Chapter Text
Kokichi ties his hair into a messy bun. Dread palpitates in his hammering chest as he tiptoes down the spiraling staircase leading to where his dear mother lounges in the living room. He can hear mumbling from the TV beneath the thrumming of his heartbeat in his ears and shallow breaths.
His teeth grind together in his trepidatious grimace, knuckles white from his grip on the banister. What would Kirumi say? He's always thought of her to be a kind and easy-going woman. But things like this...?
Things like this are different. A broth of ill feelings curdles in his gut. He wants to retch over the kitchen sink.
"Mom," he calls from the hallway. It's a soft sound, just testing the waters. Maybe she's not awake, exhausted from a long day of being the president and femdomming her new boyfriend, Light Yagami, in her office. He tries again, a little louder. "Mommy?"
"Yes, dear?" comes the honeyed response. Relief and anxiety wage rancorous war in his chest when he acknowledges her voice.
He has her attention...but how can he put this?
Kokichi Oma has always been a little limp-wristed. Throughout his life, he has been plagued with accusations of being a homosexual (on account of his lurid effeminacy and less-than-ordinary stride), but like any other prideful masculine man, he time and time again denied all allegations. Especially as the president's son...he couldn't put poor Kirumi under any more stress and criticism.
It certainly doesn't help that whenever a female approaches him or tries to interact with him, Kokichi trembles and cries out for his mother, even at his grown-ass age of 18 and a half. Kirumi always cradles him in her arms, hushing him softly as she reminds him that she will always love him unconditionally, even if her son is a colossal pussy.
But that isn't his fault! Surely it is natural for a man to be at ease around...well, other men.
And surely it's natural for a man to feel things a man should not feel around other men. Like maybe a little bit squeamish...or the urge to squirm like a maggot beneath a corpse.
This brings him to his current predicament. Now standing in front of his mother, hands balled tight at his sides and sweat collecting in salty beads at his brow.
"What's the matter, honey?" she offers from the couch - a sexy, leathery, L-shaped number bedecked with lots of soft cushions. Kirumi smiles at him lovingly, patient. She's always been the patient type.
Kokichi clamps his teeth down on his lip. The words die in his throat over and over like they'd rather commit suicide than spill from the sanctuary of his skull.
He swallows, inhales, exhales, and forces it out in a single mindless breath.
"Mommy, I'm gay."
Kirumi's smile fades, no longer even a shadow of her beam remaining.
"Hm?" Kirumi chuckles in shock. She mutes the TV. "What was that?"
Kokichi’s lip is about to burst from how hard his teeth dig into his chapped flesh. "Mom, let's get one thing straight; I'm not."
A grizzled veteran in the art of reading body language he may be, but competence be damned, Kokichi can't decipher the ensemble of emotions that flash across his mother's face in that instant. He sees her shoulders tense up, her spine rigid, as her corrected posture seems to make her grow even taller. Kind of like Coraline's other mother.
He expects her to comfort him and tell him it's okay to be queer, but all he receives for eternity is silence. Her 1000-mile stare leaves her eyes clouded over as she shakes her head gently. One hand comes up to press against her temple. He wants her to embrace him and hush away his fears and sorrows like she always does. He needs her to give him just an ounce of reassurance that he's still loved, but it never comes.
Kirumi doesn't say a word.
"Are you alright, mommy?" he finally prompts. Her silence is unnerving; it's never a good thing. The floor seems to sway beneath his feet.
Kokichi watches the rise and fall of her chest as she collects herself.
"You're gay."
It's not a question. It's a statement. She doesn't want an answer. She doesn't need confirmation.
Sweat dribbles down his neck. Mommy sure looks scary right now! "Are you okay? Neeheehee."
She blinks, and when her eyes open again they're void of the loving light they once held. "After everything I've done for you... I kissed your boo-boos and changed your diapers. I housed you, clothed you, and put food on the table. I did everything for you... And this is how you repay me? God, where did I go wrong???"
Kokichi fidgets with his sleeves. "Well, I-"
"I can't believe I'm not getting grandkids. I wish I hung you with your umbilical cord, Kokichi." Kirumi interjects. She doesn't want to hear another word. Phase or otherwise, the truth she's been trying to conceal for so long has resurfaced loud and proud. No longer can she delude herself in the tranquil fantasy of her son's heterosexuality.
"That's so mean, mom!" he protests, floundering like a flounder.
"No!" she snaps, shooting forward in her seat, vicious eyes steeled narrow. "You are no son of mine... You are...fruity."
Kokichi sniffles a crocodile sniffle.
Kirumi clicks her tongue. "Pack your bags. First thing tomorrow, you're out of here."
"What?" His heart stops beating. She can't be serious! "Are you kicking me out?"
"Worse," she glowers. "I'm selling you to Harry Styles (born 1 February 1994)."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"
Kokichi Oma's whole life is turned upside down in an instant.
After a sleepless night full of tears and dejection, Kokichi rises at dawn. Kirumi drags him out of bed and downstairs where a certain someone waits for him. He rubs his exhausted eyes, suitcase lugging behind him, and looks up at the figure looming above.
"Ello love. I'm 'Arry Styols, your new owna. Come wiv me, yh?" Harry Styles says with a gleaming beam. "Oive got my limo outside wai'ing for ya."
Kokichi looks frantically back at his mother with pleading eyes. PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME GO WITH THIS MADMAN! he wants to cry and beg. I DON'T WANNA BE BRITISH!!!
"Go on, Kokichi," Kirumi orders, hands firmly planted on his shoulders. "Now you can go and frolic around with the rest of your kind."
"Mr. Styles, sir. Do I have to be British?" he finally snivels. Tears well up in his eyes. "Do I have to eat beans on toast? Please don't put beans on my toast. I really don't like soggy food."
"Haha. You're well funny, I fink we'll get along just fine." Harry (1D singer) chortles. He turns his attention to Kirumi. "Fanks for giving me a call, Kirumi. Always happy to take the local homos from ya. You take care of yourself yeah?"
"Of course," Kirumi giggles, tucking her hair behind an ear, and she then forces Kokichi out of the door without a single warning or a goodbye. Before he can scramble back inside, the door is slammed shut and Kokichi hears her lock it from the inside. Bitch.
Harry loads his luggage into the car after putting Kokichi in the back of the limousine. If he's being honest (fat chance), he's never seen a real-life limo before. There are a lot of seats no one is there to fill, but at least there is a little drink dispenser with lots of little cups, and to Kokichi’s delight it's topped up full of Panta. Yummy :). Harry seats himself across from his hostage and the driver starts the engine. The rumble beneath Kokichi's ass makes him clench his cheeks.
"How are you today, love?" he says to break the increasing tension. It's so thick you'd need a diamond to slice it. Or maybe a man's nipples. You can't exploit women like that.
"I want to go home, tbh. I didn't get to bring my phone." Kokichi replies. He stares out of the window while sipping his Panta, watching the world pass by in a tinted blur of green and blue. "Are you adopting me?"
Harry splutters, hand comically slapping his knee. "No! I bought you, and I spent a whole grand on you, so you betta be worf it. I own you now."
Kokichi pouts. "Are you going to use me as a sex slave like in other Sold To Harry Styles fics? This is literally human trafficking."
"What the fuck is wrong with you? What fics are you reading? Literally, why would you say that? I'm not Prince Andrew bruv are you fucking tapped??" he exclaims, "Like I kno I'm fit and everyfink but I ain't got no connection wiv the royal fam or Jeffy Epstein. Truss. Teenage girls seem to fink I like them young and they have a chance with me, but I am not a nonce."
"So... What are you gonna do with me, a cute, innocent, adorable young boy?" hums Kokichi as he turns his head back to face his captor.
"I am so chuffed you asked!" A nefarious grin longer than Rasputin's wang tugs his lips. "As you should know, I have quite the reputation for 'queerbaiting' my audience. Because I don't publicly disclose my sexuality or much of my love life, my preferences seem quite...ambiguous. And with no clear answer, of course, the queerbait allegations came flooding in. It's rather bothersome, and I'd love to avoid being canceled."
Kokichi slurps his drink. "What does that have to do with me?"
"I need to fabricate more queer representation in the media to make the alternative teenage TikTok girls even more desperate for me," he explains, flipping his hand like a homosexual. His dedication to the role is admirable. "Basically, you're gonna be my scapegoat, my alibi. You will have a vital role in the public eye, modeling my flamboyant queercore fits and parading around in pride flags at my shows. Maybe pop a titty. Me and you, yeah, are gonna be the bi and gay duo those fujoshis are pining for."
"Bi?" Kokichi furrows his brows. "I thought you were straight."
Harry nods. "I am. But everything sells better when you're a bisexual man, trust me." He leans forward, lowering his voice. "We are gonna make a fortune, mate. Congrats on coming out, now no one can accuse me of queerbaiting anymore. I'm gonna be unstoppable..."
Kokichi gulps. This man is fucked the fuck up.