Chapter Text
The next morning at what is closer to lunchtime but technically still breakfast, Izuru brings up their arrangement.
The boy looks nowhere near as bad as he had before the first transfusion, but it's clear to see that he's starting to flag, looking paler, the dark circles from poor sleep more prominent beneath his eyes.
"If you're not opposed, I can give you another transfusion today. And we can speak about other solutions, if you'd like."
He'd been working on finding the right prescription to try for the mental aspect, frustrated that they'll have to trial and error things when he should never have to 'try' or 'error'. He's got a confident starting point but regardless, it's annoying.
"I'm not opposed," the boy says to start. "Now that I know what it... what it does for me, it's different.
"... What other solutions?" He asks eventually, testing the idea.
"Medication regiments planning, going over what you're comfortable taking, things like that." Izuru summarizes, wondering how open he'll be to it all.
"Okay. We can... I'll listen. But I still get to ask you things too."
The half of the agreement he likes the least. "I didn't forget the arrangement."
He puts things away, doing the dishes and realizing that he's giving them both time to stall.
Heading down the hall to the dialysis room he pauses and looks over his shoulder, "I'm going to assume you aren't busy."
The almost joke earns a quiet disbelieving laugh, "Of course not. Why would I be busy?"
Once in the room, the boy leaves briefly to bring back some water, placing it on the small side table before removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. It's as easy as breathing to prep his own arm and get it started, holding up the tubing as his blood starts to flow. Returning to the boy— he's extending an arm almost eagerly, Izuru crouches in front of him to find a vein, keeping the touch very gentle. Once finished, he settles into his own chair, pulling a leg up, understanding belatedly that it's a closed off posture; he doesn't want to answer more prying questions, but they made a deal. The closest to amicable they’ve managed to get to.
"I want to know..." plenty of things, that’s guaranteed, but the boy seems to be sorting out the most pressing question.
"Are you afraid of things— Okay, we both know you are, even if we put Hope aside for just a moment. It's a survival mechanism, right? So there's no way that you could possibly not experience that in full.
"Yet I never see it for myself. Or I never recognize it. That would probably be the better way to put it."
Interesting, does he? Or has he?
"I... don't have any apprehension about anything physical, nothing I've seen is something I wouldn't be able to easily overcome."
Despite the roaming groups of people who have lost their minds, he's never gotten hurt.
But has he ever... worried about something?
"In the days leading up to my leaving... I wondered—" he looks away instead of maintaining eye contact. "If I would be destroyed should they deem me a failure. I'm not sure if I was more concerned by no longer existing... or the idea of—"
"The good news, in that case, is that if you were destroyed, at least you wouldn't be around to know," the boy’s expression falls, a quick flash of regret across his face. He quickly moves on— "So. Fear of disappointing others, or the others who matter. If you felt that way about them, then wouldn't it be safe to say that you're afraid of disappointing her?"
"... I have disappointed her." There's a twinge of– guilt from the thought. The look on her face when she found out he'd been lying about her friend, the way she'd hurt herself to reach for him. In that moment, though she probably didn't realize it, she'd hated him for what he'd done. He wasn't being facetious when he'd said that she had wanted to be taken away. "A... miscalculation. An easy lie to get rid of you. I didn't understand the depth of your– attachment to each other. I was sure you'd never return with her here."
The boy too looks away in thought, "I didn't think I'd come back either. But I suppose that's what you meant by me having hope as well, wasn't it?"
He nods, adjusting his own arm after noticing the flow start to slow down. "... No accusations of spiking my own blood with drugs this time?"
He huffs, amused and mildly surprised at the joke coming from him. Still, he answers seriously, "I trust you… How did you feel about being the Ultimate Free Will? I haven't changed my mind about all that."
Izuru’s lips twitch in humor with him but it doesn't fully reach a smile.
For the question, "I didn't have attachment to my initial title, I doubt I'll gain any for a new one." It means nothing to him. "They're akin to names, they exist to delineate one from another."
Thinking he was finished he finds himself adding, "... though if I were given a choice on what others called me, I'd prefer—" for a split second there's a jumble of words fighting to be spoken first, making him feel unbalanced, he tries to blink it away, "Izuru."
Watching that statement process in the boy’s face he sees annoyance, but also that quick flash of intuition that says he saw Izuru’s internal debate.
"Okay. One more," he promises, "Does it still distress you? To hear her name?"
Izuru tries not to think of either of their names, setting up a meticulous barrier in his mind to keep them separate. "... I don't know. You two are very careful about names when I am present. Though, I'd suspect it does less damage now than it did."
"But you still won't. Even though it would surely mean a lot to her. She's lost quite a bit. To lose your name too?" he shakes his head, looking downwards for a moment. "She's too kind to ask, but don't tell me she wouldn't smile to hear you use it."
He narrows his eyes, debating on if this is serious or if it's the boy prodding an experiment to observe a reaction. Both, is what he ultimately decides on.
"I'll keep that in mind." He says, noting that it sounds short instead of their tentatively more open communication.
The boy matches his narrowed eyes for a second, mimics it, then relaxes, putting his observations, motivations, and disappointment aside for now.
He clearly notes the shortness, the reluctance, and similarly shuts down, "That's all I have for you."
"For now." Izuru points out, without heat.
They sit in silence for a few minutes, he watches the b– him close his eyes and lean his head back in the chair, relaxing. He's a little loath to break that but he has his own agenda, "have you ever consistently taken medication? For anything, though I am specifically interested in the mental aspect."
"A while ago."
That's not a satisfying answer, obviously. But he pauses anyway in his irritating way before listing what he can remember from when he'd been diagnosed with lymphoma and the months leading up to it. Plenty of things prescribed to mitigate his symptoms, chasing them rather than resolving them. But he has since stopped taking anything, claiming that all he would take now is 'an antacid from time to time' and he's 'right as rain'.
"And I've never had a reason to take anything for my mental health before," he ends with, though it seems unlikely that he was well before the world changed, Izuru gets the feeling that he might have always been somewhat unstable.
"Does that satisfy your curiosity of my medical history?"
"Enough." Though his records or an x-ray would probably be fascinating. "Are you opposed to taking more than one thing a day?"
Thinking further on the x-ray, his skin has a large amount of seemingly random scars, he wonders if his bones would show a similar history of past misfortune. He wasn’t lying when he said he was interesting, if not frustrating.
"Yes, probably," he says, sighing, "But I suppose I will anyway."
"... We'll start at two. If you're willing to try." It would be easier if he wanted the help rather than barely tolerated it, but it's a start. "It should decrease those moments or episodes you don't remember in their entirety. And help with the stress threshold that triggers those events. They may even help you sleep better."
This earns him a suspicious look as the boy seems to try and search his shoddy memory. Eventually he gives up, "What do you know about me not remembering things? Did I ever say that to you?"
"Not to me, no. You told her." He says, knowing it's considered wrong but not regretting his actions. "I didn't trust you to be fully alone with her at the time. I overheard. It corroborated instances when we had talked and you didn't know all the details of your own actions."
"So you're telling me that... This could help protect me from despair...?"
"... In a way, yes. I think it'll help you protect yourself." He tilts his head, "if you actually take them."
The mental timer is done so Izuru sits up, once again dealing with his own arm first. Crossing to him, Izuru notes he's bleeding a little more than he'd like. Frowning, he leaves his thumb putting pressure on the initial pad but has to leave the b– his arm resting on his leg and stomach while he leans over to grab another. As he does it, he can feel fingers brush the fabric at his side, looking to him, it's uncertain if he fully knows he's doing it, seemingly lost in thought.
Still with gentle hands he wraps up his elbow and sets down his arm, and like the last time, his fingers drag down Izuru’s forearm and lingers on his hand. He doesn't pull away, standing over him, watching. It takes a second, but he releases Izuru’s hand and curls his own into a defensive fist.
"Thank you for your kindness," he says quietly.
Izuru catches his face gently in a hand, moving it under the light to see his expression better. For someone who is supposed to understand everything, he doesn't quite know what he's thinking. Though he notices that, like last time, he looks a lot better almost immediately. He's been with them for five weeks, and though the steady food and water has helped, these transfusions have brought color back into his face– without needing to be flushed with anger or something else.
"You're welcome." He says at a similar volume, taking a step back to let him stand, "... we can talk at dinner about the other things."
"Speaking of, do you want me to cook something instead? I won't even poison it or anything," The b- he’s gotten better at actual humor, rather than being annoying on purpose.
"Sure." He finishes cleaning up and almost smiles. "I don't believe I can be. Poisoned, that is."
"What talent is that?" he inquires, finally standing upright, stretching his arms above his head, "Ultimate Iron Stomach?"
Izuru follows him into the hall, "Couldn't say. But I'd assume they wouldn't want..." He thinks about how... "they would want their project vulnerable in that way."
"Their project," he echoes with disdain, "The least they could have done was give you a manual about all this—"
"I doubt they'd want me to have something like that, if anything, they'd want me to figure it out myself, a test of some sort." He stops before he can run into– "what is it?"
"A test. Hmm," the earlier thought of the boy trying to be less antagonistic seems to have been too soon, "I thought I remembered something from when we were looking for you, but oh, we probably gave it back. Oh well.”
Izuru watches him, knowing just like the little test earlier with the names, he's prodding for something. The attempt to lie paltry at best, certainly on purpose. He stops walking with him, staring him down, knowing his expression is hard, a strand of hair moving across his face from the opening window that he ignores.
There’s some surprise in the boy’s face, as if he didn’t think Izuru would mind being toyed with, "I said I wouldn't do that to you again, didn't I? I gave you my word."
The annoyance sparks a surprising amount of pain and he finds himself resting a hand on the wall for balance while he shields his eyes with the other.
"So, what? That was some sort of– of test?" Now that he can vaguely recognize it, he's clinging to consciousness despite his voice distinctly not being his own anymore. The stranger's voice again, pulled to the surface with a vague memory.
"Izuru? Stay with me, I didn't mean to..." the boy moves closer, hands out as if he thinks he could catch Izuru should he fall.
A harsh incredulous laugh makes its way out of his mouth, "didn't mean to, sure. Prodding for weak spots with all these questions, trying to get me to– to– disappear," He knows he's fighting a losing battle but he forces his knees to straighten, still holding himself up with the wall.
"Trying to get me to say her name is if I don't know God damn well who Chiaki is." He didn't choose to say that, coming snarling out of his mouth as instinct despite the normal painstaking care taken to avoid anything of the sort. "I'm not... going to tolerate being played with."
"No, you're misunderstanding! That wasn't what I was trying to— forget it." The boy sighs, sounding frightened though he ducks into Izuru’s sightline and wraps an arm uselessly around his waist for support, "Just don't go, please."
"I'm trying." It's that left eye again. Best to give in a little, "put me down."
They get him to the floor and he leans heavily against the wall, pulling a knee close and covering that damn eye. Marginally softer, "I'm trying."
The boy hesitates, staring at Izuru’s face before stammering, "Okay, Izuru, Remember, uh, think about what only you've seen— you're the only one who's seen my room, a– and the warehouse? Remember that explosion from when we went out for supplies. We're going to have to get our gas elsewhere now...
"Think about... the mashed sweet potatoes I made. Their taste? Even if they were really bad, you're the only one who's had them."
The anxious chatter in his ear is helping, surprisingly. It doesn't make the pain in his eye ease; he still wants to rip it free from the socket to see if that would ease the pain– it wouldn't– but at least whatever else that was trying to claw its way free is settling.
He sighs deeply, the weak feeling in his limbs lessening, though he should probably stay sitting for the next few minutes.
He closes his eyes but remains conscious, "... I liked them."
"O... oh. Well, there's at least one thing I can do right then."
Izuru almost chastises him for putting himself down, a strange reflex, but he's still angry, just... less so now. With another sigh he leans his head back, keeping his eyes closed, willing the pain to stop.
The boy waits in silence for a few moments then tells him, at least having the decency to sound apologetic, "That's not why I asked about the name thing. I wasn't trying to make you suffer. It was... for a different reason."
"Which was...?" He doesn't move.
"I wanted… I wanted to ask you to call me Nagito. But it's not fair to ask you that when you can't use her name," he admits very quietly. "So, I wanted to see if you could use hers or not without this whole thing, okay? But of course, the whole idea was still incredibly self-serving of me.
Ah. So not quite as meddling as he'd initially thought. Izuru hums to let him know he heard and is thinking.
"Like yourself... things are different when it comes to her," hr says slowly, "I... don't understand my connection to her, only that she was there... before, but is also very much my now."
Finally, he opens his eyes and looks to him, "You were an extension of her– still are, to some degree... though that has changed, I've been with you without her more often than with. I should probably call you something... other than 'the boy'."
He's exhausted, still not one for longer conversations, and most definitely not after almost losing himself– whoever that even is.
"Don't worry about me. If it can't work out that way, I'll figure something else out," he says, with a forced positivity that doesn’t hide… disappointment? "I'll... get out of your way."
By all rights he should be feeling better at the idea of being alone– he still catches the hem of the coat as it passes him, "... you're fine."
"You're not seriously trying to say you want my company, are you?" for someone apparently hopeless, there is a faint tinge of hopefulness in his voice at the idea.
He is a determined problem when he wants to be, an odd conversation partner, danger to himself and sometimes others, yet surprisingly thoughtful– so despite it all– "yes."
There's a stunned silence between them for a beat.
"... you said you'd cook this time." Not quite a joke but a tentative offer of– something.
"Since we're both eating, maybe we should take turns instead. I need to do something to earn my keep around here after all."
This time Izuru does laugh, though it's hardly more than a puff of air. Feeling steady, he pushes himself to stand, waving off the anxious hands that follow him.
"I think... I need to lie down for awhile first." He says, loathing the idea of such a waste of time, like the eight hours he had lost before. "It shouldn't... it won't be as long this time."
"Okay," the boy finally says, "I'll... be here.
Komaeda knows telling Izuru he'll be there is an odd thing to lie about, especially since he should be pleased that he won't be around to risk Chiaki's safety, but he decides it doesn't really matter too much.
He watches Izuru as he walks down the hall to where he will inevitably find rest, then checks to see if Chiaki is awake or if he will have to hunt for the document pages on his own.
It seems Chiaki has managed to sit herself up without help– not an easy feat in her condition, and she's holding the tablet in her lap.
"Hey, hey,” she greets contentedly with a smile.
Komaeda takes a few steps into her room, tiredly smiling at her voice. Though, he doesn't stand too close to her in spite of knowing that she probably trusts him right now.
"Good morning. I came to ask you about something.
"Do you still have that document? It might have information that Izuru doesn't know about himself. Actually, it definitely has information he doesn't know about himself."
Her eyebrows lift, "Uhm... yeah. Or, I did. I don't know if it's still there. It wasn't the best hiding spot, I was planning on moving it— well, anyway, I took the dust jacket off the Street Fighter manual and put it in the bottom left corner of the shelf by my computer.
"Uhm, anyway, what... are you guys trying to find?"
"Oh, nothing in particular," he answers honestly, "We were just talking and he had mentioned that they never told him what they... did. What we found has at least a list of most of those talents. Though I can imagine there's much more that was never meant to be seen by him, or anyone for that matter."
"Then I hope it's still there."
He chuckles to himself, looking down and away while he realizes he still has yet to share Izuru's new title.
"I figured out his talent by the way. Not the artificial ones."
She tilts her head, "'Talent', singular?"
"It was right in front of us," he says, but he pauses, trying to slow down as he remembers how excited he can get over the idea, "All those talents aren't authentic. But it turns out he has one of his own!"
Okay, but this is very exciting. He holds his arms across his chest, an attempt to reel it in as he explains, "When he... retaliated against me that first time. And everything he's done since has been in defiance of those who created him, right?"
She nods, "yeah, I guess so."
"He's his own person, and with that comes free will, free will that he is shaping for himself every day. That's his talent," and he smiles, feeling it's appropriate to drop his arms back to his sides.
"He's done a lot more than he was told, that's for sure. I don't know the school's intentions for him, but he's definitely changed, you're right."
"We didn't uncover what they wanted to use him for, but it hardly matters now, right? I won't go down that particular rabbit's burrow right now though; I wouldn't want to get carried away again. I just needed you to know. You'll see it too now if you look for it.
"Anyway, I should probably get going if I want to be back in time; I told him I would cook dinner tonight."
She blinks— surprised by something, "Oh, okay. Bye, then."
Komaeda lifts his hand in farewell as he departs, hoping to not take too long, but also careful not to rush himself, knowing that too many good things have happened recently for him to take chances and carelessly venture out.
But Komaeda gets lucky again when he reaches the school. He's made it down the hallway towards the dorms just as he notices a handful of people leave. Nobody sees him and he is able to get into Chiaki's room again, starting only when he sees a lump, a person asleep in her bed. It's unsettling, and a bit scary, but he's quiet as he looks for the document, still hidden exactly where Chiaki said it would be.
He takes one last look at the person in her bed with a furrowed brow. Does he kick them out? What would be the point in that? He has important documents with him now anyway, and he can't afford to get injured or killed. So he decides to leave them be, only to turn to where it looks like they've set up a television? With nothing on the air, there's absolutely no way it's useful. But perhaps this person has fallen into so much despair that they will watch fuzzy channels just like in those movies where the children are possessed by some unnatural force.
No, there's definitely no point in sticking around. Komaeda leaves, dead set on getting back before the sun fully sets, not allowing himself to be distracted by any change in scenery, although there appears to be a lot of changes. An uptick of despair-induced activity and destruction. Why now?
Komaeda makes it to his room before looking through the documents with their notes in the margins, the notebook sheets among them as well. The only part that is concerning is the profile of Hajime Hinata. So he takes it out, folding it into a square and tucking it into his pocket.
By the time he starts to cook, he begins to worry about Izuru. Looking at the clock, it's clear he's been down for at least four hours. Komaeda debates going to find him when he hears the shower start.
By the time Komaeda’s nearly finished, Izuru enters the kitchenette, murmuring a greeting and slinging his clean shirt over one of the chairs. He sits down on another to methodically dry his hair with a towel.
Komaeda debates for a moment then decides against suggesting he simply cut his hair. If it was that annoying, he would have done it already, right? He turns from the pot to watch as Izuru dries his hair, before saying anything.
"I sincerely hope you rested well. But if you didn't, I have good news."
"... it was fine," he says after a short pause, "you went out."
"You can smell it on me?"
He snorts, "No. If you had good news waiting here, you'd have been too antsy to show me, you wouldn't have waited four hours.
"And there's soot on your shoes that wasn't there earlier today."
He looks down to his feet. He's not wrong about it. It would be obvious to anyone, he supposes, if they thought to look. "Then could I infer that you can also guess what the good news is?”
Izuru side eyes him briefly.
“It's not a test. I really want to know.”
"Before... that, you mentioned having documents about me, presumably how you found out about me to begin with. It was either in her room or yours, you went back to campus."
In spite of figuring that Izuru could come to that conclusion easily, he still acts in surprise that he was right on the money.
"How—? That's amazing, you know that? But I wouldn't have been able to decode it at all without her, of course."
"She turned it into a game,” Izuru guesses correctly, smiling and returning to dry his hair.
“Yeah. I can bring it to you later, but if you're curious now, I left it under my pillow. A terrible hiding spot, I know. She hid it much better than I did," he explains, turning back again to what he's doing on the stovetop.
Izuru leaves with no hesitation and returns with the pages, sitting back down. Komaeda tries not to watch him as he reads through it, wanting to give him space to process it if needed, but he fails miserably. He curiously watches his posture, the way his eyes move across the pages, and the expression, if any, that he shows. Briefly, he feels like he'd done something good for him. Satisfied enough, he turns back to the stove. The dish is almost finished anyway.
When he turns back, though, the satisfaction in helping Izuru comes to a halt. There's wetness on his cheeks, tears that he touches in mild confusion.
Komaeda sighs very heavily, "I made you upset again. I can take that back if— if you want me to?"
He sort of crouches to his level at the table to look carefully at him, suddenly aware that he genuinely feels gutted to see Izuru so unhappy.
But he immediately realizes that it's an incredibly understandable response. It's the very same thing that brought Komaeda so much rage in the first place: the complete disregard for the sanctity of human life.
"... You did nothing wrong," Izuru says quietly. "Not you.”
"I know you don't want to hear anything from me but this is all part of free will, you know. Being someone you want to be, not who they tried to make you be. Right? I'm disgusted by all this too."
Setting the papers aside, Izuru brushes his fingertips under one eye to look at the tears, sighing. He looks towards the open window, "... I don't know who... I guess it's both of us. If there even is an 'us'... I... I've been thinking about that."
"Do you... think you're the same person?" he asks slowly, "...or he's gone entirely? With only flickers of memory left behind."
"I'm not sure." He starts to examine the scars on his arms and torso, tracing one on his hand up to his biceps lightly, "There's... instinct, to cling to the me who is now, but, each time I feel like... pieces are coming back into place. That... also scares me. Apologies, I suppose, for not being entirely truthful when you asked me that."
He looks back at Komaeda, "I feel as if I'm being completed and erased simultaneously, but... I suppose that could just be fear of changing."
"That's not specific to you. Fear of change is very human, right?" Komaeda cautiously reaches his hand out, not one who's good with words when it comes to sensitive emotions, knowing one insensitive statement could ruin it, but he places a hand gently over his heart, seeking… connection, but staying silent, not sure what he needs to hear if anything. Maybe he just wants Komaeda to listen? Maybe he'd rather Komaeda not be there at all.
He shivers against the touch but doesn't move away, "I… suppose so. I am sorry about lashing out at you. Despite you saying I've frightened you before, I did it again, at least partially on purpose."
"I probably deserved it," is the easy response that he feels needs to be said. But it doesn't seem like he's in much agreement over it.
"I mean 'thank you'," he can easily feel his heart under the scars, moving in rhythm, something he finds odd comfort in. Though his knees are starting to hurt by crouching like that.
"But I could probably use a little healthy fear though, right?" It's a joke, and he tries to convey it with a smile but he's not quite sure how it fell upon his face.
"I doubt it's ever deterred you for long." He taps his knee, "don't hurt yourself."
He's never complained about pain there before, so how did Izuru know? Regardless, Komaeda slowly retracts his hand, feeling a bit silly now, though a bit regretful to stand fully upright again.
Turning back to the counter, he finishes up what he was doing and dishes out their meal.
"... Thank you." He heard Izuru say quietly before standing as well and shrugging on his shirt.
"When will she be joining us?”
"I'm taking the stitches out tonight, she won't like it... but if tomorrow she's willing to try, I'll take the feeding tube out. She won't be on solid foods for a few days but she's determined. Since she's talking so well, I'm sure she'll be fine."
He nods, looking forward to it, really. Looking forward to seeing her out of that room in general. Looking forward to forgetting about that entire video and figuring out where to go from here.
He remembers the strange TV set up, and the walk back to their home after gathering the documents, now wondering if there really is a channel on air. Could Enoshima not be finished with everyone yet?
He decides to keep it to himself, but he must have a curious expression on his face with the way Izuru is looking at him. He switches the topic to something that he knows Izuru would want to hear instead of talking about it. It's hard though, and he finds himself avoiding eye contact.
"When do you want me to start? The medication you mentioned."
"Today or tomorrow. Up to you. Though I'd advise taking it with food," he responds, "You probably won't notice much for a couple of days, but if your sleep gets worse or you feel ill, let me know."
"Sure," he takes a bite of food, chewing slowly while he tries to will himself to get over it. What is he afraid of anyway? Why is he reluctant?
"I'm also scared of change. I adapted well enough to the way things are now but now it's difficult to imagine..." he shakes his head, "It's pretty disastrous of me. I shouldn't be so attached to the end of the world."
Izuru watches him until the scrutiny is making him too uncomfortable to keep eating.
"... Because it's easier to not change anything and say 'that's how it is' rather than try and have it not work the way you wanted." Komaeda must have a look on his face to inspire pity, because he adds, "I think... most people probably feel that way. I doubt there are more than a scant few who don't."
"I suppose. Maybe," he comments absently. He has a point, and Komaeda isn't going to ignore it, but he would have much rather heard that it is because there's something seriously wrong with him. That he has an evil in him and that no medication could do anything about it.
Izuru wouldn't ever say that. Nor would Chiaki.
Sighing, "Okay. I'll start today."
Izuru nods, then leaves to retrieve them, as swiftly and wordlessly as when he'd left to recieve the document. Upon his return, he places two bottles with carefully hand-written instructions on the counter beside him.
"Thank you for the food," he says, moving to take care of the dishes for Komaeda before he can get started. He pauses then adds, looking over his shoulder, "... if you want to see her before I take the stitches out, she'd probably appreciate it. Given how she's responded to other things, I know she won't like the experience. Could be nice to have something good beforehand."
His steady gaze over his shoulder makes it clear he means it.
Komaeda opens his mouth to respond, but with the way Izuru is looking at him, he decides to leave it. He probably anticipated what he was about to say. So instead, he simply looks down to the written instructions. He suggested taking it with food, so he might as well do so now. He looks at the clock before doing so, then shoves the bottles and instructions into his pocket, muttering a 'thanks', and heading off to her room.
"There's someone sleeping in your bed. Whether it's a temporary or eternal sleep, I can't say," is what he first says upon entering her room, knowing it's an unsettling truth, "If you need anything else, I should probably get it soon."
"Uhm, okay." She turns off her tablet, adding mildly, "Hi."
"Hi," he repeats, watching her before sitting down, as if he's waiting for her to send him out. "But I found the document. Thank you. I never would have been able to find it."
"No problem— Oh! My computer... is it okay?" The concern breaks through her usually calm affect, "If it's gone... I guess it's gone, but if not, could you get it? Or ask Izuru, please?"
"It's definitely still there, but I guess we won't know if it's broken until we plug it in over here," he puts a finger up to his lips in thought. He wanted to check out the television that was set up, but he might not be able to grab it himself. Maybe he should have just said it was ruined, but he couldn't lie to her. Not so blatantly. And not for such a ridiculous reason.
"Sure. I'll figure it out. Trust— Well, maybe don't do that, but we'll get it is what I'm saying."
"Thanks. Sorry for all the trouble. I've appreciated everything you two have brought me, I promise.”
When she reaches her hand out to him, he moves closer and sits beside her to let her take his hand.
"You look better, did Izuru help you again today?"
"Yeah, he did," he affirms, adding casually, "But I didn't repay him very well and he almost blacked out again."
Chiaki tilts her head in confusion. "Really? I'd sort of thought since you called him Izuru, things were going good. What happened?"
"I mean, it wasn't on purpose or anything," he announces, though there's still guilt for it, of course, "And I got him back, sort of. He had to take another nap. Everything is okay now, don't worry so much."
She frowns, "But what happened?"
"I said something that I said to Hinata when we went out that one time. I didn't think it would be a big deal because I mean... I'm me. And it's not like you were involved or anything. But it hurt him a great deal, even though I... sort of fixed it," he explains, slowing down a bit more, "He was pretty angry with me but I think we're okay now."
"... And you asked me about the papers before or after?"
He pauses, running through the series of events, but it's easy enough, "That was right after. He went for a nap and then I left. Does that change something?"
Chiaki thinks about, finger on her cheek, "... I guess I'm asking if you were doing it because you felt bad, or you were going to anyway."
He opens his mouth as he thinks about that. He did intend for it to make up for it. But...
"That's a part of it, sure. But I was planning to get it anyway. I hadn't decided if I would show it to him or not, because I thought..." he pauses, thinking about it now. Does he want to openly admit to it? He regretfully retracts his hand, balling it up into a fist.
"I didn't want to because I wanted... leverage," he looks away, shrugging in a way that simply admits to the shameful behavior, "But then I would be doing just what the school was doing to him. Using that knowledge against him. Testing him. I did that to Hinata too. And he wasn't too pleased either."
"So... he figured out that's what you were doing and got upset? Like Hajime did?"
"He said the same thing Haj— Hinata had said." He's still not looking at her, "I didn't mean to bring you so much bad news for today. It was mostly alright."
From his peripheral, he notices her hand waving away what he'd said, moving on, "but you said he didn't faint? How come?"
Looking over, he shrugs again, "He must've been so angry with me that he held it together. Or maybe he couldn't focus on fainting because I just wouldn't shut up. He could be getting stronger."
She pouts very slightly at him. "Did you give him the stuff we found?"
"You can ask him if there's parts I'm missing. We both know how much of an unreliable narrator I am. But yes. I just held onto this..." he pulls the page with Hinata's profile out of his pocket, handing it to Chiaki, "I didn't want another incident."
She takes the page from him and looks down at Hajime's photo. "Should we give it to him? I know I was the one who said we shouldn't try to... reboot him, on purpose, but doesn't he have the right to know about himself?"
"I didn't think he'd want to," he says, then asks, "Do you think if he comes back, Izuru will be gone?"
"I'm not sure," she admits, "I think I'm hoping that what you were saying could be true, that they're not two separate people, but it's Hajime remembering himself. But that feels... selfish? I think... I don't know. Or ungrateful."
She shakes her head, refolding the paper but keeping it with her, "I think we should ask him if he wants it."
"You know what I think? It doesn't matter if he changes or doesn't change. Because we both still like being around him, right? Is it really selfish or ungrateful? To care about who he is now and who he was?" Komaeda didn't expect to feel so strongly about this until it started being said, "It would be interesting to understand what's going on, sure, but maybe we should just forget about the whole speculation… Besides, I don't think he finds you ungrateful. If anyone here is ungrateful, it's clearly myself.
"But… you do raise a good point... though maybe you shouldn't ask him until he's finished removing your stitches."
Instantly, she makes a face, some cross between grossed out and distant panic, "is that what's happening? I know it's not the worst thing to have happened to me but... blech." She shudders, wiggling her fingers at him to get him to come back to her. It works.
"Oh. Maybe you weren't supposed to know. Did I ruin the surprise?" he can’t hold back a smile and obliges, giving up his hand to her.
"I wish I could just skip this one. I really wouldn't care about missing this, even if it means it wouldn't be a one-hundred percent run," Chiaki squeezes his hand and crinkles her nose, "so much for being brave, it doesn't help anyone if I get so anxious."
"What are you trying to be brave for?"
"Hmm… it's not really... it's going to happen anyway, right? There's nothing to do about it. And I know Izuru is doing his best, so shouldn't I try and make it easier for him, too? If I cry or something, that's not helping either of us."
"But you're still going to be scared or whatever, right? Isn't that going to happen anyway? But what do I know? I'm a coward through and through, aren't I?" he shakes his head a bit, "Seems like a lot of effort to pretend to be brave."
"I guess," she sighs, "I wish we could just play Portal or something instead."
"You could also just keep your stitches in forever. I suppose I forgot about that option..." he suggests, then squeezes her hand as she does to him so often, "I can play after? Or... maybe tomorrow?"
"Was that a joke?" She says flatly but smiles anyway, "After, okay?"
"Sure.” He had mentioned tomorrow because he is a bit tired, but he doesn't let it show on his face, matching her smile, "Do you want me to get him now or postpone it for as long as you can...?"
"No,” she sighs, “I guess there's no reason to keep on pause, right?”
As expected, her eyes get huge when she sees the forceps and scissors Izuru brings into the room with him, immediately digging her nails into the boy’s hand before easing up and profusely apologizing– a sentiment the boy predictably waves off. Izuru doesn’t understand why he’d bother trying to leave her now, somehow surprised when she asks him to stay.
Unsurprising is the glance to Izuru to see if it’s allowed, he shrugs. If nakedness doesn’t bother her, there’s no reason to tell him to go, “it’s up to her.”
The boy sits reluctantly back down, unsure of where to rest his eyes as Izuru moves her around and unwinds the bandages. After the gauze is removed he ignores the two of them, focusing on the task at hand. The incision is as he’d like it, there’s no avoiding how long the scar is, but once it’s closed completely he’ll focus on healing that more so she won’t feel as patchwork as she does now, he can do that much for her.
The boy interrupts the silence suddenly, "You were so worried about not being brave enough but take a look at me.”
Izuru spares them both a curious glance but continues wordlessly, noting the boy’s uneasy smile.
She scrunches her nose, "only one of us needs to be, I guess. And he's immune to fear effects."
The idea of that makes him laugh quietly, Izuru has collected enough fears– far more than he’d like, her head jerking to see his face at the sound, "it's almost done."
They’re both looking at her torso, the boy almost reaches with his free hand to touch the scar above her hip, the one that almost punctured her pelvis, before dropping it back down at his side. Izuru knows she doesn’t like looking at the scars but she’s preoccupied with the one at her stomach, she must be struggling with them again, not much a distraction from her stitches.
"Done." Izuru says to relieve them both and she lets the tension out of her, sinking into the bed, though she's still got a death grip on the boy’s hand. "Are you okay?"
"I've... been through worse." It's appears to mostly be to herself, a reassurance that truly the worst is over. Still, Izuru nods, touching her cheek softly before reapplying the bandages, though much looser this time.
"Tomorrow." Izuru promises, touching the tubing at her nose and she wrinkles it again. He feels badly that she has to deal with so much unpleasantness.
The boy drops his forehead to the bed when it’s all done and yawns, turning his head to the side, "It makes my heart beat in song to see the hope inside you be nurtured like this... And we'll make you some stale onigiri sooner than you think."
She touches his hair in comfort, "that'll be nice."
Izuru is... smiling at both of them, not widely but distinctly there. He finishes adjusting her then notices the folded piece of paper by her hip, picking it up and holding it out to her, one eyebrow lifted in curiosity.
"You might as well ask him now," the boy says to her, reluctantly sitting back upright.
Izuru looks between the two of them, this very obviously has to do with himself, an addition to the papers the boy had retrieved, something they felt they shouldn’t show him.
"Yeah, sure." She says cautiously, turning more towards Izuru. "Those papers, the ones N– he got for you, the ones we had, there was something he took out. We were worried it might hurt you, it's... the file on who you were before." The boy is watching intently, seeming like he's ready to spring into action again, "If you want it, of course you can have it. You should get to know."
Slowly he takes it from her, though uncertain.
"Maybe you should sit down, if you're going to," she says anxiously and he does as suggested.
Izuru looks up, meeting the boy’s eyes, the uncertainty still present. She doesn't know how he reacted to the documents, that much is clear, she wasn't told.
He wants to, but what if it shuts him down again and a bigger piece of 'him' is gone, or maybe worse, does nothing at all?
"You're not going to disappear. If that's what you're worried about," comes the boy's voice from beside him. Now he's reaching a hand out to him, and some… instinct has Izuru accepting, "And I can do the same thing as before, if we have to drag you back?"
She looks at them, expression making it clear she's puzzling it out on her own, keeping quiet. He takes the page and, as he unfolds it, feels her touch his cheek, push his hair behind his ear, and then drop her hand to rest lightly on his wrist as he reads.
Or tries to, he gets stuck on the picture. The green eyes looking away from the camera, annoyed, no, it's a bitterly resigned expression, ruffled hair despite an otherwise put together appearance. They probably don't notice, but he can feel and hear his pulse start to spike.
That's not— but hasn't he felt that every time he sees his reflection? Why he avoids it? He doesn't want the perfect recall he was given to pull up the picture and place it next to who he is now, but it does and it hurts.
That's not—
But if they are the same, if that boy is him, certainly he doesn't fit back into the chimera human they've made of him. What's been done can't be undone– they– he has no place to return to in this world.
The hand in his tightens, the soft touch on his wrist trying to sooth him as well, he looks at both their worried faces.
... Maybe there is some place for him.
He remembers the game store. He had gone for her, to surprise her but she'd already beaten him to it, so excited he never wanted to tell her. Spending time he should have used for studying, looking up things she'd talked about so he'd understand her references later. Leaving her behind.
Leaving her behind to... for this.
"Ch-Chiaki, I'm... I'm so sorry." Though he must have before he can recall, it's still jarring to cry.
Immediately her hands are at his face, wiping away tears while Chiaki’s soft voice tries to reassure him. The hand in his trying to pull away but he doesn't let go. Her hands are on his face, wiping away the tears with soft soothing words he can’t listen to for a moment or two.
"Hey, hey, you're okay," she says, "you're okay."
It's the not quite Izuru and not quite who he was voice that responds, "I made a mistake... huge mistake, I left you behind, you got hurt—" She hushes him, brushing her thumb under his eye.
The— Nagito quietly speaks up, voices a thought aloud, "They wanted you to forget, so you'd do what they wanted. To combat defiance and any sense of identity. Individualism..."
Then to Izu– him, "But you still managed to do what this was all for, didn't you? You were able to save her, right?"
He nods slowly. Yes, it had been for her.
"Yes, it was," he says and she quickly inhales in surprise. He looks to her, leaning his cheek into her palm. "When I found you like that, he– we– I cried for you then, too. What if I couldn't save you?"
"But you did." She says firmly.
He nods, feeling himself sway where he sits, "I think... I... need to lie down? Or be sick. Both."
She lets go with clear reluctance, but the other hands immediately try to assist. Whoever he is, he lets Nagito guide him to the bathroom, holding back the heavy hair that suddenly feels grossly unfamiliar and wrong while he gets sick.
"If you need a haircut later, I don't mind," Nagito says and if he weren’t busy he’d almost laugh.
Too many times lately he's experienced this, that same sickness, feverish feeling included. He groans, trying to concentrate.
Behind him she– Chiaki is trying to quiet herself; it's clear she's still upset. But he can't help her right now.
He groans again, pressing a hand to his damp forehead, not sure if he's saying aloud, "... I don't want to go, I don't– I don't want–"
He's too out of it to know who's saying it, not who...
"I'm going to fall." He says, surprisingly lucid.
"Okay, don't do that." Nagito awkwardly guides him to sit fully on the ground, "Are you tired again? Or... do you want to stay awake?"
Seems like he doesn't really have a choice this time. That picture– him, them, whoever, is all he can see. He closes his eyes but it doesn't help.
"Please, don't put me back in the dark place." Distantly, he knows that's not going to happen, doesn't even know if he knows what he's saying.
And he doesn't fully understand the next part either, other than the thought sends a shudder through him that has nothing to do with the fever, "don't make me disappear."
"I told you, you won't disappear, right? As long as..." Nagito sighs, then moves to take his right hand to press it against his heart— his heart that is beating a lot more quickly and a lot more noticeably as he panics at the dark room, at disappearing.
"As long as your heart's beating, you won't disappear. Okay?"
He opens his eyes, placing a hand over the one touching him, watching his face closely for any sign of deceit. But his expression is open and honest, so he nods, closing his eyes again.
"I think I'm going to have to sleep." He says, not looking forward to the ache he knows he'll wake up with from sleeping on the floor. Quietly complaining with a sigh, "it's going to hurt though."
"It might. Can you stay awake long enough for me to get the mattress? Just— just one minute?"
"... I can make it to my room." Probably. Hopefully.
Nagito manages to guide him to his feet, pulling his arm across his shoulders as they limp out the door. He wants to look at Chiaki, check on her, make sure she’s okay. It takes everything to focus on putting one foot in front of the other though, and it’d be… more than problematic if he pulls Nagito down and hurts him if he falls. At least his room is next to hers so it's not too far of a walk. When they get there he gracelessly flops onto the bed, giving into the feverish shivers.
Chiaki doesn't need to wait long before Nagito returns to her room, shrugging off his coat and draping it over the chair Izu– Hajime— ? Where he was sitting.
"He'll be fine. Probably. A lot better than last time for sure."
Chiaki's gotten the surprised tears under control but is still sniffling, accepting the tissues Nagito retrieves from her bathroom, "I... wasn't expecting that."
"He used your name earlier... when he was angry with me. But not like that," he sits, "I feel... I feel really badly for him, for Hinata."
It’s nice to hear, even if it’s a surprise to Nagito, that he seems to really care about Hajime now, feeling sympathy rather than disgust... though she doubts that’s completely gone.
"Now that he's been able to look after you, we have to look after him," he continues.
She nods quickly in agreement, and a second later gets to thinking about something Nagito had told her a long time ago:
"... something I wouldn't approve of," sure, she's alive because he did, but– "he lost so much."
Nagito has a frown on his face as he looks back, "Doubt he knew that would be the cost. Identity and free will covered over with scars."
"I don't think so either. I want to know what they did tell him but..." She shakes her head. "Probably best if we don't."
"Probably anything they could to get someone to donate their body to science before they've even..." he shakes his head. In doing so, it's clear he's way too tired.
"I know you said you would, but we don't have to play."
She doesn't want to be alone, at all, but there might not be another option. She sighs, craning her neck to look at the bags handing from the IV pole. Preferably it doesn't end up like last time, it was painful, but they've gotten down to halfway and though they've talked about reducing pain meds... that's supposed to be later this week.
"I said I would," Nagito holds back a yawn, "Unless you don't want me to anymore. But I said I would."
"Okay, then." She smiles at him and he leaves to go get the game. Once settled– she's getting better at sitting with him so they're both comfortable– it's a nice distraction. He's almost halfway through the game and it's starting to get harder, forcing Nagito to get more creative.
Once Nagito has restarted the level and died several times, she looks up at him and– yup, he's out. Carefully, she takes the system from his hands, saves, to then puts it aside. She doesn't know how to get out of how they’re sitting without hurting herself and probably elbowing him several times in the stomach.
He looks exhausted though and she doesn't want to wake him up so she'll wait until he wakes up on his own, curling into him so her head is cradled in the hollow of his shoulder, unintentionally falling asleep with him.
The dreams aren’t nice, not exactly a surprise. She’s wandering, looking for something, someone, not in the maze, but the basement again, opening door after door and finding absolutely nothing. She’s not getting hurt, but there’s a lonely feeling settling into her chest that is almost as disquieting as pain and fear.
When Chiaki does finally escape the dream, she notes Nagito already awake, expression sheepish, "I really was trying to stay awake. But I suppose I should have expected to fail. Having confidence doesn't work the same way for the talentless, in my experience..."
"Don't say that." Chiaki says surprisingly grumpily, still waking up, "you're not. We were both probably too tired."
They detangle themselves and Nagito stretches, shoulder popping.
"Sorry if I was too heavy. Are you going to check on..." what name do they use?
"I will. Just give me a minute," he says, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. He yawns again, eyes watering, "Did you sleep fine?"
"Yup." She'll never admit to even a tiny back ache or he'll never come back. For some reason Chiaki doesn’t know how to explain, she doesn’t want to tell him about the dream, that feeling that she needs to withdraw surfacing for the first time since she woke up at the hospice.
She watches Nagito reorient himself, trying to shake off the need to… pull away, "Nagito? What if he's... not okay, what do we do?"
"He's been 'not okay' for a while, I would say," is what he starts with, "Not much we can do about it except what we've already been doing. That's probably not what you want to hear from me, but I'm not exactly the best person to be relying on for this sort of stuff."
He sighs, looking to the open doorway, and she finds that while she wants to be the cheerleader, the one that is always so sure, it’s hard to find. Still, she tries, leaning forward she touches his back, voice slowing though she doesn’t think he can tell, "well, I guess we just have to choose to believe it'll be alright, then."
When Nagito leaves to check in him, she finds herself staring emptily at the wall. She’s felt this way before, speaking becoming nearly painful when she’s gotten upset. Something that had happened far less once she’d gotten closer to her class, closer to Hajime. Some code in her brain that doesn’t work quite right rearing its head when Nagito and… whoever he is, need her to be patient and understanding. Chiaki blinks rapidly, trying to will away the sour mood and the unhelpful part of herself.
After who knows how long, Nagito returns to Chiaki and shakes his head, "Still asleep. I might have to help you today, with... whatever I can manage, I suppose. Is... that alright?"
She looks at him, and at the early morning light cast over him from the hall. he's been nothing but helpful the past day, doing so much for... Izuru-Hajime. "Yeah, that's fine. He's been asleep for a long time."
But really there's nothing for it. Nagito checks on him a few more times that morning but there's no change, and he still has a fever.
By early afternoon she can't sit there anymore, she’s gotten grumpier, Nagito taking it personally, but with a stride she wishes wasn't so familiar to him. He has just changed out the bags and they've decided not to mess with pain meds.
"I want to sit with him."
"I guess now that you can sit up better, it isn't too difficult, right?" he comments, though he's already moving to get her chair. His stomach growls loudly, and upon seeing her face, he quickly says, 'I'll make something after you're set up."
She nods, trusting him, and after a few minutes of confusing struggle she's sitting in the chair, only a little out of breath.
In Izuru-Hajime’s room he looks sad like Nagito was saying. She asks to be left by his head and she reaches forehead, feeling the too-warm skin.
"Should we try to cool him down?" Chiaki asks, then decides to ask for cool water and a hand towel, "it won't do much, but it might help."
After that, Nagito leaves for a good long time, and it’s for the best. Whatever expression is on her face is making him look guilty and she simply doesn’t have the energy to fix it. The time away means she doesn’t have to try to think of what to say, how to explain what’s happening inside of her. Giving her space to figure out how she’s feeling, why she’s so… off.
It’s everything. Really, when she thinks about it. She’s been so grateful to be alive, there’s not been a lot of room to be anything but happy. Pushing away all the negative things that are going to crash down once she lets herself examine everything. But Nagito is still unstable, Izuru-Hajime is dealing with so much, and she’s still in more pain than she’d ever experienced in her life. If she turns around and makes life worse for them by– by throwing some kind of fit, that’s not exactly repaying them for their effort, their kindness. So she’ll push past it, she has to, they need her to be the way they remember.
"Did..." Nagito pops his head in, toweling off his hair and looking at Izuru-Hajime, "Were you talking to him?"
"Mhmm." Chiaki nods, having found some place that lets her smile and he doesn’t seem to notice that it doesn’t feel right, "I thought maybe if I talked about things it might wake him up but–" she gestures to the prone form in front of her. "I brought up things for uhm, both of them but I don't know, nothings happened."
He takes a few more steps into the room, head at an angle to dry off his hair with the towel, "He said... something about every time this happens, something comes back, or something else. I could be remembering incorrectly, obviously. But what I'm trying to say is that he must have recovered quite a bit more than he usually does, since his body is taking this long to heal. That doesn't sound like nonsense, does it?"
"Well, I was about to say 'maybe he's updating' so... I think we're on the same page." Chiaki touches his cheek again. "I'm just worried about the fever, that must be uncomfortable."
"He'll probably wake up in pain too, is my guess." He sits in the chair on the other side of him, "When he's up, I'll go see if I can grab your computer. Or some of it."
Dabbing at Izuru-Hajime's forehead has her distracted for a second, "Thanks, I'd appreciate that.”
"Are you still fine sitting up?"
"I'll be okay." Chiaki promises, "I don't want to leave him, you know?"
Nagito looks at them with the ghost of a smile, something like awe in his expression. Chiaki looks back down at her hands, not wanting to examine what he’s thinking.
"I'm going to finish up what I'm doing, then I'll be back," and he does as promised. When he returns, he sets up his seat beside her, prepared to wait along with her.
Easily Chiaki reaches out her free hand out to him, it's not much use anyway, offering him more of a fist than anything.
"... reminds me of waiting for you to wake up." She says eventually, once she feels more like how she should. "It's a little less scary because you're here with me and I'm not waiting by myself, still scary though."
"You didn't hav—"
He can tell she's about to protest what he's about to say, but and actually puts a finger up in pause, "Please. Let me finish."
So she does.
"You didn't have to do that, after what I did in there. But you still took care of me. Got yourself in trouble because of me too. I just need to be thankful for a moment. I was thinking about Hinata, and how absurd it was that you were friends, but I can't say I respect you if I don't... Well, respect who you choose to be close to. I'm trying to assume the same for myself. Can't say you should but I suppose I'll have to accept your reasons. Trust you. Thank you..."
As he keeps talking, she stops what she's doing, setting down the damp cloth to look at him. "Thanks, Nagito." She says when he finally looks up at her. "I'm grateful that you believe in me. I think it's better that we all trust each other, you know? As far as we know, we're all we have, right?"
Finally it feels right, like herself, that wasn’t platitudes, it was genuine. She almost sighs in relief but doesn’t want to explain herself to him and holds it back.
"But... maybe don't trust me as much as you may want to," of course he feels he has to add, "Just... I don't trust me. You're welcome to believe in me though, if you want to."
"I will." She says firmly.
They keep waiting together for another hour or so with little change in Izuru-Hajime, keeping each other company and chatting occasionally. Right around the time they decide that she needs to be put back into bed there's movement and they both freeze.
Whoever it is pushes himself up on one arm, but his hair falls in front of his face before they can see it, a low pained sound coming from under it all. After a second, he uses the arm he's not leaning on to part his hair and they can see him as he regards them back. He doesn't look hostile but he does look a little scary, the right eye a muddy mix of red and green, no sign of the green when he was speaking to her before— mouth a taut line.
"Oh g- good. You're finally awake," Nagito stammers as he stands up, the chair sliding behind him with an awful noise that has Izuru-Hajime recoiling. He looks around as if desperate to find something to do. There's a cup on the table behind Nagito that he's switched out three times for some reason, that he picks up, but waits to offer. "We were starting to get a bit worried, but you must have really needed the rest."
Izuru-Hajime is still watching them while he comes back online, that low sound of pain escaping again. Slowly, he sits up better, still almost hiding, cocooned in his hair.
"How long." His voice sounds terrible, but it isn't the cold voice of Izuru or the warmth of Hajime, something new.
"Nearly a full day," Nagito answers for them, "And I have a feeling this won't be the last time." He sighs and finally extends the offer of water, "But don't think about that right now."
"... I broke my promise," he says after taking the cup and downing it, touching her cheek where the last tube is still taped to her skin.
That’s not what he needs to be worrying about right now, "who cares about that, are you okay?"
"I'll be fine," he half smiles, repeating her often used phrase, "I think."
She blinks in surprise but smiles back easily.
"Did anything else happen?" He looks at Nagito who is smiling at them again.
He shakes his head at the question, yawning, "You were the most interesting thing around here for the past twenty-four hours. So 'no'. I was just about to bring her back to her room, then go to bed though. In case you need me for anything beforehand?"
Izuru– she decides— shakes his head wincing slightly, "I can put her back." The notion that she’s just an escort quest, Princess Peach, rises again but it’s easier to shove down now that she’s not in such a sour mood.
He stands and everything pops and clicks loudly in protest when he stretches, an awful sound. "It's fine." But that’s a ridiculous thing to claim. As he passes Nagito to get to her chair he touches him on the elbow in thanks.
"Good night," Nagito announces to the room through a well timed yawn.
She's exhausted too, and she’s not going to tell him how long she's been sitting up for but it’s pretty obvious since she's drooping in the chair and practically melts into her bed with a sigh as he sets her down.
"Everything go okay?" He checks again with just her, eyeing the equipment but Nagito hasn’t messed with anything.
Sleep has almost gotten her but she nods, "I... was watching but he's fine, he didn't do anything weird, just cared for me because—" a big yawn and her voice gets quieter, "he wanted to make sure you weren't worried about me."
Izuru knocks away the rest of her mood by touching her with so much affection, all the clinical coldness gone. He moves her to be more comfortable, tucking Lapras under her arm and moving her bangs, smiling when she catches his hand before he can pull away and leaning her face into his palm, eyes closing.
"You don't have to be–" she's mumbling but it seems important under the haze of pain medication, "you don't have to be someone else for me, ever."
That one hurts.
Nagito is also dead to the world when he checks in on him– he's functionally alone.
There are things he could and probably should be doing but he feels the draw of the outside world and follows it, taking a supply bag and exiting their space at a run.
She's about to start eating and though she couldn't possibly add that much of a strain on supplies, it's still a third person to consider. It's time to gather seeds, the vague plans for a true garden solidifying easily.
He's found what he's been wanting with ease, and a decent haul of shelf stable food for the meantime, and moving at top speed and agility has helped his body recover from its stasis.
He's thinking about tapping for a new gas line when he sees the store again. Since he destroyed the door, others have wandered in, but have only taken the TV monitors— curious, when electricity is scarce. Ignoring it, he moves into the employee space, looking for the shelf of held items. He almost laughs once he finds it, her name is on half a dozen things, far more frequently than anyone else. Less amusing is he realizes that nearly all the games she didn't claim were co-op... multi-player games she didn't want to play... without him.
He almost swears, catching his reflection in the glass, looking away quickly. The pain nearly blinding, though he manages to shatter the glass and grab it all while pushing through it.
Outside, he encounters a rare problem, activity has been picking up, that's undeniable, but no one who has ever gotten close to him has stuck around after seeing his face. But here someone is, challenging him with deranged laughter.
It doesn't matter, the bullet does nothing more than tear his shirt at his side, the shooter tripping backwards in new-found fear and ending themselves presumably on accident. Though rather inconveniently spraying him in blood. Disgusting.
It's morning by the time he's finished roaming and his body feels miles better from the exertion, but the question of who he is? It's nowhere near having an answer. After setting down the gardening supplies outside and the food near their pantry, he heads towards the generators to fill them first.
There’s sounds of movement in Nagito’s room but there’s no reason to look for him yet, if Nagito wants to find him, it wouldn't be difficult.
Soon enough there’s footsteps and Nagito’s voice is high when he’s close, concerned, "What— Izuru? What happened to you?"
He looks down at himself for what could be– ah. "It isn't mine."
He puts the gas cans away, then pulls off his shirt– it'd been too hot as of late to bother with his jacket so at least only one piece of clothing was damaged. The bullet that had missed him has torn open the side and he sighs; while he could mend it easily, the bloodstain might not budge. He can only assume there's still blood on his skin but he was headed towards a shower anyway.
"They're getting braver," he gestures vaguely towards outside their walls, "or more desperate. Someone attacked me." Before it can come up, "I didn't kill them."
Nagito’s eyes are at his chest, the scarring around his heart. He’s not sure if he wants to examine the expression, but at the very least, it’s no longer blatant disgust.
"None of those who have fallen to despair can ever know what bravery is, obviously. You can't feel brave if you feel no fear. Desperation is far more likely," he clarifies, something that’s becoming predictable.
"Sure." He agrees easily enough, not particularly caring about pedantry this early.
"I haven't been targeted like that, usually my existence alone is enough of a deterrent." He slows his pace down to Nagito's speed, heading out into the garden to his other cache of spoils. Realizing it'd be a waste of water to shower twice, he decides he might as well start this project before she wakes up.
"Maybe they thought I wouldn't be able to move quickly with the amount of things I had, or," this idea bothers him in an abstract, "I'm no longer as intimidating as originally intended. Either way, they ended themselves."
He's eyeing the garden supplies rather than looking at Izuru but nods along to what he's saying.
"That's... the lowly life of despair. You've never intimidated me. I had no reason to attack you, but I would have if I wanted to."
He begins to braid his hair so it won't swing into his face while he's working, and feels the heavy sway of it as he turns to see if Nagito is being serious. He is.
"I probably wouldn't use 'never'." He says mildly, not quite laughing.
"Yes... well, let's say we ignore the exceptions for a moment. I think if we want to be prepared for things to get worse instead of waiting for them to come up to our doorstep, I might need to track her down," Nagito groans.
He straightens up, eyeing him with concern, "who?"
"Junko Enoshima, obviously."
"I don't know who that is," he shrugs, "Though your tone makes it clear she's a problem."
"Huh? Who did you think was behind it all?" he tilts his head and folds his arms across his chest, anger, for some reason, creeping into his voice, "You met her. I know you did."
"... Pigtails?" He gestures around his head and Nagito nods, clearly upset. "Ah. I didn't know, and it wasn't particularly relevant to keeping her alive. I was... new. The 'why' and 'how' wasn't interesting to me."
He thinks of the girls again, the loud one's total confidence that he'd simply get up and follow her, how she walked away from their conversation and got Chi– her less than a day later, "I should have killed her.
"... I didn't because I thought... she wouldn't like it." He explains quietly, knowing he doesn't have to, and understanding that by doing so, he inadvertently contributed to what happened.
Nagito nods but is distracted, holding his arms just slightly more tightly, "Anyway, our class... Oh, I suppose that part isn't important, but she's Ultimate Despair. I thought she had left, but she might be back now. I don't really want to, but I'll probably have to seek her out again..."
"Should you be getting that close?" He says after finishing with his hair, and grabbing a spade to get started with the work. Only, he pauses, now concerned for a different reason. "That might not be... safe, for you."
Clearly Nagito disagrees and hates this girl, but still, he's more than a little vulnerable to 'despair'.
"Pfft, killing me wouldn't be despair-inducing enough for her. I'm more than positive she won't do a thing. She doesn't believe any of us have enough Hope inside to snuff out," he scoffs, "as if Hope could ever be snuffed out. So naive..."
"... That's not what I meant." He says softly, realizing he's starting to genuinely care about Nagito's feelings.
Pressing his lips into a thin line, Nagito asks defensively, ”Are you worried about protecting this place? After all, I found it while looking for Hope, so could the others. With... ill intent."
"... it's not out of mind," he promises, "the location is advantageous and she couldn't be moved, still shouldn't. No one is seeking medical attention at the moment. After you first found it, I went back and destroyed the trail you followed. We keep the outside destroyed, only leave at night, keep noise to a minimum. There's not much else to be done with the world as it is. I've thought about traps, but that makes it abundantly clear that there is something worth protecting here."
"It bothers me. Waiting for something to go wrong. Yet another reason that I'm a coward. You're probably right though. One ill-timed remark, one sickeningly poetic perspective, and I could be back under her wing..."
"We don't want that for you." Using the plural is effortless, even if it clearly gives Nagito pause. "We'll keep an eye on activity, be more strategic with runs."
He moves closer, touching his arm, "running into danger, even if it's for her sake, make sure it's not a form of self-annihilation, alright?"
"I won't go looking for her," he eventually promises, arms loosening at the touch, adding, "Though, it's not like she's to blame for everything I've done. Despair still resides in me, doesn't it? It must have been there even before the Tragedy. That's the only explanation. It only gave me an excuse to act on impulses..." Nagito sees the concern, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be dropping all of this on you. You've got far more important things to concern yourself with."
The urge to smile is there, he can feel it pull at his mouth, "I think I can handle a little extra work."
He pauses, then adds, meant to be somewhere in the realm of teasing but it's a little too close to home, gesturing to himself, "what else am I supposed to do with this?"
"You have to keep busy anyway, don't you? I suppose as long as I'm being helpful..." Nagito is clearly grateful at the change of topic, back to typical self-hatred resurfacing.
"The downside of extreme athleticism." He hears the wry note in his voice. "Inactivity is strongly discouraged."
He considers Nagito, "if you want to help, I can draw out the plan, if not, when she wakes up, I'm going to take out the tube feed and she'll get to try food. Liquids, of course, but something at least."
"I can help here. I’ll need to go out, but I'll be doing that much later. For— she wants me to grab something from her room."
He shrugs at the vagueness, noting it as one of Nagito's idiosyncratic habits. After leaving for pen and paper, he shows the plan to best utilize space and shade.
"She'll still be able to come out here," he explains, "but we could use the produce."
He puts Nagito in the shadier areas, working in the morning sun on his own, the rhythm becoming peaceful.
An hour later when he hears her start to stir, Nagito comes up beside him in the sunshine, "Thank you for sharing the work with me. Can you believe I've worked up a bit of hunger?"
"It'd be unusual if you hadn't." Only then does he realize he's forgone any sort of food for over a day. He feels fine, but he probably shouldn't ignore it. He sighs, "I'll shower then get her, she's starting to wake up. We'll meet you there?"
"Sure. But you need something too, right? I can bring you a snack for later."
They split off and he showers as promised, feeling repulsed by the days of sweat and the stranger's blood. His hair is bothering him again, the wet strands clinging to his skin so he returns it to the braid, for the first time honestly considering taking up Nagito on his suggestion. Maybe another time.
In her room, she is fully awake and patiently waiting for him. She seems excited at the prospect of starting real food, and pushing for walking today as well and he smiles at her determined expression.
Once the tube is out and she's un-scrunched her face at the feeling, she's holding a handkerchief to her nose to stop the bleeding as he puts her in her chair.
"... hey." He gets her attention softly and she stops checking the bleeding to look at him expectantly. "Your name, I'm... I'm trying. I'm sorry."
Clearly deciding that either it's stopped bleeding enough or that she doesn't care she lowers her hands to where his are resting on her lap.
"It's okay, I get it. Or at least I think I do." She twists the damaged hand into his and lifts the other to touch his cheek, an easy gesture between them now. "You don't have to force yourself. I'll—"
"I want to." He emphasizes, squeezing her hand.
She considers it, "then it'll happen eventually, right? You can't rush the level just to get to the cutscene."
"... right."
Between that and her bright smile, it's easy to feel similarly optimistic as they meet up with Nagito in the small kitchen, a space she hasn't seen and is observing curiously, greeting Nagito with equal enthusiasm.
"No more tubes." She says, like it's a topic she's complained about with him often. Then she seems to remember the port on her forearm, "Well, just the one, but that one's okay."
When she reaches for him, Nagito immediately comes to her. The pull she has on him seems to override the self doubt Nagito has, trying to make her happy.
Turning, Nagito offers a container, "You have options. This pasta I just made or a bag of chips from my room. They might be stale though..."
"Pasta." He doesn't want to risk the chips having a flavor he cannot tolerate. He frowns at Nagito. "That's all you've eaten?"
He stops her at the table the two of them usually sit at, and moves past Nagito to start broth for her.
"I only offered the chips to you because I know you don't eat as much. I had some of the pasta before you got here," he answers, sitting down across from her.
She says, almost immediately, "aren't you a little tall to eat so little?"
At the stove, he almost laughs, she’s quick to notice and point out when Nagito isn’t caring for himself, reinforcing his own words about Nagito not eating enough.
"Am I? I usually eat when I'm hungry. Okay... I'm sure I've forgotten a few times," he finally admits with a smile in his voice, "But now you two remind me so often that I don't have that excuse anymore."
They look at him as he comes back and sets a cup of broth in front of her, and both somewhat surprised when he comments offhandedly, "you're still too thin."
"Alright, alright. I'll have another snack," he caves, but there’s lightness to him, leaving and returning with a gelatin cup and a faint smile. "I forgot how much I enjoyed these. Now they won't be making them anymore, so I've been thinking that I should probably save these for special occasions. And now that you're at the table with us, I can say it's a special occasion."
She smiles, almost shyly, as a soft pink flush warms her cheeks and he can see that both of them are staring at her before shaking it off. He can tell she's surprised that she can't finish the cup, but he had been expecting it, promising her more whenever she wants. But what she wants is to be mobile.
As he's taking her out of the room, she catches Nagito's sleeve, "Are you coming too?"
"I can come," he tells her quickly, following at their heels.
He… Izuru doesn't protest when she wants to stand herself up, simply standing at her side, ready to catch her if her arms can't manage the motion. Once upright without too much undue effort, she sees Nagito at the doorway and grins at him while Izuru fusses. He puts the wide belt around her to catch her if she stumbles to let her walk freely. After a turn down the hall with the walker, he lets her go on her own, holding the belt at her back and examining the way she's walking, almost surprised at how well she’s doing.
After the third turn, she's exhausted and can't hide it. Izuru, refusing to let her go again, easily scoops her up into his arms.
"I'm just tired of the tutorial level, you know?" She tells him with just the barest edge of a pout, garnering a half-smile.
"But... don't," he says haltingly, though his stride remains steady, "don't some sequels put the protagonist at square one... despite what they've done in earlier entries?"
The smile on her face is well worth any pain that comes with it.