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The nearly two-day captivity ended with the frantic ringing of the intercom.
Gojo flipped his phone face down—the screen still glowing silently with missed calls—and turned his eyes toward the entrance.
“Shut up.”
He raked a hand through his hair, irritation flashing across his face, then began removing the devices attached to Yuuji.
Slowly.
At last, when the restraints around his wrists were undone, Yuuji lunged at him.
But his body betrayed him. Tremors wracked his limbs. His arms were numb. He crumpled to the floor.
Gojo looked down at him without expression.
“Suguru's here.”
That was all he said before draping a bath towel over Yuuji’s body.
Yuuji stared blankly as Gojo moved toward the intercom.
He pulled on a shirt and pressed the unlock button.
Desperation jolted through Yuuji.
He began wiping himself frantically.
The fluids clinging to his skin.
The obscene slickness soaking into the floor.
He scrubbed like it might save him.
But the stench in the room—
the devices still half-hidden beneath the towel—
made it obvious what had happened here.
His hair had clumped together in stiff strands.
Bruises bloomed across his body.
His lips were split; he could taste blood.
He managed to gather his clothes and pull them on.
Even so—
he didn’t want Todo to see him like this.
Not like this.
“Pretty awful state you’re in.”
The voice was light—
almost pleased.
Gojo didn’t answer. He had already slumped onto the sofa, head bowed slightly.
“How many times did you do it? It reeks in here. I’m opening a window.”
Kicking one of the restraints aside with deliberate casualness, Geto walked past Yuuji.
The curtains were pulled aside.
The window creaked open.
Cold night air flooded the room.
The pain sharpened instantly.
“Todo’s been calling Yuuji since yesterday,” Geto added lightly.
“You didn't realize today was the semifinal?”
Yuuji lowered his gaze, unable to endure the question.
“Yuuji. Are you quitting manzai?”
“Brother.”
Todo’s voice was quiet.
Yuuji couldn’t look at him.
He didn’t want to hear anything.
Didn’t want to say anything.
But he had to say something.
His throat was raw. The words wouldn’t come.
It hurt.
It was humiliating.
He was sorry.
He wanted to disappear.
“Why?”
“…Sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“…For missing the semifinal… I’m sorry.”
“Don’t insult me, Itadori.”
It was Todo’s voice that trembled.
“Do you really think I’m angry over something that trivial?”
“No. No—…”
Yuuji shook his head weakly.
Still looking down.
Without looking at Gojo, Todo asked, his anger laid bare:
“It wasn’t consensual, was it?”
“It was.”
A soft chuckle.
“Right, Yuuji?”
Yuuji didn’t nod.
Didn’t shake his head.
He just kept staring at the floor.
Gojo didn’t wait for an answer.
“Of course it was. Yuuji told me not to tell you. Said things were better when we were doing manzai together. Makes sense, right? I wrote everything for him. Every piece of my material was for Yuuji. Every single one. There’s no way I’d lose to you. I’m the only one who can make him happy. You know that. Neither of you would’ve made it without me. Yuuji let me fuck him for your sake.”
“Stop…”
Yuuji’s voice broke into sobs.
Todo grabbed the front of his soaked hoodie and forced him to his feet.
Gojo’s hollow gaze followed them.
“Yuuji, don’t go.”
His voice was desperate.
“Don’t go, Yuuji.”
But neither Yuuji nor Todo looked back.
They left.
And the door closed.
There was no conversation.
They rode in silence, the taxi carrying them through the city.
Only when they were swallowed by the chaos of Tokyo Station did Yuuji feel as though he could finally breathe.
Todo booked a room at a random business hotel.
Yuuji took the key card from his hand and went inside.
He washed himself over and over again.
Until his skin burned.
Until it felt raw.
He lost track of how long he stood beneath the shower.
When he finally stepped out, his fingers were pale and wrinkled.
He grabbed a clean bath towel.
Barely dried himself.
Then lay down on the bed.
Todo knocked once.
Asked if he was alright.
Yuuji pretended to be asleep.
Curled inward.
Silent.
Thirty minutes after Todo’s footsteps faded from the door,
Yuuji quietly left the room.
And disappeared.
◇
I’m sorry, Todo.
When I said I wanted to do manzai with you—
when I said I wanted to reach the top together—
I meant it.
Every word.
But there was something I pretended not to notice.
Something I could never tell you.
Somewhere inside me,
I was still comparing everything to when I did manzai with Gojo-senpai.
The standard in my heart never changed.
It was always him.
I’m sorry.
Even while I stood beside you,
I kept wondering—
If none of it had happened,
would I still be doing manzai with him?
I kept thinking something that cruel.
Even though I was the one who asked you to team up.
I’m sorry I missed the semifinal.
I’m sorry I betrayed you.
◇
He sent a short message to his manager.
I’m quitting.
Then he turned off his phone.
He sank back into the seat of the shinkansen.
Soon, he would arrive in the town where he was born.
He had lived in that house until he graduated high school.
After his grandfather died,
it had been nothing but an empty place.
The thing that kept the loneliness away
had been comedy shows.
Sometimes he watched.
Sometimes he didn’t.
But he always left the television on.
Listening to other people laugh
made him feel less alone.
Eventually, he began to think—
Maybe someday,
I could stand at the center of that laughter.
Now—
it didn’t matter anymore.
He already knew where it had gone wrong.
It was the moment he reached out
and took that man’s hand.
One week passed in near-sleep.
He barely left the futon.
His body—stubbornly resilient—recovered within five days.
As if nothing had happened.
But every time the old front door rattled in the wind,
his shoulders jerked.
If he walked outside,
how many people would recognize him?
He didn’t want anyone to find him.
He wanted to start over from before he had been someone.
He kept the television off.
The lights off.
Night after night,
he endured the dark.
In silence.
Eventually, even that began to feel absurd.
He went to the supermarket.
He pulled a cap low over his eyes and drew the hood of his sweatshirt over it.
He hunched his shoulders as he walked,
not wanting even the elderly neighbors to recognize him.
The bright store lights.
The cheerful background music.
For a moment, it eased the loneliness.
Maybe I should just get a job here,
he thought vaguely.
He thanked the cashier.
Packed his groceries into thin plastic bags.
I should’ve bought a reusable bag.
I’ll be coming back anyway.
“Excuse me.”
A hand tapped his shoulder.
His entire body flinched.
He turned slowly.
An elderly woman smiled gently,
holding out a tube of doubanjiang.
“I think you forgot this.”
“…Oh. Thanks.”
In Todo’s refrigerator,
there had always been countless condiments—
some of them his.
The memory surfaced.
He shook his head,
as if to dislodge it.
Halfway home,
the plastic bag holding the ten-kilo bag of rice began to tear.
I should’ve bought that reusable bag.
He shifted the weight to one arm.
For the first time in days,
he felt hunger.
It brought a strange relief.
His gate came into view.
He took his key from his pocket.
He slid it into the lock.
Just as his hand touched the sliding door—
a strong grip seized his shoulder.
“Yuuji.”
The groceries slipped from his hand.
He didn’t need to turn around.
He knew.
The shallow breathing behind him.
The faint tremor in those fingers.
It felt distant.
Like it was happening to someone else.
Did I ever tell him about my hometown?
How did he find this place?
The thought barely finished forming before he dismissed it.
It didn’t matter.
His brain had already stopped processing this as something real.
“You’ll let me in, right?”
Gojo lifted the fallen grocery bags effortlessly
and whispered into Yuuji’s ear.
He pushed past him,
slid the door closed,
kicked off his shoes,
and walked inside as if he belonged there.
He set the bags down in the old kitchen,
then returned to the entrance.
Taking Yuuji by the wrist,
he led him to a cushion in the living room and made him sit.
“Don’t be so scared.”
Gojo’s beautiful face twisted,
almost petulant.
I said I was quitting.
And he’s still clinging to me?
“…Why?”
“Why did I find your family home?”
Gojo tilted his head lightly.
“Your manager only told me ‘Sendai.’
You were connected to your old classmates on social media, remember?
So I narrowed down the school district.
Checked every nameplate.”
Disgusting.
“Or do you mean why did I come?
If you’re not doing manzai, there’s no point for me either.
So I quit too.”
Fucking sick.
“I won’t do anything.
Just let me stay.”
“Don’t touch me!”
The moment Gojo reached for his cheek—
Yuuji slapped his hand away.
He folded in on himself,
head lowered.
“Just— please. I’m begging you. Leave.
Haven’t I had enough?
I never want to see your face again.
Why do I have to go through this?”
He grabbed whatever was within reach
and threw it.
His vision blurred with tears.
Gojo didn’t dodge.
“I hate you.
I hate you.”
Gojo caught his raised arm.
Pulled him down onto the tatami.
“No— no!”
“…I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”
Yuuji crawled desperately,
trying to escape.
His underwear was dragged down.
Gojo mounted him from behind—
Hands around his throat.
His vision narrowed.
Pressure.
And then—
heat pressed against him from behind.
Precum slicked against him,
pressing at his entrance.
“I’m done— I’m done!
Just stop!”
“Don’t say you hate me.”
Yuuji’s body refused him.
His entrance stayed tight.
Closed.
Unyielding.
Gojo cursed under his breath.
His voice was shaking.
“Don’t say it…”
The glass ashtray Yuuji had thrown earlier
lay on the tatami within reach.
He grabbed it.
And brought it down on Gojo’s head.
◇
I remember everything Yuuji ever said.
Every word.
Every expression.
The rehearsals we did every day.
The campus manzai tournament.
The moment we won at the university championship.
I was happy.
I truly was.
But somewhere along the way,
it stopped being enough
just to have him laughing beside me.
I began kissing his forehead
while he slept next to me.
And when I finally gave in
and let our lips meet—
he told me
a junior from the club had confessed to him.
After that,
he began drifting away.
Little by little.
And I couldn’t bear it.
I had to erase it.
All of it.
I wanted to paint over everything
that wasn’t me.
With me.
“You’re going to win M-1 someday.”
“I love your material, Gojo-senpai.”
“I’ve never laughed this hard before.”
“Do you think we’ll be doing manzai together forever?”
Now—
I don’t know anymore
if any of those words were real.
Maybe they were just fantasies
I wanted so desperately
that I made them real.
Did he really say he loved my material?
Was his laughter real?
Don’t say you hate me.
You’re all I have.
◇
The impact felt wrong.
Not like hitting something—
but like breaking something.
He brought the ashtray down once.
Then again.
Terrified.
The second time,
the glass slipped in his hand.
When he looked,
there was blood.
Bright.
Wet.
Beading along the rim.
Ah—
The ashtray fell from Yuuji’s fingers.
At the same time,
Gojo collapsed.
Yuuji caught him—
before he hit the floor.
“Hey— hey—”
He pressed tissues against the back of Gojo’s head.
Red spread through the thin paper immediately.
It wouldn’t stop.
It kept seeping through.
He ran to the bathroom.
Found old hand towels.
Several of them.
No proper bandages.
Nothing sterile.
Nothing prepared.
He pressed the cloth against the wound.
Wrapped another tightly around it.
Held it down with shaking hands.
His breathing wouldn’t steady.
Finally—
the bleeding slowed.
Not gone.
But slower.
Just as he let out a trembling breath—
Gojo’s hand closed around his wrist.
“Did you want me dead?”
“…Of course not.”
“Why?”
“…Let’s just end this.
All of it.”
Yuuji slowly opened the blood-smeared hand Gojo was still gripping.
Gojo didn’t let go.
Instead, he pushed himself upright, slowly.
“I don’t want it to end.”
“I wish we’d never met.”
“That’s not—”
A drop fell.
Warm.
It landed on Yuuji’s hand.
Don’t say that.
I’m sorry I was greedy.
I’m sorry I fell in love.
I’m sorry I hurt you.
Gojo was crying.
Yuuji had never seen him cry like this before.
“…At first, it was enough just to be beside you. That was all I wanted. But I started wanting more. I wanted to be special to you. I thought it wasn’t enough unless you were completely mine. Your crying face. Your angry face. I loved all of it. Every new expression felt like a claim. Like you were becoming mine.”
His grip tightened as Yuuji tried to pull away.
“Even though I knew from the beginning— that you were laughing less.
That you didn’t love me.”
He swallowed.
“I love you. I love you so much. I really do want you to be happy. I want to be the one who makes you happy. What does your happiness look like? Is there really not even a sliver of space for me in it? Not even that much? Please… give me a place. A place that’s just mine. Inside you.”
Don’t say you hate me.
You don’t have to love me.
Just don’t say you hate me.
Gojo was crying openly now.
Yuuji watched him without expression.
“…There isn’t a single thing you did that I can forgive.”
Gently, almost carefully, Yuuji pried Gojo’s fingers from his wrist.
“I liked doing manzai with you. It was fun. I felt lucky. I thought maybe I actually had talent, getting to team up with someone like you.”
He still remembered the first time Gojo praised him.
That rush.
He had wanted to keep it pure.
Untouched.
He had wanted Gojo to stay an idol.
Someone he admired.
Someone he could stand beside.
“There was a place in me that belonged only to you. There really was.”
Tears kept falling from those blue eyes.
Had his bangs always been this long?
Yuuji almost reached out—
noticing the dark circles beneath them.
He stopped himself.
“You’re the one who broke it.
It doesn’t just go back to normal.
Not that easily.”
Gojo lowered his head.
After a long silence, he whispered—
“…I understand.”
His voice was hoarse when he asked,
“Can I… not give up?”
“…If you think saying that makes a difference.”
Yuuji sounded tired.
Almost amused.
Just a little.
And that was enough to make Gojo cry again.
— One year later.
At a supermarket near Sendai Station.
“Are we seriously doing this?”
“If Satoru says we are, then we are.”
“He dragged the staff into this too? What happens if this bombs?”
“That’s why we called you, Aoi!”
Three comedians and several members of a camera crew filed out of the parking lot and toward the store entrance.
Most of them were dressed casually.
Only one man stood out—
a tall figure with white hair, wearing a suit.
He looked pale.
Tense.
“Aoi… this all depends on you… don’t screw this up…”
“That’s how you ask for a favor?”
When Yuuji stopped appearing on television—
stopped even performing live—
people talked.
Of course they did.
When the manager handed him Yuuji’s resignation letter, Todo crushed it silently in his fist.
“Brother will come back.”
That was all he said.
Publicly, it was announced as poor health.
“Didn’t he say he never gets sick?”
“Drank too much again?”
Suspicion buzzed everywhere.
Todo continued performing solo.
After appearing several times on Takada-chan’s show, he settled into a kind of ambassador role.
But whenever he introduced himself, he still said:
“Aoi Todo of ‘Yuuji & Aoi.’”
The duo name remained.
Gojo never quit manzai.
With “Yuuji & Aoi” gone, he and Geto kept audiences on edge—
wild exchanges, reckless spending stunts.
They even debuted new material.
This year, they made it through the semifinals.
The live finals awaited at year’s end.
Geto, meanwhile, launched a solo radio show.
His fast-talking, sharp tongue turned an advice segment into something infamous for entirely different reasons.
The backlash was intense.
Apparently, the show would end by New Year’s.
“The public just isn’t ready for me yet,” Geto lamented.
Gojo ignored him.
“There! He’s coming out!”
Yuuji had, in fact, started working at that very supermarket.
They were waiting for him now.
“The back exit’s that way!” Gojo hissed, panic creeping into his voice.
Ignoring him, Todo strode forward.
“Brother!”
“Huh? Todo? What— why is there a camera—?”
Yuuji blinked in stunned confusion.
Todo suddenly grabbed both of his cheeks in his palms.
“I believe in you. And you believe in me. You're not alone, Brother.”
“Huh—”
Todo’s eyes were the same as a year ago.
Straightforward.
Unshakable.
“I love doing manzai with you. But this is the path I chose. Even if you quit, I’ll stay a comedian. But if you’re willing to stand beside me again— we’ll go for the top.”
Yuuji’s vision blurred.
There hadn’t been a single day he hadn’t thought about Todo.
Todo had never blamed him.
Not once.
He had known, even back then, what Todo’s anger had really meant.
“…I couldn’t tell you the truth.”
He tried to apologize.
A massive hand stopped him.
“Don’t. We don’t need that.”
“…Okay.”
“Will you do it with me again?”
“…If you still want me.”
“Of course.”
“Thanks,” Yuuji muttered, wiping his eyes quickly.
Then he frowned.
“Wait— do we need the cameras?”
“Sadly, I’m not the main act.”
Yuuji squinted.
From behind a parked car—
Gojo peeked out.
Geto followed, waving lazily.
The man in the suit suddenly sprinted forward—
and dropped into a deep bow two meters in front of Yuuji.
“I waited a whole year!”
Yuuji stumbled back in shock.
The cameras zoomed in.
Cold sweat ran down his spine.
“I still love you, Yuuji! I can’t give up!”
“You’ve got to be kidding— cut the cameras! Staff, cut!”
Whether they were threatened or charmed, no one moved.
Several female staff members were misty-eyed.
“Gojo, hang in there!”
Had he really been building sympathy behind the scenes this whole year?
Was this going to turn into a nationwide execution?
Yuuji stared in horror.
“I’ll work harder— as a comedian, as a person! I’ll grow enough to make you happy! I won’t ask you to be my boyfriend. I’ll wait. So please— at least let me be the official ambassador of ‘Yuuji & Aoi’!”
“No.”
“Rejected instantly!”
Gojo collapsed onto the pavement.
Geto nudged him with his foot.
“This is what happens when you don’t practice bowing properly.”
“That’s not the issue!”
Yuuji surprised himself by snapping back so calmly.
This pace wasn’t good.
If he was returning—
it had to be a proper restart.
“That’s enough,” Todo said firmly.
“Brother said he’s coming back as a comedian. That’s more than enough.”
“Todo…”
“Gojo. Isn’t being rivals enough? This time, we’ll reach higher by ourselves.”
I believe in my brother.
Gojo stared at Todo.
His face twisted in frustration.
“…If that’s what makes you happy, Yuuji.”
“Well, Brother?”
For a moment, it felt like the first time they’d ever performed.
Air filled his lungs.
Maybe—
maybe this could be rebuilt.
“We won’t rely on HaraHonpo’s power.
Just the two of us.
We’ll aim for the top.”
“…Then as rivals— from now on.”
Gojo smiled—
trembling, tearful—
but smiling nonetheless.
◇
“Well, you’ve gotten awfully quiet.”
Geto murmured wistfully in the dressing room.
Gojo lifted his gaze only slightly, then let it fall back to his phone screen without a word.
“Yuuji’s incredible.
Honestly, he might be better at talk shows than manzai.”
Itadori Yuuji had begun to flourish.
Not only was he in constant demand as a panel comedian,
he was now expanding his presence as a weekday cast member on a morning variety program.
He was becoming a familiar, beloved face in living rooms across the country.
That morning had been his assigned day.
Cooking segments.
Playful jokes during quizzes.
Laughing easily alongside celebrities.
Radiant.
“Do you still have Yuuji’s Room?”
“I do.
Of course I recorded today’s episode too.”
“Oh?
Maybe I’ll come over sometime. It’s been ages.”
“No.”
Gojo’s reply was instant.
“No one’s allowed in anymore except me.”
“My, my…”
Geto narrowed his eyes slightly.
“Is there something you don’t want anyone to see?”
Gojo ignored the question.
He stood.
And left the room.
Yuuji’s glittering smile—
freely given
to everyone
but him.
Gojo had learned to watch it from a distance.
At first, the emotions had been unbearable.
Rage.
Grief.
Jealousy.
Hatred.
They had nearly consumed him.
But whenever his mind drifted back—
to that brief period
when Yuuji had been his—
his heart could still be calmed.
Every night, he fell asleep remembering it.
That clear voice.
“I like you.”
The words he had made Yuuji say
again
and again
and again.
Tomorrow—
maybe they would become real.
The day after—
maybe they would finally become real.
Back home, Gojo set down his things and took a shower.
The living room—
the space he had once shared with Yuuji—
was rarely used now.
Instead, he walked to the opposite side of the apartment.
To a door kept exactly as it had been.
Yuuji’s Room.
He stepped inside.
Turned on the monitor.
Checked the morning’s recording.
Then, with practiced familiarity,
clicked a file on the desktop.
“Don’t—
I said don’t film me—!”
Yuuji’s face filled the screen.
Distorted by fury.
Drowned in despair.
A plug jutting obscenely from his cock.
His screams—
slowly dissolving
into broken, breathless cries.
Tears.
Saliva.
Mucus.
His body trembling uncontrollably.
“…Yuuji…
Yuuji… you’re so… cute…”
Like a charm.
Like a sacred talisman.
Gojo watched the video every single day.
Using it to soothe himself.
To stabilize himself.
To survive.
Still okay.
Still holding together.
Still—
perfectly sane.
END?