Archive of Our Own

The bad feeling starts when Banri receives the slip of paper from Aoshi and sees his own name printed on it. 24 pt Mincho font, Settsu Banri. Looking up to see the same vague confusion plastered across Juza’s face, the feeling only solidifies further.

When they introduced themselves earlier, Banri had gotten the sense that the other actors in Hyakka don’t exactly look upon the two of them all that highly. Maybe it’s because, despite everything that’s happened, the two of them haven’t really made that big of a wave in the world of theater—a loud splash, maybe, but the ripples can’t compare to the constant ebb and flow of the ocean waves. Or maybe it’s because most of the cast called up for the performance are guest actors rather than Hyakka’s own in-house actors, no thanks to Kabuto’s particular brand of leadership causing many of them to quit beforehand.

Maybe it’s a combination of the two, plus some other factors that Banri doesn’t know about, nor does he care to know. Maybe it’s just the pride of a bunch of actors who refuse to acknowledge any competition. Maybe it’s none of those and Banri’s just feeling self-conscious for no good reason.

Still, he isn’t here to make enemies. Kabuto had specifically requested for him to take the lead role as well as become the assistant director, and called for Juza to play a main role as well. The fact that the director himself is missing at the introductory meeting—well, Banri can’t say that it’s unexpected; Kabuto remains an enigma of a person as ever. And while Banri would like to pick him apart like a puzzle, he gets the sense that he’ll never be able to understand someone so unfathomable.

He gives Juza a glance before reading out his own name, just to put a voice to his doubt. “Settsu Banri?”

“Mine says Hyodo Juza,” Juza mumbles, picking up on Banri’s cue.

“Ah, those should be switched,” Aoshi explains, taking the pieces of paper that they’re both holding out and giving each to the other. “Banri-san will be acting as Juza-san, and Juza-san will be acting as Banri-san.”

Oh, of fucking course that guy would come up with something like this, Banri thinks. To act as Juza… it’s not like he’s never thought about it before; there was that fanservice event where the roommates in the dorms had to wear the other’s clothes for the day, and of course he and Juza took the opportunity to make fun of each other a little, pretending to be the other in an exaggerated way.

But this etude is for actual training. For a performance. This is something he has to take seriously, and Kabuto will be the one to judge whether he pulls it off; a proper ‘correct’ answer. He sifts through his memories and wonders which version of Hyodo Juza it is that Kabuto wants him to imitate. To become. The misunderstood loner yearning to escape the shadows? Or the confident actor who’s found his place under the spotlight?

In his periphery vision, Banri sees Aoshi handing Juza a plastic bag stuffed to bursting with cheap candies, the one Banri knows Juza likes to idly snack on rather than savour like he does with other sweets. And of course Juza falls for the bait, telling Aoshi to tell Kabuto that he’ll do his best.

Banri stops himself from shaking his head, worried that it’ll come across as fond more than exasperated. Maybe he’d allow himself the familiarity back in the safety and warmth of Mankai, but they’re outsiders here, guests on Hyakka’s doorstep. No reason to give Kabuto even more fuel to add to his fire.

Juza takes out a handful of the candies and drops them into Aoshi’s cupped palms. That, Banri can’t help but snort at. The damn softie.

As it always seems to do whenever it comes to something relating to Juza, it doesn’t go smoothly for Banri. It’s not the recollection that’s the problem—his mind might as well be a phone's gallery app with how many screenshots of his life he can remember with near-perfect clarity—but he doesn’t exactly know what emotion to put behind any of it, what to feel when he attempts to recreate any singular moment.

What emotions did Hyodo Juza feel every time he interacted with Settsu Banri?

Of course, there is an easy way to find the answer: just ask the man himself. But Banri wonders if Juza will be able to provide an answer that makes sense to him. Or even provide an answer at all—to be fair, it is a rather incomprehensible question to ask, to label each and every one of the ever-increasing number of interactions they’ve had, over the years they’ve spent together sharing the same space.

Maybe Banri should narrow down the scope a bit.

What emotion did Hyodo Juza feel every time Settsu Banri picked a fight with him?

Anger, impatience, confusion—these are the logical deductions that Banri can make. 'Won’t this guy just take a hint already?' and 'I can’t let him provoke me into throwing the first punch' and 'Why me? Why is he so obsessed with me?'

And yet none of them seem like the ‘correct’ answer. These are the emotions that Banri thinks he himself would feel, seeing those memories through the lens of Juza’s point of view. But he is not Juza. He may be familiar with Juza’s thought process, but he cannot replicate it in full. They’re too different for that. The way they view the world is fundamentally different, what with the different experiences they’ve lived through and the different aspects that make up the basis of their personalities.

Banri speaks his mind, sometimes faster than his brain can filter out his raw thoughts; Juza carefully chooses each word he says, trying to make sure his meaning and intent gets across. Banri sees the stage from a bird’s-eye view; Juza’s field of vision is narrow and focused. Despite his early mask of apathy, Banri’s come to realize that he puts quite a lot of stock into how others see him; in spite of his social isolation, Juza’s come to realize that becoming someone else is not what he truly wishes for.

That, and a whole bunch of other miscellaneous building blocks that form the two existences of Settsu Banri and Hyodo Juza, like food preferences and fashion sensibilities or lack thereof. Try as he might to put himself in Juza’s shoes, there’s simply no way for Banri to slip into Juza’s skin deep enough to be able to imitate him flawlessly. At least, not to the degree that Kabuto probably expects out of him.

Or maybe that’s not what Kabuto wants out of him, and Banri’s just overthinking this assignment.

Still… anger, impatience, confusion; Banri files these emotions away to be analyzed and replicated later, in the scene of an etude for Kabuto to pass judgement on. Among the many emotions that Juza himself often inspires in Banri, those three would also rank at the very top of the list, maybe even in that exact order. It shouldn’t be difficult to let some of his own emotions colour the role of ‘Hyodo Juza, played by Settsu Banri’.

But would that be the right answer?

It does kinda tickle him that Juza is now the one who has to act out picking fights and generally being a self-righteously complacent asshole while Banri ignores him. Sue him, it’s funny; the creative things that Juza comes up with on the fly to then holler at Banri while Banri stoically refuses to pay attention to him, right up to the point where his patience wanes thin and he snaps back with his own curt retorts.

Although…

Juza’s vocabulary may have expanded greatly ever since he enrolled in Yosei as a literature major, but when filtered through the role of ‘Settsu Banri, played by Hyodo Juza’, all that comes out is petty insults and childish jeering. Which is… strange, to put it mildly. Also vaguely insulting? Banri is pretty sure that Juza knows Banri is capable of worse—so much worse, once upon a time. Cutting words and a sharp tongue wielded like weapons, like knives.

Sure, he might not wield them as much nowadays. No real point to keeping a knife on hand when the reason behind it has been sanded down to something much less than pure outright malice. But Banri likes to think he keeps his tongue sharp and his wit sharper, out of habit and familiarity more than anything. The day Banri fails to come up with a snappy comeback to anything is the day he’s truly lost his edge—he might as well just give up the ghost and perish, then.

(Banri is very aware that this would leave him dead many times over, but whatever. Not the point he’s trying to make.)

So why isn’t Juza pointing that knife at him?

Though Kabuto (yet again) isn’t here, Banri thinks the man might feel the same way; after all, he’s a harsh critic who has no qualms about giving someone a verbal lashing to the point of driving them to tears. As the assistant director, in Kabuto's absence, it falls to Banri to make that judgement—and you’re your own worst critic, or however that saying goes.

He makes his rounds among the other actors, giving critique and advice in equal measure. It’s fascinating to see some of them make a show of turning their noses up at him, only to greedily hang on to every word he gives them. Some of them take it without any backtalk, some of them find fault with his fault-finding. Such is the ego of an experienced actor when faced with a fledgeling director, Banri supposes.

For someone who’s only used to acting with and directing the actors of Mankai—essentially his friends and family—Banri takes it all in as valuable experience, to be digested in the acid of self-reflection and turned into nutrients for his future endeavours. He listens to their complaints and their suggestions but makes sure to stay firm in his own opinions while noting down what they have to say; he can’t just let himself be bossed around, either.

When all of that is said and done, he pulls Juza over to a corner of the room and really tears into him. But, like, at a lower volume than he normally would because this isn’t their practice hall and he’d rather not subject the others to the true magnitude of what a fight between the two of them can end up becoming.

Banri criticizes the unnecessary holding back that Juza seems to be doing for whatever reason and snaps at him to shape up; he doesn’t want to see any of this reticence when Kabuto finally shows his face. He doesn’t want Kabuto to, god forbid, be disappointed in Juza—because that would honestly be a bigger blow to Banri’s ego more than anything else Kabuto can say to him.

If the person that Banri’s chasing after as a rival on the stage doesn’t meet Kabuto’s standards, then what the hell does that say about Banri himself?

Juza… takes it all in silence. Normally Banri would take that to mean that he’s actually listening to Banri’s advice, but the weight of this silence is different. It’s like Juza’s mind is occupied by something else, and it takes all of Banri’s self-restraint to not fly off the handle from the mere thought of that alone.

He tries to take it in good faith; maybe Juza really is taking Banri’s criticism to heart and thinking about how to apply it. Still. The lack of any response is deafening. He wishes that Juza has at least a few words to say about Banri’s critique. Or maybe it’s because of the same reason Banri’s keeping his voice down; this isn’t their practice hall, their home turf. Juza won’t let himself truly say what he means here, out of concern for any others who might be listening in.

Well in that case, that’s fine. They can have a proper discussion when they get back to the dormitory. Banri can wait until then.

(Ah, he knows why he feels put off. It’s Juza’s voice that he misses.)

(There hadn’t been any bite to it when they acted out the etude earlier, and that’s the most damning piece of evidence that Juza’s holding back. There’s always a certain sharpness to his voice when they argue for real, and through the mask of ‘Settsu Banri, played by Hyodo Juza’ it should be even more evident.)

(Yet the jagged edges are sanded down to harmless bumps. Just what in the world is making Juza hold back?)

It’s when they’re back in 104 that Banri realizes the extent of—whatever it is that’s afflicting Juza and affecting his acting.

The whole of Mankai knows about it by now, but it’s only in the space of their room that the two of them really allow for the softness of ‘lovers’ to exist between them. Partly because of professionalism, and partly because of their own reasons. Banri in particular doesn’t really see the need to parade their relationship out and about, even if the world is gradually becoming kinder to people like them. It’s a bad habit he can’t kick; everything that can be perceived as a kindness must be hidden, lest it gets taken advantage of.

He’s working on that now, of course, has been working on it for a while. He doesn’t want to treat Juza like a dirty little secret, even if Juza’s perfectly fine with it. Small steps, like blow-drying Juza’s hair after a bath, or buying sweet treats for him after classes end, or even letting himself sit next to Juza on the lounge couch without getting into an argument over something stupid.

So it's in the safety of their room that Banri sheds the veil of detachment and reaches for Juza's wrist, intent on twining their fingers together the way he knows Juza likes. He wants to ask what's wrong, if it's anything he's said and whether he can make up for it in some way—

Juza slaps his hand away.

Banri's hand hovers in mid-air between them, limp. The both of them stare at each other, and Banri can't decipher what expression it is that Juza has on his face. Something like disgust, but also like dismay.

"…Hyodo?"

Juza cringes, and it's as if the stiff atmosphere shatters into something even worse, surface ice breaking apart only to plunge into the cold waters beneath. He looks at Banri and there's no warmth there in those golden eyes. Something else flickers in the depths; something strange, something foreign.

Juza looks at him like he's a stranger and Banri can't help but also see a stranger in front of him, instead of someone he should be so painfully familiar with.

Who is this man standing in front of him, wearing Hyodo Juza's skin?

Then Juza closes his eyes and pulls in a deep breath and when he opens them again, the moment is gone, along with the stranger-that-isn't. Juza's eyes flick over to Banri's still-outstretched hand and Banri slowly, carefully brings it back to hang by his side. He takes care to keep it open and loose, to not clench it into a fist.

"It's gonna get worse," Juza says, softly, without explanation. "This is only gonna get worse." He sounds so pained, but there's no regret or remorse; only resignation.

Banri tries to grasp at the meaning behind those words and finds that he can't, doesn't know how to decipher them. But damn it, he has to try. "What is?"

Juza makes a noise in the back of his throat, waves both hands in a vague gesture that conveys not much of anything. "This whole deal." He pauses, nibbles on his lower lip for a few seconds. "Playin' you."

‘Settsu Banri, played by Hyodo Juza’. Banri through Juza's eyes, through the lens of Juza's memories of him. Oh.

"You couldn't've picked a more recent version of me?"

The jeer, if it even counts as that, falls flat even to Banri's own ears. He wants Juza to say something like, you reap what you sow, and laugh it all off. Like this is a way for him to get back at Banri for being such a pain in the ass all those years ago. Don't take it too seriously, except he knows that Juza is always serious about everything he does; why would he make an exception for this?

You couldn't've picked a me that's nicer to you? Goes unasked.

Clever as he is at picking up on Banri's unspoken words now, Juza easily takes notice of it, and he looks one second away from crumpling, devastated. He crosses his arms over his chest to stop the nervous tic of his hands picking at loose skin and even still his fingernails dig into the flesh of his upper arms.

There's some sort of internal battle raging in that head of his that Juza loses, as is apparent when he sighs, "That's the you that sticks out most to me. That I can remember easiest." He doesn't look away from Banri's face when he adds, "Figured that's what the director wants out of us."

Knowing the guy, that probably is what he wants out of them. Banri wonders how much research Kabuto's done on them both, and then remembers—his own re:portrait, released unto the wilderness of the internet. A vulnerable moment meant to show his sincerity in the depths of despair.

Yeah, okay, he can probably handle Juza acting like his seventeen-year-old self. Better than putting them both through the emotional torture of having Juza reenact that.

Banri pastes a smile on his face and forces it to stay there; if he pretends hard enough, maybe he can fool even himself—he needs it to be enough to fool Juza, at the very least. "No problem. I'll just back off and keep a distance until the end of the performance."

"Are ya sure?" Juza's brows are furrowed so deeply, and the frown that sits on his lips is all wrong and helpless. "I…" He looks away. "I might hurt ya." The way you did your best to hurt me, back then.

Banri hates it, seeing Juza so scared of causing pain. So he does something he hasn't done in a long time: takes Juza's words and spits on them. "Hurt me? Hah!" He makes sure to sound as incredulous as he can muster. "Don't fuck with me, you think I won't be able to give back just as much?" Grabbing the collar of Juza's shirt, just like old times, he leans into Juza's personal space, close enough to make sure Juza can feel his breath on his face. "You lookin' down on me?"

"Settsu," Juza fumbles, trying to push him off, "stop jokin' around, I'm bein' serious here."

"So am I." Banri grits his teeth. How should he word what he wants to say in a way that Juza won't reject outright? To give full permission to hurt him? This is for acting, he chants in his head, for theater, and he can't allow Juza to decide; has to snip off the other option so that Juza won't have to suffer the burden of choice. "And I'm sayin' I can take it, whatever you throw at me. I'm not that delicate or weak."

He lets the words fester on his tongue before delivering the final blow.

"If you don't hate me, I'll hate myself for it."

And he's not surprised to find that he does mean it, as much as it pains him to say. If them being together is going to get in the way of them standing together on the same stage, then that might be a pain of equal measure or even more, weighing on Banri's conscience. An unforgivable sin.

Juza stills, then exhales, long and low. He closes his eyes and when he opens them again, there's no trace of warmth in those golden depths—only icy disdain. A funhouse mirror's reflection of Banri's past self, only there's nothing fun in seeing that listless hatred again, from the outside inward this time.

Juza shoves him away and while it's not enough to send him sprawling to the ground, there's more force to it than their usual play-wrestling that it sends Banri wobbling unsteadily, on the back foot.

"It ain't fun if ya don't fight back," Juza sneers, practically dripping with scorn, before stepping around Banri and out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Banri watches him go, bile rising in his throat. He wonders if this is how miserable Juza had felt, on the receiving end of an unreasonable, one-sided hostility.

And they have to keep this up until the end of the Hyakka performance? Or at least until Kabuto's satisfied?

Fuck.

With the completion of the script, practice progresses into proper rehearsals and yet they're still stuck with the gimmick Kabuto forced on them with the etude—Banri playing the role meant for Juza, and Juza playing the role meant for Banri.

The Fate of Ashes; divine providence of the scorched earth.

Banri skims through the script faster than everyone else and has to hold his head in his hands by the end of it. This… does this count as RPF? It's practically a dramatization of the events leading up to their first performance, a sort of bad end alternate universe where Picaresque ended with the two of them tearing out each other's throats rather than sharing a triumphant high five.

It's not a script Tsuzuru would ever write for them, that's for sure. It reeks with the scent of Hyakka's particular style of plays, painful and heart-wrenching; a story with a lingering aftertaste that's hard to wash out.

In a way, Banri's glad for it, knowing that it's something out of the comfort zone Mankai provides. He can't wait to have the experience of acting out this play under his belt, to cut his teeth on it and have it fertilize his growth as both an actor and assistant director.

But as practice progresses and Juza becomes more and more aggressive towards and dismissive of him, even back in the dorms, Banri wonders if he'll make it through to the other side unscathed.

Even if he's just wearing his role like a costume, things that hurt still hurt. At least he still has the awareness to keep in mind that this is all just temporary; that he can shed the skin of it once everything's done and over with. But what if he could sublimate the role into himself like Juza does? Would it hurt less? Would he be able to submerge himself in Judas so thoroughly that none of Baal's vitriol reaches Banri?

Is this hurting Juza as much as it's hurting him?

Banri counts out the steps under his breath, one, two, three, and nearly bites his tongue when Juza thwacks the wooden practice blade into his side, a half-count too early.

"You did that on purpose," he coughs out, pressing a hand to the blooming ache. Shit, hopefully it isn't bad enough to bruise.

Juza glances at him from the side. "Not my fault you're too slow."

They don't have Sakyo or Omi or Izumi here to mediate any fights from breaking out, and Kabuto seems entirely unconcerned from where he stands at the far end of the room, red eyes watching everything. Banri closes his eyes and slowly counts to ten, reminding himself—this is temporary. Reminding himself—you reap what you sow.

Juza jabs him in the chest before he reaches seven. Banri's eyes fly open just in time for him to dodge out of the way of Juza's outstretched arm, fingers curled in to grab at him.

"Why're ya even trying if you're so shitty at this, daikon?" Juza irritably snaps at him, and Banri truly, truly does not expect that word of all words to fall from Juza's lips; it slips between the bones of his ribcage like a knife and punctures his lung, robbing him of air. It should be funny, should have him cracking up over the ridiculousness of it―of Juza calling him that. It doesn't; just makes Banri feel worse, fresh misery nestled in stale guilt. "Give up already. You don't have what it takes. Fightin' is all you're good for, and now you won't even defend yourself? Coward."

Somewhere in the background, Kabuto stifles a bark of laughter.

Banri searches for the right response to this exchange, sifts through his earliest memories of his days in Mankai. What is it that Juza said in retaliation? What was it that he felt? Banri doesn't know, can't get there fast enough. He clicks his tongue and lets his own irritation bleed through in his answer. "I'm not interested in just givin' you what ya want."

"It'll be easier if ya get off your high horse and throw a punch already. For both our sakes."

Juza's simpering laugh is thin and callous and wrong. Banri wants to clamp his hands over his ears, wants to call it all off. But he won't forgive himself if he does, and knows that Juza won't forgive him either.

To become someone that isn't himself: Juza's one desire when he set foot in that theater on that fateful day. Banri tugs on the mantle of Judas over the skin of Juza that he's already wearing and glares at Juza with fire in his eyes.

"This is the stage I'm meant to stand upon—"

"Are you kidding me?" Juza snarls, and thankfully he's gotten the hint, slipping back into the lines from the script, "Your acting's worse than an amateur's. It's centuries too early for you to stand on stage."

Banri wonders if it stung this much, back when he denied Juza's simple, pure wish, over and over and over again until he got the hint. Until Juza delivered to him his second defeat on a silver platter, on the stage under the spotlight. He can't stop thinking about it, torn between himself as himself and all these layers of abstraction. He hates that he doesn't remember what it's like to really hate Juza anymore; hates that Juza seems to be able to hate him so easily.

Did Banri hate Juza that easily, back then?

"Get the fuck up," Juza none-too-gently pokes him with the tip of the practice sword, and as blunted as it is, it still hurts when it's jammed right into the spot under his ribs. "We're far from done here."

In the end, they both get torn to shreds by Kabuto's evaluation anyway. Not enough, it's not nearly enough; he wants them to destroy each other in the flames of passion, and Banri's worried that either he'll be the one reduced to ashes or Juza might be the one to burn himself out first. Whichever's the case, he hopes it doesn't come to that.

It gets to the point that Juza actually does pick a fight to the point of physical violence, and in the absence of the other Autumn members at the dorms, busy with their own commitments, the Summer troupemates are the ones who pull Juza off of and away from Banri; Muku and Kumon and Misumi holding him back while Tenma and Kazunari and Yuki stand in front of Banri, protective.

Juza storms out of the courtyard and Kumon and Muku spare Banri a worried glance before trailing after him, and then Tenma gives a subtle look to the remaining three, gesturing at them to go after Juza as well. Yuki pats Banri's shoulder, Misumi ruffles his hair, and Kazunari gives him a few words of encouragement before they set off to find Juza and maybe figure out what's going wrong from his side of the story.

Tenma holds a hand out for Banri to take, pulling him up to his feet and watching as he brushes off the dust and dirt from his clothes. "No injuries?"

"Nothing that'll show." True, Banri had defended himself well enough, hadn't let Juza get any hits on him that would affect his outward appearance. But the gaping pit opening up inside him is hard to ignore. He feels utterly miserable, and there's nobody to blame. This whole thing is just a matter of circumstances upon circumstances.

Tenma eyes him warily anyway, checking for bumps and bruises. When he finds none, he lets out a sigh. And then he pulls out his phone. "I'm calling an emergency leader meeting."

Banri whips his head to glare at him. "Uh, no? I don't need a goddamn intervention or anything."

Tenma gives him a look that makes it clear how dumb he thinks Banri is being. "Too bad, we're doing one anyway." He holds up his phone screen so Banri can just barely read it, the leaders' group chat on the LIME app; Sakuya's cheerful response and Tsumugi's typo-riddled one. "C'mon, leaders' orders."

"You're not the leader of my troupe."

"You really want me to pull the acting seniority card here? Or the Sakuya card?"

Banri cringes. Nobody is immune to the Sakuya card, least of all the Sakuya who's genuinely worried for you and wants nothing but to help you with your problems. With lethargic steps, he climbs the stairs and heads towards the mini discussion alcove, where Sakuya and Tsumugi are already waiting.

Along with Itaru. And… Kumon?

"Banri!!"

Kumon launches himself at Banri and Banri has to spin him around a little after he catches him before he can slow to a stop, huffing a tiny laugh as he does so. This kid. Thank goodness Banri had the mind to firmly plant his feet on the ground the moment he saw the blur of purple, or else they would've both tumbled to the floor, or worse, back down the staircase.

"What's up? Was so sure you'd be thrilled to hang out with Hyodo after I've been hogging him this whole time."

"Muku said that Kazu-san's bringing them all to a fun new cafe he saw on Inste!" Kumon beams, radiant like the sun, and then it's as if a raincloud parks itself right above his head with how he suddenly droops like a wilted flower. "It's a dessert cafe though, so I didn't really wanna go, even with nii-chan… and then Muku told me I should check up on you instead."

Banri doesn't really know what to say to that last part, how to gently or harshly dismiss Muku's concern without potentially pissing Kumon off either way, so instead he blurts out, "Rip to your cafe date dreams with your brother, I guess." And that gets him a little punch to the arm that still sort of hurts because Kumon tends to not realize how strong his pitcher's arm can be, but Banri knows the intention behind it is playful, so he lets it slide.

He doesn't feel up to having the usual back-and-forth with Kumon about his beloved brother, so he hopes that's not the case. Still, Banri's grin wobbles a little when he sees the expression that Kumon's making—thoughtful, in a sort of sad, knowing way.

"You don't need to pretend so hard, Banri." Kumon's grip on his sleeve tightens. "Nii-chan is… he's not being the usual nii-chan, is he?"

"Yeah? You noticed? Don't worry about it. Just hashtag theater things," Banri laughs, patting Kumon's head. Man, to think that even Kumon would be worried about him; he must come off like a disaster.

Wedged in the corner and leaning against Sakuya, Itaru snorts. "Okay, that Kazunari-style deflecting thing you just tried to do? I give it a negative three out of ten score. You just made me even more concerned for you."

"Itaru-kun!" Tsumugi admonishes, swatting at Itaru's shoulder. But then he turns to Banri and fixes him with a look of sympathy. "Come sit down, Banri-kun." He gestures at the empty space across the table from him.

Banri's throat constricts. A pity party isn't going to do him any good, and there's an ugly voice in the back of his head telling him to just blow them all off and sulk in his room. But that's even less productive, and horribly self-sabotaging besides. Kumon's already tugging him along anyway, and with only very mild reluctance, Banri settles himself down onto the cushion-seat, feeling much like a schoolkid being called to the principal's office for disciplinary action; it's almost nostalgic. Tenma sits down next to him, and Kumon settles in on the other side, flanking him. Or cutting off his escape route, more like.

There's a few awkward beats of silence, punctured only by the shrill mobage noises coming from Itaru's phone that everyone already knows to tune out, before Sakuya folds his hands over each other and gives Banri a gentle smile.

"Would you like to start off first, Banri-kun?"

Sakuya says it like this is some actual group therapy thing. Which just sets off Banri's fight-or-fight instinct even harder, but like. C'mon. He's not going to punch Sakuya, of all people. That would earn him the enmity of the entire Spring Troupe—scratch that, the entirety of Mankai, plus outside associates. Banri himself included. And like, just having Spring as an enemy is a terrifying prospect to even imagine, considering that Citron still has ties to Zafran royalty and thus all their resources and Chikage… is Chikage.

"Just say anything that's on your mind. We promise we won't judge."

"I might," Itaru mutters after Sakuya's gentle reassurance, "maybe a little." Tsumugi hits him on the shoulder again, a bit harder this time. "Ow! Listen, sometimes you need a little judgement, okay? Or else this'll just end up being a circlejerk session." He pauses, then winces and looks at Sakuya apologetically. "Sorry about the crass language."

"That's okay, Itaru-san." Sakuya smiles, angelic. "I'm twenty-one already, remember? I can say fuck, I know what those words mean."

"Me too!" Kumon adds, entirely unnecesarily. He's even raising his hand like this is some sort of classroom situation. Tenma also raises his hand with no small amount of confusion, adding to the ridiculousness of the scene. A farce of a courtroom trial with a peanut gallery jury.

Tsumugi sighs. "Yes, you have a point, Itaru-kun, but there's also such a thing as tact, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, I have plenty of tact when I play Fantastic Finale Tactical Advantage. It's in the name of the game."

"Please tell me you're joking and you actually know the difference between tact and tactics."

"I'm doing a bit, Tsumugi. I'm being the funnyman to defuse the stressful situation."

"Ooh, hey, Tenma-san, we should copy that bit for our comedy repertoire too!" Kumon enthuses, eyes sparkling. "We'll get a wider audience if we can pull in the gamer crowd, maybe we can even steal a few Spring Troupe fans that way."

"Hey," Itaru interjects, but doesn't actually follow it up with anything but a shrug.

Tenma shakes his head. "I don't need you to become even more of a chuuni, Kumon."

"Aww, Tenma-san…"

"Besides, you're already pretty damn likeable as you are. Don't feel the need to slot yourself into one more category to appeal to more people, you'll just stretch yourself thin and be at greater risk of burnout."

"Aww, Tenma-san! That's… surprisingly wise advice?"

"What the hell do you mean, surprisingly?? I've been in the entertainment industry the longest out of anyone in Mankai, I know what I'm talking about! Most of the time!"

Throughout it all, Sakuya continues to smile, oblivious to or perhaps simply uncaring of how derailed the discussion has become. He's used to it; when your roommate is the masterful conversationalist and storyteller Citron, you quickly learn to just go along with it when the topic being talked about changes every other sentence or so.

Despite his gloomy mood, Banri can't help but chuckle at everyone's antics. And the circle of people around him similarly laugh, loosening up the tense atmosphere even more. He lets out a sigh and finally allows himself to slouch over and really feel just how tired he's been from this whole ordeal.

"I dunno, man. How should I even explain it?" He leans his chin against his palm, tapping his cheek with a fingertip. "I can't give too many deets but the character I have to play for the Hyakka performance is kicking my ass, but like. Not in the way I expected."

"Are they difficult roles?" Tenma asks. "Yours and Juza-san's both."

"Not physically. Well, not any more than the usual shit we do in Autumn plays."

Tsumugi hums. "On the other hand, some roles can be very mentally demanding. I didn't expect you to have trouble with that, though. Aren't you good at separating yourself from the characters you play?"

"Yeah, the fuckin' best at it." Banri shakes his head. "But I think it's working against me this time. The character I play despises Hyodo's character, and vice versa, and…" The words get stuck in his throat. He forces them out anyway, screwing his eyes shut. "I don't know how to hate Hyodo anymore."

Another long beat of silence.

Then, from Itaru: "Wow. You are… so whipped for him, dude."

Tenma leans backward and pokes Kumon on the shoulder. "Not gonna say anything?"

"I kinda want to but I feel bad for Banri. Also this is partly nii-chan's fault too."

"I can hear you??"

They're talking behind his back. Like, literally, directly behind him. Not even whispering, just talking at a normal volume. Banri resists the urge to reach back and smack the both of them.

Sakuya furrows his brow in thought. "How is this any different from when you played Dust during Fallen Blood? Dust hated Blood, right? And you were already romantically involved with Juza-kun back then."

The way he just breezes straight through that last bit makes Banri choke on his spit.

"Maybe it's a different type of character motivation?" Tsumugi suggests, tilting his head slightly. Also ignoring how Banri's trying to get his breathing back in order. "I know you can't give us a detailed explanation, but…"

Before he can blurt out, okay so do you know what RPF is? Yeah it's basically that, Banri bites his tongue. He doubts anyone here but Itaru would understand that specific terminology; he's the only one terminally online enough among this crowd to get it.

Besides, that's not really the heart and core of Banri's problem, is it?

Kumon peers at him from the side. "Are you mad that nii-chan hates you but you can't bring yourself to hate him?"

Banri doesn't know how to answer that; if he says yes, he'll sound petty, but if he says no then that's kinda pathetic. Like he's absolutely fine with Juza stepping all over him like a doormat, which he isn't. He grumbles in non-response.

"Juza-san lives and breathes his roles." Tenma frowns and works his jaw, like he's chewing on the words, taste-testing them first before spitting them out. "The only thing I can come up with is that his role has a very, very personal reason to hate Banri-san's role."

And then all five pairs of eyes are on him and Banri suddenly feels like an ant under a magnifying glass. He doesn't quite squirm under the collective weight of their gazes but it's a very close thing.

"…You know, Banri-kun," after a moment, Sakuya dips his head, "for as much as you can't bring yourself to act antagonistic against Juza-kun. I think he's just as hurt as you are that you're not returning it. Acting isn't a one-way street, it's a form of communication. An exchange."

"No shit?" Banri laughs, but it's weak. Hollow. "I know. I know that. I just—don't know how to reciprocate it." Like losing fluency in a language he hasn't used in long while; not forgotten entirely, but made unfamiliar through time.

Sakuya makes a vague noise of frustration in the back of his throat, like he's struggling to find the right words. But he must not be getting them, because he hangs his head in defeat and lets out a sigh. Itaru reaches over to pat him on the back, shooting Banri a dirty look that's entirely undeserved.

It's Tsumugi who picks up the pieces of the halted conversation. "This probably isn't helping, is it? I'm sorry." He laughs, light and airy, and Banri doesn't feel too bad; this is something he has to work through on his own, seems like, but he appreciates the support. Doesn't feel the need to brush off the apology, instead letting it drape and settle over himself like a warm blanket.

In the end, their chat tapers off and turns to a discussion about daily life instead, about the progress that the individuals of Mankai have made in particular. Itaru and Sakuya recounting Spring's experiences and Tenma and Kumon boasting about Summer's, which leads to them talking about Autumn's current ventures and what might be in store in Winter's future.

All the while, Banri lets himself re-energize from the anecdotes they're sharing, lets himself feel proud; how far they've come, and how much further still they can go. He's overcome bigger hurdles before—he can make it through this. They both can. They all can.

"Hey, NEO." Waving his phone in Banri's face, Itaru grins. "Game time. Senpai's out this evening so we can be as loud as we want." He waggles his eyebrows for emphasis.

Banri frowns, choosing to ignore the eyebrow waggle and the suggestive choice of words. "I'm kinda beat from practice, can't we reschedule for some other night?"

"Nope. You need a change of pace and I'm being gracious enough to provide one."

A change of pace. Well, it's not like Itaru's wrong—something to get his mind off of things would be nice.

"C'mon, just a couple hours. We gotta farm some mats to prep for the next event."

"Ugh, fine. But not too long!" Because he does need to sleep; he hasn't been getting any real rest lately, with how chaotic his thoughts have been.

Banri enters the high-difficulty dungeon of 103 and comes out a few hours later completely brainless. Grindblue Farmtasy, truly the most mind-numbing experience known to gamerkind. But he feels a little better after the chat he had with Itaru while their fingers tap-tap-tapped away at the virtual enemies on the screen, the fire of determination licking at his blood again, simmering in his veins.

That's right, it's not like him to just twiddle his thumbs and admit defeat. He can't lose. He won't lose. Not even, no, especially not to his past self.

Dragging himself past the tiny bit of hallway between 103 and 104, Banri grabs the doorknob and twists it open, peeking inside. The room is dark and quiet, which does make sense—it's late enough that it's probably past Juza's usual sleeping time, since he tends to go to bed earlier than Banri does. But it's eerily silent, with none of Juza's usual snoring to fill the quiet night air.

To be fair, his snoring only gets truly horrendous on the days he does something physically taxing, but… they went through practice earlier, and that usually counts. So why…?

He must not be asleep. Not yet, or maybe he can't. Kabuto did mention something about having a one-on-one interview with him earlier; Banri wonders what they talked about, whether that's the reason Juza's still awake, and whether he brought up this troublesome thing going on between them or not.

Plodding into the room, muting the sound of his footsteps as much as he can, Banri carefully closes the door behind him, locking it shut. He waits for his eyes to adjust to the near-darkness, using only the dim ambient light streaming through the windows from outside to navigate his way to his loft bed. Though there's no way to avoid the noise when he climbs the ladder, the wood creaking loudly under his weight as he clambers up the rungs.

He shoves the duvet down a little and sits on his futon close to his pillow, spending a few minutes just watching, observing Juza across the loft divider. Or at least the only parts he can see—the whorl of indigo hair and the span of broad shoulders, everything else obscured from view.

"Hey." Banri's voice cracks on that single word and he winces, clearing his throat a few times to dislodge the lump in it that's making it hard to speak. He tries again, and his voice isn't as steady as he'd like it to be but he continues, "I've been thinking about it, and, y'know. Just realized, maybe I've been going about this all wrong."

No response. Banri thinks he might hear a slight shuffle of fabric, or a whisper, but it's too quiet to really tell.

"I thought Kabuto's whole shtick was trying to make us do a sort of, 'put myself in your shoes' situation, so I've been trying to do just that. Think about the role from your point of view, how you'd feel about it, all that shit. And like, maybe? There's some merit to that? But I feel like I got too caught up in the parts of it that don't really matter."

Not to say that it completely doesn't matter, but it's—it's not relevant enough. There are more pressing things to focus on. The anger, the impatience, the confusion—the logical deductions Banri's made, and he failed to consider what is most likely the matchstick that would ignite the kindling of Juza-as-Banri's hatred, the same thing that should be inciting him, Banri-as-Juza.

Why would Juza hate Banri? Why would Banri hate Juza? Beyond those reactive emotions, kneejerk responses to hostility. A reason for that vitriol in the first place.

There's some more shuffling noises, and finally, Juza's golden eyes peek out at him from under the covers, shadowed by his bangs. "So you finally remembered what makes us rivals? You stupid fucking fox."

His tone is sharp and scathing, but his expression is soft. Still reluctant, still hesitating. Still afraid of causing pain.

"You were so focused on the 'us of someday' and it felt like I, I was," Juza falters, but pushes through, "you're supposed to chase after me. Me, here and now, not the me you remember. I can't chase you back into the past. We can't unchange ourselves to recreate that moment. We can't return to Picaresque like we're blank slates again. I don't want that. I don't want you to want that."

How poetic. Banri wants to tease him but holds his tongue, because they're actually very beautiful words and he can practically feel Juza's sincerity in each and every one of them. Like dialogue in a script, written and refined to evoke emotions out of an audience. A wordsmith on par with Tsuzuru, or one steadily approaching the same level as their resident playwright.

Just one of the many, many things that he envies Juza for, the many things that Juza has that Banri does not. Envy wraps around his heart like a vice and Banri welcomes it like an old friend; it squeezes tight and sends his blood pumping through his veins. This is the feeling he's been missing. The answer he overlooked.

"I hate you," Banri spits, and it's so, so freeing, like he's finally allowed to stretch out his limbs after being curled up in a ball for so long. "You ruined my easy mode life, you stand on stage a-and prove everything I know wrong, and now you're playing the role that's supposed to be mine and—"

"I won't let anyone take it from me."

Baal's line falls from Juza's lips and the dark, ugly jealousy in Banri's chest once more reignites, incandescent. He feels like he's having yet another thing stolen from him. He feels like he's burning alive.

"Do your worst, I’ll beat you every step of the way." Banri boasts, lips stretched out in a wide grin showing too much teeth. "I’ll be waiting for you at the finishing line. Chase after me and surpass me like you always do. And then I’ll follow behind and overtake you next."

He laughs, quiet, not because it's late at night but because he doesn't need it to be loud to drive his point home. There's an elation bubbling up in his chest that borders on madness.

"Let’s kill each other. Kill the me that hates you, Hyodo. I’ll kill the you that hates me, too."

Juza's eyes gleam in the darkness, similarly incensed, similarly burning. He pushes himself up onto his knees and reaches over the railing to grab the Banri's chest, shirt fabric crumpling in his grip, and pulls. So that they're face to face, breathing the same air, but not quite closing the distance.

(A smart move, really; if they press their lips together now, Banri's worried that they might never be able to pull apart unless they kiss each other to death.)

(Save that for a post-performance celebration.)

And in the throes of his frustration, that pure murderous intent burning him from within and without, Banri feels so alive.

"That's enough. I want to see you guys play your actual roles now."

It feels like a long time coming, yet also simultaneously just a short amount of time since they've been told to play the other's role. Banri's mouth hangs half-open, perplexed, but of course Kabuto offers no explanation. Only a little dismissive wave and a barely-there smirk, just a tiny upturn of the corner of his lips, the asshole.

Next to him, Juza shrugs and dutifully switches over. Kabuto says a few more words of (what is probably meant to be) encouragement and Banri only hears half of it because he's mostly echoing the same realization Banri arrived at last night. Once Kabuto's done yapping and turned his attention elsewhere, Banri whips his head to face Juza fully, hoping the frown that he feels on his face is actually a proper frown and not a pout.

"Just what the hell didja guys talk about yesterday?"

Juza shrugs again, but his answer is slightly delayed. "…Nothing important." He scratches at his cheek with a finger and doesn't say anything further. Squinting really hard, Banri can barely make out the faint shade of red dusting Juza's cheeks at 3% opacity.

Holy shit. Did he actually spill the beans about their relationship, and the correlated mess that their relationship elicited in their role study, to Kabuto? Now Banri feels like he'a going to spontaneously combust for a completely different reason. He shoves it to the shelf of compartmentalized thoughts in the back of his mind, wraps up it all nice and pretty in a box tied up with a cute ribbon in a bow to be unpacked some other time, preferably never.

They run through the blocking and the lines and Banri feels Kabuto's eyes on him the entire time, but it doesn't matter because Juza's eyes are also on him the entire time, and really, that's the most important thing here. Those twin full moons glinting under the bright ceiling lights.

It feels like they're carving out a world for just the two of them, Baal and Judas chasing after the shadow of Jakes' legacy. Nothing like Mankai, where they're pulling each other along to an explosive climax; this is a fight for the solitary spot at the very top, and they both bare their claws and fangs at each other like starving, wounded animals fighting for scraps, bleeding rage and pride and desperation from the same veins.

Baal and Judas destroy each other, and Banri and Juza help each other destroy each other.

Kabuto gives them a single nod of approval. His small smile almost, almost reaches his eyes.

The complication with Omi and Keiku and the disrespect towards the memory of Nachi blows over when Keiku falls to his knees from a single punch and… it's like watching himself from an outsider's perspective all over again. Banri sees how the kid's expression flickers between confusion and resentment and awe and even a hint of exaltation, like he's so thrilled to finally have his narrow worldview shattered open and broken wide apart.

To be perfectly honest, Banri's kinda jealous of the little brat—what he would give to relive that experience again, to suffer defeat for the very first time at Juza's fist. But he knows better now than to chase after a memory. Juza will find new ways to surpass him and he, too, will overtake Juza, again and again, especially with the branching paths of the world of theater that they've chosen to focus on; assistant director and backstage crew.

And hey. At least Juza hadn't used the full extent of his strength, it seems. Keiku doesn't look like he'll need two weeks to fully recover from the blow to his ribs and his ego. So that priviledge is still Banri's to claim, still his secret treasured memory to covet.

But then his idiot boyfriend has to go and open his mouth and reveal that they both share a liking of sweets. The damn softie.

There's some more conversation about Keiku's past and Nachi before Juza extends an invitation to Keiku to come watch the Hyakka play next week. And maybe Banri's heart does a stupid little backflip in his ribcage when Juza calls it "our play"; not Autumn's, but theirs—Banri and Juza's play.

Next to him, Taichi coughs and clears his throat, giving Banri a very pointed side-eye glance. Both Sakyo and Azami look like they don't know whether to be amused or exasperated. Even Omi, still occupied with Keiku, manages to give him a knowing smile.

The group disperses and everyone heads off to do their own thing, with Banri and Juza both making their way to the practice hall rented out by the Hyakka troupe. It's the start of the final stretch of rehearsals before opening day and Banri's ready to give it his all, itching to do a full run-through to see if he'll measure up to Kabuto's impossibly high standards.

On the way there, Juza nudges him in the side. There's a cheeky slant to his smile that has Banri bracing for whatever embarrassing thing it is he's about to say. But instead, minutes pass by in silence. The distance between them and their destination gets smaller and smaller.

Once they're almost at the studio's doorstep, Banri's patience, already worn thin, bursts like a bubble. "Spit it out already!" He hisses, knocking his elbow into Juza's arm.

"Oh, it's nothin' really," Juza drawls, eyes narrowed with mirth like upturned crescents, "just thought that green's a great colour on ya."

"Piss off," Banri grumbles, all too aware of the heat crawling up his neck and onto his face.

"Real flattering that you seem like you're gonna murder anyone who even looks in my general direction for more than a few seconds." With a playfully teasing tone of voice, Juza chuckles. But then he brushes the back of their hands together, just a fleeting touch that makes Banri's skin break out in goosebumps regardless. "Though I'd like it better if you kept your eyes on only me instead."

Banri stops in his tracks, mid-step, and watches Juza continue on without him, his pace a little more hurried than before. Banri's brain takes a moment to reboot and process Juza's words and then he's chasing after him, cheeks hurting from the sheer force of his grin.

At least he's not alone in struggling with this sudden onset of possessive jealousy. Hopefully it'll cool down once the play's done and over with…?

They go through the scenes under Kabuto's watchful eye and Banri can't help but compare his and Baal's feelings throughout the whole thing. Though the rationale is a little different, the target of their emotions are one and the same and it's easy to let a little bleedthrough happen; feels only natural to let a little bit of himself slip into Baal the same way Juza's probably letting a little bit of Judas slip into himself.

When they reach the fight scene at the climax, though, something feels a little bit off. Not quite noticeable, but it's there, in the way Juza's following the steps perfectly. Now normally that's a good thing, because after all it's important to follow the fight choreography down to the smallest detail to prevent injury and preserve flow, but there's a little something off about it that Banri snags on for a split second and he's not quite sure what.

And then Judas is bearing down on him with his knife and Baal has no choice but to parry the strike, flinging Banri's thoughts out of his head as they circle each other, weapons in hand. Banri struggles to keep conscious of Juza as they clash, to no avail. He's drawn into Judas's fury and has to match him beat for beat as Baal, giving no chance for Banri to think or worry about anything else.

Judas plunges his dagger into the miniscule gap between Banri's chest and arm just as Baal lunges with his sword and rips it upward through the air dangerously close to Juza's face, a movement so ferocious that the blade ends up flying out of Banri's hand and clattering to the floor behind Juza.

They collapse to the floor as one, gasping for breath and clutching at their fatal wounds.

Banri's hands claw desperately at the floor, scrambling for leverage to push himself up but finding none. His voice rattles as Baal triumphantly declares: "Watch. These are my genuine feelings…" Then he crumples and wheezes out a final breath, going still.

And though he can't really view it from this angle, he sees in his mind's eye—

Juza, reaching a trembling hand to the sky, the spotlight he desired to stand under so much finally shining down on him. "This is… my stage…" Judas rasps, defiant to the end, before his arm falls limp to the floor with a painful thump, unmoving in death.

Silence engulfs the hall, stretching long enough that Banri feels cold sweat breaking out across his back. Was it not good enough? Does Kabuto expect even more out of them? Or did either of them make a mistake somewhere and failed to notice it?

"That's enough," Kabuto's voice cuts through the tense air, and Banri releases the breath he didn't even realize he was holding. "…It's coming together nicely."

Banri opens his eyes and props himself up into a sitting position; across from him, Juza does the same, both of them turning to face Kabuto fully.

"I think… this could become a great piece of work," Aoshi carefully concurs, stepping closer so that he can help Juza first up to his feet, then Banri. He nods at them both before retreating back to Kabuto's side.

"We'll see. The quality of a work is only decided once the curtain falls." Kabuto eyes them both with intense scrutiny, his expression as coldly impassive as always when passing down his judgement. "Leads, make sure you cool down properly." Then he saunters away before either of them have the chance to respond, with Aoshi dutifully trotting after him.

Banri shares a look with Juza, limbs heavy with fatigue but head filled with the rush of exhilaration. He heads for the spot near the wall where they've placed their towels and water bottles but jerks back to face Juza when he hears a grunt of pain, almost lost among the noise of the other actors practicing their own parts of the play around them.

"…Oi, don't tell me you—"

Not quick enough to catch whatever it is that's ailing Juza, though, as he steps right up to Banri and grabs his own bottle, chugging it down in a few quick gulps. He finishes with a gusty sigh and wipes the moisture from his mouth with the back of his hand.

Banri keeps staring at him, until he finally breaks and murmurs an admission: "It's just a light wound. It'll be fine after a good night's sleep."

Then he turns away, indicating clearly that he wants Banri to drop it. Banri grits his teeth and slowly counts to ten in his head.

Fine, then. It's not like even minor injuries can easily balloon into something more catastrophic, especially when aggravated by something like, oh, who knows, an intense fight scene? Nope, not at all, no threat of that ever coming to pass, no sirree.

Fucking idiot.

The curtains rise on the opening day.

The stage is set: 16th century London, the theater company of the prodigious playwright and actor, Jakes.

His unforeseen death comes as a devastating shock, most of all to the actors who've gathered together under his guidance, but the murmurs of hopelessness and despair are quickly silenced by the one to take up the mantle of leadership left after his passing: Baal, the company's beloved star actor and Jakes's most accomplished protege. He keeps his head held high during the funeral while others have bowed theirs in sorrow, and as they gather together for the wake, in a tavern that they've rented out for the occasion, he puts his silver tongue to use and crafts a rousing speech to lift their spirits, promising that the troupe's future will be bright with him at the helm.

His comrades applaud him and the gloomy atmosphere returns to jubilation. Baal drinks in their reverence just as he drinks the ale in his cup, confident and comfortable with the weight of Jakes's legacy that he inherited, that's settled on his shoulders like a velvet mantle. His place in the world of theater is guaranteed; the brightest spotlight shines for him, on him, alone. He feels omnipotent, like he's on top of the world.

And then an interloper shows up on the company's doorstep, throwing it all into disarray.

Judas, lowborn orphan with no connections whatsover to the theater industry, appears in front of them one day like a miracle. Or an omen. He claims to have received tutelage from Jakes, who found him in the orphanage and imparted upon him the gift of acting, and demands that a place be given to him among the troupe's actors, as had been promised to him by Jakes before his passing.

Baal welcomes him into the world of theater, in accordance with the will Jakes left behind, along with the final play the director-playwright had written and bequeathed them both. Does it rankle him that he suddenly has to share the lead role with a stranger? Of course. But Baal is nothing but a gracious man. Even though he doesn't understand his late master's intentions, he will not be so bold and ungrateful as to turn his back on Jakes's final wish and posthumous work.

And yet.

Judas is an abysmal actor, completely amateurish; Baal questions what exactly it is that Jakes saw in him. As rehearsals progress, Baal's scorn only deepens each time they practice a scene together, every time he has to point out Judas's mistakes and shortcomings. This is the one who caught his mentor's eye? He can't even be called a diamond in the rough—Judas is nothing more than a piece of coal among the troupe's array of polished gems. He can't possibly measure up to Baal's flawless brilliance. If anything, Judas will only drag Baal down, an unsightly stain on his reputation as both director and fellow actor of the company.

Even the mere thought of that is enough to drive Baal to madness.

To put him in his place, Baal tells Judas to perform a one-man act in the middle of the town square—for the sake of bolstering his confidence, to let him get used to acting in front of an audience, Baal says. But his true intention is to humiliate Judas and drive him away. It won't do for a fledgeling director like Baal to dismiss a fresh new hire outright, no—he needs to have Judas leave the troupe of his own accord. That way, Baal's hands will remain unstained by guilt and sin.

Contrary to his expectations, though, the townspeople are captivated by Judas's passionate, sincere acting. It is as if he's a completely different person than the one who stood next to Baal in the practice hall. His earnest zeal smooths over any inadequency in his abilities, and by the end of it he wins both the crowd's hearts and their applause.

Baal bears witness to this, to the fervour that must have caught Jakes's eye, and his derision ferments into something darker, something more bitter and vicious and concentrated. Envy grips his heart like a vice, and fear chills the roaring blood in his veins to ice.

The closer they come to the play's opening day, the more refined Judas's talents become, and the more Baal's madness festers in his thoughts, under his skin. Baal has worked so hard to be the only one worthy of being the star actor, to carve out a place for himself in this world of theater, to stake his claim on the position at the head of his theater company—and he should not lose it to some upstart ham actor! He won't! He can't!

Baal has climbed to the very top and if he falls from there, if he falls from grace… there's no guarantee of his survival once he hits the ground. For who is Baal if not the successor and heir to Jakes's legacy? Who is he without that title and purpose and reason for existence?

(He is no one.)

(Baal is an empty being who exists only to fill in the void that Jakes has left behind for him, trapped in the shadow of an inescapable legacy that will dictate the rest of his life, feigning happiness and satisfaction with the fate given to him by divine providence. He is painfully, pitifully, pathetically empty of any substance, and if anything else is stolen from him then he will unravel completely into grey nothingness.)

Judas will kill him by stealing his place in the world, by disproving everything of Baal's existence and feelings that he thought was genuine. Composure, ingenuity, and self-assurance—all of it shattered and swept away to reveal the anger, impatience, and confusion buried underneath in a shallow grave, roiling and writhing like a pit of snakes.

But not if you kill him first―such is what the devil whispers in his ear, in the tone and cadence of Baal's own voice. And thus, fuelled by hatred and spite, he devises a scheme to depose and dispose of the usurper. To return everything to its proper state and restore the status quo. To recreate that perfect stretch of time between Jakes's death and Judas's arrival, when Baal was at the apex of his world; Icarus reaching out to touch the sun.

The curtains rise on the opening day.

The stage is set, and the prop blade in its sheath that hangs from Baal's belt has been exchanged for a real one, sharpened steel ready to taste first blood. He will kill before he is killed, even if it means exposing his shameful true self for the audience, nay, for all the world to see. If he must fall from grace, then let it be a hell of his own choosing, a decision he makes for himself.

"This is my theater troupe. The place where I belong. I won't let anyone take it from me."

But unbeknownst to him, Judas has already caught on to his plan. And he, too, will kill before he is killed. He has lived for so long without fitting in anywhere in the world around him… disconnected from everything through no fault of his own. Presented with the opportunity to have a space carved out for him at last, he will do anything to achieve it.

"This is my stage… this is the place where I'll stay. Jakes said so… and I'll crush anyone who gets in my way."

Even if it means consigning someone else to oblivion so he can occupy the emptiness left behind.

They throw themselves into their roles and their desperation bleeds through into their characters. The audience is mesmerized by the sheer intensity of their performance, oblivious to the malice simmering within the two that's threatening to boil over and spill beyond the boundary of the fourth wall. The spotlight follows the two leads as they make their way through the acts of play, locked in an intricate dance, and in the final scene—

Baal unsheathes his sword, its metallic cry cutting through the air. He brings it down on Judas with his lips parted in a spasming rictus that barely passes for a grin.

Judas parries it with his dagger; the sound of metal against metal silences the rest of the stage. Baal's grin falters, and his own mouth stretches into a wicked smile.

A long blade versus a short one, each ill-fitted to its wielder.

If Baal had the dagger, his dexterity would let him weave past Judas's defenses and strike with precision, but now he must time his swings of the sword with consideration that he does not open himself up to vulnerability; if Judas had the sword, his strength would let him simply overpower Baal's defenses and strike with brute force, but now he must contend with the dagger's shorter size and reach and put more thought into each lunge.

They dance back and forth like the ebb and flow of ocean waves, both gaining ground and losing it in equal measure. Caught in a stalemate with neither side willing to concede, rapidly using up their physical energy as well as losing their rational minds to the feral instincts of pure bloodlust.

And then, in a brief lull of action, the two of them back off of each other, using the moment to reassess their next move—

Judas's leg wobbles. He takes a step too far, knocking his heel into one of the stage props, and the dull noise of surprise that rumbles out of his chest doesn't belong to him.

Juza's consciousness surfaces from the depths of Judas's existence with a blink and a wince.

Banri barely hesitates, running through the options in his mind of what to do next. He takes one look at Juza, at the furrow in his brow and the hard set of his jaw, the demand in Juza's expression, practically challenging him to figure out how to keep the scene going—and knows what he has to do.

What BaalBanri has to do to drag Judas back out into the lightpush Juza back into the shadows.

Baal won't let Judas ruin the play.

Juza trusts Banri to save the play.

Stumbling from the force of Banri's shove, Juza narrowly misses falling onto the soapboxes that have collapsed into a haphazard pile, all sharp edges and the promise of pain and the potential of further injury.

Baal won't accept Judas's loss unless it's by his own hand, not from some mere accident, not from the whims of fate or the act of divine providence. The victory is meaningless otherwise. His ego won't be appeased otherwise.

"…The show will go on until these curtains fall."

He refuses to let this one more thing be stolen from him. Even the mere thought of that is enough to drive him to madness, and the dark, ugly jealousy in Baal's chest catches on a spark and ignites, incandescent. Judas will lose and die to him and him alone! Baal is the only one allowed to defeat him!

"I'm going to kill you, right on top of this stage."

The sword glints in the spotlight as Baal raises it up, ready to strike the finishing blow.

Judas lifts his head, and burning in the depths of his golden eyes is a deep, dark hatred.

"No… I will be the one to kill you."

His dagger catches the light just as it catches the sword bearing down on him from above. A furious roar tears out of Judas's throat as he propels Baal off of and away from him, not waiting at all before he launches himself at Baal with fangs bared and metal claw outstretched. Over and over again, he attacks without pause, without rest, nothing left to hold him back from pushing himself beyond his limits. Knowing that Baal mirrors his madness in kind and has the will to back it up and fight him to a standstill.

"I will be the one…!" His lungs burn with the effort of breathing, his throat rubbed raw from the force of his agonized scream. "I―I'm Jakes's disciple!"

No more roles, no more masks—just a simple, pure wrath. Judas will take Baal's place at the apex and he will finally fit in, he will have a place to belong to in this world at last.

All he has to do, is reach out and takesteal it.

All he has to do, is become someone that isn't himselfkill Baal and replace him.

"Shut the hell up!"

But Baal will not let himself be vanquished so easily. Not when his own ego and self-identity is at stake. The threat of an unknown future stretching out into unfathomable infinity flashes before his mind's eye and the howl that he lets out is more beast than human, a cornered, wounded animal driven to the final throes of desperation in the face of death.

He counts out the steps under his breath, one, two, three, and lunges with his sword a half-count early, feeling the dagger sink deep into his own chest just as he tears the sword across Judas's neck and face, so ferociously that it ends up flying out of his hand and clattering to the floor behind Judas.

Then they collapse to the floor as one, gasping for breath and clutching at the blood that spills forth from their wounds, red, so much dark red that it looks almost black under the harsh stage lighting.

Baal's simpering laugh is thin and callous and triumphant. "Watch," he declares, that grin never unfurling from his lips even as his eyes go dull and lightless before fluttering shut. "These are my genuine feelings…"

"This is… my stage…" Judas's steady hand cuts through the sky and the spotlight's glaring shine, casting a shadow onto his twisted smile. He holds it there for a brief moment longer before it falls to his chest, clutching at his heart.

(They are the only ones who can understand each other in the depths of despair that they've found themselves in. Perhaps, in this final exchange, they've come to realize that at last—far too late to do anything about it but to continue down this path towards mutual destruction.)

(Perhaps, in another time, they could have pulled each other from the brink. Rivals who challenged and brought out the best in each other instead of bitter enemies who drove each other to become the worst versions of themselves.)

(Alas, this is not that time.)

And so the curtain falls on their hideously beautiful performance, the applause of the fake audience overlapping with that of the real one. The two brilliant flames have burned themselves out on each other, reduced to nothing but ashes on the scorched earth.

In the darkness and solace of the stage wings, Banri watches as Juza slowly resurfaces once more. A few languid blinks, a few shuddering breaths, the flex of his fingers and the pink of his tongue as it darts out to wet his dry lips. It's like he's an animal coming out of hibernation, or rather, rousing from the dreams of a deep sleep, and in a way, he is doing exactly that―returning to himself after living a life and dying a death as someone else.

Golden eyes narrow to upturned crescents as Juza turns away from him, depths still aglow with the warm embers of a fading actor's high. Banri can't help but grin as he raises his hand, and Juza needs no verbal prompting to mirror the action. Even without looking at each other, their hands fit perfectly as they slap their palms together in a high five, hard enough to leave a lingering sting.

"…Ow." Juza lowers his hand back down to his side, drawing out the movement. His expression, however, is immeasurably fond, closing his eyes in a way that makes him look almost… content. Satisfied.

"Heh. Dumbass." Banri huffs out a breath through his nose in lieu of a laugh. He can't bring himself to look at Juza right now, worried that he might do something rash and impulsive—like kiss him. Or punch him. "I felt it too, though. What stupid strength."

He'll never forget it; this pain, this fire. This exchange of life's passion that can only happen on a stage. And though he'll have plenty of opportunities to experience it over and over again with plenty of other people, other actors, other roles… in the end, Juza is the one who makes him burn with envy the most. Who gets him all fired up the most.

And Banri will never ever lose to him, even if he dies.

After the both of them get majorly chewed out by Kabuto—and they can admit that he's right to do so, considering that Juza hid his injury and Banri goaded him on instead of reining him in—the troupe breaks out the snacks and alcohol for their successful opening day toast, with the two leads bumping their plastic cups together to get the aftershow started. From there, the crowd descends into chatter and merriment, some of them eager to take their mind off theater and talk about unrelated topics while others continue to discuss the play and their performance.

Banri flits around, making sure to be a social butterfly and check in on everyone while giving them all a few words of praise here and there, reprising his assistant director's role even off the stage. It won't hurt to build more connections with the other guest actors, even if he has to turn up the humble-bragging charm a little to ingratiate himself to them. After everything that's went down, a lot of them view him in a more favourable light now, or at least have mellowed out their attitudes towards him compared to how they were at the beginning.

Meanwhile, he spots Juza mostly hovering around the dessert side of the snack tables, immersed in some sort of conversation with Aoshi that has them both acting more animatedly than Banri's ever seen either of them. Are they talking about sweets? They're probably talking about sweets, aren't they.

Banri tries to convince himself of that even as he makes his way to them, tossing a few lopsided grins and witty comments this way and that while not really registering anything that's being said in his general direction.

Before he can close that final tiny bit of distance between them, though, who else but Kabuto steps in his way, blocking him off with that indecipherable neutral expression of his. Fighting back the urge to glare up at him—fucking negligible-but-definitely-there height difference, how much taller is he anyway, two centimeters? (Just like Juza?)—Banri instead schools his face into something that, with luck, might pass off as a smile instead of a sneer.

Kabuto lifts a single eyebrow. "…Wow. My intuition was right. You are a jealous boyfriend."

"I'm not a—" Banri is going to fucking explode, right here, right now, and bring the whole room down with him in his impending laughing fit-slash-nuclear meltdown, but instead he chooses to do the emotionally mature thing and speedrun the five stages of grief in three seconds. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, straining to keep his voice low so that nobody else has to overhear what feels like an admission of his defeat. "Whatever. Y'know what? Fine. Yeah. I am. Whatever."

"I am having… so much fun." Kabuto blithely continues on, completely ignoring Banri's internal crisis. "I almost want to thank you for being so interesting, but I won't. You weren't interesting at all at first. I had to do… so much research."

Ooo-kay, ignoring that last bit. "Can we go back to the time when you were indifferent towards me? I think I liked it much better when you didn't give a shit about who I was as a person."

"I'll be keeping my eye on you two. That guy," Kabuto jabs a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing at Juza, "isn't all that amusing on his own, but when paired with you? Makes me want to keep you both in a miniature garden and observe you."

Banri is this close to Doing a Violence. He shouldn't, because this isn't Mankai and the ramifications of him Doing a Violence here, on Hyakka's turf, and not to mention to the troupe's director himself, is very likely not worth the satisfaction of decking Kabuto in the face.

But damn if it isn't such a tempting prospect right now.

(Anger, impatience, confusion—'Won’t this guy just take a hint already?' and 'I can’t let him provoke me into throwing the first punch' and 'Why me? Why is he so obsessed with me?')

It's like a lightbulb going off in his head, except the voltage is way too high and the bulb immediately shatters from the power overload, sending tiny shards of broken glass all over the place. The noise that's slithering its way up Banri's throat would be humiliatingly horrifying if he vocalizes it, so he clamps his lips shut to stop it from escaping, which does have the unfortunate side-effect of making him choke on his own spit.

Coughing a little, Banri does eventually let slip a bit of a glare, though that only makes Kabuto chuckle. What the hell is wrong with this dude?! Gritting his teeth, he brushes off the advice of the hapless angel on his shoulder (read: the single braincell of reason bouncing around in his head) trying to placate his irritation and instead tries to get back at Kabuto, with at least a verbal quip if he can't physically lash out.

Unfortunately, the only thing that his brain manages to cook up before shoving it straight through his unfiltered thought-to-speech process is: "What, you want a piece of this ass too? Too bad, I'm taken."

Now to his credit, that does somehow actually give Kabuto pause, the mild mirth in his red eyes swapping out for slightly less mild confusion. Like he's trying and failing to follow Banri's particular leap of logic.

"I'm… also accounted for?" Why is he saying it like a question? Also, why is he dropping this sudden bombshell right now, hello??

Then Kabuto turns slightly to the side to reveal Juza and Aoshi staring at them both, similarly flabbergasted. Well, it's mostly Juza who looks like he's at a loss for words. Aoshi just looks like he wants a bottomless pit to open up in the floor and swallow him whole.

"Please think before you speak." Banri's convinced that Aoshi's saying this to him, which, fair enough, point taken. Except he also adds, with the utmost exasperation: "I would prefer if we don't have any more run-ins with the law. Just one charge of arson is enough."

Kabuto's expression goes dangerously close to sulking, which is a terrifying look on him because Banri's never seen Kabuto express any emotion beyond a certain range that mostly defaults to dismissive boredom. "That one wasn't even my fault." He—is that noise a whine coming out of Kabuto's mouth? Before he clears his throat and faces Banri again, flipping right back to vaguely genial slash threatening. "Fine. I'll leave you two be. Give Sakuya my regards."

As usual and expected of him by this point, he saunters away before Banri can say anything, and honestly, what can he even say in the face of all that? Banri watches him go, seeing Aoshi nod at him and Juza both before tagging along after Kabuto's retreating figure like a reluctant shadow, and then Juza is at Banri's side, nudging him into a quieter corner of the room. Far enough away from the rest of the mingling crowd that they can have a conversation without being overheard.

"What was that." Chuckling under his breath, Juza waves his half-eaten skewer of yakitori around. "Were you flirting with him?"

"Wh—fuck no!" Banri blanches, swiping the yakitori stick from Juza's hand and biting off one of the pieces before Juza can take it back. He chews on it more aggressively than necessary before swallowing. "I just… panicked, I guess."

"Your panic response is flirting?"

"My panic response is throwing a punch and yelling all the expletives I know in alphabetical order, you of all people should know that the most." He finishes off the rest of the peach chuhai in his cup and sets it down on the table. "Done drinking or just takin' a snack break?"

Juza tears the last chunk of grilled chicken off his stick and drops the skewer into Banri's empty cup. "Stopped halfway through my first drink. Figured you didn't want me gettin'… y'know."

Ah, yeah, that's right. Juza tends to get a little… loose-lipped when he's inebriated, in the sort of 'will shower you with praise and compliments' type of way that's endearing and highly amusing to their Mankai family and friends but probably not something to be sprung on new acquaintances and strangers without at least some preparation and warning beforehand.

"True," Banri admits, leaning his hip against the table, "might make me even more stupid jealous than I already am if I have to share that cute part of you with everyone." He glances at Juza from the side, pleased by the slight flush of red he sees settling on the tips of Juza's ears. "What about you?"

"Hm?"

"You're not jealous? The whole… me and Kabuto and whatever the fuck happened just now." Because Banri does feel just a teensy bit pathetic about it. It's not fair that he's the only one acting lame, Juza deserves to be a little bit flustered and uncool about this as well. "He's kinda obsessed with me for some reason. I can't just politely ask him to fuck off, either."

"Pot, meet kettle." Juza snorts, chuckling when Banri punches him on the shoulder, then curls his lips in a wry smile. "I'm not too worried. Like he said, he has his own boyfriend—"

"Boyfriend? Wait, whoa, whoa, wait, where'd you get the gender from?"

"What, girls can't be boyfriends too?" With a mocking scoff, Juza shakes his head in disappointment at Banri's old-fashioned way of thinking. Then he huffs a quiet laugh at Banri's deadpan stare. "Kidding, kidding. I, ah, don't know if it's my secret to share… but I guess Masumi was fine with tellin' me? Pretty sure Sakuya and Kabuto are dating."

The world has got to stop dropping one revelation after another on Banri in quick succession like that. "Sakuya? Our sweet little Sakuya, dating Kabuto? Was that why he told us to give specifically Sakuya his regards?" He drags his hands down his face, then whips his head back up and asks, "Wait, when did you get all buddy-buddy with Masumi?!"

"Since I first asked him for advice on what to do, back when you didn't want us to be together."

Banri opens his mouth to retort, then pauses. Closes his mouth. Another pause. Gestures for Juza to continue. Because yeah, he can't deny it, he did kind of avoid Juza for a while back then because he was too emotionally constipated to admit that he had feelings for him. Banri will take the L on that one.

"I guess we kinda hit it off ever since? I also go to their room to ask Tsuzuru-san for help with uni stuff sometimes, and he gives me a lot of reading material recommendations too." Juza shrugs. "Hanging out in 102 is pretty fun, especially when they do their playverse relationship chart slideshow presentation parties that I'm allowed to watch."

"When they do their huh who what now?"

Juza makes a noncommittal wiggly hand gesture. "Eh. It's a Spring thing, apparently. Like how we have Autumn movie marathon night every two weeks or so? Yeah."

Rrright. A Spring thing. Because the company's one and only scriptwriter apparently ships his not-always-original characters to the point that charts have to be made to keep track of them. Banri briefly falls into a fit of despair, wondering if maybe he should ask Sakuya at the next troupe leader meeting for a more detailed explanation or if he'll be better off not knowing. Probably the latter. He shakes his head hard enough to fling out the errant thoughts, focusing on Juza again.

"…I don't really wanna thank him for meddling, like he thinks he's some sort of cupid or somethin', but. I'm kinda glad Kabuto put us through the wringer like that." Banri wants to blame this bout of sentimentality on like, alcohol intoxication or something, but he knows he hasn’t drank enough beer to justify calling himself even the slightest bit tipsy. Still, he pushes through the instinctive shame so that he can put his thoughts into words. “Sorry it took me so long to figure it out. It must’ve sucked, thinkin’ I’d gone soft on you, huh?”

Juza’s expression softens, the wrinkles on his forehead smoothing out ever so slightly. “My fault too,” he murmurs, pressing in a little closer so that they can bump shoulders. Then he huffs a quiet laugh. “Kabuto called me out on it when he interviewed me. Said I had too much ‘blind faith’ in ya. But this time, I didn’t use my words enough to make it come across right. S’not fair of me to get upset when you didn’t know what I wanted.”

Banri snorts, because if not, he might sniffle, or worse, choke out a sob. He wants to tangle their fingers together but settles for just brushing the back of his hand against Juza’s, and even that small touch is electrifying.

“I’ll never stop being envious of you. There’ll always be a part of me that hates you for having what I don’t have, no matter how much we change. I’ll never lose to you, to never lose you.”

With the way Juza goes breathless and his eyes go ablaze, one would think that Banri’s practically proposed marriage to him or something, instead of babbling a whole load of incomprehensible nonsense.

“Watch,” Banri recites, grinning when Juza’s eyes flicker from confusion to recognition, “these are my genuine feelings.” He grabs Juza’s wrist and rests his hand over his chest, where the thump-thump-thump of his heart beating against his ribcage is the loudest.

Juza blushes even harder, the dusting of red that settles on his face finally the same deep shade of Banri’s own flushed cheeks. As if the rest of the world has faded into irrelevance around them, he circles an arm around Banri’s waist and pulls him in for a quick peck on the lips before answering, “This is my stage.”

Across the room, Kabuto discreetly snaps a pic of the two lovebirds with his phone, while the permanent fixture by his side that is Aoshi merely sighs, having skipped past exasperation right into defeated acceptance that this is just his life now.

“Are you sending that to Sakuya-san?”

“Of course,” Kabuto says in complete monotone, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and it offends him that Aoshi even asked. “Have to let him know that his matchmaking tips worked perfectly. My boyfriend is such an amazing cupid.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”