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Kunikida fiddles with Atsushi's tie again, hunched over his chest. His head is close enough for Atsushi to count the gray hairs standing out from it. He knows they were not there before, just as he knows every turn of the fabric brings the wrinkles closer to irreparable.
The peace ceremony begins at noon. Everyone is ready except for Dazai, who didn't arrive at Kunikida's hotel room like he asked.
It has been less than a year since they received an award from the government, but today it feels like an event dislocated from time. So much has happened, yet they all look the same, wearing the same exact clothes as they did last time.
"Done!" A victorious smile brightens Kunikida's features, and Atsushi's heart lurches at the sight. He used to be like this more often, when things went according to plan, or when he got a new notebook in the mail. Atsushi hadn't even noticed.
"Nice job," Dazai says as he sneaks into the room, hair tousled like he just woke up. His tie hangs undone around his neck. "Help me too?"
Atsushi knows better than to think the flicker of irritation in Kunikida's eyes is real. He's thrilled to help, and forget that Dazai is also capable of doing it himself.
Maybe nothing has to change after all.
When they turn around, Atsushi tries to tie the knot as he always does.
His hands pause. He doesn't remember where to start.
Kunikida and Dazai sit side by side with their crooked ties, no one points out that Atsushi is missing his when they arrive at the venue. The ceremony is longer than the last one, and they all watch it from the row closer to the stage. One of the first things he learned when he left the orphanage, was that people go overboard with their perfumes and colognes when they have to dress up. The overhead lights are too bright and warm. The place too big and with too many exits, and the people that are most important to him are all here, like sitting ducks.
Atsushi's fingers shift into claws without warning. Lately, it hasn't been easy to keep his tiger senses at bay.
He closes his eyes for a minute and takes a deep breath.
When did his world get so big?
When he lived in that tiny cell, he only had to look after himself.
"Let's get crepes after this," Kyoka says quietly. Her left hand is pulling lightly at his shirt, the other rests at the hilt of her concealed dagger. She shouldn't have brought this to a ceremony meant to celebrate peace. In the past, he would've been worried about it, about the darkness that burdens her young hands. Today, he loves her for it, and there are no ghosts to tell him he's wrong.
It's a fifteen minute walk to the hotel when the inauguration ends. The President had to stay behind at the venue for a meeting, and Atsushi had to practically drag Ranpo away. Ranpo knew this would happen since the day started, and despite all reassurances from the President, it did. Then he had one drink, one too many considering he hadn't eaten all day.
"I can cure your hangover," Yosano says to Ranpo, who is holding on too tight to Atsushi's neck. "You only have to ask."
"I'm not drunk," Ranpo sniffles wetly, the trace of his tears cool as the autumn wind blows against Atsushi's shirt.
Yosano sighs, picks up Ranpo's hat from his head and carries it under her arm. "I know. He'll be okay."
It's not sustainable, how hard it is to be apart from each other now.
There are mysteries that Atsushi hasn't bothered to unveil since the day he entered the divine being's realm. A certainty, that he knows more than he believes. A fear, that that knowledge is about the future.
Some things can't be changed. If he knew as much as Ranpo does, would he even try?
"We're here," Yosano says at the entrance of the hotel, a tall bright building, bustling with music and people. The kind of place Atsushi would've been excited to see when he first left that small cruel world of his childhood. A world he'd been sure he'd only leave as a corpse.
"Would you like me to carry you to your room?" Atsushi asks Ranpo.
"No," Ranpo says, patting his shoulder to be let down. He stands tall, pulls out his glasses, and snatches his hat away from Yosano's hand. "If I give you a list, can you get me some snacks?"
The flash of annoyance he used to feel at Ranpo's laziness hits him like a truck after many months of being absent. He welcomes how much of it is tinged with pride.
They'd all be lost without him.
Naomi and Tanizaki are standing in the line of the convenience store when he arrives, they don't see him, and Atsushi doesn't want to bother them. He's not sure who else knows they're not siblings. Probably everyone, even though no one says it out loud. It's been a while since Kunikida has scolded them, scandalized by their displays of affection, but maybe that's only because they're not as frequent as they used to be.
Like this, unaware of Atsushi, Tanizaki leans his cheek against Naomi's head as she reads a label. They're quiet and relaxed, almost like siblings, until Tanizaki picks up Naomi's hand and kisses her wrist. Atsushi looks away, because he's not supposed see this, even though he has caught them in far more compromising situations. It's strange that he's only seeing what was already there.
"Weren't they siblings?" someone asks to his left. It takes Atsushi a few seconds to recognize a voice he hasn't heard in months.
Atsushi turns back, and Akutagawa is so close he steps on his foot. A tendril slips under his sleeve discreetly to push him back before his head clashes against Akutagawa's face. The pressure of Rashomon against his skin is soft. It tickles as it slides off from his shoulders, leaving in its wake a warm electricity that makes Atsushi's cheeks flush uncontrollably.
Akutagawa clears his throat, and Atsushi suddenly wonders if Rashomon can read minds.
"Weretiger," Akutagawa says, taking a step back. "Don't answer what I asked."
"I didn't plan to," he says, thankfully sounding more annoyed than nervous. It's fine, his embarrassment has probably saved Tanizaki's secret from the Port Mafia. "What are you doing here?"
It's the least important question in his mind, but he can't really be blamed. This is mostly how seeing Akutagawa goes, only this time he's not sneaking behind him on an alley or manifesting out of thin air in the middle of the ocean. He doesn't know where he lives, he doesn't even have his number.
His chest is close to burst from all the things he suddenly needs to ask, the things he needs to say.
But the one he should say, the one where he confesses he saw something he shouldn't have seen in the realm of the divine being, that one is like a stone caught in his throat.
Akutagawa only stares, in that unnerving manner he has of staring. Something about it makes Atsushi feel more like himself than he has felt since the battle at the airport ended, and he's not sure if that is a good thing. To be seen again by the one who was witness to his begging and screaming, to his grief. To his death.
Maybe that's what the look in Akutagawa's eyes means. They've both seen too much and some words are better left unsaid. But then, why does it feel so wrong?
Before he can ponder it, Naomi calls his name and Akutagawa disappears.
Atsushi waits at the back of the store until the wind stiffens his fingers, hoping to see Akutagawa again. This year has been a blur, he didn't even notice the summer had ended until now. In the orphanage it wasn't too different. He only knew autumn had arrived until the few weeks before it plunged into winter and the chains around his ankles were too cold.
Everything is fine now. That man kept his word. He's not there anymore and he doesn't have to think about him.
Atsushi is free and he shouldn't feel so alone.
Kenji is asleep when he finally gets to their shared room at the hotel, curled around a pillow like a cat. His calves peek out of his pajamas more than they probably should. In no time they'll be the same height. Atsushi picks out the blanket from the floor and covers his feet with it.
"Atsushi-san, you're great," he mumbles softly.
He's asleep, best to ignore him. Atsushi takes off his shoes and lies on the bed with his suit on. Kunikida will give him an earful in the morning, but he honestly doesn't care, not about the suit, or the long speech where they thanked them for their heroism. Not about all the people that shook their hands and took pictures of them.
In the dark, he tries to collect his memories of the Agency and make them solid. Shape them into that infallible anchor that has held him together for the last year.
Instead, he remembers lying on the floor of that cell again. He remembers the clicking of the lock, the soft steps of the headmaster, and the sudden warmth of a blanket over his feet.
The stupid notion that "maybe it wasn't that bad."
"You're great too, Kenji-kun."
The thing about the curse the headmaster set upon him, is that "saving others" carries the implication that there will always be people to save. Atsushi has lived enough in the real world to know that the chances of his friends dying of old age are small.
He never believes he can take it, but he will. Atsushi can take the pain, it's just that sometimes he forgets, and now there's no one to remind him of it. Ghosts don't lurk at the edges of his vision anymore, reaffirming that the orphanage wasn't just a nightmare. It was real and he survived it.
Sometimes, when these thoughts go on for too long, he sees the boy that screamed in Akutagawa's dream. He sees the face of Dazai, younger and older at the same time, and asks himself if by trying to save them, he cursed them both.
How badly he wants to believe that what Dazai avoided saying in plain words was wrong, that the pain he endured was needed to shape him into who he is today.
And yet, in no corner of his imagination can he find an Atsushi that isn't a helpless child. It's the image that will always remain. The only scar he keeps.
He wants to forget he ever existed, but he doesn't want to see that face on anyone else.
So he listens.
Inside him, the tiger growls at his endless circling.
They split into groups the next day when the peace negotiations begin. Atsushi follows Dazai around while they get to know the surroundings of the city. He's quiet, thoughtful. Whenever he gets in this mood, a sense of foreboding fills Atsushi. Atsushi will ask if he's okay, and Dazai will grin and tell him a silly joke about killing himself. Today, Atsushi doesn't feel like listening to it.
"Do you hate me, Atsushi-kun?" Dazai asks suddenly, stopping in front of a pastry shop that looks too expensive for their budget.
"Of course I don't," Atsushi says, he doesn't realize he's not entirely sincere until he speaks. "I think," he corrects, and quickly regrets it because he's sure he doesn't hate him.
Dazai smiles at him, but the suicide joke doesn't come out. "I'm sorry for slapping you that one time," he says, "I meant to apologize."
Contrary to what Dazai may expect, he doesn't care. He can't count the number of times he wished he was there to smack him when the world went to hell.
"It didn't hurt, it's fine. And you were right."
"Is this about Akutagawa-kun?" Dazai asks, a mischevious look on his face. "Did he finally come to declare his undying love to you?" Dazai shoves his face onto his hands in dismay. "In a convenience store of all places?! I should've taught him better!"
"Dazai-san!" Atsushi chokes out. No, he's not blushing. What is he even talking about?
"You didn't run into him?" Dazai asks more seriously.
Atsushi is too annoyed to ask how he knew.
"I did."
"So, how is he?"
That's one of the things Atsushi would like to find out. Dazai has Akutagawa's number, or some magical (maybe illegal) form to contact him. Which means, Dazai has been able to talk to him this whole time, and he hasn't. "Dazai-san, why haven't you talked to him?"
Dazai crouches to look at a specific pastry in the window, and points at it. "How about this one?"
"Don't ignore me."
"Atsushi-kun is growing a spine?" Dazai says, glowing with amusement.
Atsushi kicks him on the side, tries to be gentle, but he falls over on the pavement. There's a startled look in Dazai's eyes, and Atsushi is trying very hard not to apologize or lend him a hand to stand. Dazai's lips quiver. He wants to laugh. Why is everything so damn funny to him? Atsushi won't kick him again, but he might go back to the hotel alone if Dazai doesn't hold back.
"He's not picking up," Dazai replies.
There's some discomfort in admitting this. Guiltily, Atsushi hopes he didn't cross a line. He reaches out and offers his hand.
"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."
"You don't?"
Dazai knows in general what he saw in the divine being's realm, but not the specifics. For that, he'd have to admit he had been hallucinating an image of him this whole time, and deal with his teasing. That's the reason he gives himself to avoid this conversation, but it's not what is really bothering him. It's not exactly that he wants to confirm if he hurt Akutagawa the way he did. Deep down, he knows what he saw is the truth.
The past is behind them, and no matter what Dazai has done, he is his friend. He was the first person in his life that treated him like a human being and he knows for sure he can't hate him. But Atsushi doesn't know if he'll be able to look into his eyes when he repeats the words he told him the day the headmaster died. That there was a reason for all of it.
"What do you know?" Atsushi asks carefully.
"I know," Dazai murmurs to his ear. Atsushi's heart beats faster at the prospect of hearing it from his own lips. Would it change anything for him? "That you'd look cute together."
Dazai takes off running.
Atsushi doesn't chase after him.
When Atsushi finds Dazai again, he's sitting at a bench, the same serious look on his face as he had before.
Atsushi sits next to him. It's a different place but it's all familiar; the weather, the kids running and playing. The dark anguish roiling in his gut. If they could do this all over again, would Dazai say something different?
"Dazai-san, can I ask you a question?"
He nods.
"Is suffering the only way to become a good person?"
Dazai stays quiet for a long time, fidgeting with the green stone on his chest. For a moment, he believes he didn't hear him. "Tell me, what does it means to be a good person?" Dazai finally asks.
"To save other people?"
"How about the people who save themselves?" Dazai smirks. "Or the people who need saving. Aren't they good enough?"
"I never said that," Atsushi says defensively. He thinks again about Kyoka's hand on her knife, about how he'd trade everyone in the world if it means she'll stay alive. He thinks about Akutagawa, letting himself be killed in his stead. About the words Atsushi said to him on the ship.
"You value your own life that much?"
Atsushi tightens his fist on the fabric of his pants. Who is he to complain about cruelty?
"I don't think it's the only way," Dazai says. "But we are all destined to suffer in some form or another in our lifetime. Learning from that pain to help others is one way to deal with it. You could also try being cruel and selfish, hurt others the way you were hurt, become strong enough so it never happens to you again. Or you could fear everything and everyone, resist participating in your own life."
"I don't like any of the others," Atsushi says honestly.
"I agree," Dazai stretches with a groan, as if they were discussing an easy case. "I won't tell you which one is best, because I really don't know, and the last time I offered this sort of answer to someone, I made things worse. So, should we take some time to think about it?"
Atsushi nods, unconvinced. "Is that someone Akutagawa?"
Dazai slumps deeper into the bench with a sigh. "Please, tell him I'll buy him a drink, or tea. He used to like tea."
Atsushi has never seen Akutagawa happy about anything that is not fighting, but he can almost picture him happy about this.
He also pictures that bouquet of flowers that the headmaster never picked up.
"You've never bought me tea," Atsushi says, trying to push that image away.
"I've bought you chazuke," Dazai folds his arms with a pout.
"That was Kunikida-san."
"Sushi."
"Also Kunikida-san."
Dazai stands up from the chair, patting his coat clean. "Well, Atsushi-kun, today's your lucky day, because I'm making amends. Let's go back to that shop." Something slips from his pocket, landing on the bench. "Just this time, let me say that it's the thought that counts."
Kunikida's wallet shines gloriously in the sun.
The train ride home is hectic, since Kunikida miscalculates the number of tickets. Dazai volunteers Atsushi to take the next train, with the excuse that he should do more sightseeing. As soon as the others board the train, Atsushi finds a comfortable chair and sits, letting the hours pass him by.
There's nothing here he'd like to do, but he doesn't want to go home. The feeling gets stronger as the hours progress, and for a minute, he actually considers missing the train. He considers what his life would've been like if he'd never returned to the Agency on the day he walked away. If he had managed to get away from everyone else. If he'd surrendered his mind to the tiger and let it run forever into the mountains, without any worries about losing the people he loves or ghosts haunting him. Tigers don't care about being alone.
His tiger ears twitch against his will, he doesn't need to look to recognize the steps behind him.
"Let's go, weretiger."
They don't speak, and Atsushi is grateful. He feels like a bleeding cut with Akutagawa next to him. Everything they've lived together, everything they've said to each other starts replaying in his mind. Every wound they've inflicted. Every kindness. Their last words. The things Atsushi knows that he shouldn't know.
It's too much.
He fears that if he speaks, he'll burst into pieces.
When the train slows down, he can feel Akutagawa's gaze on him, listen to his heart banging wildly against his ribcage. Reluctantly, Atsushi turns and meets his eyes. For the first time he sees the pain beneath the anger, the boy in the forest, and knows there's nothing in this world he can say to help him. It's all wrong, and it will always be wrong. Time will not fix it even if they live for a hundred years.
Atsushi doesn't know how to help, but he won't leave him alone.
"I've missed you," Atsushi says helplessly, and doesn't look back when he leaves.
Atsushi roams the city without aim until the colors of the sunset fade into darkness, this city that has given him so much to live for in return for his entire being. He still doesn't want to be here, but he doesn't want to leave, and he's so tired of thinking.
His steps bring him eventually to a flower shop, and he exits it with a bouquet of flowers of a name he can't recall. The petals are small and soft to the touch, light blue or lilac depending on the light. A strong scent emanates from them. It's off-putting, like an old room that has been locked for years.
It's a beautiful grave, not nearly as forgotten as he'd expected it would be. Only a faint sheet of dust covers the headstone. The overgrowth around it has been carefully removed, and the scent of incense still lingers in the air.
He finds this place by location only. He never memorized the headmaster's real name or his date of birth. Atsushi reads the words out loud, they taste bitter in his mouth as he repeats them over and over, half-expecting the headmaster to show his hateful face again, a face that grows dimmer every day.
But he's silent, as the dead should be.
Branches and leaves crack under Akutagawa's familiar steps, and he nudges Atsushi's leg with his shoe. "It's been a year," Akutagawa says, describing the obvious as usual.
"What are you doing here?" Atsushi asks idly, burying his knees deeper into the dirt, trying to breathe out the despair bubbling in his chest. The headmaster is dead, and yet, he will always be here, in everything Atsushi does. And Atsushi brought him flowers. "Did Dazai-san send you?"
The end of Akutagawa's coat falls upon his exposed ankles as he kneels beside him, sheltering them from a cold he hadn't felt. "Shut up," he says quietly, and slides his fingers beneath Atsushi's hand, coaxing his grip away from the flower's petals. "Fool, you're crushing them."
Warm and firm, Akutagawa's palm remains under Atsushi's fingers until the tears stop.