A/N: ooh vent fanfic go brrr
Kokichi felt numb inside.
He usually did. He was in a killing game after all. It was better to feel numb.
But this time it was a different type of numb.
Instead of not feeling anything at all, he felt too much. So much that he can't actually really feel anything because it's just. It's just too much.
Like now, he can't stop all of these emotions he's been restricting from fizzing up to the surface. And he's trying to push them down but he just can't. And so he feels all useless and tired and.
Basically, everything felt like a big mess.
And it's not like he wasn't used to this, of course he was. He's had to deal with this for years. And he knew it would pass, he just didn't know when or how.
And he didn't know when it would come back either. Because it always did.
For now, he couldn't do anything, it felt like he was anchored down to the bottom of the sea or something. He wasn't really drowning, since he was so used to it, but he knew he couldn't swim up.
Still, he kept trying. And he kept failing. All he seemed good for right now was laying in bed and looking at the mess around him.
Which wasn't good when you have a whole plan you have to carry out in order to stop a whole killing game. He couldn't afford to lay down and he couldn't afford to sleep. He already didn't think he deserved to either.
He needed to get himself to get better. He kept trying to force it, and it wasn't working. He didn't know what to do, and it made him feel even more of a failure than he already was.
Hopefully, no one would be outside. So he could escape his room and see better scenery for a little while. Of course, the scenery is always going to be in some way tainted, due to the situation they were in. But maybe it would help.
He pulled himself out of bed, and as soon as he stood up, he realized just how hard walking was probably going to be. He felt like collapsing to the floor.
But he really didn't want to be in his room anymore. It was too much of a mess and his head was already a mess so he really didn't need that right now.
So he moved to the door, opened it, and made sure no one was around. It didn't seem like anyone was, so he should be good.
Walking down the stairs was difficult and so was walking outside over to a place to sit. But once he sat down, he felt better. He no longer had to pull himself up anymore.
He looked around, once again checking if there was anyone there. It didn't look like there was.
So he was alone.
The surroundings weren't very fun to look at. He didn't like this place, it kept draining his energy. But it was better than his room. At least now he didn't have to force himself to look at a bunch of papers and evidence.
Of course, that didn't mean he automatically felt better. He still felt awful, just in a better environment.
He didn't want to be here anymore. He wanted to go home, but something told him home wasn't there anymore. And if it wasn't, what would he do? He didn't have anything else. Everyone here hated him.
And for good reason. He hated himself too, so he would know.
This self-hatred he felt was like a black hole or something. Just sucking him in, and tearing him apart.
