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The party was raucous, his coworkers slapping him on the back, congratulating him and saying how lucky he was to have gotten engaged.
“Lucky.” Yeah, that was one word for it.
After all, plenty of people spent their whole lives working up to this point, so for it to happen to him it had to be “lucky”.
Right?
“Lucky.” Sure, that fit.
He downed another glass of whisky as his eyes never left the table, content with merely seeing the warbled reflection of the bartender as he prepared another drink.
He had a wife – loving wife, he added hurriedly – who was currently waiting for him to return home.
He caught his own eyes in his reflection and wanted to punch it.
Lucky. The word echoed in his mind unbidden as he took the stairs three at a time, almost falling down them in his haste. If he was lucky , she would just be injured, and not…
He swallowed that thought as another thought popped up in the back of his mind.
Maybe it would be luckier if the opposite was true.
The ambulance faded away into the distance, weaving through the city on its way to the nearest hospital. But Kazui had seen enough to know that Hinako wouldn’t make it.
He looked down at the blood on his arms, the word falling from his lips despite knowing how callous it sounded.
“Lucky.”
He blinked at the sheet of paper in front of him, the pencil in his fingers almost snapping from the force he was placing on it. Why did this question remind him of that…?
“Es-kun,” he said, surprising himself with how level his voice sounded, “I’m leaving.”
Es didn’t try to stop him, but the surprise on their face was obvious. Nobody had simply left the interrogation room in the middle of answering questions before. He knew Amane was staring at him too, and felt ashamed at himself for not being able to be an upstanding adult and set an example for her, but the apology stayed in his mind. He was afraid his voice might waver if he tried to speak again.
He didn’t know where he wanted to go, so he let his feet wander the prison floor idly, eventually coming to a stop when he saw Mikoto leaning against the wall and staring off into the distance.
“Kayano-kun!” His words were truly cheerful, grateful to see him again after so long. But the look that he was greeted with surprised him.
“Oi, old man. Can’t you see I’m trying to be alone?”
Of course. The Mikoto that Kazui knew would never stand off to the side in an empty room, blending in with the wall. This was the other one – the one that had only started to appear towards the end of the first trial. The one who had left the smoker’s group disintegrating even before Shidou found himself too busy for leisure.
Yet, despite all that, Kazui liked him. If anything, he might like him more than Mikoto.
Milgram prison was… annoying, to Kazui. He was used to lying, of course, but something about the way Milgram was set up made it feel like he was facing his lies more each day. And it made him more aware of everyone else’s lies, too. The half-truths as they all skirted around the one similarity they all shared: “murderer”.
But this person was different. His face might not be very expressive, but if he was annoyed he was sure to let everyone know. He didn’t hide his feelings behind layers of politeness or fear, trying to maintain the fragile social balance like every other prisoner did.
Kazui found that refreshing.
So, despite the words that had just been hurled his way, he continued forward and leant against the wall beside him.
“Forgive an old man,” he said, drawing out a cigarette from his pocket, “but I have my habits.”
“Tch.”
Despite the noise, the other stayed still and seemed content to let Kazui do what he wanted as long as he didn’t bother him. However, on this particular day Kazui wasn’t satisfied with that.
“Hey,” he said, languidly blowing out a lungful of smoke, “do you hate yourself?”
It was a question he wanted to ask every other prisoner, if he was being honest with himself. But the reason he had asked it now to this specific person was a very selfish reason - he knew that it would remain between them; that there would be no chatter about him asking personal questions. About the implications of the specific question that he was asking.
He was prepared for some backlash, but he wasn’t prepared for the intense glare that he got as the other moved closer and grabbed his shoulder fiercely. “Hate?! I only did this to protect me! I only exist to help me!”
Kazui wasn’t scared. He’d been in far worse situations before and he knew he wasn’t actively being attacked; this was a defensive move. But before he could speak again and clarify what he had meant (for his words had been badly misinterpreted) he was spun around, hands grasping his collar tightly as the other shoved his face in his and said, “Did I tell you that?”
“What?”
The knuckles on his collar were white as the other answered, “Did I tell you that I hate myself ?”
No, Mikoto had never said anything like that. But it was an angle to the question Kazui had not considered: due to Mikoto's particular circumstance, he could potentially hate a “part” of himself without hating the rest.
“No, Kayano-kun never-”
“Ask me.”
He didn’t want to talk to Mikoto right now, he really felt that the cheery man would only make his mood worse, but before he could say anything there was a subtle change in the other's eyes and he knew it was too late.
“Oh hi, Kazui-saAAAH,” Mikoto cut his own words off with a yell when he saw his hands on Kazui’s collar, shoving him away and stumbling backwards. But Mikoto misjudged his own strength and sent the older man straight into the wall, his head knocking painfully against it. He groaned and rubbed the back of his skull as Mikoto stared at him, visibly trembling.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
That was the irony of it. The other one - the one everybody else saw as dangerous - he hadn’t hurt a hair on his head. No, it was Mikoto - calm, sweet Mikoto - who had overreacted and injured him. But Kazui lied as naturally as he always did when he said, “No, I just slipped, silly me.”
Mikoto visibly relaxed at that and laughed. Kazui never knew which of his laughter was real and which was nervous; when he was having fun and when he was trying to deflect. He felt an irritation start to bite at him and wished he was still talking to the other one.
But he had a question he needed to ask.
He didn’t know quite how it worked; it was entirely possible he could leave right now and the other would never know. He hadn’t even promised to ask; it wouldn’t even be rude.
No, the reason he was asking wasn’t because he had been asked to. Like most things he’d ever done, it was solely for his own sake.
“Do you hate yourself?”
Mikoto’s laughter awkwardly cut off and it sounded like he was going to choke. In another situation Kazui might’ve backed down; might’ve given an excuse for him not to answer. But at this point he was invested and waited for Mikoto to speak.
When he did, he refused to make eye contact with Kazui. “I - I scare myself, a little. I keep waking up to find my room messy, things broken… I fought with Koto-chan but I can’t remember doing so. And people are scared of me, and I don’t think I’ve done anything to hurt anyone, I can’t remember doing anything like that, but…”
He was shaking, and one hand traced his jaw as if he was trying to calm himself.
“But hate? No… no, I wouldn’t say so. After all,” he said, face suddenly breaking into a grin though his eyes still showed pain, “it would be a kinda sad life to hate yourself, don’t you think?”
Kazui couldn’t answer, his hand holding the cigarette clenching reflexively. The still-lit end dug itself into his palm and burned, but he didn’t care. He wished he’d stayed in the interrogation room, wished he’d never said anything to Mikoto, wished…
Did he wish he had never been placed in Milgram? Was this place really so much more painful than the life he had before?
He managed to find his voice, hoping and praying that Mikoto didn’t catch the waver in his words, “Yeah, I suppose it’s a difficult thing to imagine.”
That lie hurt him more than any other he’d ever said.
He excused himself and made his way back, hands clenched deep in his pockets as he contemplated Mikoto’s situation. He didn’t hate himself, even if he didn’t truly know himself. He’d made peace with his own existence.
Something that Kazui could hardly imagine.
That was truly lucky.