Love is cruelty; you are an exception (sskk oneshot)

Cruelty

Cold. Cold. His lungs felt tight. Cold. Cold.

“Akutagawa, calm down—”

It was hard to breath. Akutagawa's head whipped around. Where was he? What was happening? Why was he crying? Why was Atsushi right next to him?

Why was there blood staining his fingertips?

Akutagawa just took in a harsh breath and continued to panic as Atsushi tried anchoring him to the ground, holding him by his shoulders. “Akutagawa, deep breaths, come on!”

Akutagawa tried to do so, but another thought pinched the back of his head. Why? How will being able to breathe help? You shouldn't listen to him. Calming down won't change what happened. But what happened?

Akutagawa's thoughts spun further into a conflicting mess, spinning and repeating in his head like an endless carousel. Panic, fear, fear, confusion, panic, fear, confusion, confusion, pain, panic, fear, fear, fear, fear, fear, fear, fear, fear, fear—

A warm hand touched his cheek. He shot back into reality—or, what he thought was reality, at least—and stared tensely at the stressed boy right in front of him.

Atsushi's hair was ruffled and his face had dirt on it. Akutagawa thought, He needs to clean himself up, but before he could tell him, Atsushi spoke in turn.

“Akutagawa,” Atsushi's voice was thick with anxiety, “We need to go.”

“...what?’ Akutagawa's hoarse voice croaked. “Why? Why can't I stay with you here?” He ignored the sting of cold air on bare arms and legs, yearning to hide away into the warmth of Atsushi's hand which was now pulling away.

Atsushi didn't say anything. He clenched his jeans, staring at something distant, something behind Akutagawa, with a cold stare.

Akutagawa looked at him with confusion before turning his head to see what he was looking at.

A man with dark brown hair and a darkly stained jacket was on the ground, facing away. There was small flecks of snow in his hair. Akutagawa shuffled toward the man, each movement making Atsushi flinch as the snow crunched beneath him. “Akutagaw—”

Akutagawa dismissed Atsushi's near silent call. He clutched the laying man's shoulder, trying his hardest not to peer over it, and shook his body. “Hey. Hey. Are you awake?” Akutagawa quietly asked the presumably sleeping man. No response.

“Akuta—”

He turned the body over. Resting on the man's chest was an opal attached to a bolo tie with the slightest drop of crimson on it. He was wearing a tight black vest over a pale dress shirt. Akutagawa’s eyes trailed up his chest to his bandaged neck up to his pale face. Slit, red-brown eyes, lifeless yet glazed stared at him. There was the slightest trace of a smirk at the corners of the dead man's lips.

“No. No. No, no, no, no no no nonononononononononono—” Fear, panic, pain, fear, panic, fear, pain, pain, fear, panic, panic, panic, pain, pain.

“Akutagawa, calm down!”

The blood on his hand, the crusted crimson beneath his nails, the scarlet, dripping liquid soaking into his black, short-sleeved shirt, the very blood splattered all over Dazai’s body, all over the knife that lay not too far from him.

Akutagawa was the one to grab Atsushi's shoulders this time. “What have—what—did—how—I—” he rambled in a hoarse although loud voice, head down as he hunched over. Frostbite stung his knees.

Atsushi gently took Akutagawa's hands off of his shoulders and cupped his face with his clean, unstained and warm hands. “Akutagawa,” he breathed out calmly, “You're okay, I'm here.”