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Hands.
Hands mirrored shields.
From the beholder to the witness, it was one of the few appendages many could be granted to witness with their own living eyes.
As young as a vulnerable baby opening their eyes for the first time and as old as an elder fumbling out their final breath.
Hands bear an important function throughout the lifespan of most organisms: people often shield their eyes when the blazing sun burns brightly into their cornea; the dead often buried with their withered palms embracing each other and parents consoling their young children with tender caresses.
Hands mirrored shields.
Hands mirrored shields because they granted protection and security.
At least, that's how everyone else saw it.
There was a time..
A time shrouded in a pit of descending darkness.
A time where every time Akutagawa looked at his pallid palms, a bitter fragrance of rusted iron impaled his nostrils, a warm temperature coats his bones yet sent shivers across his nerves and a crimson pool sinks through his appendages.
A time where his veins felt as cold as the winter wind, and his muscles contracted in a way it felt like wearing an old shirt that feels way too tight around the skin.
A time where the truth he longed to avoid came crashing down upon his helpless body that rattled like a fragile jar tipping over the edge by a sinister child.
It should have been a dream.
One he had heard amongst the children from the slums murmur in long winter nights where the deadly ice dissolved through their starved skin and where the moisture long began to rot within their clothes; the chills lingered on their starved lips.
A dream like Cinderella.
A poor child entering the glimmering light that radiated from the majestic sun.
And perhaps a part of him felt that pitiful sensation of hope that night in those dark woods when brown irises glowed like the arriving sun after a storm terrorising night.
Those brindled eyes coloured Akutagawa's macabre night.
After witnessing the lifeless cadavers of what once were deprived children within his group be battered into spilled tendons and unrecognisable bones, those burning brown eyes filled his fourteen-year-old self with a sort of emotion he hadn't recognised in years
Was it hope?
Was it admiration?
No.
How could it have been.. even for a mere second.
Perhaps it was the blissful ignorance of a child who was tired.
Tired of hunting down food to survive a night.
Tired of fighting off fleas that stuck to his stained skin.
Tired of holding onto the thought that he could even survive before tomorrow could arrive.
Those burning brown eyes didn't bring hope.
They brought despair.
A despair that rattled Akutagawa's solid security.
A despair that tossed every portion of protection he spent years trying to build.
A despair that made it feel like whenever he looked at those sun-tanned orbs, he was burning from the clear disdain.
That was how life with Osamu felt.
It fractured him whole, piercing him into pointless shards scattered through time, only forced fragments of miserable memories glued together into what once was a clear mirror where Akutagawa could once recognise himself.
Was this the sparkling dream he witnessed that night?
Did he try too hard to become recognized by his mentor or did he only use his mentor to recognise himself?
Questions that haunted him at the end of every training session, spiralling him with a shadow of doubt that pathetically watched from behind and followed in a constant reminder of that very feeling.
It was moments like those that made Akutagawa appreciate the substantial things he experienced during his childhood.
The stinging pain he'd feel lifting heavy scraps, in search for a replacement roof, so him and the other children could sleep without rain water leaking inside their current residence: that pain was less painful then the mental sessions he would witness with his mentor.
He remembers the rusted dirt poisoned into his open cuts from touching the sharp surfaces and how it left behind an hideous infection where his skin crawled cold during the storm brewed night. His sister's scrawny body cuddled close to his lifeless limp one, her tear soaked cheeks rubbed against his emaciated expression.
The heavy patter of the roaring rain against cheap metal kept his little body up, the constant pounding made his eardrum squirm and his heart jolt like a constant pendulum.
It was a tragic night in that moment.
But it made for a warm memory.
A memory that awakened Akutagawa from the end of the sparring session with Osamu.
The memory that made him bitterly wept as dried blood from the training choked down his throat.
A memory that chased his eyes around the room to remember those days that his childlike essence swore should have been nightmares, felt like a dream during his time in the mafia.
When he recognized where he was, the seizure abruptly ended with disappointment.
The Port Mafia should have been a striving star that his little slender palms could finally gasp.
But perhaps like most things, it was simply better to admire the beautiful stars from afar than to possess them, witnessing them crash down like a melting meteor and leave nothing but burning disaster.
The palms Akutagawa used his whole childhood to touch rubble for makeshift tools and delve deeper into pungent food waste for a temporary meal, felt pathetically small and pathetic in the mafia despite how much stronger he became.
The verbal violence that assaulted his ears when entering a room from Dazai among other superiors who degraded Ryuunosuke, from the way Osamu would tug aggressively at his bangs when Akutagawa would delay a response to his questions, the empty pools of a cool dark tide that made Ryuunosuke feel like he was drowning helplessly within his Mentor's disapproval.
How could he ever feel admiration for this man?
A man so devoid of life that his office remained so pointlessly empty.
A man so devoid of breathing that he would discard changing his worn out bandages for a day.
A man so devoid of living that he'd throw away a perfectly stable sandwich because he hadn't had an appetite despite skipping breakfast.
How dare it be admiration.
Akutagawa should have never taken that hand that night.
A man so impassionate about living, how could he ever define who Akutagawa wanted to be.
An ignorant part of Akutagawa wants to believe he was foolishly strummed along in a sweet song of long lies.
And another part, a small and timid side, knew that the truth was probably due to how Akutagawa himself didn't know what defined him.
It was painful.
The relentless tirade, the endless beating, the constant nightmares.
Nights where he felt so disturbingly small, he curled into a tiny circle and wept so much that he'd forgotten by morning why his eyes had become so dry.
His palms were drowned in puddles of blood whether from his coughing fit, the kick delivered into his kidney or from the seizures that would possess him awake every horror-filled night.
The more shiny the star was, the more it burned when crashing down.
And his palms were made only to carry blood.
───────────•~❉᯽❉~•───────────
Stream flowed efficiently through the room, particles circulating in the heightened heat that it became suffocating to breathe in.
Hues of tanned tangerine and lemon gold invaded through the wide window, the ebony curtains hung softly open as the warm quality of the setting sun wilted underneath the skyscrapers of Yokohama, painting a majestic portrait of a stunning kaleidoscope.
The sun melts smoothly like butter against his eyelids as Akutagawa slowly flutters them awake, his jaw submerged in warm waters as he languidly pulls forward his milky palms coated in gentle petals of summer roses.
The fragrance pleasantly brought thoughts of a mid-summer soirée, the crimson colour beautifully illuminated under the gaze of her majesty, the sun, as other pieces drifted alongside the olivine contrast of the water.
"Ryuunosuke," A voice warmer than the retiring sun yet reserved like a recited hum of sacred prayer spoke, the foreign use of his name used to unpleasantly tingle his ears.
Akutagawa was always neutral about his name.
It didn't matter most nor had it mattered least
It was the only thing left behind by his parents and yet when he had turned fifteen during his years in the mafia, he painstakingly removed any chains that trapped him to the past, discarding the name as a former identity that could easily be shredded.
Even his own sister had stopped calling him by the name in private, as if it had no association with who Akutagawa presently was.
It was a name even the eight children he grew up with in the slums didn't like pronouncing and often shortened his name to Ryuu or a nickname that easily rolled off their tongue better.
"Ryuunosuke," Drenched wetter than the humid air between them, the voice awakens something disturbingly new within the raven who torpidly lowered his saturated lashes, bringing his otiose irises towards the man before him.
"Are you finally awake?" Chuuya chirped like a warbling vireo scolding a call, his darkened pupils glimmered like cherished jewels under the swishing motion of the water.
"I wasn't sleeping, I was thinking." Ryuunosuke muttered low, his voice vibrated against the surface of water as heaps of it gathered and flowed among the edges of his molars as his damp bangs adhered to his chiselled jawline.
"About what? What has your beautiful face thinking so hard that I can't have your attention?"
Chuuya reached forward his flexed arm that had been resting on the side of the ivory tube, brushing the tassels of hair that clumped to Ryuunosuke's hair.
Ryuunosuke hummed under the touch, the callused ridges on Chuuya's firm fingers had a warmness soaked by the sun that has poured generously into the bathroom, Chuuya's azule eyes always dangerously modulated in concentration, the magnitude of blue reminded Ryuunosuke of a beautiful painting of a ending spring filled with clear cerulean skies.
When those eyes fell on him, it left him helplessly exposed from the intensive inspection.
"I am not beautiful." Akutagawa phlegmatically responded with efficient certainty, as if Nakahara had said something absolutely ridiculous.
"Are you telling your superior that he's wrong?" A splash of water tickles the side of Ryuunosuke's eyelid, the raven lowering his knees from his chest.
"If he is completely wrong then it is my duty to maintain his dignity and correct him behind closed doors."
"Then perhaps when it's just the two of us, I will be your inferior and correct you."
"Hmmm.."
"Okay, Ryuunosuke-sama~." A satisfied smirk bordered confidently along the oxbow shape of Chuuya's saccharine lips, the movement of his undulating mouth enticing.
"I don't like it." Ryunnosuke stated with a detached voice that thickly veiled any sort of emotion.
Most people despised how ingenuous his poker face had become, moulded into a natural shape that fitted his countenance rather elegantly, an empty expression that left no visible evidence of any reaction.
However, Nakahara smiled cynically without a delay to the response, his structured shoulders buckled as he drew closer to Akutagawa, pinning him against the edge of the other side of the tub as he sat in-between the raven's welcomingly spread thighs.
"Because you're not used to it."
Navigating his leathery palms across the marginal silhouette of Akutagawa's tenuous hips, Nakahara effortlessly elevated the younger man up, gaining a misty moan from the raven who glanced gently at the orbs of mystifying sapphire.
Wrapping his prolonged arms around the older's slender neck, Ryunnosuke laid further back into the lazy layers of the water, witnessing the ochre lumps of Chuuya's hair rise like clouds among the water, a piece of vermillion petals glued to their skin as they sat comfortably in the water.
"Change it, I don't like it, Chuuya." Ryuunosuke muttered even quieter in a hot whisper that streamed against Chuuya's throat, like a siren beckoning for the sailor.
A light flashed in the ginger's pupils as a deep laugh reverberates through the cooked stream.
"Ah.." Nakahara precariously sunk even closer into Akutagawa who let out a susceptible groan, widening further his legs as his svelte ankles anchored to the broad back of his superior.
"That's the first time you called out my name without me having to correct you." Chuuya muttered excitedly as his lips brushed against the sensitive skin of Ryuunosuke who shuddered mindlessly.
"..."
"What's has you thinking so much that you even call me by first name? I'd like to know for future reference."
Chuuya's flaming hair resembled a purely orange sunset against the covers of emerald blue water, his nose pierced into Ryuunosuke's clavicle and softly nuzzled against the space as if he was a bird hidden in the safe comfort of a tree.
"The past.." Akutagawa openly admitted, he always found himself vulnerable under the lethal gaze of those sky-mirrored eyes.
Like a young dove hidden in a cage beside an open window where it witnessed the massive liberty of the unoccupied sky.
It too, felt like Nakahara was sometimes too far out of reach, despite him touching him so intimately like this.
"..."
"I used to think I no longer had a weakness."
Ryuunosuke tilted his apathetic head to the side, slowly blinking his full eyelashes as he liked tracing the direction of Chuuya's eyes that always followed him.
"Ehh, won't your sister and assistant be disappointed to hear that. Don't say such things easily that would make women cry."
Nakahara scoffed with mirth as the sun painted over his exposed back, a golden halo casted over his focused expression that made Akutagawa's heart twitch.
"I doubt Gin would cry, if anything, she would be pleased." Ryuunosuke muttered honestly, his fingers rattled playfully along the length of Chuuya's shoulders which despite being short, were fairly muscled to feel the curves and ridges that gave it a firm hard shape.
"Pfft, can you really say that and still call each other siblings?"
"She didn't like the feeling of being burdensome with my constant worry, not when those days have long passed, so.. it would give her a peace of mind that I am not stressing over her anymore. Higuchi.. is rather a liability than a weakness."
It's odd.
When Akutagawa tries to recollect those memories of his malnourished sister begging for him to wait the rain out and not go searching for medical supplies while she had a horrendous gash under her twig-shaped thigh; her impuissant pools of dark night cried as tears leaked down her bloodied rags: it comes in a distant blur that no longer feels recognisable.
He had desperately worked hard to disintegrate every ounce of his past during the few years when Dazai remained in the mafia but each attempt had him stumbling awake from night terrors that left him physically and mentally ill for hours.
For it to disappear without a lingering resemblance gave him the strength to open his mouth so openly like this without fear of being haunted and chased endlessly by a past so far from his future.
"..." Chuuya kept completely silent, his eyes intensified with an uncertain emotion that Ryuunosuke can't fathom whether he admires or despises it.
However it gives him enough strength to admit what hung on his tongue as a tiny smile glittered over his teeth.
"But in retrospect.. I believe that my weakness will always be you." Ryuunosuke smiled.
"Eh, shouldn't I be your strength?" Chuuya raised his arched brow as he froze the hold he had on the raven.
"Who says you can't be both?"
"..."
"You're the air that helps me breathe and the very air I suffocate on." Ryuunosuke simply shrugged as he tugged Chuuya closer, his intention seeming close to drown them both however his expression gave the reassurance that he believed Chuuya would never allow that to happen nor would he ever let anything hurt Ryuunosuke.
"Ehhh, what a weird analogy."
Thrumming his rich fingertips up the porcelain pelvis, Nakahara rooted himself further into the pilant body until it left like they were touching limb for limb, a restricted kind of skinship that was reserved for intimate moments like these as the thudding collision of their heartbeats combined sung in harmonised hymns.
It felt as if it granted Akutagawa every right to say the things he wanted to say without worry.
"I used to think it was a bad thing too. But I find it rather pleasant." The raven inhaled softly to a close whimper, his glowing skin tingles in anticipation as the rose petals kissed the edges of his toes.
"..."
"I apologise, I'm not very good at this-"
"Don't apologise." Chuuya interrupted without wasting a second, his body jolting into a rocking motion that slams against Ryuunosuke's abdomen, neither soft nor hard but enough for the raven to feel it as the drifting bath water tickles his chest.
A steel-like grip engulfs around his lower femur as a secure strength hoisters his body onto the ginger's lap as the two sat up, the sides of the tub awkwardly squeezed them tight together as Akutagawa was forced to tighten his limbs around the lower torso of Nakahara, an occuring waterfall effect spilled from their sudden movement.
Fiercely pinching his fingers into the skin around Ryuunosuke's waist without leaving a visible mark of injury, Chuuya fit effortlessly like the perfect puzzle piece destined to be put inside Ryuunosuke, the raven weaving his slender fingertips into the rinsed bronze curls of his superior.
"Please don't apologise, anything but that." Peppering a balmy kiss against Akutagawa's earlobe as he painfully whispered, Nakahara buried his lips further across the raven's jawline as a hymn of moans escaped through Akutagawa's lips.
"I've never been all that much happy in my life, even for days like my birthday. Misery is a constant that I've grown attached to since birth and was the one emotion I believe I would take to the grave."
For over fourteen years, Akutagawa recalls his younger self devoid of the happiness of a genuine birthday, that he had even discarded the date from his mind as it was seen as an expensive event for those living in painful poverty: he didn't like recalling the other children return half-beaten or sorely limping from selling themselves just to bring him something considerably special for his birthday.
When joining the mafia, the event never got more special. His mentor, despite having handled his application process, skillfully discarded any remembrance of his birthday and bluntly addressed how once Akutagawa has obtained his full respect, only then would he acknowledge his birthday.
And even after those darkened days passed, the mere mention of celebrating his birthday itched him mentally that he'd often fall into a pattern of utter dissociation.
The concept warranted horrid memories.
"I couldn't find somewhere where I belonged, home was a strange concept I never understood while chasing it."
Chasing shelter after shelter inside the slums was a horrible experience that ended with them running endlessly from barking dogs with rabies, invading fleas sunken deep into old furniture and drunken men who loitered and threw glass bottles at him.
The mafia could never dare fill the fondness of a home even if he had certified his position and given himself a clear name.
"I couldn't even call my life my own. It felt as if I had to give it to someone else for me to fight for it back."
The pack of children in the slums.
The night in the clouded forest.
All different versions of himself he traded off to gain a little piece of semblance of who he is.
"But.. But I think I can have it all.. when I'm with you." Ryuunosuke choked pitifully on a sob, the edges of his eye's gathered a little liquid as he looked down at Chuuya's painfully hurt eyes.
Those ocean blue eyes felt very far from the ocean.
Ryunnosuke never felt like he was drowning in them the way he did when he was with Dazai.
No.
They truly felt like the sky, the beautifully branded sky that held high in every regard and promised a shining tomorrow, even in the rain or sun, they glistened glamorously.
As if they were verses of a holy prayer that granted a blessing upon witness.
Chuuya's eyes were a blessing because he full-heartedly believed in Ryuunosuke.
In a way that Ryunnosuke thought no one would ever do.
"Please be my happiness,"
Nakahara was the only one to witness Akutagawa beg so pathetically like a priest worshipping a revered god.
"Please be my home,"
It was such an unfamiliar emotion as it felt like his lips were possessed by these surging thoughts, stuttering out each word with deeper meaning his black eyes glistened a silver brighter than the moon.
"Please be the reason I fight to live everyday."
It was the first time in such a long time that he wanted to properly fight and possess something.
The first time he selfishly wanted to engulf in something that didn't leave a bitter distaste in his ego.
The first time he could love something without loathing and despising himself for it because it didn't make him feel pathetically cheap and insignificant.
Nakahara gently cups Akutagawa's face in his palms as a helplessly massive smile enlightens his features, one that made him incomparable to even the sun as a wide grin draws across his cheekbones
"Didn't you know that it was you who taught me to be this way? I think I'm going crazy over how cute you are."
"..."
"I won't grant anyone else permission to do that for you, and I won't even spare a single soul to do it for me."
The proximity between them edged closer as Chuuya was the first one to close that line, parting his pillowed lips as he swallowed down Ryuunosuke's trembling mouth, clamping down with an unyielding pressure.
Warmth enveloped like a soft candlelight across Ryunnosuke's mouth, a sweet bliss unravelling along his heart strings that thrummed symphonies of ecstasy, passionate poems lingering between the touch of their tongues as the taste of each other scents over their air.
Despite how attached he is to the moment, Nakahara is first to pull away and the little flickers of concern in his eyes seal his evergoing concern for Akutagawa who's flustered face painted dark red, a string of saliva connecting between them as bouts of expelled air lewdly left his aqueous lips.
The concern twists into a satisfied smirk as Chuuya engraved prints of his lips down Ryunnosuke's Adam's apple, his palm soothingly rubbing ministrations across the raven's spine as he slowly drew himself higher.
"Welcome home, Ryuunosuke." Happily curved eyes greet Akutagawa's blurred vision that had conjured up swelled tears.
Despite the tears, pure content settled nicely across his body, his shaking palm gently touching the edge of Nakahara's hair as the executive leaned closer to give the man more clear access to freely caress his hair.
The corners of Akutagawa's lips gradually pulled up as a distorted whisper consumed with tears spoke small and tiny with a genuine giggle.
"I'm home, Chuuya."
Yesterday, when he looked at his palms, he'd see blood.
Tomorrow, he'd witness soft petals painting his fingertips.