Archive of Our Own ^beta

Kaito hates the look of his body after he gets out of the simulation.

He hated the look of it inside too, during his final days. The way his skin paled and his cheeks sagged with exhaustion, the way he could see his ribs peeking through on his chest, making him look ghastly, like a dying man. It had been fitting, because he was dying—but he’d hated it all the same. Still, there hadn’t been much time to dwell on it because there’d been so much to do. Kaito had neglected his training in that past week, neglected his eating and his sleep (all things that fuck with your health) in favour of trying to get everyone out and keep his promise to Kaede.

In the end, it had been useless; Kaito died a failure, alone and surrounded by fake stars, without even the certainty that his friends would be alright in his absence. But then Kaito woke up again, gasping and thrashing as Team Danganronpa attendants swarmed him, holding down his ankles and wrists so they could free him from his VR headset.

And three months since the end of the killing game, since Kaito and everyone else are released from the simulation, he stares at himself in the mirror and smoothes his fingers down his sides. He’s no longer ghastly or pale, cheeks taking on what he thinks is a healthy pink sheen now despite the persistent bags under his eyes. But due to a combination of muscle atrophy and a lack of motivation, Kaito hasn’t hit the gym even once since getting out. The only thing he’s done that could count as training would be the physical therapy, and that hasn’t been enough to return him to the form he remembers.

The form he’s in now is flabby, with a distended stomach and thighs that appear too round, too large when he flattens his palms against them. Kaito feels sick just looking at it, but he stares regardless, letting the water from his shower drip off of him until he’s completely dry save for his hair and the soles of his feet, which are still all pruned from the damp shower mat. Kaito has never been a small person—even in the virtual world when he was losing weight due to his illness, his shoulders had been broad—but like this he feels like he takes up even more space. Like this he worries he won’t even make it under the door frame.

Kaito figures that’s probably just his insecurities speaking—there’s nothing wrong with any body weight, and the therapists keep saying that he went through an ordeal, that he’ll take time to recover—but his skin crawls nonetheless, and the shaky, swooping motions of his hands quickly turn more aggressive. He digs his nails into his softened arms, his chest, until red streaks stand out against his skin. Then he has to pull his hands away, shaking worse even than they were before, doubling over and clutching the sides of the sink.

None of this is like him, he doesn’t think. Even before the game, Kaito was—well, Kaito doesn’t know. He thinks he looked better, stronger, if the version of himself he’d seen in that audition tape is any indication. That man had filled the room in a different way right now, not with filth but with cruelty. Kaito doesn’t understand how he could have been someone like that before… but then, he doesn’t really get how he could be someone like this now, so maybe he and the Kaito who signed up for Danganronpa aren’t all that different.

Regardless, Kaito doesn’t want to be that person, and he doesn’t want to be this person either. What he wants more than anything is to be who he was during the game, before he was dying. A hero, proud of himself. The crushing insecurity that had settled in in the aftermath of the fourth trial, Kaito doesn’t want to let it suffocate him anymore, because he’s not the only person who suffered for it. It was at the expense of his friends, the people who needed him… Kaito had been selfish then. And he’s being selfish now, allowing himself to stay like this, anything less than a shining example, more of a legend than a person—he needs to get better. There’s nothing else for it.

So finally, Kaito straightens up off the sink, smiles at himself in the mirror until it feels like he can mean it, and then grabs a towel off the rack.

Dieting and training are both elements of fitness that Kaito already has some relative familiarity with after his time as an astronaut (or what he remembers as time from being an astronaut, anyhow) but he still doesn’t want to do any of this wrong. So outside of signing up for the gym by his apartment and removing all the non-rice carbs from his apartment, Kaito also puts in the research, as he would with anything else.

There are a lot of conflicting messages online on how to lose weight—a lot of them tied to some kind of counter, as if Kaito needs to reach a certain shape by a deadline—but Kaito is a diligent researcher, even if he doesn’t look like it. He goes through different blogs and certified posts by dieticians, and downloads an app on his phone for tracking calories. It’s the easiest and most subtle way to do it, he thinks. Even if he’s out to eat with his friends, Kaito can quickly jot down everything that he’s eating onto his phone under the guise of sending a text.

Not that it’s something that Kaito exactly needs to hide— trying to better yourself isn’t something to be ashamed of at all—but just like his illness during the game, just like the phantom cough that has persisted since he woke up from the simulation… Kaito finds that what he’s trying to do right now, he just… doesn’t want to become anyone else’s problem. This is his battle to fight, not that of his friends, and his inability to change or be good enough has already been enough of an issue for them before. Kaito refuses to become an inconvenience for them again.

Training is different now than it was in the simulation, or even in his fake memories. Before it was always something Kaito looked forward to; exerting himself physically always made it easier for him to deal with whatever was going on emotionally. It’s why he’d suggested that Shuichi do the same, even though by the end, even getting his pushups in wasn’t enough to take Kaito’s mind off of what was going on. Not just that, but it’d been something that Kaito did with his friends. Either his sidekicks or his fellow astronaut trainees—Kaito was never alone through a set. He always had someone nearby, either spotting or working out too. It’d been nice, something to incentivise him to keep going.

But Kaito doesn’t ask anyone to join him for the first few months. Shuichi is so busy trying to take down Team Danganronpa as a corporation overall, and things have been so weird between him and Maki since the hangar and the trial and the confession, and Kaito doesn’t even know how he’d begin to tackle any of it… so he just doesn’t. He reaches out to them from time to time to make sure that Shuichi is taking care of himself, and that Maki is relying on the people around her, and outside of that Kaito keeps to himself. He gets a job at a local flower shop just to make sure he’s not completely reliant on the prize money he got from the game, and when he’s not working or at the gym or calculating portion sizes, Kaito tries to find other ways to better himself. Studying, cleaning his apartment, reading books. Being alone becomes less of a temporary escape from everything as it had been before and more of his natural state of being.

He gets by. So does the world around him, or so Kaito assumes. Admittedly, as unheroic as it sounds… he hasn’t really been keeping up with that very much either.

Some nine months after the game has ended, Kaito heads out to the grocery store. He’s been doing most of his meals lately on a food subscription service. What he gets from those usually isn’t enough to fill his stomach, but Kaito figures it’s probably the right amount of food if he’s still hungry afterwards, and he’s starting to get used to the feeling anyway. Still, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t ever have to go to the grocery store; he ran out of rice this morning over breakfast, so he’s making a quick stop on his way home from the gym.

Kaito doesn’t really like grocery shopping so much anymore. There’s always too much noise, too many people. Not that Kaito used to mind either of those things, but in such a busy environment, it’s hard not to feel like he’s taking up too much space—if not by being too tall, than by being too wide, too loud, too distinct. Kaito never gels his hair up anymore, and he usually wears a mask when he goes outside, but that doesn’t stop him from being recognised on occasion, and despite his anger towards Team Danganronpa and the world full of his supporters… he just can’t bring himself to be mean to people who admire him.

Fortunately, shopping for one item should be relatively painless. Kaito heads to the correct aisle, eyes focused on his target. Now that he’s so conscious of what he eats, Kaito’s found himself incredibly conscious of food in general. The way grocery stores are laid out to get you to buy more than you set out for, including things that aren’t as great for your body, or your figure. Even the rice aisle is full of foods Kaito has to avoid, so he turns his head away from them as he walks, crouching down for the brand he likes and tucking two bags into his basket. There’s a sale that applies only if you buy three, so Kaito grabs a third then hesitates. Is that too much? He’ll need it eventually, but buying three at once is…

“Momota-kun?”

Kaito freezes, feeling for a moment like he’s been caught committing a crime, and lifts his head with a justification on his lips before he realises how ridiculous that would probably sound. Indeed, the person standing over him doesn’t look accusatory, just a bit surprised, and almost apprehensive. It takes Kaito a minute, between his tiredness from his workout and the way his heart still races, to recognise their face. When he does, he hurriedly tucks the last rice bag into his basket and rises to his feet.

“Amami?” Kaito asks, blinking. As soon as the name leaves his lips, he’s sure that he must be wrong, but the green-haired man before him only smiles, lifting a hand in acknowledgement. So it is him. But…

It’s not that Rantaro looks all that different from how he did when they parted ways seven months ago. In fact, he pretty much looks the same; green curls with an undercut, freckles, a charming smile. No piercings, but those had been a product of the simulation, and by the time the rehabilitation period came to a close, Kaito had pretty much gotten used to the sight of Rantaro’s unpierced ears and face. All in all, he looks pretty good—not in the sense that he’s attractive, though he is, just… healthy. Even if that smile, the same smile Rantaro had been giving everyone for every second back at the facility, doesn’t tell Kaito much.

“I thought it was you… I almost didn’t recognise you with your hair down.” Rantaro leans against the shelf to let a few shoppers get by. They do a double take as they pass him, but Rantaro doesn’t even look over, and eventually the shoppers pass without comment, though Kaito sees them glance over their shoulders a few more times. “It looks good. I mean, you look good, Momota-kun.”

Kaito knows. Technically speaking, he doesn’t look as good as he could— there’s still a bit of softness over his abs, and his legs aren’t quite as bulked as he’d like them to be, but he’s put in a lot of work to get to where he is over the past six months. So yeah, he does look good. That’d be rude to say, though; Kaito hasn’t completely forgotten how to be tactful, even keeping to himself as much as he has been recently.

“Thanks,” Kaito says instead. “You do too, like… I was just thinking it. Healthier.” He leans down for his shopping basket then, shifting it between his hands, mostly just for something to do with them. His arms are still a bit sore—he’d been focusing on them during his workout today—but three bags of rice isn’t really a big deal for him anymore. “I uh, didn’t know you shopped here, Amami.”

“I didn’t. But I do now, I suppose.” Rantaro’s eyes crinkle with good humour. “I just moved in nearby… do you live close? You must, I can’t imagine this store has anything that you couldn’t find somewhere else, so it wouldn’t make sense to come here if you didn’t.”

Kaito hums at the question, nodding. “Yeah, just half a mile away. Sometimes I come here on my morning runs.” There’s a café upstairs where Kaito will get a green tea if he needs the caffeine. “Why’d you move?”

“Well, I’d moved in with one of my friends from my first game… but he and his partner wanted to move out further from the city, and a part of me wanted to stay.” Rantaro smiles sheepishly. “It’s silly, but I actually like being so close to everyone… not that we talk or anything, haha. But I like the thought that I could conceivably be nearby, if something happened.”

That’s… pretty nice of him. Especially to part with his friends from before just to do that—Rantaro’s been through two killing games outside of the one where Kaito met him, which means he must have even more baggage than almost anyone else Kaito knows. Certainly more than Kaito… yet he passed up on the opportunity to live further out with his friends just to be close by in case he’s needed? Kaito chews the inside of his cheek, looking down at his shoes. Sounds like Rantaro’s a better hero than he is… but Kaito is pretty sure that could be said for most of the former participants in his season, so maybe that’s not all that special.

Rantaro’s gaze has softened into something more concerned, a look that makes the hair on the back of Kaito’s neck stick up, prompted by a bit of a crawling beneath his skin. He’s been quiet for too long, but he doesn’t know what to say. Before he might have praised Rantaro genuinely, because that’s just what he deserves—but even with his sidekicks, now, Kaito never knows what to say or how to compliment them… he barely knows how to answer questions about himself.

His nails dig into his palms over the handles of his basket. He should have just stayed home and ordered the rice off Amazon—maybe it was easier to do it this way, and maybe there’s a sale, and maybe it’s nice to know that Rantaro is alive and well, but Kaito is starting to get that crawling in his chest again like he’s taking up too much space, like the shelves are closing in on him, just like the walls of his execution, or the hydraulic press he earned it with. Kaito swallows. Then swallows again, fighting down a tickle in the back of his throat. He needs to get out of here—go for a run or something, do some reps, anything to get rid of that awful, nasty feeling.

Rantaro speaks before he can flee. “How did you get here? You said you live close?”

Kaito blinks. “Oh, uh… yeah. I jogged.” Technically he jogged to the gym, then stopped here on his way back to the apartment, but the point is he didn’t walk or bus or anything. “Uh, what about you?”

“I drove.” Rantaro’s lip quirks. “Sometimes I still hate cars—you remember from those student profiles? I’m pretty sure my relationship with vehicles was normal before the game.” He exhales through his nose. His smile is wry, but good-natured; somehow, Rantaro is discussing the game and what it put him through in the same cadence of a man lamenting he wore the wrong shoes in the rain. “But I’ve been doing fine with them now. Today, at the very least… anyway. Can I give you a ride?”

“A ride?”

“Right.” Rantaro nods a little. “I understand if you’d rather not, of course, but… you look a bit tired, Kaito.” He offers a smaller, softer smile. “Even if it’s a short walk, some time off your feet might be nice.”

It’s the sort of compassionate, gracious offer that Kaito knows he has absolutely no right to accept. Rantaro and him are connected by a thin string, barely more than a loose thread. Rantaro had died before Kaito even began to understand him. The only thing he had left of the man after his passing was a lingering sense of disappointment, the knowledge that Rantaro could have been trusted, had he not been murdered so soon. What they’ve been through feels fundamentally incompatible, even though they were harmed in the same way by the same people. Rantaro has seen countless deaths, and then was murdered himself in an attempt to save everyone. Kaito not only failed his friends, but his enemies too—and he died like a coward, passing off the responsibility onto people he promised to save.

He swallows. They should have nothing to do with each other, for Rantaro’s sake really. And yet…

“You sure it won’t be too much trouble?” Kaito asks. “If you got plans after this, or if it’d be out of your way—”

Shaking his head, Rantaro lets out a bit of a laugh. “No, Momota-kun. It won’t be trouble for me. My schedule is incredibly empty. I can’t imagine you’d know the feeling, but I don’t actually have that many people to hang out with now… most of my time is spent cleaning or reading.”

Huh. Kaito looks down at his feet again, but some of the noise in his head quiets. That… is familiar, actually.

“No, I… do know,” Kaito admits. “You still don’t gotta trouble yourself, but…”

Rantaro’s eyes crinkle. “Am I hearing a yes?”

It’s far from smug, but Kaito still finds himself grumbling as he hefts his shopping basket. “Did I say that? Don’t know if I said that.”

Despite his indignation, though, getting to hear Rantaro laugh at his complaints makes accepting all the more worthwhile, even if a part of Kaito still feels as though Rantaro is wasting his time.

Rantaro’s car is nice, but one of the less showy, older models. He drives a stick shift, in fact, which is how Kaito had learned to drive from his grandparents—or how he remembers it anyway—so as Kaito slides into the passenger seat, he can’t help but laugh.

“Dude, where’d you even find this thing?” Kaito asks. “I figure with the payout from three games, you’d’ve pulled up in a Porsche or something.”

“Don’t be rude,” Rantaro huffs, adjusting his seat and reaching for his seatbelt. “First of all, her name is Hikaru, and you have to respect her if you’re going to ride her. Second of all—stop laughing! This is serious business, Momota-kun.”

Even if it was, Kaito doesn’t think he’d be able to stop laughing. Between giggles, he chokes out, “You n-named your car? Amami, c’mon,” and is only set off again when Rantaro lets out an aggrieved sigh, starting the engine.

“You laugh now, but Hikaru can be temperamental. You’d better apologise before you doom the both of us.” Rantaro squints at Kaito before turning his attention onto the road, backing them out of his parking space. He’s smooth with the stick shift, more than Kaito remembers his gramps being, which is pretty impressive. Then again, Rantaro’s got that relaxed, mature disposition that sort of makes you think someone would be a good driver, so maybe this isn’t all that surprising. Without pulling up GPS, Rantaro starts them in the direction of Kaito’s apartment, apparently familiar enough with the area not to need navigation.

As Kaito’s laughter dies out, he finds himself with a lingering smile and an oddly warm feeling in his chest. It’s… funny, almost, that Kaito can’t even remember the last time somebody made him laugh that hard. He thinks the last time he laughed was at something he read in a book—he’ll chuckle or snicker over lunch with Shuichi, but none of those ever feel like real laughs, just… polite ways of filling the space.

Kaito almost finds himself feeling a bit guilty for it, though he doesn’t know why. In the back of his mind, he can’t help feeling like he doesn’t deserve to laugh like that, to feel happy at all… but when he glances over at Rantaro again, he sees that the man’s got a softer smile on his face again, so maybe it’s okay.

“So, uh…” Kaito drums his fingers against the arm rest. “What hobbies you got, if you don’t hang out with people? Just reading and cleaning?”

Rantaro hums. “Well, sometimes I go for walks… it’s nice just to stretch my legs and see people going about their business. And if I do it before sunrise, then I get to watch the world wake up…” His eyes crinkle at the edges. “It’s nice. Other than that, no, I don’t keep very busy. I guess I do cook sometimes, and I’d even say I’m pretty good at it, but it’s hard to tell when I only cook for myself now.” He rolls out his neck. “Keiji and Mari—my friends from my game—they thought I was good at it.”

Kaito flattens his palm against the arm rest, stopping his fidgeting. “I guess I’m kinda in the same boat,” he admits. “I don’t cook for anyone… I don’t do walks though, I mostly run, but yeah I’ll do it in the morning before the sun’s come up. The air gets so cold, it’s kinda nice.” He smiles to himself at the thought, especially as he connects it with Rantaro’s sentiment about watching the world wake up. It sounds like something Kaito would’ve said, nine months ago… nowadays he gets so caught up in his own head, he doesn’t really think about the rest of the world. Maybe he should try. “I work out a lot, though, and I got a job. Those are kinda my main things.”

“Those aren’t bad things at all,” Rantaro muses. “I guess the both of us are kind of boring now… imagine that.” He lets out a little chuckle. “Going from an astronaut and a world traveller to a guy with a job and an unemployed bachelor.”

“When you put it like that it sounds kinda lame,” Kaito complains, nudging Rantaro’s arm. “If you got feelings about being unemployed, maybe you should try to get a job.”

“Now I wouldn’t go that far,” Rantaro pouts. His smile sneaks back onto his face as he glances over at Kaito again. “What’s your job? Anything fun?”

“Oh… I mean, yeah. I work at a flower shop.” It’s the most social interaction Kaito gets outside of lunches with Shuichi, which are few and far between, and that’s all in a professional capacity, so he doesn’t really count it. He wears a mask there, but even so, he’s pretty sure there are a few customers who only come in to look at him and know he was in Danganronpa… at least it drums up business for the little old lady who runs the place. She kind of reminds Kaito of his gran.

Rantaro seems to perk up at that. “Really! That’s a nice job, I wouldn’t have expected it of you… though I guess you did have house plants listed as one of your likes back in the game…” He hums, tilting his head to the side. “Up there, is that you?”

When Rantaro asks, Kaito’s a bit caught up in his thoughts about how much he appreciates how casual Rantaro is being about the game. Maybe that’s part of the territory when you’ve done it so many times, but when Kaito’s tried to talk to Maki or Himiko or Shuichi, they’ve all tiptoed around the subject, like they’re not sure how to broach it. Rantaro just says it plainly.

Of course, Kaito’s attention diverts at the question. “Oh—yeah, just pull over here.”

Rantaro does as instructed and kills the engine, then turns to smile at Kaito, resting an elbow against the back of his seat. It’s a fuller smile than that initial, charming look he’d given back at the store, and Kaito finds himself drawn to it for just a moment. Like he can’t look away. He’s heard stuff about how attractive Rantaro is, and it’s obviously true, but Kaito thinks he understands it a little better now, seeing that smile so up close.

“It was nice seeing you, Momota-kun. If you wouldn’t mind, maybe we could keep in touch? Go out for lunch or drinks or something.” Rantaro rubs the back of his neck. “I obviously understand if you want to avoid the reminders of your game, so I won’t be hurt if you say no, but I—”

“No, I’d—” Kaito speaks too quickly, then feels his face flush with shame, looking down at his lap. He’s not allowed to want things that badly, not after everything he’s done. Still, Rantaro’d started offering Kaito an out probably out of nerves himself; there would’ve been plenty of easy ways to avoid having to maintain contact if Rantaro truly didn’t want it. Kaito swallows, then continues in a more measured tone, “That’d be cool, Amami. Maybe we can uh, go for a walk or something.” Kaito really doesn’t like eating in front of other people. It’s bad enough with Shuichi. And alcohol isn’t good for you either. But a walk is doable.

Oblivious to Kaito’s thoughts, Rantaro only nods. “Sure, then. That sounds nice.” He reaches across the car to squeeze Kaito’s wrist, eyes softening. “Take care, alright? Get some rest. I’m around if you need a friend.”

A friend… Kaito chews the inside of his cheek. It sounds a little pathetic to say, but Kaito doesn’t really… do friends, anymore. He has his sidekicks, people he talks to from the game, and people who know him at work… but Kaito doesn’t think he has the right to call any of them his friends. If he gets too comfortable, he’ll slack off. And he especially can’t afford it with Rantaro, who seems to be doing pretty well now… Kaito could never risk weighing him down.

“Sure,” Kaito says, but he avoids Rantaro’s gaze as he opens the door and picks up his bag. “You too, man. You know where I’m at, so stop by any time and leave a note if I’m not there. I’ll find a way to help.” This, at least, Kaito can promise— should promise. “Thanks for the ride.”

Kaito can feel Rantaro’s eyes following him on the way out of the car. He tries not to think about it as he walks up to the lobby, but once he’s unlocked the door, he can’t help but glance over his shoulder. Rantaro hasn’t pulled away yet, the car idling in place, his gaze unmoving where it rests on Kaito. Must be waiting for him to get in safely.

Impulsively, Kaito lifts a hand and waves. Rantaro smiles, then waves back, lifting his chin a little in a nod. A smile of his own comes onto Kaito’s face, and he maintains it as he turns back around, pretending like his heart doesn’t ache a little when he hears Rantaro’s car peel off the corner.

It’s around a week later when Kaito’s doorbell rings unexpectedly. Can’t be a sidekick or a package, since they’ll usually buzz him at the front, and Shuichi always texts before he’s coming. Thus, it’s with some trepidation that Kaito stops doing pushups and stands, wiping sweat off his forehead with the towel he keeps handing and making his way through the house.

When he peers through the peephole, he sees Rantaro’s green eyes looking back at him, and a tupperware in his hands. Must have been something he made, or someone made, and Kaito can already feel his heart rate spiking at the thought, but he forces himself to take a deep breath as he unlocks and opens the door, finding a smile for Rantaro.

“Hey, man, what’s going on?”

“Momota-kun, hey,” Rantaro greets, nodding. “You sound a bit out of breath… did I interrupt your routine?”

Routine. As in his fitness routine? Kaito shakes his head. “Nah, it’s fine.” He can smell sugar coming from the container, maybe cookies? Kaito can feel his stomach stir with interest—how long has it been since he’s had cookies—followed by a fresh wave of shame. To distract from it, he crosses his arms over his stomach and leans against the doorframe. “Just got a little restless, so decided to do some pushups to pass the time… uh, what’s going on? You need something?”

Rantaro shakes his head, too. “No, no. Nothing like that. Or, well…” His eyes dart down to the container in his hands. “I guess you could call this a favour, but hardly. I just made some cookies for my sisters, but I ended up with way too many without thinking… you know when you space and make more of a thing than you need? Anyway, there’s no way I can eat all of these by myself, so I thought maybe I’d come by and offer you some.”

That’s… incredibly thoughtful, even if it hadn’t been intentional. A part of Kaito is touched to have been thought of, though he’s also a bit ambivalent, given that… no, he definitely can’t eat those, and definitely not the amount that Rantaro seems like he’s offering. He swallows.

“How’d you get into the building?”

“Oh, someone let me in.” Rantaro shrugs. “They directed me to your apartment, too… I guess they just assumed I was here for you, considering we were in a season together. I got pretty lucky, there, considering I didn’t think much about how I was going to find you when I was leaving my place, haha.”

Kaito supposes that could be a safety concern, but he’s lived here for half a year and it hasn’t really been a problem before, so he decides not to worry too much about it. He doesn’t mind Rantaro knowing where he lives. With a little nod, Kaito straightens up, stepping back.

“Well, I don’t, uh…” Kaito swallows again. “I don’t really eat sweets. But you can still come in and hang out if you want.”

That gets a questioning look from Rantaro, but whatever questions Rantaro does have, he doesn’t verbalise until he’s entered the apartment, stepping out of his shoes without having to bend over. No laces, it looks like. Kaito thinks he remembers Rantaro wearing a pair that didn’t have laces back in the game, too. When Rantaro’s stepped back, Kaito nudges his shoes with the arch of his own slipper and turns to lead the way into the house.

Now, Rantaro does speak again. “You don’t eat sweets, huh? Just not much of a sweet tooth?”

Kaito bites his lip. Embarrassingly, he’s had a bit of a problem with lying ever since the killing game ended. He’ll do it when he has to, but…

“Not exactly,” Kaito says. “I just like to watch my diet a little—uh, you can put those down wherever though. If you don’t want them, I’ll bring ‘em over to Shuichi’s place sometime.” He keeps walking into the living room, where he’d laid out a yoga mat to do his pushups. Figuring it would be rude to exercise with Rantaro here, Kaito crouches to roll it up, but the fact that he’d stopped at 37 is going to bug him for the rest of the day. He’ll have to do 13 more later, once Rantaro’s gone.

Rantaro hums in response, but doesn’t pursue the topic further, putting the tupperware down on the coffee table and then dropping to sit on Kaito’s couch. He purchased it secondhand from a store around a mile from here. Despite the short distance, Kaito can’t actually walk around lugging a couch, so he’d had to rent a truck to bring it home, along with all the other furniture in this place. Still, he thinks he did alright with the interior design. The coffee table doesn’t have any rings on it, and the chairs around his dining table all match. There are plants on the balcony and filling up the empty spaces in his book shelf, just a little splash of colour since Kaito can’t do space print stuff anymore.

Once the yoga mat is packed away, Kaito comes over, eyeing the spot next to Rantaro for a moment before deciding to sit in his arm chair. It just feels more polite.

“So…” Kaito realises he doesn’t know what he was going to ask, and his leg starts bouncing immediately. He picks up one end of the towel still resting around his shoulders and rubs at his hair a little. “Uh, what’ve you been keeping up to? Same old?”

“Pretty much.” Rantaro’s lip curls. “I still get calls about making public appearances from time to time, but they’ll usually leave me alone if I don’t pick up after the second time.” He lets out a breath. “Not that they can afford to go after me now with all their expenses going into this lawsuit of Saihara-kun’s, but I think they think it’ll help their image, if I testify for them.”

It probably would; Shuichi had been pretty intense when he told Kaito he wanted to ask Rantaro to testify on behalf of the anti- Danganronpa end, citing the fact that Rantaro’s been through three killing games as inhumane, and something that would very much make the world understand why Danganronpa should end for good. And he’s right, of course, nothing Shuichi had said was wrong… but to Kaito’s knowledge, Rantaro declined that offer, too.

Privately, though Kaito had been too much of a coward to say it, he kind of understands where Rantaro is coming from. The effort to dismantle Team Danganronpa is a noble one, and one that the hero Kaito fashioned himself as should be interested in helping with… but whenever he thinks about it he just gets tired. It’s not that he thinks it’s impossible, but it’s such a hefty task, and the last time Kaito had a burden like that on his shoulders—

Hah. He’s really failed Kokichi in more ways than one, if that’s how he’s thinking now… still, he’d be no good to Shuichi either.

“They’ve got a lot of nerve asking you for that,” Kaito says, letting his towel drop again. “I’ve just blocked all of ‘em… makes things a lot quieter.”

“Mm, I can imagine.” Rantaro chuckles, fiddling with the black—obsidian maybe?—ring on his index finger. “I should try that… I guess I just hadn’t thought of it. A part of me thought… well, nevermind. That’s too silly to say.” He shakes his head, letting out another chuckle, but something in his eyes catches Kaito’s attention.

He sits forward slightly. “What is it?”

Rantaro’s lips press into a thinner smile. “Really, it’s stupid… I shouldn’t have made you curious.”

“It’s not curiosity.” Kaito pouts. He doesn’t know exactly what to call it, though—concern, perhaps? Or more like… “Just feel like if it came to mind, you should say it. I don’t care if it is stupid, you shouldn’t have to hold anything back just because you think it’d come across that way. Besides, I’m not the guy to judge you for saying stupid shit.” Definitely not. Kaito never rewatches the game, but he already knows what he’ll see if he does—he stands by most of what he said and did during the simulation, but thinking about the parts he doesn’t still makes him cringe.

The look Rantaro gives him is dubious, but eventually he says, “Well, I suppose a part of me doesn’t think blocking them will do much to restrict their access to me. At least if they try to reach me by phone, I can just hang up. What if they come to my door, or try to contact me through someone I care about?” One of his hands curls around the wrist of the other, grip visibly tight. “It’s… better to make it seem like I’m reachable, even if I never intend on returning their calls.”

There’s something in Rantaro’s voice, like a deep paranoia—it stirs Kaito’s chest, makes him soften around the edges in a way he hasn’t in a while. He feels his stomach give a little squeeze, followed by a strong yearning, to soothe Rantaro’s concerns, or even just to…

“That’s not stupid,” Kaito tells him, voice quiet. “Hell, that’s pretty smart, even… sure, maybe they’re busy right now, but there’s no telling what they could do if they got desperate, and it seems like they really wanna talk to ya if they keep coming back…” As for Kaito, even if he was willing, he doubts he’d be able to portray the image that Team Danganronpa would want; he can barely even be the person Shuichi wants him to be most days. “I dunno if that feeling ever goes away, like they’re watching and waiting for the right moment.”

Rantaro shakes his head. His grip on his wrist tightens, then relaxes. “I’ve heard it doesn’t… from former participants. People old enough to be my parents.” He lets out a quiet but weak laugh. “What a situation… in my fake memories, something like this would have been absolutely unthinkable… but it’s the world we live in every day. We came from it.” His brow furrows, then he closes his eyes, taking a purposeful breath and adding, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have taken the conversation there… you probably don’t want to think about it.”

It’s true, Kaito doesn’t—most of what he does every day is to stave off thoughts of the game, of what he’s become—but he means it when he shakes his head, and when he scoots forward in his chair and reaches out to touch Rantaro’s arm.

“Maybe I don’t. Who wants to think about something like that? But…” Kaito bites his lip. What he’d thought about in the car the other day had almost been too vulnerable to reveal, and still is, but if Rantaro is feeling guilty… “Honestly, I’m relieved. Nobody I know wants to even go there, even people who were in it with me.”

“It’s funny how that happens, huh?” Rantaro raises an eyebrow. “I guess I just lumped you in with all of them too… sorry about that.”

Kaito shakes his head. “It’s not like you were wrong. But I’m glad you’re talking about it, too. It reminds me that…” He looks down at his hand where it’s resting against Rantaro’s upper arm. Rantaro is wearing a coat, and the hood is fuzzy. It tickles the junction between Kaito’s index finger and thumb when he moves. “Reminds me that it happened, and there’s nothing we can do to change that, but… that we’re still here, I guess. That it’s okay to say that it happened and think about it.”

That gets a smile out of Rantaro, who finally releases his own wrist in favour of reaching up and enveloping the back of Kaito’s hand with his own palm. When Kaito meets Rantaro’s gaze, his eyes are crinkled at the edges, and soft.

“That’s a Momota-kun sentiment if I’ve ever heard one,” Rantaro says quietly. His smile doesn’t waver. “I’d been wondering the other day at the supermarket if they crushed it all out of you, the wisdom… but I guess it never goes away.” His thumb brushes over Kaito’s knuckles, and Kaito shivers, from a combination of both the touch and those words. He barely even knows what that means anymore, for something to be a him sentiment, but…

“Not like I had a lot of chances to say it back then,” Kaito offers, trying for a wry smile that he doesn’t really feel. Clearing his throat, he adds, “I’m, uh… sorry if I worried you, Amami.”

Rantaro shakes his head. “Don’t be, worrying is natural. I couldn’t help but feel something seeing you so quiet after knowing you in the simulation, but it’s not like I dislike you like this.” His eyebrows raise. “If you really feel bad about it, though, you could try something for me… only if you wanted to.”

Kaito perks up a little, involuntarily, and feels his face heat when Rantaro chuckles. Geez… this dude could be about to say anything and he just got all excited. “Sure, within reason… what’s up?”

For a moment, Rantaro just stares at him, as though trying to parse his expression. Then he turns and leans over, popping the lid off his tupperware and reaching inside for one of the cookies. He holds it out for Kaito take, gaze expectant but not heavy. Kaito stares down at Rantaro’s hand. They’re chocolate chip cookies, the slightly greasy kind, the chocolate chips still a bit gooey. The smell is strong, and it makes Kaito’s mouth water, even as his heart gives another guilty tinge.

“Rate my baking?” Rantaro asks. “I cook more than I bake, and even my cooking I’m not sure of anymore… it’d be nice to know how I did from someone other than my sisters. They’re related to me, so they have to be nice about it.”

Kaito swallows so his voice doesn’t choke up, then speaks in a level voice, “You already know they’re good, man.”

“Maybe.” Rantaro’s eyes crinkle with a smile, but it’s an undeniably sad look nonetheless. “But maybe I want you to know, too.”

Kaito sucks in a breath that is sharper than he wants it to be, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. What’s most embarrassing about this is that he wants to accept, because he likes cookies—he likes sweets overall, sugar and bread, the things he so deliberately cut out of his diet in the interest of shaving off his imperfections. He doesn’t want to disappoint Rantaro either, even if a part of him realises this probably isn’t entirely about Rantaro, Kaito’s not sure how he’ll ever manage to say no.

He swallows, throat dry, and shakes his head. Leans back into his chair and folds his arms over his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” Kaito says quietly.

Rantaro sighs, and the look on his face is, indeed, disappointed—but he nonetheless excepts Kaito’s answer, tucking the cookie back away and putting the lid on the container. The only things that remain of it are the crumbs still on Rantaro’s palm, and the smell lingering in his air. Kaito keeps his eyes open to make it easier to ignore, watching as Rantaro takes a breath and pulls his smile back up.

“I’ll live,” Rantaro replies. “Just tell me later if you end up trying them, okay? I’ll give you my number.”

Kaito wonders why he cares. There’s nobody left to care about here, not really. The person who Kaito tried so hard to be in the simulation ended up being a raging disappointment who bloodied his hands in a last-ditch effort at saving everyone, an effort that ultimately failed. They were the ones who saved themselves, and no matter what Shuichi says, Kaito truly had very, very little to do with that. The person who’s here now is even worse than whoever was in the game—cowardly, selfish, and beyond all else not someone who Rantaro should be wasting his time on. Worrying over.

Still, it is… just the slightest bit nice to be worried about, no matter how guilty Kaito feels for it, and despite everything he finds himself wishing Rantaro would stay when the man eventually gets up to leave. Once his apartment is empty again, Kaito ignores the cookies still on his table as he does 13 more pushups, and then fifty more until his arms give out under him, then he stays on the floor and cries into his yoga mat until his alarm goes off to tell him it’s time to eat dinner.

Rantaro’s cookies get dropped off at Shuichi’s apartment, gone but not forgotten, but Rantaro himself ends up visiting Kaito more and more frequently after that first, half-disastrous afternoon. It takes them a few days to get a feel for each other’s schedules, mostly Kaito’s, because Rantaro says his tasks can pretty much be done whenever, but once Rantaro has Kaito’s gym and work schedules he’s coming over almost daily.

Never with food, after that first time, but he’ll bring book recommendations or movies or board games, or sometimes just himself. Kaito doesn’t completely understand it—he’s not someone who’s fun to be around anymore, he can’t be—but every time he thinks Rantaro will have given up and decided not to come, his buzzer goes off.

Kaito tries to ask about it, but there’s not much he can say without sounding ridiculous to his own ears. Don’t you know I don’t have anything to offer you? I can’t help you. I can’t save you. I can barely even take care of myself. In the end, all he really manages to get out are tepid questions, protests he doesn’t really mean.

“You sure you wanna be playing this with me?” Kaito asks one morning as he opens his door to Rantaro with a box of Apples to Apples tucked under his arm. “I mean, I’m not exactly…”

“Light of the party? Maybe that’s part of the appeal.” Rantaro bumps his shoulder against Kaito’s as he makes his way inside. “Is it so weird to believe I just want to be here, Momota-kun?”

Yes? Kaito wants to say. Obviously? But neither of those are the expected reply here, and he knows they’d sound stupid, so he just puffs his cheeks out and looks hard at Rantaro until the other man laughs, reaching over to ruffle his hair. (Rantaro does that a lot, the hair ruffles. Kaito’s familiar with the practise overall, but not with being on the receiving end of them, so it’s understandably a little disorienting.)

“Look, I know… you helped a lot of people during the game. That’s all I ever hear about you, how much of a hero you were, and how good of a friend, and how brave and courageous…” Rantaro waves his hand a little as he rambles, walking into the living room and dropping into his usual spot on the couch like it’s only natural. “But that’s not why I like you. You’re relaxing to be around, Momota-kun, and you’re honest. And you’re kind.” He glances over his shoulder with a small smile. “That should be enough, isn’t it?”

Maybe if it were true. But just because Kaito can’t bring himself to raise his voice or lie or snap—that doesn’t suddenly make him the kind of person who wouldn’t do those things. Still, he can’t bring himself to correct Rantaro either, and maybe that makes him even more selfish, but there’s nothing for it. He doesn’t want Rantaro to leave, or he’d actually kick the man out.

So Kaito walks over and sits down and asks, “How the hell are we supposed to play Apples to Apples with only two people?”

“You know, I didn’t think about that…” Rantaro frowns. “Got any really lonely neighbours?”

Kaito laughs. It’s surprising, because Rantaro is so calm and collected, but he actually doesn’t put all that much thought into his actions. He’s impulsive. From the way his hair and clothes are ruffled right now, Kaito would really believe Rantaro just jumped into his car and drove over on blind impulse after finding this thing at the store. The idea of being thought of as the person for that kind of makes Kaito feel good, but it’s a feeling he doesn’t deserve, so as always it comes along with a heaping serving of… well, ambivalence. But Kaito’s still glad to be the guy Rantaro came to.

“Okay, maybe we can… rework the rules a little,” Kaito suggests, leaning forward and folding his arms across his knees. “Switch off as the judge of each green card… on your turn, you play three red cards, and one of them is the one you’re actually playing. The other two are just there as a smoke screen. The judge chooses which one is the best fit, and if that’s the one you were thinking, then you get it.”

Rantaro smiles. “That’s smart, Momota-kun. I like it.” Getting called smart still makes Kaito’s face warm a little. He never hears it from anyone else. Rantaro must notice, because his eyes twinkle, but he doesn’t address it before he moves on. “How do you know I won’t just lie and say the one you picked is the one I had in mind, though?”

“Huh… well, I trust you,” Kaito offers. “But I could see you as the kinda guy to cheat in games that don’t matter just to mess with me, too…”

“You think I would do that?” Rantaro tries for a pout, but he grins too quickly on the tail end of it for it to be completely genuine. “That’s harsh.”

Kaito waves his hand dismissively, getting up for a notebook. He rips out two sheets of paper for each of them, grabbing a few pens on his way back to the sitting area and plopping into his armchair. To Rantaro, he hands the sheets of paper and a blue pen, keeping the purple one for himself.

“Write the card you want on here and show it when the choice is made,” Kaito suggests. “Then we know neither of us is just changing shit.”

“Another smart choice!” Rantaro praises. Kaito hates that it makes him blush again. “Okay, then. We’ll draw and go? You can judge first, I’m feeling lucky today.”

What a funny thing to say in Apples to Apples. Nobody is lucky when it comes to this game. Kaito nods him along though, and Rantaro promptly bombs the first round, though he makes a very strong effort to try and convince Kaito why distilled water is more honest than chihuahua puppies.

“If it were any other kind of dog, I would have gone for it,” Rantaro insists, as he draws three new cards. “But chihuahuas are mean, Momota-kun. They’re really mean!”

“All dogs are good, it’s the owners that suck ass,” Kaito denies, shaking his head. “Take the loss, pretty boy.” That makes Rantaro laugh, hard, which Kaito doesn’t necessarily think is justified, but Rantaro’s grin is so wide and his ears are just a little bit pink and Kaito finds that he can’t complain, not in the slightest.

They go through a few more rounds after that, each of them taking in two cards each, though Rantaro argues for every single round that he loses, even as Kaito scoffs at him and tucks the green card into the discard pile. There’s no way this guy wouldn’t have cheated if they weren’t doing things on paper, the bastard. Still, Kaito finds himself smiling pretty wide until he turns over the three red cards for dependable Rantaro submitted and finds that one of them is blank.

“Uh… what’s this one?” Kaito asks.

“Not telling.” Rantaro winks. “You’ll have to gamble on it.”

Kaito grumbles. He hadn’t even known this was a deck with blanks, much less that Rantaro was going to play one… it’s a bit of a curveball, especially because played as a blank, Rantaro could make it mean anything… of course, he could also make it mean anything that doesn’t apply… but why would he shoot himself in the foot like that?

After a beat, Kaito shakes his head, selecting the blank from the pile. “Alright, I guess I’m curious. What’cha got, Amami?”

Rantaro seems immensely pleased by this decision. He turns around his sheet of paper, and when Kaito leans forward to look, he sees that Rantaro has penned in Momota-kun in blue ink.

Oh. Kaito swallows, then lifts his head. “That’s the blank, huh?”

“That’s the blank,” Rantaro agrees. He smiles. “So I win? That counts, right? Which would you have chosen if you’d known?”

“Not that one,” Kaito grumbles, but it’s without much bite as his eyes are starting to sting. He pushes the green card towards Rantaro without looking at it, feeling his hand shake. “Conniving jackass.”

“That is hardly conniving,” Rantaro huffs, but his voice is softer now. He puts down his hand and starts to scoot over, so Kaito leans away, swiping at his eyes with his sleeves. He’s not crying over something stupid like this, not making Rantaro deal with it like it’s his problem—

Rantaro’s fingertips brush his wrist, and Kaito sucks in a breath, closing his eyes.

“Hey,” Rantaro says, voice even quieter, close enough to ghost over Kaito’s skin. “Hey, Momota-kun, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” Kaito interjects, because the last thing he wants is for Rantaro to apologise. “No, it’s… fine.” But he’s not. And Rantaro should know that he’s not. He lowers his arm and sniffles, looking out at Rantaro despite the fact that the threat of tears hasn’t quite abated yet. “L-Listen, it means a lot to me you think that, I just…” He isn’t. He isn’t. Someone who is dependable wouldn’t have failed Kokichi, wouldn’t have ignored Shuichi, would have been able to get through to Maki—the only thing Kaito is good at right now is working out, and that hardly counts when half of the reason he even does it is so that he doesn’t have to think.

Rantaro’s brow knits. Then he smiles. “I don’t know, it seemed like you agreed with me a moment ago… want me to read the results again?” He wiggles the green card from his little pile, and Kaito lets out a wet laugh.

“You’re such a dick.”

“I’m a winner is what I am,” Rantaro insists. He stands, pauses for permission, and then sits down on the arm of Kaito’s chair. Kaito huffs, but doesn’t turn away this time, unable to make him leave. Rantaro’s arm curls around his shoulders, pulling him in closer. “Momota-kun… I know it’s hard to believe it, but I just wanted you to know that I do. Maybe it doesn’t seem like it to you right now, but you’re a rock for a lot of people… starting to turn into that for me, too.” His hand squeezes Kaito’s shoulder, rubbing up and down his arm. “Sorry for springing that on you during Apples to Apples, though. I just thought it needed to be said.”

The final sentence makes Kaito laugh again, but he has to close his eyes so he won’t look at Rantaro’s face. It’s not fair, because Rantaro doesn’t really know him. He wasn’t even alive to see Kaito at his most ugly. If he had been, then surely… just like Maki, just like Shuichi though he pretends not to… he’d want to tiptoe around Kaito too.

“You’re a… really, really good guy, Amami,” Kaito says quietly. “I-If you really think that, then I’m glad. I wanna be able to be that for you.” As much as he’s even capable of that anymore. He drops a hand onto Rantaro’s knee and squeezes it. “Sorry that I can’t—I dunno, accept the compliment like a normal fucking person, I guess.”

“You’re far from a normal person, Kaito,” Rantaro returns. One of his hands ruffles Kaito’s hair, and Kaito shivers at the feeling. “You’ve been through an ordeal… we all have. I think that makes it okay to be a little abnormal from time to time.”

From time to time, maybe. But Kaito hasn’t been normal for a second since the day he died, maybe not even before that. Is he ever going to go back? Kaito finds it hard to imagine not least of all because all the emotion combined with Rantaro sitting so close to him make it impossible to think. He swallows and tries to nod, but that’s all he can do, eyes closed against the threat of further tears. Normal might not be achievable right now, but the least he can do is just not be a burden. No matter how much Rantaro might think it’s okay if he is one.

October comes, and with it earlier sunsets and colder nights. Kaito still goes out for his runs, but admittedly the cooling weather is making it harder to get motivated to exercise. He tries not to think about what that’s going to mean for his health; surely missing out on an evening run or two won’t kill him, but he can’t risk starting to regress, lest he crash altogether and find himself in the place he was when he first started working out again.

Rantaro doesn’t come over on the 3rd. Kaito wouldn’t think anything of it—it’s not like he has to come over every day—but the date sticks out to him for some reason, and it only takes a very quick Google search to find out why; today is Rantaro’s birthday. Supposedly. In truth, neither of them know when their actual birthdays are, because that information was lost with all the files on who they were before. All that remains now are their identities from the simulation, and that can only be even more true for Rantaro, who’s gone through it three times.

Still, the world is celebrating him today, and as Kaito exits the gym, pulling his t-shirt away from his torso where it’s stuck to his skin with sweat, he just has to wonder how Rantaro’s feeling about it. He hasn’t heard anything from the man over text, and it’s not like they’ve talked very much about how Rantaro feels now having to reconcile his life from the game with his life now… so Kaito is curious.

And maybe a little worried. He’s sure Rantaro can handle it, but… if it were Kaito acting differently on a day that is supposedly significant to him, Rantaro would be at his doorstep already, wouldn’t he?

Kaito heads home for a quick shower, switching out of his contact lenses to give his eyes a break as he calls himself a car to Rantaro’s house. It’s that, and also the fact that he’s less likely to be recognised in glasses, and Kaito really doesn’t feel like fielding questions about Danganronpa in a Lyft. Even when his somewhat lacklustre disguise works, the driver still spends the whole ride rambling about Rantaro and how controversial it is to enjoy Danganronpa nowadays, and it’s all Kaito can do not to deck the man driving him and kill them both.

Thankfully, Kaito arrives at Rantaro’s house mostly intact, a little white home with a green lawn and an empty porch. It’s clear Rantaro hasn’t done much here from the way the grass is overgrown, and the curtains are drawn. By all appearances, nobody could be home, but Kaito doesn’t think Rantaro would have gone out today if he’s not at Kaito’s place, and his car is in the driveway.

This is the first time Kaito’s ever been here. Rantaro had given his address just in case he ever needed to come over in the event of an emergency, and this doesn’t really count… a part of Kaito is worried Rantaro will be upset, but the rest of him is filled with the old familiar need to know if Rantaro is alright no matter what, and doesn’t really care if Rantaro will be angry at him for intruding. He’d rather be wrong and here than right and not, is all. Steeling himself, Kaito pulls off his face mask and makes his way up the front steps, ringing Rantaro’s bell three times and then leaning back. No point in spamming beyond that if he’s not even home.

Footsteps approach from the inside of the house, then a green eye peeks through the peephole. Kaito watches it widen, then hears the locks clicking hurriedly, as though Rantaro is in a rush to get them undone. When the door opens, Kaito comes face to face with Rantaro, dressed in pyjamas and noticeably dishevelled compared to how he usually is. Bags under his eyes, one arm curled around his stomach. Hair a mess like he’s been running his hands through it, an eye pinched like he has a headache. Kaito lets out a breath.

“Hey,” Rantaro says quietly. “What are you doing here?”

“What, you come over and use my bathroom every day and I’m not allowed to come by for a visit?” Kaito fakes a pout, and waits for Rantaro to laugh before he continues. “Was worried about you… it’s supposed to be your birthday, right?”

Rantaro averts his gaze and shifts his weight, socked feet shuffling against the metal doorframe. “That’s right… I don’t really celebrate, though. I’m sorry if you got me a present or a dessert or something, I’m not really…”

After waiting for Rantaro to finish and receiving nothing, Kaito shakes his head. “Nah. Neither of those. Uh, maybe I should’ve?” He rubs the side of his neck. “I just, uh… y’know. I wanted to see you, in case you were doing bad, since you’ve been around so much for me recently.”

Rantaro’s downcast eyes peek up at that, and he tries for a smile that falls quickly. His shoulders curl in. “I’m sorry, Momota-kun, I didn’t mean to worry you… you shouldn’t have to deal with this when you’ve already been—”

That’s enough, Kaito decides. He takes a step forward, right over the threshold into Rantaro’s house, and wraps his arms tight around the other man. It’s the first time they’ve done this properly, Kaito registers, hooking his chin over Rantaro’s shoulder and closing his eyes. He feels Rantaro suck in a sharp breath against him, tensing up, and feels Rantaro’s heart beat fast and hard against his chest. Moments later, Rantaro relaxes, breathing out all that air and tension into Kaito’s shoulder as his arms lift and wrap weakly around his waist.

“Don’t give me that shit,” Kaito mumbles. “You’d drag it all out of me then take it apart little by little if it were me… but I’m not as good at all that as you are. I just know it’s okay for you to be feeling whatever you’re feeling, and I wanna be here for it, since you’d be here for me.”

Since that’s what heroes do, Kaito thinks, except he’s long since lost the right to call himself that. Still, maybe he can settle for just being a friend.

“O—” Rantaro swallows against Kaito, sounding near tears, and nods into the crook of his neck instead. “Okay. Sorry.”

Kaito grumbles at the apology, but decides not to nitpick. He would be, and has, been worse in Rantaro’s position, so he supposes it’s okay to leave it at them both having an issue with over apologising for the moment. Instead, Kaito moves in a little further, nudging the door shut behind him and reaching back to lock the door. It takes him a few attempts to figure out how Rantaro’s locks work, but he manages without having to look, and eventually steps out of his shoes. This in itself is another full process, and by the time his shoes are off and to the side, Rantaro is giggling, his arms tightened around Kaito’s middle.

“Don’t,” Kaito complains. “You try taking off shoes while holding someone…”

“I’m pretty sure I’d at least do better than that,” Rantaro says, clearly suppressing a smile. Kaito exaggerates a groan, squeezing his friend before starting to lead him into the house. He doesn’t know left from right in this place, but it’s not so complicated. Rantaro’s bedroom is on the left, along with a bathroom, and there’s a small living room with sage green furniture up ahead. Very nice. The kitchen is bigger than the one at Kaito’s apartment, with marble countertops and fresh fruit in a basket by the stove.

“You know I’m only letting that slide because it’s presumably your birthday, right? Consider yourself fucked next time you try to sass me like that,” Kaito tells Rantaro, mostly just to hear him giggle again, which he does. It gets Kaito smiling, a little counterproductive to his threat, but he doesn’t mind. Just getting to hear Rantaro let out those quiet, genuine-sounding laughs is enough.

They make their way to the living room, where Kaito deposits Rantaro into the couch and then crouches in front of him, reaching up to smooth his hair behind his ears, cupping his cheeks. A few tears had escaped during the embrace, and Rantaro sighs at Kaito’s touch, leaning into his fingers. He almost leans after it in fact, lower lip wobbling like he can barely restrain himself, and it occurs to Kaito that all those casual little touches, the hair ruffles and the shoulder squeezes… Rantaro might have needed them as much as Kaito does. And Kaito’s been pulling away from them, because he doesn’t think he deserves it.

Kaito purses his lips. Then ruffles Rantaro’s hair.

“You eaten yet?”

Rantaro shakes his head. “Not really… I think I had an apple this morning.”

Unfortunately, this has become a very familiar song and dance to Kaito by now, who will skip breakfast altogether if he feels bad enough, so he doesn’t sass Rantaro for his forgetfulness, merely pressing his lips into a line and nodding. He caresses Rantaro’s cheek one more time before getting to his feet and turning, heading for the kitchen.

“What do you like? You been shopping lately?” Kaito peers into Rantaro’s fridge. It’s remarkably well-stocked, though missing the protein-rich red meats that Kaito favours, maybe as a matter of personal preference. Rantaro makes an affirmative hum from the kitchen.

“I’ll eat anything, really… uh, Momota-kun?”

“Yeah?” Kaito pokes his head back out to look, watching Rantaro shift his weight on the couch, gaze downcast. He looks up after a moment, rubbing the side of his neck.

“I’m okay with you cooking for me, but… could you make some for yourself, too?”

Kaito’s breath hitches. Damn him. Not that he’s eaten lunch yet anyway, so it’s a fair enough request, and shouldn’t be an issue, but… Rantaro’s gaze is so vulnerable, eyes too wide and wet to be expectant, and Kaito curses under his breath.

“Yeah, I can,” he agrees, nodding. His heart pounds as he slips back into the kitchen, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Shoot. The worst part is that Rantaro has plenty of carbs lying around, bread, pasta, the sort of thing that feels really good and filling, especially after crying or having a good workout… Kaito can’t afford to indulge, but he wants to make Rantaro feel better too, and he won’t feel good on one of Kaito’s stupid calorie deficit meals.

Chewing his lip, Kaito hesitates, then sets out to make spaghetti. It’s simple and comforting and Kaito can just… he’ll just serve himself a small portion. It’ll be fine.

The motions are familiar, though it’s been so long since Kaito has boiled pasta. Cooking is such an intimate thing, between you and whoever you’re cooking for and between you and the food itself. There’s so much tasting and feeling things out that goes into it. Kaito warms a jar of spaghetti sauce in one pot while he cooks the noodles, and every little sample he takes to make sure that everything tastes alright, his heart pounds a little harder, a lump building in his throat. His hands are sweating. This would be fine if he wasn’t going to indulge, but he is. He shouldn’t. But he said he would, and as much as Kaito doesn’t want to take, he doesn’t want to lie either.

Kaito slices veggies to add to the sauce, the hopes of adding some kind of nutritional value to the meal, and thinks about making chicken cutlets for a moment before deciding against it. The pasta is bad enough, but the carbs from the bread crumbs might actually make him sick.

Despite not having a protein, Rantaro looks pretty eager as Kaito plates up and takes food out to the living room for the both of them. His portion is noticeably smaller, but while Rantaro must notice, he doesn’t say anything about it. He just smiles at Kaito, patting the spot next to him on the couch before he accepts his bowl and starts to eat.

Taking a bite is… hard, harder than tasting the noodles to make sure they were al dente earlier. Kaito swallows a few times preemptively. What’s worse is that the food smells good, and his stomach is growling; he hadn’t eaten breakfast this morning, and not having had lunch yet he’s almost painfully hungry. And he’s used to it—Kaito is used to the stomach cramps and the dizzy spells and the way his hands shake sometimes when he cooks—but that doesn’t make it any easier staring down at a bowl of freshly cooked pasta.

A hand rests itself on his back. When Kaito looks over, Rantaro is smiling at him, soft and encouraging. He still looks so vulnerable, too, and Kaito is struck by the overwhelming realisation that today is supposed to be about him, that Kaito is making it about himself—and it’s that more than anything else that spurs him to take his first bite.

Tears hit his eyes almost immediately as he does. It’s been so long since he’s had pasta. Kaito chews and swallows and breathes, then goes for a second forkful.

Rantaro’s hand keeps rubbing his back. “It’s okay,” he says quietly. “Thank you. I’d feel really awkward eating with you here just watching.”

Kaito’s responding laugh is genuine, but it still sounds a little bit forced to his own ears, maybe with emotion. He spears more pasta, chews, swallows, and finds that it’s just a little bit easier to breathe through it with Rantaro’s hand on his shoulder. He’ll—make up for it later, with extra reps, maybe he’ll skip dinner—but right now, it feels… almost shamefully good. And he can do this, for Rantaro’s sake, if it’s what Rantaro wants him to do today.

He needs to not be thinking about it though, or he’s going to break down over it. “So, uh…” Kaito pauses to chew, feeling a little gross about the prospect of talking with his mouth full. He swallows and continues, “Today’s a bit of a weird day for you, huh?”

“Yeah…” Rantaro sighs, leaning back into the couch. “Weird is kind of an understatement, honestly… it’s pretty much a national holiday dedicated to me, except the person they’re celebrating isn’t even me. It isn’t even my birthday.” He shakes his head, brow creased. “I don’t know. It’s confusing, and I hate having people’s eyes on me, and Team Danganronpa really wants me to make an appearance… I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you, I just couldn’t bring myself to leave the house.”

Kaito grumbles, poking at the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “You know, I’m perfectly capable of hopping in a car and getting over here, as you can see.” He gestures with his hand. “Not like you had to be the guy to make it over. You don’t have to be sorry.”

“Sure, but…” Rantaro runs his hand through his hair before he picks his fork up again. “I don’t want it to seem like seeing you is hard for me, or something stupid like that… the truth is it’s the opposite. You’re all I have to look forward to now.” If Rantaro knows at all how embarrassing that is to hear, it doesn’t show on his face. It’s equally true for Kaito, but he still finds himself blushing anyway, just hearing it out in the open like that. “I just, when I thought about it, and when I thought about putting this on your shoulders when it’s not really even a big deal…”

“Y’know, it doesn’t actually make a difference to me whether it’s a big deal or not,” Kaito comments, before grabbing a forkful of food and swallowing it down. It’s a lot easier to eat with something to distract him, he’s realising. “In fact, I kinda wanna know anything if it’s to do with you… whether you’re feeling bad or good or whatever. Just wanna know, because it’s you.” Kaito shrugs.

Rantaro’s expression changes at that, but Kaito can’t quite tell what’s playing on it until his face screws up a little and he reaches up to cover his eyes, shoulders curling in.

In a small voice, Rantaro asks, “Are you really sure about that?”

Kaito’s brows shoot up. “It’s never stopped you.”

“No, I know, but I—” Rantaro breathes in. “I’m sorry. This is stupid. I’m glad that you’re here, and I want to know you too, and—”

“Hey.” Kaito reaches over and takes Rantaro’s wrist, gently pulling his hand down from his face and waiting for his friend to meet his gaze. “Remember what I told you, man… I don’t care if you think what you’re thinking is stupid or silly or not worthy of being said. What I like about you is that you say shit, so I want you to say it. No matter what.”

Rantaro stares at him, hard. Then whispers, “You don’t know what I’ve done, or the person I am… you’ve seen me at my best, but…”

As he’s done before, Kaito waits for Rantaro to continue, and he doesn’t. He just stares into his bowl of pasta, lower lip wobbling, his eyes bright with tears. After a pause, Kaito scoots closer so their legs are pressed together, then wraps his arm around Rantaro’s shoulders.

Closing his eyes, Kaito says, “I’m a murderer.” Rantaro tenses a little in his hold at the admission, but Kaito keeps going. “I killed Ouma with a hydraulic press… lowered it down onto him and crushed him alive. Not for no reason—he asked me to, so I could try to end the killing game, but in the end, I—” Kaito’s voice catches. He has to force himself to continue. “I fucked it up. I didn’t end shit, and I messed up his plan, and it was all for nothing. And all the while before that I’d thought he was some kind of monster, when in truth, Ouma’d wanted to save us more than anything. He cried when he asked me to help him. He was at his limit, and I’d had a part in pushing him to it.”

“Momota-kun…” Rantaro’s voice is quiet, like he got the air all punched out of it.

“Even now, I’m not great,” Kaito continues. “I’m a coward, and a jackass—Harumaki told me she loved me before I died and I never gave her an answer. She waited for months before finally realising I had nothing left to give her, and then she moved on. Shuichi refuses to. I think he thinks there’s something in me that can still—I dunno, help him? Fix him? But there isn’t. I can’t even fix myself.” He exhales. “I don’t blame Shuichi for thinking that, though. I was a hero to him. Or I tried to be, tried to help him, even if he probably never needed me as much as I wanted him to… and now I can’t even look him in the eye, and he’s been fighting Team Danganronpa for almost a year by now. He’s incredible. I’m just a loser.”

“That’s not—”

“You didn’t know all that, did you? That I’m a killer, that I’m flaking out on the one friend I have left other than you?” Kaito opens his eyes and looks over. Rantaro’s staring at him with wide, teary eyes. “Does that make you want to leave?”

“Of course not,” Rantaro says, at once. “You’re—Momota-kun, you’ve been through so much pain, how could I—”

“Then look at yourself, man,” Kaito insists, and Rantaro stops talking, his mouth falling shut. His brow furrows. Kaito speaks. “Look at yourself, and everything you’ve done for me—everything you’ve been for me recently, and tell me that I should hate you. Give me one damn good reason. I don’t care if you killed someone, or betrayed someone, or failed to save someone—I don’t care if you were the fucking mastermind. You’re—” His voice gives out again. Kaito takes a ragged breath. “You’re my friend. Nothing you’ve done is ever gonna change that for me. So don’t act like your mistakes are some reason for me to—walk out on you, or whatever you’re expecting. I’m here because I want to be, because you want me to be. That’s enough.”

The energy rushes out of Kaito with that last statement, and he feels his shoulders slump. It’s more than he’s said at once probably since he died, and his throat aches a little with the full force of it. All of a sudden he feels a little embarrassed for unloading all of that onto Rantaro, so he turns to shovel pasta into his mouth to distract from the feeling.

Before he’s even swallowed, Rantaro’s thrown his arms around him, hugging him close. Rantaro is indeed so close that Kaito can feel him shivering, chest hitching with aborted sobs, and Kaito falters, lowering his fork and turning to look at his friend.

Rantaro’s head is ducked, so Kaito can’t see his eyes, but… he sees Rantaro’s lips, the slight smile they’ve curved into. He’s emotional, but maybe in a good way. Kaito smiles too, letting a hand rest on Rantaro’s back as tears start to soak into his shirt.

“I—” Rantaro’s voice jumps with a sob, and he swallows audibly. “I’m—thank you, Kaito, for—thank you.”

Kaito closes his eyes, lets the sound of his given name wash over him. Then he wraps both his arms right back around Rantaro and leans in close, holding him while he falls apart.

Eventually, Rantaro’s tears subside, and he lets out a sigh, turning his head so his temple rests against Kaito’s shoulder and his eyes are visible. They’re red-rimmed and still a bit wet, but he’s smiling, brows raised just the slightest bit.

“If you ever try to tell me about how you don’t deserve this, I’m going to kick your ass,” Rantaro whispers. “I should have recorded that whole spiel to play back at you.”

Kaito groans. “Don’t say that… talk about a dickbag move.” He glances around for a distraction, but when he looks at his bowl, he finds that it’s empty. Kaito blinks. Somehow, he hadn’t noticed himself finishing it. That’s okay, that’s good even, and Kaito’s about to move on, but Rantaro follows his gaze before he can.

“Did you make more? I can get it for you,” Rantaro says. He phrases it like an offer, but he’s already collecting Kaito’s bowl and getting to his feet. Kaito stammers, trying to figure out a reason to refuse, but his stomach growls again, voicing its agreement uninvited.

Kaito’s face flushes. Rantaro giggles, but falters, studying Kaito’s expression.

“On the other hand, if it would be hard for you…”

The consideration alone is enough to make Kaito feel a bit emotional. He should probably try to unpack that later, but today is about Rantaro… and besides that, Kaito… really is, hungry. And he did miss breakfast.

“No,” Kaito eventually says. “I mean… it will be hard. And is. But I—” His voice breaks. He swallows, then forces himself to say, “I want to. I mean, if it’s—”

“It’s okay,” Rantaro promises. He smiles, just impossibly wide, and reaches over to brush Kaito’s cheek. “It’s more than okay… you look nice in glasses, by the way.”

He turns around then, disappearing into the kitchen, leaving Kaito to sit with his heart pounding and his face flushing, for once for a reason other than shame.

A week later, Kaito comes home from work to Rantaro sitting outside of his apartment, legs bent and a grocery bag resting beside him on the floor. He smiles as Kaito comes over, and Kaito smiles automatically, though it’s a bit of a confused look. Fishing his keys out of his pocket, Kaito drops a hand onto Rantaro’s head and ruffles his hair, then waits for him to be standing to speak.

“You weren’t waiting for me too long, were you?”

“Nah, just ten minutes… I just got too excited and came early.” Rantaro rocks a little on his heels. “I wanted to ask you if you would do something a little scary with me today. Maybe for the both of us.”

Kaito eyes the grocery bag dubiously, already suspecting what Rantaro might be about to ask, but it’s the part about it being scary for both of them that gets him. He nods, unlocking his door and pushing it open.

“I’ll hear you out on it at least… what is it?”

Rantaro picks up the grocery bag as he steps inside. “In my fake memories, I had twelve sisters. I have two in real life, but my childhood with the twelve was a lot more idyllic than the one I had out here, at least that I’ve heard.” He smiles wryly. “It’s still… a little painful to think about. That’s why I was so rough when you came over last week, because I shared that birthday with one of the fake sisters Team Danganronpa gave me memories of… I alway used to celebrate her, and even knowing that she isn’t real, it felt wrong not doing that.”

“Following you so far,” Kaito says, closing the door behind them and dumping his keys in the holder.

“Well… I baked those cookies a while back, but outside of that, I haven’t made anything. Especially not cake.” Rantaro shifts his weight. “I used to make birthday cakes for my sisters, and I thought it would be too painful to do it alone, but… I’m not alone, anymore.” He looks down at his feet. “That is, if… you would be willing to make it and share it with me.”

Oh. Kaito looks at the bag, spotting eggs at the top, then back up at Rantaro. Cake. The pasta last week had been so hard for Kaito in the aftermath he nearly skipped out on dinner before a text from Rantaro convinced him not to. He’s been working himself even harder to make up for it, no matter how annoying the cold weather has made it. And Rantaro wants him to do cake?

…But someone as caring as Rantaro, wouldn’t it be mean to ask him to just eat it alone? Or not eat it at all, failing that? Kaito bites his lip and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“I… I dunno, Rantaro, that’s…” Kaito stares at the eggs. “That’s a lot of calories.”

“Kaito…” Rantaro trails off. Then puts the grocery bag down and steps forward. “Can I overstep for a second? I’ve… tried to mind my own business on this, because I don’t want to assume I know what you’re going through, and because I trust you to take care of yourself, but just once, I… just this once.”

Kaito swallows. He’s not sure he’ll like what Rantaro is going to say, but he’d told Rantaro that he wants to hear it no matter what. He can’t go back on that, and… it’d weigh on him, if he didn’t agree.

“Okay,” Kaito says weakly. Rantaro looks into his eyes and reaches out, intertwining their fingers and squeezing.

“You, of all people… do not need to be watching your figure,” Rantaro says gently. “Even if you were—heavyset, or pudgy, or whatever word you want to use for it… I think you would look good, and be healthy, no matter what your body looked like, because you’re active and not picky, outside of the foods that you won’t let yourself have.” His lips press together. “I want to respect your agency when it comes to the foods you put in your body, and I don’t want to push you to eat something you’re not ready for… but Kaito, I want you to think about how sustainable this really is. I’ve seen you almost pass out from hunger, and deny yourself things you would’ve liked to eat otherwise… I don’t think it’s healthy.”

Rantaro’s gaze is intent, but still soft. Still caring and sincere, just like his words and his voice. Which is why it’s especially pathetic that Kaito has to avoid it, looking down at the floor and taking a shuddering breath, trying not shiver outright. That would be worse. That would really be worse. Rantaro shouldn’t have to be saying this to him. It’s just some damn cake. He should just be better.

“I’m sorry,” Kaito says. “For worrying you, I didn’t—I didn’t realise that it was that bad, I should’ve—”

“No, Kaito,” Rantaro interrupts, more sharply than he’s ever spoken before. It’s barely anything, Kaito’s been yelled at worse, but hearing it from Rantaro still makes him flinch, which only makes him feel worse when he sees the way guilt contorts Rantaro’s expression afterwards. “I’m—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” He squeezes Kaito’s hands. “But I mean it, no. Don’t apologise for that, I don’t want you to. What I want is for you to understand that…” Rantaro takes a breath. “You deserve to eat, Kaito. You deserve to eat whatever you want, cookies, or cakes, or pasta—foods that taste good, you deserve to eat them because they taste good, and to not have to worry about what you’re going to look like afterwards. Because you’ll always be beautiful, and handsome, and wonderful, and no amount of sugar or carbs are going to change that.”

Kaito screws his eyes shut and ducks his head. He can’t hear it. But he can’t run away, either, no matter how terrible those words are making him feel.

“You’re not being selfish. You’re not overindulging. You’re not taking too much, or more than you deserve—I want you to eat until you’re full and then fall asleep afterwards, and not be thinking even a little bit about what it’s going to do to your body. You’d be worthy at any size or shape, bigger or smaller than you are now. All I want is for you to be healthy. For you to take a little bit. Okay?” Rantaro releases one of Kaito’s hands and reaches up to take his cheek, brushing his thumb through the track of a tear that Kaito hadn’t realised he’d allowed to fall. “I—I don’t expect to fix anything saying this, not really, I just… I want you to know. And whatever it’ll take to make it happen, doctor’s appointments, therapy, I’ll do it.”

An ugly sob breaks out of Kaito. He reaches up for Rantaro’s shirt with his free hand and gasps out, “You shouldn’t—you shouldn’t have to do that for me, not me.”

“I don’t care what I have to do, Kaito,” Rantaro whispers. “I want to.”

“And you shouldn’t,” Kaito insists, opening his eyes now to meet Rantaro’s, willing him to understand, even as tears spill down his cheeks. “I’m—I don’t deserve this. You, o-or anything you said, or anything you want for me—I’m barely even a person, just a—” He gasps for air. “J-Just a fucking coward who came out of the sim wearing a hero’s skin. I don’t—I haven’t done anything to deserve your, your worry, or your care, or your—” Kaito’s voice fails him on the word love, too much emotion choking him up from the inside. Rantaro releases his hand and his face, arms wrapping around him and pulling him in tight, and it’s all Kaito can do not to collapse as in place of sobs or words, coughs start to spill out of him, weak but hoarse, reminding him once again of his ultimate failure.

Rantaro only holds him tighter. “Yes you have. Yes you do.” His fingers thread through Kaito’s hair, his other arm supporting him by the waist. “I don’t care if you don’t believe it, Kaito. I don’t care if you think I’m lying, or deluded, I’ll—” His own voice breaks, and Kaito can only register a crushing guilt at the thought that he caused it, that Rantaro is crying and in pain because of him, because he couldn’t just be okay. “I’ll say it, over and over and over again, I don’t care, I just want you to know that someone thinks so. That someone knows how good you are.”

He isn’t. Kaito isn’t good, hasn’t been for even a single second since he died, maybe even since he was born—except maybe when he’s been with Rantaro, supporting him. Otherwise, he’s just been useless and pathetic, only taking up space, only being a burden. No matter how many meals Kaito skips, or reps he does, he’ll never be able to kill off enough of him, not when the very breaths he takes constitute a waste of oxygen.

Rantaro doesn’t believe that though, and maybe he really is deluded for that, but Kaito can’t help wanting to think that he isn’t—can’t help wanting to believe that Rantaro might be right, that the words Rantaro says about Kaito deserving could be true. Because Rantaro believes it, and—and Kaito hasn’t believed in anything for a second since he coughed his lungs out in those fake stars, but…

If he could, just for a second, if he could make it the last thing he ever believes in, then… Kaito wants to believe in Rantaro.

Kaito stops coughing, mostly because now he’s sobbing too hard even to cough, and Rantaro doesn’t let go of him even for a second, repeating it over and over just like he promised. You’re good. You’re good. You’re good. Kaito doesn’t know what to do with it all, his knees feel too weak for him to even try to support his own weight, but even if he hit the floor, it wouldn’t matter. He’s supported regardless, he can feel it in every word that spills past Rantaro’s lips.

The rushing in his ears stops eventually, Kaito’s sobs quieting to whimpers, then fading away entirely. He slumps over then, his grip loosening on Rantaro, and slowly finds himself sliding down to the floor. It’s cold, he feels cold, but… Rantaro is impossibly warm against him.

Hands move to cup his cheeks, wiping tears away and running through his hair. It’s indulgent. Kaito kind of wants to stay here forever, but he also wants…

He wants…

“...What kind of cake were you…” Kaito sniffles. “Were you thinking?”

Rantaro’s smile, when Kaito’s vision focuses enough to see it, is bright enough to fill the room. “Chocolate… does that sound okay by you?”

Does Kaito deserve it? He’s not sure. He closes his eyes and leans into Rantaro’s hands and swallows. Maybe he doesn’t deserve it. Maybe he’ll never deserve it. But if Rantaro wants someone to eat cake with, then at the very least…

“Yeah,” Kaito agrees. He opens his eyes and tries for a smile, and after a moment it almost feels natural. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

It takes them a while to find a therapist who isn’t in any way affiliated with Team Danganronpa, which lengthens the process considerably, but there’s no skimping out on it. Kaito can’t spill his guts to the very people who gave him the trauma in the first place, it’s just not happening.

Rantaro needs someone too—Kaito insists, and Rantaro concedes fairly quickly—so that makes the process even longer. Turns out finding two anti- Danganronpa therapists is even harder than finding just one, but eventually after reaching out to Kaede for advice they find a centre just a half hour drive away from their neighbourhood, and it’s relatively easy to book appointments from there.

Today is Kaito’s intake appointment. Rantaro came with him even though he’s not going in until tomorrow, and they sit in the lobby together while Kaito waits for his name to be called. His leg bounces harder the more time passes without interruption, and eventually Rantaro reaches over to take his hand, squeezing hard.

“This is going to be hard,” Rantaro says, brow furrowed. “But it’ll get easier. And it’ll make things better. I promise that it will.”

Kaito hopes so. He swallows, tracing his thumb over Rantaro’s knuckles just to remind himself that he’s there. It’s easier that he’s there.

The therapist Kaito is going to see specialises in eating disorder recovery. Kaito hates those words, hates the idea of being disordered, and of being in recovery. He just wants to be normal. But normal when you’re carrying the weight of a murder and a failed plan and an execution and a terminal illness… might not be achievable, and he wouldn’t expect it from Rantaro, so… Kaito is trying not to expect it from himself, either. It’s easier said than done, but…

“You’ll wait, right?” Kaito looks over, feeling selfish already for asking but forcing himself to hold Rantaro’s gaze. “Until I’m done?”

“As long as it takes,” Rantaro agrees. He leans over, brushing Kaito’s hair out of his face. “Afterwards, we can go for a treat… if you feel up to it. Like a tea from that café you like. Or…”

Rantaro doesn’t finish, but Kaito knows what he’s suggesting. Ice cream, or cake, or a pastry—something sweet, that you’d usually get after doing something like this. Kaito swallows, trying not to shudder at the thought. That first cake a while ago had been really, unbelievably good, and Kaito had cried through his entire first slice. He’d like to say he’s gotten better about it, but he hasn’t, really. That’s what the therapy is for. As much as Rantaro has been willing to stay by his side this entire time, Kaito refuses to let it be entirely his problem. He needs to work through this some by himself, too, if only so Rantaro has a little less weight on his shoulders.

What a stupid reason to get better. But Kaito doesn’t think he could do it if it was purely selfish, and when he’d confided in Rantaro that that was his incentive, Rantaro had mused, Any reason is better than none, right?

Kaito is trying to think so. He’s trying to do a lot of things here, right now—trying to believe that he deserves to get better, that the skipping meals is bad for him and that he should take care of his body. Trying, trying, trying. It’s the most he’s tried to be better since he got out of the simulation, more than he’d ever thought he’d be capable of again.

Terrifying as it is, it’s… also kind of nice, to think that he could deserve this.

“We’ll see how I’m feeling,” Kaito agrees. “But… even if I don’t want a sweet, you could get one. For coming with me.”

Rantaro lets out a chuckle, tilting his head to the side. “Yeah, alright.” His tone is almost coy. “Maybe I will. Leave the option open.”

Even that is for Kaito, huh… well, food has never been one of Rantaro’s vices, so Kaito supposes it’s not that big of a deal. He’ll keep an eye on it, though. The last thing he wants is for Rantaro’s entire life, his choices, his selfish little allowances… all of them to be oriented around Kaito.

For the moment, Kaito just brings Rantaro’s hand to his lips, kissing each of his knuckles in turn as he slowly relaxes into his chair. He’s not ready for this. He never will be. But maybe it’ll get easier the more he does it. That’s what he’s counting on, anyway, what everyone says.

“Stay the night at my place after this?” Kaito prompts, glancing over. “We can go to your appointment together, and I’ll wait for you too.”

Rantaro’s lip curls. He tugs on Kaito’s arm, pulling their joint hands over to his mouth instead, so he can kiss each of Kaito’s knuckles too, then plant one lingering kiss on the back of his hand. By the time he’s done, Kaito is almost breathless, thinking about how much he’d like it if Rantaro kissed him like that somewhere lese.

Maybe later. Maybe later. They could do a lot of things later, once Kaito takes this big, scary first step. He swallows, but smiles when Rantaro meets his eyes, even as butterflies take off in his chest.

“Yeah, Kaito,” Rantaro says softly. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Momota Kaito?” An older woman with kind eyes stands over by the stairs, a clipboard in hand. She waves a little, and Kaito scrambles to his feet, though he’s reluctant to let go of Rantaro. Rantaro stands with him, only to pull Kaito into a quick, tight embrace before he sits again.

As he pulls away, Rantaro whispers, “I love you. Good luck.”

Kaito lets the words wash over him, and almost thinks about mouthing it back. Instead, he squeezes Rantaro’s hand and turns, starting over towards his new therapist, a nervous smile coming onto his face.

He’ll return the sentiment later, maybe even tenfold. Should only be an hour until then, after all… Kaito will have plenty of time to say whatever he wants when they go out for post-therapy treats.