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They dance.
Kokichi twirls in his arms, the knee long dress he’s wearing swirling around his legs and lilac eyes gleaming in the dim light of the ballroom. Kaito tries to wrap his head around it, but it’s almost like dissociating, his body moving as if on invisible strings, not exactly out of his control but not quite his either. He’s leading, Kokichi following his movements with graceful ease, and there’s a deeply rooted insistence somewhere at the back of his mind, a nagging voice whispering that it’s not right, this is not how it works, it’s not how any of it works.
There’s no music and he doesn’t remember memorizing any of the steps. It doesn’t seem to stop them and Kaito knows, almost instinctively, that he shouldn’t be questioning it.
Kokichi’s hand feels solid and warm and real in his and he can almost pretend that what happened in the hangar was nothing but a nightmare when he’s like this, pressed against his chest and smirking up at him in that knowing way that makes Kaito shiver.
There are so many things he wants to say, questions he must know the answers to, but his mouth remains stubbornly shut, the tight, choking feeling in his throat not planning on going anywhere, at least not until the dance is over. They dance and dance and dance, lost in the swirl of movements, his feet carrying him across the checkered floor, one of Kokichi’s hands resting against his nape.
He should be tired, body unused to this kind of activity and muscles sore, struggling to keep up with the steps.
He doesn’t feel tired, though. He doesn’t feel much of anything.
He has no idea how long it takes until they finally come to a stop, Kokichi slipping out of his embrace and taking a few steps back to bow gracefully to the non-existent audience.
Kaito stands there awkwardly, his hands feeling awfully empty now that Kokichi’s fingers are no longer intertwined with his. He looks around, taking a moment to take his surroundings in for the first time.
The ballroom seems to have no end. There are no walls, just the checkered floor stretching as far as the eye can see and the comforting glow of the moon above their heads, the night sky hanging low and scattered with thousands of stars, twinkling down at them.
They are mesmerizing.
Kaito draws in a shuddering breath, his fists uncurling as he lets himself stare at them, lets the deep, raw wound somewhere in his chest bleed. He’s spent his entire life chasing them, dreaming of reaching them and—
Before he could think better of it, Kaito reaches out.
His hand passes right through the stars, the sky parting when he attempts to touch it, nothing but blackness beyond. An ugly, bitter feeling of disappointment blooms in his chest and an icy shiver crawls up his spine as he clenches his fingers around nothing. A sob — small and pitiful — gets stuck deep in his throat and he pulls his hand back, clutching it tightly against his chest and watching as the sky pulls itself back as if nothing happened, the stars shining at him innocently once again, blind and deaf to his distress.
“It’s not real,” comes from behind his back.
“We’re dead,” Kaito says simply, his voice raw. He turns back to Kokichi. “Aren’t we?”
Kokichi shrugs. His white dress is gone and he looks the same way he did right before Kaito carried him to his deathbed, a pink trail of blood dripping slowly down the length of his right arm. Kaito fights the urge to look away, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides uselessly.
“What is this place?”
“Well, it’s certainly not heaven,” Kokichi informs him cheerfully and Kaito can’t help but think that he’s awfully chirpy for someone who’s dead.
He feels the familiar prickle of frustration somewhere at the back of his head, a Kokichi-induced headache. “Purgatory, then?”
Kokichi’s eyes twinkle when he snorts, genuinely amused. “Does Momota-chan really believe that we deserve to end up in purgatory?”
Kaito gnaws at his lip, worrying it between his teeth until he can taste blood. At least that much is real.
He’s never seen the point in wondering about what awaited him after his death, eyes already set on the sky and what’s beyond it, something far more real and enticing than any deity could ever turn out to be.
He looks up at the stars dotting the sky above his head once more. He’s drawn to them in some subconscious way that he can’t quite explain, the feeling of longing in his chest almost all-consuming. They’re so close and yet he’s never felt like they’re more out of reach than in this moment.
Kokichi’s face twists in a childish pout, those big watery eyes blinking up at him. “Isn’t Momota-chan happy to see me?”
It’s a complicated question with an even more complicated answer.
They were never friends, that much was always clear; constantly butting heads and never, not even once, agreeing on anything, no matter how small or silly. He pitied him, at some point, a long time ago. But then Miu died and Gonta got executed and some kind of raw, unfiltered anger came pouring out, and Kaito finally snapped, the pressure that’s been building up letting loose and swallowing him in a moment of impulsive, unfiltered rage.
I used to hate this guy , he thinks, and it’s almost like a shameful memory now that he knows how this story ends.
There’s something comforting about Kokichi’s presence, about the fact that at least he’s not alone in this weird place that seems to exist beyond his comprehension, beyond anything and everything he used to know.
Kokichi stares at him expectantly, waiting for the answer that he doesn’t have.
When it becomes apparent that he’s not going to get one, Kokichi huffs impatiently and snaps his fingers. Just like that, the scenery changes, the stars and the ballroom floor flickering and then fading into nothingness, soon replaced by the familiar sight of the hydraulic press, pink blood dripping down its cold, smooth surface and pooling at Kokichi’s feet.
Kaito freezes instantly, blood turning into ice in his veins.
Kokichi purses his lips, eyes fixed on the press.
“Didn’t expect so much blood,” he hums, disturbingly indifferent, in the same way one would talk about the weather.
Kaito swallows thickly around the lump lodged in his throat, feeling sick. “Don’t say that.”
Kokichi shoots him a half-amused glance. “Don’t be so dramatic, Momota-chan, I’m sure all of you wanted me dead at one point or another.”
Kaito shakes his head, nails digging into his palms with enough force to draw blood. The words get stuck in his throat, thick and bitter and sticky with guilt, and he forces them out with difficulty. “Not like this. I-I am so sorry, Ouma.”
Kokichi cocks his head to the side, a questioning look on his face. “What for?”
“I killed you,” he chokes out. The words burn on his tongue, their weight finally sinking in now that there’s no mastermind to fool and no sidekicks to witness his weakness. His stomach churns with shame.
Kokichi shrugs. “What’s done is done.”
Kaito looks at him incredulously. “I fucking killed you , Ouma!”
Kokichi scoffs.
“I asked you to,” he reminds him pointedly, raising a brow. “I told you what to do. I even wrote it down.”
The red book materializes in his hands out of nowhere, as if he’s pulled it out of thin air, and he pushes it in Kaito’s direction.
He takes an involuntary step back, recoiling in something akin to disgust.
“Yes, but it doesn’t make it right!” Kaito shouts, nostrils flaring and tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He wipes them with the edge of his fists angrily. He turns away unable to bear the sight of him anymore, unable to look him in the eyes. “It was wrong, Ouma. I-I shouldn’t have done that.”
They stand in silence torn only by the sound of Kaito's ragged breaths, his anger fading slowly, directionless.
There are words trapped just at the very edge of his tongue, things he wants to say and things he isn’t sure how to articulate, leaving his mouth dry and uselessly wordless. His head is spinning and his chest is too tight and it feels like he’s falling, like he’s drowning, deep deep down, never to reach the surface again.
“There’s no right or wrong anymore, Momota-chan,” Kokichi’s voice breaks the silence slowly, carefully emotionless, for once stripped of all his lies and tricks and manipulations. “It’s just us.”
Kaito closes his eyes, releasing a shaky breath.
Kokichi’s right.
It’s just them again, just like before, the vast space of the hangar spreading around them, seemingly endless. The cold, heartless machinery hums quietly, blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil.
It’s all so eerily familiar.
The image of Kokichi’s pale body splayed on the hydraulic press is still there, all long limbs and hollow cheeks, eyes burning with fever and something else entirely, some kind of fiery, unwavering determination that’s just as scary as it is inspiring. It’s still trapped beneath Kaito’s eyelids, imprinted in memory and there to stay.
It’s haunting, even though it shouldn’t be. After all, all the ghosts are here.
“Momota-chan,” Kokichi’s voice calls out, uncharacteristically soft, and Kaito turns to face him; he takes in his youthful features, the gentle curl of dark hair, the flutter of his eyelashes when he blinks, tilting his head to the side, the very image of faux innocence.
“Why are you here?” Kaito asks, suddenly feeling impossibly exhausted, and his voice sounds rough but — thank stars for that — it doesn’t waver.
“Where else should I be?” Kokichi fires back, lips curving in a smile as he folds his hands behind his back and starts to rock on his heels. “Does Momota-chan want me to go?” He asks, voice verging on playful.
“No!” Kaito says a little too quickly, a surge of sudden blind panic that shoots through his chest at the very thought of it almost startling him.
“Well, you are here and I am here; so you may as well stop moping, Momota-chan, and help me explore this place. We have aaall the time in the world.”
“I don’t—”
“Do you have a better idea?” Kokichi interrupts him, a small smirk playing on his lips.
Kaito opens his mouth as if to argue, an instinct after all his time spent around Kokichi, but then he stops himself, mouth snapping shut, the truth of Kokichi’s words glaringly blatant. He furrows his brows and looks to the side, crossing his arms over his chest almost childishly. “Fine. Let’s explore.”
Kokichi beams up at him.
“Let’s go then!” he chirps delightedly, pulling at his arm as if to get him moving.
“Geez, fine, I’m coming,” Kaito says. He’s about to follow when suddenly he feels a small tug at his finger and looks down quickly, surprised to find a red string wrapped loosely there, something he hasn’t noticed before.
He feels like it should mean something, maybe, almost opens his mouth to ask about it, but then Kokichi sticks his tongue out at him and shouts “Race ya!” Moments later he’s already gone, leaving Kaito to gape after him as the distance between them continues to grow quickly.
Kaito thinks he notices a flash of something red attached to Kokichi’s finger, but it’s soon forgotten when his instincts finally kick in, a familiar rush of a challenge.
“Oh, it’s on!” He yells after him and seconds later he’s already running, fully intending to wipe that annoying little smirk from Kokichi's lips once and for all.
The scenery changes around him once more, the familiar corridors of the Academy turning into a blur as he races after Kokichi, his mocking laugh and Kaito’s own heartbeat loud in his ears, but this time with the gates wide open and no white and black electronic bears in sight.
Kaito doesn’t know where they’re running, there is no finish line and the place keeps constantly changing, but it doesn’t matter.
It’s just like Kokichi said—they have all the time in the world to figure it out.