Assassins, Detectives, and the Mafia

Blood and Fracturing

Of course Kokichi notices when Rantaro stops smiling.

It's very sudden, actually. Not one of those more gradual things that takes time, letting the happiness fade away. No, this is like the flicking of a switch. Gone, just like that.

Rantaro acts very dodgy about the whole thing, too. Kokichi can tell that something is very, very wrong, but he doesn't quite know what.

Where once was smiling and casual humor now becomes grimaces and dulled voices. The bags under his pea-green eyes seem to deepen with each passing day as the time he goes without sleeping increases. He checks behind himself to see if he's being followed, hesitates after opening doors, and leaves his house less and less.

It scares all of them, but Kokichi most of all.

Rantaro isn't supposed to act this way. He's the one with the answers, the one who keeps a cool head in every situation. Kokichi's supposed to be emotional, the one who twists around words and makes more questions.

But now that it's Rantaro making the questions, Kokichi isn't sure he has the answers.

He manages to corner Rantaro as he's leaving one day.

"Amami."

Rantaro spins, eyes widening in terror before narrowing slightly. "Ouma."

His hair is matted and greasy, face pale and gaunt. There's a dullness to his eyes and a deathly pallor to his skin, and he keeps glancing around as if he expects someone to jump out of the shadows.

"What's up?" Kokichi smiles, sliding in front of him to lean easily against the door.

"Nothing," Rantaro frowns.

"That's a lie."

Kokichi twirls a set of keys around his finger - those to Rantaro's house and motorcycle. "Don't lie to a liar, Amami."

"You're probably right," Rantaro sighs, making a grab for the keys.

"Ah-ah-ah," Kokichi tsks, clucking his tongue in warning. "Answer my questions first."

Rantaro lets out a long-suffering sigh, running his fingers through his hair. "Fine."

"What is going on with you?"

He knows he's hit on something important, since Rantaro noticeably stiffens.

"I'm worried about you, Amami," Kokichi smiles.

He realizes it's the wrong thing to say as soon as the words leave his mouth. Rantaro's eyes narrow, and his hand balls into a fist.

"You're worried about me?" Rantaro shouts. Before Kokichi can react, Rantaro snatches the keys out of his hands and storms out the door.

Kokichi can see the tears rolling down Rantaro's face as he hops on his motorcycle and drives away, helmet eclipsing all but the water dripping slowly on his handlebars.

Kokichi walks down the streets, snow blowing in his face. It's late December, snow landing on the streets and washing down the gutters.

He's looking for Rantaro, truth be told. He tried to go to Rantaro's house, but garnered no response.

"Amami!" Kokichi shouts, voice snatched away by the wind. "Amami! Rantaro!"

Walking only grows progressively harder as the snow starts to stick, and Kokichi digs his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket.

"Rantaro-"

He trips over something lying in a gutter, and falls to the ground in a tangle of limbs and snow.

Biting back a groan, he pushes himself to his feet. His right ankle is trapped under the object, twisted at a strange angle. Trying to move it sends stabs of pain through his leg, and he's pretty certain it's broken.

"What... is this?" he gasps, gently teasing the bundle off his leg. It's slightly warm, soft to the touch and covered in what appears to be a coat.

Maybe it's just a drunk man passed out in a gutter, Kokichi rationalizes. He nudges it slightly, trying to wake whoever they are up.

"Hello?" Kokichi frowns, pushing the person over so he can see their face.

Rantaro's deadened pea-green eyes stare back at him, face forever frozen in an expression of abject terror and mouth hanging open in a silent scream. A scarf is hung around his neck like a noose, and Kokichi realizes with a thud that oh god he's dead oh no no no.

"Amami?" Kokichi laughs almost hysterically as he pushes him experimentally. "Wake up, Amami! Amami! Wake up!"

Rantaro's slackened body flops around like a rag doll, and blood colors the snow a neon-pink.

"Amami! Wake up!" Kokichi screams, fingers clutching at his skull as if he's attempting to tear it open. "Amami! Rantaro!"

Tears roll down his face and make small indentations in the snow, mingling with the pink ice.