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Kajii had always considered himself a man of science. A man of reason. A man capable of staring death in the eye without blinking—mostly because he thought it was funny to see other people panic about it.
But ever since the pandemic, something in him had cracked sideways. Permanently.
Where once he laughed in the midst of chaos, now he eyed doorknobs like mortal threats. Where once he proudly declared germs “nature’s glitter,” now he scrubbed his hands so vigorously that even Higuchi had asked, very carefully, if he was exfoliating down to the bone on purpose.
And worst of all—
Akutagawa.
Akutagawa, who coughed like a Victorian orphan boy trapped in a coal mine.
Akutagawa, whose lungs sounded like wet sandpaper being dragged across gravel.
Akutagawa, who appeared in Kajii’s peripheral vision like a specter made of malaise and potential viral load.
Kajii had never been more afraid of another human being in his life.
It started on a Monday morning. A bleak, cold, utterly normal sort of morning—until the elevator doors opened and Akutagawa stepped in behind him.
Kajii stiffened.
Akutagawa coughed.
Kajii screamed internally.
He pressed himself flat against the wall like a man about to be executed.
"GOOD MORNING," he said way too loudly, voice cracking with panic.
Akutagawa blinked slowly. “You’re… loud today.”
Another cough.
Kajii slapped the emergency stop button.
“DON’T—COUGH—NEAR—ME!”
The elevator jerked violently. Akutagawa stared.
“…I wasn’t even close to you,” he said.
“IT TRAVELS THROUGH THE AIR!” Kajii shrieked, throwing an arm over his face as if shielding himself from radiation. “DID YOU KNOW DROPLETS CAN LINGER FOR HOURS? Hours, Akutagawa!”
Akutagawa blinked again, clearly unsure whether to attack him or call Mori to report a mental breakdown.
“Are you ill?” Akutagawa asked, frowning.
“I’m trying to avoid being ill!”
“You… could just move away.”
“I’M AGAINST THE WALL ALREADY!”
From that day onward, Kajii treated Akutagawa like a walking biohazard.
Every hallway encounter ended the same:
Akutagawa coughed.
Kajii shrieked and leapt backwards like a startled cat.
Akutagawa breathed heavily.
Kajii sprinted down the hall with the speed of an Olympic athlete.
Akutagawa stepped into a room.
Kajii stepped out so fast he knocked over a table.
And worst of all—
The incident.
Kajii was working on something Important and Dangerous (which, in his case, meant “anything he touched”) He was hunched over a beaker, humming to himself, when the lab door slid open.
Akutagawa walked in.
They locked eyes.
Akutagawa coughed.
Kajii hurled the beaker at the ceiling in sheer panic.
The explosion that followed shook the entire floor.
By the time the dust settled, Akutagawa stood there unharmed thanks to Rashomon.
Kajii, meanwhile, was curled under a metal desk whispering,
“I can’t do this—I can’t do this—he breathes like DEATH PERSONIFIED—”
Akutagawa, genuinely confused, stood in the wreckage and said,
“What exactly about me terrifies you this much?”
Kajii popped his head out like an agitated meerkat.
“You cough like a tuberculosis museum exhibit!”
“I have a chronic condition.”
“That makes it WORSE!”
Akutagawa narrowed his eyes. “If you’re worried about infection, you can just ask me to keep my distance.”
Kajii paused.
“…Wait.”
Akutagawa raised a brow.
“You’ll… stay a few meters away?”
“If it will stop you from breaking laboratory equipment, yes.”
Kajii gasped. “Akutagawa. You’re so considerate.”
“I’m really not.”
“No—it’s touching. Beautiful. A triumph of human spirit!”
Akutagawa coughed again.
Kajii shrieked so loudly an upper-floor chandelier fell.
Eventually, something unspoken formed between them.
Akutagawa, out of a mixture of annoyance and self-preservation, started wearing a mask whenever Kajii was around.
Kajii, reassured, would lower the volume of his panicked screaming by at least 30%.
Higuchi walked past them one afternoon and saw Akutagawa silently typing reports while wearing a medical mask. Beside him, Kajii was working on a bomb shaped like a giant lemon, humming contentedly.
She whispered to Gin, “Is this… peace?”
Gin whispered back, “I think this is the closest they’ll ever get.”
One day, as Kajii passed Akutagawa in the hall, something miraculous happened.
Akutagawa coughed.
Kajii only flinched a little.
Akutagawa paused, surprised. “…You aren’t running?”
Kajii sighed dramatically.
“I’ve accepted my fate. If I die, I die.”
“…That’s not reassuring.”
“If your lungs are determined to kill me, who am I to defy nature?”
Akutagawa rolled his eyes.
“You’re insane.”
Kajii grinned. “Thank you. That means so much coming from you.”
Akutagawa turned away, muttering under his breath.
But Kajii thought—just for a moment—that maybe he’d conquered his fear.
Then Akutagawa coughed again.
Kajii vaulted over a desk and fled down the hallway screaming.