Work Text:
[Ouma Kokichi has woken up.]
It was a few months after Danganronpa Season 53 ended when Saihara received the news from Team Danganronpa.
When Saihara realized what he read, he slammed his smartphone to the table in front of him with a loud bang. He took a deep breath, resting his forehead to his trembling, clasped hands.
Ouma Kokichi.
How long had it been since he last heard that name? No one said that name nowadays. Hell, no one even alluded to that person’s existence anymore. That name was only a whisper in the wind. Something unspeakable from the past. A piece of his messed up life that should be left untouched.
Does he even have a right to, after all he’d—they’d done He took his smartphone again and delete the message. Nobody would mentioned it, anyway. Saihara was proven right after a few weeks without another message from Team DR.
But he could only feign ignorance for so long.
After all, the boy in the black gakuran who spoke of wanting to be different was so awkward and pitiful that he couldn’t even think ‘that’s the person who would become Ouma Kokichi’.
He just quietly asked the television if the boy got what he wanted, in the end.
Saihara knocked the door with a trembling fist. He prayed that Ouma was sleeping right now, or in the middle of his therapy session, or taking a walk outside his door, anything. But his hope (ha!) was dashed when a voice (too soft, too soft, it should be louder, harsher) drifted from the room.
“Come in.”
It was the same voice; the same voice as that grating horse laugh, the same voice as that disgusting mockery of Gonta’s sacrifice, the same voice insulted their bonds and sneered at their attempts of friendships.
The same anguished voice that cried for Amami and Akamatsu and Hoshi Saihara opened the door in one quick motion.
The hospital room was familiar, seeing as he resided in an identical one less than a year ago. White walls, white ceilings, a television in the corner, a potted plant in another, and a bed at the opposite side of the door with a window and a chair beside it. The only difference was the wheelchair positioned near the bed.
There was a person who Saihara vaguely recognized sitting on the bed with his lower body covered with a baby blue blanket. The dark-haired (without purple highlights) person was wearing an old, oversized white hoodie that had seen better days. A headphone covered his ears. Leaning on the raised bed, he looked at the laptop screen in front of him with a cold expression.
Just like he looked at all of them in the game right?.
And then the person on the bed raised his head. A pair of purple eyes blinked incredulously before the person smiled sheepishly.
“Saihara-kun?”
“Hello.” Who was he? He’s not Ouma, not the Ouma that he knew at least. Maybe he went into the wrong room, and this person knew his name because he had watched Danganronpa Season 53 and recognized him. He was too pale, too small, too weak. His eyes were too big, his smile was too shy, his voice was too quiet, and his expression was too open. He looked too fragile, overall. The kind that the slightest wind could knocked him over.
Ouma wasn’t like this.
Besides, Ouma called him Saihara-chan, not Saihara-kun.
This person was an impostor.
Or maybe, Ouma decided to screw with him by pretending to be delicate to gain his sympathy. Yeah, that must be it.
The person took off his headphone and closed the laptop in front of him. What did he watch before? “You can take a seat. Tha-that is, if you want to.”
The mirth before in his voice held no sign of malice, and the hesitance in his voice now was too genuine. Saihara felt bad that this unknown person had invited him to his room. He retracted that thought when he realized this could be another one of Ouma’s ruse to make him let his guard down.
“So…” The person lowered his eyes to his lap and played with the edge of his blanket, pretending to feel awkward (or maybe he genuinely felt that?). His mouth opened and closed before it opened again. “Congratulations for ending the game.”
He didn’t say ‘winning the game’ like everyone else. For that, Saihara was grateful at least. “Thank you.” It was stilted, too stilted. The person raised his face and tilted his head sideways in order to look confused.
“Um… how have you been?” Not that this person’s conversational skill was better than Saihara, either. By now, Ouma would already weave his web of lies and snickered at Saihara’s attempt at looking for the correct threads.
“I’m fine.” Conversation should go back and forth right? At least with that Saihara could gain the upper hand and hopefully catch Ouma off guard. “And you?”
The person’s smile softened, so were his eyes. “My physical therapy went well. I can move both my hands now.”
“I see.” I’m glad, was something that he wanted to say, but he choked on it when he realized if the person was truly Ouma, he’d say the same thing when he met the liar. After all, Saihara knew that it would be a lie. Ouma would be pretending to be paralyzed only to jump at him the moment he turned his back to him. Not that he didn't now.
“How is everyone else?”
Saihara almost asked who is this everyone you’re talking about? because Ouma didn’t care about any of them at all. But he realized if this person did watch the last season, then maybe the ‘everyone else’ that he asked for were the other participants.
(But didn’t Momota said that Ouma want everyone that died to rest in peace?)
“They’re fine.” Not that he knew anything else. He knew Harukawa and Yumeno were, at least. They messaged each other at least once a week, even if their conversation only consisted of hello how are you fines.
He knew Momota was fine as well. He still liked to brag about his super heroic death and The other participants were healthy, the last time he heard from them. He never talked with Akamatsu again after their first and last conversation in the hospital. Sadly, he never met Amami after waking up from the simulator. Who gave a shit about Shirogane.
The person in front of him was silent now. He must have run out of lies. Saihara almost stood up from the chair before the person asked him a question. “Is it true that only the survivors retain their memories?”
“…Sorry?”
“Iidabashi-kun told me.” The person averted his eyes to his lap again. His hands fidgeted in an act of nervousness. “He said that he doesn’t remember his time in the simulator.”
So Kiibo also visited this person, didn’t he? Even though he was colder and resembled the Kiibo without his antennae, he spared his time to meet Ouma. Huh.
There was also something about the way he phrased his question that nagged at Saihara’s detective mind.
“How about you?”
Saihara predicted that Ouma would smirked teasingly at him and said, ‘How about me? What are you talking about Saihara-chan’, or maybe an insult like ‘Wow, sooo subtle. Is Saihara-chan becoming dumber without me?’, or maybe a few other things along those lines.
But the smile on the person in front of him was mirthless, now. “I remember.”
Saihara’s pulse quickened.
What did he mean?
Did that meant that this was actually a game of charade? What was the game?
What was the truth, and what was the lie?
Saihara decided to humor him. “So you remember, Ouma-kun?”
“The only way so I can wake up is to implant the memories from the sim, or so I’ve been told.” He laughed softly. It’s not his usual, familiar nishishi laugh. “But even if I have those memories, I’m not… exactly the same person as I am before, and after.”
Play along, play along.(Stop deluding yourself.)“What do you mean?”
The person Ouma He frowned. His eyes ,full of honesty, was filled with confusion and something. “Saihara-kun... you-you know what I'm talking about, right?”
What was that something? (stop it.)
“That’s… you’re lying, right?” (please say yes)
His eyes widened a fraction of second, genuinely hurt, before he curled his lips upwards. His smile was too gentle, too sad, too compassionate and it was all solely directed to Saihara. (why why why do you look at me like that.)
“Half of my lies are told out of kindness, you know.” (don’t look at me like that)
Ouma Kokichi betrayed his own lie before he even said it. (I’m the one who wronged you. You’re the one who wronged us. I don’t deserve it.)
(I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry so please please please please please—)
“You’re right, it’s a lie.”
(don't pity hate me.)