"Y-you should be taking better care of yourself!" Tsumiki said earnestly, "You should really try to eat something!"

"Ah, Tsumiki-san," Komaeda chuckled weakly. "I didn't expect to see you here."

Although he had never been a very big eater ever since the death of his parents- sometimes skipping meals, or simply just forgetting- even Komaeda was beginning to feel the hollow pain in his stomach after days without food.

He continued, as Tsumiki took the second seat on the swingset, "Monokuma isn't letting us have any food until there's another murder and trial, I'm afraid."

"Oh no! That's terrible! I'm so sorry…"

"And how about yourself? Are you feeling alright?" Komaeda gave himself a half-hearted push on the swing before digging his heels into the ground to stop it.

"Oh, Um, I guess so... I'm not really sure. This...this is all new to me."

A few moments passed, both students sitting still on the swing set.

"Y-you're not mad at me, are you? You've forgiven me, right?" Tsumiki asked suddenly, anxious, the chain holding her swing seat rattling slightly.

"To be honest, I haven't had much time to think about it since then. I suppose there's a point in hunger where one makes it past the angry stage, and goes back around to being apathetic. I am thankful for how well you treated me at the hospital at the very least, even if I can't remember much of it."

"I see… I'm sorry that I can't do anything for your stomach like this…"

"What would you do for me any way? Put me on an IV? I had enough of that before we came to island. To be honest, I think I'd rather starve to death at this point."

"Actually, it would be a through a tube up your nose." Tsumiki stuck her pointer and middle fingers up into her nostrils, effectively making a pig snout.

Komaeda's laugh carried considerably more mirth this time.

"Komaeda!" Hinata shouted as he passed by the strawberry patterned playground. "Who are you talking to?"

"And here I thought he'd scold me for playing on the swings…" Komaeda mumbled to the empty seat beside him.

Things were certainly more quiet without her around, Komaeda thought to himself as he lay on the bed in his room.

Out of all the people to hallucinate…why not Togami? They could all use a good leader right now. Why not Mioda? Her music and antics would certainly be a welcome distraction. Try as he might, he could hardly recall their faces in his state, only the girl with the expressive eyebrows, the striking beauty mark, the gentle lips turned downward from worry...

"Um…Is this a bad time?"

He rolled over to see Tsumiki standing in the corner, fidgeting with her hair. She seemed to be afraid to touch anything in the deluxe room. Thinking about it, he probably should have surrendered the room to one of the other boys who might have deserved it more; he wasn't entirely sure why he had held onto it, hunger making his head too muzzy at the moment to bother recalling.

"This is the boy's side," Komaeda replied. "Are you sure you don't want to talk with Sonia-san or Nanami-san in the Muscat House?"

"M-maybe they are. You're only imagining me, after all, so they could be too. Though... I really can't believe that anyone would want to imagine me, of all people…. I-I wish I could get you something to eat. Then you wouldn't have to waste your time with me like this…"

"It's fine. I said some awful things to you during your trial. I kind of brought this upon myself. Ugh…"

His stomach made another horrible grabbing sensation as he sat up.

"I…can't imagine that I would taste any good…probably like a rotten orange… but you can try to eat me, if you'd like…. If it would help…" She held out a quivering arm.

He struggled to stand as the girl slipped in and out of his vision.

She continued, "It's the least I can do to make things up to you… For falling into Despair… For what I said to you… If I can make you forgive me…"

Komaeda approached her, legs feeling as if they were stuck in that invisible molasses-like stuff that forced you to move sluggish in dreams.

He was so terribly hungry. A little voice at the back of his head told him that he should say something, reassure her, tell her how, for whatever nonsensical reason, he had missed her.

Instead, he took her shaking arm into his hands. She winced, scrunching up her eyes as he parted his lips above her flesh.

A gentle brush of dry lips, a soft scrape of teeth.

Her eyes were open now, wide and wondering.

"A sweet orange," he muttered, before the pain in his own arm set in, making him momentarily forget about his stomach.

There was blood, and teeth marks on his own wrist, a taste of salty tang in his mouth.

When he looked up, the girl was gone.

There was no one to treat the pain.

End