May 27, 2022
Honestly hilarious that Hajime fainted on the beach at the start of SDR2 and everyone except Nagito (including the Ultimate Nurse) just buggered off and left him there unconscious
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Honestly hilarious that Hajime fainted on the beach at the start of SDR2 and everyone except Nagito (including the Ultimate Nurse) just buggered off and left him there unconscious
Favourite SDR2 friendship dynamic is Kazuichi and Hajime. The diner scene in chapter two is comedy gold.
You’ve got Kazuichi basically babbling away to himself about boobs while Hajime sits there completely ignoring him thinking “oh my god I regret this so much. Why the fuck am I here? I’m going to fucking jump in the ocean and drown myself if Souda doesn’t shut up.”
Honestly if somebody locked me in a school or on an island and gave me a 7am wake up call every single day even though I had NOTHING AT ALL TO DO THAT EARLY I’d feel pretty homicidal too
I’ve been really into Komahina lately. This started off all lighthearted but then became a bucketload of Komahina hurt/comfort. Just because I think Nagito needs more people to care about him. This is post-hope arc when they are just trying to be normal again. - Circle
Also on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33992074
Warning: descriptions of injuries (nothing serious but requires stitches), blood, some spoilers for SDR2 game and the anime.
Nagito wasn’t surprised when his bad luck struck that day. He’d been having too much of a good time. He’d come to expect this, to feel a wary tension whenever something nice happened because he knew the bad was now right around the corner.
At least this time the luck had affected himself rather than the other Ultimates. The morning had been so happy and relaxed, the perfect conditions for Nagito to let his guard down. He was so grateful to be invited on the beach trip with Hajime, Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi. They’d acted like it was no big deal, like they had no idea of the gravity their invitation held.
“You want to hang out with a nobody like me? The Ultimates are so generous, I don’t deserve such-” Nagito started, but then Hajime put a hand over his mouth, Kazuichi stuck his fingers in his ears and Fuyuhiko told him to shut the fuck up - but all three did this fondly.
It was easy to grow accustomed to the beach when living on a tropical island, but it seemed especially beautiful that day. Blue sea and white sand shimmered with a special sort of exotic glamour - though perhaps that was down to the three other men laughing along and acting like he was equal to them. It was absurd, really, that these Ultimates should give him any attention. He was about to voice this very thought, but then Hajime took Nagito’s hand without hesitation - without a hint of shame - and the words died away. A strange warm feeling bloomed in his chest, heavy and unfamiliar.
Hajime must’ve sensed he was getting overwhelmed, because he led Nagito back up the beach while Kazuichi and Fuyuhiko went swimming. Or at least Fuyuhiko went swimming; Kazuichi paddled and ran for the shore whenever a strand of seaweed brushed against his leg. Hajime spread their towels out in the shade of a palm tree, lying flat and gesturing for Nagito to do the same. “Come on, get in the shade. I know how easily your skin burns.”
“Don’t you want to swim too, Hajime?” Nagito asked, flopping down. He let his head fall back onto Hajime’s stomach, making his grunt softly.
“No, it’s okay. I could tell you needed some peace and quiet.”
Nagito frowned. Hajime was doing that much more often, seeing through his smiles and cheerful comments to the truth inside. Nagito knew he should be happy, grateful even. Hajime wanted to know him better. Hajime wanted to understand him. So why did it make Nagito feel so raw and vulnerable, like Hajime was scrubbing away a layer of his skin?
“You shouldn’t have to miss time with your friends for someone like me,” Nagito said. “You were nice enough to bring me along. That’s more than enough.”
“What, do you think I’m going to chain you to a tree like a dog while we have fun? I’m not missing out on time with anybody. I’m spending time with you, Nagito. Because I want to. I like to. Right?” Hajime said, his voice exasperated. But then Nagito felt a hand in his hair, clumsy yet gentle, and he knew Hajime wasn’t really upset with him.
Nagito felt the weird feeling come back, itching insistently. He forced himself to give a lighthearted laugh. “You’re so inspiring, Hajime. You have hope for everyone, even miserable wretches like me.”
“Nagito.”
“Yes?”
“Shut up.”
Nagito did as he was told. Hajime started idly fiddling with Nagito’s hair, taking hold of one wild curl and pulling it straight, then letting it bounce back. Nagito wasn’t sure if he liked it or not, nervous giggles tickling the back of his throat. This wasn’t them. They weren’t tender and gentle and soft. They weren’t sweet words and walks on the beach and fingers running through hair. Their relationship was messy. They were angry outbursts and nightmares and holding onto each other too tightly, too long.
Nagito remained tense for a long time, but Hajime didn’t speak again. His hand continued moving through Nagito’s mop of hair until - finally - he felt the man sigh and release the tension in his shoulders. With the warm sun on his face and his head bobbing slowly up and down to the rhythm of Hajime’s breaths, Nagito felt his eyelids droop. And the nightmares didn’t come this time.
Hajime must’ve slept too, because they were both woken by a splash of icy water over their faces. Hajime yelped and sat upright so hastily Nagito tumbled off him onto the sand, spluttering in shock, wet hair plastered to his face.
Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi loomed over them with empty buckets, grinning impishly. Hajime lifted his sopping fringe with one hand to glare at them, and they both burst out laughing.
“You two were sleeping the day away! We didn’t want you getting dehydrated.”
“It was Kazuichi’s idea,” Fuyuhiko said.
“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Hajime growled.
“It wasn’t! Fuyuhiko started it,” Kazuichi said, but he was giggling like an idiot and it was clear he was lying.
Hajime stumbled to his feet, hauled Nagito up and snatched Kazuichi’s bucket from his hands. “Right, come on, Nagito. Payback.”
Hajime started running to the shoreline, dragging Nagito along. Fuyuhiko made for the sea too, and Kazuichi, who was now without a bucket, ran to the right of the beach, clambering over the slick rocks by the cliffs to hide.
“I’ll go after him,” Nagito told Hajime. “I know there’s only two buckets but I could… throw seaweed at him, I suppose. He seemed afraid of it in the water.”
Hajime snorted. “Yes, do that! That’s hilarious. I’ll get Fuyuhiko.”
“No you fucking won’t!” Fuyuhiko yelled.
So Nagito ran down to the side of the beach too. The damp black rocks appeared every low tide as the sea retreated, leaving behind a selection of tiny pools filled with small fish and anemones and little crabs. The rocks were covered with seaweed and very slippery, and Nagito was barefoot. He should’ve known better - he was used to watching out for potential hazards - but Nagito knew Gundham and Sonia had been down there on several occasions to study the wildlife in the rock pools, and neither of them had been sensibly dressed. Sonia was even in heels, for God’s sake. Surely the rocks couldn’t be that treacherous.
He wasn’t thinking properly. It was just nice to finally be able to act silly and do stupid stuff with people who seemed to want him around, even if they were just being kind. Nagito had never been in a water fight in his life. He was kidding himself he was normal.
So he clambered over the slime-covered rocks with reckless abandon, barely pausing to breathe. He had his eyes on Kazuichi in the distance, and he didn’t notice the small rock pool until he was slipping into it, his right foot sliding over sharp rock and rough barnacles. The pain and the shock of the icy water screamed all the way up his leg and his knees gave way, sending him falling onto his behind in the pool with a splash. He sat still for several seconds, the sole of his foot screaming.
Kazuichi had originally started laughing when he saw Nagito fall, but his expression clouded when Nagito didn’t join in. Usually Nagito smiled after his clumsy moments and said something about his bad luck being a stepping stone for hope later or some similar bullshit. But this time Nagito didn’t smile. He didn’t attempt to get up. He just sat there, face blank.
“Hey,” Kazuichi called, slowly creeping over. He still wasn’t quite sure if this was a trick. He didn’t want to get a face full of seawater. “You alright?”
Nagito didn’t react. He didn’t even blink. Kazuichi moved closer, coming right up to the rock pool and bracing himself. Nagito didn’t try to splash him. He just sat, blank-faced, twirling one finger idly in the water and making pinkish swirls with the… sand? Silt? Kazuichi couldn’t tell what it was floating in the rock pool, but it didn’t look sanitary.
“You should probably get up. That looks pretty dirty,” Kazuichi advised. “And you’re getting your pants wet. What’re you doing anyway? You’re not gonna go weird on me, are you?”
“I… think I may require Mikan, when it’s most suitable for her. I wouldn’t want to bother an Ultimate with my petty issues,” Nagito said calmly.
“What? Why?” Kazuichi said, alarmed. “Did you hurt yourself when you fell?”
As if in answer, Nagito lifted his right leg out of the water. Kazuichi’s eyes went wide when he spotted the huge gash on the sole of Nagito’s foot, gushing blood at a terrifying pace. He looked again at the murky pinkish water and suddenly understood.
“Oh my fucking God! Fuck, shit, what do we do?” Kazuichi cried in a panic. “Don’t just sit there playing around in your blood, you weirdo! Shit, HAJIME!” Kazuichi yelled back down the beach, waving his arms at the two men in the distance like he’d been shipwrecked.
They approached warily, not taking the situation seriously. “This better not be a trick, Kazuichi!”
“I’m not playing the game anymore! Komaeda is bleeding to death over here!”
“What?” Hajime cried, picking up the pace.
“Bleeding to death is rather an exaggeration,” Nagito said. “You’d need to lose thirty to forty percent of the blood in your body to even fall unconscious.”
“I’m not going to ask how the hell you know that,” Kazuichi mumbled.
Hajime and Fuyuhiko climbed over the rocks, staring in horror at the big cut on Nagito’s foot and the rock pool growing cloudy with blood.
“What did you do?!” Fuyuhiko cried. Nagito opened his mouth, but Fuyuhiko was looking at Kazuichi.
“I didn’t do anything!” Kazuichi cried, looking wounded. “I think he slipped or something. I found him just sitting there.”
“It was nobody’s fault but my own,” Nagito said, his voice the calmest among them despite the fact that he was the one gushing blood. “I was tempting my bad luck. I should be thankful I’m not worse off.”
“What’s he on about?” Kazuichi asked Hajime.
“His luck cycle thing.”
“So something bad is gonna happen every time we’re nice to him?” Kazuichi said. “That sucks. Should we like… shove him over first before we invite him somewhere? Will that cancel it out?”
“Kazuichi, stop fucking talking,” Fuyuhiko snapped.
“I didn’t mean a hard shove or anything…”
“Shut up.”
“We need to get him to Mikan,” Hajime said firmly, hooking his hands under Nagito’s arms and carefully hauling him out of the rock pool. “Ugh, you’re all soggy.”
“Yes, that tends to happen when you fall into water, Hajime,” Nagito said, smiling. Not quite a nice and happy smile though.
“You should probably carry him,” Fuyuhiko said. “Otherwise he’ll get sand in the cut. And he can’t hop all the way back. You should keep his leg elevated above his head to reduce the blood flow.”
“How am I meant to do that?” Hajime snapped. “Dangle him upside down from his ankles?”
“I was only trying to help, asshole.”
“You’d all be terrible first responders. We’ve made no progress whatsoever,” Nagito said. Hajime and Fuyuhiko told him to shut up in unison.
Kazuichi was grimacing at the growing pool of blood under Nagito’s foot. “He has a point. He’s bleeding a lot, guys. We should probably do something.”
“He’s on a ton of medication. Lots of them have blood clotting as a side effect, so he has to take blood thinners. That’s why it’s… bad,” Hajime explained. He sighed, scooping Nagito up into his arms, cradling him like a bride.
It was still far too easy to hold him like this; Nagito’s eating habits were pretty disordered. On bad days he wouldn’t eat at all. Hajime had thought it was sheer obstinacy, but when he’d forced Nagito to have lunch it had come back up again so quickly Nagito hadn’t even reached the bathroom in time. They were in Hajime’s cabin too, which made it worse. That was one of the few times Nagito grew visibly angry with him. He was usually so careful to keep a smooth, happy mask, smiling and chuckling when he was nervous or upset or scared. Hajime never pressured him to eat when he said he couldn’t again.
“Is this okay?” Hajime asked, trying to shift his arms to lift Nagito’s injured foot as high as possible.
“Are you going to carry me over the threshold, Hajime?” Nagito said, smiling.
Hajime could feel his cheeks growing warm. Wow, that was not good. He didn’t want to react physically whenever Nagito teased him, or he’d just tease much more. “I’ll drop you in the ocean if you’re not careful.”
“Who says chivalry is dead,” Fuyuhiko muttered dryly. “Now hurry up, we need to get help. Take Nagito back to your cabin, Hajime. Me and Kazuichi will go hunt down Mikan.”
Kazuichi usually moaned if anyone tried to make him dash around in the hot island sun, but he just nodded. “Yeah, we’ll find her. Try not to bleed to death, okay Nagito?”
“I’ll do my best.”
They ran off together, and Hajime carried Nagito across the sand towards the cabins. Nagito had his arms wound around Hajime’s neck, his face peering over his shoulder. “We’re leaving a trail of blood. Like that old fairy story.”
“What?”
“Some children leave a trail so they don’t get lost in the woods. I remember that part, but I can’t think of the title. It was so long ago…”
“Oh, you mean Hansel and Gretel. And they left a trail of breadcrumbs, you weirdo, not blood.”
“And there was a woman in that story who was a cannibal…”
“She was a witch. She was keeping the kids to cook and eat them.” Hajime was starting to think properly about some of the fairy tails they’d all grown up with. They were actually pretty dark when you thought about it. Trust Nagito to bring that to his attention.
“Never mind that. How’re you feeling? You’re bleeding an awful lot. And it must hurt.”
“You don’t need to worry about a nobody li-”
“Nagito, if you don’t give me a real answer I really am going to drop you.”
“No you’re not.” Nagito spoke with such calm confidence that Hajime had to clench his teeth to hold back a snarky retort. Okay, maybe Nagito was correct. Hajime wouldn’t just dump his injured boyfriend on his ass in the sand. But that didn’t make his tone any less annoying.
“Ah, you’re pulling a scary face, Hajime! Are you growing tired of me yet?” Nagito asked, starting to laugh.
Hajime sighed. He’d been hearing that line a lot from Nagito, as long as they’d been dating and well back into their friendship too. Are you tired of me yet? Whenever it was Nagito’s turn to wake gasping from a nightmare, whenever he grew so ill and weak he could barely move and Hajime had to walk him to the bathroom, whenever the phantom pains from a hand no longer there kept them both up at night, he’d start. Ah, I’m such a burden. Why are you here, Hajime? Why do you care about a nobody like me? Aren’t you tired of this? Aren’t you tired of me?
He always kept his voice light and easy, but Hajime sensed there was must be some sort of truth behind the questions. Nobody repeated something over and over like a parrot unless the same thoughts were swirling non-stop in their own heads. Hajime knew Nagito had been alone most of his childhood, forced to take care of his own problems. Now he seemed to baulk at the idea of help or support of any kind, like Hajime was going to play a cruel joke on him and shove him away at the last second.
“I’m growing tired of you saying that,” Hajime said. “Come on, let’s just get inside. And no more woe-is-me speeches, right? I keep telling you, I want to help.”
“You’re so kind, Hajime.”
“I’m not kind. I’m not doing it because I’m kind,” Hajime said irritably. “I’m doing it because I want to. Because I care about you. Okay?”
Nagito didn’t respond, just smiling calmly. Hajime wished he could peer right behind those eyes and see what really went on in Nagito’s head. He sighed and sat on his bed to wait for Mikan. As he was still holding Nagito, he ended up perched on Hajime’s lap, but he didn’t attempt to move. Hajime felt the tight frustration in his chest ease and he carefully wound his arms around Nagito’s skinny waist. Too skinny. Fuck, they needed to find something Nagito could eat even when he felt ill.
“I’m dripping blood on your carpet,” Nagito whispered, his head still resting on Hajime’s shoulder.
“Doesn’t matter right now.” He peered over the side of the bed. “You’re still bleeding a lot. Are you feeling okay? You’ve gone pretty pale.”
“Just a little light-headed, Hajime. Don’t worry about me.”
“Of course I’m worrying about you. Stop testing me, Nagito. I care. I’m not leaving, I’m not annoyed, I’m not sick of you. Please stop it,” Hajime begged.
Nagito went silent again. There was a strange expression on his face, brows furrowed, almost irritated - but before Hajime could question him there was a knock at his cabin door and Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi burst in. They were dragging Mikan between them, one on either side of her like bodyguards.
“We found her!” Kazuichi cried. “Is Komaeda okay? Because we don’t have spare blood if he needs a transfusion or something.”
“Who the fuck has spare blood?” Fuyuhiko snapped. “He’ll be fine. I’ve seen guys bleed way more than that and still live.”
“Well, the peace and quiet in here was nice while it lasted,” Hajime muttered. He smiled at Mikan apologetically. “Sorry for dragging you over here at such short notice, but I think he needs stitches.”
“I don’t want to cause trouble. I would never tear an Ultimate away from their work with my petty desires and-” Nagito’s string of self-deprecation was swiftly cut off as Hajime’s clapped a hand over his mouth.
“Don’t listen to him. Please, can you help him?”
“Of course,” Mikan said. Her smile was nervous, but Hajime didn’t think it was anything they’d done - Mikan always seemed nervous. She’d had the forethought to bring a case of supplies when Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi dragged her across the island, so she knelt on the blood-spattered carpet and took hold of Nagito’s ankle.
“Y-yes, it’s quite a deep gash, but it’s not very serious. You’ll need stitches and you won’t be able to get them wet or put weight on your right foot for at least a week,” she explained, snapping on rubber gloves.
“Looks like Hajime will be doing a lot more carrying then,” Fuyuhiko said.
“Does Peko carry you when you get hurt?” Kazuichi teased, then yelped as Fuyuhiko thumped him hard.
“I’m going to clean the wound. I want you to take a deep breath, Nagito. This will be painful,” Mikan said. Her usually shaky voice seemed much firmer and more assured when she was talking about her medicine. Her clumsy hands grew confident and graceful as she worked, carefully cleaning, stitching and bandaging the wound while gently reminding Nagito when to breathe and warning him when something was going to be painful. She put so much effort into making him as comfortable as possible - an Ultimate trying to help a nobody like him! Nagito wanted to show Mikan how thankful he was, how wonderfully selfless it was to treat him like a worthy patient, like an equal - but his throat ached so badly he could only choke out a “thank you” in an almost inaudible voice.
And it wasn’t just Mikan; Kazuichi and Fuyuhiko stayed too. They peered over Mikan’s shoulder while she worked, having to be reminded several times to back off. Kazuichi pulled faces whenever the wound was revealed and Fuyuhiko teased Nagito for managing to slice his foot so badly in a fall most people could’ve laughed off uninjured, but it was clear they cared too. They did their best to offer help.
“I’ll bring dinner for both of you tonight,” Fuyuhiko said. “Probably best if Nagito rests in the quiet. He might be feeling shitty from the shock.”
“I’ll make you some crutches, Nagito,” Kazuichi promised. “Crutches that work on the sand too so you can still go to the beach with us.”
They were being so nice… and all Nagito wanted to do was shove them out the door. The tightness in his chest was growing worse and worse, like somebody was slowly tightening a belt over his ribs. He was dangerously close to shattering, and that was something he couldn’t do now. He needed them out. They cared too much. He hardly dared blink or speak in case it all came bursting out.
Nagito moved closer to Hajime as Mikan fixed the bandages on his foot, his lips so close they brushed Hajime’s ear. “Make them leave. Please.”
He couldn’t say any more. He wanted to explain, wanted to make Hajime realise how urgent this was, how close he was to being vulnerable around three people he was not ready to open up to in this way. Hell, it was still hard even to show Hajime, the man he literally shared a bed with.
Nagito’s eyes were burning. He felt a surge of panic. Oh God, Hajime, please get them out of here…
Perhaps Hajime heard the strain in Nagito’s whisper, perhaps he felt how tense his body had grown against him, but - miraculously - he seemed to understand. He carefully eased Nagito onto the bed, thanked their friends for their help and reassured everyone Nagito would be okay now, he just needed some rest and some peace. Nagito stopped listened. He was barely blinking. He managed to smile and nod until Hajime had ushered Mikan, Kazuichi and Fuyuhiko to the door, then Nagito rolled over and hastily buried his face in a pillow.
Hajime finally convinced his friends they’d both be fine and closed the door with a sigh of relief. He turned back to the bed, not too surprised to see Nagito lying on his stomach with his face hidden.
Nagito was all mixed up when it came to emotions; bad situations had him laughing and smiling, positive reinforcement had driven him to tears several times now. With Hajime. Nagito refused to cry in public. Sometimes it could be really inconvenient too. Since they’d all woken up and decided to try to undo all the terrible things in their past, everyone was trying to be nicer. And trying to be nicer to Nagito if he was feeling particularly weak or tired or ill that day was fatal. He’d start tugging on Hajime’s hand, gently at first, but the tugging would grow more frantic as he struggled to retain control. Sometimes Hajime had to interrupt people mid-conversation with some silly excuse to save Nagito’s pride. Once he’d run out of ideas and made out to Akane that he had a sudden and urgent need to use the toilet. That had actually made Nagito laugh when he’d calmed down.
It wasn’t ideal, but Hajime couldn’t help being thankful that Nagito trusted him more than anyone else. Trusted Hajime to whisk him away when he needed help, and trusted Hajime to hold him while he wept silently, face hidden in his jacket or covered with his hands - even Hajime didn’t get to see his face when Nagito was in that state.
So Hajime didn’t comment when he saw Nagito soundlessly weeping into his pillow (hopefully Nagito’s pillow anyway. Hajime didn’t want tears and snot on his own pillow). He didn’t ask what was wrong. He simply walked to the foot of the bed and took hold of Nagito’s ankle, examining Mikan’s handiwork. The white bandages were almost the same colour as Nagito’s skin, and his exposed toes were icy cold.
“You should put some socks on,” Hajime noted.
Nagito, predictably, didn’t move, so Hajime grabbed a pair from the dresser. “Are you going to cooperate?”
Nothing. Hajime sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed and grabbing hold of Nagito’s leg. “Honestly, I bet even Sonia never had anybody to put her socks on for her and she’s royalty. Come on, bend your leg. Help me out a bit.” Despite his grumbling, Hajime eased the socks on with scrupulous care, being especially delicate with the injured foot. “There, your majesty. Surely that must feel better.”
Nagito still didn’t make a sound. Hajime moved to stretch out beside him on the bed, a hand resting between his shoulders. “Hey,” Hajime mumbled. “It’s alright. I know it’s hard, but they care about you. It’s not a bad thing.”
“They shouldn’t care. I did terrible things,” Nagito said, his voice so muffled by the pillow it was hard to understand him.
“So did I. So did everybody here. We’re all trying to make up for that.”
“I don’t deserve love.”
“That’s what you tell yourself. It’s not the truth.” Hajime very gently eased Nagito off the pillow into his arms. Nagito immediately hid his face in Hajime’s chest, but he didn’t pull away. He clamped a hand hard over his mouth to keep the sobs inside.
“Don’t,” Hajime said firmly, taking hold of Nagito’s hand and trying to pry the fingers away from his lips. “Stop holding it all in. I think that’s partly why you keep getting overwhelmed so often. You never let go.”
Nagito didn’t give up, wrenching his hand free and slapping it right back across his lips - but not before a single gasping sob had escaped. It was the first time Hajime had ever heard him make a noise while he cried. Nagito screwed up his face immediately, wincing.
“No, that’s good! Fucking fantastic! Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I’m cheering you on for crying, but here we are,” Hajime muttered. He took hold of Nagito’s hand once again and tried to prise it away. “Come on, we’re on the right track. It’s just us here. Our door is locked, nobody expects us at dinner. You’re safe, okay? You’re not a burden. I don’t think any less of you. Please…”
Hajime yanked Nagito’s hand away, keeping hold of the wrist this time. Immediately a loud sob burst out, another chasing on its heels so quickly Nagito barely had time to draw breath. And the floodgates opened. He gasped and wheezed and sobbed, soaking Hajime’s chest with tears and spit and snot, clinging so tightly to Hajime’s arms that his nails left little crescent moon shapes in the skin. And Hajime never complained. He held Nagito tight, whispering encouragement into his hair, warm hands rubbing between Nagito’s shoulder blades - holding him together, anchoring him against the darkness that swirled inside Nagito’s head.
Nagito wasn’t sure how long he spent sobbing desperately into his boyfriend’s chest; it felt like hours. He cried until his head throbbed and his throat ached. He cried for his friends, struggling themselves to shake their pasts as Remnants of Despair. He cried for all the people they hurt and tortured under Junko’s brainwashing. He cried for the parents he could only remember from photographs. He cried for the childhood dog who’d died in his arms. He cried for himself, for his lifetime of loneliness, his bad luck driving people away out of fear. And he cried for Chiaki.
All the while, Hajime held him. Hajime let Nagito drip all over him for an eternity, and when the sobs finally, finally started to fade away, Hajime brought him a bottle of water and held a cold cloth to his puffy eyes, wrapping an arm around him and pulling Nagito against his shoulder. “I learned this from Mahiru. She does this for Hiyoko when she’s been crying. It’s meant to stop your eyes getting all red and sore.”
Nagito nodded, far too emotionally exhausted to speak. He sat helplessly while Hajime fussed over him with tender but clumsy hands, dabbing his face with tissues and smoothing his messy hair off his forehead. Nagito stared blankly ahead - and then felt two warm hands grip his cheeks. He was forced to stare into Hajime’s heterochromic eyes.
“Hey…” Hajime’s soft tone was a complete contrast to his firm stare. “I’m so proud of you, Nagito.”
It almost brought the tears back. Proud of him? For what? For having a tantrum like a baby?
Hajime recognised his expression. “I’m proud of you for feeling. I’m not good at this mushy stuff and I know you’re not either… but it’s just so good to finally see you letting yourself hurt openly like that. I’m really fucking proud of you.”
Nagito’s chest hurt again. He pulled Hajime’s hands away from his cheeks and held them, squeezing as hard as he could manage. It took several tries before he managed to speak, tasting salty tears on his dry lips. “Next time you feel bad,” he whispered, his voice low and hoarse, “I’ll put your socks on for you too.”
Hajime laughed - and Nagito finally found himself smiling again, though his face was still blotchy and tearstained. They’d be okay. They had each other to put their socks on when they were having bad days.
Non-despair AU! And ever since I watched that thirty minute anime clip with Nagito’s perspective on things, I’ve really liked the idea of him being buds with Kazuichi and Fuyuhiko. And Nagito openly talks about his past trauma on a plane so… what better way to bond than bonding over trauma? Anyway, I love these three so much. Also Komahina because I love them - Circle
(Also forgot to add this, sorry, but it’s on AO3 too) https://archiveofourown.org/works/33483538
Warning: descriptions of panic attacks, nausea, motion sickness, very mild vomiting (like barely any).
Fuyuhiko always thought Nagito was spouting a whole load of bullshit when he lamented about his talent being useless; he would’ve loved having Ultimate Luck right now.
“Haha! You got the short straw, Fuyuhiko!” Akane crowed. “Tough luck!”
“Wait, no! Can’t we do a best of three?”
“Somebody has to sit with them, man,” Nekomaru said. “You guys are already friends, it’ll be a great bonding experience.”
“I don’t want to bond with them in that situation. Because you all know it’ll be a shit show. That’s why we’re fucking doing this,” Fuyuhiko growled, glaring at each of his classmates in turn. Only two were missing, the pair who’d triggered this whole unfortunate drawing of straws in the first place.
“Why can’t you sit with them, Hajime? Nagito is always hanging off you anyway. And Kazuichi is your friend too,” Fuyuhiko said.
“I’m afraid I can’t, Fuyuhiko.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because I didn’t draw the short straw.”
“Go fuck yourself.” Fuyuhiko stomped away, his classmates’ laughter echoing behind him. This class trip was already more trouble than it was worth and it hadn’t even started. He was almost tempted to skip the plane journey with the rest of them and hop on a different flight to Novoselic, just to show them. It wasn’t like he needed Sonia to pay his way. But she’d been so enthusiastic about taking her friends to see her home country, and Fuyuhiko couldn’t think of any way to tell her without causing offence. He couldn’t really say he just didn’t want to be stuck babysitting Kazuichi and Nagito on a flight.
It wasn’t that Fuyuhiko didn’t like Kazuichi and Nagito. Sure, Kazuichi could be a real pain in the ass sometimes, and Nagito would go all weird and self-deprecating if you didn’t watch out, but Fuyuhiko still considered them close friends. But the flight to Novoselic was long. Kazuichi could get motion sickness on a fucking bicycle, and Nagito hadn’t set foot on a plane since his parents died on one right in front of his eyes. There was no way it could possibly go well. Fuyuhiko pictured hour after hour of Kazuichi puking and complaining and Nagito… well, he wasn’t sure what the hell Nagito would do. He’d never seen Nagito get flustered before. Hell, that was much more terrifying. He had to get out of this.
In the days before the trip, Fuyuhiko kept trying to convince his kinder classmates to take responsibility for at least one of the other men. “It’s gonna be impossible to help them both,” Fuyuhiko said. “It’ll be better for them if you help me.”
“You could sit between them,” Mahiru said. “And I’ve already promised Hiyoko I’ll sit with her. Sorry.”
Asking Twogami was a no-go too. “It’ll be more considerate to the other passengers if they’re both in one area,” he said. “To limit the disturbance if they become distressed.”
“I’m the one who’ll be feeling fucking distressed,” Fuyuhiko snapped.
Peko overheard, and came over at once. “I’ll take your burden, young master.”
“No, not you!” Fuyuhiko hated the whine in his tone - and he hated the smirk on Twogami’s face too. “You don’t have to do it. You sit with Gundham and pet his hamsters or something. I… I want you to be happy,” he mumbled, blushing fiercely.
Damn it. He could be as bad as Kazuichi sometimes.
There was no way to wriggle out of it. The morning of the trip dawned bright and sunny, and Fuyuhiko’s ticket set him directly between Kazuichi and Nagito. Fantastic.
At least check-in and security went by reasonably peacefully, the walk to their gate quiet. Only Akane and Nekomaru seemed to be properly awake this early in the day, and they stuck with each other. Fuyuhiko glanced at his two friends. Kazuichi still seemed half-asleep, curled on one of the uncomfortable chairs by the gate, watching the planes take off and land in the distance through the huge windows. Nagito was much more concerning. He was smiling brightly… but he didn’t look happy at all.
“Hey, Fuyuhiko, want to know how a plane engine works?” Kazuichi asked.
“No,” he said, but he sat down with a sigh as Kazuichi started talking anyway. He tuned out after a second, though Nagito looked like he was listening.
“Seeing you talk about your ultimate talent is so inspiring, Kazuichi,” Nagito said - and smiled. That weird smile again, desperate and strained.
“It’s nothing. I just think planes are interesting. From an engineering point of view. I really wish I didn’t have to fucking ride one,” Kazuichi groaned.
“Aha, I can’t help feeling apprehensive too. The last time I was on a flight, both my parents died.” Nagito spoke emotionlessly, as if reciting a shopping list, but that smile was still fixed on his face. “But it’s okay. That bad luck brought me a lot of good luck later on. You just have to have hope that things will work out.”
Kazuichi stared at him, mouth open. “Um. Okay. Sorry.” He caught Fuyuhiko’s eye and mouthed what the fuck? Fuyuhiko wasn’t sure if Kazuichi was just now hearing the story or if he was confused by Nagito’s weird behaviour. He shrugged helplessly.
There wasn’t much conversation after that. You couldn’t really carry on your casual chit-chat right after somebody brought up their dead parents. Fuyuhiko kept an eye on Nagito. He was bolt upright in his seat, his eyes staring straight ahead, hands clasped so tight in his lap his knuckles bleached white. With his pale hair and ashen face, he looked like all the blood had drained out of him completely.
Their flight number was called far too soon, and Fuyuhiko dragged his motley crew to the right aisle, pondering where to put everyone. Kazuichi should probably be on the end if he’d be passing vomit bags to some poor stewardess. Fuyuhiko needed to be in the middle, so that left Nagito by the window. He’d have to keep the shutter pulled down.
Hajime passed them on the way to his own seat, and stopped short when he saw Nagito’s face. He leaned right over Kazuichi and Fuyuhiko, ignoring their complaints and curses, and took Nagito’s hand. “Are you alright? You look… off.”
“Don’t worry about me, Hajime.”
“Your hands are clammy.”
“Ah, I’m sorry. How disgusting for you,” Nagito said, smiling. Always smiling.
“That’s not what I meant… Look, do you want to sit with me?”
“Can we move it along please?” somebody called irritably down the aisle.
“You’re holding up the line, Hajime. Don’t worry about me,” Nagito repeated. Hajime looked like he was worrying dreadfully, but he was forced to move along. Nagito clasped his hands again and fixed his gaze on the seat in front, smiling smiling smiling. It was freaking Fuyuhiko out. He looked like he was wearing a mask and his eyes were the only real part of him, swirling with turmoil.
“Hey.” Kazuichi nudged Fuyuhiko’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. “Are Hajime and Nagito… you know. A thing?”
“Mate, you told me you’ve seen them leave Hajime’s cabin together in the mornings.”
“They could just be having a sleepover. As bros.”
“I don’t think it’s that, Kazuichi.”
“Are you sure? ‘Cause I don’t want Hajime to get a new best friend,” Kazuichi said.
Fuyuhiko sighed. “I think you’re safe.”
There was a pause. Then another shoulder nudge a second later. “So Hajime and Nagito? Seriously? Am I the only person on my own in this class?” Kazuichi muttered.
Fuyuhiko was spared from responding by the flight attendants starting the safety briefing, demonstrating how to use the oxygen masks and the life jackets in case of emergency. He had to admit, it was pretty eerie to think that you could, however unlikely it may be, crash into the ocean or need extra oxygen to live long enough to get to land. He glanced over at Nagito nervously. His arms were now curled across his chest, hands gripping his elbows. His head was bent, a cloud of puffy hair hiding his face. Maybe that was for the best.
“Can you try not to puke as long as possible?” Fuyuhiko whispered to Kazuichi. “I feel like I might have a situation to deal with.”
“I’m never trying to puke,” Kazuichi said, but he seemed worried too, glancing past Fuyuhiko. “Hey, Nagito, you doing alright?”
“Don’t worry about me, Kazuichi,” Nagito said, eerily calmly.
“That’s not the same thing as saying you’re fine, is it?” Kazuichi whispered to Fuyuhiko.
“He’s clearly not fucking fine,” Fuyuhiko snapped.
“Should I ask Hajime to swap?” Kazuichi asked.
Fuyuhiko nodded, but before Kazuichi could even undo his seatbelt, the plane jerked and started reversing out of the gate. Fuyuhiko heard Nagito draw in his breath sharply - then he was the one fumbling for his seatbelt, standing unsteadily.
“What the fuck are you doing, man?” Fuyuhiko yelled, catching onto the back of Nagito’s coat as he tried to clamber over the seats. “Sit down!”
“I’m afraid I need to get off,” Nagito said, voice still calm despite his frantic movements.
“It’s already moving, for God’s sake! Sit down before a flight attendant sees you!” It wasn’t hard to force Nagito back into his seat - he seemed light enough for a strong gust of wind to knock him over - and Souda hastily got the belt fastened again just as the plane rolled onto the runway.
“Okay. It’s fine. You’re fine,” Fuyuhiko gabbled, trying hard not to shout or swear or scream at all his classmates for making him deal with this. “Just sit still and… I dunno, plug your ears. The takeoff part is the worst.”
There was a cacophony of whirring as the engines roared to life and Fuyuhiko would be very grateful for all that noise in a second, because Nagito started to laugh. Dry, hysterical laughter, his eyes over-bright and manic, lips bared in that grisly parody of a smile.
“Has he lost his fucking mind?” Kazuichi asked, sounding genuinely frightened.
“You must really hate me, Fuyuhiko,” Nagito gasped. “To restrain me here… You must despise me.”
“I’m not restraining you!”
“Then let me off.” He locked eyes with Fuyuhiko and for a second the manic grin faded. “Please…”
The engines roared to a crescendo and the plane shot forward so quickly everyone was pinned to their seats with the force, zooming on and on until they could feel the entire structure lurch into the air. Kazuichi groaned softly, shutting his eyes, but Fuyuhiko was far more focused on Nagito. He had his eyes squeezed shut too, but his hand clamped hard onto Fuyuhiko’s arm. Really fucking hard. Shit, maybe Nagito wasn’t as weak as he looked. Fuyuhiko cursed as his terrified companion started digging his nails into his skin, actually drawing blood. The pain prompted Fuyuhiko to try prying the hand loose a little, but Nagito clamped on harder, carving several new scratches. Fuyuhiko didn’t dare attempt again; he’d get his arm cut to ribbons.
When the plane was flying high and the swirling, disoriented feeling had eased, Fuyuhiko checked on both men. Kazuichi had his head in his hands, but he gave a shaky thumbs up when Fuyuhiko prodded him.
“‘M okay,” he mumbled. “Got through takeoff. Gets better when it’s levelling out.”
“Right, good. Try to stay that way, yeah? I’ve got a lot to handle right now,” Fuyuhiko sighed. Nagito was still shredding his arm up, but he could feel one finger tapping for attention.
“What? What do you need? Please, no bullshit, Nagito. I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do,” Fuyuhiko said. He was practically yelling in his panic, and the people across the aisle turned to glare.
It was several seconds before Nagito could gather enough breath to speak. Fuyuhiko saw that awful smile stretch across his face again, like somebody had twisted his frown the wrong way round. “Aha, I’m sorry to trouble you, Fuyuhiko, but I think I might be having a panic attack.”
“What?” Fuyuhiko felt like he was going to have a panic attack too. “Why? What’s going on?”
“I can’t seem to catch my breath. And the cabin has been spinning for several minutes.”
“Jesus Christ! Why didn’t you say anything?” Fuyuhiko hurriedly pushed Nagito’s head down as far as it would go before it bumped the seat in front. “Fucking… think of things you can see or something? Shit, I don’t remember.”
“Five things you can see,” Kazuichi chimed in. “Is he really gonna pass out? Hajime is gonna kill us.”
“I’m gonna fucking kill him for leaving this shit to us! How stupid can you get?”
“Ahh, I’m such a nuisance. If I’d known I’d react in such a shameful way, I’d have been sure to take a seat away from all the Ultimates. Why are you taking care of someone like me?”
“Nagito, shut up, this isn’t your fault,” Fuyuhiko said shortly. “Stop babbling on about ultimates and do the panic attack thing. Listen to Kazuichi, he knows how to do it.”
Nagito did as he was told, working through the grounding techniques with Kazuichi while Fuyuhiko held onto his shoulders feeling helpless. Nagito was shaking so hard it was difficult not to drop him altogether. He didn’t pass out, but even after the grounding Nagito looked far from what you’d consider calm. He was grey-white when Fuyuhiko carefully hauled him back upright.
“Are you okay..?”
The smile came back, though it seemed a lot more tired than manic this time. “Ah… I don’t think so, Fuyuhiko.”
“Well. At least you’re honest. Can you tell me how you’re feeling? Physically, I mean. Clearly I see you’re fucked mentally. And please stop smiling like that, you’re creeping me out,” Fuyuhiko said.
Nagito finally released his grip on Fuyuhiko’s arm, his nails coated with blood. He bent forward slowly, carefully, like he was terrified any sudden movements would send him spiralling again, and let his elbows rest on his knees. “I still feel slightly lightheaded. And nauseous. I’d still like to get off.”
Fuyuhiko examined the long scratches on his arm, sighing and mopping the blood with his sleeve. “Well, you’d have a long drop if you tried to get off now. You should cut your damn fingernails too. I’m going to get Hajime.” He turned to Kazuichi. “Watch him for a minute, okay? I don’t fucking care about drawing the short straw anymore, I can’t handle this.” Fuyuhiko scrambled over Kazuichi’s lap into the aisle, ignoring the flight attendant yelling for him to remain in his seat until the seatbelt signs went off.
“Hey! What did you mean drawing the short straw?” Kazuichi called behind him. Fuyuhiko didn’t look back.
“Hajime!” Fuyuhiko yelled when he was still more than six aisles away from the startled man. “You’re swapping with me!” He lowered his voice when he reached Hajime’s seat, but only marginally. “I can’t handle this. I don’t know how you expected Komeada to react to this shit, but whatever you thought, it’s worse. Way fucking worse. And I can’t help him. So go fucking do it yourself.”
“Well, I was going to swap as soon as the seatbelt signs were off,” Hajime said pointedly.
“I don’t give a shit. Look at my arm! Your fucking boyfriend nearly ripped it off at the elbow.” Fuyuhiko brandished his scratched, bloodied arm, and Hajime looked genuinely shocked.
“Oh my God…” He stood up hastily, clinging to the seats in front as the plane was still slightly off-balance. “I’m sorry, Fuyuhiko. I didn’t expect him to panic so much. He never said anything much about it when I asked.”
“Yeah, well, no offence, Hajime, but you can be as thick as three short planks sometimes. So if he implied anything, I don’t doubt you missed it,” Fuyuhiko snapped, taking Hajime’s empty seat - next to Chiaki, thank goodness. She hadn’t even looked up from her Switch this whole time. Perfect.
“I have taken some offence…” Hajime mumbled, then turned to go back down the aisle, trying hard not to catch the eyes of the other passengers staring like they were all part of a circus act. He was pretty sure the whole class was going to get banned from this airline. Gundham had been in trouble already for taking his hamsters out of their little travelling cage - several times. He was insulted by the insistence of the staff that all pets had to be contained, both by their labelling of his hamsters as mere pets and from their implication that his dark devas could ever be contained.
Hajime followed the sounds of more disgruntled passengers to Nagito’s seat. He was in the middle now, hunched over one of those white sick bags, while Kazuichi awkwardly patted his back. He looked relieved to see Hajime, beckoning frantically. “Come help me! I think he’s gonna spew. Weird that it’s not me for once.”
Hajime sighed, struggling to shuffle past his friends to get to Nagito’s other side, squashed by the window. Nagito didn’t acknowledge him. Hajime could see he had his eyes closed, his face strangely calm and smooth, though his breathing was erratic.
“Hey, Nagito? You hearing me?” Hajime called, tapping the other man’s pale cheek.
“Did I drive Fuyuhiko away?” Nagito said, voice strained. “I’m not surprised. To bother the Ultimates with the problems of an insignificant nobody like me.”
“Dude, shut up,” Kazuichi groaned. “Nobody thinks that. Stop being so weird. Fuyuhiko just doesn’t know how to look after people.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to sit up? I doubt you’ll throw up, you wouldn’t eat anything this morning,” Hajime said.
At that exact moment, almost as if to pointedly prove him wrong, Nagito made a choked retching sound and ducked his head down further, cringing.
“Oookay. Or not. Um. You’re okay,” Hajime muttered, placing a wary hand on Nagito’s hair to keep it out of the way. It was strange hair; soft yet thick at the same time, and it poofed up determinedly no matter how many times Ibuki tried him out with different hairstyles.
The seatbelt signs were now off, so Kazuichi stood up hastily, trying to shield Nagito from the people hurrying up the aisle to the bathrooms. Hajime was grateful, but part of him wished he could switch places with Souda. He didn’t think he’d be having to coach Nagito through something so strangely intimate so soon into their… relationship? They’d never come out and actually said they were boyfriends, not even to each other, but their classmates seemed to think they were a couple.
As Nagito really hadn’t eaten much of anything all day, the actual vomiting didn’t last too long, but the dry heaving continued for several agonising minutes, and the nausea remained indefinitely. But Nagito felt safe to lift him head, his pale cheeks dusted with pink. He smiled shakily at Hajime. “How embarrassing. I caused a scene in front of all these people. You must be lamenting the day you set eyes on me.”
“Stop,” Hajime sighed, taking the soiled bag and handing it to Kazuichi.
“Hajime!” Souda squealed, hastily handing it off to a flight attendant, who offered a bottle of water for Nagito in response. Her smile didn’t slip once. Hajime was impressed by her poker face.
“Drink,” Hajime prompted, forcing the bottle into Nagito’s hands. “I want you to try eating something later too. You’re going to pass out.”
Kazuichi sat down again, glancing at Nagito. “You feeling… okay now? Like as okay as you can?”
Nagito took a long drink of water, eyes blank. Then he smiled again, that strange, forced smile. “I really am pathetic, aren’t I? Causing such a dramatic spectacle over something that happened years ago. I don’t deserve such attention from the Ultim-“
“Stop!” Hajime took Nagito’s face in his hands, forcing him to meet his eyes. Hajime thought he saw something flicker in them, some semblance of an honest emotion. “Nagito, can you please stop trying to act like you don’t have feelings. I know you’re scared. And you know what? It’s okay. It’s completely fucking normal to feel like this right now. I shouldn’t have left you. That was me being dense, and I’m sorry. But you can stop pretending. It’s just me here - and Kazuichi, but he’ll understand too. He’s scared of everything.”
“I am not!” Kazuichi cried, outraged.
Hajime didn’t break eye contact with Nagito, both breathing heavily. Nagito glared back at first, his face twisting into a scowl, but Hajime didn’t falter.
“Let me in,” Hajime muttered. “I know you, for God’s sake. You’re not gonna scare me off. It’s okay to need help. Please.”
Another silence for several long, tense seconds. Then - finally, amazingly - Nagito made a soft frustrated noise, lunged forwards and wound his arms around Hajime’s neck so tightly that for a second Hajime thought he’d messed up so badly Nagito was trying to throttle him.
“Hey, careful,” Hajime said, but his voice was gentle and he didn’t try to pry Nagito off. Nagito let his forehead rest on Hajime’s shoulder, his hair falling to shield his face completely. Hajime snaked his own arms awkwardly around Nagito’s slender waist. He could feel Nagito shaking, feel the warm puff of his breathing against his shoulder. The shaking never eased, but as time passed the breathing seemed to calm slightly.
Nagito didn’t speak as he clung to Hajime for dear life. Not a single word. But Hajime hadn’t really expected him to. This was already a degree of vulnerability that Nagito was completely unaccustomed to showing anyone, let alone his almost-boyfriend, his classmates and an entire plane full of strangers. It was a good place to start.
Kazuichi watched them slightly bitterly. “It’s alright for some. I wouldn’t mind someone to cuddle up to,” he muttered.
“That’s your other talent. Ultimate Third Wheel,” Hajime quipped.
Their row of seats was reasonably peaceful after that, though Hajime could hear the laughter and yelling from their classmates further back. He hoped the sensible members of the group could stop them causing too much trouble. Hajime couldn’t go tell them to knock it off himself; whenever he moved at all Nagito would tighten his grip.
He sat there, hour after hour, until he had to pry Nagito off him for a bathroom break. It wasn’t easy. Nagito fought him and clung on as much as he could, though Hajime explained he’d be back in five minutes.
“Look, cling onto Kazuichi while I go pee,” Hajime suggested. Kazuichi didn’t look overly enthusiastic about that idea, but he didn’t protest.
Nagito sighed. He slowly drew back his arms, and whispered three breathy little words into Hajime’s shirt before he went, perhaps the most raw, vulnerable words Hajime had ever heard Nagito say: “Please come back.”
“I will. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured.
Nagito shifted shakily in his seat, turned to Kazuichi and lunged at him too, wrapping his arms around his neck. Kazuichi squealed and whined that he was being strangled, but he didn’t shove Nagito away. Hajime almost felt like they were new parents, passing their newborn between them: “I’ll hold him for a bit, you go to the loo.”
There was a queue for the tiny airplane bathrooms. Hajime stood impatiently, wriggling his cramped shoulders and rocking back on his heels; he was glad Nagito seemed to be trusting him more, but he was pretty stiff after sitting in the same position for hours.
Two women ahead of Hajime in the queue seemed to be having an animated discussion about something, and when Hajime caught the word “school” he started to listen properly.
“I don’t know what sort of school they come from, but they’re a strange bunch,” one lady hissed. “There’s an odd boy in the row ahead of me, one of that lot, who has a collections of rodents, all free from their cage! Running all over the seat trays! Well, that’s not very hygienic, is it? But when I told him as much, he gave me the most incredibly rude answer.”
“Young people have such foul mouths these days,” the other lady agreed.
“No, he wasn’t swearing. It was ever so strange, almost as if he was… well, you’ll think I sound silly. But it was like he was cursing me.”
It was a good job for Hajime that the toilet became available and the lady rushed inside, because he was biting his cheeks to contain his laughter. When he’d used the loo himself and gone back to release Kazuichi from Nagito’s vice grip, he recited the story for both of them.
Kazuichi laughed, poking Nagito gently. “There you are, Nagito. No need to worry. No matter how weird we are, we can always count on Gundham to be weirder.”
Nagito didn’t respond, but Hajime saw a hint of a smile - a real smile - on his lips before he buried his face in Hajime’s neck again.
Still loving Komahina and I also love hurt/comfort sickfics so this was pretty inevitable. Nagito is very good for sickfics. Anyway, I wanted to show these two trying to navigate a bad illness and all the frightening and sometimes embarrassing things that come with that. Post-hope arc again. With fluff because I can’t NOT do fluff. I hope you enjoy it - Circle
Also on A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34280557
Warning: descriptions of vomiting (I didn’t describe the puke itself or anything, don’t worry, I’m emetophobic myself) and high fevers/vague descriptions of medical procedures.
Hajime noticed at the beach this time - and just like every time, he kicked himself for not noticing before he’d made Nagito leave the cabin. He thought back to when Nagito stumbled as they walked across the island, about how he’d chased every meagre bite of breakfast with a gulp of water like it was difficult to get down. Hajime hadn’t been vigilant enough, and now they were sitting together on the sand and Nagito was leaning far too heavily against his shoulder.
“Nagito?” Hajime said cautiously. When Nagito turned his head, Hajime hastily put a hand to his forehead, managing to catch it before Nagito veered away. “I knew it. You’re burning up.”
Some old routine. Nagito would deflect, then grow self-deprecating; Hajime would shut that down, then begrudgingly carry Nagito back to their cabin. They’d done this dance together over and over, whenever Nagito’s weakened state and illness made something like a common cold seem as serious as smallpox.
Very mild spoilers (only hints really) for the dangan anime despair arc.
Absolutely obsessed with Anime Nagito looking like a sweet little fluffy angel while still going around trying to blow shit up and coming up with crazy plans for ✨hope✨
Like I love unhinged crusty game Nagito too but there’s something so fucking satisfying about a guy who looks like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth causing problems on purpose.
Look at this little shit. Angelic. And a disaster. I love him
More of my weird “Kokichi attempting to have normal emotions” fics. Saiouma again. Maybe one day my ship fics will actually be romantic instead of just chock full of trauma. Perhaps. Anyway, this is again not quite a continuation, you can read it on its own, but the first in this collection gives more of an overview of this AU I’m doing. Basically a virtual reality AU, they’re all in a bogus recovery program set up by Team Danganronpa. And they’re all understandably traumatised. Shuichi is pretty sweet in this one. He’s a good boy. Anyway, hope you enjoy it. - Circle
Also on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35187208
Warning: spoilers for V3, kiiiinda graphic descriptions of the way Kokichi died, I tried not to be too gory but I wanted the fear to seem as raw as possible. Nightmares, slight injuries/blood.
The sound of whirring metal drowned out everything except the frantic thumping of his heart in his ears. His eyes were closed, of course. He’d closed them as soon as he’d climbed inside the press, swapping places with Kaito. No reason to watch it steadily closing in. Part of it still didn’t feel real, as if the awful machine would jam at the last minute and they’d have to wait for the poison coursing through his veins to finish him off - and then he felt the cold metal touch the tip of his nose.
He still had time to roll out of the press if he did it right now, right this second. But then Maki would be the blackened, the mastermind wouldn’t be stopped and all Kokichi’s careful planning would go to waste. So he didn’t move, and soon he couldn’t move, the pressure forcing his head to one side.
It happened so quickly and so agonisingly slowly at the same time. Pain. Pain all over. The ear stuck down against the bottom of the press started roaring and aching, and his body started flailing instinctively, writhing against the powerful hydraulics. Even now, when he’d decided he was more use to this game dead than alive, his body clung to the animalistic instinct to fight for his life.
His hands tried to move, tried to clutch hold of his screaming temples, but there was no room now, no room to draw breath to scream. Just pressure pressure pressure, for seconds that felt like endless hours, until his skull finally cracked and caved, until the press squashed his organs and crumbled his bones into powder…
Kokichi opened his eyes.
***
Shuichi woke up to screaming. Loud, horrified screaming, more like howling, guttural and animalistic and terrified. He was jolted from sleep immediately, his heart rate skyrocketing.