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It is hard to sleep on the Midnight Stage. The eerie pulsing lights that surround them give no indication of whether it is night or day and, unlike in those long-ago dungeons, here the discordant music echoing through each room does not come from Yosuke’s headphones, and therefore does not possess an off switch of any kind.
Yu does not know if the state he has entered is sleep. He is in Yomotsu Hirasaka, but the grisly goddess who once inhabited it is nowhere in evidence. Furthermore, the strange geometric domain, formerly nothing but an unending landscape of red and white, is illuminated by the same stark dance-floor electrics show as the waking world he had just left.
Izanami is nowhere present, but Yomotsu Hirasaka is not empty. A lone figure sways under the multicolored lights, moving to the beat of the sourceless, echoing music, dancing without reason or witness. A figure Yu recognizes – less composed perhaps, wearier, occasionally stopping the dance to pull at his signature red tie, but still unmistakably Tohru Adachi.
Yu is not sure what impulse pushes him to step forward. Perhaps he believes that he can dance away this phantom of his past in the same way that he banishes Shadows. Perhaps he feels some stab of sympathy for the man dancing alone under the electric sky, even given everything Adachi has put him through.
Regardless of the reason, Yu moves quietly across the too-bright room, beginning unconsciously to mirror the movements that Adachi makes. The former detective moves awkwardly, of course – Adachi has always been one of those people who never seems quite comfortable with their own limbs. Still, there is a strange sort of grace in Adachi’s none-too-fluid motions, a product perhaps more of confidence and attitude than actual skill.
Adachi spins, jutting one narrow hip and arcing his arms above his head to point at the space beside him – a space which has now become occupied by Yu. Surprises flashes over the killer’s face. He stumbles, nearly trips over his own too-long legs, recovers.
Seemingly spurred on rather than deterred by his enemy’s sudden presence, Adachi begins a series of more complicated moves, kicks and spins and hands thrust seemingly at random in all directions. He begins to pace slowly towards Yu, the challenge evident in every line of his body. Yu matches him kick for kick and turn for turn, the two men circling each other, gray eyes locked and sporting mutual expressions of wary amusement.
Yu surprises himself further by taking the first step towards Adachi, breaking the unspoken barrier of distance between them. Though neither of them is taking wounds or damage as a Shadow might, it is clear that this is as much a battle as it is a dance. Yu spins onto the offensive, taking the lead away from the convict and forcing Adachi to follow him instead. He extends a hand towards the suit-clad man, upping the ante even further.
Adachi’s calculating grey eyes examine Yu closely, and for a moment the Investigation Team’s leader is convinced he is going to take the proffered hand. Instead, Adachi slaps it away, the familiar cruel, mocking expression settling onto his face. Not for the first time, Yu muses how cruelty seems to be that face’s natural expression, smoothing out its odd proportions and creating a result that could almost be called handsome.
The murderer follows the first slap with another, seemingly aimed at knocking Yu to the ground. The silver-haired man ducks under the flung limb, raises himself almost immediately to his feet, and moves away from Adachi with several quick steps. They resume their prior circling, feet and hands flying even more quickly than before, neither willing to cede to the other.
Yu turns away from Adachi, breaking eye contact for the first time since the dance began. He presents the man with his unprotected back, practically daring him to attack. He stomps and punches, erratic, non-rhythmic motions created by all of the anger, frustration, hurt and betrayal that the man behind him has made him feel. For the first time since he confronted Adachi in that long-ago hospital room, Yu lets his feelings regarding the man’s actions show on his face and in his actions. Under the stark, unchanging electric lights of the Midnight Stage, where nothing can truly be hidden, Yu shows Adachi his vulnerability, his hurt.
He expects to be struck down again – a slap at best, something significantly more damaging at worst. Can he be hurt or killed, here in this strange dream/Midnight Stage/Yomotsu Hirasaka? It seems he will not find out. Rather than attack him, Adachi responds with motions – and emotions -- of his own. Anger at the world he felt had robbed him of any happiness. The twisted joy that came from staying one step ahead of the Investigation Team, and the despair of being caught. And, unexpectedly, a contented acknowledgement that Yu had been the one to beat him at his own game, and a genuine enjoyment of their continued antagonistic relationship – begun that year in Inaba, continued in the desperate struggle of the Mayonaka Arena, and expressed here in this bizarre dream-dance.
Now the two men move again in sync, black and silver, red and white, each other’s bright and dark mirrors. They are two sides of the same coin, the two wielders of Izanagi, the innocent-turned-investigator and investigator-turned-killer. They are connected, a connection strong enough to bring them once again together, here in the harsh, truthful lights of the Midnight Stage.
They are facing each other again, and Yu’s hand is extending, not to grasp Adachi’s this time, but to tangle itself in the blood-colored tie. Feet have ceased moving but hands fly frantically, catching and pulling towards each other, lips crashing and clinging in a desperate, heated kiss.
Their movement has slowed to a rhythmic swaying, still following the beat of the eternal background music. The kiss is as aggressive as the dance had been, a struggle of tongues and teeth. Adachi bites Yu’s lip hard enough to draw blood, and Yu is glad that the heavy beat muffles his cry of pain.
This is merely a continuation, Yu realizes, of everything that had come before. Of their friendship. Of their hatred. Of their game, of their battle, of their dance. And neither will banish the other with the dance, because what exists between them is not so easily broken. Their lives are entangled in much the same way as their lips and fingers and legs currently are.
Yu and Adachi break apart, gasping for breaths of still, too-hot air. Yu’s lip is bleeding. Adachi’s tie has been held so snugly against his neck that it left a mark like a noose. The lights glare unchanging, and the music plays on.
The silver-haired man raises a hand to wipe away the blood running from Adachi’s mark. The killer’s smirk returns, his eyes fixed on the spot. Both men have yet to say a single word throughout this entire surreal exchange.
The world around Yu begins to stretch and pull, Yomotsu Hirasaka vanishing brick by brick until only the harsh lights and the man standing in front of him remain. Adachi gives him a mocking wave of farewell. Yu responds by licking his lips, running his tongue especially slowly over the still-bloody wound.
He turns away, towards wakefulness and the Team and the Midnight Stage, but dares a look behind him before the dream fades entirely. He is not entirely surprised to see that Adachi has resumed his solitary dance, his ungraceful movements perhaps slower, more aimless – sadder? – than they had been before.
And now Yosuke is shaking him awake, reminding him of the task and the battles and the danger ahead, asking him if he’s alright and why he looks so strange. And he’s brushing it off, muttering something about a weird dream even as he runs his tongue over the mark on his lip, savoring the coppery tang of blood and the aftertaste of Tohru Adachi.