unbeta'd
may contain distressing material and slight danganronpa zero spoilers
He knows the verdict before they've even voted. She does too. He can see it in her eyes, those carefully curtained windows that have hidden her feelings and thoughts so well for so long. They don't hide anything now. Naegi realises as he takes in that hurt, purple gaze that darts across the courtroom, focusing on anything but him, that this is the real Kirigiri Kyouko. He wonders if he should reintroduce himself to her, since this is the first time he's technically met her, since this is the first time her mask has cracked, since this is the last moment she has to show him who she really was, although somewhere deep inside he feels like he's known her all along.
Those eyes finally meet his as the guilty verdict rings out, and he barely has a chance to apologise before it's clear he's forgiven, that she knows he knows she's innocent, and that that is enough for her. Part of him thinks she knew what the outcome for this trial would be before it even started, and he feels his heart break all over again because this is wrong.
Togami calls this a game. He's always called it a game. And if it is, then the Mastermind is cheating. They haven't got a single piece on the board capable of taking the queen, so they're shaking the table until she falls over, until she slides into a better position, until she's off the table and the Mastermind can finally throw up their hands and cry "Checkmate".
Except this isn't a game. This is Kirigiri's life. And it's ending.
She's composed. She faces her execution with her head held high, her face that ever clean mask, except her eyes, her eyes which no longer wander but focus solely on Naegi's own, and they are hurting. They're betrayed. They're confused. They're angry. They're scared.
She's scared.
He's sure none of the other students see this; no one else sees her pain, no one else sees the way those eyes look fit to burst, to explode out of her face in a tsunami of fear and loathing and desire, desire to stay alive, to keep fighting, to find out what was left to find out. Naegi sees the way her eyes tremble with regret, and her lips form the last whisper of a smile, whether its wistful or forgiving or a farewell.
It isn't long before he is unable to meet that gaze, so pure, so undiluted, so full of raw emotion. It hurts him, that this is the first and only chance he has to see the real Kirigiri, the Kirigiri who doesn't hide behind silence and gloves and clever tricks, and he can't bear to look at her. He wonders if that's why she hid herself away that long; maybe she can't bear to see the real Kirigiri either.
His gaze is focused on the ground, because this is where he draws the line. This is the one execution he will not watch.
But then again, he doesn't need to watch it, because he can hear it well enough.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He looks up in fear and fights the urge to vomit as Kirigiri stares blankly out ahead and those eyes, those beautiful eyes, see their last. He fels sweat dribble down his forehead but is too grotesquely fixated to turn his horrified gaze anywhere else. But he swallows this fear, and he swallows his nausea, and he stands up straight and puts on a mask, a mask he's seen worn before, by Kirigiri, by Celes, by Maizono, because he has to look brave for her. If those terrified purple eyes should fall upon his face for a second, he would not let them see him shake. He would not let them see his own terror.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Was this how Ishimaru felt at Mondo's execution?
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Was that steady beating the rhythm keeping him alive or sending Kirigiri to her death?
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He knew she was innocent. To him, that was all that mattered.
Kirigiri Kyouko had not come into his life with a bang, but she left his life with one.
...
He had promised to carry them with him, to keep going in spite of their loss, and in their memory. But this burden is beginning to feel to heavy for him to carry alone. His shoulders are aching and his knees have cramped. His back has given up, and no amount of stretching seems to click it into place. He can't eat. He can't sleep. He can't live.
Naegi Makoto's life is dictated by thumping. A steady beat that thrums in his ears and throbs through his brain. His footsteps echo it. His breathing syncs with it. His sleep is interrupted by it. Kirigiri was killed by it.
The thumping will not stop. He doesn't think it ever will. He wonders if it is because he should be dead. He should have fallen in her place. She saved his life, and she was executed for it, and it was his fault.
He wonders if it is guilt that his ears ring with.
The others still think Kirigiri was guilty, that her death was justified. It makes him sick. But then again, he convinced them of it, so he wasn't any less pardoned. Except he knows Kirigiri forgave him without words, without gesture, without anything. She would have done the same in his position.
He can't work out why it hurts so much that she is gone.
At night, he tosses and turns.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He can't sleep on his back, facing the ceiling. He can't sleep on his side, facing the wall. He can't sleep facing the bathroom.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Maizono died in that bathroom.
Naegi doesn't think he wants this room anymore.
...
Kirigiri's room smells like her. It's nice. It's comforting. It's normal.
No one asks why Naegi switches rooms. He feels like he can breathe easier in hers. He can sleep in her room. He can feel safe in her room. When he faces the bathroom he isn't filled with regret, with the knowledge he let everyone down. He couldn't save Maizono. He couldn't saver her.
He's sleeping again, but with sleeping come the nightmares. Familiar classrooms with unfamiliar windows. Familiar faces in unfamiliar uniforms. Teachers he doesn't remember, subjects he never learnt, simple, boring school days that seem so real until they're painted red and he's screaming, clawing at locked doors, banging on bared windows, empty, alone, imprisoned.
And then the thumping starts, and he relives Kirigiri's execution over and over again, each time unable to close his eyes.
Sometimes, he feels a hand take his, and Maizono stands with him and smiles. She promises she'll protect him. She promises he won't be alone. And then she shoves him down and holds him in place and no matter how hard he wants to look away he makes him watch. He makes him watch as blood spreads from her abdomen and then she holds his eyes open and Kirigiri is crushed in front of him once, twice, a thousand times. And he can't save her.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He's never woken up screaming. He's woken up scared and shaking and crying, but never screaming.
Except...
Except once, when it became too much to bear, and he asked Asahina to stay with him, hoping some company would drive the dreams away forever, she says he sat up, looked right at her, and whispered. And she had crawled along the bed and taken his hand and said, "Naegi, what's wrong? Are you okay? You can tell me."
But he'd just carried on whispering.
Asahina claims to this day it was the scariest thing she ever saw. The repetition of one word. Quickly. With nary a pause for breathe. Over and over and over until she wanted to leave but she couldn't because she was petrified with fear.
Naegi knew the answer, but he still asked what word it was, and Asahina looked down, licked her lips, and in a hoarse, croaky voice, mumbled,"Thump. Thump. Thump."
There was no escaping from the steady beating, Naegi realised then. He'd hear it until the day he died.
...
The nightmares stop eventually, but the dreams that take their place are even worse. Tantalising memories that seem almost real, but are forgotten in the morning. Like words on the tip of his tongue, the pen he was holding a moment ago but put down and lost in the fraction of a second, the penultimate line before the chorus of his favourite song.
He still wakes up crying, and he wakes up to that thrum, that throb, that thump. But at least in his dreams he is safe, because although he does not remember the world he dreams, he knows that she is in it, and that she is safe, and that she is happy, and that she is alive.
In his dreams, there is no thumping. In his dreams he can fool himself into believing that it hasn't happen, that it will never happen.
But it has happened, and he spends every waking moment remembering that it is his fault.
...
"Students aren't meant to leave the dorms after ten o'clock Surely you of all people know that rule. I mean, your father is the principal," he teases, tugging at her braid. It's his favourite part of her hair. She wears it loose, and it's beautiful, but that one strand she ties back and plaits and fastens with a ribbon stands out, a river of silvery tranquility in violet-tinted chaos.
She dismisses his comment with a roll of her eyes. "Female students aren't particularly meant to be in male students dorms. Ever. Surely you know that rule," she chuckles slightly, fastening her boots. "Especially after what happened with Kuwata-kun and Maiziono-san."
He loves it when she's like this; when she's playful and expressive and smiling. She doesn't stay like it for long, and especially not around over people, but with him its different, its always been different, and he can't explain why but he feels like it was always meant to be different, like maybe they were just meant to click like this, to fall into place like this, to be together like this.
She's done putting her boots on, and he lets go of her plait so she can get up off of his bed. He rolls from his side to his back and stares at the ceiling. "You're investigating something, aren't you?"
He doesn't see her face, but she has leveled her voice out, so he assumes she's put on her detective mask. "Why do you ask?" she counters.
He swallows for a second. "It's that incident, isn't it? The one we're not allowed to talk about, with the school council members-"
"There was no incident," she snaps harshly. He flips onto his side to face her, but it was useless because she has her back to him. "I'm not investigating anything."
He slides off his bed and opens his mouth to say something, her name maybe, but doesn't because she falters. She's buttoning up her cardigan, her fingers are fumbling, and he sighs and says, "Need help with that?"
She shakes her head. "I just didn't expect these gloves to make changing such a hassle. I shouldn't have bought them. I should have stuck with my old pair."
"This weekend," he promises, turning her round to face him, "I'll buy you a new pair of gloves. Not that you need them; you're perfect just the way you are."
She's wearing that mask again, he knows it, but she allows a smile to tickle her lips. She does it just for him. She knows how much he likes her smile.
"Be careful," he whispers. "Whether something did or did not happen to the school council - and we all know something did - that's the least of our worries. I mean, there's the Parade, and the disappearing students, and-"
"I'll be fine," she cuts him off. "I've survived much worse, after all." She wiggles a gloved hand in front of his face, as if to prove her point, but he just grabs it and holds it, and soon he's holding her, and after that he's kissing her or she's kissing him and he's running hands through her hair and those gloves feel so soft on the nape of his neck that there is no way this was not crafted, no way they weren't designed to live every moment together like this, with each other, embracing each other.
Their lips part, but he holds he still. "Whatever you're messing with is dangerous," he reminds her. "And I don't want you getting hurt-"
She cuts him off once again, but this time it's not to remind him that she's survived worse. It's to remind him of his "talent". "You're Super High School Level Good Luck, aren't you?" she asks. He nods and she continues, "Well, would it be lucky if something bad were to happen to someone you care about?"
"No, but-"
"No, it wouldn't. Therefore it's only logical to conclude that I'll be safe. As long as you have that good luck, that is."
...
Her room stops smelling like her, eventually.
He starts forgetting what she looks like. It's a gradual thing; he can't remember if her hair was purple or silver, if her nose was pointed or rounded, if her cheeks had a tint to them, the exact shade and shape of her eyes, the curve of her lips, the fullness of her cheeks, her face, her voice, her. He remembers he master key, and he breaks into the trial room. Just once. He only does it once.
Her picture is there, crossed out in thick crimson. He takes it anyway because it's still her. It's still her and it's better than nothing.
He sleeps beside it. Sometimes, when he's especially sick or tired or sad or lonely, he finds himself talking to her picture. He knows it's crazy. He doesn't mean to do it. The words just slip out sometimes.
He hugs the frame in his sleep, and occaisionally, when he's on the brink, that rift between consciousness and unconsciousness, he thinks he hears a steady beat.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
It's not a heartbeat though. It's the sound of her oncoming destruction.
...
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He's awake, but he's still dreaming because someone's knocking on his door, on Kirigiri's door, and he's answering it. For a second it's Kuwata, and he's scared shaking and clutching a kitchen knife, but when his bleary eyes blink back into reality, if you can call a dream reality, he is Naegi Makoto and the girl at his door is Enoshima Junko, who's dead. Enoshima Junko, who died in front of him. Enoshima Junko, who is smiling and there and real and therefore convinces him that this must be a dream because nothing brings the dead back to life.
And he knows.
But since this is a dream he goes along with it and he invites Enoshima in and she sits down and explains to him that he's in great, great despair and she can take that away. She can stop the thumping.
Naegi knows this is a lie.
Nothing can stop the thumping, he screams.
Enoshima Junko smiles. I can.
He shakes his head. He doesn't like this dream anymore. For the first time in a while he feels a sense of panic rising through him and he knows this is a nightmare. He's telling himself to wake up but his eyes are saying they're already open.
Enoshima Junko says she can make Kirigiri Kyouko go away. Far away. Forever. And if Kirigiri Kyouko is gone, she explains, then so is her execution, and so is the thumping.
He doesn't understand. Why do you want to make the thumping go away? You can't hear it.
She cackles. Naegi doesn't remember Enoshima Junko having a laugh like that. Naegi doesn't think she looked the way she looks now, but it's a dream, and dreams change things, change people, change memories. She says that the only thing she has ever loved is despair. She says that the only thing she's ever wanted is to despair. She says that Kirigiri Kyouko stopped that despair, and that Kirigiri Kyouko will never truly be gone if Naegi keeps wallowing in her memory.
Not that I don't love to see you wallowing, she laughs. Your despair makes me happier than you could ever imagine it to! But the idea of that awful little brat gives you hope. You don't realise it, but it does. And as long as there is hope, I haven't won.
Naegi doesn't understand any of it, but if Enoshima can make the thumping stop, he'll do anything.
And Enoshima does make the thumping stop.
Kirigiri Kyouko stops with it.
...
Kirigiri Kyouko is dead.
Naegi Makoto doesn't recognise her name.
There hasn't been a death at Hope's Peak since her execution.
Naegi doesn't remember that execution.
All he remembers is a dull thrum, a steady throb, a tapping, a beating, a rhythm. It echoes through his mind and he is fascinated by it because it feels hollow, empty. There must have once been a reason for the tapping. A nervous habit? The beat of his favourite song?
He doesn't know, and he doesn't care to find out. It's an irritating rhythm anyway.
...
He's sat a desk in the library. Fukawa suggested they start a book club or something and he doesn't really mind. It mostly consists of reading in silence and then talking about how awful the book was. He's able to do that.
His finger taps out a rhythm on the desk. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
It hurts him for some reason. He's not sure why. It reminds him of someone he cared about a lot. He can't remember who. Probably Maizono. He remembers Maizono.
Asahina seems unnerved by the thumping too, and she brings her gaze to meet his. It's full of raw emotion, so telling, so true, and she's concerned. She smiles at him, warm, open, loving, and Naegi returns the smile. She seems surprised by it, pleased by it, and her smile slips into a more natural one.
Naegi wonders if this is the person he cares a lot about. He watches the way she flips the page and the way her face becomes a neutral mask as she reads, content and focused. It feels familiar, nice.
He breathes a sigh of relief, and wonders if Asahina shares these feelings. He feels like they're shared feelings. He remembers them being shared.
He begins tapping out that rhythm again. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
He doesn't know that he's lost the reason behind it. He doesn't know that he'll never remember the reason behind it.
author's note: i always regarded kirigiri as junkos main opponent and im not sure why. so while i was writing it i just liked the idea of junko being mad by the fact that naegi still remembered her and still thought of her as innocent because it meant she kind of lived on through naegi? idk. it also would help make more sense with the canon that naegi ends up happy and as the father of one of asahina's kids so yeah. thats why.
i think this kind of started off good but then like. got worse as it went on. probably because there was so much i wanted to fit in bu t i couldnt get it to work coherently you know? i dont really care tbh i gave it my best shot and this was what i made so. yeah.