Chapter Text
Nakamura is practically skipping— no, he is skipping— down the street, the late afternoon sun pleasantly warming his casual, yet stylish, streetwear. He wears a broad grin, borderline maniacal, as he hums to himself, a glossy paper bag swaying with his steps.
Nakamura has a lot to be happy about on this glorious day.
1.) It’s Hirose’s birthday.
2.) He has the perfect gift for him.
3.) And he, perhaps best of all, has been invited, via a group LINE, to attend Hirose’s surprise birthday celebration.
Nakamura had been blessed with the invitation a week prior when Hirose’s closest friends had added him into a group chat on LINE, which they had made to brainstorm plans for Hirose’s birthday.
Nakamura did not add much to the chat. He preferred to carefully watch the ongoing explosion of conversations as he gaped at his phonescreen, protected by a pillow squeezed against his face. His stomach twisted into knots as he tried to process the fact that he, Okuto Nakamura, was now considered a part of Hirose’s intimate friend group. After he had finished screaming/sobbing into his pillow and had taken a few adrenaline-fueled, giddy laps around his bedroom, he had swiped up his phone and hungrily read all of the rapid-fire messages he had missed.
The group had decided to treat Hirose to his favorite nabe restaurant. With shaky fingers, Nakamura typed and re-typed his response to the group chat at the decision.
“INCREDIBLE! Thank you so much for personally inviting me—” Too eager.
“YES. Hirose would LOVE that—” Too personal.
“hah, nice, btw, what are you guys wearing? Is this dressy-casual or casual or is a suit too much or just right—” Too… emotionally vulnerable.
Nakamura decided to play it safe with a “👍” LINE sticker.
Crisis averted, Nakamura had spent the rest of that night consumed by his daydreams about Hirose’s birthday. He didn’t get any sleep that night, as it wasn’t important. He had to put ALL of his energy into how he would make this night absolutely PERFECT for Hirose as one of his CONFIRMED CLOSE FRIENDS.
Nakamura is two hours ahead of the scheduled dinner, hunting for something that will complete the perfect gift he has for Hirose: a premium greeting card.
When they were merely friends, Nakamura wouldn't have dreamt of giving Hirose a personalized birthday card. It would have been too personal. However, now that they were an ESTABLISHED ITEM (okay, a good friend-item), as dictated by Hirose’s close friends like Oomori, who had been the one to initially add him to the LINE chat (he owed that man HIS LIFE), Nakamura knew he was ready to cross another step on the staircase of intimacy with HIROSE.
The sun is low in the sky when Nakamura enters the sleek department store, determinedly pushing past the crush of people as he slowly makes his way to the elevators at the very back of the building. The fancy stationary store, filled to the brim with heavy parchment, intricate embroidery, and silky notecards finished with traditional Japanese calligraphy, is several stories up within the main building.
Nakamura didn’t want to leave anything to chance. Luckily, the department store is just two blocks away from the restaurant; all he has to do is pick up the card, write the perfect little note inside in his best handwriting, and calmly walk to the restaurant and have a great time with HIS BOY on his BIRTHDAY, which he is INVITED TO.
Nakamura dreamily smiles as he thinks about his good fortune yet again, shuffling to the very back of the crowded elevator. Absolutely nothing, NOTHING, could ruin his good mood, even in this stifling elevator, which has garish, ancient carpeting and smells vaguely of cigarettes and heavy floral perfume.
The elevator grinds to a halt, the annoying mechanical chime pinging on each level as people slowly trickle out. The late afternoon crowd dissipates at every stop until only a few remain.
Nakamura is staring up at the harsh industrial lights in the elevator, daydreaming of Hirose’s cute face lighting up as he slowly unwraps his gift, when a hauntingly familiar cologne invades his senses. He blinks, eyes squinting as he slowly glances to his left in trepidation.
Kousei Matsumura is already staring at him with a pleasant, disarming smile. “Well, if it isn’t Nakamura. What a surprise.”
Nakamura’s face sours instantly. He hadn’t seen Matsumura since their encounter in the mall last winter. “Matsumura,” he nods coolly, eyes narrowing.
When Matsumura glances back to face the elevator’s brass doors, Nakamura instantly sizes him up: suave haircut, lightweight jacket, fashionable little boots and… THERE. Matsumura clutches a large, glittering gift bag, which Nakamura notices with mounting horror is much bigger than his own gift bag, which now hangs limply in his own hand, a barely perceptible weight.
‘DAMN IT!’ Nakamura thinks, ‘This creep is totally going to upstage me at Hirose’s birthday! What did he bring!?’
“So,” Nakamura starts, casually leaning against the gold, slightly bent handrail at the back of the elevator. “What are your plans this evening?”
Matsumura glances down at him as an elderly woman shuffles out, leaving them alone as the doors shut with a mechanical snap behind her. Only one more stop to go…
“Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but it's my dear friend Hirose's birthday today. I’m stopping by his place tonight to drop off my gift.” Matsumura says with a benign smile on his face, gently holding up his gift bag, which sparkles in the dim light.
‘He’s going to Hirose’s house BEFORE THE ACTUAL CELEBRATION!?’ Nakamura internally sobs. He forces on an outward smile, casually showing off his own sleek, pale orange gift bag. (‘WHICH IS HIROSE’S FAVORITE COLOR, BY THE WAY.’)
“W-well, even though I'm not seeing Hirose at his house—” Nakamura has never even seen his home before!“—I'll be seeing him later at the restaurant along with everyone else, so…”
Matsumura's perfect face scrunches in confusion, his unruffled, cool demeanor cracking. “Restaurant?—”
The elevator abruptly stops to a creaking halt, the car itself grinding horribly against the walls. Nakamura and Matsumura stumble together, gripping each other's shoulders in their mutual confusion. Before either of them can speak, a horrible crack resounds above them and the car lurches downward, causing them to completely crumble together onto the stained carpet. For a moment, everything is still, the light fixture ominously flickering above them.
Nakamura and Matsumura both stare at each other, wide eyed, at a loss for words.
“I think… I think that was the worst of it—” Matsumura starts before being cut off by another horrible lurch within the cabin. He grips Nakamura’s shoulders, not necessarily to right himself, but to keep the shorter boy safely situated in one place as he himself crouches down, low and watchful, his own balance already restored.
Matsumura regards Nakamura carefully, his concern evident on his face. “Are you alright?”
Nakamura nods, his stomach lurching painfully as he hears yet another crack resound above them. Matsumura opens his mouth to say something, perhaps a warning, before the last elevator cable snaps.
The two boys crash together in a painful heap on the dirty floor as the cab rapidly free falls several stories down. After five long seconds, the cab finally stops, the mechanical breaks halting what would have been a more disastrous crash. Nakamura groans, his vision blurring at the edges as he tries to get his bearings; he shakes Matsumura by his shoulder, elbowing him until he blearily opens his eyes.
“Are… are you alright?” Nakamura tentatively asks, his shoulder blades burning. Matsumura nods, rubbing the back of his head; he sobers up immediately after seeing Nakamura’s face.
“Nakamura! Here—” Matsumura hastily digs into his pocket to fish out a handkerchief, a delicate midnight blue. Matsumura vaguely gestures to his own face as he hands Nakamura the handkerchief.
Nakamura absently dabs at his nose and is deeply embarrassed to see the blotch of bright red staining the dainty fabric. “AH! I didn’t realize I was bleeding! I wouldn’t have used your handkerchief if I had known!—” Matsumura simply dismisses Nakamura’s stuttering with a light wave of the hand, pushing himself up with mild effort as he straightens.
“Please, don’t worry. I offered you.” Matsumura says absently, dusting off his jacket.
The light fixture above them struggles as it flickers between dim, industrial yellow to a pure, cavernous darkness. “Anyways, I think we have bigger problems…” Matsumura mutters, offering his hand to Nakamura, who reluctantly clutches the handkerchief to his nose as he heaves himself up with Matsumura’s aid.
They stand together in the eerily quiet elevator cab. No available light leaks in through the cracks from the doors, so the only reprieve from the heavy darkness is broken by the dim, flickering fluorescent bulb above them. Matsumura calmly makes his way over to the elevator panel and pushes the emergency button, its age evident in the brass buttons.
Matsumura’s even press of the button, punctuated by loud clicks, dissolves into rapid-fire pushing as nothing happens. “This is just great…” He mutters to himself, inspecting the whole wall panel of the elevator's door— no electricity at all. “It's dead.”
“You're… you're kidding, right? You have to be kidding.” Nakamura says, blood-splotched handkerchief tucked into his own trouser pants, forgotten. He tentatively walks beside Matsumura, placing his hand on the cold steel of the elevator door, right along its crack.
‘I had been going to Hirose’s birthday celebration. I had been going to Hirose's birthday celebration that I had been invited to by Hirose's inner circle, making me officially part of that inner circle, too.’ Nakamura thinks as he blankly stares at the door. He starts to tremble slightly. ‘I had been GOING TO HIROSE'S BIRTHDAY CELEB— WHAT AM I DOING? I HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!’ Nakamura slots his fingers into the thin crack of the elevator's doors and with all his might, starts pulling the solid door towards him.
It doesn’t budge.