Up ahead, the full moon begs for his attention, painting everything in a beautiful beaming light. Atsushi doesn't risk looking up, losing control now might mean not catching this man before he can take another life. He speeds past a collection of garbage, rounds the corner with a skidding stop and, there, past the next turn, he can make out the shadow of the man. He gets up his speed again and darts towards the still shadow, shouting for the man to stop and give himself up.

Atsushi doesn't see the man's face but the glint of the moon that shines off his hand and thrusts itself into his lower stomach. Pain blooms outward, red, a horrible feeling of something being yanked out of his belly. Stupid, he would be the only one thinking the violent criminal wouldn't have a knife. Then again, two months ago he wouldn't have thought he'd be speeding through alleyways trying to catch a wanted terrorist.

The last thing he hears is the wretched sound of soft, squishy matter heavier than blood splattering against the concrete. He looks down, sees his entrails and, without thinking, tries to grab them with the knife still forcing its way through his stomach. He loses a few fingers to the blade before he finally falls.

"Atsushi!" The shout echoes through the alleyways but its source is only feet away. Ah, there's Dazai coming in right on cue to watch him fail. He curls in on himself as the target drops the sliver knife and dashes down the alley. His hands ball to fists pressed to his stomach, the pain is blinding, overwhelming, there's nothing but pain. The world goes dark around him and he wishes that maybe he should've been more careful, him, without a real combat ability, getting into a fight with a violent criminal. Laughable, that.

The concrete is cold and hard but there isn't a single drop of his blood or viscera and something wonderous, comforting and warm rises in him. He can't remember his skin reforming itself, losing all the fur and claws that made him the ferocious powerhouse he was in the first place. He can't remember his organs sucking or growing themselves back inside or the skin closing over the wound. He can remember one thing. Staring into piercing eyes and the moon shining overhead and obeying willingly, wanting when he was told.

"Kneel."

Atsushi's pressed against the ground on all fours with Dazai's foot pressed against his head. Dazai's expression is unreadable, which is good because there's a tighteness in his pants and he'd rather assume that Dazai is worried about his health and safety rather than risk the chance that the man is ashamed of him.

"You had me worried there for a second." Dazai's looming over him, now sporting a wicked smile. Maybe he knows what he's awakening, what something like this is doing to him. Maybe he doesn't and he's freaking out over nothing but there's something there that's alluring about this. The footsteps behind him grow louder and he shifts, wanting to make sure no one sees the bludge in his pants.

"We're all good here, no problems~" Dazai steps away and Atsushi hides himself towards the back of the group, feigning stomach pains.

The moment he gets back home he takes a cold shower and heads to bed, not wanting to think about the previous night or whatever new, fucked up thing he's now got going on. Between murderous terrorists, transforming into a tiger, working for an investigation agency and waking up with brand new kinks, he doesn't want to think about what tomorrow could have in store.