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There is a wheezing sound coming from Kokichi’s lips. Rain falls down gently from the grey skies, cooling the blood that slowly pools beneath him, and it is covered by clouds so thickly all he can see is grey.
It’s fine, really. He doesn’t expect anyone to come and save him - what, he’s only been shot, it’s probably not fatal even though it certainly hit some sort of major artery -, so all he does is stare at the sky, feeling the rain hit his face. The rain doesn’t care about him being alive, and neither does anyone else.
There’s a sound, vaguely to his right. Kokichi didn’t look up: he doubted the members of his gang would come and rescue him, considering they had been the ones to stage a coup.
Movement, on the corner of his eye: the form of Shuichi, certainly here to take him to hell or whatever limbo he ended up being in. Someone like him would never end up in any sort of paradise, surely. He made a motion to touch Shuichi’s face, but the other batted his hands away, in an act that caused pain on Kokichi more internal than external.
Even in his death throes, Shuichi rejected him - what a cursed existence, the one he led.
Kokichi felt himself being lifted, taken away, and he closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of Shuichi’s chest.
In the hospital, Kokichi hummed happily as he ate the cup of jello. By his side, Shuichi had his head in his hands, sitting on the chair for companions.
“You sent me a text saying they were going to shoot at you.” He said, muffled.
“I did!” Kokichi chirped, using the little spoon they’d given him to excavate the little leftover bits.
“You were wearing a bulletproof vest with a few bags of fake blood strapped on it.”
“I ruined my best jacket. It was vintage..”
“That’s - that’s the least important problem here, Kokichi!” Shuichi said, and Kokichi looked at him, spoon hanging from his mouth. “You could’ve just left, you know? You didn’t need to fake your death so dramatically, I talked to your gang and they weren’t sure why you wanted so bad for them to shoot you.”
Kokichi grinned, leaned in to become closer to Shuichi.
“But what’s the fun in that?”
Shuichi took off the spoon from his mouth. Kokichi whined.
“It’s the third time this week you fake your death.” Shuichi said, and put his hand atop Kokichi’s, who could feel his face heating up - he was not good with intimacy. “Look, if you want a date night, you can just tell me, no need for these elaborate theatricals. You got a concussion this time, who knows what you’ll be getting next?”
“I’m hoping for complete amputation of my left leg next time.” Shuichi shot him a dark look. “Kidding, kidding. Fine, next time I’ll tone it down. It’ll just be the bulletproof vest.”
Shuichi whined, and Kokichi laughed at his despair. It’d be fun to keep elaborating these plans to drag Shuichi closer to him.