Simmering

"It's getting cold." As soft as Kirigiri's voice was, it still made Naegi jump. "It might congeal if it's left for too long."

"You can eat it," Naegi said. "I'm not hungry."

There was no weary sigh. No dropped shoulders. But Naegi knew. He could feel exasperation sloughing off her. Because once again dumb Naegi Makoto was causing trouble for no good reason.

"You should try," she said. "You haven't eaten anything today."

"You haven't either," he accused. Though once again there was no change in her expression, his heart still throbbed. It had been Kirigiri who had tried to warn him, after all. It had been Kirigiri who rode to his rescue, who stood guard even as Naegi had pranced around believing the stars were in his pockets. And how was he thanking her? By being useless. Again.

He looked at the tray in his lap. Steam had long ceased to rise from his bowl of ramen. There were a couple of clear splotches on the surface, too, where oil seemed to be separating. His favourite breakfast, Kirigiri had claimed with a question in her eyes. She wasn't completely wrong. He liked ramen, but he wouldn't consider it his favourite.

But it wasn't her fault, for she had only parroted what she had been told. While Naegi didn't doubt his classmate's cooking (except for Togami because Naegi was sure the Ultimate Moneybags had never touched a pan in his life), he didn't believe they would have gone to the trouble of putting in so many ingredients into what should have been simple noodles. Which meant this had come from the other island. He didn't remember, but he wouldn't be surprised to hear that Hanamura had made him ramen once and Naegi had claimed it was his favourite to suck up to him. Then, of course, Hanamura had made this as an apology present because of course it would have worked. Naegi was just a stupid puppy after all, clawing at the pants of his masters in the hopes of receiving a pat on the head.

As he thought about that, as he thought about how Hanamura liked to whistle when he cooked and all the sit-down meals he had with them, his body rebelled. His esophagus tightened until it became hard to swallow. Even his eyes joined in as the very sight of the ramen made him retch.

The bowl nearly spilled over as he shoved the tray to the side. "I don't want it."

"Is there something else you want?" Kirigiri asked casually, as if Naegi wasn't trying to make a bowl explode with his mind. "There's leftovers in the motel's kitchen."

It wasn't appealing. Food wasn't appealing. But she wanted him to eat and though it pissed him off that she kept telling him what to do, he swallowed his tongue because it wasn't fair to her. And she might be right. There could be something simple in the kitchen, something like cereal which came as is and wasn't an implicit bribe from them.

Kirigiri waited for him with watchful eyes as he shrugged on a long-sleeved shirt that only he needed in this weather. She held the door open for him. Of course, she did. The knight was once again saving the helpless princess from the tower. And the people waiting outside must be the royal entourage.

But they were Kirigiri's entourage, not his. They didn't meet his eyes, and Togami and Fukawa weren't even there. Komaru, at least, did look at him, but her face was twisted like she had sucked on a lemon. He could guess why. She was embarrassed. Her brother had thought himself king while really he was a completely unremarkable person who had won a lottery and let it go to his head.

"We're going to the kitchen for food," Kirigiri told the others. There was a pregnant pause. A question should be there, but she didn't ask it.

"But wasn't there. . ." Komaru eyed the door to his room. "If you don't want that, can I have it?"

He just looked at her. In sibling talk, that meant, Knock yourself out!

Komaru let herself into his room and started demolishing his intended breakfast. He watched her, not thinking, but feeling. It was a strange sensation that made him hot in the face, that grabbed his chin and forced him to stare. It wasn't anger, nor was it worry. There was another word that described this.

Jealousy.

His simple little sister, who could innocently guzzle down a good breakfast without vomiting. She had a place where she could sleep without locking the door. She had friends – friends that used to be his friends. She even had the prestige of destroying a Despair, but unlike him, she had bowed out and accepted she was destined to fade into obscurity. What didn't she have? Would have been different if he had been the youngest and she the oldest, if she had been the one to win a place at Hope's Peak? He could have what she did. He could have –

"Makoto?" Asahina said, lightly laying a hand on his shoulder.

He blinked and – Again! Was crying the only thing he could do right? He rubbed his eye with the back of his wrist and barked, "I'm fine!"

Asahina tore her hand away. She looked like she wanted to cry. Wow. Great going, Makoto. Now Asahina thought he wanted to kill her.

"Is there something in particular you're looking for?" Kirigiri suddenly asked. She took slow steps in the direction of the kitchen and like moths, they followed.

He shrugged. Asahina took that as her cue to fill the silence. "Oh, what about a mango. I love fruit in the morning! They're sweet but it's healthy, so I don't have to worry about it going to my thighs."

Hagakure rubbed the back of his neck. "You worry about that stuff? I figured with all the donuts you ate. . ."

"Donuts are perfectly healthy!"

Naegi wisely decided not to say anything.

As they walked towards the motel's main building, Asahina asked him, "What are you going to do after?"

"Sleep?" he rasped.

"Oh. Already, huh?" Asahina said with an enthusiasm that must have been feigned. "We were going down to the beach. You know, half of the people who go to the beach just end up sleeping anyways. . ."

"I'll go back to my bed," he said coldly and what was wrong with him? What was wrong with them? Couldn't they tell he wasn't in the mood for this? He was only here because Kirigiri demanded it. If Asahina wanted to swim with someone, she should fetch Komaru. Komaru could give them everything they wanted, and it wouldn't come with the inconvenience of a possible murder.

They went to the motel. They ate. Well, if Naegi could call the way he pecked at his food eating. He pretended not to see Asahina's frown when he pushed away from the table and announced he was full. Then, just like he promised, he returned to his room. They found his sister there doing her best to clean up. Doing something useful.

"They're going to the beach," Naegi told her.

"Okay! Um, what about. . .?" Komaru asked.

"I'm tired," Naegi said bluntly. "I'm going to take a nap."

"Oh." He could hear her disappointment; he could hear the way he was letting them down again, and he just couldn't stop. "See you later?"

He shrugged. He didn't watch his sister run away. He didn't look back to see any of them leave.

Let them go.

His sister was the better Naegi anyways.

It was midday when Komaeda finally staggered onto the second floor of Hotel Mirai. For him, this was a late rising, but he couldn't say his sleep had been terrible. Rather, in a single word, it had been heavy. It had hit him like a truck and kept him in a dreamless haze, and even now he hadn't fully shaken off its effects.

He guessed that the late hour was why the cafeteria was sparsely occupied. He spotted Saionji in a corner table by herself. The only other people he saw were Mioda and Owari, who sat together at a more central table. Owari barely had any food on her plate, and what food she did have she was pushing around with a fork.

"Hey, Nagito-chan!"

The greeting disoriented him until he remembered that Mioda used everyone's given name. Still, it was odd to see her waving at him and Owari glancing his way but not giving any sign of disgust. Carefully, he took the seat furthest from the two. Owari continued to push food around her plate.

"You want some?" Mioda asked. She had a giant salad with seafood and fruit that looked like too much to be eaten in a single sitting. It was an unusual breakfast.

"I'll get my own," he said as his stomach growled. Huh. He hadn't felt this hungry for a while.

"That's a better idea," Mioda said. "Eat all you can cause we're running out of room."

"What do you mean?"

Halfway through a mouthful, she said, "Teruteru-chan's made so much that I don't know where he's going to put it.

"Why would he do that?" Komaeda asked. A top chef like Hanamura should be able to predict how much food was needed.

"I dunno," Owari grunted. "He's still cooking even though there's hardly any room in the freezer."

He wasn't just curious now. He was alarmed. It wasn't unusual for talented people to get lost in their work, but Hanamura hadn't done anything like this before. He stood up alone under the guise of getting food and walked to the kitchen. The door creaked ominously and Komaeda quickly found himself under assault. Not from the hard-working chef though, but from a haze of smells overlaid over each other, pungent enough that his eyes watered. He heard frying, bubbling, shrill beeps as somewhere in the mess, a timer went off. There near the back was the chef himself, scurrying between stations like a bee visiting flowers. His usually pristine shirt was splattered in oil.

"Hanamura-kun?"

"Why, Komaeda!" In the middle of flipping, Hanamura spun around. Somehow, the flipped food jumped over his shoulder and still landed in the pan. "Come for a little bite, have you?"

Silently, Komaeda took in the room and the many, many plates. "Is there a reason you've made so much?"

"So much? Mon ami, I'm a chef. That's what I do!" Hanamura laughed airily. "All these hungry mouths to feed, it makes my mouth water. So why don't you sit down and let Hanamura's Diner fill that empty tummy?"

He'd heard that name before. His alarm only worsened. "Hanamura-kun. . ."

Komaeda gagged as a carrot was perfectly thrown into his mouth.

"Less talking, more eating!"

Hanamura scooped up one of the ready plates and scuttled over. He shoved said plate into Komaeda's hands, and then starting shoving Komaeda out the door. Komaeda didn't fight it, but he twisted, trying to get a good look at Hanamura's face – or more specifically, his eyes. However, it was already hard enough to see Hanamura's pupils on a good day, and the big height difference and resulting awkward angle didn't make it any easier. . .

Komaeda stumbled forward, just barely keeping his food from spilling as the kitchen door shut behind him. Mioda and Owari were watching him, eerily stone-faced, until one shrugged as if to say 'Well, what can you do?'

A not-so-quiet scoff caught his attention. Saionji's table was closer to the kitchen – and thus to him – then the other two. With two hands, she raised a bowl to her lips and sipped, eyes glinting with glee. Did she know something the other two didn't?

He took a seat across from her. Saionji didn't notice until she put the bowl down. For a few brief moments, the world froze.

"What are you doing here?" Her tone rose in the middle like a cat arching its back before it struck.

"You were sitting alone. I thought you would like company." Komaeda asked, "By the way, did you speak to Hanamura-kun. . .?"

"Why would I want company from you?" Saionji spat. "Is your brain rotting even faster than the doctors thought?"

Komaeda didn't think he had been smiling before, but he definitely wasn't now. A bitter taste pooled in the back of his throat.

"If I wanted company, I would have sat with those losers!" Saionji continued. She bared her teeth in the direction of a confused Owari and Mioda.

"But you like Mioda-san."

"Like her? Like her?" The second repetition was much shriller than the first. "Are you serious?"

"Well, you love her music. You two travelled everywhere and spent all your time together when. . . when we were active. You performed together." He gestured at the open double-door window and the lands beyond, to the memory of wild crowds worshipping at their feet.

"Ugh, do you have to remind me?" The table pushed against Komaeda's midsection as she tried to push it – and him – away. "I can't believe I was ever that stupid. I can't believe I forgot the first rule of the jungle."

"But. . . You're friends."

If it were possible for people to have flames in their eyes, he would be seeing them now. As it was, Saionji instead had to vent her frustrations by lashing out and seizing his wrist as it laid on the table. Her fingers curled, nails digging into his flesh despite the layer of fabric between them.

"Mioda's not my friend. No one's my friend," she hissed, grip growing tighter. She spat out the next word like it was poison. "Friends. I don't have friends. She was right. She was right, right, right. . ."

Saionji had released him, instead gripping her own head as she laughed. Her eyes were closed, but he could imagine what was underneath.

"Everyone's the same. Everyone's waiting for someone to let their guard down." She said that almost dreamily. "You can't trick me. I won't be a victim."

"I'm happy for you?" he said. "But nobody's trying to . . ."

"Do you really think I'm going to trust any of you?" she sneered. "After all that?"

It only made too much sense now. "After yesterday."

"Naegi was stupid to think you were friends. She was right. She was always right," Saionji mumbled. "You're just like those other girls. You're waiting to knock me down. Why are you sitting here anyways? Move!"

Her heel slammed painfully into his shin. He could hear her knee knocking against the underside of the table as her leg groped for other vulnerable parts of his anatomy. Hastily, he scrabbled away from the table, retrieving his plate afterwards as an afterthought.

Owari pretended not to care, but she watched him from the corner of her eyes as he rejoined their table. Mioda didn't bother with such subtly. As he took in her seemingly oblivious smile, he wondered if she knew why Saionji had abandoned her, or if she was just as confused as he had been.

"Did you find it?" Mioda asked.

"Find what?"

"Whatever you were looking for." She leaned back and stretched. He shook her head.

Owari suddenly glanced at Komaeda, then hunched over a mug of tea. It almost looked like she was about to dunk her nose. "Uh, yeah, sorry about last night. But I mean you. . ."

"Why don't you stop there with the apology?" Komaeda, like the girls, was surprised at the harshness of his tone.

"So, Nagito-chan," Mioda said loudly, "did you see everyone else? Are they setting up a party and forgot to tell everyone?"

"No. I thought you two would know where they were." Their strange absence might have worried him, once upon a time. At the least, it would have made him curious. Now, though? Now Komaeda found he just didn't care.

Owari shrugged. "Can't be too important if they didn't tell us."