when he sees me [closed]

[trialbyliar]

WHO: kokichi & shuichi
WHEN: sometime during spring break
WHAT: tfw you run into someone you absolutely were not prepared to ever see again

[Upon first coming to – becoming aware of it, anyway, not whatever kind of autopilot was responsible for the vague memories he's got of existing in this place – the first thing Kokichi had done was check his locker. Said memories told him he had one and exactly where it was, after all. He needed to see what he was working with here.

(That's a lie, though. It wasn't the first thing he did. But rushing to some random supply closet to have a teeny breakdown over being alive and whatever the fuck is going on here totally doesn't count.)

Anyway. He didn't exactly have much on him last he remembered – not even a shirt, honestly, but he was choosing not to think too much about the details of those last moments – but there were still some things missing. His lockpicks, notably. And unfortunately, they weren't in the locker either. What was in there was mostly unfamiliar, in that strangely familiar way everything here was. Clothes, a blank notebook that looked used but empty, some sticker sheets. Things to puzzle over in hope of finding some clues, but little that was immediately helpful.

He ditched the stupid uniform tie. The casual clothes in the locker had included a checkered scarf, and tossing that on over the uniform had made him feel at least a bit more put together. Less overwhelmed by that bizarre awareness of having some kind of life here, some whole other identity that he can't quite remember but feels real and also not at the same time. He's had more than his fair share of that shit already, thanks.

(He's also choosing not to think too hard about how he's clinging to the markers of an identity that might be just as bullshit. He can self-reflect later.)

Since then, Kokichi's just been exploring and trying to get a grip on whatever is going on here. There's no robot bear popping up this time to explain the situation. Not yet, anyway. So he's left to his own devices, searching every nook and cranny for some hint of what was behind this and what its purpose is.

He doesn't entirely avoid the others. Of course he's noticed there are others here, strangers that all seem just as perplexed as him, but he's hardly about to trust them just because of that. The last weird school he woke up in hammed that lesson in hard. So he works alone, doing the bulk of his investigating after dark when most everyone else is camping out in classrooms and whatnot. The silence is eerie, and he hates not being able to tell if someone (or something) is approaching, but he needs this privacy. He needs to control how others see him if he's going to survive this. He doesn't intend on dying again – it sure didn't seem to stop whatever was toying with his life last time.

It's already fallen silent for the night. Heading up the stairwell, his feet don't even make a sound hitting the steps. But at least that means no one else can hear him coming either.]

Comments

not me writing this half-asleep bc i love u that much

[unsurely]

[ In all honesty, every step in this place still feels shaky. It's been a while, at least two days, since the vertigo-like memory of watching the death of his best friend and then before he knew it, waking up here. And then waking up here again, and again, and again which had almost made him nauseous as it looped, the sicker to his stomach the harder he tried to discern which of his memories came from where. At least at the Ultimate Academy for Gifted Juveniles, things had happened in sequence -- or there had been clear discernment between the memories they were recalling, and the present reality they were living.

Here, he's not so certain.

Damn it, he can't even tell if the two are connected by this point. There's no evidence to the contrary, but there isn't really proof to support it either. No matter how much he's looked around the school, he hasn't found anything to ascertain one or the other. He'd come this far, and he'd finally thought he could trust his skills, and now-- ]

...?

[ Whatever direction his thoughts were taking, it's halted abruptly as someone's silhouette seems to appear downstairs, no warning beforehand thanks to the strange phenomenon that's seemed to occur every time after midnight so far. He's gotten more used to it since the first time, and he's had time to explore it a little both here and in the library, so it doesn't startle him as much as it could have. Still, he has to ascertain who it is with the only senses he has left at the moment, and so of course his eyes fly to-- ]

O-Ouma-kun...!?

[ Everything is dark and silent, and he doesn't even have any certainty. And yet, the strangled word makes it out of his throat, for his own imagined perception only at least, before he can even process other things. Such as... why would Ouma of all people even be here? And didn't he...?

And it instantly feels different -- comes with a degree of reflex that none of the memories from this place ever had, a certainty and solidity he's been looking for, maybe. His body almost moves without him, fingers gripping the banister of the stairway so hard that his knuckles turn white, before he stumbles backwards a few steps. He needs space to process this. How... is Ouma here!? Is he even here?

Shuichi doesn't believe in ghosts, but this has to be the closest he's ever gotten to changing his mind. ]