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Makoto Naegi was about to die.
“It wasn’t me!” He cried to anyone who would listen.
(There was only one, and she turned away. She would not listen to him die.)
“I didn’t kill her!” He screamed.
He could not move from the desk he was bound to, even as he moved closer to the terrifying weight behind him.
His classmates did not save him as he had saved them, and he was left to die.
Makoto Naegi cried.
And he fell.
—————
Makoto Naegi had been dead for seven days when Kyoko finally found where he had ended up.
The chute he had fallen down led to the trash, in the heart of the school.
They found him there.
—————
His body looked smaller than usual, bent over the remains of the desk that had carried him to his death.
His head was bloodied, dark red sullying his mussed brown hair from a wound near his scalp. His left leg was broken, and though the bone was under the skin it was bent in a way a leg should never bend. His eyes were mercifully closed, though tear tracks had wound their ways down his cheeks through the dust and grime. He had suffered when he died.
‘His hoodie is gone,’ thought Aoi Asahina, “and he was scared.’
She burst into tears.
(Makoto had been ridiculously fond of that hoodie, a ratty thing he’d bought from his middle school’s store.)
(After Sakura…
After. After the trial, Aoi spent a ridiculous time swimming. She’d spend hours pushing herself until she couldn’t feel anything except her aching muscles, and she could ignore the hungry emptiness in her chest.
Makoto found her one day, after she stopped, and had thrown his hoodie around her shoulders.)
(“I’m going to get it wet!” She’d protested, but he wouldn’t hear any of it.)
(It was too small for her to really wear, but it was warm and it was such kind gesture that she realized with a sinking feeling that the water on her face was beginning to taste of salt.)
But it was gone now. So was the jacket he wore over it. Torn to shreds, leaving him in a white t-shirt- though it had become brown around his shoulders from the blood on his head.
Where was she, when he needed someone?
She had listened to his funeral march and she had thought ‘How could he do this to us’ when in reality he had done nothing and payed the price.
—————
Naegi was small, in life.
He looked smaller in death.
Byakuya was the only one with the stomach to approach- even Kyoko, often the first to approach a corpse, was stilled by the sight of Naegi.
He put his hand to the brunet’s head, brushing aside matted hair. Blood smeared across his forehead, like a morbid crown, but Byakuya could not see the abrasion.
The blood looked suspiciously fresh.
There was no way he could be…
Byakuya ran a hand down his neck, settling his fingers on Neigi’s pulse point.
For a single, heavy moment, he felt nothing.
Thump, thump, thump…
“He’s alive.” Byakuya finally says, once it’s sunken in properly.
Bayakuya ignores the chorus of voices behind him and instead keeps his fingers pressed into that slow, wavering rhythm.
He’s alive.
—————
Makoto opened his eyes to an angel and thought ‘Well crap, I’m dead for real now.’
The angel furrowed his pale brows. “What?”
Ah.
Either he could read thoughts or Makoto had lost more control of his mouth than he thought.
He fumbles with his thoughts for a moment, which go slow and syrupy before he spits up honey-sweet words; “You’re really pretty.”
The angel flushes pink, and his blue eyes go wide. He turns to look over his shoulder and snaps, “He’s concussed, someone take him before I snap his neck myself.”
The blond angel is replaced by one with soft, lavender hair, a pale scar splitting the peach fuzz on her right cheek. Unlike the first, this one looks much more familiar; even through the haze over his vision.
“Makoto.” She says, sounding both afraid and devoid of emotion at the same time. “You’re alive.”
“Really?” He says stupidly. “Then why are you here?”
The angel tilts her head. “I am alive as well, Makoto.”
The haze lifts for only a moment, and Makoto sees her properly.
“Kyoko?” He breathes.
His vision clears, and with it comes remarkable clarity about how much pain he’s in.
Makoto feels like he should scream, but instead he hunches over the desk he’s tied to to ease the pain in his chest as he groans pitifully. Something shifts inside him, sending a jolt of pain down his side.
His left hand is suddenly free, but Makoto needs a moment to process before he turns his head.
Toko is kneeled beside him, face pale and drawn, holding a pair of scissors. Her eyes are trained on his wrist, and they both know that if she looks any higher that she will be out of commission.
…There’s a gloved hand on Makoto’s cheek, and he turns to face Kyoko again.
“Makoto, while Toko is freeing you, tell me where you are in pain.”
Makoto blinks. “Is… everywhere an acceptable answer?”
She clicks her tongue- if it was anyone else he would call it analytical, but coming from Kyoko he knows it means she’s concerned. “Byakuya may have been right.”
“Bayakuya? He’s here?”
She cuts her eyes at him, then looks to someone out of her line of sight.
“Hagakure, run upstairs for me and grab a flashlight and the first aid kit by the Nurse’s Office. Take Toko with you, I don’t want to have to play babysitter with Jill.”
There’s a soft sound of agreement out of his line of sight, and Hagakure comes into view.
“Hey bud,” he says, giving Makoto a small smile. “Hold on for a few minutes, I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
He grabs carefully at something out of his view, and when he leans back his hand is to Tokyo’s back as he leads her away.
“C’mon, kid.” He says softly as they depart. Toko shoots a glance back to Makoto, but her face has become tense and she looks away quickly.
“Makoto.” Kyoko snaps in front of his eyes. “Listen to me.”
“I’m listening.” He slurs, but Kyoko’s eyes still look worried.
Regardless, she speaks. “You’ve said everywhere hurts. Where is the pain centralized?”
Makoto thinks for a moment. His chest and stomach complain, sending pain shooting up his spine- the desk he was tied to had rammed upwards into his torso when he hit the ground (though that memory was getting fuzzier and fuzzier by the moment). “My chest?”
Kyoko sighs. “Alright, this is going to get awkward very quickly. Do you mind pulling up your shirt?”
Makoto complies unthinkingly, and he’s halfway through rolling up his shirt when Byakuya appears once more, hand on his ribs. “Uh-“ the prodigy’s hand is light, but hovers over blooming bruises and Makoto sucks in a painful breath.
“Honestly Naegi, you could have prefaced with this.” The blond sighs, looking sharply over his shoulder. “We can’t treat this down here. Asahina!”
Asahina, who had been standing at the edge of Makoto’s vision, looked up.
“Go find Yasuhiro and Fukawa.” Byakuya snaps. “Tell them to stay in the Nurse’s Office instead, we’ll come to them.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if one of you told them?” She asks instead of complying. “You two are sticks- I don’t think either of you can carry him.”
Byakuya makes a sharp noise, but Kyoko puts her hand on his shoulder. “We’ll both go.” She says calmly. “We’ll be able to find the necessary supplies if Hagakure hasn’t yet.”
The blond hesitates for a long moment, but in the end he allows Aoi to approach Makoto as he steps back. “Very well.” He finally admits. “You have a point.
Kyoko gives Makoto a kind, small smile, and then she is gone.
Aoi puts her hand to his back. Makoto jumps- he had been focused on the leaving blur of gold and lavender, not on Aoi.
The swimmer thankfully ignores it. “Alright, Mac.” She says, sounding shaken but determined.
“Let’s get you out of here.”