Chapter Text
Atsushi hates the feeling he gets when walking through the Port Mafia’s territory. It's not fear, no, Atsushi knows fear and this isn't it, but it's unsettling. No matter where he goes or what paths he takes, it's impossible to shake the feeling of being watched by something, or someone, that he can’t see.
He closes his eyes and takes a breath of fresh air to clear his mind instead. It's a beautiful day, the sun shining low in the sky, having just risen for the morning. He can’t say he expected the Port Mafia’s territory to be as nice as it is, but it's definitely a pleasant surprise. He supposes the point is probably to keep others from suspecting the people living in the expensive-looking houses of working in an organized crime ring. Typically, Atsushi would never be this far into their base without company, but Dazai insists Akutagawa will be meeting him at the spot he has assigned.
He makes it to the meeting spot Dazai has specified without too much trouble. The sight of a normal-looking building he is greeted with relieves the large knot of tension that has formed at the base of his neck, at least momentarily. Dazai had given him directions before he left, though he hadn’t specified the building's purpose or even its looks. Atsushi isn’t actually sure what he had been expecting before he arrived. An office building maybe, or an abandoned shed, or a shipping container would all have probably been believable options.
The mafia is by no means a fruitless business; Akutagawa’s ‘house’ that he shares with his sister is nearly twice the size of anything Atsushi has ever seen. The mafia itself, however, tends to host meetings in the most run-down, out-of-the-way places they can find. Which is why he is so surprised to be standing outside what looks like a single-story house, much older looking than its surrounding counterparts. It still looks well-maintained to fit the rich-looking neighborhood; the vines and greenery traversing the sides look well-managed, almost artistic, and bricks cracked from years of weathering are filled and painted over.
When Atsushi knocks on the door, the last thing he expects is to be greeted by a disgruntled-looking Chuuya, holding a gun level with Atsushi’s gut. Despite the situation, Atsushi finds himself unable to ignore Chuuya’s lack of formal clothing; where his suit and trench coat would be, he instead wears sweats and a fitted tee shirt. It's jarring to see him in such casual clothing that the gun almost doesn’t seem relevant. When Chuuya lowers it, however, Atsushi’s shoulders still sag in relief. Chuuya frowns at him, eyebrows furrowing in what Atsushi picks out to be a mixture of anger and annoyance, but he still makes no move to invite him inside.
“The fuck are you doing here?” Chuuya asks, his voice cracking the smallest bit. He clears his throat without his expression faltering, leaving Atsushi to briefly wonder in a panic if he has woken him up.
“Dazai tells me to go to this address for a job debriefing,” Atsushi replies, stepping back as Chuuya’s face contorts again, eyebrows furrowing so far that Atsushi actually marvels at how he manages not to pull something while doing so. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and moves from the doorway, leaving Atsushi to hesitate, wondering if he is expected to follow or not. When Chuuya glares at him and waves a hand at him to hurry up, he moves inside as well. He shuts the door behind himself and cringes at the rattling sound the strike plate makes like it's been slammed shut so many times that it's been knocked loose.
He stays standing there, hovering uncomfortably by the entrance as Chuuya angrily scrolls through the contact list on his phone. He eventually finds what he is looking for and props the device between his ear and his shoulder, storming into the kitchen where a pan of half-cooked eggs sits next to the stove. Chuuya picks the pan up as well as the spatula next to it, putting it back on the burner as the phone rings in his ear. After about three rings the person on the other line, presumably Dazai from the informal greeting Chuuya gives him, finally picks up.
“You mind telling me why your fucking street rat is in my house right now?” Chuuya seethes, though Atsushi can tell he is toning down the screaming for his sake, which he is grateful for. It's still early and Atsushi has never done well with people yelling, even when it isn’t directed at him. He attempts to ignore as much of the conversation as possible, both out of concern as to whether Chuuya would consider it rude and because only hearing one side of it is more confusing than it is informative.
As they argue back and forth, Chuuya moves towards Atsushi who is still hovering by the front door. He pushes him lightly towards the living room, and when Atsushi flinches away from the touch Chuuya either doesn't notice or doesn't care enough to comment. He follows him to the living room where Chuuya points at the couch, looking at Atsushi who stares back blankly.
“That doesn’t explain why you gave him my address, Osamu. Does Ryunosuke even- will you sit down? Christ's sake- No, I was talking to your coworker, mackerel.”
Atsushi flinches when he realizes Chuuya has been addressing him, then sits on the couch as he has been asked. Chuuya continues pacing through the house while talking, at one point stopping to eat the eggs he has made and at another disappearing into what Atsushi assumes is his room and re-emerging dressed in his usual clothes. Occasionally, Atsushi catches snippets of the conversation, and briefly, there is even a period of silence followed by a muttering of “that is so fucking stupid” that even the tiger’s hearing can barely pick up.
“Do I need to call Ryuunosuke or not?” A pause. “God, you’re insufferable. I’ll call you later.” He hangs up the call abruptly, settling onto the chair that is positioned against the wall to the left of where Atsushi sits stiffly on the couch. In his hand is a wine glass, nearly full to the brim, and his hat, which he has taken off when he sat down. Atsushi stares at him expectantly in the couple of minutes of silence that follows Chuuya joining him in the living room.
“Should I go…?” Atsushi’s voice is barely loud enough for Chuuya to hear, nerves from the situation still eating away at him. Chuuya sits back up in the chair, holding up his index finger towards Atsushi as if to ask for him to wait, and lifts the wine glass to his lips. Honestly, Atsushi is impressed with how quickly the glass is drained.
After a little bit more silence, Atsushi opens his mouth to ask a second time only to be cut off by Chuuya raising a finger again, this time aimed at the door. It is then that Atsushi realizes he hears footsteps approaching.
Sure enough, in comes Akutagawa, dressed in his usual regalia. The long black jacket used for Rashomon has to be stifling in the summer heat that has been rolling into Yokohama this month, but Akutagawa seems unaffected. He walks with purpose towards the couch where Atsushi sits and takes his place next to him as if this is just merely the ADA’s office and not the most dangerous mafia executive’s home. Chuuya takes one final moment to drag his hand down his face in frustration, then skips the formalities altogether.
“Dazai sets this up, so I don’t know a lot about it. Apparently, you two are going undercover to an art gallery event for four days, or until you find the organization that’s been planning to bomb the place. There’s been some intel that says they’re trying to destroy the piece that’s being displayed closing night, a solid quartz statue of some douchebag politician.” Chuuya stands up, and Atsushi looks to Akutagawa to see what he should do. He stays sitting, so Atsushi follows his lead. Chuuya leaves, still muttering about how stupid it would be to bomb a whole building just because of one lousy statue, and reappears with two files, giving one to each of them. “These should contain what you need to know, including your covers and the details of the organization. Any questions?”
Atsushi and Akutagawa flip through the binders for a moment, and then both raise their heads at the same time. Despite them both seemingly having the same question, Akutagawa is the one who speaks up first.
“What’s our relationship supposed to be? It’s left blank in the file.”
Chuuya cringes at that, looking at them warily. “You’ll… find out at the gallery. The desk lady will tell you.”
Atsushi definitely doesn’t like the sound of that at all, and from the look of it, neither does Akutagawa. Neither of them comments, however, mostly because the look on Chuuya’s face is that of someone who deeply wants to have their house to themselves again. The three of them exchange their goodbyes and Atsushi and Akutagawa leave at the same time, beginning to walk in the same direction. The first time they find themselves in this situation (though, not from Chuuya’s house) Atsushi thought the silence to be awkward, but now he thinks he prefers it to Akutagawa tearing his limbs off.
“How have you and Gin been?” Atsushi asks, mostly to break the tense quiet that has fallen over them. Akutagawa looks at him, bewildered, and Atsushi almost has the heart to feel bad for trying to have a normal, human interaction for once.
“We are…” he hesitates before answering, as if unsure whether or not Atsushi is joking. “…fine. Why are you so worried about my personal affairs, weretiger?”
“Can’t I just make small talk?” It's a stupid question. Atsushi knows he can’t; Akutagawa doesn’t do small talk, and both of them know that well. Still, he’d take an argument over the silence of their walk paired with the atmosphere the port mafia’s territory provides, even just as a distraction from the constant feeling of being watched.
“It isn’t my fault you’re so uncomfortable as to bother me with pointless pleasantries. Why don’t you focus on your own problems, such as gathering clothes less hideous than your current wardrobe.” He seems to pause in consideration for a moment. “I do hope you didn’t plan on wearing your button-down and suspenders during the whole job.”
Atsushi sputters, flailing for a response. He had, of course, been planning on bringing his usual wardrobe to the job, but Akutagawa didn’t need to know that. “No!” Atsushi widens the gap between them, shifting uncomfortably under Akutagawa’s stare.
“… You were.”
There is silence for a while, and then Akutagawa sighs in defeat. He pulls out his phone and begins to type for a while, though Atsushi can’t tell what he is typing or who he is talking to, and is consequently left to walk in silence again. They arrive at the crossroads where they are supposed to separate to their respective homes, Atsushi still trying (and failing) to peek over his partner’s shoulder at the message he is typing out. He figures it probably would have been a lot easier if he had stopped using Rashomon to block his view. Akutagawa turns towards his path, giving Atsushi another half-hearted wave before walking in the other direction.
“Make sure you take Kyouka up on her offer, I won’t be going on a job with someone dressed like a child.”
As confused as Atsushi is, he decides to shrug it off in favor of continuing towards the agency, sure he’ll find out what his partner had been talking about sooner or later. It's nearly common practice when it comes to situations like this. It's only another twenty minutes before he is back at the agency, entering the office space. Kenji is the first to greet him with an enthusiastic wave from where he sits next to a more or less disinterested Ranpo.
“Welcome back, Atsushi-kun!” Kenji calls across the room. Dazai, who he hadn’t noticed at first because of the way his head rested on his desk, perks up when he hears mention of Atsushi’s name. He whirls in his chair dramatically, sending paperwork to the ground and pointedly ignoring Kunikida’s complaints about him doing so.
“Atsushi, you’re back! How was your visit?”
“You didn’t tell me I was going to Chuuya-san’s house.” Frowning as he speaks, Atsushi moves towards his own desk where he stored the paperwork he had been given by Chuuya.
“What difference does it make,” Dazai shrugs, picking up his pencil and twirling it in between his fingers absently. “You still get briefed all the same.”
“It was an invasion of his privacy, not to mention it was early and he didn’t seem prepared for it at all.”
Dazai sighs dramatically, turning in his chair to cross his arms over the back of it and rest his head on them. “You sound just like the slug.”
Atsushi elects to ignore him, grabbing the rest of his things he needs to take with him back to his and Kyouka’s apartment. When Dazai attempts to hand Atsushi his paperwork for him to do, he is relieved to see he won’t have to come up with an excuse not to do it. At least not if Kunikida, who is currently standing over Dazai’s desk to lecture him on the importance of doing one’s own paperwork, has anything to say about it.
Atsushi just shakes his head and continues out the door.
—
“It’s me!” Atsushi speaks as he opens the door to the apartment with one hand, balancing poorly packaged loose paperwork in the other. Kyouka tends to get jumpy when people open the door without warning, especially when she is home alone, something he had discovered the hard way with a knife to his throat about a month ago. When his hands are too full to knock he usually resorts to announcing his presence on arrival.
He sets his things down on the kitchen table after discarding his shoes by the door. Their apartment has become much more lively than Atsushi had kept it before Kyouka had moved in. During her first few nights living with him Kyouka hadn’t mentioned much about it, only making a couple adjustments with what few belongings she brought with her at first. Then, slowly but surely, she began making comments about furniture and decoration. Or, rather, the lack thereof, leaving Atsushi with no choice but to add things as she suggested them. Atsushi really could see a difference after he started doing it, he would admit. It isn’t as though he has many frames of reference, but he has begun to view their shared space as a ‘home’ rather than something temporary.
Some specific things make him feel that way, like the recliner and couch that sit on top of a white tiger print rug, which is a gift from Dazai that he has found to be incredibly funny. And next to that, against the wall, is a bookshelf full of everything he wishes he had been able to read in the orphanage. Everything from children’s books to recommendations from the others at the ADA to notebooks of his own writings that he and Kyouka have a silent agreement on the privacy of. He really would have put them somewhere else, but his closet isn’t exactly ‘roomy’ and he has a tendency to forget about things when he hides them. In the other corner is a desk for him to do paperwork, and through the door next to that in the kitchen, there are cabinets filled with mostly Kyouka’s favorite foods, as well as a large tea cabinet that they both contribute to.
He walks over to the tea cabinet, puts on a kettle, and sets out two mugs with strawberry and Earl Grey tea pouches in them respectively. Just as he is lighting the stove to boil the kettle, Kyouka rounds the corner into the kitchen.
Hovering by the entryway, she watches him as he sorts through the cupboards for honey and sugar, grabbing their quarter gallon of milk from the fridge on their way by. Both of them like their tea sweet, though Kyouka more so than Atsushi, and only Atsushi likes milk in his. The water begins to boil and Atsushi pours their teas and sets them on the table to steep, all the while Kyouka remains silent, as she tends to do. Atsushi has noticed that she wasn’t much of a talker when they first moved in together, though she has gotten much more comfortable talking around him as time has gone on.
“You have a job soon?” She asks, breaking the silence as she helps him put away the honey and milk in the cupboards she can most easily reach.
“Yeah. I’m supposed to leave tomorrow with Akutagawa for the art gallery that’s happening uptown for a little bit. I don’t think I have a lot of good clothes for it though, it’s supposed to be fancy and it goes for four days. I mean, assuming we don't complete the job before then.” He takes the lemon tea packet from the water once it's strong enough and sips on it slowly so as to not burn himself, handing Kyouka her own with a quick word of warning.
“We could go shopping early in the morning. Kouyou showed me how to pick out nice clothes, and I’ve seen Chuuya and Akutagawa dress themselves enough to know what you need.” She takes a long sip of her tea, a small amused smile playing at what little he can see of her mouth over the edge of her cup. Though he receives more of these smiles now than he did when she had first left the port mafia, he finds that they’re still just as treasured when he sees them. “Though, I’m sure you don’t want to end up dressed like a sickly vampire.”
Atsushi laughs, and then looks at her in consideration. Had this been what Akutagawa meant when he had told him to take Kyouka up on her offer? He doesn't want to do something with Kyouka that she is only doing because someone else had told her to, but he really does need to find clothes before tomorrow. After a moment of hesitation, he nods.
“Yeah, alright. I’ll get you crepes while we’re out too.”
Her eyes light up as she smiles, small and genuine like she usually does when Atsushi offers to do something nice for her. They finish their tea in relative silence, absently talking about what colors compliment Atsushi as far as clothing could be considered. Completely out of his depth, Atsushi elects to sit and listen patiently for the majority of it. Kyouka seems to be settled on dark blues or purples, though she had off-handedly mentioned any jewelry should have been gold. Atsushi nearly spat out his tea when she showed him a picture of a gold brooch, the price tag reading 39 thousand yen.
Atsushi stands up from the table, electing to get some of the paperwork he had brought back done before they went to bed for the night. He moves the papers from the kitchen counter to his desk, settling down with a pen from the cup to his right.
When he flips through the papers, he isn’t surprised to find Dazai’s blank reports mixed in with his own.