Chapter Text
Oboro’s death was her fault.
Most people would claim otherwise. They’d point out that she wasn’t even on the scene when he died. They’d point out that she didn’t hire the villain to attack him. She knew that Doctor Aizawa would tell her both of those things.
But Nemuri was the one who got Oboro a work-study with His Purple Highness. If she hadn’t done that, then none of this would’ve ever happened. None of it would’ve ever -
Shit.
Nemuri unclenched her fists, revealing slight incisions in her palms. Damn it.
She needed to find a new place to intern. She couldn’t go back to the agency that let Oboro die on its watch. She couldn’t bear to go to a place that felt so heavy with guilt. The whole place was tainted with it, even in her memories.
She needed to find a new place soon. She needed to get back out there.
She needed to atone for letting Oboro die.
And she would.
That, she swore.
Oboro wasn’t the kind of person that most people would assume was a creature of habit. In fact, most likely thought he was incredibly spontaneous, especially if they only knew him from school.
But he did have habits, little routines that helped keep life at home as calm as possible.
He had his morning alarm on his watch, so as to not accidentally wake his father. He’d get dressed quickly and silently, either in his school uniform or in whatever hodge-podge outfit he’d managed to scrape together using his meager allowance to buy clothes at the second-hand store. Then, once he was dressed, he’d hurry downstairs, grab something light for breakfast (if he had anything at all), then dart out the door before his father could wake up.
He wasn’t scared of his father, obviously, it was just… better, if they didn’t have to be in the same space as each-other. Yeah, that’s right. It was just better.
Light levels were kept low in the morning, along with noise levels. It would be calm if it wasn’t so tense.
But that wasn’t the case here.
“Oboro-nii!” a little hand pushed at Oboro’s shoulder, “Oboro-nii, did you forget to put your jammies on before you went to bed? You didn’t even get under the covers! Oboro-nii…”
Oboro let out a sleepy noise, his awareness not coming back to him snap-fast, as normal, but languidly, urgentless, and clear. Something about his surroundings felt safe, like he’d fallen asleep at Nem’s apartment…
“Oboro-niiiii!” the little hand pushed harder, a pout evident in that young voice. Young voice? Who did Oboro know who had a young voice? Shouta had a little sister, yes, but Rumiko wasn’t that young -
The memories of yesterday came flooding back as Oboro finally opened his eyes to find himself looking at a slightly disgruntled Tenko.
“Did you really fall asleep without putting your jammies on, Oboro-nii? Isn’t that important?” Tenko’s voice held a slight edge of disbelief, like he couldn’t understand how an almost-grown-up could make such a mistake.
Oboro blinked slowly, not totally comprehending for a solid minute, before the words finally made it to his brain. “Um… I didn’t mean to fall asleep when I did. I was going to put on pajamas, but I fell asleep first.”
Tenko hummed, considering that for a moment before nodding. “That makes sense. You should still put on new clothes though.”
“I will in a moment,” Oboro ruffled Tenko’s hair, then sat up, “Is there something you needed, Tenko?”
“It’s breakfast time!” Tenko exclaimed, “But you were still asleep…”
“Oh,” Oboro blinked. “Well, I can whip something up probably, once I’m dressed.”
“Mkay!” Tenko brightened visibly, “I’ll go wait in the kitchen!” Then he darted from the room, pausing only the close the door behind him as he went.
Oboro was alone in his new room, after a night of sleep much better than the average night’s.
Damnit.
How come he’d woken up like that? Slow like he was nestled into Nem’s arms rather than quick like at home? That - That didn’t -
He’d think about that later. Maybe never. However long he could put off thinking about it before he was inevitably forced to think about it. He’d think about something else for now and maybe forever.
The issue forcibly pushed from his mind, Oboro swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up with a stretch. It felt unreasonably good, not a single twinge of pain from any of his joints. Even his ankles, which hurt more often than they didn’t, felt perfectly fine.
The closet was still full of very nice formal and semi-formal wear, which had Oboro worrying his lip in a strange combination of want-gratitude-irritation. They were lovely clothes, higher quality than anything he’d ever worn and he certainly didn’t mind them in the slightest, but… well, he was rather used to doing his own clothes shopping. The fact that the clothes here didn’t come with memories attached to finding and buying each piece was both disquieting and slightly upsetting.
Maybe Oboro should mention that to Dr. Garaki? He said that he’d be Oboro’s father now, but in Oboro’s experience, fathers didn’t like spending money on their son’s clothes… Hm. Maybe Garaki would be different.
Picking out a new outfit - identical to the one he was wearing, but with a navy vest rather than the forest green one he’d picked out yesterday - Oboro turned on his heel with a pleased noise. He could get used to this…
Although he wasn’t sure what he was going to make for breakfast. He was fairly certain that the only thing they had was more eggs.
Well. He’d figure it out.
The moment that they finished breakfast (which was eggs again, given that was all they had), Tenko began asking questions.
“Oboro-nii, do you like video games?”
“They’re alright,” Oboro took the plates and carried them into the kitchen, “I haven’t played that many, though. Just the ones that my boyfriend gave me.”
That - that actually made him freeze momentarily. His tiny little video game collection, even the console itself - all of it was gifted to him by Hizashi.
And all of it was lost to him now.
“Really?” Tenko’s little eyes were wide, completely unaware of Oboro’s emotional turmoil, “That means I can show you all my favorite games!”
“Oh yeah?” Oboro shook himself slightly, then resumed movement, “Like what?”
“Well… I like For the Fate of Serosa and Kanshi, and there’s this historical fiction one Sensei gave me, about the Killing Games set up by Junko Enoshima? It’s really cool, but people die in it ‘cause they died in real life.”
“Aren’t you six?” Oboro frowned. Wasn’t that a little young to be playing games with death in them?
“Yeah?” Tenko blinked, clearly confused.
You know what? Nevermind. Tenko had clearly already played it, so any moralizing about the issue was unlikely to be well received. “...Just checking.”
“It’s really cool,” Tenko went back to talking about the historical fiction game, “Enoshima-san’s considered the first big supervillain for a reason.”
“Do you play as Enoshima-san?” Oboro put the plate in the dish drainer and turned the water off, moving to dry his hands off on the kitchen towel.
“No, you play as Makoto Naegi,” Tenko turned his console around to show Oboro, “See? He’s on the cover art and stuff!”
Indeed, the cover art showed a young brunette with a shocked expression set against a vibrant red backdrop. The art style was unique and interesting, and for that alone, Oboro could admit that he was a little interested.
“Do you know a lot about the Killing Games?” Tenko asked, drawing the console back to himself.
“Not really,” Oboro shook his head, “I uh, I wasn’t the best student in school…”
“That’s okay,” Tenko pat Oboro’s hand, “Sensei says I’m not allowed to go to school, so you’ve still done better in school than me!”
Oboro made a mental note to find and buy some educational materials for Tenko.
“Do you want to play it?” Tenko asked, wriggling excitedly in his seat, “I wanna see what you think of it!”
“Um,” Oboro blinked, not really sure how to politely redirect the conversation away from a game that Tenko really should not be playing at his age, “Er, why don’t you show me how good you are at Kanshi instead? My boyfriends both are really good at it, so I know a bit about it!”
“Really? Do you play Kanshi, Oboro-nii?” Tenko somehow became more excited, which was good. He wasn’t thinking about Danganronpa anymore.
“I’ve played a couple of times, but I don’t play regularly,” Oboro shrugged, “And I don’t have my own account.”
Not anymore, anyway.
“You could make one?”
“It’s alright,” Oboro shook his head sadly, “I’m fine just watching you play. Let me finish washing the dishes and then you can show me what you got, okay?”