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You’re exhausted. You haven’t slept in two days now, mostly out of worry, but partially because he won’t shut up.
Komaeda is laying in his hospital bed, rambling on and on about how much he just fucking hates you, about how he thinks you’re a worthless piece of shit and he wishes you died instead of anyone else. He’s cackling in between his words, talking so much he’s constantly out of breath.
He isn’t even looking at you anymore, tossing his head side to side as he giggles manically to himself. Every so often he’ll get a burst of energy and thrash about, screaming at you until his throat is raw to just leave him alone, get your ugly face out of his room before he vomits on his bedsheets.
You know logically he doesn’t mean any of it - that’s the nature of the despair disease, after all. But it still hurts. Komaeda had always treated you with nothing short of respect, even when you had your more clumsy moments. He had a weird, messed up way of communicating it, but you knew he cared for and respected you just as much as anyone else on the island.
Even after his breakdown during the first trial, you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate him. You wanted to believe he was just scared, like everyone else, and acting out because of it. You knew the others judged you for it, and you couldn’t exactly blame them. He’d done some pretty messed up shit.
Maybe you were just too empathetic. Or maybe Komaeda was just pretty enough for you to willingly put on a pair of rose-colored glasses.
Whatever your motivation, selfish or not, it landed you here. You’d been stationed with Komaeda, since you were the only one who could stand being around him for longer than two minutes, and your job was to make sure he didn’t do anything to hurt himself or anyone else, and call Tsumiki if his condition worsened.
You gave this job to yourself willingly, and while you don’t necessarily regret it, your patience is certainly beginning to wear thin.
You sat on a cool metal chair next to his bed and watched his lips form all the venomous words he spat at you, his face red and sweaty from his ridiculously high fever. His hair was sticking to his forehead, and though he usually seemed to be a bit colder than you, now you could feel the heat emanating from his body.
You knew he must have felt horrible. You had to try four times before he would finally drink some water, and even then he kept a bit in his mouth to spit at you. But the look of relief on his face when he felt the cool glass against his burning skin and sipped told you everything.
You kept a glass of water on the small table beside his hospital bed now, along with a blood pressure cuff he had nearly thrown at Tsumiki last time she tried to use it. You’d just barely managed to wrench it out of his sweaty hands - for how skinny he is, you didn’t expect his grip to be that strong, especially while sick.
He coughs suddenly, a rough and scratchy sound that erupts from deep within his chest. His brow furrows and his eyes squeeze shut, his whole face twisting into a pained expression that makes your heart ache. You stand and move behind him to rub his back until it passes; it’s the only time you can touch him without him trying to shove you away.
The moment he can draw a breath again, he’s back to talking. Back to insulting you, your talent, your friends, your entire existence. You sit back down in your chair and watch him lay back, fidgeting with the edge of the thin hospital blanket you’d thrown over him.
Tuning out his insults, you remember how scared you were when Komaeda collapsed in the restaurant. He’d let out such a choked noise, gasping for breath like he was being strangled, and his head collided with the hard wood floor before you could catch him. You remembered the panic that settled in your chest while you ran behind Hinata towards the hospital. That panic had simmered down over time, as you sat by Komaeda’s side, waiting for him to wake up. Eventually it pooled into your stomach, having concentrated itself into a feeling you could only describe as dread.
There was a scare for a moment, where you left for a drink and returned to find he had stopped breathing. You had helplessly pressed down on his chest, your knowledge of CPR very limited, as you screamed for someone, anyone to come help.
And then a few hours later, he opened his eyes, and for the first time in over 24 hours you felt hope.
It lit up your chest as you watched his eyelids flutter open, his pupils darting around the room for a moment before they landed on you. As you locked gazes, that hope died when you caught the look in his eye, unlike anything you’d seen from him before. It was like the boy you met on the beach that day had vanished, replaced by a stranger. His eyes were dark swirls of emotions you couldn’t place, unfolding onto each other and mixing into a whole new person. And then he had cackled at you, maybe your expression gave away your agony, but he saw it and he could do nothing but laugh.
“Hey! Aren’t you listening?!” He snaps you out of your reminiscing, and you realize you’ve been crying. You turn your head so he won’t see you wipe away the tears, but he’s smart even when he’s sick, so he catches on. Laughter bubbles up out of him. “You’re crying?! Seriously?! That’s pathetic! Weeping into your hands like a child who got their candy stolen!”
You rest your elbows on your knees and hide your face with your palms, covering your tired eyes so the sunlight pouring through the window doesn’t hurt as much. He only cackles louder, and you’re sure everyone on this floor of the building can hear it, but can’t bring yourself to care. If you have to hear him berate you like this, if you have to be kept awake by his never ending babbling, maybe everyone else should be too.
‘That’s not fair.’ You think to yourself. ‘You’re just cranky from lack of sleep and this headache you’ve got, don’t take it out on the others.’
Suddenly, it’s strangely silent, and your eyes snap up to him frantically. His eyes have slid shut, his chest rising and falling in time with his breathing, and you sigh in relief. He’s been drifting in and out of consciousness for the last few hours now, probably exhausting himself with all the fucking talking he’s been doing. You repress the urge to sigh, afraid that even the slightest noise could wake him.
You stare at his unconscious body and feel tears pricking your eyes again. You don’t fight them, letting them slip down your cheeks freely. You hadn’t had a moment’s sleep since this all began, and it’s weighing on you now, making you more irritable and emotional. You’ve had a headache for hours now that no over the counter painkiller could help.
Kuzuryu had brought you several drinks from the vending machine, so you would actually drink something - after the last time, you refused to leave him alone for even a moment, waiting until Tsumiki came in to check his vitals to use the restroom. You tuck a bottle of water under your shirt and open it very slowly and carefully, the fabric muffling any little sounds it makes. You take a drink and set it down on the floor beside you.
The room is a little chilly, but not so much that it’s uncomfortable. You lean back in your chair and cross your arms over your chest, letting your head fall back to stare at the ceiling. You kept the lights in the room off until the sun went down in an attempt to stop the pain in your eyes, but it didn’t do much. At least you didn’t have to deal with the constant buzzing of the fluorescents. The only sound in the room was Komaeda’s breathing and your own. Without thinking, you hold your breath for a split second to sync your breaths with his. You don’t even realize you’re doing it at first, and when you do notice, you’re a bit embarrassed despite nobody being around to witness it.
You’re always a bit embarrassed around Komaeda. It’s stupid, really, considering no matter what you did you’re pretty sure he’d still sing your praises unconditionally, but you’re still nervous around him. At first, you were sure it was just because of his breakdown, but as time went on and you continued hanging around him, you slowly realized it was just his presence that made your stomach flutter.
You pretended you didn’t know what it meant - now wasn’t the time for those feelings, not when lives were at stake. It was easier to accept your unease than to confront it head-on. Not the healthiest option, but certainly the easiest.
You hear a loud crash and it startles you out of your thoughts, your body lurching forward. Komaeda is on the ground next to the bed, having knocked over the small table next to his bed, sending the glass of water and the blood pressure cuff scattering across the floor. He pushes himself onto his hands and knees, grinning wildly and letting out a wheezy noise through his teeth. You notice the sun is much lower in the sky now, bathing the room in a golden light. You must have dozed off in your chair. That explains the ache in your back.
You get out of your chair and reach out to help him up, and he smacks your hands while he leans away from you, letting out a displeased grunt that you choose to ignore. You have to hook your elbows under his armpits and hoist him up from behind so you can get him back on the bed. He tries to steady his legs underneath his body, but they shake so hard it nearly throws both of you off balance.
“Fucking filthy,” Komaeda pants, clawing at the collar of his hospital gown as he lets out a wheezy, unhinged giggle that shakes his entire body. “You’re so fucking filthy, your hands have tainted me, I think I’m gonna be sick!” You ignore him, fluffing his pillow and flipping it over to the cool side before grabbing the thin hospital blanket and dragging it over him. The moment you let go, he grabs the blanket and flings it over you, and it drapes over your body and pools at your feet, turning you into a ghost before his eyes.
The sunlight can’t reach you under here, and the ache in your skull begins to subside a bit, despite his continued wheezing, babbling, and you have no choice now but to listen. He’s telling you how much he hates you, how disappointed he is in you, how he’s utterly disgusted by your presence. He laughs again and it rolls into a harsh cough. It sounds painful.
He doesn’t mean it.
“You look much prettier under there! Stay there! Don’t take it off, I might just leap out the window to get away!”
He doesn’t mean it.
“I can’t-” He burst into another fit of giggles. “I can’t believe how stupid you are! Don’t you get it?! I don’t want you here! Nobody does!”
He doesn’t mean it.
“I…” A wheeze, a cough, he’s out of breath again but he can’t silence himself long enough to fill his lungs properly. “... I hate you. I hate you so much. I wish you would just-”
Your legs wobble for a moment before you collapse to your knees on the cool tile floor. The blanket pools further around you, its warmth and weight completely enveloping your body. You’re reminded of being a child again, wandering through the house with a blanket over your head and pretending to be some kind of spooky spectre. You would bump into walls without fail every single time.
Your shoulders shake and you hold your breath to avoid sobbing, afraid of what he might say if he hears. Tears spill, but they’re hidden now. The only thing giving you away is how hard you’re trembling.
“You’re crying again?” He laughs. “At least your face is covered so I don’t have to see your pathetic face, even if your tears are soiling my blanket.”
“Shut up.” You whimper through your tears, and it sounds just as pathetic as you feel. You take a deep breath, hearing him shift around on the bed. He sounds a bit closer when he finally replies with a simple “Huh?”
“I said, shut up, Komaeda.” Your voice comes out more forceful this time, and you grip the blanket pooled on the floor around you until you’re sure your knuckles turn white. “Just shut up. Quit talking. For five minutes, please, for the love of god. I can’t…” Your voice shakes, throat tightens, and the tears start coming faster.
“Can’t what? Can’t stand to be away from me?” His tone is bitter, sarcastic, patronizing, but a sob finally escapes as you choke out a ‘Yes’ through your tears. You gasp for breath, and suddenly the dam breaks.
“When you were asleep, you quit breathing, and Komaeda I was fucking scared. I know you think everyone hates you, and some of them do, but-” You sniff, your nose is stuffy and your face is so damp with tears you’re starting to feel gross. “-but some of us actually don’t, and I don’t care if you don’t believe me. I thought you were going to die and I sobbed over you and I begged you to breathe again.”
He’s silent, but even if he wasn’t, you wouldn’t have been able to stop yourself and listen. It spills out of you like a waterfall and you don’t have the energy to force it to stop.
“I stayed, I haven’t slept, I haven’t eaten, I watched you this whole time because I can’t be away from you or else you’ll die.” You bring your hands to your face and double over, your hands the only thing separating your face from the floor. “I can’t let you die. I can’t, I won’t. But ever since you woke up, you look at me like- you don’t even look like you anymore!”
You swallow thickly. “Y-you don’t look like you, you don’t talk like you, it’s like you’re already gone. It’s like you already left.”
You’re surprised you managed to hold it together this long. You made it through two murders and two executions, watching your classmates drop like flies around you. You made it through night after night, laying in bed waiting for the next body discovery announcement. Waiting for the next motive. Waiting for a scream to rip through the quiet nighttime air, waiting to guess whose voice it was.
A barely audible squeak leaves your throat, a half-hearted attempt at continuing your rambling, but your lips can’t form the words. You press your palms over your ears, prepared to shut out another wave of harassment. You can’t handle another insult, you can’t handle hearing about how everyone hates you, about how you should be the next to die. It doesn’t matter that it’s a lie, because it’s coming from him. A boy you felt for. A boy you kept an eye on. A boy you were scared for, scared of losing.
Why did the thought of losing him hurt you more than it would - or had - for any of your other classmates?
The question echoes in your brain like a gunshot. You gasp between sobs, unable to form a coherent thought, much less answer such a loaded question. You just sat on the floor, stifling any noise as much as you could, wrapping your arms around yourself and squeezing your eyes shut, wanting to bury yourself in the thin white blanket until you disappeared into the fabric.
It takes you a good few minutes to collect yourself. When you yank the blanket off your head, your face is still stained with tears, eyes still red and puffy, breath still shaking with each inhale. Komaeda is on the floor next to you (you aren’t sure when he did that) , his head hanging low between his shoulder blades, his breathing soft and steady. He’s asleep again, you think. That should make this easier.
You use the edge of the blanket to dry your cheeks, taking a deep breath before pushing yourself up off the ground. You toss the blanket over your chair and situate yourself behind Komaeda, once again hooking your elbows under his armpits and lifting him back onto the bed with a grunt. He stirs the moment you touch him, but you have him back on the bed before he can truly wake up. You toss the blanket over him, tucking it in at the sides as his tired eyes drift open and shut.
You’re about to return to your chair when a warm hand wraps around your wrist.
He looks up at you and his grin is gone, his face mostly relaxed save for a twinge in his brow. And there, for a split second, as you stand over him and mentally prepare yourself for another insult, you see it. It’s tiny, it’s fleeting, but you catch a glimpse of the boy you just got done crying over. He’s not gone forever - when he recovers, he’ll come back to you, and knowing him you’ll be enveloped in his arms. He’ll wrap his coat around your entire body and hide you away in his silhouette, spewing a constant stream of apologies, ways to make up for the things he said even if he doesn’t remember them. Something tells you he’ll remember this moment, your puffy red eyes staring down at him with a look that probably conveyed the unease and slight fear you were feeling towards him.
You sit on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t let go of your wrist, his eyes drifting shut a moment later. His long fingers hold you close to him, and you watch his chest rise and fall with his calm, sleepy breathing.
You watch over him silently as the sun finally dips below the horizon. His silence, despite his consciousness, tells you everything.
Maybe he actually gives a shit about you beyond your talent.
Or maybe he just went quiet because you told him to shut up. He’s pretty good at that.