There was something appealing in seeing someone like Momota Kaito broken down and trembling, Kokichi thought clinically. They were kneeling on the bathroom floor, so close together that he could feel the feverish heat the astronaut’s body was emitting. Kokichi’s own was cold, already too affected by blood loss to properly react to the poison in his bloodstream.
Kaito always ran hotter than him: he’d noticed before on the occasions they came into contact. Maybe it was because of that that he didn’t seem to mind the cold, camping in the courtyard in only his shirt, watching stars like he wasn’t taking part in a battle royale.
He was a far cry of that now: even with the tepid room temperature, he was shivering, hands so unsteady Kokichi had to hold the bottle for him. And still, he was so, so warm; Kokichi felt himself magnetically attracted to the only source of heat in the room. He wondered if that was always part of his charm: how his big body was so pulsing with life that even in his last moments, it was hard to believe he’d really ever die.
Kokichi’s hand was resting in the nape of Kaito’s neck, right where soft hairs started to sprout. The other one was slowly lifting the antidote to his lips so he could take slow, cautious gulps of it, hesitating like he couldn’t believe Kokichi wasn’t about to pull it away. When his eyes weren’t clenched shut in pain, he turned them to Kokichi: wide and disbelieving.
Kaito’s eyes were very pretty when he was obediently taking what Kokichi dished out. Kaito himself was remarkably pretty right now: Hair and clothing disheveled, slick with sweat and muscles tensed up with exertion. At his mercy.
“Enough,” Kaito croaked, pushing the bottle aside with a weak gesture. Kokichi hadn’t noticed it was empty. He threw it to the side and watched his victim flinch with the sound it produced.
Kaito opened his mouth as if to speak, but all that came out was a burst of blood, followed by intense choking. Big, hacking coughs wracked his chest, hands going to his throat like something was stuck down his windpipe. He looked like he was about to spew.
Lightning-quick Kokichi clamped Kaito’s mouth shut with his free hand, while his other hand clawed itself into the other’s scruff, fixing him in place.
“Down with it.” Coolly he returned the other’s enraged gaze, fingers splayed across his wet face. “Come on, swallow it back down, you’re almost done.” And so am I, he added internally.
A short pause before Kaito struggled for control over himself, convulsively swallowing in a way even Kokichi could feel, anchored to the other as he was. When he seemed like he had settled a little, Kokichi let his hand slip down to where his chest was still heaving. Through the thin shirt he could feel his heart pumping, almost painfully, almost like it was working out of spite, tired and overused as it was.
Listening to this, a preternatural calm settled on him. He felt his own heart beating at half the speed, but somehow still in tact. Kaito was quiet.
„They always give you a pretty pretentious backstory, don’t they?”
Kaito flinched. “Don’t say always.”
“But it’ll be always pretty soon now, Momota.” Kokichi stood in front of him, calculating. After he counted down something on his fingers, he started again.
“Hey, how many runs has it been now?”
Kaito scoffed. “Don’t ask me. You’re the one they didn’t touch during preproduction.”
A strange glint entered Kokichi’s eyes before they narrowed to slits in one of his shit-eating grins. It had taken Kaito a long time to learn that that, too, was a lie.
“Nishishi, you really should’ve behaved yourself better. Making out with the lead is a no-go, cute little asstronaut.”
Kaito dropped the glass he was holding. “What?”
“Especially since she was the director’s ex. You really know how to start off the season.”
“You’re joking.” He knew Kokichi was lying, he knew, but –
“Of course I am,” Kokichi’s grin made way for an exasperated expression for a second before returning in full force. “Or am I?”
“Cut the shit, Ouma,” Kaito spat, still shell-shocked. He leant down to pick up his drink which was now sadly spread all across the AV room floor. With a curse he put the glass on the table, liberated a tissue from his backpocket and began wiping down the wet carpet.
Kokichi giggled. “Always so expressive. This is why the audience loves you, Momota.”
In moments like these, Kaito never really knew what to say. He’d have liked to be able to converse with Kokichi, he thought. To see if he didn’t hurt himself when he cut Kaito with his sharp-edged words; because, as ever, they were both equally fucked. After multiple rounds, he sometimes thought he had the measure of the analyst, the technician, the supreme leader, and other times he felt like he was running headlong into a wall and hoping it’d break with repeated exposure.
“As if you’d ever have had a chance with Akamatsu anyway. Wow, big-headed much?”
That stopped his hand from moving. Kaito leant back up and mustered his counterpart critically. Kokichi just stood there, hands behind his head, gaze trained on Kaito’s face like he was waiting for something.
“You really want to work together?” Kaito asked. “Doesn’t seem like it with the shit you’re saying.”
“Now, now, Momota,” Kokichi liked saying his name, Kaito noticed. Rolled the syllables like he was tasting every single one, formed the word peculiarly for someone who never grew tired of belittling him. “If we want to prevent what befell poor Akamatsu from ever happening again, we have no choice but to work together.”
“You killed her.”
He’d killed her just as surely as he’d killed Rantaro, and the staff had really outdone themselves with the execution: Even weathered as he was, Kaito had been about to spew right there in the courtroom. A cynical voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Kokichi had murmured that they must’ve gotten a bigger budget approved.
“And thanks to that, all the others are still alive. You know, you never thanked me for that.” Kokichi tilted his head sideways. “Nevermind, are we really doing this? We have more important things to worry about.”
This was going nowhere except maybe into a nasty headache. “You started it!”
“Me, me, me – honestly Momota, can we get past my humble personage – as difficult as I know that is – and concentrate on how to beat the Killing Game?”
Kaito laughed bitterly. “You can’t beat the killing game.”
Suddenly, Kokichi was in his face. Purple eyes stared unblinking into violet ones.
“Exactly.”
Unsettled, Kaito leant back. “So what do you propose? You just giving up?”
“The same thing you’ve been trying to do, without much success,” Kokichi smiled one of his most unsettling smiles yet. “If we can’t beat it, break it. We’ll smash the playing board.”
 ..
 Kaito sat there for a long time after Kokichi left, chin in his hands. The evening announcement came and went, but he couldn’t bring himself to move just yet.
Kokichi’s plan made sense, or it sounded like it did to Kaito anyway. There were a few suspicious blank spots that meant he wouldn’t like whatever they would have to do, but at this stage, there was no point getting choosy. Whatever the outcome, this was their last chance: he couldn’t imagine the network keeping them around much longer. They were getting older, after all.
Kaito contemplated the possibility that this would turn out to be the last season. He considered trusting his longtime opponent with his life and goals and ambition, his entire being in the small hands of an overly mischievous child.
But that was unfair. Kokichi was smart, everyone knew that, and still they constantly underestimated just how smart he really was. Because he was devious and underhanded and, from time to time, beyond malicious: in other words, exactly who they would’ve wanted on this show, if only he didn’t hate it so goddamn much.
Two games ago, Kaito had despised him; last game, he’d despaired, because if only he had the other’s brain, his schemes, his brilliance, maybe he would’ve finally been able to break this charade. Last game he’d looked at Kokichi and saw something worth having, and he’d been so heartsick with that knowledge he’d barely been able to look at the fucker. Them working together now felt predestined, and if Kaito was anything like his adversary, he’d have wondered if that was what Team Danganronpa was aiming for the whole time; but as it is, he discarded the thought. Kokichi would have calculated that, too.
Kokichi said if he had a choice, he’d never have trusted him even this much; but Kaito knows that’s bullshit: He’d had a choice to continue as he was, and he’d decided that working together with the rival he professed to hate was a better option.
Kaito, even after all this, doesn’t hate himself. He knows what he’s good for, and he’s aware that all he’s good for in Team Danganronpa’s eyes is to act as a stimulant so the Killing Game doesn’t get boring, an adrenaline shot for the slow boil. But this time, he feels it’s different, that with these people he might really make the difference: because the body they released him in wasn’t a carcass about to twitch its last, because this time, it was still struggling against its captors, and with a bit of help it might finally break free.
Because even with the ultimatum, not one of them had chosen to kill.
And now he had a hand guiding him that knew where to set him, that could apply his strength with surgical precision. For the first time in a long while, Kaito felt… brave.
He remembered Kokichi sauntering out the door, all confidence and swagger, and turning around just before he left: “Let’s drive this fucking franchise against a wall.”
“Dammit.” Kaito covered his face with his hands. “You better come through on this for me, Kokichi.”
This is a seven day event celebrating the relationship between Ouma Kokichi and Momota Kaito from Danganronpa V3: Killing Harmony! You can participate in Oumota Week by creating all kinds of fan content such as art, fic, music, edits, cosplay and other creative forms that you can think of! Each day of the week has assigned prompts which you can use and interpret as loosely or as specifically as you like. Be sure to tag your works as #oumotaweek or #oumotaweek2020 so other fans can find them! For more information, you can check out our Rules and FAQ. Don’t hesitate to send us asks if you have any more questions.
"Do you know the definition of madness?" Kokichi asked, disinterestedly picking at his fingernails. Kaito panted, fingers gripping desperately just inches from where white robes gently rested on stone. If he had the breath for it, he thought viciously, he would chance pulling the bastard down by his stupid straightjacket.
"You really should. One of your kind coined it, after all," Kokichi talked away, foot wipping gently with his words. "What was it again? Something about doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?" Purple eyes blinked down at where he struggled another few inches up. "Hey, are you listening?"
"Shut up," Kaito gritted.
"How mean!" Kokichi slapped his hands together, pout on his lips. "I know Momota is stupid, but how about you just admit you don't know! Instead of insulting the kindhearted me who deigned to give you helpful life advice..." He tilted his head. "Although I guess it would be death advice here? You humans' semantics are such a pain. So exclusionary!"
Kaito intended to answer, he really did. He even had a really good comeback ready about how kindhearted it was to let someone struggle up a cliff you could teleport them over in a few seconds' time; but just as his no doubt devastating retort was about to pass his lips, his fingers slipped off the cracked rock he was trying to hang onto. His life and death flashed before his eyes and for a moment he was afraid that the last thing he'd ever see was this starless sky, deep underground in a hellhole he never should have gotten into in the first place.
A slender hand plucked him out of the air with unbelievable ease.
"See, this is why you should have listened to me." Kaito looked up and there, against the backdrop of miasma that seemed to waft out of the ground and into the skies in swathes, Kokichi's grinning face looked just as hellish as this place deserved.
"Idiots like you only ever learn by example, don't they?"
"Hey," Kaito starts hoarsely. Tut-tut-tut makes Kokichi.
"Now you want to talk, Momota, after you ignored me for a solid hour! Do you think I'm an easy gal who'll be grateful for every scrap of attention you throw my way?"
"Kokichi," Kaito tries again, dread heavy in his stomach. Kokichi giggles and tightens his grip around his wrist until he's sure it's gonna pop out of its socket.
"Oh, I suppose I'll humour you just this once. Don't make it a habit though!" With a sudden lurch, Kaito finds himself hefted up to almost eye-level. Kokichi flatters his lashes at him.
"What does my dear Momota have to say to me?"
Kaito's hand hurts. Kaito's head hurts, and his shoulder hurts, and his stomach is about to turn itself inside-out with anxiety, but he can't, he just can't; faced with Kokichi's manic grin, he bites a hole into his tongue and spits the burst of blood straight onto the demon's unnaturally stretched cheek.
He only has a second to regret it, before Kokichi murmurs "Quite an example, yes." and lets him go.
.
“It’s not like you can die again, you know.” Kokichi said, amused.
“You dropped me from a cliff,” Kaito spat out. His bones had just finished resetting, and already he was itching with unrest. “A cliff I was trying to climb.”
“Yes, so you should thank me.” The demon was crouched down, hands on his knees. “You were getting nowhere. Even an idiot would have gotten the idea after the first hour.”
“I’m not giving up,” Kaito said defiantly. “I’m getting out of this hole, even if it kills me. And since it can’t kill me, I’ll make it out guaranteed!”
Kokichi broke out in laughter. Kaito ignored him in favor of stretching his back. He’d landed straight onto his shoulderblades, and his demonic companion had spent the entire time he was gurgling blood watching him, tittering to himself. He was just about ready to try standing up again when Kokichi wiped a fake tear from his eye, apparently done with his shtick.
“You really should thank me, you know. You would’ve spent a few weeks laying there if I didn’t heal you.”
Kaito paused. He looked down at his hands, balling them to fists and letting loose again. A few of his fingers were broken before Kokichi had taken them into his, had done something that felt like it had scraped him clean from inside out. He’d cried then, after his windpipe had finished rebuilding and big gulps of air finally made it down his throat. For that more than anything he couldn’t forgive the demon: he’d just looked at him while tears trailed down his face, just watched when Kaito hadn’t cried in front of another person since he was a child.
He shook his head.
“Yeah, why’d you do that?”
“I wonder.” Kokichi tilted his head, grinning again. “Are you curious? Maybe I just pitied the fucker too stupid to get with the times.”
That put a frown on Kaito’s face. “Listen, dipshit, if I’m not ever gonna get a straight answer out of you, why are you still here bothering me?” With a preemptive flinch and a big heave, he hoisted himself up to his knees, then his feet. For a second he wobbled, but at last, he stood, arms stretched out to balance himself.
Kokichi observed him interestedly. When Kaito moved to pat himself down, he stood up from where he was crouched, teetering on his heels while looking contemplative.
“Hey, Momota, enlighten me. Do you really, truly believe you can escape from literal hell? And don’t lie to me now, I’ll know.”
Kaito turned to look at him, suspicious. “Are you making fun of me again?”
“Far be it from me!” Kokichi proclaimed, hands crossed behind his head.
“Bet your fingers are crossed, too,” Kaito murmured. Then he sighed. A demon who wasn’t about to help or even kill him was just a headache.
“I got here on a technicality,” he answered while he made to leave. “If that’s allowed to get me in here, I don’t see why it can’t get me back out. I’m not about to give up and waste away here when I haven’t even gotten to space yet.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kokichi’s face split into another grin, this one so sinister it stopped him in his tracks.
“Good,” Kokichi drawled, eyes narrowed down to slits. “That means we can be partners.”
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(trying to combat writer’s block and failing miserably. if anyone would like to leave prompts about these two in my askbox, you’re welcome to!)
Chromedome wishes he could remove his own memories right after he does it to others. As it is, he’s left with too many fragments, one half of a set of memories never meant to be broken apart; a steady reminder every time they face each other that they are on uneven footing.Â
I have had you, he thinks, and somewhere in Prowl's eyes, suspicion begins to glimmer.
