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Throughout every psychodive, one thing remains constant.
Nagito is friends with Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi. The group goes out to eat after class, they hang out on their days off, Fuyuhiko even walks home with Nagito—or, at least to the train station, before they break off.
It was a little odd to Hajime at first. Nagito seemed entirely indifferent to their existence during the Neo-world program, except for worshipping the ground they walked on on account of their status as ultimates—of course, they were all different people in the simulation. Hajime guesses that the heart longs for what the heart longs for.
But even when he recalls what little he knew about Nagito during their Hope’s Peak days.. Chiaki always described him as being alone in a room full of people. Alone in a room that had Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi, people he very clearly regards enough to dream about being friends with them.
Hajime huffs, dropping his packet of papers on the rolling cart next to Nagito’s pod. He stares up at the screen, deciphering each vague thing that happens when transcribed. For privacy reasons, Hajime can’t watch; but for safety reasons, Nagito’s psychodives have been transcribed with Alter Ego’s help. It seems the trio is back again, going about their fake day peacefully.
Hajime sighs, sprawling back in his chair and bringing a hand to drag down his face. He feels awful to breach Nagito’s privacy and trust, but the catastrophic nature of his virtual death warranted it. Even Naegi seemed to be in agreement for closer monitoring.
Maybe Hajime should just pass this off to one of Nagito’s dream buddies to help get the lucky student out of his head faster. It’s been two months since everyone else woke up, and life on the island has been normal, just with the absence of one student. It’s been peaceful, but Hajime feels a gaping loneliness. He has friends—everyone here is his friend, but Nagito feels different. He chalks it up to absence, making the heart grow fonder.
The computer in front of him buzzes dully, a constant white noise in the otherwise eerily silent warehouse. They’re the only ones here, but Hajime may as well be alone.
Hajime isn’t stupid—he’d signed that contract years ago—he knows there’s some ill-will between everyone and Nagito, but he really wished they’d all give him a chance. They all did things they regret, but they’re all doing things to atone.
He slumps forwards, eyes landing on his stolen limb. It’s starting to rot, a little. It could be beautiful and symbolic, but Hajime thinks only Nagito could turn a biohazard into a metaphor for hope.
He presses his thumbs into the bridge of his nose, he really hopes Nagito wakes up soon.
With one last groan and the stretch of his arms, he continues monitoring Nagito’s progress in the background of designing the man a prosthetic.
—
Even though he spends most of his free time sitting by Nagito’s desolate pod, he still takes breaks for lunch and dinner. He could go without for a few meals, but Everytime he skips he finds a new friend has come to yell at him.
The wooden boards rattle beneath his feet as he trudges past their cottages, all housing inhabitants but one, pushing forwards towards the pool which they finally got working again. That train of thought brings him to Kazuichi.
Hajime knows they’ll both be here, so now is as good a time as ever to talk to them.
Inside the restaurant Hajime looks around, eyebrows rising in relief when he spots Fuyuhiko standing by the breakfast spread with a content Peko in tow.
“Fuyuhiko? I need to talk to you,” Hajime pulls him aside, grabbing his sleeve by the elbow gently. The shorter man stops in his tracks and peers his good eye up towards Hajime. When Hajime doesn’t speak he throws a patronizing look, lifted eyebrows and all.
“Like, alone,” he mutters for clarification, suddenly finding the restaurant’s lights to be too bright. Not that the others do or do not need to know about Nagito, but, for what it’s worth, Hajime thinks the survivors might be able to spare a sliver more of sympathy for Nagito. Peko gives a slight nod and walks just out of range, content to stand nearby Sonia and Gundham, a small smile overcoming her face at the sight of his four furry little friends. Hajime is grateful for her. He’s proud of how much she’s eased up since waking up; it’s like watching her become her own person finally, after all these years.
“Ooooh,” Kazuichi whoops lowly as he walks past, slinking into the restaurant for breakfast, and it reminds Hajime that Kazuichi is technically involved too.
He throws his hand out and catches him by his collar, “Wait- Kazuichi, you too.”
“What?! Man, seriously? I didn’t even do anything this time!” He bemoans, stiffening as straight as a board, hands covering his ears as tears already form in the corners of his eyes. Fuyuhiko raises a brow at the very clear this time.
Hajime’s shoulders fall, “You’re not in trouble,” he groans upon seeing Kazuichi’s distressed expression, “seriously. It's about Nagito.”
Hajime watched their expressions turn sour. He figured this would happen but it’s different in practice rather than theory.
The two men fall silent and stare at Hajime as if he’d grown another head. Their eyes gravitate towards each other in shared confusion, before once again falling onto Hajime.
Hajime throws his head over his shoulder and leads the two down the hotel stairs, away from their classmates.
They’re huddled awkwardly underneath the overhang just outside, the only sounds being the distant waves, the blowing breeze, and Ibuki screaming.
“So?” Fuyuhiko takes the plunge of courage and breaks the silence first, “what about Komaeda?” His hands find themselves snug in his pants pockets.
Hajime clears his throat and crosses his arms, “Right,” he steadies himself, glancing between the two of them, “All the psychodives have been..” he cuts himself off. All these talents and his wording is ineloquent. Surely Nagito would be on his tail for this. He makes himself stop thinking about Nagito.
“Failures?” Kazuichi asks, crouching down into Hajime’s line of sight. His bottom lip juts out in a silent question.
Fuyuhiko throws him a threatening glare, and it has Kazuichi backing off before feigning an apology.
“Unsuccessful.” Hajime chooses to correct, “I think we’re getting close, finally. But,” he huffs, looking up and letting the tropical sun beat down on his face, “he dreams about you guys.”
“Ew.” Kazuichi sputters on instinct before correcting himself, “I mean—dude. Not like that, uhm…” he pulls his beanie below his eyes to try and save face. He’s always been expressive, wearing his heart on his sleeve.
“Alright? What about us?” Fuyuhiko sounds strangely chill, but unless he’s angry, he always sounds that way. He elbows Kazuichi in the stomach, and the other man hisses and rubs the sore spot. Hajime is grateful for his—as ironic as it is—down to earth attitude.
“You guys in high school, being friends. The three of you,” Hajime keeps on going, “I don’t know, it’s all just the observations that Alter Ego notices. So, just.. when he wakes up could you…” he shrugs his shoulders, letting the gesture do the talking for him.
“Be his friend?” Fuyuhiko shrugs, but at the same time, Kazuichi’s eyes go wide.
“What? What!? No way, seriously, I mean-!” He visibly shivers, “Komaeda is freaky..! He tried killing us all.. several times! A-And in high school he was a bad omen!” His eyes are unfocused, darting between the two of them hesitantly, “I always get injured when he’s around.. he always gets injured when he’s around!”
Fuyuhiko laughs through his nose, a small tch sound breaking through Kazuichi’s laments.
“Hey-! Don’t laugh!” The mechanic whines, his high and mighty attitude crumpled under one harsh glare from the gangster, “remember that time we had to find him? I got hit by a truck! A truck!”
Hajime grimaces. That does sound like something that would happen in the presence of Nagito.
Hajime throws a hand up to stop his rambling, “You don’t have to, I just thought I’d offer.”
Fuyuhiko shrugs, “The bastard’s crazy,” Hajime anticipates rejection, “but I always was a little curious about him. Yeah, sure; I’ll play nice.”
The wording isn’t.. perfect, but Hajime appreciates his honesty—and efforts. Hajime smiles something small and grateful at the shorter man, before setting his sights on Kazuichi.
“Uh-” the other man stutters, “man, can I think about it..?” He asks and it’s agonizingly clear he’s made up his mind and the answer is no.
Hajime wants to be petty and hold tasks over his head. He’s sure if he made Kazuichi help Gundham for a week the answer would change in a heartbeat.. but he won’t do that. He’ll be the emotionally sound leader they all depend on.
“Sure, think about it, please.”
“You got it, soul-bro!” He flashes his spiky teeth in a relieved grin.
Hajime props his head back, squinting at the morning sun, sweltering in the sky. It beats down on his skin and leaves a trickle of sweat rolling down his back in its wake.
“Oh- Kazuichi,” he snaps his head back down, and the other man jumps turning on the balls of his feet back to Hajime, “I finished the blueprints for Nagito’s hand, so that’ll be your job for now.”
His fearful face fades into something akin to eagerness, “Awesome! Try not to get blown away once I finish it, ‘kay?” It seems to pros of a new project outweighs the cons of who it’s for.
“Cocky bastard,” Fuyuhiko scoffs out, turning on his heels to head back inside, “don’t get too carried away, this is Komaeda we’re talking about.”
Kazuichi catches up to him, “Heh,” he rubs a finger beneath his upturned nose, “Komaeda always was bad at electronic stuff, wasn’t he?” He teases.
Hajime softens at the sight. Something in him tells Kazuichi might come around quicker than he’ll pretend.
The two shuffle back inside, with Kazuichi talking mindlessly about that one time Komaeda broke his new phone.
—
Hajime blinks sleep from his eyes. He’s not tired, he’s just.. bored. There’s only so much he can do between analyzing Nagito’s state through each psychodive attempt.
World Destroyer is getting deeper, Hajime can tell, but for every step forward there’s twenty more failures that spring up.
Alter Ego transcribes what happens. The group is gathered around a desk for lunch, discussing Kazuichi’s feelings for Sonia.
He hones in on Nagito speaking up.
“Aha.. Souda-kun, I think you have a chance. Your talent shines so brightly that Sonia-san is sure to acknowledge you.”
Kazuichi clings to Nagito, grateful that Nagito thinks he has a chance, even begging Fuyuhiko to “have some faith, will you?”
Fuyuhiko apparently just believes Nagito has toxic positivity.
Hajime’s elbows rise. That’s one word for it. The group keeps conversing, and Hajime spots chunks of data flickering as the conversation evolves. World Destroyer is doing as intended.
It seems everything is going smoothly. Hajime suspects World Destroyer will be able to breeze past this level of subconscious easily.
Hajime watches closely, continuing to analyze.
—
A constant blaring snaps Hajime from his stupor.
This is the lowest stratum.
Hajime feels his blood run cold as the text types itself. There’s no way this is the deepest level and there’s still no hope of saving it. He groans when World Destroyer informs him that his only choice now is entirely destroying everything.
Hajime decides he’ll let the AI take total control in deciding what measures need to be done. As awful as it sounds, he doesn’t want to cause any harm to this version of Nagito, even if it’s necessary, even if he won’t remember.
It’s painful to know that Nagito’s quote unquote “ideal world” has to be ruined, but his place is here, not there. He taps his fingers against his temple, waiting for everything to play out with a tight jaw.
Alerts pop up on the monitor just above Nagito’s pod. Hajime spares a glance over to his pod? Noticing the slight furrow of his brows. Even though his friends have been killed, he refuses to accept this world isn’t real, it hasn’t begun to crumble yet. Hajime balls his fist up and spectates with bated breath.
The beeping falls silent. The vague reports stop. Hajime can only assume that the job is done, that Nagito is ready.
—
Waking Nagito up was.. interesting. If Hajime were any more dramatic he’d say a decent word was violent. But that’s being dramatic, hence why he didn’t use it.
Hajime explained to Nagito gently what had happened, but it was in one ear and out the other. He had looked peaceful before being woken up, there was even a smile on his lips, but Hajime guesses whatever words Alter Ego had told him were quickly lost to the confusion of the real world.
It ended with Nagito demanding to leave and Hajime having no choice but to abide and escort him to his cottage. The taller man’s walls were up, which made helping him on his unsteady feet all the more awkward. Nagito was one wrong move away from biting the hand that fed him.
And on the topic of hands, it was a nightmare to deal with his missing limb. Unpleasant words were said, and Hajime won’t pretend he’s a saint. He said what he had to to get the man situated, even if the silence that followed scared him more than the ruthless insults.
Hajime slumps against his sturdy wooden chair, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He hardly got any sleep last night trying to help Nagito out, but he still can’t force himself to miss breakfast.
There’s a warm breeze blowing through the hotel’s restaurant. The curtains flap in the steady wind, causing a ripple of light to pour through in a pulse.
“Man, Hajime, you look rough,” Akane points out through a mouth full of food. He has half the mind to scold her and half the mind to pinch the bridge of his nose. Staying silent sounds easier. He’s just glad she’s eating well again.
Chopsticks clinking against bowls overwhelm his senses, “Yeah. Nagito finally woke up last night.”
And silence. Wow. Hajime is almost relieved at the sound—and lack thereof—before snapping his eyes open and looking at the faces of his friends. There’s a healthy mix of wide-eyes, scowls, and an even healthier mix of both.
“Oh.” Someone breathes out.
“Yeah, so. Just keep an eye out for him. I’ll bring him food, I don’t think he wants visitors yet,” Hajime explains. Every victim had gone through this phase of isolation, so he’s not too worried. He thinks.
Breakfast steadily picks back up from there, with one or two people asking about Nagito, and Hajime doesn’t miss the curious stare from Fuyuhiko, and the more hesitant stare from Kazuichi.
He sends a reassuring smile, hoping the message of try to visit him sometime carries over.
..
Hajime flicks his knuckles against Nagito’s door. There’s no response, which is to be expected, so he tries again.
“Nagito?” He calls this time. Cicadas cry out in the morning heat, and Hajime can almost pretend it’s Nagito responding. He chuckles a little before clearing his throat, “Nagito, I have food for you.”
He sighs when there’s no sign of life. Any indication he was actually alive would be appreciated. Hajime doesn’t think he left anything dangerous in the other man’s room, but the thought alone makes his hair stand on end.
Hajime shuffles the tray in his hands, expertly balancing it with his right hand, before fiddling with the doorknob.
It’s locked, but Hajime keeps turning it in hopes that something will change. A small click emits from the lock, and he finds the door has been opened.
“Nagito?” He questions, gently nudging the door open. The room inside is dark; all the curtains are drawn shut, and it looks a mess despite only a night’s worth of activity (but the night’s activity was rather.. catastrophic).
The pile of blankets on the bed shifts, before an unruly head of white peaks from beneath his haven of blankets.
“Hinata-kun?” He calls with a scratchy voice. He sounds pitiful, but Hajime reminds himself that even his voice sounded off for a few days.
“The door unlocked itself. Pretty lucky, wouldn’t you say?” He tries gently, setting the tray down on the foot of Nagito’s bed and the glass of water on his nightstand. It’s something simple, just some toast, eggs, and jams. Hajime knows he doesn’t really like rice all that much.
Nagito groans, bringing up his left hand to cover his face before stopping when he remembers it’s a bandaged nub now.
He stares at the space where his hand should be blankly before a semblance of emotion seeps back onto his face. It doesn’t surprise Hajime when it’s bitter anger, targeted at him.
“Quite the opposite, I wonder what good luck I’ll get from this encounter? Maybe my hand will grow back?” He spits, harshly tugging himself away from Hajime.
Hajime’s shoulder’s slump in defeat. “I know you’re still adjusting, but I thought I’d bring you some food. How do you feel?” He figures he’ll just have to lead the conversation.
“I feel amazing, Hinata-kun. Absolutely brimming with hope.”
Hajime bites his tongue. Emotionally secure dependent leader. Hajime will be the bigger person (but he’s not so sure if being the bigger person when the only other option is unstable counts as an achievement). It reminds him of the simulation, when all Nagito could do was either lie or insult him on account of his lesser status.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Nagito. Can I get you anything? Maybe a light or an open window?”
“I think you could leave, reserve course.”
It doesn’t hurt. At least, not as bad as it did last night, when it’s all he chanted like a mantra. Still, because Hajime must be crazy, he’s just glad to see him so passionate about something after waking up. His mind conjures up images from when Nagito slept in a pod, unmoving except for the twitches in his fingers and the shifting of his otherwise stoic face.
“Ah, forgive me, actually; I forgot you were Izuru Kamukura. How can trash like me ever repay my debt for being rude to you?” He snarks, muffled by a bundle of blankets, shifting as he shifts.
"For starters, you can tell me what you need, Nagito.”
“I thought I was pretty clear in my request. Ah, I guess it only makes sense for scum like me to be misunderstood.” He loathes. Hajime can’t even tell if he’s teasing him or not.
“Listen, Komaeda,” he grits through his teeth. Nagito freezes under the covers and pulls the blanket down just below his nose. Hajime tried being gentle, but if you can’t beat Nagito Komaeda, you unfortunately have to join him, “I’ll leave you alone now. If you need anything you know where to find me.”
And with that, Hajime strides to the door and makes his exit. If he were listening closely he could’ve mistaken a weak “Hinata-kun” over his pounding footsteps.
—
It’s no surprise that Nagito does not come to Hajime’s cottage and knock on his door. So, feeling bad for being so petty, Hajime makes his way to the restaurant.
Dinner wrapped up an hour ago, but Teruteru always left out plates for anyone who happened to be hungry, which was mainly Akane.
There’s a good blend of carbs, protein, and veggies, so Hajime knows the meal will be good for Nagito; his body looked weak from the months of inactivity.
Despite the muggy, humid island weather, the nights are always pleasant, sending a chill up his spine as whispers of wind rustle his spiky hair. The whole ordeal takes maybe two minutes max, but the time to psych himself up to see Nagito again nearly doubles it.
Hajime wants to see him, he really does, he just doesn’t think Nagito is all that willing. But Nagito has had enough time wallowing in isolation and fantasy worlds to last him a lifetime.
Hajime exhales, and opens the door.
It looks the exact same, except for the empty glass of water and the half eaten toast. Hajime grimaces at the thought of eggs sitting out all day, but quickly straightens himself out.
“Nagito?” He asks gently, watching as fingers peek out from beneath his covers, “I brought you dinner,” he announces, setting the food down in the open space next to him.
“Ahaha..” Nagito laughs unsteadily, “I didn’t think you’d come back Hinata-kun,” he admits, tone breathy. His lanky limbs look small as he huddles beneath his covers.
Hajime deadpans, “I was giving you space, you acted like you needed it.”
Nagito hums, as if remembering that’s how he should be acting, “oh yeah,” he raises his good hand and pointing it to his temple, “that’s right,” he sneers at Hajime, like a dog baring its fangs.
“Well, I’ll get out of your hair again if you don’t want me here,” Hajime resigns, “but I’m going to liven this place up a bit before I do,” he looks all around him, taking in just how messy it’s been. He doubts Nagito even noticed just how ruined he left it; but he doesn’t want Nagito to feel bad, so maybe that’s a good thing.
“Ultimate housekeeper,” Nagito scoffs bitterly, wrapping his arms around himself and facing the wall. Hajime thinks he sounds a little sad.
“I do have that talent. That was Ms. Yukizome’s talent, remember?” Hajime calls from across the room, folding clothes that were thrown onto the floor with ease before putting them back in their drawer.
“Why are you talking to me?” Nagito snaps, Hajime ignores him. A one-sided conversation will be good for the man.
“Who was the teacher you had before her, again?” Hajime finishes up with the clothes, moving to pick up whatever has been scattered around.
Nagito doesn’t answer him, and when Hajime looks over he notices Nagito’s wide eyes on him. Nagito throws his head away, pretending he wasn’t watching Hajime.
“Oh. Mr. Kizakura,” he answers flatly, shifting to lay on his back. Hajime will count it as progress.
He hums in response. He organizes the random objects, placing them all around Nagito’s desk, bookshelves, and windowsills. There’s only a handful of books in the room, Hajime decides tomorrow he’ll bring more for Nagito.
“That’s right. I never knew him, I don’t think. Did you like him?” Hajime moves to open up the windows. The gentle breeze breaks through the stagnant air. It’s already looking and feeling better. He hopes even the small changes will make a difference.
Hajime catches Nagito shuffling over to look out the window facing the hotel and restaurant. Hajime smiles and pulls the curtains wide, clearing up the view.
“He was nice. He didn’t make us come to class. I liked Ms. Yukizome better,” he shrugged.
Hajime didn’t know her too well, but all the times they talked she was sweet. He remembers seeing her and Nagito talk a few times, he always looked at ease when with her.
Hajime stands back, dusting his hands off, “There, now you’re not just wasting away in here,” he rolls his shoulders before smiling at Nagito, who simply just nods.
It’s silent, Hajime is about to speak up, but Nagito beats him to it.
“Why are you doing this, Hinata-kun?” he asks.
Hajime purses his lips, shuffling next to Nagito. He scoots over, giving Hajime a place to sit at the edge of the mattress.
“We’re all recovering. No one has to do it alone.”
Nagito’s brows furrowed, once again curling in on himself, “Ah, I’m hogging up the ultimates' time even now. I’m truly despicable. You should leave me here.”
“Well, it’s just me and I’m not an ultimate, remember?” Hajime tried to joke, Nagito just stared blankly. Hajime shuts his mouth.
“Are you antagonizing me?” It sounds like he might be smiling.
“Any more than you already do?” Hajime teases. Nagito flicks his hand upwards, pushing Hajime away. There is a small smile curling on his lips, but Nagito shies away from letting it be seen.
—
Kazuichi looks shaken at dinner, squealing when Hajime pulls out the seat across from him.
“Dude..” he sighs in relief, “don’t scare me like that!” He juts his finger in Hajime’s face. The brunet jerks to the side to avoid it.
“Uh..” he smiles awkwardly, “what happened?”
“Komaeda happened!” Kazuichi cries angrily, “I brought him his hand and he spit at me!”
“He spit on you?” Hajime finds himself dumbfounded.
“..No. But- but he looked like he wanted to!”
Oohh-kay. Hajime takes a moment of silence.
“Well. He was rude to me at first. Now he’s pretty nice. I think he’s just adjusting,” Hajime shrugs. Nagito had admitted his unfortunate life to him during the simulation, before pretending he was just joking. At the time Hajime had felt hurt, even betrayed, but now Hajime’s had time to reflect. He’s certain Nagito just didn’t want the pity, or maybe it was him keeping himself as unreachable as possible. His head hurts just thinking about it.
“Don’t you have a psychologist up in there?” Kazuichi jabs the same outstretched finger into Hajime’s forehead, his nail poking the scarred flesh, “are alarm bells not going off? Stockholm Syndrome?”
Hajime shakes his head, shaking Kazuichi off of him in the process, “Listen- you tried. Thank you.”
Kazuichi settles down, arms crossed and legs spread wide as he grimaces (Hajime thinks it looks like a pout).
“Yeah. So don’t say I didn’t.”
Hajime chuckles, diverting his attention to his dinner. He lets Kazuichi talk his ear off about how catastrophic their interaction was. Apparently Nagito hasn’t changed one bit.
Hajime is just glad Kazuichi knows more than he says he does.
—
“Souda-san came by.” Nagito says before Hajime has a foot through the door. Hajime coming by has become such a routine at this point that Nagito expects it. Hajime thinks repetition does Nagito some good.
“I heard. How do you like your hand?” Hajime turns around, noticing the metal appendage is sitting on the floor.
“I’m honestly disgusted by the lengths Souda-san went through for me,” Nagito spoke, adopting his holier-than-thou tone, “I don’t need his pity.”
“I designed it for you, you know,” Hajime says, as if that’ll change anything, “you were out for a few months, so I had time.”
It does seem to change something. Nagito seems to lose his bite, tilting his head down to look at the metal hand; gentle white curls cascade of his features. Carefully, he picks up his left hand with his right hand. Hajime watched as he held it delicately, like it’ll break or burn him.
He struggles a little when putting it on, brows furling as he secures it to his stub.
“I had no idea you helped, Hinata-kun,” Nagito looks anywhere but at Hajime. He seems content to watch his robotic joints close and open. There’s a tiny delay between his two hands, but Hajime figures Nagito will be a natural at it in no time.
“I figured you wouldn’t want.. that attached to you anymore, and like I said, I had time,” he explains gently, setting down the tray of food. Nagito’s finally started eating more, even going so far as to try everything Hajime offers him at least once.
“Well.. I- I deserve it,” he clutches his hands together, rubbing his fingertips over the cool material, “I was rotten despair. I deserved whatever misfortune her hand would’ve brought me,” he spat the words like they were venom, a deep-seated anger for the world, the world that he contributed to.
“Don’t you see, Hinata-kun?” He wrung his hands together, lithe frame shaking, “trash like me.. it’s what I deserve. It’s the least I can do to make up for all the atrocities I committed,” he hugged himself, eyes watering, brimming with a familiar emotion that Hajime’s seen before.
His face flushed as he doubled over, choking out breathy laughs. His hands slid up his thin arms, coming up to grip his hair.
“Aha.. ahahaa..” echoed throughout the room, overriding the sounds of curtains blowing in the island breeze. His laughs tapered off into wheezes; he toppled over, tossing around in his blankets.
Hajime stood close, waiting for his laughing fit to subside, “Nagito, stop,” he tried to reason, but Nagito covered his eyes with both hands.
“Ha-Hi-Hinata-kun, you should leave-” he grinned, “I’m sure something horrible will happen soon, you don’t want to be around for that, do you?”
“Nagito. I have luck too. Maybe I’ll,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “maybe I’ll cancel it out. Nothing bad is going to happen.”
“You don’t have anything.”
Hajime clenched his jaw. He looked around to the bookshelf, not adequately stocked. There was a stack of books on the desk, and a few were open. He’s getting up, he’s doing stuff. This is just a small setback. Everyone dealt with them, Nagito won’t be any different.
“Do you want to be left alone now?” Hajime crossed his arms. Nagito watched with thinly veiled fascination as his muscles flexed, his already red face flushed deeper. He doesn’t think leaving is the right thing to do, but the chance Nagito ends up doing something drastic is low.
“Haha..” his hair catches on the pale moonlight fading in through the windows, fanned out across his pillow. He pushes his face further into its plush embrace, reaching a robotic hand out. He laughs again when he sees it, “I think it would be wise for you to leave, I don’t want you here,” his voice strains.
“Goodnight, Nagito.”
—
Hajime very quickly learns that Fuyuhiko isn’t afraid to beat a man while he’s down.
“What?!” He cries, watching as Fuyuhiko shrugs, “Fuyuhiko- I. Thank you for trying to help me, but.. ugh.”
“He’s hurt us all too many times,” said as if stating the sky were blue.
Hajime feels his eyes twitch. Recovery is nonlinear a voice in his brain repeats.
..
Hajime indulges in his thoughts that Nagito might just be a dog, because he perfectly characterizes a kicked puppy.
He looks.. fine. But the fact he got scolded is written all over his face.
“Hinata-kun’s guard dog is scary,” Nagito muses, sitting on the farthest spot away from Hajime. He rests his head in the palm of his hand, covering his mouth and dampening his words.
Sometime last week they’d advanced to the couch. It was a miracle they’d kept this progress.
Hajime wants to joke about Fuyuhiko’s guard dog being scarier, but he gets the vibe that Nagito isn’t in the mood for jokes.
Nagito sighs, like life itself has wronged him, “I’m sorry, Hinata-kun. I was trying to keep you safe, but I guess I would also fall back on the Ultimate Yakuza if provoked like that,” he began monotone, as if explaining a fact of life, before coming to a realization, “Oh! I get it. You were helping his hope shine through, weren’t you?!” He turned to Hajime with near stars in his eyes. After he got over his initial angst, he’s clung to hope like a lifeline (except for those few times he retreats into his own head, or falls back onto his ways of self-depreciation).
“Ah..” his voice is shaky, “I can’t believe I got to be a stepping stone for Kuzuryu-san.. it’s a greater task than I could have ever hoped to accomplish..!”
Hajime brings a hand up, halting Nagito, “I wasn’t trying to.. sic him on you. He asked about you, so I told him.”
“Kuzuyru-san.. asked about me?” He leaned over, putting all his weight into his arms, slowly bridging the gap between them.
“A few people have asked,” Hajime gets an idea, “I think both Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi have been the most curious, though.”
Nagito’s lips part with a gentle smack, “huh..” he purses his lips to prevent a smile, “interesting..”
Hajime feels something familiar stir in his gut. The same feeling he felt waiting for Nagito to wake up, the same feeling he feels whenever Nagito seems excited to talk to him.
“So, yeah. Just- just come out when you’re ready,” he stammers, suddenly feeling like he has two left feet in two right shoes.
Nagito turned to him, unable to prevent himself from looking excited, “well, that’s more than I could ask for.”
“I just, don’t think it’s safe,” he continues, that wistful tone cutting through. He stares off, caught up in his own head with something, and Hajime wishes he could understand him.
“Not this again, Nagito-”
“I’m being serious, Hinata-kun. Every time someone gets close, something happens. My dog, my parents.. Nanami-san..” he whispered out the last name wetly, and when Hajime looked over, he saw his eyes watering. Nagito quickly found the window next to his bed to be the most interesting thing in the room, “being around me, with my luck, just makes everything a disaster waiting to happen,” he chuckles, but there’s no humor. Nagito has lived his entire life believing this as fact. He’s resigned himself to playing spectator at the benefit of everyone else. He’s built a philosophy around his luck to justify it, to rationalize the lifetime of loss he’s lived through.
“Before Nanami-san..” he swallows thickly, shifting his shoulder uncomfortably, “she had started inviting me to hang out.. we would sometimes play games and stuff. I wasn’t ever any good at it, of course, but. So when she killed her, I probably succumbed to despair the fastest, like a dog awaiting a command. I killed Nanami-san, I’m sure of it.”
Hajime’s heart sank. He never even considered Nagito could blame himself for Chiaki’s death.
“I feel the same; like.. maybe, if I’d have stayed and played just one more game like she asked, I would’ve missed the window. Maybe I never would’ve become Izuru Kamukura, and maybe the world wouldn’t have ended.”
Nagito snaps his eyes over to Hajime, who’s placed himself closer to Nagito, bridging their gap, just like he always tried to.
“But you know what I think?” Hajime asks, grabbing Nagito’s hands gently.
“What..?”
“Chiaki wouldn’t want us to beat ourselves over this. She died so we could live on, the least we can do for her is be happy, right? She wouldn’t want us to blame ourselves.”
Nagito pursed his lips, face becoming unreadable. He was clearly conflicted about something.
“We’ve all done awful things, yeah, but we were different people then. We can’t change the past, but we can change our future. You forgave the others, didn’t you? Forgive yourself.”
They’ve been several different people before. Lifetimes ago they were high schoolers, mostly unaware of the other’s existence; then, they were remnants. Blurry memories will invade his mind, scenes of Servant beckoning at the feet before Izuru. It’s a past they can’t erase, but one that can grow from.
“Ah. You really are the Ultimate Hope, Hinata-kun,” he looks startstruck, like Hajime had handed him the world on a silver platter. Hajime goes to chastise him, correct his line of thought, but Nagito swoops in, “not like that. It’s a compliment. Though I’m sure it doesn’t mean much coming from me,” he detests.
Hajime shakes his head, easing up, “That makes it mean more,” he stammers, keeping his confident air. His heart patters away in his chest, that same unidentifiable feeling whenever he’s around Nagito.
Nagito reaches a hesitant hand out to hold Hajime’s. It rests delicately on top of his own. Hajime lets it be, finding this is what he’s been longing for all along. This gentle understanding, learning what makes the other man tick.
—
The restaurant is quiet, an uneasy tension holding up the air. Nagito sits next to Hajime, staring down at his plate with all the interest of paint as it dries.
It took some convincing, but Hajime had assured he wanted Nagito to join them, and that had done it. He muttered something about good luck and bad luck; Hajime’s been drilling into his brain that his luck is powerful enough to cancel Nagito’s out, his luck is based on Nagito’s, after all.
No one seems to know what to say, and Hajime almost regrets surprising everyone with Nagito’s sudden appearance, but Fuyuhiko sighs heavily.
“Well, took you long enough, huh?” He asks, Nagito’s head peeks up. Hajime is sure if he had ears they’d be upright. He hopes Nagito won't be mad at all the dog comparisons he makes.
“Kuzuryu-san,” he gasps, “Ah, I’m sorry to keep all of you waiting, I’m so honored all of you even remembered me!” He straightened up in his seat.
“It’d be pretty damn hard not to,” Akane shrugged. A few other students surrounding her nodded and hummed in agreement, some more positive than others.
“Yes! You always made waves!” Sonia added, bringing a fist up while clutching her bicep.
“Ms. Sonia, please don’t jinx us,” Kazuichi threw his head back, clutching the beanie atop his head so it wouldn’t slide off.
Hajime looks out at all his friends, together. It’s far from perfect, but it’s the best they’ll ever get; and Hajime is okay with that.
—
“Hajime!” He hears over the splashing waves, he looks over, seeing Nagito, Fuyuhiko, and Kazuichi all knee deep in the ocean.
Hajime waves back, approaching the trio. It took some time, but Kazuichi eventually came around; Hajime believes his luck canceling out Nagito’s allowed him to feel secure in starting friendships. But he also wants to believe Nagito allowed himself to grow on his own terms for his own reasons.
The cold shock of the water dulled when compared to the warmth he felt, “Hey Nagito,” he smiles, grabbing his hand and squeezing, holding his cold, lanky fingers between his shorter ones. He turns to the other two, nodding in greeting, “Kazuichi, Fuyuhiko.” Only Fuyuhiko nods back.
“Yuck, dude,” Kazuichi groans, splashing the two of them, “I’m trying to enjoy our beach day,” he pretends to barf, “Go do it in front of Teruteru; he’d probably love to see this.”
Fuyuhiko shoves a hand in Kazuichi’s face, pushing him around, “Stop being so dramatic. Be happy for him, he found love before you did.”
“Hey-! Quit teasing me! I did find love..! It’s just- I’m working on it, okay?!” He cries, covering his eyes.
Nagito laughed, bringing his nub up to his chest before raising it to cover his grin.
Their dynamic reminds Hajime of the plethora of psychodives. He’s gotta give it to Nagito, he was pretty spot on subconsciously.
Nagito reinserted himself into everyone’s lives whether he wanted to or not. He became friends with Kazuichi and Fuyuhiko with minimal urging from Hajime; he frequently meets with Sonia in the library, working on either sorting through books or just to read; he’s spent time with Gundham and his hamsters; he’s even found friendship with Peko, and Hajime thinks it’s because their mindsets were so similar.
Hajime zones out, the group’s bickering falling deaf onto his own ears. He recognized Nagito’s hand slipping from his grasp before linking around his bicep, probably meant to further tease Kazuichi. Hajime leaned into the touch.
Throughout every day since Nagito’s woken up, one thing remains constant.
Spending time together with Nagito and seeing him live freely is the highlight. Their world might not be ideal, but it’s theirs. They can’t undo the hurt, but they can grow, as they have been and as they will continue to.