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Op, you stabbed me
You stabbed me
How dare you
CW: mentions of cannibalism, manipulation and despair toward a young child (Kokichi is three here)
It had been two hours. Kokichi stared at the bowl in front of him—a creamy white soup, with a handful of meatballs floating in it. It was probably cold by now. He poked a meatball with his spoon, his stomach lurching as it bobbed. He swallowed thickly, glancing across the kitchen at the grownup stirring a pot at the stove.
At the severed arm tossed on a cutting board on the counter beside him.
"I don' wan' it," he tried again.
"Aw, that's enough'a that, boy!" Teru-onii-chan turned from the soup to pointedly brandish his spoon at the boy. "There's no way you ain't hungry. You're still growin', ya know? And after I even ground it up nice 'n' fine so ya couldn't tell the difference. The others don't get half as much kindness outta me!"
"B-but—"
"Not like you can taste it, anyhow. You wouldn't know human from pork from beef," he huffed. "Such a waste of my Talents, I swear."
And yet Teru-onii-chan always did seem to go above and beyond for Kokichi's meals specifically. So much effort, so much seasoning, all for the most boring textures. The small boy always wondered why that was. This happened every time. He didn't want it. He never wanted it. It was bland and boring and always had meat. He whimpered, looking back down at his soup. He wondered who it was, floating around inside it. If it was a mommy or a daddy, or...
Maybe a little kid just like him.
The image of a person roasting over a fire wasn't nearly as funny in real life as cartoons always made it out to be.
"I swear, Kokichi, if ya don't eat somethin' soon, you're gonna get sick," Teru-onii-chan tutted. "I'll hafta get your sister—"
Kokichi's blood turned to ice.
"N-no!" he cried, frantic tears springing to his eyes. "Not Nee-nee! Not the tube!"
It went down his nose and felt cold and weird when Nee-nee fed the slurry into it. He swore he could feel it as he hiccuped out panicked little breaths. It felt like he was choking on it.
Teru-onii-chan's expression softened, and he set his spoon aside to approach Kokichi at the table and give him a little pat on the head.
"Ya need ta eat, sugar," he insisted. "You know your Nee-nee only does it 'cause she cares. She'd be awful sad ta know you ain't eatin' again. It'd fill her with so much Despair..."
That word again. Despair. Nee-nee and her friends talked about it a lot, ever since the bad things started and they brought him down here. Kokichi didn't really understand what it meant. They were always so mean to each other on purpose. It almost sounded like Teru-onii-chan wanted him to refuse just to make his Nee-nee sad.
He looked down at the soup again, sloppily wiping his nose on his sleeve. The meat stood out clearly in the white broth, bobbing there like the most normal thing in the world. Teru-onii-chan could give him any other meat, and it'd taste the same, feel the same, may as well be the same. It didn't matter if he couldn't taste it. It didn't matter if he couldn't tell. It made his stomach churn just knowing what it was.
But... Kokichi didn't want to make his Nee-nee sad...
"T-Teru-onii-chan...?"
"Hm?"
"Can... make it hot again...?"
"Sure thing, Pumpkin."
This time he'd do it. This time for sure.
For Nee-nee.