Chapter Text
He might as well have been dead with how the only traces left of his existence were footsteps in the sand and a throat sore from not being used in at least a week. The rest felt numb, like he’d never really woken up. The water wouldn’t help with that, it wasn’t supposed to. His shoes were left by his cottage, placed tightly together outside the door. They’d been cleaned twice before he barefoot left for the beach. The jacket had been put aside, neatly folded and placed in the sand. He hoped the waves wouldn’t get it. Not that it’d matter too much, with his luck it’d eventually drift back to shore. (He hoped he wouldn’t.)
With his eyes closed he tried to relax, shut his mind up for a minute or two and feel the kind of quiet one was supposed to in this chosen moment. He didn’t, of course he didn’t, so he stared at his sea once more. Because maybe if he looked long enough there’d be something new. Something more than this island that they were meant to spend their forever on.
Even if there was anything out there, it wasn’t for them. He knew that, he still took some useless pride in his intelligence. Despite that and every fact that told him to close his eyes and get it over with, he kept looking. Desperately searching for an excuse he hadn’t deserved. And so the sea started back, big, dark and unwelcoming in the evening. The last rays of sunshine hit his exposed arms, a prosthetic shined in the sun, another arm scared from an unpleasant life, neither felt warm like they were supposed to.
They never did and sometimes he feared they couldn’t.
Komaeda had been awake for two weeks now and he’d never felt more dead. He instead found himself longing back to whatever limbo he’d been stuck in. Where he’d lived a life without hope and talent, a life he truly did hate but somehow it was still better than this and God was anything better than this?
Still, even in limbo he couldn’t possibly know peace. He’d entered Komaeda’s mind with one objective only- to kill the host and force him awake to live this dreadful life. But he hadn’t killed Komaeda, not directly at least, Komaeda didn’t lose like that. He'd raised the gun himself and pulled the trigger, knowing all too well that no matter where he aimed the gun would hit him perfectly in the temple. The other man had just… given him a reason to raise his hand. Now, it was easy to wish he’d gotten five more minutes of peace where he lived as human and not a creature who only existed in a cycle of misfortune and fortune. But that was taken away quickly, it’d been like ripping a band-aid off, the bullet only hurt for a second before it woke him up somewhere new.
Quick, unlike gas, knife, spear-
His fingernails drew blood from his hand. At least it was his own hand and blood.
The others had all woken up from the Neo World Project at least a month before him. They never specified all that much, just bluntly stated that he was last and that the doors could be shut close now. The first thing he noticed was how cold he was, it was a feeling that unfortunately never really left.
Komaeda didn’t have any idea what the rest of his classmates' first days had been like but he hoped, no he knew, it wasn’t like his. Where only two people had been in the room; Mikan who immediately checked his pulse when he opened his eyes, and… and a man with the eyes of both man and God. Who spoke to him like he cared, talking too quickly and telling him nothing a half-awake Komaeda bothered listening to (now he wished he did, he really did). The man looked like he hadn’t gotten a good night's sleep in much too long. But he didn’t look that way anymore, he looked like himself- almost like himself. The red eye didn’t belong to him. It wasn’t his, nor was every incredible thing Izuru brought with him. Not that it mattered. The last time he made proper eye contact with anyone was in the pod, so two weeks ago then. When Mikan and Hajime had looked at Komaeda like he was a fucking miracle. Somehow that was worse than being ignored (he chose to not give any thought to the sorrow and relief they’d displayed, he couldn’t afford it).
Komaeda glanced back, where the dim lights from the cottages lit up the night. But he doubted anyone was awake, they all always had things to get done and bonds to build. He’d deemed it a failing concept before it’d even started, the idea of creating bonds with people who’d brought a bat to your head and scissor to your throat could not succeed. They never discussed closure for the things that had happened, they just kept moving forward and somehow it was working. Despite the arguments, whispering, unavoidable grouping and the constant exhaustion from survivors, victims and murderers they were still creating some kind of normal. With set roles and constant rolling chores. He’d be so content with letting them fail on their own but they were doing okay. Not good, without acknowledgment of who they were and what they’d done they never would reach ‘good’, but that didn’t seem to matter. God, what did matter. He could go and leave as he pleased, so why not.. go.
Because of course Komaeda was happy to be the last man standing, the others deserved a second chance at life more than he ever would. And with every day passing, they only made it that much clearer. He was still dead to them, their gazes glued to the floor whenever he entered the room. They’d only dare to spare him a glance when they thought he didn’t see. He had no tasks, they’d given him no purpose and he didn’t know how to find one himself. He was no steppingstole anymore, he was not of use.
No one spoke a word to him and he made no attempt at converting with them either. Not when both parties knew that any and all useless small talk would only end in unwanted arguments and more bitterness than they already shared. Why make the job anymore difficult when they clearly had no intentions to even so much as look him in the fucking eyes.
When Komaeda threw the rock onto the water, it was out of anger even he didn’t understand. He was getting what he deserved, hell what he should have wanted. But no one saw him, and if that didn’t hurt even a little bit he was a fool. And now he found himself acting selfish, asking for more than he deserved. He wasn’t supposed to be selfish, he had no right to be when his body was this… thing and his mind knew it’s best use was out of sacrifice. Even then he’d wish for something more than these lonely trips to the beach each and every night, always leaving his shoes by the door and being a coward. Staring at the sea because where was the easy way out?
Mahiru and Peko were talking, not getting along, but talking. They were trying to make progress. Gundham and Nidai were acting like nothing had ever happened. Despite everything, Hiyoko and Mikan were doing their best as well. And Imposter was, well, he didn’t know. He hadn’t dared talk yet so much as look at the man (had it just been him under the table, had he just not been so good, had something just gone right for once-).
Komaeda would never get the chance to apologise to Chiaki. She was supposed to be alive, more than any of them she deserved that second chance. But she didn’t get that, nor would she get that apology she deserved, not in this life at least.
He stood up and walked to the water, as always he found it cold and uncomfortable. The sand went from dry to wet, making every footstep clear. He thought that maybe they’d last long enough for someone to find them walking into the sea, put two and two together. He wished to write his name in the water, so they knew where not to cross. He wanted to do so much more and he found himself incapable of it all. Breathing had felt foolish a week ago, tonight it was a luxury.
He hugged himself, an old habit, but now he couldn’t dig the nails into both arms anymore, since one had been carefully removed and replaced by a prosthetic. If he looked too long at it, he could have sworn he still saw the red nails.
He felt sick. Scratching helped, his arms were red and his back was aching from wounds never to be treated.
Komaeda had found it difficult to appreciate life in the past two weeks, so he kept walking into the water. Even when the winds were warm and sky beautiful, there wasn’t really a point to it. There was no undoing what he’d done, she was dead and he’d changed for the worse. They couldn’t care less if he walked into the hotel tomorrow morning or not. They didn’t need a stepping stone, not anymore. He’d played his part, fuck he even thought he’d played it well. But he’d burned the curtains and made his exit permanent when he let go off the rope.
No matter what one man told him, Komaeda knew himself, he knew he was a waste of space the second they left court. He was changed, but not for the better.
The water reached his hips, would bad luck do it? Was it just to lay down and waste the second chance he’d been g-
“Komaeda?”
He didn’t know how, or why, the man who had everything still saw him across the room.
—
“... Nagito?”
“What?” Hajime flinched back at the harshness of the others' voices, but he looked just as startled as Hajime felt when he turned around to look back at the beach. Not at Hajime, never directly at him. “What?” he repeated, the normal monotone creeping its way back to his voice.
“I-” Hajime started before he finished thinking. The other looked uncomfortable, but why wouldn’t he be when the water was swallowing half of him.
(When Hajime had called out his name, everything came back to him all at once. The winds weren’t as warm anymore, his soaked jeans felt uncomfortable against his skin and the waves had never been louder. He was here and this was happening, he was still a coward.)
“You look cold.” He by shore noted, and immediately felt embarrassment turn his face red. He always settled on pointing out the obvious, the stated facts, but for some reason he’d stated it like the other man didn’t know he was freezing to begin with. “I mean- well, you obviously know that but-”
Komaeda’s eyes almost reached his when he broke into laughter. Not the laughter Hajime expected; the cruel one that turned him into an entirely different person. This laughter was quiet, maybe even genuine but it was slightly hidden behind his hand so he couldn’t tell (not that he knew what it’d sound like anyways). “Good observation, reserved course.”
It still stung, he hated those two words, taking Hajime taken right back to their last shared trial, as he hadn’t been called that since Komaeda-
He pushed the thought out of his head and searched for a petty comment but it never came. More importantly, Izuru was quiet. The God saw what he did, usually he didn't say anything but he usually did when Hajime found himself at a loss of words. In front of him was the man he’d been told to be wary of, though they rarely referred to him as human. Because only a thing could’ve done what he did, it was too inhumane. Too selfish and selfless and insane and incomprehensible. Yet this man was standing in the freezing water, and Hajime still chose to not put two and two together. And he still chose to not leave.
Komaeda’s laughter was quieting down behind his sleeve, the smile obvious when he looked into his eyes.
“Whatever.” Hajime muttered, finding he too was smiling. “I uh.. shit.”
Komaeda fell silent, waiting for the other to continue. When Hajime didn’t (because what was he supposed to say?) Komaeda's shoulders slightly dropped and he turned his gaze back to the horizon. Which made Hajime feel even more stupid as he moved without directions from a God and kicked off his shoes and rolled up his sweatpants (it was almost midnight, he was not about to put on jeans at that hour.) “What are you doing?” Komaeda said, voice lacking his usual confidence. He was looking ever so slightly over his shoulder to where Hajime was standing. Unconsciously, he took a reluctant step further into the water. (That’s what it looked like to Hajime at least; reluctant.)
“I’m bad with words.” Hajime explained, Komaeda tilted his head, not taking that as an explanation.
Then Hajime walked into the water, and the other silently watched with his breath stuck in his throat as he approached him. “This sucks.”
“You tell me.” Komaeda said low enough for it to almost be a whisper when Hajime reached him and took his wrist. Komaeda couldn’t help it when he flinched back, although it was barely noticeable to the normal person. Hajime wasn’t exactly that. “What-“
“You’re gonna get sick.” Now Hajime was the one to not reach the others eyes as he made the grip kinder, but not letting go.
“I’m lucky.”
“Yeah, not immune.” Hajime rolled his eyes. “You’re still weak, you haven’t been awake for very long.”
“I’ll be fine.” The other pushed, he was shaking.
“C’mon..” Hajime said as he started walking back to shore. He doubted this was an argument he would win with words- not that he ever did against that particular man. He’d foolishly believed the other to follow him simply because it was a convenient excuse to not be out here freezing for whatever reason, so when the other almost slipped out of his grasp he could only sigh, God it was cold. “Dude, seriously-”
“I wasn’t supposed to…” Komaeda whispered, something now different in his eyes. Something Hajime could have sworn he’d seen before, but couldn’t quite place. But it wasn’t good, not in the slightest. So he moved his grip from Komaeda’s wrist down to his hand.
This time, both of them looked at each other.
“It’s okay.” Hajime said, because that was all he dared to. He wasn’t sure what Komaeda was doing, but he wasn’t the fool here. He knew he wasn’t well, he’d known that for two weeks now. But Komaeda had made sure to make himself more than unapproachable. He’d avoided Hajime like the plague. “It’s okay.” He repeated because no matter what he’d been told, he found that he cared. He cared about all of them. He cared too much for this man, seeing how they hadn’t spoken in two weeks. Hadn’t been awake together for…
“No, no it isn’t.” Komaeda held onto Hajime's hand for dear life.
“I promise it's okay.” He continued, squeezing his hand back in reassurance. Komaeda stared at the hand holding his, like it’d disappeared at any given moment.
“You can’t promise that.” he eventually said, like the words had been stuck in his throat by how raspy and shaken his voice had gotten.
“Then it will be okay.” Komaeda wasn’t supposed to listen. “One way or another, it’ll be okay.” He wasn’t supposed to believe in it. Not when the water was cold and the winds were warm and he was so, so close to his easy way out of all of this.
“They don’t want me back.” Komaeda responded, gazing back at the horizon for his way out. “They…” Hajime looked past Komaeda's shoulder, where there was nothing but empty sea. “It’ll take time. But right now, right here, I want you back.” He wasn’t sure about his wording, or more so, why it felt so right.
Maybe that scared him a little.
Komaeda looked like he’d seen a ghost when his eyes wandered to his own reflection in the water.
“Okay.” He settled on, letting the other take him back to shore.
—
Komaeda was the first to let go, stopping in his tracks when the sand no longer felt wet. His jacket was still there, folded and carefully put down. Hajime who’d thrown his shoes off found them quite full of sand that he desperately tried to shake out (it was a useless attempt, there would always be some sand left in those shoes.)
“I, uh…” Komaeda started as he kneeled down to retrieve his jacket.
I hate it here.
I can’t go back, can I?
I don’t understand why you keep coming back-
None of it sounded right in his ears. Every word a burden he tried to move to someone else, someone who deserved so much better than that. He sat down in the sand, bringing his knees up to his chest in an attempt to make himself smaller.
Hajime wordlessly sat down next to him, taking in the scenery. The sea was dark now, like it could swallow you whole if you took one wrong step. Or walked far enough.
He looked at the other who’d tried to take up as little space as humanly possible.
It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence they’d settled on as they watched the waves crash against shore, but one both wanted to break nonetheless. Hajime beat him to it.
“You’re making me worried.” He spoke, lacking the anger the other man almost wished for. It was always easier to counter anger than.. whatever that was.
“Didn’t mean to.” Komaeda said, resting his head against his knees. They were almost always bruised from injuries he could only blame his luck for. “Just… trying to make this work for everyone.”
“... don’t do anything stupid.” Komaeda could only smirk at the warning.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Mhm.”
The stars weren’t out, hidden behind clouds. Komaeda wished to see them when he laid down in the numbness of the sea, maybe tonight wasn’t for that after all.
He didn’t know what to say, or what to do anyways. His shoes were still by his cottage, but it wouldn’t be the first time going back soaked and cowardly. He sighed and landed on useless information dumping, he was alright at that; observing. An outsider did that best.
“They’re all making progress, you know? If you just allow yourself to see it. Mahiru is sitting with her back to Peko, how often do you hear Hiyoko insult Mikan nowadays? They’re… they’re getting better.”
And I’m not.
Hajime opened his mouth and closed it, like it was something he truly wasn’t able to see. So caught up in the hundred things he needed to do, the nightmares and memories plaguing people. The glaring, yelling, augmenting. How it really had quieted down. He’d been quite caught up on waking one man up he found he’d missed the progress the living ones had made in the meantime. And had continued to do, apparently.
“And it’s hard to miss how everyone looks at me. Or rather doesn’t.” he said under his breath, barely audible for the other. He looked up almost shocked at his own words, not sure why they came so naturally. In time, he would find his thoughts spilled easily with Hajime. Because despite it not even being something for Hajime to hear, seeing how Komaeda had no right to complain, he still wanted to complain to him. For but a moment act like the rest of them, reasonably angry at life.
“I know, it’s… it’s a bad situation for everyone.” Hajime eventually said, clueless what was right to speak. Honesty, probably. “They’re scared.”
Wasn’t it supposed to be we’re scared?
“I also see how you look at me.” Komaeda said.
“And how do I look at you, Nagito?” He sounded almost amused, smiling too fondly at the other.
Like there’s more to me than there actually is.
Like if you look long enough, there’ll be something new.
Komaeda looked back at the sea.
“... differently.”
Two differently coloured eyes stared at him, he could feel their gaze from miles away. It wasn’t cold, not like the rest of his classmates were. It was kind. Too kind to spare a glance on someone with blood under their fingernails and anger shaped into bitterness in his mind.
“You keep staring at the sea.”
“I know.”
“Is there something out there?”
“I hope so.”
—
Hajime waited for Komaeda to get up, at some point he wondered if he even would. But he’d made up his mind, they’d go back when Komaeda was ready. Maybe not ready, but okay to do as much. “Sorry, you must be cold.” Komaeda eventually spoke, already getting up before Hajime had the chance to answer. Maybe he knew he wouldn’t be left behind, Hajime could at least hope so (there it was again, hope in all its glory).
“It’s alright, although I don’t want you to get sick, even if the winds are mild.” He too stood, and for a moment in the winds and moonlight behind clouds they simply looked at each other. Maybe because it was so unusual, always used to backs to one another or eyes on the floor. Whispers from others to stay away or stay safe of the thing Komaeda simply was. Always quiet, always careful. Always scared.
Silently, Komaeda threw the jacket over his shoulder and tilted his head slightly. Hajime only now noticed how long the other's hair had gotten, the longest bits reaching his shoulders. The ends were split and ruined but had more colour than usual. They looked more alive, he looked more alive. And despite everything Hajime (correction, Izuru) had done he could still be so, so much better. He still looked weak, still too skinny. God knew Komaead had never looked as fragile as he had the days before he woke up, chest barely rising and their hope slowly running out. Hajime hadn’t believed himself when it was Komaeda’s own hope speeches that kept him determined through it all. Had him sat by the sleeping man day in and day out until his fingertips moved. Although promises didn’t mean much, at least not spoken, he swore he’d never see Komaeda like that again. He couldn’t bear the thought.
Maybe Hajime could start bringing him breakfast- get him out of the cottage at the very least-
“... you okay?” Komaeda asked, which threw Hajime right back to reality.
“Yeah! Do you want- will you go back?” he asked, quickly blurting the words out which only seemed to amuse the other.
“Yes, I think so. Thank you for the concern, reserved course.” And the Komaeda he’d grown to… to deal with, was back. But Hajime found that he didn’t mind in the slightest.
“Whatever, prick.” He said, bumping his shoulder lightly against the slightly taller boy by his side.
—
It was a short walk back to the cottages, although it always felt longer when he’d walked alone. After each failed attempt where something he didn’t want to understand kept him from going further than to let the water reach his chest. He hated it, the short moment afterwards when there was sand everywhere and his wet clothes clung to him. He rarely had it in him to change before going to bed those nights.
But for once he wished the walk back had been longer, and somehow it was Hajime making him wish something as foolish as wanting to freeze for even longer. And in extension he wished the coldness onto Hajime who didn’t look nearly as uncomfortable as he should have, with his own wet clothes and sand in his shoes. Komaeda couldn’t explain it, the fear of seeing Hajime in his shoes. Fuck he was overthinking this. Hajime was fine.
Because if anything (maybe, probably, it was just in Komaeda's head) Hajime looked disappointed when he stopped by his cottage, watching the other continue up ahead to his own. Nothing had changed between the two by accidentally meeting at the beach.. Which… Still overthinking it all, but why was Hajime there in the first place? Komaeda, who usually had the answers to most questions, seemed incapable of answering that.
“Nagito?” Hajime’s words broke the silence only filled by crickets and Komaeda’s own much too loud thoughts.
“Yes?” He looked back at the other, straight at him. He looked just as caring in the moonlight. “... I’ll see you tomorrow.” he said, sounding almost disappointed at the words but so determined to get them out. Nothing about Hajime sat right with Komaeda, why did he care and why was he there? Why did Komaeda care? Those weren’t the words Hajime had wanted to speak but settled on. Why care what he wanted to say. Why let it matter. (Because Hajime wanted to ask Komaeda what the fuck he was doing outside every other evening. Why did it keep him up, like Komaeda could know the answer to that, why he this one night decided that enough was enough and so he followed him and ended up cold and freezing and didn’t mind. He wanted to say that he saw how Komaeda was acting off again and that he was worried because this was like nothing he’d ever seen. This wasn’t the menace he was warned about, because the menace he could deal with. This was going to drive him insane. And yet he found that all his thoughts and worries were spared on Komaeda.)
“See you tomorrow.” Komaeda answered, giving the other the smallest of smiles, which was returned with a hand behind his neck. Komaeda turned his heel before Hajime would catch him staring for a second too long. But the smile remained on his lips until he heard a door close behind him.
Komaeda’s shoes rested innocently right outside his own cottage.
“Tomorrow.” Komaeda repeated for himself. The shoes told him otherwise, so did his soaked jeans and trembling hand on the doorknob. But he put his shoes back inside and changed clothes before going to bed. He crossed off a day on the calendar which hung lonely on the wall, he didn’t stare at it any longer than usual.
Tomorrow he wouldn’t clean his cottage or shoes, nor would he leave at sundown. Even for one evening, he wouldn’t do that.
Komaeda found himself less worried for the day to come when he drifted off to sleep, almost believing Hinata’s words.
One way or another, it’d be okay.