Still I Rise

There were two keys waiting for him, each carved from dull brass. Though most people would have been at a loss, Kamukura knew which belonged to which cabin. That made deciding which key to take easy. After all, although the cabins were theoretically identical, Naegi had only chosen one as a base – and Kamukura couldn't be sure Naegi hadn't hidden any other surprise in there.

We should quarantine that place, he thought idly. Nothing good would come of it now.

He left Hotel Mirai's lobby with key in hand and walked into the great outdoors. It should have been a day like any other, but there was a distinct taste of smoke in the area that could not be ignored. The source was obvious; the cabin – his cabin – had been the real victim of last night's events. Even if anyone had possessed the will, the strength of the blaze and their sparse supplies made saving it impossible. Thus, the cabin had been left to burn freely. Though someone's luck had kicked in eventually, for he still remembered smelling rain. He had been on the second floor of Hotel Mirai at the time, standing in the dark as wind blew through the balcony's open doors and caressed his face. The pitter-patter of that drizzle had been so quiet compared to the crackling flames.

Kamukura hadn't slept last night. He had vague plans to sleep today, although as Kuzuryu had pointed out, he had yet to decide where. So much of his resources had been occupied with processing yesterday's events that that small but very important details had slipped through the cracks, Somehow, he hadn't processed that the cabin was gone. He'd just assumed that it. . . that it would still be there.

He could see what remained of the cabin from here. Despite the heaps of smouldering charcoal, despite that the back wall was the only one left standing and it was scorched so badly some parts were white, objectively not much had been lost. Kamukura had things, of course, but what he owned were necessities and replaceable. Naegi, when his first room had been destroyed by the Future Foundation, had mourned, but that was because Naegi had owned things. Kamukura had not. Kamukura did not own personal effects or reminders of a past life. This was no loss. There was nothing to mourn.

The stench of smoke was unbearable. He scrunched his nose in disgust and wrenched his gaze away. Not too far away, Owari, the second most sensitive nose on the island, walked towards her cabin. How was it that she was unaffected by the smell?

Well, her nose was only second-best. Besides, he had more important things to worry about like sweeping his new bedroom for surprises. And literal sweeping. None of his classmates would have bothered with the maintenance of unused spaces.

By the time he reached the walkway leading to the cabins, Owari had disappeared indoors. He also caught a glimpse of Mioda's door closing, although it was too late to tell whether it was the owner herself or Owari that had closed it. That left him alone in the walkway, and that was good. The thought of unlocking his new dwelling for the first time without any curious gazes was pleasant.

Perhaps that daydream made him too sensitive; perhaps it was the reason he suddenly became aware that no, he was not actually alone.

He turned slowly. He turned so slowly that there was an opportunity for the other person to flee. (Because he wanted the other person to flee.)

Their eyes locked. His chest clenched.

Against the perfectly rational voice in his head, Kamukura spoke first. "I'm not apologizing."

Komaeda worked his jaw and then slumped in resignation. "No. That would be too much to ask."

As if Komaeda had the power to demand anything. As if he had the right. Komaeda was, Kamukura noted, in good spirits. He could see it in the way Komaeda held himself, in how he responded without breaking eye contact. It was a travesty.

Nobody's watching you now. He's so close.

It would only take a second.

Komaeda shuffled his feet and finally broke eye contact. "Kamukura-kun. . . How are you?"

". . . How am I?" he echoed. That was a standard question aimed at those who experienced frequent emotional highs and thus, could be in different states. Such a question had little meaning to him.

"A lot happened yesterday," Komaeda explained without explaining anything. "How are you?"

"I am . . . fine?" That was the neutral response, though it felt weird.

Komaeda silently looked him over from head to toe. He had the distinct impression of being disbelieved.

Suddenly, Komaeda's gaze caught on his hand. "A key? You must be taking one of the empty cabins. I think they're mostly intact, but a couple of things might have been taken by the others. I can help. . ."

Kamukura hadn't reacted. He had remained perfectly still. Komaeda's offer hadn't affected him. Which was why he was unable to explain why Komaeda stiffened and suddenly took his words back.

"Came on too strong, huh?" Komaeda used that same gormless smile he always used when he said something unwanted, and Kamukura had the satisfaction of watching it slip away into nothing.

It was so quiet. Owari and Mioda, wherever they were, weren't making any noise. The rest of their classmates may have been imaginary for all the presence they currently had. It was like a new world had been carved out and Kamukura and Komaeda were the sole occupants.

No witnesses. No interference.

"I know that seeing me wasn't on your list of priorities," Komaeda said, "but I guess lady luck was in my favour this time. I was hoping to run into you. I want to speak to you."

"You. Speaking to me." That was worth a smug smirk. "I can only question why you believe your prattling is of any value."

"I'm not here for another philosophical discussion or to play music chairs with who's to blame. I'm so tired of that," Komaeda added quietly.

"Then I offer my congratulations: the worthlessness of this conversation has exceeded even my expectations."

His point had been made and he could move again – yes, he could move. He could retreat to his appointed cabin, lock himself away in solitude as he preferred. Or he could move forward. Close the distance between him and Komaeda, press his thumb into Komaeda's neck and feel his shuddering pulse underneath. It wouldn't be the first time. But last time he had used both hands and he had straddled Komaeda's hips and watched his skin change from white to purplish blue –

"I won't keep you long," Komaeda said. "I just want to apologize. For everything."

Kamukura bristled. Komaeda's offering, even if genuine, felt like an insult. "Are you too much of a coward to say this to Naegi-kun yourself?"

"I'm apologizing to you," Komaeda said, "and this isn't about yesterday. I've had a lot of time to think lately and . . . That year we had together in school, that didn't end well."

It had been some time since Kamukura had thought about those events. It was in the past; it was easier not to remember. Quite frankly, given how Komaeda constantly screwed up, it was shocking to realize that Komaeda was capable of self-reflection.

"I'm sorry. . ." Komaeda said again.

"Would you stop?" Kamukura bit out. "What good is the apology of someone who doesn't understand what they're apologizing for?"

Komaeda sighed. "I wish you had more faith in the average intelligence of your peers. I know why you got angry back then. I never meant to hurt you. I thought I was helping."

"Assistance from someone who could barely acknowledge his own grief," Kamukura scoffed. "Well, you always believed you were the one who knew what was right."

"I know," Komaeda said. "That's has been my vice all these years. I'm sorry I stole your memories of her."

"How many years has it been since that moment?" Kamukura mused aloud. He knew the exact count of course, down to the minute. "Does this mean anything after all that time?"

"I know only your opinion should matter, but if it's worth anything, it does to me. I never believed Naegi-kun or Nanami-san when they said you were no different than everyone else. I didn't believe that you were capable of being hurt as keenly as everyone else could." Komaeda said that last part very carefully. Kamukura could see the microscopic tension that shuddered down his limbs, the tiny adjustments his unconsciousness made in preparation of fleeing for his life. "I knew we weren't friends like you and Nanami-san were. So when you withdrew from everyone after she died, I knew you were upset, but I didn't believe it was actual grief. I thought your emotions were. . . primitive to what the rest of us could experience."

It felt like a clawed hand was gripping the back of his skull, squeezing, making his head throb.

If Komaeda wants to see your heart, then let him see your hate.

"I'm sorry they took you from yourself," Komaeda said quietly. "And . . . I'm sorry that I played along."

Komaeda's statement couldn't be processed. Instead of passing through his brain and being dissected into little pieces, they got stuck like they had been caught in a glue trap. It left them in a particular state where he wasn't dwelling on them, but they weren't fading either. They remained a constant presence, like a shadow.

Komaeda glanced from Kamukura to the key in his hand, from Kamukura to the cabin, and a thousand things he wanted to say danced in his eyes. But finally, the oppressive atmosphere found its mark and Komaeda visibly clammed up. They stood there in uneasy silence.

Finally, Komaeda moved. His steps were slow and measured, that of prey trying to evade the attention of a predator. It seemed so unnecessary when Kamukura felt so detached from everything. The body, after all, was nothing more than a puppet directed by a three-pound clump of cells. Never had Kamukura been more aware of it before; that he was simply giving orders and his body carried them out on its own initiative.

Was that his own heartbeat or Komaeda's he heard? He thought it was Komaeda's because his own pulse had quieted. It felt like a soft murmur now. Like paws treading across the forest floor.

Like the momentary stillness of a predator before it attacked.

His lungs expanded, taking in as much air, as much information as they could. Komaeda hadn't noticed. He was too busy trying to slip past him and in doing so, had brought them close together.

There.

A small adjustment. Shifting his weight forward. That was all it would take to bring Komaeda within arm's reach. Komaeda's frequent spells of illness, which often left him bedridden, meant he was mostly skin and bones. Komaeda's throat was slender enough to comfortably wrap a hand around. Or two hands if he desired, though only the one was required.

All he had to do was lift his arm, and squeeze. He could imagine it like it was happening: the feel of blood rushing through the arteries just under the skin. The heat of flesh-to-flesh contact. He just needed to give the command.

Repent your sins. Make him proud.

Komaeda, so close to him, tried to sidestep him. In doing so, Komaeda automatically turned his gaze away from Kamukura, moved his chin out of the way. There was nothing left shielding him.

DO IT NOW.

Something cracked underfoot. A pebble skittered across the path and teetered over the ledge into the water.

Komaeda walked on, steps only fading out with the closing of his cabin door.

And Kamukura stood stock-still, muscles too tense to move, wondering if he had made a mistake. Silence returned to Jabberwock. Silence, and solitude.

Kamukura pressed the heel of his palm into his forehead. His inner voice wasn't pleased, and its last demand kept knocking at his skull like a very persistent visitor. His muscles were only beginning to slacken; they had been tensed long enough that he his bone ached. Lying down suddenly became a very inviting activity.

In the short time it took him to walk inside, his migraine had worsened. The only other time he had experienced pain like this was a few days after his creation, where he had held an open flame to his skin curious about the sensation of pain, about anything other than the monotony of his entire existence. Well, that and . . . But that had been Hinata.

He remembered that Hinata had shut off his lights and buried his face in a pillow though, so tentatively he did the same. That same angry voice balked at the idea of mimicking the behaviour of that person, but how had being Kamukura worked out for him recently?

He twitched at that thought. It was odd to have discord in his inner monologue, to feel like he was arguing with someone other than himself.

He hissed as the pain sharpened. The Great Kamukura, lain bare by a headache. When Komaeda was only a couple of doors down. All Komaeda seemed to do these days was apologize. It was getting annoying. It would be nicer if Komaeda were to relapse into old habits, so that Kamukura would be justified in –

Justified in what? Those were immature thoughts.

The ache in his head worsened.

Does Komaeda think a sorry would make this all go away? What would Naegi say if he had seen?

The answer swam into his hazy brain with crystal clear clarity: He would have been upset we hadn't apologized in return.

But Naegi was a fool, was he not? He was a case study in what happened to those who allowed their emotions to guide them. Betrayal and pain. So much pain. And yet Kamukura yearned; and yet he wanted –

A white flash broke out behind his closed eyelids. That and a searing pain so sudden and intense that it effectively numbed itself. His breathing was long, yet shallow. Something curled in his gut and it was almost like. . . like fear. He was faintly aware that he had wrapped his fingers around one of the bed posts, just as he was faintly aware of it splintering in his grasp.

Is that what you want? Pain?

He opened his eyes. It changed nothing, given that his face was stuffed in a pillow, but despite the darkness he saw a splash of color. Purple? Pink? It was so fuzzy he couldn't be sure. But there was something else as well. Something like eyes, lips. . .

His head hurt.

It was painful to think.

But in the end, there was only one answer he could give.

Yes.

. . . It's not possible. Wanting it changes nothing.

"Shut up," he growled. It was possible. It had to be. Nanami and Naegi had both seen the same thing and while he could accept that one of them could have been mistaken, they couldn't both be. And. . .

And he had trusted them.

He did trust them.

Kamukura cannot feel –

"How can anyone possibly still believe that?"

There was no answer from the dark voice in his head.

His mind silent once more, Kamukura forced himself to relax and waited for the band of tension around his head to release. At some point, he dozed off, for he suddenly jerked awake, confused but otherwise feeling much better. Mindful of the residual throbbing in his head, he went to the curtains and drew them. The sun was still shining outside. At most, it was a couple of hours before dinner.

How lucky, he thought to himself. He wasn't in the mood to see anyone just yet. He wandered back to his new bed and sat upon the edge. His gaze naturally drifted downward, and he frowned.

His Ultimate Model talent came with the valuable side-effect of never getting bedhead. His long strands were miraculously untangled as they tumbled down his back and pooled in his lap. He pinched some between his fingers and lifted it to see better.

Huh. This really is too long.