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Rantaro spends the first two weeks after waking up from the simulation holed up in his hospital room. Even after he’s given clearance to return to solid foods and told by his physical therapist that he’s fine to start walking around again, he only uses his newfound freedom to take showers and munch on plain bread while staring vacantly out the window.
There are people out there who Rantaro wants to speak to, both real and fake. The participants of his first killing game, his sisters—even Tsumugi, who he knows to be the cause of his new migraine issue—but the prospect of getting out of his room for any reason is intimidating. Even more so as it occurs to him how little he truly knows the participants of the 53rd killing game. He was in the simulation, living, interacting with the lot, for only a couple days before Tsumugi caved his head in with a shot put ball. After he died, everyone—even Kaede—formed unbreakable bonds. Bonds Rantaro couldn’t dream of getting in the middle of.
So he stays in his room instead, playing solitaire and browsing book recommendations given by his psychologists. He’s never been much of a reader, lacking the focus to sit down for long periods of time with only one source of stimulation, but in his rehabilitation, he finds that there’s little else for him to do. Especially when he isn’t exactly going out of his way to seek out the other survivors.
His period of self-imposed isolation finally comes to an end on the third week, when Kaede (and Shuichi, who trails behind her as he always did in the simulation) comes by to visit. Her first priority is apologising, but after Rantaro assures her that he doesn’t care about any of that she moves on to asking after his health, has he been eating, how has his sleep been, has he talked to anyone else since waking up.
It’s nice of her. Rantaro doesn’t much care for being fussed after, but there’s something contagious about Kaede’s energy. Even now, with the sparkle in her eyes noticeably dimmer and faded red scratches ringing her neck, Kaede is as spunky as she’s always been, and fiercely caring.
That’s probably why, despite brushing off all of Kaede’s questions, Rantaro somehow ends up roped into eating breakfast in the cafeteria the next morning.
The environment is a palpable change in atmosphere from the quiet hollowness of Rantaro’s hospital room. Former participants enter the cafeteria together in small bunches; Kiibo and Miu, Gonta and Tsumugi, Tenko and Angie and Himiko. There’s little mingling between the groups, which Rantaro thinks could be a good thing, considering how things went during his last rehabilitation period. The group always settled into some semblance of peace whenever allowed to do their own thing, but group therapy was explosive, often ending in tears or shouting matches or worse. Rantaro doesn’t doubt that it’s still happening, but at least he’s spared the dramatics over breakfast. Unearthed trauma always kills an appetite.
…Hah. How callous. Rantaro looks away from the milling strangers Kaede keeps calling his “friends” and focuses back on his rice pudding. It’s alright. Bland. He should have grabbed brown sugar.
Kaede settles into the seat in front of him, having left briefly for a bowl of cereal. Shuichi quickly moulds into her side, apparently more interested in her than his breakfast, and Kaede shifts with a hum. Presses her lips against the crown of his head.
Rantaro gets the distinct sense that he shouldn’t be watching this and pulls his gaze away. Unfortunately for everyone involved, Kaede seems to notice this, because she offers a small smile as she picks up her spoon.
“How’s your breakfast?” she asks.
“Fine.” Rantaro frowns, letting grains of rice shlop off his spoon. “Little bland, but I’ve had worse. Have you ever—” the reminder that he hasn’t ever actually been to Britain nearly closes up Rantaro’s throat; he forces himself to finish, “—had porridge? It’s much worse than this. Especially when it’s cold.”
“Ah, I recall trying it once,” Shuichi chimes in. Rantaro glances at him, and Shuichi meets his gaze steadily. There’s something unnerving about those eyes, Rantaro thinks, but it’s hard to tell if that’s because of what happened to Shuichi in the game, or if they’ve always looked that way. It wasn’t as though Rantaro could ever see them back in the simulation. “It was fine… but I don’t mind bland foods as much. At least, I didn’t at the time.” His nose wrinkles.
Kaede lets out a light giggle. “Geez, you guys are making me feel a little left out,” she remarks. “I’ve never even wanted to try porridge before, but now that you’re talking about it…”
“Don’t try it on my account.” Rantaro shakes his head. “I won’t be the guy who made you try bad food. Leave that to Saihara-kun.”
Shuichi’s cheeks puff out. “Ducking out at the first sign of consequences, I see…” he grumbles, though his expression is more amused than anything. Rantaro offers a small smirk by way of reply and softens as he hears Kaede giggle again. She ruffles Shuichi’s hair, eyes crinkled with an affectionate smile, and Rantaro has to turn back away.
This is stupid. Making small talk over breakfast as if nothing has even happened. Not that Rantaro resents Kaede for causing his death, or Shuichi for surviving, but the idea that they could just be normal teenagers who only have to worry about things like whether the breakfast is good enough, or being blamed for poor food choices… it makes Rantaro’s stomach turn. It makes him feel like he’s avoiding talking about what’s important, even though he doesn’t really have anything to say to either of them. Maybe he should get back to taking breakfast in his room after this is over and tell the nurses to turn Shuichi and Kaede away if they ever see them.
In the midst of his thoughts, Rantaro almost doesn’t notice the door to the cafeteria swing open again. Kaito’s silhouette is a bit difficult to miss though, especially in the early-morning glow. He cuts a striking figure, even with his hair down and tied out of his face with a rubber band, all jagged edges and lowered brows. He slips into the dining hall with Kokichi at his heels, hands shoved into his sweatpants. Kokichi, to contrast, is rambling at him, arms slung behind his neck and eyes bright and starry. Classic Kokichi, though of course, Rantaro doubts he’s actually in so good of a mood.
What really gets him about it is the fact that Kaito and Kokichi are coming in together. They never seemed to get along that well back in the simulation. On the other hand, there’s something about it that just feels like it makes sense, like seeing Kaito and Kokichi together is as natural as it would be with Kaede and Shuichi. Or maybe not that natural—Rantaro glances back at the pair, watches as Kaede feeds Shuichi a strawberry half, and thinks definitely not— but somewhere in the ballpark. It’s like watching two best friends interact, even as Kaito turns around and flicks Kokichi right in the middle of his forehead.
An odd warmth fills Rantaro’s chest at the sight, a sort of… nostalgic fondness, like you’d get watching your childhood friend, or maybe an old lover. It’s alien. The feeling comes as naturally to Rantaro as breathing, yet he’s certain he’s never actually felt anything like it before. There’s something about Kaito’s gait, about the reluctant smile that comes onto his face, that makes Rantaro feel more like he’s watching an old family video, or maybe a memory, rather than a near-stranger.
It’s… weird. It’s weird, and it should be uncomfortable, because Rantaro’s memory has been foggy at best since waking up from the simulation—and because thinking too hard always causes migraines—but all Rantaro can register in this moment is warmth. Fondness. And if it’s between that and the confusion, the resentment, and the distress that he’s been cycling between ever since getting out of the game… well, then he’ll take it.
Rantaro, against his better judgement, does not instruct his nurses to ban Kaede and Shuichi from his hospital room, and ends up getting roped into breakfast every day for the rest of the week, and then the week that follows. It’s not as much of a hassle as Rantaro makes it out to be. Kaede and Shuichi don’t force conversation, nor do they push Rantaro to talk to anybody else in the cafeteria. They make pretty good breakfast partners, really, if you’re good at tuning out the PDA. (Not that Rantaro minds that at all, he’s beyond happy to see them happy, but geez. Right in front of Rantaro’s french toast.)
Besides, the sights and sounds of the cafeteria, while overwhelming at first, are refreshing against the sterile white walls and the incessant sanitised scent of his hospital room. The mattress of his bed is stiff and unyielding and the lights are far too bright. They still worsen his migraine even when he’s closed his eyes and pulled a blanket over his head.
The cafeteria, to contrast, has dimmed yellow lights that only turn on in the evenings and large floor-to-ceiling windows to allow in natural light. With the approach of spring, their view of the outside just gets sunnier and sunnier, the trees beginning to regrow their leaves and the flowers blooming once again. There’s something almost hopeful about it, if Rantaro will even allow himself to use that word, though admittedly it would be easier to appreciate he could actually go outside to enjoy it.
While Rantaro only takes breakfast with the rest of the group, deeming the prospect of lunch and dinner to be solidly future Rantaro’s problem, he starts spending more time outside of his hospital room. Camping out in the lounge, reading in the facility library, napping in various sunny spots around the facility. All areas he’d known before, that he’d frequented back during his first rehab, but that he hadn’t thought to return to upon first waking up. There’d just been too much for him to process, between the frequent headaches and the smarmy nurses and the implicit pressure to return to a group of strangers who watched him die and mourned his supposed killer; Rantaro had preferred the stifling quiet of his hospital room to the consequences of freedom.
There is another benefit to the time outside, too, but Rantaro hesitates to label this one an upside when he’s still not quite sure what to make of it. That being Kaito, who usually shows up to breakfast a little late, who Rantaro sometimes sees on solo walks around the facility, his head hunched and his shoulders drawn in. It should be a foreign look on Kaito, who always stood with his head held high back in the simulation, but there’s a quiet familiarity about it to Rantaro. Sometimes, when Kaito thinks nobody else is looking, he’ll smirk in response to something Kokichi has said, and Rantaro’s heart will give an obnoxious pulse in his chest, like, I know that smile. I know him. I’ve known him all my life.
Which is stupid. Obviously Rantaro doesn’t know Kaito or his smiles or anything else about the man, but still… in a world full of strangers, full of things that Rantaro might have done but doesn’t know for sure and people Rantaro knows who might be real but probably aren’t… it’s nice to know with certainty, even just for a moment, that someone matters to him. Even if that someone is a stranger now.
It does inspire curiosity in him though. Admitting to wanting to know someone in the way that Rantaro is sure he knows Kaito counts as showing weakness, and while they’re not in a killing game anymore Rantaro can’t help but raise his guard every time Kaede or Shuichi asks if he’s alright, but he’s seen from the way they both—mostly Shuichi—look at Kaito that they’re friends with him, so he tries to see if he can learn what they know over breakfast one morning, about three weeks after he started coming.
“Saihara-kun, you and Momota-kun are… close, aren’t you?” Rantaro prompts, tone cool and disinterested. It’s irrelevant small talk, just like anything else they’ve discussed over breakfast; nothing worth catching Shuichi’s attention.
“Hm?” Shuichi’s gaze is curious, not suspicious. He twirls his chopsticks in his hand. “Yes, we are… Momota-kun was there for me at the lowest parts of the game. Without him…” His eyes darken. He looks down. “I wouldn’t have survived after Kaede died.”
Kaede wraps an arm around Shuichi’s shoulder and squeezes. “They’re best friends,” she says, more like gushes, eyes intense as they bore into Rantaro’s. “Shuichi definitely knows him better than anyone else here!”
“Ah…” Shuichi’s ears flare red. What a weird thing to be embarrassed by. Then again, Rantaro would probably also feel flustered if Kaede said that about him and another guy. “Well, um. Probably not. Momota-kun keeps to himself a lot now, and even before that, he never really talked about himself… still, I’d definitely say he’s one of my best friends, after Kaede.” He seems more relaxed now, a fond smile playing at his lips. “Why do you ask, Amami-kun?”
Rantaro looks away, wary that Shuichi might be able to read him with a glance. “Curious,” he replies, keeping his voice breezy. “From what I’ve heard of the game, it seems like he touched a lot of people here… I can’t help but be curious about a person like that.” It’s not a total lie. Rantaro did want to know more about Kaito when they first met during the simulation, and hearing about his resolve retroactively… it’s admirable. Rantaro would always want to support someone who takes care of others in that way… even if that’s not his primary motivation for asking.
“He did.” It’s hard to describe the quality of Shuichi’s words. Concise, Rantaro supposes, but that doesn’t especially feel like the right word. It’s like… everything Shuichi says, he says with certainty, like the words he speaks are as true as the facts of a case he just solved. He has this intensity to him, but it’s not intimidating. If anything, it’s reassuring, and a bit warming to see how much Shuichi cares about his friends. “Momota-kun… is a hero, through and through. I thought he was all talk at first, but he’s incredibly brave and caring… it always felt like he knew exactly what to say, or how to help, and he suffered for so long alone in the game…” Shuichi trails off, then clears his throat. “Um, all that to say, I admire him. He’s definitely someone I’m proud to call my friend.”
A hero, huh? Rantaro glances over his shoulder, finds where Kaito is seated next to Kokichi, chewing on a piece of toast. For some reason, he feels as though Kaito would disagree with Shuichi’s assessment—not because it isn’t true, or because it’s dissimilar to anything Kaito said in the killing game, but… Rantaro just has this strong feeling in his gut that Kaito wouldn’t call himself that. Not now, and not before, either.
“Yeah,” Rantaro mutters. “I would be too… I mean, he’s clever, isn’t he?” Kaito must have done something in the game that made him think this, because Rantaro knows it’s the truth. “Cunning, even if nobody gives him credit for it. And surprisingly soft, though he doesn’t like you to know it… you can see it in his face when he doesn’t think anyone’s looking at him. Or when you catch him off guard and make him laugh for real. When he smiles like that, it always reminds me of…” home, is what Rantaro is going to say, before he realises how incredibly strange that must sound out loud. Even thinking about it properly, for more than a second, Rantaro feels his heart racing, his face flushing with embarrassment. What was that?
A look at Shuichi and Kaede tells him that he’s not alone in that feeling; Kaede looks bewildered, her brow furrowed as though Rantaro’s description of Kaito is fundamentally incompatible with everything she knows about him, and Shuichi is watching Rantaro intently, as though he’s a particularly challenging puzzle, or perhaps just a problem he can’t figure out.
It’s that exact quality of Shuichi’s gaze that makes Rantaro’s skin prickle with nerves. He’s never liked being seen in that way, not in the game and not now.
“Have you and Momota-kun been talking, Amami-kun?” Shuichi asks carefully. The question makes Rantaro bristle. Of course he would ask that. Speaking under the guise of not knowing him, Rantaro made out like he was trying to learn more about Kaito out of interest in befriending him, not like he already knew a thing or two. Why didn’t he think before he ran his mouth off? Why does he even care if Shuichi knows.
“Haha, did it sound like that?” Rantaro smiles. “Sorry, I just realised I have physical therapy in a few minutes. I need to get going. You won’t mind taking care of my tray for me, right?”
Without waiting for a response from either of them, Rantaro pushes himself to his feet and swings his legs out of his seat. Shuichi starts to say something, he thinks, and Kaede reaches for his arm, but Rantaro just steps carefully out of range and makes his way to the door, slipping out and retreating back to his hospital room.
He’ll figure out a good excuse later. Right now he needs to be alone.
There is of course one very obvious answer to Rantaro’s recent pondry. It’s not completely out of the question that he and Kaito could have known each other before the game. After all, friends apply together all the time. Maybe there’s a bit of a discrepancy in the timelines, but it’s possible Kaito just didn’t get in the year that Rantaro did, and then ended up in a game with Rantaro regardless by pure chance. Not that their knowing one another really mattered in the end.
It’s a line Rantaro refuses to cross, though. A solution he refuses to entertain. If he knew Kaito before the game, then that means… they must have had something good. He knows it with everything inside of him that what he feels for Kaito is completely and wholly good. Maybe there’s an ache in his chest sometimes as he watches Kaito grin, and maybe he wakes up some mornings with tears on his face and a pervasive longing so strong that he can’t move, but his feelings for Kaito are good ones. Rantaro believes that.
And if what they had was good, then… the Rantaro from before chose to throw all of that away. He did so consciously. He saw Kaito, someone good, someone he loved, and decided… he wasn’t worth staying for. Whatever they had wasn’t worth preserving; the Rantaro from before would have rather signed up for a death game and thrown his life away.
After that, who knows what could have happened. Kaito could have signed up to get to him. Kaito could have signed up because they always planned to be together in the simulation. Kaito signing up and suffering—and Rantaro knows that he’s suffered—could have been entirely Rantaro’s fault. Or the Rantaro from before’s fault, but there’s no point in differentiating between the Rantaro then and the Rantaro now when it’s been the same beating heart all this time.
If Kaito knew that… if Kaito knows that… he might not want anything to do with Rantaro. He still might not want anything to do with Rantaro, for reasons completely unrelated to whether it is or isn’t Rantaro’s fault that he applied. Some people try to distance from who they were before. Most at least feel a disconnect from their former lives. Would Kaito even care to try again? Does Kaito even feel how Rantaro does? Maybe all of Rantaro’s feelings are good and wholesome, but is it really so impossible that Kaito’s could be different? Kaito could hate him now. Kaito could have hated him back then. If they knew each other, if Rantaro was someone important in Kaito’s life from before… maybe Kaito wouldn’t care to know him now.
Or maybe he would, and for the life of him, Rantaro can’t decide what’s more terrifying, the idea of being hated or the idea of letting Kaito down. There’s not a chance that Rantaro is still the person Kaito would have cared about. When he realises that, when he sees that now’s Rantaro is distrustful and dishonest and resentful—will he turn away? Will he stay, because he feels he has to? Rantaro doesn’t know. Not knowing is terrifying.
So Rantaro refuses to think about it. It’s what’s likely, but Rantaro doesn’t have to accept it as fact. Things are fine as they are, anyway. Rantaro is even alive, which is more than he could have asked for as he bled out on the library floor. He doesn’t need to worry about things like strangers he might love or the friends who are starting to notice. He can just… be alive. That’s plenty.
It’s not plenty, but Rantaro is too much of a coward to try and face it. Kaede and Shuichi show up at his room the next morning like clockwork, and Rantaro lets them take him to breakfast, but he dodges any questions about yesterday’s conversation until they eventually drop it. Shuichi eyes him with dissatisfaction through every silence, and Rantaro politely pretends not to notice.
Time marches onward. Rantaro attends a few group therapy sessions out of courtesy and leaves every time when the shouting starts. It’s not his place to sit in and witness the pain of virtual strangers, even if Kaede’s disappointed gaze seems to burn holes in the back of his shirt every time he leaves.
Small changes are made to Rantaro’s daily schedule as the weeks go by. He goes to the cafeteria for lunch and dinner. He starts working out here and there to try his build his stamina again. He does some research, intermittent research, on various travel destinations around the world. Not that Rantaro especially thinks there’s anywhere he needs to be, but Danganronpa is nowhere near as famous out of the country as it is inside, and he would go anywhere if it meant he could be far enough away from the society that feeds off of his pain.
Shuichi talks of plans to dismantle the corporation altogether, talks of gathering testimonies and mobilising the public against the wrongs committed by Team Danganronpa. Kaede matches him word for word, eyes alight with determination, a unique passion that made her a target then and makes her a target now. Maybe with Shuichi shining so brightly right beside her, she won’t be as danger. Maybe she’ll be in twice as much.
Regardless, Rantaro wishes them luck. He’s far past the point of being a hero by now. It’s hard to say what he really wants with his life nowadays, except maybe a house far away from civilisation and a boy who probably doesn’t remember him. Shuichi is disappointed that he doesn’t offer to help, but he doesn’t ask, so Rantaro doesn’t have to tell him no. It’s better that way, anyway. Someone like Rantaro would be no help to the kind of massive movement Shuichi is trying to orchestrate.
The day they’re to leave the facility comes around before Rantaro even knows what’s happening. He packs his belongings, just the clothes he wore when he first came to the facility—the uniform for a job he doesn’t remember working—and a set of personal effects—a phone, keys, a wallet—and realises as he does so that he doesn’t know where he’s going.
To the airport? It’d be shortsighted, but he has more than enough money now for a flight and a hotel. A thousand flights and hotels, in fact.
To his old house? They gave him the address from his records, informed him that it’s been kept open and in his name since he left it. He could go back this afternoon, if he can get over his fear of what he’ll find there.
Somewhere else, maybe? But Rantaro isn’t as creative as he remembers being, doesn’t know where he’d even start in trying to explore Japan and find himself. There’s nowhere he really wants to go but home, and the only home he can imagine going to would need to have—
“Uh… Amami?”
Rantaro stiffens, his breath catching in his throat. The voice speaks from behind him, faint and a bit hesitant-sounding, but nonetheless much closer than Rantaro expected it to be. He remains frozen in place for a moment, hands clutching his open backpack, before slowly turning to look.
As if he would’ve disappeared in the seconds it took Rantaro to work up the courage. Kaito stands in the doorway, looking for all the world uncertain and like he wants to leave, but the anxiety in his expression seems to ease somewhat when they make eye contact. Kaito smiles. Rantaro’s heart leaps into his throat.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to burst in on ya,” Kaito says. “I was gonna knock, but the door was open, so…” His eyes dart to Rantaro’s backpack. “You’re not done packing?”
“Bit of a lack of foresight on my part, right?” Rantaro lets out a laugh, looking back down at his belongings. “I don’t have much, so I just kept putting it off until suddenly I woke up and the staff were informing me I’m being kicked out. I hear you’re supposed to get thirty days notice before any evictions. Bit uncool of them.”
Kaito laughs, too. “We got a little more than that.” His slippers thump against the tile floor as he walks over. Rantaro tries to pretend like every hair on his body doesn’t stand up on end as he approaches. “You know what you’ll be doing after this? Like have you thought about it at all?”
It’s weird. Kaito’s talking to him like they’re friends, as familiarly as he would to someone he’s talked to every day, but Rantaro can’t find it in himself to be unnerved. It feels… natural. Regular.
“Nope.” Rantaro snorts. “Not even for a second. Even now, I’m not really sure… I guess a new apartment? Maybe a plane? Who knows.”
After that, Kaito is quiet for long enough that Rantaro manages to pack the rest of his clothing, his medication, and zip up his pack. When Rantaro finally glances over, Kaito’s expression is unreadable. His brow is furrowed.
“Momota-ku—”
“So you’re leaving?” he interrupts. Rantaro blinks, but doesn’t look away when Kaito’s eyes meet his. They’re startlingly bright, almost wild, and the look in them makes Rantaro’s heart clench. “Headed out of the country?”
“I mean, maybe.” Rantaro rubs the back of his neck. “Like I said, I haven’t thought about it… but I might as well, you know? I don’t think I ever actually travelled. Might be nice to see some of the places I remember for real.”
Kaito stares at him, lips pressed together in a thin line. He looks anguished, but Rantaro doesn’t quite understand; why would he care so much? They haven’t spoken once since waking up. He shouldn’t have any reason to care about Rantaro or where he’s going, unless…
“Well, cool!” Kaito says suddenly. He grins, and it’s the hero’s smile he always gave in the simulation, and it looks bright and charming and not at all natural on Kaito’s face. “You have a good time, then! Try to keep in touch though, yeah? I bet Shuichi and Akamatsu are really gonna miss ya!” He turns before Rantaro can say anything, making a quick stride towards the door.
And Rantaro, coward that he is, almost doesn’t say anything. Maybe this is better, Rantaro thinks. Kaito has people who love him. Who know him for who he is now rather than who he was before. I’m just somebody who thinks I love him, because of what I may or may not remember. Since when has my memory ever been reliable, anyway? It’d just be selfish to try to keep him from everyone else here. I should just let him go and then leave myself.
But Kaito’s hand reaches for the door, his other swiping at his eyes, and Rantaro decides to be selfish.
“Wait, Kaito.”
He strides across the room, seizing the other man’s sleeve in his hand. It’s a weak grip, but Kaito doesn’t turn away, his shoulders tensing and hunching forward with suppressed emotion. Rantaro’s seen him do it a thousand times before.
“I…”
It’s hard to get his voice to work, to know what exactly to say. How do you say something like this? How do you even say anything other than…
“It… I’m sorry. This might sound crazy, but I’ve… been feeling like I know you, ever since I woke up from the simulation.” A strangled laugh escapes Rantaro, more to break up his words than anything else. “There’s just something about you that’s so familiar to me, and every time I see you I can’t help thinking that I—”
Kaito turns, staring back at Rantaro with wobbly lips and wet eyes, and Rantaro’s voice nearly dies in his throat. He just barely manages to finish.
“—love you. Or… that I did, once.”
He finishes lamely, but there’s not really much else for him to say. What do you add to that? Sorry. No pressure though. Did you want to get breakfast by the way? There’s just nothing he can add. What’s he’s already said… covers the whole of it.
And Kaito must think so too, because he smiles then, impossibly wide and crooked and toothy and familiar, and tears drip down his cheeks, soaking into his shirt.
“Y’know what?” Kaito asks, voice thick. “I’ve been thinking the exact same thing.”
Something in Rantaro crumbles, hearing that. He’s always been weak. It’s one of those fundamental truths of the universe, that Rantaro is weak, and cowardly, and selfish, but there’s something so comforting about hearing Kaito say that, Rantaro just breaks, an ugly sob ripping out of him before Kaito’s moving in to take him into an embrace.
The want that floods through him is overpowering, hot and potent and squeezing his chest like he’s going to have a heart attack. Rantaro thinks he would fall over if not for Kaito’s arms around him, but from the way that Kaito’s chest heaves with aborted sobs, the way Rantaro’s shoulder starts to feel warm with moisture, he gets the sense that he’s not alone, so he plants his feet firmly and leans into the embrace, tucking his chin over Kaito’s shoulder.
There’s not much Rantaro can say. I love you, maybe, but that doesn’t really encompass the full extent of what they feel, what they’ve lost. What they had before… they’re never going to get it back. The Rantaro Kaito loved will never be real again. Not after two killing games and a simulated death and weeks and weeks of white walls and cowardice. Kaito, too, is different now, no longer dry or sarcastic as Rantaro remembers him being but bright and bold and heroic; he’s hardly the person Rantaro remembers falling for.
Still, though, still, they’re both here, and they’ve both suffered, but… Rantaro fists his hands in Kaito’s shirt and sobs again, muffled, trying not to drown in the feeling. There’s something so relieving about it, in a way that feels both impossibly good and impossibly terrible, the knowledge that Rantaro isn’t alone.
Kaito grips Rantaro’s back with a similar fervour, gasping, “I thought you didn’t—I thought you wouldn’t remember, or you hated me—i-it’s my fault that you went in, I’m so—”
“Hey—” Rantaro rasps. The effect is kind of killed by the tears in his voice, on his face, but Rantaro manages to continue, “Don’t say that. Whatever… whatever happened… I chose this.”
If anything, Rantaro should be sorry, because from how Kaito is talking there’s really no doubt at all why Kaito went into the game, but… he can’t bring himself to hate the fact that Kaito is here right now. It’s selfish, it’s greedy, Rantaro can feel the disgustingness of it seeping into his soul, but he’s so grateful that Kaito is here, that Kaito remembers him—if he wasn’t, if he didn’t, Rantaro thinks… Rantaro thinks he might’ve gotten on a plane and just vanished, disappeared into a foreign country and never surfaced for air.
“I’m just—” Rantaro voice catches. He gulps down air so his chest will stop seizing, so he can talk without interruption by hiccups or sobs. “I’m just, so glad that you—I’m so sorry I didn’t—”
“It’s okay,” Kaito wheezes. His arms squeeze tighter around Rantaro, almost enough to hurt, and Rantaro matches him bit for bit. “It’s okay. I was—I was scared too. I didn’t know… I just never knew how to say it. Even now, I would’ve…”
I would’ve let you leave. I would’ve stay quiet. I would’ve walked away.
Rantaro screws his eyes shut. If he’d been just a little bit more of a coward, he could’ve lost Kaito for good. Even with everything they’ve been through, everything Kaito must have sacrificed, they could have lost each other. The notion of it is almost paralysing, but Rantaro forces himself to breathe anyway, nuzzling into Kaito’s neck.
“It’s okay,” Rantaro repeats. “We’re okay. We—” He takes another breath, sniffling, “We should really sit down or something, and maybe talk about what we’re going to do next.”
Kaito laughs. Rantaro feels it vibrating through his chest. The sensation spreads warmth through him, makes him feel full in a way he only remembers being in the furthest reaches of his memory. Maybe the last time Kaito held him like this.
One of Kaito’s hands moves to cup the back of Rantaro’s head. “Fine,” he mumbles. “But… in a minute. Let’s just…”
He doesn’t finish the request, but Rantaro gets the idea. He places a self-indulgent kiss against Kaito’s jaw and settles into him, letting his sobs peter out so he can focus on breathing the other man in.
Let’s just stay like this for a while. Yeah, Rantaro can do that. He’s more than happy to, in fact.