✶ destruction, resolution ✶

★ five ★

When Akutagawa had returned home, Gin paused for a second before she slowly grinned, and he could see her restraining a painful laugh. "Finally get that apology out?" she asked slyly, and he narrowed his eyes at her before she gestured toward the bathroom.

Hesitantly, he followed her silent instruction and flipped on the lights of the bathroom, eyes widening in shock and mortification as he saw the glittering streaks of gold painted over his lips and cheeks and other places Atsushi's lips had slid to, including the echo of the pads of his fingers on the back of Akutagawa's neck.

Akutagawa choked, and Gin laughed loudly from the kitchen.

✷✷✷

Neither of them really focused on how their relationship was shifting- calm and singing, rolling and pitching, they were like two seas merging together with the rise of a new tide. They didn't go out on flashy dates, but ended up spending nights together in tea shops or book stores or just watching the sun set over the water after a long day of fighting, waiting for the stars to appear with their dazzling show. They didn't seek out each other's touch or warmth consciously, instead reaching out for the other more instinctively, whether it was hands in hands or shoulders against shoulders, and sometimes a coat shared or given away all together.

None of it was intentional or planned, yet they still shifted into each other like tectonic plates: imperfectly but still natural, riddled with quakes and faults but still new.

Akutagawa didn't know when the shift happened, just as he never noticed the one from before; they still fought and quipped, of course, but now there was concern and worry behind their words that carried to invoiceable weight of I can't bear to lose you, ones that were echoed in their metallic touches they left behind on hands and on cheeks.

The first time he called Atsushi by his given name aloud, Atsushi had gaped at him in complete shock, and Akutagawa immediately apologized, only for Atsushi to shake his head furtively, insisting it was fine. Akutagawa was flabbergasted, but Atsushi only smiled brightly and Akutagawa was helpless to its pull. (From then on, it was 'Atsushi' and 'Ryuu', instinctive and right as it sang in his bones.)

When they'd slept together the first time, Akutagawa was apprehensive; he knew how poorly he slept in strange environments, knew how he sometimes kept Gin up with his nightmares and the occasional night terror, and knew how pathetic they revealed him to be.

He warned Atsushi, of course, but Atsushi still insisted it was okay, both of them too exhausted to try and further the argument, and Akutagawa blearily watched as Atsushi pulled his torn work shirt over his head to reveal pale skin and scars littered over his torso, eyes catching on the darkest ones that stood out sharply compared to the rest, raised and harsh as they curved around his side. Faintly, Akutagawa wanted to reach out and touch them, but Atsushi tugged his nightshirt over his head before he had the chance to act on the thought.

Atsushi dropped down onto his futon, stretching his arms over his head with a groan, before blinking up at Akutagawa, who was staring down awkwardly at him. "This isn't a good idea; I should just go," Akutagawa warned, and Atsushi sighed, standing back up.

"You're standing in my apartment at one in the morning covered in wounds I just had to patch up," Atsushi said quietly but sternly, raising a hand to trace at the fresh gauze covering Akutagawa's cheek. "Even if you weren't ten seconds from falling asleep, I still wouldn't let you leave."

Akutagawa sighed sharply, shutting his eyes. "But-"

"No," Atsushi interrupted, and Akutagawa huffed.

"I don't suppose I have a choice, now do I?" he asked rhetorically, opening his eyes to see Atsushi's bright ones glowing the slant of moonlight through the window, the shine inhuman like the glowing retinas of a feline.