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He was just curious. That was all.
Nobody was supposed to know. He wasn’t even going to do it for more than a few minutes. He would put the thing on, take inventory, get it off and never think about it again. Simple, fast, solve the puzzle and get out. Easy.
And could you blame him for wanting to know? It’s natural to wonder about things you have no answer for. Makoto just wanted to see what it was all about; the girls in anime were always wearing outfits like this, so what would it feel like to try one on?
He nabbed the dress itself from Komaru’s closetful of cosplays and, after some consideration, took a medium-length black wig too. All the better to be realistic, right?
The stockings gave him trouble, as did the strange underwear and the garter and… actually, everything gave him trouble. The number of hooks, clasps, and zippers on the wretched thing was positively obscene. He couldn’t ask for help either, because this was secret, remember?
He came close to giving up around the point where the hooks on the padded bra wouldn’t seem to secure themselves, but he grit his teeth and, with that distinctive Makoto determination, got the entire ensemble on.
He didn’t look in the mirror yet, instead dredging up internet instructions on how to put on a wig cap. It wasn’t until he had the wig in place and had steeled himself for what he may see that he turned to look, and whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t that.
He looked like a girl.
Really like a girl. Like, if he had passed himself on the street, he wouldn’t have realized that oh, that’s a guy in drag.
He looked like a girl.
His mother kept her cosmetics, of which there were more varieties than he could ever possibly keep straight, under the bathroom sink. The internet was a lifesaver for that one as well, because without instruction he would probably just have accidentally painted his face like some sort of demented glitter-eyeshadow rainbow. He managed, though, and afterward he hardly even recognized himself.
Okay, he thought, interesting.
And then he kept thinking, and one thought led to another, and long story short he decided to try out the integrity of this disguise- because that was the potential he saw. Everyone knew Makoto the Boy, Super High School Level Good Luck. Nobody knew Makoto the Girl, Absolute Nobody. Imagine the possibilities!
He struggled out of the maid outfit and put it back where it had come from. Then he sifted through Komaru’s everyday clothes until he found a simple sundress, got dressed, grabbed a purse, and stepped out the door.
After that day, he never meant to do it again. Except he did. Repeatedly. Any time when his normal life got to be too much, he could run away and be Makoto the Girl, unknown and unjudged, free to wander around and do nothing without being under the microscope of Hope’s Peak Student status. It was risky to borrow Komaru’s clothes too often, so Makoto took time on one outing to buy a few outfits that he kept at the bottom of the dresser drawer. They were soon joined by tubes of lip gloss, mascara that his mother wouldn’t miss, a pink, glittery, easily-removed phone strap, and girl’s sandals. It was quite the smooth operation, once he really got it going. With a bit of practice he even managed a fairly realistic female voice.*
Things really got eventful, though, when he got asked out by a guy.
So it was a normal day, right? And he was out as Makoto the Girl, window shopping, enjoying the unseasonably warm weather, when a guy walked up to him. Introduced himself as Hiroki, stammered a bit, blushed, and practically shoved a piece of paper in Makoto’s face. Once Makoto had unfolded and read it- Hiroki’s number and a request to go out some time- Hiroki was gone.
Makoto went out again the next day, walked the same route, ran into Hiroki again.
“W-would you walk with me?”
“Sure,” Makoto chirped, and linked his arm through Hiroki’s. They were silent for a while as they made their way down the street, long enough for Makoto to realize that Hiroki wasn’t about to start the conversation. “Soooo… Why me?”
“You… you come h-here often, right? I- I’m here a lot, so I noticed and thought you were cute and… and…”
Hiroki stared at the pavement, looking absolutely mortified. It was probably a good thing he’d stopped talking; with every word his face had gotten more red, and Makoto was slightly worried that he would pop a blood vessel if he continued.
“Well, Hiroki-kun, I’m flattered, and I’m sure you’re a good person. Unfortunately, I’m afraid you may have a problem with me.”
“H-huh? Why?”
“Let’s stop here.” Makoto steered them into a coffee shop, where he refused to answer any questions until they’d ordered drinks and sat down at a table in the corner.
“You see, Hiroki-kun, I’m a guy.”
The expression on Hiroki’s face was… interesting. Very, very interesting.
“E-eeeh?!”
“My name is Makoto. I have a… busy life normally, and I dress like this to not be recognized.” He laughed a little. “Well, I suppose I’m not particularly famous and I’d probably be fine usually, but I’d rather not take the chance on being recognized. And it’s kind of fun.”
“Y-you… You’re male?!”
“Yes.”
“I-I…”
Makoto sipped at his coffee. “Sorry for asking this of you, but I’d prefer if you don’t tell anyone. I think that by trying to hide my identity I’ve just raised the stakes for if I’m figured out.”
“I- Uh- O-okay. Sure. I can do… I can do that.”
Relief spread through his body, a warm, relaxed tingle as he released a breath. “Thank you.” He made as if to rise, and Hiroki grabbed him by the wrist.
“Wait!”
Makoto turned back.
“W-would you still… still go out with me? Just once?”
Makoto laughed, pried the fingers off his arm, pretended his heart wasn’t racing. “We’re already on a coffee date!”
“I mean really. P-properly. I’d still like to have a chance, if you’d give me one!”
Makoto considered it. On one hand, it would make balancing Makoto the Boy’s life against Makoto the Girl’s life that much more difficult. He couldn’t exactly go out with Hiroki as Makoto the Boy- even if Hiroki knew the truth, being seen could raise questions about how they met.
On the other hand, there was the prospect of having a boyfriend. Makoto had never dated anyone. He kissed a girl once in his younger years, but he’d never been in a relationship, and dating anyone was exciting new territory.
“Okay,” he said, and that was how Naegi Makoto figured out he was bi.
They didn’t last long, but that was okay. While Hiroki was sweet and considerate, Makoto found that his shocked expression was nearly the most interesting thing about him. They broke up on good terms, and they still talked when they ran into each other on the street. They just weren’t an item anymore.
On another note, things at Hope’s Peak were getting interesting. Fujisaki Chihiro had recently been outed as a crossdresser. Celestia Ludenberg, resident liar, and Ishimaru Kiyotaka, definition of straitlaced, had somehow wound up in a relationship. Kuwata Leon had officially blown his chances of ever scoring with Maizono Sayaka. Makoto was head over heels for Togami Byakuya.
Oh, right, that.
Yeah, so being bi and attending the most prestigious school in the country wasn’t exactly the greatest combination. Under any other circumstances Makoto would say, screw it, let’s do this thing. But those weren’t other circumstances. First of all, there was no guarantee that Togami would even swing that way, and then there was the fact that even if he did he probably wouldn’t admit it, and then there was the whole Makoto-crossdresses-in-his-freetime thing. Sure, Fujisaki’s revelation had been generally well-received, but that was a day-to-day thing. Makoto’s habits were an escape, not to be shared. If he started dating Togami, well. Togami wasn’t stupid. He'd figure it out eventually, and there was nothing to say it would stay secret from there.
Except secrets have this awful habit of getting out, and it was just Makoto’s luck- hah, luck, get it- that his secret was also subject to the whims of a teenaged author who felt the need to reveal it to the one person he least wanted to know.
I mean, duh.
So he was out and sitting on a park bench on a nice warm day, dressed as Makoto the Girl, texting Hiroki because he had nothing better to do, and someone sat down on the bench next to him. No big deal, right? People sit on benches all the time. It’s what benches are for. Benches wouldn’t exist if not to provide a resting place for someone’s butt, and if a bench wasn’t capable so such a simple, singular task, it was not considered worth its existence and subsequently exiled by its wooden brethren until the sweet embrace of deconstruction came upon its wretched-
Ahem.
Someone sat down on the bench next to him. Only this wasn’t just anyone; Makoto would know those specially-tailored deep green pant legs and spit shined shoes anywhere, and even before the haughty, amused, “Well, who have we here,” he knew that it was over, finished, done, his life was ruined and Togami knew.
Well. Not like Makoto ever had a chance, anyway.
“Exploring the other side of fashion, Naegi?”
God, he must look like some sort of demented tomato with legs now. Makoto’s mouth flapped open and closed, miming words, but nothing emerged but a few strangled squeaks and the first two syllables of Togami’s name.
“For heaven’s sake, stop that. You look ridiculous.” Makoto stopped, relieved. “Good. Now. Carefully structure your sentences so that they actually contain words, then explain to me in concise form what you are doing here in such a getup.”
So Makoto explained. It was probably more long-winded than it could have been were he less nervous, but under the circumstances he felt he did alright. Togami listened silently through the whole thing, his expression blank. When Makoto finished he sat back wearily and shook his head.
“I suppose,” he said bitterly, “I may as well also tell you I like you. ‘S not like you’ll ever want anything to do with me again.”
“When did I ever say that?”
“Huh?” Makoto’s head shot up.
“Che. You may be an idiot, but you should at least know better than to go around putting words into people’s mouths. When did I ever say I had a problem with you?”
“Togami-kun, you have a problem with everybody.”
Togami sniffed and folded his arms. It was very slight, but he also looked slightly to Makoto’s left. “Then you shouldn’t assume that I would have a greater problem with you when I clearly take less issue with you than the great majority of the idiots that are our classmates. Idiot.”
“T-Togami-kun…”
“I thought I had made it clear through my actions in the last several weeks that I actually hold a marginal amount of respect for you. Evidently a portion of that respect is misplaced, if you’re so oblivious to have missed the change in my behavior.”
Makoto’s mind raced, cataloguing every interaction he’d had with Togami over the past few weeks. As he did so, it dawned on him slowly just how obtuse he had been. Every new moment clicked into place and suddenly made sense.
Togami, despite berating him for forgetting a pencil, actually gave him one to use rather than letting him ‘wallow in his self-engineered predicament,’ as he threatened to do.
Togami didn’t call him stupid more than six times when it happened again the next day.
Togami, while making his way around the lunch table to complain about every person there, somehow managed to forget to mention Makoto.
Togami actually called him ‘occasionally intelligent,’ and how dumb must Makoto have been to miss the significance of that?
So absorbed was he in tallying the evidence of his own oblivious nature, Makoto failed to notice when Togami rose and made his way to stand directly in front of him.
“Naegi.”
Makoto tumbled back to reality as though he had stepped off a cliff, landing with an ‘oof’ and a realization that Togami was just a tiny, insignificant, miniscule bit red in the cheeks.
“What am I about to ask you?”
A) Will you teach me to crossdress?
B) Will you join me in an underwater celebration of tupperware?
C) Will you go out with me?
Makoto knew the answer, but in knowing came the power. He was at the advantage in this situation; he was the one with the ability to say no, and that filled him with a strange sort of confidence that sparked his next words.
“Ah, Togami-kun, I’d rather hear you say it.”
That tiny, insignificant, miniscule bit of red deepened slightly. “Why should I stoop to do something so common?”
Makoto put on a childish pout. “When a boy asks a girl such an important question, he ought to say it outright! To assume she knows is cowardly, almost as bad as breaking up via text message!”
“Naegi,” Togami said tersely, pinching the bridge of his nose, “You’re not a girl.”
“I’d hardly say I’m a boy, dressed like this. Come on, ask me!”
“No.”
“Then I’ll say no!”
“That’s fine.”
“Waaaa- Wait, wait, come on! Pleeeease?”
“No.”
“Togami-kuuuun~”
“I said-”
“If you do I’ll say yes and then I’ll kiss you.”
There was a brief silence in which those words dawned on both of them. Makoto promptly wanted nothing more than to go die in a hole. Togami’s redness actually became prominently visible. Makoto’s phone buzzed with a new text from Hiroki, probably questioning the lag in reply time. Five onlookers held their breath.
“I’ll be holding you to that.”
And then Makoto found that his hands were cradled in Togami’s, that Togami had rather soft palms, that Makoto’s own knees were wobbling a bit because this was happenning.
Togami whispered his name, because of course the bastard would choose this moment to be considerate and not broadcast his identity to anyone watching.
“Naegi Makoto-”
He resumed normal volume, Makoto still savoring the moment of gentlemanly behavior.
“Will you go out with me?”
For a second, Makoto couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, could only stare, drink in the moment like the wonder that it was. It was Togami’s quirked eyebrow and the clear, ‘I’m waiting,’ expression that brought him back to reality.
“Yes,” he said, and from that moment there was no turning back.
-/\-
Neither of them can quite come to grips with the images flickering through their minds.
Two years-
Togami-
Naegi-
A couple? A couple.
Two years a couple.
But-
Wait-
No buts. Just memories.
For a second they stand there. Naegi stares at Togami.
(At Byakuya, Byakuya, he started calling him Byakuya after four months together.
Together.)
Togami stares at Naegi.
(Makoto, he whispers, and for a moment they freeze, and then Makoto kisses him even harder and answers with I love you.)
And neither knows what to do.
(I thought you killed someone.)
(For a moment I considered killing you.)
There are four other people in the room, all looking distraught in their own ways. Hagakure is muttering to himself, raking his fingers through his dreadlocks with a mantra of, “Messed up, messed up, it’s all so messed up.” Fukawa is gnawing on her fingernails and trembling. Asahina is sobbing quietly, renewed tears for Sakura, and Makoto tries to imagine what it would be like if he couldn’t feel this relief that Togami- Byakuya- Whatever he calls him is alive. He can't.
Kirigiri- Kyouko, he called her Kyouko back then- Kyouko, when Makoto turns to her, is staring at him steadily. Her gaze momentarily shifts to Byakuya, then back again, a silent question.
The Future Foundation had been wary of returning their memories, fearing a psychotic break or descent, despite everything, into despair. These six students were all that remained of the Hope’s Peak student body, the embodiment of hope. None of them could be lost.
“Hey.”
Naegi steps to the center of the room. The walls are flat planes, the room a small metal cube throughout which special waves can be bounced. He doesn’t quite understand the science, but he does know that it managed to return their memories, and in that case he doesn’t really care how it works.
“So we’ve got our memories back now.”
He can hear Byakuya’s words in that piercing gaze. Way to state the obvious, he seems to be saying dryly, Get to the point Makoto.
“And you know what? Don’t let it affect you.”
“Eeh?” Hagakure’s expression is incredulous. Naegi-chi, you know we can’t exactly ignore it.”
“I’m not saying to ignore your memories. I’m saying that they shouldn’t hold you back. Learn from them. Take what you can, love the people there, hold onto them, and then don’t dwell on things you can’t change.” He smiles and is surprised how watery the world looks. When did he start crying?
“Keep moving. Keep living. That’s what they would have wanted, right?”
He wants to say more. He wants to make a proper speech, to find the words like he did before, to scream to the heavens that hope isn’t over yet. But he chokes up with tears- and that’s okay. He can see it in all their faces, the solidarity and the love. They know what he means.
This is the first time he has cried since the beginning of the game.
It all comes out now, all the grief and all the pain. The loss and the fear and the guilt and the helplessness; it all flows out of him in his tears. But those aren’t the only things that cause him to weep: there is also pride there for these five companions who weathered the storm, unspeakable relief that he is alive, that Byakuya and Kyouko are alive, that any of them survived that hell and came out this strong. There is gratitude toward Sakura for enabling their escape, new joy in Byakuya by his side, and determination to fight for the world’s sake in their lives ahead.
There is hope.
He reaches out and twines the fingers of his right hand with Byakuya’s left, then his left with Kyouko’s right, and cheesy as it may have seemed before everything, the circle they form is anything but childish. It is their companionship, their combined strength.
“W-we… We really made it,” Fukawa says staring at her hand in Asahina’s. “W-we’re alive.”
Naegi smiles through his tears and squeezes Byakuya’s hand. It’s slight, almost unnoticeable-
(Like that blush so long ago…)
But it’s there.
“Yeah,” he whispers hoarsely, and the words taste like freedom. “We are.”