Archive of Our Own

Nagito Komaeda wakes up to the dark.

It’s no shock, really. Nagito lives most of his life in the dark: the dark in his head and the dark in his heart. Darkness gripping the abject uselessness of his person. He’s no stranger to a lack of warmth; and in fact he welcomes the sensation even now. Nagito is adaptable. If nothing else, Nagito is adaptable and very, very lucky. 

He waits for his eyes to adjust but they don’t; and when he reaches out blindly his hands grasp nothing but air. He sighs. A fitting end for scum like him. But still. It would help, a little, if he could get his bearings.

Just as he’s sitting up a voice booms from somewhere left of him.

“Ah! Finally! I have returned to the depths of my birthplace, the last circle of Hell, the eternal burning of my— ”

“Gundham,” Nagito interrupts. “Be quiet.”

Briefly, wondrously, there is silence. And then:

“Nagito Komaeda? I see the clutches of the underworld have chosen even the likes of you.”

The likes of me, Nagito thinks, blinking in the dark. Touché. 

“No,” he says out loud. “I don’t think we’re in Hell.”

“Of course we are in Hell.” 

“How would you know if we were in Hell?” Nagito asks, irritably. He feels out of sorts and weary; too overwhelmed to find his optimism just yet. Sometimes he forgets that it isn’t a bottomless well; that even his cheer can diminish. 

“Because, infernal foe, this is the place of my birth.”

It’s useless to argue. Nagito may be small minded— nothing ultimate or hopeful about him— but even he realizes how fruitless it is to speak with Gundham. The man lives on another plane completely, surrounded by hamsters and visions of damnation. Instead, Nagito rummages around the pockets of his jacket, and lights a match. 

“Ah,” Gundham says, looking around. When he seems satisfied, he nods. “Hell is an empty room.”

“This isn’t Hell,” Nagito mumbles, getting to his feet. “Look. There’s a door.”

“Are you insinuating there are no doors in the Netherworld? How do you expect the agents of destruction get from room to room?” 

“I don’t know, Gundham. Maybe their mystical destruction powers help them out.” 

“Nonsense.” Gundham’s face looks ghastly and wan in the weak light. Nagito knows he’ll have to light another soon— fingertips already too warm— but he doesn’t want to waste them all in case there are emptier, darker rooms to get through. Perhaps he’s jumped the gun again. Perhaps this is Hell. It would certainly make sense, present company considered. Nagito wonders— idly, like picking a scab— where Hajime is. Whether he ever made it off the island. 

It doesn’t matter. 

The match goes out, and Nagito reaches for Gundham’s sleeve. 

“Come on,” he says, tugging. “Door’s this way. I didn’t see a lock, so if we’re lucky— ”

And he is. He knows he is. The door pulls open easily, cold, heavy metal under Nagito’s hand, and reveals a dimly lit hallway. 

“Just as I suspected,” Gundham announces from behind him. “The infernal corridor!” 

Nagito is too busy trying to make himself useful to reply. He knows that if he can just put two and two together— although it might take him longer than someone smarter— he can find a way out of here for the both of them. Unless, of course, they are actually in Hell, which would prove difficult to do. Still, Nagito is optimistic. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. And where there’s hope — well. That’s everything, isn’t it?

“Hey Gundham,” he says as they walk. “Do you really think this is Hell?”

“I know it is.”

“Hmm. And this would mean we were both well and truly dead.”

“Foolish mortal. As I am no mere human, the concepts of life and death are simply pit stops along the way of my grand, fiendish journey. And I— ”

“Sure, okay!” Nagito interrupts. “And did you die with your four dark devas of destruction?”

“What? Of course not! My four dark devas act as my soldiers on the earthly realm. They will continue their dark and perilous journey without their master until we are eventually reunited— many, many years from now. Just because I was foolish enough to perish does not mean I would relegate them to such an untimely fate. They— ”

“Okay,” Nagito says, slowing to a stop. “Then whose hamsters are those?”

And sure enough, up ahead, the four dark devas of destruction are sitting on their hindlegs, chattering excitedly among themselves. When they spot Gundham, their chattering takes on a joyful, hysterical tone as they run toward him at full speed and clamor up his body. In a rare show of restraint, Gundham seems to be rendered speechless. 

“San-D,” Gundham whispers. “Jum-P... Maga-Z… Cham-P.” 

The slight wobble in his voice is unmistakable. Nagito has not spent a lot of time thinking about Gundham Tanaka and his various idiosyncrasies— because what right does a nobody like him have to question an Ultimate?— but he does find it interesting, now, to witness an agent of the underworld completely done apart by a handful of chubby rodents. It just goes to show you, Nagito thinks cheerfully, how vast and complicated the mind of a student like Gundham is. 

“Hey Gundham,” Nagito says, interrupting what seems to be a very serious melding of the minds. “If we’re not dead, and this isn’t Hell… what do you think is happening to us?”

The four dark devas slip into Gundham’s sleeves as he turns to look at Nagito gravely. 

“Nagito Komaeda,” he says. “I believe I do not know.”

***

Hajime Hinata wakes up to the cold. 

Why is he so cold? His back feels as if its pressed up against a block of ice, strapped to it. He is strapped to it, he realizes, belatedly— he’s tied down by three thick, leather belts and covered only by a sheet. His bare feet stick out from underneath it. 

Is this the morgue?, Hajime thinks blearily, trying to see past the pounding in his head. But no. It isn’t. It’s something much, much worse. 

An operating table.

If he twists his head to the right he can see a variety of unnerving tools: scalpels, knives, drills, bigger knives. Hajime thinks: Haven’t I been through enough? And then he thinks: Haven’t I died a hundred times already?

Once for every friend he lost. Once for every investigation, every sick trial. Every one of Monokuma’s announcements— that shrill voice of his echoing forever in Hajime’s brain like broken bells. The things they did to one another. How much can one person take before they snap; before they turn into something reckless and deranged— something— some one like Komaeda? 

Nagito Komaeda, Hajime thinks. His thoughts always come back to Nagito Komaeda. 

Now, though: Is this Monokuma’s doing? Hajime cranes his neck to see further around the room; it’s white and clinical; it smells vaguely of antiseptic. He notes, with some relief, that it appears to be in much better condition than the hospital on the island— much cleaner and calmer. There’s a long, metal table with various jars and vials on it; they’re filled with liquids and other things. Hajime wills himself not to think of what these other things can be. 

Just as he’s reminding himself to slowly breathe in and out the doors swing open and a— someone— walks in. 

There’s no other way to describe it, and if Hajime had not already been to Hell and Back he would think he were going crazy. Maybe he is going crazy. Maybe this is the moment; this is the thing that breaks whatever taut string is tethering him to his sanity. (What was Komaeda’s moment? Hajime thinks. Was there an event that drove him mad, or were there instances piling up— insignificant at first glance— slights building and then snowballing until he lost his mind? Komaeda again. Komaeda again again again again again again again again aga)

The— the someone— who walks in is tall and mostly humanoid, with grey-tinged skin and scales running in a thick line from forehead to neck, disappearing into the back of its lab coat. It’s carrying a clipboard in one gargantuan hand and humming softly to itself as it— Hajime assumes— reads. Hajime must make some sort of inadvertent noise because the someone stops its humming and looks over at him. Its eyes are curved like an animal’s and pitch, unyielding black. It has a large protruding snout and very sharp teeth.

“Blick, blorg?” it says. 

“Holy mother of fucking god,” Hajime says. 

He can’t help but think: This might as well be happening.

The… someone steps closer to him and all of Hajime’s thought processes come to a screeching halt. He’s rendered incoherent with fear, so bizarrely unlike the hopelessness of the island. There is something truly inconceivable about being faced with an enemy you cannot name, and though Hajime hates Monokuma with every fiber of his being, he at least knows what Monokuma is . On the island, he knew what was expected of him and he knew what the possibilities were. Kill. Be killed. 

This, though? This is uncharted territory. This is— Hajime doesn’t even know where he is . He doesn’t know what species of being is trying to communicate with him, or cut him open, or examine his body parts. He doesn’t know anything right now, and apparently there’s no fear greater than the unknown. 

“Bliii iiii ck,” the somebody says. It sounds inquisitive, not hostile. Hajime forces out a smile that he’s certain looks more like a grimace.

“Hey— hi. Uh. So— yeah, this isn’t a situation I really feel comfortable being in right now, so. If you could just undo these straps I’d— ”

“BUUUUURRRRRKKKKKKKK.”

“Holy shi— okay! Okay! I— no, really, I love this. This is great. I was just making a joke, you know, just to check in on your sense of humor. Which is also great, by the way. Yeah.” 

Shit. Think, Hajime. 

“Blorg,” the thing currently glaring down at Hajime says, and though it is no longer screeching, it sounds a lot less inquisitive and a lot more unsympathetic. 

“Blorg,” Hajime repeats, weakly, and begins to pray for a miracle.

***

Working with Gundham is like trying to catch fish with shoes; which is to say— practically impossible. This, too, strengthens the light in Nagito’s heart, reminds him that it’s during these seemingly unimaginable circumstances where hope shines the brightest. Nagito is honored to be a stepladder in these proceedings; he only prays that his clumsiness, his lowliness, doesn’t get in the way. 

“So!” he says, graciously accepting this opportunity to bond with Gundham, “how did you go about naming your pets?”

“I hardly think this is the time to discuss the mysteries of my four dark devas.” 

“Of course,” Nagito says, quickly. “You’re right, of course. We need to figure out exactly where we are, and how many of the others are here with us. Can you feel them in your heart, Gundham? Does some unshakeable force draw you towards your immaculate peers?”

Gundham frowns as they stop at a long, metal ladder. It seems to lead up to a hatch. 

“I feel nothing but diabolical omens in my heart.” 

“Right again!” Nagito puts a hand on Gundham’s shoulder. “I’ll go up first, in case something detonates when we open the door. My body may be frail and useless, but it would be honored to act as a shield for you.”

“Ha!,” Gundham says. “You think a mere bomb could end me? I, the great and powerful Gundham Tanaka?”

But Nagito is already climbing, determined to die. 

Holding his breath, he turns the hatch’s wheel and pushes the door upward— bracing for the inevitable impact of heat— his body being torn from limb to limb. He squeezes his eyes shut and waits, picturing the moment in slow motion, glorious and bloody, sacrificed so that his friend can live. But it never comes. In fact, the entire affair is wholly anticlimactic, and when Nagito opens his eyes again he finds his head is poking out into an empty, grey space. 

“Hmph,” he says, and climbs out. Gundham is still waiting below, so the moment is not completely unsalvageable, and Nagito thinks there might be danger lurking in even the most innocuous of places, so he looks once to the left, once to the right, and turns around to— 

A very peculiar sight indeed. It would be astounding that he didn’t notice it immediately, if anything about Nagito were astounding at all. Now he faces floor to ceiling windows, looking out into the dark. Stars, and beyond them: Earth. 

“Oh,” he says, pressing his face against the glass. For a miserable wretch like him to see such a sight— the beauty and wonder of it— seems like the cruelest stroke of fate. It should be Hajime here instead, Hajime Hinata, Hajime Hajime Hajime. Nagito pulls himself away from the pale, effervescent light of stars and sticks his head back down into the hatch. His hair swings in the air. 

“Come on up! You’ll never believe what’s out here…” 

“I highly doubt anything will surprise me, Gundham Tanaka, future leader of the world and— ah. Can that be— ?”

“Earth, Gundham. And we’re not on it.” 

“Mm,” Gundham says. He tucks his chin into his scarf so that his mouth is covered too. “I see. Of course, I have been away from Earth before. This mortal coil is not all there is to Gundham Tanaka.”

“I know!” Nagito says, cheerfully. “Even a worthless, stupid human like me can see that. But don’t you think there’s something we have to do now?”

“Yes,” Gundham says. His voice is grave. “We must take control of this ship, and begin our nefarious conquest through the galaxy.”

“No. We need to find the others!”

“The… others?”

“You don’t think we’re the only two students of Hope’s Peak Academy here, do you? I mean— maybe if you were alone that’d make sense— but there’s no way I was brought here without the others! I mean, what would be the point in that? ”

“Silence, mortal. I’ve had enough of your blathering.” Gundham pauses. “We must find Sonia first. It is ill-fitting for a dark mistress such as herself to be left alone for too long.” 

“Whatever you say!” Nagito says. Try as he might, it’s difficult to tear his eyes away from the windows. The emptiness of the deck they’re on and the black space unraveling in front of him is almost too much to handle. It’s almost reminiscent of… despair. He shivers, and turns away. If there’s hope to be found out here, Nagito will find it. 

They begin to circle the deck and quickly find the ship is much, much larger than anticipated. Flashing lights frame doors to room after room, and there are corridors they don’t dare walk down yet. Nagito produces a Monokuma coin from one of his pockets and sets it where the wall meets the floor in order to gauge where they are, where the circle ends. They don’t see the coin again. 

They do, however, see something better. From the dark of a hallway, a hand reaches out, and holds Gundham by the wrist.

“Hey, hey.” 

Nagito registers that two heads are in the hallway, looking at them, before he registers who they belong to. Chiaki Nanami, and behind her, Sonia Nevermind. Chiaki tugs Gundham into the shadows, and Nagito obediently follows. The four of them stare at each other in silence for one, long moment before Sonia leaps into Gundham’s arms— surprising them all. 

“Oh,” she says, sniffling, “how terribly forward of me.”

“Not— not at all,” Gundham says. “It is… good to see you.” 

The display does not seem to affect Chiaki at all; she looks lost in thought as always, but Nagito watches them, carefully, from the corner of his eye. What is it like? To be greeted like that— to be held. He has of course accepted that he will never receive such a welcome, that he will never do anything worthy of being wanted in such a simple, visceral way. Still. Nagito is weak, and in his infinite weakness he wonders. What is it like? What is it like? What’s it like? What’s it like? What’s it like what’s it like what’s it like What’s it like What’s it like

“Wow!” he says, smiling, baring teeth. “This is just like old times, huh! Heh— really incredible. I couldn’t be happier to see all of you.” 

“I wonder how we got here,” Chiaki says. She has a faraway expression on her face, and Nagito assumes she’s mentally ranking every science fiction game she’s ever played— and whether any of them can help them now. 

“I would assume dying had something to do with it!” Nagito says. “But it’s funny— even though I’ve already died, I don’t feel dead at all. In fact, I feel like I could die again— like I should die again. Maybe one of you could help me out?”

“I hate it when you speak like that,” Sonia says. “And your assumption has one major flaw in it.”

“Care to tell me what that is?”

“Yes,” Sonia sniffs again. “I never died.” 

Gundham, who has been quiet all the while, takes a small step toward Sonia. “I am glad you didn’t die,” he murmurs, and she turns her face to him, smiling. 

“Well,” Nagito shrugs, cheerful as ever, “there goes that idea. Let’s split up to find the others.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Chiaki says. “We don’t know how big this ship is. It’d be easy to get lost.” 

“The three of you should stick together then,” Nagito nods. “I’ll catch up after I explore a little bit!”

“But Chiaki just said— ”

“I know, I know,” Nagito says. He waves a hand. “But someone like me isn’t worth worrying over. I’ll find you eventually and— ”

“That isn’t entirely true, is it?” Chiaki asks. “We learned last time that you’re someone we should worry about.” 

They look at one another for a long moment, before Nagito breaks out into another grin. “I’m lucky, remember? I bet I’ll find the others in no time.” 

And before anyone can say anything else, he backs out of the corridor, and disappears out of their line of sight. 

Gundham looks at Chiaki, and then he looks at Sonia. “Although my all-seeing eye has seldom failed me,” he says, “I must admit I do not know what’s happening here.” 

***

The somebody leaves with the promise of return. Hajime doesn’t have to speak the same language to understand perfectly what its final look before exiting the room means. And so, by his calculations, he has three and a half minutes to figure out how to get the fuck out of here. 

Hajime struggles against the straps. No use— they’re too tight. He rocks his body to try to get the operating table to move, hoping against hope that it’s on wheels instead of bolted to the ground. No use— it’s bolted to the ground. 

“Think,” he whispers to himself. “You survived the killing class trip. You watched countless friends die. You unlearned the world you knew. You can figure this out, too.” 

And just when he thinks the pep talk is beginning to work, the door opens again.

No , he thinks. I need more time. 

But what opens the door isn’t it. What opens the door is someone Hajime never thought he’d see again. 

“Oh— hey there, Hajime!” Nagito says with a wave. “I knew I’d find you eventually.” He taps the tip of his nose with a finger. “I guess you could say I’ve got a nose for your scent.”

“What— how— "

“Now’s not really the time for questions, is it? Considering you’re all strapped down to an operating table.” 

To Hajime’s horror, Nagito is smiling, slowly circling the room. He inspects the medical instruments on the wall with the lazy focus of a man wandering an art exhibit. 

“Incredible,” he says, sliding his finger down the blunt edge of a knife. “Imagine if we had these on the island.”

“Komaeda,” Hajime manages. “You’ve gotta untie me.”

“Oh?” Nagito hops up on the counter in Hajime’s peripheral and pokes at one of the vials on the rack. “From what I remember of our last conversation, you weren’t being very nice to me.” 

“Komaeda— ”

“Now I know,” Nagito interrupts, holding up a hand, “I’m not worth the attention of the Ultimate students. Me— talentless trash— utterly useless… But you — you’re just a Reserve Student yourself. What makes you so different from me? What gives you the right to look down on me? Especially after all I’ve done for you. All the help I gave you! Do you really think you could have solved all those cases without me? Do you think you would have made it out of there alive?”

He’s beginning to get that look in his eye that signals absolute madness and Hajime does not have the time for this right now. It’s bad enough that an alien species wants to harvest his organs for personal gain— now he has to deal with this guy too? 

“Komaeda,” Hajime says, with a calmness he certainly doesn’t feel. “Please.”

“Don’t look so serious,” Nagito laughs. He slides off the counter, and just like that— his countenance is cheerful and pleasant again. “Of course I’ll untie you. Did you know we’re on a spaceship?” 

“Yeah, I kinda figured it was something like that when a creature carrying a clipboard started poking me.” 

“Poking you?” Nagito raises an eyebrow. “Poking you where?”

“Just get me out of this thing!”

“Okay, okaaay.” 

Nagito gets to work on undoing the buckles keeping Hajime strapped in, working from bottom to top. When he gets to the final one, just across Hajime’s shoulders, he leans forward and Hajime feels a very distinct deja vu— back to that first day on the island, waking up with Nagito’s face peering over him. Had he thought at that point that they could be friends? He did. Nagito, with his bright smile and endless optimism, before everything went wrong.

Something about the memory tightens in Hajime’s chest and suddenly it feels like he can’t get enough air in his lungs. He feels choked and hollowed out at the same time, throat constricting, heart pounding. 

“Um, hey,” Nagito says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

But Hajime can’t answer; he shakes his head. He isn’t getting enough air— there’s a fist wrapped around his heart— his lungs are trying to float out of his body. 

“You’re having a panic attack,” Nagito murmurs, undoing the last strap and pulling Hajime up to a sitting position. “Just take slow breaths with me.” 

Hajime is distantly aware that Nagito is speaking to him while the buzzing in his ears grows louder and louder. The island. The murders. The executions. His friends. The Ultimate Despair. His friends . There’s a firm hand on his back, holding him steady while his body goes to war with itself, and then again— Nagito’s voice in his ear, telling him to breathe, breathing with him. 

“You’re okay,” he hears, and after an eternity Hajime’s breath returns to normal. He is not okay. Nothing is okay. But his vision is no longer swimming, and his heart rate calms. 

“I— yeah.”

“Whew!” Nagito says, cheerful and smiling again. “Nothing a little positive thinking couldn’t fix!”

And of course, like most things that come out of Nagito’s mouth, that’s madness. It is madness to be here with him— him again — when Hajime truly believed all of that was behind him. It is madness that there are alien lifeforms, and that he’s not even on Earth anymore, and that with every passing hour, Hajime’s life becomes more and more inexplicable. He finds himself exhausted by it. He finds himself slumping forward suddenly, head against Nagito’s chest.

“It’s just,” Hajime says. “It’s just a lot. All of it. Everything.” 

“Mm,” Nagito says, which is not an answer at all but enough to bring Hajime back to himself, and realize what he’s doing, and pull himself away quickly. Life is difficult, but life is not quite so difficult that he needs to find comfort in Nagito Komaeda. It’s good for Hajime to remember such things. He’ll have to write this down somewhere.

“We should get out of here before the… whatever it was trying to examine me comes back.” 

“That’s probably a good call,” Nagito nods. “Oh— I forgot to tell you! Some of the others are here.” 

“...What?”

“So far we’ve got Gundham, Chiaki, and Sonia, but I’m willing to bet there’s more.”

“Chiaki? How,” Hajime begins, “did it take you this long to mention that?”

“Don’t dwell on the past, Hajime! Come on! Let’s go.”

It only takes them three minutes after exiting the room to be captured again.

***

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu is having a terrible day. 

Being the Ultimate Yakuza, this was bound to happen eventually— but goddamn, can’t a man catch a break? First the killing school trip (a complete and total nightmare, the aftermath of which he’s still trying to process) and now this— kidnapped and held hostage by a rival clan. At least, he can only assume that’s what’s going on, because to consider anything outside the realm of gangsters might actually be the last straw. 

The last straw.

There’s been no time to catch his breath or register the fact that he’s been living in a simulation for the past month; no time to mourn Peko like she deserves or untangle his guilt from the will that’s going to propel him forward. Fuyuhiko has had no time for anything at all, and now, finally when he’s supposed to be waking up on that godforsaken island to a feeling that isn’t just dread— he doesn’t wake up on the island at all.

He wakes up in another bedroom, in another place, in another body. His real body— he’s sure of that now— the body that’s been asleep and immobile for weeks. It’s actually impossible to be sure of anything at all, but Fuyuhiko knows that if he doesn’t make decisions and stick to them he will go mad. 

Well. The heir of the Kuzuryu clan doesn’t have the luxury of going insane. He has work to do.

A quick look around reveals a standard bedroom with a cushy bed, a nightstand, a closet, and a bathroom. Fuyuhiko ignores the sudden chill that possesses his body— the terror of deja vu — and walks over to the door. It is, of course, locked. 

“Bastards,” he says under his breath, and then begins to bang on it. “Open up! What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Present your demands like men, and maybe I won’t kill you all.” 

Nothing.

Fuyuhiko steadies his shaking hands and takes another look around the room. There’s no monitor, he thinks. There’s no monitor. Relax. There’s no monitor. 

He turns back to the door and begins banging on it again.

“I am Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu, Ultimate Yakuza, and you’re going to do a whole lot better to intimidate me! Open this fucking door!”

***

“Burhl, borg,” the foreign lifeform says evenly before lifting Nagito up by the hood of his jacket and tossing him into a holding cell. 

“Very true,” Nagito says, rubbing his head where it hit the wall. No blood— that’s good. Luck wins out again. The door slams shut and Nagito hears the click of a lock sliding into place. 

If I’m stuck here, it’s for a reason, Nagito reminds himself, settling down on the cot in the corner of the room. 

There’s a thin blanket— the useless kind they sometimes give you on airplanes— and although he’s shivering Nagito opts to use it as a pillow. He lies on his back and stretches out. The thing is, Nagito is used to being uncomfortable— abandoned by everyone, cramped into small spaces, removed a limb, gotten tied up and beaten, put a knife through himself— so all things considered, being held hostage on an alien ship doesn’t even make top five of worst situations he’s ever been in. 

And it could be worse. He could by lying on the ground.

He stares at the ceiling and thinks about Hajime Hinata. 

After what feels like hours, the door opens again and a humanoid with purple skin and ram horns walks in. Nagito holds back an eye roll at what is bound to be a fruitless conversation between two entities who don’t speak the same language, but to his surprise his captor opens their mouth and a cool, feminine voice says: “Hello there.” 

Now that is something to be intrigued by. Nagito sits up, swings his feet to the ground, and smiles.

“What a strange reaction,” they say. “I imagined I’d find someone a bit more hysterical.”

“I’d like to see where this is going,” Nagito shrugs. “It’s not every day you meet aliens!”

“I suppose that’s what we are to you. Very well. I’ve come to show you to your room. Please be advised that I’m carrying a weapon that will vaporize your organs from the inside before you have the chance to lay a hand on me. Would you care for a demonstration?”

“This might surprise you a little, but I think I’ll save the organ vaporization for another time.” 

“An acceptable answer. This way please.” 

“Great!” Nagito says, following them out. “Can I ask some questions?”

“If you would like.”

“Oh— yes, please. Who are you?”

“My name is L4-SKAN. You may call me Elle.”

“Aaaand why am I here?”

“You were of interest to us.” 

“Wow,” Nagito says, slowing. “Me?” 

Elle turns sharply to reprimand him, but the look on his face makes them stop. “I just— ” Nagito shakes his head, eyes glossed over. He’s looking at the floor. “The thought of you being interested in a useless worm like me. It’s really unbelievable.” He laughs and it’s unpleasant— too sharp, too loud— bordering on deranged. Elle takes a step back. “What did I ever do to deserve such an honor? Don’t tell me this is a mistake?”

“I can assure you,” Elle says, the slightest of crinkles forming on their brow, “there has been no mistake.” 

“Wow.” Nagito presses his fingers to his temples, still shaking his head. “Wow. Amazing.” 

“If you— if you’d please follow me this way.” 

“Of course! Of course. And am I the— heh, the only one that— ”

“We have already found the others. You will all be housed in the same wing together, so that the behavioral study includes as many variables as possible. Of course, you will be able to move around your wing freely, but all other areas of the ship are off-limits. It should go without saying that we will find you, and we will vaporize your organs.” 

“Yeah, that seems to be a big thing for you,” Nagito says. “Hey— ”

“I’m afraid the questions portion of our walk has ended. This is your room.” 

They take a key out of their pocket and set it directly on the ground, as if the prospect of handing it to Nagito and accidentally touching him is too unsettling. They nod once, and briskly walk back the way they came, stopping at the end of the hallway to punch a code into a panel on the wall. A thin layer of static sweeps across the length of the exit, barricading Nagito in. 

This is familiar , he thinks to himself, walking down the opposite way. He’s slightly surprised to see that there are only six individual rooms, though there’s also a relatively nice kitchen area and lounge. All in all— not bad. Until they’re forced to start killing each other, that is. 

No, Nagito thinks. That’s not here, and they can be different people now. 

But can they really? 

Are they really different people? Is it possible? Nagito had wanted so bad— so bad — to change things for the better. To be hope itself. Absurd— laughable, really— to think that someone as disappointing as him could make a difference in the world. He had trusted his luck and his luck had failed him. Could that be gone, too? Does he really have nothing now— no talent, no family, no future? Nagito finds himself laughing as he rummages through the cabinets of the kitchen. It seems to be well stocked, and there’s even a small window with a table and two chairs beside it. You can have breakfast and look out at the stars. Nagito is no one. He is nothing.

“You,” comes a familiar voice from behind him. 

“Fuyuhiko,” Nagito says without turning around. “So you’re here too!”

“Where else would I be, bastard?” 

“On Earth, presumably. Do you want some tea? I’ll boil enough water for two cups.” 

“I don’t want anything from you,” Fuyuhiko says, and his words are a lot harsher than his tone. They bounce off of Nagito regardless. 

“Just enough for me, then!” 

They don’t speak while the electric kettle works, or while Nagito chooses the tea he likes best (peach) from the frankly impressive selection the aliens have provided for them. The air between them is palpable, but easy enough to ignore. Nagito focuses on the task at hand. He wonders if he should have made another cup, just in case.

“Look— ” Fuyuhiko finally says, stepping beside Nagito. He puts his hands on the counter. “I don’t like you, and you don’t like me. But what you did for us— what you were trying to do— ”

“Ah,” Nagito says, frowning. “Of course I like you. Have I done something to make you think otherwise? Please forgive me, I’m so disappointing.” 

“You— goddamn freak,” Fuyuhiko says under his breath. “Can you just fucking shut up and listen to what I’m trying to say?”

Nagito turns to look at him, lips pressed tightly together. He blinks. 

“Jesus,” Fuyuhiko says, and if Nagito didn’t know better he would think the yakuza were embarrassed. “I just— I wanted to say I get why you did it. In some way, maybe, it was the honorable thing to do. But I’m still fucking pissed— and I’ll never trust you— so don’t get any ideas, okay? We’re not friends.”

Nagito blinks.

“You can fucking talk now.”

“Whew, thanks Fuyuhiko! I was even holding my breath and I didn’t realize it!” Nagito grins and turns his attention back to his tea, steeping it in and out of the mug. “Anyway, that means a lot to me. I hope you guys don’t decide to tie me up and leave me in a room without food this time around, but if you do— well, I’m sure I’ll have deserved it. No hard feelings!”

He can feel Fuyuhiko’s eyes burning into him, but he doesn’t look up again. After a moment, Fuyuhiko walks away. 

He can hear the others in the lounge. No one else comes to see him, or asks if he’d like to join. Nagito sits at the kitchen table, and holds his mug with both hands, and looks out at the stars.

***

“We must not fall into despair,” Sonia is saying, decisive and bold. “We must keep going forward against all odds!”

“It would be helpful if we knew what the odds were,” Chiaki says. “Maybe we can start there.”

“Chiaki— you’d know better than anyone,” Hajime says. “Is this a game too?”

“Hmm. Hmmmmm. This doesn’t feel like a game.”

“The nefarious forces at work here are beyond a mere mortal’s comprehension,” Gundham adds, unhelpfully. 

They’re all sprawled out in the lounge, and although the situation is eerily reminiscent of the funhouse it is also somehow less tenuous, less fraught with anxiety. Hajime thinks it’s ridiculous to feel as relaxed as he does at the moment but after everything they’ve been through it seems equally as ridiculous to feel as bad as he did when he knew they were being forced to kill one another. So far, no one is being forced to do anything. No one has cornered them into a twisted murder game, no one is threatening them with motives, and no one involved in this entire scenario is a stuffed bear. 

Chiaki and Gundham are alive. 

And Nagito… Hajime knows he will have to face Nagito eventually. Knows he’s going to have to reconcile everything he learned with everything he thought he knew. With Nagito’s bizarre personality. Maybe he isn’t a wholly terrible person— Hajime can live with that. But he is undeniably difficult, and he did try to get them all killed. So there’s that.

“Is anyone going to address the elephant in the room, or do I have to do it?” Fuyuhiko says.

The others are silent; they exchange guilty looks.

“What are we going to do about him?” Sonia asks, hushed.

“If I recall correctly, Hajime was closest to that fiend,” Gundham says. 

“Do you think maybe we should treat him differently this time?” Chiaki asks. Her face is tilted toward the ceiling, envisioning scenarios the others can’t see. “Perhaps his actions were misguided, but he did them with a pure heart. That’s what I believe.” 

Not for the first time, Hajime thinks that Chiaki is far kinder than they deserve. He sighs.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get Komaeda,” he says. “And I don’t know if I agree with the pure heart aspect. But— whatever to put everyone at ease. It does get kind of tiring to hear him talk about how much he hates himself, but I can just zone out, I guess.”

Hajime hears someone clear their throat behind him and, heart sinking, turns his head toward the doorway. Nagito is leaning against it, wearing a strained smile. 

“Heh— sorry to interrupt,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I just wanted to say goodnight.”

There’s a year’s worth of complete, awkward silence before Chiaki raises a hand and says, “Goodnight, Komaeda.”

“Goodnight, Komaeda,” the rest of them echo, one by one. 

Hajime closes his eyes and presses the heels of his hands into them. Fucking hell, he thinks. 

The first few days pass without incident. Hajime and the others are treated as neutrally as possible by their captors, who introduce themselves as members of the Interdimensional Collaborative Space Federation Tasked with Conducting Research Projects on Foreign and Potentially Hostile Terrains— or ICSFTWCRPOFAPHT for short. 

“It has taken us 120 years to get to you,” the lifeform known as N8-GAFT— or, Nate— explains in the introductory seminar. “We would be appreciative if you were to remain cooperative, and comply with our reasonable requests.”

“Bllurrrgkt,” the lifeform known as ª—mqc says.

“That’s absolutely right,” Nate nods. “I think we can all agree to that.”

“Blopt, byrnt,” ª—mqc says. 

“You would do well to heed that warning,” Nate says with another nod. “We don’t particularly enjoy using the organ vaporizer, but you must know our personal security is of utmost importance.”

Sonia and Hajime exchange a look. Fuyuhiko is very obviously about to start shouting, so Gundham clamps a hand over his mouth. Only Nagito is leaning forward and taking notes. 

“What can he possibly be writing?” Hajime whispers to Fuyuhiko when there’s a change of speakers. From the corner of his eye, he can see someone with the lower half of a human and the upper half of a mountain goat with fangs preparing a Powerpoint presentation. He swallows a groan. 

“I don’t know,” Fuyuhiko responds. “And I don’t want to know. How much longer is this meeting? I’m getting hungry just sitting here.” 

Much longer, it turns out. The former students of Hope’s Peak Academy sit through another two hours of half-garbled explanations set to a slideshow of complicated diagrams. The studies are described in great detail, though there is so much scientific jargon mixed with alien language that Hajime begins to keep a tally of words he recognizes just for fun. Finally, it’s over and they’re free to go about their day however they like. 

“Ah,” Nate says, holding up a talon. “Before we disperse, I think ª—mqc had a final word of caution.” 

ª—mqc nods furiously. “Borkt-10-blurn. Basqil bru bopple.” 

“Well said,” Nate says, treating the students to a rare smile. “Thank you for your time, and we look forward to working with you.”  

And truly, it’s not so bad until the experiments begin. 

Hajime wakes with a start— the time measurement system on his bedside table flashing 2:17. No one has explained to him how the hours work in space, but his internal clock seems to agree that it’s the middle of the night. There’s a noise in the distance, something like gears screeching to a stop, and for a moment it all comes back to him. The funhouse. Nekomaru’s body. The pillar. That fist is closing around Hajime’s heart again, squeezing until his body is on fire. There’s no air going into his lungs. There’s no air. 

Distantly, he hears knocking; he imagines it’s the clock in Nekomaru’s chest. He needs, desperately, for it to stop— for the words and noises spinning around him to stop. Somehow he realizes it’s the door and stumbles out of bed, dimly aware that his lungs are collapsing. That the room is spinning. That he can’t get enough air in his mouth. 

He rests his forehead against the door, listening to the steady knocking on the other side. He breathes slowly, deeply, a phantom hand on his back. Hajime doesn’t have the energy or willpower to process what that means; and when he’s able to get his body under control again, he opens the door. 

It’s Nagito— soaked and shivering. It takes Hajime a moment to process what he sees in the dim light of the hall. Nagito is wearing his jacket over the ICSFTWCRPOFAPHT-provided matching pajama set, and dripping from head to toe. He manages a smile that looks almost painful through the clattering of his teeth.

“Hi, Hajime.”

“What did you do?”

“I completely understand why you think I’m behind this,” Nagito nods furiously. “But actually, they just turned the sprinklers on in my room while I was asleep.”

A shadow falls over Hajime’s chest. It’s too familiar. 

“Was there a fire?”

“I think it’s part of the experiment,” Nagito says, shaking his head. His shoulders are hunched, knees trembling from the cold. “Hey— do you mind if we talk about this inside? Your heater is working, right?”

“Let me see your room,” Hajime says instead, pushing past Nagito who— to his credit— doesn’t simply walk into Hajime’s room and lock the door. He follows wordlessly but remains standing in the hall while Hajime steps in.

“Holy shit,” Hajime says. Not only is the room covered in water, but cold air is blasting from the vents. It feels like being inside of a walk-in freezer; and Hajime backs out immediately. Nagito shivers beside him, though he doesn’t say anything. 

“Is it just your room? Did a pipe burst or something?”

“No,” Nagito says. “I think it happened to Sonia and Fuyuhiko, too. I heard shouting and cursing.” A pause. “I’m guessing they went to Chiaki and Gundham’s rooms.” 

“Oh. Right,” Hajime says. Water is dripping from Nagito’s hair. “Come on, then.”

They walk back to Hajime’s room, and he lets Nagito in this time— who goes directly to the heater and sits down in front of it. Hajime watches his back shake with cold and feels a pang of guilt though he’s had nothing to do with this, and no one can fault him for being suspicious. He leaves Nagito in front of the heater and rummages through the linen closet in the bathroom. 

“Here,” he says, holding out a towel. “I brought out an extra set of pajamas for you as well.”

“Wow,” Nagito says, beaming. “I know I don’t deserve this, but it still makes me happy.” 

He stands up and begins peeling off his jacket, then his shirt. The alarm that shoots through Hajime’s body is perfectly normal; it is a perfectly normal response that anyone would have in this situation. It has nothing to do with Hajime specifically.

“Wait— what— what are you doing? Do that in the bathroom.” 

“Oh,” Nagito says, giving Hajime a tired smile. “Right.” 

While he dries himself off and changes in the bathroom, Hajime sits back down on his bed and puts his face in his hands. Obviously, Sonia is rooming with Chiaki and Fuyuhiko is with Gundham. It makes sense that they’re the only two left— and that Nagito would come to him, regardless of what the others did. Hasn’t he said before that everyone else hates him? Even worse— Hajime realizes belatedly that he can no longer gauge how Nagito feels about them , which is a dangerous position to be in. He has proven time and time again that he’s a loose cannon, that he can’t be trusted, that he is unpredictable and volatile. 

Maybe they treated Nagito badly in the beginning— distrusting him, tying him up, pushing him away. But can Hajime honestly say they were wrong? (Yes, a voice in his head says. Yes, you were wrong, and you know it. All of you were wrong. Komaeda may not be blameless— but neither are you.)

When he thinks back to that first moment on the beach, he can almost replicate the feeling of ease he felt at hearing Nagito’s laugh. Like wind chimes and festivals. Like summer vacation. It’s quickly replaced by another pang of guilt, however, and Hajime has to pull himself out of the past. Nothing turned out the way he wanted it to. 

Nagito walks out of the bathroom, wearing the same tired smile. Hajime can’t help but wonder if he ever gets sick of it— of pushing himself to be so friendly, so easy-going— pushing himself until he slips off the edge into instability. 

“I’ll sleep in the corner, by the heater,” Nagito says.

“Uh— yeah, okay.”

“Will it make you feel better if you chain me to it?” 

“I’m not,” Hajime says, feeling ashamed, “I’m not going to do that.” 

Nagito smiles, taking his seat on the floor and crossing his legs. “That isn’t what I asked though, is it? Goodnight, Hajime.” 

“Goodnight,” Hajime says, quietly. He doesn’t sleep a wink.

***

Every muscle in Nagito’s body is screaming at him as he makes his way into the kitchen for breakfast, locked up and sore from the way he slept that night. He doesn’t bother swinging by his room; it’s a little depressing to see all his things soaked and frozen like that. They aren’t his thing, ultimately, which is also a little depressing. Nagito doesn’t have things. He wraps his jacket tighter against his body and makes enough coffee for everyone, although he thinks it’s unlikely they’ll drink it. 

When L4-SKAN pays their wing a visit, he’s pleasantly surprised. It’s always nice to see a friendly face— even if the face belongs to your captor. Nagito waves. 

“Hello, Nagito,” Elle says. “Did you have a fitful sleep?”

“I think you know I didn’t,” Nagito says, smiling serenely. “And yourself?”

“Thank you,” Elle replies, and he notes this isn’t an answer to his question. Something they have in common with Hajime— a realization that endears the alien to him even further. “I’d like to speak to everyone at once, if possible.”

“Can I pour you a cup of coffee while you wait?”

“No, thank you.”

“That’s probably wise,” Nagito nods. “I made it myself, and I doubt it’s any good.” 

They spend the next three minutes looking at one another in complete silence. When Nagito gets bored he likes to play these little games with others just to see how long it takes them to break, though he doubts it’ll work on alien lifeforms. Ironically it’s when he isn’t even trying that people start breaking down around him. At this thought, he starts laughing to himself— quietly at first and then hysterically— until Elle steps out of the kitchen. 

When the others wake they gather in the lounge, and Elle addresses them with a tight smile.

“I assume you’ll be wondering what happened with the sprinklers last night.”

“I must say,” Sonia interjects, raising a hand, “that this is no way to treat your guests.”

“Your comment has been noted,” Elle nods. “Rest assured, your rooms will be restored to their previous conditions in no time. I, and the others at ICSFTWCRPOFAPHT, appreciate your cooperation and quick-thinking during this time. It seems most of you were perfectly willing to share your beds and your warmth with your colleagues.” 

Everyone is completely silent. Nagito can see Hajime’s face burning from the corner of his eye; he hides a smile in his sleeve. 

“However, with Case Study HH005, we sensed some hesitation. Of course this is of great interest to all of us here who are working tirelessly to dissect the behaviors of your kind. HH005, would you care to explain your thought process aloud or on paper?”

Hajime opens his mouth but no sound comes out. It’s almost pleasant to see him struggle like this, but Nagito’s overwhelming urge to kick himself while he’s already down far outweighs his pleasure for anything else. Even Hajime Hinata. He raises his hand and waves it around.

“Yes, NK002?”

“It’s okay,” Nagito says cheerfully. “I’m used to being treated like a dog.” 

“Mm,” Elle says neutrally and makes a note in their clipboard. They look back at Hajime. “In writing, then.”

It must be the gravitational force in space that turns Hajime’s head toward Nagito and makes eye contact. Nagito winks. Hajime’s head snaps forward again. 

“That will be all,” Elle says. “As always, please don’t hesitate to leave your remarks in the comment box attached to your rooms. I’m sure someone will get to them shortly.” 

Nagito catches up to them as they make their way down the hall, walking in step with them, hands locked behind his back. Elle sighs and stops.

“Yes, NK002?”

“I know how inappropriate it is for a disgusting bug like me to make requests.”

“Go on.”

“Do you have any books?”

Elle’s brows furrow in surprise for a split second before being smoothed over to their usual, impersonal expression. “What kind of books?”

“Any’ll do,” Nagito shrugs. “Maybe when you guys planned this little project you assumed we’d all be happy enough to keep each other company, but as you can see— ” He shrugs again. “I won’t bother anyone. I just want to read.” 

“Very well,” Elle says, begins to say something else, stops themselves, and begins again. They sigh in frustration. 

“Better to just get it out,” Nagito says. “That’s what I’ve learned.” 

“It would be inappropriate.”

“I won’t tell.” 

Elle seems to be considering this, biting their lower lip. Finally, they nod. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Oh,” Nagito says. He laughs. “You’re the scientist. You tell me.” 

And before they can respond, he turns on his heel and begins to walk away, raising his hand as he does so. “Don’t forget my books, L4-SKAN! Everything will go a lot smoother if I have something to do.” 

By the end of the day, their rooms are not restored to their former states. Of course they’re not. Nagito leans against Hajime’s door frame and watches him try to swallow down whatever manic, uncomfortable emotion he’s feeling. Frustration? Embarrassment? Nagito can’t tell. Nagito isn’t exactly a pro at gauging other people’s emotions, and Hajime has always evaded him; always brushing against the tips of his fingers, the ends of his hair. That’s what makes him so fascinating to Nagito, even when he’s still tasting betrayal in his mouth. Phantom pains in his legs and chest. The scent of burning rope.

He isn’t expecting to be surprised, but Hajime finally looks him in the eye and asks him if he’s eaten, and for one, fleeting moment Nagito’s sick, sick brain turns on him— reminds him this is the kind of question you ask when you care about someone— enrages and bullies him. 

“No,” he says. 

“I’ll make us something,” Hajime says, flatly, and walks out of his room. He does not look back to see if Nagito is following, but of course Nagito is following. Like a dog. 

He sits at the kitchen table while Hajime busies himself with packets of instant ramen. They do not speak until it’s ready, and Hajime is seated, and there are two bowls set in front of them. Nagito can’t remember the last time he’s eaten. 

“So,” Hajime says to his food.

“So,” Nagito says back. He puts his elbows on the table and rests his chin in his hands. 

“A lot happened after you did what you did.” 

“You found out what we are,” Nagito smiles. “I thought I could protect you from that, at least.” 

“What we were,” Hajime corrects, and it must sound sharper than he intended because Nagito watches him cringe. “Wh— why? Why did you— why didn’t you just tell us? We could have figured it out together.” 

Nagito begins to laugh. He runs his hands through his hair, tugging at it, a hysterical edge in his voice. Hajime looks away. 

“Eat.”

“I know it’d be an insult to you if I didn’t,” Nagito says, frowning, “but I can’t stand the thought of you cooking for someone like me. Even if you are just a worthless Reserve Course student after all.” 

“Good God,” Hajime mumbles. “I wouldn’t call instant ramen cooking. And for your information, I’m not just a worthless Reserve Course student. There’s nothing worthless about not having a talent.” He pauses. “Which— I do, by the way.”

Nagito raises an eyebrow. 

“I told you. A lot happened. You don’t… you don’t remember anything from before the simulation?”

Nagito lifts his left arm. “I’ve been wondering about this, actually! Did someone need a hand while I was sleeping?” He burst into laughter. “Get it? Need a hand? Because— ”

“I get it, Komaeda.” 

“Of course, I’m happy to help. I’m sure my body parts are much more valuable when separated from the rest of me. I just wish they would have taken more , you know? Why stop at a hand? My miserable, cowardly existence isn’t worth anything to anyone like this, so I— ”

“You did it to yourself,” Hajime interrupts, looking shocked by the volume of his voice. “You— you did it to yourself.” 

“Oh,” Nagito says, smiling maniacally. 

Hajime sighs into his fist, breaking eye contact again. He’s wearing an expression Nagito can’t quite decipher; it isn’t shame but it isn’t quite pity either. It isn’t an expression Nagito often sees reflected back at him, and so he can’t define just what it is. That makes him frown. 

“Let’s just go to sleep,” Hajime says. 

“You haven’t touched your ramen! Are you torturing yourself because you’ve accepted how worthless you are?”

“Is that why you do it?” Hajime asks sharply, and Nagito blinks. He stands. “I’m tired; I’m going to bed.”

He looks at Nagito expectantly, while Nagito puts a single noodle in his mouth and chews. “I can see that my inadequate presence disturbs you, Hajime. I’ll sleep in the lounge.”

“And— and have the aliens give me a bad experiment score? And risk the possibility of organ vaporization? Are you kidding me?”

“Well,” Nagito says, thoughtfully, pushing the bowl of ramen away, “I would hate for your score to be negatively impacted by someone like me— regardless of whether it was an accurate reflection of your behavior.” He smiles suddenly, as if he’s just realized something. “But I’m afraid that if I sleep on your floor again, you’ll have to explain that as well!”

“Yeah.” Hajime extends a hand for Nagito to take. “Come on.”

Nagito briefly wonders what this would have felt like had he never read the file of student profiles. Had he never learned the terrible truth of them all, a final cord ripping in his mind, sending him plunging into darkness. Hajime, with his bright eyes and his quiet insecurities. How Nagito loves— had loved him. How he’d looked straight into his heart and felt the hope there— shining, calling out to him. 

But it had been a mirage— wishful thinking— and Nagito paid for it. Now, this gesture is meaningless. Whatever fragments of love that were once there have been buried and covered over with sand, or stuffed into a bottle and thrown out to sea. It was stupid, blind optimism that propelled Nagito, and that eventually launched him over the edge of a cliff. And it was Hajime.

“You can have the side closer to the wall,” Hajime says. 

“I’d like to take a shower, if that’s alright with you.”

“Sure.”

Under the spray, Nagito scrubs every inch of his body raw. It’s easier to stomach the idea of being in someone else’s bed if he is at least as clean as possible. As clean as someone like him can become. When he walks out of the bathroom, towel drying his hair, Hajime has that same look on his face. Concern? That’s fair. Nagito did try to kill them all, after all. He’s sure the fact that it was indirect does not matter at all. 

***

On the opposite side of the hall, Sonia smooths out her already-immaculately smooth dress. She brushes her hair so that her hands have something to do. When she knocks on Gundham’s door she is somehow startled when he answers, even though she’s been thinking about him for hours.

“Hello, Gundham,” she says, clearing her throat. And before he can respond: “May I speak to Fuyuhiko please?”

“Ah,” Gundham says, face falling. “Of course.”

Fuyuhiko, barefoot and scowling, has barely a moment before he’s being pulled out to the hall by the princess, who is already talking a mile a minute. The yakuza has been through a lot in his life, including the entire killing school trip situation, but he is really no match for the specific brand of poise and intensity Sonia brings to this incredibly one-sided conversation.

“Alright, okay,” Fuyuhiko finally interrupts, holding up his hands in surrender. “It’s fine. Chiaki spends all of her time half-asleep anyway, so, whatever.” 

“Thank you,” Sonia says, and graces him with a beatific smile. Then she promptly walks into the room, shuts the door, and locks Fuyuhiko out. 

***

It’s awkward, lying side by side. Hajime feels this more strongly than any other feeling: regret, irritation, fear. He remembers a time when Nagito was the only person capable of making him smile; and he remembers a time when Nagito aggravated and terrified them all. Now where do his loyalties lie? What is he thinking? Will Hajime ever understand?

He does the best thing he can think to do.

He says: “I hope you don’t snore.”

To his surprise, Nagito doesn’t laugh. Instead, he turns to his side and looks at Hajime seriously with his saucer-sized eyes. 

“I don’t,” he says. “But if I ever do, feel free to plug up my nose and mouth with socks.” 

“Komaeda. You would die.”

Nagito shrugs. “Death at the hands of a Reserve Course student would probably be fitting for someone like me.” 

“I already told you,” Hajime says, unable to keep the anger from his voice, “that’s not all I am.” 

Nagito doesn’t say anything for a long time, his eyes gleaming in the dark of the room. 

“Well, of course not, Hajime!” he finally says. “You’re also a remnant of despair, just like me.” 

“No — I mean. Well, yes— technically. But I’m also.” He takes a breath. “A lot of things. A lot of lives pushed into one. It doesn’t… it doesn’t matter right now. Something else I’d like to be is your friend.”

It isn’t what he intended to say. It isn’t entirely the truth either, but there is truth in it, and Hajime is so tired of lying to himself. There’s a flicker of something in Nagito’s face— harsh and horrible— and it disappears instantly. Pain, Hajime realizes. It’s pain. Then the boy turns from him; first onto his back and then all the way onto his other side, facing the wall. Hajime watches him ball himself up, knees pressed to his chest. 

He starts to laugh. It shakes the bed.

Hajime waits for whatever this is to be over, which seems to take forever. Finally, half-muffled by pillow, Nagito says: “Hajime you’ve surprised me.”

“How’s that?”

“I didn’t know you could be cruel.” That fake humor that Hajime hates creeps back into his voice. “I’m impressed! You’ve really exceeded all my expectations.” 

“Komaeda— ”

“Thank you so much for giving me a place to sleep tonight, and a pillow as well. We both know I don’t deserve it, so I’ll take whatever punishment you throw my way— even if it’s just making unkind jokes.” 

And really, what did Hajime expect? They aren’t different people just because they’re in space. And as much as he’d like to snuff out the past and remake himself, he knows that there are consequences he needs to face first, especially when it comes to Nagito. But the guy doesn’t make it easy. ( Maybe, the voice in Hajime’s head says, you don’t deserve easy. And is that Komaeda rubbing off on him? Or is it the mean, man-made, hardened entity that ripples underneath his skin?)

“Komaeda— ”

“Goodnight, Hajime.” 

He’s not sure when he finally falls asleep but it’s well into the night, and when he wakes up— his internal alarm clock still working— it’s much too soon. On the island his cottage was located so that the sun always hit him first, creeping through the window no matter where he placed his head. Here, there is no sunshine, and Hajime finds he misses it. Nothing can ever be normal. An island can never be just an island— it has to be a murder simulation as well. And a kidnapping can never be just a kidnapping— it has to be a wholly unscheduled situation involving alien lifeforms, absurd threats, and random experiments which result in sleeping next to Nagito Komaeda, like in some comedy of errors. 

Hajime’s only halfway through his first yawn of the morning when he realizes he’s being watched. 

He turns, slowly, to see Nagito already on his side, blanket pulled all the way up to his nose so that only his eyes are showing. For one brief, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, Hajime thinks: Cute—  and immediately forces this train of thought to come to a screeching stop, reroute, and drive someplace else. Anywhere else. Off the tracks, even. 

“Good morning,” Nagito says evenly.

“How long have you been staring at me like that?”

“I was thinking.”

“Not an answer, but oookay,” Hajime says. “Thinking about what?”

“What you said last night.” 

“What I— ”

“About us being friends,” Nagito says. 

“Ah.” 

“I was thinking how relieved I am that you were only joking,” Nagito continues, and his voice is muffled by the blanket. “Because if you had been serious— if you sincerely enjoyed the company of someone so valueless— and if you really wanted to spend time with me, I think that would be very dangerous for you. So I’m happy this morning.” And here— Nagito smiles, nose crinkling— “You can keep making your cruel jokes and promising the others you’ll keep an eye on me. Just as long as you keep your distance, and keep your arms and legs away from any potential air vents while I’m around.” 

It can be no later than 8 in the morning. Hajime’s caffeine-deprived, sleep-addled brain tries its best to cling to the words that are coming out of Nagito’s mouth, but this is a difficult feat even when Hajime is feeling his best. He rubs his eyes with his fists, stifles another yawn, and looks back at Nagito.

“What?”

Nagito exhales a tiny huff in frustration, and Hajime’s traitorous brain thinks: Cu— before he cuts it off by smacking himself in the head. Nagito’s brows furrow.

“Did you mean to hit yourself?”

“Uhh— yeah, I,” Hajime says, aware of how ridiculous he’s being. It’s not his goddamn fault. It’s too early . “It helps me wake up.” 

“How strange. Hajime, you truly are fascinating!” 

“I just wish,” Hajime exhales, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling, “just once, I’d like to know what you’re talking about.” 

Nagito props himself up on an elbow, head in his hand. He keeps the left somewhere under the covers. 

“I must have explained how my luck works to you before. Of course, I understand if you weren’t listening, or have forgotten, but just in case— ”

“Right, right,” Hajime waves a hand. “Really bad things happen, and then really good things happen.” 

“Sort of! The worse the bad thing is, the better my luck gets. Like when I won the lottery.” 

“Okay…”

“Okay,” Nagito smiles serenely, as if anything at all has been solved. 

“Are you going to say what you mean or not?”

“I always say what I mean, Hajime.”

“Talking to you is like dealing with the bridge troll that makes you solve riddles.” 

Nagito begins to nod. “A troll is an apt description of— ”

Hajime covers his mouth with his hand. “Enough. No more. Not until we’ve had coffee and made it to 11am.”

“Whatever you’d like, Hajime.” 

“Coffee,” Hajime repeats, swinging his feet to the ground. “First a shower and then coffee is what I’d like. You do whatever you need to do, and I’ll meet you in the kitchen for breakfast.” 

When did he get so authoritative? It’s the lack of sleep, surely, and the fact that they are literally on a spaceship that is floating through space in the company of aliens that makes everything else— like being self conscious or getting flustered— sort of obsolete. It seems kind of ridiculous to not just say how he feels from now on (except, a new voice— a tiny goblin voice— in the back of his head reminds him, for what his first thoughts this morning were). He’s sure that Nagito is about to say something self-deprecating and unintelligible but he shuts the bathroom door before he can hear it. 

After breakfast, they have another visit from one of their captors, holding a stack of notebooks. 

This time, the alien in question is tall, masculine, and rail-thin with dark eyes and long fingers. He looks completely ordinary until he opens his mouth and in the place where there should be teeth are rows of eyes instead. Hajime steeples both hands against his face and wills his earlier bowl of cereal to stay put. 

“I am B8365, a senior member of ICSFTWCRPOFAPHT. You may call me B8365.”

B8365 looks around the room as if expecting a chorus of greetings; and when he does not receive them, he clears his throat and continues on.

“Upon reviewing Case Study HH005’s recent actions, we believe it will be beneficial to our research here if each one of you starts recording your daily thought processes and feelings. At the end of each week, these notebooks will be collected and new ones will be provided for you.”

Now, everyone starts to talk at once.

“Hold on a fucking minute,” Fuyuhiko says, the loudest of the group. “This is all happening because Hinata didn’t let Komaeda crawl into bed with him? Not really much to study there.” 

Hajime puts his face in his hands and breathes deeply. He doesn’t have to see Nagito to know how sharp his smile is. 

“And furthermore,” Sonia says, “what if our thoughts are private?”

B8365 seems puzzled. He looks at the notebooks in his hands and then at the crowd of disgruntled students before him. He shakes his head.

“You must have misunderstood me. This is not a request. You will write in your notebooks every night, or you will be thrown into the incinerator for fuel.”

Everyone shuts up at once.

“You,” B8365 says, pointing at Nagito. “Come with me.” 

Invisible, cold hands grip Hajime’s spine. His brain supplies images he never wants to think about again: a knife through the hand, a pool of blood. The word “incinerator” changing shape and turning into a spear. 

“Wait,” he hears himself saying from somewhere in the distance. “Where are you taking him?”

Nagito, who looks a bit paler than usual, seems to rejuvenate. He turns to Hajime and smiles.

“Don’t worry about me, okay?”

The words feel familiar and dreamlike, like something from a past life. Hajime can feel them circle his body, then his head, then his neck— and close in. They press against his throat and into his eyes. Hajime feels himself reaching out, blindly, frantic with whatever has just been dislodged in his brain. The words are like bullets. The words smell like burning rope. 

“Wait— ” Hajime says shallowly, but both B8365 and Nagito have already left. 

***

“It’s an honor to be used as fuel to keep my dear friends afloat,” Nagito is saying, spreading his hands out in front of him. “But my main concern is that I won’t make very good fuel. My body is frail, you see— repulsive, even— and knowing how things usually tend to go, I think if you were to throw me into a fire, the flames would reject me fully. That’s why I think— maybe— ”

“Enough,” B8365 says. “You are giving my eyes a headache.” 

“Oh, wow! What an incredible sensation. But you really are giving me far too much power; I doubt someone like me could ever have an effect on you.” 

B8365 stops walking to take something out of his pocket. “Take this,” he says, and hands it over to Nagito.

“I don’t deserve— ”

“It’s gum.”

“Oh.” 

No one can really say they don’t deserve gum . That’s a little ridiculous. Nagito unwraps the piece, pops it into his mouth, and begins to chew. Immediately, thick tendrils of soft plastic shoot out of his mouth and clamp around his lips and jaw. 

“Nnn?” Nagito says, eyes widening. 

“I said enough,” B8365 says. He continues walking. “You should have listened.” 

Nagito does not have a particularly strong attachment to his life, nor is he prone to panicking, but he does like to know what is going on at all times so that he can best prepare for it. Now, he has no idea what’s going on. He is outside his element. And when he thinks— briefly— of the flash of fear in Hajime Hinata’s eyes just moments ago, he realizes that’s a wound he’d like to stick his fingers in. Nagito’s life has no value, but it is his , and he’d like to decide when, where, and how it ends (with Hajime, in Hajime’s arms, beside Hajime, facing Hajime— everything, everything, everything with Hajime this time).

It halts him just on the edge of panic, this concept of Hajime Hinata. Nagito feels a pure sense of tranquility wash over him, and is able to walk steadily alongside B8365. Wherever this road is leading them, it will not be death. When Nagito Komaeda dies again, his luck won’t leave Hajime out of the equation.

***

“I know you’re worried,” Chiaki says softly and presses a hand between Hajime’s shoulder blades. “But I really think everything will be okay. Remember what I told you? We have to continue to have trust in each other. That’s the only way we can move forward.”

“But it’s— this is out of our hands,” Hajime shakes his head. “I thought we were finally free to control our own destinies, but it’s all out of our hands again.” 

“It’s not. He’ll be okay. Trust in his luck, Hajime. We’re all going to be okay.”

They’re sitting on Chiaki’s bed together while Fuyuhiko paces around the room. Sonia and Gundham have taken over the kitchen, with Sonia promising the others that a proper meal will cheer everyone up and Gundham saying something about Satanic forces in their midst. Hajime isn’t even sure there’s a Hell up in space for Satan to reign over. 

“It’s just one thing after another,” Hajime says. He pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his forehead down on them. “I was so… prepared to fix things up on the island, and lend aid to the Future Foundation, and work with everyone to overcome all the pain we went through. But maybe— maybe karma is real, and that’s what we’re facing now. Maybe our pasts aren’t done with us. And maybe… with Komaeda, I feel like— ”

He lets out a sigh and scrubs his hands over his face. What does he feel like? That same, stupid draw— light and dark, hope and despair, beginning and end. On a surface level, they may never understand one another. But there’s something else, too. Hajime has been picking at it, peeling back the wallpaper his mind has stuck up over the truth. North and south. The sun and the moon. There’s everything and forever. There’s everything for forever. 

“I don’t know,” Hajime says, turning to look at Chiaki. But it’s how it always is. She’s fallen asleep.

They eat dinner in silence. Hajime’s sure it’s good, but he doesn’t taste anything at all, and excuses himself early. 

On the island, the constant adrenaline and fear and aggravation wore him out. Here, it’s harder to sleep after mundane hours, confined to their one wing, aimless and trivial. It’s better of course that no one is dying. It’s just hard to sleep as a result.

Hajime’s not sure when he finally drifts off, but he wakes soon after to a shuffling beside him, blood running cold. He shoots up and hears a soft gasp beside him— and then familiar laughter.

“Sorry!” Nagito says, cheerfully. “I thought I was being quiet! I didn’t mean to wake you. Forgive me, okay?”

“I,” Hajime says, trying to adjust to the dark. “I— what happened?”

“Look,” Nagito says. Hajime can hear him grinning.

“I can’t see anything Komaeda it’s like— pitch black in here and I was just asleep three seconds ago.” 

He sounds grumpier than he feels. That’s good. It’s better to sound put-off and frustrated, rather than— the other thing. 

“Here,” Nagito whispers and Hajime yelps when something ice cold touches his knee. 

“What the fu— what is that?”

“My hand! Though I completely understand your reaction to being touched by me.”

“What is your hand doing on me?”

“You said you couldn’t see.” 

“I— oh,” Hajime says. He tries to keep his voice even. “What happened?”

“They built me a new hand. That’s why it’s so cold— it’s made out of alien metal! But actually,” Nagito shifts; Hajime assumes it’s onto his knees. “My other hand is pretty cold, too.” 

And at this, he brushes his right hand against Hajime’s arm, who flinches away so violently he hits the wall. 

“Jesus!” 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry… ”

“It’s fine— whatever. Let’s just sleep.”

“Okay,” Nagito says quietly.

They maneuver themselves into comfortable positions without ever touching. Hajime finds himself angry at the realization that Nagito’s presence has soothed the anxiety caused earlier by Nagito’s absence. He tries to remind himself that this has always been the case— that he was never so uneasy on the island as when he didn’t know where Nagito was, or what he was doing. But this is only half the truth and Hajime fears he is teetering on the edge of having to address it. Having to address the way he felt walking in on that body. What it did to him to see. What it’s still doing to him now.

Nagito breathes softly beside him, both of them aware the other isn’t asleep. 

If life is cyclical, it will always be like this between them. Hajime will always struggle to get his bearings around Nagito. He will never know where he stands. He will never name what he feels. If this is just one lifetime, built upon other lifetimes (Hajime Hinata, Reserve Course Student. Hajime Hinata, Lab Experiment. Izuru Kamukura, Ultimate Hope. Izuru Kamukura, The Harbinger of Tragedy. Hajime Hinata, Ultimate ????. Hajime Hinata, Member of the Killing Class School Trip.), then they will exist in circles around one another until they die, and are reborn, and die again. 

Being in space apparently unlocks the “Existential Crisis” achievement for Hajime Hinata. 

Slowly, almost outside of himself, he reaches out in the dark and finds Nagito’s hand. He hears the sharp inhale of breath and the frustrated sigh that follows. 

“Hajime, please forgive me, but— ”

“No.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t.”

“Because you don’t want me to, or because you think something bad will happen to me?”

Nagito sighs again.

“I think I deserve an honest answer to that, at least. If you don’t want me to— if you feel uncomfortable with me— obviously I don’t… I don’t want to— but if it’s something else, then— ”

“Did you know, Hajime, that you were the last thing I thought of?” His tone is suddenly conversational, tinged with false cheer. Hajime hates it immediately, but Nagito continues as if there’s been no awkwardness between them at all. “As I was lying there, trying not to scream from the pain, I imagined your face to take my mind off the feeling.”

“Komaeda— ”

“I know, I know. Scum like me shouldn’t be allowed such thoughts. But still— I had to do something! And that’s why I thought about you. I couldn’t understand it at that moment; I mean, it really annoyed me. After all, you were just like me in the end, weren’t you? Worthless. When I looked into your student file, Hajime, I felt such… despair. I felt truly that I would never recover from how badly my heart had been broken.” 

“Yeah,” Hajime mumbles. “I think you made that clear when you tried to orchestrate all of our deaths.” 

Nagito hums in response, lacing his fingers through Hajime’s. He moves both hands to rest on his chest, where Hajime can feel his heart— miraculously, wonderfully, undeniably— beating. 

“But I thought of you anyway. I thought of you because you were the one person on that island who showed me the kindness I knew I didn’t deserve. And because your existence was a comfort to me. Because I— you know that I— ” He laughs, shaking his head. Hajime watches strands of white hair bounce around in the dark. “It’s so hard to say it now.” 

The first time Nagito tells Hajime he loves him it’s a little ridiculous. It’s an over-exaggeration— infatuation, maybe— something obsessive and awestruck and painted golden to look expensive. But that is before Hajime knows the truth. How they’d been brought together and pushed apart. How they’d built on top of one another, the contents of their hearts like nesting dolls. Had Nagito looked him in the face then and seen him for what he was? Yin and yang. 

“You don’t have to say it,” Hajime says softly. 

“Of course you don’t want to hear it from me.” 

Now it’s Hajime’s turn to sigh, rolling over to study Nagito’s profile. Something deep aches in his chest.

“That’s not why, stupid.”

“Yes,” Nagito says seriously, “I’m stupid.”

Hajime makes a noise that’s half-groan and half-scream of frustration, whips his pillow out from under his head, and bops Nagito in the face with it. For a moment, Nagito does not react. Then he sputters out a laugh that’s both surprised and genuine, and Hajime has never heard him laugh like that before. He pulls the pillow off of him and tosses it down the bed, flipping to his side so he can grab hold of Hajime’s arms. Hajime’s quick, too; he shoves a leg between both of Nagito’s and wraps the other one around, holding him in place. Ultimately, this is his downfall. Nagito flips them both over so that Hajime is on his back and Nagito can take hold of his wrists, wrestling them over Hajime’s head. 

“You win, you win!” Hajime whisper-shouts, but he’s laughing loudly enough that it’s pointless. 

“Promise? Nagito asks, pressed so close that the tips of their nose are almost touching. Belatedly, Hajime notices that their bodies are flush against one another. 

“I promise.” There’s something stuck in his throat as Nagito climbs off of him and back to his side of the bed. “Jeez, you’re like— freakishly strong.”

“What a compliment, Hajime! It almost sounded like an insult, so you’ll have to forgive me if I accept it…”

“Ugh, stop.” 

“Whatever makes you happy…”

When Hajime wakes up, their fingertips are still touching. Dread sinks to the bottom of his stomach and pools there like black blood. What is he thinking? The sudden, inexplicable fear of losing Nagito again, this time to angry aliens, has subsided and taken with it that fog of poor, irresponsible thinking. Now, Hajime is himself again. He can be cold. He can keep his distance. He knows what’s good for him.

But when Nagito stirs ever so slightly and sleepily inches toward him, close enough that his hair tickles Hajime’s forehead, he decides he can do those things after breakfast.

***

Three things happen:

1. The wet, frozen bedrooms are restored to their previous conditions.
2. There is a button on the table in the lounge. The button says TERMINATION OF LIFE AS WE KNOW IT.
3. A new room appears, seemingly from out of nowhere, between the kitchen and the lounge. 

Nagito thinks he’d better explore it first in case there’s a bomb, or some sort of personal advantage. With his life being the way it is, this could really go either way, and he braces himself as he opens the door while the others are sitting in the lounge, whispering about whether they should open the door. They have already decided— without consulting him— that there’s no way they’ll be pushing the button.

“Oh,” he says, and walks in.

It’s a reading room— with floor to ceiling bookshelves and six plush sofa chairs. 

“Is it enough?” a voice from behind him asks. 

Nagito turns to give Elle a genuine smile. 

“And I’m sure you’ll be satisfied knowing you can sleep in your own bed tonight.”

Nagito’s expression turns blank, briefly, before he smiles again. It’s impossible to tell just how much their captors know about them— about their history, about their relationships, about their personalities and their various crimes. It’s impossible to know what happened to the students of Hope’s Peak Academy from the time they were abducted to the time they woke up. These kinds of things make Nagito uneasy because he doesn’t like not knowing. It puts him at an unfair disadvantage.

“This is so much better than all the other times I’ve been kidnapped.”

“I’m happy you think so. Though we prefer to view this as a mutual collaboration aimed at encouraging interdimensional peace.” 

“Oh,” Nagito says, nodding. “I always think it’s better to call a spade a spade, but what do I know!”

Elle smiles thinly. “Now that you’ve all gotten accustomed to your new habitat, the experiments can begin.” 

“So everything up ‘til now… has just been the opening act?”

“An introduction,” they say, bow their head, and walk out of the room. 

While the books are a painful temptation, Nagito has other things to do first. He quickly follows Elle out as they walk down the long, solitary hall of their wing. 

“Yes?” 

“Ah— I was just wondering! What kind of experiments? Do they have something to do with the lounge button? Is there any way we can prepare?” 

Very carefully, he does not let his eyes shift away from Elle’s face while they punch in the code to the invisible door that’s trapping the students in. 

“No,” Elle replies, and finally looks at the panel. Nagito looks too, without moving his head, and sees the last two digits. “Now if that’s all...”

“Of course! I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time.”

“Mm.”

Nagito goes back to the lounge, and takes a spot beside Gundham on the couch. He smiles as he looks around at everyone. Their apprehensive faces are a familiar sight, even when he can’t be sure whether they’re more nervous about him or the giant red button sitting in the middle of the table. It’s practically begging to be pushed.

“Well one thing’s for sure,” Fuyuhiko says. “We can’t let him — ” and here, he jerks his head toward Nagito, as if there would be any question about who he was referring to— “anywhere near this thing alone.” 

Gundham is frowning beside him. One of his four dark devas peeks out at Nagito from under his scarf. 

“I think it’d be good if we all started over,” Chiaki says in her soft, spacey way. “We’ll work together a lot better if we can trust one another.” 

“And how do you propose we do that?” Fuyuhiko asks.

“Perhaps we can seal our fates with a blood pact,” Gundham suggests. 

“Ooh!” Sonia says, while the other four say, in unison, “ No .”

“We aren’t expected to kill one another here,” Chiaki says. “Maybe there’s no reason to be so suspicious of… each other?”

“Oh, you’re being very kind, Chiaki!” Nagito says. “But I know it’s only me you’re worried about. Why don’t you tell me exactly what’s concerning you, and I’ll do my best to find a solution.”

“Well, that’s just the thing, Nagito,” Sonia says, slowly. “You’re a bit unpredictable. And we’ve already decided against pushing the button, but… who knows what you’ll think of doing on your own?”

“I find it’s best to just take things one day at a time,” Nagito says. He raises his hands in surrender. “But if you really want to keep me away from the lounge, why don’t you find a way to incapacitate me?”

“Incapacitate you,” Gundham repeats. “Not a terrible idea.” 

“I’m sure we can ask Elle for some rope or handcuffs.” 

“No,” Hajime says. For some reason, he looks angry. “We’re not doing that again. I’ll— I’ll keep an eye on Nagito. We can… watch a movie together or something.” 

“Twenty-four seven?” Nagito asks.

“What?”

“Are you going to keep an eye on all my activities?” 

“Well— I mean. Within… within reason, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Nagito echoes, smiling. “But I don’t want to watch a movie.” He smiles, and extends a hand to Hajime. It feels like every eye in the room is on them— and maybe every eye not in the room, too. Hajime doesn’t take it, but he stands, too.  

They end up reading for the rest of the day. Hajime does not seem nearly as interested in space literature as Nagito is— which, frankly, Nagito finds incredibly bizarre— but it’s nice to sit with him regardless. Nagito can’t remember the last time someone spent this much time alone with him, and the fact that it’s mostly out of obligation makes him feel much better. Otherwise, he’d start to get nervous. 

At one point, Chiaki brings them lunch, but Nagito is too absorbed in a tale of starcrossed lovers from different galaxies to pay attention to this, and his food starts to get stale. 

“Hey,” Hajime says.

“What?”

“You never eat.”

“Ah— are you concerned for me, Hajime? It means a lot! But— ”

Hajime stuffs half a sandwich in his mouth before he can continue; and actually, Nagito is too taken aback by this to protest. He eats. Finally, when his eyes start to hurt, he stands up and stretches.

“Oh, thank god,” Hajime says, getting up as well. “I was starting to get cramps from just sitting.” 

“I already hate that you wasted your entire day on me,” Nagito says. “But to know you were physically uncomfortable, as well… I could just die!” 

“Yeah, maybe later,” Hajime says. “Are we done here?”

“Mhm.” 

There isn’t much to do, so they go back to Hajime’s room. It should be getting late by now anyway, and Nagito is eager for everyone to fall asleep so he can sneak into the lounge and examine the button for himself. Hajime must know his mind is wandering because he keeps glancing over at him, and the attempt to be subtle is so earnest that Nagito can’t bear to break Hajime’s perception of it. 

“I’ll take a shower,” he announces, timed perfectly as Hajime is taking a sip of water. “Do you want to watch?”

“I— what?” 

Nagito arranges his features to express the picture of innocence and smiles. “You said you’d keep an eye on me. Maybe it’s because you have ulterior motives.” He shrugs. “I don’t mind if you want to see me naked.” 

“Uh— I,” Hajime says intelligently. “I don’t— no.”

“Why are you blushing all of a sudden? Did I say something?”

“I’m not blushing! Go take your shower before I throw another pillow at you.”

“Will that be before or after you hold my hand again?” Nagito grins, and shuts the bathroom door before Hajime can defend himself. He thinks about how precarious this thread they’re standing on is. He goes back and forth between what he believes is reality and what is not. Maybe genuine feeling. Maybe a mean experiment, from Hajime’s standpoint. But still— isn’t anything better than the thing Nagito wants most in his life? Even if not having it means being alone forever. 

It’s easy to convince yourself you don’t deserve anything. It takes only two things:

1. The knowledge that you are worthless.
2. The universe working with all of its might against you.

When every good thing that has ever happened to you is a direct balancing of the scales for the pain of your loved ones, these factors seem like givens. The universe opens up Nagito’s hands and snatches all external warmth, care, and safety. It hands him a big fat check in return. How lucky, that he should never have to work a single day in his life, or worry about medical bills, or be able to go anywhere he pleases. How nice, that he can always manage to save his skin, no matter who gets caught in the crossfire. 

When Nagito Komaeda dies again, his luck won’t leave Hajime out of the equation whether he kisses him or not. Whether he loves him or not. Whether he clings to him with every remaining shred of hope or not. 

He shampoos his hair and thinks about Hajime’s inevitable death. 

Maybe all luck is bad luck, he thinks. 

***

When Hajime wakes up, he’s alone. 

His first thought is: Fuck.

His second thought is: OhShitthebuttonthebuttonthebuttonholyshitholyshitholyshit— 

But when he scrambles out of bed, knocking his foot against the frame in the process and proceeding to hop around in pain for a good half minute, and rushes into the lounge, Nagito is only sitting there, cross-legged on the floor with his hands resting on his knees. The room is freezing; he wears his jacket over his pajamas.

“Hello, Hajime.” 

“Hey,” Hajime says, incredibly casually. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, me? I’m not doing anything! You shouldn’t waste your time checking up on someone like me.”

“That’s the whole point of our arrangement, remember?” Hajime grumbles, joining Nagito on the floor. “Why else do you think we share a bed every night?”

“I was beginning to think it’s because you like me,” Nagito says. “But of course that’s ridiculous.”

“Of course,” Hajime nods. “Totally ridiculous.” 

“That’s what I thought.” 

They look at the button in silence for a few more minutes before Hajime shivers. 

“It’s not that big,” Nagito is saying, “but maybe if you scoot closer a little…” 

Hajime’s about to ask what he’s talking about, but Nagito slips his arms out of his jacket and pulls it around both of their shoulders. 

He’s right. It’s not that big, and all it does is ensure both of them are cold now instead of just Hajime, but the gesture is so unbelievably kind that it reminds Hajime that this is a person he’s supposedly afraid of enough to treat like an animal. This is a human being whose initial compassion and good nature affected Hajime so deeply that it still aches underneath his skin somewhere.

Nagito Komaeda, with his cheerful disposition and messy hair. With all of his self-deprecation and blunt, unnerving honesty. With his big, big heart so chained up from all the fear and heartache he’s had to endure— and endure alone. Hajime feels his nose begin to itch; a prickling around his eyes. He takes a shallow, watery breath and when he turns to face Nagito, he’s already noticed something’s wrong, is already looking back at him with soft, open concern.

He’s close enough to kiss, so Hajime does so: once, softly, just on the lips. 

When he pulls away, he still wants to cry. 

“You look so sad,” Nagito says quietly. “Was it that terrible?”

“No,” Hajime says, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes. “No. I— I’m terrible.” 

“Maybe,” Nagito says, reaching for his hand. “Maybe that’s why we’re here together.”

They go back to bed eventually, button untouched. This time, Hajime does not briefly pretend he doesn’t want to take Nagito’s hand. He does it the moment they lie down. 

***

From that point on, the experiments begin to get more and more bizarre. Nagito has watched his fair share of alien abduction conspiracy theory documentaries— he pretty much knows how these things go. Get abducted. Get telepathically brainwashed. Be probed. Go through a number of invasive procedures. Be returned to Earth in a completely different time period than the one you left. 

This experience has been none of that. 

They’ve been on the ship for a handful of weeks now, but it’s impossible to differentiate on what days specific events happened in retrospect. So he begins a new calendar, based on what strange circumstance the aliens unleash on them.

Day 1: They are locked into their rooms. Since Nagito spends his nights under Hajime’s surveillance, this does not really affect them the way it affects the others, who are completely alone for twenty-four hours. Nagito sits in the corner of the room and tries to make his presence as unobtrusive as possible, but Hajime soon grows bored of that and they toss a small Monokuma-machine ball from opposite ends of the room for hours. 

Day 2: Snakes.

Day 3: An alarm goes off all day and all night, ultimately bringing Sonia to tears. “I’m not scared,” she keeps repeating, “I’m just so frustrated.” Gundham finds a roll of duct tape in the kitchen and tapes two pillows around her head to make some kind of buffer. Hajime, in his clearly weakened state, thinks this is sweet and says so out loud. 

Day 4: They wake up to a heat wave. It’s worse than the cold sprinkler incident because it takes over the entire wing— an oppressive, stifling heat that suffocates them and hurts their brains. 

“I never thought I’d say this,” Fuyuhiko says, putting his head in the freezer, “but I miss the island pool.” 

“It is hotter than the seven realms of Hell,” Gundham agrees. 

Chiaki is asleep with her face planted on the kitchen counter, an ice cube melting on the back of her neck.

“Come on,” Nagito says to Hajime. They fill the bathtub with ice cold water and strip down to their boxers. 

“We’re not, uh— we’re not going to, you know,” Hajime says.

“I already told you,” Nagito laughs, “if you want to see me naked, you only need to ask.”

While Hajime is trying to decide what to say to that, Nagito is already climbing into the tub (with his boxers still on, obviously— obviously, Hajime thinks), back pressed against the cool tile. He closes his eyes and slides down enough that the water reaches his shoulders. After a moment, Hajime gets in too. 

The tub isn’t quite big enough for both of them to spread out comfortably, and they wind up with their backs pressed on either end, legs tangled and framing one another. Somehow, Hajime’s hand ends up on Nagito’s ankle.

“This is normal,” Hajime says. “Guys do this all the time.” 

“I believe you,” Nagito says, eyes still closed. “I know you’d never lie, even to someone like me.”

Hajime flicks water in Nagito’s face. Nagito grins. 

Day 5: There’s a light emitting from the lounge. It’s coming from the button. 

That night, when Nagito slips out of bed to sit in the lounge again, Hajime does not follow. He isn’t sure how to feel about this. Is it sudden trust? Did he simply not wake up? Nagito watches the button like it’s an action movie. He watches it without blinking and sometimes without remembering to breathe. The light is bright enough to warm his face. It feels like home.

“How was the button?” Hajime whispers as he gets back into bed. 

“Glowing,” Nagito says. “Like hope.” 

“Nagito.”

“Ah— Hajime, you said my name! I’m so happy!” 

“I— ” Hajime frowns in the dark. “I’ve said your name before.” 

“No,” Nagito inches closer. “I would have remembered something like that.”

Hajime doesn’t do or say anything for long enough that Nagito assumes he’s fallen asleep. That’s okay. Just his presence beside him fills Nagito with joy, like something in the universe has finally slid into place. 

And because Hajime is asleep, Nagito feels it’s alright to say, very quietly: “I don’t want you to die.” 

Day 6: Tropical birds.

***

“Aren’t you getting tired of this?” Nagito asks one morning. They’ve endured 39 days of various events, animals, and temperature changes. They’ve obediently written down their thoughts and daily activities in the mandated notebooks. Nothing seems to be happening.

“I guess.”

“I mean— how long do you think they’re gonna keep us here?”

Hajime frowns at his toothbrush. “I hadn’t really thought of that.”

“Hajime! You never look at the big picture.” Nagito sighs. “Jeez, it’s a little disappointing that a worthless person like me needs to keep reminding you of stuff like this.”

“You’re not worthless,” Hajime mumbles, and turns the tap on. 

Nagito spends another minute or so stretching out over the bed, as far as his limbs can reach, and then gets up. “I’m gonna find Elle,” he says.

He finds N8-GAFT instead, hovering awkwardly in the kitchen while Gundham and Sonia make eggs. 

“Where’s Elle?” Nagito asks. Usually, he prefers to be a bit more polite, but this morning he finds himself irritated and restless. He doesn’t want to be here anymore, though he can’t point his finger on why. It’s nice to spend time with Hajime night after night, but there’s a tenseness to being trapped with no finish line. 

“Elle is occupied,” Nate says. “I am here in their place.”

“Oh, well, that’s disappointing,” Nagito says. To his mild surprise, Sonia catches his eye and covers up a laugh with her hands. “But you’ll have to do! I’m just wondering when we can leave.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“At which part— the insult or the question?”

Nate looks truly affronted, but shakes it off. “I think you’ve misunderstood the research project,” he says.

“That’s possible. I’m not that smart, so those kinds of things can go over my head.”

“Hm,” Nate says, nodding. “I see. That will have to go in your file.”

“Sure! Can you stay on topic, though?”

Nate looks at him blankly. “As I said. You’ve misunderstood. The six of you will never leave.”

“Oh,” Nagito says, starting to laugh. “That just figures.”

***

Day 40: Sudden fireworks.

Day 41: An infestation of ants.

Day 42: No hot water.

Day 43: No cold water.

Day 44: The return of B8365. He gathers them in the lounge as always and clears his throat. By this point, they feel comfortable enough that nothing too dire is ever going to happen; and so they wear the bored expressions of unaffected young people. 

“Thus far you have passed our experiments with swimming colors,” B8365 says.

“Flying,” Fuyuhiko mutters.

“Starting tomorrow, we will begin removing limbs.”

It’s total pandemonium. Even Chiaki wakes up, looking startled and angry. B8365 raises a hand to quiet them down.

“This is not an open forum,” he says. “That will be all. Good day.”

Nobody really feels like talking after that. Nagito has the last two digits of the door code memorized, but it isn’t enough, and none of them are feeling brave enough to let him guess the rest. He’s lucky, yes, but his luck only seems to work for him. They are too tired, too rattled, and too affected by the random conditions set upon them day after day to come up with a solid plan. There’s no fairness to this. There are no rules. 

***

Sonia is the first to be taken. 

She comes back hollow and mute, with bandages wrapped around her hand. No one can decide what’s worse: the look in her eyes or seeing Gundham Tanaka cry.

***

“You know what we have to do, right?” Nagito asks when they’re in their room. It is horrifying that Hajime has started thinking of it as their room. He wants to backtrack somehow, rewind to when none of this was what he was feeling. He wants to hold Nagito’s hand forever. 

“I’m not gonna like the answer, am I?”

“Probably not! But we can do it together, Hajime. Even if it’s the last thing we ever do.” 

“Jesus,” Hajime says, flopping down on the bed. “Why can’t we just catch a break? Do normal stuff? You know, maybe, like. Go to dinner,” he mumbles. 

“Huh?” Nagito sits down at his feet. He looks up at him. “You’d want to go to dinner with me? It’d be a waste of your time, you know, but I’d be happy to— ”

“Can you not do that? For just. One hour. Can you not do that?”

“If that’s what makes you happy.” 

“I really— I really don’t know what’s happening to me,” Hajime says suddenly. “I don’t know if it’s the air pressure here, or the fact that I’ve seen half of my friends die, or that sometimes I feel like I’m dead, or the thought of you covered in all that blood, or the threat of organ vaporization, or what, but.” He takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. “I want you to know that, you know, if I’m the one to be de-limbed tomorrow, and they take too much or I die again or I come back lobotomized, that it— it wasn’t you, Nagito. You didn’t do this. It’s not because I can’t stop thinking about you, or because being around you is the best thing I’ve done in ages, or because I know in my heart if we had another chance, and things were different, and we weren’t being kidnapped or abducted or experimented on— I think we could have been. Something really great. Whatever happens to me is not because of any of those things. It’s not because of your luck.”

“Oh,” Nagito says, too quiet, pressing his mouth against Hajime’s knee. “It’s so like you— on the verge of sure death but comforting me. You really are the kindest person I’ve ever met, Hajime.”

“Okay— well. Let’s relax a little, alright? I’m not on the verge of sure death.”

Nagito laughs softly. 

“You know that I... like you so much, even though you make me want to tear my hair out half the time, right? Like, so much. How did that happen?”

“I’m the Ultimate Lucky Student,” Nagito says. 

“Oh yeah? How are we gonna get out of this one, then?”

“Do you trust me?” Nagito asks, standing. 

Hajime looks at him. He looks at him. There is nothing left to do but throw caution to the wind. Once upon a time, long ago, Nagito had offered his help during the killing school trip. He offered to help make a plan, and Hajime knows in retrospect it would have been an incredibly well thought out plan. They didn’t accept his help then. Hajime looks at him.

“Yeah,” he says. 

Before he can say anything else, Nagito is leaning in, kissing him softly. He tastes like mint and smells like citrus and he is so cold that Hajime wants to wrap him up forever, in sweaters and in blankets and in his arms. Hajime cups his face with his hands so Nagito can’t pull away too quickly, and kisses him back. 

When they finally get to the lounge, Hajime feels like crying again. They walk to the table together, hand in hand, and look at the button that says TERMINATION OF LIFE AS WE KNOW IT.

“Tell me,” Hajime says, feeling the breath in his lungs evaporate, “tell me what I’m trusting here.”

Nagito squeezes his hand once, and then he slowly moves; he places their interlocked hands gently on the button. 

“That we’ll find each other again,” he says. 

The panic fills Hajime’s heart and mouth. It stops his heart completely— a room closing in, a coffin being shut, being buried alive. The panic tugs at him like it’s drowning, too; like it’ll wither away if Hajime doesn’t acknowledge it. It seems to untether him from himself, pulling at his muscles, his nerves, cell by cell by cell, until he finally begins to see himself from outside of himself— just as he did on the first night he decided to hold Nagito’s hand. He is up somewhere close to the ceiling, undone and free. 

If life is cyclical, it will bend around them forever until they meet in the middle. Skyline and shoreline. Death and rebirth.

The Hajime that’s still standing presses his forehead against Nagito’s and nods. 

“Okay,” he says.

They push it together, and everything is bright white light.

***

Hajime Hinata wakes up to a dirty, frosted pane of glass and his arms tightly at his sides. He realizes he is lying down. The glass opens outwards— it’s a door?— is he in a pod?— and a pale, white-haired face comes into view. 

“Can you hear me?” he asks. Hajime realizes the guy is standing over him, looking down. “Are you okay?”

“I— yeah. Yeah, I can hear you.”

“That’s great! My name is Nagito Komaeda, and I’ve been looking for you for a long time.” 

Nagito Komaeda, Hajime thinks. Something in the universe slides into place. 

“My name is Hajime Hinata,” he says, reaching up for his hand. “I think I’ve been looking for you, too.”