DISTRUST is the beta! version of Danganronpa.

He hates seeing them together.

One hand reaches up to pull at the curve of the black fabric that lays, clumped together, around his neck. Glove-clad fingers pinch the fabric as it pulls the fabric over a mess of white hair, while the other runs across the zipper that is in front of the man's mouth.

He clicks his tongue against his teeth, keeping his eyes down, but Kashii Komaeda can still hear sweet murmurings even from his distance away from the couple.

Koko Nanami's fingers intertwine with Haru Hinata's, and the black-haired male brings Koko close to his side, only to press his lips in a print of a kiss against the top of her ear.

"Gh...!"

He hates the anger that shudders against his veins so brittle. In that moment, he knows he wants to die in the most painful way possible- suicide has lurked at the corners of his mind for ages now. Enoshima still hasn't reply to his ask towards her strangling him, but the cold image of her wicked smile splitting her face is burnt into his head.

Kashii makes sure to turn away, the glint of his glasses harsh against the lights that fall upon them.

His organs should be split open, tore from where they reside in his body. His skin should peel from his bones, scorched, puckered, scarred, destroyed. His eyes should be cut into, with straws of blood steaming down from his sockets.

He deserves to die.

Kashii walks the path of sorrows, almost scarily so.

As his heart roars in his chest, a call of those who cannot stand anymore, the Komaeda hurries along, keeping his hood up to cover his eyes. He knows that he looks odd- a error in this world of life, walking with his head bent and dark hood raised.

"Heeeeeeeeyyy! Komaeda-kun!"

The voice is sickening, and he doesn't pause for he knows the voice. It's grating gears in his brain, it's something, even in his mind, that he despises more than he does himself.

Kashii turns, raises a pencil-thin eyebrow, and sighs. Angling his body towards the new arrival, his jaw parts as he starts to speak.

"Enoshima-san, kill me."

"Hm~? Where's the fun in that? I stoop low, Komaeda-kun, but not that low."

At the sight of her red nails, an image flashes in his mind, of those same red nails digging into his throat, choking him, killing him.

His mind doesn't upturn at that thought, but he smiles. Perhaps, if she actually accepts his offer, he will die at such honorable hands, at hands who are the most worthy at all.

Cold trickles in through his blood, and someone must have poured ice water down his back, because all he can feel is endless cold despite the sun beating down on his back.

"But where's the fun in that~?" He mocks, instilling a fake tone into his voice. "Shouldn't you kill me, Enoshima-san? Any way you'd like."

"Tempting," she replies, and that smile. Again.

It chills every being of Kashii, watching it spread from the corner of her face to the other. Despite the maggots that rot every thought that pass through his head, there's nothing more ill than watching her.

Without a word, she whips out a knife. It's a small one, but one nonetheless. The blade presses against the curve of her palm, flat against her skin.

"I was watching you eyeing Nanami-chan and Hinata-kun," she starts.

Immediately, his breath catches.

"Soooo~ which one is it, you stank?" Enoshima laughs. "You fell for one of them, didn't you?"

Both of them, he's tempted to answer. But he sews his lips shut, and resumes staring. His eyes drift to the knife in her hand, and it's tempting, oh-so-tempting to grab her wrist and make sure that it rips across his neck.

"I'll tell you if you stab me~"

His voice is sing-a-song, and cool irises become flat, dead, and lifeless.

"I welcome all pain, Enoshima-san. I need to achieve absolute pain, and if it's through someone as superficial as you, so be it."

He needs to distract her. Distract her from Koko and Haru. His heart beats for them, the stupid thing, as much Kashii boasts that his only meaning to life is pain.

Pain's purpose has been shoved aside, replaced by the desire to protect those his heart, the pulsing, idiotic thing, longs for.

"Awwww, that's cute..."

She giggles, pressing a finger to her lips.

"That is, if it wasn't said by a filthy dishrag."

Kashii's eye twitched, watching the blade.

"So, Komaeda-kun~ say, if I offered a method to break them apart, will you take it?"

"They're happier together," he responds, tugging at his hood again. "Now, if you won't hurt me, I'll be going."

Immediately, a crack rings out.

Kashii can't feel anything in his hand when it happens, and dead eyes, like speared fish, stare at the obviously twisted index finger on his left hand.

Slowly, his face lifts into a smile.

Pain is his drug, something that allows him to breathe and live. It's one of the few things he can feel- anger hardly itches at his heart, happiness only comes from someone drawing his blood or breaking his bones. Sadness is a meager part of his body.

He drinks his own poison, for he has crafted it himself- his goal to achieve absolute pain.

Kashii knows that he's bent on it. It's become harder growing up, for his tolerance increased by tenfold and people grow up. They become more mature, less prone to lashing out.

Of course, there are those who enjoy inflicting pain on others.

Kashii tries to move his finger for a moment. It's a blob in his nerve system, for he can't feel any pain.

"Break my other ones."

Enoshima pops her fingers one by one, eyeing the twisted finger. "Aw... I wanted to rip it off your hand. Guess I'm not in the position to do it yet."

Her gaze brightens in a haze, eyes lifting to roam Kashii's face. "Hmmm, maybe next I should put a collar on you and then rip out your teeth one by one~"

He presses a print of perfection in form of a theater smile to his own lips. "Will you now? Certainly, the experience would be delightful by your own hands."

Her canines make an appearance, and Kashii turns to leave.

"That being said, have a lovely day, Enoshima-san."

Enoshima doesn't reply.

Razor-sharp irises drill into Kashii's back, yet he doesn't allow it to phase him. Instead, he carries on, vanishing into the shadows of the alleyway.

Pain is the worse type of drug, after all.

The smile slips off his face.

Is it really?