#shouting into the void for the aib writing community to notice me

[evilmenenjoyer]

Life Sentence

Pairing: Chishiya x reader.

Summary: Chishiya Shuntarou is the Jack of Hearts. With the end of his carefully constructed game approaching, there was only one thing that didn't go according to plan: you.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: none really for this chapter, but for others we've got some emotional manipulation as well as suicidal thoughts and tendencies, and eventual smut and romance. Chapters 1-4 already available on AO3!

–––

Fourteen rounds.

Chishiya supposes that’s not bad for a first time, although a bit underwhelming. As the sole survivor of a game of his own creation, he’d expected to feel a stronger sense of triumph. He makes his way down the empty hallway, glancing at the closed cell doors. He doesn’t have to look into the tiny windows to know who’s behind them; Yaba, Kotoko, Banda, Matsushita. All dead. The explosions had been loud, like multiple collars going off at once.

So why is his collar still placed firmly around his neck?

Chishiya reaches for it, giving it the gentlest tug to pull it off. It doesn’t budge. No game clear comes from the speakers.

At the end of the hall, a door creaks when it opens. He vaguely recognizes the woman that steps out – this whole time you’ve made yourself so quiet and unassuming, tagging along Banda like a sidekick, so easy to overlook. His mistake, really. He realizes now there must’ve been a strategy behind it, that perhaps you weren’t as lost as you made everyone believe you were. It’s as if, this whole time, you were playing a game of your own.

Your eyes meet across the hall, both coming to a pause in your steps. For a few long moments that’s all you do: stand there and stare at each other, like a Mexican standoff in one of those old Western movies, unsure whether to act or wait for the other to make the first move.

“You’re the Jack of Hearts.”

The statement makes him smile, obvious as it is. “You got me.” He raises his hands in mock surrender. It’s just the two of you now, and you know the Jack isn’t you. There’s no point in lying.

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m Chishiya.”

“I know.” Another indication that you’d been paying more attention than you let on. “I’m ____.”

He knows it too, of course. He knew the names of every player in Teio Prison. You cross your arms over your chest, walking towards him in slow, careful steps.

“So you made this game.”

It’s not a question, but he agrees with his head. “I did.”

“Did you count on this happening? Only two people left?”

“I figured it was highly unlikely. But not impossible.”

It complicates everything, of course. The only way to win is for one of you to lie to the other, and not be lied to in return. Learn to trust one another, even though you need the other dead to clear the game. Chishiya knows enough about odds and probability to know that the most likely outcome, in this case, is both of you dying.

Not that he’s complaining. It’s only just gotten interesting.

–––

You end up back at the main area, watching the big panel now showcasing only two pictures: Chishiya and yourself. The clock ticks, closer and closer to the end of the round, and each second that goes by that you can’t figure out a way out of this situation makes your skin crawl with anxiety.

If Chishiya is going over the same worries as you are, he doesn’t let it show. He looks calm, like he has all the time in the world. You watch him from your spot; the curve of the strand of platinum blonde hair that’s tucked behind his ear, the slump of his relaxed shoulders, his hands that disappear inside the pockets of his white hoodie. He’s a looker, you have to admit. The kind of guy that would’ve caught your eye at the subway back in Tokyo, the real Tokyo, that would’ve had you picturing your wedding together for the next fifteen minutes until he got off at his station and you never saw him again.

He finds your gaze before you can look away, making you wonder for how long he’s been aware that you’re staring.

“We’ve really hit a dead-end, huh?”

You bite the inside of your lip in barely contained anxiety. You have. He’s the Jack of Hearts, a master manipulator who’s been hiding in plain sight since the beginning of the game. He must have a plan.

“The way I see it, we have two options,” Chishiya says. “Number one is leaving it up to luck. We guess our suits. It’s one in four, so we each have a twenty-five percent chance of getting it right. Seventy-five percent says we die.”

It doesn’t sound great. Judging by his expression, Chishiya seems to agree with you.

“What’s option number two?” you ask.

“We tell the truth. I don’t know about you, but I could use a break. There’s enough food and water in here to last months; now that it’s just the two of us, probably even more. We take some time to regain our strength, then figure out what to do.”

You frown in suspicion. “You mean just playing house here, until one of us decides to kill the other.”

“I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

He circles you, his steps slow and deliberate. You nearly jump when you feel his fingers on your skin, brushing your hair over your shoulders to expose the back of your collar.

“You’re Clubs,” he tells you.

His voice doesn’t shake, doesn’t falter; no indication that he’s lying, but that doesn’t mean anything. He wouldn’t be the Jack of Hearts if he wasn’t good at lying.

He gives his back to you and pushes his hair out of the way so you can see his collar, lit up with a heart shape.

“Spade.”

He doesn’t move for a long moment. You swallow dry, cursing yourself for your millisecond of hesitation before speaking. This will be even harder than you’d thought.

When he finally turns back to you, there’s a small smirk on his lips. “I thought we agreed to tell the truth.”

“How can I know you’re not lying?”

“You can’t. You’re going to have to trust me.”

It’s time to make your guess, the female automated voice comes from the speakers above. Please enter a prison cell. One person per cell, please.

Neither of you move. Your feel as if your hesitation starts to seep from your mind to your body, tensing up your muscles and forcing the words out of your lips.

“You’re Heart.”

It’s sincere, earnest, and you can only hope that if he’d been lying about your suit, this will make him have a change of heart.

He only gives you a nod of his head and turns back towards the cells. Something about the emptiness in his eyes makes you pause, a wave of familiarity hitting you.

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

You can’t tell where. Maybe another game in the past, maybe even before that. He looks at you over his shoulder, but the question doesn’t seem to hold his interest for too long. “I don’t think so. Let’s go.”

Once again, you can’t tell if he’s lying.

–––

Please make your guess.

Did he tell the truth? There’s no way to know. If he didn’t, then you just handed the game to him by giving him his correct suit. It’s not easy to lie to him, under those dark eyes that catch on to every detail.

Even if you survive this round, you don’t know how you’re supposed to do it later down the line.

“Club.”

The silence that follows stretches on for an eternity. You close your eyes, praying that, if the explosion comes, it kills you so quickly you won’t feel the pain.

A bell sound rings through the air, and the door behind you unlocks itself.