So, this is DEFINITELY a CRACK FIC. If you can't handle me passing some judgement and torturing your favorite character in the name of good fun then please don't read.

This is based off the classic French existentialist play Huis Clos (most commonly translated to 'no exit') written by Jean-Paul Sartre, which details his interpretation of hell (I'll let our resident literature professor explain the rest).

Sorry if it seems a little abstract, but this book creeped me out so much it's all I picture now when I think of hell. Hopefully you don't have to have read the story to at least get a laugh out of this, and an appreciation for how twisted the existentialists were!

Warning: character deaths (I mean, come on. They're in hell, so it was kind of a prerequisite).

For the record, I actually like these 3 characters (most of the time), I just want to fuck around with them a little bit because Nakamura's idea of an acceptable plot really pisses me off sometimes...

...so yeah, I've taken it upon myself to see these three punished for their crimes at least once in fanfic **evil laugh**

You might notice a discerning lack of Hatori, who is even more deserving of an eternity in hell... but, fuck man. I hate that guy so much, there's no way I could write him.

Disclaimer: I don't own Junjou Romantica or Sekaiichi Hatsukoi, and I certainly don't own Huis Clos...but let's pretend I did for a second and mix them all together...

No Exit

1.

When Miyagi Yoh came to, he was walking down a plain corridor, staring at the feet of the man in front of him.

"Where am I?" he wondered out loud, stopping dead in his tracks and looking around.

He didn't recognize a thing—not that there was anything in particular to be recognized. The hallway was long and white, with no discernable beginning or end, no pictures hanging on the wall, and no windows. He also didn't recognize the back of the man in front of him, though he looked vaguely familiar.

"Wow...I haven't gotten this drunk since I passed my defense..."

Hearing this, the man in front of him turned around and laughed once, a cruel and humorless bark.

"Finally came around, eh? Took you long enough." He beckoned, malice shooting through his strange reddish eyes, and continued walking, his shaggy hair swishing as he turned. "Come on, Miyagi. You've got places to be."

Miyagi followed obediently, partly because he didn't see another option in particular.

"Umm, sorry to be rude, but who are you?" he asked.

The man looked over his shoulder and smirked. "You can call me 'the valet.'"

"The valet?" Miyagi asked skeptically. The valet didn't slow, and didn't turn around again. "Are you sure... hey, do I know you from somewhere?"

The valet's shoulders twitched and he only briefly looked back, brows knotted in a scowl. "Trust me, we haven't met before."

"I feel like you remind me of someone. It's ok...it'll come to me," Miyagi said, jogging a bit to keep up as the other man increased his pace. "Hey, can we slow down?" he panted. The valet didn't even acknowledge him this time.

"Listen, I'm really not trying to be rude here, but would you mind telling me where the hell I am?" Miyagi demanded, more angrily.

Abruptly, the valet stopped. As Miyagi threw on the brakes, he noticed they had come to a halt in front of a door to a room. They both stepped inside. The room was relatively small, with plain white walls and a raised futon in one corner. On a small side table was a large woodcarving of a bear holding a salmon.

"How funny you should ask," the valet said, grinning wickedly as Miyagi gazed around in confusion. "Hell is exactly where you are."