’s dressed pristinely.

He’s dressed in a navy suit jacket, the shoulders bulging for whatever reason. Under it is a black button up, dark lavender swirls curling over it in stuttered stitches. Around the collar of his shirt is a lighter blue ribbon, a broach of a swan pinned on it. A small white handkerchief hangs out of his breast pocket, and where the lapels meet-a gold chain connects them. His pants match the jacket, his dress shoes are brown. An odd combination of colors.

The man seems to be reading a book, his head bowed and he’s hunched over in what Atsushi assumes is a very uncomfortable position. His hair is long and wavy, red with protruding gray roots lining from his head. Atsushi can smell the distinct flavor of menthol off of him, it’s a strong scent that he still can’t get used to. The train begins to move forward as a voice flows out of the intercom.

“First stop is Tokyo station, we ask you to stay in your seats for the remainder of the ride. Thank you!”

The train explodes in a cacophony of voices, chatter between peers and strangers. Atsushi lets himself relax in the seat, pulling his bag up over his shoulder onto his lap. He can’t get a good view outside, the tall head of red hair blocking him from doing so, instead he pulls out the discman-inside a cd mix. He plugs in his shoddy headphones, moving the plug circular in order to get the right frequency, and not the shitty buzz.

Soon music plays through the wires, seeping into Atsushi’s head. The cd has two sides, side A and B-he had to familiarize himself with which side was which. Side A has all the American hits, things that Junichiro and Naomi like, while B is the usual music he and Kyoka listen to. The beginning ripples of some preppy song push through. He picks up discman, pausing the music and checking the first song.

In chicken scratch it reads; Changes-David Bowie

Closing the player he starts over the song, it’s not bad. They have a nice voice, if Atsushi ever had the chance to see them play, he’d probably be jumping up and down to the tune. Maybe he should invest in a cd player, the big boomboxes-then Kyoka could listen to music hands free instead of hauling around her discman.

Every time I thought I'd got it made

It seemed the taste was not so sweet

So I turned myself to face me

But I've never caught a glimpse

How the others must see the faker

I'm much too fast to take that test

The song sure is catchy, he can feel himself internally singing along to the lyrics. Funny thing is, he doesn’t even understand them.

I watch the ripples change their size

But never leave the stream

Of warm impermanence

And so the days float through my eyes

But still the days seem the same

And these children that you spit on

As they try to change their worlds

Are immune to your consultations

They're quite aware of what they're goin' through

But he feels like he’s saying something important. Atsushi can catch a few words, not enough to decipher the whole song-but basic words like ‘never’ or ‘change’ the rest is just incoherent to him. Atsushi can imagine Junichiro and Naomi dancing to this, maybe Dazai too-he’s eccentric enough as it is, what would a couple seconds of dancing change?

Strange fascinations fascinate me

Ah, changes are taking

The pace I'm goin' through

He hums along to the noise, tapping a finger against the plastic of his disc. Atsushi was planning to take a nap on the train, maybe if there were people around he wouldn’t have another nightmare-yet the noise outside of his headphones is making it impossible.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

Turn and face the strange

Ch-ch-changes

Ooh, look out, you rock 'n' rollers

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

Turn and face the strange

Ch-ch-changes

Pretty soon now you're gonna get older

Time may change me

But I can't trace time

I said that time may change me

But I can't trace time

It fades into a lull, the outside voices much more prominent as the cd builds up for the next song. He waits for the next drop and it does not disappoint. Atsushi recognizes the song, it was once played on the radio during his and Junichiro’s trip, it’s catchy and Atsushi really likes it.

All our times have come

Here but now they're gone

Seasons don't fear the reaper

Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain

We can be like they are

He peeks over the stranger's head again, the sky is clear and full of life-trees swaying above green healthy grass. They pass by a multitude of countryside farms, most farmers doing their work and tending to the hefty amount of animals in their care. Atsushi spotted a few horses and cows, two of the biggest types of animals. He can’t help but lean his head in closer, the view is amazing.

They pass by quarries and gardens, some hillside houses for those who didn’t wish to live in the city. A sudden flash of red obscures him before he’s hit in the chin.

Atsushi reels back, he slaps a hand over his chin and groans through his blurry vision. The man next to him grabs at his head, dropping his pen and book in the process. He feels sorry for the man, a rush of abasement flowing through him. Sliding off his headphones, he reaches for the pen and notebook-thankfully they hadn’t rolled under the seat, instead stopping a few inches from Atsushi’s feet. He hands them over to the man, muttering small time apologies under his breath.

The man puts a hand over the notebook-then pauses. Silence ensues between them, the hand over his warming up-he watches the pen sink a little between his thumb and the book. Atsushi is about ready to ask the man to grab his things, he peeks from beneath his lashes. Yellowish-brown eyes stare back at him, their droopy and it makes the man look tired. His lips are pursed tightly, like it pains him, he switches between the book and Atsushi-then slowly pulls both items from his hands. The man tries at a smile, it comes out oafish and weird.

“Sorry about that,” his voice is surly, yet his words come out a whisper-a soft pitch, “ya looked familiar for ah’ second, got lost in m’ah head,” Atsushi only shakes his head as the man moves away from him, his frizzy hair going along. “Uh no, it’s okay. Sorry about the whole-” he gestures at his chin, then head, “bumping head thing.”

The man laughs softly, head tilting to view Atsushi better. “Yeah, yeah m’eh too kid, names Minoru, bit too late for introductions, but felt the need to do so anyway,” he plants out a hand, Atsushi takes it. “My names Atsushi,” his voice reminds him of Kenji’s, maybe he’s from the countryside too, “still sorry about hitting you sir, I didn’t mean to.”

Minoru waves him off. “S’okay kid, m’ not complaining. Thanks for ah’ grabbin’ m’ah stuff, woulda lost ‘em if it weren't for ya.” Minoru sets his stuff aside, book and pen. “Where ya headin' this fine day Atsushi, caint reckon of any places one would visit this time of year”

“I’m um, visiting a friend today. We’re going out for drinks,” Minoru gives him a look, one that Atsushi should take offense to but can’t bother to. “He’s paying , so I figured I should take him up on it,” he adds.

“Kid ya look lak ya just came fresh out the nicu, baby face like ya caint possibly be ovah’ twenty,” Minoru says, matter-of-factly. “Ya ain't foolin' nobody,” he leaves off, rummaging through his suit pocket, revealing a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Atsushi is pretty sure smoking isn’t allowed on the train. He wonders what's the appeal of smoking, the black lizards and Chuuya smoke, hell even he did-and he didn’t like it. Maybe he’d smoke once in a while, but to make it a habit is just gross.

Minoru lights up the stick and blows a few puffs of smoke from the side of his mouth, he puts away the pack and light. “So where ya really goin'? I’m headin' ovah to a conference right now, ah’ work as a professor,” Atsushi smiles in bemusement, and a bit of trepidation-he hasn’t forgotten the baby faced comment just yet.

“Really? Well I am going to meet a friend at a bar, it’s called Bar Lupin. Down in Ginza,” Atsushi responds mockingly.

Minoru let out a bark of laughter, the cigarette dangling dangerously off his lip. “Yeah ye are, shoot kid ya really old enough to order a glass ah’ whiskey?”

Atsushi nods, the man taking another swift gulp of smoke. “You said you were a professor? Where do you teach?”

“Yokohama University, we was gonna do the conference ovah there but they switched it last minute. Damn big mans reckon they can order we’uns around, shoulda ran fo’ the ones, big mans ain’t tough, not ah’ damn bone in em’,” Atsushi’s mind stops on ‘Yokohama University’-he read it in the file.

“Wait, Yokohama City University?” Minoru gazes over at him, shaking the ash into an empty snack bag. “Yeah, ah’ teach literature ovah there. Not the best job but it'll do, I’da left sooner if ah’ could-but ah’ don't got the funds fo’ it,” he shakes his head, ash droppings missing and spilling onto his lap. Minoru jumps and starts to pat it off.

“Huh,” Atsushi wants to address his case not avidly but just enough to help him, maybe ask a few questions about Pandora, Masuji and Victoria, but he doesn’t know how to start. It would be helpful if he could get his hands on any scraps. “Um-” he really doesn’t know how to ask without coming off as suspicious, “isn’t that the school where? Uh those students, the fore-”

“Yeah ah’ know what ya tryin' to git at, the thray kids who was murdered, nasty business,” he shakes his head, a look of aversion pointed at nothing, “don't know who woulda done that to 'em kids.”

Minoru shifts his head, staring at the ceiling of the train-a somber glint in his eyes. “Ah’ knew of one of 'em kids, they was en’ mah class. Next thin' ah know she disappeared 'n turned up dead,” he smokes the last of his cigar, putting it on in the bag, “pity really, she was a nice kid.”

Atsushi plays with his fingers, aching to get his hands on the file and jot down everything coming out of Minoru’s mouth, yet another part of him feels bad. It seems to him that Minoru knew one of the girls, and was probably close to them too. What makes it worse, is that Atsushi knows precisely what happened to her, how much she suffered throughout those days-some of the worst days he assumes. While Minoru is oblivious to what has become of them, unaware of how much those girls endured until the end.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dredge up any bad memories,” Minoru huffs, a smile playing along his lips. “Bad memories? kid ah’ don't got any bad memories about that missy, she was kind 'n everythin' a normal person would fear,” Atsushi asks him for an elaboration, and he’s met with a heart-rending smile, “Riker was selfless, always out there defendin' that boyfriend of hers-whilst her little friend didn't do jack.”

Riker, his first hint. Pandora was the one close to Minoru, not Victoria.

“She had a tuff head on her shoulders, real smart too,” he cracks a wide grin, searching his pocket for another cigarette, “All mah memories of her are nice, real nice missy. Always helpin' meh out with mah class 'n papers 'n all that.” He offers one to Atsushi, he doesn’t want to be rude so he accepts it-ignoring the protests from other passengers. Another part of him also yearns for another taste of it, instead he juts it up to just wanting to find the appeal. Minoru lights his and passes the light, Atsushi follows what he saw-making sure to tug his long strand of hair away from the fire-and once he gets the first hint of menthol he shuts it off.

Handing over the lighter he reclines in his seat, taking the first big puff and ignoring how it makes him lightheaded. “That’s nice, I’m sure she was a good person.”

Minoru bobs his head. “Real nice that one, anyways what do ya do? Ya comin' from Yokohama but ah’ haven't seen ya at the University,” Atsushi is unsure how to respond, he hasn’t ever been to school-no matter how much he used to wish for it, it was an impossible feat.

“I’m a dropout,” he says, simply, “I work at an agency with my sister.” Maybe too much information? Minoru doesn’t take the queue, instead he goes along with it.

“Hmm, shame kid, ah’ don't know what your situation is but ah’ hope it goes along finely fo’ ya.”

He shrugs again, once more unsure how to respond to visible empathy. “S’okay, I didn’t have much of a choice, but I’m happy,” he taps the cigarette into the bag between them, “the pay is nice and I get to dorm with my sister.”

“What even gotcha into them circumstances? Dead parents?” Atsushi snorts, if he had any parents at all he wishes them the best, hopes they don’t have nightmares about dumping him into that godforsaken orphanage.

“No, I was um-raised in an orphanage. Aged out of the system,” Minoru makes a noise of disgruntlement, crossing his arms and baring his teeth. “Them systems all garbage, no good ever comes out of kickin' kids once they age out-it's lak an auction en 'em things.” And Atsushi agrees with him, it always used to irk him when the staff would line them up in front of incoming parents, in their nicest clothes and watch as kids would smile and perform for them. Atsushi was never one of the kids on the front lines, he was either in the kitchen or told to stay in the main dormitory.

“Ah’ hope someone helped ya git back on your feet or something, god forbid another person show a bit of kindness if not,” Minoru takes a slow drag, his wrinkled face and puffed cheeks swelling. Atsushi debates on mentioning Dazai, but decides not to.

“It’s fine, I managed to find a job and a dorm. So safe to say I’m doing alright.”

“No kid, life just ain’t fair, never bin' fair 'n people just make it worse, glad to see ya're doin' alright now,” Atsushi hums, nonsensical over his cigarette. He’d been neglecting it for a while, letting the ash mindlessly fall into the bag. “Don't let nobody put ya down boy, life ain't fair 'n it's never bin'. If ya don't git tuff the world 'n it's people will trample ovah ya, 'n it's not fair, but that's just the foundation it's bin' built own,” Minoru swivels in his seat, pointing the cigarette at him.

“Ya look kind, 'n ah’ believe ya might be. But that type of empathy is gonna git ya blown into nothing, ya can be kind but ya gotta know ya're limits-or else they gonna take it from ya,” Minoru sighs into the smoke, his amber gold eyes shining bright under the sun. “We all start off as kind, but 'em rare types of people stick with it.”

“Yeah,” he sighs wistfully, if the world were kinder he’d never have faced terror-in all its forms, a ghost, person, animal. If the world were kinder, life would move on-but it’d never be the same. Atsushi wishes for a life like that, but empathy will always be followed by apathy-no person can live without the other side, lest they be inhuman.

“My sister and friends are kind, really good people. Sometimes when I’m with them, it feels like-like I just-like for some reason-” he makes a noise of frustration, trying to find the right words yet none could ever match them. Kyoka is cold and warm, she’s like spring during its finest hours-where the flowers bloom and everything smells of grass and fragrance.

Junichiro and Naomi are different in a way, they remind him of the tenderest parts of life, like a warm fire. A family feeling, full of smiles and compassion-full of undying loyalty and the need to protect. Dazai is much harder to explain, he’s everything that Atsushi isn’t-a natural born leader.

His mentor is cold and calculating, unkind and willing to do what he needs to get the job done. But to Atsushi he’s everything, he treats Atsushi like he’s precious-something to not be touched or tainted with the harsher beings of life. Dazai is his guide, a helping hand for when he feels like he’s going down the wrong path, a compass he can rely on when it gets too hard for him to bear. Dazai can handle anything, and he patiently handles Atsushi-for all his wrongs. But nothing seems to be able to come close to what-

Minoru interrupts his thoughts.

“It's lak they only care bout ya, even when they could have gone 'n done other things they chose ya-not no other people but ya,” close but not really. Atsushi still nods because he doesn’t know what else to say. Minoru must’ve seen him waver, since he only chuckles in his deep reverberating voice.

“Ah'm not sayin' it's the same thin' kid, it's different fo’ everybody,” he inhales sharply, and rubs at the slight stubble over his face. “But what ya're tryin' to say kid, is that ya love 'em. It's an easy thin' to say, but a complicated thin' to feel-no wonder ya was torn up tryin' to explain.”

The train rumbles to a stop, the same voice from earlier rousing up everybody.

“Stop is Tokyo station, I repeat Tokyo station. Please take all your belongings on your way out.”

“Well shoot kid, guess it's time already,” Minoru gets up with a grunt and Atsushi follows suit. They go along behind the other passengers, making sure they don’t set anybody on fire whilst on their way out. Once outside Atsushi pauses his discman, forgetting to earlier and puts it away. Minoru is still by his side, smoking the last of his cigarette. “Guess this where we go our own ways, huh kid?”

“Guess it is,” Atsushi tries at a smile, not his best but Minoru smiles back.

Minoru rummages through his own bag. “Here kid, take this,” he throws something and Atsushi fumbles to catch it. It’s a carton of cigarettes, a small lighter tucked inside. He looks at the older man confused, Minoru just shrugs. “A gift,” he says.

Atsushi pockets the pack, while Minoru throws away the bag full of ashes.

“Hey kid,” Atsushi looks up.

“Git yourself a thunderclap, it's one of the best drinks they can offer ovah there,” Minoru smiles at him, pulling a hat from nowhere and placing it over his red locks. Minoru gives him a wave and starts to walk away, Atsushi does the same-a sinking feeling overwhelming him to know he won’t ever see the man again.

“Atsushi!” He stops, stumbling to look back at the man already halfway down the platform. “Give that boy mah regards, he's a real nice one so don't be too mean-he'll help ya as long as ya help him!” Minoru yells out, his hands cupped over his mouth. Atsushi sucks his teeth, body going rigid as Minoru begins to walk away again.

“Wait-” he starts, but the man is gone. Disappearing into the sea of people on the platform, Minoru knows, or knows to some degree. Atsushi stands alone, reeling from the shock and betrayal-he thinks about following his advice, but anger takes its course and he walks away in a fit of fury.

He walks out of the station into the streets, hailing for the first cab he sees-one stops for him and he gets in. Atsushi drops his head into the glass pane, he shuts his eyes and thinks about what he’s going to do next.

〜✶♣✶〜

The bar is located in an alleyway, after he had paid the cab driver to drop him off a few streets away-he made the slow walk to Lupin. So far he hasn’t gotten any messages from the agency, meaning that nobody knows yet that he’s left. Atsushi walks down the path and spots the flickering logo, he walks in and down the narrowed stairs-barely missing two drunk patrons as they stumble out, shoulder checking him.

It’s a nice bar, clean and bathing in the orange glow of it’s lights. There's only one bartender manning the bar, an older man who is cleaning and washing glasses. Atsushi steps into the light-checking out the empty bar. To his left he spots a black figure, hunched over the wooden bar and surrounded by various glasses. Atsushi makes his way over, not bothering to wake the figure and instead takes the seat beside him. The stranger doesn’t rustle nor make a noise-they continue to lay stock still.

Atsushi waves the bartender down, and is surprised when the man doesn’t ask him for any form of identification. He orders what Minoru had mentioned, and soon a thunderclap is laid out in front of him. Atsushi takes a cautious sip, it’s powerful and bitter. He smacks his tongue a couple of times, shivering from the strength of the drink-he continues to drink courteously.

The man beside him begins to sluggishly get up, it’s slow and painful to watch. They lift their head slightly off the table and Atsushi finds the tell-tale mole on his chin-he smacks the man atop the head. The man recoils and falls off the stool, grumbling profanities and pushing himself up onto his elbows-their legs are bent gawkily over the stool.

“Get up,” Atsushi hisses, a steel grip over the drink in his hand. The man flinches and gazes up at him, he’s young-maybe around Chuuya’s age. Wide owlish eyes blink, and the light reflects off his green irises, the man fumbles to stand up-dragging the stool back into place. He drops himself on the stool, and blinks some more at Atsushi.

He’s dressed modestly, not like he was in the alleyway, a plain brown cashmere sweater, loose threads entangling amongst others. His pants are simple and black, over his shoulders a trenchcoat-and a wool messenger cap is placed alongside the empty bottles. His hair is wavy and stiffly curled around his neck and face, parted at the middle with a few noticeable pieces tipping over onto his eyes.

He really is, with all due respect-hot.

“Ah’ sure, didn't reckon ye'd really show up, did I?” Atsushi pauses, because first of all-fuck he didn’t think they would have such a heavy accent. Second, the man is giving him a playful grin, head lazily planted on his hand, as if they’re two buddies just sharing a drink.

“Okay, first of all fuck you,” they blink again, “second of all what the hell are you playing at?”

“Huh.”

“This! You just randomly give me a message, telling me to meet you at some bar?” Atsushi waves frantically all around them. “Telling me shits gonna get worse as if it hasn’t already? Having you’re little friend fucking spy on me, and then you’re just here drunk out of you-” the man’s face pales considerably, he wipes a hand over his face-the other lifts up to stop Atsushi’s ranting.

Atsushi stops, and watches as the man calls over the bartender-whispering in their ear and soon another bottle is laid out upon them. The man pops it open and begins to chug the entire damn thing, he finishes and sets it aside.

“Ah sure, first off, ‘ello! Me name's Oscar Wilde-lovely evenin' today, ain't it just?” ‘Wilde’ says, he licks his lips and pops his tongue back in with a small smack, then offers Atsushi a sleazy smile.

He’s gonna fucking kill him.

Wilde must see it in his face, or the twitch in his eye.

“Ah, I'd have loved t'meet ya unda better circumstances, but I s'pose we can't all get what we want, so I’m just gonna cut t'the chase,” Wilde leans in, his emerald eyes dulling right in front of Atsushi. “You an' yer mate are in bleedin' great danger, I dunno how much y'lot've sussed out, but it ain't lookin' good-specially for ye an' the ginger.”

“What do you mean?” Atsushi grits out, his fingers digging into each other, Wilde’s eyes snap over to them, then back before he sighs.

“I'm sayin' that yeh an' Nakahara are on a timer, the two of yeh have the marks of me ability, whi' at first wasnae me intention-believe me, I didn' mean to hurt yeh or yer friend,” Wilde takes a large gulp from his drink, and Atsushi does the same-ignoring the burn clawing down this throat.

“What have you done to us?” Atsushi says.

Wilde sighs again, and looks away ashamed. His eyes crinkle and his lips pull into a frown as he stares at nothing-Atsushi believes he doesn’t have the nerve to face him. “Me ability ain't a pleasant one, it's actually one o' the worst things a human could ever face, so it is,” he then smacks his hands on the table, pushing himself off.

“But I b'lieve ye deserve an explanation t' all this, everythin' an' what Kobo's gonna do,” Atsushi sips at his drink tepidly. What Kobo’s gonna do? That simple sentence gives Atsushi a bad feeling.

“I be workin' as a solo contractor, doin' odd jobs and all that. One fine day, this lad Kobo Abe gets in touch, sayin' he wants to join forces-I tells him to name his price, and before long, we be workin' together,” Wilde scoffs into his drink, “a load o' shite is what it turned into.”

Atsushi thinks a cigarette might be needed, so he pulls out the pack Minoru gave him. He takes one out for himself and for Wilde-he lights his up immediately and slides both lighter and cig to Wilde. The man only lifts a brow, but says nothing as he lights his own. He takes a long drag and continues.

“So, we’re hatcin’ up a plan, he’s a bit vague on the details, right? But I don’t mind, just lookin’ to get me money, y'know? Soon enough, we’ll be goin’ on the mission. He said we’re just gonna nick some fancy executive-not a bleedin’ mafioso!” Wilde cards a hand through his hair, looking thoroughly demented.

“Between meself and him, we had a scuffle with the wee lad. He tells me to use me ability-and I’m dead set against it, but then the ginger starts actually givin’ us a right hiding and I panicked, so I went an’ used me ability.”

“Then we had him down on the ground, and Kobo starts givin’ the wee fella a hard time. I’m feelin' a bit uneasy about the whole craic by then, so I start tryin’ to get us to skedaddle-then you and that lassie showed up,” he lets out a loud laugh, “An’ of course we had a bit o’ a scrap, didn’t we? That lass o’ yours gave me a right hard time, nearly landed a few blows with that cleaver o’ hers!”

Atsushi takes a drag of his cigarette, washing it down with the drink. It’s a horrible combination, but it’s growing on him. Soon Wilde’s laughter dies down, he stares at the cigarette-he turns to Atsushi, his lip wobbling; eyes red.

“I didn’t mean t’ use me ability on ye,” he says, raspily. Atsushi has always hated his inability to get angry, because looking at the man’s heartbroken expression-the way Atsushi can tell he’s beating himself up internally. He can recognize guilt from a mile away.

“An' I’m dead sorry 'bout that, truly I am. I’d never make a soul go through wha' ye’re facin', an' for that, I’m really, really sorry,” Wilde trails off, his pale cheeks slowly turning ruddy. Atsushi shifts uncomfortably in his seat, not sure how to continue from there.

“If you’re sorry-” Atsushi turns to him, a dead set expression on his face, “then you’ll help us, help us with whatever you’re ability did. And to capture Kobo.” Wilde’s mouth slowly gapes, then he cracks a small smile.

“Ye're right, an' don' ye fret about it. I was goin' t' help ye lads anyway after I found out,” Atsushi furrows his brows. “Found out?” He questions, Wilde nods.

“After we got back t' the hideout, meself an' Kobo were havin' a bit o' a rest, and I was lookin' fer bandages or somethin' fer his scrapes. An' I tripped over a few o' his files,” Wilde’s face flashes with fear, then he schools his expression. “Ah, it was horrid, talkin' 'bout some gods an' how he wanted to be rid of 'em all. You an' the ginger were on the list, somethin' 'bout extractin' yer crystals. Kobo found me before I could get any more word outta me.”

“We had a right scrap, an' I just managed to slip away with me life, got me hands o' a few papers, but that's the long o' it,” Atsushi feels himself go cold, a list? Gods and crystals? He thought Kobo was just a normal thug, not some fucking mastermind or some shit!

“What information did you manage to get your hands on?” He interrupts, then snaps his fingers as Wilde’s gaze flies away. “ I need to know Wilde cause shit just got real!”

He startles, eyes going unfocused for a second then back. “Ah! Well now, t'be fair, it was just about ye lads an' some others, that fella ye mentioned earlier-his name's Minoru, he was on the list too,” Wilde sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I warned him 'bout Kobo, and we began plannin' to take him down. A few other ladies were on the list, we got in touch with 'em too-they’re in on the plan.”

“Dis be wan o’ the reasons I wanted t’meet ya, I want t’ask ya t’join us. You an’ the ginger, if we can take down Kobo, nobody ‘as t’die.”

“What do you mean nobody else?” And truly Atsushi can feel the sweltering fear tumbling around in his stomach, Wilde looks at him again-teary eyed and afraid. His hands shake as they cover his mouth, he mumbles something that Atsushi can’t hear. Wilde’s eyes are wide and fearful-looking at something that isn’t there.

“What?” Atsushi says, Wilde then bursts out and yells.

“They killed me mates! In the files I'm riflin' through. They were crossed off, and I knew, the moment I laid me eyes on their names in the paper clippin's, I bloody knew,” he lets out a choked gasp, hunching over himself-Atsushi can only watch as he falls apart. “They were dead, they helped me an’ paid the price for it.”

“I didn’t know they were gone! I thought they were grand here! Far from all the bleedin' trouble I got meself into,” he cries into the palms of his hands, “they had nuthin' to do with it, nuthin' at all, an' they passed on!”

“They just wanted me t'be safe, went through th'trouble of keepin' me alive. And I up an' left 'em!” Wilde turns to him, startling Atsushi into almost dropping his bud. He bumps into a ceramic next to him-an ash tray of sorts, he hadn’t noticed it there.

“He's chasin' ye lot like dawg's, Nakajima, sooner or later if we don't do somethin', we'll all be meetin' our makers!” Wilde spits out, his face contorting in anger and grief.

“Wha-” he gulps down the pool of saliva in his mouth, “what do you need us to do…?” Those words somehow hit the mark, for Wilde slumps in relief and pulls away-taking a harsh drag of his stick and tapping at the table.

“Furst off, y'need t'talk t'the ginger, tell 'im 'bout these plans. Me an' Minoru'll be searchin' fer more info, an' the girls'll be tryin' t'look fer any signs o' Kobo,” he takes another drag, “ah, it’d be grand t’ share me contact details, I’ll give ye me burner number and we’ll keep in touch from there, alright?” Atsushi nods, then he begins to question the sincerity of it all, he feels bad-really that his friends are dead, killed to be precise. But Atsushi can’t risk himself on a bluff.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth? That this isn’t an elaborate plan of yours to get me killed?” Wilde looks at him; exasperated.

“Ah'll be givin' ye copies of the papers,” Wilde says, then gives him an expression that borders on amusement. “D'ye think this is me first rodeo? I had t' haggle with three other lassies who were much more feisty than yeh, an' I still made it out alive, I did.”

Atsushi thinks it over, it’s not a great lead. And this whole operation itself is dangerous, he can’t risk himself getting hurt and with Byakko gone fighting is out of the question. “I still need to know how to fight your ability Wilde, I’m not able to use mine because of it.”

“Ah feck, yer spot on, shite,” Wilde curses, grumbling into his drink. “Ah jaysus, right, so first things first, me ability's called Picture of Dorian Gray.”

“It lets me drive anyone mad, 'twas a grand shock when I first showed it off,” he grins, it’s an empty one-the crinkles of his lip are too tight and his eyes only grow duller. “I really fockin' hate the bleedin' thing, ye'd think it'd be like bein' a superhero. Just turned me into a murderer, so it did.” Atsushi is dumbfounded, his brow knits and he waits for Wilde to elaborate.

Wilde sighs into his bottle, a forlorn look in his face. He clutches at the bottle tightly, and his eyes begin to water again. “A murderer?” Atsushi asks, pushing forward when he sees Wilde make no move to continue-it’s insensitive, and Atsushi does feel bad for dredging up something that is possibly a bad memory for Wilde. But he needs answers, not just for him but for Chuuya.

“The first time I used me ability,” he mumbles, voice cracking up, “it was with me wee brother. He was a tiny part of me life, but I loved him dearly, and with such fierce passion, I could bring down the sky, sure. But as I said before, he was just a wee lad...”

Wilde gazes at him with a face of regret and unbridled sorrow.

“I hadn’t realized how I affected him 'til I buried him in the ground two months later.”

Oh

He killed his brother, it shouldn’t affect Atsushi as much as it should affect Wilde. Yet his heart pangs and breaks for the man before him, to know that his gift turned out to be a curse. To know a man who has lost so much in his life, from his brother to his friends and lives on to stop anybody else from dying. It’s cruel and unfair.

There is only so much a person could take before they blow, everybody has limits. And yet Wilde lives on with a mountain of guilt over his head and strives to help Atsushi and others.

It’s not fair

“I’m sorry,” apologies, apologies, and more apologies. All anyone does is apologize and that’s exactly what Atsushi’s doing. He doesn’t know what to say, Atsushi hasn’t ever experienced a loss like Wilde’s, so in turn he can’t relate to it. And it only hurts him more when Wilde stares at him with dejection, as if he wanted to hear something else from Atsushi, to know he isn’t alone in a world that is so adamant on hurting them.

“S’okay,” they stew in silence, Atsushi’s mind going a hundred miles per hour. Trying to juggle how he can help Wilde and the others, how can inform the agency of this new change in plans, and how he’s gonna tell Chuuya. The whole incident runs far deeper than he would have liked, and apparently there are gods? Minoru being one of them, or he suspects so. The only question is how does he and Chuuya fit into the whole picture?

“Is there-” he swallows the dryness in his throat, “anyway me and Chuuya can avoid um-” dying, it goes unsaid but Wilde understands him nonetheless.

“It’s not as simple as that, me ability plays tricks on a person’s view an’ clarity o’ time. It can feed off guilt, trauma, an’ all the ugly bits in a person,” at least it gives Atsushi a clearer picture of what he’s dealing with-not a nice one, but one he can convey to Ranpo. “When I make any sort o' contact wit' another, their ability stutters away-fights against me own, dependin' on how strong that person be in the head,” he taps his own, giving Atsushi a wry grin.

“Ah, it’s how long it’ll take fer me ability ta kick in, the ginger fought agin’ it hard. But it wasn’t enough, it’s all down ta time, y'know,” he makes a show of hands, spreading them far apart from each other. “Sure, 'cause he was touched first, it hit him before ye. Now, dependin' on how long it'll take ye two to give in, that's a different matter entirely.”

Wilde’s demeanor turns serious, his cigarette nothing but a fallen bud on the table. “It all boils down to how strong yer will is t'live, if it's strong enough. Ye can live for months t'come, an' if yer weak-it'll gobble ye up quicker, so it will,” Atsushi makes a noise in the back of his throat, he thinks it’s a whimper-and the man beside him only smiles.

“Is there any way you can turn it off?” Atsushi asks, and he hopes to god there is a way. Or this trip would have been for naught, sadly-even if there is no way to turn it off, Atsushi is still going to help the man with his mission.

Wilde shakes his head slowly, he bites at his lip; raw. “Nothin' that I know of, I've tinkered with me ability before-an' each time I can't seem to switch it off,” he drops his hands over the railing, Atsushi’s cigarette has since burned out. “I've come t'the hypothesis that it won't go unless I do, haven't tested it out fer obvious reasons,” he makes a show of waving his hands over his body, “but ye know.” He then shrugs.

Atsushi mutters a small ‘fuck’ under his breath, taking a large sip of his drink and holding back a wince-it feels like lava is being forced down his throat. Maybe he can clue in Dazai, ask Wilde if he’s willing to let his mentor use his ability on him.

“How about Dazai?” Wilde perks up, his head tilting slightly.

“Who the bleedin' hell is Dazai now, huh?”

Atsushi twitches, trying and failing to hold back a witty smile. Wilde is blunt, honestly to the point it’s become charming. “He’s my mentor,” Atsushi then explains Dazai and his ability-Wilde makes a wide range of expressions before settling on one of deliberation.

“Ah, sure I dunno, lad, could be worth a go? But I highly doubt it'll do the trick,” Wilde finishes his bottle and waves down another one-it’s odd how he isn’t drunk yet, he might have a high alcohol tolerance. Atsushi himself hasn’t really finished his drink, he can barely stomach the taste and his head is starting to get fuzzy, his vision too.

“Y’know, ye an’ that ginger have already been feelin’ the effects o’ me ability, right? Mind sharin’ how long it’s been?” Atsushi hums, he’s been feeling them for about a week now. The nightmares, insomnia and hallucinations hitting him back and forth, it’s a wonder how he hasn’t gotten whiplash yet.

“It’s been about a week, I don’t know much about how Chuuya’s been doing,” he thumbs at the bandages around his hands, the ends loose and fraying. “But I’ve been experiencing…dreams and hallucinations. I’ve become more emotional and I keep on somehow hurting myself.”

Atsushi sighs, he doesn’t know how to explain it. The random bouts of emotions, the dreams and hallucinations-his injuries and so on. A gnawing sensation eats away at his bones and skin, leaving him bare-everything is far too jumbled up in his mind. He’s angry and scared and determined and lost, during times like these he would seek out Dazai for help. But he’s alone in this, with only a handful of strangers by his side-maybe Chuuya, but the mafioso doesn’t seem like someone who would switch sides easily, even for a bit.

“My mind is all weird and twisted, I-I don’t know…anything anymore,” he huffs, far too decrepitly for his liking, it’s a hollow sound ringing through his neck. He could feel himself turn ugly in the face of his fears, Shibusawa’s words an undying record in his head. Atsushi doesn’t remember much of his childhood, their all bits and pieces scattered in random bouts-only ever resurfacing when he feels deeply. And since that day in the alleyway, for the first time, he had felt something more.

“I feel like I'm going crazy…” he whispers, more so to himself, “I’m seeing things I don’t want to see, things I’ve left in the past and they just-” keep coming back to haunt me, an itch wedged into his body, where nothing could ever reach it and soon turns into a constant presence.

“Ya've already started feelin' the effects o' it, ya just gotta bulldoze through it, Nakajima, I promise we’ll find a way t’ get ya an' yer mate outta this, so we will!” Wilde grabs him by the shoulders, urging him forward so they are face to face. Wilde looks at him determined, and Atsushi should feel glad, relieved that he’s not alone. Though it does little to ease his anxiety, he’s scared out of his fucking mind. He doesn’t want to die, not a death like this-he doesn’t want to leave the world yet surrounded by the ugliness of his past.

“...I don-I really don’t Oscar-I don’t want to-I don’t want to fucking die,” he can feel the wetness of his tears litter his cheeks, pouring down over his nose and hanging off his chin. Wilde softens and tugs him in close, a tender hand behind his head-dragging it in and closer. He can smell the whiskey in his breath, and see the way his nostrils flare slightly.

“Ye're not gonna feckin' die, not on me watch,” Wilde rests their foreheads together, “I promise ye, I'll do whate'er I can t'keep ye lads alive.”

“Desperate men'll do desperate tings, Atsushi, an’ right now, I’m th' most desperate bein’ in this room.”

Atsushi’s eyes drift shut, letting himself succumb to the warmth of Wilde’s body; their positioning is awkward. His body is teetering off the seat, close to falling-but Wilde keeps him steady, a hand on his head and the other on his waist.

“In another universe…I hope I don’t feel this pain again,” a scorching burn simmers behind his lids, a touch of cold pooling under his light lashes, the hands around him grip at his clothes and hair; desperately.

“Just fer today, Nakajima,” Wilde mumbles, a soothing vibration sending trembles up Atsushi’s hand, he holds onto the man's sweater, “let us be dreamers, will ya?”

And dreamers they’ll be. He will dream of a life where his parents aren’t passing images of happy families, he’ll dream of never crossing paths with the headmaster and Shibusawa, he’ll dream of never experiencing the cruelty of humans, he’ll dream of a happy life-he’ll dream of meeting the agency under different circumstances, and he’ll dream of a fruitful sleep.

He’ll dream of Byakko, in a world where she may or may not be in.

And he’ll keep dreaming of a world in which he does not walk.

〜✶♣✶〜

Chuuya sluggishly makes his way up to his apartment. He’s tired and yearning for his bed.

The meeting, as expected, was tiring. They ran through consecutive plans on how to capture Kobo and where to search for more information on his whereabouts. Chuuya was obviously put off the mission and left to do boring paperwork while the others moved to hands on. He’s not disappointed, with all that's been going on-he expected it.

Koyo had given him an earful at the end of the meeting, making him promise his mentor he wouldn’t do anything stupid while they work. Honestly, he hopes Koyo would stop treating him like an impudent child, he’s fucking twenty-two for fucks sake. He knows she’s just worried, and can see it in the way she’ll approach him like he’s some kind of scared animal.

Higuchi and Gin have been partnered up with the agency, they’ll be working with some of their members on scouting duty. While the rest tensely focus on bringing Kobo down, it fucking sucks.

He aches and hurts all over, he’s pretty sure he’s gonna go into a coma again.

What currently worries Chuuya, is Akutagawa. That boy is gonna work himself to death, throughout the entire meeting he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but in that room. His buzzing became quite annoying and Koyo had to call him out on it, he knows Akutagawa isn’t the patient type-since the day Dazai brought him in till now.

Still it’s painful watching the kid fiddle anxiously.

Chuuya himself isn't worried much about the meeting or even the whole mission, what does bother him is his ability. He hasn’t been able to use it, and when he tries his damn hardest to activate it-it’s only a flicker. And afterwards it leaves him drained and inherently more tired than before. He managed to use it for about five seconds before flickering off, two seconds more than before-it’s not enough but it’s a grand accomplishment on his part.

Mori had warned him to not use his ability, more so because he can’t have one of his top executives left without the physicality of permanently damaging himself or his ability.

Not after Ace’s embarrassing demise, god he’s always hated that stuck up prick. And the one time that his pride wouldn’t have done him any good, was when he was left in charge of Dostoevsky. There’s also Verlaine, but nobody knows where the hell he’s fucked off to.

Chuuya unlocks his door, stepping in and kicking off his shoes. The lights are off and so he turns them on, moving over to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. The house is quiet, Atsushi is probably sleeping, kid looked like shit in the morning-he takes out a mug and does the simple process for his drink. Scouring the cabinets for a fresh bottle of water and coffee grains.

He takes the keys from his pocket and throws them on the counter, heading over to his room while the water boils. Chuuya enters and heads straight for his closet, not bothering to shower-a simple plain shirt and shorts, he grimaces when he finds a stain on one of the pieces. He gazes out the window, the sun slowly coming down from its high, filtering the room in gold and blue.

Checking the time, it’s close to six-he’s been in the meeting for almost the whole day. Just planning and talking to the smartass detective from the agency. Edogawa, dude didn’t even bother to travel to the meeting, instead pestering them to have a video call. It’s a wonder how the boss didn’t somehow blow a gasket.

Throwing his dirty clothes in the closet, he leaves the room. Stopping a couple of steps from Atsushi’s, he contemplates knocking, if the kid really is asleep then he’d have woken them up for nothing.

“Hey kid!” He raps his knuckles against the door. “It’s Chuuya, just wanted to let you know I'm back!” No answer, Chuuya frowns and knocks again, no answer. Maybe it’s the paranoia in him that makes him try the doorknob, the door creaks open suddenly.

He pushes in, surveying the room. Walking in he checks the bathroom then closet, slamming it shut when all he’s met with is silence. “Fuck!” Chuuya rushes out the room, loitering down the hallway and into the living room. He doesn’t have the kids number which means he can’t contact him.

“Fucking, fuck, bludgering fuck!” Chuuya runs back to his room, pawing at his pants for his phone. He finds it and dials the first number he can get his hands on, he pauses, hovering over the name.

Mackerel

He backtracks, scrolling down his own contacts, ones he actually doesn’t mind calling. He lands on Akutagawa’s name, pressing call and cursing the gods for fucking up his day. He’s not sure if Atsushi had left on his own or something happened while he was gone. According to that bastard, Atsushi is a good kid. And Chuuya believes it, he doesn’t look like the reckless type, or anything of the sorts. The phone rings and rings, until a click filters through.

‘Hello?’

“Akutagawa! Thank fuck you answered,” he moves the phone over to his ear. Akutagawa speaks too slowly, always a hassle when they call.

‘Is something wrong Chuuya?’ Akutagawa asks alarmingly.

“Yes! Yes! Somethings wrong! The fucking were-tiger, he’s gone,” Chuuya runs a hand through his hair, pacing the kitchen as his water boils.

‘What do you mean gone? As in he’s not in the apartment anymore.’

“Yes! The kid's gone and I don’t have his number or anything. I mean-he didn’t look too good in the morning but I just chalked it up to him being tired or something! I don’t know if he left on his own, or if he-he was fucking kidnapped!”

‘Calm down Chuuya, I’ll contact the agency and send Higuchi out to search for him. I’m sure it’s not a big deal,’ Chuuya can feel Akutagawa roll his eyes from the other side of the line, he barely stops himself from raising his voice.

“I don’t know Akutagawa, I’m just worried about the kid ya know?”

‘I understand Chuuya, he’s probably at the agency. No need to have a fit about it-’

“I’ll show you a fucking fit you!-”

‘Higuchi has already contacted the agency, they’re talking right now,’ the line pauses, only the sound of raspy breathing could be heard, crackling over their premium service, ‘well it seems I was wrong in my assumption-’

“He’s not at the agency is he,” Chuuya’s tone is clipped, the line goes silent-then a voice filters through.

‘No he’s not, the agency is now in the midst of contacting the were-tiger,” a pause, ‘is there anything you wish to do?’

“Yeah there's a billion things I want to do, a nap written on there somewhere,” he responds, sardonically, “take Higuchi with you and search for Atsushi, tell the black lizards to follow your lead-take the head on this and think of it as a mission.” He can hear a small ‘Atsushi?’ over the phone.

‘Of course Chuuya, anything else?’

“Tell the kid to get ready for an ass-kicking when he comes back, but make sure you bring him back safe and sound-also tell shitty Dazai and his team too.”

‘Yes Chuuya, we will contact you when he’s found.’

“Good, thanks Akutagawa.”

The call clicks, affirming the end of their conversation. Chuuya turns off the coffee pot and slumps on the counter. Throwing his phone aside, it makes a sharp thud against the marble table-he rubs his eyes, willing for the growing pressure behind his eyes to go away.

“God what a fucking nightmare.”

Chapter Text

The stupid were-tiger sent them all on a wild goose chase.

After Chuuya had called Akutagawa in a panic, bumbling about the stupid were-tiger being gone, and nowhere in the apartment. They had been ordered by the executive to find him, and now Akutagawa stands in the middle of the port, waiting for the black lizards alongside Higuchi.

He taps his foot impatiently on the smooth stone, Higuchi had called the agency and explained the situation as well, they would be searching on their side of the area and the mafia would do the same. Stupid were-tiger, doing stupid things, it’s honestly infuriating. He was put in that apartment for a reason, to stay out of the way so the rest can do their jobs-including Akutagawa.

And he just had to be dragged out whilst doing work, work involving the were-tigers life. Ungrateful little brat. Higuchi’s pacing isn’t doing him wonders either, it’s getting annoying, if she keeps it up-she’ll burn herself into the ground.

A few minutes pass, Gin, Tachihara and Hirotsu arrive from the darkness. Each a face of indifference, except Tachihara-the boy looks just as annoyed as he is. They stop a few inches from Akutagawa, surprisingly Gin is the first to speak up.

She steps forward, hands perched on her knife holsters. “Brother? What has happened, where is Atsushi?” Akutagawa doesn’t let it show how much he hates hearing Gin call the were-tiger by his given name, and doesn't like how close they’ve gotten in the span of one day. But Gin is just kind like that, outside of the job she is just another person.

Akutagawa clears his throat. “The were-tiger is missing, Chuuya has ordered us to find him and return him safely to the apartment,” he says, steeling his voice-and feeling a bit smug when he watches the black lizards straighten up. “He has ordered me to lead this mission, but first we need to separate into groups.”

“Higuchi and Gin, you two take the main streets on our side-don’t let anything escape your sight.” Both girls make an affirmative call of ‘Yes sir!’ He turns to Hirotsu and Tachihara.

“You two will take the slums, target any small groups who give off a sign they might know where the were-tiger is,” both men nod. “I will be going on my own, I’ll be farther than you each but if you find any clues you contact me, am I clear?”

“Now off you all go! Keep an eye out and if you find him, report to me or Chuuya,” he dismisses the group, not bothering to look back as he activates Rashoumon and hops onto the nearest roof. The wind lashes fiercely against his face as he flies over civilians and buildings, not stopping as he passes through them-ignoring the startled noises they all make.

Rashomon makes quick work of taking him where he needs to go, he observes the areas under him-looking for any head of silver that may pass his vision. He makes his way over to Kanagawa, it’s a quick trip with Rashomon, and he takes to the alleys, not bothering to dodge any of the low-level groups loitering the area.

So far none of the black lizards or Higuchi have called in, meaning no sight of the were-tiger just yet.

Akutagawa snarls in frustration. If only that damned fool didn’t leave, or idiotically gotten kidnapped. He’s still on the fence of whether he was kidnapped or not, the fool may rely on his ability but he’s a decent fighter. He could hold up his own end even without an ability, the tiger just gives him the extra strength.

Akutagawa doesn’t know much about Chuuya or the were-tiger’s situation, he knows as much as they do, only the bits of it all. But of course when he saw the ability first hand with Chuuya it startled him, and then when the were-tiger had stumbled out of the car like an idiot. During the first week of Chuuya’s symptoms he had been found passed out in his apartment by Koyo, knocked out and bruised all over-they thought it was an attack at first, and it became all the more worrisome when he didn’t wake up for a few days.

Only then when Chuuya had woken up, and dissipated their suspicions-did they all realize it was the ability. The early days were hell, Chuuya was a mess of mood swings and outbursts-he wasn’t able to use his ability either, and when he tried too knocked himself out cold for another day.

With the were-tiger it is more unclear, he could only assume so much from the bandages littering him. But from their meetings and new information, he must be going through the same thing Chuuya is, though when he first arrived-the were-tiger looked to be close to nodding off every few seconds.

Akutagawa hauls himself back onto a roof, ignoring how the sun is almost gone and soon to blanket Yokohama in darkness.

Akutagawa trails after the dimming light, switching between both buildings and ground, he can’t keep this up for much longer. Soon they’ll have to call it if they find nothing, Chuuya will possibly call for an emergency meeting if he brings it up with the boss. And because of the alliance they’ll have no choice.

He stops for a second, a grating voice could be heard down below. Akutagawa toes over, keeping his body steady and pace silent-he can hear a conversation, mainly the man's voice coming through. A few names are mentioned but he pays no mind, nobody in their right mind would be out in mafia territory unless they knew naught.

“Ah’ done told ya it’d work out, that Nakajima boy seemed real sweet.”

Nakajima

The fucking were-tiger

Akutagwa twists his body to lean a bit over the railing, trying and mostly failing to listen in on the conversation-but he found him first. Jumping off into the direction of the noise he skids across the ground, Rashomon at a ready. A man possibly in his mid forties stumbles back, looking shocked and frightened.

“Well, lookey what we got here!” The man grins, throwing down a flaming bud and stomping it with his boot. “I had a feelin' you was up there keepin' a secret, but I wasn't right sure if you was the one,” the man slips his hands into his pockets, no phone or communicator in sight. Akutagawa narrows his eyes, Rashomon hovering above him-two tendrils poised to strike.

“Where is he,” the man blinks, then he smiles brightly, chuckling to himself as red locks fall loosely over his face.

“Ya must be Akutagawa, ain'tcha?”

“What is it to you?” The man raises a brow, whistling a tune under his breath. “I reckon y’all are lookin’ fer that buddy of yours, ain’t ya? Atsushi,” the man asks, he cups his chin and tries at an innocent expression-Akutagawa snarls.

“He is not my buddy,” he sneers.

The man looks up at the sky, then back-he does a thing with his hand, muttering chants under his breath and lifting one finger to the sky before leaning back against the wall. “Well, bless your heart, kid. Didn’t mean to stir the pot like that.”

“I won’t ask again,” Rashomon slowly edges towards the man-they rear back, putting up their hands placatingly. “Where,” he takes one step, “is,” another one, “he,” a final one. The man shrugs lazily, golden iris’s twinkling under the bright night.

“Y'all's buddy sure was a whole lot sweeter than you,” Akutagawa flies forward, aiming a sharp tendril towards him. A blur of red jumps back, and Akutagawa wastes no time sending two more after him.

The man holds onto his hat, dodging each hit-laughter echoes through the alley and it fuels his frustration. Akutagawa pushes himself into the open air, Rashomon keeping him suspended.

“Rashomon; Jaws!” Rashomon opens her mouth and rushes forward, the man yelps and barely manages to side-step, Akutagawa jumps down and summons prongs from Rashomon-causing her to explode in a series of spikes.

The man lifts his arms, shielding himself from the blast-he’s sent backwards from the explosion. “Fuck! That stung, y'all ever play nice or are ya just all hog wild?” He yelps as a spike penetrates the floor beside him, they stumble up-hat now gone revealing disheveled hair.

Akutagawa gives him no time to recuperate, launching his next attack. “Rashomon; Freshly Budden Bracken!” Spikes emerge from the ground, causing the man to jump up and run away from it. “Whoa! Whoa, kid'! Hang on a sec, kid, just hold your horses!” the man yells, tumbling around from Akutagawa’s constant attacks.

“If I can’t get a straight answer from you, I’ll just have to force it out of you.” Akutagawa stretches out his arm, giving the man one last boring expression. “Rashomon; Prison Gate Jaws,” multiple jaw-like appendages shoot out of his coat, each targeting the man in quick succession.

The ground explodes in debris, the smoke filtering around him. Akutagawa coughs into his hand, waving away the smoke. Either he killed the man and lost his only lead, or he managed to survive and would now be willing to give him the were-tiger’s location. He’ll have to take the man in afterwards.

A cold hand coils around his neck, and with lighting speed Akutagawa jumps away from it. The man emerges from the smoke, covered in small scrapes and dust.

“Well, boy, you’re a tough little rascal, but how 'bout you let ol' me have a word, huh?” The man spits onto the ground, his posture relaxed and unbothered. “Then talk, I won’t ask again. Where is the were-tiger?” They raise an eyebrow, and mouth the word silently.

“Y'all really call him a were-tiger? Ain't that a mite mean, turnin' him into nothin' but his wild side,” the man asks, Akutagawa doesn’t respond, only allowing Rashomon to reappear from his coat-they frown.

The man scratches his neck, looking out of place among the destruction. “Lemme tell ya, I gotcha covered, don’t fret none, your buddy's just fine, I promise ya that,” the man says, “he's down by the waters, but let me tell ya, go easy on the youngun, he's had a tough day.”

Akutagawa narrows his eyes, he doesn’t believe the stranger-if he’s lying to him, he’ll kill him. He straightens out, recalling Rashomon and she disappears in a flash of red.

The man whistles. “Well, ain't that somethin' lovely? Too bad y'gotta be part o' that port mafia mess,” they click their tongue, dusting off their hat.

“If he’s not there, I will hunt you down and dismember you before burning your body into ash and dumping you into the river,” the man frowns, planting a hand on his hip-popping it out. “Y’all are downright nasty, ya know that? Nakajima said you might be a tad rough, but this here’s just plain violent!”

The man crosses his arms, nose wrinkling as he eyes Akutagawa up and down. Akutagawa should really kill him, get the job done and over with. But alas he is on a time crunch, he could always hunt down the man again-it wouldn’t be too hard and he has the resources. He turns away from the man, accepting the end of their fight, he best not waste too much time-he hopes the were-tiger is truly at the river. He’s not keen on wasting his time.

Akutagawa summons Rashomon again, two tendrils driving into the cobblestone floor and taking him up. The man below him squawks, Akutagawa looks down, giving the man a foul grin.

“Hold up now! I'm tellin' ya, take it easy on the boy, he's had a hard time today, wait-don’t be slowin' down! Young'un, hang on-”

Akutagawa ignores the protests, the man's voice fading into the background along with the sun. He pushes forward and makes his way to the waters, irritated and ready to lay it down for the were-tiger. That man knew who he was, which means that the fool left on his own accord.

He was going to murder the idiot, yet a raw feeling spreads through his chest-overwhelming and it agitates him. It’s sour, he puts a bit more force into jumping between buildings, not bothering to care about the amassed damage being left in the wake of his rage.

Everything is a blur, the sun’s reign has ended and in turn, the moon has lifted in its place. The world is obscured, leaving Akutagawa to have to rely on his ability-bright red helping him find his way through the roofs. Citizens begin turning in for the night, flashes of lights being turned off behind vague curtains and shops. A few people still lounge outside, most being drunkards or criminals looking to shake down any unlucky person who crosses their path.

He can see the body of water getting closer, patches of green where trash lingers. A few benches sit empty and couples frolic together. Stopping on the nearest roof, he searches the area-a few people notice him, and how they do; he does not wonder. They only scramble to leave, except for the few idiots who don’t notice him because they're either too oblivious to their surroundings or don’t care.

A lone figure sits on one of the empty benches, Akutagawa jumps off. Speeding through the area and stopping a few paces behind the bench, over-seeing the expanse. A patch of gray hair ripples in the air, the were-tiger is hunched over, swaying from side to side. He could hear the scuffling of shoes as the people soon realize who is there, he takes great pleasure in it. He continues his walk, idling beside the bench-keeping an eye on the were-tiger.

The were-tiger has yet to acknowledge him, staring deeply into the waters, reflecting the moon and stars dancing overhead. Akutagawa narrows his eyes, it’s eerily silent, only waves and his raspy breathing-there is no reason that the detective should have not noticed him by now. He flicks his eyes down to the bandages, now gone and left pooled on the floor-the were-tigers hands are covered in scabs.

A large burn mark over one of his forearms, the skin wrinkling like a prune. His eyes are dimmed, but colorful-the moon doing justice by giving them light. Purple and yellow collide, a shower of meteors; a nebula. The silence expands into nothingness, the were-tiger shifts, and in slow fashion finally turns to Akutagawa.

And then he catches a faint scent, tangy and acrid. Foul enough to make his lips curl, the smell of the slums. Of those who have plumbed the depths of bottles, never to resurface with their sanity intact. The were-tiger's eyes are glassy and red, wide and nervous-Akutagawa tightens his fist, resisting the urge to pummel his face.

“Have you been drinking?” It comes out more violent then he’d meant, the detective blinks, as if trying to comprehend-it’s slow and testing his patience. Ultimately it seems to have settled in, the were-tiger blanches, though he doesn’t flinch or back away. He stays seated, squirming in place like a damn worm.

“...Aku-Akutagawa?” The were-tiger licks his lips, squinting under the moonlight.

Akutagawa glares at him, the detective is inebriated-he’s fucking drunk. Chuuya was worried and the fool went out for a drink. He could barely contain his composure, silvery cracks slipping in and making it unbearable.

“Who else would it be were-tiger,” he scoffs, crossing his arms. The were-tiger makes no remark, unusual for the man. “Would you pray tell, why is it that I got a call from Chuuya telling me you were missing?”

The were-tiger makes a noise, turning away back towards the waters. His movements are sluggish, even as he tugs at the long strand of his hair rather harshly.

“I…thought I…um…left a note?” He furrows his brows, taking his time to look around before landing on Akutagawa again. “Wait…why are? Why…are you here?”

He’s going to snap, he is going to throttle him. “I am here to return you safely,” he grits out, “to the apartment you fool.”

“I don’t…everythin’ is spinnin’,” the were-tiger huffs, body tilting every once in a while before he straightens up, “today’s been so sad.”

Akutagawa doesn’t pay his words any mind, approaching the were-tiger. He summons Rashomon, ready to carry him using his ability, it wouldn’t be a good idea to touch the fool-not that he would ever want to anyways. He steps closer, then stops-pausing to watch the shudders wrack through the were-tiger’s feeble body. It’s full of hiccupping, slurred speech and incoherent moans.

“H-hey…Akutagaw’ sorry to t-tell ya’-” another hiccup escapes their throat, jolting them in the process, “but I don’…think I’ll s’make it t’ six months.” The were-tiger throws their head back, releasing a bark of laughter that travels between the waters and land, his hand thrown over his face-blocking out the nonexistent.

“Save your breath for someone who cares,” he mutters, coldly.

“I don-” a hiccup, “th’s all sucks man.” His head lolls to the side, half-lidded and dripping with tears. Akutagawa feels himself startle, it’s strange to see the detective so vulnerable, it sends a sharp bit of static up his spine. “Hey Akutagawa? Le's fi'ht,” before Akutagawa could protest, the were-tiger gets up on his feet, clutching at his head; and stumbling. He curses under his breath, ripping the bag off their shoulders and throwing it down on the bench.

“Were-tiger, as much as this is humorous to me,” he drawls, “I was ordered to return you back to Chuuya in pristine condition.” The were-tiger doesn’t listen, he draws his fists up and stares blankly-his eyes glazed and not there. Akutagawa can’t help but roll his eyes, sending Rashomon in a quick flash, wrapping around his torso and planting him back on the bench.

The were-tiger yelps in surprise, and in a matter of seconds Akutagawa has him bound. “Ar’ you gonn’ kill me?” He drops the were-tiger back on the bench and sighs.

“Wha' you won' kill me, huh? I won’ make it, I jus’ can’t,” he babbles, pulling at his hair and heaving wet breaths. “C'mon Aku, j'st do it, I can't do it m'self, like, really can't, y'know? Why won't ya just do it!” The were-tiger pounds at his chest, gazing at the sight before him with wide eyes, seeing something Akutagawa can’t.

“Shut up!” He snaps, yanking the were-tiger by his arm, ignoring the protests tumbling out of him. “I am taking you back to the apartment, so seize your useless rambling.”

“Y'can't take me back, ya just can't!” The were-tiger puts up a weak fight, pushing and pulling to slither out of his hold. “And why pray can’t I were-tiger! Why should I listen to you,” they shake their head, mumbling under their breath and putting a bit more strength into escaping his hold, it’s not enough but Akutagawa applauds him for trying.

“I’ll d-die, d-die, f-fuck, Ak-kutagawa, I’ll k-kill m-myself!” This manages to stop him in his tracks, the were-tiger has since stopped fighting, his body going slack as Akutagawa lets go of his arm. A sickening dread fills him from his toes to his head, it’s mixed with vitriol, an anger closing in on him as his mind runs rampant like a dog with no escape.

And only one thing pauses in his mind, something he could never jerk past.

What does Dazai see in him?

It’s enough to snap him back to reality, to see the form in front of him fall-prone to misery and angst that Akutagawa would never let in, no matter how damaged he is. A pitiful sight indeed, to watch him gasp for air and claw at nothing but his own shame.

“Are you that miserable you would rather remove yourself from this world than to face it?” A simple question, with multiple outcomes and endless possibilities. The detective doesn’t listen, instead curling up into a ball on the bench, shaking; Akutagawa curls his lip. “You utter fool, have you no modesty? With countless reasons to continue living, you choose to seek out the comfort in your own despondency-only an idiot would search for pain.”

“And yet you seem to thrive on it,” the were-tiger flinches, “what is it with you and this whole act of yours?” His fury rages, a capsule broken and releasing every natural disaster there is inside of him. The were-tiger has everything, a good future to look forward to, Dazai by his side and his gaggle of friends. It sickens him to have to put up with the idiot’s empty anguish-it’s always the same with him.

The were-tiger will always pronounce his dislike of Akutagawa’s ways, stating the obvious about how different they are, boasting about how he’s good and justice incarnate while Akutagawa carries out the dirty work. The double sidedness of him is a child's dream, foolish to its core and holds no value in their line of work. Dazai is an example of that.

“Y' don' kno anythin’,” he mumbles.

“You have everything!” He slams a hand on the bench, the were-tiger looks up. Face twisted in frustration, his cheeks red from the alcohol. “How selfish could you be?” The were-tiger’s eyes widen, and he jumps up from his seat, dropping the bag in the process.

“Selfish!”

“I am anything but selfish! I don’t know where the fuck you got that idea from Akutagawa, but you couldn’t be less off course! I have lived my life, practically for others, never did I have the chance to find out who I am. And if me wanting a little bit more of something I have just gotten the taste of then so be it! But that does not make me selfish.”

That somehow got him sobered up. He should try riling him up more, it’s amusing.

“If I was selfish, then I would have a massive fucking ego,” the were-tiger smiles, all teeth; canines poking out over his lip. “But you would know all about that huh?”

Akutagawa screws his eyes. “What is that supposed to mean,” the were-tiger flashes him a cruel grin, utterly fascinating.

“It means Dazai could throw you a bone, and you’d beg for the whole damn skeleton.”

In a swift pull of his arm, he lets his fist go and catches the were-tiger straight in the nose. He falls like a sack of rocks, crashing onto the floor-he groans in pain. Clutching his nose that is surely broken. Akutagawa looks down at his hand, closing then opening-urging for the tightness in his fist to go away.

“Can’t handle the truth asshole!” He’s up on his feet again, swaying as blood gushes out of his nose-it coats his teeth and overall makes him look manic. “You’re just as pathetic as I am! Yearning for something you’ll never get!” He roars, laughing.

“I am not like you were-tiger!” Akutagawa gnashes his teeth, getting ready to hit him again.

“Yes you are!” The were-tiger explodes. “Fuck, no matter how much you think you aren’t were the fucking same, it’s ridiculous,” he can feel his heart thundering in his chest, watching the detective pathetically fight to keep his weight upright. “We both ask for too much and in return never get it. How can you not see that! Were you dropped as a baby or something?”

“You are being ridiculous, we are not the same. I have made peace with my past yet you still search for it. That is our difference, I live to continue living, regardless of the hardships thrown my way. You continue to live because you are used to it.”

He steps forward, the were-tiger meeting him halfway. “I do not care about Dazai anymore, I used to wish for him to see me but now I know I do not need him to walk my path. While you were-tiger,” he hisses, “actively seek for anybody to give you a reason to make something of yourself, and still you have not found it. Living to save people does not count if you cannot even save yourself!”

“That is a foolish ideology, a fatal flaw on your part,” the weretiger scoffs, laughing at his face with a scornful expression. “You believe that kindness and empathy will get you through life? That saving people is a right of passage to live for yourself?” He asks, finding it difficult to look past his stubbornness.

“That kind of outlook will never work,” he presses a hard finger into the shorter man's chest, “if you don’t start living for yourself!”

“What the hell would you know about that? You’re just a dog, you live for the port mafia so you have no righ-”

“Listen to me were-tiger! You are stupidly kind, and that mindset will get you eaten alive by the unfeeling!” Akutagawa blurts out, angry and frustrated. With the utter naivety compelling the were-tiger to chase after that useless mentality. And Akutagawa would know, in the slums any type of compassion would have them torn to shreds, Gin was kind once-a young childish kind. And that belief almost got them killed more times than he could count. It had killed them.

The silence between them is loud, a static pulsing at their ridges and souls. The were-tiger gawks at him, gaze searching, looking for something Akutagawa has already masked. The light cascading them makes the detective's features much more noticeable-from the smooth curve of his nose, to the pink light scars, his eyes shining against its red whites. The blood has since crusted under his nose, smears faint but still there.

And then he breaks.

A choked cry escapes the were-tiger’s mouth. He curls into himself, arms wrapped around his stomach as a punched out gasp leaves his lips-droplets slide down his button nose, falling onto the pavement. The were-tiger moves away, turning his back to Akutagawa, a hand over his mouth in an attempt to stifle the cries. He can see a wince from the corner of his eye, a downturn tick of his brow as he grazes his nose.

“Th-that's n-not fair, y-you c-c-can't say th-that to m-m-me,” he whimpers, Akutagawa stays put. He sighs mentally, he did not sign up for this. To haggle a drunk were-tiger who is clearly emotionally distressed.

“Were-tiger it is late, we must go now,” he tries at a neutral tone, but it comes out harsh. The were-tiger shakes his head, refusing to turn around and he looks out into the surrounding craters.

“Why w-would you say that t-to me? I-I know, o-okay. I-I have always known, but g-g-god, c-couldn't you have l-let me s-stay oblivious?” He utters through tears and sniffles.

“What good does ignorance bring?” He asks, the were-tiger turns on his feet-still shaking and still crying. His face is puffed up, bruises blooming on the ridge of his nose and all across.

Akutagawa sighs, his nose wrinkles and he looks up above the were-tiger’s head. Focusing on the star-lit backdrop. “Ignorance…is not becoming of you were-tiger. It is unbecoming to a vast majority of us people. Without any sort of truth, we risk forsaking ourselves.”

“And that attempt at life is cruel to others, but moreso, cruel to our beings.” He drops his head back down, celestial irises meeting him back on ground floor. The wind rips around them both, carrying stray leaves into the night sky-one falls onto Akutagawa’s shoulder, he plucks it off. Staring at the fragile thing momentarily, then lets it rejoin the pile far away from them. It doesn’t make it very far.

“I’m going to die,” the were-tiger mumbles, but a wisp leaving his jagged mouth. “I…I went out tod-today for um, information and I found-found out some things.” He drops his arms, the welded armor finally coming apart. The were-tiger smiles, an unusual smile, it tears at his skin and pulls at something unidentifiable, Akutagawa doesn’t recognize it at all and he doesn’t want to.

“And…it made me realize some things,” his head bobs down, he then says, “I’m not as strong as I wished I was.”

“This is something I can’t beat, and it’s funny,” his mouth twists, “I’ve literally fought you and survived! But this…” The were-tiger pauses, followed by a blow of breath. “I can’t beat this Akutagawa, it’ll kill me before I even get a chance.” He tilts his head to the side, peering up at Akutagawa under albino lashes, he snaps his gaze away.

“And I’ve already lost that chance,” the were-tiger gives him a downturned smile, Akutagawa feels his sanity crumble, as the light in his head gives its last flicker. Forever drowning him in darkness, and yet all he could think about is that this faith was never what he had in mind for the fool.

This would be a death that would not alter the course of reality, that would not bring about a single change in their demented world. One not fit for the were-tiger, who is supposed to die a hero’s death, not a fools. Akutagawa opens his mouth, unsure of what to say, in between right or wrong but he knows he has to say something. The were-tiger promised him a fight in due time, a fight that would declare who is the strongest.

Still, Akutagawa knows who shall win, so why in god's name is he looking for an excuse.

“Always expect the unexpected were-tiger, death is without fail looming around our corners but they will not come for you unless you give them a reason,” he finally breathes out, looking out into the gloom of the waters. “Do not welcome death with open arms,” Akutagawa watches as fish leave ripples in the water, creating shining designs that bring out the beauty of the moon, “deny them.”

“Deny them and live on,” he says. The were-tiger slowly nods, looking worse for wear at the moment, they gnaw at their lip and it sends a prickle of irritation down Akutagawa’s spine. “Do not second guess your worth,” he snaps, “you have a mountain of reasons to fight-” he swivels away from the fool, walking down the path towards mafia territory.

“The only question is, will you fight for them,” with one last look at the were-tiger, he walks away, he could feel the were-tiger’s hesitance, but then quiet footsteps hurriedly cross the board, planting themselves right beside him.

〜✶♣✶〜

Dazai watches Kunikida pace the outside of Mori Corp, finding it hilarious as his co-worker struggles to get past the guards perched by the entryway. He himself is leaning against the agency car, his back cracks against the cool steel-he hums in content.

He got a call the day before, in the middle of the night from Kunikida. Atsushi was found by Akutagawa near Yokohama waters, in a…unbalanced state. And by ‘unbalanced’ he means drunk, Dazai’s kinda disappointed he wasn’t there to see it, he promised Atsushi he would take him to get a drink when he reaches the legal age.

But he’s gotta give the kid some points, running away from the apartment, getting drunk and sending the mafia into a spiral? He huffs under his breath, would have been one hell of a show for Dazai.

He and Kunikida were unfortunately sent by the boss to check in on Atsushi, moreso unfortunate for Dazai, having to spend the whole ride over in a car with Kunikida sucked. If he wanted to die, he would rather drive with Yosano, at least she’d cut right to the chase. Kunikida spent the whole time blabbering on and on-he should’ve switched with Kyoka.

Though Dazai has been meaning to check in with Atsushi, maybe take him out for a meal. Who knows what being cooped up in an apartment with the slug could do to him, or rather has done to him. Dazai is sure the slug wouldn’t touch a hair on Atsushi, he’s too likable to hurt-in all honesty it would be like kicking a cat with no remorse, and animal cruelty is a no go for the shortie.

Kunikida is still arguing with the guards and it should be time for Dazai to interfere, if he doesn’t he might not have a partner to work with the next day.

Finally pulling himself off the car, he saunters over to Kunikida-planting himself on the man's shoulders. He’s still yelling and it sends Dazai jolsting back, he still manages to keep his grip and pull away his coworker. Pushing him aside and taking his place in front of the guard, the guard stumbles-his gaze roving over Dazai’s figure.

He waves, his heart slightly jumping when the man flinches. Guess his title still precedes him after years of separating himself from the mafia. “Hi!” The man jumps again.

“My name's Dazai and that raging maniac is Kunikida, we're here for a meeting with Mori-sent by yours truly-” he steps back, pointing out a leg and bows dramatically. “The Armed Detective Agency!” Dazai jumps back, glancing down at his watch pointedly.

“And it seems we're running out of time…hmm,” the guard starts waving his arms around erratically, looking back at his co-workers who make a point not to look at him.

“Err well-um sir, I mean Mr.Dazai! We have no um collection of you making an appointment with the boss-” Dazai arches a brow, dropping both fists on his hips and tutting silently under his breath. “I’m sure if you call Mori and tell him we have an appointment, it’ll manage to clear things up.” Dazai suggests, which apparently is enough to startle his buddies, they each start talking over another and fumbling for the clipboard the poor guard was holding. Keyword ‘was’ because it was ripped out of their hands by a familiar figure.

Koyo emerges from the shadows, a parasol tucked into the band of her kimono. She’s as graceful and beautiful as always, she comes out of the entrance-giving the guards one look that sends them scattering back to their posts. Finally she turns to him, eyeing Dazai with casual disdain that he meets with a smile.

“Dazai,” she bows her head, then throws the clipboard behind her-a small body jumping up to grab it.

“Koyo!” He waves, Kunikida comes up behind him-lurking like a bug beside his shoulder. “We’re just here to check on little Atsushi, do you mind taking us to him?”

She raises a brow, tucking her small hands into the gaps of her sleeves. “Do I look like an escort to you boy?” She asks.

“Don’t know,” he shrugs, “maybe if you put on a cap and changed out of that kimono you’d fit right in with the rest of us!”

She scoffs, moving back into the building-him and Kunikida trailing after her. “You would never see me in that type of clothing, you’d be better off catching Chuuya rather than me.”

Dazai makes a noise, showing he’s listening. But Koyo knows better than that, her lip ticks upwards, it’s not a nice one-more out of humor rather than genuine.

They make their way past the lobby, entering into the farther back of the building. The apartments are housed somewhere else, a few minutes away from Mori corp. The three of them enter a restricted area, no guards or workers there to be seen, it’s deserted and downright creepy. Koyo doesn’t make any moves to talk to him so he turns to Kunikida. The man quiet and gazing at his surroundings like something will come out to bite him, Dazai chuckles.

Kunikida glances at him, an unimpressed stare that would make anyone feel suddenly ashamed-not Dazai though. He thrives on those looks, means he’s actually doing something right to gain Kunikida’s attention. “Hey Kunikida,” Dazai sing-songs, Kunikida grunts; an affirmation he’s listening.

Dazai saddles up beside him, arms thrown behind his back carelessly. “Whatcha think little Sushi did to get in such trouble,” he blows a raspberry, “the boss isn’t happy with him.”

Kunikida purses his lips and pushes up his glasses. “No one is happy with it, I don’t think anyone should be,” he says, forehead wrinkling in consideration. “Atsushi did a very dangerous thing last night, if something were to have happened to him while out-”

Dazai buts in. “He would have handled it,” he responds, Kunikida glares at him but Dazai continues. “Atsushi’s a strong kid who only learned from the best, I’m sure he would have kicked ass before anyone could have laid a finger on him,” he finishes, giving Kunikida a smug look-his partner flushes a peachy color.

Kunikida clears his throat. “Yes-well I did teach him so of course he would be talented towards hand to hand combat,” Dazai snorts and receives another glare. “But that does not excuse what he did, Atsushi is in a vulnerable position and with us still unsure about Kobo’s location or his accomplices, we cannot risk him going out again.” Dazai rolls his eyes.

“Relax Kunikida, he was found safe and sound.”

“Akutagawa found him Dazai, no matter what situation they find themselves in, I find it hard to believe that boy would return him in a safe condition.”

Dazai blinks up at the ceiling, huh, he hadn’t thought of that actually. But Akutagawa has grown, far more than Dazai had expected originally-he didn’t expect much of him at first, nevertheless credit will be given where credit is due. He and Atsushi are on civil terms as much as he could see, the two haven’t fought nor bickered unless either one insinuates an argument.

“Mhm, that’s true,” Dazai is pretty sure the two got into a scuffle, call it instinct but Dazai has a knack for violence, he could sniff it from a mile away-hell maybe even countries. “But I don’t believe Akutagawa would start a meaningless fight, don’t get me wrong-he has a hell of a temper.”

“In any case the two might’ve gotten into a small argument but I think that’s as far as it’ll go,” Kunikida looks at him doubtingly, Dazai winks and his coworker scowls.

“Come on Kunikida! Haven’t you seen the progress?” Dazai asks, flapping his eyes in a cutesy attempt-even going as far as leaning into Kunikida. Kunikida just rolls his eyes and pushes him away, dusting off his shoulder as if Dazai had thrown dust at him.

“I do not make it a habit of disrupting my coworkers' lives.”

“You disrupt mine on a daily basis Kida, don’t let me remind you of that one time you dragged me out of bed through my window.”

“It was one time!” Kunikida whips his head and yells, Koyo glances back; giving them a despicable side-eye, Jesus Christ that is one dirty look. Dazai smiles; unbothered while Kunikida mutters an apology. “Maybe if you had fixed that door of yours earlier, I could have entered like a normal person!” His coworker harshly whispers.

Dazai sighs showily. “Why would I waste half my paycheck on a door?”

“You do know that fixing your door would have been paid by the boss right?” Kunikida says, then groans when Dazai perks up and smiles sheepishly. “You really are an idiot Dazai…”

“Idiot’s my middle name!” Dazai announces, puffing out his chest.

“No, you don’t have a middle name, we’re Japanese, we don’t have middle names!”

“But we could if we wanted to, right?”

Kunikida groans loudly, slapping a hand on his face then dragging it down-stretching out his face before letting it drop. They finally leave the main compound, it’s a nice day outside, the three of them could see the Yokohama citizens out and about in the early hours of the day. It’a short walk to the other building, not as showy as the main but still large enough to punch a noise out of Kunikida. Dazai ignores his partner and walks briskly to catch up with Koyo, the executive unusually fast for his liking.

They enter through the front, it’s a spectacular building. Decked out in all sorts of fabrics and platings, Dazai had never personally checked out the apartments; he preferred to separate himself as much as he could from the mafia.

Koyo glides past the receptionist who doesn’t make a sound, only a quick glance before she’s back on the computer. She leads them down various halls, decked out in portraits, decor and curtains-they walk up a couple of stairs before being led down another hall.

Finally, they stop in front of an elevator, and Koyo turns to them.

“This is as far as I’ll take you,” she says, rummaging through the pocket in her sleeve-revealing a pair of keys. “The keys are for the elevator and your old apartment Dazai, Chuuya and the rest should be up there-I for one cannot stay but do give my regards to Chuuya.”

She hands over the keys, the cool metal weighing uncomfortably in Dazai’s hand. He stares at the set, feeling compelled to throw it out of a window and to wash his hands. Dazai is well aware both Koyo and Kunikida are watching him, he would be an idiot not too. Though he doesn’t very well care if they are, at the moment, he is in an intense battle with the keys in his palm, he actually doesn’t know what his apartment looks like.

Dazai remembers when he was first gifted it, he begged Oda to come and check it out. Not trusting anyone else, probably besides the slug. At first he was tempted to take the apartment, his little container wasn’t doing well to keep him warm during the harsh winters and it kept impairing him on missions.

He was excited, at first he was. Being gifted an apartment with no adult supervision at fifteen is anything a teen like him could’ve dreamed for.

He never made it past the door.

The emptiness of the hallway is what caught him off guard at first. Dazai knew that some members like Ace and Koyo preferred to live separately from other members. Hirotsu, Chuuya and Akutagawa along with the early black lizards all chose to live near one another. Dazai had thought at first he would live near the slug, they were partners and close enough that he’s sure the slug wouldn’t have cared. He made the decisive decision to not judge a book by its cover and continued.

The golden plate was the final straw. Dazai had walked away after that, not bothering to tell Oda what was wrong when he picked up on his foul mood-his friend knew him well enough to see it was a Mori problem rather than the apartment itself.

So, in conclusion. He may have been an impulsive kid back then, but he certainly wasn’t stupid. He could see the game Mori was playing at when he gave him the apartment, it sure as fuck wasn’t out of the ‘goodness of his heart’ let alone out of kindness. He wanted to remind Dazai of his true purpose in the mafia, and Dazai doesn’t take too kindly to threats.

He gazes at Koyo, giving him his signature cheeky smile. “Thanks Koyo, we’ll get out of your hair now.” She simply nods, going back in the direction they came from.

Once out of sight Dazai throws the keys at Kunikida, his friend struggling to catch them through his callous yet such nimble fingers. Dazai steps away from the elevator keypad as Kunikida scowls and begins to tinker with the thing.

“Chop, chop Kida! We’re losing daylight and we don't have much time!” Dazai whoops, a fist thrown into the air. “Come on! Get in there, you’ve gotta shove the key in,” he ducks down just as a blur of green careens straight for his head. He picks up the item, it’s green cover dull and withering with age-he tucks the book under his arm and waits.

The elevator creaks open and the two duck in. Dazai pushes Kunikida away, ignoring the low yelp and grip around his hips as he punches in the number for the apartment. He pulls away, noticing the bulge under his arm gone, he sees Kunikida tuck the book away in the lapels of his coat. Dazai’s grin stretches further.

The ride is short and soon they find themselves in front of the apartment door. Dazai doesn’t immediately go in, not too keen on doing so. Kunikida doesn’t say anything, instead he lingers beside Dazai. His presence soothing, and it calms some of his nerves, Dazai also doesn’t know what to expect of Chuuya.

They aren’t on good terms, the chibi can barely tolerate him as it is. And with the black lizards and possibly Akutagawa, it’s like a sickly reunion. He continues to stand outside the door, Kunikida’s impatient tapping of his foot a constant in the corridor, it doesn’t bother Dazai at all but his hesitance looks like it’s starting to grate Kunikida’s nerves.

Kunikida sighs after a few more minutes, glancing at Dazai just as he puts his fist up to knock. Dazai doesn’t say anything so his partner knocks twice. He can hear shuffling on the other side and voices bellowing through the walls.

Chuuya is the one who opens the door, not dressed in his usual attire. The slug switches between them before he steps aside, a silent welcome. Dazai ducks in while Kunikida greets Chuuya-he looks around, noticing the black lizards lingering in the kitchen with Akutagawa, he could only wonder why they have so much time on their hands. Hirotsu is noticeably not among them, so it’s only half of the black lizards.

Dazai kicks off his shoes and stands in the middle of the room, surveying the area. It’s bare and nothing of importance could be seen, the small coffee table in front of the couch has books and papers littering it-a picture frame is placed face down on the table. Dazai walks past the commotion, he can sense the eyes of the black lizards following him, Chuuya and Kunikida still talking even as the door closes shut.

Dazai wastes no time heading into the hallway, ignoring Chuuya's high-pitched voice calling for him to come back. A firm hand wraps around his shoulder, blond specks of Kunikida’s hair tickling his cheek from their proximity. Deep sea-green eyes stare into him, a pause in time and the world, Kunikida’s eyes flicker over his face before he pulls away.

“I’ll be in the kitchen with Nakahara,” is all he says before leaving him. Dazai watches his partner meet Chuuya halfway, the ginger throwing him a pinched look as Kunikida bypasses him. Chuuya strides over, angry as ever and stops a few inches from Dazai.

His face is set in a glower, arms crossed over his meaty arms and he treats Dazai with his usual disdain. It doesn’t affect him in any way, Dazai actually welcomes the blatant hate-his lips form a close-lipped smile, eyes scrunching partially.

“Chuuya,” he says, breaking the silence between them.

Chuuya’s eyes narrow, mouth curling into a mild sneer. “Dazai,” he shifts on his feet, “Atsushi’s in the second room on your left, don’t be a hardass on the kid he’s had it rough.” Which is fucking ironic considering the slug doesn’t seem to be faring any better, Dazai nods.

“When have you ever seen me be a hardass to Sushi?” Dazai asks, blinking as innocently as he could. Chuuya only deadpans-it was worth a shot, Dazai keeps forgetting Chuuya is well accustomed to his bouts of hypocrisy. “In any case I won’t, I’ve been meaning to check in on him but I haven’t had the time,” Dazai waves off, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets afterwards.

Chuuya snorts, it’s loud and ugly and Dazai hasn’t heard it in a while. “What? Been too busy chasing after any lady who’ll commit a double death with you?”

“Nope! As I’ve said before I’ve been busy…” he breaks off, gazing over at Kunikida who sticks out like a sore thumb among all the black. “You should probably get your ears checked, slug, don’t think it’ll do you any good if you can’t listen the first time.”

“Whatever asshole,” he says before walking away and rejoining the rest. Dazai doesn’t know what to feel about that, Chuuya usually is always there to take him up on arguments, but he looks ragged and tired now-which could only be from the ability. Dazai doesn’t look back as he makes his way to the room, excitement and dread seeping into his heart as he stops in front of the door.

Dazai doesn’t bother to knock, he tries the door handle and it opens. The room is ridiculously expensive, he doesn’t bother to explore. Instead heading over to the lump of blankets on the bed, he shuts the door slowly before sitting down beside the body.

Little strands of gray poke out from underneath and Dazai stifles a laugh. He drops a hand over the hair, ruffling it softly as the figure underneath begins to stir. Ametrine like eyes peek out from underneath, dark shades kissing the underside of their lids.

“Hey Sushi,” Dazai softly says, a smile growing as the kid sits up with a yawn. Atsushi turns to him, a beautiful smile doting his lips, Dazai drops his hands on the covers, using one to lean slightly back onto the bed.

“Dazai!” Atsushi tackles him in a hug, throwing both of them in the plush blankets. Dazai laughs along with him, arms wrapping around his lean body. Atsushi’s hair brushes against his as they sink into the soft mattress. They stay like that for a while before Atsushi throws himself on his hands, encasing Dazai below.

“I didn’t know you were coming! If I did I would have gotten up to see you,” Atsushi blurts, his eyes going foggy and it makes Dazai feel bad. Dazai shrugs to the best of his ability, the bed is comfy, he wouldn’t mind dying on it.

“It was a surprise visit, Kunikida’s in the kitchen with Chuuya and the black lizards-Akutagawa’s there too,” at the mention of the rabid dog, Atsushi flushes a rare color, flying back and colliding with the headboard. Dazai blinks, then blinks again as he sits up on his hands; a cat-like smirk grows along his face. He notices a hastily placed bandage on his nose, guess he and Akutagawa did get in a fight.

“Atsushi,” he sings, crawling closer towards his student. The boy reeks of alcohol and it clings to his clothes, Dazai can smell hints of orange and that oh so sweet caramel whiskey.

“Dazai,” Atsushi mocks, the two stare at each other before promptly bursting into laughter.

“Jesus Atsushi what the hell have you been up to?” Atsushi’s smile falls off his face and Dazai scrambles to correct his mistake. “I’m not mad! Totally am not mad, in all honesty Atsushi you go! Break the rules, sneak out, drink, who the hell am I to judge?”

Atsushi doesn’t respond, instead choosing to look out the window as he sighs. Dazai nudges him with a finger, mouthing his name over and over again until Atsushi gazes back. “What’s wrong?” he voices, Dazai is worried, he knew in some way that his mentee’s trip out into the open wasn’t done out of curiosity or the urge to leave. Atsushi never does things without reason, it’s something he and Kunikida had to learn through the hard way and Dazai suspects this outing was done with an underlying intent.

“I’m just…” his student grimaces, “tired.”

“I don’t believe that Atsushi, you’ll have to try harder,” Dazai states, voice thick with humor that sadly falls flat. “Atsushi if you don’t wanna talk about it I won’t push,” he sighs wearily, “but I’m here if you wanna talk about it alright?”

Atsushi’s face scrunches up, a moment passes and then it smooths out.

“Would you be sad if I died Dazai?”

Dazai freezes, what a way to start a conversation. With a ghastly question that would throw off anyone in their vicinity. He usually isn’t the one on the other side of that question, he always jokingly says it to Kunikida and Atsushi and they always know not to fall for it. The last time another person had asked him that it was during his time in the mafia-Chuuya was the first, and Oda the last.

Dazai shuts his eyes as tension coils around his shoulders and neck. Something he hadn’t felt since Oda died and Ango betrayed him.

When Oda died, Dazai was in a state of forgetfulness. He wandered the port mafia clueless and alone, not even Chuuya was able to get through to him and in a way, Dazai guessed it was one of many things that created the gap between them. He felt unnervingly empty, as if someone had dug into his back and ripped away what little bone was left in his spine-he was dubbed a coward.

He stopped going on missions, stopped listening to Mori, and ignored Akutagawa and Chuuya. Hirotsu was the only person who actually felt a semblance of pity for him, it made him feel disgusting. Oda was his breaking point, his friend lost the kids-the only thing that kept him tethered to the mafia. And it made sense, Oda needed the money to raise them-no other place was going to hire a man with no degree or education.

Oda was born and raised in the dark, and he died in it.

Dazai though wasn’t. He tasted the light and didn’t like it, he chose to walk down a path Oda had tried so hard to tear him from. But Oda was different, his friend was true light, someone who if given the chance to be good, would have thrived in it. Yet like any man, he was blinded by revenge and a sense of duty-and it led to his grave.

Atsushi in a way reminds him of Oda. A kind person in a world that has only desired to hurt them, someone so damn selfless it could become their undoing or opportunity. Dazai wasn’t himself when he joined the agency, he tried to see what Oda saw-tried to see the world through Oda’s eyes, the vibrant green he always mentioned, the purple and orange he always pointed out after missions, and the golden halo’s he would tell the children they had.

Dazai could have been a good friend, a selfless friend. But Oda was always the bigger person and Dazai accepted that.

Then a scrawny kid tried to mug him after a suicide attempt, after the aforementioned kid had saved him. And the first thing he saw were purple and gold hues, filled with such desperate naivety that still clinged onto a semblance of hope. His mission was to capture a man-eating were-tiger and Dazai was determined to see that the mission be accomplished.

Dazai completed the mission on his own terms.

He came home that same day with a young boy cradled in his arms and spoke to the sky, ‘am I doing the right thing Oda?’ Atsushi reminded him too much of Oda, of what Oda could’ve been that on some days it was unbearable to see him. Dazai likes to think that Oda would be proud of him, for making sure another person didn’t walk down the path they did, to save another soul from being sucked dry and turned into dust.

“I would be sad, I think the whole world would be,” Dazai licks his chapped lips, “but we would move on.”

“Just because something or someone is dead Atsushi doesn’t mean we have to be sad for as long as their gone,” Atsushi gazes up at him from his slouched form, bandages unraveling among his arms and Dazai wants to rip them away-no such thing should ever touch upon a form as pure as his student.

Dazai sucks in a short breath, his tongue lapping up the saliva pooling inside his mouth. “If you ever died Atsushi I would still see you. Among the laughter of the youth, in every closet I pass by, in multicolored gardens and in restaurants that serve chazuke.”

“I would see you and remember that you once walked the grounds that many others currently do. And that you lived a life with me,” Atsushi’s eyes grow foggy again, his lids fighting against the pooling tears that threaten to tip over. “That in many other universes we will meet again, and in every other life only I would have a boy named Atsushi Nakajima to myself.”

“And isn’t that something we should all look forward to?”

Atsushi laughs as tears cascade down his face, he laughs and laughs and laughs until it all comes crashing down and he’s clinging onto himself as if he were just delivered the most devastating news in all of history. Dazai watches it unfold and he feels a bit of himself break alongside Atsushi, Dazai doesn’t believe in god or outer energies. But for Atsushi he would devote himself to any religion where he could meet him again, even if just for a bit.

Atsushi is the sun that blesses them everyday with warmth, that lights their paths up during and after the worst of their days. A boy grown by cruelty yet gentle like a flower, prone to destruction and durable enough to survive.

“I don’t w-want to d-d-die Dazai!” Atsushi shouts, throwing himself right into Dazai’s open arms-he’s a crying mess, his nails ripping through Dazai’s coat and penetrating his skin-well he actually isn’t but it sure feels like it.

“You’re not going to die Atsushi,” he pries the boy off of him, holding him upright by his shoulders. “Tell me everything and I’ll figure something out,” Atsushi nods, fists coming up to brush away his tears as he tries to steady the gasps coming out of him.

“I-I went o-out be-because I know who t-the ability u-user is,” Atsushi says, still stuttering but his cires have lessened. Dazai gently pushes him back against the headboard, pulling the blankets to cover his legs then Dazai resettles himself closer-shrugging off his coat and throwing it aside in the process.

“He was um-actually really nice, his name's Oscar Wilde,” Dazai perks up, recognition flitting through his mind, “his ability is c-called Picture of Dorian Gray, it messes with our minds.”

“So Ranpo was right?”

Atsushi bobs his head, wiping the last of his tears and dropping his hands back on the blankets. “Y-yeah he was um right. I went out to meet him because he told me to during the fight, I was planning on telling you guys but…” he looks away sheepishly.

“I thought I could handle it on my own,” Dazai huffs, a tiny bit of laughter slipping out.

“I’m not Kunikida Atsushi,” he remarks, Atsushi simply flushes and fiddles with his sleeves like he were a kid scolded by their parents.

In which case Dazai would say that Kunikida is the scolder between the two.

Dazai gestures for Atsushi to continue. “Right! Well after I met up with him we talked. He told me about his ability and what Kobo is planning and-” Atsushi locks eyes with Dazai, fear running through them, “Dazai it’s terrible.”

“Kobo planned it all,” Dazai narrows his eyes, shifting atop the covers as he settles himself in a much more comfortable position.

“Planned it all?” He voices.

“From the alleyway to running into me and Yosano, Kobo planned the entire thing,” Atsushi says, voice drastically getting pitchy. “Kobo planted the file, he knew where Chuuya was going, he knew about our abilities and he knew me and Yosano were nearby!”

“Kobo was after me and Chuuya from the beginning, since the day I captured him and turned him over to Ango,” Atsushi announces, running a tired hand through his hair.

“Oscar wasn’t able to give me a whole lot of information but he gave me some papers,” Atsushi gestures to his bag, lying limp on the desk. “I already read through them and I was thinking of handing over the case file Ranpo gave me.”

“There are other people he’s targeting too but Oscar wasn’t willing to give up that type of information, he said he would need to talk to them first,” Dazai hums, switching to Atsushi’s bag on the desk.

“Are you in contact with Wilde?” Dazai asks, and Atsushi shakes his head quickly.

“I’m not, he said he would find a way to contact me first-told me he couldn’t risk blowing his cover if I messed up in some way.”

Dazai walks over to the bag, pulling out a blank file. He opens it and skims through the contents, most of it seems old-but the paper is brand new, meaning their prints.

“These are from Wilde?”

“Yeah! Oscar said he risked his life to get them, after he figured out Kobo’s plans he went out of his way to retrieve those files and made prints,” Atsushi shuffled out of the bed, placing himself beside Dazai. “He wanted to keep the originals for safety, so he gave me some printed versions of them.”

Dazai looks between the papers, spotting Chuuya and Atsushi’s names in some. He stops on a paper and reads it. It’s about the dragon’s head conflict, it seems that Kobo’s little assassin group was involved after all. Or rather Kobo was, Dazai himself had encountered some of its members, but they were such a small group back then that Mori didn’t bother to give a rats ass about them and so in turn Dazai didn’t care either.

“Do you mind if I take these with me, Atsushi?” Dazai waves the stack, Atsushi pauses, then makes a face of contemplation. Dazai cocks a brow, puckering his lips into a sly grin as he waves the papers a bit faster. Atsushi looks like he’s sweating now, and Dazai can’t tell if it’s out of pressure or his hangover.

Atsushi visibly relents after a while. “As long as you don’t tell the agency…I wanted to find more information on my own.”

Hmm, Dazai can work with that. He wasn’t planning on sharing with the agency anyway, he was going to do some solo scouting. Better late than never to put his former skills to the test. Kunikida might get a bit suspicious if he walks out with the file, but he could always just say it’s Ranpo’s case, his partner would obviously not believe him but their trust in each other works wonders.

“Then let’s do this,” Atsushi tilts his head, a sign he’s listening. “Why don’t you and I look for more clues on either side. You can focus on Wilde, check if he’s a trustable source-while I,” he gestures to the file. “Look for anything relating to Kobo’s plans.”

Dazai smiles. “And we’ll just keep this between ourselves, nobody has to know unless shit gets real and we have no choice!”

It’s not a solid proof plan, and there's only like a million holes in it that would make Mori weep in shame. But they don’t really have a choice and with Dazai stuck with the agency while Atsushi gets to freely use his time whenever he likes to, it’ll have to do.

With a new plan in place, Dazai steers the grim conversation away. Instead filling Atsushi in on what has been going on with the agency and the little things that are sure to bring a smile onto his students face. They talk for a long time atop the plush bed, Atsushi chiming in about his trip on the train and how he’s been getting along well with the black lizards.

Dazai doesn’t pry about Akutagawa, though that doesn’t mean he doesn’t try to. But Atsushi, ever the most resilient, backs away from it, even when Dazai teases him about the red that blooms on his face.

They talk for a long time until Dazai has to leave, with a lamented hug and a warning from Dazai to drink lots of water. He leaves with a heavy presence hung high above them, a clock ticking and a job to be done.

〜✶♣✶〜

Dazai drops off Kunikida at the agency, not bothering to call out after the man just as he speeds away. Dazai isn’t a good driver, everyone always tells him that-but he likes to think he’s decent. If he ignores the numerous speeding tickets and nights spent in the county jail then yes, Dazai is an excellent driver.

The car swerves to the side as Dazai switches lanes, forgetting to turn on his blinker. A man speeds past him, yelling a whole lot of vulgarity that makes Dazai gasp. He speeds through traffic, running about two red lights, maybe three, he’s not keeping count.

Dazai had meticulously read through the file Atsushi had given him, Kunikida tried to peek once or twice but Dazai made a point that he would stab his partner in the leg if he kept trying. The entirety of the papers confused him, he read through Chuuya’s first and that solidified the fact that Kobo is a very determined man.

Nothing is ever more dangerous than someone hellbent on wreaking havoc.

Kobo knew things about Chuuya that not even Mori knows, just him and Verlaine.

Possibly even Rimbaud, but that man is long dead-it wouldn’t make sense for anyone else to know. The flags knew to some degree but they also met their ends a few years ago, maybe Adam?

But why target Chuuya for Arahabaki? Wouldn’t Verlaine be a much better target? His ability is far superior to Chuuya’s but Verlaine would also be much harder to kidnap. And then there's Atsushi, Dazai has realized a while back that Atsushi poses as someone important in the world. With both the guild and mafia chasing after him, only stopping when they realized their attempts would be futile as long as they were around to stop them.

But why would Kobo target Atsushi?

Atsushi’s background is dim, there's nothing there to look for figuratively. Either Atsushi just popped into existence which is doubtful or his headmaster managed to successfully hide his past from them. Regarding Chuuya, he could always just talk to Mori about it, figure something out with him and Koyo.

But Atsushi is trickier, they have no information on his student. And Atsushi seemingly doesn’t know much either, just that the headmaster personally raised him. Dazai is aware that everyone has a source, even when they don’t know about it. So Dazai needs to go to the source, where Atsushi was raised.

The orphanage should have all the information he needs, he could always go to Ango but the man would definitely open an investigation on Atsushi if he were made aware of his unknown origins.

He drives on the countryside, Atsushi never really told him where the orphanage is located but he can figure it out on his own-considering they probably met at a mid-point. The sky slowly darkens, a shade of coral blinding him as he drives up a bumpy road.

The car abruptly slows down and Dazai fumbles to get out. He almost falls onto the ground as he rushes up some decimated steps, heaving in tiredness as he stares at what he assumes is the orphanage.

“Fuck,” is all he could muster, the orphanage is rotted and looks to be falling apart. There’s caution tape all around and dried stains on the steps-dark copper that have already left a mark on the stone. Parts of the building are crumbling and others already lay broken on the ground. The gate attached to its high walls-gone, torn from the concrete.

Dazai ducks under the tape and pushes at the door. It opens without a struggle, it’s dark and faint specks of dust blow in front of him, he takes out his phone to use as light.

Clearly nobody has been living in the orphanage for a while, not much is out of place-almost as if people had left in a hurry. Dazai walks through the compound, bypassing the kitchen and heading straight into what he assumes is the dormitory. He walks in to find nothing, no kids or adults, just dirty futons and unmade bedding. It seems the kids in the orphanage took turns on the bunk beds, only about eight sets; equivalent to sixteen beds. Old futons are shoved into the corners of the room near small cabinets.

Dazai rummages through them, finding simple things like clothes and personal belongings. He pulls out a picture, torn and dusty. He blows on the photograph, revealing two kids with black hair and similar smiles backed up against two adults. He turns the picture, smeared ink on the bottom right corner.

Karen and Kuro, first day at the orphanage!

Dazai throws it back onto the cabinet, giving the room one last look before leaving. He highly doubts there would be anything of use there. Once outside of the room, Dazai searches the main area-a simple kitchen and what seems to be a lounge. The kitchen is bare, pottery and dishes left to fade into age while the lounge is filled with books and rotting chairs-Dazai doesn’t bother to search there.

He makes rounds in between random rooms and attempts to bust open others that are locked. So far nothing of use, he tries to search for the basement instead-Atsushi didn’t really give them much information on it, his student very keen to not revisit the worst of his times there.

It’s a simple search for Dazai, having walked down a seemingly random hallway and busting through another locked door. What greets him next is an eerily dark staircase, cobwebs lining the wall and torches melded into their holders. Dazai hesitates, his only source of light is his phone and Dazai really hopes there's nothing down there that’ll attack him; like dogs.

He shivers at the thought, the possibility is low but never zero.

Dazai reluctantly and against his very being, begins to walk down the stairs. It’s a short walk and with Dazai speeding down towards his possible demise in order to dodge the numerous cobwebs above him he makes it in record time. The basement is illuminated in dusks color, allowing Dazai to put away his phone, his arm is sore and the relief hits him instantaneously.

The first thing he notices are the bars separating him from entering fully. Their old and rusted debris on the ground from its slow corrosion, the second thing he notices are the numerous small stains on the ground beside a small cot. Third thing he notices and by far the most troubling are the shackles connected to the wall, fit for hands and legs.

Dazai approaches the bars, pushing the door on the right. It opens and he walks in to examine the room, it's big enough to house a group of full grown adults-Dazai clenches his jaw, not letting his mind take a turn on the spot. He feels like he just stepped into a medieval dungeon, without all the traumatizing torture devices.

He ducks to grab at the cot, a cloud of dust slapping him in the face. Dazai recoils as he coughs up what is definitely a lung, he waves it away-keeping a distance from the small mattress. He lifts it slightly, it’s obviously a kids cot-something that Atsushi used to sleep in when he lived in the orphanage. A few dried specks of blood litter the bedding, he examines it closer and finds a suspiciously large stain-a graying sort of yellow color.

Dazai can hear his heart break, he can feel it shatter and splinter within the confines of his body. Dropping the cot he steps back, wiping the hand used to hold it on his coat-Dazai runs a hand over his mouth, snapping his gaze away from the cot. He thinks his time is limited, and he doesn’t want to stay another minute in this hell-hole.

Dazai practically bolts from the room, slamming the gate shut and running back upstairs-his phone out and light on again. Next point of destination; the headmasters office.

And if Dazai accidentally trips and vandalizes his property, no one will be there to report him.

He finds the headmasters office fairly quick, the door isn’t locked and out of all the rooms he’d entered, this one looks better maintained. He rifles through the myriad of cabinets, each labeled under names, he pulls out a few to rifle through, most being the kids under his care.

Daiki Nakamura, Kuro and Karen Shiota, Hinata Akabane, Nanako Maeda, Satoru Nishimiya

Most are just basic details, age and birth, day of induction or adoption. He stops on Kuro’s file, squinting at the wonky lettering, the age of the paper makes it difficult to read, he can tell it’s handwritten-which probably means all the other files are likely the same.

Kuro Shiota

Sex:M

DOB:August 18th, 1997

A few pictures are clipped onto the file, the kid looks young. His black hair is unruly and choppy, brown-green eyes squinting as he smiles towards what Dazai assumes is a camera. He’s dressed in a brown shirt with similar pants, visible stitching along the seams. He puts the picture aside and is ready to do the same with the file, but a certain note catches his eyes.

It’s a death certificate.

Young male, twelve in age. Parents unknown and resided in St.Adams Orphanage of Yokohama. No known relatives other than a twin sister, Drop of date: October 12th, 1997.

May 26th, 2010, reported as missing between the time of three to six in the day. Found within a week, June 1st, 2010, found twenty miles from St.Adams-pronounced dead on the scene, transferred to Yokohama memorial. Case opened June 1st, 2010, deployed as deceased in the special division registry.

Deployed as deceased in the special division registry? Was the headmaster aware of that? Dazai hums to himself, things have gotten a tad bit more interesting for him.

He puts the file back, rifling through the rest. He pulls out more of them but none belong to Atsushi, maybe it’s somewhere more discreet? He ignores the cabinet for the desk, most are locked but a twist of Dazai’s lock pick fixes that for him. The drawer in the middle opens, revealing papers and supplies. He looks through those, most just being financial aid and things bought in the past years.

Throwing those away he picks at the other locks, each being the same as the last. Suddenly an idea passes through Dazai’s head, he shoves his hand under the gap of the desk-hoping that maybe his assumption is right-and to his grand surprise it is.

A hidden drawer pops open with a creak. A bit of dust flies into the open but Dazai just waves it away. He spots a few files and Dazai cheers internally in triumph-he reaches for them, ignoring the cobwebs and dust that stick to his sleeve.

The first file is the one he’s been looking for, Atsushi’s papers out and about in front of him in all their dusty glory. He rips it open, ignoring the anticipation that practically makes him jittery-he pulls a chair from beside the desk, throwing himself down and beginning to read.

Atsushi Nakajima

Sex:Male

DOB: May 5th, 1997

Registration: September 26th, 1997

Most of it just details Atsushi’s arrival within the orphanage. He was dropped off as an infant, the headmaster is also listed as his primary guardian, something he didn’t see with Kuro Shiota. He keeps on reading, the next paper fading into what Dazai assumes is his background.

Dropped off by his mother on September 26th, 1997. Paramedics called onto the scene, Mrs. Nakajima was pronounced deceased at the scene. Case dismissed a few weeks later, Mamoru Ichiyanagi granted sole custody of Atsushi Nakajima under Fuyuka Nakajima's impending will.

A few news clippings slip out from between the papers, he lifts one up. A man is on the front newspaper, he looks as young as Dazai but is definitely older than him-he’s dressed in a suit, one hand around a young lady's waist. He has a head of straight hair, cut short around his ears. The color is close to a dirty blonde but leaning a bit towards brown, his eyes a gleaming green with hints of brown and yellow. The woman beside him resembles Atsushi, her long silver hair coiled below her waist-Atsushi’s eyes staring lovingly at the man beside her.

Horrendous murder kills newly wed couple!

September 27th, 1997

Yamatecho, Yokohama Japan

Fuyuka Nakajima (nee Aimoto) and Minato Nakajima, were killed in a gruesome murder in their home of Yamatecho Japan just yesterday night. Authorities responded to a 110 call from the Nakajima neighbors at approximately eight-thirty two in the night, first responders arrived at the scene of a break-in-Minato Nakajima was pronounced dead on the scene, his wife missing and considered a missing person. Police believed it to be an attack from ability users, the newly-wed couple had just returned a few months prior with a new born child, witnesses say. The Nakajima neighbors have already given their reports to the Yokohama police, and a search warrant has been released by the Metropolitan police on Fuyuka Nakajima’s whereabouts.

Fuyuka Nakajima was found miles from their home in Yamatecho, pronounced dead on the scene.

Dazai releases a breath of air he didn’t know he’d been holding in, dropping the papers on the desk. So Atsushi did have parents, and worst of all they were murdered? But why would the headmaster have these clippings in the first place? And who the hell has or had custody of Atsushi? As far as Dazai knows he was under the headmaster’s care, and Atsushi would have definitely mentioned if he had a guardian out there for him that didn’t bother to return to get him.

Dazai thinks that last part over.

Unless Ichiyanagi is the headmaster? But stupidly enough he can’t really make the connection even though he knows it’s probably him, the headmaster is literally written down as the headmaster in Atsushi’s file. Either the man was lazy or stupidly smart in making sure no outsider knew his name.

He pulls out another file, this one not named, simply blank. A whole lot of papers slip out and Dazai watches them as they hit the table. He chooses one at random, skimming the page as he intakes all the information on it, even if he internally deems it useless. He repeats the process with multiple others, skimming and throwing-he does it to about five papers before landing on the sixth.

Day eleven, I had taken Atsushi out to play in the garden. The headmaster of this establishment had allowed it under my direct supervision so that the boy would not run away. Atsushi has begun to show early signs of trust, still under development in some parts. Re-trying electrotherapy in a week, last attempt proven to be futile, no sign of the book or tiger.

He reads another.

Day twenty-nine, Atsushi has succumbed to a fever, tests will be postponed until he recuperates. Evidence of self-healing, the headmaster had lacerated his leg and back, healed within a fortnight. The boy has begun showing signs of ability usage, during certain full moons he will transform, I had restrained him during those times.

Day thirty-six, I had attempted another try at electrotherapy in order to unlock his consciousness when within the tiger, the attempt failed. I speculate the tiger is an entirely different consciousness. Atsushi does not remember the electrotherapy, he is unaware, beginning signs of memory loss.

Then another.

Day forty-two, the tiger is proven to be dangerous, not afraid to harm Atsushi. Shows exceptional signs of healing, can regrow certain limbs. I am unsure if it will work the same when he switches back. Tried another attempt at hydrotherapy to awaken his memories, Atsushi became hostile throughout the process.

And another.

Day forty-seven, during another round of antibiotics Atsushi had attacked and viciously injured my attending, manifested claws in what I believe are a part of his ability. Attending was sent away and dealt with. I had administered the treatment of purging as punishment, could still talk and walk with copious amounts of blood withdrawn.

Day fifty-nine, Atsushi was sent to isolation after attacking me and an attending on standby, was put into an insulin coma. Expected to wake up in a day's worth, woke up several hours earlier, administered another dose. Possible tolerance or unaffectedness regarding drugs of any kind.

Day sixty-one, has began to feel an aversion to myself and my attendings. I have opted to slow down the treatments, instead focusing on building a bond with Atsushi, treatments will be put on hold for the foreseeable future.

Day ninety-four, Atsushi has developed a certain affection for me. I have put in the effort to make the boy feel comfortable, he does not put up a fight anymore when I mention the treatments. Atsushi refers to me as Tatsu or Shibu, showing he does not fear me anymore and no longer shows any aversion to my being.

Day one hundred and two, we celebrated Atsushi’s birthday. Will be attempting electrotherapy in a week.

Dazai feels sick, like a pit in his stomach has just decided to play asshole with him and is tempting Dazai to puke up his breakfast. He throws the paper onto the desk, willing himself to not tear them up-he’ll need them for evidence later on. He can see the gaps between the timeline, some missing and others just unreadable, Shibusawa was a nasty piece of work.

Electrotherapy, hydrotherapy, medication, forced comas, purging? It’s all so fucking inhumane and Dazai has seen inhumane. He literally tortured someone with pudding once, he knows all about physical and psychological torture.

But to do all that to a kid? Not even the mafia is that cruel.

He grabs another paper, this one instead is a letter. He really hopes it’s not as bad as the one he just read, Dazai can’t stomach anymore torture-especially one about baby Atsushi and that motherfucker Shibusawa.

Dune,

The conflict has reached an unprecedented intensity, prompting my withdrawal from the government. Numerous organizations have entered the fray, and I have succeeded in dismantling several. I shall leverage this to my benefit; however, it is destined to exacerbate if the special division has opted to engage. I am convinced that the mafia has already decided to meddle, especially now that the GSS is removed from the equation and numerous key members have vanished. I intend to leverage this situation to my benefit. I implore you to safeguard Atsushi; I suspect that an insider at the orphanage has divulged his location. I command you to locate this individual and eliminate them. I shall return posthaste once this matter is resolved.

No name, no signature, no more information.

Shibusawa knew Atsushi during the conflict, he knew him six years ago. The letter doesn’t note any more important information, but it clarifies that Shibusawa was clearly involved. And he had people working for him during the war. And if Shibusawa clearly managed to escape the conflict unscathed after Chuuya activated corruption-

Shibusawa left to hide at the orphanage, he was there the entire time. Coupled with that he knew Atsushi, and that was six years ago meaning that his student couldn’t have been older than twelve at the time.

Someone or something had told Shibusawa about Atsushi, that’s the only thing he could think of. Not to mention he asked someone to look after him? And it obviously couldn’t have been the headmaster, for all Dazai knows the headmaster could have been oblivious to what was going on down under in his basement.

And bummer for Dazai, none of the notes have dates on them. So he can’t put together a consecutive timeline, either Shibusawa met Atsushi during the conflict, after or before-that’s all he has to work with at the moment. Dazai will have to talk to Ranpo about it, his coworker could definitely put together a timeline for it.

He’ll also have to look into Atsushi’s parents, their murder couldn’t have been just a coincidence. Something must’ve triggered it, his parents were normal people-no evidence of ability usage or anything. So now atop of finding Kobo, he’ll have to search for information on his parents and Shibusawa. He glances at the desk again, specifically the unread papers that are currently taunting him, basically telling him to read them.

Hmm, well, no! He’ll save himself from the potential heartache and urge to kill Shibusawa ten-times over.

Dazai thinks that maybe he should call in a favor with Ango, but he doesn't want to. If he does he’ll find his fist smashed against a wall, or he’ll hunt down Ango and throttle the man for fun with a side of anger.

With a loud sigh he pulls out his phone. Dialing Ango’s number and praying he doesn’t answer, if he does it would definitely make his job easier, but then he would be hit with question after question and Dazai is not prepared for that.

The line clicks and Dazai feels non-existent tears run down his face.

‘Dazai, how can I help you?’

“Heyyyy Angoooo,” Dazai curses the world for what it is, he curses them for putting him through a foreseeable boring conversation and he curses the universe.

He’s doing this for Atsushi.

“I have a favor and before you say anything, please don’t make me suffer through any boring things you have to say, I’m a little bit on a time crunch,” the line goes silent, static buzzing in his ear before a quiet sigh flickers through.

‘What can I do for you Dazai,’ and with that, Dazai succeeds in retrieving the information he needs.

Chapter Text

Chuuya really wishes he were anywhere but here.

The aura in the room is all wrong and fucking weird, like something had just zapped all the damn joy in the world. Another day, another meeting, another reminder how close to death he is. Atsushi returned safe and sound the night before and no matter how angry Chuuya wants to be at the kid he really can’t.

Atsushi reminded him too much of Dazai. Walking in drunk to his core whilst crying and hanging on to Akutagawa for dear life, he won’t lie, it was entertaining at first but soon it just became a sad sight. The kid refused outright to say anything about why he was out and about in the first place no matter how much Chuuya tried to pry it out of him. Gin even gave it a go, and the kid almost did give in when it came to the black lizard but in the end he kept his mouth shut.

Akutagawa had said he went out to drink with a friend hours after they had managed to wrangle Atsushi’s weepy ass into bed. It took him, Akutagawa and Tachihara all together to put the boy to bed, anytime Akutagawa mentioned how easy it would be to just use his ability the kid would tense up-and in exchange send him into a frenzy of panic.

The kid really is an emotional drunk.

Then the stupid mackerel and his buddy passed by, Chuuya didn’t really know what to make of that. He was surprised, obviously, but he managed to school his expression quickly just like he was taught by Koyo. Though Chuuya highly doubts that Dazai didn’t notice, that asshole can be really perceptive even in the most useless of situations.

Chuuya knows he probably shouldn’t have used Atsushi to goad Dazai, it was a shit move and left him in an even shittier mood. Bringing up the kid just to get a rise out of his former partner was both a stupid and dangerous move, especially with how much Akutagawa has informed him about the pair.

He can’t forget how those same soft brown eyes turned steely black in a matter of seconds. It sent chills down his spine, but just as easily, Dazai covered it up and gave him one of those infuriating smiles saved for when he’s got his mask up. It pisses Chuuya off, everything pisses him off, he’s angry at everything and nothing at all-unsure of where to store his anger.

An anger that nothing can hold lest they burn with him too. But even after all that, he’s fucking terrified, he’s afraid of the days to come and pass. Unsure more than ever about his role in the case and he’s afraid for the kid. An innocent kid dragged into some random shitstorm because of him. But nothing about their jobs is normal…they-they should have expected that nothing good could ever stay, he’s a mafioso for fucks sake, his life will always border on dangerous.

The agency is the same, they’re the protectors of Yokohama. A title like that doesn’t come without bloodshed and death. Even so he can’t help but worry for what's to come, whatever is going on out there is much bigger than he expected it to be, something too dangerous.

His chair sinks along with him, as his muscles strain to hold him up while tiredness beats at his bones. He can feel Koyo’s gaze fixed on him, the nibbling of her lip showing off her pristine teeth. Another damn meeting for the day with the agency, this time located in the port’s conference room-allowing him and the rest to not travel for the day.

Curiously, Dazai had called for the meeting. Saying he found some interesting information regarding Kobo’s plans the day after he met up with Atsushi. Chuuya has a niggling suspicion that he only called for it after the kid relayed some sort of information, another part of him is frustrated that the kid didn’t come to him regarding it. Chuuya dispels the thought, they barely know each other-Atsushi isn’t obligated to pass anything through him let alone share.

His mind drifts away, eyes moving out towards the wide windows. Everything is a blur but the blue sky, clouds drive away as time passes-birds follow them. Chuuya lays his chin atop his hand, eyelids getting heavier by the moment as the rest mingle. He’s tired, he couldn’t sleep until he knew Atsushi was safe and when he was, Chuuya still couldn’t.

The bed felt entirely too empty and cold, his senses screamed at him to rest. To let his body yield to its natural state, but Chuuya knows himself all too well. He’s not capable of sleeping, he can rest, yes it’s possible for him. Yet he cannot dream, nor let his body completely shut down.

“-and I came across some files thanks to Ango, called in a favor and he was willing to give me everything I needed-” a voice drawls from opposite of Chuuya, he glances up, meeting brown glittering eyes. Dazai gazes at him with lidded eyes, lips moving lazily as he speaks-in his hands are files.

Chuuya holds the connection for a moment, a deep hunger pulling at him. Dazai keeps talking, undisturbed by Chuuya’s glare, he can even see the bastard's lip tick up. And soon it’s over, Dazai returns to his explanation and Chuuya is left feeling empty as he slouches in his seat-tugging at his hat to cover his flushed face. Koyo makes a noise right beside him but he ignores her, instead choosing to fix himself upright and focus on the meeting.

Dazai drops a packet in front of Mori then Fukuzawa-both men flipping through. “Kobo’s current mission is to seek out something called ‘soul fragments,’ I don’t know what for, but his two targets for these are Chuuya and Atsushi.”

“He seeks them out and by instilling the help of his associate, Kobo has begun his hunt,” Dazai crosses his arms, staring into the ground in thought. “I was given basic information, age, height, description, crimes, all of that. But I’m still not sure on why he’s seeking these fragments or what they're for,” Chuuya calls bullshit immediately and apparently the agency isn’t that stupid either.

His partner Kunikida narrows his eyes, the smart detective also stops his bout of gluttony to turn to Dazai. Dazai still seems undisturbed by the eyes on him, instead continuing his prominent findings. The doctor herself takes it as her cue to chime in, a sort of seriousness in her tone as she speaks.

“That can’t be all you have found out, Dazai? I’m sure Ango has much more information on Kobo right?” She challenges.

Dazai doesn’t take the bait, he half-shrugs, unbothered by the question. “I did some solo scouting, I knew I couldn’t just rely on Ango’s information no matter how true it might be,” he says instead, “I tried to dig up some stuff left behind by the dragon’s head conflict-” he grabs a file from the pile.

“Turns out I was right, I had a suspicion that Kobo might have been involved in the conflict and he was. He was a part of the epicurus as well as small mercenary guilds, basically spent the whole time looting places left behind and turf wars-all that dumb stuff,” Dazai throws the file over to Yosano, who grabs it from the air-never letting a slip of paper fall out. She reads through the file, passing it over to Kunikida and Ranpo.

“I remember something interesting though,” Chuuya perks up at that, most of the people do. Dazai notices and he smirks, wiggling a finger at them.

“Nuh-uh-uh! Whatever I say in this room must stay in this room-no gaps for slips and such!” He sings, they all wait patiently for Dazai to continue, not like any of them could walk out and expose anything that’s shared in the meeting. No one regardless if they’re friends or foe would be allowed to walk out alive.

Dazai searches the room, studies their faces and hums a noise-he opens his mouth, carrying anticipation in his every move, Chuuya can feel his foot tap impatiently, the minor sound resonating under the table-Dazai glances at him.

“Kobo was working with Shibusawa during the conflict,” he reveals, the room obviously goes silent-before most if not all slump in their seats out of disappointment.

“What the fuck man? That’s the shit you had to tell us,” Tachihara complains, his fist slams onto the table as he stares at Dazai incredulously. “I mean we all knew that was a possibility, no surprise that a chuckle fuck like him would ride on the strongest bitch in the area!”

Koyo scrunches her nose at the vulgarity, swiping at the teen over Gin’s head. “Even so at least we have clarity on Kobo’s stance during the conflict,” Koyo argues, “it is better to be well informed than ignorant.”

“Yeah but how does that specifically help us? Sure he was riding on Shibusawa’s coattails but it tells us nothing about the situation we are in now,” Tachihara throws an arm up before letting himself promptly fall back. The room sounds in agreement, Chuuya himself somewhat agrees but knowing Dazai-that fucker has something hiding up his sleeve, no way he would drop something as useless as that without a backup to it.

The agency shares looks with each other and for the first time ever Kyoka looks frustrated-she’s speaking harshly to one of the siblings beside her, clearly arguing about something. Chuuya doesn’t know what to make of it, instead turning to Mori. The boss has a finger hooked under his chin, Fukuzawa speaking quietly in his ear.

“We atleast have information on these said ‘soul fragments’ we can continue from there on,” Hirotsu ever the diplomat says.

“If I may, I wish to contribute a thought,” Chuuya turns to Akutagawa, the mafioso sitting rigidly in his chair under the eyes of the room. He especially hunches in on himself when Dazai gazes at him in scrutiny-Chuuya clenches his fist.

“You may Akutagawa,” Mori answers as he waves a hand in his general direction. The mafioso nods. “On the day I had found the were-tiger, I was met with a strange individual during my search,” Akutagawa says, his lips rolling into a grimace, “he mentioned to know of the were-tiger, went as far as to point me in his direction after we battled.”

“He did not seem hostile, rather he kept attempting to assuage me. The man was close to my stature, red hair with yellowish eyes-he is older than me and held a noticeable accent.”

“Another thing that bothered me was that the man knew of the were-tiger and the were-tiger knew of him, the man made it look like the two of them were acquainted. He spoke of the were-tiger mentioning me and that was how he found me,” Akutagawa rubs at his gangly hands, “I was unsure of what to do and decided it was best to leave, then I had come upon the were-tiger in the spot the man had informed me he was.”

Chuuya wrinkles his brow, the same day Atsushi was said to be missing-he wasn’t captive, he had left of his own accord. Speaking to individuals none of them knew of, Chuuya doesn’t mean to feel it, he knows that Atsushi is a good kid, he can feel it-but in a way he feels wronged.

“We spoke near Yokohama waters, he was inebriated but I was still able to deduce his words under all his babbling,” Chuuya looks up at Dazai, the man’s own eyes steely and cold as he listens to his former protege’s words-he feels bad for the kid, in no way does he deserve the fuckers ire.

“The were-tiger spoke of his time being cut short, that he had met with a man who revealed of his fate-after that we had merely begun to argue,” Akutagawa sucks on his teeth, as if he had tasted something ugly, “the were-tiger does not seem of sound mind.”

“He threatened to kill himself,” the teen detective with ginger hair jumps out of his seat, face losing all color and turning pale.

“He what! What and did you just le-leave him or something?”

“No I did not you fool,” Akutagawa snaps, “If I had left him would he not be in the apartment as of now?”

The teen narrows his eyes, reluctantly falling back into his seat through his sisters coaxing.

“Well this is…vaguely startling,” Gin whispers, a soft sound but loud enough to boom through the room. “I didn’t know the ability was affecting him that much…he seemed okay when we talked.”

“Maybe you didn’t look hard enough,” the detective Tanizaki grits out. Tachihara in return calls him a few names-both boys now arguing only to be pulled back by the ladies at their sides.

“What about Chuuya? Surely if the were-tiger speaks the truth then the same must apply to him,” Koyo breaks through, a finality of worry in her tone that has most of the room snap their heads towards her. His mentor herself turns to him, a glint of something in her eye that washes away just as fast. “How do you feel Chuuya dear? Any symptoms we should worry about?”

Chuuya sighs. “Nope,” he says simply, “nothing at the moment, just the same shit I’ve been dealing with for the past few days-though I’ve been trying to use my ability again every once in a while-”

“-you should not be doing that! The boss-”

“And safe to say it’s not entirely gone, I’ve managed a few flickers, carrying things for up to a minute but nothing more,” Chuuya informs, watching Koyo’s mouth slightly open in aghast.

“So I’m not in any immediate danger, lucky for me. Instead let's focus on the kid, he needs more help than I do,” he reminds them, the two siblings eyes brightening at the mention of their friend-Chuuya feels slightly uncomfortable.

“That is something else I wanted to mention actually,” the brunette finally speaks again, hooray for them. “Before being interrupted so eloquently-”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I found some information pertaining to Kobo and these said soul fragments,” Dazai continues, wholly undisturbed by the interruption, rather he looks on amused. “I have reason to believe that these soul fragments are not some sort of uncoincidental thing, but rather planned out.”

“While Ango could only get me so far, I called in a few favors,” Dazai sits himself back in the chair, “I’ve been told that Kobo had been planning this ‘incursion’ for well over a few years, I suspect maybe starting from the end of the dragons head conflict.”

“Though of course this is all only speculation,” he raises a placating hand the moment Kunikida opens his mouth, the detective frowns-his nose wrinkling. “You can’t ever be too sure with envoys, while I do believe that Kobo’s plan has been meticulously calculated, there are other matters at hand that must be brought up.”

“The soul fragments,” Hirotsu finishes for him, Dazai smiles and nods.

“Yep! This one was a bit more difficult for me to crack, and honestly it threw me for a loop-if my contact hadn’t pointed me in the right direction then I wouldn’t have known where to look.”

“Contact?” Koyo arches a brow, clearly holding in a wry grin.

“Just because I’m a detective Koyo doesn’t mean I can’t have contacts!”

“Anyways-” the brunette clears his throat, “while searching for these said soul fragments I wasn’t really sure what I was looking for, but then I took a double take on the file Ranpo wrote on the ability user and connected the dots-” he pauses, scrunching up one eye in contemplation; lip quirked awry. “Well I’d like to say I at least painted a bigger picture for us,” he exclaims in dry amusement.

“While reading about the soul fragments I noticed it was pretty similar to our suspects ability, specifically the corporeal part,” and they all knew that already, Chuuya would like for him to get to the point-waiting and listening for Dazai to reach the tipping point is like waiting for the utter demise of going to the dentist.

Boring as shit.

“-and something else that caught me off guard was the description of these fragments, they’re described as the ‘essence’ of an ability,” he makes a triangle with his hands, demonstrating what he’s apparently read, “all come in varying shapes and colors, often referred to as glowing flames, radiant but cold to the touch.”

“Like a soul,” Yosano mutters under his breath but Dazai hears it anyways-he turns and snaps his fingers at her, the two sharing matching grins.

“Yes! Soul fragments are the ‘souls’ of the abilities. When an ability user dies. Only their physical body does, not their ability!”

“And how can you be so sure? I’ve never heard of such reports other than Shibusawa Tatsuhiko?” Mori questions, it lingers in the air-everyone is thinking the same thing, such a unique ability surely couldn’t be replicated. Chuuya thinks it shouldn’t have even existed in the first place.

Dazai’s smile falters, a grimace climbing its way up his face.

“That’s…something else I wanted to talk about,” Yosano stares at him tentatively before her face loses all color.

“You don’t mean-!” She sputters, hands twitching by her stomach, Dazai confirms whatever fears she has with a nod.

“I believe that someone out there has Shibusawa’s fragment,” he declares, the room burst into raucousness-reverberating throughout Chuuya’s head, a headache forming behind his eyes. “Or at least one of the fragments he kept in store from his ability.

“And you believe these fragments could be connected to Chuuya and Atsushi?” Gin questions.

“I think the best question at the moment Gin-” her brother glances at her, “is if the were-tiger knew of this.” Gin wrinkles her brow, clearly thrown off by the inquiry.

“I mean-” Tachihara buts in, both siblings now turning to him. “You gotta give Akutagawa credit, the were-tiger has to know more than he’s leading on to.”

Higuchi for the first time finally speaks up, she’s been quiet so far in the meeting that she actually somehow startled Chuuya. “Tachihara’s right, how can we trust the were-tiger if he’s hiding important information from us?”

“The were-tiger just randomly comes out and tells Akutagawa that he’s gonna die soon then the same day some man ambuses Akutagawa and tells him where the were-tiger is? I mean-come one!”

“The man is also an ability user-” she pauses, sharing a peek towards her colleague-the man nodding, “and he knew of Akutagawa through the were-tiger, whatever he’s doing behind the scenes we can’t trust him!”

“All we can do is trust Atsushi,” Ranpo comes to his defense, “he’s a detective for a reason.”

“Whatever you guys think, we don’t really care-” he lolls the lollipop in his mouth-head thrown back as he turns to look at the doctor. “Atsushi is one of us, he’ll always prioritize the victims of a case before the case itself-that’s how he works, and so if Atsushi has taken another route then we have to stick to this one.”

“And wait for him to fuck up,” Higuchi hisses, “not a chance.”

“We’re not waiting for him to fuck up,” Yosano crosses her arms, “we’re covering his blind spots. If Atsushi has found a lead and he doesn’t wish to share it with us, then that’s that-obviously we don’t have to like it but we trust him.”

“All we can do is trust him,” Chuuya glances at the voice, Kyoka’s glassy eyes unfocused on the doctor. “I trust Atsushi, and you all should too-” her gaze hardens, lips pulled down into a frown as she takes in the other side of the room. “Lest you all wish to fail,” is what she says.

“But he can at least spare us a bit of information right?” Tachihara asks.

“We won’t be asking him anything, if Atsushi requires our assistance then that is when we shall interfere,” Kunikida answers them, not an opening for anyone to contradict-Chuuya finds it infuriating.

“But that doesn’t mean you all cannot ask him yourselves,” he adds, “just means we cannot aid you regarding Atsushi.”

“Well, that’s just great!-” Tachihara exclaims, throwing up a pair of hands. “Not only do we have to find Kobo and his fuck buddy-but Shibusawa’s whatever fragment might still be out there!?”

He looks around manically, eye’s blown wide with a tense stretched out smile. “And we have another person to look into, this can’t be a fucking coincidence?”

Chuuya finds himself silently agreeing but what worries him most is Shibusawa. If that man’s fragment is still truly out there and Kobo has managed to somehow get his hands on it-it might just complicate their situation a hundred times more. A fragment like that with such devastating power won’t just pose a problem for them but for the whole of Yokohama.

Many lives will be affected immensely if that fragment is used…or can it be used? If Kobo has Shibusawa’s fragment then how would he even be able to use it? Shibusawa himself isn’t able to control ability users, only their abilities but that level of control isn’t possible either. Instead their abilities turn against them and even during the conflict Chuuya saw it firsthand.

But why would Kobo want Shibusawa's fragment? Can he even use it? One thing that bothers Chuuya the most is how he even got his hands on the fragment, he’s pretty sure he destroyed Shibusawa completely-did the special divisions not involve themselves towards the end? He’s not sure and he should probably ask, after he kicked Shibusawa’s ass he’s pretty sure he passed out. Corruption is a major pain in the ass and it’s useful, Chuuya won’t deny it but it’s also untameable.

Or maybe Kobo managed to get his hands on one of the fragment’s Shibusawa created? If he went through a huge ordeal to get it then it must be a pretty strong ability.

But then why would Kobo be hunting him and Atsushi? Just what does he want from them? He understands if Kobo is after Arahabaki but then what about the kid? As far as he knows there’s nothing special underlying Atsushi, but then again he doesn’t know much about them. Something about that leaves a bitter taste along Chuuya’s tongue, a sickly ilk that drips down his throat and into his stomach.

Atsushi is also working behind their backs, he knows it. Call it intuition or whatever but Chuuya is pretty sure that’s why the kid went out yesterday. His drunk talk also points towards it, he also questions how the fuck Atsushi managed to get drunk at eighteen, most bars don’t serve alcohol to minors-not unless their some sketchy bar or working under mafia services, he knows a few are affiliated to lower groups but the majority are under port mafia rule or at the very least co-exist with the groups-

His mind falters abruptly.

“Lupin…-”

The word leaves his mouth before he could stop himself, it’s plausible, more than plausible actually it’s the only fucking possibility. Atsushi is under port mafia care, the boss made everyone aware of that even their underlings and side businesses. Chuuya is sure that Atsushi probably wasn’t aware but bar lupin is the only establishment that each organization can cooperate under. The mafia, the agency, even the special division-all of their groups are allowed to reside down there.

No other bar would serve Atsushi and Chuuya doesn’t think the kid even knows any other bar’s besides Lupin. He doesn't know about the ones under mafia rule but bar Lupin would be the exception, Chuuya is sure that Dazai has at least brought it up once to his protege-the mackerel fucking loves that bar, if Dazai could live there he probably would.

“Let us first continue within our search of Kobo,” Chuuya focuses on the voice to his right, Hirotsu folds his hands over each other and leans slightly forward. “If he has obtained Shibusawa’s soul fragment, we may be faced with a power dangerous enough to send us right back into the dragon's head conflict. A power like that should be ripped from his possession unless we wish for Yokohama to fall to ruins once more.”

“And what if it’s not Shibusawa’s fragment? What if it’s one of the one’s he extracted?” Higuchi asks wearily, a stronghold on her emotions but Chuuya can hear the tremble in her voice anyways.

“Then we must figure out its origins but we cannot do that without a lead of sorts,” Chuuya shifts his gaze towards Dazai, his former partner slouched over Kunikida, an uninterested air around him as he listens.

“But we do have a lead! Kobo is our lead but we can’t fucking find him anywhere, it’s like he disappeared off the face of the planet,” one of the detective’s declares.

Dazai finally rouses from his position, jostling the man beside him as he heaves a grunt. “If we don’t find Kobo we risk two things-” he flicks up a finger, “we risk dealing with a Fyodor 2.0 -” another, “or we lose the slug and Atsushi.”

He plants his elbows on the table, dropping his head onto steady palms. “Now which do you figure we should tackle first, finding Kobo or the fragments. We still don’t know if Kobo has the fragments only that he’s searching for them, there’s also the chance that someone else out there has them but I wouldn’t bet on that.”

Koyo narrows her eyes in incredulity. “And why is that?”

Dazai only smiles sweetly, his cheeks swell and his lips purse outward-they almost form a heart and Chuuya forces himself to look away. Away from the crinkle in Dazai’s eyes, away from how his pupils blow out and his eyebrows form into arcs. A cold unsettling feeling coils around his neck like a vice, he tugs at his ponytail. Pulling in small motions until he finally lifts it to his lips, tiny ends scraping lightly over his nose and mouth.

He can still smell the antiseptic buried in his roots.

“If someone had gotten their hands on one of those fragments, safe to say we wouldn’t be here in this meeting,” Dazai taps his bottom lip lightly, “we’d be out and about fighting a twenty foot dragon again.”

“Kobo’s also on the hunt for them, so isn’t that good on our part, Dazai?” Tanizaki asks, his sleeves are bunched up and Chuuya can see a faint sheen of sweat above their brow. He must be close to Atsushi if their touchiness says anything about it. “It gives us more time to search for him and if we do manage to find him then we can recover his lead on the fragments.”

“There’s a fault in that plan Tanizaki, we can’t be certain that Kobo would even give up that information willingly, he’s also not working alone so someone out there might be on the lookout for the fragments on his order,” Yosano responds.

“What we must do first is find Kobo, without him we know nothing about his plans and risk putting Chuuya and Atsushi in danger.”

“...fuck,” Tachihara scowls, his brows pinched in obvious worry. Chuuya can relate to the sentiment, it doesn’t feel good having a crazy fucker on his tail. He wonders how Atsushi is holding up so far, after everything he’s gone through so far he can’t help but feel bad for him.

“Then let us continue with our search,” Akutagawa decides to fill in the silence, the boy himself is tense and rigid. “We find Kobo and the soul fragments, if he has more than one accomplice we take care of them-this is nothing compared to what we have faced before.”

“But Akutagawa!-” the mafioso shoots Higuchi a rather menacing look that shuts her right up, Chuuya has to stifle the laughter building up in his chest-he can see the imaginary dog ears flopping down as she resettles in her seat.

“But what about the were-tiger? How can we be so sure he’s trustworthy,” Higuchi asks the group, while his side shares dubious looks with each other-Chuuya is focused on the showdown between Mori and Dazai. The two are staring right back at one another, Mori’s eyes crinkled in silent amusement while Dazai holds himself with poise and steel.

“Can the kid even take care of himself?” Tachihara jokes, earning him a slap on the back-he flinches forward and sputters.

“With the temporary truce in place I highly doubt Atsushi would do anything to break it,” Gin says, “I mean-he was the one who came up with it right?”

Chuuya finds it odd how Gin and Atsushi have managed to get along so quickly, he thinks it over for a bit. No, it’s totally possible, Gin’s a nice girl, she’s easy to get along with and he can see the budding friendship between them.

“The question is,” Koyo cuts in, sharp as a knife while the words that leave her lips flow across the room like petals, “whether the boy will become a threat or not.”

Ranpo perks up from his seat, eyes blown wide as saucers-his pupils inky and deep. “What makes you think he’ll become a threat?” Ranpo tilts his head questionably.

His mentor scoffs into the folds of her sleeve, her icy gaze fixed on Ranpo. “If Shibusawa is involved in this case, certainly the boy would scurry to him. Those two have a history as deep as the gods.” Chuuya pauses, then glances up at his mentor. He can feel his face twist up in confusion, and however Dazai managed to hear it-it also managed to snap him out of his staring contest with the boss.

What’s more surprising is how none of the agency members speak up to refute the claim. In fact they almost look…guilty. But guilty of what? Of Atsushi or Shibusawa? Just what the hell are they hiding.

“You’re fucking joking,” Chuuya blinks, he meets Dazai’s gaze with his own. The man only blankly stares at him, he opens his mouth to say something, to say anything. But nothing leaves, only a choked off noise that has Koyo sending him a look.

“Are you fucking joking me?”

“Chuuya-” Dazai tries to finish whatever he’s saying but Chuuya doesn’t let him.

“That kid, a kid I’ve been living with for the past few days, is involved with Shibusawa?” He decides to ignore Dazai in favor of Koyo. “How the hell did you even figure that out big sis?”

Koyo scoffs once more. “What? As if it’s hard? I only had to do some digging myself, Dazai isn’t the only one with connections.”

“You have no right!-” Yosano slams her fists onto the table, the sensation crawling up Chuuya’s arms. He turns to the doctor, she’s practically seething from where she is-her face brimming with frustration and anger.

“Yosano, calm yourself!” Kunikida grabs her by the shoulders, wheeling her back into her seat.

“So you guys have been hiding shit from us,” Tachihara laughs boisterously, “holy shit! You fucking jerk-offs!”

“You see! This is why we can’t trust you people-”

“Please, let us explain-” Kunikida switches back and forth, hands still poised to calm the doctor.

“We don’t need to explain to these assholes,” Yosano throws an arm out, “you have no right searching through Atsushi’s files let alone his past. What the hell is wrong with you!”

“What is wrong with me?” Koyo mocks. “I only thought it useful to cover any ‘blindspots’ as you so eloquently put it. We do not know anything about the boy and we are supposed to trust him?” She huffs haughtily.

“You’re supposed to trust us, this truce was put in place for a reason. Not so you could go digging your nose in business that isn’t yours.”

“So we are just supposed to trust blindly? Only a fool would believe such a notion.”

“You could have asked us! That’s what the truce is about, even if we couldn’t give you the answers you wanted we could have still answered them to the best of our abilities!”

“Now isn’t that touching-”

“Enough!”

Yosano snaps her head to her right. His mentor herself reels back as if she’s been slapped, eyelashes fluttering before they go wide and round. The room falls silent suddenly, nobody moves a muscle or makes a sound. The user of the sudden loudness clears his throat, Kunikida fixes the glasses that lay askew over his tanned bridge-heaving in a breathful of air before letting it escape his chest.

“That is enough, we are here to investigate Kobo and the fragments. Not to investigate Atsushi’s past nor to make opinionated guesses on it. And I would appreciate it if we could get back on track to our current problem instead of creating new ones.”

The detective grabs the file beside Dazai, opening and flicking through the mountain of papers. The room is still silent, save for the sound of paper cutting through the atmosphere. Chuuya’s tempted to ask questions, to ask them to explain themselves and to stop sugarcoating shit. But lucky for him Gin builds up the confidence to ask.

“What is Atsushi’s relationship with Shibusawa?”

Kunikida’s fingers falter deftly over the corners of the stack, his gaze is pointed downward but the pinch in his lip is familiar. It’s the look of contemplation, Chuuya can only wonder how much of a secret it is for the agency to battle internally over it.

“It is not my place to say,” he mutters, “but I hope this will bring you all a semblance of comfort.” He drops half of the stack, passing over the one currently in his possession-Dazai begins to pass around the papers.

“Atsushi would never in a million lifetimes ever willingly return to that man, not now or ever,” Chuuya watches a flicker of sadness appear on Kunikida’s face, “let that bring you all some peace. And I ask of you specifically Koyo, whatever information you found on him to never share with another.”

Koyo grimaces, she seems quite uncomfortable pinned under Kunikida’s solemn gaze. “I didn’t find much in the first place, whatever was left of the boy is gone,” with a frustrated huff, Koyo looks away. “Cease your worries for I could care less about the were-tiger.”

Chuuya doesn’t believe her, he’s known her for far too long that he can remember where he’s seen that certain expression of her’s.

The last time he saw it was when Koyo accepted that Kyoka was better off without her.

Guilt

〜✶♣✶〜

Atsushi glances down at the message on his phone, switching between the number on the warehouse to the one on his phone. Currently he’s in the middle of nowhere, a warehouse settlement surrounded by dusty fumes and other lofts, each old with peeling paint hanging off all around.

It was painful leaving the apartment with a hangover and exhausted tears. After Dazai came to visit him he felt relieved to know he wasn't alone even if he cried everything out for a long while as they talked. He’s grateful he can rely on his mentor to help him and Atsushi doesn’t doubt that Dazai will spill everything he told him. Still feeling completely drained, Chuuya left for a meeting and he was promptly ordered to stay in the apartment-in other cases he would’ve been happy to oblige but today seems to not be one of those days.

He got a message from Oscar through a burner, asking to meet up at a warehouse. It took two cabs and an hour walk to get to the destination, he hates the way his clothes cling to his skin. Maybe wearing a sweatshirt wasn’t the brightest idea but he didn’t really care enough to wear something presentable.

The bandages are still present on his body, covering the ugly burns and scars that lay jagged on his skin-their gonna leave their mark that’s for sure but the salve Yosano gifted him works wonders to cool off the stiff skin as it heals.

It’s hot outside as he steps closer to the warehouse, for a warehouse it’s not as rotted or old as the one’s he passed by earlier. Atsushi wonders if Chuuya’s meeting will end early and if it does then he’s utterly screwed-Atsushi didn’t bother to message Chuuya or anyone else but Dazai about his whereabouts, his mentor only sent him a ‘be safe’ message before Atsushi left for his trip.

The area is surrounded by twisted trees and dried weeds, each step leaves a crunch behind him. With his bag secured around his chest and his phone tucked in his pocket, Atsushi ventures closer to the building-his fist raps against the piping hot metal. He makes quick work of knocking if only to remove his fist before the skin practically melts off.

A commotion can be heard inside, various voices speaking over each other. He recognizes Minoru’s familiar country drawl, a feeling of excitement and dread spreads through him-finally they can get closer to finding Kobo, they can figure out how to deal with him and get rid of him for good.

The warehouse door makes a click before it slides open revealing Oscar. He’s sort of dressed down with only a button up tucked into plaid pants that cut off above the ankle.

“Atsushi! Cheers fer comin’, sorry bout th' bleedin' mess. Been plannin' fer a while, haven’t had the time t’ call in a cleaner,” Oscar laughs silently, he’s hunched over with red-rimmed eyes-his clothes are crumpled and deep circles dance under his eyes. He honestly looks terrible.

“You look terrible,” Atsushi blurts out, then he gasps and slaps a hand over his mouth-Oscar blinks at him. “Oh gosh-um I’m sorry I didn-I um thank you! For inviting me I shouldn’t have said that, truly I didn’t um-”

Oscar blinks numerous times before a smile cracks over his face-he laughs sprightly and places a hand on Atsushi’s shoulder. “Don't ye worry! I know I look like a bleedin' mess at the mo, trust me-Minoru's been givin' me so much grief 'bout it, I'm tempted to boot him out,” Oscar leans away, his head cocked playfully to the side giving Atsushi a full view of the storage house.

Inside it’s practically trashed, papers are thrown on the coffee table at the center-bags and clothes dropped onto the crimson couch and the rug looks painfully dirty.

“Ah, come on in, it's meltin' out there, wouldn’t want ya faintin' on us now,” Oscar moves back letting Atsushi enter, the warehouse is dimmed-he can see a kitchen on the far left and an opening on his right, he decides to head over to the couch; not sitting down but standing by idly.

“Hey there kid, how y'been doin'?” Atsushi feels himself jump away from the voice, letting out a rather embarrassing shriek as he stumbles back. Minoru in all his glory strides forward, hair pulled tight into a bun on his head-he’s wearing the same clothes he wore on the train.

“Minoru!”

Minoru throws his head back and cackles-his hands leaving the sanctity of his pockets so he can cross them. “Hope that buddy o' yours didn't give ya no grief, he a tough one-almost took my head clean off!”

Atsushi tilts his head in confusion before it clicks. He’s talking about Akutgawa, he can feel heat rush up into his cheeks, the entire memory of that day is etched into the farthest corner of his mind-locked away so he can't remember the embarrassment thrown at him that day. It was humiliating breaking down in front of him, not to mention halfway to the apartments Akutagawa had to carry him along with Chuuya.

“No uh…no problems sir, none at all,” he squeaks, Minoru raises a brow but doesn’t comment on it. Oscar soon saddles up beside him, his sleeves now cuffed up to meet his inner arm.

“Are ye ready now? There's a few folk I'd like ye to meet, Atsushi, and a bit of new info we've managed to gather,” Oscar says, his voice a soothing melody as he whispers the last part. Atsushi does his best to kill the blush licking up his neck-someone in the back snorts and he sends his best glare towards Minoru.

“Ye-yeah I’m um-I’m ready,” Oscar’s smile slowly dies down, a nervous frown overtakes his delicate features-he must sense that Atsushi’s anxious for the man to put a hand on his shoulder in what he assumes is a soothing gesture. He won’t deny that it doesn’t help, he can feel his grip on his bag go a bit slack but not enough to completely let go.

“Don’t be so wound up, I tell ya, yer troubles ain’t fer nothin’,” the older man says, somehow he’s procured a lit cigarette and is currently draining the very essence from it. He runs a calloused hand over the bottom of his face-Atsushi can hear the slight rasp as he clashes with his stubble. Oscar nods furiously from where he’s at, hand still perched atop Atsushi’s shoulder.

“Troubles?” Atsushi questions.

Minoru nods slowly. “Oscar done told me how he had a talk with ya ’bout some folks, folks Kobo’s been eyein’ just like y’all and yer buddy,” he says before pausing, waiting for Atsushi to respond though he doesn’t. “Yer’ lookin’ at one right now, the first to get roped into this here cause.”

Atsushi’s eyes practically bug out of his head, his mouth drops open in surprise. “You’re being targeted?” Minoru shrugs half-heartedly, a dry grin spreading on his face. He had assumed Minoru was just a friend, maybe an ally? But to be targeted himself too, it leaves a weird taste in his mouth and an even weirder feeling down his spine.

“Ain't expectin' it neither, but hey now-” he pats Atsushi on the chest, a hard thump that knocks the wind out of him, “I'd rather be in the know than in the dark, y'know?”

“I reckon y’all ’ll get along just fine with the others, they’re waitin’ in th’ next room-if we don’t hightail it, one o’ ‘em’s fixin’ to start a ruckus!” Minoru roars a rusty laugh, as if he had just said the funniest thing ever-Atsushi glances at Oscar only to find him look at the man with a blank face-his mouth downturned in what he assumes is boredom. Maybe even disappointment?

Minoru then leaves him and Oscar with a short wave behind his back-the next room has no doors, only a beaded curtain that jingles as the man ducks inside. He can hear idle chatter, more prominently an older woman's voice-she sound’s dry and with a no wisecrack aura under her tone. Reminds him a bit of the president.

“Ah sure, we’d best be off then, if ye didn’t have a bite earlier, Minoru whipped up some kebabs, so go on and tuck in,” Oscar then flees the room-not bother to move the curtain out of the way and just goes straight in.

Atsushi stands in the messy living room without a clue on what to do. Should he follow Oscar in? He said there would be some new people he’d have to meet, one of them already making Atsushi feel nervous. His stomach rumbles loudly, he really should have eaten before leaving. But Minoru has come to save the day and kebabs sound very appealing to him and his stomach at the moment.

Now beginning to tread into the other domain, he slowly crosses the threshold. Beads bumping into his face, one of them almost pokes Atsushi straight in the eye and he can’t help but recoil when another grazes him.

Once inside he takes stock of the room.

It’s nice then the living room, tidy and a bit dim. The middle of the room is adorned with a circular table with a connected sofa parted in the middle. Oscar’s walls are covered in papers and tacks, some of the paint can be seen missing-probably from the tacks themselves. He could smell the kebabs from the table, his mouth waters at the scent.

Oscar himself is seated on the couch with stacks of papers around him, two young girls accompany him. One seated beside him and the other standing-they look to be about Dazai’s age if not older.

The girl seated is talking animatedly with Oscar, her long blond hair nestled into her lap-and he can’t help but wonder what is up with the side of her hair. Two rather thick pieces are pointing upwards to the side, almost as if they were dog ears but sharper. Her eyes are a vibrant orange, as if the sun goddess herself blessed the woman with them. She wears a simple white skirt and jacket, the hood coiled in fur; a flower necktie adorning her neck .

Beside her is a woman resembling the moon. Her hair is a deep shade of purple, leaning heavily into blue-it’s cut into a bob and adorned with clips around the fringe and sides. Her swarthy complexion makes way for her sparkling vibrant blue eyes; he swears he can see constellations in them. She’s dressed in a spiky top-a mock chain wrapped around her neck and bangles around her wrists. It’s followed by black bell-bottoms with a very cute design at the base.

Atsushi feels under-dressed.

He makes his way closer, both girls taking notice of him right away. The blondie hops out of her seat, heels thumping on the carpeted floor as she flies towards him with no motion to stop. Atsushi prepares himself to be knocked over only for her to skid to a stop about two inches from him. Wide orange eyes stare up at him, she’s…a bit shorter than he expected.

Even with the heels he has a height advantage over her, only about three inches but still a noticeable difference. Her plush lips open to take in a deep breath and Atsushi waits nervously.

“Hi! Hi,” she smiles widely, “you’re the guy-the um-um the one who fought Kobo?”

She says it more like a question but Atsushi finds himself nodding nonetheless. Apparently it was the right answer, her smile gets even wider and she flutters excitedly in place. “Wow! That’s so cool, I heard you kicked his ass-like not just kicked, you fucking obliterated him!”

“Oscar told me all about it, but well-first introductions of course!” She runs back to the couch, waving him with her finger-he follows her over the papers on the floor. She pauses beside the other young lady, both very contrasting in both style and hair.

“My name's Meiko Kawakami! And this is-” ‘Meiko’ gestures to the lady beside her, “Risa! We’re both Kobo’s targets too! Guess us birds of a feather gotta stick together.” Meiko happily says, elbowing ‘Risa’ gently-Risa only grunts in affirmation, giving Atsushi a sharp nod that he returns.

“We’re still waiting on Yoko but I’m gonna go on and guess you’re an ability user too?” Meiko taps at her chin with a simper. “Me and Risa are ability users, we’re one of the ‘rare’ ones-can you believe that! Makes us sound like monsters.”

“Yeah…I’m an ability user,” he doesn’t comment on the ‘rare’ thing, in all honesty he doesn’t know what that even is. Something else to look into then.

“Cool, cool-then you wouldn’t mind sharing? Only if you’re comfortable of course! Hey even I’ll go first,” each word that spills from her mouth tracks a hundred miles per hour, almost as if she’d been waiting for this moment.

“My ability is called Heaven, I can transmute anything as long as I can get my hands on it,” Meiko leans down to grab a stray pen, with a wink in Atsushi’s direction she’s suddenly flooded by yellow and grey-the pen in her hand molds into a sort of putty consistency before his very eyes then shifts into a cube.

“I’m only able to transmute an item into one that’s consistent in size,” the cube is thrown back and forth, “so if I were to transmute a mug it would have to be something similar in size.”

Atsushi watches in awe as it’s once more transformed-a singular white petal floats down onto her palm.

“Wow…” Meiko looks delighted at his blunder.

“I know right? Super cool and all that, if I were given like-an entire floor then god knows what the hell I can make with it.”

Meiko bows a bit forward and ducks to meet Risa’s gaze. “How bout you Risa? Wanna show the new guy what you’ve got?”

Risa’s stoic gaze falters lightly, her pupils rounding out as Meiko talks to her. Her face pulls into a grimace before she taps Meiko’s face with the pad of her finger, she then walks over to Atsushi and does the same. Her finger is burning hot against his own cool skin, a pang hits him as he remembers Byakko.

Though, he’s not even able to reminisce about his companion before a hefty daze overtakes him. The room shakes and his vision blurs as everything fractures before he’s overcome by darkness for a split-second-he feels his feet leave the ground and then meet it once more.

Hands come from out of nowhere to steady him. He feels sick to his stomach-he looks around and finds Meiko’s gaze beside him, he’s stunned for a second until he takes notice of his position in the room.

Risa stands in his former spot, arms crossed and unconcerned with all that’s happened. He blinks a few times, confused and trying to read into what's happened-fortunately for him Meiko decides to take pity on Atsushi.

“It’s her ability, Install,” Meiko mutters, voice quiet and small, “she’s able to switch places with anyone she touches.”

“That’s um-that’s amazing wow…”

Meiko leaves him once he’s steady and Risa makes her way over to the couch, dropping on top of a few papers which earn her some foreign curses from Oscar.

“We’re still waiting on Yoko,” she pushes some of the papers to the side, making room for Risa to sit beside her-which the girl does so. “Bet she’s talking to Minoru right now.”

“Yoko?”

Meiko smiled softly. “Yeah, she’s another one of us-we met her a while back,” she replies.

Atsushi sits on the other side of the couch, opposite to the three. He’s a little bit nervous, assuming that the earlier voice he heard belongs to the woman, Oscar is still scouring over the papers while Risa and Meiko talk in hushed tones. He lets himself settle against the plush cushion, a heavenly feeling against his back from all the strain of the past days.

He’s a bit confused as to why Meiko didn’t ask him about his ability. Maybe it was out of respect or acceptance, letting him go at his own pace. Still he was a bit stunned when Risa used hers, ‘install’ was what Meiko said.

It left him dazed and sick to his stomach, if he was unlucky enough to spew his innards nothing but watery puke would come out-he didn’t eat. He hasn’t been able to eat for a while, everything and all tasting like frail dust on his tongue, no flavour to be derived from the stale bread in the cupboards to the forgotten lemonade in the fridge.

Everything feels dull to him recently, he doesn’t know if it’s Oscar’s ability or the fact he’s being hunted down by Kobo. The world around him has lost all color with his imminent demise approaching steadily like a shark lapping up bloody water. Kobo is slowly scenting them out, probably building up forces in the process-it’s an undeniable fact that there’s a fight heading towards them.

One he can’t back out of even as his body screams and protests to run, to run away from it all and hide. To take Kyoka and get the hell out of Yokohama, start anew somewhere else where no one is out for his head. Atsushi knows he can’t do it, though his body cries and his heart yields. He doesn’t have the strength to leave his family behind, he just got them and he doesn’t want to lose them. If it takes dying for the cause Atsushi wouldn’t hesitate, the world would keep moving and the flowers would form over him.

No, don’t think that-just…don’t think at all

Is what he wishes he could do. His mind is all jumbled up with what-ifs and what-ofs, nothing can reassure him of his dilemma. Atsushi is scared out of his mind, for the first time in a long while he’s lost, unsure of what to do, unsure of what he can do. At the very moment he’s useless, shackled by the effects of Oscar’s ability and without Byakko’s guidance. Maybe it would have been better to stay at the apartment, to ignore Oscar’s call for help and to ignore everything.

But it’s a little too late for that.

His head jolts up at the sound of a door creaking open, Minoru with his prideful stride crosses the room with an older woman by his side. She’s on the older side that’s for sure, she’s a tall woman-probably the same height as the boss. On that note…they actually do look a bit similar.

Yoko is full of graceful elegance, her translucent hair braided to fall on her left shoulder-bumping into her knees with every step she takes. She’s pale with a large noticeable scar spanning from her left cheek to the bridge of her nose. She has an eyepatch covering her left eye but that doesn't deter her other green one from scanning the room with silent stoicism. Yoko is dressed in a white suit top with a tight pencil skirt that flows widely at the bottom-it resembles an angel trumpet, a flower of divine messengers.

The two step into the circle, Minoru dropping himself with a huff a few inches from Atsushi, while Yoko decides to stay standing farthest from them but close enough to reach for the papers at the center.

Oscar himself finally finishes what he’s been doing, ridding his hands from the papers and giving them all a familial smile. Atsushi would return it, he would actually like too-but he can’t help but resent the man a bit for putting him in his current position.

“Are ye done wit' yer task, Yoko?” Yoko regards the Irish man with an ambience of disgruntlement, then nods. He claps his hands enthusiastically. “Well now. Thank ye all for comin’!”

“I know these circumstances aren' the best, but yer doin' me a grand favour that I won' be forgettin',” Oscar says in the quietness of the room, no one makes a move to respond or accept his pleasantry. Atsushi thinks that the majority of them aren’t happy to be roped into their current situation.

“We’re not doing this for you,” Risa grumbles, “You just happen to be our ticket into getting rid of that man.”

Meiko turns to her friend, aghast. “Risa! Don’t be rude.”

The girl shrugs half-heartedly.

“Now now, gals, we all friends 'neath this here roof till we can part ways, y'hear?” Minoru grins sharply, a lit cigarette hanging loosely over his lips-encased between his front teeth.

“Must you smoke that dastardly thing Minoru?” Yoko scrunches her nose displeased.

The man just shrugs, taking another big breath of the fumes.

“Well, how 'bout we git on with it, y’all don’t know our new buddy Atsushi-first one in the line of fire, last one to join the crew. Let’s give him a real warm welcome now, y’hear?” Minoru smiles coyly at him and he can’t help but shrink under the numerous new eyes on him.

“Pleasure,” Yoko drawls with a sharp nod. Meiko waves rapidly and Risa continues to ignore him.

“Hi…” he waves, Oscar grabs a stack of paper and passes them out-going through Meiko before Risa walks over to hand him one, he takes it with a small thanks.

“Now, I know our circumstances...aren't exactly grand,” his face twists, “but rest assured, I've been puttin' in the effort to track down Kobo and at the very least, to foil his plans.”

“Wha' I wan' t' talk about is ye lot specifically-when lookin' through Kobo's files, he mentioned each an' every one o' ye were 'special',” Meiko shifts in her seat, the paper limply hanging from between her point and index.

“He said somethin' 'bout gods, does anyone fancy elaboratin' on that?”

“Well-” Meiko says, “what he’s talking about is our abilities-I don’t know much but me and Risa managed to somehow summon a sort of…entity with our abilities, we haven’t really had time to ya’know-experiment but that’s my guess.”

“Are you suggesting that within your abilities reside certain entities?” Yoko drops herself on the couch, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt.

“It’s not as simple, sometimes we’ll dream of them-figures of massive power-we just started to call them guardians of sorts,” Meiko answers, it borders on questioning but her steely resolve comes off knowing.

“And have you encountered these entities?”

Meiko bobs her head, the small points of her hair jumping along with her. “I’ve been having dreams since I met Risa, the person in my dreams…I don’t think it even is a person.”

“Everytime we meet they’re like…a shapeshifter. Sometimes they’ll appear as a dragon or a woman but recently they’ve been talking to me more-they said their name was ‘Kirin’.”

“I think I know what you’re saying,” Meiko turns to Atsushi, her eyes wide with surprise.

“You do?”

“My ability…is similar. Her name is Byakko, she resides in me and is connected to my ability-we don’t really talk per say but she helps me when I’m in danger.”

“Well, reckon since we’re chattin’ 'bout our lil' inner demons, I gotta admit, I got me one of ‘em too. They’re named Suzaku, dang no good help at all, but he sure keeps my old self company,” Minoru laughs, and it seems that the three of them finally share something in common.

Oscar takes notes on the parchment in front of him, crocking his head towards Risa who has yet to speak. “And you Risa? Have you encountered or met any of these entities?”

Risa purses her lips, shooting Meiko and uneasy look which she responds with a smile. “Yeah I have, it’s name is Seiryuu-we talk sometimes but they never have anything important to say.”

“Ah, then, I find myself with something to convey,” Yoko mutters as she stands, “In my dreams, I too have perceived figures, but a wisp of a form-I first encountered it when I was a young girl; it is known as Genbu.”

“We have been on speaking terms since then, at first I believed it to be a wisp of my ability-but with Oscar’s new findings I now find myself to believe that this figure has not chosen me for no good reason.”

“Fascinatin',” Oscar whispers, his voice drowned out by the broken fan. “Well, it seems we’ve found our gods, so it is. I suspected there’d be a chance, but to witness it meself, that such beings do be real.”

“Wait-how do we even know they are gods,” Meiko sputters.

Oscar pauses, his face screwed up in thought. “I t'ink...that these entities are somethin' special. Not gods per se, but mighty important figures we cannae just ignore, y'know? Whatever business they be havin' with ye lot cannae be overlooked-these beings...they've picked ye all as their hosts.”

“Der's gotta be a reason fer dat,” Atsushi glances down at his hands, marred and tense with the strain of his past, present and future. Dripping with Byakko’s blood and tears.

“And for reasons unknown, this Kobo pursues us relentlessly on their behalf,” Yoko finishes the thought nobody wanted to hear, an indisputable truth that crashes through them like a rock would to glass-splintering them all in the process.

“Y'all said he wanted t'break us up into fragments? What in the hell’s does that mean?”

Oscar frowns in concern, his pen tapping the paper rhythmically-as if he doesn’t know what else to busy his hand with.

“Either he has another ability-now that's unlikely…” he murmurs the last part quietly, barely audible in the room, “or he's somehow got his hands on somethin' similar.”

Risa blinked. “But how? As far as I know there are no recorded records of abilities being physically weaponized.”

“Or separated from users,” Meiko intertwines her fingers before sighing.

“In any event, what could possibly motivate this man to single us out? I am certain there exist others akin to us,” Yoko crosses the threshold, pausing in front of a ruined bulletin board-he can hear a frustrated growl escape.

She turns to face them, fists clenched so hard Atsushi can see the faint rush of blood pool beneath her knuckles. “What, pray tell, could he hope to accomplish by bringing about our demise?”

“Y’all heard that fella, he wants the fuckers playin' house in us.,” Minoru laughs sharply, his grin twisted into a grimace.

“Thus, we shall prepare ourselves for the unavoidable; should he desire conflict, then conflict is what he shall receive,” Yoko responds sternly. Her translucent brows furrowed in determination.

“Hold on now, we cain't just go bouncin' in like that. You heard the young'un, whatever Kobo's up to might be tied to that no-good fella-we best be a tad more careful 'bout it,” Minoru’s eyes widen in alarm.

“I’m sorry to say but…if a fight were to ever come I wouldn’t be of any use,” Atsushi announces, Yoko glances at him in agitation-her peach lined lips pulled taut. She opens her mouth to say something but Oscar beats her to the chase.

“Ah, that'd be...me own fault,” he raises a hand, “I kinda used me ability on 'im when we first met, ya know…?”

Meiko whirls towards Oscar. “Oscar!” Her voice pitches high, tone horrified, matching with the same expression on her face.

“I know, I know! And I’m sorry, truly I am, but that’s one of the reasons we can’t just go at it full frontal, ya see!”

“You cursed him!”

“We’re figuring it out!” Oscar yells back before composing himself, running a shaky hand through his midnight locks. “He's a right strong lad, he'll make it,” it’s close to hysterical and maybe a bit disillusioned-but Atsushi knows the man is saying it more for himself rather than him.

The carpet beneath his feet shifts along with the burning candles around him, Oscar and Meiko have resolved themselves into an argument-mainly about him. Atsushi doesn’t know if he should interfere, a part of him doesn’t want to, can’t bother to give the time and energy to help. He needs to figure out why Kobo wants Byakko, why they're being deemed as vessels, why the beings in them are called ‘gods’.

His internal silence stretches on as he watches the people tied to him act as one.

He misses the agency, he misses Kyoka, he misses Junichiro, he misses Dazai and Kunikida. Sitting on the couch with nothing but people who share his same fate doesn’t lift the gravity pulling at his heart. Instead it decides to pull, to drown, to conquer. He wonders what the agency is up to, has Dazai found anything yet, has Chuuya eaten, has Ranpo gone a day without sweets, has Junichiro thought of visiting him.

All his thoughts and expectations are nothing against his future. But he’s doing this for the agency, he’s doing this for Chuuya. Yet something aches in him, something he can’t simply carve out to see.

His chest is sealed tight with no room for air.

It’s startling to know he doesn’t quite hate the situation he’s in, rather it feels

familiar-comforting. The room is abuzz with voices and the smell of kebabs, the hunger that used to pang at his stomach is replaced with a familiar knot. He feels…lost, drifting alone with no one but his regrets and he hates it.

He’s not supposed to feel alone, he’s not supposed to feel lost or confused. Ever since his move to the mafia apartments, Atsushi would expect things that he knew wouldn’t happen. He’d awaken waiting for Dazai’s obnoxious voice or Kunikida’s on time pickup and when neither happens.

He’d wonder why he’d feel disappointed.

His breathless silence is upturned by the clamorous noises from every side of the room.

Shibusawa

He can only assume the fragments are connected to Shibusawa, the man's ability was unique-and he never really found out where his extra crystals went, if anyone had gotten word on it then it’s as clear as day that someone would obviously attempt to retrieve them.

Atsushi clenches his hands into fists, pressure building behind his torn joints. He feels clammy all over, the heat exuded from the various candles all over the room isn’t helping his case either. His sweater clings to every crevice of his body, from the gaps in his shoulder-blades to the divots on his hips.

Guess he’s gonna have to go round three again, if Kobo is hunting Shibusawa’s fragments then they’ll have to find out why.

Atsushi remembers the cold clever fingers of his, the ones that used to caress him when he was just a boy. Ones that could turn violent and just as simple gentle, alabaster hands cool to the touch. Hands that used to smooth over his plump cheeks, that would run through his unruly locks and cradled his aching hurts.

Hands that gleefully hurt him

Nails rimmed with his blood

Palms coveted with evidence of his defiance

His lungs build pressure, a monsoon slamming against the weak walls of his chest. Cracking and splintering the cage that holds it, begging for freedom from the slumber he’s put it in. Shibusawa is a monster, nothing more and nothing less, a man deserving of death after everything he’s done.

But is he? A man adorned with a crown heavy enough to shield you. Did he not protect you? Did he not warrant your affections? Did he not forgive you?

Were you happy before spring came?

Was I happy before the spring?

I wasn’t, I don’t remember the last time I was happy stuck in that basement. A cot rotted to the core and infested with my shame.

Atsushi stifles the rising bile that climbs up his throat and settles on his tongue as if it were its rightful place.

He can’t remember what Shibusawa ever really did to him. After the fog incident he was able to recover bits and pieces, but it wasn’t enough to ignore the gratifying ones. Memories of the man holding him as if he were the most precious thing on earth, each of those always blur his face.

A face with no eyes or noticeable features. Just a curved mouth, upturned in all of them-tongue lapping up silent words that never make it far before it all disappears in a show of blank colors.

Time was a construct he’d utterly forgotten too. Time didn’t exist in the basement or in his past, it didn’t go faster or slower, it simply wasn’t there.

All he wanted to do was get out alive and he did. He made it out with his body intact and mind numb. With his purity gone and skin ruined.

His hand idly rubs the sudden ache in his chest. Where his own ability was almost extracted from, it grows with rapid pressure as he pushes down harder-his sweatshirt is surely bunched up now.

“Me and Risa have been trying to stake out where he’s been hiding,” Meiko visibly bites down on her lip,”but we haven’t gotten anywhere.”

“We’ve checked out every location you’ve given us Oscar, but we haven’t spotted him at any!”

Oscar is silent as he watches Meiko, a prudent look on his face as he flickers between her and Risa. “Well, dat's...odd, I reckon there's a chance he might be onto us-or me, in particular,” he drops his head to the side.

“We ought to reconsider this strategy; instead of pursuing the man directly, why not seek the fragments?” Yoko advises, a nasally sound accompanying her words. It’s not a bad idea, the agency and mafia might be doing the same thing, he’s not sure-the reminder of his absence in the case feels wrong.

Minoru lounges lazily on the couch, his back hunched as his arms support his weight on his spread legs. “Well, what if'n he already's got them fragments? If he do, then ain't much we can do 'bout it.”

“No,” Oscar shakes his head, “I swear t'ye, he doesn’t have 'em. When I went through his files, there were certain marks on different maps-each a pin where I’d reckon the fragments are.”

“Yeah, but that’s all speculation-we can’t just go with that,” Risa counters, “we need hard evidence.”

“She’s right Oscar,” Meiko adds, “it’s too dangerous especially if we’re his targets.”

“I don’t think it’s a bad plan,” Atsushi puts forth, “all we need to do is narrow down our locations-”

“But pray tell how are we going to manage that?” Yoko says thickly, her glare fiery as she burns holes at him.

“So far Kobo only knows about me and Chuuya, I highly doubt he’s aware that the rest of you have joined up with Oscar-he’ll be more focused on us and my agency which will give you guys the opportunity to stake out the locations.”

“Agency?” Meiko squeaks.

Did he forget to mention the agency?

“...yeah, the armed detective agency and port mafia.”

“The mafia?” Risa eyes him quizzically, as if she can’t believe he’s connected to the two. “You have dealings with the mafia?” Okay, now she’s just being plain rude.

“Uhh yeah,” he responds, a bit dumbly but he manages to get the point across. “My agency and the mafia have a sort of truce at the moment,” should he be mentioning Chuuya? The executive himself is unaware of his plans and outings-outing him could be potentially dangerous if the man refuses to join him when he finally manages to grow a pair and ask him for help. “But the other man I mentioned-Chuuya, he was targeted by Kobo.”

“Then why isn’t he here?” Risa’s starry eyes squint at him, her mistrust evident in the way her body nudges towards Meiko-shielding the girl from his sight.

“He’s been working with the agency,” he shifts in his seat, “and I also haven’t really told him about…Oscar and this uh meeting.”

If he ever finds it in him to ask the man he’ll have to prepare himself for the big three-an ass kicking, reprimand or another form of house arrest. The reprimanding doesn’t sound bad, but after hearing the man yell for the first time he’d rather battle with a live banshee.

“You best warn 'em, kiddo, keep 'im in the loop, ya hear?” Minoru pipes up from his side of the room, a familial smile on his face as he moves his ash droppings to the tray in front of him.

“There exists another among us…” Yoko mumbles, an aged finger probes at her sharp chin, “we must enlist the boy without delay. He may be among allies but that does not mean he is excluded from Kobo’s wrath.” Atsushi nods in agreement.

“I was planning to tell him after this meeting, he’s currently at work right now so I couldn’t ask him to come with me.”

Meiko’s fluff of blonde hair appears over Risa’s head-a perky smile lays on her face. “So there’s six of us! Plus-” she points at the Irishman beside her, “Oscar!”

“Atsushi, talk to yer mate,” the man asks him. Atsushi was already going to do it but a small reminder wouldn’t hurt. “As for the rest o' ye, I'll be dividin' the locations on the files and handin' 'em out -I'd prefer if ye all visited these places in pairs.”

Yoko scoffs. “I assure you Oscar I am very well capable of doing my task alone.”

“It’s not like that, Yoko,” Oscar shakes his head, “I do believe in yer capabilities, but we can’t take any chances.”

“We should work in pairs Yoko, we’ll be able to cover more ground and if someone dares to attack us we’ll be able to finish it quickly and move on,” Risa surprisingly comes to Oscar’s defense. Yoko sniffs and turns away.

“I won’t be able to help you guys with scouting,” Atsushi warns, “but I’ll be doing my best to find any leads on Kobo through my agency.” Meiko turns and smiles warmly-her hands clasped as she reassures him. Her warmth makes him feel fuzzy and a bit shy, she reminds him of Kenji.

“If that’s all fer today, I reckon we best be headin’ on out, 'fore we lose that daylight,” Minoru gasps through the yawns racking over his body-the man pulls at his arms and Atsushi can hear his joints creak and pop as he lets out a blissful moan.

“Oh wow it is getting late,” Meiko agrees, the blue light from her phone illuminating her pale features. “Then we best be getting home Risa, don’t wanna miss the train.” They all begin to stand up, Atsushi’s butt is entirely numb from all the sitting-his legs ache and his neck is stiff.

“So, here’s the deal, we gonna scout 'round the spots whilst you and Atsushi gather up them details, right?” Oscar bobs his head.

“I'll be in touch wit' ye all usin' me burner phone,” he shakes the phone in his hand, “Ye'll all be gettin' the info on the locations tomorrah-an' if it's possible, start as soon as ye can.”

“I’ll be scouting with Risa!”

“I suppose we shall be working together then Minoru.”

“All ye get a decent night's rest an' I'll see ya soon, lads an' lasses,” Oscar gives them a toothy grin as they all shuffle out of the room-Atsushi makes his way outside under the orange sky. Meiko hugs him goodbye, the girl running back to Risa and taking her hand as they begin to walk off the property.

Minoru gives him a harsh pat on the back while Yoko idles behind. They share goodbyes and then Atsushi himself is off-he treads through the dust bowl and passes the various warehouses that decorate the ground. The sun is still up but it’s time wanes the more Atsushi walks, he hasn’t received any messages or calls which means that the rest are still unaware of his outing.

The air has become crisp and warm, it makes his walk back to the city bearable. Atsushi stops to admire the sunset, its hues a collision of colors-reds, oranges, purples and yellows. An explosion decorating the atmosphere as the sun begins to slumber. The trees have begun to grow again and the green grass rids itself of any and all browns.

He walks along a small riverbank, leaves of all shapes and sizes floating down the tunnel and following him as he strides back home. The wind threatens to mess up his hair, it’s warm, undeniably warm. It courses through the gaps of his sweatshirt and tickles his skin-his hair whips around from the force of it and he fights to keep it out of his mouth.

Brown leaves have left their post, littering the ground and breaking under his feet. It’s a constant sound the farther he walks away, he spies people traipsing through the grounds he walks on-very few of them are alone. The smog in the sky bleeds into the air, polluting the scent as he reaches the end of the riverbank. It’s windy and warm, it smells of gas and dirt, it howls and glees.

It’s spring again

Chapter Text

The apartment was empty when he returned, his trip back consisted of a couple of taxis and walking-nothing he isn’t used to. Still it was a bit surprising for Atsushi when he returned to complete silence.

He walked past the threshold of the living room, his body aching from the trip and stomach growling for nourishment. Atsushi supposes he could make himself a small meal before Chuuya returns, he needs to talk to him about the others-he’s put it off for too long.

The meeting went smoother than he expected, unfortunately for them they don’t have the extent of knowledge that the agency has but they do have Kobo’s personal papers. Atsushi won’t be of any use for their scouting missions which he would have preferred to do, he was never good at info extraction-always leaving it to Dazai or Junichiro.

Fortunately for him it shouldn’t be hard, with Dazai in the know he should manage to get tidbits and such through his mentor, Atsushi thinks back to the others.

Gods

That’s what Oscar called them, their abilities. Atsushi has never believed in such deities, he stopped believing in them since he was young only for him to be referred to as one. Meiko’s announcement only served to set off a myriad of things, in total there's six of them, six gods and six hosts.

He always found Byakko to be odd in a way, her powers unexplainable, leaving him confused when others sought her out for power. But to now know that there are others like him? Atsushi feels fulfilled in a way, he can’t explain it. He’s scared of what's to come, what he has to face.

The crystals are Kobo’s priority at the moment, not to mention the agency is on his tail too. The mans going to be busy, giving the others time to retrieve what he’s searching for. Atsushi walks over to the kitchen, dropping off his satchel atop the table and rummaging through the fridge.

He pulls out a few ingredients to make himself a bowl. The events of earlier keep replaying in his head nonstop, meeting the others, planning to strike, striving to survive. Kobo is out for them and Atsushi still doesn’t know why, is it just for power? Does he have a bigger plan behind it all, there’s too many possibilities yet not enough answers. He can only hope that they have it under control, that they’ll find something of use among the rubble left behind Kobo’s destruction.

Chuuya and him are Kobo’s current worry, they escaped his grasp. Atsushi already put Kobo behind bars once, that could be one of the reasons the man is after him-he probably should have mentioned that at the meeting, somehow it slipped from his mind.

Atsushi turns to remove the beef loin from its packaging. He chops up the pieces before dropping them in the pan, oil sizzling under the cool weight of the meat.

He’s a bit anxious, he knows he has to tell Chuuya-it’s not fair to leave him out of the loop. He’s as much entangled in the whole thing as the rest of them. Leaving the executive in the dark isn’t going to do anything, he has to tell him. Atsushi knows deep down, a part of him doesn’t want to tell him, a primal instinct to shield the executive from harm's way-just like he did to Kyoka, like he does for Kenji and Naomi.

To help them in a way nobody bothered for him.

The carrots fall apart under the smoothness of the kitchen knife, his body moves mechanically as he repeats the process with the chives.

Atsushi glances at the time, it’s nearing seven and still Chuuya has not returned-he debates on whether to call Dazai, to ask if the meeting is running later than usual. He starts to prep the bowl, grabbing a rice spoon to pack the rice into his bowl, adding in the vegetables and finally the meat.

With everything set he takes it to the table, rushing back to grab utensils and a bottle of water. His stomach roars in anticipation, having not eaten anything since the time he left-he’s practically starving. Usually he would be able to manage but with his steadying tolerance of meals he can’t go more than a few hours without eating. He thinks it’s because of his routine with Kyoka, they always have breakfast, lunch and dinner.

If they’re particularly craving something they’ll go out for crepes before returning to the agency. Atsushi sighs deeply as he takes a bite of his meal, wondering how Kyoka is faring without him. Is she eating her meals with Yosano? Is she overworking? Is she sticking to her nighttime routine?

Surprisingly he feels oddly at ease knowing Kyoka’s in Yosano’s care. Don’t get him wrong, that woman is not the best influence out there, but she has Atsushi's undeniable trust. The urge to call Dazai becomes stronger the more he delves into his meal, and in a way it would be good for them. Dazai might have info for him and him the same.

The sun is slowly retiring for the night, dusky orange overlapping through the myriad of windows in the kitchen and living room. He takes another bite of his food, chewing thoroughly in order to savor a taste that doesn’t last. The notion is repeated until his stomach is full, uncomfortably so and he cringes as he takes a long swig of his water.

A nap is set in motion for him, his body creaks with tiredness and his head calls for rest. A pounding headache pulsing and calling for him to retire-Atsushi washes his bowl and puts it away. He’d rather not have Chuuya return with chores to be done.

Once done he drags himself back to the room, he makes sure to snag his bag before going-better to not leave any evidence of his excursion out in the open for anyone to see.

Throwing his bag on the chair, Atsushi strips down to his boxers. His sweatshirt is damp from sweat and it makes him wrinkle his nose as he cocks his head to smell the apparel. He drops the clothes in a corner inside the closet before pulling on a pair of sleepwear and a random shirt. Once dressed Atsushi paces around the room, emptying the contents in his bag and putting them in their rightful place.

He makes sure to shove his phone in the dresser beside the bed.

Atsushi finally drops himself on the bed face first, the pillows stifling a much held groan as his bones ache from the sudden movement. He shifts his head to the side, his neck whingeing but Atsushi ignores it. He wonders when Chuuya’s gonna get back, Atsushi is well aware he’s not the executives keeper but knowing the man is out there with no protection or awareness of how deep their situation runs worries him.

As his mind runs through all possibilities it finally lands on one. Cool steel eyes, a thin sneer and one of the ugliest haircuts that can be on par with his. Akutagawa. As much as Atsushi dislikes the mafioso he can only hope he’s as protective as Chuuya as Atsushi is with the agency.

He thinks back to the day before, the silent night where he tried to drunkenly stew in his aforementioned demise before the mafioso came to muck it all up for him. His reigning silence with the waters, a taunting scene as he pondered drowning in the damn thing. Akutagawa was right in a way, his continuous search for a reason to live. He thought he found it with the agency and by helping Lucy.

But his conversation with Oscar only served to prove that they were excuses, using his friends as shields so he wouldn’t have to confront the brewing strain in his chest-the obnoxious urge to live with no purpose, a purpose that for some reason he can’t find no matter how hard he tries too.

His fatal flaw, Akutagawa said it was his fatal flaw. But no matter how hard he tries to dredge up what he said before that-it’s like it's gone. He can’t remember what Akutagawa said, his memory a haze due to the amount of alcohol he decided to drown himself in.

Regardless of how much Atsushi despises the man-well, not really despise. Akutagawa is annoying, brash, cold and unfeeling but he doesn’t hate him. The man has his…charms.

It’s definitely not his personality, rather his devotion to keep on fighting. That sort of obsession astounds Atsushi and it will forevermore. It’s the complete opposite of him, and it also makes him feel a seething jealousy within him. Akutagawa, a man who traded his morality for power, fighting to keep afloat. While Atsushi is dragged down by his ankles into the farthest depths of horror not even the mafioso is aware of. He can see the man's pale lips wrench in frustration, a pale sheen over his glazed face as he screams for his name.

Akutgawa’s emotions are so volatile, so human.

How can a man so far wretched from his virtues be more human than Atsushi, whose every move, action, explanation are caused by his morality. A man whose inexplicable actions are deemed robotic by the agency yet so lively to Atsushi. He can slightly remember the shocked face Akutagawa made when he called him a dog, he regrets it, he never meant to say it.

But Atsushi was just so angry. He was angry with Oscar, with Akutagawa, with Kobo, with Yosano, with everyone. He felt the unfathomable urge to hurt somebody, to make somebody feel the fear and frustration coursing through him. Now he’s just tired, he wants to hide from the world again, to become a nobody.

Atsushi says something, it’s clouded to his ears. A buzzing sound overlying whatever has left his mouth. Judging by Akutagawa’s face, he’s managed to hit his mark. A voice in his head cheers, presses on for him to continue-and so he does.

Akutagawa’s eyes widen by a fraction, his taunting sneer frozen as if time has stopped. Atsushi can feel his own smile curl with indifference. Phantom bile in his mouth, his canines sharper than ever. The man before him gapes in shock, maybe even hurt? Atsushi relishes it.

Feel my pain, feel my horror, feel my sins. Help me carry the weight poured over my shoulders, weighing me down and driving me into the ground. Time will pass and I’ll be melded into the ground you walk on, I’ll be a distant calling reminding you of what you are, of what you have become and what you were to me.

Atsushi watches through the lenses of his eyes, his body drifting and no longer one with him. Through a fainted standpoint, he watches Akutagawa’s face shut off-a cold mask to replace his emotion. A quick snap of his arm in real time, to Atsushi it only seems to slow down. Behind his blank face, he can see simmering anger shine brighter than ever. A light bursting like a phoenix.

He opens his mouth to scream, only he can’t. His body is not his anymore. It never was.

〜✶♣✶〜

Water ripples beneath him, he feels like he's floating. Though he can’t see anything, he knows he’s shrouded in darkness. The dark serves as a sort of comfort as he drifts along what he supposes is a river. Atsushi thinks he’s dreaming, this one is tamer compared to his past ones. Ones filled with him waking up in a cold sweat or cowering with a scream clogged in his throat.

The water works its way into the fabric on his back. Dampness sticking to his clothes and hair, silver strands tangling themselves and others becoming weak strings as the river shifts to pull him in further.

This feels so uncomfortable, he sluggishly thinks as the tides go over him-this time soaking his pants. His eyes remain shut as he’s carried around, or at least he thinks he is. The water is cool, not cold or hot-simply medium. His skin prickles as the sensation of liquid pools beneath him every time a small wave crashes into him.

Suddenly, a startling splash forms beside him. Water covers his entire body, it fills his nose and mouth, leaving him fighting for air. He sputters and pushes himself upwards, he coughs up the bland liquid that has managed to clog his throat-he can feel it drip down his lips in a steady stream. He coughs it all up until his throat burns and he doesn’t feel like he’s being drowned any longer.

Then he’s abruptly yanked upwards.

The sudden movement startles him and sends him into a frenzy of fighting. His eyes snap open and he’s met with darkness again, a vast murk all around him. His feet patter and make ripples beneath him as he frantically looks around, he’s obviously met with nothing.

Atsushi blinks in confusion, his dreams aren’t normally like this. Endless and empty, he’s usually met with some type of horror waiting for him on the other side. He glances around once more, ensuring that he’s not delusional in some way.

“Child of righteousness.”

Atsushi jumps, then at an inhumane rate turns to the voice. Infuriatingly once more, he’s met with emptiness. The voice echoes through the expanse, causing the water beneath him to tremble.

“Child of calamity.”

The voice speaks once more, now Atsushi feels confused. He turns his head towards the direction the voice spoke-a deep gloom only awaits him. “Hello…?” Nobody responds.

“Child of propriety.”

Atsushi looks ahead and takes a small step forward.

“Child of knowledge.”

He slowly makes his way over, water courses along with him.

“Child of benevolence.”

The water creates a path, droplets rising into the air.

“Child of peace.”

The humidity rises, each step echoes in the unknown.

“Guardians of the sky.”

A light shines at the end, and Atsushi pauses. He watches the glow shimmer and expand-the sudden explosion causes him to squint. An arm reaching up to shield his face from the expansion of color. He blinks in order to get rid of the daze, his eyes create a myriad of particles which clear the more he forces himself to focus.

The room changes color, a blank sheet growing over the darkness that once incapacitated him. The river beneath him grows, now reaching his ankles, he can spot a few blurred colors crushed under his feet-he reaches down to check, his hand grasping a solid root before he brings it back up.

A marigold is held gently between his fingertips

He looks up to what he thinks is the sky. It's all white, everything devoid of color but the blank starkness of pure white. Too encapsulated with the color, he doesn’t notice the steady footsteps growing behind him.

“Or so, that’s what they call you,” Atsushi turns to the voice, much clearer now. For some reason he feels at peace, not afraid or surprised by the soft intone spoken merely a few inches from him. A figure, doused in white robes approaches him-their footsteps light, they don’t leave ripples behind. They don’t even touch the water.

Atsushi cranes his head to look up, the figure is taller than him. Silver hair hangs from their shoulders-dragging across the water and somehow not getting drenched by it. Languid bright golden eyes stare at him unnervingly, cherry lips rucked up. Atsushi blinks a couple of times, even goes as far as to rub his eyes-maybe god is playing a joke on him, or Oscar’s ability has somehow managed to land its killing blow and sent him straight into the afterlife. And if by chance the figure in front of him is god, they are breathtakingly beautiful.

The figure in front of him stills, lips slightly twitching as if they’ve heard him. Which is impossible considering he’s not even talking or making any moves to talk.

“I assure you, you are not dead,” well fuck, maybe they’re not god but possibly a mind reader?

“Nor a mind reader.”

Shit

The figure only raises a brow, Atsushi scrunches his face-they feel…familiar. Maybe it’s the sensation coming off of them, like spring coming a month early or the smell of melting ice after winter has come to an end. Of carnations and lilies.

They’re lips purse into a small smile, he notices a faint trail of red lining the middle of their bottom lip. “‘Peculiar’ you must think,” the figure hums, their voice smooth and mesmerizing-he can hear a slight uptick in its sleepy voice.

“Who are you?” Finally, finally does Atsushi enquire.

The figure hums again, they’re head crooked to one side, hands disappearing in the folds of its large sleeves. “Who am I?” They question, turning to look out into nowhere-a serene expression lining their pale features. “Think of me as a guide.”

Well that didn’t answer his question at all. “Where are we?” He decided to shoot another one, hopefully this time they’ll answer him straightforwardly.

“Where do you think we are Atsushi,” and they didn’t answer again, off to a great start with them. Also, he never mentioned his name-so that's unnerving.

“Uhhh…I don’t-uhh really know,” the figure turns to him. “Do you know where we are? I don’t think I’ve ever been here.”

“Elysian field,” they supply-reaching down to pluck the flower from his hand, they examine the marigold before letting it drop back into the water, its orange color fading into nothing. “A land of peace, devoid of negativity and open for the children of the sky.”

“Children of the sky?”

“Children of the divine, deities, immortals, and exalted beings-whatever language the mortals in your domain refer to us as,” Atsushi is only left more confused, children of the sky? Deities? Either this is one very insightful dream or he’s being visited by a being of higher power. Meiko’s words flood into his head, the days meeting a sudden reminder.

“What he’s talking about is our abilities-I don’t know much but me and Risa managed to somehow summon a sort of…entity with our abilities, we haven’t really had time to ya’know-experiment but that’s my guess.”

It can't be…he hasn’t spoken to Byakko in days. She normally comes in the form of a tiger, never…humanoid. His best bet is to let it play out, see what the…person? Are they even a person? He’ll listen to what they have to say, then he’ll ask-and he hopes he’s right.

“So, I’m one of those…err children?” Atsushi asks, the figure nods slowly.

“The child of righteousness, bearer of autumn, guardian of the skies-such titles have been bestowed upon you,” they say, Atsushi can’t help but wince when she says ‘righteousness’ he hasn’t felt very righteous since he beat Kobo’s face in. “Why am I really here? I thought I was dreaming but this feels too real to just be a dream.”

At the question the figures face hardens, it’s not unkind but rather worried. “You have found yourself in a dangerous predicament Atsushi, we guides could not simply stand by to watch.” Their face then smooths out, silver strands billowing around its face, the figure straightens out and shifts away from him. They stay hovering over the water, their long gown barely scratching the surface that Atsushi is sunk deep within.

“We deemed our interference necessary. Normally we would not do such things with the other children-” they pause, Atsushi watches them circle around him-pondering in silence as the water rucks up and almost knocks him down. “But this…situation has alerted us in several ways.”

“I have been watching for a while, you have lost use of your gift and hence have become vulnerable,” flowers are left behind in their wake, blooming from deep under the water and sprouting into all sorts of colors. “I worried that my protection would not be warranted if used abruptly, hence I have decided to meet you personally.”

“You’ve been watching me,” Atsushi slowly asks, a silent reminder that only Byakko has watched over him-that the figure might be Byakko.

The figure barely spares him a glance, keeping focus on the vast dome around them. “I have always watched over you and will forevermore, it is my sworn duty,” they glance down at him.

Atsushi clenches his fists and with all the strength left in his body he pulls away from the water, its pressure harsh and unrelenting as he makes his way towards them. “Who are you?” The figure stares back at him, it’s face torn in what he assumes to be sadness. But why would they be sad? What awaits him to warrant such an expression on their face.

“You know who I am, Atsushi.”

His mouth is dry, he maintains eye contact with them even as his mind screams at him to look away-to wake up from this cruel dream. It’s Byakko, it has to be. No other being has been so familiar to him, he can feel it-the warmth radiating off of them, the unforgiving smell of light rain and spring. Golden catlike eyes brimming with an unfamiliar emotion he’s only seen once with Byakko.

Atsushi runs his tongue over his chapped lips. “Byakko?” The figure doesn't say anything, they don’t need too-a rush of anger floods his entire body before being extinguished with one look. A simple crook of the neck, a pinched smile-Byakko's milky lashes peer down as she hovers towards him.

Her hand comes up to lightly touch his cheek, sharp nails grazing his skin as she tilts his head a bit higher. Byakko’s eyes glow brighter than the moon, slitted pupils expanding the more she stares at him. A mothers touch caresses his face and Atsushi finds himself leaning into it, his eyes burning with humiliation and desire-the ache in his chest diminishes the longer Byakko holds him. Another hand joins in, laying flat against his other cheek, the pressure slowly becomes unbearable.

“Child of righteousness,” Byakko muses, “I have left you for far longer than I anticipated.”

Byakko and him share a moment of silence, her cold fingers ever so slightly circling his face. Atsushi is stunned, he hasn’t felt Byakko in days. Her sudden presence is just as he remembers, warm like a summer day, the smell of light rain and vanilla. His hands tremble as they cling onto fabric, twisting the material and puncturing through it. Byakko moves to lightly ruffle his hair, strands being lifted then dropped as he’s pulled in closer by the woman.

Atsushi lets himself fall limp in her arms, he buries his head in her chest. She’s far too tall for him, he can sense her curl up above him like a dried prune. White hair drops around him, it tickles his face and neck-Byakko moves her other hand to his hip.

“Where-where have…have you been?” Chokes out Atsushi, his tongue heavy in his mouth. Byakko’s grip tightens slightly, she releases a quiet huff that ruffles his hair.

“Everywhere and thus nowhere, my responsibilities lie ahead-never keeping me tethered to one singular place,” her silky gown pressed up against his body, the texture a nuance compared to his sudden guilt. She sighs deeply, from his position Atsushi can’t see her face-but his biggest guess is that a barely concealed frown is probably soiling it.

“I was unable to reach you following the encounter with the boy’s ability, and thus I took the time to reflect on how I might restore our connection to your awareness.”

Her head shifts slightly to the side, Byakko’s cheeks barely grazing the surface of his head. “In those moments, I could merely observe, for his gift rendered me powerless.” Her words reverberate through his body, he can hear a faint purr emanating from her chest-Atsushi subconsciously leans in closer and if Byakko notices she doesn’t question, merely tightens her hold on him.

“Alas I was given a chance to return, a small gap for me to meet with you,” she pulls her head away, a sharp claw nudging his chin upward to meet her gaze. “I do not have much time Atsushi, I am here to warn you of the coming threats posed against you and the other children,” her words are laced with a sense of urgency and immediately it sends Atsushi into high alert. He’s afraid of what she’ll say next, he doesn’t want to face another emanating threat-he doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle it.

Nevertheless he steels himself internally for it. Pulling himself away from her warm body he’s flooded by the usual coldness from losing Byakko. He shivers slightly, Byakko’s expression is steely, her lips downturned and eyes scrunched up.

“What’s going to happen?” Atsushi chances a glance at her, he tightens his fist-untrimmed nails sharply cutting into his skin. Byakko’s eyes flick over to the small action before returning to his face. “I don’t-I don’t understand what's going on. You said that there’s a…looming threat over us and-” his lips pinch, his unsaid situation a quiet whisper between them.

Byakko nods solemnly. “I have seen into your mind Atsushi, I can feel your inner turmoil-you’re pain and frustrations,” her hand falls slack from where it had been placed under his chin. “I understand that this situation thrust upon you is not one you wish to participate in.”

Damn right he doesn’t, he’s had enough near-death experiences already. Atsushi focuses on his breathing, the slight rasp from his lungs lingering in the frigid dome. “I just-I need to know Byakko, is it-” he releases a frustrated snarl when the words don’t come out, he can feel the familiar prickling pressure grow behind his eyes and the same embarrassment he hates when Byakko says nothing-just watches him with such comforting patience that makes him hunger.

“Is it bad? Is it gonna be bad Byakko, I’m not ready, I don’t want to-I can’t do this,” he says, more of a plea rather than anything. His voice is tinged with desperation, and he aches for her comfort-he hungers for her touch, he wants Byakko to comfort him, to tell him it’ll be okay and he’ll push through just as he’s done over the past months.

“This is not an obligation Atsushi,” Byakko responds after he’s stayed quiet for a bit too long. “It is a choice, a choice with consequences such as any other decision,” the air becomes oppressive as Atsushi takes in her words, he huffs decrepitly. A choice with consequences, such a scenario doesn’t leave room for staying out of it-she sugarcoated it for him. Because she knows that in that way he’ll accept it, he’ll take responsibility for how it’ll all play out. He never pegged Byakko for a manipulator.

She places a burning hand on his shoulder, the touch scalding to the bone and he has to fight the flinch working up through his body. She looks at him with such sadness and resignation, Byakko’s eyes shine like the sea, glowing and pulsing with life. “You will make the right decision Atsushi, I know you will.”

“It is in your very being to relinquish your life for the sanctity of others.” Byakko’s hand retreats, her skin which once emitted a soothing warmth around him is fractured by the seeping coldness of his place in all of it. Atsushi wants to scream, to deny such a fate he has never wanted any part in-yet another part of him pulls. Pulls for him to accept the sudden responsibility. There are people relying on him, the agency and mafia, Meiko and the others. Chuuya.

Instead of answering her question, he tries his damn hardest to deflect. Byakko doesn’t say anything in response to it, but he doesn’t ignore the small tick in her mouth. “Will you be there? I’m no good without my ability,” he turns away from her and mutters bitterly.

Byakko cocks her head to the side, hair billowing all around them. “I will be, though it will take up much of my energy.” Atsushi frowns, her energy?

“You’re energy?”

“My energy,” she acknowledges, “without my manifestation as your gift I have been rendered to this form, I am not supposed to be in such a realm and thus I have to gather enough of my force to push through.” She pauses, her blank face shifting into something indiscernible. “It will take a bit more energy from me, but I will attempt to return to you a fragment of your gift.”

“You can do that?” Atsushi says warily, Byakko’s face shifts once more-her mouth ticking up faintly. As if she found his question humorous. “I can, though in exchange I will not be able to communicate with you for a certain period of time.”

Atsushi nods smartly. “I’ll be able to get my ability back…but not how it used to be,” he slowly says-Byakko makes a noise that sounds close to a ‘yes’ but is overshadowed by the growing purr in her tone. He forgets she’s technically a tiger.

“The others…you called them children of the sky-and they have titles. Like me.”

“Yes, children of the sky-titles bestowed upon them by their own guardians,” she answers. “You, Atsushi, are the child of righteousness; with my strength, you embody justice in its purest form.”

“Does that mean Chuuya’s also like me? He’s a uhh-child too?” Atsushi is genuinely curious, it gnaws and nips at him like an unruly dog. He doesn’t know much about the executive, or of his…god? Guardian? And so if he’s given the chance to pry, then pry he shall.

“The child of calamity,” Byakko hums softly, her hair drags against the water as she hovers closer to him. An eerie smile grows as she cranes her neck downwards, eyes shining with unbridled mirth. “What is justice without corruption?” Atsushi’s eyes widen significantly. Corruption, Chuuya’s ability-Dazai had warned him about it, he had witnessed it first hand during the fog, the overwhelming power hidden in such a small body. He watched as it caused such devastating damage to the areas around him. To think that such a power can be granted to a human being.

He shivers as he recalls it almost killed Byakko.

“But you…” he stutters, “you fought it, you fought corruption.”

Byakko raises a brow in such a manner it brings out an incredulous laugh from him. Almost as if she were saying, ‘what of it?’. Atsushi is well aware that Chuuya isn’t-per say normal. Dazai has recounted as much and he doesn’t doubt his mentor's words, the man knows the executive as if he were Chuuya himself.

“Arahabaki…” Byakko murmurs before turning to the side-the whiteness all around them illuminating her older features. A divine glow overshadows her, something ancient. “They’re name is Arahabaki.”

“A manifestation of destruction, they are what helps balance the world as it is,” her eyes flutter shut momentarily, a swift expression of grief passes and just as quickly goes away. “They are my…” she teeters off, her face full of unexplainable guilt-Atsushi senses a sudden wave of anguish wash over him, it’s almost painful and he can feel his legs tremble from the pressure.

Byakko stands alone even with Atsushi by her side, she looks off into the distance. She sees something he can’t, the water below him ripples harshly-threatening to send him crashing into it. With a hesitant hand, he lays it over her long sleeves-now drenched with how they drag on the surface. She doesn’t spare him a glance but the tenseness in her shoulders seeps out cautiously.

Atsushi is pulsing with curiosity but his understanding of how painful it is to recall such memories pushes through. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Byakko doesn’t respond, she turns to him and places a hand atop his head. “It is not your fault to bear Atsushi. Arahabaki is indeed sealed in the man known as Chuuya Nakahara, unfortunately myself and the other deities have lost all connection to them.”

“They are no longer the being they once embodied. The Arahabaki I once knew was both a deity of destruction and protection. In numerous respects, one might declare they were my counterpart.”

A small smile spreads on her face. “Arahabaki and I protected the strongest of soldiers, while they gave them the prowess they needed, I blessed them with honor.”

“Kirin gave them harmony, Suzaku yielded prosperity, Seiryu bestowed vitality and Genbu offered wisdom-we all did our jobs until the day Arahabaki was taken,” her gaze turns solemn. “They had disappeared without a trace only for me to find them in the body of a child.”

“We only ever bless a mortal if fate has guided them to us, such as my brethren have done to theirs and I with you,” Atsushi opens his mouth to question what she means, but Byakko continues on. “Yet Arahabaki was sealed forcefully into another being, such a thing had been considered taboo among my fellow deities.”

“And due to such circumstances, my equals have forsaken their guardianship over the children; it is only Genbu and I who have chosen to maintain our vigilance. Yet with this danger present over us, I was afforded an audience with my brethren.”

Atsushi can only give a sigh of relief, to know that their guardians are also working to help them. He assumes that’s what Meiko was talking about, having recently experienced a dream of her own with Kirin. And now he is with Byakko. She’s been watching over him for a long time, still he doesn’t forget how he let her sink her teeth in him. He struggled to accept Byakko as his own, and though she clawed and thrashed her way into his heart, he can’t help but subconsciously put up a wall between them.

Atsushi doesn’t know what Byakko’s true role is regarding him. If she’s there to protect him, guide him, help him-he doesn’t know and a part of him doesn't wish too. He’s content with just having her back. “You talked with the other gods?”

Byakko gives a subtle nod, imperceivable unless up close. “I engaged in discourse with them and managed to sway the majority to offer their assistance; our involvement shall remain modest, yet we collectively argued that it is essential to permit the utilization of our energy.”

Atsushi reels back, his mouth dropping in confusion-maybe even shock. “You’re gonna give us special powers!?” Byakko blinks, before a startled hiccup escapes her-her eyes widen along with the corners of her mouth. She hunches slightly and releases a sudden laugh, it’s quiet yet cuts through the room. Byakko’s body shakes minutely as she continues to laugh, Atsushi can only watch dumbfounded, had he said something weird?

Sooner than he’d like, Byakko composes herself. Straightening out her body yet the corners of her mouth still twitch with leftover humor. Her eyes soften as they meet him, in a quick flash Atsushi’s cheeks make contact with two burning hands, the sudden action pulling him in closer as Byakko leans in. Their faces merely inches from each other.

“You are precious Atsushi,” Byakko whispers between them, her breath smells like nothing yet warms his nose. She pulls away and Atsushi follows, Byakko catches the movement and it’s enough to snap him out of whatever daze had overcome him-he can feel red creep up his face. Byakko huffs.

“We are not bestowing upon you powers, per say, rather, consider it in this light,” polished hands slip from out of her sleeves, elegant in their movements as she maneuvers them in a strange dance. Atsushi stares, entranced as light emits from between her palms-he can hear droplets rise and fall. Cautiously, Atsushi looks around-he finds the water beneath his feet ripple and slide upon his skin. It’s cool and actually quite refreshing as the small drops climb up his bare skin and under his sleepwear.

Water floats in clear streams, ribbons unraveling in her hands-they form a small crystal ball. “Our abilities are an endless reservoir, akin to this water. You may draw from it, yet in the end, there shall be an abundance retained,” the ball warbles and billows, it's clear state slowly sucking in the white from around them. “With such a boundless abundance, one may fortify one's own prowess.”

Her eyes shine through the snowy orb, like ice growing over a window-the sphere succumbs to it. The water is still full, as if nothing had ever been drained from the source. “But what about getting my ability back? If this err-supply is for my ability…don’t I need it in order to uhh-” he waves his hand at the floating orb in her hand.

“I shall not waver in my promise, Atsushi; I will restore a fragment of your prowess as it is also my own, and I shall also provide you with the resources to enhance it,” the orb disappears in a show of rain, it explodes in her palms-water seeping between the crevices of her slender fingers. “The equitable exchange shall be my departure from this realm. Nonetheless, I have every confidence that you shall do well on your own.”

Byakko mentioned the others would be meeting the same fate soon, still a bit unsure about it he asks. “Will the others also umm-” he purses his lips, Atsushi’s a little worried about the others, will they get the same offer? He doesn’t wanna have an unfair advantage over them. Byakko seems to have coined what he was trying to say.

“What your companions acquire is determined by their own guardians' judgment. I must refrain from intruding upon their private affairs,” Atsushi frowns and looks away, “however, I can offer a handful of suggestions, ones they may find manageable.” Atsushi beams at her. This means that they’ll all be on similar terms, though Atsushi is confused about what he should do about Chuuya. Considering Arahabaki is technically out of the picture, and the man himself is in fact not even aware of Arahabaki’s true role..? Or would it be status?

Just another one of those things to file away for later.

Atsushi wipes away the humidity wrapping around him, his clothes are beginning to stick uncomfortably to his skin-especially around his legs. The fabric weighs a ton on him, as if a weight had just been dumped unceremoniously into his pockets. Byakko herself doesn’t seem to mind the sudden influx of droplets clinging to her sleeves, she stands unperturbed by it all.

“So-what is it that you want me to do anyway?” Atsushi asks.

“What is it that I desire for you to undertake?” Byakko murmurs, “I believe the question worthy of your consideration is the reason behind it.” Great, more parlour games.

“Kobo?” Byakko nods.

“I am unable to divulge all, for to do so would contravene the numerous imperatives set in stone,” she says, tucking a rather long strand of hair behind her ear. She looks off into the distance. “Yet, that young man embodies peril; he is consumed by avarice, and should he remain unchecked, shall usher in a resurgence of malevolence into our world.”

“Malevolence?” Now he’s worried, he’d be more startled if Byakko actually cut out talking in riddles-but when he hears a word associated with danger, then he best believe it’s well-dangerous. “What could possibly make him more dangerous than he is now.”

His guardian glances down at him, eyes pinched in consideration and purses her lips. “Formidable trials await you, Atsushi. Let malevolence seep forth, and it shall never relinquish its grasp,” Byakko raises a hand, an open palm welcoming the water as it crawls into it. A cloudless glow sticks to it. “In this realm, warriors strive for dominion, while others embrace their freedom.”

The orb becomes clouded in ink-it’s obsidian color spreading in slow swirls.

“Yet, there are those intent on devastation.” The orb melts in her palm, staining the once clear water below her feet. “Kobo stands as but one of the myriad treasures this world holds dear.”

“You’re talking as if the world is some-living thing?” Atsushi flicks his toes lazily, he barely makes a splash.

Byakko blinks. “Is it not?” Atsushi looks up, ready to fire off a retort-only to find himself not having anything. Byakko smiles smugly. “This world earnestly calls upon you, Atsushi, and all of you, to champion its cause,” she says, an inconceivable urge rooted in her voice. Atsushi swallows the dryness in his throat, the light-heartedness that once coated the room; gone in a simple whir. He drags his fingertips over the bandages covered by his shirt-they dig into his skin.

“Byakko…” he inhales shakily, it’s dead quiet. An incessant buzzing floats, along with the calming ripples of water crashing into his feet as Byakko shifts-he can hear her gown drag and he focuses on the water pooling around his ankles. “I’m not…”

Not what? What are you not capable of?

What is he waiting for? What is he not capable of that he hasn’t done already?

Atsushi hears a screech from his right, he’s only given a split second to glance over at his coworker before Kobo strikes again. His leg screams in protest, the pain sending sparks up his poor nerves. He catches the sight of a knife, a quick flick and it’s soon dug straight into Yosano’s left shoulder.

He tries to call for her, but jets of sand soon dig into the ground he once stood on. Kobo doesn’t let up in his attacks, metal clashes and Yosano is thrown close to him-she hits the ground with a sickening crack and he winces internally for her.

Atsushi gives Kobo all he’s got, Yosano gives out commands and Chuuya lays still on the floor. Too still for his liking, his ears cloud and he can’t hear anything. The assailant is thrown back into a wall-Yosano rips something from her stomach before swinging her massive cleaver at the man.

Kobo grins madly, Atsushi’s claws meet skin and sand blinds him. Chuuya has stopped moving for a while now. Yosano drips blood from her mouth and shoulder, she looks frustrated. Atsushi falls over and over and over but gets back up-he doesn’t think Chuuya is breathing.

What hasn’t he done?

Atsushi is out in the fields again, his stomach pounds against the hunger he’s been trying to keep on the backburner. The blanket is soft, it doesn’t smell like dust or iron-Atsushi fiddles with the basket in his lap.

He made a flower crown for him, yellow daffodils to go with his long white hair. Grass crunches behind him before a heavy weight settles mere inches from Atsushi.

The flower crown has started to wilt, Atsushi should have expected that. They were cut from their roots, no nourishment to keep them alive. A pale hand reaches from behind to grab it, Atsushi doesn’t spare a glance, instead opting to work on the other crown to match.

He scratches his arms, the bandages becoming more and more stifling as he stays out under the sun. Each flower droops in between his fingers, they don’t deter his work at all-a plate is dropped beside him. Bread smeared with blackberry jam, it smells fresh.

He drops the crown back into the basket, snatching the slice of bread and shoving it in his mouth. They chuckle behind him, the jam has made its way all around his mouth-he doesn’t bother to wipe it away. Atsushi’s fingers are sticky, he contemplates whether to use a napkin or just lick the spread off.

He shoves his finger in his mouth, humming as each is cleaned with his tongue. They make a sound of disgust behind him, he cranes his neck back.

Atsushi smiles, then giggles.

They huff in bemusement, their hand coming to ruffle his hair. Some kids play behind them, the gate open for their recess. Atsushi returns to the flower crown, he should make a few more-maybe some for the younger kids. They don’t really get a chance to come out into the gardens, the staff don’t let them.

He needles each root into knots, one root snaps off. He throws it to the side and moves on, no point in mulling over it. More shuffling on the blanket, he can hear the kids yelling-they don’t sound pleasant. Maybe a fight broke out? Those are common among the older kids, they fight over the pettiest things.

Someone cries and another screams. Feet move across the field, Atsushi furrows his brows and turns his head to look-the hand is long gone. The staff has come out, Ms.Ari is barking orders to the others while Mr.Lee ushers the kids back into the orphanage. Another staff member comes up to the two of them, they talk to the man beside him but ignore Atsushi as he twists his head to look at the commotion.

Karen is dragged out from the forest, she’s screaming and crying-he can barely hear her. Mr.Kisaragi holds her by the armpits, hauling Karen away from the forest as other staff members go in. Atsushi turns to look at the man beside him, the staff member has since left and they look deep in thought.

“What happened?” He asks, his voice comes out too soft and it takes them a while to respond.

They hum. “An incident has occured, the headmaster wants all the kids to return back-lucky for you though Atsushi, he doesn’t expect it from us,” Atsushi nods, he doesn’t like when his time is cut short, but he does hope Karen’s okay. She’s nice to him, a bit weird though.

More staff members run into the forest, he can see the headmaster following them. Mr.Kisaragi and Karen are nowhere to be seen. He can see Ms.Ari and Ms.Sakura holding out a bed of sorts, it looks like the one he uses sometimes. Two other’s retrieve the movable bed from them before walking off into the forest. They look sad…and Mr.Sato looks like he’s about to barf. Atsushi huffs into his chest.

“What are you laughing at Atsushi?” Atsushi gazes up, cherry eyes grinning in confusion. He points at the forest. “Mr.Sato looks like he is about to throw up.” They raise an eyebrow.

“Is that so? Do you know what has happened?” Atsushi shrugs.

“No, you and Mr.Hayashi left me out of it,” he turns back to the forest, Ms.Ari is crying into a towel while Ms.Sakura comforts her. Something bad must have happened. The man beside him hums again, this time it sounds humorous.

Atsushi frowns and turns to him. “Do you know what happened? I saw Karen crying.” They ruffle his hair, he bats the hand away. “What happened?”

They ignore his question. “Karen?” Atsushi nods. “I know Karen, she’s a little harsh but nice when she wants to be.”

“Ah,” they blink, “I recognize her now.”

“You do?”

They nod. “Yes, yes. That little girl locked you in a broom closet around a week ago,” they shifted their body towards Atsushi. “Is that what you call nice?”

Atsushi winces. “She’s nice when she wants to be?” They laugh together.

Another scream pierces the air, staff leave the forest in a hurry. Some stop to catch their breath or to empty the contents of their stomachs. Atsushi feels bad for them.

“...here we go…” they murmur, Atsushi looks between them and the forest. Mr.Sato comes out holding one end of the bed, a tuft of black hair is barely visible from where Atsushi is.

From out of nowhere Karen runs back into the clearing, she jumps onto the bed-clinging and grasping onto it as others move to pull her off. The bed tilts over and out comes sprawling a kid. Atsushi gasps and covers his mouth, a hand pulls him in. Atsushi clings to the fabric as lifeless eyes stare into nothing. Karen crawls to the body, hauling them into her lap and she cries. Her wails resonate through the grounds and Ms.Sakura rushes over to try and pull her away, the teacher also crying silently.

“That’s…”

“Is it indeed,” the man voices, Atsushi startles slightly and looks up at the man. Their gaze is imperceivable, face stony and nothing is there to give away what they’re truly feeling. Atsushi glances back at the body, they’ve managed to reel Karen away in order to push the body back into the bed.

Atsushi was aware that he had gone missing, most just assumed he'd gotten fed up with the orphanage and ran away, Atsushi had believed the same thing. He'd been acting weird the previous days before leaving and had taken all his stuff.

Only thing he hadn’t taken was Karen.

“Is he dead…?” They look down at him, a small smile on his lips as he gently smooths Atsushi’s hair. “I believe so Atsushi, such a shame to see him go.”

“Shibusawa,” a deep voice calls out from a few paces away, Atsushi moves away and returns back to the flower basket. He can feel their eyes follow him, he picks up the droopy flower crown before stuffing it into the basket.

“Headmaster,” they greet, Atsushi is familiar with that tone. Full of boredom and practiced calm.

“I assume you are aware of our findings?”

They hum in agreement. “Yes, such a shame to see him go. Give my condolences to young Shiota.”

“Cut the bullshit Shibusawa,” the headmaster growls, Atsushi goes stiff. He picks up his pace in picking up the scattered flower petals, not bothering to retrieve the obviously torn ones. “Stay away from my children, you already have yours. So why must you go after mine!”

“I was unaware that these children were mere objects, to which you so refer?” Shibusawa makes a noise, one akin to silent laughter. “Yet I must jest, what do you speak of?”

“I know of what you have done, I know of all the drivel you have been driving into that poor boy's head and now!-” the headmaster snarls. “He is dead, what have you say for yourself?”

It goes quiet, Atsushi holds his breath and anxiously awaits for them to finish. The petal between his fingers has turned brown and ugly, not fit for a crown and not fit for Shibu. The wind rips the petal from his grip, the air carries it far away.

Shibusawa sighs. “Give my condolences to young Shiota, it truly is such a shame to see him go."

“Then why…” the headmaster whispers, well-Atsushi assumes it must be a whisper. With it being windy and all he didn’t expect to hear it. He finally turns towards both men. Shibu looks calm and collected while the headmaster clenches his fists-his face is red and weary with age. “Why do you wear it like a trophy…”

“Oh, you mean this?” Shibusawa pulls something from beneath his collar, a green necklace hung loosely around his neck. Atsushi marvels at the gem, its greenish hue clashing among apparent browns and oranges. Shibusawa glances at him, as if he knew Atsushi was staring. The man smirks before moving back to the headmaster. “It was supposed to be a gift, and now it seems I’ve ruined the surprise.”

The headmaster's head snaps to Atsushi, his face becoming more purple than red. Shibusawa smiles wider than Atsushi has seen, and they move to remove the necklace. He beckons Atsushi over, he hesitates but ultimately does so. He crawls to the man and tucks his legs beneath him-Shibusawa lifts the cord and grabs Atsushi’s hands, stuffing the beautiful necklace into his palms. The headmaster watches the exchange, his face set blank.

“I was meaning to give it to Atsushi, now it seems better than never.”

“You-” the headmaster tightens his lips, his hands have yet to relinquish the form of a fist beside his hips. Shibusawa ‘tsks’ under his breath, clicking his tongue is chastisement.

“You referred to these children as objects,” he moves to stand. Dusting nonexistent dust from his white pants. Shibusawa turns to the headmaster, his face pulled tight even as he smiles. “How does it feel to know that I now own one?”

What has he done?

Atsushi’s mind works to match the face of the boy in the woods. He can’t remember, he hasn’t been able to remember. As if some force is there, to block it out. His fists tighten as he snarls frustratingly, what was his name? Atsushi can’t for the life of him remember, he knows of Karen-she left before him. A grief too powerful to be contained and she wanted out.

Atsushi understands that now. Yet his chest aches stubbornly, there is something, something left behind in him.

He can envision his black inky hair, his candy-eyed stare and childish face.

Atsushi rationally knew that the rumors surrounding his death were kept well hidden, even years after they had passed some carried it on. Karen especially, she kept his memory alive through small stories and shared experiences. Even as she grew angrier as the orphanage worked to hide it.

And when she left, it all became a ghost story.

Atsushi watched as the older kids told it as a story, and those same kids did the same. He saw it as a stain on the boys honour, the kids saw it as fun. The headmaster never spoke of the boy again, and Karen disappeared.

He remembers the day they found him, pulled out of the forest half rotten and teeming with growing earth. Even from where he was, the horrid stench was putrid and Atsushi couldn’t help but-

But what?

Atsushi freezes, he can recall the field and its flowers-the dying peonies and yellow daffodils. The sweet nectar of jam paired with stale bread, a windy day so harsh it almost toppled him over multiple times. A faint scent of wet dirt and the ticklish fibers of his mangled blanket.

His head hurts just thinking about it, a growing migraine eating away at his leftover brain cells-the rest taken by Jun, which clearly his friend needs more than him.

Peridot eyes flash behind his own, he squeezes his eyes shut-tight enough until he can see stars dance behind his lids. He can’t put a name to the boy, he was close to Karen-close enough for her to leave after his death. Known enough for even Atsushi to be shocked.

A boy he could have helped if he hadn’t been so naive.

Byakko stares at him steadily, her eyes narrowed as if to decipher whatever is going on in Atsushi’s mind. He hasn’t said a word to her, each syllable stuck in his throat and crammed deep into his chest. His focus is on the water below, blurred flowers moving along with occasional waves-his reflection stares back.

Bruising below his eyes, chapped lips, colourless skin. Each a sign of his deteriorating health, he doesn’t know when Oscar’s ability will finally consume him, the man himself curiously has faith that Atsushi will overcome it. Even so, he can feel it eat away at him, he wonders if Chuuya feels the same. He can’t imagine what the executive is going through, unaware of what is actually going on behind the scenes-what Kobo’s planning, the immense danger they’re in.

And yet he’s stuck, uselessly hanging about not being able to do anything. No ability, physically and mentally impaired, and close to death's door. As the agency works tirelessly day and night to track down Kobo, he isn’t there with them when he’s supposed to be. Not there to help Kunikida with the files, not there to scout with Kenji and Jun, not there to wrap up missions with Kyoka or Dazai.

Have they eaten? Have they been taking care of themselves? Is the search getting to them, do they grow tired and frustrated.

Have they given up?

“...Byakko I-” his guardian cocks her head, a gesture to show she’s listening. The waves grow restless and harsher-a mirror to his insides. A hurricane brews elsewhere, forming a storm he can’t shield himself away from, hopelessly exhausting him as he feels his life slowly drain from him. How can he save his friends when he can’t even save himself?

Atsushi inhales through his mouth, the cold air doesn’t help to soothe his voice as he speaks. “I’m not fit to help anyone,” he can’t bear to look at her, can’t bring himself to let her see his shame so plainfully, “not my friends…or my family.”

“How can I, when I can’t even save myself?” He huffs, it’s decrepit and fit for a failure like him. His clone warbles as he kicks the water weakly, his face distorting before his eyes. He can’t save his family, he can’t save anyone-Atsushi knows he’ll only bring them down. “I’m sorry Byakko…I-I wish I could-…could be what you want me to be.”

He raises his head, waiting.

She says nothing, merely stares at him with a piercing gaze-shards of ice watch, calculate and soon soften lightly. Atsushi flinches at the shift, his fist clenched painfully at his sides-he ducks his head and shuts his eyes. Willing himself to blink back the buildup growing behind his eyelids, he doesn’t want to cry-he doesn’t want to be weak, not anymore.

“Atsushi,” she brings a finger to his chin-a bit of force is put behind it as she tilts his head up. “One is not fashioned with a fixed purpose, nor conceived to embody a singular role. I harbor no expectations of you to be anything for myself or for others; whatever path you choose, I shall unwaveringly support it.” She cradles his chin with her finger, such a small action close to bringing him to tears. Her maternal ambience zaps the tenseness from his body, and he yearns for more. Yearns for her arms around his body, for the pressure to grow crushing so he can revel in it with no indignity.

His lips wobble dangerously, he sinks his teeth into the skin inside his mouth. The tangy taste of copper spreads like wine over his tongue. The pain allows Atsushi to steel himself, Byakko continues to speak but most is muffled to him-his greed diverts his attention to her warmth.

“What is it that you so ardently desire, that you would willingly succumb to grief?”

“I-” he laughs wetly, what does he want-what is it that he agonizes over every time he wakes up. He fights for many things, each a variable that makes him whole-he fights for his people and he fights for his friends. He sheds blood and gore for Yokohama, a place he never once considered home but held so dearly by the agency and mafia. “I don’t know!” he can sense his face twisting up, Atsushi hunches into himself-curling up just as he did when he was a child. A boy brought into the world with no sense of who or what they are.

“I am confident you do, Atsushi; you have always possessed this knowledge.” He does know, he’s always been aware of it-but his own weakness stops him, his pathetic will a fabricated lie to cover up what he truly wants. From everyone and no one at the same time. Dampness spills over his cheeks, his nose fighting to gain air as he chokes over his words.

“I-I think I want to be forgiven…” he confesses, it feels like a confession-similar to professing his sins to the still statue of god at an altar or the orphanage. His enmity for his own feebleness shows through his actions, from the sharp pain on his skin from his nails to the disgusting tears leaking down his face and into the pool of water.

He wants the boy from the forest to forgive him, to know he’s sorry for what he’s done. It was his fault, his fault for walking away from that man. He wants Dazai to forgive him, for being weak and ashamed of his own past-for choosing to live in the shadows of his unhappiness rather than move forward. He wants Chuuya to forgive him, for not being able to protect the executive, for hiding the truth from him. He so desperately longs for the agency to forgive him, to forgive his transgressions and horrors that soon followed them.

He wants Akutagawa to forgive him, for all his harshness and forced naivety he pushed upon the man. For stealing his mentor away from him, for not being able to convince the mafioso that he’s strong. His rival and partner, he’s sorry for not trusting him-for not being able to put their past behind and in doing so he’s managed to always ruin their shared moments of peace.

He’s so fucking sorry, for being the first to break their promise.

“Is that truly your desire?”

He wants to cling to their promise, to their shared moments of understanding and true companionship. He fights a losing battle with the now steady stream of tears falling down his face, it hurts as he forcefully rubs them away-his skin still feels cool.

“More than anything,” it comes out as a whisper, Atsushi’s chest stutters painfully as he tries to compose himself-it only makes it worse when the next breath leaves him gasping and crying even harder.

Byakko does something funny with her lips, a mix between a frown and a smile yet it conveys her emotions clearly. “One day, you shall accomplish that dream. Yet, until that moment arrives, you must fight for it.”

“I’m so tired of fighting,” Atsushi childishly retorts.

Byakko only smiles, amused however much her eyes say differently. “Indeed, yet what are individuals devoid of their intimate struggles?”

“And you would know…how?” Atsushi deadpans, his cries momentarily on pause.

She arches a brow, tantalized by his words. “I have you don’t I?”

Ah, right. The whole ability being corporeal and synonymous to him or whatever the hell Ranpo said-he really should stop getting distracted at meetings, Atsushi bets most of that information would have been useful right about now.

“Right,” Atsushi draws out the word, his crying session now officially over as he recalls the very weird connection he and Byakko have outside of contact. Technically she lives in his body just not…physically?

Yeah, he really should start listening at the meetings.

“Can you really feel all my emotions?” Well, what a way to ruin the moment, but in Atsushi’s defense-it’s a well proposed question. Byakko doesn’t say anything, instead motions with her hand-a single finger pointed towards his chest. “Not stated overtly, merely bits that have been dislodged amid your episodes of abrupt tempers and the like.”

She retrieves her hand, dropping it by her side and reverting back into her statue-like posture.“We are akin, sharing in our sentiments; yours may be more profound than my own.”

Atsushi opens his mouth to badger her with another question, he doesn’t get to before the water underneath them ripples harshly and the walls begin to shake. The sudden shift is so abrupt that Atsushi doesn’t get the chance to steady himself. He crumples against the weight and careens into the liquid surface. His hands find purchase amidst the weirdly thick water. The area continues to shake and he finds himself slipping atop the surface, his clothes now undeniably drenched.

Byakko looks around the room, then gazes down at him. White flickers all around, the flowers trapped underneath the water slowly begin to disperse. His reflection warbles in a myriad of colors, his fingertips graze the single peony that floats up, before it too is taken by the current.

“Byakko, what’s happening?” Atsushi scrambles back to his feet, minding the waves that threaten to topple him over again. A flash of white engulfs him for a split second before he notices the tell-tale sign of fabric. His panic subsides for a second, before it’s back when he observes the walls around them beginning to crack.

His guardian's freakishly long sleeve wraps around him as Byakko pulls Atsushi closer to her.

“Our time grows increasingly limited,” and that sentence alone sends Atsushi into a bit of a frenzy. “Wait, are you-” he timidly swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth, he grips onto her sleeve in desperation, “are we out of time?”

She nods, her brow furrowed in focus. Atsushi meets her eyes as she grabs him by the shoulders. “Atsushi,” the world around them shakes harder with every second passing. Atsushi holds on tighter as his feet slide against the water. “I implore you to seek out the origin of your undoing and to eradicate it from this realm.”

The water around them slowly becomes undone, like thread-the water circles upwards in thin streams. Disappearing into the fogginess above him and Byakko.

Atsushi watches her with wide eyes, hands glide into his peripheral as they float mere inches from his cheeks. “Refrain from alteration, nor allow yourself to be swayed. Those responsible for your circumstances harbor malevolent intentions and will stop at nothing to inflict harm upon you,” she urgently says. The urgency in her voice does nothing to soothe his fear, he’s well aware of what he has to do even if he’s hesitant about it.

Flowers sprout from hiding, slowly blooming beneath their bare feet-some float upwards along with the streams and too disappear from sight.

“I shall bestow upon you a shard of my power, Atsushi; wield it wisely, and whatever you do-” Byakko looks deep into his eyes, her bioluminescent iris glowing even in the white coffin of wherever they are. “Be assured that you are not alone in this endeavor.”

“I can’t do this,” Atsushi shakes from the weight of it all, knowing that soon Byakko will be gone along with the room. Knowing he can’t summon her for help or guidance, the deity in front of him runs a hand through his hair-the motion quick but calming.

Her hand runs through several more strands and her face hardens in determination. “Do not allow the uncertainties of life to envelop you in fear, Atsushi. I shall be present for you, not in flesh or in your reveries, but in the delicate fragments of courage I am certain you possess.” Tiny specks float above her shoulders and separate from her clothes, Byakko herself was beginning to disappear and Atsushi knew there was nothing he could do about it. Green flecks followed the streams and flowers, her touch gone in the span of seconds as they dissolved.

Byakko watches his hesitance and pushes forth with more words. “Our moments have drawn to a close,” she closes the distance, her chin now atop his forehead as she nuzzles his hair. It’s a familiar notion, one he’s known himself to do to Kyoka and Kenji.

Head to chest, Atsushi lets himself revel in their final moments. Lets himself hold onto her even as she begins to turn to mist beneath his touch, her hair no longer grazes the rigid surface.

A small rumbling noise emits from her chest, it comforts him as he no longer feels her waist.

“I’ll miss you Byakko.”

She purrs softly as she continues to nuzzle his hair. “This is but one among the numerous instances where our paths shall cross once more.”

He can see the tiny flecks of green and blue climb up, it leaves a deep feeling of sadness in him. Atsushi can’t bear to look at Byakko, but he does so anyway. The first thing he sees are golden eyes that stare at him with equal reluctance and acceptance, her lips form into a small smile. And that is the last he sees of her, Byakko closes her eyes and turns to mist.

Atsushi watches as the stream continues upwards and the room crumbles to darkness. The waves now more forceful than ever, rather than wait to be knocked to the ground-Atsushi sits.

And he waits.

〜✶♣✶〜

He jolted awake with a strangled gasp, his eyes fleeting all around the room. For a second-Atsushi didn’t recognize where he was. His breaths were coming out sharp, lingering aches in his joints screamed out in protest as he shifted around the bed.

Somehow the blanket that once covered him was gone, still in the haze of sleep, Atsushi stirred in bed. His left hand came to grasp at the covers soaked in sweat around him, it was still dark, only a subtle light of blue from the night sky. He moved to sit up, blinking continuously in order to adjust to the room's darkness.

And then it hit.

A sharp, stabbing pain flared in his left arm, it was sudden and gureling. Atsushi hunched into himself, a groan punched out of him as he gritted his teeth against the unexpected attack.

He could feel himself spasm as he clenched his fist instinctively-somehow the pain only doubled. His vision blurred, body now sluggish as he gripped his arm.

Atsushi froze, something was off.

His fingers hesitantly brushed where his left arm should be, instead familiar fur tickled the skin lurking beneath his nails.

Slowly and cautiously, he sat up fully and looked down. His breath caught.

What he assumed was his sweat, wasn’t really. Atsushi could now smell the thick, tangy scent of copper. The sheets, now with his vision well adjusted, were drenched in rather large pools of red. He could now feel it on his clothes and on his skin, the smell became stronger the more Atsushi focused on it.

His eyes widened by a fraction, as they moved towards the source of it all. His left arm, which had once held skin-vanished. Replaced by coarse white fur streaked with black, the familiar limb flexed at his side.

For some reason, panic surged up his throat. Not because of the sudden use of his ability, but rather the blood that coated his pristine coat. His arm still ached in phantom pain, like bouts of lighting were climbing up his arm. Atsushi jumped out of the bed, his arm still dripping with blood, his blood.

Atsushi tried to scream, but only a pitiful whimper escaped. The pain was becoming too much, his senses too were now overwhelming him. He could smell the blood clearer than ever-like copper and fear-the weight of his limb also threw him off after not having an ability for so long.

He trembled violently, every inch of his left arm burned with an unfamiliar pain, he’s never felt during his prior transformations. Another burst of pain sent him crashing into the desk beside him, knocking over his bag and bringing him to his knees. His arm brushed against the chair, sending fresh jolts of agony through his nerves, Atsushi could swear he saw stars.

He gasped as tears welled in his eyes, his other hand gripping his transformed arm tightly. Atsushi dropped his head on the floor, still fighting for a breath of air as the pain soon turned into a thrumming echo of what he had experienced earlier.

“Fuck…fuck what the fuck,” he whispered hoarsely, voice trembling. “Totally not supposed to feel this pain. This isn’t normal! Need to call Dazai, I need to-” he groaned into the carpeted floor, the pain has definitely subsided for now but he can still feel it in his arm.

Using whatever strength left in his legs, Atsushi slowly hauled himself back up. Using the desk as support and making sure to not bump his transformed arm into it-wouldn’t want to kiss the floor again. He dragged himself to the door, his feet heavy with fatigue. His breath came out doused in exhaustion, using the door as support-Atsushi leaned against it. His arm, to no one's surprise, bumped against the handle.

“Agh-fuck ow!” He hissed and jumped away from the door, slamming into the wall. His legs, sad little things they are, crumbled beneath him. Atsushi dropped to his knees, his poor skin sliding against the carpet and ensuring he would be left with rug burn.

Atsushi’s lip trembled as he stared down at his arm-or rather paw?

A sob slipped out before he could stop it, dropping his head against the wall and letting the pain rattle in his skull. He tried to curl his paw into a fist but couldn’t-too much pain. Atsushi could only sob in the darkness of the room, it was too much for him, a fire lit within his nerves and decimating all feeling in his transformed arm.

He could hear footsteps outside the door, some rising voices too-they sounded urgent. Atsushi held his breath-waiting-before a voice rose above the more muffled ones.

“Atsushi? It’s me Gin! Are you awake? We heard something fall,” Atsushi heaved as bile crawled up his throat, more muffled voices joined the fray-he couldn’t let them see him like this. He clawed at the limb, it feels like his whole arm is being rebuilt-a burning pressure building underneath his skin. Atsushi did his best to muffle his groan, but it wasn’t enough.

Someone pounds on the door, he doesn’t bother to answer Gin. “Atsushi? Are you okay,” her concern only made him feel worse, his breath hitching in intervals-trying his best to block out the incessant pain to go away. The pressure was relentless, it twisted and pulled at his muscles, every nerve ignited with sharp agony.

“Please…please just stop,” Atsushi whispered in-between sobs, he clutched the furred limb-more fiery sparks sprouting yet he gritted his teeth in defiance. His body shook uncontrollably, wracked with quiet sobs-even breathing hurt.

The handle on the door rattled, it continued to shake as someone attempted to open it. Atsushi forgot he locked it. “Hey kid,” the voice is desperate, familiar, but the door still doesn’t budge. Atsushi couldn’t open it for them, his legs feel like jelly-and he’s oh so tired. “Come on kid, open the door! Fuck…”

Atsushi pressed up against the wall, his heart in his throat as muffled voices called from the other side.

“Atsushi! Please, it's me and Chuuya! Let us in!”

His ears caught the sound of several footsteps, quick and filled with urgency. The doorknob rattled violently as someone, Gin or Chuuya, tried to turn it again only to be met with the lock. They tried multiple times, yet the door didn’t give.

“Akutagawa! Tachihara, get your asses over here and fucking help!” Chuuya shouted.

The pounding intensified and only caused Atsushi to wince, his hearing now ten-times stronger than before. He tucks his knees into his chest, still gripping onto his injured arm-his claws scraped against the floor as he curled into himself more.

Atsushi squeezed his eyes shut, breaths coming fast and shallow, heart pounding in his chest as if it’s trying to break free. He swallowed hard, nerves screaming and his mind hazy.

With a loud crack, the lock finally caved in. The door swung open on its creaky hinges, slamming against the wall as two faces rushed inside-eyes wide in shock.

“Oh my god,” Gin covers her mouth, voice trembling.

Chuuya steps forward, surveying the room's surroundings before stopping on Atsushi. “Gin,” he starts, voice calm and devoid of panic, “get the first aid kit from the bathroom.” The girl hesitates but nods, sharing one last look with her superior before rushing out-now giving Atsushi a clearer view of Akutagawa and Tachihara.

Atsushi’s breaths came slower as he watched the mafioso step closer, his movements calculated and slow. “What…what happened Atsushi?”

Atsushi could only stare, as the relentless ache in his arm pounded even harder as he tried to shift himself into a better position. The world around him seemed to blur, edges softening, his movements now a bit sluggish.

“I…I don’t know…it hurts,” he whispered, voice barely audible over the background noise pooling in his ears. Inky embers cloud his peripheral vision, dimming in and out as he tries to maintain eye contact with Chuuya.

The mafioso kneels before him as the lights suddenly are turned on, he hisses at it-attempting to shield his eyes only for him to double over in pain. A gasp is torn from his throat-a raw and ragged sound filled with shock and agony. His arm smarts, muscles spasming due to the surge of pain kicking up a storm in his arm.

“Oh shit,” someone else says, Atsushi can’t help but laugh at that. Oh shit indeed.

“Where does it hurt?” Chuuya asks, his hands mere inches from his body but not touching.

“Fuck, it’s my arm, it just-I activated my ability somehow,” he cries, the pain flaring as he clutches his arm again. Chuuya glances from him to the dirtied bed, then to his furried arm. “Akutagawa, I’m gonna need you to carry him with your ability to the couch,” the man in question makes a face but deftly does as he’s told. Chuuya turns to Tachihara. “Change his sheets and notify the agency.”

“Ew, really? Why do I get the boring job!” Tachihara moans.

Akutagawa approaches him, his partner looking down at his pitiful state. His sharp eyes scan him before he crouches beside Chuuya. The two share a look before Chuuya stands up. “I’m gonna go set up the couch, your bed is dirty and we need to bandage you up anyway.”

“I’ll check on Tachihara, we need to contact the agency,” he says before ultimately and against Atsushi’s wishes, leaves the room.

Atsushi casts his eyes away from the mafioso, willing himself to focus on something other than the pain in his arm and the man's sharp gaze.

“You’re hurt,” Akutagawa says, voice rough and blank. “How you managed to do that from the sanctity of this apartment astounds me were-tiger.”

Atsushi rolls his eyes, the audacity of the man. “You should be used to it by now, Akutagawa.”

The man narrows his eyes, lips forming into a barely conceivable frown. They stare at one another, his dull eyes shining underneath the room's lighting. Without hesitation, Akutagawa scoops Atsushi into his arms-obviously with no regard to his current problem.

“Ah-! No, fuck Akutagawa!” Atsushi yelps, his normal hand finding purchase by clinging onto Akutagawa lapels-he hisses at the movement. The fire returns as the mafioso gets back on his feet and adjusts his hands that clearly are under Atsushi’s knees and against his back.

“Quit moving were-tiger,” the man snaps, tightening his grip as if to anchor the both of them, or more so Atsushi. Atsushi glares at the man, their faces mere inches from each other. “I wouldn’t be moving as much if you gave me a warning,” he slaps the man’s chest in a childish manner and freezes-Akutagawa merely arches a non-existent brow.

“You are not made of glass were-tiger, such an action can’t surely bring you so much pain?” Is he serious? Atsushi blinks, before giving the man an incredulous look and pointing to the bed. Akutagawa follows the notion and just shrugs.

“Dude, are you serious right now?”

“I don’t joke were-tiger.”

Atsushi groans, slapping a hand to his face and dragging it down with exaggeration. “Of course I’m in pain!” He yells, Atsushi grabs the mans lapels and pulls him in closer, he’s fucking tired, miserable and in a load of pain-but that won’t stop him from pumelling the mafioso if he gets on his last nerve. “My fucking arm feels like it’s on fire right now, so please stop being a smartass,” he snarled, his eyes ablaze with raw unadulterated frustration.

Akutagawa's gaze burned into Atsushi like a hot branding die, his words coming out low and venomous. “Stop moving, you utter imbecile!” Atsushi’s breath hitched as the man fought to maintain his stance. Yet he doesn’t let go of the man's lapel, instead he meets his angry stare head on-wriggling in his arms.

“So help me were-tiger, I will drop you if you don’t stop moving,” he growls, his grip tightening to the point it’s become painful. “Why must you make this difficult?”

“You’re not exactly gentle Akutagawa,” Atsushi shot back, their noses brush-a feathery tickle that makes him wrinkle his nose. “As a matter of fact, you’re quite literally hurting me right now!”

“I am not! You are just weak.”

“Like hell I am!”

“Hey, I’m back with the sheets-”

Atsushi jumps and pulls away from the mafioso, crooking his head to see above the black shoulder-he spots Tachihara unruly mop of orange hair. The teen freezes, his hands busied by a mountain of sheets. “Uhhh, am I interrupting? I could come back later-”

“We were just leaving,” the pressure around his knees and back lessened, their argument hanging heavy in the air as they quickly moved towards the living room. Atsushi spots Gin and Chuuya sitting on the island in the kitchen, a box of medical supplies between them. They stop in front of the two. “Where should I put him, Chuuya?” Chuuya blinks and points at the couch, while Gin only raises her brows.

Akutagawa nods and then the two are off again. Atsushi is rather rudely dropped on the couch and he can’t help the curse that leaves his mouth. “Aw fuck! Can’t you be a bit more gentle?”

The mafioso scoffs and crosses his arms. Asshole.

Gin crosses the threshold with the med kit in two, dropping it on the coffee table and sitting beside him. “I would bandage up your uh-wounds? But is it possible if you can?” She gestures at the limb, he looks down at his transformed arm-now with better lighting he can see the crusted blood that has dried on his fur. He actually doesn't know how he injured himself, but he can see faint scratches from his shoulder to his wrist.

They look like tears.

And another torn shirt-great. “I’m not sure if I can,” Atsushi sighs, the pain has thankfully dulled but he should be careful bumping into things for the foreseeable future until his tiger arm disappears.

Gin nods, though her face is worried. “Chuuya already talked to the agency, they said they would send Dazai over to check it out,” she cocks her head, “you really scared us.”

“Yeah-I uhh…I’m really sorry about that,” and he really is, he hadn’t wanted to scare them or even make them worried-especially Chuuya. The mafioso already has his own problems to deal with, and Atsushi doesn’t want to add to that.

Chuuya returns with a mug in his hand, setting it down on the table before moving to sit on a loveseat beside him. “So kid, good news. They're gonna send Dazai over to cancel your ability,” Chuuya drops one leg over the other, “and safe to say there isn’t any bad news-unless he cancels your ability and you're left with actual injuries then I guess you can count that as the bad news.”

“In any case,” the man crosses his arms, “wanna explain what happened?”

“Err,” Atsushi hunches in on himself, unsure on how to proceed. On one hand, he could tell Chuuya the truth-finally tell him everything about Oscar and the others, but he would be watched by Akutagawa and Gin. It’s a tough decision to make, and ultimately Atsushi isn’t a good liar-but he’d rather take the fall than expose Oscar.

“Well uh, you see,” he licks his chapped lips, “I was uhh-sleeping and then I just woke up. I didn’t know about my arm or the blood until I noticed when I tried to fully sit up.” He winces at the choice of wording, but continues. “The pain just became too much, I tried to call Dazai but-” he frowns, “I didn’t get very far.”

Chuuya nods, his hands now intertwined as they lay in between his knees. “And I should assume…it’s probably the ability?”

“No, it doesn’t line up. If it really was his ability then I wouldn’t be able to use my own,” he nibbles at his lip, “I don’t really know what happened.” Atsushi assumes it has to be Byakko, she said she would return but a piece to him, maybe it slipped her mind that the transformation would be painful?

“I’ve been able to use mine for about a minute or two, maybe it’s the same thing for you,” Chuuya says, Atsushi snaps his head towards the man-the mafioso only offers a wonky grin. That…that shouldn’t be possible, not with how Oscar told him his ability worked. But of course, Arahabaki comes into play-if the god himself isn’t in contact with Byakko or the other gods, maybe it’s doing it’s best for Chuuya without their guidance.

“Though, I obviously didn’t have it as bad as you do right now,” he gestures to the limb, “really kid, can’t ever catch a break huh?”

Atsushi knows that Chuuya’s trying to lighten him up with a bit of humour, though the joke is downright horrible he still cracks a grin. “Yosano’s probably going to want to check it out then, it shouldn’t be possible for us to use our abilities let alone even trigger them.” Gin grabs a towel and bottle from the first aid kit, drenching it then offering the piece to Atsushi. He can smell the antiseptic off of it, he wrinkles his nose but takes it anyways.

Using the towel, he gently wipes at the crusted blood. It smears and doesn’t seem to budge as he laps at it over and over. His arm tingles from the antiseptic, it burns a mild irritation as he finally manages to remove a cluster off the fur. Atsushi works meticulously to clean his fur, though it does sting, it's not enough to elicit a strong reaction from him.

He drags at a rather stuck clump, leaving a pale pink smear on the towel. Tachihara soon returns from his chore, plopping himself on the other side of the couch, his head and arms thrown back on the couch, he lets out a very tired groan.

“Ya know, you're lucky we were around. If we hadn’t been overviewing the files with Chuuya, you’d have been stuck with sticky blankets,” Tachihara jokes, tilting his head towards him with a wry grin. Atsushi rolls his eyes.

“Thanks for the help,” he mutters, focusing on removing the now pink smears on his fur-they were giving him a bit of trouble. “What time is it anyways?”

“Hmm, close to ten. We got here around eight to do some work.”

“You guys can get back to er-whatever you were doing, I’ll wait for Dazai,” it shouldn’t be too long for his mentor to arrive, the port mafia headquarters isn’t far from the agency-maybe a ten minute car ride at least?

Wait, would they even be able to use the agency car at this time of night?

“Nah,” Chuuya waves him off, the executive now holding a lit cigarette. “I’ll wait, can’t say the same for you guys,” he makes a point to look at the siblings and Tachihara. Tachihara merely shrugs, snatching the crumpled back from the coffee table like a starved animal before dropping it on Atsushi’s lap.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Atsushi produces himself one of the hell sticks, Tachihara lights it for him. The immediate sensation of nicotine in his lungs makes him shiver, he’s not one to smoke but since being introduced by said ginger he just can’t stop.

He’ll have to put it out before Dazai arrives.

Tachihara dropped some of the ashes in a small bowl. “I’m not busy, most of what we've been doing is trying to find Kobo.”

“You guys haven’t been um going on other missions and stuff?” Atsushi asks.

Gin shakes her head, her hair undone and pooling on the seat. “The boss has decided to put our missions on hold, from what I’ve heard from Higuchi. A few other battalion squads have taken them over under Koyo and the boss’s jurisdiction,” she taps her chin in a steady rhythm. “The three of us including Hirotsu have been put on Kobo’s case, though sometimes we’ll be called to do some cleanup if the other squads don’t complete the mission.”

“Yeah, so were not that busy other than trying to track down Kobo and his bastard friend,” Tachihara lifts the stick to his lips, “it’s been a real fucking hassle, so far we’ve got nothing but theories.”

Gin seems to agree with her friend, cocking her head in solemn agreement. “So far we’ve only managed to uncover what Kobo might want, and honestly it’s a bit shaky. We have multiple leads to go off of but we can’t do that without finding the ability user first,” she sighs.

Now that piqued his interest. “What type of leads?”

“Well for starters,” Tachihara waves a hand, “we’re looking for something called ‘soul fragments’. Dazai said it was connected to you and Chuuya, thus it probably being one of the reasons why Kobo was hell bent on trying to kidnap Chuuya.”

“Next, we're trying to capture Kobo’s allies. We suspect he’s not working alone and that’s why he’s been able to plan this whole thing for years. But without any real solid leads on his whereabouts, we’re kinda stuck. The boss has sent me and Gin out to scout a couple of possible places but so far we’ve got nothing.”

“The only reason we’ve been able to get this far is because of Dazai,” Gin interjects smoothly, “without him we would be going in blind.”

“Don’t forget that Kobo’s after Shibusawa’s fragment too,” Chuuya mutters darkly, “with them being buddies during the conflict.” Atsushi blinks, fucking Dazai.

He knew it was a possibility that Kobo or someone else was after Shibusawa’s fragment, though he’s still not even sure if Shibusawa's fragment is still out there. Maybe he put a bit too much trust in his mentor, yet he can’t complain-Dazai hasn’t done anything to out him so far. He’ll have to talk to him, if the agency and mafia are both after Shibusawa’s fragment it wouldn’t bode well with Oscar.

Though he's heard the word ‘soul fragment’ he’s still unsure what it is. Oscar has a theory about it having to do with them, and if Atsushi is going farther than he thinks it might have to do with their abilities. “Kobo knew Shibusawa?” It’s a thin line, one he’ll need to tread carefully.

Atsushi had almost forgotten about Akutagawa, that is until a grating voice full of sickness spoke up. “Your agency has concluded that Kobo was involved in the dragon’s head conflict, alongside Shibusawa and the Rib of Epicurus.”

“The Rib of Epicurus?”

“It was a small mercenary guild back then, Kobo being one of their leading figures,” Gin picks up where her brother left off, “but now it’s grown stronger, that’s why it’s one of our main concerns. If Kobo still has connections to them, then it’ll pose a huge problem within our investigation.”

“Especially with our field operatives,” Tachihara pipes in. “Those fuckers may be able to hold their own, but if ability users are involved-their as good as dead.”

“That…is rather concerning,” Atsushi mumbles, he’ll have to relay that information to Oscar as soon as possible. Meiko and the others are currently searching for potential hideouts, he needs to warn them fast-it’d be dangerous not too.

If Kobo isn’t working alone then there must be a bigger picture behind it all. During his last confrontation with Kobo, Atsushi was given a first-hand interrogation with the man after he went on a massacre in Chofu. He’s not one to be dealt with so easily.

“But I don’t understand? Shibusawa is gone, last I checked there was nothing left of him!” Atsushi is sure of it, fucking positive. That man had died right before his very eyes, a stain on his past-gone, in the blink of an eye.

A moment that should have felt gratifying, instead lingered like a pulsed wound in his chest.

“We suspect there's nothing left of him, but if there is a chance that his crystal thing is still out there-and Kobo’s after it. We can’t take any chances,” Chuuya said, then sighed heavily. “I don’t know what you’re relationship with him was kid-”

Atsushi looked towards the mafioso, the cigarette in his hand-crushed in half like a twig. “Or what he did to you, but like Dazai said-we can’t have another Fyodor 2.0 running around.”

The mafioso ran a hand through his messy locks, before dragging it down his face. He turned to drop his arms over the armrests, it’s much later now-he can tell how tired they are. With Tachihara’s constant yawning and Gin attempting to subtly rub the tiredness out of her eyes-even Chuuya looks to be dozing off.

The only person in the room who looks mildly okay is Akutagawa, if Atsushi doesn’t account for his creepy stock still posture and the way he’s boring holes into his face.

“No, you’re completely right. After the incident we didn’t really see what was left, so there might be a chance it really is still out there,” which, if it is. Is really shoddy work on the division’s part. Only he, Kyoka, Dazai and Akutagawa were aware during Shibusawa’s defeat-the executive himself had fainted after using corruption.

A door opens in the background, calling for the patrons in the living room to glance over. Shoddy brown hair pops up, his mentor waving a hand. “Atsushi! I’m here!” Atsushi shoves the crushed cigarette into Tachihara’s hand, the boy cursing as ash drops reign down on his pants. Dazai strides towards him, his hands tucked deep within his coat pockets. His mentor stops mere inches from him and glances down at his furry problem.

“Well at least you got your ability back.”

Atsushi shoots him a blank look. “Is it truly back if I can’t even use it?”

Dazai shrugs, leaning in to get a closer look. “Only if you don’t try! Or at least that’s what Yosano says,” he examines the limb, pointer and thumb holding his chin as he hums. His eyes flick over to the bloodied towel then back. “Does it hurt?”

“Only when I move it, but right now not so much,” Atsushi shakes his head.

“How’d this even happen?” He looks at Atsushi, a silent question bubbling between them. How did you manage to summon your ability under Oscar's influence? He’d truly love to answer it, but just like Dazai-he doesn’t know either.

“I-I don’t know, it just activated probably sometime when I was sleeping.”

Dazai hums. “I see you’re still injured though? I should have called Yosano, if you’re suffering from lacerations after I cancel your ability I don’t think that cute little med box will do anything.”

“We can handle it from here Dazai,” Chuuya sneers, “Akutagawa is a trained medic, he’ll handle it.”

Atsushi whips his head around. “Wait what? I can bandage myself up too ya know!”

“With one hand?”

“I’ve done it before and even in worse conditions,” Atsushi sniffs.

“That’s not a flex kid?” Chuuya reels back.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dazai waves them both off, “no need to get your little tail in a twist Sushi-I’m sure you’ll get your chance to bandage yourself up when you’re near death's door another time.” His hand hovers over Atsushi’s transformed arm, Gin scoots closer with a new clean towel that also reeks of antiseptic-he gives her a questioning look. “Just in case you really are injured,” is what she says.

A burst of blue erupts in the living room just as Dazai lays a flat palm on his arm-the sensation is the same as always. A slight tingle that bubbles underneath the surface, he’s familiar with his mentor's ability-it having been used on him multiple times but it still makes him anxious sometimes. Even more so when he doesn’t hear the usual gruff complaint of Byakko.

The process is quick, his arm morphs back into its original form. Dazai backs away with a satisfied grin, then plants his hands on his hips. Atsushi lifts his aching limb to examine it, and just as Gin predicted-he really is injured.

Gin makes quick work of wiping his arm down with the towel, then produces a roll of bandages and a small suture kit. “I’ll spray your arm with some numbing spray and then my brother will get started on stitching you up. The scars don't look that deep, my best guess is they’re superficial.”

Atsushi grimaces. “Gin…no offense-but I'm not too keen on letting Akutagawa come near me with a needle.” Gin snickers, continuing to wipe down the area before moving back to the box for the spray. “He won’t hurt you Atsushi, not with Chuuya around at least.”

“It’s okay Gin,” Dazai swipes the spray from her, the assassin now staring at her empty hand.

“I’m sure Akutagawa won’t have a problem helping Atsushi,” his mentor shoves the spray into Akutagawa’s hand, the mafioso freezing at the sudden touch. “Now shoo! Both of you, I need to talk to the slug,” Dazai hauls Atsushi off the couch, keeping a bit of distance between him and his injured arm-Atsushi is quite literally rudely pushed towards the mafioso.

Dazai doesn’t bother to say anything else before throwing the med kit at them, and shoving them away from the living room. Atsushi shoots his mentor a venomous glare before stomping back to his room-quiet footsteps following. He doesn’t bother to listen in on their conversation, instead rushing into his room and dropping himself on the bed.

Akutagawa follows, the mafioso glances at the spray in his hand then at Atsushi. He doesn’t say anything as he approaches the bed, kicking the chair into a better position before sitting himself right in front of him.

Akutagawa’s eyes immediately locked onto his arm, trailing down the faint smears. He struck out a hand, his move calculated. “Let me see,” with a thumb-he managed to push the cap off the spray. Giving the can a couple of shakes.

Atsushi tensed, his good hand clutching his arm more tightly. The box now forgotten in his lap. “I’m fine, I can do it myself.”

“You’re not.”

“No,” Atsushi shifted under his scrutinizing glare, giving the man a hesitant look. “I can handle it Akutagawa.”

Atsushi opened the box in his lap, grabbing a needle and thread from the suture pocket. He knows Akutagawa is still watching, and it only manages to frustrate him more as he struggles to pinpoint the thread through the needle. His hands are shaking, his arm still burning with the effects of his ability.

“You’re never going to get that through the needle,” Akutagawa says flatly.

Atsushi didn’t look up. “I said I’ve got it.”

Akutagawa sighed, pulling back his arm and rubbing at his bridge. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be were-tiger.”

“I’ve handled worse Akutagawa,” he growls, trying to finish off the damn thing with a knot. “I’m not helpless and I sure as hell don’t need your help.”

“I never said you were,” Akutagawa shot back, jaw tight. “But right now you are being stupid, if you think you can suture your wounds in such a state.”

Atsushi’s hand clenched on the needle, the frail thing threatening to bend under his grip. “Great,” he rolled his eyes, “nice chat, can I get back to this or are you just gonna keep talking?”

“Dazai instructed me to suture your wounds were-tiger, it is one job why must you make this more complicated.”

“I said no!” Atsushi snapped, standing abruptly, the movement sent sharp spikes down his arm and he couldn’t help but gasp. Akutagawa folded his arms, noticing the slight change as Atsushi moved to shield the man from staring at his arm. “I can take care of myself. I have to.”

“For what?” Akutagawa scoffed. “To prove you’re strong? To show you are not weak? Listen to yourself were-tiger, still too wrapped up in your head to see how foolish-”

“Shut up,” Atsushi sat back down, getting a better hold of the needle. “You don’t get it, and you never will. You’ve never had to be-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Akutagawa warned, tone icy. “You don’t know what I’ve had to be.”

For a moment, Atsushi didn’t know what to say. He was stunned and practically fuming. Akutagawa himself was glaring daggers at him, both trembling for differing reasons. Atsushi refused to continue looking at the man, instead focusing on the now warmed metal between his fingertips. “Just leave me alone.”

Akutagawa didn’t move, and neither did Atsushi. The mafioso’s fists were clenched, his jaw locked but still he didn’t move. Rather he continued staring at his wounds, and that constant surveillance made Atsushi a bit uneasy.

He decided then to focus on the task at hand, he couldn’t very well ask Akutagawa for the spray in his clutches-so he’d have to barter on sheer strength. Atsushi gritted his teeth, forcing the needle into his torn skin-the process is grueling and he’s barely started. Blood wells up in between the crevices of the needle, his hands still shaking and the pain that accompanied it wasn’t great either.

Even so, he pressed on stubbornly. Tearing out the needle and watching as the thread slides in-the pain replaced by a familiar burn. He pressed the needle in again, watching as the string became heavier with droplets-his eyes watered from the pain of it all.

He tucked the needle in and out, his hands now more unsteady as his vision blurred with unshed tears. The slick of his blood made the needle harder to hold, Akutagawa still watched-unmoving.

He lifted it once more, then without warning the stitch slipped. The friction caused Atsushi to flinch-hissing, blood welled up again.

“That’s enough.”

Before Atsushi could say anything, Akutagawa was already moving. In a swift motion, he grabbed Atsushi’s wrist-not harsh, but firm enough to make him stop.

“Hey!-”

“I’m not letting you butcher yourself any longer.”

Atsushi tried to yank his arm again. “Let go Akutagawa!”

Akutagawa didn’t. “No, now stop moving or else I’ll stab a hole in the wrong place.”

“You don’t get to make this your decision! It’s mine, so now let go!”

“No, it’s not. But I’m making it because you won’t,” Akutagawa growled, eyes burning. “Now, give me your arm and stay still,” Atsushi froze, the needle pried from his fingers gently. His senses tell him to pull away, and he almost does. That is, before Akutagawa grabs a wipe from the box in his lap, and wipes away the excess blood from where his wonky stitches are.

The man cleans it off, then sprays it with both antiseptic and the numbing spray. It prickles his skin, more so his open wounds but through it all-Atsushi stays stock still. His good arm is dropped atop the box, he fiddles with the handle.

It’s quiet as Akutagawa pulls his arm closer, the spray has already begun to do its job. Even under the mafioso’s burning touch, he can’t feel anything. Even as the needle picks up where he’d stopped, he still doesn’t feel anything.

Akutagawa’s fingers are practiced-calculated. He pinches at the skin, and Atsushi can’t help but flinch as blood bursts from the wound. Akutagawa grunts, the needle now poised for entry as he sinks it in with one smooth, sharp motion.

“Hold still,” Akutagawa muttered.

“I am,” Atsushi grit out, “you’re not exactly gentle.”

“You’re not exactly easy to help,” Akutagawa shot back, “guess cats just aren’t suited for sitting still.”

“I’m a tiger,” Atsushi couldn’t help but argue back.

Silence.

Each stitch was deliberate-quick and efficient. Akutagawa kept a steady focus on his arm, only ever looking away when Atsushi made a sound. Which in his case, he really couldn’t help. The numbing spray only did so much, he could still feel the taut pull of his skin being sealed together-though it didn’t take away the burning pain that followed.

Atsushi kept a desperate grip on the box’s handle, it was his only source to stop himself from flinching away any time the needle would make contact with his arm. In all honesty, Akutagawa wasn’t doing a bad job, his fingers are precise and so is the needle.

He tried his best to stop his arm from shaking, but the constant notion of the mafioso grabbing and pulling at it made it very hard for Atsushi. It made him tense, with both anticipation and resignation-an odd combination. He wonders how many time’s Akutagawa has had to do this, to himself or others. It’s a question he knows he shouldn’t ask, it would cross many of their boundaries and the two aren’t really…on good terms.

“You’re good at this,” Atsushi said quietly after a moment.

Akutagawa paused, he grunted. “I’ve had practice.”

“On yourself?” Atsushi asked. Akutagawa didn’t answer, only tied off the suture and started another one. The silence that followed was awkward, he’s stupid to think Akutagawa would have answered that.

When he finally reached the final stitch, Akutagawa grabbed a gauze pad and pressed down on each individual wound. Wrapping and securing his arm with it and a bit of antiseptic. His hands are bloodied with dry crust.

“Done.”

Atsushi looked down at his arm, he couldn’t see the stitches through the bandages. But a bit of faint blood from the pressure broke through and stained the white wraps. Though, he could imagine that underneath, angry red lines were threaded through raw flesh.

He flexed his arm slightly, testing if the bandages would stay, “Thanks.”

Akutagawa stood abruptly, grabbing the bloodied tools and throwing them away in the trash can by the desk. Atsushi did his part by putting away the various bandages and sprays.

The silence returned-lingered.

Atsushi shifted, tugging his ruined shirt a bit over his shoulder. “Thanks again, you’re really good at this.”

Akutagawa looked at him sharply, a hint of suspicion on his face. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Well it’s not an insult, is it?”

That earned him a barely-there snort-more air than voice. Atsushi thinks it was supposed to sound dismissive, but it seemed rather humorous instead. “Keep those to yourself were-tiger, I’ve no need for futile praise.”

“Jeez, you know it doesn’t hurt to be nice right?” Atsushi muttered, the last part more to himself. But given the sharp glare Akutagawa gives him, he wasn’t quiet enough. With the box now closed and Akutagawa’s hands still dirty-Atsushi wasn’t sure how to proceed.

“My work here is done,” he said, body halfway toward the door.

Atsushi stumbled to his feet, clumsily opening the box. “Wait!”

“What,” Akutagawa spat, his impatience now showing.

Atsushi ripped out a wipe, the soapy towel drenching his fingers. “At least clean your hands! They're all dirty dude.”

Akutagawa glanced down at the wipe, before staring back at him. His lips pulled into a sneer, but he retracted his own steps-turning to now face him. Atsushi waved his own hand a bit, signaling for the man to take it.

The mafioso snatched the wipe before leaving without another word, the door to his bedroom slamming shut behind him. Atsushi stood standing in the quiet that followed, his hand now hanging limply. He hears faint voices from outside, he shouldn’t rejoin them.

Atsushi drops himself atop the plush blankets, his head ricocheting off the pillows. He pressed a hand to the bandages encasing his arm. Focusing on the rapid sensations crawling up his nerves. And despite the sting, despite Akutagawa’s aloofness-

He couldn’t help but rest easy that night.

Chapter Text

Atsushi didn’t know why he thought this was a good idea.

Standing in the kitchen, perched on the cold ceramic table was Akutagawa. The mafioso looked dead tired, his body sagging lazily with a mug of tea-or coffee in his hands. Admittedly, Atsushi wasn’t sure how the man had gotten into the apartment, not even ten seconds ago he was in his bed. Resting after last night's events.

Now he’s sitting right across from him. Scourging his plate clean of a hastily put together sandwich.

Swallowing the last of his meal, a delicious one. He didn’t know what to do next, Akutagawa wasn’t making any sort of movement to talk to him-therefore Atsushi hasn’t bothered to do the same. Instead both men have seemingly decided to soak in the awkwardness of their refusal to talk.

Atsushi glanced at the microwave clock, he woke up a few minutes before the timer struck four. Taking a sip of his water, he fiddled with the cup. Watching the mafioso also take a swig, albeit a rather large one-his throat bobbed at the action.

He doesn’t know if Chuuya’s awake, the mafioso probably went to sleep after he did.

Taking his plate to the sink, Atsushi rinsed the ceramic-careful when placing it into the rack beside it. His arm itches the more he moves, probably from the stitches, both his failed attempt and Akutagawa’s.

He flexed his arm, watching the barely visible veins shift. He should probably change his bandages, Atsushi knows that Yosano only ever changes them every few days-but it’s mostly due to their budget cuts and such.

With a med kit in his room and the various staples Gin has provided him, Atsushi can change them every two days. Sighing heavily, he sluggishly makes his way over to the island again-snagging his drink and downing it at once. His throat is parched from all the yelling, he also reeks of iron.

He makes a mental note to shower.

With his stomach satiated and limbs aching, Atsushi repeats the process of cleaning the cup. Ignoring the burning stare pointed towards him. He can hear a small rustling before the appearance of a black coat invades his space. Akutagawa’s mug is placed beside the sink, long thready fingers pushing the ceramic closer to him before they disappear.

Atsushi doesn’t bother to snap at the man, instead taking the cup. He can smell the familiar scent of tea, chamomile and honey-just how Kunikida takes it. His heart pangs at the sudden bout of nostalgia, he still wonders how the agency is doing.

He washed the cup slowly, basking in the warm water dripping between his hands. It reminds him of his dream with Byakko. The water was soft and warm, not cold or hot but just right. He puts away the cup and grabs a towel, drying his hands as he makes his way to the couch.

His first order of business is calling Dazai and Oscar, he needs to make them both aware of the development regarding his condition. Stopping a bit from the couch, Atsushi feels his eyes widen in pure astonishment.

Akutagawa, the rabid dog of the port mafia, mass murderer, feared by all who know him.

Reading a fucking book.

Atsushi didn’t even know the man could read, in fact Atsushi had assumed he was well-illiterate with the way he would squint when reading files or in some cases would make Atsushi read them.

Akutagawa looked relaxed, his feet dropped atop the coffee table, arm propped on the armrest. His head fitted in between the pages of the book. The pages turned with the flick of a thumb. Atsushi didn’t want to disturb the man's peace, even as his mind practically screamed at him too.

Without a second to waste, Atsushi turns on his feet and walks down the familiar corridor. He needs to call Dazai first, no point in standing around now that he’s got nothing better to do. Once in the sanctity of his room, Atsushi shuts the door and goes straight to the drawer where his phone is.

He begins to open his contacts, spotting a message from an unknown. Probably Oscar, he opens the message and is met with a picture of a dog. Atsushi blinks down at it, it’s a fairly cute dog, with big floppy ears and a mix of white, black and brown fur. He scrolls down until he spots the number.

Bringing the phone up to his ear, Atsushi waits.

Click

“Ello,” a roused up voice echoes through his ear, “wasn't expectin' a call from yeh this early in the game, now.” Oscar chuckles loudly.

Atsushi rolls his eyes, shifting the phone into a better position. “Yeah, neither did I,” he crawls into bed, shifting the covers for a bit more room before bringing his knees up to his chest, “but unfortunately, there’s been a change of plans recently.”

“Ah, that doesn’t sound too grand,” Oscar huffed, he could hear stiff sounds on the other end of the line-just what could he have been up to? “Now then, Atsushi, give me what ye've got, would ye?”

He sighs heavily, running his good hand through his greasy hair. “I was able to get some information about Kobo through the port mafia. He’s not working alone Oscar, Kobo is involved with a guild called the Rib of Epicurus and the mafia suspects that he’s still working with them now.”

“Ah, feck, just grand. Anoth'r bleedin' thing we gotta deal with.”

“Yeah, tell me about,” Atsushi smirks before sobering, “another thing, the agency and mafia are both onto Kobo’s plans about the crystals. They're sending out people to go find him, I haven’t gotten my hands on any of their routes but you should tell the others to watch themselves.”

“Is there anyone in particular we should be keepin' an eye out for?” Atsushi focuses on the staticky scratches on Oscars end, probably writing stuff down.

“A few,” Atsushi racks his brain, only a few people come to mind as he grimaces at the amount of people involved in the operation. “Akutagawa Ryunosuke is someone you should look out for.”

“The wee dog of th' underworld? Minoru, he mentioned him. Right nasty, that one.” Atsushi frowned, he wasn’t used to people badmouthing the mafioso. On occasion Dazai would, but that was mostly to get a rise out of his former mentee. “I heard he's got a grand bounty on 'im, how'd one even stumble upon that,” the man chuckled.

“Guess we’ll never know,” Atsushi fell back against the headboard-well that was news to him, “you should also look out for the black lizards-I hope you’re writing this down Oscar.”

“Ah sure, got any names?”

“Gin Akutagawa, Tachihara and Hirotsu,” Atsushi never bothered to learn the other two’s full names, never even got the chance to. Each time they met it would be with fists and knives, not words like normal people. He also doesn’t think Koyo or Mori will be a problem, the two already have enough on their plate to worry about Oscar’s whereabouts. “As for the agency. You’ll probably need to worry about all of them except Dazai and Ranpo.”

“Names?”

“Yosano Akiko, Kunikida Doppo, Tanizaki Junichiro, Kyoka Izumi and Kenji Miyazawa,” Atsushi propped himself higher on the bed, noticing the way he had begun to sink into the mattress. “I wouldn’t worry about the last two, as far as I know. The agency is keeping them out of the line of fire for their safety.”

“Ah, isn't that swell? I'll do me bit an' have a wee look at 'em, if ye've got any photos-they'd be truly appreciated, Atsushi.”

“I’ll see what I can do Oscar,” Atsushi smiled, “also I have some updates on my ability.” Atsushi said with grave indifference, he could hear Oscar’s breathing halt momentarily. “Remember how Meiko mentioned they met someone named Kirin.”

“Aye, I do, sure.”

“I finally met Byakko. And she gave me a warning.” Atsushi whispered the last part into the phone, he could hear the soft click of Oscar's pen-maybe he placed it aside. “She told me to find the source of ‘my undoing’ and to eradicate it-got an idea as to what that means?”

“Aside from it soundin' well creepy? Not a bleedin' clue,” Oscar sighed before speaking again, “But me biggest guess, is that there’s somethin’ bigger behind this, somethin’ we might be a bit unprepared for.”

Atsushi nodded solemnly, knowing that the other man is not there to see it. “She also mentioned the other gods. Her ‘brethren’ have decided to work together to help us,” he looks down at his bandaged arm, a reminder of what was stolen now returned to him. “To help us defeat Kobo.”

“Could tha' be why the others 'ave been experiencin' the same phenomenon lately?” Oscar mumbled, indescribable at first but Atsushi heard it nonetheless.

“Could be,” he responded, “it’s just all so conveniently put together Oscar.” Atsushi explained his frustrations, it’s been impossibly easy for him-and it’s eerily conflicting. “Something is going to happen and I think we’ve bitten off more than we can chew.”

“Yer not the only one feelin' that way, but what more can we do? If we play straight into their hands, all we can do is turn the situation 'round.”

Atsushi narrowed his eyes. “And if it costs lives, Oscar?

Oscar went quiet, the faint sound of air rustling on the other end. “Let's hope it doesn' get to tha' point, Atsushi," he simply said.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, they truly have bitten off more than they could chew. “Another thing to note is that Byakko has somehow managed to give me my ability back.”

“She has! How's that then?” Atsushi stifles the bubbling laughter growing in his throat, he could practically see Oscar’s comically wide expression without having to see the man. “Can’t say it was a pleasant experience. I woke up drenched in blood and pain-wasn’t how I expected to wake up.”

Oscar winces. “Ah, jaysus, I’m hopin' ye at least got that tidied up, yeah?” The man cleared his throat, and pushed on. “Does dat mean...?”

He could hear the hopeful tone on the line, and a part of Atsushi doesn’t really want to break the news to him. Yet he wouldn’t feel much better giving Oscar false hope too. “No, Oscar. As far as I can tell, your ability is still active. And though Byakko did manage to give mine back, she said it is only a fraction of it, so technically I’m not at full strength.”

“Ah, blast it, I knew it was too grand to be true,” Oscar sighed, “a power cursed like me own...what in the name o' the devil did I be expectin'?”

“There’s no time for regrets Oscar,” Atsushi scolded, “what’s done is done. We need to focus on Kobo. What we know now is that the gods are willing to work with us thanks to Byakko, spread the word to the others-have them know what to expect.”

“Ah, aye, me captain. I’ll shout it out fer 'em to tweak their routes!” Oscar said with a hearty laugh, the sound of tapping resuming.

Atsushi winced as he slightly pulled the phone away from his ear. It is still way too early to have his ears violated. “Please don’t call me that Oscar,” he complained. It’s not like he’s the leader of their little operation, all the credit goes to Oscar. The best he can do at the moment is pass on whatever bits of information he can get his hands on.

“Now that’s done and dusted, the next meetin’’ll be in three days at most. Heard from Yoko that Kobo's takin’ up a few warehouses just west of the port,” Atsushi glances at his door, the smooth mahogany twisting and merging the more he stares at it. With a swing, he hops out of the bed-heading for the desk. “I’m reckonin’ those might be where his mates are hidin’, or it could be just one o’ his many bases o’ operations.”

“You said west of the port?” he wrote down the meeting time, “how many warehouses has Yoko scouted?”

“From Yoko t' Risa, I’d say 'bout four. Three west o' the port an' one sittin' in district fifteen,” Atsushi halts his writing, district fifteen huh. Well isn’t that just ironic, seems he’ll be taking a trip down memory lane. “None o' the others have seen any movement yet, from the docks t' the red light district. Nothin' so far. Either they've caught on to us or they're more slippery than we thought.”

So Kobo’s hiding out on port mafia territory then, he can’t tell if the man is stupid or just plain bold. But in a way, it’s not a bad plan. With the mafia’s sole focus on Kobo-

Atsushi’s eyes lit up, so that’s his plan. He can’t help but scoff at Kobo’s antics-the man truly isn’t as dumb as he thought he was. “That sly bastard…” he murmured, earning him a questioning hum. Kobo knew the mafia would be busy with tracking him down, and from what Dazai has said. Mori prides himself in believing he has eyes and ears everywhere. He took advantage of that type of ignorance, and chose to hide right under their noses.

With that sort of new found knowledge, maybe there's a chance to take him down right here and now. There’s no doubt in Atsushi’s mind that the warehouse Yoko scouted are duds, Kobo is hiding out on port mafia territory-which means their every move has been watched since the beginning.

“Oscar,” he sets his pen down, folding the paper and hiding it in the drawer. “Tell Yoko the warehouses are duds and to keep an eye on the ones near central. It’s highly likely that Kobo is hiding out near the port mafia.”

“An' how'd ya figure that?”

“Call it instinct,” with a flick, Atsushi aims the pen into its holder. “I’m almost certain that Kobo chose to lie low there in order to keep an eye on me and Chuuya. That also doesn’t mean to disregard the one’s Yoko scouted, split the group into teams to watch over the west port and central.”

“Ah, would ya look at that, nearly slipped me mind that ye're a detective, lass!” The man laughs boisterously. “If I hadn’t known any betther, I’d’ve thought ye were just some scrawny lad fresh outta school.”

Atsushi chuckles awkwardly, unsure on how to take the sudden praise. “I’m just using what Dazai taught me.”

“Ah, what’s that then? He says it’s some kinda mantra or somethin’?”

“You could say that,” he hums, “‘Nothing is ever set in stone, to question everything-is to learn something.’ ”

Oscar whistles on the other end, the phone crackling as he speaks. “What a wise ass, I’ll have t’apply that t'me self when I get back t’workin’.”

“Yeah, he sure is,” Atsushi knows he shouldn’t waste time, to waste time is to give Kobo more chances to carry out his plans. He needs to call Dazai and inform him of Kobo’s whereabouts, it’s still only suspicion. Yet his instincts roar, if Kobo is truly hiding within port mafia territory-than it’s very likely that his goons are too.

“I’ll try to make it to the meeting Oscar, but I’m not sure I can. Worst case scenario I’ll have to go on the run,” Atsushi smiled, though it didn’t last long.

“Ah, don’t ye worry 'bout the meetin', Atsushi, I'd rather ye be safe than in a pickle. And if it comes to that, ye can always hunker down at me gaff.”

Atsushi nods. “Thanks. I’ll try to find out more about their plans and hopefully we’ll be able to act sooner rather than later.”

“Yer not th' only wan. In any case, I’ll pass on yer message. Take care, Atsushi, an' I hope t' see ya soon, me friend.” They exchange quick goodbyes before the line clicks, signaling their conversation has come to an end. Stuffing the phone in his pocket, Atsushi finally lets himself sit on the chair. It’s all a mess, too many variables and little to no answers.

Atsushi isn’t even sure if his hunch is right, he can only hope it is. Sending Yoko and the others to scout central is a very risky plan, and in many ways it can go wrong. Fuck, he should have gone a little bit more into detail with Oscar. Though Atsushi doesn’t doubt the man could come up with plans of his own, it would have made him feel better if he’d at least could get a crumb of his plans.

He wonders if he should still call Dazai, if Kobo really is keeping an eye on them-who’s to say he isn’t also tapping into their calls.

Grabbing a piece of paper and pen, Atsushi begins to write. He opted for a letter rather than to call Dazai-he’ll need to find a way to give it to him. Maybe Junichiro or Kyoka can do him the favor. Though, it would be troublesome if Jun or Kyoka decide to snoop and open the letter.

He bites the tip of the pen, gnawing as he thinks what to write.

If, and if, they are really being watched then it’s safe to say the apartment isn’t a safe option anymore. Atsushi groans into the palm of his hand, this really is troublesome. He hasn’t even told Chuuya yet about Oscar-and he’s not looking forward to seeing how the executive will react.

He also noticed how Chuuya has steadily become more tired, more irritated as if he were losing sleep. But then the mafioso would go on and sleep for hours and hours on end. Maybe that’s a sign of his symptoms, it’s not abnormal for a person to lose sleep and then spend days recovering but Chuuya’s schedule is really odd.

He taps the tip of the pen against the paper, watching the ink stack up and bleed through. He’ll make the letter simple, Atsushi never really thought he’d have to use the code Dazai taught him. They’ve only used it once or twice and it mostly pertained to stealth or infiltration missions. Which were only a once in a lifetime thing within their division.

With the letter done and folded, he stuck a piece of tape to it and put it aside.

Suddenly, and a very stupid one, an idea pops into Atsushi’s head. He grabs the letter and rushes out of his room. Hoping the mafioso is still on the living room couch.

And indeed he is correct. The mafioso is still sitting on the couch, a cup held precariously in between his fingers-a book in the other. Atsushi approaches the man, the letter still held tightly in between his own.

Akutagawa doesn’t make any sign to acknowledge him other than to raise the cup to his lips.

Atsushi clears his throat, watching as the man gives him a simple side glance. Akutagawa set his cup down and placed the open book down on his lap.

“What is it were-tiger, stop staring at me and spit it out,” Akutagawa said without even bothering to look at him, instead focusing on his book again. Jeez, looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed-Atsushi even washed his cup for him! And the man still had the gall to be an asshole.

Atsushi narrowed his eyes, then ultimately gave up on trying to start with a civil conversation. “Why are you here? Is it your day off or something?”

“I’m here under strict orders to keep an eye on you and Chuuya. Chuuya had a fit last night, thus the boss sent me to watch over you two,” he gestured to the surrounding area, not really pinpointing to be exact.

“I see. Is he alright?”

Akutagawa let out a grunt, a nonsensical sound-not aligned as a yes or no. “He is alright were-tiger. He doesn’t need your sympathy,” Atsushi made a face, the words dying down as he watched the man fake being entranced in the book.

“I see,” he trailed off. Staring out the windows, the sun was still up-not yet refusing to settle for the day. They still had a bit of daylight going on, which means the agency is still up and working. He turned back to the man, silent determination thrumming through his body.

“Can you do me a favor,” Akutagawa looked up at him, a small tick in his pale brows. This time, the man fully closes the book-dropping it on the table with a dull thump. He sits upright, back frigid and his gaze full of suspicion.

“I’m not a messenger were-tiger.”

“I never said you were,” Atsushi sighed, finally revealing the small note in his hand. “I need to deliver a message to Dazai, but I’m not allowed to leave. Not after last time,” the last part he muttered more so to himself, but nonetheless Akuatgawa still caught on and decided to make a snarky remark.

“And who’s fault is that?” He responded, full of unadulterated smugness that just made Atsushi yearn to wring the man's neck.

“Can you do it or not? It’s rather urgent, but I mean-,” he shrugged, pulling the note back at a snail's pace, “I can always ask, oh I don’t know-Gin.” Atsushi watched with a bit of pride as Akutagawa’s mouth snapped shut and his face turned stormy at the mention of his sister.

“She’s rather busy,” Akutagawa bit, “to indulge in your whims were-tiger.”

Atsushi only lifted his shoulders again. “So can you do it or should I call her?”

“Fine,” one point to Atsushi, zero to Akutagawa. “Only on one condition,” welp, he should have expected as much-he could never get a one up on the mafioso. Akutagawa nodded at the letter. “Tell me what the contents of your letter are.”

“Uhhh, ever heard of student-teacher confidentiality?”

“I believe the saying is patient-doctor confidentiality. And last I’ve heard, your doctor is Yosano, not Dazai.”

Isn’t that practically the same thing?

“Seriously! Why do I have to air my business out to you?” He crossed his arms and puffed out his chest, it’s just a letter. Why’d Akutagawa have to go and make it more arduous just to get a letter delivered. And sure-Atsushi knows he’s being difficult, it wouldn’t even matter anyway. The code Dazai and Atsushi share was specifically created for them and Kunikida.

“Why are you so adamant on not telling me,” was Akutagawa’s defense.

“Why are you so adamant on wanting to know?” Atsushi childishly retorted.

Akutagawa merely nodded and went back to his book. “I suppose you could ask Gin to deliver the letter, but she finishes work at ten if you wish to wait for her,” Atsushi gawked, ten!? He needs to get the letter delivered as soon as possible. Swallowing his frustration, Atsushi shoves the letter rather harshly in front of the mafioso’s book-he can’t wait till ten, nor does he have the patience too.

For some reason, it had taken little convincing to get Akutagawa to grab the letter-instead he ripped it from his hands and continued to fumble with the piece of tape Atsushi stuck on it. Stopping himself from slugging the man took a lot of self control, he watched from behind as Akutagawa skimmed the contents of his letter-his nonexistent brows furrowing as he stopped on certain words.

“Is this really it,” Akutagawa frowned, turning and waving the paper at him, “this is what you didn’t want me to read?”

“A dream?”

“Yes Akutagawa,” Atsushi sighed, unfurling his arms, “Dazai told me to update him on stuff and so,” he pointed at the slip, “I told him about my dream.”

“And this is what you want me to deliver,” Akutagawa asked dubiously.

“Yes,” he gritted out, teeth painfully clenched so as to not curse the man out. “So can you do it or not?”

Akutagawa glanced at the paper, before closing it and sticking the tape back on. “Do you truly think that I am foolish enough-”

With sharp eyes and a coolish demeanor, Akutagawa glared at him with such ferocity Atsushi could feel himself being weighed down under the man's stare. His letter, still stuck between the man's grasp and his sudden shift disposition. “To not see that your letter is coded.”

Atsushi swallowed the wetness pooling in his mouth, and met the man's glare head on. “What makes you think that?”

Akutagawa lounged back, taking the note with him. “We are mafioso’s, each and everyone of us are trained to know and understand code-” Atsushi’s expression pinched, “and I’m going to assume that the one you are using is Dazai’s work?”

He says it as a question, but the underlying implication practically screams at Atsushi that Akutagawa says it as fact. Atsushi clenched his fists, his jaw pulled taut as he continued to watch Akutagawa observe the letter.

Akutagawa took Atsushi’s silence as confirmation and pushed on. “I will not deny that you played your part coyly, I never knew you as conniving were-tiger.”

“Maybe you just don’t know me at all Akutagawa,” Atsushi held back a sneer, Akutagawa arched a brow.

Akutagawa hummed, dropping the letter beside him. “If the content in this letter is…integral, do you not think that the mafia deserves to hear of it as well?” He tapped his finger on the letter, his nail leaving crescents on the fragile parchment.

“This letter is for Dazai and Dazai only. If he wants to share it then he can do it himself.”

“Does this letter pertain to Chuuya?” Atsushi shook his head.

“Does it pertain to Kobo and his plans?” Once again, Atsushi shook his head.

“Does it pertain to you?” Hesitantly, Atsushi nodded.

“And I am going to assume that you will not divulge what you have written to me?”

Atsushi sniffed. “Nope, it’s not really any of your business ya know?” Akutagawa looked a bit miffed at his blatant response, even scowled but ultimately let it go. Probably for the moment, no doubt in Atsushi’s mind that he’ll go running back to the mafia to tell them.

Even if, somehow, Akutagawa did choose to deliver his letter-there’s no solid reasoning as to why the mafioso should decide to show up at the agency. He can take it under the pretense of delivering it and end up giving it to the mafia. Damn, he really should have just called Dazai.

“So-” he rocked back on the balls of his feet, hands stuffed haphazardly in his pockets, “can you deliver it?”

“What makes you think I should? Keeping secrets and sneaking intel isn’t a good look on you were-tiger,” Atsushi snorted, “the mafia is already very suspicious regarding your involvement.”

“Hmm, well for starters. There’s a chance Dazai will share it with you guys anyways, why not take it? And second, I don’t really give a damn what the mafia thinks,” shit, Atsushi didn’t really expect that. Is the mafia really suspecting him? He’s affected by the whole situation too! Maybe even more. Besides it’s not like he can act for the life of him, if he really was some sort of spy-Chuuya would have clocked it the moment they met.

Still, it’s not a good look. If they're suspicious of him, there’s a chance they’ll up their surveillance. And if that happens, Atsushi won’t really have the freedom to traverse between the agency, mafia and Oscar. “Plus, if he does share it. I’m sure the contents in it will work in your favor more than mine,” bullshit, it really wouldn’t.

“So then why not just say it, right here and now?” Akutagawa stuffed the note in the pocket of his coat, shrugging it back on from where it had slid to reveal his shoulders.

Atsushi shrugged, giving the man a cheeky smile. “I’m not telling you.”

Akutagawa huffed, walking away from the couch and towards the front door, “You are insufferable were-tiger.”

“Try not to snoop and decipher it, you’ll ruin the whole surprise!” Atsushi yelled as Akutagawa finally left the apartment, the door clicking shut in his wake. With the quickness of a breeze, Atsushi let himself untense, his shoulders which were tight relaxed-and his fists which were clenched finally broke apart. He glanced down at his fingers, they ached from the force put behind them. Atsushi breathed, his body mechanically working itself to drop him atop the plush couch. “Seriously that guy…what a pain in my ass,” Atsushi blew, he can sense a bit of fondness in his own voice-which is to be expected and still a bit unnerving. He and Akutagawa have been partners for close to a year, for anyone it would also be hard to not grow used to another person you’re stuck with for days on end.

Still, Akutagawa is still a pain in his ass. But Atsushi won’t deny that he doesn’t dislike the man's presence, it's hard not to get used to it when he’s always hanging around him. Dragging his head from where it laid, Atsushi spotted an opened pack on the table.

He snatched it up, pushing the offending stick in his mouth and using the lighter that came with it. It took a few tries, and eventually it sparked big enough to light his cigarette. He sighed, relaxing into the cushions and staring at the blank ceiling.

He turned his head slightly, watching the empty record player sit on a dusty cabinet. It was a beautiful one, its wood glistening under the rays of sunlight-beside it was a rack. Vinyls and vinyls on end-he stood up from the couch. Examining the turntable, he could see a faint coat of debris on it.

Moving to the rack beside it, he pulled out a few interesting ones. A lot of foreign music, most from the late eighties to nineties. A few from farther back and each had a very unique design on them. He grabbed one of them, he’s never used a record player before-but he has used a cd player and stereo, so honestly-how hard can it be?

Lifting the lid off of the turntable, Atsushi examined it. A large arm to the right of it and a few buttons to the left-he assumed those are for sound or bass. In the middle lay a circular plate, he removed the vinyl from its encasing and with practiced hands-delicately placed the large plate on it.

He flicked the small button to the bottom of it, watching it turn red but still it didn’t make any sound. He did it a couple more times and watched as each one became more futile.

Atsushi’s brows drew together, frustration evident in the way his lips thinned out. Turns out it was gonna be harder than he expected. He lifted the small arm, crouching down to see it better.

A glint, barely noticeable but Atsushi caught it. There was a needle in it, one so small it was no wonder he missed it. Finally, did he see the small circle start moving-he lowered the arm and it stopped. He brought it back up and it started-huh, pretty nice.

He carefully placed it on the edge of the vinyl, stepping back once his work was finished.

It started off very melodious, the sound of piano keys filtering through the room. Atsushi placed the casing back on the rack, stepping away and returning to the couch. He peeked at the cigarette and its growing pile of ash still clinging, with a quick move-he tipped it over the ashtray.

How can I repay you, brother mine?

How can I expect you to forgive?

Clinging to the past, I shed our blood,

And shattered your chance to live

His was getting shorter as time flew, he breathed the smoke and blew it away. The now familiar taste of nicotine flooding his mouth practically tasted as sweet as honey. His teeth fiddled with the stick, the sun was still up and Chuuya had yet to wake.

What I did not know has cost you dear,

For there is no cure for death

Today, today is the day he’ll tell Chuuya. He’s been building up his confidence over the past few days, Atsushi likes to think that he and Chuuya are on decent terms-even if the two don’t talk much.

Beautiful mother, soft and sweet

Once you were gone, we were not complete

Back through the years, we reached for you

Alas, twas not meant to be

The next upcoming days would be wracking, for himself and everyone else involved. Atsushi just hopes that Yoko will be careful when looking over central, it’s one thing with Kobo-but the port mafia also resides here. It’s their territory, if Mori himself is truly busy, then Yoko should be able to have leeway.

Oscar mentioned he would split the responsibility between members, if Oscar goes with the simple latter-then he’ll spread them out between central and the west.

Even then, it’s not smart to be split up. And with Atsushi stuck and Chuuya oblivious-Oscar really must be pulling his weight in order to fill in for them both. He makes a note to thank the man for all he’s done for them.

Neither you nor I are free from blame

Nothing can erase the things we did

For the path we took was the same

How can I expect to call you wrong?

How can you be blamed for what we've done?

Both of us were fools in our desires

As we flew too close to the sun

The back of the couch floods with sudden weight, causing Atsushi to sink farther than he intended. He flounders for a bit, trying to find purchase on the armrests. Tilting his head back, heterochromia clashes with heterochromia-blue against gold.

“Chuuya,” Atsushi says dumbly, the executive blinks languidly-turning to the record player than back. “You’re awake, how are you feeling?”

“Like I was just hit by a truck.”

Atsushi tilts his head, a contemplative expression forming. “I hope you feel better soon,” he fixes himself on the couch, making room for the executive to hop over and sit right beside him. Chuuya yawned, shoving a hand under his shirt as he rakes fingers through his hair.

“Where’s Akutagawa?” Chuuya asked, stretching and placing both arms behind the couch.

“I sent him on an errand,” Atsushi said, releasing the cloud of smoke held in his mouth. “He said you were asleep,” he turned to the executive.

Chuuya gave him a wry grin. “I was, but music woke me up and now I'm here,” he made a show of waving his hand around. Atsushi bit the inside of his cheek to keep from wincing, feeling bad about waking Chuuya up.

“Chuuya, I-” he stopped, taking a steady breath in. The executive gazed at him weirdly, he can do this-he knows he has too. He needs to, it’s gone on far enough. Atsushi can feel his heart in his throat, and a band wrapped around his inner organs-ready to pop with any movement.

“I need to talk to you about something, something really important,” he gripped his fists together, keeping his eyes glued to the ground. The cigarette flickered faintly as he took its last breath, ash falling unceremoniously to the ground. He snubbed it into the ashtray and found its fruitful replacement.

My dreams made me blind and mute

I longed to return to that time

I followed without a word

My brother, the fault is mine

Chuuya observed him, his stare dissecting and just pure violating. He should have expected much, Chuuya is still a mafioso-and executive at that. They’re trained in practically tearing people apart, mentally and physically-it’s to no one's surprise, especially to him when Atsushi squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

“Tell me,” and with those simple words, Atsushi found himself spilling everything. From his meeting with Oscar, his dreams, their theory on the gods inside them, the meeting with the others and every tidbit of information he had learned within the month.

And through it all, Chuuya didn’t interrupt once. His head was cradled atop his laced fingers, his eyes unseeing, the only signs that Atsushi ever got from him to know he was listening were frowns and small curses. And even at the expense of the others' sanity, Atsushi felt lighter as he continued to speak.

An unearthly weight turned to sand, seeping away. He felt like he could breathe again, as if his worries weren’t worth worrying about in the first place. His fears were for naught, the secrecy of his meeting with Oscar and all he’d been told was too heavy for him to carry.

And he knew that. Atsushi was never good at holding up the weight, whatever that may be. He couldn’t and it was impossibly naive of him to continue to be that way. Even if Dazai or Kunikida tried to help him, tried to ease the burden, Atsushi still in some way knew it could never be lifted.

For all his pain, all his happiness and desires-have latched onto him like a needy creature begging for a taste of love. Many people hold the same type of affliction, he is one of many people who struggle to stand under the strain of the world. And as time passes, that weight builds up and becomes a mound.

He, like every human in the world, drowns in it.

Humans, a word that many despise. To be human is to know humility, to know that in every world destruction and cruelness will follow. But in the end, that’s what makes it so beautiful. The unpredictability of it all, and the will to press forward.

However, humans are weak all the same. Constant hurt and anguish is a day to day thing-it can be from personal loss to losing an item. A lesson without pain is meaningless, and a world with it creates meaning. It’s not a complicated concept, and even when he taught him the debility of the human will-Atsushi couldn’t help but find it wonderful.

And where do we go from here

And how to forget and forgive?

What's gone is forever lost

Now all we can do is live

“Fuck kid, and you just-” a voice tore him from the daze. “You just knew all of this? And you didn’t tell anyone,” Atsushi peered at the man, Chuuya gave him a strange look. His brows were knitted and Atsushi couldn’t make out what was going on with his lips.

“I-” he grimaced, knowing whatever he was gonna say would sound like petty excuses. “I couldn’t, not really. Not without outing Oscar.”

“That’s not an excuse,” Chuuya squinted at him, a frown now pulling at his lips as he reclined and crossed his arms. “I get that you were trying to protect him but what about us?” He waved between them. “We’re both suffering because of that asshole, and then you turn around to go help him!”

“It’s not like that Chuuya,” Atsushi pleaded, he tapped the end of the cigarette to the tray and brought it back to his lips. He needed to do something with his hands, keep them occupied. “He’s our best chance at finding Kobo, if I had turned him over then we would have lost everything.”

“So what? We would have gotten the intel one way or another. Think about this Atsushi, he’s dangerous, and an enemy to the port mafia. If anyone finds out you’ve been hanging around him, what do you think will happen?”

Atsushi shook his head, the conversation wasn’t going well. He knew Chuuya wouldn’t take it right, he didn't understand. Atsushi was trying to protect him, to find a way for them both to survive. “I don’t care what will happen, my main concern is Kobo-and if I have to team up with Oscar then so be it!”

“There are other peoples lives on the line Chuuya! Other people who have no clue as to why they're being targeted, if I took their sole option of survival-”

He bowed his head. “I could never live with myself,” Atsushi regarded the man for a second, his gaze roaming over the blemishes on his body and the bags hanging heavy under his eyes. “We’re all depending on Oscar because he’s the only one we can depend on. He knows he fucked up, he knows it very well actually,” Atsushi laughed sheepishly.

“And he’s actually putting in the effort to fix what he did wrong. I gave him a chance because he deserved it and because I needed it, Chuuya,” he couldn’t bear to look at the man’s face, he felt guilty-beyond it. Oscar is the reason the both of them are suffering, yet in a sense it’s not really him but Kobo. “He’s not a bad person, just someone who tried to make the best of their situation and failed.”

“Stop making excuses for him!” Chuuya growled, low and dangerous. “I don’t care if he had a change of heart, I don’t care if he’s trying to do the right thing-he shouldn’t have done it to begin with.”

“He didn’t mean to!” Atsushi shouts back, his composure cracking. “I know you’re angry Chuuya, I am too. But we need your help, so please just for this, please just put your anger aside and help us.”

“Why should I, why-when I can just take this up to the boss. So that we can have real operatives working on the case instead of running ourselves haggard on theories and speculations,” Chuuya stood up from his place, glaring down at him from above. “Why, when I can just kill the bastard myself and rid us of this curse!”

Atsushi jumped out of his seat too, staggering to his feet. “Because I won’t let you! He’s not just some dog to be put down, he’s a human being!”

“He became a dog the moment he activated his stupid fucking ability on me!” Chuuya snarled, backing away from Atsushi. “I don’t need mine to kill him, and his is already doing the job for him-if he’s out of the way, we can then focus on Kobo. We won’t have to be on the sidelines, useless as shit.”

“I can be out there, tearing Kobo apart.”

Atsushi released a frustrated snarl, his lips curling-he doesn’t know if it’s in disgust or anger. Maybe both, but he’s certain of one thing.

He’s scared.

“Are you even listening to yourself Chuuya!? Kobo is after us because of our abilities, if you kill Oscar-then what will happen to the others. They are just as much involved than the rest of us.”

“They’ll have to find another way then,” he said with a tone of finality, turning away from the conversation entirely,“we aren’t they’re keepers, they can sort themselves out.”

“Are you-” he paused, licking the dryness of his mouth. He reached out and stopped-unsure on how to proceed. Chuuya is clearly distressed, probably even feels the same as him. Afraid and alone. “Then-” he’s playing foul, still he doesn’t care, “what about me?”

Chuuya froze, his back rippling as he cocked his head in a very eerie motion. “Hah?”

Atsushi gulped, his body trembled despite the bout of resolution flooding through him. “Chuuya, I’m dying.”

“Everyday has become a struggle, I can barely eat, barely sleep, barely move-and it hurts,” Atsushi can only hope Dazai has gotten his letter by now. “Have you wondered why I’ve been off worse than you?”

Chuuya didn’t answer, his bangs hung over his eyes-disguising whatever was filtering through them.

“My health is deteriorating faster than yours because I can’t handle it,” Atsushi could see the crack in the executive's demeanor in the way the muscle in his chin ticks-as if he were clenching his jaw. He felt bad pulling the ‘I’m dying’ card but when push comes to shove…he’ll agonize over it later. “I’m dying because I’m weak. Because I’m a mess and I can’t handle it,” he squeezes his eyes shut, blinking away the wetness crawling up his tear ducts.

“I know there’s a chance I’ll die, and there’s a bigger chance that the others will too,” he whispered, and his voice cracked pathetically as he struggled to keep in the whimpers. “And I don’t want that, I don’t want to die and I don’t want to be the reason for others too.”

Chuuya turned away, and Atsushi looked away. His eyes were now wide and watery, he bit his lip so as to not let himself break down. He missed Dazai, he missed Kunikida, He missed Kyoka-he missed his friends. He’s so tired, he’s scared and angry. Yet, he can sympathize with Chuuya, Atsushi too was practically raging when Oscar asked for his help.

But if there's one thing Atsushi is good at, it’s sympathizing. He can understand Chuuya’s reluctance, Oscar’s pain, Kyoka’s anxiety, Dazai’s aloofness-he can taste them down to the very ugliness buried beneath.

Staring at the crumbling cigarette, Atsushi brought it to his lips. The music has stopped, it’s been done for a while-now only silence covets them. An air of mixed emotions, his heart twists and squeezes his stubborn willpower, draining his body of all its adrenaline-leaving him spent.

He doesn’t want to cry, he’s tired of crying. Crying means nothing to him anymore, it’s wasteful and holds no meaning.

A phone ring’s in the distance, Chuuya turns to face him-Atsushi fumbles through his pockets.

Oscar

The unknown number haunts him as he continues to stare, his finger hovers over the answer button. He’s calling way too soon, he wasn’t supposed to call unless Atsushi instigated it. Chuuya continues to stare at the offending item in his hand. He darts between the phone and Chuuya, the executive makes no sign of stopping him or even speaking.

With a click, Atsushi brought it to his ear.

“Oscar?-”

“Atsushi!” Atsushi reeled back from the sudden burst of noise, Oscar’s voice crackled and he could hear the sounds of heaving-as if he were out of breath.

“Oscar, what-” he didn’t get the chance to say anything before he was interrupted.

“Lissen to me, me lad, Minoru and Meiko were at wan o' the abandoned warehouses-” Atsushi opened his mouth to respond, but Oscar barreled on-leaving no room for air as he rambled. “The thing was chock-full o' cameras! Cameras an' recordings of yeh an' yer mate.”

“All o’ it, the past recordin’s of us meetin’ up, from the bar to the meetin’, to ye arrivin’ at yer place,” Oscar heaved a breath in, then continued. “Meiko somehow set off one o' them alarms they put in, an' I reckon Kobo caught wind o' it-” he chuckled nervously, “an' they're headin' yer way.”

And just like that, the sound of a pin drop. They were no longer safe, Oscar’s words over the phone now sounded mumbled and strung-he couldn’t make out any of it. With a cautious crook of his head, Atsushi stared at the mafioso in front of him.

They were no longer safe, and it was Atsushi’s fault. The timing of it really couldn’t have been better, it’s a good thing he sent the letter today.

“-meet me down by th' bay, near th' slums! We'll have t' take cover somewhere else-grab any an' all intel ya got. Leave nothin' behind,” the phone clicked, a buzzing sound invading his head as he shut his phone off.

He stared at the device, a cold feeling growing inside him. He blinked once, then twice-his cigarette has since fallen to the ground, its ashes sizzling on the old dusty carpet. “We need to leave…”

“Hah?”

Chuuya wrinkled his nose, as Atsushi began to move around the place. He stuffed his phone in his pocket and ran into his bedroom-grabbing every folder regarding Kobo and stuffing it into his back. Next, he rummaged through his closet, pulling out a pair of slacks, a button up and coat to change. They had no time, they needed to leave and fast.

“What the hell are you doing?” Chuuya appeared by the doorway, his face now bewildered as he watched him flitter around the room. Atsushi didn’t bother to respond, instead changing into new clothes as quickly as possible and throwing his bag around his neck.

He grabbed a few bandages from the kit Gin gave him, shoving them haphazardly into his bag. “I don’t have time to explain Chuuya, but you should grab anything you have regarding Kobo and take it with you.”

“Fuck you mean ‘take’?” Ah, as eloquent as ever. Atsushi rears back and eyes the man before him-feeling a deep satiated notion of guilt for having dragged him into it. Guess he really will be going on the run, honestly-at least he’s not alone.

“I can’t explain it, but Kobo’s men-they've found us and we need to go now,” he said with as much urgency as he could, Chuuya still didn’t look convinced and instead decided to linger.

“I’ll call Akutagawa, he’ll send in some reinforcements-”

“No!” Atsushi yelled, done with his packing and instead heaving himself towards the mafioso. “We can’t call them, it’s too dangerous and it’ll only cause more problems for both the agency and mafia.”

Chuuya squinted at him, mouth twisting into a frown. He crossed his arms and barred Atsushi from leaving-using his body to block the door. “Hold it, what the hell is going on. We argue, you get a call and now suddenly you’re asking me to leave with you?”

“I told you,” Atsushi snapped, his fingers gripping the straps, “Kobo’s men are heading our way and we need to leave.”

“What makes you think I’ll leave with you? I don’t know anything about your dealings with Wilde-I don’t even know if I can trust you. Why in the world would I-”

“Because, Chuuya! If we stick around, we’ll be sitting ducks. And if they manage to get any information on our abilities!-”

Atsushi watched in slow motion as the mafioso’s eyes widened comically-before he uncrossed his arms, one flying forward to latch onto the back of his head. In a swift move, Chuuya had grabbed his injured arm-eliciting a yelp from him.

“Get down!”

They both went tumbling to the ground as the window behind them blew in a rain of shards, Atsushi was dazed, his ears ringing at the sudden blast. A yank had him falling forward, his vision blurred and soon he found himself out in the hallway-Chuuya beside him.

The man kept a firm grip on his injured arm and from what he could see-he had managed to tear out a stitch. Red bloomed underneath the bandages, spreading down his forearm and soon dripping from the tips of his nails.

Atsushi forced himself to stay collected, the blast had done damage to his sense of hearing. He couldn’t make out what Chuuya was saying, with him being so close to the explosion-it was no wonder the sudden break in barrier fucked up his ability to hear.

Chuuya pulled him up from the ground, the two crouching amidst the hail of gunfire ensuing in the room they were previously in.

With a quick peek and nod-the two ran out the hallway. Missing the bullets shot at them by a hair, though of course they couldn’t catch a break. The window in the kitchen soon was broken in by a few masked figures-each of them pulling guns from their backs.

Without a beat, Chuuya flew forward-ramming his elbow into one of the masked figures' faces then twisting their arm-and in a show of true strength. Threw them over the kitchen island. In place of the first one down, two more appeared in order to flank them.

Atsushi ripped his bag off and ran into the fray. Swiftly dodging a bullet or two and swinging his fist into one of their faces-with a satisfying crack that left his hand aching, the figure fell onto their back.

Chuuya himself wasn’t doing bad, he had managed to wrangle a gun from one of them. Using the rather antique firearm to aim two warning shots into one of the masked figures. The figure went down with a ferocious scream-clinging onto their bloodied knee. Atsushi took on two others, using his flexibility and speed to get behind them and deliver a strike to both their heads-they went down, but not without shooting off a few rounds.

Atsushi lifted an arm to shield himself, feeling as the slivers of bullets grazed him. A blur of orange appeared behind the two, with a sharp kick-Chuuya had effectively knocked them both out. The two paused, heaving for air as more figures jumped in through the windows and emerged from the hall,

“Now do you believe me!” Atsushi echoed as he barely dodged away from a knife, flipping back and using his hands to create some distance between them. Somehow, Chuuya had the time to shoot him a flat look while occupied taking down three assailants at once.

They found themselves back to back, a gun in Chuuya’s possession-pointed and firing at those unlucky enough to close in on him. Meanwhile Atsushi had nothing, only his raised fists striking out whenever somebody chose to charge at him.

Chuuya and him shared a timid glance, shifting their feet. He didn’t know how long they would last.

〜✶♣✶〜

“Can you pass me those Ranpo?” Dazai leaned forward with an outstretched hand, his fingers wiggling as he waited for his coworker to drop the heavy stack into his possession.

Ranpo didn’t bother to look, he snatched the file near Kunikida and promptly relinquished it into Dazai’s grasp. He gave the man a smile and returned to work-for the first time in probably all the years he’s been working with the agency.

Dazai Osamu has chosen to actually indulge himself in work. It’s shocking and downright frightening, but beggars can’t be choosers.

The agency has been swamped with work from both their current case and incoming ones. As to why Fukuzawa chose to keep them open, he doesn’t know. Whether to keep the money flowing or simply wanting to have the members work on something other than Kobo, Dazai can confidently say-

That it’s not working, rather it seems to be working against them.

Kunikida looks like he’s going to blow a gasket each time Naomi passes by to drop another file on his desk. And yes, usually Dazai would entertain himself by watching Kunikida struggle-but with them being one member short.

Dazai has effectively filled in for his mentee. Honestly, it’s a hassle. He didn’t know that Atsushi had to deal with so much work everyday, and with Dazai’s own added ones. He’s stuck at his desk reading file after file and typing boring reports that would even make Koyo cry.

They’ve been going at it for a few days straight, members coming in and out. Meetings with the black lizards and their personal clients. Even Ranpo hasn’t been at the agency, carrying out tasks for the police and such.

Sure, it had been a few days since they’ve been flunked with work and the latter. And usually he would welcome the distraction, but now?

He’s dying inside with each file Naomi passes him, and he drowns in despair when they have his name or Atsushi’s in the corner. Dazai can’t help but think it’s futile, everyone knows he won’t ever get the work done-he hasn’t even gone through half the stack in front of him.

The words taunt him, swirling around and turning into crude lettering. His boredom has skyrocketed to an astonishing degree, it might hit a bird or even the moon.

At least Kyoka and Kenji aren’t stuck in the humid office. The two have been running errands for Yosano everyday, and they only get a few files per day. While they’re poor, elders such as himself, are stuck in the office till night.

It’s a shame he’s banned from the field, he’d really love to stretch his legs every once in a while and actually get his hands on some actual work.

Dazai didn’t bother to read through his paperwork, he merely skimmed them then wrote up a report on what he thinks the case is about. It doesn’t really matter, Kunikida checks them over afterwards and fixes up any mistakes.

A heavy boot kicked open the door, it drew Dazai’s gaze from his paperwork-not that he had been doing much to begin with. He peeked over the mountain of files-Ranpo copying his move.

Dazai watched intrigued as Kunikida startled at the racket-his gaze narrowing before making his way over to tall, dark and ugly. “What’d you think that's about?” Ranpo enquired, his words slightly muffled by the crepe in his mouth. Dazai shrugged, however he didn’t immediately go back to his work-Kunikida and Akutagawa shared a few words.

His partner then slightly turned, green eyes flashing as he nodded to Akutagawa. He planted his head atop his palm with practiced calm. “Akutagawa!” Dazai exclaimed, a faint smile curling his lips, “are you here via appointment… Or is there something else you need?”

Akutagawa didn’t respond right away, his dark gaze swept through the room-stopping on each individual figure poised at their stations. He stopped, then slowly and deliberately he pressed onward-inching closer until his hip practically grazed the desk corner.

He extended a folded slip of paper between two fingers. “The were-tiger asked me to deliver this to you,” he said, his voice low and clipped.

Dazai blinked, then studied the forlorn look on his face. “Atsushi? Asked you to deliver this. That’s cute, since when did you become a courier?” He leaned forward, plucking the note with careful speed. “I thought your resume ended at misdemeanor.”

Examining the note, he could see that it had already been opened once-the tape not sticking properly. The corners of his mouth twitched unwillingly, it seems like Akutagawa is still too nosey for his own good.

“Still hard to believe Atsushi used you as a messenger,” he shook his head in mirth, “has hell frozen over already?”

Akutagawa stiffened, the muscles in his jaw jumped. “Read it.”

Rolling his eyes, he unfolded the paper and skimmed its contents. The first thing he recognized, of course, was the codes. Specifically the codes used between him and Atsushi. It was neatly written, not hastily like all the other times.

His smile widened, it’s good to know that his lessons have managed to stick with the cub. Rising from his desk, Dazai ignored the small flinch that snaked over the mafioso’s body.

Akutagawa shifted his weight impatiently, as if he were ready to fight or run. Dazai won’t deny that it does bother him, he had expected Akutagawa would have gotten over his primal anxiousness when around him-but he supposed he expected too much.

“What does it say?”

“Curious?” He shot the man a shit-eating grin. “It’s a secret, but don’t worry-it’s nothing of importance,” Dazai waved him off, watching Akutagawa bristle-his fists tightening at his sides.

His former mentee narrowed his eyes, brimming with mistrust. “The were-tiger said it was your choice whether to inform the mafia of its contents or not.”

Dazai let out a sigh and moved past him, patting his shoulder on the way. “I’m sure he did, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll be in the meeting room decoding it.” Dazai traced a finger along the note, almost thoughtfully. “Oh, and next time-” he started, flicking his gaze to meet Akutagawa’s, “try not to kick open the door. If you hadn’t noticed, we’re all kinda short on money.”

And with that he moved into the meeting room, setting himself on one of the back breaking chairs. He opened the letter and flipped it over on its blank side-it was fairly easy to decode.

He broke down the simple cipher-it’s exactly the same patterns and phrases he had come up with. For some reason, Atsushi felt the need to include some words they rarely even use. Oh Atsushi, always so dramatic.

Rearranging the letters, Dazai got rid of the phrases they didn’t use and ignored the punctuation marks that weren’t visibly outlined. He mainly focused on words they have agreed to use when sharing messages, and by setting those aside he worked to decipher the letter.

He could feel the air change as he continued to work, clearly Akutagawa had accepted his invitation to watch him work.

“Inside, havoc, ancient, vindictive, eat,” he read them off in order, word by word-he kept a steady hold writing down the words, the speed of his lips matching his hand. “Masked, agency, rebuild, knife-” he mumbled as he wrote them all down.

Sensing that Dazai was near done, Akutagawa shifted closer behind him-his tall lanky body looming over the letter and enshrouding him in darkness. He held back the need to snap at him to give him some space.

He smiled as he neared the end, but it fell as soon as he realized what Atsushi had sent him. While the front of the letter did speak some truth if you ignore its hidden message, Dazai did get some information on Atsushi’s current condition.

This dream of his, isn't a lie and somehow ties into how he had managed to use his ability. Though it is disgruntling to know that the tiger-Byakko, is actually a humanoid being. It sends him the creeps.

“O…W…I…” He started slowly, jotting down each letter as he spelled them out. He mostly spoke them for Akutagawa, Dazai doubts the man could make out the words on the page-sometimes he feels like his former mentee might just be illiterate.

For a second, his smile faltered as he wrote down the last of it. He could feel Akutagawa stiffen beside him, leaning in even closer as if he doesn’t believe what he’s reading either.

I HAVE BEEN MARKED

THEY HAVE FOUND ME

I NEED TO RUN

He dropped the pen, folding his hands and cocking his chin on them. “Oh, Atsushi…what have you gotten yourself into, hm?” He murmured.