Opening up
Akutagawa picked up his cup from the table, taking a slow sip of his 1848 whiskey. The liquid burned down his throat, but it was a familiar burn. He slammed the cup back onto his nightstand, exhaling heavily as exhaustion settled deep into his bones. God, he was so tired.
Atsushi had left about an hour ago. They had fought—again. Over something stupid—again. This time, Atsushi was the one to end things, not that it mattered. Akutagawa could barely bring himself to care anymore. After the second time they had “broken up,” he stopped keeping track. They always found their way back to each other, always ended up tangled in the same vicious cycle.
But if Akutagawa was being completely honest with himself, he didn’t want to do this anymore. Sure, they loved each other in their own twisted way. But their relationship was built on hatred, rivalry, jealousy, and force—it was doomed from the start. It was no surprise that they had cheated on each other multiple times, broken up countless times, and done a number of terrible, unforgivable things to each other in the process.
And yet, Akutagawa didn’t want to leave him.
He liked Atsushi’s company, the contrast between them. He liked the way Atsushi would touch him—both in moments of tenderness and in moments of lust. He liked the way Atsushi spoke about him, described him as if he were something to be admired. The way Atsushi looked at him, like he was something precious. It was addictive.
But despite all of this, Akutagawa couldn’t say he truly loved Atsushi. Not entirely. Not the way he wanted to. No matter how many times he told himself otherwise, there was a part of him still stuck at step one. Still stuck at “Dazai’s better apprentice.” Still stuck at “Jinko.” Still stuck at “six months from now.”
He had tried to shove those feelings away, but some part of his heart stubbornly clung to them. And the constant breaking up wasn’t helping.
Every time they split, Akutagawa felt himself caring just a little less. The cycle was exhausting. Fight. Break up. Spend a few days apart. One of them texts the other—“I miss you” or “I’m sorry.” And just like that, they’d fall back into each other’s arms, ready to ruin each other all over again.
The worst part?
“I miss you” wasn’t even a plea for love anymore.
It had become code for “I’m stable mentally for now, so come over and fuck me up again.”
And they would. Over and over again. Because no matter how much they loved each other, they never seemed to remember where the line between love and hate truly was.
Like last week—one stupid misunderstanding was enough to spark yet another fight.
And maybe, just maybe, it was the reason they fought tonight.
___
Akutagawa gripped the edge of the sink, his knuckles white from the pressure. His reflection in the mirror stared back at him, lifeless and exhausted.
He felt sick.
His body felt weak, his head light, and his skin—tight. His entire frame trembled, and he could feel sweat collecting at his temples. Deep breaths. He needed to take deep breaths.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Why the hell was he feeling like this now?
His stomach churned violently, and suddenly, last night’s dinner with Atsushi flashed through his mind. The things Atsushi had said. The way he had looked at him.
It had been eating at him all morning.
Akutagawa swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet his own gaze in the mirror. His chest ached. He looked so pale. So thin. He felt like he was going to collapse at any moment.
Maybe Atsushi was right.
Deep breath.
His body looked weak. Unattractive.
Deep breath.
He looked down at his frame, his ribs pressing harshly against his skin.
He hated it.
The way his body clung to his bones like a sick joke. The way his organs felt crammed together in his hollow torso. His disgusting, fragile frame that screamed for strength—for something more.
His body must have hated him too.
His grip on the sink tightened.
His reflection blurred.
His vision swayed.
God, why did he feel like this? He needed to hold himself together. Needed to breathe. Needed to—
1…
2…
3…
4…
5…
6…
7…
8…
He wasn’t breathing.
Fuck.
His hands trembled violently, nails digging into the sink as he fought against the unbearable weight pressing down on his chest. His heart pounded in his ears. His body temperature spiked. His stomach twisted into itself, nausea rising like a tidal wave.
His knees—weak.
His breath—shallow.
He barely registered his body falling.
Barely registered the impact when his head hit the floor.
Barely registered anything at all.
A sharp knock on the bathroom door did however register in Akutagawa’s mind.
Then another.
And another.
“Ryu?” Atsushi’s voice cut through the thick haze in his mind, muffled by the pounding in his ears. It sounded distant, but also so close.
His fingers twitched weakly against the cold tile floor. He wanted to say something—anything—but his throat felt too tight, like he was suffocating on air.
A pause. Then the door rattled violently. “Akutagawa, open the door.”
The demand barely made sense to him in that moment. He was stuck somewhere between reality and the ringing void pressing in on all sides. He could feel the sweat on his skin, his shirt sticking to his back, the distant throbbing pain in his skull where he must’ve hit the floor.
Another pause.
Then—
A crash.
The door slammed open, the handle smacking against the wall as Atsushi burst in. His breath hitched sharply at the sight before him—Akutagawa sprawled out on the floor, trembling, barely conscious.
“Shit,” Atsushi muttered under his breath as he quickly dropped to his knees beside him. His hands hovered uncertainly before finally gripping Akutagawa’s shoulders, shaking him slightly. “Hey. Hey, look at me.”
Akutagawa tried. Really, he did. But his body wouldn’t listen. His lashes fluttered, barely lifting as his blurry gaze met Atsushi’s. His breath came in uneven gasps, and it felt like something heavy was crushing his chest.
Atsushi exhaled shakily, his panic barely held at bay. “You’re okay. You’re okay. Just breathe.” His grip tightened, as if anchoring Akutagawa to reality. “Deep breath. In, out. You can do that, right?”
Akutagawa tried, but it wasn’t working. His entire body was betraying him, his lungs clenching painfully like they were fighting against every inhale.
Atsushi cursed under his breath.
His fingers traced Akutagawa’s wrists, checking his pulse—too fast, too erratic. Then they drifted up, hesitating over the sharp ridges of his ribs beneath his shirt.
Akutagawa stiffened at the touch, a flicker of awareness returning to his clouded eyes.
Atsushi was touching him.
Atsushi was feeling him.
His entire body went rigid, and suddenly, through the haze of panic, shame reared its ugly head.
He shoved Atsushi’s hands away weakly, his breath still unsteady. “Don’t.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of his exhaustion.
Atsushi froze, his expression tightening. “Aku—”
“I said don’t,” Akutagawa snapped, the sharp edge of his voice cracking under the strain. His body was still shaking, but his hands fisted weakly into the fabric of his pants, grounding himself. “Just… stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” Atsushi asked, his voice softer now, hesitant.
“Like I’m fragile,” Akutagawa bit out. His chest ached—not just from the panic, but from something deeper, something raw. “Like I’m pathetic.”
Atsushi reeled back as if he’d been struck. “I don’t—”
“You do.” Akutagawa’s breath hitched. “You always do.”
Atsushi stared at him, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “You think I see you as pathetic?” he murmured.
Akutagawa didn’t answer.
Because he knew the answer. And maybe, deep down, Atsushi knew it too.
“I just—” Atsushi hesitated, his hands curling into fists against his knees. “I just worry about you, okay? That’s not a crime.”
Akutagawa huffed a bitter laugh. “Worrying doesn’t fix anything.”
Atsushi’s eyes darkened. “And what does, huh? Letting yourself rot? Pretending everything’s fine when it’s not?”
Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
Akutagawa swallowed. His throat felt raw. “You should go.”
Atsushi flinched, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to argue—but then, he seemed to think better of it. His jaw clenched, his shoulders stiff. He lingered there for a moment, as if debating whether to say something else, to do something else.
But then, he exhaled.
And he nodded.
“…Fine,” he said quietly, pushing himself to his feet. His movements were slow, reluctant. He took one last look at Akutagawa—still pale, still trembling slightly—but he didn’t reach out again.
He didn’t say anything else.
He just left.
The sound of the door clicking shut behind him echoed in the quiet room, leaving Akutagawa alone with the weight of his own hollow heart.
His hands curled into weak fists.
He had wanted Atsushi to stay.
But he had needed him to leave.
And that made all the difference.
___
Akutagawa shook his head, an attempt to shun the memory away.
He instead lowered his glaze to stare at his phone, debating whether or not to send Chuuya a text.
His work best friend. The one person who truly got him. The one person who wasn’t Atsushi.
Drinking together while binging bad movies didn’t sound like the worst idea right now.
Of course, he knew the risks.
There was always some sort of tension between the two... And the last thing he wanted was to cheat on Atsushi—not so soon, at least.
But… did it really count if their relationship was in limbo? If Atsushi was just going to text him tomorrow with an “I miss you” and pretend like none of this even happened, would it really be so bad?
Before he could think too much about it, his phone buzzed.
The caller ID made him raise an eyebrow.
Speak of the devil.
He picked up.
“…Yes, Chuuya?”
“Damn. What’s up with you?” Chuuya’s voice rang through the speaker, casual yet oddly perceptive. There was background noise—cars, chatter—he seemed to be outside.
Akutagawa rubbed his temple. He wasn’t drunk enough for this.
“Why’d you call at such an hour?” he muttered, glancing at his nearly empty wine glass.
Chuuya chuckled. “What? I can’t call a friend?”
Akutagawa scoffed. “Knowing you? No.”
“Asshole.” Akutagawa could faintly hear Chuuya click his teeth.
Akutagawa rolled his eyes. “Let me guess—you had shitty revenge sex again?”
Chuuya quickly cleared his throat . “Okay, first of all, screw you. Second of all…”
“Ok yeah, it was pretty shitty.”
Akutagawa smirked. “Called it.”
Chuuya groaned dramatically. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re predictable.”
A pause.
“Open your door. I’m here.”
Akutagawa blinked.
“What?”
A knock echoed from his front door.
____
Chuuya lounged on Akutagawa’s bed, eyeing his nightstand. An absurd amount of toys placed. “Damn. That’s… an interesting set of items.”
Akutagawa stepped out of the bathroom, now in more modest pajamas. “Remind me why the fuck you’re here again?”
Chuuya simply shrugged, making himself more comfortable. “Felt like it.” Without missing a beat, he grabbed the remote and flicked through the channels before settling on some ridiculous rom-com, the kind he knew would get under Akutagawa’s skin.
Akutagawa groaned, dropping onto the bed beside him with all the enthusiasm of someone preparing to endure hours of torture. “I’m too sober for this.”
Chuuya smirked, leaning back against the pillows. “Dazai usually watches these with me.”
The shift in atmosphere was almost instantaneous.
Akutagawa tensed, fingers curling into the sheets as his jaw clenched.
“I’m not Dazai,” he said, his voice a little sharper than intended.
Chuuya turned his head slightly, watching Akutagawa’s profile in the dim light of the room.
“I know,” Chuuya said simply.
Silence settled between them, heavy yet not entirely unwelcome, as Akutagawa sat himself down.
The near silence was enough to half rock him to sleep.
___
The room was silent. Too silent.
Akutagawa sat on the edge of his bed, hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His breathing had evened out, but the weight in his chest hadn't lifted. The conversation with Atsushi replayed in his mind over and over, looping like a broken record.
He hated it.
He hated how easily Atsushi could worm his way into his thoughts, how the mere sight of him could unearth things Akutagawa had long buried. It was infuriating. And now, after all of it, he was left alone again-just like always.
A sharp knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts.
His eyes flicked toward the entrance. He wasn't expecting anyone.
Another knock, firmer this time. "Oi, open up. I know you're in there."
Akutagawa exhaled slowly.
Chuuya.
Reluctantly, he pushed himself to his feet, his legs still slightly unsteady. His fingers trembled as they reached for the doorknob, but he forced himself to still them before twisting it open.
The door swung inward, revealing Chuuya on the other side, arms crossed, looking every bit as irritated as Akutagawa expected him to be.
"The hell's wrong with you?" Chuuya asked, pushing past him without waiting for an invitation. His sharp gaze scanned the room, taking in the mess-the slightly ajar bathroom door, the rumpled sheets, the way Akutagawa stood stiffly, like he was bracing himself.
Akutagawa scowled, closing the door behind him.
"What do you want?"
Chuuya turned to face him fully, brow furrowed.
"Atsushi said you collapsed."
Akutagawa's jaw tightened. Of course, he did.
"I didn't collapse," he muttered. "I lost balance. That's all."
Chuuya scoffed. "Don't bullshit me. You look like hell."
Akutagawa clicked his tongue in annoyance. "I always look like this."
"And that's the damn problem."
The room fell into a tense silence. Chuuya sighed heavily, dragging a hand through his hair.
Look, I don't care how much you wanna act like you've got everything under control. If you drop dead, that's a whole other mess I don't wanna deal with. So-" He grabbed Akutagawa's wrist suddenly, firm but not forceful, his thumb grazing the sharp bone underneath.
"Eat. Sleep. Do something other than running yourself into the ground."
Akutagawa tensed at the contact, his instinct screaming at him to pull away. But Chuuya's grip was warm, grounding in a way he wasn't used to. He hated it.
But he didn't move.
His throat felt tight. "Why do you care?"
Chuuya's expression flickered for just a second— something softer, something unguarded-but it was gone before Akutagawa could make sense of it.
"I don't," Chuuya said, letting go of his wrist. "But if you're gonna keep acting like a damn idiot, someone's gotta knock some sense into you."
Akutagawa exhaled sharply through his nose, but there was no real fight in him anymore. He was too tired. Too drained.
"...l'll be fine."
Chuuya studied him for a moment, then shook his head. "Liar."
Akutagawa didn't argue.
Chuuya sighed again, rubbing his temples.
"Whatever. Just take care of yourself, alright?"
There was something in his voice, something that almost sounded like concern. Akutagawa wasn't sure what to do with that. So he just nodded.
Chuuya clicked his tongue, seeming unsatisfied with the response, but he let it go. He turned toward the door but hesitated, glancing back once more.
"If you need something..." He trailed off, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I don't know. Just don't be an idiot about it."
Then, without waiting for a response, he left.
Akutagawa stood there, staring at the door long after it had closed.
He let out a slow breath, his shoulders sagging slightly.
First Atsushi. Now Chuuya.
Maybe he really was pathetic.
Or maybe-just maybe-he wasn't as alone as he thought.
Just maybe.
____
The movie was still playing on, bright colors flashing across the screen, but neither of them was really watching. Chuuya shifted, stretching his arms above his head before letting them drop lazily at his sides.
Akutagawa exhaled, slow and measured. His gaze flickered toward Chuuya.
Maybe… just maybe… letting himself slip—just this once—wouldn’t be so bad.
Would it?
He hesitated, then, with an almost reluctant movement, he let his body relax just a fraction. The tension in his shoulders loosened, and he leaned back, the mattress dipping beneath his weight.
Chuuya noticed, of course. He always did.
A ghost of a smirk played on Chuuya’s lips, but for once, he didn’t comment. Instead, he simply nudged Akutagawa’s foot with his own, a silent acknowledgment.
They sat like that for a while, the only sounds in the room coming from the television. The night stretched on, and the warmth between them—though unspoken—lingered.
At some point, Chuuya yawned, his movements growing lazier.
“You know,” he mused, his voice softer now, “you’re a lot more tolerable when you’re not trying to bite someone’s head off.”
Akutagawa scoffed. “And you’re a lot quieter when you’re half-asleep.”
Chuuya chuckled, the sound low and genuine. “Funny.”
Another silence followed, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Akutagawa found his gaze drifting toward Chuuya again, watching as his eyelids grew heavier. His usual sharpness was dulled, softened by exhaustion, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t look like the infamous Chuuya Nakahara—Port Mafia’s strongest executive, a living weapon capable of reducing entire city blocks to rubble.
He just looked… human.
And somehow, that was worse.
Because it made Akutagawa realize just how rare these moments were. How fleeting.
Chuuya yawned again, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand before shifting onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow.
He glanced at Akutagawa with something unreadable in his expression.
“You gonna sleep, or are you just gonna stare at me all night?”
Akutagawa stiffened, tearing his gaze away.
“As if I’d waste my time watching you.”
Chuuya smirked, but there was a flicker of something gentler beneath the usual cockiness.
“Sure,” he said, amusement laced in his tone.
Akutagawa huffed, turning onto his back and fixing his stare on the ceiling. The weight of exhaustion was finally creeping in, dulling the edges of his thoughts. He could feel Chuuya’s warmth beside him, a steady presence that, despite everything, wasn’t entirely unwelcome.
The minutes stretched into an hour, and eventually, Chuuya’s breathing evened out, his body growing heavier with sleep.
Akutagawa remained still, staring at the ceiling, thoughts tangled in the quiet.
This was dangerous. Allowing himself to grow this comfortable.
But maybe, just maybe, for tonight…
Just for tonight…
Maybe he’d allow himself this one moment of weakness.
As his eyes finally drifted shut, he heard Chuuya mumble something incoherent in his sleep, shifting slightly before settling again.
Akutagawa sighed.
“…fool.”
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Akutagawa let himself rest.