The overwhelming tide of emotions flooding through Togami carried him across the hall, but by the time he'd entered his own dorm, he already regretted his hasty decision to leave Naegi's room. He could still hear the pain shaking through Naegi's voice – pain that he'd caused. The knowledge that Naegi would be miserable and alone now, maybe even crying, too dizzy and injured to leave the bed – it burned inside him, an almost physical compulsion to turn and run back to Naegi's side. He wanted to go back, to gather Naegi into his arms, to hold him close and keep him safe –

But Naegi didn't want that from him.

Togami slumped back against his door, pressing one hand hard against his mouth. He could hear his breath hissing through his fingers, harsh and too loud in the silent room. The bitter truth held him paralyzed, unable to turn away from everything he'd understood.

For days now, he'd turned his entire world upside down for Naegi's sake. He'd abandoned his plans to win the game and joined the others as an ally. He'd gone chasing after Naegi time and again to rescue him from his injuries and keep him safe. For the first time in his life, he'd fought on behalf of a person other than himself.

And those actions hadn't been the worst of it. He'd slept in Naegi's arms, even in the middle of the killing game, trusting the boy not to hurt him. He'd been unguarded enough that all the other students had known of his vulnerability, allowing that obnoxious Kirigiri to manipulate him. He'd let his feelings for Naegi become his weakness, a weapon that could be wielded against him.

He'd never thought Naegi himself would be the one to use it to hurt him.

For all the confusing new emotions and shifting uncertainties that had hammered away at him since he'd first felt anything for Naegi, there had been one thing that had given him some measure of comfort – the thought that he wasn't alone in it. Yes, he'd made himself vulnerable in a way he'd never been before, but it had been all right as long as he wasn't the only one. He'd believed that Naegi had shared his feelings, matching him weakness for weakness – believed it unquestioningly enough that he hadn't even hesitated to offer Naegi his heart.

He'd admitted out loud that he would do anything in his power to keep Naegi safe, something that he hadn't fully understood until he'd heard himself saying the words. It wasn't just a refusal to try to win the killing game, or the need to care for Naegi's injuries, or the fury for the people who'd hurt Naegi – it went beyond that. Naegi mattered to him more than anything else in his life, to the point where leaving this place didn't matter if Naegi couldn't escape with him. He'd come to care too much for Naegi to be able to envision returning to a world without him.

No. Togami couldn't lie to himself, not anymore. Not after what he'd realized.

He'd come to love Naegi, so deeply that that his heart ached with it. Now that he recognized the emotion for what it was, it pulsed through him with every heartbeat, so intense that it terrified him with its inescapability.

And Naegi didn't feel the same way.

In the moment that Naegi had said so, everything Togami had believed about their relationship had come crashing down around him. He'd known that Naegi didn't feel quite as strongly about protecting him as he did for Naegi, but he'd just assumed that was because he obviously needed much less protection than Naegi did. He'd thought that at the core of it, Naegi felt everything as strongly as he did. It had never even occurred to him that his feelings might not be returned.

An ugly, broken sound tore through the air, and Togami realized that he was laughing, shoulders shaking with the force of it. He tilted his head back against the hard wood of the door, closing his eyes as the bitter irony convulsed through him. How many times had some infatuated idiot thrown themselves at him, seeing reciprocated feelings where there was nothing more than contempt? Too many to count, with Fukawa only the latest and most disturbing in a long string of easily-manipulated fools. And now here he was, on the other side of it, caught in the trap of unrequited love.

It would be easier if he could blame Naegi for it, if he could twist the pain into resentment, let it burn away until there was nothing left but ashes and regret – but how could he? It wasn't as though Naegi had been using him – as transparent as Naegi was, that would have been obvious, and Togami could have avoided it easily. No, Naegi was open, honest, and kind, and it wasn't his fault that Togami had misunderstood just what that meant.

Naegi did care about him, Togami didn't doubt that – but Naegi cared about every one of the students he'd met here at Hope's Peak, even the murderers. Hell, he even cared about Fujisaki's goddamn computer program. And Togami didn't want to be on the same level as a laptop.

Thinking back on it now, he realized that Naegi had never actually said how he felt about Togami at any point in their ill-fated relationship. He'd obviously felt physical attraction fairly strongly, but that was hardly a shock. And he'd trusted Togami, even from the start – but who the hell didn't Naegi trust?

No, Togami could see now that he'd always been the one to initiate, to push for more, to spell out his feelings. He'd sought Naegi out, over and over – even at the start, he'd been the one to drag Naegi into the archive. And now he'd handed Naegi his heart, just as thoughtlessly as he'd done the rest of it. How could he have expected anything more than rejection?

Slowly, throat raw and heart aching, Togami forced his eyes open and pushed himself away from the door. Part of him wanted to collapse onto the bed and bury his face in a pillow – but he refused to let this break him any worse than it already had. He might not be able to control the emotions clawing their way through his soul, but at least he would be master of his own actions.

Instead of collapsing, he went to prepare himself to face the day, stripping away the wrinkled clothing he'd worn in Naegi's bed. He forced himself to step into the blisteringly hot shower without any hesitation about washing away any lingering traces of the other boy's scent on his skin. And if the face that he tilted up into the shower spray was already streaked with salty tear tracks, he would never admit it.