Work Text:
Conventions make Miu nervous.
It’s not how many people there are. She’s fine with a lot of people, provided they keep their space. Her contract with Team Danganronpa doesn’t necessitate public appearances, but she makes them anyway, signing whatever memorabilia fans bring to her, because it pays well. (She doesn’t really need the money – Team Danganronpa pays its victims well – but Tsumugi does. They didn’t pay her worth squat.)
Unfortunately, Miu has also gotten used to signing reams of toilet paper. She hates it. But, well....
It pays well, and it makes up for what Tsumugi didn’t get paid, and most fan conventions do a very good job of taking care of her.
Most being the important word there.
Miu has to be very, very careful about selfies at her table. She doesn’t do photo ops because there’s little time to discuss anything beforehand, and an overeager fan trying to give her a hug could trigger her all too easily.
Selfies at her table are usually better.
Usually.
“Iruma-san!”
Miu pushes a hand through her short hair – it’s getting too long, she’ll need a new undercut soon (and the anti-panic pills for that, too) – and flashes a smile at—
Her eyes narrow.
“Where the fuck—”
“Down here!”
Miu leans over her table and spots a kid staring up at her. The kid must be no more than twelve, but could be as young as ten. (Who fucking knows a kid’s age on sight? Not Miu, that’s for sure.) Her dark hair is pulled into pigtails, and her blue eyes are bright.
(Miu hates that children have seen her Game. She’s pretty sure it wasn’t meant for them.)
(It wasn’t meant for her either, except that it was.)
But the kid smiles up at her pleasantly enough. “I…I wanted a picture! With you, Iruma-san! You were….” The kid’s eyes shift under the weight of Miu’s gaze, and she blushes. “You were my favorite in the 53rd Game.” She bites her lip and then looks up at Miu with puppy dog eyes. “You’re my most favoritest ever!”
“Oh…well….”
Miu blushes immediately. (The problem with the Game – okay, not THE problem, because there were many problems, and this was just a minor one – was that fans knew how to get under her skin. To make her weak. Vulnerable.) She looks away and twirls a short strand of hair around her finger. (It doesn’t go as well as it did when her hair was longer, but she does it anyway. It’s a habit, and it helps.) “You don’t…you don’t say….”
“Yeah!” The kid hands her phone to the con worker meant to help Miu with photos. “I hated when they killed you off. It was the worst! I mean I loved how you set everything up, but—”
Static fills Miu’s ears as she kneels next to the eagerly rambling kid. She’s not focused on the words or what the kid’s doing; she’s too focused on trying to tone out anything about her death. Still, she can feel the panic creeping in. (It’s hard to breathe.)
Then the kid throws her arms around Miu’s neck.
Miu forgets to breathe.
No – she doesn’t forget – she can’t breathe. Air can’t get to her lungs. She sees Kokichi grinning in front of her, and she feels the bones in her neck straining under the weight of someone’s strong hands, but she doesn’t know whose—
Wait, she does, it’s Gonta, she saw the video, she can see the determination on his face, and she scratches at his hands—
“Iruma-chan?”
Rantaro shouldn’t be here. He’s dead.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know! She just collapsed!”
(No. He’s not dead. He died in the show, but he didn’t die in real life. She didn’t—)
“Did anyone touch her neck?”
Silence.
Miu doesn’t know how she’s still breathing.
“Miu.”
A hand touches her arm, but that’s not nearly as startling as hearing someone else say her name so bluntly. Miu flinches, and before she can even think through what she’s saying, barks out, “Who gave you the right, Shitogane?”
Kokichi’s grinning face (he wasn’t grinning, he wasn’t grinning, but she always imagines he was) disappears, unraveling from the center to show Tsumugi (her Mastermind) sitting in front of her. Tsumugi was still alive then – Rantaro wasn’t, but he’s standing right over there, talking with the little girl that—
She must have freaked the kid out.
(Miu is still freaking out herself. Mentally, she knows – she remembers – that she’s okay, that she’s survived, but that doesn’t matter. Her body is still shaking. A cool sweat runs along her body. She slowly pulls her hands away from her own throat as her heart races, and she clenches her hands, holds them tight. This will help with the shaking. The tensing and untensing. It will help.
It won’t fix the new nail marks on her neck, though.)
“Are you back? I plainly can’t—”
“Cut the bullshit, Tsupoopie.” Miu looks at her but doesn’t meet her eyes. “You know I hate it when you use your character tic.”
“Hm.” Tsumugi smiles and hums pleasantly. She drums her fingers on the arm of her wheelchair, then tilts her head to one side. “It’s plain to see that you, Iruma-chan, need a break.”
“I—”
“But it’s not real!” The kid’s voice breaks through, her eyes wide as she stares at Miu. “I-I-I-I thought…. It’s just a story, right?” She looks up at Rantaro, eyes so large that they reflect his dark skin back to him. “You’re just…. You made it up.”
(This is why children shouldn’t see the Games. They don’t understand.)
Miu forces herself to take a deep breath, and she flashes the kid a smile. “Of course, we did! It’s all fake!”
That’s the fiction – the lie – this kid’s parents had been telling her, after all. As much as she hates it, Miu is part of this story, too, just like she’s been the part of so many stories. Not necessarily ones she likes. Mostly ones she doesn’t like.
But the kid seems to settle, so that’s okay.
Miu forces herself to slowly get up, still shaking, and places a hand on Tsumugi’s shoulder. “And Shitogane here—”
“Iruma-chan—”
“Hey.” Rantaro takes the kid’s hand and smiles gently at her. (Not flashy, like Miu, or plainly, like Tsumugi would say she does. But gentle. Warm. Rantaro’s better at that sort of thing. He’s better with kids, too, but that’s because he doesn’t put himself on their level. Tsumugi says she’s good with kids, too, but in a different sort of way. Miu doesn’t think she’s good with kids. She can’t be if she panics every time they accidentally touch her neck.)
The kid tears her gaze away from Miu and looks up at Rantaro again.
Rantaro takes her hand and gives it a little squeeze. “Iruma-san put on a good show for you, didn’t she?”
“Y….” The kid’s gaze flicks back to Miu, and her frown slowly turns into an excited grin, the furrows in her brow smoothing out. “Yeah!” she exclaims. “She did!” She holds her phone close. “I have to…. I have to go tell—” She scurries off past the lines and into the crowd.
Once the kid is gone, Rantaro turns back to the con worker. Miu wants to lean in and listen to what he’s saying, but Tsumugi takes her hand. “Iruma-chan,” she murmurs, “take a break.” She gives her hand a gentle squeeze. “If you want to save face, tell everyone that it’s plainly time for me to step back.” She doesn’t look up. “The public knows that we—”
Miu grits her teeth. It doesn’t help. (She’s still shaking. She’s still having trouble breathing. She’s still on, her heart still racing. She’s still in no position to be out here with fans.) She steps back behind Tsumugi’s wheelchair and grips the handles.
“Okay.”