More than Black and White

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/44643400.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs
Relationship: Akutagawa Ryuunosuke/Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs)
Character: Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray
Dogs), Natsume Souseki (Bungou Stray Dogs), Akutagawa
Ryuunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Akutagawa Gin, Nakahara Chuuya
(Bungou Stray Dogs), Yosano Akiko (Bungou Stray Dogs)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers,
Writers, POV Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Other Ships Not
Mentioned in Tags, Nakajima Atsushi-centric (Bungou Stray Dogs), The
Author Regrets Nothing, Okay maybe a little but only because this AU
spiraled, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke is Bad at Feelings (Bungou Stray
Dogs), Bold Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Other Additional
Tags to Be Added, Writer!Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Editor!Nakajima
Atsushi, Minor Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs),
Dazai Osamu is a Good Friend (Bungou Stray Dogs), One-Sided
Akutagawa Ryuunosuke/Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), It's more
a plot point than anything, Betaed, for once, Nakajima Atsushi Wears
Glasses, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, First Dates, Soft Akutagawa
Ryuunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Soft Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou
Stray Dogs), Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healthy Relationships, First
Kiss, Hand Jobs, Explicit Consent, First Time, Gentle Sex, Aftercare,
Idiots in Love, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Gay Sex, Light Angst, Blow Jobs,
Top Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Bottom Akutagawa
Ryuunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Happy Ending
Language: English
Series: Part 2 of More than Words
Stats: Published: 2023-01-30 Completed: 2023-04-04 Words: 65,243
Chapters: 22/22

More than Black and White

by ChaoticQuill

Summary

As an intern, Nakajima Atsushi never expected to be paired with short story writer
Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, whose earlier work brought him fame but whose recent works
have gone unnoticed. After a rocky start to their contract, Atsushi strikes a deal with
Akutagawa: six months of kindness in exchange for a date with his crush.

There's only one problem: feelings change, and so do the people who have them.

Beta read by IrelaNictari, or: look everyone, I finally got a beta!

 A Matter of Preference
Chapter Notes

Hello, everyone! I promised more in this AU, and I am here to deliver with the piece
that begged me to be written in September, wherein this time, I un-Asagiri Atsushi and
Akutagawa.

The Fukumori piece in this AU was really fun to write, and since I mentioned a few
background ships at the beginning (specifically SSKK and SKK) and I also mentioned
*checks notes* Lesbian Poet Duo Kousano, I figured why not give them their own
pieces in the AU?

As a head's up, this fic is already completed draft-wise, and my beta (yes, I finally
accepted someone's offer to beta despite how stubborn I am and how much I dislike
inconveniencing other people) has been over it multiple times (never mind I am still
tweaking little phrases). How did it wind up at 22 chapters?

Just don't talk to me. *sobs*

Anyway, I wanted to get the first chapter up this weekend at least. I hope you enjoy it!

Update: Yes, I'm updating the first chapter's opening note after completing the full fic,
but someone from my discord made a playlist! No idea how it works, as I am not a
Spotify user, but I thought it may be interesting to some readers. :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

On Atsushi’s eighteenth birthday, the orphanage that raised him—never mind that it also
repeatedly tried to shatter him beyond repair—shuts its doors in his face. The director stares at him
from the other side of the bars, wearing that smirk he does as he waits for Atsushi to break down in
tears.

The truth is, he’s been ready for this moment since he was old enough to have a part-time job. He
managed to hide his bank account and his various part-time gigs (full-time in the summer). By
scrounging up every yen he could, Atsushi has enough for key money in a cheap studio apartment
and two months’ living expenses. It’s partly his resourcefulness: he has learned where and how to
look for work over the years, how to tell whether a job will be worth his time. Before he could even
work, he managed to convince a restaurant owner to hire him under the table at fourteen. When the
time came, that restaurant owner hired him on, then gave him a recommendation for a job that paid
better.

He jumped from one part-time job to the other, doing what he needed to to prepare for the future,
knowing the whole time where his passions were.

Which was why, in his last year of high school, he ignored colleges entirely and focused on
applying for full-time internships, specifically at publishing companies.

Against all odds, one company gave him a chance. The president himself, Souseki Natsume,
insisted, “I don’t give a damn if he’s seventeen. He is diligent, keen, and eager, and if we won’t
have him, I’m sure one of our competitors will.” Beneath such praise, Atsushi could only bow his
head. He didn’t expect it to come to anything until he got a letter with an offer.

The night received that letter from the company president, he cried himself to sleep, not out of
hunger or pain. For entirely different reasons. Quietly, because if he woke anyone else, he’d
probably get another beating. But as he cried, he smiled because this hell now had a definite end.

So when the door slams in his face, he can’t cry. Instead, Atsushi only smiles, flies his middle
finger, and spits a laugh at the orphanage director as the man behind the bars scowls. Then.
hoisting his bag up, he paces away with his hands in his pockets.

No more beatings. No more punishments. Best of all, no more threats that his meals will be taken
away if he slouches a little because he’s tired or sends someone a wrong look or cries because the
other orphans cut his hair jagged. And, because he’s no longer in high school, no more being
forced to dye his white hair to “fit in,” even if it is his natural color.

His first matter of business after his forcible liberation is to find an apartment. He manages to rent
a shabby studio apartment a few train stops from the publisher’s office. He knows he can get
reimbursed for his train tickets at the end of each month. The utilities are a little tricky to arrange
on short notice, but the landlord helps him out. Even though he was fully prepared to spend a night
on the street, there’s no need because everything is settled before he has to.

The first night there, he winds up crying again. Even if he’s renting it, it’s his . He sleeps on the
floor, blanketed by one of his hoodies, using his bag as a pillow.

The next day, his attempts to make this shabby little dwelling a home begin in earnest. “Dazai-san,
I’m sorry to call you unannounced, especially during a holiday.”

“Ah,” Dazai says. He’s in his fourth year of editorial work, primarily to poet Nakahara Chuuya. In
Atsushi’s one month of part-time work, he’s been mentoring Atsushi through the finer points of
leaving feedback on documents. But after Golden Week, Atsushi will transition to full-time work
and pay, though he’ll continue under Dazai’s guidance. “It’s not a problem at all, Atsushi-kun. Did
you need something?”

“Yeah. I was wondering if you knew of some places to get cheap home goods. I need a futon. I can
get kitchen stuff at the Daiso—“

“Atsushi-kun,” Dazai interrupts. “Did you move?”

“Ah… kind of? Not voluntarily. Anyway, it’s not a huge deal. I was ready for it, so—”

“I’m buying you a futon.”

“Dazai-san, you don’t have to do anything like—”

“Atsushi-kun.” On the other end of the phone, the brunet clicks his tongue. “I know I don’t have to
do anything. I’m saying I want to as a way to ease this time of change.”

Atsushi can’t really argue. Dazai takes care of everything. The futon gets delivered, and it’s easily
the most comfortable bed he has ever slept on. It’s brand new. There’s no spring digging into his
back. The covers are soft.

The next day, he spends a little more than he normally would on a product to strip the color out of
his hair. Once it’s white again, he winds up re-dyeing one lock black as an experiment and a way
to get rid of the rest of the dye that he has. He winds up liking it more than he thought. Once his
hair is dry, he goes to Daiso to buy some basics, then to an electronics store to buy a rice cooker.
It’s worth the twelve-thousand yen he drops on one.

He skips breakfast and lunch, but for dinner, he makes himself chazuke. He eats four whole bowls
before taking a shower and collapsing into his futon, so sated that he couldn’t read another page if
he tried. The pillows are soft, the blankets warm… and he still has a whole day until he goes back
to work.

On the third day, he relaxes. He has earned a break. He spends most of the day reading in bed, but
he does take a walk, stopping at a family restaurant for lunch on the way back.

When he returns to work the next day, Dazai does a double-take. “Atsushi-kun—”

“It’s my natural hair color,” he mumbles, “and I’m tired of dyeing it black to fit in.”

“I was going to compliment you,” Dazai states, shrugging.

“Ah.” Atsushi fiddles with the long side of his hair. “Sorry. I’m not… used to that.”

“Poor Atsushi-kun is so pure…”

“I told you about my life, Dazai-san. Of course I have a hard time accepting compliments.” Atsushi
frowns and glances away. “Also, uh… thank you very much for the house-warming gift.”

Dazai smiles. “Been getting a lot of use out of that futon?”

“Yeah. I sleep really well on it.”

Dazai chuckles. “I probably shouldn’t tell you everyone else pitched in and got you a bunch of
stuff.”

“If anyone got me a rice cooker—”

“You think too small, Atsushi-kun.”

His coworkers, despite having only been his coworkers for a month, turned out to be more
generous than he anticipated: Kouyou and Yosano bought him a box of expensive, fancy Japanese
sweets, Fukuzawa and Mori a tea set, Ango from marketing a hot water kettle, Chuuya a fancy
notebook and pen… there are other gifts, some more practical than others, but all of them equally
touching and welcome. He winds up hitching a ride with Kunikida from sales, who offers to help
him take everything people bought him home. At the door, Kunikida hands him a good kitchen
knife.

“This is the same kind of knife I bought when I moved out the first time,” he explains, handing it
over. “I hope you accept this gift.”

“I appreciate it, thank you.” Atsushi receives it with a bow.

He tests it out that night when he makes himself dinner and finds that it is as versatile as it is
practical.

Hard to believe that was almost five months ago. In that short time, Atusshi feels he has grown as
an editor. Despite his age, his colleagues treat him as an equal and respect his input. He has easily
found his stride, and at least once every week or two, he stops—in the middle of reading a draft of
someone’s work or brushing his teeth or dyeing that black streak in his hair again—to think about
how grateful he is to have this job, to consider how much he has learned, how happy he is to have
the knowledge that he does.

He doesn’t anticipate the challenge that will come near the middle of September, when out of
nowhere, Dazai announces, “I think it’s time you learn the finer points of editing work.”

Atsushi tips his head. “You mean I haven’t been…”

“Oh, no, Atsushi-kun, you misunderstand.” Dazai sets the document he’s looking at down. “You’re
doing really well with document review. What I mean is, I think it’s time you work with a specific
writer on a more long-term basis.”

“Ah.”

Dazai peers up at him. “Do you not feel ready?”

“I honestly feel a little nervous about it, but if you think I’m ready, I’ll try being more confident in
myself.”

“That’s the spirit!” Dazai grins and passes him a thumbs up. “Now, let’s talk about possible
authors. When you started here in April, you said you were interested in writing short stories,
right?”

“Yeah,” Atsushi murmurs, never mind that he hasn’t written a thing.

Dazai turns back to his keyboard. “Then I have the perfect person.”

The “perfect person,” as it turns out, is one Akutagawa Ryuunosuke. Atsushi knows the name; he’s
familiar with Akutagawa’s first publication, In a Grove , a collection of short stories that came out
in Akutagawa’s first year of high school. When Dazai presents him with the name a week or so
later, he stammers, “Wait, are you serious?” Because truth be told, in his mind, Akutagawa is a big
deal, well-known because he got published at such a young age.

“Mmm. I brought it up with President Souseki, and he thinks you two would be a good match for
each other.” Dazai mixes his latte stick into a cup of hot water. “You’ve probably heard already,
but Akutagawa-kun has been in a rut for ages. He’s published more, but nothing sold as well or
received the same attention as his first book.” Setting the cup down, he spins his chair.
“Therefore!” He pats Atsushi’s shoulder. “It’s up to you to help him out however you can.”

“However I can?” Atsushi echoed. “I thought the contract specified my required duties.”

“Atsushi-kun…” Dazai clicks his tongue. “It’s true, but you’re being a bit short-sighted.”

“I mean…” He touches his glasses. “To be fair, I’ve needed these for most of my life.”

“New frames?”

“Yeah,” Atsushi says. “I finally got around to buying some last weekend. But you were saying?”

Dazai sips his latte. “The contract, much like the books we edit, is a piece of paper full of words.
It’s legally binding, sure, but it’s still just paper. It doesn’t account for the human elements of
editorial work.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know Fukuzawa-dono.”

Atsushi nods, and Dazai waves him closer. “It’s not really a secret, but I hear most of his job where
Mori-sensei is concerned consists of home visits, high-end meals, and babysitting.”

Atsushi tips his head. “That… he sounds more like a personal assistant than an editor.”

“Right?” There’s something almost giddy about his voice. “The contract doesn’t say anything
about that, but with twelve years of experience with our company and a handful of years before,
Fukuzawa-dono knows exactly what he needs to do to support Mori-sensei and his success, and
he’s obviously more than willing to do it.”

Nodding again, Atsushi folds his arms. “What about Nakahara-sensei?”

“Hmm?” Dazai asks.

“Your contract with him is similar, right?”

Smiling, Dazai murmurs, “You know I do as little work as physically possible. If Chuuya needs
that kind of help, he’s on his own.”

Dazai says that, but more than once, he has seen his senior dipping into a shop that sells alcohol
and coming out with a bag that probably contains at least one expensive bottle of wine.

“In other words, it’s just a matter of preference, a case-by-case choice that editors and writers hash
out together beyond the confines of the contract. Or sometimes beneath it.” Dazai takes another
swig of his drink, then shuts his laptop and stretches. “Anyway…” He rolls his chair back and
rises, stretching. “If you need advice on declining any outlandish requests, you can practice on
me.”

“I’m not a pushover, Dazai-san,” Atsushi retorts.

“Then buy my lunch.”

“Okay.”

Dazai passes him a bland look.

“I’m doing it to thank you for the honest advice,” Atsushi retorts, spinning away. “When I sign the
contract with Akutagawa-sensei, I fully expect you to return the favor—” He feels a tap on his
shoulder again and turns to Dazai, who looks inexplicably serious.

“You have a good heart. I’m not telling you this to sell your work short, but when I say I think
you’ll be good for this job, that’s the first thing that comes to mind.”

Another week passes. The president calls him into the office with a contract Akutagawa has
already put his name stamp on, accompanied by a short story he has recently written. He skims the
contract first: six months, prioritizing Akutagawa’s work over other assignments (which would at
most would be a handful since he’s still an intern). Then, he moves on to the attached document.
Atsushi pretends to read it, but in truth, the writing has no bearing on his decision.

As if reading his mind, Natsume announces, “You already decided.”

Atsushi glances up. “Yeah, I did. And I already see the problem: there’s no passion behind these
words.”

Natsume smiles. “I do wonder how Akutagawa-sensei will take that.”

 “I dealt with all sorts of horrors in the orphanage,” he retorts, putting his name stamp on the
contract next to Akutagawa’s. As the red ink dries, he caps his stamp and glances across the table.
“I’m prepared to deal with him.”

Nodding, Natsume says, “This will take you right to the end of your internship.”

Atsushi nods.

“If I’m not mistaken, and I seldom am in matters like this, this contract will be your legacy here.”

“I understand, sir.” He bows, rises, and leaves the president’s office.

As soon as he reaches Dazai’s desk, he clears his throat and announces, “I’ll be taking that lunch
now if you’re not busy.”

Of course, Dazai rises to oblige. He’ll use any excuse not to work.

Chapter End Notes

I can tell just by rereading this that I was having fun writing it. That probably explains
how it got to be twice the size (in chapters and word count) than the Fukumori piece.

Thanks for reading this first chapter! I hope you enjoyed the set-up, because that's
where we are at the moment. Ah endnote stuff...

The chapter title: I took it from what Dazai mentions about contracts. Obviously, I
don't think this reflects the actual state of the publishing industry in Japan or
elsewhere, but you know... FIIF (fuck it, it's fanfiction).

Last-minute changes: just little words here and there, really.

How I confused my Google Search History Monitor: divisions at a publishing

company (I was trying to decide where to put Ango and Kunikida, mostly), salaries for
internships in Japan (from what I found online, they are all paid, and the internship
hourly wage varies), cost of a studio apartment in Yokohama (something something
creative liberties I doubt Atsushi could afford one but FIIF again). I know from past
Google searches that the youngest a person in Japan can be legally employed is 15, but
I didn't find anything about under-the-table work.

Timey-wimey stuff: The Fukumori fic in this AU was structured a little differently:
each chapter included a flashback written in present tense as if Fukuzawa was reliving
it. I'm obviously departing from that here, but I'm hoping to sprinkle flashbacks into
the eventual SKK installment. Kousano will probably also have some flashbacks.
Since SSKK is just getting established as a ship in this verse, I thought it made the
most sense.

Progress: None to report since my goal today is just to get a chapter posted, but I will
say the next piece I hope to write for this AU is Kousano. :)

And I think that does it! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter and are looking forward
to the next one! Until then, as I always say, don't forget to drink water and take care of
yourself!
 A Touch More Beast Than Man
Chapter Notes

Hey, all! Welcome back to another chapter of this AU, also known as Quill un-
Asagiris all the BSD characters and makes them writers/editors.

The conflict begins in this chapter, and I hope you are looking forward to it. I
appreciate all the reads on the last chapter.

And now, without further delay, the chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Atsushi doesn’t meet Akutagawa for more than three seconds until October. Their first interaction
in the office turns out to be nothing more than a glance and a wordless bow. In person, Akutagawa
is a little taller than Atsushi expected and thinner than his author photo lets on. His frown looks
perpetual. He dyes his tips white for reasons Atsushi decides to never ask about. Aside from a soft
cough, he doesn't speak. He’s there and gone before Atsushi can even introduce himself.

And that’s when the worry sets in.

“He just… seems really standoffish,” he murmurs to Dazai one day while they’re out at lunch.

“Mmm… I don’t think life has exactly been kind to Akutagawa-kun.” He grabs another plate of
crab off of the rotating counter and picks one of the sushi rolls off the plate.

“You know a lot about the history of the writers and editors who work here,” Atsushi says. “Is
there something I should know?”

“You already know Akutagawa-kun published early in life and that he hasn’t reached that level of
success with anything else he has written.” Dazai shrugs. “That was a little after I started working
here. When this company published his first collection, President Souseki himself sent a letter of
commendation praising the work. From what I gather, he saw some promise in Akutagawa-kun
and still does even though it remains unmet.” Atsushi nibbles on his sea bream as Dazai continues.
“I’ll let you ask him about the rest, but don’t be surprised if he doesn’t tell you. He’s not really
much for conversation.”

Swallowing, Atsushi reaches for a plate of salmon.

“When I started working here, new editors called him ‘diablo’ because of his temper.”

He nearly drops it. “Is he really that bad?”

“If I didn’t think you could handle it,” Dazai reassures him, patting his shoulder, “I would have
told you that before. Besides, it was just one time. None of the people who called him that work
here anymore.”

Atsushi spends the evening telling himself that he doesn’t need to worry while soaking in his ofuro
for forty minutes and reading Mori Ougai’s first novel. A used bookstore had a copy, but he’s
reading it partly because he wanted to experience the writing someone like Mori was doing at the
beginning of his career. There are admittedly parts that don’t resonate with him, but he chalks that
up to his own lack of experience. Despite that, he sees the same passion and care he has seen in all
of Mori’s work. He’s positive that doesn’t just come from Fukuzawa’s editorial touch. If anything,
he thinks, closing the book and carefully lifting himself out of the tub, Fukuzawa-dono enhances
it, like he’s sharpening something that can already cut you.

He spends an hour or two going over the short story Akutagawa provided with the contract. The
content of this is a little more like what I’d normally read, but the words just… don’t have any
feeling in them. Recalling what Dazai said about Akutagawa’s moniker, he sets the papers aside
and flops down on his futon. How do I tell him that, though? If he yells at me, I… don’t know what
I’ll do. I’ll probably be too stunned to say anything. I don’t want to be rude, but I also don’t want
him to think he can get away with that. He opens Mori’s book again and skims a passage, then
compares it once again to Akutagawa’s story, seeking that same spark and finding it absent once
again.

In the end, Atsushi decides to just be honest. If he ever gets the chance. So far, Akutagawa hasn’t
called on him to do anything. They haven’t talked to organize meetings or deadlines or anything.
He knows the manuscript is due in February and wonders when he should start thinking about
negotiating extensions. Though if this story is any indicator, the revisions he’ll have to make might
be more involved than he’s expecting.

When he returns from lunch, he sees he has a voicemail. “Nakajima.”

His skin prickles at the deadpan. Akutagawa.

“I’m in need of your assistance as my editor. There should be a key to my residence in your
mailbox and an address. Be there by two-thirty.”

The call disconnects without stating a return number. Left with no other choice, he sighs and
checks the clock. It’s a quarter past one now. He grabs the key first and checks the address. The
train ride is 17 minutes, and the walk from there is only a few. The apartment is on the twentieth
floor of a modest apartment building, so he should have plenty of time. He spends the next twenty
or thirty minutes poring over the short story in his hand so he’s prepared to give feedback. Then,
he starts hashing out a possible timeline for completion. I’ll be happy to accept any changes he
suggests, Atsushi reminds himself as he makes sure he has the key. After all, this is a kind of
partnership, so I should be open to negotiations.

On the train ride, he looks over his notes again, makes some minor adjustments to the timeline.
He’s not sure if he should bring anything, so he just shows up at Akutagawa’s door with his bag.
After clapping his hands against his face in determination, he straightens his glasses and touches
the doorbell, mostly in warning.

“Yes?” Akutagawa’s voice comes from the intercom.

“It’s Nakajima. I have the key, so no need to get up. I just wanted to let you know I was here so I
didn’t scare you.”

“I’m in the office. On the way in, make me a cup of jasmine tea. The kettle is already on, so even
you can manage it.”

Atsushi bristles again, but all he says is, “Sure,” and slips the key in the door. After removing his
shoes and murmuring his apology for the intrusion, lining up his shoes in the entryway, and
creeping down a corridor. In the kitchen, he searches for a bit before finding the jasmine tea and
makes Akutagawa a cup. After a bit more searching, he finds the office. On the way, he discovers
the living room, the bathroom, and the bedroom, all of which feel almost sterile with their blacks
and grays. He finally finds the office, where Akutagawa is staring at a laptop screen. Softly,
Atsushi knocks on the door and steps forward as Akutagawa turns to him, scowling.

“It took you long enough.”

He skips the apology and, setting down the tea, answers, “I don’t know my way around yet.”

After a quiet cough, Akutagawa grumbles, “See to it that you learn,” and turns to face the laptop
again.

Atsushi waits for a follow-up request. One to look at part of his manuscript for example. When he
receives none, he clears his throat. “Um… you said you had a request.”

Sighing, Akutagawa passes him a completely disinterested look. “The tea will be all for now.”

Atsushi bites back his huff. Did he really call me out there just to bring him tea? Swallowing, he
murmurs, “Alright. I’ll be going—“

“You,” Akutagawa murmurs, “will occupy my living room in case I need you again. Just do your
best not to make a mess.”

He’s really serious. Atsushi meets Akutagawa’s gaze and blinks.

“Is there a problem, or are you just incompetent?”

Stunned by the bluntness of Akutagawa’s words, Atsushi opens his mouth to object, but before he
can, Akutagawa coughs, then leans against his hand.

“Let me use small words so you can understand me plainly: I’m not yet sure I will need more than
the tea. If I do, you’ll be the second to know only to myself. In the meantime, surely, you have
other work you can occupy yourself with.”

“I don’t—” Atsushi begins, but Akutagawa doesn’t give him a chance to finish.

“Perhaps you could dust the bookshelf or something. Although that task may be too delicate for
someone like you to successfully accomplish.”

Atsushi clenches his fist.

“I see I was correct in my impressions of you: you are out of your element, you are completely
unremarkable save that weretiger hairstyle that makes you look like a brute…”

He clenches his fist tighter.

“Worse than incompetent, you are inexperienced. How long have you been an editor?”

“I’m an intern,” he answers. “I’ve been working for the publisher since April.”

The writer scoffs at him. A sardonic smirk quickly replaces his default scowl. His thin brows rise,
but only a little, as if they are the only part of Akutagawa that can feel anything besides annoyance.
“Let me be perfectly clear, weretiger—”

“Weretiger?” he demands. “Are you making fun of me?”

“It is less an insult and more an observation. That black stripe in your hair speaks volumes of your
heritage, although you clearly inherited a touch more beast than man given how your hackles have
risen.”

He draws a breath and reminds himself to maintain his professionalism even though Akutagawa
seems incapable of this.

“I was told, when presented with the contract, that I would be working with a promising editor. To
find myself working with you instead… well, let’s just say I thought I knew what disappointment
was, but then, I met you.”

He reminds himself Dazai sees him as capable as he exhales.

“It is absolute insulting —”

The company president himself expressed unshakable confidence.

“—that I was not made aware of your low status. I accept the blame for that, but I will not tolerate
your presence for longer than absolutely necessary. In fact, if I have my way, you will be stepping
out of it by the end of the week.”

Atsushi inhales again.

“Have I made myself clear, weretiger?”

Before he can snap, he exhales.

“I see you are incapable of words. Perhaps I should translate to a language you better understand?
Something a bit more cattish?”

That does it. “Yeah.” He pushes the word out. “I got it.”

“Good.”

“Good.” He folds his arm. “But if I last a week, you give me your word to fulfill the contract in
full. All six months.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because…” Atsushi folds his arms. “I can’t say I like you much, either, but my coworkers believe
in me.”

“You think an endorsement from President Souseki—”

“It’s not just him. Dazai-san said—”

“Dazai-san?” That name has a remarkable effect on Akutagawa’s face. For a moment, his eyes
widen. Then, he glares . “What would Dazai-san see in you?”

It’s pretty clear Akutagawa knows him. Atsushi doesn’t ask. Instead, he just answers, “He said he
believes in me. I trust him.”

Surprisingly, Akutagawa doesn’t argue. He turns back to his computer. “One week, then.”

“One week,” Atsushi agrees.

“But know I plan to make it pure hell for you.”

 “Yeah, well, joke’s on you,” he says, spinning towards the door. “You don’t know the hell I’ve
already been through.”

Out of pettiness, Atsushi dusts the bookshelf in the living room. And he does a thorough job,
carefully moving a photo in a silver frame. As he puts it back, he realizes one of the people in the
photo is a much younger Akutagawa. He’s standing next to someone who looks a couple of years
younger in an elementary school uniform. She’s peering out from under her hat, wearing the same
serious expression as Akutagawa. The only difference is her hair is longer, pulled back in a
ponytail with two pieces framing her face.

He sets the photo back on the shelf exactly where it was before and doesn’t bother giving it a
second thought as he opens his laptop and starts working through something Dazai asked him to
take a look at.

Chapter End Notes

Now I hope you see that, while I was hesitant to take on a second AU set in the
modern world with no powers with the same ships as the café AU (specifically SKK,
SSKK, Kousano, and Fukumori), I decided to go ahead with the SSKK piece. They'll
get nicer to each other, but for now, Aku is in full "that bitch" mode, and Atsushi is
less than thrilled he's putting up with it. Translation: They have a different dynamic.

Thanks for reading, all! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, as it sets up the one-sided
DazAku, the first mention of a wager (different than the one in the intro, you'll notice),
and the nickname "weretiger," which Atsushi definitely does not like. (Yet.) Let's do
endnote stuff.

The chapter title: is from Akutagawa's comment about Atsushi. It annoys me just a
little that this chapter and the last one both start with "A." It's not a pattern, but really, I
couldn't get around it unless I used Natsume's line about competitors in the last
chapter. This chapter title feels right.

Last-minute changes: I think just a couple of little tweaks if even that.

Google Search History Monitor got a break this chapter.

Callback to the Fukumori fic: Sea bream. Hirotsu mentions an idiom about sea bream
in the first chapter, and Fukuzawa and Mori eat sea bream during one of their fancy
dinners. I had to look up the English word for it, though, interestingly.

And that marks the end of this relatively short endnote. I hope everyone enjoyed this
chapter. I look forward to your comments, and I encourage all of you to drink water as
always! Until next time!
 Anything Making You Feel Like Less Than a Person Isn’t Worth Keeping
Around
Chapter Notes

Hello, everyone! I'm back with a chapter of THESE. IDIOTS.

No really they're both idiots in this chapter.

Shoutout to everyone who has read, kudosed, and left comments so far. Thank you for
feeding my soul with your kind words.

And now... the chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Akutagawa keeps his promise to make the week a challenge for Atsushi. Or rather, he tries.
Atsushi has three cards up his sleeve that Akutagawa hasn’t bothered to learn about: his patience,
his pettiness, and his drive. He survives the week despite all the snide shit Akutagawa says to him,
despite his unpredictable whims, despite the fact that Atsushi isn’t permitted to set his eyes on a
single word Akutagawa has written besides what he has already read.

Even so, Atsushi wakes up after the week is up and realizes that as patient and committed as he is,
he can’t force this partnership to work, that if Akutagawa isn’t willing to put in some effort, he
can’t continue. It’s his day off, so he resolves to talk to Akutagawa about it the next time he gets
called to the writer’s apartment to make tea or pick up some figs (that Akutagawa doesn’t even
bother reimbursing him for).

In the middle of re-evaluating his budget thanks to unforeseen expenses, his phone vibrates.

“Hello?”

“Weretiger.”

He blinks. “You can’t be serious.”

“I need—”

“Akutagawa, I don’t care what you need. It’s my day off. I survived your week of hell.” He sighs.
“How did you even get this number?”

“I said it was necessary.”

Lying son of a bitch, he thinks, rolling his eyes and pinching his nose.

“This is important.”

“You have two minutes.”

“I need you to come read something and tell me what’s wrong with it.”
Sighing, Atsushi flops down. “You can’t be serious.”

“You are an editor, are you not?”

“The fact that all you’ve asked me to do is make you tea and dust your bookshelf suggests I’m just
your errand boy.” He shuts his eyes. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow? I can come by first thing in the
morning.”

A cough fills the receiver, soft like all of Akutagawa’s others. “I would prefer to take care of it
today.”

Atsushi shuts his eyes. Damn it, he thinks. “Alright. I need an hour, though.”

That’s how, on his only day off that week, Atsushi winds up in front of Akutagawa’s apartment,
announcing his presence with the doorbell and slipping his shoes off after entering.

The first thing Akutagawa says when he enters the office with a cup of jasmine tea is, “You look
even shabbier than usual.”

Atsushi swallows his sigh. “Like I said, it’s my day off. Just show me so I can go.”

Akutagawa faces the screen, and Atsuhsi walks closer. He leans over to see Akutagawa has a single
sentence highlighted. He reads it. Then, he reads it again.

“Well?” Akutagawa asks.

Atsushi stands up and rubs his chin. “Did you try switching the order of it?”

“Yes.”

“Moving it somewhere else in the paragraph?”

“Do you take me for a fool? Of course I tried that.”

Atsushi folds his arms. “What else have you tried?”

“Deleting it, adding it back, changing the words… nothing satisfies me. Nothing works.”

Atsushi shrugs. “Come back to it?”

“I left it alone for an hour.”

“Come back to it tomorrow ,” he clarifies. “Sometimes, you just have to let it sit a bit.”

“I don’t have time to—” He stops to cough, this time a bit longer than he usually does. Then,
dropping his hand, he snaps, “That will do, weretiger. You can go.”

Atsushi finds himself once again in disbelief at just how cold one person can be, how much ire can
be inside this single human being. Almost like he’s stopped being human. He can’t even bring
himself to move.

“Don’t tell me, in addition to being stupid, you’re also—”

“That’s enough.” The words come out as a low growl. Apparently, it’s Akutagawa’s turn to be
stunned. He exhales, mostly to compose himself, before he continues. “This isn’t going to work.”
Akutagawa huffs. “So you’re breaking the contract?”

“Yeah, because I’m the only one committed to upholding it.”

“What exactly have I done to—”

“You can’t actually be that stupid,” Atsushi states, meeting Akutagawa’s gaze. “You treat me like
some kind of lower life form even though the only thing I’ve done is help you. You won’t even say
my name. You call me out here on my day off for one line, and instead of thanking me for my
time, you insult me.”

“Does your lecture have a point?”

“Yeah. If it were just coldness or cruelty, I could take it. But you’re starting to interfere with my
life.”

“In what sense?”

“Your figs mean I’ll have to skip breakfast all week next week to recover financially. And I’m
dedicated to my work, but my time off is valuable. I need it to recharge so I can avoid burning out.”

“What could you have possibly been in the middle of?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He sighs and turns away. “I’ve done my best to be professional despite how
difficult you’ve made it, so let me use words you’ll better understand: you’re a real asshole.”

Akutagawa blinks like he doesn’t know what to say.

“And I learned a long time ago dodging beatings at a damn orphanage that didn’t bother to protect
me from bullying let alone feed me meals when I fought back that anything interrupting your life,
anything making you feel like less than a person, isn’t worth keeping around.” Atsushi finally
unclenches his fists. “Tomorrow morning, I’m dropping off the story you included with the
contract in President Souseki’s office. I don’t give a damn what you do with it. Find someone else
to do this. I’m done.”

There’s something satisfying about Akutagawa’s silence, about the blank look on his face. Atsushi
knows he said too much. He didn’t need to point out Akutagawa was being an asshole or call him
stupid. He also didn’t need to mention the orphanage, but so many of those words Akutagawa hurls
at him nail that target dead on. It’s only been a little over five months since he was evicted, and
wounds like the ones the orphanage left behind on him take lifetimes to heal.

Apparently, he hasn’t recovered, because once he’s outside of Akutagawa’s apartment, he finds
himself wiping his eyes and shoving those memories back down. At home, he remains upset that
he’ll have to skip breakfasts next week and uncertain about how he handled the situation. He takes
enough time to call President Souseki and arrange a meeting early in the morning. Then, he hides
in his futon until the feelings taper off enough for him to stomach cooking dinner. He picks at his
food, reads a little, takes a walk… he spends an inordinate amount of time sitting on a bench in a
park a few blocks from his apartment, breathing in the late summer air, watching the clouds roll
by.

He knows he shouldn’t, but on his way back, he stops at a bookstore and spends an hour just
reading. He leaves without buying anything, but he does look up the song he hears on the radio
since it’s from one of his favorite bands. He didn’t know they dropped a new album. He listens to
it all the way through. Then again while he redyes the black stripe in his hair (he even bought a
new bottle a few weeks ago since he decided he likes it). He plans what to say to President Souseki
tomorrow. He’s not sure there’s any way he can spin it that will maintain professionalism and
decency. Too much detail and he’ll find himself griping about how shitty Akutagagawa has been to
him. He decides to leave his explanation simple: due to fundamental differences in how they work,
he can regrettably no longer continue his work as Akutagawa’s editor. If asked, he will point to the
choicest example: being asked to come on his day off for a single line without so much as a thank
you.

That doesn’t make the next morning any easier. Of course, Dazai isn’t at the office. It’s only eight
o’clock. His meeting isn’t until eight-thirty. He checks his email (thankfully nothing from
Akutagawa), greets Kouyou (he has learned she and Yosano swap roles frequently, but Yosano is
writing right now, which means Kouyou is editing), then Kunikida (the blond is just passing
through on his way to sales).

At eight twenty-four, he marches to President Souseki’s office, making sure his tie is straight and
his glasses are clean. With a heavy sigh, he clutches the envelope in his hands, raises his hand, and
knocks. “Please pardon the intrusion, President Souseki,” he begins as he opens the door.

“Ah, Atsushi-kun, please have a seat.”

He approaches the desk, slides the envelope across the surface, and immediately drops into a bow.
“I apologize profusely for the trouble, but I’m requesting a reassignment.”

“From?”

“From Akutagawa.”

“Ah.” The president raises his hand to his chin. “Is there a particular reason?”

Atsushi prepares to deliver the explanation he prepared last night despite how low his stomach is
sinking, but before he can, he hears the door fly open.

“Ah, Akutagawa-sensei. We were just talking about you.”

Atsushi stands up and whips around. Akutagawa stands in the doorway, black coat askew, gasping
for breath. “I—” He stops to cough.

“Take your time, Akutagawa-sensei.”

It takes a long time for him to catch his breath. Once he does, he says, “I need a word with
Nakajima.”

Atsushi prepares to decline.

“Please.”

He glances at Natsume, who shrugs and says, “It’s your call, Nakajima-kun.”

He knows Dazai said he was a good person, but this? It’s ridiculous. “You have five minutes.”

“Good,” Akutagawa states. “I only need two.”

Natsume lets them into a meeting room and makes sure they have tea. Once the door closes,
Atsushi sits down in one of the chairs and sets the envelope down on the table. Akutagawa sits
across from him. “A moment,” he says. He sips the tea, clears his throat, takes another drink.
When he sets it down, he stares at the cup like he expects it to do the talking for him.
Atsushi glances at his phone. “Time’s up.” He stands.

Akutagawa mumbles something.

“You’re going to have to speak up, or did you forget—”

“I said I apologize.”

Atsushi folds his arms. “Do you think this is going to fix things? Throw a plate at the ground and
apologize to it. See if that works.”

“I am not doing this to change your decision.” Akutagawa coughs behind his hand again. “I am
doing it because it is the right thing to do.”

“Who knew you were capable?”

“I don’t need your lip today, weretiger.”

“I don’t need you at all,” Atsushi fires back. “I haven’t needed it at all, but I put up with it because
I was committed to making this work.”

“Will you let me speak?”

“You had your two minutes. You may be too self-centered to see this, but I have actual work to
do.”

“Give me two more minutes.”

Atsushi rolls his eyes. “Fine. But only because you obviously rushed to catch me.”

Wordlessly, Akutagawa slides an envelope across the table.

“What’s this?”

“For the figs,” he says.

He’s paying me back. He opens the envelope and finds a crisp new five thousand yen bill in there.

“I probably gave you too much, but you are welcome to keep the extra.”

“Are you trying to buy my forgiveness?”

Akutagawa’s glare sharpens. “I am trying to thank you for putting up with me for as long as you
did and commend your dedication for trying to make it work, even after I did everything to ensure
it wouldn’t.”

Atsushi sets the envelope aside and slides Akutagawa his work.

“You’re still giving me the feedback.”

“My time is valuable,” he says, “and I completed the work while I was under contract, so I don’t
want it to go to waste.”

Akutagawa flips through the pages. “There’s barely anything here.”

“Because structurally, the story works,” Atsushi states, meeting Akutagawa’s eyes. “I read your
first collection a long time ago when it came out because I was really impressed someone just a
couple years older than me could get published. I remember liking it a lot.”

Akutagawa glances away out of nowhere, almost as if he’s shy.

“I mean it. It’s still a book I admire. I read it again a couple of years ago, and picked through it at
random when I was trying to figure out why the story in your hand felt so empty in comparison.”

“Empty,” he murmurs. “What do you mean?”

“The problem, at least in my reading of it, is that the first collection has heart behind the words. If I
knew how you could fix it, I’d tell you. But I think… that’s something only you can do.”

Akutagawa scoffs.

“What the hell is your problem? I’m just being hone—”

“I never wanted to write.”

Atsushi blinks.

“After that first collection, I kept doing it for my sister. So she could live the life my health will not
permit.” He coughs again, and Atsushi thinks of the photo on his bookshelf “She’s in Kyoto now,
studying to program video games because that is her dream. I’m supporting her how I can. I could
live a lot less modestly on my sales, but I wish to make sure she can complete her schooling if I…
am forced to leave her behind.”

He stares at the table. “That’s quite a story.”

“Well, you mentioned the orphanage yesterday.”

“Because I was mad at you for being such a prick,” Atsushi retorts, glancing up at Akutagawa
again. “That’s not why you’re doing it now.”

“No. It’s simply… something you deserve to know. As the person who tried to be my editor harder
than anyone else has.”

He swallows.

“I respect your decision,” Akutagawa says. “And I appreciate your feedback. I will… try to make
good use of it.”

When Akutagawa stands, Atsushi murmurs, “Two more minutes.”

“I have nothing else to say.”

“Well, I do.”

Akutagawa lowers himself into the chair again. “Two more minutes,” he agrees.

He inhales, exhales, inhales again. “Maybe I was too hasty. I wasn’t exactly nice to you yesterday.
And I haven’t been nice today, either.”

“You were simply returning my unkindness.”

“Yeah, but that’s not how people should treat each other, even if a lot of what you said hit really
close to home for me.” He shakes his head. “The boundaries I set? Those were fine. But I could
have been nicer when setting them. For that, I’m sorry, too.”

Akutagawa blinks once, twice. He waits for Akutagawa to respond. When he doesn’t, he continues.

“Listen.” Atsushi sighs. “I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot. Because you had
expectations I didn’t meet.”

“It was not your fault.”

“I’m aware of that,” Atsushi insists. “Still, if you’re open to it, I… think maybe I want to try one
more time. Being your editor, that is. However.” He pushes his glasses up and waves his finger
matter-of-factly. “Even if it’s not in the contract, we need to put some additional conditions in
place. We can negotiate them, but there are some things I insist on.”

“Such as?”

“Such as you not calling me on my day off unless it’s an emergency,” he states.

Akutagawa nods. “What else?”

Atsushi folds his arms and hums. “You challenged me to last a week. So, in answer, I’m
challenging you, too.” He sets his hands on his knees and inhales. “Six months. To the end of the
original contract. But you have to be nice the whole time.”

“If I am not?”

“Then we talk about it so you can be better with your next editor. Or me, if it’s not egregious.
You’re human, so of course I don’t expect perfection.”

Akutagawa nods. “If I manage to meet your terms?”

“I don’t know…” He shrugs. “I’ll get you a date with the person you like or something.”

“Impossible. I don’t like —”

“Not Dazai-san, then?”

Akutagawa bites his thin lip and glances away. “What… gave it away?”

“The way you reacted to his name. If you want to be less obvious, you need to work on that.”

Akutagawa casts his glare at the envelope. “You’re proposing something that’s impossible
regardless.”

“We’ll see about that. If I fail, I’ll take you out instead for dinner or something. But I don’t go out
with people who tease and berate me every time they breathe.”

“Your offer is foolish. You—”

“I’m confident I can do it.” Atsushi folds his arms. “And I’ve already proved you wrong once.
Don’t think I won’t do it again.”

Akutagawa glances at him. “Why?”

“Maybe if you go out with Dazai-san, you’ll find what’s missing in your writing.”
Akutagawa scoffs again. “That isn’t in the contract.”

“But it’ll help you write better,” he insists. “What’s in the contract doesn’t matter. It’s the right
thing to do.”

Folding his arms, Akutagawa murmurs, “You are a fool.”

“Does that mean you accept?”

“If I can still call you weretiger.”

“No way. Just call me Nakajima.”

“Is this another non-negotiable point?”

Atsushi rolls his eyes. “Fine. Once a day.”

“Three times.”

“Twice.”

Akutagawa opens his mouth.

“Don’t push it.”

He closes it again.

“We can sort out the rest later. I need to finish my meeting with President Souseki.”

“Yes.” He nods. “Of course.”

“Alright.” Atsushi rises. “Thanks for your time.”

“Thank you as well.” Akutagawa rises as well, then coughs into his hand again.

“I might have some throat candy in my bag,” he offers.

Akutagawa looks at him. “I will… buy some on the way back.”

Somehow, Atsushi doubts that.

When he returns to Natsume’s office, he approaches the desk again and says, “I’ve reconsidered,
but I’ve made it clear whether I remain Akutagawa’s editor depends entirely on how he treats me.”

Natsume folds his hands and smiles. “I think you did the right thing setting the boundary.” He
nods. “I also think you did the right thing giving him another chance. Akutagawa-sensei hasn’t had
an easy life. That doesn’t excuse his behavior, of course, but… his temper got worse again after his
sister left.”

“Sir?”

“I think he’s lonely,” Natsume states, shrugging.

That would explain some of Akutagawa’s behavior. As for the rest… well, Atsushi doesn’t ask
because he doesn’t need to know.
Chapter End Notes

At last, the bet foretold in the fic summary has arrived. And now, you probably see
that this version of SSKK is very different than the one in the CAU because these two
have beef at the beginning. Also, the subtitle of this chapter is "how long is too long
for a chapter title lol don't care I liked it and it fit."

Thanks for reading! Hopefully, now that the set up is fully done, you see where things
are heading. And we are in an endnote, so...

The chapter title: Comes from Atsushi's line. I want to continue the tradition of chapter
titles that are quotes in this AU as another way to set it apart from the CAU. Is it long?
Yes. Does it work, and is it important to keep in mind? Also yes. Does it get me away
from chapter titles that start with the word "A"? Yes the third.

Last minute edits: Honestly? I don't think I changed anything rereading this chapter. It
was pretty solid, and honestly, coming back to it, I see myself getting into a rhythm.
But any changes I did make were tiny, small wording things.

Google got another break today, so let's talk about...

Quill plays with canon: Weretiger obviously came up in the last chapter, and I've
touched on the black stripe in Atsushi's hair (at least in the manga), but there was also
a reference last chapter to Akutagawa's canon nickname, "diablo." We also see hints of
Akutagawa's canon illness with his belief he doesn't have much time and his coughing.
I mean, the idiot RUSHED so he could repair (or start repairing, more accurately) his
working relationship with Atsushi. But of course, we see the openness creeping in as
they share painful bits of their lives with each other.

And that about does it for this endnote and chapter. Thanks for reading, and I look
forward to your comments. Until the next one, remember to drink water! :)
 There’s Nothing Bold About Being Reasonable
Chapter Notes

Welcome back, everyone! I have come to provide another chapter of SSKK being
idiots but in a different way than they're idiots in the CAU.

I hope you've been enjoying the fic so far. I still feel like it's a different flavor of
SSKK, one that draws a little more on their canon bickering. But I promise they get
nicer to each other (for anyone worried that I'm departing from the "communication"
and "healthy relationship" tags. :)

Shoutout to everyone who has dropped a comment! They really are feeding my soul.
Thanks to everyone who has kudosed and commented, too. :)

Let's do it.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“So,” Dazai murmurs one day while they’re at lunch. “How are things with Akutagawa-kun?”

Dazai-san addresses him pretty casually, Atsushi notes. Out loud, he says, “We had a rocky start.”

“So he pulled his surly temper on you?”

“I made it clear that his attitude and behavior were no longer acceptable.”

Dazai chuckles. “Atsushi-kun can be bold if he wants to be.”

“There’s nothing bold about being reasonable,” he states, twirling his fork around his peperoncino.
“Especially when the stupid bastard calls you on your day off to read one line.”

“Oh?”

Atsushi pauses before the fork can reach his mouth.

“Are you complaining about Akutagawa-kun?”

“Just a little,” Atsushi reassures him. “It’s water under the bridge. Anyway, I made it clear that
wasn’t okay, either.”

Dazai just keeps smiling as Atsushi takes his bite. “So you negotiated some terms to make sure
your working relationship remains productive?”

Atsushi nods and recalls the hour-long conversation with Akutagawa the day after their bet, where
they hashed out their non-negotiables.

“I insist you continue making my tea,” he begins.

“I’m not your personal assistant.”

“I am aware,” he states. “It is more a matter of convenience. On your way in, you pass through the
kitchen. It is efficient.”

“If you want to be efficient,” Atsushi says, “then we should set up a rough schedule.”

“As if I could operate on such a thing.”

Atsushi passes him a wry look.

“I will.. endeavor to create a rough schedule, then.”

“Thank you,” he states, eating another one of the manju Akutagawa asked him to pick up.

“What about the manuscript?”

“What about it?” Atsushi asks after he swallows.

“You’ve given me feedback, but I’m not sure what changes to make.”

Atsushi hums. “Then maybe part of the terms of our spoken contract should be that we work
together to figure out why you lost your passion and how to get it back.”

Akutagawa scoffs. “You fool. Are you truly so naive as to believe—”

Atsushi stops him with just a look.

“Ah.” He coughs. “Ah…”

“I don’t think you’re wrong to doubt. It’s probably not going to be easy, but I really think it can
happen.”

Another scoff. “You think you can make me love writing again?”

“Maybe.” Atsushi reaches for the last manju . Instead, he feels something colder, thinner, fleshier.
He jerks back and finds Akutagawa cradling his own hand like he stuck it in fire. “Ah… I’m really
sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. Are you alright?”

“Don’t touch me.”

“It was an accident,” Atsushi says, pushing the plate towards Akutagawa. “It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t,” he grumbles, biting into the last pastry.

He still remembers the chilly feeling of Akutagawa’s hand beneath his fingers. Something else he
files away. To Dazai, he says, “Yeah, I think we’ve ironed most of it out. Not that I don’t expect
more problems, but I’m hoping they’re easier to solve.”

For the most part, Akutagawa has been… better. Not perfect, of course. He still snaps from time to
time, and there are days when he calls Atsushi “weretiger” three times instead of two. On those
occasions, he tends to catch himself, grumble an apology, and go back to writing. Because of
Akutagawa’s clear effort, Atsushi feels better about his role as Akutagawa’s editor.

That’s not all he is, but it’s a good enough word to capture his primary duties. He still makes
Akutagawa tea and brings him whatever food he’s in the mood for if it’s easy to get on the way.
Akutagawa pays him back immediately in exact change. “I would worry the weretiger would eat
me if he had to skip a meal.”
Atsushi glances away from the envelope containing his reimbursement for the figs he bought on
the way. “Did you just tell a joke?”

Akutagawa spins his chair back to his desk. “You are quicker on the uptake than I expected.”

“And you’re the only person I’ve met who can compliment and insult someone in the same
breath.”

He’s pretty sure Akutagawa snickers.

“So when do I get to see the manuscript?”

“Tomorrow,” Akutagawa decides.

Atsushi hums. “You’re not going to say ‘tomorrow’ again tomorrow, are you?”

“Probably not. In the meantime, I looked at the schedule you drafted and have written some
recommended modifications.”

“Where is it?”

Akutagawa hands him a sheet of paper without turning away from the screen. Atsushi looks at it.

“You’ll see the changes aren’t drastic.”

He looks at Akutagawa.

“However, if any of them seem unreasonable—”

“It should be fine,” he says, glancing at the paper again. Akutagawa’s handwriting is… nice. Not
rigid like his personality at all. There’s a touch of chaos in the strokes that he can’t explain.
“There’s some flexibility, of course. You’re good with Tuesdays and Thursdays to start? I’ll still
come by tomorrow if you want.”

“If that works with your schedule.”

“It should,” Atsushi says. “I just finished editing a novel a little ahead of the deadline, so I don’t
foresee being tied up with anything else. Is two still good?”

“Make it two-thirty, if you would.”

Atsushi hums. The whole time Akutagawa has been facing the computer, Atsushi hasn’t heard a
single click of his keyboard. “Do you have writer’s block?”

“A bit,” Akutagawa concedes.

Atsushi hums.

“It’s your presence.” Akutagawa turns to him. “I have a hard time writing when other people are in
the room.”

“Noted. I’ll leave soon. Anything else before I go?”

Akutagawa hums. “There’s an iPod on my nightstand with a pair of wireless headphones.”

“Sure. You okay with me going into your bedroom?”

“Well, I certainly don’t hide the bodies there.”

Atsushi rolls his eyes. “Was your dream to be a comedian or something?”

Akutagawa doesn’t answer. Once Atsushi delivers the iPod Akutagawa requested, he reiterates his
intention to leave. As soon as he’s sure he has everything, he walks to Akutagawa’s entryway, puts
on his shoes, and heads back to the office.

He comes back in two days around two-thirty, but Akutagawa doesn’t answer when he rings the
doorbell. Is he distracted? Atsushi fishes his key out. What if he’s hurt or something? That
thought outweighs the reluctance he has in unlocking the door without letting Akutagawa know
he’s there. He kicks off his shoes and goes right to the office to find Akutagawa facing the
computer, his thin fingers darting across the keys. Sighing with relief, Atsushi creeps back to the
kitchen to make Akutagawa some tea, followed by the almost endearing image of Akutagawa
focused on his keyboard. He smiles and wonders what Akutagawa is writing, looks forward to
finally reading it. He creeps back to the office with the tea and approaches carefully. As he sets it
down, he catches Akutagawa glancing up at him. His fingers finally stop. He pulls one of his
earbuds out.

“Sorry if I startled you,” Atsushi says. “You looked like you were really in the zone.”

“Well,” Akutagawa murmurs, “I believe I’ve made some progress.” He cradles the tea in his hands.
“Apologies in advance if my temper is less than even today. Truth be told, I… barely slept last
night.”

Atsushi frowns. “Was it your cough?”

“Worse,” Akutagawa sighed. “As soon as I laid down, all my tiredness disappeared, and my head
filled with things I wanted to write.”

Atsushi smiles. “That’s good, but you should probably go to bed early tonight.”

“Are you my editor or my mother?”

“Well, I have to make you tea every time I come here.”

He sips it. “I will… do my best.”

Atsushi looks at him expectantly.

“What is it, weretiger?”

“Manuscript.”

Akutagawa opens his desk drawer and hands Atsushi an envelope. “I was working on the next
short story for my collection,” he says. “Feel free to use the living room as a reading space. The
balcony is also nice. Or, if you prefer, you can go.”

“I’ll stay for a bit if you’re okay with it.” He glances at the iPod. “What are you listening to?”

“Music,” Akutagawa deadpans.

“You know I was asking what kind.”

“Is that really relevant?”

“Call it curiosity.” To Atsushi’s surprise, Akutagawa doesn’t chalk his question up to idle
conversation and instead offers Atsushi the earbud he just plucked out.

“Do not make fun of my tastes, weretiger, or I’ll be less welcoming and more ill-tempered.”

“Why would I make fun of you for your taste in music?” he asks. As he lifts the earbud up, he
expects something brooding or classical. Instead, the song that pours out of it is one he knows.

“I can tell the next thing to come out of your mouth is going to be snide, so I’ll have to ask you—”

“Do you really listen to this stuff?” he asks.

Akutagawa scowls. “I warned you—”

“No, no, I wasn’t insulting you. I just… didn’t have you pegged as a Granrodeo fan.” Atsushi
offers him the earbud again. “I really like them. I’ve always wanted to see them in concert, but you
know… money’s tight. I’ve had their whole new album on repeat for—” He stops. “Ah… I’m
sorry. I’m talking too much about myself. I’ll… stop interrupting.”

Atsushi forgets how excited he gets when it comes to things like music and writing. He never
intended for that interest to spill out in front of Akutagawa of all people, who surely sees his
giddiness as annoying. Or worse: the writer is insulted he’s more excited about some Japanese
band than the manuscript in his hands. I’m excited about both, he tells himself, sitting down on the
sofa and pulling the papers out. It just so happens the excitement that came out was—

The couch shuffles, and Atsushi glances away from the pages to find Akutagawa beside him,
offering him the iPod and staring at his coffee table. “What—“

“So you can learn more about my musical tastes.” Akutagawa glances at him. At that angle, his
face seems to have a little more color than usual. “I would appreciate the opportunity to learn more
about yours as well, so… if you would like, I can lend you the lightning cable, and you can add
some music you enjoy.”

Atsushi blinks at him.

“Does that… somehow violate the terms of our contract?”

“No,” Atsushi murmurs, cradling the device in his hands and smiling. “It doesn’t.”

“Good. Then… take care of it.” Akutagawa starts to rise.

“Two minutes.”

He immediately sits back down again.

“I want you to know that while I’m a fan of Granrodeo, I’m also really excited to read your
manuscript. And I’m really grateful you’re willing to show it to me in an unfinished state. Even
though it’s only been a few weeks, it means a lot that you’d trust me with it.” When he looks up at
Akutagawa again, he realizes the color in Akutagawa’s face wasn’t his imagination. It’s actually
there. He’s blushing. “Ah… my two minutes are up.”

“Yes.” Akutagawa rises with more haste than Atsushi expects. His sudden solitude is almost
jarring once the writer is gone.

Now that he’s alone with the iPod and the manuscript, he plugs his own set of earphones in, puts
 the full contents on shuffle, and starts on the first page.

Chapter End Notes

Listen, y'all, I know iPods don't exist anymore in 2023, but I totally think Akutagawa
would hold onto that little dated piece of technology.

Thanks for reading, all! I hope you enjoyed the illicit hand touching (gasp) and the
clear beginning of them building a relationship that's not just work but personal
interests. Endnote stuff. Endnote stuff!

The chapter title: comes from Atsushi's comment to Dazai. It's not as convoluted as his
line in the last chapter, but it hit and I thought it worked well as a chapter title.

Last minute edits: Just little teeny, tiny tweaks. I also totally forgot there was a
present-tense flashback in this chapter to when Atsushi and Akutagawa were
negotiating the terms of their working relationship beyond the contract.

How I confused my Google Search History Monitor (because I finally did): double-
checking the spelling of peperoncino (It's a pasta dish with olive oil, garlic, and red
pepper flakes, at least in Japan, but obviously inspired by Italian cuisine) and looking
at a bunch of Japanese bands. I thought it would be funny to use Granrodeo, which is
actually what my beta suggested. I tend to use bands I'm more familiar with, and I've
obviously heard Granrodeo songs because they do at least one opening for BSD, but
yeah... thought I should go for something different for once. No idea if they released
any music at the end of 2022 besides the BSD OP. I also thought it would be funny for
this band to exist in the AU because... well, Chuuya clearly isn't a musician in this AU.
I also googled manju, but I may have done that for the Fukumori piece in this AU.

And there we have it. I'm going to continue posting chapters regularly for this fic. I
appreciate you reading this chapter, and I hope you enjoy the next one! Until then,
water. Drink it. :)
 Try Living a Little
Chapter Notes

Hello, all! I'm here with another chapter of this fic I've already finished writing, but I
am trying to spread the updates out. I still have no idea what the "schedule" is for this,
but I'm posting chapters here and there. (I know I posted a few last week.)

I have greatly appreciated the comments, as well as kudos and hits, on this fic. I hope
you're enjoying reading it as much as I did writing it.

And now, the chapter!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Atsushi puts more care into selecting new songs for Akutagawa’s iPod than he probably should.
He chalks it up to his view that, like the manuscript itself, it’s part of his editing duties. He pores
over his own iTunes library, listening to this or that, trying to imagine what Akutagawa’s reaction
would be, whether the rhythm is too much or not enough, whether the pitch is too high, whether the
song is too sad or too peppy.

He puts the same amount of attention into Akutagawa’s manuscript, especially mindful of any
passages that have more feeling in them.

“You look really focused, Atsushi-kun,” Dazai points out one day at work. He’s balancing his pen
above his lip, staring at the ceiling, leaning back with his hands folded on his stomach. It’s the first
time he has seen Dazai at the office in three days. “Are you reading something interesting?”

“I think it is,” he answers.

He hears Dazai’s chair roll closer and glances up at him.

“Akutagawa-kun’s manuscript, huh? You’re being really thorough.”

“I feel like I owe it to him,” Atsushi answers, shrugging.

“Is it inspiring your writing at all?”

“I’m honestly not even thinking about that right now.”

“Oh? So the focus on your face is for his writing?”

Atsushi underlines another passage and sets the papers down to rest his eyes.

“You’re working really hard, Atsushi-kun. I hope Akutagawa-kun appreciates the effort.”

“Whether he does or not, this is part of my job,” he murmurs, returning to the stack of paper,
thinking of the iPod again. Would he like L’arc en Ciel? Radwimps? One OK Rock? Shaking those
thoughts from his head, he says, “Dazai-san.”

“Hmm?” Dazai glances at him.

“You remember what you said about an editor’s job not just being the manuscript, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think… maybe you could give me some advice on something I offered to do?”

“I’m all ears.”

As Atsushi starts to explain the main issue with Akutagawa’s manuscript, he breaks off.

“Did you figure it out?” Dazai asks.

“Ah… maybe… I think maybe he would appreciate your help more than mine in this case.”

“I seriously doubt that.” Dazai says it with a smile that only appears on his mouth.

Something about that exchange bothers him. He realizes, in talking through the problem, that he
wants to help Akutagawa himself. The thought of Dazai helping him… it makes him feel
unpleasant in ways he can’t explain, especially after Dazai’s reaction.

The day he goes to give the iPod and manuscript back, he thinks about how the Japanese maple
leaves will change color soon while the elevator descends.

Out of nowhere, with a clarity he seldom has, he thinks he understands Akutagawa’s problem.
Unable to contain himself, he slips his key into the door, lines up his shoes, and stops long enough
in the kitchen to make Akutagawa tea. He enters the office with a bit more speed than he usually
does, careful not to spill the tea or drop the envelope. “Akutagawa.”

Akutagawa sighs and spins his chair around. “You’re early.”

“Ah…” Atsushi sets the tea down. “I didn’t realize.”

“And you didn’t even knock.”

“Ah…” His stomach sinks.

Sighing, Akutagawa reaches for the tea. “I can forgive it this once. You look intolerably excited.”

“Because I think I figured out what your problem is.”

“Remind me what problem that is, because at present, my only problem is that you’re borderline
giddy.”

“Like I said, it’s because I think I get it.” He opens the envelope, flips through the pages, and finds
one with a flag on it. “Here. Look.”

Akutagawa glances at the page. “You’ve underlined a lot.”

“Because a lot of it spoke to me,” Atsushi explains. “I’m not sure when you wrote this particular
story, but it stood out to me, especially the underlined passages.”

Akutagawa glances up at him. “What exactly does this have to do with my issue?”

“It’s because when you wrote those words, I think maybe you felt like you were living.”

Akutagawa blinks. “Let me see if I understand you correctly, weretiger…”

That’s one, Atsushi thinks.

“You have gotten it in your head that, because I don’t see myself as living, my writing has as a
result suffered?” He sets the pages down and reaches for his tea again. “Ridiculous. I am a sick
man. It is impossible to see myself as anything but dying.”

“I know it sounds crazy, but hear me out.” He waits for Akutagawa to set down his tea and cough
once. “Since you started writing, you’ve felt an obligation to. But you haven’t felt any desire to do
it.”

“So?”

“So,” Atsushi says, smiling and offering him the iPod. “Try living a little.”

He glances down at the device.

“That day when we talked about music, you seemed… I don’t know. Content. Maybe even a little
excited.” He watches Akutagawa lift his tea up again. “Am I wrong?”

“I confess, I was… relieved that you weren’t about to give me the ‘you surely only listen to
classical’ line.”

“I admit I thought it,” Atsushi confesses, meeting Akutagawa’s faint scowl with a smile. “Sorry.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised. You are not the first, weretiger, and you will not be the last.”

“My point is,” Atsushi continues, taking a mental note that that was Akutagawa’s second
“weretiger” of the day, “you’ve made writing your life, but in doing that, you’ve forgotten how to
live. Hell, I’m passionate about writing, too, but I have other things, too.”

“Like what?”

“ Chazuke .”

“ Chazuke ,” Akutagawa echoes, passing Atsushi a bland look.

“Look, I know it’s simple, but I just really like a good bowl of chazuke .”

“Are you going to cook for me, weretiger?”

“Nakajima,” he retorts, waving his finger to emphasize his point. “You already had your two
‘weretigers’ for the day.”

Akutagawa presses his lips together. “So I have.” He glances at the iPod in his hand. “My
apologies. I’ll try to be more mindful.”

“I could make you chazuke if you wanted me to,” Atsushi murmurs, “but what I think you really
need to do is get away from your computer and experience something.”

“Like what?”

“The Japanese maple leaves are starting to change color,” Atsushi suggests, shrugging. “Go see
them. If that doesn’t sound fun, just get on the train and go somewhere. Or go to a tea house and
try something you never have. You don’t have to go bungee jumping. Just do something simple
and small that you want to do.”
“The autumn leaves will suffice,” Akutagawa says, turning to his computer again. “Shall we go
Monday?”

“Sure—wait, we?” Atsushi tips his head.

“Ah. I forget that’s your day off. Tuesday, then—”

“No, I mean… why are you inviting me?”

“You told me to do something simple that I wished to do. If I am going to see the autumn colors, I
believe I would prefer your company. I will prime you so that if I have an episode, you know what
to do.”

“But you don’t even like me.”

“My choices are limited,” Akutagawa retorts. “And of those available, you are the most favorable
option.” He folds his hands and spends another moment staring at the screen. “Tuesday.”

“Monday.”

Akutagawa turns to him.

“I was planning on going anyway, so it’s really not a big deal. Mitsuike Park, maybe… I don’t
think it will be that crowded.”

“Very well.”

Atsushi checks his phone. “Tsurumi Station is the closest one. Want to meet there around 1:45 near
the west exit?” He glances up to find Akutagawa staring at him.

“Are you actually agreeing to this?”

“Yeah,” Atsuhsi answers. “Why? Did you change your mind?”

“Monday, 1:45, Tsurumi Station’s west exit.” Akutagawa hands him another stack of papers, this
one smaller than the last, then turns back to the computer. “Don’t be late.”

“You’re welcome,” Atsushi grumbles, low enough that Akutagawa probably doesn’t even hear.

That’s how, on Monday—his day off—at 1:40, Atsushi winds up in front of Tsurumi Station and
keeps an eye out for Akutagawa. He catches sight of the writer a few minutes later, adjusting a pair
of sunglasses and glancing around as if he’s lost. The instant Atsushi calls his name, he swivels
and nods a silent greeting.

It’s awkward. Instantly awkward.

“Um…” Atsushi glances at his feet. “You mentioned if your health got bad…”

“Ah.” Akutagawa pats the small bag at his side. “The front pocket has an inhaler. You may need to
shake it for me, but I should be able to administer it. If not, three seconds, two seconds between
each breath, once or twice as needed.”

“Got it.”

“The pollen is fairly low today, so I don’t foresee any issues. Nonetheless, I may need to take
breaks.”
“Sure,” Atsushi says. “Just say so if you need to, and we can sit on one of the benches.”

“Alright.” Akutagawa takes a long breath as if preparing himself for something truly difficult.
“Lead the way, were—”

“Nakajima,” he interjects. “It’s my day off. At least call me my name.”

Akutagawa scoffs. “Nakajima, then.”

For a long time, they walk in silence. Atsushi hopes it’s more comfortable for Akutagawa than it is
for him. Since moving out, he has learned to feel at peace with it in most instances. In the
orphanage, silence was just the gap between two beatings and beratings. In his apartment, it’s
easier since he's the only one inside. And he has adjusted to the noises outside, the comings and
goings of his neighbors, who have all been cordial enough to him.

But this is a different kind of silence. It’s heavy. It feels empty, like there should be something
there that just… refuses to be. He glances up to Akutagawa, whose eyes remain locked on the path
ahead, and tries to figure out something to say.

Nothing comes to mind.

They stop twice on a bench, each time for around five minutes, when Akutagawa asks. Both times,
aside from the request and Atsushi’s agreement, they say nothing.

“You are surprisingly quiet, wereti—Nakajima.”

“Ah.” He smiles. “I just want to make sure I don’t bother you. This is supposed to be relaxing.”

“It is,” Akutagawa states.

He waits for Akutagawa to say something else. He doesn’t, so he finally asks, “How’s the iPod?”

“The music you added has proven quite inspiring,” Akutagawa confesses. “I was almost late
because I lost track of time writing.”

“Did you eat lunch?”

Akutagawa looks at him, then shakes his head.

“Do you want to stop and get something, then?”

“That… would be acceptable.”

Atsushi folds his arms and hums. “Are you in the mood for anything? There are a few restaurants
back by the station. Honestly, though, I don’t get down here often.”

“Pick something you would like,” Akutagawa states, rising. “I am paying.”

“Huh?”

“In exchange for being generous with your time.”

“Akutagawa, you don’t have to do that.”

“I insist,” Akutagawa deadpans. “You can pay next time.”

The sort of arrangement Akutagawa is proposing… it sounds more like one between friends than
colleagues. Not to mention, it implies that their social outing isn’t a one-time occurrence.

“Do you accept?”

“I…” Atsushi stammers. “I… why?”

“You told me to live a little,” he says. “One does not live all of life in a single afternoon beneath
the maple—”

Whatever else Akutagawa is going to say gets cut off by a leaf falling directly on top of his head.
Atsushi instantly erupts with laughter, and it only gets worse when Akutagawa’s face turns sour.

“If you’re going to make fun of me, you can starve, you fool.”

“I’m sorry,” he manages, pushing his glasses aside and wiping his eyes. “It’s just… your face…”

“What was wrong with my face?” Akutagawa demands.

“Nothing. You just looked really indignant. It was funny.”

“What is funny about being interrupted by a maple leaf?”

Atsushi puts his glasses back on. “It was all in the timing. You were saying something really
impressive just now.” After a long breath, he says, ”Sorry if it hurt your feelings. I promise I
wasn’t being a jerk or anything.”

Akutagawa folds his arms and hums. “For that,” he says, “Permit me one ‘weretiger’ today, and I
will consider forgiving you.”

“No way,” Atsushi retorts.

He expects Akutagawa to fight him. Instead, he simply nods and continues walking.

“Alright,” he finally concedes. “But do it now before I change my mind.”

“If you mind it that much—”

“It’s fine! Just—”

Out of nowhere, he realizes Akutagawa is in his space, not close enough to be uncomfortable, but
close enough that he could reach out and touch Atsushi. He flinches as Akutagawa raises his hand.
It doesn’t have any speed behind it, but he has learned to expect force even if none is present.
“Relax. There’s a leaf in your hair.”

“Huh?” He opens his eyes and feels Akutagawa’s fingers in his hair, delicate, precise, gentle… all
things he didn’t know hands could be when they touched a person.

“Your laugh,” Akutagawa murmurs, showing him the leaf he just plucked from Atsushi’s white
hair, “is a west wind on an otherwise still summer day, weretiger.”

Atsushi tries to think. When that doesn’t work, he tries to speak. He winds up sputtering one or two
syllables that don’t even belong to words as the world disappears behind the whitening lenses of
his glasses.

“Now we are even.”

 “Akutagawa! That was—”

“I see I’ve made you uncomfortable,” he states. “Do not read too far into my words just now. It
was a line I was dabbling with earlier. I needed to say it aloud to get it right.”

“Then warn me next time!” He pulls his glasses off and uses his shirt to clear the fog, then sticks
them back on his face only to find Akutagawa has already resumed walking. “Akutagawa!”

“If you wish to eat, weretiger, you should start walking. I believe I know just where to take you.”

Atsushi winds up darting after him despite his misgivings, but the food is so good that he decides to
put those words aside for the moment. But when he’s alone later, their strikingness comes back as
if they’re demanding to be read.

Chapter End Notes

The subtitle of this chapter is called "guys is it gay to try super romantic sounding
lines out on your editor?"

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the progression of their relationship. Little by
little, we are getting to the romance, etc. Until then, I hope you enjoy the build-up.

And now... endnote stuff.

The chapter title: Is if course from Atsushi's advice to Akutagawa. It felt really fitting.
And you can see Aku living more than a little, I think.

Last-minute changes: just little tweaks here and there. Really, this chapter felt pretty
solid in terms of flow and narrative progression already.

How I confused my Google Search History Monitor: Looking up good places to see
the autumn leaves in Yokohama, as well as roughly when they started changing color.
Mitsuike Park is what I settled on. As well, I looked up the nearest train station, which
was Tsurumi.

Since I have no progress to report, let's talk about the wind line: I have no idea where I
came up with it, but I deliberately picked "west" wind because... well, Byakko the
white tiger. And I wanted to find an equivalent line in one of their short stories, but I
soon gave that idea up and just rolled with it. It would be awesome if there was a
historical equivalent. Given more time, I probably would have tried to find one, but I
just rolled with this instead.

And that about does it for this chapter! I'll be posting another sometime this week, I'm
sure. Until then, I hope you drink plenty of water! Thank you for reading!
 For Space or For Company
Chapter Notes

Hello, readers, and welcome back to another chapter of these idiots (positive) are so
dumb (also positive).

Shoutout to everyone who kudosed and read the last chapter. I’m glad people are still
reading.

We're getting warmer in terms of feelings, but I'll let you read the chapter and make
that determination. Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Weretiger.”

Two, he tells himself, biting back his sigh. He’s relieved the second one came quickly today. He’s
ashamed to admit it, but the moniker is growing on him a bit, almost to the point where he doesn’t
notice it.

“Permit me a question.”

“You can ask me anything you want,” he states, scrolling down the page on his screen. He’s
reading another manuscript on his laptop, sitting on Akutagawa’s couch. Until a few moments ago,
Akutagawa was in his office hammering away, headphones in his ears, the iPod loaded with his
music and Atsushi’s on the corner of his desk. He doesn’t look up, though.

“I’m curious.”

“About what?”

“Your hair.”

He stops to type a comment in the margin. “What about it?”

After a long silence, Akutagawa finally says, “Why?”

“Are you asking why my hair’s like this?”

“It’s…”

Atsushi finally looks up to find Akutagawa studying him. Out of nowhere, his eyes turn away.

“Unsightly.”

Atsushi huffs. “I thought you were supposed to be being nice.”

“Is it more important to be nice or honest in this case?”

“It’s not my fault it’s like this.”

“Elaborate.”

“You called it unsightly,” Atsushi retorts. “I don’t know if I want to tell you after that.” He listens
to Akutagawa cough. “You can’t guilt me into it, either. I don’t want to talk about it. Respect that,
please.”

“Very well.”

When Akutagawa disappears, Atsushi exhales and tries his best to bury the sting. Not just from
Akutagawa’s words. From the words they bring back to his memory. But that word echoes in his
head over and over. Not in Akutagawa’s voice, either.

Unsightly.

He covers his hair and frowns at the monitor.

Unsightly.

He remembers waking up and realizing most of his hair was on his pillow instead of on his head.

Unsightly.

A younger version of himself swallows the scream in his throat, struggles to clean the hair off his
pillow… and it gets even worse when his school starts forcing him to dye it all black…

“Nakajima.”

Back in the present, he realizes he’s gasping for breath, sweating, nauseous, shaking. His eyes
burn. This hasn’t happened in months.

“Nakajima.”

“What?” he manages in a low voice.

A flash of color enters his vision. A blanket. Akutagawa is offering a blanket and a blank look.
“Wrap yourself in this. I will get you tea.”

Atsushi doesn’t want to accept Akutagawa’s help. Not because it’s Akutagawa offering it; because
he’s not sure he can trust the writer enough. In the end, he takes the blanket and winds himself in it.
He pulls his glasses off to wipe his eyes, then puts them back on with shaky hands. Akutagawa sets
the tea down.

“Do you wish for space or for company?”

“Neither,” he says. “I just want it to stop.”

Akutagawa folds his arms. “Two minutes.”

“Sure.” He feels the couch cushion beside him jostle.

“If what I said contributed, I… apologize.”

“It’s not your fault. I’m just overly sensitive.”

“If it is as bad as your reaction, then I don’t believe you are.”

Atsushi pulls the blanket tighter around himself.

“I will not say it again.”

“You’re not wrong, though. It is unsightly. I’m completely worthless. A monster, a curse…”

“Nakajima—”

“I know you think that.” He breathes in as his isolation crushes him. “I know everyone does.”

He feels the sofa shuffle again, then glances up as Akutagawa offers him the tea. “If you would
like it. It’s better hot.”

He reaches out of his blanket cocoon for the tea. Blood rushes in his ears. At the last minute, he
draws his hands back to dry his face instead. “I’m sorry.”

“You do not need to apologize.”

Atsushi struggles to regain composure, to ground himself, but his heart is still racing, still aching.

“My two minutes are up,” Akutagawa murmurs.

“You should go back to writing then.”

Akutagawa studies him. “Two more minutes.”

“Akutagawa—”

“Two more minutes,” he says again. “Or three. Or however long it takes. I cannot write knowing
my editor cannot edit. Unless… you would prefer space.”

Atsushi doesn’t want to believe the kindness he’s being offered is genuine, but for all his snark,
Akutagawa is trying. He hates that Akutagawa, of all people, has to see him like this. That just
makes his chest burn more. “I… don’t…”

“You can cry in front of me,” Akutagawa states. “I don’t mind. I will not yell at you, or call you
weak or foolish. I will sit here with you if you wish.”

Giving up, Atsushi pulls his glasses off and buries his face in his knees. He tries to be quiet about
it. It’s humiliating, that he would break like this while he’s on the job in front of Akutagawa of all
people. But he supposes it’s better to do it here in front of one person than in front of a group of
people in his office. Ideally, this sort of thing would happen alone. But part of him is happy he’s
not alone this time, even if the person sitting next to him isn’t ideal. He wipes his face on his
sleeve and sighs. “Alright. I think I’m done.”

Akutagawa offers him the tea again. This time, he takes it. Immediately, his mouth fills with its
floral flavor, which brings him back to earth. He turns to apologize again, but Akutagawa is staring
at the table, hands on his knees.

“Unintentional or not, I brought up something truly painful for you. For that, I apologize.”

Atsushi chances putting his glasses back on even though he’s really not confident in his emotional
stability. He takes another sip of the tea. The steam fogs up his lenses.

For some reason, that makes him remember Akutagawa’s fingers in his hair, the low sound of his
voice as he said something about his laugh being the west wind. His glasses fog up again, but not
because of the tea.

“Nakajima—”

“Weretiger,” he says. “Call me that.”

Akutagawa blinks. “But you dislike—”

“Please.”

The writer lets out a slow breath and murmurs, “Weretiger.”

He winds up laughing. Akutagawa blinks again, coughs once, glances away again.

“I don’t understand why that made you smile of all things.”

“That makes two of us.”

Akutagawa hums. “Permit me to ask what set off your panic attack. You don’t have to answer
now, but when you are better, I… believe it would be wise for us to—”

“I don’t know,” Atsushi murmurs. “You insulted my hair, and I just kind of spiraled. So I don’t
really think it was you. It’s just all the awful shit in my head.” He sips the tea in his hands again.

“Your hair… was one of those awful things.”

It’s not a question. And even if it were, Atsushi wouldn’t answer.

“Then I am even more sorry I said anything.”

“You’re welcome to your opinion,” he mumbles. “I don’t blame you for it.”

“Still, it was insensitive.”

Atsushi glances at him.

“You said my problem was my refusal to live. I believe… I know what I wish to do.”

He takes another sip of tea.

“I would like you to accompany me to a salon,” he announces. “I am overdue for a haircut

anyway.”

“Why? So someone can fix my hair?”

“What you ask them to do with your hair is your choice.” He folds one leg over the other. “Taking
another look at it now, I don’t believe it needs fixed. But your roots are showing.”

“I’ll fix it this weekend.”

“Well,” Akutagawa says, rising, “If you change your mind at any point, I would be happy for you
to accompany me.”

Atsushi works his way through the rest of his tea, then sets the cup down. He doesn’t know why
he’s still sensitive about it. Then again, the things he endured as a result of his hair…

Sighing, he rises and creeps to the office door. Akutagawa is writing again, but he breaks off as
soon as Atsushi is in the doorway and turns his chair. “Yes?” the writer calls.

“The other kids at the orphanage cut it,” he finally says.

Akutagawa hums.

“I never fixed it because I was scared it would happen again. Then, when I started high school, I
was forced to start dyeing it all black since white isn’t a natural hair color.” He rolls his eyes. “The
stripe was just a way to use up the rest of the hair dye. I decided I liked it, so I kept doing it. I never
got around to getting it cut properly when the orphanage kicked me out. I just keep doing it myself
because… I’m a little anxious about letting anyone else cut it.” He glances at the floor. “Sorry. I’m
interrupting your—”

“The white tips.”

Atsushi pauses.

“You know my health is poor. There were days I didn’t think I’d live to twenty, let alone to an age
where my hair would turn white. So, I decided to just dye part of it for no other reason than
because I wanted to.” He smirks. “Of course, my high school prohibited such things. I did it the
day after my graduation ceremony as a final way to cut ties with formal education.” He spins his
chair around again. “Like you, I continued to enjoy the look of it, so I kept doing it.” He writes a
few words while Atsushi stands there, or maybe he switches a few. He can’t tell from there, but he
does recall Akutagawa is not a fan of writing when other people are around. “Several of my
previous editors have said my hair looks stupid. Do you know how much self-control it took not to
punch them?”

“Considering you mocked my hair just now, yeah, I actually do.”

Akutagawa scoffs. Atsushi chuckles. Somehow, they both understand the purpose of that remark
without Atsushi needing to explain it.

“Did you have a place in mind?”

He stops typing again.

“For… you know.”

Akutagawa turns to him. “Think about it over the weekend and give me your answer next week.
You shouldn’t rush into this after so adamantly declining just because we had a bonding moment.”

“I’m not rushing anywhere, Akutagawa,” he states, spinning away. “I’m facing my past instead of
running from it.”

“Very well,” Akutagawa calls. “I will call the salon I normally go to and schedule.”

To say he’s anxious the following Thursday when he’s standing outside of a moderately priced
salon is an understatement. “Should we really be doing this when we’re supposed to be working?”
Atsushi asks.

“We are working,” Akutagawa deadpans, pushing the door open. “We will discuss the manuscript
while the hair dye is activating and at the café I’m taking you to afterwards.”

“It’s my turn to pay for lunch,” Atsushi reminds him. “And we’re paying for our own haircuts.
Don’t forget.”
The salon is… an experience. No one gives him an odd look when he insists on renewing the black
stripe and evening up the layers in the back, something to make it look neater but keep its original
character. He only gets nervous at the sink, when he’s tipped back and the hairdresser sprays his
scalp down with warm water. It’s fine, he tells himself, watching the hairdresser pour a large dollop
of shampoo into his palm. It’s fine. It’s…

It’s more than fine. It’s heavenly. The pressure of fingers against his scalp that then work his
temples… he lets out a low, content hum.

Immediately, he catches the sound of Akutagawa scoffing. “Are you actually purring, weretiger?”

But not even Akutagawa’s snide remark can disrupt the pure pleasure he’s soaking out of that
moment. The faint floral scent of the shampoo, and then the conditioner, fills his nose. Then, it’s
sitting next to Akutagawa while the black stripe in his hair sets.

“You were actually purring.”

“Shut up,” he retorts.

“It was…” Akutagawa presses his lips together and humphs . “Never mind. Perhaps ‘kitten’ would
be a more apt nickname for you.”

“What the hell?”

“Tigers don’t purr, you know.”

Atsushi sighs and rolls his eyes. “How’s your manuscript, sensei ?”

“No need to be sarcastic, weretiger.”

“That’s two,” Atsushi reminds him.

Akutagawa doesn’t mention that Atsushi himself asked for a third last week at the tail end of a
panic attack as an inexplicable way to ground him.

“So how is it?”

“I have almost finished integrating your suggestions on the first half, I think. However, I’d like to
give it the weekend before I look at it again.”

“Then you think the stories have more life in them?”

“I would say so,” Akutagawa answers. “I did my best to consider what made the lines that stood out
to you different from the others. I switched the narrator of one story in the process.”

“Which one?”

“The one I haven’t titled yet.”

Atsushi hums. “Who tells the story now?”

“The spider.”

Atsushi smiles. “That’s… honestly not what I expected at all. I’m excited to read it.”

When Akutagawa doesn’t answer, he glances to his right to see Akutagawa staring at the floor.
“Hey. You’re spacing out.”

“Ah.” He clears his throat, coughs once. “I was simply thinking that perhaps, the choice was too
unexpected.”

“You saved a copy of the story, right?”

“Of course.” Akutagawa folds his hands, and he starts to glare.

“What’s the problem?”

“The wind line.”

“The wind line?” he asks.

“The one I mentioned to you.”

Atsushi nods. “What about it?”

“It… regrettably wound up not fitting where I had intended.”

“Ah.” Atsushi hums. “It’s a shame. It’s a really beautiful line.”

Akutagawa turns to him. “I would like to give it to you.”

“What?”

“You say you are passionate about writing,” Akutagawa murmurs, “but you never speak of your
own.”

“Ah. That’s because I haven’t really been doing any.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I have ideas and I write the good ones down. I just… I’m really
focused on editing now.”

“That will not do,” Akutagawa says. “I insist you write something.”

“Akutagawa—”

“I am not asking to see it,” Akutagawa continues. “You do not have to show it to me. You don’t
even have to use the line. However, I’m a firm believer that those who are passionate about writing
should at least try to write.”

He frowns, then murmurs, “I don’t want to get distracted from the stuff I’m editing, and I don’t
want to wind up taking something I shouldn’t.”

The hairdresser comes to collect them, and as Akutagawa rises, he murmurs, “There is a saying
among writers, something I wish to share with you.”

“Yeah?”

Akutagawa glances at him over his shoulder. “Good writers borrow; great writers steal.” He turns
away again. “Those are not my words, by the way.”

Atsushi ponders them while his hair dresser rinses the dye out and then shears even up some of the
 more noticeable layers in the back. He holds a mirror and studies his hair, both the front and back.
It looks good wet, but after a daub of leave-in conditioner and a blow dry, it looks even better. It’s
not perfectly tidy. It doesn’t need to be.

Over a late lunch, while Akutagawa is nibbling on a sandwich, he observes, “You keep playing
with it.”

“Because it feels really soft.” He runs his hands over the back of his head, where the layers of hair
have smoother transitions. Akutagawa studies him the whole time.

“Nakajima.”

“Hmm?”

“I know I already apologized for what happened last week. However, I… acknowledge what I said
really troubled you.”

To his surprise, Aktuagawa lowers his head.

“Know today was not merely an apology for my role in that. It was something I wished to do.
While this is difficult to say, I must confess I feel… grateful… for your understanding and for your
willingness to accompany me today.”

He watches Akutagawa rise. “Who are you, and what have you done with Akutagawa?”

The writer takes a long sip of his iced oolong tea. “Also,” he adds, “your hair now looks…
acceptable.”

“Are you complimenting me or insulting me?”

“I don’t believe I need to explain.”

Atsushi blinks, then smooths the longest piece of his hair with its freshly dyed black stripe.

What does it mean that he’s giving me a line? Atsushi wonders that night as he nods off. What
does it mean that he’s… complimenting me?

He falls asleep before he finds the answer.

Chapter End Notes

Yeah Akutagawa was totally insensitive, but he apologized and Atsushi chose to
forgive him. Also the subtitle of this chapter is "guys is it gay to invite your editor to a
salon and give him a line?"

Thanks for reading, all! I hope you enjoyed this chapter despite... well, I don't think
canon Aku would apologize for much of anything. But I feel he's making such an
effort to be nicer, even if he fails occasionally.

Oh yeah, endnote...

The chapter title: Has always been "for space or for company" after Akutagawa's
question to Atsushi and his offer for whichever Atsushi preferred. His kindness doesn't
erase the pain he caused Atsushi, but you can really see him trying to make up for it
and do better, especially in that request.

Last-minute changes: just little wording tweaks here or there. I clarified one of the
dialog tags, for example. So really not a whole not.

No Googling for the chapter, but on a whim, I looked up the average cost of a men's
haircut in Japan, and in Tokyo, it's about 3,600 yen. So about $30 USD with the
current exchange rate.

Since we're on the topic, my beta actually was the first one to bring up them going to a
salon together since they both dye parts of their hair in this AU, and I thought it was
cute, so I wrote it. Atsushi purring when someone massages his scalp sounds really
adorable to me. :)

I believe that's all for this endnote! I hope you enjoyed the chapter and the
adorableness. Until the next time I post, I hope you drink water! Thank you for
reading!
 The Loneliest Thing in the World
Chapter Notes

Hello, hello! Here we are again with another chapter of these cute little dumb dumbs.
Prepare for the obligatory sick Aku chapter.

Shoutout to everyone still reading this silly little AU. The comments are feeding my
soul, and I hope you're still enjoying it.

Let's get to it!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

At the office the next day, Atsushi finds himself sitting next to Dazai in the office. “Atsushi-kun.”

“Yeah?”

“You keep playing with your hair.”

“Ah. I got it cut yesterday.” He glances up from the document he’s reviewing online and smiles. “I
guess I’m not used to it yet.”

Dazai emits a thoughtful hum.

“What?” Atsushi retorts.

“I just think it’s a funny coincidence that Akutagawa-kun also got a haircut yesterday. Weren’t you
working with him?”

Atsushi blinks. “Where did you hear that?”

“He told me that himself. He’s in the office.”

Atsushi doesn’t even have time to digest that information before an envelope lands on his desk. He
glances up the arm that deposited it to find Akutagawa there, wearing a face mask. After one of his
characteristic coughs, which he still covers with his hand, and murmurs in a voice that’s raspier
than usual, “I would appreciate you reviewing this.”

“Alright.”

“And I still expect you to do some writing yourself.”

“Akutagawa.”

He coughs again. “I fear I won’t be well for a week or two. I will not hear arguments against you
taking this opportunity.”

Atsushi blinks.

“Use the line. Or don’t.”

“Alright. Fine. I’ll try.”

“See that you do.” Akutagawa nods to him. “Dazai-san.” His bow is lower but stiffer. Then, like a
shadow, he’s gone.

“You two are getting along well, I see,” Dazai comments.

Atsushi doesn’t bother to correct him.

“Do you like working with him, Atsushi-kun?”

“He’s a picky bastard sometimes, but… yeah. It’s gotten better. And it’s really not bad once you
get used to the fact that he tries to veil compliments as insults.”

Dazai’s smile grows.

“What now, Dazai-san?”

“Do you like him?”

Atsushi shrugs. “I mean, he’s not bad as a person…”

“Don’t play dumb, Atsushi-kun,” Dazai states, clicking his tongue. “You know that’s not what I’m
asking.”

An impossible question. Atsushi weighs his options. He could reiterate his previous statements,
which is true. He could deny it, which is equally true but also suspicious. Dissatisfied with both,
which could ultimately cause workplace gossip he’s trying to avoid, especially given Dazai is
privy to the haircut, he opts to turn the question around. “Do you?” he fires back.

“Please. He’s not my type.”

Atsushi meets his gaze with as much calm as he can muster.

“My type is a beautiful woman willing to commit a double suicide with me! Ah, Chuuya would get
so angry if he heard me telling you that, but that only makes me want to continue. I’d prefer one
with dark hair and nice hands—”

“His hands aren’t bad,” Atsushi states, shrugging. He hasn’t exactly been working on this part of
the bet, so he’s been waiting for an opportunity. This seems like a good enough one.

Dazai smirks. “So you know this from experience?”

“Dazai-san, please… you know I didn’t mean it that way.” He sighs. “Look… you basically just
described Akutagawa’s looks. I can’t help but draw the connection.”

Dazai’s eyes narrow. “What exactly are you trying to do, Atsushi-kun?”

“Why would I be trying to do anything?” Atsushi asks, shrugging and turning back to his screen.
“I’m just saying it’s suspicious.”

“I didn’t just compliment his hands.”

“I didn’t just describe his looks as my type.”

It’s not often Dazai is speechless, but he is now. For now, Atsushi will let that thought germinate in
Dazai’s mind. He still has four and a half months until he needs to make good on his end of the
bargain.

A few days pass. He decides to do a little writing on Monday since it’s his day off. He’s still not
sure what he’s writing, but he is enjoying it. Out of nowhere, his cell phone rings. He doesn’t
recognize the number, but he answers anyway, wondering if it might be something of importance.
“Hello?” he asks as he picks up.

“Weretiger.”

It’s Akutagawa. The nickname is familiar, but the voice, thin, rough, and barely there, is not.

“I need… a favor.”

It must kill him to say that.

“I know it is your day off…” He stops to cough. “And I know your time is valuable, but I have no
one else to ask.”

“Okay,” Atsushi says. “What is it?”

“I am texting you a grocery list. I would appreciate it if you picked up the items on it. I will make
sure I pay you once I am well enough to get to a bank, but if it is a problem—”

“I just got paid, so I’ll be okay for a bit.”

“One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“No mikan.”

“No mikan,” Atsushi echoes. “Sure.”

He listens to Akutagawa breathe into the phone. “Once you pick everything up, put it away. Leave
the receipts on the counter. And leave.”

Atsushi blinks. “Akutagawa—”

“I do not—” He breaks off to cough. This time, it lasts longer. “I do not… want anyone seeing me
like this, especially not you.”

“Okay.” He bites back the urge to argue that it’s fine, that he really doesn’t mind what Akutagawa
looks like considering he’s so sick. “Alright. Once I get the list, I’ll try to work fast.”

“It is more important to be thorough. I do not wish to call you a second time.”

He shuts his eyes.

“Do you understand, weretiger?”

“No.” He murmurs the word. “No. I really don’t.”

A thin groan fills the phone.

“Akutagawa—”
“I do not want you here.”

“Why?”

“Because I do not want you seeing me in this pathetic state.”

“Akutagawa—”

Again, he says, “I do not… want you here.”

Atsushi thinks he may be reading too much into the pause, but it almost sounds like Akutagawa is
trying to convince himself, not Atsushi. Still, he presses his lips together. “If you decide you don’t
want me there, I’ll go. But I’m bringing my laptop just in case.”

“It’s your day off.”

“I’m writing,” he answers.

He’s met with another thin groan.

“Just… let me cook something for you.”

“ Chazuke .”

“Sure. Chazuke .”

“Very well,” Atakugawa sighs.

Atsushi isn’t sure if that sigh signals Akutagawa’s annoyance or relief. It probably doesn't matter.
He goes regardless, picking up the items on Akutagawa’s list at the drug store and grocery, riding
the elevator up to Akutagawa’s door, knocking first to make sure his presence is announced, then
entering.

He doesn’t even wait for an answer. He gets right to work, washing the rice while the hot water
kettle boils. He makes Akutagawa a cup of honey ginger tea and starts towards the bedroom.

Akutagawa is on the sofa instead, bundled up in a blanket, looking more dead than alive. Atsushi
deposits the tea with one stern word. “Drink.” Then, he goes back to the kitchen. He tries not to
think about the circles under Akutagawa’s eyes or the hollow look filling them, or the fact that he
looks even paler than usual. Has he slept at all? Atsushi asks himself. Has he eaten? Drank? God,
is he actively trying to die? If that’s the case, he really would be perfect for Dazai-san. Wavering
between agitation and sympathy, Atsushi searches through Akutagawa’s kitchen for a knife and
chops vegetables. Every now and then, he hears Akutagawa coughing in the living room. It’s never
long, just two or three quiet sputters before silence falls again.

When he’s done in the kitchen, he peers into the living room. “Can I borrow your office?”

Akutagawa glances at him.

“Or do you want me to sit with you?”

“I… do not want you here.”

“Then I’ll leave.”

Akutagawa presses his lips together.

“Really. I’m not going to intrude anymore. Now that I know you have something to eat, I’ll leave.”

The gray eyes drift to the floor. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

When Akutagawa’s eyes rise again, he’s glaring. At himself, at Atsushi… it’s not clear.

“I’m going to get you a cooling patch,” he grumbles, setting his laptop down. “And,” he continues,
grabbing Akutagawa’s empty cup, “More tea.”

If Atsushi could come up with an answer for Akutagawa’s inexplicable hot and cold behavior, his
snide remarks that tiny veil compliments, he suspects he’d need Dazai’s level of illogical logic. But
he can’t exactly ask, considering Dazai’s suspicions. He returns with the tea and the patch and sets
the cup down on the table. “Are you well enough to put it on?”

He sighs and smooths his hair back. His face shifts from deathly pale to a heated shade of pink.
“You do it.”

Sighing, Atsushi opens the sleeve of foil and peels the paper off the adhesive. “I can’t believe I’m
doing this.”

Akutagawa glances at him. “If you do not wish to be here—”

“I’m not complaining,” Atsushi clarifies. “It’s more… I never pictured myself doing anything like
this when I accepted the internship and signed the contract to be your editor.” He lines the patch up
with Akutagawa’s forehead and smooths it on, doing his best not to touch Akutagawa’s skin. Once
he’s sure it’s stuck on, he drops his hands and glances down at Akutagawa’s face. Their eyes meet.
Worse still, Akutagawa is blushing so deeply, Atsushi half expects him to pass out. “Ah. Sorry.”
He slips into a seated position next to the writer and stares at the tea on the table. He continues
staring as Akutagawa’s hands close around it. Recovering, Atsushi opens the laptop while
Akutagawa sips the tea beside him.

“Be honest with me.”

Atsushi glances at Akutagawa, who is staring at him.

“Do you regret giving me a second chance?”

“Why would I regret that?”

“Because less than a week ago—”

“You didn’t know ,” Atsushi cuts in. “I forgave you for that. We’ll talk about other stuff that might
set me off when you’re better.”

“And you are stuck here on your day off doing this outlandish—”

“Akutagawa,” he murmurs, opening the document he’s been writing in and scrolling down to the
end of it. “For me, the loneliest thing in the world is to be by yourself when you’re sick. I’m not
saying I think you see things that way or trying to force my company on you. I just… don’t want
you to feel that.”

“For me, it has been quite the opposite. When I am sick, I hardly get a moment alone. Doctors,
nurses… intolerable.” He covers another cough. “My sister, fortunately, was more understanding
when she was around. Normally, she is the one I would call at times like this. However…” He
draws up his knees. “She is… preoccupied.”

Atsushi glances at him. “Do you miss her?”

“More than I would ever tell her or anyone else.” He rests his chin on his knees. “I do not wish her
to feel guilty for pursuing her dreams. I do not want to distract her by causing needless worry…”
He stops. “I am rambling.”

“It’s fine.” Atsushi turns his eyes back to the computer and smiles. “Maybe you were just feeling a
little lonely.”

“Absurd.” He coughs.

Atsushi shakes his head.

“How’s writing?”

Atsushi glances at Akutagawa again. “I’m not really sure, honestly. I mean… I think I’d have a
better idea of how it was going if I knew what I was writing. Well, I’ll figure it out.”

He feels the couch shift and finds Akutagawa leaning closer.

“Seriously?” he asks. “I don’t read over your shoulder.”

Immediately, Akutagawa recedes to his side of the couch.

Is he… sulking? Atsushi continues to study Akutagawa before turning back to his computer.
“Fine,” he murmurs. “But only because you’re sick. I haven’t really done anything outside of
writing it, so if it’s bad—”

The rice cooker beeps.

“I doubt it will be bad,” Akutagawa states, carefully taking the laptop from Atsushi and positioning
it on his legs. “Perhaps it will need refinement, though.”

Atsushi sighs and rises. It goes without saying the story isn’t perfect. He wouldn’t expect it to be.
Still, he feels anxious about Akutagawa reading it while it’s in progress when he doesn’t even
know what it is himself. He bowls up the rice, serving himself some as well, adds the vegetables,
and pours the tea. After adding a splash of soy sauce and grabbing spoons, he walks to the living
room to find Akutagawa looking at his laptop screen with more intensity than Atsushi has ever
seen him look at anything. He’s not sure why, but that gives him pause. There’s something striking
about the way Akutagawa stares at the monitor, eyes lit by the screen, brows lowered in focus.

“You’re staring,” he says without glancing away.

Atsushi nearly drops the bowls.

“Is there something interesting about the face I’m making again? You aren’t laughing this time.”

“I’m starting to think you’re not actually that sick. Either that, or your attitude has recovered.”

Akutagawa sets the laptop aside and accepts the bowl.

“I was tempted to add some mikan…”

“Not even as a joke, weretiger,” he retorts, dipping his spoon in the bowl. “Thank you for the
meal.”

Atsuhsi sits down and digs into his own. Or he would if he didn’t notice how the first bite makes
Akutagawa pause. After a moment, he starts to chew. He swallows.

“Is it… bad?”

“No.” Akutagawa answers. “Quite the opposite.”

Atsushi, determined to draw something direct out of Akutagawa, follows up with, “So it’s good
then?”

“Do not push your luck, weretiger.”

“That’s three,” Atsushi points out. “And it’s my day off. Call me my name.” He takes the bite he’s
been waiting to.

“My doctor said calling you weretiger is the true cure to the common cold.”

Atsushi swallows. “Bullshit.”

“It’s true, I fear.” Akutagawa shrugs. “You can call her yourself if you wish, although you are not
listed to receive any information about my appointments, so that may pose a problem.”

“Are you actually Akutagawa?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Then why are you joking around?”

“Perhaps it’s something in the rice,” he answers. “Or else my cold medicine is stronger than I
anticipated. I took some just before you arrived.”

“I got you an extra bottle.”

“Good. I’m out.”

They eat in silence for a bit. This time, it’s peaceful. Comfortable. Occasionally, Akutagawa
interrupts it with a cough.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention.”

Akutagawa looks at him.

“I think I made some headway on my end of the bargain.”

“The bargain?”

“The one where if you’re nice until the end of my contract, I’ll get you a date with Dazai-san.”

“Ah.”

Atsushi chews his next bite. After swallowing, he says, “I don’t think it’s as impossible as you
think.”

Akutagawa takes another bite.

“I thought you’d be happier.”

Akutagawa glances at him and swallows. “I just… don’t feel like you should be bound by your end
of the bargain any longer.”

Atsushi lowers the bite he was about to take and studies Akutagawa.

“It was… kind of you to offer. Kinder than most people have been to me. However, I don’t feel I
have returned that kindness in such a way that would warrant you keeping your promise.” He sighs
at his bowl. “I admit, it stings a bit. However, feelings like this pass.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Akutagawa takes a bite.

“Why do you like Dazai-san?”

Swallowing, he murmurs, “I… am no longer sure.”

Atsushi hums. “But you still like him?” Atsushi catches the way Akutagawa glances at him. “If
you do, you should tell him. Even if he rejects you, even if it hurts, it’s better to be honest about
how you feel.” Something about saying those words out loud… stings. He lowers his eyes to his
half-empty bowl again. “Maybe it’s only a platitude. It’s not like I’ve ever felt safe enough to
figure out whether I’ve had feelings like that.” He rubs his arm. “What… is it like?”

“Annoying, mostly,” Akutagawa sighs. “Did Dazai-san tell you about his ideal woman?”

“Dark hair, nice hands, wants to die?”

Akutagawa scoffs. “He has given a different answer to every single person. I only noticed the
inconsistencies because I was talking to Mori-sensei and Kouyou-san one day at a work party.” He
takes another bite of his meal. After swallowing, he says, “Some may see that as a joke, but I have
good reason to suspect he does that to mislead people.”

“In… what way?”

“I believe Dazai-san already has someone.”

Atsushi blinks. “Huh?”

“It is farfetched, I know.” He lowers his bowl. “And that makes my feelings all the more pathetic.
To pine after someone who is not alone, whose happiness could be destroyed by my confession…”
He shakes his head. “It was admirable that you offered, weretiger. You did so in ignorance that I
didn’t bother to correct because I remain unsure myself. Regardless of whether I’m right or wrong,
I am certain that I am not the target of his affections, and I can no longer permit you to pursue your
end of our bargain.”

Atsushi folds his hands. “I…”

“Give up, weretiger.”

He whips to Akutagawa to correct him.

“I am alright with keeping those feelings private until they fizzle out or die with me.”

“That’s so… hopeless.” Atsushi shakes his head. “I can’t just… let you hurt like that.”
“The pain makes for good writing,” Akutagawa murmurs, lifting his spoon again. “It will pass, or
it will kill me. One or the other will happen. Besides, it hurts less when I am not alone.”

Atsushi catches the resolute look he gets, then gives in and eats the rest of his food in silence.

“I feel I have misled you.”

“Why tell me now?”

“I don’t want you to complicate whatever happiness he has, if any.”

Atsushi debates how to feel about that. To distract himself, he murmurs, “Do you… want me to
run you a bath?”

He watches Akutagawa stare at the floor. “I am usually not a fan, but that… would be nice.”

Before Akutagawa soaks, he changes his own bedding. Atsushi only knows because while he’s
washing dishes, he sees Akutagawa pass him with an arm full of blankets. He disappears for almost
a full hour. The whole time, Atsushi writes, unable to think, unable to name what he’s feeling.
Akutagawa goes straight to bed afterwards.

“I’ll be leaving soon,” Atsushi calls.

Akutagawa freezes in the doorway.

“If you want, I can leave a copy of what I’m writing on a thumb drive.”

“I would… appreciate that.”

He sighs and murmurs, “Will you really be okay, Akutagawa?”

“The cough tends to get worse before it gets better.”

Atsushi glances up at him. “That’s not what I’m asking.”

A moment later, Akutagawa comes back and dumps a clean pair of pajamas on the table and says,
“In case you feel inclined to stay,” before wandering back to his bedroom.

He can’t believe he’s doing this.

Atsushi sleeps surprisingly well for being in someone else’s apartment wearing someone else’s
clothes, at least until he wakes up to the rough sound of Akutagawa coughing. It takes him a
minute to realize where he is and where the sound is coming from. Once he does, he rises and
paces to the kitchen. The minute he has tea and the new bottle of medicine, he paces to
Akutagawa’s door and knocks. “Akutagawa.”

Instantly, the coughing stops.

“Let me come in a minute. I have tea. And your medicine.”

When he doesn’t get an objection, he gently pushes the door open. He finds the end table light on.
Akutagawa is sitting up, gasping for breath, glaring at the doorway, his mouth covered with a
handkerchief.

“Sorry,” Atsushi says, moving forward to set the tea down. He uncaps the medicine. “I won’t stay
long. Do you think you can at least manage to swallow some of this?”
The bottle almost slips out of his hand when Akutagawa lowers the cloth. There’s a smudge of
something on his lips. Blood.

“Akutagawa—”

“Fine,” he rasps, then coughs again.

Atsushi can only watch as Akutagawa coughs himself breathless, ending with a gasp that could
break anyone’s heart. Shaking, Akutagawa wipes his mouth and lowers his arm again, then throws
Atsushi another glare.

“Do not pity me, weretiger.”

He swallows and hands Akutagawa the bottle. Akutagawa doesn’t even bother with the measuring
cup. Sighing as he lowers it, he twists the cap back on. Then, he starts on his tea.

When Atsushi doesn’t move, Akutagawa’s eyes pivot, and he finds himself at the end of
Akutagawa’s glare. “Go back to sleep.”

Atsushi nods and leaves before his tears spill loose. He doesn’t break down, but every time he gets
close to falling back to sleep, he jerks awake remembering the way Akutagawa gasped. Eventually,
he balls up and manages to drift off. When he opens his eyes, he realizes he’s on his back with the
blanket tucked around him. He smells something. His stomach growls.

He remembers the way Akutagawa gasped again and slings his arm over his eyes. Part of him
wishes he hadn’t. He checks his phone.

It’s past nine.

He’s late for work.

Peeling himself up, he rubs his eyes and dials the office. “This is Nakajima,” he murmurs. “I’m
terribly sorry, but I’m afraid I won’t be at work today. I don’t want to spread the cold I might have.
No, of course I won’t make a habit of it. I’ll make sure I’m back tomorrow. I apologize for the
inconvenience.”

Fortunately, the secretary in question doesn’t ask. Atsushi flops back down on the couch, resting
his arm on his stomach, staring up at Akutagawa’s ceiling until the smell grows closer. He watches
Akutagawa lower a plate to the table where his laptop should be, then turns his eyes to it.

“In return for you making me dinner,” Akutagawa says.

Atsushi sits up again and sets his feet on the floor. Akutagawa sits beside him. It’s nothing fancy:
just some rice, some fish, a boiled egg, some of the vegetables from last night. “I pictured you as a
disaster in the kitchen,” Atsushi murmurs. “Also, you snore.”

Akutagawa swallows and says, “Still better than purring.”

Atsushi huffs.

“You were crying in your sleep.”

He takes another bite so he doesn’t have to explain. Crying in his sleep is nothing new. The cause,
though… that’s different.

“I… understand what you saw this morning startled you.”

So he knows why.

“I apologize.”

“You don’t have to.” He takes another bite of his breakfast. “It startled me is all.”

“It really is less severe than it looks. My throat is raw from coughing. That’s all it is.”

“But that’s not always all it is, is it?”

It’s Akugawa’s turn to dodge the question.

Knowing he won’t get an answer, Atsushi changes the subject, “Where’s my laptop?”

“Ah.” Akutagawa uses his chopsticks to cut his egg. “I could not fall back asleep, so I borrowed it
to read the rest of your story.”

“Oh.” Atsushi chews a bite of his fish. “How… was it?”

“I can tell you are very passionate about it. You say you don’t know where it’s going.” Akutagawa
glances at him. “I could not tell that from reading it.”

Atsushi chews more of his rice.

“You truly care about your writing. That care is apparent, even if parts of it were worded a bit
roughly. To be frank, I… envy your ability to show that so clearly.”

Atsushi blinks at him. “Are you actually praising me?”

“I have been praising you since you started working as my editor.”

“Yes, yes, praises veiled as insults. Your specialty.” Atsushi waves his chopsticks at Akutagawa.
“You’re praising me directly.”

“I can switch back to my usual methods, weretiger.”

“Nakajima,” he corrects Akutagawa. “I’m still off. I called in sick before you brought me breakfast
in… well, bed, even though this is your living room.”

“Am I to interpret that as your refusal to leave?”

“I‘ll leave whenever you want,” Atsushi offers.

Akutagawa hums and lifts a green onion up. “Wearing my pajamas?”

“Hell, no! I’ll change back into my clothes before I go.”

“A shame,” Akutagawa murmurs. “The color suits you.”

Atsushi passes him a bland look, then glances down at them. They’re unremarkable, just a dark
blue t-shirt and a pair of striped pants that are a bit too slim for him. “You really think so?” he
asks.

“Yes. Now eat your breakfast and stop complaining about my methods of praise.”

Atsushi really doesn’t have an alternative, given how his stomach flutters a little at those words.
 He doesn’t go home until the afternoon. As soon as the door slams behind him, he comes to a
realization that makes his stomach sink.

Shit, he thinks. I left my laptop.

It turns out he doesn’t need to panic too much. Akutagawa brings it to the office the following
morning, still wearing a mask, but looking much better. He sets it down, then bows slightly. “I
believe this belongs to you.”

Next to him, Dazai’s mouth falls open.

“I would have brought it yesterday, but… well.” Akutagawa bows again. “We can resume our
usual meetings Thursday. Will you have enough time to finish reviewing what I’ve given you?”

“Yeah,” Atsushi says. “It might be a little tight since I wasn’t able to do much yesterday, but I’ll
try my best.”

Akutagawa nods again. “Your effort is appreciated. Dazai-san.” He bows to Dazai, then walks
back the way he came.

“You were sick, huh?” Dazai asks, smirking.

“Don’t get the wrong idea. I was just helping him out a little. I forgot to grab my laptop on the way
out.”

“So you were helping him.”

“Yes,” Atsushi insists.

“But not with the manuscript.”

“Dazai-san, it’s really nothing. He reached out, and even though it was my day off—”

“Oh? So you slept there?”

Atsushi curses under his breath and passes Dazai a pleading look. “Dazai-san, I’m asking you not
to start any ridiculous rumors. He was sick. I helped him. That’s all it was.” When Dazai continues
leaning on his hand with a sly smile on his face, Atsushi says, “He likes someone else.”

“Really? Who?”

“I don’t know,” Atsushi murmurs. “He didn’t tell me.” It’s not quite a lie. He just hopes it sounds
convincing enough for Dazai to drop it.

“Whether that’s so or not, I can tell you like him.”

Atsushi passes him a helpless look. “Dazai-san, please… I really don’t want to talk about it. Just
drop it, alright?”

Shrugging, Dazai rolls back to his desk, complaining rather vocally about having ro review
Chuuya’s stupid poems. Atsushi sinks deeper into his chair, weighed down by a truth he can no
longer deny and that he will never admit to anyone.

Chapter End Notes

Not me rapid fire preparing chapters for posting during the week because things are
still busy for me. Also the subtitle of this chapter is "guys is it gay to go shopping for a
writer you're working with and then sleep over at his house because he's sick?"

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed Atsushi being caring and soft to
Akutagawa, who definitely deserves it. It's time for the endnote stuff!

The chapter title: is from something Atsushi says to Akutagawa about being lonely in
bed while he was sick. I enjoyed writing them talking about that and their different
perceptions.

Last-minute changes: Just tiny changes to word order and stuff like that. I did change
one line to focus on Atsushi instead of Akutagawa just to help things flow.

No Googling or progress for this chapter, but fun fact: Akutagawa canonically does not
like mandarin oranges (mikan). I've touched on this in other fics I've written and think
it's funny. I'd say it's because they're so sweet, but I've had dried figs and... yeah. My
fan theory is because he had to eat a lot of them when he was sick or something.

And I think that brings me to the end of this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it and have
been enjoying the development of their relationship so far. Until next chapter, thanks
for reading, and don't forget to hydrate!
 You Might Draw Some Inspiration From the Lights
Chapter Notes

Hello, all, and welcome to chapter 8 of the insanity. Behold, the moment where things
finally MOVE.

Ahem.

Thank you all for your kind words in the comments. And for your kudos and reads.
They are all feeding my soul, and I'm happy people are still reading this.

Speaking of, I should let you read the chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“The illumination?” Atsushi asks. Akutagawa brings it up a week later when Atsushi swings by to
talk about the manuscript. He doesn’t ask why Akutagawa bought a whole roll cake for himself.
Maybe his birthday, he thinks, but Akutagawa doesn’t seem like the type. Still, who is he to turn
down the offer?

“Yes,” Akutagawa murmurs, nibbling on a slice of his own. “I believe I would like to go.”

Atsushi nods. “You should go, then.” He finds Akutagawa staring at him. “What?”

“Specifically,” Akutagawa continues, “I would like to go with someone.”

“Akutagawa,” he sighs. “I know I’ve done a lot for you, but I’m begging you not to make me ask
Dazai-san on your behalf.”

“I’m not interested in going with him, weretiger.”

Two, he tells himself, exhaling.

“If you are amenable to it, I was going to ask you.”

Atsushi swallows. “Really?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“To be fair, even when you are joking, you don’t really look like it.”

Akutagawa rolls his eyes.

“Why do you want to take me?”

“As a fellow writer, I was hoping you might draw some inspiration from the lights.”

Atsushi takes another bite of his cake.

“If you need some time to think…”

“I just… don’t know if I should say yes.”

“What is holding you back?”

“I don’t know.” That’s a lie. Atsushi knows exactly what’s holding him back. It’s the increasing
realization that how he sees Akutagawa has… changed. It’s not just because he saw Akutagawa at
one of his most vulnerable points. It’s the fact that, out of nowhere, he realizes he thinks
Akutagawa is… pretty. It’s the fact that he dreams of Akutagawa pulling the leaf from his hair,
then pulling him into a hug and holding him for the rest of his dream.

Never mind Akutagawa hates being touched and Atsushi can’t imagine such gentle touches when
he’s awake.

The sound of Akutagawa’s fork clinking draws his attention. “It is just an invitation,” Akutagawa
murmurs. “You don’t need to decide now, weretiger.”

“Nakajima.”

“Right.” He clears his throat. “Apologies.”

Atsushi finishes the rest of his cake, then sets his plate down. He could tell Akutagawa the truth,
that it’s his own feelings complicating things. He could also mention Dazai’s increasingly
annoying wheedling. Instead, he just says, “I don’t want you to get sick again. It’s going to be
cold.”

“I will bundle up sufficiently.”

Atsushi draws his knees up and sighs. “I’ll think about it.”

He’s leaning towards declining when Dazai pushes him a little too far. “So how are things with
Akutagawa-kun?”

“If you’re asking about the manuscript, it’s fine.”

“You know I’m not.”

“I don’t know how many more ways I can say this, but there’s really nothing going on between us.”

Dazai smirks and leans against his folded hands. “But there could be,” he sing-songs. “If you just
tell him—”

“Just stay out of it,” he snaps.

Immediately, Dazai’s smirk vanishes. “What gives you the idea you don’t have a chance?”

“I don’t want a chance. I don’t like him. There’s nothing going on. And if you bring it up again, I
can’t promise I won’t say something I regret.” Atsushi lets out a long sign and passes Dazai a
pleading look, “Please, Dazai-san. Just drop it. I have enough work to do without you teasing me
about stuff that really doesn’t matter.”

Dazai doesn’t move. Atsushi wishes he would. Out of nowhere, with more seriousness than Dazai
has ever said anything, he murmurs, “For what it’s worth, I think you have a real shot if you want
it.”

Atsushi can’t see how, not if Akutagawa likes Dazai, who might very well be dating someone else.
I didn’t sign up for anything complicated like this.
Akutagawa offers him another piece of cake. “You look particularly glum today, Nakajima. This is
not much, I know, but I hope it cheers you up a bit.”

Normally, he wouldn’t accept. But today, he does. Akutagawa goes to write, Atsushi stays to edit.
When he’s done, he washes his own plate and leaves without disrupting the writer.

He’s almost to the elevator when, out of nowhere, he’s swept away by an odd and inexplicable
confidence. He turns right back around, throws the door open, kicks his shoes off, and walks right
to Akutagawa’s office.

“I’ll go,” he announces.

Akutagawa’s fingers stop moving, and he turns around.

“I’ll go,” Atsushi says again.

Akutagawa rests his arm on the armrest of his chair. “Did you really just come back in here to tell
me that?”

“I thought it was important.”

Akutagawa scoffs. “I am glad to see your ability to weigh priorities remains unaffected by my
invitation.”

“You don’t have to be sarcastic.”

“I was gloating.” He shrugs. “I did not want to pressure you, weretiger, but I confess I believed you
would come around. After all, it was you who told me to live a little.”

They go in early December. Atsushi redyes the black stripe in his hair a few days prior. He also
winds up buying a dark blue scarf the same shade as the t-shirt Akutagawa loaned him to sleep in.
Because if he’s going to shoot his shot, he may as well make it a little more obvious that he is.
He’s aware Akutagawa doesn’t intend this as a date. He’s also aware the sign might go over
Akutagawa’s head. If he notices, Atsushi thinks, checking his reflection and winding the plaid scarf
tighter, then he notices.

That doesn’t make him any less nervous as he gets off the train and steps out into the brisk winter
air. Still, he swivels around, straightening his glasses as he looks for Akutagawa. Maybe he’s not
here yet, he thinks, pulling out his phone to check the time. He catches someone approaching him
from the corner of his eye and glances up. He’s wound in a warm-looking black coat, hands stuffed
in his pockets. “Akutagawa,” he says as the writer approaches.

“Weretiger,” he answers.

Atsushi doesn’t bother to correct him this time.

“You look… warm.”

Not an insult, Atsushi thinks. But not the compliment he means, either.

“Let’s walk.”

“Sure,” Atsushi answers.

They settle into their usual slow pace, exhaling steam in the air. Akutagawa coughs once or twice.
When they round the corner, Atsushi looks up at the writer to see his face frozen, his eyes slightly
wide as if completely taken by the lights.

“They’re… beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Atsushi agrees, but he’s not looking at the lights when he says that.

Akutagawa turns to him. His face is red. Atsushi wonders if it’s because of the cold, or if it’s
because he just implied his very real belief that Akutagawa is, in fact, pretty. Even more so beneath
the lights, Atsushi tells himself, finally turning to the strings of multicolored bulbs. He wonders
how many there are in total for a moment, wonders how bright they would be if they were
condensed into a single point of light.

Akutagawa’s presence beside him would still be warmer, and no scientific formula could tell him
otherwise.

They sit on a bench with hot tea from the vending machine, then on another while they nibble on
giant meat buns. Akutagawa keeps glancing up to the lights strung overhead. When his hands are
empty, he blows into them.

“Are you still cold?” Atsushi asks.

“I confess, I wasn’t quite prepared for this temperature.”

“Here.” Atsushi unwinds his scarf and offers it to Akutagawa. “You can borrow this if it helps.”

For a moment, Akutagawa doesn’t move. Then, he reaches out.

“Did you forget your scarf?”

“I was… engrossed.”

“In writing?”

“Something like that.”

Atsushi stands up and folds his arms behind his back. “Come on. I’ll buy you one.”

“Huh?”

“For Christmas.”

“Very well.” Eventually, Akutagawa winds Atsushi’s scarf around his neck and rises.

“It’s not a bad color on you, either.”

His head tips a bit. Then, glancing away, he murmurs, “I believe it suits you better, weretiger.”

Two, he tells himself, pacing forward.

It doesn’t take long to find a mall. Atsushi spends about twenty minutes studying a wall of scarves
before settling on one that’s black with blotches of warm gray. It’s cashmere, but it’s not expensive.
He holds it up to Akutagawa, then says, “How’s this one?”

“It… will suffice,” he murmurs, “but you are under no obligation to buy it for me.”

“I want to, though.” Atsushi holds it between his hands. “The truth is, I… I’m really grateful for
the past couple of months. Sometimes, you made it really difficult.” He recalls breaking down over
his hair. “Other times, it was difficult for different reasons we couldn’t really control.” He recalls
Akutagawa’s gasp after his coughing fit, still recent enough to ache. “But you pushed me to start
writing something, and I feel like I’ve learned a lot by working with you. And…” He realizes he’s
probably saying too much and tightens his grip on the fabric. “And…”

“I accept.”

Atsushi glances up. “Sorry. I was talking for too long. I—”

“Your words, and the gesture… they are both… touching.”

Atsushi watches Akutagawa select that word with the same care he usually does when he’s giving
praise. In this particular case, Atsushi finds the word oddly direct. Genuine. “You… really think
so?”

Akutagawa’s eyes drift away, and he pulls Atsuhsi’s scarf up over his mouth for a moment. His
ears are definitely turning red even though they’re not out in the cold anymore.

Atsushi buys the scarf. The cashier trims the tag off. They swap back at the exit without a single
word. Akutagawa remains quiet as they continue walking. Out of nowhere, Akutagawa turns to
him and says, “I should… also get you something.”

“You really don’t have to—“

“You look cold,” he continues, staring at the ground. “I am not the warmest person, but… you can
hug me.”

Atsushi blinks a few times, then says, “How is that a gift?”

“Are you a fool?” Akutagawa retorts. “My fans would kill to—”

“What fans?” Atsushi counters, folding his arms.

Akutagawa winces.

“I’m joking.”

Akutagawa’s sigh rises on the air as steam. “I am aware that not many people would desire such a
thing—”

He adjusts his glasses a little. “I know.” He waits until Akutagawa glances at him. “But I do.”

Akutagawa studies him for a moment, then opens his arms. As tempting as it is to throw himself
into them, Atsushi walks forward slowly. He’s careful when he fills the space. He doesn’t move
his arms. He just leans against Akutagawa’s shoulder and tries to stop overthinking. It takes
another moment, but he feels Akutagawa’s arms lift and wind around him. Slowly, tentatively,
Atsushi lifts his own.

At the orphanage, the only touches he endured were disciplinary and forceful. But this… this is
nothing like it. It’s gentle. Pleasant.

Atsushi never wants to let go.

That close, he’s sure Akutagawa can feel his heart trying to break through his rib cage. But the
writer makes no comment on it. He just keeps his hands on the backs of Atsushi’s shoulders.
“Are you… sufficiently warm?” Akutagawa asks.

“I… don’t know.”

Akutagawa’s hum fills his ear. “Well, take your time.”

Atsushi knows he’ll have to release Akutagawa eventually. The contract ends in March. He’s
already looking at other jobs. And Akutagawa, while he’s generous in offering a hug, isn’t
Atsushi’s to hold like this anymore than he’s the object of Akutagawa’s affections. It’s difficult, but
he convinces himself to draw away as gradually as he moved forward. He nearly trips when he
steps back from just how much being hugged was. The awkwardness sets in, and he stares at the
pavement. None of the words that come to mind seem to fit in this situation. Eventually, he glances
up at Akutagawa to find him in a similar state, like he doesn’t know what to do with the recent
events.

Akutagawa looks up at him. “Your lips look cold.”

Instantly, Atsushi feels his face heat up.

“Perhaps… I should warm those up, too.”

As his glasses fog over, he winds up laughing. It’s pure nerves. Akutagawa doesn’t mock him for
it. He just turns a deeper color of red, something Atsushi didn’t know was possible.

“I…” He pauses. “If you… are opposed…”

“I accept.”

Akutagawa’s eyes widen, catching more of the colored lights.

Remembering their conversations, Atsushi mumbles, “I’m not opposed, honest. I’m just… not
Dazai-san.”

“I know.” Akutagawa steps forward, sweeps his gloved fingers through the long side of Atsushi’s
hair. “In the short time I’ve known you, I’ve grown more and more sure… that you are better for
and to me than he ever would be.”

He… wants to kiss me. Atsushi processes those words. He… wants to kiss me for me.

“Let me.”

Those words, at once a request and plea, somehow make the lights seem dimmer. He rocks onto
his toes and leans forward. Akutagawa leans, too. Their noses bump on the way in. Atsushi laughs
again. Akutagawa, after rubbing his nose, actually smiles before leaning forward in a second
attempt. This time, their lips meet in a tentative press.

With that motion, time stops completely. It’s just that powerful.

Atsushi starts to rock away, but Akutagawa follows, repeating the gesture. Briefly. Only this time,
Atsushi can’t let it end. He’s the one who reconnects their lips. He feels the light press of
Akutagawa’s hands on the backs of his shoulders, hears Akutagawa’s startled intake of breath as
Atsushi encircles Akutagawa’s neck with his arms and, swept away by the magic of the lights,
deepens the kiss. Akutagawa’s lips taste like chapstick. His mouth… it’s soft. He almost thinks he
can taste a bit of tea inside it. He draws back instantly, startled by how warm and welcoming and
right this feels, but then, Akutagawa is kissing his shock away. Atsushi tightens his hold as
 Akutagawa’s gloved fingers slide into his uneven hair. His own hands tighten on the back of
Akutagawa’s coat. He hums, trying to convey what this means to him, how much Akutagawa
means.

But then, he remembers something and pulls back, covering his mouth so Akutagawa doesn’t kiss
him again, as much as Atsushi wants him to.

“Nakajima—”

“I’m your editor,” he manages in an unsteady voice. “We can’t.”

Akutagawa blinks as if he is just now considering that fact. “What I am about to say,” he murmurs,
“I am not saying to pressure you.”

Atsushi listens while he tries to catch his breath.

“It is common knowledge among our entire company that Mori-sensei and Fukuzawa-dono have
been sleeping together for all but their first eighteen months of working together.”

Atsushi digests that statement.

“I am not suggesting we go that far. Rather, I… am saying it’s not impossible, nor unheard of.”

He lowers his hand as the meaning of that statement sinks in.

“Can I kiss you again?”

“God, yes,” he breathes, lurching forward and tasting Akutagawa again. The last of his reluctance
dies between Akutagawa’s lips and his. What rises in its place is a joy that can only come from
having his feelings returned.

Chapter End Notes

The subtitle of this chapter is "guys is it gay to never mind rhetorical questions are
rude they are gay or at the very least attracted to each other.”

Anyway, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter and their first kiss on
totally not a date. (It totally is.) And now it's time... for the endnote stuff.

The chapter title: Of course comes from Akutagawa's dialog. I notice at this point, I'm
taking inspiration from them back and forth. I'm not alternating on purpose, but it is
fun that I'm going back and forth.

How I confused my Google Search History Monitor: Looking up when the Yokohama
Illumination took place. Last year, it was in November and December. I did a little
googling of it for the Fukumori fic in this universe, but I wanted to see around when it
was. For timeline's sake, let's just assume this is closer to December. I think. (The
timeline with this is much looser than the CAU's, obviously).

No progress to report on this fic, but I know I've been thinking a little about Kousano
in this universe, and I am very excited to start writing them. :)
That about does it! I hope you've enjoyed this chapter and their FINALLY first kiss.
Until next chapter, thank you for reading, and I hope you drink plenty of water!
 If You Have Time, Then I Have Time
Chapter Notes

Hello, everyone, and happy Sunday! In an effort to recover from posting the last
chapter of DoC yesterday, I am back with another chapter of WAU (the writer AU)
SSKK. I am still in pain but moving forward.

In the meantime, shoutout to all of the kind words on the last chapter. I'm glad
everyone was relieved to see them just kiss (reference to Captain Barbosa). Thank you
also for the kudos and for the reads.

And now, the next chapter...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Atsushi has no idea how to balance his duties as Akutagawa’s editor with those as his… whatever
they are. We’re not exactly dating, he thinks, scanning a page of a manuscript that is almost
complete. But we’re… not really just friends, either.

Things between them have largely remained unchanged despite spending half of their night out
locked in a kiss. The day after, Atsushi spent his whole workday panicking that someone working
for the same press he is may have seen him, considering how popular the illumination is. To his
relief, no one says a thing.

Except Dazai, who only says, “You seem really happy today, Atsushi-kun.”

“I’m just feeling really accomplished,” he answers. To get Dazai back on task, he adds, “Can you
give me some advice on this passage? I think I know what’s wrong with it, but I want to talk it
out.”

That’s not the only conversation he has. “Akutagawa,” he says the next time he enters the office in
the writer’s apartment.

“Weretiger.”

He sets the tea down, then rises. “Can we… talk about what happened at the illumination?”

“I wasn’t aware we needed to talk about it,” he answers, sipping the cup that Atsushi just set down.
“However, if you feel we should, I am willing.”

Atsushi stares at the carpet for a moment, then murmurs, “What… exactly are we?”

Akutagawa hums. “I suppose you’re still my editor.”

Atsushi nods.

“Until March, at least. After that, well… we shall see.” Akutagawa lifts the cup, then lowers it
again. “Are you pouting?”

“I’m just really confused about it, alright?”

Akutagawa stands, still holding the cup. “Come on.” They wind up in the living room. Akutagawa
brings him tea. As the writer sits on the sofa, he murmurs, “I would like to make a request.”

Atsushi takes the tea.

“Drink that. Then, if you can, explain to me what you’re confused about.”

Atsushi takes a sip of the tea. With a slow sigh, he murmurs, “I… just…”

“Take your time, weretiger.”

Atsushi half thinks he sounds amused. “It’s… not that I regret it. I just… don’t want to get fired.”

“I don’t believe making out with me during the illumination violates anything in your contract.”

Atsushi glances up at him.

“Though your position as an intern is a bit different than Fukuzawa-dono’s, I don’t foresee it
causing any issues.”

He answers with another nod.

”Is that your only concern?”

“Maybe I don’t feel like I deserve it.” He watches Akutagawa’s thin brow arch, an unasked
question that he answers. “I… really liked kissing you. It felt nice. Comfortable. But the part of me
that still thinks I’m a monster… I don’t know. I just… feel a little unsure of whether I should have
done it.”

“Well,” Akutagawa murmurs. “You did nothing that I wasn’t hoping for.”

Atsushi glances at him. “You don’t think it’s weird? Or that I’m getting cold feet?”

“I understand it makes you anxious. Whether that is weird or not… well, I am not the person to
ask.” He shrugs. “I confess I share your anxieties for very different reasons. But since the moment I
decided to be forward, I resolved not to doubt myself.”

“How’s that working out?”

“It has been an exercise in futility. I have more than once wondered whether I should have asked.”

“I mean… you kind of did. Not directly, I mean, but we did talk about it. And besides, I wanted
to.”

“As did I.”

Atsushi swallows. “I would have said no if I didn’t.” Considering his own words, he blinks. “I
guess… maybe if you were okay with it and I was okay with it, I should stop thinking so hard
about it.”

The writer scoffs.“Who knew the weretiger was such a worry wart?”

Puffing up, Atsushi counters, “And who knew you were such a romantic?” He does his best to
keep his tone even. “‘Your lips look cold. Let me warm them up.’”

“Are you really mocking me, weretiger?”

“That’s three,” Atsushi retorts.

Akutagawa sips his own tea. “I don’t believe you have any room to complain. You consented. I
obliged. You say you do not regret it, yet it confuses you.”

“Because I still don’t know if I should have enjoyed it.”

Akutagawa’s brow arches. “Did you not? Your actions certainly suggested otherwise.”

“I don’t know.”

Humming, Akutagawa regards him for a moment, then sets his tea on the table next to Atsushi’s.
“Then… perhaps we should kiss again.”

“You’re supposed to be writing.”

“Inspire me a little, then, wereti—”

He catches Akutagawa’s lips before that stupid nickname can spill from them and make his
stomach flutter. Only now, his stomach is fluttering because Akutagawa’s lips are once more
against his own, while the writer’s bare fingers wind softly through his hair. He feels Akutagawa’s
fingertips smooth his scalp and lets a low hum slip out.

“Your hair is softer than I thought it would be,” Akutagawa breathes as soon as he pulls back.

Atsushi presses his palms against Akutagawa’s jawline. “So’s your face,” he answers.

With a scoff, Akutagawa kisses him again, this time briefly, before murmuring, “You deserve this.
And I am glad you told me how you were feeling. I hope it helped to talk it out. I… personally feel
a bit more at peace.”

“Yeah,” Atsushi says.

Rising, he adds, “Now, then, I believe I have writing to do, lest my editor chide me for slacking
off.”

He still can’t make heads or tails of it. He can’t talk to Dazai. or anyone else in the office, for that
matter, because gossip like that will spread fast. I’m not really sure what’s going on, he thinks. I
don’t even know when or why it happened. Maybe I’m not supposed to. I wonder if Mori-sensei or
Fukuzawa-dono could. Atsushi folds his hands and stares at his computer screen. I wonder… what
made him look at me and see anything at all.

“Well, you’re certainly thinking hard about something.”

“Ah, Yosano-sensei.” He glances up at the poet, who passes him a warm smile.

“Not today, I’m not. Just ‘Yosano-san,’ I fear. I’m here in an editorial capacity.” Her smile grows.
“Kouyou and I fulfill both roles. That’s just how our contract panned out.”

“I see,” he murmurs. He remembers Akutagawa has read part of his unfinished work and wonders
if such a thing is possible for him, too, someday.

“Is the manuscript really giving you that much trouble? Or are you having problems of a more
personal nature?”

“Honestly, it’s… a little of both.”

“You want my input?”

“It’s a novel, not poetry.”

“Well, I can still see what I can do.”

He swallows and murmurs, “I… the personal issue, I… can’t really talk about.”

“In your own time, then,” Yosano reassures him, as if he has the time to think.

Atsushi’s routine in working with Akutagawa remains largely unchanged, except now and then,
when he brings Akutagawa tea, he also drops a kiss on Akutagawa’s cheek. It seems like the least
disruptive place, but at least once, Akutagawa grabs his tie and guides him back in for something a
little longer.

One day, half breathless, he murmurs, “Why are we doing this?” Because that question has been on
his mind.

Akutagawa studies him, then wipes the spit-slick corner of Atsushi’s mouth with his thumb.
“Shouldn’t we start with the question of what we are doing?”

Frowning, Atsushi murmurs, “You said I was your editor.”

“That is not all you are to me, weretiger.”

Atsushi feels Akutagawa’s fingertips skim his cheek. “Then…” That pressure makes his eyes sink
shut. “What?”

“It’s not something that can be stated simply.”

“If you have time, then I have time.”

Akutagawa hums. “You are… the plum blossoms opening on a snowy day, the quiet lap of the
ocean on the shore during a low tide, the sun that breaks through a steady rain…”

“That’s really beautiful, but—” Akutagawa finger cuts him off, a soft but silent request, then goes
back to stroking his face.

“Wind in the rice field,” he murmurs. “That brings the faint scent of a coming harvest in autumn.”

Atsushi draws a long breath.

“In this dark and unfair world where I was told I would not live to see twenty, you alone have lit
the way and led me across the tenuous bridge between existence and life.”

“Akutagawa…” He hears how shaky his voice is. He pulls back with a gasp and wipes his eyes.
“God… sorry… just…”

“I apologize. It seems I’ve made you cry again.”

“Idiot.” He smiles and pushes his glasses up to wipe his eyes. “It’s because you’re being way too
nice. Seriously, who says stuff like that? Just tell me directly.” He hears Akutagawa’s chair shuffle,
followed by the roll of a drawer. When he drops his hands, he sees Akutagawa is offering him a
packet of tissues.

“You first, weretiger,” Akutagawa states.

 “I really like you, alright?” The words spill out of him without reluctance before he can hold them
back, but even if he’s nervous, even if part of him doesn’t think he deserves this, he has no regrets
or reservations about saying them.

Akutagawa huffs. “So blunt,” he says, but Atsushi clearly sees the faint color in Akutagawa’s face.
“You are a writer. At least confess more eloquently.”

“Like I can beat that,” Atsushi says, laughing as he wipes his eyes.

Akutagawa catches him in a hug, and the giddiness starts to die down to a simple warmth. “You
are very precious to me, weretiger.”

“That’s two,” he murmurs.

“Will you let me get away with a third again, or am I simply asking to get scolded?”

In answer, he winds his arms around Akutagawa and shuts his eyes. “I still think we need to be
careful.”

“Hmm?” Akutagawa asks.

“You know…” Atsushi draws away. “No more making out at the illumination.”

“So specific…”

“Or anywhere in public,” Atsushi adds. “We can go out together like we have been to do everyday
little things you want to. I don’t mind that. And for the record, I’m not ashamed of liking you.”

“Or making out with me.”

Atsushi rolls his eyes. “I just want to keep things at work simple. Dazai-san is already suspicious. I
really don’t want him teasing me about it.”

“Of course.” Akutagawa nods. “I understand and will… respect your wishes.”

“Okay.” Atsushi sighs.

Akutagawa folds his arms. “Is making out here off the table, then?”

“No, but you need to focus on writing.” Atsushi turns away. “And stop sulking. I already know you
are.”

“The weretiger is unnaturally perspective.”

“Seriously?”

“Ah, I did get in trouble.”

Atsushi hears Akutagawa chuckle as he leaves the office. For now, Atsushi will keep his smile to
himself.

Chapter End Notes

The subtitle of this chapter is "how romantic can I make Akutagawa before he
becomes too romantic just kidding I will make him so romantic I die a little on the
inside."

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter where they are
communicating and figuring stuff out. Look, Atsushi said he likes Akutagawa. :)

Oh hey endnote.

The chapter title: of course comes from Atsushi's dialog. But I thought it fit well.

Last-minute changes: tweaking little things like paragraph breaks and adding a little
here or there.

I don't believe I confused Google this time, but we see another nod to WAU Kousano,
who I am writing next. Yes, they both fulfill both roles, as noted in the Fukumori fic in
this AU, but they weren't always that way... if I time writing this right, I'll also be
writing it while I'm writing CAU Kousano. And that'll be fun.

And I think that does it for this endnote! I appreciate the read, and I hope you enjoyed
the chapter. Until my next update, drink plenty of water!
 Perhaps The Order Is Not Normal, But It Feels Right
Chapter Notes

Hello, everyone! I'm happy you're back for another chapter of these morons being way
too romantic, especially Akutagawa.

Anyway... shoutout to everyone who left comments on the last chapter, as well as
everyone who has left kudos and everyone still reading. We're about at the midway
point of this fic, so things are about to get... more interesting. But first, the calm before
the storm.

I hope you enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Weretiger.”

Atsushi has barely reached the door before depositing Akutagawa’s tea on his desk. “Yeah?” he
asks. He half expects Akutagawa to mention that he forgot something, namely what’s becoming
his customary peck on the cheek.

Instead, the writer murmurs, “I have a request.”

“Okay,” he says, turning to face Akutagawa fully. Akutagawa spins his chair to face Atsushi.
“Akutagawa, why are you blushing?”

“I am not.”

“You totally are.”

He covers his mouth.

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to make some joke about me putting on cat ears and meowing.”

“I don’t believe I would ever make that joke,” Akutagawa murmurs, dropping his hand. “Though
now that you mention it, that would be quite comical.”

“I refuse.”

“But—”

“Staunchly.”

Akutagawa glances at the ground.

“I’m happy to hear your request if it’s something reasonable.”

“Define reasonable.”

“Like… I don’t know. Something a normal person would ask?”

“I am a writer,” Akutagawa deadpans. “And dating you. There is nothing normal about me.”

“When the hell did you decide that?”

“Loud,” the writer retorts. “If you keep up that volume, I will likely have to deal with a noise
complaint and a headache.”

Face burning, Atsushi sighs and folds his arms. “Since when were we dating?”

“Are you really that clueless? What else have we been doing?”

“No, I mean… I’m fine with you calling it that. Just… when did it change?”

Akutagawa hums. “Sometime between hearing your laugh for the first time and kissing you
beneath the lights, I think.”

Atsushi sighs.

“It is a gray area, weretiger.”

Two, he tells himself.

“Does it matter?”

Instead of answering, Atsushi murmurs, “You had a request.”

“Yes, a reasonable one.” Akutagawa folds one knee over the other. “Take me somewhere you
would like to go.”

Atsushi blinks. “Huh?”

“On our outings, I notice that thus far, we have only gone to places and done things that I’ve
wanted to.”

“I mean…” Atsushi rubs his neck. “We do kind of negotiate. I was the one who wanted to buy you
a scarf.”

“Still,” Akutagawa murmurs. “I have always chosen the location. Therefore, the next normal thing
we do… I want it to be something you decide.”

“Sure.” Atsushi hums and thinks. “Then… how about an aquarium?”

“An aquarium.”

“Yeah. I’ve always wanted to go to one.”

“You have… never been to an aquarium.”

Atsushi lowers his eyes. “The orphanage director took everyone else once. I had to stay behind as
punishment for sneaking food.” Glancing at Akutagawa, Atsushi sees an almost thoughtful frown
on his face. “Is that okay with you?”

“I will go,” Akutagawa decides. “Plus, it is cold. I believe the indoors will agree with me better
right now.”

“Okay. When is good? And don’t say Thursday.”

“Sunday.”

“Sure.”

Akutagawa folds his hands. “But that is your day off.”

“I’m agreeing to it because it’s my day off,” Atsushi insists. “If we’re dating, we need to actually
go out on dates. You know… on days off.” He waits for Akutagawa to object.

“A question,” the writer finally says. “I’m curious: why did you ask when we started dating?”

“Maybe I’m being too optimistic, but how are we supposed to observe our anniversary?”

Akutagawa instantly buries his head in his hands. His ears turn a deep shade of red.

“Hey, are you alright?”

“Too cute,” he murmurs, peering through his fingers.

Sighing, Atsushi paces forward and hugs Akutagawa’s head against his chest. He feels
Akutagawa’s arms wind around him. “Then… why don’t we call our anniversary Sunday?”

“Why Sunday?”

“It won’t be our first date,” Atsushi murmurs, “but it’ll be the first one we’re calling a date.”

Akutagawa’s arms unwind. “We are going out of order. The first kiss doesn’t precede the first
date.”

“You’re suggesting you, a writer, and me, also a writer, are supposed to follow some kind of
normal order.” He watches Akutagawa digest those words. “It’s like you said, there’s nothing
normal about us.”

“What I have with you…” Akutagawa leans against his hand. “Perhaps the order is not normal. But
it feels right.”

Atsushi nods.

“Now, about those cat ears—”

“Don’t push your luck.” He catches Akutagawa’s clipped off laugh as he leaves the room.

It’s odd to meet up with Akutagawa on a Sunday. A little before ten when the aquarium opens,
Atsushi approaches the entrance to find Akutagawa already there, talking on the phone. Atsushi
waits for Akutagawa to notice him. The instant he does, he takes one step forward and disconnects
the call.

“Apologies,” Akutagawa says as he approaches. “I hope I didn't keep you waiting long.”

“Only a minute or two,” Atsushi answers. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Akutagawa folds his arms. “You can ask who I was talking to.”

“Oh. I… don’t want to pry—“

“My sister.” He shrugs. “I told her I was going on a date.”

“But…”

“Relax, weretiger. She has no connection to the publisher. She will not tell anyone, and I wanted
her to know.”

Atsushi glances at him. “Why?”

He glances away. “I was… excited.”

“Really?”

Akutagawa continues frowning at the pavement.

“Were you really excited to spend time with—”

“Come along, weretiger,” Akutagawa announces. “I am treating you today.”

“You really don’t have to—”

“It is my pleasure.”

Atsushi, realizing he can’t argue, isn’t sure whether to sigh or smile. While they’re standing in the
short line waiting to buy tickets, Atsushi murmurs, “You seem kind of annoyed today. Are you
okay?”

“Fine,” he answers. “I am just a little tired. I was up late writing last night.”

“So your edits are going well?”

“Yes.” Out of nowhere, Akutagawa spins to him. “It is your day off, weretiger. We should not
discuss work.”

They move forward and Akutagawa pays for their tickets. As they walk inside, Atsushi says,
“Well, what should we talk about then?”

Akutagawa shrugs. “How is your story?”

“It’s going alright. I hit a snag, but I’m hoping to get some inspiration today.”

“I can arrange that.”

Atsushi glances up to find Akutagawa studying him. “Not at the aquarium.”

“No,” Akutagawa answers. “Of course not. However, I was going to offer to make you lunch
afterwards. Perhaps then…” He pauses to cough.

“Alright, but you need to take a nap if you’re tired.”

“I’m beginning to think you’re my mother, not my editor.”

Atsushi shakes his head and follows the writer inside. Because it’s early on a Sunday, the aquarium
isn’t overly crowded. The atmosphere brings out an almost childish wonder in Atsushi. Every tank
contains sea creatures of all shapes and sizes, some large, some small, some vibrant, some dull. All
of them thrill him. He’s studying a large, slow-moving fish when Akutagawa appears at his
shoulder. Atsushi almost forgot he was there with anyone. Still, Akutagawa seems more amused
than annoyed, given his features are relaxed.
Out of nowhere, he clears his throat and deadpans, “Behold, the weretiger in his natural
environment.”

“Really?” Atsushi retorts.

Akutagawa only continues. “Watch as he stalks his prey—”

“Shouldn’t I be stalking you, then?” he asks.

At least that ends Akutagawa’s commentary. His blush isn’t deep, but it’s still visible. He studies
the fish behind the glass and murmurs, “Foolish weretiger. It hardly constitutes stalking if you
announce your intentions.”

“Well, then…” With a grin, partly at how flustered Akutagawa looks, he launches himself at
Akutagawa, who starts to step back but not fast enough. Atsushi hugs his shoulders and lets out a
laugh. There’s a moment Akutagawa feels tense in his arms. He falls silent and almost lets go, but
when he looks up at Akutagawa, the writer's features seem more relaxed. Softer, almost, in a way
most people might not notice. Is he… smiling?

Akutagawa coughs before Atsushi can decide, then murmurs, “It seems the weretiger has caught
his target with little effort.”

“Only because he wanted to be caught,” Atsushi counters, snickering as Akutagawa blinks. This
time, he sees the faintest smile on Akutagawa’s face.

“Are you going to let me go at any point?”

“Mmm… I’ll think about it.”

“The weretiger is clingy, it seems.”

“Nakajima.” He finally remembers to correct Akutagawa, a fact that doesn’t escape Akutagawa’s
notice.

“It took you longer today.”

Atsushi turns his eyes away.

“I believe in order to walk properly, you will have to let go of me. I do not want that adorable face
of yours having a close encounter with the glass.”

He unwinds his arms.

“May I suggest an alternative?”

Atsushi glances up again.

“If you are amenable, I am willing to hold your hand.”

“We’re being too obvious.”

Akutagawa scoffs. “You say that as if hanging on me and joking about me being your prey is not
obvious.”

“You started it.”

Akutagawa sighs and tucks his hands in his pockets. “I apologize, then.”

“Akutagawa—”

“I am acting childish and reckless.”

Before he can go anywhere, Atsushi touches the inside of his elbow. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to.”
He squeezes and waits for Akutagawa to look down at him. “Maybe I’m just being too careful. Or
I’m worrying too much.” He continues studying the writer, watching the thoughts behind his eyes.
“Do you really want to?”

Akutagawa glances away.

“Is that why you were sulking earlier?”

“I was not —”

Atsushi cuts the rest of whatever indignant complaint Akutagawa is in the midst of uttering by
tugging him along.

As they walk through the shark tunnels, Atsushi notices Akugawa relaxing a bit more, swiveling
his head to get a good look at everything. He also bumps his shoulder against Atsushi’s. “For some
reason, this… is making me a bit lightheaded.”

“Mm… yeah, I get that. Your brain is probably saying you should be underwater.” He pauses.
“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I can continue, weret—Nakajima.”

Akutagawa gets engrossed in one of the smaller tanks near the exit to a degree that Atsushi nearly
stumbles when he tries to keep walking. He turns to see there’s nothing remarkable in the tank. Just
a few spotted garden eels. Even so, Akutagawa leans closer to the glass, trying to get a closer look.

“You really like them,” Atsushi observes.

Akutagawa rises and clears his throat. “I do not—”

“It was cute.” Atsushi watches Akutagawa reconsider his denial, the rest of which he doesn’t
speak. He feels Akutagawa gently remove his fingers from the inside of his elbow. The space
between them is soon filled by Akutagawa’s own. For a moment, they just look at each other. If I
were braver, I’d probably kiss him, Atsushi thinks. But maybe… I don’t need to right now.

Their moment is short-lived when out of nowhere, a child with blond hair and blue eyes races up to
them and says something that definitely isn’t Japanese. He looks at Akutagawa, who shrugs and
lets go of his hand.

“What language is that?”

“I have no clue,” Akutagawa confesses.

He looks at the child again and shifts to a crouch. In slow Japanese, emphasizing the words he
most thinks the child will understand, he says. “Is your mama or papa here?”

Out of nowhere, she says, “Papa’s editing.”

Atsushi leaps up and darts behind Akutagawa. “Wait, you speak Japanese?”
“You’re loud.” Akutagawa folds his arms and glances back at Atsushi.

The little girl lets out a light, clear laugh. “I had you fooled, didn’t I? I speak Japanese just fine. I
even know most of the grade 5 kanji.”

“Is that so?” Akutagawa asks. Turning to Atsushi, he murmurs, “What do we do?”

“What do you mean what do we do?” Atsushi asks.

Sighing, Akutagawa says, “You have parents around, do you not?”

“Don’t know,” she answers.

Cheeky, Atsushi thinks. He imagines Akutagawa is thinking something similar from his stern
frown. He’s about to offer to help her find them when, out of nowhere, he hears a voice.

“Ah, Elise-chan!” The child’s head swivels. A man with black hair and gloves approaches, half
breathless. He takes a moment to breathe, then murmurs, “Ah… Akutagawa-sensei.”

“Mori-sensei,” he answers, bowing slightly.

Mori-sensei… Atsushi regards the man, then stops breathing entirely. “Wait… you’re… Mori
Ougai.”

Patting the child on the head, Mori responds, “I see you’ve heard of me.”

“I’ve read your first novel three times. It’s really remarkable.”

“Many people say so,” Mori murmurs. He switches to that other language for a moment. “I’m
honored you think so highly of it, but I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Ah. I’m Nakajima Atsushi, an intern at the same press you’re currently working with.”

“He’s my editor,” Akutagawa adds.

“Your editor?” he asks, passing Atsushi a long look. “You fraternize with your editor outside of
business?”

“I don’t believe you’re in a place to act surprised about that,” Akutagawa answers without missing
a beat. “Nakajima and I are simply out looking for inspiration. He is writing a short story, and I am
working on a collection.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Mori murmurs with a slight bow. “It was a pleasure.”

Akutagawa bows to Mori as he walks away with Elise, who is chattering something in the same
language they’ve been speaking. Atsushi follows suit.

They don’t talk about Mori until they get back to Akutagawa’s apartment. As Akutagawa is fishing
out his key, he murmurs, “You were surprisingly calm.”

“Huh?” Atsushi asks.

“We almost got discovered.”

His stomach sinks.

“There’s a possibility we did. Who knows what that child was chattering about in whatever
language it was. Well…” The door swings open. “I don’t believe we really need to worry.”

Atsushi steps inside and removes his shoes alongside Akutagawa. The minute he’s on his feet, he
says, “I honestly really didn’t think about it.”

Akutagawa turns to him and glowers.

“Ah… it’s not that I’m not nervous about it. It’s more… Mori-sensei understands what it means to
keep a relationship secret. And he seemed really distracted by Elise, so… maybe he didn’t even
think about it. And even if he did, I don’t think he’d say anything to anyone.” He studies
Akutagawa’s expression. “You’re thinking too much.”

“Then make me stop thinking.”

They don’t spend as long as Atsushi would like exchanging long, slow, soft kisses by the door,
Akutagawa’s hands in his hair, breaking off at reasonable intervals to breathe, but when they’re
done, Akutagawa makes him lunch. The food is simple but hearty: some fish, rice, soup, and
pickled vegetables. They eat it, as is their custom, in the living room. Since they spoke so much
earlier, they mostly eat in comfortable silence.

Once the dishes are clean, they drink tea. Akutagawa covers a yawn, mumbles an apology. But in
the midst of it, Atsushi yawns as well.

“Contagious,” Akutagawa comments.

“As the common cold,” Atsushi adds, passing him a drowsy smile. “You should take a nap.”

“You should take one with me.”

That remark wakes him up a bit. He tries to calculate whether or not that would even be appropriate
since today was technically their first date. But then he remembers there’s nothing normal about
their timeline, that it’s all bound up in the contract making Atsushi Akutagawa’s editor.

He realizes that their contract will end. It’s felt so permanent since they renegotiated terms after a
rocky start, but in a little over four months, things will change. He might be working at a different
company. With a different writer . He can’t imagine a life where he’s not Akutagawa’s editor. Or a
life where he’s not editing.

“Weretiger.”

That moniker breaks through his thoughts.

“It was a foolish request. Of course you would not be amenable.”

“I…”

Akutagawa’s palm presses against his face. “What were you thinking of just now?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Atsushi murmurs. “It’s nothing.”

Akutagawa’s frown changes, but if asked how, Atsushi isn’t sure he could articulate it. “Take one
with me,” he says again.

“Okay,” Atsushi answers.

He drifts off while Akutagawa strokes his hair, trying to hold in his hums of contentment and
failing more than half the time. When he wakes up, Akutagawa is still in a doze, snoring softly, and
so close that even without his glasses, Atsushi can clearly see his features. Still drowsy, he shuffles
and curls up closer to Akutagawa’s chest, seeking warmth since they’re still laying on top of the
blankets. To his surprise, he feels Akutagawa stir. The weight of Akutagawa’s arm drapes over his
body, and Atsushi finds himself inclined to shut his eyes again. Not to sleep; his body has had
enough of that. To just enjoy the feeling of resting beside another person, one he trusts enough to
nap with and treasures enough to want to hold close long after their relationship changes from some
odd hybrid of professional and romantic to something purer.

“I don’t want to stop being your editor,” he murmurs.

Akutagawa stirs again. “What?”

“The contract,” Atsushi clarifies, pulling away far enough to look at Akutagawa’s face. “It’s up
before the start of April. But I… like the way things are between us right now.”

Akutagawa blinks.

“I like being your editor. I like… doing whatever this is.” Atsushi still isn’t sure what to call it,
even if they went on a date they agreed to call a date. “I don’t know why, but all of a sudden, this
all seems temporary. I’m scared that when the contract is up, I won’t be anything to you anymore.”

Akutagawa’s hand trails up his arm. “If I have caused those worries…”

“It’s not you,” Atsushi insists, stopping Akutagawa from touching his face by catching his wrist.
“It’s just… good things don’t last for me.”

“Are you calling me a good thing?”

“I mean…” Atsushi blushes. “What else would you be?” When he glances back up at Akutagawa,
he sees an oddly peaceful smile on his face. Atsushi loosens his grip on Akutagawa’s wrist, and in
an instant, he feels Akutagawa’s palm against his ear.

“I never noticed your eyes were two different colors,” he says out of nowhere.

Atsushi blinks.

“Behind your glasses, it’s a bit challenging to tell. I told myself, the first time I noticed, that it was
likely a trick of the light.”

Atsushi feels his face grow warmer when Akutagawa sweeps his hair behind his ear.

“But like this, I can see very clearly… that rare but perfect divide between gold and purple.”

Some new feeling rises in him as Akutagawa’s thumb skims his cheekbone.

“I… have never witnessed something so flawless or beautiful. In fact, I’m convinced it only exists
here.”

“God, you’re too romantic. Just say you like them.”

“As if that simple word could capture my full appreciation.” He shuffles a little closer, sighs into
Atsushi’s air. “I think your glasses suit the shape of your face, weretiger, but have you considered
contacts?”
Atsushi covers his mouth and shuts his eyes. He’s too romantic, he thinks. He’s…

“Listen to me, Nakajima. This part of what we have? It does not end with the contract. That was
never my plan. Hell, this was never my plan, either.”

Behind his hands, Atsushi murmurs, “If you didn’t plan this, then why…”

“Can something like this be planned?” Akutagawa asks.

Atsushi lowers his hand.

“Do you remember what you told me early on in this, when you mentioned what was wrong with
my writing?”

“I told you… to live a little.”

“Had you not told me that, I doubt this would have happened. Those words awakened something in
me. A memory.” Akutagawa’s silver eyes drift shut. “There has not been a time in my life when my
health has been perfect, but it had been ages since I had gone somewhere because I wanted to. And
never… with someone dear in the way you now are to me.”

“Akutagawa…” He burrows against Akutagawa’s chest again. “You’re being too nice again.”

“Well.”

Atsushi feels Akutagawa’s fingertips against his scalp again.

“I know dating me will not always be easy, but I believe it would be the greatest honor if you…
were willing to keep doing it.”

“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?” Atsushi asks.

“Was that somehow unclear?”

Atsushi laughs and hugs Akutagawa again, snuggles against his chest. “It’s kind of cute that you
like spotted garden eels.”

Akutagawa chokes.

“They kind of remind me of you: perpetually grumpy, maybe not remarkable to most people…”

“Are you going to insult me or are you going to answer?”

Atsushi shifts to catch Akutagawa’s lips. When he draws away, he finds Akutagawa blinking like
that was their first ever kiss. “Were you listening closely? Because that’s my answer.”

Akutagawa touches his mouth, then murmurs, “I don’t believe I heard you right,” Akutagawa says.
“Perhaps you should answer again.”

“You like kissing me. Admit it.”

“As I said, that word is too one-dimensional to—“

Atsushi interrupts him with a small press of his lips, then another. He lets Akutagawa deepen the
kiss, calling it a more thorough answer with the part of his brain that isn’t focused on responding to
Akutagawa’s movements.
 But that part shifts soon enough.

Chapter End Notes

Listen, I know it's weird, but I just really, really like the idea of Akutagawa being
totally fascinated with spotted garden eels as opposed to bigger, more colorful
aquarium life.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed Atsushi being cute, their official first date,
Aku being enchanted by garden eels, them communicating, and just... them becoming
boyfriends because they deserve it. They're moving pretty fast, I know. Well, faster
than CAU them did. But you know... they're different than that version.

Oh hey endnote.

The chapter title: is from Akutagawa's comment about their timeline being out of
order.

Last-minute changes: Just tweaks here and there. Thanks to my beta, this chapter was
in pretty good shape.

How I confused my Google Search History Monitor: I looked up spotted garden eels.
I've seen them before, but I wanted to make sure they were grumpy enough for
Akutagawa to like. I actually didn't search for any specific fish recipes, of course, but
this sounds like a pretty typical Japanese dinner. Aku's dizziness in the shark tunnel
was honestly inspired a bit by my own.

Speak of my beta: the entire "behold, the weretiger in his natural environment" scene
was partly inspired by her. It's something I hashed out with her in chat when I was
writing this originally. It was too funny not to include, and Atsushi is cute.

About Mori: you know this technically takes place during the timeline of the
Fukumori fic in this AU. So either it happened and Mori didn't tell Fukuzawa, or it
happened during a time skip, or it happened and Mori did tell Fukuzawa, but he's not
saying anything. Or Elise told Fukuzawa. In either case... that's my best attempt to
explain a gap in what was NOT supposed to become a full AU.

This brings me to the end of my endnote. As always, thank you for reading, I hope this
chapter was fun for you, and I encourage you to stay hydrated until my next update!
 Something I Should Sit With, Too
Chapter Notes

Hello, everyone, and welcome back to another chapter of this silly little AU that was
supposed to be a single Fukumori one-shot but we all knew that wasn't happening and
here we are.

Shoutout to everyone who dropped a comment on the last chapter! I appreciate you
continuing to read and drop kudos here and there.

And now... it's time for this chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“A year-end party, huh?”

Dazai happens to mention it about a week before it happens, then goes on a tangent about how it
would be in Atsushi’s interest to come so he can meet more of the editors and build relationships
with the department. “I know you’ve been doing interviews with other companies, but there’s no
reason you shouldn’t build relationships with your colleagues here, too. Besides, Ranpo-san is
going to be there.”

“Ranpo-san?”

“Yep.” Dazai smiles. “He’s an old friend of mine, Yosano-sensei’s, and Kunikida-kun’s. He’s been
abroad in America for nine months working with an author over there. Maybe he’ll come, too.”

Atsushi double-clicks on a word and makes a comment.

“Of course, Yosano-sensei will be there, too…”

“I’ll consider it,” he murmurs without even stopping his typing.

Dazai’s brow arches. “Isn’t that something Akutagawa-kun says?”

“Huh. I must have picked it up off of him.” Inside, he swears.

Dazai folds his arm and pouts. “Atsushi-kun—”

“If it’s about Akutagawa, save your breath. I’m just his editor.”

“I was going to ask about the party–”

“Dazai-san,” he sighs. “I promise I’ll think about it. I just get really nervous around large groups of
people.”

“But you’ll be good moral support for Akutagawa-kun.”

His fingers stop.

“As his editor, I mean. It’s probable you haven’t figured it out yet, but Akutagawa-kun doesn’t like
large crowds, either.”

“It’s not my job to know that,” Atsushi retorts, resuming his typing. “But like I said, I’ll think
about it.”

When he approaches Akutagawa about the party, the writer’s first reaction is, “Damn it. Did you
have to remind me?”

Atsushi tips his head.

“Now that I know, I can’t feign ignorance and pretend I did not receive a written invitation.”
Akutagawa exhales. “A shame, really. I would have preferred to spend that evening listening to
you purr.”

“Can you stop teasing me about that?”

“If you would stop being so cute, I would consider it.”

Atsushi realizes he really did pick that word up off of the writer, who turns his chair back around
without another word. Puffing up, he calls, “Akutagawa—”

“I am not teasing you, weretiger.”

Two, he tells himself, but then, Akutagawa spins his chair again and leans against his arm.

“It is a compliment. The sound is… peaceful.”

Atsushi folds his arms.

“Weretiger—”

“Nakajima,” he interjects.

“Nakajima, then.” Akutagawa frowns, then murmurs, “What about you?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you going?”

“I…” Atsushi pauses. “I’m just an intern, though.”

Akutagawa shrugs. “So?”

“I mean, do you really want me there?”

“It matters little what I want.”

Atsushi meets Akutagawa’s gaze.

“I believe I would deal better with the energy if you were present. Last year…” Akutagawa presses
his lips together and shakes his head. “Well, perhaps I should simply let you experience it
yourself.”

“What is it?”

“Dazai-san and Nakahara-sensei have a… certain chemistry.”

Atsushi tips his head.

“Like throwing water on a grease fire.”

“Wonderful,” Atsushi retorts. “Do I need to wear anything special?”

“As tempting as it is to say yes, just so I see you in something I normally don’t, your usual attire
will do just fine. Now, am I permitted to ask for a kiss, weretiger?”

“For that third ‘weretiger,’ I don’t think you should be.” Atsushi says that, but he bends to brush
his lips against Akutagawa’s anyway.

“If you hate it,” Akutagawa murmurs as Atsushi draws away, “ask me to stop, and I will.”

“If I wanted you to,” Atsushi counters, “I would have said so.” He rises. “Still, you should
probably avoid calling me that at the party.”

“That, I can do.”

“Don’t call me your boyfriend, either.”

“When did I call you that?”

Atsushi smiles as he leaves. It’s not a word they’ve said aloud often since Akutagawa asked him,
but it captures an element of their relationship that the words “editor” and “writer” don’t.

The night of the year-end party, Atsushi makes sure he looks presentable before leaving. When he
arrives, he instantly knows there are too many people there for his comfort. But he sees Dazai,
talking to Yosano, Kunikida, and someone squinting that he doesn’t recognize. When he enters the
room, Dazai instantly ushers him over and introduces the man as Edogawa Ranpo, editor and
translator to one Edgar Allen Poe.

“Ah, you’re Atsushi-kun! Dazai-kun has told me a lot about you. You’re doing short stories
primarily, right?”

“Yeah,” he answers, nodding. “I just really appreciate prose in short form. I’ve worked on some
novels, too.”

“So you’re versatile!”

“That’s what I’m telling people at my interviews,” he answers.

Ranpo rubs his chin.

“Are you deducing, Ranpo?” Yosano asks.

“Yep.” He smiles. “Let’s see… your birthday is May 5. You got into editing because you liked
reading as a kid. You barely own any books, but you’re working on a library of lightly used
volumes. You applied here for an internship before you were eighteen…”

“Huh?” Atsushi glances at Dazai. “Dazai-san, did you tell him all that?”

“Ranpo-san has very good powers of deduction.”

“I’ve also deduced whatever you’re working on now is going to be very successful.” Ranpo
pauses. “Wait, you actually have the patience for Akutagawa?”
“I am right here, you know.”

Atsushi turns around to find Akutagawa standing directly behind him. In a move that’s either
cheeky or coincidental, he’s wearing the scarf Atsushi bought him the night they went to the
illumination.

“Still sour as usual,” Ranpo retorts, shaking his head. “I deduced a long time ago there was no hope
for your mood.” He adds a shrug. “Just kidding. You actually seem like you’re in a better mood
today. Something really good must’ve happened.” Ranpo grins. “Want me to deduce it?”

“I would prefer you didn’t,” he states.

“Alright. Your choice.” He grins, then calls, “Hey, Mr. Fancy Hat!”

The redhead growls as he approaches. Atsushi hopes it’s just because of Ranpo’s ridiculous
nickname. “I’d hoped your time in America would help you forget you called me that.”

“How could I forget? As well as Poe-kun fed me, I still remember.”

“Then just fucking use my name, moron.” He folds his arms. “When you say he fed you, are you
talking about his food or his di—”

“Now, now, Chuuya-kun,” Dazai says. Something in his voice sounds different than usual. “You
wouldn’t want to scar the poor children, would you?”

“I am hardly a child, Dazai-san,” Akutagawa states, coughing.

“Akutagawa.”

“Nakahara-sensei,” he answers, bowing slightly.

Atsushi realizes Chuuya is looking at him. The redhead, shorter than Atsushi expected, tips his hat,
then swivels his blue eyes. “You Nakajima?”

“Yeah. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He bows slightly.

“Pleasure’s mine,” he answers, returning the bow.

Out of nowhere, Dazai lets out a theatrical gasp. “Chuuya!” There’s a sing-song note in Dazai’s
voice that makes Chuuya visibly wince. “Did somebody teach you manners in the two days we’ve
been apart? Who knew the hat rack had the brain cells for that?”

“If you fucking keep that up all night, I will kick your suicidal bastard ass through a fucking wall!”

“Suicidal bastard ass! Is that the title of your next poem?”

“You goddamn waste of bandages!”

Atsushi leans over to Akutagawa. “Are they always like this?”

“No,” he sighs, folding his arms. “They’re usually worse.”

Atsushi tries not to shudder as Dazai makes some threat about spitting in Chuuya’s wine. Chuuya
snaps. back something about his hobbies being doing nothing and annoying him. Then, he stops
off to get a glass of wine.
“I should go with him,” Dazai says, but Kunikida grabs his collar before he can go far.

“Don’t annoy him, Dazai, or we’ll have a repeat of the table incident.”

“Not the table incident,” Yosano sighs, shaking her head.

Atsushi glances at Akutagawa again. “One year, Dazai-san annoyed him so much, he wound up
splitting a table in half by kicking it, then threatening to do the same to Dazai-san’s face.”

“What did Dazai do?” he asks.

“He laughed.”

Dazai passes Atsushi an innocent smile. “I’m not afraid of Chuuya or death, or else I wouldn’t keep
trying to commit suicide.”

“That… seems kind of cruel, Dazai-san.”

“Chuuya’s such a brute, threatening to kick my face.” Dazai droops in Kunikida’s grip. “Why are
you taking his side, Atsushi-kun? Don’t you care about my well-being?”

“Don’t you care about him not wanting you to antagonize him?”

Beside him, he hears Akutagawa cough. Or maybe he snickers. Atsushi isn’t sure.

“It’s like Nakahara-sensei said,” Yosano points out, “Dazai’s two favorite activities are doing
nothing and annoying Nakahara-sensei.”

“Yosano-sensei, you wound me!”

Atsushi turns to ask Akutagawa something else to find he has drifted towards the table of wine and
is currently talking with Chuuya, holding a glass of white wine between his fingers. Chuuya looks
a little more relaxed with him, at least.

“Ah, Atsushi-kun, come over here and meet Ango-kun from marketing!”

Halfway through the night, Atsushi has met so many people, he thinks that even with years, he’d
never remember all of the names. This includes Mori, who simply greets him with a smile and
says, “It’s good to see you again, Nakajima.”

“Oh, you met Atsushi-kun?” Dazai asks.

“At the aquarium.” He sighs and smiles. “My Elise-chan simply insisted we go. It was mere
coincidence.”

Fortunately, he doesn’t mention Akutagawa also being there, almost like there is an unspoken
understanding between them that he shouldn’t.

All night, Dazai drags Atsushi around the room, introducing him to this person or that. Every now
and then, when he starts to feel particularly stressed, he scans the room to locate Akutagawa.
Maybe it’s his imagination, but each time, Akutagawa is at just the right angle to meet his gaze for
one moment. Unless someone was counting all those instances, there would be nothing suspicious
about it.

Eventually, Dazai leaves him to antagonize Chuuya, and he winds up talking with a couple of the
other interns for a little while.
When his eyes circle the room again, he notices Akutagawa isn’t there anymore. Did he leave?
Atsushi thinks.

After a bit longer of half listening, he excuses himself for a bit. He wants to catch his breath,
mostly, from the whirlwind of people. Plus, Chuuya is getting drunk, and he’s worried, given how
wine shortens Chuuya’s temper, there will be an inevitable repeat of the table incident if Dazai
keeps pushing his buttons. He’ll spend a few minutes at his desk, then go back to the party.

He’s surprised to find it’s already occupied. “Akutagawa.”

The writer turns to face him.

Laughing, Atsushi murmurs, “It seems like we always greet each other like this, you spinning in
your chair to face me.”

“I suppose that is a trend for us.” He clears his throat and shifts to rise.

“You don’t have to stand up. I just needed a breather.”

“Ah. Then you are fine with me borrowing your desk for a little longer?”

“Sure.” He leans against the edge of it, and they sit in the half-lit room in comfortable silence.
“Akutagawa.”

“Hmm?”

“Can you hand me something from my desk drawer? It’s right at the front.”

“This one?” he asks.

“Yeah. There’s a cleaning cloth in there. My glasses are a little spotty.”

Akutagawa pulls the drawer open and hands him the cloth. He plucks his eyewear off and starts
with the left lens, polishing it with the fabric pinched between his fingers. He glances away to see
Akutagawa leaning over a bit, studying him. The minute he realizes he’s been caught, he swivels
away and coughs again. In the dim light, he catches the faint dusting of pink in Akutagawa’s face.

The word “cute” doesn’t come to Atsushi’s mind. Instead, he murmurs, “Beautiful.”

“Don’t let anyone else hear you say that, weretiger.”

“Ah, sorry. It slipped out.” He switches to the other lens and passes Akutagawa another glance.
“Did it make you uncomfortable, me calling you that?”

He expects Akutagawa to respond instantly, something a bit punchy without being cruel, but
instead, the writer just stares at the desk, his frown a little shallower than usual, his eyes a little
brighter in that light.

“You can say you liked it, you know.”

That brings Akutagawa back to his usual self. “I will admit no such thing.”

Atsushi slips his eyewear back on, his vision now unclouded by the spot or dust that was on the
lens earlier. He stares at Akutagawa through them. Akutagawa stares back. “Are you about ready
to go back?”
“In a few minutes,” he answers. “I… need to sit with something.”

Atsushi is about to put his feet back on the floor, but something in Akutagawa’s tone stops him.
“Do you…” He pauses. “Is it… something I should sit with, too?”

Akutagawa doesn’t answer right away. Like before, he stares at the desk.

“Akutagawa?”

“You know I am sick, yes?”

Atsushi tips his head.

“I am not sick now,” he murmurs, “but there will come a day when I am sick again. And I am not
talking about a common cold. The last time it happened, I was in the hospital for over a month.”

Something cold starts to move through Atsushi, an emotion he knows well. Fear.

“It will happen again, Nakajima.”

“What are you saying?”

“I just… want you to be prepared.” Akutagawa says it staring at the desk. “In you, I have found
something truly wonderful. It is only a matter of time before something less wonderful happens to
disrupt it.”

Atsushi does something he might regret, but at the moment, the potential for regret is far
outweighed by the very human need to provide comfort. He touches Akutagawa’s fingers. It
doesn’t take long before Akutagawa’s hand grasps his own.

“Weretiger.”

“That’s two.”

“Be serious for a moment.” Akutagawa squeezes his hand. “If that happens…” Akutagawa’s eyes
finally rise. “Promise me, no matter what happens with my health, you will finish editing my
manuscript.”

He draws a slow breath.

“And,” he murmurs. “If you could… also promise that you will not… end this—“

“Akutagawa.” He squeezes back. “No matter what happens, I’ll be your editor until the end of
this.”

Akutagawa glances up at him.

“I hope you know without me saying that’s not all I’ll be.”

Akutagawa’s features soften the same way they did earlier, but voices in the hall shatters that
moment.

Atsushi lets go. “I’ll go back to make sure no one finds you. Just take another minute.”

He sets his feet on the floor and immediately walks into the hallway. He can already tell who he’s
dealing with. The sing-song rhythm and the deafening roll announce Dazai and Chuuya’s approach.
Their voices cut off before he rounds the corner.

But he knows as soon as he does that he’s not supposed to be there. His brain fully shuts down
before he can even process Dazai’s back is against the wall and Chuuya is silencing him with his
lips, breaking away just long enough to sigh Dazai’s name before diving back in.

He thinks at first that it’s his imagination, but the way Dazai answers that motion tells him it’s not.
Atsushi pulls in a slow breath that Chuuya must hear because he breaks away, with a growl and
glares at him.

“Problem?”

Dazai’s amber eyes, clouded and dazed, lock with Atsushi’s for a moment.

“N… no,” Atsushi answers. But he can already feel his face heating up, more from awkwardness
than from shame. His glasses fog over. He freezes, mostly because in situations like this, he has
learned to expect a blow. After he realizes he’s not getting hit, though, he lets out the breath he was
holding and his vision clears. “No,” he says again, this time steadier, and walks past a slack-jawed
Dazai without even passing him a glance. Resolved, he walks forward until he hears a set of steps
stagger after him, Dazai’s hand closes on his arm.

“Atsushi-kun.”

Atsushi turns to him.

“You’re not… going to say anything, are you?”

He looks Dazai in the eye and says, “To anyone else? No.”

He watches Dazai sigh with relief.

“But if your teasing doesn’t let up, I might let it slip.”

It’s an empty threat. As annoying as Dazai’s ongoing accusations about Akutagawa are, he would
never tell a soul. But Dazai doesn’t know that. Or if he does, he’s too panicked to register that he
does.

“I’m getting my coat and going home,” Atsushi continues. “I’m grateful you encouraged me to
come tonight, Dazai-san. Now, please let go of my arm.” He adds the last part in a low voice,
almost as more growl than request. To his relief, Dazai complies.

After way too many good-byes, Atsushi manages to grab his coat and work his way out of the
room. It’s only when he’s in the elevator that the truth and gravity hits him, that Dazai’s grasp on
his arm comes back. But it’s not Dazai this time.

It’s the orphanage director.

Atsushi learned early not to fight against the beatings that always followed that vice-like grip on
his arm. Dazai doesn’t know about those, and if Atsushi has anything to say about it, he never
will.

But that doesn’t stop the effect it has on him once he’s alone. The truth strikes him harder than a
fist ever will.

He manages to get outside the building into the cold air. By then, he’s shaking, gasping…
 He reaches for his phone to find it’s not there. Damn it. He turns to go back into the building to
find Akutagawa exiting, a familiar device in his hand.

The writer stops the instant he sees Atsushi's face. “Nakajima—”

Much like earlier at his desk, when he reached for Akutagawa’s hand, he doesn’t think about it.
And much like earlier, he does it for comfort. Not Akutagawa’s this time. His own. The instant
he’s against Akutagawa’s chest, arms wound around the writer’s almost delicate shoulders, the
blood pounding in his ears is a little less deafening. When Akutagawa’s arms encircle him, he picks
up Akutagawa’s voice issuing an order.

“Breathe.”

Atsushi manages to exhale.

“Good. Now in.”

He obeys, unable to do anything else.

“Out.”

“Akutagawa…” He swallows. “I can’t… go home alone tonight.”

Without a moment of hesitation, and to Atsushi’s relief, Akutagawa murmurs, “Alright.”

Chapter End Notes

Not me hinting at not one but TWO other parts of this AU, one a subtle verbal hint,
one a very obvious hint of action. Also you see now what I mean by shit hitting the
fan.

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. And now... endnote
stuff.

The chapter title: I changed from "That's Not All I'll Be" to this because considering
how shaken up Atsushi is, it really is something he and Akutagawa now need to sit
with. Both are, of course from Atsushi. This one just seemed to fit better.

Other last-minute changes: Just tweaking this wording or that. My beta is amazing,
and this chapter sounded pretty good. I remember at one point adding Chuuya sighing
Dazai's name between kisses, but I have no idea when.

Since there was no Googling in this chapter, just know I have plans for the SKK fic in
this series. I know I just talked about the Kousano one, but these idiots also give me
brain rot. I also had a little kernel of the Ranpoe fic in my head earlier this week.

And that about does it. Thank you so much for reading, and until next chapter, drink
lots of water!
 Just Enough to Sate Your Appetite
Chapter Notes

Hello, all! At last, we come to that chapter subtitled, "It's time to update the tags.
Again." This needed to go up today. Happy Valentine’s Day, readers.

I'm happy you're still reading this story. Thanks to everyone who commented last
chapter, and to everyone who kudosed and is continuing to read.

And now, it is time for the aftermath. Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Atsushi doesn’t say a word on the train ride back. Akutagawa doesn’t ask. He just keeps one hand
on Akutagawa’s the whole way, indifferent to, or in defiance of, the possibility that they, too, might
get caught. Every now and then, Akutagawa squeezes his fingers. When Atsushi thinks to answer
with a squeeze of his own, he does. Mostly, his mind just stays filled with static.

They get off the train at Akutagawa’s stop, but only because Akutagawa remembers to get up. That
reminds Atsushi to move as well. Their fingers remain laced together as Akutagawa feeds the
machine his ticket. They separate so Akutagawa can pass through the gates. Atsushi scans his card
and steps out, too.

Once they’re in front of the station, they spend a moment looking at each other. Akutagawa looks
like he’s not just facing Atsushi. “My apartment is this way,” Akutagawa says, as if Atsushi
doesn’t already know, as if those words aren’t just a way to fill the silence.

“Yeah,” he answers. As they start walking, he wraps his fingers around Akutagawa’s hand again.

Akutagawa lets Atsushi in first. A burst of cold air follows as he removes his shoes and starts
shucking his winter clothes. The door falls shut with a heavy thud as the ceiling light comes on.
Once his coat comes off, he sees Akutagawa reach out to take it. He hands it over. He does the
same with this scarf and his gloves. After removing his own winter wear and hanging it on the
hooks by the door, Akutagawa turns to him. “What happened?”

That question makes it clear what Akutagawa’s facing. He’s not sure he should say anything. In
fact, common sense tells him he shouldn’t. “Promise not to tell anyone.”

“Who would I tell, weretiger?”

Atsushi draws a breath. “I figured out who Dazai-san likes. And… it’s not a beautiful woman.” He
watches the truth register on Akutagawa’s face, watches the thin eyebrows knit together.
Akutagawa would have walked back that way. Considering how stunned Dazai was, he likely saw
them together, too. “I’m really sorry.”

“Why?” Akutagawa asks.

“Why?” Atsushi echoes, blinking. “Because you used to like him. Some part of you probably aches
because of that.”
“It is far outweighed by the part of me that had to see you make that face again.” Akutagawa folds
his arms. “Did they threaten you?”

“No.”

“Did they say something?”

“Only Dazai-san. He asked me not to say anything. I told him I wouldn’t.” Atsushi rubs his arm.
“But he grabbed me while I was walking away, and I just… it brought stuff back.”

“Was it threatening?”

Atsushi swallows at how low Akutagawa’s voice has gotten. “No,” he answers. “It wasn’t anything
like that. He was just as surprised as I was. Nakahara-sensei really didn’t say anything.”

“No roundhouse kicks, then.” Akutagawa exhales. “Good. I would rather not have to argue with
him over this.” Akutagawa walks past him. “Tea,” he announces. “Or would hot chocolate suit
your tastes better? I bought some thinking you might like it.”

“I just want you.”

Akutagawa whips around. “I’m sorry? Did I hear you right just now? Are you out of your damn
mind, weretiger?”

Atsushi’s mind catches up with his mouth. “Wait, I didn’t mean—”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I don’t know, alright?” He half shouts the words, then realizes what Akutagawa thinks he means.
“I mean, it’s not entirely inaccurate. I… look, just…”

“You’re making it worse by talking,” Akutagawa retorts, rubbing his temples. “Please stop for a
moment and think—”

“I’ve thought plenty!” Atsushi snaps. He lets out a breath, draws another. He looks up from the
floor to find Akutagawa equally startled. “I’ve thought plenty,” he continues, half breathless. “Ever
since the first time you called me that stupid nickname—”

“Nakajima—”

“—you’re all I’ve thought of. And not just the way you’re thinking, either.”

Akutagawa lets out a slow breath and turns away. “Tell me, then, while we drink.”

While Atsushi sits on the sofa, he listens to the sounds in the kitchen, wordless, domestic murmurs
that make what would normally be just a room feel important: the faucet running, the mugs
clinking on the counter, the almost imperceptible whisper of the kettle heating, coming a boil, the
fridge door, a pan on the burner. If he focuses, he can hear the liquid descend into each of the
mugs: the water into Akutagawa’s, the milk into his own. Then, there’s a whir. Is that… a hand
mixer? I didn’t even know he owned one of those. The noise cuts off after a couple of minutes.
Akutagawa enters with two mugs. The one the writer sets down in front of him is topped with a
dollop of whipped cream.

“What’s this?” Atsushi asks.

“Call it my best attempt at seduction.”

Scoffing, Atsushi lifts the mug and takes a sip. The chocolate is rich, not overly sweet. The cold
whipped cream on top balances it out. “This is really good,” he murmurs. Lowering the cup.

“In all seriousness, it is just my attempt to make you feel a little better.” He takes a sip of his own
tea—jasmine, if Atsushi had to guess—and clears his throat. “What you said earlier… take your
time explaining it, weretiger.”

Atsushi nods. “I mean… I didn’t mean it that way.”

Akutagawa folds one leg over the other.

“I mean I did… I think you’re really beautiful, and I wouldn’t mind something like that one day.
If… it’s okay with you, of course.”

Akutagawa snickers, and Atsushi instantly feels his hackles rise.

“Don’t make fun of me. This is hard, alright?”

“I am not making fun of you.” Akutagawa sighs. “In all fairness, it is not an easy conversation to
have, no matter the point.”

“I know it’s too soon. I just…” Atsushi pauses to take another drink of the hot chocolate. “I… what
I really meant is… I didn’t come here to sleep with you. Just spending time with you like this is
enough to make me feel better.”

“Are you certain about that, weretiger?”

“Nakajima,” he insists.

“Nakajima, then.”

Atsushi stares into his mug, admiring the way the hot chocolate takes the whipped cream apart. “I
mean… have you thought about it?”

He tips his eyes to Akutagawa, who murmurs to his tea, “I will not deny I have.”

Atsushi continues to study him. “What… did you think of?”

Akutagawa’s eyes shift. “You said it was enough to simply spend time with me. Now you’re
saying you wish to hear my fantasies about you?”

“If you’re willing to share.” Atsushi takes another swill of hot chocolate. “If it’s too early on, I get
that. But I’m afraid if I stop talking, the memories will come back again.”

After another slow sigh, Akutagaw murmurs, “Nothing about our relationship has followed any
frame of time that would be sensible or logical to anyone but us. I suppose it is the nature of my
condition. With you especially, I have endeavored to live every healthy moment to its fullest.”

Atsushi lowers his cup, then feels Akutagawa’s thumb skim the corner of his mouth. He sees
there’s a bit of whipped cream on it as he draws away. Akutagawa studies it for a moment, then
licks it clean.

Oh, my God.

“In truth, most things I imagine doing with you are… simple.”
“What’s simple?”

“You know.”

“I really don’t.”

Akutagawa stares at him. “You are telling me you came here, declared you wanted me without
knowing—”

“I really didn’t mean it like that!” Atsushi insists, his face flushing.

“—what having sex with another man entailed—” Akutagawa continues.

“I know plenty, asshole! When I’m jerking off, I don’t really think of anything specific! Just you
feeling good, alright?” As soon as he realizes what he just said, he clasps his hand over his mouth
as his face ignites. Akutagawa is staring at him, wide-eyed.

“Do you have no shame, weretiger? Find a less crass way to—”

“What about you, then?” Atsushi demands. “And none of that metaphorical bullshit you pull on
me. Tell me directly. You obviously know more about what you want than I do, even if the things
you think about are simple.”

“Simple,” Akutagawa echoes, sipping his tea. “They are only simple in my mind.”

“What, then?” Atsushi asks. “You don’t want to hit me or anything like that, do you?”

“Nothing like that,” Akutagawa answers.

“Then… what?”

Akutagawa sets his mug down. As he sits up, he shuffles, uncrossing his legs, then recrossing
them. Atsushi watches and waits for him to speak. Instead, Akutagawa raises his fingers to his lips
and touches them.

“I’m not going to make you tell me.”

“I am a writer,” Akutagawa murmurs, lowering his hand. “My task is to put stories into words that
speak to me while hoping that they speak to others. But the things I imagine doing with you…
simple or not, they are impossible to capture in words.”

Atsushi’s mug joins Akutagawa’s on the table and reaches for Akutagawa’s fingers instead.
Pressing them to his lips, he murmurs, “I won’t make you tell me. But I really want to hear.”

Akutagawa inhales, releases a slow breath.

“When you’re ready.” Atsushi lets his hand go. “Not a moment before, alright?” He reaches for his
hot chocolate again. “In the meantime, I can… try to be more specific in what I’m picturing when
I’m doing it. So I know what to tell you when we decide it’s the right time.” He drains what’s left
in his cup. Akutagawa follows suit. They both return their mugs to the table.

“I could tell you now,” Akutagawa murmurs.

Atsushi glances up at him.

“Or, if you’d be willing, I can show you.”

Atsushi blinks.

“Not everything, mind you,” Akutagawa says. “Just enough to sate your appetite.”

“What are you offering, Akutagawa?”

Akutagawa rises from where he’s sitting and starts towards his bedroom. “Why don’t you come
and find out, Atsushi?”

The startling sound of his given name draws him to his feet. “What’s about the dishes?”

“Do you propose we take them with us, weretiger?”

Back to weretiger already, he laments, but he darts after Akutagawa anyway.

“The light,” Akutagawa calls.

Atsushi flicks the switch. By the time he returns to a place where he can see Akutagawa’s bedroom
again, the light is on. Akutagawa’s silhouette cuts through the otherwise perfect rectangle. The
sight of it is breathtaking, and it’s nothing compared to when Akutagawa strides into the room like
has never been more at home. Atsushi has been here before, but never like this.

“Let me make one thing clear before we do anything.”

Atsushi looks at Akutagawa, who is still facing away from him. From that angle, Atsushi can tell
his fingers are descending the buttons of his shirt. He sees he’s not mistaken when the writer turns
to him. He’s greeted with the most delicious sight of Akutagawa’s exposed chest.

“I have offered to sleep with you. But we are negotiating the limits, meaning…” He unfastens
another button. “We stop when one of us is ready to stop.”

“Yeah,” Atsushi manages. He hates how high-pitched his voice is; it shatters what would
otherwise be a perfect moment. A bit more calmly, he manages, “Yeah. Of course. I don’t have a
ton of experience, but even I know if we both don’t agree to…” His voice trails off as Akutagawa’s
fingers brush along his jawline. That close, he can see every breathtaking ounce of silver in
Akutagawa’s eyes. “…it…” He stumbles over his words again. “I… we…”

“You are stammering,” Akutagawa observes. “Cute.”

“I’m just nervous, alright?” he grumbles.

“I assure you, the feeling is mutual.” Akutagawa’s fingers slowly drop to the first button of
Atsushi’s shirt. “You mentioned earlier Dazai-san grabbed your arm and caused you to panic.”

As it comes open, Atsushi swallows.

“I don’t wish to cause any repeat episodes of that, so…” Akutagawa’s fingers dip to the hem of
Atushsi’s pullover sweater. “Please tell me how I can avoid that.”

“The…” He’s stammering again. He hates that he is, but Akutagawa stops, pressing his hands
firmly against Atsushi’s hips.

“I swear,” he murmurs, “I may be temperamental, sarcastic, and bitter. I know I have said things
that have brought up old pain. But in this, I swear I will never hurt you, Atsushi.”

There it is again. His given name, making his heart beat against his rib cage and at the same time
taking away his will to worry. “Take it off.” Atsushi even makes the process easier by raising his
arms. The sweater comes off. He goes to straighten his glasses, then realizes he’s just going to
remove them anyway.

“Let me,” Akutagawa insists, tossing the sweater. “I will put them on my nightstand.”

It’s a strange thing to have someone else removing his glasses. He blinks against the bare light that
hits his eyes. Akutagawa grows fuzzy for a moment, then clear again as he approaches. Atsushi
half expects him to go back to unbuttoning his shirt. Instead, he’s caught up in a startlingly soft kiss
that he doesn’t get the chance to reciprocate.

“Limits first, weretiger.”

“Avoid… anything below the belt.”

“Your cock?” he asks.

Atsushi flushes. “That… that’s fine.” He exhales as his second button comes open. “It should be
fine. If it’s not… I don’t know, I’ll just touch yours or something.”

“This will likely be better if we are both making each other feel good,” Akutagawa counters,
fiddling with Atsushi’s third button. “What else?”

“Don’t grab my arm. Or my wrist. That sets it off. But you can… touch them. Just keep your hands
open if you do. I don’t want to feel restrained or trapped.”

“Of course.” Another button comes open. And his blood starts to burn. “Your shoulders?”

“Fine,” Atsushi says. “Ah… there’s a… scar on my hip.”

Something furious flashes in Akutagawa’s eyes.

“If it bothers you that much—”

“What bothers me is that someone would deign to hurt you.” He exhales. “Are you self-conscious
of it?”

“I mean, I don’t make it a habit of going into the public bath, but I’m not nervous about you seeing
it or…”

“Or touching it?” The words are barely a whisper.

Atsushi draws a breath as another button of his shirt comes open.

“Your neck?”

“I mean… nothing ever really happened with… ah…” Atsushi doesn’t know what to do with his
hands as Akutagawa shifts and presses his lips against Atsushi’s pulsepoint. He’s not sure anything
has felt so wonderful in his life as Akutagawa’s breath against his skin.

“That,” Akutagawa murmurs in his ear, “is one thing I imagined.”

“You think about kissing my neck while you jerk off?”

“It is a precursor,” he retorts before repeating the motion. Mind buzzing, Atsushi hugs Akutagawa
closer, savoring the feeling of his lips against his skin, holding him closer as the sweep of
something hotter, wetter, and more dexterous trails along his neck, an experiment before the soft
press of Akutagawa’s lips return. “Earlier,” Akutagawa murmurs, “You said you did not want to
feel trapped. I believe the best way to ensure you don’t… is either to lay side-by-side or with you
on top of me.” Rising, the writer adds, “Do you have a preference?”

Atsushi kisses him in answer. He’s not sure what his preference is aside from doing this with
Akutagawa. He looks for a better response in Akutagawa’s mouth, but the only thing he finds is his
need for more. It’s all he knows.

But Akutagawa, in an impressive show of focus, opens another one of Atsushi’s buttons, this time
with less steady hands. Atsushi tries to find which one Akutagawa left off on, but he’s too busy
marveling at the way Akutagawa tastes, the way the peek of pale skin feels against his own. By
the time he finds a button, he’s already on his back, startled by the space between Akutagawa’s
mouth and his. He fills it with a nervous laugh as Akutagawa’s fingers fumble down his own
remaining buttons before chasing after him, gasping. They land on Akutagawa’s pillows side-by-
side, reaching for each other instantly. Atsushi smooths Akutagawa’s collarbone while the writer
fights with the rest of Atsushi’s buttons. It’s uncharacteristically clumsy and frantic for someone as
composed as Akutagawa, but somehow, it feels perfect.

“Have you done this before?” Atsushi asks.

“What a romantic question.”

Atsushi sighs. “It’s a legitimate question.”

“Like you, I have limited experience,” he concedes, slipping his hand under Atsushi’s open shirt
and trailing his fingers along his hip. “But the experience I do have, I believe, has prepared me.”

“You’ve jerked other guys off?”

“Are you jealous of people I never cared about?”

Atsushi rolls his eyes.

“Your turn.”

“Once or twice,” he admits. “I fooled around a bit in high school, decided it wasn’t my thing…
wound up giving the class president a blow job—”

“You did not.”

“I did,” Atsushi says. “He told me I’m a natural at giving good head.”

“In an unexpected turn of events, it seems I’m now the one who’s jealous.”

“Don’t be.” He skims Akutagawa’s face with his fingers and smiles. “I’ll give you one if you ask
nicely.”

“You think I’m capable of such a thing?”

“I know you are,” Atsushi murmurs, brushing their lips together. “I believe in you.”

“Believe in me next time,” Akutagawa states. “I have other plans tonight.”

“Oh?” Atsushi shifts to kiss Akutagawa’s shoulder, mindful of any signs of resistance. All he gets
is a slow sigh. “And what are those?” He feels Akutagawa’s fingers slip into his hair.
“Keep doing that, weretiger.”

“Did you think about this?” Atsushi asks, glancing up at Akutagawa.

A nod is the only answer he gets, so he goes back to peppering Akutagawa’s skin with kisses.

“God, you are so gentle, it’s infuriating.”

Atsushi glances up at him. “What do you mean?”

“How can you treat me like this?” Akutagawa asks. “Like I’m… precious?”

Smoothing Akutagawa’s hair, he leans closer and murmurs, “Because you are.”

He’s surprised when Akutagawa sinks forward and burrows against his chest, throwing a long sigh
at it.

“Akutagawa?”

“That,” he whispers, “is what I thought about more than anything.”

Atsushi smiles into Akutagawa’s hair. “I learned in high school when I was fooling around for no
other reason than to do it… that I can’t do this with anyone I don’t at least like.”

Akutagawa burrows closer. “I believe I prefer this to random gallivants I engaged in just because I
could, too.”

“We haven’t even properly started yet.”

Akutagawa smooths Atsushi’s wrist. “Let me guide your hand somewhere, weretiger, and you can
tell me again we haven’t properly started.”

“Alright.”

Akutagawa takes his wrist, but his grip isn’t hard enough to cause alarm. Still, Akutagawa asks,
“Okay?”

“Yeah.” He lets Akutagawa guide his hand to the front of his slacks. A bit out of character
considering… wait.

Akutagawa presses and lets out another sigh.

“Oh my god. You’re actually hard.”

“I am begging you to pick up the pace a bit. These slacks are new, and I do not feel like doing
laundry.”

Atsushi smirks. “I thought you were supposed to be showing me—”

Akutagawa actually growls as he pulls Atsushi into another kiss, one that completely obliterates
his ability to do anything but kiss back. Akutagawa rocks onto his back, dragging Atsushi over
him. He actually moans from the increased pressure of Atsushi’s body against his. Yet he still has
the composure to work Atsushi’s belt open. Atsushi tries, but Akutagawa keeps distracting him,
tasting his mouth, breaking away to gasp, diving back in for more. Beneath him, the writer arches
up, increasing the pressure between their bodies, drawing a low moan out of Atsushi, but it turns
out he’s unthreading his arms from his shirt, then frantically pushing Atsushi’s shirt off of his own
before they embrace again. He’s so distracted by the kiss and the featherlight touches on his back
that he barely feels the button on his own slacks come loose.

Just like that, it becomes real. This is happening. He’s having sex with Akutagawa, the same man
who calls him his editor and will continue doing so until the end of March when his internship
concludes. He reassures himself there will be more permanence in this than—

“Atsushi…”

He looks down at a flushed Akutagawa.

“If I am not naked in five seconds—“

“You don’t have to threaten me,” Atsushi retorts, dipping to plant a kiss on the spot where
Akutagawa’s neck meets his shoulder before shifting to sit up and unzip Akutagawa’s slacks and
work them off his legs. He takes off Akutagawa’s socks, too, smoothing the newly exposed skin of
his ankle, his calf, his thigh, in appreciation. When he reaches the waistband of Akutagawa’s
boxers, which are already decorated with a wet spot, he murmurs, “These, too?”

Nodding, Akutagawa arches so he can slide them off. He tries not to stare at Akutagawa’s cock and
fails. Despite the fact that it’s already red and leaking, there’s still something delicate about it,
something characteristically Akutagawa.

Atsushi doesn’t think he has ever seen a more beautiful sight than Akutagawa, spread out on the
bed, face flushed, almost fully erect, gasping behind his hand and blushing. “You’re really pretty,”
Atsushi murmurs, skimming Akutagawa’s v-line with his thumb.

“At least… ah… at least call me handsome.”

“That word doesn’t work,” Atsushi says. “It’s too clunky.”

Sighing, Akutagawa drops his hand to the covers.

“I don’t mean it like… you know. You’re a woman. Because you’re not.”

“Fine,” he sighs. “You can call me that in exchange for letting me call you weretiger.”

“I already let you call me that.” Atsushi retorts, rocking back to take his own slacks off. “Don’t tell
me you’re planning to say that in my ear when you come.”

“You had best not give me any ideas.”

He freezes. “Seriously, just call my name, please?”

“But you like it when I call you weretiger.”

“I don’t want my first specific image of this being you sighing ‘weretiger’ in my ear.”

Akutagawa scoffs. “Why not? It is an endearment, one of the highest honor.”

“How do you figure that?” Atsushi asks, working one leg out of his own slacks.

“Simple. I have never called anyone else that.”

“Who else would you call that?”

Snickering, Akutagawa murmurs, “So indignant.”

He kicks his slacks off and slips his thumbs beneath his waistband, but Akutagawa sits up.

“Let me.”

“Sure.” Atsushi drops his hands and waits for Akutagawa to take them off. He should have known
he would take his time with it. Instead of removing them right away, Akutagawa skims Atsushi’s
sides, his hips, the tops of his thighs, all while passing him an intense look that preludes what
they’re about to do. Akutagawa traces the scar on his hip. That winds up bringing Atsushi more
pleasure than he was anticipating. Seeing the look on Akutagawa’s face, he murmurs, “Is it…
unsightly?”

“It saddens me that someone did this to you,” Akutagawa confesses. “But no, it is not unsightly. It
is beautiful, weretiger. Just like the rest of you.”

Breathless, he leans to kiss Akutagawa again, cradling his face. He finally feels more of his skin
exposed. He breaks away to shift so Akutagawa can take off his last piece of clothing. And just like
that, they’re both naked, studying each other’s bodies with their eyes, then their hands.

“Let me touch you.”

“You are touching me,” Atsushi breathes.

Rolling his eyes, Akutagawa deadpans, “You know what I mean.” He sends a pointed look at
Atsushi’s erection.

Nervous but intrigued, Atsushi spreads his legs in invitation. He’s surprised he doesn’t come the
instant Akutagawa’s fingers wrap around him. Something wrecked and startled spills out of him
instead. Akutagawa sends him a glance, and he covers his mouth. “Sorry. I got loud. I just—”

“Get loud,” Akutagawa murmurs, kissing his neck again as he delivers one slow, delicious stroke.

He moans, seeking Akutagawa’s hips out with his own hands, leaning against Akutagawa’s
shoulder for support. “What… about… you?” he gasps, shuddering everytime Akutagawa’s lithe
fingers climb to the head of his cock and descend again.

“You have your invitation, weretiger.” He feels Akutagawa’s lips trace the shell of his ear. “Please
don’t make me beg you to take it.”

Gripping Akutagawa’s hips tighter, he leans until their bodies collide. Akutagawa stops stroking
him, favoring a hug and a gentle flop back down into his pillows instead.

“Heavy,” Akutagawa grumbles, but Atsushi kisses his complaints away and shuffles to touch him.
He drinks the sound Akutagawa makes, lets out one of his own as Akutagawa’s hand returns.

But there’s so much more of Akutagawa to touch, even if his cock feels nice. He leaves no inch of
skin that he can reach unexplored. Between kisses, the same thing apparently occurs to Akutagawa
as his fingers shift from Atsushi’s cock to his back, creeping over every plane, then pressing
against the backs of his shoulders.

“God, Atsushi, this is good, but I need—”

Atsushi shifts to straddle Akutagawa, gasping in need. As much as he wants to drop his hips and
finish them both, he takes a moment to check in. “Still… okay?”
“More than okay,” he answers. “And something tells me by that fiercely needy glint in your eye
that I’m about to be even better.”

Atsushi is careful as he lowers his hips, remembering Akutagawa’s complaints that he’s heavy.
When their cocks brush together, he’s treated to the image of Akutagawa gasping himself. “It’s
okay,” he murmurs, draping himself across Akutagawa’s thin frame. “I’ve got you.”

“Move,” Akutagawa growls in his ear, shifting himself, increasing the pressure. “Move…”

Atsushi comes way too fast. He knows he does. Knowing Akutagawa hasn’t despite him getting
naked first, Atsushi shifts to change his angle and keeps grinding against the writer. Akutagawa’s
moans fill the space between them until Atsushi kisses him silent. He tries to pull away to see
Akutagawa’s face when he comes, but Akutagawa drags him into a kiss so deep, he half thinks he
comes again from it. Their lips part. They share the same air as Atsushi rocks a few more times to
help Akutagawa through the very end of his pleasure. Spent, he drops to the pillow beside
Akutagawa’s, staying on his side, resting a hand on Akutagawa’s chest, now rising at a more
regular pace.

“Sorry I came early.”

“In seriousness, no apology necessary,” Akutagawa answers, turning his eyes to Atsushi. “In jest,
perhaps I should invest in a cock ring.”

Atsushi snickers and burrows against Akutagawa’s shoulder. He’s happy to hear the writer laugh a
little himself.

“We should clean up.”

Humming, Atsushi feels Akutagawa shift, but he just clings.

“Weretiger—”

“Let me do it.”

Akutagawa sends him a look he can’t read, then returns to his pillow. “Alright.”

Atsushi is careful when he cleans Akutagawa, who watches him the whole time. He wipes
Akutagawa’s hands down first, shifts to his stomach, then moves the cloth lower. “I feel like I
should thank you,” he murmurs.

“Why is that?”

“Well, I got to see you in a way very few people have.” He moves on to Akutagawa’s thighs. “You
trusted me enough to let me do this. I… hope it was alright for you.”

“It was good.”

Atsushi blinks at how direct Akutagawa’s praise is.

“Next time, you’re coming inside of me.”

Atsushi flushes. “Huh? Was I supposed to?”

“Aside from our mutual pleasure, I don’t believe I had any specific approach in mind when I pulled
you in here.”
Atsushi cleans himself off despite Akutagawa still watching.

“However, I confess I’ve thought a lot about what it would feel like to be… opened up by you.”

“Just say you want me to finger you and fuck your ass,” Atsushi retorts.

“Crass.” Akutagawa rolls his eyes.

“If that image is too much, I can still blow you.”

“Tempting,” Akutagawa states, “but I believe the only thing I would like from you right now is to
cuddle.”

“Sure.” Atsushi glances at the cloth. “Uh… what should I do with—”

“We can finish cleaning up in the morning,” Akutagawa retorts, rolling over.

“Are you sure? You always struck me as a—”

“Just hold me.”

Atsushi blinks as that demand fills him. “Suit yourself, I guess,” he says, dropping the cloth on the
floor. He makes his way back to the bed, careful not to trip on their discarded clothes, and crawls
over Akutagawa, who in his absence has burrowed under the covers. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Just… a little touched.”

The blankets settle against Atsushi’s skin, and he scoots closer to Akutagawa’s back, nuzzling his
neck, sighing into his hair.

“You are the first person I’ve done this with and cared about in capacities beyond just getting laid.
That this… connection we share is not temporary… not purely physical but something more…” He
pauses. “I… shouldn’t ramble—”

“Ramble,” Atsushi says. “I think part of why I didn’t like fooling around in high school is because
we never talked about it after.”

After a moment of silence, Akutagawa murmurs, “Was it… also good for you?”

“Yeah.” Smiling, he adds, “Your hands are really nice.”

“You are just saying that.”

“No, really. I mean it. I thought your hands were nice that time in autumn when you pulled a leaf
out of my hair.” That’s another moment that seems like a lifetime away, even if it was just early
last month. “Unlike your words, they’re really gentle.”

“Let me roll over.”

Atsushi does. Immediately, he feels Akutagawa’s fingers in his hair and lets out a hum.

“Purring again, just like a kitten.”

“It just feels really good…”

“Better than my hands around your cock?”

 Atsushi scoffs. “I can’t pick between one and the other. I just know I prefer this right now.”

“This.” Akutagawa smooths his hair.

“Yeah, it feels really intimate.”

Akutagawa’s hand stills for a moment. Then, he murmurs, “Did you mean what you said about me
being precious to you?”

“Of course,” Atsushi says. “What good would it do to lie?” When Akutagawa doesn’t answer, he
shifts a bit. “Akutagawa?”

“Fool.”

“What the hell—”

Akutagawa’s face presses against his bare chest. It’s hotter than it should be. Atsushi knows it’s
not a fever, especially when Akutagawa’s next breath sounds so shaky.

“Hey… I mean it, alright?”

“To see someone like me as precious…”

He feels Akutagawa nuzzle his collarbone.

“You… are a fool, Nakajima Atsushi.”

“Even with the full name,” he retorts, but he hugs Akutagawa anyway, knowing he’s facing
something intense. Atsushi doesn’t ask if the pain Akutagawa feels is good or bad. He’s too afraid
knowing the answer to that question will ruin the moment.

Chapter End Notes

Is it silly that I can only write them gentle? Maybe. But do they deserve it considering
what happened at the party? Absolutely.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It's time for the
endnote stuff.

The chapter title: is of course from Akutagawa's offer to sate Atsushi's appetite. And
he keeps his promise.

Last-minute changes: I changed a few lines here and there, but they were pretty small
changes, honestly.

No Googling this chapter, but I will say this much: I didn't want either of them to be
doing this for their first time ever with each other, so in a departure from the CAU, I
made them both people who used to fool around with others just to satisfy the need,
but they never really found it satisfying. Also, hold onto what Atsushi says about
giving good head. Hint hint. Also, you see in addition to being super romantic,
Akutagawa can be super seductive.
Is that really all for this endnote? Well, in either case, I hope this has been an
enjoyable chapter for you. Until the next one, don't forget to drink water! And thank
you in advance for the comments, as they feed my soul!
 What God Would Listen To Me, Anyway?
Chapter Notes

Hello, everyone, and welcome back to another chapter of these idiots being adorable.
Although I must say... we are entering the angst era promised in the tags. But as
always, I promise things get better.

Shoutout to all the comments last week. I finally responded to them today, and I was
honored by all the kind words.

And now, we begin...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

During their last meeting for the year, Atsushi walks into Akutagawa’s office with a second cup of
tea, which he requested, to find the writer sighing at his keyboard.

“Writer’s block?”

“I could say yes,” Akutagawa murmurs, “but it would be a lie.”

Atsushi sets the cup down. “Then what?” he asks.

“It is foolish.”

“What?”

“To miss you already.”

Atsushi hums. “Well, you said you wanted to take an extended break for New Year’s so I could
focus on other projects and you could finish the edits on your manuscript—”

“That is not what I mean, weretiger.”

One, he tells himself. “Then what?”

Akutagawa lifts his tea. “As my editor, I mean.”

“Ah.” He smiles and lowers his head. “So you only miss me as your editor, not your boyfriend. I
see how it is.”

“Of course I will miss you in both capacities during my break.” Akutagawa takes a long sip of the
jasmine tea. “But I… fear I have made a grave error, settled into this routine with you stopping by
on Tuesdays and Thursdays. In truth, I find myself looking forward to those days for reasons other
than your status as my editor.” He blows steam off of his tea. “Yet in a little over three short
months, it will be over. You will be working for another company, with other writers.”

Atsushi nods.

“I fear I’ll grow to envy them for whatever success you help them find.”
“Akutagawa.” He waits until the writer looks up at him. “A writer’s success isn’t just dependent on
their editor.”

“Then why do I feel mine is?”

Atsushi blinks.

“When I look at this manuscript, I… see it as far better than before, but not purely because of my
own efforts.”

Shaking his head and folding his arms, Atsushi says, “You can thank me.”

“I will thank you when it is done.” Akutagawa takes another swig of his tea, then sets the mug
aside and leans his elbow against the arm of his chair. “Do you celebrate New Year’s at all,
weretiger?”

Two, he thinks. Out loud, he says, “Not really. I never saw the point. What god would listen to me,
anyway?” He shrugs and starts walking towards the door.

“Weretiger.”

“That’s three,” he retorts, but he turns to find Akutagawa staring at him.

“Go to a shrine on New Year’s Day,” he says. “And pray for something that makes you happy.”

Atsushi blinks. “I’d have to pray for you, then.”

Instantly, Akutagawa flushes. He doesn’t spin his chair away, but he covers his mouth and stares at
the floor.

Laughing, he murmurs, “You’re kind of cute when you’re flustered.”

“And you are cute all the time,” Akutagawa fires back, lifting his eyes briefly.

Atsushi bends to kiss his cheek. This is one of those times Akutagawa gently grabs his tie and
guides him back in for something a bit more involved. It doesn’t last nearly long enough, but
Atsushi doesn’t complain or try to drag it out.

They hug at Akutagawa’s door when Atsushi leaves. “It is a few days early, but Happy New Year.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Same to you.”

Per Akutagawa’s instructions, Atsushi goes to a shrine on New Year’s Day. He knows the
traditions well enough; he has read them in enough manuscripts. He half thinks to text Akutagawa
well-wishes even though they already exchanged them, but he knows Akutagawa is in Kyoto with
his sister and doesn’t want to overstep or interrupt.

When his coin falls into the offering box, Atsushi prays without words since it’s said the gods
don’t need them. But his head fills with thoughts of Akutagawa: of him finding more success and
continuing to feel passion for his writing. Of him seeking part of his own happiness with Atsushi.
Of them walking down a dark road canopied by blooming cherry blossoms, talking as the petals
fall around them about Atsushi’s new job.

He thinks of holding Akutagawa’s newly published collection in his hand for the first time.

That last thought inspires him to write his wish down on an ema and draw an omikuji (he gets good
luck). On the way back, he stops in a restaurant he has never eaten at that he’s been meaning to try.
He spends the rest of his day finishing up his new year’s cleaning and writing his short story. In
the process, he realizes that even if they were ordinary things, they felt good and right to do. And
not just because he’ll now have things to report back to Akutagawa, either.

In the second week of January, on a Tuesday, Atsushi goes to Akutagawa’s apartment, carrying a
jump drive with a back-up copy of his story, and finds the door locked. No one answers the
doorbell. Folding his arms, he thinks little of it. He doesn’t text Akutagawa until he’s on the train
back to the office. Hey. I swung by your apartment, but you weren’t here. I hope I didn’t forget you
were coming back this week. Anyway, I’ve got some other stuff to work on, but I’m hoping to get
something from you Thursday.

He never gets an answer. That’s when the chill sets in.

“Atsushi-kun,” Dazai observes that Thursday morning while he’s at the office. “You’ve been a
little glum for the past couple of days. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” he answers. It’s a lie, but the lie is better than explaining that he hasn’t heard from
Akutagawa since the end of December, that his apartment was locked when he showed up for
work on Tuesday, that he expects it to be locked again today.

He thinks of the slip of paper telling him he’s going to have good luck this year, of the silent
prayers he lifted on New Year’s Day. Again, he tells himself nothing’s wrong.

“Really, it’s nothing,” he continues, forcing a smile. “Just having a rough couple of days. I
appreciate your concern, but I’ll be—”

“Nakajima.”

“Yes?” He turns to find one of the other interns approaching him.

“Akutagawa is here to see you. Meeting room three.”

“Of course.” He rises from his chair and does his best to conceal his sigh of relief. It seeps out
anyway as he walks out of the office, through the halls, to the meeting room where Akutagawa is.
He wishes he had a mirror to fix his hair. He knows his roots are showing, and he probably looks
tired because he hasn’t been sleeping well. Still, he puts on a smile and twists the handle.

“Sorry for the de—” He stops. Because the person at the table isn’t Akutagawa. She looks like
him, though. She wears the same flat expression, even if her hair is longer and her clothes a bit
more punk than Akutagawa’s style.

“Sit.”

Atsushi closes the door and occupies a chair. She already has a glass of oolong tea.

“You’re Nakajima.”

“Yeah,” he says. “You are…”

“Akutagawa Gin, his sister.”

Atsushi swallows. “Is… there a reason you’re here instead of him? Is he sick again?”

“Again?”
“Ah…” Atsushi waves his hands. “He had a bit of a cold in November. It really wasn’t anything
serious.” When Gin continues to glare at him, he adds, “I don’t think he mentioned it to you
because he didn’t want to worry you. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m… really sorry.”

“Do not be sorry for my brother’s stupidity.” She slides an envelope across the table. “He asked me
to give you this.”

Atsushi turns pale. “Is he… okay?”

“No.”

Stomach sinking, he stares at the envelope. “Am… I overstepping if I ask?”

“Yes.”

Atsushi clutches his knees and lowers his head. “Please tell me.”

“I refuse—”

“I’m not just his editor.” He isn’t sure he should tell Gin that, but he’s so desperate to know what
he’s dealing with, he’s hoping those words change her mind.

“I am aware,” she states.

“Oh.” He swallows and looks at the envelope.

“Know that these are his wishes, not mine. He tends to be very private about his health. I am
surprised he let you in at all while he was ill. That’s to say nothing of him actually permitting you
to take care of him.” Gin draws a slow breath. “Considering the situation, I am unsurprised that
you’re worried about him.”

“He’s… been a pretty important part of my life since September. Although back then, I really was
just his editor.” He watches Gin nod, listens to her hum. “Um…”

“What is it?”

Atsushi reaches out and takes the envelope, then bows. “Thank you for delivering this.”

“He sent instructions along for the final edits and plans to review them himself. If he can’t—”

“Please don’t say that.” Atsushi feels his eyes start to sting and hugs the envelope close.
“Please…”

“That is the reality of his condition, Nakajima. It will kill him. Perhaps not today, or perhaps not
this time, but one day, it will overcome him.” She rises. “If you were not prepared for that, you
should never have pursued him.”

“Wait.”

Gin pauses.

“Can you… give him something for me?” He reaches into his pocket to get the flash drive he was
planning to give Akutagawa that afternoon. He offers it to Gin, who takes it and stares at it. “As
part of my editorial duties, he asked me to write something. I finished, so if he’s up to reading it…”

“I’m sure he will be delighted to hear that.” A faint smile appears on Gin’s face; apparently, she
 smiles more easily than her older brother. “I will deliver this to him. Should I tell him anything
else?”

“Tell him…” Atsushi doesn’t want to make Gin his messenger, not for all the little things he’s
done since he last saw Akutagawa. “Tell him I’ll keep my promise about the manuscript, that I
hope he feels better soon, and that I’ll… at least try not to miss him or worry about him in the
meantime.”

Gin actually laughs. One clipped off, light syllable that makes him bristle a bit. “You’re so pure. I
can tell you really care about him in capacities beyond those as his editor.” Still smiling, she sighs
and says, “Alright. I’ll tell him. And I’ll try to at least get him to text you, but I make no promises.
My brother is a stubborn fool sometimes.” She sets one gloved hand on his shoulder and pats it.
“Thank you, Nakajima. For taking care of him, for caring for him, and for pushing him to live a
little instead of just waiting for the end.”

Atsushi bows as he leaves. Not just because he’s grateful for those words. Because they finally
pull the tears he’s been holding back out of his eyes while he holds Akutagawa’s manuscript like
the last piece of Akutagawa he’ll ever hold.

Chapter End Notes

Poor Atsushi. I feel bad for doing this to him, but the plot point fit with his and
Akutagawa's conversation the night of the year-end party.

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this light angst that I swear will get
better. Until then, have an endnote.

The chapter title: was of course from Atsushi's dialog. Poor little guy.

Last-minute edits: just a small typo, luckily. This chapter was pretty together from the
onset.

No Google search history shenanigans this chapter, but I do want to say I almost forgot
about the iPod. I might slip it in in a later chapter. No idea why it took me this long to
realize that.

Finally, thank you for your patience this week. I've been having episodes of anxiety
for the past week or so, and I'm still having them off and on. No idea what the root
cause is now, since what I thought was causing them has cleared up. In the meantime,
I may scale back a little on updating this week. That said, I hope you all enjoyed the
chapter (again, I promise things will be fine), and until the next one, drink plenty of
water!
 I Come Close without Ever Really Making It
Chapter Notes

Hello, everyone! I'm back with another chapter of these idiots in love but also right
now Atsushi is going Through It (TM) he'll be fine though promise.

I hope you enjoy this chapter as well. Thank you so much for reading the last one, and
for the comments.

Anyway, let's get to it.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Promise me, no matter what happens with my health, you will finish editing my manuscript.

Atsushi remembers the words, their addendum, his own response. What he didn’t account for is
how painful it would be to wait weeks for a message that will never come. February is creeping
closer. He has a deadline. He knows that.

But every time he opens his office desk drawer and sees the manilla envelope inside of it, his
stomach drops. He opened it after Gin left to find the manuscript accompanied by the iPod, and he
can’t bear to touch either that day or the next. The pain rises anew, threatening to expose him as
more than Akutagawa’s editor. In the end, he always shuts it, knowing full well he’ll try again
tomorrow.

Three Thursdays later, he still can’t do it. And because that day is particularly bad for him, he
winds up excusing himself and holing up in the bathroom. He barely recognizes himself. The way
he has worked tirelessly on every project except Akutagawa’s, the circles under his eyes, the faded
black stripe in his hair that he hasn’t even bothered with. He thinks of his studio apartment,
cluttered with empty food containers. He always keeps the curtain drawn. There’s no light left in
his life, anyway.

Sighing, he splashes his face off. He worked until five in the morning last night. It’s almost lunch
time, but he’s not even hungry. He hasn’t been for three days. His stomach growls in protest, but he
can’t bring himself to eat. He dries his face off, puts his glasses back on, and opens the door.

He walks directly into whoever is standing outside of it. Before he can even utter an apology, he
hears, “Atsushi-kun.”

Dazai. The last person he wants to see while he’s fighting against the devastating silence
Akutagawa has left in his wake. Not that he blames the writer fully, especially if he’s as sick as
people say. That doesn’t make it hurt any less. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I just needed a minute.”

“Atsushi-kun.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he says.

“Are you taking care of yourself?”

“What’s it matter to you?”

Atsushi stops when he hears footsteps behind him and whirls to Dazai. He knows the look on his
face must be something if it makes Dazai freeze, but he doesn’t want a repeat incident of Dazai
grabbing his arm and pulling memories he wants to bury to the surface. Eventually, the brunet
blinks, recovers, clears his throat. Sighing, Dazai pats his shoulder. “Come on. I’ll take you to
lunch. Chazuke .”

“I’m alright. Really. You don’t have to—”

“You can say you’re worried about him.”

“Why?” Atsushi retorts, pushing Dazai’s hand away. “So you can tease me some more?”

“No,” Dazai says. “I’m worried about him, too. He only sends Gin-kun here when he’s really bad
off.”

Atsushi tips his head.

“I saw her walking to the elevator a few weeks ago,” he explains.

“Oh.” Atsushi swallows.

“Are you taking care of yourself, Atsushi-kun?”

“No.” He mumbles the word.

“I think if Akutagawa-kun were here, he’d want you to.”

“It doesn’t matter what he wants.” He clenches his fists. “Going radio silent, then dumping the last
of his edits on me… without so much as a word since December…”

Dazai chuckles. “You miss him. A lot.”

“I’m not mad at him,” Atsushi murmurs. “He can’t help his health. It’s just… really frustrating.”

“Well, let me help you get back on track, hmm? I’ll buy your lunch. As promised. If you’re not in
the mood, though…”

Atsushi removes his glasses and wipes his eyes. Putting them back on, he adds, “Promise you
won’t tease me. I really can’t handle it today.”

“Promise.” Dazai pats his shoulder again. This time, he doesn’t knock Dazai’s hand away.

At the restaurant, somewhere during his second bowl of chazuke , after Dazai is done bragging
about how he stole the money he’s using to pay for their lunch from a drunk Chuuya’s wallet, he
murmurs, “You’re right to be upset, Atsushi-kun. I can tell you care about him a lot.”

“You said you weren’t going to tease me.”

“I’m not teasing you,” Dazai answers.

“Then you must care about Nakahara-sensei a lot, too.”

Dazai arches a brow. “What exactly are you accusing me of, Atsushi-kun? Chuuya just happened
to have too much wine and mistake me for someone uglier.”

“That’s a lie, and we both know it.”

“Atsushi-kun—”

“He was saying your name while he kissed you.”

Dazai folds his hands and passes Atsushi a dark smile. “So what if it is? You’ve been lying about
Akutagawa-kun, too.”

“Because I don’t want to get fired,” Atsushi insists. “Maybe you and Fukuzawa-dono are full-
fledged editors, but I’m just an intern. With the way things are now, though, I don’t think it matters
anymore.” He sets his spoon down, places his hands in his lap. “I promised him I’d finish editing
the manuscript no matter what.”

“But that’s not all you promised him.”

Atsushi sighs. “It’s not, but I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dazai smiles. “Atsushi-kun.”

“Hmm?”

“Do you know why the president assigned you to work with Akutagawa-kun?”

“No.”

“It’s because I told him you were the kind of person Akutagawa-kun needed.”

Atsushi tips his head.

“Did he tell you I was his editor before?”

“No, he didn’t.” Atsushi eats another bite of his lunch as Dazai continues.

“Akutagawa-kun’s temper abated within the first two weeks of working with me. No matter what
outlandish demands I made of him, he fulfilled them without complaining, almost like he was
eager to please. He worked himself sick, probably into an episode like the one he’s going through
now. In my brief stint as his editor, I never praised him a single time.” Dazai smiles. “Because I
thought that was the only way to motivate him.”

Atsushi frowns. “That’s really cruel.”

“I never said I was a good person, Atsushi-kun.” Atsushi watches Dazai shrug before he continues.
“The collection he produced as a result didn’t sell extremely well, but it wasn’t a total flop, either. I
still remember the blank look on his face when I refused to edit for him again…”

“Dazai-san—”

“It’s because he bored me.” Dazai eats a bite of his own lunch. “Akutagawa-kun was a boy waiting
to die, and I was a young man who was forced to live. Not because I wasn’t trying to die. Because
there was a certain slug in my life who didn’t want me to.” He smiles again. This time, it’s
different. Softer. “I try to regret my choice to live, but just like my attempts to die, I come close
without ever really making it.”

Atsushi isn’t sure what to say, so he takes another bite. He always suspected, despite Dazai’s
special brand of helpfulness, that there was a reason he wore the bandages and smiled when he had
no reason to. As they walk back to the office, Atsushi tries to fit this new knowledge into what he
already knows about Akutagawa. He winds up musing more over Dazai’s actions and words while
his senior complains at length at something stupid Chuuya did recently. “Ah.”

“Hmm?”

“I get it.” He glances at Dazai. “Dazai-san, you’re a good person.”

“I’m definitely not.”

“You are.” Atsushi smiles. “Because even if you pretend not to see your harsh treatment of
Akutagawa as wrong, you still did something to make up for it.”

Dazai scoffs, then throws his head back and laughs.

Did he finally lose it fully?

“Atsushi-kun,” he says, wiping his eyes and grinning. “Your vision is untainted by the trials and
tribulations of aging…”

“You’re twenty-two,” Atsushi retorts.

“Point being,” Dazai states, completely ignoring him, “you’re still innocent enough to think there
are good people. Worse still, you think I’m one.”

“You are.”

Dazai blinks.

“How you treated Akutagawa was wrong. In fact, how you treat Nakahara-sensei is questionable, if
I had to name it.”

“I treat him like a dog, which is what he is.”

“If you did that all the time, he wouldn’t stay with you.”

Dazai flinches.

“What makes you a good person isn’t doing the right thing all the time. You’re human and you
mess up sometimes.” Atsushi smiles. “It’s because you know what you did is wrong.”

“You’ve met someone who doesn’t?”

Atsushi stares at him. “I think we need to talk about my life before I came here, Dazai-san.”

“You don’t sound happy about that.”

“I mean… I’m not. I see you as a friend, but… it’s really hard for me to talk about.” Atsushi
exhales. “But I think you should know I… survived some pretty hard stuff before I moved out.” He
rubs his arm.

“What sort of hard stuff?”

“Let’s just say there aren’t many kinds of abuse I haven’t endured.”

Dazai studies him. “I couldn’t tell by the way you smiled.”

“I’m smiling because my life is better now, not because I survived.” Atsushi slips his hands into his
coat pockets. “The kind of people who say to be grateful for stuff like that… they mostly haven’t
been through it. There are days I’m still mad it happened, days I want to burn the place down.
There are times…” He pauses. “Like when you grabbed my arm after I caught you and Nakahara-
sensei… that brought up some difficult stuff.”

“I had no idea.”

“It was an awkward moment, and I didn’t want to make you feel bad. You didn’t know.” Atsushi
sighs. “It was easier that night because I had someone to help me through it.” He smiles up at
Dazai. “I’m not mad or anything. As long as you don’t do it again, it’s fine. And I know you didn’t
mean it out of cruelty or aggression.”

“Still…”

Atsushi smiles. “That proves you’re a good person. You know you brought something hurtful up
and you regret it. It didn’t matter what the orphanage director put me through… cruel actions, cruel
words… he never once expressed remorse.” He opens the office door. “I can’t always see the good
in people, Dazai-san. But I saw the good in Akutagawa. And in you.”

“And that’s why,” Dazai states, stepping inside, “I took one look at you and knew you were the
perfect editor for him.”

Atsushi follows him.

“President Souseki said something when Chuuya and I started working here.” He taps the elevator
button. “Only a diamond can polish a diamond.”

Atsushi opens his coat and exhales.

“It means,” Dazai continues. “You’ve both faced hardships in life I don’t think either of you should
have to be grateful for, but because you both understand that sort of thing…” The elevator pings,
and Dazai turns to him with a smile. “It means you’re well-equipped to push each other to become
better. As writers, as editors. Maybe even as people.” They step inside, and the door slips closed.
“You understand, Atsushi-kun, that your internship will end, but that didn’t stop you from
supporting Akutagawa-kun the way a fully fledged editor would.”

Atsushi lowers his head. “Thanks, but it’s partly because of you I was able to help him as much as I
did.”

“I can’t take all the credit, though,” Dazai insists as the elevator slows. “You worked hard. You
tried. That’s more than I’ve ever done for anyone.”

After another sharp ping, the doors open, but Atsushi doesn’t get out right away. He considers
Dazai’s words before stepping out and walking to the office behind the brunet.

His mind is full. Full of stories he wants to write.

But first, there’s something he needs to do. Sitting down at his desk, he takes the envelope out,
unwinds the string holding it shut, and pulls out the stack of papers. There’s also a flash drive
containing an electronic copy of the manuscript and the iPod, of course. On top is a list of specific
points Akutagawa is concerned about, with an addendum that anything else Atsushi thinks needs to
be tweaked is fair game. At this point, the changes are so minute, Akutagawa clearly trusts him to
complete them.

The iPod has a full battery. And a handful of songs he doesn’t recognize. After connecting his own
earbuds, he hits play and gets to work. He just hopes he has enough time.
Chapter End Notes

You see that iPod got added in. I just couldn't let it go. LOL.

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Let's do the endnote
traditions, shall we?

The chapter title: is from Dazai's dialog, sort of like chapter 1. It was, to me, the most
striking line.

Last-minute changes: adding that iPod back in. I wanted it to come back. (My beta
does not know that part. LOL. But she's probably okay with it. LOL.) Other than that,
just little things.

No Googling necessary for this chapter, but I wanted to give a couple glimpses of
Dazai's side of things and his past role as Akutagawa's editor (call it a nod to canon,
just like "only a diamond can polish a diamond"). Also, nobody panic. Akutagawa IS
coming back. I promised things would be fine, and y'all know me. I'm a sucker for a
happy ending.

I think that about does it for this endnote. Thanks so much for reading once again! I
appreciate the comments in advance (mmm food for the soul), and until next chapter,
make sure you drink plenty of water!
 Each Time, I Felt Like I Found Something New
Chapter Notes

Hello, hello! And welcome back to yet another chapter of Atsushi being a pure,
innocent, bold little weretiger in every single fic I write him in.

Ahem. More on that later.

For now, know that I remain grateful for you reading, I appreciate the comments (they
feed my soul), and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When it comes to Akutagawa’s manuscript, Atsushi is tireless. He works late into the night to
ensure he gives all the projects he’s part of their due attention, listening to the songs Akutagawa
left him. But for some reason, putting the final touches on Akutagawa’s manuscript feels special.
He only has a few days, but he is relentless in the energy he pours into it.

He knows Dazai is right: Akutagawa wouldn’t want him to neglect his health and basic needs, but
he chooses to for a little longer to make up for lost time.

This is his first time seeing Akutagawa’s collection all as one piece, with the foreword and the
table of contents. Remarkable, he thinks. He wrote this. Swallowing, Atsushi starts by skimming
the foreword, the thing Akutagawa is most nervous about.

The opening line, When I first wrote these stories, I didn’t know what it meant to live, brings tears
to his eyes. He still hasn’t heard anything from Akutagawa or from Gin, and office gossip has run
tragically dry aside from something about Kouyou and Yosano that he doesn’t really pay much
attention to. He eats while he works. He only draws the line at bringing the manuscript into the
bath.

He pores over it with an attention he has seldom given anything in his life and finds words so
beautiful, he aches every time he turns the page. Atsushi isn’t sure whether the audience will feel
the same, but he supposes it doesn’t matter.

The day before it’s due, he rushes the file to printing while wearing a mask over his face. He hasn’t
slept in two days, and it takes so much willpower to hand the manuscript over. He still has his
proofread copy. Regardless of what happens with Akutagawa, he knows he’ll treasure it forever.

“We’ll take it from here, Nakajima-kun.”

Exhausted, he goes back to his office, sets his head down on his desk… he only intends to be there
for a minute, but he wakes up knowing time has passed from his sore neck alone. He tries to sit up,
but his head spins. He winds up laying down again.

“Nakajima.”

He turns to see Kunikida hovering over his desk.

“Go home.”
“You’re not my boss,” he retorts.

“And you’re not capable of doing any work.” He folds his arms.

“Atsushi-kun.” Feeling a light touch on his shoulder, he manages to sit up and turns to find Dazai
hovering over him. “I think Kunikida-kun has a point.”

As soon as he stands, he totters. Kunikida reaches out for his arm, but Dazai intercedes. He has no
idea how he’s being held up, no idea what they’re saying besides Dazai mentioning something
about taking care of it. Something about Dazai making excuses not to do his own work… but he’s
already being led towards the elevator.

He winds up in the backseat of a car Chuuya is driving. Occasionally, he hears them exchange
insults. But mostly, the conversation is oddly civil.

“Atsushi-kun’s constitution isn’t this bad,” he hears Dazai say. “He really pushed himself.”

“Yeah,” Chuuya sighs. “We’ve all done it. Except you.”

“What are you talking about, Chuuya? I push myself all the time.”

“Lazy mackerel.” But then, Chuuya’s left hand reaches, and it’s met by Dazai’s right halfway.

At that point, Atsushi thinks he’s well and truly delusional. They’re still insulting each other, but
it’s… affectionate?

Still confused, he nods off until the car sways to a stop. Dazai helps him up the stairs to his door,
where he says, “Chuuya has graciously volunteered to swing by a few stores. Do you want
anything?”

“No mikan,” he murmurs.

“Sure. No mikan.” Dazai smiles as if he knows exactly what Atsushi means. “Do you have a
preferred brand of cold medicine?”

“Anything is fine. I’ll make some okayu, but I’m out of honey ginger tea.”

“Sure. Anything else?”

“Pineapple,” he decides. “Some vitamin drinks…” His head spins again. “Some… cooling patches,
if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Sure. We’ll be back in an hour.”

Dazai leaves without writing any of it down. After changing into pajamas and burying himself in
his futon, Atsushi nods off. He wakes up hours later to find a bag on his counter. The energy
drinks and fruit are in the fridge. There’s a note from Dazai that says, It’s on me. Get well soon.

Atsushi stays awake long enough to eat a bowl of porridge, drink some tea, and take the medicine.
He wakes up later feeling better, but still not well, so he repeats the process, only this time, he adds
a bath. In the tub, he remembers Akutagawa hates baths.

Faced once again with missing Akutagawa, he shuts his eyes and tries to remember all the things
he prayed for. But they’re gone, trapped behind the cold that’s making his mind fuzzy.

So instead, he thinks of Akutagawa’s fingers in his hair, of the kiss they shared beneath the lights,
of the way Akutagawa’s face screwed up in pleasure when they had sex.

Judging from his body’s response, he knows he dwells on that last one for a little too long.

The cold water doesn’t stop him. He’s been neglecting this need, too, and with the image of
Akutagawa’s pleasured face lodged in his mind, it doesn’t take long. As opposed to most times
when he’s done this, he is very specific in his images. He thinks of Akutagawa beneath him,
panting. He thinks of being inside of the writer, of kissing Akutagawa’s collarbone and gently
rocking, gently touching, until they find a rhythm that suits them both. He recalls Akutagawa’s
hands in his hair.

With a gasp, he throws his head back and comes. But he doesn’t say Akutagawa’s name like he
normally does. Instead, he murmurs, “Ryuunosuke,” so quietly that only his bathroom walls hear,
but they catch the sound and throw it back so it seems louder than it really is. Breathless, Atsushi
gasps at his ceiling as he slows his strokes, then sighs. It was all so real in his mind, he half thinks
it happened. But it didn’t.

He’s not optimistic enough to think that it hasn’t happened yet. He hasn’t heard anything from
Akutagawa in over a month and has given up hoping to.

But he still misses the writer. So much that, given a lifetime, he’s not sure he could ever capture
how much in words.

He applies a cooling patch and sleeps until morning. Fortunately, he has two days off for the
weekend. Mostly, he repeats his regimen: okayu, tea, medicine, naps. He soaks again. He writes a
little. By the end of the day, he feels unnaturally idle, but he’s so determined to get rid of the cold,
he forces himself to rest.

Atsushi goes to a café and writes the next day. Then, he goes back to work. Dazai welcomes him
back. So do Kunikida and Ranpo. Because of how much he pushed before his cold, he doesn’t
have much to catch up on. In fact, he’s looking forward to easing through the rest of his work
there.

While his interviews have gone well, he hasn’t had anyone call and offer him a position yet. He’s
not worried yet; with all of his part-time experiences. He wonders at what point he should start
applying to those, but he decides to give it until the end of February. He’s been smart with his
money, so he can afford to have a few weeks off, at least.

Until February 14, nothing unusual happens. Atsushi works on other manuscripts. He meets with
printing for minor formatting corrections. He makes sure to thank them even though he’s sure the
formatting at whatever publisher he winds up after that—if anywhere related to publishing—will
have different standards. Still, he thinks. It’s a nice reminder to pay more attention to that sort of
thing.

Atsushi treats himself to a slightly late lunch at a family restaurant, where he even buys some
coffee jelly with ice cream. He wonders if Akutagawa likes that sort of thing. He still hasn’t heard
from the writer, and the only thing he heard from printing was that Akutagawa approved the final
changes. On his way back to the office, he stops at a used bookstore and picks up a book. He’s
been doing more writing than reading, but he wants to avoid burning out if he can.

When he goes back to his desk, he finds Dazai’s vacant. His is occupied by a small gift bag.
Curious, he peers inside of it.

“Ah, Atsushi-kun.”
“Dazai-san,” he says as Dazai returns.

“Welcome back. I see you found your gift.”

“You really didn’t have to get me anything,” Atsushi murmurs.

“As nice of a gesture as that would be, I can’t take credit for it.” Dazai sits down and smiles.
“They’re from Akutagawa-kun.”

“Ah… Gin was here.”

Chuckling, Dazai murmurs, “Akutagawa-kun brought them himself.”

Atsushi’s mind stops working. “What?”

Shrugging, he continues, “I told him you were at lunch and you’d be back in a bit, but he seemed
like he had somewhere to be.”

“What?”

Dazai smiles. “I think he’s meeting with President Souseki for a bit—ah, not so fast, Atsushi-kun.”

He’s on his feet. And he has no idea how he got there.

“I told him to come back after his meeting. He said he would if he was feeling up to it.”

He’s… here. Atsushi’s mind hums.

“You should sit down. You look a little dizzy.”

He’s here. Atsushi sinks down. In the office. He opens the bag and peers inside again. He brought
me chocolate. Why… did he do that? He fishes the plastic container inside out to find two
chocolate-covered strawberries, long-stemmed, dipped in white chocolate and drizzled in dark.
Like… tiger stripes…

“You’re turning red.”

Atsushi finds himself awash in so many feelings, he can’t really name any of them.

“And you’re smiling?” Dazai elbows him. “Someone’s happy.”

He is. But he’s also frustrated and furious and…

“Atsushi-kun?”

“I’m going to throttle him.” Because as happy as he is, the raw confusion and fury wins out on the
echo of Akutagawa’s second request, the one not to cut him out if he got sick. All those weeks of
having a broken heart, all the tears he shed over the unfinished manuscript… he thinks Dazai calls
him as he walks away, but he’s so focused on finding Akutagawa, he doesn’t register it until he’s
halfway down the hall.

The elevator takes him up to the floor where Natsume’s office is located. He hears Ango, he thinks,
murmur a greeting that he barely remembers to respond. He’s so taken with the idea that
Akutagawa is there, he pushes the door open without knocking.

Akutagawa is a few inches from the door, hand raised as if he’s reaching for it. When he sees
Atsushi, his eyes widen.

“Ah, is that Nakajima?” Natsume calls.

He ignores it, looks Akutagawa in the face, and says, “You’re an idiot.”

Akutagawa’s hand slowly falls.

“You made me promise—you made me swear —I wouldn’t leave you when you got sick, but you
have the gall to cut me out? Then you drop a bag on my desk like I’m not pissed off at you? You
asshole!”

“Weretiger—” he begins.

“Idiot,” Atsushi snaps again, but there’s no heat in it. His voice is quieter, less steady. Akutagawa’s
startled face and thin arched bows soon disappear behind his foggy glasses. He steps closer and
knocks his fist against Akutagawa’s shoulder. Not hard enough to hurt or stagger him. It’s more a
way to make sure Akutagawa is there. He winds up winding the fabric in his arms. “You idiot. I
don’t love you just when you’re healthy.”

“What… did you just say?”

Atsushi doesn’t recall. He just knows Akutagawa is there within his grasp. He staggers forward,
clutching the fabric of Akutagawa’s clothes, taking in his smell, listening to his heart beat.

“Akutagawa-kun—”

“A moment,” he answers without moving his eyes away from Atsushi. “Please permit us a
moment, President Souseki.”

“Well,” he states as he rises, “count this as the first time I’ve been thrown out of my own office. I
suppose stranger things have been known to happen. Just don’t touch the computer on my desk.”

“Your computer is completely irrelevant to me.”

“Yes, I can see that you have something far more important. Well, I will be in the hall until you’re
done.” Natsume’s voice sounds closer. Atsushi is pretty sure he hears the door close. The instant it
does, he feels Akutagawa’s arms around him, squeezing so tight, he can’t do anything but return
the gesture.

“Atsushi…”

“Why?” He squeezes the back of Akutagawa’s sweater. “Why didn’t you at least text me to tell me
you were okay?” Atsushi feels Akutagawa’s fingers creep into his hair. “What… did I do…”

“You did nothing,” Akutagawa reassures him.

Atsushi knows without asking that he’s telling the truth. Now that he’s calmer, he pulls away just
far enough for the fog on his glasses to clear. He still takes them off to clean their lenses on his
sleeve. As he puts them back on, he glances up at Akutagawa to find him blushing. “You feel
thinner,” Atsushi murmurs.

“Yes. That tends to happen when my condition worsens.” Akutagawa stares at the ground, then
rubs his arm. “I have a lot of apologizing to do. I just… do not wish to inconvenience others with
my illness.”
“Are you kidding me?” Atsushi watches Akutagawa blink. “I went to your apartment and found the
door locked. Your sister showed up and wouldn’t tell me anything. I couldn’t touch your
manuscript for almost a month. And I wound up working myself sick finishing it.” He pauses. “I…
thought you were dead.”

“I may not be healthy, but I am tenacious. Besides, I had things to come back to.”

Atsushi continues to stare at him.

“Your story was marvelous. I read it nearly every day I was able to. Each time, I felt like I found
something new.”

Atsushi swallows. “I… took your advice and went to a shrine. But it seems the gods didn’t hear my
prayers.”

“I would like to hear more about that.”

Smiling, Atsushi draws a breath. “I prayed we could walk under the cherry blossoms.”

“I can arrange that when they bloom. I’m well enough to walk, but I’ll likely need to rest a bit more
than usual.” Akutagawa folds his arms. “I am… also well enough to take you out to dinner. As…
part of my ongoing apology.”

“I don’t need an ongoing apology, Akutagawa.” Atsushi reaches out and smooths Akutagawa’s
hair. “Saying it once is enough. I need to know you’re not going to do this again, that next time you
get sick, you won’t cut me out.” He skims Akutagawa’s cheek with his thumb. “I know that’s hard
for you, and I promise I’ll give you space, but I can’t spend that long in limbo again.” He lowers
his hand. “So text me to let me know you’re okay. Let me come and see you when you’re feeling
better but still stuck in the hospital. I’ll smuggle you tea and figs.”

Akutagawa coughs, but Atsushi swears it’s a laugh.

“I’ll never overstep or demand that you get better. I just… don’t want you to push me away like
that.”

“I can’t promise I’ll succeed,” Akutagawa murmurs. “But… I believe I can promise I’ll try.”

“That’s all I’ll ask for.” Atsushi exhales. “I really missed you, you know.”

“The feeling is mutual, weretiger.”

Atsushi folds his arms. “That’s two.”

“I have nearly fifty days worth of ‘weretigers’ to make up.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“I don’t believe our verbal agreement specifies terms for making missed ‘weretigers’ up.”

“Because they expire at the end of each day.”

Akutagawa sighs. “Permit me one more today.”

“Fine.”

Atsushi feels Akutagawa’s hand close around his. “Did you mean what you said about loving me
earlier?”

Atsushi inhales. “I… did say that, didn’t I?”

After a pause, Akutagawa murmurs, “If it’s too soon—”

“Akutagawa—”

“If you were swept up in the moment—”

“I meant it.”

Akutagawa instantly flushes. He covers his mouth, glances away. Atsushi is pretty sure he can hear
Akutagawa swallow. “Could you not have waited for the cherry blossoms, weretiger?”

“That’s three,” Atsushi says.

“Truly, you are so blunt about your feelings.”

“I’m so—”

Akutagawa’s finger cuts him off. “Do not apologize. It is as adorable as it is endearing. Be blunt
about them. One of us needs to be.” His hand falls again. “To my earlier invitation: dinner. My
treat. I will take you somewhere. Anywhere. Or I’ll cook for you if you’re not in the mood to eat
out. As long as I’m eating with you, I will enjoy the meal.”

“Okay,” Atsushi breathes. “Sure. Dinner. Your place is good. Cook me something you like. I’m
not picky.”

“Very well. Until then, enjoy your Valentine’s Day chocolate.”

“Thank you.”

Akutagawa nods to him. Atsushi hugs him instead. When he lets go, he follows Akutagawa
through the door. “I need to tell President Souseki his office is free.”

“Okay.” Atsushi feels Akutagawa’s fingers brush against the back of his hand.

“How’s seven?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

“I look forward to seeing you then. Don’t work too hard.”

“Yeah.” He says. “You, too.”

When Atsushi returns to his desk, he collapses in his chair and immediately plants his face on the
surface. He hears Dazai’s chair creak. “Atsushi-kun—”

“I just told him I loved him in the president's office.”

“Atsushi-kun, so bold!” Dazai chuckles. “I say that like Chuuya didn’t do the same thing.”

Atsushi feels his ears getting warm.

“Are you going out with him tonight?”

 “I asked him to cook me something since I went out for lunch.”

“How romantic.”

He tips his head to make sure Dazai isn’t joking.

“Take him something nice. Maybe some sake?”

“Dazai-san, I’m only eighteen.”

“I’ll buy you a bottle, then. You can pay me back by buying me lunch next week.”

Atsushi blinks. “You’d really do that?”

“Of course! As congratulations.” Dazai starts typing on his keyboard. “I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, sitting up and going back to his own manuscript.

He has no idea how he’s going to focus until the end of his shift, but he knows he’ll have to
manage somehow.

Chapter End Notes

Can we just get an F in chat for Natsume getting tossed out of his own office so
Akutagawa and Atsushi could talk?

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you liked Aku's return, Atsushi's not so subtle
love confession, and just... them being stupid on Valentine's Day. It's endnote time.

The chapter title: Is from Akutagawa's dialog. I gave him that honor as a "welcome
back" gift. LOL.

Last-minute changes: just nods to the iPod.

Once again, no Googling. But I hope you enjoyed the interactions between Dazai and
Chuuya in this chapter. It's a nod to how their fic will be. As well, the Kousano nod (I
am writing them next). What was the gossip? No idea, but I could use that in their fic.

And I think that about does it for this endnote. Thank you again for reading! Until
next chapter, do not forget to drink plenty of water!
 Not the Kind of Inspiration I Thought I Would Instill
Chapter Notes

I liveeeeee!

Hello, all, and thank you for your patience. I kind of maybe accidentally went on an
unannounced hiatus. Oops. I had other obligations that needed my attention last week.
Also, yeah… mental health issues are no joke. Still struggling a bit, but I am
extremely grateful for all the well-wishes.

Of course, I’m coming back just in time for… another potential hiatus. This one is
more because I have other obligations. I promise I’m doing better than I was. It’s
possible I’ll have time to line some chapters up for posting next week, but JUST in
case I don’t, I’ll try to post regularly starting the week after next.

To make up for it, have this extremely long chapter (I could have split it but decided
not to). Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

That night, on his way to Akutagawa’s apartment, he learns something new about Dazai, who
navigates the whiskey with ease but fumbles a bit when he gets to the sake.

“You like whiskey.”

“Yeah. My drink of choice. Hmm… but sake is a bit more difficult. I don’t really have it very
often.” Dazai rubs his chin. “I think I can manage. Do you know what he likes?”

“Figs and tea. Jasmine, mostly.”

“Mmm…” Dazai skims the bottles. “Something light, maybe a little fruity, dry… or floral.”

Atsushi recalls how cold Akutagawa’s hands can get. “He’d probably prefer something that’s good
warm.”

Dazai nods and skims the bottles. “Kouyou-san is really good at this sort of thing.”

“Kouyou-san? You mean Yosano-sensei’s editor?”

“And Chuuya’s sister.”

“Ah, I see.”

He laughs. “I can already hear her scolding me. ‘What do you mean you recommended him a
junmai? Daiginjo is superior in quality. Honestly, I don’t understand what Chuuya sees in you.’”

“Does she really tell you that?”

Dazai continues regarding the bottle. “She’s never told me that out loud, but I know she thinks it.
Anyone with sense would.” His fingers pass over a few of the bottles, and he picks one of them up.
“Dating me brings no benefits. I don’t have social status or money. Aside from my wit, I don’t
have any real contributions to make. I’m lazy, and I don’t take anything seriously.” Dazai sets the
bottle back down. “I’m not stable. I’m Chuuya’s editor, but in truth, he’s the one taking care of me
more often than not.”

Atsushi lifts one of the bottles and starts to read. “Dazai-san.”

“Hmm?”

“Maybe you see it that way, but I’m sure Nakahara-sensei thinks differently.”

Scoffing, Dazai murmurs, “Dating Akutagawa-kun has made Atsushi-kun romantic.”

“I’d think that anyway. Why would he stay with you if he didn’t see things differently?” Atsushi
says, holding the bottle up. “How’s this one? It’s got fig notes, and it’s good room temperature.”

Dazai reads the bottle and murmurs, “I’m no expert on Akutagawa-kun’s tastes or sake, but for
what it’s worth, I think you chose well.”

In addition to the sake, Atsushi stops to buy flowers and a vase (Akutagawa seems too practical to
own one). When he arrives at the apartment, he takes a moment to smooth his hair down. He’s
oddly nervous about being here tonight even though he has been here so many times before. But
this is only his second or third time there in a role completely beyond editorial. He rings the
doorbell.

Akutagawa’s voice pours out of it. “It’s unlocked.” In the background, Atsushi catches a steady
sizzle.

After opening the door and removing his shoes and winter wear, Atsushi creeps into the kitchen
and spends a moment watching Akutagawa cook. The focus on his face is akin to that he has when
he’s writing, but his look is less intense and more soft. He stops stirring to glance up. Nothing in
his face moves as he spots Atsushi, but Atsushi can tell he’s relaxed. They spend a few moments
studying each other. Atsushi savors how familiar that space feels. Even if he hasn’t been there in
almost two months, he feels welcome. “Ah.” He realizes he’s staring and paces further inside.
“Sorry. I brought you something.”

“I can see that.” Akutagawa sets the pan down on the burner.

“Here.” He offers the flowers first. “I bought a vase because I wasn’t sure you owned one.”

“What did I do to deserve these?” he asks.

“Nothing. I just felt like buying some.” When Akutagawa takes the flowers, he sets the vase on the
kitchen counter, clear glass with a diamond pattern.

“Something else?”

“Yeah. But Dazai-san had to buy it for me.” He hands the bag over. “It’s congratulations.”

“For?”

He sends Akutagawa a look, gets an intense look back.

“Fool.”

“At this point, I don’t think it really matters if he knows. He’s not going to tell anyone.”
“You trust him in that,” Akutagawa observes, taking the bag.

“You do, too.”

Akutagawa opens it and presumably studies the bottle inside.

“I think he intends it as congratulations for finishing the manuscript, too, if it’s any consolation.”

He closes the bag again. “Weretiger, do you know how much this bottle of sake cost?”

“I wasn’t really paying attention.”

He covers his face and sighs. “You realize if we drink this, we are indebted to him.”

“What’s this we? I’m only eighteen, remember?”

“Tonight, you are twenty if you wish to be.” He sets the bottle down on the counter and studies it.
“It’s a bit on the sweet side, so… dessert.” Akutagawa nods. “At any rate, dinner is almost
finished.”

“It smells good.”

As it turns out, Akutagawa has been paying attention.

“ Chazuke ?” Atsushi asks.

“ Chazuke ,” he agrees.

Atsushi watches him pour the tea over rice with a look of focus that rivals the one he wore when
admiring the spotted garden eels. After a drizzle of soy sauce and a sprinkle of furikake, he hands
Atsushi a bowl. They walk to the living room to eat, kneeling at Akutagawa’s low table. The first
bite makes him smile.

“Am I to take that expression as you liking it?” Akutagawa asks.

Swallowing and nodding, Atsushi says, “It’s really good. Maybe the best I‘ve had.”

“Because I made it for you.”

After a moment of thought, Atsushi, concedes, “Maybe I like it for reasons other than it being
chazuke .”

“Romantic fool,” Akutagawa murmurs, but even from there, Atsushi sees his ears are turning red.

It’s not just that Akutagawa made it for him. The flavors are delicate without being bland, the food
light without being unsatisfying. And the conversation… he almost forgets they’ve been apart for
six weeks.

“When I went to a shrine, I got the full experience,” Atsushi says.

“Which shrine?”

“Gumyoji, I think?”

“The oldest one.” Akutagawa sips his miso. “I find it quite peaceful.”

“It was crowded on New Year’s.”

“Yes,” Akutagawa agrees, lifting his rice bowl. “But not in comparison to Kiyomizu.”

“In Kyoto?”

Nodding, he chews his bite of rice and says, “I went with my sister.”

“Did you pray?”

He glances at Atsushi.

“I want to know what for.”

“Such a personal question,” Akutagawa grumbles. Still, he murmurs, “I prayed for you, of course.”

“What specifically?”

Akutagawa folds his arms. “I… prayed for your continued happiness and success in writing and in
life. But as with many prayers I have made in the past, it seems this one was unanswered.”

Atsushi nods. “I mean… not totally unanswered. I’m happy now. I have a few job offers. And I’m
writing another story.”

Akutagawa looks at him as if he expects something more. Atsushi deliberately nibbles on a pickled
vegetable, maintaining eye contact with Akutagawa, who finally huffs and says, “Well?”

“I’ll let you read it when I’m done if you want.”

Coughing, Akutagawa says, “I was more hoping you would describe it to me.”

“It’s really nothing much right now,” Atsushi states, eating a bite of his fish. When he swallows, he
continues, “It’s just a kind of idea.”

“I would still like to hear it.”

Atsushi glances across the table to find Akutagawa half pouting. Sighing, he admits, “It’s about a
man who can turn into a tiger.”

“A literal weretiger.”

“Yeah,” Atsushi says.

“Well, not the kind of inspiration I thought I would instill…”

“Maybe I just missed you calling me that.”

Akutagawa peers across the table.

“What about you? Are you still on break from writing?”

“I have done a little.” Akutagawa chews another bite of his food. “But if I’m being honest, I am not
sure where the story is going. It is winding in ways I didn’t anticipate. The three competing
viewpoints keep getting tangled up.”

“It sounds really interesting, I think.” Atsushi glances across the table and chews one of his last
bites.

“I’ve never written something so frustrating.”

Swallowing, he adds, “Stick with it and see where it goes. I’m saying that as one of your readers,
not just your editor.” It hits him again that soon, he won’t be able to call himself that anymore.
After the sadness passes, he murmurs, “That’s just how writing is sometimes. You struggle with it,
it struggles back. But sometimes, out of that effort, something really beautiful and compelling
emerges.”

Akutagawa huffs, and Atusshi glances up to see him smiling. “You’re so optimistic.”

“What’s wrong with being optimistic?”

“It’s cute,” Akutagawa adds, leaning against his hand. The ghost of his smile still lingers on his
lips.

“You know I’m not always optimistic.”

“Name one time you haven’t been.”

“The day Gin gave me your manuscript.”

Akutagawa glances at him.

“I didn’t know what was going on. She wouldn’t tell me anything. I was… really scared I’d never
see you again, that your manuscript was all I’d have left of you.” He pauses. “I couldn’t touch it for
weeks. Every time I tried, I just… pictured you laid up in bed, struggling to breathe…” Stopping
again, Atsushi swallows and stares at his nearly empty plate. “I was scared you were going to leave
me.”

“Die, you mean.”

“No.” Atsushi glances up. “That you’d just… leave. Go back to just existing, being alone,
completely push me away without really saying anything…” He squeezes his hands. “Now that
I’m saying it out loud, it seems really selfish.”

“I believe I understand you.” Akutagawa shuffles to rise. Atsushi follows him with his eyes. “You
are hurting for a future that did not come to pass.”

“But I didn’t know—”

“Weretiger.”

His stomach flutters at how gently Akutagawa murmurs that word. A small part of him wants to
scold Akutagawa for overusing it. But the bigger part of him can’t get enough.

“I know you are a guest here, but I believe I would like your assistance washing the dishes. Or, at
the very least, your company.”

“I can help,” Atsushi says, rising to his feet, grabbing his empty dishes. “But I want you to try the
sake afterwards and let me know how it is.”

“I’d be happy to let you try it, too, if you’re willing.”

Atsushi stares at him. “Alright. But only a little.”

“I seldom drink much. But I must say, I enjoy the occasional good sake.”

“Then I made a good choice, and I’m glad I took Dazai-san’s recommendation.”
Akutagawa washes, Atsushi dries. “When I was well enough to have coherent thoughts,” the writer
says out of nowhere, “I often found myself thinking of you, hoping you were happy despite the
hardship I was causing you.”

“I didn’t blame you for it,” Atsushi says, taking the bowl and drying it.

“I am aware. Still, it is the reason I stayed alone so long. You especially did not deserve that pain.”

Their fingers brush together as Akutagawa hands him a pair of chopsticks. They both glance at
each other. Akutagawa glances away first, but Atsushi tips his head against the writer’s shoulder.

“Weretiger…”

“I’m hungry.”

“You just ate.”

“I want dessert.”

Akutagawa pauses. “The sake—”

“I was thinking something else. If you’re up to it.”

“I doubt I could take you right now—”

“I wasn’t offering that,” Atsushi answers. “But I did think about it last time I jerked off.”

Akutagawa stiffens beneath his ear, then lets out a slow breath. “Then?”

“Finish the dishes,” Atsushi murmurs. “Then, we’ll talk about it.”

“About what?”

“You’ll see,” Atsushi says. “I like to think the anticipation makes it better.”

“It annoys me.”

“Be patient, then,” he murmurs, leaning closer to Akutagawa’s ear. “Ryuunosuke.”

“Tease,” Akutagawa hisses.

Atsushi’s spine tingles as Akutagawa’s lips latch onto his neck. He sighs and tips his head back.
But just as quickly as it starts, it ends. “I think you’re the tease.”

“What is it you said about anticipation just now, weretiger?”

Laughing, Atsushi dries the dish he’s handed, but Akutagawa catches him off-guard in another
kiss.

“Know I did not invite you here tonight for anything but dinner,” he murmurs as he draws away.

“Are you declining before I’ve even offered?”

“No,” he murmurs, nuzzling Atsushi’s temple. “This is… part of something bigger, right?”

“Of course.” Atsushi smiles at him. “I didn’t come here planning to offer anything, honestly.
Besides the flowers and sake.” He takes a clean cup from Akutagawa and dries it off. “Ah…
maybe you think I’m caught up in the moment because of what I said earlier. I’m really not, I
promise.” He sets the bowl down in the stack of clean dishes and glances up at Akutagawa. “It’s
something I want to do for you, not just because I’m really happy you’re back and things between
us are okay.”

“You called me an idiot earlier.”

Atsushi frowns. “Because you are one.”

“You want to blow an idiot.”

“I want to blow my boyfriend,” Atsushi counters. “Our contract is up in a month and a half. And
you’re an idiot sometimes, but neither circumstance really changes how I feel about you.”

Akutagawa meets his gaze. “Say you love me again.”

“That’s all it takes?”

“No. I will consider it if you tell me that again. But I quite like the sound of it.”

“Fine,” Atsushi murmurs. “Akutagawa, I—” he finds himself interrupted by a kiss that rocks his
being. He falls into it, then remembers he’s supposed to be saying something. “I…” Akutagawa’s
sudsy hand smooths his jawline as he leans in again. Atsushi sighs as Akutagawa tastes his mouth,
then pulls back again. Atsushi’s eyes flutter open. “I…” This time, it’s him leaning forward, him
burying his damp hands in Akutagawa’s hair, kissing him so deeply, his chest hurts. I love you.
The thought fills his head as he pulls Akutagawa closer. I love you… The soft fabric of
Akutagawa’s sweater fills his hand. He whines into the kiss, pulls away so they can both breathe.
“I…” he starts again, but Akutagawa silences him, devours his mouth. His knees threaten to give
out.

Akutagawa pulls away, leaving his mouth empty, gasping.

“Bed,” Atsushi growls, guiding him in that direction and pushing his tongue back into
Akutagawa’s mouth.

He lets Akutagawa breathe after something brief, but he stays close so they’re sharing air, so
Akutagawa can kiss his face while they back towards Akutagawa’s bedroom. He steals another
brief kiss, mindful not to overdo it. Akutagawa kisses the side of his neck.

“God… Akutagawa…” He nearly staggers at how much pleasure that kiss delivers. He hugs
Akutagawa’s shoulders as the writer’s mouth continues to work against his skin. “So… good…”

Akutagawa pulls away with a gasp. “Really?”

“Really,” Atsushi reassures him, catching his lips again. “Really, it’s perfect. And I missed this.”
He kisses Akutagawa again. “I missed you. So much.” He feels Akutagawa’s sigh on his lips, lets
himself be caught up in something deeper. He does his best to avoid bumping into the wall on the
way, but his eagerness combined with Akutagawa’s makes it impossible. Atsushi at least
remembers to stretch out his hand to spare Akutagawa’s head. He buries his fingers in Akutagawa’s
hair and maneuvers them both through the doorway, earning another kiss. “What was that for?” he
laughs.

“Do I need a reason?” Akutagawa asks.

Atsushi follows as Akutagawa continues backing them towards the bed.

“Truthfully…”

Atsushi leans into the next kiss.

“I am… simply touched… that you would continue to care about me when I don’t deserve it.”

“Of course you deserve it,” Atsushi murmurs. “What you did hurt. You said you’d try your best
not to do it again.”

“I cannot promise success.”

“I’ll never ask you to,” he murmurs. “I don’t believe people who expect perfection from someone
else love that person. But you said you’d try. And that means so much to me.” He kisses
Akutgawa’s lips again, then pushes on his shoulders so he sits down on the edge of the bed. “I
want to show you how much if you’ll let me.”

“How do you intend to do that?”

“By inviting you to come in my mouth, of course.” As Akutagawa backs up, Atsushi puts his knee
on the bed and follows.

“I must say, that’s not an invitation I’ve ever received before.”

“Then…” Atsushi smiles and drops his hands to Akutagawa’s belt. “I’ll be your first in
something.”

Gasping, Akutagawa scoots against his headboard, keeping his legs spread in invitation. Atsushi
keeps his eyes locked on Akutagawa’s.

“Is it okay?”

“More than okay, weretiger. It is welcome.”

Smiling, Atsushi unthreads his belt and instantly starts working his pants open. As he does, he
pushes Akutagawa’s shirt up and dips to kiss his stomach. It rises and falls beneath his lips. He
tugs on the zipper, listening to Akutagawa breathe. He can say it now that Akutagawa isn’t
interrupting, but he’d rather put his mouth to other uses, especially considering Akutagawa is
already getting hard. He tugs on Akutagawa’s waistband, marveling at how the writer’s cock
springs free, and sends Akutagawa another long glance. “I’m going to go slow,” he murmurs. “I
might even edge you a bit, considering what you did to me.” He laps at the tip of Akutagawa’s
cock, feels his lips jerk for more contact, but he doesn’t give it. “If it’s too much, tell me. You can
put your hands in my hair. Just don’t pull.”

He feels his glasses move. “Let me take these off.”

Atsushi blinks as Akutagawa removes them. “On the nightstand like last time?”

“Yes.” Akutagawa twists to place them there, and Atsushi takes the opportunity to taste the tip of
Akutagawa’s cock again. He savors the way Akutagawa shudders, the unsteady breath he gets out.
“Distract me like that too much, and I may drop them.”

“I trust you,” he purrs, grabbing the base of Akutagawa’s shaft and wrapping his lips around the
head.

“Fuck,” Akutagawa hisses, rolling onto his back again.

After passing Akutagawa a glance, Atusshi continues to drop.

“Fuck.”

He takes Akutagawa in bit by bit. Pleasure is his first aim. His only aim. But as his lips settle at the
base and the tip of Akutagawa’s steadily growing erection jabs the back of his throat, the trace of
deviousness takes over, and he sinks his teeth in just a bit.

“Fuck!”

He keeps Akutagawa from arching up by placing both hands on his hips. It’s not hard to hold him
down. He relaxes his jaw again, sliding his lips off, pulling away with a satisfying, filthy pop.

“What the fuck was that?”

Atsushi smirks. “Revenge.”

“Are you an idiot?”

“I thought we established you’re the idiot.” He laps at the slit in Akutagawa’s cock, then licks his
lips. “I won’t do it again, promise.”

“See that you don’t. It was… fuck…”

Atsushi drops again until Akutagawa is fully in his mouth.

“Fuck… Atsushi…”

He pulls off, drying the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “Too much?” He smirks. “I can just
use my tongue for a bit if being in my mouth is too overwhelming.”

“You… do what you wish, weretiger.”

“Maybe my wish is just to make you feel good.”

“Yet you try to bite my dick off.”

Atsushi snickers and places his tongue at the base of Akutagawa’s cock, then slowly traces his way
back to the tip. The whole time, he listens to Akutagawa gasp, then moan. He feels the thin body
beneath him shudder. “I was a little upset.” Atsushi traces the head of Akutagawa’s cock with his
tongue.

“A… Atsushi…”

“Do you forgive me?” He sends Akutagawa a long look of askance, making sure he smooths over
the very tip of Akutagawa’s member with his thumb. He savors the way Akutagawa tips back, the
way his lips part to omit a sigh.

“I… just… suck me off, but don’t bite me again.”

Smiling, Atsushi returns to kissing Akutagawa’s stomach.

“Why… ah… did you go back to teasing—“

“Do you want me to do something else?” Atsushi asks, massaging the underside of Akutagawa’s
cock with his thumb.
“Just… put it back… in your mouth…”

Atsushi smiles. “I can arrange that. If you ask nicely.”

“Atsushi, I am begging you to put your lips back around my cock and suck me off.”

“How about a please?”

Akutagawa rolls his eyes. “Fine. Please—”

Atsushi wastes no time dropping his lips to the base of Akutagawa’s cock again. And this time, he
doesn’t stay there. He bobs his head, savoring the sensation almost as much as Akutagawa’s shaky
moan.

“Atsushi, that’s incredible.”

He hums and has to hold Akutagawa’s hips down to keep him from thrusting up. Pulling off with
another lewd pop, he murmurs, “Can you keep your hips still so I don’t choke?”

Akutagawa just stares at him.

“Or do you need more encouragement?”

“I will… do my best to keep still.”

Atsushi smiles. “Good,” he murmurs, licking a stripe up the underside of Akutagawa’s cock again,
smoothing Akutagawa’s hips. “I don’t want to leave bruises holding them down.”

“I don’t believe you would.”

“I’m squeezing them pretty tight,” Atsushi murmurs.

Out of nowhere, Akutagawa smooths his hair. “If your grip is too tight, I will tell you. Now, I
believe your mouth is looking a little empty.”

Atsushi gets the message. It’s not hard to with Akutagawa being this direct. Using his tongue,
Atsushi traces the head of Akutagawa’s cock again, then drops. Akutagawa lets out the most
beautiful noise as Atsushi returns to the base. Yet they grow more beautiful as Atsushi works him
up by bobbing his head, occasionally pulling off to lick the precome spilling out of Akutagawa’s
slit, then dropping back down fully. He catches the wrecked noise that Akutagawa emits, feels the
cock in his mouth pulse, and pulls off again, giving the base of Akutagawa’s fully erect cock a firm
squeeze.

“What…”

“Not yet,” Atsushi murmurs, then dips to kiss Akutagawa’s stomach again.

“You are going to kill me.”

“Yep,” Atsushi says, smiling up at him. “Only a little death, though.”

Scowling, Akutagawa growls, “You are intolerable.”

“And you,” Atsushi murmurs, nipping at his V-line, drawing another shudder out of him, “are
impatient.” He looks up at a gasping Akutagawa and softly grabs his cock, giving it a slow stroke.
“I’m not pulling off until you finish this time.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Both.” He traces Akutagawa’s v-line with his lips, then goes right back to sucking the writer’s
cock. He listens to the increasingly loud, unsteady noises Akutagawa makes as he works, focusing
on using his tongue and lips, skillfully avoiding teeth, sharpening his focus on making Akutagawa
feel better. And he knows it works from the way the cock in his mouth twitches, the way the
writer’s taste grows more intense. Using his thumb, he rubs circles on Akutagawa’s hips, laughing
as the writer spasms. But the laughter makes Akutagawa’s moans more shrill, and those sounds
only drive him to quicken his pace. His jaw is starting to hurt, but he knows it won’t take long.

“Atsushi—”

I knew it, he thinks, dropping until Akutagawa’s erection is completely inside of his mouth.
Instantly, he tastes Akutagawa’s release, feels the throb of Akutagawa’s cock as he spills, hears the
beautiful noise of pleasure that Akutagawa lets out. When Akutagawa starts coughing, he pulls off
without having fully swallowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and lapping up what
he didn’t manage with a satisfied hum. “Thanks for the meal,” he murmurs.

“Lewd…” Akutagawa coughs. “Bastard…”

“You liked it.”

Akutagawa drops his hand and sits against his headboard, cock softening against his leg, gasping.

“Are you okay? Did I push you too far?”

“Nearly. Give me… a moment.”

“Can I hug you at least?”

Akutagawa stares at him.

“I don’t want anything else, honest. It’s—”

“You’re hard.”

“I know,” Atsushi murmurs, tugging his shirt down over the tent in his pants and flushing. “It’s
just… you were feeling good, so my body reacted. I’ll be okay in a bit—“

“Let me.”

Atsushi stares at him. “Akutagawa, you just got out of the hospital. I don’t think you’re in any
position to—“

“I have no intention of deep-throating the small weretiger.”

“I’m not small,” Atsushi retorts.

“I’m aware,” Akutagawa returns. “But I do want to touch you. Perhaps… it it is not as good as the
pleasure you gave me—”

“It’s not a competition.” Atsushi swallows and unbuckles his belt. “I’ll let you. But really, you
don’t have to do anything.”

“You think I am offering you a hand job out of obligation?” Atsushi tosses his belt and starts on the
button of his pants, but Akutagawa stops him by threading their fingers together and kissing his
hand. “Perhaps I am offering because I wish to make you feel good, too. Now, come hug me,
weretiger. I will take care of the rest.”

“At least call me Nakajima right now.”

“Only if you call me Ryuunosuke again.”

Atsushi straddles Akutagawa’s hips and presses against his shoulder. He sighs as he feels
Akutagawa’s hands open the button he was just struggling with, as his zipper descends. There’s a
tug at his waistband, then contact so delicious that he whimpers.

“Let your voice out, Atsushi. I wish to hear you.”

“Aku…” He whimpers as Akutagawa squeezes.

“My given name, weretiger. Say it.”

“Or what?” he asks, grinning and rocking his hips to press against the writer’s palm.

“Or I will tease you to a point of desperation so intense, you will be left with no other choice to
comply.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

Akutagawa hums. Atsushi feels the writer’s fingers curl and shuts his eyes. “Both,” he concedes.

“God, your hands are perfect…”

“Perfection, according to some, only exists in the mind.”

Atsushi sighs as Akutagawa delivers another mind-numbingly delicious stroke to his cock.

“Although I would say… those fools never got head from a weretiger.”

“Stop… ah…” He ruts into Akutagawa’s palm again.

“Looks like you do enjoy that moniker after all. Although… I know a name you would prefer.”

Atsushi’s fingers dig into Akutagawa’s shoulders as the writer’s tongue traces his ear. He lets out
an unsteady whine.

“Atsushi.”

Atsushi rocks in time with Akutagawa’s tugs, keeping his head pressed against Akutagawa’s
shoulder. Occasionally, he lets out a noise just to let Akutagawa know he’s doing well.

“Now… how to get you to say my name?”

His toes curl as Akutagawa focuses his attention on the head.

“Maybe this?” he murmurs.

Atsushi’s whole body shakes with the effort of holding back, but then, he feels Akutagawa’s
fingers brushing along his shaft, so light, they’re barely there. He nuzzles closer and whines.

“Perhaps this, then?”

 “Ah…” He tries to hold that back, but as soon as that noise slips out, he knows he’s in trouble. Sure
enough, Akutagawa continues his featherlight touches. Atsushi has no choice but to whimper. He
can’t even buck into Akutagawa’s hand anymore for relief. When his mind is practically buzzing,
he lets out a particularly needy sound.

“Your cock is twitching, Atsushi.”

“More…” he breathes, clinging tighter. “More…”

“Are you actually begging?”

Atsushi bites his lip as Akutagawa’s finger traces the head of his cock.

“What a beautiful reaction.”

The stroke that follows makes his ears ring.

“What you said earlier in the office… if you are amenable, I’d like you to say it again.”

“Love you,” he gasps. “I love you. So much…” His eyes start to water as his need builds and the
strokes increase in pace and force. “Ryuunosuke…” His hips jerk in time with Akutagawa’s
touches. “Ryuu… no…” He clings tighter as his climax approaches. When it hits, he lets out a
shrill, appreciative noise and burrows closer, shaking as Akutagawa works him through the end of
it.

Then, it’s over. He rests against Akutagawa, still clinging to the writer’s shoulders as his breathing
slows. He nuzzles the fabric there, so relaxed that he half thinks he’ll fall asleep if he stays there
too long. Akutagawa’s clean hand winds into his hair, and Atsushi loosens his grip.

“We are both a mess, weretiger.”

Atsushi hums.

“Stay. I will wash your clothes.”

“I have work tomorrow.”

Akutagawa hugs him. “Stay. Please…”

Atsushi’s eyes split open.

“I don’t want to let go of you yet.”

He draws a slow breath.

“Go get an overnight bag.”

“Okay,” he concedes. Because the truth is, he doesn’t want to let go of Akutagawa, either.

Chapter End Notes

Listen, I know the “thanks for the meal” thing is a little cheesy, but I really think
Atsushi is the kind of bold, cheeky, sappy bastard who would say that after giving
Akutagawa a blowjob.

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this stupid sappy spicy chapter. And
now, endnote stuff.

The title: was of course from Akutagawa’s dialog. There’s a bit of a double meaning?
Atsushi is inspired not only to write a story about a literal weretiger, but also to give
Akutagawa a blowjob. It’s kind of a weak connection, but I think it’s fun.

Last-minute changes: I caught a few instances of word and idea repetition that weren’t
intentional. So I fixed those last-minute.

How I confused my Google Search History Monitor: Looking up different kinds of

sake. I was looking for one with fig or tea notes, but I eventually gave up finding a
specific one and left the name unspecified.

About Kouyou: Will that conversation actually appear in the SKK or Kousano part of
this AU? Unknown.

Progress: I’m in a very scattered moment where I started too many things, so I’m
trying to finish one now. In this case, that’s the Ranpoe BB fic. I’ve also been writing
drabbles based on something going around Twitter about 50 kiss prompts (it made its
way to discord). Not sure if I’ll ever post them, but they’ve been fun so far. :) I also
need to post the last “Of Spirits and Sentiments” piece, which is done. It’s just a matter
of posting it. After that, I’m going to focus on CAU SSKK, since I’m 15 chapters-ish
away from being done.

And that does it! Once again, I appreciate your support and well-wishes, and until my
next update, don’t forget to drink water!
 I Think We’re Good for Each Other
Chapter Notes

Hello, everyone! Happy Monday or whatever day you're reading this! I, the self-
proclaimed monarch of fluff, have risen from the unannounced hiatus caused by my
good friends life (positive) and mental health (negative).

I really appreciate your patience with me. Things have evened out on both fronts, and I
now have downtime, motivation, and proper frame of mind to update (and write of
course, but I did plenty of that yesterday).

Shoutout to everyone who has continued to read this fic, as well as everyone who
commented during my absence. I appreciate all the kind words and reminders to take
care of myself.

And now, the chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Atsushi’s bed feels oddly lonely on Wednesday. He’s still thinking about Valentine’s Day on
Thursday morning. The sex was nice. The sake, or the little bit he tried, was a great conclusion to a
wonderful meal. Akutagawa ran him a bath. They showered together. He soaked for a little while
with Atsushi, then got out of the tub and dangled one hand in the water while leaning against the
side of it. “You cut your own hair again,” the writer observed.

“Ah. Yeah. I was… in a pinch.”

Akutagawa reached over and fiddled with the longer side of his hair. “I will call the salon if you
wish.”

“Sure.”

Akutagawa texted him yesterday. They have appointments for next Thursday around three.

Today, though, he’s just supposed to go to Akutagawa’s place for their usual routine of edits,
conversation, and probably a kiss here or there.

He’s still distracted by the soft look Akutagawa passed him when out of nowhere, Dazai says,
“Atsushi-kun, you’re still glowing.”

Atsushi glances at Dazai. His coworker’s presence is a reminder that he’s at the office, but it’s also
a reminder of something else. “So are you,” he fires back.

Dazai scoffs and drops it, fortunately. Atsushi does the same, except for one thing. “Did Kouyou-
san ever ask you about your sake recommendation?”

“Hmm… she critiqued me as usual for my poor choice. Then again, nothing I do is ever good
enough for her.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I thought it was good. He liked it, too.”
Dazai’s brow arches, and he snickers.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t drink a lot.”

“Yeah. you were a different kind of hungover the next day.”

“Dazai-san,” Atsushi retorts. “If that’s a kind of hungover, I suspect you’re in that state far more
often than me.”

“What makes you think that?”

Atsushi sends him a pointed look. “Can you blame me for thinking that after the Christmas party?”

“That was Chuuya’s idea.”

“I don’t think it was,” Atsushi answers.

Raising both of his hands, Dazai shrugs and murmurs, “You caught me.”

“I’m not judging you, by the way.” He adds a comment to the document he’s working on. “But if
you don’t want people to know, you should really be more careful.”

Dazai only smiles in answer. “You say that when Akutagawa-kun marched in here on Valentine’s
Day with chocolates for you.”

“I’m not working here for much longer, so I really don’t care anymore.”

“Is that so?”

Atsushi hums. He needs to start making some decisions about what he’s doing with himself in
April.

The afternoon at Akutagawa’s is oddly normal. He looks through Akutagawa’s latest short story
while the writer sits beside him, sipping tea, then eventually leaning over and resting his chin on
Atsushi’s shoulder.

“Is this distracting you?” he asks.

Atsushi smiles. “Stay right there. I’m almost done.”

“You haven’t written anything.”

“Because I’m focused on reading and planning on giving you feedback verbally.”

“Mmm. but your handwriting is nice, weretiger.”

“That’s three,” he retorts.

“I am still making up for my missed ‘weretigers.’”

Rolling his eyes, Atsushi continues. When he’s done, he sets it down and draws a long breath.

“Was it no good?”

“It was amazing.”

Akutagawa shifts and looks at him. “It’s not too convoluted?”

“I think you can make some changes so the plot is a little clearer, but no. This story is meant to be
complex. More than anything else of yours I’ve read, this shows how messy the human condition
and human perceptions can be.” He slips his hand into the inside of Akutagawa’s arm. “It’s been
five months since we started working together. Compared to your work at the beginning, this is…
better.”

“Well, I partly credit your efforts as my editor. The rest is you pushing me to live a little.”

“But that’s not all it is,” Atsushi insists. “You chose to do that. You never pushed yourself to do
anything wildly risky. Maybe a little uncomfortable, just going out. And you worked really hard on
your manuscript. You listened. You made changes. You tried .” Atsushi hugs his arm. “I’m really
proud of you.”

“Weretiger…”

“Whether it sells or doesn’t, I… I’m really proud of you.” Silently, he adds, I wish I could stay.

Akutagawa’s fingers slip into his hair. “It’s getting published in the middle of next month, so… we
will see. As for what you mentioned, it means a lot to me that you say you are proud. Not many
people have ever done so.”

He sits up and reaches for the stack of papers. “I know I won’t see this collection to the end, but
I’m telling you now, this story is special.” He offers it to Akutagawa. “Let’s talk about specifics on
how you can improve it. Do you want more tea?”

“That would be nice. Get yourself some, too.”

Atsushi kisses Akutagawa’s temple as he rises.

They fall back into their normal work routine, which apparently now includes trips to the salon for
trims and dye jobs. Akutagawa teases him for purring again, but instead of chiding him, Atsushi
says, “You like it.”

Clearly, that’s not all Akutagawa thinks of liking, given the way he blushes.

While their hair dye is activating, in the middle of conversation about Akutagawa’s most recent
work, he says, “My sister’s birthday was a couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh?” Atsushi asks.

“I was still in the hospital. She came up to see me in the afternoon from Kyoto. I asked her what
she wanted.” Akutagawa glances at him. “She said beyond my release from the hospital, all she
wished for was my happiness. Although… she said she’d appreciate meeting you properly.”

Atsushi blinks. “Sounds… serious.”

“Are we not serious, weretiger?”

Atsushi stares at the floor between his feet. Beside him, Akutagawa shuffles. “I… guess we are.
But all of this has felt so wonderful, even when it was new and a little scary, that I… never really
thought about it.” He turns to Akutagawa. “I meant what I said. About my feelings. I just… didn’t
stop to think about everything that meant.”

“If we need to slow down—”

“No.” Atsushi shakes his head and reaches for Akutagawa’s hand. “I don’t think we do.”

“Then.” He murmurs the word. “How about March 1?”

“A Wednesday?” he asks. “I’ll check my schedule but I think that’s fine.”

Akutagawa squeezes his hand, then starts talking about his manuscript again. Atsushi notices he
looks surprisingly happy.

The first of March arrives and feels completely normal until Atsushi leaves the office and heads for
a restaurant in Chinatown that Akutagawa texted him the address to. When he arrives, he tells the
host he’s there as part of a party of three. The host leads him to a private room, where Akutagawa
and Gin are already kneeling at a low table. He hangs his bag and coat by the door, then drops into
a seated position next to his boyfriend.

“You look tired.”

“Ah, hard day at work,” Atsushi says, smiling as he kneels on the cushion. “Sorry I was a little
late.”

“Think nothing of it.” Akutagawa slides him a tea cup, and Atsushi takes a long drink. “You have
met Gin already.”

“Yeah.” Atsushi glances across the table. She looks like a completely different person with her hair
down in a dress. “Nice to meet you again.”

“Likewise.” She lifts her own tea, takes a sip, and sets it down. “Are you doing well, Nakajima?”

“Pretty well. I renewed my lease. Work is going alright. Akutagawa’s taking me out on a date this
weekend.”

“Oh?” Gin folds her hands and smiles at her brother, who clears his throat. “What are you doing?”

“We will visit the botanical gardens,” Akutagawa says. “Depending on the weretiger’s hunger—”

“Weretiger?” Gin asks. “A pet name?”

Atsushi bristles. “I keep telling you not to call me that in front of people.”

“It is my sister, weretiger. She does not mind.”

“That’s two,” he retorts. “And I’m not even working tonight. Give me a break.”

“You are only my editor for another month. Besides, I still have not used up my missed
‘weretigers.’”

Atsushi folds his arms.

“Do you really begrudge me my endearments?”

“Have you forgotten that I bite?”

Akutagawa’s thin brow twitches. “You would not dare —”

“I skipped lunch,” he cuts in, “and I really missed you today. It’s better not to tempt me.”
Across the table, Gin snickers.

“Is something funny, Gin?”

“I’m not sure what I expected when you told me you were dating your editor, but it definitely
wasn’t this.” She smiles. “You found someone who knows just how to respond to your ire, and you
look really happy.”

Atsushi glances at Akutagawa to find Akutagawa is already studying him. “Yes,” he murmurs. “I
suppose I am quite happy. And his attitude is as adorable as the rest of him.”

Atsushi flushes and stares into his tea. His glasses start to fog up.

“You broke him,” Gin observes.

“It just… makes me feel really good when he says stuff like that.” Atsushi takes off his glasses to
clean the fog off of them. “He still gets grumpy sometimes, but I like that part of him, too.”

Akutagawa coughs. When Atusshi glances up, he sees Akutagawa’s ears turning red.

“You’re good for him,” Gin comments.

“I think we’re good for each other,” Atsushi admits, setting his glasses back on his nose. “It’s
Akutagawa’s doing that I’m writing again.”

“Well, it’s your doing that I’m enjoying writing again.”

They exchange glances.

“It’s something I… really never thought I would feel again: the simple pleasure of filling a blank
page with words.”

After they order dinner, Atsushi asks Gin about college. She talks at length about her studies,
about living in Kyoto. “You should come down for Golden Week,” Gin suggests. “Ryuunosuke is
already planning on coming.”

“I haven’t ever really gone.”

“There is a café I think you would really enjoy,” Akutagawa comments. “Their cake is divine.”

“Sure. I’ll think about it. I just need to make sure I can afford to go.”

The food arrives. Their conversation remains light. Atsushi steps out to use the restroom. When he
comes back, Gin is asking Akutagawa about his new editor. He continues to smile, even though
that’s still a sore point. At some point, Akutagawa smooths the back of his hand. He spreads his
fingers so Akutagawa can fill the spaces.

Outside the restaurant, they exchange a long good-bye with Gin, who is heading back to Kyoto by
bullet train. She hugs Akutagawa. “I’m so glad I got to see you.” She nods to Atsushi. “Thanks for
taking care of him, and for spending some time with him on his birthday.”

“Ah, it’s really no trouble—wait.” He rises and whips to Akutagawa. “It’s your birthday?”

“Loud,” he retorts.

“What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew you would feel pressured to get me something when you agreeing to come out
was more than enough.”

Gin folds her arms. “You’re so sweet to him.”

“Are you going to tease me?”

“I’m going to laud you.” She pats his arm. “Keep being kind to him.”

“I will.”

“And don’t push him away if you get sick again. Seriously, I’ve never seen someone look so
shattered. You’re lucky he forgave you.”

Akutagawa hums. “You are going to miss your train if you continue to lecture me.”

“I love you, too, brother dear. Try not to miss me too much.” She spins away and starts walking.
As she disappears into the crowd, Atsushi feels Akutagawa’s hand on his shoulder.

“I think she likes you.”

Atsushi smiles. “I’m glad. I don’t want to cause any trouble between you two.”

Akutagawa nods.

“Let me buy you some cake, at least.”

“Nakajima—”

“It’s your birthday.” Atsushi smiles up at him. “And I know a good place that’s not badly priced.”

“You are not going to let me decline, are you?”

“Nope.” Atsushi grins. “Eat it for breakfast or something if you’re full from dinner.”

“Before we go.”

Atsushi glances up at him.

“There is one thing I want for my birthday.”

“What’s that?”

“A kiss from you, of course.”

Atsushi guides him down. Their lips brush together. He draws away, his heart fluttering from even
that simple gesture. “How was that?”

“It was… nice.” Akutagawa fiddles with the long side of Atsushi’s hair. “And so sweet, I hardly
think the cake is necessary.”

“If you really don’t want it—”

“Buy yourself a piece and eat with me. We can have a little sake, too, if you wish.”

“Sure,” he answers, threading his fingers between Akutagawa’s. “What kind of cake do you want?”
Chapter End Notes

Maybe it's odd to make Gin and Akutagawa have this playful bickering kind of
relationship, but it was cute. (Also, yes, they go to Kyoto, but I don't cover it in this
fic. LOL.)

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the banter, Atsushi's cattitude, and
Akutagawa's missed weretigers. It's endnote time.

The chapter title: Is from Atsushi's comment to Gin. It really fits the chapter and their
chemistry in this fic in particular.

Last-minute changes: Even my beta cannot catch all my pesky misspellings of

Akutagawa and Atsushi, so I fixed a few last minute. Other than that, I added just a
little to Atsushi's flashback at the beginning to make it flow better.

How I confused Google: I honestly really didn't this time, surprisingly. But I will say it
was fun writing Akutagawa and Atsushi embarrassing each other in front of Gin by
being nice to each other. I haven't really written all of them together very often.

Progress: Well, I was trying to write Kousano next, but then SKK got pushy. Then, I
realized how many WIPs I had, so I've been weeding them down. I finished a couple
of one shots (totally not SSKK or WAU) over the weekend, then wrote an entire SKK
one shot (also not related to the WAU), so... I guess that's a thing that happened. I also
worked on some of SSKK in my other more out-of-control AU. I also titled the
Ranpoe part of this AU (which now threatens to be multi-chapter. So Ranpoe fans
rejoice!)

And I think that does it. I once again appreciate all the kind words and reminders to
take care of myself. Until my next update, remember to drink water!
 A Sample of the Kindness You Can Expect Tonight
Chapter Notes

Hello, all! Welcome back to another chapter of these idiots had me in a chokehold and
I have no idea why I couldn't get out of it but here we are with a(nother) novel-length
fanfic damn it.

Shoutout to everyone who dropped comments on last chapter, as well as to everyone

who is still reading and everyone who has dropped kudos. Thank you for feeding my
soul.

Short intro today because there's more to do than post this chapter. I hope you enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It’s almost time for Atsushi to start cleaning out his desk.

The middle of March has crept up on him. He finally agreed to take a position at another company,
but he still hasn’t gone down to sign the contract. Doing that would mean this part of his life is
truly over.

He doesn’t want to think about that. He doesn’t want to acknowledge that in a couple of weeks, he
won’t be going to Akutagawa’s apartment on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. He does his best
not to envy whoever winds up getting assigned to work with him.

But it’s to a point where those thoughts interfere with his mood. “You are sulking, weretiger,”
Akutagawa observes during one of their dates.

“Sorry,” is all he answers.

Without saying anything, Akutagawa slips his arm around Atsushi’s shoulders.

In truth, it’s not just the approaching change in jobs. It’s almost May, too. The day he got thrown
out of the orphanage. Atsushi knows he should be happy about observing a full year of freedom,
but he finds himself bitter once again about the whole situation.

Out of nowhere, he dreams of the orphanage, waking up with a shout at some ungodly hour. He
gasps into the dark room, shaking, until he feels Akutagawa stir beside him. He forgot he was even
at the writer’s apartment, spending the night after they got caught up in talking about writing until
the trains stopped running.

“Weretiger…”

“Fine,” he manages. “I’m fine. Go back to sleep. Sorry I—”

Beside him, though, the writer sits up, winds his arms around Atsushi’s shoulders, nuzzles the
point where his shoulder meets his neck, and gently pulls him back down into the covers. They
aren’t wearing anything. They didn’t have sex; it was more one of Akutagawa’s outlandish
requests, and Atsushi once again finds himself unable to decline. At present, he’s glad he didn’t.
Even if the room is cold, Akutagawa’s bare body feels warm and his skin soothing. He feels one of
the writer’s thin arms stretch across his shoulders and settle there, feels Akutagawa’s fingertips
tracing shapes without names on his shoulder. “Does this make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” he murmurs. He doesn’t feel trapped; he knows he can wiggle out of Akutagawa’s hold, but
he doesn’t want to. “No. It’s fine.” The follow-up is a gentle press of Akutagawa’s lips against his
neck. “Sorry… I woke you.”

“I would rather you wake me than face this alone.”

Atsushi draws a breath and shuts his eyes, which are starting to sting. He does his best to keep his
breathing steady, but he can’t.

“You’re crying,” Akutagawa murmurs.

“Because…” He tries to articulate the reason: he’s moved that Akutagawa is so forgiving, he’s
never had someone be alright with him waking them up, that this is usually the time he’s dragged
out of bed and beaten for being loud at night. Instead, he’s in Akutagawa’s arms being comforted
rather than punished. He finds he can’t say any of it, finds words failing him, so he rolls over and
burrows closer to Akutagawa’s body, letting out a long sigh as his tears fall.

“Cry if you need to. I have you.”

He calms down and drops out of consciousness almost instantly. When he wakes up again, he finds
himself alone, but he can smell fresh-cooked food. He burrows into Akutagawa’s sheets, taking in
their smell as he debates on getting out of bed to eat. Turns out, he doesn’t need to. Akutagawa
brings him a bowl containing a fried egg over rice, and Atsushi, smiling, takes it.

On Tuesday, Atsushi decides he’s going to sign the contract during his lunch break. He’s coming
back from a quick convenience store run when he hears his name and glances up. “Ah, Hirotsu-
san, right? From sales?”

“Yes. I’m surprised you remember me from the Christmas party.” He bows slightly, then adjusts
his monocle. “I’m happy I caught you. I was going to call or email, but it will be easier to tell you
here.”

“Tell me what?”

“The president wants to see you.”

“Ah.” He lowers his eyes. “Sure. Did he specify a time?”

“Now, if you’re available.”

“Of course.” He bows. “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll go to his office right away.”

He stops at his desk to drop off the tea he bought himself and slips the folded bag into his drawer.

“Atsushi-kun,” Dazai calls.

“Ah, Dazai-san. You’re actually on time.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Chuuya was adamant that I went to work on time today. He thinks he’s being
sly, but I know the reason.” Dazai sits down at his desk as Atsushi cleans his glasses. “It’s kind of
our anniversary.”

“Kind of?” Atsushi asks.

“It’s complicated. We don’t really have an exact day we started dating, so we just kind of picked
one.” Shrugging, he says, “Are you going somewhere? You just got here.”

“Yeah. The president asked to meet with me, so I’ll be going up. If anyone from printing comes by
about the manuscript I just turned in yesterday…”

“Sure. I’ll tell them to email you.”

“Thanks. And happy kind of anniversary.” He listens to Dazai chuckle as he leaves, stretching his
arms over his head and approaching the elevator. He can’t help but laugh as he enters when he
thinks about how Dazai has opened up a little about his relationship with Chuuya. And how long
will it be before the whole office knows? Well, I’m not telling anyone except Akutagawa, and he
deserved to know, anyway.

The elevator pings and slides open. He passes Kunikida on the way, murmurs a quiet greeting, and
pauses by Natsume’s office door. He takes a slow breath, lets it out, and gently knocks.

“Yes, come in!”

Atsushi opens his door, closes it behind him, and drops into a slight bow. “Sorry for the delay,
sir.”

“Nakajima.”

He lifts his head. It turns out Natsume isn’t alone like he first thought. “Ah…” He stares at
Akutagawa. “If I’m interrupting—”

“Sit, weretiger.”

Instantly, Atsushi folds his arms. “That’s one.” He walks forward as he continues. “I told you not
to call me that in front of people.”

“Are you going to keep complaining? Or are you going to sit? This is important, so I advise you to
choose wisely.”

“I’ll sit,” Atsushi states, “but only if you promise to drop the attitude.” He watches Akutagawa
squint at him. “Come on. You can be nice for thirty minutes.” Internally, Atsushi adds, You can be
nicer for way longer than that if you try. Lowering himself into the chair, Atsushi sets his hands on
his knees and waits for Natsume to say something. He simply folds his hands and studies them. His
pile of work calls to him. The need to sign the contract calls to him. But all he can do is continue
looking expectantly at the president. “Um… is there a reason I’m here?” Eventually, he turns to
Akutagawa.

“I confess I’m wondering the same thing.”

Atsushi frowns. “You really don’t know?”

“Why would I pretend I don’t, weretiger?”

“That's two. In front of the president. Seriously, what’s with you?”

A slight smile appears on his face. “It was worth the scowl,” he announces.

“You’re unbelievable,” Atsushi retorts, glancing across the desk to Natsume again. “President
Souseki, sir, with all due respect, I’m not so sure I should be spending this much time here if you
have nothing to say. I have a project to finish—“

“I’ve decided.”

Atsushi prickles at the force behind those words.

“Nakajima.”

“Sir?” He watches Natusme’s hands drop to the desk.

“You’re hired.”

Atsushi blinks. “Um… what?”

“As Akutagawa-sensei’s editor.”

He glances at Akutagawa, who is staring at him in about the same amount of disbelief. “But… my
contract…”

“Ah, yes.” He opens a drawer and sets a new sheet of paper on the desk. “I understand it’s up quite
soon. I’m prepared to offer you a full-time position at the company under the condition that you
continue to work closely with Akutagawa-sensei. If you have another offer, I’ll match the salary.”

Atsushi’s eyes drop to his hands. Eventually, he murmurs, “Why?” He glances up to watch
Natsume fold his hands and study him with almost unsettling intensity.

“Well, because you’re good at what you do. Because you have taken this one-year internship and
applied yourself as if it is permanent even knowing it would end. You have shown exemplary
dedication to Akutagawa-sensei. You drive each other in ways no one else has managed to drive
you.” He rises from his chair and holds his arms. “There is a saying at this company: only a
diamond can polish a diamond.”

Atsushi tries not to think of Dazai when he says that.

“Love confession in my office aside—”

“Please don’t mention that, sir!” Atsushi declares, flushing and bowing his head. Beside him, he
hears Akutagawa cough. Or at least, he thinks it’s a cough. When he glances at Akutagawa, he sees
the author smiling behind his hand. “Akutagawa—”

“The collection Akutagawa-sensei authored and you edited is selling better than expected,”
Natsume adds. “The latest figures Kunikida-kun presented to me suggest we may need a second
printing by the end of April. Akutagawa tells me your stories intrigue him, and soon enough, he
intends to inspire you enough to write a whole collection. Bottom line.” Natsume sets his hands on
his desk again. “You are good for each other and good for this company. Accept the contract. Or
don’t. The choice is yours.”

Atsushi sighs and glances at Akutagawa. “You already know I will not accept another editor
besides you.”

“Not even if I want out?”

“If you wanted out, I would have to accept it.” Akutagawa folds one leg over the other. “However,
you have told me several times you don’t want this to conclude. Have you changed your mind,
Atsushi?”
Swallowing, he concedes, “No. Of course not.”

“Then,” Akutagawa says, “what are your reservations?”

“It’s just really sudden, alright? I wasn’t expecting… this.” He stares at the paper. “I spent all this
time preparing to move on. I didn’t think staying was possible.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, Dazai-san spoke well of your work as an editor,” Natusme offers. “And
I tend to trust his instincts on matters like this. He’s seldom wrong.”

Atsushi glances at Akutagawa, catching his sigh. His disappointment is almost tangible.

“Plus, the way you match Akutagawa-sensei’s eccentric personality…”

Akutagawa coughs. “Must you call it that, President Souseki?”

Smiling, Natsume adds, “Dazai sent along some praise for you, too.”

Atsushi watches Akutagawa start.

“Something along the lines of, while he isn’t one for prose, he doesn’t recall a time when a book
felt so alive.”

As Atsushi continues to study Akutagawa, he sees something he can’t name sweep across the
writer’s face. His thin brows arch. His eyes widen. He covers his mouth and lowers his head, but
from that angle, Atsushi can see he’s smiling. “Congratulations,” Atsushi says. And he means it,
because at the very least, Dazai’s failure to acknowledge Akutagawa is one hang-up he can now let
go of. Or maybe not, as Akutagawa’s smile disappears and he glances at Atsushi. “I’m happy for
you. And you worked really hard. You deserve it.”

“Do I… really?”

Atsushi smiles and shakes his head at Akutagawa’s stubborn refusal to accept the words outright.
“Of course,” he murmurs. “You’re a good writer.”

“I am only half as good as I am because you are a good editor. And I insist you continue.”

“If that’s really what you want, then… I guess I can’t really say no.”

It’s a happy moment, placing his name stamp on that contract after a thorough review. The pay
increase is nice, but it’s nothing compared to the knowledge that things between him and
Akutagawa will remain unchanged. After exchanging gratitude that takes far too long and bowing
until he’s sure his hips will start to hurt, he exits the office alongside Akutagawa. “Did you know
about this?” Atsushi asks as they walk to the elevator?

“Of course not. You saw my face when he offered you a contract. Well…” Akutagawa coughs
behind his hand. “At least I do not have to brace myself for someone more irritating than you are.”

“Be nice,” Atsushi retorts, tapping the elevator button. “Let me be happy about this before you
start with your insults again, at least.”

Coughing again, Akutagawa folds his arms. “You know I don’t think your presence is irritating
anymore.”

“What do you mean anymore?”

“You’re whining,” Akutagawa retorts. The elevator pings, and he steps through the open door.
Atsushi follows him inside. “I ask that you not take it personally. Unfamiliar people often annoy
me. You will not be the last. Now, stop pouting and join me.”

Sighing, Atsushi steps in beside him.

“Now you are sulking.” Akutagawa sighs as the door slides shut. “You know I do not feel that way
now, weretiger.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t believe I have enough tact to be silent about people who agitate me. Besides, I will be
plenty kind to you later.”

Atsushi isn’t sure if it’s a touch of pettiness or if it’s the small part of him that leans mischievous,
but he turns to Akutagawa as the elevator starts to drop. “How about you be nice to be now?”

“What did you have in mind?”

He intends the kiss to be quick, gentle, and simple, but Akutagawa prolongs it, backing against the
wall, burying his hands in Atsushi’s hair, nibbling at his bottom lip. They could get caught.

And that only spurs Atsushi on, prompts him to part his lips and accept this deeper expression of
affection. He’s so distracted, he doesn’t feel the elevator slow, and the hum Akutagawa pushes into
his mouth must drown out the melodic ping. But he does realize the elevator is still and turns to eye
the door sliding open.

Dazai is standing there, his brow arched in a silent question.

“Problem?” Atsushi demands, his voice a low, primal growl.

“None at all, but at least I had the restraint to wait until a party.”

“I just got hired.”

“Congratulations,” Dazai says, smiling as the elevator door starts to slide shut. “I’ll catch the next
one.”

The door closes, and Atsushi sinks against Akutagawa’s shoulder. “That’s a fine way to repay him
for the bullshit he pulled at that Christmas party.”

“That wasn’t my intent.”

Atsushi glances up at Akutagawa as he wipes the corner of his own mouth. “What was your intent,
then?”

“To give you a sample of the kindness you can expect tonight when I take you to dinner.”

“Huh?” Atsushi blinks.

“We should celebrate our success. Not to mention, it is White Day.”

He steps back as the elevator slows. “I’ll… buy you some chocolate. What time?”

“Seven?” Akutagawa suggests. “I will text you an address.”

 “Sure. Should I still come by today?” he asks as the ping announcing their arrival on the ground
floor sounds and the doors slide open.

“I’ll only be writing.”

“Who will get you your tea?”

Akutagawa scoffs and steps out. “I am capable of getting my own tea, weretiger. How do you think
I manage when you aren't around?”

“I don’t think you do,” he fires back.

Akutagawa tosses him a look. “Seven.”

“Seven,” he agrees. “Text me an address. I’ll be there.”

That’s as close to good-bye as they get before the doors close again. When he’s back upstairs,
Atsushi walks to his desk and exhales. He hates to put the other publisher in a pinch, but he makes
the phone call anyway with all due apologies. The managers, fortunately, are understanding and
wish him luck, though he’s not sure whether it’s genuine or not. Dazai comes back and sits beside
him. Notably, he has a bag from an expensive chocolatier nearby. He’s guessing its contents are for
Chuuya.

“Sorry about earlier. If it made you uncomfortable—”

“Atsushi-kun,” Dazai says, smiling. “Are you going out with Akutagawa-kun tonight?”

“Yeah. He’s taking me to dinner. Why?”

“Are you finally going to wear—”

“I’m debating,” he admits. “They’re still really uncomfortable sometimes. But it would be a nice
way to surprise him.”

“If you wear them, I bet you’ll take his breath away.”

“Dazai-san…” The prospect of making Akutagawa’s jaw drop makes his heart flutter though.
“Alright,” he says. “I’ll try. But if he doesn’t at least gasp, you owe me lunch next time we go
out.”

“And if he does, you’re buying.” Dazai smirks. “I’ll be asking for crab, just as a head’s up.”

“ Chazuke ,” Atsushi says. “And dessert. Maybe shaved ice…”

“Atsushi-kun, your tastes are very simple. Chazuke , strawberry sweets, and Akuta—”

“Dazai-san.”

“Ah, I got in trouble.” Chuckling, Dazai stretches and leaves his desk behind, presumably for
lunch. Once he’s gone, Atsushi resolves to focus on his work. It’s better than overthinking about
his date tonight.

Chapter End Notes

The subtitle of this chapter is "Listen, if canon Natsume can bippity boppity stop the
grandpas from fighting, then WAU Natsume can hire Atsushi. I will die on this hill."

Thanks for reading! Does this make it a bit of a fairytale ending? Maybe. But I plead
the FIIF (fuck it; it's fanfic)

Oh hey endnote stuff.

The chapter title: is from Akutagawa's dialog. Because of course it is. Anyone who
can figure out where that's going gets a cookie.

Last-minute edits: I just expanded a couple of things with the scene where Atsushi was
sleeping over. Otherwise, just the little typo things as usual, including my silly tablet
misspelling Akutagawa's or Atsushi's names.

How I confused my Google Search History monitor: I didn't, but I probably should
have looked up timelines for accepting jobs in Japan and publishing. I have no idea if
this makes sense, and I suspect it probably doesn't realistically. But in my defense, I
didn't plan on this AU being 5 fics.

Progress: Same as the last chapter since I'm prepping this one right after, BUT. I will
add that I am proud of how SSKK's public kiss mirrored SKK's in this AU. Chuuya
wasn't there, but he hears all about it. Trust me. LOL.

And I think that about does it! I'm back in the swing of things and hoping to start
updating regularly again, but again, I appreciate your patience. Thank you again for
reading, and for the comments, and until next update, make sure you drink plenty of
water!
 The Company’s So Good, I Don’t Think I’ll Have a Single Complaint
Chapter Notes

Hello, all, and welcome back to another stupidly fluffy chapter of these idiots.
Seriously, how are they cute in every universe I write them in?

Although at least here, the brand of cuteness has a bit of their canon snark.

Anyway, with only four chapters of this fic left, I'm going to aim to post two this week
and two next week. And then... well, I'm distracted by fluff week and the CAU right
now, but I'm hoping to come back with more WAU content later this year.

Shoutout to everyone who left comments on the last chapter, and to everyone who has
kudosed and commented. And now, the chapter!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

At ten to seven, Atsushi glances up at the high rise building. The twelfth floor contains a certain
upscale restaurant where Akutagawa must have pulled some strings to reserve a private room. He
feels naked without anything on his face, and it’s strange for his vision to be clear in that state. He
has a bag on his shoulder with his glasses as a fallback. For now, he takes the elevator inside the
building to the twelfth floor and steps into a hallway.

Atsushi only owns a suit for job interviews. And apparently fancy dates. He fiddles with his tie on
the way to the restaurant entrance. Once he’s there, he tells the host he’s there for a reservation
under Akutagawa’s name. He’s led through the restaurant and its scattered, hushed conversations.
At the door to the private room, Atsushi straightens his tie one more time, then thanks the host and
creeps inside. Akutagawa is already there, sipping white wine and staring out the window. The
instant is his eyes move away from the glass, they widen and his lips part.

Atsushi can’t say he’s in any better state. The sight of Akutagawa in a suit… it’s almost unfair,
how good he looks.

“Shall I get you anything to drink, sir?” the host asks.

“Ah.” Atsushi clears his throat, mostly so he can recover. “Just water is fine, thank you.”

“Very well. Please have a seat, and we’ll be back to take your order shortly.”

Atsushi has an easier time moving forward this time. He sticks his bag in the basket beneath his
seat and lowers himself into the chair. For a moment, he can only stare at his lap. Then, he glances
up at Akutagawa, at his off-white suit jacket, black waistcoat and matching black tie… Atsushi
fidgets a bit with his own suit jacket sleeve. Black, of course. The entire outfit was originally for
interviews, but it shares the monochromatic theme of Akutagawa’s without intending to: his own
shirt is light gray to Akutagawa’s true white, and his tie is a warmer black that matches his own
suit. When he glances up again, he finds Akutagawa regarding him.

“Atsushi.”

“Y… yeah?”
“You look stunning.” No hesitation, no softer word that skirts around the truth. Stunning.

Atsushi’s heart slams against his rib cage. Still, he manages to murmur, “I think you look beautiful,
too.” He’s not sure whether he should call Akutagawa his last name or his first, so he stops there.

How he manages to look at the menu, let alone read it, is beyond him. As he lowers his eyes to it,
though, Akutagawa clears his own throat. “I… hope you can find something you like.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asks. “I’m really not that picky when it comes to food. Besides, the
company’s so good, I don’t think I’ll have a single complaint.” He says that, but the minute he sees
the prices, he wonders if there’s an extra zero. But no… that’s the kind of establishment this is.
Setting it down, he passes Akutagawa another glance. He supposes Akutagawa sees him blanche
because he smiles.

“I can afford a dinner like this every now and again, weretiger. Gin has some scholarship money in
her upcoming semester.”

“It’s just so expensive.”

“My treat, remember?” Akutagawa swirls his wine glass. “In congratulations for your new contract
and in celebration of White Day.”

“We should also celebrate your success. How did you manage to get a room like this on such short
notice?”

Shrugging, Akutagawa says, “I asked Mori-sensei for a recommendation. He immediately asked

Fukuzawa-dono to call in a favor, no questions asked.” After sipping his wine, Akutagawa sets his
glass down again. “Although he did wish me luck on my date.”

“Did he know it was me?”

“He didn’t say.” Akutagawa stares out the window again until the server enters. The writer orders
without stumbling at all. Atsushi does his best to rattle off his own order with the same confidence,
but he doubts he manages. Once the menus are gone, Akutagawa’s eyes move to the glass again.
Atsushi glances at the same landscape. He feels Akutagawa’s fingers brush against his and slides
his hand closer so they can lace together. In that moment, he knows he should be saying
something. Not just to fill the silence, either. He needs to say… something substantial.

“Akutagawa?” Atsushi waits until the author’s gray eyes drift to him. Then, he knows exactly what
words he’s been looking for. “I’m really grateful for the opportunity to continue working with you.
So let’s both put in our best effort. And…” He pauses. “And I… of course, I’m excited to keep
dating you, too.”

“The weretiger is so precious.”

“I’m being serious here,” Atsushi insists, squeezing Akutagawa’s hand.

“Very well. Continue.”

Atsushi inhales. “We haven’t been dating long compared to Dazai-san or Mori-sensei. And we’ve
faced some pretty hard things. Despite that, I…” He feels his face heating up. “I guess… all of that
is a really long-winded way of saying I love you. So much.”

Akutagawa blinks like he’s startled.

“What? Did you think I said it in the heat of the moment?” Atsushi asks.

In answer, Akutagawa covers his mouth with his free hand and starts turning red.

“Oh my God. You did. You thought I was just saying it because I was happy to see you, or because
I was close to getting off.”

“Weretiger—”

“You’re an idiot.”

Scowling, Akutagawa snaps, “Was that really necessary?”

“Your glare really loses all its edge when you’re the color of a tomato.”

“Damn it. Just—”

“Ryuunosuke.” He squeezes the hand in his again. “I meant it then. I mean it now. I’ll always
mean it.”

“Always is a long time,” Akutagawa murmurs. “It is… possible that for me, ‘always’ will not be as
long as it is for you. Still, I believe I… treasure those words more than I could say in ten lifetimes.”

“Are you just saying that because I’m wearing contacts?”

“Your glasses are adorable, but I confess, I’m enjoying the ability to look directly into your eyes.”

“I can tell,” he says. “You can’t stop staring. I’m just a little jealous you’ve been splitting your time
between the scenery and me.”

“Forgive me. I find it worthy of admiration for very different reasons.” Atsushi feels Akutagawa’s
thumb skim the back of his hand as he turns away. “When I look at the city, I feel small and
insignificant. It reminds me that I am not necessary for the world to keep operating, even if I am
part of it. More people know my name now, perhaps, because of my work, but even I will be
forgotten.”

“That’s… kind of desolate, but it’s honestly beautiful in its own way.”

Akutagawa hums and returns his eyes to Atsushi. “When I look at you, though,” he murmurs, “I
feel… home.”

Atsushi feels a different kind of warmth at those words.

“It’s the feeling I get when I drink a good cup of tea, only amplified because you are a person. You
are familiar, and your presence is a great comfort to me. I’m no longer sure I can be anxious or
afraid when you’re around. Yet for some reason…” He lifts Atsushi’s hand. “Tonight, you are
making my heart race,” he concludes, pressing his lips to Atsushi’s knuckles. “I was not aware it
could still beat this fast when I am not having an episode.”

Concerned, Atsuhsi murmurs, “You aren’t having one, right?”

“No. I can still breathe fine, weretiger.”

Atsushi sighs as Akutagawa kisses his hand again. Without breaking apart, they both settle on the
table again. They don’t let go even when the server drops their food off. Mouth watering, Atsushi
becomes acutely aware that he didn’t eat lunch that day. They dig in. The first bite makes Atsushi’s
head’s spin.

“Weretiger—”

“It’s really good!” he explains as soon as he swallows. “Really, really good. Thank you so much
for inviting me.”

Akutagawa, with a faint smile on his face, offers Atsushi a bite of his own meal. Akutagawa’s
scallops wind up being good, too. Once Atsushi returns the favor, they spend more time feeding
each other than actually eating. The contents of both dishes dwindle until Atsushi leans back in his
chair with a satisfied sigh. “That was delicious.”

“I should say so. You ate all of my meal and most of yours.”

“We ate an equal amount of both,” Atsushi insists. “Besides, I was really hungry. With everything
that was happening, I wound up skipping lunch.”

“Were you nervous?”

“No. I was really happy. In fact, I finished up what I thought was my last project. I still have to
comb through it one more time, but I’m almost done.”

“Good. Because I finished that short story I mentioned, and I would like some feedback.”

“Sure.” Atsushi smiles. “I can take a look at it on Thursday. Unless you want to change our
schedule.”

“I suppose we should re-negotiate it a little bit, given you’re a fully-fledged employee now.”

“Tomorrow,” Atsushi says. “We can talk about it tomorrow. Tonight, I don’t want to talk about
work.”

“Permit me to ask one more work-related question. Then, I will drop it.”

“Alright.”

“I’m curious.” Akutagawa looks across the table at him. “What are you writing now?”

“Who’s to say I’m writing anything?”

“I know you are.”

Atsushi smiles and murmurs, “I’m writing a story for the wind line.”

“Tell me about it.”

Drawing a breath, Atsuhsi talks about his story. He’s still trying to hash out the details, but he feels
more comfortable than last time. Akutagawa, for the most part, limits his responses to nods, hums,
and one or two instances of, “I see.” But nothing about those feel detached or disinterested. “I’m
still thinking about a viewpoint…”

“Would you like my opinion?”

“Sure.”

“One character you mentioned stood out to me… the woman on the bicycle.”
“It would totally change the feel of it,” Atsushi murmurs. “Just her zipping by, and that’s the only
line she can hear over the wind in her ears and the steady click of the bicycle chain…” Atsushi
smiles. “But where would I go from there?”

“From my vantage, you have several directions you could take it. For now, I’ll refrain from sharing
more than that, but should you find yourself uninspired, I’d be happy to talk more.”

Atsushi leans against his empty hand. “Akutagawa.”

He lifts his wine.

“Looks like you’re not the only writer anymore.”

Atsushi watches his thin brows arch.

“Looks like I’m not the only editor, either.”

“It is not impossible to act in both capacities,” Akutagawa explains, drinking the remainder of his
wine and setting the glass down with a long sigh. “I’ve spoken to Kouyou-san a few times.
Apparently, she and Yosano-sensei are both well-known poets. Rather than competing, they view
their relationship as a kind of collaboration. When one is a successful writer, the other is a
successful editor.” He coughs once, then exhales and murmurs, “Perhaps… one day, we can be like
that, too. Both writers, both editors.”

“The contract doesn’t say that.”

“Yet,” Akutagawa says. “Should you like it to, though…”

“Let’s take it one step at a time. I have to finish the story first. Then, I have to write enough to
make a collection.”

“I have faith you will,” Akutagawa murmurs. “As I told President Souseki, I intend to inspire you
enough to write more quickly than either you or he anticipate.”

Their hands unlace when the server returns. Akutagawa slips several ten thousand yen bills into the
billfold. After a few minutes, the server returns with change. When Akutagawa shifts to rise,
Atsushi follows suit, nearly bumping his knee against the table in the process. After adjusting his
bag on his shoulder, he follows Akutagawa, who reaches back. Atsushi answers by reaching
forward, and their hands come back together.

On the elevator ride down, Atsushi notices something… different about how Akutagawa is looking
at him. They just ate, but there’s something almost… hungry in his gaze, something longing. He
makes no note of it as they step out onto the sidewalk and unlace hands again.

“Oh.” Atsuhsi flips his bag open. “Before I forget.” He procures a box wrapped in white and offers
it to Akutagawa with a slight bow. “It’s not anything as extravagant as dinner, but… I hope you’ll
accept these as thanks for the Valentine’s Day chocolate. And… I can’t really afford to take you
out to a place like this, but I can cook you something this weekend. Besides chazuke, if you want.
And I’ll pay for our next date, so—” He bites his lip. “I… do you really want this to be the end of
the date?”

Akutagawa exhales. “You have work tomorrow, and I can wait. Although… my patience is
wearing a little thin.”

“I don’t want to wait.”

“Atsushi…”

Atsuhsi hugs him. Right there, in the middle of the crowded sidewalk, he squeezes Akutagawa’s
shoulders, catches the faint scent of cologne against his pulse point, then angles his lips so he can
speak into Akutagawa’s ear. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Akutagawa sighs. The hug around his own shoulders is soft, almost tentative. “If you wish the date
to end here, you will not hear me complain, and you will not hear me insist.” Inhaling, Akutagawa
murmurs, “However, if you are amenable to it, I… believe I, too, would like this to continue.
Particularly in the direction of a bed with us wearing far fewer clothes than we are now.”

“Just say you want me to fuck you.”

“Crude,” Akutagawa retorts.

Atsushi chuckles as he pulls away. “Yeah, maybe. But you like it.”

“That word is too… rough for what I am envisioning.”

“What’s a better word then?”

“Maybe…” Akutagawa folds his arms. “Never mind. That is too embarrassing—”

“You want me to make love to you?”

He coughs, but it’s clear from the way his face is already turning red that that’s exactly what he
wants.

“Then ask me plainly.”

Akutagawa, still blushing, sends him a look that’s clearly refusal.

“If you can’t, then I can’t agree to it.”

“Are you out of your damn mind?”

“Are you so frustrated, you can’t even ask a simple question?” Atsushi fires back.

Akutagawa, turning redder, glances at the sidewalk. His lips part, come back together, part again.
He chokes a single syllable that conveys no meaning.

As much as Atsushi enjoys seeing Akutagawa speechless and stuttering, he’s hoping to rob
Akutagawa of coherence in a less publicly acceptable way by the end of the night. Not to mention,
unlike Akutagawa, he has a trace of mercy. Creeping forward, he smooths Akutagawa’s burning
jawline with his thumb. “You don’t need to make any speeches. You don’t need to use those
words.” He waits until Akutagawa’s eyes settle against his. “Just say yes.”

Akutagawa inhales, then breathes his affirmative so softly, Atsushi would miss it if he weren’t
paying attention. But apparently, he suspects Atsushi has because he follows up with another
“Yes,” one that’s steadier, a little louder, more confident.

“That’s all I needed,” he murmurs, letting his hands fall away from Akutagawa’s face. “Do you…
want to go back to your place?”

After a still moment, Akutagawa grabs his hand again and squeezes. When he tugs, Atsushi
follows. He has no idea where he’s being led; he just knows Akutagawa’s steps are confident
 enough to suggest that he knows where he’s going.

Chapter End Notes

Hey guys is it gay to wear contacts for your boyfriend and the writer you edit for?
(Sorry; I had to bring back the old joke.)

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed their stupidity. And it's time for an
endnote.

The chapter title: is from Atsushi's dialog, of course. It's been my trend in this AU, and
I'm going to continue it.

Last minute changes: I had "Akutagawa's place" instead of "Akutagawa's face" at one
point. Oops. Otherwise, my beta and I cleaned this chapter really well.

No Googling for this one, but what did they eat? I'm guessing some kind of traditional
Japanese food. And yes, I know this wasn't featured in the Fukumori part of this AU,
but I wasn't planning on it being a whole ass AU. Yet here I am again with 5 parts...

Honestly, writing snarky SSKK is fun, but I also like to write them gentle, like
Akutagawa kissing Atsushi's hand or Atsushi wearing contacts for him or Akutagawa
calling Atsushi stunning. Or... ahem. The pending unholiness.

Progress: Yep. Focused on fluff week and moving back to my other AU (I'm on
chapter 70 of SSKK and fluff week prompt 4 of 7), but SKK, Kousano, and Ranpoe
are all on the docket, and two of the three have titles with nods to canon following my
usual format for this series.

And I think that about does it. I appreciate the read, and until my next update, I hope
you drink lots of water!
 You’re So Beautiful, I Forgot I Needed Air
Chapter Notes

Hello, everyone! Welcome back to another chapter of these snarky sweet idiots in
love. I hope you're still enjoying the fic.

Quick shoutout, of course, to everyone who read the last chapter, and to everyone who
commented and kudosed. The comments feed my soul, and I appreciate every one.

As the last chapter suggested, this one is moving into full spice territory. So, without
further ado, I present the chapter!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

As Atsushi stands behind Akutagawa, listening to him order a room for the night in his usual
deadpan, he can’t help but wonder why they’re there and not at Akutagawa’s apartment. He knows
he’ll need to wake up early and leave so he can at least make an effort to look like he slept at his
place last night. Part of him wonders whether Akutagawa will actually let him. I’ll tell him that on
the way up, Atsushi tells himself.

He completely forgets to because the instant the elevator doors close, Akutagawa steps towards
him and brushes their lips together, tender but promising something more sultry that Atsushi
pushes them into. He encircles Akutagawa’s slim waist with his arms and deepens their kiss.
Tasting Akutagawa’s sigh, pushes a little hum of his own into the space between their mouths, then
leans forward and kisses him again. One hand settles on Akutagawa’s hip, the other against the
slight curve of his lower back. This time, though, he’s not so desperate that he misses the elevator
slowing down.

As Atsushi breaks away, Akutagawa folds his arms. “I’m beginning to think you are a little too
fond of kissing me in elevators, weretiger.”

“You say that like you don’t like it.”

“I do quite enjoy the feeling of your lips on mine, but location has no bearing on that. If I wanted
you any more than I do now, I would probably slam my finger down on the emergency stop button
and permit you to make me come right here.”

Scoffing, Atsushi follows Akutagawa out. “I never want to hear you call me crass again after that.”

“I’m mostly joking.”

“Mostly,” Atsushi echoes, passing Akutagawa a wry look.

“Admit it. You would get on your knees for me in an elevator.”

Atsushi flushes and wishes he had his glasses to hide behind. “Maybe, but only if I was positive
there’d be no chance of getting caught.”

“You’re less vanilla than I anticipated.”

“I told you about the student council president,” Atsushi states, shrugging. “I sucked him off in
their office on a Saturday afternoon after classes let out. We were the only ones in the building.
Besides, I thought you wanted me to make love to you.”

“That manner of naming it is too sentimental.”

Rolling his eyes, Atsushi watches Akutagawa slip the key into the door. “Then what should we call
it?”

“I don’t know,” Akutagawa answers. “And I do not often say that, as a writer whose job is to
capture human experience in words.” He twists, and the door comes open. Atsushi watches him
walk through the door frame. To his surprise, Akutagawa holds the door open for him. He creeps
inside, listens to it close behind him, and draws a slow breath.

“Why are we here instead of your apartment?” he asks.

“Because tonight, I want your only thought to be pleasure, yours and mine. Which means…”

Atsushi’s head spins as Akutagawa blows against the side of his neck.

“I don’t want you holding back a single sound when you come inside of me.”

“Ah…” He winds up whining when Akutagawa kisses his neck and tipping to give the writer more
access. Curling his fingers in Akutagawa’s hair, Atsushi gasps as the pressure increases. Not
enough to leave a mark. Just enough to utter an unspoken promise of what’s coming.

“You believe I’m beautiful in the suit, Atsushi,” Akutagawa murmurs, drawing away. “I believe
tonight, I would like you to see how beautiful I am out of it.”

Atsushi is already breathless, but those words make his want so much more present. This time,
when he kisses Akutagawa, he wastes no time slipping his tongue past Akutagawa’s lips. He
smirks when he feels Akutagawa’s hands grip his lapels, but he almost trips when Akutagawa tugs
him deeper inside without breaking the kiss. As always, Akutagawa’s fingers are clever. He barely
registers them opening his suit jacket buttons, but smoothing it off his shoulders… he feels that
mostly because Akutagawa pulls away and removes the garment like it’s as precious as Atsushi is,
gazing into his eyes the whole time. He pulls his arms loose and cups Akutagawa’s face, pecking
his lips again while he’s still trapped by Akutagawa’s hands and the coat he’s clutching between
them. They kiss again. Then again. Gently. “What…”

Akutagawa’s lips cut him off again.

“… are you waiting for?”

“For you to start removing my clothes, of course.”

“But you look so good in them,” Atsushi murmurs, reconnecting their lips, tongue darting between
them to taste Akutagawa’s mouth. He draws back immediately. “I don’t know if I can bear to take
you out of them.”

“I insist you do,” Akutagawa breathes. “Or I’ll be tempted to tie you to the bed and ride you
instead.”

“I can think of worse ways to end up.” Atsushi passes Akutagawa a smile.

“You fucking tease.”

“Yet you’re the one who joked about me blowing you in the elevator.” He watches Akutagawa roll
his eyes, but his arms fall away. He tosses Atsushi’s jacket onto a sofa. When Akutagawa’s gaze
returns to him, Atsushi half thinks his eyes have turned into coals.

“I want you, Nakajima Atsushi. How many more ways must I say it until you satisfy me?”

“You already said you wanted me to.” Atsushi’s hands descend to Akutagawa’s suit jacket buttons.
“It’s just a shame. You look really good in this. Did you put it on for White Day?” He removes
Akutagawa’s outermost layer and studies the red in the writer’s face. “Does that mean you’re my
present? But you got me chocolates for Valentine’s Day… there’s no reason to get me anything for
White Day.”

“I am willing to be your gift regardless.”

As Akutagawa’s hands settle on his hips, Atsushi’s breath catches.

“But I am convinced the real gift in this is being treasured by you.”

Atsushi tosses Akutagawa’s jacket, then starts on his black waistcoat, but Akutagawa distracts him
with a kiss that makes him fumble. Immediately, Atsushi’s hand snakes to the tie and tugs it loose,
then starts to open one or two of Akutagawa’s shirt buttons. He dips his lips to taste Akutagawa’s
skin, savoring the way the writer gasps and hugs him closer. “How are you feeling?”

“Heavenly,” Akutagawa confesses. “I don’t believe I’ve ever felt so wanted.”

“If you really want to know how much I want you…” He places a gentle nip on Akutagawa’s
collarbone. “Get on the bed and let me finish undressing you.”

“So you are undressing me, weretiger?”

He can hear the amusement ring clear in Akutagawa’s voice despite the fact that he’s deadpanning
every word.

“What about you?”

“You can undress me, too,” he offers.

“Acceptable.”

Atsushi draws away. “Only acceptable?” he demands. “What the hell?”

“Loud,” Akutagawa retorts.

Atsushi quickly finds the rest of his objections kissed away. And it only gets better when he feels
Akutagawa’s hand trail down his hip, swivel along his thigh, and press against the front of his
slacks, just hard enough to make him cling.

“It is just acceptable because I want this inside of me before the night is over.”

The contact is gone as quickly as it arrived. Whining, he sags against Akutagawa and tries to
remember a time he has wanted someone so desperately.

“Heavy,” the writer complains.

He can’t think of one. Not even with Akutagawa.

“Weretiger…”

“Bed.” He pushes the word out and grabs Akutagawa’s shoulders, then lurches for his mouth
again. They manage to get there with no injuries. Recalling Akutagawa’s complaint that he feels
heavy, he lowers the writer onto the sheets, slips his hand out from beneath Akutagawa’s back.
Breaking away, he draws a breath and stares down at a flushed Akutagawa.

“Are you already done, weretiger?”

“I’m just getting started,” he answers, leaning back to sit on Akutagawa’s thighs. Returning to
Akutagawa’s buttons, he devours the exposed skin with his eyes, licks his lips, and murmurs, “But
I also want to give you time to breathe if you need it.”

“I can hardly breathe as it is,” Akutagawa retorts.

“Why? Because I’m too heavy?”

“Because you’re too beautiful.”

Dipping forward again, Atsushi starts to trail kisses down Akutagawa’s chest, then arches forward
to return to his mouth. He’s welcomed back by Akutagawa’s parted lips and a gentle hand in his
hair, but he doesn’t stay long before rising again. “We need to scoot back, or I’m liable to fall off
the bed.”

“Indeed,” Akutagawa states, pushing himself up on his elbows. Atsushi sets one foot on the floor
and stands. “I wouldn’t want to have to call President Souseki letting him know my editor got
concussed while we were still in the foreplay stage of having sex on White Day.”

Atsushi scoffs as he unthreads his own tie. “I’m durable enough to survive.” He darts back before
Akutagawa’s foot can tap against him, not that it’s moving fast enough to do any real harm.
“Asshole.”

“Shut up and get back over here. I am not done kissing you yet.”

Sighing, he drops his tie on the floor before returning to the bed, revels in how Akutagawa sits up
and meets him in a kiss that almost startles him in how gentle it is. He opens his eyes again and
finds Akutagawa looking at him, his face tinted a faint pink, his chest rising and falling, his lips red
from how much they’ve already kissed.

“A depraved part of me wishes you’d left that tie on so I can actually pull you in.”

“I wear a tie every day,” Atsushi murmurs, following Akutagawa until his hands—and
Akutagawa’s back—meet the headboard. “Do it next time.” The gentle brush of Akutagawa’s lips
lands against his and pushes all thoughts of conversation away. Better still, Akutagawa’s hands
move, walking down one button after another, guiding them closer to what they’re there for.
Before they completely descend his shirt buttons, Akutagawa’s fingers trail back up his chest and
press against his face. He hums into the kiss, then sighs as Akutagawa breaks away and smooths
his fingers downward once more.

“Atsushi.”

He delays Akutagawa’s words with another little peck. “Yes?” he murmurs, smiling as he watches
Akutagawa struggle with his words for a moment. But out of nowhere, the writer pulls himself
together and announces,
“I want you to make love to me.”

“God, you’re not fair.” Atsushi dips until his forehead rests against Akutagawa’s shoulder. “You’re
so not fair.”

“You told me to ask, weretiger.”

“Ryuunosuke…” He lifts his face.

“I am asking.”

“You’re going to make me cry. If I lose a contact, you’re paying for it.”

Akutagawa scoffs and glances away, then covers his mouth. He looks oddly shy like that. “So will
you do it or…”

“Of course I will.” He kisses the side of Akutagawa’s burning face. “Look at me.”

Akutagawa’s eyes return to his.

“I love you. And yes, before you ask, I mean it.”

“You call me unfair, yet you say things like that.”

“I had to pay you back for asking so nicely.” He plants another kiss on Akutagawa’s lips. “Can you
finish unbuttoning my shirt? I kind of like the feeling of you taking off my clothes.”

“If you keep kissing me, I would be happy to.”

“I can arrange that.” Atsushi leans forward, but it’s not Akutagawa’s lips he’s after. It’s his neck.
He smirks as Akutagawa lets out a low noise and his fingers freeze. “Go on.”

“Distracting… ah… tease.”

“I’m not even biting yet.”

“Fuck…”

He gives his teeth an experimental press, not hard enough to hurt. Just hard enough to announce
their presence. Immediately, he peppers the same skin with soft pecks as another one of his buttons
comes open.

“Do you have the dexterity to unfasten my belt while you do that?”

He reaches for the buckle, continuing to alternate teeth and lips, then sucking as he fights to open
it. Beneath him, he feels Akutagawa arch a little and delivers one merciful press to his slacks.
“You’re already so hard.”

Gasping and shaking, Akutagawa growls, “Get in my lap.”

Atsushi sighs and pulls back. “We have to go home in these clothes, you know.” He feels
Akutagawa’s hands grab his open shirt, clutching so tight that they start shaking. After a moment
of gasping, he drops his hands but his breathing continues at its quickened rate. “Here.” Atsushi
finally works the buckle open and unthreads Akutagawa’s belt. “How about I get the lube instead?
Then, I’ll start opening you up.” He smooths Akutagawa’s face. “God, you’re burning up. Just…
give me a little bit of time. I promise I’ll make it good for you.” He kisses Akutagawa’s forehead.
“Do you want to take off the rest of your clothes while I’m gone?”

“No,” he murmurs. “I will wait.”

“I’ll pick up the pace a little, then,” Atsushi offers. “I’ve never seen you this desperate. Are you
sure you’re okay?”

Akutagawa nods. “Just… get the lube.”

Atsushi doesn’t press the issue. He just leaves long enough to pull a packet of lube from the
nightstand drawer. “Should I grab a condom, or—”

“I believe I was clear.”

Atsushi feels Akutagawa’s chin against his shoulder. A moment later, Akutagawa’s arms encircle
his waist.

“You will come inside of me tonight, Atsushi.”

“You have to let go of me first. I want to lay you down and kiss you until you’re out of your mind.”

“I am a writer,” Akutagawa retorts. “I was never in my mind.”

Once Akutagawa is beneath him, their heated kisses resume. Atsushi is still mindful of
Akutagawa’s need to breathe. When he breaks away from Akutagawa’s swollen lips, he dips to
place marks on Akutagawa’s neck and shoulders. With each one, Akutagawa arches and lets out
increasingly wrecked noises. With every new mark, the newest whine or moan somehow
transcends the beauty of the last. After Akutagawa works Atsushi’s shirt off of his shoulders,
Atsushi unthreads his arms and finally pushes Akutagawa’s the rest of the way off. “One more
kiss,” he murmurs. “And I’ll take the rest off.”

Akutagawa nods, and Atsushi dips again, and with that kiss, he tries to tell Akutagawa how deep
his feelings go without words. He thinks he manages considering Akutagawa’s fingers press
against his shoulders and trail down them. Pulling away with a moan of his own, Atsushi pushes
Akutagawa’s hair off of his forehead.

“Alright,” Atsushi murmurs. “Can you make do with that for a bit?”

Breathless, Akutagawa nods. And Atsushi goes to work, unfastening Akutagawa’s slacks. He tugs
them down Akutagawa’s slim legs before removing his socks. When he rises to remove
Akutagawa’s boxers, he stops.

“Blue?” he asks.

“You said you liked me in this color.”

Atsushi tries not to laugh and fails. “Sorry. I’m just really touched. And I didn’t expect something
like that.”

“I thought you were going to complain it was White Day.”

“Why would I complain? You wore a white suit, and I’m the one who’s supposed to be returning
your Valentine’s Day chocolate,” Atsushi murmurs. “They are nice, though.” He’s treated to the
sight of Akutagawa arching up as he tugs the final garment off, to the unsteady gasp the writer lets
out as he lowers his now fully naked body to the blankets.
“Weretiger.”

“Yeah?”

“You stopped breathing.”

Recovering, Atsushi smooths Akutagawa’s chest, savoring the steady way it rises and falls beneath
his palm. “Because you’re so beautiful, I forgot I needed air.”

“And you call me romantic.”

“Are you really complaining that I’m being romantic?” Atsushi asks, snickering as Akutagawa
passes him a smirk that is anything but complaining and spreads his legs in invitation. Atsushi tears
the foil open and warms a dollop of the lube out on his fingers. “When’s the last time you fingered
yourself?” He glances up to Akutagawa to find him scowling, but the expression doesn’t have any
heat in it.

“This afternoon,” he mumbles, glancing away. “I wanted to ensure my body was well enough for
this.”

“Did you think of me kissing you in an elevator?”

“I thought of this.”

Atsushi lowers his fingers and pushes Akutagawa’s legs up. Beneath that pressure, Akutagawa is
pliant. In his motions, Atsushi doesn’t see a single ounce of reservation. He doesn’t even look away
as Atsushi’s fingertips brush against his rim, but he does part his lips and draw in a breath.
Swallowing, Atsushi applies a little more pressure, watching Akutagawa’s face for any signs of
discomfort or resistance. The only sound that comes out of Akutagawa’s mouth is a quiet hum as
the remainder of Atsushi’s first finger slides inside. “You must have done a thorough job earlier.
You’re taking one finger no problem.” He gives it an experimental curl, and Akutagawa jolts.
“Was I close to your prostate just now?”

“I did not let myself come earlier,” Akutagawa rasps. “I wanted that privilege to belong to you, so
if I come too soon, I… hope you understand—”

“In honesty,” Atsushi says, smoothing Akutagawa’s thigh with his free hand. “You can come when
you want. I can tell you’re feeling good. But in jest…” He grins. “You mean you haven’t invested
in a cock ring yet?”

Akutagawa scoffs. “I’ll put it on my to-do list.”

He trails his fingers along Akutagawa’s hip as he starts to move his finger. “How is it?”

“Far better than I imagined this afternoon. Or at any other point.”

Atsushi smiles. “I’m glad I’m surpassing the me you imagined.”

“Surpass your way to putting another finger in, weretiger.”

Atsushi obliges, stunned by how easily it slips in.

“Ah… that is divine.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? Your cock is leaking more.”

“I will tell you when I reach my limit,” Akutagawa murmurs. “Until then, you’re invited to keep
doing what you’re doing. With minimal interruptions.”

“Just for that, I should make you wait for the rest of the night.”

Resting an arm on his forehead, Akutagawa retorts, “I see how hard you are, Atsushi. I don’t
believe you’re any more capable of waiting that long than I am.”

“Of the two of us, I’m definitely more patient.”

Akutagawa rolls his eyes.

“Plus, I bet I can make your toes curl just from these two fingers.”

“Try, then.”

Without breaking his rhythm, Atsushi dips and traces the underside of Akutagawa’s cock with his
tongue. He listens to the wrecked noise Akutagawa makes as Atsushi laps at the precome on his
stomach. The way Akutagawa shifts changes the angle of his fingers. He pushes, wraps his lips
around the head of Akutagawa’s erection, and finds he’s practically deafened from the sound that
spills out of him. Pulling off, he finds Akutagawa gripping the base of his own cock, staving off his
inevitable climax. His other hand is firmly pressed over his own mouth. “Was that your prostate?”

In answer, he receives a helpless look.

“Was it too much?” Atsushi murmurs, kissing Akutagawa’s stomach, tasting the sweat on his skin.

“Atsushi…”

“Hmm?” he asks, rising.

“Take your fingers out. There is something that I want more.”

“I’m a little bigger than two fingers—“

“I used three earlier. I will be fine,” he insists, dropping his hand. “Please…”

“If you’re being polite, you must be really desperate.”

“You see how hard I am,” Akutagawa retorts.

Atsushi presses once more time against that spot, this time watching as Akutagawa’s head snaps
back and his fist closes around the blankets. He doesn’t bother to hold back the moan this time.
Atsushi savors the sound, wants to hear Akutagawa more desperate, but he backs off and sends
Akutagawa a smile as he removes his fingers entirely. He shifts to his knees and squeezes what is
probably too much lube on his own erection. The temperature difference makes him flinch, but he
bites his lips and works through it, coats his shaft with his hand. His head spins, and as tempted as
he is to finish on Akutagawa’s stomach, he clings to his memory of what he promised. “You still
want me to come inside?”

“More than I have wanted many things,” Akutagawa answers. “I trust you will be gentle.”

“I can be less than gentle if you want, but since you asked…” He shuffles forward, cleaning his
hand on his hip, then arching over Akutagawa, inching towards his lips. He pulls back at the last
minute, recalling that earlier, his mouth was occupied with a different part of Akutagawa. It turns
out his reluctance was misplaced, though, because Akutagawa presses his palms against both sides
of Atsushi’s face and guides him down the rest of the way.

“I believe tonight, we should stick to gentle. I wouldn’t be opposed to experimenting with

something a little rougher in the future.”

Atsushi starts to answer, but Akutagawa kisses him again before he can.

“One day,” he murmurs, “I want to ride you.”

This time, it’s Atsushi who kisses him, all softness underpinned by hunger.

“Come on,” Akutagawa breathes. “You still owe me something white, Atsushi.”

Atsushi snickers, partly out of nervousness, partly because of how ridiculous Akutagawa is being.

But that's what makes this special. They can be ridiculous with each other. And temperamental.
And romantic. And always, always authentic.

He’s shocked he doesn’t come when he guides the tip of his cock to Akutagaw’s rim. Swallowing,
he locks eyes with Akutagawa and starts to push inside, careful not to go too fast. The whole time
he’s sliding in, their eyes remain locked together. He’s pretty sure beneath the blood rushing him
his ears, Akutagawa is murmuring reassurances. He almost wishes he could hear them, but he can
see them in the blazing silver of Akutagawa’s eyes. And that is somehow better.

This isn’t even the first time Atsushi has done this. But it is the first time sex has felt like more than
rebellion against the orphanage or just a way to pass the time.

“There,” he breathes, dropping to rest his head on Akutagawa’s collarbone. “There. It’s in.”

“Don’t move for just a moment. I want to adjust before you start properly.”

Whining, Atsushi grips the blankets.

“I know.” He feels Akutagawa’s hand in his hair. “The weretiger is so horny, just the thought of
waiting is unbearable. I confess, I’m not much better off.”

“Ryuunosuke…”

“You are doing well.” Akutagawa’s voice fills his ears. “So well. I know this is unbearable, but I
am endeavoring to take care of this body despite all the trouble it causes me. And I’m asking you
to do the same.”

“God, it’s so much.” Atsushi sighs and hums as Akutagawa’s fingers start rubbing circles against
his scalp. The tenderness in that motion outweighs his overwhelming need to come. “I love you.”

“So you’ve said.”

Atsushi snickers as Akutagawa’s fingers trail down the back of his neck. “Tickles,” he murmurs,
passing Akutagawa a smile.

“Come up here and kiss me.” It’s soft, more request than demand. “Then,” Akutagawa adds,
tracing Atsushi’s jawline with his fingers, “you can move.”

When their lips come together, it’s somehow unlike any other kiss they’ve shared. The emotion in
it is raw and devastating. As soon as he pulls away, he gives his hips an experimental shift.
“Fuck,” Akutagawa breathes.

“Working on it.”

Akutagawa actually snickers. “Then keep working on it.”

That’s the last coherent thing that comes out of either of them until nearly twenty minutes after
they’ve both come. Until then, it’s nothing but whines, moans, kisses, and caresses. Even though
they're both writers, they don’t need words right now. As Atsushi snakes a hand between their
bodies to grip Akutagawa’s leaking erection, Akutagawa’s arms wind around his shoulders.
Atsushi is unsure whether Akutagawa’s parted lips are an invitation or just a symptom of his own
building arousal, but Atsushi kisses him anyway. And Akutagawa reciprocates, breaking away to
let out an even needier moan, one that drives Atsushi to pick up the pace. He hopes Akutagawa
feels the love in every thrust, in every stroke, in every kiss. If the building slickness of
Akutagawa’s cock and the fluttering of Akutagawa’s muscles around him are any indicator, he
guesses he’s feeling some kind of love at least.

Atsushi can tell the exact moment Akutagawa comes. He wishes he had the focus to memorize the
peace and pleasure in Akutagawa’s features, but his own orgasm hits after a few more thrusts,
interrupting his effort to moan Akutagawa’s given name. He barely gets the first kanji out of his
mouth before he comes undone, half sobbing in relief as the pleasure in his gut snaps and he spills
inside of Akutagawa. He thrusts through his aftershocks, slows his strokes on Akutagawa’s
softening cock, and lowers himself to rest at last, letting out a hum as Akutagawa’s fingers return to
his hair. After a little while, Atsushi shifts to pull out, smiling as Akutagawa’s face scrunches up
and dipping to kiss him. He instantly returns to Akutagawa’s chest. Instantly, the writer resumes
his gentle strokes in his uneven hair.

They bask in peaceable silence, Atsushi half drifting off. Out of nowhere, Akutagawa says, “We’re
a mess.”

“We should clean up then.”

After Atsushi removes his contacts and puts them in the case, Beside it, he sets the little bottle of
cleaner he carries in case he needs it. Akutagawa hugs him. He looks at their faces in the mirror, at
their unkempt hair and flushed faces, at their bodies and how they fit together, at the marks dotting
Akutagawa’s shoulders.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever recover from that sight, but Akutagawa murmurs a request to shower in
his ear. That spurs him to action. Once the folding door is closed, Atsushi watches Akutagawa’s
hair, and Akutagawa returns the favor. Now that they’ve had sex, he finds himself unable to keep
his hands off of Akutagawa’s body. His intent isn’t arousal; he just wants to memorize the look and
feel of Akutagawa’s skin so when the writer isn’t around, he doesn’t feel quite so alone.

Once they’re clean, Atsushi puts his glasses back on. They both pull on their boxers and the hotel
robes and do their best to spot clean the bed. Atsushi sets his glasses on the nightstand and flops
down on his back. Akutagawa joins him. He can see Akutagawa looking at him. It takes more
effort than he anticipated to roll over, but once he has, Atsushi reaches over to push the satin off of
Akutagawa’s shoulder, smiling and skimming one of the marks he left behind earlier. “Did you like
your White Day gift?”

“Yes,” Akutagawa admits. “The best I have received, although honestly, this is my first White Day
receiving something in return.”

Atsushi rolls onto his back again and stares at the ceiling overhead. “Thank you.”
“What for?”

“For this. For dinner.” Smiling, he adds, “For treating me like I deserve every good thing in this
world even though I often don’t think I do.”

A moment passes. Then another. Eventually, he hears Akutagawa say, “Would you feel too trapped
if I rolled over and rested my arm across your body?”

“I don’t think so, but if I do, I’ll say so.”

The bed shuffles as Akutagawa presses against his side. When he turns himself again, he feels the
light weight of Akutagawa’s arm across his stomach. Atsushi sighs as Akutagawa’s fingers skim
over the fabric covering the scar on his hip. “I feel like suddenly, I have too many things to say.”

“Say them.”

Akutagawa peers at him. “I don’t want to alarm you.”

“But?”

“But I believe I do want that dinner with Dazai-san after all. Not because I have any interest in
dating him. Because I… want to know why it took him until now to acknowledge me.”

Atsushi smiles. “I did promise. And honestly, I don’t think I’d worry that much.”

“Please,” Akutagawa retorts. “You are equal parts adorable and worry wart. And even that
worrying part of you is adorable.”

Laughing, Atsushi bends his arm to smooth the side of Akutagawa’s shoulder. “Well, that wasn’t
too much at all.”

“There is more,” Akutagawa murmurs, “but I am tired.”

“Want me to get the light?”

“I am loath to let you go even for a second. But… I suppose I will for that.”

The room goes dark. On his way back to the bed, he drops his robe on the floor. The sheets are
soft, but Akutagawa’s skin calls to him again. He opens the robe and smooths it, letting out a sigh
against Akutagawa’s chest, humming once more as Akutagawa’s fingers enter his hair.

“Atsushi.”

“Hmm?”

“Earlier, when you were inside of me, you called me ‘Ryuu.’”

“It’s because I was feeling too good,” he confesses. “I was trying to say your whole name. I just…
didn’t manage to get there.”

“I liked it.”

Atsushi opens his eyes, and he glances up at Akutagawa.

“If you wish, you can call me that. Though in exchange, I insist on being permitted to call you
‘weretiger.’”
 “I’d let you do that anyway.” He sighs. “Somehow, I’ve grown to like it.”

“Be sure to sign the next contract that way, then.”

“Very funny.” Atsushi burrows closer. “I wish you’d quit calling me that in front of people.”

“I can try,” Akutagawa answers. “In truth, it slips out sometimes. Because I look at you and feel…
so warm.”

He peers up at the writer again.

“I confess, at times, it’s overwhelming. You throw me one of those little smiles, or a disapproving
frown when I call you ‘weretiger’ one too many times, and… every flower on earth opens up at the
same moment. When you are upset, the breeze starts blowing just to provide some comfort. But
there are also times… when your ordinariness is so remarkable, I find it almost offensive that the
world just carries on without stopping to take notice.”

“Akutagawa,” he sighs. “You’re being too nice again. If you keep that up, I can’t promise you I
won’t cry.”

“I don’t mind making you cry from kindness,” Akutagawa confesses. “But… if you really want me
to stop—”

“Keep going,” Atsushi breathes, swallowing and pressing closer. “Keep going.”

He expects more metaphors about flowers and wind, more references to an indifferent world.
Instead, Akutagawa pulls in a breath and murmurs, “I love you, too, Atsushi.” And that shatters
him in ways no other words ever have or could. Even though his face burns and his heart hammers
against his chest, he feels the soft press of Akutagawa’s fingers in his hair again.

The first thing Atsushi says when he recovers is, “You’re so unfair.”

“You love me even so.”

“Yeah,” he concedes, smiling as Akutagawa dries his face. “Yeah. I really do.”

“What a relief. The feeling is mutual.”

Atsushi kisses the sarcasm off of Akutagawa’s lips. Then, he kisses them again. And again, until
Akutagawa’s finger lands against them.

“We should sleep,” Akutagawa murmurs. “You have work tomorrow.”

As much as Atsushi wants to argue with that logic, he instead shuts his eyes and accepts it.
Besides, they’ll have plenty of time to make out tomorrow.

It’s tough to part ways in the morning after that confession, but Atsushi goes to the office, still half
in a daze from having sex with Akutagawa and from his confession. When Dazai turns up, he
realizes he’s not the only one.

Chapter End Notes

The subtitle of this chapter is "look everyone WAU Akutagawa finally stopped being
poetic for two seconds to tell Atsushi he's in love too and *incoherent happy noises*"

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the idiots reaching a point where
they finally have both confessed. And now, endnote stuff.

The chapter title: is of course from Atsushi's dialog about Akutagawa being beautiful.
So Akutagawa's not the only one who can spit romantic lines apparently.

Last-minute changes: little wording things here or there that didn't make sense and one
rogue misspelling of Akutagawa's name (it happens, okay? My tablet does not like
Japanese names). I also added Akutagawa hugging Atsushi from behind in front of the
bathroom mirror.

As with the last chapter, no Googling, but! I will say it is super fun to write them being
simultaneously snarky and tender. Don't ask me how it works. It just felt correct when
I was writing them in this universe. And also, them being stupidly romantic is just so
fun. LOL.

Progress: I'm prepping this chapter on the same day as the last one, so no progress to
report. But as I mentioned in the last chapter, I'm trying to get back to the recently
neglected CAU. This is what happens when my mental health tanks.

And I think that about does it! I'm planning on updating the Fukumori piece in my
other AU on Thursday. Until then, I hope you drink plenty of water, and thank you
again for reading!
 All the Good You Bring To My Life
Chapter Notes

Hello, all, and welcome to the second-to-last chapter of Glasses!Atsushi and

Writer!Akutagawa being way too soft with each other. It's hard to believe I'm almost
done posting this story, but it's been done since January, so maybe I shouldn't be
surprised.

Shoutout to everyone who has read, commented, and kudosed so far, and especially to
people who commented on the last chapter. Thank you for feeding my soul.

And now, the chapter!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Atsushi waits Thursday to revisit the topic of arranging a meeting between Akutagawa and Dazai.
As if it wasn’t already complicated enough, when he brings it up with Akutagawa on Thursday, the
writer kisses him borderline senseless before murmuring, “I am more focused on you right now.”

Recovering himself, Atsushi responds, “You should be focused on your writing.”

“For one more kiss, I will try.”

Atsushi pulls him back in and makes sure it’s a kiss he won’t forget anytime soon. They’re both
breathless when Atsushi pulls back, and afterwards, they just hold onto each other, Akutagawa
leaning against the wall in his entryway. “Write,” Atsushi murmurs. “I’ll bring your tea.”

Reluctantly, Akutagawa unwinds and walks towards the office. Atsushi wipes his mouth and enters
the kitchen.

Two nights ago, they had sex. And after, Akutagawa murmured a set of words in his ear that hasn’t
left his mind. I love you, too. He sets the hot water pitcher to boil and drops a tea bag into
Akutagawa’s cup, which he left on the counter on his way to greet Atsushi, apparently. It’s a
miracle he doesn’t get so distracted, he misses, because he thinks of them again and smiles.

He carries the cup into Akutagawa’s office once it’s done and sets it down. “Akutagawa.”

“Yes?” he asks, without even glancing away from his keyboard.

“What I was saying earlier…”

“About Dazai-san?” Akutagawa asks. “Are you certain you’re alright with it?”

“Yeah,” Atsushi says. “Why wouldn’t I? It was the deal at the beginning of our contract. We had
some rocky points, sure, but I really think it will help you.”

“Even though my reasons have changed?”

Atsushi dips to kiss his cheek. “I’m happy to ask him, Ryuu.” He stops when Akutagawa presses
his hand and smiles. “Really.”
“Very well, weretiger. Can you edit this for me first, though? Then, we shall talk about it.”

Somehow, dating Akutagawa, loving Akutagawa, fits right in with his pre-existing editorial duties.
It wasn’t like that at the beginning, true, but now, the pieces interlock. It was just a matter of
turning one the other way.

The couch shuffles. Atsushi knows without looking that it’s Akutagawa. “I’m almost done,” he
says. “Do you have writer’s block?”

“Yes.”

He pats his leg and sighs as the weight of Akutagawa’s head rests against it. Once he reaches the
last line, he sets the papers and his pen down, removes his glasses, and rubs his eyes. “Do you
want to talk about it?”

“The narrator is an adult who, tired of his life, recalls a day he was… doing something. But I am
still unsure what. I don’t feel I can write anymore until I decide.”

“Does it have to be clear?”

“I would like it to be, yes.”

Atsushi hums. “What’s something you wanted to do as a child?”

“I was so bitter about my illness back then, I had no aspirations.” He coughs once, and Atsushi
smooths his hair. “What about you, weretiger?”

“Go to an aquarium,” he begins. “Grow a flower from a seed. Sleep through the night. Go a day
without getting hit or yelled at.”

Akutagawa sighs. “It seems childhood was messy for both of us for very different reasons.”

“I wish I could give you something better than that,” Atsushi murmurs.

Akutagawa glances up at him. “Atsushi.”

“Hmm?”

“I appreciate you trying. Truly.” Akutagawa sits up and clears his throat, then rises. “Come on. I
will look at your edits later.”

Atsushi stares at his hand. “What do you want?”

“To do something mundane with you. Although at the moment, I am not sure what, I am confident
in my ability to find something along the way.”

Atsushi has half a mind to ask why, but he instead reaches out and takes Akutagawa’s fingers. They
wind up boarding the train and taking it to Yokohama station, where they quickly find a used
bookstore. They spend almost an hour walking the aisles, picking volumes off the shelves, reading
each other lines. Then, they stop at an ice cream place. Akutagawa is shivering by the time he’s
done with his single scoop of matcha, and Atusshi’s slips an arm around him as they keep walking.

“A minecart.”

“What?” Atsushi says.

“Just an idea I had. The boy in the story… he could push a minecart.”

Atsushi hums. “What about that makes him tired of his life?”

“He thinks back on it as an adult, remembers the worker he walks alongside, his fear as he ran
home in the dark…” Akutagawa coughs again. “A minecart… I believe I make it work. If I decide
it doesn’t fit, it should be easy enough to edit out.”

“I look forward to reading it.”

Akutagawa nods. “We should talk about revising our schedule a bit.”

“Okay.”

Akutagawa glances to him. “Are you certain me wanting to meet with Dazai-san—”

Atsushi pulls him into a soft kiss before he can finish the question. “It’s cute that you’re worrying,”
he murmurs. “But no, it doesn’t bother me.”

Akutagawa exhales. “I must be annoying you, asking so many times.”

“You’re not, Ryuu.” Atsushi smiles. “I get why you’d be that concerned, especially since you
asked me to arrange it under completely different circumstances at the beginning. But I promise I
understand.”

“I… honestly am grappling to accept your kindness and understanding.”

“It’s okay,” Atsushi says. “I’ll just keep telling you that until you believe it.”

Nodding, Akutagawa murmurs, “I believe I’m ready to go back to writing.”

“I’ll talk you through my edits before I go.”

“And,” Akutagawa continues, “I think I’m okay with you talking to Dazai-san about meeting with
me.”

“Sure.”

The next day, Atsushi is in the middle of leaving comments on a novel when Dazai yawns and sits
down beside him. Considering both he and Atsushi came into the office late and glowing after
White Day, there has already been a little speculation about the cause. Today, though, instead of
glowing, Dazai looks like he’s living in a shadow. “Dazai-san?”

Dazai covers a yawn. “Chuuya is relentless. He kept pestering me about this stupid line all night. I
told him to figure it out in the morning. He said it needed to be done now.” Dazai’s head drops to
his desk. “Stupid slug. So adamant about a line. No one but him cares.”

“I’m sure his readers would care, Dazai-san.” Atsushi stares at the screen. “Do you want me to get
you coffee? I was planning to pick something up from the vending machine soon anyway. I’m too
busy to eat lunch today, so…” He glances at Dazai, who pouts at him and rises.

“I still owe you lunch in congratulations.”

Atsushi hums. Normally, he wouldn't bring it up now, but Dazai just gave him the perfect leverage.
“There’s something else I want you to do instead.”
“What’s that?”

He draws a slow breath. “Akutagawa wants to meet with you.”

Dazai hums. “Does he now?”

“It’s not for anything but closure. Give him an hour. Meet with him at a café. Just… let him talk.”

He watches Dazai thinking about it. “Why would I want to spend time with Akutagawa-kun?”

“Because he told me how you treated him, and I think you owe him an apology for that, plus an
explanation for why suddenly, with his latest collection, you had a change of heart.”

“I just said the book felt alive,” Dazai insists. “I didn’t praise him or acknowledge him.”

“Bullshit.”

Dazai’s smirk drops. “You can be scary when you try, Atsushi-kun.”

“Because I’ve been through hell. I’m not asking you to pull teeth or sell a kidney. Just… I want to
do this for him. I promised I would at the beginning of our contract.” His fingers curl. “I can’t
force you if you say no. But just know I believe it’s the right thing to do, and if you don’t, I’ll
never look at you the same way.”

Dazai sighs and leans back in his chair. “Fine. You win. Get a day and time from him, and I’ll meet
him at a café. An hour. No more.”

“Thank you,” Atsushi states.

“Don’t thank me yet.” Dazai stretches his arms over his head. “Aren’t you worried I’m going to
steal him from you?”

“You couldn’t even if you tried. Besides, I trust you as a friend and him as… you know. Plus, I
don’t see you doing that to Nakahara-sensei.”

Chuckling, Dazai murmurs, “You read me just like a book.”

“Vending machine,” Atsushi states, rising. “What do you want?”

Dazai winds up wanting a milk tea, so Atsushi buys him one. He buys a café au lait for himself.
When he returns to his desk, he’s surprised to find Akutagawa of all people there, with murmurs
filtering through the office about why the author is there. He approaches with the cans and sets
Dazai’s down on his desk.

“Akutagawa.”

“Weretiger,” he answers.

One, he tells himself, sitting down in his chair. “What are you doing here?”

“I brought something for you to edit. It was faster to bring it down than call you. I sincerely
apologize for adding to your workload.”

“It’s alright. Let me see.”

Akutagawa offers him the envelope, and Atsushi pulls the papers out. The moment he sees the
word “minecart,” he smiles. “I’m really impressed you were able to finish it that quickly. We just
talked about this story yesterday.”

“I was up half the night writing it.”

“Well,” Atsushi says, “make sure you take a nap when you go home. And eat something filling for
lunch.”

“About lunch.”

Atsushi glances up and watches as Akutagawa offers him the bag on his arm. “What’s in it?”

“Your portion.”

Atsushi blinks. “Huh?”

“I took a break around five to cook. But I happened to make too much.”

Atsushi passes him a bland look. “And you also happened to have a spare bento box laying
around.”

“Half of what I own, Gin bought when she left for Kyoto in hopes that I would use it.”

Atsushi smiles. “I’ll… bring it back to you this weekend. Clean.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Akutagawa-sensei,” one of the editors calls. Atsushi can’t remember her name. “You seem to be
getting along really well with Nakajima.”

“Yeah,” someone else adds. “I wonder why that is.”

Atsushi passes Akutagawa a glance. He folds his arms and inhales. “Of course we are getting
along. Not that it’s any of your business, but the weretiger twisted my arm and said if I did not at
least try to be polite, he would refuse to work with me.”

Dazai snickers. “Did you really do that, Atsushi-kun?”

Rolling his eyes, Akutagawa passes him another glance that says… something. Smiling, Atsushi
says, “Of course I did. I wasn’t going to let him walk all over me.”

“It helps that you’re cute,” Akutagawa adds, passing Atsushi a smile.

“It helps that you’re dating me.” He catches Akutagawa’s scoff and turns to open his can, but he’s
surprised to feel a light weight on his shoulder. Akutagawa’s hand, he realizes. And it’s followed
by the light press of Akutagawa’s lips against his face.

“Promise me you won’t work too hard, Atsushi,” he murmurs into Atsushi’s ear.

“I’ll do my best. We’re still going out Sunday, right?”

“Unless my health takes a turn. I will let you know if plans change.”

“Well, if it does, I’ll still come over, and we can do something low-key.”

“I… appreciate that.” He rises. “Remember what I said, weretiger”

“Like you’d let me forget. And that was two, by the way. What are you going to do Tuesday?”

“Probably sneak in two more. You let me get away with it because you like it.”

“Good luck with that!” Atsushi fires back.

All Akutagawa calls in response is, “Enjoy your lunch, Atsushi. I made it with love. And rice.”

“Say rice first next time, will you?” His glasses fog up, and he turns to the bento box on his desk.
He takes them off for a minute and opens his desk drawer to clean them off.

“Nakajima…”

“Hmm?” he asks, peering in the direction the voice came from.

“Are you really dating Akutagawa-sensei?”

“Yeah.” He puts his glasses back on and peers at the editor who asked. “Why?”

The little cluster of them all exchange glances, then immediately drop the subject.

“Atsushi-kun is quite bold,” Dazai notes, leaning against his hand.

“I really don’t mind being open about it,” he states, unwrapping the bento and sliding the lid off.
“We talked a little about it after White Day and decided if we were doing this, we may as well do it
without trying to hide anymore.”

Dazai squints at him. “What are you insinuating?”

“Nothing at all,” he says. “Did you hash out when you and Akutagawa-kun are meeting?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “He’s gotten a little bolder since I last worked with him.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, he just told you he loved you in front of the whole office.”

Atsushi nearly drops one of his chopsticks. Shit, he did do that…

“And,” Dazai continued, “he came ready with the time, date, and place for our meeting.”

“When is it?”

“Saturday afternoon. Chuuya owes me for the overtime anyway.” Dazai smirks. “He’s going to get
pissed and roll his r’s, so that’s an added bonus.”

Atsushi glances at the cluster of editors who are now whispering and staring at him. “Is it really a
big deal that I’m dating a guy?” he grumbles.

“I think they’re more surprised the guy you’re dating is Akutagawa-kun.”

Shrugging, Atsushi eats his lunch at his desk while editing the document Akutagawa brought him.
Somehow, he finds the minecart works, but he suspects it’s a stand-in for something. Going to the
aquarium, he thinks. Growing a flower from a seed. Going a day without getting yelled at or hit.
He sets the story down . What’s your minecart, Ryuu?

As he works his way through the rest of the document, nibbling on tamagoyaki, rice, pickled
vegetables, and lightly seasoned fish, he finds himself no closer to answering that question.

On Saturday, unsurprisingly, Atsushi feels some anxiety. He texts Akutagawa good luck, then
throws himself at writing so he doesn’t think about it. The hour passes. Another starts to, but the
doorbell chiming interrupts its steady passage. Rising from his low table, he glances at the monitor.
Akutagawa… He slips through his narrow kitchen and opens the door. “How did you get this
address?”

“Dazai-san provided it,” Akutagawa answers. “Would you… permit me to step inside? I will not
stay long.”

“Sure. Take your shoes off. I’ll make you some tea. My apartment is a little cluttered, but…” The
instant the door falls shut, he feels Akutagawa’s arms wind around his shoulders. “Akutagawa?”

He takes a long, slow breath. “I… could stand here and thank you for your entire weekend, never
once stopping to sleep or eat, and even then, it would not be enough.”

Atsushi blinks.

“I appreciate so much… all the good you bring to my life.”

After recovering from being startled, Atsushi hugs him back, releases a long breath against the
writer’s shoulder. “You don’t have to thank me, Ryuu. Hold onto me for a little longer. Then, I’ll
get you tea. You can lay in my lap while I finish writing.”

“I… would like that very much, weretiger,” he answers.

It doesn’t take much longer for Akutagawa to let go. Atsushi starts the tea while the writer
removes his shoes. He lets Akutagawa walk past him into his living space, indifferent to whether
Akutagawa sees the clutter or reads the words on his screen. He makes two cups of tea: one for
him, one for his unannounced visitor. When he creeps into his living space, sure enough,
Akutagawa has made himself comfortable in front of the open laptop. “Here,” he says, carefully
setting the mug down and kneeling beside him. He blows the steam off of his own drink and takes
a sip. “Give it another minute. I notice you like your tea a little stronger than me.”

Akutagawa hums in response, and Atsushi leans against his arm. A minute later, Akutagawa shifts
beneath his head, setting the laptop aside, then reaching for his tea.

“Can I ask… about your meeting with Dazai-san?”

Akutagawa takes a sip from his mug. “He apologized for how he treated me, said he should have
acknowledged me much sooner.”

“You must have been very happy.”

“I was.” Akutagawa pauses. “I am. Only…”

“Only?” Atsushi glances up at the writer, watching him as he stares into his mug. “Ryuu?”

“Only the whole time I was with him, I kept wishing I was with you.”

So cute, Atsushi thinks, relaxing and leaning against Akutagawa’s arm again. “So you came here?”

“Yes. Obviously.” Akutagawa rolls his eyes. “Sometimes, the weretiger can still be foolish.”

“You like that I’m foolish sometimes,” Atsushi counters.

“I begrudgingly confess, much like almost everything else you do, it is adorable. Still… despite my
own inclinations to see you, I am… grateful that you were willing to initiate the meeting for me.”

“I hope it was worthwhile,” Atsushi murmurs. “I gave up a free lunch for it.”

“It was,” Akutagawa says. “Dazai-san mentioned that. I told him to take you out next week.” For a
little while, they sip their tea. Words become unnecessary. Atsushi is leaning on Akutagawa, and
that’s more than enough. Eventually, Akutagawa says, “Your story… the one you are writing
now…”

“Hmm?”

“I find it… fascinating. Though if asked why, I am… not sure I could explain without
considering.”

“Tell me when you decide why,” Atsushi says. “I’m curious.”

Akutagawa nods and lifts his cup again.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“I read your story about the minecart. I’ll bring you the edits Tuesday, but… there’s something I
want to know before I do. So I can give it a second pass.” Atsushi sets his mug down. “The whole
time I was reading it, I… couldn’t shake the feeling that the minecart was just a stand-in for
something else.”

“Is that so?” Akutagawa asks. “I never noticed.”

“You mean you weren’t just calling it a ‘minecart’ but thinking about something totally different?”

After a moment of intense thought, Akutagawa murmurs, “The minecart is me.”

Atsushi tips his head. “What do you mean?”

“What I wished for in that story, and in my childhood, was someone like you, someone who could
push me. Someone who knew his limits, someone who was running away from his own fears but
only until he could face them.” Atsushi feels Akutagawa squeeze his hand. “Because you cannot
push anything if you aren’t taking care of yourself.”

Atsushi blinks.

“I wanted someone who would… miss me in the moments when life becomes dull to the point of
tedium.”

Pressing against Akutagawa’s arm, Atsushi murmurs, “You’re being too nice again.”

“Permit me a little more kindness.”

“Ryuu—”

“Just enough to say I love you, nothing more.”

Atsushi sighs. “You don’t need to ask me for that.” He laces their fingers together. “But I feel like
you’ve been saying it since you came in.” Glancing up, he sees the lightest shadow of a smile on
 Akutagawa’s face.

“The weretiger has excellent hearing.”

“Really?” he retorts.

Smirking, Akutagawa says, “Does the offer to lay in your lap while you write still stand?”

“Hmm…” Atsushi removes his glasses. “I’d say yes, but I’m more interested in making out with
you right now.”

“Insatiable.”

Even knowing Akutagawa intends it as a complaint, Atsushi shifts until their lips are mere
centimeters apart. “And who’s fault is that?” he counters, leaning forward to erase the remainder of
space separating them.

He’s determined to make sure Akutagawa has no further complaints. That night, Atsushi has no
doubt that he succeeds.

Chapter End Notes

It's likely you see we're winding down, as we have Atsushi fulfilling his part of the
contract, but I had to write just one more chapter, which I'll be posting soon. :)

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Endnote time.

The chapter title: Is from Akutagawa's comment to Atsushi. Honestly, they bring lots
of good to each other's lives, so it felt fitting.

Last-minute edits: I fleshed out a couple of parts of the chapter, adding some action
after Akutagawa shows up at Atsushi's apartment to detail some of the things that
happened in Dazai's meeting with Akutagawa. I'm probably writing the SKK fic from
Chuuya's perspective, so I thought it was important to add those details here. I also
clarified time at the beginning and tweaked the chapter title, as well as a couple of
little things.

How I confused my Google Search History Monitor: looking up details for

Akutagawa's "The Minecart." No idea whether I'm accurately capturing the plot, but I
thought it would be fun to tie in a historical Akutagawa story with his desires. In other
words, I took creative liberties. I regret nothing.

Honestly, it's fun to write about his creative process because I sometimes have similar
thoughts when writing. "How can I weave this thing in?" That's part of why writing is
really fun for me.

Progress: I've been working on fluff week and fics I owe people (Chuuatsu for one
person, Ranpoe for another), so yeah... it may be a bit before I start the next piece in
this AU. But I'm pretty sure I'm going to do Kousano next. You know, for the
weaving.

And I think that about does it! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I hope you're
looking forward to the next one! Until my next post, drink lots of water!
 I Look Forward To Finding Out
Chapter Notes

Hello, everyone, and welcome to the final chapter of the adorable, silly, sometimes
snarky, always sweet morons (positive). I'm so excited to be posting this final chapter.

One last shoutout to everyone who has read the fic and kudosed. Special shoutout to
everyone who has taken time to comment. Thank you so much!

And now, one last time, the chapter!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“You look nervous.”

Atsushi shuffles and tries to hold onto the calmer feelings of earlier that day, of waking up late that
morning in Akutagawa’s bed, blanketed by the warm, white sun and one of the writer’s arms. But
he’s here now, standing beside Akutagawa backstage wearing a black suit, his heart racing.
Akutagawa adjusts his off-white sleeve.

“Do you remember the first time we wore these suits together?”

Atsushi stares at his shoes. “Of course. On White Day last year.” He reaches up for his face, but
his glasses aren’t there. He knows they’re on Akutagawa’s nightstand right on top of the book
they’re reading together since he’s wearing his contacts.

“I’ll bet when that happened, you never thought we would be wearing them on national
television.”

“Not really.” Atsushi fidgets with his necktie, which suddenly feels too tight. He thinks about how
much he’d rather be tangled up in Akutagawa’s blankets dozing, and not for the first time that day,
either.

“Look at me.”

Atsushi glances up from the floor, away from his pleasant memories of a peaceful morning
interrupted too soon by the onset of panic preceding his media appearance. But the way
Akutagawa caresses him takes him back to bare skin and blankets again, to drowsy smiles and slow
kisses, that took place long before this morning. Back to before the make-up artist applied a little
bit of powder to his face.

“I will be beside you the whole time. And I believe you and your charm will suit the camera.”

He tries to smile. He can’t, though. The anxiety starts in his chest, spreads through his extremities
—

Someone from the filing crew says, “You’re on in two,” and Atsushi blanches.

“Look at me,” Akutagawa insists again. “You are a weretiger, and probably the only being in
existence capable of scaring fear.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I am aware,” he states. “It made you smile, though.”

Atsushi doesn’t even realize it.

“We do not have Mori-sensei’s eloquence or Nakahara-sensei’s charisma. But we have each other.
And our own successes. In editing, and in writing.”

“Is that supposed to be some kind of proposal?”

Akutagawa cracks one of his rare full smiles. “You are ridiculous. This is the most inopportune
moment to—”

“Should we… I don’t know. Hold hands or something when we go out?” It’s a bit of a foolish
question considering they’ve made it no secret that their partnership extends beyond publication.

“Whatever you are comfortable with,” Akutagawa answers, turning and walking out from
backstage. Atsushi follows and settles for resting his hand in the crook of Akutagawa’s arm, taking
his seat beside Akutagawa and letting out a slow breath.

He still remembers getting the invitation to appear on the news alongside Akutagawa instead of
simply being an editor backstage or on the other side of the camera. “We absolutely insist! Beast
Beneath the Moonlight and Rashomon are both getting a lot of attention as collections published
within mere months of each other.”

After agreeing to it, once that initial meeting concluded, he turned to Akutagawa and said, “What
the hell?”

“Loud,” he grumbled.

“Why the hell are they asking me to interview? You’re the writer! It makes no—” Akutagawa’s
finger interrupted him.

“Breathe.”

Atsushi drew a long breath.

“I am not the only writer now. And you are not the only editor.”

He sighed as Akutagawa’s fingers smoothed his face.

“It was bound to happen,” Akutagawa continued. “Thanks to your support, Rashomon turned out to
be something special, just like Edogawa predicted. And Beast Beneath the Moonlight , published
mere months after, was bound to be a success. You put your heart into it.”

Atsushi couldn’t help but relax a little more beneath those words.

“It is okay to be anxious, but you are not doing this alone. And you are not the only one feeling this
way.”

“But you… have done this before.”

“Perhaps,” Akutagawa answered, “but it has been a long time since anyone has invited me to be on
television, and never on a national broadcast.”
Atsushi still recalls how tightly he hugged Akutagawa. The disbelief of how good and real
everything between them is—the writing, the dating—still hasn’t faded. But as he lowers himself
into the chair beside Akutagawa’s now, they exchange one last look before Akutagawa responds to
the host, who is currently thanking them. He bows in tandem with Akutagawa, lifts his head.

“Nakajima-sensei.”

“Yes?” It’s strange to answer those words, stranger still to have them directed at him at all. When
he started this, he wanted to write, but he never thought he would. Now that he has, there’s no
taking back the words or the way they have changed how people see him. He’s not sure how he
manages to keep his voice steady, but somehow, the act of having his hand tucked into
Akutagawa’s elbow is enough.

“You seem nervous.”

“Honestly, yeah.” He smiles. “It’s my first time on national television. Sorry.”

“Ah, no apologies necessary. I just want to make sure you’re not so nervous, you trip over your
words. It’s normal, honestly. I’ve been hosting this show for nearly fifteen years, but my heart still
flutters from time to time.”

He remembers something Akutagawa murmured in his ear on their one-year anniversary just
before they started making out and fighting each other’s clothes off. “Even after a year, your eyes,
your words, and every little affectionate thing you do all still make my heart flutter as if my love
for you is brand new.”

Back in the present, he hears the host continue, “I’ll start with some easier questions.”

“Sure.” He looks at Akutagawa. “But you answer first. You’re older.”

Akutagawa covers a small cough. “Very well.” He can hear the unspoken weretiger in
Akutagawa’s glance.

The questions at the beginning are easy enough: stuff about why they started writing, what their
lives were like before they were published, where they grew up. Atsushi finds it surprisingly easy,
almost like a conversation. Because their interview is being recorded, Atsushi makes sure he calls
Akutagawa “sensei,” a favor that Akutagawa returns as if picking up on his intent. After that, they
fall into a rhythm of give and take Atsushi can’t explain, almost as if this is just a natural part of
their life.

Of course, that includes a few instances of playful bickering. “Remember when you said you were
too focused on improving your editing to write?”

“The same way I remember you not wanting to write at all.”

Akutagawa scoffs. “And whose fault is it that I’ve now published a second collection since we
began working together?”

“I guess I can take part of the blame as your editor,” Atsushi insists, “but only if you take full
responsibility for Beast Beneath the Moonlight .”

“And how, pray tell, is that my fault?”

“That stupid thing you call me,” Atsushi retorts, adding a matter-of-fact wave. “Plus, you were the
one who pushed me to write in the first place, and the one who gave me the wind line.”
“The wind line?” the host asks, leaning forward. “Ah, yes… the one about laughter.”

“He said that to me in an effort to flirt before we first started dating,” Atsushi explains.

“I did no such thing, Nakajima-sensei,” he counters, but his smile says otherwise.

“If I remember correctly, Akutagawa-sensei, it was the first time we went anywhere together.”

“It was your fault for laughing so unabashedly.”

“How is it my fault a leaf fell in your hair?” he chuckles. “You act like I can actually control the
wind or something.”

“Well, you have done more remarkable things than that.” Akutagawa passes him a glance. “I credit
you with making me love writing again, and for pushing me to live a little.”

Atsushi nods and murmurs, “You’re honestly the reason I thought about publishing in the first
place. Before you, I didn’t think I could do it.” He feels himself smiling, and not just for the
audience who will eventually watch this interview.

“It’s not often I meet authors with such chemistry. Ah, I’m not just referring to your romantic
chemistry, of course.”

“I would like to think,” Akutagawa states, turning back to the host, “that we view each other as
collaborators, not competitors, that we are both writers, both editors, and both people who have
survived difficult times alone. We are still learning to survive them together.”

Atsushi smiles even though he recalls Akutagawa’s last stint in the hospital. A painful time, to be
sure. It was only a week. Akutagawa finally conceded to let Atsushi see him. “Do not look at me
with pity, weretiger,” was all he said. Atsushi just reached for his hand, working around the heart
monitor clipped to his finger.

“I’m so happy to see you,” was all Atsushi answered.

“At times,” Akutagawa continues in the present, “admittedly, the weretiger does not make it easy
—”

“Did you actually just call me that on national TV?” Atsushi demands.

The host’s chuckle interrupts their words.

“And telling me I don’t make it easy? You don’t always make it easy, either.” He watches
Akutagawa roll his eyes and drops his hand to the writer’s fingers. “But you know, even when
times are difficult, it doesn’t change anything.”

“I’m glad we learned early on how to set boundaries and ask for space.”

Atsushi nods and squeezes Akutagawa’s fingers. Akutagawa squeezes back.

“If you had not insisted on that, perhaps we wouldn’t have made it this far.”

“Such a simple thing,” the host murmurs. “I have one more question, if you’ll permit me.”

“Of course,” Akutagawa answers. Atsushi can see the effort he takes to temper his sarcasm.

“What are you working on now?”

Akutagawa shrugs. “There is this story I wrote a year ago about a minecart… I’m still trying to
decide what to do with it. Otherwise, I am working on another collection partly inspired by one of
the stories in Rashomon . The one about the spider. On the other hand, Nakajima-sensei…”

“I almost have enough for a second collection,” he says, reading Akutagawa’s signal flawlessly.
“Maybe after we figure out what to do with ‘The Minecart’?”

“If that is your desire, you may be waiting a long time.”

“I can wait,” Atsushi states. “I waited months for your first ‘I love you.’”

Akutagawa instantly covers his mouth, but that does little to hide the color in his ears. Dropping
his hand, he sighs and murmurs, “We can negotiate.”

“Sure.” Atsushi smiles. “Hopefully, that explains things.”

“Would I be permitted to ask what’s next for you in your personal life?”

Atsushi glances up at Akutagawa, who shrugs. “I suppose we should think about that at some
point.”

“I mean… are you happy with the way things are now?”

“I’m not sure I could be anything else, weretiger.”

“That’s two. On national television. Really, Ryuu…” He rolls his eyes. “But yeah,” he concedes.
“I’m happy, too.”

They wind down filming, and as soon as the camera’s off, Atsushi lets out a sigh. After some
chatter with the filming crew and one more thanks to the host, they dip backstage again.

“You did well,” Akutagawa murmurs.

Atsushi nods. “Yeah. I was pretty anxious, but you really helped me relax.” He studies Akutagawa
for a moment. “What’s with that look? You’re sulking.”

“Because I lied.”

“What?”

“I am only mostly happy with the way things are now.”

Atsushi catches his look.

“I would be happier if…” Akutagawa’s eyes fall. “That is… to say…”

“You’re turning really red. Is your chest okay? Do you need a—”

“Now is not the time.”

“Ryuu.” Atsushi clasps the writer’s hands. “It’s okay. Say it. You don’t have to make it sound
beautiful or anything. It’s beautiful enough on its own.”

Akutagawa continues staring at the floor. Atsushi feels his hands shaking.

“What is it? Are you sick? Like, sick in a different way than you normally are?”
“No.”

“Are you just really nervous because the interview is over?”

“No,” Akutagawa murmurs, glancing up.

“Then…” Atsushi inhales. “You don’t have to say anything right now. Tell me what it is when
you’re ready. In the meantime, I’ll—”

“My bed.”

He blinks.

“It… feels too empty without you in it.”

Atsushi smiles. “If you want me to stay the night—”

“I want you to stay forever.”

Atsushi blinks, and his head tips as he tries to figure out what Akutagawa means.

“I was going to ask you at dinner,” Akutagawa murmurs, covering his mouth.

“Ask me what?”

For his question, he gets a glare that has barely any heat in it.

“Ryuu—”

“Just… I want to write a book with you.”

“What?” he asks.

“And…” his face starts to redden. “If… you are amenable to it… I… believe I would also like you
to… sleep in my bed every night, not just one or two nights a week.”

“As your boyfriend?”

“As my… roommate.”

“Your roommate.” Atsushi folds his arms. “Are you asking me to move in with you?” He can tell
from the way Akutagawa jolts that that’s it. “Really?”

“Are you a fool?”

“You’re the fool,” Atsushi counters, pulling Akutagawa’s hand away from his mouth and kissing
the backs of his fingers. “For important stuff like this, just ask me directly.”

“Then… will you write a book with me?”

“Yes,” Atsushi answers, smoothing Akutagawa’s face until his silver eyes rise.

“Will you… also move in with me?”

Atsushi smiles and draws their lips together, indifferent to anyone backstage who might see. “Were
you listening closely?” he murmurs. “Or should I answer again?”
 “Shouldn’t you also answer directly, weretiger?”

“You know my answer is yes, Ryuu.” He drops his hands. “Seriously, why wouldn’t I agree to it? I
practically live with you already one or two days a week.”

“We will have to sort out logistics.”

“We will,” Atsushi answers.

Akutagawa blinks. “You are oddly calm.”

“Because I love you and this is something I want.”

Blinking again, Akutagawa murmurs, “I… also love you, and this is also something I want. But we
may need to find somewhere bigger than my current apartment.”

“My lease isn’t up for a few months.”

Akutagawa coughs.

“What?”

“You expect me to wait that long? I will perish of loneliness.”

“Dramatic,” Atsushi retorts, but he smiles anyway. “Spend the night at my place a couple times a
week, then. Open invitation. Just text me before you’re on your way so I can tell you if I need
space or make sure I’m there. In the meantime, let’s start looking if you want.” Atsushi smiles.
“We can stay in your place until your lease is up. And we can work out the rest of the details as
they come up.”

“You may be panicky at times, but the way you look at a situation like this and just… make sense
of it astounds me. Of course… I anticipate cohabitating with a weretiger will cause an exponential
increase in my grocery bills.”

“We’ll have two incomes, and we can split the grocery bills,” Atsushi retorts. “Now come on. I
really am hungry.” He grabs Akutagawa a hand and leans closer so his mouth is next to the
writer’s ear. “And not just for dinner, either.”

“Insatiable,” Akutagawa murmurs in his ear, but the way Akutagawa’s lips press against his neck
for a moment speak volumes of his want despite how quiet and brief the gesture is. “About the
book…”

“At dinner,” Atsushi insists, pulling Akutagawa forward. He pauses and glances back. “Maybe…
‘The Minecart’ doesn’t belong in your collection,” he ventures. “Maybe… it’s always belonged in
ours .”

“You call me romantic.”

“What?” Atsushi asks. “You can’t say I’m wrong. We won’t know for sure until we start writing in
earnest, but I’m betting that story fits in there somewhere.”

To his surprise, Akutagawa doesn’t argue, doesn’t complain. He simply smiles and murmurs, “I
look forward to finding out, weretiger.”

Chapter End Notes

Chapter End Notes

I had to give them a storybook ending, alright? They deserve it. I will die on this hill.

Thank you all so much for reading the final chapter of this fic. I'm so honored to be
finally posting the final chapter. Maybe it's a bit of an odd way to end it, but... well, I'll
explain some of that later in the endnote. Let's do the usual, shall we?

The chapter title: Is from Akutagawa's last line. I almost went for "It's Beautiful
Enough On Its Own" from Atsushi's dialog, but I wanted something forward-facing to
mirror the Fukumori fic in this series.

Last-minute changes: Tweaks here and there. I especially needed to make sure the
flashbacks were clear with past-tense. I didn't do this in the Fukumori fic, but I wanted
to include a few flashbacks in this chapter since it takes place some time after chapter
21.

I did not confuse my Google Search History Monitor, so let's talk about some thoughts
I have about this AU as a whole: I think it would be fun to play with time somehow in
every part of the series. A conversation to have with my beta, to be sure, but since I did
flashbacks in every chapter of Fukumori, and since I did a kind of past affecting the
present in this fic, with flashbacks in the final chapter only including the time skip, I
think it would be fun to do that with other parts of the series, too. No idea whether it's
going to work or what it's going to look like. Half of me wants to try alternating
timelines in SKK, with one chapter in the present and one in the past. Maybe I can
include flashbacks in Kousano kind of like in the Fukumori fic. I don't know about
Ranpoe, but... yeah. That's something I'm hoping to play with. I also think it would be
cool to do something forward-facing in every final chapter. I don't know... I'm clearly
thinking too hard about the "craft" of this.

Progress: I'm focused on other projects right now, so no clue when I'll come back to
this AU. Probably when I finish a couple of my other projects (fluff week day 7, the
events I'm in, the fics I owe people, the like 4 one shots I have written and not posted,
and probably the SSKK fic in the CAU). Kousano or SKK are on the docket. I half
wrote an SKK chapter, but my ever-drifting focus decided to drift, so... whoops.

I think that about does it for the endnote. Once again, I really appreciate everyone who
read until the end. Thank you also for the comments. I hope you have enjoyed this
iteration of SSKK. And until my next update (in this series or otherwise), I hope you
drink plenty of water!

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!