COLD THE FINAL: Chapter 9

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COLD HEART – Halloween

By mid-October, New York had completely changed its outfit and turned into autumn. The trees in Central Park were flushed with color, and every store had burst into Halloween hues of orange and black, decked out in pumpkin-themed decorations. The entire city took on a festive air. “Already that time of year again. It'll start getting cold soon.” The shift helped him mentally brace himself for the coming chill.

As he walked the uneven pavement, Kusuda reflected on how much of our seasonal awareness came from what we saw—visual cues like these. Back when he was a student, he'd known the word "Halloween," but never really thought about what it meant. He’d looked at it cynically, assuming it was just another foreign holiday Japan was piggybacking on. Yet the moment he started working for CRUX, the accessories brand he’d launched with his brother, he eagerly jumped on the bandwagon and planned a “Halloween Week” fair like it was the most natural thing in the world. People really were fickle.

The Halloween event itself had been well-received, but seasonal promotions came with the risk that merchandise became difficult to sell once the moment passed. After dealing with leftover inventory, they learned their lesson. Now they offered fairs, but with “limited production” and designs that could be used year-round, subtly universal in appearance. In other words, they got craftier.

In Japan, companies—CRUX included—frequently used seasonal festivities to boost sales. But New York was a different beast. Halloween preparations started more than a month in advance, and on the actual day, kids and adults alike would dress up and enjoy the city in costume. One year, when they’d just started prepping the store, Jessica had invited him to a Halloween party through one of her friends. And the spectacle was… overwhelming. Everyone there was decked out in bloody, horror-themed costumes, and the quality of their outfits and makeup was so absurdly high, you’d think an actual corpse could slip in and no one would even notice.

Jessica invited him to the party every year, but he’d only ever gone that once. Foreigners put a lot of weight on communication at parties, and back then, Kusuda’s English hadn’t been good enough to keep up with the flow. He’d felt awkward, out of place. Even now, with enough fluency to carry any conversation with ease, he still couldn’t match the American “let’s enjoy the party with our whole soul!” enthusiasm. And one thing he’d realized after learning to speak English himself: the only people who spoke “beautiful” English were announcers and celebrities. On the streets, it was all over the place—thick southern drawls, Spanish-inflected accents, rapid-fire urban slang from Black neighborhoods. It was like dodging bullets.

Lost in thought, Kusuda finally spotted the store ahead. More precisely, the New York branch of CRUX, the accessory brand his brother designed for. Like the stores back in Japan, the exterior was simple and unadorned. He’d never questioned that aesthetic before, but today, after seeing window displays everywhere decked out in Halloween fanfare, their plain façade struck him as oddly cold and distant. Almost as if they were saying, “We don’t buy into this fluffy holiday nonsense.” That hadn’t been their intention at all.

The accessories his brother designed matched the minimalist vibe of the store. The branding wasn’t wrong. Still, in this season, it might come off as uninviting. Maybe they should consider taking in just a bit of the seasonal atmosphere—just enough to feel part of the city’s rhythm.

When Rob, the former model, had worked as their sales rep, he used to decorate the store for Halloween on his own initiative and sell products dressed as movie characters. He’d been cheerful, full of humor—but then he fell in love with bagel sandwiches and ended up taking a job at a deli.

The new hire who replaced Rob as a salesperson was a 24-year-old Spanish-American named Debbie. Unlike Rob, who used to bring a sense of fun and playfulness to the workplace, Debbie was strictly business—she only worked during her scheduled hours and never did anything she wasn’t explicitly told to. If Kusuda wanted to decorate the store, he'd have to do it himself, and considering his utter lack of design sense, he felt a little uneasy about it.

Today’s lunch had been a quick burger and coffee from a fast-food joint, so he still had about thirty minutes left in his break. Technically, as the "branch manager," he could take longer without anyone calling him out, but he'd stuck with the one-hour lunch break out of habit—just like he had when working in Japan. Walking past his own store, he headed toward a busier street and began snapping photos of every Halloween-decorated shop window he could find with his smartphone. Even if he didn’t have much of a design sense, he figured he could just mimic one of the displays he liked.

Cafés and boutique shops had some truly stylish decorations. Markets and produce shops tended to be more haphazard and cluttered, but that chaos had its own charm too. They were all interesting, but it was a bat-themed display in a bookstore window that Kusuda fell in love with. CRUX had a bat-themed accessory line right now. Bats were a Halloween staple—why not take advantage of the timing and put that line in the spotlight?

He considered buying materials after work and doing the decorating at night so it wouldn't interfere with sales. Then again, slapping something together without a clear concept would just look tacky. The afternoon was set aside for desk work, but it wasn't a particularly busy day. If he had a free moment, he could sit down and brainstorm ideas. Maybe even ask Guinness, the office assistant, for input if she wasn’t swamped.

Before he realized it, he’d wandered near the ham shop where Rob now worked. Their bagel sandwiches were absolutely incredible, and Kusuda was a huge fan, but the place was always so popular that the lunch lines could get ridiculous. Today was no different—at least twenty people were lined up already. Rob was currently helping a customer: a tall, slender man with impossibly long legs. Even from behind, his proportions were perfect—he could easily be a model. In New York, models and actors, both famous and wannabes, were as common as pebbles on the street.

Once, Jessica had taken him to a trendy restaurant that was nearly impossible to get into. A friend of hers, an actress, worked there part-time as a waitress, and thanks to that connection, they’d managed to sneak in despite the three-month wait list. At the next table sat a renowned movie actor. Another time, a teen idol musician had wandered into the CRUX shop. In this city, celebrity sightings just weren’t a big deal.

Rob spotted him mid-shift and flashed a thumbs-up. Kusuda raised his hand in return. The model-esque customer standing across from Rob turned around. And the moment Kusuda realized who it was, his brain short-circuited.

That customer—bagel in one hand and dragging a suitcase so large a person could probably fit inside—was heading straight for him. Why is he in New York? He wasn’t supposed to arrive until next week. I’m not ready for this—

Stopping just a meter in front of him, Kaito Akizawa beamed and asked, “How did you know I was here?” with a smile so bright it could knock the wind out of you.

“Uh… I was just passing by…”

The tremor in his voice betrayed how flustered he was.

“Really? I skipped the in-flight meal and slept the whole time on the plane. Came straight from the airport, but once I got here, I got super hungry. I was planning to have lunch with you, Masahiko, but I ended up a little late 'cause of the line at Rob’s place,” Akizawa said, pointing toward the still-long queue behind him.

“What about work? I thought your schedule was packed until next week.”

“Ah, that…”

Akizawa gave the large suitcase beside him a light slap.

"The director of the movie I was supposed to be in—what country was he from again? I forgot—but anyway, he went back to his home country. I don’t know the details, but Kuma said the whole project might fall apart. If I stayed in Japan, Kuma was going to jam my schedule full of new work, so I just left a note at the agency and ran off. I was coming here in a week anyway, so what’s the difference?"

It didn’t seem like he had completely abandoned his responsibilities, and that, at least, was a relief.

Every night at exactly 10 p.m., Akizawa made a video call to New York. Their conversations lasted about fifteen minutes. Kusuda had told him that long calls were exhausting on nights before work, so they kept it short. Sometimes, if Kusuda was out or couldn’t answer, there would be a message waiting for him instead.

He was rebuilding the relationship—slowly, carefully—like stacking dirt one fistful at a time with the very man he’d once run away from. Akizawa had been scheduled to arrive in New York next week, and during his stay, he was supposed to stay at Kusuda’s apartment.

When Akizawa had brought it up over the phone—asking if he could stay at Kusuda’s place—Kusuda had felt the blood drain from his body. "Staying over" immediately translated to "sex" in his mind, and he couldn't believe Akizawa had the nerve to suggest such a thing.

Talking was fine. He could handle being within about a meter’s distance. That was his limit. But suddenly, staying over? His wounds hadn’t healed yet. Couldn’t Akizawa think about taking things step by step, at a pace that didn’t rip him apart? The anger had welled up before he could stop it.

When I come to New York, I just want to stay close to you, Masahiko. So it’d be best if I stayed at your place. But don’t worry. I won’t come near you until you say it’s okay. I won’t touch you, I swear.”

At first, Kusuda had slammed a steel door shut in his heart—but that promise, that “I won’t touch you,” made him consider cracking it open just a little.

If there’s anything you don’t like, I won’t do it. Just think of me like… a stray cat or something.”

You’re not a cat, you idiot, Kusuda had thought, not saying aloud that Akizawa was more like a temperamental stray dog.

I’ll sleep on the floor. I’ve already bought a sleeping bag and everything.”

At first he thought it was a joke, but Akizawa insisted he’d really bought one. Even though Kusuda hadn’t given him permission to stay—just listening to how happy he sounded made Kusuda’s unease swell until he could barely breathe. He realized his nerves wouldn’t hold out and finally told Akizawa clearly, on one of their calls: “I don’t want you staying at my place.”

‘Huh? Why not?’

When Kusuda didn’t answer, Akizawa asked, ‘Are you… still afraid of me?’

“That’s part of it. But mostly… you keep deciding things on your own without asking me.”

Akizawa fell silent. Neither said a word. The silence stretched.

‘…I didn’t think you’d say no,’ Akizawa finally murmured, sounding dejected.

‘I just thought… if I didn’t touch you, if I just stayed nearby, it’d be okay.’

Kusuda sat with the phone pressed to his ear, eyes cast down.

“After things got messy between us, I couldn’t even watch your movies or dramas, or hear your voice. Even the photos for the CRUX novelties were too much. It’s gotten a little better now… I can handle seeing the ‘you that’s acting’… and now I’m okay being around you, talking to you… but spending the whole day together is still a bit much for me, emotionally.”

‘When you’re in a relationship, you’re supposed to be together all the time, you know.’

Kusuda took in a small breath.

‘You sleep together, eat together, and when you’re not working, you’re always together. I want you to get used to that too, the way you’ve gotten used to talking to me. I don’t care about sex. If you really can’t, then we’ll never have to do it again, not for the rest of our lives. I just want to be by your side.’

Kusuda understood what he was saying. But he still wanted space. Without that, he’d spend every moment tightly wound. And then there was the fear—even if he’d decided to trust Akizawa, could he really? His mind was spinning in loops.

“I might get used to it eventually, but for now…”

Akizawa fell silent. Then he said, ‘Okay.’

‘I’ll give up on staying at your place.’

He relented. Kusuda had expected him to push back more—after all, he’d said he’d already bought a sleeping bag. But one refusal from Kusuda, and he gave up. That surprised him.

‘But… but I really want you to get used to me, soon.’

A man who had once only known how to force his will on others had learned restraint. It was like the fog inside Kusuda’s mind—clouded and grey like a stormy sky—began to lift.

He could’ve kept avoiding him. If he hadn’t gone to Jessica’s place that summer, they never would’ve seen each other again. If he’d told Akizawa to stop sending letters, that could’ve ended everything. But still, he’d chosen to meet him. Maybe he wanted to fix things too.

Talking on the phone didn’t make him nervous anymore. Even if Akizawa visited, as long as Kusuda kept things at his pace, he could manage. But how long could he keep it up like that? Akizawa had said he wanted to “always be together.” That was extreme, but still… what they were aiming for wasn’t this in-between.

Akizawa was trying to change. He was learning patience. Making an effort. And maybe, Kusuda thought, maybe I’m the one who needs to stop hiding behind the past and take a step forward.

It felt like a kind of shock therapy, but maybe it was worth trying. If it failed, they could try again. And again. Kusuda squeezed his fists tight.

“…Alright.”

‘What?’

“You can stay over.”

‘Wait, really?’

His voice leapt.

‘You just said no a minute ago.’

“I’ve been thinking. You had a point. You can stay. But being with you constantly is… pressure for me. You might not understand that, but that’s how it is. So if I ever say I can’t do it, that I need space—you’ll go to a hotel. That’s the condition.”

It was a decision that took courage. Akizawa’s reply came quickly and lightly. ‘Okay! I’m happy!’

‘I’ll try really hard not to get kicked out.’

Something felt… off about that response, but Kusuda could only mutter an “yeah” in reply. At that time, Akizawa’s stay was still about a month away.

After that, Kusuda began preparing—both emotionally and physically—to welcome him.

Akizawa had said he’d sleep in a sleeping bag, but Kusuda couldn’t let a professional actor, whose body was his livelihood, sleep on the floor. Especially not for a week-long stay. In Japan, he’d just buy an extra futon, but America was a different story—no shoes inside, but bulky furniture didn’t exactly suit his small apartment.

He went to a big furniture warehouse in Brooklyn on the weekend, but the kind of compact, foldable, affordable mattress he’d had in mind didn’t exist. The large mattresses were too big and would be a storage problem once Akizawa left.

In the end, he left the store without buying anything. Feeling hungry, he stopped for a quick meal at an open café, and as he wandered afterward, he stumbled upon a couch sitting out on the street. It had metal-framed armrests and was about two meters wide. The fabric of the seat was torn at the edges, but otherwise, it wasn’t all that dirty. It was deep enough to serve as a bed. Kusuda paced around it for a while. In New York, it’s common to see furniture abandoned on the sidewalks. While some people host garage sales, others just leave things out with an unspoken “Take it if you want” attitude. There are often surprisingly good finds, and they’re picked up quickly.

After about ten minutes of lingering, a young man with Arab features emerged from the apartment building across the street. Kusuda asked him, “I’m thinking about taking this couch, do you know if it was thrown out?” The man glanced at it and replied indifferently, “It’s been there since yesterday, so probably,” before briskly walking away.

Kusuda called Jessica to consult her. She happened to be free on her day off and agreed to help. One of her friends brought a truck, and they were able to transport the couch to the office with ease.

“Not bad at all,” Jessica said with a smile, flopping down on the salvaged couch that had been placed along the wall. She pinched the torn part of the seat fabric with her fingers.

“It’s lovely, but this fabric is at its limit.”

“It’s fine,” Kusuda replied. “I’m planning to throw a sheet over it.”

“A sheet?” Jessica tilted her head. “Why a sheet? Wait… are you planning to use it as a bed? Is someone staying over?”

Her probing gaze made him squirm. Akizawa was planning to stay for almost a week, and Kusuda realized there was no hiding it.

“…Akizawa is…”

Jessica let out a strangled cry in English. “Jesus.”

“You’re not serious about letting that man stay here!”

“H-he promised he wouldn’t touch me.”

“Well, obviously!” she snapped.

Jessica whipped her red hair over her shoulder, then slumped with her arm resting on the couch’s armrest, sighing heavily.

“I never thought I’d feel like this—as if I had a teenage daughter bringing home some terrible boyfriend. And I’m not even planning to marry a man or have kids!”

“It’s going to be okay. Akizawa has changed,” Kusuda tried to reassure her.

Jessica glared at him.

“That’s what I can’t believe. Watching you get caught up in some toxic man’s spell is agony. Listen—if you want a partner, I can introduce you to someone. Guy or girl, someone decent.”

He couldn’t respond. Jessica softened and said, “Sorry. I know… I know that’s not what this is about. I just had to say it.”

He had planned to treat her to dinner to thank her, but she simply said she was tired and left. After that, she became harder to reach, and they hadn’t seen each other since.

As Kusuda made preparations to welcome Akizawa—physically and mentally—he gradually began to steel himself. They would sleep in the same room. Nothing would happen. That was the promise. But even with that promise, anxiety would creep in from time to time. And now, without warning, Akizawa had arrived a whole week early.

All the mental progress Kusuda had made started racing through his mind in a dizzying blur. Even if he had been preparing himself, he wasn’t ready—not yet.

“I came a little early, but it’s okay, right? I heard you even got a couch ready for me to sleep on.”

True, there was a place for him to sleep. Still… noticing Kusuda’s silence, Akizawa bent down to peer into his face.

“Masahiko? What’s wrong?”

Though it wasn’t cold, sweat formed along his brow. Kusuda clutched at the front of his shirt.

“Y-you just showed up out of nowhere… and then you say you’re staying… I mean, I’m not… mentally… prepared…”

“It’s fine!” Akizawa beamed, puffing out his chest.

“I don’t mind if it’s messy or anything!”

At those words, everything Kusuda had been holding in overflowed all at once.

“You might be fine with it, but I’m not!”

The words burst out in a shout before he could stop them. Akizawa, who had been smiling, opened his eyes wide in shock.

"It’s not about the bed or the room or anything like that," Kusuda burst out. "It’s a matter of how I feel. You staying at my place puts an incredible amount of pressure on me. We talked about this on the phone. I decided to let you stay because I wanted to do something about that, to change it. That’s why I was trying to get myself mentally ready before you came. But then you show up all of a sudden, changing the plans, and my heart just can’t catch up."

He rattled off the words in one breath. His head was pounding with agitation. Akizawa stared down at him, lips parted in surprise, then slowly lowered his eyes with a guilty look.

“…Should I go stay at a hotel?”

His voice was quiet and subdued, and Kusuda blinked, caught off guard.

“I mean, maybe I said something that upset you, but I didn’t mean to… I’ll listen to whatever you say, okay? Please don’t be mad.”

Embarrassment flooded Kusuda. His face burned with heat. After all, he had told Akizawa he could stay. It wasn’t unreasonable for Akizawa to assume the invitation still stood, even if he showed up a bit early. It was just Kusuda who hadn’t been able to handle the curveball, and now he was the one spiraling.

“So please don’t be mad. I just really wanted to see you, that’s why I came to New York.”

That dejected voice stabbed him right in the chest. The grip he had on his own jacket loosened, and he found he couldn’t look Akizawa in the face. Neither of them said a word. Two men standing motionless in the middle of the street in complete silence.

"...Say something," Kusuda finally muttered, unable to stand the silence anymore.

"But if I say anything, you’ll probably just get mad again," Akizawa said, sounding genuinely lost.

Kusuda was just as scared and jittery, and Akizawa clearly didn’t know how to deal with him either. Kusuda pressed his hand against his forehead.

"Let’s sit down somewhere. I need to calm down a little."

"How about the park?" Akizawa said immediately, pointing to a nearby park.

Kusuda started walking ahead, keeping a three-meter distance, while Akizawa followed with his huge suitcase rumbling behind him, crushing the dry leaves scattered along the path. The first long bench near the entrance came into view, and Kusuda sat on one end. Akizawa glanced at him, then took the opposite end as if they were strangers.

“Want a bagel?”

He nudged the paper bag toward Kusuda across the bench. Kusuda wasn’t hungry—he’d just had lunch—but the awkward silence was unbearable, so he accepted one. “Thanks. I’ll have one,” he said, grabbing one and pushing the bag back. Akizawa drew it toward himself and promptly bit into another bagel, devouring it with such speed it was obvious he hadn’t eaten all day. He had mentioned skipping the in-flight meal.

When he was done, he licked the sauce from his fingers like a cat.

A young woman in a bomber jacket passed by holding a green paper coffee cup, and the faint scent of coffee lingered in the air. It was getting a bit chilly, and Kusuda felt the craving for something warm. As he began to rise, Akizawa’s voice snapped at him.

“Where are you going?”

“…To get some coffee.”

“I’ll go.”

“You got me the bagel. I’ll pay for the coffee.”

“No—it’s fine. I’ll go. Just coffee, right? I’ll be right back.”

Before Kusuda could argue, Akizawa shot to his feet and dashed out of the park.

With the storm that was Akizawa gone for a moment, the turmoil in Kusuda’s chest finally settled into stillness, and he could start digesting reality. Akizawa had had a work-related issue and ended up coming to New York a week early. He expected to stay at Kusuda’s place. That was all—plans had just been pushed forward slightly. The shock was understandable, but now that things were clearer, it wasn’t such a big deal.

Soon enough, Akizawa returned, rustling through the fallen leaves. He approached the bench with two coffee cups in hand, but as he was about to hand one over, he stopped. Instead, he sat back down at the far end and placed the cup in the middle of the bench—like someone trying to feed a cautious stray cat, gauging its response. As Kusuda reached for the cup, he could feel Akizawa’s gaze fixed on every motion.

“…Thanks.”

When Kusuda thanked him, Akizawa’s expression relaxed with relief. Kusuda took a sip of the warm coffee in his hands—it was delicious.

“Masahiko, is work keeping you busy?”

The question was so neutral and inoffensive, it felt almost disarming.

“Not really. Things are pretty calm at the moment.”

“I’ll head to the hotel after this. But… would you have dinner with me tonight?”

He had no plans for the evening.

“…Yeah. Sure.”

With his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, Akizawa gave a slight shrug. At first Kusuda thought he might be cold, but looking at him more closely, he realized it was a gesture of quiet joy.

“I’ll make a reservation at a restaurant then. What time do you usually close up the shop?”

The paper coffee cup was printed in black and orange—Halloween colors. That’s right, the store display…

“Actually, before dinner, I wanted to go shopping for a bit—”

“Shopping?” Akizawa cut in with a clearly displeased frown. Kusuda wanted to tease him—Wow, you make your dislikes so obvious.

“I’m thinking of doing a Halloween-themed display for the store. Wanted to pick up some decorations.”

Akizawa tilted his head, then leaned over the invisible line on the bench that separated them.

“I’ve got time—I’ll go get them! What kind of setup are you thinking?”

“I haven’t really decided yet. I was just planning to use some store displays as inspiration. Like this one, for example.”

Kusuda opened the photos on his phone and displayed the one he’d taken at the bookstore earlier, placing the phone in the middle of the bench. Akizawa picked it up and gave a nod of understanding.

“Ah, this kind of vibe. Looks fun. I want to try doing something like this.”

This isn’t elementary school arts and crafts, Kusuda almost muttered—but Akizawa had once studied metalworking under Masamitsu. And as an actor and model, he’d likely had exposure to stage design and top-tier aesthetics. He might actually have a more refined eye than Kusuda. When he thought about it that way, it was clear he was the one with less experience—hardly in a position to judge.

“Wanna give it a shot?”

“Really!?” Akizawa clenched his fists in excitement.

“Go ahead and do what you like. Just make it tasteful, alright?”

“Okay! This is getting exciting. I’ll start sketching out some ideas now… oh, but I don’t have any paper or pencils on me.”

“We’ve got supplies at the office. Want to work there?”

“Yeah!”

Kusuda glanced at his watch. Lunch break was nearly over.

“I’ve got to get back to work. Come with me.”

“Okay! …Wait, just a sec—I’ll drop my stuff off at the hotel first. I’d prefer somewhere near CRUX, but all the hotels I’ve used before are kind of far. I’ll find something now.”

As he tapped away on his phone, his expression was serious. He genuinely intended to stay at a hotel. That alone made everything clear.

“You can stay at my place.”

Akizawa flinched visibly and slowly turned back to look at him.

“Talking things out helped me settle down. But the conditions are the same as before—no getting close, no touching. Got it?”

Akizawa nodded rapidly, blurting, “Y-Yeah! Yeah!” over and over again, his face lit up with a ridiculously delighted smile. That look stirred a vague, nameless anxiety inside Kusuda—but this was one of those things he had to face and overcome. He’d already made that decision.

When he brought Akizawa to the office, Guinness the office assistant looked startled at the sight of all the luggage. Upon learning Akizawa would be staying in Kusuda’s room for nearly two weeks, she remarked with exasperation, “That place is barely bigger than a bathroom. You’ll suffocate in there.”

After Akizawa dropped off his things, he settled at the guest table in the office and started sketching ideas for the store display. For about an hour, he worked with feverish focus, then stood up and, from about two meters away, held out a sheet of paper.

“I was thinking… something like this.”

Kusuda had envisioned something simple—maybe hanging a few bat mobiles from the ceiling, putting some themed gel stickers on the windows. But what Akizawa handed him was entirely different. The drawing showed gnarled branches arranged to cover the storefront windows, with a giant spider poised atop them. The same branches would also be used inside the shop, transforming it into something closer to a jungle than a retail space.

It looked less like a store display and more like a movie set. The sense of style was undeniable—even setting aside personal bias, it was genuinely impressive. But then reality sank in. How much was this going to cost?

Kusuda glanced sideways at Akizawa and found him watching expectantly, eyes practically sparkling. It was a solid design, Akizawa was clearly invested, and Kusuda couldn’t deny that having him take this on would be a huge help. Still…

Just then, Guinness leaned in from behind to peek at the sketch and murmured, “Oh, how lovely.” That one line made him brace himself. Fine. He’d write it off as an advertising expense. If he thought of it as hiring a professional designer, the cost would be justifiable.

“All right, let’s go with this,” he said, handing the sketch back. Akizawa clutched it with both hands and pumped a quiet fist into the air. “Yes!”

“If you need anything, take care of it on your end. I’ll reimburse you for everything afterward—can you cover it upfront for now?”

Akizawa tilted his head, and Kusuda realized the price might run high. Maybe asking him to front the money all of a sudden wasn’t reasonable.

“I could give you some cash now if—”

“I’m good!” Akizawa chirped, retreating a few steps. “I’ll be right back!” And with that, he bolted out of the office.

Guinness, who had been watching him disappear, turned to Kusuda. “Where did he go?”

They had been speaking in Japanese, so she hadn’t followed the conversation. She could manage greetings thanks to the frequent communication with Japan, but most of their conversations went over her head.

“He went to pick up supplies for the display,” Kusuda explained in English.

“I see…” She touched her cheek thoughtfully. “But… he’s not really familiar with New York, is he? Do you think he knows where to go?”

Now that she mentioned it, he hadn’t asked a single thing. Kusuda quickly opened the window and looked down toward the sidewalk, but Akizawa was already gone.

By the time the clock passed five, dusk was settling in. The orange-tinted sunlight streaming in through the window signaled evening was well on its way. The office was quiet, the only sound the clacking of Guinness's keyboard as she worked.

Akizawa had left just after lunch and hadn’t returned since.

Kusuda had his own work to do, and he’d figured Akizawa might enjoy having something to occupy him. But now that he thought about it—Akizawa had only just arrived from Japan that day. He had said he skipped the in-flight meal, which probably meant he’d been passed out the whole trip. And as soon as he landed, he’d been hit with Kusuda’s outburst, followed immediately by being roped into helping with a store display. If Kusuda had truly been thinking of him, he should’ve let him rest in the next room instead.

Before criticizing Akizawa for lacking consideration, Kusuda needed to reflect on his own behavior. If Akizawa still hadn’t come back by now, he was probably running all over the city hunting down supplies. But this wasn’t a rush job—if they skipped the Halloween display altogether, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. He should have said from the start that there was no need to hurry.

Regret gnawed at him. He called Akizawa several times, but all he got was an error message saying the call couldn’t go through. Still hopeful, he was reaching for his phone again when the office landline rang. It was the internal line—Debbie, the sales clerk downstairs.

“It’s me. What’s up?” he answered.

“Branch Manager,” Debbie’s usually calm voice was tense and pitched unusually high.

“The store is being destroyed!”

“Destroyed—what, did some punks come in?”

New York was considered relatively safe, but pickpocketing and robberies still happened far more than in Japan.

“No, it’s just—this guy said he had your permission, but I can’t possibly allow this. It’s absolutely insane!”

Something serious was clearly happening. Kusuda left Guinness with a quick “I’m going to check the store,” and rushed down the interior stairs to the first floor. When he stepped into the shop, the lighting inside was noticeably dimmer than usual. Debbie, standing behind the counter, hurried over and pointed toward the windows. “Those guys just showed up out of nowhere and won’t stop no matter how many times I ask!”

Kusuda turned his gaze in the direction she was pointing—and was stunned. Two-thirds of the large glass storefront facing the sidewalk had been boarded up from the outside. It looked messy from the inside, like crude vandalism, but once he rushed out onto the street, he saw an entirely different world.

Outside, it was a whole new scene. Thick branches, each two to three meters long, had been layered across where the window used to be, forming a dense forest-like wall. The branches that didn’t cover the glass were arranged in a way that still allowed passersby to peek inside the store.

A coarse man in his sixties—East Asian by the look of him—was using a drill to secure the branches with a loud ga-ga-ga noise. Nearby, a man with darker skin and South American features stood atop a ladder, positioning a giant spider sculpture. And the one holding the spider’s leg from below, supporting it in place, was Akizawa.

People passing on the street had stopped to watch, intrigued by the spectacle. Even to the untrained eye, the quality of this display was clearly on another level—even before it was finished.

“Oh, Masahiko!” Akizawa, still holding up the spider, spotted him.

“How’s this for the decoration?” he asked with a bright grin.

Kusuda, unable to form a response, stepped slightly closer—just enough to be heard. “These guys… who are they?”

“That’s Goro and Ricky,” Akizawa explained. “They’re set builders—like, actual prop guys from movies and TV. The older guy is Goro, the boss. He’s half-Japanese, half-British, so he’s fluent in both Japanese and English. He helped me out a lot during one of the shoots here in New York. The one on the ladder is Ricky, his assistant.”

So they were professionals. That much was clear. Still—

“I was gonna do the display myself, but then I realized… I don’t actually know how,” Akizawa continued, laughing. “So I sent a photo of the design sketch to Goro and asked how to pull it off. But explaining it over the phone was too much trouble, and he said he was bored at home anyway, so he offered to help. His place is right here in Brooklyn—not far at all.”

As he spoke, the installation kept moving along. The spider was now fully fixed in place, so Akizawa stepped away from the ladder and walked toward Kusuda, stopping at a respectful distance of about a meter.

“Goro’s storage space is full of wild stuff—tons of props from famous films and stuff. We picked out some usable pieces and brought them over.”

“Hey, Akizawa, give me a hand over here,” Goro called out, still working the drill.

“Be right there,” Akizawa gestured before glancing back to Kusuda. “We’ll do the inside next, too!”

He jogged back toward the workers. The sheer scale of the whole thing had Kusuda floored, but he had to remind himself—he’d asked for this. He hadn’t put any restrictions on the size or budget. He couldn’t very well start complaining now.

What had started as a casual thought—a little festive touch might be nice—had become a full-blown production. He’d figured Akizawa would spend the day picking up supplies and maybe start decorating at night or on a weekend. Who on earth would have expected him to show up with professional set builders?

Kusuda returned inside the shop and explained the situation to a still-displeased Debbie: the display had turned out to be much more elaborate than expected, and since the installation would soon move indoors, the shop wouldn’t be able to conduct normal business. Even though it was earlier than closing time, he told her they’d be closing for the day.

Debbie tapped her finger irritably against the register counter, making no effort to hide her displeasure. “I don’t mind closing the shop,” she said, “but what about my pay?” Kusuda couldn’t help but think, Well, she’s nothing if not direct, but he replied, “You’ll be paid as if you worked your full hours, don’t worry.” The moment she heard that, the corners of her mouth lifted into a wide, brilliant smile. “Okay, I’ll go ahead and close out the register now,” she chirped, and immediately began bustling around with the closing procedures.

Shortly after, the Japanese craftsman everyone had been calling Goro came into the shop and asked, in Japanese, “Where’s the power outlet?”

“I’d like to test the lighting setup.”

Kusuda connected the cord Goro handed him to an extension and plugged it into the outlet near the entrance. Even from inside, he could see the lights outside beginning to twinkle. Curious to see how it looked, he hurried outside.

The little forest of branches now framing the window glowed softly with strings of lights, casting a gentle spotlight on the spider and gravestone props nestled among them. Despite the many elements, the unified color palette gave the whole thing a clean, chic aesthetic. It was festive without being garish. It rode the Halloween spirit perfectly while still preserving CRUX’s brand image. Was this all part of the calculation? If so, it was nothing short of impressive.

“It’s amazing—perfect,” Kusuda murmured, his voice trembling with excitement.

Goro puffed his chest out with pride. “Piece of cake.”

With the exterior decorations finished, the three men moved on to the interior of the store. From inside, the rough structural work behind the window display was plainly visible. To hide that, deep green velvet curtains were hung from the ceiling. In the corners, bundles of dead branches and tombstone props were set up, while lifelike bat figurines dangled from the ceiling.

“These bat props were used in a horror film back in the day. CGI wasn’t a thing yet, so we made hundreds of these by hand,” Goro said, reminiscing fondly as he moved swiftly from task to task.

Kusuda wandered the store restlessly, hoping to be of help, but watching the three work in perfect, wordless synchronization, he realized he’d only be getting in their way. Accepting that it was best left to the pros, he returned to the second-floor office.

There, he explained the situation to Guinness, who helped him tidy up the office space. They set the table and ordered in a generous amount of food so the team could sit down to a proper meal later.

When Kusuda invited the men to come upstairs and eat, they declined, opting to continue working straight through. It wasn’t until after 8 p.m., once the entire store had been completely transformed, that they finally came up to the office to eat.

While they ate, Kusuda went downstairs to walk through the newly decorated store. Even the register area had been adorned with bats and spiders. Every corner had been meticulously styled. He was two hundred percent satisfied.

Then he stepped outside.

With the interior lights now on, the uncovered sections of the velvet curtain allowed warm light to stream through the tangled branches, casting a magical glow across the display. It was eerie yet beautiful. Even after closing hours, if they kept the lights on until midnight, it would certainly draw attention and delight those passing by.

“Hi there!”

A white man in his thirties, dressed casually in a shirt and shorts, called out to him. Kusuda returned the greeting with a polite smile. The man pointed up toward the office.

“I heard from Ricky there’s a party happening up on the second floor.”

In this country, parties often balloon as acquaintances invite more acquaintances—it was a normal thing. Kusuda brought the man upstairs and had just started to relax when the buzzer rang again downstairs.

This time, it was a Chinese-looking couple—friends of Goro, apparently.

Unexpected guests trickled in one after another, and before long the office had become surprisingly lively. The two heroes of the day, Gorou-san and Ricky, seemed to be having fun, and that much was fine—but the partygoers, loose and tipsy, were starting to turn the place into a disaster zone, spilling beer and flipping over plates of pizza. There was no doubt tomorrow morning would be spent cleaning. If things kept up like this, even his living space might be invaded. Jessica’s voice echoed in the back of his mind—he remembered clearly that bitter experience back when they’d shared the apartment, when a drunk couple at a house party had ended up doing it on his bed. He quietly taped a piece of paper to the door: Please do not enter this room.

The crowd shifted in and out, but at its peak, the cramped office had probably held twenty people. Kusuda had grown weary from multiple trips out to restock the booze, and the accumulated body heat had left him dizzy. He eventually escaped to his room, sticky with sweat. He cracked the window open, and the October chill swept in, soothing the discomfort from his skin. It had been just a normal day—until Akizawa appeared, and then everything accelerated into a blur, culminating in this roaring party.

He tried to sit down on his bed and caught his toe on something. Akizawa’s enormous suitcase toppled over with a thud and burst open from the force, clothes spilling out like a very unwelcome jack-in-the-box. Everything was wrinkled, underwear flipped inside out—clearly a haphazard last-minute stuffing of whatever was lying around. For someone with such a pristine face, the guy had never known how to organize.

Kusuda began shoving the clothes back in, trying to close the lid, when he saw it—something half-hidden among the fabric, metallic and shaped like a horseshoe. What the hell was that? Curious despite himself, he reached in and pulled it out.

When it fully emerged, Kusuda froze. ...Handcuffs. Not real, obviously—probably a replica, a toy. But he shoved it back into the clothes like it burned to the touch. His body trembled. Still shaking, he forced the suitcase shut.

Why... why was that in Akizawa’s luggage? Sure, it was a toy, but why bring something like that all the way to New York? What did he plan to do with it?

He imagined it—himself, wrists bound, unable to move. Sweat pooled under his arms. Terrifying. Truly terrifying. He still couldn’t even be close to Akizawa, touching him took all his resolve—and if that man were to restrain him, trap him, touch him again like before… he’d break. Lose his mind.

And then... sex...

That day—so far removed in his memory—came roaring back in vivid, brutal color. Pain, despair, fear... He fled the room like he was being chased.

"Aah, Masahiko! Hey, guess what—"

He heard Akizawa’s voice calling out as he ran, saw him coming over, beaming with a smile. But the bright, innocent smile looked grotesque and warped to Kusuda now. He’d promised. He’d sworn he wouldn’t do anything even if they shared a room. But he’d brought that. The meekness was an act—once they were alone again, once he let his guard down, wouldn’t it all happen again? Kusuda couldn't take that. Not again. If it happened again, he would die inside. He couldn’t survive it. He was too afraid.

Without answering, he bolted from the office.

Ignoring the voice calling after him, Kusuda sprinted out of the office. The shopfront glowed under the twinkle of tiny lights threaded through the deadwood framing the windows. A stylish, beautifully executed decoration. He’d been so proud of it, so pleased. But now, one sickening toy had tainted it all, turned it into something ominous and hollow.

He ran. After seeing that thing, there was no way he could go back to the room. He couldn’t stay with Akizawa. What was he going to do tonight? Where could he go? Jessica’s face rose in his mind. The first friend he’d made in this city, with her warm heart and red hair—she had opposed the idea of letting Akizawa stay with him from the beginning. And she’d been right. Akizawa hadn’t changed. He wasn’t sorry. Kusuda had pushed past her objections and decided to give him another chance, and now—now what? To run crying back, saying “I was wrong, I can’t do it after all”—that would be too selfish. Too much to ask.

His shoe caught on the edge of a curb and he nearly tripped. He managed to brace himself just in time, barely avoiding a fall—but it was enough to bring him to a halt. He looked back, but there was no sign of that man. This time, he walked slowly. His legs were moving, but he had no destination.

The breeze that had felt so pleasant earlier now stung with a new, biting chill. He had on nothing but a shirt, the untucked hem flapping in the wind. There was no way he could go back to retrieve his jacket. He had no wallet either, so ducking into a pub wasn’t an option. When he checked his back pocket, he miraculously found three dollars. It was just enough to buy a coffee at a fast food joint.

He sat at a small table by the window and stared out blankly. A slow, creeping sense of despair began to eat away at him. What was he even doing? He’d fled all the way to New York, and yet here he was, repeating the same thing all over again. Clutching the paper coffee cup in his hands, he caught sight of his reflection on the plastic lid—what stared back was the pathetic face of a tired, middle-aged man. Come on, you're not young anymore. Get it together already...

A tapping sound came from the glass. He looked up. On the other side of the window, vivid red hair fluttered in the wind. Did she appear because I wished someone would help me?

The fleeting feeling of being saved immediately embarrassed him; he knew it was selfish, and he turned his eyes away. He sensed Jessica moving away from the window. Maybe she had given up on him too.

Before long, he heard the sharp click of heels approaching, and a familiar voice said from above, "Long time no see."

"I saw the shop’s display," Jessica said, stylishly dressed in a trench coat, settling into the seat across from him with a coffee in hand.

“It was really wonderful. Great taste. Which company did you hire?”

She asked it all with a smile, as if there had never been any friction between them.

“I saw the office lights on, so I thought you were still working, but I didn’t expect to find you in a place like this. Maybe my wish to see you actually came true.”

“...Jessica, I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t hold it back—it just came out. Jessica tilted her head.

“What for? Whatever choices you make in life have nothing to do with me. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Her red hair and green eyes always carried a warmth with them—Jessica was just incredibly kind.

“I’ve been wondering for a while now—why are you out here in just a shirt? It’s cold.”

When he didn’t answer, she simply shrugged.

“Well, if it doesn’t bother you, I guess it doesn’t matter. It’s been a while since we talked, so let’s not be so gloomy. Let’s talk about something fun. While I was looking at the shop display, tons of people stopped to admire it. Some even took pictures. I’ve always liked CRUX’s cool brand image, but a display like that—so bold and easy to grasp—was really refreshing. You’ve never really been into store decoration before. What changed?”

The events of the afternoon came rushing through Kusuda’s head like a runaway train. He laced his fingers together tightly on the tabletop.

“Right now... Akizawa is staying at my place…”

The instant he said the name, her green eyes visibly darkened into displeasure.

“That display… Akizawa arranged it. He had some guys he met during a film shoot—set builders—come help out. I figured I’d feed them as thanks, so I set up some food at the office, but then unrelated people started showing up and… it turned into a full-on party…”

Jessica twirled a strand of red hair around her finger and gave a noncommittal “Hmph.”

“So even a man like him can be of some use to you, I suppose.”

When he didn’t say anything, she leaned in slightly, peering into his face. “Hey, did something happen?”

"Nothing happened."

"Nothing happened? And yet here you are, late at night, alone, hunched over a coffee like the world’s ending. Anyone would find that strange."

"Really… nothing happened. It's just…"

"Just what?"

"There was… in Akizawa’s luggage… I mean, it’s just a toy, but… handcuffs."

At that, Jessica’s expression lit up instantly with fury. She had understood everything in an instant.

"That man—what the hell is he thinking!"

She looked ready to storm out and punch him, and Kusuda, startled, blurted out, “N-no, it’s okay!”

"He hasn’t done anything. I mean, really. He promised he wouldn't touch me if he stayed over. I just… I found that thing and panicked. And he showed up out of nowhere today—I wasn’t mentally prepared, that’s all."

"Masahiko, stay at my place tonight."

Jessica reached across the table and gripped his wrist tightly.

"If you go back, he’ll tie you up and rape you. I’d bet a million dollars on it."

"But… maybe it’s for something else… I mean, there might be another reason he brought it—"

Her green eyes shifted to that of someone looking at a pitiable child.

"Masahiko, think logically. People don’t pack things they don’t need. People carry knives or guns because they plan to kill. That’s how it works."

“Handcuffs aren’t… necessarily that dangerous.”

Bang! Jessica slapped her palm against the table.

"Wake up already! You know the truth. The reality is you’re here, sitting in this place alone at night with your head in your hands."

“But he hasn’t done anything yet…”

"You’re being ridiculous. It’s pathetic. It’s a sickness," Jessica said coldly, her voice like a blade.

"You might not see it, but you’re completely contradicting yourself. You ran away because he had handcuffs and it terrified you—then someone points it out and suddenly you’re defending him. You want to trust him, I get that. But the truth is you don’t. If you did, even if you found a gun in his bag, you wouldn’t have run."

Her sharp words gouged into him like blades, leaving him internally bleeding, crippled by the pain.

"You’re underestimating the trauma you carry. You’ve never seen a counselor, never tried to face it properly. And now you’re trying to reconcile with the very person who caused it—without any care or support? From my perspective, that’s insanity."

He had nothing to say in return.

"With your current mental state, having that man sleep in your home was never going to work."

A worker came out, making rounds with a quiet, "We’re closing soon." The remaining customers rose and left swiftly, and Kusuda and Jessica were ushered out as well.

The wind outside was still cold. Not quite freezing, but enough to make him shiver.

"Come to my place," Jessica said.

It would be easier to follow her. There would be no fear—he could sleep without unease. He wanted that. His heart trembled, wavering. But he knew one thing: running wouldn’t solve anything.

"I’ll go back. I’ll talk to Akizawa. I’ll ask him to stay at a hotel. Handcuffs aside… I think I just wasn’t ready for all of this. Thank you, Jessica."

They parted ways in front of the fast food place. Kusuda turned toward the office. But with every step, his feet grew heavier, and heavier still, until he couldn’t move anymore. He kept trying to force himself forward, but his body wouldn’t respond.

Just then, something bumped into his back with a dull thud, jolting him one step forward. When he looked, he found Jessica, who should have already gone home, wrapping her arm around his.

"I feel like getting drunk," she said, her voice casual. "The party’s still going on at the office, right? Let me have a drink too."

"Jessica, I..." he started to protest, but she cut him off lightly.

"Come on, let’s go."

Dragged along by her arm, his legs finally moved. Wanting to drink was an obvious lie—Jessica had said it only out of kindness, to protect the fragile pride of a man too pitiful to face himself. Tears welled up in Kusuda’s eyes, and feeling ashamed of himself, he brushed them away against the shoulder of his shirt, making sure she wouldn’t notice.

"You’re like this," Jessica said quietly, facing straight ahead, her grip firm as she led him forward. "That’s why I can’t leave you alone."

:-::-:

In the hour he had been gone, the number of people at the party had been cut in half. Kusuda worried what might happen to him when he saw Akizawa again, wondered if he would panic, but when he caught sight of him across the room, he found he didn’t lose his composure. Maybe it was because Jessica was still by his side.

Akizawa noticed him and immediately started toward him, but stopped abruptly several meters away. He stood there, staring intently at Kusuda and Jessica, saying nothing. Pretending not to notice, Kusuda casually glanced around. A Black man he didn’t recognize was sprawled out asleep across one of the guest chairs. Whose acquaintance was he again? Kusuda couldn’t recall seeing his face before.

"Well, I wasn’t expecting much, but you’ve got quite a spread here," Jessica said brightly, still clinging to Kusuda’s arm as she approached the table. She grabbed a beer and downed it in one gulp, letting out a breath heavy with the smell of alcohol before leaning in and whispering, "Don’t leave my side, okay?"

Jessica, dragging Kusuda along with her, circled the table, attacking the leftover delivery pizza and Chinese food with an appetite that made her mutter between bites, "I'm going to get fat like this."

From a distance, Akizawa continued to watch them but made no move to approach or speak. He must have truly been angry with Jessica, Kusuda thought. And with Akizawa making no attempt to come closer, Kusuda couldn’t find the right moment to say what he had to say—Please stay at a hotel.

While Jessica busied herself eating, four more guests left all at once. Even the Black man who had been passed out was shaken awake by a woman he didn’t know and eventually stumbled out the door. Apparently, even Goro-san and Ricky, the ones responsible for the evening's decor, had slipped away while Kusuda had been outside. He had meant to thank them and pay them properly, but that chance was gone.

They did a quick cleanup of the table, and after Guinness finally left a little past midnight, only Kusuda, Akizawa, and Jessica remained in the ruined office. It was Akizawa who, seemingly having run out of patience, finally broke the silence.

"You're not going home yet?" he asked Jessica.

"I drank a little too much," Jessica said with a sweet, mischievous smile, and clung even tighter to Kusuda. "Masahiko, won’t you let me stay over?"

Ignoring Akizawa completely, she wrapped herself around Kusuda’s arm. Akizawa’s face stiffened visibly, like a sheet stretched too tightly over a bed.

"But... wouldn't your girlfriend be worried?" Kusuda started to say, only to feel Jessica’s high heel dig sharply into his shin. The pain nearly made him cry out, but he somehow held it in.

"...Just let me stay," she whispered, her voice low and commanding right into his ear. Reflexively, Kusuda nodded.

"B-but, even if you stay, there's no place to sleep," Akizawa said frantically, trying to argue. "The sofa’s mine. There’s no futon either. You’d have to sleep on the floor. Wouldn’t it be better to go home?"

He was desperately trying to push her out, but Jessica was far craftier.

"Thank you for worrying about me. But it’s fine," she said sweetly. "I’ll sleep together with Masahiko."

Akizawa's face drained of color instantly. His tightly clenched fists shook where they hung at his sides.

"S-s-sleep together...?" he stammered.

"Masahiko and I are just friends," Jessica said brightly. "It’s perfectly fine for friends to share a bed, isn’t it? Oh—and you’re on the sofa, of course."

After delivering that final blow with a dazzling smile, she grabbed Kusuda and led him toward the door that connected the office to the living quarters. Akizawa didn’t follow. Jessica marched straight into Kusuda’s bedroom and threw herself dramatically onto the bed.

When they had lived together before, Jessica, whenever drunk, often slipped into Kusuda’s bed. It hadn’t just happened once or twice. But tonight, she wasn’t drunk enough to be unable to go home. She was staying simply because she was worried about him, worried about how he had fallen apart after seeing the handcuffs. Kusuda appreciated her kindness—but he couldn’t shake the image of Akizawa’s pale, stunned face from his mind.

"I’ll sleep in the office chair," Kusuda said.

Jessica tilted her head and looked at him curiously.

"It’s just..." he fumbled for an excuse, "...I feel bad for Akizawa."

Akizawa was someone who claimed to love him. Even if there was nothing physical between them, seeing the person you cared about in bed with someone else must be painful.

"You can’t afford to be so soft," Jessica said flatly. She sat up, running a hand through her messy red hair to tidy it.

"The one who caused all this in the first place is that man," she added coolly.

She sat up and ran her fingers through her tousled red hair, tidying it with an air of nonchalance. From her handbag, she took out a makeup pouch, wiped off her makeup in a few quick motions, and then shed her blouse and skirt, draping them neatly over the back of a chair before slipping into Kusuda’s bed. While Kusuda hesitated, unsure what to do, the door creaked open and Akizawa stepped in, carrying four cans of beer.

Their eyes met, and Akizawa turned his face away with a sulky twist of his lips. He walked over and sat on the sofa that had been prepared as his sleeping space, across from the bed. The awkwardness in the air was suffocating.

“That sofa folds out into a bed if you undo the latches on the sides,” Kusuda offered, his voice careful. “And the shower—use it whenever you want. The building’s old, but it's solid. You won’t bother anyone even if you use water late at night.”

Akizawa nodded once, silently. Kusuda realized he hadn’t actually prepared anything for him. He got up, went to the closet, and pulled out a fresh set of sheets and a blanket. Keeping about a meter of distance, he held them out to Akizawa.

“...I don’t need it.”

Akizawa shook his head.

“It gets cold at night,” Kusuda replied, and gently set the bundle on the edge of the sofa.

Akizawa slapped it aside with his left hand. The sheets and blanket tumbled to the floor. It was such a minor thing, but it hit Kusuda harder than he’d expected. To cover it up, he forced a laugh.

“Aha... well, if you don’t want it, that’s fine. I was just being meddlesome.”

Then, flustered, Akizawa dove to the floor and grabbed the blanket. Clutching the sheets and blanket against his chest, he blurted, “S-Sorry! I’ll use it... I will.”

He apologized, then opened one of the beers and downed it in a few swallows, like he couldn’t help himself.

“If the sofa’s too cramped, maybe you should go to a hotel after all?” Kusuda suggested. Maybe it would be easier for him if he didn’t have to see Kusuda and Jessica together in the same room.

But Akizawa glared at him, furious.

“No way. I’m the one who got permission to stay here first. That redhead barged in after the fact.”

He was clearly clinging to the situation out of pride, unable to back down now. After everything that had happened since the afternoon—so much back and forth, such an emotional rollercoaster—Kusuda was simply exhausted. He didn’t have the energy to argue or convince Akizawa anymore.

“If you’re fine with it, then okay,” he relented.

He skipped the shower, brushed his teeth, washed his face, and changed into sweatpants in the bathroom. Akizawa had sloppily laid the sheet diagonally across the sofa and was curled up in the blanket like some kind of silkworm. He’d done hard labor setting up the store display; he must have been sweating. Yet here he was, not even bothering to shower before bed.

Kusuda turned off the overhead light. He clicked on the desk lamp and placed it on the floor as a makeshift nightlight. He was used to the layout of this room, but the other two might stumble in the dark.

He was relieved Akizawa wasn’t looking his way. As he slid into bed beside Jessica, a mix of perfume and alcohol wafted over. Her presence was comforting, but the guilt clawed at him all the same. Even if nothing would happen between them—he could swear that on a god—it still felt wrong to let Akizawa see them like this.

Maybe Jessica thought Akizawa deserved a little punishment for what he’d done. That it wouldn’t hurt to let him feel a little pain. But Kusuda didn’t see it that way. He didn’t want to watch Akizawa suffer. That wasn’t what he wanted at all.

"Masahiko."

The cocooned figure on the sofa called his name.

"Just for a moment, can you come over here?"

His whole body stiffened in reflex, on guard. Beneath the covers, Jessica reached out and grabbed his arm. "Just ignore him," she whispered quietly.

"You don’t even have to come close. Just… be near me."

The voice sounded so pleading. And so—Kusuda slipped out of the bed. The distance between them wasn’t even two meters.

"I'm going to throw this—catch it."

Something whizzed through the air. It was too dark to see, and he missed. There was a small clink as it hit the floor. Kusuda crouched, patting around the area where the sound had landed… and there it was. A small key. 



"What’s this?"

"Just hold onto it," Akizawa said.

"Is it for your suitcase?" Kusuda asked, puzzled.

"This," Akizawa said, lifting the blanket slightly.

In the dim light, Kusuda could just make out that Akizawa’s right wrist was cuffed—and the other side of the handcuffs was fastened to the pole of the sofa’s armrest.

"If I’m like this, you’ll feel safe, right?"

And it hit him, Jessica’s words striking him like a physical blow.

"You want to believe in him. But in the end, you can’t."

A sharp, tightening pain clutched at his chest. The one who had created this situation, the one putting Akizawa through this—wasn’t Akizawa. It wasn’t even Jessica. It was him. Himself. Because he still couldn't bring himself to trust.

"As long as I’m staying here, I’ll do this every night. So you don’t have to be scared just because I’m around. In the morning… just unlock me."

Akizawa pulled the sheets over his head.

Kusuda’s hand, holding the tiny key, trembled. He felt ashamed of himself. Even a man like Akizawa, who was insentive, who never understood other people's feelings—was still trying, in his own clumsy way, to think about him. If he weren’t, he never would have brought something like that all the way from Japan.

From the opposite sofa, the sound of quiet breathing began almost immediately. Kusuda marveled at how easily Akizawa could fall asleep, even after everything. At that rate... he wouldn’t be able to apologize. He wanted to say he was sorry—desperately—but he couldn't.

The bedsprings creaked softly. Jessica sat up, got out of bed, and began slipping her clothes back on from the chair where she'd hung them. She smoothed her hair, adjusted her skirt, and leaned in close.

"…I’m going home," she whispered into his ear.

"It’s too cramped for two after all. I want to sleep in my own bed."

He tried to insist on seeing her off, but she waved it off with a smile. “I’ll take a taxi.”

When she left, the door made a decent sound closing behind her, but the man on the sofa didn’t stir.

Even with just the two of them now, somehow, it wasn’t scary anymore. Nothing about the room had changed. And yet his feelings had, and that made all the difference. Akizawa was still the same in a lot of ways—still forceful, still pushing "himself" onto others—but maybe, just maybe, they were inching forward.

It might not be elegant, it might be reckless, but he was thinking.

Kusuda set the tiny key carefully in the center of the side table so he wouldn’t lose it. The desk lamp cast a faint, warm glow across the floor.

All that fear, that hopelessness that had crushed him earlier in the fast-food restaurant, began to settle gently, deep in his chest.

He sat there, staring—unblinking—at the shape of the man curled beneath the blanket on the sofa across from him.

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