Archive of Our Own

Who the Hell paints a ceiling grey?

A dull, dingy, emotionless, color. As uninviting as they come. Grey was void of any and all real color, more so than black or white. It was neither dark nor light, teetering in some space between the empty void and a bright shining blaze. Grey was a wasted palate, it washed away and drowned out the world around it, sucking out the vibrancy and leaving everything as cold and plain as the color itself was. 

Grey was meaningless. Moody and depressing. 

Grey was boring .

And Kokichi decided he hated it.

He stared, unmoving, at the ceiling above him, as unwelcome thoughts swirled around in his head. It was the middle of the night, somewhere around two in the morning, and only the small light of the moon from the window illuminated the walls around him, forcing his eyes to continue to take in his surroundings. He should have been sleeping, he was tired enough to, but even with the blinds closed, he couldn’t quite get it dark enough. No matter how hard he tried, he could still see the ceiling. 

He could still see the grey. 

He’d been battling with himself for hours, his body craving sleep and his mind roughly pulling him out the second his eyelids began to flutter. The moment he gave into the desire of his exhaustion, and blocked out the taunting color of the ceiling, he was faced with the same scene. The roaring sound of machinery, the metallic smell of blood and steel, the cold of the press coming closer, threatening to close around him. It consumed every one of his senses, thrusting him back into the past, into a reality that never was. 

Time and time again, he tried and failed to calm himself into unconsciousness. He took deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth, counting with each inhale and exhale. It was stupid; another coping mechanism the therapists drilled into him to try and help him differentiate between what was real, and what was “all in his head”. It never worked, he had no idea why he kept trying. How was he supposed to name five things he could see, when the ceiling was the only god damn thing he allowed himself to look at?! 

With an annoyed huff, Kokichi turned to his side. He curled in on himself, bunching his blanket up so he had something to cling onto as he shut his eyes tight. He wasn't going to think about it. He wasn't going to imagine it. The press wasn't real, it never happened. It had been nothing more than some exaggerated hallucination, and he certainly wasn't there now, so would his brain stop being a fucking baby and go to sleep already?!

He tried to focus on something else, anything else, to erase the image of grey from his vision. Nothing seemed to work. Happy memories with DICE? They weren't real. Iruma slipping in the dining hall that morning and spilling food all over herself? He killed her. Saihara and the others figured out who the mastermind was and got out of the game alive? His master plan failed and none of it mattered anyway because the game wasn't real and they were never real and everything was just one giant lie they apparently signed up to be a part of and-

Kokichi's eyes shot open, his body suddenly feeling warm, constricted underneath the blanket. He couldn't breathe, the room was spinning, his mouth tasted like lead. Fuck. He was dying again, poison slowly coursing through his veins, shutting down his organs, boiling his blood. Each breath came out ragged and forced, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. He was running out of time. Dying. His body was failing him. Dying. The press was lowering, trapping him between its heavy plates. Dying. Not again! Dying. Get out, get out, get out!

He sat up straight, throwing the blankets off himself in the process. The cool air against his arms and legs brought a small sense of relief, but did nothing to calm the trembling of his body or the pounding in his chest. He tried to breathe, deep, steady, methodic. It wasn't real, there was no poison, the press didn't exist. His mind was playing tricks on him again, making his body act out in ways to fight off the imaginary danger. He was safe, in bed, back to reality.

…Maybe?

No! He wasn't about to go down that rabbit hole. He needed to believe he could tell the difference between fiction and reality. If he couldn't, it would drive him insane. 

Uncurling himself from the fetal position he hadn't realized he was in, Kokichi stood up, pacing the floor of the small room he was given. He was exhausted, he could feel the heavy tiredness rooting itself under his eyes, but he couldn't sit still. If he could walk, he could prove to himself he wasn't in the hangar fighting for his life. He grounded himself in his movements, allowing the semblance of control it provided to cast out the intrusive thoughts. Who needs sleep anyway?

He wondered how it got this bad, how something that wasn't even real could affect him so much. Were the others this way too? Going crazy over their fictional deaths and losing their grip on what's real and what's not? Saihara, Harukawa, and Yumeno probably had it easiest. They never died, and everyone they cared about came back to life the minute they opened their eyes. They didn't have to lay awake at night fighting off the visions of their worst nightmares. They didn't have to deal with the phantom pain their make believe deaths gave them. Their trauma was normal, expected, manageable. They were the lucky ones. 

Momota had said that to him one day, after a nasty fight he had with Harukawa about how "different" he'd been acting after his "death".

Ugh, stupid Momota. He had no idea why he was even thinking about him, why he came to mind every night when the war inside him grew harder to fight. He blamed it on his exhaustion. Delirious thoughts and over exposure to an idiot that did nothing but trail after him like a lost puppy. It was easier that way, it made more sense, and it allowed him to retreat further into his denial of what was really going on when it came to the annoying ray of sunshine that was Kaito Momota. 

Waking up from death was jarring, being told everything was just a simulation had thrown him off entirely, and finding out he wasn't even who he thought he was had been earth shattering. But none of that compared to the complete shock and disbelief that Momota, of all people, actually wanted to be around him. 

He approached him whenever they happened to be in the same room, talked to him like they were long time friends, and fussed over him, worried he wasn't eating enough or getting enough sleep. It was almost suffocating how attached the former astronaut seemed to be. Even when Kokichi pushed him away, using both his harsh words and his hands, Momota only bounced back harder, with determination in his eyes and a wide smile on his face. 

In hindsight, Kokichi should have seen it coming. He had made the mistake of opening himself up to Momota in, what he thought were, his final moments. He'd bared his soul and spelled out his true intentions, thinking it would never come back to bite him. He was supposed to be dead, they both were. Their understanding was meant to come with that condition. Kokichi assumed he wouldn't have to deal with the truth if he wasn't around to face it. 

But that hadn't happened. Instead, they lived. And for some reason Momota decided it was his obligation to understand and pick apart everything Kokichi was. Their moment in the exisal hangar had impacted him more than Kokichi anticipated it to. Admittedly, it was his own fault. What was he to expect from the absolute moron who thought befriending an assassin was a good idea? 

Over time, though, Kokichi just sort of let it happen, he was tired of fighting against an immovable object, and it was better than being alone with his thoughts all the time. Momota was a decent enough distraction, and it wasn't that big of a deal. They weren't exactly friends or anything, they just sort of talked sometimes. Secret understandings and jokes between the two of them, Momota ranting when something in particular pissed him off. It was easy, natural, even if they never really talked about it, whatever “it” was between them. Some things were better left unsaid, and Kokichi knew Momota had no desire to fully remove his mask, a silent request he was more than happy to return the gesture of.

Either way, the two had somehow gotten themselves into the strange habit of spending almost all their time together. It confused the rest of their former classmates, hell, Kokichi himself didn’t fully get it. But they didn’t need to explain it, there didn’t have to be a reason. Something about it just made sense. 

Maybe that was why Kokichi found himself leaving his room, and walking a little faster than normal down the halls. He tapped his fingers anxiously against his leg as he moved, setting a steady rhythm in time with his steps. He knew where he was going, but didn't have it in him to admit it yet, just needing some kind of distraction from his own mind. It's not like he actually wanted to talk to Momota, but what other option did he have? Pace around his room until the sun came up? Play another game of solitaire against himself for the tenth time that week? Lay in bed and stare up at that disgusting grey ceiling? No thanks.

Momota's room was just down the hall from his, sandwiched between Saihara's and Harukawa's in the most, in Kokichi's opinion, hilarious form of irony. He stood in front of the door a moment, fist raised to knock as he stared at the ugly grey color it was painted. -Seriously, with the kind of money Team Danganronpa makes you'd think they could afford more than one paint color!- He hesitated, his arm shaking slightly from a combination of his previous panic and current nerves. 

What the hell was he doing? Was he really going to Momota for comfort? He really had lost his mind. Just because they sometimes talked didn't mean he could just show up to his room at 2am to avoid whatever shit he had going on. What if Momota was sleeping? What if the whole thing was too uncomfortable for him? It was uncomfortable for Kokichi just thinking about it. What would he say? Why did he come here? The whole thing was stupid, and a waste of time. 

He sighed, hugging his arms across his body, before spinning around and making his way back to his room. He wasn't going to do this. He wasn't going to force Momota to put up with him. He could handle it himself. What's a little sleep deprivation and a few skipped heartbeats? He was fine. He was ok. Everything was-

"Kokichi?" 

Shit. He'd only gotten a few steps away before he heard his name being called, stopping him in his tracks. Why the hell was he awake? Kokichi spun around, quickly clasping his hands behind his back to hide their shaking, and plastered a smile on his face.

"Good evening Momota-chan!" He did his best to keep his voice even, hoping it wouldn't betray him. "What are you still doing up? It's way past your bedtime."

Standing in the doorway of his room, Momota crossed his arms. His hair was a mess, magenta spikes pointing downward in all directions. The red t-shirt he wore was wrinkled, and a bit out of place, like he'd only just thrown it on to leave his room. "I could ask you the same thing." He retorted. 

Now that he had spoken a real sentence, Kokichi was able to pick up on just how tired he sounded. That, paired with the dark circles laying under his slightly red eyes, he couldn't help but wonder if he was having trouble sleeping too. 

Curiosity ultimately got the better of him, "On your way to somewhere exciting?" He asked. There was no way he'd heard him outside the door, so there must have been a reason he was out and about.

"Not really." Momota moved one of his hands to the back of his neck, rubbing it in the nervous way he did. "I just couldn't sleep, so I figured I'd take a walk." He seemed to study Kokichi for a moment, his face turning to a look of concern. "You ok?"

"Hm? Me? Of course I am." Kokichi forced his smile to widen, worried his earlier anxiety was more visible than previously thought. The lack of sleep was seriously dulling his edge.

There was a brief pause, Momota's eyes boring into him in that obnoxious way they did when he thought he could read someone. "You came here." He said. It wasn't a question, but more of a questioning statement.

"Great detective work! You're improving by the day!" He moved his hands behind his head. The shaking was almost gone, and Kokichi was both happy and annoyed that the conversation with Momota was helping that. Maybe that was why he'd sought him out, the distraction was always better than being alone.

"You caught me!" He continued, "I was coming here to play a prank on you!" The lies flowed out of him, naturally or out of habit, he wasn't sure. Even though he'd gotten closer with Momota, and there was some unexplainable understanding between them, he still couldn't bring himself to be totally open. Something about it felt too raw, too uncomfortable, too... real.

"A prank?" Momota tilted his head, leaning against the doorframe.

"Yeah, you know. The whole whipped cream in the hand, tickle your nose, it gets all over your face?" He put together the first thing that came to mind, barely stopping for a breath as he faked his way through the explanation. His anxiety from before still hadn't fully left his system, and seemed to be trying to make it's escape through his words. "It's a classic, I'm surprised you never heard of it."

"Whoa slow down!" Momota shook his head. "Are you lying?" He really looked like shit, and Kokichi could tell he was genuinely confused due to his exhaustion. "You don't even have any whipped cream with you."

Kokichi couldn't control the way his face dropped for a second. It really was a bad lie. Not that he could blame himself all that much, he felt like he hadn't slept in days. Quickly, and in what he hoped was enough time for Momota not to notice, he flipped the switch on his emotions, smiling ear to ear. 

"Whoopsie! Silly me!" He giggled, "I forgot the most important part." His lips formed a pout as he crossed his own arms over his chest. "Well this whole prank really was a bust. I'll be going now. Night night sweet Momo-chan-"

"Wait!"

Kokichi wanted to ignore him. He wanted to pretend this whole thing never happened, go back to his room, and crawl deep under his blankets. He didn't even care about the ceiling anymore, he just wanted to get out of there.

But he stopped. The desperation in Momota's single word lay thick in the air. He couldn't explain it, he didn't understand it, but he was curious about it. He turned right back around, swallowing his nerves once more and placing the smile back on his face. 

"Just can't live without me?" He tried to tease, but it came out strained.

Momota didn't seem to notice though, looking off to the side somewhere, as though embarrassed by his own outburst. He nervously gripped the sleeve of his t-shirt, fingers grasping open and closed against the fabric. It only increased the pit of anxiety settling in Kokichi's stomach. He wanted to get out of there. 

"It's too quiet." Momota mumbled, his voice soft, but still audible in the empty hallway.

Huh? What the hell was that supposed to mean? "So what?" Kokichi asked, "You want me to annoy you until you fall asleep?"

Momota rolled his eyes, "Ugh no, I-" he sighed, "I just don't really wanna be alone right now.” The words were forced, like he was fighting against every one of his judgements just to get them out. “And I know you don’t either.”

He hated that he was right. He hated that he actually wanted Momota's company at that moment. It made him uncomfortable being seen in such a way. But Momota had been doing that a lot lately, since waking up, since the exisal hangar.

Shifting on his feet, Kokichi crossed his arms, looking off to the side. "Well that's rather presumptuous of you-"

"Save it Kokichi." Momota cut him off. He'd sound irritated if he didn’t look seconds away from falling asleep. "Why did you come here?"

"I told you, to play a prank."

"The real reason."

Once again, silence accompanied them in the hollow hallway. Why was this so hard? Why was he incapable of just saying how he felt? He knew his life wasn't in danger anymore, he knew it was ok to feel after what he'd gone through. He looked at Momota, standing in the doorway, head tilted slightly as though waiting for the explanation. He felt nervous under his gaze, not because it was threatening, but for the opposite reason. It was kind, and welcoming, and interested in a way that bordered on caring. 

He quickly looked away, focusing his vision on the tile floor beneath his feet. "I don't know." He muttered, the honesty spilling out of him. "I didn't know where else to go."

The silence stretched on and Kokichi started to regret saying anything at all. Even though, arguably, they had started getting closer, they had never really crossed the line into vulnerability, if he didn’t count his little breakdown in the hangar. The bubble of anxiety in the pit of his stomach only grew as he shifted awkwardly on his feet. He wanted to run away, take his chances with the grey, anything to avoid opening up-

"Did you wanna come in?"

Kokichi's head shot up, his eyes meeting Momota's with skepticism. Momota only met his stare, no hint of a smile or lie, but a genuine warmth somewhere deep in his expression. It wasn't new, it wasn't different, but it was far more uncomfortable than the usual kindness Momota had been showing him as of late.

Even without the threat of death and betrayal lingering over them, Kokichi still had no clue what to do with that kindness. It wasn't that he'd never experienced it before, the Kokichi he remembered living the life of at least had DICE on his side, but coming from someone who only ever saw the bad in him was unsettling at best. How was he supposed to act around someone like that? He was never known for his own kindness, and it felt strange suddenly flipping the switch and putting on the act of the caring, sweet, friend when the person in front of him would only think it was a lie.

He swallowed, finding his words again as he covered whatever he was feeling with a large, fake, smile. "Ooo Momota-chan, you're inviting me into your room in the middle of the night?" He teased, slipping into the comfortable he was known for, that he knew himself for. "How scandalous!"

Momota only rolled his eyes, his frown deepening and betraying the small blush forming on his cheeks. "Are you coming in or not?" He grumbled.

Kokichi almost laughed at how flustered such a small comment seemed to make him. It was almost endearing, and helped ease his shaking nerves. Momota was just as new at this as he was. After all that time shrouding himself in his own brand of lies, asking honestly for what he wanted couldn't have been an easy task. He was seeking out comfort in the same way, and somehow, that made it easier to admit his own desperate need for it as well.

Instead of responding, and making things even more painfully awkward than they already were, Kokichi only nodded quickly. Momota smiled, his mouth half turning up in a lazy yet genuine way. He turned and walked into his room, leaving the door open as Kokichi followed after him. He checked both ends of the hallway, leftover paranoia from the game momentarily taking over, to assure himself no one was around to watch, before disappearing inside, closing the door behind him.

Momota flicked a small desk lamp on, lighting the room in a hollow glow before taking a seat on the chair in front of it. It was the same set up Kokichi had in his room, less of a desk and more like a small metal counter bolted into the wall. He took a look around, noting the rooms were almost identical, aside from the personal belongings and mess that turned it into Momota's own. 

A pile of clothes that were just as likely to be clean as they were dirty lay near his closet, half full water bottles on the desk, by the bed, and in random locations on the floor, empty cigarette boxes in the garbage can and an ashtray by the window. It was bleak, and a little depressing, not at all like Kokichi imagined the Ultimate Astronaut, and self proclaimed "Luminary of the Stars", to live.

"Sorry about the mess." Momota suddenly said with a small laugh, taking notice of the way Kokichi was studying his room. When he looked at him he had a hand behind his head, rubbing the back of his neck.

"So this is Momota-chan's room?" He asked, playing up the tease in his voice, unconsciously hoping to ease whatever nerves the other boy was feeling. "I'm so honored."

"Yeah, yeah." He waved him off, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms. "Make yourself comfortable I guess."

Kokichi sat on the edge of the bed, swinging his legs as the silence once again took over. He didn't know what to say, or what to do, so he took the time to look around a bit more, ignoring Momota's eyes following his every movement. Curiosity got the better of him as he tilted his head back, wanting, against his better judgement, to confirm if their rooms truly were the same. 

He expected to be met with the same empty, washed up grey of the hydraulic press when he surveyed the ceiling, but froze, confused and taken aback by what he really saw.

Plastic stars of various sizes covered the ceiling from end to end, glowing dimly in the half lit room. Together they formed shapes, most likely constellations Kokichi didn't recognize, emulating the actual night sky. What had originally been the haunting, washed out grey, was turned into something almost transfixing, far more tolerable than before. He remained still, mouth slightly agape as he followed the patterns of stars, taking them in, enjoying the peace they temporarily brought to his never resting mind.

"Do you like them?"

Broken out of his trance, Kokichi's eyes left the ceiling and fixed to Momota again. He stayed leaning back in his chair, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. There was nothing malicious or egotistical about it, he just looked amused. Kokichi didn't understand the way his stomach flipped at that smile.

He blinked a few times, refocusing on the question he'd been asked. He had no clue how to answer it without spilling his secrets as to why he'd been going crazy since coming to this place. So instead, he opted for his next best option, one he'd perfected at some point during his fake life. Deflection and avoidance. 

"A gift from Team Danganronpa?" He inquired, finding himself actually curious if the organization keeping them here had been kind enough -or cruel enough- to dump some space themed stuff on the former astronaut.

"Huh? Oh, no." Momota replied, leaning his head back to look at the stars himself. "Shuichi found them at the hospital gift shop, when we found out we were coming here. He told me I should get them to put in my room, might make me feel more at home."

Kokichi laid back, pillowing his head on his hands and turning to look at him. "Do they?"

"No." Momota laughed.

Kokichi couldn't help the smile forming on his own face. It was no secret they'd all woken up without a sense of purpose or even self. Often, the two would joke about how messed up their memories and lives were as a result. Momota must have known the sentiment was useless to begin with, but still, he purchased the stars anyway. Most likely, he did it to continue to comfort Saihara and pretend he had some part of himself together. Little did Saihara know, Momota's identity crisis seemed to run deeper than anyone else Kokichi had observed in their class.

It was kind of funny, in a tragically ironic way, how fooled Momota had his friends. Especially when paired with how easily Kokichi could see through that bullshit. Maybe that was part of why they continued to gravitate towards each other. They understood each other on a level the others simply didn't, even if the words they shared were few and far between. Just knowing they didn't have to hide, if they didn't want to, was reassuring on its own.

"So, you can't sleep either?" Momota broke the silence yet again, staring somewhere at the wall. He turned the chair back and forth, a repetitive movement evident of his restlessness, despite his obvious exhaustion.

"Hm?" Kokichi tilted his head, forever playing innocent. "I never said that."

"Why else were you wandering around late at night?"

He groaned, exaggerated and loud, "What are you, a cop?" He rolled over so he was laying on his stomach, legs kicking in the air. "It just so happens that 2am is prime pranking time. I have to make sure I'm awake so I can set everything up without interruption."

Momota gave him a face, the coy look he sometimes gave when he knew Kokichi was telling a lie. It was obvious, and they both knew it, considering it'd been disproven only moments before. But Kokichi also knew Momota wasn't going to call him out on it. He never did. It was just part of their unspoken agreement. So Kokichi just gave his own self assured smile, content with the normalcy. 

What he didn't expect, though, was Momota's face to drop the way it did, mirroring one of Kokichi's own famous blank expressions. He didn't seem to be looking at anything, eyes loosely fixed on Kokichi, but actually somewhere else far away. He blinked a few times, shaking his head as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and folding his hands between them. He seemed to focus on his hands, kneading and twisting his fingers together. 

The quiet stretched on for a few agonizing seconds as Kokichi wondered what he was thinking. He didn't want to call it concern, but the empty look in the other boy's eyes couldn't be anything good, not with how much he was struggling to cope lately.

Again, it was Momota's voice cutting through the vacant air, this time in a low mumble. "I keep having nightmares."

Kokichi didn't move, he didn't speak, thrown off completely by the sudden admission. It wasn't that he didn't know, or at least suspect, that nightmares played a part in Momota's inability to sleep, just like they did for him. He just didn't expect the outright confession. They didn't talk about it, they agreed in everything but their words to never talk about what was going on inside their heads. But Momota was breaking that vow, and Kokichi didn't know what else to do but stare at him, emotionless, hoping he would continue, if only to fill the silence creeping in around them.

He fidgeted as he spoke, still not meeting Kokichi's eyes. "Sometimes it's finding a body, one of the others. Other times it's the rocket." He let out a small laugh, running a hand through his hair. "And sometimes I'm trying to save... someone, but I can't."

Kokichi didn't miss the pause in his words, or the way his eyes shifted even more when he said it. Someone. He didn't want to assume, and wouldn't understand if it were true, but he had a feeling he knew what he really wanted to say there. You.

"The stuff that happens in them, it's different all the time. Victims get swapped around and it's kinda weird." Momota continued, rubbing the back of his neck again. "But they're all just silent. There's no noise. No screams for help, or pleading for life, or even background noise. It's just... nothing. Total silence." He paused, crossing his arms over himself again, gripping at his sleeve and staring at the ground. "I think that's the scariest part." He whispered.

"It's too quiet." The words of his earlier comment were finally sinking in. He wasn't just uncomfortable with the idea of silence, it actually terrified him. It must have been why he spent the whole night filling that silence whenever it happened between them. It never seemed to happen before. Kokichi was usually more animated in the daytime, finding it easier to keep up his playful, trickster facade when there was a larger audience around to fool. Even if most of their understanding was done without words, it was rarely ever actually quiet when the two spent time together.

He wondered where his fear of the quiet came from. He wondered if the silence was as tortuous for Momota as the grey was for him. He wondered if even just saying it, talking about it, was eating at his pride and melting away the walls he placed so high around himself. He could see the shame and embarrassment on his face, and in the way he still refused to look at him. He felt those same things himself whenever he was forced to stay awake and stare at his ceiling until the sun rose, taunted by the never ending grey curtain above.

Maybe that was why he found himself sighing, resting his chin on his folded arms against the bed. He glanced at Momota one last time before fixing his gaze to the blanket below him, trying to prepare himself for something he never really could bring himself to do.

"My ceiling looks like the press." The words came out of him in the most blunt, direct, way possible.

Momota's head shot up, his brow furrowed as Kokichi gave him a weak, awkward smile. He didn't speak, the same way Kokichi did, waiting for him to continue on his own.

He gave him what he wanted, returning the favor as he spoke. "I try to fall asleep and I feel like I'm right there again, under the press. It's like I can actually hear the machine coming to life above me." He smoothed a hand over the blanket, trying to focus on the feeling of the fabric underneath his fingers to keep himself calm. "It's stupid, really. I know I'm not there, I know it's not real. But my dumb brain just wants to convince me I'm dying again." He rolled his eyes, feeling ridiculous and angry with himself.

"It's not stupid." Momota muttered, picking at his sweatpants. He didn't sound so sure, like he was struggling to convince himself of the same thing. 

Kokichi only shrugged in response, not sure if he was even able to go into it any further. 

He never was good at opening up, and the fact that his anxieties were coming from something he knew didn't exist only made him feel weaker. Kokichi excelled at taking and having control. Whether it was over others, the world around him, or his own thoughts, he always felt secure when he was the one in control. But lately, his brain had been taking over the reins, feeding him these delusions and reminding him that he never really had the control he thought he did. 

Momota looked around the room, finally settling on the stars stuck across the ceiling again. "If it helps, you can sleep here if you want." He smiled, nervous yet encouraging. "I know it's not much, but at least the stars will block out the way the ceiling looks."

Would that be ok? A part of him wanted to, it craved that comfort, and ultimately, nothing bad would come of it, right? It wasn't like he was doing it to spend more time with Momota. He was just tired, and sick of staring at all the mopey, drained out grey. Maybe this way he could get a bit of sleep, even if it was at the expense of his pride.

Instead of answering, he crawled up to the top of the bed, throwing the covers over himself and nuzzling into the pillows. It was warm, and smelled like a mixture of sweat, cheap cologne, smoke, and something else so distinctly Momota he couldn't quite put a finger on it. But it was far more inviting than his own bed.

Kokichi giggled, settling himself further into the mountain of comfort surrounding him. "Momota-chan is so forward tonight." He teased.

Momota's face flushed, his defense dying on his lips as he simply opted to roll his eyes. "Come on asshole." He huffed. "I'm just offering you a place to sleep."

Kokichi hummed, relishing in the reactions Momota gave to him. "Beats whatever I had planned for the night." He sighed, contently, relaxing and taking in the replica night sky above him. It really was nice, and the effort Momota must have put in to get it accurate probably wasn't easy. He felt like he really could drift off laying there beneath it. He could pretend he was somewhere else, away from the hospital, Team Danganronpa, the game, and away from the press. 

But something still wasn't right. Kokichi took his attention off the ceiling and over to the magenta haired boy in the desk chair across the room. He busied himself, trailing his eyes anywhere in the room but at Kokichi. He looked nervous, restless, and most of all, exhausted. It was annoying, and a habit Kokichi knew he had to find a way to break, but he felt a pang of sympathy at the way Momota seemed to be sacrificing his own comfort for somebody else's again.

He couldn't exactly do anything about the silence, except maybe suggest he find a radio or something, but he could still find a way to let him know he wasn't alone. Kokichi wasn't the only one suffering, his comfort wasn't the only thing that mattered. Momota liked to pretend he was strong, like he had everything together. And even with their understanding of each other's lies, Momota still couldn't fully shake that facade, just like Kokichi couldn't shake his own either. And since Momota wouldn't ask for the things he wanted, Kokichi was just going to have to thrust them on him himself. 

"Are you coming to bed Momo-chan?" He asked, sending him a smile at the dumbfounded expression he gave.

"Uh, no I'm fine." Momota answered, fidgeting in his seat, "You go ahead. I can just sleep on the floor if I get tired enough."

"You're already tired enough." Kokichi pointed out. "Besides, it's kind of creepy if you just sit there and watch me sleep."

"I wasn't-" The fight died quickly as he bit his lip. "Are you sure?"

Kokichi just nuzzled further into the blanket, "Come on already!" He whined. "I'm getting cold."

"Alright, alright." Momota sighed. He stood up, stretching his arms over his head before shutting off the desk lamp. The room was shrouded in darkness, lit up by the moon and plastic stars enough that Kokichi could still watch every one of Momota's movements. Slowly, and carefully, he made his way over to the bed, lifting the blankets and entering as far away from Kokichi as he possibly could. There was some hesitance as he settled in, trying his best not to disturb the mattress or Kokichi too much. 

Kokichi looked at him, quirking up an eyebrow, letting Momota know how ridiculous he was being. Momota only smiled politely back at him, before turning to face away from him, curling in on himself. It was a sweet enough gesture, and ordinarily Kokichi would be grateful for the lack of intimacy. But he also knew Momota was holding back, denying himself the comfort he truly needed, and disguising it as cautiousness for Kokichi's own comfort level. How annoying.

Realizing things weren't going to change, and at the insistence of his exhaustion, Kokichi turned over as well, so he was back to back with Momota.

The room was enveloped in silence again, and Kokichi decided to cut his losses and rest. He closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths before fully relaxing into the blankets atop him. It was much better than his own room, and he actually found himself able to let go of his earlier worries. Maybe Momota was on to something, not only did the stars block out any sort of thoughts about the press, but his presence brought its own benefits. He wasn't alone. 

Despite this though, something still wasn't right, something still ate away at him and refused to let him truly relax. The subtle heat from Momota's body grew increasingly harder to ignore, as it became more and more obvious he wasn't feeling as content as he seemed to want Kokichi to believe he was. The way he shifted under the blankets, along with his uneven breathing, Kokichi didn't have to look at him to know. He tried to ignore it, if Momota wanted to be stubborn and stay up all night he could, and it's not like there was anything Kokichi could really do.

But he couldn't ignore how quiet it was, and that quiet had to be nagging at Momota's mind. Should he fill that silence? Should he reach out and try? He knew it might be crossing some kind of line, but they'd been crossing lines all night, and Kokichi knew he wouldn't be able to sleep until he had answers.

"Why the silence?" Kokichi tried, effectively breaking it with his soft voice.

"Huh?" As expected, Momota was awake, sounding not much more tired than he was before. "Well the point is for you to go to sleep. I'd just keep you up if I tried talking to you."

"No idiot." God he was dense . "Why does the silence bother you so much?"

Momota stiffened, an action Kokichi could feel through the mattress. "It's..." He paused. "It's nothing. It's dumb."

He knew it wouldn't be that simple. Kokichi turned around, facing Momota's back, and sighed. "Momota-chan, I just told you I'm afraid of my ceiling coming to life and crushing me. We're way past dumb here."

"I guess." Shuffling himself, Momota turned around as well, so they were face to face. Kokichi could see the uncertainty in his eyes from the dim light of the room. "Just... don't get all weird about it, ok?"

Weird? Why would he be "weird" about it? Kokichi nodded his confirmation, eyes never leaving Momota's as he prepared himself for the explanation.

When Momota started talking, his voice was low, barely above a whisper. "When... When we were in the hangar, and I had to... y'know..." Kill me? "We were talking before and then the press made a bunch of noise and then..." He shut his eyes tight, the words clearly difficult for him to form, much less get out. "Then there was this sound, like..."

"The sound of my body being crushed?" Kokichi finished for him, knowing he wouldn't be able to do it himself.

Momota winced, eyes opening but remaining downcast. "Yeah." He muttered. "That. But then it was just nothing. It was silent." He sounded like he might cry, guilt dripping from his words. "And I know we were talking about it beforehand and we set it all up and it was this whole plan you came up with, but once it was done, and that silence settled in... it became real. I... I killed you."

"Oh." That was the last thing Kokichi was expecting. He wasn't sure why, but the fact that Momota was the one who killed him slipped his mind more often than not. He never realized how it might be affecting him, how difficult that must have been for him to do, to live with. It never occurred to him, because he couldn't imagine why it would.

"So now, when I try to sleep," he continued. "And it's as quiet as it usually is in here, I keep hearing... that sound. I keep remembering what I did to you." His hand came up, fingers hesitantly running along Kokichi's shoulder, as if feeling that he was really there, that he was really alive.

Kokichi still didn't speak, he didn't know what to say. Momota's touch was gentle, caring, and his face carried a sense of relief. It didn't make sense. Why would someone as kind and good as Momota spend his time agonizing over his death? He suffered too, for far longer than Kokichi had. To him, his biggest issue wasn't that he had spent weeks battling an unknown deadly disease, or that he had been unfairly executed in a pointless game of life or death, it was what he'd done to Kokichi. His own death didn't matter, his own pain didn't matter, and as stupid and self sacrificing as that was, it was just so purely Momota of him.

"I don't want you to feel all weird." Momota added, slowly retracting his hand. "Or like it's your fault or whatever."

Kokichi reached out, grabbing his receding hand in his own. "It's not yours either."

"Huh?"

Kokichi stared at their connected hands between them, threading their fingers together, "I mean, Tojo-chan, Shinguji-chan, me, we all should feel guilty about what we did, it was entirely self serving." He ran his thumb along Momota's knuckle, tracing the scars that lined them. A result of the few times his anger had gotten the better of him since waking up, and he'd directed it at a wall or window or whatever object was closest to him. "But you were just trying to save everyone. Killing me was part of that deal."

"You were just trying to save everyone too." Momota muttered, eyes following each one of Kokichi's delicate finger movements.

Kokichi shrugged. It didn't matter what Momota said, he would always hold himself responsible for what happened to Gonta and Iruma, for what happened to Momota as well. He even blamed himself for what Momota was going through now, for the pain he felt for killing him. If he'd just considered others' feelings from the start. If he'd only kept that in mind while carefully devising his plan. 

But he thought he'd be dead. He thought he would never have to look everyone in the eye and live with the consequences of his actions. Their current fates, the emotional turmoil they were stuck with as a result of their pretend deaths, it was worse, far worse. 

Kokichi found himself smiling, holding tight to Momota's hand and bringing it up, resting the palm against his cheek. Momota stilled, seemingly unsure if the touch was ok, but Kokichi continued to smile, encouraging him with the gentle movement of his thumb over his knuckles. Slowly, Momota relaxed into the touch, fully cupping Kokichi's cheek in his hand. He looked almost mystified by the action, but made no move to remove his hand. It was warm, rough skin meeting a gentle, caring touch.

"We're so weird." Kokichi laughed.

"Huh?" Momota's eyes never left his own hand, watching as his thumb started rubbing slowly against Kokichi's cheek.

"I feel guilty for something you say isn't my fault, and you feel guilty for something I say isn't your fault." Kokichi leaned into the touch, closing his eyes with a content smile. "Neither one of us will change our minds, no matter how the other argues their point."

Momota chuckled softly, moving his hand up to tuck a piece of Kokichi's hair behind his ear. "I guess you're right about that." He said. "Like we're not good, but we're not bad either."

"What do you mean?"

Momota shifted a bit, his hand leaving Kokichi's face and settling between them. "I think I spend too much time thinking in extremes." He started, "Or, well, we both do. But people aren't like that, are they? We're kind of living, breathing proof of that if you think about it."

When they'd first met, Kokichi remembered how much he couldn't stand Momota. He was a liar, reckless and impulsive. An idiotic, hot head that was bound to cause more harm than good the longer he was left to his own devices. And Momota felt similar about him, branding him an irredeemable villain, especially after what he pulled with Gonta and Iruma. They existed on opposite ends of the spectrum, always disagreeing on how things should be done. But the more they got to know each other, the less that seemed to be true. 

"I've been trying to stop doing that, y'know?" Momota continued, "Things, people, we aren't black and white. We're not that simple." He grabbed Kokichi's hand again, flattening his palm against the other's. "Sometimes good people do shitty things. It doesn't mean they deserve to hurt for it."

It was such a different sentiment coming from Momota. Usually the former astronaut trainee would shout about his own misguided heroics, claiming the "proper" way to be a hero, to be the good guy. Kokichi never fit in that box, because he wasn't playing the hero the way Momota wanted him to, the way he expected someone to. And Kokichi never believed Momota's intentions were anything but selfish. He thought he was stupid, dangerous, all because his methods didn't line up to the way Kokichi thought they should've been.

But after their time spent in the exisal hangar, and in the hospital after the game, Kokichi had begun to realize there was much more to Momota than what he showed on the surface. The same insecurities Kokichi held under all his lies, Momota did too. They both wanted to be the hero, they both wanted to save the day. Their masks were designed differently, made by two people who had picked up the scraps of their desires and intentions, and molded it however they could, until it fit. But they were meant to do the same thing, to hide the fears they kept buried so deep within themselves. At the end of the day, the masks didn't matter, they were only the front they wanted everyone else to see. But they were hollow, meaningless, nothing when compared to the truth of the person wearing it. 

Kokichi looked at their hands, palms pressed together. Everything about them was different. Momota's skin a deep, smooth tan, in contrast to Kokichi's own sharp, paleness. The small, fragile, boniness of Kokichi's fingers, engulfed by the large, warm, and calloused palm of Momota. On the outside, they were the ends of the extremes, the black and the white. They'd even carefully crafted their masks to further enforce that. But no one could really see just how similar they were underneath, they'd even been blind to it themselves. 

Momota's eyes stayed fixed on their hands, as he slowly threaded his fingers through Kokichi's. "I dunno." He muttered, clearly uncomfortable with the silence that grew between them again. "What do you think?"

Kokichi shrugged again. He had no clue. It was a much bigger problem than either of them were really capable of solving. He didn't want Momota to feel guilty for what he did. After everything, Kokichi knew that was a fate he deserved. But Momota insisted on looking at him like he was something good, something precious that deserved the comfort he was providing. It was kind of sickening, but the small fluttering in the pit of his stomach told him he loved it regardless.

Kokichi shifted, pulling himself forward as he guided Momota's hand to rest on his shoulder. Momota hesitated, and as if on instinct, moved his hand down further, so his arm wrapped around Kokichi's small frame, his hand resting somewhere in the middle of his back.

A wave of exhaustion washed over Kokichi, a restful sensation that laid heavy on his eyelids. The closeness and warmth made him feel safe, protected, and helped the tired fog of his brain as it began to take over.

"I think," He let out a yawn, loud and slightly exaggerated. "We should go to sleep." He answered, nuzzling his head in the space on the pillow between Momota's chest and arm.

The hand against his back started rubbing up and down in a soothing motion. "Is this ok?" Momota asked, tentative, cautious. "Like to sleep, I mean."

Even with something as simple and stupid as cuddling, Momota was a bundle of nerves. Afraid that the slightest touch might make Kokichi run. It was almost adorable, and Kokichi would have been tempted to throw in some extra teasing if he wasn't so wrapped up in the idea of finally getting a good night's sleep. 

It was funny, how much things had changed since waking up. If someone had told him at the beginning of the game he would one day be cuddling in bed with Momota, relishing in his comfort and warmth, he would have laughed in their face. But after everything they’d been through, he couldn’t think of anything more natural. It was crazy, to think something so tragic could bring them together, but Kokichi was grateful for it, in an odd way. It gave him something beautiful. It gave him Momota.

A stupid enough turn of events, that Kokichi found himself giggling softly.

"What's up?" Momota mumbled, the tiredness seeping through his voice..

He couldn't hide the smile on his face, too tired to bother, and also too tired to explain the real reason behind it. So he just let out another giggle, looking at Momota with a tease in his eyes. 

"Harukawa-chan would be sooo jealous."

The blush blossoming on Momota's cheeks only made Kokichi giggle harder, as he felt the hand move from his back up to his head. "Shut up and go to bed." he grumbled, pushing his head back down towards his chest.

Kokichi continued to smile, closing his eyes and letting himself enjoy the feeling of Momota's hand softly petting his head, soothing him to sleep. He nuzzled a bit closer, as the movements subsided and he felt the weight of Momota’s arm around his body. They stayed like that, content in the silence enveloping them. Kokichi hoped his presence was enough, that just knowing he was there would keep Momota grounded enough to ignore the empty air. 

His question was answered, as it didn't take long for Momota's breath to even, his soft movements slowing to a stop as he drifted into sleep. Kokichi exhaled, finally letting himself fully relax, knowing the other had found a way to do so too.

He looked at his face, calm and peaceful, the irony of Kokichi's presence being the main factor in causing that. It made him think about Momota’s earlier words, how neither one of them were good, but they weren't bad either. How the ends of the spectrum they always thought of themselves as didn't exist. Instead, the colors blurred together, mixing and swirling into something reflective of both sides. They were nothing more than a middle ground of shades somewhere in between. They were just... grey . 

And there it was again, a living example of the concept itself. Despite the blanket surrounding him, and the arm of someone much larger than him keeping him trapped underneath, Kokichi wasn't afraid, if anything, he felt safe. Momota was warm, and stable, and alive. But most of all, he was his own shade of grey. And that allowed him to forgive Kokichi for the dull mix of colors he was too.

... Maybe grey really wasn’t all that bad? 

His eyes trailed past Momota’s sleeping form, to the stars decorating the ceiling above. He blinked a few times, taking in the sight of them as he fought to stay awake long enough to really appreciate them.

Momota was right, the stars really weren't much. But they were something, a twinkling barrier from the press that always loomed above. And, for the second time, just like in the cold, hopeless air of the exisal hangar, Kokichi found himself comforted by the stars Momota provided.