Chapter Text
Apparently, Hope's Peak Academy had never been home to the Ultimate Interior Designer. Seated stiffly against his bed’s meager headboard — which, despite its title, only reached halfway up his back — Byakuya was painfully aware of the desk situated just six inches behind him. An awareness that may have had something to do with the chaos incarnate currently seated there.
Even though he hadn't absorbed a word, Byakuya flipped another page in his book. Just behind his head, a tiny creak sounded from his desk chair as Makoto shifted his weight, tipping backwards ever so slightly. Byakuya had to focus not to grind his teeth.
Of course, offering Makoto the desk had been a conscious compromise. If Byakuya had taken it, he doubted Makoto would have hesitated to invade his bed. This way, he’d reasoned, at least he would maintain some feeble illusion of his own territory.
But now, he almost found himself longing for the library closet. When he was there, he could at least see his so-called partner. Just feeling Makoto’s presence instead set his nerves on edge, hyperaware of every infinitesimal movement behind him.
Byakuya glanced up at his room's security camera, the red blinking light on its side a constant taunt. Was Monokuma watching him now, cackling at his misfortune? In contrast, Byakuya had never felt so thoroughly unamused. And he'd heard Togami company executives attempt word play.
Byakuya exhaled deeply, eyes squeezing shut as he sensed another shift behind him.
"Naegi," He said, and Makoto hummed in response, the sound entirely too close to his ear. "I can feel you peering."
“Sorry,” Makoto said. “I just wanted to see what you were reading.”
He stayed silent for a moment, head still hovering over Byakuya’s shoulder. Byakuya wondered whether the ocelots who raised him had as much trouble with the concept of personal space.
“Hey," Makoto spoke again. "What do you do for fun? On the outside? You're always researching, so I never get to see.”
"Mind your own business," Byakuya said. "Or lack thereof."
Makoto gave him a long look, and the back of Byakuya's neck tingled like a live wire, but he refused to take the bait and turn around. After an eternity, Makoto finally shifted to face the wall again.
"Okay," He said, and fell silent. Disturbingly silent. Byakuya almost felt as if he could hear his own breathing.
Was that it? Makoto just… Gave up? Byakuya had been prepared for an argument, but now he just felt foolish, half-constructed rebuttals running uselessly through his mind.
What was Makoto doing back there, anyway? Byakuya thought he'd been reading a manga, but now, even the occasional page turns were missing. Could he be planning something? Would he?
... Or was that what Makoto wanted him to think? Acting suspicious, to force Byakuya to talk? So he could study him? Even his smile, back in the cafeteria...
Was it all a manipulation?
Byakuya forced his gaze back to the book in his lap. He would not tolerate Naegi’s interrogation as if it were small talk over tea. The temptation to turn still itched at the back of his mind, and it was unnatural not to look behind him, or say something, anything — but Togamis don’t bow to base instincts. So the silence stretched on, settling on their shoulders like a heavy towel.
It was so silent, in fact, that Byakuya nearly jumped out of his skin when a sudden nasal blare blasted over the loudspeakers.
“Mm, ahem, this is a school announcement. It is now 10 p.m. As such…”
Monokuma’s voice droned on, but suddenly, Byakuya was too relieved to listen. It was officially nighttime. Makoto would have to leave now, if he wanted to sleep in his own bed.
“Geez, is it that time already?”
Makoto finally stood, scraping Byakuya's chair across the floor and stretching his arms up. He moved with such casual comfort thay Byakuya wondered whether he’d even noticed they were frozen in a soundless deadlock.
“I guess I should go get some things from my room,” Makoto said.
And all at once, Byakuya’s stomach dropped as he realized his mistake. He forced himself to stay calm as Makoto crossed the room and came into view — without pushing in his chair, of course.
“Surely,” Byakuya said, his poor book suffering a death grip. “You’ll let me sleep in peace?"
“Well…" Makoto said. "The whole point is to stick together, especially when we’re vulnerable,”
Byakuya stared strickenly back at Makoto, who at least had the decency to look a bit sheepish. He took a long moment to feel thoroughly sorry for himself before replying.
"Tell me this is one of your morbid attempts at a joke.”
But Makoto just smiled half-apologetically, giving no such indication. Instead, he reached a hand out toward the foot of the bed and felt something under the mattress.
"I thought they might do that,” He said grimly. “The mattresses are attached. So I guess there’s no hope of dragging my bed in here.”
Byakuya swallowed, hoping the motion would keep the panic down and out of his voice.
“Don't be stupid,” He said. "Just turn it sideways."
“That’s an idea,” Makoto said, putting his knuckle to his lip. “But there’s no way the two of us could carry the whole bed at once. And if I know Sakura, she’s already asleep.”
The two of us? Byakuya hadn’t remembered volunteering for manual labor to serve Naegi’s whims, but if he thought about it, it wouldn’t be the first time. He tried not to think about it.
"Wait," He said, but Makoto sighed loudly at the same time, and the word was lost.
“Don’t worry,” Makoto said, shooting Byakuya a reassuring smile. “I’ve been to summer camp before, so I can handle it.”
Byakuya blanched. Was this the kind of situation that happened at summer camps?
Makoto turned at the door to see that Byakuya still hadn’t budged, frozen in a shell shocked cocoon around his abused book. Makoto frowned at him, as if he couldn’t possibly tell what was the matter.
“I’m going to get my sheets, at least for tonight,” He explained. “I’ll set up camp right there.”
Makoto pointed to an empty patch of carpet next to the bed, and Byakuya felt like the world’s blondest idiot for the umpteenth time that day. Gradually, the heat faded from his face.
“Fine," He said, standing a little too briskly for his stiffened legs. "Let’s go quickly.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Byakuya wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he entered Makoto’s room, but it certainly wasn’t the aura of a freshly made hotel suite. He paused in the doorway, studying the room as Makoto gathered his things.
Since the first trial, every trace of Leon and Sayaka’s struggle had vanished. The furniture was poised neatly in its proper place, and the scratches on the walls and floor had disappeared, leaving only sharp blue squares and crisply patterned wallpaper. Even Makoto’s bed had been made neatly, before he started stripping the sheets.
Makoto glanced back towards Byakuya, bundled blankets and toiletries in hand.
“Weird, right?” He said. “I’m usually more messy. But… I don’t know. This isn’t really my room.”
For an instant, Makoto’s smile grew strained. But before Byakuya could respond, Makoto brushed past him and out into the hall.
“Good thing I wasn’t too attached to it, right?” He said over his shoulder.
Byakuya followed Makoto back to his own room, although the disturbing image stuck in his mind.
“Yes," He muttered. "It’s all just so fortunate.”
Makoto set out his things in the bathroom, stepping to the side as if to make room for Byakuya at the sink. Byakuya snorted.
“This isn’t a slumber party. I’ll use the sink when you’re done.”
After a moment, the rhythmic sound of Makoto brushing his teeth filtered out from the bathroom.
Byakuya sat on the edge of his bed and closed his eyes. All it took was the panic wearing off for him to realize he was so, so tired. His hand ached, his arms ached, his whole body was stiff from operating on constant high alert, and his mind was jellified from hours and hours of Naegi. He felt himself drifting in and out of full consciousness.
“It’s all yours.”
Byakuya opened his eyes to find Makoto exiting the bathroom, bundle of sheets still in tow.
Moving blearily, he managed to brush his teeth, although his technique would probably make any dentist frown. (Death games are priority changers, though. At least his teeth hadn't been rearranged by baseballs.)
Still by rote, he stripped and put on his pajamas, trying not to think about how eerily they matched his supply at home. Forest green silk with ivory buttons, and even the same thickness of thread. He might find comfort in the familiarity, if it weren’t for the thought of Monokuma putting on a fashion show in his closet.
Byakuya shuffled back out of the bathroom, only to stumble over the corner of a fitted sheet. Blearily, he glanced down to find a half-bundled Makoto arranging his pitiful blanket pile into a makeshift sleeping bag. Or at least, Byakuya assumed this was what a sleeping bag might look like. Funny, the shape of it seemed less conducive to sleeping than it would be to keeping inmates in line.
Makoto looked up at him, and Byakuya almost felt the slightest bit guilty. That is, until Makoto opened his mouth.
“Don’t rich people usually get their pajamas monogrammed?” He said.
Byakuya allowed himself one final eye roll for the day (before surely, as his nurse had always warned him, his eyes would get stuck up there forever).
“Monograms are for idiots," He said. "I can remember my own name.”
Makoto seemed to consider this for a moment, sitting cross-legged in his pitiful pile of sheets on the floor. And Byakuya noticed something nearly incomprehensible.
“And at least I have pajamas,” He said. “What fresh brand of barbarian would go to sleep in denim?”
“What’s wrong with jeans?” Makoto fired back, face reddening. “I shower in the morning, so why bother changing?”
Barely conscious, Byakuya stared down at him as he spoke, and the eyes he had been avoiding stared back, hazel and indignant and alive — like an ocean he could drown in if he took a wrong step. He backed up and his heel hit the bed, sending a jolt just painful enough to pull him back to awareness.
Byakuya tore his eyes away quickly, turning his gaze toward the light switch.
“Why bother, indeed?” He mumbled, flicking off the lights and dragging his battered body finally into bed. After a moment, Makoto got the hint, and Byakuya only half registered the sound as he shifted, snuggling in the best he could.
“G’night — Byakuya,” Makoto said, interrupting his own sentence with a noisy yawn.
“Hmph,” Byakuya said into his pillow as he drifted mercifully to sleep.