Bamboo Grove [Atsushi x Reader] ✓

2. ᴛᴀɴᴀʙᴀᴛᴀ

Fourteen years had built a strong bond between you and Atsushi.

The orphans had always mocked the two of you to be like conjoined twins; always connected by the hand until maturity detached you. The orphanage director compared you to be like water and oil; the chemical composition between the two should not be expected to blend into each other despite the struggle. Years later, the Armed Detective Agency wasn't quite sure what to akin you two to.

The sentiment between you was... complicated.

Atsushi's journey to Yokohama had not been the most favourable; he had been evicted from the orphanage only months after you had mysteriously disappeared. Still in his uniform—the only clothes he owned—he clutched the strap of his shoulder bag and looked in through the gates, gazing fixedly at the tampered soil where a bamboo tree had previously been erected.

As children, you and Atsushi would spend countless hours away from everyone's gaze. Atsushi loved your company and grew fond of your smile and the rare laughter he'd hear when he failed to deliver the punchline of jokes he could not remember. Yet, he never understood why you had chosen to spend time with him. Atsushi Nakajima was, after all, not special... unless special was synonymous with being a weakling, of course...

Only a few weeks after turning nineteen, still during May, Atsushi was interrogated by his own colleagues; they needed to know everything he had not told them about the orphanage. He imagined it to be like a doctor's appointment where his answers would produce a diagnosis for further examination, followed by an ambulance that'd rush him to an operating room where they would fix all that was wrong with him... He chose not to lie.

He had been asked to entrust his most cherished memories (from the orphanage) to his colleagues as an ice-breaker exercise, but he hesitated. Atsushi felt like speaking of you disturbed his friends: Dazai seemed bored off his mind whenever your name was mentioned for his own fidelity to a woman never quite prevailed; Kyouka would become silent and bitter, even protective if you were around; Ranpo would visibly cringe while chewing on his gummies—something Atsushi's innocent mind thought to be a particular sour candy the older male did not like.

But you were the first person that gave Atsushi a reason to look forward to waking up every day as a child.

"I read parenting books from the library to try and understand what parents were supposed to be like, and also tried to read through philosophy books discussing the importance of relationships," his voice played back from the tape recorder, sounding both hesitant and enthusiastic. "[Y/N] took on the role of being the mother I never had, the friend I did not deserve and..." — his statement faced a pause, followed by a change of subject after being told that you would sit through the playback of the tape sometime later.

When you were still rebellious children, you two would sneak out of bed in the evening and meet up in the library. You made it your job to bring a stolen oil lamp and a thick blanket for the hardback fort you'd build every night. Tucking the corners of the blanket between covers was a fluent action for you, making the world beneath the velvet ceiling look like a camping tent.

At times like these, Atsushi could not conceal his admiration of you, one year his senior. Lighting the lamp required focus, so while your attention was not on him he watched your lashes shine a faint brown from the flame, skin tinted in gold as the fire flickered and settled. Although you were aware of his gaze, you never minded it much, and would smile softly after lifting your eyes to meet his, flustering him with ease.

Atsushi told his colleagues that after turning a certain age you were no longer allowed to play together, but met in the library after everyone had gone to sleep. He assimilated this experience to be just like the old Chinese legend of the star-crossed lovers, the Qixi Festival, celebrated in Japan on the seventh of July: Tanabata.