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Makoto isn't quite sure what to do with the pictures he's found.
All of them depict him and his classmates, whether now alive or dead, living what seems to be a normal high school life at Hope's Peak. There's no metal panels on the windows, no Monokuma, no… Danger. They're all smiling, like they've been friends for years.
He's walking aimlessly down the halls, no clear destination in mind, eyes fixed on the photographs in his hands. Are they real, or just another one of Monokuma's twisted mind games? He wants to believe that they're fake, but they look too real, too genuine. The lens flare, the outline of water droplets in the pool picture seemingly on the camera, even the slight camera grain. All signs pointing to the picture's genuine nature.
But then, the question becomes something else. Why would the mastermind plant these? Makoto knows better than to think they were left lying around by accident, Monokuma, the mastermind, isn't so careless. Everything is done with a reason, whether it be a motive to escape, to kill, or a way to amplify their despair.
Makoto runs into a wall. Hard.
He seems to have wandered into another room by accident, probably while he was lost in his thoughts, and missed the exit doorway by a few inches. He stumbles back a few steps, dropping the pictures in shock. They scatter on the grimy tile, snapping Makoto out of his daze. He rubs his forehead, grumbling to himself at the ache and the inevitable bruise that'll leave.
Makoto looks around, taking in the familiar dusty shelves lined with muted books. The library, huh? Good thing nobody was around to witness that incredibly embarrassing moment, although at this point, embarrassing himself is the least of his concerns.
Bending down to collect the few pictures he's managed to find, he notices an out of place object beneath the table. Another envelope.
This one, however, seems slightly more disheveled than the last. While the others he's found seemed deliberately placed, this one seems to have been haphazardly dropped and kicked away. Its edges are tattered, the envelope is dirty with a distinct footprint over the white paper. Makoto hesitates, before reaching out and taking it.
He sets the rest of the pictures down on the table as he stands up again, his full attention now on the mistreated clue in his hands. Opening it reveals another photograph, not exactly surprising, but the contents of said photo are what truly shock Makoto.
It's as grainy and faded as the rest of the pictures, albeit slightly bent, that part's normal. Makoto sits on a park bench, surrounded by what seem to be cherry blossom trees, their petals fluttering to the ground without interruption. He's smiling, looking at the camera with a genuine happiness that he hasn't seen on himself in weeks. Beside him sits… Byakuya. Makoto rubs his eyes, considering pinching himself or getting somebody to slap him, because there's no way what he's seeing is real.
Byakuya seems to be the one holding the camera, angled slightly upwards. He's looking not at the lens, but at Makoto, an almost unnoticeable smile gracing his usually scowling lips. Between them, they're holding hands. Barely, nothing more than a loose interlocking of fingers, but that's still a significant detail.
Makoto is so caught up in this picture that he doesn't hear the sound of the door creaking open, nor the sound of footsteps approaching behind him.
“Makoto.” A stern, slightly annoyed voice startles him so thoroughly that he yelps, whipping around so quickly that he almost trips over his own shoes. He looks up to meet Byakuya’s cold gaze, looking down at him as if he's something gross on the floor. Typical.
He's quick to hide the photo behind his back, putting on what he hopes isn't a suspicious smile. It's a very suspicious smile. “Oh- oh, hey, Byakuya! I wasn't expecting you.” Makoto greets lamely, trying to slip the picture back into it's envelope before Byakuya sees what it is.
Of course, his act is so terrible that Byakuya doesn't even know what to say. He just stares, that same glare that can make an elephant feel small. Ignoring Makoto's awkward welcome, he steps forward, immediately taking notice of what Makoto is trying desperately to hide. “Surely the contents of this picture can't be any worse than the last. I've already been humiliated enough by those hideous shorts.” Byakuya scoffs, remembering the last group photo of what appeared to be them during physical education. He suppresses a shudder.
He makes a reach for the photo, but Makoto jerks back, clutching the picture to his chest and taking a defensive stance. Well, that's new. Byakuya feels a flicker of irritation. “What? Just let me see it. It's vital that we all see crucial pieces of information. Well, perhaps not all of us, but those of us with half a mind.” He steps forward and tries to grab it again, but Makoto remains speechless, slowly going an impressive shade of red.
Now this is just getting ridiculous. Byakuya makes many more attempts to take the photo from Makoto's hands. Whenever he gets close, Makoto will either scurry a few steps away, hold the picture behind him, or shield it. He ends up having to grab and shove Makoto by the collar to the wall, causing Makoto to drop the picture in surprise. Byakuya bends down to pick it up, ignoring Makoto's plea to “wait!”.
Now he wishes he would have heeded that warning.
Why is he looking at Makoto like that? Why is he holding hands with a common loser? And why does he look happy about it!?
Byakuya flips the image in his hand, blinking, as if to confirm it's real. Makoto has finally reached a stage of tomato-red that is frankly impressive.
“Destroy this. Throw it down the garbage shute. This is nothing but a ploy by the mastermind to distract us.” He resists the urge to rip the picture with his bare hands. How dare the mastermind depict him as having—eugh—vulnerabilities? Byakuya feels his stomach churn and his heart rate speed up. No doubt the outrage is settling in. Although, does outrage always feel this… tingly?
As if to rub salt on the wound, Monokuma pops up from thin air, as usual. The bear has the audacity to act shocked.
“Wh-aaaaat!? Where did you get that!?” Monokuma yells, over dramatic enough to make the mockery obvious.
“Don't play us for fools.” Byakuya huffs, setting the picture down on the table with a little too much force, causing a slapping noise to echo through the library. “You don't just leave things laying around by accident. What's the meaning of this?”
Monokuma hops from one foot to the other, then back again. “What, I'm not allowed to spice things up every once in a while?” The bear laughs, an annoying cackle that grates on Byakuya’s nerves. “Just seeing you two lovebirds all cozy like that makes me feel aaaall warm inside! But, I'm a bear of my word. I said I wouldn't tell you nuthin’ about what's in the envelopes. Sorry!”
The tone of Monokuma's chipper voice makes it abundantly clear the bear isn't sorry at all. Before either of them can pester the mastermind any more, Monokuma jumps and vanishes, leaving Byakuya and Makoto alone in the library once more.
Makoto finally seems to have gotten over whatever that reaction was, clearing his throat and stepping forward. He looks down at the picture again, taking in every detail. “Do you…Do you really think we were like that before all this?”
The question makes Byakuya pause.
Since the start of the killing game, he and Makoto have gravitated towards each other like magnets. Makoto always seeks him out during free time, and while he doesn't understand it, he's yet to send the other boy away. They eat breakfast together, collaborate on investigations (although Byakuya would hardly call it collaboration, more so his intuitive effort keeping Makoto afloat), among other things. Since he laid eyes on Makoto in the entrance hall, Byakuya has felt a draw towards this… this peasant.
Makoto seems to come to the same realization at the exact time that he does, as they look at each other with mixed expressions. Their memories were completely wiped, but is it possible to erase those lingering feelings?
“It isn't… implausible.” Byakuya settles upon eventually, pushing his glasses up his nose, refusing to meet Makoto's gaze, which is rare. Makoto swears he can see the faintest flush of pink on Byakuya’s cheeks, but he's quick to dismiss the idea. The Byakuya Togami, flustered by a picture of them holding hands?
He finally takes the photo back, quickly slipping it back into it's tattered envelope and sealing it away again. There's a tension in the air that's almost impossible to ignore now.
“Forget it. The mastermind is clearly trying to throw us off their trail with lackluster distractions.” Byakuya straightens up, taking a slightly deeper breath to take control of his nerves. Since when does he feel nervous? Since when does he feel? “We mustn't let them win. Goodnight, Makoto.”
He turns on his heel to leave, but is quickly stopped by a tug to his sleeve. Arching a brow and turning around, Byakuya frowns. Makoto's expression is complicated. The impressively red blush has faded, but the boy's face is still redder than usual. His brows are furrowed with that same determination Byakuya has seen Makoto sport at the end of a trial.
“Wait, Byakuya, I…” Makoto starts, that determination suddenly fizzling out in the face of Byakuya’s familiar scrutiny. “I don't… I don't want to ignore what's in the picture. Can't we at least try and see if it'll work?” He asks, not letting go of Byakuya’s sleeve, even now.
“Hmph, you're truly a lost cause. We're in the middle of a killing game, and you're asking me out?” Byakuya scoffs, causing Makoto’s face to redden once more.
The brunette looks down, finally letting go of Byakuya’s blazer. “You're right, it was stupid, forget I said anything. I'll throw the picture down the shute and we can-”
Makoto's cut off by Byakuya stepping forward, taking the envelope with a deft finger. “That wasn't a no.” He responds, curtly and assertively, making Makoto slightly weak in the knees. They've been dancing along some weird line for weeks now, juggling the horrors of the killing game and their own complicated feelings at the same time. But now, with this crucial piece of the puzzle between them, Makoto feels an inexplicable urge to give in. To throw caution to the wind and take the step. Anything could go wrong tomorrow. Tonight. In the next few hours. Why should he wait?
He blinks as he feels Byakuya’s slender fingers interlock with his own, in a hold much more certain than the one they share in the picture. Makoto returns the gesture.
They stand there in silence for what feels like hours but is probably mere seconds. Makoto's eyes soak in the little details of Byakuya’s face that he's noticed but not thought about since the beginning. The heir's long eyelashes, striking jawline, the slight dishevellement that now seems common amongst them all as the game progresses…
“... We should retire for the night. We hardly have the time to stand here like idiots staring at each other. I know I have better things to do.” It's a lie, but Byakuya is getting embarrassingly flustered, and he's sick of feeling nice towards Makoto, of all people. He steps back and wipes off his hand with a handkerchief.
Makoto just laughs. Even after sharing such a moment, Byakuya can't help but act like an asshole. He's long since stopped taking it personally. “Fine, goodnight. When we beat the mastermind at their own game… we should go out and see the cherry blossoms again.” Makoto smiles, causing Byakuya to scowl and look away, not in disgust, but in a sheepish attempt to hide his reddening cheeks.
Byakuya just scoffs as a reply, before exiting the library, a little too quickly to be considered casual. Makoto can't stop smiling, even as he returns to his dorm and settles in for the night. It's nice to feel something that isn't fear or doubt or dread for once.
It's nice to feel… content.