ilya romanov (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vvitchsdesire) wrote2020-10-22 07:44 am
vvitchsdesire) wrote2020-10-22 07:44 am
Entry tags:
fic: a matter of time
ao3 || wattpad || ffnet
Title: a matter of time
Fandom: Dangan Ronpa V3
Rating: G
Wordcount: 228
Summary: It’s just Rantaro and Korekiyo, in their shitty little apartment, both twitchy, anxious messes, for completely different reasons.
It’s just Rantaro and Korekiyo, in their shitty little apartment, both twitchy, anxious messes, for completely different reasons.
For Rantaro, it was day ?? of ?? of trying to get off the benzos. For Korekiyo, it was day Y of X of trying to get out of his sister’s influence. Both had decided that they were going to go through hell together, hand in hand, and had sequestered themselves there. The door was closed, open only to deliveries of food and other necessities.
In the bed, staring at the ceiling: Rantaro’s muscles spasmed out of their own will, and he felt them twitching distantly, as if he was just a spectator of his own body. There was a desert alive in his throat, threatening to break his vocal chords in half if he spoke even the ghost of a word.
In the bathroom, he could hear Korekiyo work the scissors - a gentle snip snip snip of scissors against hair, muttering words to avoid silence. Rantaro’s attention drifted in and out of Korekiyo’s conversation with himself, sometimes paying attention, sometimes background radiation to the cramps that seized his body.
Just one day more. He just had to survive one day more, and then another, and another, and another, and then who knew how many more, and then he and Korekiyo would be finally free of their addictions, free to be themselves.
Title: a matter of time
Fandom: Dangan Ronpa V3
Rating: G
Wordcount: 228
Summary: It’s just Rantaro and Korekiyo, in their shitty little apartment, both twitchy, anxious messes, for completely different reasons.
It’s just Rantaro and Korekiyo, in their shitty little apartment, both twitchy, anxious messes, for completely different reasons.
For Rantaro, it was day ?? of ?? of trying to get off the benzos. For Korekiyo, it was day Y of X of trying to get out of his sister’s influence. Both had decided that they were going to go through hell together, hand in hand, and had sequestered themselves there. The door was closed, open only to deliveries of food and other necessities.
In the bed, staring at the ceiling: Rantaro’s muscles spasmed out of their own will, and he felt them twitching distantly, as if he was just a spectator of his own body. There was a desert alive in his throat, threatening to break his vocal chords in half if he spoke even the ghost of a word.
In the bathroom, he could hear Korekiyo work the scissors - a gentle snip snip snip of scissors against hair, muttering words to avoid silence. Rantaro’s attention drifted in and out of Korekiyo’s conversation with himself, sometimes paying attention, sometimes background radiation to the cramps that seized his body.
Just one day more. He just had to survive one day more, and then another, and another, and another, and then who knew how many more, and then he and Korekiyo would be finally free of their addictions, free to be themselves.