COLD THE FINAL: Chapter 10

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COLD HEART – Winter's Tale

In New York, there are more theaters—big and small—than one could possibly count. Jessica, who used to be Kusuda’s roommate, once declared with confidence, “If you walk past ten people on Broadway, five of them are either actors, dancers, or stage crew.”

Back when he lived in Tokyo, Masahiko Kusuda had gone to see plays a few times. It was always because the girlfriend he’d been dating at the time was into theater—never something he’d chosen to do on his own. After moving to New York, though, he was invited more than once to watch productions directed by Jessica’s close friend, Douglas Horn. They were always staged in small, slightly shabby venues, the actors were unknown, and the performances usually full-bodied comedies. Many of the jokes flew over his head, and his laughter was often out of sync with the rest of the audience. But still… it had been fun.

It was now mid-December. The kind of weather that made a warm drink taste especially good. The streets were saturated with red and green Christmas colors, and a slightly giddy, buoyant mood had started to hang in the air. And there was Kusuda, quietly mopping the stained floor of a tiny, dingy theater—stained with water and fire extinguisher residue.

“Masahiko, help me!”

The desperate call had come from Jessica at eight in the morning, jarring him awake. When he rushed to the scene, he found the stage reeking of smoke and soaked through, as if it had just been dredged from the bottom of a lake.

“There was a small fire,” Jessica said, her expression grim.

Apparently someone had smoked in the building and failed to put the cigarette out properly. As a result, the stage floor that was supposed to host a performance that very night had caught fire. Luckily, the theater manager had returned in the middle of the night to retrieve something he’d forgotten and noticed the smoke early on. He called the fire department before the flames could spread. No one had been hurt, but the firefighting efforts—hoses and fire suppressant foam—had turned the stage into a sludge-ridden disaster.

Fortunately, the fire had only scorched a portion of the floor and some set pieces before being put out. The audience seating was untouched. But for the show to go on, they’d have to clean everything up and repair the set before curtain time that evening. With nowhere near enough manpower to manage it, Jessica had reached out to Kusuda for help.

“Let’s all take a lunch break. There’s pizza in the back,” Jessica called out from beside a table set up at the rear of the audience section. About fifteen people, who’d been cleaning, swarmed toward the extra-large pizzas like ants.

Kusuda realized he hadn’t eaten anything since waking up and rushing straight here. As he wolfed down a slice, he struck up conversation with a few of the others. One had been a waiter friend of Douglas’s, another a hotel worker who was friends with a cast member. The whole crew had been hastily assembled through various personal connections.

“Sorry to drag you out here on such short notice,” Jessica apologized as she came over, her red hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wore a black sweatshirt and jeans, casual and unassuming. There was a smear of brown paint on the tip of her nose. When Kusuda reached out with a napkin to wipe it off, she gave him an embarrassed laugh. Unlike him, who was stuck on mop duty, Jessica—artistic as ever—was in charge of repairing the burnt parts of the set.

“You really saved us by coming. I know it was sudden. You didn’t have any plans today, did you?”

Her clear green eyes, bright like pieces of candy, looked up at him with genuine concern.

“It’s fine. Really,” he said.

“I’m sorry for springing this on you,” she said again, and lightly rested her forehead against his shoulder.

“I really want this show to go on. I want it to succeed.”

The production Douglas was directing that day was a modern take on King Lear, staged as a charity performance—three shows only: Saturday night, and Sunday matinee and evening. It had all started with one of Douglas’s friends in the theater scene. That friend’s child, Rita, had been diagnosed with a serious illness. Surgery was her only hope, but the costs were astronomical—and the parents had no insurance, no way to afford it. When Douglas heard, he launched a fundraising campaign to cover the medical expenses. This play was part of that effort.

This particular venue, among the Off-Broadway theaters, was on the larger side, capable of seating up to five hundred people. It had actually been closed for renovations starting next week, but the owner, moved by the purpose of the charity, had offered to let them use it for two days free of charge. Since all proceeds—aside from production costs—would go directly toward Rita’s surgery, everyone involved, from actors to crew, was volunteering.

Jessica, at the heart of this charity production, had been helping backstage every weekend since last month. Most of the cast were unknown actors, with the exception of the man playing King Lear: Ivan Lazaro, a supporting actor known from television dramas. He and Douglas had gone to high school together, and when Douglas brought him the proposal, Ivan had agreed without hesitation. He also had a young daughter, and that likely made it easy for him to empathize.

Kusuda had heard about the charity performance and had tried to support however he could—placing flyers for the show in his store, for instance. He’d already purchased two tickets for tonight's show and had been planning to buy more for Sunday if there were leftovers. But with Ivan’s name drawing attention, both Saturday and Sunday had sold out, and Jessica was overjoyed.

With the ticket sales, it finally seemed like they might raise enough for Rita’s surgery. Canceling now would be devastating. And since Ivan was only available today and tomorrow, postponing the performance wasn’t an option. The show simply had to go on.

Kusuda’s ringtone echoed through the space. He wiped his fingers with a napkin and muttered a quick “Sorry” to Jessica before stepping away toward a far corner of the audience seating. The screen showed the name Kaito Akizawa.

“I’ve been ringing the buzzer—why aren’t you answering? Are you not home?”

The anxious tone wasn’t surprising. Kusuda had promised to pick Akizawa up at the airport when he arrived for his vacation in New York. But when the flight landed, there was no one waiting for him—just a curt email: “Something came up. I can’t make it to the airport.” He must have been bitterly disappointed.

“Sorry I couldn’t make it. You’re at the apartment now?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m out right now.”

Kusuda glanced at the theater’s wall clock on stage right. At this pace, the cleanup would likely be done by a little after three.

“I left the office key with one of the staff at the store. Get it from them and let yourself in.”

“…Why did you break your promise?”

The bluntness hit him right in the chest. There was no use trying to make excuses.

“You remember that charity show I told you about—the one we were going to see together tonight? There was a fire at the venue. It looks like we can still go on with the performance, but the stage was soaked with water and the cleanup crew is short-handed. I came here to help out.”

There was a short silence, followed by a subdued “I see.”

“Then I’ll come over there. I’ll help.”

“You must be tired from the flight. Just rest for a bit at the apartment. I’ll come back as soon as I’m done here.”

“I’m not tired. And there’s nothing to do here. If I help, it’ll finish faster, right? Just send me the location.”

Near the back of the house, Jessica was talking with an older man by the table. While Kusuda had mentioned it was a charity production, he hadn’t told Akizawa that it was Jessica’s friend running it. Not that he had anything to hide, but Akizawa and Jessica simply didn’t get along.

“The show’s organized by a friend of Jessica’s, and she’s here at the theater too.”

Another silence. He probably didn’t like that.

“It’s at the Hendrix Theater on Broadway. Whether you come or not is up to—”

“I’m coming,” Akizawa interrupted.

“…I don’t want to, but I’ll come.”

His voice was sullen, and the call cut off.

The call left Masahiko Kusuda with a sinking feeling, but more hands for cleanup would help, and if talking couldn't convince him, there was nothing to be done—he tried to comfort himself with that logic. He tucked his phone back into his jacket and looked around. He had wanted to let Jessica know that Akizawa was coming, but she had vanished. Munching on a slice of now-cold pizza, Kusuda stepped out into the lobby, scanning for her distinctive red hair.

With the cold pizza settling in his stomach, Kusuda returned to wiping down the stage. Each time the doors to the auditorium creaked open, he reflexively turned around, wondering if Akizawa had arrived.

Back in October, just before Halloween, Akizawa had come to New York and stayed with him for about ten days. Kusuda was growing more accustomed to having him around, and the psychological burden of being near Akizawa was lessening. Still, whenever they were about to meet, he couldn't help but brace himself. It was like the nervousness before an exam—restless and desperate to flee. Yet somehow, despite all that, he always had the sense that it would be okay once they were actually together.

"Masahiko," came a voice from the side of the stage. It was Douglas, the director. For a man, he had a rather slender build, and today he was dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans. His trademark was his short blond hair and pink-framed glasses. When he stood close, a faintly sweet scent tickled the nose. When Jessica had introduced them, Douglas had matter-of-factly said, “I’m gay, just so you know.” It wasn’t a surprise—his gestures and soft, feminine manner of speaking had already hinted at it. Apparently, he was now living with his boyfriend, who worked at a bank.

"Have you seen Jessica?"

Douglas hurried over to him.

"I’ve been looking for her too, but she disappeared. She was in the back of the auditorium about fifteen minutes ago."

Because the lead actor, Ivan, had been too busy to do many full rehearsals, Jessica had mentioned they were planning to hold one that morning. But with the stage in such disarray, the actors and Douglas had relocated to a nearby studio instead.

"Was the rehearsal okay?"

Douglas nodded. "Yes. It was just a light run-through since today’s the real performance, but Ivan nailed it. He has excellent instincts."

Peering through his pink-framed glasses, Douglas looked over the stage, now gradually recovering from the earlier chaos.

"It’s thanks to you and everyone else who helped that we’re able to raise the curtain tonight."

Despite his words, there was no lift in Douglas’s tone. Even now, on the brink of the actual performance, after overcoming so much trouble, there was a deflated quality to him—very unlike the cheerful, firecracker personality he usually exuded. Kusuda noticed.

"If there’s anything else I can do, just say the word."

Douglas gave him a weak smile and lowered his gaze. Then, with a firm breath, he lifted his chin. "This is the reality we’re facing."

"I was going to tell everyone later, but… we found out who started the fire. It was one of the actors."

"What…? Then that means…"

They were about to lose one of the cast members. Could the show still go on?

"He was Ivan’s stand-in actor. Just in case something happened, the stand-in actor had agreed to attend all the rehearsals too, but when the time came, he didn’t show up. We couldn’t reach him. I got worried and contacted one of his friends… that’s when I found out he was arrested this morning. Caught red-handed with heroin. It seems he was using in the theater when he caused the fire, then fled in fear, and kept using elsewhere. I don’t think he’ll be released before the performance."

Douglas placed his hands on his hips.

"All this trouble is giving me a headache, but I believe people grow the most when they're faced with adversity."

With that forward-looking note, he added, "If you see Jessica, tell her to come to the office," and walked off down the hallway.

Drugs are common in America. Even Kusuda had once been offered something suspicious by a stranger at a fashion industry party. A stylist he knew had tearfully told him about an assistant who had suddenly died of an overdose.

New York was glamorous, but its shadows were equally vast. In Tokyo, he'd never even heard of regular people wrecking their lives with drugs—at least not in his circle.

While he was lost in thought, more people began showing up to help with the cleanup. Curious about who they were, he asked, and it turned out to be the actors who had finished rehearsal. With more hands, the pace of the work increased significantly.

At this rate, Akizawa wouldn’t have anything to do when he showed up. Kusuda figured he might as well text and tell him to stay home. He leaned the mop against the wall and pulled out his phone—just then, he heard the all-too-familiar voice call out, "Masahiko!"

A tall man in a black coat came bounding down the aisle stairs like an arrow loosed from a bow. He could handle being near him now—he should be used to it. But the primal fear from a time when everything was uncertain surged back like a tide. The urge to flee clenched in his chest. He forced it down. It’s okay. It’s okay, he repeated in his head. That man isn't scary anymore. Not anymore. He repeated the words like a spell.

Akizawa leapt up the stage steps two at a time and stopped about a meter in front of him. With an innocent grin, he said, "I’m here."

"The shoot ran long and I had to get on the plane with no sleep. I slept the whole way and only woke up when the flight attendant shook me and said, ‘Please return your seat to the upright position.’ I got here way earlier than I thought!"

His cheeks were flushed, and his voice full of excitement as he rattled on.

“They said New York was cold, but I didn’t expect this cold. I didn’t bring many clothes, so I think I’ll buy some here. Let’s go shopping together, yeah? After this break, I’m flying to Hollywood to meet up with Kuma. He was like, ‘Since you're already in New York, it’s more cost-efficient to go straight from there than to fly back to Japan first.’ Isn’t that awful of him?”

His Japanese drew the attention of the volunteers around them; some paused their work and looked over curiously.

"Kaito, um..." Masahiko tried.

"You’re cleaning, right? I’ll help! What should I do?"

"Oh? There’s someone here who wasn’t invited."

From the same stairway Akizawa had descended, Jessica now made her entrance, walking with composed elegance. She climbed the stage and crossed her arms.

"We saw each other just two months ago. You're back in New York again—must be nice, having so little work as an actor."

Her words were sharp enough to draw blood. Akizawa scrunched his nose and pulled his mouth into a tight, sulky line.

“I’m on break. And I was working right up until I came.”

The tension between the two of them was so palpable, Kusuda felt his stomach twist.

“Akizawa came to help out,” he said, trying to ease things.

Jessica looked between Akizawa and Kusuda, then tilted her head with a dazzling smile.

“I see. Thank you. So, you were moved by Rita’s story, then?”

Akizawa turned to Kusuda. “Who’s Rita?”

Before Kusuda could explain, Jessica answered smoothly.

“This play is a charity performance, raising money for Rita Drowarth’s surgery. You didn’t know that, did you? Well, that’s fine. If you’re going to help, could you clean up the tables in the back of the auditorium?”

She was referring to the table where the volunteers had eaten lunch and left quite a mess.

“I want to do what Kusuda’s doing.”

“We don’t need more people mopping the floors.”

Akizawa looked back at Kusuda with eyes like a lost puppy, completely out of his element.

“Then I’ll clean the tables,” Kusuda offered. “You can stay here and—”

Jessica didn’t even look away from Akizawa, her smile turning villainous.

“You’re the one who said you’re picky about your jobs, right? So go ahead, do what you want. But don’t get in Kusuda’s way.”

Akizawa clenched his jaw, glaring at her. For a second, it looked like he might actually lunge at her. Kusuda tensed, ready to intervene—but then Akizawa suddenly stomped the floor with a force that shook the boards.

“...What the hell am I supposed to do then?!”

“I told you—clean up the tables. Didn’t you hear me?” Jessica said, already spinning on her heel to walk away.

Akizawa stood there like a wounded stray dog.

“You can go home, you know,” Kusuda murmured gently, leaning in, but Akizawa only shook his head.

“I’m doing it,” he muttered, now completely obstinate.

“But you—you lose control when you get mad.”

Kusuda vividly remembered the time Akizawa completely lost it at a ruined building, lashing out violently after being provoked by Tohru, the photographer. The memory was still far too clear.

“I’m not gonna lose it in a place like this!”

Akizawa spat the words and stormed after Jessica. The two of them started cleaning together.

“Hey! Stop swinging that trash bag around like that. It'll tear and everything inside will fall out.”

“Shut up. Anyone using these crappy bags is asking for it!”

The two were already hurling verbal sparks at each other. Kusuda didn’t want to look, but if he didn’t keep an eye on them, he’d start worrying they’d get into an actual fistfight. Eventually, still yelling at each other, they lifted a table together and carried it out of the hall.

“Hey, you.”

A man who’d been helping clean—Harry, a hotel worker Kusuda remembered was of Mexican descent—spoke to him. Probably around thirty, and with an unusually perfect smile.

“That East Asian guy you were talking to earlier—isn’t he Kaito Akizawa?”

His bright blue eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Yeah, he is…”

“I knew it,” Harry nodded.

“I’m a huge fan. I never imagined I’d see him in a place like this.”

Akizawa had been in some Hollywood films, but he hadn’t starred in any. Kusuda hadn’t expected someone to recognize him here. Still, even as a supporting actor, Akizawa often played striking roles, so he did stand out.

“Wait, is he in the play? Like a surprise guest?”

Harry leaned in closer, his face far too near for comfort. Kusuda’s body instinctively stiffened—he always reacted this way when a man invaded his space. He subtly stepped back, trying not to be obvious about it.

“No, he’s off right now. He just came to help with the cleanup.”

“So he’s volunteering? I’ve seen all of his work. His role as Emilio in Angel’s Soup was incredible. I usually find Asian actors aren't that expressive, but he’s different. He’s got powerful eyes. Really talented.”

Harry’s praise came rapid and unfiltered. He looked at Kusuda with hopeful, eager eyes.

“Do you think you could introduce me? I’d really love to talk to him.”

Kusuda understood the feeling, but couldn’t just say yes. Akizawa was unpredictable, and right now, stuck with his nemesis Jessica, his mood probably wasn’t ideal.

“He’s shy. Really shy around strangers, so…”

Before he could finish the excuse, Douglas’s voice boomed across the theater.

“Okay, everyone!”

He stood in the middle of the stage, clapping his hands twice.

“The set repairs and stage cleaning are just about finished. Thanks to everyone’s hard work, tonight’s show can go on as planned. I really appreciate it.”

A round of applause erupted from the crowd. Harry clapped enthusiastically, hands ringing loud.

“There’s one more thing,” Douglas continued, “some unfortunate news. I was debating whether to tell you after the performance, but…”

Kusuda figured he was about to mention the stand-in actor who’d caused the fire. While Harry watched Douglas intently, Kusuda quietly slipped away behind the curtain and headed backstage.

Passing through the narrow corridor, he exited into the lobby. Now that cleanup was done, it was okay to leave. He wanted to find Akizawa and take him home, but he was nowhere to be seen. After going outside with Jessica, neither had returned to the theater.

As Kusuda walked back and forth between the lobby and the hallways, he caught sight of a nameplate that said "Office." He didn’t expect Akizawa to be in there—he wasn’t staff—but he pushed the door halfway open and peeked in anyway.

It was a modest office, about fifteen tatami mats in size (roughly 25 square meters), with four desks in the back and a sofa in the center. Jessica was sitting on that sofa, sorting through stacks of small, colored paper. Only then did Kusuda remember that Douglas had asked him to tell her to come to the office..

“Jessica, sorry.”

Her red hair shifted as she looked up and turned toward him.

"Douglas asked me to tell you to come to the office. I totally forgot."

Jessica smiled gently. “It’s fine. I was just talking with him here earlier.”

Akizawa wasn’t in the office. Kusuda hesitated to ask where he might be, but Jessica seemed to read his hesitation and offered, “He’s outside the theater talking. One of the actors apparently is a fan.”

Now that he thought about it, Harry had said he wanted to talk to him too. If interacting with fans didn’t bother Akizawa, maybe he should have introduced them.

“So I guess he’s getting a bit of recognition as an actor.”

“He’s good at what he does.”

“Seems like it. Though, to be honest, I don’t ever want to see that face on TV or in a movie again.”

She dismissed him with such finality, there was no room for rebuttal. Kusuda could only give a tense smile.

“Cleanup’s done. I’m heading home.”

Jessica rose from the sofa and gave him a light hug.

“Thank you for today, Masahiko. I love you.”

He hugged her back, breathing in the faint scent on her neck and the slender warmth of her back. Her head tilted upward slightly in a curious angle. Kusuda followed the motion instinctively—and froze.

About three meters behind them, Akizawa stood, watching in the dim light with wide, unreadable eyes. Kusuda jerked away from Jessica in a panic.

“Ah—uh, cleanup’s done, so… shall we go home?”

Akizawa nodded silently and turned on his heel, walking fast enough that Kusuda had to rush to catch up. The walk from the theater to the office-slash-apartment was about twenty minutes—just far enough that a taxi wasn’t really worth it. The hard taps of Akizawa’s boots on the pavement echoed with impatient force. With his long legs and wide stride, Kusuda had to trot to keep pace.

A sharp sound sliced through the wind as dead leaves scattered across the sidewalk. The cold air was biting. It was only then Kusuda remembered he hadn’t brought his coat. He’d taken it off at the theater to avoid it getting in the way during cleaning and left it draped over a chair.

“Wait.”

Akizawa’s stride stopped, cutting through the wind, and he turned back.

“I left my coat at the theater. I’m going to grab it.”

Akizawa frowned, clearly displeased.

“You can head back to the apartment first.”

“Don’t you have another coat?”

“I do, but…”

“You’re going back there tonight anyway, right? Just get it then.”

That was true. But it was cold now, and they were already halfway home. Whether he turned back or kept walking, the cold wasn’t going anywhere. Besides, Akizawa was in a foul mood. Better just to go home.

Kusuda called Jessica and asked her to bring the coat back to the office. He sneezed twice while on the phone, prompting Jessica to say, “Are you okay? Don’t catch a cold.”

As he slipped the phone back into his jeans pocket, Akizawa asked, “You cold?”

“Wearing only a sweater. So, yeah, a little.”

Akizawa took a few steps back toward him, shrugged off his own coat, and held it out. “Here.”

“That’ll leave you cold.”

“It’s fine. Just put it on.”

His tone was pleading, but it still sounded like a command. Kusuda got the sense that if he refused, this would turn into something way more annoying. He took the coat, maintaining a healthy distance. It was lighter and warmer than expected. As he slipped it on, he caught the faint scent of Akizawa’s body heat—and his entire body stiffened.

“Feel warmer now?”

“Ah… yeah.”

He wanted to say the smell was too much, that he wanted to take it off, but he couldn’t.

“Then let’s get home quick.”

Akizawa resumed walking. Kusuda told himself he’d say he got too warm and take it off once some time passed. With that small escape route mapped out, he kept moving, focusing on enduring the scent… and realized, little by little, the tension was easing. Maybe this was some twisted version of exposure therapy? His thoughts spiraled until Akizawa—up ahead, hunched over—let out a sneeze, and the theory collapsed.

The warm scent of roasted coffee beans wafted through the air. It was coming from a coffee shop on the right. Despite the chill, a few customers were sitting outside on the terrace with cups in hand.

"Want to grab a coffee?"

Akizawa, who had been walking a few paces ahead, suddenly spun around and returned with a bounce in his step.

"I want something hot and sweet."

Still a child when it came to taste, Kusuda thought as he followed him into the shop. It was a small place—eight tables inside and five on the terrace. He'd been here a few times before, since it stayed open late, but two East Asians entering together seemed to draw attention; a few customers glanced their way, stealing side-eyes. They weren't wearing sunglasses or hats, so perhaps someone had recognized Akizawa as an actor, though no one approached them.

Akizawa ordered a honey latte, Kusuda a black coffee. They drank as they walked. From the moment he took his first sip, Akizawa’s mood visibly improved. He kept repeating, “This is so good,” all the way back to the apartment, beaming with every step.

They entered through the shop on the first floor, climbed the stairs to the second-floor office, and then into Kusuda’s private quarters. The room was cold, but the central heating kicked in quickly once turned on, warming the space with comforting air. Akizawa flopped onto the sofa opposite the bed and sprawled out. Kusuda had bought that sofa back in October when Akizawa started staying over; judging by his behavior, he now considered it “his spot.”

Kusuda hung Akizawa’s coat on a hanger and sat on the edge of the bed. The American habit of lounging on beds with shoes on was something he still couldn’t get used to, even after all these years. And yet Akizawa, completely unbothered, had kicked his feet up on the sofa in the same shoes he’d just walked the streets in. The thought of him later sleeping on that same surface didn’t seem to faze him. Kusuda decided not to say anything.

“When I got to the airport, you weren’t there. Then I went to the theater and got that woman’s usual attitude. Kind of a downer start,” Akizawa muttered. “But I’m in a good mood now, so whatever.”

He suddenly sat up. “Oh yeah. Check the right pocket of my coat.”

You’re closer, Kusuda wanted to say, but it was just a few steps. He reached into the pocket and felt something hard at his fingertips. When he pulled it out, it was a bracelet—about five millimeters wide, with a flowing, carved pattern along the surface.

“I made it,” Akizawa said. “Masamitsu-san said it was really good.”

The image of a dog eagerly bringing back a ball—Praise me! Praise me!—popped into Kusuda’s mind. He let out a small sigh. It was clear Akizawa was fishing for compliments, but the detail work was fine and beautiful, so he gave him honest praise: “That’s really well done.”

“I made it for you. I picked a low-key design so it wouldn’t clash with your suits. Masamitsu-san said it could work for business, too.”

Akizawa had once given him a ring. Kusuda wasn’t one for wearing accessories, so he hadn’t used it, which led to endless pestering: Wear it, wear it. If he accepted this bracelet, it’d probably be the same—he’d get scolded for not having it on every time they met.

He had planned to throw the ring away when their relationship had fallen apart. He’d wanted to, but hadn’t known how. It was still stashed in the back of the closet, sealed in its little pouch.

He couldn’t say whether the gift made him happy or not. It felt like both a burden and… not. But he could tell from the craftsmanship that Akizawa had been thinking about him while making it. That alone came through clearly. So he said, “Thanks.”

Akizawa beamed and flopped back down onto the sofa. From where he lay, he squirmed slightly, watching Kusuda with heated, expectant eyes.

That gaze sent a chill down Kusuda’s spine. It was… a little scary. Reflexively, he darted to the closet.

“I’m covered in dust from cleaning. Gonna take a shower. The play’s in the evening, so let’s leave early and grab something to eat before we go.”

Kusuda grabbed a change of underwear and clothes, left the room, passed through the office, and entered the bathroom on the left—a typical combined toilet and bath setup. He rinsed off quickly, then ran a hot bath and sank in up to his shoulders. The warmth seeped through to his core, spreading gradually. There was still time before curtain call, even accounting for dinner, so he let himself relax.

As he exhaled a long breath and closed his eyes, Akizawa’s fevered gaze flashed through his mind. Trying to wash away the lingering image, he splashed water over his face. It was me who decided to give this another shot. That’s why he’d continued to see Akizawa whenever the man came to New York, why he let him stay over. It still made him tense, but it wasn’t unpleasant. That much was true. And yet... somehow, in these moments when he least expected it, the logic of it all slipped away, and that uneasy urge to flee crept in again.

If he kept trying—if he kept at it—would that unease eventually go away? Like how he'd grown used to the coat that smelled like Akizawa, maybe he’d grow used to Akizawa himself. And if that fear ever faded completely, would they go back to loving each other, to having sex again?

Kusuda slammed the lid shut on that train of thought. There was no telling what form their future would take. The fear that still surged up regularly—maybe that would never disappear. Maybe this was all they’d ever manage: seeing each other like this, and nothing more. No deeper connection, no physical contact ever again.

"Hey."

A voice called from just outside the bathroom door. Kusuda had been leaning his head against the edge of the tub, dazed, and he straightened up in a panic.

"What is it?"

"I gotta pee. Can I come in?"

He swallowed hard. This was an American-style bathroom—no separate toilet. And out of habit, he hadn’t locked the door. If Akizawa came in now, he’d be exposed—naked and vulnerable, right there in front of him.

"Wait. I’ll be out right away."

He stood in the tub, scrambling.

"I’ve been holding it forever. I can’t wait anymore. I’m seriously about to burst. Just let me in?"

"Just give me three minutes—one minute, even! I just need to—at least get dressed—"

"I can’t wait. I’m coming in."

The door creaked open without permission. Kusuda dropped back into the tub, curling up in a panic. Through the shower curtain, a shadow moved. Naked, defenseless, he couldn’t bear the image of this man closing in. The water no longer felt warm—he trembled, arms around his knees. Was the bathroom excuse just a pretense? Was Akizawa about to pull back the curtain and pounce?

He held his breath, eyes fixed on the shadow. Should he make a run for it? Bolt out of the bath and flee? As he hesitated, a very unceremonious sound of urination echoed nearby. Then came the whoosh of flushing, and finally, a long sigh of relief.

"Hey, you still in there?"

"Of course I am!" Kusuda snapped.

"You were so quiet."

"I’m soaking in the tub. …If you’re done, would you mind leaving now?"

No reply.

"Hey… can I see you?"

“…Huh?"

"I wanna see you in the bath."

The request struck him like a splash of ice water. Despite being submerged, he felt chilled to the bone.

"N-no way!"

"Just let me look. I won’t do anything. I just wanna see you."

He hadn’t even been given the choice about letting Akizawa in, and now this. Akizawa was clearly not in control anymore. If he allowed this, even just to be seen… he might get excited and…

"Absolutely not! No way!"

Kusuda rejected him with every ounce of his being. Akizawa fell silent for a moment, then murmured in a sulky tone, "Then at least let me take a naked photo next time."

The sheer absurdity of it made Kusuda’s head spin—not from the heat, but from disbelief.

"Why the hell would I let you take a photo like that?!"

"Because I want to jerk off to your naked body."

Kusuda’s cheek twitched from the embarrassment and fury surging up in him.

"Don’t mess with me!"

"I'm not messing with you. I haven't had sex in years—it's been so long I think I’ve forgotten how. If I can't do it with you, I don’t plan to ever do it with anyone else again. But if I don’t at least jerk off, I’ll die. I want to do it while pretending I’m doing it with you, looking at your naked body."

Absolutely not. But even as he thought that, part of him—a part he didn’t want to admit existed—could understand. As a man, he could grasp the feeling. Still, he didn’t want to give in, and that left his mind spinning in chaos.

"And what if you lose your phone somewhere after taking that photo, huh?! Someone might see me naked!"

Akizawa was forgetful to an alarming degree. He’d always been that way.

"It’s locked."

"That’s not the point!"

"Okay, then how about just from the neck down? No face. That way no one would know it’s you."

"That just makes it more perverted!"

"I'm keeping my distance like you asked, aren't I? I’m following all your rules! The least you could do is give me some new material! All the memories I have of us are worn out from overuse!"

It was all so absurd Kusuda felt dizzy. Masturbation, 'material'—why were they even arguing about this? What the hell were they doing?

"Okay, forget the photo. Just let me look. I need to update my mental image."

The shadow behind the curtain grew darker. The fabric swayed.

"H-hey, wait a second!"

The curtain whipped open in a single sharp motion. His entire view widened—his unguarded body, still soaked, now exposed under the gaze of the very man who had once hurt him. Akizawa’s face flushed violently, as though he’d suffered a burn, his breath now short and ragged. Seeing firsthand the way he was being looked at, Kusuda began to tremble uncontrollably.

"...Kusuda, you're beautiful."

The words came with a soft murmur—and then, with perfect timing, something trickled from Akizawa’s nose.

“Ah, what?!”

He scrubbed at his upper lip, but the blood only gushed harder, dripping in thick streaks.

"Ugh, ahhhh!!"

Shouting, Akizawa flailed his head side to side. Blood sprayed everywhere. It was like a scene from a splatter movie.

"Hey, stop shaking your head! Tilt it back—back! Pinch your nose!"

Kusuda leapt from the tub, grabbed a towel and wrung it out, then pressed it into the hands of the now blood-smeared man.

"Ugh, the blood's in my mouth. It tastes gross..."

"Spit it in the sink!"

Still teary-eyed, Akizawa tilted his head back and let Kusuda guide him to the bathroom sink, where he leaned over and spat repeatedly. Kusuda, meanwhile, threw on his clothes in a rush. Once Akizawa seemed calm enough to move, Kusuda supported his arm and led him to the sofa in the living room. There, the man flopped down, still weak, groaning as more blood slid down into his mouth and onto the tissues he kept pressing to his lips.

Kusuda stuffed some ice into a plastic bag and handed it to him to press against his nose. Akizawa lay limp on the couch, icing his face, his eyes dull with shock.

"Am I gonna die from all this bleeding?" he mumbled, staring up at the ceiling.

You're not gonna die from a damn nosebleed, Kusuda wanted to say, but bit back the laughter rising up and fought to keep his expression neutral.

"People don’t die from nosebleeds."

"But it was a lot of blood..."

"You’re just worn out from traveling. Take a little rest and you’ll be fine."

"Even though I slept a ton on the plane?"

He pouted, nose pinched. "Seeing you naked made my heart feel like it exploded. It was like a hurricane went off in my head. I think holding back your sex drive for too long really is bad for your health."

Kusuda had no idea how to respond to that. Silently, he walked over to the window and opened it a crack, letting some of the heat escape from the room. The air inside had gotten much too stifling.

If they were going to eat before the show tonight, they’d have to leave within the hour... and somehow, Kusuda wasn’t sure he was ready.

"You're tired too, so why don’t you stay in tonight? I’ll go out and grab dinner, and we can skip the show if you want… Ah, or I could swing by the theater while I’m out and leave the tickets with Jessica—maybe she can find someone to use them."

"No way. I’m going. I have to see the play."

It was surprising, considering Jessica’s involvement and how little interest Akizawa had ever shown in theater. But he was insistent.

"You really don’t have to push yourself."

"Hey," Akizawa tilted his head slightly toward Kusuda. "Are the seats next to each other?"

"Yeah, they are."

"Then of course I’m going. I get to sit right next to you."

Only then did Kusuda realize what that actually meant. He’d bought the tickets together without thinking, but theater seating meant staying in close proximity for hours. The gap between their shoulders would be no more than thirty centimeters. Would he really be able to handle the warmth, the pressure of another body that close, that long?

"When you invited me to the play, I was so happy. I mean, it means you’re okay sitting beside me now, right? It means you’re getting used to me again."

His eyes sparkled with hope. It was obvious now that he’d been aware of the closeness all along.

"Looks like the bleeding’s finally stopped."

Akizawa set the towel-wrapped ice pack down and tugged at the collar of his black sweater, grumbling, "Even though it’s black, you can totally see the blood. I’ll have to change before we go out."

While muttering to himself, he let out a small yawn.

"Want to lie down for a bit? I’ll wake you when it’s time to head out."

Akizawa shook his head gently. "No, I don’t want to sleep. I want to keep watching you. I haven’t seen you in a month and a half. Not through a screen, but you. I missed you so much, I had dreams about you over and over again."

Despite his insistence, not even five minutes passed before he started softly snoring, his breath calm and childlike.

As soon as Kusuda was certain he’d fallen asleep, the tension drained from his body. He hadn’t even noticed how tightly wound he’d been. If this was how it started, how would he survive the next three days until Monday?

Still… even if it made him nervous, he didn’t hate seeing him. The bracelet Akizawa had made—it was complicated, but it had moved him. And even now, somewhere deep inside, there was a fear Kusuda couldn’t quite name. He was the one who had decided this. He could’ve chosen to never see Akizawa again, but in the end, he was the one who’d decided to repair the relationship. He knew this, and yet he still struggled, still wrestled with what he felt.

They left around 5:30. After grabbing a light dinner at a nearby diner, they headed to the theater. The sky was dark, the air sharp and dry—it felt like snow could start falling any second.

Akizawa had changed out of the bloodstained sweater into a gray one. His coat was still black, so the overall tone was the same, but the color suited him well. He was tall, and even among a crowd of foreigners he didn’t fade. No wonder he’d done modeling for American fashion magazines—he had the presence for it.

They passed two Asian girls on the street. Japanese, it seemed. Kusuda caught one whisper, "Hey, wasn’t that Kaito Akizawa?" But they didn’t follow or say anything more.

At the theater entrance, a small crowd was gathered in front of the poster for the modern King Lear adaptation, likely people waiting to meet up. The poster prominently noted the charity nature of the performance, and the name of the lead actor, Ivan Lazaro, was printed in bold type.

People were already being let in, so they entered as well. The tickets Jessica had sold him were in the seventh row from the front, near the center—great seats with a perfect view. Maybe she'd chosen them with consideration.

"Wanna go to our seats?" Akizawa asked.

There were still twenty minutes until curtain. More and more people were filing into the narrow lobby, so they moved toward the wall to stay out of the way.

"Could you go ahead and take your seat first?"

"Why? Let’s sit together."

"I need a moment to mentally prepare myself… to sit next to you."

Akizawa gazed at Kusuda for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright. I’ll go ahead and wait for you."

"Sorry."

"Just… come before the show starts, okay?"

Would he really be able to go? Kusuda couldn’t give an answer, and Akizawa, perhaps sensing that, lowered his gaze.

"Then… I hope you push yourself. But if you can’t, that’s okay too."

With that, he turned and disappeared through the doors into the hall. He hopes I’ll push myself, but says it’s okay if I can’t… That meant, in essence, he was giving Kusuda permission not to come. Even though he’d said he came to New York looking forward to sitting beside him, he was willing to give that up. In his own way, Akizawa was trying to be considerate. Giving Kusuda the choice, while still slipping in his true feelings—“I hope you push yourself”—it was oddly endearing. Kusuda let out a small laugh, and with that, the tension began to ease. Leaning back against the wall, he folded his hands together and closed his eyes. It’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe and do your best, he told himself, softly casting a quiet spell over the fear in his body and mind.

…He took his seat three minutes before the curtain rose. The auditorium was already mostly filled, and he had to apologize his way down the row. Akizawa had noticed him coming from the moment he entered the aisle and was watching him quietly.

This was different now. Less than twenty centimeters apart. Repeating the I'm not scared mantra, Kusuda took a deep breath and lowered himself into the seat beside him.

"I was waiting," Akizawa whispered, his voice practically bouncing with joy. Just hearing his voice that close made Kusuda tense again.

"…I have a favor."

"What is it?"

"Please don’t talk to me during the performance."

Silence followed. Then, the house lights dimmed. The curtain was down. Douglas stepped out onto the stage.

"Okay, I won’t."

He didn’t look at him, but Kusuda could tell Akizawa had agreed.

At first, he was acutely aware of the person sitting beside him. But once the play began and he immersed himself in it, that awareness naturally faded. The story, of course, was King Lear. This modern adaptation was set in the rural backcountry of Texas. The actors wore worn, stained clothes that gave the stage a shabby, unfashionable feel—but Ivan Lazaro’s presence cut through all of it. The moment he stepped onstage, the air itself grew taut. A film actor who also had extensive stage experience, his voice carried perfectly, and Kusuda found himself unable to look away. He already knew the story, but Lazaro’s performance made it feel brand new.

In the second half, there were moments when Lazaro stumbled slightly, as though fatigue were catching up to him, but he recovered with improvised lines so smoothly it barely registered. When the curtain finally fell, the audience leapt to their feet, erupting in thunderous applause. Kusuda, too, clapped with abandon, deeply moved. He’d assumed a charity production would feel a bit lighter, more relaxed—but not at all. The ticket price had been modest, but the experience was worth many times more.

The applause wouldn’t die down. The curtain rose again for the cast’s curtain call. One by one, the actors appeared. But when it should have been Lazaro’s turn to take his final bow, he didn’t appear. Instead, Douglas came forward and explained that Ivan had to leave unexpectedly for an urgent matter and gave the final remarks.

The audience began filing out en masse. Being seated in the middle, Kusuda couldn’t exit right away. Still in his seat, he turned to Akizawa.

"The play was amazing."

"Are you sure it’s okay to talk now?" came the reply.

"Why wouldn’t it be?"

"You told me not to talk to you, remember?"

The words hit him like a jab to the chest—he hadn’t realized how faithfully Akizawa had obeyed that rather harsh request.

"Yeah… It’s okay now. Sorry about that."

Akizawa gave him a wide, forgiving smile. "No need to apologize. It was pretty good, wasn’t it? That Ivan Lazaro guy is really talented. He wasn’t super focused at the end, but still."

"Probably tired. He did stumble a bit."

As they chatted about the play, the crowd thinned. The exit grew less congested. They crossed the now nearly empty seating area and entered the lobby.

"Could you wait here a second? I’m going to grab my coat."

Leaving Akizawa behind in the lobby, Kusuda headed to the office—only to find it completely empty. There was no one around, and scanning the room didn’t reveal his coat either. Stepping back out, he explained to Akizawa, “Jessica’s not around, so I don’t know where my coat is. I’ll go look for it,” and made his way to the backstage dressing rooms. Down the hall, he caught a glimpse of short blond hair—it was Douglas.

“Douglas,” he called out.

When Douglas turned to face him, his expression was filled with such despair, it was like someone had just handed down a death sentence. It was so stark that Kusuda actually hesitated.

“Your performance tonight… was incredible,” Kusuda offered, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

“Ah… thanks,” Douglas replied, but the praise didn’t seem to land. He was clearly somewhere else entirely. It was worrying.

“Did something happen?”

“Today’s the first day in my life I’ve truly felt abandoned by God,” Douglas muttered, clutching his head in both hands.

“There was the fire, yeah, but the play was a success, wasn’t it? At this rate, the next two shows should go fine too.”

Douglas shook his head weakly. “The rest of the shows might be canceled. No—will be canceled.”

“What? Why?”

“Right after the curtain fell, Ivan collapsed. He was in terrible pain… His wife and Jessica rushed him to the hospital. His wife told me he’d been ignoring his appendicitis pain, just taking meds to push through because work had been so hectic. One of the troupe members used to be a nurse and said if the appendix had ruptured, he’d need immediate surgery. Apparently, he wasn’t feeling well since yesterday. But he insisted on going through with this charity show and pushed himself too hard…”

Douglas clutched his phone tightly, eyes misting over.

“I should’ve made him rest. We even had a stand-in actor, just in case… but he’s the one who started the fire and ended up in custody.”

“…Unbelievable.”

“How much more does God intend to punish me?” Douglas said, voice raw with pain.

Just then, his phone began to ring. He hurried to answer it. “Yes… Yes, I see…” His tone dropped lower with each word.

“Ivan’s in emergency surgery. The show’s canceled. Dealing with ticket refunds tomorrow is going to be a nightmare… but I guess this is fate. I should be grateful we even managed to do one performance. We haven’t reached the full amount needed for Rita’s operation, and we may never get a venue with such good terms again, but… I’ll try something else. And when I do, I hope you’ll help me again. It meant a lot to hear you say tonight’s performance was wonderful.”

Then Douglas’s gaze shifted slightly over Kusuda’s shoulder.

“Is that a friend of yours?”

Turning around, Kusuda saw Akizawa lingering in the shadows behind a pillar. He’d somehow wandered into the backstage area, where non-staff weren’t allowed, probably worried that Kusuda was taking too long.

“Yeah. We just saw the play together.”

“He’s a handsome East Asian man. Tall too—like a model.”

“He’s an actor. Not a lead, but he’s had roles in several Hollywood films.”

“Oh?” Douglas blinked. “A film actor? That explains why he didn’t come off as an amateur. I’m terrible with movies. I find them too flat, so I usually only watch if a friend is in the cast.”

This production had been staged in a relatively small theater, but Douglas typically worked in much larger venues. It wasn’t unthinkable that Akizawa might one day be interested in Broadway—standing on a stage instead of a set—and in that case, a connection like this might prove invaluable.

“Would you like me to introduce you?”

Douglas lit up. “Please do.”

When Kusuda called him over, Akizawa looked annoyed at first, but once Kusuda explained that this was the director of the evening’s performance, his interest finally piqued.

“Your play was really good,” Akizawa said.

In Japanese, his tone might’ve sounded brusque, but in English, the softness of his intonation gave it a surprisingly gentle air.

“Though, the lead actor was getting sloppy near the end.”

Even though his tone came across softer in English, Akizawa’s usual bluntness hadn’t gone anywhere—it still hit hard enough to make anyone flinch. Sure enough, Douglas’s face stiffened, and he offered a tight, awkward smile to mask it.

“He wasn’t feeling well. He won’t be able to perform tomorrow, so the rest of the shows have been canceled. It turned into a one-night-only performance, but… thank you for coming,” Douglas said.

Akizawa crossed his arms and tapped his chin thoughtfully. “There’s no stand-in actor for the lead?”

Kusuda cringed inwardly—trust Akizawa to cut right to the heart of a sensitive matter.

“The stand-in actor had some trouble too and won’t be able to perform,” Douglas replied. “And even if we tried to bring someone new in, there’s no time to memorize the script.”

A stand-in actor… Kusuda cast a sidelong glance at the man beside him. This actor had an almost freakish ability to memorize lines at lightning speed—and once they were in, he never forgot them. If it were Akizawa, maybe… maybe he could do it.

Part of him wanted to help the production go on for Rita’s sake. But more than that, he found himself wondering—what would it be like if Akizawa played Lear, the role Ivan had just performed? He was too young to play an old king, sure, but this man could inhabit any character. That was just who he was.

Still, Akizawa had come to New York for a vacation. Asking him to volunteer for not just one, but two full-length performances in a single day—it felt like too much.

“I could play Lear,” Akizawa offered, like he was suggesting a coffee run.

Douglas blinked at him several times, then let out a short laugh. “You’re too young for the role. And we’ve got less than eighteen hours before curtain call tomorrow—no one, not even Superman, could learn the entire script in that time. But… you’re very kind. Thank you. I’ll take that sentiment.”

“Akizawa really is fast at memorizing lines,” Kusuda blurted, without thinking.

For the first time that evening, Douglas’s expression turned sharply serious as he looked at Kusuda.

“I appreciate the gesture,” he said evenly. “But it’s not just about knowing the lines. There’s timing with the other actors. Stage work isn’t just lines—it’s the rhythm between people. And no matter how noble the cause, as a director I can’t show the audience anything half-baked.”

There was a pride in Douglas’s voice—his absolute standard for the craft of theater.

“I’m good,” Akizawa said plainly, unfazed by the shift in tone.

Douglas furrowed his brow, as if to say, Seriously?

“I’m better than anyone who was on that stage tonight.”

Douglas’s jaw hung slightly open in disbelief.

“You’ve got some confidence.”

“I’m just being honest.”

Douglas looked to Kusuda as if asking, Is he for real? If Akizawa had been just some stranger, Kusuda would’ve thought he was a deluded narcissist too.

“Akizawa’s fast. He’s got a great sense for timing, and… I really think he could pull off a two-hour show.”

Douglas studied the two of them with a sharp gaze, then let out a long sigh and lifted his shoulders in a light shrug.

“I don’t believe there’s a single actor in the world who could master a dense two-hour play in just eighteen hours. On any other day, I wouldn’t even entertain the idea no matter who asked. But maybe this time is different. We’ve already overcome so many setbacks—it might be worth struggling to the very end. And if he rehearses thoroughly from now until curtain, it might be doable…”

“Hey,” Akizawa said, swaying slightly with his hands in his coat pockets, sounding disinterested.

“I’m not saying I want to be the replacement. I’m just saying I can play Lear, and I am good at it. I’m on vacation. I don’t want to work.”

Kusuda felt his chest tighten. That may have been honest, but it was also cruel. Douglas’s eyes flew open, his face flushing red like an overripe tomato.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Are you mocking us!?”

Douglas jabbed his finger at Akizawa and shouted, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.

“Uh, well, he’s… um, kind of—no, very bad with people…” Kusuda stammered, scrambling to smooth things over between them, but Douglas was already too fired up. He flailed his  arms in the air in a furious frenzy.

“This isn’t about being good or bad at people skills—this is a whole different problem!”

Kusuda had no idea how to even begin untangling this mess.

“Akizawa, that was rude. Apologize,” he ordered, trying to force at least a basic apology out of him.

“Why should I apologize?” came the flat response.

He must have left the concept of social harmony somewhere in his mother’s womb.

Douglas kept repeating “Unbelievable, unbelievable,” while Akizawa remained completely unfazed, like none of this had anything to do with him. Between them, Kusuda raised his voice and declared:

“I want to see your Lear.”

The room stilled. Both of them fell silent. Akizawa hunched his shoulders and leaned in, peering at Kusuda.

“You want to see me play Lear?”

When Kusuda nodded, Akizawa turned to Douglas and said, like it was nothing, “Fine, I’ll do the role.”

“Don’t bother!” Douglas spat, his voice practically foaming with rage. “I wouldn’t let a rude bastard like you on my stage if it was the part of a maggot!”

While he screamed, Akizawa calmly pressed his fingers to his jaw and said, “But it’s better to stage the play, right? It’s for that girl, Rita, right? If the show goes on, even with me, the audience won’t need refunds. Think about it. I’m the only one who can make that happen.”

Douglas clenched his jaw so hard his lips disappeared, eyes bloodshot with fury. Akizawa, oblivious or deliberately indifferent, went on.

“I watched the play. The whole time I was thinking how I’d perform it. Every scene, every beat. I’ll be the best Lear anyone’s ever seen.”

In the end, Douglas agreed to cast Akizawa. Kusuda had vouched for him, and some of the actors in the play recognized Akizawa and spoke of him highly—“He’s really good,” “A genius”—enough to push aside his pride and pique his interest as a director.

Douglas explained to the cast that he’d decided to bring in a film actor—someone recommended by a friend of a friend—as a desperate last-minute solution, all in the hope of continuing the play for Rita’s sake. That morning there had been a fire, then the stand-in actor got arrested, then the lead collapsed—an unending string of disasters. Maybe because of that, a kind of solidarity had taken root among the actors. Even regarding Akizawa, their sudden new lead, they rallied behind him, saying, “Let’s support the star together!”

With the atmosphere finally lightening, Douglas suggested they start rehearsing immediately—just a quick run-through with the script in hand. But Akizawa instantly objected.

“Now?” he said, clearly displeased. “I already watched the whole thing. The lines, the pacing—it’s all in my head. I’m about the same height as the lead actor, so I can fit in his costume. And anyway, I’m tired. I want to get some sleep. We can do one full run tomorrow morning. I’ll be back here at eight.”

And just like that, he decided everything himself, tucked the script under his arm, and strolled out of the green room.

The other actors stared after him, stunned. Is that really okay? their expressions said.

“Wh—What is that man!?” Douglas shrieked, his anger reigniting.

Kusuda apologized profusely and hurried out to catch up with Akizawa. It wasn’t until they were more than halfway home that he managed to close the distance. But Akizawa just kept walking, muttering to himself, eyes fixed ahead, never noticing Kusuda behind him.

Once they got back to the apartment, Akizawa flopped onto the sofa and was asleep within a minute, making it very clear he had no intention of taking a bath.

Kusuda set the alarm clock for 7:30 a.m. Then, quietly tidying up the area around the desk and sofa, he waited—but not once did Akizawa stir.

The next morning, Kusuda woke to the sound of the alarm, only to find that Akizawa had already changed into his clothes and was just about to put on his coat. Kusuda had planned to go with him, but Akizawa stopped him with a quick, “I’ll show you the real deal during the performance—just wait for that.” It made Kusuda feel a little useless. Even though Akizawa was here on vacation, Kusuda had ended up piling so much responsibility on him. He’d hoped he could help out at least a little, but when the man himself said not to come to the rehearsal, there was nothing he could do.

While he sat restlessly in the apartment, Akizawa’s manager, Kuma, sent him an email. “He told me he’s going to be in a play, but I don’t understand what that means. Do you know anything?”

Kusuda wrote back explaining what had happened. The reply came quickly: “Well, if it’s volunteer work during his time off…” —it seemed permission was grudgingly granted.

At 12:30, Kusuda headed to the theater and bought a ticket at the door. He’d heard the show was sold out, and if there weren’t any left, he’d planned to ask Jessica if she could sneak him into the wings to watch. But it turned out that several people had returned their tickets after learning that Ivan wouldn’t be performing, and Kusuda was able to get one without trouble.

He wanted to go backstage and offer Akizawa some encouragement, but worried that it might break his concentration so close to curtain time. Instead, he took his seat as just another member of the audience. The seats on either side of him were occupied by women. There were still ten minutes until the curtain rose. His chest swelled with anticipation. He couldn’t wait to see what kind of Akizawa would appear today. In that moment, he truly realized how completely he’d been bewitched by the actor named Kaito Akizawa.

“I’m so upset Ivan pulled out of the performance,” came a loud voice from the middle-aged woman seated to Kusuda’s right.

“I only bought tickets to see him,” she went on. “I feel like I’ve been tricked. And the replacement actor—never even heard of him.”

The man sitting next to her, who looked to be about the same age, offered a few bland, noncommittal responses: “Yeah… that’s rough.”

“Someone who saw the show yesterday posted on social media about how amazing Ivan was. If I’d known this would happen, I’d have gotten a ticket for yesterday instead.”

“Well, he’s sick. Nothing anyone can do,” the man replied, trying to console her.

“It’s a charity performance, after all. I just think of my ticket money as a donation to Rita. The show’s just a bonus. If it’s boring, I’ll just leave partway through.”

Kusuda’s stomach started to churn. If they were Ivan fans, maybe this was a normal reaction. Still, he found himself speaking to them silently in his mind: Akizawa’s good too. I don’t think he’ll lose to Ivan.

Just then, the chime rang out, signaling the start of the show. The lights dimmed, and the curtain rose slowly.

The opening was the same as the previous night. The first to appear were the three daughters, chatting casually, their dialogue setting the stage and time period—the play’s modern adaptation placed it in rural Texas.

As the three exited stage right, they called out for their father. The day before, Ivan Lazarro had entered from stage left at this moment. And now, from the same direction, a man emerged—Akizawa.

The moment he stepped onto the stage, the light atmosphere left behind by the daughters vanished, replaced by something heavy and foreboding. His presence was overwhelming.

He walked slowly, hunched forward. Just the silhouette was enough to declare him an old man. Reaching center stage, Akizawa raised his head and began to speak. His voice, though hoarse, had depth and weight. It sent a jolt down Kusuda’s spine. The audience immediately understood—this man was no ordinary elder. He was powerful, proud, the head of a family no one could oppose. It was incredible, utterly captivating.

“…That replacement actor’s actually pretty good,” Kusuda heard the woman beside him mutter, the same one who’d been grumbling just moments ago. He couldn’t help but smile.

Ivan had been excellent the night before, but Akizawa had a different energy to him—something darker. At first, Kusuda had been hyperaware of the reactions around him, but before long, he found himself swept into the world of the story, every outside sound falling away.

The father’s unraveling—his fury, like crashing waves, swelling with every betrayal by his daughters—swept over the audience with relentless pressure. The negative energy spilled out from the stage and dragged everyone down into a heavy, shadowed place. The two hours flew by in what felt like a blink. Kusuda sat hunched over, his hands clasped at his mouth to contain his breath. When the father, played by Akizawa, died and the curtain fell, it took only a scattered few claps to spark a roar of applause that thundered like an earthquake. The woman who had been grumbling earlier about “never even heard of the stand-in actor” was now weeping openly, giving a standing ovation.

Even after the curtain call, the audience was reluctant to leave. People turned to each other—those they’d come with, or even strangers beside them—and started talking about the world they had just been pulled into by the actors. Some were already making plans to buy tickets for the evening show.

Kusuda remained seated, letting the lingering warmth of it all soak through him, right to his fingertips. Akizawa could move people—truly move them—with his acting. In everyday life, he was thoughtless and inconsiderate, but the characters he portrayed had weight and depth. The personas he brought to life felt like people he himself would never be capable of becoming, and yet he embodied them so completely that it felt as if something had possessed him on stage. The emotions spilling from Kusuda couldn’t be stopped. He wanted to rewatch all of Akizawa’s old dramas again.

“Excuse me, folks, we’re closing the theater now. If you could please move to the lobby—” came a familiar voice. Turning, Kusuda saw Jessica standing at the far left aisle.

“Oh, it was you, Kusuda,” she said, her tone instantly softening. “You weren’t moving at all. I thought maybe you were asleep or dead. You came again today, huh?”

“Yeah… once I heard Akizawa would be stepping in.”

Even as he spoke, the sensation of being swept away hadn’t faded. It all still felt unreal. Despite having just asked people to move to the lobby, Jessica made her way down the row and sat beside him.

“I caught the show from the wings,” she said. “Douglas was practically foaming at the mouth, yelling, ‘That man is either an idiot or an arrogant bastard.’ I figured if he flopped, I’d have a good laugh… but damn it, I ended up glued to it.”

She sighed deeply and rubbed her forehead.

“For a guy like him, the gods gave him way too much talent. I mean, really, wouldn’t it have been enough for him to be good at peeling potatoes or drinking milk fast or something?”

Kusuda couldn’t help but laugh.

“But that talent is part of who Akizawa is.”

Jessica gave a small nod. “Maybe you’re right. It really was a great performance. But still, I don’t like the guy as a person.”

Then she turned toward him. “I was just talking to Douglas, actually. He said he’d never seen a more complete actor than Akizawa. During the morning run-through, he didn’t mess up a single line. His timing with the other actors was so perfect it was creepy. To be able to memorize everything after watching the show once—it’s not normal. He said Akizawa’s probably a monster on the inside.”

“That’s… quite the metaphor.”

“I mean it,” Jessica said seriously. “In a good way, and a bad way. Watching him, it felt like he just kept expanding on stage, taking over the entire performance. The other actors were doing their best to keep up, but in the end, they were just left behind. Even if he’s an amazing actor, that man has no desire to build something together with others on stage… Still, considering everything that happened yesterday, I think he was the only one who could have pulled it off. It was the best thing for Rita.”

Jessica invited him to stop by the dressing room, but Kusuda declined. He wanted to savor the afterglow by himself. At the reception desk, he bought a ticket for the evening show too, then wandered through the city. Everything looked the same as usual, but the streets felt unreal—as if he were still walking through the world of that stage.

While eating a quick dinner at a fast food joint, Kusuda searched social media using keywords like Rita, charity, and stage play. Praise for Akizawa’s King Lear poured in post after post. Some echoed what Jessica had said earlier—“The stand-in actor was excellent, but the overall performance lacked cohesion.”

As time passed, his nerves settled, and the evening performance began. Since it was his second time watching, Kusuda expected to stay more composed this round, but that hope vanished quickly. Akizawa’s immersion in the role had only deepened. His performance carried even more weight now. Kusuda was shaken to discover that the hopelessness from the earlier show hadn’t been the end—there had been something even darker beyond that. A nauseating despair emanated from this version of Lear. A few audience members couldn’t bear the intensity and left mid-show.

After the evening show, Kusuda visited the dressing room. Akizawa was sitting in a chair, staring off into space, radiating an aura that warned against casual conversation. It was like the despair-ridden mindset of Lear hadn’t released its grip on him yet—he’d become too absorbed in the role to shake it off.

Despite the earlier chaos, all three performances had concluded successfully. There was to be a wrap party at Douglas's apartment, and Akizawa had been invited as a key player—but he was muttering incoherently about how “his daughter had died” and “the Texas wind stank of youth,” making it clear conversation was impossible. He eventually explained to Douglas and the cast that he had trouble disengaging from his roles after a performance, and with Jessica’s help, Kusuda managed to settle him on the office sofa to rest.

Even on the way to the office, Akizawa walked hunched, glancing about as though frightened. Once laid down, the exhaustion of performing two full shows in a day hit him hard—he was asleep within moments. The makeup for Lear still clung to his face, but the relaxed muscles of his cheeks had softened him back into the familiar Akizawa. Kusuda sat in a chair a little ways away, watching his sleeping face in silence. An hour passed like that. When the building manager came in saying it was time to lock up, Kusuda called out loudly. Akizawa stirred and slowly rose. After splashing some water on his face and removing his makeup in the washroom, he returned with a clearer, lighter expression.

They walked the night streets together, the air filled with neon signs, the glow of twenty-four-hour cafes and clubs. Unless one stepped into an alley, it was bright enough to pass for early evening. With the role finally out of his system, Akizawa, in a spoiled, petulant tone, sighed, “It’s like yesterday ended in a blink of an eye.”

“I’ve only got one more day left in New York,” Akizawa said.

“You were incredible today,” Kusuda said, honestly and from the heart.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Akizawa placed a hand on his chest in relief. “I didn’t care about the charity stuff. None of that mattered to me. But since you said you wanted to see me perform, I was fired up. When I was onstage, I could feel your eyes on me. That made me really happy. I mean, you usually look away when our eyes meet.”

“…Sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s been a while since I performed, and it was fun. A bit tiring, though.”

“Yeah, it must’ve been exhausting physically, too… You say you didn’t care about volunteering, but the fact is, because you stepped in, the show could go on, and that helped Rita. Everyone’s grateful. You should rest well tonight.”

“Mm.”

A talent so overflowing it felt sinful to be jealous of. Kusuda found himself remembering vividly what it was that first drew him to this man.

He suddenly had the urge to kiss the figure walking ahead of him. He didn’t know why it welled up so strongly—it was the kind of emotion that sneaks up out of nowhere, like a trip on uneven pavement. He wanted to kiss him. And yet, the fear of reaching out first, of touching him, still held him back. But he wanted to.

Just then, they passed a coffee shop. Kusuda said, “Wait here,” and ducked inside, leaving Akizawa outside. He came back with one sweet latte, took a single sip from it himself, then handed it over.

“You’re giving this to me?”

“It’s too sweet.”

Akizawa smiled and said, “I like sweet stuff,” then reached out to take the latte from Kusuda—careful not to touch him—before bringing his lips to the exact spot Kusuda had just sipped from. They hadn’t touched, not directly, but Kusuda’s lips trembled all the same.

He must’ve been staring too much, because Akizawa offered the drink again, asking, “Do you want more?” Kusuda accepted it, and with lips that were still faintly shaking, he placed his mouth against the lid. Something soft and warm burst open in his chest with a quiet pop. Sweet. Incredibly sweet.

“Where should we go tomorrow?” Kusuda asked, surprising himself by initiating the invitation.

“Uh, um…” Akizawa started listing off tourist spots, but in the end said, “Wherever you want to go, Masahiko, I’ll go,” and smiled.

Snow fell gently onto that smiling man’s hair. Light and fluffy, it drifted down from above. They both tilted their heads up at the same time.

“It’s snowing,” Akizawa murmured.

If it really piled up, Kusuda wanted to go to Central Park. He wanted to walk with Akizawa through a world turned white, quiet and magical beneath the snow. …He found himself wishing for morning to come quickly, for the snow to settle thick upon the ground. The feelings that had woken up inside him for the first time in years made him feel awkward and itchy under the skin. Kusuda shifted his weight from one foot to the other feeling anxious.

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