Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Atsushi hadn’t meant to say it.

They were in the dorm, 1 a.m., midterm season. The tiny shared desk between their beds was a battlefield of notebooks, half-finished ramen cups, and crumpled outlines.

Akutagawa sat curled in his usual skeletal posture, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, eyes scanning a dense philosophy textbook like it owed him money. Atsushi, very much Not Reading, was slumped sideways in his chair, chin in hand, staring blankly at Akutagawa’s profile.

“You ever sleep?” Atsushi mumbled. No response. Of course not.

He stared a moment longer. His mouth moved before his brain could stop it.

“It’s kind of annoying how pretty you look in lamplight.”

Silence.

Atsushi blinked, mind catching up too late.
Wait. Wait. NO.

Akutagawa’s pen halted mid-sentence.
“…What.”

“Wh-what?? I—I said—uh—you look like—pity, not pretty, like—like pitiful! Yes! Because you don’t sleep and you look half-dead!”
Atsushi was physically trying to melt into his seat now.

Akutagawa turned his head slowly. Like a cursed statue.
“You said I look pretty.”

Atsushi wanted to leap from the window. “It was a slip, okay?! I’m sleep-deprived! I haven’t had solid food since Wednesday!”

There was a beat of silence.

And then Akutagawa — impossible, terrifying, sharp-tongued Akutagawa — looked away and said, so quietly it barely touched the air:

“…You’re not that bad-looking either.”

Atsushi’s brain exploded like a dying star.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Atsushi had two goals:
1. Never speak again.
2. Drop out and become a forest cryptid.

Unfortunately, fate (and his 9am class with Akutagawa) said hell no.

He arrived early, clutching his notebook like a lifeline, internally replaying last night’s slip-up like a horror movie:

“It’s kind of annoying how pretty you look in lamplight.”

He had SAID THAT. OUT LOUD. TO AKUTAGAWA.

And Akutagawa — cold, sharp, emotionally allergic Akutagawa — had said “You’re not that bad-looking either.”
Which was basically a love confession in Akutagawa language.

⸻

Atsushi flopped into his seat.

Akutagawa arrived two minutes later. Didn’t look at him.
Didn’t say anything.
Just sat down and pulled out his notes.

Which was fine. Great. Fantastic.
Except Atsushi was now hyperaware of the way Akutagawa’s hair curled slightly behind his ear when he leaned down.

“OH NO, IT’S HAPPENING AGAIN,” Atsushi thought.
“I’M ROMANTICIZING HIS EAR.”

⸻

Class dragged on in slow-motion. And just when Atsushi thought he could escape…

A folded piece of paper landed silently on his desk.

From Akutagawa.
Written in the same painfully neat, sharp handwriting as always.

Atsushi opened it.

“I read the thing in your poetry notebook. Page 13.”
“I liked it.”

Page 13. Oh. Oh no. Oh GOD—

That was the one he’d written weeks ago and forgotten to tear out.

The one that went:

“I hate that I notice the way your voice softens when you’re tired.”
“I hate how I don’t hate you.”

Atsushi stared at the note, the heat rising up his neck so fast he nearly passed out.
He glanced sideways.

Akutagawa was pretending to take notes, face perfectly blank…
But his ears?

Bright red.

Chapter Text

The poetry notebook sat on the desk like a live grenade.
Atsushi stared at it. Poked it. Considered setting it on fire.

Akutagawa, meanwhile, was in the kitchenette — if you could call a microwave and a hot plate a kitchen — silently making tea. Not speaking. Not looking at him.

Atsushi was dying.
Like, actual medical dying.

Cardiac arrest, caused by emotional repression.

He turned around in his chair and blurted:

“You weren’t supposed to read that!”

Akutagawa didn’t even flinch. “Then don’t leave your pathetic love poems out where anyone can see them.”

“They’re not—”
Atsushi stopped. Froze.
“…Wait. Did you just say love poems?”

Akutagawa paused. His shoulders tensed.
A beat passed.

“Shut up.”

OH.

OH.

Atsushi blinked, his heart flailing like a fish out of water.
“…So you did read it.”

“Yes.”
“…And?”
“…I told you. I liked it.”

Silence.

Atsushi stood, slowly, like approaching a skittish animal. “Okay. But like. You ‘liked’ it how? As in, you weren’t disgusted? Or as in… you maybe feel the same way?”

Akutagawa turned, mug of tea clutched in his hands like a shield.

His face was unreadable.
His voice, however, cracked just slightly when he said:

“I don’t hate you either.”

Atsushi stared at him.

“That’s it?” he whispered. “That’s your confession?”

Akutagawa’s eyes narrowed. “Do you want me to cry and write you a haiku, or—”

Atsushi stepped forward and kissed him.

Mid-rant. Mid-eye-roll. Right on the mouth.

Akutagawa froze.

The mug hit the counter with a clunk.

For a second, Atsushi thought he’d messed up. Badly.
Then Akutagawa kissed him back. Harder. Faster. Like he’d been waiting for this forever and just needed permission to want it.

⸻

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, Akutagawa muttered:

“Your lips taste like ramen.”

Atsushi grinned. “That’s on you. You keep cooking for me.”

Akutagawa rolled his eyes. But his lips curved just slightly upward.

Just a bit.

Chapter Text

It started innocently.

Atsushi was chatting with some classmate — some very enthusiastic, way too smiley Political Science major who had the audacity to laugh at everything he said.

Akutagawa sat on a nearby bench, arms crossed, scarf wrapped twice as tight as usual, glaring like a gargoyle with trust issues.

Why is he laughing at that idiot? That wasn’t even funny.
Why is she touching his arm? That’s not necessary for conversation.
Why is she looking at him like that? HE’S A MEDIOCRE WRITER WITH ABANDONMENT ISSUES.

When Atsushi finally walked over, holding an extra coffee in his hand, Akutagawa hissed like he’d been burned.

“Oh wow, that girl was really nice,” Atsushi said, plopping beside him on the bench. “She even gave me this coffee—said I looked tired.”

Akutagawa stared at the cup like it was poison.
“…Do you accept free things from strangers often, or are you just stupid?”

Atsushi blinked. “Wha—no? She’s in my class. She was being nice.”

Akutagawa scoffed. “People don’t do things out of ‘niceness.’ She was obviously trying to get something.”

“Like what?”
“I don’t know. A date. Your DNA. Whatever pathetic people want.”

Atsushi squinted. “Are you… jealous?”

Akutagawa’s eye twitched.

“I don’t get jealous. I get concerned. You attract the attention of questionable, untrustworthy people.”

“…You mean like you?”

Akutagawa went completely silent.
Atsushi smirked. Victory.
But then—

“I’m not like them,” Akutagawa muttered. “I don’t pretend to like you. I just do.”

Oh.
Oh.

Atsushi’s smile softened.

He passed Akutagawa the coffee.

“Here,” he said, voice light. “So you don’t get jealous again.”

Akutagawa accepted it with a scowl that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

⸻

Later, Atsushi found the untouched coffee still sitting on Akutagawa’s desk.

With a sticky note that read:

“I don’t need caffeine. I stay awake out of spite. Idiot.”