NOTE : (cover art credited to Tokilos on Tumblr)
If Kaito had to describe what it felt like, he'd probably say it was bittersweet. After everything that had happened to him in Danganronpa, he never thought he'd feel like this again.
When he'd closed his eyes and graced the world with his smile one last time, the last thing he saw was the stars. Of course, it was Monokuma's twisted version of his fantasy, but it had been enough. He had died on his terms.
Now, he was forced into the same damn corner again. He made a choice, and it was killing him. This time, though, he could die knowing Ouma was alive. He could die knowing he'd finally done what he'd set out to do. He had little to no regrets.
Kaito looked out across the vast expanse of space before him, and sighed in contentment. This is what he wanted right? Yeah, he was in pain, but the stars were beautiful out here. The universe was to die for.
Kaito laughed at his choice of words. Ouma was gonna fucking kill him for this. When they reunited in whatever kind of afterlife there was, Ouma was going to smack the shit out of him, no doubt. He laughed again, this time more light and free, imagining his pint sized boyfriend trying to reach high enough to get a hit on him. He soon found himself out of breath though, and the noise stopped, fading into a dead silence. Kaito couldn't even bring himself to laugh anymore.
"Ouma…" he muttered, allowing himself a brief sense of self pity.
Call me something else.
The former supreme leader's voice rang out in his head, and, bitterly, he allowed himself to think it was mocking him. With those words came a flood of images and sounds he'd rather have removed from his memory. The hydraulic press above his head, his jacket splayed out beneath him, hearing the whirring of the press as Ouma vanished from his sight, blood spilling out over the floor, the screaming, the tears, the sickening crack of bones, the poison running through their veins—
Kaito cupped a hand over his mouth, suddenly feeling the urge to cough.
'Habit,' he told himself ruefully.
They had said that everything was a game, a simulation. It was one set up and broadcasted for the sick enjoyment of everyone in the outside world. The 53rd season of Danganronpa. To Kaito, it was real. The pain, the grief, the despair; it was all real. Anybody who watched their suffering for laughs could go fuck themselves for all he cared. It didn't matter to anyone who hadn't seen it, experienced it, lived it. It was hell. True and utter hell.
Kaito snapped himself out of the daze he was in, shaking away the oncoming panic attack that always accompanied his thoughts of the game. There was no time for that.
He reached out for the small recorder sitting a few feet away from him. He'd brought it so that he'd be able to send messages back home to Kokichi if need be, and he had planned to use it before, but when it came time to do something, he could never find the words. Regardless, he kept it near him as much as he could, hoping that he'd find his voice long enough to let his boyfriend know he was okay. A sharp stab of guilt pierced his chest at the thought.
I'm sorry Kokichi. The one message you get from me, and it's to tell you that I'm not okay after all.
He absentmindedly pressed down on the recording button, and when the action registered in his mind, he instantly felt his throat tighten.
"Ouma—no, Kokichi," he corrected himself, "I'm sorry."
He paused, unable to find the right words, unable to force his voice to work. He sat in silence for what felt like hours, when he knew that in reality, it had probably only been a minute or two. Finally, he relaxed enough to compose himself and speak.
"Listen 'Kichi, I have to apologize for this, but I guess I lied," he decided not to comment on the irony, and instead continued speaking while his voice still worked, "I'm not coming home. All my partners, they're dead, you hear? I'm the only one left, and I've got a feeling I won't last long. Food ran out about 4 days ago, water 2 days ago...oxygen will run out tomorrow."
He cringed as his imagination flared to life, supplying him with an almost too realistic image of Ouma, breaking down at those words.
"I'm sorry, that we couldn't spend our last days together, like the last time…" his voice trailed off, and he hung his head.
'I can't do this. Fucking hell, I can't do this.'
"It kinda sucks doesn't it, 'kichi?" Kaito's mouth just kept running, even as his thoughts resisted, "it sucks that after everything we went through in the game, after Danganronpa, after the years of recovery, after everything, that it's gonna end like this. That's what you're thinking, isn't it? I know you more than you'd like to think."
He thought about his next words for a little while. He wanted to leave Kokichi with something he wouldn't regret. Something that would help him go on.
"But hey, listen to me, Kokichi, it's alright," he paused, feeling his heart constrict at the thought of his boyfriend hearing any of the words he was recording, "It's all okay. I'm happy, I really am, and I have to thank you. You've supported me, through everything. You knew I was going to leave you for god knows how long while I'm up here in the universe, and you still let me go. So Kokichi, thank you."
"Shut up Kaito! You're so annoying, jeez!"
"Hey, 'Kichi, don't be like that! I believe in you, I mean it!"
A mocking laugh split the tense silence between them.
"Nishishi~oh Kaito, you're such a dummy! If you keep being all naive and childish like that, someone's gonna betray you."
"Don't be stupid!"
…
"Hey Momota-chan, if you really believe in me, and I'm your sidekick or whatever, then that means you have a stupid nickname for me too, right?"
Momota was taken aback by the question.
"Huh? Well, I hadn't really thought about it…"
"What?! Momota-chan doesn't have a nickname for me like he does for Shumai and Maki-roll? That's so meeeean!"
Kokichi threw himself wholeheartedly into another fake crying fit, and Kaito, now exasperated by his antics, could only sigh in response.
"Listen, 'Kichi—"
"Huh? Well, I guess that's fine." Ouma interrupted, his earlier crying long gone.
"What?"
Ouma jumped to his feet, running a few feet away before looking over his shoulder at Kaito with a childish smile spread across his face.
"You can call me that then. Bye Momo-chan!"
...
Memory after memory flashed behind his eyes. Ouma was an annoying little shit, for sure, but he definitely made sure Momota's life was never boring. Kokichi always brought a sense of life and fun to any situation, despite his methods being...unorthodox.
Kaito found himself smiling, and another contented sigh left his lips, this time, tinged with regret.
"And listen to me, you're not alone. Don't shoulder everything by yourself. Don't go back into your shell. You're not a villain, you're not evil, you're not hated, and no, you don't deserve to be alone. This isn't Danganronpa. You're not the evil supreme leader you try to make yourself out to be. You're a good person, Kokichi. I believe in you."
One final image conjured itself up behind his closed eyes.
...
Kaito laid beside Ouma on the grass, stars glittering above their heads. Ouma curled up against Kaito, reveling in his warmth, while Kaito rested his chin on Ouma's head. They enjoyed the comfortable silence between them, occasionally glancing up to look at the beautiful sight above them.
With a sigh, Kaito closed his eyes, pressing a chaste kiss to Ouma's forehead.
"Goodnight, starshine." He whispered softly into Ouma's violet hair, thinking he was asleep.
A small giggle interrupted his moment of peace, and Kaito flinched, suddenly embarrassed in knowing that Ouma had heard his comment.
"What was that Momo-chan?" The small boy teased.
"It was nothing, go to sleep." Momota shot back, trying not to stutter.
Ouma breathed a sigh, sounding more like that annoying laugh of his, and cuddled up further to Momota.
"Say it again."
…
"Call me that from now on, okay Momota-chan?"
…
Kaito felt hot tears escape his tightly shut eyes, and he took a shuddering breath, remembering that the recorder was still running.
"You'll always be my starshine. Don't forget that," he paused, bracing himself for the emotion he felt bubbling up in his throat, "I love you, Kokichi."
With sickening relief, he released the record button on the device, and let it drop into his lap. Immediately, his hands were over his mouth, muffling the sobs that came soon after the message was over. The words once desperately thrown at him now spun endlessly in his head.
…
"Kaito, I can't—I mean—I just—I don't wanna die! I'm fucking scared!"
"Is that a lie?"
"...no."
…
Lucky for Kokichi, he got an out, though he didn't know it at the time. The whole game had been a simulation; a sick joke. Momota got to escape death that way too. However, this was real. He didn't get a "get out of jail free card" this time. This was death for real.
As the sobs slowly died down, Kaito shifted his position so he could see out his "window" one more time. Seeing everything around him, it felt oddly empty. Like he was the only person alive. Like in Danganronpa, except if he'd been the sole survivor. He shut his eyes tightly and pushed the thought away. This was his dream! What was he complaining about?
"I am Kaito Momota, Luminary of the Stars," he muttered almost inaudibly to himself, feeling a pang of painful nostalgia at the words, "the Ultimate Astronaut."
'I should be happy,' he thought as his head spun with all the emotions running through his body, clashing in a vicious war, 'I made it in the end.'
…
"Momota-chan, kiss me!"
…
Kaito's breath hitched, and he felt a wave of dread drowning him from the outside. A despair so strong, he felt as if his body might give out right at that moment. All at once, his entire body, his entire soul was overtaken by a yearning so deep it seemed impossible.
'I want to,' he admitted to himself, hanging his head, and allowing the dread to pull him under, 'so damn bad.'
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Kokichi sat idly, swinging his legs to and fro while he sat on the couch in the living room, which was empty except for himself, Kaede, and Shuichi. The three of them were marathoning some murder mystery show Shuichi had convinced he and Kaede to watch. He was zoning out, as he had been doing often since Momota had left on some space mission or whatever.
'Stupid space idiot,' he thought, unable to stop the childish grin that spread across his face.
From somewhere among his foggy thoughts, he heard Kaede's voice.
"What episode are we on now, Shuichi?"
Shuichi only laughed in response, shrugging his shoulders and hiding his embarrassment with a dip of his hat.
"Ahaha, well, heck if I know. I guess I got a little too enthralled in it, and lost track." He replied lightly.
'I can't believe he went back to wearing that stupid black hat.' Kokichi mused, unwilling to admit that it didn't bother him all that much, even though the hat looked better on Kaede anyway.
"Hey, Ouma-kun," the sound of Kaede's voice brought him back to reality, and much to his embarrassment, he could only stare back at her in response, with a kind of "deer in the headlights" look.
He quickly recovered, sporting another one of his innocent smiles and replying with a cheeky, "Yes, Akamatsu-san?"
She stared at him incredulously for a moment.
"You weren't even watching, were you?" She asked, her voice carrying a humorless tone.
"Nope!" He giggled, having had the words out before Akamatsu had even finished her sentence.
With a sigh of exasperation and humor, Kaede turned away from him to direct her attention to Shuichi once more. Again, Ouma tuned out the world, allowing the sounds around him to fade away, until he could only hear his own thoughts. Or maybe he was just empty headed, if the dull ringing in his ears was any indication.
"Well, it doesn't matter," Akamatsu chimed in, "we've got time for at least one more, right Ouma-kun?"
"Uh-huh."
Ouma was clearly out of it. Shuichi and Kaede shared a glance, but shrugged and started preparing the next episode anyway. That is, until they were interrupted by a knock at the door. All eyes immediately darted to the entryway of the house, and Kokichi was snapped out of his head once more.
Kokichi put a finger on his chin, tilting his head slightly upward in confusion.
"Hm? That's odd," he muttered to himself as he got up from the couch and moved towards the door, "I wasn't expecting anyone else."
He opened the door, and was greeted by a tall boy in a blue striped shirt, who's green hair fell almost to his shoulders. Kokichi brightened up at once, leaping towards the other boy with a squeal of delight.
"Amami-chan!"
Soon enough, Kaede and Shuichi were peeking out from around the corner, both looking equally surprised at the appearance of their friend.
"Oh, Amami-kun."
"Hey, Rantaro."
The green haired boy looked taken aback by Kokichi's sudden greeting, but soon recovered his composure, patting the shorter boy on the head.
"Hey guys," he greeted them, averting his eyes.
"What are you doing here?" Kaede piped in, "we weren't expecting anyone."
Ouma jerked his head back, looking over his shoulder at Kaede from where he clung to Amami's waist.
"Hush, Akamatsu-san!" He scolded in faux anger, "Amami-chan is probably here for me!"
He grinned up at the taller boy, who simply nodded his head and entered the house, prying Kokichi off of him in as he did. When he turned to close the door, he stopped, hand lingering over the doorknob, unable to look at the other people in the room.
Kokichi whined in frustration as Rantaro once again refused his affections, pushing him away with slight aggression when the smaller boy had tried to hug him. Shuichi noticed Rantaro's pained expression as he did.
"Rantaro, are you alright?" Shuichi asked, concern forming a small pit in his stomach.
Rantaro flinched at the question, but only turned away further, eyes fixed on the door handle like it was the most important thing in the world to him.
"Yeah," he muttered lowly, still avoiding the confused stares of his friends.
Rantaro had a hand in his jeans pocket, seemingly clutching onto something tightly. Shuichi only nodded his head, watching carefully as Rantaro finally let go of the doorknob and made his way slowly to the couch without a word. Shuichi made a mental note of this.
"Soooo...are you here to marathon this show with us, Amami-kun?" Kaede awkwardly broke the silence between the four of them, "I'm afraid you might be a bit confused if we start you in the middle—"
"No, it's alright Akamatsu-san, that's not what I…" his voice trailed off to a low murmur, before Rantaro fell back into silence.
Kaede and Shuichi both looked at one another in confusion and concern, subtly mouthing words and making hand gestures, as if to try and figure out what had happened to Amami. Ouma was too busy sitting next to Amami and staring at him in confusion, still looking a bit dejected from the earlier rejection.
Finally, Rantaro removed his hand from his pocket, carrying with it a small item, and he laid it carefully in his lap, staring at it with confliction. Shuichi studied it closely, soon recognizing the item.
"A...voice recorder?" He wondered aloud.
From beside him, Kaede piped up, holding her phone in her hand and displaying it to Rantaro.
"But wait a minute, why would you need a recorder, Amami-kun? We have phones for that kind of thing."
Rantaro remained quiet, eyes still fixed on the small voice recorder in his hands. Ouma must have noticed the tension, because with a devilish grin, he reached out, snatching the recorder away from Rantaro and holding it above his head.
"So hey, Amami-chan, what's this thing for anyway? Come ooon, fess up already!" He laughed, waving the recorder as high above his head as he could.
All noise in the room ceased, however, and time seemed to stop, as Rantaro, with a glare that could kill, and a dangerously sharp shout of Ouma's name, grasped his wrist, hard enough to pull a gasp of pain from the shorter.
"Ow! Amami-chan, that hurts! Let go!" Ouma indignantly yelped, now glaring back up at Rantaro.
With a dark glare, Rantaro aggressively took the recorder back from Ouma, promptly releasing his hand. Shuichi and Kaede stepped away from Amami as he passed them to return to his seat on the sofa, and watched in shocked silence as Ouma stared at his retreating form with a look of hurt and betrayal.
"Amami-chan?" Kokichi murmured softly, clearly still shaken from his friend's sudden outburst, "I was just...trying to lighten up the mood or something, y'know? There was no need for that."
Rantaro cast a quick glance in Ouma's direction, just long enough for him to catch the guilt, and slight hint of renewed anger in his jade eyes.
"That...is a lie Ouma. There absolutely was a need for my actions. Never try to take something from my hands without my consent again, understand?"
Rantaro sounded like a mother, scolding her young son, but in the very least, Ouma seemed to understand, as he just nodded, averting his eyes. With a defeated sigh, Rantaro hung his head, switching his gaze slowly between the recorder now back in his possession, and the people around him.
"Whatever, it is what it is. You were gonna find out anyways."
Rantaro motioned for the others to sit with him, purposefully urging Shuichi aside to leave room for Ouma to sit beside him. He pulled Ouma closely to his side with one arm so that the smaller boy's head rested against Amami's chest. He stared down at him as Ouma relaxed into the touch, closing his eyes in contentment for a moment before opening them once more to stare up at Rantaro quizzically.
"Listen carefully to me Ouma," Rantaro spoke softly, fondly, as if coaxing a scared child, "this is important. And please just...stay calm, alright?"
His words had the opposite effect, as Ouma felt a sudden spike of anxiety shoot through his body. Regardless, he replied with a shaky nod, watching in anticipation as Rantaro hesitatingly pressed the play button on the recorder.
"Ouma—no, Kokichi," there was a pause, and Ouma's entire body stiffened as Kaito Momota's voice suddenly came through the speaker, loud and clear, "I'm sorry."
"Kaito?!" Kaede exclaimed.
"Kaito?" Shuichi echoed, leaning towards the recorder and tilting his hat away from his face, as if he'd heard wrong.
"M—Momo-chan?" The words fell past Ouma's shaking lips, and he shifted uncomfortably in Amami's grasp, which had tightened around him.
"Listen 'Kichi, I have to apologize for this, but I guess I lied," The pure and utter despair lacing Kaito's next words sent an arrow on grief through Kokichi's heart, and he cringed, repressing the shudder that threatened to wrack through his small frame, "I'm not coming home."
At those words, Kokichi ripped himself away from Amami, staring at the recorder with a look of disbelief. Almost at once, all eyes were trained on him, and to Shuichi, Kaede, and Rantaro, it seemed as if they could already see the tears forming in the former supreme leader's eyes.
'A—A lie? Kai-chan, what are you—what do you mean—a lie? I don't understand!'
Every nerve in his body, every voice in his head screamed at him endlessly, and he only stayed seated firmly, his hands gripping the fabric of the sofa so hard that the others were afraid it would rip. He stared at the recorder with a look of pure disdain, coated by a layer of numbness.
"Turn it off," Ouma quietly demanded, his voice like steel.
"B—But Ouma-kun," Kaede tried to protest, only to be interrupted by Kokichi once more.
"I said turn it off!" Kokichi said, louder now, as he shut his eyes tightly, willing everything to disappear.
"All my partners, they're—"
The voice was cut off with a resounding click, and the four students were plunged back into shocked silence. After a long moment, Ouma spoke up, his voice dark and menacing, laced with venom, despite his vulnerable appearance, with his eyes shadowed behind long, violet bangs.
"Amami-chan, exactly what the fuck do you—"
"Kokichi, language, please!" Shuichi cut in, only to be silenced by Ouma's glare, which seemed sharp enough to cut cleanly through the couch cushions separating them.
"Shut up," Ouma hissed at him in response, his teeth clenched in pure, unadulterated rage.
"Ouma, please—"
"What is the meaning of this Amami-chan?" Kokichi spat, snatching the recorder from Rantaro's hands again, only to hold it up to his face with trembling hands, "What kind of sick joke…"
His voice trailed off, and he retreated back behind the shield of his long hair, hand still shakingly holding the recorder in Amami's face. Rantaro placed his hands on Ouma's quivering shoulders, looking ready to pull the boy close again at any given moment.
"Ouma..."
"This thing is a lie!" Kokichi shouted, abruptly standing up from the couch and holding the tape recorder in front of him hatefully, "I won't believe a thing it says!"
With a short scream, Ouma threw the recorder down onto the couch forcefully, and without another word, dashed away from his friends before making a swift retreat up the stairs, to his and Kaito's shared bedroom.
"Wait, Ouma-kun!" Kaede shouted after him as he ascended the stairs, attempting to go after him.
She was held back by Shuichi, who just shook his head slowly in response, expression shadowed by his hat, which seemed to made simply for the purpose of helping him hide.
"But, Shuichi—"
"No, it's alright Akamatsu-san," Rantaro interrupted calmly, "give him some time."
Kaede, ever the big sister, shook her head vigorously in response, "Amami-kun, you don't understand! Ouma-kun has razors up there!"
Rantaro closed his eyes, allowing himself a small shake of his head, "He's not that stupid," he reasoned.
Realizing that neither of the boys would allow her to chase after Ouma, she heaved a sigh of defeat and fell back onto the couch, staring sadly at the now abandoned recorder, untouched by the three of them since Kokichi's escape. Shuichi only tightened his hold on her, moving to lace their fingers together for comfort. Rantaro moved to pick up the recorder, and looked at the stairs frustratedly, wishing Ouma would reappear at the foot of the staircase, but he never did, and Rantaro gave up on any hope of Ouma leaving that bedroom within the next few hours.
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Kokichi's feet moved of their own accord, carrying him up the stairs with surprising speed and ease. Adrenaline rushed through him, and he felt spike after spike of fear shoot up his spine at the thought of being stopped by his friends. All he could think about was running, getting away, escaping, hiding, retreat—
Before he knew it, he had reached the top of the stairs, stumbling a bit on the last step, and only hesitating for a second before rushing into his and Kaito's bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. He absentmindedly twisted the door handle's lock, and slumped against the steady wood isolating him from everything going on outside. His breath came in quick pants, though from his run up the stairs or the fear and disbelief engulfing his body, he didn't know.
Kokichi shut his eyes tightly, pressing the palms of his hands hard against his eyes. He brought his head to his knees, and attempted to make sense of everything. His own words echoed back to him mockingly.
"It's a lie!"
...
"This thing is a lie!"
…
"Ow Kaito! I thought you said you were gonna pull out on three!"
"Well, what do you know, Kokichi, I guess I lied!"
…
An almost delirious laugh fell past his bite ridden, and probably bloody, lips, as he always had a habit of biting at his lips when in deep thought or distress.
"You're a bad liar, Kai-chan," he mumbled half heartedly to himself, "it was never your thing."
...
"Listen 'Kichi, I have to apologize for this, but I guess I lied,"
…
Kokichi laughed again, ragged and maniacal. It felt like his chest was burning. Like fire pulsed inside his lungs, suffocating him, slowly pulling him under. He laughed. He laughed right in death's face. It was something he was familiar with doing. Something he'd done...so many times before.
"You have no—no damn right to sound so pleased with yourself," he hissed under his breath, the words coming out clipped and sharp, "it wasn't even a good lie."
He'd waited a moment or two. He'd done a damn good thing, being patient like he'd been. He patiently waited for the inevitable, "psyche!" that comes after a twisted joke like that. He waited for Kaito's good natured laugh to sound through the room, filling him with a sick sense of relief.
It never came. That bastard just kept talking, like he was really dying.
"What a joke," Kokichi spat bitterly.
Somewhere, deep inside his mind, a dark voice echoed back to him.
'It's not a joke.'
Aggressively shaking the thoughts away, Ouma pushed himself to his feet, stumbling to their bed and falling ungracefully into the comfort of their sheets. Kaito's scent, of cologne and that stupid shampoo he used, had long since disappeared. Kokichi resigned himself to wallowing in self pity, and wrapped himself in the mess of sheets and galaxy blankets, burying his face in the fabric, and closing himself off from his own thoughts.
There was only one thing that echoed back to him, ringing endlessly in his ears, and setting every single nerve in his body alight. It burned. Kaito Momota's lips had marked every square inch of Kokichi's skin and it fucking burned. Kokichi let go of the covers with a gasp, instead wrapping his arms tightly around himself, suddenly feeling as if his body had been set ablaze from the inside.
He let out a series of muffled whimpers, and his body began to fall into the familiar feeling of an oncoming panic attack as his nerves remembered all at once where he'd felt this pain before. Images flashed behind his eyelids, and his breath quickened, throat constricting.
The room around him was cold, seeping down to his bones, clashing mercilessly with the liquid fire coursing through his veins and sending him up in vicious flames from head to toe. His whole body was in war with itself, and it made his head spin and his vision blur. Kaito's arms around him, and then blinding pain as poison laced arrows, more painful coming out than going in, are ripped from his skin.
He sobs, clinging onto white and purple fabric as his body sparks with a sense of agony he didn't know possible. He's dragged across a cold, stone floor, set on a icy metal slab, and he only watches in silence as his death depends upon him at a torturously slow pace. A quiet sob rips itself from his throat as the pressure builds along his entire body, and he hears his own bones snapping. He screams. Screams with all the torment he's experiencing, and screaming for a help he can no longer receive. He dies to the sound of his own wailing.
Kokichi gasps a shuddering breath, his body now covered in a cold sweat. It feels like he can't breathe, like he's suffocating. It feels like he's laying on the press again, with the pressure pushing down on his bones. It's almost like he can hear them cracking again, succumbing to the weight of the metal slabs squeezing him on both sides—
He takes the deepest breath he can muster, and with his body paralyzed, his mind racing, his heart pounding, his vision blurring and shaking, he shrieks.
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Everybody in the room is on their feet in an instant when they hear the ear splitting wail that echoes through the house, rattling the windows and shaking the bookshelves in the corners of the room.
"Ouma-kun!" Kaede cries out in immediate response, her voice cracking with shock and apprehension.
Rantaro's eyes widen to the size of moons, and his breath rattles raggedly past his chapped lips, his body paralyzed in fear and surprise. He stares at the flight of stairs behind them, grief and concern forming a deep pit in his stomach.
"Kokichi!" Shuichi calls out, attempting to gain the boy's attention as he runs up the stairs.
Kaede follows closely behind Shuichi, jostling Rantaro's shoulder as she passes, which snaps him out of his trance, and he is soon at her heels as well. When they reach the top step, Shuichi is already at the bedroom door, feverishly fiddling with the doorknob, yanking on it once or twice before giving up and banging on the door.
"Kokichi! Hey, Kokichi, open this door!"
His voice is rushed and panicked, which only serves to further rile up Rantaro's nerves. After a minute or two of this, he gives up, dropping his reddened hand to his side with a frustrated sigh.
"It's no use," he mutters bitterly, "he's locked himself in there."
"Ouma-kun, please listen to us!" Kaede shouts, pressing her hand firmly on the door.
"Wait," Rantaro pushes himself past Shuichi, placing his hand on Kaede's arm and removing it from the door, "hush for a moment."
Sure enough, the moment quiet fell over the group, whining could be heard from the room. Rantaro pressed his ear to the door, trying to catch the mumbled words in between the whimpers.
A muffled, "I can't move, Momota-chan…" reached his ears, and he felt dread weigh like stone in his chest.
An idea presented itself to Amami, and he swiftly turned to Shuichi, trying to calm himself down long enough to formulate a plan.
"Shuichi, get me a hairpin," he ordered, voice as steady as he could manage.
Kaede stepped back to watch from the sidelines, and Saihara soon returned, purple hairpin in hand. He handed it off to Rantaro, who wasted no time in getting to work. He struggled to remember what Ouma had taught him about lock picking, as he guiltily admits that he wasn't exactly paying attention to the lesson all that much. Regardless, after a moment or two, the satisfying click the lock sounded quietly, and in an instant, Rantaro was on his feet and in the door.
When they stepped inside, they were met by the sight of Ouma, shaking and wrapped in star filled blankets, with tears streaming down his face and soaking into the sheets below him, and blood oozing down his lips.
Kaede gasped at the sight, and, unable to handle the situation, made a quick retreat. Shuichi stood in the doorway with Rantaro, eyes blown wide and hands suspended in midair, as if he'd started to reach out to Ouma, then hesitated and stopped. After a brief moment of hesitance, Rantaro rushed to the smaller boy's side, gathering him in his arms and laying Ouma's head on his chest.
"Hey, Ouma, get a hold of yourself. Listen to me," he coaxed gently, speaking as quietly as his voice would allow, "I'm going to help you, but I need you to relax and breathe. Can you do that?"
The boy in his arms have a weak nod in response, and another shudder ran through his body. Rantaro felt Ouma shiver against his body, and he felt a rush of pity.
"Alright, now just take a deep breath, and I'm going to need you to start counting with me, okay?"
Another weak nod.
"Okay," Amami never let his eyes stray from Ouma's trembling form, his gaze firmly fixed on the boy as if his life depended on it, "deep breath—one—breathe out—two—"
Ouma echoed him shakily, and they repeated the process until finally, slowly but surely, Ouma came back to himself. Even after the panic had subsided, he stayed wrapped in Amami's arms, navy blue fabric clutched tightly in his pale hands.
Saihara breathed a sigh of relief, ignoring the disquiet his body was begging him to acknowledge. What he had just seen had disturbed him. Even after watching his friends die, after investigating bodies and watching executions, he never thought he'd feel this level of disturbance again. He realized after a moment that it was because through all of it, Ouma wore a smile. Whether it be a maniacal smirk, or a childish grin, Ouma had been smiling. To see the former supreme leader in such a state as he'd been, to see him fall apart like that, had rocked Shuichi to the core.
Regaining his surroundings, Ouma lifted his head, albeit shakily, and mumbled a few words to Amami that Shuichi just barely caught.
"The tape," he reached his hand up to touch Rantaro's shoulder, "I want it."
Amami looked up at him, jade eyes devoid of any clue as to what he was thinking.
"Rantaro…"
The unspoken words hung in the air, "you're not really going to give it to him while he's like this, are you?"
He internally begged that Rantaro would understand, and refuse the request, but the next few words proved to be to his dismay.
"Shuichi, if you could," it came out as more of a silent demand than a request.
Despite his misgivings, he didn't wish to make a scene in front of Ouma, so he nodded, making his way out of the room and down the stairs. He approached the sofa, now abandoned, and, ignoring his apprehension, retrieved the voice recorder. Quietly, he tucked it away and went back up to the bedroom, passing Kaede on the way.
"I'll meet you downstairs, and then we can go home, okay? I just want to check on Kokichi," he told her as he passed.
She responded with a slow nod, her eyes cast down to her shoes.
"I understand," she replied somberly, passing Shuichi by without another word. He sighed, going to the bedroom just long enough to drop the recorder on the bed beside Rantaro, then he turned away and faced the door.
"Rantaro," he finally broke the tense silence between them, briefly looking over his shoulder to catch Rantaro's eye, "Kaede and I are going to head out now."
The green haired boy gave him a curt nod, matching Saihara's steely gaze with one of his own.
"Yeah, I'll stay here with Ouma. It's best for him not to be alone."
The two boys bid each other goodbye and parted ways. Once Shuichi was out of sight, Ouma looked up at Amami, faint traces of a familiar glint in his eyes.
"Heh, you and Shumai aren't getting along," He feverishly giggled.
"Well—it's, complicated," Rantaro argued defensively, his tone indicating that there wasn't going to be any further discussion on the matter, "as for the tape, I'm conflicted on giving it to you, especially after this."
He gestured to the bed, which had definitely seen better days with the state it was in.
"It's alright," Ouma said after a moment, reaching out to run his hands lightly over the messy covers, "we've cleaned blood out of the sheets before."
"This is exactly what I mean, Ouma," Rantaro shot back, careful as not to let his voice become too harsh, "you're in no state of mind to be listening to this—thing."
He threw the recorder onto the bed, watching in irritation as it simply bounced on the mattress before settling down. Almost as soon as it landed, Ouma reached out for it. He grasped it gently, as if the slightest bit of pressure would break it, and brought it to his chest, wrapping his body protectively around it.
"Yeah, I get it. I'll probably just freak out again," he admitted nonchalantly, "but still, I want to hear Momota-chan's voice," he suddenly became somber, staring at the tape with voided violet eyes, "this is the only thing I have left that can do that."
Realizing that there was no way he was getting Ouma to back down, Amami gave in, releasing the smaller boy from his hold and allowing Ouma to get comfortable among the sheets without his support. He watched carefully as the former supreme leader's finger hovered over the play button, hesitating a moment before easing away from it.
"Um—Amami-chan?" Ouma looked over at him with inquiring eyes, "I would rather do this alone."
"I don't like it when other people see me cry."
Rantaro knew that the boy was secretive about his feelings, preferring to hide behind a perfect porcelain mask, and it was clear, at least to him, that Ouma was already ashamed that he, Shuichi, and Kaede had seen him break. Even still, Rantaro felt a stab of guilt and fear at the thought of leaving the supreme leader alone with the tape. Looking into pleading violet irises, however, he knew he wouldn't be able to deny him this.
"Keep the door unlocked," he ordered, standing up from the bed and walking to the door.
"Thanks Amami-chan!" Ouma called out cheerfully—too cheerfully, after him.
Without giving the smaller boy a response, he closed the door, hating himself for the dread he felt at the sound of it clicking into place. From the other side, he could faintly hear the recording playing over again, and he waited for a sign that leaving the tape was a bad decision, but none came. Rantaro stepped away from the door and left Ouma in peace.
~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~
It had been hours since Rantaro had scrounged together loose blankets and settled himself on Ouma's couch. With how many books the couple owned about the universe and such, he was sure both him and Ouma could major in cosmology or astrophysics. He sighed, closing a half read book about black holes, and stared at the staircase in silence, for what could have been the thousandth time that day. How did Ouma keep himself entertained here?
He absentmindedly thought back to Kaede mentioning marathoning a show with him. Knowing Shuichi, it was probably some murder mystery. He cringed at the thought. After Danganronpa, he could barely go to the gym, lest he see a shot-put ball there, much less watch murder shows.
Amami found himself lightly touching the back of his head, fingers threading lightly through green dyed hair. He sighed, dropping his hand into his lap.
'Even after the game is over, my friends are dying,' the realization came to him slowly, unlike the many times truth had hit him like a freight train, hard and unforgiving.
…
"Don't intervene. Don't do anything reckless or bold. I'll end this killing game myself. Just wait for me, alright?"
…
They didn't wait. Kaede didn't wait. She kicked off the killing game and it soon became her downfall. With one mistake, she sealed their fates…
"Kill without being caught, and then survive the trial... Sounds eerily similar to the real world."
…
It was nothing like the real world. This world was bright, and open, and they were never made to kill each other, but even still...despair sought them out. Teasing Momota the way it did, life is cruel. Bringing him to his dream for the shortest of time, and then ripping him away from everyone. And Ouma…
…
"No one would be sad if I died," Ouma giggled, putting his hands behind his head with an innocent smile, "after all, I'm the ultimate supreme leader of evil!"
…
Ouma had explained to him once, how hard it had been. He said it was like pulling teeth to finally get Momota to press the button, to bring the press down on him, to step into the exisal and slander the supreme leader's name in a way only he could. He called Momota stupid back then, but it was impossible for Amami not to notice the fond expression he wore when he spoke of it, hidden behind a mischievous grin.
The only one it seemed, who didn't want Ouma to die. Who didn't wish him gone. There had been a few before him, of course. Kaede...maybe, himself, Gonta, Shuichi had come around, and even Miu seemed to enjoy his company. As for the others, well, he assumed they were the reason Ouma felt so alone. The reason why he woke up with a sad smile, and insisted on watching the trial, where Rantaro only watched Ouma's heart break more. Everyone in that room, wished Kaito alive over him. However petty it may have seemed, it meant a lot to him.
Ouma wanted purpose. He wanted to be wanted. It was evident—no—obvious to see, when D.I.C.E was finally allowed entry into Ouma's room. The people removed their masks and cried. They cried for him, for their leader. The shock, the gratitude, the love displayed in Kokichi's expression in that moment told a thousand truths. It told Rantaro the truth behind every lie Ouma ever told.
However, when it came to Momota, it was a whole 'nother playing field. He fought with Momota, pushed him away, insulted him, injured him, took away every ounce of hope Momota had tried to instill, and still, he came back. Momota came back and was executed for him. Ouma died for hope, and Momota died for Ouma's cause. Truth be told, if Rantaro had seen those two together in the beginning of the game, he'd say they were toxic, but it seemed like a lot happened after everyone discovered his body lying motionless on the library floor.
It was still hard sometimes, to fight back the jealousy. Everyone else lived on. They built relationships and made lifelong friendships and they helped each other and gave each other hope. Rantaro was dead from the start, whether he knew so or not. Kaede, she knew it. She built a crutch in Shuichi. It may have evolved into something more, if the tears and the kisses and the confessions after Shuichi's escape were anything to go by, but even so, she put herself out there, despite the risk. She trusted everyone, and she inspired them. They remembered her long after she was dead.
For Rantaro, he was forgotten the moment his body dropped. His only mystery was his forgotten talent. Sometimes, he felt grateful for the fact that he didn't remember it. It was the only thing left to talk about after he died. It kept him alive for a little while, in everyone's hearts. It made them almost revive him, and give him a second chance. Angie had apologized for that when they saw each other next.
Rantaro was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of quiet footsteps, inching closer by the second. The almost inaudible pitter patter of Ouma's light steps seemed too loud in the near silent house. Amami sat up, trying to make out Kokichi's slim figure in the dim lighting. Ouma stared back at him, eyes blank and expression almost comical, if not for the internal turmoil he was sure Ouma was dealing with at the moment.
Without a word, Rantaro patted the space beside him on the couch, inviting Ouma to share his grief with the one who brought it. Amami did feel guilty about the whole thing, after all. There was little hesitation before Ouma climbed into bed next to him, immediately migrating towards Rantaro's warmth. He wrapped his arms around the smaller boy, careful to keep his grip gentle and his distance reasonable. Ouma was prone to being hostile to affection when he was hurt, whether the pain be emotional or physical. Any amount of pressure against his body that he deemed too extreme could send him spiraling, and Rantaro didn't want another panic attack on his conscience.
Ouma curled in on himself a bit more, sighing softly and relaxing into the touch. They stayed that way for a little while, until Kokichi finally broke the silence himself, voice unsteady and raspy, probably from the earlier events that had transpired.
"A—Amami-chan?" He started, testing the waters to make sure Rantaro was awake, only continuing once green eyes had fluttered open, meeting his own violet hues, "I…"
He stopped, voice fading into an inaudible murmur. Rantaro felt Ouma's heart beating wildly beneath his hand when he squeezed the boy reassuringly, most likely from the stress his body was under. Grief was a crazy thing.
"I'm scared," he finally spoke up, his voice cracking slightly at the end.
He waited a moment, shocked at Ouma's open display of emotion, but as he prepared himself to respond to the confession, he was interrupted.
"Ahaha, I'm just kidding Amami-chan!" Ouma giggled, trying his best not to make it sound forced, "it's a lie! I can't believe you fell for such a—"
"Ouma, that's enough. I can see through your act."
Kokichi remembered hearing Shuichi say that to him before, but it had been different. Ouma had laid his feelings bare to Saihara, and he dismissed them as an act, in front of everyone. All he could do was grit his teeth and give that cheeky smile and snarky comment. That was his role to play.
It felt different this time, with Amami saying it. It felt more like he was trying to coax Ouma into baring his feelings again, and not hiding behind his wall of lies.
"Haha, you got me," Ouma laughed, allowing his walls to crumble, "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."
"Explain," came Rantaro's blunt response. He knew better than to respond to Ouma's feelings with over-kindness. It made him uncomfortable.
"I don't remember anything from before Danganronpa. I met Momota-Chan there, and Akamatsu-chan, and Shumai, Gonta, Miu," he paused for a moment, seeming lost in thought as the list dragged on, "you. When I died, I didn't have too many regrets. I had Momota-chan by my side, to be the one to kill me, and I'd accomplished my plan. That's all I ever wanted. I regretted not being able to speak to D.I.C.E again, but well, they woulda been proud of me, yeah?"
"Yeah," Amami added, as a sign that he was listening, if nothing else.
"But I never expected to wake up again. That was okay. I was ready for that. When I came to, I was almost in a feeling of...despair," he finished solemnly, and Rantaro felt a shock go through his body at the word being used in such a way, "I didn't want to die, but, I didn't want to live either. Momota-chan told me I was an idiot for feeling like that. Ha! Can you believe that?" He laughed, though it sounded more like a delirious sigh, "Momo-chan calling me an idiot! It's like that one time he called me naive. What a stupid space idiot."
He quieted down upon realizing that his companion hadn't said another word since before, and he looked up warily, trying to gauge the other's reaction. He met a pair of unreadable green eyes, waiting intensely for him to continue. Ouma looked away, going on in a mumble.
"But he's not here to call me an idiot anymore, or chase me around the house, or be the victim of my pranks," Amami noticed tears beginning to fall from the smaller boy's eyes as he went on, slowly losing breath, his voice becoming shakier with every word, "or talk about the stars, or drag me out to watch them, or comfort me when I remember our deaths, or be my partner in crime!"
Ouma's voice broke into a desperate sob on the last words, and he quickly became incoherent, only wailing into his hands, which were now cupped over his mouth, and pressing himself as close to Rantaro as he could. Rantaro felt as if the boy's despair would become his own, and so he placed his forehead again Ouma's shoulder blade, trying to comfort him as shudders wracked his tiny frame.
"It's not fucking fair!" Ouma spat, tears streaming down his face, betraying his inner conflict of grief and rage, "who will help me fight off those sick ass fans trying to hurt us?"
"I'll protect you."
"But I'll have to sleep in this big, empty house all by myself!" He wailed, no longer caring how childish it sounded.
"You can come stay with me."
Ouma would never admit it, but he hated sleeping alone. The boy had frequent nightmares, and sometimes suffered from sleep paralysis. Amami felt a rush of pity for him, imagining what kind of sick nightmares were wreaking havoc on his fragile thoughts even as they spoke.
Rantaro thought he'd be able to silence all of Ouma's fears, at least for now, but the supreme leader's last question only brought him a blank slate.
"Why did he break his promise? He gave his word!"
Ouma's own maniacal, twisted voice rang in his head, and he felt the urge to throw up.
"It's a LIE!"
He doubled over, almost falling off the couch, and Amami struggled frantically to hold him up.
"Ouma? Ouma!"
He was rooted to the spot, unable to find his voice or remember anything the doctor's had told them. He could only watch as Ouma sobbed, gasping and gripping his hair so hard Rantaro thought he'd pull it out. Tremors shook his and Ouma's bodies, Ouma because of the things in his head, and Rantaro because of the sight in front of him. In itself, it seemed like a nightmare.
Finally, though the shaking never stopped, Ouma's breathing settled down to a hiccuping rasp, and after a while, Rantaro deemed it safe to take the little leader back into his arms, rocking him gently back and forth. He remembered Ouma's words to him, and he forced himself to choke out an answer.
"I—I don't know Ouma. I just—don't know…"