zenosungs

[zenosungs]

laughable/lachrymose

Danganronpa V3 | Kokichi/Shuichi | Rated T

Toast is easy to make, right? Easy to make. You put the bread in the toaster and you wait and you spread honey on it when it’s done. Shuichi likes toast with honey. It’s easy. Kokichi needs easy. He can do this.

Ignoring the voices that have started screaming at him again he fumbles with the bag of bread, barely managing to fish a slice out, hands latching onto it in a seizing grasp so tight it almost crumbles in his hand. Flashes of hot and cold ravaging his body, he practically shoves it in the toaster, aching, hurting, shattering.

(OR: a fragmented road to recovery)

note:

drv3 spoilers!!

tw // suicidal thoughts tw // kokichi's death, miu's death, gonta's death (not directly stated but vague details) tw // unhealthy coping mechanisms

this entire thing is a bit heavy in general so please proceed with caution. it's not so shippy because my goal isn't to romanticize any of this, shuichi isn't a magical being who can heal kokichi with his words and touch, and he's also on the path of recovery as well

this was all written as a word vomit vent thing in one sitting so just lmk if you spot mistakes

i care about you, please reach out to someone when you need to

READ ON AO3! 

--

He should be asleep.

Kokichi should, but then again, there are a lot of things he should be doing—healing, resting, blocking all memories out—though night terrors and bubbling trepidation and the inability to close his eyes without feeling the cold metal beneath him has proved to be a hindrance. He stays awake more often than he doesn’t, which is something entirely beyond his control; no matter the soothing words Shuichi mumbles in the dead of night, or the way he always keeps Kokichi close by in a loose yet comforting hold, he can’t sleep.

He doesn’t anymore. He’s stopped trying, anyway.

(It goes deeper beyond the label he hides behind as just insomnia. If insomnia can be defined as “persistent problems falling and/or staying asleep,” can it really be just insomnia if he’s the one who’s forcing himself to stay awake? If he only faces more sickening memories when his eyes are closed, what’s the point? Or maybe, just maybe, he’s lying to himself again, something like youdon’twantanyofthoseoptionsyouwanttodisappear—but as he always does, he lets the lie bleed into him until it is him. Until there’s nothing left to call a lie.)

He could be a zombie now, he’s sure of it. With the way he’s roaming around the apartment at—a glance at the clock—4 in the morning, and the way he certainly feels undead, calling himself a zombie doesn’t seem too far off. Shuichi’s grip on him, however loose it may have been, was getting too suffocating anyway.

He sits on the couch. Stares at a TV that’s playing nothing.

Deep breath in—

(...shut up, you asshole! the whizzing of an arrow through heavy air—kaito, can you hear me, please drink this antidote sorry, but i can’t die here… since i’m the mastermind of this killing game—redwhitehotsearingmetalcold—)

He scrambles to turn the TV on.

It’s so funny. The way they never stop fucking talking like a mixtape of voices ringing in his head even though everything is over and done with, oh god, he shouldn’t be dragging this out like he is, because none of it even happened. If none of it happened, why does he always feel the phantom pain of arrows digging into his flesh, or the descension of metal onto someone so petite—it all certainly felt so real, still feels so real—

—It’s not, and he knows that. He woke up from the simulation. Fought until there was no fight in him left. Until his lungs turned to ashes and pretty amethyst hair was yanked out of his scalp (by his doing, everything bad is always by his doing, so it seems) and so many eyes came to check in on him each day he spent recovering slowly in the hospital.

Is he supposed to feel relieved?

Happy? Glad that he’s awake from all of that? It’s alarming, really, that he feels nothing of the sort. What is he supposed to feel? Even if Saihara-chan had told him that any of his feelings were valid—anger, bitterness, resentment and horror—why does he still feel like nothing? Not numbness, but akin to it, certainly, because numbness is where you feel nothing, but simultaneously he feels like nothing. Like everything. Like death. Like life he doesn’t want breathed into him.

The TV drones on, white noise in the back of his head. He could make this work. That’s right. He’s adapted before. He can make himself feel okay again, or lie himself into thinking so, because that’s how it always ends, doesn’t it?

On shaky legs, he blocks out the voices; abhorrent Maki’s, strained Kaito’s, harsh Shuichi’s, tearful Gonta’s, desperate Miu’s, all of them cherry-picked from every single corner of his mind that he can’t ever find a way to escape anymore.

He stumbles, wandering without a purpose over to the bathroom, a trembling hand pushing open the door and flicking on the light. Headache-inducing fluorescent light flickers overhead, until it floods the capacity of the room, bearing enough light for him to be able to survey himself in the mirror.

He looks dead. Or, more so, like he could die. Right now, and maybe put an end to everything. An end to nothing. How does he fucking escape? How can he live like this? Or with this, the knowledge of everything he did in the killing game, his sacrifice, the hatred in everyone’s voices that he doubtlessly deserved?

Kokichi giggles, low and empty, as he turns the faucet on with a squeak and splashes cold water on his face. He could totally die right now. The way that brings more relief to him than anything else ever since the simulation is so laughable.

I could die. Right now. It’s as simple as using the sink or smashing my head against the bathtub. How hilarious.

Giving one final splash of frigid water onto a pale face, he turns the sink off, and allows himself a small moment of breathing. He’s been so bad at that lately, both him and Saihara. Everyone, really. No one is near being the textbook definition of okay, but they all didn’t expect to be either, although the one stark difference between them and him is that they’ve accepted that they’re going to recover slowly and reach okayness once again.

So why does he feel so stuck? Whenever he runs away from the echoing whirr of the hydraulic press it clutches him in its grasp again, and whenever he embraces it it makes him relive the entire scene over and over and over again in ways so sickening he feels like he just gets worse with each damn passing night—gasping for air even when he doesn’t sleep, awakening in cold sweat if he does manage to doze—maybe there’s nothing for him left here, fuck, why didn’t they just let him stay dead—

5, 4, 3, 2, 1. He could do the anxiety coping technique, or he could listen to music as a distraction, or he could go back to bed and pretend none of this is happening, or he could do the breathing method (in for four, hold for seven, out for eight), anything.

He could eat something. He could do that.

Shuichi’s been reprimanding him for his neglect of food anyway (even though the bluenette isn’t all that better at it) so in a way, this could serve as an apology for his inability to be a good person, boyfriend, living human being, all of that. For causing him so much trouble. For interfering with Shuichi’s own recovery process, even though it’s the last thing Kokichi wants to do. Unfortunately, the universe has a lovely addiction to just screwing him over.

Swallowing past a gag, because all of this thinking is so overwhelmingly nauseating, Kokichi stumbles out of the bathroom, not bothering to turn the light off. Everything is always so loud at night, everything is doused in so much more clarity, to the point where he can see them clearly. Miu’s face, terrified and contorted, even though it was just her avatar he still recalls so clearly the look of utter anguish on her actual corpse. Gonta’s baffled and horrified look when Kokichi wouldn’t stop yelling and yelling and yelling (“I’m sick of hearing you say you don’t know! God, why are you so dumb?”). They haunt him in ways unexplainable, although both of them had already made clear they’re on the path of forgiving him, but why does he need to be given undeserved forgiveness—

He finds himself in the kitchen, hands so shaky and cold he’s barely able to even turn on the light, panic emanating for no fucking reason, because he’s all messed up and gross and mutilated in ways that can’t be seen with the naked eye. He can’t cope. Everything fails when he tries. He laughs again, choked and nervous, opening the pantry and letting his eyes mindlessly glance over the food on the shelves; he reaches with invisibly scarred arms and takes out the glass jar of honey.

Toast is easy to make, right? Easy to make. You put the bread in the toaster and you wait and you spread honey on it when it’s done. Shuichi likes toast with honey. It’s easy. Kokichi needs easy. He can do this.

Ignoring the voices that have started screaming at him again he fumbles with the bag of bread, barely managing to fish a slice out, hands latching onto it in a seizing grasp so tight it almost crumbles in his hand. Flashes of hot and cold ravaging his body, he practically shoves it in the toaster, aching, hurting, shattering.

why are you like this it’s so easy to live why are you having so much trouble with it? is it because you can’t stop hearing iruma’s pleas or maki’s harsh words or kaito’s yells or saihara-chan’s confusion whenever you hung out and played games? is it because it would’ve been easier to stay dead, easier to be crushed and leave it at that, all cracked bones under unforgiving metal? or maybe it’s because—

Stop, fuck, just—

He’s crying—why is he crying?—by the time the toast pops out, golden and hot but he picks it up anyway, he’s been burned worse before, by words and by poison, so he holds it and puts it on a plate on the counter that they must have forgotten to put away.

With a strangled sob he clumsily takes the jar of honey again, tremulous fingers barely letting him even keep his hands on it, glass smooth and cold against calloused skin, worn and too ruined and bitten to be attached to someone as youthful as he is. He can do this, he has to do this, because he doesn’t feel like he’s getting anywhere near better but if he sticks to routine and does everyday things he should be doing easily—he could trick his mind into thinking so. It works, it always works, please work this time…

(Why is something as simple as this so goddamn hard, why is it all so hard, why was dying easier than all of this, why is existing so easy but settling down so difficult, why is waking up so simple but finding reasons to let it stay that way so unbearable, why, why why why—)

He bites his tongue and curses brokenly when the glass jar slips from his hands, falling to the floor without an ounce of grace, fracturing into uncountable glass shards at his feet.

Immediately he steps back, before sinking to his knees with a pathetic sob, the same sinful hands reaching out, hovering and unsure of what to do. Broom—yeah, the broom, he can sweep this up, he can fix it, he can fix all of this, he can fix himself, he can live, he can make himself feel okay, he can exist, he can do this, he can breathe, he can—

In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. His lungs quiver and shrivel up and cease to work whenever he tries sucking in air, body failing him, mind overrun as his vision blurs. If he could just get up and get a broom or something, he could get this all over and done with, or he could stop thinking of the worst possible ways to end this, end him.

Arms wrap around him gently before he can even try to stand up. Kokichi trembles, clawing at the hands of the person as he blubbers and cries and bows his head, unraveling again just as he always does, sick to his stomach and wondering why he’s subjected to this form of torture that he’s incapable of enduring for any longer.

The person gently turns him around in their arms, cups his cheek. The hand is cold. Shaking, too.

He wants to laugh again, but all that leaves him is another mangled cry, idly pressing his forehead against Shuichi’s chest, ringing in his ears so loud he can’t hear whatever the other boy is trying to tell him. Kokichi’s fingers dig into his back, into his soft sleeping shirt, moments away from tearing the fabric. He could throw up. He could die.

A kiss is pressed to the top of his head, and Shuichi is too nice for someone who had found his very pathetic boyfriend sobbing on the kitchen floor with forgotten toast on the counter and a shattered glass jar with honey pooling at his feet. This time, Kokichi does laugh, the noise interrupted by hiccuping sobs but near-hysterical at the exact same time, the sound oddly resembling the way he had laughed in the killing game, though lacking the malice it had at the time. Tired this time around.

He laughs until it gives way to screaming sobs, Shuichi trying his best to stop his own disturbed trembling, merely speaking softly and low into the shell of Kokichi’s ear, no doubt trying to reassure him. Or get him to cope (and fail). Or help him breathe.

why is this happening why am i like this why are you doing this to me, shuichi, it just hurts more whenever you try and i’m trying so hard to feel okay again and make things easier but it just gets harder every single day and—

—Kokichi giggles softly.

Shuichi shushes him gently, but Kokichi basks in the ridiculousness of this all. He switches between laughing and crying, screaming and chuckling, breaking down. Perhaps he’ll never get back from this. Shuichi had told him that all his emotions are valid, but how can he describe how he’s feeling into words? Crying is supposed to help. How amusing.

(Is he supposed to feel better? Relieved? He stifles a noise halfway between a sob and a chortle. It’s uproarious, he decides, that he feels anything but.)

[zenosungs]

you know i’m stupid (for you)

Danganronpa V3 | Kokichi/Shuichi/Kaito | Rated T  

Shuichi can only yell at Kaito to stop as the taller man begins to pull Kokichi in an attempt to get him off the refrigerator, but what happens instead is that Kokichi’s entire body weight is pulled forward, and with it, so is the fridge.

���Oh, fuck—” Kokichi says, and Shuichi feels his soul leave his body when the refrigerator topples forward, bringing Kokichi down with it.

(OR: Kokichi wants to prove that he's actually not that short; he's a bit idiotic, and Shuichi and Kaito are amused until they aren't.)

READ ON AO3!

--

The moment Shuichi walks through the door of their shared apartment, his heart launches through the roof.

“Hey, Saihara-chan!” comes the voice from the little menace, all happy and proud (though there is absolutely no reason for him to be proud because what the fuck is going on here) and he swings his legs from where he’s perched. Kaito is already home and he’s screeching, yelling at Kokichi to  get the fuck down you little shit!  

“K-Kokichi?!” Shuichi says his name in something akin to a screech, darting forward because his little boyfriend is on their very tall refrigerator, perched on the edge and looking dangerously close to possibly slipping off. “Kokichi, don’t—”

And it’s not as if Kokichi hasn’t pulled shit like this before, because he does—too often, in Shuichi’s opinion—but he and Kaito suffer from way too many headaches and heart attacks that Kokichi is completely responsible for, and Shuichi never gets used to his antics so every day is a new experience. However, perching yourself on the top of the fridge, being as small as you are while rocking back and forth (while said fridge looks close to toppling over), is a  recipe for disaster.

“Kokichi! Get down! Get down right now!” Kaito screams, already having lost his cool as he stomps around the refrigerator, hands waving wildly, looking like he’s debating between yanking Kokichi to the floor or murdering the little thing. Both, maybe. In that order.

Kokichi giggles, shrugging his shoulders as Shuichi looks up at him helplessly. “Momo-chan is so loud, he’s going to get a noise complaint filed! And anyway, I’m just proving my point, aren’t I?”

A point? Could it be—

“Ouma-kun, is that really what this is about?” Shuichi says, appalled. 

“Yep!” His legs swing haphazardly and Shuichi can feel himself getting lightheaded from the stress of this situation. 

“I don’t care about whatever you’re trying to do! If you fall…!” Kaito says, and with that he lunges forward, reaching up and taking Kokichi by the hands as the boy squeaks in surprise. Shuichi can only yell at Kaito to stop as the taller man begins to pull Kokichi in an attempt to get him off the refrigerator, but what happens instead is that Kokichi’s entire body weight is pulled forward, and with it, so is the refrigerator.

“Oh, fuck—” Kokichi says, and Shuichi feels his soul leave his body when the fridge topples forward, bringing Kokichi down with it.

 -

 How did we get there, one may ask?

Like a lot of things in Shuichi’s life tends to do, everything starts with Kokichi. Shuichi is fairly certain that the world revolves around the purple-haired menace and he sits there in the middle of it all, bending the earth at his own will, because everything always leads back to Kokichi.

However, this time around, Kokichi hadn’t done anything in particular to instigate his future actions. In fact, he was merely existing.

And because Shuichi and Kaito are also menaces when they want to be, they had found a new subject to pick on: Kokichi’s height.

“Give it back!” Kokichi whines, hopping up and down as Kaito holds the object—Kokichi’s remote controller for his brand new drone (that he totally didn’t beg Shuichi into buying)—up high above his head, holding back snickers as Shuichi watches on in guilty amusement.

“Huh? Is someone talking to me right now?” Kaito says, looking around in faux thoughtfulness as he pretends to not see Kokichi. “Oh, Ouma? Sorry, you’re just so small that I can’t really see you.”

“You—!” Kokichi screeches, face beet-red in what Shuichi can only perceive as frustration and/or embarrassment. Shuichi could step in, but this scene is all too entertaining, and both of his boyfriends interacting is just too much for him to handle anyway, so he looks on in fond joy. Kokichi continues to scream, “Momo-chan, you dickwad, give it back or else I’ll smash you upside the head!”

“Can you even reach my head?”

“You—! I’ll grab you by your ugly spiky hair, pull you down, and then smash your head in!”

“Hey, let’s not be violent,” Shuichi says, barely holding back laughter as Kokichi looks to him with round eyes filled with crocodile tears. He decides to take a little bit of pity on his smallest boyfriend, “Momota-kun, come on, he’s not that small…”

“Poor Shuichi, always sticking up for the little gremlin like that,” Kaito sighs, but he doesn’t relent in his teasing, even dipping his hand down to let Kokichi have the chance to grab at the controller before Kaito moves the controller out of reach again. This particular action makes Kokichi yell and stomp down on Kaito’s feet, which then makes Kaito start to jog around the room as his smaller boyfriend wails and chases him around.

“Momo-chan, I’ll kill you!” Kokichi cries, grabbing onto the back of Kaito’s shirt and yanking so hard Shuichi is afraid the fabric might end up ripping. “That’s the controller for the drone Shumai just got for me! Give it back!”

“N-No violence…” Shuichi snickers, voice bubbling into laughter at the end of his words, unable to hold it back anymore as Kokichi loses his will to jump for the controller, instead wailing while pounding his fists against Kaito’s chest. (He’s just kind of maybe very totally in love. With both of them. Maybe. Definitely.)

“Saihara-chan, why are you letting him do this to me?” Kokichi wails again, tugging on the front of Kaito’s shirt. “I’ll kill both of you!”

“You’re way too short to even do anything so bad to us,” Kaito says, spurring Kokichi on.

When Kokichi looks like he really may just burst, both into tears and into a torrent of screams, Shuichi finally intervenes, stepping to the both of them. He wraps his arms around Kokichi, hooking his chin over the smaller one’s shoulder. This elicits a small whine from the older one, who gives one final halfhearted pound on Kaito’s chest. “Jeez… both Shumai and horrible Momo-chan hate me enough to make fun of me…” he sniffs softly. “Ah, jeez…”

“Come on, we’re just joking, don’t act like you haven’t done worse things to us,” Kaito says in amusement, finally handing Kokichi his controller back. When Kokichi grabs it out of Kaito’s hands, pouting petulantly, the taller one only chuckles. “Little shits like you need a taste of their own medicine.”

“I’m not even short, you’re just… all above average height,” Kokichi murmurs, seemingly all out of energy to come up with proper rebuttals. Shuichi hums in gentle reassurance, rubbing circles into Kokichi’s hips, which make the smaller boy giggle softly (Kokichi is ticklish which is  so fucking cute  but he’s cute in general, Shuichi decides). “H-Hey! Is this Shumai’s way of agreeing with me? Silly Saihara-chan, doesn’t know how to keep his hands off of me and all!”

“I’m not agreeing,” Shuichi says, wanting to join in on the teasing, because it’s not fair to let Kaito steal all of Kokichi’s reactions. “You have to admit you’re quite short, Ouma-kun. I’m not trying to agree with Momota-kun or anything… just, y’know, stating facts.”

Kokichi is silent for a beat before he groans, wriggling out of Shuichi’s embrace. Another beat of silence passes, and then: “You guys all suck,” he mutters, eyes glassy with what Shuichi can tell are merely crocodile tears. He wants to tease him, but not to the point of genuine tears, so that’s a relief. “I’m… I’m going into my room and I’m going to sulk and hope you all fall down the stairs or something!”

“Ouma-kun—”

“I hate you too, Shumai! I am tall! I can prove it!”

“Ah, can you?” Shuichi laughs lightly, reaching out for Kokichi again in order to pull him back into another embrace, but the little one darts away from them while sticking his tongue out obnoxiously. “Hey, come on, don’t be like that…”

“If you’re going to be mean to me, your leader, then obviously you need to expect some consequences,” Kokichi complains, blowing a raspberry at them both before skipping off, presumably to head to their room, where he would then lock the door and not let them in in order to fulfill his role as angry little boyfriend. It’s practically routine at this point, and Shuichi is so,  so endeared. Apparently so is Kaito, who looks at Kokichi with a dazed expression on his face as the smaller one skips away.

“He says he’s going to prove that he’s tall,” Shuichi says, breaking the quiet atmosphere that comes around once Kokichi is gone. Kaito wraps an arm around him, and Shuichi leans into the embrace. “Think he’ll live up to that?”

“He’s Ouma, man,” Kaito says, making a  tsk noise with his tongue. “Who the hell knows?”

Shuichi hums.  Who the hell knows?

  -

 The current predicament:

Shuichi had just walked in after a very tiring day, and there his smallest boyfriend is, sitting on the top of the refrigerator and giggling like a little maniac.

“Kokichi! Get down! Get down right now!” Kaito screams, already having lost his cool as he stomps around the refrigerator, hands waving wildly, looking like he’s debating between yanking Kokichi to the floor or murdering the little thing. Both, maybe. In that order.

Kokichi giggles, shrugging his shoulders as Shuichi looks up at him helplessly. “Momo-chan is so loud, he’s going to get a noise complaint filed! And anyway, I’m just proving my point, aren’t I?”

A point? Could it be—

“Ouma-kun, is that really what this is about?” Shuichi says, appalled. 

“Yep!” His legs swing haphazardly and Shuichi can feel himself getting lightheaded from the stress of this situation. 

So this is how he’s proving he can be taller than us?

“I don’t care about whatever you’re trying to do! If you fall…!” Kaito says, and with that he lunges forward, reaching up and taking Kokichi by the hands as the boy squeaks in surprise. Shuichi can only yell at Kaito to stop as the taller man begins to pull Kokichi in an attempt to get him off the refrigerator, but what happens instead is that Kokichi’s entire body weight is pulled forward, and with it, so is the refrigerator.

“Oh, fuck—” Kokichi says, and Shuichi feels his soul leave his body when the fridge topples forward, bringing Kokichi down with it.

Shuichi, now soulless and about to pass out, dives for Kokichi from where he is, like he can somehow save him from the fall. It all happens in slow motion—Kokichi’s look of impromptu fear, Kaito’s look of even more fear, the fridge falling forward, Kokichi falling with it.

Kaito manages to yank Kokichi hard enough away from the refrigerator, easy because his hands were still clasped around Kokichi’s, obviously afraid the huge tall object might squash him like a bug. Shuichi squeaks as the fridge meets the floor, a terrifying  crash echoing throughout their apartment and resonating loudly.

It takes him a full two seconds before he moves, avoiding the fallen fridge as he kneels in front of his boyfriends’ sprawled forms. Kaito is already working on sitting up, eyes blown wide with panic as he pushes himself to his elbows. Kokichi, however, is facedown, and Shuichi’s heart seizes with unfathomable fear because oh god, Kokichi,  fuck, is he hurt is he okay is he breathing is he—

“Kokichi?!” Shuichi cries, hands quivering as they hover over his boyfriend, Kaito’s hands the same, hesitant on touching The  thud-thud-thudding  of his own heartbeat pounds in his ears—

“Ah…” Kokichi says, voice shaky as he lifts his head up, eyes blinking rapidly. Shuichi feels the first beginnings of relief, but they’re quickly replaced by horror when he sees the blood beginning to drip from Kokichi’s nose. It steadily drips down, splattering to the floor in a steady rivulet. 

Kaito swears under his breath, quickly getting up and probably rushing to get a tissue, but Shuichi barely registers the movement as he helps Kokichi get into a sitting position, panic increasing at the dazed look on his face. “Kokichi, shit,” Shuichi hisses, cupping his face in his hands. “Oh, my gosh.”

Kaito returns, immediately staunching the nosebleed with the wad of tissues in his hand. “Kichi, can you hear me? Look at me, look at us,” he says, unable to conceal his own panic as his free hand cups the back of Kokichi’s head. Shuichi rubs his thumb across the purple haired boy’s cheek, trying to get him to look him in the eyes. “Kokichi!” Kaito repeats, and Shuichi is speechless, himself; he could die from this anxiety.

Then, Kokichi blinks, a small-but-there smile beginning to spread across his face. A pregnant pause. And then, “Nishishi… A-Ah, concerned? Jeez, Momo-chan and Shumai are going to get wrinkles like old grandpas from how much they yell over me…”

“You little—” Kaito stammers, but the relief is clear as day. Shuichi exhales, thankful that Kokichi is not nearly as catatonic as he had previously been, but still. 

“I might die from how much I’m bleeding out,” Kokichi mutters, crossing his eyes in order to look at the tissues that Kaito is still holding to his nose. 

“Where does it hurt? Where are you hurt, Kichi? W-What do I need to fix?” Shuichi asks, rapidfire questions shooting out of his mouth as his hands tremble against Kokichi’s smooth cheeks. Concussion? Broken bone? Punctured lung? Please let it not be a punctured lung—

“Gosh, Saihara-chan! I literally just said I’m not dying, stop looking at me like I am!” Kokichi whines. “Where does it hurt, you ask? Considering I just slipped off a fridge, everything hurts, including my eyes and nose and lips and legs and head, so I think I may be dying.”

“O-Ouma-kun, I’m serious!” 

“Aw, fine…” Kokichi murmurs. “I-I don’t know… maybe I hit my head?”

Kaito curses again under his breath. “Fuck, are you serious? Look at me, Ouma,” he says and Shuichi relinquishes his hold slightly to let Kokichi turn his head in order to look Kaito in the eye. “I just need to…” he trails off; Shuichi can only assume that he’s searching for signs of a concussion. “Does your head hurt? Feeling nauseous? Do you remember what happened?”

Kokichi’s face scrunches up in a way that tugs at Shuichi’s heartstrings, because even now, he’s still fond through his nervousness. “Momo-chan, what is  wrong  with you, asking dumbass questions? My head hurts a little bit, I’m not nauseous, and I fell off the fucking fridge because  you’re the one who pulled me off! Duh!”

The flash of guilt flickers on Kaito’s face, and it remains. “...Sorry.” 

Kokichi pouts. “I mean, I was the one who climbed up there, so… um… don’t look so mad at yourself. I was just…” he blinks rapidly. “I was just trying to, uh.”

“Prove yourself, I know, I know,” Shuichi shushes him, leaning forward to plant a kiss on Kokichi’s temple. There’s guilt stabbing at him too—he’s part of the reason why Kokichi tried to do this in the first place, he should’ve known better than to spur him on the way he did—and he brushes a few stray hairs from his boyfriend’s forehead. “Ah.  Fuck. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, Kaito and I were the ones who teased you, I’m  so sorry— ”

“Saihara-chan, it’s fine,” Kokichi insists, side-eyeing him. Kaito is still gazing at his boyfriend intently, continuously searching for any sign of a concussion, anything to indicate anymore injuries, obviously still (rightfully) guilty. 

“It’s not, you’re  hurt.”

“Well, I was kinda stupid and climbed up there,” Kokichi mutters. “But! I’m not going to say it’s my fault. You were the ones who teased me, of  course I had to prove my point! I’m not Ouma Kokichi if I don’t challenge myself to refute every single thing you guys say. So, thanks to you two, I’m about to die from a nosebleed and potential concussion!”

“I…” Kaito says, trailing off. His face relaxes. “Well, you’re still your snotty little self, that’s for sure.”

Shuichi feels like he can breathe again, leaning forward and pressing close to the side of Kokichi’s face, swallowing thickly as the entire scene plays again in slow motion inside of his head, like a movie. It was downright  terrifying. Kokichi being squashed like a tiny bug is not something he would’ve liked to see. But Kokichi is not squished like a tiny bug (thank heavens), so Shuichi breathes him in and presses another lingering kiss to his temple.

“Seriously…” Shuichi sighs. “God. Don’t scare us like that ever again.”

“Right! I almost had a heart attack!” Kaito exclaims. “A-And, um, I’m sorry for pulling on you like that. It’s my fault you’re hurt. You fell because I pulled you.”

“Or maybe I was planning to fall anyway so you guys could fawn over me like you are now!” Kokichi says. Wait—what. Kaito and Shuichi’s eyes widen almost comically, eliciting a snort from their smallest boyfriend. “Kidding! Am I? I don’t know, it’s up to you whether you think I’m lying or not. This attention on me feels good either way!”

Shuichi smiles fondly, shakes his head. This entire situation is enough to never make him bring up Kokichi’s height again, in case something like this happens anytime soon in the future. Shuichi does not want his little boyfriend to die for some stupid reason. Please.

Kaito grumbles. “You’re annoying. Now I have to keep an eye on you to make sure you don’t end up having a secret concussion or anything. Jeez, just how much trouble can you get into?” He quiets when Kokichi’s eyes narrow. “No, don’t answer that.”

“Why are you even talking to me right now? I think a lowly peasant such as you shouldn’t be speaking to me so freely, especially after what you’ve done to me,” Kokichi says, poking Kaito in the chest with his finger, voice nasally from the tissues still pressed against his nose. “I think you both owe me!”

“Aw, man,” Shuichi says in faux exasperation, smiling softly. “Right, that’s only fair. What do you want from us?”

Kokichi hums in thought, before perking up, a smile flashing on his face. “I think Momota Kaito should give me all of his money, buy me some more drones, get me a brand new phone, stop being annoying to me, stop kissing me because he’s stinky... yeah!”

Kaito gapes. “Wait, huh, what? Why didn’t you mention Shuichi at least once? This isn’t fair!”

“Because Shumai is nicer to me, and he doesn’t stink like you do? Maybe Momo-chan should just shut up and take a shower or something, y’know?”

Shuichi can’t hold back a peal of laughter as Kaito threatens to break Kokichi’s nose, Kokichi obnoxiously sticking his tongue out as he tugs on Kaito’s ear.

(He is very smitten, and very thankful Kokichi is alive and un-squashed.)

 -

 “U-Um, if he does have a concussion, isn’t it bad to let him sleep? People with head injuries shouldn’t sleep,” Shuichi whispers, fingers threading through Kokichi’s purple locks from where the boy’s head is resting on his lap.

Kaito, on the opposite end of the couch and having Kokichi’s feet sprawled on his lap, taps his fingers against Kokichi’s foot absentmindedly. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have one. I mean, I wasn’t planning to sleep soon, so I could keep an eye on him.”

Shuichi’s eyes narrow, sleepy as well, but the movie they’re watching isn’t over yet. He hums softly, continuing to stroke Kokichi’s hair, corners of his lips twitching as the boy lets out a particularly loud snore (still a bit quiet, though, because Kaito is the loudest sleeper of the three). “No, you should go to sleep. There… was a lot to deal with today, anyway.”

He and Kaito spent the rest of the day catering to Kokichi’s needs, pampering him to make up for the fact that they were a direct cause for Kokichi falling off of their refrigerator. Said refrigerator is up and running again, only sustaining damage to the inside where their food suffered and splattered everywhere (Kokichi took the liberty of forcing the rest of them to clean it up). 

They settled down in the evening for their movie night, Kokichi picking an English movie that he seemed to be enjoying the most out of the three of them, but honestly, Shiuchi would do anything to hear him laugh the way he does in his little obnoxious way. Kaito is no different, loving eyes concealed by mock annoyance, fondness tucked behind retaliating remarks. Kokichi, despite being the one to pick the movie, crashed first; throwing himself over the both of them and lying down, head in Shuichi’s lap and feet in Kaito’s. He fell asleep perhaps half an hour in, giggles fading out to soft snores.

Kaito massages Kokichi’s feet gently. “Huh. Not that I’d admit it to the annoying little shit, but fuck, I was scared. I pulled him forward at the last second while he was falling. I thought for sure the fridge was going to crush him because of me.”

Shuichi can recall seeing Kaito yank Kokichi towards him as the fall occurred, etched into his memory. “Yeah, I remember seeing that happen. Um. Don’t beat yourself up over it. Stuff like this is inevitable as long as he exists.”

“Yeah. I’m just,” Kaito breathes a sigh. “Happy, kinda? That we can still all get along like this, after everything. That we can settle. Be with each other. Fuck, that sounds really gross and sappy, but—”

“I get it.” Shuichi glances down at Kokichi, a small grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Hopefully his dreams tonight are good ones. We’ve all been having less nightmares, y’know?”

“Yep. I’m thankful,” Kaito mutters, smile mirroring Shuichi’s as he glances at him, and then his gaze falls to Kokichi. “Even… if every object in this place, even our fridge, is in danger.”

Shuichi blinks slowly, exhaustion claiming his body and sleep clouding his vision. He chuckles softly at Kaito’s comment—and Kokichi is warm, he acknowledges, even though every single second spent with both of them is warm and full of starlight and moments that make his heart absolutely burst.

(And if their fridge has secretly sustained hidden damage or something, he’s pretty certain he can speak for Kokichi as well then he says Kaito is going to be the one to pay to get it fixed.)

[zenosungs]

love language

Haikyuu!! | Kuroo x Kenma | Rated T

His skin itches but it’s not one that can be relieved, it’s an itch of despair and terror. He wants that stupid damn hug, he wants to be reassured that Kenma still loves him, he wants to tell all of this to Kenma but he’s just going to make everything worse.

Or maybe he’s terrified that if he brings it up, it’ll just be confirmed by Kenma.

That’s the impending nightmare. The scorching one that he wants to avoid at all costs.

(OR: Kuroo is painfully touch-starved, and that's the trigger for all the other problems.)

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[zenosungs]

every day, anew

Haikyuu!! | Oikawa x Iwaizumi | Rated T

he wants to disappear. he wants to drown, or something. both.

it’s wednesday, and he claws at his skin and laughs and then cries and everything in between; and he feels like he's a kaleidoscope that’s gonna shatter into a billion different pieces of a billion different parts of him until there isn’t anything left of him at all.

he doesn’t sleep that night, either.

(or: how oikawa's week goes.)

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[zenosungs]

you’ve got my time, you are my plans

Julie and the Phantoms | Reggie & Everyone

“What’s all the mumblin’ about?” Alex mutters, voice thick with sleep, and, oh no, I woke him up. Fuck. Everything is wrong with me and now Alex is awake, too…

“Reggie is talking,” Luke explains shortly, and Reggie can’t miss the slight emphasis on the word talking, something to signify to Alex that this is because Reggie is on the teetering edge of Bad, and not because he’s an asshole who wants to ramble at 7 o’something in the morning.

(OR: Reggie wakes up feeling, well, Bad. Luke and Alex are good to him, because they always are.)

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[zenosungs]

moonlit dreams

Haikyuu!! | Oikawa x Iwaizumi | Rated T

“Stop talking,” Iwaizumi groans, eyes narrowing in a way that makes moonlight bounce off the whites of his irises, and Oikawa thinks that his Iwa-chan really looks like some sort of angel. “And stop pouting. It’s annoying. Unless you want me to kiss that stupid pout off your face, huh?”

So blatant—

This time it’s Oikawa’s turn to stumble on his words. “Ah, oh, ha, jeez—Iwa-chan says some weird stuff during the late night hours, huh?”

(OR: Oikawa can't sleep, Iwaizumi can, but he's not going to until his dumbass of a boyfriend does.)

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[zenosungs]

honey lemon tea

Haikyuu!! | Tsukishima x Yamaguchi | Rated T

“Yeah. Go. I’m keeping you waiting,” Tsukishima grumbles grouchily, ducking away when Yamaguchi attempts to plant another kiss on a weird part of his face. “And stop that. It’s gross. You’ll get sick, too.”

“Don’t care,” Yamaguchi says, and before Tsukishima has the chance to avoid it, Yamaguchi leans down and presses his lips to Tsukishima’s own.

(OR: Tsukishima is sick, self-doubting, and irrational—but Yamaguchi is there to love him nonetheless.)

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[zenosungs]

you wear my soul

Haikyuu!! | Bokuto x Akaashi | Rated T

Holy shit, he’s not breathing good enough and now he’s going to die. He’s going to die on the phone with Akaashi and his last words are about the color purple and how Akaashi is probably the prettiest thing in his life, which is so stupid but also terrifying because he needs better last words than that.

(OR: Bokuto calls Akaashi up at 3 a.m. because he's panicking on his bedroom floor, and Akaashi is sweetly gentle with him as he always tends to be.)

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[zenosungs]

the way you burn bright

Mystic Messenger | Jumin x Zen | Rated T

“What are you—” Jumin begins to ask, stopping in the middle of his sentence when Zen starts hauling him to his feet.

“You’re not allowed to just watch me,” Zen says, throwing in a small glare for extra measure. “Now, come on.”

Zen doesn’t even know what he’s doing anymore, but he’s indulged himself enough recently so that this doesn’t seem out of the ordinary for them. It’s just another thing to tack onto the list of things he has done with Han Jumin: now, dancing with him in the morning in their pajamas, within the swirling scent of strawberries and pancakes, socked feet gliding along kitchen tile.

(OR: The morning following the previous fic—includes strawberries and pancakes, conversations on the kitchen floor, and reluctant slow dancing on said kitchen floor.

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[zenosungs]

sweetness hidden in my face

Mystic Messenger | Zen x Jumin | Rated T

Jumin blinks, stricken, as Zen reaches over and tenderly drapes the coat over Jumin’s shoulders.

It’s enough to undo Jumin completely. Zen watches as the man blinks once, twice, and a small “Hyun…” is uttered from his lips, quiet enough to almost get lost in the wind, but not entirely.

Yeah? I'm right here, Jumin. I'm here.

(OR: Reluctant hugs in the rain, unbelievable tenderness, and the realization that maybe Zen cares more about Jumin than they both think.)

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