It's raining.
Water droplets cascade down the window, while others merely stain the cloudy glass. Sometimes, it looks like the drops are racing.
Mostly, though, it seems like the sky is crying. A childish thought, maybe, but it's the one that runs through her head most often. And with how often it rains in this part of the city, she ends up thinking that a lot.
Her eyes flicker over to the clock on the wall. It's half-past three in the afternoon, and she's barely done anything. Rising from her bed isn't much, as she's only drifted to the worn sofa.
And she hasn't eaten. Her stomach isn't hungry, though. That might be from the lack of food in general, but she doesn't know. Doesn't know a lot of things, actually.
Like why she's still alive. Her hand brushes the scar that runs across her hairline and down towards her jaw. It's harder to see than it was when she first left the hospital, but it's still present if you look at her long enough. Luckily, nobody but her therapist does that anymore.
Speaking of, where is he? Team Dangan Ronpa arranged for him to arrive at her apartment twice a month at this time, since it was too dangerous for the 'survivors' to venture beyond the guarded walls. Too many protesters.
She doesn't feel like a survivor. She doesn't feel like a person.
There's a knock on the door. She scrambles to her feet and shuffles over, pulling it open to reveal her very drenched therapist.
"Apologies, Tsumugi-san," he greets, all too familiarly, "The storm was just awful."
Don't call me that dies in her throat as soon as she opens her mouth. Instead, she just pulls the door open wider and allows him to come inside.
They settle down across from each other, her back on the ratty sofa, and him in an armchair too expensive to be as soaking wet as it currently is.
"What have you been up to since we last met?" he asks, pulling out a clipboard from a backpack she always fails to notice.
Her throat is dry, and makes her voice rasp, "Not… a lot. I haven't left the apartment."
He nods and writes this down, "Well, with all the media attention, I can't see why you'd want to! How many people have you spoken to… besides me?"
"Two?" she guesses. She doesn't know if the person who picked up the phone when she ordered curry last week was the same person who came to the door or not.
He smiles. "That's a start, Tsumugi-san."
It's overcast today. Tsumugi pours herself a cup of peppermint tea and opens the window slightly. A light breeze tussels its way through the apartment, bringing with it the scent of dew and old cheese.
Maybe that's from her couch. Tsumugi isn't entirely sure.
Her therapist knocks on the door right on schedule. She drifts over to answer, her lips curling into a smile. Instantly, her face hurts. How long has it been since she's done that?
"Tsumugi-san! You look healthy!" he says cheerfully, "Shall we begin?"
Once they're both seated, he looks through his notes. He makes some seemingly neutral comments; her hair is washed, her clothes are clean, and the apartment has fresh air circulating.
"Have you tried getting in touch with your fellow survivors?" he asks with a smile all too wide for his face.
Tsumugi's fingernails dig into her teacup. "They hate me."
He sighs. "You know that's not an answer. Also, you don't know that."
"Saihara-kun threatened to kill me if he ever saw me again," Tsumugi replies coldly, "Harukawa-san and Yumeno-san wouldn't even look at me."
Her therapist writes this down, concern knitting itself onto his face. "I… see."
Tsumugi sinks her teeth into her lip.
"Are you sure you don't want to get that?"
Tsumugi's phone has gone off six times in the past ten minutes. She turns the ringer off and faces her therapist with a straightened back. "It's fine. Yumeno-san can wait until our session is done."
His eyes brighten. "Ah, you're talking with her!"
Tsumugi tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yes. I… sent her an email a few weeks back, and she's been bombarding me with cat pictures ever since. It's nice."
"That's very sweet. I'm proud of you," he says, "Have the two of you discussed Season 53 in any capacity?"
Tsumugi shakes her head. "No, and I'm not going to be the one to bring it up. I don't… want to think about who I was back then."
Her therapist asks, "So you think that you've changed significantly?"
Tsumugi stares at the mottled carpet. "I don't know."
Hairline fractures are a terrible strain on one's memory, so Tsumugi has a written list in the kitchen of her major accomplishments.
1) Visited the farmer's market.
2) Hung out at Yumeno-san's apartment.
3) Started learning French.
4) Decided that learning French is annoying and burned the workbooks.
5) Called Harukawa-san.
It's a good list. With the months that pass, she does her best to add to it.
On the two year anniversary of Dangan Ronpa's end, Tsumugi hums to herself as she bustles around in the kitchen. It's a brilliant morning, and her heart feels all the warmer for it.
Her therapist knocks and she rushes over to the door with a smile on her face. "Good morning!"
"Good morning!" he greets, eyes widening slightly, "You've cut your hair!"
Tsumugi nods. "Harukawa-san did it. She said I look nicer when I'm not tripping over my hair constantly."
He chuckles, and makes his way inside. Once they're seated, he straightens his back and asks, "How have you been feeling?"
"Excited!" Tsumugi responds, "Tomorrow… I'm going to brunch with Yumeno-san and Harukawa-san."
Her therapist says, "That's excellent. A girl's day out, is it?"
Tsumugi says, "Well… Saihara-kun said he might join us. So… so the two of us can start making amends."
Her therapist puts his clipboard down and smiles gently. "I'm so proud of you, Tsumugi-san."
Tsumugi twirls a loose strand of hair around her finger and glances to the side. There's a bird singing outside her window.
"Thank you, Iidabashi-kun."