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The air was thick with still thick with smoke and the smell of blood when Komaeda’s body came into view, mutilated. Deep cuts, more than necessary for a quick murder, decorated his thighs and arms. They oozed blood, staining the dark green jacket that he always wore. His hand was stabbed clean through with a small knife, while his other was forced to hold tightly onto the weapon that would finally end his suffering when he slipped from consciousness. His legs were otherwise bound by ropes, keeping him stretched in place.
Hajime felt sick, buckling over as vomit filled his mouth.
Now, back in his cabin with Komaeda patched up before him, Hajime was shaking slightly. The memory still cycled through his mind, hours later. The smell of blood was all too real to him and the image of Komaeda’s face - eyes wide and pained like he’d never seen before, skin paler than he thought possible - was still vivid. Deep breaths and quiet, calm words failed to ease him.
He chose to keep watch of Komaeda, despite the trauma. The others hadn’t wanted to anyway, so it hardly took the suggestion of it for them to agree. That’s how he ended up with Komaeda lying on his bed, bandaged like a mummy. He’d spent a while examining him further, reassuring himself that somehow, against all odds, Komaeda was alive. Hajime supposed his survival had something to do with that luck of his, and if so, he’d never let Komaeda call his talent worthless again.
People came and left the cabin often enough in the days following. Everyone was doing their best to take care of Komaeda while they dealt with their feelings towards him and thier suspicion now aimed at the others. Whether or not they wanted to admit it, someone among the survivors had tried to kill again. While the assault may have failed, the malice behind the attack was evident in the deep wounds Komaeda bore, and it was likely that the culprit would strike again.
A sense of unease dominated the island, but Hajime hardly noticed while holed up mostly in his cabin. Despite his actions, he found it hard to hate Komaeda. Perhaps part of him was clinging to the kind, laid back guy he’d met on his first day on the island, or maybe it was the injuries that Komaeda now wore that bred sympathy within Hajime. No matter the explanation, he scarcely left Komaeda’s side while he was unconscious.
It was a few weeks later when Komaeda woke up. He was dazed, mumbling quietly to himself inaudibly, and Hajime had lept up from his chair upon the first sign of movement. In moments he was by his side, holding back a million questions he’d been thinking over for what felt like an eternity
“Are you okay?” He had asked, hands keeping Komaeda from sitting up fully and potentially hurting himself further.
“Huh?” Komaeda asked in return, blinking a few times before his eyes were able to focus on Hajime. He took in the room. A range of emotions crossed his face before he settled on confused. “Why am I..?” his voice was hoarse from inuse.
“This is my cabin; we couldn’t find the key to yours.” Hajime quickly explained.
“Oh.”
“How are you feeling?”
There was a pause.
“I’m okay.” he tried to sit up again, wincing, and Hajime let him. It felt as though there was a chasm between the two.
“Are you sure? You were…” he swallowed, the smell of blood returning along with images of what he was, at the time, sure was a corpse.
Komaeda smiled weakly. “I’m fine. There’s no need to worry about someone like me.” His words didn’t reassure Hajime, but he didn’t argue; he didn’t have the energy.
“Are you hungry? You’ve been asleep for a while.” he said instead, trying to forget that Komaeda was injured, and badly.
“Yes, actually, but I can-” Komaeda stopped as he tried to get out of bed. He fell back, having barely moved his leg off the bed before the pain was too much.
“I’ll get you something, then,” Hajime replied before getting up. He cast a glance behind him. Would Komaeda be alright by himself? Surely, his attacker wouldn’t have time to make another attempt if Hajime was just out for a few minutes. Surely. Hopefully Komaeda wouldn’t try to move too much, either.
He left his cabin, quickly returning with food. When he entered, Komaeda was exactly where he left him, staring off into the distant abyss. His look of subtle contemplation melted away as soon as he realized that Hajime had arrived.
“There wasn’t much left, since it’s late, but-” Hajime cut himself off, handing Komaeda the plate of toast and berries he grabbed from restaurant before taking his seat by the bed.
“Thank you.”
It was quiet while he ate. Hajime turned his attention to the window, and the waves which he could see off in the far distance. The calm ebb of the ocean only occupied his thoughts for a few brief moments before his attention returned to Komaeda, which it seemed to do so often.
He still couldn’t believe that Komaeda had survived the torture he endured. The deep, oozing cuts, the harsh contact of the rope on his skin, the duct tape - it was a lot. It was brutal; more violent than any murder they’d come across in their time on the island. This was largely because the nature of the killing game discouraged such violence. You did not need to torture their victim in order to ensure death, and the longer you spend committing your murder the more likely it is that you’ll leave behind a damning clue or even get caught in the act.
Yet, the person who attacked Komaeda took the time to hurt him as much as they could manage without making it nigh impossible to get away. The act clearly had been motivated by some deep hatred, but such hate and cruelty was uncharacteristic of any of the people Hajime had come to know on Jabberwock. Kazuichi was too lighthearted to want to hurt anyone that much, and he found it hard to believe Sonia could even conceive of the idea.Chiaki, too, had been all too kind (and not to mention entirely unmotivated) to have been the one behind it. Akane and Fuyohiko, they were more prone to violence than the other two, but even so they had proven themselves to be too well-intentioned and soft to have attacked Komaeda. That being said, his faith in his classmates had been proven to be misplaced before.
Perhaps Komaeda had seen his attacker? He was awake when they found him, meaning he was probably conscious when he was being bound and beaten. It would benefit them all to know who had been the culprit behind this attempted murder; knowing would allow them to decrease the chance of that person reoffending, and decrease the chance of another death. They hardly had enough people for there to be very many more.
Hajime swallowed thickly. It would be a little rude to ask someone still recovering from a surely traumatic attack something like that so soon, wouldn’t it? But Komaeda would understand. Even if nobody else did, he would.
“Komaeda…” Hajime began, turning from the window. Komaeda was done eating by now, and his attention had turned to the empty space in front of him. His brows were knit subtly knit together and his mouth in a thin line. So he was in deep thought. About what, he wondered. Perhaps he had come to accept death in what should have been his final moments, and he still couldn’t believe he was alive. It seemed likely, considering how fatalistic Komaeda could be at times, but this look was more analytical than would be required for working through that conundrum. He had more the expression of someone working through a particularly perplexing logic problem. In it was the smallest hint of something deeper, but Hajime couldn’t identify what it was.
“Komaeda,” he repeated a little louder, and the aforementioned turned to look at him, snapping out of his daze.
“Hm?” he asked. The deep thought had melted away now, though Komaeda always gave Hajime the sense that more was going on in his head than he let on. Constantly thinking.
“Did you, by chance, catch a glimpse of who attacked you?” Hajime held his breath after he said it, worried that maybe the question had been more appropriate than he thought. Hardly missing a beat, Komaeda replied.
“No, sorry,” he paused for a moment. “They were wearing a mask.”
“A mask?” Hajime echoed. “What kind of mask was it?”
“A ski mask.”
On a tropical island? It was odd, but he was sure that somewhere on the weapon-infested Jabberwock Monokuma could have left a ski mask for them. In fact, it was very likely, now that he thought about it. What was more iconic to crime than a ski mask? “Do you remember anything else?”
“I think they were tall. I couldn’t make anything else out.” Komaeda replied after a brief pause.
So Fuyohiko was out. That left five suspects, hardly narrowing the selection. Regardless, it was better than nothing. Komaeda had just woken up, too, so perhaps he would remember more details with time. “Thank you. I know you just woke up, and it must be hard…”
“It’s fine, really.” Komaeda flashed him a smile that reassured him a little bit, though Hajime couldn’t help but feel it was… off, somehow. It was probably in his head. He hadn’t been in the clearest state of mind since the attack. He sucked in a deep breath.
“Are you feeling any better?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I feel fine.”
“All the same you shouldn’t move too much.” Hajime insisted. “You might think you can move already, but it’s best you not reopen your wounds.”
“Whatever you say,” Komaeda said in a way that left it open for interpretation if he really was going to stay still, or if he still needed someone to make sure he didn’t end up in worse condition.
“I mean it,” Hajime said sternly. Komaeda just smiled.