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He awakened to a scream; it took him a few agonizing seconds to realize it was his own and not-
Not Chiaki’s.
He choked on air for a second, remembering his nightmare. ( Could it be called a nightmare if it’s really just a memory? )
Chiaki’s scream as the spears punctured her body was loud, and shrill, and boring. So, so boring. That was why his stomach was turning - after all, he had no connection to this girl - honestly, this charade Junko had set up, with the false goal, was nothing more than a waste of time to him. But Junko had promised him that it would garner an interesting reaction out of both her and the other students. She had failed him. This wasn’t interesting, it was-
REVOLTING DISGUSTING AWFUL WHY WHY WHYWHYWHYWHY WHY HER
boring. Her pleas to live were mildly interesting, to a point. Her cries of “Hinata” were grating, however. Whoever this “Hinata” was, he was not here to save her. Or play games with her, as she seemed to desire. Hearing that name, “Hinata” - it nauseated him. He wanted to leave, to see the promised reactions of the rest of the 77th class. But the nausea - that was new. It was… interesting. So he stayed, and without knowing why, he picked up her hairpin. As he stared at it, as he replayed in his mind her agonized scream (yet again, a reaction he had never had before without consciously trying to relive something), he felt something trace its way down his cheek. Lifting a hand to his face, he discovered he was - crying? Why? For this girl? She was useless, crying and whining as if there was a chance this “Hinata” would save her. He’d seen many die - why would he cry for her? He stared at the hairclip, and wondered.
And suddenly he was Hinata again, but he still had to watch her get punctured, still heard her dying screams and her broken pleas for him, but he could do nothing.
Again and again she died, in agony, with a stone-faced Izuru the last thing she saw.
Again and again Hinata watched, horrified, and could do nothing, locked deep within his own mind.
And then he woke up.
And here he was, on the boat, staring blankly out the window and waiting until he no longer felt as though he would empty his stomach if he tried to move. He wished he could blame it on the movement of the boat, but the nausea was almost comforting. It meant he wasn’t Izuru anymore. It meant he could feel disgusted at his past self’s actions - he could feel remorse and regret and guilt and all the other emotions Izuru never had.
Chiaki…. he missed her. He missed being able to play games quietly together with her, and he missed her input on any issues he might have. Any time he had a problem he couldn’t solve, he went to Chiaki to play a game with her and distract himself. But she’d always notice something was wrong, and after a few rounds, say “Something’s bothering you… I think.” in the soft way of hers that always made him tell her everything on the spot. And together, they’d come up with a solution. There were a lot of problems on the boat, and Hinata missed both the quiet time together playing games, and her ability to get to the heart of the problem and provide a solution that benefitted everyone. Most of all, though, he missed… her. He missed her quiet comments and her way of saying the right thing at the right moment to make him feel at ease. He missed her gentle encouragement and her surprising competitiveness at racing games.
She was gone, and it was all his fault.
He knew they all had regrets, that as Ultimate Despair they had all done unforgivable things, but… he had asked to become Izuru. He’d signed away his soul for talent, and he got it! The others, they’d been tricked into it. Forced. Manipulated. He’d agreed because he was bored . No matter what the others tried to tell him, that it was okay, that it wasn’t his fault, that they were all moving past what they had done to build a future for them all - he knew. He could never forgive himself for what he had done to her.
He turned over, and tried to go back to sleep, knowing it was futile. Knowing he’d spend the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, waiting for morning to rescue him from his thoughts.