#strangers again

Even amidst so much horror, fear, and distrust, Byakuya seemed to care for no one. He made his own decisions, followed his own rules, in addition to the mandatory ones, and didn't bow his head to others, not even to Monokuma, who was nothing more and nothing less than a psychopathic lunatic.

However, what to think of someone who had been able to manipulate a crime scene to turn that sick fantasy into a more "interesting" game? It was absurd. Nevertheless, there they were.

“Lost in your own world again. Frankly, it sometimes seems your plebeian brain stops working.” Byakuya's voice jolts your senses awake once more. He takes the book from your hands, examining the bloodstain that had pooled on the yellowed pages. “This stain won't come out. But I'm sure the headmaster won't mind, given the amount of dust in this place.”

He closes the book with a soft thud and places it on a table. “With all this filth, pray you don't get an infection.” A smile appears on his face. “You never know.”

“Very funny,” you say, watching him adjust his glasses. His disdainful gaze wanders over your hands before returning to your face. “What is it?”

“As a supposedly brilliant mind, you should consider the risks.” Then, he takes a handkerchief from his pocket and holds your hand, placing the fabric against your skin. “Go wash it in the bathroom, unless you want to dirty the rest of the room with your poor blood.”

“It's just a cut,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

“Prepared people avoid tragedies. You must have noticed by now,” Byakuya replies, turning his back. “Your mistake is thinking nothing will happen, like yesterday. People's secrets may not be as trivial as yours.”

You think, lowering your gaze to the handkerchief in your hand. The white fabric, once immaculate, had now acquired a reddish hue slowly spreading through the stitching. Fear was seeping into those corridors and rooms, taking root, growing within each of you with each passing day. With each death.

“You're right.” The words come out low from your mouth, yet loud enough for him to hear. “We can't cling to the idea of 'friendship,' as you yourself said. But if you believe in that so strongly, why do you keep trusting me?”

“Trusting? Spare me.” He turns to you again, his blue irises returning to their apathetic appearance. “I'm keeping you by my side at this moment out of curiosity. When your skills are no longer useful to me, I'll send you away. Simple.”

“Then why do you care so much?”

“Care? Where did you get that idea?” he replies immediately, showing no hesitation, surprise, or even indignation. “Perhaps you hit your head. I don't care about any of you. I just want to get out of this place.”

It was like a bucket of cold water. The truth is always the hardest part to swallow. When Byakuya said "get out of this place," reality weighed heavily on your shoulders. You were trapped. Trapped forever. The possibility of never leaving, of never seeing your family and friends again, was terrifying. To make matters worse, you knew Byakuya well enough to know what kind of man he was.

“If we get out… could we read together again?” It slipped out. An old feeling, something long unspoken. You didn't think, you just felt.

“What?” He freezes.

You remembered the long reading sessions with him, your childhood friend. The rich boy, descendant of the noble Togami family, playing hide-and-seek with the maid's daughter. What a joke. And to think that, once, he had been a little sweeter and more fun — the boy for whom you developed feelings you never should have had.

In the end, you grew apart. After all, his status was far too elevated. It was a careless oversight by his family to allow a mere commoner to get closer than permitted.

Commoners serve; nobles rule. That's how things work in this world. The strong against the weak. Monokuma knew this and, at some point, could use it against both of you. That night, in the courtyard, you were afraid. Even though it was a silly secret, you wouldn't be able to face Byakuya if it were revealed.

“( Name ) harbors romantic feelings for Byakuya Togami.” That's what was written on the paper Monokuma handed you.

For a moment, Byakuya fell silent. The wave of surprise was almost imperceptible, a brief tremor in his impeccable façade, noticeable only to someone like you, who had learned to decipher the pauses between his words.

His fingers clenched involuntarily on the book cover, and it was then that a subtle yet profound change appeared in his expression. It wasn't fury. Much less his usual disdain. It was something older: a melancholy that seemed to emerge from the depths, the resigned acknowledgment of a truth he had always known but chose to hide.

Byakuya looked away first, as if he needed a second of respite. His thumb slid slowly along the book's spine in a mechanical gesture, almost a tic, a search for stability.

“Don't be ridiculous.”

He adjusted his glasses with a precise movement, raising that invisible wall between you once more.

“That will never happen.”

Byakuya returned to his initial position, sitting with deliberately rigid posture. His icy eyes refocused on the page; the act of turning it soon filled the room with a low sound, meant to drown out the echo of what had been said. And in the silence that now built, you understood that this had been the last glimpse of vulnerability you would see from him.

“I figured.” You toss the handkerchief on the floor and leave the room, closing the door.

A part of him disliked your tone; he wanted to reprimand you for being rude to a noble. However, the other part understood. Deep down, he just didn't want to admit that he enjoyed your company.

Byakuya had learned early on to think only of himself. Affection was weakness, bonds were risks, and people were disposable pieces. That logic had always worked. Always, except when it came to you. Seeing you at that school had been an error he hadn't foreseen.

For a brief moment, when your eyes met for the first time in the corridors of Kibōgamine Gakuen, something old had stirred in his chest. A memory he hastened to bury. Pretending not to know who you were had been the most rational (and the most cowardly) decision he could make.

Around you, his attention wavered. You made him vulnerable, and he hated that. That's why he kept his distance. That's why he acted coldly. That's why he had denied it. Not because he felt nothing, but because feeling was something he simply couldn't allow himself in that game.

“Damn it.” He rested his hands on his head, letting out a long sigh. His blond locks fell over his forehead, his eyebrows furrowed. “She is nobody,” he repeated to himself, straightening his posture once again.

He needed to be strong. He needed to hide his weaknesses. It was a way to protect himself and to protect her from that demon watching them through the cameras. Despite everything, he secretly hoped that, one day, they would escape that place. Together.

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