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“Are you planning on stopping any time soon?”
Even as he asked, Rantaro knew what the answer would probably be. Kokichi Ouma was one of the most stubborn people he’d ever met. If there was a purpose to this campaign of annoyance, and there almost certainly was, he wasn’t going to stop until he got what he wanted.
Not that Rantaro minded, necessarily. It was a break from his self-imposed isolation. Kokichi had been trailing him all day, through his utterly boring routine. Making breakfast, flipping through the newspaper as he ate. Tidying up his already-clean room. Dozing on the sofa. Checking out an episode of a new anime, only to promptly turn it off when it reminded him too much of Tsumugi. It went on and on. It was mid-afternoon now, and Kokichi had hardly left his side since he first got up.
“Nope! I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention!” That bright, cheery smile was actually enough to draw a faint chuckle out of Rantaro. Could it be that cheering him up was Kokichi’s plan all along?
“Is that so?” His gaze dropped to the pale, bony hand hovering next to his arm, the index finger repeatedly jabbing him. His experience (false experience, as his mind so cruelly reminded him sometimes) as an older brother got him acclimated to childish gambits like this.
In fact, it was only intermittently that Kokichi was bothering to be annoying at all. There were long stretches of time where he just stayed by his side, not saying a word. Leaning against him, maybe, or tangling their fingers together against the surface of the kitchen table. Rantaro hadn’t openly acknowledged it even once. His intuition told him that if he did, Kokichi would stop. He wouldn’t want these feelings, whatever they actually were, exposed.
“Mhm, that’s right.” Sure enough, right on cue. The incessant poking slowed, then stopped altogether. “You see, I’m terribly lonely, and nobody else will pay attention to me. You’re my last hope, Amami-chan. Without you, I might just wither up and die!” Kokichi’s lower lip quivered. As Rantaro looked closer, he could see the beginnings of teardrops sparkling in his eyes.
He had very nice eyelashes, he noticed all of a sudden. Long, full. Even darker than usual now that they were damp with tears, standing out against his pale skin. There was a faint scar between his eyebrows, visible when his expression was just right. Rantaro wondered what it was from.
They were very close now. All of a sudden, his throat felt tight, like all his bodily functions were faltering in order to pay maximum attention to every detail of Kokichi’s presence beside him. Before he could think of a single word to say though, the silence was broken.
“That was a lie, of course. Anyone would love to spend time with me. Even Chabashira-chan! Y’know, she told me I’m the best, least degenerate menace she’s ever met!”
He rolled his eyes, privately grateful to be back on familiar ground. His composure had been seconds away from faltering before.
“No, she didn’t. That was a lie too.”
Kokichi giggled, sounding delighted. Everything was a game with him.
“Aw, you caught me. You’re right, Chabashira-chan hates me, but that’s fine. I don’t like her very much either.”
If asked, surely he’d make up some excuse about her obnoxious behavior being the reason for that. It would be believable. Rantaro didn’t harbor any particular ill will towards her, but anyone could see that she was a bit much sometimes. Still, he suspected that wasn’t Kokichi’s reason. Not the only one, anyway. He’d been hanging out with Himiko lately. It made sense that he’d be resentful of Tenko’s behavior.
A well-hidden protective side...Maybe they had more in common than he previously thought. Rantaro wished he hadn’t died so early in the killing game. He wished he’d had more time to get to know these people, so he wouldn’t feel so much like he was playing catch-up now.
“Well, if you want my attention, you have it. What do you have planned to entertain me, Ouma-kun?” He raised an eyebrow, lazily crossing his arms. There didn’t seem to be any harm in playing along.
Kokichi seemed to bask in it already, reminding Rantaro of a preening bird under his gaze.
“I’m glad you asked.”