#danganronpa hope to hurt | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

acacia-may · 2 years

Text

The Fighter

Description: Kotoko Utsugi had once been "The Fighter" of the Warriors of Hope, and now, nearly 20 years later, she supposes the title still suits her. She doesn't know any other way to be. After all, they say we become what we needed most in our darkest moments.

With the help and encouragement of an old friend, however, she'll begin to her realize that maybe even "The Fighter" deserves to be fought for every once in a while.

Fandom: Danganronpa (Specifically Ultra Despair Girls)

Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Healing, Character Study, Future Fic (nearly) 20 Years Post-Canon.

Relationships: Kotoko Utsugi & Nagisa Shingetsu Friendship almost 20 years in the future with a little bit of the Warriors of Hope platonic friendship as well. A/N: I wrote this as a platonic work about their friendship, but as they're both 30 years old here, I guess you could take it in a more romantic-ish(?) way if you just really wanted to see it (maybe?). That was not my intention in writing, however, and in my mind, this is Friendship Hurt/Comfort (Nagisa is just awkward--bless his heart).

Characters: Kotoko Utsugi (POV Character) and Nagisa Shingetsu. Masaru Daimon and Jataro Kemuri are mentioned but do not physically appear in this story.

Rating: T for Thematic Elements and Some Language (Please see "Warnings" below for more details).

Warnings: Vaguely implied/mentioned childhood trauma and abuse. (A/N: This is hurt/comfort, but the past childhood trauma and abuse is only implied as vaguely and subtly as possible while still being treated with the sensitivity and gravity it warrants). Unhealthy coping is mentioned. Healthy coping is also mentioned. A very brief scene involves an adult character being hit on when they do not want to be by another adult (NPC) character who is not respectful when rejected. Another brief scene involves an adult character punching another adult character—followed by non-descriptive depictions of some minor injuries and mentions of blood. Legal/of age drinking is also implied/mentioned. Self-Worth Issues. Insecurities. Kotoko is a jaded and unreliable narrator (A/N: I like to think they characters are in a better place psychologically here (nearly 20 years after Ultra Despair Girls and having begun to get the therapy they so desperately need), but they still have a ways to go and don't always cope in the best/healthiest way. Healing is a journey).

Word Count: 2771

Link to original post on AO3. Please do not repost to another site.

Note: This story was written for @nothing-to-see-here-bye-yall and is my first work in the Danganronpa fandom so I'm a little nervous. I really loved Ultra Despair Girls, even though there were so many elements that were just heartbreakingly sad, and I just hope I've done these complex characters and their friendship justice in this piece.

Story below the cut. Thank you for reading!

Kotoko focused on counting the backsplash tiles behind the bar counter—mismatched and uneven with a tendency for cracking and falling off. The bartender, a friend of hers, had let her take a piece of broken tile home a couple of months ago, when it had fallen off the wall on her thirtieth birthday. The barkeep had insisted it was lucky, but Kotoko hadn’t been too sure. And now that she was trying her best to drown out the unwanted attention of the thug who had just walked up to drunkenly hit on her, no doubt, she was certain that even now she was too cursed to be lucky.

“I’m not interested,” she said again. Between the loud, rowdy noises of the bar and the blasting background music, she could barely make out what he was saying, but he clearly wasn’t getting her message to back off.

Kotoko caught the watchful eye of the bartender who was refilling the beers of a rowdy group at the opposite end of the bar. She nodded at Kotoko, and then whispered something to a waitress who headed to the kitchen, probably to get the chef, a big, burly man who was rumored to be ex-special ops, to keep this patron in line or throw him out if he got out of hand.

In the meantime, she added, “Besides, I already have somebody” particularly loudly for good measure in the hopes of getting rid of him. It wasn’t true, of course, but her friends were always game to step in and pretend to be her fake significant other if she needed to deter some drunk dirtwad and his unwelcomed interest in her. Luckily, she had just so happened to run into Nagisa in the bar an hour ago, and he was quick to jump in, leaning back in his barstool to glare at this bar thug who merely scoffed at them.

Kotoko could hear that dirtbag’s next words plainly above the low roar, and they made her feel sick. “I can show you a better time than this scrawny shrimp.”

“She said, ‘no’ so back off.” Nagisa rose from his seat at the bar counter stepping in front of Kotoko. From her high barstool, she was “taller” than him for the first time in nearly two decades, but as tall as Nagisa was—which Kotoko supposed was relatively average for a grown man—that drunk jerk towered over him when he raised himself to his full height.

“You gonna make me, pipsqueak?”

“Nagisa…” Kotoko reached out her hand, but before she could grab his arm it flew forward, his fist colliding with the man’s nose. Nagisa was slim, lanky—nowhere near brawny enough for a bar fight, and he looked almost ridiculous starting one in his three-piece business suit. He might as well have hit the man with his briefcase, if he had had one. His opponent was visibly surprised but unamused and returned the punch with a right hook that crashed into Nagisa’s cheek when he turned his head in an only partially successful attempt to dodge.

Luckily, Chef quickly broke it up before things got too ugly, but Nagisa was already worse for wear. As the chef kicked that thug out of the bar, the bartender ushered a bruised Nagisa into the backroom so Kotoko could tend to his wounds before they headed out.

With a frown, she shook her head as she tried to clean off his face with some warm soapy water. “You’re probably going to have a black eye now,” she sighed. Nagisa winced as she pressed the cold compress to his cheek. “What were you thinking? You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

Kotoko could have almost sworn she saw Nagisa’s mouth twitch in the corners, but he said dryly, “I guess we’ve come a long way if you’re worried about me dying now.”

She couldn’t tell if he was being completely serious or not. Sure, there had been a time in their lives when they couldn’t have cared less what happened to them, but almost twenty years had passed since they had tried to make their “Children’s Paradise.” They were adults now, and after nearly two decades of court-ordered therapy, they had accepted that. As far as Kotoko knew, none of them had a death wish anymore, least of all Nagisa who was probably the most successful of their group with his job coordinating the implementation of air filtration systems with the Future Foundation’s laboratory. Or something like that… Kotoko never could keep up with him when he talked about his work—whatever he was trying to say got muddled in all kinds of technical jargon. Masaru’s job with Fuyuhiko’s independent security contractors and Jataro’s work in the field of prosthetics were much easier to follow and understand. The boys didn’t ask her much about her work with the newly restored child protective services. She had once tried to explain that she mainly worked with orphans or children who had been displaced or had gotten separated from their families in the more dangerous, lawless portions of their slowly rebuilding world, but they knew, had always known, her reasons for choosing that line of work. She was their “Fighter” after all, and she fought for those children now, protected them like no one had protected her friends…like no one had protected her.

It was her life’s purpose or raison d'etre as Nagisa would probably say, and in that, she was happy—or at least, she was learning to be, even if some days were still enough to drive her to the local bar, a real hole in the wall joint in the basement of what used to be a department store. While Towa City had been built back up over the last twenty years, there were parts that still remained rundown and ruined. This was one of them. She was surprised to run into Nagisa there, considering he spent most of his time in the shiny, new city center, but maybe he had had a rough day at work as well. Regardless she was sure he must be having a rough day now considering the bruised and bloodied condition of his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said running his hand through his hair. “I really didn’t mean to start a fight. I just—I saw the look on your face and I just…” He stopped. “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t worth it,” she insisted quietly, wiping the blood off his jaw. She shook her head and frowned. His lip was busted too.

“It was to me. I couldn’t just sit there and watch that pr—Ow!” Nagisa winced as she pressed the rag to the bleeding corner of his mouth.

“Sorry.” Kotoko paused, shaking her head again. “You need to hold this here—otherwise you’re going to stain your suit.”

Nagisa nodded, and his hands reached up to take the compress from her. His fingers were long, spindly and surprisingly cold. Kotoko didn’t suppose that the cool night air blowing through the small open window in the storage room was enough to leave his hands so chilled. She flinched and pulled her hand away.

“Kotoko, are you alright?”

Her brow furrowed. “I’m not the one who just got punched in the face.”

“You’re trembling…” His voice trailed, and he held out his free hand to her, recoiling it into a fist in the last second. “I’m sorry. Can I…? That is…do you want me to—hug you? It’s okay if you don’t…just you look shaken so I thought I should ask.”

“I’m fine, Nagisa. Really,” she insisted, but her voice wavered. “Besides, pricks like that don’t harass me nearly as much now that I’ve changed my hair…” With it cut pixie short and dyed dark black, she didn’t attract nearly as much attention nowadays, which she preferred.

“So that’s why you dyed it…?” he half-asked, half-stated. Kotoko nodded.

“Don’t you like it?”

Nagisa shrugged. “It’s nice. I just…kind of miss the pink, I guess…” he admitted, far more honest than he probably would have been if he had been completely sober, Kotoko thought. His face fell and something sorrowful passed over his eyes. “I wish you didn’t have to change yourself to feel safe.”

Something ached in Kotoko’s chest. She wished that too. She wished a lot of things… She pushed the thought away with a shake of her head. “You’ve always got to make everything so deep, Nagisa. I like my dark hair. Sure, it isn’t adorbs, but that’s why…” She stopped. “Look this isn’t even about me. This is about the fact that you’ve gotten yourself beat up ‘defending my honor’ or whatever after I tried to stop you.” Waving her hand, she rolled her eyes at those words.

Nagisa rubbed the back of his neck. “I said I was sorry. That’s the first time I’ve ever even done something like that...”

“Probably too much vodka.” She crossed her arms with a huff. “I don’t think drinking agrees with you—it makes you impulsive and reckless. It’s weird, and I don’t like it—you’re supposed to be the responsible one. We don’t need another Masaru.” Masaru didn’t drink, ever. He had never really discussed it with her, besides to tell her off for turning to the bottle when life got a little too hard, but she had always assumed he was afraid of the type of person he would become if he did start drinking, the type of person liquor might make him. She was sure Nagisa understood what she meant though. Masaru was impulsive enough without it. “But at least he’s brawny enough to pick a fight. You don’t see a lot of scrawny businessmen going after thugs twice their size like that. You should stick to destroying people with logic and statistics.” Her mouth twitched teasingly, but Nagisa changed the subject with a sigh.

“Have you talked to Masaru lately?”

“He called last week, but only for a couple of minutes. He’s in another relationship apparently...” She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Nagisa, however, did not.

“That seems to be his drug of choice these days.” He shook his head bitterly before his face softened, and his voice grew quiet as he apologized, “I’m sorry. I know that must be upsetting to you.”

Kotoko took a deep breath. “I’m not mad at him. I understand he’s just looking for love or acceptance or whatever…” She huffed, but her shoulders slumped. “I just…I just wish we were enough for him—that the love of his friends was…” She stopped and stared at her hands. “But I guess not.”

“I don’t think it’s personal.” Nagisa sighed. “Jataro’s in love now too—or thinks he is. Somebody he works with at the lab—with shiny glasses or something…”

“Do you think people like us can really even fall in love? To bring someone normal into this mess…” Her voice trailed, and Nagisa shrugged his shoulders.

“Maybe. I don’t think it’s impossible.”

“Oh? You have the great love of your life stashed away somewhere?” There was a certain unintended bitterness that seeped into her words. She frowned as she watched the tips of Nagisa’s ears turn red.

“I think my work is probably the love of my life.” He chuckled lightly, almost sheepishly. “Married to the job, I guess…”

Kotoko almost snorted a breathy laugh. “I thought out of all of us, you’d want to settle down, have a ‘picket fence’ life.”

Nagisa paused and stared down at the ground. His voice grew so quiet she could scarcely hear him confess, “I don’t deserve to be so happy.”

Kotoko sighed. Drinking made him honest too. She had forgotten about that. “Don’t say nonsense like that. You were always the best of us. If you want something, you should go out and get it. Don’t just sit around punishing yourself for something that happened 20 years ago.”

“If I get in a relationship, where will that leave you? I think we’d be better off sticking together—let Masaru and Jataro work out all that stuff.”

Kotoko frowned. He had completely ignored and evaded everything she had just said. He certainly had a knack for that. She supposed he had a point though. Her friends knew all too well that a romantic relationship was something she didn’t want, probably could never want, not anymore. If her boys all settled down that meant she’d be alone, and while she didn’t think she would mind it much, it might be nice to have another friend who stayed perpetually single with her.

“I suppose you do give off that married to the job vibe…” shrugged Kotoko. “Though you also give off that ‘doomed to be in love with someone he’ll never have’ vibe too”—she paused—“Promise me that’s not the case.”

Nagisa’s cheeks flushed, but he said, “It isn’t.”

“Good. I don’t want you hung up on Monaca or something forever.” Kotoko stopped abruptly, realizing only from the look on Nagisa’s face what she had just said. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine,” he cut her off quickly and abruptly. “I haven’t thought about Monaca in years.”

Truthfully, Kotoko hadn’t either. Even so, the question which followed slipped out before she could stop herself. “Do you ever…imagine what our lives would have been without her?”

“What lives? We’d be dead,” Nagisa replied with a bitter dryness. “As much as I struggle to forgive her for everything that came after, I can admit that we are alive today because of her and Junko. And I think that maybe that’s worth something…” He paused and met her eyes. “I mean just look at you—at everything you’ve done for those children. Without you, they would have had no one to fight for them.”

Kotoko’s face grew warm, but she frowned. “Oh, so I’m a fighter now…? I thought I needed you to defend me?”

Nagisa let out a long, heavy sigh and swallowed hard. “Look, I really am sorry about earlier. I know there is a lot of fight in you, probably more than any of us, so…I really wasn’t trying to step on your toes and fight your battles for you. I’m sorry if it came off that way…I guess, I was just thinking that sometimes if a person spends all of their time and energy fighting for other people, they don’t have enough fight left in them for themselves.” The tips of his ears turned red, and he added hurriedly, “And I don’t mean that in an insulting way…I just…”

“Or,” she quietly interrupted him. He stopped, and she could feel him turning to look at her as she twisted her hands and continued. “Or they don’t think there’s anything left in them worth saving…They’re just too broken…”

“That’s not true,” he said without a moment’s hesitation. She couldn’t bring herself to look up at him, but as she stared down at the ground, she noticed his hand hovering almost sheepishly above hers before he asked, “Can I…hold your hand?”

Kotoko nodded, and he took it. His hand was warm now and clasped hold of hers with a sturdy, reassuring squeeze. When she finally looked up at him again, he said, “There is so much in you that is worth protecting, and I’d do it again, in a second.”

His face softened, and he smiled at her with something so kind, so earnest in his eyes that she wanted to believe him. And maybe she would someday. Maybe someday she’d grow out her hair again, letting in fall in long, pink locks that Jataro would want to braid and play with like he had used to do when they were kids. Maybe someday she’d get out that pink sweater Masaru had gotten her for her birthday and let him take her dancing in that park in the city center where someone, somehow, found the strength to play live music even in their bleak, post-apocalyptic world. Maybe someday she and Nagisa would come back here to this bar and sit and talk for hours and she would put her armor aside for just a moment and allow herself to feel safe, to feel protected, to feel happy with him by her side. But for now, she just smiled and rested her head on his shoulder with a grateful, “Thank you.”

In the comfortable silence that followed, she began to think that maybe Nagisa was right after all. Maybe even the fighter deserved to be fought for every once in a while.

14 notes · View notes