AN: *walks in six years late, holding a starbucks* "hey what's up"
I'm using the English dub names because they're what I'm familiar with.
Under an azure summer sky, the small cluster of islands that made up the Jabberwock Archipelago baked. And not for the first time, sitting in the shade of a cluster of trees, Hajime found himself cursing the heat. This wasn't like the island's usual tropical temperature, which Hajime had foolishly believed he'd grown accustomed to; no, this was like Monokuma had slapped the thermostat up from 'Wow, Now That's What I Call Hot!' to 'Fuck You, Children, Let's See Which Of You Dies Of Heatstroke First'. Not that that would really make much sense, because any death which wasn't some sort of horrendous murder seemed like a complete anathema to Monokuma, like he'd just pulled a Christmas cracker which didn't make a bang, and had had no joke, crown, or prize inside. Hajime raised a hand to his forehead and groaned. Why exactly was he thinking about this sort of weird shit again? Hell, why was he thinking about Monokuma of all people, when he could have been thinking about much more pleasant things, like a sock full of angry of angry wasps? Ugh, it was probably the heat.
There was just no escaping the damn thing; it gleefully enveloped everything in an inescapable, smothering blanket of hot. A faint trickle of perspiration ran down Hajime's neck, and he resisted the urge to wipe it away. Undisturbed, it completed its little journey by soaking into his collar. Even if he had wiped it, what was the use? His shirt already felt what could only be called 'uncomfortably translucent', he was damp and sticky, and it was only gonna be replaced by more sweat. Geez, everyone in the class was sweating like a row of virgins standing on the sweltering lip of a volcano, ready to be sacrificed to some arcane god. It was a gruesome metaphor, but one that felt all too apt given their present circumstances, and-
Hajime suddenly winced, visions of volcanos and helicopters flashing involuntarily through his mind, the smell of cooking meat richly filling the air, the fourteen of them unable to do anything but watch...
With some difficulty Hajime wrenched his mind away. Shit, no, that'd been an awful idea. Forget the metaphor, it was bad enough having to live through this train-wreck of a nightmare without driving himself mad by endlessly dwelling on past events – and that in itself was a pitfall where the sides were covered in butter; it was easily slipped into, and harder to escape. What'd he been thinking about before… that?
Oh. Right. The heat. Fuck.
It felt too hot for... everything, really: murder, the killing game, even just existing.
'As if anyone could commit murder in this heat,' thought Hajime. It was too scorching to do anything other than lay in whatever shade was available. Still, he had to admit that there was always the possibility of it happening, and that probability left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He shifted slightly so that the rough bark of the tree wasn't digging into his back as much. Hajime could feel himself getting stiff, but – his gaze flicked briefly downwards – ugh, it was too damn hot to move. Shuffling into a new, slightly different, position and repositioning his free hand, Hajime settled himself down once more. He gazed somewhat listlessly out and away; off in in the distance the hotel blurred in a heat haze, with the cloudless sky providing a backdrop in the perfect shade of blue, whilst all the roads shimmered as if they were covered in water, reflecting both the flawless sky and their surroundings. Earlier, he'd stumbled upon a little group consisting of Akane, Kazuichi, Nekomaru, and Ibuki actually frying some damn eggs on the asphalt. Frying them! Like the road was a giant, glorified frying-pan! He'd declined their invitation to join them, not wanting to add 'potential food poisoning' to 'possible heatstroke'.
In a way, it'd be easier if the heat was just another of Monokuma's shitty 'motives', and ha, now that was an exercise in hell and good intentions; they were always something that seemed innocuous enough at first, some abnormal element that everyone would promise not to fall victim to; but then before they knew it they'd be stumbling across the unfortunate corpse of one of their classmates, Monokuma's gleeful shrieking of the Body Discovery Announcement providing a bitter-tasting fanfare to the event, and the cycle would begin again anew…
Strangely enough however, it seemed the heat was an element beyond Monokuma's vast, seemingly-omnipotent reach. Take, for example, that morning's morning announcement.
oOo
A soft click jerked Hajime from his sleep, as the monitor in his room whirred to life. Peeling his eyes open, he was greeted with the sight of his cabin window, and the cloudless, open sky beyond.
"Gooooooooood…. Morning…" came the familiar buzz of Monokuma's voice from the screen. But there was something wrong; it lacked its usual giddy lilt. Hajime frowned to himself as the announcement continued. "It is now 8AM, and… ah, forget this, you know the drill."
The monitor had clicked off with a final-sounding thunk.
With a soft shuffling of sheets, Hajime rolled over to look at the now-darkened screen.
"That was… weird," he mumbled to himself.
Sitting up, he stretched, the familiar and satisfying pop of his joints providing a gratifying sensation. Once done, he felt a little more awake, and had thought nothing more of Monokuma's strange announcement.
oOo
That'd been Exhibit A.
Then, when Monokuma popped up in the Hotel Restaurant - startling Mikan into slipping on a banana skin and making Hiyoko laugh so hard that she'd almost choked on her vibrantly-coloured sweets - with an equally listless Monomi tagging along in his wake, he'd seemed… lacklustre.
oOo
"Oi, Monokuma!" Fuyuhiko snapped, his jacket off, tie undone, and sleeves rolled up. "Is this heat one of your fuckin' motives?"
"Pu….huhuh….uhu…" The students watched as the mechanical little bear tried to spring up onto a table, and merely succeeded in flopping over it like a dying fish. "Nnrg-mmph-mmr-mrmmph-mmr-mrrr," he mumbled into the table top.
Everyone looked awkwardly at one another, the question as to whether this was some new trick or deception laying heavily in the already thick and humid air.
"Is Monokuma… broken?" asked Kazuichi, unable to hide the faint gleam of hope in his eyes. Hajime could almost see the words 'DISMANTLE MONOKUMA' written across them.
"No I'm not!" Monokuma's head snapped up, bent back in an unnatural position.
Kazuichi shrieked, and Hajime felt himself jump, though whether it was due to Monokuma or Kazuichi, he couldn't tell.
Wearily, the little bear propped himself up into a sitting position. He waved a paw dismissively at them. "As if I'd make heat a motive," he muttered. "This kinda temperature is unfair to bears!"
"And rabbits!" Monomi chimed in, the first thing she'd said all morning.
"S-s-s-so, you're n-not responsible for the h-heatwave?" asked Mikan, he voice steadily climbing into a squeak. She yelped as Monokuma fixed an eye on her.
"Don't you kids ever listen?" he snapped, some of the old fire present in his voice. The next second his strength seemed to leave him, and he flopped backwards onto the table with what would have been an almost-comical squeaking sound, had it been, say, anything else in the universe. "Ehh, do whatever you want, I'm gonna go sit in a fridge."
He waddled away, Monomi staring after him like one lost in a dream.
"…Monomi?" Chiaki ventured.
"Oh!" She snapped to attention. "Er… stay in the shade, and be sure to wear a hat! And remember to drink lots of water! Follow your teacher's advice, and you'll stay safe from the heat!" As soon as Monomi finished speaking, she drooped, her ears almost flopping over her little face. "Phew, so hot…"
She scurried away, fanning herself with one dainty pink paw. Dimly, Hajime heard Hiyoko mutter some desultory innuendo involving 'rabbits' and 'batteries', but he paid it no mind. That'd definitely been weird, though. Normally Monokuma and Monomi practically sprang in and out of existence, popping from up behind objects that really shouldn't have been able to hide them, like something straight out of a cartoon, or appearing in the middle of places where there was absolutely no place for them to have been able to sneak up or hide beforehand. So, for them to both just leave, walking away like they were, holy shit, normal people was, well, disconcerting.
oOo
Still, that'd been Exhibit B, neatly proving the answer to 'Did Monokuma make it hot?' It had to be said though, Hajime found himself loathe to trust the little bear's word. It wasn't that he outright lied, but he sure as hell bent the truth to the point that it wouldn't have touched the sides of a corkscrew in a hurricane.
oOo
Later, as he padded down the stairs, Hajime was greeted with the sight of Gundham laying face-down on the floor with Sonia crouched over him. His thick, heavy coat, and dazzling scarf lay discarded in a neatly-folded heap to one side, whilst his hamsters skittered here and there across the floor.
'Fuck,' was Hajime's first, eloquently-worded thought.
He hurried over to the pair, trying not to accidentally step on the rodents who were madly scuttling underfoot. Dropping to his knees with less care than he'd liked – there was probably going to be a fine couple of grazes on both of them - and eliciting an 'Oh!' of surprise from Sonia, Hajime quickly ran an eye over the boy.
To his relief, Gundham was muttering something, some faint, disjointed stream of his usual nonsense flowing from his mouth. Relief rushed through Hajime in a great, sweet wave.
"Is Gundham… okay?" he asked.
"Unfortunately not, Hajime!" said Sonia. Up close, he could see that she was fanning Gundham with a wad of leaflets. "I am afraid that Gundham is having a little problem with the heat. But rest assured, I will not let him perish!" She clapped one hand on her upper arm, whilst pumping her fist in a gesture of success, inadvertently crushing her makeshift fan.
"Shouldn't Mikan take a look at him?" Hajime gestured vaguely to Gundham's prone from.
"She and Chiaki are on their way now, with wet towels and water bottles!" Sonia cheerily declared.
"The fiery eye of judgement…. Will not defeat… the Overlord of Ice…. Behold my….wstfgl…" Gundham warbled, his voice muffled by the carpet.
"Yes, yes, you must not give up!" said Sonia in an encouraging tone, fanning him with the crumpled leaflets once more.
oOo
Chiaki and Mikan had turned up shortly afterward, and once Gundham was, in his words "buffed and reinforced with holy water from the glacier-god's beard, and draped in the blessed raiment of the immortal ice-wight", Hajime took off.
It wasn't just Gundham who was shedding layers; everywhere Hajime had been on the islands, he'd found his classmates were in various stages of undress, hiding in whatever shady, air-conditioned spot they could find. A lot of them had taken to combat the heat by sleeping, and he would swear that Chiaki had mumbled something about going into hibernation. It was like they were all a cult of vampires who had just discovered what naturism was, and were in the process of making a slow but steady descent into it.
Hajime had personally shed his tie, and had it not been for, well, present circumstances, he would have gladly shed the damp mess that he called his shirt.
He glanced down.
Present circumstances was being a pain in the ass.
Present circumstances had also shed the raggedy jacket that it always wore.
In short, present circumstances was fast asleep, half-draped across Hajime's chest like he was a mattress.
Present circumstances was Nagito-fucking-Komaeda.
Hajime dragged his free hand across his face. Why did this keep happening to him? Why had Nagito chosen to latch onto him, of all people? He lay there, legs, curving underneath him, head softly pillowing itself on the front of Hajime's shoulder. One of his hands was gently resting on Hajime's chest, fingers curling into the material in a loose-fingered approximation of a grip. Looking like this, he appeared almost… innocent. A snort escaped Hajime at the thought. What a fucking joke that was. Nagito was like some rabid, feral dog that'd attached itself to him; one moment capering around in that slightly-worried-but-joyful manner of all dogs everywhere, occasionally cringing and cavilling at some self-proposed 'fault', the next moment snarling and sinking his teeth into the soft tendons of Hajime's leg, worrying at it as his cuspids sank down to the bone.
Quietly perched under the cluster of trees, sunlight dappling over him, Hajime had to admit that Nagito had sort of blended in, like a chameleon. Hence why when Hajime had closely passed by, he'd failed to spot him until it was too late.
"Hajime!" Even now, the soft timbre of Nagito's voice rang out from inside his memory; he'd sounded pleasantly surprised, like the Monomono Machine had just spat out two capsules instead of one, both containing rare goodies.
Hajime could've been a dick.
He really, really could've.
It would've been easy to blank Nagito, and just keep on walking.
But nah, that kind of petty assholery didn't sit well with Hajime. Besides, it was probably a wise idea to keep an eye on Nagito, he'd lied to himself, ignoring the hook behind his sternum that continually drew him to the boy like a siren's call.
"Hey," Hajime had nonchalantly said, as he approached.
"Taking a walk in the sunshine?" Nagitio had asked. "Hardly the wisest thing to do on a day like today, but, oh! Far be it from scum like me to criticize your actions."
On the surface, his words had seemed light enough, but Hajime had felt the needled barb hidden beneath. He'd made some noncommittal noise at that point, one side of his mouth briefly pulling into a frown; geez, Nagito was always like this.
"I'm not about to go trampling through the mosquito-laden underbrush just to stay in the shade," he'd retorted. Then he'd plonked himself down by a tree, leaning against it with his legs stretched out in front and his gaze dipping off to one side.
A quiet couple of minutes had passed. After a moment, Hajime had noticed Nagito staring at him with a fond, and oddly soft expression painted across his face. It was a familiar look that Nagito seemed to reserve especially for him. Caught off guard, for a split-second Hajime had felt his own face relax into a similarly soft expression, one that was almost a mirror. He'd shook himself, dismissing it, and realised Nagito probably waiting for him to break the silence.
"So, what've you been up to?" he'd asked. He hadn't really wanted to hear the answer, guessing that sooner or later it would've turned into a wild, messy tangent about hope or murder or luck, but oh well.
And they'd... chatted. It'd been odd, as any chat with Nagito was, but in its own way, it'd been nice. Eventually they'd lapsed into a silence, and lulled by the warmth of the day and the companionable silence, Hajime had dropped off.
He'd woken, oh, about fifteen minutes later, uncomfortably warm, and with an odd pressure on one side. It was Nagito, fast asleep, and draped across Hajime like the former was an expensive fur stole.
Great. Thanks, Nagito.
Briefly, Hajime fanned himself with his free hand in an attempt to cool himself. It was a pitiful attempt that only managed to push the faintest bit of cool air towards his sweaty face. He fired a glare at Nagito - who was doing a marvellous impression of a hot-water bottle – but it was one that went entirely wasted, given that its recipient was fast asleep. Sighing, Hajime leaned his head back against the trunk, feeling his hair scrub against the rough bark.
There's only one reason I'm putting up with this, he told himself, ignoring another lie, one that hid between the letters and lines of their relationship.
And it was this: a sleeping, comatose Nagito was far preferential to an awake, active Nagito. Sheesh, who knew what kind of bizarre, mad shit he'd be getting up to if he was awake? No, it was better that he was asleep, even if that did come at the cost of Hajime losing most of the sensation on one side of his body. As if on cue, pins and needles prickled in the elbow presently trapped under the boy in question, and Hajime shifted it slightly in an attempt to easy it slightly. Stubbornly, they persisted. Aw, shit.
Hajime cast a furtive glance about the area; it was one that was far more suspicious than necessary, and wouldn't have looked out of place on the face of someone who was in the middle of committing a murder. Good. No one was about. Not that it was incredibly likely that they would be, given the heat – in fact, the only "person" who was likeliest to pop up would be Monokuma, and he was probably locked in a fridge somewhere. Hell, Hajime reasoned, if he did pop up, then there were bigger things to worry about than the compromising position they were in. There were always the cameras too, but unless there was a murder occurring they might as well have been replaced with marshmallows. With an undue amount of care, Hajime gently stretched his arm out, feeling the prickling sensation ease. Then, with the same amount of caution, he slid his hand up Nagito's back, where it came to rest. Slowly, the sensation of pins and needles grew distant, before draining away entirely.
Good. Now if anyone came across them, he was fucked. He could just see it now: Oh hey, what's up guys? Just cuddling with Nagito under a tree to help circulation - you know Nagito? Rambles about hope, occasionally gets this crazed look in his eye? Inspires confusing and conflicting feelings in me, yeah?
It'd be an exquisite form of social suicide. And yet… Hajime paused. If he was being entirely truthful, it probably wouldn't have been as much as a surprise to his classmates as he would have liked. Shit, he would have to be an idiot to miss the way they all looked at him when Nagito was around, some faint, pleading spark hidden within their eyes. Like he was the guy's filter, some sort of shield between them and Nagito, acting as a restraint for the guy's madder impulses simply by virtue of being there and being the focus of his attention. His attention, which in a certain light could be described as 'love-struck'.
His gaze slid down to the sleeping annoyance once more. It was ridiculous, but if he was being perfectly honest, Hajime felt something almost approaching surprise at that fact that, yes, Nagito Komaeda Did Actually Sleep.
Of course he sleeps, hissed a thin little voice in the back of Hajime's mind. It continued, what, did you think he just spent the entirety of his nights skulking around like some sort of predator, tapetum lucidum shining in the light from a cottage?
And well, when put like that, Hajime did have to admit that yeah, it was a pretty laughable idea. Nagito was a fucking wildcard who needed to be watched, and seemed to be living on a completely different plain when it came to things like morals and sense, but at the end of the day he was just… a human.
'Just a boy,' thought Hajime. With a start, he suddenly realised that the hand resting on Nagito's back been rubbing faint circles on it in a soothing gesture for the past few minutes. Erm. He stilled his hand, ignoring the strange feeling of disappointment blooming within him.
Tilting his head to one side, Hajime took the opportunity to study Nagito. Yeah, it was probably creepy to do this, but what was worse: looking at someone whilst they were non-consensually using you as a pillow, or falling asleep on someone asleep when, at their last estimate, you'd been a healthy distance away? Oh, sure, they'd been near one another before, Nagito usually invading Hajime's personal bubble by just a fraction, but Hajime had to admit that they'd never been this close. A curious number of butterflies seemed to be trapped in his stomach. Weird. At this distance, he could make out – oh, so many things. The mildly-sunken hollows of Nagito's cheeks; the pink rims of his eyes and the grey bags beneath; the curve of his jawline; the unhealthy pallor of his skin; the individual strands making up his hair.
'Has his hair always been white?' Hajime wondered, eying the faint shades of brownish-pink near the tips, and almost sending himself cross-eyed in the process. It didn't look like Nagito had bleached it, and at this distance it was impossible to not see his roots: a papery off-white.
His gaze dipped lower, dropping from head to hand. The skin looked dry; underneath, blue veins branched out like tiny rivers, whilst his metacarpals rose in long ridges that ran into bony fingers. For a startling moment, Hajime was gripped with the odd impulse to take Nagito's hand and cradle it between his own. He shook off the urge with a sharp shake of the head. It was Nagito 'I-plotted-murder-in-the-name-of-hope' Komaeda! Still, there was no denying that the boy looked…
'Sick,' Hajime thought. 'He looks sick.'
And it didn't look like the sort of illness that would pass by in a few days, all overheating and flushed faces and seeping fluids, leaving little trace that it had been there; no, this was the sort of sickness that was in it for the long run, sunken into his skin and written into his bones, hiding in plain sight in the curves and contours of his frame. It was like the difference between a house that'd passed through a brief-but-eventful rainstorm, and one that'd been slowly growing derelict over many years, trying to remain standing under its own power as the paint faded and vegetation slowly reclaimed it.
Out of nowhere, Hajime's mind suddenly offered up a dim memory: him and Nagito in the library, light catching on the dust motes in the empty expanse overhead, the musty smell of old books filling the space around them. Nagito was speaking, and, shit, Hajime felt something in his chest clench at the memory, for there was something so open and earnest in the former's expression, as if he was really, really trying to connect. He rattled off illnesses - complicated, weighty ones, with syllable-rich names that brokered no nickname and melted and blended into one another, sounding more like an ancient prayer to the medical profession than maladies attacking his body. Hajime didn't really want to dwell too much on the ending to that particular memory at the moment; there was the impression that Nagito had ended up being... weird, and that he, personally, had left in a minor huff.
Hajime felt an odd tremble in his hands. For once, Nagito, he, he hadn't been lying. His chest felt oddly hollow, whilst there was a strange fuzzy sort of buzz in his stomach. A familiar realisation slowly began to dawn upon Hajime, one that sat behind the sternum and roosted there. It was a realisation that had tried to make itself known before, in similar, quiet, little moments like this one, with varying amounts of success as it slowly wore his resistance down. But usually Hajime shut it away, before the light grew too bright, before he was forced to face a truth that he would rather leave in the dark.
It was a truth that whispered: You care for Nagito in a way that isn't platonic. Oh, you try to dress it up as something platonic, with all the trappings and trimmings that entails, acting like it's an onus, but deep down you know this isn't the case...
The light was too bright; the realisation was too strong; Hajime couldn't turn away from it now. Still, he resisted.
'That's ridiculous, it's Komaeda, for fuck's sake!' he thought.
Then why do you seek him out? whispered the nebulous voice in the back of Hajime's mind. Why does he continually draw your eye, even after what happened, even in the light of his true character? You know the danger, and yet still you reach out…
'That's... wrong,' he thought, but it was as weak as water. Oh, how Hajime wished he could dismiss it as a lie; lies, lies, their relationship was one confusing tangle of a lie, he hoped. But this was one lie that would have been as easily blown to pieces as one in a class trial, had anyone known about how, on nights when he couldn't sleep, his hand would drift south, Nagito's lanky image fixed in his mind.
Hell, letting Nagito sleep on him under the guise of 'keeping an eye on him', ha! A laughable, laughable joke that had less to do with Nagito being awake and active and needing an eye kept on him, and more to do with... well, some strange, deeply buried desire for something that Hajime hadn't wished to name.
From their perch on Hajime's chest, Nagito's fingers twitched. He stirred, making a soft murmur as he did so, and regrettably, it was a sound that immediately burrowed straight into Hajime's heart.
'Oh, thank goodness, that's the end of this,' he thought, grateful for the distraction. But there was an odd note of despondency in his chest that he couldn't easily dismiss.
He watched Nagito's eyes slide open, their expression bleary and unfocused, and for a moment Hajime could almost swear that he could see the cogs and gears turning in his head; twisted things that were half-mired in oil:
Soft – Warm – Where? - Cloth? - and here Nagito's hand uncurled and spread, his palm splayed flat against Hajime's chest, sending a jolt of electricity though him – Bony? - Ah, yes, Hajime.
He tilted his face to peer upwards, his chin dragging across the material of Hajime's shirt, and fuck, Hajime knew he was damned to hell as that image of Nagito, all sleepy eyes and soft, smiling mouth, burned into his brain, ready to easily be recalled later when he was alone. Apparently, his body didn't get the memo about later, though. A familiar pressure suddenly made itself known in Hajime's groin; his eyes flicked from Nagito's face to – yep, there it was. Oh no. Oh shit. As if Hajime realising that he fancied the resident madman wasn't bad enough, he had to go a pop a boner, too. It felt like that unnecessary little piece of extra confirmation, like the email you got after ordering something online.
'Please don't let him look down,' Hajime silently prayed.
Nagito's head tilted slightly, eyes focusing on him, and for one insane split-second, Hajime thought that Nagito was preparing to kiss him. That, combined with his complicated feelings and delicate state made his brain short-circuit.
"Hajime?" said Nagito.
In an ideal world, there would be some golden sentence that Hajime could say; some miraculous combination of words born of a silver tongue that could effectively fix the situation, neatly dislodging and dismissing Nagito without any harm, leaving Hajime free to make the easy escape to either his cottage, or some cold body of water. Ah, but if he really tried with all his might, it would be possible to procure it in this world! Yes, it was simple, all he had to do was reach out and grab it, and the words would come, here goes...
"Erm," he said.
Nagito's brows drew together in an expression of puzzlement. Slowly he dragged his hand up Hajime's chest and Hajime's first horrified wail of a thought was 'He knows, he knows, he's doing this on purpose and he knows-'
Then all of a sudden, the hand was gone. Lightly, Nagito rested the back of it against Hajime's forehead.
"Your face is incredibly red, Hajime. Have you caught the sun? Little wonder if you've been stupidly gallivanting around without protection. Typical," he said as Hajime tried not to visibly react to the word 'protection'; a word normally innocuous in any other situation, but a briar that tripped up Hajime's mind in this one. There was no mention of how, up until a minute ago, Nagito been sleeping on Hajime's chest, nothing.
Finally, Hajime's mouth and brain decided to form a tag-team and work.
"You were sleeping on me." His voice came out slightly flat, and he was just about to clarify it with 'I was hot,' when Nagito interjected.
"Oh, I see!" He laughed lightly, as if he had only just realised the position the two of them were in. His tone turned conciliatory, bashful. "How embarrassing, to have an utterly worthless being like me inconvenience you!"
In a trice, he'd slipped out of Hajime's loose grip, and stretched. Hajime immediately brought his legs up to his chest so fast that he practically kneed himself in the chest, biting off a shriek of pain. Cramp shot through both legs, clearly protesting the sudden movement after such a long period of inactivity, but Hajime didn't care. Anything to hide what was presently happening. He locked his arms around his knees in what he hoped looked like a casual, relaxed grip.
His gaze flicked to Nagito. He was kneeling, watching Hajime out of the corner of his eye with an enigmatic expression on his face. The beginnings of a faint smile played around the corners of his lips, but some element in it sent a shiver of ice down Hajime's spine. After a heartbeat Nagito's gaze twitched away, out and beyond. He seemed to be considering something, and murmured softly to himself, too low to catch. Just like how one could tell a storm was coming from the way the clouds amassed, and the feeling in the air before the wind had even picked up, Hajime could tell that something was brewing in Nagito's skull; sooner or later it was going to start spewing out, all bizarre angles and twisted morals. He desperately took the bait; hopefully, the sooner Nagito got whatever it was out of his system, the sooner he'd potentially leave.
"What?"
Half-lifting himself with his arms, Nagito swivelled around to face Hajime. His eyes were unusually bright, and oh no, within them, the faintest outline of a pair of vortices were forming. His smile was like a shard of broken glass, shining brilliantly, but sharp enough to stab. He cocked his head to one side, regarding Hajime like he was some unearthed marvel.
"You really are something else, Hajime."
'Don't say that,' Hajime internally whined.
"All this time, my life was in your hands, ready to be extinguished for the sake of hope; how thrilling!" Nagito paused. "And yet you stayed your hand." He continued, his tone turning more analytical. "Probably, of course, because it would be too easy to finger you as the culprit – ah, not that scum like me is questioning an Ultimate, mind, but combined with the weather, and where everyone is choosing to spend their time, well-"
Feeling like a nervy horse eyeing a predator, or a bowstring about to snap, Hajime blew out a short, sharp, sigh as he listened with half an ear to the nonsense Nagito was rambling about. There it was, the tangled mess of interlocking ouroboros that drove Nagito: Hope, Despair, Murder, and Luck, all looping through one another in an endless labyrinthine skein. He felt one leg beginning to bounce in a stressed little rhythm, and quickly stilled it. He had to end this, and fast.
"Nagito," Hajime said, attempting to hook the other boy's attention. Again, "Nagito!" That time, Nagito paused, mid-babble. Hajime dragged an exasperated hand down his face. "I didn't- I'm not- I'm not going to kill you. Besides, how would I have even done it?" He flashed his open palms. "I'm hardly carrying around any weapons," he finished.
"Oh, there are plenty of ways!" said Nagito, brightly. He nodded at his crumpled-up jacket. "You could have smothered me with that. Or-" he leaned in close, his voice dropping low, which did not help Hajime's current state in the slightest. "You could've used your hands; it probably would have been more difficult, and would have left more evidence, but I wouldn't have resisted..."
Despairing at the colour his face must have been, which, by his estimate, must've been something bordering on being crimson or maroon, Hajime shrank against the tree trunk, desperate to put some space between him and Nagito. His brain was filled with a lust-tinged white noise, and for a moment he could only splutter and choke.
'Stopitstopitstopit, it's Nagito, stop it, it's Nagito and he's mad, you know this,' ran through Hajime's head in a panicked little jumble. It did absolutely nothing to make the feelings abate. If anything, Hajime felt like the human equivalent of a deer wanting to fuck a lion.
"L-look, back off!" he spat, aiming a half-hearted push at Nagito.
On instinct, Nagito's eyes dropped to Hajime's arm and the hand splayed against his chest. And then, to Hajime's horror, he saw them drop further, catching on something lower down. A brief flicker of something flashed across Nagito's face, far too fast to catch, but definitely containing some hint of coy interest.
'Oh fuck,' thought Hajime. 'He's seen it.'
The earth could have opened up underneath him. An asteroid could have come screaming out of the sky and struck him. The entire Jabberwock Archipelago could have broken into pieces and been swallowed by a tsunami. Monokuma could have appeared, blitzing into existence like he usually did, and mauled Hajime to death. And Hajime would have accepted, no, welcomed, these terrible events with a smile and a sheer sense of deep-seated relief.
In that moment, Hajime was certain of one thing: there was no salvaging this situation. An oddly cryptic smile was plastered across Nagito's face, with something dark and interested lurking below its surface; Hajime didn't have to be psychic to tell that Nagito was about to say something, anything, that'd be socially awful; shit, he had no idea what.
With a speed that surprised even him, Hajime rocketed to his feet, daggers shooting down his legs. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the surprised Nagito tumble back so fast that he practically seemed to instantly snap from one position to another. Hajime snatched the discarded jacket, stumbled, arms flailing wildly, recovered, and sped away, the jacket draped over one arm at such an angle that it reached down to his thighs, covering him.
"Sorrygottago!" he called, words blending into a garbled mess.
Nagito was saying something, some half-called query, but Hajime didn't hear it, the words fading on the wind.
The sun beating down on him, his trainers pounding against the hot tarmac, and sweating like a virgin who had just beheld the god they were about to be sacrificed to, Hajime pelted across the island, all the way back to his cottage.
Mercifully, he encountered no one, though later on several students would report seeing a freakish white-and-green blur race by at one point in the afternoon. However, in time, all of them eventually dismissed it as either a trick of the heat, some fantastical mirage, or one of Monokuma's odd antics.
Slamming his cottage's door behind him, Hajime mercifully collapsed against it. It was a welcome solid barrier, separating him from the rest of the world. For a minute he remained there, partially enjoying the cool sensation against his back, but mainly because he felt dazed, and needed to marshal his strength. His legs trembled, and it felt like they were made of jelly. He winced; what a disaster that'd been. With one hand he wiped what felt like a small river's worth of sweat from his forehead. Shit, he was boiling. Running in this kind of heat, especially when he hadn't drunk anything for a couple of hours, had not been the wisest idea. He peered around the room. It was warping at the corners, ever so slightly. That couldn't be good. Though, speaking of feeling good, Hajime really had to conceded that he didn't feel that great: his head ached, his entire body felt light, and his sense of balance seemed to have popped out for a few minutes, leaving a 'Back in 5' sign in its place. He glanced at the bed. Maybe... maybe he should have a lie down, let himself cool off a bit. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. He became aware of an odd sensation over one arm, one of clothing bunching up; blearily he peered down. Oh, right, he still had Nagito's jacket. Shoot, he'd be wanting it back, and that would mean another encounter and – Hajime felt his already-hot face grow to an almost burning temperature. That was a nest of wasps that he'd just have to deal with later. Or he could just drown himself in the sea. Either was good. But right now: bed.
Hajime pushed himself away from the door. The room span at a dizzying speed. His legs buckled...
And Hajime blacked out.
oOo
"…...e?"
A cool, wet sensation on his forehead.
"…-jime?"
Something lightly patting his cheeks.
"Hajime?"
There was something hard and unyielding under his back, but something else under his head that was marginally softer.
"Hey, Hajime?!"
Hajime cracked his eyes open. It took a moment for them to focus, and when they did, Nagito's face swam into view. Hajime groaned, and raised a hand to his forehead. It came into contact with something moist and cool – a wet towel, he realised after a second. Above him stretched the white ceiling of his cottage, complete with complimentary spider-web in one particularly hard-to-reach corner. Around him, the air was cool, and the faint sliver of window that Hajime could see displayed an evening sky, a gradient that ran from pink, to purple, to blue.
"Whu-" he began, and grimaced.
Geez, his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool, and his entire body felt, quite frankly, like shit. It was like he'd just fought both Nekomaru and Akane at the same time, whilst in running a marathon and also being sick with the flu, all at once. Something about his position felt odd. He raised his head slightly, an action that sent a sharp stab of pain through it, and stared down at his feet. They were propped up on the lowest rack of the stand filled with Monokuma dolls. Someone had thoughtfully removed his shoes.
With what felt like herculean effort, Hajime pulled his feet off, knocking over what Monokuma thought was probably a very flattering and sexy statue of himself wearing a seashell bikini, and what Hajime and everyone else thought was the tackiest piece of rubbish they'd ever clapped eyes on. Giving a drawn-out groan that came out a lot more strangled than he intended, he tried to get up, propping himself up with his forearms. But he rapidly ran into one of Nagito's hands; it pressed against his chest and preventing him from rising quickly.
"Ah, careful, careful! Take it slowly," advised Nagito. Once Hajime had been gradually eased into a sitting position, Nagito continued. "Here, drink this."
A bottle of water was clasped in his free hand, and Hajime gratefully took it. Although the heat of the day had warmed it up somewhat, to Hajime it was the most delightfully cool thing he'd ever touched. For a moment he rested it against his cheek, enjoying the cold sensation against his skin. With a sharp twist, he cracked the bottle's seal with a satisfying snap, and for the next minute it was all Hajime could do not to choke – once he started drinking, his body kicked into overdrive, and refused to let him do anything else.
Only once the bottle was empty did he manage to tear himself away and speak.
"Why're you here?" asked Hajime, setting down the empty bottle with a soft tap. He winced a little at the volume of his own mildly-hoarse voice. The words felt like they were scraping against his throat.
"Well – ah, it's here somewhere..." Digging in his trouser pocket for a scant moment, Nagito pulled out a familiar wadge of green cloth, neatly rolled up. "You forgot your tie!" he said simply, as if Hajime had merely left it in the hotel restaurant, and there was nothing more to the afternoon's events than that. "Also, you've got my jacket."
Saying that, Nagito inclined his head towards something behind Hajime. Turning, he clapped eyes on Nagito's jacket, folded into a pillow-like roll, a clear indentation where his head had been. Ah. That explained the softness under his head.
A quizzical frown twisted Hajime's face. "Wait, hold on." He held up a hand. "How did you get in?"
"Your door was unlocked," answered Nagito simply.
Oh. Right. Of course. In his escape, he'd been so eager to get away and so relieved at finally getting some privacy that he'd forgotten to lock the door. A mildly exasperated groan escaped Hajime. He might as well have just hung a sign on it saying 'Free Murder Victim Inside'. Though saying that, if Nagito hadn't come along, then at that moment in some alternate future, the rest of the class might have been in a class trial, debating in circles with one another as Hajime's greying portrait stared down at them, the only splash of colour being the red cross marring his face...
Shit, he was still thirsty. His eyes flicked to the empty bottle.
"Here." As if pulled out of a magician's hat, Nagito procured another bottle, though from where Hajime didn't quite see.
"Oh, er, thanks." Hajime coughed, feeling vaguely embarrassed, and began to drink.
A faint note of suspicion sang in Hajime's chest. Sure, at that moment, Nagito seemed to be as soft and mellow as a warm piece of wax, but that could very quickly, and very easily, change. Though Hajime had to admit that thinking that kinda made him feel like an asshole. A wary asshole.
Of course, since Hajime was unable to talk, and perhaps out of some desire to fill the space, Nagito began to ramble.
"I did warn you earlier that you looked hot, but ahaha, I don't blame you for not listening - I wouldn't listen to me either! And running in this heat, well, anyone would come down with heatstroke, Ultimate or not! Of course, at first I thought this was part of a murder plot of yours, you know, by taking my jacket and luring me to your cabin; an interesting choice to use direct theft, although potentially idiotic and disastrous if you don't dispose of, or plant the evidence correctly. Sheesh, you really do need my help. As for your cabin? Well, it'd be in a secluded area, and there are all sorts of innocuous things you could use as a weapon-" Nagito gestured around the room, "-and it'd be away from potential witnesses, but you'd need to falsify the actual scene of the murder, and if you didn't thoroughly clean up the evidence, it would paint a target on your back. Still, I assumed you had some scheme for these variables. So when I reached your cottage and found it unlocked, well, I presumed it was all part of the plot, and eagerly headed on inside." He seemed to deflate a little, some of the spark going out of his voice. "It was somewhat surprising to find you collapsed on my jacket, but at first I thought you were just pretending, so you could deal me a surprise deathblow, though really, I was thinking that I wished you'd consulted me because I had no idea what you were thinking with the placement of my jacket, but then you weren't responding, and I received confirmation that you weren't actually dead."
After speaking for so long, the sudden absence of Nagito's voice almost left Hajime reeling. Something he'd said, the final thing in fact, prodded at him.
"Confirmation? You got confirmation? From who?" he asked. Some part of Hajime already suspected, even knew what the answer would be, but it was an idiosyncrasy of the human race to ask anyway.
"Has the sun fried your brain? Well, technically it has," said Nagito, and Hajime fired a glare at him.
"Just tell me who."
"Ahaha, who else but Monokuma, of course!" exclaimed Nagito. "He appeared whilst you were still unconscious, and helpfully informed me that you weren't dead. Though," Nagito added, stroking his chin with one hand, his gaze dipping off to the side, "he did seem rather disappointed by it."
Hajime couldn't help but imagine how Monokuma must've looked at the "crime scene": his small muzzle curved into a petulant, childlike frown, fixing Hajime's unconscious back with a disappointed glare, his little shoulders slumping as if he held the weight of the world on his back.
'Good,' thought Hajime. 'Let him be disappointed.'
A silence stretched out.
Presently, Hajime felt the wet towel sliding down across his forehead, creating a muddy sort of friction. Then, with a soft, wet, flop, it dropped into his lap. He replaced it on his forehead once more; it wasn't quite as cooling as it'd once been, but it was still cold enough to provide a hint of relief. Staring out at the evening sky, he took the chance to organise his thoughts.
So, to recap. On a day that could only be described as 'hot as hell', he'd embraced Nagito under a tree, watched him sleep, realised that, whoops, he had a crush on him, had promptly got an inappropriate boner which Nagito had then seen, responded to this by stealing the guy's jacket, had run away, and then finally, to top it all off, he'd collapsed from heatstroke, and had to be revived. By Nagito.
All in all, it'd been nothing short of a fucking bizarre day.
A faint prickle of guilt lodged at the back of Hajime's neck, and embarrassment squirmed in his gut. To top it all off, he hadn't even thanked the guy. Granted, it was Nagito, who would either probably brush it off with some self-deprecating remark or would pull some bitch-ass reversal, throwing it back in his face, but shit, he'd have to be a grade A asshole to not thank the guy for making sure that he didn't die. Even if it was just because Nagito had some weird-ass hard-on involving designs about being murdered in the future for the sake of hope.
"Look," Hajime began. "Thanks for-" he gestured vaguely at himself in an up-and-down motion, "-this. And I'm. I'm sorry about this afternoon. Stealing your jacket," he finished lamely. He couldn't bring himself to look Nagito in the eye.
A soft touch on his shoulder roused him, and raising his eyes, he met Nagito's gaze. He looked pleased, albeit faintly perplexed. "What's there to be sorry about? It was exciting, I had fun!"
Hajime resisted the urge to sigh. Of course he would view a fabricated murder plot as 'exciting' and 'fun'.
Nagito's tone suddenly turned knifelike. "Though next time, consult me. This shambles of a 'plan' would have most likely ended in disaster, with you being correctly executed as the blackened." The next second he was as mild as milk once again. "But that's okay, we can work on it."
His hand drifted from Hajime's shoulder, down in a slow descent to his back. There, he slowly traced circles with him palm. A faint shiver rippled down Hajime's spine at the touch. Did he- had he been awake earlier? Tilting sideways, Nagito leaned closer and Hajime froze. His voice was a low burr against Hajime's ear.
"You know, I could have helped you this afternoon. All you had to do was ask," his voice trailed off, an open invitation hiding in the tail.
Mechanically, Hajime turned his head, unable to believe his ears.
"You mean the murder plot?" he asked, latching onto the fabrication, because surely, he didn't mean...
A lazy smile spread across Nagito's face. "What do you think?"
He nudged his face forward and – oh. Oh.
For the second time that day, Hajime's brain short-circuited as it desperately tried and failed to process just What The Fuck Was Happening. Him. Nagito. Their mouths, and- lips should not be that soft. Some deep-buried instinct made him tilt his head, body responding on autopilot and, oh, wow. His heart was hammering against his ribcage, feeling like it was going to burst right though the bones. His face, no his whole body felt like it was one fire, and had the room always this been short of air? A familiar feeling of lightness filled him, his state of balance slipping away. The back of his mind spiralled out and away, the room beginning to spin and-
For the second time that day, Hajime fainted.
oOo
Hajime came to with the faint sensation of water trickling across his face. His position and surroundings felt odd – much odder than before: cold, hard, and enclosed. He tried to roll over, but ran into a sloping, curved sort of wall. The floor underneath his back was wet and deliciously cool, but wait, was he lying in a puddle? With a low murmur, Hajime opened his eyes. He was greeted with the sight of his bath's walls curving up around him. Directly above his head was one of the taps, its handle turned a fraction of the way to release a steady dribble of water. Raising his head, the water now trickling a path across his scalp, Hajime's gaze travelled to his legs. They'd been propped up on the rim of the bathtub.
Nagito hove into view, a dripping, wet towel clutched between his fingers.
"You know, I don't blame you for fainting," he said. "I wouldn't want to be kissed by me either!"
Hooking his legs into the bath, Hajime shuffled upright.
"Don't be an idiot," he mumbled, pressing a hand to his forehead. "It was the heatstroke."
But Nagito wasn't listening, and continued irregardless. "-completely disgusting, and the body's natural reaction of course; in fact, I'm surprised you haven't kicked me out yet for doing something so repulsive, and-"
Hajime stared blankly at him, and a small fire of resolve lit within him. He felt like shit, his patience had been used up, and after the events of the day, it was time to be abrupt and get straight to the point. Nagito clearly wasn't listening, and wouldn't accept any counter-argument, so there was only one thing for it. Grabbing the back of Nagito's head, his fingers threading through the white locks, Hajime pulled him forward. Their mouths met in what was probably one of the most piss-awful kisses in the history of kissing, but a kiss nonetheless. Being mid-ramble, Nagito's mouth was open, whilst Hajime's was closed, so it was more like their mouths were trying to occupy the same space at the same time, rather than an expression of romance. Not only that, their faces smacked together with such force that it was more like a romantic headbutt.
"Wow," said Nagito, when they broke apart. "That was awful."
Still, despite his words, his eyes were slightly glazed over, and his cheeks were slightly flushed.
"Sh-shut up," mumbled Hajime, and kissed him again.
That time it was better, both of them melting into it. When they pulled away from one another, a little more reluctantly that time, Hajime gently, but firmly, took Nagito's face in his hands so that he couldn't look away.
"I fainted because of the heat. And I'll kiss you as many times as it takes to get through that thick skull of yours." Realising what he'd just said, Hajime flushed. "Wait, erm-"
A delighted laugh burst out of Nagito, one that bordered on being almost maniacal. But Hajime noted that thankfully it wasn't that laugh: the hoarse scrape of mirth that jangled the nerves and trailed off into a wheeze. His eyes were bright, and a blush had properly spread across his cheeks, one that bordered on being luminescent. It almost made him look healthy, Hajime reckoned.
"Yes! Yes, this is wonderful! Oh, I can feel it, I can feel the hope flooding out from me!" The next second Nagito's face crumpled between Hajime's hands. His eyes welled up as he placed one of his own hands over one of Hajime's.
"Woah-! Hey-! Are you okay?" asked Hajime, startled.
Nagito canted his head, looking vaguely confused, and holy shit, it was like the guy was a tap; almost as soon as they'd started, the tears stopped. His fingers slipped into the gaps between Hajime's own, threading them together.
"Why are you asking me that? You're the one who fainted from heatstroke. Twice!"
Hajime felt his face fall into a flat, unimpressed expression. "Just help me get out of the bath. I think my legs have gone to sleep," he added, muttering.
"My, you're so feeble that you can't even get out of a bath? How disappointing."
"Shut up and help me!"
oOo
That night, Hajime lay on his bed atop the sheets, staring up at the canopy. The evening announcement had just played, the echoes of it fading away on the wind. He'd finally abandoned his shirt, and, ugh, even now his nose wrinkled at the memory of how it'd smelled. A bath, a real one this time, had been in order. Now for the first time since leaving his cottage that morning, he felt fresh.
"What a day," he murmured, rolling onto one side. Beneath him, the sheets rustled imperceptibly.
There was now one hell of a jumbo-sized elephant in the room, and it was one that hadn't been present there that morning. Then again, Hajime considered, maybe it had been there. Maybe it'd just been expertly camouflaged until now. Wait, what? The metaphor was getting off topic. Whatever.
The point was that he and Nagito now had some sort of… thing, sitting between them. It wasn't as simple and straightforward as a relationship, but then nothing involving Nagito and his furiously vacillating luck would ever be straightforward. Neither was it a simultaneous but unacted upon acknowledgement, a whispered word from two different friends in two different ears ('Hey, you'll never guess who likes you…'), waiting for someone to take the first step.
'Friends with benefits?' Hajime thought, and then immediately regretted it.
Despite what Nagito had offered, and what Hajime did when he was alone, the thing between them didn't seem quite as, ah, base as that. If anything, the thing between them was like a big, mysterious box, covered in question marks. What was inside? Something potentially good, hopefully, but also something potential unpleasant.
It was a connection, Hajime decided. Unwittingly, his hands grasped the air in front of him, shaping it, as if the idea was a tangible element that could be held.
"I'll just take each day as it comes, and see how things go from there," he said quietly, slowly beginning to drift off.
"An excellent plan!" chimed in a familiar voice.
Hajime bolted upright, suddenly wide awake, his head snapping around. There, by the open window, was-
"Nagito!" he snapped, flinging a pillow at him. It hit him firmly in the face. "What the hell are you doing here? Go to bed!"
Nagito hugged the pillow, wrapping it in a loose-limbed grip. An expression of faux-injury played across his face. "Why, Hajime, that's why I'm here!"
With a sudden jolt, Hajime realised that Nagito was holding not one pillow, but two: the one that'd been thrown at him, and his own.
"Wh-what? No! Go back to your own cottage! You spent most of the afternoon sleeping with me! I mean, on me!" he hastily corrected.
With a sinking heart, he saw a triumphant, gleeful note enter Nagito's eye. "Oh? Oh my." He hopped up onto the windowsill. "Perhaps our memories of this afternoon are a bit different – my brain is destroying itself, after all…"
"Get off there before someone sees you!" said Hajime.
Nagito, for his part, complied. He promptly hopped onto the bed.
"That's not what I meant, and you know it!" Hajime's voice trailed off, and he buried his face in his hands with a low groan. Peeking out, he saw that Nagito had already placed his own pillow, and had settled himself down in a cross-legged position and was midway through removing his shoes. Something within him softened at the sight. "Fine. You can stay, but only for tonight, you hear?"
Nagito flashed him a bright smile. "Oh, but of course! Trash like me would never intrude for longer than is necessary!"
'Not much,' thought Hajime.
Retrieving his pillow, he roughly fluffed it up before replacing it once more. His gaze flicked to Nagito and, oh. Good. Apparently the situation had proved a little too exciting, because he was twitching and shivering with what Hajime hoped was delight. His arms were wrapped around himself in a loose-limbed hug, and he was muttering something to himself. Time to play intermediator.
"Come on, stop that," he said. Grabbing Nagito's shoulder, he pulled him down.
Gradually, Nagito stilled, and his muttering faded away.
It was only going to be for a night, Hajime told himself.
But what he didn't realise at that moment, as Nagito's arms slipped around him, is that that too, would end up being a lie.
And the future Hajime would find that he didn't mind.
AN: The Amulet series recently got some new material that is prime for fic… so naturally I switch gears and write something for Danganronpa.
This is as much as a surprise for you as it is for me – a month ago I started a new job, and, quite frankly, it's been eating up all my creative energy. So when I started this, I figured 'Hey, it's just going to be a short thing, just to ease back into writing'. Then I added in one particular line, and suddenly the story took on a life of its own and galloped away with me. I… have no idea when this takes place. I was initially thinking Chapter 3, but then I remembered that Nagito is AFK for a lot of it, and then there was that reference to his fifth Free-Time event and… eh, make up your own mind as to when it is.