Work Text:
The moon finally emerged from behind the clouds, casting a soft light onto the water. The waves crashed against the shore in a lulling, rhythmic pattern. In a different life, in another time, the scene would have been calming. Peaceful. But for Hajime Hinata, the current situation was far too tense for him to fully enjoy the moment.
Four people had been killed. It had been a couple of weeks since the small class of sixteen Ultimates had arrived at Jabberwock Island, and they had been losing people since this twisted killing game had begun. It was difficult to relax when it felt like one of your friends could be lost at any moment.
Hajime lifted his head towards the sky and closed his eyes, feeling the soft breeze on his face. A shame. It really was beautiful here.
He sighed. It was getting late. He decided he should head back to his cabin.
As he walked quietly, careful not to wake anyone up, he stopped as he heard a muffled sound coming from one of the houses. He hesitated, listening carefully near the door.
A hacking, wheezing cough. Labored breathing.
Huh…?
He hesitated, then raised his fist to the door and knocked.
“Komaeda, I know you’re there. Are you okay?”
All sounds within the cabin stopped. There was a long pause before a weak, hoarse voice called back.
“Y-yes, I’m alright! Sorry to bother you! Please don’t come in!”
The plea was followed by another spluttering cough that sounded worse than the last.
Hajime considered his options. He could leave. It was clear that Nagito wanted him to, anyway. The guy was unstable. Crazy. Murderous, even. Leaving him was most likely, Hajime concluded, the safest and most logical option.
Even so…
Hajime tested the doorknob. The door has been left unlocked. He sighed. Here goes nothing, I guess.
He grasped the doorknob firmly and pushed it open, stepping inside the cottage.
What…?
Hajime froze in his steps, shocked by the sight before him.
The first thing his eyes registered was the state of the room. Laundry and various objects were littered across the floor, and…were those flower petals? …Strange.
Slowly, he let his eyes meet those of the figure sitting before him.
Nagito was sitting upright, albeit barely, with his back to the side of his bed. His legs were stretched out in front of him, and his eyes were half closed as he stared dazedly at Hajime. His skin looked sickly pale, paler than normal, and he had dark hollows under his eyes. A thin line of blood trickled from his mouth. He smiled shakily at Hajime.
“I guess I should’ve known you wouldn’t listen.”
Hajime could feel his arms trembling at his sides. “What…is this?”
Nagito looked around the room and sighed, causing him to go into another coughing fit. “It appears…I have fallen victim to the Hanahaki disease.”
Hanahaki? It rang a bell in his mind. A disease only caused by unrequited love, which causes a flower to grow in the victim’s chest, causing them to cough up flower petals until the plant eventually kills them. He’d heard rumors and whispers of cases in the past, but most everyone assumed it wasn’t real. After all, something so absurd had to be impossible…right?
“…Hanahaki?”
A weak nod, barely a tilt of the head.
“But…who?” It was a stupid question, a selfish question. Hajime regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.
Nagito closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the bed with a dull thud. Sweat beaded on his skin. “No Ultimate…should be burdened…with such worthless information.”
Hajime hesitated, unsure what to say to that. “...I’m sorry.” he offered lamely.
Nagito laughed softly at that. “Disgusting…isn’t it?” he sighed. “A useless, worthless, hopeless being like me…falling in love-” A choked sound cut through his words and he shuddered violently as another vicious cough tore through his body. More flowers fell, streaked with blood, into his trembling hands. His gaze focused on the petals with shame etched into every feature of his face. “Please…go…”
What kind of person does he think I am? “I’m not leaving you here to die!” Hajime snapped. Angry tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. Why does it have to be like this?
“You shoul— hkk— ouldn— n’t worry… abo— out…me…”
It was getting more difficult for Nagito to speak. He clearly didn’t have much time left.
A pang of sorrow struck Hajime’s heart. He cautiously stepped closer to Nagito and sat down on the floor beside him. “I’m not leaving you here,” he repeated firmly. The least I can do is try and comfort him, somehow. After all, I… we used to be friends, right?
Hesitantly, Hajime took Nagito’s hands in his own, trying to ignore the fact that his skin was cold to the touch. “I’m sorry.” Again.
Nagito’s eyes fell on his hands. “It’s— my— y… fault.” he whispered.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Love can happen to anyone.”
His words were met with a silence that stretched for what felt like years. After a few seconds, Hajime could feel his face heating up as he thought about what he had said. Finally, the boy next to him murmured in a choked, quiet voice:
“I d…on’t… want to… die… l…ike this.”
Hajime thought about this. He wouldn’t, would he? Someone as heavily disliked as Nagito, killed by a disease caused only by his own feelings? That wouldn’t do anything for anyone, really. At least, not in Nagito’s eyes.
I don’t want to lose him.
The thought was accompanied by a stab of panic. Nagito Komaeda, his first real friend on this miserable island, was dying. And there was nothing he could do about it.
Hajime thought back to the start of the trip, and the memories of the boy he once knew. He remembered Nagito’s smile, his voice, the kindness he had offered when no one else would. He remembered the anger, the fear, the pain he had felt when the mask dropped and Nagito’s true intentions were revealed. He remembered his numerous, increasingly frustrating attempts to get closer to him, to try and repair their friendship, before just about giving up and all but ignoring Nagito when he could help it. He remembered noticing how it might have been his imagination, but Nagito almost began to look paler, weaker, sicker than usual after-
Wait, what? That’s not…
Nagito hummed softly, bringing Hajime back to the present. He realized that his face had gone slack with the realization.
It’s… me?
“Fi— igured…it…ou…t?” He laughed humorlessly, the gasping sound a desperate, pathetic echo of the manic cackling Hajime had heard so many times before, but never thought he’d be wishing to hear instead. Anything but this.
For some reason, even after everything that he’d done, the idea of Nagito dying sent a stabbing pain right through Hajime’s heart.
Why… do I feel like this? Why do I want…
“Pa— athe— et…ic… isn’t— it?” Nagito whispered, his voice barely audible as he struggled to get the words out. “Someo— one… like…m– me…falling— for… some…one… li— ike… y—“
Before Nagito could finish what he was about to say, Hajime placed a hand on the side of his face and kissed him without another thought.
He could taste the blood on Nagito’s lips, felt his hand desperately tangle in Hajime’s hair. He eventually broke away, staring into the other boy’s wide, bloodshot eyes. He couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly at the look on Nagito’s face as he struggled to speak.
“Y— you– didn’t have— haah— to…”
“I know.”
Silence. Hajime fidgeted with his hands, his face flushed.
“So— why…”
Hajime shook his head. “I didn’t have to. You’re right. I…”
He swallowed. “I… wanted to.”
Nagito blinked, clearly struggling to keep up. “Th— that can’t be… other— hk— wise I wouldn’t—”
“Nagito, maybe you were wrong.”
Nagito froze. “...Wrong?”
Hajime ran a hand through his own hair, struggling to sort through his own muddled, messy feelings. “Maybe… maybe you just assumed no one would wan— like you back. Maybe that’s why…”
He trailed off, his face twisted into an annoyed scowl. A light, breathless laugh escaped Nagito’s lips.
“Aha, Hinata-kun…”
He took a ragged breath.
“You’re— hkk— too kind… you know— it’s likely too— late.”
Hajime’s hands tensed. “Shut up. Don’t— don’t say that.”
“Your efforts… wasted on— scum like me. Hah… how… cruel.”
“I said shut up.”
“But… hah… maybe… it isn’t so bad…”
Hajime blinked, his brows crinkled together. “What are you talking about? Didn’t you just say you didn’t want to die?”
Nagito closed his eyes, pain flashing across his face.
“I… shouldn't have— hah—“
He let out a low whine. Hajime reached for his clammy hand, squeezing it.
“At— at least… I’m not… alone. Un— loved.” Admitting the words almost seemed more painful than the weeds swelling in his lungs. Hajime couldn’t help but feel a pang in his chest at the ragged words. Unsure what to say, what to think, he shifted so he was leaning into Nagito’s side.
Hesitantly, Nagito lowered his head onto Hajime’s shoulder with a quiet, breathy hum.
“Wha…whatever happens… tomorrow— will you…” Nagito’s grip loosened weakly against Hajime’s hand, barely managing to force himself to give Hajime his one last, selfish request.
“Will you… stay— here?”
Hajime stiffened, thinking over his answer— though it didn’t take long for him to realize that even then, even after everything Nagito had done— he couldn’t leave him here.
So he rested his cheek on top of Nagito’s soft, tangled curls, feeling the other boy’s breathing begin to slow as he faded into unconsciousness, and mumbled his reply.
“Of course. I’ll stay.”