Author's Note: It takes too long to find the reference for the scene in question, so I modified it a bit. The essence should still be the same though. Have fun reading!
The second attack came a few days later for the young detective.
He was working on Dazai's paperwork, as usual, and suddenly he wasn't anymore.
The desk disappeared, everything darkened. And inside of him, in place of the tranquility of the everyday, was a coiling sense of...something.
Something intense, very intense, that's driving him to destroy something. It might have been anger, it might have been bloodlust, it might have been a desire for revenge. But coming into these visions, Atsushi was starting to learn that disembodied emotions are hard to explain.
He didn't know what brought this emotion, doesn't have any context or narrative to fit the feelings into. All he felt was the physical feeling itself, and for all he knew, alarm and excitement could feel exactly the same.
And so he suppressed the knots of fire in his guts for now, taking in the surroundings.
He wished for a mirror, but that he was Akutagawa was clear enough when he felt the itching urge to cough, brought up a pale, emancipated palm to cover his mouth, and pushed away the locks of his black hair— silver at the tips.
He shifted his focus from the near to the far, and found that he was a forest.
That was weird, but Atsushi couldn't really say what was weird and what wasn't. The fact that he was here at all was strange enough.
And that makes him wonder, as Akutagawa's body stumbled alone along the forest path, what Dazai-san and the ADA are thinking right now. What are they experiencing? How was his real body, in the real world?
From Akutagawa's biting remarks during and after that mission, Atsushi could more or less piece together that he had lost consciousness. And he was glad that at least his real body wasn't in a fight.
This body though...
It was a few moments before he noticed the pain riddling his entire being. A pain so intense and pervasive that the perpetual itching in his throat was swallowed up within it.
He needed to find something. Or he would destroy everything.
Blood dripped to the path, at the edges of his vision. Was he leaving trails of blood? What had happened? What is going to happen?
There was emptiness inside him, but filled to the brim with hatred and the need for revenge. Where was he going? Did Akutagawa even know?
And suddenly, the woods opened to a clearing— and someone was standing there, among corpses.
Dazai-san!? Atsushi struggled to scream, but Akutagawa's body prevented him. He was wordless, soundless— if feels as if all this hatred would just spill out and leave him an empty shell if he open his mouth to let it out.
Dazai's figure was an ominous shadow against the creepy forest. When he turned as if to greet him, Atsushi saw an unfamiliar and scary expression on the mafia's face. But Atsushi couldn't take his eyes off the bodies littering the forest floor. He couldn't quite count them in the dark, but certainly too many— more than a single person should be able to handle.
"This is a gift for you." A smooth voice from the person in the forest. Atsushi had trouble reconciling this cold-blooded murderer with his comical senpai at the detective agency.
Then his gaze inevitably shifted back to the corpses. Somehow, impossibly, Atsushi recognized these corpses. Or rather, Akutagawa did. Rage. Confusion. Retribution.
What had happened to have filled this hole with so much hatred?
Atsushi didn't have time to think on that question. The strange sensation was back again— Rashoumon, coming to life. He charged soundlessly, pushing his body against this all-consuming exhaustion that threatened to pull him under.
Dazai was staying completely still. A sense of grim satisfaction came over Akutagawa. His enemy is underestimating him. He's going to slide the blade right in, and have no trouble doing it.
Except Rashoumon exploded into a harmless flash of blue light when it touched the man, his ability activating. No Longer Human.
"Despite your hasty attack, you seem to be pretty slow." Dazai said, "Don't you see I killed your friends' killer for you? Consider it an act of good-will."
"Who are you," Akutagawa demanded, "and what do you want?" Strange question for Atsushi to hear himself asking, since he knows the answer full well.
"I'm Dazai. Dazai Osamu— Port Mafia's youngest executive. I'm here to recruit you, Akutagawa Ryunosuke."
Atsushi stared at this Dazai. This dark, emotionless man covered in bandages and cloaked in black. If he was Akutagawa, he wouldn't accept this offer. This is far too suspicious.
But then again… I killed your friends' killer for you. Would he have any way at all to feed himself and his sister, if he didn't accept this offer? His pack was gone. He was alone and sick— with no comrades to entrust Gin to, if something happens. To be accepted into Port Mafia would be to belong. To have food and shelter and above all, to have a purpose.
Coming across Port Mafia is usually fatal for strays like them— but here was Akutagawa, alone in forest, pursuing his friends' murderers only to find another had already gotten them. And being offered entry instead of just being killed.
But— "Why?" Atsushi asked, and the sound actually came out. Akutagawa had been thinking the same thing. Atsushi felt annoyed at this unexpected similarity between them.
"You know why. Rashoumon is made for killing. You were made for killing, Akutagawa-kun. Your ability will be useful to the Port Mafia. I'll give you a reason to live."
Killing.
A reason to live.
The satisfying feel of warm blood and ripped flesh.
His body was hurting, but inside, the hole was starting to be filled within him. Recognition. Significance.
No matter how small, he is being singled out. Offered a chance no one else has.
A black coat was suddenly on his shoulders, and he felt its warmth.
To belong somewhere.
"Come on, your sister is already at headquarters. We're going to start training today."
And Atsushi felt a hand on his back, and took a step forward, then another….
….and fell face-first off the chair, hitting his chin on the edge of his office desk.
"Atsushi?" It was Kunikida's voice. He was back in the ADA, and beside him, Dazai-san was slacking off as usual, sleeping face-down on the desk like a schoolboy.
"Good, you're awake. I can't have two colleagues slacking off at once, we're behind on paperwork!"
Just then the clock struck, and Dazai bounced up and shouted, "Work's finished!!! Let's go home, Atsushi-kun!" Dashing behind Atsushi he pushed him in the back towards the door.
"W-Wait, Dazai-san!"
"Don't worry! It's five! We shouldn't stay at work too long, it's a mark of a disorganized person!"
Kunikida, whose perfect schedule has been ruined by Dazai's slacking off and Atsushi's sudden incapacitation, glared holes into their backs, but remained planted beneath a mountain of paperwork at the desk.
"I have to help Kunikida-san…." Atsushi said, trying for gentle rejection.
Dazai just shrugged it off, said, "Well, I'm off to the river then~~" and was gone. Atsushi will have a difficult time fishing Dazai out tonight. But first, there's work to make up for.
He tried not to think about those hands on his back, still leaving heat on his skin even through the fabric of his shirt. The same insistence, the same warmth.
Atsushi could never feel Dazai's hands the same way again.