A/N: I had some computer trouble for a few days, but we should be all good now! Enjoy.
Sometimes, Nagisa would show up with bruises.
They would be small welts on his skin, blossoming dark and purple. Never anywhere people could see—on his arms, underneath pants cuffs, around his elbows. Places easily hidden by long sleeves, cargo pants, loose clothing. They never lasted long, either. Light and temporary, about the size of ten yen coins, the kind you got from knocking against things or taking a bit of a hard fall. Just a smattering of bumps.
It wasn't just bruises, though. Nicks, scrapes, scratches... Nagisa had a whole collection running up and down his limbs. New ones would suddenly appear, most often after a long weekend or holiday, when his class had time to hold "extra P.E. lessons", as he put it. One day Nagisa showed up with a small gash on his face, attributing it to a tree branch. And when he reached for a pen, Yuuji would pretend not to notice the firm calluses on the sides of his fingers. Bumps and scrapes, fingers casually wrapped in band-aids. That was what Nagisa was made of.
And yet, the spark within the boy's blue eyes remained wholly undiminished.
Even so, they were still wounds. Yuuji would always bandage them, even though Yuuji's knots and ties were far worse than Nagisa's. Often, his wrappings were so bad that the other boy would just undo them and tie them up again himself. But at least it reminded him to bandage them. At the very least, Yuuji could do that. At the very least, he could show up every once in a while to remind Nagisa that that these injuries on a middleschooler weren't normal.
He never asked about the wounds. Yuuji figured that if Nagisa wanted to tell him, then he would. Besides, perhaps the boy already felt like he had told Yuuji enough. And that was fine.
If Nagisa was living a life that seemed almost superhuman at times, at least Yuuji was there to remind him that he was still mortal.
Nagisa was distant. That was another thing the boy was.
He would go dark at the strangest times, all calls and messages leading to nothing. There would be no moving about, no sense of motion on his end, only a wall of hollow silence. There were two weeks in January where Nagisa didn't talk to Yuuji at all, only gave him an extra-tight hug once he came back, and demonstrated an increased interest in outer space.
But Yuuji didn't mind. That just made their resulting time together even more special.
During these intervals, all communications with Nagisa would cease, like a blackout. It was as if he faded into shadow, became a true assassin—disappearing at the slightest breeze. At these times, Yuuji could only wait for Nagisa to start contacting him again. There was no point in sending out signals—you could only broadcast into the void once, then twice, before the darkness swallowed it up and the cold realization of waiting began to dawn across the pit of your shoulders. The only thing one could hear was silence. The only thing one could do was wait.
But Yuuji understood. From what he had heard, Nagisa and his friends were part of something very important. They probably had more pressing issues to focus on.
Nagisa was dedicated, also. But to what exactly, he never involved Yuuji.
He refused to discuss it, to talk about anything really, beyond what he had told Yuuji before. Any time that Yuuji offered support, or hinted that he wanted to learn more, arms outstretched toward the boy, Nagisa would back away, shaking his head and holding his hands in front of him, palms pointed downward as if pleading. He said that it was okay not to know, that really Yuuji shouldn't know, and that if Yuuji knew anything more, it might be putting him in danger. Just go back to your friends, Nagisa implored. Go back to your school, your life, and your struggles. But don't worry about me, he would always add. I'm fine. I can handle it. Really. Trust me, and everything will be okay.
Yuuji never understood.
But he did trust. He always trusted.
Nagisa was special. That was nothing to be surprised about; so was everyone in some way.
But this was something different. The boy had ears that could listen through the thickest swarms of noise, and fingers that were too light, skittering around with ease. His shoulders, despite their slimness, never bowed. He had instincts that made him jump a foot in the air when a nearby sound rang out like a shot. His hand would be on Yuuji's shoulder by the next time Yuuji blinked, as if the boy had intended to shove him out of the way. He had eyes that were too sharp, picking up on details that Nagisa wouldn't mention until minutes later, or until they were blocks away down the street. It made Yuuji almost feel blind in comparison.
But that didn't matter. It was exciting, Yuuji reflected as he brushed past Nagisa's hand for a moment as they continued down the street. It was fun to be around somebody with so many talents.
Nagisa was also lost in thought often. The boy would slip into silence, glancing off to the side during one of their get-togethers, something having caused him to think. A pensive frown floated on his face. He would stare at nothing when he thought Yuuji wasn't looking, preoccupied with whatever was on his mind.
And if Yuuji discovered that he could snap the boy out of it by offering him an ice-cream bought from a vendor nearby, then so what? It was a relief to see Nagisa glance up, the clouds of worry slowly fading from the boy's face as it relaxed into a grin. That was what friends were for. Right?
Nagisa was an assassin. Whatever that meant.
Yuuji still didn't know quite what to make of that, to be honest. All he really knew was that the boy was doing something for the government, and the rest was a national secret. Nagisa had summarized it for him once, in that workshed, long ago. But neither of them had revisited it since. They didn't need to. It wasn't something that needed to be explained. It wasn't something that needed to be justified. It simply existed between them, silently.
Instead they lived, and talked, meeting up whenever they wanted to. The days passed by like sand through an hourglass, numbers on the calendar ticking down until the pages were forced to change to something new.
And so Yuuji did everything he could.
He tried to give Nagisa what he needed—whatever that was. It wasn't like they ever spelled it out, but in the back of Yuuji's mind something prickled. So Yuuji would talk. Whether it was chatting on the phone about his family, details about attending an exclusive school, complaints about all the little obstacles in life, Yuuji would talk about it all. He would talk about how much he was an idiot—because God, did Yuuji know he could be an idiot—and it didn't even matter, he didn't even care. Because sharing his embarrassing moments with Nagisa suddenly made them seem none too embarrassing after all. They seemed human.
He would try to cheer Nagisa up. Yuuji would send Nagisa funny pictures, small gestures to occasionally brighten the boy's day. Or post stupid things, or tell bad jokes, even bad jokes that Nagisa thought were good ones. Yuuji didn't know how Nagisa could possibly think he was funny, but he wouldn't question it.
He would drag Nagisa back down to earth, just every once in a while if he thought the boy needed it. He would message Nagisa about the latest big news-piece and ask if he had seen it yet. He followed up on whatever bits of shallow school gossip Nagisa told him. He would text Nagisa about the weird stories that his father brought home from the workplace, leading them to wonder together about what it would mean to be an adult.
He would do things, too. He would go places, and find new excuses to hang closer to Kunugigaoka instead of his own hometown. He would do stupid tricks and fall down in stupid snowbanks and walk into stupid poles and take pictures of it if it would just make Nagisa smile. And often, it did. Which made Yuuji smile too.
Yuuji was just one guy. He knew he wasn't much. But he could do something for Nagisa, at least.
And so he would sit, here, as many times as needed, gently curling wrappings over bruised arms.
He set the bandages, crinkling the paper, messing up the tape, doing everything wrong, until Nagisa's hands slowly took over to finish the job. Yuuji pulled the final strips tight, murmuring and asking the one question no one ever seemed to ask: 'are you okay?'
He would take care of the boy, always continuing until Nagisa stopped numbly nodding his head along and would look up to give Yuuji a verbal yes, the boy's eyes so blue and his smile so gentle but hiding an unshakable confidence behind it.
That was the look that made Yuuji believe that everything really was going to be okay.
It wasn't the same stunning flash of a smile that he had seen during that first time, back on the island, but it didn't have to be. The fleeting spark was still the same. Sometimes if Yuuji looked up, catching glances at Nagisa out of the corner of his eye, he would see it. The hint of light. Even bruised, even beaten-up, Nagisa was still smiling. He would still give him these small smiles.
And all Yuuji knew was that he would chase after that smile to the ends of the earth.
Afterword: This chapter was inspired by thoughts on how training for an assassination would have to affect Nagisa's body. Those poor Class E kids sure go through a lot...