Archive of Our Own

His first waking moments come with a headache. 

As an unfortunately common experience, due to combinations of rigorous treatments, bad habits, and general poor health, Nagito is relatively prone to them. However, he thinks as he blinks heavily in the dark hospital room, there is something wrong with this one. 

Slowly, Nagito shifts in his bed, trying to get comfortable again. It’s warm. Unbearably so. To his left, a breeze manages to come through the window. It does very little to cool his skin. In a harsh movement, Nagito’s arm jerks as he tries to throw off his blankets, and only succeeds in getting them off his chest. The remainder wrapped tighter around his legs. His breath comes out perhaps a little harder than it should, but it helps. Slightly. 

It can’t be any later than one in the morning, and Nagito’s certain he’d only just managed to fall asleep. He’s already exhausted enough during the day. He wishes it wasn’t so hot in here. Nagito lets out a slow, controlled breath and closes his eyes. If he falls asleep again, he can skip to the morning. Breathe, he thinks. In.

Out.

Again. If he can slip-

“You really should try to stay awake,” a voice interrupts from the left. It startles Nagito enough that his next breath catches, causing a coughing fit. Pale hands grip the sheets as he leans over the side of the bed, trying to regain control over his lungs. From the corner of his eye, Nagito gets a glimpse of the stranger. 

No. Not a stranger.

Looking down at him, head tilting in a curious-like manner, was himself. 

At least, a younger version of the boy Nagito once was. Before Hope's Peak and before he fully understood how life worked for someone like him. Before his hair went white and his smile became polite instead of real. Before he knew not to love freely and selfishly: that was the ghost he sees in front of himself now. 

Ragged breathing echoes in the quiet, sterile room. Nagito tries to speak, but can’t force any words out.

Something’s wrong, he thinks.

“Yes, I would think so,” it replies. Nagito’s head jerks up at the sound, eyes wide. It only smiles at his confusion. “There’s no need for such a strange look on your face. I’m just standing here.” 

Nagito swallows. I’m hallucinating.

“Are you now?”

Yes. I am. It’s a possible side effect of one of the medications. Nagito collapses back on the bed, feeling worn out by the fit. He tilts his head back to help with the light-headedness. Hinata warned me . 

A grimace flashes across its face. “He also said you had to tell him immediately if any side effects started. Maybe you should do that.” It raises its hand towards the headboard in an almost carefree gesture. Nagito knows it was likely referring to the call button set-up by his head, but he makes no effort to look away from the hallucination, the visage. 

They stare at each other for a moment. One with a distant polite smile, so out of place on such a young face, and the other expressionless. Its smile falls as it drops its hand with a tsk.

“Always so stubborn.”

It slumps back in a rocking motion before stepping around the bed. Suddenly, the visage trips over his shoes and disappears from Nagito’s sight. Nagito frowns, hating himself for feeling concerned over a fake version of himself. Are you al-

“What’s the most efficient way to call everyone on the islands to a singular location?”

Nagito flinches. The visage is now on his right, looking at the vital monitors. Its appearance has changed. Now it is older, sicker, wearing a green jacket matching the one currently hanging on the corner of the bed. This is the him that tried to murder his classmates. 

What are you doing?

Looking down at him with a sardonic smile, it remarks, “I’m investigating.” 

It looks back at the monitor, a boney finger tracing in the air over the monitor screen. “Back on topic, maybe a couple of years back someone could have just sent a group message.” Its finger follows the trail of wires leading over the side table, back to Nagito’s chest and flesh hand. The visage raises an eyebrow at him before continuing. “Of course, now only a handful of us have access to a phone and the rest of us have little need to carry one at all. Ergo, another method is necessary.”

An emergency, maybe , Nagito plays along. Even a false one would draw everyone out. He is more distracted by the screen now. Is his heartbeat supposed to be that fast?

A scoff draws back his attention. 

“Half the group may seek it out, but the other half knows to reconvene at a safer location. Divided, conquered.” The visage gives a disappointed tut before abandoning the monitor and walking away. “You’re not even trying to think it through.” 

Nagito huffs. Fine then. He rubs his eyes, wiping the sweat off his face and then having to wipe his hands against the blanket. The question, at least, is something to distract him until this episode passes. Nagito considers as the visage walks past the medicine cart before seemingly changing its mind and circling around it.

It depends. Nagito makes to sit up, hands hastily bracing himself on the mattress as he sways for a moment. The visage’s hand skims around the edges of the cart top, looking down at its contents. If any location will do, then it needs to be somewhere everyone instinctively knows to gather.  

It nods in agreement. “The hotel restaurant.” 

Yes.

“Perhaps an alarm, then,” it suggests. The figure leans down to look at a stray medication bottle left behind. Nagito tries to remember which one had a square bottle. “It could call over all the islands once triggered.”

Nagito hears the response distantly. That’s right, the sleeping aid. Tsumiki and Hinata were worried about his sleeping habits with the increased treatment course. Hinata must have forgotten to put it away when Nagito raised his concerns about the effort spent on his treatment.

“Well?” it has moved over to the cupboards in the corner of the room. Its back is facing him as it looks around, never opening any glass cabinet doors. 

Nagito shakes his head. Not everyone pays attention. Souda plays music when he’s working while Nidai sleeps deeply.

The visage looks back at him, hand still raised over one of the bottles, and smiles. “Something noticeable then, but non-threatening. Serious enough that everyone would gather immediately instead of ignoring it.” 

The answer comes to him with sureness. A power surge.

“Oh?”

Power is a luxury we all rely on. Even if someone isn’t by any building it wouldn’t take long before they noticed or someone else came to get them. 

“And where else would they go but to meet someone with answers,” it murmurs. The visage turns around and faces him. “Well, it’s a good thought exercise.”

Slowly, Nagito lays back down, finding it difficult to stay upright. His headache, which he managed to distract himself from, makes a reappearance as he remembers how tired he is. It is late enough that even Tanaka will be asleep (well, maybe not). 

As Nagito lays on his side, he watches the visage watch him. His eyes feel heavy, and he wonders if this was how he made his classmates feel in the game. Watched and expected upon. Another fair reason for their dislike. Neither of them say anything, and he closes his eyes with a heavy blink. 

Something touches his head. 

Cool and 

there, what is - 

Nagito’s eyes snap open. 

The Visage is standing in the bathroom. In sight, out of reach. 

“Do you ever wonder,” It begins, “where your classmates would be if there were fewer clues to hold their hands?” As it walks out into the room, Nagito realizes that it has changed again. A slightly younger boy looks at him, wearing an expensive brown jacket and still carrying the baby-fat in its face. 

Logically, Nagito knows that in the game his classmates and him were led to believe they were first years, but facing a back-to-back comparison made him wonder how they ever believed it. At actual-sixteen, Nagito went all in on Hope’s Peak’s vision for the future. He put all his hopes in one basket, believing it had to be worth something in the end. That Nagito- that one had wanted nothing more than to serve his classmates as they rose to their true potential. 

At sixteen, Nagito Komaeda had thought he didn’t have to be afraid of the hanging sword above his head anymore. 

But none of this is real, he reminds himself. Nothing that wasn’t already made in his own rotted brain, yet Nagito can’t help but react.

“They are-” Nagito defends, but stops as he quickly lurches over to the side of the bed once more. His stomach rolls and he grabs the trash can to hold it under his face as he heaves bile. In the time it takes to calm both his breathing and his stomach, Nagito feels the faint hints of panic start to set in. 

“Careful now,” the Visage sounds almost amused. “Maybe you should drink something. It’d be a waste for the water otherwise.”

After several moments, Nagito leans away from the trash can. The bin shakes as he puts it down. His hands tremble as he cradles them to his chest. Nagito spots the plastic cup of water on the side table in the corner of his eye but, he thinks as he feels the tremors, it would be more wasteful to try and pick it up.

The Visage walks to the door, waiting for his response and seemingly not caring for it. It looks up and down the hallway. Meanwhile, Nagito takes the reprieve, pressing his face into the mattress, to finish his thought. I still would have believed in them. Their hope would have always led them to success. 

It lets out a sharp laugh, one that should have echoed down the hall but doesn’t. Although Nagito can’t see it, he has a feeling it has that pitying smile again. It partially turns back to speak to him. “Right. How simple of me to forget how everyone was saved with the power of hope.”

Nagito hesitates.

The Figure looks slightly older now, although the hair is still pale with color only hanging onto the ends. It still wears the brown jacket representing Hope’s Peak; it’s nigh identical to its previous form. And yet, Nagito doesn’t know when this version was from.

“Unless, of course, you count the time everyone wasn’t.” It walks towards him at a sedate pace, counting its fingers as the Visage makes its point. “When the masses turned against everyone, and the Ultimates threw each other to the wolves. How your peers did everything in their power to take everyone down with them at the first taste of Despair. Even he ,” The Visage’s voice has strain to it as it gestures towards the empty chair by the bed. “Had to be begged to keep going.”

And Nagito watches it wide-eyed, confused. He doesn’t know what it-what. He doesn’t know-

I did, too. Nagito thinks instead, I lost sight, too; if it weren’t for Naegi-

The expression on its face stops him cold. Slightly younger again, it looks past him with dazed eyes, a slow eerie smile crossing its face. To some it may have looked tender. “Makoto Naegi.”

Yes, Nagito thinks as he swallows .

“Right,” The Visage shakes its head as though to clear its mind, its form shifts again as it does so. Once more that unknown version. Nagito is stymied; he can’t tell what the difference is between the two. “But an exception to the rule none-the-less, don’t you think?”

Nagito tries to look away, but has to cradle his head immediately afterwards. He clutches loose damp strands of hair as he waits for the dizziness to stop. The Visage stops behind the chair next to Nagito’s bed. Nagito watches it from his peripheral vision. It gives an exaggerated sigh and slouches in on itself. From this angle, Nagito thinks maybe he’s figured it out. It’s the face that’s different. Fuller, healthier, like a highschool version of himself who had never danced on the floor of sickness and ruin.  

“It’s rude to not acknowledge someone when they’re speaking to you,” it tries. Still, Nagito says nothing, and it sighs again. The Visage looks down at the chair and scoffs before moving away, taking a different form of attack. “He must not think much of you to leave those sitting there.” 

Nagito can’t stop himself from glancing over at the chair, at the files left behind. He wants to argue; to provide some kind of evidence to the contrary. Logically, he knows they are empty words from some dubious version of himself, but his vision blurs and he’s so tired. Vaguely, he hears the Visage continue.

“Although, that one always does underestimate-”

“H ow bad could it be? Statistically, I mean,” Hinata asked. It was an unfair question, and they both knew that Nagito knew that Hinata knew that. Although Nagito could start a discussion on how foolish his claim was, based on overwhelming empirical evidence, Tsumiki was in the room, and they had promised to hold off such disagreements until after checkups. So for now, Nagito bit his tongue, but made a note to revisit the subject later.

“Well, statistically , Hinata should know that a good many things could happen, despite low chances.” Nagito was, however, allowed to still have his opinion. 

Hinata only rolled his eyes as he wrapped up the stethoscope. 

“Which is why I bring paper copies and not a computer.”

“And eventually, when they get ruined-”

“IF they do.”

“Hinata will have to waste more of our limited resources on classified documents to continue his workaholic lifestyle.” Nagito shook his head, already mourning this outcome. “And just after Sonia negotiated more supplies from the mainland.” 

“Well, it will be a good opportunity to continue using her talent. You should love that.”

Nagito hummed, “I do appreciate shining and hopeful displays of talent.”

Hinata cuffed him on the side of the head. “Stop saying weird shit on purpose.”

“Hajime!” Tsumiki exclaimed from the other side of the room.

“I see the Ultimate Doctor did not come with a bedside manner skill set.”

“Komaeda!”

“Unlucky for you, I never took the Hippocratic oath.” 

“Ah, so this is how I’ll die. Medical malpractice.”

“I’ll show you-”

“I think we’re done for the day!” Tsumiki interrupted. Quickly, she began putting all the supplies away. Her voice sounded strained, and she refused to look at them. “Everything seems to be progressing alright and Komaeda you are all set to leave. Hajime will let you know when the next check up is and I’ll seeyoubothatdinner, bye!” 

Nagito and Hinata stared blankly at the now empty doorway. After a moment, Hinata awkwardly cleared his throat while Nagito stared at the ceiling, hoping to find a loose ceiling panel to do its part. 

Hinata, of course, was the first to recover and began cleaning up as well. As Nagito watched him, he spotted a certain chair off to the side and recalled their unfinished debate.

“Ah. I suppose you were right this time, Hinata.”

“Hajime,” the other corrected absentmindedly. Hinata looked over at the files and seemed to deflate. In quick motions, he picked them up before turning back to him. While Nagito put back on his jacket, Hinata stared pensively out the window while tapping the edge of the folder into his palm.

“What are you doing for the rest of the day?”

Nagito didn’t answer for a moment. The tapping stopped.

“Nagito?”

Nagito sighed, looking out the same window now. “It’s a very nice day today,” He said instead. He could hear Hinata’s amusement in his voice.

“It is. What are you going to do with it?”

“I think,” Nagito began, his eyes closing with his smile. “I will stay inside today. Best to watch it indoors.”

A contemplative hum answered him.

“At least the Library has air conditioning.” Hinata nodded his head like it settled something. “Are you ready then?”

Nagito didn’t move. “Hinata is surely working too much. Perhaps it's a good idea to take a break.”

 “I could, yeah.” He agreed in a way Nagito didn’t trust. “But like you said, we go through supplies fast. It’s a good idea to get another list ready.” Hinata returned Nagito’s smile. He felt his own twitch a little before dropping.

“Hinata-”

“Hajime.”

“Hinata .” Nagito ran a hand through his hair before sighing. “I just don’t see the point in you wasting your day with tr-with me.”

Silence. 

“You can always tell me to leave you alone, Nagito.” Hinata didn’t look at him, instead watched the floor with a neutral expression on his face. His voice, which Nagito knew he tried so hard to keep animated, fell toneless. “It is not my intention to be where I am unwanted.” 

Nagito’s prosthetic gripped the blanket on the bed, hard enough that he worried it might lock. It was difficult to fight between two instincts. One a steady habit and one like disinfectant on a wound. The struggle was to know which one would hurt less. 

Finally, Nagito fell back onto the bed with a huff. “Far be it from me to tell Hinata what to do. Even if I think Hinata might find it a little, well…”

“Boring.”

Nagito froze, caught off guard. The low hollow voice like a bullet through his brain. Static built where his fingers met the blanket. He could hear his blood rushing. He heard his own voice strain, “What?”

“I said-”

Nagito opens his eyes. 

“Th is is getting tedious,” The Visage finishes. 

The Visage is so close. Its face is little more than a breath apart from his and it stares. Nagito, laying on his side, draws in a shuddering breath. Pale-green eyes are locked onto him without blinking. Empty and assessing, it watches for something Nagito doesn’t possess. 

“It’s like you said, ‘something’s wrong,’” its voice whispers. Nagito tries to match its gaze and for a moment he feels the room tilt as black spots cover his vision. The Visage continues on, “Haven’t you figured it out, yet?”

As Nagito's vision clears, he sees it standing by the medicine cabinet across from him, green jacket resting on its shoulders. A hand rests on the glass in front of some of the bottles, and a finger makes a tapping motion. No contact is made, and no sound is heard, but Nagito felt each one at the base of his skull, pounding in time with his head. 

Nagito curls up slightly, hands raising to his temples as his eyes squeeze shut to block out the growing pressure. 

Something touches him.

Sonia and him had talked, once, about the human body and its ticks. Nagito had been trying to stay out of everyone’s way and went to hide as he often does in the library. Between the shelves and discarded books, he found Sonia sitting on the ground, surrounded by her court of books and papers. Like many of his classmates, exhaustion weighed heavily in her mind and body. Unlike many, Sonia smiled when she saw him standing there and invited him to sit with her. To this day, he believes it has more to do with convenience rather than any personal preference. 

“Did you know,” Sonia had started, leaning towards him as he carefully placed himself between the piles, “that humans can’t feel wet?”

“Oh?” Nagito prompted, amused despite himself. 

She nodded eagerly, her blonde hair brushing his prosthetic hand as she shifted over to show him the book she was holding. “It’s true, see. We don’t have the receptors for it. The body uses other stimuli to make up for it. Like the temperature or texture.” 

Sitting back again, Sonia caressed the book and gave it an absentminded, sad smile. “It’s fascinating how the human body will do anything to adapt to the unknown.”

Something is touching him and his body tries to adapt. 

It feels like nothing. 

Not cold, not wet, but a pressure his mind tried to make sense of with senses it does not have. 

Nagito jolts back, nearly throwing himself off the bed despite wires pulling and almost every part of his body protesting. Gasping breaths escape him as he keeps his wide eyes on the Visage at the foot of his bed. In sight, out of reach.

In sight.

Closer than it had been at the medicine cabinet. But not close enough to-

Nagito blinks. 

“If you were actually smart, you should have called for someone by now,” The Visage says in a patronizing voice. Nagito feels his body’s flight instinct turn to freeze instead. Every part of it looks aged now, from its body to its clothes to its eyes. Its face is now hollow from hunger and sickness, dark bags under its eyes. Across from him, the Visage takes stumbling steps to the wall, a chain swinging slowly from its neck, and it uses the support to walk towards him. Looking as though each step was a result of dragging an empty body that had long run out of energy. 

Nagito has nearly forgotten how it felt. 

“Never wanting to involve anyone else.” It braces its right hand against the wall, skin cracked and fingertips covered in ash. “We both know being alone just means you get hurt.”

The tremors from his own hand have grown, pricking up his arm and starting again in his legs. Despite it becoming increasingly hard to ignore the pulsing behind his eyes, Nagito is unable to look away. 

“What’s different this time?”

I-I don’t know .

The Visage is so close now.

Weakly, Nagito tilts his head to meet its gaze as it comes up beside him. It stares at him, calculating, evaluating, wanting and the wind is still blowing softly behind it, but the specter remains unaffected and untouched. Seemingly disappointed, the Visage abruptly turns away from him and leans out the window. Its hands, one covered in a ruined oven mitt and one bare, pretend to brace against the frame. It takes a breath as though to collect itself. When it turns back around, Nagito’s heart stutters at the cold smile on its face.

“Fine.” It raises its right hand, fingers making the shape of a gun. “Let’s make this fun then.”

Nagito doesn’t breathe as he watches it aim at him, hovering waiting resting, before the cross-hair shifts to just above his head and fires. 

A gust of wind bursts through the window, the Visage’s hair and dark jacket whipping around with it, and into the room. From the corner of his eye, Nagito sees his own jacket slip off the headboard, and he lunges to catch it. His prosthetic catches on the wires and pulls them out of the monitor, causing the alarm to start blaring. To his greater dismay, however, the coat manages to knock the water over and spill onto the chair and, more importantly, the files that lay on top of it. 

He dangles over the side of the bed, and he tries to fight against the nausea the sudden movement has caused. Blearily, Nagito stares through his spotty vision at his metal hand, still reaching to stop a consequence that’s already passed. The monitor’s blaring fades in-and-out of Nagito’s hearing as blood rushes to his head. Yet, somehow he hears laughing. The water has spilled across the floor and has rolled past his reach. 

A pair of worn boots appear in his line of sight. The Visage crouches down to look at his face, and Nagito says nothing. 

“Do you remember,” It leans in to whisper in his ear, acting as a sole confidante in an empty room, ”why, exactly, you still choose to be alone?” 

Nagito thinks he hears the sound of a door opening somewhere between the noise. Slowly, his hand retracts and Nagito shuffles a little more onto the bed before collapsing against the mattress once more. The prosthetic quickly matches the temperature of his feverish skin as it cradles his forehead. 

There are footsteps coming down the hallway.

“Think!” The Visage whispers harshly, denying him his escape. “It’s not the sickness, those debts have already been paid.”

Nagito doesn’t answer, instead focusing on controlling his breathing, and it grows frustrated with him. Like a teacher dragging their student along to an answer, it keeps pushing. 

“Can’t be an allergic reaction, not after the fourth round of treatment. So what else?”

I can’t-

“If you can think with your rotted brain, you can think of a fucking answer.”  

“Komaeda?” comes a panicked voice. “What’s wrong?” 

Nagito blearily watches Tsumiki from around the Figure as she appears. She is still in her nightwear, and despite the late hour, she doesn’t hesitate entering the room. The Visage steps neatly out of the way as Tsumiki gets to the bed and reaches a hand to his face. 

Weakly, Nagito grabs her wrist and shakes his head. He gives her his best sheepish smile, one that somehow succeeds.  

Over there, he thinks, directing his gaze to the monitor and loose wires. Following his gaze, Tsumiki catalogs the events that must have occurred and visibly relaxes. 

“Oh, nothing important, then.” Registering what she said, Tsumiki’s face flushes. “I-I didn’t mean it like that!” She swiftly turns off the monitor and begins to busy herself with attending to the wires as she rambles.

 “Please forgive me, Komaeda! I didn’t mean to imply-I mean I just meant I was worried, and with you, it's always - NOT THAT IT'S YOUR FAULT! Komaeda, oh, I-” Tsumiki refuses to look at him during her apologies, still, her hands are efficient and steady. Reattaching and adjusting each cord to the monitor and to his body with little hesitation. Like always, Nagito is impressed with his classmate’s skill. 

Nagito flinches when the Visage speaks once more. 

“It’s out of character for you to refuse to help them. Especially when they are blindly walking towards tragedy.” The words are softer than before and Nagito’s chances a glance towards the speaker. Recognizable and back in his old Hope’s Peak jacket. It’s not even looking at him, instead giving a peculiar smile in Tsumiki’s direction. “Are you really so cruel?”

“Komaeda,” she begins, having just finished resetting the monitor, “everything should be okay now, but is there anything else I ca-wAH!” Tsumiki exclaims as she trips and disappears from sight. 

“It’s not the treatment plan, and it's not a relapse,” The Visage repeats calmly over the sounds of Tsumiki fumbling on the floor. “What’s different this time?”

Nagito closes his eyes briefly before giving up. 

The new shipment arrived yesterday. 

“Exactly!” The Visage says, an old green jacket billowing as it gestures. It seems obnoxiously excited by his answer. Perhaps happy Nagito was still able to follow along with its obvious reasoning. 

“Now,” it begins, ”why was this shipment important.”

It carried essentials. Everything, including medications. 

Hinata had- Nagito’s thoughts cut off as Tsumiki stands back up. She stumbles a little, holding the plastic cup that fell. Carefully, she steps away and heads towards the bathroom. The Visage clears its throat. 

Hinata had talked about how the Future Foundation was generous in their supplies this time. Nagito looks at the damp papers left behind and continues. He wanted a second opinion on what that might mean for our own future. 

Distantly, Nagito hears the monitor start up, the beeping picking up again. Cup now refilled, Tsumiki comes back and the Visage circles around the bed, now close to the window again and safely away from any interlopers.  

“Why did you note the medications?” it asks.

“Oh no,” Tsumiki says as she gathers the papers. “I hope Hajime has back-ups for these.” She steps away to spread them out on the medicine cart. 

Because they were for me.

“You remember, don't you? Complaining to Hinata about having a little trouble falling asleep, only for him to turn around and bother Tsumiki about it.” 

Yes, Nagito also remembers the row they had afterwards. 

A hand suddenly brushes his cheek and Nagito flinches. 

“Komaeda?” Tsumiki asks. Her eyes dart between him and the monitor in concern. Tsumiki reaches to touch him again, and he once again tries to nudge her away, uncomfortable with the contact even in a professional setting, but she ignores him this time and presses two fingers against his pulse. 

Nagito watches her in turn. Tsumiki’s lips move silently as she counts with each beep. Dread starts to trickle in.  

“Komaeda-,”

“You need to focus on me.” 

“-I need you to focus on me.”

Both voices layer over each other. Weakly, Nagito turns to face the window; the Visage has crouched at the side of the bed and speaks softly where Nagito strains to hear it. 

“So self-centered,” It chides. “Who else benefits from the shipment?”

There is rustling behind him, and Nagito hears what sounds like a short yelp and bottles hitting the floor. Tsumiki must've run into the medicine cart. 

Nagito swallows . Everyone. Everyone benefits.

“How?”

Nagito fights off a sob trying to escape his throat, curling a little more into himself. He’s so tired, but more than that, he already knows what’s wrong. He’s dying, and every part of his body is fighting to inform him of this fact. 

Tsumiki grabs his shoulder, pulling him onto his back and shining a flashlight into his eyes. She says something, but Nagito doesn’t hear it. After a moment, she pulls back and reaches to push something above his head. 

“ How ?” 

And how does Nagito explain that it is everything. It’s the migraine medication for Hinata, stimulants for Souda, and the antidepressants for Sonia, Tsumiki, and Togami. Or how Owari and Hanamura still need the dietary supplements and there is the anti-inflammatory medication for Mitarai. Even if Nagito is to die tonight, there will still be a packet of medications needed from the mainland that his peers need.

But this shipment had something they all needed. 

The need is found in Ibuki passing out on the beach, almost swept away by the currents. In Nidai, nearly dropping a crate on Mitarai before snapping to awareness. Souda, slipping in the warehouse and electrocuting himself. Pekoyama, who dissociated and pulled a knife on Kuzuryu. And Koizumi, apologizing on Saionji’s behalf just last Friday after she snapped at everyone during a meal, explaining how she couldn’t sleep the past couple nights as they both ran out of sleeping pills. 

How everyone had been running out. 

“Yes, that’s right,” It agrees. “Everyone tries, but it's hard for them to keep their sense of hope once it gets dark. So he made sure there would be more on the next boat.” 

No one was supposed to know. In case they couldn’t gather them in time. Nagito knew though. At the time, he’d justified it, thinking Hajime wouldn’t have left the papers if he hadn’t wanted Nagito to look through them. 

“And Naegi couldn’t risk pushing production too fast either.”

It would draw suspicion. 

Even then, it’s risky, Nagito recalls as he feels hands push him onto his back.  Of what was left of the Future Foundation, only half of the game survivors knew where the remnants were located. Even less knew of their despair-free status and their true role in the most recent fall out. For the world, the Remnants had to be the bad guys, which meant every shipment of supplies and essentials that was sent was risking all of their effort being for naught. They had been lucky so far, but-

None of my previous medications were on the list. It is something else he had noted at the time. They are from a previous batch. 

“Which means!”

“Komaeda, PLEASE!” Nagito’s eyes snap open. Tsumiki leans over him, mouth a grim line. Her eyes dart between him and the door, where there is the sound of someone running down the hall. 

It means someone found out the Foundation was helping us. This is our execution. 

Hinata bursts in, one hand grabbing the door frame to pivot into the room; he is barefoot and out of breath. He must have actually been asleep, Nagito thinks. 

“Hajime,” Tsumiki says, relieved. Hinata ignores her, instead focusing in on the chart on the med-cart. 

“What’s happened,” he demands before pausing. His eyes train on the damp papers Tsumiki had set out to dry. 

“They probably thought of it as a service,” the Visage redirects. It, in turn, eyes Hinata with a peculiar look. Similar to what an owner gives to a gift their cat brought them. Or, Nagito considers, like Sonia has when Souda insists on showing off his machines. 

“Hajime!” Tsumiki snaps. “It’s an adverse reaction, we-”

“Justice, even. And so easy, all things considered. Add a little extra of one thing or another in an already overworked and understaffed lab, and voilà! One tampered batch of sleeping pills and a future without the people who ruined it.” 

Nagito is barely paying attention to it. He wants to get up. To fall asleep. To lock himself in the bathroom or just get out of the forsaken hospital. Instead, the Visage brings its face closer to his. Its form is changing faster than Nagito can keep up. It rests its hand against the bed to hold itself over him. Nagito feels the mattress dip. 

It speaks softly. “And the only one who knows is dying in a rundown hospital bed.”

The sound of arguing almost pulls his attention back, but the feeling of a barely there hand on his cheek stops him. “I need you to know it wasn’t you. She was clever, oh so clever. Enough to know how to tip the scales of the world despite not knowing what was being weighed.” 

It smiles at him as it speaks these words, the smile the same through every age on the same pale face. Nagito stares and stares and stares and is consumed-

Nagito is startled as someone jerks his head up. Hinata. Green eyes narrow to where his fingertips press against his neck. He gives a weak smile when those eyes flicker up to meet his, and Hinata unconsciously softens. The noise calms; Nagito raises a hand to try and hold his wrist. It trembles. Hinata, always perceptive, notices and breaks away, shutting off. 

“Do you even like him?”

The world rushes back to him. What? No-I. I love him.

He watches as Tsumiki snaps at Hinata. He hurries to the other side of the room as Tsumiki grabs his arm, wiping it down. 

“That’s sweet.” It’s behind Tsumiki, watching her work as it leans against the wall. For a second the form deviates. Hair black and spiraled down down down. It continues, voice almost feminine. “But it’s not what I asked.” 

There’s a clatter as Hinata stumbles by the cart. Stooping down, he rises with a familiar square bottle in his hand. 

“It’s truthfully a little frustrating.” Green jacket, blood-stained shirt. “Giving directly to you, exactly what you wanted. Someone to love you, someone you couldn’t lose, and you turn around and resent him.” The words make Nagito feel like he’s going to be sick again. 

No. No. He thinks vehemently. I love him. I love him I-

“Not that anyone could blame you. Not if they understood at least.” It sneers at Hinata’s back. “Watching someone take and take without paying their dues.” Pale green eyes drift to Nagito’s again. Young face, young eyes, and saccharine smile. “They rarely get it like you do.” 

A ringing noise distracts him. In his ear, in his mind, Nagito thinks he can see the noise and its too much too much make it stop ple-

Distantly, Nagito thinks he feels his body jerk. Time slows down. 

“Hey.” It sits on the foot of his bed, barely in sight as it muses to them both. “Good or bad?” From his side, he hears someone stumble and drop something. Cursing and the sound of fabric being thrown across the room. 

What?

“Tsumiki, I need another vial!”

“Do you think,” it begins slowly, “that all of this, tonight, is a result of good luck or bad luck?” Dread fills his chest. 

No. 

No .

“You have to decide,” it says, not unkindly. A familiar hopeful face moved closer to him. Naegi gave an encouraging smile. A hand rests on his arm. “It’ll be okay either way. Is it bad luck? What were the odds the medications would have such an extreme reaction? Your life, once again, put at risk and who knows how far back this will set you, mentally and physically. But-”

“Hajme-Hajime we’re out!” More cursing and the hand is gone. 

“But everyone will know the shipment and meds were tampered with. You could save them. What better luck could you get?”

Please-

“Or.” White-hair again, brown jacket, tired. “Maybe this is good luck. You could be done, get it all over with. He pretends, but you know curing you just means starting over. And now you have so many people you care for. So many to run through.” 

I don’t want-

“It might even be for the best in the long run. Everything equaling out. It might take them time to know what happened, but they’ll get there. Everyone might even survive. And, yet.” 

He follows its gaze across the room, where Hinata stands at the cabinet, eyes scanning bottles faster than it would take Nagito to read just one. 

“He thinks he loves you. Not that you didn’t already know that.” 

I don’t want him to. 

“He probably knows that, too.” It sounds amused. “How long would he look before his friends made him get a full night's rest? Would he notice in time?”

Nagito doesn’t know the answer. 

“You need to choose.”

He doesn’t want to answer. He watches, silently, as Hinata’s back tenses. Hand hovering over a bottle. 

“ You need to -”

“Fuck, fuck, Mikan MOVE!”

“Ah.” It makes a derisive sound. “Looks like it’s been decided for you.”

Faintly, Nagito feels his arm being grabbed again and then a pick as the need strikes home. Each blink is heavier than the last. He’s so tired, Nagito thinks as he takes a deep breath. A hand cups his face, and he leans into the warmth. 

“You better not complain about this.” The Visage’s voice sounds fainter, far away. “It’s so hard giving you what you want. To die, to live. To be loved, to be left alone. Really, a lot of this is your fault for being indecisive.”

Nagito realizes Hajime has been speaking to him. He’s rambling again. You’ll be okay. I figured it out. Tomorrow I’m going to go over the logs, and you’ll tell me off for working too hard, and it’s going to be-

It’s easy to fall asleep.