Archive of Our Own

“So, if I only have an angle of 30 degrees and the hypotenuse of 5 meters, I use…?”

“Cosine or sine, you can decide.”

“Wow, that’s super useful, Ryu.”

Akutagawa rolled his eyes, fixing Atsushi with a sharp glare. “I prefer sine, but it might be easier to use cosine in this case,” he muttered, leaning in slightly and tapping the problem on the paper with the end of his pencil. “So, what’s cosine’s formula?”

Atsushi blinked a few times, his brows knitting together as he chewed on his bottom lip. A soft hum escaped him, the gears in his mind visibly turning as he struggled to recall the equation. “It would be… cosine equals, uh—” he clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing at the page, “equal to a over b? No! Over the hypotenuse!”

The black-haired teen gave a small nod, a quiet sigh slipping past his lips. “Good. Now, replace the values.” He held the pencil out for Atsushi, waiting.

Atsushi hesitated for a moment before taking the pencil from his hand. His gaze flickered between the page and the numbers, his writing slow and uncertain, as if he was afraid of making a mistake.

Helping Atsushi with homework hadn’t exactly been part of Akutagawa’s plan for the day. He’d come over because his sister, Gin, had wanted to play with Kyoka—Atsushi’s stepsister. By now, it had become routine. Ever since their sisters met on the first day of school, it was inevitable that they, too, would be forced into some kind of reluctant acquaintanceship.

At school, their interactions were limited to lunch. They were in different classes—Atsushi was younger—and their paths rarely crossed outside of their sisters’ arrangements. Today had been no different. They had been idly waiting in the living room while Gin and Kyoka played in her room when Atsushi, out of nowhere, had turned to him with a hopeful look and asked, “Hey, do you know math?”

And now here they were, knee-deep in trigonometry.

At least, for Akutagawa, it was easy.

“Good. Now, solve the equation,” Akutagawa said simply, leaning back on his arms as if this entire thing bored him to no end.

Atsushi blinked, his head tilting slightly. “Uh? How?” His voice was laced with genuine confusion, his brows furrowing as he stared at the numbers on the page.

“How?” Akutagawa echoed, his voice going up an octave in an exaggerated, mocking tone. His face, however, remained void of humor. “By solving it.”

“Ha, ha,” Atsushi deadpanned, crossing his arms and shooting him a glare. “I asked you because I don’t know , Ryu.”

“Stop calling me by my given name,” Akutagawa muttered under his breath, his fingers tightening slightly on the fabric of his sleeve. “And yeah, I see that…” He rolled his eyes, exhaling sharply. “You’re so dumb…”

Before Atsushi could react, Akutagawa snatched the pencil straight from his grip.

Atsushi let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest as if he’d just been gravely insulted. “Sorry I’m not a genius like you, Akutagawa-senpai ,” he grumbled, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

Akutagawa didn’t even spare him a glance, letting out a non-committal hum as he started solving the equation himself. The room fell into a rare moment of silence, only the faint scratching of graphite against paper filling the space between them. Atsushi, for all his complaining, didn’t say another word. When Akutagawa briefly glanced up from under his dark bangs, he noticed the other boy leaning in slightly, eyes locked onto the numbers forming on the page. His expression wasn’t the usual mix of frustration and confusion—it was focus.

Akutagawa sighed through his nose, leaning back again.

“Look,” he murmured, instantly drawing Atsushi’s full attention. He tapped the page with the pencil. “You wrote this, so now, what’s the only value we don’t know?”

Atsushi stared at the equation, his lips pressing into a thin line. “...A?” he answered, his voice hesitant.

“Yeah. So, we move 5 meters—which is currently dividing A—to the other side of the equation,” Akutagawa explained, tracing the problem with the tip of his pencil.

Atsushi’s expression flickered with realization. “So now it’s gonna… multiply?”

“Exactly.” Akutagawa gave a small nod, jotting down the step on the paper. “You can use a calculator?”

“I guess?” Atsushi chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

Akutagawa blinked once, unimpressed. “Because if not, the process is longer,” he pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

Atsushi’s heterochromatic eyes locked onto his, blinking slowly. “...I don’t know,” he admitted with a small, awkward shrug. “I didn’t go to those classes. I was sick.”

Akutagawa let out a sharp snort, rolling his eyes. “Of course you were…” he muttered under his breath before rubbing his temples. “Alright, let’s do it without a calculator.” He tapped the page again. “What’s the cosine of 30 degrees equal to?”

Atsushi’s mouth opened, then closed. Then, he shrugged again.

Akutagawa groaned, tilting his head back like this was the worst thing he’d ever experienced. “What?! How can you not know this?”

“It’s not like I memorized it!” Atsushi huffed.

“It’s the first step—knowing the equivalences,” Akutagawa grumbled, rubbing a hand down his face as if trying to wipe away his growing irritation. After a beat of silence, he exhaled and reached for the corner of the paper. “Okay, look. You need to learn these…”

With that, he began sketching out a small trigonometric chart, the lines quick and precise, as if he had done this a hundred times before.

Atsushi stared at the small chart in front of him, tilting his head slightly as his brows knit together. His nose scrunched up, lips pressing into a thin line—he clearly wasn’t getting it.

“Okay… So, I have to replace the cosine of 30 degrees with… this?” he asked, hesitantly pointing at the fraction Akutagawa had just written.

Akutagawa let out a soft hum, barely nodding in confirmation, his gaze steady and unreadable.

“And now?”

“Now, you simply multiply,” he answered with a small shrug, handing the pencil back to him.

Atsushi sighed, gripping the pencil with a bit too much force as he leaned over the paper again. His posture was tense, his tongue peeking out just slightly in concentration as he began to work through the equation. He hesitated, erased, wrote again—each number forming at an excruciatingly slow pace. Akutagawa watched, and watched… and kept watching, until his fingers twitched with impatience.

It was taking too long.

Still, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he leaned back against the floor, propping himself up on his elbows, letting his gaze wander across the room.

Being in Atsushi’s house—his room—wasn’t strange anymore. What had once been a reluctant obligation, a consequence of their sisters’ friendship, had somehow become routine. He could recognize the soft scent of Atsushi’s shampoo clinging to the air, the faint disorder of a space that was always somewhat messy but never quite chaotic. His eyes traced the bookshelf filled with mismatched novels, the tiny trinkets cluttering the desk, the plush tiger sitting near the pillow—the same one he had given Atsushi.

That was the strange part.

He wasn’t sure when it started. He couldn’t know it, not exactly. But it had been nearly a year since they met, and in that time, they had talked—about everything and nothing at all. Sometimes, their conversations were the result of their sisters pulling them together. Other times, it just happened —small exchanges between classes, casual remarks over lunch. Somehow, they always ended up sitting together, talking a little longer than necessary.

And maybe… just maybe , he had given Atsushi a gift on Valentine’s Day.

But that had been impulsive .

Nothing more.

In his defense, he had to. Because Lucy had only known Atsushi for barely six months, and yet, by the time Valentine’s Day arrived, she was already trying to force him to reciprocate her feelings. Atsushi had been visibly uncomfortable—awkward and polite, but not interested . Akutagawa had simply done what anyone with common sense would do.

Obviously.

He wasn’t jealous.

No matter what their friends said.

It wasn’t jealousy that made him buy that small plush tiger and casually toss it onto Atsushi’s desk before lunch, mumbling something dismissive about how he “just thought it looked like him.” It wasn’t jealousy that made his stomach twist slightly when Atsushi’s entire face lit up with surprise, his fingers curling around the soft fabric as he whispered a quiet, “Oh. Thanks, Ryu.”

It had been more than eight months since then.

And yet, lately, something felt… off.

Because sometimes—just sometimes —when Atsushi looked at him with those purple-yellow eyes, something in Akutagawa’s chest would tighten , like an invisible thread pulling taut around his ribs.

Because sometimes, when Atsushi—who had grown just a little too comfortable, a little too clingy—pressed a quick, absentminded kiss against his cheek in a casual goodbye at school, Akutagawa’s entire face would burn .

In embarrassment , clearly.

Obviously.

But…

It was weird.

“Like that?” Atsushi suddenly asked, his voice tinged with a mix of uncertainty and excitement. His wide, hopeful eyes flickered up to meet Akutagawa’s, seeking approval.  

Akutagawa blinked once, his expression unreadable, before his gaze dropped back down to the paper. He stared at the numbers, running the calculations in his head, checking them instinctively before murmuring, “So you do know how to multiply.”  

Atsushi let out an exaggerated gasp, his lips parting in offense. “ Of course I do!” he whined, his brows furrowing as if the mere suggestion was an insult to his intelligence.  

Akutagawa barely reacted, just giving a small, disinterested shrug. “Okay. Now do the next exercise.” He nodded toward the paper before leaning back slightly, already losing interest.  

Atsushi studied him for a second, his lips pressing together in something close to frustration before sighing deeply. “Fine. I’ll do them, and you’ll check,” he muttered, picking up his pencil with newfound determination.  

Akutagawa made a noncommittal sound in response, his eyes drifting elsewhere. Anywhere but Atsushi. The bookcase, the posters on the wall, the barely organized desk— anything to keep his focus from lingering too long on the boy beside him.  

He liked Atsushi. Platonically .

Of course.  

He wouldn’t say Atsushi was his best friend or that he enjoyed spending time with him. He tolerated him. That was how things had been in the beginning. He had only ever seen him as a slightly annoying, overly friendly guy, someone he couldn’t exactly avoid thanks to their sisters.  

But then—at some point, somewhere —that changed.  

And he wasn’t sure when.  

Or how.  

Because now, there were thoughts in his mind that should not be there.  

Because Atsushi was kind . Not just in the empty, superficial way most people were, but genuinely, frustratingly kind. The type of kindness that felt undeserved, the type that made Akutagawa feel strangely seen in a way he wasn’t used to.  

Atsushi smiled easily, always with that open, bright expression like he had no problems in the world. But that was a lie.  

Akutagawa knew it was.  

Because Atsushi had told him.  

Late one afternoon, in one of their many accidental conversations, Atsushi had spoken about his past—about how he was adopted, about the families before this one. He had talked about being unwanted, being passed from home to home like an afterthought. Some of them had ignored him completely. Some had kept him locked away. Others had punished him for things that weren’t his fault, grounding him in ways that were excessive, cruel. And, worst of all, some had simply let him starve.  

He hadn’t said it with bitterness. He had spoken like it was just a fact, something distant. But Akutagawa had felt the weight of it.  

And he had admired him for it.  

For still smiling. For still finding good things in the world.  

And that was the problem.  

Because, at some point, somewhere , Akutagawa had realized it wasn’t so platonic anymore.  

Because every time Atsushi smiled at him— really smiled, with that warm, innocent light in his eyes—he felt something shift in his chest, something tighten in a way that wasn’t just admiration.  

It was attraction . 

To him .

“Ryu, what about this one?”  

Atsushi’s voice cut through the comfortable silence, drawing Akutagawa’s attention back to him. He blinked a few times, his mind snapping back into focus before shifting slightly on the floor, leaning in to look at the paper. Their shoulders almost brushed as he peered over the neatly written numbers, scanning the equation and checking Atsushi’s process.  

He took a slow breath, mentally going through the calculations before nodding slightly. “Good job,” he murmured, his voice quieter than usual. “You learned faster than I thought.”  

Atsushi’s face lit up at the praise, his lips curling into a wide, pleased smile. “Well, not because of you , though,” he teased, his voice playful. “You were so aggressive .”  

Akutagawa let out a soft huff, his lips twitching ever so slightly—almost a smile, but not quite. “Oh, okay,” he muttered, sitting back with an exaggerated shrug. “I see how it is. I won’t be helping you anymore, then. I know when my assistance is not appreciated.”  

Atsushi gasped dramatically, shaking his head as he pouted, leaning a little closer. “Ow, come on! That’s not what I meant.” His voice took on a coaxing tone, almost pleading, but still not laced with amusement. “Maybe… if you’re a bit less rude , I might even ask you to help me with chemistry too.”  

Akutagawa raised an eyebrow, his head tilting slightly, a glimmer of amusement flickering behind his dark eyes. “Oh?” He bit back a smirk. “So now I have to be less rude just so you can ask for my help?” His tone was dry, but there was something teasing underneath. “Such an honor to tutor you , then.”  

Atsushi chuckled, his heterochromatic eyes gleaming mischievously. “Yep,” he said, grinning. “Obviously, it is .”  

Akutagawa inhaled slowly, schooling his expression back into something neutral, even though the warmth in Atsushi’s gaze was making his face feel strangely warm. “You’re so annoying ,” he muttered, crossing his arms as he turned his head away. “I don’t think I will help you.” He shrugged, feigning indifference.  

Atsushi huffed, his playful glare softening as he nudged Akutagawa’s arm lightly. “You so will.”  

Akutagawa clicked his tongue, pretending to be exasperated—but he didn’t push Atsushi away.

The younger boy set the pencil down on the floor with a soft clack before shifting his position slightly, turning more toward Akutagawa. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out, tapping him gently on the shoulder to get his attention.  

Akutagawa, who had been staring off somewhere else, rolled his eyes before turning his head back toward him. “What?” he muttered, already exasperated.  

But when he met Atsushi’s gaze, he paused.  

Atsushi was looking at him with wide, almost expectant eyes, an expression that carried a quiet kind of contentment. Not an unusual look for him—Atsushi always seemed to wear his emotions plainly—but something about it felt different this time.  

“I have to use your wise advice, Akutagawa-senpai,” Atsushi said dramatically, clutching a hand to his chest as if struck by revelation.  

Akutagawa huffed, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at the theatrics. “Oh? And what nonsense are you going to say now?”  

Atsushi’s playful demeanor faded just a little. He hesitated, his fingers curling against his knee as he chose his next words carefully.  

“I… how do I say this?” He exhaled slowly, as if trying to organize his thoughts. “I was taught that women were for men,” he said, deliberate in his phrasing. His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. “That was just… how things were supposed to be.”  

Akutagawa’s brows furrowed slightly, but he stayed silent, letting him continue.  

“But then I met Chuuya-san and Dazai-san,” Atsushi went on, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles against his jeans. “And when I found out they were dating , I started to think that maybe… maybe it wasn’t that simple.”  

Akutagawa’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Wait,” he said flatly, his tone instantly sharper. “Is this you telling me you don’t approve of them? Or—” He scowled, his body tensing. “Are you about to say something homopho—”  

“No, no, no, no!” Atsushi interrupted immediately, shaking his head so fast his white locks bounced. “ No . It’s not like that! I swear!” His expression was urgent, his hands raised as if physically pushing away the accusation. “I just—” He sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly. “I’m just trying to say that… do you think it’s right ?” His voice softened toward the end. “Like… is it okay to feel attracted to another guy?”  

Akutagawa stared at him, eyes unreadable.  

His first instinct was to snap. To call him an idiot, to accuse him of being ignorant or insensitive. He was this close to saying something sharp, something cold—  

But then he saw the way Atsushi was looking at him.  

It wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t teasing.  

He looked… genuinely uncertain .  

Like he was actually struggling with this.  

Akutagawa hesitated. He knew Atsushi. He had never once heard him say anything negative about Dazai and Chuuya. If anything, he always supported them, always seemed happy for them. He had never asked them this kind of question before—had never questioned them at all.  

So maybe…  

Maybe it wasn’t malice.  

Maybe it was just something he had been taught —something he was trying to unlearn .  

Akutagawa exhaled slowly, forcing himself to look away. His fingers twitched slightly before he clenched them into fists, grounding himself before he spoke.  

“I think…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Love is love. If you like someone, then that’s it.” His voice was firm but steady. “You don’t see gender , you see a person .”  

Atsushi stared at him, his expression thoughtful. Then, slowly, he nodded—like he was really listening. But then, after a moment of silence, he tilted his head. “And… biologically speaking?” he asked cautiously, as if testing the waters.

Akutagawa blinked once, caught off guard, before scoffing. “ Biologically speaking , Atsushi, even animals have been observed engaging in homosexual behavior,” he said, rolling his eyes. He leaned back slightly, arms crossing over his chest. “It’s not exactly unnatural .”

Atsushi nodded again, but there was still something hesitant in his posture, something unfinished in his thoughts. “Do you think it’s… biologically a mistake?” he asked next, his voice quieter, more pensive.

Akutagawa exhaled sharply through his nose. “Can’t know that.”

“But it could be?” Atsushi pressed, his fingers absentmindedly tapping against his knee. He wasn’t asking in a way that felt judgmental—there was no malice in his tone, no mockery in his expression. Just… curiosity.

Akutagawa narrowed his eyes, watching him closely before responding. “Atsushi, I can’t know that,” he repeated, though there was less bite to his voice this time. If anything, he was mostly amused by the way Atsushi looked at him—like this was the most fascinating conversation in the world. “I haven’t exactly read a scientific study on it.” He shook his head, sighing. “Maybe you should Google it.”

Atsushi blinked a few times, then let out a quiet chuckle. “Yeah… I have .”

That made Akutagawa pause. “Oh?” He tilted his head slightly, genuine curiosity flickering across his features. “And?”

Atsushi shrugged, his fingers now playing with the hem of his sleeve. “Not much,” he admitted. “But psychologically speaking, it’s not considered an illness or a disorder or anything.” He let out a soft hum, his brow furrowing slightly. “That’s about all I could find.”

“Well, then maybe it’s not biologically wrong,” Akutagawa muttered, raising an eyebrow.

Atsushi nodded slowly. “You could be right,” he murmured, gaze drifting downward for a second. Then, after a brief pause, he added, “But… if sex and attraction are meant for reproduction of the species…” He trailed off, his words carefully chosen, deliberate. “Why would someone instinctively be drawn to a person they can’t reproduce with?”

Akutagawa clicked his tongue thoughtfully. It was a valid question. “Can’t know that either,” he muttered, though this time, his tone lacked its usual irritation. He considered it for a second before nodding slightly. “It’s a good question, though.”

Atsushi let out a small chuckle, a faint, almost self-conscious smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe that’s just a mystery,” he mused, shaking his head lightly.

Akutagawa hummed under his breath, eyes studying him carefully. There was something else here—something just beneath the surface, unsaid but felt . “Why are you so interested in this all of a sudden?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more measured.

Atsushi blinked once before looking down, his teeth lightly grazing his bottom lip in thought. “Dazai-san and Chuuya-san just made me curious ,” he said, though there was a slight hesitation in his voice, a flicker of something deeper.

Akutagawa’s eyes narrowed slightly.

There was more to this.

He was sure of it.

Akutagawa wasn’t someone who went around talking about himself. If he could avoid it, he would. In fact, he actively avoided it, steering conversations away from anything remotely personal. He preferred to listen, observe. If something—or someone —piqued his interest, then maybe he would respond with something more than a shrug or a cold remark.

But he wasn’t wasting his time on people who didn’t deserve it. He never had.

That didn’t mean he was oblivious, though. Quite the opposite. He knew how to make people talk when he wanted to. He had spent too long analyzing, listening, learning. Copying —because that’s what he had needed to do as a child. Observe, imitate, adapt. It had been a matter of survival back then. And now, it was just… habit .

So, unfortunately for him, it also meant he knew exactly how to get information out of Atsushi. And truthfully, it wasn’t even difficult. Atsushi was open—at least, compared to him. He talked when prompted, even if he hesitated at first. He was curious, always thinking, always asking.

And this time, Akutagawa knew exactly what Atsushi was trying to get at.

“I… I’ve not liked a lot of people,” he murmured, his voice as even as he could manage. He had to sound normal—detached, unaffected. He would not let Atsushi hear how close he was to just shutting down the conversation entirely. “So, honestly, I don’t get it completely.” He shrugged, shifting slightly on the floor as he flicked his gaze toward the paper between them. Equations. Simple. Logical. Something he understood .

“But,” he added after a pause, “I can understand, for example, that Chuuya-san is attractive.”

Silence.

Atsushi didn’t say anything at first, but Akutagawa could feel his reaction. The subtle stillness in his posture, the way his breath seemed to hitch just slightly—like he was caught off guard. Then, after a long moment, Atsushi exhaled a soft huff, a barely audible chuckle.

“Yeah, he is…” he whispered.

Akutagawa didn’t move, but he noticed when Atsushi did—when he shifted slightly closer, close enough that their shoulders almost— almost —brushed.

“But… then, you’ve liked someone before?” Atsushi asked.

It was an innocent question, but Akutagawa felt his breath catch for just a second.

He sighed, exhaling slowly. “Not exactly…”

“No?”

“That’s what I said,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. Then, without thinking too much about it, he flicked his gaze toward Atsushi. “Have you?”

Atsushi swallowed hard. It was subtle, but Akutagawa noticed it.

“...Yes.”

There it was. Progress.

Akutagawa remained still, unreadable, but internally, his mind was already working through the possibilities. He was on his way to figuring it out. He knew it.

Atsushi fidgeted, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against his knee. His brows furrowed slightly, as if debating something in his head before finally speaking again.

“And… I think…” He hesitated, taking a slow breath before continuing, “I think I’ve liked a… uh—”

He trailed off.

Akutagawa didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He could already see where this was going.

Maybe it was because he had been trying to find out something. Maybe it was because, deep down, he wanted this to be the answer.

“...boy,” Atsushi whispered.

And honestly?

Akutagawa wasn’t surprised.

Not at all.

He had expected this from the moment Atsushi started asking so many questions about homosexuality. It had obviously been about more than just curiosity. And now, he had his answer.

Indeed.

But he wasn’t insensitive. He wasn’t just going to say ‘Oh, I knew it,’ or shrug it off like it was nothing. Because it wasn't nothing. Not to Atsushi.

And maybe not to him, either.

Over time— somehow —he had started to really appreciate Atsushi. It was strange, and he wouldn’t admit it out loud, but it was the truth. Atsushi was persistent , always pushing, always smiling, always there . And somewhere along the way, Akutagawa had stopped feeling annoyed by it.

So, no. He wasn’t going to be an ass about this.

But the problem was… he had no idea what to say.

He was bad at emotions. He knew he was bad at emotions. Gin always reminded him whenever he forgot. And this? This was unfamiliar ground. New territory. And he didn’t do well with uncertainty.

To make things worse, there was a deeper problem buried somewhere inside him. Something messy, something dangerous—something about chances and possibilities and Atsushi’s stupid, stupid smile that he wasn’t letting himself think about right now because if he did, he was pretty sure his face would burn.

So he shoved it down. Ignored it. Pretended it wasn’t there.

“I see,” he murmured, voice carefully neutral. He hesitated for a moment, debating his next move like it was some kind of high-stakes battle in his mind. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he simply… reached out.

His hand landed on Atsushi’s, just a touch—light, almost hesitant. Not too much, not too little. Just enough to mean something.

It was supposed to be a simple gesture. Just a way to show sympathy, reassurance—nothing more. It was innocent.

But Atsushi’s hand was…

Soft. Warm.

(Akutagawa had to force himself out of the sudden, irrational panic bubbling in some dark corner of his mind.)

“It’s okay.”

Atsushi blinked, his breath barely audible. “I know…” he whispered, but the way his voice wavered, the way his shoulders tensed slightly—he didn’t know. Not really.

Akutagawa inhaled slowly. He wasn’t good at this. He wasn’t gentle. He didn’t do comfort. But right now, he was trying.

“I get that you might feel weird,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. He gave Atsushi’s hand the smallest squeeze— brief, fleeting —before pulling back just slightly. “But liking someone—whoever they are—doesn’t mean you’re less. Or different. ”

Atsushi hummed softly, but beneath Akutagawa’s touch, his fingers twitched—just a little.

“Look, for example—” Akutagawa cleared his throat, shifting slightly where he sat. He needed to say this right. To not sound awkward or stupid or anything else that might make Atsushi stop listening. “I’ve known Chuuya-san forever.” He nodded to himself, mostly for reassurance, before glancing at Atsushi from the corner of his eyes.

He paused, gathering his thoughts. “I didn’t know about his… preferences. Not for a long time. But when I found out, nothing about him changed. He was still the same—still smart, still confident, still a pain in the ass, but a good friend,” he said, exhaling slowly as he tilted his head.

Atsushi didn’t reply right away. He just watched him for a moment, his gaze steady, unreadable in that way Akutagawa was never sure how to interpret. Then, without a word, he turned his hand slightly and loosely intertwined their fingers.

It wasn’t strange , exactly.

Atsushi did things like this sometimes—small, casual touches, little gestures that seemed to come so naturally to him. A brush of fingers when passing something over, leaning close when he laughed, absentmindedly poking Akutagawa’s shoulder when he made some dry remark.

Akutagawa had always just let him. It was easier than making a big deal about it.

The problem was— again —that lately, these things made Akutagawa’s chest tighten in a way that was not entirely unpleasant. Actually, it was… kind of the opposite.

And that was the part that unsettled him the most.

He swallowed, forcing himself to focus. “It doesn’t matter if you like boys or girls,” he murmured, his voice quieter than before. “What matters is who you are. ”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt his cheeks warm slightly, embarrassment creeping in. That sounded so cliché. He almost wanted to take it back.

But then Atsushi chuckled —soft and light, leaning in just a bit closer, bumping their shoulders together in that easy, familiar way.

“Thank you.”

Akutagawa snorted, trying to act unaffected. “No,” he muttered, shifting his gaze away. “You shouldn’t feel bad for something as normal as liking someone.”

Atsushi’s fingers twitched slightly in his, his grip tightening just for a second before relaxing again.

“And if I liked you?”

The words were light, playful—Atsushi’s teasing tone made that perfectly clear. It was obviously a joke. Obviously.

And yet.

Akutagawa felt something shift, something subtle but undeniable.

The warmth spread through his chest before he could stop it, creeping up his neck, settling into his face like an unshakable heat. His mind stalled, caught in a moment of silent, spiraling panic—not the sharp, cold kind he was used to, the kind that signaled danger, threats, fights.

No. This was a different kind of panic.

This was the kind that made his stomach flip in a ridiculous, unbearable way. The kind that made his fingers twitch involuntarily, his breath catch for just a fraction of a second.

The kind of panic that he had never felt before Atsushi came into his life.

Akutagawa scoffed, forcing himself to breathe, forcing himself to push it all down before it could consume him completely. “Pff, well, that would make you a weirdo , then,” he shot back, his voice dry, dismissive— casual.

Or, at least, he tried to make it sound that way.

But his face was still warm. And, without thinking, he subconsciously tightened his grip on Atsushi’s hand.

Atsushi, of course , didn’t seem to notice his internal meltdown in the slightest. He just chuckled—light, soft, like this was the easiest conversation in the world. Then, as if it were the most natural thing (and technically, it was—Atsushi had always been too comfortable with physical contact), he rested his head against Akutagawa’s shoulder.

Akutagawa nearly stopped breathing altogether.

Why was this happening?

“Why?” Atsushi mused, voice laced with amusement. “You’re not so bad.”

Akutagawa swallowed hard, trying desperately to keep his expression neutral. “Obviously not,” he said, forcing a smirk. “I’m the best catch.”

He was teasing , playing along, but his voice wavered—just barely. Just enough to make him feel even more ridiculous.

Atsushi hummed, his weight against Akutagawa light, barely there, and yet somehow entirely overwhelming. “Then why the self-deprecating comment?” he asked, still playful, still oblivious to the way Akutagawa felt like he was about to combust.

His fingers twitched slightly where they were still loosely intertwined with Atsushi’s.

And, for the first time, Akutagawa realized something with complete and utter clarity:

He was in trouble.

Lord. This was too much.

“Shut up,” Akutagawa grumbled, voice tight, strained. He coughed a little. He could already feel the heat creeping up his neck, settling into his cheeks like an unshakable curse.

But of course, Atsushi— Atsushi —was merciless.

“Oh?” The white-haired boy let out a soft laugh, warm and teasing, the sound vibrating gently against Akutagawa’s shoulder. “Did I actually make the great Akutagawa-senpai speechless?”

Akutagawa clenched his jaw. He wanted to be irritated. He should’ve been irritated. But he wasn’t, not really.

Especially not when Atsushi, in a completely natural, completely unbothered manner, nuzzled just slightly against his shoulder—so light, so casual that it almost felt intentional.

Almost.

“What a wow moment” , Atsushi mused, his grin practically radiating through his voice.

Akutagawa rolled his eyes, shifting ever so slightly to the side in a halfhearted attempt to escape. “You’re so annoying. Get off.”

“Nope,” Atsushi replied cheerfully.

Akutagawa could have shoved him away. He should have. But he didn’t.

Instead, he repeated himself—just for show, just to pretend like he still had the upper hand. “Get off, jinko .”

The dramatic, exaggerated whine Atsushi let out in response made Akutagawa blink.

Then, before he could react, Atsushi let go of his hand—only to wrap an arm around him instead, pulling him into a side hug . He leaned fully against Akutagawa this time, the weight of him warm and solid and undeniably there.

“No,” Atsushi huffed, as if this were his decision. “And why do you keep calling me that awful nickname?”

Akutagawa stiffened, every muscle in his body locking into place, but he didn’t move. Couldn’t move. “Get off,” he tried again, but his voice had lost most of its bite. “Stop being such a clingy cat.”

There was a pause. Then—

“ Cat? ” Atsushi perked up slightly, sounding way too amused. “I’m a cat for you?”

Akutagawa let out a slow breath, clenching his fists in his lap, forcing himself to stay composed. “Yes,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

There was a beat of silence. And then—

Atsushi giggled .

Not just a laugh. Not a snicker. A giggle. Soft, light, bubbling with amusement.

That was the moment Akutagawa realized he was doomed.

“Awww, that’s cute,” Atsushi said, his voice dripping with amusement as he tightened his grip around him.

Akutagawa’s face burned.

And yet—he still didn’t push him away.

He shouldn’t be feeling like this.

This ridiculous tightness in his chest, the way his pulse hammered against his ribs like a caged animal—none of it made sense. He had never felt this way before Atsushi. Never.

God. He hated this.

He hated Atsushi.

But he hated himself more.

And then—

“But hey,” Atsushi’s voice softened, lowering into something almost hesitant. “I’m not lying.”

Akutagawa blinked, stiffening slightly.

“I like you—”

His heart stopped.

“—a lot. Platonically. ”

Jesus Christ.

Akutagawa inhaled sharply, willing his body to calm down, but his mind was already spinning. Someone had to tell Atsushi he couldn’t just say things like that. Not with that voice, not with that tone.

He swallowed hard, exhaling slowly, and— for some reason —leaned into Atsushi just slightly, as if his body had given up fighting against the inevitable.

“Yeah, I see that,” he muttered.

There was a pause. A second too long, like Atsushi was thinking— really thinking about something.

Then—

“And maybe more than platonically?”

Akutagawa’s brain short-circuited.

No. No. He couldn’t let himself process that. He wouldn’t.

“Atsushi,” he cut in immediately , sharper than intended, desperate to shut this down. “You didn’t finish your homework.”

Silence.

He pushed forward anyway, like a man scrambling to save himself from falling off a ledge. “You should. You should take advantage of my presence if you have more questions.”

In and out. In and out. He just had to focus on breathing. On logic. On anything but Atsushi’s words.

“Uh…”

Silence.

Too much silence.

Atsushi’s body tensed, his arm stiff against Akutagawa’s side.

Wait.

Did he just—?

Had he been too abrupt? Too cold? Had he screwed up?

Fuck.

He didn’t want that.

Didn’t want to see Atsushi pull away from him, didn’t want to ruin whatever this was —whatever they were becoming . But emotions were difficult , and he hated them.

He hated them so much.

“Yeah, yeah, I—I should,” Atsushi murmured, but his voice wavered, his words barely holding together. He let out a quiet, almost nervous chuckle as he slowly leaned away, withdrawing his arm with hesitation, as if second-guessing his own actions.

Akutagawa clicked his tongue. Nope. He wasn’t having that.

Before he could even think it through, his own arm moved— instinctively —wrapping around Atsushi’s shoulders, pulling him back against his side. The warmth was instant, settling between them, grounding him in a way he wasn’t sure he liked.

He opened his mouth, ready to say something—to tell Atsushi to stay , to make up for whatever he had just ruined—but nothing came out. His throat tightened, his mind blanked, and the words died before they could form.

So, instead, he said nothing.

Maybe silence was enough.

Maybe Atsushi would understand like this, without the need for clumsy words or explanations. Because he needed him to understand— needed him to stay.

Because Akutagawa was slowly realizing something.

Something terrifying .

Something that sent a slow, creeping warmth up his spine, something that made his stomach tighten with something not unpleasant.

…Maybe, in a weird, strange, completely illogical way—

He liked Atsushi.

Not just as a friend.

But maybe. Yeah.

“Ryu?”

His breath hitched. Atsushi’s voice was soft, uncertain— hesitant —as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to say his name like that.

Akutagawa swallowed hard and coughed, quickly bringing his free hand to his mouth to compose himself, to shake off the sudden panic creeping in.

“Ryu,” Atsushi repeated, more certain this time. “Didn’t you just tell me to get off?”

“I can change my mind,” Akutagawa muttered, his voice even and unaffected—at least, that’s what he hoped it sounded like. He didn’t turn to look at him, just kept his arm where it was, firm yet careful, as if he was afraid Atsushi would slip away if he loosened his grip.

Atsushi fidgeted slightly, his fingers curling into the fabric of his pants. “What I said… uh, that, that wasn’t, uh, serious, you know?” he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

Akutagawa hummed, finally turning his head slightly, a slow smirk curling his lips. “So you don’t like me?”

Atsushi blinked , as if his brain momentarily short-circuited.

“Oh, no—I mean, yes, uh. No!” His eyes widened a little, cheeks instantly flushing a deep red, and for a second—just a second—Akutagawa felt like he was looking at a flustered little kitten. Ridiculous.

He couldn’t fight back the small amused chuckle that slipped out.

“Hey, calm down,” he murmured, shifting slightly, his body angling toward Atsushi. His arm loosened just a bit, but still stayed resting against his back, holding him close. “It’s okay.”

Atsushi took a deep breath. And then another. And another. His shoulders slowly relaxed, but his gaze dropped to his lap, his lips pursing in an almost pout .

“Just forget it, Ryu,” he muttered, his voice so soft that Akutagawa barely caught it. “I’m sorry.”

“…Forget what?”

Atsushi snorted, shaking his head slightly but still refusing to meet his eyes. “The last things I said, obviously.”

“The last thing you said before that , and the other thing, and the other , was my name,” Akutagawa teased lightly, tilting his head in faux confusion.

Atsushi groaned. “Ha, ha.” His voice was completely unamused, but his ears were still tinted pink, his embarrassment obvious. He finally lifted his head just enough to glare at Akutagawa for the briefest second before looking away again, his white bangs covering his eyes.

“You know what,” he muttered.

“Nope,” Akutagawa said immediately. “Do tell.”

“Tch.” Atsushi rolled his eyes and, in an act of true defiance, lightly punched Akutagawa’s arm with a soft huff. “I hate you…”

Akutagawa scoffed, clicking his tongue. “Nope. I think I heard quite the opposite.”

Atsushi exhaled, exasperated. “Oh, now you did,” he muttered, finally looking up at him again, though the light glare on his face didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Akutagawa let out a slow breath before reaching up with his free hand.

Hesitantly, his fingers brushed over Atsushi’s flushed cheek, the warmth almost startling . He swallowed, ignoring the way his own chest tightened, and let his hand cup Atsushi’s face— almost shyly, though he wouldn’t admit it.

“Hey.” His voice was quieter now, softer. “Really, Atsushi. It’s okay.”

Atsushi swallowed hard, his breath hitching slightly as his gaze flickered to Akutagawa’s hand—just for a second—before hesitantly meeting his eyes again.

Clearly, he wanted to say something.

But hesitated .

“As you— great Akutagawa-senpai,” Atsushi started, forcing a weak chuckle, as if the teasing would somehow soften what he was about to say. His voice wavered, though, too quiet, too hesitant. “You should’ve already figured it out, because, ha… I’m, uh, kinda obvious with… with all this.”

His fingers twitched slightly at his sides before he shrugged—small, awkward, like he wasn’t sure how much space he was allowed to take up right now. His eyes darted away, refusing to meet Akutagawa’s.

Akutagawa swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

“I’ve liked a boy,” Atsushi continued, his voice barely above a whisper now. “As I said before… but maybe…” He hesitated, biting his lip. His hands curled into loose fists in his lap before he let out a soft, resigned sigh. “Maybe the way I said it was wrong.”

“…Uh-huh,” Akutagawa hummed, not trusting himself to say more.

Atsushi inhaled deeply, as if trying to summon whatever courage he had left. “Maybe it’s more like… like I like a boy.” His voice shook, and he gave a small nod, as if to convince himself, as if saying it out loud would make it easier.

And then—his eyes squeezed shut, tight, like if he didn’t see Akutagawa, he wouldn’t have to face his reaction.

“And maybe— just maybe …” He took another deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling.

A long pause.

Akutagawa swore he could hear his own heartbeat hammering in his ears.

“…That boy is you.”

Silence.

Akutagawa’s breath caught.

Atsushi still had his eyes shut, his entire body tense, shoulders drawn up like he was bracing for impact.

He shouldn’t be looking at him right now—he shouldn’t be staring at the way his lips were pressed together, or how his fingers nervously clutched the hem of his sleeve, or how his face, even with his eyes closed, was painted with the softest shade of pink.

But he was.

And it was too much .

Because the moment the words left Atsushi’s mouth, the weight of them crashed down on Akutagawa’s chest like a tidal wave.

He likes me.

He already knew that , didn’t he? Deep down? He wasn’t stupid . Atsushi wasn’t exactly subtle , with his constant presence, the way he lingered a little too long, how he never seemed to push him away—even when he had every reason to.

But hearing it was different. Processing it was different.

His face burned. His fingers twitched. His entire body locked up.

His mind—normally sharp, calculating, always one step ahead—short-circuited.

Because this was the first time someone had ever confessed to him.

And worse?

It was the first time he wanted someone to.

Akutagawa wasn’t someone who liked to leave things unanswered. He knew himself. He was logical—always labeled his emotions, always knew what he felt and why. He didn’t like uncertainty, didn’t like not knowing —

And yet here he was, frozen, his mind stuck between this is happening and what the hell do I do now?

His hand, still cupping Atsushi’s face, jerked slightly before he pulled away, bringing it to his mouth, coughing—maybe to clear his throat, maybe as an excuse to buy time, maybe just to do something .

God, he could feel Atsushi’s eyes on him now.

Wide, nervous, anxious —like he was already regretting everything, like he was waiting for Akutagawa to reject him, to scoff, to push him away, to act like it was nothing—

Akutagawa took a deep breath. Then another. His fingers clenched, nails digging into his palm.

He had to be direct. Yeah.

Chuuya always said that if he felt something, he should say it. If he wanted someone to know something, he should just say it . If he wanted to punch someone, he should just do it .

…Okay, maybe that last part only applied to Chuuya, but still.

Maybe straightforwardness was the key.

Yeah.

And if not—if it all went horribly wrong—he could just leave the house and tell Gin to never speak to Kyouka again so he wouldn’t have to see him.

Great plan.

He exhaled, finally meeting Atsushi’s gaze, and—

God.

He really did look like a scared little cat, wide golden eyes shining with uncertainty, fingers gripping his sleeve like a lifeline, cheeks still flushed.

Akutagawa’s chest tightened.

Yeah. He couldn’t not say it now.

“…I like you too.”

And then… silence. They just stared at each other. Too long. Too awkward. It wasn’t bad —but it was too much . The air between them felt heavy, thick with something neither of them quite knew how to navigate.

Because what were they supposed to do now?

What was he supposed to do?

In movies, after confessions like this, people kissed —there was some grand, romantic moment where everything just clicked , and then they celebrated, and then they started dating, and everything was simple and perfect.

But this wasn’t a movie.

And Akutagawa had no idea if that’s what he was supposed to do.

What did Atsushi want?

Because he knew Atsushi was still figuring all of this out, still trying to understand his own feelings. And as much as he hated to admit it, this —whatever this was—wasn’t just about him. Relationships weren’t about just one person’s desires. He knew that. Logically .

And he didn’t want to be a complete asshole and just do whatever he wanted without thinking.

Even if, deep down, he did want it.

The kissing part.

It wasn’t like it would be the first time they kissed, technically. But that truth or dare mess barely counted. That had been awkward and rushed and completely meaningless.

This?

This would mean something.

He swallowed hard.

… He actually wanted this.

And ugh , that realization was disgusting.

He felt like some regular , hormone-ridden teenager, which—okay, fine, he was a teenager, but still. Ew.

He’d spent most of his life assuming he was asexual , assuming romance or attraction just weren’t things he’d ever have to deal with .

But then Atsushi had come crashing into his life, as he always did , and suddenly, nothing made sense anymore.

Great.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, trying to shake the thoughts away, when—

“Oh…”

Atsushi’s voice, quiet. Soft.

Akutagawa blinked at him, tilting his head slightly. “What?”

“You…” Atsushi still looked a little dazed, like he was processing everything all over again .

“Yes,” Akutagawa deadpanned. “What you heard.”

Atsushi took a slow, deep breath, like he was steadying himself. “So… if we like each other, then we…?”

“We…?” Akutagawa echoed, raising an eyebrow.

Atsushi hesitated. “Should…”

“…Date?”

Atsushi nodded slightly, tilting his head. “Right?”

Akutagawa blinked once. Then twice. “I… suppose.”

Atsushi hummed, watching him closely now. “Do you want to?”

Akutagawa’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out at first. “Do you ?” he countered instead.

Atsushi exhaled through his nose, his shoulders finally relaxing. “…Yes. And you?”

“…I guess.”

Atsushi’s face changed just slightly—his lips twitching into the smallest smirk, something light and teasing as he tilted his head at him. “You guess ?”

Akutagawa stiffened.

“I deserve more than that, Ryu.”

Akutagawa clicked his tongue. Annoying.

He rolled his eyes before muttering, “Okay, you idiot .” His face felt hot, but he forced himself to meet Atsushi’s gaze, scowling slightly. “I want to.”

Atsushi grinned. “See? Was that so hard?”

Akutagawa huffed, looking away.

Yes. Yes, it was .

“So…” Atsushi leaned in just a little, his head tilting to the side. “Now we’re… boyfriends?”

His voice was light, almost playful, but there was a hint of uncertainty underneath it—like he was still trying to believe it, like he was afraid Akutagawa would take it back if he breathed wrong.

His eyes, wide and bright, blinked a few times, and then— that smile. That damn smile. Soft and happy and so genuine that Akutagawa’s stomach flipped violently against his will.

He swallowed hard, fighting to keep his expression neutral.

“…Yeah,” he muttered, deadpan.

Atsushi’s smile widened slightly, eyes glimmering with something mischievous .

“Can we kiss?”

Akutagawa froze.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. He really shouldn’t have.

Because this was Atsushi —clingy, touchy, affectionate Atsushi , who had never once hesitated to pull him into hugs or grab his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. And now that they were— ugh — boyfriends , that probably meant all of that was going to get worse .

Hugs. Hand-holding. And now… kissing.

More often.

More normal .

That wasn’t good for his heart .

That wasn’t good for his mind .

This was simultaneously the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him.

“…Yeah,” he muttered, rolling his eyes, as if that could somehow cover up the way his entire face was burning .

Atsushi didn’t hesitate. He never did .

He shifted closer, slowly, like he was testing the waters, like he wanted to give Akutagawa the chance to back out. Their noses brushed first, a barely-there touch, and Akutagawa had to fight the instinct to jerk away .

Because God , why was this so easy for Atsushi?

Why was touch so easy for him?

For Atsushi, physical affection was like breathing .

For Akutagawa, it had always been suffocating.

But this? This wasn’t suffocating.

It was something else .

Something overwhelming in an entirely different way.

Atsushi’s breath was warm against his skin, and Akutagawa could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He tried— desperately —to keep his expression blank, to keep himself still, but it was impossible when his gaze kept flickering down , lingering on Atsushi’s lips.

And, as always, they stayed like that for too long .

Too close.

Too much.

Impatience curled in his chest, a frustrated twist of something foreign , and maybe Atsushi felt it too, because—

A gentle press.

Soft. Feather-light. Brief.

So quick, so barely-there that Akutagawa almost thought it hadn’t happened at all.

But his heart, currently going insane , begged to differ.

“You—” His voice came out rough, unsteady, but he didn’t even know what he was trying to say—

Because Atsushi didn’t let him.

Another kiss.

Still soft, still barely a movement, but it lingered this time.

And Akutagawa— for once —let himself melt into it.