✶ destruction, resolution ✶

★ two ★

They never used to meet after missions.

But it wasn't until a particularly nasty battle that left Atsushi staggering exhaustedly on his feet that Akutagawa tugged him to a coffeehouse and forced a cup of simple black tea on him, much to his confusion. Akutagawa didn't say anything, crossing his arms and waiting, trying not to sigh as Atsushi suspiciously dragged the tea toward him. "It helps keep your energy up," he said flatly, and Atsushi blinked in confusion. Akutagawa sighed then at the glazed look on Atsushi's face and the exhaustion in his face despite the sharply sarcastic expression in the press of his lips. "I can't keep trusting to work with someone who's going to pass out on me any second," he added, watching as Atsushi's eyes widened.

Akutagawa made a little get on with it motion to stop Atsushi from staring at him like an imbecile, the scrutiny making him uncomfortable, and Atsushi finally took a sip before lighting up, taking another sip. Pleased, Akutagawa sat back in his seat, feeling the soreness in his body ache in protest.

At this rate, they'd formed a strange sense of trust between them- enough to know they weren't going to try and kill each other the minute they turned their backs- but even still Akutagawa didn't know what possessed him to spend more time than he had to with Atsushi in the first place. He wondered when he realized that having the weretiger in his company was something calming, even in silence, only immediately following the thought with a flush of confusion that nearly made his wrinkle his nose at its absurdity.

"It's good."

"Huh?" Akutagawa said a little too sharply, but Atsushi didn't even flinch as he set the cup back down, now much more used to Akutagawa's temper.

"I said it's good," Atsushi reiterated, and Akutagawa hummed faintly, turning his head away to stare out the window. Rain was faintly pattering against it, distorting the lights from the lampposts that had only just turned on outside. "Alright, what's wrong with you?" Atsushi suddenly asked, and Akutagawa turned back to him.

"What makes you think something's wrong with me?" he demanded, and Atsushi blew out a sharply-irritated breath.

"You've barely said anything at all today, and you've been acting all distant around me," he said, before shifting awkwardly. "I just thought something was wrong."

Akutagawa looked at him blankly. "I don't like you," he reminded, and was shocked when he saw the faintest flash of hurt flicker over Atsushi's face before he quickly sealed it away.

"You've only got two more months left before you can try to kill me," Atsushi said, blithe and flat.

Akutagawa didn't tell him that he didn't want to kill him anymore, for some unknown reason.

"It won't be a fair fight if you keep neglecting your health like that," Akutagawa said instead, and Atsushi snorted.

"I'm so glad you're looking out for my health," he said sarcastically, and Akutagawa shook his head at him with a faint laugh on his lips.

"Don't be stupid; you're still a nuisance I need to be rid of," he said, but for once, it didn't hold the same bite to it that the words usually did.

There was an odd atmosphere between them that night before they parted ways, and Akutagawa was still as confused as ever, gnawing restlessly at his bones.

***

That itch was still there, poignant and poisonous, but now it was more exhausting than anything.

Since when did Akutagawa feel comfortable, at ease in Atsushi's presence?

When did it go from Oh god, he's here, to Thank god he's here, in his mind?

When did he feel relieved whenever he saw him in the corner of his eye, a perfect harmony to him as they fought, feeling their shoulder blades dig into each other as they stood back to back, breathing in unison?

When did it feel more natural to call him Nakajima instead of Weretiger, and when had Akutagawa started referring to him as Atsushi to himself?

(When did he start to care?)

It made him grit his teeth in frustration and worry lines from torn fingernails into his palms.

Though they tried to ignore the soulmate issue and just not touch each other, it inevitably still happened; every guard, touch to the back, hand around the arm and wrist, and of course the blinding silver left in Rashoumon's wake every time Akutagawa so much as steadied Atsushi with it.

There was something pleasing in seeing those marks on him, a mark of possession, something that sated the itch under his flesh for a second, only to immediately recoil from that train of thought. It was a confusing battle that slowly wore him down, inch by inch and brick by brick until Gin forced him to stay home because he'd been so distracted he nearly passed out from fatigue.

"Gin, I'm fine," he protested, but Gin stood her ground, standing in front of the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest.

"No, you aren't," she said resolutely, tilting her head up to stare him in the eye as he tried to force past her. She pressed one hand against his chest, and he stopped with a click of his tongue. "You're sicker than usual today and I don't want you to push yourself."

He made a noise of irritation in his throat, low and warning. "Gin-"

He was stopped by her pressing the back of her hand to his forehead with a sharp sigh. "You have a fever, Ryuunosuke," she scolded. He turned his head away, smothering a cough in his hand. "You need to rest today."

He scoffed. "I'm fine, it's nothing," he said, but it was quiet and pained.

She stepped back and blew out a deep breath. "Go lay back down," she directed. "I'll tell Higuchi about the situation, and when I get back you're going to tell me what's wrong," she added, reaching for her coat and moving toward the door.

He froze. "What-? Gin, there's nothing wrong!"

She only gave him a dry look, and he could hear her 'bullshit' in the line of her eyebrow as she raised it before shutting the door behind her.

Miserably, Akutagawa dropped back onto his bed, groaning as his head started to swim. Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, he hissed at the pressure before swearing under his breath. I can't remember the last time an illness got to me this badly.

✹✹✹

Gin returned within the hour, slipping back in to find her brother curled into himself, blankets strewn about him. His eyes were screwed shut and his breathing was shallow, one of his hands curled tightly into a fist around a molten-gold mark smeared on the inside of his palm, nails cutting into it.

Her chest tightened, and she knelt down beside him to pull his hair out of his face, flushed from fever.

Is that why you've worked yourself to the point of illness, brother? Something so trivial as this?

She sighed deeply as she stood, weaving around him to make her way into the kitchen.