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the-good-noodle-kf · 4 years

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Redacted (First) Impressions

My Saiou Winter Exchange Gift for @evil-muffins

Prompt: Pre-game fic, angsty w/ a side of fluff

Hope you like c:

Life has no meaning.

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“My name is ******* ***. My audition number is three-hundred fifty-one.”

“I’m… always looked down on and.. I probably deserve it. So, I thought, fuck my memories huh? It’s not like I care about anyone. Just… I don’t want to be weak anymore. I want to be rewritten as someone less weak. Maybe I could be someone to look up to, like a leader. But, it doesn’t matter what I am; I’m desperate, and isn’t that what you want from people? People so desperate that they’ll willingly offer their lives away to become part of a killing game?”

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Every day is a string of bland pointless blurs that bleed into the next like watercolor paint.

So, why not make life as interesting as possible?

Kokichi Oma stares blankly. He presses down on the lit power button of his computer monitor, effectively shutting it off. It’s done. That’s it. The chance that they’ll consider him is low, but maybe they - Team Danganronpa - will find value in him that no one else has. He barely got a submission number. It took hours of staying awake, eyes peeled, staring at the stinging blue light of the screen until he requested an audition as fast as he possibly could. Even still, he ended up with number three-hundred fifty-one. He wonders how someone could possibly get the first audition.

Applying for Danganronpa has become much more… commonplace, ever since they began using simulation technology. As strange as it may seem, not everyone is exactly willing to stake their lives on a show, but for some, their memories are a small price to pay for becoming a part of the show. Though it might also have something to do with the prize money, Oma doesn’t care much about that. He’s omniscient enough to know that he definitely doesn’t have a very high self-worth… or self-preservation for that matter, but it’s not like he can change that just from being aware of it.

II.

School is boring.

Each additional day of school he's feeling more tired and drained, regardless of how much he falls asleep in class. What is the point of working if he has nothing to work towards?

III.

Shuichi Saihara.

It’s the name of his new coworker… the one he’s supposed to be training. Oma’s worked at the place for not even a year, yet his boss says he’s qualified to teach the boy that was hired just a few days ago.

“Thank you for shopping! Have a great day!” He repeats his response, with his cyclic forced smile bridging his cheeks. It’s almost robotic, in how habitual and automatic it’s become after saying it to every single customer once they’ve paid. He looks to Saihara once the little bell on the door rings, signaling the exit of the customer, and he’s back to his normal expression. It’s not a frown, but it’s definitely not a smile either. “And that’s it. Did you want to try?” he offers, not really sure himself.

Saihara’s staring at him closely, like he doesn’t know what to make of him, but yet he still startles at the response. His brows furrow together but he does nod, so Oma moves aside and lets Saihara stand in front of the register instead. Saihara mumbles as he looks down at the keys, “I wonder why...”

Oma tilts his head at the unfinished sentence as he assesses Saihara. He’s taller than him, and he seems nervous. Oma can also see that he’s good looking, but he probably isn’t a very popular or outgoing person, judging by his mannerisms.

IV.

Working is… habitual for Oma. It’s not that he particularly hates it, and he does make money, but he only does it because he knows that he’d otherwise be doing legitimately nothing, and doing something at least makes him feel a little better about himself. Regardless of how much he dreads being a functional human being in general, he has to - he has to because he’s terrified of what will happen if he stops.

“Ah, Oma-kun,”

Oma looks over with curiosity at the other as he restocks shelves. It’s only the two of them right now. There haven’t been many customers because of the cold, dreary weather. It’s also a Monday, so people are too busy working or at afterschool activities to have any need to stop at the relatively small convenience store.

“Your cheek…” Saihara trails off, scratching his wrist, and Oma reflexively lifts his hand and brushes his fingers over the scrape, reminding him of it with a slight sting.

He lifts up the corners of his cheeks, walls raising, “hmmmm?”

“W-wait, I have-” Saihara cuts himself off as he runs off into the employee’s only door. It’s a little room with a few tiny lockers that Oma throws his school bag in on the days he comes straight from school. Saihara comes back with a bag of his own and huh- Oma didn’t expect Saihara to have so many Danganronpa pins, or any really; there’s a little Monokuma keychain hanging from one of the zippers too. He raises his eyebrows and even smiles a little bit at the thought of someone else liking what he likes, but it’s smothered by the fear of being known, of showing who he really is, and Saihara is oblivious to all this as he tugs a band-aid out of the front pocket and hands it to Oma.

It’s like his mind fizzles like a burnt-out lightbulb for a second when Saihara, instead of just handing him the band-aid like a normal person, envelops Oma’s hand with his own and deposits the band-aid with the other. Oma’s sure that’s not normally how people give other people band-aids, or anything, but the feeling of Saihara’s shockingly warm hand is gone as quick as it arrived when he releases him and smiles. Oma’s even more embarrassed because he actually briefly considered if Saihara was a warm or cold hands person, which isn’t normal, because who does that? Who thinks about their co-worker’s hand temperature - who he doesn’t really know, but seems really nice, if handing him a band-aid could be considered a point of reference.

Oma’s not even sure what tangent his mind is going off on this time, so he looks down in his hand at the band-aid and sees that - huh, it’s got Kyoko Kirigiri on it. He must’ve mumbled her name aloud because Saihara gasps and has an expression that almost reminds Oma of a dog wagging its tail. “You watch Danganronpa?” Saihara grabs his hands again, and Oma knows he can’t blame his blush on anything else but Saihara if questioned.

He squeaks out an “mhm,” and tries to look back at the band-aid that’s now fallen on the floor after Saihara grabbed his hands, and he ends up just looking at their hands. Why is he so focused on Saihara holding his hands?

Saihara lets go and runs to put his bag away again, at least, that’s what Oma assumes. It gives him a moment to pick the band-aid up off the floor and come to realize why, in fact, Saihara handed him the band-aid in the first place. ...Does he… expect me to put this band-aid on my face?

...But, it would be rude not to. So he opens the band-aid and sticks it on his face, approximating where he puts the cottony part over the place on his face that’s stinging the most when he brushes his finger over it. It wasn’t even bleeding, but Saihara practically beams when he comes back, and the rest of his shift goes by like a fog. He’s not really able to focus on anything after experiencing that - he was completely unprepared.

VI.

Oma isn’t sure why he keeps thinking about Saihara. He’s ashamed of himself. Why does he keep going back to the feeling of Saihara’s hands on his? It was completely… platonic? Except Oma doesn’t think that word works either, because there’s no way him and Saihara are friends, even if they’ve spent a total of fifteen hours together total since he met Saihara three days ago; he’s known him three days, and already, he has some dumb, crush, or something. He doesn’t know what to do with it, and having not had any physical contact that wasn’t bodily damaging with someone in as many years as he can remember, isn’t helping him. He groans aloud as he face-plants into the open textbook on his mattress. He wouldn’t call it a bed, since it has no sheets and sits on the floor instead of being sandwiched between a bed frame.

He peers over to the side of his resting place where his little trash can is and of course, there’s the band-aid that he peeled from his cheek immediately after getting back from work last night - not home, he’s never “home” when he’s here - and of course everything he looks at is reminding him of the boy.

He’s not supposed to do this - to want to be held; he’s not a damn child. He definitely can’t count the number of times he’s thought about Saihara hugging him on one hand. He’s not supposed to do this.

For one of many times, he wonders why he’s like this. Why is he like this?

VII.

Oma’s something of a… target, at school. He fits the parameters perfectly; he’s small, short, effeminate, generally weak, quiet. It’s nothing dramatic like being beaten up within the school, luckily. It’s the little things, like being tripped in the hallways by an upperclassmen’s ‘conveniently’ outstretched foot and then snickered at, having a book of his be hung high above his head, out of his reach, by another student until he repeated whatever idiotic thing they wanted him to say, the occasional mockery, his belongings getting stolen when he’s not looking, being chosen as the designated monkey in the middle as his belongings are tossed between two guys that think they’re the absolute pinnacle of comedy, and various other meaningless things he deals with.

School is something he can handle, though.

VIII.

“Oma-kun.” Saihara ducks his head as he pushes his phone into Oma’s hands. It’s open on the contacts screen, and Oma stares at it for a second, the unfilled contact info, before realizing it’s Saihara’s roundabout way of asking him for his number. He smiles a little and Saihara’s eyes widen, his expression becoming pretty serious as he takes in Oma’s grin.

Oma doesn’t realize he’s smiling until Saihara points it out, “You’re smiling.”

Even though he’s a little self-conscious now it’s been acknowledged, he still nods, and smiles even wider; he hands the phone back to Saihara, his number in place.

IX.

He wishes he could handle being home as well as he can handle school.

Saihara texts Oma a lot.

He’s constantly sending messages about anything and everything, especially Danganronpa. As Oma reads through he wonders if Saihara just texts him every time he thinks something. It doesn’t bother him though; every time he gets a new message he smiles in a way that he would deny if he were face to face with Saihara.

It’s a little weird, but hearing Saihara’s thoughts and theories and opinions is so interesting. Oma really hopes Saihara doesn’t get discouraged by his own lack of response. He doesn’t ignore him, but his replies are far and few between - things like little smile emotes and one-word responses. He doesn’t exactly know how to reply otherwise.

He can’t help but feel hesitant. Talking about his own opinions makes him feel self-centered and narcissistic, and he wants to be anything but that. What if Saihara thinks that he turns everything around to make it about himself? Saihara probably doesn’t want to hear what he has to say anyway… Oma’s come to accept the fact that people don’t want to hear what he has to say, so he stays quiet.

That doesn’t stop him from reading all of Saihara’s messages over again and grinning secretively under his blanket.

XI.

Saihara invites him over the next day. It’s Sunday, and neither of them is scheduled at work, so Oma accepts.

Getting ready is nerve-wracking for Oma, because he can’t remember the last time he had a friend to hang out with. It’s such a “normal people” thing to do - leisurely spend the day with friends. It’s a thing that feels so out of the ordinary to someone like Oma. He puts on a long sleeve shirt but then changes out of it after his nervousness makes his body temperature rise, and the sleeves feel a little too tight and warm. He puts it on again because of how bare his arms feel in a T-shirt and maneuvers around the floor and out the door before he can change his mind or before his aunt notices his presence.

The first impression Oma has of Saihara’s living space is that it’s quiet. It’s also pretty neat and ordinary, and Saihara makes no mention of any parents or relatives which leaves Oma feeling a little curious.

The day is surreal. He and Saihara talk and watch some of the earlier seasons of Danganronpa while eating some artificial tasting junk food, and it’s fun. It’s so fun. He’s shocked about how natural it feels, spending time with the other boy. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so content, ever had a true, genuine smile on his face for so long - ever had someone else have such a genuine smile on their face in return.

Saihara asks him things and he answers them, because if he’s asked, then he can talk about himself. Oma’s glad that Saihara wants to know about him just as much as he wants to learn about Saihara.

He wants it to last, and there’s a twisting feeling in his chest because he’s already convinced that it won’t.

When Oma gets back, it’s late enough that he has to sneak in through his window - the apartment is on the ground floor, and the screen already has holes torn into it that make it easy to reach in and remove before placing it back and latching it in. The brass latch reminds him of the color of Shuichi’s eyes as he locks it - Oma’s not sure when Saihara became Shuichi - and he’s so caught up in Shuichi, and talking to Shuichi, that he jumps when a door slams, shaking all thoughts of his day out of his mind.

XII.

Oma doesn’t know what to do. The day after visiting Saihara had been one of the worse ones recently, and Shuichi catches onto it through his messages somehow and asks him if he’s okay of all things.

And Oma replies, “why?”

Oma doesn’t know what to do when Shuichi Saihara sends him the five-word message, “because I care about you…”

No one cares about him. That’s just how things are. There’s no way Saihara actually cares about him. Why would he?

XIII.

If Shuichi cares about him, then why couldn’t his parents?

XIV.

He’s not exactly sure when he and Shuichi became friends, but he supposes it happened somewhere between Shuichi making it known that he was generally concerned for Oma’s well being, (that’s never happened to him before; have someone be concerned? About him? The ridiculous idea rolls around in Oma’s head like an optimistic interposition), Oma realizing that on his days off, he’d long for Shuichi’s presence, and their countless messages to each other that make the longing a little more bearable.

It’s new to Oma. He’s never… craved the company of another. It makes him feel pathetic, but also… kind of lonely.

It makes the moments when he’s around Shuichi all the better.

XV.

He becomes Kokichi to Shuichi. Being addressed by his given name, despite giving Shuichi his explicit permission, makes Kokichi feel giddy.

XVI.

School isn’t so bad… especially on the days that Shuichi takes the train over so they can walk home together.

Side by side.

Hand in hand.

XVII.

He wants to kiss Shuichi.

XVIII.

Kokichi’s room is a less depressing place when he has Shuichi to sneak in. The two of them waste time by watching movies on Kokichi’s computer or playing board games that Shuichi carried in.

XIX.

Shuichi speaks up from behind the register when the store is devoid of customers. “I noticed…” he starts, scratching at his wrist, and Kokichi looks up to make eye contact “at first, you always had this smile on, but it was just pretend…”

Kokichi doesn’t have time to react before Shuichi’s continuing his train of thought.

“But when I asked for your phone number, you had a different smile for the first time. It made me really happy to see that I made you smile for real…” Shuichi fumbles with his hands, but Kokichi doubts that Shuichi’s more embarrassed than he is after hearing something so… sentimental.

XX.

Shuichi’s favorite thing about Kokichi may be seeing him smile, but Kokichi’s favorite thing about Shuichi is feeling his warm arms enveloping him when they hug.

Kokichi’s feelings have escalated so much that he’s drowning in them, and he doesn’t ever want to come up for air.

XXI.

Oma’s long sleeves usually hide the finger-sized bruises on his arms, but he can’t hide the ones around his neck.

Shuichi goes on high alert as he shuts the door behind them. It is the first time he’s seeing where Kokichi lives - besides when he snuck into Kokichi’s window with snacks to watch a movie on his computer - but it isn’t the time to take notice of the dilapidated state of the furniture and wallpaper. All he can focus on is the alarming marks on Kokichi’s neck that look like someone shoved him up against a wall and didn’t let him breathe for who knows how long. “What happened?" Concerned, he reaches a hand out to gesture and Oma flinches.

Oma wants to tell him, “I forgot to lock the door, so my aunt got mad,” because, she didn’t want him to begin with, it’s not her fault she got stuck with him after his parents left. He wasn’t wanted. At least he had somewhere to sleep, his aunt would tell him, and Oma thought she was right.

But he can’t tell him that, because that would mean seeing the look in Shuichi’s eyes as he realizes Kokichi is a burden to him too.

“It’s nothing,” he deflects.

It’s silent as Saihara mumbles, but in a way that’s loud enough to hear, “I knew something was off when we first met. When you got so guarded about how you got that scrape on your cheek. I thought maybe someone was bullying you at school, but after we started walking together, I knew that wasn’t the case.”

Oma shrinks back, but Saihara keeps going.

“I didn’t push it at the time, because it was none of my business, but… was it… your guardian?”

He says “guardian” because Oma hasn’t spoken a word to him about his aunt. But the silence is Shuichi’s answer.

“Kokichi, you have to tell someone- you can’t just let them-” let them what? Give him what he deserves? He’s a problem child. A burden. A -

“I can’t.” Saihara doesn’t understand. Oma doesn’t even have it that bad. It could be so much worse, and he can stick it out for a few more years, can’t he?

A failure. “It won’t get better if you don’t report this!”

Oma avoids his eyes. “Shut up.”

A mistake. “I’m trying to help,” he says pleadingly, desperately.

“Maybe I don’t want your help! I’m not some problem that you have to solve Saihara!”

Saihara’s lips thin and when Oma expects him to retaliate he just - leaves. He turns around and runs off, shutting the door behind him.

It’s only after he’s gone and Oma is standing in the middle of the quiet, empty room that Oma is encompassed in the feeling of absolute dread.

XXII.

Saihara doesn’t show up for work the next day. Oma feels guilt gnawing at him during his shift, because it’s all his fault. He shouldn’t have pushed Saihara away. He texts him “sorry” and “can we talk?” through budding tears and hopes Saihara can forgive him.

XXIII.

He hasn’t texted him back anything in the past forty-eight hours, so Oma sighs and lets his feelings pour out in a long message when Saihara doesn’t answer his call. He tells him that he’s sorry, and that he doesn’t want Saihara to hate him.

XXIV.

The water cup he filled the night before has an almost stale taste to it in the morning, but Oma drinks it anyway because his throat is dry, and he can’t summon the energy to get up even though he’s been sleeping for the past thirteen hours. He’s still tired once he sets the cup down so he scrolls mindlessly through his past messages to and from Saihara before staring at Saihara’s last message to him, before their fight. He hasn’t said anything since.

He doesn’t go to school; he’s already sleeping again by the time it starts and he’s too preoccupied to care.

XXV.

With no reply, Oma gets worried really quickly. It’s unlike Saihara to completely… cut him off. He at least figured Saihara would reject his apology upfront instead of hiding away and giving him the silent treatment.

His chest makes that twisting feeling again and he feels unbearably nauseous when he goes to Saihara’s apartment and no one opens the door. There’s not even the telltale sound of footsteps towards the door to signal someone checking who’s there.

It’s like no one’s home.

He sits curled up in his blankets and practically spams Saihara with messages of “please answer me” and “tell me that you’re okay” but Saihara answers none of them. He’s sweating, and heaving, and he doesn’t care if Saihara hates him, he only wants him to say something. Oma needs a reply so he doesn’t keep panicking like he is now, thinking something happened to Saihara; he feels sick, and he can’t stop thinking about it.

XXVI.

Oma tries to rationalize. Saihara doesn’t have any family, and after Oma shut him out, maybe he simply… left. Just because he disappeared doesn’t mean something bad happened.

But, Oma thinks, what if something bad did happen. What if Saihara was abducted - or - or - killed? The thought of Saihara being dead makes Oma so uncomfortable; his throat feels like it’s closing up and it’s hard to swallow his own saliva. He’s growing more and more anxious each day he shows up to work and Saihara isn’t there beside him, despite being scheduled.

XXVII.

The metal of the buttons and zipper on his clothes feel especially cold against his skin as he gets ready for school. He probably looks terrible, but he can’t find it in himself to worry about that.

He has more important things to worry about.

Saihara is more important.

XXVIII.

Oma remembers sending in his Danganronpa application and thinks, this would be the perfect time to forget everything I’ve ever cared about, but then, what if Saihara comes back?

He wants Saihara to come back.

He wants to say sorry for shutting him out when he shouldn’t have.

He wants to have more long conversations about whatever comes to mind.

He wants to see Saihara smile at him again.

He wants to sit next to Saihara and watch movies for hours on end.

He wants to feel Saihara’s hands on his like that day when Saihara gave him that stupid Kirigiri band-aid.

He wants Saihara to forgive him.

XXIX.

His aunt makes him feel worthless.

XXX.

He should’ve kissed him when he had the chance.

XXXI.

Oma lies in his unmade bed, staring up at the ceiling, phone in hand.

It’s been over a week.

Why hasn’t Saihara replied to him? How can he fix this? Did Saihara forget about him like everyone else has?

His eye sockets are weighed down by a combination of depression and sleep deprivation.

His phone speaker blares through the silence - his alarm - his mind supplies through the ever-unchanging headache. He turns it off, already awake, and forces himself out of the temporary comfort of his blanket’s embrace, and gets dressed for work. Because he has to. Because he doesn’t know what else he’ll do if he doesn’t.

Because he hopes Saihara will show up.

(He doesn’t.)

On his walk home from work, he’s approached and pulled into a car, hearing the engine and looking out at the silent street as he falls into panicked unconsciousness. The initiation for the fifty-third killing game commences.

Ouma hesitates as he comes to the memories section of the contract. Even after everything, the participants won’t get their memories back... he won’t remember ever meeting Saihara; he won’t remember falling in love. He’ll know of nothing but whatever backstory Team Danganronpa cooks up for him.

But...

Saihara’s gone. As hard as it is to think about, Ouma doesn’t think Saihara will be waiting for him once the simulation ends. No one cares about him anyways, so he might as well make things interesting, right?

...right?

Ouma’s nose is tingly; his lower eyelids are about to spill over as he signs the contract, signing his past and present away.

Two doors down, Shuichi Saihara does the same.

Life has no meaning.

I also posted this on my Ao3 Account (More A/N there)

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detectivesplotslies · 4 years

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The Monster’s Lair

Description: The game is over, but is it ever really gone? When you come home, the traces lurk, like monsters in the shadows.

A gift for @__shslprince on twitter for the SaiOu Winter Exchange 2019! Some postgame vr au, where we’re tired but still here.Some home interactions, post game musings, little angst, lil fun. Word Count: 2471

Read on AO3 here

The interview today was tiring. Being the man who ended DanganRonpa, you’d think that it would put an end to the media tirade as well, but if anything the number of requests and invitations to speak just kept going up. And “end” itself wasn’t even very accurate or conclusive, given the company was still vying for support. Whether they claimed they were in the right or not, it probably wouldn’t change, regardless of how many interviews he did. Still he went. Sometimes Maki came with him, and they stood as a united front. Himiko disliked making public appearances herself, but even managed a few of the more serious ones. She knew just as much as they did how important it was for the others. Shuichi was always more confident when they were there to back him up. When the words died in his throat, one would jump in and make the point he trailed off with.

The three of them never asked the others to come to interviews. Even if Kaito and Kaede both volunteered more than once to help. They had enough to deal with, with their privacy signed away. All the others who suffered in game deaths also had physical therapy to eat up their time. Coming out of the game unscathed seemed impossible. No, Maki always made sure that Kaito knew they were okay, that this was sidekick business, that the hero deserved a break. She’d gotten so much better at smiling over the past year, working through all the trauma together with them. Kaito had a hard time arguing with her when she was wearing that smile. Plus, Kaito needed to learn to take a step back too.

No, even if they came to the interviews, the one reporters always wanted to grill was Shuichi. The one who stopped the game. The one who suggested it. The ender of DanganRonpa.

Even though they were so wrong.

Walking into the apartment complex’s lobby, finally home from the chill, Shuichi shot off another text, numb fingers tapping away at the screen.

[This time they asked if we were paid by the competition to take the game down from the inside] -- [Does TDR even have a competitor?? I sure hope not] --

There was barely a second before the reply.

--[I should have come with you.]

[True, they wouldn't ask you that one, but I’m OK.]--

Shuichi doubted they even could try to ask Maki that one. The question would die on their lips, taken out instantly by her withering glare. But that probably wouldn’t help either.

[Too tired to cook though. Do you guys want to come over & do something tonight? Or does Kaito have another session with physio? Group session was Sunday though, right?]--

The elevator dings, and he stepped in, selecting his floor and waiting. He’s glad no one else is in it, he hasn’t had to meet the neighbours really and has no intention. His only pleasant shared elevator ride was the was a black lab pup out for a walk, and the person with the dog had been a hired dog walker. His floor arrived and the doors opened as his phone buzzed again.

--[We’re both free tonight, I’ll let him know. He doesn’t get a say in the matter, he needs to get out of the house before I lose him under the mess of plants. He got two more this week.]

Shuichi grinned, and reached in his pocket and approached the door, sending off a last message before pocketing the phone as well.

[For once the sidekicks do the dragging then.] --

A few false starts, a jangle of keys, a click, and the apartment door swung inwards. Shuichi walked in, noticing the lights were all out. Quietly he placed his keys and bag down on the counter of their kitchenette as his eyes adjusted. It didn’t look like anyone was home, but he was sure that there was nothing scheduled today.

“Hello?”

The darkness slowly refined itself into the familiar space. Scattered mail on the floor, unopened. Boxes of half unpacked possessions pushed against the wall. A tight maze of cheap furniture they’d acquired that was quite snugger than planned for the size of the place. It was a single afterall. The crutches by the door told him what he needed to know though.

Sliding his shoes off, Shuichi walked in, leaving the lights off for the time being. The blinds were closed too, so he assumed that darkening their apartment was deliberate. He shed his winter coat finally, tossing it haphazardly on the couch while inspecting the scene. A few empty plastic bottles littered the couch and one rolled away on the floor as his foot nudged it from its spot fallen beneath it as well. With a small huff, Shuichi squinted around in the dark, looking for their waste basket. As he spotted it he remembered they’d used it as a stand for the fern Kaito got them as a house-warming gift by the window. Months ago. No wonder they were drowning in trash. He reached around on the floor through the mess and found an unused plastic take away bag, and began to fill it idly as he looked for more signs of why it was quiet and dark in here. Receipts, wrappers, a paper napkin or two. He paused, however, at the end of their sitting room table as he saw something. Even in the dark the broken ceramic and stain were obvious on the floor.

The mug he had made his cup of coffee in that morning, only to forget here half finished and sitting out to get cold as he left, lay in pieces where it shattered on the floor. Coffee soaked the nearby rug, while still pooling and puddling between there and the table. Shuichi felt a chill run down his spine, backtracking out of the room with new urgency.

“Kokichi?!” He hurried to the bathroom door to turn the knob. It wasn’t locked and flew open. Their clutter inside was all intact. Seemingly unoccupied. Confirming that with a glance in the tub, he spun back around, back out in the apartment. He did a quick check of the closet then finally towards the last unsearched place. The bedroom.

The door was ajar, and Shuichi stepped into it, darker than the other room, no windows on this side of the apartment. In the bed, there was a lump under the covers, and his shoulders slumped in relief. He stepped carefully past the wheelchair that was waiting near the door, and towards the bed. It was slightly suspicious his shout hadn't woke him with how light a sleeper he was. He reached the bed and went to pat the covers.

Something icy and cold grabbed him by the ankle as he did.

Shuichi yelped and pitched forwards, the trash bag in his other hand tumbling to the ground. He landed on the bed, and the bundle of blankets squashed beneath him, to his surprise. Reaching around he discovered it was just pillows and laundry. Taking a moment to catch his breath, his thoughts were racing back to him with their conclusion. Turning around on the bed where he landed, he swung his head down to peer under the bed. Just barely in the darkness he could make out a pale face turned towards him and a hand creeping right around the edge of the shadow from the mattress. Kokichi was just lying there on his back, as if he were on top of the bed, rather than below it. Shock gave way to confusion.

“Why are you on the floor?”

“Cause I wanna be on the floor. Jeez, Shuichi, it’s not that hard, is it? Do I look like I fell down here?”

Shuichi blinked. No, he didn’t really look like he could have fallen all the way under the bed, that was true. There was no sign of physical distress. Still, that didn’t make it routine.

“I suppose not. But under the bed?”

Kokichi’s face in the dark stretched into a grin.

“Where monsters live.” Shuichi frowned and opened his mouth to object- but Kokichi continued, grabbing for the fallen trash bag and pawing through it.

“Every good monster hides under beds in the dark. And collects trash, so you must have brought me an offering! You know, your face is red! Didn’t know you liked monsters that much, you should have said so! I’d have told you I was one earlier.”

Rolling his eyes Shuichi pulled himself back right side up, before stepping off the bed and dropping to the floor as well, pulling himself under the bed. Kokichi backed up, swatting at him with one of the empty Panta bottles. Undeterred, he stopped only after wedging himself entirely under their bed, face to face with the other man. He could see him watching his face, wielding the bottle in a ready position. The grin wavered, becoming a sharp line as he waited. Eventually, Shuichi was the one to break the silence.

“I thought monsters were supposed to devour anyone who came into their lairs?” Shuichi’s face was completely serious, though there was no fear in his question. More of an academic inquiry.

“Only those deemed unworthy.” Kokichi’s grin returned, and he bonked Shuichi on the forehead with the empty plastic bludgeon.

“Well, then you should get to devouring, I am an unworthy boyfriend who leaves his dishes out all over the place carelessly.”

Kokichi broke eye contact, grip tightening on the cap of the bottle. The hand trembled a bit. Shuichi didn’t need him to say what happened. It probably fell when he was putting it away. Just a slip, a quiver. It was getting better, sure, but there were good days and bad days. And he knew that it was up to him to notice the bad ones himself.

The reporters were wrong. Shuichi was never the one that stopped the game. Sure, he and the others had been the last standing, and had seen it through to the end. They did it not knowing what they were shutting down, or even who to expect on the other side. But he had never been the one aiming to stop the game in its tracks. Plenty of others had, Kaede, Kaito, Rantaro and most determinedly, Kokichi. If Kokichi hadn’t tried so hard, they’d probably have run the course until the end without questioning it.

But Shuichi knew that being given credit here was hardly a reward. It was a role saddled with constant prodding, constant examination and criticism. Stuck eternally picking up the pieces of something they’d broken, even if breaking it was for the better.

Kokichi didn’t need to be picking up the pieces he broke when someone else set it up. Whether it was in here or out there.

Shuichi lightly put a hand on the bottle, halting the shake travelling up it. “Well if the monster doesn’t plan to devour me, does he want something else?”

Kokichi opened his mouth but was beaten to the punch as a gurgling sound came from his stomach. The look of betrayal as he glanced down at it made Shuichi snicker.

“Come on.”

Shuichi scooted back out from underneath, and reached out for his boyfriend’s hand. With a moment of hesitation the bottle was rolled aside. Kokichi took his hand and was hoisted out of the shadow of the bed. He helped him to his feet, and didn’t say a word about the shakiness, though glanced meaningfully at the chair. Kokichi shook his head quickly. They settled for making it slowly but carefully out of the bedroom to the couch, Kokichi flopping down on it. As the lights flicked on he hissed melodramatically.

Shuichi walked back towards the fridge, frowning. They were getting low on groceries. He pulled out his phone, snapped a picture of what they had and sent off a text quickly.

[Hey Maki, we don’t have much to work with here but going out isn't an option either]-- [IMG304.jpg attached]--

He closed the fridge door. Kokichi frowned at him puzzled.

“Well, what am I gonna devour? You said we’d get something else. Shuichi, are you lying? You know that’s my job. Taking advantage of a monster like that,” Kokichi moaned, some energy returning with his story. He crossed his arms and pouted.

Shuichi stepped back over and sat down next to him, and tapped his chin thoughtfully. His cheeks went red under his boyfriend’s scrutiny, but he managed to get the line out with a straight face when he closed his eyes. “You know, I’ve changed my mind. You don’t need something else. I’m right here.”

There was silence and stillness, and Shuichi started to think his line backfired. His cheeks heated up more, and he opened his eyes to see a red-faced but grinning Kokichi next to him, waiting. As soon as their eyes met, he pounced, and their lips locked. Shuichi’s lashes fluttered as Kokichi leaned right into his lap, hand on his chest. It was warm and sure, no trembling now. He let his eyes shut once more, and ran his hands along Kokichi’s back. He could feel a nibble tugging at his lip and a yank on his tie to hold him there longer. He didn’t fight it. Let the monster devour as he pleased.

They broke apart long enough for Kokichi to mutter, “That was terrible.”

Shuichi’s phone buzzed in his pocket, but Kokichi’s hands were quicker, snatching it and quickly tapping in his password. He stopped wondering how he kept learning it ages ago. His boyfriend’s face went aghast.

“You invited a filthy hero to the monster’s lair?”

“Wh-” Shuichi began as the phone was thrust in his face. There was a text, accompanied with a picture of the noodle place down the street.

--[WE’RE ON IT SHUICHI. LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU WANT. OUR TREAT!]

“Kaito’s bringing food! It’s a peace offering.”

“...Fine, I’ll decide if he’s worthy, if he brings something good.” He handed the phone to Shuichi, but didn’t release his tie, playing with the end of it a bit. Keeping him close. Shuichi tapped in their orders, and let the phone slide loose into his pocket, turning his attention to Kokichi once more as he tugged his 'leash'. A little less ‘vicious’ this time.

The phone buzzed again, and both of them looked at it. There was a semi-blurred selfie, of Kaito, his hair tied in a messy ponytail flashing them a grin & thumbs-up along with the takeaway meal containers, and Maki in the driver’s seat eyes on the road instead of the camera. The pair of them glanced around. Kaito wouldn’t mind the mess but…

“I think we need to get that trash offering back together, even monsters should be better hosts.”

#saiouwe2019 #saiouma #oumasai #ndrv3 spoilers #ndrv3 #postgame #vr au #angst #comfort #recovery #shuichi saihara #kokichi ouma #kaimaki #as a background ship #fic #my content #my writing

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