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I am truly in love with… I am truly in love with… The beginning of the sentence rattled around in Hajime’s head.
I am truly in love with the hope that sleeps inside you. And then it came to its conclusion, it’s unsatisfying, choppy conclusion. Who even says stuff like that? The hope that sleeps inside of you? What does that even mean ?
As Hajime had been walking away from him that day, frustrated with Nagito’s confusing talk, Nagito had spoken up. Even though Hajime was turned away from him, Nagito’s tone was clearly that of a confession.
I am truly in love with...you. Hajime’s brain whispered over and over. It was killing him, because no matter how he imagined the sentence, that last word was just something his mind was supplementing. It wasn’t real. Komaeda hadn’t actually said that.
He had to hear it. It’d been two days since that conversation (luckily, they had been peaceful days), but during every moment of silence, the words attacked his senses. Hajime was surprised he had gotten any sleep.
The digital clock on his bedside read 10:48 PM, which was well past lights out. Everyone was probably in bed, and being out this late would be nothing short of suspicious. With four students dead already…
Hajime tried not to think about that. Nagito’s dorm was only two doors down. No one would have to see him.
What was he even going to say when he saw him? “Finish your sentence.” There was absolutely no way Nagito would understand what he was saying with that. “Confess to me.” Now, that was embarrassing. Hajime felt heat rise up his neck and onto his face as he tugged a large sweatshirt over his head. There was no time to deal with putting his binder on, or he’d chicken out.
He told himself over and over, this wasn’t a crush thing. Nothing of the sort. Humans’ brains just hate incomplete puzzles. Hajime had to rectify the problem, solve the equation, that was all.
He stood outside of Komaeda’s door and gave it a quiet knock, hoping the other students wouldn’t hear him. He heard shuffling from inside, and then suddenly, the door swung open, a joyous Nagito standing on the other side. Hajime wondered for a moment why he wasn’t more cautious opening the door, but then he remembered.
“Hajime!” Nagito smiled brightly. “To what do I owe the honor? Have you come to kill me?”
“Keep it down.” Hajime hissed. “And no, of course not!”
Komaeda wasn’t discouraged. “Oh, well. Another time?”
“No!” Hajime’s eyes darted around to the other cabins. He couldn’t help imagine, what if Komaeda did end up murdered? If anyone heard them right now, he would be suspect #1.
Though, it was hard to tell which thought made his stomach sink, being convicted for murder or Komaeda being dead.
“I just…” Hajime stuttered, “Tell me you love me.”
The heat found itself at Hajime’s face again, and he whipped his head downward, too embarrassed to meet Nagito’s eyes. That was stupid, that was so stupid. That wasn’t at all what he meant to say.
“What?”
“That wasn’t… Ugh, I—”
“I love you, Hajime,” Nagito spoke slowly, unsure if he was being made fun of or not.
Hajime thought he was going to have a heart attack right then and there. It was just that easy?
“T-thank you.” Hajime finally looked up, meeting Komaeda’s eyes. His expression was odd, not his usual cheery smile. He didn’t look offended either, maybe confused?
“Why—” Nagito started to ask.
“We didn’t talk,” Hajime started to take a step away. “This is off the record.”
“I… Okay. That’s alright with me,” Komaeda said. Hajime tried to ignore his knowing smile.
“Don’t look at me like that. Nothing happened,” Hajime curled his fists at his side. “Goodnight, Komaeda.”
“Goodnight, Hinata.”
Back in his cabin, Hajime realized he hadn’t even gotten Komaeda to say the right thing. Still, somehow, the thirst was quenched.
-
The next morning at breakfast, there was the usual insanity of his classmates, some screaming over each other, some crying, some completely ignoring the ruckus to have quaint side conversations. Across the table from him, Tsumiki cried as Saionji pelted her with scrambled eggs. To his left, Tanaka talked about his hamsters as they scattered across Nevermind’s food, with no protest from her. And to his right.
Nagito sat on his right, sipping on ice water and peeling an orange, just to leave it uneaten.
“Are you feeling alright?” Hajime asked him, trying to keep the annoyance out of his tone.
“Yes, of course,” Nagito gave him a little smile. “Just thinking.”
Eventually, Hajime spoke to the other students, asking Saionji to please stop trying to start a table-wide food fight, and listening to Tanaka and Nevermind talk about… Well, they were talking about something having to do with the underworld and darkness , but Hajime wasn’t sure exactly what.
As Tanaka explained which one of his hamsters represented which Deadly Sin or something like that, Hajime felt Nagito’s pinkie bump against his underneath the table. It made him jump a little, but assuming it was a mistake, Hajime didn’t turn to acknowledge him. But the pinkie didn’t move away. In fact, Nagito’s pinkie wrapped around his.
As soon as Hajime turned his head to Nagito, to question this action, Nagito turned his head to listen to whatever Koizumi was talking about on the other side of him. Hajime doubted Nagito cared too much about focal lengths or Koizumi’s plans to turn her cabin’s bathroom into a darkroom for developing her photos. He was just avoiding meeting Hajime’s eyes.
Fine. Two could play at that game. Hajime turned his hand over to place his palm under Nagito’s giving his hand a warm squeeze.
I’d like to see him ignore me now, Hajime thought to himself and smiled.
He didn’t expect Nagito to idly squeeze back, not even turning to look at him. The longer they spent with their hands loosely wrapped around each other, the bolder the two got in their competition, without actually acknowledging each other.
Nagito started by rubbing his thumb on the back of Hajime’s hand, a little movement, back and forth, almost comforting. Nagito’s fingers were thin and boney, but the pads of his fingers were surprisingly soft.
Hajime countered by letting go of Nagito’s hand for a moment, flipping it over, and running his fingers across the lines and indents of Nagito’s palm. Nagito actually shivered as Hajime ran his nail up Nagito’s palm’s life line, and Hajime smiled to himself, hiding his expression behind a glass of juice.
As the group departed and headed out one-by-one, Komaeda left with them, not looking at Hajime as he left. Hajime tried not to let that bother him. Why would he want Komaeda to look at him anyway?
A few days later, Komaeda was infected with the Despair Disease.
Tsumiki showed Hajime to Komaeda’s room after his condition improved. She had explained the Lying Disease already, but Hajime was not at all prepared to see his condition.
Komaeda was breathing heavily through his mouth, and he looked more gaunt than usual, wrapped in the large hospital gown. It slipped off his shoulders as he breathed. When Tsumiki and Hajime entered, he sat up suddenly, revealing most of his chest. It was blotchy with fever, and Hajime looked away, embarrassed at seeing him exposed in such a way.
“Komaeda, Hinata has come to see you,” Tsumiki spoke as she walked toward him. “Let me fix your gown.”
“Dote on me more, Tsumiki, I deserve it,” he said breathily.
“Oh, Komaeda, don’t say those things about yourself,” Tsumiki’s lip curled up, and she barely stopped herself from bursting into tears.
Hajime watched the interaction confusedly, still not used to the idea of the Lying Disease. It clicked after a moment, however.
“Hello, Nagito,” he waved awkwardly.
“Hajime,” Komaeda’s body swayed a bit as he turned his head to face Hajime. “Hajime, Hajime, Hajime.”
“That’s me…” he laughed dryly.
“I love being here...away from you… Separated from all my friends,” Komaeda’s head lolled back onto his pillow, still propped up in bed. Suddenly, he started laughing, then coughing, then laughing again, a breathy mixture of wheezes and straining.
“Komaeda, please calm down, you’re going to hurt yourself.” Tsumiki fluttered around him, patting his back, wiping his forehead with a wet towel, offering him water from a tray she had carted in. “He’s been having trouble breathing lately.”
“That’s...not good,” Hajime said dumbly.
“Tsumiki! Tsumiki!” Komaeda barked out.
“What is it?”
“Stay! Stay here! If you stay, then Hajime won’t touch me! I don’t want him to touch me,” he grabbed Tsumiki by the shoulders and pulled her close as he screamed his request.
For a moment, Hajime felt like he was going to vomit, like he was being accused of being some sort of pervert who touches sick people in their hospital beds. He took a step back, panic rising in his throat.
Even Tsumiki looked shocked, but she was used to Komaeda’s lies, and realized what Komaeda was really saying much quicker than Hajime did. She let out a shaky sigh.
“I think I should leave, Hajime,” her shoulders shook as she slowly pried herself away from Komaeda. “He… He…”
“This isn’t what you think it is,” Hajime held his hands up. “We’re not...like that.”
“We’re not, Tsumiki! We don’t touch under the table!”
“Shut up, ” Hajime hissed. “We don’t, Tsumiki, I promise.”
“We don’t do it at breakfast!”
“At breakfast?” Tsumiki looked as if she was going to cry. “H-Hajime, I don’t know what to say. That’s so perverse... ”
“I swear, it’s not what you’re thinking.” Hajime stepped away from Komaeda, hoping he would understand not to butt in. “We...hold hands...under the table. That’s it. ”
“I…” Tsumiki looked over to Komaeda, who was humming some little tune, and then back to Hajime. “I’m sorry for assuming. I’ll… I’ll go now!”
She ran out of the room, and from the other side of the door, Hajime could hear her crying loudly. He felt awful.
“You know, Tsumiki isn’t going to look me in the eyes after this,” Hajime sighed and sat down at the end of Komaeda’s bed.
“She won’t. She’ll hate you.” Nagito grinned as he stared at the ceiling.
“Thanks.” Hajime sighed. “Another thing: I’d be nice if you didn’t tell people about the hand-holding. Kinda thought that was private.”
“I’ll tell everyone, that’s how much I hated it.” Komaeda finally met Hajime’s eyes. He looked awful. “I’ll tell all the girls, and they’ll be so jealous, because you’re holding hands with me. ”
“Who will they be jealous of, you or me?” Hajime laughed.
“They’ll wish they were holding my hand,” Nagito reached out his arm and tugged at Hajime’s sleeve. “Don’t touch me. Go away.”
Hajime interlaced their fingers across Komaeda’s lap.
“I hope you get sick,” Komaeda said quietly.
“Yeah, me neither.” Hajime smiled. “But don’t worry, I’ll wash my hands when I leave.”
“I hate you.” Komaeda’s grip tightened. “I hate you. I hate you. I… I…”
Tears streamed down Komaeda’s face, but he continued to cough out the words, his body curling in on itself and gagging.
“Stop!” Hajime yelled and immediately regretted it, because Nagito recoiled back. “You’re hurting yourself, it’s okay, I know what you mean to say. I understand.”
I love you.
He’d heard Komaeda say it before, so he didn’t have to wonder what Nagito meant as he huffed and puffed, catching his breath.
“I hate you,” his voice wavered.
“I… I…” Hajime stuttered. “Same to you.”
“Go away, please,” Komaeda spoke up.
“Yeah, of course. No problem.” Hajime started to stand up.
“Go away! Go away! Go away!” Komaeda clawed at Hajime’s hand, digging his nails into his skin. “Go away!”
“Ah, I’m sorry, I forgot,” Hajime sat back down.
“I’ll never forgive you,” Komaeda said.
“I know.”
After about another half-hour, Tsumiki came to check on her patient. Komaeda was starting to doze off, both his hands wrapped tightly around Hajime’s one. Without waking him up, Hajime escaped the grip and stepped out into the hall to speak to Tsumiki.
“Your hand!” She gasped.
Hajime looked to see that his left hand was littered with scratches, some raised and swollen, and some bleeding lazily.
“Shit!” Hajime hadn’t noticed. Man, Nagito must’ve had claws .
“What happened?” Tsumiki asked.
“I tried to leave, and he… I think he just got a little excited.”
Tsumiki nodded and dug in her pockets for antibiotic ointment and bandages. Soon, Hajime was being pushed out of the hospital doors with instructions to keep the scrapes clean and to put ointment on them once a day.
After seeing Ibuki’s body hanging from the rafters of the music venue, Hajime considered himself very lucky that the disease hadn’t spread to him.
The trial was exhausting, as they all were, but a different weight hung after losing three people in one day. When he thought too long about it, tears would well up in his eyes, and his classmates would give him sympathetic looks, but keep their distance. He couldn’t stand to be around them—around people—any longer. Hajime collapsed into bed as soon as he returned to his cottage, still in his clothes.
He woke up to the door of his cottage opening, causing him to jolt up and dig around for the kitchen knife he kept under his mattress.
His breathing didn’t slow down much when he realized it was Komaeda.
Finally, he grasped the wooden handle and swung his arm out towards the door, the knife on full display as a warning to his late-night visitor.
“Don’t try anything,” he huffed out, trying to wake up fully.
“You left your door unlocked, Hajime,” Komaeda chided. “That’s...dangerous.”
“Well, you came sneaking in at—” he looked over to his clock, “—two AM!”
“I had to make sure everyone else was asleep,” Komaeda explained. “Tensions are high, because of the trial—”
“Of course, they are!” Hajime barked out.
“Hajime, you can put the knife down, I’m unarmed,” Komaeda held his hands up in surrender and turned in a full circle. Any weapons kept in his back pocket would’ve been obscured by his long jacket anyways, so the spin was obviously just for show. “Or, you can keep the knife, if it makes you feel better.”
“I think I’ll do that,” Hajime frowned stubbornly, finally standing up, but putting the knife in his pocket. “Why are you here?”
“To apologize,” Komaeda lowered his hands. “I was out of control at the hospital. I don’t remember much, but…” Nagito’s eyes drifted towards Hajime’s bandaged hand. “I did that, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, but you were sick. It’s not a big deal,” Hajime sighed.
“Did I say anything upsetting?”
“Well, you gave Tsumiki a bad scare. You started talking about… Well, I had to tell her I’d explain later, and—” Hajime could see Tsumiki’s death behind his eyelids every time he blinked. “I guess I never got to.”
They both stood in silence for a few moments, mourning in a way that seemed nothing short of pathetic. Hajime thought for a moment about how none of those who had died even had graves.
“I shouldn’t have woken you up, I’ll go,” Komaeda dipped his head and turned to leave.
“No, stay,” Hajime said before he even realized he had opened his mouth.
I don’t want to be alone right now, his thoughts whispered.
Komaeda nodded and sat on the couch behind Hajime.
“Are you lonely?”
“No,” Hajime responded. “Why would you think that?”
“Because this island is devastatingly lonely,” Komaeda spoke. “And I’m lonely as well.”
Of course, you’re lonely, Hajime thought. You speak incoherently, you threaten our classmates, you treat this all like a joke.
“Well, I have plenty of friends,” Hajime frowned.
Nagito gave him a look that said, Really, now?
He did. He had friends. Nanami was always willing to hang out with him. The others were nice to him, even though they were closer to each other than to him.
Oh.
Maybe he was a bit lonely, but he’d never admit that to Komaeda.
“We’re different,” Hajime said.
“I don’t think we are,” Komaeda tensed up as if expecting Hajime to explode in his face after his comment, but he stood his ground. “We’re far too similar.”
We’re different, we’re different, we’re different.
I’m normal, and you’re not. We’re nothing alike.
Normal people didn’t let people like Komaeda lounge on their furniture, did they?
Hajime took the knife out of his pocket, and let the handle roll in his hand for a moment, feeling the weight. Then, he chucked it across the room, where it scattered through his open bathroom door and onto the tile.
Then, he sat down right next to Nagito and buried his face in the other’s shoulder.
His hands remained crossed in his lap while he cried, avoiding all contact with Nagito besides his face to the jagged collarbone.
Komaeda leaned his head down and pressed his cheek on top of Hajime’s head. His hand found Hajime’s bandaged one, and Komaeda delicately rubbed the skin peeking out from underneath the bandages.
“I’m so tired,” Hajime sobbed out.
“I know.”
What am I tired of?
“If the others ask—” Hajime began.
“This didn’t happen. I know.” Nagito finished.
Hajime finally let his body completely crumple against Nagito’s.
-
They woke up sprawled across the couch, half on top of each other and half falling off the furniture.
Hajime sat up in a jolt.
“Slept in my binder,” he clawed at the buttons of his shirt, looking to free his aching ribs. The panic made it even harder to breathe, and Hajime wondered for a moment if he’d suffocate alone in his cottage. He barely noticed Nagito waking up underneath him.
“Hm?” Komaeda said sleepily.
That caused Hajime to jolt again, realizing he had company, and he dashed to the bathroom to change in peace. The knife on the floor brought back the last of the hazy memories of last night’s events.
This stupid button-up doesn’t fit when I’m not wearing my binder… Hajime thought exasperatedly.
Luckily, a t-shirt was on the bathroom floor for him to slip on. A quick look over in the mirror revealed how bad he looked. His hair was sticking up in every direction, his t-shirt plus dress pants combination was not a good look on him, the corners of his eyes were crusty, his chin was covered in drying drool, and the bags under his eyes were deep.
Walking out of the bathroom, he spotted Komaeda still rubbing his eyes as he sat up slowly, looking around the room.
“Oh, we must’ve slept together,” Komaeda nodded in the realization.
“Phrasing,” Hajime hissed.
The clock revealed that it was 10 AM, and panic rose in Hajime. Had they missed the morning announcement?
There were a few quiet knocks at the door, as if someone couldn’t be bothered to put any force into it.
“Hinata, are you up? Komaeda didn’t show up to breakfast this morning,” Nanami’s voice filtered through the wood. “The others are looking for him. We think he may be planning something.”
Nagito started to open his mouth, but Hajime was quick enough to slap a hand over his mouth.
“Yeah, Nanami!” he called. “I’ll be out in a minute, just getting dressed. Go on without me, okay?”
“Alright,” her uninterested voice and footsteps eventually faded away.
As Komaeda snuck out of the cabin and back into his own, there was an unspoken promise between the two of them. This doesn’t leave this room .
-
The Funhouse was hell.
From the gaudy pink walls of the Strawberry House to the rusted statues of the Grape House, absolutely no part of the home-away-from-home was pleasant.
During the second day in the house, Hajime decided to roam the halls of the Strawberry House, as much as the color hurt his head. He found himself on the top floor, staring at the indoor playground for a moment, sincerely wondering what use it could serve for highschool-aged students. He hadn’t been on monkey-bars in probably ten years.
“Hey, uh,” Souda strolled up behind him, hands in his pockets, trying to look as casual as possible. “You checking out the playground?”
“Are you?” Hajime suppressed laughter.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Souda stuck his nose in the air. But when he lowered his face again and his vision focused on the slide, his eyes lit up.
“I’ll leave you to your investigation, then,” Hajime waved as he walked away, making sure to divert his eyes so Souda could climb the slide’s ladder in peace.
Komaeda greeted him as he walked down the stairs from the third floor to the second. Hajime waved back and continued along his stroll, noting some of the other students relaxing in the lounge. Well, these days, relaxing was relative. But no one was screaming, crying, or murdering each other, so circumstances seemed pretty good.
Hajime felt his stomach groan, but refused to acknowledge it, not yet. It’d only been about twenty-four hours since they arrived, after all. To give into hunger this quickly seemed like defeat. He decided to distract himself.
“Nagito, let me see that Deluxe Room of yours,” Hajime approached.
“Oh, is that a euphemism?” Komaeda laughed nervously.
“No, of course not,” Hajime faltered. “I just have a Crummy Room, I’d like to see what all the hype is about.”
Komaeda’s Deluxe Room was almost worse than his Crummy Room, with the blinding pink walls, rainbows painted on the ceiling, and polka-dotted bed sheets. At least his room had a consistent color scheme.
“This is miserable,” Hajime chuckled.
“It’s hideous,” Komaeda agreed.
Hajime did notice how plush the bed seemed, much better than his own, with box springs poking into his ribs every time he shifted.
Before he could stop himself, Hajime threw his arms out and dramatically flopped into the neatly made comforter, burying his face into the strawberry-scented covers. In any other scenario, the scent would be almost pleasant, but here, it just made him hungrier.
“Are you alright?” Nagito glanced down at Hajime from where he was leaning against one of the bedposts.
“Come here,” Hajime pushed his torso up just enough to mutter, and then flopped face-down into the sheets again.
Komaeda laid down next to Hajime, face-up, with his hands folded over his stomach, respectfully keeping a few inches of distance on the queen bed. Hajime slapped an arm over Komaeda’s torso, still keeping distance between the two, but allowing that bit of contact.
Nagito rolled onto his side, facing Hajime and keeping his arm laid across him, watching him breathe for a tense moment. The tension didn’t come from discomfort, however, but from anticipation. Finally, Hajime found himself lifting his head and rolling over to face Nagito as well. He found himself shocked at how intimate the moment felt.
Their eyes met, and Hajime was the first one to break the contact. It was too much, the look Nagito was giving him, of something close to love, maybe closer to devotion. People didn’t usually look at him that way. Instead of having to look, Hajime pulled Komaeda close and buried his face in his neck.
“Is this okay?” he asked, realizing how tense Komaeda was.
“Yes,” Nagito finally let go of the breath he was holding and relaxed his body.
Their legs gradually got more tangled together, Hajime attempting to play footsie with Nagito, scuffing both of their pairs of shoes. Komaeda eventually reached his arms around to Hajime’s back and drew squares across his shoulders.
“I’m already hungry,” Hajime’s lips moved across Nagito’s neck as he spoke. Nagito shivered and then chuckled, deep in his chest.
“I don’t have much of an appetite in the first place,” he explained.
“Probably for the best, since everything in this room smells like food.”
“What’s the Crummy Room like?”
“Cold. Everything’s made of wood, but the wood is old, and it splinters. And the bed is just box springs, I’m pretty sure,” Hajime settled deeper into Nagito’s sheets (and arms) thinking about it, happy for the momentary comfort.
“You could stay here, you know,” Nagito whispered into the top of Hajime’s head, quiet enough that, if Hajime wanted to, he could’ve pretended not to hear it.
“Moving too fast, don’t you think?” Hajime chuckled nervously.
“I can take the couch,” Nagito suggested.
Hajime considered that for a moment. He’d feel bad kicking Nagito out of his own bed though. His stomach rumbled again unpleasantly, and Hajime almost laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of the situation. He was going to starve to death in a few weeks, and here he was wondering how intimate was too intimate to get with his classmate. His classmate who purposefully made his life harder, fucking with him during trials, setting traps he’d fall in, and justifying it all by pulling him back to his feet.
Hajime leaned back and took a long look at those tender eyes of Komaeda’s. How many days would they have left, days where they weren’t so hungry it hurt to move, days where they weren’t laying around unconscious, waiting to die?
“Can I kiss you?” Hajime spoke without thinking.
“You don’t have to ask me, you know,” Nagito smiled and leaned in. “You can use me however you please.”
“I don’t want to use you, Nagito,” Hajime bit his bottom lip and tried to even out his frustrated tone. “I only want to kiss you if you want to kiss me.”
“Oh.”
“So, do you want to kiss me?” Hajime finally broke eye contact again as he asked, suddenly feeling too vulnerable. “If you don’t that’s okay. ”
“Yes, of course,” Nagito tried to contain his smile. “I mean, you’re you. ”
Hajime felt himself flush under the compliment. Komaeda really knew how to stroke a guy’s ego, huh?
The kiss wasn’t anything special, on its own, but it certainly helped that Hajime’s heart was beating high in his throat, and Komaeda was gripping the back of his shirt as if he was afraid that letting go would cause Hajime to wither and fade away.
Feeling particularly affectionate, when they broke away, Hajime found himself petting Komaeda’s cheekbone with his thumb. Komaeda shivered and leaned into the touch like a house cat.
Nagito sat up and swung a leg over Hajime’s waist, still keeping the contact of the hand to his face.
“Is this okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” Hajime responded.
Nagito leaned down to kiss Hajime’s cheek, then he couldn’t stop himself from peppering more across Hajime’s forehead and nose.
Nagito sat back up, taking special care to put his weight down on the knees framing Hajime’s sides instead of on Hajime’s torso. Hajime reached both his hands back up to Nagito’s face, cupping it and squishing it with a smirk.
“I’m going to make sure you get out of here,” Nagito said, punctuating the words with kisses to Hajime’s palm.
“Don’t… Don’t hurt anyone, or yourself, please.”
“I’ll find a way.”
Hajime chose to believe that meant “ Alright. I won’t.”
He didn’t get a chance, luckily. Everything happened too fast. All the commotion and panic and noise, then the trial was suddenly there, and suddenly Tanaka was gone, all in what felt like minutes. Hajime found himself collapsing in his normal bed again. Every time he fell into this bed, after every trial, the weight on his bones was heavier, and sleep came even easier.
-
Now with a full belly, Hajime could try to reassess his relationship with Nagito, and where it had all gone wrong. Had he ruined everything with the kiss, or was it before then that they had started their downward spiral?
He would’ve tapped his chin in thought if Komaeda wasn’t devouring the lower half of his face. And his hands were a bit preoccupied anyways, wrapped around Nagito’s waist.
Nagito had him backed up against a wall in the break room of the Plushie Factory, one arm against the wall next to Hajime’s head and the other arm’s hand caressing his face.
For a moment, Hajime couldn’t find himself regretting much of anything, because any series of events leading to here were worth it. Well, really, that was just the nerves talking, and those nerves felt as if they had been set aflame.
“Nagito,” he breathed out with a chuckle. It was almost as if they were normal highschool students, sneaking off to make out in the backroom.
Nagito started nosing at his jawline, pressing a firm kiss right under Hajime’s chin.
Hajime realized as Nagito sucked a bruise into his neck (“Do you really have to leave a mark?”) that his companion was much bolder than usual. Back at the Funhouse, Nagito had asked over and over, “Is this okay?” “This isn’t too much, is it?” and he shook visibly until Hajime reassured him. Now, he hadn’t once asked for reassurance the entire time they were there.
“Hey, Nagito, are you—” Hajime spoke until Nagito planted a kiss on his pulse point, causing him to jolt. “Nagito, are you feeling alright?”
“Never better,” Nagito said impatiently. His tone was unconvincing as his hands went to the buttons of Hajime’s shirt.
“Wait a minute, stop!” Hajime suddenly felt a huge wave of embarrassment wash over him.
To Komaeda’s credit, he immediately took a step away, holding his hands up in surrender. Hajime shakily re-buttoned his shirt and shook out his arms to try and discard some nerves.
“Something’s wrong, I know that,” Hajime started. “I’m not going any further until you tell me what that is.”
“Why do you think you deserve to know?” Komaeda barked back.
“Huh?” Hajime’s confidence faltered.
“Why do you even care ?” Komaeda’s lip was curled upwards, like a snarling animal.
“Why do I care?” Hajime blinked rapidly. “B-because I like you? Because you’re my friend?”
“Friends don’t give each other hickeys,” Nagito tapped a spot on his neck, mirroring the bruise he had just left on Hajime.
“Well, I mean…” Hajime trailed off.
“If you wanted a fuck buddy, you won’t find him in me,” Nagito crossed his arms. “Maybe someone else will take you up on it.”
“What are you talking about?” Hajime sputtered.
“I’m calling this off, that’s what I’m talking about,” Komaeda turned to leave.
Hajime had always wanted his friend to be more assertive, more self-preserving, and he had told him that. But this was a little more bold than what he had in mind.
-
Nagito’s corpse didn’t look real. It was more like a mannequin painted with his features.
Hajime had seen him sleep, and Hajime had seen him in pain. Seeing this terrible amalgamation of the two states sent him flying back onto the floor, breathing hard and writhing, hand over his mouth holding back vomit.
His friends had picked him up, as there was an investigation to be carried out. He ignored their sympathetic looks because they surely knew now, but what did it really matter if Komaeda was dead?