Chapter One
Hajime had read a poem after everything was said and done that contained this line:
"silver and gold; blood stains on my shirt."
It had reminded him of Peko – the sharp cut of her hair at her jaw, the piercing crimson of her eyes.
"How do you live with it?" Hajime has asked her once, one of the last times he ever saw her. "How do you live with what we've done?"
"I don't," Peko had said shortly, a cigarette burning down between her fingers, the ash building and building. She had been wearing a rosy shirt.
He dreams about her wearing it sometimes.
/
I suppose there is no other place to start except the beginning.
And the beginning was this: Hajime has wanted to be a doctor.
This was a choice he had come to for two reasons. The first was that his father had wanted him to one day take over his company, something Hajime desperately wanted to avoid. The second being that medicine was the only course that his father would actually pay for. In his opinion, which he would voice loudly and often, any other course was a waste of money.
There was only one problem: Hajime hated the class.
Every morning at seven, he had to get up and trudge towards the lab where, on his desk in bloody jars, there was pig hearts and intestines that had once belonged to a horse.
Whenever he saw the guts that he was meant to examine, he was hit with a wave of illness that didn't leave him until he was locked in his bedroom with his fan on the highest setting.
Hajime thought that perhaps with time he would get over his squeamishness and find something akin to a talent for the subject. But with each passing day, he could only feel himself getting sicker and sicker.
Finally, Hajime changed his major to English Literature without telling his parents, an entirely random decision, made because the class met in the afternoon and he wanted to sleep in during the morning, which had unforeseen consequences.
And for a while, Hajime was happy. He excelled at English Lit. He even won an award towards the end of his second year.
But it didn't last.
One night after an especially bad fight with his father, Hajime slammed the door of his room and raced towards his wardrobe. It was there, while he was hurriedly throwing clothes into a duffel bag, determined not to stay one more night in that house, that a leaflet fell out of his coat pocket.
It was for a university. Vermont University. Hajime remembered picking it up at the office during his final year of high school simply because he had liked how the campus had looked: all rolling green hills and beautiful sunshine.
On the back was a form for applying.
Sitting on the floor of his bedroom with his father banging on the door, yelling at him to get out, Hajime filled out the form with all of his details.
Name? Hajime Hinata.
Age? Twenty years.
Residence? Thirty – two, Wallow Lane, Plano, California.
The next morning, Hajime posted it.
He waited a few weeks. He got a letter in the mail saying that he had been accepted but they needed information on how he planned on paying for the course. Hajime's father had already made clear that he had no intention of paying for what he described as a 'sissy subject'.
Hajime replied, describing his circumstances. And waited some more.
He received another letter that told him that they were willing to give him a scholarship, but they still needed payment details.
His father still refused to give them so, in a final act of desperation, Hajime stole his wallet and copied down all of the details he needed.
Three weeks later and he was on a bus, on his way to his future.
/
Hajime found a notebook that he'd had during his time growing up in Plano, some months after everything was over.
In it was this one passage that Hajime had written perhaps when he was around sixteen.
It read as follows:
'I feel that my existence is tainted in some sure but subtle way. Almost as though the barren streets of Plano will follow no matter where I go.'
Hajime was positive that he probably would have joined a cult of some sort if he had not left when he did.
He has never returned, but that is precisely beside the point.
/
The woman who sat at the front desk and dealt with all the students who were trying to make their course choices was entirely un-empathetic.
"Hello," Hajime said. She just stared at him. He cleared his throat and continued. "I would like to take English Literature."
This made her smirk. "You haven't been told? You can't take English Literature."
Hajime frowned at her. The entire bus ride there had been bumpy and someone behind him had been kicking the back of seat the whole time, so he thought that he could be forgiven for being slightly cranky. "But it's on your course choices."
"Yes, but there is only one woman who teaches the course and she is...particular about who she takes on." The woman smiled widely, revealing lipstick stained teeth. "But you are welcome to go and talk to her. She is at the edge of the Languages building, in the small tower. Otherwise, we do have a Classics course you can take."
Hajime smiled slightly but otherwise turned and headed towards the Languages building.
Fifteen minutes later, he managed to find a slight stairwell, that curved upwards and disappeared into the floor above it.
He climbed it.
At the top was a door. When Hajime knocked, he only had to wait half a minute before the door cracked open.
This was the first time Hajime ever saw Kyouko Kirigiri.
There are many ways that one could describe Kyouko. Peko would say that she was brilliant, with just enough madness to make her unique. Fuyuhiko would simply grunt out that she was a good teacher, and if prompted for more he would say that she had the ability to explain things to him in a way that made sense even if nothing else did. Chiaki would hum and say something about how she was simultaneously a friend and a teacher, someone to love and someone to admire. Nagito would say that she had such a love for English Literature that she made him love it just as much as she. Junko would only wink and remark that she was beautiful.
Hajime likes to think that his perception is the best, though that's what we all like to think. Kyouko Kirigiri was a woman capable of great empathy but also great cruelty and she walked the line between the two so finely, that often one would never know that she had wandered over to one side until she was gone.
But at that particular moment all Hajime had thought when he first saw her peering up at him through the crack of her door, with her lilac hair piled into a bun and her clear eyes blinking, was that she was possibly as odd as the woman at the desk had implied.
"Hello," Hajime said. "I'm Hajime Hinata and I was wondering if I could join your English Literature class –"
"Oh, I'm sorry, but you can't," Kyouko interrupted, frowning briefly. "Didn't Celes tell you that? My class is full."
"How many are in your class," Hajime asked, something he realised was quite rude but with increasing panic, he thought about how he had left his home town to study English Lit and he might not even be able to do that.
"Five," Kyouko answered. She was staring at some point beside his head, as though she didn't want to look him directly in the eye. (A few months later, he learned that she rarely ever made eye contact with anyone she didn't know intimately.)
"But surely you can fit another person – "
"I'm sorry but I can't," Kyouko interrupted again and she closed the door.
Hajime stood there for a moment and felt the urge to scream.
He decided not to and instead made his way back to the front desk to sign up for the Classics course.
(Some time after the first term, just after Christmas break, Hajime told Kyouko that he almost shrieked at her closed door when she denied him a place in her class.
"Oh," she had smiled. "I wish you had. That would have been most amusing, don't you think?"
Hajime had agreed and sipped the tea she had made him.)
/
Hajime's dorm room was not as pretty as it was in the brochures, but he still loved it.
It was a square room with painted grey walls, a single bed, a closet, a small bathroom, a desk and a single shelf.
His little room was a part of an apartment complex, apartment complex B to be specific, that sat in the south of the actual university. Hajime lived on the second floor and didn't know his neighbours that well, but he knew the man who lived in the room across from him.
Kazuichi Souda was studying engineering in the Science building but for some reason decided that Hajime was going to be his best friend and let everyone know about this.
"You need to get some posters in here, man," Kazuichi said to him one day, when they were re-painting the walls in Hajime's room a light blue colour.
"Of what?" Hajime asked.
"I dunno. Like any bands? I love The Killers. I can lend you one of my posters of them," Kazuichi said, turning to give him a lopsided grin.
"Pass. But thanks."
Kazuichi's grin got bigger.
He was odd but Hajime decided he liked him, even if it was just because he was the first friend he made at the Vermont University.
/
Hajime asked all of the people in his Classics class about the English Literature course.
Here's what they told him:
There was five members of the English Lit class. Two boys, three girls.
The first person was one of the girls. Tall even without the slim boots she wore, she towered over her classmates with silver hair that cut off sharply at her jaw and crimson eyes that were seen through wired glasses. She strode through the campus with her long coat billowing out behind her, stiff white shirts and black trousers giving her the air of an other-worldly goddess, untouchable and just as casually cruel.
"Peko Pekoyama," one of Hajime's classmates told him. "But I'd stay away if I were you. She's a total bitch."
The second girl was less striking, but still beautiful. With baby pink hair and lightly freckled skin, she drifted through the hallways in large woolly jumpers and pale skirts. Chiaki Nanami was her name. She looked soft, from the way she sat under the shade of trees to how she brushed her hair out of her eyes.
The last girl was called Junko Enoshima. Where the other two women were quiet, Junko was the opposite and at any given moment, one could hear her yelling across the campus to various students. With curly blonde hair haphazardly thrown into a ponytail, she paraded around in a jumper with a shirt collar sticking out an odd angle around her neck and trousers with holes on the knees.
"Stay away from her as well," Hajime's classmate had added. "Completely fucking insane."
Of the two boys, one had cropped blonde hair and a surly attitude. Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu. He could usually be found with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, smoking a cigarette and cursing under his breath. Some speculated that he was a part of the mafia and Hajime could see it - all that adrenaline, blood dripping, the feeling of your knuckles cracking into someone's ribs. Hajime could see Fuyuhiko with his bloody hands and curled lip at work.
The last boy was named Nagito Komaeda and by far the oddest if you asked Hajime. With white hair that curled around the bolt of his jaw and pale skin, he seemed to float everywhere, his wool coat always wrapped around him with some book clasped in his hands. He didn't look real, he looked like a fever dream, he looked like every fantasy Hajime had ever had.
But, Hajime knew nothing about any of them. All he had was this: the gust of wind that came when Peko passed him in the courtyard; the feeling of Nagito's wool coat when he brushed past him; the sound of Junko's voice as it passed over the grounds.
And then one day, Hajime walked into the library and there some of them were.
Chiaki Nanami, Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu and Junko Enoshima, crowded around one of the tables, whispering to each other over.
Hajime decided to get closer, to hear what they were muttering about, and so he walked up to a bookshelf near them, and wandered along until he was right behind them, his back to theirs.
He pulled the first book he saw off the shelf and pretended to leaf through it. Your Sex Life and You. Hajime wanted to shoot himself but flicked to the index and ran his finger down the page slowly, as though he were looking for something in particular.
"But what was Conrad trying to say with this quote: 'It had ceased to be a blank space of delightful mastery – a white patch for a boy to dream gloriously over. It had become a place of darkness.'?" Chiaki asked. Hajime thought that her voice was as soft as her appearance hinted.
"Probably something racist," Junko grumbled, her voice too loud for a library.
"Perhaps," Fuyuhiko said, apparently ignoring Junko, "It means that by becoming real it has lost its pureness. That before Marlow could fantasize over it, but now he can't."
Chiaki hummed in thought.
Hajime's mind scrambled about his skull. That quote was familiar and so was the names Marlow and Conrad. He thought back to college where he had actually studied English Literature. The three had continued talking behind him but he blocked them out until he remembered the name of the text. The Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad. Hajime remembered studying it in his second year of college.
He thought about the quote they were discussing: It had become a place of darkness. He tried to recall what he had said about it himself in class.
"Maybe he means it literally," Junko said. "Like the ink they used to make the maps was dark."
"When has Conrad ever meant something literally," Fuyuhiko snapped.
"Sorry, I don't mean to interrupt," Hajime said and watched as all three of them turned to him at once. He felt a shot of nervousness flood his veins, but he ignored it. "Perhaps he means it as a criticism of colonisation. He's saying that Africa became a place of darkness because of those from England who came to discover it with ships filled with plague carrying rats."
Chiaki blinked at him and then at her book. After a while she looked back at him. "That might actually be what Kyouko is looking for," she said.
"How do you know that?" Fuyuhiko asked, frowning at him. Up close, Hajime couldn't decide whether his scowl was more or less threatening.
"I studied English Literature in college and we did the Heart of Darkness," Hajime explained.
"Well, I can't be fucked to work on this any longer, so you have saved me another hour of work," Junko exclaimed and stood, offering her hand to Hajime. "Junko Enoshima." Hajime introduced himself and she winked at him as though the two of them shared a secret. "These two would have debated that analysis for at least half a day so might have even saved my life." Hajime chuckled slightly, and she grinned at him.
"Well, thank you for your help," Chiaki said, smiling at Hajime vaguely. The three of them stood, and after a moment of silence, Junko turned on her heel and marched out of the library. Chiaki watched her leave and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Well, I need to find Nagito. I said we'd have breakfast together."
Fuyuhiko glanced at his watch. "It's half four," he said but Chiaki was already wandering off. He sighed and glanced at Hajime. "Fuyuhiko," he added but didn't wait for Hajime to respond before he as well was walking away.
Hajime stood at the abandoned table and wondered why he felt like everything had changed.
/
A couple of days later as Hajime was heading towards his Classics class, he was stopped by Kyouko.
"Hello," she said. "I was wondering if you wanted to have some tea with me?"
Hajime had agreed and they both headed towards her small tower room.
When they had both sat down at opposite ends of her desk with two steaming mugs of tea, Kyouko asked him why he wanted to study English Literature.
Hajime had blinked at her for a moment before he had answered and from there, Kyouko kept asking him question after question: where was he from (Plano, California), what were his parents like (he had given some vague answer about an average upbringing with strict and firm guardians), what he thought about the Classics course (alright but that he preferred the English Literature course from his time in college).
"Oh," Kyouko said suddenly. "Would you look at the time. You've missed your Classics lecture."
Hajime glanced at his watch and saw that she was right. They had both been talking for two hours.
"Well, that's not a problem, is it?" she said, tapping her mug slightly. "Not if you plan on taking English Literature."
Hajime's head snapped up and he stared at her. "Are you saying…"
"I am saying that I am willing to take on another student, should you wish to study under my tutelage." She stared at some part of his cheek, violet eyes bright and intelligent. "What do you say?"
"Of course!" Hajime answered and for a brief second, Kyouko met his eyes and smiled.
/
The first day of English Literture, Hajime was almost late.
His alarm hadn't gone off, so he had to rush out of bed and throw on some black trousers and a clean shirt and run as fast as he could towards Kyouko's little tower.
The entire sprint, all Hajime could think was that if he was late then Kyouko would decide to kick him from her class and he would have to crawl back to his Classics teacher and beg for his place back. With how bad their last conversation went, Hajime decided that he would rather die than do that.
("I hope you know what you're getting yourself into," Sayaka had said, signing the forms required to allow Hajime out of her class and into Kyouko's. Hajime had only nodded, deciding that he didn't like her tone. "I'm serious. I don't think you realise how isolated those students are from the rest of the university. Kyouko will be your tutor but she will also be in charge any complaints you have. So, if you dislike her teaching style then there is nothing you can do about it."
"Well, I'm sure I'll be alright," Hajime had replied.
"She's very particular about who she chooses to be in her class. Does she know about your…money situation?"
"I'm sure she wouldn't mind," Hajime said tightly.
Sayaka had only smiled, her teeth glinting in the overhead lights.)
Hajime skidded to a stop in front of Kyouko's room and quickly opened the door.
Four heads turned to stare at him.
Junko was the first to break the silence. "Well, hello there! Hajime, right? Come in, come in." She leaped up and reached out to grab his hand and drag him towards the others. "Well, you've met this grumpy fuck already." Fuyuhiko flipped her off but nodded slightly at Hajime. "You've met her, isn't she just a darling." Chiaki smiled slightly at Junko's wild grin. "But this is Nagito."
Nagito Komaeda was sitting next to Chiaki on the window sill but he stood up to shake Hajime's hand. "Hello," he murmured, a smile laid across his pale face.
"Hello," Hajime echoed. His hand was cold, his knuckles felt delicate.
The door opened again, and Hajime dropped Nagito's hand.
Kyouko entered with Peko Pekoyama. "Oh good," Kyouko said. "You've met the new student."
Peko glanced at Hajime for a brief second but turned away to sit next to Fuyuhiko on the couch. Hajime wondered if he really was this unimportant to her.
"Well, are you all ready to begin?" Kyouko asked.
"Yes," Peko answered, coolly, her gaze steady, her posture straight. "We are."
/
Each student had a mail box in the front hall of the apartment complex they stayed in. Next to all of their mail boxes was the phone booth.
One day, when Hajime came down to check his messages on the phone box (only one, from his mother, describing how their neighbour had gotten a gazebo) and he saw Junko slip a letter into his mail box before she turned and left, whistling as she walked.
Hajime waited for a moment before he checked to see what it was.
The letter was an invitation to have lunch the next week, on the Thursday. The entire thing was filled with spelling errors, but Hajime could still read it.
He wondered what this meant. Was he being accepted into the group? He hoped so. He really did.
He quickly scribbled a note for Junko, accepting her invitation.
/
After everything had happened and the dirt on the graves were still, Hajime asked Chiaki if she missed Junko.
"Does it make me a bad person if I say no?" she had replied.
"I don't know," Hajime had said.
(He wonders if it's worse that he does. Miss her that is. If that makes it harder to sleep, to live.
He really doesn't know.)
/
author's note: ugh this took so long im gonna kms.
but yes i am slightly nervous about this story bc all of my other fics have like happy endings or at least funny parts but this is just. sad. sad and depressing.
anyway yes The Secret History is a book by Donna Tartt and im actually writing my advanced english dissertation on it sooooo. is good lads.
my tumblr is bravemccalll if u wanna tell me about ur day and i will listen very closely and give u much love.
until next time! - nic