Author's Ideas: More wonderful shipping for your eyes to feast on. This is the actual case of writer fever, and I couldn't write Naegiri and Hinanami fics without one for my third, new-found (and gay as shit) OTP, Munasaka. Since the other two are also angsty as f thanks to reasons we all understand, why not make this one sad as f too? bECAUSE I CAN-
This can honestly be viewed as platonic if you really want to. Which I understand. Not judging. Totally not. Kidding~
Disclaimer: I don't own Danganronpa or else the anime would have aCTUALLY ENDED WITH MY OTPS ALIVE.
Red Lights
His blood is all over the walls, plastering the floor. He limps through the Monokuma door, gripping the edge of the door.
Sakakura takes a deep breath of air and prepares to make the gruesome walk to the power room, but pain slaps him, and he falls onto the wall, blood seeping out of him onto the stony surface behind him. The dark green-haired man can feel blackness creeping up on him, but he forces himself to move.
The dark green-haired man limps up the stairs, his head light. He falls to the ground, but reaches for a lever above his head. He pulls with what little strength he has, bringing him off the ground and the lever down. He moves on, pulling each lever, watching the green lights go red. A final lever stands in his way, and the man slouches against the cold metal boxes, moving inch by inch, pain by pain.
He almost crumbles as a new wave of blackness overtakes his mind, but catches himself just in time. The lever is just above him, just within arm length. Yet, as he stretches and reaches for it, he can feel himself slipping away.
So, he musters as much strength as he can, and begins to speak, as if Munakata or anyone could hear him.
"Even if you abandoned me...I still…"
He gasps for breath as his hand closes around the lever.
"...want you to live.."
Sakakura lets out a low growl and pulls as hard as he can. The lever clicks, and he slumps. His knees crumple beneath him, and his body screeches in disagreement as his arm stretches out, holding onto the lever.
The pain doesn't matter much anymore. Sakakura smiles, enjoying the feeling now. It's the last time he'll feel the sticky sensation of sweat moistening his skin, his matted hair sticking messily to his face, the twisted feeling of dried blood against his cheek, crusting his wounds.
His vision dulls, blurs and contorts like it never has, and the boxer knows it is about to end.
Blackness crashes over him, snatching him, and Sakakura never opens his eyes again.
Munakata takes off after Naegi tells him about Sakakura. The building is a blur as he makes his way down stairs, around corners. His bangle falls off, but Munakata doesn't lament it, or even celebrate it. All he can think about it Sakakura, Juzo Sakakura, his best friend, betrayed by the man who he trusted the most, who still believed in him.
Blood splatters appear below his feet, and Munakata pushes himself to run faster. He skids the corner and dives into the library, almost stumbling over his own feet. The white-haired man rushes up the stairs, the dim glow of the red power room illuminating just how much blood is over the stone walls. Munakata's heart stops in fear, and he takes the last step, stopping at the entrance of the power room.
Every drop of blood turns to ice, and his body is suddenly cold.
Sakakura Juzo, the former Super High School Level Boxer, the strongest person Munakata has ever known, is leaning against the metal power generators for help. Of the two hands that once knocked out countless men, only one remains. The man who has once been so violent and followed every one of Munakata's orders for bloodshed has now bled to death before him.
Sakakura's remaining hand is clutching tight on the last lever that he's lowered with the last bit of strength, so unlike the times when he bounced around the ring, swinging punch after punch with no end.
Blood is all over his body and the floor. Dried blood crusts his lips, fresh blood trickles from his shoulder, his stomach where Munakata had inflicted the wound himself, his damn stump of an arm.
The white-haired man falls to the ground beside him, the curved katana in his hand falling from his grip. Munakata gazes at Sakakura, examining every stupid injury that he gained. He turns his eye away, sadness flooding his body. Tears pricked his eye, and he reached up to brush them away. Munakata takes a breath, and he casts his pale blue gaze at Sakakura, his gaze unusually warm yet sad.
Quietly, he speaks, as if Sakakura or anyone else could hear him.
"I'm sorry…"
He grits his teeth and looks away, guilt baring at him like the fangs of a wolf.
"...I'm always… too late…"
The ice in his blue eyes has melted away, but at the cost of the one he loved.
Red highlights Munakata's form as he barrels through men who were once his subordinates. Both blades are held snugly in his hands as he swings them into whatever he sees fit. His feet pound on the ground, disregarding the rocks and bullets that litter the floor.
He knows where the exit is. He's the only one alive who knows. He wishes he could've told Naegi Makoto earlier. Maybe then they wouldn't be in this mess. There's no time to worry about that now, though. For now, Munakata needs to actually survive before he can get out.
A bullet nicks his shoulder, and he barely registers the stinging pain as he cuts down the row of soldiers. He's unaccustomed to the darkness that shrouds the right side of his vision, but he learns to deal with it as he charges through the mobs.
He rounds the final corner to find nobody there. He breaths a sigh of relief, and sets to work at taking down the large doors. Despite the fact they aren't wooden, they should be rather easy to break down.
The white-haired man takes a deep breath and slashes with the katanas in his hands. It creaks and bursts open under the powerful attacks he's deployed, and Munakata steps back. The door has a large opening in it, and its remains are littered over the floor. The stark darkness behind the door is a strong contrast to the red lights of the building.
He turns around, giving a final glance at the best and worst building he's ever been in.
Men litter the floor, their bodies tossed in piles or lying across the ground. The Monokuma monitors are pitch black. He smiles as he stares the glaring red lights over his head. It casts a sharp red gloom over everything, like the building was soaked in blood.
Yet, the reality was that the one who caused the building to be like this had bled out in front of Munakata's eyes because of Munakata. He clenched his fist. With any luck, they'd be able to retrieve the bodies of the deceased from the building.
He closes his eyes. Yukizome would get a proper burial. Yet, when he thought of Sakakura in a casket, underneath a stone slab… Munakata couldn't see it.
The white-haired man shakes his head. Surely it was fatigue or his strong friendship with Sakakura that refuses to accept that the man was really dead. Munakata clutches the katanas in his hands, a strong sense of relief suddenly washing over him.
He stares at his pale hands, calloused with work and battles.
He was still alive thanks to Sakakura. Munakata turned around, staring at the outside of the building.
"I'll make this world a better place for you… Sakakura."
The man took a step, and then another, until he was padding through the shadows. Yet, he's not alone. Munakata smiles, as if Sakakura is right there next to him, smiling alongside him as they rush up stairs and out of the killing game together.