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The neon lights blaze intensely in the confined space of the elevator.
Akihiko slips into a corner as new passengers board, mostly students. He has just submitted his application for an international violin competition — the first one he’s dared to enter in years. His heart is still beating fast. It’s been a while since he’s been in this building of the university, used primarily for paperwork. Everything feels more serious now, more real.
When he gets home, he’ll just have time for a quick shower before joining the others in the practice room. If he doesn’t keep his hands busy with music, he feels like he might lose his mind.
The descent in the elevator is slow, the submissions office was on the top floor. He taps his fingers on his bag, restless, but there’s nothing to do but wait.
He leans back against the wall as he arranges the registration forms into his bag. His whole body aches to play the violin again. Seriously, completely, like he used to a long time ago. Like he used to before...
There’s a soft ding as the elevator stops at another floor and Akihiko closes his bag, his gaze shifting towards the door, hesitating, then sliding open.
He senses it even before his eyes can fully register it, even before his mind can make sense of the image imprinting itself on his retina.
A wild tangle of tousled black hair. One he would recognize anywhere. One he swears he can still feel beneath his fingers. The scent still too vivid in his memory after all these months.
And then, light eyes that have haunted his dreams and nightmares lift slowly, until they settle on his, locking. Familiar and devastatingly distant all at once.
Everything seems to pause for a moment.
Surprise, hesitation, fear. He struggles to keep up with the rapid cascade of emotions.
Ugetsu steps inside, surrounded by other people, and sidles in as the elevator doors slide shut.
Akihiko’s heart has stopped beating, or perhaps it’s pounding too fast, thrumming in his ears. He can’t say. He hears a hum, as if he were no longer in sync with the world, as if he had shifted to a slightly different dimension of the universe. The world keeps spinning for everybody but him, his own personal moon pulling him back like the ocean tides.
He keeps his gaze fixed on the back of his head, then slowly lowers it to his nape, hidden by his hair, and his shoulders covered in a black shirt. His small frame always fitting Akihiko’s broken edges. He continues to study him, turned away, a messenger bag similar to his own slung over one shoulder and his violin case in one hand.
Even though there are people standing between them, keeping them apart, Akihiko doesn’t even notice. Their murmur is distant, just background noise. The world in black and white, except for the two of them. Then he blinks and comes back to himself; sounds and colours return, the world begins to spin again.
Yet, his heart continues to race, not quite sure whether to hope they’ll stay surrounded by people or to dread the loneliness that will come if the elevator empties out.
Then, the elevator begins to descend, and for Akihiko, it’s as if he were free-falling down the elevator shaft, plummeting at full speed towards the bottom. That’s how Ugetsu’s presence makes him feel, even with his back turned, even if he can’t meet his gaze.
Ugetsu stands there, almost in the center, his back perfectly straight, elegant, as if he were always on stage, as if he always felt everyone’s eyes on him.
One by one, the other passengers press their buttons and slip out at their floors, leaving the space gradually emptier.
Despite his best efforts, Akihiko can’t tear his eyes away from him. He wonders if Ugetsu can feel the weight of his gaze, if he senses the sharpness of those green eyes piercing him like hundreds of pointed darts. But as always, Ugetsu betrays no emotion; he remains there, calm as the space around them empties.
At every floor, Akihiko prays with all his might that Ugetsu will step off without even glancing back and return to an existence without him; and simultaneously begs him to stay.
One more floor, just one more floor. A perpetual prayer in his head.
Akihiko’s throat tightens. Every step closer to being alone feels heavier, like a stone dragging him down from within. His fingers twitch at his sides. Should Ugetsu’s presence still affect him this much?
Somewhere, the gods must have answered his prayers — or maybe a fallen angel is punishing him. The last person steps out, and now it’s just the two of them. A confined space with Ugetsu, no windows. It almost feels like the place he once called home.
His heart hammers against his ribs, a frantic rhythm not so different from that of his drums. But at least with those, he can control the beat, bend them to his will with a pair of drumsticks; his heart, instead, is beyond his control. It seems to mock him for having a will of its own.
He clears his throat, unusually dry, and the sound echoes unnaturally loud in the tight space. With a nervous breath, he breaks first.
“Wasn’t expecting to see you here.” His voice is more guarded than he intended.
Ugetsu doesn’t even look at him, doesn’t acknowledge his words, nor his presence. As if deaf to his voice, as if he had filtered Akihiko out of his system and no longer even registers anything related to him.
Akihiko takes a step closer, hesitant, wondering why he’s still trying.
Hasn’t he had enough? How many more times does he want to let his heart be trampled on? How many more times does he want to feel it crumble inside his chest, watch the ashes fall to the floor at his feet, with Ugetsu standing triumphant before him?
Ugetsu’s name is already on his lips, his hand hanging mid-air, ready to rest on his shoulder in what could be a fatal mistake, when suddenly— A lurch, and the elevator shudders to a halt.
The overhead lights dip, flickering once before settling into a dull, uneasy glow. Not fully off, but low enough that shadows crease the corners. The hum of the motor dies.
Akihiko’s breath hitches. “Great,” he mutters bitterly, pressing the emergency button. Nothing. “Just great.”
No signal on his phone either.
He lets out a frustrated sigh.
Being stuck in an elevator isn’t something he has accounted for. Being stuck in an elevator with Ugetsu even less.
In the stillness, Ugetsu’s amused chuckle cuts through. “Guess we’re stuck.”
Figures. He never loses his composure, never breaks his calm — unless it’s Akihiko who makes the wrong move. Unless he hands him a ceramic mug destined to shatter on the floor.
For some reason, Akihiko catches an underlying deceptiveness in his voice that grates on his nerves.
Ugetsu tucks his phone back into his pocket; he must have no signal either. He presses the emergency button himself, his finger lingering on it for an endless moment.
Nothing. Absolute silence.
Just the two of them — the last men standing in a post-apocalyptic world.
Akihiko leans against the wall, legs stretched out, forming a triangle with the floor. His gaze weighs heavily on Ugetsu, burdened and relentless. It feels claustrophobic, being trapped here with him of all people. Like a ticking time bomb ready to explode at any moment.
He wonders if there’s a word for feeling fear and desire at the same time.
It’s crazy how he still wants him after all this time. After everything.
And then Ugetsu finally turns in his direction, leaning against the wall next to Akihiko. His eyelashes cast shadows on his face, his eyes almost black. “What?” he asks.
He blinks a couple of times, as if for a moment he had drifted too far away from here. “Just thinking it’s been a while since we met.”
Ugetsu says nothing else; he simply holds Akihiko’s gaze, a slight curve to his lips, impossible to read, impossible to detect.
“What are you doing here?” Akihiko asks then. Small talk. They both hate it.
He shrugs. In a flat voice, he says, “Visited someone.”
Someone. Akihiko tries not to read too much into it. He wonders if Ugetsu is seeing someone. The thought stirs a fiery surge in his blood. Look who’s talking, as if he hadn’t slept with other people in the last few months. Mostly for a roof over his head, often to cover memories with someone new.
“You?”
Akihiko takes a few seconds to decide how to answer. Part of him is terrified of saying the reason out loud. Of telling Ugetsu. Yet, there’s a small part inside him — his inner child, hungry for affection and reassurance — that presses to reveal it. He can’t keep it a secret for long anyway: surely Ugetsu too will be traveling to the south of the country in a few months for the same reason.
“Applied to that international competition in Nagoya.”
He hates the hopeful tone in which he says it, almost hesitant, almost expecting. He slowly lifts his gaze to Ugetsu as if wishing to catch a sign of... pride. Why does he need his validation so much?
“What’s this sudden burst of seriousness with your violin?”
The words sting like thousands little needles in his skin. He stiffens. “I’ve always been serious about the violin.” He sounds like a pouting child, scolded after slacking for so long.
What he means is, ‘I’ve always loved the violin. I’ve always loved you.’
“Didn’t seem like that.”
The jab cuts deeper than it should. “Why do you always hav—”
“How are things with your bassist?” he cuts him off, that same maddening small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Akihiko feels his jaw clench. “I’ve got nothing to say about it,” he replies curtly, and Ugetsu’s smile only tilts wickedly.
“Hm? I’ve seen the way blondie looks at you. Don’t tell me you haven’t fucked him yet.”
Talking like that about Haruki makes Akihiko’s stomach turn, a tightness squeezing his gut and a bitter taste settling in the back of his throat. The anger rises, fast and easy, just like every time he falls prey to Ugetsu’s strikes. Years of practice haven’t taught him a thing. He still hasn’t learned how to dodge the blows, how not to take a punch right in the face.
“Not everyone’s like you, opening their legs to everybody,” he spits back. It doesn’t make him feel any better.
If his words affect him, Ugetsu doesn’t show it. “I don’t think you’re just anybody for him, aren’t you?” He makes a brief pause; there’s a hard glint in his eyes, a malice that he doesn’t bother to hide. “He was looking at you so... pathetically.”
Akihiko’s throat tightens. Dragging Haruki into this conversation is not fair. He has nothing to do with the two of them, with the mess they’ve become. Haruki doesn’t deserve to see this side of him, this shadowed recess he’s always tried to hide, to shield him from.
Protecting him from his ugly sides is all Akihiko can do when his heart is already a prisoner of someone else.
“He’s not pathetic.”
“Yeah, sure,” Ugetsu shrugs. “It’s not like I care anyway.”
Of course, that’s to be expected from him. Divert attention, change the subject. Deliver an almost lethal blow, then wash his hands of it, turn away, and leave the victim bleeding on the floor.
He still doesn’t know why Ugetsu ended things; he has never explained, and Akihiko has never asked. Being stuck here together, in this space with no escape, it suddenly feels like the only chance he’ll get to hear an answer. Maybe he should do it now, take advantage of this situation. For once, Ugetsu won’t be able to run away. Maybe Akihiko should ask. Maybe he deserves to know.
The question hovers at the edge of his tongue. Will there be hope or heartache waiting on the other side?
But the words stick, weighed down by fear and pride — the last shred he has left, that has somehow survived. Would hearing those words change anything between them? Would they bring closure?
The silence crashes back harder this time, but beneath Akihiko’s anger, the old ache coils tighter. That mix of longing, frustration, and humiliation that has never fully gone away.
The walls close in around them, and for a long moment they stand like that, wordless, still.
Then, Ugetsu’s gaze drops to Akihiko’s lips, his own parted slightly, as if tasting a memory. Without thinking, Akihiko’s eyes follow, lowering to Ugetsu’s mouth, fighting the pull to close the gap between them. Whispers of the past hang between them like smoke, enveloping them in spirals, stinging their eyes, making each breath harder to take.
In this small, weakly lit space, Ugetsu’s features seem almost ethereal, untouchable. There’s a vulnerability there, behind the mask he always wears. The very mask Akihiko had managed to peel away so many times when they were still together. The mask of rebellion behind which Ugetsu has always hidden his fragility, disguised as indifference, his sensitivity transformed into coldness.
Akihiko is so lost in his mind that he’s unsure whether it’s real or just his longing shaping what he sees.
Slowly, unconsciously, he steps forwards, giving Ugetsu every chance to stop him, to refuse him. To reject him in the way only Ugetsu knows how. Instead, Ugetsu remains rooted, a spark of rebellion flashing in those eyes, dark in the dim light of the elevator. ‘Come on, let’s see what you can do,’ his gaze seems to say, challenging him. ‘I’ve always had you wrapped around my finger.’
Akihiko swallows down the bitter taste of doubt, the belief that Ugetsu is just toying with him. That Ugetsu truly despises him, hates him even. That he just wants to rile him up, strike him where it hurts most, watch him crumble before his eyes, vulnerable and rendered harmless.
Yet, desire pulls Akihiko closer.
For a moment, he imagines closing the distance, Ugetsu stepping back until his spine presses against the wall, fingertips tracing along his jaw. He would savour the flicker in his eyes, how they’d widen before glazing over, torn between defiance and surrender. Then, he’d guide his arms up and over his head, drinking in the sight of Ugetsu offering complete submission.
“It’s not fair for you to have that expression after you broke up with me.”
A whisper, a cry for help.
Another step, and their breaths mingle now, nearly touching. Akihiko’s senses fill with the scent of Ugetsu’s old perfume, and he inhales slowly, deeply. It’s the same fragrance he has known for years, stubbornly familiar and painfully intimate. Just a faint trace, but impossible to forget. It drags a tide of memories crashing through his chest — long afternoons locked away in practice rooms, the feel of Ugetsu’s fingers brushing his hand, the soft press of his lips on Akihiko’s neck.
Is it still possible to reach through all that has been? All the bitterness and the pain? To go back, before love turned into agony. Before the company of the other became synonymous with constant suffering. Before being together started to feel so lonely.
His skin warms to the closeness, his head tilts to the side. They’re only a breath apart now, their eyes fluttering closed. A pleasant tingle spreads through his head.
And then—
Ding!
The elevator jolts as the lights snap back, brighter than before, almost blinding after the prolonged dimness. It gives a slight shudder, the doors slowly slide open at the floor.
Akihiko feels dazed. He takes a few seconds to return to reality, to remember that there are other people in the world besides the two of them. Ugetsu’s eyes are still on him, and for a moment, he wants to believe that Ugetsu, too, got lost in a universe he doesn’t want to return from.
Ugetsu steps to the side, moving away from him. He doesn’t look over his shoulder as he steps out the elevator, casually lifting a hand in a wave.
“Bye, Akihiko.”
He disappears down the hallway, swallowed from view by other people who step inside and fill the space he left.
Akihiko stands frozen, the phantom taste of an almost kiss lingering on his lips. He can almost feel it, like a faint tingling that Ugetsu has left behind.
He fights the urge to chase after him.
When the elevator doors close, his heart is still racing.