Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Amami Rantaro/Oma Kokichi, Amami Rantaro & Oma Kokichi
Characters: Oma Kokichi, Amami Rantaro
Additional Tags: can be read as gen or ship, Hurt/Comfort, Age Regression/De-Aging, set in the killing game, Crayons, Oma Kokichi Needs a Hug, Oma Kokichi Is a Little Shit, Oma Kokichi Being Oma Kokichi, Oma Kokichi-centric, Caregiver Amami Rantaro, Regressor Oma Kokichi, Fluff
Series: Part 1 of Milk's Favorite Cookie
There was no way he could trust any of these idiots, especially with how Akamatsu had been leading them. Not a single pragmatic brain cell among them, except for maybe—
“You’re out pretty late.
Or: Kokichi has been struggling to juggle the many masks he’s crafted to deal with the killing game and his new “classmates”. Amami, ever vigilant, takes the time to teach him about the stars.
I decided since the rest has been so slow going, that I’d go ahead and post the first part of Cookie’s agere fic requests. Enjoy!
Nausea-|-Concussion-|-Secret Reveal-|- “Why did you come back?”
Cookiev3rse: Hope Factory—the third trial
Cookie is open for asks.
This one gets musical accompaniment. Listen at your own risk.
When Kokichi stepped into the elevator at the Shrine of Judgement, he tucked his arms behind his head like he always did, cradling his throbbing skull. He'd cleaned up the blood, stopped the active bleeding, and he was fortunate enough that his bangs hid the mark the board had left behind. To anyone else, he looked fine, and only Saihara and Harukawa had seen him on his way out—he vaguely remembered finding himself on the floor when they stumbled across him.
His forehead was pounding as the elevator started its descent. It was a miracle he didn't stumble. Or did he? He looked around. No one was looking at him, so he must not have. His vision kept swimming—that probably wasn't good.
He couldn't exactly ask Monokuma to be excused from the trial, though, could he? That was stupid.
Were they at the bottom yet? This trip was taking longer than Kokichi remembered.
Or maybe not because they were already spilling out onto the trial grounds.
God, Kokichi had no idea what was going on. The lights on the grounds were blinding, bright neons and varying shades of blue from the podiums and the stained glass windows. He resisted the urge to shut his eyes, rub his head, anything to alleviate the pain as he stepped on his podium. Why was there a deceased photo stand on his—
Wait, no, that wasn't his podium, was it?
Or he must have found his way to it at some point because the trial was suddenly starting. Monokuma blathering on the same rules they've heard three times now. Kokichi's mind was spinning, trying to organize his thoughts. The discussion started without him and he struggled to keep up.
If his head throbbed, no it didn't.
If he clung to his podium with a white-knuckle grip as it shifted and spun, no he didn't.
He plastered on a smile and dropped whatever comment made sense to push the discussion forward.
Who's death were they talking about again? Yonaga's? The lock, right. Well, only student council members could get in.
Wait, no that wasn't right, was it?
Everyone was staring at him all of a sudden. The lock. The lock, what was it about the lock?
Oh, fuck, he'd picked that in front of everyone, hadn't he? Son of a—
No, maybe he could work with this. There had to be something. He was thinking about something during the investigation, before the whole seance thing happened. There was something wonky about the door. Kokichi couldn't remember what it was. He was in no condition to come up with a witty lie. What was something obviously false that Saihara could sink his teeth into for a second?
People were talking to him. He had to say something.
It was the first lie that popped into his head, and what a goddamn mess of a lie it was.
No it wasn't. He could make it work, he always did.
His podium lurched to the center as he was put under everyone's scrutiny. His vision nearly blacked out for a second as the whole room spun. He was gonna throw up. Come on, hold it. Once Saihara finds whatever it is Kokichi knew had to be there, he could rest his eyes for a bit.
How did he lock the door again? What a dumb question—
The back door. It was the back door, right. He remembered now. Actually, if he'd forgotten, no he hadn't.
It was over before Kokichi could even really comprehend where the discussion was going, but that was fine with him. Of course he wasn't banking on Saihara to do all the work. If that's what he'd been doing, no it wasn't. He'd never admit that was what he was baiting for, he was doing what he always did—boggle everyone's mind with his stupid games. Luring the culprit out with a blatantly stupid lie.
If his stomach was churning from vertigo and delirium, no it wasn't.
If his head was throbbing through the base of his skull, no it wasn't.
They were moving on, they were moving on without him again. What were they talking about now?
He just wanted this trial to be over. Would it kill them all to just be a little quieter? Just... just a little quieter. Turn off the lights. Iruma shut up, just shut the fuck up it doesn't matter who locked the back door, they had to get in first. And now Yumeno was yelling, lovely.
He couldn't let them know. It'd paint a target on his back.
He was fine. Everything was normal.
Focus on Yumeno instead. She's been putting herself through the wringer this go-round.
Take the spotlight off yourself.
And it worked. So they're talking about Chabashira now. Kokichi nodded along, making some kind of remark here and there just to appear engaged. Some dumb idea that it had been Yonaga's ghost. Suicide? No, that was dumb. Let's act like it's not though because Yumeno's being weird again.
Pure...? Him...?
Pure...
Him? Pure...?
Next question. The floorboard was used as a see-saw. Kokichi knew that painfully, painfully well.
Next question. Ugh, they're accusing Yumeno again? She's not even arguing this time!?
It's been hours at this point. When will it be over? He was going to black out again at this rate. No he wasn't. It was so, so bright. He took the opportunity in a lull to rest his eyes, ease the splitting ache behind them, just for a moment...
He nearly collapsed over the railing of the podium when he zonked out, and the vertigo over falling nearly made him puke.
Saihara was talking to him. What? The floorboards again?
Oh.
Kokichi tried not to go into too much detail. It's not like the severity of his injury was relevant to the case.
No one batted an eye. If his heart clenched a little at the simple dismissal, no it didn't.
Next question. Who got to the floorboards? If the pain from Kiibo flashing his stupid high beams for the gajillionth time that trial nearly made Kokichi break down in tears, no it didn't. Saihara and Shinguuji were arguing. Everything was spinning, everything was so big, he just wanted to go to bed and cry and sleep forever, and finally he could. Finally, it was over.
What a pitiful lie for him to tell himself, with the double-murder rule looming over him.
God, and they hadn't even gotten to the debate scrum yet. The podiums lifting into the air and spinning around like they did, as if he wasn't nauseous and disoriented enough already.
Kokichi was dreading the debate scrum.
Maybe, though, if everyone stayed on the same page, they wouldn't have to have one at all. That's all he could hope for. He resisted the urge to cradle his throbbing head as the topic shifted back to Yonaga's murder...
Wait.
Why were so many people insisting that they vote now?
Brave face-|-Branding-|-Self-sacrifice-|- “Pick on someone your own size”
Cookiev3rse: Hope Factory—enacting the Mastermind plan
Cookie is open for asks.
The end was nigh.
The seconds were ticking by as Kokichi sat idly on his bed, gently swinging the Amami effigy back and forth as he stared blankly across his room. After all the time he'd spent here, this would be the last time he would see any of this junk. The piles of boxes, filled with more fake plans than real. The mountains of hoarded evidence—his fingers grazed softly across Amami's cheek as he brought the swing to a stop.
If a painful twinge struck his heart as those glassy, drooping eyes met his, no it didn't.
Kokichi stood from his bed, wandering over to the whiteboard to go over things one more time. Why? He wasn't sure. It wasn't as if he was planning for anyone to see it. It's not like there was any new information, anyway. Every Blackened and their victims were lined up in neat rows, and the remaining survivors... it didn't matter what he thought of them anymore. It didn't matter who was the mastermind, because it was going to be him now whether they liked it or not.
"But I wouldn't gain anything from writing a message like that, would I? That would just make you guys suspect that I'm the mastermind."
It was over. It was all over. He'd set up his dominoes, and now all he had to do was watch them fall.
"I also... don't want to survive with someone who'd do such a thing to Gonta."
"Wh-what's... wrong with him? Is he even actually human?"
It was too late to stop them anyhow.
If the finality set Kokichi's teeth on edge, no it didn't.
The others should be about halfway through the escape tunnel by now; he should probably get going soon. Kokichi pulled his notebook out from its spot tucked in the back of his waistband and pulled the envelope out from between the pages. He wouldn't be needing this anymore. Not if he had his way, anyhow. He carelessly tossed it into the pile amongst the useless papers and blueprints.
The notebook was tucked back in his waistband where it belonged as he patted his pockets for the camera he always kept with him. Check. The Exisal remote? Check. It was now or never.
Kokichi locked the door behind him, tucking his key deep into his pocket. The arbitrary brightness of the fake sun cast no warmth on his skin as he broke out into the courtyard, bound for the manhole behind the school. The simple push of a button was met with the whirring march of the Exisals behind him. It was loud, and despite the knowledge that the campus was currently deserted...
If the racket set Kokichi's teeth on edge, not it didn't.
If his heart was hammering in his chest as he scrambled his way down the ladder in isolation, no it wasn't.
They would believe his lie. Of that much, he was certain.
He put all the pieces into place. After his performance after the last trial, he was certain that he would be able to sell it now. As he strolled casually through the tunnel, skirting around the shorting remains of the various traps left in the wake of Saihara's group, Kokichi whistled an idle tune. The mask slipped on easily, it always did.
If that was a lie, no it wasn't.
What was a lie anymore? What wasn't? It didn't matter. He would be living a lie from here on out.
"You're alone, Kokichi, and you always will be."
For the hope of those left, for the memory of those lost, Kokichi was prepared to show Saihara just how right he was.
