← Back to overview

The twist of the mind

The Dark, The Cramped, and The Moroboshi

The hallways of Tomobiki High School had never felt so vast, yet so terrifyingly empty. Shūtarō Mendō, heir to the multi-billion yen Mendō Zaibatsu and the undisputed prince of the student body, was currently sprinting at a speed that would have shamed an Olympic track star. His pristine white uniform was disheveled, and his lungs burned with the effort of flight.

"Stay away! Get back, you unholy demon!" Mendō shrieked, his voice cracking as he rounded a corner on one heel.

Behind him, the rhythmic slapping of loafers against linoleum heralded the approach of his doom. Ataru Moroboshi was not running; he was prowling with a terrifying, rhythmic grace. His eyes were wide, glowing with a predatory affection that made Mendō’s blood run cold.

"Shū-chan! Why are you running?" Ataru called out, his voice smooth and disturbingly melodic. "Is it the thrill of the chase? Does it get your heart rate up? You know, a man of your stature should really focus on cardio. Let me help you with your breathing exercises!"

Mendō didn't look back. He knew that if he saw Ataru’s wink, he might lose his footing and fall into the abyss of a "friendly" embrace. He needed sanctuary. He needed a place where no man—especially not a Moroboshi-shaped one—could reach him.

He burst through a set of double doors leading toward the old sports equipment warehouse at the back of the campus. It was a dusty, neglected building, rarely visited by students since the pool was relocated. Mendō knew there was a heavy-duty storage locker inside, reinforced steel designed to hold expensive shot-puts and javelins. It was a fortress.

He dove into the warehouse, the scent of old rubber and floor wax filling his nostrils. There it was: the tall, grey locker. It was a tight fit, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

"I’ll be safe in here," Mendō whimpered to himself. "The darkness is a small price to pay for the absence of that... that lecher!"

He scrambled inside, pulling the heavy metal door shut just as the warehouse doors creaked open again. The latch clicked. Locked. He was safe.

Then, the darkness hit.

"It’s dark! It’s cramped! It’s scary!" Mendō’s signature wail echoed within the metallic confines. He began to hyperventilate, his eyes darting around the pitch black. "But stay calm, Shūtarō. Think of Lum-san. Think of your bank account. Think of anything but—"

"You know, for a guy who hates small spaces, you sure picked a cozy spot."

Mendō’s heart stopped. His breath hitched in his throat. He slowly turned his head to the left. In the sliver of light filtering through the locker’s vents, he saw a pair of dark eyes reflecting his own terror with sickening delight.

Ataru Moroboshi was sitting in the corner of the locker, his knees tucked to his chest, grinning.

"Moroboshi?" Mendō gasped, his voice a mere thread of sound. "How... when...?"

"I slipped in right before you slammed the door, Shū-chan," Ataru purred, shifting his weight so his shoulder pressed against Mendō’s. "You were so focused on the lock that you didn't notice your favorite admirer was already waiting for you. It’s fate, don't you think?"

"Get out! Get out at once!" Mendō thrashed, his elbows banging against the steel walls with a hollow *thrum*. He reached for the handle, but it wouldn't budge. The old latch had jammed from the inside.

"It’s no use," Ataru said, reaching out to pat Mendō’s trembling hand. "This old thing is rusted shut. And since everyone thinks we’re still playing tag across the city, nobody’s going to look for us here for hours. Maybe even until tomorrow morning."

Mendō let out a sound like a dying teakettle. "Hours? Locked in here? With you? It’s dark! It’s cramped! I’m going to die! My lineage ends in a sports locker!"

"Don't be so dramatic," Ataru whispered, leaning in so close that Mendō could smell the faint scent of the cheap ramen Ataru had for lunch. "Think of it as an opportunity. No Lum to shock us. No Shinobu to throw desks. Just two handsome men, sharing their deepest secrets in the intimate glow of... well, total darkness."

"I have no secrets to share with you!" Mendō yelled, pressing his back as hard as he could against the opposite wall. "I have nothing but contempt! I have a katana, and if I could reach it in this confined space, I would—"

"Your katana is in the hallway, Shū-chan. You dropped it when you tripped over that hurdle." Ataru giggled, a sound that sent fresh shivers down Mendō’s spine. "Now, let’s talk about your skincare routine. Your cheeks are so soft. Is it a chamomile wash? Or perhaps something with gold flakes?"

"Don't touch my face!" Mendō shrieked as he felt a stray finger poke his cheek. "I’ll have you executed! I’ll buy your house and turn it into a public restroom!"

"You’re so cute when you’re threatening my life," Ataru sighed, sounding genuinely smitten. "You know, Mendō, I used to think you were just a pompous jerk with too much money. But now... I see the real you. The vulnerable Shūtarō. The man who just needs someone to hold him when the lights go out."

"I don't need holding! I need a locksmith and a priest!"

Outside, the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long, orange shadows across the Tomobiki campus. Lum was currently hovering three thousand feet in the air, her eyes scanning the streets with frantic intensity.

"Darling! Where are you?" she cried, her voice echoing over the rooftops. "Ten-chan, do you see him? I’ve checked the Mendō estate, the arcade, even the all-you-can-eat beef bowl place!"

Ten floated beside her, looking bored. "Maybe he finally fell into a black hole. Or maybe he’s hiding from you because you keep trying to fry his brains into a different personality."

"I just want my Darling back!" Lum sobbed, a stray bolt of lightning accidentally vaporizing a nearby weather balloon. "If he’s with Mendō, I’m going to shock them both into the next dimension!"

Little did she know, the object of her affection was currently having the time of his life.

Inside the locker, the air was growing warm and stale. Mendō’s claustrophobia was fighting a losing battle against his sheer revulsion of Ataru’s proximity. Every time his knee brushed against Ataru’s, he let out a fresh whimper.

"You’re shaking, Shū-chan," Ataru said softly. "Are you cold? Here, let me share some body heat."

"No! Stay on your side of the imaginary line!"

"There are no lines in the dark," Ataru whispered. He shifted, his arm sliding behind Mendō’s shoulders. "Just lean into me. I’m like a sturdy oak tree. A very lecherous, very supportive oak tree."

"I’d rather lean into a cactus!" Mendō barked, though his voice lacked its usual aristocratic bite. The darkness was truly starting to get to him. He could feel the walls closing in, the ceiling pressing down. The only thing that felt solid, the only thing that felt real, was the person sitting next to him.

Even if that person was Ataru Moroboshi.

"Why are you doing this?" Mendō asked, his voice suddenly small. "Yesterday you were trying to peek under Ryūnosuke’s bandages. Today, you’re... you’re looking at me like I’m a princess."

Ataru paused, his hand hovering near Mendō’s collar. "I don't know, Shū-chan. It was like a switch flipped. All those girls... they’re so much work. Always hitting me, always screaming. But the guys? You’re all so straightforward. So strong. So... well-tailored."

"That’s just the electricity talking," Mendō muttered, though he didn't pull away when Ataru’s hand finally settled on his shoulder. "Lum’s shock must have scrambled your brain. You’re not a... a man-chaser. You’re a pervert. A girl-hunting, skirt-chasing menace."

"Maybe," Ataru admitted, his voice unusually thoughtful. "But right now, in this locker, I don't care about skirts. I care about the way your cologne smells like lavender and old money. I care about the fact that your hair is still perfectly in place even after a three-mile sprint."

Mendō felt a strange heat rising to his face. It wasn't the heat of the locker. It was something else—a terrifying, confusing sensation that he refused to name. "My hair is a matter of discipline, Moroboshi. It has nothing to do with... with your feelings."

"Admit it, Shū-chan," Ataru chuckled, his breath warm against Mendō’s ear. "You like the attention. All those girls fawning over you is one thing, but having your greatest rival acknowledge your undeniable beauty? That’s the ultimate ego boost, isn't it?"

"It is an insult!" Mendō declared, though he finally stopped trying to push Ataru away. "It is a stain on the Mendō name! I should be disgusted!"

"But you aren't, are you?"

Mendō opened his mouth to argue, but the words died in his throat. In the absolute silence of the warehouse, he could hear Ataru’s heartbeat. It was fast, steady, and—frighteningly enough—sincere.

"I’m scared, Moroboshi," Mendō whispered, finally succumbing to the pressure of the small space. "It’s so dark. I can't see the exit. I can't see anything."

"I can see you," Ataru replied. His hand moved from Mendō’s shoulder to his hand, interlacing their fingers. "I’ve got you. As long as I’m here, the darkness doesn't matter. I’ll be your North Star, Shū-chan. A very handsome, very persistent North Star."

Mendō squeezed Ataru’s hand. It was a reflex, he told himself. A drowning man grabbing at a piece of driftwood. But the driftwood was warm, and it didn't let go.

"If you tell anyone about this," Mendō hissed, "I will have you erased from the history books."

"Our secret is safe with me," Ataru promised, leaning his head against Mendō’s. "Besides, who would believe that the great Shūtarō Mendō spent three hours holding hands with Ataru Moroboshi in a gym locker?"

"Three hours?" Mendō groaned. "It’s only been twenty minutes!"

"Time flies when you’re having fun," Ataru chirped.

Back at the Moroboshi residence, Ataru’s mother was setting the table with a look of profound weariness. "Dear, have you seen Ataru? He’s late for dinner. Usually, he’s home the moment he smells the rice."

Ataru’s father didn't look up from his newspaper. "Maybe he finally found a girl who didn't hit him and they’ve eloped. A man can dream, can't he?"

"Don't be silly. Lum-san would have found him by now," she sighed, looking out the window at the darkening sky. "I hope he isn't causing too much trouble. That poor Mendō boy looked like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown this morning."

In the warehouse, the "poor Mendō boy" was currently experiencing a very different kind of breakdown.

"Stop humming, Moroboshi! It’s vibrating through the walls!"

"I’m just trying to set the mood, Shū-chan! Do you like jazz? Or are you more of a classical man? I can do a mean rendition of Beethoven’s Fifth."

"I want silence! I want light! I want my private jet to fly me to a deserted island!"

"I’ll be your island," Ataru said, his voice dripping with honeyed mischief. "A tropical paradise with a population of one. Me."

Mendō let out a long, defeated sigh. He was trapped. Physically, mentally, and—to his horror—romantically. The "switch" that Lum had flipped in Ataru’s brain seemed to have created a magnetic field that Mendō couldn't escape.

"Moroboshi," Mendō said after a long silence.

"Yes, my prince?"

"When we get out of here... and we will get out of here... if you ever try to hit on me in front of the girls, I will kill you."

"So, hitting on you in private is okay?" Ataru asked, his eyes gleaming in the dark.

Mendō bit his lip. The darkness was making him crazy. The cramped space was warping his mind. "I... I will consider it. Depending on the quality of the cologne you wear."

Ataru let out a triumphant cheer that echoed like a gunshot inside the locker. "I knew it! You can't resist the Moroboshi charm! I’ll go buy the most expensive scent in Tomobiki! I’ll smell like a god for you, Shū-chan!"

"Just keep your voice down!" Mendō pleaded, though a small, traitorous smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Outside, the stars began to twinkle over Tomobiki High. The warehouse remained silent, a steel tomb containing the strangest development in the history of Class 2-4.

Lum finally landed on the school roof, her shoulders slumped. "He’s gone, Ten-chan. He’s truly gone. Maybe he’s moved to another city to find more men."

"He’ll be back," Ten said, yawning. "He always comes back. Usually when there’s free food involved."

But for now, Ataru Moroboshi was exactly where he wanted to be. In the dark, in a locker, holding the hand of the wealthiest, most beautiful man he had ever known.

"You know," Ataru whispered as Mendō eventually drifted into a stressed-induced nap against his shoulder. "I think I’m going to like this new hobby. Sorry, Lum, but the view from the locker is much better than the view from your UFO."

Mendō snored softly, his head resting on Ataru’s chest. For the first time in his life, Ataru Moroboshi didn't feel unlucky. He felt like the king of the world—or at least, the king of the sports equipment warehouse.

The switch had been flipped, and the light it cast was a brilliant, terrifying lavender.