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It’s been a bit past a month since they’ve awoken from the simulation when the person who still goes by the name of Togami plans a party for the Remnants of Despair.
It’s not often they take on that mantle— possibly because a party planned by Togami calls back memories of another party, one where the smell of blood became familiar to them all and Nagito first felt the disappointment he’s become used to, that his plans to become something better had been foiled. That being said, the event is far from unique. There have been plenty of parties thrown by a variety of different members of their group, generally intended to raise morale and inspire connection and whatever else the Neo World program was intended to do in the first place, turning a bunch of terrorists into upstanding citizens. Nagito comes only to linger on the edges of them, to feel the sideline enjoyment he always does at seeing such shining examples of hope through despair enjoying themselves together. They don’t need him there to do so, but at the least he can be a witness to it.
From time to time other students will try to drag him into the activities, out of some kind of misplaced faith or pity. He bends easily to their demands, picking at food given to him and clumsily mimicking Mioda when she tries to teach him what she insists will be the latest and greatest new dance move. They tend to him just enough to make sure he’s alive, and that’s far kinder than he deserves anyways.
He still sees the guarded looks they give him, the way sharp objects mysteriously disappear from rooms he frequents. They’ll entertain his pathetic self, but they don’t quite trust it.
Tonight’s party promises to be a decently large affair, with the other Ultimates bustling about getting ready for it. Nagito, of course, has nothing to offer, so instead he wanders outside of his cottage sometime in the early afternoon, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Ultimates at work.
He’s barely made it down the pier out of his cottage when a booming voice beckons him.
“Yo, Nagito! I have need of your very thin and unmuscled but admirably delicate arms!”
Nidai can be heard from across the entire hotel courtyard. He’s speaking as if he needs to be heard from across the entire courtyard, though they’re only about ten meters apart. Nagito embraces the ringing in his ears as a gift from the Ultimate Team Manager, and makes his way over to where Nidai is waving him down.
“You flatter me, Coach. No one but the doctor who tended to me when I shattered my ulna in a freak sewing machine accident has ever called my arms delicate!”
“Well, it’s good to know my opinion is equivalent to a doctor’s! Gyahaha!” Nidai’s broad shoulders shake as he laughs. “Anyways, let’s put those bony little instruments to use. See, Sonia tasked me with preparing some of the decorations, but even my impressive height isn’t enough to reach those eaves.”
Nagito glances up at the eaves of the hotel, but more quickly cuts his eyes at the ladder sitting directly next to Nidai.
He must be more perceptive than he seems, because Nidai notices and laughs his chest-shaking laugh again. “You should never use a ladder without someone to hold it! That’s like lifting without a spotter!”
Nagito purses his lips. “And you would like me to hold the ladder for you? With my very thin and unmuscled arms?”
“Of course not! I’ll hold the ladder, and you can put up the streamers. Your delicate hands will be perfect for the job!”
Nagito feels his head spin as if he’s already up on the ladder, seeing the ground far beneath him. It’s not a fear of heights as much as a sudden muscle memory of steps giving way under his feet, ladders suddenly closing and losing balance around him.
He knows his struggle is futile, as it so often is, but tries anyway. “Wouldn’t the Ultimate Gymnast be a better pick? Her talent far outstrips anything my pathetic, weak arms could provide you.”
“Akane is busy, and I would never interrupt her during her personal time! A good manager always provides his charges plenty of time to rest from their work.”
Nagito stares at the first step, like that’ll reveal to him whatever secret weakness will surely cause it to crack under him the moment he steps on it. He’s already had plenty of good luck being spoken to by an Ultimate, the other shoe is just waiting to drop.
Regretfully, however, said Ultimate is offering a stack of streamers to him, smiling expectantly. “There’s no need to be nervous! If you fall, I will catch you no matter what the cost to my own body!”
Disgust bubbles up in Nagito’s throat at being spoken to like that by someone so talented, being willing to waste his perfect condition to save a piece of scum like him. Ah, but he has no choice but to follow orders, if it is for the sake of a party involving all the Ultimates. He takes the offered streamers, and Nidai immediately shifts gears to holding the ladder steady.
Nagito hesitantly tests the first step. The metal doesn’t even whisper under his meager weight, though it actively groans where Nidai’s gigantic hands are gripping it.
Another step, and he’s already an uncomfortable ways off the ground. If he fell from this height, he would sprain something at best.
Nidai grins at him, face open and pleased. “Great job!” He says, like climbing two steps is the most amazing achievement he’s ever witnessed. It’s a lie, of course: Nidai has witnessed feats of athletics usually only seen in the likes of the Olympics. This puny accomplishment is less than dirt to him.
That being said, he’s still the Ultimate Team Manager, and skilled in the art of motivation: despite everything Nagito feels something like an eager dog in him perk up at the praise. He clutches the sides of the ladder and takes another step. The eaves inch closer to him, already bedecked with hooks for hanging the streamers he’s definitely putting sweat stains on with his clammy hands. While he’s no Nidai, he is tall enough that just one more step takes him close enough to hang the streamers.
He keeps his body strung tight as he leans out to place the first one. The ladder creaks nervously and he feels the usual resigned acceptance he does when his luck starts to rear its head.
Nidai’s hands are steady on the ladder, though, and he leans it slightly the other way so it remains balanced.
He ties the streamer in a clumsy knot around the hook, and it dangles down in a way that looks overall limp and sad. Nagito frowns at it, like his distaste will make his efforts bear better fruit.
Well, nothing for it but to keep moving. Ah, the next streamer is crinkled from his tense grip on it. Of course, he’s already made something beautiful worse with his presence. He presses his sweaty hands to it, trying to smooth out the creases before hanging it up.
Unfortunately, this means both of his hands leave the ladder, and he is still leaning to the side in the position that allowed him to hang the first streamer. This is the perfect opportunity for a well-timed gust of wind to grab him by the coat and yank, and Nagito feels the drop in his stomach that he’s become familiar with through many, many falls.
There’s the bad luck, almost comforting in its familiarity. If nothing else, he can always rely on it to catch up to him. He braces himself for the impact, wonders which part of his body will hit the ground first. Maybe it’ll be his head, and it’ll split open like a ripe watermelon, everything that makes him himself spilt out on the concrete of the courtyard.
He doesn’t get the chance to learn, though, because in a flash he’s surrounded by warm, live muscle instead of the cold concrete he expected.
Nagito hadn’t even shut his eyes as he fell, figuring that he might as well accept the pain with grace. He gets a great view of Nidai’s face as a result, leaning down over him from where he’s caught Nagito like he weighs nothing.
“Woah there, buddy! See, this is exactly why you always have a spotting partner— thank goodness I was there to catch you!”
Nidai’s voice is deafening as always, especially at this proximity. It’s not the volume that scratches at Nagito this time, though. It’s the words themselves, the idea that Nidai is glad he saved him. Nagito doesn’t understand why he’d care so much for someone so incredibly untalented he managed to take a nosedive while hanging up a single decoration. Nidai’s kindness is admirable, but he should really focus it on the right people.
Ah, he’s being lowered back to the ground. Nagito’s legs are still a bit unsteady, but it would be truly pathetic to fall to his knees, so he steels himself enough to stand. “...Thank you.” He remembers belatedly to say.
Nidai’s smile is wide and full of perfect white teeth. “Of course! Friends don’t let friends get smashed into a pancake on the concrete. Gyahaha!”
It takes a concentrated effort for Nagito to keep his immediate distaste from showing on his face. The way that the others toss around the word friends makes his mouth turn sour. Putting a bunch of people together in one place doesn’t just make them friends. That’s the kind of thing that takes effort and time: two things no one should be squandering on him.
Nidai is collecting the rest of the pile of streamers from where they had fallen to the ground with Nagito. “We got one up!” He says cheerily. “That’s one more step towards finishing it!”
Nagito tries to maintain his carefree, wan smile as he glances back over at the ladder. It’s an unspoken request. Don’t make me do that again.
Of course, he’s more than disposable as a tool to these Ultimates! It would be an honor to brain himself making their party more beautiful. It’s just that… his stomach hasn’t quite recovered from the drop, and he wouldn’t be much use like this, quavering and nauseous.
Nidai reaches out and ruffles his hair, showing no sign of noticing its oiliness. “Oh, but I won’t make you go back up there! I’ll grab someone else to do it, no worries.”
The knot in Nagito’s gut that formed somewhere between the fall and his gentle letdown loosens, just the slightest bit.
“Thanks.” He manages to wheeze out. “But if there’s anything else I can do to help…”
It’s a somewhat empty platitude: Nagito doesn’t really want to be here anymore. He’ll still do what’s asked of him, though. His feelings aren’t the ones that are important here.
Nidai lifts his hand from Nagito’s head to wave dismissively. The absence of it is colder than he expects. “Nah, nah. Go take a brisk walk! I’m sure that was a scary experience, heh. Exercise is a great way to burn off excess adrenaline.”
Nagito nods amicably, choosing not to mention that a ‘brisk walk’ would leave him with muscles burning and lungs wheezing. Even a short run kicks his body into a terrified state, worried he’s finally dying. He has to amble along at his own snail’s pace, which is surely annoying to anyone who walks alongside him.
(A memory swells to the front of his mind, unbidden: Hajime, similarly insomnia-ridden, finding him standing outside the cottages late at night. Hajime—who rolls his eyes and grimaces at the slightest provocations, who will deal with bullshit but make it clear he’s not enjoying a moment of it—matching his slow strides without a word of complaint. He didn’t even mention the sweat and shake of Nagito’s hand as he took it in his own silently. His face was quiet, impassive, almost peaceful in the weak moonlight. It’s not often anyone sees Hajime at rest like that, particularly now with him acting as their de facto leader. It’s something precious, Nagito thinks.)
He wanders once again, this time out of the hotel area. The island spreads out before him, inviting yet entombing in its size. It’s indeed a gilded cage: a beautiful place with all the trappings one could need for a long stay, yet small enough that it’s not hard to see every corner of it, especially with the amount of time they’ve been given. It doesn’t take long to become painfully banal. Nagito walks a path he’s intimately familiar with, hoping that perhaps today the way the sunlight falls through the coconut trees will make them look more beautiful than banal.
Along the way something catches his eye: a bit of metal, sparkling in the afternoon sun. His knees creak in warning as he kneels to inspect it. Getting closer provides him a slightly better idea of what it is: the metal bits that had caught his eye are sticking out of the sides of a small black box that no doubt holds some more intricate mechanics inside. Looks like a counter, though Nagito has no idea how it ended up on the ground here. Perhaps Souda dropped it at some point? He pockets it, just in case he sees the mechanic later.
From there he’s content to continue his walk, until he passes close to the market and catches sight of Souda kneeling on the ground, grinding his teeth over a mess of wires. What a stroke of luck, to run into him so quickly! He appears to be working on some kind of lighting setup, but as he drifts closer Nagito can hear him grumbling, fussing around with the wires like if he shuffles them around enough it’ll fix whatever problem he’s having.
Nagito is more than aware that Souda does not like him. Even if he wasn’t fairly well-trained in reading the cues of the people around him, it’d be hard to miss: Souda is about as subtle as a brick to the face. He thinks his side glances are sneaky, that somehow he’s regulating his voice when he mumbles to Hajime, Really, dude? This guy?
Nagito doesn’t really blame him, though. He’s the kind of guy to develop a very solid image of others within just a few interactions, and once that’s locked in, it’s hard to get him to let it go. Even after making some realizations about his obsession with Sonia being more of a desperate hope than an actual desire, it took a long time to get him to relax his death grip on his view of her as the ideal princess.
So he doesn’t go in expecting much as he approaches Souda. He has little to offer, but might as well offer it anyways! Perhaps he can be used as a human wire to complete whatever circuit Souda is working on. The human body is an excellent conductor of electricity, and Nagito considers himself to be even more so than average, considering he’s been struck by lightning on seven different occasions.
Maybe it’s the item in his pocket that gives him the drive to approach the Ultimate Mechanic. At the least, he can be useful by giving him something to use in future projects!
Souda’s sour expression does not improve when he approaches. He cuts his eyes up quickly at Nagito, then huffs. “Hi, Komaeda. What do you want?”
“I couldn’t possibly want anything from you that I would deserve. I’m just curious as to what’s causing you frustration.”
Souda makes his ‘trying-to-parse’ face for a second, then seemingly gives up on even addressing the first sentence. “Ugh, it’s just my luck. The market has freakin’ everything, but not the piece I need to complete this project! It was gonna look so cool, too...”
“What exactly was it meant to do?” Nagito knows some things about mechanics, namely the more destructive type, but that knowledge doesn’t extend as much to lighting arrangements.
Souda spreads out some of the bulbs, arranging them into a slightly more orderly state. “See, I was gonna get these to light up in patterns and shit, maybe do a runner… but I can’t make them do anything without a decade counter to have them light up individually and in order. And I can’t find a spare part anywhere! Ugh, this is so annoying!”
Nagito inclines his head in sympathy. “Couldn’t you find some kind of workaround? You’re the Ultimate Mechanic, after all!”
Souda scowls hard. “Don’t patronize me, dude. I can only make things work if I have the stuff to do so. ‘S like asking a guy to work without a wrench!”
“Ah, my apologies. I was making assumptions, having nothing close to the level of your talent! How presumptuous of me!”
Souda rolls his eyes, turning his attention fully back to his project rather than Nagito. “Yeah, yeah. I can never tell when you’re being sarcastic or genuine… anyways, did you need anything else? Because unless you got the part I need, I’m not really great company right now.”
Nagito knows a go away when he hears it, at least. “Just one thing. I found this on my walk today, and thought it looked like something you might be interested in.”
He digs the metal item out of his pocket and proffers it to Souda. The mechanic barely looks over as he grabs for it, grumbling. “What, you think just because I like fiddling with spare parts you can hand me any broken-ass thing you find on the ground? Geez…”
Then he actually looks down at the object in his hands, and his cranky expression drops immediately. “Wait, wait— is this— where did you— what the hell!!”
“Is it actually something interesting? I just found it by chance…”
“Just by chance, my ass! Look at you, Ultimate Luck! This is exactly what I need!” Souda barks a surprised, delighted laugh. “Dude! You totally saved my ass. Miss So— uh, everyone’s gonna be so impressed with this!”
Nagito pretends not to notice the slip. At this point it does seem to genuinely be habit rather than a concentrated effort to impress Sonia.
He expects some of the excitement to fade from Souda’s expression when he realizes just who he’s complimenting, but if one thing can be said about Souda, it’s that he doesn’t do things by halves. He claps Nagito on the back so hard he feels something pop, though Souda is far too oblivious to notice the sound or Nagito’s pained grimace.
“I’ll get this connected right away, god damn! This is gonna rock!”
Nagito senses again that he’s not really needed here, and turns to leave. He catches sight of another figure, however, as he does so.
The semi-former girl of Souda’s dreams is approaching, a certain royal aura surrounding her even in plainclothes, her hair trimmed to settle above her shoulders rather than spilling down her back. Sonia had employed Mioda to do the cut a few weeks ago, and while everyone had braced themselves for the carnage that would no doubt come from someone impulsive like Mioda, she had come out of it with a surprisingly clean, careful cut. She still maintained the braid cradling her head by herself, but Mioda proudly proclaimed that the cut was 100% her own. Nagito, of course, would never have dared to doubt her. Her own hairstyle was clearly self-made, and its pattern of highlights takes a level of patience and care usually unknown to but undoubtedly possible of the Ultimate Musician.
Sonia’s plainclothes still consist of skirts and blouses most often, but she has shed some of the more elaborate princesswear. Tanaka’s wardrobe does seem to also be creeping its way into her style: deep purples and muted grays, and even a few articles that are directly from Tanaka’s closet. The scarf remains reserved for the Devas, but bracelets, accessories and even jackets of Tanaka’s sometimes show up in Sonia’s outfits.
Her wave is princesslike as ever, careful and delicate, as she approaches. “Hello, Nagito, Kazuichi! What are you working on?”
“Miss Sonia!” Souda absolutely beams— he still lights up like a Christmas tree at attention from her. “Nagito just got me the final part for this super-cool setup I’m doing for the lights. See, the decade counter here delays the signal so they’ll light up in a wave, or in a pattern like…”
Sonia, to her credit, listens very patiently. She even offers a few comments of her own, more than skilled in the art of making people feel listened to. Nagito is endlessly flattered to be in the presence of such shining examples of Ultimates.
One of the said examples turns to him, Souda’s explanation apparently finished. “I’m glad you’re here, Nagito. I had a request to ask of you.”
Nidai expressed that as well, being glad he’s still around. How strange. “Of course, Sonia. I can’t promise anything, but—“
She waves his self-deprecation aside with an almost protective look of concern. “No, no, I wanted to ask you specifically. You have an eye for pretty things, yes? I’m finishing up some of the arrangements for the party, and could use another set of eyes.”
Nagito does suppose that he had written ‘pretty things’ under his likes, when asked to do the strange little poll Monomi had given them in the student handbook. What luck, that it should come back to haunt him.
“...yes, you could say that.” He offers.
Sonia claps her hands together with a warm smile. “Wonderful! Walk with me, will you?”
It’s phrased as a question, but even to those less insignificant than Nagito, a request from the Ultimate Princess is not as much of a request as an order. She doesn’t mean to put it that way, usually, but one can’t just deny their nature like that. Her requests are just as royal as she is.
“Of course.” He rasps, falling into step behind her easily.
Always attentive, Sonia turns to Souda before they head out. “Wonderful work, by the way, Kazuichi. It was lovely to hear about your passion for electronics!”
Souda absolutely beams, putting all of his sharklike teeth on display and crushing his eyes up to the point of being closed. “Thanks, Sonia! Not many people will listen to me blab about these things, so, heh… thanks!”
Sonia smiles politely in return, then inclines her head slightly towards the road, inviting Nagito to walk with her. He walks behind her, though it makes it a bit more difficult to carry on conversation. He couldn’t dream of being at a level where he could walk alongside someone so royal, after all.
The walk isn’t far, in the end— just to the beach adjacent to the hotel, which is close enough for food to be brought out from the restaurant but far enough for everyone to enjoy the surf. The sun is just beginning to set, and strings of lights amongst the palm trees promise a gently lit atmosphere.
Nagito, personally, does not trust the ocean at night. Something about seeing the vast expanse of water lose its carefree blue sparkle makes something twinge nervously in him. Perhaps it’s another muscle memory, of spontaneous riptides where they shouldn’t have been possible, tugging him out into an ocean he could not see past the surface of. Perhaps it’s from the time he actively walked into the midnight waves, and was only rescued from being pulled under by Owari, luckily happening to walk by in search of a late night snack.
Rescued was how they put it afterwards, anyways. As if he hadn’t done it to himself.
He’ll stay close to the hotel and the trees, like he always does. It relegates him to the edges of the party, like he always is. It’s comfortable at this point, knowing his place.
They pass the hotel on the way: evidently, Nidai got someone else’s help with the streamers. Past the singular one Nagito managed to hang—dangling as limply as he expected—are a careful line of colors, flapping lightly in the gentle wind. The man himself is nowhere to be seen, gone as well as the ladder. Doing more preparations, surely. Being exponentially more helpful than Nagito has been or ever will be.
“Here we are!” Sonia says cheerfully, bringing his attention back to the task at hand.
She leads him over to one of the tables they found in the warehouse, a foldable one now set up outside for the purpose of holding drinks and appetizers for the party. In the center is a mishmash of what he can only assume to be ‘pretty things’: shells, a couple pearls, precious stones, an array of local flowers, a few pieces of fine china, a small bottle of something shiny, a singular red rose encased in a glass test tube.
“I’ve gathered some of the precious things we’ve been given to use as a centerpiece… but I’m just not sure how to make it all fit together.” Even Sonia’s thoughtful frown is delicate and polite.
“It is a strange array of items…” Nagito muses. “Not many common themes.”
“I was thinking the flowers could be a motif that ties them together, or maybe the shells…?” Sonia tilts her head to the side slightly. “It would provide a more tropical aesthetic, but I think some of us may be a bit tired of that by now.”
Nagito hums in assent. “Floral centerpieces are hard to dislike. Your ideas are enlightening as always, Sonia.”
Sonia waves a hand. “Oh, please, don’t shift all the glory to me. I have quite enough of that as it is. Will you help me do some arranging, then?”
It’s not as if he would say no, even if he didn’t want to. The work is calming, rhythmic: Nagito separates the flowers by size, shape and color, then works them together in a pattern that makes them accentuate each other. It’s an arrangement not unlike the group of Ultimates: each is highly unique, but when put together they accentuate each other’s best features.
Sonia stays quiet for a while, humming gently, but Nagito catches her glancing over at him, clearly wanting to say something. He waits patiently, not meeting her gaze though he knows it’s on him.
She finally cracks. “How have you been doing, Nagito?”
He dodges the question with a mastery carefully honed from years of not telling people about the horrible, heavy thing roiling under his skin. “Today? Quite well, actually. I’ve been very blessed to see everyone working their hardest!”
Sonia inclines her head, clearly unsatisfied with the answer. “Well, I’m glad to hear that! I meant more overall, however…”
Nagito is completely aware of that. He knew it from her tone as soon as she asked— this is a song and dance he’s done more than enough times, an attempt to ask about his mental health without outright coming out with you’re clearly unstable and I think you need to seek help. “I’m still here, somehow!” He says in fake cheerfulness. “It’s truly lucky that I’ve survived yet another day.”
Sonia pointedly does not make a face, as she’s too polite for that, but Nagito feels her frustration nevertheless. “I suppose that’s one way to put it. It’s important to see the big picture as well though, yes? There is little point in denying we have all been through a lot… I am sure it affects you as well.”
Of course it affects Nagito, knowing that even in the most dire of circumstances, he couldn’t get what he wanted— dying for a reason, for something much greater than him. It’s crueler than any punishment he could have gotten from Monokuma, having to live on knowing that.
That’s not the answer Sonia wants, though. She wants to hear about his trauma from having to watch his friends die, and reassure him that they’ll get through it together, that they’ll become something better together. She is marvelous, but predictable. Leader-types tend to be.
“I’d have to be pretty heartless for it not to, huh?” Nagito deflects. “I’m not denying anything happened, only happy to have survived it.”
It seems like both of them know that’s a lie, by the way Sonia’s mouth twitches, but she’s still not quite pushed past her need to keep things polite and civil. She presses her lips together instead of challenging him. “Well…” She pauses, a trained smile rising to her face. “I’m happy you survived, as well. It’s good to have you here, Nagito.”
And he thought the killing game had been full of lies.
Sonia seems to notice his distaste, and continues once more. “I know your talent is more abstract, so it is harder to have something to chase after like the rest of us, but… I truly do believe there is something out there for you, Nagito. Everyone deserves a chance like that.”
Something. Like that’s supposed to mean anything, is supposed to suddenly make his existence worth it because in some abstract future, something will be waiting for him.
It’s a statement he’s tried to believe all his life. Good fortune will be just around the corner, as long as you get through all of this.
Nagito admits he’s getting a little tired of trying.
Despite his mouth feeling like soured milk, Nagito keeps his thoughts to himself. “Thank you, Sonia.”
She smiles kindly at him in return, but it’s clear she’s not convinced. Of course, she’s more than smart enough to see he’s lying: just not yet trained enough out of her need to be polite company to call him on it. Nagito hopes that at least, if he has to be around longer, he will get to witness her grow past that.
They finish arranging the centerpieces in silence after that. It’s not a tense one, exactly, though definitely one with words remaining unsaid. Sonia looks disappointed, but Nagito’s more than used to that reaction to him. He wouldn’t expect anything different.
The sun has properly set by the time they’re done, and the other Ultimates are beginning to gather, enticed by the food beginning to be set out and music Mioda’s started blasting from the speakers Nidai helped her drag out from the warehouse.
The Ultimates clump together into groups quickly, objects of great gravity attracted to one another. Nagito migrates out into their orbit: attracted in the same way, but nowhere near a match for their own gravity. He’s happy to remain far away, as long as he can still witness them.
He ends up on the balcony of the restaurant, gazing out at the Ultimates as they enjoy themselves. Souda is being led in some kind of sway dance by a surprisingly graceful Nidai. Nidai dips him so low his hair brushes the ground, and his surprised squeal and Nidai’s returning laughter drift to him on the breeze.
Unable to properly escape due to their conjoined hands, Pekoyama is doing an excellent job of sidestepping Ibuki, whose supposed dance looks more like a concentrated effort to step on her partner’s feet. Kuzuryuu is by the tables, laughing in a way Nagito never would have thought possible when he first knew him. He’s slapping at Owari’s back in an attempt to control himself as she cackles just as hard. Koizumi is attempting to convince a nervous Tsumiki into the waves, Togami providing additional encouragement from where he remains on shore, unwilling to get his nice shoes wet.
Sonia and Tanaka can just barely be seen, also sticking to the outskirts. Though the music must be faint all the way out where they are, under the palm trees, Sonia is sweeping Tanaka in a wide, flourishing turn. Xyr scarf flutters out behind xem as xe stares at xyr feet, trying not to trip in the soft sand.
Hajime isn’t out being the centerpiece of their motley crew, as he so often is, so it’s not a huge surprise when Nagito hears footsteps behind him and an ever-familiar set of tanned arms rest on the railing next to his own.
Hajime doesn’t bother to ask why Nagito’s not out with the rest of them: he understands already that the food holds no appeal to his low appetite, the music holds no appeal to his clumsy feet. There’s no reason to even try.
“Sonia told me you helped out with the centerpieces.” Hajime says in lieu of a greeting.
“Oh yes, it turns out I can be good for something sometimes. Many of those items are things you gave us, though. You could argue it’s thanks to you, overall.”
Hajime is unfazed by both his self-deprecation and deflection of the credit. “Hm, maybe. I’m glad they can be used for something: honestly, I considered most of what those Monomono Machines toss out to be junk.” He shrugs. “But everyone has different opinions of what’s worthy, I guess.”
Nagito’s not quite sure if that’s an intentional dig. Hajime is frustratingly hard to read sometimes, both offensively simple and strangely complex.
They stand in silence for a few minutes, though it’s not uncomfortable. It’s more routine, something that they’re familiar with by now. Hajime gazes out at his friends having fun and pretends not to notice Nagito gazing at him. Their hands sit a prescribed distance apart on the railing, just close enough that they could touch easily but not quite there. Hajime blinks slowly, dark eyelashes fanning out against his cheeks. He does everything slower these days, truly living on island time. It’s not a detriment—his skills make sure of that—but rather makes the things he does seem more calculated.
The moment is peaceful, almost, but Nagito‘s always had a terrible habit of poking sleeping bears. It’s nice to see Hajime less frantic than he had been sometimes, in the simulation, but he admits there’s a certain rush to putting the other man off balance. It’s this urge that makes him speak next.
“Hajime, why am I here?”
Hajime blinks, turning to him. “Huh? Um, because we invited you?”
“I know about your pity invitations.” Hajime’s face twists when he says it, but Nagito plows on. “I mean, why am I still here with all of you and your shining futures? There’s nothing ahead of me. All I am is here, day after day. When will you get tired of that? When will the world get tired of me, of supporting someone so utterly useless?”
He reads the please don’t start with this in Hajime’s expression, and it only serves to make him spiral further. “Even now, I’m not doing what I should to support hope! My only chance to make something of my utterly useless life, and it was taken from me! What do I do now, Hajime? Just live?”
I don’t know how to live.
Hajime’s looking him right in the eyes now, and he’s unflinching even in the simplicity of his next statement. “Yeah. That’s it, basically.”
Nagito feels his face twitch. “What is?”
“What you just said. That is what we’re doing now, Nagito. Just living.”
Nagito finds himself a bit lost for a reply. It’s true, what Hajime said, but he doesn’t know how to respond to it, in the same way he doesn’t know how to respond to living another day.
Hajime continues for him, shrugging. “There’s not a lot else to do, after all. Assumedly the Future Foundation is gonna come pick us up at some point, when they think we’re, I dunno, fixed enough or whatever. But for now it’s just living, for a while.”
Nagito finds himself again, latching onto the familiar reverence for Ultimates. “Hajime, you should know better than anyone else that you have plenty to do as Ultimates. There are all kinds of ways to hone your talents— I see shining examples of them every day! Your lives are going in wonderful directions.”
It remains unsaid that he’s the one that’s not going anywhere, that has nothing to do, but the way Hajime gazes steadily at him shows he sees right through to the actual meaning. Nagito wonders when Hajime got so good at reading him. He’s not sure if he preferred how it was in the simulation, when Hajime would get lost in his words, insist that something had to be wrong with him to think the way he does. Nowadays Hajime just accepts his way of thinking as another part of him, dissecting it with the same unrelenting diligence he did the arguments of other murderers. That red eye of his isn’t the only reminder of his status as the Ultimate Hope.
“Well, that’s everyone else, but I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about us. I know you’re lost without a talent to pursue or hope to sow or whatever, but… so am I.” Hajime finally turns his gaze away, drawing little circles on the wood of the railing with his pointer finger. “I know, I have no right to say that with basically every talent at my disposal, but… I feel the same. Just stagnant. There’s not a lot to go to from here, huh?”
“But, for what it’s worth… it’s been nice. Spending this time just living, with everyone.” Hajime pauses, his cheeks turning just a bit ruddier in the low light. “With you.”
Nagito knows that, at least. The placidity Hajime has developed is not only due to having literally every skill he could possibly need, but a genuine relaxation that is accentuated by the presence of his friends. And Nagito, apparently.
The thought of it makes something bright and hot curl in his chest. In his discomfort, Nagito falls back to familiar territory once again. “Ah, I’m sure it’s much more interesting to spend time with actual Ultimates rather than myself! I don’t mind being a sidebar to them. It’s kind of you to even look my way.”
Hajime’s brow creases, and he almost looks like he’s going to rise to the bait before turning his head away, sighing. “You know that’s not how I meant it. You’re not a sidebar to me, Nagito. Sometimes I wonder why, but… I do like to be together with you.”
Nagito grits his teeth through a smile. “Your taste is terrible as ever, Hajime.”
Hajime snorts. “That I won’t argue with.”
Nagito deflects, choosing not to mention the actual subject of the statement. “You have no right to. Sakuramochi is a classic wagashi for a reason, you know.”
It’s funny that this, more than any of the actual heavy conversation they’ve had, is what makes Hajime’s face scrunch up the most. “It’s not good, Nagito. The flavor is way too subtle, and when you do get it it tastes like flowers! It’s like people who get rose-flavored things just for the novelty of it. They don’t actually taste good, we just pretend they do. I refuse to.”
Nagito feels a wave of desperate affection, watching the way Hajime gets himself worked up over the most absolutely trivial things. He’s so painfully ordinary. Maybe that’s what makes him sit in that strange place where he’s almost in the same league as Nagito: a reserve course student with implanted talent, and an Ultimate with a useless talent. What a pair they make.
“Hajime is so passionate about things that don’t matter.” He smiles thinly.
Hajime huffs, and it’s not clear if he’s noticed the double meaning of the phrase. “Well, someone has to be.”
They lapse into another comfortable silence, watching their friends interact on the beach below them. Souda and Nidai’s dance has come to include Owari, who seems to be taking glee in being a third wheel and is yanking around a protesting Souda while Nidai envelops both of them in his giant arms, cackling in his usual boisterous manner. Sonia and Tanaka have finished their little moment together, and are now chatting with Kuzuryuu, who firmly refuses to join in any dancing. Mioda has pulled Pekoyama into the waves with the other girls, and is splashing them in a way that may be intentional or may just be a byproduct of her excited flailing.
Nagito is distracted enough with trying to understand how a three-person waltz is supposed to work that he doesn’t notice Hajime’s hand approaching until it lands on his. The warmth is instant: against his terrible circulation and perpetually cold fingers, anyone would feel warm. The touch makes him look up, to a Hajime who is studiously avoiding eye contact. Nagito smiles in a way that isn’t nearly as forced as the last few, and turns his hand over so their fingers can interlock.
This isn’t a new feeling. In the simulation, where everything had felt rushed and desperate, they hadn’t had time for things like this. Hajime had clearly recognized how he felt, but the midst of a killing game where your ultimate goal is to die yourself isn’t exactly the most conducive place for romance to bloom.
Now, though, there’s so much time ahead that it’s nearly painful. Hajime’s touches are slow, exploratory, agonizingly gentle. There’s so much something between them that it’s hard to breach, and oftentimes they don’t quite make it, a self-deprecating comment from Nagito spoiling the mood or an agitated twitch from Hajime resolutely putting up the wall again.
Routine has made it easier. When they first awoke, everyone took on the task together of making sure all of them at least got breakfast, rotating out the duties of dragging each other out of their cottages. Nagito being one of them that barely ate, a rotating cast of Ultimates would coax him out of his room with varying levels of force. As it always is, though, eventually they got sick of him, and now most mornings it’s Hajime that knocks on his door. “It’s nice to have a prescribed time to get up and eat.” Hajime had shrugged, once, when Nagito overheard Souda asking with no small amount of annoyance why in the world he stuck around.
He often ends up following Hajime around after breakfast, with little else to do. He’s developed a decent idea of Hajime’s schedule, and a habit for harassing him on the nights when he tries to overwork himself, shrugging off sleep in favor of puzzling out some of the paperwork the Future Foundation has passed over to him.
There’s been more than one night that Nagito doesn’t return to his own cottage: the two of them sandwiched together on Hajime’s just-barely-full-sized mattress, not addressing the thing between them but letting it seep in. Hajime always smells like a mixture of the two-in-one shampoo and conditioner he uses, the steam of the iron he uses to press his many white shirts, and the ocean scent that lingers on all of them no matter how many showers they take.
Hajime acts like they have all the time in the world. Or maybe he’s just avoiding putting words to anything, because in the end they’re both some brand of coward.
For now, though, this is enough. Hajime’s warmth against Nagito’s hand, backed up by the time he willingly spends with someone so worthless, is the closest to a promise Nagito can accept.
At some point, things will shatter, like they always do. The pendulum of his bad luck will swing back around. Nagito still doesn’t know what the future holds, besides something terrible.
Tomorrow, though, he has a breakfast waiting for him that Hajime will smile at him over, and Mioda has asked him to spend the afternoon looking for crabs on the beach, and maybe he’ll pick up the novel he’s been slowly working his way through. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.
It’s just living, but what a stroke of luck that he’s still here for it.