In his memories, Yokohama was showered in blood. Each drop a reminder of every heinous act Akutagawa had chosen to do in the hope it would give him some modicum of praise from Dazai. In the hopes that if he succeeded, that the future would no longer be so uncertain, that he would have the power and the security he so desperately needed. So, for the longest time, Yokohama was always painted in black, white, and a painful red.
He had always assumed it would be that way, a comfort in the certainty of it all. He even forced those colors into the vision of the small furious young girl. Akutagawa was familiar with this Yokohama. He had expected that same pattern when encountering the were-tiger for the first time only for have Atsushi change it all. He cursed the day that the skies were now painted anew, the day Yokohama became home to his rival, the one person Akutagawa could not shake.
By all accounts, he should have despised Atsushi, loathed every fiber of the pathetic boy’s being. He would spit those barbs towards him whenever they met those first few years, hoping that one day it would become true. But then the moments would com when they were forced to work together, forced to fight and keep the other alive, and the mafioso couldn’t help but feel that things made more sense this way.
Still, it took the combination of his sister, Higuchi, Chuuya, and worst of all, Dazai, for Akutagawa to untangle the mess of feelings that were buried underneath his impenetrable shell. And it took even longer for Akutagawa to drag the were-tiger back to the alley they had first met, Dazai claiming it would be the epitome of romance—and who was Akutagawa to doubt his former mentor’s sound judgment?
When Akutagawa had told Atsushi what he really and truly thought of him, it left the detective dumfounded. So much so, that all he could do was furrow his brow and offer a weak and noncommittal, “Sorry?”
Something flashed across the mafioso’s face that made Atsushi want to backtrack immediately or face the wrath of Rashomon. Instead, he watched as Akutagawa’s eyes widened then sharpened back into the finely tuned blades they were.
“I see.” Akutagawa’s voice was ice, cold in a way that felt unusual to Atsushi. After the years, he thought he had known all the quirks of his rival, known every pitch and tone that suggested what he meant—but perhaps not.
Atsushi stayed silent for a while, some part of his instincts still telling him that Akutagawa was about to do or say something. He was surprised then when instead of seeing Rashomon snap out from the dark cloth to attack, he watched as the protective fabric seemed to tighten around its user.
It was then that he realized that Atsushi realized he had done something wrong; any tentative peace or borderline friendship these two shared now was gone and ruined and all for what? Because Akutagawa wanted to mess with his mind a bit and pretend like there were actual feelings they both shared?
That question snapped the were-tiger back into his body as his eyes widened, voice reaching out to stop him before he could turn on his heel and leave in a huff, “Wait, Akutagawa—were you serious?”
No, there could not be a world in which Akutagawa, cold and calculating, violent and fierce, could have stood there and spoken truly about feelings he held for Atsushi of all people. Yet as Atsushi watched Akutagawa’s back stiffen, watched again how Rashomon seemed at once ready to attack and protect, watched the mafioso’s body rose and fell with a large breath, nothing else could have been true.
“I’m sorry,” Atsushi interrupted again, his body forcing him to take one step forward. He still stayed a safe distance away, just in case, but desperately he wanted to at least reach his hand out.
“Stop apologizing were-tiger, it’s pathetic,” Akutagawa’s words held their usual venom, but now Atsushi could here something else in his voice, something pained.
Atsushi forced a nervous laugh, “Right,” before lapsing into silence again. He wanted to apologize again, properly, explain how he hadn’t understood and hadn’t meant to turn him down so coldly. Perhaps he hadn’t meant to turn Akutagawa down at all—but those were still feelings he was untangling within him as the silence stretched between them.
“Have you ever known me to be an unserious person?” Akutagawa still hadn’t moved as he spoke, the words falling from his lips with purpose, almost as if he were trying to pierce through Atsushi’s too-large heart with each accusation, decrying that he should have understood.
“No,” Atsushi admitted but kept his hold steady as he pushed back, “But I haven’t known you for random love confessions either, though, so consider me surprised.”
“Random?” Akutagawa whipped back around to face him, his eyes sharp as steel, “Do you think I am a man given to randomness?”
Even the ground beneath his feet felt unsteady as Atsushi tried to make sense of Akutagawa’s feelings. Of course they were as messy and tortured and dramatic as the man that held them, and something about that fact made a warmth bloom across Atsushi’s chest in familiarity.
“No,” Atsushi took another step forward, this time not to comfort but in the same way he had entered into a fight with the mafioso so many times before. His voice raised in frustration and confusion, “Which is why I know that you have something you want from this so stop trying to make me guess and tell me.”
Their first kiss was not sweet or gentle—it was a yank on Atsushi’s suspenders from Rashomon that crashed them together in a mess of feelings, passions, and desires that neither of them could articulate. All they both knew was at the center of it all was the other man, and that it would always be him.
It was not a perfect first kiss, but for Atsushi, there was no other way he could have seen it going.
Yokohama had changed for Akutagawa in the year since. It was no longer the cradle of the corpses he made, or the people he had hurt—not exclusively. Those memories still lingered and always would but there were new ones being made that took priority in his mind.
The memories of Atsushi the first time he saw Akutagawa’s apartment and was in awe and slightly embarrassed by the extravagance of it all. The memories of Akutagawa trying and failing to cook something before ordering takeout and plating it as his own—Atsushi had figured out the truth by the end of the night. The memories of the months spent of them both stumbling through what it meant to be with one another, the fumbling and awkwardness of it all that never failed to make Atsushi laugh. The memory of how that sound alone made Akutagawa’s heart soften.
No, it was not the same city that he had once known. It was more vibrant now, filled with the color and life that Atsushi had given to it. And silently, Ryuunosuke was more than happy about it.