The Mortal City

by MidnightRun42

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

12. You Are What You Eat

"It's like in the Bible. You can't always get what you want, but if you really need something, you usually find it."
"What part of the Bible is that from?" Ig asked her. "The Gospel of Keith Richards?"
― Joe Hill, Horns

-ooo-
DAY THREE
-continued-

A burst of static summoned him away from the edge of hysteria, forcing him back into the present as it crackled loudly, the slur of an automated voice cutting through, it's message unintelligible: "...rn...tion...rder...vel...tor...teen...antine imminent."

She was knocking again, calling out to him, a sweet, coaxing voice as if he were a cat stuck in a tree instead of a boy stuck in a trap.

"M-Mister Komaeda," she called. "You should really come out now. It's time to take your medicine."

Was that what this was? Was that all it had been? Was this just a fever dream, just a delusion? Was he still in the hospital? Which hospital? Was he still at Hope's Peak? Had there even been a Hope's Peak?

His head ached. His arm ached where something had scratched him. It hadn't been her, of course, it couldn't have been her, not really.

Enoshima Junko was dead.

He had no doubts about that.

But then… he was dead too or he was supposed to be and this was….

This was all wrong.

He remembered that… remembered sitting in that diner watching the final trial on television. Watching her press the button to begin her own execution. Remembered being…

Sad?

Relieved?

He wasn't sure.

He thinks maybe he felt nothing at all. That there had been nothing but a vague sort of surprise that she'd gone through with it, that she'd been willing to let it end there.

"But then again…" he reflected as he built little houses with the sugar packets and watched the survivors of her game prepare to reenter the world on the little television they'd brought in and mounted above the jukebox. "I suppose she was as much a victim of her desires as any of us. In the end, she was impulsive and rash and unworthy of the role of leader, but I suppose the title of Ultimate Despair fit her well enough."

It had been a courageous decision and no less so for how little they really understood about the devastation they'd be walking into, about all the ways the world had changed and all the ways that nothing had truly changed at all.

He couldn't help watching him most of all.

The one they were calling Ultimate Hope.

The one who was lucky.

Lucky, but not lucky like he was lucky, not really.

He wondered if they'd make it in this new world.

He hoped they would.

"Think so?" A voice called from the kitchen, the sound of meat sizzling was loud in the otherwise quiet diner. "I'm gonna miss her sensitive palate, that's for sure. She was the only one who really appreciated my cooking. You sure you don't want some of this? It's mighty tasty if I do say so myself."

"Hm, no, not hungry," he replied, pillowing his head against folded arms. "Think I'll take a nap."

"Well, that's just a fine howdy do! Who's gonna watch the customers if you're busy napping?"

Nagito yawned widely, knocking down the sugar packet towers with a careless wave of his hand, "I don't think they're going anywhere."

"Oh, well, crap down my back and call it a chocolate slide, I thought it was a bit too quiet out there," Teruteru grumbled, sticking his head through the little window from the kitchen. "Tarnation, Komaeda, what good are you? They're all dead, you ham-fisted, lazy son of a shallot. Did you kill my customers?"

He shrugged, slouching lower in his seat, gaze still mostly focused on the shots of empty rooms flickering past on the little television screen, "Hm? No? I'm certain they died of natural causes or maybe the Monokumas killed them, I wasn't really paying attention. One of the two, probably, maybe, but if you act now I'm sure you can at least use them as ingredients, right? So there's still some hope."

"Bah, c'mon, be serious, you know I only use the freshest ingredients in my cooking. Besides it ain't a good habit to get into, eating the customers. This restaurant's gonna go belly up if it gets that sort of reputation," he sighed dramatically, ducking back into the kitchen.

Once they were gone and the feed showed nothing but an endless series of deserted rooms, he snagged the remote and flicked through the few available channels before finally settling on a news report about the devastation in Western Europe, about the efforts of the Future Foundations to establish some sort of utopian refuge where those with hope in their hearts, those who had not yet surrendered to despair could gather and be safe from harm.

He sat back with a sigh and grabbed the fallen sugar packets to begin building his tower anew.

Pictures of crowds hundreds deep at the ports, clinging to the hull of a Future Foundation ship, sliding away to splash into the waters below splashed across the screen before it switched to pictures of Hope's Peak, blurred out stills of the executions, gritty determined looks of the survivors who refused to fall to despair.

"Are you making any efforts to recover the Hope Six?" A reporter inquired, her tone exasperated as the picture moved to a split screen showing the reporter and a remote feed of an old man wearing a brown coat and a weary expression.

"Of course," the old man – Tengen Kazou, Head of the Future Foundation according to the caption - on the screen declared in a deep voice brimming with certainty. "Of course we are, every effort. Those poor children are a symbol of the goodness still left in the world and our ability to preserve and overcome in the face of great hardship. We will spare no expense in our attempts to breach Japan and rescue those extraordinary youngsters, but, as you're well aware, the area-"

He looked vaguely familiar though it was probably in that way that all old men and babies looked familiar to him.

They all had the same wrinkles, the same squishy faces, and the same gross, weird hair: completely interchangeable.

Though he probably didn't actually have any right to call anyone else's hair weird or gross.

His phone rang, a cheery tune that seemed shrill and jarring in the relative quiet diner, he glanced listlessly at the display, unperturbed by the unfamiliar number. He'd never actually bothered putting any numbers into his phone but hers.

She was the only one who'd ever called him after all.

"Hm… hello?" He'd asked, clearing his throat as he answered.

"M-Mister Komaeda? D-Did you see it? Did you?"

He recognized her voice, could even picture her face, the way she'd clung to Junko's shoulders sometimes, sobbing adoration against her shoulder.

The way Junko had grinned.

Funny that he could remember all that, but her name escaped him.

He hummed what he hoped sounded like an affirmative as he added another level to the latest sugar packet tower.

"-for the Hope Six. Pray for their continued safety and that we at the Future Foundation will be able to rescue them and bring them-" the man on the television continued, though he was only half-listening.

"Then you'll come, won't you? I-I c-called the others and t-they're coming. We're all going to meet at Hope's Peak."

"-strict immigration policies are allowing hundreds to die each and every day as the forces of-"

"I-I need… we need to save part of her, don't you think? Anything we can?"

"-processing applicants as quickly as we can, but this all takes time. After all, it would do no one any good if we were to rush-"

"She deserves to live on through us, don't you think? So we have to do what we can, don't we? To keep her with us?

"-limited space at the moment so we must also consider first and foremost those who are necessary to build a world free of despair, a world in which we can all thrive rather than simply-"

Her voice was thick with unshed tears, "I-I just m-miss her so much already! I… I loved her so much. Do you think she'll ever forgive us for not being there? She loved us, but we weren't able to be part of her game. Were we useful to her at all in the end? I love her, I just… I love her so much."

He set the phone down on the table, nudging it to the edge and leaving it there as she continued, a relentless stream of inane babble.

She loved her.

Did she?

Was that what love was?

Maybe.

He didn't really understand about love.

He heard about it an awful lot, but it was like hearing about Bulgaria. It was something he knew in a distant, disinterested way existed, but since he'd never experienced it for himself it meant very little.

He understood that people longed for it, stole for it, killed for it. That they often seemed to give it away as freely as candy at the holidays as if they had an endless supply squirreled away in closets or under beds. That they proved it with rings and bows and kisses and words spoken with so much more weight than they had in the end. That sometimes people confused it with sex and sometimes people thought that it was mandatory. He understood it was something special that a lot of people laid claim to, that it could be hoarded or thrown away or doled out like breadcrumbs to pigeons.

He couldn't remember ever feeling it.

Probably wouldn't have known it even if he had.

"Mister Komaeda? Are you still there? Mister Komaeda?"

He released a heavy sigh and picked up the phone once more. "Of course."

"O-oh good, um, so you'll meet us at the school?"

"I suppose so."

"T-T-Thank you for l-listening, e-e-everybody else hung up."

"Oh? Did they?" It hadn't even occurred to him when it had been just as easy to set her aside until she was done. "Huh. Sure. See you there."

"Y-yes! I'll see you there," she replied, sounding cheerful.

He pressed the end button and set the phone aside once more.

"-this world shall never be lost to despair while the most talented members of the Future Foundation exist to protect it. Now if you'll excuse me, I must be going," the man on television commented as he excused himself from the interview.

It made him laugh, a harsh bark of sound in the quiet of the diner.

"Thank you, Mister Tengan, for taking the time to speak with us today." The screen switched over to shaky camera footage of a people running through dirty streets overrun with Monokuma bears. A tank could be glimpsed in the distance before the whole world seemed to explode in fire and smoke. "This was the scene today in Novoselic…."

He pressed the button to turn off the television.

"See that?" He had asked the quiet of the restaurant, the dead patrons and smashed bears that littered the floors. "They're going to save the world… or at least the really talented parts of it. How hopeful. She's dead and nothing has really changed at all."

He scooted out of the booth, smiling at the protest of the cheap, red vinyl seat cover.

"Ya know I can't actually hear you when you mumble like that, right?" Teruteru called from the kitchen as he pushed through the door and out into the dull, overcast afternoon beyond.

The tinkling bells that hung from the handle clanking and singing in his wake.

"vac...vel...five...ctor...t...arant...ent"

He awoke slowly, wrapped in uncomfortable warmth, damp with sweat.

"What?" He croaked, his voice hoarse and breathless blinking aching eyes open to darkness. "Where…?"

The scrap of a key turning in a lock and the creak of the door opening, "Ready or not, Mister Komaeda, here I come."

She laughed and there was a loud bang that made him jump, would have probably choked a scream from his throat if he'd had the breath to give it life. He had no idea where he was or how he'd gotten there. The last thing he remembered, he'd… he'd been… what had he been doing?

On the floor?

There'd been a grate and Hinata and his arm hurt and…

Everything was jumbled, mixed up and blurring together.

He remembered sitting in a diner, the diner, remembered the grit of sugar beneath his fingernails when he'd ruptured one of the packets he'd been playing with, sweeping the offending sugar off the table onto the floor. Remembered the twang of Teruteru's voice calling out to him, the smell of charred flesh, but he couldn't… couldn't remember what he'd been doing before he'd remembered that. All he knew was he didn't want to be found. All he could feel was the panic running riot beneath his skin. He couldn't move. No. He needed to stay still even as his hand trembled and he pressed it against his mouth to silence the hint of a whimper. He had no idea where he was, how he got there, but he could hear the slow plod of hesitant footsteps squeaking across slick tile. There was… there was something soft and damp covering him and he was surrounded by itchy fluff that scratched uncomfortably against his bare skin.

There was a soft thump, too close, too loud and his muscles tensed and ached a creak as the world around him shifted and the footsteps moved away.

Then she was howling, hurt and rage and he winced at the cacophony of destruction that followed, a series of bangs and fluttering papers and crashing equipment, closed his eyes and curled tighter around his knees.

He….

He was….

"wa...atio...ord...vel...tor...anti...ent"

He whimpers as fingers wind painfully tight in his hair, shoving his face down towards the shattered wood, metal and glass. "Do you have any idea how expensive that was? How difficult it was to procure? DO YOU?"

He knew.

But….

But he'd liked the old one. He'd been allowed to touch the old one, listen to the old one and he thought… maybe… maybe if this one was gone….

It had felt so good to nudge it off the shelf, send it to shatter across the wooden floor of his father's office. He had little splinters of wood and bits of glass embedded in his ankles, in his feet. It had hurt, it still hurt, and he'd smeared blood on the floor, but it… it had still made him smile, laugh, because he'd done it.

He'd really done it.

"I didn't mean to," he lied.

"I don't understand," she murmured, her voice summoning him from the past back into the terror of the present. "Why would he do this?"

Who was she talking to?

Hinata?

Junko?

No one at all?

He strained to hear, but he could barely even hear her past the raging thundering beat of his own heart.

Was it really his heart?

Or was he just imagining that too?

Could your heart beat when you were dead?

"You've always been stubborn," she murmured.

Was she speaking to him? To some mysterious other? Did she know he was here? She must, right? Where else would he be? Where else could he be?

Was this the same room? Had he moved somewhere else completely and he just had no memory of it? Had he gotten that bad?

He'd been… bad before, hadn't he?

For a while… things had been… bad, hadn't they?

Obviously something had happened, but something could be anything, could be nothing much at all, could be everything. What was he supposed to do? Why was he hiding? What did he hope to accomplish? She would find him, wouldn't she? She would find him and she would….

What?

What would she do?

What was he so afraid of?

He hadn't… had he had a reason to run in the first place?

There'd been… something, hadn't there?

Or maybe not.

Maybe there'd been no rhyme, no reason.

Maybe he'd... maybe he'd just reacted.

To her unexpected presence, her unexpected touch.

Why was he so afraid? Why was he still so afraid?

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

Could she?

She wanted to help him, didn't she? Why couldn't he just let her? His arm hurt and his head hurt and he was hiding in a mattress and he couldn't remember how he'd gotten there and he was tired, so tired, so why... why was he running away?

He was...

"warn...or...vel...tor...tsev...rantin...nent"

"What's that?"

"Mm?" His new therapist inquired, glancing up from her file heavy desk. Her heavy-lidded gaze drifting to the machine in the corner of her office. "Oh, well, that's just a little project of mine."

"A little project?" He asked, trying to peer through the green of the glass top by pressing his face down against it. The glass was warm to the touch and shadows within were strange and interesting, flowing and undulating like kelp, a gentle sway as if they were reaching out to touch him. He shifted to lay his cheek against the glow, humming along with the soft buzz of whatever powered it.

"Yes, that's just a prototype. A… proof of concept if you like," she replied evenly, straightening the files and setting them into her drawer. "Nothing terribly interesting just yet, I'm afraid. It's just a… I suppose you could call it a passion project."

"Oh," he murmured, drawing back enough to lift a finger and draw a smiling face in the fog his warm breath and skin had left behind on the glass surface. Was it cold inside?

Was he just seeing things?

That happened sometimes, didn't it?

"Why don't you come sit down and we can get started?"

He hesitated, lingering against the machine, not even bothering to look at the couch she was no doubt indicating.

It was the same couch that had always been in this office.

He hated that couch.

"I don't want to."

She sighed, exasperated, her voice muffled by the thick scarf she kept wound around her neck and the lower part of her face even when she was in session. He'd never seen the whole of her face and her voice was so soft and flat, that he could never tell whether she was frowning or smiling. "Come now. How will you ever recover if you're not willing to do the work, Mr. Komaeda?"

He barked out a laugh, fingers squeaking as he dragged them over the glass surface, his gaze going soft and unfocused against the red and white swirl that patterned the rug beneath his feet. She'd changed a lot of things about this room when she'd taken over from the last person to sit in this office, "Recover, huh?"

Her hair swished around her as she stood, her heels clicking loud against the tiles as she circled around the desk until they were met with the plush of carpet. He was almost surprised when she was suddenly there in front of him, taking his hands in hers. He tried to jerk them back, away, but she held on, grip firm and there was nowhere to go. He had allowed himself to be trapped with his back to the machine.

He shivered.

He didn't like it when she touched his hands, didn't really like it when anyone touched his hands. They were filthy, so was he, but his hands… his hands were the worst by far.

He had dirty, terrible things with those hands.

"I may not be able to save your life, of course, but I'm sure I can at least help you make the most of the time you have left. I think the world could greatly benefit from all you have to offer. Please, allow me to help you. I want to hear all about you and your unique talent."

"I don't-" he began, but he wasn't sure how to finish.

At his back, the machine seemed warm beneath the press of his free hand and when he bumped back against it, it made a strange burbling sound that reminded him of the fish tank the principal kept in his office or the lectures he'd sat through during his first year.

"Mister Komaeda," he had said, his hands folded across the desk before him. He couldn't stop staring at them, at the folds of his skin that seemed thin as paper. "I'm not saying this is your fault, but you are a disruptive element and-"

His stomach sank, taking the strength in his legs with it and he dropped to the floor, falling forward into a sloppy, imperfect bow.

He'd never belonged here, he knew that, he wasn't… his talent was so… limited compared to theirs. He wasn't extraordinary in any way, but…

But…

But….

"Please don't make me go," he'd said, eyes squeezed shut, forehead pressed hard against the carpeted floor of the office, nails digging against the rough fibers. "I'll try harder, I'll be better, I… I know I'm not… I know someone as worthless as me doesn't truly deserve to walk these halls or to stand with all these great and formidable talents, but please let me stay. I… please… I…."

"I don't have anywhere else to go," he whispered the last against his knees, shame swallowing up his ability to be any more pathetic than he already was.

He'd planned to be… eloquent, aloof, but panic had suffocated the arguments in his brain, all the elegant speeches he'd made up in his head to justify his presence, his existence, as he'd sat slumped in the chair outside the office waiting for the principal to invite him in. He'd been ambivalent about the whole thing, but then… then he hadn't been.

The moment he'd walked into the office and taken the seat offered him, he hadn't been able to stop trembling, to choke off the flood of nerves. All he could think of was his parents' house. How cold it had been the last time he'd been there, how empty, how he'd broken all those things and burned that pile of stuff in the backyard and just left the mess for them to clean up.

How could he go back there?

Could he go back there?

It was his, but it had never felt like his. It still didn't. It probably never would.

They hadn't even wanted him.

He'd just been… lucky.

And they'd been unlucky and then they'd been stuck with him.

Their ill-timed, unwanted, inconvenient miracle.

He could feel despair creeping inside, carving his chest open with a dull knife.

Could practically hear her laughter echoing through the room.

She'd been right.

They were going to kick him out.

Of course, they were going to kick him out.

He'd never belonged here in the first place, he'd just been lucky and he just kept getting worse and worse and someone had been bound to notice eventually even though he tried to hide it. He was lucky, he'd always been lucky, but that luck had always been a balancing act, good and bad, bad and good, and he'd always been waiting for the other shoe to drop for someone to realize that he wasn't fit to be there.

He'd always known eventually that they would realize they'd made a mistake.

That he was a mistake.

And they never had.

He'd been lucky.

So, of course someone was going to notice that he was falling apart and he didn't… maybe he hadn't really ever fit in, but he'd never really fit in anywhere and at least there… at least here he was… something, someone. At least here people saw him. Noticed him. Cared. Even if it was only in how he was useful to them, even if it was only about his money or his talent. It was still something. Even if they didn't really like him, even if she didn't really like him, here he was talented and special, but out there… out there he was just… ordinary.

He was just the trash no one wanted.

Here… here his luck wasn't a fluke. It wasn't something he imagined, something his doctors said he dreamed up to justify the terrible things that happened to him, the way the universe seemed to go out of its way to remind him that he wasn't necessary, wasn't wanted. That he'd just been the fly in someone's soup since the moment he was born. That he was the unfortunate thing that happened to others. Without Hope's Peak… it wouldn't be luck, it would just be… him.

If he didn't have this… what was he?

Sick.

Alone.

Hopeless.

He wouldn't even have her, because she didn't care about ordinary people. She didn't care about anyone, but outside of Hope's Peak he wouldn't even be worth bothering with. He wouldn't be able to foil her from outside. He...

He hadn't heard him move at all, but he'd suddenly been there, crouching beside him and he'd been staring down at his expensive shoes as they shuffled into view.

A large hand settled against his hair as he began to raise his head, keeping him bent low. "You are talented, Komaeda Nagito. You deserve to be here, just like anyone else in our program, but… you need to take better care of yourself. I've read your file and I'd really like you to take advantage of this institution and all it has to offer. We're not here merely to educate, to groom those with talent to take their rightful place at the pinnacle of society after all. We're also here to see that you receive all the benefits of those talents. Those with talent are meant to help others with talent flourish and grow. The most talented people in the world gather around Hope's Peak both as students and alumni and so we have many people available that may be able to help you in a variety of different ways. For instance, the Ultimate Neurologist is one of your upperclassmen and has agreed to speak with at my request and examine you if you're willing. Additionally, the Ultimate Therapist will be happy to begin seeing you next term when she wraps up her current assignments and returns to seeing patients on a full-time basis. You should, of course, continue to see your own physicians as well, but I want you to know that we at Hope's Peak will continue to support you and you shall always have a place here. Yours is a singular talent and I have every faith that you will contribute a great deal to society now and in the future."

He'd heard all the words, but all that he could really focus on was one single thought:

They're going to let me stay.

Fingers snapped in front of his face, drawing his focus back to the present, "Mr. Komaeda?"

He blinked, faintly surprised to find himself floors and months away from the principal's office. "Sorry," he murmured, vaguely aware that it didn't sound sincere in the least. "What was I...?"

"You were telling me about a boy," she replied patiently, voice muffled as she led him towards the long couch that fought the pod thing for domination of the room.

"I was?" He replied, tentatively. "I don't..."

"His name was Hinata Hajime."

"Hinata?" The name didn't sound familiar at all, the syllables unmistakably foreign on his tongue. "I don't-"

But she was already rushing ahead, her grip on his hand tightening again, "He was a student in the reserve course."

Reserve course….

Reserve course….

Right. Those people, he… he… didn't….

There had been… hadn't he…? Something… there was… something. Something like an inch he couldn't scratch, the taste of blood on his tongue and fingers in his hair and then the feeling is swept away, spinning out of reach.

"I have a headache," he murmured, glancing away from her fervent gaze to study the pod again. "Who are you again?"

"Disappointing," she sighed, releasing his hand. "But no matter. Why don't you have a seat and we'll get started?"

"Started," he echoed, relieved, his hand felt sweaty and unpleasant and he wiped it against his leg as he turned away and wandered back to the pod. "I should probably go. My parents don't like to be kept waiting."

"Mr. Komaeda," she commented, off-hand with the air of someone who had done this dance often enough to know the steps by heart. "There's no one waiting for you. You know that."

"I do," he answered flippantly, smiling to himself. "But I also don't like it when people try to take advantage of me. So, why are you asking me about some reserve course loser? Who is he?"

He heard her footsteps stall out as they crashed against the tiles, a stumble caused by surprise or panic, maybe, he wasn't sure, didn't care. That was what she got for assuming he was worse than he was, for trying to pull information from him on the sly.

"He's…. he left the program a few months ago, went home," she replied hesitantly, an obvious lie.

Not that he really cared.

But there was… there was something… something about the reserve course that he couldn't quite remember. Something… interesting... something...

"Bzzt," he replied as he smacked his fingers against the glass, summoning an answering burble of sound from within. "Try again, with feeling. I don't think it's terribly healthy for me to have a therapist that's such a awful liar."

"He's nobody important," she replied evenly.

"Of course not," he scoffed. "He's in the reserve class that automatically makes him someone…."

"Apologies should be made on your knees."

Laughter, somehow both foreign and familiar, even white teeth smeared red with blood and the memory of pain in his head, his back.

Oh.

Right.

The boy on the stairs.

He'd never known his name.

It could have been that.

Hinata Hajime.

It was a nice name.

"Someone unremarkable enough to end up in the reserve class couldn't possibly mean anything to me. I'm talented, after all." he turned back to face her, expression schooled to indifference as he flounced carelessly across the room to collapse against the couch. "Why don't you ask me something worthwhile if you're going to insist on being so nosy?"

She watched him for long moments as he settled back against the pillows, ignoring the suspicion in her gaze.

"war...vac...der...el...five...or...ntine...inent"

"No, not really," Tsumiki Mikan complained softly, the sound of her boot squeaking across the floor loud in the relative quiet of the room. "Oh, I… yes, thank you, I… thank you."

But he couldn't focus on her.

Couldn't.

"g...e...vel...fiv...ect...seve...uara...nent"

"Gross," he'd murmured poking a finger into the thick goo in the pod. The green light that illuminated it seemed too bright, casting Naegi's features ghastly and gaunt.

Pods.

They look familiar, but he can't quite place them.

"I've seen these before."

"Have you?" Naegi asked, feigning casual interest as he helped him step up, sink a foot into the thick, warm liquid.

He glanced to the next pod down where Kamakura was still lingering beside the pod, expression as impassive and unimpressed as ever as he stared down at the goop.

"vacua...er...ector...ine...imminent"

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," she called in a singsong voice that set his nerves on edge. "Yes, yes, you're right. Of course, you're always right, beloved. I just have to find him."

Thunder crashed, loud enough to make him flinch, digging his fingers in against his cheek, pressing the heel of his hand against his teeth so hard he was surprised he didn't taste blood.

She was humming, something soft and out of tune, stumbling over notes at random as he felt the mattress dip and beneath her weight, the bed frame creak as she crawled by beside him, close enough that some stray tendril of hair was caught beneath her, pulling painfully as she shifted restlessly.

The room had looked like something out of a horror movie. Had felt and smelt like it too. Like shit and meat, hot and humid and the girl standing near the entrance had looked like she'd just been sick or was going to be again when he'd come in, stepping deliberately over and around the worst of the debris and all those little puddles of tacky blood and filthy water.

It had sounded like a horror movie as well when he'd come in through the open door to find one of them grunting against something in the corner, awful squelching, slapping sounds echoing loudly through the room accompanied by the whine and flash of Koizumi's camera.

"Ugh, bleagh, I'm gonna be sick," the girl loitering near the entrance grumbled, her cheeks bright red and her arms crossed tightly over her breasts, looking like she couldn't decide whether to stay or go. Her kimono was caught up over one arm, presumably to keep it from dipping into the mess. "Are you done yet? Can we go? This is so gross."

The room was dark, lit only by emergency lights and the occasional flashes from Koizumi's camera as she darted around the room, stepping lightly over scattered limbs and scraps of metal and wood.

Squelch.

Squelch.

Squish.

"You can wait outside if you want, I'm almost done. I just need to get a few more shots. Just a couple of close-ups," her teeth flashed white and gleaming in the dim light as she turned back to the source of the revolting rhythmic, squelching noises. "Don't forget to smile! That's the most important part. And, look, you've really got to get in there. I'm not paying you to fuck around, you know."

"Shuddup... that is… uh … exactly… what you're… ugh," the boy replied swiping pink hair out of his eyes with one bloodstained hand, coughing and gagging as he turned his face towards his shoulder like his head was trying to remove itself from the actions of the rest of his body. "This is really-"

The noises ceased for a long moment while he coughed and gagged against the back of that same bloodstained hand only to start back up, a moment later. "Look, I'm in it as much I'm gonna get in it, okay? So, just freaking hurry up already… urk… because I'm seriously gonna puke if I've gotta do this too much longer."

"Really? God, what a sissy you are. What difference does it even make to you? I mean, it's still warm, isn't it? You're a man, aren't you?" She sniped, the flash blindingly bright.

"What the f-bleagh…freaking...this so... seriously? What is wrong with you, huh? You know… ugh…."

Squelch.

"Urk. Okay, no, ugh… that's it, urk… I hope you got your shot already, because I'm freaking… urk… done," he grumbled, gagging as he shoved away from the mess in the corner with another final squelching sound, gathering his pants in one hand and yanking them up roughly as he stumbled away.

He barely managed to make it a handful of steps before he tripped and had to catch himself against the wall as he coughed and heaved and vomit splattered across the floor.

Nagito sighed dejectedly, turning his gaze back to Koizumi as the sharp, stinging scent of stomach acid was added to the room's already putrid bouquet of awfulness.

"I did, thank you," she replied, her smile tight and unpleasant. "I think I'm going to call it 'sexuality of despair' or maybe 'the depravity of sexuality', I haven't decided yet. Either way, I'll make sure to credit you."

"Freaking great, I can't wait," he gagging again as he fumbled through straightening and fastening his pants. "God, that was freaking gross. Next time you want something like that done get a freaking strap-on and do it yourself. Now why don't you just hand over the bottle so I can go get to forgetting this bullshit ever happened."

Koizumi scoffed, "I don't have it with me. You think I just carry bottles of liquor with me everywhere I go? I'll drop it off to you later."

"Fucking seriously?" He jerked a rough hand back through his hair, shooting her a glare as he stumbled away from the wall. "You better not be fucking with me, Koizumi or I'll…"

"Or you'll what, drunk tank?" the girl in the fancy kimono inquired, mouth curving into a wide grin. "What're you going to do, eh? Look at yourself: You can barely stand and you reek like day-old ass. You're lucky we don't have it with us. With your self-control you'd probably just end up drinking too much and killing yourself."

Koizumi had already turned her attention back to her camera, examining her display screen as they argued.

"Shut up! Y-You don't know any-" he paused to shove an arm against his mouth to muffle a burp. "You don't know me. Hey, when'd you get here, Komaeda?"

"A few minutes ago. You were busy," he answered.

"Uh, yeah, sorry," he murmured, glancing away, cheeks red with embarrassment. "I know you guys were-"

"It's fine. She was the person I hated the most so why should it even matter?" He replied flatly.

He hadn't realized he'd glanced away until he felt his hand settle on his shoulder.

He wasn't altogether sure why it was there or why a moment later there were arms wrapped around him.

He reeked of alcohol, sweat and bile, but he was warm. Warm everywhere he was cold. He could hear him sniffling against his shoulder and he wasn't sure what to do.

No one had ever hugged him before.

It was weird.

And warm.

But mostly just weird.

"Sorry," he mumbled again, sniffling loudly as he squeezed him hard enough that his ribs creaked protest against the pressure.

"I don't know if this is the gayest thing I've ever seen, but it's definitely in the top ten," kimono girl sniped. "You do realize, Gross-maeda, that he just stuck it in a corpse for the bargain basement price of a cheap ass bottle of booze, right? Heck, if I poured sake on the floor I could probably get him to clean it up with your tongue. Right, So-Duh?"

"Go to hell," he slurred, shrinking back and away and pushing through the door out of the room with a loud bang.

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," she called after him, snickering.

"Is this really everybody that's coming?" Koizumi called, snapping another dozen photos of something in the far corner before stepping away to check her display and review her shots. "This is a pretty pathetic turnout for a wake, isn't it?"

"Pssh, there's already too many people here and it's making my skin itch being around all these losers. The impostor creep is off going through people's rooms like a freak and that crazy chick with the big tits went to raid the snack cabinet so she has something to vomit up later from the look of her. C'mon, aren't you done yet? I really am gonna be freaking sick if I have to stay in here much longer." She grumbled, blowing her cheeks out in irritation. She braced a hand gingerly against the wall as she shifted uncomfortably on her high scandals, switching her grip on the kimono caught up around her arm to keep it from dipping into the mess. "So, seriously, what are you even doing here, Gross-maeda?"

He hummed a noncommittal response, poking at what looked like it might have been a mangled foot with his toe. Or it might have been roast beef in a pale, bloated wallet. Though he couldn't think why anyone would put roast beef in a wallet.

"Oh my," Tsumiki commented as she stepped gingerly into the room, her sensible white shoes already coated with grime and blood from the trek downstairs. "This is… oh my, this is so much worse than I thought it would be."

"Really?" A pirate with close-cropped hair and a scowl commented as he moved in behind her, ignoring the blond girl's commentary. "This is pretty much exactly as bad as I thought it would be."

The girl that followed him merely nodded, expression flat and eyes narrowed as she surveyed the room in silence.

"Finally," Saionji commented, shoving away from the wall. "So, why the heck did you call us here, pig vomit? I don't think there's nearly enough of her left for you to make a Junko suit, but her vagina is right over there if you're interested in giving that a go for old time's sake."

Mikan smiled, dropping her head to the side, "Saionji, you don't have to mask your devastation with sarcasm. I'm sure our beloved knew that you loved her."

"Shut up!" She snapped, her face flushing as red as the blood splattered across the walls. "I'll kill you if you-"

"Saionji, we'll be here all day if you keep it up," Koizumi interrupted, coming to stand beside her. "Let's all try to get along just a little while longer."

"Fine," Saionji grumbled, mouth screwed up in a pout. "Let's just get this over with."

"Wonderful. Thank you, Miss Koizumi. Time is of the essence, after all," Mikan replied, still smiling and stepping lightly around him as she worked further into the room to examine the various bits scattered about. "Oh dear, oh dear. This is really-"

"Hey… you, Snow White? Why don't you go give the lady a hand, huh?" The pirate commented, nudging him with an expensive loafer. He recognized the brand as one his father had worn.

It was strange the things that stuck with him like gum to the bottom of a shoe.

Ha.

Shoe.

He chuckled as he stood up and turned to stare down at the pirate beside him.

"I don't know that that's really the tone you should strike with someone when you're asking for a favor," he replied easily, feeling ambivalent about the entire affair. Her blood was on his fingers. Or someone's blood was anyway.

He'd watched the broadcast off and on for the last few weeks and it would have been more surprising if there hadn't been a gross mess of body parts and toxic waste in the basement.

Still… this wasn't what he'd come for. He'd hated her, hated her more than anyone, and even if he couldn't feel that, he knew it and so he'd come here as requested, but he didn't care what happened to what remained.

"Oy, I'll kill you. Who's asking you for a favor, bastard?" The pirate snarled, though it seemed more like a tiny dog trying to bark loud enough that maybe someone would think he was big.

He smiled, inclining his head towards the pirate's expensive shoes. "I assume you don't want to ruin your fancy shoes with blood."

"You saying I won't? I could go help out if I wanted to." He looked a little green as he said it and the girl at his shoulder stepped forward.

"I will…"

"No, no you freaking won't. Girls shouldn't have to dirty their hands with stuff like this," he snapped, stepping forward quickly. "This is fine. I'll handle it."

"Oh my, this is quite terrible," the princess commented as she stepped into the room. The long dark trailing shimmer of her dress already pulled up over her arm quite neatly. "Goodness but it is crowded in here, is it not?"

"Yeah, it's a regular weirdo convention," kimono girl shrugged,

"You fiends were the first to arrive?" Tanaka inquired, breezing into the room and brushing back his dark hood to reveal sunken eyes and sallow cheeks. He had more scars then he'd had the last time they'd all met.

"T-Tanaka," the princess stuttered, standing up that much straighter. "Oh, I... you came. I am so very glad to see you. I thought you were in New Zealand."

He glanced at her for a long moment before shifting his gaze back to the center of the room. "I returned from that Hell a mere days ago. Where is the one called Souda Kazuichi?"

Kimono girl smirked, wide and mean, clearly cheered by the question. "That drunk bastard is probably off drowning himself in one of the showers upstairs," she replied gleefully. "Maybe you should go save him. I wouldn't have sex with him though if I were you. There's really no telling where he's been. And by no telling I mean, obviously, we know. You want to hear all about it?"

Tanaka's usually impassive face went colder, his eyes narrowed to slits. "The abrasive screech of your voice makes the baying of hounds in the depths of hell seem the sweetest music. You may keep your words to yourself or I shall have your tongue removed and fed to them. I have no interest in the obsessive cruelty of humans."

"What the hell does that even mean, animal freak?" She spat, eyes wide and crazed, as he ignored her and disappeared back out the door.

As he left the room behind, a skeletal girl wobbled in, sobbing and weaving from side to side, her gaze wide and feverish. She had a box of donuts under one arm and a bottle of milk grasped in one slim, shaky hand, "Is she here? Is she?"

"After a fashion," Nagito replied, gesturing vaguely to the room as a whole. "Here and there and everywhere."

"tseventeen...uara...im"

He was on the floor.

His arm was bleeding.

He could hear her scratching at the door, begging for entrance though he couldn't hear what she was saying.

Hadn't….

Hadn't he been…?

He glanced around frowning at the neatly made, blood-splattered bed.

He… hadn't he… he could remember the suffocating warmth of the blanket, the cramping in his muscles as he lay, rife with tension, trying to keep it together. Keep still. Keep quiet as she moved around the room, as she climbed up on the bed beside him.

It had felt so real.

So….

"Is that what I'm supposed to do? I don't understand," he whispered, turning his head to stare around the room, at the unfathomable darkness of the hole in the wall, the windows and the rain splashing against them, before finally resting once more on the bed. "Hinata? Are you there? Are you okay?"

He wasn't surprised when no one answered.

It was probably a stupid question anyway. If Hinata existed, if he was real, he couldn't be all right. He was probably hurt too. Hurt and alone, just like him. He'd heard him screaming. At least he thought he had. Hinata was probably worse off than he was… wherever he was.

Hinata…

What had he even been hoping for from him anyway? A rescue? That seemed unlikely now. Hinata hadn't sounded like he'd be rescuing anyone from anything.

Should he be trying to rescue Hinata?

He was probably in trouble.

He really shouldn't laugh, it wasn't really funny, but the laughter slipped out through his trembling fingers anyway tinged with hysteria.

Why was he trembling? He wasn't scared. He wasn't anything really, just… tired, maybe.

Yes, tired.

He was so… tired of this. Tired of all the wondering and wanting and all the… uncertainty. He'd been so sure before that he'd been doing the right thing; that everything he did had a purpose because it would bring about the hope he was longing to see. That hope would make it all worth it, everything worth it, that it would make his life… mean something.

It was really pretty stupid.

His life could never really mean anything. Had he really thought it was possible that a lowly, pathetic person like himself could ever truly be worth anything at all?

Silly.

Still… it would have been… something worth seeing if he could just last long enough to see it. If he could just stay alive a little longer, go a little further, be a little more, do something to help it along. Everything and anything had been worth doing in pursuit of that goal.

That hope.

That bright, brilliant hope he'd always dreamed of.

And he hated him for stealing that certainty away.

He hated him… and he didn't and everything hurt.

Even that hand.

That hand that had been hers and now it wasn't.

That was his again or at least it had been and now it wasn't again and the place where it had been attached, where it was still attached maybe, ached. And the hand itself… was just there, a useless inconvenience; numb and flopping like a dead fish on the end of a line.

He'd let them do it. He'd been happy to let them do it, because he'd wanted… he'd wanted something from it, from her. He'd needed that reminder so he wouldn't forget like he forgot everything else and so he could still… still remember what it was like when she'd held out her hand to him.

For them he'd just been the one with the right blood type, the one who drew the short straw. He was just the lucky one, as always.

But to him…

To him it had seemed like a gift… like it was how things were supposed to be.

The hand she had once offered him in friendship.

Only it hadn't really been that.

He knew that.

He did.

Just.

Sometimes he forgot.

He was lucky, after all.

"Looks like it's me," he'd commented, staring down at the coin in his hand. He felt nothing, but a sudden rush of giggles seeping from his lips to fill the air anyway as he lifted his gaze to Mikan's downturned face. "Looks like I can still rely on my luck."

"I do hope so," she replied, caressing the hand in its bed of ice reverently. "There are a lot of risks involved and if you died right away that wouldn't be any good at all. Don't worry. I'll stay with you while you heal. I'll take such good care of you." She cooed the words, her gaze still locked on those red tipped fingers. "Such very good care."

He felt cold, but then he almost always felt cold these days.

It probably didn't mean anything.

He was garbage, really, this was what he deserved, but it was fine. It would all be fine, wouldn't it? In fact, it was actually a good thing, if he thought about it. If he died this way, part of her would die with him and hope would blossom from that and if he didn't… well, he would have to make use of this to create an even brighter hope. And he was lucky, after all, so whatever happened, he could trust it was for the best. He could trust his luck to carry him through.

Hope was such a beautiful, terrible thing.

He shuddered, letting his head fall back against the wall as the others began discussing all the details he cared nothing about.

The important part was settled and that was all that mattered really.

"You are, of course, of course, you are." She murmured somewhere close by as he found himself nested once more in the suffocating darkness of the bed.

He felt sick.

"You're my beloved," she cooed, her voice gentle, kind. "I… I just…"

"vacuation...ect...an...ent"

He felt the mattress shift and move, felt it lift as her feet hit the floor with a thump.

"It's fine, you'll figure it out," he bit down hard against the flesh of his numb arm, hard enough that he tasted blood. It was the only way he could keep from screaming.

He knew that voice.

He would know her voice anywhere.

Anywhere at all.

"I believe in you, pupupu!"

And he wanted to run to her, to burst from his hiding space and fling himself at her feet.

She was… she was… she was… ali-

"Don't be an idiot."

His voice was clear as the ringing of a bell and close, so close he thought he could feel the warmth of his words against the back of his throat.

He hadn't expected Kamakura to stay with him after the key turned in the lock and the door swung open to reveal a familiar face he couldn't quite place. Though he wasn't really sure where he'd expected Kamakura to go either.

The person who'd come to get them was young with messy brown hair and black ink spread across his arms in swirling, dizzying patterns that made his eyes and his head hurt when he looked at them for too long.

He'd offered them a strained smile and gestured for them to follow as he stepped back out into the hall beyond their little room. "C'mon, we need to hurry."

They both followed in silence and if he trailed a bit behind it was as much because he could already feel the strain of the journey in the heaviness of his limbs and the tightness in his chest as it was from reluctance for the journey to end. The brightness of the sun made him squint as little squiggles invaded the sides of his vision. The ocean breeze was cool as it sent his jacket fluttering around him and he shivered.

He couldn't help staring at the hypnotic swing and bounce of Kamakura's long, long hair as they walked, as that same unpleasant breeze sent all those long strands twisting and shifting around him. It was like looking in a kaleidoscope filled with dark crystals: turning, tumbling, beautiful against the light, the pale of sand and wood. If they noticed his attention no one commented on it. He was grateful for that. It made him feel… weirdly normal to just stare at him even though he knew it was probably anything but.

That he was anything but.

He hadn't realized that Kamakura had slowed until he stumbled and bumped against his back. Or maybe he hadn't slowed down at all. Maybe he'd been the one to speed up. He stifled a nervous giggle with the back of his good hand, "Oops, sorry."

"You're slow," Kamakura answered though he wasn't altogether certain from the flatness of his tone whether it was an observation or a judgment. Wasn't even sure if he cared. Kamakura was already moving away, leaving him behind to stare at the swing of his hair again.

This was fine, he was fine.

And then, of course, he had to make it weird.

"I like your hair," he called, smiling at Kamakura's back.

He stopped dead in his tracks making it a simple matter to catch up to him just by stumbling forward, but once he reached him, he ground to a stop beside him instead of moving on, curious. It seemed to take a really long time before Kamakura finally slanted a glance at him, gaze assessing as if he were gauging the sincerity of his words before he finally replied with a soft: "Do you?"

Almost before he could process the look on Kamakura's face, he was off again, striding away to resume his pace as if he'd never stopped in the first place. He stared after him for a moment, a smile fluttering on his lips. "Huh," he murmured, gaze caught again in the swing of Kamakura's hair. He wasn't sure... but it had seemed... he hadn't said it like he was particularly interested or anything, but instead like he was commenting on the weather or the state of political affairs in Bulgaria. But that was fine. Disinterest was fine. Disinterest was much better than the inevitability of outright rejection or disgust, but... he was pretty sure that he'd seen that expression before.

"If I told you... that you had a... nice body, would... would you hold it against me?" He blurted out, stumbling over the words. It was difficult to speak, difficult to catch his breath because he almost had to skip to keep up with Kamakura's long, purposeful stride, his legs ached from the unwelcome exertion.

That glance again and this time he was sure and it made him feel giddy, drunk on elation... or maybe that was just the lack of oxygen to his brain. Either way, it felt nice.

It was just like with the boat.

Kamakura was enjoying this, enjoying him, even if only a very little bit.

The answer still came in the same bland disinterested tone, "No."

But he didn't let that bother or deter him as he stumbled into a walk, gasping and smiling at nothing in particular. "What's your favorite color?"

Kamakura turned back to look at him fully this time, the faintest furrow in his brow, as if the question surprised or confused him or both. But that little twitch was still there, the memory of a smile, and he grinned, holding his good hand against his chest as if that could still the racing of his heart. "Did you know that when hippopotami sleep in the water their bodies automatically bob up to the surface to take a breath than sink back down again?"

"Why are you doing this?" Kamakura asked, his voice soft as he continued to walk backwards so he could stare at him without losing time.

"Don't you know?" He asked, letting a grin steal across his face as Kamakura's brow furrowed again, his lips twitching in that prelude to a smile that never quite became.

"You're… doing it for me. Why?" He wasn't sure if the question was reflex or curiosity, but he answered anyway.

"You seemed to be enjoying it."

Kamakura turned back around swiftly, his words so quiet that they were almost lost to the sound the sea lapping against the shore, "I'm not."

"Would you two please hurry up?" Their escort called over his shoulder, "We need to get started quickly or we're going to run out of time."

"Are we?" He asked curiously, slowing even as Kamakura's hand lashed back to close around his wrist, dragging him forward into step with his quickening pace. He yelped in surprise, stumbling along with him, surprise sweeping his already labored breath away and leaving him gasping like a fish out of water. "W-wait, I…"

He stumbled again this time tipping forward and almost falling over the back of Kamakura who was suddenly crouched down in front of him. "Get on," he ordered, tone abrupt, impatient, as he reached back to sweep all that long hair over his shoulder, out of the way.

"What are you-"

Kamakura sighed heavily as if he were used to waiting for the rest of the world to catch up with him, but it was still a constant source of frustration. "Your body is weak. You're already at your limit. You must be necessary if you are here so I will carry you to the facility."

"I thought I was boring?"

"That doesn't make you special," he answered, still turned away, still crouched expectantly as if there wasn't the faintest sliver of doubt that he would eventually obey his command. "It just makes you like everyone else."

"Huh," he murmured, fingers of his good hand closing over one jacket-clad shoulder before draping his useless arm over the other so he could balance his weight forward over the hunch of his shoulders. "Th-That sounds really dull."

"…It is," he answered as his arms slid beneath his knees and he stood with no apparent difficulty.

They continued on towards whatever destination their guide had in mind and it was… not pleasant exactly, but not uncomfortable either. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this close to someone… which was nothing new, but it was… unpleasantly hot and the heavy, sun-warmed weight of that hair was soft and strange against his hand.

It was... kind of...

There's a song in his head, music rising with the strange contentment he feels as he closes his eyes and rests his cheek against the soft of Kamakura's hair.

He hummed softly to himself in time with the even bounce of Kamakura's steps, lyrics half-remembered spilling from his lips as he drifted towards sleep.

"… just don't you feel too bad when you get fooled by smiling faces…."

He blinked awake on the ground of a dark room to the feel of someone nudging him in the side with their shoe. "Wake up already."

"Hm? Okay, sorry," he yawned, tilting his head to look around the dark room lit sporadically as it was by the soft green running lights and the blinding bright white of computer screens. "Where... why am I here?"

Somewhere in the darkness, someone was typing.

He could hear the sort click-clack of the keys.

Click-clack.

Click-click-click-click-click-click-clack-click-clack-click-click-clack-click-clack-click-click-clack-click-clack-click- click-clack-click-clack-click- click-clack-click-clack-click- click-clack-click-clack-click- click-clack-click-clack-click- click-clack-click-clack-click.

Click-click-click-clack.

Click-click-clack.

The foot that had been nudging at his side shifted away and his gaze followed the movement automatically to the foot's owner. His face was pale in the dim, his long dark hair falling like a curtain around him. He was handsome… if you liked that sort of thing.

Did he like that sort of thing?

Maybe. It seemed like he might. Which probably made him...

There was a word for it, wasn't there?

It was right at the tip of his brain, but he couldn't quite seem to reach it.

Something... definitely something...

The handsome person was talking to him again, but it sounded strange, like he was speaking underwater or too slow... something.

"Uoy era ereh."

More words, still nothing he could make sense of.

Just... stuff and nonsense.

He squinted at the shape of lips, could see the syllables forming, but he'd never been any good at that either.

Click-clack.

Probably.

He couldn't really... It was hard to...

"I'm sorry," he managed or he tried to anyway, but that sounded wrong too. Mushy and mixed up and squishing between his toes.

Why was there a bird in here?

Click-clack.

Why... pineapple?

Everything shelled like pineapples and his legs...

Shelled?

That wasn't right, was it?

There was... he was... he...

Click-clack.

Was talking again, little wrinkles between his eyebrows that meant he was... was... happy? Sad? Mad? Cucumber?

That wasn't right either wax it?

Wax?

"It's so dark in here. It's so dark

"I'm scared.

"Please don't leave me here.

"I'll be good.

"I'll be..."

Click, clack.

"Sorry... I'm sorry... I'm..."

He woke up to a world draped black and pale.

"Post match commentary provided by Toyota."

"I don't understand," he whispered, the words echoing around him.

Click.

Click.

Click-clack.

"There's a bicycle in the yard. It's filthy. Did you steal it, Nagito?"

"Bicycle?" He echoed, his stomach dropping into his shoes. "I don't know how to ride a bicycle."

"I never left my door open at night, but he was always there anyway. Like he came in through the walls. I couldn't keep him out. Nothing could. So I thought... maybe it was because I invited him in. Maybe it was because I wanted him there. Do you think that's true?"

Click-clack.

"Even when you have nothing left, there's still despair. People can steal everything else away from you, but they can't ever take that sinking feeling or that sludge that lingers always at the very bottom of the well, at the lowest depths of your soul. People can steal your happiness, they can steal your hope, but despair always remains."

So many voices like memories, like leaves blown in a failing wind. Quick and slow, rolling, tumbling syllables barely recognizable, words stumbling and slurring relentlessly through the dark. Skipping, tripping, zipping through his brain until it's so full there's nowhere else for it to go but out, to spill from his lips and splatter across the floor.

The darkness around him, above him, spoke in firm, flat tones steady as oars slapping the surface of still water, but he couldn't understand a word.

Might as well have been a foreign language.

Was he dreaming?

Maybe. Could people dream in foreign languages? Were they really still foreign if you could dream them up?

Static cut across the world, buzzing in his head, thick and angry and loud like a swarm of bees defending their queen. He was pretty sure he screamed, but it was hard to tell because all he could hear was the buzzing. So he clapped his hands over his ears, but it didn't do anything to muffle the sound because the sound was in his head.

Always in his head.

Everything was... everything.

Everything.

Warm.

There was something warm pressed against his forehead, over his lips and nose and lower jaw and it was... it was distracting and the bees seemed to think so too as they were quieting within him until their protests were little more than a whisper, a whimper, just a distant fluttering around the edges of his awareness. An awareness that was filled with the press of warm hands and cascade of hair spilling around him like a curtain, the feel of fever warm skin... a forehead, maybe... pressed against the chill of his own.

He could hear someone breathing, soft and even and close and so very different from his own panicked, snorting inhales.

His tongue felt huge and dumb in his mouth. Not that he could offer so much as a word with that warm hand sealed over his mouth keeping it shut.

Keeping the stupid inside.

Nothing he'd ever said had ever been worth hearing anyway.

It he was probably lucky that hand was there.

Someone was typing.

He could hear the soft click-clack of the keys floating through the dark behind his eyelids.

"Don't scream," a voice murmured, soft and deep and close. "I need you to be calm."

He blinked his eyes open to stare into the shadowed, intent gaze of the person who'd spoken.

It seemed almost crimson, but he wasn't sure if that was real or just a trick of the light. Either way it was weird and disconcerting and the blank look in them froze whatever casual words of greeting he was going to utter on his tongue.

Those eyes were definitely red.

Red, like strawberries, like the flowers in his parents' garden, like blood... how did eyes get to be that color anyway?

The hand that covered his mouth eased away and warm air blew across his lips in its place as he spoke, "This is Jabberwock Island. You've come here to participate in an experimental treatment."

He heard the words, but it was difficult to focus on anything but the warm breath against his lips, his cheeks.

"Hello," he said and the word felt awkward, clumsy, as it tripped off his tongue. "I… your breath smells like cinnamon."

He wanted to kiss him.

A finger fell across his lips, stilling the motion before he could lift his head up to follow through with the thought.

"Better not. That's not the way I intend to use you."

What did that even mean?

He opened his mouth to ask and closed it over the tip of the finger there instead, touching the skin tentatively with his tongue.

He tasted like dirt and sweat.

It wasn't attractive at all, but the startled breath and the way those strange red eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise was.

Then that surprise was gone as if it had never been.

The finger was withdrawn and he let it go.

"Are you sick too?" He found himself asking and the stranger huffed out a breath, glancing away as he sat back on his heels.

"Not the way you mean."

"Were you able to get him stabilized?" Someone asked, their voice floating through the dark from somewhere relatively close by though it echoed strangely.

"There is very little I can not do. I am loved by talent after all."

"You've mentioned. If he's okay, we need to get started."

He stood up slowly before offering him a hand, "Come."

He stared at the offered hand dumbly for long moments before he shook himself to action and offering him a tentative smile. "Oh, I haven't introduced myself, have I? I'm really bad at things like this..."

"You're Komaeda Nagito," he commented his voice and expression as flat as the floor on which he sat. "We've had this conversation before."

His stomach sank.

Oh… right.

He was….

He turned his face away, dejected, "Ah, I see."

How many times had this happened? How many times had he done this? It had happened before, hadn't it?

How old was he now?

Did he love anyone?

Had he killed someone?

Had he ever kissed anyone and meant it?

Had anyone ever kissed him back?

Had he lived a whole life in the spaces between?

Would he even know if he had?

Would it even matter?

He managed a smile as he turned back to look up at him again, but it felt fragile, breakable, "Oh. We have, huh? That must be annoying. I wouldn't know, but I can imagine it's really difficult to deal with. I'm grateful that you're willing to put up with me even though I know it isn't worth the effort. You see, I'm-"

"Dying," he finished for him even though that hadn't been what he meant to say at all.

"Ah, yes, I…" he trailed off, letting his gaze flick away to study the bright lights of the computer screens, the shadowy figure of a person bent over them, face washed pale by the bright white of those lights.

That was….

He was... lucky, wasn't he?

Lucky that he somehow never forgot that part… even when he forgot everything else.

That way it was never a surprise.

He was really… lucky.

"You're still boring," he said, suddenly, as casually as if he were continuing a conversation they'd been having all day. He wasn't looking at him this time, instead staring across to the person at the computer, his tone flat and disinterested as he spoke. As if he weren't even really talking to him at all, like he was just stating random facts for the benefit of the room at large. "Everyone dies eventually. Talented or no. It's the one great equalizer. A body runs down like an old watch unwound whether you will it or no. You've lasted this long. Far longer than you should have."

"Luck," he murmured, reaching out to rest the tips of his fingers against the hand he was still offering him.

"Maybe. Or maybe your talent was never luck to begin with," he replied, taking hold of his hand and lifting him to his feet.

"That's..." he trailed off, stumbling on unsteady legs. He let the motion carry him forward, let his face collide with his chest, his hands catch against the shoulders of his white, white shirt, it was damp and warm and smelled distinctly of sweat. It was...

He was...

"Lucky may not be all that you are. I suppose we shall see soon enough." The voice murmured and he could have sworn he felt a touch ghost across his hair, but by the time he took a shaky breath and lifted his head his companion's arms were limp at his sides. So maybe he'd just been imagining things. It wouldn't be the first time.

Either way, the smile he gave him as he pushed away and stood on his own felt a little less brittle than the one from moments before. "How did you... did I tell you my talent?"

"No," he replied in that same flat, matter of fact voice before turning to cross the room to the computer console and the boy in front of it.

"Oh, okay." Somehow he hadn't expected him to answer that simplistically... or at all maybe.

He trailed after him, wincing a bit as each step brought a new ache that he couldn't remember earning. By the time he'd stumbled his way across the room he was exhausted and barely even had the energy to be surprised when he pushed him down into a chair. "Sit down before you fall down."

"You're really bossy for a person whose name I don't even know," he replied, huffing a laugh.

"You'll just forget it again even if I tell you."

It was true, probably, but it still stung.

"He's Kamakura Izuru," the person who hadn't stopped typing away at his keyboard since he arrived replied, glancing up to meet his eyes briefly. "Komaeda? Feeling okay?"

He laughed, "No, but that's no more than I deserve really. How do you know my name?"

He wasn't even sure why he bothered asking.

It was reflex mostly.

He half-expected them to exchange a look or for the computer person to be obviously disconcerted by the question, almost everyone was, but the boy just smiled tightly and continued typing. "I'm Naegi Makoto."

As if that answered everything.

And in a way it did.

Because he knew that name.

"You're the other one. The other... lucky student, but I..." he trailed off uncertain how to finish the sentence.

"I was," he answered, easily picking up the dangling thread of conversation. "But it's been a long time since I was that person. You're here to participate in an experimental treatment."

"That's what he said too. I don't understand what that means."

"What else did you tell him?" He didn't look at them or stop typing, but his shoulders seemed weirdly tense.

Why?

Was there something he wasn't supposed to know?

The thought made him nervous.

"Nothing of importance. You said time was of the essence, I would recommend you get on with it," Kamakura replied, cold and crisp as the first breath of winter.

"Right, okay," he typed a few more commands into the computer before pushing back from the desk. "Alright, you guys are going to need to lose the clothes. I'll get the pods ready."

"Lose the… oh," Komaeda murmured, pressing fingers against the thin fabric of his t-shirt. "This is starting to sound more like a bad porn set-up than an experiment."

Naegi snorted, offering him a weak smile as he pushed up from his chair and disappeared into the dark of the room. "Sorry to disappoint, but neither of you are really my type."

"Sorry," he back-pedaled quickly, turning his gaze down and away, chuckling as he slipped out of his jacket, shivering violently as the cool air hit his sweaty skin. "I d-d-didn't mean to im-imply th-that some… one l-like you w-w-would be in-interested in g-g-g-garbage l-like m-me, its ju-ju-ju-ju-ju…."

He gnashed his teeth together, but it didn't do any good. He couldn't stop them from chattering anymore than he could have kept the sun from rising. And it just kept getting worse and worse until he finally just gave up on talking altogether, pulling his shirt over his head with trembling hands before reaching down to fumble off his boots and socks. He wasn't even that cold, not really, just… just….

"I didn't mean it like that," Naegi answered, his voice softer, kinder.

The voice of pity.

It was revolting.

"I didn't..." he continued hesitantly. "I just have someone I like and-"

"No one cares. Your lifestyle choices are boring, Naegi Makoto. I would suggest you turn your attention to more essential matters. Your clumsy reassurances are transparent and he does not have any use for your pity."

Nagito smiled down at the floor. They weren't complimentary, really, but for some reason Kamakura's words still made him feel warmer.

Naegi laughed awkwardly, "I suppose you're right." His voice was distant and accompanied by a series of soft beeps and a quiet whoosh. "Just come over when you're done and I'll get you both hooked up."

He stood up and struggled out of his pants, almost falling over twice, but each time Kamakura's warm hand landed against his shoulder just in time to steady him, releasing him immediately once he'd regained his balance.

He tried really hard not to look at him.

He failed miserably, of course, because he was the very worst kind of trash, peeking at him… leering at him through his hair as he kicked free of his pants at last and stood shivering in his boxers and socks, arms crossed tight over his belly.

His skin seemed pale in the white light of the monitor, but well toned as if he went out of his way to take care of his body. Very different from his own body which hadn't been anything to write home about even before… not that there had ever really been that much before to speak of really . It seemed like he'd always been bouncing from one illness to the next.

Now he couldn't even bring himself to look down, to confirm the outline of ribs or the loss of muscle mass or the scars or the sagging pale of his skin.

To confirm how much worse it was now than what he last remembers.

It's bad enough that he has to touch it.

It was both easier and harder to look at Kamakura instead, to study the flex of his legs or the curve of his ass or the line of his shoulders, the bend of his spine.

He had a mark in the dead center of his back like someone had touched him with ink black fingers, pressed a thumb to the spot and left a permanent print behind in indelible ink.

He really shouldn't be staring at him this way.

He really was an awful person, just the very worst slime to ever ooze across the surface of the world.

Always wanting things he couldn't even begin to imagine having.

"Warning: Evacuation Order: Level 5, Sector T17. Quarantine imminent."

He was on kneeling on the floor again in the hospital room as she scratched at the door, his head spinning, aching.

He felt sick.

A red light spun to life blaring warning across the poorly lit room with blinding efficiency.

Nagito startled falling tumbling back onto his butt as an automated voice whirled to life, crackling with static and slurred like the power was running down. "Warning: Evacuation Order: Level 5, Sector T17. Quarantine imminent."

"I... I don't know what that means," he whispered, gaze whipping back and forth across the room searching for an answer and coming up empty.

Somewhere out of sight an alarm began, rhythmic and familiar. He remembered the sound from fire drills at school, from ill-timed pranks at the hospitals he'd stayed in. The sound had always made his head hurt.

"Warning: Evacuation Order Level 5, Sector T17. Quarantine imminent," the automated voice called again.

"I don't know what that means! I don't-"

"Do you really think you can do this?"

He laughed, a rough disbelieving cackle over as quickly as it began, as he brushed his hair out of his eyes with a distracted hand. The crudely drawn map of routes in and out of Towa City was laid out on the table between them pinned down by condiment bottles. "Me?"

"I'm pretty sure they'd recognize me. Plus, you're going anyway, right?"

He hummed, smiling and inclining his head, "There is something there I want to see."

He nodded, tracing his finger over the buildings and bridges. "Looks like there are two major routes into the city that don't require flight. One is here and the other is through the maintenance tunnel here. You're sure about these?"

He shrugged, "Don't you trust me?"

"While our interests align, yes."

"You're not as stupid as I thought you'd be," he offered generously, unsurprised at the eye roll his compliment received. "You seemed much stupider on television."

"Most people do when they're not aware they're being watched by hundreds of thousands of people," Naegi sighed. "Still, you're the one who came to me so I figure I can trust you in this even if you are one of her…"

"I wasn't her anything."

"Says the man with the red-nailed hand."

"Hm. It's a reminder."

"A reminder of what?"

"I'll let you know when I remember," he finished, laughing at the frown on Naegi's face. "What does it matter? You were willing to trust my information so what do my reasons matter to you?"

"I suppose they don't. I really don't want to involve the others until I have to even though they'll be going in anyway based on the information you provided, but they won't be able to infiltrate the… you said they were kids?"

"Mm hm, that's what she said. Children she saved from their despair so that they would spread that despair to others. I…" He grasped for their names, their faces, anything about them besides a vague of small people. There was nothing, just dim formless memories slipping through his fingers like smoke. "They were… I… sorry, I…."

"Hey, it's okay," Naegi was suddenly there, a hand on his arm, bracing him as if he'd been about to fall. Had he been? "You've been a lot of help. Look, you don't have to do this if-"

"It's fine," he said quickly, stumbling back and away, arms curling around him, the oven mitt he was using to conceal her arm scratchy against his skin. Panic rose and fell away as he retreated back away from the man looking at him with such sympathy. "You said it too: I'm going for myself anyway. It's no trouble to look into this other matter for you while I'm there."

"Thank you. I do appreciate your help."

He hated Naegi Makoto.

Hated the kindness on his face and the stubbornness in his heart, the tenacity that drove him… just as he loved the hope he inspired in him.

He made him want to be better than he was.

Maybe he affected everyone like that.

Maybe that was his true talent.

That was why he was here, that was why he had come here after everything.

He'd seen him on the television, standing with all the others, but apart as well and he'd remembered… remembered that Naegi Makoto had tried. He'd tried to understand him even though he was… so he'd found him. It hadn't been hard. He'd still had plenty of money even though money didn't mean much in this new world. Plenty enough to get a location, find a way to corner him and speak with him in private to confirm that he was the person he thought he was.

Cynical.

Hopeful.

Reckless.

Committed.

"They were about to jump off the roof, you know. I saved them. I spoke to them and pulled them back from the edge. Sent them back inside." She made a face when he didn't respond immediately, "Aren't you at least going to tell me I did something really great? Come on, Nagito, at least congratulate me on saving them."

"Saving them? Is that what they're calling it these days?" He inquired, prodding at the frog's innards with the tip of the scalpel they'd been given.

"And here I thought you'd be off and rambling about what a hopeful act I'd performed, how inspiring it was, that sort of thing. You're such a killjoy," Junko sighed, head lolling against her hand as she slumped against the table, making no effort to even appear as if she were participating in the assignment.

He slanted a glance at her, twisting the knife to sever the frog's heart. "Did you actually help them? Or did you let them stay in whatever circumstances put them on the roof?"

She smiled, a wide Cheshire cat grin, "Caught that, huh?"

"Sometimes an end is the brightest hope of all," he said lifting the heart out and setting it aside. "Sometimes an end is all there is left to hope for."

"You're probably right. When I told their parents what had happened they didn't seem the forgiving sort."

"You're a terrible person."

"Everyone is a terrible person, some people just hide it better than others."

"I don't believe that."

"Don't you? I would have thought you hoped people would overcome their inherent wickedness, discard their own selfish desires to show love and kindness to others or some lameass crap like that. Isn't that the most hopeful outlook?"

"No," he shook his head hard as if that might banish the idea from existence. "Stop it."

"Oh, come on, Komaeda, play with me. You can't be half as interested in that frog as you're pretending to be."

"Don't want to."

"Everybody has expectations they can't measure up to, goals they'll never meet, everybody wishes they were more than what they are, everyone wants something they can't have. Everyone is fighting against their own despair without ever realizing that it is the threat of despair that keeps them going. Despair keeps you hungry, gives you permission to pursue the things you want. Despair is a heart that can never be full. It consumes everything you pour into it and desperately wants more. More and more and more. Despair is the fire that burns and the world is the fuel. Other people are what keep that fire raging: their expectations, their condemnation, their abuse, their praise, their selfish wants and needs and desires. That's what despair is. Despair is life. So long as we live, so long as there are other people in the world, there will always be despair. It is all we are, Komaeda, it's all we've ever been. Everything is so much easier once you just accept it, you know."

"I'm not like that," he whispered, staring hard at the frog to avoid looking at her, at the fierce light that always shone in her eyes when she talked about it.

"Hm. Maybe not. After all, no one has ever loved you, have they? No one has ever expected anything from you. If their expectations were any lower it would be like you didn't even exist, wouldn't it? You think your talent makes you special, but it doesn't. You think hope fills you up inside, makes you feel less hollow, but it doesn't. And your talent? That stupid talent you're so proud of? That talent that betrays you at every turn by just serving to further alienate you from everyone around you. Someone like you, someone as pathetic as you, someone that no one really cares about, I suppose you might not be like the rest of us. Maybe there's something wrong with you. Maybe you're missing some essential piece and that's why you've never been worth anything to anyone. Or maybe you're just what happens when despair isn't fed, but the body continues to live on. Maybe that's all your hope really is. Just you trying to fill a bottomless pit, to stoke the ashes of a fire that never kindled, I mean, if that's true than you're not even really a person at all are you? You're just nothing. Less than nothing even. But then, you already know that, right?"

He stared at their frog, at the delicate skin driven through with pins to expose the gooey insides as the teacher continued to drone on oblivious.

Beside him she shrugged carelessly, "Anyway, they're no good to me if they aren't steeped as deeply in despair as I am. This way they'll be just that much more grateful when I rescue them from their circumstances, just that much more loyal when I take them away from all that ails them. I have such plans after all. Children are the future, after all, am I right?"

"Terrible," he whispered, reaching inside and pinching the heart between his fingers until it burst under the pressure.

"If you really thought that you wouldn't be smiling."

"Mr. Komaeda, if you are going to insist on talking to yourself and disrupting the class, please do so in the hallway so the other students can learn the material you clearly have no interest in."

"Yes, sir, sorry," he mumbled, gathering his bag and making his way to the door with the sound of her laughter ringing in his ears.

"der...le...or-tsev...antine...inent"

On the floor again and she's still scratching at the door, still calling out to him.

There is no red light, no alarm, no strange warning alert. There's only the dark and her outside the door and the storm outside the window. He's laying on the floor and everything hurts.

"Komaeda? Can you hear me?"

"Hinata?" He mouths the name, unable to find the will to put put sound behind it.

"You have to get up."

"Get up?" He asks softly, opening his eyes enough to peer across the pale, blood-splattered tile.

"You have to hide."

"Hide?" He echoed, uncertain. "Why?"

"You can't let her catch you."

This. This again. First that compulsion to run, to hide and now this. Hinata telling him what to do, throwing caution at him in the form of an order.

"Why?" He asked tiredly.

Hinata sounded annoyed, "What are you? Five? Stop just asking why."

"No! Not you. You don't talk to me that way. Not you," he snapped, fingers of his good hand digging against his collarbone. "Please. Not you. Besides, I think it's a pretty pertinent question. I mean, I keep running away. I keep hiding from her, from... from everything, even you, I just keep… why? Why am I doing all this? Why do I keep remembering all these things? Can you tell me, Hinata? Can you tell me? What's the point? What can she really do to me? Kill me? Hurt me? I mean, I'm already dead, aren't I? What's the point of all this? Why are you doing this? Are you doing this? Is this just punishment? Is it because I-I'm not-"

"Komaeda, no, please I…."

"Please what, Hinata?"

"I don't know, okay? I don't know, but you're not... and I'm… you're not dead. I can't believe I'm... fuck... I... just... what if you're real? What if this is all…?"

"I'm not... I... I don't understand."

"Shut up, I know it's stupid, okay? I know it's crazy and I'm... I know, but… but what if it isn't crazy? What if we're still connected and I... what if she catches you and I… what if you never wake up?"

"Wake… up? I… Hinata... I..."

"war...vac...r...lev...or...t...ntine...immi"

"You think this is going to fix us?" He asked as he braced his feet against the table and pushed his chair back to balance precariously on two legs.

"Not exactly," Naegi replied, staring intently at the collection of pictures spread across the board. "But it's better than the alternative and I think it's really the only move left to us. Alter Ego should be able to override the safety protocols and countermand the mandates if the program specifics she procured for us are correct and I have a back up plan just is case things go wrong so it should be fine. Probably. The facility itself is all but completed already since the intention was to use it to help the people from Towa City so that part at least should be pretty straightforward. All I need to do is get you all there in one piece."

"They built that thing to help the poor traumatized people of Towa City and you're going to use it to help the people who sent the world off the rails," he clicked his tongue, a thin smile curving his lips. "Some Ultimate Hope you are."

Naegi laughed, scrubbing a nervous hand across the back of his head, "You're probably right, but I don't want to see anyone else suffer for what was done to you, to all of us."

"Well, it wouldn't be like we wouldn't have earned our share of suffering. You know that they'll probably kill you for this."

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, "They're certainly welcome to give it a shot. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm pretty hard to kill."

"Well, we are lucky," he replied, hiding an answering smile behind his hand as he dropped his legs and let his chair fall back to the floor.

NOTES:

Teruteru's accent: Is an abomination, but it's an abomination that I had a lot of fun with.

The song Komaeda is singing while Kamakura is carrying him is Stevie Wonder's "Don't You Worry 'Bout a Thing" lest we forget that I make my own fun.

Souda: I always thought it made more sense for the examples she used to be those who were still around to feel horrified by the potential memory of the things they had done. That just made more sense to me so that's what I rolled with.

Timeline: Yup, it jumps all over the place. That will continue into next chapter and then things will get significantly more linear for a while.

Principals: Might not be readily apparent yet, but the principals in this chapter and last are different people as I have a theory that Kirigiri's Father did not take over as principal until the same year she began attending.