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“Is she still tormenting you?”
Amami knows this isn’t the first question that should leave his mouth when he enters Shinguuji’s apartment. He knows this, very well in fact, and every bit of his reasoning behind why he asks is flawed, but he also knows that he has to.
If he doesn’t ask now, he might not be capable of finding the courage to ask again.
His story doesn’t matter and he’d leave it at that, but the reason he’s here in the first place – if he could pin his motivations on someone else to avoid explaining himself – is because Saihara begged him to “please, for the love of god, help Shinguuji because nobody else will”, and according to Toujou who lives across the hall, the quasi-anthropologist hasn’t left his house in weeks.
It’s been a year and a half since Danganronpa had thrust them out of the V3 simulation with blistering smiles, eight months since they were deemed ready to return to the world, and who knows how long since every second of Amami’s life from before was wiped clean from his mind – until he’s left the walking shell of whoever Danganronpa last wrote him to be. Left the living projection of a fictional character, even though everybody else seemed to regain their past memories just fine – but again, it doesn’t matter, that’s not why he’s here.
He’s here to help.
And ‘help’ seems like such a vague plea, now that he thinks about it, as he’s only just walked in and already he’s done the opposite.
The sudden hiss of pain that pulls him from his thoughts is proof of it.
“Whoa!” He exclaims, whirling to face the source. “Did something happen–?”
“You... could say that...” is the answer that leaves Shinguuji hesitantly and far too quietly as Amami attempts to quickly piece together the situation at hand.
Somehow, Shinguuji had forgotten to stop pouring the tea after hearing Amami’s initial question, and he’s only noticed after he’s started spilling it all over the table as well as all over himself. He doesn’t make much noise beside the initial exclamation and only stares at the mess he’s made, as though he cannot comprehend how it came to be.
Amami’s quick to react then, “Shit, are you okay?! Do you need any–?” but Shinguuji doesn’t stay to hear him finish, instead tossing the kettle aside and retreating hurriedly to the kitchen without looking back.
Amami stares after him.
He doesn’t follow.
Instead, his gaze falls to survey the spill, and as he’s reaching over to grab a few tissues to control it a little, he’s not expecting to be suddenly clobbered by a wave of dread – but he is.
When he finally fully registers the steam and makes contact with the tea, he comes to the abrupt realization that the water is boiling hot. This shouldn’t be surprising, and wouldn’t be in any other case, but boiling anything has been something Shinguuji has avoided like the plague since he woke from the simulation and for good reason — the memory of being boiled alive wouldn’t sit well with anyone, but having a sudden stark physical reminder of it would be inarguably worse.
It must have taken him a lot of courage to manage boiling even this much for a visitor, especially for something as unimportant as tea, and panic rushes through Amami before settling in like a clamp around his throat.
That was your fault and he didn’t deserve that, he tells himself in utter harshness, snatching up a handful of tissues to start pushing the mess into a manageable state as he calculates his next move. You should run into the kitchen and apologize. He shakes his head. No, first, do both of you a favor and clean this up, pick up the kettle, throw out the trash, then go. It’s the least you can do.
He’s stalling, but he can’t help it. Selfish as it may be, the question he asked remains unanswered, and he had resolved not to leave until he had heard everything. It’s a confrontation in the making, and with every passing moment, just as he predicted, he’s losing the strength to go through with it.
In all actuality, he’s never ready to confront Shinguuji.
That’s the kind of person he is now, but the kind of person he is and the kind of person he must be in this situation are two different matters entirely. Shinguuji hides it well – hid it from them all for eight fucking months, apparently – but something from the simulation still resides within him when it shouldn’t.
“Rather someone,” Amami recalls Saihara saying, soft and sombre, “And she’s torture for him, but he won’t listen to me when I ask about it. I don’t know why… maybe in his eyes, she’s never done anything wrong…?”
“He got his memories back just like the rest of you, didn’t he? He has to know she isn’t real.”
“That’s why I’m so worried.” Saihara admitted, “I need you to ask him, truthfully, if he really wants to keep living like this. It’s tearing him apart, I know it is, he just doesn’t want to admit it.”
“... I can try. But what makes you think he’ll answer to me?”
Saihara had smiled sadly then, though perhaps it was more a quick twitch of his lips than an actual smile.
“I … don’t. It’s just that… back when we were all still going through therapy after waking up, though I don’t know if you remember, so uh… should I…” He winced a little, remembering that Amami had to have some of his post-simulation memories erased too.
Amami waved him off. It wasn’t that important. “Go on.”
“I noticed he followed you around quite a bit.” Saihara continued. “I remember thinking he was probably using you as a shield, since whenever anyone would go up to you, they’d always address you first, but… you guys seem to get along even now, so maybe he’ll listen to you when you speak. That’s what I believe.”
“Well, if you’re only judging by that, I’d say you seem to think we’re closer than we really are…” Amami replied, biting the inside of his cheek nervously. It’s true he’d like to think that they were good friends, judging by the amount of time they spent together, but he had never asked Shinguuji directly. He’d rather not assume.
“Could you suggest anyone else then? Please, I can’t go check on him, he’s still mad at me for blowing up on him the other day.” A hand rises to rest against his cheek. “I’m really trying to be the Saihara you all know, but I still snap sometimes. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” He sighs. “I just… I don’t know. Again, I will try, but I’m not a miracle worker. I’m just Amami.”
“Maybe we don’t need a miracle, maybe what we need is just Amami.” Saihara looked genuinely distressed as he said it. “We all thought he was fine, but now that he’s started locking himself up in there, I’m really scared he’s going to do something bad to himself. I wouldn’t be telling you all this if I had anything more I could do. Please, can you… go, not even for me, but for him? Let him know that he can’t go on like this. Danganronpa is over.”
Danganronpa is over. The phrase echoed in Amami’s mind.
He closed his eyes. “I’ll do what I can.”
For Shinguuji’s own sake, if nothing else, Amami chooses to move forward. He finishes his tidying of the mess with not a water stain left to be seen, and moves forward.
“Thank you for cleaning up.” Shinguuji says with an eerie calm when Amami steps into the kitchen, wet tissues and kettle in hand. Upon spotting Shinguuji sitting on the floor with his arms wrapped around himself, Amami feels a second wave hit him, a turbulent spray of guilt crashing against his gut as he nods and wordlessly discards the tissues, unable to meet the other’s eye.
He puts the kettle down far too loudly, far too tense. Shinguuji makes no comment, he simply watches Amami’s growing discomfort from his spot on the floor, cradling his knees to his chest.
Seeing him like that is hard, but Amami stands rooted to his place by the kitchen bench, trying to figure out where to go from here.
He’s learned that if he doesn’t speak up first about serious topics, like he had by the doorway — Shinguuji will inevitably lead him down a trail of enchanting but ultimately trivial conversation.
Like the naïve Hansel and Gretel, Amami will consume his words as though they were little bread crumbs set out to lure him in, and he won’t even realize that Shinguuji’s led him off-track until he’s already moving to leave.
He’s learned that he’s unfathomably weak to Shinguuji’s mind games and curses himself for it, but he can’t lose this time —
“It was nothing. Hey, are you okay, by the way?”
— and he won’t lose —
“Yes, I’m fine.”
— because he needs to settle this once and for all.
His legs finally let him walk again, stiff as his movements are, and he slides to the floor beside Shinguuji, leaning his head against what he assumes is a dishwasher.
“Really, are you sure you’re okay? The tea was really hot and it’s all over your clothes now.” He says, gesturing to the other’s defensive curl, wherein Shinguuji has begun to fidget with the ends of his hair. He’s always fidgeting with something whenever he’s nervous or uneasy, and that is a habit Amami does not like that he has come to be able to read.
“It is interesting to me that my wellbeing concerns you, but I assure you that I am perfectly fine.” Shinguuji replies curtly, starting to pluck at the folds of his wet clothing with disinterest, and he almost actually looks convincingly fine until he pulls his knees further up against his chest and hides his face in his arms. “It is nothing to concern yourself with,” he murmurs.
Amami doesn’t press him. “I see… I’m sorry about the mess, by the way.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It was my doing. I was holding the kettle, and simply should have been more careful.”
Clearly, he’s being shunned from taking responsibility for his actions, whether they be indirect or otherwise, but he doesn’t want to argue with Shinguuji in this state. He can’t foresee a good outcome from that and he’s not willing to take a risk after he still very much plans on doing one more terrible thing — asking the question again later. He has to, he reminds himself.
But as of right now, Amami is at a loss of what to do next.
He briefly wonders what it’s like, being reminded of your own death seemingly out of nowhere, but then he remembers why he’s always wearing a beanie and why falling objects make him paranoid that another will come up from behind, and how he’s never stepped foot in a library since his Danganronpa days, and he feels even worse than before.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, then,” Amami suggests in the kindest tone he can muster, hoping that his inability to voice his true apology directly is a regret he will remedy after all the damage is done.
Shinguuji doesn’t move, so Amami very slowly puts his hand on his shoulder. “Come on, you’re going to get cold.” He says, shaking him lightly. “Do you need me to carry you?”
It’s a teasing suggestion but it luckily succeeds in sparking a reaction, for Shinguuji looks up to glare at him weakly, “No thank you. That won’t be necessary.”
Amami laughs, his own nervous habit to dispel tension, but is suitably more pleased when Shinguuji unfolds himself to grab onto him and they both quickly rise from the floor.
Apart from a little shakiness, Shinguuji looks as though he’s recovered, though he’s still wearing a mask so Amami can’t be entirely sure. Whatever it may be, Amami is glad that he’s up on his feet, and swallows the horrible feeling that he’s going to be the one to knock him down again.
The feeling dissipates temporarily when Shinguuji pulls his arm forward, and Amami barks out another laugh, “Wait, you need to get changed. Why are you taking me with you?”
Seeming to only just realize he’s still got his grip on Amami, Shinguuji yanks his hand away, reaching to fiddle, this time, with the chain necklace around his neck. He looks like he wants to say something, but then doesn’t, and after a moment, he simply chooses to flee the scene entirely, long hair trailing after him like a cape.
He returns looking more confident in himself, hair pulled up in a neat ponytail as he strides into the kitchen, making a direct course to the abandoned kettle.
Despite everything that transpired earlier, his fingers wrap around the handle and he asks Amami, “Would you like some more tea?”
Amami shakes his head politely, looking as amiable as he can, but he’s automatically suspicious of this shift in behaviour.
Shinguuji is playing at something — there’s no other explanation for the sudden burst of confidence or the offering of tea, especially not when Amami can clearly see his hands are trembling when he offers it. That kind of tell is a rookie mistake, and Shinguuji doesn’t do rookie mistakes.
Amami has one theory that matches up with the hints. If he’s right, it means he will have to ask the stupid question now, or Shinguuji will seize his empathy by the neck and pull it close enough to crush Amami’s will to ask any more invasive questions.
His theory is that perhaps this act is a diversion Shinguuji created in lieu of his usual verbal trap. It is a direct appeal to Amami’s knowledge of a previous error, and thus works incredibly well to mollify Amami’s intention to ask again, but he has to. Even if it hurts, even if it feels like every fibre of his being wants him to ignore the rocky entrance and continue to act as though nothing is wrong, he has to ask —
“Is she still tormenting you?”
— and Shinguuji cannot run away anymore.
He tries. It wouldn’t make sense if he didn’t.
“Is who tormenting me?” He asks, tilting his head as he sets the kettle down again. “You mentioned that earlier, but you must be more specific, Amami, I have no idea who you’re talking about.”
“Your sister.”
Shinguuji stills. “Ah.” He pulls his ponytail over his shoulder to tug at as he says, “You must be mistaken, unless you are referring to the ghost of a sister that Danganronpa gave me, because you see, I don’t have a real sister—”
“She’s still here, you don’t have to hide it from me.” Amami feels worse and worse, but he has to settle this, even if it makes Shinguuji hate him in the end — he has to. “I know you only told one person, but he’s terrified for you, so he came to me asking for help. You lied to the therapists back before Danganronpa let us out, and you cut off the one you were supposed to still be seeing, too, didn’t you?” He crosses his arms, eyes narrowing, god, he hates confrontation, but the words keep spilling out. “Did she ask you to? Were you protecting her? … are you still protecting her?”
With each question, Shinguuji looks more and more distressed, sweat beading on his pale forehead, but the last one has him quivering like a leaf.
“H-he told you all of that…? Has it not occurred to you that he might be lying, too?”
“There’s no reason for him to. If she’s still here, she’s a danger to you, and you need to get rid of her.”
“She’s — she’s gone, I swear to you, I do not have a sister, she’s not here, nothing is here — there’s no way she would be here, it was all fake, you must recall,” the last line sounds like a plea, “You have to believe me, why would she be here —”
“Why are you protecting her when you know she isn’t real?”
All the protests die on Shinguuji’s tongue. He just stares helplessly back at Amami, and then — then he turns away.
“You … you have it all wrong. She’s protecting me.” He whispers, clutching his ponytail tight. “She is weak now… and yet she is still doing everything she can to protect me.”
“Protecting you?” Amami’s gaze narrows even further, but he softens his tone before continuing, “Look… she’s only hurting you. Danganronpa is over. There’s no need for her to exist anymore. If she does, then something is wrong, do you understand that?”
“That much is … clear to me, in a sense. It is what I have been told to believe.” Shinguuji nods rigidly, raking his fingers through his hair at a frantic pace, eyes following the movement as to not meet Amami’s own. “But don’t you think — don’t you think the memory of someone can be just as powerful as their presence?”
“Even if the memory is fake?”
“We believe what we are taught,” Shinguuji says, slowing his fidgeting. “Perhaps I was taught too well. Even when I try to value what I did before Danganronpa … the memory of her… she makes everything seem far duller in comparison.”
“... why is that?”
“Because I can’t help but remember that she’s the only one that cared about me, even more than my real family, and even though she was so ill, she kindly stayed awake to spend time with me.” He sighs. “I didn’t deserve her kindness, a kindness unlike any other — she taught me how to behave like a perfect child, and I’d be worthless without her love and guidance. She made me feel more at ease than I could ever be alone.”
Amami frowns, but doesn’t interject.
Shinguuji keeps going, spinning the tale Danganronpa wrote him like it was the only truth he knew. Spinning the implanted memories like they were the only rotation of his world.
“Even after dying, she didn’t leave me to go to heaven like she deserved to — it was so hard for her to have to wait for me, truly, yet she still loved me - she wouldn't have stayed if she didn't. Trying to fulfill her mission for me was supposed to be easy and yet I still never made it. I have a lifetime to make it up to her for all the wonderful things she did for me because she gave my life purpose, and even if I know that she’s fake in theory, I can’t help but hold onto that. My life had no meaning before her, you must understand.”
“... are those the things she’s told you?” Amami swallows. “Is that what you really believe? After everything that’s happened – do you honestly believe that this story of fiction can love you better than reality can?”
“I… am almost certain of the fact.” He shuts his eyes, closing off the sight of Amami's deepening frown. “If she died, it would be my fault for not spending enough time with her. For not granting her the peace and the paradise she so desired. I feel like I owe her for dy — I feel like I owe her. I feel like. For dying, I,” He opens his eyes again, wrapping the end of his ponytail around his fingers. “For — for her sake, I should have lived longer, in the world where she did exist, instead of dying such a worthless and avoidable death like I did in the third trial. If I could go back to see her again… if I could return to the walls of the academy where her presence was clearest to me...”
“You… actually… want to go back there?”
He's not met with a response. Amami's jaw tightens.
"Korekiyo. Look at me and tell me you want to go back to Danganronpa. Is that what you want? You want to go through it all again?"
Shinguuji finally looks at him, expression void of any emotion. His golden eyes are searing, sweltering, and he looks the perfect image of vengeful composure until it all begins to crumble. With a stuttered breath, the dam of everything he’s kept inside bursts free.
“No. No, I don’t, I c-can't,” he chokes out, both hands flying up to cover his mouth. As much as he tries to fight it, a sob escapes him. And then another. “I’m not - I'm just - I'm - don't do this," He falters. "Don't do this... don't..." When their eyes meet again, Shinguuji only looks helpless. "W-why does it matter to you? Why does anything that I do have any relation to you?"
"Calm down," Amami tries, heart thundering beneath his ribs.
"I am calm," His voice rises despite it. "You are prying, far beyond your boundaries, and without reason but curiosity. Have you no shame? I'd believed you to be of a rational sort, yet you keep persisting, as though - as though you'll find... you'll find... as though you are searching for..." A conflicted expression crosses his face as he restarts his sentence, ignoring the way his voice cracks. "She is protecting me - she will always be there for me, that is the truth. Yes, the truth is that I keep thinking about her, but she is slowly consuming my existence and I can’t escape," he's shaking, "It’s like she’s trying to pull me under every second I’m alive, and I don’t –” The admission rings out truer than anything Shinguuji’s said that evening. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
Amami is speechless. He reaches forward subconsciously, yearning for anything to calm the tremor in his chest, but he knows nothing he says will make a difference. His hand lingers, fingers stretched towards the other but not quite touching him.
As if all the air has left him at once, Shinguuji’s breathing grows erratic. He claws at his face, frantically swiping at the tears that ceaselessly fall, unable to utter another word until they’re all gone. It leaves his skin red and raw, his usual calm replaced entirely by an aching hopelessness.
“And when I think about it,” He reopens in a broken, hushed tone, “I keep feeling like I’m everything they say I am — crazy, disgusting, and delusional because the memory of this fictional fucking dead girl is like a permanent parasite in my brain and I keep remembering that I’m nothing without her, and I’ll never be anything without her because I’m just some useless nobody that should have died in Danganronpa like the story said I did instead of living like some walking sick joke." He shivers. "… or she should have lived instead of me.”
Amami steps forward and hugs him because it’s all he can do. He wraps his arms around him, hushing the stream of “sorry, sorry, sorry, I'm so fucked up, you didn't need to hear any of this, just forget about it, it doesn't concern you at all, sorry, sorry, sorry, get away from me, you don't have to deal with this, god, I'm so sorry”, and holds him tight.
Shinguuji doesn’t resist after that. His cries burst free again like he knows nothing else, and he clutches onto Amami as though he were the lifebuoy keeping him afloat in the midst of a tumultuous, unforgiving ocean.
Without the words to console him, Amami sweeps his hand over Shinguuji’s back in what he hopes is a comforting motion; up, down, up, down, like soft foamy waves rolling into the shore. He feels drained all of a sudden, as though all his energy had evaporated leaving him empty, but doesn't slow his movements until Shinguuji's breaths start easing up again. He can't even utter an "it will be okay" because he's not sure that it will be.
“... are you going to leave now?” Shinguuji whispers, sounding defeated. Tired. Done with it all. “Now that you know the truth?”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Amami murmurs, pulling back to place a hand on Shinguuji’s head, and gently pushing the damp hair from his forehead with a soothing thumb. “It’s because I now know the truth that there’s even more reason to stay.”
“I don’t – I don’t understand.”
“Sometimes things don’t have to be understood immediately. They just have to be known.”
Shinguuji lets out an almost amused sounding huff, as though he can’t think of any other way to react. “You always had a habit of being terribly cryptic, Amami. I was wondering when your streak of straightforwardness would end.”
“Hey, you say that as though I’m being cryptic on purpose.”
“So it’s not an act? You’re just naturally suspicious?”
“Hey.” Amami says with more emphasis, tapping him on the temple. “I told you, I’m not a suspicious guy, remember?”
“And that is supposed to make me less suspicious of you. I see.”
“Since you’ve decided it’s okay to start making fun of me,” Amami says, “You’re feeling better now, aren’t you?” At Shinguuji’s expression, he laughs and wonders why it aches so much to. “No, no, don’t take it back. I’m not offended, I’m just asking.”
“It is not better, per se…" Shinguuji picks his necklace up to examine it, avoiding Amami's critical gaze. "It appears that I have simply stopped feeling anything from the moment you touched me, which is perhaps, relatively better than how it was moments ago.”
Amami frowns, gently pulling his fingers away from the necklace and holding them in his hands instead. He turns them in his grasp, and makes no comment on the tiny flecks that cover his palms, unseen before because of the bandages he used to wear.
“That’s not better," he says. "But it’s a start, I guess.”
The room grows quiet, kitchen lights flickering overhead, and he falls, resting his head against Shinguuji’s shoulder. He releases his grip on his hands to hug him again - this time more a personal comfort than anything else. Though he lacks it often, contact calms him, and holding someone close helps him clear his mind.
Shinguuji regards him curiously. “... are you tired?”
“Sort of.” He answers. “Can I ask you something?”
“At this point, I know that you'll ask even if I decline.”
Amami runs his fingers gently through Shinguuji's ponytail, keeping his tone light as air. "Can I, though?"
"If there is something more you wish to know..."
“Why have you been hiding away here?" He inquires, combing through the dark strands distractedly. "What did you hope to achieve by isolating yourself?”
“It’s easier to deal with by myself.”
“Is it?”
Shinguuji sighs. “... I don’t have to worry about slipping up if nobody is around.”
“But you managed to keep it down for so long.” Amami points out, voice straining to remain even. “Do you have days when you forget about her?”
“Rather than forget, there are days when I don’t think about her, I suppose. Those days are peaceful to me.” He confesses quietly. “But at the end of those days, I’m always reminded that she’s coming back. And I try to force her away sometimes. There are times when I would convince myself that I am my own person who doesn’t need to listen to a ghost anymore ... but just when I think I’m finally ready to get over it, I see her in my reflection and she — ” His next words are faint, and Amami feels him trembling under his fingers when he hears them. “She won’t go away.”
Amami knows that he can’t do anything to fix this.
It isn’t in his ability and he came consumed with the fear that Shinguuji might have surrendered himself to a fictional past — but looking at him in person, all he sees is a broken figure made up of mismatched parts, terrified of the factions of himself that don’t belong to him in the first place.
“You know this isn’t good for you, right?”
“Speak what you will… I don’t expect you to understand.”
“I see.” He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Release. “Do you want to hear a story?”
“Is it a story about yourself?”
“It is.”
“Then I will hear it.” Amami can’t see Shinguuji’s face as he says it, but there’s an intrigue that laces his tone, and for a moment, everything almost feels okay again. “For somebody that appears so open, you don’t like to talk about yourself much.”
“Ha, that is true.” He says, letting go of the ponytail to reach for the back of Shinguuji’s necklace and taking it in his hands, twisting the little chain in the low light. “You’re very good at observing people.”
“It was a hobby of mine before Danganronpa too. People-watching, I mean.”
“I don’t remember anything before Danganronpa.” Amami confesses quietly, hoping he’s not suddenly ruining the casual atmosphere they had created. “Not my name, not my family, nothing about who I was before all of this." He feels his eyes clouding over and tries to blink himself back into clarity. "I don’t know where I was born, what kind of house I grew up in, or even if there’s anyone out there who cares about me beyond being in two seasons of the damn show.” His smile is bitter. “Not that anything from V2 matters to me anymore, since no matter how many times I watch it, I just can’t connect that guy on the screen to me. Even though, more than anything, that guy was everything I was written to be.”
He clenches his fist around the necklace as he eyes the space just past Shinguuji’s head, where a poster from Danganronpa V2 lies in a sorry state, peeling and curling off the wall. His signature is on it — he must have signed it before his memory wipe for V3 — under the quickly scrawled message of “See you in Danganronpa V3!”
Perhaps that meant he had met Shinguuji before V3, at least once, and he wonders if that rendition of Amami still existed in Shinguuji’s mind. He would ask, one day, when he didn’t fear the person he was before.
He doesn’t realize he’s quivering until Shinguuji reaches out to tap him on the back, featherlight, and asks, “And?”
Amami laughs, but it’s so forced he almost cringes at the sound. “Sorry, lost my train of thought for a moment. This must be pretty boring to listen to anyway, should we talk about something else?”
“Hm… so I’m not allowed to change the topic when I don’t want to talk about it, but you are?” Shinguuji asks him, not pretending to miss the touch of self-loathing that litters Amami’s words.
With another shaky and dread-infused laugh, Amami relents, continuing not completely off-topic, “Fine, you got me. And well, I don’t exactly expect you to remember, but as far as my story goes, I’m supposed to be looking for my long lost sister, whom I love and cherish dearly from the bottom of my heart. But now I know she doesn’t exist. Yet I keep travelling around like I expect this nonexistent sister of mine to just show up out of the blue, you know, show up and scold me for taking so long to find her.”
“You still look for her?”
“I do. I can’t stay still, I keep yearning to see her, and thinking what’s the point, you know? Why am I pushing myself so hard for someone that doesn’t exist? Why does this fake person control so much of my life? I know you of all people would understand how that feels,” he sighs, the final flames of frustration dimming out until they’re nothing but flickering embers of his grief, “I have nightmares about her death. She dies a different way each time, and I’m always just standing there watching. Behind a glass pane.”
“... do you try to save her?” Shinguuji asks, barely above a whisper.
“I do. I scream and I throw myself at the glass, telling myself things like I should have died instead of her, and I shouldn’t have let her wander off all those years ago, and it’s all my fault,” He runs a hand through the hair at the back of his neck, finding it slick with sweat. “But then, after I’ve watched her die, I hear her ask me something. She asks me what her name is. She says she’ll come to me if I can answer her.”
“And you can’t answer her.” Shinguuji realizes.
Amami nods, taking another deep breath. “She’s just written as ‘Amami Rantarou’s lost younger sister’, and that’s the only memory I’ll ever have of her, and while I was thinking about it, I noticed that— that you only ever referred to your sister as–”
“Sister.”
“Yeah. You don’t know your own sister’s name, do you?”
“Your deduction is … correct. ‘Sister’ has always just been ‘Sister’ to me. She doesn’t have a name, but when I used to ask, she always replied that because she resides in my body, her name was no longer to be spoken.”
“It never seems weird at the time because they don’t let you think about it,” Amami says. “And then you think about it. Why does your most important person have no name?” He sighs, releasing Shinguuji’s necklace from his grasp. “Anyway, moral of the story is that Danganronpa fucked us all up but we’re still here, aren’t we?”
“We are. We are... still here. That much is evident.”
“And I might not have any history left outside of Danganronpa but… I do have you guys, everyone from Danganronpa V3 … and if you’re all I have left now, then I’m not letting go of you, you hear me?” He peels himself off of Shinguuji’s shoulder, and looks him in the eye. “That’s why I’m not going to let you rot away in here. You can’t possibly think that never leaving the house again is going to make you any better.”
“I’ll keep your words in mind.” He says, perhaps a touch too quick. “But now I have a question for you.”
“Yes?”
“Are you going to keep looking for her?”
Amami shakes his head with finality. “I think I’m done searching for something I’ll never find. Don’t you feel like sometimes enough is enough? If I travel, I should do it because I want to. There are still so many places I want to see, and if I do, then I should do it for myself.”
“And will you ever forget about her if you do?”
“I won’t.”
“... I see.”
“But what’s so bad about that?” Amami asks, gaze gliding up to the ceiling. “I was kind of a pathetic big brother, but that made me who I am today. I’ll thank her for the time I remember spending with her, thank her for the years I remember growing as a person in my search for her, and acknowledge that it’s time to move on. She haunts me because I’m the only one who still believes in her, and she exists for me alone. Talking to you made me realize that maybe I have to let her go.”
“So you speak of letting go… that sort of thing is never as easy as it sounds.”
“It isn’t, but letting it rule over you isn’t a plan, either. Even if you end up stuck somewhere in the middle,” he smiles. “It’s progress. Think of it like… instead of fixing all the bad things, you’re just adding good things, you know? And they don’t ever have to overtake the bad things. You just have to keep them coming.”
“That is certainly one way of looking at it.”
“Shinguuji… let’s stop overthinking it, and just live.”
He watches Amami stretch his arm out, reaching for the ceiling.
“We’ll balance each other out,” Amami says, letting his arm fall to rest on Shinguuji’s head and nodding at him. “You have too many memories in here and I have too little. Don’t you think that’s something that we can try to work with at least?”
“You’re strangely optimistic all of a sudden.”
“Someone has to be.”
Shinguuji blinks, looking slightly troubled. “You don’t have to be strong for everyone else, Amami. That’s a terrible burden to have to carry. You know that, right?”
“You don’t have to phrase it like that.” Amami frowns. “I’m not helping you because I want to be a saint or anything. I’m helping you because I care about you.”
“You… I…” His frown reflects in Shinguuji’s eyes. “I see. You are serious about this.”
“Of course I am. But you have to find the will somewhere inside you that wants to be free of this. No amount of pleading or promising I do is going to help you – you have to want this yourself. Do you want to be free to live again?”
“I… I do.” He hesitates. “But god, I’m so broken, I don’t know if I can.”
“Be broken, then.” Amami says. “Live broken, while you fight to put yourself together again. That’s all we’re doing, isn’t it? Putting our lives back together. You don’t have to get it right first try.” He cocks his head to the side. “I know you’ve been trying. Don’t give up. You’re stronger than she is. Maybe you’re even stronger than me.”
“I’m not. I know that much.”
“You are.” Amami smiles wryly, but there’s a tinge of sadness, “I’m not a strong person. I’m just a person who knows how to survive with all I’ve got. And even then, I don’t know if that’s how I really am, or how they wrote me to be. I wonder how much of me is left, you know? Maybe I only look strong because I’ve put up so many walls that everybody just looks at what’s outside and thinks I’ve got everything under control.”
“In my time speaking with you, I have also come to realize something.” Shinguuji says. “We all have our walls, and some could be more literal than others, but these such walls are not always built to be strong. We value strength because it keeps us protected, but walls without cracks are cold, and in an endeavour to keep others out, we cage ourselves in as well. Perhaps there too can be merit in a wall with cracks, because it is in those cracks where plants can start to grow, where the faintest of lives and the faintest of hopes can begin to flourish. That is what I have deduced.”
“Wow,” Amami remarks, and if he wasn’t so good with controlling his composure, he is sure he’d be completely at a loss for words. “You’re very poetic. I didn’t know that about you.”
“There are a great many things we do not know about each other outside of Danganronpa,” Shinguuji answers. “But, if it pleases you at all, I have found myself curious to hear about your stories.”
“Even though most of them are fake?”
“You are real, aren’t you?”
“I am.” He says. “I am real.”
Amami finds himself wondering how an utterance of three words can feel so profound.
“Alright, come on, let’s talk about something more lighthearted now, I think we’ve both had enough of that for today,” Amami suggests with a soft smile. "Let's do something fun."
Shinguuji chuckles lightly, as he always does when he finds something curious, but Amami finds himself basking in it anyway. “I’m not sure if it occurred to you yet but I’m not the lighthearted or fun type, Amami, perhaps you will have to seek entertainment elsewhere.”
“Nah,” he says, closing his eyes and bringing their foreheads together. “If it's okay, I think I’ll stay right here with you.”