A/N: So NDRv3 came out, and do you know who was in the bonus mode? Izuru! I was pretty surprised, I thought having to make new sprites for him meant he wouldn't be included. Yet he was. And he has some absolutely adorable events with Chiaki (none with Hajime though, boo). The bonus mode in general is just adorable. If you want to see them (there's Hinanami and Naegiri too) they're on my tumblr, the safest (aka non-spoilery) tag to search for is "screenshots".

Guest: Yep, Extra Life will cover the events of the Hope Arc, though it'll be impossible for Chiaki to witness what's happening inside the Killing Game. It wasn't broadcast, and she's not part of the FF group that goes in nor on Class 77's rescue boat. Instead you'll be seeing how some things look on the outside and the general aftermath.

As for 'snippets from the anime', I'm not sure what you mean? Despair Arc has happened and Future Arc will be covered at the same time as the Hope Arc. If you mean the DR1 anime, that'll occur too, though I'll be pulling more from the game.

Anyway, enjoy the longest chapter in this fic yet.

Chiaki drifted through the next few days as if dreaming. Only if she was asleep, she could actually wake up. This, this state of emptiness, guilt and sorrow, wasn't ending. The world had taken on a hazy, ash-gray tinge. It didn't seem quite real. Kamukura-kun had given her medicine for her mood, but Chiaki had yet to notice a difference. Sometimes she felt so awful she just wanted to curl up in her bed and lie there, like a useless lump.

Progress on her physical therapy had ground to almost a complete halt. She just couldn't seem to muster up the energy to put actual effort into it. The mental-emotional therapy wasn't much different—she'd talk for maybe a few minutes, then clam up.

Such as now.

"Recount what happened."

"I don't see the point. You already know what happened, probably better than me."

Kamukura-kun's eyes were like stones—flat, hard and unamused. "I know what happened from my perspective. Tell me what happened from yours."

Chiaki shuffled a foot against the tatami, shifting in her seat. She'd thought the imagery of "sit down and tell me how you feel" was just a silly stereotype. And while this wasn't quite the same, it was close enough—her on her bed, Kamukura sitting in his chair, knee up.

This wasn't the first time they reached this kind of stalemate. At the therapy sessions Kamukura-kun would sit her down and ask her to tell him everything that had happened. But she could never bring herself to. Every time she tried it was as if she was transported back, and she'd shake and sweat, and it was just…so awful. She could talk about a few events, but not the entire thing. Then he'd push her to say how it made her felt. And she would always lie and say she was fine.

But in truth her dreams had morphed into nightmares. She would run through that endless maze, and each wrong turn would bring her before a red-eyed classmate. Sometimes Hinata-kun was there too, staring at her accusingly, blood dripping from a crown of cuts on his head. She'd turn and try to run, but they'd follow her, steadily increasing into a mob. The words they flung physically manifested as blades and darts, nicking and stabbing her until she woke up. "You were supposed to protect us." "You should have done better." "We would have been better off without you." "I needed help and you didn't notice."

Sometimes she wanted to shout at Kamukura-kun to stop trying to help her. She wasn't worth helping, and it was irritating that he wouldn't just leave her alone. Why did he even care about her? She couldn't do anything right. She'd just disappoint him in the end.

And then, sometimes she wanted to shout at him for not trying hard enough. Because she felt so alone, and Kamukura-kun—all he did was watch. When they weren't in therapy, he let her be. He didn't try to intrude on her space, and rather than appreciating it, it annoyed her. He only ever asked about her health in a clinical manner, as if she were some interesting specimen in a lab that was misbehaving. Maybe that was all she was to him. Maybe she was just deluding herself when she thought he actually cared, at least in the way a normal person did.

Then she'd swing around to being guilty again. Hadn't he done enough for her? What did it matter whether he actually cared or not? She shouldn't ask any more of him. It wasn't his fault she was such an emotional, needy mess. It was all hers.

It was a ceaseless cycle, a whirling maelstrom of misery-anger-guilt-misery, and at its core was the memories she'd regained. The central belief that she didn't deserve to live.

But…

I don't want to die.

She didn't deserve to live, but she was too scared to die. And she knew from experience that Kamukura-kun wouldn't let the therapy session end until she'd said something. So she gingerly spoke, in a faltering tone with lots of pauses, trying to abbreviate as much as possible.

"Komaeda-kun and I were looking for Tsumiki-san. We went down a secret tunnel and found Mitarai-kun…" Who she now remembered was the real Mitarai; the one she'd known and befriended had been the Ultimate Imposter. "He kept shaking and repeating 'it's not my fault', then E-Enoshima showed up." Just saying the name brought back the saunter in that girl's steps, the cold flash of her blue eyes, her bruising grip on Chiaki's chin. Unconsciously, she started to tremble.

"Komaeda-kun pulled out a gun… you took it and shot him, and we stared at each other for a bit. I recognized you, you asked who I was, then Enoshima…" Chiaki realized there was pressure building behind her eyes and in her chest. She forced it back and swallowed, feeling nauseous. "I…I can't, not anymore, Kamukura-kun…"

He was silent for a moment. "Very well," he finally acquiesced, and Chiaki could have sobbed in relief. Something similar to apprehension shadowed his face for half a second. "Do you wish to play video games today?"

She shook her head. "No…not now. I'll just take a nap. Maybe later." A lie. They both knew it. But he didn't call her on it, just stared long and hard. Then he slightly canted his head up and rose from his chair.

Chiaki always waited until he'd left her room to cry. It was why she'd insisted on holding the therapies there in the first place—she knew she wouldn't be able to get away fast enough. Here, she could just bury her face in her pillow and let the tears out as soon as the door closed. Plus her bed was conveniently right there, so she could go back to sleep once she was done.

That was all she wanted to do, now. It was too tiring to stay awake, and even the nightmares were better than the nasty, awful feelings constantly hanging over her.

Izuru had been in a state of unrest lately.

It had been exactly one week since he'd begun emotional and mental therapy for her, and Nanami was barely eating. She was not speaking. She slept too much. She rarely left her room, and she often gazed sightlessly at the walls. Her demeanor shifted between irritability, sorrow, and listlessness, a sign of hormonal imbalance.

He'd analyzed all her behavioral patterns and concluded that Nanami was plagued by a combination of post-traumatic stress disorder, survivor's guilt, and depression. She'd been putting on a show of being fine in a feeble attempt to get him to stop the therapy and leave her alone, but it was easy to see through for him. Her conduct was not unusual, many people with such traumas felt like they were 'burdening' others, but irksome. Did she not realize how damaging it was to her own health, to neglect herself this way?

The most alarming sign was that she didn't touch her video games anymore. He had never seen a day go by where she didn't play them since he first made them available to her. Yet every time he offered—encourage patients with depression to partake in their hobbies—she refused. And even more troubling…

He looked quietly at the Game Girl Advance in his hands. When he'd returned to Nanami's room with her meal the day she regained her memories, he'd immediately spotted it in pieces on the floor. It had been an intriguing but worrisome sight. He'd pretended he hadn't noticed and swiped it while she was poking at her food. Fixing it wasn't a problem, but the fact she had broken it at all…

It was…concerning to him. He wasn't sure whether to welcome this sudden change or not.

He slid the console back into his pocket.

Loathe as he was to admit it, he could understand Enoshima a little better now. He could understand her drive to push Matsuda into despair before killing him. After all, despair was showing a new side of Nanami, one he hadn't seen before, one as captivating as her other sides. He would never have predicted she'd break one of her beloved consoles, after all, and yet in her despair she had. It was fascinating, and he almost wanted to see more.

A vague part of him recognized and acknowledged that this would repulse an ordinary person, but Kamukura Izuru was beyond the ordinary. He was a superhuman with a superhuman way of looking at things. He was not blind to the parallels between himself and Enoshima, either; their genius intellect, their mutual boredom, their desire to alleviate it by whatever means necessary...

But the stark difference between him and the Ultimate Despair was, while he did find Nanami's misery interesting, he did not like it. He did not like the ugly dullness in her pink irises, the dark shadows under her eyes from stress, the limpness of her hair. It physically hurt him, it was hurting her, and he did not like it.

That alone was interesting, that he could dislike something that held his attention. But he truly did not value despair enough to leave Nanami floundering in it. Thus, his attempts to apply cognitive therapy.

Mental therapy sessions began after lunch. Today, he began the session like he always did. "Tell me what happened."

Izuru could tell Nanami was feeling better than usual today. Her posture was slightly relaxed, and she'd actually eaten most of her sandwich. Using that, he predicted that Nanami would speak more than usual before shutting down. He was right, of course; she managed to get to where she was rallying her classmates before having to stop.

"…and then Komaeda-kun said—" She cut herself off, looking away sharply. "…I don't want to keep talking."

For the past seven days, Izuru had accepted that. But today, he could sense a breakthrough was imminent, and so he pushed. "You must. Recounting it in your own words will gradually lessen the pain it has on you. Additionally, knowing what was around you at the time will be helpful in discovering any triggers you may have. It is vital for you to understand—"

Anger flared fast and sudden on her face. "I don't need to understand it! It was awful! End of story!"

"It is very illogical to ignore facts, especially ones pertaining to your well-being. It serves no purpose and only makes recovery harder."

She turned her head away.

"Nanami, I cannot help you if you do not let me."

"I don't want help," she grumbled.

"Why do you say that?"

Her eyes were starting to water. "I just don't, okay? Can you leave me alone?!"

"No. Tell me why."

"Because I let my friends down! I failed to protect them! So I don't deserve to be here or to ask for help!" she shrieked, tears spilling over her cheeks as she leapt to her feet.

It was like a dam had broken. Her face completely crumpled, and the girl curled into herself, burying her face in her hands. And for the first time in a very long while, Izuru found himself caught off-guard. Not because he hadn't predicted the possibility of her breaking down in tears, but because he had failed to calculate hisreaction to it. The sight of her tears dropped a heavy weight onto his chest, not unlike what he'd experienced when he first saw her bleeding out, and it threw off all calculations his mind was attempting to make. Quite simply, he had a desire to do something and no idea what it should be.

He searched his memories for anything that might offer guidance in this situation. There was nothing—he had only once shed tears, alone and away from company, and he had quickly collected himself. He had never needed comfort, or been obliged to offer it. But then, recollection: Enoshima, sniffling and rubbing her eyes in exaggerated weeping. "Y'know, this is the part where you're supposed to hold me close as I cry into your chest about my lost love."

A quick cross-reference with Ultimate Therapist supported the notion that this was a prudent course of action. But still, his first impulse was to reject the idea. He did not see the logical purpose of it. What would hugging her accomplish, other than getting him dirty? There was no rational reason for…

His inner musings trailed off when he looked at Nanami, hunched over with her arms wrapped around herself, tears and snot running down her face. That pain stabbed his heart again. For only the second time in his life, a great compulsion to act overcame him; he stood from his chair and approached her.

Slowly, his hand extended. It came to rest at the back of Nanami's head, so light she didn't seem to feel it. For just a moment, an uncharacteristic uncertainty crippled Izuru; then he shook it off and nudged her forward into his chest.

She started and stopped crying, a surprised little noise escaping her throat. Her shock was only to be expected: it was the first time he had ever initiated physical contact for non-assistance purposes. For a moment she was still, and he began to suspect he'd miscalculated. But then her trembling arms came up around his back, clutching him tight. Nanami buried her face in his shirt and resumed sobbing, the sound slightly muffled by fabric.

Keeping his hand on her head, Izuru noted with some interest that his muscles were unusually tense as he stood there, her tears dampening his shirt. It was an emotion akin to awkwardness, but not as discomforting. Rather than return her embrace, his other arm hung stiffly at his side, but Nanami didn't seem to care. Somehow this seemed to have helped her, but he couldn't comprehend how—

Actually, on further reflection, this was like when they'd gone to the store and she'd held his hand after the attack. He hadn't rationalized the purpose for it at the time, but it had felt pleasant, so he'd allowed it. Judging from her reactions then and now, though, the contact seemed to be reassuring to her. Why, he still couldn't explain. But the results were there, so he mentally compartmentalized physical contact as comfort for Nanami. Then he waited for her to calm down.

By his estimate, it took her a good fifteen minutes to stop crying. At some point her legs gave out, and he was forced down to the floor with her. Now they sat against the wall; Nanami still hadn't let him go, and so she was twisted rather awkwardly, half on his lap and half curled up into his side. The skin around her eyes was puffy and red, and faint tearstains were visible on her cheeks.

"You deserve to be alive," Izuru finally said. "Your judgement is clouded by guilt and despair currently; ergo the conclusion you have reached is false. It will fade in time."

She shuffled quietly, but did not look convinced. So he added, "If that is not enough to convince you, then think of your desire to see your friends again. You cannot do that if you perish."

Although Nanami still didn't answer, her face showed she was mulling his words over. Judging now was an apt time, he fished the Game Girl Advance out of his pocket and handed it to her. The pink-haired girl blinked, taking it with shaking hands. Her eyes grew wet, and Izuru automatically began to calculate the odds of her crying again. She finally spoke, voice raw with emotion. "You…fixed it."

He didn't see why that seemed to have such an impact on her. "It is of some import to you."

She stared at it for a long moment, lower lip trembling. Wiping her eyes with one hand, Nanami quietly set the device down on the floor beside her, then settled back into his body. Izuru memorized the way his heart leapt at that to analyze at a later date. "Thank you."

Speaking as gently as he could, he prodded, "Why do you feel you failed your classmates?"

She sighed. "Because…before she left, I promised Yukizome-sensei I'd protect them. It was my duty as class rep. And I couldn't do that. Worse, I led them into danger. So…it's definitely all my fault."

Izuru agreed with that assessment. "You do have blame. You should have perceived that fighting Enoshima was an unwise course of action, or at the very least left some classsmates behind to get assistance. Not doing so was indeed a failure on your part."

"Wow, your Empathy skill could really use some work."

"But the fault does not lie solely with you," he continued. "Had Enoshima not initiated the actions she did, you would never have been in that situation in the first place. So why are you giving yourself the blame that belongs to her?"

Nanami was silent. When she spoke her voice was very small. "It's not that easy, okay? I'm not like you. I can't just rationalize away my emotions."

It was rather ironic she'd said that, when Izuru was trying and failing to do just that right then. With her warm body pressed against his and her breath tickling the junction of his neck and shoulder, he was finding himself getting rather illogically distracted. "You can live with them without letting them conquer you. That is what the therapy is for."

More silence. But finally, Nanami took a deep breath and nodded into his shoulder. "I'll try."

It wasn't as easy as that, of course. There were more medications, more therapy sessions, more spilling of her heart onto him, more leaning on his quiet presence. A month of therapy later and she still had nightmares, still had bad days where she wanted to lie in bed. But she was improving, at her own pace.

They established goals, just like with the physical therapy. Get her to talk about what had happened, repeatedly. Get her to talk about how she felt. Slowly lessen the amount of guilt and sadness she felt. Find possible triggers so she could avoid them.

It was difficult, and she broke down crying more than once. But it was helpful.

Kamukura-kun surprised her by eventually suggesting a pet, saying studies showed the responsibility that came with them was helpful for people with depression. After some time thinking it over, she'd tentatively agreed. He'd disappeared for the rest of the day, only to return with a small brown rabbit in a cage. He'd informed her he would perform necessary veterinarian checks, but other than that he wouldn't interact with it at all. It was solely her responsibility, so it would die without her.

For some reason, that actually encouraged Chiaki more. Thinking about how the rabbit, whom she'd named Yumigami, after a character in one of her video games, would go hungry if Chiaki didn't care for her got her out of bed on bad mornings. I can do this small thing, she'd think, as she gently fed her bits of lettuce. I'm not worthless. Here's something that loves me unconditionally. I just need to focus on doing what I can.

The afternoon was peaceful; her cane rested within arm's reach as she relaxed on the couch. Kamukura-kun was on her other side, fingers tapping away at his laptop. Impulsively she patted his hand, the contact sending a tingly feeling through her, and he paused in a deliberate way.

There'd been a shift of some sort that day when he'd gently embraced her. Chiaki wasn't quite sure what it was, exactly. But—she knew she'd liked being held by him. He'd been warm, like a stone that had bathed in sunlight, and he'd been safe, and it had been nice. Really nice. And—she'd realized she was starting to get starved for human contact, and now that she'd had a taste, she had to have more. So she touched him more often. Just occasionally took his hand or hugged him when he went out or came back, harmless little things like that. Whenever she did he would narrow those vivid red eyes and examine her closely, but he didn't seem to dislike it.

She hoped he didn't dislike it. He'd tell her if he did, right?

She flushed and looked down at Yumigami, who was sitting contentedly in her lap as Chiaki stroked her with her other hand. Petting her was very soothing. She was a quiet animal, and the way she bumped her head against Chiaki's hand was adorable, usually eliciting a giggle from her. It helped keep the foul, negative thoughts away.

Chiaki smiled and closed her eyes.

It's not easy. I'm struggling. But I'm still here. I'm not alone. I'm still alive, and I deserve to be alive.

And if I'm alive, then someday maybe I can try to make things right.

A/N: *pulls hair* I spent so long going over this chapter it's kind of lost all meaning to me.

PTSD is a subject I wanted to handle respectfully, so I did research, hence the slightly-longer than normal wait for the chapter. One of the things I looked up is how real therapists treat people with it, and the technique Izuru uses actually is one of them. Though don't think Chiaki's "over it"—its effect will still hang over her for quite a while. She's just doing better now.

One thing that's interesting, to me, is seeing characters handle being the 'switched' role in a relationship. For example, Chiaki is pretty much always the 'comforter' in Hinanami/Kamunami fanfics, which is a given since that's what she does in the game/show. So having her have a breakdown and need to be the one comforted, just once, is interesting to write, especially when the other is someone like Izuru, who is not at all prepared for providing emotional support. His section definitely took me the most time to write.

Internet cookies to anyone who can guess which game Yumigami's name comes from without Google!