Work Text:
Dreamless Night
Thump!
The room is hot, hotter than it should be. It swelters like a summer day. Or is the sweat pooling down him born from something else?
Thump!
He struggles, futilely. His hands are bound and pinned to the top of the desk, and a rope ties his legs to the metal cage under the chair.
Thump!
He stares ahead, at the Monokuma in front of him, haphazardly waving its baton up and down, at the blackboard depicting obscene images, at the leering grin atop the giant screen. Anything to avoid looking behind him.
Thump!
He feels faint. Terror courses up and down his spine as he fights to take another breath. He can't stop shaking.
Thump!
He reminds himself that this was his decision. He chose. Otherwise, it would be Kyoko here in his place.
Thump!
He feels sick. He can't stop the shuddering, choked sobs of terror that come from him. His eyes squeeze tight involuntarily.
I don't want to die-
Thump!
Makoto rolls and falls off his bed, body entangled widely with his blanket. There's a few seconds of raw panic as he struggles to throw off the restraining object.
The fear and panic coursing through his body mix badly with the sudden movement, and Makoto scrambles through the pitch-black room, groping for the handle to the adjacent bathroom as a well of nausea rises within him.
He doesn't make it, and soon, he's doubling over as he spills the contents of last night's dinner onto his bedroom floor. He stays there for a moment afterwards, paralyzed in his hunched-over position as he rides out the last waves of his nightmare-induced terror. Then, as if a valve was opened, he collapses backwards against the frame of his bed with something between a sob and a broken laugh coming from him.
Eventually, he forced himself back up. Somewhat numbly, he fumbled about, moving as little as possible to avoid stepping in his own sick, and found the light switch. His room flickered to life as a faint yellow glow engulfed it.
The room provided to him by the Future Foundation was small and bare, which is to be expected considering they've only been there for little over a month. There's a bed to sleep in, a desk containing notebooks full of ledgers and details, a laptop atop said desk, a dresser to store clothes, and an adjacent bathroom.
It's somehow even more spartan than his dorm at Hope's Peak: There are no windows, for starters. He frowned at that thought, making a mental note to liven up his room. Maybe some pictures of his family, if he can find any. And Kyoko. Yes, definitely pictures of Kyoko. That will chase away the gloomy feeling he often finds lingering here.
Later, though. For now, he headed to the bathroom, retrieved cleaning supplies, and spent the next 10 minutes cleaning up his own vomit. It's, luckily, an involved task that doesn't give him much time for idle thoughts.
After thoroughly cleaning and washing his floor and then disposing of the material, Makoto returned to the bathroom to clean himself up. Splashing water on his face, he looked up at the mirror.
I'm a mess…Is the first thought that came to mind. His face is pale, his hair is wild and going in every direction, as if he'd woken up in a blender. There are bags under his eyes; he looks like he hasn't had a good night's sleep in forever.
…Which isn't inaccurate. It's not the first time he's had nightmares, and they often make sleeping a full 8 hours difficult at best. The phantom sound of the metal crusher coming down behind him causes him to jerk involuntarily, accidentally knocking a cup off the sink counter. It's plastic, luckily, so the only thing broken is his dignity.
With nothing left to do, all Makoto can do is think about the nightmare, about the trial. About how close he came to dying. It had been his decision; he didn't regret it. What he had told Kyoko that day in the bathhouse hadn't been a lie: If the choice was between his life and hers, he would always choose her.
But that didn't stop the fear clawing at his chest. It didn't stop his arms from shaking as he remembered the loud, booming sound of death getting closer and closer to him. It didn't stop him from scratching his wrists to tear off non-existent ropes. It didn't stop his breaths from coming in shorter and shorter intervals until he lurched forward, just barely catching himself from crashing into the mirror above the sink.
You're panicking. Calm down. You need to calm down. It took an embarrassingly long time and multiple deep breaths before his breathing became anything resembling normal. By the time his vision sharpened into focus, he was hunched over the sink, staring at the drain. The tightness in his chest was still there, but dwindling, unraveling painfully slowly.
With effort, he raised his head back up and checked his appearance again. He's still pale, his complexion almost bone-white, but color is gradually beginning to creep back again. His hair is still a wild mess, and he spent half a minute trying to comb it into something halfway decent, and is only partially successful. His eyes were wide, and his pupils dilated, and he spent another minute or so taking deep, deliberate breaths to calm his racing heart.
By the time he's done, he actually looks somewhat respectable. Or, at least, as respectable as he can be for someone who just woke up and vomited on his floor. If it weren't for the twisted grimace on his face, no one would be able to tell that anything was wrong.
It's not the first time he's had a nightmare, and not the first time one's affected him like this. It's as if a heavy blanket's been draped over, making even the simple act of walking strenuous. A dullness settles around him, like a cloud over his mind.
He frowns again, before almost reflexively turning it into a smile. It'll be a few hours, at least, of wearing that fake smile until the heavy mood passes and he returns to normal.
Once upon a time, he wouldn't have bothered with it. But he's not a nobody anymore. He's the Ultimate Hope. The one who refused to fall into despair when everyone else did. If he can't smile, how is anyone else supposed to?
Hence, the extra half minute spent practicing the fake smile.
The Makoto Naegi who exits the bathroom is convinced no one could tell he had just relived a near-death experience. Or, at least, no one who would call him out on it. He's certain there are people his act cannot fool, a certain detective, for instance. But, of all people, Kyoko's the least he's worried about. She understands as well as he does how crucial it is that the image of the unshakable Ultimate Hope stands.
The adrenaline of his dream combined with his own frantic movements after waking up has drained any fatigue from him, despite it being barely past 2 in the morning. Which is good, since Makoto does not like the idea of going back to dreamland.
Quickly, he exchanges his faint-blue pajamas for the smooth suit and tie of his uniform. Seems he'll start work early today.
Makoto's office is depressingly similar to his room. There's a desk covered in papers and pencils, as well as other random trinkets and knick-nacks. A desktop is atop it, shoved in its own corner, powered off. The only hint of personal items is a faded, worn-down novel fitted neatly into a cubby, an old mystery novel he found while cleaning out the office. The walls are grey and uniformly undecorated. Perhaps, in time, it'll acquire life of its own, but so far personalization has had to bow to rebuilding society.
Settling himself down into the chair, Makoto boots up the computer and is immediately hit with over 20 different notifications. He sighs. He'd been hoping to clear up some of his backlog, but it seems new problems have arisen before even the sun has.
He forces himself to open the first and start working. Luckily, the majority of the issues are low-priority: Supply checks, personnel reports, resource transfers, the kind of things he can safely set to the side as he tackles the more important work.
The Future Foundation's 14th division is tasked with managing the Foundation's public relations with the wider public, the PR team, so to speak. So Makoto's not surprised when the majority of his tasks are roughly split along the lines of smoothing over Foundation-Survivor incidents and presenting the efforts of the Future Foundation in an appealing light to the rest of the world.
Propaganda is what someone like Kyoko or Byakuya would call it. Makoto tries not to think of it that way.
The work is endless, but it provides a nice distraction from the thoughts that he knows will plague him if he stops to think for even a minute.
Eventually, he settled into a familiar routine, one hand switching between mouse and keyboard as he wrote up the latest report, and another flipping through a binder, searching for names to put to faces.
He yawns as he lazily checks the time in the corner of the computer. 4:30 AM. He's been here for two and a half hours, though it hardly feels that long. The adrenaline that kept him awake faded long ago, leaving him to almost sluggishly work through the seemingly infinite problems. He regrets not making himself some coffee beforehand. As if summoned by those thoughts, a gloved hand materializes from seemingly nowhere, offering a cup to him.
"Thanks, Kyoko…" He murmurs as he takes a drink from the cup, fresh energy lacing through him.
A second later, and his brain catches up with his eyes.
"Kyoko?!" He twists his head around, his eyes widening comically in surprise.
There, just a few feet away from him, seated on a round, wheeled stool, sits the detective, diligently typing away at something on her laptop.
Had she…No, he's certain she wasn't in the office when he arrived. That meant she'd gotten there after him, but he was also certain he'd heard no footsteps. Was he that out of it?
"I'd ask you why you're up so early," Kyoko started, her voice as calm as ever, "But that'd be hypocritical of me." She reaches over to his desk, which is when Makoto notices the second cup of steaming coffee sitting there, and takes a quick drink.
"Right…" Makoto muttered, turning back to his work. For a while, the rhythmic noise of typing filled the air as both of them worked in silence.
"Um, Kyoko…" Makoto started, not turning from his computer, "Why are you in my office?" He cringes a bit at how the words sound, though the question is genuine. That stool hadn't been there earlier, and those laptops are issued for their quarters, not their offices, meaning Kyoko had to have retrieved it beforehand.
There's a brief pause in the typing before it resumes. "It doesn't matter where I work, does it?" Kyoko answered, "I can complete my tasks just as efficiently from here as in my office."
"Yeah, but…" Makoto trailed off.
"...And I suspected that you needed someone to talk to," Kyoko finished.
Makoto's hands freeze above the keyboard, the cursor blinking expectantly.
"...Am I that obvious?" The question came out in a whisper, and it took all his willpower not to double over on the spot.
He can still hear the crusher coming down.
"No, you've done a good job at hiding it, actually," Kyoko reassures him. He suddenly realized he hadn't heard any typing from her direction in a while. "But I've been learning to read people since before I could walk."
There's silence. Neither of them knows what to do next.
"...I've heard that it helps if you talk about it," Kyoko says, an undercurrent of uncertainty in her voice, "Though I wouldn't know from experience."
Makoto highly doubts she meant that to mean she's never had nightmares. His heart throbs painfully at the reminder of her awful childhood.
He chewed on his lip a bit, an internal battle waging in his mind. He does want to talk about it. He really, really does. He wants to talk about it with someone who understands, who can comprehend the mortal terror he felt.
And yet, at the same time, he doesn't. He doesn't want to drag up old wounds. If he knows Kyoko even half as well as he hopes he does, then she still feels guilty over what happened.
"I noticed you've been reading that book in your spare time," Kyoko says suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. She gestured towards the worn-down book in the cubby, "Tell me about it."
Makoto blinked at the sudden subject change, turning to face Kyoko, but quickly recovered to answer her question, "Well, I found it while I was clearing this space out, and I thought it might be a good read." He chuckled a bit, "It is, I guess. It's a mystery book. You know, like, Sherlock Holmes or something?"
Kyoko nodded. Her laptop is closed and sitting on her lap. "A mystery novel?" Her lips twitched upwards in amusement. "Were you perhaps thinking of someone when you decided to read it?"
Makoto can't help but laugh sheepishly at that, ducking his head in embarrassment, "Maybe a little…" He confessed, smiling.
It's a genuine smile. He doesn't know why Kyoko suddenly started asking about the book, but he's grateful she did. Maybe she was right, maybe he just needed to talk to someone about, well, anything.
"Well, a mystery novel then," Kyoko continued, leaning forward a bit, "How far are you into it?"
"Not far. I only have time to read it every now and then, so about a third, maybe?"
"Ah. Have you figured out the mystery yet?"
Makoto chuckled a bit, "I'm not you, Kyoko." His face grew a bit more serious. "Besides, I think it's a clueless mystery."
Kyoko frowned, "That sounds rather counter-productive for a mystery book."
"Not a literally clueless mystery," Makoto explained, "See, usually, mystery fiction is divided into two categories: Fair-Play, where the reader has enough clues to figure it out before the characters do, and Clueless Mystery, where you don't, and you're just supposed to be along for the ride."
"Ah, I see," Kyoko nodded, placing a finger on her chin pensively, "Yes. I can see the appeal of that…and also how it could be annoying."
"You got that right…" Makoto grumbled before shooting her another smile, "You know, it's funny. I used to not mind them, but now it's really annoying that I can't figure it out." He laughed a bit, his smile growing wider and brighter, "I think you're influencing me, Kyoko."
"You give me too much credit." She rewarded him with a slight smile of her own, "You've always had a drive to discover the truth. It was simply buried under a lack of self-confidence." She quickly brings the subject back to the book, "You say you used to not mind clueless mysteries, correct? So you've been a fan of the genre for a while?"
"Yeah," Makoto nodded, "Actually, it was Komaru who first got me into them…" He trailed off as he said his sister's name, inadvertently summoning thoughts he'd been trying to avoid.
God, Komaru…I hope she's ok. I haven't heard anything about her…or my parents. The uncertainty was the worst part. Despite their best efforts, the Future Foundation had yet to locate any of the individuals used in the videos shown to them as part of Junko's first motive. He had no idea where his sister or parents were, what state they were in, if they were even still ali-
"Would you like to hear about some of my old cases, then? Since you enjoy mysteries." Kyoko's voice sliced through his thoughts like a hot knife, almost physically dragging him back to the present. Had he been in a better state of mind, he might have noticed how her words seemed quicker than usual, or the minute, almost anxious, twitching of her hands as she spoke. But he wasn't, so he didn't.
Makoto blinked before latching onto the sudden offer. Truth be told, he'd always been at least mildly interested in what Kyoko had done before coming to Hope's Peak, but always been too nervous to ask. He knew she specialized in homicides, and asking her to talk about murders after they'd just escaped a killing game felt…wrong.
But if she was offering…
"Yeah, I'd like that." He forced a smile.
"I'll try to avoid some of the more morbid ones." Kyoko said as she looked upward, searching her memories, "Let's see…this one happened around 2 years before I attended Hope's Peak Academy. A double-homicide that turned out to be both a revenge killing and part of a serial killing at the same time…"
After that, Makoto let himself get lost in her voice. True to her word, she spared the gorier details, focusing mostly on the mind games she played with the killer and her thought process as she found clues and came to conclusions.
There was barely a pause between her concluding one story and starting the next, and Makoto could almost feel his worries fading away with each word she spoke. Just sitting there, listening to Kyoko talk, was wonderful. It was obvious how much pride she took in her work, and the clear joy in her tone when she detailed how she pieced together seemingly unconnected clues to form a cohesive narrative was infectious.
He didn't think it was possible, but his admiration of Kyoko grew with every word. He always knew she was amazing, but it didn't hit him just how amazing she was until now. Mentally, he added her voice to the ever-growing list of things he loved about Kyoko. It was calm, soothing, and practically captivating.
A languidity seeped into his limbs as he continued to listen to her, his work all but forgotten. The heart-pounding terror he had felt just a couple hours ago had vanished into the ether, replaced with a drowsiness that seemed to spread throughout his entire body.
Maybe I'll just rest my eyes a bit… He thought as his eyes closed almost against his will.
"Of course, by then, they realized I wasn't actually a tourist, and I had to-" A soft snore interrupts her, and Kyoko turns her head to see Makoto having fallen asleep in his chair, a peaceful look on his face.
She hadn't been intending to lull him to sleep, but she'd count that as a victory regardless.
Holding her laptop in the crook of her arm, Kyoko got up and moved silently over to him, a frown on her face. The moment she had heard the sound of keyboard typing coming from here, she had known, on some instinctual level, what had happened. Makoto was diligent, but not diligent enough to be up and awake at 4 in the morning.
Kyoko gingerly brushed a stray hair out of his face as she observed his sleeping form, a stab of guilt piercing into her. His nightmare had been about his execution. It was the only thing that made sense. The only thing that he wouldn't want to talk to her about while still scaring him enough into forgoing sleep.
He hadn't said it outright, but she's a Kirigiri. Her deductions are never wrong.
Which was why she had changed tactics. That book of his was an excellent way of getting him talking about, thinking about, something else. Anything else, really.
An amused smile wormed its way into her face. Who knew her grandfather's teachings would be useful now, of all times?
"A panicked witness is a useless witness. Get them talking about something, anything. Once they're calm and talking, they'll be more likely to let something slip."
Granted, he probably hadn't been envisioning this scenario when he taught her that. But Kyoko was adaptable.
Of course, it had backfired when the subject had suddenly veered into his sister. She understood. Her grandfather's fate was occupying a similar place in the back of her mind, a constant worry.
So she switched tactics again.
Truthfully, she hadn't been expecting him to be so receptive to her stories about her old cases. Much less fall asleep to them. But the proof of it was right in her face.
Of course, it was entirely possible that it had less to do with what was being said and who was saying it. In which case…she could hardly blame him. She, too, had a guilty pleasure of enjoying his voice.
A pensive hum buzzed out of her as she stopped suddenly. Was that normal? Was that typical of romantic couples? She mentally adds another item to her mental checklist.
Kyoko didn't regret her childhood, not truly. She's proud of the skills her grandfather had instilled into her.
But…there are times, such as this, when she's forced to confront how much that training has robbed her of normal human experiences and teachings. She has no idea how to be in a relationship. So far, she's been going off instinct and, more or less, mimicking what Makoto does. But there are times when that proves insufficient.
Such as now, with her boyfriend passed out in his work chair. What does she do in this situation? Her first instinct is to wake him back up, which is swiftly countered by the fact that her entire goal had been to relax him. Besides, the dark circles under his eyes were proof enough that he needed sleep.
Ok, so waking him up wasn't an option. Should she just leave him here, then? She frowned. No, that felt wrong. She's fallen asleep at her desk before, and it's never a pleasant experience when she wakes back up.
Should she wake him up and have him go back to his bed? No. If she does that, she's certain he'll find some way to avoid going back to sleep. She has no proof, but Kirigiri instinct is saying she's right.
Process of elimination leaves her with only one option. She'll have to carry him back to bed.
It's a troublesome option. Not physically speaking. She's certain she's more than capable of physically carrying him. No, the trouble is that, if caught, it'll raise questions she's not too keen on answering. The Future Foundation is unaware of their relationship, and Kyoko isn't planning on giving them that information.
Call it paranoia from surviving the killing game, call it a result of her grandfather's teachings, but there's something about the Future Foundation that troubles her. Something she can't rightly put her finger on. The less they have to use against her and her loved ones, the better.
Besides, she's certain they'd disapprove of it anyway, with both of them being in the same division. Strictly speaking, what they had counted as fraternization.
Kyoko leaned back and thought. The Future Foundation is never truly deserted, even at this hour. But it is less busy than during peak daylight hours. She closed her eyes as she recalled the layout, plotting a course from Makoto's office to his room, as well as what she'd gathered of the habits of the Foundation's other employees.
If I take the longer route, I can avoid most of the offices. I'll only have to worry about Shirogane and Tatsumi. Kitagawa will be cleaning the hall leading to Makoto's room, but if precedent holds, he'll leave to take a 5-minute smoke break in—She quickly glances at her watch—3 minutes. It's 4:55, so in 5 minutes, Shirogane and Tatsumi will retire to their own rooms. That will take about 30 seconds.
Which meant, in 5 and a half minutes, there'd be a minute and a half gap in which the space between Makoto's office and his room would be empty. She'd move then.
When that time comes, she hefts Makoto in her arms and, careful to avoid disturbing him, shifts him around until she can move comfortably. He's lighter than she expected, all things considered. His arms twitch at her touch, moving on their own to wrap around her.
Even asleep, his first instinct is to hold me…She suppresses a smile. She has a mission to complete.
There's still cameras, but all she can do about those is hope that whoever's behind them has better things to do than watch these specific cameras at this specific time.
She reached his bedroom without incident, thankfully. Shuffling his weight around, Kyoko freed a hand enough to twist the doorknob, opening it without resistance. An agitated sigh built up in her throat that she forcefully shoved back down. He's left his room unlocked. Again. Even if they are in ostensibly friendly territory, such behavior is reckless at best.
Admittedly, his recklessness is a boon now: She doesn't have to go fishing around his pockets for the key.
It doesn't take long for her to get the two of them inside the room and to get Makoto lying across his bed. He still looks peaceful, somehow, despite Kyoko's less-than-gentle handling at times.
Briefly, she considered stripping him of his uniform and dressing him in his pajamas. Kyoko knows from experience that these clothes aren't the most comfortable to sleep in. And the idea of Makoto without clothes on is…intriguing.
But no. That's a boundary they've yet to cross, and she won't endanger their relationship to satisfy her own desires. She does take off his shoes and socks, as well as his tie. It's not much, but it's the most she can do without violating his privacy.
Finally, she drapes the blanket over him before stepping back to admire her handiwork. Makoto is peaceful, a gentle smile etched on his face as his breathing comes out in slow, measured breaths. There's no sign of fear or trouble. He looks content, happy…
For a brief, ludicrous second, the thought of getting into that bed and falling asleep in his arms crosses her mind. She dismisses it with prejudice. Something as explicit as that would not go unnoticed. Carrying him to bed could be written off as practical. Sleeping with him, even if it were literally just that, could not.
She'd intended to leave as soon as he was in bed, but, instead, she finds herself standing over the bed, frowning.
Why? Why is she still here? There's nothing more she can do.
Nothing she can do...
Hadn't she said something similar to that once to Makoto? And hadn't he responded?
"I could hug you."
She stiffens. It's ridiculous. He's asleep. He won't even know what she's done. There are cameras. Someone could notice. She could be revealing dangerous information to people she doesn't trust.
She bends over and envelops him, hugging him through the covers of his bed. He shows no outward reaction, but she hopes that, somehow, her message reaches him wherever he is.
You're not alone.
You can talk to me.
I love you.
Before her courage deserts her, she plants a quick kiss on his cheek. She's already compromised herself with the hug, so she may as well go for gold.
Then, and only then, does she turn on her heel and quickly stride out. She feels like a criminal leaving a crime scene. Once the adrenaline wears off, she may very well regret giving in to impulse like this. But, for the moment, she's satisfied with herself.