[Fic] Irresponsibly Responsible

[usononikki]

It was nearly 9 pm by the time Kokichi stumbled through the door to his apartment. What a grueling day—nonstop meetings, public appearances, a late night at the office going through proposals, the usual. He didn't bother turning on the light as he kicked off his shoes and shuffled his way to the kitchen, pulling off his stuffy tie and tossing it in the vague direction of the couch. Politics were such a headache. If Kokichi had the choice, he would have been content to stick with his one nonprofit, and yet the government had gotten in the way of his vision time and time again.

At least things might go a little more smoothly if he managed to get his hands on that seat on the Diet. That would make it all worth it.

The light of the refrigerator blared in Kokichi's face as he sought out something to eat. He stared at the typical assortment of quick and prepackaged options he kept stocked. Nothing particularly thrilling. He was too tired to wait for delivery, too. He sighed, settling on some leftover rice and a pack of natto. Better than nothing, just something to put in his stomach.

Waiting on the rice in the microwave, he fumbled with the natto package more than one might expect. The styrofoam lid didn't seem to want to come off, so he picked at it a little harder and—

The whole container split open, spilling the contents in a sticky wad onto the floor.

Kokichi stared at the mess, his mind almost drawing a blank. What was he doing again?

The microwave beeped. Kokichi blinked.

Ah, right. It was dark. Dinner.

Well, he supposed just rice was fine. Clearly he couldn't be trusted opening packages right now. Kokichi scooped up the mess with a paper towel, dumping it in the trash before retrieving the rice. He collapsed into the stool at the counter, he tried to bring himself of levity by swinging his feet, but stopped just as quickly. He wasn't really in the mood. The silence in his barely-lit apartment was swallowing him. He didn't feel like turning on a show or game like he usually did. The chopsticks felt awkward in his hand. Everything was too big. Frustrating as it was, he stubbornly refused to opt for a spoon.

What was he, a child?

He needed to stop entertaining this.

He had responsibilities.

Work to do.

Changes to make.

He was the Ultimate Supreme Leader, wasn't he?

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He dug it out, finding a text from one of his nonprofit subordinates—his friends—checking in that he got home safely. Did he forget to message her like usual? That was happening more often, wasn't it?

He was probably just tired from the election.

He sent a quick text back, something casual and cheery. It was so easy, almost automatic, like he'd just hit pause on whatever soul-sucking nonsense was going on in his chest. It was surreal how easy it was to forget it was even there when other people came up. And then the screen went dark again, and with it came all the bigness of the world, bearing back down like it was just waiting for him to be alone again.

Kokichi stared at the phone in his hand, and in the quiet, his old classmates came to mind. Ultimate Talent was such a heavy pressure, it was hard to really explain to anyone who wasn't Talented. Some part of him considered opening up his contacts. A part of him he didn't really understand. Everyone was busy with their own Talents.

Who knew where in the world Amami was, or if it was a good time to talk.

Saihara was probably exhausted himself with all the cases he was swamped with.

Momota was on the ISS, for god's sake.

Besides, what could they do that wouldn't just hit that pause button all over again? He could chat them up, catch up, have a little fun with that effortless, reflexive mask just like he did with anyone else. It felt good in the moment, but after? Nothing ever changed, did it? What was he supposed to do? Talk about his problems?

Kokichi wasn't sure he could. Whenever he talked to anyone, it was like they just disappeared from his mind. He couldn't fathom being bothered, and it made appearing as put-together as he was easy. It made it so, so easy. He didn't know how to stop. And then, when it was over, it all came right back, and suddenly whatever happy interaction he had just had disappeared from his mind instead. He couldn't fathom not being bothered.

The world was so big when he was alone.

Why? Things were going well. Why did he have to feel this way?

He abandoned his chopsticks, the rice cooled enough to scoop into his hands. Clumsily, he fashioned it into an obnoxiously large onigiri. He vaguely remembered showing the younger kids how to do this when they got frustrated with their own chopsticks. Leftover rice wasn't the best medium for it, though, the grains having lost their stick in the fridge. When he tried to eat it, it just fell apart into a crumbly mess.

But wasn't that just how the world felt right now?

The rest of dinner was a mess, but at this point, who cared? He'll just clean it up tomorrow, when he was feeling more himself again. He wanted his scarf. He wanted to go to bed. He just left the bowl and crumbs on the counter where they were for tomorrow him. For responsible him.

If the world was gonna feel this big, then he could stand to be a little irresponsible in the comfort of his own home, right?

He still had to take care of himself, but that was fine. He was a big boy.

He didn't fumble with the buttons of his shirt.

He didn't forget half the steps to his bath.

He didn't get tangled up in his pajamas.

He didn't accidentally squirt a gob of toothpaste onto the counter.

He didn't curl up under the blanket, the top of his head barely poking out, clinging to his checkered scarf like a security blanket and chewing on the pad of his thumb.

He was a big boy. He would have to be again tomorrow, whether he liked it or not.

And he would be.