Archive of Our Own ^beta

It started the way every disaster in Rintarou’s life did: through his own damn fault. 

Rintarou is, in fact, the kind of person who researches and analyzes before he acts—so he starts slow, careful, refusing to make a single move until he’s absolutely sure it’ll work. It’s his modus operandi especially in volleyball, but it could work with people as well.

So, here’s how it goes: Rintarou is in love—yeah, not just a crush, love—with Miya Osamu. He’s hopelessly gone, and it’s killing him that the feeling might not be mutual. Still, until the day it’s clear as crystal that Osamu feels the same, he’ll take every excuse, every fleeting chance to keep him close—as close as he can get to the way he actually wants them to be.

During his first year of high school, Rintarou was already a little hooked on Osamu. Back then, it might’ve just been a crush—Rintarou isn’t the type to fall head over heels in a few months. But give it a year, and… well.

Anyway, during the first Halloween after they met, a few guys from the club—Osamu included—went with him to the local amusement park for the special nighttime Halloween opening. The line was huge, and they’d barely been there an hour before Atsumu and Ginjima started whining and begging to go into the haunted house, the one everyone said was the highlight of the event. Even Osamu, egged on by his twin brother, who kept teasing that he was the braver of the two, helped drag the whole group toward it.

Rintarou saw an opportunity there. 

It was a little cliché, trying to cling to the guy he liked under the excuse of being “scared,” nudging him to play the protector or something like that—especially since they were both guys. Not to mention, everyone in the club already thought Rintarou was some kind of weirdo, maybe even a bit of a creep (apparently—with zero evidence to back it up), so no one was exactly worried about him. They’d all be ready to leave him walking, hands in pockets, at the back, yawning, while the rest of them pissed their pants in fear.

Even so, if it came down to it, he’d totally throw himself at Osamu at the first jump scare, or grab his arm pretending he was disoriented. With a bit of luck, Atsumu would be right—Osamu would turn out to be a coward ready to jump at the nearest person. And Rintarou? He’d be right there, arms wide open, waiting.

That time, however, he didn’t take the most important variable into account: the haunted house was still just another harmless attraction at a childish amusement park.

Their second-year libero, Akagi, was way scarier in his Halloween costume—and he was only wearing a cape and fake fangs! Not even the biggest scaredy-cat in the group lifted their feet off the ground or flinched.

So, the closest he got to Osamu that night was when he finally managed to wiggle free from Atsumu’s side and sit next to him on the roller coaster. He sacrificed his image in the process—his hair ended up messier than usual—but at least he got Osamu to laugh, and that laugh looked surprisingly good on his usually bored face.

Since then, at least Osamu and he had really grown close—good friends who spent time together and judged people from afar (especially Atsumu, in Osamu’s case). And yes, Rintarou had found countless excuses to close the gap between them, to brush their hands together, to catch a whiff of his cologne… It was never enough, though. His stomach tied itself in knots just being near him, fighting the urge to touch, his heart pounding violently, the world around them fading into static whenever they managed some alone time. His hands itched in those moments, forcing movements, questions, pointless interactions—anything to get closer, anything to touch him.

It was never enough. He feared that one day their paths might diverge without him ever having held his hand or hugged him even once.

October of his second year arrives in the blink of an eye, and suddenly everyone is talking about the sale of the ‘House of the Vanished.”

It seems that a Japanese-American couple settled down at least one century ago in a big house (“A mansion, Sunarin!”) hidden deep within the city. Rintarou can’t help but feel like an outsider when his classmates, including Osamu, try to explain the significance behind the purchase of something that, to him, looks utterly ordinary.

“No, Suna, ya don’t get it. The original owners vanished mysteriously overnight—no one knows what happened to them!”

Rintarou yawns and shifts against the wall, slouched in his chair. His knees bump against Osamu’s, who’s sitting across from him, and it takes real effort for Rintarou to stay focused on the conversation.

“Weren’t they foreigners? Maybe they just went back to their country. It’s not that deep.”

“Sunariiiiin, yer not paying attention.” Osamu pouts behind his half-eaten onigiri. Rintarou only hums in response. “The land the house sits on ain’t good fer construction—even though it’s huge—so people just keep reselling it over and over.”

“That’s right! But no one’s tried to buy it fer the past thirty years. Wanna know why?”

“You’re gonna tell me anyway…”

“Because three more times, the residents also disappeared!” he exclaims, flinging his arms wide enough to nearly smack both Osamu and Rintarou in the face. Rintarou can’t help sighing at his friend Tachibana’s dramatic storytelling. He likes the guy, but that endless energy drains him.

“After the original owners, the two children of the next family vanished while playin’ in their own backyard. The parents, heartbroken, returned to their homeland, and the house was left abandoned fer decades—until a doctor from Osaka bought it. They say he slowly went insane, claiming he heard cryin’ at night.”

“He killed himself after a year of livin’ there.”

“Hush, Osamu! I’m the one tellin’ the story.”

Osamu huffs and goes back to eating, sulking. Rintarou finds it endearing, though he has to admit he’s also a little curious about what happened next. So, for once, he actually listens.

“The last tragedy was a femicide in the room right across from where the doctor killed himself. So now there are two rooms filled with bitter, lingering energy—or at least that’s what the old ladies say—and a courtyard that feels cold and empty, not ‘cause of its size.”

His classmate spoke with sudden, almost eerie seriousness; even Osamu chewed slowly, clearly caught up in Tachibana’s storytelling skills.

“The house got its bad reputation thanks to the locals nearby, so every family that moved in after that left soon after. Fer years, it’s been empty, falling apart, and students started using it fer the tests of courage. Even the Inarizaki guys!” Tachibana wiggled his eyebrows, like he was advertising an event Rintarou might one day have to face himself.

“Anyway, the thing is—they bought it a few months ago, and we’ve all been waitin’ to hear somethin’ ‘bout the new owners. But apparently…” He leaned forward, lowering his voice dramatically. “They’re not planning to live there.”

“What? I didn’t hear anything of that before! Are they demolishing it or something?” 

“No, it’s a hundred times better!” Tachibana’s eyes glow. “They’re gonna turn it into a haunted house! The opening is the week before Halloween, this Friday. My brothers and I already bought tickets.”

“A haunted house attraction in a real haunted house? Damn, sounds cool. Especially since last year’s fiasco.”

Rintarou hums. Oh, tell him about it. It was a fiasco for sure. Nothing worked the way he planned. This year, nonetheless…

“We should go, Osamu.”

Osamu shoots him a skeptical look, one brow arched as he wipes his hands on the thighs of his uniform.

“Thought ya hated last year’s. Ya were moody all night after we went.”

Was he? He hadn’t thought it showed. Usually, no one could see past his indifferent expression when he was sulking. Still, he shakes his head in denial. Osamu and he give Tachibana a quick wave as he gets up to answer someone calling his name from across the room.

He’s grateful for the privacy for the challenge ahead: an invitation to hang out, an excuse to pretend it’s a date… a wicked little plan to cling to Osamu all night.

“Weren’t you interested too? I thought it was supposed to be a big deal, after everything they said. Or have you been scared all this time?”

“Scared?” Osamu scoffs, crossing his arms. “Please. Tsumu and I have snuck into test-of-courage stuff before. Some old house with rumors? That’s nothing. Especially if it’s all fake cobwebs and red paint, with part-time clowns jumping out and screaming from the corners. It’ll be as ridiculous as the rest. Let’s do it.”

Hook, line, and sinker. Perfect. Rintarou lets a half-smile curl at his lips, satisfaction flickering in his eyes.

“I’ll tell Tsumu and Gin. They always try to hide how that damn house freaks them out.”

And just like that, Rintarou’s smile fades as quickly as it came.

“No.” 

Okay, that came out a little harsh, but he couldn’t help feeling that having those two around would ruin the whole thing. Atsumu and Osamu would turn it into a competition, Gin would complain the entire way and jump at every noise because he never watched where he was going.

And Rintarou? He’d be stuck in the back, trying to act cool while quietly dying inside — assuming the place was even half as scary as they said.

“I mean, uh… I don’t think we’ll really get the full experience if we all go together.”

Osamu seems to think it over for a moment, glancing at Rintarou from the corner of his eye as if he has a lot to say about it. Rintarou feels a little watched. Sometimes it happens with Osamu, like his friend has started to read him better than he ever imagined anyone could. Finally, Osamu nods. Rintarou’s shoulders loosen.

“Yeah, true. Between the usual haunted-house screams and Tsumu yellin’ right in my ear like always, that’s enough. Plus, we haven’t spent much time together, right? Maybe I should stop sharing my best friend once in a while.”

Osamu says it with total seriousness, completely unaware of what it does to Rintarou’s heart. The bell saves them before they can continue talking. Luckily, because Rintarou knows whatever he might have said would’ve come out as nothing more than a soft whimper from the shock inside him. The tiny Rintarous in his head, like the little Inside Out versions, were too busy panicking to help him think straight.

“I’ll buy the tickets.” That’s all he can manage to say as Osamu starts walking toward his own seat.

It’s a date, he wishes he could’ve said.

“Do you think it’ll be scary?”

Whether it really is or not doesn’t matter. Rintarou would probably jump at every chance only to end up pressed against Osamu anyway.

“I hope so,” Osamu says, his voice low, teasing. “Make my money worth it.”

Truth be told, the place is unsettling. Even from the line outside the mansion, the air feels thick, heavy—weighted by years of whispered rumors, mysterious deaths, and the kind of cold that seeps into your bones.

At least the woman dressed like some demonic porcelain doll—scanning tickets with eerie calm—adds a bizarre touch that make the place feel more like a movie set than a death trap.

A shiver runs down Rintarou’s spine, though he tells himself it’s only because he’d dressed too lightly for the night. Nothing to do with fear. Or the way Osamu’s shoulder brushes his every few seconds.

“What’s with that face, Sunarin? Need me to hold yer hand?”

Rintarou’s laugh comes out softer than he meant. He’s too focused on the fact they’re next in line. “If you want.”

For a moment, Osamu just looks at him—eyes glinting in the dim light of the mansion’s entrance. The noise of the crowd seems to fade. Then a small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at Osamu’s lips.

“Careful what you ask for,” he murmurs.

“Next, please.”

And then the doors open.

Actually, Rintarou isn’t scared, just… not as focused on his mission as he probably should be.

The first steps down the hallway from the entryway are nothing but the creaking protest of old wooden boards beneath his shoes. A narrow, very narrow corridor stretches on ahead, leading them deeper into the house until, supposedly, the fun begins around the next corner.

It feels a little like those nights at his grandmother’s country house—pitch-dark, quiet, and heavy with the kind of stillness that makes you hear your own heartbeat. It’s not that bad, really, if he just ignores the fact that they can’t see a thing and that their shoulders keep bumping into each other every few steps thanks to their uncertain footing.

Rintarou can’t help but wish, with a mix of dread and anticipation, that the path only grows tighter from here on.

They turn the corner, and motion sensors trigger a low groan from somewhere above. A fake skeleton jerks to life, its plastic jaw clattering as it drops from the ceiling. Both take a step back, surprised but not scared. 

Rintarou exhales a shaky laugh, Osamu bumps his shoulder, silently chuckling. “A good start, ain’t it?”

“Pfft, sure. My sister’s dolls have scared me more,” he mutters. 

They surround the hanging skeleton and enter the next hallway, which, to Rintarou's dismay, is as large as any small room could be. It makes Osamu smirks when it opens into a “cemetery” set. The fog machine is pretty visible. The fog, however, keeps thickening, swallowing the fake tombstones around them and crawling toward their ankles. 

The room is barely illuminated by the moonlight projected onto one of the walls; otherwise, it's so dark that Rintarou keeps clinging to Osamu as much as he can. Unexpectedly, he's not doing it on purpose.

Osamu acts as if he were taking a walk through the park at dusk. His silhouette is imposing even in the dark. 

“So, dolls?”

The small talk could make Rintarou feels like they’re on a date, just chatting as they walk. For some reason, he can’t really get into his delusion. 

Rintarou winces. “I’m not scared, if that’s what you’re askin’ ‘bout.” 

“Uh-hu.”

“I’m not.” Because he isn’t. It’s just that Haruna likes porcelain dolls, and have too many ugly ones. He doesn’t like to go to her room at night with the lights out, that’s all. “I just… don’t like them.”

“Let’s pretend I believe ya.” 

Rintarou sulks, pouting. “Look, if you’d seen the things my sister has in her room, you’d sleep with the lights on too. They have those disturbing, fake smiles—like they know something. Sometimes their eyes would catch the hallway light, and it’s, uh, it’s just creepy.” He shivers, exaggerating. Osamu accidentally hits a tombstone, and he jumps a little, for real this time. “One of them fell once. By itself.”

Osamu hums. “So, you are scared.”

“Shut up. I’m an adult now.” Despite his plan, Rintarou's pride makes him move faster to walk ahead of Osamu and prove that this damn cemetery-decorated hallway is stupid, just like the dolls. (The ones that had scared him just last week.) “I don’t get scared by things like that.”

Then, however, a blood-curdling scream (clearly pre-recorded) tears through the soft white noise of the fog machine, making them both jump. 

Rintarou stumbles backward, straight into Osamu’s chest, landing on his foot on the way and nearly sending them both toppling over. Osamu catches the hem of Rintarou’s shirt in a clumsy attempt to steady them, fingers brushing warm skin for a second too long. The sudden closeness knocks the breath out of Rintarou, and it’s not his fall’s fault. 

“Ow. Careful, Rin. Watch where yer walking.”

“Sorry.”

For a moment, neither of them moves. The scream track ends, leaving only the low hiss of the fog machine. Osamu’s hand is still clutching Rintarou’s shirt, fingers ghosting against his stomach.

Rintarou feels like he could drown in his own breath if Osamu keeps his hand over his skin. He was almost praying for it to happen, but he didn’t consider how he will survive to it. His heart is weak for Miya Osamu. 

“You can, uh… let go now,” Rintarou mutters.

 “Right. Sorry.”

Osamu pulls his hand back as if Rintarou were burning him—though the one on fire is really him. He wishes he could feel those hands on his cheeks, his neck, his waist… everywhere.

The first two rooms they pass through are not a big deal, maybe because their main focus is on things they’re not afraid of—spiders, a crying bride that was screaming and painfully crying and didn’t even try to catch them. 

The door groans as they step through. Unlike the other rooms, this one doesn’t have jump scares or flashing lights—just silence. And it’s colder. Like, noticeably colder. Everything under red lighting, turning off and on, which is more irritating to the eyes than it is illuminating.

There’s a chair in the corner. A dark stain on the floor.

A noose dangling from the ceiling, swaying ever so slightly though there’s no breeze.

Osamu grimaces; Rintarou notices he knows where they are, and a plaque at the back of the room confirms it. (It’s spooky going there, walking under the noose.)

“In this room, a man ended his life… but his soul never left.”

“Well… tasteful decoration, uh?”

“What the actual fuck. This is insane, dude. They’re profiting with death for real.” Rintarou says, fake calm on his chuckling. 

“Don’t tell me the fearless Rintarou’s getting shy now.”

“Shy? No. Just—respecting the dead. And who said I’m fearless, really.” 

“Don’t worry, I’m definitely not sayin’ it from now on.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny, Osamu. Look how I’m laughing.”

Osamu's smile gleams eerily under the red light, but Rintarou feels a warm, tingling sensation in his body. He’s gorgeous.

The door shuts behind them with a heavy click, leaving the dim red light to flicker quicker across the room. The noose swings gently in the stale air, the story of the man who had died here is repeated in very soft whispers that come from the wall with the plaque. Rintarou swallows hard, a lump forming in his throat. His chest tightens, and for a moment, he wants to sink to the floor and cover himself with a blanket.

Instead, he forces a laugh—quiet, shaky, hollow.

Then a sudden creak behind them makes both of them jump—and Osamu’s hand finds Rintarou’s before either of them can pretend otherwise. 

Rintarou believes he’s about to pass out for two very different reasons at the same time. 

A loud thud hits the window facing the backyard. Another thud, followed by the slow, grating sound of a hand dragging down the glass. The red light flickers once, twice, and in that heartbeat between flashes, the silhouette of a child stands behind the pane.

Whispers rise—tangled, trembling—half prayers, half sobs. Then the figure is gone, and the door creaks open again, inch by inch, as if pushed by the faintest breath of wind.

Osamu doesn’t talk, neither looks as scary as he could to save face to Rintarou. He’s still staring at the window, his brow furrowed, like he’s not sure if it was part of the show. When his gaze finally shifts back to Rintarou, there’s something softer in it—something that makes it harder for Rintarou to keep pretending he’s not anxious to jump straight into Osamu’s arms.

Osamu’s eyes flick to him, sharp and concerned. Rintarou swallows again and laughs a little more, louder this time, like the sound could chase away the chill in his veins. 

He doesn't even feel Osamu's hand still holding his, or even caressing his knuckles. But the warmth of Osamu’s presence is magnetic. Without really thinking, Rintarou slides closer, his shoulder brushing against Osamu’s. He bites his lip, trying to mask the tremor in his hands. Maybe it’s the fear, maybe it’s… everything. He is dying to cling to him, just for a second, just to feel grounded.

“Yer… not scared, right?” Osamu asks softly, though the way he’s holding himself suggests he already knows the answer.

“Of course not,” Rintarou says, though his voice cracks slightly. He straightens, forcing his hands to hang at his sides—even if it means letting Osamu’s go—pretending he’s composed. The tiny brush of Osamu’s arm against his, though, makes his pulse skip—and maybe, that’s exactly what he wanted to feel since the beginning. The only difference is that the way he wanted to achieve it was by pretending to be a damsel in distress, not by actually being terrified.

Osamu grimaces and hums. “Fine, let’s go, then.”

The next room is brighter, but not in a comforting way. Dozens—no, hundreds—of porcelain dolls stare from every shelf, their glassy eyes catching the dim purple light like tiny, soulless mirrors. Some are cracked, or bloody; some missing limbs, and one in the corner is gently rocking on its own.

Rintarou freezes at the doorway.

“Oh, hell no.”

Osamu raises an eyebrow.

“What, scared of a few dolls? Thought yer an adult now.”

“A few? There’s an army of them! Look—look at that one, it’s breathing!”

He tries to step back, but his heel hits a loose board. Before he can catch himself, he stumbles right into Osamu. There’s a blur of motion, a startled noise, and then a lot of very unexpected contact. Osamu’s hand shoots out to steady him but lands, mortifyingly, on Rintarou’s backside before sliding up to his waist.

For a heartbeat, everything freezes—the purple light, the sound effects, even Rintarou’s lungs.

Osamu jerks his hand back like he’s been burned.

“I, sorry! I was trynna—!”

No, no, you can keep it there. It’s what Rintarou had like to say. After all, his rationality went on vacation the moment they entered the first corridor. Although, for the same reason, he’s constantly forgetting today’s mission.

Rintarou’s voice comes out a little higher than usual.

“You touched me!”

“I was catchin’ you!”

“You caught way too much!” 

Osamu’s face is crimson, but Rintarou’s… Rintarou’s a disaster. His heart’s hammering, and his thoughts are a tangle of oh my god he touched me and oh my god I liked it so much. His skin still feels hot where Osamu’s hand had been—his waist, his back, everywhere. What if he moaned without noticing? He’d prefer to die. 

He’s supposed to be scared of the dolls, but right now, that’s the furthest thing from his mind. Rintarou laughs—too loud, too bright, the sound shaky with leftover adrenaline and something sweeter.

“You’re welcome for saving your life,” Osamu shoots back, though his grin is too soft, too fond.

The sweet moment dies as soon as slow footsteps are heard, and Rintarou returns to the reality in which he stands surrounded by horrible demonic dolls.

The dolls seem to press in on him as the seconds stretch. Their eyes follow, too many of them, too real—like they’re judging him. He’s scared, but still can’t seem to stop thinking about Osamu.

Those are mixed feelings, two different sort of fears that are playing badly with his heart.

Every part of him wants to grab hold of Osamu, to feel his presence, to feel him touch him again—even if it was an accident. Even if he Osamu already said it was just some reflex, nothing more. 

Why does it have to be like this?

He can’t stop the thought, the pull in his chest. Every part of him wants to grab Osamu, to hold him closer, but that’s a line Rintarou can’t cross—at least, not yet. He is an analytical person; he doesn’t take risks—he needs to have a spoiler to know if it’s good before paying for the movie’s ticket. He knows better than to push it too far, too fast. But it’s driving him crazy. The need to touch him, the need to feel him want him back… It feels like it’s building up, and Rintarou has to keep pretending everything’s fine. That it’s just them hanging out in Halloween in a stupid haunted house.

But the thing is, it’s not just about his silly plan to being close to Osamu using the house as an excuse. Everything is turning too real. Now, it’s about being with Osamu, alone, in this dark, twisted space; away from everyone else—no noisy brothers or dramatic friends. It’s about them. Only them. Because even though they’ve been friends for years, today, finally, this feels different. More important than anything. And the fact that Osamu agreed to come just with him for once… That is everything.

Rintarou grips his shirt tighter, heart racing.

If only I could just tell him…

But before he can get too lost in his thoughts, something shifts in the room. The temperature drops, the dolls' heads shift—and that’s when the dragging noise catches his attention. His body goes rigid as he hears it, and the reality of the situation crashes back down on him, hard.

There’s something—someone—moving in the shadows of the room.

“Osamu,” he almost yells, his body unconsciously pressing against Osamu’s.

Rintarou’s throat tightens, and he feels the panic rising again. I fucking hate, hate, haaaate dolls. The thing in the corner of the room—the girl—starts to move. But she’s not a doll. She’s alive. Of course she is. Her blood-soaked gown drips in the dim light as she stumbles toward them, jerking, unnatural.

His eyes widen as she starts to run, and not like a fucking person should run. It’s all wrong, all jerky, like a broken puppet with no strings. Her cracked porcelain face twisted into a grotesque, gaping smile.

“What the hell is wrong with this fucking place’s staff of creeps!” 

“Osamu,” Rintarou whimpers. “Shut up and run! Now!”

Osamu doesn’t need to be told twice. He grabs Rintarou’s wrist and pulls him forward, but as Rintarou stumbles, his heart hammering in his chest, his brain flashes back to what happened just seconds ago. Would it be too greedy if he tries intertwining their fingers while they run?  

His heart races. His skin burns. All of it, all that awkwardness, all that yearning, fades in an instant as the doll-girl screeches.

The chase begins.

Rintarou can barely process it, but his legs move. His hands reach for Osamu without thinking when they separate slightly as they run, avoiding the decorations and following the confusing corridors and paths that try to force them into the next room.

He grabs his sleeve, desperate to stay close, desperate to not let him go. Right now, with the girl chasing them, and even if he knows everything is a mere staging, he needs Osamu. More than anything. More than he’s ever needed anyone.

This is a scenery more intense than any he could imagine before the day of their no-date. The problem is that it was supposed to be Osamu’s heart trying to get out of his chest after Rintarou’s seduction techniques, not the opposite. (What’s worse, Osamu isn’t even trying.)   

The door slams shut behind them with a thud, and for a moment, it feels like the whole world has gone quiet. The sound of their panting breath is the only thing Rintarou hears, and it’s still ringing in his ears like a drum. His chest is tight, his legs weak from running, and his mind… well, his mind is still trying to catch up to everything that just happened.

They’re in the final room now. (He was sure they had passed by one where he saw a clown peeking out, but he wouldn't go back. Nope. Besides, the couple behind them would probably already be there by the time they caught their breath.) 

There is no light here; they are plunged into darkness. However, the room feels warm, maybe a little too much due to their running, and the contrast with the rest of the house.

Hopefully, it's for a well-deserved rest after so many emotions, before the door to the exit opens. He really wants to breathe in some cold, but not damp as inside this fucking place, October air.

Rintarou doesn’t even think about it. He doesn’t want to think more for today. Dealing with the aftermath is future Rintarou’s work. He’s exhausted. The emotions, the adrenaline, the fear—it all crashes down at once. For once, he doesn’t analyze anything else and don’t stop himself, he’s leaning into Osamu, his legs giving way beneath him…

Thud.

He falls. Right into Osamu’s arms.

The place is darker than night, so black that their eyes cannot adjust to see anything in the darkness. Even so, Osamu catches him effortlessly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hands are steady on Rintarou’s back, pulling him closer, and for a long moment, Rintarou just lets himself go, allowing himself to relax into the warmth and safety of Osamu’s embrace. His heartbeat is still hammering, but it’s different now. Slower. Calmer.

Perhaps he has already found what he was looking for. The spoiler he needed. The traffic light he was waiting at finally turns green.

Rintarou breathes in deeply, his face pressed into Osamu’s chest, the warmth of his body radiating through the fabric of his shirt. He’s still shaking, but there’s something oddly comforting about this—being held, being close to Osamu, even after everything. Knowing Osamu would open his arms to catch him even if it’s obvious he won’t fall. And without necessity of an elaborated Halloween scenario.

Rintarou tilts his head up, trying to look up at Osamu through his lashes. It’s too dark to see something, but Osamu’s arms hold him so close that he knows he doesn’t need to see his expression. 

The lights flare back to life. Harsh, red again.

The rough darkness around them evaporates, and they both blink as their eyes adjust to the sight before them. The final room.

A bathroom. Or, at least, what’s supposed to look like one.

Except this one is covered in blood—walls, tiles, even the mirror dripping thick, dark red. The bathtub overflows with it, a human shape slumped inside, torn open, insides spilling out like a grotesque art project. All around are scattered tools—knives, saws, and what looks suspiciously like a human heart hanging from the showerhead.

They jump apart so fast it’s almost comedic, like two teenagers caught by their moms mid-make-out session. Rintarou’s face is still red from everything else, and Osamu’s expression lands somewhere between horrified and oh my god, this is the worst timing in the universe.

For a full second, neither of them moves.

“Oh, hell no,” Rintarou says.

“What the actual—” Osamu starts.

And then they both start laughing. It’s a wild, breathless laughter that sounds almost hysterical, echoing against the blood-soaked tiles.

“They couldn’t have chosen any other theme?” Rintarou wheezes.

“I think this was the romantic ending,” Osamu manages between laughs.

Rintarou’s about to reply, delighted by the “romantic” part and wanting to ask about it, when the corpse suddenly jerks upright in the bathtub, letting out a blood-curdling, inhuman scream. The sound tears through the air, high-pitched and raw, echoing off the walls like something real. It sounded exactly like how Rintarou imagined someone being brutally murdered while they were wide awake would sound.

Both of them scream louder than they ever have in their lives, in sync this time.

Rintarou doesn’t even think; he grabs Osamu’s (intertwining their fingers) and bolts. The exit door bursts open in front of them, swinging wide like salvation, and they sprint through it without a single glance back.

They don’t stop until they’re well outside the building, far enough that the red glow of the haunted house is just a blur behind them. (Though Rintarou would bet he heard someone shouting “Thanks for visiting us, come back soon!” in some point of their scape. They definitely aren’t the first group running away as fast as they can.) 

Their lungs burn, their sides ache, and finally, finally they collapse onto the cold ground.

There, sprawled on the damp, earthy grass somewhere in the endless grounds of the ‘House of the Vanished’, they fall into uncontrollable laughter. They stop only when they need to breathe again, their heads turning to look at each other beneath the stars, their smiles perfectly in sync.

“So,” Osamu is the first to break the silence. “Do ya have to tell me something?”

“Fine.” Osamu’s eyes spark. Rintarou has to contain his laugh. “I’m actually scared of dolls. But just the satanic, ugly ones!”

Osamu’s eyes go wide, incredulous. Of course, it isn’t because of Rintarou’s confession, but because of the ridiculous thing that had just slipped from his lips. So completely out of sync with the tension of the moment, the sweet atmosphere under the stars after their embrace and escape from the clutches of the terrifying house.

“Yer a dumbass.”

Rintarou hums softly. The silence around them is gentle, and the cool air making their noses pink is strangely comforting. They’ll probably catch a cold, but Rintarou can’t hold back another second. “Osamu,” he whispers, barely audible.

Osamu turns his face toward him, letting out a tiny, curious sound. Rintarou takes a shaky breath, props himself on his elbows, and leans forward. Their lips meet—not too hard, not too soft—and Rintarou feels sparks explode everywhere. His whole body is alive, tingling with a mix of excitement and nerves.

Osamu presses back just enough to feel the same amount of the warmth and lips’ texture Rintarou is touching, and clutches Rintarou’s waist, letting out a shaky, breathless sigh right onto Osamu’s lips. He wants to press closer, to feel every inch of Osamu against him, to melt into him completely. Eventually, it turns messy, clumsy, and desperate. Yet, in all its awkwardness, it’s perfect. Every confusing, thrilling, overwhelming feeling of a first kiss packed into one unforgettable, starry moment.

Sparks shoot through Rintarou during every second of their kiss, making him twitch, squirm, and want to hide behind his own hands all at once. His heart feels like it’s doing somersaults, and his stomach is doing backflips. 

Rintarou’s eyes squeeze shut, and maybe he presses his mouth a little too hard against Osamu’s, because he can feel their teeth bumping. But how else is he supposed to react to Osamu’s mischievous hand, delicate yet deliberately resting on his butt? His whole body trembles, and maybe he lets out an embarrassed, yet incredibly, incredibly quiet sound, right inside the other boy's mouth. His breath hitches, small and sharp, and the other boy presses closer, fingers threading through his hair, guiding him, claiming him in the quiet intimacy of that stolen moment. 

However, Rintarou feels a shiver of unease as a sudden wave of heat washed over him, and the lower, very lower, part of his stomach tingled and tightened slightly. Carefully, making sure his lower body didn’t cling too much to Osamu’s, he eased the other boy’s hand away from his butt and leaned in for a long, lingering kiss—this time without tongue—before moving away. 

Osamu let his head fall back onto the grass, his chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths. Rintarou collapsed beside him, mirroring the same ragged rhythm. He hoped Osamu would think he had pulled away from the kiss because of the awkward angle. Or the sharp ache in his elbows. Anything but because of the heat spreading through him, the growing tension in… places he shouldn’t admit to.

“Maybe we should come again before they close.”

“Over my dead body.”

Osamu guffaws. “Yer cute, though.”

Rintarou tried to look sulky, but a tender smile slipped onto his lips without his permission. A happy, excited little giggle—far too childish for his poor teenage-boy pride—escaped him as he wrapped his hands around Osamu’s torso and buried his face against the boy’s chest.

“Osamu,” he murmurs, his voice soft and muffled against Osamu’s chest, unable—or unwilling—to lift his face, letting himself sink a little closer into the warmth and steady rhythm of the boy’s heartbeat.

“Hm?”

“Do I still have to pretend I’m scared just so you’ll hug me and kiss me?” 

After a long pause, Osamu ruffled his hair, letting out a surprised laugh at Rintarou’s boldness.

“Ignoring the part about ‘pretend’,” Rintarou huffed indignantly and buried his face deeper into Osamu’s sweatshirt, hugging him tighter. “Yes, Rintarou. I’d like that.”

“Good, because I’m not going back into one of those just for a hug.”

“Not even for a kiss?”

Rintarou lifted his head, his chin resting on Osamu’s chest, eyes fixed on him with the most indifferent, uninterested expression he could muster.

“I dunno. Maybe you’ll have to kiss me a little more to decide if it’s worth it.”

A soft laugh escapes Osamu as he leans down, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to Rintarou’s forehead. “Challenge accepted,” he whispered.

When Osamu's arms wrap around him again, and they melt into another kiss, even longer and slower than the first, Rintarou knows that pretending isn't even an option now. 

He could never be scared with Osamu holding him.