Chapter Text
He was hungry.
Right. That was something that happened. Hajime tended to forget that he needed to eat. Actually, he had been going quite a while now without food, perhaps now was the time to make some?
It was still somewhat early in the day (10am, his mind supplied). Mikan had left his room a couple hours ago, and he had been alone ever since with a singular checkup in the form of Fuyuhiko popping his head in to make sure he was still in bed.
It could be considered an acceptable time to make food.
So, he made up his mind.
Hajime turned to the side, moved his legs to dangle off the bed, and pushed himself up with a controlled steadiness he didn't have before. The fever had definitely calmed down now, with only minor symptoms showing up in the form of his skin being just slightly too warm. Odd, considering you would think that the motive would ramp up over time in order to create as much pressure as possible.
He began to walk towards the door.
He supposed the main attraction of this motive was the 'personality altering' bit and not the 'you might have a body temperature so high that you will die' aspect of the illness. And, making the infected so sick that they couldn't move wouldn't exactly make a great argument on making the disease spread.
There will be another one infected soon – probably Fuyuhiko. But, he mused, that's only if there isn't a murder before that.
He wholeheartedly doubted that their numbers would survive another night without any casualties. The only surprise would be who dies, not when.
Hajime exited his room without fanfare; he wasn't shocked that they hadn't decided to keep a closer eye on him, despite his last 'escape attempt'. They were far too understaffed to be keeping constant watch over him. He continued his stroll down the hallway, deciding to first visit the entrance hall for no particular reason, despite the fact that the makeshift kitchen would – without a doubt – be upstairs. There was no harm in wandering.
As he was making his way through the hallway, he paused slightly, quietening his footsteps as he stopped outside of a door. Ibuki's room.
On the other side of the door, he could hear faint voices, along with some thudding sounds.
"Hey! Stop fucking jumping already—" Another thud. "I said quit it!"
"Haha! But it is so fun!"
"M-M-Mioda! P-please calm down! Y-you could injure y-yourself!"
"Oh!" The thudding stopped. "You are right! I don't want to injure myself, so I will stop!"
He heard an exasperated sigh come from Fuyuhiko.
"I thought she was supposed to be easy to deal with. What the hell…"
"U-uhm… she's still the same e-energetic… Mioda. She hasn't changed m-much other than being r-really… gullible. You j-just have t-to give her s-specific instructions… to follow."
"Well no shit, " he swore. Though there wasn't any real heat behind it, Mikan still squeaked in fear. "That just makes her way more susceptible to stupid crap. Anyway, you actually need to rest now."
"B-but…"
"Go to the on-call room and just take a nap for a while. I'll wake you if there's anything really serious, okay? You can check on them after you've rested. Meanwhile, I'll make sure nothing happens."
There was silence, and Hajime took that as his cue to leave. Hopefully, this would amount to something interesting.
With silent footsteps, he stalked down the hallway, and finally, pushed open the door to the entrance hall.
In front of him, was a rather peculiar sight.
Instead of the usually pristine and barren entrance hall, it looked like a tornado had waged war throughout the entire inside. Coating most of the floor were various different medicinal bottles – some with the contained pills now emptied out – a few of which were scattered in almost unbelievable places. One managed to land perfectly upright, balancing on the jutted out edge of the whiteboard. One managed to completely knock over the pink communication device, successfully causing it to fall to the floor but luckily not breaking it.
Hajime was even faintly amused by one which had somehow ended up on top of the shelf it had originally come from — which, honestly, was a feat in of itself.
And, of course, in the middle of all that chaos, was one Komaeda Nagito.
"Hm? Oh, Hinata! I see you are wandering around again."
Upon hearing the door open, Nagito had turned his head towards him. He was crouched on the floor, his hands previously sorting through the containers before having stopped at the other's presence. His right sleeve was slightly torn – most likely from trying to break a fall of some kind. His hair looked more wild and untamed than usual, and Hajime could even see some stray pills atop his head.
Yet, despite the evident havoc, the lucky student was utterly unharmed.
"Ahaha, I accidently tripped and caused the medicine shelf to topple over! And— as you can see, all of the contents got mixed up. Haha, how unlucky!" Hajime didn't doubt that story one bit. He raised a singular eyebrow, to which Nagito bashfully smiled. "I'll try to fix this up by today. I wouldn't want to cause Miss Tsumiki to accidently administer the wrong drug afterall!"
He waved his hand (still clasping a stray bottle) flippantly.
Hajime merely hummed in reply.
"So, what – may I ask – are you doing out of bed? I thought you were supposed to be resting." There was a specific intonation to his voice that made it apparent he obviously disproved of his choice to leave.
"I was going to make food."
For a moment, Nagito paused to think, before a look of realisation overtook his features.
"Ah! Oh dear— you haven't eaten. I'm truly sorry. I've failed as a caretaker and it's despicable that I wasn't able to provide for such a wonderful Ultimate such as yourself! Ah, I really am worthless to have let this slip past my notice."
Nagito scrambled to get up off the floor, causing the few medicines that he had already organised to, once again, get thrown across the ground. However, he didn't seem to mind the minor stroke of misfortune.
"I can show you where we keep the food. Please, follow me."
Nagito smiled genially as he carefully made his way towards Hajime. Each step he took made an unavoidable clatter, the chaos impossible to avoid. Once he was safely extricated, he began to lead Hajime back through the hallway he originally came from, indeed confirming his thoughts as the lucky student headed towards the stairs.
"Please let me know if you feel that you're starting to pass out or something similar. " Passing out that morning at the restaurant was a fluke; that won't happen again anytime soon, unless it is due to external reasons. "Even if I'm not that competent, I still—"
"Huh? The hell are you guys going?"
Both Hajime and Nagito turned around, spotting Fuyuhiko who had just left Ibuki's room.
"Kuzuryu! Nice to see that you are doing well," Nagito gave a small wave. "We were just on our way to make some food. Hinata hasn't eaten yet."
Fuyuhiko rolled his eyes. "Tch, alright then. But you better not be planning shit."
"Oh, I assure you, I wouldn't dare! After Hajime has eaten, I'll be in the entrance hall for… quite a while."
"…Do I even want to know why?"
"Haha, I may have had an unfortunate accident and caused the medicine cabinet to fall over! Of course, I'll make sure to clean it all up."
"Fucking seriously?" He sighed. "I'll help."
"Oh, you really don't have to—!"
"Don't get the wrong idea, I'm not doing this for you. If you really mixed up the medicine, then we damn well can't exactly operate without that being fixed."
Nagito and Fuyuhiko continued to talk a bit more, but he didn't care to listen. Instead, he continued walking along the corridor. He was able to make it up the stairs to the conference room easily enough – a small huff of air the only evidence of exertion – and he walked into the room. Instantly, it was clear to him that the room had definitely been modified from it's original purpose and was being actively used.
He scanned the room.
Someone must have raided the supermarket, because stacked against one wall was a crate consisting of: canned tomatoes, a sack of rice, a suspiciously large bag of onions, and various other non-perishable goods.
Makes sense considering that we were meant to be holed up in the hospital for the unforeseeable future.
Immediately, Hajime was thankful that the walls in this room were a rather soothing sage green, the colour offering a break from the pallid exterior he hated seeing. On one side, folded chairs were stacked haphazardly against the wall alongside a stray whiteboard. On the other, a few of the chairs were pulled out, all situated around a large, wooden table.
The table – most likely previously housing the multiple notepads scattered over the floor – was now covered in kitchen utensils. He would get to that later.
On a shelf nearby, he even noticed a few medical supplies (like the ones in the medicine cabinet downstairs) except this one contained equipment like syringes, scalpels, and the like.
A feeling of cold washed over his body upon seeing the items.
The door opened behind him, followed by telltale footsteps.
He has since finished his conversation then. Fuyuhiko must be in the entrance hall now.
"Unfortunately… " Nagito's voice cut into his thoughts. He trailed off for a moment, looking slightly embarrassed. "I know my cooking skills are just as awful as me, but I hope that I will be able to at least assist you in your endeavour."
It wasn't a surprise to him that the other was adverse to cooking. His luck would prove quite troublesome when exposed to a kitchen environment.
"Hinata. Do you know how to cook? Ah— not to insinuate that you would be a terrible cook or anything—"
"I can." Now.
Nagito smiled. "That's wonderful!"
Hajime walked up to the makeshift cooking area. Nagito was left standing awkwardly near the entrance whilst Hajime quickly took inventory. There were: some raw ingredients packaged for safekeeping, a few cooking pans, two knives kept safely tucked away, and numerous other utensils.
He could make soup. That was what would be best for someone sick.
(Was it the most conventional breakfast? No, but he didn't care.)
He moved closer, fingers brushing the handle of a knife. The blade was dull, but it would do. First, the onions; they needed chopping. He picked one up, its papery skin crinkling under his grip. The first cut sliced through cleanly, the blade operating easily under his hand.
Such simple, menial tasks. Such boring tasks.
(But, boring as they were, this was what he was made for.)
He easily tuned out the rest of the world as he focused single-handedly on the task, operating on auto-pilot. He moved on muscle memory – setting a pot up over a small portable stove – each action taken with confidence and expertise as he worked.
By the time his mind returned, the conference room was alive with the faint scent of sizzling onions and garlic. The tomatoes had been drained into a pot, their liquid set to simmer. A second pot held a rich, golden broth, it's surface dotted with flavour and a savoury relish.
It wasn't long before he deemed that the soup was at an acceptable standard. Whilst he was cooking, Nagito had taken the time to retrieve the required equipment and placed them on the table so it would be easier to serve. Hajime noted that there was only one bowl.
"Get another bowl."
"Huh?" Nagito looked confused.
"I made you some."
"Oh—" Hajime looked over, and saw that the other had a genuine look of shock on his face. He clearly wasn't expecting the kind action. Nagito followed the command, selecting a bowl for himself. "Thank you, Hinata. This looks delicious! But, you didn't really have to waste your time making me some as well."
"…It's soup." He stared blankly at Nagito. He gave the pot another stir. "You said yourself that you couldn't cook, so what were you going to eat instead?"
Nagito at least had the decency to look at least a little ashamed. Hajime presumed that Fuyuhiko been taking pity on him and making him food. Either that or he hadn't been eating much as well.
"Well then… I suppose I'll take advantage of your kindness. Thank you, Hinata."
Within a short while, the soup was ready to be served and he poured it into the prepared bowls without much consideration. They moved over to the chairs, choosing to eat in the conference room instead of returning to his own hospital room out of convenience's sake.
Nagito took his first sip, and his eyes widened slightly before his face broke into a genuine smile. "This is amazing! I never knew you were such a good cook."
Hajime lifted his own spoon. The first taste hit his tongue and it felt like he was chewing on ash. Bland – to him at least. He swallowed anyway.
"It's acceptable."
They ate together in silence, the only audible sounds the quiet clink of spoons against bowls. When he finished eating, Hajime noticed that he was feeling substantially better.
Probably because I've actually had food now.
He stood up from the stool, prepared to go clean up when Nagito interjected.
"Ah, wait! Please, allow me. I can clean up. After all, you made the food. It is the least I could do." Nagito stood up as well, walking towards him to take his bowl off his hands. "I'm going to be doing a lot of cleaning anyway, so this won't be a bother at all, haha."
"…Okay."
For a moment, Hajime stayed where he was stood by the table – simply watching the other go about the room, collecting all the dirtied utensils. An inexplicably domestic feeling warmed his body. As he watched, the warmth prodded at his insides incessantly, a reminder of times long past.
…
(He is not the same. There is no merit in indulging.)
Yet, the feeling persisted.
He forced it down, the feeling dissipating and being drowned out by an apathetic numbness. The closed door shut out any remaining sound, a firm confirmation of his decision.
He turned and left.
In the end, there really wasn't much for him to do in here. This hospital was boring. This situation was boring. And it was boring how menial the routines had gotten.
Although— the other occupants of this island would undoubtedly disagree with his sentiment. They were like ants, scurrying around and clinging to whatever they could prolong their minuscule lives.
(And right now, he was one of those ants. An underwhelmingly trivial existence among many.)
Soon enough, he made it back to his room without any issues.
He didn't remember how long he sat upright in the bed – the chill of the outside air battling against his abnormally heated skin – before he eventually drifted off to sleep.
The cold was the last thing on his mind.
█
█ ███
G██d █u█k.
██ █
█
The first thing he became aware of was the cold. It seeped into his skin, sharp and unrelenting, like he was lying on a slab of ice. His body felt heavy, limbs leaden and unresponsive, as though they no longer belonged to him (which wouldn't exactly be wrong). His arms tried to twitch subconsciously, but he kept them plastered to his sides. It wasn't like he would be able to move them much anyway – they always restrained him, no matter how docile he acted nor how compliant he was.
A dull ache pulsed at the base of his skull, throbbing in time with the faint, rhythmic beeping that echoed somewhere in the distance. The air smelled of antiseptic and various other chemicals he did not care to name.
He stared up blankly at the ceiling. The light above was blindingly harsh, stabbing into his retinas like needles. It was white – like everything else in this place. White walls, sterile and featureless. White clinical gowns that they forced him to wear. It was boring constantly having to look at such a monotonous colour (although, that wasn't to say he wouldn't be bored if it was any other colour).
If he could feel hate, then he didn't doubt that he would've hated it. He would've liked to hate this wretched place, or feel any emotion over than sheer, utter boredom.
He turned his head to the side, eyeing a tray of instruments - gleaming steel, sharp edges catching the light. There lay: needles, scalpels, and any other tool they could get their hands on that would help in their escapade of dissecting him.
However, they weren't here. Strange, considering they were almost always watching over him in some degree. Perhaps they were observing from afar this time, monitoring his reactions.
Well. It's not like he cared anyway.
Afterall, nothing mattered in the end.
His head felt like it was starting to fill with cotton, smothering every thought except that singular one. His vision started to fizzle out into black at the edges, fading like a worn-out photograph.
Nothing mattered.
Everything would remain boring. Like the ceiling above him, the room around him. Nothing will change.
Nothing will matter.
.
█
-
—████ ██
(There's still ████ please!)
█ ████— ██ █████
██ █
-
█
Pain will be an expected constant in his life. White confines will be the only thing he will ever see. Stagnation.
This nothingness…
█ ███ GET O█T ████ ██ PLE█SE ████ ES█APE █ C███ H██DL█ TH█S ███████—
█ ████ ██ ████ ███████ ███ ███ ███ ███ █ ████ ██ ███ ████ ██████ ████
█ ████ ██ ████
—
██ █ ███
█…
…is so, very boring.
ESCAPE.
The first thing he did when he regained consciousness was lurch upright and off of the surface he was confined to like it burned him. All he could register was the feeling of fear as it encompassed everything (which was wrong because he shouldn't be able to feel fear ██ ████ He was just a weapon, he was not human).
What—? What's going o— breathe. Come on, breathe—?
No! I need to leave—!
His chest heaved, lungs burning as if he'd been drowning, but the air was thin and useless as it caught in his throat.
His fingers clawed desperately around him. He didn't expect how easily the restrictions covering him gave way. The weight that was previously smothering him was hurled across the room to god-knows-where. Subsequently from the force, he also tumbled to the floor in a heap, body colliding with the ground with a thud that jolted each of his senses and made him wince from the pain.
I-I'm not safe— I need to move— hide— anything—
He scrambled backwards, shifting to wedge himself between the edge of the bed and something solid. A wall (a cage). His mind screamed for him to do something but his body locked in place. Breaths came in ragged gasps, each one tearing at his throat like shards of glass.
I-I need to… to—
Everything was cold— so, so cold that he shivered violently in the frigid room. Yet, at the same time, everything was burning, roasting him alive, scorching his every nerve as fire traversed his body and decimated each part of him like a tyrant was lighting him ablaze.
No no no—
(He didn't like this— he didn't want this. He never wanted this.)
The walls seemed to press in— stifling, suffocating, strangling him in it's unforgiving grip because why the hell would this room ever be merciful? He'd been trapped in this cell long enough to know that it wouldn't let him free. He had been stuck in here for so long that he morbidly thought he might die of boredom before the ███████████ ever kill him.
████ ███ He was going to rot in here. He was going to die in here—
…I'm going to die. I'm dying—
Static filled his mind.
I'm not surviving I'm going to disappear I'M GOING TO DISAPPEAR—
██████ ████ ██
His eyes burned. He squeezed them shut, willing the darkness to just swallow him whole and to smother him until he couldn't feel a thing anymore.
He heaved. Then choked on the breath. Then tried again. And again. And again. His lungs were fighting him just like the rest of his body, just like his head as he felt it start to tear itself apart like a cornered animal – a trapped beast in a cage.
(It's not like his brain was exactly his anymore anyway, nor his lungs, nor any other part of his body.)
He was so pathetic like this: body trembling against the floor, curling up tighter in the corner as if making himself smaller will somehow save him from this nightmare.
Shuddering, he went to clench his hands but instead opened them once he found that they were already closed. His fists were clenched so tightly that blood seeped from freshly opened wounds. Coating his nails was the vibrant red that he was all-too familiar with. It was fitting to see on his hands; It coated them like a glove: normal, expected because when has he ever expected to not see blood on his hands?
The red was everywhere. It was all he could see.
He felt like he could drown in it.
He…
█
—█████ ██
█ ██
…he didn't…
"—shit Hinata! Pull yourself together!" Rough hands clamped down over his own, and yanked them away from his head. It hurt, but it barely mattered to him, barely registered.
(His first instinct, however, was to flinch violently, because the firm grip reminded him way too much of the very same handcuffs that they used on—)
Hajime opened his eyes, staring ahead blankly and seeing a hunched figure crouched before him.
"Fuck— I don't know… uhh." They fumbled for a moment, clearly taken aback by his near-violent reaction. However, they kept holding him. "Hey, can you hear me now?"
He blinked.
"…Kuzuryu?"
"Oh thank fuck. I was calling out to you for a while and you didn't respond at all," Fuyuhiko replied. Although he didn't explicitly say it, he was obviously concerned. His eyebrows were pinched together in worry, and even his hold on his arms had a certain degree of gentleness – all of which would've been severely unusual if not for his recent development.
He blinked again, this time, finally taking a breather before examining his surroundings once again.
…Right… I'm in a room, in the Hospital, on the third island.
I'm still in a hospital let me out I want to leave—
Calm down.
He sucked in another breath.
I'm fine, there's no reason to freak out.
Why was I freaking out? A bad dream? But— why can't I remember?
"What…" Hajime winced at how hoarse his voice was. "What happened?"
"Well, I don't really know either. You just started panicking and screaming—" I was screaming? "— and I came in because I was worried. Hell, I thought you were being murdered!"
Honestly, Hajime was a little surprised that the gangsta had willingly admitted that he was worried.
…Maybe that was a sign that he was really acting off for this to affect the other so much.
Fuyuhiko continued. "Well, whatever. I'm glad you're… okay." (He didn't feel okay but he wouldn't mention that.) "Owari'd started crying again, but she's stopped now so I'm guessing she just got scared when you started fucking going crazy and all that.
"Right…" Hajime was still trembling slightly, but he had felt significantly better once he had analysed his surroundings. "Sorry."
For a brief moment, there was silence as they simply stared at each other.
…Awkward.
So this is what happens when you throw two emotionally stunted teenagers into a room together with a whole bunch of volatile emotions.
Noticing that he was stilling holding on to Hajime's arms, Fuyuhiko quickly let go. He made sure not to do it more aggressively than necessary – which, Hajime appreciated. Then, Fuyuhiko pushed himself up off his knees with an exasperated sigh.
"Come on."
"Huh?"
Fuyuhiko was already at the door, turning around when he didn't hear footsteps following. "We're gonna go outside. You look like you need some air. This time, I'm accompanying you so you don't try an escape attempt again."
Again, wasn't even an escape attempt but okay.
Brushing away the thought, Hajime got up off the floor. It took a bit of effort considering that, during the night, the symptoms must've worsened again. His skin was clammy, and he could feel a faint sheen of sweat coating him. There was also a mild ache in his head, a threatening reminder to the absolutely awful migraine he had when he first contracted the disease.
I really hope it's not as bad this time.
He winced slightly as he noticed the state of his room; it was – quite frankly – a mess. He must've knocked over many things during his delirium, one of which being the (thankfully) empty cup now on the floor; the blanket was launched to by the door, and he gingerly picked it up and returned it to its place on the bed.
Once he deemed it… presentable enough, he got into step by Fuyuhiko, the two of them beginning to walk through the dark hospital. It was incredibly quiet, the silence only broken by the sound of their footsteps as they made their way towards the hospital exit.
What time is it? By estimation, it is around—
Wait, why am I trying to estimate? There's a clock right there.
Sure enough, once they were in the entrance hall, Hajime glanced upwards quickly. There, on the wall, an insignificant-looking clock informed him that it was in fact 2:07am.
Ah. He felt kinda bad about waking both Kuzuryu and Owari (and possibly Ibuki) up with his little… episode.
Well. Hajime couldn't change anything about that now. Fuyuhiko was currently leading him somewhere and—
Speaking of. Is it even safe to go out at night like this? …Is he trying to kill m—
He firmly shook his head to clear his thoughts. No, Kuzuryu wouldn't do that… right? Maybe in the past, but he's changed now. Either way, I'll keep my guard up. Just in case.
A rush of cool air hit him as Fuyuhiko unlocked and opened the door, holding it for him as he walked out.
Hajime didn't know what he was expecting, but it was beautiful. The night sky was a mesmerising mix of inky blues and starlight pastels; specks of white accented the canvas and illuminated the entire area in a dim sapphire hue. The outside of the hospital looked vastly different compared to during day time, but it wasn't a bad kind of different. Although the nighttime air was significantly cooler than its day counterpart, he found that it wasn't to an uncomfortable degree. It felt nice against his feverish skin.
He inhaled – a deep breath in – then exhaled.
Yeah. Fuyuhiko might've been right. This definitely is calming.
Faintly, he regretted having not gone out more after the sun set to admire the view at night. (But, then again, he didn't have the luxury of guaranteed safety if he left his cabin alone.)
Fuyuhiko walked over to the same patch of grass that Hajime was lying on in the morning. He sat down, paused for a moment, then tentatively pat the grass beside him. Hajime followed the gesture, and sat down as well. He chose not to question the uncharacteristic show of kindness (mostly because he would get punched in the face if he dared even mention it).
There, they simply rested on the grass for a bit – Fuyuhiko leaning against the hospital so that his back was against it, and Hajime relenting and lying down on his back like last time.
He gazed up at the selcouth stars.
Pretty but…
His face scrunched up in slight confusion.
There was just a faint nagging feeling in his brain, whispering that the sky was… odd. He didn't recognise it, for some reason. Which— was weird because why the hell would he recognise stars in the first place? But, the more he looked up - eyes darting between each shining gem imbedded in the sky - the more he felt that it was strange.
The stars are wrong.
Well... everything's been strange for a while, hasn't it?
The silence was broken as Fuyuhiko spoke up, looking like he was fed up of the quiet.
"Listen, I know that I'm not exactly the… empathetic type." He sighed, scratching his head. "I kinda fucking suck at this crap."
Hajime could tell, but he appreciated the sentiment.
"So… you wanna talk about it?"
He considered it for a moment. Honestly, he was already feeling a lot better now that he was out of the hospital (thank god, I didn't want to be in there any longer than I had to—), and he also just didn't really know what exactly to talk about.
"I'm… fine. I just… panicked." He swallowed dryly. "I think it was the stress of the hospital getting to me."
"Okay," Fuyuhiko hummed at his answer. Then, he switched the topic. "Now… what the hell is your disease, then?"
It took a while for Hajime to process what he said. "Huh?"
"Tch, I said 'the hell is your disease?' We thought it was 'Apathetic Disease' or sum' shit right, but it clearly isn't."
"When did you think that? I don't think I've been apathetic at any point…"
I think I've only been a little unhelpful, but not downright ignoring people or anything.
"Wh— don't mess with me!" Ah, there's the typical Kuzuryu anger. I was wondering when he was going to snap. "You were right there when we diagnosed your ass!"
Yes, I was.
I was?
"I don't remember—"
"—Tch, nevermind then. Doesn't matter anyway 'cus it clearly ain't that. Just means we don't got a fucking clue what it is now."
Hajime wanted to press further but he eventually decided against it.
…I don't really know what it is either.
He frowned.
That… isn't helpful considering it's a motive. Monokuma wouldn't give us something so seemingly simple without danger.
Another sigh from the other broke his thoughts. "…It's whatever. We'll deal with whatever shit that bastard throws at us, so—"
"Hiya!"
Hajime had never whipped around so fast before in his life as he turned to face the new person who had spoken.
Ibuki stood at the entrance of the hospital, stumbling with every other step as she wobbled towards them.
"Hiya hiya!" she chanted eagerly with a wide smile. Hajime could see a small bit of drool at the edge of her mouth.
The disease was still hitting her hard.
"What the fuck—? Get back in bed!" Fuyuhiko lurched to his feet, stomping over to Ibuki as she continued to giggle deliriously.
"Hehe… but, I got hungry, and I couldn't find you guys. I'm glad I found you guys now!" She gave a little salute, clearly happy with herself.
"Right, right. Follow me. I'll make you some food then… Fucking hell, I'm babysitting a bunch of toddlers." Fuyuhiko mumbled the last bit, then started to trudge towards the hospital with a loyal Ibuki in tow. "This is what I get for forgetting to lock the damn door…"
Hajime followed suit, finding it likely that Fuyuhiko would scream at him next if he decided to linger outside any longer. As he approached the door, he felt the beginning pangs of fear bubble up inside him, before he pushed it down.
It's just a hospital.
He walked into the entrance hall, and that feeling multiplied by tenfold as the overwhelming weight of just get out get out— need to escape this place—
He sucked in a breath.
Just. A. Hospital.
Calm down.
He faintly noted the sound of Fuyuhiko locking the door (with another spike of fear he fought to keep down). He didn't even know that door had a lock. Honestly, they should've been locking it from the start.
…Actually, it was more likely that they have been and he just got lucky when he slipped out.
They definitely have been locking it.
Due to his thoughts, he was distracted. He barely held himself from jumping back as he noticed a hand wildly flying about in front of his face.
"Yoohoo? Hinata–? Oh! There you are!" Ibuki smiled at him, the sick-induced glaze of her eyes making her appear almost uncanny to him. Briefly, he wondered if his eyes were as distant as hers, if he also looked just as sickly and weak. "Hehe, you look kinda like a—"
"Hey! If you don't fucking quit it, I'll beat the shit out of you!"
"Yes sir! I do not want to get beat up, sorry sir!" Ibuki saluted again.
Fuyuhiko glowered, looking like he was the one sick with how frustrated he was. Hajime was starting to pity him a bit for having been stuck with nighttime duty.
The yakuza didn't even bother with a reply before going to drag Ibuki by her hand, which she took in stride as she happily skipped along. Hajime walked behind them, following as they made it all the way to the conference room.
Huh. Is this where they keep food and supplies?
Fuyuhiko let go of Ibuki, leaving her outside. Then he pushed open the door without another word and went all the way to the far back of the room – past cluttered tables with ingredients and utensils covering them – where a small, unassuming box sat. Hajime peaked into the room from where he stood at the doorway. He scanned the room, filing down every aspect of it for future reference.
For a brief moment, his eyes stilled on the tabletop—
The knives are missing. Someone has taken them.
—before he turned and continued to watch Fuyuhiko again.
From where he was stood, Hajime saw that the box was actually full of small, little snack bars (protein bars, if he had to guess), each wrapped individually in a distinct bright, green packaging. Fuyuhiko retrieved a handful of them, stomping back over and shoving them into Ibuki's hands.
"Here, okay? No point cooking now if we're gonna be eating in the morn—"
"Yay! Thank you, Mr. Gangsta guy! You're so nice, haha!" She happily rocked back and fourth on her feet; if her hands weren't preoccupied, there was no doubt that she would've launched her arms around Fuyuhiko to hug him.
"Yeah yeah whatever," he dismissed easily. Although, Hajime noted that the tips of his ears flushed a subtle pink. "Let's just go back to your rooms already. I'm fucking tired enough as is."
Hajime felt like he could share that sentiment. Having a… whatever that panic was made him feel exhausted. Not to mention, the disease was making his limbs weaker than usual. That small walk from outside to up the stairs already elevated his breathing from the effort. He was ready to just collapse as soon as he hit the bed.
So, they began their walk back. Hajime's room was first, so Fuyuhiko waved him goodnight before leaving to make sure Ibuki got back to her room safely (despite the fact it was literally the room next door).
When his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light.
There they stood – their back towards him – just at the edge of the decrepit room. They were humming that same tuneless melody again; it was one that he could distinctly recognise.
They didn't appear to notice him. That was expected.
He walked up behind them, footsteps silent against the rotted floorboards as he strode across the room. Then, he stopped just behind them. All the while, they stayed unaware, simply continuing with cleaning up the shelf on the wall in front of them. For a while, he watched them work, observing the way they flitted about and stumbled awkwardly every once in a while.
He wanted to try something new. Something potentially interesting.
So – when they stopped for just a moment – he moved.
His arms encircled them.
He instantly felt them freeze up in his hold.
"Ah—! Uhm— █-██████! What are y-you doing?"
"…This is called a hug. Is it not?"
He held them a little tighter, drawing an uncharacteristic squeak from them.
"Ah— I… I— uhm…" The usually silver-tongued Servant fumbled with their words. They stood ramrod straight, with their arms pinned to their sides, as if they dared not move at all. If he could see their face, he had no doubt that their eyes would be darting around frantically, not knowing what to do at all in this situation.
He found this new development intriguing.
"What is the matter, Servant?" The leather jacket they wore crinkled under his grip, its rough texture and wide appearance hiding the skinny body underneath.
(How unlike him to tease. Was this what it felt like to find something that peaked his interest?)
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead lightly against their back. He could just barely feel the warmth of their body through the many layers. He found that – despite them running somewhat cold – they were still warmer than him. It was something to be fond of.
"P-please, you shouldn't touch such lowly trash such as me! Ah— I'm not worthy of—"
"Quiet."
They shut up instantly.
He noticed the tips of their ears turning a hot pink, the flush spreading to be visible at the nape of their neck. A predictable reaction, perhaps, to being embarrassed. But, he found that he enjoyed it nonetheless.
Embarrassment was not something he saw regularly on the other. If anything, they were usually composed, unfazed by majority of what occurred in the world. Cold confidence was what they exuded; no matter whatever self-deprecating facade they applied to themselves, it was an innate part of their character.
There was something that was… so riveting about being able to make the other drop their veneer so easily.
██ He would do this █ more, in the █ future█ ██.
█
███ ██ █
█ █████ █
██ █ ███
█
█ █
Wake up.
██
█
█ █ ██
█
"—inata! Hinata! Wake the fuck up right now!" A pair of hands violently shook him back and fourth. "This is urgent! Hinata!"
"Mm… wha…?"
"Get! Up! Hell— Mioda, I'll— punch you or something if you don't help me wake him up!"
"Right on it sir!"
Suddenly, another pair of hands grabbed onto his legs and yanked. Without any grace, he fell onto the floor. The combination of the cold and the pain instantly woke him up.
"Ow! What the hell—?!"
"Hinata! Owari's missing!"
What?!
Okay, that just woke him up even further. Ignoring the ache in his arms (and the fever-induced weakness that made his limbs shake threateningly) he weakly pushed himself up off the floor.
"Where did you last see her?!"
"She was just meant to be in her room— I checked on her after the nighttime announcement and she was asleep!" Fuyuhiko seemed so nervous, which, Hajime had never really seen on them before. That made the reality of the situation set in even more. "Then I checked up on her this morning and she wasn't fucking there! She's not in the hospital at all! And— no one's here so I can't just leave you two as well, so you're both gonna help me look for her! Now, hurry the fuck up!"
Hajime stood – using the bed as a crutch – as he hobbled to his feet. Not far from him, Ibuki leant against the wall, looking like she was the same level of sick as he was.
They were both tired. They were both exhausted and weak and not fit to be moving about much from the disease that had been ravaging their bodies for the past couple days. But fuck was he going to not look for a missing friend!
There is no point.
There is a point! We need to go look for her!
Hajime took one step forward, then stumbled instantly. Luckily, Fuyuhiko reached out a hand, keeping a hold on him and letting him steady himself. Then, he reached for both his and Ibuki's arms.
"God damn it— I really don't want to do this but we don't have a fucking choice. So just— bear with it, okay?!"
"Yes sir!"
Fuyuhiko was anxious. He could tell, easily. He was also probably feeling very guilty. If Owari died on his watch – had somehow gotten murdered or even murdered someone else – he would be stuck with that guilt of having left her to her own devices, to her demise.
They had to find her.
"Right—" Hajime swallowed. "She was sick too, so she couldn't have gotten far. She has to still be on this island."
If someone else didn't take her somewhere.
He discarded that thought. No, he wouldn't assume the worst yet.
Fuyuhiko lead them along, dragging them both in a hurried stride as they bordered on near-running through the halls. He instantly headed to the hospital exit, unlocking it (wait, unlocking it—?) and flinging the door open without any regard.
He blinked blearily as the light from the sun assaulted his eyes.
7am? Fuyuhiko must've woken up at the morning announcement, so it's past that now, probably around 7:15.
No— the time didn't matter. He just had to help look.
As soon as they exited the hospital, Fuyuhiko took a sharp left. The music venue would be their first stop. Hajime stumbled again, but he kept on running. Even as he panted heavily, even as his body felt lethargic and excessively weak, he didn't dare slow his pace for fear of what might happen. Ibuki followed dutifully as well, her smile not once dropping even though he could tell it was strained.
There, Titty Typhoon approached in the distance. They sprinted towards it with haste, and, without slowing down, Fuyuhiko barged into the door and sent it flying open.
The three stumbled in, and there—
(Aha, he should've known he'd be lucky enough to not need to run any longer.)
—Akane's body lay.