Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

To his very great surprise, Meruem wakes up. Or he thinks he does; despite his normally perfect vision, all he can see is a field of white. Is this the afterlife? If it is, where is...

“Komugi, are you still there?”

There’s no response, but the white in front of him shifts slightly, as if ruffled by his breath. Oh. He pulls his face away from where it had been pressed into the back of Komugi’s head. “Komugi?” She doesn’t move at the words, but her chest is still rising and falling, if just barely. He watches intently for a few moments before he’s struck by two revelations. First, each breath is slower than the one before. Second, he’s been staring at Komugi’s chest.

He doesn’t want to consider either thought, so he takes stock of the rest of Komugi. She’s slumped awkwardly; clearly she’d positioned herself so that he could rest in her lap, then drifted off without moving much. How disgraceful; she is both more fragile and less flexible than him, so her comfort should be his first priority. With five agile limbs, it’s the work of a moment to ensure Komugi is relaxed. He holds her hand for a moment, then imagines how flustered she would be by the familiarity and puts it carefully by her side instead. Best not to take liberties while she’s sleeping, even if he’d been deeply comforted by the gesture earlier. However, she did allow the hand-holding before, so perhaps it would be permissible...? Meruem realizes he’s dithering—entirely unfitting of the King!—and takes decisive action, gently grasping Komugi’s hand in his, then tries not to think too deeply about the contact.

If Meruem is dead, how is he able to interact with physical objects? Is he a ghost? He doesn’t feel that he has unfinished business...

“Ah, Meruem-sama.”

That’s Komugi! He squeezes her hand and tries to think of something to say, but Komugi, as ever, is focused on just one thing.

“That was a good break. Shall we finish that game now?”

Chapter Text

The backup generator dies, taking the emergency lights in the corridor with it, during their 20th game. Komugi doesn’t see, of course, but she does notice the increased hesitation in Meruem’s moves during the next few games as he tries to recall the board, and she offers him tips on how to memorize the placements of each piece. It’s wonderful to know more of how Komugi views the world.

Komugi sighs in pleasure during the gap between their 83rd and 84th games. “I’ve never played this many games of gungi in a row before. This is wonderful, the game, the quiet, just the two of us...” Meruem doesn’t know how to respond, so he simply begins setting up the pieces for the next round. As he passes Komugi’s to her, his fingers linger against hers for a moment longer than necessary.

Meruem starts “innovating” during the 327th game. “Bomber to 6-2-8,” he proclaims, waiting for Komugi’s adorable huh?! before making exaggerated airship noises and toppling her little tower of pieces. There’s a prolonged silence, and he begins to worry he’s upset her when his senses register incoming motion and a small finger pokes him in the side. It tickles, and Meruem roars in surprise and falls from his cushion. Komugi’s responding giggle is brighter than anything Meruem can remember, brighter than even the sun. She places an ‘antiaircraft gunner’ on her next turn and destroys him soundly.

Just before game 510, Komugi sighs and props her hand on the edge of the table. It’s halfway between her and Meruem, palm up, fingers flat against the tabletop. Komugi often folds her hands in her lap, sometimes lets them hang by her side, occasionally fidgets with spare pieces; she’s never done this before. Does it mean something? Is her wrist hurt? Can ghosts have hurt wrists? Meruem is so distracted by worry that he loses rather spectacularly. Komugi sighs again, sounding disappointed. He’s let her down, he thinks, hearing her wiggle her fingers against the tabletop. He’ll do better next time; he still needs that win.

Komugi changes tactics on game 515. “Meruem-sama, I would like to make a wager. If I can win this next game without using a samurai, would you please hold my hand?” His brain is so full of strategy—pieces she might use to substitute for a samurai, alterations he should make to his army composition to counter, attack patterns useful against a samurai-less force—that it takes him a long moment to process the second half of the wager. She wants him? To hold her hand? Komugi does? He agrees without thinking, which is probably mostly because he’s so flustered he can barely think. It’s no surprise when Komugi wins the round, but Meruem can’t regret the loss when holding Komugi’s hand sends shivers like electricity up and down his arm.

Meruem wins game 830. Komugi squeezes his hand and murmurs, “Well done, Meruem.” While holding her hand was electric, hearing his unadorned name in her voice is quiet, almost peaceful. It just feels right. Meruem holds tight to Komugi and feels known, understands that this woman has seen his mind and soul through their time together. She lived through the worst of his reign, has seen his most foolish ideas, loves him anyway. He presses a kiss to the back of her hand and endeavors to thank her, knowing that words will never be adequate.

Meruem smells salt in the air during game 833. Alarmed, he puts his piece down next to the board and reaches out for Komugi. She immediately starts sobbing and curls toward him, as if his touch had removed some final barrier. Meruem is stunned. What happened to her? How does he help? What can he do?! He holds her gently, wishing Pitou and Pouf and Youpi were here even if they could do very little. Once she’s calmed down a bit, she reaches for his hand. With a jolt, he remembers their very first wager. Komugi has never lost a game of gungi before. Komugi was in fact prepared to die if she ever lost a game of gungi, wishing to avoid burdening her family. What a travesty. How can he possibly make her understand? “Komugi, you are amazing,” he begins. She stills suddenly in his arms. “It took me eight hundred and thirty games to manage to beat you, and even that is because of you. I had no interest in gungi before our meeting; facing you made me the player I am. It made me who I am. You showed me humanity, its brilliance and joy and innovation. It is...because of you that I understand their value. Komugi, you are the most remarkable being I have ever known, and your gungi record is not at all relevant to that.” She starts crying again, even harder this time, but Meruem knows what to do now. He holds her and strokes her hair. He’ll hold her for as long as she likes.

Meruem stops counting games after that; it simply feels pointless. Usually they follow standard gungi rules, but sometimes they invent their own pieces or add rules for an additional challenge. Meruem’s mind overflows with new strategies, challenges he thinks Komugi might like, miscellaneous ideas to make her smile. When he tells her a gungi-related pun, she laughs so hard she almost passes out, and she keeps breaking into giggles during their next game.

They can go on like this forever. After all, they have the rest of eternity.