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Long before he learned anything about organizations or special abilities, he learned how to deal with pain. He got very good at it, in fact.
He taught himself how to swallow down a cry of pain by biting the inside of his cheek. He learned how to distract himself by reciting stories in his head or by digging fingernails into the flesh of his arms. He learned to keep his eyes dry to avoid a sharp kick to his ribs.
But most importantly, he learned his most useful trick of them all. He could wipe his mind of all thoughts, until his brain went completely quiet and he could exist in a separate place, a place where the pain did not seem to exist, a place made of complete nothingness.
This trick wasn’t just useful. It was necessary for survival, because sometimes his mind would grow so loud and heavy and unbearable that it became hard to breathe. When that horrible, overwhelming pain in his chest came he could leave his mind and for a few blissful moments, the pain would leave him alone.
Atsushi prided himself on the fact that he had gotten better. He barely ever had to use the tricks he had learned that kept him sane while locked away in a basement cell or when taking the punishment meant for someone else. Over the past couple years, his mind had become a quieter place. It could not be denied that he was better, in every sense of the word.
Because he had things now. He had stability, a home where the cupboards held food and where he could sleep without worrying about someone dragging him out of bed and hurting him. He had friends, who understood his insecurities or at least did not let him suffer through them alone. He finally had things that were his. Things he could protect and hold close and cherish. And he would protect them. He had to, because he loved his home and his friends and his life. And he loved his new, quieter mind that had less of a need for tricks.
Of course, the pain still came occasionally, like in the middle of the night when the nightmares would come or when he would see a shock of black hair in a crowd of people and feel his heart drop, certain that the headmaster had come to take him back. He would still use his tricks in those moments, would bite his cheeks and dig fingernails into palms and tell himself no, no it isn’t real. The orphanage is far away. The headmaster is dead. You’re safe. It isn’t real. It isn’t real.
And this was one of those terrible moments, where it felt like all his progress had been stripped away and he transformed once again into a lonely little boy in an orphanage, hunched with his arms wrapped around his knees and his eyes clamped shut, trying to quiet his raging mind. He sat in the Detective Agency building, or the fabricated version of it crafted by Poe, his fists clenched in his lap, his thoughts shoved away so that he could escape the storm in his head.
Everything around him felt foggy, as if happening behind a thick panel of bulletproof glass. He tried to focus on the things happening around him but multitasking was proving to be more difficult than expected. Ranpo and Kunikida took turns speaking at the front of the room, explaining the Agency’s next steps moving forward and their plan for stopping Fukuchi and Atsushi processed the words in a distant sort of way, nodding along because it helped distract him.
A black coat lay across his lap and he held it there, clutching it tighter than he realized. Before they had entered the fake Detective Agency, Kunikida had offered to take the coat from him and Atsushi had pulled away abruptly, almost violently. He had insisted he could hold onto the coat and Kunikida hadn’t pushed the subject. So now Atsushi held the coat in his lap.
Back at the orphanage, he had gotten good at this trick of controlling his mind but he must have been out of practice because he could feel his grip on the thoughts slipping. Everytime he swallowed, it tasted like acid. His entire body lagged, heavy and clumsy, like some invisible weight had been strapped to his chest. He pointedly ignored the closed off part of his brain that screamed at him to cry or laugh or scream or break something or do something, do anything. The coat in his lap felt heavy.
He told himself slowly, over and over again, as if in a trance, that he had to keep everything locked away, that he wouldn’t be able to deal with any of it right now, that if he let go of his iron grip he had on his thoughts then he would not be able to rein any of them back in again. He would drown in them. And he couldn’t afford to do that. Not here. Not now. Not when the Agency remained the only thing between the world and impending doom.
At the orphanage, when he first taught himself his tricks, he learned that simply observing things, tangible things, could help. So Atsushi took a deep breath and he let his eyes wander across the fake room in the attempt to steady himself. The room was a near perfect rendition to the real Detective Agency. Well, other than that odd nothingness beyond the windows. He counted the chairs behind the desks, watched the pen in Tanizaki’s hand as he fiddled with it absently, noticed the way only five out of six of the ceiling lights were turned on. He purposely avoided looking at the coat in his lap.
It helped, looking at things. It helped to keep those loud thoughts at bay. It helped keep his mind in the present. Because, god, everytime he closed his eyes, he saw those dark bottomless eyes and a glinting sword and a horrible spray of blood.
There had been so much blood, he thought and then quickly shook his head to banish the escaped thought. The looming sense of dread hanging over his head got harder to ignore with each passing second. The hollow pit in his stomach grew bigger and the throbbing ache in his chest remained because no matter how good he was at tricking his mind into believing everything was okay, his body would always know better.
He anchored himself to Ranpo’s words as the older man eagerly explained the plan he had come up with to interfere with Fukuchi’s plans at the airport. Distantly, Atsushi registered that this block on his mind made his thinking sloppy and that sort of carelessness could put them all in danger and it sent a wave of panic through him. He couldn’t afford to be thinking of anything but the plan and getting to Fukuchi and stopping One Order. The ADA held the world in its hands.
There is no room for error, Atsushi told himself. No room for error or emotion or… or mourning.
Mourning. Atsushi let that one word roll around in his head and it was as if it broke some fragile dam inside of him. You mourned for someone when they died right? But Akutagawa wasn’t dead. Wait. No, no, Atsushi scolded himself harshly. You saw him die. You watched Fukuchi’s sword slice clean through his neck. You watched it happen. He’s dead. He’s…
Atsushi stood suddenly, making his chair squeak against the linoleum floor. The coat almost dropped to the floor before Atsushi snatched it up reflexively.
“I have to go to the bathroom. Give me a second,” he said as his mind raged, his tricks finally failing him.
He didn’t wait for a response from the others, just stumbled from his spot and into the bathroom, taking the coat with him because it didn’t even cross his mind to leave it behind.
Luckily, Poe had recreated the bathrooms too and they were exactly like the real ones. Atsushi locked himself in the men’s room and pressed a hand against the cold metal of the door, hoping it would help steady him. He could feel his breathing getting out of control but all he let himself focus on was the whirling of his thoughts, suddenly free of their cage. Without any more distractions, without any more tricks, the memories came at him quickly and without warning, hitting him like bullets.
Akutagawa staring at him stubbornly beside an unconscious guard. I keep my promises.
Akutagawa studying him with his black hair blowing in the salty sea wind. Did your wish to flee disappear?
Akutagawa standing in his tattered coat as Fukuchi held him by the arm. Is his life that precious to you?
Akutagawa with blood spilling from his throat. You damn fool. Hurry up and go.
And Atsushi had gone. He had left Akutagawa’s body there on that ship with his murderer.
Atsushi held the black coat and dug his hands through the worn fabric. It looked so different now. Nothing like the lively creature that Akutagawa controlled with deadly precision. It used to move and flow and breathe. Now it just laid in his arms, limp and unmoving, like some sort of dead animal.
He had never thought of Akutagwa’s ability as beautiful. Quite the opposite, in fact. His ability had always been deadly and brutal and unforgiving and he had wielded it perfectly because he had been all of those things as well. But Atsushi couldn’t help the crushing, cold realization that he would never see the ability again. Would never see it wielded again. Would never feel Rashomon wrapped around him, protecting him, again. Suddenly, the ability seemed very beautiful indeed.
Would there ever be an ability like his again? Atsushi doubted there could be anyone who could wield an ability like that but Akutagawa. There would probably be no other clothing manipulators in existence, at least, none exactly like him. Then what did that make this coat in his hands? Was it worthless now? Just another piece of cloth now that no gray-eyed boy could bring it to life?
Atsushi stared at the coat as if it could give him answers to all his questions if he just looked hard enough.
The worst part about the coat in his hands was that he knew Akutagawa would not want him to be holding it. He would have probably wanted to be wearing the coat, even in death. He probably wanted to be buried in this coat, Atsushi thought. Or perhaps cremated with it. But there probably wouldn’t be a burial or a cremation or even a funeral at all.
What had happened to Akutagawa’s body? he wondered and he immediately wished he hadn’t. His mind flooded with unwanted images of what might have happened after he fled the scene. Maybe Fukuchi had taken Akutagawa’s body into the woods and dropped it there where no one would find it for weeks. Maybe birds and rats and insects would get to it before any human could. Or maybe his body had been taken by the authorities out of obligation to the law. Maybe he laid in some coroner’s lab, rotting away, and he would eventually be given some unmarked grave because the authorities did not care much about the treatment they gave to those who had been murdered as long as they were criminals. Or maybe Fukuchi had simply shoved Akutagawa’s body over the side railing of the ship and he had sunk down into the ocean to never be seen again.
Atsushi swallowed down the bile taste in his mouth and resisted the urge to retch. He pushed the horrible images out of his head with little success.
A knock on the bathroom door startled him. Kunikida’s voice reminded him that he told everyone he would only be going to the bathroom. He realized he had no idea how long he had been away.
“Hey kid,” Kunikida said from the other side of the door. “Ahem, uh, you okay?”
Atsushi swiped a hand across his eyes, knowing they were full of unshed tears. Atsushi remembered what Kunikida had told him before, that Kunikida had cried for the ADA's situation before any of them had reunited. He knew Kunikida wouldn’t shame him for crying but Atsushi didn’t know how to tell him that the tears were because of Akutagawa. He was on the verge of tears for the death of a man who had wanted to kill him for as long as they had known each other. Atsushi would have to explain why and he didn’t understand anything about it himself so he cleared his throat as discreetly as possible to make his voice sound normal.
“I’m fine,” he called. “I’ll be out soon.”
Kunikida grunted in response, as if he knew Atsushi was lying but Atsushi heard his receding footsteps anyway. Atsushi slumped against the wall in relief. It still surprised him to have someone check up on him when he spiraled. He still hadn’t gotten used to it even after all these months with the ADA. Having friends still took some getting used to. And just like that, his thoughts betrayed him again, straying once again to the boy with the bottomless eyes.
Atsushi didn’t know much about the inner workings of the mafia. He learned a few things from Dazai occasionally and he’d picked up a few scraps of information during his interactions with its members. He didn’t know if the members of the Port Mafia cared for each other in the way the ADA cared for each other. Did Akutagawa have friends? Did he have a family? Wait, yes, he did. Atsushi remembered the girl with long hair and sharp features and those same bold eyes. A sister. Gin Akutagawa.
Atsushi hoped she hadn’t fallen victim to the virus spread throughout the mafia right now. He hoped she had somehow learned of Akutagawa’s death so she could mourn him properly. Atsushi knew this made him a horrible person but secretly, desperately, morbidly, he hoped that the Akutagawa siblings had not been close. Because maybe that would make Akutagawa’s death easier to bear for Gin. But deep down he knew that had not been the case. After all, he had seen them together that day on the streetside. They looked comfortable together; they looked at home when they were with each other. Atsushi had a hard time imagining Akutagawa loving anything unconditionally and deeply the way a brother would care about a sister but there had been the proof right in front of him.
Time and time again, Akutagawa proved Atsushi wrong. Time and time again, Akutagawa surprised him. How much else about him did I miss because I was simply too stubborn to look any closer?
It struck Atsushi that he truly did not know much about the other boy. He had always just assumed he had time to figure out the mystery of Ryūnosuke Akutagawa.
How stupid. How delusional.
Time ran out, like it always did, and Atsushi was left holding his broken clock, wondering how so many questions were still left unanswered.
One particularly unruly question stood out above all the others: Why did Atsushi feel like this? Why was there panic in his throat and weight on his shoulders and an empty hole in his stomach and a storm in his head? Is this what it was supposed to feel like when your mortal enemy died in front of you? Atsushi didn’t know. He never thought it would happen, especially not like this.
Deep down, he had always assumed it would be him at the end of the journey, on his knees, beaten down, in front of Akutagawa. Akutagawa would stare at him through those dark eyes and Atsushi would have stared back, knowing what would come next. Akutagawa would have sent down a final killing blow and the dark fabric would pierce him. That would have been where their story ended. It was not supposed to have ended with that same dark fabric protecting him.
It was not supposed to have ended with a look of desperation shared in a brief moment of companionship across a boat deck. It was not supposed to have ended with a mournful smile given so subtly that Atsushi would wonder for hours afterward if he had simply imagined it. It was not supposed to have ended with Atsushi slumped against a bathroom wall, clutching the same fabric that would have been the cause of his death in another timeline of events.
Atsushi slid to the floor and wrapped his arms around his legs. He tried to think clearly, to remember exactly what his relationship with the other boy had been. They had hated each other. Despised each other. But there had been something else too, hadn’t there? Something towards the end, somewhere between the seemingly empty promise and the moment Atsushi realized it hadn’t been empty at all. Somewhere between Akutgawa calling him weak and Akutagawa trusting him as his vanguard for the attack. Or maybe he was just imagining it. Maybe his mind couldn’t handle the fact that his rival died like that and it began making up scenarios to compensate for the loss.
No, no he had felt it. He had felt something. Atsushi could have sworn he had finally started to see Akutagawa, to really see him. He had begun to understand why the other boy had always looked at him with that intense hatred and why it always seemed to get worse if Dazai was around. He had begun to understand that Akutgawa had always been the one to try and understand Atsushi and Atsushi had never tried to do the same. He had begun to understand Fitzgerald’s statement from so long ago: they really weren't that different, at least not as different as he had originally assured himself.
There was good in Akutagawa. Maybe not a lot. But enough to make him truly stop killing for six months. And it might have been simply ambition and just the desire to finally fight Atsushi but it also meant he wasn’t a mindless, killing animal.
And then there were those last words he had spoken. Atsushi heard them echoing in the back of his head ever since Akutgawa had first spoken them in his rocksalt voice. You damn fool. Hurry up and go. Hurry up and go. Hurry up and go.
Why had Akutagawa given Atsushi an escape and taken the edge of the sword for him? It didn’t make any sense at all unless he was right and something had changed between them. But now Atsushi would never know for sure.
There would be no more fights at the edge of the water. No more bickering as they tried to strategize together. No more watching Akutagawa’s rigid expressions shift and change ever so slightly and no more trying to guess exactly what those subtle shifts meant. He had come to find that part of their partnership particularly interesting: trying to find the chinks in Akutgawa’s impenetrable armor. He had gotten better at it. A little quirk of his eyebrows meant he was focused on the mission or strategy. The slightest furrow in his forehead meant he didn’t quite know what to do next. The slightest narrow of his eyes meant he had made a particularly grim judgement and was about to share it. The quick tensing of his features meant he was bracing himself to use Rashomon. The tiny twitches of his hands meant he desperately wished to cough but held it back, waiting for a better time to do it. The bright flash in his eyes that came meant he was truly, truly angry. But Atsushi hadn’t seen any of those things at the end. He had seen a new kind of expression, a soft curve of a rare smile and eyes that were void of all their usual hardness.
Atsushi let his head fall back against the wall and he tried to take a deep breath in but the air got caught in his lungs. He put a hand to his forehead and felt that his face had grown hot.
When he was younger and just discovering the world for the first time, he often got scared of his shadow. When he tried to tell someone a monster followed him around everywhere he went, they told him to shut up, be quiet, save his tears for something that mattered. They told him they would give him something to cry about, and they had. He learned to shut up about his shadow.
And much later, he grew to realize that people could be shadows too. People could haunt you and be tied to your existence and feel like the other half of you. Atsushi had a shadow with a flowing black coat and white tipped hair and pitch black eyes. And he supposed Akutagawa had one with choppy, silver hair and the two-toned gaze of a tiger.
Then what happened, Atsushi wondered, when your shadow disappeared? He would have thought he would feel lighter, freer. But that is not how he felt. Instead, something had been ripped from him. It felt like he was now missing something important. He felt the loss of Akutagawa like it was something physical and violent.
The only thing worse than the feeling of loss was the feeling of guilt. Overwhelming, suffocating guilt. He guessed it was the cause for the nausea threatening to overtake him.
Wasn’t he supposed to be the one who protected people? Akutagawa had always criticized him for placing too much priority on the lives of others instead of himself. How dare Akutagawa steal his morals and use them to do something so stupid and brave and uncharacteristically...good.
The worst part of his guilt was knowing he would not have been able to do the same. No matter how much he wanted to believe, he knew he would have never made that decision. Would have never even thought to tell Akutgawa to run away while he took the repercussions. Had it been an easy decision for Akutagawa?
Despite his years of practice, Atsushi didn’t quite know how to deal with this type of pain. It was new. New and unexpected. He supposed this is just what it meant to live in this world. You had to be expecting for things to be taken away as quickly as they came. Too bad their lives weren’t different.
It seemed pathetic how often Atsushi imagined a life where he hadn’t been born into the family he had been born into, where he hadn’t grown up in an orphanage, where he didn’t work as a detective and didn’t worry everyday about losing the people he cared about.
Maybe in that life, Atsushi and Akutagawa would have met on the side of the street while they waited for a school bus. Maybe they would have gotten to know each other in science classes or during lunch periods and maybe they would have hung out after school and talked about normal things. Or perhaps they would have met in a cafe, where they would have bumped into each other and bickered for a moment before sitting down together and talking and realizing all the things they had in common.
They probably could have been friends. If there were no special abilities or turf wars or bloody tragic endings.
Atsushi bit his tongue, hard enough to taste blood. He was being delusional. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Everything recently going wrong had started to catch up to him, making him crazy. He couldn’t afford to sort out all of his grief. He didn’t have that luxury.
Slowly, carefully, he stood from the floor and stuffed the coat under his arm. He splashed cold water from the sink onto his face to try and make his eyes look less red. Somehow, he would go on. He had dealt with pain before, many many times, and he would now too. And he suspected there would be more pain to deal with before this whole mess ended. If it ever ended.
Atsushi left the bathroom and wondered briefly how long he had been gone. Around the room, members of the Detective Agency held quiet conversations and ambled around with anxious energy. Everyone looked up at him when he walked in the room but they quickly returned to their conversations and planning and he was grateful.
Kyouka appeared in front of him, silent and wide-eyed. She stared at the coat beneath his arm and Atsushi suddenly felt a different kind of pain. How could he possibly mourn someone who had hurt Kyouka? Kyouka didn’t turn in disgust though. Instead, she took Atsushi’s hand and squeezed it gently. Atsushi had always felt like he and Kyouka had an unspoken connection, where they could understand each other without many words needed. He could understand what the gesture meant. She was trying to tell him that everything about this situation remained uncharted territory. She could not forgive Akutagawa for the things he did. She didn’t absolve him. But they were all messed up and she understood if Atsushi needed to acknowledge his death.
Atsushi pulled Kyouka in for a hug and they remained that way until they both pulled away and exchanged tight smiles.
“We’ll leave for the airport soon. To catch up to Fukuchi,” she said in her soft lilt.
“Okay,” he answered.
Kyouka walked off towards Kenji and sat beside the smiling boy, leaving Atsushi at the center of the room. He caught the eye of Kunikida near the door. The blond man looked to be reviewing his notebook, probably making sure his notes were complete and correct for the plan. Kunikida raised an eyebrow, a silent question. Atsushi gave a nod and tried his best to look normal. It seemed to be enough.
Atsushi moved through the room, giving small head nods here and there as he caught the eye of Tanizaki and Yosano and Fukuzawa. Ranpo sat with his feet propped up on the desk, invested in flipping through some important looking documents with one head and unwrapping a bright pink candy with the other. Atsushi wondered absently if Poe had written into his story that Ranpo’s candy would still be in the Agency or if Ranpo just always had a stash on him. Probably both, he decided.
Atsushi got to his desk and let his eyes roam over it’s contents. He picked up the pair of scissors from his pencil holder and studied them silently.
Though it had become quieter now, his mind still raged. So he focused on the smooth plastic of the scissors in his hand as he placed each rogue thought away, back in the cage in his mind. He cradled each desperate question and anxiety and lured it into its corresponding box, locking them away.
One day soon, he would open the cage again and he would have the time to work through everything. He allowed himself to leave a just a few of those thoughts free though. He didn't want to break down because he suppressed them too much again. And he owed Akutagawa that much. If nothing else, he owed Akutagawa a place in his thoughts.
Slowly, Atsushi took the coat from under his arm and studied the hem which had been tattered and shredded in the fight. Using the scissors, he cut one of the hanging strips of black fabric off the hem. I’m sorry, he thought, sending the message to wherever his shadow was now. I’m sorry for cutting your coat. But I think I need a piece of you to carry with me. Until I can mourn you properly. And I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.
Atsushi turned to Ranpo. “Will we be able to return to this place?” he asked. “Can I leave something here and then return for it later?”
Ranpo waved a hand, distracted by whatever he was reading.
“Yeah, I’ll have Poe take you back after we execute the plan if you want.”
Atsushi nodded and folded up the mostly intact black coat neatly. He placed it inside his desk drawer and touched it softly.
I’ll come back for you, he promised. I’ll take care of your coat, Akutagawa.
He took the small strip of fabric he had cut and tied it to one of his belt loops. He tucked it into his pocket so it wouldn’t swing around. He felt better having a piece of the coat with him. It felt easier to keep his mind quiet. He sank into his desk chair and waited for Kunikida and Ranpo to tell all of them it was time to leave.
He didn’t exactly know how to move forward. When six months came, there would be no one to fight. There would be no ending to their story that would give him peace. But it would be okay, right? After all, he had dealt with pain before. So he would be okay, right?
He could burden this pain. He would. For Akutagawa. For the boy who called him a fool and told him to run. For his shadow who could no longer be a part of him.
There might not be anyone left to mourn Akutagawa but him. The mafia was in shambles and the world was in danger and the coat of a boy with bottomless eyes sat in a desk drawer.
So, Atsushi thought, if there is no one else to mourn you, I will do it. No matter how long it takes me. I promise.