He should have known.
Hajime Hinata was, in no way, shape or form, an idiot. Naïve, perhaps, but never an idiot.
So why was it, that he felt like a complete and utter idiotic moron?
He should have known that people, people like Komaeda, never change. Hajime had grown attached, more than he liked to admit, to the owner of that damned bird nest he called hair. The boy with eyes of an emerald which light had been stolen and never returned.
He had thought, a mere intrusive thought of a dream that felt so distant to him now; Hajime had thought that he could have been its replacement. He had jolted awake after that, coffee forgotten, ears ringing screaming at him to stop the crazed pounding of his heart.
For a while, during those times of peace where his other classmat- no, not that, his acquaintances, yes just acquaintances, trapped as he was in a virtual program ever so cruel, he had dared to think that perhaps that mess he called a person was worth the headaches Hajime had grown accustomed to for trying to wrap his head around that of Nagi- Komaeda.
Goddamn Komaeda and his unnatural remarks ('From the bottom of my heart…I am truly in love with the hope that sleeps inside you').
(Whom was he kidding? He knew he deserved this, after all they- he destroyed what once was his home. How could he ever atone for his sins? He deserved this, he deserved all of this, hedeservedit hedeservedithedeservedit I deserve this).
The mere instant Hajime saw light (his light, his own power) within him, Hajime had already been a candidate for the title of idiot. He felt the warmth of a ray of light being emanated from his own body as if he had become an ethereal being.
And for a while, it was really working; restoring a broken shell where all the light escaped from its cracks.
And how could he be blamed for even trying to salvage what was broken beyond repair? Human nature dictated this morbid fascination with the abnormal. He wasn't to take all the blame; after all, the other had tempted him. The rosy tint on his cheeks, so harshly contrasting with the paleness of his skin and the ghostly thin body underneath him (the immediate heat that image provoked in him, the disgust he felt afterwards) lured him in. Cold fingers running through his hair, hot breaths that spoke of a life all too willing to be halted. His voice cooed him to come closer, and to give in.
Just give in.
And he did. Hajime did. His light, its protective and kind warmth had too soon been swallowed by a feral and violent force. Nagito. His Nagito trembled in anticipation of the drastic change, unable to restrain his desire to be burned by it. To be destroyed by a light (a lust) too strong for him to be healed by.
That had been Hajime's mistake. But the body that had by the morning left his side, a faint smell of sunflowers and the stench of death that always seemed to cling onto Komaeda had left some warmth in the wake of the empty space (only proof of what had transpired mere hours before).
It was all very ironic to Hajime. The boy who had the lingering smell of a tragedy that had yet to come, too soon he thought, too soon, had also been the vessel of the warmest embrace he ever felt.
But all that shattered in mere seconds: the bomb, the message, the fatal mistake of sweet, kind, understanding Nanami.
Maybe the broken shell was Hajime. He certainly felt…empty when he saw those emerald eyes, washed away by a sea of insanity and despair. And his wounds- god his wounds. How, how could anyone do that to their own self? The stabs on his legs, those same legs that pushed Hajime deeper in his insatiable insanity. And the spear that pierced his chest, he had made a mental note of forcing Nagito to eat more and fill out his harsh edges. The knife impaled in his hand, a hand that had clawed at Hajime's back in an attempt to edge Hajime for more.
All he could smell was a smoke that clinged to his lungs in a desperate struggle to avoid being dissipated in the room that felt much too small.
Hajime choked down his tears, Komaeda was not deserving of -his- pity, in any shape or form.
And yet he felt his whole body tremble. Waves of emotions that came violently crashing down at him, threatening to drown him in a sea of despair –I can't let her win-
It was only after he, together with the other survivors, woke up that he had truly understood just how different the world was.
The smells, the colours, his hair, his eyes, whyaretheyredwhyaretheyredwhyarethe- oh...
In the beginning, everything was hard. The real world had overloaded his senses in a way that left him stunned and numb to all of it for weeks.
Souda, Owari, Kuzuryuu and Sonia had all been making great efforts at rehabilitation. They all had a fire in their eyes that burned with a hope that almost outshined his own during their final trial.
But Hajime found himself unable to be just the same.
The sins he bore within himself were greater than what a single person could take, they chipped at his soul day after day. He grew colder and distant as the hands of the clock ticked by. He felt, emptier, lighter, bored.
It wasn't until Hajime, absentmindedly as the idiot he now was, stumbled upon the pod room. A faint smell of wet earth guiding him towards it.
He told himself he wasn't avoiding it (like the plague). He merely thought it was useless to reminisce over the past (ithurtithurtithurt).
He slowly made his way over all of them, the smell becoming increasingly stronger. At its peak, he found himself in front of a pod that read the name of his biggest sin.
He laughed, a quiet, dry laugh that weighed like cement on the ears and on the heart. Of course. He should have known.
He let himself be lulled to sleep by the sound of the whirling machines around him, and the gentle smell of a forest after a rainfall.
Something nagged and pulled and screamed at the corner of his mind, but Izuru ignored it.
That feeling had begun after one of the bodies in the pod started waking up. The noise inside his brain became stronger as one after the other, new people started waking up.
All but one pod.
The others had come to him, given him reassuring pats on the back and hugs that smelled of hospital.
Izuru thought nothing of their gestures but nonetheless he faked smiles and thanked all those that had come to him.
Hajime Hinata was gone, and there was no reason for them to know.
After all, they would all be sent home soon (if so they wished).
Day after day he started feeling irritation at his body. He often found himself waking up in the middle of the night. His body (sleepwalking, his knowledge connecting the dots) led him to that same pod, night after night.
It wasn't until an alarm had alerted everyone in the island that the final pod had opened up, that Izuru became acutely aware of his predicament.
All of a sudden Haj- Izuru had found himself surrounded by smiling faces that pulled him, cheered him on and stained him in a concoction of snot and tears.
The noise by now had become a distinguished voice that yelled at him to give him back his body.
The nurse –she has a name you know? Tsumiki! You better remember it- was the first one to notice the ever so subtle tremors in hi-their body.
They no nonono he, he! Started pulling at their hair, screaming to let go and trashing the canteen.
Tsu-the nur-Tsumik-se had asked Tanaka –who?- and Souda –that pink haired mechanic- to hold him-them-no, him- down as she sedated him.
When he next woke up, Hajime found himself in the hospital where Komaeda, Ibuki and Owari had caught the Despair Disease. He let out a strained chuckle at how it had all ended in the death of three dear friends, despite all his efforts.
The open window at the far end of the room invited the sounds of waves crashing along the coast and a salty breeze that left a feeling of stickiness on Hajime's face. He closed his eyes, enjoying his bath in the sun, surrounded by the smell of the sea.
"You sure are enjoying yourself a lot, despite being a Reserve Course Student."
The spell of the alluring sun and calm sea was broken when a voice, hoarser than he remembered him, taunted him for what he wished he still was.
When Hajime had individuated the source of the sneering comment, he gave Nagito, his Nagito, a sad smile one that made him look older than his years (he certainly felt he had aged at an unnatural speed).
With his ivy fluid bag in his hand, ever so slowly (as the old, senile man he mentally was), Hajime made his way towards a Nagito, his Nagito (hishishishishis) that was growin restless as the boy came closer to him.
"Your eyes-!"
The guilty that was threatening to spill over and drown and bury and destroy Hajime's frail mind flooded his senses.
He found two big greyed, emerald eyes staring at him in confusion and panic as Hajime, softly, as if he were afraid the husk standing next to him would break under any pressure, pressed the ghost of a kiss on a trail of a salty liquid that left Nagito's eyes red and puffy.
Hajime didn't wait, couldn't wait, didn't want to wait for Nagito's reaction; instead, he pushed his body weight on the pale body (how was it possible for someone to be so skinny and so warm?), pinning down the other's arms with his own.
"Hina-"
But Nagito was cut off once again by that very same pair of lips that, surprisingly to him, shyly asked permission for entrance to his cold lips.
Hajime was, for a lack of better words, pleasantly surprised by the familiar warmth that welcomed him. He felt his light being eaten by that nostalgic violent fire that was reignited inside him the moment his ears were graced by the words dripping in an irresistible venomous cadence.
When Hajime pulled away from Nagito's mouth (he was pleased to see the rosy colour coming back on those chapped lips), the trance the boy was under broke. He trashed under Hajime's weight trying to free himself from his grasp. Nagito slapped, pushed and punched at everything that screamed Hajime (mainly his face).
The sound of Hajime's body hitting the floor, alerted the people in the hospital (Tsumiki, Sonia) who immediately rushed to their aid. They certainly did not expect to see a Komaeda trembling (from fury, Hajime knew, he should have expected it) and crying with accusatory eyes towards a Hinata on the ground, with swollen cheeks and a bloody nose.