꧁𝑰 𝑮𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝑰 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒀𝒐𝒖꧂

Lies From Liar Man

Kokichi lies in a chair, using the arms as a backrest and a footrest. He wears a pastel rainbow sweater with his scarf from the game, and a dice symbol sewn into the sweater.

"So~ I've gathered you all here to discuss the weirdness of escaping the game!" He begins. Rantaro interrupts.

"What about those who have already adjusted? Why do we have to be here?" He asks, the rudeness Kokichi presumes is from before the game showing.

"You then instruct those who haven't adjusted~" He says in a purring tone. Rantaro nods, leaning into his chair again, sitting backwards in it like normal.

"I assume all your pregame selves are far different than you are now?" Kokichi asks, getting nods or murmurs of agreement from around the room.

***

Kokichi sits on his bed again. The yellow jumper with patches had quickly become his favorite. Most the clothes are all black and dark, so Ouma was planning on going shopping, along with Maki, Kiibo, and Kaede in a few hours. But for now, he could just curl up on his bed.

The boy stares around at all the photos on the wall, for a lack of anything better to do. They tell stories, just like the journal, except he could see the people as well.

There's a photo of him being rushed into the hospital. He looks at the one next to it. Shuichi is at his bedside table, looking calm while reading a book. Meanwhile, Kiibo is clearly panicking. There is a caption, probably written by Shuichi.

For your wall of photos, get well soon

Kokichi just stares at it for a few seconds, before bursting into tears.

***

Kiibo is walking past Kokichi's room, when he hears muffled sobs. The robot pauses, then carefully opens the door.

He steps inside, closing the door behind him, then walks to try find where the sobbing is coming from.

Underneath the bench top, Kokichi is hiding with a pair of scissors. His arm is red and aggravated, with a bunch of lines along it. He cries as music plays in his ears, preventing him from harming himself even further. He knew all his friends were suffering as well. He didn't want to bother them. Why make them suffer with the troubles of a stupid, petty little boy?

A loud screaming has him mouthing along to the words through tears. It hurts. It hurts so bad. But he refuses to bother anyone with it.

411 words

This is short, and kinda a vent. It's using music as a coping mechanism to recover from my unhealthy coping mechanism and wanting to kill myself or my mother time.

Don't worry, I'll be fine. I always survive. I never have a choice not to.

The Author. 💕