The Mortal City

by MidnightRun42

(Post-SD2) Waking up is never the hardest part.

10. Neither Here, Nor There

"Reality is frequently inaccurate."
― Douglas Adams, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe

DAY THREE
-continued-

The door hit the wall with a bang that echoed, loud and sudden, through the empty room.

All the windows were open, rain pushed in by the storm outside soaking the disused equipment, boxes and bed. The light airy curtains billowed wildly, whipped about by the wind, lashing against the dividers and soggy boxes piled haphazardly around the room. Rain soaked the sheets of the bed she'd once shared with that beautiful, treacherous boy. The blankets and pillows had all been shoved out of the way into a messy, haphazard pile at the foot of the bed as if to make room for someone to kneel in front of the window behind the bed.

One of the pillows had been gutted, the feathers and fluff from inside scattered and stuck to the floor and walls.

Water was splattered across the floor, smearing the bloody footprints there, soggy bits of white paper and fluff were strewn haphazardly through the mess. A bright flash of light lit the room as thunder crashed, loud and close, startling her back against the wall, her heart beating a frantic rhythm in her throat.

For all the traces of himself he'd left behind, there was no sign of Komaeda at all.

She was alone.

Again.

He had been there. She knewhe had been there, trapped like a rat in this room and yet now… gone.

Hiding, maybe?

She dropped to her knees to look beneath the bed.

Nothing but shadows, scattered papers and puddled water.

Her gaze darted frantically around the small room as she clamored awkwardly to her feet, looking for some place, any place, where he might be hiding.

But there was nothing to hide in or behind. The room wasn't truly empty, of course, as there were plenty of storage boxes and equipment stacked about, but there was none so big that he could easily hide in or behind them. Most of the piles had already been tipped over, spilled haphazardly across the floor, as if he'd been searching for something.

She wondered vaguely what he'd been looking for and whether he'd found it.

Where had he gone?

He was supposed to be here. How was she supposed to help him if she couldn't catch him?

How?

How?

Frustration became a howl on her tongue as she hobbled over to the largest stack of boxes still standing and pushed them over to send the paper within spilling and fluttering across the damp floor with a satisfying crash.

Where was he?

Where?

Where?

Half-hidden behind the tumbled pile of boxes she saw a grate lying on the floor beside the dark narrow hole where it had been wrenched from the wall. It was a small opening, not nearly big enough to fit a body, even one as slim as Komaeda's, but it wasn't the hole that concerned her. It was the grate that had really caught her attention.

The metal gleamed dully in the dim emergency lighting where it lay in a shallow pool of blood, wet and dark against the white tile, the stain of it soaking into the papers that she'd scattered across it. Careless droplets had been dribbled across the floor, splattered all the way across the room to the rumpled, sheets and blankets on the bed, across the stacks of boxes and the walls behind. The more she looked at it, the more she realized that the room actually looked like a deeply unhygienic, three-dimensional Pollack painting.

There was just… so much blood and it was everywhere as if he cut himself and then spun in circles to see how much of a mess he could make.

It was… such a filthy thing to do.

Why would he do that?

Why?

Had he killed himself? Used that sharp-edged grate to slit his pale throat? Was he even now waking up somewhere else? Where would he wake up? Where had he been when he wasn't fooling around with Hinata at the resort, no doubt mocking her despair, her desperation, her loneliness? Where had he been before she'd found him wandering the halls of the hospital talking to himself? Would he go there again? Would he be able to find his way back to her? He was so… damaged, so clearly in need of help and care, another victim shattered by Hinata Hajime's careless hands and casual cruelty?

"I don't understand," she murmured, smearing the toe of her broken-heeled boot through the puddle. "Why would he do this?"

Hadn't he let her in? Hadn't he wanted her help?

Oh, no, that was right... she'd had a key, hadn't she?

Still.

He should want her help. She was only trying to help after all.

"You've always been stubborn," she murmured, answering her own question as she yanked at her hair irritably.

He must still be clinging to himlike a frizzy-haired barnacle, attaching himself to whatever fragile hope Hinata represented. It was pathetic, wasn't it?

"I can't help you, Mr. Komaeda. I can't help you if you won't let me in."

And that was all she wanted, really, just a chance to help him. To help him get better, to restore him to the person he truly was meant to be, to save him from this place, from this cheap façade. To save him, to save them, from being the wretched, sad people they'd been before she'd come into their lives and shown them the glory of letting go, the ecstasy of submitting to despair.

She had a… a… responsibility to save him from Hinata and all his terrible lies.

She'd just have to find him. That was all there was to it. To figure out what had happened and track him down. Maybe… maybe this was just… just game. Hide and go seek again, maybe. Komaeda had liked games, hadn't he? Or had that been her beloved? Or maybe she'd been the one who had liked them?

Seemed a silly thing to forget.

She laughed, a loud, abrupt sound, quickly muffled against the back of her hand. She wasn't even sure why it was funny or what was funny… what had she been thinking about? Something… something…

"Does it matter?" Her beloved inquired, voice soft.

"No, not really," she answered, gaze vague, fixed loosely on the blood as she dipped the toe of her boot in the largest puddle, smeared it across the tile.

Nothing mattered really, except finding him. They'd all be her in the end, so what did anything else matter beyond that, she only had to do what she was told and everything would be as it should be, as it was meant to be.

She'd never have to be alone again.

Blood on the tile, on the edge of grate, puddled and now smeared across the floor. Had he really been that desperate?

Why?

Why couldn't he understand? He should have understood better than anyone, shouldn't he?

After all, it had been his idea, hadn't it?

Hadn't it?

If not his… whose?

"Fickle," her beloved answered, ragged nails tip-taping against her cheek, fingers tugging at her hair. "You can't rely on Komaeda. He's not like you. No one is as devoted to me as you are."

Her face flushed with pleasure at those words, "Oh, I… yes, thank you, I… thank you."

Her shoulders lift in a shrug, her voice a soft, familiar comfort that echoed within her, around her. "Not enough blood, is there? So, he's not dead. Probably thought he could fool you with this cheap show. Come out, come out, wherever you are."

"Yes, yes, you're right," she murmured, smiling dreamily as she looked over the room again with new eyes. The trail of blood, the tiny hole in the wall where the grate had been, the open window, the rain splattered across the floor. "Of course, you're always right, beloved. I just have to find him."

How hadn't she seen that before? Silly. It seemed so obvious now. It was the only real option, wasn't it? Everything else was just… a red herring.

Sly, sneaky Komaeda Nagito.

He thought he could trick her.

How mean.

How very like him.

And how fortunate that she had her beloved to help her when she couldn't see the truth right before her eyes. It was so easy to forget what wasimportant, to lose her way when she was alone, but that was then.

That was then and now… now she would never have to be alone again.

DAY TWO
-continued-

It had been such a horrible trick, she decided, flipping the switch on the rollercoaster and sliding into one of the empty cars as it rolled past.

She didn't bother with the safety restraint.

What was the point, after all?

It wasn't as if she could die here. Not really. So what was the point in pretending fatal injury meant anything beyond a flash of momentary pain? Hardly anything worth dwelling on and at least it meant she felt something even if it was just a few moments of blissful oblivion before cold reality settled around her once more.

She'd never really thought about what might come after, what might be there to greet you when you closed your tired eyes for the last time. Maybe she should have, even before she'd begun sharing and spreading the ecstasy of despair with her beloved, she had been intimately acquainted with death. Her patients did not die often, but they did die. Sometimes she'd stayed at their bedside as they passed, held their hands. Some seemed relieved, others scared; some bargained and begged, others prayed that whichever god or gods they believed in would accept their soul and see them home. In her experience, there was never any consistency in death, no constant, beyond the cessation of function.

Now that she had time, oodles and oodles of time, and the subject was one in which she was now very interested, she found herself wondering about it often.

It wasn't as if she hadn't tried.

Not the first few times, of course. Those had been... accidents for all that she sometimes imagined she heard the clatter of wooden sandals or felt the touch of a small hand before she fell. She hadn't realized she was still capable of feeling guilt, hadn't thought even if she was that she'd feel it for her, but... she'd meant her end so many times with Saionji's voice an echo in her head.

Not that it mattered.

Not that it changed anything.

Not that it made her feel any less alone.

She threw her hands in the air, bracing her legs against the sides of the cart as the coaster fell over the crest of the first hill.

The cart sped down, down, down, faster and faster, the clack of the wheels across the track loud, so loud in the otherwise unnaturally quiet air. Her heart was in her throat, joy screaming through her veins as the coaster banked into a turn that threw her giggling from one side of the cart to the other. Another hard turn and then up and over one small hill into an even bigger one and up, up, up....

And then down!

Her grip slipped and she spun up, into the air, her skirt fluttering and flapping around her. For just the briefest of moments she was high and free and it was perfect, glorious.

Then the raised restraints of the next cart slammed against the small of her back, sending bright red pain spiking through her as she spun, hurtled, round and round, as new pain slammed into her again and again, crack of breaking bones and the taste of blood in her mouth as teeth were knocked down the back of her throat to choke her and pain blackened her gaze and there was a great snap that seemed like the only sound in the entire world and then there was… nothing.

Nothing and then the familiar whirl, click, pop of the projector spinning to life and she doesn't have to open her eyes to know that she was there again. The stench of burnt oil and stale popcorn as light flashed red across her shuttered lids. Nothing had changed.

Nothing ever changed.

She was still as utterly alone as she'd ever been.

She opened reluctant eyelids to watch listlessly as Monokuma strolled lazily across the screen once again.

She wasn't certain how long she sat there just staring at the screen, watching that awful movie play through again and again and again.

It didn't matter.

Time meant very little when there was no end in sight.

The screen blurred in and out of focus and the tears were warm against her cheeks when she finally closed her eyes.

"Why won't you just forgive me?" She asked of everyone and no one, but her beloved most of all.

There was no answer.

There was no one left to answer her, after all. Or maybe there had never been anyone to begin with me.

Maybe it had only ever been in her head.

Her back ached a bit when she finally straightened and stretched, but otherwise she felt much the same as she ever did. Exactly as she had upon waking that first day, bereft and alone, sore from the injuries she'd received during her execution. Everything was just the same. Nothing changed. No matter what she did, nothing ever changed.

No harm done.

"Just another day in paradise," she murmured, giggling a little at her own joke, as she held a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.

She'd never thought of herself as a particularly inventive person. She was good at following orders, adhering to procedure, and she had an excellent memory for minute details. She could remember room numbers and dosages, recall entire charts after reading them once, she had all kinds of useful little skills that had been what had made her the Ultimate Nurse. The act of creation, however, was one thing that had never come naturally to her. She failed every art and music and writing course, anything that required a creative beat, not because she was a terrible artist per say, but instead because when pressed to come up with something new she always, inevitably, fell back on what she knew and then she would second guess even that, too nervous about failing in the end to do anything at all.

It was actually pretty funny how many different ways a person could come up with to kill themselves, especially when they had all the time in the world to do so and a pressing motivation to keep at it. To find something that would stick. She'd been there for…

How long again?

She wasn't certain. It was difficult to keep track. Sometimes the nights seemed so long and sometimes they were crushingly short and sometimes the day wore on forever.

It seemed like she'd tried everything to put an end to it. She'd jumped off the cliffs, drowned herself beneath the warm salt water. She'd sliced her wrists, her jugular, pressed a knife into her gut which, in retrospect, had been foolish as it had taken hours and hours to bleed out and die from that wound.

She had hung herself on two different occasions. She had even gone as far as electrocution though that had been mostly a rather spectacular failure. She'd tried it three times and only actually managed to make one of those attempts fatal. The other two times she'd just woken up where she'd fallen reeking of urine. She'd been damp, cold, embarrassed and in a tremendous amount of pain. She'd hobbled out to the swimming pool and drowned herself after each of those failures just to make the pain stop.

How many days had it been? How many nights? It seemed like hundreds. Hundreds upon hundreds of spent wandering through deserted streets and empty buildings. Trying to kill herself whenever it got to be too much, too lonely, too quiet.

Once she'd spent an entire week's worth of days sitting in her own filth in the supermarket eating her way through a freezer full of ice cream. It should have made her sick… and it did. Sick and miserable, until she stumbled back out at the end of the week and jumped off the bridge that she'd traveled over to reach the island.

She'd felt better after that.

Better…. and worse too, because she'd woken up in the theater and just screamed and screamed until she had no voice left to scream with, until the only sounds she could make were rough, brittle, cracking moans. Her mouth had been dry and gummy as she'd clawed open her throat with her dirty, ragged fingernails and bled out all over the floor of the theater, gasping and twitching as the projector whirled and spun, a fitting accompaniment for her final moments.

She'd woken minutes or hours or days later to find a pool of tacky blood beneath her feet even though her clothes and body were the same as they'd ever been.

She'd cried then… for a long time, but eventually her tears had run dry, as she'd realized the simple truth that things would never change.

That every day would be just like the day before and the day after stretching out into eternity and nothing she did would change that.

Her beloved had forsaken her.

There was nothing left.

Not even tears.

She haunted the island like a ghost, passing through places she'd explored with everyone and places that were strange and unfamiliar to her, the islands she'd never had a chance to see… before. The amusement park, the factories and the military complex… so many strange new places just as empty and forlorn as the places she'd already known which was probably why she found herself lingering in those places she knew best. They became like old friends, those places, and if she spoke to them as such there was never anyone around to criticize or complain.

The hospital was where she lingered most frequently, wandering those lonely halls, self-medicating and lying in the messy unmade beds in the patient rooms. They stank of old sweat, but it was still better than the burnt butter reek of the theater.

Sometimes she went to the hotel, not the cheap little place where the others had stayed during the quarantine, but the big resort they'd all lived in together during those first days. She'd revisited her own room unsure whether she was disappointed or relieved to find nothing had changed since the last night she'd spent there.

More than once she'd lingered outside the door of Hinata's room, her fingers resting against the wood. She knew the lock would still be broken, that all it would take would be one simple push and she'd be able to slide inside, but she'd never quite been able to muster the courage to do so.

She hadn't been able to go into any of their cabins, except her own.

And even that… it was what she imagined it might be like to go back to a childhood home years after you'd moved out and moved on and others had come to take your place. To see a place so familiar and realize the people that lived there were strangers. That no matter how familiar the frame of a door or how well you knew the creaks of the stairs, it didn't belong to you any longer.

Her cabin at the resort was like that now. She recognized all her meager belongings, but, at the same time, they looked strange, off. The hotel itself was the same, uneaten food, untouched by time, lay spread across all the tables, but it only made her feel ill to see it.

She had known they wouldn't be there, couldn't be there, but she still couldn't quite shake the notion that they were. That they were just hiding from her. That maybe, if she apologized sincerely enough, repented hard enough, that they would come out and tell her it had all been a joke.

Just a terrible, cruel prank they'd been playing on her. That she could come back, that she had been forgiven. That it wasn't her fault, that she wasn't to blame. That she'd done what she'd done for love and that could never be wrong.

Like one day they might come for her and tell her all was forgiven and that it wasn't her fault at all and it had just been a terrible joke, a cruel prank, and she could come back.

She would forgive them for doubting her, for not understanding and she wouldn't be alone anymore.

Maybe they would punish her or she… she might punish them.

So she left the doors of their cabins closed and she never went back to the main buildings again after that first day. She let that dangerous little morsel of hope flicker in the back of her mind as she went about her days.

But nothing ever changed.

No one ever came.

Another day passed.

And she was still there.

Still alone.

And time marched ever onward.

+++
DAY THREE
-continued-

Thunder crashed, louder and more persistent, than it had seemed before. The sound summoned her from her thoughts and she looked blankly around the room, hoping something would jump out at her. That maybe Komaeda himself would jump out at her and yell 'surprise' and scare her. Save her the trouble of having to find him.

She waited.

No such luck.

The room remained silent and motionless but for the storm and the curtains wet and whipping about whenever a gust of irate wind blew in to disturb them, to spray water across the floor, the bed, the haphazard piles of boxes and equipment.

She was alone.

Well, not alone, not really.

She would never be alone again because her beloved would always, always be there, just out of sight, supporting her. Ready to forgive her for all her mistakes, to provide her with what she wanted, what she needed, to help her see the truth.

But he'd understand that soon enough. She'd help him too. Of course, she would, of course.

The smile that trembled on her lips felt strange and brittle and she giggled as she shuffled away from the grate to confront the messy bed and the open window behind it. She hummed softly, tunelessly as she crawled up onto the mattress to kneel on the damp sheet. Blankets and spilled boxes covered the foot of the bed, but the area in front of the window was clear.

Suspiciously so.

Yes, it was obvious, wasn't it?

He hadn't even really tried to hide it, not really.

She rested her hands against the soft, gummy wood of the sill. The warm surging rain fell heavy against her as she peered out into the night, drenching her dress, her apron, blew up across her skin. The downpour was so very heavy and the night so dark that it was difficult to see much beyond the thin ledge that ran along the building just beneath the window. The wind gusted in sudden and unpredictable ways, whipping her hair this way and that as she leaned as far out as she dared to peer down at the ground below. The falling rain soaked the shoulders and back of her dress, made her hair heavy until it hung limp around her face, plastered against her back no longer stirred by the wind. She could see the patchy grass and dark mud that covered the ground below, just barely, but there was no sign of her lost patient.

She thought of calling out to him, but she doubted he'd be able to hear her over the pounding rain. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the world outside the window and confirming that there was no sign of her lost patient. She slipped back inside, disappointed, shutting the window with a loud thump dulling the sound as thunder rumbled and crashed again.

It was frustrating.

He could have edged out along the ledge or leapt from the window and broken his neck or even dropped to the ground below without a scratch, but there was no way to know, to be certain.

Thunder rumbled, fading to a growl as lightning split the air again, forking across the horizon, illuminating the rough waves of the ocean beyond the island. The sheets were soaked and so was she and, for all that, she was no closer to knowing how to proceed. Irritated, she grabbed the window and slammed it shut, deadening the sound of the storm… though not by much.

Had he been that desperate to leave?

Had he done it to get to him?

To be with him?

She'd heard him calling his name. Calling it again and again, desperate, panicked.

Didn't he know?

Couldn't he understand that it had all been- that Hinata Hajime especially had been- nothing more than a cruel trick?

Just a cruel trick meant to make them believe they could start over, untainted by despair. That everything could be different, that they could be forgiven. As if that were something they even wanted, something they needed. It had all been just a dirty trick, a revolting deception, just another lie and all it did was make the despair all the sweeter when it returned, when she'd seen the man behind the curtain, when she'd realized that Hinata… sweet, forgiving, generous, friendly Hinata was a lie too.

The worst lie of all, because it had been bad enough to make her think she was that girl again. So alone in the world and out of her depth and eager to be liked, to be loved and wanted and appreciated, but then… then they'd even given her someone- given them all someone- to… to approve of them, to forgive them, to love them.

They'd gifted them with their own private Pandora. Someone to crack open their wicked hearts and loose all their insecurities and horrors upon the world within the safety of that intimate space, teach them not to fear what they were, to accept it instead, to trap only hope inside. The hope for a better tomorrow, for friends and a life beyond their terrible circumstances, the ragged, empty lives that had let despair bring them to their knees.

Had let them believe they could be forgiven.

That liar.

He hadn't been one of them.

Had never been anything close to real.

He'd been an interloper, an intruder, a nasty fly in the ointment, ruining everything. Without him her beloved's plans would have gone off without a hitch. They would have simply become what they had always been, soft dough easily formed to fit the molds she had crafted for them, all the useless bits stripped away. A more perfect despair, exquisite vessels shaped and fired and ready to receive her, to let her fill them up.

Everything would have been as it was supposed to be.

Everything would have been perfect without Hinata Hajime there to spoil it all. To steal away everyone who loved her and leave her all alone. To turn them all against her, make them all blame her.

DAY THREE
-midnight-

She couldn't sleep.

Not really and less and less as time passed. As weeks turned to months, she marked the cycle of the sun across the wall of the on-call room. There was no need to eat, no need to drink, no need to even move if she didn't feel like it.

And she rarely felt like it.

She couldn't die from any of those things, not really, couldn't waste away to nothing since this was nothing but a simulation and she was just so much data… probably. Not that it mattered really. Her brain still thought she needed food and water, needed to process and dispose of waste, needed to move regularly so her muscles didn't cramp or atrophy.

Not that it really mattered. If she got to be too uncomfortable she just had to kill herself and she could start the whole cycle again with a relatively clean slate.

So, really, there was no point to bothering with it… or with anything, really.

Nothing changed and the days wore on, one blending seamlessly into the next and the next and the next. Time passed whether she wished it to or no and so she spent much of it losing herself in thoughts of what had been and what could have been.

Most often she tried to dwell upon her beloved, but the memories were distant, difficult to conjure. She was left with frustratingly dim pictures of what had been. Memories of her voice, her face, all the things they'd done and spoken of together, but they were… jumbled, indistinct like a memory of another life. The emotions were clear. The despair she'd given her that had kept her alive, the love she felt for her, the ache of missing her, but everything else before the island lingered on as shards and fragments, sharp enough to hurt when she brushed up against them, but impossible to see clearly.

The on-call room was her favorite place to linger, the bed she'd once shared with Hinata Hajime her favorite place to lay as she watched the shift of shadows across walls and floor. An endless parade of darkness to darkness where the light only served to provide variety.

She thought about him a lot.

Maybe more than she thought about her beloved.

How cruel he'd been.

How stupid she'd been.

How completely he had fooled her.

Most of all, she thought about how well she could still remember what it had felt like to lay beside him. How warm he'd been, how much she'd enjoyed watching the rise and fall of his chest, feeling it beneath her palm. How much during that final night she'd wanted to hold her hand over his nose and mouth, to see him, feel him, twitch and squirm beneath her as he died.

But that had been then.

That had been as the sun colored the horizon to a bruise like shade, the mild cool of late night giving way to the sweltering heat of morning. She'd just finished raising Ibuki's lifeless body into the rafters. It had taken so much longer than she'd planned. Saionji had almost ruined all her plans with her unexpected arrival. In the end, she'd barely had time to stop off at the hospital, to check over her remaining patients one last time and make sure they were still recovering nicely before racing across the island to slip into his room.

He'd looked so innocent lying there, one arm curled around his stomach, the fingers of the other pressed into the sheet as if he were trying to claw himself free of the too soft mattress.

She'd climbed on top of him, marveling at how heavy a sleeper he was, how much simpler it might have been to just kill him instead. How much despair his death would have caused them, how they might have all fallen apart without him there to bind them together and how it would have felt to be the cause of it all. To watch them dither about without a voice to reason for them, to lead them by the nose to the truth behind all the lies as they attempted to foil all her beloved's plans.

Pinning all the blame on Hinata, seeing his cherished friends look at him with suspicion and eventually send him to his death… that would probably bring forth an even deeper despair in the moments before the trap swung shut and put an end to all of them in one fell swoop, but this might have been nice too.

Hinata had been surprisingly cool, his skin clammy with sweat beneath her hands even in his air-conditioned room, stripped down to boxers and a plain white t-shirt. She ran her hands gingerly over his flushed, damp skin, cuddled in close to him, throwing a leg over his chest in a parody of the position she'd taken that first evening they'd slept together. She'd had so much hope then. Hope that Hinata cared, that he wanted her the way that she wanted him, that all he needed was just a little push.

Stupid.

He had twitched and whimpered plaintively in his sleep, turning his face away as if he was unnerved by her touch.

Hinata had always been cruel even when he was unconscious.

Strange that, after all that had happened, all the time she'd spent alone since her execution, pouring over the memories of those days, that casual, instinctive rejection still stung.

Had he been able to sense the change in her? Been able to feel the insistent presence of despair? Was that what made the difference between when she had slipped into his cabin and when she had curled up beside him in the bed in the on-call room? He'd seemed more receptive then or at least he hadn't flinched away from her touch even though his reaction upon waking that evening hadn't met her expectations at all. She'd been so certain… so certain that he liked her. That he would be glad to wake up with her beside him. That was why she'd gone up there after all. She could have simply stayed with her patients, but she'd wanted… she'd wanted him and she'd thought he wanted her too. He was always so nice to her. He complimented her and defended her and depended on her skills.

It had seemed so… obvious.

She'd been so certain.

She had found the last of the things she needed to properly monitor Mister Komaeda on the second floor in the storage area that doubled as an on-call room. It had seemed as if everything that might be of use had just been piled in there haphazardly with no rhyme or reason or care. She'd managed to find a few things that would be helpful: towels and some outdated but still functional monitoring equipment and Mister Hinata had been more than happy to help her carry it downstairs. Of course, then it hadn't actually worked and she'd felt guilty for not checking it upstairs like an idiot.

"O-Oh, I'm sorry that was pretty stupid, wasn't it? I'm so sorry to make you carry it all the way down here for nothing," She'd exclaimed, nervous laughter bubbling in her chest, fingers catching and tugging at her hair.

"No, no, it's fine," he replied quickly, waving off her concern. "It just figures that nothing actually works in this place. We're just lucky that bear treated Kazuryuu somewhere where all the equipment wasn't broken or fake."

"R-Right," she agreed quickly, a nervous titter slipping free as she frowned. "I should be able to administer medication and fluids for Mister Komaeda intravenously as his fever is the highest and he seems to be a bit dehydrated. H-hopefully the others won't get any worse as there's really o-only enough of the proper equipment for o-one."

"Well, that's better than nothing, I guess," he smiled, pushing the broken monitor into the weird operating suite diorama to get it out of the way. "Let us know if there's anything we can do to help. Don't try to do everything yourself."

"O-Of course, I'll let you k-know. T-Thank you for your c-concern, Mister Hinata."

"Just Hinata is fine, you know. We're friends, aren't we?"

"Y-Yes, of course," she answered quickly, happiness bubbling in her chest as she ducked her head. "I-I should go check on him now. He needs his medicine."

"Yeah, of course. Tell him…" Hinata sighed, shaking his head and shoving his heads into the pockets of his slacks as he turned away, back towards the lobby. "No, nevermind, he'd just make it into something terrible anyway. Just… let me know if anything changes or if you need any help."

With that he was gone, the door at the end of hall falling closed behind him and the hall was once again quiet save for the persistence of Miss Owari's muffled sobs.

She tried not to be frustrated by the sound.

The last time she'd checked on her she'd discovered that she was afraid of the shifting shadows cast by the afternoon sun. Unfortunately, there wasn't truly anything to be done for that as she'd quickly learned that Miss Owari was also afraid of the possibility of spiders, the dark, dust motes, and the sound curtains made as they rushed across the pole.

The best she could do for her was to make sure she was safe and as comfortable as possible.

Treating Ibuki at least had been simple. As long as she returned to her room regularly to give her new orders, Ibuki seemed perfectly content to merely sit in her room staring blankly at the wall or out the window, occasionally sipping the glass of water she'd left for her.

Mister Komaeda, on the other hand, was still considerably more affected than the other two which she had a feeling had to do with the fact that he had already in poor health to begin with. Not that she knew that for certain as he'd never permitted her to examine him before he'd caught the Despair disease.

When she pushed open the door to his room, she found him sitting on the edge of the bed staring down vacantly at his hands where they lay in his lap, his limp, sweat-damp hair obscuring his features.

"Please lay back on the bed, Mister Komaeda," she murmured, a little surprised when he did what she asked without compliant or even a contrary word. Just laid down and closed his eyes, allowing her to complete her work in peace, though she couldn't help but notice the fine tremor that ran through his body as she struck her fingers against his wrist and the bend of his arm in search of a vein. They were thin and squirrely and she had to prick his skin several times before she was finally able to settle the catheter into place successfully.

"Are you all right?" She asked as she set the bag, more out of habit than in expectation of an honest answer.

"Everyone always asks me that," Komaeda replied, voice distant and strange. "I'm perfectly fine. Never better. Oh, did you know that there's a gnome living in Mioda's hair who writes all her songs for her?"

"Please try to get some-"

"I'll tell you a secret," Komaeda interrupted, his gaze still unfocused and vague as he stared blankly up at the ceiling overhead. "I think Hinata might really like you. I know what I'm talking about with these things, you see, because I'm actually the ultimate matchmaker. But don't tell anyone because then they'll all be requesting my services. I simply don't have the time to be so popular."

It wasn't his fault, of course. He didn't mean to be cruel. It was the illness.

Only… he was always like that, wasn't he?

He always seemed to find ways to twist the simplest, most frivolous words so they became something cruel or horrible. Made them so each syllable dug deep like a hooking knife buried in the soft belly of a fish.

Maybe that was just the kind of person he was.

"He doesn't care about you, you know," he had called, conversationally, from where he'd lain bound on the floor of the room in which Mister Togami had been killed.

She had liked the way he looked tied up like that.

Helpless.

Harmless.

Bound like that, he wouldn't be able to hurt anyone at all. He wouldn't even be able to do anything for himself. He would need someone to help him with even the simplest things. Help him to eat, to drink, to sit up when he began to ache from all those long hours on the floor. He'd even need help to use the toilet.

Yes, he would need someone willing to help with all those things and, with the way he acted, volunteers would probably be in short supply.

She could be of use.

They would need her to take care of him, wouldn't they? Who else would be willing to do it?

"W-w-w-what?" She'd stuttered in answer, hoping he wouldn't clarify.

"Hi-na-ta," he replied, confirming that feeling as he shifted a little to relieve the cramping in his shoulders. "You like like him, right? It seems like almost everyone does."

She'd been tied up like that often enough herself to know that the muscles in your back and shoulders began cramping after a while, especially if you were left like that for long periods of time or if the ropes bound you too tightly.

It was very unpleasant, but he didn't complain. He just shifted uncomfortably, fingers twitching, the sound of braided rope chafing against skin and the canvas of his jacket loud in the otherwise quiet room. His face was blotchy and red, glistening with sweat. Sometimes he winced and squinted a little when drops of that sweat slid down into his eyes.

It must have burned. Her hands ached to wipe it away, but for some reason she couldn't quite bring herself to move any closer to him.

"You're not special. You're just useful to him, that's all."

"W-w-why w-would you s-say something like t-that?" She stammered in reply even as emotion squirmed and tightened things low in her body. There was something about Komaeda Nagito that she… not liked, exactly, but there was something she wanted reflected in those pale eyes.

Something familiar, something… that reminded her of childhood, of hands slipping to familiar across her body, pinching her skin roughly.

"Why wouldn't I?" He replied easily, rolling his gaze up to her, past her. "He's seems so kind, right? But that's cruel too in a way, isn't it? He's treats everyone so equally, so fairly. He's kind to everyone just the same and that means everyone is just the same in his eyes, doesn't it? That no one is special."

"T-Then that means you're not special either," she wasn't even sure why she said it, why she was still there, why she hadn't just left when he'd started being mean.

His expression was like a mask, a rictus smile to hide whatever he was truly feeling. "Aren't I? He isn't like that with me, is he? Not anymore. No more late night talks and swimming pools. But that's okay. That's fine. I mean, that's actually better, isn't it? It's much more hopeful this way. It means that I'm different from the rest. I mean, that was obvious from the start, right? Compared to all of you, my talent isn't really worth much and I'm worth even less. And yet, like this, like this, I'm special to him. Unique. The way he looks at me… he hates me, you know? I disgust him now. He can't understand me at all and I can't understand him. And that… that would have been awful, but it's not because it's actually really lucky, I'm really lucky to be hated. This is much better than being liked by him, because it means that when he looks at me he really sees me instead of what he wants to see or what I might want him to see. It means he really… sees me; my ugly, terrible, imperfect, greedy, worthless self and still he… he still looks at me. He still came to see me. He'll remember me long after I'm dead and gone. So, that's… that's really lucky."

She wasn't sure what to say to that, what to do, more curious and confused than hurt by his words. He wasn't really talking to her, not truly. She was the one standing before him. The one who'd come to take care of him, but his thoughts and words were all about Hinata, all for Hinata.

He'd been there before her. She'd seen him leave the building that afternoon, walking so quickly it had almost looked like he was running, as if he couldn't escape the building fast enough. His cheeks had been flushed bright red and there had been such a dark scowl on his face. He hadn't even seemed to see anything around him, as if all his thoughts lingered in the place he'd left behind, on the person he'd left there. He hadn't even glanced at her when she'd called out to him, hadn't seen or heard her at all.

It was the same degree of regard Komaeda gave her as he spoke.

She might as well have been a lamp or the table for all the attention he truly paid her. As if she didn't matter in the least to him. As if she didn't matter at all. As if she didn't even exist.

Her fingers trembled where they held the food tray.

The temptation to hurl it at him, to make him look at her, to pay attention to her, to see her and acknowledge her existence was almost overwhelming.

He'd have to look at her then, wouldn't he?

If he had a concussion he'd need treatment, wouldn't he?

And she was the only one, the only one who could help, wasn't she?

That was her very favorite thing about being on that island with everyone. She was the only one they could turn to. She was important, vital, because what would they do without her? They'd never be able to care for themselves properly, would they? It was different here, wasn't it? Everything was different there.

She was important.

She was a necessary and valued member of the group and they needed her, didn't they? Even Miss Saionji needed her, would have no choice but to rely on her even if she'd never admit it. Her skills, her talent, were by far the most necessary talent on the island. Luck wouldn't heal your wounds, being athletic wouldn't keep you from being felled by disease, being a talented musician that everybody loved wouldn't keep your body from being ravaged by fatigue.

Here she was the best and most important person.

Even if they didn't love her, they would still need her and that was almost better than love.

Almost.

It hadn't really surprised her that Hinata allowed Mister Komaeda to stay close even after that. She could understand wanting to keep an eye on him. He was dangerous, after all. What she didn't understand was why everyone else had seemed to forgive him as if nothing he had done really mattered at all. They'd allowed him to roam free even after everything he'd done. Treated him as more of an annoyance, an irritant, than a true threat. As if it were only expected that he should behave that way.

She didn't understand that at all.

He was… broken. He had been sick long before the despair disease had infected him. He was…

"You looked so hopeful at the prospect, I thought it might be interesting, but it wasn't." He sighed, pushing up off the bed up onto stiff, unsteady legs, her arm hanging loose and limp at his side. "Yearning for someone just deepens your despair. It's funny, I always thought it worked the other way, but I guess not for everybody."

She blinked and shivered, shaking her head hard to clear it. She really shouldn't allow her mind to wander like that when she was working. She could easily make a mistake if she wasn't careful. She couldn't let anyone die in her care.

What had she even been thinking about, anyway?

She couldn't quite remember, but it left her feeling faintly queasy.

"Hey," a boy's voice called from outside the door. It took her a long moment to recognize that voice as Mister Kazuryuu. Which seemed silly since she knew there were only three boys there. "Look, how about you take first? You look like hell."

"Thanks for that," Hinata replied, laughing. It was such a nice sound. "But yeah, I didn't really sleep much last night after everything that happened. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine. Kind had my fill of bed rest, ya know? I'd rather be up and moving right now. So, you go ahead."

"Okay, if you're sure. I'll go rest upstairs, I guess. There's a bed up there in the room towards the back. Come wake me when you want to switch off or if something happens?"

"Yeah, of course. Get some rest."

Their footsteps seemed to echo louder than they should as Hinata presumably went upstairs while Mister Kazuryuu returned to the lobby.

She hung up the bag with a sigh, double-checking the gauges to make certain everything was adjusted and set properly before administering the solution. Mister Komaeda's voice had faded to a murmur while her attention had been elsewhere. His eyes were closed, but he still continued to rattle off a mumbled and seemingly endless series of increasingly improbable lies.

"They're not actually hamsters, you know, they're really gremlins in disguise here to sabotage all our washing machines."

"Tanaka doesn't actually wear make up. He's really a cyborg and those are all just color-changing, power-up marks. Watch out for when they turn magenta. That's the only time he's vulnerable."

"Saionji is actually the second coming of Christ. She's come to save us all."

It wasn't just that he lied, though that was disturbing enough, it was almost as if he couldn't seem to stop lying, as if he were compelled to just tell lie after lie so long as there were ears around to hear them. She'd couldn't help but notice how he'd fallen silent when she'd left the room earlier to settle the others. How he hadn't stopped speaking for more than a few moments each time she'd returned since.

She'd probably been doing him a kindness whenever she left him alone.

There was, after all, very little that she could actually do for him, for any of them really, other than keep them comfortable and monitor their vitals. In a way, it was a job anyone could have done, not that she'd ever tell anyone that. This was the first chance she'd had to really be of use and she didn't want to miss a moment of it. Besides they'd need her expertise if any of them took a turn for the worse so it was mostly true anyway.

Still, it would be safe to leave them on their own for a little while, wouldn't it?

Just... just for a few minutes.

She couldn't really do anything for the others at the moment and Mister Komaeda in particular probably wouldn't be able to rest well while she was in the room. He already looked so exhausted, his pillow and the collar of his robe stained dark with sweat, pale fingers trembling against the blanket as he continued to mumble to himself, his voice rougher and weaker than it had been before.

Hadn't Hinata seemed very concerned about him?

Wouldn't he want to know how he was faring?

Of course he would. She could probably catch him before he actually fell asleep.

Probably.

She yelped in surprise as fingers caught hold of her wrist in a grip that was painful and sure to leave bruises behind.

"I just want to sleep," he said earnestly, his face flushed and his body restless beneath the blanket. His eyes wide and glassy and it seemed like he was trying to focus, but couldn't quite manage it, "I have such beautiful dreams."

She forced a smile as she pried his fingers from around her wrist, firmly pushing his hand away before reaching out to smooth his hair. The texture was unpleasant, oily and damp, "Just try to get some rest. I'll be back to check on you soon."

He didn't answer, but his hand fell slack against the blanket, which she decided was probably answer enough.

She checked his temperature once more and found it was already improving. Nothing to worry about at all now that he was receiving fluids and his fever was going down.

If he was awake, she could tell him that. He'd probably tell her what a wonderful job she was doing.

Guilt and excitement fizzled together in her throat, sharp and sweet like shaken soda pop as she slipped quietly up the stairs to the on-call room to see him. She wasn't doing anything wrong, of course, but for some reason she couldn't quite put a name to, it seemed... a little naughty like when she used to steal sweets from Doctor Saito's desk and let him blame some patient who had been in that morning with a stomachache or some other easy to fake illness.

"Hinata? Are you awake?" She knocked softly on the door, slipping inside on silent feet when there was no response came from within. It didn't really surprise her to find Hinata sleeping there so peacefully.

"Hinata?" She called again, quietly, but she wasn't really surprised when he didn't stir. He'd looked so tired that morning, the skin beneath his eyes bruise dark and his eyelids heavy even before he'd half-carried Komaeda all the way from the hotel to the hospital.

He looked so… guileless, almost innocent as he lay there, curled towards the door with the blanket shoved down towards the foot of the bed. It was awfully warm that day. His features were creased with worry as if even in sleep he couldn't quite leave all his cares behind.

Hajime really was such a good person.

She felt heat streak up her neck to boil in her cheeks and forehead and she licked her chapped lips nervously. She'd never said his first name aloud and might never be able to at all if just thinking it affected her so deeply. But it was… it was… really a very nice name.

Hajime.

He liked her, didn't he? They were… friends, weren't they? And if they were friends, he might not mind if she joined him. Not for long, of course. No, just… just for a moment or two. She just… she just wanted to be close to him. His innate goodness, his light, and the way he made her feel most of all: wanted, accepted, and forgiven.

He liked her, didn't he?

And if he liked her… if he wanted her… it would be fine, wouldn't it?

Being with him, being near him… that was fine, wasn't it? She could just… just lie down next to him. Friends… friends shared beds all the time and she wanted to be more than friends and maybe… maybe he did too.

She… she loved him, didn't she?

He had been so kind and he had seemed to really like her, but he wasn't ever cruel to her and he didn't hit her or kick her or pull her hair. But even without all that, he still paid attention to her, as if she were interesting, as if her company were enjoyable. He'd noticed her and worried for her and was so concerned about her and she wanted him to keep noticing her, but he….

He didn't look at her exactly the way she wanted him to, did he?

It was… it was like Komaeda had said. He was kind to everyone, he worried about everyone and so was she… was she really special to him if she wasn't the only one he looked at? The only one he chose to spend time with?

Now that she thought about it, it was actually kind of terrible, wasn't it? She was his friend, but then all the others were his friends too.

Didn't she deserve more than that?

She knew it was maybe a little selfish to want him to only look at her, but she couldn't help it. She just… she liked him so much. And she was sure he'd forgive her for her selfishness. He was that sort of person, after all. The sort who could forgive anything, he'd even seemed to forgive Komaeda, at least a little bit, otherwise, why would be have helped him to the hospital? Why would he care for he was? If he could forgive Komaeda for inciting Teru Teru to murder than he could certainly forgive her for just wanting to be close to him, for just wanting to be important to him, more important than anyone else.

There was nothing wrong with that, nothing wrong with her.

Besides, she was sure that he liked her. Really liked her.

But maybe he was just shy or maybe… maybe he didn't want the others to feel left out. Especially if he didn't know that she liked him. She hadn't done a very good job about letting him know, after all. There hadn't really been many opportunities for that sort of thing. Everything had been so hectic.

But now… now things were… quiet and they were alone.

So maybe….

She was being selfish, but she just… she just wanted more.

They'd been there for weeks and this feeling… this feeling has been growing and growing all that time, swelling up inside her like a balloon until it was fit to burst. The nicer he was to her, the worse it got, until sometimes… sometimes she just… she just wanted to scream at him, to throw things. To do something drastic, dramatic, something that would make him look at her the way she looked at him. That would make him realize that she didn't want to be just friends. She wanted to be special. She wanted to be loved. She wanted to be cherished and forgiven for wanting all these things.

And the way the others looked at him… the way Komaeda looked at him.

It made her chest tight.

It was so….

Frustrating.

The way she sometimes noticed him looking back.

So frustrating.

She wasn't special to him. Not the way she wanted to be, not the way she should be.

She liked him so much.

And he said he liked her too.

And yet he… he didn't look at her like that, did he?

He didn't ever look at her like she was the only person worth seeing.

It was really… frustrating.

Her fingers caught in her hair, worrying it, pulling it tight.

It had been so frustrating.

She had liked him so much and he liked her, she knew he did, he'd said so hadn't he?

So many times and every time it made her heart thump quick and fluttery as if it were about to leap from her chest at any moment. Every time he smiled at her and seemed so concerned for her wellbeing, for her happiness. Every time he would seek her out and chose to spend time with her day after day even though he could have spent time with any of them. He told her that people didn't hate her just because they didn't take the time to punish her and she was able to believe him.

Not because she thought it was true, not really, but because he said it. He said and when he said it felt like maybe, maybe she could believe it.

Believe him.

He was… he was special and he made her feel special and she could... she could….

"You deserve to be loved." The thought seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once and she found herself nodding along, fingernails digging into the flesh above her elbows.

She did, didn't she?

"Of course, you do."

He had just looked so… lonely in that bed, hadn't he?

"Of course he did."

And he had. He had looked so desperately lonely. Lonely like she was lonely as if he needed someone to hold him, comfort him. Everything was just so… stressful, wasn't it? He was so tired he'd just fallen right to sleep. And she… she just wanted to….

She was allowed to be with him, wasn't she?

That was what friends did, wasn't it?

They comforted each other, didn't they?

So, she'd just… just keep him company.

Just for a while.

It wasn't even really for her own benefit. It wasn't really selfish at all when she thought about it, really thought about it. She was doing this for him. To make him feel better.

So that was all right, wasn't it?

That made it all right, didn't it?

She really hadn't been being selfish at all really. You couldn't be selfish and selfless at the same time, could you? And even if it wasn't a hardship it was still something she was doing for him, wasn't it?

And even, even if her intentions weren't… weren't absolutely pure… well.

He would forgive her, wouldn't he?

He always forgave her.

He would always forgive her.

He would forgive her.

So, she could forgive him too.

That was the right thing to do, wasn't it?

To forgive him for looking at everyone else with kindness when he should have only been looking at her.

He was hers, after all.

She could forgive him for all the others.

She could even forgive him for looking at Komaeda that way, because he was just being nice.

He was a nice person, after all, a good person.

The best person she knew.

So much better than Komaeda Nagito could ever hope to be, could ever hope to deserve. Hajime just wanted them all to be friends. To work together and survive, because that's who Hinata Hajime was, he only wanted them all to be safe.

Even Komaeda.

He had even been willing to forgive Komaeda.

So he'd have to forgive her too.

If ever she did anything that required forgiveness.

The early afternoon sun was bright, but fortunately the hospital had been built at an angle so the sun never glared directly through the windows into the patient rooms and the on-call room was just above them. So, while there was plenty of light and it was warm, it was pleasant rather than overbearing. Hinata shifted in his sleep, sprawling out on his back, one hand still settled across his stomach.

It was the easier thing in the world to breach the distance between them and crawl up onto the bed beside him. To slide in close and press the line of her body to his.

He was so pleasantly warm, like freshly toasted bread or miso soup.

He must have been really worn out not to wake as she shifted restlessly beside him trying to find a position both comfortable and close… or maybe he was just used to restless bed partners….

No, obviously that couldn't be true. Hinata was too... good for that, wasn't he? Too innocent.

No, she was being silly. Imagining things that weren't there… jumping at shadows.

She slid a little closer to him, as close as she dared, slipping a leg up to lie across his. He winced a little, mumbled something that was more sigh than words before settling back into sleep. He didn't seem disturbed by her presence at all, which was nice. In fact, she could probably safely say that he was at ease with her… as if she made him feel safe.

She hoped that was true. After all, he made her feel safe, so it would be nice if the feeling were mutual.

Poor Hinata.

He must have been so worried about Nekomaru to be this exhausted.

That sounded like him.

He was such a good person, after all.

She was lucky to be loved by such a wonderful person.

And he felt good, right, pressed close to her like that. As if he were meant to be there. She snuggled closer still, wrapping her arms around him and carefully slipping an arm beneath his head so that she could cradle his face against her chest.

If he didn't want her there he would surely have woken up and shoved her away, wouldn't he? Obviously, she was very important to him. He must have liked and trusted her quite a bit to just sleep through that, right?

Right?

She closed her eyes and slept.

She dreamt about what might happen when he woke up and found her there. Embarrassing little snatches of sensation and imagination married with how it felt when she slipped fingers into her panties at night. A dozen different scenarios only half-remembered as she lay in the bed of the on-call room, feeling as if she were miles and years away from the girl she'd been that afternoon.

It seemed as if her dreams had been beautiful and when she had finally awoken she'd been a little wet, her body thrumming with the thrill of being so close and thinking such thoughts, dreaming such dreams and the feel of him. His body had been so warm, the seams and folds of his clothing rubbing against her jerkily as he squirmed and writhed almost frantically against her, beneath her, his palm slapping a frantic rhythm against her thigh.

For a moment, just on the edge of wakefulness, she'd thought it was really cute, those muffled, yips of sound he made as he twisted and bucked beneath her. How clumsy and eager he seemed as he struggled and shoved and she smiled, holding him a little tighter, shifting her leg so it rubbed just a bit more firmly against him… which was when she had realized he wasn't hard at all and that his struggles were getting weaker, slower, with each passing moment.

When she thought about it later, much later, well after they'd left for the night and she'd been left alone with one her patients for company, she had decided that she'd never really expected him to make a move on her, in truth.

Not Hinata.

Not her Hinata.

Hinata was… safe, wasn't he?

Hinata was perfect.

He was warm and he was safe and he wouldn't touch her without knowing absolutely that it was what she wanted. That was just the kind of person he was, wasn't it?

"Was it? Was it really? Did you really think so? Even then?"

Of course.

That was why she had liked him so much, wasn't it?

Because he was so very different from anyone else she had ever known and sometimes… sometimes, perhaps, she had wished that wasn't the case. That he was less kind, less good, less perfect. That when he had touched her he had been less gentle, that he'd been less understanding of all her faults, because it was easier, less confusing, when people were cruel to her.

Simpler when they pulled her hair and splashed water on her and kicked her, because at least she knew what to expect from those kind of people. They would never disappoint her, never betray her, because she could anticipate those reactions and give them what they wanted, expected in return. It was so much more difficult since they'd come to the island. Both Hinata and so many of the others… they never acted as she anticipated they would.

Not really.

Nothing like all the others she had known over the years. Not even like themselves, she had realized when she'd remembered enough to make the comparison.

Well, that wasn't quite true.

Saionji had been the exception that proved the rule even without their long history to map the course.

Killing her had felt so good.

No, what she'd truly expected from Hinata, she had decided in the long night afterwards, was that he would wake, embarrassed, but fond and forgiving. That he'd be flustered, but maybe he'd also be a little amused by her presence, by her antics, which was why she'd made sure to sleep as close to him as possible.

She hadn't really expected anything to happen.

Not really.

She just… hadn't expected him to freak out the way he had. That when she awoke he would be struggling to be free of her, begging her to get off him with gestures and slurred words. That she would sit up to find his skin bearing the blue tinge of cyanosis, his breathing ragged and heaving.

So, of course, she'd panicked a little.

After all, the hospital hadn't had the supplies to treat something like that at all.

She'd leapt off him and away, immediately pressing her fingers into his arms and face and chest. Quick efficient jabs, checking his vitals as best she could and massaging his limps even though his color had immediately begun to return to normal the moment she had removed herself. She still needed to check him over, just to be safe.

Perhaps her weight had been too much for him?

Had he really been so fragile?

When he'd fully regained consciousness it had been easy to make excuses and awkward jokes, to shrug away the creeping, pervasive idea that she had acted inappropriately, that her presence was unwanted. He never really said he didn't like waking up with her, after all, so maybe, next time, he could sprawl across her instead of the other way around.

Then, of course, Mister Kazuryuu had come in and mistaken them for a couple….

And that had made her heart flutter like a bird in her chest for the brief moment before Hinata had shut that line of inquiry down with such brutal efficiency that it made her ache for an entirely different reason. He didn't have to say it like that, did he?

"That big ol' meanie," she whispered, the memory of lips brushing across the back of her neck, leaving a smear of lipstick and damp behind. "He just didn't appreciate you. No one ever appreciated you except me, did they?"

Then Mister Kazuryuu told them that he thought Mister Komaeda had stopped breathing.

And it was only in that moment that it finally dawned on her that she'd left her patients unattended.

So, of course, she'd panicked.

She'd left him alone.

She was meant to be caring for him and she'd left him all alone.

Laughter, like the tinkling of bells, the clatter of sandals against tile, "And all because you were a little jealous. How lame are you, loser?"

She'd gotten so caught up in the idea of going up there, of being with him, that she'd completely forgotten that she had other obligations. She was a nurse and it had been her job to look after her patients to the utmost of her ability, even the ones she didn't especially like, and she'd… she'd failed him.

She'd just… she'd just assumed she would know if something went wrong, hadn't she? She'd thought about it at least that much. Maybe she'd even asked Mister Kazuryuu to look in on them. Or maybe she'd just… just assumed that he would. That was it. She'd assumed he'd care enough to check in on them.

"To assume makes an ass out of u and me. Pupupupu."

Hinata would probably hate her if he died because of her irresponsibility. Or, even worse, he wouldn't hate her. Instead he might just not be able to look at her anymore. He might ignore her or… or… her mind had spun through the seemingly endless list of increasingly horrifying possibilities as she rushed downstairs to Komaeda's room.

If Komaeda died… she'd lose her purpose. No one would trust her, rely on her, not after that, not anymore. She would be alone, reviled. She was the ultimate nurse and she hadn't been able to keep her patient alive.

They'd never forgive her.

Their hurried footsteps had been so loud in the empty corridor as she flown down the steps with Hinata and Mister Kazuryuu at her heels.

She arrived at the room just steps ahead of them and shoved through the door, running to the bed. Her hands trembled, but her movements were brisk and efficient as she checked over her patient. His breathing had been shallow and ragged, certainly, but his color had been decent enough so if he had stopped breathing it would seem to have only been for the few moments Mister Kazuryuu had been in the room and he'd started back up on his own so that had been a relief.

He was fine.

Everything was fine.

No one would have to know, no one would blame her. It was fine. Everything was fine. She would just… just stay with him from now on. Monitor him more closely to… to prove that she was… devoted. That would be her penance for this misstep. She'd been… selfish. She'd made a mistake, but she… she had learned from it and if she learned from it than they'd have to forgive her. That was how it worked. They would have to forgive her and forget it ever happened.

His health had definitely been declining, of that much there could be no doubt. She would need to monitor him very closely until the worst had passed since there had simply been no way to tell whether that breathing incident had been a fluke or if it were an indication of a larger problem. It had been unfortunate that the hospital had not been equipped with more advanced equipment (or any equipment really outside of the bare essentials). There wasn't even a ventilator, which would have been the best thing for him… just to be safe. No, there was none of that, so she would have to stay with him and monitor him throughout the night to be ready to intervene if needed.

He could have died.

He could have died and it would have been all her fault. She was the one responsible for him after all.

Even if it were just Komaeda, they still wouldn't have been able to forgive her for that.

No more than she would have been able to forgive herself.

She'd pulled at her hair. Just once, quick and sharp, but the pain had allowed her to focus on what was important, on the problem at hand. There would be plenty of time for guilt and recrimination later.

She barely even noticed when Monokuma slipped into the room to loiter in the corner, fidgeting excitedly.

Hinata had lingered at her shoulder, a constantly shifting bundle of nerves and restless motion. When she'd finally glanced up at him she'd found that he wasn't really looking at her at all or Mister Komaeda. He was glaring at Monokuma instead. Like he'd like nothing better than to rip it's stuffed head right off and throw it out the window.

"Tsumiki… is he all right?" He asked finally still not looking away from the bear in the corner, the words ground out between clenched teeth. He grimaced as if the shape of the words felt wrong in his mouth.

She'd explained his condition and fielded their questions, listened to the hoarse rasp of Mister Komaeda's voice as he assured them that he'd never felt better.

"He must be feeling really bad," Hinata translated, staring down at Mister Komaeda as if he had never seen him before. His hands caught in fists at his sides.

When Mister Kazuryuu had begun asking about what would happen if he were to die, she'd been quick to interject to assure them both that she wouldn't allow that to happen. Still, even with all her assurances, Hinata had looked a little sick as he'd trailed Mister Kazuryuu out to the lobby.

It had been, all in all, an unsettling experience and it hadn't been long before she was left alone with her patients since Monokuma had forced them to return to their cottages a short while later.

Before they'd left though, they'd come back to let her know about the communications device and what Monokuma had told them and to apologize for having to leave. They'd even brought her a selection of snacks Mister Kazuryuu had pilfered from the movie theater and a promise to bring something better in the morning. The popcorn was stale and the candy was old, but it still tasted good after the long day.

"T-Thank you for this. I-I never expected-" she'd commented quietly, gaze turned down and cheeks warm.

He patted her shoulder awkwardly, "Yeah, sure. Look, don't forget that all this is that damn bear's fault. You just do what you can, all right?"

"O-Of course! I won't let you down," she'd replied, forcing a tremulous smile even as her gaze drifted to where Hinata was leaning over Komaeda's bed speaking to him in soft tones. His fingers were pushed into the damp of Komaeda's hair and she couldn't quite see his expression, but she could hear his quiet admonition.

"You'd better not die and cause more trouble. I don't like having to worry about you."

There was something about the way Hinata leaned down to hear Komaeda's response that made her chest tight.

"We'll be back in the morning," Hinata commented, leaning back and speaking as much to her as Komaeda.

His fingers seemed to linger longer than necessary against his sweaty forehead.

She'd quickly assured him… them… several times more that she would never let him die.

That everything would be fine.

Only it hadn't been fine.

Not really.

It was a warm night and she'd sat at his bedside listening to him mumbled lies through the night, occasionally forcing water down his throat. She left the room from time to time to check on Ibuki and Owari, but they were fine. They'd both fallen into an uneasy, exhausted slumber around midnight while Komaeda's condition seemed to only worsen as the hours wore on. He didn't sleep much and the few times he did doze off, he twitched and twisted in the blankets and she was forcefully remaindered how Hinata had so easily slept through her restless movements that afternoon.

Almost as if he were used to sleeping with someone who…

"Stop it," she mumbled to the empty air.

She was being silly again.

Hinata hated him, Komaeda had said so himself.

She took a sip of water and wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. She wished the air conditioning worked more efficiently.

Sometime in the early morning hours, during a brief period when Komaeda was both awake and reasonably calm she urged him out of bed use the bathroom and exchange his smelly, sweat-soaked robe for fresh one.

She'd eased the damp robe off his shoulders as Komaeda stood unsteady and swaying before her, unselfconsciously nude as she tucked the soiled robe into the waste bin. He'd stood there silently as she run a damp cloth over him to wipe away the worst of the sweat and it wasn't until she'd stood back up that she had realized that he was staring at her, eyes narrowing in an attempt to focus on her, his cheeks flushed dark in the bright moonlight.

"Are you alright?" She asked, reluctantly.

He nodded, stumbling forward a step and catching himself against her shoulders. His mouth was slack, lips trembling as words began tumbling out, barely a whisper as first, but gaining in rasping volume as he continued in a rush. His breath was warm and foul against her face and his fingers dug painfully into her shoulders."Please do whatever you like with me, I really don't mind a bit! Maybe you should kill me right now! I'm sure no one would suspect you. You could just say the circus people did it. That clown outside the window has a black balloon and a murderous expression so I'm sure-"

She forced herself to look down and away, to focus anywhere but on his strange, frantic expression. His legs were covered in tiny scars and long knotty ones.

It wasn't even as if he would be looking at her, not really, his eyes had been cloudy and unfocused. It was as if he were talking to someone else or to no one at all. His grip was still painfully tight and he kept rambling on and on, his words growing softer, sloppier, running together in strange ways, syllables mushy as baby food.

His penis was soft and hung limp and flaccid between his legs. Not the slightest twitch of arousal, but it still quivered and bobbed constantly as Komaeda trembled and shivered and wobbled as if buffeted by a wind only he could feel. It was weirdly mesmerizing. She wondered if his disease could make his body lie as well or if it he only had to tell his lies. She wondered what would happen if she were to slip her mouth around him, would he-

She cut that thought off abruptly.

What was wrong with her?

He was her patient, wasn't he?

It wasn't even as if she found Komaeda attractive. He was mean and kind of crazy… she didn't really like that word, but it fit since she didn't really understand what it was that made him act the way he did. He didn't care about them, any of them, except for maybe Hinata. For all the vital, frantic energy that seemed to vibrate through him, he had always seemed … fragile, weak, as if he were on the verge of shaking apart at any moment.

She wondered again if he'd been sick, before they'd met, if he was still sick… not with the despair disease, but with something… deeper, more serious. Whether he'd been lying when he'd said he was fine when she'd asked if he needed to be looked over last week… had it really been only a week that they'd been on the island together?

Somehow it seemed so much longer.

Somehow it seemed like she'd known Komaeda for years. Years and years and if she thought about it she could almost, almost remember what it felt like to have him beneath her, inside her…

Startled by the sudden thought, she shivered as a sudden chill ran like sweat down her spine, her face warm with embarrassment. She tore herself away from his desperate grip and hurried to fetch the fresh robe from its hook by the door. She thrust it out at him blindly, staring hard at anything, everything but him.

"P-P-Please put it on," she whimpered.

He lay beneath her almost silent apart from the wheezing labor of each breath, his face turned away to the side most of the time as if he hadn't been the one to suggest it, to tell her he needed her, wanted her, all the things she longed to hear even though she'd never wanted to hear them from him at all. In the end, it really wasn't all that different from masturbation with one exception.

She wasn't… she didn't… she never would…

"Put it on!" She screamed, loud enough to wake the dead, as that strange, revolting fantasy did crooked pirouettes in her head, whirling to meet her no matter how she tried to flinch away from it.

His hair was splayed out, filthy and dark against the dirty pillow, mouth smearing with red. His hips stuttered beneath her as her fingers worked frantically to bring her closer, gasping pleasure into the air as she clasped desperately at those cool, limp fingers with her free hand, squeezed her eyes closed and pictured her beloved as she finally came.

The sound of his laughter, hoarse and terrible, pitched high on a pained groan echoed all around her.

Her skin crawled and itched and she rubbed the palm of her hand frantically against her apron as if she could rid herself of the feel of the cold, limp flesh. The uncomfortable squish of fingers that couldn't hold her back.

She was going to be sick.

"I really prefer to be naked, but I'm sure you know what you're doing," he croaked, voice barely a whisper, as he finally took the robe she had shoved at him and fumbling into it.

She trembled, pulling her arms in to wrap around her waist, still not daring to look at him. He really was a terrible person, putting ideas like that in her head.

What was it about him that Hinata liked so much?

No, that wasn't… that wasn't true either.

Hinata didn't… he didn't… Hinata was just really kind. He was just being nice and worried about all of them just as much. He didn't really like him, obviously, he was just… just trying to keep them all safe by keeping an eye on him, that was all. That was… that was…

"Was it good for you?" He'd asked, still laughing as she stumbled away towards the bathroom. "I hope so, because it wasn't any good for me at all!"

She turned abruptly and left the room. She had… had a responsibility to… check on the others. Make they were… that they were fine.

That everything was fine.

Just fine.

Everything was fine.

But it hadn't been fine.

It hadn't been fine even then, because it had all been a trick. A trap.

She'd remembered, slowly, so slowly, in bits and pieces as her fever rose. She remembered all the painful things. She remembered all of them as they'd been before, before her beloved had shown them the magnificence of despair and after as well. She had remembered Ibuki and Komaeda and her beloved most of all.

She remembered all of them, but she remembered some far better than others.

Her beloved was brilliant and bold and beautiful, like bottled lightning.

Nanami Chiaki… was like newspaper faded and yellowed by the sun. She was just the sort of person that faded into the background.

It was the same with all the members of Ultimate Despair who hadn't been in her class. She knew them, but they were… less important, more forgettable.

She remembered so many things that night and all during the following day as she went through the motions of caring for her patients. Her fever rose and she remembered more and more.

But she never remembered him.

Hinata Hajime.

He'd never been one of them at all, she knew that now, but at first… at first she hadn't been able to believe it. To believe that he'd lied to them, to her, like that.

But it was true, of course.

He couldn't understand them, couldn't forgive them, because he wasn't one of them.

He didn't care about them at all.

He never had.

It had all been a lie.

It all seemed so dreadfully obvious now, looking back on all those days they'd spent together.

He had lied to them.

He didn't like them. He didn't love them. They weren't friends.

He certainly wouldn't forgive her.

How could he? After all they had done? The only one who would ever be able to forgive her, love her, was her beloved.

There was no hope.

There was only…

Despair.

And it had been a most extraordinary despair that she'd felt in the early hours of morning as she had returned to Komaeda's bedside, as she had found herself staring so intently at each labored breath he took. She contemplated whether she should take his pillow and press it over his face, hold it there, whether he would struggle at all if she did or whether he might simply slip away.

She wondered how Hinata's face might look if he were to come in and find he'd passed away in the night, to find whatever game they'd been playing had been brought to such a swift and meaningless conclusion.

What had they been to each other?

Did it even matter?

Whatever they had been to each other… it wasn't real.

It was just another lie.

She should have killed them both that night when she'd had the chance or, better yet, killed one and then killed the other the next morning after she'd been able to experience their despair at finding the other carved up like a Christmas goose.

Should have.

But she hadn't.

Instead she'd gotten lost in thought about what would best serve her beloved's purpose instead, about what would bring the truest despair and morning had come and with it Hinata, smiling and kind, asking her how she was, how Komaeda was and she'd lost her opportunity.

As the day wore on, she'd remembered more and more and remembering had given her such a strange and sublime feeling of connection, of purpose. She'd finally known who she was and- most importantly- what she was meant to do. It let her see the truth. Gifted her with the knowledge that she could best honor her beloved by aiding her avatar unasked.

It was such a wonderful feeling.

But, in the end, it had amounted to nothing. All her hope had crumpled to dust in her hands and perhaps that was the point. She'd been hoping when she was meant to despair. She really couldn't blame her beloved from being cross with her, for punishing her.

For leaving her in that place all alone.

It was what she deserved for failing so utterly.

Sometimes she screamed her apologies to the uncaring skies and sometimes she whispered them against the sheets of that bed. Sometimes she used ragged, broken fingernails to carve them into walls or floors.

The world was littered with her apologies and yet the only answer she'd received was silence.

DAY THREE
-continued-

"Are you jealous? Of Hinata Hajime?" Her voice was teasing, curious, edging into a pout. "I thought I was the one you loved."

"You are, of course, of course, you are," she whispered quickly, fervently. "You're my beloved, I… I just…"

It had been different before. When she'd been a mere shadow of her truest self, just a strange incomplete memory. She'd been so eager to be of use, she'd wanted him to look at her, see her, only her.

She remembered lying with Hinata in this bed.

Remembered how it felt to slide her trembling hand along that bare strip of skin where his crisp white dress shirt had ridden up as he slept. She had wanted to lick the sweat from his skin, slide her tongue into the dip of his belly button, loosen his belt and push a hand down…

But she hadn't.

Of course she hadn't.

That would have been… wrong.

She wanted him to… want her to touch him, to be with him. She liked him so much, so very much. He was so perfect and beautiful and he'd been… kind to her.

That had to mean something, didn't it? It had to mean something and so she could wait. She could be good. She'd be rewarded in the end, wouldn't she? Rewarded for her patience, forgiven her transgressions.

Everything would be okay.

He liked her. He'd said it again and again, hadn't he? He liked her, so it was… it was fine.

But it hadn't been fine. Not really.

Everyone disappointed her in the end.

No one ever forgave her like they were supposed to.

She blinked once and then again, her eyes stinging as she wiped the damp of rainwater from her face with the back of her hands, sniffling.

Why was she thinking about all this again?

It was in the past and it hadn't been real at all. None of it really mattered.

All that mattered now was finding him.

She was needed, necessary, she had to find him before it was too late, save him from himself. She was the only one who could do it. He needed her to make him well again, to make him whole again, even if he didn't understand that yet.

He'd understand soon enough.

Soon enough he'd understand that Hinata Hajime had been nothing but an awful lie. That he was just as alone and unwanted as she had been. That there was nothing left for him but her.

That he needed her… even if no one else did.

She scrambled back off the bed and hurried from the room, her mind already racing with questions:

Where would he be?

What place would call him back again and again?

The hotel?

The amusement park?

The central island?

The beach?

The other beach?

It was an island. Shouldn't there have been more beaches?

Where would he be?

Where would he go?

How had he died? She'd seen his wounds, the ones on his bare legs and thighs, the bloodstains on his stolen shirt, but they told her nothing about where he'd been when they happened.

Had he been murdered?

Executed?

Did it matter?

Where?

Where should she look first?

"It's fine, you'll figure it out, I believe in you, pupupu!"

"Oh, thank you! Yes, yes, of course, I'll find him. I'll help him, you'll see. You won't be disappointed!" She smiled, ringing out her hair as she hobbled back across the room to the door.

It was fine.

She'd find him eventually.

After all, they had nothing but time.

As the door fell closed behind her and Nagito allowed himself to take a deep, shuddering breath that shifted the pile of blankets he'd hidden himself beneath and sent some of the papers fluttering to the floor.

Seemed his luck was still good after all.

END NOTES:

As usual, extensive notes can be found on the Archive of Our Own version of this chapter. Link in my profile. Comments/Reviews/Feedback in general are always very much appreciated. Thanks so much for reading.