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“Kokichi, I’m serious, I don’t have time for this today,” Shuichi continued his frantic search of the living room as Kokichi watched on from where he was perched on the kitchen countertop, drinking grape soda in the place of having an actual breakfast. This was usually something he was scolded for doing (both sitting on the counter and having soda for breakfast), but his fiance was too preoccupied this morning; first, with his alarm not going off at the correct time, causing him to oversleep, and second, with trying to find his car keys, which had somehow gone missing overnight. Shuichi didn’t need to use his detective skills to figure out how exactly this had happened; every time that Kokichi felt that Shuichi was spending too much time at work and not enough time with him, Shuichi’s car keys would vanish from their usual spot and reappear somewhere else in the house.
“We’re both rich from trauma money, so what’s the point of you even working?” Kokichi would complain, usually while cuddling their cat, Mochi. He wasn’t entirely wrong about the money; they were both set for life. They had both been participants in the fifty-third season of Danganronpa, a show that made its name thanks to the unique hyper-realistic virtual reality technology that was used. Their season was the last, but that was only due to the lawsuit. For how much Team Danganronpa had always boasted about the reliability of their technology, there was a severe glitch in the programming of the fifty-third season. While every other simulation had been run without issue, this one simply went wrong. The memories of the fifteen participants were permanently wiped, and the new fictional characteristics and personality tweaks given to them for the show became permanently embedded into their consciousnesses. Having no recollection of anything other than the premise of the show, the fifteen had truly thought that they were stuck in a killing game. It was a miracle that everyone who had fictitiously died managed to wake up. Of course, this meant the end of Danganronpa and a lawsuit that resulted in a large amount of compensation money for each participant. But there was no undoing the memory alterations; while each of them emerged from the incident extremely traumatized, they all each emerged with a so-called “ultimate talent” as well.
It was Kokichi’s personal opinion that Shuichi was too self-sacrificial for his own good, probably due to the impact of his protagonist role. Having the ability to be the ultimate detective, Shuichi took it. He wanted to save as many lives as possible, and help as many people as possible. Kokichi, on the other hand, had seen enough dead bodies for a lifetime. He never so much as peeked at the case files and paperwork on Shuichi’s desk in his home office.
Of course, everyone grew close after the killing game, but he and Shuichi were special in that regard. During the show, Kokichi hadn’t exactly been subtle about his huge gay crush, something that had developed almost immediately upon meeting the other. and they were feelings that Shuichi returned, although he didn’t realize he reciprocated them until after the fifth trial. These feelings actually came with a second chance after all of them had woken up and taken time to forgive the others for their in-game actions. Hence, seven years later, they’re happily engaged and living together with a cat. Happily for the most part, at least. Shuichi did have workaholic tendencies and Kokichi was well aware of how needy he could be. This manifested as Kokichi hiding Shuichi’s car keys, this being the fourth time in as many months so far that year. Kokichi knew where all of the little nooks and crannies were around their condo, and he took advantage of that fact.
“Did you check under the couch?” Kokichi prompted, his shit-eating grin widening. Shuichi sighs, dropping to all fours and checking under the couch yet again. It was the third or fourth time he had checked under there, and Kokichi knew he was simply being humored in the hopes of convincing him to give up and tell Shuichi exactly where the keys had been hidden.
“They aren’t under here, Ko,” Shuichi reports, looking back over his shoulder.
“Right, but did you check under the couch cushions ?” Kokichi kicks his legs back and forth, letting his heels knock against the side of the counter. Shuichi dutifully started to lift all of the cushions off of the couch, finally noticing a small lump in the corner of one. Unzipping the cover of the cushion, Shuichi digs the car keys out, before stuffing them in his pocket and heading for the door, not even bothering to replace the cushions in his hurry to leave. Before Kokichi can even entirely turn to wave goodbye, the door slams shut. “…love you too.” Kokichi mutters, sliding off of the counter, and in doing so, sloshing soda down his front and onto the floor around him. He's tempted to leave it to dry into little sticky piles, but eventually pulls his already stained shirt off and uses it to mop up the mess. If Mochi sat in the soda, it could get in her fur. And while it was an enticing idea, he decided not to purposefully create something else for him and Shuichi to bicker over.
Kokichi decided to run himself a shower, turning the water temperature to be as boiling hot as he could bear. The scalding sensation felt somewhat nice against his skin, and he stood under the stream of water for nearly half an hour. He could always think clearly in the shower. It was nice. Much nicer than sitting in spilled soda on the kitchen floor and letting himself spiral.
Damn Shuichi’s noble tendencies. He chewed at the inside of his cheek as he toweled his hair dry. After this case, he’d find some way to make his fiance take a vacation. He’d even ask Kaito for help if that’s what it took. This was part of Shuichi’s way of coping, he knew that. But Kokichi needed attention too sometimes, dammit! Maybe they could go visit the beach for a week or two and relax. Then Shuichi could get back to sniffing dead bodies or whatever.
Just as Kokichi finished pulling on his favorite black and white checkered sweatshirt, he heard a rapid knock at the door. There was only one person who knocked in such an obnoxious fashion, and sure enough, he opened the door to reveal one Miu Iruma. Their banter-filled friendship blossomed after the simulation, and he easily considered her his best friend. Not that being friends meant that he stopped insulting her.
“Hey bitch,” he greeted, stepping away from the door and listening to Miu sputter indignantly as she walked in.
“You’re a little shit,” she grumbled, leaning down to pet Mochi, who had padded into the room to greet Miu. “Here I am, taking my precious time and spending it on you, and you’re as ungrateful as ever.”
“Absolutely!” Kokichi replied, grinning over his shoulder at Miu, who flipped him off as she stuck her tongue out at him. “And don’t try to lie to me, I know why you’re really here. You want someone to watch another shitty rom-com with you, and you’re too embarrassed to ask anyone but me.”
“S-Shut up!” Miu squeaked, scooping up the Mochi to pet her belly. “It would be more embarrassing to admit I like spending time with you anyway!” It was Kokichi’s turn to flip her off as he began replacing the couch cushions. Miu finally put Mochi down a moment later and took notice of what he was doing. “What sort of crazy shit were you doing in here that got the cushions all fucked like that?”
“Oh no, that was Shuichi’s doing,” he corrected her. Miu rolled her eyes.
“Did you hide his damn car keys again?” The smirk on his face was enough to answer that question, and she folded her arms against her chest with a huff. “Why do you even do shit like that in the first place? I can’t get how he stands to be around you so much!”
“He’s been spending too much time poking dead people and not enough time paying attention to me,” Kokichi whined, plopping himself down on the freshly put-together couch. Miu sat next to him, propping her feet up.
“You know what you two dumbasses need to learn?” She asked him in a very pointed tone.
“I’m still working on learning to fly, thank you,” Kokichi replied, reaching down to scoop Mochi up and deposit her onto his lap. She stayed there for maybe half a minute before abandoning him to curl up next to Miu instead. “Traitor,” he whispered.
“To fucking communicate with each other!” Miu snapped, smacking him lightly on the top of his head. “Learn to talk more and hide shit less! I know you aren’t a fan of opening up, but you’re going to marry this man, yeah? You two need to talk about shit!”
“Like I’d ever take advice from someone with no bitches,” Kokichi countered. While Miu squawked at him for the jab, he silently ignored the fact that he knew she was right. For everything that years of dating had helped to heal, neither he nor Shuichi was great with communication. They’d acknowledged the fact before, and there had been attempts made to amend this issue, but none of it really stuck. Kokichi could only curse whoever had written his character. The problem was that while their lack of communication sometimes caused small misunderstandings and fights, it was never large enough to impact their relationship seriously. Kokichi hiding Shuichi’s car keys or annoying him for attention were just things that they were so used to, it didn’t seem worth the energy of sitting down to talk about.
Maybe this would come back to bite him in the ass somehow. But Kokichi didn’t see a point in trying to resolve something that was completely fine as it was at the moment.
********
About a week later, Kokichi noticed that Shuichi seemed more… jumpy than usual. He’d gotten the detective to promise to take a break after he finished up his current caseload, and while Kokichi didn’t know the details, he knew that Shuichi was working tirelessly to try and catch a particular criminal that had been evading capture for nearly a year. Shuichi was pretty new to the case, but he was determined as hell to finally be the one to turn the guy over to the authorities. But it wasn’t like he was going to say or do anything, Kokichi knew he wasn’t the most comforting person in the world. Plus, again, he didn’t know anything about what was going on with the case. It was Shuichi who rolled over in the middle of the night, wrapping an arm around Kokichi’s waist and pulling him close to his chest. With his insomniac tendencies, Kokichi wasn’t asleep anyway, playing Stardew Valley on his Switch instead. He was the one in charge of the joint world that he and Miu played on, so he was taking the opportunity to rearrange all the furniture in her house and hide some of her crops in secret chests that he put around the map. He knew it would annoy the ever-living hell out of her, and he was already looking forward to her angrily screeching at him as she discovered her missing things.
“Hey… Ko?” Shuichi asked, sleepily nuzzling his face into Kokichi’s hair. “You ever think about… how lucky we were to have a second chance?” Kokichi paused the game, dropping the console onto the blankets beside him.
“I try not to think about it really,” he answered automatically. “Any of it. I thought you knew that.”
“No, I… I know…” Shuichi sighed. “I don’t want to think about what happened in the game either. I just… we were supposed to die in there, and–”
“You mean I was supposed to die in there,” Kokichi interrupted sharply. “Yeah, I know, I was there when the hydraulic press turned me into a pancake, thanks. You made it out.”
“Kokichi…” Shuichi murmured, pulling him closer. “I just… none of it was permanent. You didn’t die. You and I got to be together in the end. Despite the fact that we… that I failed the first time. We got a second chance.”
“What are you talking about this for?” Kokichi asked as he picked back up his Switch. Shuichi started to speak, then stopped himself, giving another long sigh.
“Doesn’t matter, I guess my brain’s just being overactive again,” he replied quietly.
The morning after their conversation, Kokichi woke to find that Shuichi had managed to leave early without waking him in the process. Meaning that subsequently, he overslept, and it was nearly noon by the time he was opening his eyes. It took him a minute to register that it was an irritating ringing that had woken him, and yet another to put together that the source of the annoyance was his phone. He closed his eyes, determined to let the call go to voicemail, but clearly, someone was determined to reach him because his phone began ringing again less than a minute later. With a groan, Kokichi rolled over and grabbed his phone, briefly taking note of the fact that it was Kaede who was calling him, before answering.
“Hi, I’ve been awake for hours,” he said in lieu of a greeting, before sitting up in surprise. “Wha– Kaede? Are you crying?” In his defense, he wasn’t really the go-to person for comfort. That was, well… usually Kaede, but he didn’t really think that he would be her choice to call while sobbing. He would guess Kirumi maybe, or Rantaro, if she couldn’t reach Shuichi–
“Kokichi, I’m so sorry,” Kaede wailed into the phone, which was enough to make him pause again.
“Yep, I appreciate the apology,” was all he could think to awkwardly reply. She took a minute to blow her nose before speaking again.
“You… you haven’t heard the news yet, have you?” She sniffled, her words turning Kokichi’s blood to ice. Fuck, fuck, he was getting flashbacks to the stupid game–
“What?” His mind was spinning in a spiral of sickening panic, he couldn’t even come up with a witty comeback or even a lie to shoot back.
“Shuichi…” Kaede began, before bursting into another wave of tears. Kokichi gripped his phone so tightly that he heard the plastic creak in protest, beginning to crack under the pressure of his fingers.
“What?! What happened to Shuichi?!”
Her explanation was interlaced with sobs and pauses to take deep breaths. The case that Shuichi had been so intently working on was one that had been surrendered to him since it was declared that only the ultimate detective could solve it. The target was a serial killer, one who had an uncanny ability to predict the future. He always predicted the deaths of whoever was in charge of his case at the time, and sure enough, they would die a few days later. The killer and Shuichi had come face to face about a week ago, that day that Shuichi was almost late to work because Kokichi hid his keys. According to the officers who had been with Shuichi at the time, the killer had looked him in the eyes, smirked, and said “Detective Saihara. The Ultimate Detective. It’s a shame, not even you will be the one to stop me. The next time I see you will be at your funeral.” While investigating a tip about a potential hideout of the killers, there was an explosion that sent the building crumbling to the ground. The other detective with Shuichi had reportedly barely made it out alive, but Shuichi was much closer to the origin of the blast, and if that wasn’t bad enough, the tons of concrete that came tumbling down on where he was standing was more than enough to–
Kokichi barely registered when he dropped his phone on his lap. No. No, no, no , this wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be, this had to be some sort of sick joke. He scrambled to pick the device back up, ignoring the dark teardrops that were beginning to splatter on the blankets covering him. Ignoring whatever else Kaede was saying, Kokichi hung up the call, before throwing his phone as hard as he could across the room. It hit the wall with a surprisingly loud thud, and he heard something snap or shatter. But what the fuck did that matter?
He grabbed Shuichi’s pillow and buried his face in it, breathing in deeply to take in the smell of Shuichi’s shampoo. It was calming for a minute before the sobbing began. Kokichi curled in around himself, clutching the pillow like it was a lifeline. This was a prank. No, it was a nightmare. Or he was back in the game, and that stupid black and white bear would pop up any second now to announce a class trial and probably laugh at Kokichi for crying. But the longer he lay there, the more time passed, and nothing happened. No prank reveals, no Monokuma, no waking up. Just a quickly growing cavity of emptiness in his chest that ached so much it burned.
A meow from Mochi brought him back to reality, but he was out of bed like a whirlwind, feet carrying him somewhere without him telling them to. He barely registered what exactly it was that he was doing until he found himself yanking open the kitchen cabinets and grabbing two plates off of the top of the stack. Managing to pull himself back together long enough to close the bedroom door so Mochi would stay inside, Kokichi picked back up the plates and hurled them at the floor, shards of china exploding at his feet like sharp, pale fireworks of shattered glaze. Reflexively, he grabbed two more plates and threw them, repeating the action over and over, watching as bits and pieces spread across the floor like snowfall. He was more than halfway through the stack of plates when he heard someone open the door with a bang. Vaguely, he recalled giving Miu a key for emergencies, registering her presence as he sank down to the shrapnel-coated floor. Her hands on him, shaking him vigorously, were barely discernible, like his body had become non-corporeal and she was shaking nothing more than empty air. Finally, finally, he noticed the stinging pain in his palms and lifted them to reveal that he’d put his hands down right in the middle of the mess he’d made, and slivers of the plates were sticking out of his flesh, droplets of blood welling up and beginning to dribble down his arms. Miu winced at the sight. She was wearing a pair of platform boots, so she clearly felt that the four extra inches or so would keep her safe from the china, and there was a grating crunch under her feet as she stood, helping Kokichi stand.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said in the gentlest tone he’d ever heard her use. Unfortunately, her gentleness didn’t extend to helping patch up his wounds, because every shard of plate that she pulled out of his hands with a pair of tweezers stung like a fresh hell. Miu was clearly trying her best though, and Kokichi didn’t even have it in him to mock her for being a shitty nurse. Finally, while Miu wrapped bandages around his injured hands, Kokichi found his words again.
“What are you doing here?” His voice was hoarse though he didn’t remember making much noise. Maybe he’d been screaming as he threw the plates, the cacophony of breaking kitchenware drowning out any noise he was making.
“You hung up on Kaede, so she made me come to check on you.” Miu’s tone betrayed that she had been worried as well, implying that Kaede very likely hadn’t had to do more than ask her to come to see how Kokichi was doing. He couldn’t do much more than rest his forehead on her shoulder as fresh tears began to streak warmly down his cheeks.
Most of the next few days were a hazy hurricane of blurred, mechanical actions. Kokichi found that the time had blended together, and vaguely recalled a couple of things, like helping Miu clean the kitchen, hugging Kaede tightly when she came over herself, and lots of crying.
Some second chance this was after all.
Despondency had finally made way to a numb rage by the time Kokichi found himself at the funeral. The funeral for his fiance, his beloved detective, his Shuichi. Their whole class was there, of course, along with most of Shuichi’s coworkers, and another handful of people that Kokichi didn’t recognize, and didn’t care enough to get to know. That did raise a pang of guilt in his chest since these strangers clearly cared at least somewhat about Shuichi, but Kokichi wasn’t really in the right mindset to make new acquaintances. He opted instead to mill about with their friends, mostly silent. There wasn’t even any bickering between him and Kaito, and Maki of all people gave him a hug (he’d thought at first that she was going in to throttle him).
One of the people he didn’t recognize was near the end of the line to pay their respects. They leaned down a little, whispering something to the casket. A smirk had just begun to form on their lips when the doors at the back of the church where the funeral was being held, flung open with a deafening bang. Kokichi jumped, flinching violently as a small group of cops stormed in, guns pointed at the stranger as they tackled them to the ground, handcuffing their hands behind their back. The bewilderment that Kokichi felt was perfectly mirrored on the stranger’s face, and it only increased as none other than Shuichi Saihara appeared at the back of the group, a determinedly icy look on his face. He walked up to the stranger, looking down at them, his gun pointed squarely at their forehead.
“Here we are, meeting again at my funeral. And I’m more than happy to announce that you’re under arrest,” he said coolly.
Once the stranger, who would later be confirmed to Kokichi to have been the serial killer that supposedly set the trap that killed Shuichi, was dragged off, Shuichi was swarmed by their friends, though Kokichi hung back a little. He let the others get their hugs and shouts and affectionate headlocks (from Kaito, of course) out of the way and listened as Shuichi answered their demanding questions.
“What the fuck, Sherlock Homo?! You were dead!” Miu shouted, and Shuichi rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
“Not exactly,” he replied. “It just took some consideration of what exact words he used. He said that we would meet again at my funeral, but he technically never said that I would actually be dead. The plan just required that people think I was dead and hold a funeral for me.”
“But the explosion?! And the building collapsed?!” Tenko exclaimed. “And that other detective was hurt?!” Shuichi shook his head.
“There was an actual trap set, but a bomb disposal team took care of it before detonating a planned explosion of our own,” he explained. “That building was set to be demolished before long anyway, and the other detective faked their injuries.”
“So… what really happened then?” Kaito asked.
“I used the killer’s future-telling abilities against him,” Shuichi said with a slight smile. “He’d become reliant on them, so when he said we would meet again at my funeral, I planned a set-up to make it look like I had died. Then I stayed in hiding for a few days until the funeral and came to catch him. It fulfilled his prediction, just not in the way that he thought it would. He assumed we would ‘meet again at my funeral’ after I had died from the trap he set or something like that, but we met again at a funeral held for me because it was assumed I died. Now he’s finally been captured.” Finally having heard enough, Kokichi shoved his way past their friends and… punched Shuichi in the arm as hard as he could, getting a yelp out of the detective for his efforts.
“Kokichi,” Kirumi said with a slight warning in her voice, but Shuichi shook his head.
“I deserved that,” he countered, though somewhat ruefully so. Kokichi scowled up at him, tears fogging his eyes for the billionth time that week.
“Why didn’t you tell me?!” He demanded, just barely holding himself back from stomping on Shuichi’s foot.
“It needed to be as believable as possible, I didn’t want to risk the killer not falling for it…” Shuichi answered before trailing off. “But… I should have told you, huh?”
“Yes, you colossal idiot!” Kokichi snapped, before nearly barreling Shuichi over with the force of his hug, burying his face in his beloved’s chest. Shuichi hugged back, planting a kiss on the top of Kokichi’s head.
“Sorry?” He ventured, before wincing from Kokichi kicking him in the shins. “I deserved that too.”
“Don’t do that again,” Kokichi ordered him, glancing up at Shuichi’s face. “We both ‘died’ once now, and that’s plenty! I’m always one for a good prank or lie, but no more fake-dying!” Shuichi smiled, tilting his head down to rest his forehead against Kokichi’s.
“I really am sorry,” he repeated. Kokichi grumbled a little.
“Dammit, this means Miu’s right about the whole communication thing, that’s the worst part about this.” Shuichi couldn’t help but laugh, before leaning down and kissing Kokichi. The former wasn’t typically one for PDA, so Kokichi let himself relish the hell out of it, kissing Shuichi until they were both panting for air. “Let’s stick with our second chance and not need a third, ‘kay?”
“Sounds like a good deal to me,” Shuichi agreed, sealing the promise with another kiss on his lips.