ｔｗｅｎｔｙ － ｅｉｇｈｔ

                                    

                                          
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𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝗼𝗳 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗲𝗮𝗸
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Kokichi couldn't stay like this; languishing in his room, feeling sorry for himself. Three days had passed now, and it was time to get to work. He cut Shuichi off for two reasons. One, because he hated the idea of love, and wanted to distance himself from the emotion as much as possible, and two, because he needed to continue with his plan before the mastermind could make another move.
Although he was still aching, he couldn't let the pain hold him back. He was stronger than that.
If he didn't carry out his plan, then cutting Shuichi off would've overall been for nothing. Not only that, but he needed to end the game for the others, too. Not only for himself, not only for Shuichi- though he would never admit that it was primarily for the detective- but for everyone else. The people who still had hope, the people who had lost it on the way. For the ones who had become victims, for the ones who Kokichi watched die. And for Miu, as well.
Kokichi had been the reason for Miu's death. If he was going to avenge anyone, it was going to be her.
And thankfully, Miu had proven herself useful for Kokichi's plan. Electrobombs, hammers, and a remote that could control even the exisals. Kokichi had it all stowed away in his room, ready to use. 
He knew what he needed to do.
——— ☆ • ♧ •  :🃏: • ♧ • ☆ ———
Shuichi weakly reached up and grabbed a mug from the cupboard. He was tired, worn out, and very sleep deprived. He needed coffee, he didn't feel like eating, but he needed to fuel his body with something. Coffee was the only reason he got out of bed anymore. 
He didn't bother to refill the filter with fresh water, and instead just used the water left over from yesterdays coffee. He scooped some coffee beans and put them into the top of the machine, waiting as it whirred and ground them to a filterable level.
God, he was tired. Tired physically, mentally, emotionally... he was just tired.
The brown liquid poured into his mug, just as it always did. He picked it up as it finished, to put it down on the counter. He caught a glimpse of his reflection on the surface of his beverage.
He looked tired. He hadn't bothered with his eyeliner, his hair was scruffy, and he had big dark bags under his eyes. He hadn't even bothered to tug on his jacket, instead, wearing the same shirt that he had worn for four days straight.
It wasn't pretty.
He placed the mug down onto the counter and exhaled a short breath. What he would do to be back home, cuddled up on the couch and swaddled in blankets, coffee in hand, a true crime documentary on the TV. He just wanted to be able to wallow in his sorrows alone and with nobody to avoid.
He sighed again and thought wishfully about what could not be, and turned around to get his oat milk.
He should've seen it coming. They were bound to bump into each other eventually, he couldn't hide forever. 
There he was stood, in the doorframe, watching Shuichi. 
Shuichi's body froze. 'Seriously? Why are you here? Why now?' He'd done such a good job of avoiding him, but yes, it was undeniably inevitable that the two would meet again.