Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"It's very thoughtful of you to take time out of your busy day to talk to me." Nagito spoke into the vast hallway of the Strawberry House, compliment solidified by the echoes of his and Hajime's steps synchronizing.

"Relax. I'm only talking to you to make sure you don't pull anything again." Hajime's tone came out a bit rougher than he had originally wanted it to sound, but could anyone blame him?

It had been just shy of three days since every student had been sealed up in the Funhouse. Monokuma's insistence on pushing them to homicide by depriving them of any water, food, or hope of survival was really beginning to grind his gears. Not to mention Monokuma Taichi was a bonus pain-in-the-neck. Some of those moves, Hajime was convinced, weren't physically possible in any way, shape, or form.

His patience had been dwindling since the minute he woke up here, so much so that he had really believed for a few precious moments that The Final Dead Room could be the beacon of salvation he needed.

Hajime took a small moment to thank Chiaki's very well-timed presence, patience, and understanding; anyone else would see him as insane.

Well, maybe everyone else except...

Now, standing in the fluorescent pink hallway, Nagito's apologetic grin did nothing to deter Hajime's impending annoyance.

"Of course! It would be totally rude for me to assume you had any other reason for speaking with dirt like me." Nagito laughed in a way that painted the statement in an ingenuous light. Like a parent going along with their children's antics.

Was Nagito patronizing him? The very thought made the idea of walking away right then and there with zero explanation seem even more tempting. It probably wasn't even worth it to talk to him in the first place.

Contrary to Nagito's claim of him having a busy day, there's not all that much to do in the Funhouse other than suffer. Which seemed to be a pretty cut-and-dry motive for the killing game. The average psychopath or film-bro would probably applaud it. Probably consider it classic, straight to the point, and even effective. Hajime had, with all his heart and soul, prayed it wasn't effective.

When he sensed that the praying was leading him to a dead end (he never really prayed before anyway), he decided to collapse on top of the crummy bed in his crummy room and fall into a crummy sleep. All seemed to be going according to plan until he was abruptly woken up—a deafening, yet faraway crashing sound made him jump up from his bed in a perplexed panic.

The adrenaline coursing through his veins pushed him up from the bed, out of the room, and into the hallway. Grape House wasn't exactly maximalist in its decoration for the most part, so it didn't take a genius to see everything was in place. After coming up short of answers, his eyes finally locked onto the elevator.

Did something happen in Strawberry House?

The elevator loomed overhead as he pushed the button and waited. After a while, the doors opened with a rumble. Because all the elevators in this damn archipelago have to be menacing. Hajime thought the whole ordeal seemed a little scary—waking up to a loud sound and investigating it alone. Everything almost seemed akin to a thriller movie. The intrusive thoughts in his head practically begged for him to scream Hello? down the hall.

Hajime steeled himself and stepped inside. After everything he had seen, he wasn't the type to easily lose his composure. Granted, he did let out a high pitched yelp when the electricity crackled and dramatically shut off at the end, but no one saw that.

Once he entered the Strawberry House, the nervousness stilled and was replaced by confusion. The house had been vacated except for the sounds of ticking clocks and doors shutting.

Hajime groaned. “Good morning to you all too.”

He debated knocking on one of the doors to learn what had just happened, but he doubted he would get a straight answer from anyone right now. Plus, he didn't even know who had witnessed what or if it had been taken care of. Too tired to continue picking his battles, Hajime slumped over on the ottoman in the lounge and fell back into an uncomfortable slumber.

He didn't have any dreams. At least, he didn't think he did. Dreams or nightmares weren't exactly common occurrences for him. Or worse—they were, and the lack-there-of any was just another frustrating side effect of his amnesia. If this was true, what did he dream about? Did they have the answers for his forgotten talent and school life?

Hajime had no time to dwell on his past when he was woken up by a tap on the shoulder.

Opening his eyes, he was struck with a sudden rush of deja vu—stark white hair outlined by a bright light and curious gray eyes peering down at him. Only this time he wasn't passed out on the beach and Nagito was an even bigger enigma to him than just being a stranger.

“Hey, are you awake?” Nagito asked just as he did the first time.

“Uh.” Hajime replied conversationally. “Nope.”

He got up from the chair far too quickly and winced as his surroundings melted into place. There is no way he would be getting used to the brightness of the rooms anytime soon with the state he was in. It was like being waterboarded with the liquid inside glow sticks, he crudely thought.

“I didn't take you for a sleepwalker, Hajime.” Nagito said in his stupid know-it-all voice. Which was also his regular voice.

“Is it already seven in the morning?” Hajime looked around the room after sitting back down on the arm of the ottoman. If there was one thing he had going for him, it was that his memory during the killing game was pretty decent.. Now, all he could see on the back wall of the room were caricatures of moving strawberries where there should be a clock.

Nagito must have followed his curious gaze because he had walked over toward a chair on the other side of the room and picked up and examined the exact clock Hajime was so diligently looking for. Had someone moved it? Did it matter at all?

“It's barely six in the morning actually. What are you doing here?” Nagito's question fell on deaf ears since, instead of answering, Hajime had migrated back toward the elevator.

Not like it did much, as Nagito followed him and the elevator wasn't working.

“You've gotta be kidding me!” Hajime banged his hands on the metal doors. “You can open up now, whoever you are. This isn't funny, dammit! Was it you, Monoku-” Hajime's pleas were cut short by Nagito shushing him. Actually shushing him. Like a stingy librarian. Before Hajime had the chance to be rightfully offended, Nagito had leaned down to investigate the elevator door button.

Nagito drew his index finger near the side of the hinges to open the metallic cover. Sparks crackled from the interior. Hajime approached it and was treated to a mess of wires, cogs and mechanisms he thought Kazuichi could only build in a percocet induced frenzy.

“Interesting. Perhaps it was sabotaged?” Nagito stepped back and wordlessly invited Hajime to take a look.

“Did you really just shush me?” Hajime said before looking at the button. There were little scrapes alongside the edges, like a hole had been carved out. The wires inside were spontaneously shredded. The damage ended before the copper could be seriously damaged, but it definitely didn't stop any malfunctions. A pair of pliers or scissors couldn't carve out a hole like that and a shiv wouldn't be able to make those scratches.

Pushing his luck and attempting to emulate Nagito's calculated actions, he tried to press the button. Instead of acquiring further understanding, he acquired a small burn on his index finger.

Whatever. Luck is lame anyway.

“Sorry, sorry, that was out of place for trash like me. But what hope comes from always asking for the answers? Yes, working and investigating is much more gratifying.” Nagito nodded solemnly.

Hajime knew better than to tell him that people only say that when they want to beat a game without cheats or make brownies from scratch and not when they're in a life-or-death scenario. Well, actually, it's not exactly like he knew better and more so that he was pretty sure Nagito was too far gone in his beliefs to take any constructive criticism. He also wasn't in the mood to test out that theory. Nagito yapped on.

“Plus, do you really think this is something he would do?” The sound of Nagito's voice moved further and further away as he walked around the hall in search for more clues.

Hajime finally begrudgingly agreed. Monokuma was a very proud… bear? person? The Antichrist? Whatever he was, he wouldn't just break his own creations to get a crack at them. He left that to the participants. Which meant…

“Who could have done this? And why?”

“Whoever it was, they're probably planning something. I already asked Kazuichi if something had happened with the elevator and he told me nothing of the sort.” Nagito kneeled down to study a particularly interesting scratch on the floor.

The claim was taken into account with the rest of the evidence before Hajime could really understand its implications. It was only a few seconds of processing before his blood ran cold.

“Wait, you knew about this?” Hajime spun around to glare at Nagito's crouched figure. He wouldn't even be surprised if Nagito sabotaged the elevator himself. There really is no trusting him.

Nagito looked back at him with a small smile, like he knew what he was thinking and was trying to ease his worries. The kind gesture tasted sour in Hajime's tongue.

There had once been a time where that smile could have washed away all his worries just as the saltwater beside them washed away the sand little by little, giving him the hope to keep moving forward. That time had long since passed. He wasn't entirely sure he would ever see the shore again, anyway.

“I'm notoriously lousy with technology, so I wanted a second opinion. After asking Kazuichi, I figured the most suspicious person could have something to say.”

“Most suspicious person…” Hajime tested the words like repeating them would give him the answer. Just as he hoped, a lightbulb lit over his head and then proceeded to smash over his cranium.

“Me?” He jumped back, like he couldn't believe it himself. Nagito raised an eyebrow and paired his curious expression with a cross of the arms, patiently awaiting an explanation. Nevertheless, his gaze remained piercing, and Hajime knew there would be no dodging the question.

It made sense why he would think that. He himself would think so too. Despite being the most confusing and borderline insane person he ever had the pleasure (Pleasure is a generous word.) of meeting, Nagito did in fact have critical thinking skills.

Hajime nervously scrambled to rearrange the cards set against his favor.

“No, no I didn't break it. I just thought I heard something so I took the elevator down to investigate.” Then it dawned on him. “The power shut off inside immediately once I reached Strawberry house. I even had to push the door open. Yeah—it seems like the elevator was already faulty when I entered. It probably had one last ride left in it.” He put his thoughts together as he spoke, like a desperate conspiracy theorist.

Nagito hummed and tapped his chin, pensive. “That alibi is shaky at best.” Nagito started and, right before Hajime had a chance to continue defending himself, continued. “But obviously you wouldn't be standing out in the open if you sabotaged the elevator. That wouldn't do anyone any good. Also…”

“Also..?” Hajime prompted. He felt strangely relieved at finally being released from the chopping block. Though, he'd like a full explanation as to why. So he waited.

Nagito looked past Hajime and breathily giggled, seeming to be in his own world. “No, I'm sure you'll figure it out on your own.”

Hajime didn't press on but quietly seethed. What really vexed him about the situation was that if sleeping out in the open was apparently Nagito's reason for thinking he was innocent, then he must have known he was innocent the minute he saw the elevator (and Hajime) out of commission.

He's testing him again. No, he was toying with him.

If a genie appeared right at this moment and granted him three wishes, Hajime would wish to free everyone from this game, to find out what his talent is, and to clobber Monokuma with a baseball bat. If he had a fourth wish, however, it would be to figure out what the actual hell was going on inside Nagito's head.

“I guess we'll have to cut our losses and wait.” Nagito brushed his hands off on his jeans and began to walk away.

Wait?

“Wait?” Hajime parroted back. Nagito stopped walking, turned his head, hummed in affirmation.

Honestly, the situation could be worse. They could very well be stuck inside the elevator together, left to rot. In the grand scheme of things, being trapped within a house with a bunch of starving sleeping Ultimates really wasn't so bad—even if he's only able to talk to the one guy who can either disarm or detonate a bomb with his eyes closed in record timing. There are endless possibilities of worse situations.

But Hajime was tired, and he was hungry, and he was so sick of everything. And Nagito had gotten the nice room, so he had no conceivable reason to be here, wasting his energy.

Nagito had stopped walking and leaned against the wall, finally directing his stare at Hajime. Hajime stared back before he realized that he was waiting for him.

A silent invitation.

Hajime doesn't fully understand his thought process; his mind twists and turns until he puts on a confident face and persecutes a classmate. It would be pretty impressive if he could actually sleep at night again. Over the course of the past weeks he's learned to just trust his gut.

That's why he didn't question himself when he jogged towards Nagito.

So there he was, back in the present; with someone who was laughing when there was nothing to laugh about and apologizing for being talked to.

Chapter Text

 So there he was, back in the present; with someone who was laughing when there was nothing to laugh about and apologizing for being talked to.

"Sure. I don't know how you're handling this whole situation so well, anyway." Hajime looked away and changed the subject before it consumed him.

"You could say this isn't my first rodeo when it comes to starvation. When your luck is as bad as mine, you learn to adapt to these kinds of situations. Especially when the good luck afterwards makes up for it!" Hajime heard Nagito clap his hands together. It took a second for his everything-deprived brain to process what Nagito had said.

"Not your first rodeo with starvation?" Hajime snapped his head towards Nagito, who was looking around like he hadn't just dropped a backstory bombshell. Typical.

 Nagito nodded and kept talking. "I started taking the train to school in junior high in order to avoid any crash-related incidents. Worst case scenarios were power outages or getting vomited on by a drunk bystander."

 "Drunk bystanders. Always fun. One time, one threw up in my room on my birthday. I think she was my aunt or family friend? I had just vacuumed too…" Hajime reminisced about that very disgusting New Year's party with a grimace. He was quickly pulled out of it, however, by a snort. Nagito was covering his mouth in an attempt to mute it, but his crinkled eyes and shaking shoulders were a dead giveaway to his amusement. The hand fell back to reveal his lips tightly pressed together.

 Hajime wondered how many times he had seen him laugh… like that. Not the crazed, borderline machiavellian cackle born from the strangest things. Just laughing in a normal (albeit strangely polite) manner, all giggles and shiny eyes and creases between his mouth and cheeks, like a previously untouched piece of paper getting folded into a crane.

“That's…” Nagito attempted to speak and failed immediately. Apparently Hajime's expression must have been hysterical because Nagito doubled back over in laughter. His laugh was raspy, wheezy, ending in a small coughing fit. Genuine. Then something strange occurred. Hajime felt the heat rise in his cheeks and pull at his lips to reveal a stupid grin.

Hajime wondered if delusions were a side effect of starvation.

“Sorry, sorry… Okay, so.” Nagito cleared his throat, regained his composure and continued. "One day, I was coming home from school, and suddenly there was a hemp bag on my head that was probably laced with something. Chloroform, if I can recall the smell correctly." He punctuated the memory of the drug with a flick of his finger, like he always did to emphasize his words. 

Nagito was just as verbal as he was expressive—always speaking with his hands, circling people, and decorating his theories with examples and scenarios. In another universe, he might have been a good tutor or storyteller. Maybe the storyteller future wouldn't be too far from this one, as Hajime found himself becoming invested. 

"Next thing I knew, I was inside a basement with no way to get out. The doors were locked, the windows were barred, and any electronics were cut off. Luckily, I found a box of matches when I slipped out of the handcuffs." 

"You slipped out of handcuffs?" Hajime asked incredulously, turning a glance toward the other's wrists. Yeah, they were thin, Hajime noted, and he imagined they would have been thinner when he was younger, but he considered slipping out of handcuffs in any way a feat.

Nagito shrugged and proceeded to dig around his pockets for something. His expression softened into satisfaction when he finally pulled something out of his inner coat pocket—a small metallic blue object divided into several sections. 

"Multi-tool." He sighed. Of course, Nagito was the kind of guy to have a multi-tool. He was like Milo Murphy if Milo Murphy was sick in the head. 

Nagito mindlessly spun the tool in his hand. “A little tool like this always helps out in a pinch, don't you think?"

“Sure…” Hajime thought about this for a good few seconds before a previously forgotten puzzle was finally solved.

"Wait. Have you had this the whole time? Is this how you freed yourself from the chains a few weeks ago?" Hajime crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at Nagito, who shied his face away a little. His reaction seemed akin to getting caught cheating on a test by your strict friend.

"You really are perceptive, Hajime. To answer your question, think about it this way: Kazuichi and Nekomaru tie me up and shut me in the house to limit my autonomy. However, I immediately get out and see them again. What do you think is going to happen?"

"They freak out and think you're a shapeshifting demon who crawled up from hell." Hajime suggested. Well, it was less a suggestion and more a very accurate prediction. He pictured it clearly—Kazuichi letting out a high-pitched scream right before Nekomaru slings both him and Nagito over his shoulders and back to the house. Then, Kazuichi would probably invent a brand spanking new type of straight jacket designed specifically for Nagito, probably involving lasers or flamethrowers if Hajime allowed himself a friendly jab at his friend. Seriously, that guy is one bad conversation with a woman away from snapping and becoming a mad scientist.

And zero conversations away from thinking I'm the traitor, Hajime thought more bitterly.

"Yes, I guess so. But they would also just lock me up again, even more securely. If that happened, who knows how much longer they would have left me there or if my luck could help at all? That's why I waited instead for something to take their attention away from me."

"Waited for something?” Hajime put the puzzle pieces together. Tgey revealed a grim picture. “Mahiru's death... The Body Discovery Announcement." Hajime knitted his eyebrows again at the memory. The fact that he even had to put that together sickened him—just how used were they all becoming accustomed to this situation?

"I understand that it was sick and horrible of me to wait, but I couldn't bear to miss the sight of everyone's hopes shining during the investigation! Even at the expense of disobeying an Ultimate's orders." He clenched his fists like he was confessing his weekly sins to a pastor. 

He did seem like the type of guy to categorize “disobeying an Ultimate” as a sin. Or worse, a guilty pleasure, considering everything he's done so far. Hajime grimaced, wondering exactly what morals Nagito dictated for himself, what loopholes existed, and which ones he was willing to exploit. His moral compass was a roulette wheel.

"Don't worry, my luck eventually got back at me with the Despair Disease anyway. Always has, always will." Nagito shivered and hugged himself. It was unclear whether he did because of the apparently overwhelming concept or memories of the disease that left him with one foot in the grave and the other in a philosophical meltdown.

“I think we got a bit off topic." Hajime was quickly less invested in the original story and more reluctant to see Nagito spiral again. If not that, the disease was still fresh in everyone's minds, and even more so in Hajime's.

You try seeing the freaky guy you foolishly trusted clumsily trip across an IV cord and order you to get out of his face forever over his hyperventilating. 

"Ah yes, I guess so. When I lit one of the matches, I realized there were cadavers hanging from the ceiling. Once I got a good look at the faces, I realized they were all people who were deemed missing in the newspaper I had read that morning. That's when I knew it was all the work of an infamous serial killer."  

"You're lying."

"Why would I lie?" 

"Shit, I don't know. Maybe because you're alive?" 

"Yes, that's the wonderful part! The killer told me through the door to stay put, so I slipped the handcuffs back on and sat on the floor. I starved there for around a week or so, the only thing near me being cadavers." 

He quickly noticed the very obvious and familiar look of horror on Hajime's face that had been deepening and deepening, and he retraced.

"Oh, wow! No! I didn't eat the cadavers. Geez, didn't I just say I starved?" Nagito's voice rose with shock, threatening to alert his presence to the silent Funhouse. Now that he thought about it, everyone should be sleeping right now. A swift glance at the wall clock reading a very unreasonable hour proved him right. Hajime swore he would die of embarrassment if he was the indirect reason for waking his exhausted friends. Then he would resuscitate and shoot himself once he realized who he would be caught with.

"No, no, sorry, of course you didn't... Actually? Considering what you've done so far, I'm sure cannibalism isn't off the table for you." Hajime immediately went on the defensive and lowered his voice in a way for Nagito to mimic him. It seemed like he got the memo and replaced the original tone with his usual calm one. 

"I understand why you would believe that. I should be the one apologizing for phrasing it like that. Rest assured that I would never try to eat you alive."

 Hajime didn't even mention that, but okay. Forgive, forget, and whatever. Nagito once again went back to telling the story. 

 "After those few weeks, my kidnapper threw a hemp bag over me again, and I woke up inside a garbage bag on the side of the road. To my luck, I tried out the lottery ticket I found inside it at the police station, and I won millions! What a silver lining!" Nagito grinned as he sat down along the side of a not particularly comfortable-looking wall, probably from the lack of energy. 

Hajime also felt his energy growing thin. If even hearing that screwed-up story made him want to lie down and stare at the ceiling forever, he couldn't imagine actually going through it.

Except he was—getting kidnapped, locked inside a house, and starved was exactly what was happening to him right now. And the proof of it all was right in his face. Even then, Hajime looked down to confirm this absolutely batshit crazy situation.

The neon light shone through Nagito's hair onto his skin, giving it a ginger hue that matched the tips of his hair. Any average person would think it contrasted nicely with his green trench coat and mossy gray eyes. Hajime, unfortunately, was a pretty normal guy. He swallowed, despite having a dry mouth, and snapped back to reality. 

"That is kind of insane. Man, maybe I should have practiced fasting at some point in my life if it meant I'd be stable right now." Hajime decided to steer the conversation into friendlier territory. It's always better safe than sorry with the boy who was humming and scooting over to the side of the wall, giving enough space for him to sit beside him.

Hajime thought for a second before deciding to comply. His knees felt untrustworthy right now anyway.  

"The trick is to think about anything else. For example, the sound of the ocean, your friends' laughter, or recreating a bad manga plot in your head into an award-winning movie."

Hajime let out a small chuckle, but quickly took it back. When he said he wanted to steer the conversation into friendly territory, he didn't mean laughing at trauma. They were not there yet, and Hajime swore he had no intention of ever being there. He shouldn't even find it funny. He shouldn't even find him funny. 

Even so... he might as well just enjoy this moment of peace. It's not like the universe liked offering him many as far as he could remember. Which… weren't many at all. He made a mental note that if he didn't die in this killing game, he would become a monk and search for eternal peace. Or start smoking weed. 

 Maybe that could be my talent, Hajime thought miserably. He doubted Monokuma would provide the means for him to test that theory.

For now, he will accomplish the impossible and have a civil conversation with Nagito Komaeda.

"What, is that your list of top things to think about when you get kidnapped?" Hajime raised his shoulders in weak laughter and looked over at Nagito, who was looking at him with the most irritatingly smug face.

"You ask a lot of questions, you know."

Moment of peace over.

It wasn't even the universe who had it against Hajime right now; his own morbid curiosity truly was his own biggest saboteur. The betrayal. He's blaming Nagito.

"Nevermind then." Hajime wiped his hands on his jeans and began to stand up before he heard laughter.

"I'm Kidding! Any amount of time someone like you wastes on a leech like myself, I am infinitely grateful for. Even if it's because you want to interrogate me." 

"I'm not interrogating you! I'm just curious."

"It's very kind of you to spare my feelings, but don't worry. I'll answer anything."

Hajime weighed his options. This was probably the best he was gonna get from Nagito. Still, he wouldn't be coming out of this conversation empty handed if he walked off... He glanced down at the Ultimate, an ideological dumpster fire sporting a sticky sweet smile. 

What's the worst that could happen? is quite literally the worst excuse anyone could make to spend time with Nagito Komaeda.

Curiosity killed the cat. The self-appointed Ultimate Self-Saboteur resigned, took his seat again, and adjusted his button-up. 

"Well, what do you usually think about? Other than hope and despair." He picked at a piece of stray yarn on the side of his sleeve without avail.

"No, that doesn't sound right. At the end of the day, everything is hope and despair. It just matters how you perceive it." Nagito leaned over to his side, pinched the stray yarn on his sleeve, and stared at it. Hajime's limbs stiffened, and he vaguely recalled something about playing dead if you come across a bear. The only thing that moved were his eyes, which darted to look (or, from an outsider's perspective, gawk) at Nagito.

"That's why this killing game works so well. It constantly challenges us with the very thing we believe in and how far we would go to defend it. It really highlights the hopeful nature of humanity—its resilience. That's why the people with the strongest hope are going to make it out. I just know it." 

Hajime internally deflated. So much for that question. 

"You really are messed up, man." he noted with a dejected sigh. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Maybe rest could be an escape from his aching stomach and even more aching conversation.

He heard Nagito chuckle and after a moment, shift.

"But... to officially answer your question? Sometimes, I find my mind wandering back to my parents."

That made Hajime's eyes fly open. He quickly scanned the room for Nagito and found that he had shifted a few inches away, into the very corner of the hallway. His expression and pose seemed relaxed, but the mannerisms gave him away—he was chewing his cheek and pulling at his sleeve cuffs.  

It was a very strange emotion to see Nagito experiencing—a deep, utter longing for what Hajime assumed was his past life. Even someone who was so on board with the killing game and every bad thing life has to offer seemed to have his own inhibitions. His own deep, personal motivation to survive.

It was depressingly human. 

He furrowed his brows. Nagito looked back up, and judging by his startled expression, Hajime must have suddenly seemed very interested.

Fortunately, it only took a few seconds for Hajime to mentally wack himself over with a stop sign.

"You don't—uh. You don't have to talk about anything you don't want to. Obviously." Hajime punctuated his sentence by backing off so quickly that he hit his head against the back of the wall. The blow, combined with his malnutrition, made his eyesight blur.

“Careful!” Nagito chimed in as if he could save him with a reminder. Hajime remained silent.

Hajime failed to appreciate the very late warning in turn for rubbing the nape of his neck. "I guess I just didn't expect something so common from... you." He mumbled after a few seconds. 

"Well, of course! I'm still an unremarkable spec of dirt in the grand scheme of things. Other than my luck, I have no ability to stand out." Nagito had returned to his usual laid-back demeanor. "However, it's quite beautiful, don't you think?" 

"Beautiful?" Hajime didn't know that much about beauty. He'd seen pretty girls walking around in the town and sakura flower petals raining from the tree near his house, but it never occurred to him to think about much at all. However, this wasn't the kind of beauty Nagito was talking about, was it?

 When Hajime regained his composure, he glanced back to see Nagito with a pensive expression. He leaned forward and rested his head on his fist. The pink hue from the wall had now fully illuminated the right side of his face. His eye bags, nose, and lips were sharply outlined by shadow. A starving artist's draft for their masterpiece.

Perhaps now could be the time for Hajime to learn.

“Well…” Nagito seemed to finally put his thoughts together. “The second a person comes into this world, fate dictates whether or not you can make a mark in the world. Whether you have talent or no talent. That is indisputable.” 

“But… Everyone can have hope. Everyone can have hope for the future, for humanity, and even for themselves and their varied abilities to push past whatever despair they face. It's not just something people feel; it's something people just have. An absolute good. A pure drive. You can be the most vile, inconsequential excuse for a person and still have the hope to wake up in the morning.”

"Obviously, any Ultimate's hope is stronger than a talentless person's; that has been proven time and time again. Could you imagine? What an ironic, despairing thought: The talented falling to despair so the common have to rise with hope.” Nagito pondered out loud.

“But sometimes... ah, how embarrassing!” The nervousness returned, though at a smaller scale. Nagito laughed tensely and studied Hajime's face.

Hajime realized he was being put on the spot, albeit unintentionally. Then it hit him; Nagito was actually scared—no, he's probably not the type—nervous about what he was thinking. He tossed that observation onto the teetering pile of Nagito's mixed messages.

After finding no sign of demurral on Hajime's face—something that must have been ground breaking judging by the shocked hum—, Nagito continued. “Sometimes I find myself comforted by the fact that even talentless people can have hope. It makes me feel... less alone?” 

“Alone?”

“Think of breathing. Humans, dogs, trees, plankton—every living thing breathes regardless of how much oxygen they take, what they use the air for, or even what changes they make to the environment. Trees take in carbon dioxide and let out oxygen, while an animal does the opposite.” 

“I'm not following.”

“Just as everything breathes, everyone hopes. It doesn't matter what you hope for or how much of it you can spread around the world. That means even someone like me can hope. It's really all I have left. The only thing that gives me reason to live; a light at the end of the tunnel. It's beautiful.”

“My hope is to be a stepping stone. It's what my experiences have been for me and what I will inevitably be, hopefully, for you all.”

“I... guess. So that's why you think that.” Hajime hummed. It made sense in a really, really fucked up way.

“Of course! You agree, after all, that people like me can only serve as the base for the Ultimate's hope. It's an unspoken law of the world.” Nagito shrugged like it was the most obvious thing to exist. 

“That's not…” Hajime bit his tongue because, beneath layers and layers of fear and denial, he knew Nagito was right.

What a shit world they had been locked away from.

Hajime, fearing that he would become even more depressed if he kept thinking about this, desperately searched for another topic. He decided to revisit a previous topic.

“You think about your parents, then?”

Yeah, no. Hajime regretted his choice of small talk the moment the words left his mouth. So much for avoiding depressing topics. Nagito, however, didn't seem to mind.

“Sometimes. I wonder what they would think of me today, if they would understand me. They were always so strict, always wanting me to be the very best.” Nagito seemed far away. But the way that he talked about his parents, like they were long gone… “I'm sure they'd hate me.”

Hajime, despite all rhyme and reason, extended a hand towards Nagito on the other side of the hallway and rested it on his shoulder. He felt Nagito's entire body tense, like the very touch froze him to his core. The cold must have also spread to Hajime, as he found himself completely immobile for a few moments.

When you're comforting someone, you're supposed to say stuff, right? Hajime tried putting together millions upon millions of sentences in his head whilst simultaneously scratching them out. In the end, all he could really come up with was…

“You're gonna see your parents again.”

“Hajime…”

Breathless. Like Hajime had sucked the life out of him, Nagito seemed breathless—his wide eyed stare and parted lips. They were slightly chapped, like he bit them often. Hajime continued, because if he didn't continue right now, he could not fathom what was going to happen.

“I'm no optimist, but… We're gonna do our very best to end this game. Whether you want to or not.” He punctuated the last sentence with letting go of the other's shoulder. “Forget Monokuma, forget hope, forget despair! Just forget about it all! You'll get out of here and you'll talk to them again. We all will.”

“There's really no use dwelling on the past-” Nagito regained his composure.

“This isn't about the past, it's about the future.” Hajime argued only to be met with a humorless laugh. Nothing like the laugh he had heard before.

“No, Hajime, you don't understand. My parents…”

“...aren't part of my future. Or any future.”