Work Text:
[THESEUS]
Stop. Give me your hand. I am your friend.
[HERAKLES]
I fear to stain your clothes with blood.
[THESEUS]
Stain them, I don't care.
Akutagawa did not get visitors very often. In fact, he had taken great lengths to ensure no one knew where he lived—except for Gin, of course, and the Black Lizard, though even then he did not appreciate the mafiosos visiting without notifying him. The two siblings lived together on the outskirts of Yokohama, in a large apartment, courtesy of their Port Mafia paychecks. It was violently different than the lives they'd led on the streets, where they and their friends scavenged the trash for food and stole from those who looked wealthy enough, trying to sustain themselves long enough to reach another day.
When he and Gin had originally joined the Port Mafia, at first they had refused the expansive living space—it was too unfamiliar to them; they'd never stepped foot into such a large building before. It was like it could swallow them whole. But Akutagawa was twenty now, and that apartment had grown to be a home to him and his sister. It was the safest place they had—the calm in the eye of the storm. A place just for them. After the whole vampirism fiasco, it was great to go home.
Which is why, when he spotted someone standing on the balcony, he jumped at them with Rashomon at the ready. He would not let his sister get injured, not again. The intruder turned around, surprised, fixing him with a snarl, with those burning eyes—
Eyes of purple-gold, wide and open. Eyes Akutagawa would know anywhere.
Weretiger?
The person in question snorted. "Took you long enough to figure it out." For all his apparent bravado, the weretiger was visibly trembling—and then there was the matter of the blood soaking through his pajamas. It clumped around the neck and wrists like he had been trying to escape a set of restraints.
Akutagawa frowned. Why is he here?
But, looking at the weretiger, he could figure it out. Scratches around the wrists. Heavy breathing. Eyes, wide and scared, darting around. A nightmare.
He opened the door silently. Atsushi stumbled in, gratefully, and Akutagawa followed.
Akutagawa wasn't sure when this had become a routine of theirs. Post-vampire fiasco, the Weretiger had shown up at his doorstep, shaking. (A head buried in his neck. Arms around his waist. A choking sob. I thought you were dead. I thought—)
It had progressed from there. Now, when Atsushi appeared, Akutagawa would simply sort through his collection of bandages and wrap the weretiger's arm. Neither of them spoke of it. In the night, when it was silent and heavy with unspoken secrets, memories, verbal communication wasn't necessary.
Akutagawa wasn't sure what they were. Why the weretiger came to him, instead of any of his coworkers. (Maybe it was because Akutagawa had been there. Maybe it was because, some nights, Atsushi's nightmares were about him, that day on the boat.
It was late, and quiet, and, wrapping Atsushi's wounds in the fading moonlight, he didn't ask.)
Atsushi sat there, still trembling, as Akutagawa wound bandages around his wrists, wrapped like silk.
(Later, when they were done, Atsushi would leave without a word, but Akutagawa knew he was grateful. Knew it like he knew this would be the end of him—knew it because it already had been. Knew it like he knew he would never give this up.
Just the two of us. There were worse ways to meet his end.)