Work Text:
Shuichi wasn’t sure when the last time he looked outside was. Maybe when he picked up the food delivery he got on a whim a few weeks ago. And even that was no more than an open of his door, his feet still rooted inside his apartment as though he was tethered there.
Kaede tried inviting him out. Everyone had, but she especially seemed to think tripling her efforts would encourage him. He didn’t have the heart to tell her it probably wasn’t ever going to work.
It wasn’t hard to get by. Even if it weren’t for the substantial amount of money given to Danganronpa contestants, people wanted him for freelance jobs. To write something for them that screamed “Shuichi Saihara! Winner of Danganronpa season 53”.
Maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t getting roped into detective work again. There were some complicated identity issues behind that which he really didn’t want to delve into at the moment. His therapist seemed to believe otherwise.
“It’s not at all uncommon for Danganronpa contestants to feel this way after the simulation. We’ll work through this,” She had said, seeming far too happy about his case. He hadn’t gone back to her in a while.
He hadn’t told her about the dreams that started around the time he’d settled into his life of a hermit.
At first, he thought that the antidepressants were finally on a dosage beyond what he could take, but they were oddly realistic. Not the environment, but the person— the only other person that their friends hadn’t heard from in a similar strain to Shuichi’s isolation.
The first few nights, both were just as confused as the other. Still, he’d had his doubts until Kokichi outright pinched him after pinching himself. It didn’t make sense that they were in each other’s dreams.
Then again, he had just won a killing game in a giant simulation.
And the dreams got more complex in the environment every time. An amalgamation of both of their pasts and presents. Shuichi saw bits of a high school he didn’t remember, an apartment he felt a stranger in, and the school of the killing game all meddled together.
In what they’d dubbed the middle of the dream world, their Ultimate rooms meshed together. Kokichi had never seen his and often made it his mission to pretend he totally had. That he was just hiding it from everyone of course. A weak lie, but Shuichi was simply glad he was talking to him after all that had happened.
Lazing about across the throne in the center, Kokichi sighed dramatically. Shuichi, going through the ever-changing bookshelf on his side of the room, made the mistake of glancing over at him.
“Alright, so fess up,” Kokichi started with his arms crossed,” Why are you leaving goatee and gang on delivered? He blows up my phone like I have something to do with it.”
“It’s complicated,” Shuichi eventually murmured, hand dropping from skimming titles to his by his side.
“When is it not complicated with you?” Kokichi mused.
“That’s not really fair, coming from you.” He retorted, a pout on his face.
“Touché, my detective.”
Morning comes eventually. There’s never a warning when the dreams end. He finds himself dreading the days less, knowing he can talk to Kokichi at night.
It’s strange— they could annoy each other to hell and back, and yet they were the only ones in one another’s dreams. It sounded like some weird romance novel.
Shuichi would glance at his messages sometimes. Tons from his friends— none of which he found the courage to respond to. Kokichi didn’t text. In fact, it seemed that Kaede was trying to get a hold of him too. As though they weren’t oddly intertwined enough as it was.
His dream bookshelf is littered with romance novels that night. He sighed inwardly, looking over to Kokichi who seemed to be entertaining himself by staring up at the sky. There are stars, though none in constellations either recognized. He wasn’t sitting on his throne today. Shuichi found himself fond of both the high and mighty act and the peaceful boy here.
“Our friends never hear from you, either,” Shuichi mentioned as nonchalantly as he could.
“Where did that come from?”
“You’re always advising me to reach out but…”
“Because you’re likable, Shuichi. Duh.”
“So are you.”
Kokichi didn’t respond for a moment. Shuichi went to his side, plopping down onto the faux grass. (Was it really fake if it was real in a dream?) It was rather comfortable down next to him, though.
“The only idiots who believed that were Gonta and Miu. Look how that turned out,” Kokichi finally responded. He sounded bitter, but his face didn’t betray anything.
Shuichi turns to face him. Kokichi glances over before facing him as well.
There were so many times in the killing game that Kokichi had entirely thrown him for a loop. So many times he wondered about the “what-ifs” of exploring the enigma that he is. If he was to be trapped here staring into his eyes forever, Shuichi wouldn’t regret a thing.
“I guess that makes me an idiot too.”
“Jeez, did all those antidepressants finally knock out your common sense?” Kokichi tried and failed at hiding the flush on his face.
Shuichi batted his head softly, causing the other to grumble in mock protest. They were closer than before now. But any space between them was becoming unbearable for him. For both of them.
Their lips meet briefly. Shuichi’s heart nearly explodes in his chest— his self-isolation causing this to be his first human contact in months. It didn’t matter if it was a dream, because it was theirs. Both of them had been sent so far adrift that Shuichi almost wished he could, in fact, stay here forever in this strange mesh of past and present.
Shuichi’s still a blushing mess when Kokichi smirks and clicks his tongue, looking like the cat who got the cream.
“Fine. I’ll call one person. Answer when I do.”
And for once, Shuichi wakes up from his dream of past and present with his heart pounding for the future. The only constant that matters in all three is Kokichi.