As Nagito walked, he noticed that his shoes were starting to squeak. With his preparations completed early, he didn't know what to do with his final moments of free time. He left the factory and stepped into the street, strolling with no destination in mind. His expression was calm, though he unconsciously wanted to put distance between himself and the factory. The pavement was so uneven and cracked that the unlucky young man couldn't help but trip over himself. There was an almost inhuman elegance to the way he stumbled, barely managing to pivot his footing before crashing to the ground. He was more concerned about the bad luck of stepping on a crack than he was about falling, it worried him so much that he forgot there was a sidewalk. He ceaselessly hobbled through the humid ocean of shadows enveloping his silhouette, doing so with the grace of a lobotomized ballerina. Nagito felt formless, the illusion of nullity never failed to soothe him no matter how many times he tripped. The putrid cacophony of his outsole threatened to ruin this peace by pulling at his awareness. Each creak of the cheap leather footwear was an unwanted declaration and reminder of his being. It wasn't long before an overbearing wrongness gnawed at his disorganized senses. His mind, normally devoid of reservations, now felt ensnared in a languished state without the usual distractions it craved.

His shoes had been squeaking for days, though this was the first time he noticed the noise. The squeals palpitating under his steps grew deafening despite not being any louder than usual. Huh… that sounds a lot like the SpongeBob walking sound effect, he thought.

Nagito's thin fingers plucked absently at a clump of lint left inside his pocket. Innocuous lights in the distance flickered to bludgeon his senses and sear hellfire along his corneas. Time slowed to a crawl as the indistinct outlines of surrounding structures contorted and shut around his throat. Hundreds of thumbtacks punctured his skull and melted through his ear canal. It was impossible to drown his awareness before it could bubble to the surface. I wonder if I should buy new shoes soon.

Nagito's heart strained, he grasped at his hair for comfort. That doesn't even make sense! How dare I let a common discomfort fester into an affront to hope?! These insults to my resolve will only fuel this repugnant body's desecration! Compost doesn't think! He only needed to live with squeaky shoes for a few more hours anyways. He unintentionally pulled at his hair with too much strength, struggling to correctly place his hands back in his pockets once he noticed. My hands are disgusting– I can't keep walking. Why am I walking? Why am I thinking so much? I never think like this. I don't want my hair to fall out— that doesn't matter. I should check the fire grenade again. I'm walking back to the factory– I hope they won't suffer too much when-

He shifted his entire weight onto a nearby telephone pole to prevent himself from falling. Twice he slammed the base of his forehead into the pole as a way to punish his brain for creating such selfish doubts. "I hope it's going to be excruciating!" He cried out, his voice dissolving weakly into the sky. "When is the sun gonna rise already?! True hope will be- uh…"

He could tell that his usual pretentious ravings were forced, there was no combination of words that would stop him from second guessing his conviction. Nagito covered his mouth, trying to calm down in case someone was listening. He often found it challenging to control his words, though he had nothing worth hiding until recently. With unsteady breath, he climbed to his feet, even as the telephone pole splintered and bloodied his palms. Once he found balance, he took off a shoe and threw it into the air, the unexpected helplessness of his thoughts driving him into a panic. "All of my dreams are coming true— that's what this is! Flesh clings to these bones only because I have nothing else to give you! These fingers never warranted any skin! I can't wait to grind us all into compost just for you! This is the kind of atonement— one beyond spoken word! The type that makes them erect statues! Of me?! Yes! I'll claw it all off! I'll never be able to bother anyone again! This stained appendix is thirsty and lucky enough to be emptied dry by leaden absolution– I'll get on my knees and beg to choke on the ashes of those I loathe! Those I loved! I'm hoping for this- and there's never been any doubt! A protagonist would have it no other w-"

Something small crashed into the back of Nagito's skull. He motioned to catch himself but immediately fell into unconsciousness, slamming ear first onto the pavement. When he awakened, he noticed a bird lying centimeters away from his face. The bird's neck was already broken, its eyes still wide as though it had been watching Nagito sleep. Nagito recognized the bird as a Galah, he read about them at one point and remembered thinking they were beautiful. Nagito stumbled to his feet, trying not to look at it. He hopped on one leg to get to his shoe and put it back on. What a dumb bird, he thought. For it to die in such a wasteful way was only proof of its worthlessness. He wouldn't waste time feeling sorry for it.

"Hi Komaeda, why are you crying?" Someone called out from behind him.

Nagito turned around in fear. A figure stood only a yard away from him, she meant no harm yet appeared terrifying under the dim glow of lanterns hanging above her. It was Chiaki, wearing a blank expression that was impossible to read.

"W-what?" He replied weakly.

He hadn't realized he was crying. Wiping tears from his face, he unconsciously stood in front of the dead bird to hide it. He knew Chiaki was the worst possible person he could run into at the moment. She was by far the most suspicious candidate for being the traitor, though Nagito wasn't sure enough to bet on it. If she confessed to being the traitor, it would ruin the theatrics of his plan. Or worse, maybe she'd been following him and figured everything out. If that was the case, he couldn't risk a change of course drastic enough to endanger her. He was too careless. Chiaki's emotionless stare was creepy, he had no clue what she was thinking or what she wanted.

"Ah, good morning Nanami-san. What a coincidence! Did you follow me to ask where the bombs are, again?" Nagito winced once he realized she wasn't going to respond. "How hopeless, I suppose it's true what they say, you can't teach an old Galah new tricks— dog. Hahahaha, I meant dog. Dog is the word I intended to say. Gosh, I truly am witless. Well anyways, I'm sorry to disappoint, but until the traitor comes forth I have no intention of—"

"Do you have any double A batteries that I could borrow? I've only been able to find triple A ones so far." Chiaki replied.

She couldn't be serious. Was she even listening? She had to be messing with him— playing mind games. No way she would follow him for miles in the middle of the night just to ask for batteries. Nagito felt completely out of control of the situation for a change.

"Are you okay Komaeda? You never told me why you were crying."

"I'm fine. I don't have batteries. Thank you for your concern. Also, I'd really rather be alone right now."

"Okie dokie, artichokie. Thanks for your time." She casually turned around and trotted off into the night. Once her back was turned, Nagito checked under his foot for the dead bird, but nothing was there. Just as Chiaki's silhouette began to disappear in the distance, she made a U-turn and walked back to Nagito, stressing him out even further. "Oh, I almost forgot. The other reason I came here, I made a present for you." Without waiting for him to respond, Chiaki pulled a poorly folded paper airplane out of her bag and threw it in Nagito's direction. It landed point first into the concrete, as it wasn't very aerodynamic. "Darn" Chiaki muttered. Puffing her cheeks, she scooped it off the street and placed it in Nagito's hand while he despondently stood confused. He was completely spaced out, wondering if the bird was killed when he threw his shoe. "Th-thanks for your gift Nanami-san."

"Open it." She responded unblinkingly. Believing that he was prepared for anything, Nagito nervously unfolded the paper airplane. Within it was a crudely scribbled crayon drawing of Sonic the Hedgehog making out with Crash Bandicoot. The two barely recognizable characters were at an ice skating rink and wearing horrifyingly shiny leather shorts. "Do you like it?" She asked.

"I'm not sure I understand." He looked up at her, she didn't make any response aside from blinking a few times. Chiaki's expression remained emotionless, to the point that it was starting to scare Nagito. "Why would you give me this? What is this?" He asked almost pleadingly.

"It's a present, one that I made. I thought you'd like it." She yawned and scratched at her forearm before resting her hands on the straps of her backpack. "Do you like it?" she asked.
"Are- are you implying that I'm gay? What's your game here?"

She tilted her head in confusion. "What does gay mean? The games are sonic and crash bandicoot." Chiaki pouted gloomily, raising the hood of her jacket over her head. "I worked pretty hard on it, I think."
Nagito felt awkward for acting so untrusting, her artwork was vile and disturbing but her intentions seemed to be well meaning. "I know their names—but… nevermind. Thanks… I really appreciate your thoughtfulness, though I apologize that your kindness is wasted on trash such as myself. Still, I'm not very familiar with the IP's you've uh… depicted here."

"But I thought you said you were a sonic fan." Chiaki interjected.

"I… don't think I ever said that. My apologies."

She frowned slightly "Oh, that must've just been a dream I had then. No wonder you looked so confused when you opened your gift. …."

"Nanami-san, I wasn't going to say anything but maybe you should stick to your talent. Art doesn't seem to be your strong suit. I just… um, may I ask why you drew them wearing leather shorts and kissing?"

"I did stick to my talent though, sonic is a video game. Oh, also crash bandicoot is a video game too. What's wrong with learning a new skill? Everyone's gotta start somewhere, as long as you know in your heart that you did your best, that's all that matters."

There was a long beat of silence as Nagito tried to think of a response, all the while she continued staring at him. He opened his mouth to say something but Chiaki unintentionally cut him off. "Can I touch your hair?" The excitement in her eyes inferred that she'd been holding back this question for the entire conversation, likely even longer.

"Why?" he replied with genuine confusion.

"I dunno. It looks fluffy and cool, so I've been wondering what it feels like. My favorite part is how it flares out on the sides and stuff. So, please?" Chiaki cleared her throat, unsure if she was talking too much. "...It's okay though if you don't want me to." She added.

Nagito wondered if he was having some kind of hallucination, her words didn't make any sense to him. His hair was incompetently maintained and frequently insulted. Even the thought of it being touched caused an eruption of disorder through his synapses, the insecurity was enough to make him nauseous. Nagito was only able to rationalize her compliments by assuming he was being deceived. Surely, Chiaki's request was a ploy to get in close and slit his throat. He thought about it for a moment and decided to play along. If his luck wanted him to die this early, so be it.

Nagito put on a smile and kneeled, bowing so that her hand would be able to reach his head. "Ah don't worry, it's actually no problem! You can go right ahead and take a stab at it, I'm happy to help. I'll be quiet too, you can pretend like I'm not even here."

Chiaki stepped forward with an uncharacteristic pep "Oh thanks."
As she inched closer, Nagito remembered something that sent him into a panic. "Wait! Wait! Hold on! I just don't think we can do this. If you're going to insist, you should put on gloves. I'm ashamed to admit it, but… I was busy today and…" Nagito clenched his fist and kept his head down, loathing himself for being so disgusting. "I wasn't able to find the time to take a shower today… my hair is probably vile and ridden with grease. I don't want to make you puke by touching it!"
She tilted her head, her hand only about an inch away from his hair. "Hmmm, I don't see the issue. One day isn't long. I haven't even showered this year. Wow, I didn't know you were such a hygiene fan." Nagito had a difficult time trying to process what she said, for almost a minute he was speechless. Chiaki's hand still hovered above him, wiggling her fingers as she anticipated the verbal green light.

"Do as you please." Nagito unenthusiastically yielded and she took the opportunity to ruffle his hair to her heart's content. Surprisingly, it was a calming experience for them both. Nagito frowned once he realized she wasn't going to kill him though. They stood up and went back to standing 4 feet apart in dead silence.

"Hm… awkward. Anyways, I'm going to go look for batteries now. Thanks again, Komaeda. Let me know if you see any double A's."

Chiaki waved goodbye with the back of her arm while walking away, all the while a loud and unpleasant yawn escaped from her diaphragm. "I hope you have a good day." She added, noticing that the sun was rising.

Inconsolable pain fell through Nagito before stopping all at once. The 'best word in the world' sounded revolting to him, everything was wrong. His hands shook as he gripped the paper. "Nanami, what did I do that was ever deserving of a gift?" His voice was quiet, Nagito found himself unable to look up at her.

Chiaki glanced over her shoulder back at him, she noticed there was something different about this question compared to his usual self depreciation. She took half a minute to think about it, as though she wasn't entirely sure of the answer herself. "Well, I guess I do dislike you. I dunno. That's neither here nor there. You've seemed unhappy recently. And… It didn't seem like anyone else was planning to brighten your day, so I became the change I wanted to see in the world. I think. And now we're friends. That's how it works, right?" It sounded like she lost her train of thought towards the end, though her words were genuine.

"I… maybe so." Nagito wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his coat, still too ashamed to meet her gaze. Chiaki didn't mind though, she wasn't any good at maintaining eye contact either. "Nanami, please don't go." By the time he found the resolve to raise his head, she was already gone.