Welcome to this hell idk wht this is

It’s dark, but the city lights in the distance illuminate Nayuta’s face carefully, tracing along his chin and jaw, reaching up just under his eyes, which are slitted in a half-asleep state. Crescent moons as they are, they gleam in the shadows, twin pearls that mirror Kanata’s own, and Kanata takes care to make as little noise as possible so his younger brother doesn’t wake. Nayuta stirs, but closes his eyes as Kanata stills. Kanata waits to let out his sigh of relief until he’s out the door and shivering in the chill. The air escapes through his mouth in a misty cloud, dissipating into the sky. He really should have brought a coat. Now what? Initially, he’d thought a run would stem his nervous energy. They’d won Paradox Live, Nayuta and him. The real Nayuta was back. They’d won the reward money (though they’d both decided it would be best to donate it to people like them) and despite everything, lost against Buraikan. Paradox Live was, officially, over. And yet still, despite it all, his nerves wouldn’t let him sleep. Some cardio would do him some good, he’d thought as he laid, tossing and turning, in bed. If nothing else, at least he’d manage to get in some exercise. Now, yawning and very cold, Kanata regrets ever choosing to step out, even if the confines of his futon were negligibly better at keeping in the heat (they’d yet to invest in a new space heater despite the fact that the old one had broken down ages ago). Rounding a corner, he aims to get out of the slums and into the city. He’s noticed that the bright, flashing lights and the relatively easy atmosphere as smaller crowds of people sway from store to store lulls him to calm better than any amount of just walking anxiously around dimly lit alleys, tensed at every shadow that might suddenly reveal itself to be an armed thug. The nights in the slums after all, were known for their fair share of bogeymen. Kanata shivers as he’s reminded of that day when Nayuta had left him, the older speeding through the maze-like alleys only to find out that he was too late, his brother lying in a bloody pile near that damned building he frequented too often and too scheduled for his comfort. The bad memories threaten to swallow him up, but the darker thoughts are chased away by a sort of light performance in his peripheries. So he’d reached the more populated part of the metropolis. The streets of the city, Kanata notes, are moderately filled for this time of year and day. Night workers scour a few 24 hour stores for energy bars and caffeinated drinks; groups of high school students (probably sneaking out) linger around, checking watches and scanning their surroundings guiltily; construction workers peel off damaged posters of some idol group or other, replacing them with new ones; couples stroll through a nearby park, hand in hand as they lean heavily against the other, moulding their two shapes into one. Kanata grimaces as a pair gets a little too friendly nuzzling into each other, treading the lines of family-friendly PDA quite carefully. The sight involuntarily snags into memories of his old home, with reminders of his and Nayuta’s mother bringing over the various men who only looked at them with either greed or contempt or, in the rarest of times, pity. He shuffles away as fast as his feet take him. It’s a slow night, and he finds himself getting lulled to sleep from the almost idyllic silence in the air, broken only by a few low murmurs appropriate for the time. Observing the going-ons of the city like the traces of a ghost left behind from their sombre regret, he continues his trek to wherever it takes him. He’s about to end his night on the first peaceful note he’s gotten since they’ve started the Paradox Live battles, so of course it’s only particular to the genre of his and Nayuta’s lives that the cruel knife of fate decides to sink its dirty blade into the throat. His heart jumps as he hears the voice. “Hey!” he calls out, voice as irritating a sound as ever, “Kanata!” It feels so obviously out of place, like an anachronism in some third-rate movie adaptation of a Shakespearean play. His name, spilled outward from the upward grin of the other man’s mouth, peels away the mask of belonging, the masquerade he pretends to play for the hour so easily torn down by a single calling of a salutation. The man–he’s barely a man, really, considering the fact that his childish impulsiveness overshadows any wisdom he’s learned in two something decades of life–blazes through the frigidity of Kanata’s overtone, and it’s surprising how he doesn’t turn tail and flee as soon as he spots the look Kanata shoots him. SUZAKU, for this matter–or rather, Allen, if one forgoes his stage name–does indeed flinch, but continues his scorchingly destructive journey to Kanata nonetheless. “Kanata…” he repeats, slightly breathless, and Kanata waits for him to continue. He doesn’t. “The hell do you want?” Kanata says after a while. Like he’s been snapped out of a daze, Allen stutters like an idiot. “O-oh. I-it’s just. I saw you across the street. I wanted to say hey…” he trails off. Kanata squints at him in suspicion, deliberating whether or not he’s trying to mock him. They’re not friends, not exactly, but they hold a mutual (albeit grudging, in Kanata’s case) appreciation for each other’s desire to make music. Kanata had learned from their meetings throughout the Lives that the rich boy’s enthusiasm for hip-hop was the same as Kanata’s; they’d both joined Paradox Live to prove themselves. Allen’s emotions were ones he wore on his sleeves. If he’d secretly hated him the entire time, he was a better actor than what Kanata had pegged him to be, though he thought it unlikely. Among the sea of sleazy people Kanata’s met, Allen Sugasano and the people he’s–though he deigns to use the word–befriended of the Paradox Live have been the ones who’ve stayed the truest to their hearts. A light wind cards through the air, calling Kanata to wrap his jacket tighter around himself at the chill. “Ah,” Allen pipes up, and Kanata realises that they’ve been staring at each other in silence for a while now. The redhead jerks and after a series of rapid arm movements, holds out his jacket. “You must be cold. Here,” he offers. “Tch.” The moment, if there ever was one, is interrupted. “As if.” Allen deflates, reminiscent of a wounded pup, and springs back up within a split second, as though Kanata had imagined the expression. “No way, Kanata,” he says determinedly, “You gotta be freezing in those clothes,” he eyes his shorts and low-necked shirt, and the gaze alone makes Kanata warm. “What if you get a fever? If you won’t think of yourself, at least think of your brother. Who’ll take care of Nayuta if you get sick?” he blabbers on, stepping closer. “The hell? Don’t bring my brother into this. Besides, I don't need your charity.” Refusing to be intimidated, Kanata keeps his stance, even as Allen veers into his personal space. “Charity?” Allen tilts his head, as though genuinely confused. “It’s not really that if you’re just helping a friend, is it?” Friend. “Either way, I don’t need it.” “Kanataaa,” he whines, and he’s standing close enough that Allen’s breath brushes against his face. It smells sweet , Kanata notices, the thought bubbling up to the forefront of his mind–eyes glancing downwards for merely a split second–and he tries his best to wrestle it down. “S-SUZA–” “It’s SUZAKU! And cozmez’s Kanata!” It’s like throwing a rock into a still lake. The sky that was perfectly mirrored now splits into thousands of shards that ripple outward from the epicentre, and the fan rifles through their pockets hurriedly while others glance and widen eyes in recognition, drifting towards them like moths to a flame. Whatever weird air that had gathered between the two is gone as SUZAKU turns to sign whatever spare slip of paper the fan finds. Before Kanata can register the annoyance that fact brings, he’s bombarded by several similar slips of paper as the redhead, fans crowding around him like ants to sugar. “Kanata!” one fan shouts, “I love your music! Please, sign this for me!” “T-thanks, I guess” He stutters out, muttering and slightly flustered as he’s not used to speaking much with his fans at all. After all, cozmez had done many relatively low-key performances in music houses before Paradox Live had pelted their names on radios, news stations, and big-name magazines with a kind of popularity typically reserved for famous idol groups. Others shout similar words of admiration, shoving writing utensils and whatever merch or paper they wanted him to sign. Dully, Kanata hears Allen speaking to the fan he’s with warmly, and a sour feeling rises in his gut. Before he can focus on what that is, a voice distracts him. “I love you, Kanata! Please, marry me!” The over-enthusiastic fan elbows the rest and stands in front of the crowd, leaping at the white-haired man. “Hah?!” Kanata ducks to the side so she’s unable to grasp at him. He knows that Nayuta would say not to fight them–they’re cozmez’s fans, after all–but Kanata’s hands rise up on instinct, shielding his face and ready to defend should anyone of the surrounding people decide to strike out like the fan. He turns warily, his back feeling terribly unprotected. On the other side, he can hear a similar commotion, and the voice of Allen can barely be heard over the cacophony of the noise the crowd’s making. Their fans clump together like a sort of hive mind, forming a wall that blocks him out of the world. Their voices drone out everything, and Kanata feels suffocated as they tighten around him, a snake around its prey. A hand grabs around his wrist, warm like the sun, and he tenses, turning, only to be met with deep brownish-red eyes. Allen. “Come on,” he says, his voice next to Kanata’s ears in a way that sends a shiver through his spine. Where? Kanata thinks, They’ve blocked nearly all of the paths. His thoughts stutter to a halt as Allen tangles their fingers together, tugging at them until both of them break into a run, swooping in between gaps of bodies and ducking under stray arms. A final push, and they’ve broken out. Their shoes patter through the streets in a rhythm that’s consumed by the crowd of fans that follow them. In his bones, Kanata feels the vibrations his feet make as they stomp against the concrete, his breaths adding to an instrumental that he duets with Allen, hand still clenched in sweaty hand. The other man mutters a few words, a curse, then, ‘damn it, we’re not losing them,’ and Kanata snaps out of his daze, fingers twitching but not yet letting go. “Damn you,” he mutters under his breath, though with Allen being so close he overhears. “Huh?” “This is all your fault. Your stupid prettyboy hair’s too recognizable." Almost shyly, Allen tugs at his hair. “R-really? You think it’s pretty?” The words are so utterly absurd that Kanata almost feels the need to laugh. Kanata glances at the expression on Allen’s face–so completely innocent and fixated on Kanata’s words, cheeks tinged slightly pink–and the laugh bubbles up involuntarily, taking the edge off of his building anger. Allen’s lips twitch in turn. “W-was it really that funny?” he asks. “Absolutely not,” is the response he gets as Kanata sobers, “More importantly, they’re gaining on us.” He angles a thumb back to point at their followers, which seem to have been replaced by several police officers aiming to stop the two punk-looking troublemakers speeding through the streets at night. “Cops,” notices Allen (quite unnecessarily, if Kanata must add). He starts to slow, tugging on Kanata’s sleeve. “Come on, I’m sure if we just explain they’ll leave us alone.” “Explain?!” Kanata nearly shoves him away just for that, “Like hell, they won’t even give us a chance to talk. Just follow me.” Allen hesitates, but Kanata tugs him along with their joined hands. “There,” he says, nodding towards a tight alley close to a corner. It’s not completely hidden, but if they turned abruptly and let the shadows swallow them up, they’d be safe for a few minutes, at least. Allen nods in understanding–albeit with a slight dour expression–and at Kanata’s signal, they duck to the side, the momentum of their run sending both of them straight into a wall with an oof! The officers thunder closer, and Allen unconsciously moves closer to Kanata, glancing out of the alley nervously. Their followers pass like a stampede, eyes barely glancing at the shadowy corner that covered the two men as though there was nothing there at all. Both of them huff lightly, wary of making too much noise. Kanata leans back and relaxes, placing the back of his head against the brick wall of the building. It’s probably a restaurant or pastry shop or something, because a sweet smell wafts across, making his mood more amenable than it would have been otherwise. He tries his best to keep their personal spaces separate, though with the narrow space they’re in, there’s barely enough room to go without stepping on each other’s toes. Speaking of. This guy… he’s way too close, Kanata thinks. And indeed he is. The redhead leans over the other, a hand pinning Kanata against the wall, glancing out anxiously. “Do you think they’re gone?” Allen asks, breaking the silence, seemingly not noticing the way he’s unintentionally kabedon-ing Kanata. At the silence he’s met with in response, he shifts his eyes back to Kanata, who meets his eyes with a flinty gaze of his own. “Uh…” is all Allen says, quite smartly, then gulps as his eyes flick down, then back up to meet the other’s again. Involuntarily, Kanata’s do the same. “I…” Allen starts, but then drifts off, the word trailing the air between them like a whisper. Kanata isn’t oblivious of the way some people look at him–from glances on the street to full-on gaping faces whenever cozmez performs. But he has no time to reciprocate those feelings. Onstage, he’s blinded by lights and his phantom illusion and the feeling of the beat as he raps through it. Outside of his own music and Nayuta, he sees nothing from other people in his own life. But Allen stands on the same stage as himself. Allen is obsessed with hip-hop and rapping in a way that he sees whenever he glances in the mirror. But where Kanata is cold, cutting, and precise, Allen is on fire, a chaotic and tumultuous presence that ignites and incinerates and scorches. Allen is a fire and he burns . Especially onstage. Especially in the frigidity that Kanata has established in his world. Kanata isn’t oblivious of the way he looks at Allen. Kanata isn’t oblivious of the way Allen looks at him, either. With the thought in mind, and without thinking, Kanata steps forwards, until their chests bump against each other, and his face is far too close to Allen’s. “What are you…?” the redhead breathes, although his hands rise to meet Kanata’s torso, stopping just as they graze his waist. Kanata furrows his brows as he closes the gap between them, and Allen’s breath hitches as his lips meet Kanata’s. His lips are softer than Kanata expects, and his sweet smell only adds to the atmosphere. Allen tilts his head to get a better angle, and Kanata dives into the opening, head spinning as though his brain has been lost in brain fog.. Allen’s the first one to pull away, surprisingly. The motion brings out a small stab of annoyance in Kanata, which barely manages to shock him out of his daze. “T-that was nice,” Allen says, stuttering like the idiot he is. “Yeah,” mutters Kanata, his mouth pulling too ahead of his own mind until he realises what he said. “I-I mean! Whatever. It was whatever. Let’s just go; I think the cops are gone now.” “Yeah,” Allen says in the same tone. “Whatever,” Kanata tosses his hair over his shoulder, turning away from the other man in an attempt to hide his own face. It’s been a few minutes, though Kanata still checks to make sure the coast is clear. As he’s about to leave, however, “Wait!” Allen yelps out, “You–you’re still coming over to do the shuffle song, right?” “W-what?!” Kanata almost trips out of the alley. “The shuffle song,” Allen says intently, striding forward, “You do still want to finish it, right?” The damn shuffle song is the last thing on Kanata’s mind, especially after the completely idiotic thing he’d just done. “Sure, I’ll– just– later,” is what he finally decides on, then escapes the alleyway as fast as he can. “Ahh, alright.” Kanata swears that Allen mutters something else, but by that point, Kanata’s too far ahead to even think about what it could be. As soon as he’s sure that he’s out of Allen’s sight, he runs. The further away he was from Allen the better, and the more he assumed that his brain would start working again. What was he thinking? Kanata repeated the words in his mind. What in the world was I thinking? He would have shouted the words to the world if he’d been sure that the wind would have blown them away as far as possible. Soon, the lights from the city become dimmer and the streetlights work less and less in between roads. He’s home. As silently as he can, Kanata unlocks the door, holding the keys to make sure they don’t jingle and wake Nayuta. As he steps in, he relishes the feeling of warmth that home gives. Warmth? Kanata glances around, spying the glow of a space heater in the corner as it creates a comfortable atmosphere. He’s planning on warming his freezing limbs before slipping back into bed when– “Where have you been?” The familiar voice of his twin carries across the room, cutting into the silence. “Nowhere,” Kanata answers quickly, “Nothing. When did we get that?” He asks, with a vague gesture at the heater, hoping to distract. Nayuta simply waves the question off. “Paid it off with some funds from a part-time job a while ago. Just forgot to tell you.” His eyes sharpen then. “Besides, you still haven’t answered my question.” He rises from the chair he’d been perched on. For how long his little brother had been waiting, Kanata doesn’t know, and he silently curses himself for waking Nayuta. “Were you out on one of those jobs again?” Nayuta asks worriedly, starting to scan Kanata’s face for any sort of injuries or bruises, which weren’t entirely uncommon on those odd jobs Iori Suiseki used to send him on in the past. “You said you’d quit doing them,” Nayuta says accusingly as Kanata brushes his hands off of him lightly. “I did quit. It wasn’t one of those jobs. I promise,” he adds at Nayuta’s disbelieving expression. “I was just walking.” “Really?” “Really, really.” “Hmm,” is all Nayuta says, and Kanata almost believes that that’s the end of it, until, “You seeing someone?” “I- What?” Sputters Kanata. Out of all the things that he expected his brother to ask, this is one of the last of them, “A-as in what?” Nayuta rolls his eyes. “As in, you know what I mean. Well? Are you?” he asks again, and it’s in such an honest tone that Kanata wonders where in the world he’d gotten that idea from

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