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Hinata is running.
He doesn’t know what he’s running to.
Or what he’s running from.
All he knows is that his legs ache with exertion, and his lungs burn with each stuttered, heaving breath he takes. The air gets caught in his throat, clogging his airways like thick wads of cotton. He never stops, though. He just keeps running and running and running in a seemingly endless loop.
Suddenly, he loses his footing and trips over nothing. Rather than making hard contact with the ground that Hinata braced himself for, he falls straight through, plunging into dark, tepid water. The sudden drop makes Hinata gasp, filling his lungs with the thick, warm liquid. He fumbles, disorientated from his fall, before scrambling onto his knees and lurching out of the lake of dark water. Hinata hacks up the fluid in his lungs, coughing so violently that he dry heaves. Shakily, he stands to his feet. The water is only about waist-deep but still deep enough to drown in had Hinata been more unlucky. As Hinata gasps desperately for air, he rubs the water off his face and out of his eyes. Vision coming into focus, he looks down at his hands, horrified to find that he is not standing in a lake of water.
Blood.
Red, viscous, and viscera stains Hinata’s hands and clings to his clothing. He can taste it in his mouth, salty and metallic. Bile rises in his throat, and before he can think to stop himself, Hinata is heaving again.
He empties his stomach.
He stumbles backward and comes into contact with something cold and stiff floating in the sea of blood.
Hesitantly, Hinata turns around and finds a pair of pink eyes boring into his.
Mioda.
Hinata recognizes her immediately. Her eyes, which used to be so bright and excited, full of joy and energy, now stare back at him, cold, lifeless, and unblinking. Blood soaks into her hospital gown, so unlike the colorful clothes she used to wear. Her hair is tangled, matted with drying blood, and twisting around her like thick, aphotic vines in the lake. A bruise so dark it almost looks black wraps around the entire base of her neck, her windpipe broken and mangled.
A scream erupts from Hinata’s sore, abused throat. He scrambles away from Mioda’s body, his blood-soaked clothes dragging in the lake and slowing down his movements. He hits something else behind him and whips around to find Koizumi face-down in the lake of blood, the back of her head caved in. Everywhere Hinata turns, he’s faced with the disfigured corpses of his classmates: Togami, Tsumiki, Pekoyama, Saionji, and Hanamura.
Hinata screws his eyes shut, unable to look at the lifeless, gaunt faces of the friends that he failed to save. Even behind his eyelids, he can clearly see their dull, dead faces twisted in horror, fear, and anguish.
“Go away!” Hinata yells, hands fisting into his hair and pulling until it hurts, as if he can physically rip the haunting visages of his deceased classmates out of his brain. “Go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, GO AWAY!!”
Suddenly, as if a heavy weight has been lifted off of his shoulders, Hinata no longer feels the warm, wet drag of the sea of blood lapping against his body.
Hesitantly, Hinata cracks his eyes open, and sure enough, he is no longer in the endless void of blood and darkness. No ghosts of his past regrets stand before him. Instead, Hinata finds himself braced with an environment he recognizes immediately, filling him with a similar sense of apprehension and aversion for a reason he's unsure of.
The smell of alcohol and disinfectant floods his senses, cold and sterile.
Hinata is in a hospital.
Walking with a slow, unsteady stride, Hinata paces around the room. In the room, there’s an operating table with rusted, blood-stained tools scattered about. Broken monitors and IV bags that are hooked up to nothing surround the table.
Overcome with an overwhelming sense of nauseating unease, Hinata backs away from the operating table until his back hits the wall behind him. He turns to find a large, broken, full-length mirror mounted onto the hospital wall. Hinata finds the reflection of a man he does not recognize staring back at him. He can’t quite make out what his face looks like, distorted by the cracks in the mirror and the man’s long black hair that falls over his face. Even so, Hinata can clearly see the cold, piercing red eyes that bore into him between thick locks of hair. He sees the reflection’s lips begin to move, and in his own voice, he hears the stranger speak.
“Wake up.”
Hinata jolts awake, gasping for air and drenched in cold sweat. His panicked eyes flit rapidly around the room. There’s a large monitor mounted on the wall, a display case with three completed rows of distasteful Monokuma plushies, and a blinking security camera; its lens is focused on Hinata’s trembling figure. Slowly, Hinata lets out a shaky sigh that’s anything but relieved as he sinks back down onto his mattress.
He’s in his cabin. And he’s still on this fucking island.
“It was just a dream,” Hinata mutters to himself, kneading the palms of his hands over his tired eyes.
He’s been plagued with nightmares ever since the first class trial, grotesque visages of his former classmates haunting him even in his sleep. He irately wonders if this is somehow also a part of Monokuma’s devious plans - to keep them too sleep-deprived and paranoid to work together and dismantle the killing game. He still can’t quite believe that there’s really a traitor amongst them - Hinata loaths to distrust any of his friends, even the ones he accused of murder. Fresh memories of Tsumiki’s trial and execution overwhelm Hinata, and he feels an icy chill run down his spine. To think that someone as kind and timid as Tsumiki would kill Saionji and Mioda in such a way….
He breathes out another despondent sigh, staring at the ceiling fan above as it rotates lazily in the dark. There’s no point in ruminating over motives and imposters right now. He won’t be able to solve anything if he can’t get any fucking sleep. Grumbling, Hinata rolls onto his side and closes his eyes, trying to focus on the island sounds that he hopes will lull him back to seep. A breeze whistles through the trees, distant waves crashing against a shore… and suddenly, a splashing sound. As if something large had been tossed into the water outside Hinata’s cabin.
Hinata’s eyes fly open. He yanks the blanket off himself and scrambles out of bed. His sweaty palm grasps the cold metal of the doorknob, hesitation seizing in his chest. What could someone possibly be doing sneaking around the cabins this late at night? Surely no one is committing a murder so soon after the last trial? Monokuma hasn’t even announced a new motive or unlocked the next island! Suddenly, Hinata’s heart pounds as blood rushes to his ears. Could it be the traitor? His grip tightens around the door handle. Is someone sneaking off to report to Monokuma or Monomi? What the hell was the splashing sound? If he bursts outside now and catches them, will he be able to take them down, or is he going to get himself killed?!
Hinata grits his teeth. No, he won’t die. He can’t. He has to save his friends and put an end to this Killing School Trip. Fearful but determined, Hinata opens the door and pokes his head outside.
At first, he sees nothing unusual: the hotel and cabins, swaying palm trees, and moonlight reflecting an aquamarine glow of the seawater below. Then, he hears more splashing and what sounds like the panicked gasps and sputters of someone struggling. An anxious adrenaline courses through Hinata’s veins as he shakily steps out of his cabin, expecting to find the traitor attempting to drown one of their classmates. Instead, he finds a sopping-wet Komaeda clinging desperately to the boardwalk and spitting salt water out of his mouth.
“A-ah, Hinata-kun, what luck!” Komaeda greets him with a level of joviality unbecoming of someone who looks like a waterlogged pomeranian.
“Komaeda!” He hisses, kneeling to get a better look at his classmate and the white-knuckle grip he has on the base of the boardwalk, “What the hell are you doing?!”
“Well, you see, I was taking a walk-”
“In the middle of the night?” Hinata interrogates, interrupting the other’s anecdote.
“Yes, Hinata-kun, I was walking, and I tripped over a loose board and fell. If you wouldn’t mind, I would be incredibly grateful if you could help me up.”
“Why can’t you just swim under the boardwalk and climb out at the shore?” Hinata questions, raising a skeptical brow.
An emotion flickers across Komaeda’s face, but it’s gone before Hinata can decipher it. “I can’t swim,” He says.
Hinata would assume that perhaps Komaeda is embarrassed to admit this, but he’s witnessed Komaeda say stranger things with much less tact.
“Alright,” Hinata says, extending his hand, “Gimme your hand. I’ll help you out.” Gripping Komaeda’s hand in his own, Hinata pulls him up, warm salt water sloshing against him as he hoists Komaeda onto the boardwalk.
Hinata can’t help but flashback to when he first met Komaeda: passed out on the beach, the sun blinding his eyes, his skin growing tacky with sweat, and sand sifting into his shirt and shoes. As he came into consciousness, it was Komaeda who came into focus. His subdued, breathy voice, concerned grey eyes, and unkempt white hair that reflected the beating sun - that was his first memory of Komaeda. A kind stranger who had put his mind at ease and extended his hand out to him.
A conflicted feeling flickers within Hinata as he remembers how Komaeda changed once the killing game began. How could the person who reached his hand out to him - the first friend he made on the island - turn out to be so contriving? The revelation that Komaeda had been the mastermind behind the first trial and manipulated Hanamura into committing murder truly felt like a betrayal to Hinata. It was an icy reminder of what Monokuma had said to them before, that no matter how assured Komaeda made him feel, Hinata didn’t really know him.
But was the Komaeda he met on that first day completely fake? Had it all been manipulation from the start? Or were there still remnants of that kind, concerned person who helped Hinata around the island after he blacked out?
Seeing Komaeda in the hospital, weak and vulnerable, had been a disconcerting reminder of how human he is. Although Komaeda betrayed his trust, lied to him, and manipulated him to the point that Hinata struggled to look him in the eye, Hinata still cared for him. During the time Hinata spent in the hospital with Tsumiki, Kuzuryuu, and the students ailed with the Despair Disease, he saw Komaeda so ill he was sure the boy was lying in what would become his death bed. It was a bizarre, sobering experience to see someone so cunning and untrustworthy look so withered, sweltering in his own sick and muttering nonsense. It stirred such dissonating feelings of worry and pity inside of Hinata. And, seeing Komaeda before him now - soaking wet clothes sticking to his gaunt, shivering body - Hinata still isn’t sure how he feels.
“Come on,” Hinata grumbles, turning towards his cabin door, “You’ll get sick again if you stand around in wet clothes this late at night.”
“Ah, are you sure, Hinata-kun?” Komaeda asks, trailing behind Hinata’s heels despite his protest. “Being invited inside of Hinata-kun’s cabin…. Filth like me is certainly unworthy of entering an Ultimate’s private dwellings!”
“Don’t argue with me,” Hinata grunts, grabbing Komaeda’s cold, wet wrist and tugging him inside. “Just shut up and come in before I change my mind.”
The door quietly clicks shut behind the two as they enter the cabin, moonlight casting a serene pale glow over Hinata’s unkempt room.
“Hey, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda murmurs, his soft voice cutting through the placid quiet of the cabin. “Is it possible that you’ve brought me here to kill me? Plotting murder right after a class trial is quite unexpected! However, your cabin may not be the best place to commit the act if you want to throw suspicion away from yourself. I could help you find a much better-!”
“Would you shut the hell up?!” Hinata growls, exasperation and exhaustion seeping into his voice. “I’m not planning on killing anyone, so would you cut that crap out already?!”
Hinata grumbles to himself and rubs his palms into his tired eyes until he starts seeing spots. Maybe bringing Komaeda here was a mistake. He should’ve just gone back to bed after pulling Komaeda out of the water - what the hell was he thinking dragging him into his cabin?
With an annoyed huff, Hinata begins to ruffle through a dresser (which he discovered on his first night was irritatingly stocked full of multiple outfits identical to the one he was wearing) and yanks out a white button-up. “Here,” Hinata says, tossing the dry shirt to Komaeda. “Feel free to use one of the towels in the bathroom. You can leave your clothes hanging up so they’ll be dry in the morning.”
Komaeda fumbles to catch the shirt tossed to him, nearly dropping it in the puddle of water he was accumulating on Hinata’s floor. “Thank you, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda says, a small, blithe smile on his face as he shuffles into the bathroom, droplets of water falling to the ground in his wake, “You truly are much too kind.”
“Yeah, whatever….” Hinata mumbles, cheeks growing warm as he turns away from the bathroom while Komaeda undresses. Who the hell makes the walls of a bathroom glass anyway? Hinata busies himself by straightening out his rumpled bedsheets until he hears the bathroom door clicking shut behind him.
“Thank you again for extending such hospitality unworthy of a filthy cretin like me.” Komaeda’s soft voice says behind him.
Hinata turns and finds Komaeda standing in the doorway of the cabin’s bathroom. He’s not sopping wet anymore, but his hair is still damp. Hinata’s eyes can’t help but trail after the droplets of water that cling to the curled ends of his white hair before they drop and soak into the collar of Hinata’s white button-down. His attention then quickly refocuses on the fact that Komaeda is not wearing pants.
Obviously, they’re hanging out to dry along with his shirt and jacket, but Hinata had failed to process that this meant Komaeda would be walking around in only a button-up and his (somehow dry) boxers. Hinata feels his mouth dry at the sight of Komaeda’s bare legs. They’re so long and pale. He isn’t entirely conscious of how his gaze traces the curves of his slender thighs and calves. His legs are littered with a myriad of bruises - the splotches of blue and yellow standing out against the stark ivory of his skin (like, seriously, has this guy ever gotten any sun?). His legs and arms are also littered with scars of varying sizes. A long verticle scar on his left knee is so white and faded that you can barely see it. Several small nicks and cuts on his arms are still pink but are at least several months old. Hinata slowly realizes that he’s reading a story of Komaeda’s life marred onto his skin, but he’s unaware of the context of all of it. As much as Hinata wants to learn and understand , he knows it would be inappropriate to ask, especially how their relationship is now. Komaeda would probably just dodge the question or lie if he asked him about it.
“I-I suppose I should leave…. I’m sure I’ve already overstayed my welcome.” Komaeda says, shifting uncomfortably on the balls of his feet as his face grows several shades pinker. Shit. What the fuck is he doing ogling Komaeda’s bare skin?
“What…” Hinata starts slowly, managing to still Komaeda by holding his gaze with his own. “What were you really doing out so late at night?”
Komaeda doesn’t respond right away. His face is irritatingly neutral as he stands half-naked in Hinata’s cabin. After several beats of silence, he expects Komaeda to dodge the question again or just continue to stare at him in silence until Hinata finally asks him to leave. But, eventually, Komaeda says softly, “I couldn’t sleep.” He pauses again for a moment before seemingly deciding to continue speaking. “I… had a nightmare, and I couldn’t fall back asleep. I thought taking a walk around the island might help.”
The two stand in silence for another moment. Only the soft, distant sound of the tide rolling in interrupts the still quiet of the room. This amount of prolonged eye contact with Komaeda should really make him feel more uncomfortable than it is.
“Me too,” Hinata finally says, shattering the disquieting silence. “I also had a nightmare. That’s why I was awake.” Hinata isn’t really sure why he’s telling Komaeda this. It’s not like he asked. Still, the words come tumbling out of Hinata without much thought. “Um… If you want, you could stay here tonight? Since neither of us can sleep?” Seriously, what the hell is he saying?! It’s like he loses all sense of self-preservation when he’s around Komaeda recently.
“Oh,” Komaeda says, his face turning pink again. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, Hinata-kun….” He mumbles, a sudden, soft, somber look washing over his face.
“Why not?” Hinata presses, “It’s just for one night just so we can fall asleep.” Why is he trying so hard to make him stay? Does he really want to seek comfort in Komaeda of all people? A sudden flash of sunlight reflecting off of wavy, unkempt hair and a small reassuring smile flickers in Hinata’s mind, and he realizes that, yes, he does. Komaeda’s presence had been such a tangible source of assurance on the first few days of the Killing School Trip, and Hinata needs that now, even if it’s just for a night.
Komaeda’s unwavering gaze studies Hinata for a moment. Various thoughts, questions, and eventual decisions that Hinata will never know reflect in his eyes before he slowly nods. “Okay, Hinata-kun, I’ll stay.”
Again, silence grows between them as they stiltedly settle under Hinata’s sheets. It’s not nearly as intense as before, locked in some sort of strange self-reflecting staring contest with Komaeda, but it’s still just as unnerving. He’s not sure how long they lay next to each other in the dark, only the sounds of their breathing, the gentle crashing of waves, and the occasional rustle of the bed sheets permeating the quiet night air. They’re lying several inches away from each other. Hinata can tell that Komaeda is trying to make his presence small, careful not to brush his skin against Hinata’s. For a brief moment before he can think better of it, Hinata allows himself to imagine what it would feel like - their limbs entangled between the sheets. Despite the lack of physical contact, he can feel the heat of Komaeda’s body next to him, tangible proof that he’s really there and that Hinata hasn’t somehow dreamt this all up.
Eventually, Hinata rolls over to face Komaeda. He’s staring pensively up at the ceiling, but his eyes trail to Hinata when he feels his weight shifting on the mattress. Hinata wonders what Komaeda was thinking so intently about.
“What happened? In your dream?”
Komaeda looks uncomfortable for a moment, fitfully twisting the comforter in his hands. Hinata knows he probably shouldn’t have asked but, fuck it. Clearly, neither of them is going to fall asleep soon. They might as well not sit in complete silence.
“I was in a hospital….” Komaeda eventually mumbles. He’s so quiet Hinata almost didn’t hear him.
A hospital? Hinata remembers his own dream: blood-rusted surgical tools, broken mirrors, and the cold, unwelcoming scent of alcohol and disinfectant.
“I get nightmares a lot,” Komaeda continues, speaking unevenly like he’s struggling to find the right words. “The ones where I’m in the hospital are the most common,” He says, his voice sounding tight.
“It’s a recurring nightmare?” Hinata asks softly, like he’s afraid that speaking too loud will break the spell of openness and vulnerability Komaeda has fallen into.
“Not exactly…” Komaeda mumbles, his gaze falling from Hinata and turning to the window, pale beams of moonlight dancing in the air between the open blinds. “Sometimes they’re different, but there is something that’s always the same. I’m always dying… and I’m always alone.” Komaeda lets out a raspy, despairing chuckle, “Dying such a meaningless, lonesome death…. It’s probably what someone like me deserves, but I just can’t accept it.”
“You mean like what Tsumiki said to you after the trial?” As soon as the words leave Hinata’s mouth, he knows it was a mistake.
Is it because you don’t have anyone to love? Is it because you’re also someone who isn’t accepted by anyone?
Those unspoken words echo throughout the silent cabin, and they reflect on Komaeda’s face. He stares solemnly back down at the comforter fisted in his hands, his gaze stormy and unwavering. “I suppose so,” He finally says. “I can’t deny that what she said was true. That someone like me…. Even so, my death won’t be meaningless if I can help it. I will die for the sake of hope, even if that means I will die alone.”
Komaeda’s words, resilient determination, and resolve… they fill Hinata’s body with an icy chill. You don’t have to be alone, he wants to say. I could be there for you. He’s unsure where these words are coming from or why he feels them so strongly, but they get stuck in his throat, and he can’t force them out.
“I had a dream I was in a hospital too….” Is what he eventually says. Komaeda’s eyes widen with shock for a brief moment. He rolls onto his side to face Hinata. He can feel Komaeda’s warm, hesitant breath fan over his face.
“Ever since the killings began, I’ve been having nightmares… of all our classmates that have died - that I failed to save.”
Komaeda furrows his brows and purses his lips like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t.
“I was having the same dream tonight,” Hinata continues, eyes falling to the mattress, suddenly unable to hold Komaeda’s intense, heeding gaze. “But then it changed, and I was in a hospital. It was dirty, and cold, and….” Goosebumps prickle on Hinata’s arms at the memory. “And there was a broken mirror. But when I looked in it, my reflection wasn’t me? I don’t know who he was, but he felt… familiar somehow?” Hinata’s breath catches in his throat, remembering those cold, red eyes boring into him, void of any emotion, as his lips moved and Hinata’s own voice came out.
He feels Komaeda’s hand tighten around his shoulder. His eyes jump up and meet Komaeda’s - they’re soft and concerned, similar to how he looked when they first met. Hinata lets out a shuddering breath, raising a trembling hand to rest it over Komaeda’s. When had he started shaking?
“Maybe it has to do with our high school memories? The ones Monomi stole from us?” Komaeda offers.
Hinata nods slowly. He’s probably right. But it doesn’t reassure him - if anything, it unsettles him more. The way Tsumiki had changed once she regained her memories… is that what will happen to him? Is he really not the same person he is now? Hinata shakes the thoughts from his head. There’s no point in ruminating over something stupid like that. He knows who he is now, and he won’t let regaining his memories change that.
“Thanks,” He finally says, giving Komaeda a slight smile that he hopes comes off as comforting and not shaken.
“Of course,” Komaeda whispers, returning the smile. “Thank you for listening to my rambling. I should know better than to burden an Ultimate with the trivial thoughts of someone like me. I hope I didn’t disturb you too much!”
“No,” Hinata says, taking Komaeda’s hand off his shoulder, but continuing to hold it in his own. “It didn’t bother me at all. And, if you hadn’t been here, I’m sure I wouldn’t have talked to anyone about what I’m going through.” With everything going on with the killing game, the Future Foundation, and the traitor… he wouldn’t want to bother anyone over something like this. And even though venting to Komaeda about his nightmares hadn’t resolved anything or answered any of the numerous questions he has, it somehow feels as if he’s carrying a little less tension than he was before.
Another smile stretches over Komaeda’s soft, thin lips. “Hinata-kun can talk to me about anything anytime!”
Hinata feels a strange feeling bubble up in his chest like he’s a shaken can of soda fixing to burst. He feels a sudden, overwhelming urge to touch Komaeda’s hair, to brush the unruly waves out of his face and cup the sharp, angular curve of his jaw. His hand twitches around Komaeda’s. He drops the other’s hand and grips the comforter before it wanders elsewhere with traitorous intentions. He has such conflicting emotions surrounding Komaeda. He puts his heart at ease and calms his nerves, but he can’t trust him as much as Hinata wants to. He wants to tell Komaeda to stay, to live, to fight for the future - a future that Hinata could share with him.
Resolutely, Hinata closes his eyes and mumbles, “Goodnight, Komaeda,” before he can have any more dangerous thoughts.
“Good night, Hinata-kun,” He hears Komaeda whisper back, the dulcet breathiness of his voice harmonizing with the island breeze and rolling tides.
When Hinata wakes in the morning, Komaeda is gone.
There’s nearly no trace of him left. Even the blanket and sheets on Hinata’s right had been smoothed and folded. Hinata would assume he simply dreamt the conversation they shared if it weren’t for the dried salt water left on his cabin floor.
He heaves out a quiet sigh and stares out the window. The sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant pink and orange hues, and beams of sunlight flood the room between the blinds. The morning announcement will play any minute now…. With the dawn of a new day, post-trial means exploring the next island, gathering any clues they can find about the Future Foundation and any way to put an end to the Killing School Trip, all the while trying to avoid whatever enticing motive Monokuma has deviously cooked up next.
The memory of Komaeda lying in his bed, bathed in pale moonlight and holding Hinata’s hand burns behind his eyelids. Maybe this is the start of them rebuilding the relationship they had before the killings began. Maybe he can help Komaeda look towards a brighter future. Maybe he’ll finally unravel all of his strange, conflicting feelings for his classmate. And, maybe, one day, he’ll finally be able to understand the captivating enigma that is Komaeda Nagito.