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"Wait, so—Fuyuhiko has it now, too?" Kazuichi blurted, his voice crackling through the monitor.
Hajime exhaled heavily, glancing down the hallway where Mikan frantically dashed between rooms, scrambling to tend to the newest victims of Monokuma's new motive—the despair disease.
He turned back to the screen, his expression grim. "Yeah. It's only me and Mikan who are still unaffected." He chewed on his lip anxiously.
"Do you know what dark curse has befallen the lad?" Gundham chimed in, his voice warped and broken by static.
Hajime shook his head. "No, not yet. He's burning up, same as the others, but... he's still coherent. No obvious behavioural changes, no signs of the despair aspect of the disease at all." He sighed before continuing, "Mikan and I asked him a bunch of questions, but aside from the fever and fatigue, he seems... normal."
A brief silence passed.
"Maybe... he just has a cold?" Sonia offered, hopeful.
"I doubt it—" Hajime started, only to be interrupted.
"You dare question the Dark Lady's divine insight?!" Gundham bellowed from off-screen.
"Cut it out, man!" Kazuichi glared at him, then back at the camera. "Well, keep us posted. Thirty minutes after Monokuma's morning announcement, yeah?"
Hajime nodded. The screen flickered to black.
∘₊✧───🌡️───✧₊∘
Fuyuhiko coughed, too weak to bring his arm up to cover his mouth. Each breath rattled in his chest, and every cough felt like it was crushing his skull. He sure hoped this 'despair disease' would wear off soon.
He turned his head towards her, neck aching as he did so.
"Fuck. Feel like I'm dyin' here." He muttered with a groggy, half-hearted chuckle.
Peko gave him a small, reassuring smile. She reached out, resting a gentle palm against his forehead. "Mmm. You're burning up."
Fuyuhiko closed his eyes, her touch melting some of the tension in his jaw and shoulders. Her fingertips were like magic, her presence a blessing in the cold, damp hospital room.
"'M glad you're here." He murmured.
"That's my job," she replied softly, brushing his hair back with a sweep of her hand.
He didn't remember exactly when he had become afflicted with the despair disease—he'd just woken up that day feeling like his body was about to give out. Every breath felt heavy and laboured, and even minor movements made his vision blur. Sleeping on those rickety hospital lobby chairs hadn't helped, either.
He flat out refused to go and see Mikan at first, embarrassed to be seen in such a state. But Peko, the light in his darkness, had convinced him to, gently insisting that treatment would make him feel better much quicker. She'd taken his hand and supported him down the corridor, steadying him as the pain pounded behind his eyes with every sluggish step.
And now, here he was, lying in a bed that was drenched in sweat, resting in a room that felt swelteringly hot one second, then freezing cold the next.
"This reminds me of that one time—" he broke off with a harsh cough. "—When you got the flu when we were, what, twelve?"
Peko sat quietly at his side, nodding along to his raspy voice. "I remember."
"I think up until then, I thought you were immune to getting sick," he murmured, a nostalgic smile tugging at his lips. "Guess I was wrong."
He continued, savouring the touch of Peko's hand as it drifted across his forehead and into his hair. "I couldn't see you for a week 'cause my dad was worried I'd catch it. That shit sucked, y'know. Not being able to see you for so long."
Peko hummed quietly. "Yes... though that was probably because you were rather melodramatic when you were sick." She chuckled under her breath, conscious not to speak too loudly. "I assume he didn't want to deal with your moping."
"H-hey!" He croaked, opening his eyes and lifting his head slightly to glare teasingly at her.
"Head down," she said firmly, guiding him gently back to the pillow with her palm. "No unnecessary movements."
"Okay, Nurse Pekoyama," he mumbled, but her quiet authority—and the tenderness behind it—made his face flush. Hopefully, she didn't notice. His fever already had his cheeks burning.
The door swung open, revealing the actual nurse, Mikan, who stood trembling in the doorway, clearly overwhelmed from all the work she was doing.
"F-Fuyuhiko! I am so sorry—I haven't checked on you in almost twenty minutes now! Please forgive me!" She stammered, eyes wide, tears dancing on her waterline.
"It's fine," Fuyuhiko grumbled, voice harsh against the back of his throat. "You already have enough—" he coughed, "— shit to deal with..."
"Oh, hahah..." Mikan laughed nervously, blushing at his words. Peko shifted out of her stool, allowing Mikan to sit down on it while she took Fuyuhiko's temperature with the thermometer that lay by his bedside. "You truly are kind, for someone who used to be so cold-hearted..."
'Gee, thanks,' Fuyuhiko thought, but he didn't say anything.
"H-how are you feeling? Any new symptoms?" She asked, voice high-pitched and tentative.
Fuyuhiko tried to shake his head, but stopped as the bed lurched beneath him, the world spinning sideways. "Ugh... no." He muttered.
"Aside from this godawful headache and my bones feeling like they've got wire through 'em, I'm fine." He mumbled. He didn't mean to sound so dismissive, but his mind was foggy and full of static. And honestly, he just wanted her to leave so Peko would sit back down and stroke his forehead again.
"Hmm, I see..." Mikan murmured under her breath. "Well... please don't hesitate to ask if you need anything. I-I know I'm worthless, but... I will still do my best to... look after you..." Mikan stood, tears brimming again.
"Thanks, Mikan." Fuyuhiko spoke.
Mikan froze, her posture straightening in surprise.
"Erm... t-thank you... for thanking me," she stammered, clearly flattered. "N-not that I need thanking! I just—agh!" She spun around and hurried off, crying into her palms as the door swung shut behind her.
Fuyuhiko sighed and closed his eyes, ignoring Mikan's usual self-deprecating antics. Peko let out a soft giggle, the stool scraping lightly against the floor as she settled back down beside him and pulled it closer.
"She's crazy," he whispered.
Peko smiled, although he didn't see it. His eyelids were too heavy to lift. He melted into the bed as her palm came into contact with his forehead once more, her touch soft and steady. She stroked his hair with delicate fingers, the sensation lulling him into a state of calmness he hadn't felt in days.
"You're too good for me, Peko." He whispered.
She let out a soft, wistful sigh, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "Never," she murmured.
He felt her fingers interlace with his as he fell, slowly, into a deep slumber.
∘₊✧───🌡️───✧₊∘
A coughing fit tore him from his sleep. His body jerked as he spluttered, every ragged hack sending knives of pain through his skull, his ribs feeling like barbed wire scraping against his lungs. He coughed and coughed until his throat was raw.
"Young master?" Peko's voice cut through his rasps, voice thick with alarm. "Young master!"
She seized his hand. Only then did the fit finally ease. A few weak splutters slipped out before he sucked in a long breath, the obstruction clearing with a painful burn. Her hand clamped tightly onto his, and as he forcefully opened his eyes, he saw her leaning over him, panic etched into her expression. The stool behind her had been knocked over.
"I'm—fine..." he stammered, lungs still stinging. Peko quietly picked up the glass of water from his nightstand.
"Drink," she slipped a hand behind his head, lifting it with care as she tilted the glass to his lips. The water was cold, a balm against the rawness in his throat. He sipped slowly, sighing in relief as the sting began to fade.
She placed the glass back on the nightstand and exhaled softly, bringing the stool back to sit on.
Fuyuhiko followed her with his eyes, watching as she shook her head. Then, without hesitation, she took his hand and pressed it to her heart, leaning forward until her head rested sideways on his chest, just gently, so as not to hurt him.
"You scared me," she whispered.
Fuyuhiko felt himself flush a bright red, her sudden closeness knocking the breath from his lungs more effectively than the coughing fit had. "I—I was just coughing... alright?" He muttered, trying for nonchalance. "Y'know, that thing that sick people usually do?"
Her head slowly rose and fell with Fuyuhiko's breathing. She listened, the raspiness in his chest crackling with each inhale.
"Sorry." She murmured, looking up at him with shame, her crimson eyes shielded by the lenses of her glasses. "I panic when I don't know how to help."
Fuyuhiko looked down at her. "'S fine. You help just by being here."
He reached up hesitantly, pausing for just a moment before running his free hand through the silver locks of her bangs, fingers gliding through them like feathers. Her hair was softer than he'd imagined.
"Although..." he paused, voice hoarse, "you probably shouldn't be here."
Peko furrowed her brow. "Why?" She asked, voice quiet, hand squeezing his.
Fuyuhiko ran his fingers through her hair once more before letting it fall back to his side. "You'll get sick. I can't do that to you."
Peko sat up slightly, eyes still locked onto his. "Young master," she started,
"Fuyuiko," he corrected quietly, his thumb brushing over her fingers. "Call me by my name."
If it hadn't been so dim in the room, Fuyuhiko might've seen Peko flush at the request. She continued where she had left off. "Fuyuhiko," she paused, the name sounding foreign on her tongue.
Fuyuhiko let a small, somewhat cheeky grin form on his lips. "Yes?" He asked, raspy voice only deepening Peko's blush.
"...It is my duty to look after you." She said, her hand tightening around his. "I'll be by your side until you recover. I promise you that."
Fuyuhiko's eyes lingered on her face—her vermilion eyes, her pink-dusted cheeks, her ever-so-slightly parted lips. His chest ached, and for once, it wasn't a fault of his illness.
"...You're really something, y'know that?" He murmured, a flicker of a smirk playing at his lips before melting into something softer, more sincere.
She tilted her head slightly, eyes fixed on his. "Something?"
He gave a quiet, breathy laugh. "Yeah. Something I don't deserve."
Peko smiled bashfully and looked down, shaking her head. "Was that your attempt at a pickup line?"
"Dunno. Did it work?" Her eyes floated back to his. He was already looking at her, a whisper of hope dancing behind his eyes, a somewhat shy smile curving at his lips.
Peko chuckled softly and placed her forehead against his, her free hand coming up to caress his cheek. His skin was dewy with sweat, and his eyes were half-lidded and rimmed with fatigue—but she didn't care. To her, Fuyuhiko was the most handsome man she'd ever laid eyes on.
"Yes." She whispered, her breath warm against his lips. "It did."
Fuyuhiko's heart nearly burst out of his chest. Before he could think—before he could overthink—tilted his chin up just slightly, catching Peko's lips with his. Maybe it was the fever. Or maybe it was just him.
It was soft. Careful. Tender. A loving moment, suspended in the quiet hum of the hospital room.
Peko's hand cradled his cheek as she leaned in, deepening it just slightly. Her other hand was still intertwined with his. His lips were ever-so-slightly chapped, a contrast to her silky, delicate ones. But neither of them cared. For that fleeting moment, Fuyuhiko couldn't feel the ache in his lungs, the fever burning across his skin, or the pressure in his head—none of it existed.
Just her lips pressed against his. Her hand cupping his cheek. Her fingers interlaced with his.
When she pulled away, it was slow, reluctant, her head still resting gently against his forehead. Fuyuhiko savoured the kiss for as long as he could, the taste of her chapstick still lingering on his lower lip.
"Guess I'm just that suave." He rasped.
Peko giggled, a genuine smile breaking across her face.
"I guess you are."
A silence followed. Not uncomfortable, not awkward. Just... silence. The only thing illuminating the air around them was the faint glow of the yellow-tinged lamp that sat at the foot of Fuyuhiko's bed.
"You're gonna get sick, y'know."
"I know. It's worth it." She whispered, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead.
Fuyuhiko watched her in quiet adoration as she sat up slightly and pressed the back of her fingers to his skin. With a hushed tone, she spoke.
"You're still hot."
Fuyuhiko's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Woah—bit forward there, Pekoyama." He chuckled, coughing slightly as his chest contracted.
She shook her head with a bemused smile, charmed by his boldness. "I meant your temperature."
Fuyuhiko smirked, but Peko noticed the tiredness behind his gaze. With gentle care, she glided her hand over his hair, slow and soothing.
"Rest. You need to get better."
He exhaled softly, complying with her words, letting his eyes flutter shut.
"Will you be here when I wake up?" He asked, barely audible.
Peko didn't answer right away. She just caressed his forehead and hair, softly easing him into a restful slumber.
"I'll always be here, Fuyuhiko."
∘₊✧───🌡️───✧₊∘
Fuyuhiko woke to the sharp clatter of something hitting the floor. His eyes scrunched as he groaned, the light shining through his eyelids sending pins into his skull.
"Agh! I-I am so sorry!" Mikan's trembling voice only worsened the oncoming headache. Fuyuhiko's hand came up to his head, grasping at the side of his skull.
"F-forgive me! I dropped my stethoscope! I am such a c-clutz! Please accept my apology!" She squeaked.
"Cut it out..." Fuyuhiko grumbled, cracking one eye open. The pounding in his head was back—not as brutal as yesterday, but enough to remind him he was still sick. Still recovering.
Yes, he was recovering. Because yesterday, Peko had taken care of him. The thought alone brought a faint comfort.
"S-sorry..." Mikan whimpered through tears, her voice quieter this time. "You seem to have improved... I think..."
He barely heard her. His eyes swept the room, searching, expecting silver hair, crimson eyes.
But Peko wasn't there.
The door began to open. Fuyuhiko almost let a thankful sigh slip from his lips. Relief bloomed in his chest—finally, she was—
Hajime.
Fuyuhiko's sigh came out disappointed.
"Morning..." Hajime said as he walked over to the bed.
"Ah! G-good morning Hajime!" Mikan stammered, fumbling with her thermometer. "I hope you slept w-well!"
Hajime chuckled awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck. "Aside from Fuyuhiko's coughing fit at 2 a.m? Yeah, I guess. As well as one can sleep on a rickety old bed."
Mikan went pale. "C-coughing fit?!"
She began to shriek, sending another spike of pain through Fuyuhiko's skull. He groaned and dragged the pillow over his head.
"Forgive meeee! I must've dozed off while I was watching over Nagito! And I call myself a nurse! I'm so stupid, stupid, stupid!" She dropped her face into her palms and sobbed.
"Wh-hey—" Hajime placed a reassuring hand on her back. "It's okay!"
"Just pack it in!" Fuyuhiko spoke, voice hoarse but sharp enough to cut through the noise. He lowered the pillow. "It's fine. Peko was looking after me anyway."
Mikan stopped mid-wail.
Two sets of eyes turned to him.
"...Peko was?" Hajime echoed, brow furrowing.
Fuyuhiko blinked back at them, equally confused. "Yeah..? She was here all night." He craned his neck slightly towards the door. "Where is she, anyway?"
Neither of them answered.
Hajime looked at Mikan. Mikan looked at Hajime.
Fuyuhiko's stomach dropped. Something was wrong.
"Uh, hello?" He said, panic creeping into his tone. "Why are you two looking at each other like that?"
"This must've been what Monokuma meant." Hajime whispered.
Mikan's lip began to tremble as she nodded a little. "Oh no... I didn't want to believe it..."
Fuyuhiko's eyebrows knitted together. "What are you talking about?"
Hajime took a step forward. His expression had turned into something softer. Something heavier.
"Monokuma showed up last night," he said quietly. "He told us there's a new variant of the despair disease."
"You were already asleep," Mikan added, voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't want to wake you..."
Fuyuhiko's breath caught. "Wh—new variant? What do you mean?"
Hajime hesitated, pursing his lips together before continuing.
"He called it the Echo Disease."
"What the hell does that mean?" Fuyuhiko snapped, ignoring the spike of pain in his chest. Fear began to rattle through him. "Spit it out."
"You... see someone you love," Hajime said, voice trepid with regret. "For twenty-four hours. After that... they're gone. That's the despair part."
Mikan squeezed his hand. Her eyes shimmered with tears.
"She's gone, Fuyuhiko," she whispered.
Everything stopped.
No sound. No breath. No thought.
Just silence.
Fuyuhiko reached for his face—his fingers tracing the scar that cut across his right eye. The one she gave him. The one that proved she'd lived.
That she'd fought for him.
That she'd died for him.
"Peko's gone."