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darkanddirtyknb · 7 years

Note

Kise and his girlfriend featuring a highschool festival. Lots of fun and misfits – from a school play to a maid cafe that ends at a haunted house that leaves them terrified for a lifetime.

Word count: 8,124↳Requested by: Jotato the Potato

Youstill can’t understand how things turned out like this.

Youdon’t know if Kise is practicing comedy or if one person can reallybe capable of such travesty. That being said, the audience seems tothink that the would-be romance put on by a pair of mismatchedstudents has been altered to a comic drama—during practice orotherwise—which you suppose is a good thing given what you’reworking with. Notwithstanding the public disaster, you can’t keepfrom rolling your eyes as the crowd keeps laughing at Kise’sdrollery.

“Whatis wrong with thee? This is not what we hadst planned,” youimprovise, your eyes pinned on Kise’s face. He’s smiling despite theshadows swamping the reflective light of your gaze, catching in thebrilliant luminosity pouring over the stage. You arch an eyebrow andhave to fight the urge to tap impatience out against the floor withthe toecap of an oversized shoe. You didn’t want to do this stupidactivity to begin with and it’s plain to see that Kise is enjoyinghimself far too much. You know that he finds comfort in being thepolestar of attention and at this rate, things aren’t going to endanytime soon. So when the radiant slash of Kise’s signature smilecatches beneath the light, spreading warmth to the honeyed-glow ofhis eyes, you growl irritation in the back of your throat.

“Mineapologies, dearest. I hast been captivated by thy beauty and I cannotwend on without thy acknowledgment. Thou hast did conquer mine heart,thou see.” Kise steps forward, and before you can retreat, he takesyou by the hand and pulls you into his arms. “Ishalt taketh thou by the handeth and maketh thou mine wife.”

“YourShakespearean is suffering,” you whisper against Kise’s ear. “Nowstop fooling around so we can wrap this up, yeah?”

Kiseexhales softly; the breath of it warms your cheek and tickles thefine hairs at your temple. A shiver travels down the whole length ofyour spine and you don’t realize until Kise’s trying to jerk his handout of your own that you’re crushing his fingers in your grip.“Sorry,” you whisper, the apology dry and quick against yourtongue.

“Don’tfleer me, love. I beg of thou acceptance and kindness. I wouldhappily giveth mine life for thou. I wilt protect and cherish thouunto the day I perish. Prithee, accept mine offering. Grant me thiswish.”

Youhesitate a moment, then spare a sideways glance in the direction ofthe audience. It takes every grain of your control to keep yourselffrom laughing. You can’t parse the energy of the entire crowd butfrom what you can see, the whole front row is on the edge of theirseats, waiting in anticipation for your response. A wide range ofgirls look angry and it’s obvious by the sharp angle of their jawsand the narrowed slants of their eyes that they’re envious, that theywould give anything to be in your shoes. In reality, you wish theywould. Your feet are throbbing and the heat of the stage light isturning to sweat on your skin. Yet, there’s something satisfactory inmaking them jealous so you decide to play along for the sake of yourown personal entertainment.

Youfix your attention on Kise and pull your spine into proper alignment,standing tall and proud as you yank your hand out of Kise’s bracinghold. “Thou’retoo desperate, peasant. Beest gone. I hast other matters to attendto.”

“Butmine love” –Kise stumbles forward, his trousers far too big forhis lean frame– “I won’t taketh nay for an answer. Thou art thelight that brightens mine night. The fuel to mine fire. The anchor tomine ship. Prithee, doth not beest the high tide that pushes mearoint.”

Youhave to bite your lip to stifle the laughter that collects in thedark of your throat. You turn the gesture to necessity and force anexpression that you hope reflects the weight of an encumbrance onyour features. You brush the fall of your hair over your shoulderthen place a hand over the space above your heart. “How couldst Ipossibly dilate this to mine family? Thou art hated. Those gentswanteth thee dead. If ’t be true I am seen with you—if I wast tobringeth thee into mine home—you would beest hath led like a sheepto the slaughter. Don’t thee understandeth? I cannot beest withthee.” You can feel the thrum of your heart beneath your fingertipsand you realize that you’re not only improvising, you’re having fun.Your voice hitches in all the right places and you can feel theemotion melting your features into a demonstrative portrait of griefand disquietude.

“Then we’ll runneth aroint together.Thou can returneth home tonight to gather up thy belongings and Iwilt collect thou cometh the witching hour. We’ll flee to Matsumotoand bid our former liveth farewell. We’ll start ov'r—together—justthou and me.” Kise rushes forward and you can see the passionsparking in his eyes. You make to dodge him reflexively, but hebraces his hands against your biceps and guides you forward. He liftsa hand to cup the line of your jaw, his thumb grazing the contour ofyour cheek. “Nothing wilt keepeth me from thee. I love thee betterthan thou canst devise. If ’t be true yond’s not enow then takethmine life, hither and anon, for I can’t liveth a life without thou in’t.”

“’t’stoo dangerous,” you say, the words heavy on your breath as you turnyour head away from Kise in a show of open exasperation.

“Nothing is too dangerous at whichhour ’t cometh to thou, mine love,” Kise insists, brushing hisfingers across your jaw to center your attention. “I alreadytoldeth thou, I would happily giveth mine life for thou—to protectthou—to beestwith thou. Prithee don’t leaveth me this way. If ’t be true thouabandon me I shalt wither aroint.”

You let tears gather along the linesof your lashes and force the dig of your mouth into a frown as youtwist your features into an expression of suffering. Then you turnyour attention to the crowd, your eyes roving over the many heads infront of you. You can almost feel the malice and the animosity comingoff of Kise’s fan club in waves and you have to bite the bottom lineof your mouth to keep from breaking whatever impromptu characteryou’ve spontaneously created. “Oh, Ryoma! How am I suppose towalketh aroint from this? Thou art only hurting me, don’t thou see?’t is I who is trying to protect thou and thou’ll hast nothing of’t.” You inject as much impassioned drama into the extemporaneousstatement as you can, then drape an arm across your forehead for thesake of being dramatic. “Don’t thou see? I love thou too much togaze something befall to thou. If ’t be true something betid to thouI’d nev'r liveth with myself.”

Youexpect Kise to respond in an equally theatrical fashion, verbally,but instead, he wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you flushagainst his body, his lips fitting against your own before you canparse the action.

The kissdoesn’t come easy. Kise bumps his nose against yours despite theinnumerable times you practiced this very kiss—for the realplay—flawlessly. His teeth catch on your upper lip and there’s toomuch breath framing the weight of his mouth. It’s an awkward attemptat the osculation but you’re too focused on the boys’ whistles andthe girls’ idle chatter in the crowd. You swallow the urge to pushKise away when he becomes too enthusiastic and press a hand againsthis chest instead. “Stop,” you whisper, your lips moving againstthe damp of his mouth.

“Sorry,”Kise says, his voice shadowed by the heat on his breath and the wayit’s spilling out into color on the pale of his cheeks.

“So godo it now!” Someone calls from the audience and the auditoriumbreaks out into an unintelligible cacophony of laughter, cat-calls,and protests. Kise smiles and takes you by the hand, forcing you intoa bow that signifies the end of the disastrous play.

Though,admittedly, you did enjoy it just a littlebit.

“Sowhere do you want to go now?” Kise asks, smoothing his hands downthe front of his shirt. “I heard that the health committee wasgoing to hand out sweets as a joke. Want to go see if we can snagany?”

“Idon’t think so.” The voice catches both you and Kise by surprise,tugging your attention toward its owner.

“Moriyama-senpai!”Kise chimes, beaming. “What are you doing here?”

“I goto this school,” Moriyama says, looking confused. “Anyway, I’mgoing to need to borrow this pretty lady for a little while. Theclass president needs her help in the maid café.”

“Holdon a second,” you protest, rounding on Moriyama. “I never agreedto help in the maid café. I just finished the play! There’s no wayI'm–”

“Youcan take that up with Akamine-sensei.He says that this is still part of your punishment. Now come on, Ipicked out a dress just for you.” Moriyama says, draping an armaround your shoulders.

“ButI just got her alone!” Kise pouts.

“Sorrybut I’m just following–”

“Hey,Kasamatsu!” you shout over Moriyama. “Can I borrow thatbasketball for a second?”

Kasamatsulooks startled and reflexively passes the ball to you. “What for?”he asks, delayed. The question is directed at you but he’s lookingover your shoulder at Kise.

“I’mjust going to use Moriyama for some target practice, that’s all,”you say, smiling cheerfully.

“Oh.Okay,” Kasamatsu says, momentarily indifferent, then: “Wait aminute!”

“____,it’s not my fault!” Moriyama yells, sprinting down the hallway atfull speed. “I just wanted to see you in costume,” he adds, hisvoice growing distant as he turns a corner and disappears out ofsight.

“Well,that got rid of him,” you say, tossing the ball back to Kasamatsu,who looks unusually pained.

“Youmight have gotten rid of him, but I’m not going to be so easy. Let’sgo, ____-san,” Kobori drawls, pinching your ear between hisfingers. “The sooner you attend, the sooner you can be free to dowhat you want.”

“Iwant to come too!” Kise says, rushing forward when you begin tostomp alongside Kobori in the direction of the maid café.

“Ithought you were supposed to be helping with the haunted house,”Kobori says, looking at Kise over his shoulder. “Kasamatsu isn’tgoing to be happy when he finds out that you’ve been slacking.”

“I’mnot slacking,” Kise argues, waving a hand to dispel the suggestion.“I’ll go there after I help in the maid café. Besides, he just sawme and he didn’t say anything.”

“Areyou going to put on a dress and serve drinks?” Kobori asks,ignoring Kise’s latter statement, a smile tugging at the corners ofhis lips. “Because if you are, I’m going to have to find a propercamera.”

“That’snot what I meant,” Kise huffs, his cheeks darkening to that of adusty rose. He crosses his arms over his chest and follows in towsilently.

“Wouldyou quit marshaling me? I know how to walk,” you snap, swatting atKobori’s hand. “I’ll go, okay? Just stop pinching my ear. My ownmother doesn’t even do that.” You reach up and soothe the dull achethrumming through your earlobe, all while glaring in Kobori’sdirection.

“Ifyou would have listened in the first place…” Kobori trails off,smiling softly. “I’ll trust that you make sure she gets there,”he says to Kise. “I have to get back to the astrology club anyway.”

Koboriis nearly halfway down the hall when Kise turns to you and says, “Ididn’t know we had an astrology club.”

“Beatsme,” you respond, shrugging. “Let’s just get this over with. I’mdreading it enough as it is.” You exhale a winded sigh, your cheeksexpanding on the effort of it. Then you look to Kise and arch aneyebrow. “You weren’t really planning on wearing a dress, wereyou?”

“____cchi!”Kise whines, nudging you shoulder with the heel of his palm.

“What?You would have looked pretty,” you say, laughing as you make yourway into a busy classroom. “Oh, and by the way, you’re not comingin. I’ll come find you when I’m done with my shift.”

“Why?”Kise asks, looking genuinely wounded. “I want to.”

“AndI would rather gnaw off my own arm then let you see me in a frillymaid costume. Now go,” you caveat, pointing at the doorway.

Youwatch Kise walk away, but he doesn’t go without making an unstatedspectacle of his leave. You shake your head and think that if youweren’t so perceptive you would undoubtedly see a tail tucked betweenKise’s legs and ears flattened against the golden halo framing hishead.

Severalmoments later, from inside a makeshift dressing room, you scowl atyour reflection. The shiny black shoes on your feet are too small andthe frilly stockings lining your legs are itchy and uncomfortable.The dress is too short and the lacy underskirts tickle the tops ofyour thighs. You smooth your hand over the six black buttons pairedin two neat rows on the front of the dress, exhaling a hiss that’smostly breath but part contempt. “This is ridiculous,” youmutter. “I should be playing video games right now.” Youhalf-smack the bow pressing against your throat as you fix it intoplace aggressively. “Why do I have to wear this stupid thing?”Your voice is loud enough for those beyond the curtain to hear andyou know it. “These ruffled sleeves are laughable and thisheaddress is absurd. Not to mention the fact that bending over inthis is out of the question.” You turn in the mirror and stick outher backside, scowling for the second time as the gauzy materialbounces against the backs of your thighs. “People really pay to seethis sort of thing? They must be pretty desperate.”

Youpush aside the curtain and step into the classroom, your fingerstugging at the hem of your dress. “What exactly am I supposed todo?”

Agirl to your left giggles a high pitched sound, making you asuncomfortable as the concept of participating in the maid café.“Just watch what we do,” she says. “Though, it looks like youalready have a customer waiting for you.”

“What?Who?” you chime, eyes scanning the room and over each of itsclosely packed tables. Your gaze settles on a table in the back andyou don’t need to follow the girl’s line of direction to know justwhois requesting you. You huff a sigh and straighten your arms,unaffected by the whispers of other occupants as you storm past them,hands curled into fists against the buoyant material at your hips. “Ithought I told you to leave,” you growl, narrowing your eyes in anattempt to underscore your irritation.

“But____cchi!” Kise starts, pressing his elbows against the edge of thetable. “I missed you. Besides, I didn’t have anything else to do.”He lowers his gaze to the space between the tops of your stockingsand the gossamer fabric lining the hem of your dress, his eyessettling on the bare skin of your thighs. You watch his throat workon a swallow as his cheeks blossom into heat. “Did they have togive you such a short dress?” Kise asks, his voice crackling likethe electricity surging through his veins, visible in the way hefidgets uncomfortably in his seat.

“Trywearing it,” you bite, turning to look over your shoulder as agroup of rambunctious boys enters the room. You recognize them asmembers of the basketball club and before you can spin yourself backaround to face Kise, he’s tripping over himself to abandon his seat.

“I’lltake care of them,” Kise says, his voice cracking on heat.

“Ican handle them,” you counter defensively. “I’m not weak,you know.”

“It’snot about strength, ____cchi! I still have the bruise from where youpunched me last week. It’s about…well…” Kise pauses and runs ahand through his hair, a gesture that exemplifies his disquiet. Thenhe’s leaning forward to whisper against your cheek. “I can see yourpanties when you move.”

“Kise!”you shout, making half of the caféstart in surprise.

“I’mjust telling you the truth!” Kise panics, his words colliding witheach other in a rush of near-incoherency. “That’s why I want towatch over you.” He pushes out his bottom lip and pouts, wearinghis best pleasedo this for me expression,one that you know all too well.

“Whatever,”you sigh, deflating like one of the many lifeless balloons pinned tothe rows of lockers lining the halls. “Just don’t get in my way. Ididn’t want to do this to start. The last thing I need is you gettingon my nerves.”

“You’reso mean!” Kise exclaims, involuntarily reaching his hands outtoward the hem of your dress to hold it down. “I’m trying to lookout for you and you’re acting like I’m a nuisance. You’re a bully,____cchi.”

“It’lldo you good to remember it too,” you say, walking through the caféwith far less grace than the put-on agility and decorum the othergirls are keen to display.

Kisefrowns and looks between you and the basketball club members crowdinga nearby table. He lowers his gaze to his white-knuckled grip on yourdress and huffs a breath that’s a little bit of an exhale and thevery outline of an exasperated moan. “Just stay here and don’tmove, okay? I’ll be right back,” he says, his tone verging onsomething like adoration that spills into affection as he stridesaway like a jealous lover.

“Stupidboy,” you say, but it’s gentle and lacking your usual edge. Youcross your arms over your chest and watch as Kise approaches thetable, his head held high and the slight curve along his spinestraightening. You hear him tell them to leave, putting on his bestexpression of authority and dipping the timbre of his tone to censureagainst his tongue. Half of the basketball club looks irritated whilethe other half look confused, the only exception a boy who startslaughing uncontrollably at Kise’s dogmatic display.

Kise’sbodily ushers them out of the caféand when he finally turns back to face you he looks far more pleasedwith himself than strictly necessary, like he managed to outplay eachand every one of them, when in reality they consented to goelsewhere.

“____,table five wants you!”

Youroll your eyes and shuffle over to the table marked with a laminate 5in its center. Fingers graze the backs of your thighs and you’reready to clock whoever has the audacity to touch you, but when youturn, you catch the unique familiarity of pineapple-colored hair inyour periphery. “Kise!” you roar, the vibration of his namepurring up the back of your throat.

“Idon’t care what you say, ____cchi, I’m not leaving until your shiftis over. You’re just going to have to bear with me until then. Yourpanties are mine to see and mine alone.” Kise tugs at the margin ofyour dress as if he’s underlining his point.

Youconsider your options for a breath, then turn around and smack Kiseupside the head. “Kise Ryōta, if you make one more comment aboutmy underwear I’m going to give you what this caféreally needs—a knuckle sandwich!”

A boyseated at the table snorts amusement, but before the sound can forminto laughter, you’re glaring at him in a way that turns theexpression to silence. “Now, what is it that you horndogs want?”

“Howis it that Kasamatsu always knows where to find you?” youask, walking alongside Kise as you make your way down the main hallto a cross section reserved for Kise’s class display: the hauntedhouse. “And shouldn’t this be called the haunted hallwayor something? It’s hardly a house. ‘Sides, they should havejust left it. We have to walk these halls every day. What’s scarierthan that?” you deadpan.

Kisechuckles and shrewdly takes your hand into his own, lacing yourfingers together as you reach the entrance to the stygian hall. “Idon’t think they had the funds to rent a house this year,” Kisesays, looking at the vinyl door strips that hang down from theceiling. “I wonder what they used for blood this time,” heconsiders, running his fingers over the spurious vitality stainingthe curtain.

“Ithought you were supposed to help with the design,” you say, makingit known that you have little to no interest in orienting yourselfwith the macabre scenery.

“Yeah…Ikind of forgot about it,” Kise drawls, laughing uncomfortably.“That’s why Senpai is making me go through it. He even made me buytwo tickets!” Kise complains, knitting his brows together in a showof irritation. “It’s not really fair if you ask me.”

“Iwasn’t asking you,” you tease, squeezing Kise’s hand. “Now comeon. Let’s get this stupid journey over with. I’m sure there areplenty of paper-mâchéheads and plastic tombstones waiting for us.”

Kisenods and you step forward into the dark. There’s a single fluorescentlight flickering halfway down the hall, sacrificing just enoughvisibility to combat injury and offer guidance.

“Oh,here’s a sign,” Kise says, squinting to make out a blood-soakedarrow pointing to the right. “I guess that’s where we start.”

“You’renot going to scream, are you?” you needle, casting Kise a sidewaysglance.

“Ofcourse not,” Kise answers. “Like I’d be afraid of something asjuvenile as a haunted house.”

“Whatabout last year, when we went to that haunted house for Halloween?”you continue, pressing against Kise to make room for the group ofstudents filing out of the first room, a bellowing Hayakawa in thelead.

“Me?”Kise says, defense outlining the edge of his tone. “What about you?You were vibrating so badly that your muscles actually hurtthe following day. Much like my hand. I really thought you were goingto break my fingers.”

“Don’tbe dramatic, Kise. That’s not what happened and you know it,” youcounter, straightening your spine to make yourself appear taller.

“Yourscreams were loud enough to scare the hair off a cat,” Kisedefends, speaking slow enough to match his impassive expression.

“It’sobvious that we’ve come to an impasse. Let’s just get through this sowe can do what we actually want to do.” You tug Kise into the roomto your right, squeezing his hand with unintentional reflex.

Thefirst setup is relatively simple in design. An old organ sits in themiddle of the room, the stool at its front tattered and torn.Bloodied music sheets scatter the soiled rug that rests beneath theinstrument. The room appears to be void of the so-called monstersthat commonly offer up jump scares, much to your relief. The curtainsthat line the windows look as if they’ve been slashed with a knifeand the ceiling and its corners are thick with cobwebs. There areseveral other pieces of furniture in the room, aestheticallyappropriate for the event in their Victorian Gothic design.

“Thisis probably what Akashi’s music room looks like,” you say, yourvoice muted by habitual impulse.

Kisebarks a laugh that makes you flinch and flex your fingers against hisown. “He doesn’t live in that kind of mansion. Plus, theyhave both maids and butlers. Akashicchi’s father would lose itif their rooms looked like this. He’s a bit of a clean freak.”

“Oh,”is all you say, glaring at the violin on the couch, then the cello inthe corner. Then: “Let’s get out of here. There’s not much to lookat.”

“Iagree,” Kise complies, heading for the exit with measured grace.

The nextroom resembles a doctor’s office, but far from one that any saneperson would be willing to visit. The screens separating thepatients, now lifeless corpses, are similar to the curtainsseen prior, slashed with some sort of sharp object. The observationlamps are filthy and the light they offer is pitiful. There are metalracks lining the wall opposite the entrance, full of glass jars withvarious liquids and what looks to be parts. Ofcourse, none of the scene is real but even with that knowledge, youstill shudder. There’s an IV stand next to one stretcher, a metaltray on wheels next to the other. The room smells bizarrelyastringent, a commendable effort on the behalf of those who createdthe display. Also, the corpses lying supine on the stretchers lookauthentic enough to deem praiseworthy. Then, from behind one of thewhite-curtained screens, appears a man dressed in a blood-stained labcoat who charges at them while wielding a knife. You shriek surpriseand run toward the exit, yanking Kise behind you in tow. “Come on!”you shout, in spite of the fact that you’ve reached the door.

“Holdon! You’re gonna dislocate my arm,” Kise says, rubbing a hand overthe juncture of his neck and shoulder. “I have basketball practicetomorrow, you know,” he reminds, gently. “I wonder how Kantokugot roped into this. I thought only students were participating inthe haunted house this year.”

“Youmean to tell me that that guy back there was your basketball coach?No. That was not Takeuchi,” you say, shaking your head indisbelief. You inhale a deep breath and try to ignore the hammeringpulse of your heartbeat.

Kiselaughs and starts in the direction of the next room. “Yes, it was.I swear.”

“Howdid he fit into that costume?” you ask, incredibility rounding thesharp edge of your tone to smoothness.

“That’snot nice, ____cchi,” Kise scolds.

“Thisis coming from the boy who almost laughed himself to death when hiscoach nearly died from suffocation because–”

“Okay,okay,” Kise says, waving his hands in defense. “I see your point.Let’s move on. I want to get through this before the festival ends.”

Yousmile knowing that you’ve won this round and follow Kise’s lead. Youcautiously enter the next room, narrowing your eyes in tandem toblock out the bright flash of a flickering strobe light.

“I’mafraid of disco as much as the next person, but did they really haveto blind us?” you complain, lifting a hand to shield your eyes fromthe pulse of flashing white.

“Maybewe should just” –an eerie chuckle spans through the darkness–“skip this room,” Kise finishes, fear as bright on his tongue asthe light flashing off the walls.

“Ican’t even tell what’s in here,” you say, inching forward. Anunfamiliar sound—similar to a child’s noisemaker—plays in thebackdrop of the room. Something gives under your foot and a loud popechoes around the dark space. You cry out and cling to Kise’s arm,his skin now slightly damp with sweat. “What was that?”

Suddenlythe flashing light fades to darkness, then the soft glow of ablack-light floods the room between shadows in shades of neon greenand purple and blue. There’s the white outline of something in thecorner, but for a moment, your attention is fixed on the manyballoons littering the floor. “Why are there–”

“Clowns,”Kise says, his voice stuttering on a breath. “There are clowns inhere.” A high-pitched hum of laughter fills the room, differentfrom last time, and then a medium-sized balloon animal catches in thedark before it pops, spilling a runny substance out across the floor.

Kisetakes a cautious step backward like someone who’s trying to breakaway from a vicious canine while avoiding the careless mistake ofrunning. His palm is slick against your own and he’s trembling.

“Whydon’t you stay a while?” The voice comes from a shadowed corner,followed by a second, this one visible in the shift of the clown’smouth whose owner is sitting at what appears to be a vintage desk.“Yeah, why don’t you play with us? We have quite the show for you.”

“Nothanks!” Kise chimes, rushing for the exit, his escape comparableto when you fled the medical room.

Whenyou’re back in the hall, you can hear laughter in the previous room,this time genuine and not for the sake of drama. You know that you’vebeen snowed but there was something far too eerie about theirperformance to regret being outfoxed.

Youhurry through the next few rooms, each scarier than the last. Some ofthe students exhibit superb acting skills, while it’s plain to seethat others want to be done with the haunted house just as much asyou want to be through it. There’s a room designed to looklike a prison cell, one that mirrors a child’s bedroom complete witha collection of dolls lining the walls, and lastly, a room with morecandles than any one person would have time to count and asacrificial circle in its center.

“Howmany rooms do we have left?” you ask, your voice straining in theback of your throat, now raw from screaming.

“Idon’t know. I think two?” Kise answers, wiping at his brow with theback of his hand. He straightens his fingers in an unstated requestfor freedom, but you don’t entertain the idea as you push forward,further tightening your grip on Kise’s hand.

The nextroom looks like a butcher’s shop, imitation meat and blood scatteredall throughout the open space. Artificial limbs hang from hooks inthe ceiling and several mock heads sit on spikes, one impaled soviolently half of its face is hanging loosely from whatever materialwas used to craft it. It might have been amusing if not for thesteady thrum of panic lancing through your heart.

“Let’sget out of here before Leatherface makes an appearance,” you joke,but whatever humor you intended dies on your lips for the terrorswamping your blood.

“Nosuch luck,” groans Kise, who is now clinging to your arm. “I justheard something.”

A handcloses on your shoulder and you yelp a sound that would hurt your ownears if not for the immediate necessity to move proving asdistraction. You pull Kise to the other side of the room, slipping onthe gore in the center of the floor.

“Isn’tLeatherface a wrestler?” Kise asks, “what does that have to–”

“Notnow!” you shout, pressing yourself against the wall in anticipationof physical contact.

Somehow,between the mess on the floor and the encroaching shadow of animitative maniac, you both manage to escape from room number seven.Your breathing drags hot in your throats and Kise can no longer feelthe hand in your grip. “Only one…more room to go…” he pants,bending over to steady his breathing.

Thefinal room is uncannily quiet. It’s dark, but the room’s environmentpales in comparison to the others. Brown packing boxes line severalmetal shelves, pushed against the walls. Some of the shelves are hometo plastic arms and legs like those fit for a mannequin. You look toyour left and the assessment proves to be true. A torso with femaleanatomy—most likely some inside joke between boys—leans upagainst a box.

“Somethingfeels off about this,” Kise whispers, clutching at your arm withhis free hand.

You stepforward slowly, your silhouettes joining the shadows of themannequins on the wall. You take a brief moment to observe theirdisproportionate shapes before continuing.

“Lookover there,” Kise says, pointing at a corner in the room. Youfollow his direction until you register what Kise’s referring to: afaceless mannequin propped up against the wall. One of its legs hasbeen sawed off at the thigh, and one of its arms lies broken and limpat its side, entirely removed.

“Shecertainly didn’t make it far,” you say, judgment underscoring thehalfhearted attempt at a joke.

“Howdo you know that it’s supposed to be a female?” Kise asks. “You’rebasing your opinion on societal norms instead of considering itsactual or perceived sexuality.”

Youpause to stare at Kise. “Kise, it’s a fucking mannequin. Also, ithas tits and it’s wearing a skirt.”

“I’mjust teasing you,” Kise smiles. “You get so irritable when you’rescared.”

“I’mnot scared!” you counter, swinging an arm up in indignation.“There’s nothing in–”

The roombegins to buzz with the low hum of electricity, then the dim lightthat spread out across the room disappears entirely. Kise’s hold goestighter and you stiffen. Then, the light flickers back on and thereare several mannequins standing in a line in front of you.

“Fuck!”you shout, jumping backward, only to trip over your own feet andthrow Kise off-balance. You manage to avoid what could have been adisaster but only just. “I didn’t hear anything! How did those getthere?” Kise looks up toward the ceiling, presumably searching forwires to explain their sudden appearance.

“Idon’t know. I’m sure there’s an explanation but I don’t care to findout.” Kise takes you by the hand and tugs you toward the door butthe situation repeats itself, bathing you in dark long enough to kickyour hearts into overdrive. When the lights come back on, you look ateach other, unmistakable fear challenging the pigmentation of yourfaces.

“Arethey…” you begin, unable to finish the question for the hard lumpforming in the back of your throat to choke off all sound. You watchthe slow shift of Kise’s eyes as he hesitantly tries to look behindyou without moving his head. He dips his chin in the barest of nods,the gesture easy to miss if one wasn’t paying attention. But you arepaying attention, so much so that your focus is crackling like thestatic prickling across your skin.

You lookat the door, copying Kise’s stillness and using only your eyes tocommunicate. You blink slowly as if the weight of your lashes areenough to compromise your position. Kise swallows thickly andsqueezes your hand. The point of contact speaks volumes that yoursilence cannot and you’re suddenly lunging for the door as a singleunit.

Thelights go out for the third time and your frustration becomes toomuch to overlook. Your fingers close on the door’s handle but youcan’t get it to shift. “The door’s locked! I can’t get it open!”you cry, hysteria breaking in the back of your throat.

“Letme try,” Kise says, nails scratching the back of your hand as hefumbles blindly for the handle.

Thelights flicker once, then return to their pale dim glow. You shout asKise bangs on the door and when no one answers, you press your backup against the wall, braving what you know you’ll perceive when youallow yourself to see. Your vision wavers, the lines of your lashescreating dark patterns in front of your eyes when you attempt to openthem. You can make out the same number of mannequins in front of youthrough the ineffectual haze of your sight, the only thing differentabout them is how much closer they’ve gotten.

“Maybeif we stare at them nothing will happen,” you suggest. Your mouthfeels like cotton and your lips feel like sand and you can’t callforth enough moisture to dampen them.

“We’renot on a sci-fi drama, ____cchi! We’re locked in this room alone withwho knows what!” Kise’s voice cracks like there’s something wetcollecting in the dark of his throat. “We’re trapped here in somekind of formless circumstance with no way out.”

“Kise,”you say, your hand trembling as you close your fingers around Kise’swrist.

“Iwonder if there’s another door. Maybe this isn’t how we’re supposedto get out,” Kise says, mulling over the situation.

“Kise,”you say again, digging your fingertips into bruising force againstKise’s frantic pulse.

“Maybeit’s like a puzzle we have to figure out. Like one of those–”

“KISE!”you shout, yanking on his arm to gain his attention. “There’s amannequin walking toward us! We need to get out of here.”

Kiseraises his head and follows your line of sight. “It’s just atrick,” he says, trying for confidence and failing miserably.

“Stop!”you yell, stomping your foot on the floor as if the vibration willcrumble the figure to dust. “I’m warning you,” you threaten, yourvoice shaking as badly as the hand curling around your forearm.

Itcontinues its trajectory, its pale face stark in contrast to theobscurity of the room. It doesn’t lift its feet as it shufflesforward and the sound of its polished shoes ghosting the tile isdeafening against the otherwise silent backdrop of the room.

“Whatare we going to do?” Kise asks, cutting off the circulation in yourarm.

“Idon’t know…I wasn’t prepared for this!” you blurt. Then, in anact of unthinking reflex, you dart forward and aim your fist at themannequin’s alabaster face.

“Ouch!”

“Did…didit just talk?” Kise asks, finally loosening his constricting holdon your arm.

“Ofcourse I did.” The mannequin raises its arm and pulls a thinsheet-like veil from its face, revealing the person behind the mask.

“Nakamura-kun?”you ask, though, the question is entirely superfluous given thephysical evidence laid out in front of you.

“Nakamuracchi!You’re bleeding,” Kise says, shock carving the statement intoastonishment.

“Iwonder why,” Nakamura deadpans, pressing the fabric of his mask tohis nose to stem the blood leaking from his nostrils. His voice isgarbled when he speaks and he winces as he applies pressure to theinjury.

“I’msorry,” you apologize. “I guess we got a little overwhelmed.”

“Alittle is an understatement,” Nakamura manages, laughing, theamusement more breath than actual volume. “You should have seenyour faces. I was afraid that you were going to pass out.” Hepauses to wipe his nose and folds the fabric mask in half to concealthe red that’s branching out across the material like a spiderweb.“Actually, I should have been expecting this,” he says, takingthe situation into account.

“Icompletely forgot where we were for a minute there,” Kise laughs,the mark of uneasiness scratching at the sound as he comes down fromhis adrenaline-fueled high.

“S'okay,”Nakamura says, sniffling. “It’s not a break and the memory I’mleaving with is well worth sustaining an injury.” He clears histhroat and turns his face to Kise, squinting slightly, a possibleeffect of not wearing his glasses. “Were you crying?”

Kisehuffs a sound that’s part laughter, part offense. “I might havebeen on edge but I wouldn’t cry over something as trivial as this.”

Nakamuranods but you can see that he doesn’t believe Kise. You decide to keepthe knowledge to yourself and ask: “So…can you please unlock thedoor? We’ve been in this stupid haunted house for a while now andit’s not something we wanted to do in the first place.”

“Ohyeah, about that,” Nakamura says, stepping between you and Kise.“The door opens this way,” he finishes, gently pushing the dooropen and out into the small alcove framing the classroom’s entrance.

You lookat Kise, who in turn, shrugs his shoulders. “Don’t look at me,”Kise says, “you tried opening it first.”

“Andyou took over before I had a chance to figure it out!” youchallenge, glaring. “You better start running before I have achance to strangle you, Ryōta,” you say before turning toNakamura. “Sorry for punching you, Nakamura-kun.”

“Allin a day’s work,” he says, smiling softly. “My shift is almostover anyway, which I couldn’t be happier about considering how manythings I’ve walked into without my glasses.”

You’reabout to ask him why he’s not wearing contacts when you realize thatKise’s no longer in juxtaposition to you. “Did he–”

Nakamuranods. “Ran off the second you started apologizing to me.”

Youreturn the gesture and inhale a deep breath that sounds likecomposure. “Nakamura-kun, please tell Kasamatsu that he’s going tohave to find a new small forward. Send him my regards.”

“Surething,” Nakamura laughs. “Good luck. If it helps, I think he tookoff for the actual exit.” He points toward the door and tothe right.

Yousalute him as you sprint through the door and out of sight.

“Remindme to never get into a fight with her,” Nakamura says aloud to theroom. He turns around and collides with a mannequin, scrabbling forits arms to steady it before it crashes to the floor. “I quit,”he mutters, sighing.

Aftertwenty minutes of a blockbuster chase that could outperform thehighest-grossing of films, you fall onto the lawn outside, breathlessand aching, Kise at your side. He’s wearing grass stains on his jeansand you’re wiping sweat from your brow.

“Whendid you get so fast, pretty boy?” you pant, shifting from yourknees to a cross-legged position on the ground.

“I’vealways been fast,” Kise says, hiccuping a breath. He follows yourlead and crosses his legs, his palms pressing into the dirt beneathhim. “You know, I’ve never liked that nickname,” he mentions,thoughtful and suddenly serious.

“What?”you say, replaying your words inside your head. Then: “Pretty boy?Why? Does it make youfeel emasculated?” you ask, only half-teasing.

Kiseshakes his head before leaning back to look up at the sky. “No,”is his first response, an open-ended answer that leaves space forsilence. You think that Kise’s not going to elaborate, but thesoftness of his features and the vulnerability on his face makes youuneasy.

“Kise…”you say, drawing his name over caution and into care.

“Sorry,”he says, then he’s flashing you a bright smile that spreads to warmthin his eyes. “I get distracted sometimes.” The statement isunnecessary but you let him talk. “It’s just that, being a model,sometimes people treat you like you’re an object. Like the only thingthat’s important is how you look and they act like you’re afigurehead, theirs to puppet and control. Sometimes you feel likeyou’re not a real person, like your thoughts and opinions don’tmatter because you have a pretty face.” He exhales a weighty sighand turns to look at you face-forward. “Not that I’m implying thatyou’re like that. That’s why I like you. You don’t treat me likeglass or a…a thing.And you don’t treat me like I’m stupid.”

Youfurrow your brow and frown. You reach out and touch Kise’s cheekwithout thinking, an involuntary act of sympathy that closes the gapsbetween you—physical or otherwise—you’re not sure. “That’sbecause you’re not a thing,” you tell him, following the heat alonghis cheekbone with your thumb. “I might not be very good withrelationship stuff but I do know how you should treat a person and Iwould never do that to you.”

“Thanks,____cchi,” Kise says, leaning shamelessly into your touch. “Iknew I could count on you. Now you just have to learn to trust me—andfrom now until we get married, I promise that I’ll try my best tobecome the person you need in order to take care of you and keep youfrom harm.

“Stopsaying nonsense, Kise,” you say, but your defeat is invinciblebecause you can feel happiness taking over the shape of your mouth.

“Imean it,” he says, closing his hand around your wrist to bring yourfingers to his lips. “I vow to always be the best person I can befor you.”

“You’rebeing sappy,” you warn. But you’re tracing the shape of his mouthwith your fingertips as he kisses each one in turn and you can’t seemto erase the smile that’s taken over your lips.

“Sorry,but it’s something I think you need to hear,” Kise tells you,blushing. “Besides, I thought that maybe this way you’d feel toosentimental to hit me for earlier.”

Youlaugh then and pinch the space beneath Kise’s ribs. He folds intohimself in a protective stance, but his laughter is melting into yourown and for a moment, he can’t imagine himself anywhere else. “Don’tever think that you’ll gain sympathy from me,” you say. “I’m notto be messed with.”

“Thatmuch is obvious,” Kise says, falling back on the grass to watch theclouds pass idly by. “Poor Nakamuracchi is going to run in theopposite direction whenever he sees you coming.”

Younudge Kise’s elbow in an unspoken gesture to lift his arm, then youwork yourself down against the cool ground to rest your head againstthe join of Kise’s arm and shoulder. “Do you really think that he’sgoing to?” you ask, closing your eyes to focus on the rhythm ofKise’s heartbeat.

“Iwould,” Kise needles, wrapping his arm around your shoulder tostroke over the soft of your arm with his fingers.

“Yeah,but you're–”

“Stopright there,” Kise interjects, pulling you bodily closer. “Ithink you’ve done enough damage for one day.”

“Saysyou,” you huff, pretending to pout, but there’s sleep in theprotest and it meets the air with half the impact you intended it tohave.

Kiseshifts his arm and works his hand into your hair, his fingers gentlyworking against your scalp. “I wonder how many people here areactually afraid of you.”

“Tobe fair, what most people think about me is a misrepresentation. Ican’t help that I’m able-bodied and independent,” you say. “And Iknow that the computer club only fears me because I beat them attheir favorite video games.

“Don’tforget stubborn and short-tempered,” Kise adds. “Oh, and we can’tleave out indifferent and assertive and unromantic.”

“Hey,I can be romantic at times,” you argue. “I’m just not…overtlyaffectionate.”

“____cchi,”Kise says, the frame of your name like a purr against his tongue.“Even if I could, I wouldn’t change anything about you.”

“Oh…well…shutup, Kise,” you stutter, searching for something in your vocabularyto speak for the emotion that turns to heat in your veins. “Go backto cloud gazing.”

“Whatif I just want to stare at you?” Kise asks, his voice sleep-softand muted.

“Thenyou’re a creep and we need to end this relationship right now.” Youshift your head and exhale a warm breath that stirs the thin fabricof Kise’s shirt.

Kisetips his chin down and rests it against the top of your head; you canfeel the pull of his smile as he resumes stroking your hair.“____cchi?”

“Whatnow, Kise?” you lilt, only half-conscious.

“Ireally like you,” Kise admits. He cradles your head in his handbefore pressing his lips against your temple. “I’m happy when I’mwith you.

You openyour mouth to form your thoughts into coherency, but the formulationspills toxic along the framework of your mind and you decide to letthe breadth of your smile and the heat on your cheeks do all of thetalking for you.

As somesay, silence is golden.

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