Work Text:
“Don’t leave.”
Atsushi turned around, his heart cracking further with each breath. His mind felt dim, and unable to comprehend the current events. Akutagawa was standing far away, but his eyes were reaching towards him, menacing yet desperate.
“Please.”
At the utterance of those words, Atsushi trembled. He felt trapped. Torn between his allegiance to the detective agency and the undeniable tug in his heart towards the mafioso beside him. His stomach ached and turned with every fleeting thought. How could this be a debate? Akutagawa was ruthless and cunning. Cruel, manipulative, and above all, evil. He was on the side of devils, the Port Mafia. His actions were unspeakable, and his cruelty had spilled onto Atsushi’s life and the lives of those he loved.
And yet his feet would not move. His mind begged and clawed at his body to move, praying he could find the strength to leave the other boy behind.
“We can go back to hating each other, if it makes it easier.”
His voice was raw and wretched, and Atsushi flinched at the unrecognizable desperation behind his words.
“Just please. Don’t leave. You can hate me all you want. I just need you to stay.” Akutagawa’s voice felt raw and dry, and the words spilling from his lips were unrestrained. He cursed himself internally for allowing this vulnerability, but his thoughts kept pouring out, uncontrolled. He wished with his whole heart he could stop. To allow Atsushi to leave. To return to his friends.
But the back of Atsushi’s shirt, the white button down fluttering slightly in the breeze, tore roughly at his eyes. His whole life had been nothing but turned shoulders, the backs of people’s shirts. But this was one he could not bear to see. His feet moved without thinking, and he stumbled after the boy in front of him, who remained unmoving for now.
His hand reached out, and he watched in disgust as his fingers trembled. What a poor excuse for a mafioso he was. His body was unmistakably shaking at the prospect of being left behind.
He was foolish.
Foolish to think himself isolated, foolish to think himself separate from his emotions, foolish to think he was able to cope.
And the next thing he saw was nothing but the last nail in the coffin, sealing his irrefutably self destructive fate. He had brought this upon himself. So he had no right to experience this feeling, no right to feel his heart fall at the sight of tears clouding Atsushi’s eyes.
“‘Go back to hating each other.’ Go back?!” His voice was choked with fury, and Akutagawa flinched at his unbridled rage. Tears fell from Atsushi’s eyes, and would not stop. It didn’t help to stare into Akutagawa’s dark eyes, to see his wide-eyed and desperate gaze piercing his own.
“I never stopped!” He clenched his fists tightly against his sides, and he felt his nails bite into his palms, drawing blood. He drew a shaky breath, looking at the sky for a moment. The dark twilight sky was illuminated from the lights of the city they shared. Despite the countless lit windows, street chatter, and passerbys, Ryuunosuke Akutagawa and Nakajima Atsushi were alone in Yokohama together.
With a shuddering breath, he looked back down to meet Akutagawa’s gaze. His skin crawled at the words playing on his tongue. His body felt like it wasn’t his own, and seeing his tear encrusted face reflected in Akutagawa’s dark eyes made his stomach fall even further.
Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
Akutagawa was crouched on the ground below him, his face contorted with a foreign vulnerability, and Atsushi knew he would crumble at the words that he held in his mouth.
Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
But there was no greater enemy than his own memories. His head felt almost too small for his mind, as if those intrusive memories kept pushing at the sides, clawing their way out. Kyouka, the airship, the boat, the tower, the cave, even the day they had first seen each other, the day he took his leg and almost killed his newfound friends. And every time they had worked together since then, including today. Everything the man in front of him had put him through was hurtling through his brain with a painful fervor. The look on Kyouka’s face whenever Akutagawa was near was enough to make Atsushi feel sick. Maybe he should say it. Akutagawa was more than deserving of it.
“I hate you.”
It would not be an understatement to say Akutagawa shattered.
His reaction was not physical, but just the slight gray in his eye was enough for Atsushi to know his words carried a far greater weight than they previously had. Those three words had been said before. Spat back at each other in the heat of a battle, in between furious glares. But in none of those times did they ever feel so real. And in none of those times did Atsushi ever feel such burning regret. Regret that clawed at his insides, desperately wishing to snatch back his words. He stood there, watching the older boy slowly split open as ‘I hate you’ reverberated in his ears.
The atmosphere felt singed, tainted. Until Atsushi could no longer bear to stand there, breathing in the air thick with guilt. His frozen feet finally stuttered out of their position and he stumbled away, his eyes burning with fresh tears.
Too late.
~~~~~~~~~
Akutagawa was no stranger to hardship. Even his earliest memories consisted of scampering through the slums of Yokohama, picking up scraps and begging for coins like vermin. It had long since fueled his disgust for the weak, because he knew what it was to be one. But nothing compared to the raw, unbridled grief that ripped through Akutagawa’s bones. There was no hardship that matched grieving the loss of someone who was still alive.
And who was he to feel something for Nakajima Atsushi? His naivety was nauseating. He was on the side of the angels, the Armed Detective Agency.
The boy was weak, naive, nonsensical, and tainted with a common sense of moral righteousness.
And yet his words, his ideas, his actions, all occupied a select space in Akutagawa’s mind. In a mind so clogged with hatred and violence, a furious desire for revenge, Atsushi existed. Akutagawa would be lying to himself if he said it didn’t affect him.
His life had never been anything but hate, and even in the fleeting moments of calm, his mind was still plagued with thoughts of death.
Not knowing who to hate or blame. So he chose everyone. Not knowing who to appeal to or ask for help. So he chose no one. He would live out his days, completing his work wordlessly, without remorse. He had long ago accepted the useless repetition of life, taking everything that happened to him silently before etching it into his heart. In such a place of darkness, a place so void of hope or want, it seemed impossible that emotions could bloom.
What is the point of my life?
Akutagawa had no answer for himself. He had no answer for anyone.
While he had never sought out death, it persisted in his brain.
Why must I go on living?
Though he had searched for some thread of truth, some glimmer of hope to hold up in response, he found nothing.
Except Atsushi.
A stupid, naive, foolish, ignorant boy who perhaps wasn’t so different from Akutagawa’s own self.
Their similarities had always battled their differences. As Akutagawa sat on the ground, watching Atsushi’s back fade into the horizon, he wondered what could have gone differently. He thought he had understood him.
Akutagawa believed he had no value, not beyond killing and violence. He had accepted that as fact as a child. So watching Atsushi, who despite his own self hatred, was able to be so passionate, so kind, so caring, so angry, to have so much to feel. It was foreign to Akutagawa.
But his drive, his motivations, his fears. They were nothing but. It split Akutagawa to the core to hear him utter those words. And his anger with himself only grew because now he was the fool. It had never been Atsushi. He had believed himself understanding, believed he had a grasp of Atsushi’s motivations but had failed to see the true extent of his thoughts.
He curled forward, his overcoat pooling around his ankles like a dark puddle. He gritted his teeth, his fury almost overflowing. But underneath that fury something else was stewing.
Shame.
His stomach turned at the recollection of his uncharacteristic need, his vulnerability. In a moment's weakness he had gotten on his knees and practically begged Atsushi to stay, something he had been terrified to ask of anyone.
And Atsushi left.
Despite all his anger, he could not bear any more hatred towards Atsushi. Akutagawa was more than deserving of his hatred and he slowly rose to his feet, breathing deeply as he began to calm down.
I deserve it. I deserve it. I deserve it.
He clutched onto those words, internalizing them.
As he stood up, he looked towards the street where Atsushi had disappeared. For a moment, he thought he could see him returning, but that brief moment of hope passed like a fleeting shadow. And then he cursed his optimism. His own thoughts felt like his enemy, twisting and turning with contradiction.
He brought his hands to the sides of his head, grabbing his hair as if to quiet the thoughts and memories whirling about his mind.
To his surprise, it worked. His mind cleared to form a single memory. Atsushi staring him directly in the eye, Tchaikovsky playing dimly in the background, listening to him making a promise.
“Don’t kill anyone for six months.”
Akutagawa had hidden his confusion at the time. His ability was one for killing, that was his sole purpose at the Port Mafia.
Who was he without it?
“I think there’s something simple to be learned in that.”
Akutagawa had agreed, despite his reservations. Six months ago.
It was almost unbelievable. Akutagawa had kept his word, as he prided himself in doing. It had been 6 months, and no one had fallen prey to Rashoumon since their last feud in the cave.
A persistent thought began to creep its way through the back of Akutagawa’s mind, growing larger despite his efforts to ignore it.
The sun had now completely disappeared behind the horizon, and a distinct chill whispered through the air. Almost subconsciously, Akutagawa made his coat pull more tightly around his body in an attempt for warmth. With this action, that stubborn thought only grew louder. Sighing frustratedly, he kneeled down again lifting up a corner of his coat with his hands. Studying it curiously, he tried something he had never tried before.
After only a moment's delay, a small flower bloomed in his palm. The flower was made of black fabric; it was made from Rashoumon. And yet it was nothing but that: a flower. Akutagawa stared at the simple object with surprise. He had never imagined his ability could be used to create. For as long as he could remember, he was a tool of destruction, so if he could no longer do that, he would be discarded.
He still couldn’t fully comprehend why he agreed to Atsushi’s promise. He originally believed it was so he could truly fight Atsushi, and win, proving to Dazai once and for all that he was better. But those were the thoughts of a scared child, desperate for recognition. As he stared at the curiously simple flower dancing in his palm, he knew what it was.
It wasn’t Dazai’s approval he craved most after all, but Atsushi’s. And perhaps he had gotten it a long time ago. Atsushi made that promise with him, and at the time, Akutagawa had only believed it was to try and infect him with the same sort of moral righteousness Atsushi prided himself in. But as he grew more flowers, watching in fascination as they traced up his arms, in between his fingers, all along his shoulders, he realized Atsushi had also believed him capable. Capable of something with his ability beyond just destruction and violence.
He snuffed out the flowers in an instant, not stopping to watch them quickly melt back into his coat. He leapt to his feet and lurched forward, chasing after the boy who had taught him so much. The boy he loved.
~~~~~~~~~
Atsushi was no stranger to self-loathing. It occupied a central part of his brain, sometimes consuming his entire mind. He was almost entirely motivated by his desire to prove himself worthy of being alive, and prove himself able to save others. And yet he was unable to save the boy standing in front of him. Akutagawa, the cruel and ruthless mafioso, had crouched on his knees before him, asking one simple thing of him. And he couldn’t give it. Not with a clear conscience. The things Akutagawa had done weighed heavily on his mind. It should have been an easy thing, to reject the wishes of someone who had caused him and others so much pain.
So why does it feel like my mind is battling itself just to keep walking?
His skull felt like it was caving in on itself, yet he willed his feet to take another step, leaving Akutagawa behind.
This should be easy.
Atsushi inhaled deeply, looking up at the night sky. The city lights leaked into the sky, and Atsushi was only able to count the stars on one hand.
Another distraction; failed.
This should be easy.
He whispered that over and over, repeating it like a mantra. He brought his hands towards his face, staring at the small angry red marks on his palms. A small line of blood dripped down his hands, and he looked at it in disgust.
Why was this so difficult?
To struggle so much at leaving him behind, up to where he had to clench his fists to the point of drawing blood just to force his feet to move...Atsushi couldn’t believe his own mind. He touched his palms gingerly, attempting to soothe the stinging pain in his hands.
When Dazai had woken him up in the morning, urging his involvement to stop a band of criminal ability users, he had accepted casually. He wanted to prove to Dazai, and himself, that he was a worthy member of the detective agency. So you could imagine his anger when he found out he was to be working with Port Mafia member Akutagawa once again. Akutagawa seemed different, he recalled.
He was quiet. And not in his usual way, the one where he simply had nothing to say, but rather one where he was deliberately choosing not to speak.
Akutagawa had always been a great mystery to Atsushi. Aloof and cruel, he kept himself at a distance. As much shame as he might’ve felt about it, Atsushi wore his heart on his sleeve. They could not have been more different. In fact, Akutagawa knew almost everything about Atsushi. Whether it was due to extensive intel provided by the Port Mafia or Atsushi’s own outbursts, Akutagawa knew it all. But that knowledge was one sided. Perhaps he could learn more about Akutagawa if he asked, but he felt no desire to. As far as he was concerned, he knew everything he needed to know. His only drive seemed to be proving his worth to Dazai.
Proving his worth...huh.
Atsushi stopped. Today had been an unusual and momentary glance into a side of Akutagawa that Atsushi was unaware even existed.
“I just need you to stay.”
Atsushi flinched at the words echoing in his head. It went against every instinct in his brain to admit he sympathized with those words, stuttered out in an uncontrollable moment of vulnerability. But he stood there, unable to take another step. There was some incomprehensible feeling, some seamless understanding that pulled him back. It was invisible and obscured, yet stronger than any physical connection. Atsushi would be lying if he said he was able to ignore it.
His face was messy and uncomfortable, and he reached up to wipe off the dried salt tears on his cheeks frustratedly. Despite his efforts, fresh tears leaked persistently out of his eyes. What was he crying for anyways? This interaction, his words; they weren’t any different than the other times.
“We can go back to hating each other.”
Atsushi’s eyes widened at the memory. ‘We...’ he had said.
He was wrong. This was different. He had assumed it was a weakness on his part, and perhaps it still was. But there was one key difference between the three words spoken this evening, and the countless other times they’d been spoken. Atsushi had been choosing to ignore it, but there was no real purpose in that anymore. His brain already knew the truth.
This was the first time he knew his hatred wasn’t reciprocated.
Atsushi crumpled. He covered his mouth, stifling a choked gasp. The guilt that had been gnawing at his stomach grew even larger, so much so that he felt he could double over in pain.
Everything Akutagawa had done still mattered, it always would. But Atsushi couldn’t feel any more anger towards the man. He only felt sad, and heartbreakingly guilty for leaving him. He didn’t have enough time or energy to debate with himself anymore, and he hurriedly turned his feet around to return to him.
But he didn’t move more than a step before he was stopped in his tracks by a scared and desperate boy.
Akutagawa had come after him.
Atsushi froze, unsure of what to say to him. His black eyes were glistening with the effort of holding back tears. Seeing his own uncertainty reflected in Akutagawa’s eyes, he knew no words would fill the empty silence between them. He brought his hands together, breathing deeply.
Every hateful word, every spite-filled insult, every angry attack, every tense furious gaze fell into obscured memory. Atsushi tugged hesitantly at his glove, slipping it off his fingers and dropping it to the pavement below. Every instinct in his mind screamed at him to stop, to turn around and disappear once more, but his body moved without thinking. He brought his hand up so slowly the movement was almost imperceptible.
Akutagawa stood in silence, apart from his shaking shoulders, breathing deeply from running. His dark eyes glowed softly as he watched Atsushi unfurl his fingers, spreading out his palm in front of him. His fingers were shaky, dirty, and peppered with scratches from their recent scuffle. But it was still there. An open hand, waiting patiently for Akutagawa to take it.
There was no forgiving, no forgetting, no moving on. There would always be an underlying rivalry, surfacing every now and then with angry quarrels and insults.
But as Akutagawa brought his own trembling hand to grab Atsushi’s, it suddenly didn’t seem so important.