true death is only sweeter - saiouma

barely a thought

Shuichi was really, really tired.

If he was being honest, he could barely remember the events of the killing game. Blah blah blah, death, blah blah blah, despair, whatever. None of it mattered now. He was too overcome with relief that everyone was alive to bother about the messy details. Maybe some remnant of his former self did exist within him, he thought sourly. It wasn't like Shuichi to ignore details, not at all, but he was far too exhausted to embody the Ultimate Detective at the moment. Amnesia, Nurse Mikan had said, though with a lot more stutters and sighs. He was lucky he remembered everyone else who'd been in the game. They'd all met up as soon as they could, after just a few days in the intensive care unit before the whole lot of them were transferred to regular care near each other. Now, there were frequent sleepovers, and they all ate together in the cafeteria. Unfortunately for all of them, Shuichi's sleep patterns weren't quite natural just yet, and he often ended up dozing off during meals or during activities or during the night or really whenever. Kaito and Kaede fussed over him and pestered Nurse Mikan, much to Shuichi's chagrin, though she reassured them that it was perfectly normal for someone in his situation. Sleepy Shuichi, everyone called him.

Walking along the hospital corridor back to his room, Shuichi suddenly felt a shiver of sadness trickle itself through him. As he paused and followed the trail of sorrow that dripped into his memory, he was overcome by an even stronger sleepiness, and even stranger, a headache. Maybe this was the amnesia finally catching up to him. Or maybe it was the extreme amounts of pain meds he was constantly on, which, now that he thought about it, probably played a fairly significant role in his newfound drowsiness. Headaches, though— that was new. He had to get back to his room, immediately, he realized as he stumbled, pale walls blurring. The tile floor seemed to swim in front of him. Dizziness overtook Shuichi like silent waves in an ocean of perfect unconsciousness, a bliss to escape his own mind, whatever trauma he had buried under layers of meds and naps. His friends refused to tell him anything about the events of the killing game. It was mostly Mikan, Shuichi knew, ordering them not to discuss it quite yet so as to allow time to heal before eventually unpacking. Everyone was pretty sure this wasn't actually what they should be doing, but it was easier to pretend to just be friends, like the hospital was some dingy boarding school and they were ride-or-die besties. It was hard for Shuichi to remember specific moments with any of them, but his mind at least allowed for emotions to leak through, like the warm comfort he felt around Kaede or how he always wanted to laugh around Kaito. Easy to call them friends. Not so easy to ignore the sad, yearning looks Kaede gave Shuichi when she thought he wasn't looking. Guilt burned in his stomach to match the headache. Has she been someone important to him? Was there more he was forgetting about her? Tripping over his own feet, Shuichi could barely stand, let alone make it to the elevator to get down to his room. He was on the very top floor of the skyscraper hospital, filled with older equipment nobody used anymore. There were no staff anywhere to be found. Managing to fumble to a door, Shuichi realized that according to the sheets attached to each of them, this floor was still in use. Looking closer, trying to focus his eyesight, he read, "Kokichi Ouma. Danganronpa victim. Coma due to intense neurological trauma." The date he was admitted was around two weeks ago— opposed to Shuichi, who'd been admitted only one week ago. He was hardly able to think beyond his need to sleep. The hospital floor was dusty and stained and probably very uncomfortable to sleep on. Shuichi would not like to find out.

Tears rose in his eyes, without warning, at the photograph on the door. A boy, who looked around Shuichi's age. In the photo, he was grinning, and his eyes were squinted in a way that suggested laughter at a joke Shuichi would never know. The boy— Ouma— had dark purple hair that curled out at the tips. Shuichi was struck with a sudden and irrational wonder for how it would feel to run his fingers through that hair. But what caught his attention most, what inexplicably tugged at his heart, were Ouma's brilliant violet eyes. It looked like he was staring right into Shuichi's soul. Shuichi's heart sped up, even as his sluggish hands moved to open the door. Surely this Ouma wouldn't mind if he snuck in and used his bed? He was in a coma, what could he do, really?

Slipping his clumsy hands around the doorknob, Shuichi fumbled, twisting, barely able to see in front of him. Sleep tugged at his senses.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Finally pushing open the surprisingly heavy door, Shuichi's energy finally gave out. Hee somehow mustered enough to walk forward and slump on the bed, eyes falling shut and sticking there, limbs numb and still.

He didn't notice the shocked, very much awake boy next to him at all. All Shuichi could feel was the bliss of sleep, gently shielding him from reality. He was unaware of the heartbreak that washed over him at the presence of the other boy, the twinging in his memory. Logic couldn't play a part at this point.

As he slept, restlessly, his dreams were clouded with those purple eyes. Shuichi chased them through whatever murky trauma-scape his subconscious conjured, but he could never quite catch up to them.

In his dream, Kaede was talking to him calmly in the hospital cafeteria as they ate, just the two of them. The cafeteria was full of chattering people enjoying their meals.

But slowly, the sounds began to fall away. It was just him and Kaede now. The lights seemed to dim and the room swam in front of him. Kaede's hair began to fall out in front of him, and her skin shriveled against her face as Shuichi watched in horror. Suddenly, his own hand shot out in front of him, gripping Kaede's neck as her mouth opened in a silent scream, grotesque and contorted. His fingers twisted, sharp and gnarled, against her.

"No, no, no! I'm so sorry!" Shuichi cried. His voice sounded like it was underwater. Kaede screamed hoarsely. Her blue eyes flared, staring Shuichi down with such intense hatred he couldn't help but sob, apologizing over and over again. His hand squeezed even tighter. Kaede's head rolled back. When she looked back at him, her face was different, blurry features framed by soft dark hair, shifting in front of Shuichi's eyes when he tried to focus on any particular part. The only thing he could really make out was the pair of bright purple eyes, brimming with tears.

His hand finally released the person's neck, but when Shuichi tried to speak, the boy in front of him darted away, almost flying up to the ceiling like he was being pulled by an invisible string. He clawed at his throat, looking desperate. The ceiling seemed to be pressing in on the two of them, the cafeteria becoming a small, enclosed room, and the boy meeting the ceiling halfway. Shuichi couldn't reach him, as the boy was tugged up to the ceiling, pressing against it insistently. Shuichi screamed, then. The boy's flesh began to compress, squeezing out bright pink blood. His bones crunched audibly against the still-lowering ceiling.

"No! No! Please, no!"

The boy's purple eyes were wide, staring deep into Shuichi's gold ones, beautiful even in his pain.

Shuichi woke up screaming.