Work Text:
The first time they meet outside of work, Akutagawa finds him carrying a stack of books behind an old rusty shelf at the city library.
Work, he thinks, and he bites his lip to stop himself from letting a small laugh. Work , as if what Atsushi and he does for a living is something so simple as turning off your computer and bidding your co-workers goodbye on a Friday evening. Outside of work , his brain tells him, like something as big as blowing up a police station or saving the entirety of Yokohama is something they’ve only managed to do because it was a day before a day-off, a good one, and they’ve just managed to sign onto the shift attendance book particularly early that day.
“Jinko,” Akutagawa manages to let out, and Atsushi quickly turns his head to him with eyes wide before smiling. Huh.
“Akutagawa. I see you’re here as well,” he doesn’t react like how he had expected him to, only glances down at the sole book Akutagawa’s holding and nods, as if agreeing with the book. “Depilautumn. Good choice. First time reading Nakahara Chūya?”
“Yes. But not the first of its kind. River of Stars, Treelike . . . quite about every little bit on Japanese old poetry, I think. And you,” he squints his eyes and tries to recall where he had seen the titles of the books that are barely hanging on to Atsushi’s hands. He’s bummed at what he manages to remember. “I’m seeing a lot of romance. A lot of Shakespeare.”
Atsushi chuckles. “And? What’s with the face? Not too fond of romance novels?”
“I personally won’t read it on my own will. They’re all — and how do you say this — too . . . too far-fetched and detached from the real world.”
“You say that as if something being far-fetched and detached is a bad thing,”
“Because it is. The usual clichés, the love at first sights, the glint in our eyes when we meet someone we love—the quickening heartbeats. They don’t happen in real life, yet people hope for them because a certain book tells them to.”
Atsushi furrows his eyebrows and takes a piece of book from the shelf and examines it, Midsummer Night’s Dream, then later puts it on his pile. “Mhmm. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, at least I think. The world is way fucked up for its own good already. Why not pretend it’s good once in a while with literature and art?”
“But it’s unnatural and strange. They’ll only leave you hoping for something that is far from existing.” he says as he looks at Atsushi putting his stack of books down on the ground.
“Nothing is unnatural nor natural in this world, Akutagawa. The things we may not be used to may be normal for other people. The things that we do, the actions that we make, the things that we say. Just because we haven’t experienced things yet doesn’t mean they’re strange or unnatural or don’t exist. Sometimes, it’s just waiting for the right time to do so.”
Akutagawa stills. He doesn’t know what to say or how to respond. And even before he could have had the chance to think—Atsushi continues—now voice with strange cadence—though not negatively.
“My mortal enemy who wants to kill me is now with me in an old city library as I argue with him about romance novels. I’m pretty sure we aren’t in the right place to say if something is strange and unnatural, Akutagawa.”
And Akutagawa ponders. Jinko’s right, he thinks, and he ponders. There’s not a release of his Rashoumon this time, not a single breaking of limbs. There’s no death glare nor a snicker nor a threat, and Akutagawa concludes that—well—this is new. New, and obviously strange, but not entirely something he hates. Of course, there’s a built-up frustration of being unable to curse at Atsushi like he normally does at the back of his throat, but then that would be unnecessary and he wouldn’t want to make a mess inside a barely functioning library.
He stands for a while, unmoving. Then he opens his mouth to say you’re right, maybe this isn’t so bad —but instead, he says, “I don’t. Wanting to kill you, I mean. No—at least not anymore. Maybe at least not so much.”
Atsushi’s slightly wide eyed, and he looks like he’s frozen. It takes a few moments before his gasping mouth turns into a small smile, and if Akutagawa would’ve looked more he would’ve thought it looked sincere.
“Mhmm. Right. Well,” he fumbles with his words before fully calming down. “That’s . . . that, I guess. Oh. And Depilautumn will not be your last from Nakahara Chūya, Akutagawa. You’d want to read more of his, eventually. But before that,” his fingers touch a row of books and eyes them, as if looking for something. When he finds it, there’s a shine on his purple-gold eyes, as if they had become more saturated. He gives the book to Akutagawa. “Read this first. And then tell me your thoughts. Well then. I’ll see you around, Rabid Dog.”
—————
Akutagawa’s pretty sure Atsushi doesn’t know what he’s doing the moment he gives a man like Akutagawa Romeo and Juliet for him to read.
He’s also pretty sure spending time with Atsushi in a library discussing said book isn’t what he expected to spend his day-off, but somehow here he is now.
“It’s stupid,” he says, leaning on his chair and crossing his arms. “All of it is. They weren’t even in love with each other in the first place. At least I believe so. No one falls in love within the first 5 minutes of meeting, Jinko. ”
“ Again —you say that as if that’s a bad thing. The reason why I like Romeo and Juliet is exactly because of that reason. That it’s stupid. That they fell in love within minutes of seeing each other. It’s about being childish and being in love with each other that makes it so good.”
“Right. And it’s their childishness and so-called ‘love’ that caused them both death. They knew their clans hated each other. Had a feud. Yet they still chose to run away,” Akutagawa spits back, his hand easily flipping through the pages of the book randomly. “And look where that has brought them.”
Atsushi sighs and combs his hair using his fingers. “You make it seem like it’s their fault. None of it is. They’re teenagers— kids , Akutagawa, and that’s something people tend to forget when they read Romeo and Juliet—so did you. Perhaps they’re stupid kids who don’t realize the extremity of seriousness of all the chaos happening around them—but so what ? Why do they have to be deprived of being childish and stupid and reckless like what normal teenagers do just because of the feud of their parents and ancestors? Why do they have to be deprived of falling in love with someone for a reason that is completely not their fault? Why did it have to take the death of two kids who only just wanted to love for the feud to end?”
Akutagawa doesn’t respond, at least not for a minute or half. Atsushi’s right— again —though somehow his defeat doesn’t annoy him as much as he thinks it would. He thinks. He’s unsure of what to respond. Then a thought flows in his mind, making him chuckle a bittersweet taste in his mouth.
“. . . . Kids being deprived of something normal kids do,” he says, grabbing Atsushi’s attention, and smiles—he’s never smiled in front of the Jinko before. He’ll let this one slip. “Quite ironic. Sounds exactly just like us.”
“ Oh,” Atsushi responds, chuckling. “So you’re self-aware.”
“Always have been.”
“Mhmm. But you’re right.” Atsushi says, chuckles. “We’ve had pretty rough childhoods. Rough youth. Even as kids, we never really had any time to be . . . Well—kids.”
“That’s true.” Something falls into place in Akutagawa’s head, and it snaps. “Oh. Then that must be why you seem so fond of Romeo and Juliet.”
Atsushi chuckles again. “Ah. You caught me.” He snatches the book from Akutagawa’s hands and opens it to a random page. He’s not really reading anything. “It’s just . . . It’s just a story I can relate with. But not so much. At the very least, I guess. Because Romeo and Juliet—despite being tied down and deprived of such things—they still chose to fight and went against the odds. But I didn’t. That’s our only difference.”
“At least you’re alive. That’s a good thing.”
“I fight and hurt people as my job, Akutagawa. And so do you. We make a living out of the bloodshed of others. That’s a pretty fucked up way of staying alive, no?”
“It is. But now that we’re too far in it, it’s hard to go back and start anew again. We just have to bear with it. I think it’s better now, though—than when I was young. Than when we were young. At least now we have people by our side. Now we have people with us.”
Atsushi doesn’t respond, only a confusing look Akutagawa can’t really describe—and he wonders if he had said something wrong. Then Atsushi rests his head on the table and angles it so he could see Akutagawa. He whispers, voice a bit unsure, as if he doesn’t want Akutagawa to hear it, but at the same time he does.
“. . . Are you by my side, Akutagawa?”
Akutagawa’s taken aback, and he’s not sure why it’s so hard to answer. There’s a response at the back of his head—a word that’s opposite to what he thinks he would respond.
“. . . I am, whenever it’s necessary, Jinko .”
Atsushi nods, smiles and lets out a satisfied hum.
Akutagawa’s not sure why his heart is suddenly beating so fast.
—————
It’s nice, actually—spending time with Atsushi—and Akutagawa could barely remember the last time he had felt like this.
Not that there were any major changes when it comes to partnership at work. There’s still occasional fights—a raising of voices—disagreements, like before, but now the only difference is it has significantly lessened and now someone actually apologizes. It’s not much for a duo that comes from opposing parties—it’s really the least they can do, but they’re both trying.
It’s a lot different on off days, though. There isn’t any arguing at all, and Akutagawa figures it’s because they never really talk about work when they meet in coffee shops or libraries or secluded parks. It’s not even something Akutagawa had decided for himself, nor thought about at all—but somehow, for some reason—these days he can’t help but look forward to seeing Atsushi.
He’s happy seeing Atsushi—but not that he’d admit to that. But Akutagawa’s not oblivious nor dumb to not know and to not acknowledge what he feels. He knows something is changing, inside him and of him, and he’d never really quite know if it’s a good thing or not.
The first time Akutagawa realizes he’s fallen in love with Atsushi; the boy is reciting a poem, eyes closed, wind fluttering to his hair and skin and shirt—and Akutagawa thinks the boy had never looked more beautiful than that moment.
“Poems by Robert Bridges, 1879,” Akutagawa says upon seeing the book in Atsushi’s hands, the pages fluttering rather aggressively with the wind as Atsushi stops holding on to a page, his attention turning to Akutagawa. “I see it’s different today.”
“I figured you were becoming tired of my ramblings on Shakespeare works.” No, not really, Akutagawa thinks, though he’d never say.
“It’s a good thing you know.”
“Hey!” he whines, and Akutagawa lets out a small chuckle. “Whatever. It’s—well—I like this book. I like poetry. Do you have any particular poem that has been stuck on your mind since you read it, Akutagawa?”
“Oh, a lot. A shit ton, really.” he responds in a heartbeat. “This one poem from Nakahara Chūya, though . . .” Akutagawa clears his throat and sighs, then tries to remember the words. Tries to remember the feeling he felt the first time he read it. “Long ago, I used to think / love poems were banal. / And now I even find love / only through these dreams.”
“. . . Exhaustion Part 2,” Atsushi says, his eyes confused and eyebrows furrowed. “But I don’t get it. You were never fond of works surrounding romance—you’ve clearly shown that the first time I saw you at the library 2 months ago.”
He knows the reason—Akutagawa does—and he wouldn’t believe himself if he said it was because of Atsushi’s words. And it was always Atsushi’s words that changed what Akutagawa believed and how he acts. “People change through time, Jinko. ” People change people, and you’ve changed me —But there’s no chance he’d say that. “And you? I’m sure you have tons.”
“Oh, for sure I do. And It’s Robert Bridges, coincidentally. He closes the book and looks at the cover. “And it’s in this book as well. I Have Loved Flowers That Fade . Any beautiful love is bound to die out sooner or later.”
“And how does it go?”
“Well,” he sighs and closes his eyes. There’s a moment of pause—he’s probably thinking—then with a soft voice, he speaks. “I have loved flowers that fade / Within whose magic tents / Rich hues have marriage made / With sweet unmemoried scents: / A honeymoon delight, / A joy of love at sight, / That ages in an hour / My song be like a flower.”
Akutagawa thinks—and he can’t think all at the same time. Atsushi looks beautiful like this: his head leaning on the wooden park bench, his eyelashes noticeably long, his pale skin, his voice usually deep now smooth and soft, his uneven silver hair and dress shirt flowing with the wind. It’s spring—pink blossoms flying around and on the ground—and the wind isn’t supposed to feel so warm as it is now on Akutagawa’s skin. But it does—so much so that Akutagawa feels the warmth on his face especially, heat rising to his cheeks. So he puts his hand across his face, wiping it in attempts of removing the pink tint spreading.
It wasn’t the wind.
“I like it. It’s very bittersweet.” he says as he catches Atsushi looks at him and flashes a what do you think? expression on his face. “But do you really believe so? — that all beautiful love is always bound to die.”
“Mm. A lot of them do die out—beautiful love, that is. But not all. I know not all. And if there isn’t, there will be, I think. Maybe someday. Maybe in the real world and not just in romance novels or poetry or films or shows. Maybe someday they’ll be people out there that’ll be willing to go against the world just for the sake of the person they love.”
Akutagawa nods, slowly, as if he’s absorbing and letting Atsushi’s words place themselves inside his head. In his mind, somehow, there’s an image of himself being the one fighting the world just for the person he loves.
—————
“Do you write, Akutagawa?”
For once, he has a certain answer. No —not at least in the way Atsushi intends. But yes— he does, to his acquiesce. Maybe a sentence or two a day. Maybe a sentence describing how the sky looked after he’s done arresting drug dealers in downtown Yokohama or what he and Atsushi ate while discussing the connection of Greek and Chinese philosophy with each other and how they changed the world.
“. . . No.” He says, and somehow he’s scared to admit that. He’s become scared of disappointing Atsushi. “Do you?”
“Maybe.” Atsushi responds, voice a bit small. “Not that I’m good at it or anything. I never really cared about quality. I just . . . do it. For the sake of escape and wanting to.”
“That’s nice. Then—would you mind if I ask you to show me one? Jinko- sensei ?”
Atsushi laughs at the tease. “Ah, really, all that yet you still call me Jinko. I told you to drop that name countless times.” he sighs. “But no, I won’t show you. At least not today. Not unless you show me yours.”
“But I don’t have one.”
“Then make one.”
“But it’s—I don’t know what to write about.”
“There will be eventually. You hesitate now but once you’ve learned to know the feeling of finishing one, your fingers will be itching to write more and more.” Atsushi says, smiling. “Pick up a pen and paper and write, Akutagawa.”
——
And so he does.
He’s not sure what to feel—he doesn’t know why he wrote this, and about this , either—but it was true, what Atsushi said. The fingers does itch once you start and you start to write more. And oh god knows how much ‘more’ he had written—over and over, paper after paper, a stroke of a pen ink after stroke. But despite that—never really felt right. Never really felt deserving of Atsushi’s attention. Never really enough.
“It’s—before you say anything—I know it’s not good. This is . . . something I’ve never done before.”
“I’m sure it will,” Atsushi reassures. “Now show me.”
He hands it out to him, the paper nearly crumpled—as if Akutagawa was about to throw it out but stopped himself at the last minute—a moment of hesitation.
A love poem, only if one thinks that it is. Perhaps it is not, and it wasn’t Akutagawa’s intention for it to be one in the first place. A love poem, only if Atsushi thinks it is one for him. But Akutagawa never really cared about what it was—never really cared about what it meant, only letting the words chanting so loud in his mind be poured on paper to put on understandable enough context.
It was for Atsushi, to Atsushi, and only for his eyes to see—and that’s the only thing that matters.
Atsushi opens the folded paper and takes his time to read it. Loud silence, as some may say, because there’s a heavy weight and tension on his chest as a result of overthinking how Atsushi would respond.
He reads slowly, tries to absorb and drink the words little by little. Sip by sip. When he finishes reading it, he gulps and folds the paper back to the way it was. There’s a strange expression painted on his face, and for once Akutagawa doesn’t have a single clue of what it entails.
“It’s good, Akutagawa. And so, so beautiful.” Atsushi purses his lips together and exhales. “It’s. Uhm. A love poem. A really good one.”
“. . . Really?”
“It is. I—uhm. Hey, Akutagawa,” Atsushi lets his head fall down, fingers fumbling around each outher and the paper. “Do you. Uhm. Perhaps—perhaps know someone else that has—that has . . . antique silver hair and purple-gold eyes . . . like—like mine?”
“. . . No. Only you.”
Atsushi widens his eyes at the response, his face hinting a small tint of pink. “Then—the poem—could it be—”
“Could it be what?”
“Could it be that you— uhm— ah, fuck.” Atsushi says in frustration, never really knowing the right words. He sighs loudly before he speaks, rather impulsively. “Akutagawa, could it be that you love me?”
Akutagawa stills. He’s unsure where the confidence is suddenly coming from—but it’s here, and it’ll either help him or not depending on the response Atsushi will give him.”
“I—that . . . Yes. I do love you, Jinko.”
Now Atsushi’s the one who doesn’t move. Only looks at Akutagawa with his strange unexplainable expression, and Akutagawa’s scared. So scared. Before he could even speak, Akutagawa follows up.
“I—”
“You’re a good person, Jinko. I know you feel bad. I know you don’t feel the same way as I do. And I know you’ll beat yourself up because of it.”
“Listen—”
“But I don’t want you to, Jinko. Just—just pretend all of this had never happened. I know you’ll feel uncomfortable with me, but I hope we continue to meet up like this. Like friends. I’ll move on, and I’ll get over it eventually. So if y—”
“Akutagawa, stop it!” Atsushi raises his voice, making him stop at once. “Listen to what I’ll say first.”
So he does.
“It’s—it’s—I don’t know what to say. I—I never knew you’d feel the same way. We belong in opposing groups, and I was scared, Akutagawa, because even though I know it’s not wrong to love someone—and it’s funny how I keep going on and on with you about these things—I was still so afraid. It’s just—my mind is saying this’ll never work out, so I’ve been trying to get over it, but it’s not as easy as I thought it would be. I’m scared, and this is wrong, but now that I know you love me too—the only thing I can think of now is to hold your hand and hug you and kiss you and go on dates with you and laugh with you and cry with you and spend the rest of my life with you even if they’ll be people that’ll be against us.”
“Jinko . . .” Akutagawa murmurs, a glint of light in his eyes from building up tears, his heart beating rapidly. Atsushi bites his lip to stop himself from crying—but to no avail—tugging loosely on one end of Akutagawa’s sleeve, crying. “Jinko. Jinko. Atsushi. It’s okay.”
Akutagawa pulls him into a hug and strokes the back of his head slowly. “Shh. It’s okay.”
“B—but—we can’t—”
“We can . That’s what you told me, right?” Akutagawa whispers. “We’ll find a way. It’s okay.”
“It’s—just—I love you too, Akutagawa. I love you so much that I don’t know what to do.”
Akutagawa kisses Atsushi’s forehead. “We’ll figure it out together,” he says, hands around Atsushi’s waist. “You said it yourself, right? Why must we be deprived of loving someone we love just because we’re in opposing groups?”
Atsushi chuckles bittersweetly, dried tears in his cheeks. “I never for once thought you’d be quoting things I said about Romeo and Juliet.”
“It’s grown on me. Romeo and Juliet, that is. And all your cliché romance novels. You’ve grown on me.”
Atsushi laughs again, and snuggles inside Akutagawa’s arms closer. “I love you so much, Akutagawa.”
“Mmhm. I love you too, Atsushi.”
(monsters long bowed his presence / beside him, lulling / antique silver locks flows with air / blows across his face, dusts in his eyes / squints, yet manages to remain so / beautiful, & beautiful / stare at your purple-gold orbs, how / it sees so much, & so much / hold your scarred hands, / to feel, & to feel / tell you i’m here / forever, & forever / i could only hope / your monsters aren’t here anymore / to witness the time stand still / recite you a love song / in the shell of your ears / oh how i love, & how i love)
—————
“You’re spacing out, Atsushi.” Akutagawa says, stirring his tea as he blows on it. “What’s the matter?”
“Mm. Nothing much, really. I’m just thinking.” Atsushi slumps and leans into the sofa beside Akutagawa. “The irony of this all. Me. You. Me sneaking out of the Agency dorms at night to go to you.”
“And what of it?”
“I’m just saying,” Atsushi’s fingers reach out and plays with Akutagawa’s hair. “This is something Romeo and Juliet would do.”
Akutagawa chuckles and puts down his teacup on the coffee table. “Why does all of our talks always somehow end up being about Romeo and Juliet?”
“Because it’s true!” He exclaims, lightly laughing. “We can never escape them. It’s—if you think about it—we’re practically the same as them.”
“You have a point. We’re very similar indeed.”
“. . . Sometimes I wish we weren’t.”
Akutagawa furrows his eyebrows and faces Atsushi. “. . . Why? Do you—do you regret it? Being with me? Being with someone opposite of your group and beliefs?”
“Oh, no. That’s not it at all! It’s just—” Atsushi sighs. “I just wish we weren’t at opposite ends of the string like how they are. Like how Romeo and Juliet are. I wish I could freely hold your hand in public and stop excusing our dates as meetings about missions. I wish I could brag about you to my colleagues.”
“Do you—” Akutagawa sighs and stills for a moment. And it takes great will when he speaks and says. “Do you want me to quit the Mafia?”
“. . . What?” Atsushi’s eyes widen, one hand on his mouth. “No—I—that wasn’t what I meant. I mean—it technically is—but it’ll be difficu—”
“Atsushi, Atsushi. It’s okay. Just give me your word and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything for you.”
“. . . Would you—would you, really?”
“Of course I would. I’ve never felt this way for anyone at all. You’re the person I love the most in this world.” Akutagawa reaches out and puts his hand on one side of Atsushi’s jaw, making circles with his thumb on his cheeks. “It’ll be a long process. It may take weeks. Months, even. It’ll be hard. But all of that is nothing if it means being with you freely, Atsushi.”
“Oh my god,” Atsushi gasps, tears falling off his face. “Please. Please do. I love you, Ryuu. I love you so fucking much.”
Akutagawa intertwines their lips together for a short while before pulling Atsushi into a long hug. “Baby—shh—I love you too. I love you, Atsushi, so much.”
(He is himself only in his Juliet: she is his only reality, his heart’s true home and idol. The rest of the world is to him a passing dream.)