Chapter Text
Something had gone terribly wrong.
Atsushi coughed, rolling up onto his side. The air was thick with concrete dust and the wall over him tilted in at an alarming angle. He’d hit it hard, he remembered that much—and the rest of it came back to him just as quickly—scrambling to get to Akutagawa before the explosion swallowed them both and being blown back with enough force that he’d cracked the wall behind him.
It took longer than he liked to gather himself again, enough to get his feet under him and stagger upright. Searing pain shot through his leg and Atsushi swayed in place. He was dizzy still, the explosion ringing in his ears and blood blinding one eye. He coughed again, scanning the debris and wreckage around him for any sign of the ability user that had caused the explosion, but could see nothing at all in this dim light. Atsushi squinted, trying to summon the tiger to amplify his low light vision, to help pick out anything in this mess—but was distracted entirely by a low, rumbling growl from somewhere in the darkness ahead.
He caught the shape moving out of the corner of his eye.
Atsushi turned with the movement, fighting against the yawing chasm of exhaustion that had opened inside him. He kept the unknown entity in his sight until the amorphous shape slid under one of the beams of daylight cutting in through the splintered walls and mottled thick with the dust still in the air.
He couldn’t immediately make sense of what he was seeing. The creature was big and lean, covered in sleek dark fur that caught the light and absorbed it; the ghost of stripes making the variation in hue difficult to discern. A long tail cut the air sharply; when it turned its gaze in Atsushi’s direction, its eyes were like twin suns.
Atsushi stared at the black tiger.
Neither moved for what felt like an eternity. He could hear the beast breathing, the soft rumble of a growl on every exhale, but it made no aggressive move toward him. When a wall shifted suddenly, creaking with the weight of stressed metal beginning to crumble, it startled the creature enough that it bolted, throwing itself into the darkness behind it and vanishing as if it had never been.
Atsushi staggered forward as if he meant to give chase, but his injured leg screamed in agony and this time he did go down, catching himself on his hands and knees.
Breathing hard, he curled his fingers against the ground and stared into the darkness.
“I’m fine,” Atsushi said, irritated, seated on the edge of the open back of the ambulance. He wasn’t, really, fine; his injuries hadn’t healed on their own as they usually would and his leg still really, really hurt. He refused to look at the injuries, and the constant buzz of people around him was getting on his nerves in a way that he’d have to examine later because he usually wasn’t so averse to being helped.
But, Akutagawa was still somewhere in the remains of the warehouse, among the dirt and the debris, and the fact that he hadn’t revealed himself yet or come staggering out under his own power, was, in its own way, terrifying.
What if he was dead?
Atsushi refused to consider the notion. Refused. Something as trivial as this shouldn’t be the end of him, after all, he’d made it to Akutagawa before the blast. Hell, he could still see the expression on Akutagawa’s face as Atsushi’s hand closed on his wrist, yanking him forward seconds before the shockwave hit and threw them apart.
“Atsushi.”
Atsushi blinked himself free from the memory, jolting guiltily—which managed to make his leg twinge again. He inhaled sharply and looked up at Kunikida, not hiding his wince of pain. “Sorry, Kunikida-san. What were you saying?”
Kunikida had some dirt smudged across his face; his glasses were pushed up into his hair on the crown of his head. He’d been digging through the remains of the warehouse for the ability user who caused the explosion, but, judging by his expression, there had been no luck so far in locating them. “Yosano should be here soon,” he said finally, acknowledging Atsushi’s injuries. “You can’t give us anything else on that ability user?”
Atsushi shook his head slowly. The agency had been following this guy for several days, ever since he’d made threats against a few government buildings; Atsushi had caught sight of him here but been waylaid by an aggressive attack from Akutagawa, as happened sometimes when he strayed into Port Mafia territory. “It happened so fast,” he said and rubbed his face with one hand, dried blood flaking from his skin. “I couldn’t get a good read of the situation before it all fell apart. I’m sorry.”
“We’re just glad you’re okay,” Kunikida said gruffly. Atsushi nodded numbly and tried not to let the thin layer of disappointment Kunikida exhibited settle atop all the others he wore like a cloak.
A government worker got Kunikida’s attention and Atsushi, alone again, wondered why he didn’t mention the black tiger.
It should have been a relief when it was finally reported that no bodies had been recovered from the wreckage, but instead, Atsushi just felt a strong sense of disquiet over the whole situation. He sat at his desk in the detective agency office, fixed up neatly and in the most traumatic way possible by Yosano-san, and stared blankly at the report form on his desk.
No bodies recovered, and yet Akutagawa hadn’t turned up in days. Atsushi had sent at least one furtive text message to the number he knew was Akutagawa’s, even if there was rarely a response, and it remained unread. The worry gnawed at him, coiled black in his gut; he didn’t care about the man, but something felt missing without any acknowledgment of his safety.
Kyouka-chan noticed something was wrong immediately, that night he returned to their shared dormitory room from the office after being cleared by Yosano-san. She stared at him silently across the table and wordlessly looked down at his half-eaten meal.
“I’m just not hungry,” Atsushi said, and her eyes narrowed. She rose from her seat and fetched the thermometer from the medical kit they kept under the bathroom sink. “I’m not sick, either!”
She studied the digital display after he’d submitted to having his temperature checked and frowned again at him. “There’s something wrong.”
“I’ve had a bad day, Kyouka-chan.”
“Still.” She laid the thermometer down. “You’re under the influence of an ability of some kind.”
Atsushi shook his head. “Dazai-san already checked me at the office, once Yosano-san was done. There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“You didn’t finish your food.”
Atsushi looked at his plate, blanched a little at the thought of eating the rest, and got up off his knees. “I’m just tired,” he said. “It’ll be better in the morning.” Kyouka’s eyes bore into the back of his neck as he did the dishes, but she didn’t argue the point further.
He texted Akutagawa’s number again, lying on his side in the futon, the small closet lit only by the light of his cell phone screen. There was a long string of unanswered texts reaching up the page now, but he saw that all but the most recent were now marked as received. That comforted him, somewhat.
And then three little dots appeared on the left side of the screen.
Atsushi sat up and narrowly missed banging his head on the bottom of the shelf above him. The three dots remained for almost a full minute and then disappeared.
He typed quickly. Are you there?
The silence that stretched after that text was so long that he almost laid back down. Finally, though, the three dots lit again, but this time a message came through.
There’s something wrong with me.
Heart beating in his throat, Atsushi typed quickly. Are you okay? What’s wrong? A pause, and then he continued. Where are you?
Outside.
That response was immediate. Atsushi scrambled to his knees and this time did bang his head, he was still swearing when Kyouka opened the sliding closet door, eyes alert despite the hour. “What’s going on?”
“I have to, ow.” Atsushi rubbed his head again, gingerly feeling the already-forming knot. “I have to go check on something. I need to get dressed.”
“I’ll go with you,” Kyouka rose to her feet smoothly, and Atsushi half-crawled, half-fell out of the closet.
“That’s okay, Kyouka-chan, it’s late, I’m fine.” He ignored her arched eyebrow that clearly said, you are not fine. “I’m going to meet Akutagawa,” he said, gamely deciding on the truth.
“I should still accompany you. Something’s not right.”
Atsushi shook his head vigorously. “It’s fine, Kyouka-chan, I’m fine. I’ve just been really worried and seeing that he’s okay will solve that.”
She exhaled and knelt on her rumpled futon. “I’m beginning to think Ranpo-san is right and you two are dating,” she muttered, and Atsushi’s face went red to his hairline.
“What!?”
Kyouka waved her hand at the door. “Don’t wake me when you get back in,” she said. “I won’t interrupt your date.”
“It’s not a date!” She laid back down, back to him. “It’s not a date!!”
Disgruntled now and wearing the cat-eared hooded sweatshirt he’d been given as a gift, Atsushi sulked along the dormitory breezeway until he hit the street. It occurred to him now, standing outside in the dark of night, that Akutagawa had never clarified the “outside” portion of his text and could be quite literally anywhere in the city.
Atsushi pulled out his phone to text Akutagawa back. Where, outside?
After several seconds of silence, there was the soft ping of a received text somewhere in the night.
Oh. That was easy enough.
Atsushi turned in the direction of the noise but paused. Had he ever revealed to Akutagawa where he lived? He had no idea where Akutagawa lived. They didn’t talk about much of anything except training and fighting each other over the smallest perceived slight, although Atsushi did faintly hope that eventually, they might even become friends.
But.
How did he know where Atsushi lived?
Dazai-san, Atsushi decided gamely.
Akutagawa had yet to respond to the text, nor had he resolved out of the darkness. Atsushi sent another text, aggravated this time, and there was another soft ping that sounded slightly farther away this time.
“Are you kidding me?” Atsushi said aloud. Phone in his hand, he started in roughly the direction that the ping came from.
This game continued on for quite a while, Atsushi paying more attention to his phone than the surroundings. He would send a text, there would be a ping, and he’d move closer to the sound. Finally, he caught a flash of brightness out of the corner of his eye and he turned, stalking down the tight alley triumphantly having cornered his prey. “Are you done playing games now, Akutagawa?”
Akutagawa’s phone lit up with the secondary notification from the unread text message. The device lay face-up on the pavement between the two buildings.
“…Akutagawa?” Atsushi said, uncertain now. It was quiet here, down this alley, and the only thing he could hear was the blood pounding in his own ears. “Are you here, Akutagawa…?”
Akutagawa hit him from behind, low. Atsushi stumbled forward, somehow keeping his footing, and turned, prepared to swipe at the man to defend himself but slammed into the wall instead, driving the breath out of his lungs.
“—th’ fuck—!?” Atsushi wheezed, pinned to the wall by Akutagawa’s hand alone. He grabbed his arm by the wrist but couldn’t dislodge him immediately. “What the hell are you playing at, Akutagawa? I was concerned about you, you jackass!”
Akutagawa didn’t immediately respond. The alley was so dark, but Atsushi would recognize his silhouette anywhere, light from the entrance to the alley reflecting in his eyes. Atsushi twisted under his hand; grip tight on his wrist but unable to wriggle free. When the hell did Akutagawa get so strong?
“Weretiger,” Akutagawa rumbled, voice rough. His hand squeezed Atsushi’s shoulder, fingers like claws even through the thick material of his sweatshirt. He inhaled raggedly, and suddenly Akutagawa was much too close. “I need—”
Atsushi had never been kissed before. He certainly hadn’t even once considered kissing Akutagawa of all people, especially not pinned to an alley wall and cloaked in the dark of the night. Atsushi came up gasping, bewildered, but even more so when Akutagawa pressed his body to Atsushi’s and ground against him.
All of Atsushi’s remaining mental processes immediately crashed.
There was too much happening all at once. Akutagawa’s hand was in his pants. Akutagawa’s hand was in his underwear. Somewhere, ridiculously, Atsushi thought his palm was a lot softer than he’d expected; but then Akutagawa was kissing him again, hand wrapped tight around Atsushi and grinding against his hip.
This was insane. This wasn’t really happening right now. Atsushi wasn’t getting hard, he definitely hadn’t grabbed Akutagawa by his coat and arched his back slightly, keeping their bodies pressed tightly together, and he most certainly wasn’t going to, fuck—
Atsushi let out a choked noise, spilling hot over Akutagawa’s hand shamefully fast.
Chest heaving, Atsushi stared blankly over Akutagawa’s shoulder at the opposite wall. “What the fuck,” he said, verging on hysterical. “Akutagawa, what the fuck…!?”
Akutagawa groaned against him, a rumbled, possessive growl, their bodies still pressed together…although, now Atsushi could tell his hand was in his own pants…the same hand that he’d just jerked Atsushi off with.
What was happening here?
It was too much for him to process. Atsushi shoved Akutagawa with both hands, as hard as he could. Akutagawa staggered back, taken by surprise by this onslaught. Atsushi’s pants were loose on his hips, but right now he didn’t care about that, he didn’t understand.
Rashomon was in the air between them now, humming fast. Atsushi snarled, braced himself for the assault, arms up—that didn’t arrive, despite the solid slicing noise of the ability embedding in flesh.
“Fuck,” Akutagawa hissed, Rashomon stabbed through his arm and shoulder, the scent of his blood in the air.
Atsushi lowered his arms, back still against the brick. He stared, utterly baffled, at the disobedient ability. It wrapped tight around Akutagawa’s other hand before he could prize it free, shimmering in the low light; when Akutagawa twisted against it, Atsushi startled at his profile.
Akutagawa had rounded black ears poking through his dark hair and a tail that whipped sharply through the air as he continued to struggle. “Weretiger,” Akutagawa growled. “Release me.”
Atsushi stared at him.
Then, finally, he untangled the threads of the fabric ability surrounding them both, tracing them to their origin. He looked down at his sweatshirt, fist now clenched in the writhing material that was shimmering just faintly blue.
“What the fuck,” Atsushi said.