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As Atsushi laid next to Akutagawa, both of them nude and out of breath, he struggled to recall how he ended up in his supposed rival’s bed.
There was a party jointly held by the Port Mafia and Detective Agency in celebration of defeating Dostoevsky, drinks were poured, and things escalated from there. Simple enough.
But no, that wasn’t the real explanation. Atsushi truly was a bit of a lightweight but he was far too sober to blame this on the minimal amount of alcohol he drank. As for Akutagawa, Atsushi wasn’t certain he’d had so much as a drop of liquor. This was a result of a mutual, ever-persisting desire, not drunken spontaneousness.
And how strange it was, to be desired. Until tonight, the thought that someone may crave him in such a way never even crossed Atsushi’s mind, and yet he didn’t doubt Akutagawa’s want even for a moment. Had it been anyone else, Atsushi was sure he’d assume he was somehow misinterpreting things even as they were making out and stumbling to the bedroom. But with Akutagawa, there was no need to second guess. There wasn’t even a chance to. The mafioso’s desire was as clear as day, and it was very much mutual.
After several blissful moments of silence, Akutagawa sat up. He glanced around the room and then stood to pick up his coat. He wrapped it around himself to cover his naked frame before turning back to Atsushi. “I’m going to go shower.”
“Oh,” Atsushi said, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice, “I guess I should get going then.”
Perhaps it was silly to think anything would come of this. There had been something brewing between them for some time but it seemed it was nothing more than sexual tension. Now that it was satisfied, Akutagawa had no need for him. He supposed it made sense.
Akutagawa scowled. “Shut up and stop overthinking. You’re not leaving again, just wait here.” And with that, he went to the en suite bathroom and shut the door behind him.
Again? What did Akutagawa mean by that? They had never done this before, there was no opportunity for Atsushi to have left until now.
He laid there, listening to the distant sound of shower water running, trying to make sense of it. Akutagawa reentered the bedroom several minutes later in nothing but his coat, hair still wet. He looked visibly relieved that the other was still there, and that stirred something within the detective. Watching a few stray droplets fall onto Akutagawa’s pale shoulders not far from the pink scar decorating his throat, it clicked.
“I died,” he blurted out after sitting up.
Akutagawa narrowed his eyes at him. “What of it?”
“You did too.”
Akutagawa then rolled his eyes and began searching his closet for something to wear. “I know, I was there.”
Atsushi frowned. “Do you not want to talk about it?”
The mafioso grabbed some plain looking nightwear and started changing into them as he spoke, facing away from Atsushi as he did so. “What is there to talk about?”
For a moment the only sound that could be heard was the rustling of Akutagawa getting dressed before Atsushi broke the silence to say, “I mourned you. And you… you fought to get me back.”
Akutagawa went very still. “…Yes,” he eventually conceited before finishing buttoning his night shirt.
“Why?”
Akutagawa didn’t answer right away. Instead he folded his coat and placed it in his closet and then made his way back over to the bed. He sat with a heavy sigh and ran a hand through his damp hair. “I don’t know.”
Atsushi frowned as he shifted to sit beside him. “Don’t lie to me.”
He turned his head to half-heartedly glare at the other. “You tell me why then, since you seem so certain.”
Atsushi opened his mouth and then closed it, suddenly not as sure. He brought his gaze down to his lap where he was fidgeting with his fingers. He had the urge to cover himself, suddenly very aware of the fact that he was still completely bare, but that seemed decidedly less important. “I think I know,” he confessed, “but I’m afraid of being wrong.”
“No, you know you’re not wrong.” He glanced up to see Akutagawa staring at him intently. His resolve seemed to have solidified, no longer deflecting. Atsushi realized with startling clarity that it was because his own resoluteness had faltered. “You’re just scared of the consequences, coward.”
“You’re dancing around it too,” he argued back weakly. At this point it seemed increasingly likely Atsushi was going to leave without either of them working up the nerve to say it.
Akutagawa sighed again. “Whatever, just get dressed.”
Atsushi stiffened. “Huh?”
“Just pick something out of my closet, I don’t care.” He sounded tired, and admittedly Atsushi was beginning to as well.
He wavered for a second before acquiescing. He stood, again resisting the urge to cover himself, and began rummaging around in the wardrobe. He felt Akutagawa’s eyes on him as he decided on an old tee shirt and worn sweatpants. He lingered near the folded coat before the mafioso spoke up again.
“Keep it.”
“Wh-what?”
He turned to see Akutagawa’s gaze now fixated vacantly on the ceiling. “The coat. I don’t need it anymore.”
Atsushi hesitated. “But… Dazai gave you that coat.”
Akutagawa’s fingers twitched, but he otherwise didn’t react. “He did, and now I’m giving it to you.”
“I… Okay. Thank you.”
He quickly put on the clothes he had chosen before retrieving the black overcoat and shrugging it on as well. Its weight was comforting in a way it hadn’t quite been when he wore it in the days following Akutagawa’s death. There was no guilt or grief attached to it anymore, just safety and a shared sense of trust. It would keep him warm during his walk back to the agency dorms—a walk he was dreading but would need to start soon.
He had just begun to search for his discarded boots when Akutagawa asked, “What are you doing?”
“Trying to find my shoes,” he responded without looking up.
“Why?”
“Do you expect me to go home barefoot?” he huffed.
The silence that followed caught his attention and he turned just in time to see Rashomon speeding towards him. Atsushi barely flinched when the ability—physically softer due to the different fabric it was made of—gently wrapped around his middle and dragged him back over to the bed.
“That desperate for another round?” He attempted to joke as Rashomon carefully placed him again next to Akutagawa, but his slightly breathless voice betrayed him. He had been dropped closer to the other than he had been sitting previously, and his face warmed with the thought it had to have been intentional.
“I believe I told you you’re not leaving.” His words were simple, but heavy, leaving no room for argument.
Atsushi eyed him curiously. “You told me to get dressed, I thought you were asking me to go.”
“You were growing uncomfortable with being bare.”
“…I’ll have to leave eventually.”
“I know.”
“Probably first thing in the morning.”
“I’m aware.”
Atsushi swallowed thickly. “But you don’t want me to.”
“If I had my way,” he admitted slowly as if the words were difficult for him to say, “I would never let you out of my sight again. Even just now in the shower, I kept worrying I’d come back to see you’d vanished again. I…” his hands clenched into fists, “I can’t lose you again. I refuse.”
Atsushi’s breath hitched with the honest admission. He hadn’t expected Akutagawa to be so open, to get so close to the truth without saying it outright. He opened his mouth to fumble for something to say but Akutagawa beat him to it.
“I can deal with letting you go in the morning. I have to, you are not mine to keep. But, I ask that you stay the night.”
“I…” Atsushi began before he hesitated. Akutagawa just looked at him—expectant but patient—exhaustion and a bit of desperation lacing his features. Atsushi could meekly agree and leave the rest unsaid. He could make a joke about how it didn’t seem like Akutagawa was really asking, or tease him for being so clingy. He could even walk out and pretend this conversation never happened.
But no, he couldn’t keep shying away from it. Akutagawa had taken the risk to be vulnerable, the least he could do was meet him half way.
“I’ll stay the night,” he confirmed, resolute, “and I’ll come back tomorrow night, and the night after that, and the night after that. I may not be yours to keep, but I… I am yours. I have been for a while now, and I won’t run from it anymore.”
Akutagawa’s eyes widened, and for a moment it seemed his breathing halted. Atsushi could hardly blame him—he previously hadn’t thought himself capable of admitting such things out loud. He probably never would have if Akutagawa hadn’t been the first to take that leap.
“You know I’m not…” Akutagawa’s shoulders rose as if he were curling in on himself. “I’m not worthy of being the subject of your affections.” He didn’t fight it, just acknowledged the detective’s feelings would be better suited for someone else. Someone less violent perhaps, without so much blood on their hands.
But it wasn’t as if Atsushi was particularly well fitted to house the mafioso’s feelings either. He was too weak and overly sentimental, often too timid for someone like Akutagawa. “I’d hardly consider myself deserving of yours either, but…”
A faint smile graced Atsushi’s lips as he recalled how gently Akutagawa had held him while they were tangled in his sheets—how softly he had gazed upon him, how earnestly he had kissed him. Every action had been made with painstaking care; every word unsaid shared instead through tender and devoted touches. It didn’t matter if they weren’t a good match. The fact of the matter was they had chosen each other.
Carefully as if handling something delicate, Atsushi reached out a hand and cupped Akutagawa’s cheek. The dark-haired man leaned into the touch like it was the most natural thing in the world, like the fingertips brushing against his skin weren’t trembling. “But you…”
“But I love you,” Akutagawa finished for him, voice barely above a whisper. His chest heaved with the effort of forcing the words out as Atsushi’s tightened.
“I-” he began, “I-” but his breath stuttered and his eyes grew wet. The weight of Akutagawa’s words—words he had once believed he would never hear from another—hit him with more force than he expected. His hand began to fall away from Akutagawa’s face before the other caught it and held it to his cheek.
“You don’t need to say it back. I already know,” he reassured as Atsushi unraveled. But no, he needed to say it. Twice now he had almost lost the opportunity to do so. He would not let his own emotions take this from him.
Blinking back unshed tears, he leaned forward. “I love you too,” he murmured against Akutagawa’s lips.
The kiss was soft, unhurried, gentle. A far cry from the violent blows they once exchanged, and less needy than the heated caresses from earlier. It was everything he never knew he needed.
“If you are mine as you say you are,” Akutagawa started breathlessly when they finally parted, hands which had come up to grip the coat that was now Atsushi’s tightening, “then I will never let you go.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
__________
When morning came and Atsushi had to leave to return to the agency, Akutagawa’s chest did not tighten in anxiety as it had previously. He no longer had any reason to doubt his weretiger would return to him once night fell. He would greet him in the moonlight with a kiss followed by a soft, “I love you, Ryū,” and even though he did not need to for his sentiments to be known, Akutagawa would say it back with equal sincerity.
“I love you too, Atsushi.”