Work Text:
The cafeteria felt hollow. The hum of fluorescent lights echoed louder than their dwindling conversations. Plates clattered, but no one seemed interested in eating anymore. Days had blurred into weeks, weeks into months, and the survivors were shells of themselves.
Except for Toko Fukawa.
She sat at the edge of the table, scribbling furiously in her notebook. Her hands moved as if possessed, black ink smearing on her fingertips. She hadn’t spoken much in weeks, but she didn’t need to. Her world lived on the page now, and the quiet torment of their situation barely fazed her anymore.
It was Aoi Asahina who broke the silence one evening. “I’m losing my mind here,” she groaned, slumping over the table. “If I have to stare at another wall, I’m gonna scream. Can’t someone do something? Anything? Just... entertain us for, like, five minutes?”
Nobody answered. Makoto stared at his hands. Byakuya adjusted his glasses but said nothing. Even Monokuma hadn’t shown his face lately, leaving them to stew in their endless boredom.
Toko looked up from her notebook, her face pale but determined. “I... I could do something,” she said, her voice trembling. “I—I mean, it’s stupid, but... I wrote something. A song. I could, um, perform it.”
Everyone stared at her, stunned. It wasn’t like Toko to volunteer for anything, let alone something this vulnerable.
Yasuhiro scratched the back of his head. “Wait, like, a song song? You mean, with music?”
Toko nodded. “Y-you play guitar, right? I—I’ve seen you. You could, um... accompany me.”
Hesitation hung heavy in the room. But then Aoi grinned. “Are you kidding? Yes! Do it! Please!”
Yasuhiro shrugged, grabbing his acoustic guitar from the corner. “Why not? Let’s jam.”
Toko stood, clutching her notebook to her chest. She avoided Byakuya’s gaze as she stepped to the front of the room, her knees shaking slightly. “It’s... not perfect,” she muttered. “I started writing about M-Master Byakuya.”
She was cut off by a scoff from Togami himself. "Of course she did. Must we subject ourselves to this torture?"
"B-but it changed," she continued, barely missing a beat. "It changed."
She flipped open the notebook, placing it between her and Yasuhiro so he could see the chords she had scrawled over her lyrics. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she began to sing.
---
Quick, quick
Tell me something awful
Like you are a poet trapped inside the body of a finance guy
Her eyes flickered to Byakuya. She bit her lip, her voice growing stronger.
Tell me all your secrets
All you'll ever be is
My eternal consolation prize
Byakuya's expression remained unreadable, but his fingers paused mid-adjustment of his glasses.
You see I was a debutant in another life but
Now I seem to be scared to go outside
If comfort is a construct
I don't believe in good luck
Now that I know what's what
Her voice cracked slightly but steadied as Yasuhiro found the rhythm, his fingers effortlessly plucking at the strings.
I hate it here so I will go to
Secret gardens in my mind
People need a key to get to
The only one is mine
Makoto blinked, his head tilting slightly as if trying to understand where she was going with the song. Aoi exchanged a curious glance with him but leaned in closer to listen.
I read about it in a book when I was a precocious child
No mid-sized city hopes and small town fears
I'm there most of the year
Cause I hate it here
I hate it here
Yasuhiro grinned faintly, his fingers moving more confidently along the guitar strings. “Hey, this is actually good,” he muttered under his breath, nodding along with the rhythm.
Toko pretended not to hear him. She was lost in the song now, her voice rising.
My friends used to play a game where
We would pick a decade
We wished we could live in instead of this
I'd say the 1830s but without all the racists and getting married off for
the highest bid
She hesitated for a moment but pushed forward, her voice trembling with emotion.
Everyone would look down
Cause it wasn't fun now
Seems like it was never even fun back then
Nostalgia is a mind's trick
If I'd been there, I'd hate it
It was freezing in the palace
Aoi’s mouth dropped open slightly. “How is she—? I didn’t know she could do this.”
Makoto nodded faintly, his chest tightening at the honesty in her words.
I hate it here so I will go to
Lunar valleys in my mind
When they found a better planet
Only the gentle survived
Even Byakuya’s gaze was fixed on Toko now, though his expression betrayed nothing. Still, his attention was unwavering.
I dreamed about it in the dark
The night I felt like I might die
No mid-sized city hopes and small town fears
I'm there most of the year
Cause I hate it here
I hate it here
Toko closed her eyes as she sang the next lines, her voice cracking with raw vulnerability.
I'm lonely but I'm good
I'm bitter but I swear I'm fine
I'll save all my romanticism for my inner life and I'll get lost on
purpose
This place made me feel worthless
Makoto swallowed hard, the weight of her words sinking into him. Aoi had stopped smiling, her head hanging low. Even Hiro looked close to tears.
Lucid dreams like electricity, the current flies through me,
and in my fantasies I rise above it
And way up there, I actually love it
She glanced up at Byakuya before quickly shutting her eyes, but he didn’t look away. Something in his cold, analytical stare softened—just a fraction.
I hate it here so I will go to
Secret gardens in my mind
People need a key to get to
The only one is mine
I read about it in a book when I was a precocious child
No mid-sized city hopes and small town fears
I'm there most of the year
Cause I hate it here
I hate it here
She opened her eyes, her heart pounding as she finished the song with trembling hands clutching the notebook.
---
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Aoi clapped, the sound echoing through the cafeteria. “Toko, that was... amazing.”
Makoto nodded. “You’re incredible. I didn’t know you could write like that.”
Even Yasuhiro grinned. “Yeah, that was a banger, Toko. You’ve got real talent.”
Toko’s face flushed red, and she stared at the floor. “I-it’s nothing,” she mumbled, clutching her notebook. “I just... I had to do something.”
Byakuya’s voice cut through the chatter. “It’s rare to find someone with such... conviction in their work. You should be proud.”
Toko froze, her breath hitching. His words lingered in her mind, sparking something deep within her—a fleeting warmth in the endless cold.
For the first time in months, the cafeteria buzzed with energy. They talked about the song, laughed about Yasuhiro’s improvised riffs, and for a brief moment, they felt alive again.
And in the center of it all, for the first time, Toko smiled and clutched her notebook tightly. Maybe, just maybe, her words could be the key to their survival.