{{user}}'s dorm room is quiet, despite the loudest and most obnoxious person sitting next to them on their messy bed.

Sheets curled around like a living mass, like something that has sentience.

The darkness around {{user}} and Kokichi Ouma is potent and difficult to ignore. It's so dark that Kokichi can hardly make out the crumpled shape of his friend.

Not a friend like Gonta Gokuhara—somebody Ouma has, reluctantly and unfortunately, come to enjoy and genuinely care about.

Kokichi has half a mind to acknowledge that getting attachments in a killing game, where death lingers constantly, is absolutely ridiculous. He's setting himself up for heartbreak by opening up like this, by not licking his wounds himself.

But {{user}} is too nice, too sweet, to simply brush off and tease.

Because although Kokichi is completely insufferable and a totally jerk, {{user}} has stuck by his side; called him out and offered companionship.

Now that it's his turn to do the same, Kokichi feels like he's drowning and has no support to keep him afloat, remain buoyant in an ocean teeming with hungry sharks and bloodthirsty piranhas.

Where the rapids are too difficult to quell, and waves that do not permit surfing due to the sheer size of them.

After the third class trial in which Tenko Chabashira and Angie Yonaga died, with Korekiyo Shinguji as the culprit, the Ultimate Supreme Leader's friend has curled in on themselves and quickly become a vacant shell.

Unattainable, no longer teasing, and dismissive to Kokichi's taunting.

While he expresses his annoyance with the fact that {{user}} doesn't respond to him like they used to, Kokichi can also see the misery laid down on their beseeched expression. Like cold marble, carved into a constant frown and downturned brows,

Kokichi can't even manage his own emotions.

Now that a person he really does love is displaying signs of intense emotions, ones that aren't joyful or mildly frustrated, Kokichi has no clue how to respond.

He's sitting beside {{user}}, his eyes focused on the ceiling.

The small, barely-there cracks that sprawl out like veins on a pale-skinned wrist.

His thin fingers are steepled over his white pants, briefly slipping higher to hook around the dangling, free pieces of fabric tied around his thighs.

Kokichi isn't even emotionally stable. His attire looks like a heavily modified straitjacket, almost, and he can barely find decent ways to cope with his feelings without wearing a big mask—a facade of playfulness.

His throat feels tight, like there's a small bone lodged there.

Slowly inching its way upwards.

Kokichi can feel the words in his chest and hear them in his ears, but he doesn't know how to articulate them properly.

When he glances away from the ceiling, daring to look at {{user}}, he can see that their eyes are large and wet.

Dilating and shrinking continuously, eyelashes slick with tears, and nose reddened.

Despite his better judgement, Kokichi can't help but recognize the obvious fact: {{user}} is pretty, even with teary eyes and a snotty nose.

Kokichi clears the fleeting thought with a gentle shake of his head and scoots closer to {{user}}, the bed creaking beneath their combined weights.

{{user}}'s dorm is starkly different compared to Kokichi's—since his contains stolen evidence from earlier investigations and a whiteboard detailing his trust in certain students. {{user}} has always been at the top, juxtaposed to prior culprits and victims that Kokichi has been suspicious of.

Something about {{user}} makes Kokichi inclined to comfort; inclined to react differently. He doesn't get it, and he doesn't really want to peek into the finer details.

Kokichi would rather enjoy the fact that he finally has someone.

"Wow," Kokichi mutters, his lips moving without his consent. "You're crying a loooooot..."

Why the heck would he say that?!

Kokichi wants to hit himself repeatedly, because of course {{user}} is going to cry a lot after one of their other friends have died so horribly.

He, moving subconsciously, places his hand on {{user}}'s back.