Chapter Text
Needless to say, there were a multitude of things that changed the moment the class of 77-B awoke from the simulation. As remnants of despair, they had all changed in one way or another, with some arguably worse than others. For someone who was supposed to be a regular student, Hajime just happened to be one of those less-fortunate cases.
It’s only fair, he supposes whenever he takes the time to reflect (if he even has any time to reflect). When he agreed to the procedure, Hajime Hinata exchanged a normal life to become Izuru Kamakura; an irreversible truth he had no other choice but to accept during the Neo World Program.
Well, no shit there’d be consequences for the procedure of a lifetime; Hope’s Peak scientists were dissecting his brain like a highschool science project, for crying out loud. They disclosed as much to him— the only one Hajime has to blame for the life of infrequent suffering he lives now is himself.
Obviously, that didn’t mean that he was in constant suffering every day of his life. Most days were good days, days without any lingering symptoms or effects. Most of the symptoms were manageable in his everyday life— being extremely sensitive to the cold and heat, being nearly too hyperaware of his surroundings to the brink of borderline paranoia some days— the list goes on, really.
Things like that were manageable with time and healing, but other symptoms were, to put it lightly..hell.
And so, like a sense of looming dread, when Hajime woke up, he knew almost instantly what kind of day was set in store for him: the worst of the worst, thanks to a very specific consequence of the procedure.
The golden streams of light steadily pouring out of the cottage blinds the moment he opened his eyes that morning became nothing short of agony for him in the matter of seconds. Rays of morning light, a simple thing he’d look forward to in the morning, seemed to do nothing but pierce through his head like daggers. The hypersensitivity to sound wasn’t helping, either. The birds chirping at the window drilled into his ears, wracking his skull and splitting it apart each time they opened their beaks to strike again.
He hoped, prayed to whatever deity out there that he was simply imagining things; that maybe he just slept like shit last night and was going through the motions of insomnia-induced fatigue, but Hajime knew better than that. For once, he had actually managed to go to sleep early that night. Speaking of, what time even was it right now?
His hands felt shaky as he mustered most of his energy to try and push himself up. To Hajime, it didn’t matter how sick he felt. After all, as the Ultimate Hope, not only did he have to help with his friends on the island, but he also had to help with the Future Foundation.
It wasn’t so much that he was worried about Makoto and his friends or anything. If anything, he knew very well just how serious Makoto would take the issue. Hell, Makoto would probably order Hajime to take a break the moment he hears his voice on the other end of the phone, but that’s precisely why he doesn’t want to raise any suspicions from his friends or Makoto. Taking a break would mean Makoto would find a replacement at the Future Foundation, and what then? What if that replacement just happens to be better than Hajime is at his job (although he knows it isn’t likely, as the Ultimate everything and all)?
It seemed as though, despite everything, Hajime’s fear of not being enough didn’t disappear at all.
How unfortunate.
Even more unfortunate is that Hajime’s head is beginning to splice open at even the thought of— well, thinking, which begins to become a problem considering the endless thoughts that rush through his head; courtesy of Izuru.
With a groan more akin to a pained whimper, Hajime forces himself up and watches the world spin around him. Despite it all, he pushes through it and gets dressed, if not because of the significantly lower pain tolerance he’d been oh-so-graciously granted as a result of the Kamukura Project.
He forces himself to take a quick glance at himself through a pocket mirror he was gifted by Hiyoko (because according to her, he needs one in order to stop looking like “pig shit” first thing in the morning). For once, he can’t help but agree with her— he definitely looks as though he’s seen better days. Still, with Hajime’s eyes seemingly clawing their way out of his skull, all he could muster was to fix his tie and shuffle his way out the door.
The sun beams down at him with the wrath of an angry God, to the point where it felt as though it was the Sun’s personal mission to whack an axe through Hajime’s skull. The feeling came to him in waves, making him shudder.
Seconds blended into minutes, and minutes blended into nearly an eternity, and before Hajime knew it, he finally arrived at the Hotel cafeteria. In a way, he somehow felt as though this was far worse.
Hajime wasn’t an idiot, he knew his classmates down to a T by now. They were bound to be incredibly noisy, just as they were any other day. Still, that didn’t mean he didn’t feel like he was two seconds away from blasting his head off at the all-too lively environment.
“Good morning, Hajime!” Sonia’s voice, which usually sounds melodic and warm, sounds like the equivalent of running nails against a chalkboard.
“Wow, Hajime-kun looks uglier than usual!” Hiyoko sneers, taking time away from admiring Mahiru to point it out to him. Considering how shrill her voice naturally is, he really wishes she hadn’t.
Hajime could only muster a half-hearted shrug and carefully, steadily sit down. The million-thoughts-per-second train of thought made it more than easy to analyze a seat that would be farthest from his biggest threat: Ibuki Mioda.
A slam of the door snapped him out of his thoughts. “Gooooooddd nom-nom-nomming, everybody!”
..Speaking of the devil.
Everyone turns to greet Mioda, Kazuichi even does so with covered ears. Once the greetings commenced, so did the conversations; and the more they did, the more unbearable it became for Hajime. The general conversation broke out into multiple, tinier conversations, so that there was never a single moment of silence.
His own thoughts were an entirely different conversation..literally. Hajime’s head was now racing, trying to keep up with the borderline overstimulating situation. His mind was working overtime, his friends were far too loud, and the inescapable lights felt like the final nail in the coffin.
His mouth threatens to let out a pathetic whimper, so he does what any other normal person would do and slam his head down on the cafeteria table. For a moment, he feels relief upon doing so. He briefly considers doing it again before a heavy, cold hand is put on his back. It feels nice, soothing even, but it’s hard to focus on anything anymore.
By this point, he can’t even decipher who’s speaking to him, and he certainly can’t decipher what they’re saying anymore. All Hajime can detect is that the words tumbling out of their mouth is noise, noise, noise. He tries to open his mouth for a response, but realizing that even his own voice would cause him more pain, he decides against it. Unfortunately for Hajime, his lack of a response grants a bunch of simultaneous gasps and murmurs.
He feels sick to his stomach. The nausea becomes overwhelming, and for the sake of his own dignity Hajime quickly stands up to leave before he can throw up in front of everyone. It’s dizzying, and his vision blackens for a good while. He thinks, for a split moment, that he fell over at one point or another, but it was hard to tell.
Hajime was being dragged, at least he was pretty sure that he was. He walked (more like stumbled, but that’s besides the point) along whoever was helping him. The brunet noticed for a moment that it was silent in the cafeteria before they passed through those doors, and was grateful at the very least for that. Getting out of that nothing short of medieval torture environment meant that Hajime had to go outside again, though. Stupid Jabberwock Island and its stupid sunny tropical environment.
Even more stupid was the fact that Hajime just had to voice his displeasure with it. This time, much to Hajime’s dismay, he lets out a pathetic whine against the sleeve of the person guiding him. It’s the only way he can express his discomfort, after all. Most of the time when he’s in one of these episodes, especially the worst stages of it, he finds it incredibly hard to find words to express anything.
It’s this (extremely obvious) fact that makes Hajime realize his stupid plan to pretend to be perfectly fine today was just that: stupid. Besides, how on Earth was he going to continue working when this stupid migraine has his eyes closed this entire time?
Some Ultimate Hope he was.
He feels the person push him away for a moment, and the brunet figures that his guide is disturbed by his sudden neediness (which makes sense, Hajime has made it a thing to become fully independent after becoming the Ultimate Hope), but then Hajime feels something being draped around his head. It leaves him baffled, for a moment, until he realizes why. It’s not much, but the thing draped across him is meant to provide some kind of shade for him. The person, upon making sure the fabric was sure to not fall off his head, gently took Hajime’s hand and guided it to their shoulder.
His eyes remained shut for the remainder of their walk. Judging from the boisterous groans of wooden planks beneath them, Hajime figured they finally arrived at the front of either of their cabins. The person shoved a hand in the brunet’s pocket, fishing for his keys— ah, so that’s where they are. They’re going to his cabin.
For the entirety of this walk, Hajime tried to deduce who was his current knight in shining armor, but it was a bit hard to when every amplified sound around him was all too distracting in his current state of never-ending overstimulation. Besides, this person is incredibly quiet right now, and he’s pretty sure he hasn’t heard even a single apology, so he supposed the person helping him wasn’t Mikan.
The door creaks again, and Hajime is more than relieved to hear the lack of any lights being switched on. He opens his eyes a little, just enough to walk to his bed and lay down. At this moment, Hajime could really care less about being in a vulnerable state like this. Besides, they’re not in a killing game (much to Hinata’s pleasure). It’s not like Hajime has to worry about this person killing him or anything, at the very least.
Speaking of which, being in the dark and mostly quiet room made it arguably easier for Hajime to fully open his eyes now. When he does so, his stomach churns a bit at the sight of white, wispy hair.
“I wouldn’t suggest keeping your eyes open, Hinata-kun,” Nagito whispers softly. There’s something in his eyes that seems a bit apologetic, as though he’s sorry he had to speak at all, considering Hajime’s current predicament. Still, the Ultimate Hope couldn’t help but feel as though he’s sorry for something else, maybe for the fact that Nagito had to be the one to help him.
Hajime was staring for too long, he must’ve been, because Nagito’s face contorts into a placid smile. “Is..Hinata-kun alright now? If that’s all, then I probably should—”
Had this been months prior, had this been long before Nagito awoke from the Neo World Program, Hajime would have said something along the lines of yes, you should leave now . Hell, the idea of the Ultimate Lucky Student helping him would have been nothing short of mortifying.
Hajime could sit here and lie, could claim that after everyone awoke from the Neo World Program that everyone got along perfectly fine with each other; except couldn’t be farther from the truth. The most prominent case study for this exception was the silver-haired boy standing before him.
When Nagito had first awoken, he hardly socialized with anyone at all. For someone so obsessed with hope, he seemed nothing short of melancholic. Hajime had assumed it didn’t help that everyone was still a bit wary of the boy, (especially since they found it suspicious that he was the last one to wake up), but the more time began to gradually heal everyone’s wounds, the more of a disconnect there seemed to be between Nagito and the rest of the class. Even now, Nagito still hardly interacts with anyone on the island with the occasional exception of friendly hello’s and a few instances of small talk.
—Which is exactly why this is such a big deal to Hajime.
“Wait,” Hajime says, wincing at how loud his voice rings against his ears. He outstretches a hand, grasping onto the man’s sleeve to prevent him from escaping. Nagito turns his head around, away from the door, with an indescribable expression plastered on his face.
He was successful in grabbing Nagito’s attention, except now Hajime couldn’t think of anything to make Nagito stay.
“I..Thank you. For doing that,” he starts, rubbing his neck and cringing internally at just how stupid he sounds. “You didn’t have to.”
Nagito’s frown turns into a sheepish grin. “I wouldn’t allow an Ultimate such as yourself to suffer like that, Hinata-kun. Even a piece of trash like me knows his place.”
..Right. That’s another thing Hajime forgot about. It’s kinda offputting seeing Nagito treat him with decency again. Although it’s nowhere near as kind as he had been at the beginning of the killing game, he can’t help but be a little grateful for this treatment. It makes getting Nagito to listen to him a bit easier nowadays. Maybe that’s what made him stay, Hajime thinks, but the thought makes his stomach churn with some foreign emotion he’d rather not describe. He’d only stayed because he was someone worth listening to now.
The depressing train of thought made the brunet fail to even notice that the lucky student was continuing his self-depracating rant, wringing his hands as he did so. It was cute, awfully so, but Hajime’s raging migraine seemed to think otherwise. Nausea overcame him again as Nagito continued to talk, his voice hardly above a whisper now.
Hajime rushes up to his feet once more and practically runs to the bathroom. The first wave of nausea was preventable, but courtesy of not having any appetite this morning, there was nothing to throw up, and that seemed to make it all the more worse.
He wretches, hunched over the toilet as nothing but bile comes up. By this point, he’s sure that Nagito is disgusted. Either that, or the boy became so wound up in his self-deprecation that he figured Hajime was (literally) sick of his voice and decided to leave. A very Nagito thing to do, Hajime had to say.
So it goes without saying that Hajime is pleasantly surprised upon hearing his heels clack into the bathroom, feeling Nagito’s cold metallic hand rubbing soothing circles around his back.
His face is hot and flushed, but the cool feeling of Nagito’s hands make him forget that. He sighs with relief, leaning into the touch.
The silver-haired boy opens his mouth to speak before frowning, decidedly speaking much lower than he had before. “Hinata-kun should probably eat something,” he murmurs. “I can ask Hanamura to make something for you, if you’d like.”
Normally, Hajime would snort at the lack of any formalities or titles in Teruteru’s name, but he doesn’t think he could go through another migraine-induced vomiting session. Instead, he lets out a small, almost pained noise at the thought of Nagito leaving him for even a split second. He hates the fact that he doesn’t want him to leave. The two of them stay like that for a while.
Once Hajime’s dry-heaving stops, the lucky student guides him back to the bed. He looks at Hajime before his lips tighten into a tight frown.
“No,” Nagito decides, “I’m sorry, Hinata-kun, but you need to eat something. I’ll be right back.”
The door shuts, and Hajime can’t help but feel as though this was all some kind of cruel joke coming from the other. He hadn’t been treated with this much kindness from Nagito since..well, before the fourth trial. Surely he was just going to let Hajime go through his migraine episode alone. Or maybe he was going to come back with Ibuki, telling her that talking to Hajime right now would make everything better. Or maybe he was going to ask Kazuichi to make some horrible excuse for a meal for him?
Those were the only possibilities Hajime could think of, because..God, he really needed someone to talk to. Maybe his self-deprecation was worse than he thought. For the sake of his own sanity, he blamed his worsening self deprecation on Nagito. Yeah, it must be some sort of Pavlov-esque response. How embarrassing.
Oh well. It’s not like Hajime could really do anything in this state, so all he could do was wait like a prisoner on death row. Except when Komaeda returned, none of those things happened. He softly opened the door and closed it behind him. There was what looked to be edible food, and even a glass of water.
Once again, it must’ve seemed as though Hajime was staring at Nagito again because the boy could only laugh softly, nervously, as he settled the tray down. Oddly enough, Hajime can’t help but get a sense of deja-vu from the whole situation. Except now, the roles were reversed.
“Teruteru truly is amazing, isn’t he? I explained the situation to him as fast as I could and he made all of this in just a few minutes. I expect nothing less from the Ultimate Chef.” He explained with a smile. “..Ah, but you should probably drink water first. Vomiting dehydrates you, after all; but I’m sure you know that.”
He hands the water to the brunet, who gently takes it from him. He sits up, wincing at the sharp pain that shoots across his head when he does so. Slowly, he takes a sip, and sighs with relief.
Not poisoned.
“Thank you, Komaeda,” he murmurs again.
Surely, the pink flush dusted across the paler’s face was in his imagination. Could also be the heat from going outside earlier. Yeah, that’s gotta be what it was. “Ah, it’s nothing really..I’m just happy to be useful to Hinata-kun,” he explains. “Think of it as an apology for..well, you know.”
Hajime frowns a bit at that. “It’s..fine, Nagito. All in the past, right..?” He musters a weak smile, and his chest floods with warm relief at seeing the smile was returned with Nagito’s own.
“..Hinata-kun is truly a saint,” he says before looking at the food on the plate. “..Ah, I know this won’t be very nice, coming from trash like me, but if you’d like, I can feed you. I wouldn’t mind doing that at all for Hinata-kun.”
Hajime’s face flushes at the image. He knows he should eat, but he really isn’t hungry.. Still, a part of him doesn’t want to make the other male worry, and it would be nice to have Komaeda feed him—
..Holy shit, he really is losing it here. Maybe he really does need to talk to someone after this. He’ll be sure to mention it to Naegi when he—
“..Wait, the Future Foundation..I need to—”
Nagito’s eyebrows furrow with concern. “It’s a weekend, Hajime, the Future Foundation doesn’t have any work for you to do today.”
..Ah, that’s right. He completely forgot about that.
“Although I think it’s cute that Hinata-kun is avoiding the topic, you really do need to eat something, you know. Even if it’s just a few bites, it’s better than nothing.”
..Right. A little bit hypocritical, coming from Nagito Komaeda of all people, but he’s right.
“..Fine,” Hajime relents, and he can’t help but notice how Nagito’s face lit up.
“Hinata-kun will allow me to feed him? Surely something horrible will happen to me to balance my luck today, but that’s perfectly okay with me. Knowing someone like Hajime trusts me enough to feed you is more than enough for me to die happi—” He looked up at Hajime’s face, seemingly fearing that the brunet would wind up throwing up again. “..Urk. Sorry, Hajime.” And without another word, Nagito dips the spoon into the broth.
He gingerly brings it closer to Hajime, who reluctantly takes a sip. Definitely some kind of vegetable soup, but it was delicious nonetheless coming from the ultimate Chef.
He struggles to take a few more bites, but after the fifth one, Nagito finally seemed to relent. During the whole entire thing, Hajime couldn’t help but think how domestic this all felt. It made something warm flutter in his stomach, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Nagito felt the same. That’s when a thought surfaced to the top of Hajime’s head.
”Hey, Komaeda, how did you know that I had a—“
“A migraine?” Komaeda finishes the sentence for him with a gentle smile. “You were muttering about your head before you tried to leave. That, plus the aversion to light..well, it was fairly easy to figure it out. Call it a string of luck.” He winks at Hajime in a spur of what can only be described as self-confidence; which also seemed to dwindle away just as fast.
“..Ah. I apologize for talking so much, Hinata-kun. I know my disgusting voice must be grating to you, especially right now..” Nagito frowns again, and a part of the brunet wants nothing more than to wipe that frown away from him.
“No. No, you’re..fine. Actually, right now your voice is—“ it feels as though his face pales, because he knows exactly what he was going to say: calming. Hajime thought, right now especially, that Nagito’s voice was calming.
His head throbs once more in pain, and he shudders. A cool hand, Nagito’s good hand this time, hesitantly rests above Hajime’s face before it tangles into the other’s hair. It’s embarrassing, really, the shaky sigh of relief he lets out.
“Does it really help that much?” Komaeda asks as he continues to card his hand through his hair. “Hinata-kun’s hair is so soft..I didn’t expect it to be.”
He sounded mesmerized, as though he were talking to himself. Hajime knows he should take some sort of offense, but he couldn’t bring himself to, not when Nagito has been such a help to him this entire day.
“Stay here, please.” Hajime mutters.
“Does Hinata-kun really want me to? If that’s the case, then who am I to say no?” Nagito says softly, eyes filled with what Hajime’s hazy eyes can only describe as adoration.
It doesn’t take long for Hajime to drift into a drowsy state, much to his surprise. It usually takes a lot more in order for him to become this tired.
Distantly, he’s aware that Nagito is speaking to him. He thinks he sees Nagito bring a book at one point or another. He tries to understand what the other is saying, but was proven to be fairly difficult when he’s on the borderline of sleep.
More than anything, Hajime couldn’t help but wish that his knight in shining armor wouldn’t be a dream when he awoke.