Hello, everyone! I don't have a full chapter for Valentine's Day, but I still wanted to do something fun. Hence, the creation of this story! As the summary says, this isn't necessarily a traditional story, but more like a collection of drabbles and extra scenes that I write in the Despair Ship universe. Most of it will be of the shipping variety, but not all. If you haven't read Danganronpa: Ultimate Despair Ship yet, I strongly suggest that you do as these drabbles will probable be full of spoilers!

I am accepting prompts here. If you'll notice below, every chapter is based around a pairing and a word. If you want to send me a pairing (romantic or platonic) and/or word, please feel free to do so! Either by review or PM is fine. I'll slowly be filling them as the mood strikes me.

Misa/Miyu – Touch Part One

It starts with a simple poke war. Okay, maybe it starts before then, starts the moment that Miyu turned to see Misa standing there, beautiful and bright and grinning despite the fact she has no idea where she is or how she got there. A demigod made real. But the poke war is something real, something solid to point to and say that that was it. That was the moment where it all starts.

Because Misa's laugh is infectious as she twists and turns away from Miyu's seeking fingers, and it makes Miyu's chest feel light in a way that feels silly and childish but isn't. Not when Misa goes out of her way to poke the tip of her nose, or when she just stops for a moment to look at Miyu in a way that's soft and quiet with a small smile on her face. A smile, not a grin. Because even this early, Miyu realizes the important difference between the two and how rare those smiles are.

It continues with a shoulder bump, just a light touch as Misa passes by on her way to breakfast. It's not competitive or playful, but rather a way to say hello. At least, that's what Miyu thinks it means. Sometimes, it doesn't seem to have a meaning. Sometimes, Misa just wants to touch someone. But still, she bumps her, and not Sumire or Zettai or anyone else who Miyu has seen her talking to, and it makes Miyu's chest feel light again.

Only for that light to immediately dim as she watches Misa bump Kat in the same exact way. Which is ridiculous. Kat is a nice enough guy. He's very funny, and Misa seems to trust him. There's no reason for the irrational burst of irritation that blows through Miyu with enough force to take her breath away. No reason at all for her mood to suddenly deflate at the idea that maybe Misa didn't consider her to be all that special after all.

But then Misa returns from the kitchen and drops her tray of food onto the table and her hand lingers for a moment in the space between Miyu's shoulder blades as she answers a question Shouko asks, and Miyu smiles.

Her first hint is how tense Misa is. She's always tense, muscles coiled and shifting and ready at any and every moment. Even moments where she appears completely calm and relaxed, like now when she's lying down sideways on a couch in the lounge with her head in Miyu's lap. Miyu had been reading when the smuggler came in, moaning and complaining about how Ryuu still seemed far too interested in her guns.

It had been Misa who decided to use Miyu's lap as a pillow, stopping just long enough to quirk her eyebrows in a silent question of consent. Miyu had nodded and returned to her book, although one hand did come down to rest a hand on her shoulder. And even though Misa looks completely calm and at ease, she isn't. She never is. Miyu doesn't comment on it, doesn't really have the words to express the nugget of uneasiness that it creates in her chest, warring with the warmth that spreads through the rest of her. So instead she keeps quiet and squeezes her arm and is glad when even the slightest bit of tension bleeds out her Misa.

It all goes wrong with a slap. Granted, slaps rarely cause things to go right but things are quickly spiraling and Miyu can't think or breathe or process anything besides the stinging in her hand and the red bloom across Misa's cheek. Harsh and defined, nothing like the soft, light glow that appears when she blushes. But then again, the girl in front of her isn't Misa. Not her Misa. Her Misa was incapable of saying such wicked, awful things with a glint in her eyes that could almost be called proud.

Her Misa was soft and gentle, with shoulder touches and bumps. Her Misa could catch her eye and with a slight twitch of her face, communicate an entire paragraph's worth of thoughts and feelings. Her Misa stood in front of a loaded gun – her own loaded gun – and laughed. Bright and uncaring and free and beautiful and nothing like the harsh barks coming from her now.

Miyu turns around and walks away. She doesn't run, despite the near overwhelming urge to. She's sick and shaking and her hand still stings and she can still hear the sharp crack that it made against Misa's skin. And beneath everything, all she wants to do is find Misa, her Misa, and hold her and have her promise that everything was going to be okay.

The next few days are awful. Miyu feels touch starved even though that's impossible. But she misses the quick, casual touches; as if Misa was physically reminding herself that Miyu was still there, still real, still solid. She shouldn't miss them. She knows this. But she'll look at Misa out of the corner of her eye and remember that first poke war, and her chest aches again. Especially since Misa seems perfectly happy to be sitting across from and chatting with Zettai.

Except that's a lie too. Miyu is discovering that Misa lies a lot, but especially about who she is and how she's doing. Because that façade crumbles the moment the two of them are alone in the early morning and Miyu reaches out to grab her hand. She misses and catches her wrist instead, but that's almost as good. Her wrist is tiny – Miyu can easily wrap her fingers around it – and cold and Misa flinches like she expects Miyu to slap her again.

And the voice that comes out of her is nothing like the demigod that stared down Ryuu with a bullet in her belly. It's the voice of a girl, teetering on the edge of broken, and Miyu almost apologizes. Because for a stark, unsettling moment, the Misa in front of her is real and fragile and scared and Miyu can almost understand. But then Monokuma's announcement plays, and that fleeting moment of understanding passes, and Miyu has to pause to wipe away her tears before following Misa into the auditorium.

She's not close enough to grab Misa when the screaming starts. She wishes she was.