Chapter Text
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<h1>DOOMSDAY</h1>
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> 90 seconds to midnight
> Program Start
91:00:00:00
Against all odds, Nagito managed to make it to next summer. Just not in the way anyone expected. Because luck was a cruel, unexpected twist of fate and Nagito happened to embody said unpredictability.
Even when his body began shutting down, even when his brain rendered itself too haggard to read the pages of books he once so loved, he persevered. Atop a lone, rickety hospital cot, he spent the remainder of his days hoping. Hajime could see it in the little things—that faint, curious glimmer in his eyes during routine checkups, the way he’d splay his palm against the glass windowpane if only to soak in the faintest warmth of sun-kissed rays.
Nagito was alive. Hurting, but stubborn enough to fight for each breath. Hajime had never realized how painful vitality was to watch until now. That was why he’d chosen to place Nagito back into the simulation, if only to give him a chance to live instead of merely surviving day by day.
The lab’s advanced cryopod systems contained everything Hajime needed to stabilize Nagito’s condition, albeit temporarily. With IV support to carry nutrients through his bloodstream and electrodes to monitor key vitals, the pod was a surefire means of preservation. The only issue was that Nagito’s condition wouldnt improve. Like hitting a pause button, all Hajime was doing was prolonging the inevitable. Slowly, Nagito would deteriorate. The estimated system time: 91 whole days. Numbers which would be programmed a bright green on the inside of Nagito’s wrist in the Neo World Program, ticking down to the inevitable.
And when he finally died, the program would be set to terminate.
All of Hajime’s efforts were simply elaborate means of preservation. He could stabilize Nagito’s condition, monitor his vitals, and administer fluids via IVs within the pod. Technology really was advanced nowadays.
Due to his extensive knowledge and tinkering with the program, there wasn’t an inkling of doubt in Hajime’s mind when he laid down in his own respective pod, sticking countless electrodes on his skin and jabbing many a needle into his veins. He’d managed to retrieve their save files and port them back into the Neo World Program, tweaking their avatars to reflect their current appearances in the real world.
So when he closed his eyes, tuning out the soft beeping of system calibrations and the robotic voice counting down in his ears, he expected things to be no different than they were here.
“...ey.”
“Hey…Hi…kun…”
“Hey, Hinata-kun.”
The fog misting Hajime’s brain gradually lifted to the muffled cries of seagulls in the distance. Waves sighed softly beside him, ocean spray whispering a cold murmur against his fingertips.
His eyes finally fluttered open to a dazzling blue sky and mounds of soft, golden sand cushioning his back. Slightly stunned, he blinked away lingering floaters in his vision. Dealing with the kickback of the whole consciousness transfer process had always been a pain, although the bout of nausea and pounding headache usually settled to a bearable minimum within ten minutes. Thanks to constant test runs, Hajime had learned to better adapt to the transition, throwing his arm over his eyes to shield himself from the sun’s harsh light. Anything to lessen the possibility of worsening symptoms.
“One— One second,” he gritted out, willing the pain lancing through his brain to finally subside. When nausea wasn’t threatening to split his head open, he tentatively removed his arm from his face. Nagito had come to his rescue, shifting over Hajime to block the sun from striking him directly. The luckster proceeded to offer Hajime a hand, which he took gratefully.
“It’s about time,” Nagito remarked, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “I thought you’d never wake up.”
“I wish I hadn’t,” joked Hajime, pulling himself into a half-sit, albeit a little too abruptly. Experiencing vertigo wasn’t exactly pleasant, blood rushing to his head and black spots undulating in his vision. His head spun like a car locked into haphazardous drift on a slippery road. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he winced. “This seriously sucks…”
“Hm…Maybe I could kiss it better?” Nagito suggested, ever the tease.
Hajime shot him a bewildered look. His head twinged as if to mock him.
“Haha…My lips are too filthy for Hinata-kun. Not that I was being serious! Me kissing Hinata-kun would probably lead to a catastrophic event,” continued Nagito in the most non-convincing manner possible, eyes glazed over and arms hugged tight to his chest. “An island to just me and Hinata-kun. This is the worst stroke of good luck, isn’t it?” His eyes zeroed in on Hajime’s forehead, fingers twitching minutely around his upper arms. As if he were holding himself back from brushing Hajime’s bangs back to kiss the damn headache away right then and there. “If I let myself recognize this luck, I wonder what’ll happen to Hinata-kun…This is truly the worst!”
He was drooling, Hajime realized. Drooling, trembling, and sweating in a way that implied more than summer humidity being at fault.
“You…”
Sighing, Hajime pushed himself to his feet. To hell with dizziness, he wiped the drool leaking from the corner of Nagito’s mouth. “You’re a handful. If you want to do it, just do it. Kiss it better…Or whatever,” he grumbled, crossing his arms and tapping his foot against golden sands impatiently. Honestly, it was more painful to watch Nagito restrain himself than accepting the show of affection. Besides, what was even the big deal? It was just a forehead kiss or whatever. Hajime wasn’t even a virgin anymore.
Yeah. This was totally fine. He kept on telling himself that when Nagito leaned in close and he had to screw his eyes shut because, fuck, Nagito really was close and if Hajime allowed himself to recognize the proximity, he swore he’d explode on the spot.
Nimble fingers brushed his bangs away, cool fingertips a soothing balm against clammy skin. The clumsy rustle of fabric met his ears. He felt a slight pressure over the outsole of his tennis shoes, most likely an accident of Nagito closing the distance and shuffling atop his toes.
His head gave an offended twinge just as warm lips met his forehead. They lingered for a few seconds, a ghost of a presence against his throbbing skull. In a way, it did alleviate the pain a bit. Hajime was too busy keeping his heart from pounding right out of his chest to focus on the ache. Nagito was close enough that he could probably hear the damn thing beating a frantic marathon. Lean any closer and he’d be able to feel it, chest pressed flushed against Hajime’s.
“Hinata-kun? Are you alright? You look like you’re in pain. Ah, I probably shouldn’t have done that…”
Hajime’s eyes fluttered open to a clearly concerned Nagito scrutinizing him up close, lips pursed and brows furrowed. Now that he got a good look at Nagito, déjà vu hit him like a punch to the gut. Going into the simulation, naturally, he’d expected a carbon copy of Nagito.
And here Nagito was—healthier than Hajime had ever seen him. There was a glow to his skin and a fullness to his cheeks which were normally sunken and horribly gaunt. The sun brushed warm tones over his shoulders, spilling over the folds of his jacket, liquified light making a home in shadowed creases.
“Hinata-kun?” Nagito repeated, frown deepening. His lips, once dry and flaky, glistened a pink sheen as the sun caught over the concerned jut of his bottom lip.
“…Uh huh,” Hajime dumbly managed, reeling backwards. If the sight of a healthy Nagito served to knock the very sea breeze from his lungs, a kiss at point-blank range would definitely faint him right back down to the sand.
He managed to regain his purchase a few steps away from Nagito. Probably not the right move at the moment. Fuyuhiko had always told him that he sucked absolute ass at “not getting his panties in a bunch,” and it really showed. Nagito didn’t make much of an effort in hiding his disappointment, shoulders drooping in obvious dejection. The sudden proximity had him looking like a kicked puppy more than anything. Hajime felt a twinge of guilt.
So in an attempt to salvage the atmosphere, he motioned to Nagito’s left arm. “How does it feel? Your arm.”
That had Nagito perking up ever so slightly as he opened and closed his fingers, testing his left hand, then right. “As good as new,” he replied in awe, tentative motions losing their curiosity as he squeezed both hands into tight fists, unfurling them to repeat the gesture. “It feels almost too natural…Would it be unusual to consider this a miracle?”
Hajime shrugged nonchalantly. “I guess you can call it whatever you want. I’m just glad that nothing went wrong with your avatar.”
“Hi-na-ta-kun,” Nagito tutted. Quick as a ghost, he closed the distance between them in a confident stride. Sand shifted beneath his assured steps. With his hands—his two good hands—he firmly grabbed Hajime’s shoulders. The fact that he possessed any strength at all had Hajime’s heart fluttering a relieved sigh in his chest. “For someone who revamped an entire program simply to offer me a better quality of life, you’re way too modest. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be wasting my days away on a hospital bed.”
“...It’s nothing much,” Hajime insisted. Abashed, he averted his gaze to crystalline oceans shimmering in his peripheral.
“Oh, but it is .”
Nagito slid his hands along the slope of Hajime’s shoulder, up the column of his neck to cup his face on both sides
“To be able to see Hinata-kun and touch him like this…I’ve never been happier.” In a bold show of confidence, he kissed the corner of Hajime’s mouth. “In fact, I’d be more than willing to show my appreciation! When it comes to Hinata-kun, I just can’t keep my hands to myself…How embarrassing.”
“You’re not embarrassed at all,” Hajime huffed. Or, at the very least, Nagito didn’t have the decency to seem embarrassed in the slightest—not with the way he was so shamelessly putting his hands on Hajime, drawing his face ever closer in a silent question.
“Do you know how grateful I am?” Nagito abruptly asked, millimeters away from Hajime’s lips.
“...Not really,” Hajime admitted, little above a faint murmur. He resisted the urge to duck his head in shame because he was a fully grown man for god’s sake. That, and he’d promised himself that he was done running.
“Then let me show you,” Nagito promised back, as if he could hear the very thoughts racing through Hajime’s brain. Slightly chapped lips pressed against Hajime’s, tasting of salt and sea and refreshing. And he decided, fuck it. This was far from his first kiss, so he kissed Nagito like it was his last. Bit Nagito’s bottom lip until his mouth parted in a surprised gasp, using the opportunity to slip his tongue inside to really taste the first heat of summer.
His hands roamed from Nagito’s waist to the small of his back, slipping beneath his shirt to skirt the individual vertebra of his spine. Nagito whined breathily into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut.
Hajime made sure to keep his open the entire time.
80:12:59:34
The old diner was just as rickety as Hajime remembered. Not that he’d frequented it often. He’d never been the biggest fan of foods on the greasier end. Though back in the simulation—during the moments where he’d have a craving too urgent to ignore—he’d slip through the sliding front door and treat himself to a double-patty burger with a heaping side of fries.
It was refreshing to see that the diner kept its charm even after all this time. There was a retro-esque design to it, wallpaper peeling at the edges and paints muted by supposed years of wear. Neon signs hummed to the best of their dying batteries, colored coils emanating a dim light which could barely be considered fluorescent.
Everything about the kitchen was stainless steel—appliances from the stove hood to the sink basin streaked dirty grey. The sanitary conditions weren’t exactly up to date, but that wouldn’t affect the food. Not in the simulation, at least.
Unlike the kitchen, the back wall was a little nicer. Hajime’s favorite corner of the diner, actually. A worn jukebox was nestled right against the wall, right beneath vintage photo frames and speed limit signs posted slightly above eye level. When he slipped into a booth with Nagito, he made sure to face that side for the heck of it.
“I can’t remember the last time I’ve eaten in a place like this,” Nagito commented, thrumming lithe fingers atop patches of bare table, finish chipped from its once-shiny surface. He resigned to placing his elbow on the table, resting his chin in the cupped palm of his hand.
“Not used to fast food?” asked Hajime. He busied himself with typing a string of code into the command panel of his student handbook, two orders of burgers and fries materializing out of thin air.
“Only the type that comes in IV bags, though I’m not sure if that falls under the proper criteria.” Nagito grasped the edge of his tray, sliding it closer. “But this is awfully convenient, isn’t it? It truly lives up to its name as fast food!”
Hajime had the decency to stop mid-bite of a fry, mouth hung open and the fried potato stick between his forefinger and thumb, heavy with grease, drooping in a pathetic half-bend. “Uh…yeah. I guess. I mean, everything’s automated here, so it really doesn’t take much for the program to do its thing.”
God, why was he rambling like an idiot? He had half a mind to shut his mouth because Nagito clearly wasn’t interested in this kind of stuff, but what else were they supposed to talk about?
This small talk thing escaped Hajime. He shifted uncomfortably beneath Nagito’s heavy gaze, leather seat sinking beneath his weight. The faulty springs were no longer spry enough to support him and his awkward tendencies, and he doubted the bar stools fared any sturdier if he made an excuse to move over so he didn’t have to stare directly at Nagito’s pretty face.
Okay, so maybe he was down bad.
“Do you want anything else?” he asked in hopes of filling the odd lull. His knee bounced under the table, sole of his tennis shoe tapping a muted rhythm against scuffed, tile floors.
Nagito took on a curious expression, eyes widening slightly. “There’s more?”
“Well, everything that a normal diner has. Pizza, milkshakes, sandwiches,” Hajime listed off, “stuff like that. And there’s no food waste or anything, so you don’t have to worry about ordering too much.”
“Ah…” A contemplative noise left Nagito. He picked up a fry, twirling it between his forefinger and thumb before placing it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “I didn’t take Hinata-kun for a glutton.”
“I’m not,” Hajime grumbled under his breath. He’d said it to reassure Nagito that there wasn’t a need to stick to his resourceful eating habits, but leave it to Nagito to spin his message in a totally different direction. “Just tell me what you want.”
“Anything?”
“Sure. Don’t go too overboard, though.”
Nagito had always been something of an extremist. Hajime half expected him to raise a bony index finger in the air and cheerfully request one of everything for the sake of it. To his surprise, Nagito only requested a strawberry milkshake and pizza to share, pepperoni on top. Per his request, they materialized atop the table in perfect condition—pizza steaming hot and a swirl of fluffy whipped cream topping a vibrantly pink milkshake, each bead of condensation perfectly placed atop cool glass.
“Thanks for the meal,” Nagito smartly teased, craning his neck so that his lips made the barest of contact with the striped straw. “I suppose Hinata-kun will be the one footing the bill?”
The joke earned a snort out of Hajime. “As if.”
Nagito took that as his cue to tackle his milkshake as best as he could. And as weird as it sounded, Hajime was beginning to see the appeal in watching someone else eat. Specifically Nagito, because it quickly became clear that he had little to no experience with these sorts of foodstuffs. He spent a good minute or two flitting around his milkshake, leaning in to take sips which yielded absolutely no result. His cheeks hollowed with the sheer effort of sucking on the straw in hopes of at least sampling the sweet treat, lithe fingers wrapped around the glass so tight that his knuckles turned white.
Something warm fluttered in Hajime’s chest, watching Nagito struggle with such a simple task. Like this, he seemed normal. The perfect picture of a healthy twenty three year-old who was making up for missed experiences and lost time. Although Hajime began to worry that Nagito would cut his remaining time a little too short when the lack of oxygen began to turn his sickly pallor an alarming shade of red exertion.
“Maybe you should let it sit for a bit,” Hajime suggested, just as Nagito parted from the straw with a dissatisfied huff. He glared indignantly at the milkshake, as if his annoyance was a heated force enough to melt the solid blend of ice cream and milk.
“It must be disappointing to watch someone struggle with such a simple task,” sulked Nagito, eyes downcast. His irritated countenance had quickly been replaced by a melancholic smile. “Aha…That’s to be expected. Maybe this is karma for disliking sweets…”
Sitting across from Hajime, although less than a few feet at most, Nagito looked impossibly lonely. He always had an estranged air to him—this forlorn glint in his eyes, as if he were more sad stranger than company. Hajime had always hated that aloofness. So much so that he found his heart twisting in his chest and himself reaching out, placing a hand atop Nagito’s.
“It’ll thaw out soon enough, so let’s try something else,” he said. With his free hand, he managed to wriggle a wedge of pizza free from its larger whole. It sagged at the crust, dough soggy under the weight of excessively oily cheese and pepperoni. He really didn’t think this venture fully through—in hindsight, this would’ve been a lot easier with two hands—but Nagito’s was cold even amidst the summer humidity and he felt obligated to keep it warm.
“I can feed myself, you know,” Nagito teased, to which Hajime rolled his eyes.
“Hurry, before I change my mind.”
“Alright…I’ll make sure to cherish Hinata-kun’s time as my personal server!”
Nagito leaned in, nibbling at the corner of the steaming slice before tentatively taking a small bite. Hajime watched as Nagito slowly pulled his head away, cheese stretching from the slice in oozy strands. The luckster clearly wasn’t expecting that, given the muffled noise of surprise he made. Not to be a jerk, Hajime helped Nagito out by pulling the pizza away on his end, cheese strands effectively snapping.
“Geez…Are you always this messy of an eater?” Hajime amusedly huffed, taking in the sight of Nagito finishing up the morsel, running his tongue over soft pink lips glistening with oil.
“No, not usually,” Nagito supplied. A smidge of tomato sauce had streaked along the corner of his lip. Hajime took the liberty of setting the pizza slice down in favor of swiping it away with his thumb. “Though the messiness is just a result of the consequences that come with the good luck Hinata-kun feeding me brings.” Nagito ran his tongue over his lips, slower this time. His voice a low rasp, he continued, “That was truly a delicious bite of pizza. In fact, it might’ve been the best one I’ve ever had!”
“That’s…That’s good,” Hajime muttered, which came off a little harsher than he’d intended. Damn Nagito for making even the most mundane of things sound stupidly sultry and seductive and—
“I forgot,” Nagito began, startling Hajime out of his self-induced spiral of thought, “that Hinata-kun happens to be weak to praise. Does that apply here too?” There was that damn closed-eye smile, those lips quirking in an unsuspecting smile belying poorly hidden coyness beneath. “If that’s the case, there’s no need to be ashamed. I can assure you that I won’t judge.”
Nagito walked his fingers across the table in a leisurely creeping gait. He stood simply so he could stretch his torso across the table and reach Hajime’s chest, fingers continuing their path between his pecs. Atop his sternum. Right beneath his collarbone, only stopping when applying the lightest of pressure to his Adam’s apple.
Hajime gulped. He could feel the spit slide down his parched, bewildered throat.
“I can do it for you as a reward…A little something to commemorate Hinata-kun’s tireless efforts.”
This time, Hajime could clearly make out the underlying attempt at seduction beneath Nagito’s honeyed drawl. Slipping down to Hajime’s tie, Nagito opened and closed his hand around the fabric in a bold question. Those half-lidded eyes flitted over his face, searching for the barest inkling of approval.
Hajime was treading a line. A very thin, dangerous line that had his pants feeling just shy of too tight and tropical heat prickling at his skin. It would be criminally easy for dexterous fingers to coax the knot of his tie loose. All he had to do was sit back and let himself feel. Nagito would do a diligent job unraveling him in the nook of a dingy, abandoned diner.
“I…”
“Yes, Hinata-kun?”
Nagito sounded so breathlessly expectant. Hopeful. His voice did something to Hajime, a shiver running down his spine. He licked his lips. Ran a clammy hand through his hair, unsure. Nagito always tended to lean less towards the self-serving end and more towards an altruistic approach. Altruistic, as in being entirely accommodating to Hajime’s wellbeing.
Okay, maybe Nagito was a little selfish, considering his pandering to Hajime’s libido, as well as his own. Once, he’d told Hajime that he really liked sex. Hajime was okay with it. Sex with Nagito was great, but avoiding wiping sweat and spend off of diner cushions also sounded like a good plan. Plus, he wanted to make sure Nagito wasn’t pushing himself too hard. They’d only just entered the simulation, after all. If there was any time their avatars would be prone to error, it was now.
“Jesus, Komaeda…” he muttered. Not that Jesus could save him from grade-A temptation on a platter. Hajime had to muster up every remaining ounce of willpower not to pounce on Nagito like an animal in heat. That wasn’t what he was here to do. At least, not until later.
Hormones be damned, he gently shook his head. “N-Not now, okay? Another time. Let’s finish eating, alright?”
Disappointedly, Nagito huffed. He plopped back down in his seat with an exasperated sigh, pout more obvious than that of a kid denied candy. “Hinata-kun is no fun.”
“ That’s what you consider fun?”
Nagito gave Hajime a quizzical look, tilting his head to the side. “Yes, sex happens to be one of my hobbies. Does that bother you?”
Hajime choked on his spit. He wasn’t prepared for Nagito to admit it so easily. A blush rose to his cheeks, heated to the tips of his ears. “No— It, uh…It doesn’t.” He swallowed nervously. “Let’s eat. The food’s getting cold.”
To set an example, he lifted his burger and took a bite out of it. He could feel Nagito’s eyes boring sharp holes into his skull—the same way Nagito always got whenever he was picking apart anything that caught his particular interests. The scrutiny had Hajime shifting uncomfortably in his seat, room suddenly growing ten times stuffier.
“Hm…If Hinata-kun says so!” Nagito chirped after what felt like an eternity, his demeanor completely shifting a cheerful one-eighty. Whatever he’d thought up in that head of his had him beaming, following suit and taking a bite of his own burger. For some reason, Hajime knew it had to have something to do with him. Although he was probably better off oblivious, considering Nagito’s rather active imagination.
Poised for another bite, Nagito blinked in shock when tomato and onion slipped from between the lettuce and meat patty, landing onto the tray’s parchment paper with a soft plop .
“Ah.”
67:05:28:23
Nagito couldn’t recall a time where his life had been this peacefully mundane. On this virtual island built for two, the days passed rather uneventfully. Little things happened, like the drawers in their shared cabin slowly filling out with shirts and shorts and colorful articles of clothing between. They’d settled in the same cabin on their first night here without much discussion or planning. As if moving in together was a natural assumption. It felt like they were something of a couple. Just thinking about it made Nagito giddy, inexplicable warmth unfurling in his chest whenever he woke up to Hajime’s arm slung over his chest.
His days were never planned. He’d wake up. Have something to eat. Then Hajime would go along with whatever he wanted to do, regardless of the activity. The accommodation was far more than Nagito deserved, and he insisted that he was happy enough tagging along with Hajime, but the brunet stubbornly refused.
Nagito had come to learn that this tropical paradise living was solely centered around his existence. It couldn’t get much more selfish than this—perfect weather, breathtaking scenery, and Hajime by his side. With luck this monumental, a catastrophe was bound to occur at any given moment. Surely these unwavering summer days would fall victim to a tsunami, a hurricane, an earthquake that would uproot the very foundation of rocky mountains themselves.
According to Hajime, nothing of the sort would happen. Using one of his many talents, he’d deduced luck as a quantifiable variable similar to that of a gacha system. Which meant in the digital world, he had slight control over said values, able to adjust them accordingly. Which probably explained why a falling coconut hadn’t split Nagito’s skull open yet.
“It’s odd,” Nagito mused, craning his neck upwards to take in the rustling of swaying palm leaves above. The coconuts stayed attached in secure bunches, obstinate to sudden collapse. Through the bluish-gray tint of his sunglasses, their green shells appeared muted in vibrance.
“What is?” Hajime was quick to ask. He squeezed Nagito’s hand because they’d grown accustomed to that—taking walks on the beach hand in hand. They did a lot of things while holding hands nowadays. So much so that Nagito had committed the lingering warmth of a calloused palm against his own to memory.
Lightly kicking at the sand, Nagito frowned at the sensation of rough grains sticking between his toes. “Not having my usual luck. I mean, I’ve had to deal with it my entire life, so it’s a bit difficult to relax sometimes. Horrible events have been bound to happen no matter where I go. Especially the beach.” The place where he’d had the fortune of meeting Hajime himself. Surely the irony wasn’t lost on him.
“I can imagine,” said Hajime. “That sounds…difficult.”
“Nothing Hinata-kun needs to concern himself with. Then again, even if I tell you to keep your distance from me, you won’t listen. It would be quite a shame if anything were to happen to you…There wouldn’t happen to be any medical personnel here, would there?”
“Why would we need that?”
Shrugging, Nagito stepped away from the tree, tugging Hajime along. “Oh, I don’t know. Just in case of serious injury. There’s nothing wrong with taking precautions when it comes to me.”
As if on cue, a muffled thump sounded from behind them. Sure enough, two coconuts had fallen right where they were initially standing. A few seconds more in that spot and they’d be sporting a bruised bump atop their heads. Matching injuries weren’t ideal, although matching anything with Hajime was fine by Nagito.
Hajime blinked incredulously. “Huh…I didn’t think that would happen.”
“That’s why they’re called accidents .” Teasing, Nagito slipped his index finger beneath Hajime’s chin to tilt it upwards. Thanks to the sudden gravity, the sunglasses which were beginning to fall down the bridge of Hajime’s nose slid back into place. Nagito resisted the urge to grasp them by their temple and snatch them completely away simply to admire the light setting heterochromatic eyes ablaze. He absolutely loved how those orbs ignited awash with solar flare on a bright, hot day—the furrows within Hajime’s irises sparking new, invigorated lines against golden limbal rings.
Though removing the glasses meant exposing said eyes to harmful UV rays. Such treatment would be a tad too cruel given the sun’s harsh shine. He supposed he’d have to admire Hajime’s eyes another time. Possibly before bed, when the room was all lights off and moon shining through open silk curtains, bunched in the middle via tieback. In the dark, Hajime’s eyes had a tendency to glint unnaturally. Night vision, according to his brusque explanation.
(Nagito had joked about X-ray vision shortly after. He’d thought it was somewhat humorous, but Hajime’s silence was extremely telling.)
“...You’re staring.”
“Oh.”
Unremorseful, Nagito kept his eyes trained on Hajime. He reached up to cup the brunet’s cheek, brushing his thumb over angled cheekbones. “Is it wrong of me to want to make the most of my time here?”
Hajime blinked pointedly at him. “By looking at me?”
“I’d like to think of it as a benefit,” Nagito was quick to say, moving his thumb to run over Hajime’s lower lip. “Although I wouldn’t mind spending my remaining time appreciating Hinata-kun twenty-four seven. It’d be a dream come true…No, more like a miracle…”
A shiver wracked his frame at the thought of what horrible catastrophes would befall them both if he were allowed the privilege of never letting Hajime out of his sight. At least he’d have the opportunity to oogle Hajime before he died in some misfortunate freak accident. Naked or clothed, he didn’t mind. He’d seen Hajime both dressed and nude plenty of times, so there wasn’t much of a preference. Maybe he could have the best of both worlds and watch Hajime change.
“If you’re going to check me out, at least be more subtle about it,” Hajime abashedly grumbled, stepping closer to adjust the collar of Nagito’s Hawaiian shirt. “There. Not crooked anymore.”
“Noticing such a small detail…Truly incredible!” praised Nagito. Being doted on by Hajime always made his heart flutter an inexplicable sensation in his chest. When he was a child, his mother always used to dress him in the same way—straighten his suspenders and adjust his bowtie snug. She had a keen eye for sloppiness, much like Hajime. She was also the last person to show him any sort of special attention.
Being cared about…Such a strange, foreign concept. He was horrible at accepting one-sided favors or exclusive treatment. Being lowly scum, he should’ve been the last person to be treated with kindness. So naturally, he itched with the need to repay Hajime in some way.
“Let me return the favor.”
Hajime’s collar was far from crooked. Not a single wrinkle or crease to be spotted on his adorably Usami-patterned shirt, fit to match with Nagito’s Monomi one. He ran his hands down the front of Hajime’s shirt, appreciating the hard lines of lean muscle and the way Hajime’s chest stuttered as his breath caught in his throat.
“It suits you,” Nagito absently commented, rubbing the bottom hem of the fabric between his thumb and index finger. Playfully, he lifted it to expose the barest sliver of Hajime’s navel. Hajime immediately swatted his hand away, shooting him a glare.
“Quit it.”
Nagito slid his hands back up Hajime’s chest, palms resting over his pecs. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
He took the liberty of squeezing ever so slightly. The brunet must’ve been in a good mood today because he simply huffed through his nose and turned his head away.
“Hinata-kun is lucky to be endowed with such wonderful assets.” Deftly, Nagito popped the topmost button of Hajime’s shirt, working two more buttons down until the fabric no longer strained against Hajime’s chest. “There we go. Some room for them to breathe.”
“Stop talking like they’re sentient.” Hajime raised a brow, glancing down at his now-exposed chest. “And they aren’t that big. They’re average.”
“Mhm,” Nagito hummed, the picture of convinced. “Sure…Whatever Hinata-kun says.” He paused, lips curving in a sly grin. “Then if they’re so average, surely you wouldn’t mind keeping them out. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, after all.”
Hajime remained silent, still staring his own pecs down.
“Or you could go ahead and take your shirt off! We’re at the beach, so isn’t it the best time to get naked?”
That was probably the wrong thing to say, Hajime immediately drawing the open neck of his shirt closed, a rosy hue blazing across his cheeks. “Hell no! Getting— We’re not…Naked? Here?!”
“We can turn this into a nude beach for a day,” proposed Nagito, stroking his chin. Hajime looked absolutely mortified at the suggestion, mouth hung open and eyes open comically wide. “Without anyone here, skinny dipping would be quite convenient. Or maybe sunbathing would be more appropriate. I can apply suntan lotion on Hinata-kun’s back if he wants!”
“You…” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Hajime let out an exasperated sigh. He was flushed from his forehead to the tips of his ears. “You’re just teasing me, aren’t you?”
Nagito offered Hajime that signature close-eyed smile. He held his hands in front of his chest in a gesture of surrender. “Ah…I’ve been caught.”
“At least try to sound guilty,” grumbled Hajime, still sporting that humiliated blush.
“But is it really my fault if Hinata-kun makes it so easy?”
“I’m never listening to you again.”
Feigning the most disappointed expression he could muster, Nagito crossed his arms and looked dejectedly at the floor. He knew Hajime had a weak spot for the kicked-puppy look. “So I can’t ask Hinata-kun to hula dance for me…Shame.”
“I would’ve never agreed to something like that. Besides, this isn’t Hawaii.”
“But you have the talent.”
“Yeah…So what?” Hajime kicked at the sand, flip flops scuffing a spray of golden grain. “I can’t use every single talent. They’re not even mine to begin with.”
There Hajime went again with his Reserve course complex. Honestly, Nagito couldn’t understand what was so difficult about accepting the outcome of the surgery. Hajime practically had the world in the palm of his hand, yet he couldn’t even recognize himself as a god among men. Between the two of them, Nagito had thought that he had the worst inferiority complex. Hajime always managed to surprise him one way or another.
“Let’s not talk about it anymore,” Hajime decided before Nagito could get a word in. He squeezed Nagito’s hand once more—a signal to let it be. “We’re not even halfway across the beach yet.”
A vast expanse of ocean and shore stretched in front of them, seafoam lapping gently where land met water. Twilight beginning to fall, the blazing summer sky faded to a purple-ish ombre at the corners—traces of bleeding night. Soon, the stars would be out. Nagito particularly enjoyed stargazing. Hospital windows were tinted enough to dull their glow, but he’d still notice them. Sometimes, he’d count. Other times, he’d attempt to recall the constellations his brain had eaten itself too ragged to remember.
Now that he was free, he was sure the stars would be even brighter in person. He could take Hajime on a wild goose chase across the beach. Feel the wind numb his face and whip through his hair as they kept running and running until tripping and falling into a sweaty, panting heap. Maybe he’d be lucky enough to land sprawled atop Hajime’s chest, head buried in the crook of the brunet’s neck. He’d breathe a lungful of Hajime-scented musk before rolling off and onto his back, tracing made-up constellations with a finger pointed haphazardly to the heavens.
“Komaeda,” Hajime called, waving a concerned hand in front of Nagito’s face. “Komaeda, you okay? You were kinda staring off into space for a second there…”
Nagito awkwardly laughed his delusions off, averting his gaze to the sand beneath their feet. “It’s nothing.”
The smile gracing his lips felt unnaturally tight as Hajime shrugged before resuming their leisurely stroll.
58:18:34:03
As the days passed, Hajime realized that he was horrible at this whole hospitality thing. Or, rather, he had no idea what kind of hospitality Nagito was looking for.
Their relationship mostly revolved around sex. A form of communication they’d both grown accustomed to, because Nagito’s body was much more honest than his mouth and all Hajime had to do was touch him right to hear the truth.
So, yeah. They fucked a lot . A horribly embarrassing amount that Hajime wouldn’t admit over his dead body. Hajime had sex with Nagito more times than he’d taken the other male on dates, except they weren’t actually dating , per se, or anything substantial in the slightest. In a way, Hajime enjoyed the feel of afterglow. The days seemed to stretch longer when they were completely fucked out, limbs weak like jelly and legs tangled beneath the sheets.
His favorite sight was the rising sun peeking through partially drawn blinds after a nth round of lovemaking, faint white light backlighting Nagito’s outline. Nagito would always rise in a half-sit and stretch his arms above his head, blankets pooling around his torso. Right over his navel where Hajime’s lips had been merely minutes prior, fabric temporarily swathing his nudity. When he stretched, his skin—littered with hickies and faint bitemarks—stretched a living canvas over his ribs. And Hajime, utterly enchanted, rose up to press his chest flush against Nagito’s and drape his arms around Nagito’s shoulders, running his index fingers up and down Nagito’s spine to feel each individual vertebrae.
Maybe he’d let his superhuman libido win before the rational, working part of his brain gave its say. This was supposed to be their time together. Nagito’s final wish and Hajime’s final chance to truly get to know him beneath that tricky exterior. There was an unspoken question between them, and Hajime’s specialty happened to be stumbling upon an answer.
On that note, he’d skimmed some crummy article on what couples did to have fun. The Ultimate Romantic talent must’ve not existed because he’d spent the day tidying up their cabin and tinkering with a record player, color flushed high on his cheeks all the while.
Nagito watched on with muted interest, lazing lengthwise atop the bed, arms tucked beneath his chin as a makeshift pillow. The careless slip of his t-shirt off his shoulder betrayed just how lax he’d grown, sharing a common living space with Hajime for the past few months. It could almost be called domesticity, if Hajime weren’t too embarrassed to consider the label.
“That’s an interesting trinket,” Nagito commented, right when Hajime cranked the volume knob of the player and slid the needle down onto the disc. The record crackled to life, needle scratching vinyl grooves at an odd angle. Hajime adjusted it. A soft rendition of slow pop rewarded his efforts, heavy on the snares and dampened guitar riffs slapped with extra reverb. The vocals had a muffled, charming quality to them, track popping just enough to be considered vintage. This was as perfect as a song would get for the occasion.
Sucking in a steadying breath, Hajime steeled his nerves and approached Nagito with measured steps. He was determined to make this not-date work. He wouldn’t let Nagito seduce him to bed. He wouldn’t let his dick win and they’d have a good time without shedding their clothes.
Tonight, he’d handle whatever they had between them proper.
With freshly renewed resolve, Hajime stopped at the edge of the mattress, holding out an expectant hand. “Do you want to, uh…” He swallowed the lump in his throat. This was a lot harder than he’d expected. How was his tongue supposed to work when he was practically burning beneath those bright eyes?
“Yes?” Nagito fluttered his lashes. They curved at the slightest angle when touching his cheeks, swooping upwards in an elegant curl.
All you have to do is ask him to dance. It’s not difficult.
Hajime echoed the words inside his head, eyes darting nervously from the floor, to the walls, to the tousled blankets, only to crash right back into the intensity of muted, green pools threatening to drown him whole.
“Dance,” he eloquently choked out. His throat had never been tighter. “Do you want to dance with me?”
“Ah, is that the reason why Hinata-kun went to the trouble of setting all this up?” Nagito eyed him up and down. Hajime had taken the liberty of donning absolutely nothing impressive for the occasion, still caught lacking in his usual dress shirt and choice of tight jeans. The ones Nagito liked because they “didn’t leave much to the imagination.” Suddenly, Hajime felt self-consciousness prickling at the back of his neck. He sheepishly rubbed it away.
“It’s whatever you want to make of it. Are you going to accept or not? My arm’s getting tired.”
A complete lie. Hajime just hated looking like a flustered idiot while Nagito stared him down, calculating and composed to his very core.
“Aha…Hinata-kun’s like a prince.” That airy laugh again. Such a sweet, light sound that had pesky butterflies fluttering in Hajime’s stomach. “Dancing with me would be a waste. I’ve never done something like this before.”
Regardless, a cold hand slipped into his waiting one. He took that as an invitation to pull Nagito up and off the bed, leading him to the center of the room.
“We’ll figure it out as we go,” decided Hajime, guiding Nagito’s hands to his shoulders. Nagito, ever the devil, squeezed.
“Then I’ll make sure to follow your lead.”
“Alright…”
The thing was, Hajime didn’t know how to dance. Or how to lead anyone, for that matter. Like instinct, his talents often did the work for him. Everything came naturally, all those surgical implements kicking into high gear whenever something needed to get done.
Hajime didn’t want to jump the gun. He wanted tonight to be an enjoyable first for Nagito. So instead of a full-on slow dance or set routine, he settled on keeping with Nagito’s pace—hands finding the slightly curved handles of Nagito’s waist, mimicking his odd half-waddle, half-sway in place.
“This is much more different than I expected.” Nagito winced as he stepped on Hajime’s toes, muttering out a breathy apology. “Hinata-kun…Could it be that you don’t know how to dance either? I thought that out of all people, you’d have a grasp on something as simple as this.”
“If it’s so simple, then quit stepping on me,” Hajime grumbled without any real bite. The real difficulty here was suppressing his talents. They itched beneath his skin, begging him to whisk Nagito off his feet and float around the room, steps inhumanly light. But he didn’t want to risk Nagito stumbling after him because he was moving too fast. That was the problem nowadays—nobody could keep up with him. So he told himself this was okay. This level of mediocrity was alright.
His breath caught in his throat when Nagito nuzzled into the crook of his neck. “It’s okay, Hinata-kun. You don’t have to hold back for my sake.” The hands on his shoulders squeezed something reassuring rather than teasing, holding firm for an extended second before releasing. “Whatever you want to do or wherever you want to go, I’ll follow. I trust you. Plus”—his hot breath ghosted against Hajime’s skin, followed by a chaste kiss—“Hinata-kun always does a wonderful job, no matter what it is.”
A shiver ran down Hajime’s spine. Damn Nagito and his knowledge of Hajime’s definitely-not praise kink. Damn him and his charm. Damn him and the way he had Hajime wrapped around his pretty, lithe fingers, because Hajime damn well knew he was utterly whipped for the man in his arms. So unfairly infatuated that it left him frustrated to no end.
“Okay.” Exhaling heavily, he briefly rested his chin atop Nagito’s fluffy curls. Nagito hummed into the slope of his shoulder and they stayed like that—Hajime’s heart thudding and heat creeping to the tips of his ears—until Hajime took in a deep breath through his teeth. “Okay,” he repeated, louder. This time, a cue. “Ready?”
Nagito looked up at him, lashes fluttering and gaze uncharacteristically soft.
“Lead the way.”
Hajime didn’t need any more permission than that. Shedding his inhibitions, he broke out of their awkward rocking motion, starting them off with a basic box step.
“Follow my steps,” Hajime instructed, sliding his left foot out. Nagito tentatively mirrored the movement with his right. He was hyper-focused on Hajime’s steps, neck craned downwards to analyze each shift. The pinch between his brows and the way he wore concentration on pursed, pink lips were testaments to his efforts. To his credit, he wasn’t half bad. Nagito had always been the type to pick up on patterns fairly quickly, although his coordination could use some work. Nothing Hajime couldn’t work with, though.
Grasping one of Nagito’s hands in his own, he lightly rested his other atop Nagito’s back. He made his steps wider. Took up more space to glide across the cabin floor and fully occupy the space. It felt like a breath of relief to let whatever dancing instinct he possessed take over. He led Nagito in twirls as easy as breathing, looping his arm around Nagito’s waist to lower him in the occasional dip.
Nagito was pliant. His touches, soft. He flowed around Hajime’s movements, gradually improving with each reiteration of the motions. Beneath the cabin’s dimmed downlights, he was cast in a lambent, amber glow. The warmth of it danced over porcelain skin. Found its way alongside shifting shadows and inside the hard-to-reach crevices of Nagito’s shirt which he never bothered to iron.
“Is there something on my face?” Nagito airily spoke over the soft music, a coy flash of teeth gracing upturned lips. “Hinata-kun has been staring quite attentively for a while.”
“Of course I’d be staring. You’re my dance partner,” Hajime retorted. The pesky flush bothering his cheeks crept down to his neck. He’d been caught red-handed. Guilty as charged simply for admiring the pretty angles of Nagito’s face. He slowly spun Nagito to give himself a moment to regain his composure.
“I know an excuse when I hear one.”
“I’m not making excuses.”
A bright laugh bubbled from Nagito’s lips. The pleasant, carefree sound caught Hajime off guard, footwork nearly faltering. Nagito took advantage of the momentary distraction, curling his hand around Hajime’s back. Drawing him in. “You’ve never been good at lying. Perhaps that’s what everyone likes about you. It’s difficult to find someone as genuine and hardworking as Hinata-kun these days.”
Nagito’s breath puffed hot between their lips. Hajime felt no different from a live wire, electricity sparking from where the pads of his fingertips met Nagito’s skin.
“Quit it with the praise,” he grumbled. In any other circumstance he’d have enough self-respect to avert his eyes, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Nagito. Not when Nagito was practically beaming—radiant and ethereal and the happiest Hajime had ever seen him. His smile was relaxed. Nothing plasticky or forced. Hajime hadn’t known the miniature craters of Nagito’s dimples or the soft caress of half-lidded eyes until now. The white-haired male was blushing a storm, rosy color painting pale cheeks a vivid hue.
Nagito was looking at him the dreamy way a spotlight did a dancer: as if the world were their stage and Hajime, its sole performer. Awestruck, those sea-green pools widened when Hajime bent him down in one final dip, holding him there instead of bringing him back up.
There, Hajime, bent over Nagito like a crescent eclipse, remained as still as humanly possible. He didn’t have a talent that could stop time, but it sure felt like he could. This moment was made to be frozen, tailored so that Hajime was drawn into everything Nagito: dilated pupils, slightly parted lips, the work of gravity gently pulling those tendrils of soft, white locks back. Nagito’s chest heaved with exertion. Up close, his lips quivered.
Hajime took a bow to thank their imaginary audience and caught Nagito’s breath.
44:22:58:47
Somewhere along the way, Hajime had changed ever so slightly.
Nagito couldn’t pinpoint exactly when, but they’d grown irrevocably closer. Hajime had shed most of his boyish awkwardness when it came to anything tactile. Not only their cabin, but the entire island felt lived-in with how many places they’d visited—little crevices of nature Hajime took Nagito to, hand in hand. When Nagito drifted off to sleep, warm in Hajime’s arms, he dreamt about the soft patter of their combined footfall on mountain paths. The roaring cascade of a hidden waterfall Hajime had found and its cold spray kissing his cheeks, water specks catching on his eyelashes like morning dew on leaves. Rustling tree leaves waving a greeting. Seagulls chattering to themselves during morning strolls, streaking aside the cumulus clouds Nagito would often point up at and challenge Hajime to discern their shapes.
Throughout it all, Hajime had begun looking at him a certain way. More like stealing glances whenever he thought Nagito wasn’t looking, but they ended up lasting too long to be considered sneaky. Nagito wouldn’t classify them as the smoldering gazes that had heat rushing between his legs and arousal pooling low in his navel. Those were reserved for intimately sexual encounters, which, for some reason, had decreased in quantity.
Surprisingly, while he loved sex, he didn’t particularly mind the sudden sparsity of it. Because he loved doing anything with Hajime, really, and he was actually quite taken with the subtle shift in their dynamic. “Change” wasn’t the word he’d use to describe it, because Hajime was still his same old self. Yet in a way, he felt familiar. Closer than he’d ever been before, and Nagito wasn’t one to complain about good fortune coming his way.
As ridiculous as it sounded, Hajime had mellowed out into a mature, handsome adult. Faint were the traces of that stumbling Reserve Course boy who was more spontaneous action than thought. But old habits died hard, and Nagito knew that Hajime would always be one to think from the heart rather than the head.
To Nagito, Hajime would always be his first and only love. In these perfect, halcyon days, he wanted a chance to say that out loud at least once.
Not now, though. His time would eventually come if he waited patiently enough, so he pushed the thought to the back of his mind and focused on living in the moment. Seated atop Jabberwock Park’s lush field, knees in a half-bend close to his chest, he fumbled with the ongoing chain of colorful flowers in his hands.
A green thumb evaded him, dirt messily tucked beneath the beds of his fingernails whenever they brushed against flower stem bases. He’d displaced countless daisies, poppies, and four-leaf clovers residing among soft tufts of grass. Hajime had been teaching him how to string them into a crown, but despite the precise instruction, the result came out looking ragged and wilted. Vibrancy seemed to droop right off the flowers whenever Nagito got his hands on them, petals curling in on themselves and stems bleeding dark chlorophyll veins.
The so-called crown in his hands resembled more of an oval than a circle. A sad, limp thing, it sagged over his fingers.
“What a waste,” Nagito lamented, turning the flower crown over in his hands. He’d wanted to make a nice one for Hajime. “I feel bad for the flowers.”
Hajime, sitting cross-legged and skillfully weaving his own flowers together, glanced over at the abomination in Nagito’s hands. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Thoughts, words, and possible outcomes raced behind his eyes. Finally, as if maneuvering a high-security, state-of-the-art vault, he slowly spoke, “It doesn’t look too bad. It just…needs some work in a few places.”
“And what kind of work do you propose would fix it? A little elaboration goes a long way.”
Nagito scooted closer. Did a sly shuffle of his leg a few inches to the right so that the outside of his thigh pressed flush against Hajime’s. The brunet’s Adam’s apple bobbed like a buoy lost at sea.
“Er…On second thought, it’s fine,” replied Hajime, words strung together so fast that his tongue tripped over them. “You’re getting the hang of it for someone who’s never done this before.”
“Really,” Nagito said, disbelief phrased as a statement rather than a question. The ring of flowers swung in the light, passing breeze. If Nagito didn’t know any better, he would’ve thrown it to the wind faster than a bride tossing a wedding bouquet. “I think it’d be faster and much more efficient if you taught me instead. The poor plant life on this island will suffer if I’m left to my own devices.”
Snorting, Hajime rolled his eyes. “The plants will be fine. They’re artificial anyways.”
Nagito hummed. That much was true. Except for one crucial, key point. “Being here with Hinata-kun makes them feel real. Everything in this virtual island holds some sort of value, regardless of how artificial.” Even his own brain was fooled by the intricacies of this complex program, the pads of his fingertips unable to discern real flora from fake. “Perception works in strange ways. Whether something is real or fake”—he traced the interlaced stem of a clover and daisy, thumb bumping over a roughly tied knot—“is entirely up to individual perspective. Ah, but you probably already know about such a simple concept already.”
He placed his hand atop Hajime’s leg, hearing the choked breath whoosh straight from the brunet’s lungs. “Even if it means nothing in the end, this time with Hinata-kun is the reality I choose to believe in.”
That look was back again. An indiscernible mix of emotions softening the chiseled edges of Haijme’s features, lips parting slightly in speechlessness. Awe. He’d ceased the nimble movements of his fingers, flower crown resting forgotten in his hands. As if he had to dedicate his body’s entire supply of dexterity simply to take the sight of Nagito in.
“Ah…” A breezy laugh escaped Nagito in the encroaching silence. The warm kind of laughter that had his chest buzzing and head growing fuzzy, because he had no idea how to tame the giddiness fluttering a storm in his stomach. “I said something weird again.”
“No!” Hajime exclaimed, his voice bursting forth in a rush that had them both flinching, surprised. “I mean”—he cleared his throat to an acceptable volume—“it’s fine. I…I feel the same way, so you don’t have to call it weird or anything.” Flower crown remembered, he placed it atop Nagito’s head. Adjusted the shape so that it sat right, fingertips grazing the shell of Nagito’s ear when he pulled away.
It was Nagito’s turn for his breath to lodge in his throat, heart following shortly after. Hajime, in all his red-tipped ears and burning-faced glory, looked positively ready to combust on the spot.
“What’s with that face?” Hajime mumbled. He ducked his head, finally bowing to his bashful tendencies.
“Hinata-kun is…unexpectedly romantic,” was Nagito’s astute observation. He reached up to gently brush his fingers against the flowers. The crown had looked nothing short of perfect when Hajime was making it, blossoms meticulously intertwined and adorning leaves jutting out at aesthetically pleasing angles. Like everything Hajime made, this was nothing short of a masterpiece. “Are you sure you want to give it to me? I think it’d suit you much better.”
Hajime waved the offer off. “Keep it.”
“Does it look nice on me?”
“Huh? Well, yeah…I guess.”
“Hinata-kun doesn’t sound very sure,” teased Nagito. He knew exactly which buttons to press—how to play his cards right—when he climbed atop Hajime’s lap, pressing his palms against Hajime’s shoulders to push him down onto the field below.
Soft grass crackled, giving way beneath his back. Thighs pressed against Hajime’s waist in a straddle, Nagito took the high ground as an opportunity to splay his hand over Hajime’s toned abdomen, fingertips slipping beneath the hem of his shirt to make the barest contact with skin.
“K-Komaeda? What are you…” Hajime swallowed hard, the bob of his Adam’s apple a frequent visitor. Beads of sweat pearled atop his forehead. His tongue ran over slightly chapped lips, anticipating.
“You’ll see,” Nagito unhelpfully supplied. Stretching over Hajime’s torso, Nagito laid his flower crown atop Hajime’s head. It didn’t fit quite right, woven into too large of a loop that fell over Hajime’s forehead. If he were sitting up, the crown would’ve been large enough to slip down to his neck and hang just below his collarbones. Then again, Hajime made anything look wearable. Even now—crown slipping and loose and caught in spiky, brown locks—it fit him perfectly.
“It’s a shame I don’t have anything better to offer.” Instead of pulling away, Nagito brushed a stray lock of hair behind the shell of Hajime’s ear. “Even wearing such a poorly made gift, Hinata-kun is as handsome as ever…Anything you touch truly shines with hope!”
Hajime opened his mouth the same way he did whenever he was about to protest, but Nagito was quicker, pressing his forehead against Hajime’s to smooth the wrinkled crease of his brows. In any other circumstance, he wouldn’t dare try his luck. Being close to such radiant hope was bound to yield horrible consequences. According to the law of his luck, he could die. Right now, he could be blessed with a sudden death in Hajime’s arms.
Peals of laughter escaped him before he could stop them, rumbling a volcano in his chest all the way up to his spinning head, brain too fluffy and dazed and full of soft euphoria to keep up appearances. So he threw his head back and laughed until his chest hurt. Until his lungs protested each wheeze and oxygen begged to be let in. Only then did he fall against Hajime’s chest in the heap he’d always dreamed they’d end up in.
“What’s so funny?” Hajime asked, perplexion seeping into his tone. The weight of Nagito’s heaving chest must’ve been pressing Hajime’s brain even denser because the irony of the situation was that obvious. At least, to Nagito it was.
“Nothing,” Nagito said between labored breaths, smiling a shoddily kept secret against Hajime’s skin.
Hajime huffed out of his nose, obviously not believing the sentiment, but deciding against pushing any further.
(He wrapped his arms around Nagito all the same.)
36:09:35:10
Hajime had grown used to complacency. Summer breeze had successfully seeped past his skin, whispering warmth and relaxation into work-hardened bones. He’d nearly forgotten duties and obligations and the direness of Nagito’s health. It was incredibly easy to while away the days without much thought—doing whatever Nagito wanted, whenever they wanted.
That was why when he opened his eyes to the transparent haze of a pod lid and a clipped, mechanical voice counting down to his release, he startled awake.
Reality was as cold as the frigid puffs of freeze ejected in a mechanical hiss. Nagito’s arms had been much warmer than this, wrapped around Hajime’s midriff as he’d dozed into a comfortable slumber. The program was only supposed to eject him if he activated the failsafe method, or…
His head whipped wildly in the direction of Nagito’s pod, fast enough to dislodge any lasting cricks knotted in his neck. From here, he could only glimpse the shadow of a gaunt frame concealed behind a semi-transparent plastic hard shell.
Nagito…Was he breathing? Was he alive? Had Hajime’s calculations been wrong this entire time?
Panic surged through him in a rush. He pushed his way out of the pod before the lid fully opened, ripping electrodes and IV’s from beneath his skin. Arcs of blood followed in their wakes, barely a pinch to Hajime’s amplified pain tolerance.
“Komaeda?” he frantically croaked out. His vocal chords pulled taut in his throat, stiff and unused to the warble of his voice. “Komaeda!”
He stepped his way out of the pod on shaky legs, stumbling his way to where Nagito laid in his own plastic prison. Sidling to Nagito’s pod, Hajime slipped to his knees. Up close, Nagito’s outline no longer resembled a vague blob of human shape. Encased within a monster of a contraption, he looked as delicate as a snow globe model. The perfect still-life to any onlooker, white curls fanning a halo behind his head. His signature jacket engulfed his frame more flawless than a marble statue carved to artistic completion.
Perfection and everything pretty be damned, Hajime wanted nothing more than to be able to tell if Nagito was alive . He didn’t trust the heart rate monitor or the steadily spiking peaks of the EKG. He wanted to press his palm against Nagito’s chest to feel for a rise or fall. Needed to slip his hand into Nagito’s. Skirt his fingers over a pulse and lean close enough to discern whether those lashes really were fluttering or if it was a cruel trick of the light.
If the Ultimate Engineer in him wasn’t privy to the consequences of prematurely opening the pods, Hajime would’ve already lodged his fingers in the divot between lid and basin to pry Nagito from the clutches of cold, preservative cryofreeze.
“Dammit,” he hissed, lightly tapping his forehead against the pod. His hand curled to a fist by his side before he took the liberty of slamming it on the lid. When Nagito didn’t even so much as stir—which was odd, because Nagito had always been a master at rising from the dead—Hajime delivered another bottom-of-fist pounding to state-of-the-art machinery.
“Hajime?”
Frantic footfall echoed off the mechanical chitter of laboratory equipment. Two pairs of shoes stopped beside him. Hajime didn’t need to look up to identify Fuyuhiko and Souda.
“Long time no see. You look like hell.” Despite the less-than flattering remark, Fuyuhiko stuck out a firm hand. Hajime eyed it warily, tucking his body closer to the pod. He must’ve looked fit to snap the yakuza’s fingers straight off, if Souda shuffling behind Fuyuhiko’s small meat shield of a body was anything to go off of.
“Why am I back?” Hajime asked, speech slightly slurred. His tongue felt heavy, like his mouth was stuffed full of cotton gone static.
Souda looked at him incredulously, like he’d grown a second head. “You’re kidding, right?”
One withering glare had the mechanic snapping his smart jaw shut. Souda nudged his elbow against Fuyuhiko’s shoulder.
“Help me out here, man,” he hiss-whispered as if Hajime couldn’t hear every word.
“Huh?! Why do I hafta explain shit? This is your job!”
“Do you see him? He’s gonna kill me…”
“For god’s sake”—Fuyuhiko massaged his temples—“he’s not gonna kill you, so quit being such a pussy!”
“Gah! Don’t say it so loud!”
At any other time, Hajime would’ve found the display amusing. Now, he felt a twinge of annoyance and what was surefire irritation igniting his gut. How could they be so calm? In a situation like this, how could anyone be so carefree? Nagito…He was—
“He’s not dead, if you were wondering.”
Hajime’s head snapped towards Fuyuhiko.
“Yeah, what he said.” Souda jabbed a lazy thumb in Fuyuhiko’s direction. “Y’know, you’re the one who asked me to check on you at the halfway mark. “So you can’t go blaming me for any of this mess, got it?!”
The rush of memories struck Hajime like a slap to the face. Handing off island duties to Imposter. Setting up the pods with Souda. Fuyuhiko insisting that he could stay the whole damn ninety-one days in the simulation, but Hajime turning the offer down in favor of checking in at the halfway mark.
“...Oh,” was all that came out of his mouth. Panic had given way to a relief washing over him in a warm wave, releasing the tension wound tight in coiled muscles.
“Geez,” Souda grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. Hajime accepted Fuyuhiko’s still-outstretched hand, helping himself up. “Out of all people, I didn’t think you’d be one to forget something so important.”
Fuyuhiko nodded in agreement. “Damn right. Having yourself a good time in there while we’re all working our asses off?”
The banter was meant to be lighthearted, Fuyuhiko patting his back in good-naturedly, yet Hajime’s heart dropped heavy to his stomach. He was having a good time. A good enough time that made it easy to forget just how much he’d end up losing.
Still, not wanting to worry anyone with his rumination, he managed a shaky smile. “Something like that.”
Fuyuhiko’s eyes narrowed, suspicion shooting Hajime’s lie sharper than a bullet. Souda, naturally, remained none the wiser to the silent exchange, head swiveling between the two.
“Alright,” Fuyuhiko settled on after an uncomfortably long pause. Hajime breathed a sigh of relief.
“Thanks for looking after the island for so long. I know it’s a lot.”
“Tch.” A cocky smirk made its way back onto Fuyuhiko’s face, sharp at the corners. “Nothing we can’t handle. You could’ve left it to us instead of hauling your ass back here, though.”
“No…It’s fine.” Hajime ran a stressed hand down his face. He didn’t even want to imagine the excess paperwork accumulating in his inbox. As much as his peers were willing to handle the labor management on Jabberwock itself, there were only so many things they were capable of. Only Hajime had the jurisdiction to sign off on Future Foundation shipments and hope-restoration projects. As much as he wanted to push work to the side, he had obligations. Not just to the Future Foundation, but his friends as well.
Still…He casted a wistful glance at Nagito’s sleeping figure.
“Oi.” Fuyuhiko nudged his shoulder, snapping him out of his reverie. “Faster you get shit done, faster you can take a vacation at our expense. Don’t push yourself too hard, yeah? I get it. Things are rough.” He lowered his voice—quiet, as if afraid of Nagito hearing. “Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but tell him I said hi when you get back in there.” Fuyuhiko nodded his chin towards Nagito’s pod. “Nobody says anything, but things just don’t seem right without him loitering around. We haven’t even had a chance to…y’know. Mend burnt bridges or whatever. Shit’s heavy.”
Hajime was shocked, to say the least. Sure, a select few had made efforts to approach Nagito during his hospitalization, but he didn’t think the rest of them had quite warmed up to Nagito or considered him a part of daily island life. Then again, this was Nagito they were talking about. He had a knack for everything luck and elusivity and whatnot. You’d catch him in the corner of your peripheral before, with a swish of his green jacket, he flitted off to wherever. He could go missing for days. Die in front of your very eyes, then pop up with a friendly smile and wave as if nothing ever happened.
At least, it always seemed that way. To them, Nagito’s luck made him invincible. So Hajime could understand how it was a tough pill to swallow—his mortality. How sooner or later, that cryopod would turn into a coffin and they’d be laying Nagito to rest beneath fertile island peat, permanently.
No simulation, no cheat codes, no second chances. Just harsh, bitter reality.
“You should come visit sometime,” Hajime quietly suggested. It would be nice for Nagito to see everyone one last time. They couldn’t stay in the simulation for long, but he had a feeling that even a short amount of time would mean the world to Nagito.
“Yeah.” Fuyuhiko slapped Souda on the back, eliciting a surprised yelp from the mechanic. “We’ll be there.”
31:40:55:26
A few days ago, Hajime had disappeared into thin air. Nagito awoke to a cold, empty bed, arms wrapped around frigid morning air and twisted sheets.
He’d checked the bathroom for humid shower steam. The hotel. Took a saunter around the entire island before returning to the cabin at nightfall to wait some more.
The next morning, he deduced that Hajime must’ve logged out of the program. The brunet probably had business to take care of in the real world, being the island head and all, but still Nagito had the audacity to feel disappointed—heart dropping to the pit of his stomach.
Knowing his luck, Hajime would most likely be back in the next few days. Or maybe Nagito had used whatever remaining fortune he had left and Hajime wouldn’t ever return. A fifty-fifty chance, relying simply on chance.
(Surely he was selfish scum, wishing for Hajime so frequently. It was sick, twisted, and utterly wrong of Nagito to want someone by his side when he died for a second and final time.)
So here he was, standing under lukewarm shower spray, watching water and suds swirl down the drain. He’d been thinking lately. About how Hajime’s hands would feel. Roaming over his chest, down his sides, finding themselves at the jut of his hips.
Nagito, overtaken by the hot rush of arousal curling in his gut, would go weak in the knees. Sink down to the shower floor, nuzzling against Hajime’s growing erection.
“Komaeda…”
Nagito’s surname always rolled nicely off of Hajime’s tongue. He loved the smooth sound of it—husky like smoke. Dripping with want. Hunger.
Alone in the bathroom, Nagito practically burned. The drain was too small to swallow him and his indecent thoughts; since no one was watching, he could lose himself to them. His cock was already throbbing, balls tightening at the thought of heterochromatic orbs smoldering down at him.
He braced a hand against the wall, skirting the other down his body. He thumbed lightly over his nipple, breath shuddering as he trailed a line down his stomach to the white patch of curls resting just above his member. The heated shower steam was getting to him—infused with the hot, sweet scent of pineapple-coconut body wash.
When he finally touched himself, wrapping fingers around his aching length, he threw his head back to thump against the wall. He jerked himself in languid, firm strokes, hips stuttering into his palm. Lips parted in a silent moan, he imagined them parting over the tip of Hajime’s cock instead. Planting a wet kiss on the crown, glistening with water and precum.
“I’ll make this good for you,” he’d promise, blinking up at Hajime through heavy-lidded lashes before taking Hajime into his mouth.
The taste, the weight, the musky scent of Hajime’s cock—just thinking about it on his tongue had Nagito drooling. He let out a breathy whimper, thumbing over his slit in feather-light strokes. The same careful way Hajime would touch him in bed because the brunet always started off careful before gaining enough confidence to tease.
Hajime would start him off slow. Tangle his fingers in Nagito’s shower-soaked curls to guide Nagito along the length of his cock. Whatever Nagito couldn’t fit in his mouth he’d service with his hand, gripping the base of Hajime’s cock as he flattened his tongue against the underside of it.
“Fuck…” Hajime would groan from above, blunt nails scratching against Nagito’s scalp. Dragging Nagito deeper onto his cock, making Nagito dizzy with want. He’d forgo the hands. Gag a little at the base, nose buried in a patch of brown hair.
Hajime liked it when he was vocal. So Nagito would moan and whine and make all sorts of obscene noises if only to encourage Hajime to use him. He’d dance his fingertips up Hajime’s calves and brace his hands on the backs of Hajime’s thighs, going down on Hajime with more fervor.
The bathroom, reverberating full of steam and Nagito’s panting, might as well have been a sauna. He was unbelievably turned on that the sensation bordered on scorching—molten lava rushing beneath his skin, bubbling up to his brain, frying it to light-headedness. The lewd, slick slide of his palm against his cock rang a sharp echo, bouncing off glass shower doors and filling the small expanse. Nagito tugged on his cock faster, a strangled whimper catching in the slatted grate of the exhaust fan high above.
He could feel his release building. A telltale tingle shot up his spine, all the way down to the tips of his toes curled against the slippery, shower floor. If Hajime were here, Nagito was sure he could cum wholly untouched. He belonged on his knees. Sucking Hajime’s cock and tasting bitter, salty spurts of precum on his tongue, he’d go slack and let Hajime use him however he pleased. Any of Hajime’s muted, guttural noises would be met with more moans on Nagito’s end. Like a form of debauched conversation where neither of them understood the exact words.
The only thing they needed to truly know each other were their bodies. Saliva dribbling down Nagito’s chin and obscene slurping bouncing off the walls, his jaw would ache wonderfully around Hajime’s girth. And as Hajime neared his release, he’d go from a slow grind to letting his hips have an animalistic mind of their own, frantically tugging Nagito’s hair, fucking his face proper.
A heady moan escaped his lips when he thought about Hajime cumming, unannounced. How hot semen would pour down his throat and he’d have no choice but to swallow it, choking and gagging all the while. Hajime would rut into him a few more times for good measure, riding out his orgasm, fingers loosening the threads of Nagito’s locks. The shower would smell like shampoo and sex. Full of Hajime and hormones and the bliss of having the voice fucked out of him.
That was all Nagito needed to tip over the edge, release crashing into him. A wave of pleasure had him shuddering through his orgasm, back arching and nails scrabbling against tile walls. He came into his hand with a cry, spurts of cum coating his fingers. He gave himself a few extra strokes, feeling his cock twitch in protest, raw and overstimulated.
His heart hammered in his ears. The water spray sounded far away. Breathing heavily through his mouth, he let his hand rest limply by his side, water trailing down his fingers. It mixed with his spend down the drain, colored slightly murky.
He came down from his high in a cramped shower the perfect size for two, sweat clinging incessantly to his moist skin.
If Hajime were here, he would’ve been able to scrub the hard-to-reach areas of Nagito’s back.
28:39:17:46
When Hajime logged back into the simulation, the first thing he did was tear the island apart in search of Nagito. After seeing Nagito lying in the pod—wires, there were so many wires and electrodes protruding from his body, the only sign of life being the gradual breath fogging his respirator—Hajime needed to see him. To feel or touch or do anything with Nagito simply to reassure himself that there was still time left.
In his search, he visited every single place Nagito frequented. The beach. The restaurant. Their shared cabin. All were empty.
The library was next on his list, tall brick walls looming a shadow over him. Oftentimes, Nagito enjoyed taking trips here and bringing back stacks of books to read. If he were to spend his time anywhere, it’d be here.
Pushing open heavy dark oak doors, he was greeted by a gust of cold air conditioning. Unoiled hinges creaked to announce his arrival, and Hajime had to rapidly blink a few times to adjust between glaring sunlight and the library’s dim, low lighting.
There Nagito was, standing beside a tall bookcase like a deer caught in blaring headlights. Hajime had caught him mid-peruse, fingers poised to brush over the spines of shelved titles.
“Hinata-kun?”
“I thought I’d find you here.”
They spoke at the same time. Hajime bit his tongue to prevent him from making a further fool of himself. What was he supposed to say? How have you been? Too colloquial. I missed you? Too much of an intimate swing right off the bat.
“Surely you’re not going to stand there forever.”
Luckily, Nagito broke the ice for him. It’d only been five days. Hajime was acting like he hadn’t seen Nagito in a whole damn century.
(He’d seen Nagito in that pod. Every day, he visited. Thought about that breezy laugh and the crinkle at the corners of upturned eyes every time Nagito smiled— really smiled. In reality, Nagito’s lips remained frozen in a straight, unfeeling line.)
Judging from Nagito’s expectant stare and the impatient cross of his arms, he was waiting. For what, remained unclear. It was always a test with him, and the first step was closing the distance.
Cut loose from whatever trance had possessed him, Hajime strode over to Nagito, stopping just shy of him.
He’d nearly forgotten just how pretty Nagito was up close.
“Hey.” Hajime ran his tongue over his lips. Chapped and dry. “Sorry for leaving so suddenly. I had to take care of some work. Future Foundation business. You know how it is.”
Nagito raised a brow. Pretended to survey his perfectly trimmed nails. “I assumed that much.”
Hajime casted a glance to the side. The tile flooring was looking really interesting, scratched and scuffed in countless places. Gave him an excuse not to look Nagito in the face.
“Well? Is that all you have to say?”
Hajime raised his head, slightly miffed. “What, do you want a speech?”
Nagito humming contemplatively made Hajime regret even asking. “Tempting, but I’ll pass. As much as I’d love to listen to Hinata-kun talk for hours, I wouldn’t demand something so unreasonable.”
The fact that Nagito assumed Hajime’s hypothetical speech would last for hours baffled him. Nagito must’ve really liked the sound of Hajime’s voice because he was creeping closer to hear it, pressing their chests together to slowly back Hajime against a bookshelf. Just because he could corner Hajime didn’t mean he should.
Hajime gasped. The spines of hardcover books dug into his back. Without missing a beat, Nagito nipped the shell of Hajime’s ear. Did dangerous things to Hajime’s self-control by pressing their pelvises together, crotches rubbing tantalizing friction.
“Consider this a compromise,” he breathed. Hajime could hear the thinly veiled want within that sultry rasp. He could smell the scent of coconut lingering fresh on white locks. It drove him crazy. Nagito drove him crazy.
In a flash, their positions were reversed. Whirling them around, now Hajime was the one pressing Nagito against the shelf, pinning Nagito’s wrists beside his head.
The faint, white light emanating from the radius windows casted a washed glow to Nagito’s fair skin. This resembled a scene straight out of a young adult romance novel—an empty library dimmed to fit the ambience of dark oak floors, faint beams of light holding wandering dust motes captive, and Nagito, looking so…
So…
Absently, Hajime thumbed over the line of green numbers ticking down on the inside of Nagito’s left wrist. Like a time bomb, Nagito had once said. While Nagito definitely was an explosion of a person, Hajime didn’t have it in him to laugh at the gruesome comparison.
“Getting sentimental?” Nagito asked. “It’s only natural.”
Hajime let the question hang in the air for a few seconds more. Traced his thumb down a blue vein branching beneath paper-thin skin. “I’m not sure,” he admitted with a reluctant sigh. His voice came out thick, a tinge of something sad sparking amidst muddled arousal. He didn’t want to put a name to it.
Instead of a sharp-tongued retort or witty one-liner, Nagito nestled his face in the crook of Hajime’s neck. He freed one hand from Hajime’s grasp, lithe fingers slipping beneath his collar, coaxing it back.
“You should stop thinking about it.” Nagito breezily proposed the solution with his whole chest, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. It sounded simple enough. With every kiss he laid above Hajime’s collarbone—every patch of skin he sucked and laved at—Hajime grew a little bit dumber. Settling into Nagito’s loose-lipped tendencies happened to be easy. He entertained the idea. Played with the thought of waking up every morning, entirely unconcerned. He’d live in the moment, unbothered by time sifting right through his fingers. Treat Nagito’s impending death as a we’ll-cross-that-bridge-when-we-get-to-it type of situation.
Then, he subsequently realized: he was thinking about it. The irony drew a snort from his nose. “Like it’s that easy.”
“I didn’t take you as the type to give up so quickly.”
A shiver ran down Hajime’s spine at Nagito’s playful teasing. Heat prickled at his skin. His body had already learned to anticipate the motions of intimacy, pants tightening upon seeing glimpsing the lust glazing Nagito’s half-lidded eyes.
Nagito was right. Hajime hated giving up.
“I’ll make you eat those words,” he husked before closing his mouth over Nagito’s, swallowing any further argument.
Nagito’s needy whine sent a thrill up Hajime’s spine. This was the moment he’d been waiting for—the warmth he could no longer receive from Nagito in the real world. He made sure to appreciate it to the fullest, hands immediately roaming down Nagito’s sides. Feeling him through the fabric of his shirt before the thin barrier proved a nuisance. He slid his palms beneath, relishing in the feel of Nagito’s warm skin. He liked running his fingers along the curve of Nagito’s spine, rucking up Nagto’s shirt while feeling for the arch of it.
Lazily sucking on Nagito’s tongue, Hajime deepened the kiss. Air didn’t matter, nor did the prospect of breathing. Only Nagito’s small gasps and muffled moans begged his attention, their chests pressed flush so Hajime could feel as well as taste.
The back of Nagito’s head thumped lightly against the bookshelf. Thin arms looped their way around Hajime’s neck, Nagito fisting the back of his shirt for purchase.
Hajime didn’t know who started grinding against who first. Somewhere amid nipping at Nagito’s bottom lip and tweaking a pert nipple, the fronts of their pants brushed. Maybe Nagito arched his back a little too far; maybe Hajime kissed his way a little too close. Either way, Nagito was moaning prettily into Hajime’s mouth and neither could slow the frenetic rocking of their hips.
A shock of electricity coursed through Hajime whenever their clothed erections brushed, cock jostling against the constrictive fabric of his boxers. The muted pleasure felt amazing. Like an addiction, he kept chasing more of it. Frotting his hips so hard against Nagito that he heard the shelf behind them creak in protest.
The shelves themselves were built into the walls, but Hajime imagined what it’d be like to fuck Nagito so hard that the whole thing toppled. Nagito would probably get off to that—an ultimate test of his luck. And Hajime, being the simple man he was, would get off watching Nagito get off.
He was getting off now. His cock wasn’t even out and yet pleasure coiled deliciously taut in his lower abdomen just from humping Nagito’s front like a virgin in heat. Shame didn’t even occur to him. Not when it felt so good that he thought he’d go crazy. Lose himself in the thick of ecstasy and Nagito’s needy sounds muffled against his lips.
His dick twitched eagerly in his boxers. Creaming his pants didn’t sound like a horrible idea. Hajime didn’t know if he had it in him to hold back.
“Hina— Hinata…ah…”
Nagito broke away from yet another incessant kiss, panting hard. He raised his hips enough so that Hajime’s mindless grinding met more air than body. A twinge of irritation simmered low in Hajime’s heat-filled gut.
“What?” he asked. His voice took on a gravelly rasp, rough and ragged after such a heated makeout session.
“I-If you keep this up, I won’t last…” Nagito reached up, hands framing Hajime’s face. They were warm to the touch. “I want you, so let’s do it properly,” he murmured, brushing their lips together. “After all, I wouldn’t want my preparations to go to waste.”
“Preparations?”
Nagito hummed in confirmation, slowly dragging the zipper of his fly down. Hajime’s heart leapt to his throat at the sound. Dumbfounded, he backed up, allowing Nagito the barest inch of space to shimmy out of his pants and boxers, kicking them to the side in an unbothered heap.
Not a singular ounce of shame resided in the subtle sway of bony hips, nor did Nagito seem to even remotely care that Hajime immediately honed his attention onto Nagito’s cock. Lithe, slender, and flushed a pretty shade of red, it matched him perfectly. Hajime couldn’t help himself—he skirted his fingers along the two jagged, nearly identical slash marks streaking across milky thighs, sliding his palms up soft inner thighs.
Gently, he coaxed back the wrinkle of foreskin to reveal precum dripping from the glistening head. He swiped the wetness away with his thumb, reveling in the way Nagito jolted, gripping onto a shelf so hard that his knuckles turned white.
“Ahah…Not quite,” Nagito said. His fingers closed around Hajime’s wrist, guiding Hajime’s hand to his ass. “Try here.”
He silently encouraged Hajime to freely splay his hand over the supple flesh, positioning Hajime’s palm against the firm meat of it. An indicator that he wanted Hajime to squeeze.
And when he did, tentatively flexing his fingers to cop a feel, the appreciative moan Nagito let out topped any AV Hajime had ever viewed during a quick tug-job session.
A second hand moved down to join the first, squeezing and kneading Nagito’s ass. Face on fire, he told himself he wasn’t a pervert for doing this. He wasn’t a freak. He wasn’t weird. Nagito had roped him into this, and just because he enjoyed pushing his thumbs into the dimples on Nagito’s lower back didn’t make his cock jump in his pants.
It didn’t help that Nagito knew about his thing for praise, whispering things like “ Right there , ” and “That feels so good ,” and “ You’re doing such a wonderful job, Hinata-kun.” His erection poked against Hajime’s thigh, precum smearing damp spots over cobalt denim. Hajime could feel the faint wetness seeping through the thick fabric, pant leg sticking slightly to his skin.
He swore he was going to explode right then and there. He’d never been more bricked up in his entire life. his cock was so hard that it physically hurt. At this point, he was edging himself.
Without warning, he slipped his index finger between Nagito’s cheeks, brushing against his puckered hole. Nagito let out a shaky gasp, Nagito burying his face in the crook of Hajime’s neck. There wasn’t any need to check if what Nagito said about preparing himself was true. Hajime could already feel the telltale slick of lube coating the other male’s rim, slippery to the touch.
He sank a finger inside regardless. It went in smoothly, sliding down to the second knuckle with ease. Nagito squeezed tight around him, walls warm and sticky. A second finger slipped past the loosened ring, earning him a strangled groan.
“You planned this, didn’t you?” Hajime breathed, flicking his wrist in a preemptive thrust. He made sure to crook his fingers upwards, angling them towards Nagito’s prostate.
“Mm…I-I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Nagito stuttered, playing oblivious. Seemed like he needed a little more of a push. Hajime had no problem giving him one, pumping his fingers faster.
When Nagito threw his head back, Hajime took the opportunity to attack his neck, licking and sucking and nibbling at the pale column of skin. He trailed wet kisses down Nagito’s jugular—frantic, possessive things to match the squelch of his fingers sliding in and out of Nagito’s hole.
“Was this part of your plan? Waiting here for me so we could do this?” Hajime stilled his fingers against Nagito’s prostate. He rubbed the pads of his fingers against the gland in firm, circular motions, holding Nagito still by the hip. Watching as Nagito threw his head back with a loud moan, hips weakly bucking into the massage.
“So what…if it was?” challenged Nagito. “Hinata-kun fell for it regardless…”
Hajime wanted to tell him to shut up. He didn’t fall for any trap or any plan, because Nagito didn’t need to lure him in the first place. Of course, Nagito would refute him. Actions always spoke louder than words, so Hajime extracted his fingers. They emerged glistening with lube. He wiped the excess on his pants and didn’t miss the disappointed noise Nagito made at the loss.
“We’re not debating this right now,” Hajime resolutely decided. The purr of his zipper and the sound of his pants dropping to the floor left no room for argument. Not that Nagito seemed like he wanted to argue, a hungry look flashing in his glassy eyes as Hajime pulled out his flushed and leaking cock. Now that he was finally getting what he wanted, he was quiet. Awfully obedient, turning to face the bookshelf and baring his ass for Hajime.
With bated breath, Hajime lined himself with Nagito’s entrance. Rubbed his cock along the crack, sliding it between Nagito’s cheeks and watching it catch on Nagito’s eager, pink hole. Nagito didn’t have to shiver and moan like Hajime had already entered him, but that was exactly what he did. Always such a damn tease.
The sound went straight to Hajime’s cock, which was so red it looked fit to burst. Meaning, if he didn’t stick his dick in something, he’d die. With the way Nagito was rutting back against him, rolling his hips in hopes of striking it lucky, it was safe to say that they were both on the same page.
“Hinata-kun sure is keeping me waiting,” Nagito remarked, glancing impatiently over his shoulder. He grinded against Hajime’s cock for good measure. Hajime swore he saw stars. “Admiring the view? Not that there’s anything much to look at…Aha…”
Torn between a “Don’t flatter yourself” or a “Stop putting yourself down like that,” Hajime decided on neither. The appropriate answer was his hands on Nagito’s hips and his cock pushing past that tight heat, a shudder of relief ripping through him. A groan left him as Nagito squeezed around his length, sucking him in. He had to sink his canines into his bottom lip. Draw blood and dig the pads of his fingers into Nagito’s skin just to stop himself from slamming his cock balls deep and fucking Nagito as if his life depended on it. Because at this point, his sanity did.
“Hinata-kun truly is impressive…I, ah…I can feel him deep inside!” Panting, Nagito bucked his hips back into Hajime. “Do you feel it too, Hinata-kun?”
It was difficult for Hajime to think of a coherent response when his cock was shoved halfway up Nagito’s ass. Warm, puffy heat clamping down on him on all sides had him desperate to make his way all the way in—everything else came as an afterthought. He muttered out a distracted “ Yeah” to whatever Nagito was mumbling on about, grunting low as he sheathed himself to the hilt.
Sinking in all the way felt heavenly. Flush against Nagito’s ass, each point of contact had electricity crackling beneath his skin. He gripped Nagito’s hips hard enough to see flesh cave soft craters beneath his fingertips—bound to leave fingerprint-shaped indents the morning after.
Nagito’s shirt rode up along the arch of his spine, exposing the flushed small of his back. Moving his heated gaze upwards, Hajime noted the tremor in Nagito’s shoulders. How his delicate fingers dug into the antique redwood of the shelves, forehead resting against the ledge.
Hajime acted before thinking. Rolled his hips in a slow grind, hearing Nagito’s choked gasp and feeling him tighten.
“Fuck…You’re so tight,” Hajime hissed, continuing to press himself into the deepest parts of Nagito. It wasn’t dirty talk, but it sounded like dirty talk, the breathy, ragged way the words fell from his lips. Intentional or not, he could tell they had an effect on Nagito with the way he keened high in his throat. A pretty, needy sound that further ignited the fire raging in Hajime’s gut.
“God, Komaeda…”
Another buck of his hips had Nagito looking over his shoulder. Blissed out was the only way to describe his expression, eyes glazed and a thin string of drool trailing from the corner of his lips.
Hajime couldn’t handle much more than that. Curious eyes followed him as he slowly pulled out, the tip of his cock pressing heavy against Nagito’s waiting hole.
With shaky precision, Hajime snapped his hips, burying his cock down to the base.
Something that resembled Hajime’s name tore itself from Nagito’s lips. Hajime wasn’t sure. Pounding Nagito into the shelf became his sole goal. His one and only purpose was to move his hips and chase the delicious friction rubbing itself along his cock.
Skin slapping against skin reverberated a damp echo throughout the spacious library. A few books tumbled off of the shelves—the loose ones which had haphazardly rattled in the too-large gap between two other hardcovers. Nagito trilled between thrusts, punched-out moans of “ah, ah, ah” broken with each forceful thrust. With each forward lurch of his body, only to be dragged back onto Hajime’s cock by a vice grip.
Nagito had devolved to the point of babbling nonsense. When he wasn’t panting or moaning, he ran that mouth of his:
Ahah…I’m having sex with Hinata-kun…
Here, we can do it as many times as we want…Maybe one day we can make love? Ah— Just kidding…
I can’t believe Hinata-kun’s fucking my filthy hole with his wonderful cock…
Honestly? It drove Hajime insane. Nagito had a way of driving him up the fucking walls. The thing was, a shameful, repressed part of Hajime enjoyed the pure filth spoken from those kiss-bitten lips. Hearing it made his cock that much harder. His thrusts that much faster.
Nagito was taking him so well. So pliant and perfect, accepting Hajime without a hint of resistance or discomfort. His voice had gone hoarse from all that moaning, noises dying down to small whimpers. It was lonely, not being able to hear Nagito to the fullest.
Pulling out, Hajime wiped at the sweat beading atop his brow. “Turn a little this way,” he instructed, hands around Nagito’s hips as guides.
Now, with Nagito facing him, Hajime could see everything. The rosy flush of color filling his cheeks. Disheveled bangs plastered to his forehead. Saliva glistening wet on pink lips. Nagito’s erection looked borderline painful, swollen red and standing neglected against his stomach. A small puddle of precum had dripped onto the floor, transparent liquid staining library tiling.
Fascinated, Hajime reached out. Curled his fingers around Nagito’s length and gave it a few rough pumps. Nagito’s moans returned in full force, raspy and beautiful and loud. He writhed as Hajime jerked him slow, hips stuttering upwards. Hajime’s attention was fixated on the spurts of precum gushing over his fingers, dribbling over ridged knuckles to join the mess below. His cock twitched in the air-conditioned atmosphere, already missing Nagito’s warmth.
“You made a mess,” he idly remarked, still continuing his ministrations. Nagito’s arousal made for easy lubrication, a wet schlick resounded from Hajime’s palm as it glided easily over his erection. He lightly dug his nail into the slit, watching dazedly as Nagito squirmed.
“I wonder…whose fault that is,” came Nagito’s retort, gritted out between clenched teeth, voice tight with pleasure.
Hajime answered by turning Nagito so that he was facing sideways, arms braced against the shelf. Nagito squeaked in surprise when Hajime hooked a hand beneath his knee, lifting his leg to thrust at a more fulfilling angle.
This position was better. Perfect, even, because Nagito was finally letting out those open-mouthed moans and helpless whimpers, and Hajime was finally striking the deepest parts of him. Driving him as wild as he drove Hajime—a taste of his own medicine.
“Right there…Hinata-kun! Ah—!”
“Fuck, Komaeda… Fuck .”
Even with his superior stamina, Hajime’s thrusts were losing their rhythm. Becoming sloppier the longer he kept up his frantic pace. That was his cue to snake his free arm around Nagito’s waist, giving him a few quick tugs to bring him to completion.
Nagito spilled over Hajime’s hand with a choked moan, shudders wracking his frame as his body spasmed uncontrollably. He practically clamped around Hajime, tighter than ever before. Pleasure shot straight down to Hajime’s cock at the sensation—the last thing he needed to be pushed over the edge.
Cock pulsing and balls tightening, a low grunt left Hajime as he emptied his seed into Nagito. His hips stuttered vigorously as he rutted a final few times into the puffy heat, riding out his orgasm with a contented sigh, cock going soft.
Ever so slowly, Hajime lowered Nagito’s leg. Pulled out when the overstimulation began prickling a little too uncomfortably, not missing Nagito’s disappointed whine or the way cum dribbled from his hole—trailing sluggishly down soft inner thighs.
They stayed like that for a few minutes. In the silence, there was just peace. Just the sounds of them catching their breaths. Fingers laced together. Sweat drying sticky between their bodies. Hajime’s chin resting atop the slope of Nagito’s shoulder.
“Can you walk?” Hajime finally asked, searching Nagito’s face for any sign of discomfort.
Air conditioning rattled beneath Nagito’s amused huff. A low, melodic buzz. Hajime found himself leaning closer to it, splaying his hand over Nagito’s chest to feel the vibrations in his fingertips.
“If I said no, would Hinata-kun carry me?”
It was Hajime’s turn to snort, rolling his eyes in exasperation. Somehow, he knew Nagito would ask. And, really, he didn’t have much of a choice but to take responsibility for his actions. Both their actions, actually.
Looping an arm beneath Nagito’s knees and bracing the other behind his back, Hajime hoisted the other male up into a carry, bridal style. Nagito, ever the tricky bastard, wasted no time snuggling up to his chest, knowing smile borderline smug. He could probably walk just fine.
Whatever. Hajime could overlook it this once.
17:01:27:38
Beer and jacuzzis had always been a staple Nagito witnessed in classic American romance flicks. The types of stories where there were mansions tucked behind fortified gateways, metal bars artfully smithed to elegant artistry. Yet here he was: half submerged in a hot tub by the pool with a glass beer bottle in one hand, Hajime sitting a few feet away.
They’d started something of a bottle tower on the wooden rim of the tub—four bottles across the first level, two in the second. Hajime was working his way through another to level out the row, taking a hearty swig, a contented sigh leaving him as he parted with the nearly empty bottle for a breath of air.
Nagito had contributed one? Three? The specifics didn’t matter. He felt lightheaded. The good kind that made things more sluggish. More fun. Comparable to the times where nurses pumped him full of morphine and tucked the corners of his hospital sheets in, as if the flimsy covers would keep him from floating as high as a kite.
Both beer and medicine left the same bitter tang at the back of his throat. He ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth, catching hints of acrid notes. What a horrible aftertaste.
“How high do you think we can stack them?” asked Nagito offhandedly, eyeing the tower. Hajime had finished off his beer, completing the second row.
“Depends on how much we can handle.”
The brunet cracked open another cold one. Beer hissed, foaming from the open lid over the glass bottleneck. Hajime did a poor job at damage control, a few rivulets trailing down his toned arm as he drank. It gathered on the precipice of his elbow, only to periodically drip and shatter into a mesmerizing ripple effect. Fluffy foam escaped between the bottle’s lip and the corner of Hajime’s mouth, dribbling down his chin to plop a drifting cloud onto ultramarine blues.
The water, lapping warm at Nagito’s midsection, was clear enough to be mistaken for the sky. He felt like he was flying. In heaven, even, as he watched a slight spill of beer make a beeline over Hajime’s large pecs.
“I wouldn’t mind going for a few more,” Nagito slurred, still mesmerized by the sight. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. There was an indiscernible, satisfied buzz in the back of his brain. He liked this feeling. This weightlessness as he aimlessly drifted, letting the water dictate his gravity.
“I think you’ve had a little too much,” Hajime remarked, to which Nagito huffed. He was completely fine. Sure, maybe a bit buzzed, but that happened to be the name of the game with alcohol in general.
“Hinata-kunnnn,” complained Nagito. He opened and closed his hand in a silent demand. “We brought an entire case…”
“Doesn’t mean we need to finish the whole thing.”
Nagito huffed. “You’re no fun.”
He sank into the jacuzzi with an indignant huff, water rising up to the base of his neck. The abrupt movement had more water sloshing over the tub, splattering onto the decking below. His beer bottle was partially submerged alongside him, like a cheap, alcoholic rendition of sous vide. Resting his elbows on the tub’s edge, he craned his neck upwards. The string lights overhead boasted smeared halos in his blurred vision, soft, luminescent rings orbiting tiny bulbs. They shone clearly against the pitch-black background of midnight sky. And the stars, inspired by their brightness, twinkled curiously.
Wisps of steam rose into the dwindled into the dark atmosphere, dissipating into molecules too small for the eye to see. Nagito read about the water cycle some time ago. Condensation, or something along those lines. The steam would take their dead skin particles, their sweat, their spit and beer and other bodily fluids, all the way up to the sky. Which meant the next time it rained, little, miniature pieces of themselves would fall back down to Earth. Nagito would try to catch a stray drop or two on his tongue the next time it rained.
“Man…It’s getting hot,” Hajime muttered. Water swished as he stood to his full height, caressing his swim trunks flush to strong thighs. He set his beer down in favor of a plain, plastic water bottle, twisting the lid off only to dump the contents atop his head.
It was at times like these where Nagito wished murky pool lights possessed brighter watts. The water’s reflection washed over Hajime in a greyish-blue tint. On the weaker end, the light barely managed to bend through the undulation of the water, setting water caustics loose to waver ambiguous, white streaks over every reachable part of Hajime’s body.
The humidity was getting to Nagito’s throat, parching it dry. His ears perked at the glug, glug, glug of the bottle, warped air bubbles rising inside the quickly draining vortex of water. He didn’t know what was making him dizzier—the alcohol, or the way Hajime shook his head, droplets of cool water flying in all directions. A few landed on Nagito’s cheek. He was too busy watching Hajime run a hand through soaked, chestnut locks to pay the cold pinprick—sharper than the crinkle of plastic against his ear—any attention. Not in any right mind to do something other than ogle at Hajime as he swiped possession of his beer and waded over.
He stopped just shy of Nagito, leaning over him. His shadow stretched to bridge the gap between them, engulfing Nagito in a chilly embrace. A soothing balm to combat the rising humidity.
The cogs in Nagito’s brain slowly began to turn. “How nice of you to join me, Hinata-kun,” he coquettishly remarked, paying extra attention not to trip over his own tongue. He was unsuccessful, of course, the heads and tails of his words blending together in a clumsy rendition. Even so, the corners of his lips curled upwards.
Hajime looked nice like this—hair drooping with moisture, bangs clinging wet to his forehead. Water made its home in every crevice it could find, droplets beading on his fluttering eyelashes and gathering in the shallow basin of his collarbones.
Nagito tightened his grip on his drink, lest it slip from the pads of his pruney fingers. He raised it up, gesturing towards Hajime’s. “Cheers?”
Hajime’s brows furrowed. “What for?”
Nagito huffed out a laugh, reaching out with his free hand. Their fingers laced together. Hajime’s were wrinkly too. Like they were growing old together, living a fast forward rendition of their life out in this very jacuzzi.
“To Hinata-kun.”
The clear ring of glass clinking resounded through the night. Nagito thought it made the beer taste that much better.
06:43:02:11
Hajime didn’t think they’d be able to pull it off. A real beachside party with the entirety of Class 77-B in attendance—complete with sizzling hot barbeque, music booming on deafening, and volleyball matches which struck a little too close to where they made camp with the umbrellas.
His peers were definitely a lively bunch. Such a prolonged amount of time away from them had helped him forget the fact, only for their eccentricity to come full circle and slap him straight in the face. As much as he enjoyed being around them, a slight breather was definitely in order. If Ibuki challenged him to another headbanging competition, Hajime was sure his neck would snap and his head would roll right off his shoulders.
So he’d strategically slipped to the outskirts of the beach, stationing himself beneath the shade of an overarching palm tree, which happened to be next to one of several cooler checkpoints. His parched throat ached longingly at the thought of a cool beverage.
Crouching down, he dug his hand into the small box. Sifted through its contents full of soda and condensation and misshapen ice cubes sweating bullets, he emerged with a can of Dr. Hopper. He popped the tab in record time, telltale fizz hissing soda particles against his chin.
The first gulp was sugary and artificially sweet and hit exactly how the first soda during summer heat waves should. Fruity notes fizzled down his throat, cold aluminum can sapping heat from the palm of his hand.
“Smile!”
Caught mid-sip, Hajime nearly choked, whipping his head around just in time to be caught in a starburst of bright camera flash. There Mahiru stood, trademark camera in hand, smiling sheepishly.
“Sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?” she asked, sidling next to him. Hajime scooted to the side, allowing her as much of the sparse shade as he could.
“Not really. Just, you know…” He gestured towards the ocean, grimacing at the sight of Souda’s face being smashed in by a particularly forceful serve. Sonia definitely had a stronger arm than she let on. Hajime could hear the sound of Souda’s nose cracking from yards away. “Getting away from the commotion for a bit.”
“You too, huh?” Mahiru rested her hands on her hips with a sigh, shaking her head. “Honestly, they’re such a handful sometimes.” She paused, stern expression softening the slightest bit. “But it’s nice to see everyone getting along. It’s not every day we get time to wind down like this.”
“Yeah,” Hajime agreed. He quickly downed the rest of his drink, crushing the can in his hand. “We should petition for more time off.”
“ You out of all people should be the one asking for time off.” Pointing an accusing finger at Hajime, Mahiru huffed. “Seriously…Just because you’re a boy doesn’t mean you have to handle everything. You haven’t been pushing yourself too hard, have you?”
“You’re the one who called me unreliable when we first met…”
“Well, I suppose you’ve redeemed yourself since then. But being a workaholic isn’t any better!”
Hajime raised his hands in front of his chest in a gesture of surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll try not to push myself too hard.”
“Hmph. Good,” Mahiru huffed, crossing her arms across her chest. “Gosh, boys can be so stubborn sometimes. They really don’t know what’s good for them.”
A small smile graced the corners of Hajime’s lips. Despite all Mahiru’s nagging and whatnot, he knew that the intention came from a good, genuine place. He was grateful for her motherly tendencies. Without them, there wouldn’t be anyone stubborn enough to keep the other members of Jabberwock Island in check.
Gaze trained on the horizon, Hajime took in the white sun winking off of rolling waves. In the distance, he could faintly make out Imposter and Ryota speeding a motorboat across the watery expanse. His full attention and 20/20 vision were fully honed in on Nagito leaning against the boat’s glass railing, hair whipping wildly in the wind. The glitter of ocean spray dulled in comparison to his wide grin, flashing carefree, pearly whites.
When their eyes met for the briefest of moments, Nagito’s shoulders shaking in a laugh as he offered a small wave, Hajime’s breath was knocked straight from his lungs. He absently waved back, but by that point, the boat had already zipped off.
Some grainy, R&B pop blasted from industrial-sized speakers Ibuki had requested prior—white noise Hajime filed away alongside excited commotion and the cries of seagulls above. He wished he were closer to the shore so that he could’ve gotten a better look at Nagito. How his shirt fluttered in the wind, how he stretched his torso and craned his upper body over the railing to catch flecks of seafoam on his tongue.
“Hajime…Are you even listening?”
“Huh? Oh, uh…”
Right. Mahiru was still here. Broken out of his stupor, Hajime turned to face the photographer, rubbing the back of his neck. A knowing look was plastered all over her face. He could tell that she was trying to remain her stern self.
“It’s alright,” Mahiru said, shrugging her shoulders. Hajime must’ve been in her good graces today, considering the slack she was cutting. “Although you should know that ignoring a girl is rude.”
“My bad. I’ll work on it.”
“That’s good to hear.”
A beat of silence settled between them. The comfortable kind, where Hajime could allow the breeze a moment to whistle through palm tree leaves before picking up the thread of conversation.
“Are you alright? Coming back here with everyone,” he clarified, lightly squeezing his crushed can of soda. Hearing it crackle and further give way beneath the pressure.
Mahiru quietly hummed, considering the question. “I didn’t feel great entering the simulation again. You know, after…everything that happened.”
Hajime wasn’t surprised. The killing game still remained fresh in their minds, time barely scabbing the trauma over. It would take years. Many, many more years to heal.
“Although it doesn’t feel like it did back then. The atmosphere is totally different. I can’t speak for everyone else, but I feel relaxed here.” Mahiru put her finger to her lips in thought. “This place almost feels like an endless summer. Everything’s so perfect that it’s almost uncanny.”
“An endless summer, huh?”
That would be nice. Living here with everyone.
Nagito…
He would get a second chance too, right?
Mahiru must’ve sensed the shift in his mood, her smile curving into a pursed frown. She leveled Hajime with an indiscernible demeanor. An emotion warring between pity and sympathy as she rested her hand on Hajime’s slumped shoulder, squeezing tentatively.
“Hey…If you ever need anything—”
“Koizumi-onee!”
Whatever Mahiru opened her mouth to say was lost when Hiyoko barreled her way over, immediately attaching herself to the redhead’s arm.
“Hiyoko! I was in the middle of talking,” Mahiru tried, to which Hiyoko simply ignored and shot Hajime a stink eye to boot.
“With freakazoid’s personal boytoy? Ugh, gimme a break! He didn’t even bother changing my avatar, so now I’m short again!”
Heat crept up Hajime’s cheeks at the nickname. Mahiru gave Hiyoko her usual behavioral spiel, scolding the dancer for her crude nicknaming tendencies. Something about the behavior not being “ladylike,” and how she could get herself in trouble using that sort of language.
As expected, Hiyoko absorbed absolutely none of it. She happened to be great at weaseling her way out of punishment, bursting out into dramatic crocodile tears and claiming that Hajime was hogging all of Mahiru’s attention.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Mahiru said. She crouched down so that she was more eye-level with Hiyoko. Used to Hiyoko’s taller, more mature form, the sight was straight out of a fever dream. In retrospect, Hajime really should’ve made modifications to Hiyoko’s avatar—an oversight on his part. “I’ll play with you, so there’s no need to cry.”
Sniffling, Hiyoko wiped at the misty corners of her eyes. “R-Really?”
“Mhm!” Mahiru grabbed Hiyoko’s hand. “Here, we can go over to the water now.”
“Yaaay! Koizumi-onee’s the best!”
Mahiru gave Hajime an apologetic smile before taking her leave. Hiyoko, on the other hand, threw a glance over her shoulder, sticking out her tongue at Hajime when Mahiru was too busy leading her away to pay attention.
Yeah, Hajime was definitely tuning her avatar next time. Anything to save Mahiru from being blinded by Hiyoko’s abuse of short privilege.
With nothing to do and nobody to pay attention to, he found his eyes catching on brilliant, ocean waves. Scanning the horizon for a glimpse of that motorboat and a certain passenger with windswept hair and a pearly white smile. Instead, he found the boat parked beside the docks, no passenger in sight.
He shook his head. What was he doing, searching for Nagito like some sort of lost puppy? Maybe Nagito was right about him being easy. After all, how was Hajime supposed to explain that even the slightest bit of acknowledgement from the luckster had his heart skipping a beat?
“Hinata-kun?”
That familiar lilt and a tap on the shoulder definitely had his heart skipping multiple beats. He swiveled around inhumanly fast, coming face to face with Nagito.
“...Hi,” was the eloquent greeting Hajime managed with a tied tongue. He was too busy taking note of how Nagito’s hair still hadn’t settled after the boat ride. Not that it ever settled, wild curls running amok, twisting into curved, cloudy ends. His hand twitched by his side, muscle memory begging him to tuck those stray locks behind Nagito’s ear—just so they could spring free and he could do it all over again.
“I saw you waiting for me.”
If Hajime still had drink left, he would’ve spit it out upon hearing that. He wasn’t just easy; he was an idiot of an open book.
“W-Waiting? I wasn’t doing anything like that…”
“Mhm,” mock-agreed Nagito, “and that’s why Hinata-kun is standing here all by his lonesome, even in his popular glory. There are plenty of wonderful hopes here who would be willing to spend time with you.”
“Right…Then why are you here?”
Flipping the script. A good tactic.
“To keep Hinata-kun company so that he doesn’t look sad and lonely.”
Okay, ouch.
“First of all, I don’t look sad and lonely,” Hajime grumbled, kicking his foot in the sand. Nagito sent him a pointed look. “And so what if I was waiting? Isn’t it normal. To, you know…Want to spend time with someone?”
Nagito raised a brow. “Someone?”
“...Someone you like,” Hajime abashedly muttered. He couldn’t even bring himself to look up at Nagito. He took interest in the sand, uncomfortable heat prickled at the back of his neck. Digging through the cooler again sounded tempting. Maybe pouring a can of soda over his head would rid him of the blush threatening to scorch his cheeks from the inside out.
“Someone Hinata-kun likes…” Nagito tested the words on his tongue, hesitant, despite the smile beginning to form on his lips. Coy, as much as it was bashful. “I didn’t know you thought of me like that.”
“Shut it,” retorted Hajime in order to save face, burying his head in his hands. He could feel the heat emanating from his own skin, radiating right into his clammy palms. “Let’s just— Let’s do something. Together.” Decisively, he grabbed Nagito’s hand. Screw his embarrassment. He didn’t have an image to maintain in front of Nagito anyways.
(Their hands always felt right put together. Spending time with Nagito felt right. Without him, the beach felt larger. Emptier, even chock-full with their classmates wreaking summertime havoc.)
He didn’t give Nagito a chance to say something smart or flirtatiously disarming. Hajime had already resigned to marching them both over to the ongoing volleyball game, insisting they both join in. On opposite teams.
Needless to say, they spent the whole day like that—enjoying themselves amidst the festivities until the sweltering afternoon cooled and the sun inched sluggishly beneath the horizon. As the edges of the sky began to dust over in indigos and blues, the entirety of Class 77-B began setting up bonfire. Erecting a teepee of sticks and logs before tossing a matchstick into the mix, dry wood crackling into brilliant flames.
Logs sliced into horizontal halves served as makeshift benches, Hajime and Nagito huddled together atop the comfort of a choppily hand-crafted seat. Definitely worth the splinters Hajime had earned while carrying the logs barehanded.
Orange-tongued flames licked shimmering heat waves into the dusk sky. Despite sitting a few good feet away, Hajime could still feel the emanating warmth. He smelled it in the encroaching breeze fighting against flickering fire—the oaky notes of burnt sap. Plumes of smoke rose, billowing up into the darkness. Becoming something unreachable. Intangible.
Hajime looped his arm around Nagito’s waist at the thought.
“Did you have a good time?” Hajime murmured, barely above a whisper. He’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t worried about Nagito getting along with the others. But looking at how Gundham introduced Nagito to a pod of dolphins—how Nekomaru roped him into a race across the shore, how Ibuki and Sonia built sandcastles beside him—not a single doubt remained in Hajime’s mind.
“Mhm…Today was really fun.” Nagito cozied up to Hajime, scooting himself as close as possible. Resting his head on Hajime’s shoulder, he gazed into the tall pyre. “I can’t remember the last time I did something like this. Probably never…Haha.”
Hajime’s breath caught in his throat the same way undulating shadows caught in the sharp slope of Nagito’s nose. Dancing across the high of his cheekbones, pooling beneath his bottom lip. His eyes shimmered, wistful pools reflecting stray embers within umber rings. Firelight bounced off of his skin, an intense, liquid amber washing away the depth of encroaching darkness.
He looked exactly like the dying rays of sunset—fit to slip under ocean waves and fizzle into sparkler flare. Amidst cricket song, hushed chatter, and the popping of a blaze reaching high, Nagito was finally, finally within Hajime’s reach.
Hajime pursed his lips. Steeled his thudding heart and held onto Nagito tight as he watched the smoke rise, dissipating a foggy dream into the night sky.
00:00:10:48
“Well, this is as far as I go.”
At the edge of the beach’s sandy shore, Nagito stood, facing the stretching horizon. The flickering sky blazed a brilliant orange ombre, dousing his silhouette a warm black from behind. Whatever light managed to touch his outline shimmered a red haze, falling soft upon the tips of his windswept hair and set shoulders only to fade into shadows further down.
And when Nagito turned his head over his shoulder, the perfectly white ball of sun caught in the crevices of his sharp-pointed features—perfect triangles falling upon angular cheekbones, a crest of light arcing atop his bottom lip, undulating shadows blocking in whatever skin the sun failed to kiss—Hajime’s breath lodged an ugly, hard lump inside of his throat.
“Won’t you join me, Hinata-kun?” Nagito’s voice carried like a soft wind chime over the sweltering breeze, reaching Hajime’s ears crystal clear. “I’d hate to witness the end of the world alone.”
“...Yeah,” Hajime managed to force out, taking a step forward. His feet certainly felt the weight of impending dread, dragging heavier than lead atop crumbling grains of sand. Every footstep left static rectangles in its wake, fuzzy grey blocks which spazzed a few units over before settling back into the ground with an offended crackle. Occasionally, a blip or two. If he was extremely unlucky: the warped few seconds of a hospital flatline.
He finally settled beside Nagito, heart standing eerily still. A shooting star streaked a messy smear through the wavering clouds. He’d bet that if it were to fall and pierce his chest through, he wouldn’t feel any less emptier than he already did.
“You know, I’ve thought about it a lot. What it would mean to stop time. The moments I could buy with just one more second.” Eyes glimmering, Nagito shuffled closer. Their fingertips brushed. He slipped his fingers between Hajime’s, closing them tight. It felt like instinct, the way their hands fitted more snug than any lock and key. “But then I realized my time was spent contemplating such ridiculously illogical solutions instead of enjoying the days Hinata-kun had already worked hard to buy me. So I’m satisfied with this.”
He squeezed Hajime’s hand in a silent show of reassurance. Because even in his final moments, Nagito was stupidly selfless. He was every bit stronger than Hajime could ever hope to be, eyes trained fondly on the horizon despite his future caving in around the both of them.
“I’m sorry,” Hajime quietly murmured, his voice a strangled rendition choked to the brim of unshed tears. “Despite everything, I…I still couldn’t save you.”
“So?”
Nagito turned to Hajime, countenance set in a dead-serious expression. “Hinata-kun…” An exasperated sigh. “Here you are, ruminating over the past right after I admitted to making the exact same mistake. Don’t be ridiculous. You should hold your head high. After all, you’ve given me more than I could’ve ever asked for.”
It wasn’t fair. None of this was fucking fair . Leave it to Nagito to console Hajime when he was the one on the verge of death. Leave it to his airy laugh and softening expression to render Hajime the weakest, heartbroken man alive. Those sea-green eyes crinkled slightly at the edges in a smile. If their road together were longer—if Hajime could make Nagito smile and laugh for years to come—maybe the perfect set of crow’s feet would’ve permanently graced the outer corners of Nagito’s eyes.
For the second time in his life, Hajime had fallen for someone too far, too late. Although, the realization still hadn’t fully settled. Nagito’s hand felt far too warm in his own. A faint pulse continually throbbed beneath the underside of a thin, fragile wrist, pulsating against the pad of Hajime’s thumb.
“I don’t think it was enough. I mean, for someone with all the talents in the world, I should’ve been able to do more.” Ashamed, Hajime bowed his head. Bit his lip hard enough to draw artificial blood. What was the point of going through brain-altering surgical operations if he couldn’t even put his talents to use? As it stood, he was no different from that pathetic Reserve Course student with lofty dreams of grandeur.
Sure, he could save the world. He could rehabilitate those lost to despair and contribute his talents to reshape the future. Yet he couldn’t even save the person closest to him. At the end of the day, man-made talent failed to best the real thing.
“Hey, Hinata-kun. Look at me.”
Deft fingers gently tilted his face upwards. Everything in Hajime was drawn to the beautiful destruction Nagito Komaeda embodied, his touch unbearably tender, yet bound for catastrophic extinction all the same. From this angle, the light illuminated each stray strand of flyaway hair, each flicker of iridescent rays licking up the billowed folds of his signature hood.
“We’re all born to die.” Those five chilling words sliced through the tepid summer heat like a blade. Hajime winced at the brutal honesty of them. “From the moment I acquired this so-called ‘luck,’ I knew that I’d have to pay the price. I never wanted you to get hurt because of it, but no matter how many times I tried to push you away, you came back. Always. For a former Reserve, you’re awfully stubborn. Believe it or not, I like that about you.”
Despite the scathing comment, Nagito’s thumb caressed Hajime’s cheek with utmost care. His hand was cold to the touch. Hajime instinctively placed his atop Nagito’s in hopes of offering a semblance of warmth. “What’s with the sudden flattery?”
“Mm…Am I not allowed to appreciate my favorite person?”
Favorite person. That was a bit difficult to believe, considering Hajime was a main catalyst of despair and Reserve Course reject. His very humanity happened to be lumped with the two things Nagito hated most.
“You don’t believe me,” said Nagito matter-of-factly. Hajime’s disbelief must’ve shown on his face because Nagito was surging forward, eagerly clasping Hajime’s hands in his own. “But from the moment I arrived in this wretched, despair-ridden place, you caught my eye. Both inside and out of the simulation, you were brilliant. There’s something about you that I could never place my finger on, he claimed. His eyes shone bright—a peculiar swirl of light and dark. “Even when I died in that warehouse, I never stopped believing in you. You felt it too, didn’t you? My hope.”
“I…”
Of course Hajime had felt it. How could he forget the pure malice prickling at his skin every time he glimpsed Nagito’s greyed-out portrait during the class trial? Nagito’s glassy, unseeing eyes and rigor mortis locking his mouth into a gaping scream couldn’t be erased from his memory easily enough.
“And because of that, Hinata-kun became a hope brighter than I ever could’ve ever fathomed,” Nagito promptly continued. He was never one to let Hajime get a word in, pulling the brunet closer. Until their foreheads pressed and Hajime could make out the warm umber rings encircling Nagito’s irises, not yet clouded over in deathly, milky-white hues. “That’s why before I go, I want Hinata-kun to know that he’s loved. That I’ve always, always, always been in love with more than just the hope sleeping inside of you.” An airy giggle escaped him as he grinned like an idiot all the way to his dimples. “Aha…I finally said it…Surely, Hinata-kun must hate me now.”
“Hate you?” Hajime echoed. “No, I…”
Shared breath brushed warm against their lips as he trailed off. His habit for being notoriously bad with words came to bite him at the worst time. He was much better with actions. Because Hajime could simply lean in and show Nagito what he meant. Selfishly capture a few irredeemable seconds for himself and etch the taste of a dying love into the back of his brain. It was so easy. Laughably simple to take from someone wholly willing, so he let desperation win. He kissed Nagito with as much force as he could muster, crashing their lips together.
They’d kissed enough times to know the shape of each other. Nagito had a tendency to tilt his head to the left, so Hajime started by leaning rightwards. He drank Nagito in deep. As hard and messy and hot as he could—nothing like the soft pecks and intimate makeout sessions they normally entertained. This was his one and only chance to memorize Nagito. To taste what would be their last summer when they were mere heartbeats apart.
Again and again and again, Hajime went in for as many kisses as his breath could muster. He didn’t stop until they were both positively panting, pulling away after running a marathon on each other’s air. A string of saliva connected their separation. He paid it no mind as he splayed a hand behind Nagito’s neck if only to keep him from drifting that much further.
“Don’t go jumping to conclusions.” Breathless, Hajime lightly knocked their foreheads together. The sun glared between their bodies pressed flush. Heatwaves in his peripheral. Summer seeping into every pore, every crevice, every heated, ticking second.
Hajime took a deep breath. His heart thudded loud in his chest.
“I think…I’m in love with you too.”
The sky exploded.
A deafening boom thundering throughout the heavens like a supernova, pieces of sky flaked into molten ash bound to fall. Shockwaves swept past their forms, clothes whipping wildly and hair stinging miniature lashes against their faces. The invisible force stirred ocean waves, freezing water lapping at their socks. Soaking into their pant legs, fabric sticking damp to skin.
Amidst sweeping chaos, the sun dislodged itself from the horizon only to splinter into thousands of atomic fragments. Like meteors, they arced through the sky in stray halos bound for destructive orbit.
Nagito turned a blind eye to the encroaching calamity. The rumble of the sky overhead nor the quake of mountains threatening to topple were enough to stray his gaze from Hajime. Shock writ into widened eyes, his mouth opened and closed in soundless vowels.
Finally, he spoke, voice small. “Do you really mean that?”
Firmly, Hajime cupped Nagito’s face in both of his hands.
“Yeah. I do.”
He’d never been more sure of anything in his entire life. In this self-destructing world, ethereal light dousing Nagito’s skin in brilliant intensity, Hajime would swear his word upon a fallen nuclear star. And from the looks of it, it was Nagito’s turn to stare at him in utter disbelief. The man who normally flaunted such a flippant demeanor was rendered dumbstruck not because of the world’s literal collapse, but because of a simple requited confession.
Familiar laughter began from the depths of Nagito’s chest—airy wheezes which wracked his shoulders and rang a full, relieved sound. Light reflected an ever-soft glow off of his pale complexion. In this world, his cheeks looked a lot fuller. Felt much rounder and healthier beneath Hajime’s palms as he thumbed away stray tears rolling down soft skin.
“Haha…That’s funny,” Nagito breathed, hiccuping out a warbled giggle. “Hinata-kun likes me back…This is truly a miracle! I wonder…Is it really alright for someone like me to experience such a terrifying amount of happiness?”
“It’s not a miracle,” huffed Hajime. The tears just kept on falling. He ignored the wetness pricking at his own eyes and leaned in to kiss a stray droplet from the corner of Nagito’s eye. “You’re an idiot, you know that? It’s alright if you’re happy. Everyone deserves that much.”
Especially you, went unsaid. Such a visceral reaction had Hajime wondering when the last time Nagito had been loved was. Due to his luck, he’d always been one to push others away. He’d never been one to allow himself good things.
“Maybe just this once…” Nagito’s laughter died down into a soft sigh. Content. “I’ll let myself be happy. Since Hinata-kun said it’s alright.”
His reasoning was a bit skewed, but acceptable nonetheless. Hajime wasn’t about to argue when Nagito gently coaxed Hajime’s hands from his face, sliding his palms until they matched lengthwise with Hajime’s. Lithe fingers folded between the gaps of his slightly blockier ones, locking their hands in a tight promise.
“The end, huh?” Nagito emitted another lengthy sigh. There seemed to be a lot of that today—senseless exhales, as if he were attempting to imprint the very essence of his breath into the program’s code itself. “I suppose my time’s almost up.” He breathed in heavily through his nose, then exhaled. Warm air passed between trembling lips. “It’s not befitting of me to lie and say I’m not scared. No matter how many times I face it, dying never seems to become easier. Well, not that I’ve died more than once.”
A meteor struck mere feet from where they stood. A phosphorescent, jagged thing which singed Hajime’s hair, radiating sizzling heat next to his cheek. It crashed into the ocean, pixelated waves fractaling outwards in vibrant color bars. Seafoam shimmered, lagging a few seconds in the air before fizzling into digital mist.
“But a lot has happened these past two years, wouldn’t you say?”
The musing purely rhetorical, Nagito clearly didn’t intend to receive a response. Hajime was grateful for that. His throat was far too tight to trust with words, so he settled for a slight nod.
Nagito turned his gaze to the reddened horizon, Hajime following suit. Streamers of light pierced through holes rent through the fiery sky. Doves suffering from dropsy bobbed upside down through the static air. Like fireworks, they exploded in a spontaneous burst of feathers and flowing strings of code.
“Perhaps this is the luckiest possible outcome…I’m sure of it.” More estranged chunks of sun slipped from the heavens, careening a blazing trail downwards. One splashed in the distance. Another, mere inches from where their feet stood planted in short-circuiting sands.
Hajime clutched Nagito’s hands tighter. “What makes you say that?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Nagito bowed his head so that their noses brushed. Up close, Hajime could make out the delicate curve of long lashes. How they fluttered with each slow blink. “I got to meet Hinata-kun and make lots of precious memories with him. Surely, even beyond death, I’ll never forget the time we spent together.”
“I won’t forget either,” vowed Hajime as resolutely as he could.
A knowing smile tugged at the corners of Nagito’s mouth. Upturned eyes glinted, slightly red-rimmed at the waterline. “Then in our next lives, let’s meet again. I want to hear all about the future Hinata-kun manages to create while I’m gone. Don’t spare any details, okay?”
“I’ll tell you everything.”
That was a promise as good as any. Certainly good enough for Nagito, whose melancholy-tinged smile rivaled a blinding flare. “I look forward to it. Oh, and before I forget.”
Swooping in, Nagito swiftly pecked Hajime on the lips. “One for the road.”
Wind whistled a dangerous tune above. Heading straight for them, molten sunrock.
“Have a safe trip out there,” Hajime said lamely, voice hoarse and all tied in painful knots. He couldn’t think of anything better to say, speaking as if Nagito were simply leaving for a short while. He so desperately wanted it to be a short while. To be able to wait at the docks on another blue, summer day and watch Nagito arrive home to him, backlit by the radiant, setting sun.
“Thanks,” he managed to tack on without losing what remained of his slipping composure, “for everything.”
Sticky, suffocating air scorched his lungs. Sapped of moisture, dry oxygen itched at his eyes. Sparks flew between the friction of their palms pressed flush, bubbling skin hotter than a live wire to the touch.
“Silly Hinata-kun,” Nagito murmured, barely a whisper above the meteor’s all-consuming roar. Bathed in a wash of pure white light, he appeared more ethereal than man. “That should be my line.”
Hajime kept his eyes open until the very last moment. He couldn’t bear to look away even when their outlines wavered, horribly distorted. Even when the light engulfed Nagito’s features, shining so horribly bright until he was reduced to a mere ghost of human shape.
Only when the blistering heat singed away his corneas and his vision was nothing more than a blurry afterthought did Hajime allow his eyes to flutter shut. The afterimage of Nagito’s form flashed on the backs of his eyelids—a lone shadow he committed to memory.
And amidst the scorching hellfire razing their shared paradise, they never let go of each other’s hands.
00:00:00:00
<!DOCTYPE html>
<html lang="en">
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1.0">
<title>Terminate DOOMSDAY</title>
</head>
<body>
<h1>Initiating Sequence</h1>
<button id="terminateDoomsday">Terminate DOOMSDAY</button>
<button id="wakeUpAvatar">Wake Up AVATAR: HAJIME HINATA</button>
<script>
document.getElementById('terminateDOOMSDAY').addEventListener('click', function() {
console.log('DOOMSDAY program terminated.');
alert('DOOMSDAY has been successfully terminated.');
});
document.getElementById('wakeUpAvatar').addEventListener('click', function() {
console.log('AVATAR: HAJIME HINATA is waking up.');
alert('AVATAR: HAJIME HINATA is now awake.');
});
</script>
</body>
</html>
> 90 seconds to midnight
> Program End