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We've been here before.
One of the last things Hajime remembers thinking, before his mind was torn apart- one of the last thoughts he remembers having as fully himself- is this.
I wonder if someone will come looking for me. I wonder what will happen to my body.
At the time, it was a morbid what-if, just anxious wondering while he was prepped for surgery- while they strapped his wrists and ankles down, and didn't look him in the eye, and drew a line on his hairless head where they would saw through his skull to get unfettered access to his brain.
Just procedure. Nothing personal.
He had been scared. He'd had a feeling that he might have made a really, really bad decision- but even more than that, he was resolute, stubbornly telling himself over the warning bells that this was it, his only chance to be anything, to seize the life he wanted. To be something bigger than himself.
Whatever the risk, he could take it. Even if it hurt, even if he was scared, the Academy told him none of it would matter when he embodied the hope of humankind.
It would all be worth it, in the end.
In a way, he'd be a hero.
And, anyway, it was too late to back out. The administrators had made that clear.
They need me, he'd thought, they wouldn't just let me die.
But…if they did.
His parents hadn't visited him in a week. They knew it was the last day before surgery, but they were probably busy with work- work they wouldn't need to do anymore, once Hajime was everything they needed, and they'd agreed to the surgery, so they were probably confident it would all go well, which brought some comfort to Hajime's soul.
Still, he would have liked to see them. Natsumi, too… Hajime missed her more than he'd thought he would. She might have teased and berated his doubts away, and though she pretended not to care about anyone but her brother, Hajime is sure she'd convince the family to keep him in sight, out of principle, if nothing more.
But she wasn't here. Maybe she wouldn't have been, even if she was alive.
And Chiaki…if he'd only worked up the courage to tell her what he'd signed up for. Hopefully she wouldn't be too worried, in his absence. Hopefully, he'd be able to face her again without any shame, as a new man, and someone worthwhile.
Unfortunately, as you know, that's not how it goes.
No, this is what happens next:
Hajime will be sedated heavily, body disconnected from the brain so he can't move a muscle, and mind too confused to make heads or tails of anything, but he will be awake. He will see, without truly seeing, the overly bright lights above him and the blurry silhouettes of people looking down at him, and he will hear the high-pitched whine of a bone-saw, a sound that will follow him into his nightmares for the rest of his life.
He will be cut open and rearranged, stuffed away, and he won't really be Hajime Hinata anymore, and he won't be that boy again for a long time.
That's how it goes.
Just not this time.
This time, Hajime hears someone curse extravagantly and loudly, and louder yet, a gunshot.
Now, Hajime isn't exactly a neurosurgeon himself- not yet- but he's fairly sure guns do not belong in the operating room.
He can't look around, strapped down as he is,but he shouts something, and it's drowned out by more yelling, more shots ringing.
What the hell is going on?
He hears groans, frantic running footsteps echoing away, and more muttered cursing. The light above him is so blinding tears leak out of his eyes, and he jerks and fights against the restraints in vain, and some part of him somehow recognizes the feeling-
A blurry silhouette appears over him, though not very far away. It jerks out of his field of vision again, and with a clang, so does that horrible bright light.
The silhouette comes back clearer.
Out of all the people in the world, Hajime sure didn't expect him.
It's Natsumi's brother, Chiaki's classmate; the older, and only, Kuzuryū kid.
Hajime has never so much as spoken to the guy, but he's certainly recognizable. Blonde hair, freckles , and that cheeky mole would all be giveaways on their own, even without the full suit in a hospital. He does look different, though; for one, he has an eyepatch, and a visible scar underneath it- could it be related to Natsumi's death? -and his hair is longer than last Hajime saw. He might even be ever so slightly taller.
He looks older, wearier…and, as he looks at Hajime, he seems...upset isn't quite the word.
Devastated.
"Hang on," Kuzuryū says with that aforementioned devastated look, "I'll get you out."
Hajime feels the restraints move and clink as one wrist goes free, then another, then his legs. He's quick to sit up, drawing his knees up to his chest.
The head of the most dangerous crime kingdom in the country is standing by his hospital bed, wild look in his eyes- eye- and holding a gun.
"Oh god don't shoot me," is the first thing out of Hajime's mouth.
The head of the Yakuza, still holding the gun, looks offended.
"I'm not going to shoot you, the fuck," he says.
"T-then what are you doing?!"
"Putting a stop to this," Kuzuryū shouts and waves his arm in a wild arc- Hajime sees, then, a body on the floor, blood pooling around the head, and thinks oh god he's definitely going to shoot me- while he panics, Kuzuryū goes on, "-if you think I'm gonna just stand by and watch, Hajime, you're goddamn wrong. Why the fuck would you relive this willingly?! Maybe give me a warning next time-"
"You know who I am?" Hajime interrupts, eyes still stuck on the body.
Kuzuryū goes silent for a single second.
"Do I- are you fucking-"
Then he stops, tilting his head at Hajime like a dog, or maybe rather like someone with only one eye trying to get a better look.
"You…oh fuck. You don't recognize me, do you? It's you- this you, you before...everything."
Hajime swallows. He hears it loudly, like it's echoing in his empty head, and it must be empty, because he feels like he can't think anything tangible. He speaks without thinking.
"You're Natsumi's brother. I didn't have anything to do with her mur- dying. I swear."
Kuzuryū blinks. Hajime should feel better, now that the shouting and flailing is over, but somehow this side of Kuzuryū feels worse.
"…yeah, I know that. She's got nothing to do with this," Kuzuryū replies.
"Then what the hell- why are you here?!"
Kuzuryū's eye darkens further.
"To put a stop to this sick shit. Like I said."
The words ring oppressively in the silent room. Kuzuryū sure doesn't sound happy, but Hajime doesn't know what the Yakuza could possibly have to do with Hajime's operation. Does Kuzuryū want to take his place, for all the added talents and capacity? Couldn't he just do that, instead of bursting into the surgery room? Do the Yakuza at large somehow gain something from keeping the project from evolving? Is Hajime just supremely unlucky?
"I-I'm a willing participant," Hajime stutters- but he rubs his wrists, scratches at his scalp, and can't help but wonder- "I agreed to the procedure, I signed a contract- this is all legal, I wanted-"
"Shut the hell up."
Hajime shuts the hell up.
Kuzuryū looks fully livid now, outright snarling his words.
"If you'd known what you were getting into, you never would've agreed to shit. None of this was ever okay, you got that?! I don't give a shit what some big head official says. You have no idea what they- I mean you don't- ...Shit! You really didn't know…" he trails off.
If this is just a plan to kill Hajime off, for whatever reason, it's sure needlessly elaborate. Kuzuryū doesn't seem like the type for theatrics like this, unless he either means it or has a lot to win.
Hajime can't help but wonder.
He's…concerned, for sure. He might even be outright scared, eyes flickering to the gun every few seconds, but he can't deny feeling a certain relief, too, now that he's out of the restraints and can see properly, and someone is finally talking to him like a person. Kuzuryū is loud and brash and clearly dangerous, but he doesn't look too different from Hajime in age, and there's at least a familiarity there, even without the reminder of Natsumi.
All Hajime has seen lately is serious, unmoving faces in white robes, or face masks and hair covers. Kuzuryū has more life to him than that, at least.
Hajime sees the gurney of medical supplies, the knives, the saw, and he shivers. It's not just from wearing a flimsy gown the cold room. Didn't they say you could feel it, in the back of your mind, when your subconscious recognized danger, even before the rest of you did?
He wonders if he's not so unlucky after all. Maybe, maybe he actually just got really, really lucky.
"How did you know I was here? I didn't tell any- actually, how do you know who I am, if not for Natsumi?" Hajime asks.
Kuzuryū scratches his head with the butt of the gun, looking at the floor in thought.
"Well, uh…shit. How the hell do I explain….Okay."
He faces Hajime again with a frown. Hajime flinches back, but to his surprise, Kuzuryū drops the gun on the gurney, which he then kicks behind him so it clatters against the wall, and holds his hands up.
"There, see? Not gonna shoot you. Don't do nothin' stupid like running off, I don't have time to find you twice, and I don't want you to get stuck somewhere worse."
Hajime glances meaningfully at the puddle of blood on the floor, and considers his chances of ignoring Kuzuryū and running off without dying somewhere along the way. Stuck between the rock of Kuzuryū and the hard place of staying in this hospital, he figures his best chances are probably being on his own.
Kuzuryū sighs as if he knows Hajime's exact train of thought, and doesn't want to give it the time of day.
"This is going to sound insane to you," he starts, "but I… I know you when you're older, uh- when all this bullshit has already…happened," he forces out between bitten teeth. Hajime stares. "And it has. Happened. This isn't really, uh...nevermind. I just, well, I didn't wanna let it happen again. Even if this won't really change the past, I… ah, god damn it. I've really made a mess of this."
Kuzuryū seems, for his part, genuinely st a loss for words. Which, judging by Natsumi's demeanour, is a rare thing- he excudes such sureness, that his floundering makes Hajime feel more lost, in turn.
A silence.
"You're right," Hajime warbles, "that's insane."
Kuzuryū glares at him.
"If you don't believe me, think of it this way: I'm Yakuza, so I have kind of a monopoly on illegal and immoral shit going on around here. This," he gestures, "this is way over the line. I won't allow it, I never would have allowed it if I knew- especially when you're a fucking teenager. This school was supposed to protect you, and N-Natsumi-"
Kuzuryū cuts himself off with a grimace.
"Well," he finishes, "you remember her, at least. She wouldn't want this for you. Trust me."
He looks so much like her.
Natsumi always made it sound like her brother was a great guy, one of the few people she ever spoke highly of, even if it was in between bits of how annoying and embarrassing he was. Granted, they were both violent criminals, but Natsumi truly wasn't all bad, and according to her, her brother was helpful and hard-working, and looked out for his kind.
Kuzuryū hasn't made any move to hurt Hajime or force him to do anything. He's dropped his gun, and sounds sincere, albeit…well, insane, in his own words.
And Hajime…feels safer in Kuzuryū's presence than he has felt since he got ready for surgery. Somehow.
There haven't been any alarms going off, and no one has entered the room after Kuzuryū burst in. If Kuzuryū had actually meant to kill Hajime, he would have met no resistance.
No one came to help. No one is coming to help.
Hajime drops his eyes along with his guard as it all sets in. The surgery isn't happening. His plans for the rest of his life are out the window. He'll never amount to anything worth noting, and he can never see Chiaki without the burning shame of mediocrity.
But he can see her. Right?
Hair gone, half-naked, shaking with distress and relief in equal measures, Hajime wonders who the hell he's even going to be, now. He only knows he wants to leave, he wants to lay his head on his mother's lap and he wants to hear Chiaki's tinny game music for as long as he can.
"Okay, well," Kuzuryū starts suddenly, "this has all gone tits up. I'm calling it. Sit still for five fucking seconds and I'll wake us-"
"Wait."
Kuzuryū stops, and waits.
"I…" Hajime's voice falters. "I-I signed a contract. I can't- they won't let me back out. I don't know what…what's going to happen to me?"
It's interesting to see the reaction.
Hajime almost wants to believe this lunatic talking about the future, because it would put into context how tangibly sad Kuzuryū gets when Hajime speaks. He visibly wilts, rubbing at his temple with one hand and closing his eye. He looks younger, this way.
"You… you'll see me again, soon. I don't know how much you'll remember, how much I already fucked with your head- but just, just wait. Try to think of something nice. I'll only be a minute."
Hajime scoots closer on his little cot. His hand rises halfway, beseeching.
"I don't...I don't have to go through with the project, anymore? Can I see my parents- Chiaki, can I…?"
Kuzuryū curses quietly. He looks at the gun almost wistfully as he walks the short distance over to pick it up, wiping it off as if it could've gotten dirty from sitting on the same surface as all the sterile, shining medical instruments.
"Wait-!" Hajime starts. Kuzuryū shakes his head before anything else makes it out.
"…I can't...stay, Hajime. This all already happened, but it's not supposed to happen like this. I'm just an intruder, here. Just wait a bit, and this-"
"But if it was real," Hajime pleads, mostly to stall for time, and for something to cling to while his mind spirals around the possibilities of what's happening to him, or what will happen. He doesn't want to be left alone in this room with the somehow familiar stench of blood and antiseptic. He doesn't want to be forgotten in here. But the more he tries to think back, or forwards, or at all, he just gets this feeling that it's already happening. It feels a bit like the world is dissolving around him. Hajime isn't sure he can see the exit doors anymore.
"I'm not saying I believe it all, but if you were really from the future, and you were really here. I-if you could change things… what would happen to me?"
He wants to convince Kuzuryū to help, to get Hajime out of here. He wants the illusion, at least. If he has to pretend time travel or dreamhopping is real, fine. He was ready to get his head sawed open, he can do this.
A bit of hope, for himself. Just a selfish bit.
Kuzuryū still has that awful, sad look on him, as if he's in pain, but he indulges Hajime's question.
When he speaks, it's in a sincere and gentle voice, and with this tangible warmth that Hajime holds onto like a hand.
"Well," Kuzuryū says, "if I could have made this real… then, at this point,"
and he says it with such honesty,
"At this point, I'd take you home,"
home, like he means it.
Hajime wants to go there. Home, where someone says it like that.
He wants to go home, at all.
And he says so.
He sees Kuzuryū's expression, but only for a second, before Hajime has to look down. He doesn't understand how someone would look at him like that, but it's a doomed sort of look, and Hajime figures, well.
You don't look at salvageable people like that.
It doesn't seem like he can be helped.
"Listen," he hears through the fog. Kuzuryū's voice is closer, but not too close. Hajime sees sleek leather shoes in his periphery.
"Hajime. I don't know how much of this is going to stick, or how much of it is real to you. But you…you'll be okay."
A hand moves towards him. There's a ring on the pinky finger. It almost touches Hajime's cheek, but pauses, just out of reach, close enough to imagine a warmth.
It's enough to get Hajime to look up.
"I know it," Kuzuryū continues, "because I'll make fucking sure of it. No matter what. You understand? You're going to be okay."
It sounds believable, when he says it. He seems to believe it himself, and Hajime would like to join him. There's not much else he can do. The fight is draining out of him like water, and he doesn't want to choose between dying here or dying there- he wants to dream about this okay future while he can.
So he says,
"Okay."
And Kuzuryū says,
"Okay."
And then he leaves, taking the gun with him.
Hajime takes his advice, and tries to think about good things.
Chiaki, his favourite food, his favourite movie, sunrises and sunflowers, Natsumi's photos, Chiaki-
His journey starts and ends with a gunshot. It comes from somewhere outside the room. In case this really is it for him, Hajime holds onto the thought as he curls up with hands over his ears.
Chiaki, the sun, the sun-
Hajime wakes up in the sunny future.
He wakes up in the sunny future, specifically to vertigo, nausea, confusion, and a searing headache unappreciative of symbolic sunlight.
Something rattles a bit in his ear and shifts off to the side, taking with it the pressure on his forehead that he hadn't realized was holding him down, and he immediately feels lighter.
He groans and immediately brings his hands to his head- meaning his hands and legs are free, thank god. They're too warm for any relief to his aching head, but he feels his short, coarse hair, which brings some comfort.
Nothing is bleeding, and his head is in one piece. That's something.
First things first, he reaches for the rope that holds it all together.
I am Hajime Hinata. I'm on Jabberwock island…probably. At least, I should be there, with my friends. Unless something's gone wrong. But I know who I am. Hajime Hinata.
It's not just words, in his mind. He feels himself mean it, which means he has his wits about him enough to be fully present as himself, and no one has managed to get a hold of him long enough to ruin that. He's not just saying his name, he is Hajime Hinata.
The next thing he does is glance out through one eye to see his surroundings. It's not a white, sterile and overly bright assault of the senses. It doesn't smell like blood and chemicals. There are no faceless people around him.
There is, however, one person missing an eye.
And it's a good sign, really, when Hajime isn't scared at the sight of Fuyuhiko's pinched, anxious one-eyed face. If Fuyuhiko is here and not angrily screaming his head off or dead on the floor, then things haven't gone completely off the rails, and Hajime can squeeze his eyes shut again, because everything is catching up now and the sights and sounds are way way too much and Fuyuhiko is right there so it's okay to be off-guard.
"You there?" Hajime hears. He makes some vague noise in assent, a little busy with putting his thoughts back in order.
Knowing that there's foreign input in his head immediately drives him to look inwards and seek it out, but as soon as he tries to think back to whatever happened while he was unconscious, he bumps painfully against the sharp edges of his metaphorical raised hackles.
This foreign input in his head puts up all his defenses, makes him want to get distant so he's ready for whatever is about to happen, but his fingers itch to remember what was added to his head, but trying to separate real from false hurts, and the combination of being put to chemical sleep and not knowing what was in his head and remembering the hospital whether it was real or a memory-
"What did you do?" Hajime squeezes out of a tight throat.
It's not how he felt after the first time he tried constructing a memory, but that's not much of a comparison, as he hadn't really been feeling in general. It's just uncomfortable and confusing in a new way that Hajime hasn't experienced yet.
If it were just pain, fine, just confusion, fine. If he slipped away or stayed under too long, that would be bad, but he's prepared for that possibility and so are his friends.
Tampering with memories? New territory, risky, and not something you should crash into like an angry bull. Hajime's head feels like a China shop, he's just not sure if there's any real damage or if the bull just shook things all out of order.
If Hajime didn't have his eyes squeezed shut, he'd have seen Fuyuhiko twitch at his words, frowning into the air and reaching for a pack.
"Do you need anything? What's the protocol for this?" Fuyuhiko asks.
Hajime shakes his head, eyes still closed.
"Just let me get myself together. Take those outside."
Hajime hears a bit of shuffling as Fuyuhiko audibly gets up, hesitates, steps halfway outside, hesitates again, then finally lets the door click shut.
No matter how close he and Fuyuhiko are, Hajime would like to keep some vulnerable moments to himself.
In the quiet, he's free to breathe noisily and shakily and half-whisper to himself where he is, who he's with, where he's not. It calms him down to hear his own voice sound as he expects, running hands through his hair and then all over. He didn't really need to be hooked up to anything for such a short session, except for his head, which has thankfully been taken care of before he woke. Nonetheless, he can't help feeling like his hands will catch on a stray IV or find new stitches. He just needs to make sure.
The smell of tobacco from outside calms him further. Nobody smoked in the hospital.
Nobody shot guns in the hospital, either. No one ever said his name- that part wasn't real. The memories go back into their respective shelves as he cleans up.
Hajime sits until he's pretty sure he has everything locked down.
He's on Jabberwock island with his friends, four of them awake, the rest in a coma. This part is obvious; even if he did forget where he was, he can smell the tropical air.
He was testing out constructed reality from memories, because he's hopeful that he can use the technology to get his comatose friends stable enough to be woken up, and because he'd love to figure out how to keep himself as stable as possible while he works. Priority number one is waking everyone up, of course, but well… it would go faster if Hajime could minimize his own sleep depravity, panic attacks, disassociative episodes, etc cetera.
Two birds, one stone. Hopefully.
And… he asked Fuyuhiko to oversee his first drop into a constructed memory, because Hajime's mind is somewhat unpredictable, and he couldn't face it alone. Literally.
The first time Hajime tried this, he was alone, which he has been fully reamed out for so there is no need to revisit what a bad idea that was and how much he will not try it again without backup.
The memory of everyone's worried, upset faces is not one he will be stepping into if he can avoid it.
This time, Fuyuhiko was here, a passive observer of Hajime's peacefully passed-out form. Hajime tried to drop into a different memory than the one he suspects he landed in, but by that time he was unconscious, so he'll have to ask Fuyuhiko about it.
Because Fuyuhiko had obviously stepped in, which he was instructed to only do if Hajime's vitals showed signs significant distress, or if Hajime exceeded his time under, and might be stuck. Considering the clock on the wall, the latter scenario had certainly occurred, at least.
So, Hajime had exceeded his time under, probably got stuck, and Fuyuhiko got him out. Hajime is awake and aware, and now that his mind isn't a messy pile of debris, it hurts a lot less, and he's only about as confused as someone who passed out and had fever dreams.
That's not a terrible outcome. Pretty good, actually, considering what could have been.
Hajime is reasonably sure, based on many small guesses, that he hadn't ended up in a relatively sweet memory by a fountain like he intended. Typical of his brain, it probably went back to the one place Hajime doesn't want to revisit- even if he did, it's too dangerous, for now. He can't let himself sink so deep that he forgets to want to swim back up.
So, he probably landed in or around the project, then. Hajime treads carefully around the memory, of the dream, and of reality. Not throwing himself into it, not yet, but….
He was scared, he remembers, but he tried to tell himself not to be. They shaved his hair and hooked him up to all those machines and-
Before his mind pushes him back from that worn-down road that only leads to regret, there's this little… start of a desire path, of sorts, just off to the side. That's new, so Hajime assumes it has to do with the alternative memory, the one that just got interrupted.
They hooked him up to all those machines, yes, and the bone saw seared in his ears- but also, among all that noise- a different loud noise, yelling… and a dark spot in all that bright stark white, a rest, and a relief.
That's as far as the newly formed memory of his newly had dream goes.
If he doesn't go any further down this memory lane, enough to separate the rights from wrongs; if he just stays here on the precipice and lets himself feel a bit instead of cataloguing, he can almost pretend someone came to get him out before the Project locked him away. He can pretend he knows what that'd be like.
That's nice. That's new.
That's good enough evidence for the potential benefits of dipping into memories like this, that Hajime is already forming plans for continuing experiments.
If he can keep trying, train his brain to go somewhere other than this one-way street… maybe he can have normal dreams again. Maybe he won't keep treading that same deep dark path that he falls into any time.
It's a long shot, to be sure. Just because this run wasn't a disaster didn't mean it couldn't strike. But Hajime is hopeful, still- he's pretty good at that, by now.
He is also still in some pain, and just because his mind feels some relief it doesn't mean the rest of him has forgotten he was put to sleep, and the less cognitive parts of him demand rest and comfort.
If he even looks at a tube or a wire right now, he might throw up. He can continue his research tomorrow.
On stiff fawn-like legs, he stumbles towards the smell of tobacco.
-
Fuyuhiko is standing right outside the door- like, right outside, poised precisely to enable to hurl himself back inside within seconds. Hajime leans against the door after he closes it behind him, breathing in the clean air.
That's one bright side of everything he's been through; every time he's reminded of the humanity he almost lost, he appreciates it more. He's achey and worn-out, and the air smells like earth and sea and cigarettes, and the wind nudges his hair around, and he's bizarrely craving barbecue.
I'm Hajime Hinata, and thank God for that, he thinks with a tiny smile.
I, uh," Fuyuhiko starts just as Hajime is appreciating the silence, "I really fucked that up, huh. I-I know it's not easy for you to have anyone in your head and after you told me not to intervene…'m sorry."
Hajime sees his hand twitch around the cigarette, as it always does when he apologizes without life-threatening theatrics. Fuyuhiko draws a breath as if to say something more, but it flickers out in a sigh, and instead he offers Hajime a cigarette of his own, good eye turned away.
Fuyuhiko doesn't like apologies, or sharing his cigarettes, or having anyone in his blind spot. He's practically rippling the air around him with how much irritation he's keeping contained.
Hajime takes the cigarette. It'd be a waste of emotional maturity not to.
"Why'd you do it, then?" Hajime asks, mostly out of pure curiosity, leaning down so Fuyuhiko can light up for him. "I did say 'unless you feel the need to interfere', so I'm guessing you felt a need."
Fuyuhiko takes a bit to answer, running his eye over Hajime as he often does when he's not sure about his mental state. It's a really annoying thing he does, but for the present circumstances, Hajime allows it with only a slight scowl.
"You don't remember?"
"I have a vague guess."
"Well. I'm not letting anyone do that to you," Fuyuhiko says simply. "Even if it's a dream, or memory. Can't do it. Ask Akane, next time."
God, this boy.
Although he doesn't want to touch on the altered memory, Hajime can't help but know of the original, anyway, as ingrained as it is in him. He knows, objectively, everything that was done to him, because he knows how to do it to someone else, now that he really is a neurosurgeon. He knows it's bad, and he knows he's desensitized to the knowledge of it- but Fuyuhiko is not. Fuyuhiko still fumes at the injustice of it all.
Hajime is tired and a bit sad and a bit happy and a lot of things that he's not sure he could explain if he got paid to. Fuyuhiko drops his stub and steps on it with a vengeful twist, nose wrinkled with a snarl, so angry and so goddamn sure of it.
And with all that fury, gun in his belt, dragon over his eye, so ready and able to fight the world- any world- Fuyuhiko finally looks Hajime in the eye and says,
"Ready to go home?"
And it's not an abnormal sentence in the least. They don't live in the pod rooms, hospital or laboratory. They live in their cabins, neighbours to each other, a bit of a walk away.
It's not by choice that they're on this island, but they chose to live all together.
Home, to Hajime, means going back to the others and seeing them all aglow in the hot sun.
Fuyuhiko says home like he means it, too.
"I love you," Hajime says, "really."
Fuyuhiko jerks a bit like he's been stabbed, and Hajime takes advantage of this, putting his barely-touched cigarette between Fuyuhiko's fingers and using the opening to put his arms around Fuyuhiko's shoulders.
Fuyuhiko allows the oncoming hug with a clumsy sort of grace, passively accepting it as if he isn't a head shorter and emotionally out of his depth as well. One hand holds the cigarette out of the way, the other awkwardly pats Hajime's side, somewhere between a comfort and a sign to be released. But he doesn't struggle, or try to pull away.
He doesn't say the words back- he never does- but that's fine. Hajime doesn't say it to get a response, he just says it because he needs it to be known, and because he wants to, and he means it.
Fuyuhiko says it all the time, in his own way: when he agreed to accompany Hajime in this mental experiment; when he can't stand by and watch Hajime be taken apart, even in a virtual reality; when he allows Hajime to hold him for a little bit and runs his thumb in tiny circles over Hajime's ribs and not his spine because he knows it sometimes feels like too much; because he knows Hajime.
When the roiling emotion settles, Hajime lets go. He notes with some amusement that Fuyuhiko is trying hard not to show his discomfort, and that his cigarette has burned most of the way down.
"Are you uh," Fuyuhiko clears his throat, "-you good? Do you wanna…watch a movie? Or something?"
'A movie' is everyone's usual excuse to spend time together when they're not up for proper company, but don't want to be alone. Every combination of the five of them is different, and sometimes they watch all together, squeezed in tight on a couch or scattered around the TV room. Sometimes they even watch a movie just to watch a movie.
It's just about the only time, besides sleep, when Fuyuhiko allows prolonged physical contact.
It's another offer of comfort without really offering it, preserving his cold and composed shell. Since Fuyuhiko is being nice, Hajime returns the favour and doesn't challenge it or prolong the moment.
"Yeah," Hajime says, "I'd really like a movie right now. Something where I don't need to think, can you pick it out?"
"Sure, I'll do all the thinking," Fuyuhiko agrees with a slight smirk, clearly more comfortable in the casual atmosphere. "But then you'd better not complain about what I choose."
"I won't. I really don't care, anyway."
It is, after all, just an excuse.
They end up with some old, unnecessarily long movie about fighting and love and family and other things Hajime has seen a dozen times. More importantly, Hajime gets to sink lower and lower down in his seat, claiming to be tired from the drugs- and he is tired, lethargic and foggy in the head, and still shaking a bit.
Not from fear, though, just the residuals. He knows he's safe in the here and now.
Fuyuhiko takes the outer side of the bed, and keeps the noise low and the lights dim, and when Hajime is in a comfortable position for it, he feels Fuyuhiko's hand on the back of his neck, thumb moving idly, gently, in perfect rhythm to the heartbeat under Hajime's cheek.
The movie plays on.
He doesn't fall asleep. That kind of break is still ways away, and Hajime knows that when he does, it won't be peaceful. He'll have to trust Fuyuhiko to keep an eye on him if he gets stuck in a nightmare, and although he never really doubted his friend's ability for it, if he ever had, those doubts would be gone now. Fuyuhiko is seemingly incapable of standing by and watching Hajime suffer, for better or for worse.
Well, Hajime doesn't have a great track record at keeping his own best interest at heart. He doesn't mind handing that responsibility to someone else, someone reliable.
"Do you think you'd be up for trying again, sometime?" Hajime asks, taking advantage of this comfortable window he's in, too dazed to be anything but honest.
"You want to-?" Fuyuhiko starts loudly, then lowers his voice. "Wasn't this a close enough call for you? I might screw with your memory again, maybe someone else-"
"Hiko," Hajime says in a tone, too tired to dance around the honest truth. "You're more protective of me than my own brain is. That doesn't make me not want to try again with you, it just means I made a good call."
He raises his head just enough for eye contact, so he can say those three words Fuyuhiko's own language and make sure they're heard.
"There's no one else I'd trust more with my mind. I mean it."
Fuyuhiko, in the dim light of the title screen, with swelling, emotional music from the same, looks…well.
Rather bewildered, to be honest, disarmed like Hajime has a gun on him, but with that bright, reverent look he sometimes gets- he's beautiful, honestly, but saying it out loud might really send Hajime thrown out the door.
"Then…yeah," Fuyuhiko nearly whispers, "whatever you want. Can't promise I won't step in again, though, but if you're sure."
He's sure.
Hajime hasn't really fixed anything in his head, or figured out the root to all his problems. But the concept is much less daunting now, knowing that no matter what, in whatever reality, as long as he knows Fuyuhiko Kuzuryū, someone will come looking for him.