Chapter Text
Someone, whether that was a previous resident or a particularly immature nurse, had wiped away dust in the shape of a smiley face on the underside of one of the ceiling fan blades. Throughout the days and nights of absolute silence, Shuichi's train of thought always returned to ask the question of who?
If they were tall enough, and perhaps determined enough, they could’ve stood tip-toed on the flat hospital mattress and been able to just reach the fan. Using a chair as a step stool could’ve been a possibility, too, but Shuichi had only seen one chair since his arrival, and that chair had been occupied by-
...right. Now he remembered why he was so fixated on the fan. When his thoughts began to wander, they’d always circle back to him. There was no point, Shuichi thought, in thinking about him when he couldn’t even build up the courage to go visit him.
After all, he was only three rooms down.
...
Kaede was the first person Shuichi visited. In her words, she was doing absolutely fine, and Shuichi didn't need to worry about her. He'd protested several times, but soon, she'd succeeded in persuading him to go back to his own room and get some much-needed rest.
Ryoma was revived the day he died. Drowning, as Team Danganronpa put it, was “the easiest kind of death to bring someone back from”. Still... a part of Shuichi (which so happened to be the guiltiest part of him), was quite glad he hadn’t gotten the chance to see him. He wouldn’t be able to have a conversation with him without thinking about his bones.
Miu was still unconscious. So were Angie and Gonta. Maki had paid him a visit earlier in the week to make sure he was okay, he’d assumed, though, she said it was only because she had nothing better to do.
Kaito was still in recovery, and it would be a while before Shuichi could see him.
And Kokichi, he was-
...
Team Danganronpa had given every PD (post-danganronpa) a pamphlet titled, “Dealing With The Killing Game Aftermath” to educate everyone on what to expect outside the killing game.
He’d skimmed over most of it, though, one section of the pamphlet seemed slightly more concerning than the others.
“Moderate-to-severe personality changes are common and should be anticipated”.
What exactly that meant, Shuichi couldn’t figure out. He had a theory a while ago that, if their personalities were written with the killing game in mind, they would be unstable in any environment besides the killing game. Therefore, due to how fractured their personalities would become... they’d begin to act completely differently.
And that, quite frankly, was horrifying.
So, in preparation, he'd since spent his days writing down every one of his memories, philosophies, ideas, fears, and morals, just in case he'd somehow forget who he was. He wasn’t paranoid, or anything.
He wasn’t paranoid.
...though, when Shuichi finally zoned back in, he’d realised he’d been lying in bed and staring at the ceiling for the past two hours. Getting out of bed would be good for him... much better than lying in bed doing nothing all day. He should really get up and do something.
...
Tomorrow, then.
The PD ward was split into two sections. One for mental health, and one for physical health. Shuichi had talked to some of the contestants from the previous games, and they'd told him the first month in the hospital was the most important. If he hadn't recovered by the first month... there was a chance he'd never be allowed to leave the hospital.
So, Shuichi's recovery was his top priority. He'd gone out of his way to visit everybody he could to keep himself busy. Miu, Angie, and Gonta had all since woken up. He'd tried to go see Kirumi, but she was busy cleaning her room. K1-B0 was still being repaired. One of the nurses told him that all of them would make a full recovery, and not to worry too much.
Well... most of them. He still hadn't woken up. Though, even when some of his friends were still asleep, he'd gone out of his way to visit them. So... why hadn't Shuichi visited him?
...
...the day after the final class trial, Shuichi had a dream. There was a terrible heaviness in his chest that crept its way down into his arms and legs. Moving was nearly impossible. Then, there was pain. White-hot, searing agony traced its fingers down his left arm and back. It spread slowly up through Shuichi's chest and spine, digging into his lungs, and squeezing.
Back then, he'd squeezed his eyes shut on instinct, trying to focus on anything but the pain. He'd soon figured out he was sandwiched between two slabs of metal, the coolness on his back and the reflection of himself cast above making that abundantly clear. At some point within the first week of having that nightmare every night, the half-dead reflection of himself staring down at Shuichi stopped looking like Shuichi, and more like... him.
And so, in Shuichi's mind, there was no possible way he would've been able to visit him without breaking down sobbing.
...even if he was only three rooms down.
It took an embarrassingly long time to notice a thin sliver of white peeking out from beneath Shuichi's door. Words were scribbled onto the face of the paper in purple crayon. A question.
"ASTRO BOY?"
He hesitated for barely a second.
“Uh, no, it’s Shuichi…? Who’s this?”
Silence. Then, scribbling. His newfound mystery pen pal slid another piece of paper beneath the door.
"NOT IMPORTANT."
Shuichi frowned. So far, he knew that whoever was on the other side of the door was looking for Kaito... for one reason or another. He also knew they were holding the door closed to stop Shuichi from finding out who was on the other side of the door. With those two facts combined...
...he still had absolutely no idea who he was talking to.
"Hold on- not important? Why won't you tell me who you are?"
For a while, they didn't do anything. Shuichi was beginning to think they'd left when they finally took their piece of paper back.
"YOU WOULD BE DISAPPOINTED."
"...It's getting harder to breathe. If I'm lucky, the press will kill me before the poison does. Though... now that I've got nothing else to think about, the press is moving pretty slowly, huh? Or maybe it's actually moving lightning-quick, and my reaction time's just gone to shit, cuz all my brain cells are dying."
The boy's eyes began to flutter closed.
"I barely remember why I'm doing this. Something about defeating the mastermind? Mono... Mono-poo-ma? But... wasn't there another reason? I can't... remember. God, is this how Gonta felt?"
He let out a quiet, pained laugh.
"Crap, I think I'm going delirious."
...
The sun had just begun to rise when Shuichi woke up. He stayed there for a few hours, just wondering to himself. He wondered what Kaede was doing. He wondered if Korekiyo had woken up, yet. He wondered about that dream.
He wondered about him.
The hospital was quiet. He doubted anyone was awake. Soon, as if on autopilot, his body slipped out of bed and headed out of the room. Shuichi had no idea what he was doing, even as he finally found the room he was staying in. The handle was smooth and cold. The door wasn't locked, so he opened it and went inside.
He-... no, Kokichi... looked different, out of the killing game. More docile, obviously, but his hair was a little longer and less wild, as if he’d stopped playing with it. An oxygen mask was strapped tight to his face. He looked... small. He'd always looked small throughout the killing game, but lying in that hospital bed with wires strapped to his chest... just made him look even smaller.
"...I'm... sorry," Shuichi began. He opened his mouth to say something else, but a quiet sob left his mouth instead. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes to stop tears from stinging them.
"I just... I don't know. You should've told me what you were planning, Kokichi. I could've helped you."
Kokichi. Shuichi had been avoiding saying his name out loud until now. Mostly because... whenever he heard the name Kokichi Ouma, or even thought of it... he'd be brought back to that day. That press. That... stench.
"I keep thinking about that trial. Everyone was expecting me to be glad when we found out Kaito had been the one to survive, but... is it bad... that some part of me wanted you to be there, too? If you'd jumped out of the Exisal and declared that the whole trial was a lie, I would've been..."
The words hitch in his throat.
"Soon, everybody will be able to move into their old homes from before the killing game. We've finally escaped. Everyone's happy, so why am I still-"
...
"...not happy?"