Work Text:
Despite how he looks to others, Kokichi is an analytical guy. He likes lists and plans set in stone. Which is why, when he woke up in a locker with that weird robot (how can one be an “ultimate” robot anyway??), he immediately started observing and strategizing. He could fill countless journals with the subtle things he’s noticed about his “classmates” and environment, but no, it’s safer to keep all that knowledge in his head, excluding a few vague speculations on the white board in his room. You never know who you can trust. Not the students, not the bears, not the motives, not the flashback lights, not the campus itself. A select few of the facts he’s learned since arriving at the so-called Ultimate Academy:
- This game is for an audience- Monokuma is almost certainly a robot, so it can’t just be for his own emotionless entertainment.
- Speaking of robots, Kii-boy has something to do with whoever has trapped them here, whether he knows it or not.
- Some people’s pasts sound too cliche to be true. Harukawa, for instance.
- Saihara is hands down the prettiest person Kokichi has ever seen.
There’s something about the other boy that knocks the wind out of Kokichi, leaving him grasping at straws for what to say next. Maybe it’s Saihara’s intelligence, maybe it’s his long eyelashes curled and bolded by mascara, maybe it’s how his lips look so plush and soft that it’s near impossible for Kokichi to hold back from reaching out to trace his fingers across them. Kokichi doesn’t usually like touching people, unless it’s for a joke. But when Saihara held his hand so tenderly after that stupid knife game, his heart had nearly jumped out of his chest and flopped right onto the table between them- what a spectacle that would’ve been, he thinks to himself with a chuckle. As it turns out, Saihara’s hands are just as soft as they look. Which is to say, smooth as butter. Kokichi had expected the detective’s hands to be cold. But the other boy radiated such a warmth that it felt like he was standing directly in the sunlight on a hot summer day.
There are nights where Kokichi does nothing but stare at the ceiling of his room and picture what it would be like to fall asleep next to Saihara. He imagines the two of them snuggled up under the covers, where all he would have to worry about was how to steal all the blankets without Saihara noticing. Kokichi would wake up first and finally be able to stare at his beloved as long as he wanted, drenched in gentle sunlight and fully at peace. They’d never have to think about a killing game again. They wouldn’t be a villain and a hero; just two boys who can only see each other in a room full of people.
Kokichi falls asleep to those fantasies more often than he’d like to admit.
To be fair, he wouldn’t admit any of this to anyone, not if he could help it. Especially not Saihara. He likes to tell himself it’s because he can’t let anything get through his villainous persona if he wants his plan to work, but of course he knows the truth. Kokichi isn’t dumb, that’s the whole point.
His first crush manifested when he was six, before he’d run away from the orphanage and never looked back. His admiration pointed toward a boy in his first grade class named Haruto. Haruto had spiky auburn hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a warm smile, and he’d always share his apple slices with Kokichi at lunchtime. Looking back, he’s sure it was out of pity. But at the time it had been all Haruto needed to do to have Kokichi wrapped around his finger. They were friends for a month or so, with him following after Haruto like a lost puppy dog the whole time.
He’d never felt like this before. Warm affection and flustered blushes were an entirely new concept to him, but he knew what it was the moment he felt those classic butterflies in his stomach. There was an older girl at his orphanage who loved cheesy teen romance novels and would read them to him some nights, so Kokichi was familiar with the signs of infatuation. He would wonder where that girl is now, but she introduced the concept of love to him and therefore fucked him over eternally, so fuck her.
Those books always had a happy ending. The love interest always returned the protagonist’s feelings. Which was why six year old Kokichi had thought it would be a wonderful idea to confess to Haruto behind the school one afternoon.
Needless to say, it hadn’t gone well. Kokichi walked home with his eyes glued to his scuffed up shoes, trying to ignore the pain in his cheek and the black eye that would surely form soon. To this day, he can still see Haruto’s face at the moment Kokichi had told him he liked him: Disgust. Apprehension. Hatred.
In his nightmares, that face morphs into Saihara’s.
It’s not an experience he’d care to repeat. So he never does, lets the faces of attractive boys on the street fly out of his mind and ignores any thoughts that may come of it. He looks at Saihara Shuichi in a classroom overwhelmed with greenery, the detective’s eyes hidden behind a hat but still clearly strikingly beautiful, and tries to forget about him. It doesn’t work. Despite what Kokichi may tell himself, it never works.
So since he can’t banish the other boy from his dreams- unless Yumeno really can do magic- the next best thing is to never ever let Saihara know, ever. Easy peasy. Kokichi has always been a performer at heart, and a damn good one at that. Still, it may or may not be a bit more difficult than he expected.
Saihara sneezes in the corridors, Kokichi’s pulse begins to rush. Saihara giggles at the breakfast table, Kokichi plans a spring wedding (checkerboard tablecloths, of course). Saihara asks to hang out, Kokichi plays the knife game to try and distract himself from how his crush is right there . Saihara bandages his finger. Kokichi says some dumb shit about stealing his heart. Oh, what a torturous existence.
Still… there are moments where he can’t help but indulge in wishful thinking. Moments where Saihara blushes at his words and moves to hide behind his hat before realizing it isn’t there anymore. Moments where Kokichi thinks maybe, just maybe , his feelings aren’t so one-sided.
He snaps back to reality pretty quickly.
The guilt for thinking about Saihara that way eats him alive. He’s sure it would be a thousand times worse if he ever confessed, perish the thought. The fact that the detective would no doubt reject him with a familiar disgusted face doesn’t help either. Saihara is too nice; he’d try to mask his hatred behind a facade of letting Kokichi down slowly. But it’d be clear in his eyes. That’s another thing he’s noticed from staring at the other boy so often: Saihara’s eyes are naturally expressive. Maybe that’s why he was so attached to hiding behind that hat. Kokichi doesn’t know the story, and despite his curiosity, he doesn’t want to pry. Saihara would tell him if he wanted to, if they ever were close enough for that- they weren’t, of course. Momota and Harukawa always swept the detective away before Kokichi could approach him.
Speaking of Momota and Harukawa, he’s pretty sure they’d skin him alive if they knew he even thought about Saihara that way.
If there’s anyone he could talk to about it, it’d probably be Iruma, despite how much she annoys him. He noticed how she looked at Akamatsu before… all that. So he considers telling her, but immediately crosses her off the list after realizing how many sexual comments she’d make about the two of them. He doesn’t need even more guilt added to the weight he’s carrying on his shoulders, thank you very much. Besides, he’s pretty sure she’s trying to kill him. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. Friendship means nothing here.
That’s why he chooses to be alone. No other reason.
Chabashira would have been his second choice, given the… everything about her. But she’s not option since a) she hates men with a burning passion, and b) she is very, very dead.
So without anyone to talk to, Kokichi lies awake and alone in the middle of the night and continues to fantasize about a life with Saihara. With Shumai. With his beloved detective. It’s wrong, he knows, to want this so badly, but in his tired state, he doesn’t care.
When he sleeps, his conscience is silent, and dreamy, perfect Saihara talks.