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Chapter Text

Aira can’t determine if he’s in the Grand Taisetsu Theatre or a labyrinth with the way the halls wind and unfurl. Doors open to rows and rows of more doors or they open to closets large enough to run a small business. The Grand Taisetsu Theatre takes the word grand to the next level. Aira’s quick offer to fetch Alkaloid’s boutonniéres, forgotten to a dressing room backstage, has turned into an expedition with an expected return time of three to five business days. 

Even still, the theatre lives up to its name in perfectly good and non-bothersome ways too. The corridors are lit up with extravagant chandeliers, the walls are a sweet maroon decorated in complementary gold decal, gorgeous paintings with metal framings line the walls. The place is about as elegant as elegant can unhumbly get. Even the guests are dressed in refined suits and exquisite dresses.

Aira is still stunned at the fact that Alkaloid, that he, will be performing in this theatre in a little less than an hour. Precisely why they must make this performance perfect and perfection requires their boutonniéres. 

With that, he trails down the hall, following the directions Tatsumi gave to him. Although, honestly, he cut out most of the instructions and only really remembers a line of ‘at the back of the hall’ that he’s praying will get him to where he needs to be. Luckily, there is a door seated at the end of this hallway that he’s willing to take chances on.

Hand on the doorknob, he just hopes this door doesn’t lead to another hallway. The door opens with a groan.

“Rabu-han?” A voice whispers from the room. It’s dimly lit and hard to identify any silhouettes, even so, Aira recognizes that voice.

“Kohakucchi?” As he peels the door open, light from the hall trickles into the room, illuminating the red satin-covered floor. There's a rugged tarp where the satin seems to spill out from and a sharp putrid scent that follows. Kohaku Oukawa stands off to the side, wide-eyed and… satin-splattered? 

No. Blood. It's blood. Kohaku Oukawa is covered in blood. And the floor is covered in blood and the room reeks of blood. And this- This is a murder scene. This can’t be real. The wild look in Kohaku’s eyes says otherwise. His eyes flitter between the tarp and Aira. There’s a body underneath that tarp. Kohaku has killed someone and Aira has become a witness. He needs to get out of here.

He backs away from the door, watching as Kohaku twitches to life as he does. Kohaku takes a step forward and mutters something under his breath, Aira takes it as his opportunity to run. He whips around and runs back into the endless hall.

He doesn’t get far before a gloved hand grabs at his wrist, yanking him back. He tries to pull away and yell, scream, anything for help but an arm snakes its way across his mouth, smothering him. He frees his wrist to claw at the arm slung over his mouth. The action provokes no response. An arm constricts around his chest and he is jostled backwards. The movement steals away his balance, leaving him to be helplessly dragged back to that room.

He kicks his feet, slams them on the floor, trying desperately to regain his footing. He struggles in Kohaku’s grip but nothing seems to deter him. The light of the hallway dims and he realizes they’re at the doorway. He can’t go in. If he goes in he has a feeling he won’t be coming back out. A sob chokes him, he tears at the arm around his face. He grates his feet on the ground and to no avail, the door slams shut. The room fades to black. His shaky grip on the arm weakens, tears slip from his eyes as he squeezes them shut. This is it. Kohaku is heavy on his back. They collapse to the floor, Aira hits the ground with a sharp sting of pain. Kohaku still pressed firmly against him. Drenched in sweat and tears and growing weaker by the minute, Aira whines.  

The arm clasped over his mouth slackens, he takes a gasping breath only to choke on the smell of blood and rot. 

“‘M sorry.” Kohaku apologizes, his voice shaking far too much for a killer. “I‘m sorry..” A weight drops itself on Aira’s shoulder. It’s hot and stifling, he can’t prevent the terrified gasp that rips itself from his throat. “Shhhshh, it’s okay…” His shoulder becomes damp with blood, sweat, or tears, or god knows what. 

He has to get back to Tatsumi, to Mayoi and Hiiro with the boutonniéres but he can’t. He can’t. He’s seen something he shouldn’t have and now he has to pay for it. He didn’t mean to come in here. If he’d known, he would have remembered Tatsumi’s instructions. He’s not going to make it out of this room alive. He sits compliantly, trembling. The hand at his chest removes itself and clumsily grabs for Aira’s. He shudders at the contact. It’s warm even under the layers of fabric. “‘M sorry.” He weeps. Kohaku’s hand shakes around his own. He hopes it will be quick. 

Aira sits there, hyperventilating, while Kohaku chants apologies. His head pounds in reprimand, begging for him to steady his breathing. But he can’t, he can’t, he’s going to die here. And Kohaku- Kohaku has to kill him. 

When he first met Kohaku online, he never would have imagined they’d be here. Truthfully, when he first met Kohaku online, he never imagined they would find each other at all. It was a miracle they both became idols at Ensemble Square. He’s tempted to say that it was fate that brought them together. Is it also fate that they ended up here? He found a kindred spirit in Kohaku, someone who understood him and liked him for him. He feels so lucky to have met Kohaku, even if it’s all gone to shit now.

Aira flinches at Kohaku suddenly wrapping both of his arms around his shoulders. He feels the quiver of a sigh drift across his neck. Aira sobs in his hold. 

Kohaku releases him and rises to his feet. He steps up to the door, staring down at Aira with a sorrowful look. His eyes are red and tears and blood streak his face. This is it. Aira scrambles backwards until his back hits the wall. 

“Rabu-han,” Kohaku starts, his hands shaking, he clenches them. “‘M sorry…” He puts his bloodied hands to his face. “I-I dunno… I dunno what t’ do…” Aira brings his knees up to his chest, Kohaku lowers his hands and makes direct eye contact with him. “Ya weren’t supposed ta be…” His feverish gaze makes Aira shudder, he hugs his knees.

Kohaku drops eye contact with him to stare at the tarp, the body, laying at the far right side of the room. The blood on the floor, illuminated by a small lamp, reflects matte. “He was… H-He had…” He takes a step towards Aira, Aira cowers. “‘M just….” He sighs, burdened.  

His knees hit the floor with a thud. The sound echoes in the dark room. With head in hands, his shoulders shake. Aira only watches in fear, trying to push himself further into the wall. Trying to push himself further from Kohaku. But with Kohaku immobile on the floor, he thinks he might have a chance of reaching the door beyond.

He rises on shaky legs and weakly marches forward. He freezes at the sharp gaze of Kohaku, unblinking and frantic. Kohaku stands on legs no steadier than Aira’s. Stepping towards him, he reaches out a hand. Instinctively, Aira backs away. Kohaku’s hand falls. 

Aira steps to the side of Kohaku and paces past him, desperate to reach the door on the other side. The tight feeling in his throat eases as he grips the doorknob and twists it open. Light floods into the room, momentarily stinging his eyes. Nonetheless, he pulls it open wider. 

“Ra-Rabu-han.” Kohaku calls, distraught. Aira turns to face him if only to respond to the urgency in his friend’s voice. The light catches on the blood splattered against Kohaku’s cheek. “Yer uniform is..” The lilac of his eyes, once so sweet and safe, reads as only wild and cruel. Aira turns to the light, closes the door, and runs. 

Chapter Text

The Grand Taisetsu Theatre is such a lovely building. Tall, refined, noble, and exquisite… Kohaku feels bad for spilling blood on its pristine floors. 

The target this time around was a producer in his late 40s. Known for sticking around units with young and vulnerable members just so he could try to get a hand at producing them- Among other things.  

When Double Face received word from the Deputy Director that their target was seen snooping around the Grand Taisetsu Theatre this afternoon, he felt sick. Alkaloid has been promoting their upcoming performance at this theatre for months now. If it’s Alkaloid that drove him here, Kohaku doesn’t want to think about it. All he cares about is killing the producer and protecting Alkaloid. 

In the lobby, he played coy, entertaining the man until he received a signal from Madara indicating the halls had cleared. He led the man back to the dressing room and as soon as the door shut Kohaku sprung into action. Now drenched in blood, he finds himself with no guilt. If it keeps Alkaloid safe, he’d do it a thousand times over. That's what it means to be in Double Face, to be an Oukawa. If it means protecting those he cares about, he’d get as dirty as needed. This is the life he was born to lead.

With a tarp placed over the body, Kohaku’s job is largely done. All he has left to do is make himself somewhat presentable, get Madara, and ditch this joint. After that, it’s up to the Deputy Director’s men to discard of the evidence. 

He’s about to retrieve the portable lamp he brought with him when he hears shoes clicking on the floor from outside the room. No one is supposed to be in this wing backstage. Madara stayed behind to guard the entrance. He told Madara he would fetch him after he finished his work. If someone is roaming around this wing then that poses more than one problem. Kohaku readies himself for a fight as the shadow underneath the door approaches. The sound of footsteps halts. Shyly, The door creaks open. Kohaku studies the figure at the door, noting a short stature, blond hair, red suit, and… fuck.

“Rabu-han?” This shouldn’t be happening.

“Kohakucchi?” This can’t be happening. Yet, Aira pushes the door open further, bringing Kohaku into the limelight. He wants to instinctively shield his face from the light, from Aira, but he remains still. Stuck under the soft, inquisitive gaze of Aira Shiratori, who hasn’t yet realized the kind of scene he’s walked in on. 

Kohaku doesn’t know what to do. The air feels stifling. Should he get Aira to leave, trap him inside? Should he try to reason with him, can he even reason with him? What is he supposed to say? What would anyone say? 

This was never supposed to happen, Aira was never meant to know. 

Kohaku palms sweat under his gloves, he watches Aira’s attention drift from him to the tarp. Aira’s eyes widen, his expression pales. Kohaku’s skin crawls.

Aira cowers away from the door, wide eyes locked on Kohaku. Don’t go, Don’t leave. Kohaku stumbles forward on frozen limbs. Please.

“No, no, don’t…” He whispers in a taut voice, desperate just to get the words out. Aira doesn’t seem to hear as he takes another step away before breaking out in a sprint.

Kohaku’s heart palpitates but he’s quick to recover. In an instant, he’s in pursuit of Aira. He reaches for Aira’s arm and latches onto his wrist. He halts in step, firmly holding his ground. The movement jolts Aira back, giving Kohaku the opportunity to clasp his arm around his mouth, silencing him. Aira’s nails scratch at the arm around his face, through the leather, Kohaku hardly feels it. He readjust his grip, transferring the arm around Aira’s wrist to wrap around his chest. 

He pulls Aira back, supporting him as his feet slip from the ground. He takes a stride backwards, towards the room. Aira recovers from the initial tug and begins to madly flail. He stomps on the floor, jabs at Kohaku’s sides, writhes in protest. Persistent, Kohaku tightens his hold as necessary and proceeds back. He looks behind him as he lugs them both to the room. The blood on the floor gleams from the hallway light. His eyes sting, the world blurs, he stands at the doorway. The strong iron scent of blood leaks from the room. Aira cries in his arms, still struggling. He ignores it with a heavy heart and swings the door closed with his boot. 

Light slips away, leaving them in the dark. On unsteady legs, Kohaku hauls them further back. His lungs burn. He gasps for air but it catches in his throat. Cold sweat gathers uncomfortably under his clothes. The world tilts and Kohaku’s legs give in. He collapses on the floor with Aira in between his knees. 

The impact of the fall forces air to pass sharply through his lungs. Wheezing, he hunches forward. Aira, ever so warm against his chest, weakly whimpers. 

Immediately, Kohaku drops the arm fixed against his mouth. Aira sharply rasps for air, pushing against Kohaku’s chest. He chokes on the pungent smell of blood, blood that Kohaku spilled.

He has to remedy this, not for himself but for Aira. 

 “‘M sorry.” He says, dizzy. The words come out weak, a heavy pressure resides in his throat. “I’m sorry..” He tries again. He buries his face in Aira’s shoulder, hoping the small weight is comforting. It isn’t. Aira flinches and Kohaku panics, thinking, how can he fix this? How can a killer fix anything? “Shhshhh, it’s okay…” He coos, trying his damnedest. Still, the efforts fall flat, Aira’s erratic heartbeat thumps against the front of his chest. Unsure of what to do next, Kohaku lies still. Head pressed in the space between his head and shoulder. Aira is warm, his hair is soft. Kohaku is desperate to engrave the feeling in his memory. He wants to hold him here for forever, hostage to an unrequited desolate desire for affection. 

Right about now he should be getting back to Madara. Instead, he’s slumped over Aira in a dark and dirty room. He should be leaving the theatre, not thinking twice about the body he left in a far back changing room. Instead, he sits with it a meter away. There’s a lot of things he should be doing right now that he isn’t, like protecting Aira. 

He reaches for Aira’s hand. He holds it unsteadily. “‘M sorry..” He apologizes. This time, it's for everything. For his latent comfort and for his sole task failed. For every tomorrow he’s ruined between them. He apologizes again. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t fix anything. 

In a fit of selfishness, he wraps his arms securely around Aira. He sighs. Aira sobs, breath still uneven. Kohaku savours his one last lonely hug. 

He rises to his feet, the world shifts as he goes. He stumbles his way to the door, anxious to explain himself, if he can. 

“Rabu-han,” He looks to Aira, sitting lonely on the floor, covered in tears and blood. His hair unruly, cascading over his eyes. Kohaku has an instinct to brush it back in place, to pretend they’re back in the dormitories and Aira is doing Kohaku’s makeup for the first time. Sitting on his knees in Aira’s bed, a warm hand cupped against his cheek, a soft brush on his eyelids. Aira, telling him that he’s pretty, telling him to just stay the night, Tenshouin and Sakuma-senpai won’t be home anyways. 

But the look in Aira’s eyes speaks volumes of terror. Locked taut on Kohaku’s bloody figure, like prey to predator. He senses within him a desire to flee, to hide and run.

A fragile piece of Kohaku’s heart echoes the sentiment. He wants to hide too. Hide from himself and hide from Aira. Dig himself a grave, here in this room, and let the world pass him by. He’ll never have to kill again, never have to hide a body, never have to stitch a wound, never have the chance to scare Aira again.

He clenches his hand into a fist. They are bloodied at the fingers. “‘M sorry…” He hides his face with bloodied hands. “I-I dunno… I dunno what t’ do…” He admits. There are no words to fix this. He lowers his hands. Aira looks so small curled in on himself. “Ya weren’t supposed ta be…” Kohaku eyes the tarp. Blood oozes out from the bottom. He did all this to protect Aira. No, no. He did this because he was told to. Kohaku did this because he needed to. “He was…” A piece of shit . “H-He had…” It coming . “‘M just…” Doing what I was told. Please believe me.

He sighs, a thousand more words on his mind, all useless. He drops to his knees. The sound reverberates in the room. He ducks his head into his hands. He did this because he had to… What good is an Oukawa that can’t protect the ones they love from the world’s horrors? What good is he, if at all?

Shoes click on the floor. He looks up to see Aira standing in front of him. Instilled with a stubborn will, he pushes himself to his feet. He reaches for Aira. Aira backs away, terrified. His hand falls. There really is nothing he can do to fix this. No words, no actions. He has ruined everything. 

Aira steps around him. A splatter of blood on his shoulder catches Kohaku’s eye. He watches Aira rush to the door, a hand on the doorknob. He whips the door open, the light assaulting his eyes. Kohaku does not cower from it, only stares at the bloody patch on Aira’s back.

“Ra-Rabu-han.” He calls out. Miraculously, Aira responds. He turns to Kohaku, eyes teary. A jittery energy pools in Kohaku’s fingertips, Aira is listening to him. Maybe he can salvage this. “Yer uniform is…” He trails off, Aira’s eyes are wide, his face is pale. He looks petrified. Kohaku can fix this. He has to. 

Aira turns and slams the door shut.