Down the Rabbit Hole

They’re pretty composed for someone with their upbringing. Somehow, that mix of intellect, dedication, and apathy did produce a whole functioning adult; they’re just fine on the surface, even if their foundation is a bit unusual. It’s all coupled with an acute and analytical sense of self-awareness and an insatiable urge to learn, too. Any shortcomings she possesses, she notes with almost professional precision, taking great care to develop herself in methodical steps.

Despite all their pain, they know how to proceed. Makoto’s influence certainly didn’t hurt, either. His compassion served to help soften their rough edges just enough for them to find a place for their feelings. Of course, it was still their work at the end of the day.

Frankly, Kyoko never thought they’d find themself this open with anyone other than themself. Yet here they are, one arm tucked under the crook of his neck, the other resting a bare hand on the small of his back, wrapping him into a loose embrace. Every point of contact feels warm and strangely comforting (even if her heart still flutters when they first settle down). He’s the one securely nuzzled up in their arms, yet the whole affair makes them feel fragile nonetheless.

For all their vulnerability, it really doesn’t make sense to feel this safe.

“I love you, sweetheart.” Makoto’s voice is feeble, trembling with the beginnings of sleep. “Thank you for making time for this.”

The utterance breaks her train of self-reflection with a gentle pause, and she can’t help but smile. He’s precious. “Of course.”

Though, ‘making time’ is sort of a sad way to put it. They can’t exactly argue it, but all they did was come home early enough to get to bed before he fell asleep. Hypothetically, that shouldn’t need to be specifically arranged.

“Now I just gotta get Pola to come home sooner, too,” he muses, rolling onto his stomach. His voice is muffled by the mattress, but he doesn’t seem intent on moving.

“You need to give her those puppy eyes of yours; they work every time.”

“I did, Kiri; all I got was a maybe!”

Kyoko can’t help but chuckle; he’s awfully energetic for someone who’s been up since four in the morning. “I see. So she’s learning resistance. That’s impressive.”

Makoto huffs. “You guys work too much.”

“Oh really? Talk about the pot calling the kettle, headmaster. You could stand to take a few more breaks, too.” One day, Kyoko will stop teasing him. But for that to happen, he needs to stop reacting the way he does; it’s too tempting, even for them.

“Hey, no, that’s totally different. At least I know when to call it quits; I have some kind of work-life balance, even if it’s not perfect. You guys don’t have one at all!”

Kyoko doesn’t miss the note of genuine concern welling up in his voice. Even if it’s been years now, he’s still the same: an open book. And, well, they find it just as refreshing, if not concerning, as they did back then. But this isn’t a killing game. This is their bedroom, in their home, with no one but the two of them (at least, until Polaris gets home, too). This is their haven, and it’s safe for him and all of his emotions to come out with perfect honesty. She welcomes it; she’s just relieved to see they still have them at this point.

“My work is a big part of my life, bunny. Polaris is the same way.” They reach to pet the back of his head- slow, repetitive strokes meant to soothe. “It’s what gives me fulfillment. It’s who I am.” Well, who they were raised to be, but at this point, they feel as though those concepts are inseparable. They were raised to find satisfaction in their detective work, and they can hardly consider that a bad thing if it’s providing them solace now. Going back to her roots and reestablishing her ‘normal’ has been one of the most healing things she’s done.

“Well, I get fulfillment from my job, too, but I also need a life outside of it. If all I did was work, I’d go crazy.” He shifts a little, nestling down into the blankets.

Good. The plan is working. “That’s because your job is only five percent interacting with students and ninety-five percent filling out paperwork and fighting with adults who insist on undermining your authority whenever possible.”

“You can’t tell me you like all of your job,” Makoto insists. The sleep continues to creep into their voice, and their protests are beginning to feel a lot less like genuine arguments and more like childish whining.

“No, but I like a lot more than five percent. Honestly, if it were solely up to me, I’d likely be working a lot more.”

Kyoko swears they hear him whimper. “...But then you’d never see me.”

“Then maybe I’ll just have to steal you away with me.” They’re not even sure what they’re saying at this point. Obviously, that’s impractical. It’s a distraction if nothing else. However… they made a good pair in the past. This is an opportunity for them to partner together under much less traumatic circumstances.

TW Start

But then, they consider it for a bit. Makoto by her side, working tirelessly to account for the hundreds of bodies discovered since they started counting again. ‘Post-Tragedy’ is a disgracefully misleading name. Establishing control is one thing; eradicating her seeds of influence entirely is another. Violent crimes are far from dwindling. Many were encouraged by their narrow escape from the first killing game, yes, but some were emboldened; some killers have traded careless, violent slaughter for elaborate plans or outright crude imitations.

Kyoko recalls the scene of a crime they visited just earlier today: a 23-year-old woman found dead in her shower with a single knife protruding from her abdomen, a broken wrist, and the numbers 11037 written in her own blood behind her. Except the knife didn’t kill her; blunt force trauma to the head did, and evidence suggests that she died in the living room, not the shower. It was a staged imitation created by manipulating the body.

Her imagination wanders further, imagining what it would have been like if Makoto was, in fact, working with them again. The terror paralyzing him, eyes stuck wide and watering as he just barely processes the scene, the trauma hitting him in waves and threatening to drown him all over again. All because some coward thought to perform some ritualistic tribute.

TW End

…Makoto has seen enough death, they think. Let him step away before it numbs him completely. His sort of empathy is rare nowadays; too many people have had to disengage completely just to survive.

“Kiri?”

They snap to look at him, refocusing on the scene before them. His eyebrows are knit together with concern- his head cocked to the side as he sits up on his elbows.

“Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts. You’re absolutely right; I do need to keep time to see you.” They press a gentle kiss against his forehead, then start to comb through his hair once again. Here they were trying to coax them to sleep, and all they did was worry them all over again. He’s too sweet; he’ll stay up all night if he can just for the chance to keep talking, regardless of any early morning obligations. She can’t exactly blame him; their schedules have been so misaligned lately that they’ve hardly had the chance to just say hello.

“That’s what I thought. You can’t just leave me all the time…” Much to Kyoko’s gratitude, he does lower himself back into the mattress. “I’d get lonely.”

They hesitate for a second, tripped up in their response. They’ve always been fairly independent; feeling so lonely due to just one person’s absence would have just sounded dramatic in the past. Something she’d only expect out of people like Makoto. Sensitive people, for better or for worse.

Yet, when they stop to formulate any other answer, everything else seems to fall short of their sentiment.