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Kaito hadn't tried to communicate with his soulmate in a long time. When he was little, it'd been easy to assume they were somewhere far away, so they just couldn't tell. Maybe when it was summer, when Kaito wore tank tops and shorts, his soulmate was covered in long sleeved clothes. Maybe they just couldn't see it.
Or maybe they didn't exist, of course. Maybe that was why no one ever responded.
He'd written Are you there? before, very original. No answer. He'd considered sharing his name—but the thought of it had sent a prickly sensation crawling up his throat.
Because he didn't know. Because if they were there, why wouldn't they respond? Because maybe it was easier not to.
So he hadn't since he was little. It had been easy to tell himself that one day he'd meet someone who made him happy, happier than anyone else, so he didn't need to search for the person who perhaps shared his skin's ink.
But it had been a long year.
He had been accepted into a prestigious school that pushed him harder than even his astronaut training had taken him. The expectations had piled up, monumental bricks on his shoulders, stacked higher with each test he passed, each expectation he subverted.
And he found himself gazing long through his dorm's window, wondering.
Of course he wasn't alone. He had friends, people like him who shouldered similar burdens. But they weren't—What they had, it wasn't that. He still couldn't quantify that, whatever it was, but he ached for it. He ached in a way he hadn't ached in so long, like just behind his curtained gaze there was a way of living he had yet to comprehend. Like one day he would lift off from this earthly tent and it would hit him, everything he had been working toward.
Nice. His friends were nice.
His sidekick hovered behind him like a second shadow, his gentle eyes looking up into him, seeking approval, clinging to that Kaito-sized barrier between taking full responsibility and letting the pressure fall onto the one before him. He adored sweet Shuichi—what sort of monster couldn't?—but Shuichi didn't push him in the ways he was searching, the ways he kept longing for.
Maki Roll likewise stayed tight by his side. He saw the way she experienced feelings again through his own actions, the assassin rediscovering the little soft things in life that gave people cause to cling. He noticed how protective she had become, how her hands would twitch to her concealed blade if someone cast him a strange stray glance.
So what was he missing?
The vague imprints of glow-in-the-dark stars echoed along his walls. He could vaguely see his bare arm through the shifty splay of luminous splotches, and—frantically—overcome with feeling—he grappled for the marker by his nightstand. Should've known, if he'd faithfully left it there every night, that a tiny piece of him kept hoping, kept searching for any semblance of a response.
Pushing his lips tight together, he took careful aim and slowly, tenderly scrawled along his skin.
Stars. Just doodles. The bright aspirations that lay undiscovered overhead, the astronaut's cosmic compass.
One after another after another. He was addicted. Like polka-dots they spread up his bicep until he ran out of skin to cover. Stars.
He bit into his lip. “Idiot,” he whispered, clenching his fist. “You deluded idiot.”
As he curled up under his blankets, holding his arm in front of his face, he watched his stars, wishing upon them. If they're out there, might they find a pen. Might they craft a means of response and leave him without this stupid, desolate pounding in his throat.
Might they—
Ink. Ink spilled up his skin, frantic scribbles blotching out each star, one after another after another.
Kaito's heart seized.
Fisting the pen into his non-dominant hand, he scrawled in sloppy handwriting at his empty wrist—I want to meet you.
A clean, thin line swiped through his words, and a black response bloomed underneath.
No, you don't.
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Kaito couldn't focus during class. He'd drawn another star in his palm, a reminder, a wish, and kept checking it distractedly for a change. He worried his sweat would smear it before his soulmate could see it. Then, sure, he could draw it again, but he didn't want it to disappear. He didn't want his soulmate—his soulmate—to think him careless.
As his leg bounced beneath his desk, he managed to glance back at the sound of someone walking past him. Eyeliner, soft dark turquoise hair.
“Hey, sidekick,” he called, and his friend turned to proffer a small smile.
“What is it? You look... You look a little...”
Shuichi fumbled as he stacked his notes onto his desk, fingers fidgeting with the page. “Is everything okay?”
Glancing back, Kaito's hand fisted over his drawing. Protective. “Yeah. Just couldn't sleep well last night.”
His soulmate wouldn't respond to any of his other proddings. In the morning, Kaito had awoken to find his arms bare of ink. His soulmate must've painstakingly scrubbed their matching markings away.
Why? Why hadn't they wanted to respond? And—Why choose to respond now?
They could've kept ignoring him. His heart stumbled at the thought, but he swallowed it. What mattered was that he knew. His soulmate had finally shown him. That had to count for something.
Managing a weak smile to his friend, Kaito hunched over his desk. He checked his cupped hand to find a thick, scraggly X had been carved over his star. The words stop materialized before his very eyes. They then hovered for a rigid moment before paling and fading away, wracked by water and soap.
Tightening his mouth, Kaito plucked up his pencil and smeared another little star over the meat of his thumb. He trained his eyes over it, waited, waited.
Maybe they hadn't seen it. Maybe they were already ignoring him again.
You're my soulmate, he managed not to scream. Why would I stop.
He waited until evening, tucked safely into his dorm, to write back anyways. He glanced over the message he'd formed on a ripped out sheet of notebook paper, drawing his finger across his letter. Then, bending over his empty arm, as the sunset slipped down his window and drenched his bed in a familiar darkness, he set to work.
Convince me that we shouldn't communicate. If you can't, then please respond. I'll only send messages when you tell me it's okay. Not when we're in public.
If you can, I'll stop.
He almost ran out of space on his forearm, squishing his letters together toward the end. His heart didn't quite pinch as tightly as he'd expected as he finished and threw his pen aside.
He'd finished his work for the day, and his sore body commanded he lay down and rest. So he kept his arm in the air and watched, transfixed, searching for something to change. More scratches? Would they cover up Kaito's handwriting and erase it, leave nothing else—or..?
There. He gasped as a tiny dash registered beneath his message.
His eyes trained upon his bicep only for a small arrow to materialize, pointing to his right. His gaze shifted to his other arm, and his mouth fell open as his soulmate replied in a jagged, frantic message.
I'm a criminal of the worst kind. I've killed lots and lots of people.
Then the dash, below the message.
Kaito's hand fluttered to his pen and he scrawled beneath, My friend is an assassin. I'm sure you have your own reasons.
Pause. Shakily he added a dash beneath his words, watching hungrily for the speckle of ink.
I have no heart. I'm a cyborg, so I can't love.
Kaito rolled his eyes, a smirk affixed to his lip. Then why do you have a soulmate?
The replies came faster, easier, his soulmate's handwriting smoothing and easing as it came. Someone meant to love me must be an awful person. I don't want to know you.
How can you say that without trying? You're not even curious?
A beat; then stains like teardrops spilled over his skin, erasing the ink up Kaito's arms. From the top, words formed: I'm a liar. You'll never truly know me.
His heart fluttered. He had this feeling, this odd, warm glow within, that his soulmate was running out of reasons.
Is that a challenge? I'll prove you wrong. One day, I'll make you want for me to know you.
He sensed it, somehow. His soulmate hesitating. Like the pinprick of a pen against his skin, struggling to write and yet coming up empty.
Then the snarl of handwriting sprawled up his forearm. Prove it.
He quashed his excited smile.
He called upon strong memories—the chuff of smoke, the rising flame, the rockets letting loose the loudest, most fanciful noise he'd ever heard. While gazing up at his star-adorned ceiling, he drew a loose sketch of the spaceship on his hand, then wrote in tiny letters beneath: I'm going to see the stars one day. If you want, you can come with me.
His heart squeezed.
He'd been dreaming of this moment. For how long had he held it so tenderly between shaking, disbelieving hands?
A part of him had been convinced it would never come. And yet, now... it passed, and he waited.
And he waited to no avail. The rocket remained, but his soulmate's scrawl did not continue.
Worriedly, Kaito shucked off his clothes and started examining his skin, searching for a hidden message, some sort of sneaky reply. He even got up and contorted in front of the mirror, checking his back, his neck, his shoulders.
Nothing.
Had—Had he bored them?
...no way of knowing.
He dropped into bed, a sour taste under his tongue.
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While peering between two mirrors, Kaito drew a shaky hand to the nape of his neck—the spot just behind his ear—and drew a sharp little star. Small enough to be innocuous, but in a place so specific he could search.
...maybe his soulmate had reacted that way because they thought they knew him. Or maybe they didn't.
But he couldn't help himself. His blood boiled at the thought of stopping there.
As he moved through the halls, his gaze lingered casually over the backs of students' heads, searching.
No stars, of course. Dimples here and there. No star.
He checked carefully in the bathroom mirror on the way to class, but no, it was still there. So his soulmate maybe hadn't seen.
Perhaps they wore a scarf, or their hair was long, so they hadn't noticed. He clenched the back of his neck, pondering, scheming, aching.
What might it feel like to trace that spot—to gently run his fingers over their skin, to let his lips brush over and place pressure... to scoot in close, absorbing their warmth, bending into their presence...
A voice broke him from his reveries.
“The hell are you doing, Kaito?”
Flustered, he shook himself, hands falling to his sides. He peered over and saw the gremlin of his class glaring over his shoulder.
Kokichi Ouma's hair fell about him in spidery purple rivulets. His school uniform had been splotched with inexplicable tears and fading marks, and he had the oddest, most impossible-to-read smirk etched just up his lip.
Hands folded in front of him, like he was so innocent.
Shaking himself, Kaito said, “Ah, nothing. Just... thinking.”
Kichi's smirk hiked up an inch. His head tilted. “Ohhh, I didn't realize you knew how to do that! Congratulations, Kaito. I'm sure you're enjoying that achievement greatly—”
“Shut up, dude.” He ignored his smarting pride and stormed ahead of the gremlin. “It's nothing you'd get.”
Despite Kaito's quick gait, Kichi kept up easily. And they were headed to the same place, so it wasn't like Kaito could lose him.
He laughed between his fingers. “Neeeee hee-hee. Nothing I'd get? Oh, I'm curious! Please, oh, please illuminate me to what I wouldn't get, Kaito!”
That little shit. He couldn't come up with anything witty enough to dissuade Kichi, all too aware that the ultimate supreme leader would all too happily demolish any explanation Kaito offered. He'd recently discovered Kichi's lacking physical capabilities—the gremlin was already wheezing from their pace—and tended to rely on his inner strength to shove him through Kichi's bullshit.
Reaching their classroom, Kaito sauntered ahead of him and slammed the door shut behind him, sprinting over to his desk and turning back to begin conversation with Shuichi.
Kichi silently resumed his seat in the very back corner of the room, beneath its pronounced shadow. Of course only the ultimate supreme leader would take such an atmospheric desk and revel in the darkness.
Shuichi gently tapped him. “What did he do this time?”
“Nothing but glower around in my freaking shadow,” muttered Kaito, eyes still trained onto the gremlin across the classroom. “Patronize me.”
“Heh. What's new.” Shuichi managed a little chuckle. “To be fair, you did tell him in front of the whole class that his ultimate was bogus. That wasn't very nice.” His lips still crinkled into a slight grin, though it didn't quite meet his eyes.
“Yeah, well... am I wrong?” squeaked Kaito. “We don't know a thing about him! Ultimate supreme leader?” Kaito rolled his eyes. “He's just a liar.”
“I've been thinking about that.” Shuichi rose his pencil's eraser to his lip, musing. “Surely the school must have records that prove his legitimacy. You know back before the school's restoration there was someone called the ultimate impostor in class... seventy-seven? Though his papers were scant, I believe Mr. Hinata told us they proved his existence.”
Mr. Hinata was the only non-ultimate who could successfully put up with the bullshit of Hope's Peak students. In some cases better than the remaining ultimates themselves. He was a bit of an icon to the students, proof that no one needed to be labeled something incredible to be inherently badass. They were lucky to have him as their teacher this year—something about their class being too perfectly mixed with annoying students for anyone else to willingly take it.
Slumping into his desk, Kaito muttered, “Kichi's a liar. He could say anything, and I bet they'd believe it.” One hand fingered wistfully at his neck, where he'd placed the star this morning. Wishing. “He's full of shit.”
“I don't know.” Shuichi gazed over at the gremlin, lips trembling. “I can't help but wonder why he lies. He must have a reason to keep so much of himself from us. It... Sometimes, it makes me want to know him more, rather than less.”
Kaito blinked, shook himself. “Mmh. Never thought of it like that. I'll... have to keep it in mind. Thanks, sidekick.” Kaito released his star to pat Shuichi's head. Shuichi's porcelain cheeks flushed as he glanced away.
He murmured, “It always amused me that you call him Kichi. What's with the nickname if you hate him so much?”
Kaito glanced over his sidekick's shoulder at the gremlin in the back of class. “I feel like... if everything about him's a lie, then that's my truth, I guess. My perspective of him. If I can nail him with something of my own, then it's my fault if I'm wrong, and not one of his ploys.”
“Huh.” Shuichi made the cutest little smirk. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say that it sounds like you're trying to understand him.” His soft giggles were lost in Kaito's unabashed laughter.
Maybe. Man, that Kichi sure was a dipshit, though.
Of course his tone entirely altered the moment Mr. Hinata stood up and picked out students at random to present their bi-weekly reports on their ultimate studies. The floor soon devolved to Kaito's booming yells and Kichi's screechy laughter as he poked holes into others' testimonies.
If Maki was in their class, she would've already killed Kichi and tallied it as her own bi-weekly report. Look, I'm an assassin. I killed someone. That's what I do.
As soon as Shuichi's name was called, Kaito's neck prickled. He glared across the room and waited, waited as his sidekick began a run-down of his latest case and Kichi's hand popped right up. “Hey, Shuichi! If you're the ultimate detective, why haven't you already figured it out?”
“Shut up!” Kaito cried, slamming his hands onto his desk. “You're not the ultimate detective! How would you know Shuichi's process?”
Kichi rolled his eyes and replied smoothly, hands tented over his mouth, “Class seventy-eight's Kyoko Kirigiri figured out every last one of her cases before her trials even started. Not to mention her killing game experience, in which she was one who dragged everyone else through each murder mystery. Are you telling me you can't produce similar results, despite sharing her ultimate talent and even being scouted out by her, Shuichi?”
Mr. Hinata started to defend Shuichi, then gave up when Kaito stood. His fiery response shot back:
“Stop tearing him down! You haven't heard a thing about his case yet, either!”
Those sly purple eyes darted over to Shuichi, and Kichi cupped his hands around his mouth. “Prove me wrong, Shuichi!”
Nervously Shuichi glanced between his friend and the class shithead. He cleared his throat once, twice, eyes trained on the ground. “It's... a little bit complicated. I'm getting through it now, but, um, so far we haven't found much evidence. The body was killed in a... really gruesome way... looked like it was burned alive... so much of the evidence is ruined...”
Kaito glowered , gaze trained on Kichi. He knew Shuichi struggled with self-confidence, knew that Shuichi doubted his talent's basest instincts. He knew that was why it took him so long to discover the truth, though he always did discover it in the end.
That's the whole freaking reason he insisted Shuichi was his sidekick. So he wouldn't have to feel that pressure of doubting himself when he could trust in Kaito's belief in him.
Watching Kichi try to tear what meager self-confidence he had left made Kaito's blood boil. He'd seen it, rarely, incite Shuichi to discover testimony or evidence he'd previously not considered, but the way it tore Shuichi up inside about killed him.
And not even Mr. Hinata could convince him to shut up sometimes. Apparently ultimates used to teach other ultimates, probably for the best, but with the world's renewal there were so few remaining that they were spread thinly between staff members and otherwise assisting Principal Naegi in keeping the school running smoothly.
It must've been really important in the past, to make him want to renew Hope's Peak.
“Shuichi.”
Kaito jolted, watching Kichi get up and leaf through his sidekick's evidence. He'd already been privy to it, and he really couldn't make sense of it. So much smoke. So much staining.
“I'll give you a write-up if you ruin his evidence again,” Mr. Hinata warned. He looked so done with Kichi. Over the course of the semester, he'd come to a weird understanding with the kid—like he knew something in Kichi's registration papers that he kept hidden from the class—but a now-familiar worry line tended to ease between his brows when he acted up.
A bleak laugh had split from between Kichi's lips. He gestured to a spot on one photograph, said, “Well, that's that! Obviously the victim set the fire and killed themselves in it. No other possible explanation for that one!”
Shuichi's brow furrowed. He traced along the divot Kichi had pointed out; then his eyes flared. As he worried over it, muttering to himself, Kaito raced out of his desk and placed a protective hand over his friend's shoulder, glaring down over the gremlin as he looked over Shuichi's evidence.
Then the gasp. “This... This right here...” He was jabbing something, Kaito couldn't tell what. “Is this... g-gunpowder? Was the fire caused by an explosion?”
“What. No.” Kichi examined his nails. “Obviously it was a fire. Why the hell would someone make an explosion?”
“N-No...” Shuichi gasped into his palm. “Th-That has to be it. These markings—There's nothing else it could be.” Shaking in place, he hastily returned his evidence to his binder and bowed down to Kichi. Kaito grimaced as his sidekick inclined his head, said, “Thank you so much, Kokichi. I believe I've made a breakthrough.”
Kichi had already returned to his desk. “Ohhh, now you get it? Booooring.”
As he got up, brushing himself off, Shuichi whispered to Kaito, “That can't be it. Why would he help me if he thought it was boring?”
Kaito kept an eye trained on the gremlin as they returned to their seats and Mr. Hinata, eyes rolled to the back of his head, dismissed class in a huff. His heart made a wayward stumble in his chest when Kichi glanced over and met his gaze, unwavering, unrelenting even as he packed up his bags and shuffled his disheveled backpack onto his shoulders.
He had a tendency to believe in the people he cared about, the people he would follow to the ends of the earth. Shuichi, Maki, easily.
Kichi was difficult. Kichi was strange, and impossible to discern, and half the things he said had to be blatant untruths.
...but he'd helped Shuichi out once more, had somehow, in a wayward attempt, rallied his sidekick's hopes, in ways that Kaito was incapable of.
He knew so infuriatingly little about that shit. Kichi was small. Frail. Thin little hands, overly pale. His clothes were ragged, despite only having spent a year so far at Hope's Peak. Did he take poor care of them on purpose, or had it something to do with where he went after school?
His questions begot questions. No truth in sight. No truth, save for his odd roundabout decision to help Shuichi by tearing him down.
He toyed with his star, worrying it, worrying himself. The others had already left class, but Kaito moved slowly, struggling to break eye contact with his class gremlin. When he did, scrounging up his backpack, his heart seized, his lungs crushing against it. He made another stray glance at Kichi's desk, but he'd gone and left the room already.
He didn't notice until passing through the gym locker room that a fat blot now covered the star he'd drawn. Not erased, just drowned in his soulmate's erratic scrawl.
Like a promise.
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Out of sheer curiosity, he left a star at his waist, hidden beneath undergarments. Just to see if his soulmate would find it, and what they might do if they did.
The next morning he stumbled into class late, the plastic bag swaying from his wrist. He sauntered over to Kichi's desk, his empty sleeve shuddering in his wake. Not meeting the gremlin's eyes, he placed the bag onto his desk and said curtly, “Thank you. For helping Shuichi.”
A momentary shock registered on the gremlin's face. Then, easily, his milky complexion returned, his lips smearing into a mean smirk. “Really now, I don't need anything from you—”
“Dude, just take it, will you?”
He'd thought hard about what to do for someone who was fully intent on keeping their interests a mystery. Ultimately he'd determined, after observing Kichi's lacking physique, that he could put his culinary skills to use. As the ultimate astronaut, he had to take his health seriously and focus keenly on eating and treating his body well, so he'd picked up a few easy meal tricks here and there.
Inclining his head just a moment, he said, “You're always so thin. So... eat more. If you don't have any ideas, I can give you other recipes. But you need to take better care of yourself.”
Kichi had gone silent, facing his desk. With his complexion obscured by the unnatural shadows of his seat, Kaito couldn't even begin to read him. Probably the point.
Class was about to start, so Kaito bowed one last time and hurried over to his seat to a gaping-mouthed Shuichi. “What... was that?”
“I...” Mindlessly he toyed with his pencil, doodling stars into the margins of his notebook. “I want... to believe in him.”
Shuichi snorted. “Wow, someone's had a real change of heart.” But he drew silent when Kaito firmly shook his head.
“He helped you. I thought he was just being mean for the sake of it, but... I realized, yesterday, that he wasn't just trying to hurt you.” Then he shrugged a little, watching Kichi through slit eyes.
His heart eased when the gremlin finally sifted through the plastic utensils and tupperware he'd provided, and, with a sort of ceremonious motion, popped it open. Damn. He hadn't realized how worried he was that the boy would just shuck it all into the trash without another glance.
He'd put a lot of effort into his sort of take on the migas. He'd snuck some extra vegetables into them—Kichi just oozed I-refuse-to-eat-vegetables vibes—and he'd added a little extra protein too. Keep his strength up.
Kaito about collapsed into his desk when Kichi finally took a bite. He stuffed his head into his arms and pretended to ignore his relief.
That night, as he undressed, he found two little stars trailing his ankle. They were misshapen and poorly proportioned, dripping down his heel, but nonetheless were they there.
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For a few days, they traded stars. Never left in places easily seen by the public eye, but little surprises to be found at the day's dawn and dusk. Kaito had begun changing in the restroom stalls for gym, rather than out in the open, to keep the stars a secret shared only between himself and his soulmate.
At first they were left in weirdly innocuous places. His kneecap. All five toes on his left foot. The small of his back. Then like a ritual they began to gather around his chest, encircling his heartbeat. He sensed the pen's pinprick like fingers traversing his body, settling like palms over his heart.
He started writing good morning in his palm when he woke, not really expecting a response, only for a reply to grace his empty palm and remain up until minutes before class would start. He couldn't bring himself to erase their shared communication, but his soulmate always made sure to wipe it away.
But that didn't mean they didn't happen.
He'd begun to guess that his soulmate went to his very school. The writing bled from his body only a little before nighttime began at Hope's Peak—when the showers shut off. And one time the ink stayed on until the next morning, only to disappear immediately after daytime's break.
Too specific timing... right?
It'd make sense that his soulmate didn't live so far from him. It'd be difficult to be soulmates with someone who didn't share your language, live near enough to understand you on a certain level. Sure—It was possible, but for someone like Kaito these little telltale hints were immensely comforting. He didn't think he had the time to learn yet another language, to travel halfway across the world, in order to be united with his soulmate.
He'd make it, if he had to. But he'd promised himself to see the stars, and the thought of having to prioritize either of those goals had made his stomach clench.
One night he idled in bed, then wrote over his arm, What are your interests?
The dash, then a response—What are yours?
Cheeky little...
Smiling through his smirk, Kaito replied, I'm sort of a health nut. Does sleeping count?
Damn. Wish that was me. He giggled, watching his soulmate's words spiral over his skin. Video games. Pretty busy being terrible otherwise.
Mmmh. He was a jock, his soulmate a nerd. Funny.
An affectionate nudge enveloped his heart. He wrote slowly. Is that why we shouldn't meet? Because you're evil and a murderer?
He sensed the pen hesitating on his skin then, Yup. I'm surprised you remembered that—
He wrote over his soulmate's response, cutting them short to say, I hold onto everything you tell me. Is that really so strange?
The only unmarked skin left between his arms was a smidgen of space at the tip of his right bicep. Kaito kept his eyes trained on it, the pen vibrating in his fingers. He was brainstorming lines to refute whatever his soulmate said next, already knowing they would try to call it strange, erratic, or even worse.
The pen fell from his hand at what he received instead—
It would be if you knew who I was, Kaito Momota.
How...
He thought over it, and, sure, the stars and the rocket were a giveaway, but that meant—that meant his soulmate knew who he was. His soulmate—His soulmate couldn't be far away.
Who, his heart whispered, who was it. The initial dread had been overcome with a dreamy heat that threatened to smother him. They knew and still they kept communicating with him. That meant—That meant they were interested in him, even after knowing.
When he looked back at their conversation, he realized it had already been erased. A new question bloomed at his wrist. I didn't get it wrong, did I?
Shakily Kaito replied, No. You're right. How?
The pinprick of pen. Then, steadily, as if revealing an illegal secret, That star on the back of your neck was a dead giveaway, once I found it. And you kept touching it. Too obvious.
His heart was pounding, pounding breathlessly. His handwriting broke apart, frantic and spastic. Are you disappointed? He wanted to convince himself otherwise, but of the crumbs he'd been given of his soulmate, he couldn't... he couldn't tell what they might be thinking.
He wondered if it was Maki. Or Shuichi, even. If one of them was dragging him along in a roundabout way, struggling to figure out whether his feelings were still platonic or if they had evolved to something else.
No.
He couldn't breathe. He started to respond, the first things on his mind, when his soulmate's words bled over.
But you will be.
Angrily he dug into his skin. No! I won't be! You're my soulmate! Gripping the pen, he marked out his soulmate's response and circled his own, once, twice, three times. They were wobbly like the rings of a planet, encircling his whole world.
No response. Nothing. Frantically Kaito wrote, Prove it. Prove I'll be disappointed. You'll be surprised.
Nothing. Still nothing.
But the next morning he woke and glanced into the mirror to find someone had left a star, like a lingering kiss, on his cheek. Its edges had blurred, struck through with watery lines.
Tears.
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“Is it you?”
Shuichi looked up from his desk, cheeks bright red. “Is what me?”
Kaito slumped over his sidekick's notes, toying with his pencil. “It's not... is it.” He let out a long breath. “Damn. I can't figure it out.”
“Kaito... did...” Shuichi's smart detective eyes widened. “It's your soulmate, isn't it? Did they finally contact you?”
“Yeah...” Kaito sighed, long and slow and sorrowful. “They figured out who I was, but I'm having a hard time of it. They know my name, so... they probably go here. But, dammit, who?”
Shuichi's eyed lidded. He peered about the room, musing. “I don't think anyone's been particularly more affectionate towards you, lately.” Other than Maki, neither of them said. But could it really be Maki? Besides, Maki's first soulmate had died long ago, and they still couldn't tell if she'd ever find another. If that's even how this worked.
“That... reminds me, Kaito.”
Kaito looked up. His friend pinked, then steadily pulled up the sleeve of his shirt.
Long, curving lines twirled across his papery skin. The lines were dotted with slanting musical notes, artistically drawn with a careful, knowledgeable hand. “I, um... I thought at first it was ah...” He bit his lip. “I don't know. An alien. Or someone far away from here. B-Because the lines were always smudged or impossible to make out.
“This is the first time I've been able to tell what they're drawing.” Tender fingers slid along his markings. He let out a nervous breath. “I've never contacted them before. Sh-Should I try now?”
Kaito took his hand. “Yes! Of course you should! Shuichi, this is great news! Yes, tell them!”
He wondered if his soulmate was in the room. Did his soulmate hear him?
Could his soulmate tell how hard his heart was screaming for them to say it?
His eyes traversed curiously across the classroom. He didn't really know most of his classmates, though he supposed one of them could be hiding it.
...they weren't disappointed. His heart skittered.
But Shuichi squeezed his hand, and he returned to his friend.
Ducking his head, Shuichi got right to it. He took Kaito's outstretched pen and wrote Hello? beneath the sheet music. My name is Shuichi Saihara. I'm your soulmate.
Class had already started, but Mr. Hinata was fully aware that sometimes ultimates just weren't going to focus on schoolwork. Funnily enough, he encouraged attendance, even if the students slept through class. He just wanted to see them, make sure they were okay. As long as they made it up later, he didn't mind raising his voice enough to speak over them for the kids who actually cared to listen.
Kaito and Shuichi watched, eyes wide and unwavering, as ink spread beneath his message.
I knew you were out there!!! Let's get together immediately!
He went bright red. Sweet Shuichi.
My name's Kaede Akamatsu. I'm a pianist! Here's my phone number—I'll send you my music! I've been building up an album for you for so long!
Shuichi blindly fished out his phone and began dutifully copying his soulmate's phone number into his contacts list through the inexplicable downpour of tears. “Sh-Sh-She's been here this whole time,” he mumbled to himself, “if only I hadn't been so nervous...”
Covering his mouth, Kaito struggled to stifle his laughter. “Dude, I told you. Geez! You should've done this a long time ago.”
Shuichi pouted as he fumbled a text, taking a selfie of himself that was almost entirely forehead. Kaito knew his soulmate would adore it anyways. Shuichi was the type of person who couldn't not be cute.
He received an immediate photo in return, of a girl with pale purple eyes and long blonde hair. She had adorned the greatest smile, and behind her lay the slumbering form of a sleek, black piano.
“Wait,” Shuichi squeaked, “sh-she's at a concert! There are people in the stands behind her! Sh-She's texting me instead of playing her piece!”
His phone sputtered, ringtone blazing. Shuichi faltered back, cowering.
Kaito accepted it for him, and an uproarious chant filled the classroom.
One pristine voice took over:
“This next song is for Shuichi Saihara, my soulmate! We're getting married as soon as I'm done here!”
Shuichi slid down his chair and under his desk, head in his hands.
The entire classroom fell to a hush as students began to get out of their desks and encircle the stream of lyrics that had shot out of Shuichi's phone. Mr. Hinata shut-up mid lecture, his own curiosity getting the better of him. Undulating piano music poured through the speakers, captivating the room.
Kaito peeked over his shoulder and found even the class gremlin at a stupor, lips ever so slightly parted. His eyes had filled with a dreamy swirl, and a strange—longing—filled his milky face.
At the end of class, Principal Naegi called Shuichi to the front office on account of “someone being here for him.” A frantic Shuichi insisted Kaito come with him for moral support, and, figuring at least part of this had only happened because of him, Kaito assented.
Upon entering the front office, Shuichi's hand was wrenched out of Kaito's as a blonde figure pelted across the room, scooping him into her arms. Kaito eyed her dress—sleek, black, its massive skirts mirroring piano keys.
Shuichi was about swallowed into her embrace. At first the shock overwhelmed him, but Kaito caught his sidekick's pale face peeking out from over her shoulder as his pallor restored. His fingers tightened at her back and eyes shut, head resting against her.
Her lips addressed his forehead. “Let's be together for the rest of our lives.”
Shuichi let out a disbelieving breath. “H-How old are you?”
“Huh?” She blinked. “Eighteen. Why?”
“Oh,” he squeaked, “I'm, um, I'm only sixteen.”
“Oh! You're still in school!” She blinked rapidly, adjusting to this information. She gawked at the front office as if first recognizing she was in fact inside of a school. Kaito noticed Shuichi's usual eyeliner marked the bottom edges of her eyes as well, where lashes covered skin.
She must've seen that been added to her face every morning, and yet she waited, waited so patiently for a response from him.
...Kaito's heart trembled.
“Well. Hmm. I'm supposed to be in France for my next concert, but let's think this through first. Maybe I can move down here after I finish my tour? Or... No, I don't want you to uproot your life just to be near me.
“Yeah, how about I move down here as soon as I'm done with my tour?”
Shuichi had grown silent. His head rested close to hers, eyes shut, the tension that had wracked his face all but evaporated.
He broke into a gentle laugh. “I hardly know you, and yet I already love you so much. H-How is this possible?” His smile drew wistful, bitter. “I'm sorry. I should have contacted you sooner. I shouldn't have been so afraid...”
“No, shhh.” She squeezed him tight, her black-and-white nails flickering against his back. “I don't mind. We're together now. That's all that matters.
“I love you, Shuichi.” Her voice softened as his tears broke through, and, distinctly feeling like he was barging in, Kaito slipped out of the room.
/\
☆ < > ☆
\/ \/
Someone had tied a tiny package to his door's front handle. Kaito fidgeted with it before successfully tugging it off. He made a clandestine glance along the hall—nobody nearby—then propped the little gift's top off.
Broccoli—Broccoli?
Someone had left a lovely head of broccoli in a gift tied to his door. Tentatively Kaito broke off a stem and found, to his shock, a sweet smell. Not broccoli at all, but someone had painstakingly molded some chocolate into the shape, color and form of broccoli.
He now had no idea who his soulmate was, but a note had been left in the box. Get it? Because you're a health nut. Oh, ha ha. Send the health nut broccoli as a gift. How thoughtful. Broccoli that was secretly chocolate.
Who the hell was his fucking soulmate. And why did Kaito need to kiss them so badly.
He was beginning to suspect his soulmate had not lied when they had said they were a criminal. Because apparently they could lockpick.
He started discovering little presents in only the most unlikely of places. Next to his toothbrush. In his fridge. Atop his pillow, winking in the half-light of his stars. It would be disturbing if the gifts weren't so strange and harmless and irresistible. A purple teddy bear that may have been dyed by an amateur soulmate. Little ceramic rockets that opened up like Russian dolls, the final gift inside a creepy doll that Kaito could not begin to explain. Off brand grape soda.
Sometimes they still communicated, but his soulmate had grown slow at responding, or perhaps reluctant.
Then he found the dingy handheld gaming console at his windowsill. Little else keeping his mind up, Kaito plucked it and turned it on. There was a single game in its memory, Animal Crossing. Kaito booted it up and found a strange little animal village greeting him, full of mummified dogs and ugly mice and one freaky horse with bright red eyes.
His little avatar had purposely disheveled hair and a fashion sense that almost didn't work. Loud, bright patterns contrasted with slim white pants and slick purple shoes. Their house was set up with secret passages and cozy pillow forts like a cushy, treasured hideaway.
He had to stop playing. His hands were shaking too hard, the need to see them too powerful.
Couldn't stop himself. Tried again later after a fitful night of sleep. Wandered around the animal village and found a sign post at its front.
There was one message:
I broke into your house!!! I bet you loooooove your soulmate now!
Smirking, Kaito entered a reply.
You're right. I do.
He wandered around in his soulmate's weird animal town for as long as he could stand it, before discovering this little owl girl who'd let him make constellations in the sky.
Then he spent the entire night recreating his favorite star systems from memory, leaving them for his soulmate to find.
/\
☆ < > ☆
\/ \/
Kaito was slow to leave class again. He hardly noticed when it ended, and even Shuichi had scampered off with a haphazard goodbye, likely off to call his soulmate.
His mind was too full of stupid things. Things that didn't matter.
God, who was his soulmate? Why were they toying with him?
As he shouldered his backpack, a voice towards the podium made itself known: “Kaito? You've been a little quiet lately. Anything going on?”
Kaito bristled. Slowly he whirled around.
Mr. Hinata was trying to act cool—straightening his tie, his button-up—but his gaze lingered on Kaito, and the concern was pulsating between them.
Clearing his throat, Kaito said, “Oh, no, I'm fine. Just midterms and astronaut training and all that. Hard stuff.”
“See, that's what I mean.” Kaito flushed, stared at the ground. “Usually you welcome a challenge.”
Did his own teacher have to call him out so spectacularly? Cheeks flaring up, Kaito backed towards the door. He didn't realize he was clutching the stars on the back of his other hand until Mr. Hinata's eyes followed and he asked, innocuous, “Did your soulmate contact you?”
Kaito pressed his lips tight together. Drew out a long breath. “Something like that.” He managed a weak laugh. “No, not really. They keep lingering just out of reach. I think they go here, but they won't tell me anything about themselves.”
“Maybe they're nervous about being found out,” Mr. Hinata said.
Before he could stop himself, Kaito blurted, “What was your experience? With, um, with that.”
It was no secret that Mr. Hinata and some of the other teachers had gone through a killing game of their own many years ago. Most of their classmates, fortunately, had been successfully resurrected—unlike Ms. Kirigiri and Principal Naegi's—but they'd once caused the world's end. For all Mr. Hinata knew, maybe he had caused his soulmate's death long ago.
But then, a smirk cutting across his face, Mr. Hinata rolled up his sleeve. Scratchy handwriting at his wrist read: you forgot to start the FUCKING dishwasher again. A sheepish sorry was written below it.
“We were lucky,” Mr. Hinata merely said. His voice was softer than he usually let it be in class. Fond. “We'd gone through so much, yet we still had each other. When my class was locked in that killing game, a lot of us had started writing our names on our arms in a panic, hoping to find if they were out there somewhere.
“Unfortunately for me, my soulmate didn't respond at first either.” The smile pulled at his lips, stronger. “He started talking to me after a particularly brutal execution that woke him up. I kind of knew, though, early on. Some blood had dried to his face, and I woke up that next morning seeing it on mine. Then suddenly we were inseparable.”
Mr. Hinata met his eyes. “They're out there, Kaito. If they're responding to you, that's good. That means they're willing to let you into their life now. I hope you'll be able to meet them too.”
Kaito left the classroom in a daze. How he hoped so too. He stared at the sloppy stars on his hand, agonized.
He didn't notice his egregious companion until they clapped a hand over his shoulder. “Kaito! Whatcha doin'?”
Startled, Kaito jumped back. He growled at the trickster creeping out of the shadows, same old razzly-haired Kokichi. “Why do you care?”
Kokichi's laughter trailed after him. “Nee hee-hee! Why not? It's awfully bizarre seeing you so gloomy!”
“Yeah, well.” Kaito shrugged his backpack over his shoulders and hurried along. He failed to lose Kokichi in the crowd. The purple menace clung to his shadow. He figured it wouldn't hurt to keep talking. Maybe it'd bore Kokichi enough to make him leave. “I've been trying to talk to my soulmate, actually.” He flashed the scrawled back to his hand to Kokichi, slowed enough for him to observe. “But I can't seem to find them.”
Kokichi snorted. “You're so dumb, Kaito. You think they'd be real easy to find what with all the stars on your hand right now.”
“I know!” Kaito shook a fist at the ceiling. “But nobody matches me.”
“How unfortunate.” Kichi dumped his hands into his pockets. He was wearing black gloves today. Sometimes he broke them out to add to an unsettling attire, such as the cape and matching newsboy cap today.
“They have to go to Hope's Peak,” Kaito continued, voice picking up heat. “They know too much about my classes not to. So where the hell are they?”
Another snicker from his little demented follower. “I bet they're leaving you lots of clues that you're too stupid to figure out.”
Kaito huffed. “Oh yeah? You think so?” He was pretty sure if there were any obvious ones he would've figured it out by now. He'd been paying really careful attention to what his soulmate had written to him. It was just such easy things to misconstrue: all those lies, all the vague responses.
Kichi's hands sprung out of his pockets. He waved one in front of Kaito's face. “Lots.”
Kaito swatted his hand away. “The hell do you know about soulmates, anyway? You find yours yet?”
He had a distinct feeling that Kichi saw through his pretended disinterest.
Kichi shoved him with his shoulder. Just a nudge. “I don't care about any of that at all. I bet my soulmate's nasty! I bet yours is too!”
“Hey, shut up!” Kaito's face smoldered. He shoved Kichi back, knocking him into the nearest locker. “Don't say that about them. You don't even know them.”
Kichi's eyes gleamed. “Neither do you.”
Kaito huffed. “I know they're out there. And when I find them I'm gonna do everything I can for them.”
“What if,” Kichi began—wavered. He swallowed tightly, shook himself, foisted a smile upon his shocked companion. “What if they're the worst person in the whole world?”
“They're not.” Kaito turned away, gaze distant. He wondered what it would feel like when they finally let him near them. How it would be to take their hand in his, to hold it so gently.
“Yeah, but what if you hate them? What if everyone hates them?”
Kaito snorted. “I won't. I'd stand up for them, prove the whole world wrong if I had to.” He pumped his chest with his fisted star-covered hand. “And if the world wouldn't change their mind, then I'd take them off the planet with me. We'd find somewhere better. Just us.”
Kichi's scoffed. “That can't seriously be your solution.” He paused, mused. An awful grin struck his face. “What if your soulmate is Hitler?”
Kaito choked. “My soulmate is not Hitler.”
“Unless he is.”
“I would not be attracted to an old dead racist guy!”
“Eeeewww, Kaito wants to kiss a dead body!”
Kichi blitzed past him, sticking his tongue out at Kaito before sprinting away. Fuming, Kaito took off after him, screaming, trying to drown out his lies.
For a moment he forgot what he was so angry about, and his heart lifted, and the laughter came erupting forth, despite everything.
Then Kichi was lost in the crowd and he was facing the front of the school, numbly padding down the imposing marble steps. He glanced at his starry hand and clutched it and burst into tears, and a wracking cold crushed his bones.
/\
☆ < > ☆
\/ \/
Something felt wrong when he woke up. Bleary, he blinked through his sleep and shuddered to the edge of his bed, dragging his blankets with him.
He reached over to his sink and got the water running, searching for his washcloth.
Then he caught it, on the meat of his thumb—
a heart.
Thoughtlessly he ran his fingers along it, a tightness returning to his chest. Then in his haze he took his hand to his lips and slowly kissed the little heart.
They'd... They had to have left it for him.
He was careful while he washed his face, careful to keep his thumb from washing the heart away. He scouted around for a sharpie and drew over it with careful concentration, making it deep and stark against his skin.
As he slid out of his pajama pants, he stared down at his hand. Sighed.
“I want to see you,” he murmured. Shuichi had been happier than he could ever recall him being. Kaito dreamed of it, tended after it, that gnawing need.
He dressed slowly, mind in a funk. Shuffled on his slippers. Gave a once-over to his room.
Ah, the blanket. It sprawled over his bed and trailed onto the ground.
Slumping over, Kaito began picking up his sheets. “Man, how'd I do that... usually I don't sleep that wildly.” Shook his head. Didn't really matter. A good space cadet knew to take care of himself as well as his surroundings.
As he folded his sheets back into his bed, he stood up a little quickly, stepping up close to his bed to reach over it and fix the wrinkles—
“ow!”
He blinked.
What was that.
“Uh, hello?” he called a little tentatively, peeking around his sheets. As he straightened out the wrinkles and broke the air pockets, he found no sign of a presence in his bed.
Then he leaned over and peeked below it.
“Uhhhh... someone there?” Or... was it a cat, maybe? A really human-sounding cat? But how would a cat get into his room? Did his freaking soulmate leave him a cat next?
Utter silence.
Then, quietly, “Dammit.”
There was a human being under his bed. A human being who had just cursed at being found out.
As terrible as it sounded, Kaito's heart began to pound. From the little hints he'd been receiving, it was difficult not to imagine anyone other than who he was hoping to be hiding under there.
Swallowing, he whispered, “Is it you? Please come out. I—I won't hurt you.” Winced. “Would never hurt you.”
The voice was familiar, achingly familiar. It missed something important, though, something that made it recognizable. “We could also pretend this didn't happen.”
“I don't want to,” whispered Kaito. “I don't know why you're here—but I don't care. Why are you so hesitant? Isn't this good?” Didn't they want to be together?
Why were they being... so difficult?
Him? tried Kaito. Why was he being so difficult..? The voice leaned masculine.
“It's no good,” his soulmate replied, voice low, grisly. “You won't like me anymore once you know who I am.”
“How can you claim to know that?” His voice threatened to raise, but he forced it down. Clearly his soulmate was scared... and the last thing he wanted to do was scare him further. “If you know me so well, then what makes you think I'll want to stop being with you as soon as I see you? That's a pretty bold assumption.”
A pained whisper: “Prove me wrong?”
“Yeah.” Kaito reached out under his bed, letting his hand rest just ahead of him in the dark. “I intend to.”
Fingers nudged over the back of his hand. His lungs deflated.
Little fingers, small and warm. He folded their hands together, squeezed. His thumb rubbed protectively over his soulmate's skin, pouring all of his affection and cares and reassurance into his touch.
There was a faint jostling under the bed. Kaito scooted back, holding the hand tight—a matching heart at their thumb—as an arm appeared out from underneath, pale and thin and milky white. Then came a leg, and a foot, adorned in a long striped purple sock.
“Close your eyes,” they whispered, and Kaito complied.
Footsteps. Closer, closer, until his soulmate's free hand cupped his face.
“Can I open them,” Kaito uttered, and there was no response.
So he did.
He met wide, purple eyes and pale, flushing skin. Perhaps from being under the bed all night, his soulmate hadn't the time to style his hair with the usual spidery flair, and it fell, messy, purple, to his shoulders in wavy rivulets.
Slowly Kaito ran a hand through it. His soulmate flinched.
“You're disappointed,” Kichi whispered. “I can tell.” His eyes shut. “That's why I didn't want you to know.”
Kaito let out a baffled laugh. “Why do you think I'm disappointed?”
His lips pursed. “Um, isn't it obvious?” He blinked, started tallying on his hands. “I'm the guy who terrorizes Shuichi? You exclusively refer to me as a little shit? I'm a lying asshole who wasn't supposed to get a soulmate and somehow glitched the system? I've basically fucked you over?”
“That's a lie,” murmured Kaito, and Kichi's brows shot right up. His mouth started moving, but Kaito spoke over him, and he let himself be drowned out. “Unless you also glitched the system by falling in love with me.”
“In love—?” Kichi resumed an easy smirk. “With you? Why the hell would I fall in love with an idiot like you?”
Really? Kaito didn't even speak, just gestured to the teddy bear he had propped up on his bed. Kichi followed his finger and registered it, and he said quietly, “Didn't... expect you to keep everything.”
“Or did you?” Kaito asked, and the boy paused, caught between two truths, or two lies: two converging realities. He couldn't settle on either and hid his head in his hands.
Reaching out to touch a strand of his hair, Kaito whispered, “Now why were you under my bed?” preparing himself for an answer that wouldn't make sense.
Then Kichi's mumble came through: “I can't tell you. You'll think I'm boring... you don't realize how boring I really am...”
Now he knew why he couldn't recognize the voice. Kichi usually inflated his tone with this punkish snark. That snark had dissolved now, his head downcast.
“Boring is the last word I'd use to describe you, Kichi.”
“Kichi,” he whimpered, hovering over it, languishing in it. “D-Dammit, I kind of knew it ever since you sent me those stars. L-Like, who else?” He kept his head hidden until Kaito strung their fingers together, squeezing gently. “I always felt bad for the idiot who'd tried to communicate with me when we were little... the sorry, sorry idiot who got stuck with someone who would never love them...
“But then I met you... and I realized it was you... and I realized... fuck... this really wasn't fair to you...
“S-So uh, that's why I was under your bed.” He gave a meager smile. “Because that's as close as I'll ever get to you.”
Kaito's lips slowly parted. “You little shit,” he murmured, tender, “why are you still lying?” Kichi gasped, the tears spilling down his cheeks. “You're telling me I got stuck with a soulmate who'd never love me? Isn't that the most backwards thing you've ever heard? And, really...” He chuckled, fondling Kichi's hands. “Tell me again how this isn't fair to me?
Kaito tucked him into an embrace, Kichi's head under his chin, hands clutched tight. “You're weird, yeah, but... it's like in the cutest way possible.” Kichi flushed, squeezed him. “I... I just want you to be in my life. You surprise me, challenge me to be stronger than I am alone.”
Gently he stroked Kichi's hair. “Let's stay together, okay? I don't want to be apart from you any longer.”
Silence, but for Kichi's tight fingers. His hands escaped and fell behind Kaito's back, clutching close, closer.
His sob buffeted Kaito's chest. “Please... take care of me.”
His lips broke into a faint smile. He held Kichi, whispered, “I will.”
/\
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