#im defintiely down for a toxic they-beat-each-other-up ship but i really think it wouldnt happen

[good-beanswrites]

Fuuta x Kotoko?

Waah I hope the fact that this ran a little long makes up for the lateness -- I really love the idea and was so excited to get the request!! They'd be so interesting and affect each other so much...... it makes me crazy...... It becomes canon divergent at the end because I genuinely think being in each others' company more would influence them both

Kotoko was nothing if not observant. Over the years, she’d found herself in – and gotten herself out of – enough situations to get a good read on the people she interacted with. No matter what this world threw her way, she could always rely on those abilities. And from the moment she met Milgram’s third prisoner, those abilities told her he was nothing but trouble. 

“Oi,” he’d called across the dining table during the first meal they all had shared. “What did you do to get here?”

From the moment she woke up in this strange place, Kotoko had kept to herself. It’s dangerous to charge forward and introduce oneself to a group of mysterious murderers when there are no locks on the doors. She hadn’t spoken a word to anyone, the others smart enough to heed her intense look and stay away. 

Fuuta, on the other hand, was the first to speak directly to her. He stared impatiently.

“Well?”

She noted his directness. His volume. The brashness and vulgarity she’d heard earlier in the day. His motivations and values he’d let slip in his early defenses. His anger and his fear. The suspicion in his gaze, as well as the need for reassurance in his voice. In that moment, the information clicked together in her mind, and Kotoko realized two things:

Kajiyama Fuuta was a lot like her, in the obvious ways.

Kajiyama Fuuta was nothing like her, in the ways that really mattered.

“The same reason as everyone else, I suppose,” she said carefully. He may have revealed his whole hand, but from experience she knew better than to do the same.

A lot of her experiences returned to her as the trial went on. She went through the motions of coaxing secrets out of quiet men, or playing along with cheery girls’ games to uncover what she was looking for. She remembered how it felt on stakeouts as she kept her eye on the warden’s door, and recalled the thrill of negotiation when she had a moment alone with them. And unfortunately, she recognized the immediate sensation of being tailed. She was used to shaking an unwanted follower out on the streets, but it was difficult to do the same when the only places to go consisted of three rooms and a corridor. 

No matter how inconspicuous Fuuta thought he was being, Kotoko got a glimpse of that bright hair retreating around corners just behind her. She could feel his eyes boring into her back, always conveniently whipping away by the time she turned to look. The only thing that seemed to affect his permanently blaring volume was when she was speaking nearby – unlike a real stalker who would tactfully pretend not to be listening in, Fuuta would use the opportunity to jump into all her conversations.

Kotoko was in the middle of her morning stretches when she became aware of his presence lurking around the doorway. After several weeks of the behavior, she’d had quite enough. Kotoko knew that if you can’t shake a tail, there’s only one other option. 

She stepped out of her cell, swiftly reaching for Fuuta’s collar. With a handful of his uniform, she shoved him back against the cell bars. For someone that had creeped on all her daily exercise routines, he seemed awfully shocked at how strong she was.

“Stop following me.” She kept her voice low and even. “I don’t know what you want from me, nor do I care. I will –”

“I don’t want anything from you!” 

He raised his voice in an attempt to sound tough, but only succeeded in coming off desperate. He tried to weasel out of her grasp to no avail. She’d had practice intimidating guys three times her height – it was almost too easy now that she had an inch or so on Fuuta. 

“Don’t give me that oblivious crap. Every day. Every single day, you –”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! You’re the one who acting fucking crazy!”

Even after knowing it was in vain, he kept squirming under her harsh look. His eyes flicked frantically around the room, only able to take in her stone cold expression for a brief moment at a time. He kept shouting his own defenses, his cheeks growing more red by the second.

This time, the information gathered took a bit longer to fall into place. One of her conclusions was something Kotoko was very used to. The other was something she’d never quite experienced before. For the first time in long career of poker faces, she visibly started upon realizing two things:

Kajiyama Fuuta was downright terrified of her.

Kajiyama Fuuta was hopelessly attracted to her.

She hurriedly released him, jerking herself away. “Just… stay out of my way.”  

“I was never in your way!” He shouted after her, his voice still shaking.

She should have stuck to her own demand and kept her distance; she was already aware of how much trouble this prisoner was capable of. But she took pride in her abilities to gather information of interest. And god, was Fuuta interesting. 

Between his constantly running mouth and his never running filter, he was always keeping her on her toes. She’d never met anyone who pressed her for answers like that – Fuuta was never satisfied with the explanations that could placate everyone else. He was always questioning, always pushing back. Though his talk could be as shallow as the older prisoners' melancholy musings, or the children’s gossipy chatter, it was different when he and Kotoko really went at it in a debate.

Fuuta talked shamelessly about society, about the other prisoners, and about her. The others kept their distance from someone as quietly calculating as her, but Fuuta would pour out his thoughts right to her face. He had her back when she was trying to prove a point to the others, but was too stubborn to compromise on any of own opinions when they conflicted. It was refreshing. 

And that was all it was, she would remind herself. The man would be insufferable if he was ever under the impression that she so much as tolerated his company. For everyone’s sake, he should remain completely unaware.

Awareness, however, was the very thing Kotoko prided herself in. She picked up on exactly what the warden was trying to communicate by granting her innocence. She was aware of the opportunities that arose with their disappearance. She noted the best time to fulfill her duties to them. She knew the optimal order to attack each prisoner in, to guarantee success.

It was due to her beloved observation skills that she found herself in cell 003 in the middle of the night. It didn’t matter how many training sessions Fuuta had spectated, or how many she’d invited him to join – he wasn’t as perceptive as she. He couldn’t predict or counter a single one of her movements. It only took a few moments for her to have him pinned on the ground.

“Y-you were serious?” Fuuta managed, even as her weight made it difficult for him to breathe. 

She’d confided in him about her deal with the warden, one late night long before verdicts were announced. She didn’t know what had driven her to do it. It had been a rare lapse in her judgment. The current situation only confirmed why she should never reveal more information than necessary. Why she should get closer to someone than necessary. 

“I am always serious.”

“Kotoko…”

She knew all of Fuuta’s typical arguments and excuses, and she had a rebuttal for each. She wound her arm back, her brass knuckles reflecting in the dim panopticon light. 

“...J-just… do it fast.”

Kotoko’s arm wavered. 

“What?”

“I’m not a fucking idiot. Even before that brat called you innocent, I knew that y-you were the one in the right. I used to think that you and I were the same, but I know that was all a lie. You were always the real hero. M-more than anyone else in this shithole. So…” Fuuta closed his eyes, squeezing tears from them. “Make it quicker than you did for that asshole, will ya?” 

Kotoko gripped her fight tighter. It was trembling. 

Fuuta’s eyes remained shut in fear. In trust. His breathing was erratic as he pretended not to be crying or struggling from the pressure on his lungs. He grit his teeth, preparing himself for what was to come. Kotoko prepared herself as well. 

Releasing a cry, she swung forward. The moment before her brass knuckles clashed with the floor, just to the left of Fuuta’s face, Kotoko realized one thing:

Kajiyama Fuuta was indeed nothing but trouble.