DAY THREE
-continued-
03:43:43 UTC
-ooo-
"How did it get so late so soon? It's night before it's afternoon. December is here before it's June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?"
-Dr. Seuss
-ooo-
The sky was dark and the rain was still falling.
The rain had been falling for a long time.
A long time and no time at all.
The wood beneath his feet was slippery, soft and spongy, almost slimy, as if the rain falling upon those planks had transformed them into something subtly different from what they'd begun as.
As he made his slow, stumbling way up the bridge, he tried and failed not to think about the way his gauze-covered soles struck the surface; how it gave beneath each new step as if he were leaving impressions behind him to mark his path.
He tried not to dwell on the way it seemed to become more and more difficult to lift his feet away again, the way the soggy gauze wrapped around them caught and stuck, holding him back, stuttering his step, however briefly, before pulling free.
How far had he come?
How far did he still have to go?
His borrowed pants were heavy, the material soaked through long ago, the seams chafing his skin with each new step.
It didn't matter, he'd told himself each time, as he braced for another step, another pull, for the sickening wet pop of broken suction as he pulled his feet free of it again and again.
If he didn't make it there in time.
If he couldn't reach him….
No, no, that wasn't… there was no reason to freak out.
There were rules.
There were always rules.
Even if he didn't know them, there were still rules.
It was a game.
It had always been a game.
So there were rules.
Games… programs were governed by rules.
Probably.
Maybe.
It didn't matter.
He just…
Just….
"Did you know that TeruTeru's still alive and hiding beneath my bed? He comes out at night and makes all the food we eat at the hotel." Komaeda commented blithely as they stumbled up the bridge together.
The morning sun was bright overhead, the heat already unbearable even with the gentle sea breeze lifting their hair and clothes as they'd stepped out onto the bridge that would lead them over to the central island.
"Can you seriously not shut up for ten lousy minutes?" He muttered as he pulled them to a stop so he could try to adjust his grip across Komaeda's back.
"Did you know I once took a vow of silence? My parents begged me to speak, but if I broke my vow all their hair would have fallen out and I would have died."
"And what a tragedy thatwould have been," he grumbled, steadying Komaeda with one hand while he groped beneath his jacket for a better handhold. His shirt was drenched in sweat, clinging to the feverish warmth of his skin, the fabric slick beneath his fingers. The coat was probably just making it worse. "Why are you even wearing this anyway? It's a million degrees out here."
"It protects me from perverts, mosquitos and horseradish," Komaeda answered easily, as if that much should be obvious. He swayed away from him, the sudden shift sending them both stumbling dangerously close to the edge.
He cursed and hauled him back against him, fingers digging in against his hip to keep his grip.
Komaeda yelped, falling back into him, fingers catching against his shoulder, forehead crashing down against his throat, hard enough to knock the breath from him and for a moment he forgot how annoying Komaeda was being.
"Sorry, did that hurt?" He wheezed, shifting his grip so he was merely steadying him instead of digging his nails in against his skin.
"Yes," Komaeda replied, his voice strange, husky and rough, lips brushing the shape of the lie against his skin.
He blinked awake to darkness, rain heavy against his lashes.
Lightning flashed across the sky, shining bright across the slick red planks of the bridge.
He needed to keep moving.
He needed….
The sun was still bright overhead and Komaeda was laughing again, high and free, head lolling against his shoulder, breath blowing warm against his cheek as they stumbled forward together, still weaving too close to the edge for comfort.
"I really hate the way you smell," he offered the observation with a smile in his voice and a skip in his step.
He snorted, squeezing the hand he was now holding to be sure Komaeda's arm stayed locked over his shoulder. "Yeah, well, thanks for that. We all have one change of clothes and there are no washing machines. Soap's only gonna get us so far so we all just need to suck it up and learn to live with it."
"I have a lot of friends, you know," he whispered conspiratorially, lips brushing his ear as he leaned in again, uncomfortably close.
"Really? Maybe you can get one of them to carry you."
Komaeda giggled, reeling back and away, pulling free of his hold with a sudden jerk so he could stumble down the bridge, weaving dangerously and gesturing wildly towards the figures ahead of them. "Tanaka doesn't actually like animals at all! Souda wears a leopard-print thong! Owari is a vegetarian! Saionji made me a friendship bracelet just the other day. Oh! And you might have already guessed, but I'm actually a secret agent placed here to gather intelligence on a coconut uprising."
"Would you quit that," he snapped, finally managing to snag one of Komaeda's wildly gesticulating hands and using it to yank him back against him with more force than necessary, frustration grinding his teeth together. "Stop flailing around like that or we're going to fall."
"Well, I can fly so that wouldn't really be a problem. You shouldn't worry about me so much, Hinata."
"I'm not worried about you, I'm worried about me since you're probably going to end up dragging me down with you."
"Oh... yeah," Komaeda stilled, cocking his head to one side as if he were giving the matter serious consideration, "Hm, yeah, I'd definitely let you fall."
"Thanks for that," he grumbled, using the opportunity to sling Komaeda's arm back around his shoulders before hooking his own around his waist once more. "I don't suppose there's any way you could maybe at least tryto help me out here?"
"Help you? You're the one who keeps insisting on walking so close to me for no reason. I really wish you wouldn't."
"Yeah, but everybody would probably be pissed at me if I just let you walk off the bridge."
"They would. I'm very popular and no one really likes you at all."
"Oh, just shut up already."
"Um, I… I c-could, um, I c-could maybe help…?" Mikan murmured, drawing to a stop beside them, her words almost lost beneath the wind and the roar of the ocean below.
He hadn't even realized she'd been following behind them, too caught up in the full time job of wrangling Komaeda to notice or care.
For his part, Komaeda turned to smile sweetly at her, "How unlucky I am to have such a useless-"
He slapped a hand across his mouth to muffle whatever garbage he was intent on spewing this time, "No, no, it's fine, thanks, Mikan, I can handle him."
"O-oh… y-you seemed as if you were s-struggling and I…" she trailed off, biting her lip nervously and gesturing helplessly to them both before returning her hands to her apron, her fingers worrying against the edges.
"No, we're fi-oh, c'mon," Komaeda's tongue had licked a sloppy path across his palm, wriggling warm and damp against his skin until he finally relented and pulled his hand back with a grimace, wiping it against the sleeve of his stupid, sweat-soaked jacket.
"You should be careful," Komaeda warned, leaning forward towards her before he could yank him back, his voice low and serious. "I've heard that there's a troll living beneath this bridge who gobbles up naughty girls who only think of themselves."
Her face flushed bright red, hands curling into fists in her apron as she reeled back away from him, "I-I-I-I w-w-w-w-"
"Sorry. Just ignore him, Mikan," he sighed, yanking Komaeda back against his side once more and turning him around so that he stood between them. "Just go on ahead already, we can manage on our own."
And for all that he had been trying to be nice and spare her whatever the hell was going on with Komaeda, she still looked for all the world like he'd told her he'd just murdered a basket full of puppies and it was all her fault.
"O-oh, um, if y-you're sure…." She murmured, eyes held wide like she was trying to stave off tears.
Why the hell was she crying?
He had just been trying to...
What the actual fuck was wrong with everyone today?
"Yeah, it's, look, it's fine. I'm just," he began hesitantly, glancing around desperately in the hopes that someone else would appear out of nowhere and handle this situation for him.
"All the palm trees are made from ice cream," Komaeda offered helpfully.
Oh, fuck this day.
"Look," he sighed finally, deciding the truth was the least daunting option available. "I'm sure you'd be a huge help, but I really don't want him saying anything else mean to you. It's not fair to either of you. Normally he's tripping over himself to complement everyone because he's a giant talent dork so he probably hates every second of this. Just go already. I'll get him to the hospital as soon as I can."
"O-okay, th-thank you, th-that's very kind of you, Mister H-Hinata," she offered him a tentative, shaky smile before turning on her heel and dashing away after the others.
"Hinata wants to see you naked," Komaeda called after her, waving cheerfully with his free hand and leaning hard enough against him to send them both stumbling sideways.
"Would you stop saying stuff like that? She's going to get the wrong idea."
"This was all just a ploy to get me alone, wasn't it?" Komaeda replied, unfazed by his admonishments.
"I'm not… oh my god, just shut up already," he grumbled, face blazing hot as he tightened his hold on Komaeda and began the slow descent to the next island, intently ignoring the looks some of the others were casting back their way. "I can't believe sick you is even more annoying than regular you."
"Hinata," he replied, his voice serious and utterly composed. "I've never been sick a day in my life."
The sun was in his eyes, blinding as they stumbled together down the bridge.
He woke on a cold floor, cheek numb, head buzzing.
He could smell the familiar stench of blood and rain water.
How had he… where…?
The voice that answered his unspoken question was soft and feminine, flat and familiar: "Warning: Evacuation Order: Level 5, Sector T17. Quarantine imminent."
It hurts a lot more to say it aloud, "Chiaki?"
Like he'd dredged the word up from the very depths of his soul, like just saying it has scrapped his throat raw, as if just thinking it was her should have made him bleed.
"Warning: Evacuation Order: Level 5, Sector T17. Quarantine imminent," her voice replied and he realized too late to stifle the ache of loss in his chest that he was wrong.
It wasn't her at all.
Because of course it wasn't.
She was gone.
And she'd never sounded anything like that.
Not really.
She'd been… different.
She'd never really sounded like the computer program she'd been.
Not really.
Not to him.
"Warning: Evacuation Order: Level 5, Sector T17. Quarantine imminent."
He wasn't sure how he'd thought even for a moment that it sounded anything like her.
Wishful thinking, maybe?
What did that even mean?
Quarantine?
Evacuation?
Whatever it was, it wasn't good.
"Warning: Evacuation Order: Level 5, Sector T17. Quarantine imminent."
No, it didn't really sound like her at all.
But, even if it had, she was gone and he had to focus on saving what remained.
Even before he opened his eyes he knew he was in that hospital room again, that when he finally psyched himself up enough to look he'd find Komaeda lying beside him, inches away.
And he wasn't disappointed.
He was there, but the sight still stole his breath away.
Because it wasn't really him.
Not really.
It was just a flickering, washed out image of him like an old photograph or a freeze-frame from an aging video.
And for a moment he wasn't sure if either of them was truly real.
If either of them had ever really existed in the first place.
"Komaeda?" He tried, voice breaking across the second syllable so that the last came out as barely anything more than a whisper.
Was he too late?
Was the Komaeda he thought he'd known already gone?
Was this all that was left?
Just this weird afterimage?
The room felt real enough even if he didn't remember how he'd gotten there, if he'd gotten there at all.
The air around him was stiflingly warm and the tiles were cool beneath his chest, his arms.
He could feel the damp of water or blood smearing beneath his fingers as he pushed them across the floor between them.
It was just a few inches, but it somehow felt like thousands of miles, hundreds of years.
He wasn't really surprised when his hand slipped through the flickering facade to smear through an unseen puddle beyond it, beneath it.
He pulled his hand back and reached for him once more, made a grab for his shoulder and watched his hand slip right through him again, disappearing through his shirt to slap hard against the floor beneath.
Panic rose up in his throat, thick enough to choke.
He squeezed his eyes shut as if that might keep him from screaming and when he opened them again he was standing on the bridge once more.
In the dark, in the rain, breathing hard, still choking on that same panic, hands trembling.
Had he been there the whole time? Wavering on his feet at the apex of the bridge?
He wasn't sure.
He wasn't sure of anything except… Komaeda.
He needed to get to Komaeda.
He needed….
And then he was there again, laying on the cold floor once again in the stifling heat of the on-call room, but the Komaeda laying beside him looks solid, real, in a way he hadn't before.
He could hear the rain beating against the windows, the soft wheeze of his breath.
"Komaeda? Can you hear me?" He asked, mouth so dry he had to choke the words out and if he hadn't been lying right there, inches away, he'd never have seen his lips frame the silent syllables of affirmation.
Relief makes him feel so light-headed it's almost painful.
He was still there.
Still there.
He wanted to touch him, feel his breath against his skin.
Something.
Anything.
Just to be sure.
But there's nothing, still nothing even as he reached out to brush his forefinger across the air where his lips should be.
"You have to get up," he said finally, letting his hand drop to rest on the floor between them.
"Get up?" Komaeda's raspy voice echoed the words, soft as a whisper and hollow as rotting oak as he finally opened his eyes to stare vacantly through him. He didn't even bother to look around, as if the idea that he was actually there and not just a voice in his head hadn't even occurred to him.
"Why?" He asked, a smile quirking across his lips as if the very idea of moving were humorous.
And he wanted to be angry.
He wanted to be furious.
He did.
But it was just… it was just such a Komaeda thing to say, to do.
To just… just give up.
Like his life wasn't anything worth holding on to.
He went on and on and on and on and on and on about his stupid hope, about his hope for them and then he just gave up.
Like his life was nothing.
Just something to be used as a means to an end.
Like no one would care when he was gone.
He rolled onto his back and pressed the heels of his hands down hard against his eyes as the first burst of laughter bubbled past his lips.
Thunder rumbled overhead and the rain returned, cold and unrelenting. He could feel the uneven, spongy boards beneath his back and he just laughed harder and and harder until he was breathless and no longer sure if he laughing or sobbing.
Komaeda probably wouldn't have cared either way.
"I hate you. I hate you so fucking much," he screamed into the storm, the sound vanishing beneath the howl of the wind and the persistent patter of rain.
"I really hate you," he muttered, as much to himself as to the boy lying on the floor of the on-call room.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he finally clamoured back to his feet and began to walk again, only that when he did his steps were slow and sluggish and his head ached.
Would he just fucking lay there if he didn't get there in time?
Just let whatever happened happen?
Would he even care?
He wasn't sure, but his stomach was heavy with dread, churning sickly at the memory of that weird afterimage.
That terrible, hopeless smile.
"Can't you at least try to help me out a little?" He muttered, weaving a little as he swiped hair out of his face, tucking it back behind his ear.
It would help if he at least knew what he was trying to save him from.
How long he had to manage it.
Games had rules.
Programs had rules.
What were they?
Was there a time limit?
If he didn't make it in time would Komaeda disappear for good?
Was Mikan already gone?
He'd heard her voice before.
He was certain he had.
Even if it had been weird, off, it had still been her.
If he just knew something, anything at all, it wouldn't feel like such an impossible task.
The worst thing about it was it felt like he should know, like he'd known once and just forgotten somehow.
Like knowledge was just leaking away, leaving him to wander alone and unarmed.
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He paused to rub at his forehead.
It hurt worse then before.
Maybe.
He wasn't sure.
He wasn't sure of anything except that nothing would matter if he couldn't make sure they were safe.
It wouldn't matter if he was losing his mind, if he was sick or mad or damaged beyond repair.
It wouldn't matter if he was Hajime Hinata or Izuru Kamukura or the person he thought he was in those times between when he was so sure he'd finally started to get a handle on himself, on what had happened, on what he wanted.
None of that would matter if they weren't safe.
And the rest... everything he thought had happened since they'd gone to confront her.
None of that would matter either.
Because if it wasn't over…
If it wasn't over and he wasn't out… then none of it was real.
Not the boards on which he walked or the rain pouring down across his shoulders or the occasional spike of pain from the cuts on his feet.
Not skeletal hands dragging him down or red-nailed fingers prying him open, crawling inside.
Not Sonia sitting beside him on the bed speaking with him in quiet tones in the green-lit darkness of his room.
Not Akane trimming his hair.
Not Fuyuhiko sitting at the table opposite him, laughing.
Not Kazuichi trying so hard to be comforting and failing so miserably.
Not Togami's disdain or Naegi's attempts at assurance or even that terrible coffee.
None of that had been real.
Or at least he hoped it hadn't been.
There was no way to know for sure.
To know if they were safe and every moment with them had been faked, some trick to lull him into believing he was out, safe.
Or if they were real, as real as he was, as real as he thought Komaeda was, and they were all just stuck in this place, floundering around in the trap, believing they'd made it out.
In the end, he hoped they were just in his head.
That only he was real.
That only what had happened between them in this place mattered.
That only they were still… stuck.
That the only ones they needed to save were themselves.
Because it meant that if he could just find him... everything would be okay.
They'd be okay.
They'd wake up and everything and everyone would be okay.
Only he had no reason to think that.
Not really.
No reason to believe in anything or anyone.
No reason to believe in the possibility of salvation.
Wasn't even certain if he truly cared about any of this or if he just thought he should.
If finding Komaeda and…
Finding Komaeda and...
And...?
There'd been someone there with him, hadn't there?
Someone….
Someone he knew.
A girl.
There'd been a girl and she'd been... she was a… friend.
She was….
He could almost hear her saying his name.
Could feel her weight pressing down against him, her body shifting against his own...
Almost…
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Mikan.
Right.
He'd known that.
It had been such a long night and his head felt heavy, thick, weighted down by exhaustion; it was no wonder he was forgetting things, no wonder he was confused.
It didn't really matter anyway.
He just needed to get to the hospital.
Just needed to get to them and then they could go find the others.
Others…?
Had there been others?
Who were they?
He could feel their names on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't quite form them, couldn't quite find the shape the syllables were supposed to take.
He knew them.
He did.
They had names, names he'd said dozens of times, hundreds maybe, but he just… he couldn't quite….
They had faces, but he couldn't quite picture them.
They'd been people he cared about.
Hadn't they?
He had cared about them, hadn't he?
They'd meant something to him, hadn't they?
So why... why couldn't he remember them?
Why couldn't he...
They'd been… friends.
Friends?
Was that the right word?
They had been friends, hadn't they?
Hadn't they?
He could remember… what was her name?
The girl….
There had definitely been a girl.
Something with an M?
She'd had long hair and she'd been kind of... nervous. Hadn't she?
What had her name been… why couldn't he…?
He could remember Komaeda at least.
He was sure of that much.
Everything about him.
The way he looked, felt, the rasp of his voice, the taste of him, the way he... hated him sometimes… most times.
How awful he was.
How he'd liked him anyway.
Or maybe because of how awful he was.
He wasn't quite sure on that point.
But he knew he'd definitely liked him, even when he hated him.
He'd been frustrating, so frustrating, but he'd also been... he was... important.
He remembered him.
Would always remember him.
Because he knew him.
Even things he shouldn't have known about him, things he'd never told him, things that seemed strange and uncertain and made up, but he knew, knew to be true.
But all the others... there was nothing.
Just empty spaces where they used to be even though only a moment ago it seemed as if he'd been worried about them.
Scared for them.
Now there was just...
Nothing.
Nothing beyond himself and the desire to find him.
Because he was in danger.
Wasn't he?
Why did he think that?
Why?
What was he doing?
He'd been going somewhere hadn't he?
He glanced around somehow surprised to find himself standing in the middle of a bright-red bridge suspended high over dark water.
What had he been...?
Komaeda.
Right.
He'd been looking for Komaeda.
Who was Komaeda?
Important.
Komaeda was important.
Komaeda was at the hospital.
He needed to go there.
Needed to tell him.
What was it he needed to tell him?
He was certain there was something.
Something important.
Something.
Something...
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There was something he needed to tell him.
That he...
Something.
There'd been something else too.
They were still playing her game.
Right.
He needed to tell them that too.
Them?
There had been others, hadn't there?
It definitely hadn't been just the two of them.
There had been others.
They'd been...
Friends.
He'd cared about them.
Hadn't he?
Cared enough to hold onto them... hadn't he?
Were they really so important?
He wasn't sure.
Komaeda, though, Komaeda was important.
He knew that.
Important because he... he was... because he was.
It didn't matter why.
But the others...
He wasn't sure.
He knew there had been others.
But all that was left of them was a vague impression of the time they'd spent together.
Fear and grief and anger and joy and he thought... he thoughthe could remember being almost happy sometimes, but he couldn't... couldn't quite put any of those scattered, fragmented emotions together to form a coherent picture.
He scrambled frantically for something, anything, to cling to, to hold up as proof of their existence, their importance, but everything had been scrubbed over, wiped clean.
Their faces were a blur, their voices filled with static in his memory of their time together.
Only Komaeda came through clearly, answering questions he couldn't hear, gesturing wildly at people he could not see.
He could even hear him say their names, but the moment he'd formed the last syllable the words seemed to vanish, washed away like all the rest.
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