Work Text:
One would think that dying is the hardest part.
But as Kaito finds himself thrown back into the reality, he slowly starts to realize that maybe that’s not entirely true.
Death was fast. It was too fast and too soon and he was too young, yes, but when the time came it was quick and freeing, his body letting go of the pain that's been accompanying him for days. He let his eyes close and that was it, even easier than falling asleep
This? This is different.
Maybe he should be grateful that fate rewarded him with another chance, giving him the opportunity to start over, but it’s difficult to see it that way when he’s been reduced to being a mascot, Team Danganronpa’s beloved puppet, tied by the strings of the contract he doesn’t remember signing, doesn’t even remember seeing.
Sometimes, he wishes he knew what kind of person that Kaito Momota was, the one who put his signature on that paper, the one who agreed to all of this. It’s not productive in the slightest, he knows that, but he can’t help being curious, can't help wondering if there was any explanation to this madness and he simply doesn't remember it.
More often than not, he wishes he could punch that Kaito Momota from the past in the face, punch hard enough that his knuckles burn from the force of the impact.
It’s what he deserves.
-
When they meet again, Kokichi is simultaneously nothing like Kokichi he remembers and exactly the same.
It’s hard to explain, but even though he moves in the same way and speaks just like him, Kaito can’t help but think that he’s different, so different that it makes his insides twist, concern and uneasiness settling heavily in his bones.
He’s a little more subdued, a little more careful, a striking contrast with the way he used to throw his words around carelessly, his lies sharp as knives and almost as deadly.
But, Kaito thinks, maybe it’s understandable considering the circumstances and everything they went through.
Maybe, just like Kaito, Kokichi doesn’t quite know who he is outside of the game.
-
“I’m sorry, what?” he says at the same time as Kokichi releases a little “Oh?”, his eyes flashing to the man, regarding him with guarded curiosity.
The man remains calm, face perfectly impassive.
“Team Danganronpa requires your assistance with the promotion of the new season,” he repeats slowly.
“No,” Kaito says immediately.
The man sighs tiredly as if he expected that and rubs the bridge of his nose. "I’m afraid it was not a question, Momota-san. It's non negotiable.”
“Then why the hell are we even here?”
“You’ve been asked to come in order to gather your instructions,” he explains patiently, his professionalism unwavering. He reaches to hand each of them both a small black folder. Kaito scowls but accepts his and immediately opens it, flipping through the pages, but too on edge go register any of the words, his eyes skipping over them.
Kokichi doesn’t make a move to take his, opting to sit still with that plastic smile of his that can’t mean anything good. The man’s jaw clenches, but he withdraws his hand without comment and puts the folder at the edge of his desk.
“Both of you will be rewarded for your cooperation,” he says as if that should convince them. “In return, you are asked to attend the events such as galas and fandom conventions, show that two of the most popular characters of the first season using the simulation technology are excited about the next season and doing fine.”
Kaito almost snorts at that. Are they? Are they doing fine? He sincerely doubts it. He also isn't a big fan of being called a 'character'.The word makes something clench painfully in his gut, cause an itch under his skin that he can't quite reach.
“And I assume that we don’t have a choice?” Kokichi asks, his voice dripping with sweetness. Kaito can’t help but cringe.
The man shakes his head.
“I’m afraid not. Doing so would violate the contract you signed before agreeing to participate in the game.”
"The contract we don't remember signing," Kaito says through the clenched teeth, his hands curling into fists.
The man nods his head, standing up to let them out of his office, a strained smile on his lips. "That's the one, yes," he says, opening the door for them.
Kaito storms out of the room without another word.
-
They move in together.
It isn’t really a choice, hardly even an arranged agreement, Team Danganronpa not leaving them with any chance to discuss this beforehand.
He doesn't realize what it is at first, doesn't realize what Team Danganronpa is trying to achieve by forcing them to share an apartment, what game they are playing. It's a slow realization, first a vague suspicion curled somewhere at the back of his mind, then a rising sense of alarm when Kokichi starts cracking jokes about how Kaito's acting like his wife when he brings him tea or offers to order the food he noticed that Kokichi likes.
He’s making them dinner one evening, chopping carrots and humming to himself distractedly when Kokichi slips behind him to sit down on the couch.
“You know, they’re gonna be really mad if we don’t make out anytime soon,” Kokichi says, flipping through the pages of a magazine, his own face smiling at him from the cover almost flirtatiously.
The weight of his words hits him all at once, unexpectedly. The knife slips in his hand and pierces through the skin of his index finger, sending a flash of pain through its length.
”Shit!" he cries out, lifting his hand to his mouth and sucking on his finger, letting the metallic taste of blood spill on his tongue.
Kokichi smiles at him from the couch, a sharp grin that doesn't reach his eyes.
-
It's a punishment, he realizes later, a wave of nausea crashing into him when Kokichi slips into the bed beside him, curled into a small, tight ball at the very edge of the mattress.
A punishment for trying to destroy the game from the inside. A way to keep them in line, prove once and for all that they are nothing more than pawns scattered on the chessboard and kept in the dark, unaware of the rules of the game.
He should have known that the killing game never ended.
It simply followed them into reality.
-
There’s this haunted look hidden in Kokichi’s eyes that appears every now and then, sending shivers down his spine whenever Kaito looks straight at him, making his skin crawl, heart clenching under the heavy layer of guilt. It never lasts long, Kokichi’s eyelashes fluttering when he blinks it away and his lips stretch in a smile that feels too wide to be anything but fake.
Kaito has no other choice but to watch, almost in slow motion, how he pulls a mask over his face, covering all the little imperfections until even Kaito — Kaito who’s pried this mask away before, Kaito who’s seen what’s underneath one time too many — can almost fool himself that it’s all real.
Sometimes, when no one is looking, he will catch Kokichi looking at him with a question in his eyes, as if asking him how convincing he is, and every time all he can do is nod, his mouth suddenly dry and a wave of now-familiar exhaustion crashing over him when Kokichi nods back, satisfied with the answer for his unasked question.
Out of the two of them he is a better liar. He knows his audience and memorized the script, lie after lie falling easily off his lips as he enchants people with his illusions, a trickster, as loveable as he is hateable.
Maybe that’s what makes them so different, Kaito thinks, fingers clasped tightly around the glass of water as he swallows the pills prescribed by Team Danganronpa’s most well-paid doctors like an obedient little lamb, screwing his eyes shut.
Kokichi’s never been afraid of being hated, whereas all Kaito’s ever hoped for was to be loved.
Kokichi doesn’t have similar reservations, playing whatever role the situation calls for, even if it means walking on thin ice, navigating their life among the cameras so Kaito doesn’t have to.
There’s parties to attend, people to meet and shake hands with, interviews to be had and while at first Team Danganronpa was content with letting them recover and only attend the most pressing events, soon they ran out of patience and pulled out the contracts with the signatures they don’t remember signing, listing point by point why and how their lives were no longer theirs.
So it’s really not a matter of choice when Kaito finds himself in a ballroom, Kokichi’s thin arm hooked around his, a smile so fake plastered on his face that he almost thinks it’s there to stay permanently. He lets Kokichi navigate them on the dancefloor, posing for the cameras and accepting congratulations for their season and on their relationship until his responses become automatic, like a broken record, repeating thank yous and have a good times until the words lose any meaning and stop registering in his muddled brain.
Still, when they are left alone for a second he feels Kokichi’s intent gaze on his face and when he looks at him he nods at him approvingly and Kaito knows that even though he’s nothing but a marionette reciting words from memory at least that’s enough. They both fall into an easy routine, one that keeps him from toppling over himself whenever cameras follow his every move; Kokichi’s hand clasped in his, a firm, familiar force that steadies him when he needs it. And people eat it up, this makeshift romance they supposedly have, an unlikely power couple the fans can fetishize all they want, holding their breath whenever they make a public appearance, staring with starved eyes like hawks, intent to capture every glance and every sign of affection.
Kissing Kokichi is easy, he will find out later. Surprisingly so.
His lips are chapped against Kokichi’s the first time it happens, the first time they try to make it happen , uncertain and shy.
But it isn’t really a kiss, is it?
They talked about it beforehand, it doesn’t come as a surprise, Kokichi ever ready to put on a performance. But some part of Kaito still squirms with unease when their lips are about to meet and he finds himself instinctively pulling away when Kokichi’s lips brush against his, ending the non-kiss before it could even start. A flash of worry passes through Kokichi’s eyes and momentarily he breaks the role, squeezes his hand and then, realizing there’s still hundreds of pairs of eyes watching them intently, he moves quickly and plants a playful kiss on Kaito’s nose instead. It’s some kind of gala or charity, Kaito doesn’t really know anymore, and the crowd around them sighs in disappointment that quickly turns into a fond aw, but he can hardly find it in himself to care, overwhelmed with relief so strong his knees almost buckle under his weight.
When Kokichi asks about it later — because of course he does — his eyes are dark and serious and face tight, and Kaito says that he couldn’t do it, not when it’s his first kiss, not with so many eyes.
Not when it’s on their terms not his. Not when he doesn’t have a say.
The silence that follows is long and it hangs heavily in the air for a long moment and he lets out a shaky breath, unable to look Kokichi in the eyes.
He’s not surprised when he feels Kokichi’s hands move to rest on his shoulders, warm and sure and when he looks up his eyes are more focused than he’s ever seen them.
“Does Momota-chan want to break it off?” he says with a slight tilt of his head.
Kaito blinks down at him. “Break what off?”
“The fake romance thing,” Kokichi says calmly, watching him carefully. “We don’t have to do this.”
Kaito lets out a short laugh and then winces at how self-deprecating it sounds.
He shakes his head, then nods, only to shrug seconds later, feeling more lost than ever. Kokichi’s eyebrows twitch upward in quiet amusement.
“Woah, Momo-chan’s sending me a lot of mixed signals here!”
Kaito closes his eyes and sighs, drawing a shuddering breath.
“I am, aren’t I?” He laughs again and this time it doesn’t sound quite as broken. “It’s not like we have much choice, hm? Team Danganronpa seems to be really into this idea, especially if they wanna get that next season after all the shit you pulled with the last one.”
He smiles almost despite himself, a pang of pride and fondness blooming in his chest when he thinks about how close Kokichi got to nearly destroying the games once and for good. Too bad it also meant forcing them into this charade they are stuck in now, a punishment for how they misbehaved.
“Well,” Kokichi says, shifting a little. “What do you want then?”
Kaito draws a shaky breath, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “Look, even if we don’t really… uh, have a choice. I still want to do it by my rules.”
He can feel Kokichi’s eyes on him, watching him attentively, unmoving. Kaito drops his hands down, feeling defeated.
“I don’t… I don’t want to just be a puppet in their hands.”
-
It happens on his terms, almost a month later, when Team Danganronpa’s nagging insistence becomes almost too much to handle.
They kiss in the darkness of their apartment, the first kiss of many to follow, and Kokichi’s lips are soft under his, tasting vaguely like bubble gum and soda, too sweet for his taste, but not bad enough to pull away.
He closes his eyes, because that’s what people usually do in the movies and awkwardly settles one of his hands on Kokichi’s chest while the other brushes against his bony hip. Kokichi doesn’t seem to mind, his lips moving slightly, deepening the kiss and Kaito lets the sensation overwhelm him, enjoying the moment while it lasts. When they eventually part, he can’t help but feel a sting of disappointment and so he moves on instinct, catching Kokichi’s wrist before he can’t think better of it, pulling him into another kiss. Kokichi makes a surprised little sound at the back of his throat but doesn’t object, kissing him back easily and letting out a small hum of approval when Kaito tilts his head to get better access, his fingers brushing against his jaw when he cups his cheek.
He’s a little dazed when they separate, submerged in a pleasant haze he doesn’t quite want to let go of yet.
Kokichi steps back and looks at him carefully through half-lidded eyes, his lips pink and a little swollen. Kaito can’t tear his eyes away.
“If Momo-chan kisses me like that in front of the crowd the fans will go crazy,” Kokichi giggles mischievously, a playful glimmer in his eyes and Kaito smiles crookedly in response, too breathless to form words.
-
It’s not really living, days passing from one event to another, with Kaito not even bothering to keep track of them. He leaves it to Kokichi, who’s much better at any of it and feels quietly grateful for that.
Briefly, he wonders if there’ll be a time when they finally break free from Team Danganronpa’s grasp. Surely they’ll get bored of them soon, find a new mascot or two to be the new face of this big elaborate lie they somehow managed to sell to the masses for years.
He sighs, fumbling with a packet of cigarettes until he fishes out one of them and puts it in his mouth, patting his pockets in search of a lighter.
He relies too much on Kokichi.
He knows that. They both know that.
Even back in the game, ultimately it was all Kokichi. His plan, his sacrifice, his choice. Kaito merely a follower, shame burning in his gut along with the poison as he stared at the smooth, metal surface of the hydraulic press looming over him. He remembers being paralyzed with fear, his limbs heavy and unresponsive, heart fluttering like a caged animal trapped in between his ribs. Still, he knew it would stop. He knew he wouldn’t be the one reduced to pink pixels bleeding all over someone else’s screen.
He closes his eyes, letting the breeze hit his face.
He had no reason to believe Kokichi back then, believe that he wouldn't let him die on that press. But he did. And he continues to believe him, believe in him, even now when that threat is long gone.
It’s not fair.
Nothing about it is fair, but at the same time it’s almost reassuring, the unfairness of it all, something familiar among all of the chaos that is now his life.
Kaito doesn’t really remember the time when anything about this flimsy, sorry existence of his was fair and maybe the world is simply not meant to be that way, but he still, naively, kind of wishes that it was. Maybe it’s whatever remains of that heroic, gullible persona they crafted for him back in the game, who knows, but he wishes there was someone who could tell him that it gets better.
He needs to know that there was a point to all of this suffering. He needs to know that there’ll be a time when it’s all over.
-
Sometimes, he screams. And some other times they both do.
-
Kokichi’s hand is warm and small in his and he relishes the familiarity of his touch and its comforting weight when they stand like this, lenses of at least two dozens of cameras directed straight at them. His smile is strained and wavering around the edges, but he keeps it firmly in place, a crucial element of this masquerade they are forced to perform. He lets his eyes slide down until they find Kokichi’s face and he finds himself squeezing his hand tighter, hoping he doesn’t notice how sweaty his palm is against his. Kokichi’s eyes flicker towards him momentarily, a shadow of concern flashing through them before he trains them back on the reporter, smiling sweetly.
He squeezes his hand back and Kaito exhales.
-
Kaito despises the stars now.
They blink down at him, all innocent and pretty, and anger bubbles in his chest, boiling raw. What good are they for? Hanging across the wide expanse of the night sky, glowing without the care in the world, the representation of everything Kaito strived to achieve and couldn’t.
And he got so close, close enough to touch until the rocket carrying him plummeted all the way back to Earth and he breathed out for the last time and then woke up, screaming and thrashing and crying at the unfairness of it all, surrounded by Team Danganronpa’s doctors assuring him that everything was fine, that everything went according to plan.
Sometimes, he wishes he could just tear all of the stars down from the sky, stomp over them and never — ever! — see them again.
-
Watching Kokichi as he’s applying makeup is a bit like watching some kind of sacred ceremony and Kaito finds himself mesmerized every time, unable to pry his eyes away.
He starts with eyes, nimble fingers armed with foundation and a brush quickly hiding the dark, purple bruises decorating the pale, thin skin beneath his eyes, the evidence of nightmares plaguing him every night. Then he moves higher, adds a touch of eye shadows here and a bit of glitter there, making his eyes pop and shine, a striking contrast with that hollow look hidden deep inside that Kaito’s became so familiar with. Kokichi reaches for the eyeliner and Kaito watches as he lets the tip slide along the length of his eyelid, from one corner to another, and then -- after a moment of thought -- adds a tiny wing at the end.
Kokichi sets his tools down, turning to him. “How do I look?”
Kaito swallows, his mouth suddenly feeling exceptionally dry. He tries for a smile. “Perfect,” he says softly and finds himself realizing that he means it. “They're gonna love it."
The smile Kokichi rewards him with is blinding.
-
“Momota-kun!” an officious reporter shoves the microphone into his face and Kaito instinctively takes a step back, his eyes flashing around the room, searching for an escape route. “Care to comment on the rumours of your and Ouma-kun’s relationship being romantic in nature? According to our sources you have been spotted holding hands only two days ago--”
Suddenly, there’s an arm wrapping around his and the familiar warmth of Kokichi’s body pressing against his side, pulling him into a loose embrace, his cold fingers intertwining with his. “There’s nothing to say,” he chirps cheerfully, all of the attention now shifting from Kaito to him, the reporter nudging the microphone closer and hanging onto his every word hungrily, eyes gleaming. “Momota-chan and I are just very much in love!”
The announcement makes the crowd go wild around them, the camera flashes and gasps blending into chaos and Kaito can feel his head spinning, choking up in panic.
Kokichi flashes them the most charming smile from his wide arsenal of smiles, his eyes fixed on the crowd of people staring at them with the intensity of an owl ready to dive down for its, but his fingers squeeze Kaito’s, a quiet reassurance.
“I’d looove to stay and chat, but I am afraid it’s past our bedtime,” he says cheerfully.
And then he pulls Kaito and somehow they are out of the crowd and and then outside, the crisp air filling his lungs and easing the tension in his chest, Kokichi’s finger drawing comforting circles into his palm.
He exhales.
-
“Look, Maki, I can’t do this anymore, okay? I-I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Kokichi whistles from where he sits sprawled all over the sofa when Kaito ends the call and enters the living room. “What’s that all about?”
Kaito’s eyes flick in his direction, an expression of distress on his face. “I can’t do this anymore,” he repeats. “I can’t keep pretending that I’m her friend.”
Kokichi picks at his chipped nail polish, eyes focused on his fingernails, but he keeps his voice low and quiet. “That seems pretty out of character for Momota-chan,” he notes.
Kaito offers him a half-shrug and looks down at his hands, clenching and unclenching his fists.
“I guess I just… I don’t know. I think I got tired,” he explains awkwardly, sitting next to him.
Kokichi lifts his head up, looking at him questioningly.
“Tired?” he repeats.
Kaito nods, smiling bitterly. “Yeah. I mean, you remember how Maki Roll and Shuichi were in the game?”
Kokichi tenses at the mention of the game, but nods in confirmation anyway and shifts on his end of the sofa, inching closer.
“Well, I realized that I’ve never really been myself around them. Not even the version of myself that they made me into. And I… I don’t want to do that anymore,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper and eyes fixed on the floor, almost shamefully. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but I don’t want to be that person anymore, not even for them.”
Kokichi hums quietly in acknowledgment, taping one of his long pale fingers against his chin. “Dunno,” he mumbles thoughtfully, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “It makes perfect sense to me.”
Kaito looks up at him, surprised. “It does?”
Kokichi giggles and then shifts closer, almost throwing himself into Kaito’s lap, letting out an amused laugh when Kaito releases a loud yelp and hurries to pull him closer before he has a chance to slip down his knees.
They are face to face now, Kokichi’s breath warm on his face when he speaks.
Kokichi lifts Kaito’s hand to his lips and lies a small kiss on top of it and he can’t ignore the pleasant flutter in his chest anymore, some foreign emotion pitched somewhere between disbelief and affection blooming inside of him. It’s almost as thrilling as it is scary.
Kokichi pulls back, a grin on his face. Kaito frowns. “What?”
“Nothing~”
-
Things get easier.
Or maybe they don’t, maybe they just get better at adapting, better at ignoring that dull ache trapped somewhere between the ribs and push through the pain, more efficiently this time. Kokichi remains a comforting constant at his side, a calming, familiar presence that helps to keep him grounded, helps to keep him whole. It’s not perfect, it’s far from the ideal, but it’s something .
And Kaito, who hasn’t dared to think that one day he’d escape this dark, numbing void of the last few months, is slowly learning that maybe this is enough. Maybe, at least for now, this is more than he could have asked for, maybe more than he deserved, all of the bad choices he’s made weighing still on his shoulders but somehow a little easier to carry.