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“No.”
“I don’t think you would be particularly uncomfortable, by the look of it!”
“No.”
Nagito Komaeda wore many masks—some more frequently than others—and none more favored than the expression of fulfillment at someone else’s vexation. His victims tended to be those who weren’t nearly as adaptable as him: high-strung or incredibly anxious, perhaps even a combination of the two.
That was not the case at this junction, unfortunately.
“All the other rooms were taken or out of service, Togami-san.”
“You can sleep on the floor, then.”
The former Servant managed to evade a sharp cough by burying his nose in his sleeve, clearing his throat instead to try and save face. “Oh, come now, that wouldn’t help keep me sharp for the infiltration and rescue mission tomorrow, right?”
His unwilling partner for this endeavor, the former Togami heir, did not skip a beat and did not crack that imposingly dark expression on his face either. “Outside, then.”
Komaeda almost choked again. This guy really didn’t budge. “...A porcelain tub without a pillow would be preferable, honestly.”
“Great,” the Foundation member said curtly. “Then I expect you to be on your way.” He hadn’t even given him any indication he was finished talking—he just turned away toward the bathroom in question and shut the door with a quiet but resounding click.
The end of the conversation, at least for now.
----
“Please just give him a chance.”
Goddamn Makoto Naegi.
Byakuya let out a harsh sigh, keeping his eyes on his datapad.
“You had to pick the worst one of the bunch, didn’t you?”
The proclaimed Ultimate Hope managed a smile while still keeping a respectful—and safe—distance from his superior’s desk.
“What better way to show everyone that the rehabilitation did what it was supposed to?”
“By not involving me.”
“Come on, Byakuya. You know it’s because you’re the strongest, toughest in the 14th. Who else would I trust?”
“Don’t,” he said, raising those icy orbs to glare at him. It had significantly less bite than if it had been anyone else—but not if you asked him.
“You’re doing it because you know I won’t say no.”
Makoto’s smile twitched. “Yeah, that too.”
When did he get so soft…
----
Sometimes, rescue missions got messy.
Future Foundation intelligence did its best to eliminate—or at least identify—issues that might arise as they traveled the barren wasteland formerly known as Japan. But there was never a guarantee of safety. Togami held his head high as he always did and pushed through without regard for such trifling concerns.
And that was usually a strength.
Until he got hurt.
In truth, Komaeda hadn’t seen the hit occur—he’d been in the designated safe area, surveillance being the best and easiest job the Foundation could assign to a former Remnant of his equally dangerous skill and history. But the chatter over the comm link—something something, leader down—had perked him up instantly.
He nearly bumped into at least a dozen agents, filtering in and down the hall like a blob of black, white, and red. So, of course, he followed.
Komaeda’s eyes followed as the gaggle of men, dressed in trim black suits and white shirts stained with blood he could only assume was Togami’s, rushed him into the room and situated him as nicely as possible on the bed.
And it really was his bed now, wasn’t it? Got his expensive blood all over it…
“He’s not losing anymore.”
“What happened?”
“That damn Remnant…”
“...sprayed with something…!”
The tumultuous whisper-shouting of his lackeys clearly wasn’t helping whatever state Togami was in right now, and Komaeda knew it was as good a time as any to step in. “...If I may be so bold, it was a manufactured version of Tsumiki-kun’s Despair Disease. It’s impossible to tell what its effects might be until the symptoms hit.”
“How painfully predictable…” Byakuya muttered, head falling back against the pillow with a rather abrupt sigh.
One of the men looked back at Nagito, nodding. “What outcome can we hope for?”
The luckster shrugged. “It’s not uncommon to get flu-like symptoms from the disease, as well as a multitude of others. Togami-san is incredibly strong, though, so I’m sure he’ll get through it in no time! Or perhaps be asymptomatic!”
…
He felt the air in the room change.
These men, watching their superior like hawks, seemed hesitant and uneasy. Understandably so. But it was almost like Komaeda had said the worst possible thing he could, like he had all-but assured them their fearless leader had just been deposited on his deathbed.
“...hmm.”
But then again, that was the power of Byakuya Togami’s influence, wasn’t it? Stripped of his royalty, he was a beacon of hope—just like the rest of his classmates.
And that needed to be shielded.
“There is something else!”
The same man looked at him.“Well?”
Nagito pressed his hands comfortably into his slack pockets, slowly walking closer. “Tsumiki-kun would often use some of us Remnants as guinea pigs for her concoctions, and I happened to be her favorite!” He was looking over Togami despite the man’s immediate glare. “I know the signs like the back of my hand.”
“And I’m sure you’ll enjoy seeing them,” the former heir huffed, shifting very slightly in the bed—unsurprisingly, further away from him.
“I can watch over him!” Komaeda turned to the one suit who’d spoken to him most.
“If you’d allow such a responsibility for trash such as myself.”
There was a general distrust in the Foundation that didn’t offend him—it would be foolish to feel that over something so expected. And he usually met it with a smile and a bow, something disarming enough not to start trouble he couldn’t afford to cause.
But these men were different, hand-picked by Togami and therefore cut from the same incredibly sharp-tongued cloth. Plus he couldn’t read a thing about their eyes behind those glasses—indoors no less. Didn’t that make it harder to see...?
“Any catch?” Of course.
“No, absolutely not. I pledged my fealty to the Future Foundation truthfully and with the intention to uphold the organization’s morals as penance for my past actions. If that includes ensuring the protection and safety of one of their most important pieces on the board—”
“Oh for God’s sake, just—let him do whatever he wants, it’s the quickest way to get him to shut up,” Togami snapped from the bed.
“Sir?”
“He’s not going to do anything he already hasn’t.”
Well, that certainly was a nice way to agree with him. What a rare treat, especially considering how little he’d wanted to do with him in the past—what an excellent sign of growth.
----
“You really should eat it before it goes bad.”
“...”
Komaeda tilted his head, watching the man whose well-manicured suit looked utterly ridiculous in a storage closet like this.
“I assure you, it’s not poisoned.”
Once again, not even a glance.
The luckster sighed, placing the tray on the floor.
“They don’t intend to torture you, if that’s what you’re thinking. The part of the damsel doesn’t always go to the strongest of the flock, but I think it’s a rather inspired casting here.”
Oh? Were those eyes finally looking at him? Oh, yikes—they really were as cutting as they said. Nagito felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine.
And yet, he was intrigued.
----
It was quiet now. The kind of quiet Komaeda often ruined with a single sentence and Togami pretended not to hear. But for once, the two of them were comfortable enough to let it linger between them. Progress and all that, or so Komaeda was hoping for.
Togami sat propped against the headboard, his posture crisp despite the bandages under his shirt. The room was dim but not dark—just the bedside lamp casting a small halo of gold over the pages of his book. Komaeda had lowered the lights when thematic team had left after checking over for any physical ailment, unasked. He had also brought tea, unacknowledged. Togami hadn’t touched it, but it was there, steeping quietly in its mug on the side table, cooling as the hours ticked on.
The former heir turned a page.
Komaeda, meanwhile, sat at the foot of the bed, cross-legged and ever-so-slightly bouncing one leg in place. He was watching the ceiling now, arms resting lazily behind him, fingers splayed on the covers. His voice came without warning, but softer this time. Quieter. Like he knew that too much volume would break something delicate.
“You know,” he began, “I think hope looks different to everyone. But I’ve always thought you made a perfect example.”
“Spare me the sermon and get off the bed,” Togami replied, calm and clipped, not even looking up.
Komaeda’s smile curled faintly. “I’m being sincere.”
“God help me.”
“You’re strong. You never waver. Even when you’re hated—or bleeding, apparently—you don’t make people question their faith in you. That’s rare.” Of course he continued, Togami thought, when he loves the sound of his own voice that much.
No response, of course, only the turning of another page.
“The future needs someone like that.” Nagito shifted slightly. “Hope doesn’t always have to be soft or sentimental. Sometimes, it just has to endure. And that’s you; you seem to outlast everything.”
Another silence bloomed between them, quiet, but not cold. Komaeda was certainly content enough to let it breathe. Or perhaps that was the mild exhaustion starting to kick in. Then, wordlessly, he lay back on the bed, shifting so that he wasn't touching Togami in any way, shape or form, but certainly close enough to help if needed. He tucked his hands behind his head like a pillow and sighed, like he was staring up at an impressive night sky not smothered by the red tint of thick pollution.
“You’re unbelievably unbearable,” Togami muttered.
“I’ve heard worse,” came the sleepy reply.
It would’ve been infuriating, if it wasn’t so familiar. Even without their bodies touching he was warm. Infuriatingly so, surprisingly so. Radiating body heat like a furnace against Togami’s side, like he belonged there. And yet… there was no further commentary. No monologue. No riddles. Just the occasional soft sound of breathing.
Togami glanced down after a suspiciously long amount of time came that he didn't hear that grating voice. Komaeda’s eyes were closed, lashes brushing his cheeks. There was a little crease between his brows, like even in sleep, he didn’t fully relax. His chest rose and fell with calm, measured rhythm. He had been up for quite a while, so this sudden crash was expected.
Togami stared a moment longer; asleep. Or… mostly. There was something too even about it. Something practiced.
He exhaled slowly, like it made any difference. And without really thinking about it, he reached forward and pulled the edge of the blanket higher, letting it settle over Komaeda’s torso with clinical efficiency. He could almost feel the smirk that would follow—if the idiot were awake. But none came.
The former heir leaned back into the headboard again. His book had lost his place. He didn’t care. He glanced over again, just once, as if to double-check no one was watching. There were no agents, no curious eyes through doorways.
Just him and the former Remnant.
And for this one moment, just this one…
"Give him a chance?" Makoto's voice rang out in his head again, annoyingly so. And he was reminded at how painfully soft he really had become by ignoring the way the corners of that mouth twitched up in triumph.