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— — — — —
atsushi
With nearly four million as its population, there is no doubt that Yokohama is a busy city. A major commercial hub owing to its status as a prominent port city. Millions of people pass by one another without any real connection being forged.
Therefore…
“Why do I have to run into you?!” Atsushi points an accusing finger at the figure wrapped in so much black: black coat, black shoes, black circles underneath his eyes. “What are you doing here, Akutagawa?!”
Despite the fact that he has no discernible eyebrows, Akutagawa manages to give off an impression that he’s raised one while staring derisively at him. “As I am inside a convenience store, while holding on to a bag of goods, it is obvious as to my reason for being here.” The usual unhappy frown on the other’s mouth is somehow more potent now. “You cannot even derive such obvious conclusions… you truly are a fool.”
Most of the time, finding out that someone is a lot more talkative when it comes to dealing with you is a cause for joy. In this current situation though… It isn’t fun at all! “That’s not what I meant!”
Akutagawa shakes his head at him, as though in pity. “You do not even have the necessary skills needed to express yourself using the proper words.”
“Coming from someone who only knows how to threaten violence…”
Another quirk of that phantom eyebrow. “I get my meaning across without misunderstandings, do I not?”
Atsushi… does not have any comeback to that. Instead, he takes one step closer to Akutagawa so he can peer at the contents of his plastic bag, half-expecting explosives even though they’re inside a reputable convenience store. When he doesn’t get stabbed by Rashomon, he takes one more step, because spending time with the Agency has taught him valuable things, such as confidence in himself, along with confidence in his skill to duck and run away should things become dicey.
“…What are you doing now, jinko?”
“Yatsugare-kun cannot even derive such obvious conclusions,” Atsushi mimics the other’s line from earlier, scrunching his face in order to copy the other’s constipated expression to the best of his ability. “Yatsugare-kun is truly a fool.”
Contrary to his expectations, he doesn’t end up with a bloodthirsty ability to his gut. Akutagawa lets out a long-suffering sigh as though dealing with Atsushi physically pains him. Which? Rather rude, since he knows that Akutagawa has dealt with people of Dazai-san’s caliber. He should be more resilient than this!
But then something more surprising happens.
Akutagawa ‘yatsugare would rather chew glass than do anything that doesn’t involve bloodshed’ Ryuunosuke… yawns. He does it so cutely, the sides of his eyes pinched just-so, cheeks puffing up slightly.
…Atsushi is only human, okay?
In the face of such a sight, he does what anyone in his shoes would do.
So of course, that means he hightails it out of the convenience store immediately.
—
It’s such a strange thing, that Atsushi’s convinced himself that the sight of Akutagawa yawning is simply a product of a sleepless night’s fever-dream. An extremely vivid hallucination.
…Just to be safe, over the next three weeks, he deals with all bouts of sleeplessness by counting off sheep inside his mind. It doesn’t exactly work, because each time he closes his eyes, his mind tortures him not with nightmares, but with that same sight, of Akutagawa yawning like some prickly cat. His mind also helpfully adds a little more hair, to keep up with the ‘cat’ theme.
He ends up dreaming of an Akutagawa with bushy eyebrows.
Naturally, after such an amazing image, he is unable to sleep peacefully at all.
—
…And it must be because of sleeplessness, that he encounters yet another vivid hallucination.
Right there, on his phone is a message from an unknown number.
Despite it being an unfamiliar string of numbers, there is no anonymity whatsoever. The message [JINKO, I AM DOWNSTAIRS. BE HERE IN 5 MINUTES OR ELSE.] is enough of a clue.
Atsushi tries to stall his moment of death, inwardly bemoaning his choice of remaining in the Agency’s dorms, instead of accepting Kyouka-chan’s offer to be her housemate, courtesy of a new apartment bought for her by Ozaki-san. Now, the only person he can turn to in this dire hour is Kenji-kun, who is impervious to being woken up when the sun hasn’t risen yet.
His phone rings once, a [JINKO] flashing on the screen, which is immediately followed by the sender himself hissing “Jinko” from beyond the doorway.
…It’s a tough choice, but one that he must make.
Keeping Akutagawa outside is bound to end up with Rashomon shredding his door. Not to mention, all the gossip that he’d inevitably be saddled with. Dazai-san may have moved out of the Agency’s dorms so he could live with his… partner, but there’s still a huge possibility that he’s left behind surveillance cameras on the hallways. Atsushi could already hear the singsong ‘so you stood up Akutagawa-kun~?’’ comments.
…In any case, he’s dealing with sleeplessness, okay?
He’s only human, okay?
He opens the door wide, just in time to witness Akutagawa say, “Jinko, sleep with me.”
Atsushi lets out a shriek, before passing out.
— — — — —
akutagawa
It really is quite a feat to consistently maintain the same level of idiocy each and every time. Trust that jinko to strive to make what should be impossible, possible.
“This is already the fifth time,” Akutagawa says dispassionately as he barely restrains himself from kicking the door wide-open. Never mind that there’s a jinko clutching at the doorknob in a futile attempt to keep him from entering. “How are you still acting like surprised idiot each time it happens?”
“No… I’ve just been thinking that I’ve been having vivid nightmares five times straight…”
It is unbecoming to roll his eyes, especially since hearing the jinko’s voice is already draining his energy. It is the primary reason why he makes his way to this tiny dorm room on the opposite end of the city—but it would be beyond mortifying if he ends up falling asleep while rolling his eyes. He squares his shoulders against the door and squeezes past the jinko.
He ends up brushing against the other’s sleepwear, with how little space the jinko has left for him to use. He frowns, as Rashomon bristles slightly at the coarse texture. Even with the sole light left open inside the room, it is easy to see that said sleepwear used to boast of a light blue hue, but has now been washed down to a grayish color.
Jinko makes faces at him, and mutters “yes, yes, do come in, it’s not like I actually invited you in or anything” loud enough that there is no way he could have missed it. With the many colorful characters there are in the mafia, Akutagawa is well-practiced in ignoring meaningless words. So he does not bother responding beyond a disdainful scoff.
The dorm room is small enough that it is easy to cross it in five strides. He smoothens his coat as he sits down, cross-legged, on what has become his ‘usual’ spot. In the triangle-corner with the window to his right and a thin wall at his back. It gives him a vantage view of the entire space, so it does not make him feel cornered.
Jinko continues mumbling inconsequential things, as fools are wont to do. Jinko does shuffle after him and sit beside him gingerly… as this certain fool is wont to do.
It starts as it always does, with him seated primly and stiffly against the wall, and with jinko giving him surreptitious side-glances as though he is one second away from slicing him to ribbons. Jinko is wrong, of course; he is not some rabid dog who would lash out just like that, he allows himself three seconds of decision when it is not a life-or-death situation.
It is jinko who inevitably gives in first. “So, umm… what do you want me to talk about today?”
“You can prattle about whatever inane thing you wish.”
After all, the premise of this ‘arrangement’ of theirs is his discovery of the fact that the jinko’s voice works as a narcoleptic agent. Perhaps it should not be surprising, that someone like the jinko would be filled with so many mundane tales about his everyday life. It definitely is not a cause for any sort of shock that he finds such stories boredom-inducing at best.
…It is useful for one thing though.
“…Today, Kyouka-chan got us to try that new crepe shop near the station…”
His eyelids droop down by themselves as each syllable weaves a path that goes deep into a forest of tranquility.
The place that appears at the backs of his eyelids is both familiar and not: the dense arrangement of trees is a mirror image of the place where he’d once looked up at the blood-red moon and saw a blood-red demon’s beckoning gaze. It is the usual place for the nightmares that haunt him sporadically. There are key differences, nowadays. The moon is not as coldly indifferent and it coexists with a sun hidden by a scattering of clouds. There is now occasional ballads by cicadas, off-tune as he has not been able to hear them for himself and only knows of them due to the jinko’s attempts at replicating their calls during his story the last time he had paid a visit.
And right now, there is the sweet-sour tang of a new strawberry crepe in the air.
He wanders deeper into the forest, amidst the moss-entrenched stones and the overgrown roots that cling to one another. Tension slowly seeps out of his shoulders and the last thing his consciousness notes is that the jinko’s sleepwear is scratchy against his cheek.
—
Akutagawa does not make it a point to litter his mind with wayward thoughts that do not have anything to do with his personal objectives and responsibilities. Partly because of his innate personality and partly due to his training under Dazai-san.
Still, he finds himself scratching his cheek in the middle of filling out reports, and he finds himself pausing slightly whenever Higuchi comes back from her lunch break with a packet of desserts.
It takes him more than three seconds to ascertain his next course of action. In fact, it takes him a whole three days before he can respond to Gin’s inquiring gaze with a solemn, “I am well. I just have recently discovered an allergy towards cheaply-made clothing.”
Because she is someone who has been by his side for so long, she simply nods at his explanation for his odd behavior and does not pry further.
That kind of tacit understanding is not going to be the case should Higuchi get wind of it. It is proving to be not the case now that he has told Chuuya-san about it.
“You… you finally want to wear something aside from Rashomon?”
Due to the circumstances of his childhood, Akutagawa does not know how a proud parent looks like—it probably is something like Chuuya-san’s expression now. It is absolutely bewildering to witness, because he is certain that requesting assistance in buying sleepwear is not something that should elicit such a reaction.
The following words shine some light as to his senior’s reaction: “You finally trust your comrades enough to have your back… I’m so proud of you.”
…Ah. From their talk before, of when Akutagawa had to do something rather shameful, such as admit to his reasons for wanting to wear Rashomon all the time. Not wanting to let go of it, even for the few minutes of taking a bath, because that means being open to attacks while his Ability is not attached to his skin.
While it makes some part of him warm that a busy Executive manages to remember topics of talks from long ago, Akutagawa is not the type who would allow a misunderstanding to continue its course. So he clears his throat and clarifies, “The clothes are not for my own use.”
“…They’re not…?”
“I wish to buy sleepwear for that foolish jinko.”
“………Jinko………?”
“From the Agency,” Akutagawa says when moments pass with Chuuya-san gaping at him in askance. He has to quash the urge to add “obviously” to his statement; it is possible that someone at the Executive level has had dealings with other types of weretigers in previous missions. In case it really is not obvious who he is referring to, he adds a detail that should help jog the other’s memory. “The subordinate picked up by Dazai-san.”
An eyebrow twitches. “Did you really have to say that bastard’s name…?”
Satisfied that they are now on the same page, Akutagawa clears his throat again to move their conversation forward and away from the usual barrage of complaints regarding Dazai-san. “The sleepwear I plan on purchasing will be for the jinko’s use.”
Chuuya-san continues staring at him as though he had mentioned something deranged such as squeezing lemon juice over one’s eyes work as excellent eye-drops. And then, a heavy sigh and even heavier hands clasp his forearms, easily stifling Rashomon’s automatic reaction against anyone invading his personal space without permission.
“Akutagawa. If that fucker Dazai is forcing you into doing some… bonding… activities with the Agency’s weretiger brat, you can always say ‘no’… you know that, right?” A deep breath. “All these talk about ‘shin soukoku’ and whatnot, you don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with, okay? That is, working with someone and trusting someone with your life are two different things. You don’t need to sleep together just to copy…” Several tongue-tied moments. “What I mean is, that kind of relationship isn’t needed for—”
He coughs to interrupt his senior’s talk—Chuuya-san’s face is turning into the kind of red that spells an imminent explosion. Rashomon is a functional shield, but he knows its limits well enough; he does not fancy a gamble on a race between their Abilities.
He sets matters straight with a, “I was the one who started our arrangement.”
—
An hour later, and he is accompanied by a dazed Chuuya-san to a shop that specializes in various sleepwear.
It still rankles him a little bit to actually admit to needing assistance, no matter how trivial the matter is, but he supposes that it should be acceptable in this situation. Plus, Chuuya-san is one of the few people who keeps on nagging at him about thinking of the Port Mafia as ready back-ups for dire situations. The downside should he fail in today’s endeavor is not something as grave as shaming himself in front of Dazai-san’s eyes—but it is something that would be completely unacceptable.
“Chuuya-san, what do you suppose is the jinko’s size?”
He has never worn clothes that have not been picked for him by someone else—his sister, Dazai-san with his coat—but he is aware enough that knowing the proper size is an indispensable part of the whole selection process.
A full-body twitch. “W-Why the fuck would I know that?!”
Akutagawa pauses, then says as delicately as possible: “…Is it possible to ask Dazai-san for the information?”
That makes the other blow up even more. “Why the fuck would you assume that I still have that mackerel’s number?!” Before he can respond, Chuuya-san adds, “More importantly, why the fuck would that idiot even know that?!”, before stomping off to the displays and impetuously going through the available selections as though he intends to buy the entire store.
Akutagawa supposes that it is one of the risks inherent in getting his superior involved. It is unlikely he will get a proper response using that avenue. However, his gut churns at the thought of buying the jinko ill-fitting clothes. To make a mistake in front of that fool’s eyes… Unacceptable. He does not have any plans of making a fool of himself in front of the other; he has already lost to the jinko during their fight, he cannot accept losing even more.
With that determination in mind, he sends a message to Kyouka, the first time he has ever contacted that number without an order to kill attached.
— — — — —
atsushi
It’s something that’s been boiling inside of him ever since he’s dazedly signed his name on a delivery receipt form. He’s still too flabbergasted to send anything beyond several repeats of “what is going on?!!!!!” to Akutagawa’s number; he’s still suffering from the critical hit he’s sustained when the only reply he’s received is a, “Obviously, they are clothes for you.” followed by a “foolish jinko” as an afterthought.
Somehow, Dazai-san has gotten wind of it and his mentor spent the past three days nudging and winking at him with knowing grins.
…So, it’s only right that his first words to Akutagawa the moment he opens the door to their sixth time of… sleepovers?—is that what they’re calling it now?!—is a frazzled, “You bought so many clothes! I can’t even close my closet properly with how much clothes there are!”
Akutagawa doesn’t even bother with greetings, and merely rolls his eyes as he removes his shoes. “This is why I call you foolish, jinko.”
“Because I have a small closet?!”
“Because there is an easy solution to your problems and yet you waste time on them.” Akutagawa pads into the room and towards his usual corner. “If you procure a second closet, you will have more space to store your clothes.”
There really is no other fitting response to that aside from, “Stop making it sound so reasonable when it’s actually not!” He presses a palm to his forehead, but his head already aches from this uniquely mafia problem-solving method. The world of those with a 6-figure monthly salary is really too unfathomable.
Someone situated in a lonely corner should look quite pitiful, as it’s traditionally a spot reserved for punishments, but there’s nothing even remotely pitiful about the other man right now. In fact, he looks imperious as always, as he raises a barely-there eyebrow in expectation at him.
…Ah, it really is too surreal. After just six times of spending the night together—…literally sleeping together, no funny business, despite what Dazai-san’s smirks insinuate—he’s starting to be familiar enough with the other to read meanings into his microexpressions. That, or he’s just trapped in a fever-pitch dream and he’s finally gone insane.
And then, just as he’s about to shuffle to his ‘usual spot’ beside the prickly man, Akutagawa says, “Stand still.”
Years of conditioning to listen to people in authority freezes him on the spot; the expression on Akutagawa’s face keeps him breathlessly rooted for the next few minutes. Akutagawa stands back up and starts circling him as how a vulture would a carcass—and oh, he really should stop jinxing himself.
He pretty much approaches being a corpse himself, with how his heart nearly jumps out of his ribs, when cold hands settle on both sides of his hips. Cool enough that the temperature seeps past his layer of clothes.
He shivers, as Akutagawa continues kneading his flesh over his clothes.
This… this means that, right?
Being asked to ‘sleep together’, late-night visits, throwing expensive clothes at him... and now, touching him like this… this means that, right? This is how it goes in the novels that Kyouka-chan, Naomi-chan and Lucy-san often read.
Sure enough, Akutagawa speaks up, voice low and dark, as their faces draw closer together, “Jinko, you—”
—Atsushi gulps and opens his mouth a little bit in anticipation—
“—are really quite impoverished.”
…Huh?
“Huh???”
“The new clothes hang awkwardly on you. The tailoring is without flaw so there could be only one explanation.” Akutagawa pinches his waist. “Providing you with proper sustenance should add more meat to your bones.”
It bears repeating, but Atsushi really does suspect he’s stuck in an insane dream. “You’re planning to make me fat?!”
Primly, “Your poor constitution is an affront to the clothes I have purchased for you.”
“You’re the one who coughs every five sentences!”
“My clothes are tailor-made and my mission completion rates remain in excellent form.”
“…I really don’t understand you,” Atsushi moans piteously. Those novels have lied to him! Dazai-san’s wriggling eyebrows lied to him!
“That is to be expected, to be comprehended by a fool brings me no satisfaction.” Before Atsushi can formulate a comeback, Akutagawa pinches his waist again and says, “Your shoulders and elbows feel most unpleasant when I end up succumbing to boredom while listening to you prattle about your usual nonsense.”
There are so many things that he can object to in that one long-winded sentence along. He chooses to focus on, “So you really do want me to become fat?!”
Akutagawa simply rolls his eyes at him again, calls him a ‘foolish jinko’ one more time, and pulls him along so they can get to their usual spot.
The following morning has Atsushi waking up to the now-familiar sensation of his arms being assaulted by pins-and-needles. Not actual ones, though he suspects that they aren’t completely off-the-cards, given what he’s heard of Akutagawa’s sister.
…Both arms suffer through the numbness. His left arm is squeezed tight by Rashomon acting as a spiky blanket, stretching out from Akutagawa’s coat and slipping around his back in a strange approximation of an embrace. His right arm is hostaged by the sleeping beauty: chiseled face, pale skin, ruddy lips, almost like Snow White, though poison is already aplenty in his venomous words.
Most people would say that someone is beautiful when asleep because they’re more unguarded. Akutagawa’s brows are furrowed and his lips are in a firm line—pretty much his standard expression even when awake. Atsushi does agree with the sentiment on beauty though, despite it, in spite of it.
…Maybe he’s still suffering from lack of sleep, if he’s thinking of these sorts of things.
There’s no way Akutagawa is that clueless though, right?
That he’s chosen to show his more vulnerable side to Atsushi, that he’s done so willingly, that counts for something, right?
To be entrusted with the experience of talking him to sleep, even if it comes with the caveat that its effectiveness is due to the fact that Akutagawa thinks his topics are so insufferably boring that he’d rather pass out than listen to him—that counts for something, right?
Throughout his life, he’s been blessed with the trust of his friends and comrades, but this one feels something else entirely. This one feels a lot more fragile than being entrusted to help deal the finishing blow against Shibusawa, against Dostoevsky.
It’s going to be a terrible shame if he does something to breach that trust, like if he takes a picture of Akutagawa’s sleepy frowning face.
…It’s such a terrible shame that his arms really are too numb to be of use at the moment.
Instead, Atsushi spends the next few minutes waiting for Akutagawa to wake up along with the scattering of daylight, robbed of a few more minutes of sleep, but gaining a sight that could be considered the most ethereal painting there could be.
—
Atsushi’s pleasant mood forms an impenetrable bubble around him that outlasts the tag-team of teasing from Dazai-san and Ranpo-san. Byakko can smell hickeys on them left by their partners in secret, so they don’t really have room to talk.
He still crumbles into a blushing mess when he’s called down to sign a receipt for a restaurant delivery just-before lunch. A very expensive restaurant delivery, because even Yosano-sensei whistles in appreciation. It’s a boxed lunch, but of an absurdly high quality, evident just by looking at it. Lacquered bento box with golden trimmings.
“Marrying rich is the way to go, Atsushi-kun,” Dazai-san tells him as he digs into his own lunch. The delivery is for the entire Agency staff; Kunikida-san is crunching down numbers to the side about how much this all costs. “But you have to play hard to get for a little more,” comes the additional unsolicited advice. “That way, we can all benefit from his delicious bribery!”
“We should demand a very expensive dowry,” Ranpo-san chips in, and the two geniuses start huddling together to form extortion plans for more food.
“There is no marriage,” Atsushi wails, but nobody listens to him.
Nobody listens to him still, when he denies any engagements or marriages in the horizon—when a few weeks later, he’s signing his name on a delivery receipt for a super-luxurious mattress that barely manages to fit in his dorm’s door.
They’re apparently ready to graduate from ‘sleeping while seated together, every two weeks’, to a more regular, more normal and more surreal ‘sleeping while both horizontal, every three days or so’.
Atsushi’s message of ‘what is this???’’ receives a reply four minutes instead of four hours later.
[yatsugare-kun] :: [Obviously, it is a mattress.]
[yatsugare-kun] :: [Your futon is intolerable and I refuse to sleep in a position that will earn my body aches that could compromise my missions.]
Atsushi waits it out, and doesn’t type his kneejerk response of ‘you could just invite me to sleep over at your place then’. A few seconds later, the message he’s been waiting for arrives.
[yatsugare-kun] :: […foolish jinko.]
At this point it’s become more of an endearment rather than an insult.
To keep things even between them, he changes Akutagawa’s entry on his contacts list to [acutegawa]. And then, he takes deep breaths to bolster his courage, before he types, ‘It would be so much more convenient if you just asked me to move in with you’, and awaits the ensuing fireworks.
—
Akutagawa’s eventual response takes the form of neither an actual explosion nor Rashomon blooming like an angry hedgehog’s spines. A stormy expression rolls into Akutagawa’s face, all coiled lightning and simmered thunder. His black coat is buttoned all the way up to his chin, and he’s even wearing a cap and gloves. Autumn has arrived but Atsushi has a feeling that this full-on armor has nothing to do with the cooling temperatures.
It is not yet nighttime and there are no dark circles underneath Akutagawa’s eyes. In fact, it’s been a very long time since he’s last witnessed the other’s panda impersonation.
Right now, Akutagawa stands there, both hands on his sides, clenching and unclenching into fists. Behind him is the sun drowning the sky with deep oranges—and Atsushi is reminded that this person in front of him absolutely abhors mandarin oranges, making him smile a bit. Despite his dislike for it, orange suits Akutagawa well, painting his face with a ruddy color as they wait each other out.
Because there isn’t any big case at the Agency at the moment—plus, payday is a week away—he’s gone back to the dorm early and is setting himself up for a dinner of instant noodles. He’s pleasantly surprised that Akutagawa did not spend upwards of six months avoiding him; he’s even more pleased by the fact that he isn’t skewered with Rashomon the moment he opens the door.
Between the two of them, he’s usually the one who gives in and breaks the silent deadlock between them.
Today is proving to be an unusual encounter in many senses of the word.
The words “…I did not want to have you go to my place,” sound like they’ve been gouged out from Akutagawa’s throat directly, with how pinched he’s looking. He looks like he’s been tricked into drinking a handful of orange pulp.
Atsushi waits for Akutagawa to elaborate, sensing that rushing the other’s explanation is going to end up with him bloodied by his doorway.
“I am already asking you for a…” a small, strangled sound, “…favor, I did not want to owe you any further.”
He considers the other’s words. To be honest, getting this much out of Akutagawa’s prickly defense is already way further than his expectations. Still, being able to pull these words out of him emboldens Atsushi, so instead of offering soothing statements, he goes with a, “Oh. So it’s not because you were worried that I wouldn’t show up if you invited me.”
A gentle sort of manipulation, if such a thing even exists.
Akutagawa bares his teeth at him as though to threaten a nasty bite, but all it does is make Atsushi’s heart feel like it’s being squeezed.
After all, he’s seen Akutagawa since he’s been so rough that his nickname of being the Port Mafia’s rabid dog seems nothing but fitting. He’s seen him battle it out with his Ability without flinching from the consequences or from the thought of not having that which that made him even stronger. He’s seen him tuck his claws inside his coat in order to give him that six-month truce.
He’s seen him wrap his strength around him, biting through his personal misgivings in order to save Yokohama. He’s seen him stagger under the weight of the acknowledgement that he’s longed for. He’s seen him yawn so cutely, his defenses blurring.
Seeing all those things, all those facets of someone’s personality… It feels more than enough.
“How dare you insinuate that I am afraid of you and your rejection, jinko?”
Atsushi smiles as he tucks his hands into Akutagawa’s. “If you really aren’t afraid, why don’t you prove it to me?”
Akutagawa’s expression darkens but he takes a step forward to bridge the gap between them anyway, and solidifies their connection completely by leaning forward and pressing the words, “I will make you eat your words”, directly against Atsushi’s mouth in a bruising kiss.
— — — — —
epilogue
The forest is something that had only been known to two people for a long, long time. A place that calls to mind the tranquility of the dead souls for they cannot speak and disturb the silence. A dense huddle of trees that form a gnarly chain-link barrier around the spot from where a blood-red moon rises behind the blood-red, mafia-black demon.
The spot when he’d crawled out of his own hell by a single spider thread, and basically transferred into a deeper hell.
It had changed slowly throughout the passage of time. The whispers of inadequacy grew, louder and louder as vultures’ cries. But then, the forest is home to other creatures. A tiger with white fur, smelling of sweet crepes and looking rather foolish with its smile and its preoccupation with curling around him. A silver-eyed lynx that has always shadowed him and supported him every which way. The moon shedding its crimson tint and acquiring a light glow. A reddish dome barrier made of dense gravity that protects the area from above.
Cicadas singing their autumn songs, butterflies flitting from flower to flower. Fireflies glowing as they flutter along the breeze. Moss-entrenched stones line the path, overgrown tree roots clinging to each other for support. He follows it with a sense of familiarity that should feel stifling. Should, but he knows very well that it does not elicit that kind of reaction from him. Not so much anymore. The breeze brings with it aroma of green tea, earthy and nutty as it is served with rice roasted over charcoal.
A well-worn path that reminds him of paintings of natural attractions. A kind of tranquility that cannot be fully captured by brush alone. A type of beauty that settles deep inside his mind, that soothes the jagged edges of his soul.
Perhaps not the same sort of beauty and tranquility that would appeal to other people, but it is the one that has been forged between the two of them.
He walks down the path, guided by the scent of tea in the air, and is lead to a grove with a tiny brook in it. It is already occupied by the aforementioned foolish tiger. Jinko lifts a wet paw to beckon at him, purring at the sight of him, the sound rumbling across the air, the land, the insides of his ribs.
Akutagawa opens his eyes.
Sunlight streams into their bedroom. As always, the door is left slightly ajar. Faint sounds emanate from the kitchen, an unused room before jinko has started living here. Top-of-the-line appliances bought by his sizable Port Mafia salary being used to create this apartment’s most common meal: chazuke. A compromise between the jinko’s favorite food and his preferred drink.
There is routine and there is a little bit of change. Jinko changes things up today by singing along the radio, something that he is rather certain he does not own to begin with. It is off-tune and it is obvious that jinko does not have the lyrics memorized, because he garbles the words with hesitation and uncertain rhythm.
If Akutagawa is a stupider man, he would say that the sound is still melodious and beautiful to listen to. As such, Akutagawa always aims to keep stupidity on the low side, so he resolves to crush jinko’s singing aspirations.
Even with his misgivings towards the level of jinko’s singing talent, he does not stomp his way to the kitchen with a bloodthirsty Rashomon in tow. He is still suspended in that peaceful mood from his dream—in a good enough mood to consider that perhaps today, he can make a slight change to his behavior too.
He walks briskly so he does not get the chance to second-guess himself.
“Oh, good morning!” Atsushi greets him with a grin that awakens something in him instead of making him sleepy. “I made some chazu—”
“—good morning, Atsushi,” he says, then watches the fireworks of Atsushi gaping at him like the foolish jinko that he really is.
The way it always has been ever since they have embarked on their little arrangement: today is quite peaceful too.
— — — — —
end
