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Nagito looks at his hands, at what he’s doing with them, and sighs.
What’s wrong with me? He thinks. Why do I feel like this?
Despite the murders, and the psycho stuffed animals, and everyone around him hating him, Nagito was rather enjoying his time on Jabberwock Island. He had never been much of a beach person, let alone an outdoors person, but he had to admit that the scenery was beautiful. The way the crystal blue sea gently kissed the white sand; it almost looked like a tender dance between two lovers. Like the way his mom and dad used to dance in the living room to those old slow songs from the 70s. He wonders if they can see him now, what he’s about to do. They would be horrified.
If this is supposed to be such a hard choice, then why is it so easy to make a noose out of a belt?
As peaceful as the island was, there was no peace in Nagito’s head. His head was his least favorite place to be, yet it was where he was forced to spend most of his time. He hated the way his brain worked, the way it wouldn’t let him look in the mirror and see anything but a monster.
Murderer. Freak. Psychopath.
Murderer.
It didn’t matter that Teruteru was the one who stabbed Byakuya, or that Monokuma was the one who executed Teruteru. Nagito had killed them both; their blood was on his hands.
Freak.
He laughed during the class trial. They accused him of murder and he laughed. They RIGHTFULLY accused him of murder and he laughed. Someone else got executed in his place and he smiled.
Psychopath.
He didn’t even care that he hurt them. At least, not in the moment. He was just satisfying an itch, a craving. By bringing everyone despair, he knew he’d be bringing them hope in the end. So what if a few people had to die? That’s just how the cycle worked, right? Right?
He steps up onto the chair
It’s better this way. Nobody needs you.
His hands are trembling as he hangs up the noose. He thinks about everyone still alive.
They hate you, they’re afraid of you. They’re not wrong to feel that way.
He pulls his head through the loop. He thinks about his parents again.
It’s all okay. You’ll see them soon. The family will be reunited.
“Mom, Dad?” He says aloud. “Wherever you are, is it better than here? Was it frightening getting there?” He swallows.
“You know, I think about joining you every single day.” It’s the truth. “But I don’t know if I can do it. As much as I want it, I have so many doubts. Is that a sign that I shouldn’t?” He knows they can’t respond. Not anymore.
“There are reasons I want to stay, too. There’s…. there’s this boy,” he whispers that last part. “He’s so kind. He tries to understand me. If I join you, I’ll never get to talk to him again.” He looks down at his feet, still standing on the chair, the only reason he’s able to speak right now.
“I really, really like talking to him, hearing his voice, just being around him.” He feels heat rising up to his cheeks, the first real sensation he’s felt all day.
You’re doing this for him, too. He’ll be happier when you’re gone.
Is that really true? No, Hajime isn’t like that. Give him the credit he deserves. Hajime cares. Sometimes he cares a little too much.
He’s afraid of you.
Then why would he come talk to him of his own free will? Why ask Nagito whether he’s doing okay when he catches him staring blankly at the ground?
Most of the others would celebrate his death. A few would be indifferent, but ultimately relieved. But Hajime? Hajime would care. Hajime would be just as shocked and horrified as he was upon discovering the corpses of their other classmates, even though Nagito didn’t deserve it.
Not that Nagito would be around for it, but he hated seeing that distraught look on Hajime’s face. He much preferred seeing Hajime smile. His subtle, yet wonderful smile that could bring light to any room no matter how dark. He wonders if Hajime knows the effect his smile has on others. He wonders if it affects everyone else the same way it affects him.
With a newfound sense of hope, Nagito takes off the noose and takes it down from the ceiling. He steps off of the chair and undoes the loop, turning it back into a normal belt.
“Mom, Dad? If it’s alright with you, I think I’ll stick around a little while longer,” he says. If they really could see him, he knows they’d smile and nod, affirming to their son that he’d made the correct choice.
He steps outside of his cottage. It’s another quiet, lovely night on Jabberwock. He inhales the salty sea breeze, grateful to be breathing at all, and walks to another cottage. Hajime’s cottage. Luckily, his light is still on. He gives the door a light knock.