Chapter Text
They began to spend a lot of time together after being able to finally meet each other at the subway station. And while Shinguji knew that she was going to be different than before, he had not been expecting that for certain. Yes, she was a little clumsy, a little shy, quite reserved, but he found himself not minding it at all. Granted, he really wasn't the same person that she had meet in the fifty-third season of that damned killing game. But besides all of that, there were still some remnants left of her original personality, and that was enough for him.
They started out as friends, riding the subway together and visiting a location to eat at after school. Mostly things like cafés and fast food joints, but either way the two found ways to enjoy themselves. Even if they were both relatively quiet people, just being in each other's presence after so long was enough for them. Though Tojo did find herself speaking quite a bit more than normal around him, and he simply listened intently to her blabber. He'd learn that she tried so far to replicate the kind of person she was in the killing games—graceful, calm, kind, but austere when needed, and adept at virtually anything. He'd learn that her family practically ignored her, they’d never ask how her day went, or how she’d been as of late. When she woke up, there were no acknowledgements that they were happy she was back. Just nothing that would indicate that they even knew she was there. Whereas with Shinguji, his family hardly saw him as a human, but rather, an object. He was pestered to send in an audition tape just so that a Shinguji would have a chance to be featured in the 53rd season, they did not at all care about his emotions, or how he may have felt about the situation. It was just, "Korekiyo, send in your audition tape!", "Korekiyo, have you sent in your audition tape already?", "Korekiyo, make an audition tape and send it in this instant." It stopped being a request pretty quickly, and turned into an order. Both of them were mistreated by their families, people that were supposed to care and support them. But they didn't. In the end, all they really had was each other's presence, each other's company. And that was enough.
Going to food joints and coffees shops weren't enough anymore. Shinguji would find himself walking her home more often than not, seeing as they took the subway together. The first thing she'd learn about him was that he did not wear lipstick behind the face mask he wore. She found out that he had neutropenia, and got sick easily, so to prevent that, he wore the mask to keep out diseases that would easily make him sick. It was simple really, even a fool could understand that. Another thing that she'd learn about him was that, unsurprisingly, he and his sister were not engaged in any incestuous activity unlike his in-game persona implied. In fact, it couldn't be further from the truth. He knew nearly nothing about Kazusa, as a matter of fact, he didn't even know how old she was. He knew she was older than him, but by how much? He couldn't answer that. All they ever said was hello, or good morning to each other. There were no further interactions, not even a good night or how was your day. He wasn't really bothered by that fact, he was more content reading in his room, or now, spending time with Tojo. With all the time he was spending away from home, perhaps one of his family members would wonder where he was, or what he was up to. But no. Even when he returned at ten or another absurd hour of the day, there was no "where were you?", or "what have you been up to?"
Perhaps that was one upside of having parents who didn't care, and a sister who minded her own business. He could do pretty much whatever he wanted, and he would not be punished by them.
He tested out this theory by inviting her over to his place. His parents were workaholics, and were hardly ever home. And since Tojo's family never acknowledged her presence to begin with, it was easy for her to be deviant and go under the radar as well. They didn't do anything inappropriate, which most teenagers their age would take advantage of. But they didn't. They were content sitting on his bed, in his neat room, talking for hours and hours about the things they either loved or hated. Tojo loved kittens, but hated lavender as it gave her severe allergic reactions, on top of the fact that she didn't think it smelled good. Shinguji loved tidiness, but despised anything that was lemon scented, he found it overwhelming and unnecessary. It was interesting, to them both, to learn about the many complexities about each other. How she loved the color red but would faint at the sight of blood, how he loved history but could not stomach reading biographies on historical figures. How she loved medical documentaries but hated going to the hospital, how he loved to read but would sooner pull teeth than write an essay. Every like, every secret told, was like unraveling the bandages on long healed wounds that scarred over, wounds that maybe were never intended to be revealed to the public. Maybe they were never to be revealed to anyone ever, because no one ever cared to know, to find out.
There was a poem that Tojo read, something that she really liked. It was called 93 Percent Stardust, by Nikita Gill. It was poetic, romantic, and something that struck deeply within her. "We have calcium in our bones, iron in our veins, carbon in our souls, and nitrogen in our brains. 93 percent stardust, with souls made of flames, we are all just stars with people names." Some stars shone brighter than others in their bleak lives, but everyone was equal in the dark blue sky above. As she recited it, their hands had been entwined with each other, fingers sifting perfectly within the other's knuckles. Though no one could say for sure, perhaps their relationship would be nothing more than a dalliance, or maybe it would evolve to something more profound. Regardless of the outcome, there was no where they'd rather be than leaning on each other, hands locked gently, as they talked and talked about whatever, wherever the conversation took them.
Coming over to his house wasn't enough anymore. She wanted more, she craved more, she felt like she might go crazy if she had to spend a lonely, bitterly cold night without the dulcet embrace of her.. Her Shinguji. They had not established any kind of relationship, and yet, no words were apt enough to describe what they had. The possessiveness was truly the only way to illustrate what their relationship was. She was his, and he was hers.
She began spending the night after school, whenever she felt like she could afford it. His room was a safe space, he made it safe. The vague scent of sandalwood and cedar comforted her, especially when she was curled up in his sheets and could smell his musk. He was so utterly comforting, it made her forget that her life at home was so dull and bleak. Falling asleep had never been so blissful, she no longer was haunted by the nightly terrors of her dreams, or the crushing existential weight she had to carry on her shoulders.
He too, felt comforted by her presence. She gave him a sense of purpose, breathed life into him, made him less cynical. When they slept with each, in the most innocent sense of the word, it was nothing but utter exaltation. Curled up in his silky sheets, holding her in his frame, everything felt right, like everything was how it was always supposed to be. And he'd never change it. They'd spend hours and hours talking up until the damnable hours of the morning, before dawn even broke. And then it was nothing but peace.
But sometimes, when she'd fall asleep before him, he'd admire her sleeping face. Everyone looked free of worry or guilt or issues when they were asleep, and she looked simply becoming. She slept to the soft hum of stardust, all the while a curious soul sat, gazing. Beyond the Earth, beyond the mood, beyond the celestial heaven.
And when he slept, he'd sleep without his mask, revealing the same porcelain skin her killing game self had the privilege of seeing. Sometimes, she'd gaze upon his beautiful face, run her dainty fingers over his and wonder just how much more perfect he could be. To her, he was the prime example of beauty and elegance, something she strove to be.
And when they woke up to the smell of petrichor from his window, it was a reminder that everything was going to be alright.
And then, hugging and kissing each other was no longer satisfactory. Yes, being with each other never felt so right, so fateful. But it wasn't enough anymore. She craved his touch, to be surrounded by him and nothing else. He wanted to feel her, touch her, explore her. She was sacred and beautiful, he didn't want to ruin it, but rather, indulge.
It started off sloppy and clumsy, he awkwardly climbed over her and accidentally pressed his knee into her thigh, apologizing almost immediately for hurting her. She tried getting up too fast and ended up hitting her head against his, with the both of them hissing in pain. When she tried being on top to straddle him, she sat uncomfortably on his crotch, causing him to groan in pain. When he tried to grope her, even just gently, she'd tense up and push him away by instinct. Or when she tried to open up protection, she accidentally tore it all the way through. To put it simply, it didn't go very well the first few times. But they were all just honest mistakes, and they didn't give up on each other.
Finally they got it right one day. And it was gentle and sweet and blissful.
She was in a state of being half undressed, celadon uniform untied and halfway down her shoulders, skirt bunched up at her waist. Her pale shoulders even turned red as her face did, expression hot and flustered beneath him. As he rest in between her legs, his gold gaze hovered over her entire body, hands exploring and touching her smooth flesh, admiring just how beautiful she was. He'd even brush away her silvery hair from her face, just so that he could fully see her, kiss every inch of her complexion, see the expressions she'd make at every little move he made. Whether it was when he pushed into her, kissed her chest, teased her, he indulged in her entire being. He'd take note of how she'd grip what little clothing remained on his body, which was his white, unbuttoned shirt and gray trousers, fisting the fabric of his clothing, holding him like she'd die if she let go. He adored how she gave into him.
And finally, when he got close and released, his body collapsed on hers, meshing together perfectly. His hot, hazy breath felt sultry on her sweaty skin, making her tremble whenever he whispered in her ear. He'd whisper, I love you, I love you, over and over again.
At this point, they had still being using each other's last names, Shinguji and Tojo.
"I love you, Kirumi."
And Tojo deteriorated beneath him.
The killing game had long since ended, neither Tojo nor Shinguji cared about the results. The only good that game did was give them a chance to have a normal, interesting life instead of dreariness, and loneliness.
At this point in their lives, they had already graduated from their respective high schools, and had acquired part-times jobs so that they could live in an apartment together. Shinguji worked as cashier at a book store, while Tojo decided that being a hostess would help her acquire that image of grace and serenity. While she did the job, anyway, she believed that she was fitting in that image quite well.
Their lives weren't interesting or very engaging until that fateful day that they were selected as a participant for the 53rd season of the DanganRonpa Killing Game. And even after that had been over with, they still weren't very interesting. But that was okay. It was the little moments that only they shared with each other that made it all worth it, and much less hollow.
After all, they were just stardust with people names.