Title: Saiki K One-shot

Rating: G
Pairings: gen

Summary: To many, the world seems hard to end. To them, the world is so large and humans so small, small enough that'd it take a joint effort or mass catastrophe to get anywhere close to tipping the world into chaos.

For Kusuo, he'd only need three days.

Three days.

Hello again! I was re-reading the manga again. I kind of latched onto the part in the first chapter where Saiki talks about how it'd take three days for him to end the world and…

Here we are lol.

This is relatively short, but enjoy! Let me know what you think! I'm revising all my other ideas and fics because they're kind of lackluster, so I dunno what I'm gonna do with them! If anyone has any good ideas, feel free to chat with me about them on my tumblr, or leave a comment about it. ALL suggestions are welcomed. :)

Kusuo, for all his power, lives a fairly placid existence. He lives in relation to the world in a way that is mostly reactionary, and prefers to melt into the background and watch the world spin and spin around him. And he likes it that way - most things are too bothersome to deal with, so it's usually best to just stay away from any source of trouble or annoyance.

That is were Kusuo finds himself today: in the middle of continuing his placid, still-water existence and walking home from school. He doesn't feel particularly interested in anything he's walking past, as his assortment of powers have sapped the enjoyment out of half the trinkets and objects being advertised towards him through shop windows and bright flyers and billboards. He does not attempt to pet any dogs, nor does he speak to anyone. Kusuo simply watches the world around him.

The groups of girls walking and giggling to each other, the haggard salaryman with his briefcase, a few birds swooping overhead.

A thought comes to mind.

'Three days.'

It's a realization he has realised a million times over. Each resurgence leaves Kusuo increasingly drained, increasingly irritated and hopeless. It's a simple thought, only two words and nine letters, but the meaning attached always strike him at the most inopportune moments, seeking to bother him like a fairly persistent bug; one that buzzes around his head and in his ears, making his skin crawl even as he swats it away.

It's irritating, and it makes his fingers twitch.

'All it would take. Three days, and no one would be able to stop me.' Kusuo thinks, morosely and unbidden.

The fly of a thought he had tried to swat has respawned, bringing it's buzzing back with it.

The teenager sighs imperceptibly, attempting to dispel the onset of a spiral through his lungs.

It doesn't work. The knowledge of his sheer destructive ability nullifies any apathy Kusuo attempts to employ in an effort to combat it. He could wipe this area off the face of the earth without a moment's notice, and now - despite knowing and having known this - Kusuo is forced to mull over it without end, attempt to wade through circular thoughts that slosh and whirl around in his head, drowning rationality and reason out and beating against the walls of his mind.

It's annoying, and Kusuo wants it tall to just- shut up and go away.

He continues his walk home, face etched in slight displeasure. The expression still outwardly appears mostly neutral, the only tells giving away his darkened mood being a slight frown and a slight furrow to his brows.

That evening, Kusuo lays in bed, cursing himself. Dinner had been a curt affair, the teens mood obviously affecting the tone of the room. They ate in silence. Kusuo quickly retreated to his room after that, excusing himself politely and seeming, for all intents and purposes, the same as usual, but somehow… off. His parents had turned bright, puppish eyes at him, begging him to head back into the room and spill all of his secrets.

Kusuo had simply stared at them with unamused, deadened eyes, before backing out of the room.

His skin itches, Kusuo finding himself hyper-aware of the destructive power that thrums beneath his skin, and he flexes his hands to alleviate the not-itch. Kusuo's thoughts get louder and louder, just as Kusuo's surroundings get quieter and quieter with the darkening of the sky and appearance of the moon.

Nearby, his alarm clock ticks away.

Unwittingly, he thinks of the power coursing through his veins. It's an energizing, rushing tide that beats through his veins, sometimes preventing him from sleep.. Yet again, he thinks of crumbling, decimated buildings, of large earthen craters and a world unwound by his own hands. That worlds progression halted permanently as Kusuo blankly tears it all to bits and rubble.

This imaginative world is empty of life. There is only him and destruction, the glow and spectacle of his own power, his own unhappiness, along with wreckage and debris.

It makes Kusuo scowl in displeasure. He doesn't want to think about this, but the teen is finding it hard to think about something other than his power assortment, despite how hard Kusuo tries. He knows himself, knows that he has his abilities under his control with the help of the devices attached to his head. Destruction of society is not something he wishes to attain, not even on a whim, and it is merely a fact about his existence that he has the ability to do so, that he is burdened with these powers and the warnings that come with it.

He's alone, really. Though he knows of others with a power similar to one of his, the sheer ability and power within Kusuo is something he has only observed in himself. There is only him, and he alone must navigate the pits and falls of his powers, triumph over every obstacle, every annoyance and inconvenience.

Three days is all it would take, leaving him more alone than ever before.

Kusuo gets up and out of bed, clumsily beginning to circle his room. He's looking for something to distract himself with, but he has completed all his required homework and all the other activities he could partake in come with some power-related inconvenience. He harshly tells himself that he's annoyed by this, that all of this is so aggravatingly inconvenient.

Kusuo sits down at his desk.

Kusuo then rises from his desk a few beats later. Kusuo turns on his television, ponders the hassle for a moment, and then turns it off.

Kusuo gets back into bed, heavily irritated.

The clock continues to tick, the night drags on. And somehow, when Kusuo least expects it, sleep manages to catch him in his musing, dragging him into slumber.

Kusuo sits in class, head pillowed on his fist. He idly watches the teachers jaw muscles move and flutter as he speaks and gestures, attempting to teach students whose thoughts are dominated by watching the clock and waiting for class to end, enthralled by the notion of class being over.

How easy it would be.

Three days, approximately.

A second and a half for his immediate surroundings.

Three. days.

(Three days roll by. Nothing happens within that time. Six days pass, and then nine. Time marches on. There's something to be said of empathy, of a prickly exterior but a soft heart. Nothing happens, even though three days is all it would take. No disasters occur within those three days. Civilization progresses as it always has, and the earth spins on.)

Short, but portrays everything I wanted to say aha!

Saiki may be a very blank faced, snarky and rationality-based teenager, but he is still a teenager with a massive burden that has affected his own happiness and ability to enjoy and interact with the world. Though he tries to appear unaffected, at the end of the day these sorts of things haunt and bother him, and he ends up more affected than he'd like to appear.

Hope you enjoyed, tell me what you think if you'd like!