"There exists, for everyone, a sentence - a series of words - that has the power to destroy you. Another sentence exists, another series of words, that could heal you. If you're lucky you will get the second, but you can be certain of getting the first."
― Philip K. Dick, VALIS

-ooo-

The snow was still falling when he left the station a half-hour later, burying his cold, gloveless fingers in his pockets as he trudged towards the building that had served as the Port Mafia's headquarters since long before he'd become a member of their number.

He still remembered keenly how it had felt to enter that space for the first time.

Remembered how each step he had taken had seemed to echo through those rooms. How he'd kept his eyes trained on his new mentor's back, marveling at how at ease with which he carried himself as he swept ahead of him through the candle-lit darkness on silent feet, humming a tune beneath his breath.

He hadn't recognized the song, but he'd been pretty sure whatever it was had been either terrible, horribly off-key or both.

Probably both.

Maybe it should have put him at ease, that tuneless song, but it hadn't. If anything the way that cheerful sound had contrasted with the solemnity of the rooms they'd passed through had just made him feel all the more out of place.

As if he were dreaming and at any moment he might wake up to find himself dying in that clearing.

Without purpose, without future or even vengeance, without anything to call his own.

He'd trailed behind him, eyes focused only on the blur of white floating through the darkness as he fell further behind with each passing moment. He couldn't tell if he was slowing or Dazai-san was moving faster only that the distance between them grew wider and wider still.

The wound in his side had ached viciously once the adrenaline of his long, frantic run had faded from his system and it had only been the thrill of a purpose found, a mentor obtained, that had driven him forward, kept him moving during that long trek away from everything he'd ever known. Each step had felt more difficult than the last and that too-large coat Dazai-san had draped around him had seemed impossibly heavy across his shoulders as if the pockets were filled with the weight of the obligation owed.

Whatever it was had left him feeling… smaller, weaker, than he had ever felt before.

Had him wondering if he had deserved to be there at all.

Deserved to set a single foot away from the dreary, wretched circumstances of his prior existence.

In the long years since that day, headquarters hadn't changed much. The building was still dark and dreary, still reeked of mildew and decay, though he was relatively certain now that much of that was due to intent rather than neglect, to set those who dared to visit ill at ease from the first moments.

Boss Pervert's rooms he was less certain of as they had never changed at all from that first day. It often seemed as if they were frozen in time, trapped in a single precise moment.

Even the candles seemed to burn just the same, their drippings just as thick and layered as they'd ever been.

The room itself had always seemed cavernous and strangely empty for all its fancy, expensive furnishings. Everything was polished so it gleamed in the dim light, but it all seemed cold, lifeless, as if warm hands had never touched those surfaces, never drawn the books from those shelves. Even the chairs were oddly positioned, placed throughout the room seemingly at random, too far from each other to speak of companionship, tiny misshapen islands in a darkened sea.

Something about the room had always made him think of those women and men who had peddled their bodies in the narrow streets and darkened alleyways of the world below. The way they'd used powders and creams to cover sores and blemishes, cheap perfumes to mask the stench of sweat and unwashed skin, how they'd donned all those pretty trappings to distract from the signs of desperation and despair that had always lain just beneath the surface.

Sometimes, most times, he thought it was probably to his benefit that it did.

It was never a comfort, that vague reminder of where he'd come from, so it kept him sharp, never allowed him to be lulled by the familiarity of habit into believing he was safe there, that his position was secure.

Each step he took in that room always seemed to carry with it an echo of admonishment.

Mind your manners.

Hold your tongue.

Heel.

Fetch.

Kill.

Obey.

It kept him from falling into the trap of complacency.

Reaffirmed his purpose.

Reminded him that he was strong, but never strong enough.

That there had always been someone stronger.

Always would be.

It had been late by the time he had arrived at headquarters though he wasn't certain what time he'd gotten to or left his apartment.

Where he'd...

He tightened his hand into a fist at his side, taking comfort in the bite of nails against his palm.

His lips still felt strange.

Tingly.

Foolish.

He shouldn't have...

He hadn't a clue how long it had taken him to get back to the train, to walk the length of the streets between.

Didn't even know when he'd arrived at Man-Tiger's place in the first place.

When he'd left.

He shouldn't have gone there in the first place.

Shouldn't have let Atsushi follow him home after.

Man-Tiger.

So many things he shouldn't have done.

His lips had been warm.

Stop it.

He'd probably know what time it was if he'd bothered to actually look at his phone when he'd answered it.

Not that it really mattered how late it was.

He knew it was late enough.

There had been few enough people on the streets between when he'd left the Man-Tiger's place and no one around when he'd left his own, but that could just as easily have been due to the turn of the weather as the lateness of the hour.

Too late to start tending to repairs.

To get a new couch.

Or learn to repair drywall.

Stop thinking about it.

He wiped his muddy boots against the mat inside the door and whispered his power into life long enough to shake his clothing free of the featherlight weight of snow that had settled against his shoulders and hair during the brisk walk from the station before he stepped inside, allowing the door to fall shut behind him, a loud booming announcement of his presence that echoed through the deserted rooms.

There was no point in hiding his arrival, no gain to be found in a silent approach.

Boss Pervert had probably known he'd arrived before he had.

When he'd reached his room he hadn't been surprised to find it noisy with that girl's sharp refusals and the Boss' murmured attempts to coax her into pajamas as he'd knelt beside her with a pile of glossy red fabric bunched in his hands and an anxious expression on his face.

"Please, Elise-chan? For me?"

"I'm not tired, Rintarou," she'd insisted, stomping one small, bare foot insistently against the floor. "And I don't like those pajamas. I want to wear the blue ones."

He paused just inside the door, shutting it with a quiet snap.

He wasn't particularly surprised when Boss Pervert didn't even bother to flick a glance in his direction.

"Now, now, Elise-chan, be reasonable," he'd commented instead, sounding vaguely amused by her antics.

Of course, Boss Pervert always sounded vaguely amused, no matter the content of the conversation or with whom he was speaking.

Even when he was playing at being distressed or displeased, he still sounded amused, as if he could always find some native humor in any given situation... even if no one else could.

It was a fact that had always grated against his tender nerves like sandpaper, had always made him feel as if he were the butt of some private joke whenever he heard those light, springy notes of mirth dancing in his voice or the soft accompanying giggle from the small, ageless girl that always lingered nearby, sprawled beneath a table or across the floor, surrounded by an endless series of childish diversions.

It had always left him with the certainty that he was missing something important.

Made him restless and uneasy, eager to prove himself worthy, better.

Always better.

It had been the same on that very first day when Dazai-san had settled a hand against his back and thrust him forward too roughly, sent him tripping forward on clumsy feet with a completely insincere: 'Whoopsie'.

He'd ended up on his knees staring up into the Boss' dark, pitiless gaze and he'd known - even before he'd spoken a single word - that his life held no particular value to that man.

That whatever value Dazai-san had seen in him, it would be that man who would ultimately determine his fate.

That man was the man in charge.

That was the Boss.

"Dazai-kun," he'd said, a strange smile quirking his lips. "I realize that children these days have a certain fondness for bringing home whatever stray happens to stumble into their path, but you've never struck me as that sort. If you require a playmate, I'm quite certain Chuuya-kun would be willing to oblige you."

"Wasn't it you who told me to stop picking on him? I seem to recall something about the repairs for the property damage being too costly." Dazai-san's voice sounded light, airy, but there was steel beneath. "Besides, it wasn't a playmate I was looking for today. I'm not really an Executive until I have someone to boss around, right?"

"Oh? And this is who you've chosen? Are you quite sure? Your choice seems rather… questionable this time, I'm afraid."

He laughed, "When have I ever been wrong about a potential recruit?"

"There's a first time for everything beneath the sun, Dazai-kun."

"Fine, fine. Better show him what you can do, Akutagawa. If you can't prove you're useful he'll probably kill you for trekking all that mud across Elise's new dresses."

He'd been so hungry, so tired, so focused on the insistent throb of pain in his side that he hadn't even noticed he was kneeling in a pile of richly colored silk.

Had barely noticed the glint of light off the slim blade sweeping through the air towards his throat.

Hadn't even been able to summon up enough energy to be surprised by it.

That day had already been so long.

Their bodies had been broken in so many different places that they'd hardly looked like the boys he'd known at all anymore.

Skulls caved in, blood everywhere.

Not that he'd cared.

Not really.

They'd been a convenience that bettered his chances of survival.

They'd been an obligation.

Nothing more.

Gin had known all their names.

Had sometimes sat in the lopsided little shack they'd been staying in for hours on end talking and laughing with them before heading back to Auntie's for the night.

Gin had always been good with people in a way he was not.

It had only been a fluke of fate that they'd been meeting in the city when the attack came.

They didn't meet all that often and had only been meeting that day because they'd taken a piece of jewelry from an adult the day before that needed to be sold and Gin was more familiar with the brokers. Had always been willing to play at being a girl for them if it worked to their advantage, garnered a bit of extra sympathy that would fetch them a better price for what they sold, put a little more money in their pockets.

Made it easier to buy food too.

"It's nice to be able to earn my share," Gin had commented as they stripped the dress off and stashed it on the porch before pulling a fresh shirt on. "Of course, if you'd just let me work with you guys..."

"No."

The last thing he needed was for Auntie to have an excuse to kick Gin out.

There were enough mouths to feed as it was without adding the extra burden of one more to their number.

They'd been halfway back when the first screams had broken the air.

Or perhaps they'd been happening far longer than that and they just hadn't yet been near enough to hear them.

He wasn't sure why he hadn't simply turned back when he heard them, only that he hadn't.

Instead, he'd broken into a run, his feet carrying him forward fast and faster still as his ability leapt to life around him, tendrils pulling free of the threadbare clothes he wore to lash the air in warning.

There was blood splattered across the ground just outside the door and he could hear the stomp of feet, the climbing shrieks of voices he'd known calling out from inside, the harsh shouts of men demanding answers.

He'd been so focused on what was happening inside that house that he hadn't noticed the man they'd left outside at all. Not until he'd heard the scrap of a shoe against dirt behind him and side-stepped just enough to receive only a glancing blow against the back of his head from the club the man wielded.

Stupid.

So stupid.

He should have approached more cautiously or not at all.

What use would he have been to anyone if he were already dead?

As he'd stumbled, he'd managed to tangle the tendrils of Rashomon around him just enough trip him up, to silence him and keep him from calling to his companions inside, but everything had been fuzzy and the ringing in his head had made his hold falter. He'd felt the man pull an arm free of his hold and then the ringing in his head had been the least of his concerns as pain exploded in his side, knocking the air from his lungs.

He still wasn't completely certain what had happened next, only that the man had landed heavily beside him and he'd found himself staring into eyes that were wide and blank. Then Gin had been beside him, yanking on his arm, dragging him to his feet. Tugging one arm across their slim shoulders and wrapping a firm arm around his waist, forcing him to follow as they fled the sounds of slaughter that seemed to follow them long after they should have been swallowed by distance.

They'd run.

It seemed like they'd run for a very long time.

He vaguely remembered stumbling, almost falling, his knees kissing the dirt, scrapping against the rough dirt paths Gin steered them down again and again, his heart thundering in his ears.

But most of it had been a blur of sound and motion and color and pain.

Always pain.

The next thing he'd been truly aware of had been laying on the porch of Auntie's house as Gin shoved something into his mouth explaining that it was so he wouldn't scream or bite his tongue off when they began stitching the wound in his side closed.

He'd reached up and tugged the ball of cloth from his mouth, tossing it aside.

Slapped their hand away when they'd tried to put it back.

Eventually they'd given up.

It hadn't hurt much.

He hadn't screamed.

Though it was possibly he'd blacked out once or twice.

Gin hadn't protested when he'd pushed himself up onto wobbly feet sometime afterward, had followed him in resigned silence as he made the slow trudge back to that place.

The man Gin had killed had been abandoned, left lying in a pool of his own blood in the patchy grass and weeds that had surrounded the place.

There was no profit to be made when you were dead.

And one less man meant one less split in the take.

The inside of the shack had been littered with bodies, blood… there'd been no question of survivors.

They were all dead.

Gin had known all their names and he'd thought he'd heard them whimper one or two before they'd ducked out to throw up in the bushes as he'd stepped further inside to retrieve what little was still salvageable.

He'd never bothered to learn their names, hadn't cared to.

Names hadn't mattered.

What was the point in giving a name to an existence that was so utterly disposable?

They only knew his because Gin had told them.

He hadn't seen the point.

So many had come and gone, died in the night or been caught stealing, been beaten to death by people bigger and meaner, stronger than they'd ever been.

What was the point in learning names when they'd be gone soon enough?

He hadn't wanted all those names cluttering up his head, giving meaning to empty spaces where people used to be.

It was stupid and sentimental and he was neither.

So, he'd only known them by what they could do, by their more annoying habits.

Convenient labels for when identification was absolutely necessary.

Tip-Tap, Rabbit's Foot, Charcoal, Itchy, Spitfire, Bells, Doll Boy.

All gone.

Their faces had faded from his mind already, information deemed unnecessary and unwanted.

Blood smeared across his hands, soaked into his pants as he shoved what remained aside to get to their favorite hiding spots.

He took only what mattered. Coins and trinkets that could be easily sold. He found a stash of cheap candy sewn into the back of a doll and he left it there with what remained of them.

Stepped over and past cooling flesh with his meager findings, emerging into the darkening world to find Gin waiting for him with tearstained cheeks.

Before he left to seek the vengeance he'd promised them, he'd pressed what he'd found into Gin's hands.

Of the two of them, Gin had been the more likely to have a need for it.

They hadn't bothered with farewells when he'd turned and run down the path towards the harbor.

He had a promise to keep and they'd never been much for pointless sentimentality.

When he'd arrived, trembling with exhaustion, he hadn't found vengeance, just the cooling dead and Dazai-san offering him his coat and a purpose.

It had been days since he'd slept properly.

Longer still since he'd had more than weeds and rock hard bread to eat.

Gin had bought a whole bag full of food with the money they'd gotten from selling that stupid necklace.

He wasn't sure what had happened to it.

Probably dropped in the dirt, stolen away by some other nameless kids giddy with their good fortune.

Not that it mattered.

He had a purpose now, a reason for being, an answer to the question he'd been asking himself for so long.

He wasn't about to let all that slip through his fingers without a fight.

He'd been wheezing, his whole body covered in sweat and trembling with effort as his borrowed coat rose up around him, snapped and crackled, a monster made of darkness and rage, pain and desperation, that crashed against the edge of the Boss' blade, throwing it off course so it only nicked the side of his throat.

The Boss' eyes widened briefly.

He hadn't known or cared whether it was surprise or interest.

All that had mattered was that the scalpel had vanished as quickly and completely as it had first appeared.

"Oh my, but that is interesting."

"He stinks," the little girl had sung, not looking up from where she had been sprawled, scribbling across the pages of one of her many books. "Make him take a bath, Rintarou."

"Now, now, Elise-chan, that's hardly polite. We should be kind to guests and kinder still to new recruits. I do apologize… Akutagawa-kun, was it? Dazai-kun will show you to where you will be staying for the immediate future. As he will be your first acquisition since becoming an Executive, I assume you will be taking charge of his training personally?"

"I'm sure I'll find a use for him," Dazai-san had replied, ruffling a hand through his hair.

The bandages had been rough, catching and pulling lightly at the individual strands, but it had felt like approval.

Like he'd done well.

It caused something to swell warm and unfamiliar in his chest.

He'd thought he might spend the rest of his life chasing that feeling.

Dazai-san had walked away without another word and he'd followed, steps slow, stumbling, breathing labored.

He had managed to get as far as about halfway down the long corridor outside the room before darkness had swallowed him up.

He'd woken hours later on a different floor to a strange insistent clicking noise.

Dazai-san had glanced up from the video game system he held in his hands with a frown, fingers still tapping away even while his attention was elsewhere. "You're bleeding all over the floor, you know. You should really tend to that. Seems to me like you should at least be able to use your power to bandage the wound."

He'd never thought of his power as anything but a weapon, a means to an end.

"That's what I thought," Dazai-san had sighed, looking vaguely disappointed. "You're going to such hard work. You wanted a purpose and I'll give you that, but I hope you're worth all the effort I'm going to have to put in."

He'd sounded so put-out, as if he hadn't been the one to offer him a place to belong, as if his being there had nothing to do with him at all, as if he were a burden chosen by whim and happenstance.

Just a beggar whose loyalty had been purchased by chance and fortune.

He knew it wasn't true, remembered ever detail of their first encounter. Dazai-san had come there for him, had chosen him, but he also remembered keenly how bitter the realization had been of how far he clearly had to go to earn that place, to earn Dazai-san's approval.

Remembered well how… eager, determined he'd been to win his favor, his praise, to be strong enough to prove that Dazai-san's choice hadn't been a mistake.

To feel the warmth of his approval again.

To prove that it hadn't been a mistake.

He wasn't sure why he was thinking of all this now.

It had been years since he'd allowed himself to dwell on any of it.

To even think of it except in passing and tonight... tonight he was like a book with the binding torn off, all the pages of his life falling out to be trampled by clumsy feet.

Stupid Man-Tiger.

It was probably his fault.

If he hadn't...

Don't think about it.

About him.

Maybe all this was just some desperate attempt to avoid doing just that.

He was a distraction.

A distraction that was almost certainly sitting on their floor, in their apartment, watching their television wasting perfectly blended tea leaves by brewing them poorly.

Hair still damp from the shower.

Stop it.

Juststopthinking about it.

Abouthim.

"Elise-chan? Would you like me to read you a bedtime story?" Boss Pervert's words dragged long, each pause measured and steady as the beat of a heart.

He always spoke so softly, as if that bloodstained room he so often insisted on meeting in were a library or a church instead of just another gaudy room in that decaying building by the sea.

"I can read my own, you know. I'm not a baby," Creepy Girl replied, wheeling around to serve him with a sour look before she flounced past him to flop down on the floor next to a towering pile of books, pulling one into her lap and flipping back the cover.

Boss Pervert sighed heavily, picking up the discarded dress from the floor and straightening it, eyeing the fabric critically as if the state of that dress were far more important than he or any other visitor could ever would be.

He could taste the truth of that action in the air. It was familiar enough and had always left a bitter taste on his tongue.

Still, he had waited in silence, muscles aching with the effort it took to keep his hands limp at his sides as he watched Boss Pervert sweep imaginary dust from the silk before guiding it onto a hanger and escorting it to a hook beside him, so close the dress brushed against his shoulder as it fell into place.

Boss Pervert turned away crossing back to the chair that was positioned near the center of the room.

There was a small table beside it, a fancy lamp casting dim light on a equally fancy tea set.

Was this what it felt like to wait for an executioner's axe to fall?

Did those last moments always feel like eternity?

Like a whole lifetime of anticipation stretched across the span of a minutes?

Was there a feeling of relief when the blade slicing open the back of your neck finally answered the question of when?

"Akutagawa-kun?"

The drawling syllables of his name were enough to startle him from his thoughts and set his heart to racing in his chest, putting a catch in his throat. He muffled a cough against the back of one trembling hand as some emotion he couldn't identify seized tight around his chest like a vise.

He coughed again.

"Akutagawa-kun," he called again, that ever-present amusement turning the syllables into a song. "Is something wrong?"

Was there a right answer to such a question when asked by such a man?

His thoughts felt too slow, too muddled, they always did when confronted by such questions.

He'd never been clever the way Dazai-san had clearly wanted him to be.

He'd always tripped and faltered, always failed miserably whenever Dazai-san would play these sorts of games with him. He never knew the right answer, even when he thought he did. He'd always failed to please; had never been capable of pulling the truth from beyond the obvious, never been able to see the right choice rather than the most convenient, the most expedient. Still didn't understand how to play a long game or why anyone would bother.

Failing that way had always left him feeling… cold, empty.

Had always made him work that much harder to prove that he could become what he wanted him to be, that he could become stronger.

Always made him increasingly desperate to prove that he was… enough.

Only he never had been.

Not then.

But Dazai-san had at least wanted him to succeed.

Boss Pervert always seemed just as content with his failures as his successes so long as there was some benefit to be had for the organization.

"Do relax, Akutagawa-kun," he called, settling in his chair and beckoning him over with a gentle wave of his hand. "I didn't call you here to admonish you. Hm, well, perhaps a very little bit. You've seemed so distracted of late and I do like to know that all my people are doing well."

It wasn't a question so he didn't answer as he dragged his feet in coming to stand before him.

Don't speak out of turn.

Don't draw attention to yourself unnecessarily.

"…Not if you want to survive here."

Gin had nodded, expression solemn, more serious than he'd ever seen them, "I'll remember."

They pulled their mask up over their face, obscuring what few similarities were obvious between them.

He nodded quickly, glancing at the time before turning his focus to the door, "Look after yourself first, always."

They would need to leave soon.

"Brother…."

"Always," he snapped, fingers clenching against the cuffs of his jacket. "I won't be looking out for you, so you'll have to look out for yourself. You have to survive on your own, make your own way. The Mafia has no room for dead weight."

"Of course," Gin answered, voice muffled and almost unfamiliar through that heavy cloth.

Gin would be coming in as a basic recruit on Dazai-san's recommendation.

When he'd asked, Dazai-san had smiled. It had somehow seemed both grim and wry, but he was long used to Dazai-san being a study in contradiction.

"You want your cute little sister to join the band?"

Want?

What did that matter?

Gin had asked with a steady expression and quiet determination so he'd seen no reason to deny or question a request spoken with such obvious resolve. If he refused his aid, Gin would have found another path to reach the same goal. He had been given a purpose within the Port Mafia and the satisfaction that had come with knowing what he was meant to do, that there was a reason for his existence.

Why would he deny Gin the same opportunity?

They had never been close, not truly.

Gin had grown up with a roof over their head and food in their belly while he'd been learning how to use his power to take what he needed to ensure their continued survival.

He remembered holding them when they were small.

Begging food from neighbors when their parents had been absent.

Brushing their hair.

Most of his earliest memories were of Gin.

He'd given them over to the care of Auntie when they'd been still quite small so they'd spent much of their lives apart.

In many ways, for a long while, they had been little more than strangers with shared blood and history and only what little affection such things summoned to bind them. It was difficult

Did he want Gin to join the Port Mafia?

He didn't have an answer for that question, only the long shadow of obligation that had always demanded he see to Gin's health and continued well-being when the need arose.

Dazai-san had huffed out a sigh at his lack of response, disappointed again, always, "Fine, fine. I did say that I'd take care of both you and your cute sister. You won't be able to keep the fact that you're siblings a secret, but I'd suggest you don't advertise it either since it wouldn't benefit either of you. I'll go to your place and she and I will have a little chat about her ambitions. In the meantime, I'm going to chain you to this wall and you're going to try to free yourself without using your power to break the wall or the chain and without injuring your ankle in any way. Understand? Your control should be at least good enough to manage this by now."

The iron shackle had been cold against his skin and Dazai-san had been humming as he donned his coat and left the room, only turning back briefly to smile at him – slim and tight - as the door closed between them. "If you don't manage to break free before supper, you'll be going to bed without it."

The next day he'd stood inside their sparsely decorated apartment giving Gin those last instructions with clumsily bandaged fingers that had still ached from long hours spent prying the shackle free from his ankle when his control over his power had proven too weak to consume the metal of the cuff without rending his flesh in the process.

"The Port Mafia isn't a place that tolerates weakness," he advised. "Only the strong survive here and only those who prove their worth thrive."

"Ryuunosuke…."

"Akutagawa," he corrected, voice harsher than he intended it to be. He hadn't slept and exhaustion had been worrying steadily against his already frayed nerves. "If you don't get in the habit now you'll slip when we're at work, Niihara."

"Call me Gin, please," they murmured, voice soft. "If I just go by my given name, it won't seem strange if you call me that as well, right?"

He nodded sharply after a moment's consideration. It was a clever enough workaround and - in the end - one solution would do as well as the other.

"Thank you," Gin replied and he could hear the smile in their voice even if he couldn't see it. "I won't let you down, I promise."

"Okay," he'd murmured, shifting his gaze to the wall behind them.

It had always made him uncomfortable when Gin said things like that, had always left him feeling uncertain what to say or how to act, what reaction was expected of him.

He counted himself fortunate that it didn't happen often.

"Well, I certainly can't complain about your work ethic," Boss Pervert remarked, summoning his wandering mind back to the present as he picked up a teapot from the side table and poured the steaming liquid within into one of the two cups waiting there. "After all, you and your division remain one of our most efficient deterrents against both foreign interlopers and aspiring traitors. Still, I must say that I've found your reports to have been a surprisingly… lacking of late."

Lacking?

Lacking?

Was all this about paperwork?

How could it be?

He excelled at doing the stupid paperwork.

He'd had to excel at it since he'd been doing Dazai-san's share as well as his own from the moment he'd been able to read well enough to begin filling out the forms with slow, laborious pen strokes.

In his darker moments, he'd sometimes suspected that Dazai-san had taken him on not because of his power, not because he was strong, but instead simply because he'd wanted someone who would do the tedious work for him.

That anything more had been of his own imagining, nothing more than wishful thinking.

Boss Pervert smiled, thin and pleased, no doubt reading the consternation in his expression, "No, no, the concise nature of your reports has always made them a pleasure to read, Akutagawa-kun, I didn't mean to imply otherwise."

He despised being so transparent.

"Rather my concern with the change in your longstanding habit of always reporting in immediately once a mission has been completed unless you are too injured to do so."

He couldn't help the way his body tensed, the way he felt his eyes widen in something approaching horror.

Couldn't shake the sudden memory of plodding through darkened streets to Man-Tiger's apartment; blood still wet on his boots, his phone lying, unused and forgotten in the pocket of his coat.

Falling asleep waiting for him to return.

Of the warmth of the Man-Tiger's ruined shirt against his skin and the way the pressure of his fingers against his cheek had seemed to linger still like the touch had left a stain behind, some visible proof of transgression for all to see.

The warmth of his hand as they'd walked together to his apartment.

The way he'd looked kneeling in front of him.

How warm his lips had felt against his own.

How his mouth still ached from that into first collision.

And the second.

Ached for the lack of a third, perhaps, because he was nothing if not persistent in his foolishness.

He should never have gone there.

Not that first time.

Nor any time after.

He never should have allowed himself to fall into the habit, to allow himself to grow so… complacent.

He had no one to blame for anything that had happened since but himself.

He ran his tongue across the inside of his lip, worrying briefly at the still raw cuts there.

"Of course," Boss Pervert continued, smiling, still smiling. It was such a congenial smile, as if he already knew every thought in his head, could see them all spread out before him like ink spilled across blank paper. "Perhaps I'm making more of this than it is. You might simply have been overtired. Have you been sleeping well?"

"Fine," he breathed the response even as the question thread its way through his already taunt nerves and yanked hard at the knots of dread in his stomach.

"I'm so pleased to hear that. You have such a delicate constitution that - as your doctor - I would be most concerned for what impact an erratic sleep schedule might have on your condition. It's fortunate for us both, that that isn't a problem for you."

He nods quickly.

It's not a lie.

He's never allowed his habits to negatively impact his schedule or his well-being.

He's always been a light, sporadic sleeper prone to bouts of insomnia.

Nothing has truly changed just because he spends most of his nights moving between Man-Tiger's apartment and his own instead of pacing the floors of his lonely rooms.

Lonely?

They hadn't always seemed so.

"Very well then," Boss Pervert said, grimacing as he picked up his tea cup up once more. "Oh dear, where are my manners? Would you care for some tea, Akutagawa-kun? A biscuit perhaps?"

His gaze settled on the tea service laid out on table.

It shouldn't have been a surprise.

It wasn't as if he'd been trying to keep it a secret.

Not really.

He hadn't even really made any particular effort to hide the fact that he was going there, hadn't gone out of his way or doubled back or… anything.

He's not sure why it makes him feel ill to see those biscuits spread piled up so neatly on Boss Pervert's tea tray.

Doesn't know if he would have been bothered about it at all two days ago or ten.

Are you in trouble?

Stupid.

It wasn't… it probably didn't even mean anything.

Plenty of people probably liked that brand of biscuit, the same kind he still brought with him like an offering to a shrine each time he came to darken his doorway, to sleep on his floor or play his stupid card games.

But Gin...

Gin had known just where to find him.

It shouldn't have been a surprise, but, somehow, it still was.

He muffled a cough against the back of his hand and waited for the other shoe to drop.

Boss Pervert looked far too pleased to just let it lie.

"Is that a no?" He inquired, taking another sip of his tea before returning the cup to its saucer with a clatter that caused tension to zip up his spine like electric current.

Danger filled the air, a scent like old, rusty blood, sharp as the edge of the scalpel that he might at any moment find pressed to his throat.

He wondered vaguely how long Man-Tiger would wait if he didn't return.

Whether he'd still be there when Gin came home.

The thought of Man-Tiger trying to explain what had happened to the sofa made him hope so.

He'd always known that he was not like Dazai-san, not like Drunk Hat or Umbrella Lady. He was strong, of course. After all, he'd clawed his way up the ladder to a command position, but there was no power in it beyond what control he had over his subordinates.

He was not important, not now, not yet, maybe never.

He'd survived, risen in the ranks, because he was useful, he was given some latitude in his methods because he was successful in the tasks given him. The moment he ceased to be useful, the moment the cost of his continued existence outweighed the benefit would be the end of him.

He'd known that.

He'd always known that.

The Port Mafia was brutal… but it was also honest.

This was something he'd always understood.

Something far more certain than like could ever be.

And yet...

And yet.

"I can rely on you, can't I, Akutagawa-kun?" Boss Pervert asked, teacup and saucer set aside, hands steepled in front of his face.

He nodded once, quick and sharp.

Like changed nothing.

He changed nothing.

He was still what he had always been.

The fact that he now knew what the Man-Tiger's name tasted like on his tongue changed nothing.

"I'm so glad to hear that," Boss Pervert smiled. "You see, while I do appreciate the initiative you've shown in insinuating yourself more closely with the Agency by infiltrating that boy's life, I must ask that you be cautious and remember that while it might be child's play to fool someone as earnest and eager to please as Atsushi-kun, he is not your true opponent in this. Dazai-kun, as you are no doubt well aware, is a master of manipulation. I doubt it would take very much effort for him to steer the boy in whatever direction held the greatest benefit for him."

Did it seem like that?

Would it be easier to believe that he'd felt nothing at all, that every awkward moment between them had been a careful balancing act of contrived emotion?

Probably.

And maybe in some ways it was.

He'd known that Dazai-san had a hand in it all along, hadn't he?

He'd even told him as much once.

"Well, it's not like I wanted to come, Dazai-san said I had to!"

He wasn't stupid.

It had always been obvious that Dazai-san had been pushing them together. Using various means to pair them off on unnecessary assignments, random errands, intel exchanges, to match them in battle both as partners and opponents.

He hadn't even bothered to hide it, hadn't been the least bit subtle in his efforts.

He'd just shoved Man-Tiger into his path again and again and again until his presence beside him had begun to seem normal, until being with him, near him, became something he chose.

Until that worn down animosity had turned into something like grudging acceptance.

Until he had begun to take it for granted, to accept it as a given, to… let his guard down, to reach out, to want.

Until he'd let himself take him home, bring him inside and let him see the things he'd never shown anyone else.

Even after all this time, he hadn't really changed.

Dazai-san had probably known that.

Had probably counted on it.

That he still wouldn't bother to look beyond the moment, to see the larger picture. Known that - even if he'd understood earlier what was happening - it probably wouldn't have changed anything at all.

He'd probably still have fallen into his trap, because Ats-

No.

Man-Tiger.

He was Man-Tiger.

It was all he was ever meant to be.

Names didn't matter.

His namedidn't matter and he needed to stop saying it, stop thinking it.

He just… needed to... stop.

Because he… he was what he was and Man-Tigerwas an idiot.

An earnest idiot with good intentions crafted from naivety and an obsession with earning the right to live his stupid life, a permission he could never, ever earn. He was eager to belong and to please and so utterly ridiculous. Easy to annoy and quick to anger and just as quick to hand out forgiveness like it cost him nothing at all.

And that made him an easy mark for someone as clever as Dazai-san.

It would have probably only taken a few subtle pushes, gentle nudges in the right direction and the Man-Tiger would have never known he was being led at all.

Had inviting him to his apartment that first night been Dazai-san's idea too?

Letting him sleep there?

Inviting him over and letting him in, again and again?

Was all of it just that man pulling strings behind the scenes?

Or was it all just Man-Tiger's foolish nature?

Where did it stop?

Where did Dazai-san end and Man-Tiger begin?

What was real and what was only manipulation?

Did it even matter?

He liked him.

They liked each other.

And he'd already ruined it.

Whatever it was.

Whatever was waiting for him when he returned to his apartment.

What had that look meant?

Had it meant anything at all?

Did he still like him?

Did it even matter?

It shouldn't.

It had only ever been meant to be a temporary truce.

It had only ever been a bad habit gone out of control.

When he thought of it that way there was no reason for that strange sense of loss.

No reason to be bothered by the idea that what had happened between them might been orchestrated by the man smiling at him or the man who'd made such a show of pushing them together.

No reason to be the upset by how well he'd been played yet again.

He had no one to blame but himself.

He'd always been a fool.

It was only a fool who would think he could whisper his name and it wouldn't change anything if he were the only one to know, the only one to hear the way those syllables tripped off his tongue with a fondness that had screamed a warning come far too late, a warning that crashed and burned against ears that refused to acknowledge it.

If he'd never said it again, perhaps he could have even convinced himself that it had never meant anything at all.

That the idea of him sitting there in his living room watching cartoons on their tiny television beside what little remained of his ruined couch, wrapped up in one of his blankets didn't fill him with equal measures of pleasure and dread.

That he didn't….

"Now, please don't mistake me," Boss Pervert continued, shrewd eyes suddenly so intent that he felt like a bug being crushed beneath a microscope's lens. "I am not telling you to stop. Far from it. Your connections to the agency could prove advantageous to us in the future and while Dazai-kun might be a bit too wily to fall for such deceptions, the same cannot be said of Atsushi-kun. He's always impressed me as being quite simple and since he has invited you into his home, I can't help but assume he's also grown to trust you a great deal. All I wish to do, Akutagawa-kun, is remind you of where your true loyalties must lie. Other than that, I shall leave this operation to your discretion."

Operation.

Discretion.

When he'd been living down in the dark, on those cold, barren streets, he'd never thought twice about letting others starve so they could eat, of making others bleed and die so they could live.

He knew well enough that everything came at a price.

Nothing was free.

That if he wanted to survive, he had to be willing to do anything.

Everything.

He had to be willing to sacrifice for each breath he took, for each beat of his heart and no matter how much the weak paid, it was the strong who would always win out in the end.

Dazai-san had given his life meaning and purpose, but it had been the years before that had taught him the necessity of strength.

That had taught him that emotion was a luxury he'd never be able to afford.

"Akutagawa-kun?" He asked, still smiling behind his hands, soft and amused. "Was there something you wished to say?"

"No," he replied, though it was more difficult to push that single syllable through his lips than it should have been.

"Very well," Boss Pervert offered him one last smile, slim and tight, before pulling a folder from a box beside his chair and offering it to him. "I can understand how it might be a bit difficult to make a decision right away so I've decided to give you time to reflect on your options. After all, such subterfuge is new to you and it's only to be expected that you wouldn't be immediately comfortable with the idea. With that in mind, I thought you might benefit from a break from Yokohama. This is your next assignment. Please make an example of them, would you?"

He took the folder and nodded his assent before turning on his heel and leaving that man and that room behind.

"I'll be expecting an answer upon your return," he called after him, that ever-present amusement in his voice felt like the sting of a lash across his back as he yanked open the door and stepped quickly out through the darkened halls.

"Sleep well, Akutagawa-kun."