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When Kaito’s car pulls up in front of the convention center, Shuichi checks his phone and sucks in a breath. They’re half an hour later. Team Danganronpa isn’t lax with tardiness, and while ordinarily Shuichi would be happy to be a stitch in their side (so to speak), he doesn’t want his own spite to reflect poorly onto Kaito. Having said that, though, Kaito doesn’t seem to be in any particular hurry to find parking, nor does he to get himself unbuckled and climb out of the car. At Shuichi’s distressed look, Kaito gives a lazy grin, shrugging his shoulders.
“What are they gonna do to me? Give me a terminal illness? Chillaxe, sidekick. Nothing to worry about.”
And, mmmm. Shuichi wishes he wouldn’t joke about that. It still feels like an open wound, especially when Kaito wakes up sputtering with coughs more than once a week, his body shuddering with the memory of a disease that never plagued him to begin with. It’s not really Shuichi’s place to tell him to stop, though, so Shuichi just nods and steps out of the car, steeling his nerve.
It’s easy to feel weak around Kaito, to curl his shoulders and allow himself to be protected, but here, Shuichi needs to be the brave one. He has to put on his game face, has to be ready to be just slightly more outspoken than Kaito, just slightly more offensive, so that the attention is on him, and not his boyfriend. It’s outrageous that they even need to come to these events to begin with, but Shuichi’s trying not to dwell on that. They belong to Team Danganronpa, and until they find a way to take down the corporation from the inside, there’s… not a lot they can do about it.
The consequences of trying to disobey are a lot more severe than just gritting your teeth and going along with it, anyway. Shuichi can swallow his pride for a couple hours.
Kaito grabs the door as they enter backstage, which is sweet of him. They’re almost immediately ushered away by producers, which Shuichi allows, albeit with a scowl as they tug off his jacket, adjusting the fold of his shirt, his hair. One of the women poking at him complains that he’s grown out his hair a little, and Shuichi shoots her what he hopes is a sufficiently nasty glare. It’s his hair, damnit, not theirs; furthermore, it never was their hair in the first place, even if it wasn’t always Shuichi’s, either. He can do what he wants with it. Eventually she sighs, lamenting that there’s not enough time for them to give him a haircut, and Shuichi gets away with the top couple buttons on his white shirt undone.
It’s uncomfortable, but he leaves it alone, shoving his hands into his pockets and creeping across the space backstage until he reaches Kaito, who is reluctantly allowing a couple people to obsess over his hair. He never gels it up anymore, which Shuichi imagines they’re unhappy with. Shuichi likes that Kaito neglects the gel, though. Not that he looked bad with it-- he doesn’t look bad in anything-- but it’s nice to be able to run his fingers through Kaito’s hair, to watch his boyfriend melt into his touch and give this warm, gooey smile, like Shuichi is the only person in the world who’s ever mattered.
Kaito gives him a disgruntled grin as Shuichi comes over, and Shuichi resists the urge to take his hand. They should probably lay off on the PDA around here. Not that he thinks Team Danganronpa would be against it, but Shuichi is so tired of his personal life and relationships being used for shipping fodder on the internet. He doesn’t care what they think, but his relationship with Kaito is none of their business.
His eyes flit over to one of the producers, and he lifts a hand to catch his attention, fidgeting with one of the buttons on his shirt.
“Who else is here?” Shuichi’s eyes dart around backstage. He can just barely make out the sound of someone speaking to the crowd outside, but he doesn’t recognise their voice. “Are they already out on stage?”
“They had to call him out early while you two were in transit,” the producer tuts, bored eyes glancing over his clipboard. Much as Shuichi is tempted to hate each and every person who’s ever worked for Team Danganronpa, it’s… a little bit more complicated than that. The show is so normalised in this world that they woke up to, it’s hard to find someone who didn’t at least put up with its existence. Not that Shuichi would condone complacency, but it’s almost hard to stay mad at these people when it’s all they’ve ever known. There’s no malice in this man’s face, only efficiency, and Shuichi finds himself looking away; not because he hates the guy speaking, but because he doesn’t.
That wasn’t an answer to his question, though. “Just one other person?” Shuichi prompts. “Who was it?” He’s tempted to tack on, ah, if you don’t mind my asking, but as much as Shuichi doesn’t necessarily hate this dude, he also doesn’t feel particularly compelled to go out of his way for any pleasantries.
He doesn’t seem bothered, though. “Ouma Kokichi,” the producer reads, his voice flat, like the name means nothing to him at all.
Conversely, Shuichi’s insides run cold, and he swallows thickly, impulsively reaching over for Kaito’s hand. He doesn’t care about the media knowing about them, all of a sudden. This is the first Shuichi’s heard of Kokichi in years, he’d almost thought…
“Ouma agreed to work with you guys?” Kaito sounds insanely skeptical, which is understandable. If Shuichi could find his voice, he’s sure he’d sound the same way. “Like, willingly? There’s no way. You must’ve coerced him into it or some shit.” He lets out a huff, pulling his head away from the stylists and scowling at the worker. Unlike Shuichi, Kaito has no problem being mad at each and every part of the system, right down to its grunt workers. It’s not for a lack of compassion. Sometimes Shuichi thinks it’s because Kaito empathises so much that he feels so compelled to hold them accountable. “What the fuck did you do?”
He’s quite angry, his voice raising a bit, and Shuichi squeezes his hand, if for no other reason than to coax him into relaxing so he won’t get in any trouble. Kaito’s had a soft spot for Kokichi ever since they left the simulation. While they were still at the rehabilitation facility, things between Shuichi and Kokichi were… tense, uncomfortable, like both of them had so much to say and yet no idea how to say it. Or maybe Shuichi is just projecting. At times it felt as though Kokichi didn’t have anything to say to Shuichi, like he didn’t care at all about the group, like he just wanted to leave and never see them again. That… would’ve been fair, really, after the way that they treated him.
Not that Shuichi believes that every judgement they made on Kokichi was wrong, but he has a lot of regrets from the killing game regardless, many of them that still keep him up at night, if only because he never received closure for them.
Kaito and Kokichi, though, they were close. They had a connection that even now, after dating him for four years, Shuichi doesn’t quite feel like he’s replicated with Kaito. And he wouldn’t want to, not really. Kaito never talks about what happened in the exisal hangar, but that doesn’t… upset Shuichi, particularly. It’s not his business. It’s a part of his life that Kokichi was present for, and Shuichi wasn’t. That’s fine. It’s natural.
Shuichi just wishes that they’d been able to maintain that relationship after they were released. Kaito took Kokichi’s disappearance hard. Even now, it shows on his face through the righteous anger he directs at the producer, his hand twitching inside of Shuichi’s.
Before the man can respond, a roar of applause disrupts Shuichi’s train of thought, and he turns to peer at the curtain, frowning slightly. He can’t see through it at this distance, though, nor can he hear very well from here, so he tugs on Kaito’s hand, gesturing at the curtain. He doesn’t want to forfeit the little bit of comfort that he’s getting from the physical contact, but similarly he wants to know what’s going on out there, what’s being said, if Kokichi is okay, what’s… happening.
Fortunately, Kaito seems to get the memo. He follows Shuichi over to the curtains without an objection and leans in closer to peer out at the crowd. Similarly, Shuichi sticks his face out underneath Kaito’s, eyes flying over the audience and settling on the stage. There’s an announcer at a podium with a cheap blonde Enoshima Junko wig on her head, and several feet to her left, there stands…
He’s… a bit taller, actually, than Shuichi remembers, but it’s hard to know exactly how much taller he is at this distance. His expression is cool and impassive, his fingers wrapped around the base of a microphone, his other hand on his hip. His eyes were always such a brilliant violet, but Shuichi had forgotten how striking the colour was, he thinks, because just the sight of it makes his breath hitch.
It’s hard to tell if anything has changed about him, really, aside from the wisp of stubble on his chin and the length of his hair and the rings on his fingers. He might’ve undergone a slight cosmetic change, and his hair is tied back into a ponytail (just like Shuichi’s), but aside from that, he looks… if not the same as ever, then not outwardly different. He’s always been so difficult to read, Shuichi doesn’t know what he was expecting. He supposes he was hoping for some kind of epiphany when he saw Kokichi, some form for closure, but it’s just… like staring at a puzzle that you couldn’t solve that you chose to sleep on and come back to with a cleared head, and then remembering what about it that was so difficult to begin with.
A girl in the audience with a black and white checkered scarf is rambling off a question to Kokichi, speaking into a microphone that trembles slightly in her hand. She couldn’t be older than sixteen years old, but Shuichi still feels bitter resentment churning in the pit of his stomach. Even now, years after Danganronpa was cancelled, new fans continue to get into it, continue to speak about Shuichi and Kaito and everyone else like they’re just characters, fake beings for them to idolise and ship and lust after and not real fucking people. It makes him sick, and while Shuichi can’t bring himself to feel mad at those soulless workers backstage, he feels ugly hatred burning his throat as he stares down at the girl.
It’s more of a systemic problem than it is an individual one, but that teenage girl with the checkerboard scarf and the trepidatious smile on her face still reminds Shuichi of everything he despises about Danganronpa.
And Kokichi seems to feel the same way, because when she finishes her question, the first thing he does is lean into his mic and ask, “Well, you’re a real bitch, aren’t’cha?”
There’s an explosion of sound from the audience. The girl seems shocked, and then hurt, but a large portion of the fans are laughing, which makes Shuichi’s stomach churn. Gross. Gross!
Having said that, the novelty of hearing Kokichi’s voice again in person for the first time in years is sort of nerfed by the fact that he just cussed at a child in front of a crowd of over a thousand people.
“He hasn’t changed a bit,” Kaito murmurs, one of his hands resting itself on Shuichi’s shoulder. Shuichi can hear the smile in his voice, and it coaxes a reluctant one to Shuichi’s own; he rests his hand on top of Kaito’s, tilting his head a little while he watches Kokichi lift the mic again.
“Who’s playing the laugh track? You don’t all think you’re a bunch of bitches? It’s funny, right, because I just used a misogynistic word against a little girl? Haha, point and laugh at the teenage female! How dare she enjoy things,” Kokichi snorts. “Like you guys are aaaany better! Why’d you even come here to listen to me talk, anyways? You know I hate you.”
“Ouma-san, maybe we could--” The announcer starts.
“Nuh-uh!” Kokichi holds the mic close to his chest. “You gave me this toy! No take backsies! You’ve wanted to hear from me soooo bad over the past four years, haven’t you? Eat your crumbs off the floor, or take me off the stage by force!”
Shuichi’s surprised that they don’t do just that, frankly. Kokichi’s causing quite a stir in the audience; people didn’t pay for this. But he must be right, that they’re desperate to hear from him, that the world is desperate to hear from him, because even as the audience stirs with displeasure, people are taking out their phones to film, watching him with what Shuichi can only describe as offended captivation. It’s disgusting. They’re all disgusting. Even Kokichi’s anger is a joke to them. But it’s not like there’s anything that they can do about it, not like this. Who knows what Team Danganronpa is going to do to him after Kokichi finishes the bit?
With one hand, Kokichi twirls a strand of hair around his finger, and with his other he holds up the microphone, looking almost bored. “What was your question about again? My plan? You know I made that when I was sixteen, right?” He raises his eyebrows. “I’m not really in that mindset anymore, it’d be preeeetty hard for me to explain to you how I was feeling.”
“I-I’m sorry,” the girl stammers into her mic. If Kokichi is affected by the apology, he doesn’t show it on his face, a broad grin replacing the haughty pout from before.
“Actually, that’s not true. I remember exact how I felt back then!” He beams, and feigns swooning, touching his forehead with the back of his hand. “I was soooo desperate for Saihara-chan’s attention, you know? I wanted to make sure his eyes were on me, and me only! So the best way to do that was have him examine my corpse!”
Shuichi’s face goes red, even though that’s almost definitely a lie.
“But that’s not the truth either, is it?” Kokichi’s expression sobers slightly. “And I didn’t resent the other people in the killing game, either. Momota, Harukawa. People on your little forums talk about how I was some tragic misunderstood anti-hero or something who just wanted to save my friends.” He sneers. “As if I was ever going to have friends in a game like that.” Kokichi shakes his head. “Not like it wasn’t possible, or whatever. Other people weaker than me managed that right away. But there was noooo way I was going to be friends with my fellow chess pieces when I was exactly what Team Danganronpa turned me into.”
A man in the crowd takes the mic from the girl who Kokichi insulted and leans into it. “Aren’t you still that person? You just lied to us?”
Kokichi looks at him blankly, and then keeps talking. “The truth is, you know, when I drafted that plan? I wanted nothing more than to end the killing game. Plain and simple.”
Right. That’s what he told Kaito. And he said it during his dying moments, so Shuichi has a hard time believing that it could’ve been a lie. Kokichi was very calculated during the killing game. Everything he said, he said for a reason. Why would he lie right there at the end? What difference would it make, if everyone knew his intentions or not? He didn’t have to cry to get Kaito to work with him; Kaito said it himself. He agreed as soon as he heard the words end the killing game. Everything else that came after that… it wasn’t necessary. It was just… the truth.
“Not just that killing game, though,” Kokichi adds. He fidgets with the microphone for a moment, looking down at his nails. “Every killing game. Every single sick performance that Team Danganronpa and its writers and its technology and its demented producers want to try and put on. I wanted to put an end to this,” he gestures around the stage, “to all of this. To all of you. I wanted to show you that what you were eating is vile and depraved and sloppy and unfair,” he sneers, “that you’ve been spoon fed the murder of children as entertainment, that you’re sick and twisted and complacent and that if you had a beating heart in any one of your fucking chests, you’d take off that merchandise, go home, and spend the rest of life at a convent, living in shame of what you’ve done.”
When Kokichi finishes, his chest is heaving slightly, and he takes a breath, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve.
“I don’t think you understand,” he continues, heedless of the announcer, who is shaking her head, of the producers who are murmuring uneasily backstage. “Sure, you could sign up for this killing game, give away your life for something you think is really great and awesome and fun and whatever,” Kokichi scoffs. “But when you go into the killing game? That’s not you. That’s someone else, someone new, who didn’t fucking ask for this. They didn’t exist before, they were just brought into the world to suffer and be your stupid fucking inspiration porn so when you go to sleep at night you can rest knowing that sometimes people do shit, and then when you’re done with them you keep them around like toys and interrupt them to put them in front of a crowd like this is The Hunger Games and we’re the victors every time we start to forget that we exist for some sicko’s entertainment.”
Kokichi’s so mad that his face is red, his hand shaking where it’s wrapped around the microphone, and suddenly Shuichi finds himself wondering what he’s been doing these past four years, if he’s been healing, if he’s had support. If he’s just been trying to run from Team Danganronpa, all by himself, with no support system to deal with the nightmares, the trauma. Shuichi never died in the simulation, but he’s dealt with the physical effects of it regardless, with Kaito and his cough, and Kaede, who wakes up a few times a week with her neck clawed and bloody, and Angie, who gets chronic migraines, and Gonta, who gets chest pains so severe he can barely move at times.
There were a few times in the simulation where Shuichi found himself wanting to… understand, Kokichi, know what made him tick, know why he acted the way that he did. He was so frustrating, all the time, and he always seemed to have his own agenda, and Shuichi didn’t get it. He hates not understanding things. But never really did he want to reach out to Kokichi, to… help him, to give him company.
Now, though, staring at Kokichi out on stage, Shuichi wants to be over there next to him. He doesn’t know what he’d do, if he was out there, but maybe the action doesn’t matter so much as his presence would. His loyalty, his understanding. That’s all he owes to Kokichi right now. He doesn’t need someone to speak for him.
“Why did you come here, then?” The man with the microphone breaks the stunned silence eventually, looking up at Kokichi with what Shuichi thinks is betrayal in his eyes. “If you hate us so much.”
Kokichi stares down at him, emotionless, cool, and then takes a breath, running his hand through his hair and clasping it on the back of his neck in a gesture that reminds Shuichi of Kaito. “Because you’re sick,” he says quietly, plainly. Despite his words, his posture radiates resignation. He looks tired, all of a sudden, like he just wants to go to sleep, and while Kokichi is clearly a good liar even after all this time, something tells Shuichi that it’s… not a farce. “You’re twisted. It’s not even entirely your fault, you know? You didn’t choose to be this way. Nobody told you it’s wrong. But you’re disgusting anyways.” Kokichi laughs slightly, and then scowls, leaning down to look directly into the man’s eyes, his own glittering with malice. “I just wanted you to know it.”
“Alright,” a voice says from backstage, “that’s enough.”
A couple security guards push past Shuichi and Kaito to get onstage, as though to remove Kokichi by force, but before Shuichi can process it fully, Kaito is moving forward with a snarl, one of his hands fisting in the fabric of a guard’s shirt and spinning him around to punch him in the face. It’s a maneuver that he could never have pulled off fresh out of the simulation, but he’s been hitting the gym a lot recently; the guard’s nose breaks with an audible crack, and he slumps down, his hands flying to his face to try and stem the blood flow.
The commotion draws attention from the crowd, and
several
audience members gasp as Kaito shakes out his hand, tutting under his breath, his lip curved in a sneer. Kokichi, on the other hand, looks at Kaito and then nearly drops his microphone, wobbling in his place.
“Momota-chan?” His voice is quieter now, not amplified by the speakers, but Shuichi hears it, anyway, well enough even to hear the note of desperation in his voice, the overwhelming disbelief, like he thinks he’s dreaming.
“Hey,” Momota grins, momentarily distracted from his task, “you think I was just gonna let them grab you?”
“I didn’t think you were--” Kokichi starts, but then his eyes narrow as one of the other guards goes to attack Kaito with his taser out. He drops his mic-- with an intolerable amount of feedback-- and starts to move over, but Shuichi gets there first, ducking under the guard’s arm and jabbing him in the stomach with his elbow. It’s a technique that Maki taught him. When the man doubles over, Shuichi grabs his wrist and pulls, forcing him to drop the taser to the floor, and then he stomps on it, crushing it under his heel.
He’s not strong enough to flip the guard over his shoulder, so instead he slams the man backwards into the wall, releasing his arm and turning around with a huff.
If Kokichi was surprised before, he’s downright alarmed now, his hands still raised in an offensive position. “Saiha--”
“I failed to have your back once,” Shuichi says, “I’m not doing it again.”
“You--” Kokichi stops, and then grins, raising his eyebrows. “Since when do you have those moves, Saihara-chan? You just blew Momota-chan right out of the water.”
“Hey!” Kaito huffs, indignant. “I broke the guy’s nose, didn’t I?”
Despite the situation, and the rush from backstage and more guards come to subdue them, Shuichi giggles, reaching for Kaito’s hand and dragging him across the stage to stand in front of Kokichi. “Be nice to him, he did just risk himself for you,” he chastises, and then adds, “we should also probably run. We can catch up later.”
Kokichi nods, but his gaze is scrutinising, and oddly intense as he looks over Shuichi. The second that he spends staring seems to last an eternity, and it’s enough to make Shuichi shiver, the hair on the back of his neck standing up on end. Eventually, Kokichi says, “You’re different.”
“Y-Yeah,” Shuichi stammers, “it’s been four years, of course I w--”
“I like it,” Kokichi adds, with a grin, and before Shuichi can even begin to articulate a response to that, Kokichi grabs his hand and pulls him (and their Kaito) down the stairs on the side of the stage. As they run towards the exit, he yells, “If you’ve ever had any respect for me, you’ll let us through!” and really Shuichi doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but it’s almost like Moses parting the Red Sea, the way the crowd splits for them, leaving a clear path to the exit.
Shuichi’s not the type to look a gift horse in the mouth, and Kokichi doesn’t seem to be either, so they take the opportunity, sprinting to the exit and slamming the door open, running around to where Kaito’s car is parked (illegally) on the side of the building.
To avoid any struggle, Shuichi gets in the backseat after releasing Kaito and Kokichi’s hands, slamming the door shut behind them. It really says something about the hurry that Kaito is in that he doesn’t bother asking if everyone is buckled before peeling off the corner and tearing down the street, the smell of burning rubber sneaking in through the cracked window with the speed of the car.
Turning around in his seat, Shuichi watches behind them to see if Team Danganronpa is giving chase, but they don’t appear to be being followed. Still, Shuichi stares out the back windshield for a while, frowning, trying to figure out if there’s anyone coming after them.
“Um, I don’t think we’re being followed,” Shuichi says, starting to tug on his seatbelt, “but you should drive around for a while just in case, make sure that we lose anyone who might be following from afar.”
“Looks like we’re going on a road trip, then,” Kaito grins, and Shuichi laughs slightly, turning to give him a fond smile before returning his gaze to the street. Just in case.
Quiet settles over the car for a moment. Kaito usually turns on the radio while they drive, so the silence is a bit uncanny. Shuichi would feel weird if they started listening to Frank Sinatra after what just happened, though, without even trying to talk about it, so he doesn’t ask why Kaito’s hand stays away from the dial. At the same time, Shuichi doesn’t break the silence, busying himself with watching for suspicious cars, ignoring the anxious way that his heart thuds in his chest.
It all happened so fast, one moment Shuichi was accustoming himself to the fact that Kokichi still exists after all this time, the next they were running and being chased and he could hear the way his blood was rushing in his ears. He barely got a moment to process it. The silence isn’t helping, though. He has so many questions, so many things he wants to say to Kokichi, things he’s thought about saying over the years, and he doesn’t know where to start. How to start. What even would be appropriate, right now. He’s not sure what Kokichi’s been through, what brought him there, and he doesn’t know how to ask.
Thankfully, Shuichi is spared from the burden of initiating the conversation.
“Soooo, you two are like,” when Shuichi turns around, Kokichi’s doing the floppy hand gesture, “huh?”
Shuichi snorts. “I’ve-- I’ve never been asked like that, but um, yes.” He clears his throat, his face warming. “We had a rocky start, but it’s…” He smiles slightly, reaching out a hand to put on Kaito’s shoulder. “We manage.”
Irresponsibly and gayly, Kaito takes a hand off the wheel and rests it on top of Shuichi’s. “Yeah,” he says, glancing over at Kokichi, and then back at the road. “We could fill you in on what we’ve been up to, y’know, if you wanted.” He shrugs. “But I mean… it’s about what you’d expect. We’ve been doing what we can.”
“Are you still in touch with everyone?” Kokichi asks. His expression is deceptively mild, but Shuichi knows better than to trust that that’s really how he’s feeling. There’s no way of knowing until he hints about it.
“Ah, we try to keep in touch,” Shuichi says, “but it’s harder with some than others.” Rantaro just barely managed to avoid being a repeat Kokichi situation after they left the facility. Kaede managed to keep in touch with him, and Shuichi’s seen him around every so often. Enough at least to know he’s alive. Kirumi and Ryoma never come to group outings, which is about what Shuichi expected, much as it makes his chest ache to think about. Korekiyo is… here and there, but his mental status is unreliable. He’s frequented several different mental hospitals since they were let out on their own. Still, they try. “We haven’t totally lost contact with anybody, though, except…”
Kokichi grins, like that pleases him. “So I’m special,” he drawls, and another laugh is drawn out of Shuichi against his will.
“You’re special for more than your ability to go missing,” Shuichi decides. “We’ve… ah, Kaito’s missed you.”
“Hey, c’mon!” Kaito huffs, as he turns them onto the highway. “You make it sound weird!”
“How did I make it sound weird?”
“You stopped from saying that you missed him and said it was just me! Now it sounds gay!”
Well, it would’ve still sounded gay had Shuichi said the both of them, given that they’re polyamorous, but that aside, Shuichi is pretty sure Kaito and Kokichi kissed while they were in the exisal hangar, so it’s like. At least a little bit gay.
“Ah, right,” Shuichi says, trying not to laugh. “My apologies.”
“No homo,” Kokichi adds, sympathetically.
Kaito seems to relax at that, shaking his head a little. “Thanks, bro,” he says, glancing over at Kokichi, but there’s far too much tension in the look that they exchange for it to be a proper no homo. Kaito isn’t even wearing socks.
...Shuichi really, really hates being friends with Miu.
“But, um, Ouma-kun…” Shuichi trails off for a moment, wondering if he should even use that honourific. They’re not children anymore, and they were never classmates to begin with. It’s something of a demeaning honourific to use for someone who’s in every way your equal, even if it is what Shuichi’s used to. Kokichi doesn’t seem particularly bothered, but then, he’s not exactly a reliable source when it comes to things like this. Well, whatever. They can talk about that later. “May I ask… what you’ve been up to, since… we got out?”
“Oh, you know,” Kokichi shrugs. “This and that.”
It’s an impossibly vague answer, but Shuichi supposes it means that Kokichi doesn’t want to be more specific. A large part of Shuichi urges him not to pry, but that was his strategy back in the killing game, too, to shrug things off as just Kokichi being Kokichi, instead of reading into it, instead of trying to understand him better. Now that they’re here, now that Kokichi is so close and solid and now that he looks so tired at this proximity, Shuichi can’t help… wanting to be different.
Wanting to be better.
Hesitantly, carefully, Shuichi takes his free hand and rests it on Kokichi’s shoulder. “Have you been doing alright?”
The question seems to take him off guard, but he grins anyway. “Who, me? Do you know who you’re talking to?”
“No,” Shuichi admits. “I barely know anything about you. I never tried to.” That makes Kokichi’s smile fade a little bit, but Shuichi powers onwards. “What I do… think I know, or at least, what I hypothesise, is that you’re not the type who likes asking for help. Kaito isn’t, either--”
“Hey, Shuichi, are you gonna keep putting me on blast, or what?” Kaito gripes.
“--and you two have a lot in common, I think, so…” He shrugs. “It would make sense.”
Kokichi’s expression is thoughtful again, that same scrutinising look he gave Shuichi before. “Detective was a good choice for you. You know, they say they can’t implant intelligence, even with the memory altercation software that Team Danganronpa uses. If you’re smart now, you were smart before.”
“That’s nice of you to say,” Shuichi says, unfazed, “but you didn’t answer my question.”
“Awww,” Kokichi pouts. “Nevermind! I hate this version of you! Saihara-chan the beta version totally would’ve blushed just now! If I can’t flirt with you to distract you, what do I have left? What, Saihara-chan, what?”
Shuichi suppresses the urge to laugh. “The truth?”
“The truth…” Kokichi’s expression blanks, and he looks at Shuichi for a moment, like he’s trying to figure him out. Eventually, Kokichi turns his gaze away, looking out the window.
“We don’t have to talk about it right now,” Kaito offers, gently, as he drives them to the exit. He’s probably taking a weird route to throw off any potential followers. (At the reminder, Shuichi takes his hands off of their respective shoulders and turns to look out the windshield. Nothing suspicious right now, but he should remain diligent.) “If you wanna just talk about us, that’s fine, yeah? Just so long as you don’t disappear again, and we actually get the chance to unpack it.”
There’s an odd frown on Kokichi’s face as he looks at Kaito’s.
“I’ve spent the past four years drifting from place to place,” he admits. “Hiding from Team Danganronpa. I saw some of the interviews and meet and greets you all did on television and I wanted no part of it.” He shrugs, like it’s that simple. Shuichi supposes that to him, there’s nothing else to it. “It’s not like I was alone the entire time, y’know. I made friends. People who hated Danganronpa. People who didn’t know who I was. But as it turns out it’s kind of super mega hard to relate to people who have lived real, long lives full of experiences, when all I remember when I try to think of my childhood is the summary of a coming of age novel.” He sighs.
“Yeah,” Shuichi says quietly. He can’t remember what his uncle’s face looked like, which makes him feel a bit sad to think about, but… the truth is, his uncle never had a face to begin with, did he? He never even had a name. “I… I get it.”
He has a job, now, at a bookstore near to where he and Kaito rent their apartment, and he’s made a few friends; Yuri, who works the cash register, Amaya, who comes to restock books once a week, Sora and Kenji, who own the store. But it’s not the same, with any of them, as it is with Kaito and Kaede and Maki and Himiko. In some ways, that’s wonderful, freeing, like Shuichi doesn’t have to be the guy who ended Danganronpa, he can just be a twenty-year-old who works at a bookstore and hates gossip and drinks coffee out of the same mug as Yuri during their lunch break. But at the same time… they’ll never understand. And what Shuichi needs, beyond everything else, is to be understood.
So he gets it, he does. Kokichi must hear that in his voice, because he just nods, leaning back against his seat.
“It’s a weird question, how I’ve been doing,” Kokichi muses. He looks up at the roof of the car. “What’s your definition of alright? What are the qualifiers, here? Have I been starving? Nah. Have I been killing babies? Maybe I have. But I think that’s pretty alright of me, actually, so it’s not like I--”
“Ouma-kun,” Shuichi interrupts, gently. “I’d rather hear your definition of alright, and whether you’ve met it, if… if that’s okay.”
Kokichi stops again, his smile slipping off his face, and meets Shuichi’s eyes through the rearview mirror. He’s as hard to read as ever, but at the same time he almost seems… vulnerable, caught off guard, like Shuichi could just reach out and touch him, and… his fingers would land. It’s not something he’s really… used to, with Kokichi, and it almost makes him feel guilty, but even stronger is the feeling that something must have changed for Kokichi, during those four years they spent apart, to bring him… down to earth, like this. Shuichi can’t decide if he’s glad for it or not.
It’s Kokichi who breaks eye contact first, grinning wryly, running a hand through his hair and closing his eyes.
“No, Saihara-chan,” he says quietly. “I haven’t been alright.” When he opens his eyes, he turns his head, and Shuichi can see that he’s starting to tear up, his hand shaking slightly against his head. “I haven’t been okay at all.”
Shuichi scoots forward in his seat, his seatbelt pulling against his chest, and reaches out a hand for Kokichi, brushing his hair behind his ear. His eyes, though go to Kaito, who’s looking between Kokichi and the road, a frown on his face. “Take us somewhere quiet, Kaito,” he says softly. “A bakery, maybe. Somewhere we can get something comforting and then talk.”
“Yeah,” Kaito nods. He takes a hand off the wheel and puts it out for Kokichi, and after a moment of hesitation, Kokichi takes it. “Somewhere we can talk.”
“Does that sound okay, Ouma-kun?” Shuichi asks. His eyes settle back on the former supreme leader, and he’s not really sure what he’s expecting to find, whether he’s relieved or not when the expression Kokichi is wearing is a smile.
It’s lopsided, though, uneven, tears still pooling in the corners of his eyes, so even though the sudden change is a bit jarring, Shuichi finds himself inclined to believe that it’s real.
“That sounds awful, Shuichi,” Kokichi says. His smile turns into a grin, and Shuichi laughs, shaking his head.
“That’s three votes for yes, then,” Shuichi grins, and Kokichi giggles, especially at the exasperated sigh Kaito lets out from the front seat. They’ve all changed so much, but in a lot of ways it feels as though they’ve hardly changed at all. Shuichi decides that that’s for the better. It’d be a lot more uncomfortable to buy cake and cry with a stranger, after all.