Being Dead Sucks (OumaSai/SaiOuma) -Being Edited-

10

I open the door, unceremoniously throwing my bag aside wherever and immediately fall onto the couch, burying my face in one of the cushions with a frustrated groan.

Today was just one of those days. A day where whatever god exists out there just decides to turn it's back on you. I didn't sleep much last night, I woke up with a killer migraine that didn't go away all day, I dropped my lunch on the ground like a true champion so I didn't have anything to eat besides a burnt slice of toast in the morning with the added perk of having the entire school laughing at me, I have a major research paper due tomorrow that I still need to finish, and everything just sucks.

And then, to add insult to injury, there's him.

"You look terrible." I don't even have to look up. I know who it is. I'm almost used to the way his voice by now. It matches so well with the tone of his words and his personality. Teasing, childish, somewhat of a gremlin voice. It's a strange feeling, being so used to the voice of someone I don't know well. I guess I just took to him faster than I'd like to admit.

"I feel like the walking dead." Bad choice of words, but true nonetheless.

"Hey! I take offense to that." He says, feigning being hurt. I respond with a laugh that's been completely wringed dry of any potential for humor.

"I don't give a shit."

"Touché. So what's wrong with you?" He asks it in such a way that makes it feel like he's trying to make fun of me rather than expressing concern. Knowing him, that is most likely the intention. Or maybe it's not. It's difficult to tell.

"Right now? Everything. I can't really name one thing that's right with me." My situation isn't that drastic but I just feel the need to make my life seem like a melodrama, for one second. I need to blabber out inflated and prolonged rants to someone, even if they don't care.

Well, I have my friends, but I'm too nervous to talk to them. Especially Kaito, who would probably give me some lecture about chinning up and being positive, and although that can be effective for some people, it certainly doesn't help me. Especially not in a situation like this. I'm naturally pessimistic, I suppose.

"Name something specific, stupidhead. You're not gonna be able to do anything about it if you can't even come to terms with the problem." I feel a weight plop down onto the couch next to me. 

I dejectedly pull my head out of the pillow and rub my eyes, staring at the ghostly purple-haired figure sitting on the couch. My head throbs continually, pain pressing at the back of both my eyes and making me want to slam it against a table.

"For starters, I'm hungry. And thirsty. And sore. And my head hurts." I mumble. I don't know why I'm even talking to him. He's just the nearest thing I can cling to for support, and I'll take whatever I can get. I sure as hell can't talk to my mom or my dad, that's for sure.

"Make yourself something to eat, then." He suggests, something that seemes fairly obvious. 

"I don't want to. I'm not sure I'm feeling up for cooking right now." I grumble, flopping back down onto the pillow. The darkness pressed against my eyes helps my headache. 

Kokichi sighs heavily. "Fine. If you want me to cook for you that bad, I will." He says, with a tone of voice suggesting that he's being forced against his will to slave away at the stove for someone he hates in a dirty kitchenette in a roach-infested hotel.

"You said you can't cook, though."

"I mean, I can make pretty good instant noodles." A bowl of ramen sounds really good right now, but I guess I am just insisting upon being in a bad mood. And I do not trust him at all, especially not in my kitchen.