Chapter Text
If someone had told Byakuya a month ago that he’d soon rely on a cafeteria, he wouldn't have known whether to be more offended or horrified.
Cafeteria.
Even just the word evoked nightmarish images of gaudy tiles and scraping metal chairs that, of course, Monokuma and his despair obsession were all too happy to emulate. Needless to say, Byakuya was never exactly thrilled to set foot in the abomination. But his caffeine dependence overpowered his dignity.
He dipped a hand into his pocket, sneaking a glance at his watch. It was well past the general ruck's meeting time, but as he'd learned the hard way, some people tended to linger. Reaching the doorway, he paused for a cautionary visual sweep of the area (a technique lesser men might call "peeking around the corner").
The cafeteria was empty, except for Yasuhiro tracing squiggly figures over Asahina's palm, whose expression was equal parts polite and confused. Hiro's gargantuan hair looked even thicker splayed out behind him as he leaned across the table. Its sheer volume was alarming. Was it alive? What were the odds it had a higher IQ than the thing underneath it?
Byakuya snorted, turning away to head toward the coffee maker. The scene was disturbing, but as much as the idiot repulsed him, Yasuhiro was objectively right. Hina was a genetic lottery — the peak of athleticism, and clearly fertile. Tiresome personality aside, Byakuya should have picked her for a mate. It pained him to acknowledge that the thought made him want to hurl harder than Kuwata's crystal fastball.
The half-filled pot made a sickening, plasticy shhhk as Byakuya pulled it from the coffee maker. He grimaced. Anyway, there would be more time later to reconcile duties with desires. For now, there were more pressing issues at hand.
Like the taste of this coffee, Byakuya mused, smothering a cough at his first sip. Somehow, Hope's Peak's unique blend of watery bitterness still caught him off-guard. It was the headmaster's best strategy yet for inducing his despair.
Without sparing another glance towards the scene in the corner, Byakuya gathered his mug in his hands — at least it was as warm as real coffee — and headed off towards the staircase. All signs pointed to another enthralling morning of browsing gory articles and sipping Monokuma's sadness soup.
"H-hey!"
Byakuya froze in his tracks, grip tightening on his mug. A harsh, clumsy set of footsteps was approaching from behind him.
"Wait! Byakuya!"
Makoto’s voice was getting closer, but Byakuya didn't turn. He resumed his pace toward the library.
"I'm busy. Don't interrupt me."
Makoto caught up and fell into step beside him, either somehow failing to notice or intentionally ignoring his hostility. Byakuya wasn't sure which would be worse.
"Where were you at breakfast?" Makoto questioned, between hastened breaths. "We were worried."
Byakuya held back a snort of undignified proportions. Yes, surely the idiots he'd done nothing but insult and aggravate were overcome with concern for him.
"Did you really expect me to show up to your little tea party? I have work to do."
Makoto kept glancing over sideways, studying him, and Byakuya could feel it, even with his gaze fixed straight ahead. He quickened his pace, but the smaller boy was back at his side after only a slight stumble.
"I don't understand," Makoto said. Despite his own foolish avoidance tactics, Byakuya rolled his eyes.
"Work, Naegi. It's a rare alternative to watching anime and playing video games all day."
He stopped short outside the library, hoping to shake Makoto at least for a moment, but Makoto halted beside him smoothly, as if he'd known the destination.
"No, I mean I don't understand you," Makoto said. "If you really wanted to win, shouldn’t you at least pretend you don't hate everyone?"
Byakuya paused almost imperceptibly, hand hovering over the doorknob. The ignorant dolt. The advantage was not pretending. Not pretending that a daily breakfast meeting was going to make everyone chummy enough to erase human nature. He wanted to explain this to Naegi, but something was itching under his skin, and somehow a petty comeback slipped out instead.
"I'll pretend not to hate you if you all pretend to grow a brain cell."
He slammed the door behind him and entered the library, setting down his mug to settle in and open his most recent book. But seconds later, an unfazed Naegi was moving the chair facing him — with an impressively noisy scrape, considering the ground was carpeted. Byakuya shut his eyes, not bothering to suppress a deep sigh.
"Well if you were there this morning, you'd know," Makoto blathered on. "We're supposed to be partners."
At that, Byakuya looked up sharply, but Makoto stared steadily back, without a trace of mockery in his eyes. In fact, they were just the usual blend of determined and mind-numbingly earnest.
Byakuya cleared his throat slightly, arms crossing close against his chest.
"Excuse me?"
"We have to work together to prevent any more deaths, so we're using the buddy system."
Byakuya's eyebrows shot into his hairline.
"And if your buddy happens to be the next murderer?"
"Well..." Makoto frowned, putting his knuckle to his chin. "It's not perfect, but think about it. It's a lot harder to pin a death on someone else, if everyone can only be alone with the same person."
The pieces came together in Byakuya's mind all at once, and he suddenly felt too warm. He turned his gaze back to his book and tried to keep reading, scanning the same line over a few times.
"And you..." He quirked his lips carefully. "You chose me?"
"I, well..." Makoto protested weakly. "Not 'chose,' exactly, but — "
"For a partner in a killing game," Byakuya cut him off. "You chose the only person who's openly expressed their intention to win by the rules?"
"D-Do we need to talk about this?"
"As the most average student, Naegi, how can you be so disproportionately naïve? I've directly told you — "
"I didn't choose you! I got stuck with you because no one else would agree to hang out with a stuck-up jerk all day!"
The outburst was sudden enough to silence Byakuya, who stared blankly for a moment, bemused. Hints of anger were flaring through Naegi's normally happy-go-lucky expression. It made Byakuya's stomach twist, and he scowled deeper.
"And you expect me to agree to be your pathetic charity case?"
The biting question hung in the air for a moment before Byakuya turned his gaze back to his book.
"Take your delusions somewhere else. I don't want any part in this ridiculous plan."
Makoto leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table like the barn-raised degenerate he was.
"You're not being rational! Give me one good reason why this isn't a good idea."
Byakuya flipped a page absently.
"I'm being perfectly rational. I told you I don't plan on dying, and that includes losing my will to live."
Naegi was properly glaring by this point, and the lack of positivity was refreshing, although his eyes were still incorrigibly bright. Not that Byakuya noticed, though. He was too busy reading.
"Why do you keep calling me stupid?" Makoto prodded. "You messed up a crime scene just to keep me from solving a case, and I still figured it out."
Byakuya pressed his lips into a line. He didn't like to remember that little experiment, but as much as he tripped over his own shadow, apparently Naegi could be... Dangerous.
Swallowing his agitation, he snapped his book shut and regarded Makoto with his deadest, most foreboding stare.
"Do you want a sticker or a cookie?"
Makoto glowered mutely, but Byakuya could practically hear the gears turning in his head, analyzing him. Calculating. As annoying as he was all around, Naegi’s worst habit was being right. He was observant, there was no getting around that, and he noticed it — Byakuya wasn't being rational.
But at the same time, the frustration etched onto Makoto’s face was so satisfying. Thanks to his posture, he was closer than before, enough that Byakuya could probably count the freckles on his nose. If he was the kind of airheaded moron who would do that sort of thing.
Abruptly, Byakuya stood and moved to replace his book at a nearby shelf, eyeing a thicker volume with a vaguely related title. Was the sociology of serial killers more or less helpful than the psychology? Actually, what was the difference? Not that he would get through a full sentence anyway, with Naegi breathing down his neck.
Even as the thought passed through his mind, he still had to suppress a jump when he heard Makoto's voice just behind his head.
“Why do you really hate me?"
Byakuya's fingers twitched, but he kept his back turned.
"I don't. Would you hate a buzzing fly that distracted you from your work? Or would you just crush it and get on with your life?"
He slid a large, heavy volume from the shelf.
"Actually," Makoto said brightly. "I would catch it with a cup and paper. Don't they teach you that trick in private school?"
Byakuya whirled around, clutching his book like a blunt weapon and glaring with the strength of a thousand suns, but Makoto didn't move. In fact, Byakuya might have even caught a hint of a smile on his lips.
Naturally, he found this infuriating.
"Don't they teach you in public school when to shut up and go away?"
He knew he sounded petulant, but Naegi's attention made his blood boil and his chest hurt and he just wanted to go home. He breezed back to his seat with a dignified and absolutely not avoidant stride, setting the heavier book down beside his long-forgotten coffee. On the plus side, he supposed, he was no longer in need of a wake-up call.
"We're doing this for the good of everyone here," Makoto argued, trailing behind him. "Can't you control your emotions for long enough to see that?"
Byakuya nearly burst out laughing like a maniac, but he managed to contain his mirth in a small, smug smile.
"You have no idea how exceptionally controlled I am."
"Then prove it," Makoto stepped forward, thrusting a hand out into the heavy air between them. "Will you be my partner?"
Byakuya regarded the hand warily. He couldn't rationally refuse the offer, but he couldn't remember the last time a regular person had even withstood him for so long. God, Naegi just never gave up. And for what? Did he really think this would stop the killing? Did he really think Byakuya would never....?
The pause lasted longer than most anime protagonists would hold a power stance, but Naegi still stood stubbornly, firmer than a statue. Was he still looking at him? How was he still looking at him?
Something in Byakuya snapped.
"Naegi..." His voice came out too low. "Get away from me."
Makoto blinked, some of the ire draining from his eyes.
"What? Why?"
"Are you an infant?" Byakuya spat. "You can't even understand a simple instruction?"
As if to prove his point, Makoto just kept standing there like an idiot, all bright eyes and soul-crushing earnestness. Byakuya squeezed his eyes shut.
"... Fine then," He got out through gritted teeth, whirling on his heel and heading to the door. But no sooner had he pointed his stride toward the dorms than a surprisingly firm grip spun him around again.
"Wait! Stop doing that!"
By proximity, Byakuya was forced to meet Makoto's animated eyes again. He wondered why the other boy kept gripping his wrist, but even more alarming was his own arm rejecting his clear commands to pull back.
"You didn't even answer my question!” Makoto complained, apparently too caught up in his unbearable shtick of self-righteousness to notice his own limbs.
Of course Byakuya had an intelligent answer prepared, but the situation was unreasonably distracting. Also, he couldn't quite remember the question. Naegi's touch sent a heat through his veins that, scientifically speaking, he could only call his body's natural aversion to exceptional averageness.
In the charged silence, Makoto's face shifted to something uncharacteristic and unreadable. Byakuya felt a sudden sense of foreboding.
"Byakuya?" Makoto said. "Are you... Blushing?"
"What?!" Byakuya snapped a little too loudly, tearing his hand away as if he'd been burned, which was exactly the worst possible time for the library's doorknob to rattle. Both boys' heads whipped to follow the sound as an energetic figure burst through the door.
"Whatwhatwhatwhaaaat?!?!"