He wanted me. He... *Wanted* me...

That was an accident...

"Drink it." he ordered, already halfway through the bottle on his own.

Akutagawa thought to refuse, the amber liquid had a foul, oaky smell that was strong enough he couldn't stop his nose from wrinkling at it. Still... There was a sense of warmth, of camaraderie, of approval in being offered the swill.

"Come on," his superior crooned, lengthening the words to emphasize his point, "Don't fucking waste it. Either do what I tell you or hand it back; quit looking at me like you're stupid."

The alcohol burned against his tongue, making him cough and gag on the taste as it settled like ash in his stomach; and Dazai laughed, filling the glass again, this time with twice as much as before.

"So?" he prompted, downing a swig from the neck of the bottle. "What do you think?"

"It's bitter." his subordinate managed, still sputtering as the glass was once again pushed into his palm.

This time, Akutagawa hesitates, clutching the glass as if he intends to shatter it between his fingers. Staring at his own reflection in the honey-colored spirit in some childish hope he'll wake from this like nothing but an odd daydream, or that he won't have to drink it. Dazai taps the bottom of the overfilled tumbler, knocking a splash over the edge and onto Akutagawa's sleeve; a silent continuation of his earlier demands.

Just pretend it's barley tea.

Dutifully, the contents disappear down his throat. He all but slams the glass down next to the bottle, purposefully passing Dazai's waiting hand and leaving it set upside down, the closest thing to a clear refusal he can muster at the moment. The slight shift in his mentor's eye is as unreadable as ever and it makes his blood cool several degrees but he stands by the defiance.

Then Dazai smiles- that cruel, thin smile he's so gracefully skilled at; the one that means something has amused him, that it's going exactly as he's guessed it would.

And all at once he has to reorient himself, suddenly dizzy.

The floor is out from under him, his hands instinctively grabbing fistfuls of Dazai's coat to stabilize himself against his shoulders. Dazai's arms are tightly and uncomfortably around Akutagawa's waist, one tucked under his thighs to lift him into the air and the other pressed against his hips to keep him from completely toppling over. His mentor uncharacteristically presses a bandaged cheek against his ribs, saying something under his breath Akutagawa can't make out- something about his heartbeat.

"Dazai-san..."

He had to focus to get the words out in order, and he isn't sure if it's from the whisky or pure nerves.

"Put me down."

Dazai deposits him awkwardly onto the edge of the counter, keeping him arms wrapped around him so he's pinched between the wooden frame and the other boy's body. In such close proximity, it's obvious to him that while Dazai isn't that much bigger than him, the two year difference between them has granted him at least twice the muscle by comparison; though with their wiry builds it doesn't say much.

"This isn't what I meant." he spits, quieter and smaller than he means to say it.

Dazai hums, not listening to him. Instead, he runs his hands lazily up and down Akutagawa's spine.

"What are you doing?"

He tried to wriggle free but all it did was grant Dazai an opening to press further against him. He reached vainly against his better judgement for Rashōmon in an attempt to move using it, but as expected, Dazai's own ability prevents him from his and the comforting tension of transmogrified fabric unwound and fizzled in his palm.