Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hajime Hinata wasn’t the type to do things unplanned.
At least, not with less than a week’s notice.

That was how he found himself sulking at the far end of a bar in Kyushu on a Saturday night, cradling his fourth drink of the night while Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu shook a cocktail like he’d been born behind the counter.

“Why are you in Kyushu anyway?” Fuyuhiko asked, his smirk far too wide for his face. The cocktail shaker clicked rhythmically in his hands, practiced and sure in a way that annoyed Hajime almost as much as the smug look that came with it.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Hajime muttered. He tipped his glass back for another mouthful, wincing at the burn. Maybe if he drank enough tonight, he could justify writing himself off for the rest of the week. Then he wouldn’t even have to think about the wedding.

Fuyuhiko shrugged one shoulder. “You know the clan. Too many fuckin’ businesses in places they don’t belong.” He poured the drink neatly into a glass, scowling when a droplet landed on the polished bar top. “Natsumi was supposed to cover, but–” he lifted his hands into exaggerated air quotes, “she’s ‘sick.’ So now it’s my responsibility.”

Hajime blinked at him over the rim of his glass. He still didn’t fully understand how he’d ended up friends with the head of the Kuzuryu clan, but six years of experience had taught him one thing: never bother asking Fuyuhiko questions he’d write off as “bullshit.”

“Anyway, bastard,” Fuyuhiko pushed the glass down the counter, “gonna tell me why you’re not in Tokyo?”

Hajime rolled his eyes, leaning back on the bar stool. “I thought I’d actually take some time off for once. Do something for myself.”

“Uh huh.” Fuyuhiko’s eyebrow arched in perfect disbelief, waiting him out.

“And then my cousin calls,” Hajime said with a dramatic sigh, “reminding me of the venue she booked. They’ve been engaged for five years! How was I supposed to remember their wedding was next week?”

Fuyuhiko’s grin widened. “Oh, I see. So now you’re stuck here with no way back.” He wiped down the bar with an efficiency that said he’d done this more often than he admitted. “I could take you, but I’m stuck covering this dump for the rest of this week, then I’m staying here to relax for another. Guess that means you’re screwed.”

Hajime groaned into his hand. “Do you actually have to give yourself a vacation?”

Fuyuhiko shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. “Heh. I don’t really have the luxury of them these days.”

Touche. Hajime didn’t have a comeback for that, so he drained what was left in his glass.

“Why can’t you just book a flight back?” Fuyuhiko asked, already pulling out another shaker. He started pouring liquor with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Payroll,” Hajime muttered. “The firm’s had admin issues or something. I don’t have the money for a last-minute ticket.”

Fuyuhiko snorted. “And that’s why you don’t work for legal companies.” He flicked his wrist and slid a fresh glass across the counter. “Tell you what – cancel the rest of your hotel stay. Come stay with me. Should give you some of your deposit back.”

Hajime huffed a small laugh. “Yeah, well, it’s a shitty motel. I doubt they’d give me much back.”

“Better than nothing.” Fuyuhiko shrugged like it didn’t matter either way, then shoved the glass toward him. The liquid inside was almost offensively strong.

Hajime frowned at it. “What’s this?”

“On the house,” Fuyuhiko said, smirking. “You’ll need it.”

~~

Nagito must have looked like he was having an episode.

A moment ago, he’d been outside, nodding along as a man twice his age talked far too enthusiastically about the cut of Nagito’s suit. The summer air had been sticky, the conversation worse, and Nagito had seized the first excuse to duck back inside.

He brushed at his shoulder with a grimace, sure the man had spat on him mid-sentence, and straightened his tie, only for his eyes to land on the bar.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu was behind it. That wasn’t surprising. He seemed to be everywhere, and Nagito had already had a surprisingly cordial conversation with him the night before.

No, the surprise was who sat at the bar.

Hajime Hinata.

Nagito would’ve recognized that gravity-defying hair anywhere, even six years later.

His chest twisted so sharply it almost hurt.

Hajime: the boy who clung to the idea of talent like it was oxygen. The boy Nagito had seen far too much of himself in to treat with any real kindness. The boy he had tormented mercilessly, just for being from the Reserve Course.

And now he saw Hajime, a grown man, slouched over his drink as though the whole world had worn him down.

Nagito hadn’t moved. He wasn’t sure he could.

He was different now. Or at least, he liked to think he was. Professional. Stable. A man who had somehow survived his luck long enough to build a career and get the therapy he desperately needed. A man who understood, finally, that being an Ultimate didn’t make you better than anyone else. Not really.

Because out here, in the adult world, talent was nothing more than a line on a résumé. It got you promotions faster, yes – but it didn’t make you a better human being.

Nagito’s hands twitched at his sides. He should apologize. That would be the correct thing to do. And surely the sky wouldn’t crack open and swallow him the second he tried. He took a tentative step closer, ears straining.

“...I don’t have the money for a last-minute ticket.”

Nagito stilled.

Hm.

So Hajime was lamenting his poor finances. To the head of the Kuzuryu clan, no less. An odd choice, but it meant Hajime had somewhere important to be. Somewhere he couldn’t get to.

And here Nagito was, in the exact right place, at the exact right time.

He was due to start his return to Tokyo tomorrow. His business here was finished. And he still couldn’t bring himself to step foot on a plane.

Nagito’s gaze flicked to his watch, then back to the bar. Fuyuhiko’s eyes narrowed when they met his, a flicker of recognition there, but Nagito ignored it.

No, this wasn’t coincidence. It was luck. It was fate.

And maybe, just maybe, it was his second chance.

~~

Hajime stepped outside, welcoming the ocean breeze as it wrapped around him.

Good god. He was screwed.

He could just skip the wedding. It wouldn’t really matter – he hadn’t seen that side of the family in years. But he knew how the gossip would spread: Hajime was closing himself off, Hajime didn’t care about family, Hajime was the worst person to graze this earth.

All because he’d decided to treat himself, just once, in his meaningless life.

He pinched his eyes shut, fingers tight around the plastic cup – Kuzuryu’s rule, no glass outside – and took a long sip.

“You look stressed.”

Hajime’s eyes snapped open. His vision was blurred at the edges, too hazy to focus properly. The voice tugged at a memory in the back of his mind – soft, a little raspy – but that didn’t make sense. Not here, not in Kyushu.

Neither did the man in front of him.

Light brown hair, nearly white at the ends, cropped neatly to his shoulders. Tall, but not towering. A black suit, the kind you only wore if you wanted people to take you seriously.

Hajime blinked. “I am.”

Great. Now he was talking to hallucinations.

The man laughed easily, raising both hands. “Don’t worry. Happens to all of us. Drinking into holes, running into old acquaintances, stressing over things we can’t fix.”

Hajime frowned. He wasn’t really processing the words, and even if he had been, they didn’t make much sense. But something in the man’s calm tone, the way he smiled without pity, made Hajime’s mouth move. Before he knew it, he’d spilled everything: the vacation, the cousin’s wedding, the flight booked to depart a day after said wedding, the lack of money, the gnawing regret.

The man tilted his head, considering. “You need to get back to Tokyo?”

“Yeah.” Hajime groaned.

The man’s smile widened, serene. “Then it must be your lucky day. I’m headed back myself. You can come with me.”

Hajime froze. He should say no. He didn’t know this man – this stranger. An attractive stranger, sure, but still a stranger. For all he knew, he could be a scammer. Or worse. Fuyuhiko would smack him over the head if he heard about this.

But… it was a chance. A stupid, reckless chance. And maybe he could use one of those for once.

“Really?” Hajime asked. “You’d take me?”

“Of course.” The man bowed slightly, smile never faltering. “I’d be honoured.”

Hajime didn’t even ask his name. He rattled off his motel address, and the man promised to pick him up at ten a.m., where they could talk about logistics.

He ducked back inside the bar long enough to call across the counter. “Fuyuhiko! Don’t worry about it – I got a ride back!”

Fuyuhiko froze mid-shake, scowling. “A ride back? From who? You’re broke, bastard!”

But Hajime was already pushing out the door, waving him off. He knew Fuyuhiko would probably call him twenty times now. He didn’t care.

Apparently he didn’t care about his safety either.

But none of that mattered.

Because now he had a way back to Tokyo. A way to prove to his family he wasn’t the failure they’d always assumed he was.

Chapter Text

Hajime had begged for his deposit back from the very unhelpful receptionist, who rolled her eyes and chewed her gum with as much disinterest as a human being could physically display.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t give refunds for you deciding to cancel on us.” She blinked, slow and flat.

Hajime sighed. “Please. I’ll literally take anything.”

She groaned, clearly wishing him gone, and glanced at the laminated motel policy taped to the desk.

Hajime checked his watch again. 9:58 A.M.

Great. His ride was probably already outside deciding Hajime wasn’t punctual, or worse, that he was too hungover to care. The pounding in his skull and the snapping gum weren’t helping.

“Fine,” the receptionist muttered at last. “Seeing as your reason for leaving is apparently an ‘emergency’...” She lifted an eyebrow in suspicion. “You’re entitled to a quarter of your deposit back.”

A quarter? Hajime blinked.

She slapped an envelope down on the counter like it offended her. “Nine-thousand yen. Don’t spend it all in one place.”

Nine-thousand yen. Barely enough for a decent lunch, let alone a solution. Still, better than nothing. He snatched the envelope, muttered a quick thank you, and dragged his suitcase toward the exit.

Outside, he froze.

A sleek, black LS-500H purred in front of the motel.

Leaning casually against the passenger door was the man from last night, now in a crisp dress shirt and black trousers, sleeves rolled to his elbows, sunglasses hiding his eyes. He looked every inch the kind of person Hajime never accidentally crossed paths with.

The man smiled faintly when their eyes met.

“Hey, uh,” Hajime said, approaching with caution. “Sorry I’m late.”

The man tilted his wrist, glancing at his watch. “Late?” His voice held a note of faint amusement. “I’d say you’re right on time, Hajime.”

Hajime froze. His name?

The man smoothly bent to take his suitcase, carrying it with practiced ease to the trunk. “Ah, sorry if that startled you. You mentioned your name yesterday, remember?” He shut the trunk with a solid thud. “You seemed… pretty out of it.” His smile was easy, natural, maybe a little too practiced.

Hajime let the knot in his stomach unwind. That sounded plausible enough.

“Ah, right. Guess I did. I hope I wasn’t too forward.” He rubbed the back of his neck, giving an awkward smile as the man opened the driver’s door. Hajime slipped into the passenger seat, immediately overwhelmed by the luxury interior.

Had he somehow caught a ride with a millionaire?

“Oh, not at all,” the man said when Hajime tried to apologise again. He adjusted the mirror, pressed the ignition, and the engine hummed to life.

“So, what’s your na–”

“Where in Tokyo are you headed?” the man cut in quickly, his smile never wavering.

Hajime blinked at the interruption, then let it slide. “Uh… anywhere around Bunkyō.”

“How interesting.” The man’s fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel. “Seems we’re headed to the same area.”

Hajime frowned slightly but pushed the thought aside. The man screamed upper-class. Maybe this was just a business coincidence.

“Well, we’re quite a few days off.” The man rolled down his window as they begun to drive. “But I will probably drop you near Hope’s Peak Academy. Unless there is a specific place you need?”

Hajime chest tightened as he tried not to think about Hope’s Peak Academy too much. Tried not to think about how this man was directly naming things tied to his life.

“Well, I am heading to a wedding, but–”

“Oh, of course,” the man interjected warmly. “Then I’ll take you straight to the venue. Consider it done.”

Hajime relaxed, leaning back in his seat. He didn’t mention that it would probably be smarter to be dropped at home to get his suit. It was helpful enough that the man was even driving him home.

The man was just being generous. That was all.

Still, there was something about the way he said it. Something in his tone that suggested he already knew where Hajime needed to go.

~~

Hajime had been bracing himself for awkward silences, the kind that dragged on until he wanted to claw at the upholstery just to fill them. But an hour in, he was surprised to find the conversation wasn’t forced.
It wasn’t effortless, exactly, but it was… comfortable. Uninvited, yet not unwelcome.

The man handled the car as smoothly as he did the small talk, one hand loose on the steering wheel, the other resting against the gear shift.

“Well,” the man began, as though continuing a thought that had been forming for miles, “I graduated about six years ago from high school. To be honest, I never really thought someone like me could’ve made anything of himself. I had a relatively… unlucky streak when I was younger.”

Hajime snorted before he could stop himself. “You sound like a guy I went to school with.”

The man chuckled under his breath. It wasn’t a belly laugh, more like a quick ripple of amusement, too dry and too knowing. “I’m sure he was lovely.”

Hajime barked out a laugh in spite of himself, shaking his head at the absurdity of it. For a moment, he caught the man’s sideways smile – faint, crooked – and something inside him stilled.
That laugh. That smile. There was something about them, buried under six years of absence and a new suit and that faint streak of white in his hair. Too familiar. Hajime’s stomach gave a strange twist.

He blinked, shaking it off. Don’t be ridiculous. Just a coincidence.

“Anyway,” the man continued easily, as if nothing had passed between them, “I threw myself straight into college, while also trying to fix my life. Four years studying law, then I was told I’d need law school. Everyone said it would waste my time. Somehow I got through without it. Took the preliminary exam, then the bar. Passed both on the first try.”

Hajime nearly choked. “First time?”

“Yes.” The man’s tone was humble, but the pride slipped through anyway. “Incredibly lucky, I know. One of my proudest achievements.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Hajime muttered, slumping back in his seat. “I’m still trying to pass mine.”

That earned him a raised brow from the driver. “Oh? You’re in the field of law too?”

“Yeah.” Hajime rubbed the back of his neck, a little self-conscious. “I work at a firm. They said if I pass the bar, they’ll extend my apprenticeship another year so I can actually become a lawyer. But… this’ll be my third attempt. Guess I’ll just be stuck as an assistant for now.”

The man shrugged lightly, as though failure were nothing but a passing inconvenience. “You’re still young. You have time.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Hajime sighed, turning his gaze to the blur of countryside sliding past the window.

“So, you’re a lawyer?” he asked after a beat, wanting to slap himself on the forehead. Obviously this man was a lawyer. Hajime had never quite mastered the art of asking questions without stating the obvious.

“Mm. Passed the bar… a year and a half ago now, I think? Finished my training six months ago. I’m working in criminal law at the moment.” The man’s mouth quirked in a half-smile. “I’m hoping to open my own firm one day.”

Hajime’s eyes flicked over the sleek dashboard, the expensive stitching in the leather seats. “Yeah, well, looks like you’ve got the money for it.”

The man laughed softly, fingers drumming against the wheel in rhythm with the road. “I guess so. You could always come and work for me.”

That made Hajime turn, startled. “If I pass.”

“I’m sure you will, Hajime.”

It was said so evenly, so calm and steady, that Hajime’s breath caught. The words were encouraging, but they carried a weight he couldn’t quite place. As if this stranger knew him better than he had any right to.

Hajime looked at him for a long moment, then forced his eyes back to the road ahead, unease prickling under his skin.

~~

The man glanced at the GPS. They had roughly an hour left before arriving in Hiroshima. He had suggested stopping there for lunch. A convenient excuse to stretch his legs, Hajime suspected, though the suggestion was phrased casually, like any good driver would.

Hajime almost offered to help drive, but immediately shook the thought off. There was no way he could touch the wheel of this car without completely disrespecting the man’s boundaries, and probably the value of the vehicle itself.

“Are you excited for the wedding?” the man asked, turning the AC up a notch.

Hajime groaned. “Ugh… I guess. I haven’t really seen my cousin in years.”

“All the more reason to be excited then, no?” the driver said, raising an eyebrow.

“I mean… my family isn’t exactly… kind,” Hajime replied with a shrug that barely contained the weight behind it. “They’ll just pass judgment about how much money I’ve cost them, and how I’m still not a lawyer.”

The man frowned slightly. “That’s a bit harsh from them, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” Hajime sighed. “They funded high school for me. That kind of thing adds up.”

“High school?” the man repeated, curiosity flickering in his tone as his tongue darted across his lips, an unconscious movement Hajime couldn’t help noticing. “Were you privately educated?”

“Something like that,” Hajime said, eyes returning to the blur of the road outside. He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to reveal to this stranger. Most people back in school didn’t care which course he was in. They liked him anyway.

Most people did not include Nagito Komaeda.

Hajime hadn’t thought about Nagito in years. Absently, he wondered what the boy was doing now – if his luck had carried him through life, or if he’d remained a chaos magnet as usual. Nanami was probably still in touch with him, though Hajime couldn’t remember the last time he had actually caught up with her and who she still spoke to from school.

Nagito had made it very clear back then: the reserve course was beneath him, and Hajime himself was nothing more than a talentless leech.

But this man, this quiet stranger driving him across the country… he seemed different. Kind. Friendly. Friendly enough to drive him fourteen hours to Tokyo without complaint.

“I went to Hope’s Peak Academy,” Hajime finally admitted.

The man didn’t respond immediately, only gave a slight nod Hajime caught in his peripheral vision.

“I… was on the Reserve Course,” Hajime added, bracing himself for the inevitable sneer, the laugh, the cutting remark. He expected this “hotshot lawyer” to mock him in the same way Nagito had years ago.

Nothing.

The man’s fingers adjusted on the steering wheel, perhaps a little tighter, but he didn’t look like he cared in the slightest.

“So you’re well-educated,” he said finally. “Hope’s Peak breeds the best.”

“Well, yeah. But only the Ultimates,” Hajime muttered, a trace of defensiveness creeping in.

“Ah, I don’t think that’s true,” the man countered, shrugging lightly. “I’m sure there were amazing people on the Reserve Course too. You clearly are one of them. People obsessed with ‘talent’ need to remember there’s more to life than being sixteen and in high school.”

Hajime blinked. He wasn’t used to hearing someone speak so passionately about the Reserve Course. Almost as if this man had known what it was like to feel sidelined or underestimated. He wondered, fleetingly, if the man had his own “Nagito Komaeda” whispering doubts in his ear when he was younger.

“Yeah,” Hajime murmured, letting the thought pass. “Anyway… the tuition fees for the Reserve Course were so expensive my family nearly went into debt. I obviously supported myself in college, but I think they still hold grudges.”

“Well,” the man said optimistically, “they certainly won’t when you’re making headlines for winning cases.”

Hajime allowed himself a small, genuine smile. Maybe, just maybe, this trip wouldn’t be so miserable after all.

~~

The car rolled to a stop in front of an upscale restaurant tucked into the heart of Hiroshima’s downtown, its polished windows reflecting the midday sun and the gentle bustle of the street. Hajime hesitated for a moment, glancing at the sleek facade, the neatly stacked planters, and the soft clink of cutlery drifting from inside.

The man stepped out first, stretching his legs with a careful precision, adjusting the collar of his shirt and brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. Hajime followed, and only then did he hear the faint click of the car locking.

“Well,” the man said smoothly, a small smile tugging at his lips, “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Ah, I am, but–” Hajime began, looking up at the restaurant again. He had scraped together 9000 yen earlier, yes, but the idea of blowing it all on lunch on the first day of a fourteen-hour road trip made his stomach clench a little tighter.

“Don’t worry about the price.” The man interrupted, eyes soft, voice calm. “It’ll be my treat.”

Hajime blinked. “You’re already driving me across Japan.”

The man laughed lightly, a warm, carefree sound that seemed to brighten the space around them. “Well, consider it my second treat, then.”

Hajime wanted to argue, to insist he could at least pay his way, but the words died in his throat. He didn’t really have the money to argue anyway, and the man’s insistence made it… difficult. Reluctantly, Hajime nodded, following him inside.

The restaurant smelled faintly of grilled fish and herbs, a soft hum of conversation filling the space. The maître d greeted them with a polite smile.

“Hello, gentlemen.”

“Hello there,” the man replied smoothly, returning the smile with perfect politeness. “Do you have a table for two available?”

“Of course. Would you prefer indoor or outdoor seating?”

The man glanced at Hajime, whose shoulders rose in a casual shrug. “Outdoor will be fine.”

The maître d nodded, guiding them to a small patio overlooking a quiet street lined with cherry trees in full bloom. Two menus were handed over with careful precision, the sunlight catching the metallic edges of the silverware and glinting in the wine glasses already set.

As they sat, the man leaned back slightly in his chair, tapping his fingers against the tabletop in a rhythmic pattern. He glanced at Hajime with a playful smirk.

“You know,” he said, voice teasing, “if your family judges as harshly as you seem to think, I could serve as your plus-one for the wedding. I promise I’m polite… mostly.”

Hajime choked on a laugh, his shoulders shaking. “You’re… really confident.”

“Confidence,” the man replied smoothly, “is just a matter of luck and persistence. Or so I’ve been told.”

Hajime gave a dry chuckle, shaking his head. Something about the man’s calm humour, the way he carried himself, and the faint familiarity in his laugh made him feel… strange. Not uneasy, exactly, but like there was a missing piece in the puzzle he couldn’t quite name.

The man chuckled quietly to himself.

Hajime picked up the menu and tried to focus on the food, but the thought lingered, buried just beneath the surface: I know that laugh…

Hajime’s eyes flicked to the drinks menu first, curious what the man would order.

“I’ll just have water, thank you,” the man said, almost automatically.

Hajime raised a brow, smirking. “Water? Really? You’re driving a black luxury car across Japan, treating me to lunch, and all you’ll have is water?”

The man shrugged casually, tilting his head. “I prefer to keep my wits about me. And, if I’m honest, I quite like the taste.”

Hajime snorted, shaking his head. “Of course you do.”

The waiter arrived shortly after, taking their orders, and Hajime found himself glancing at the man again as he tucked a napkin onto his lap. There was something so effortlessly composed about him – calm, polite, yet with a teasing edge in his smile that made Hajime feel simultaneously at ease and a little flustered.

When their food arrived, Hajime picked at his meal while the man sipped his water, watching Hajime with mild amusement.

“So,” the man said after a bite of bread, leaning back slightly, “this wedding you’re heading to… you really aren’t looking forward to it?”

Hajime exhaled through his nose, fiddling with his chopsticks. “Not really. My family… they’re judgmental. Always have been. Every little misstep, every delay, every career hiccup – they notice it all. Honestly, I think they’d love to criticise me more than celebrate the wedding itself.”

The man’s eyes softened, but he spoke with a hint of playful seriousness. “Sounds exhausting. And let me guess – someone like me would probably be admired by them?”

Hajime froze mid-bite. Of course he would. Lawyer, wealthy, well-dressed, polite, charismatic – everything Hajime’s family would practically idolise. Even in casual conversation, he radiated confidence.

After a pause, Hajime said, almost impulsively, “You… you could actually come with me, if you want. I know you were probably just joking before, and I know it’s weird – we barely know each other – but… it might help–”

The man laughed, a soft, amused sound that made Hajime’s ears heat instantly. “You know, I think that’s the quickest I’ve ever been asked on a date,” he teased.

Hajime’s face turned crimson. “I-I wasn’t asking you on a date!” he stammered.

The man’s laughter softened into a warm smile. “If it would help you, though,” he said gently, voice calm and sincere, “I’d be more than willing. I’m free anyway.”

Hajime blinked, his stomach knotting in a strange mixture of nerves and relief. He looked down at his food, trying to focus on anything but the way that smile made him feel, like he’d been unexpectedly seen and understood.

For the first time that day, Hajime allowed himself a small, hesitant smile back. “Alright… then. Thanks.”

The man tilted his head slightly, as if noting the subtle shift in Hajime’s mood. “It’ll be fun,” he said simply. “Even if it’s just surviving your family’s commentary together.”

Hajime just shook his head. “Trust me, you’ll hate it.”

He couldn’t see behind the lens of the man’s metallic sunglasses, but he was sure he could feel the wink that got sent in his direction.

~~

“Hmm.” The man leaned against the car, one hand resting on the hood as he pondered aloud. “Would you rather we immediately start driving to Osaka, or would you like to explore Hiroshima first?”

Hajime hesitated. Ideally, he wanted to get back to Tokyo as quickly as possible. Yet, he rarely had the chance to explore Japan, let alone with a handsome stranger in a suit that probably cost more than his monthly rent.

“You’re driving,” Hajime said finally, trying to make the decision easy.

The man smirked, tilting his head. “That isn’t an answer, Hajime.”

Hajime groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. We could… explore?”

“Sure,” the man said, twirling his car keys between his fingers thoughtfully, his gaze flicking to the sky as if weighing the clouds themselves. “It’s another hour in the car. We could head to Itsukushima… though we’d need to take a ferry. Not sure if you’re prone to seasickness.”

A small smile crept across Hajime’s face. It would be about three o’clock by the time they arrived, giving them the whole evening to wander. He had always wanted to go but had never had the time with work pressing him constantly.

“No, I’m not seasick,” Hajime replied, trying to sound casual but secretly a little excited.

“Brilliant.” The man stepped toward the car, glancing back with a teasing smile. “I hope I’m not still on the ban list.”

Hajime froze, snorting through a laugh. “The ban list?”

The man’s cheeks tinged pink as he opened the driver’s side door. “Ah… I was seventeen, perhaps? I tried to use a vending machine on a ferry once. The machine jammed, and as I turned to walk away, two soda cans popped out. One of them hit the captain square in the face.” He laughed lightly, the sound soft but oddly melodic. “Terrible luck. I hope it was only a five-year ban.”

Hajime snorted again, settling into the passenger seat. “Terrible luck indeed.”

The man smiled to himself, starting the engine, the car purring smoothly beneath him.

But something about the way he said “terrible luck” made Hajime’s skin prickle. The words weren’t uncommon, and yet there was a familiarity in the rhythm, the subtle irony. His mind nudged at the memory, whispering faintly that he had heard it before, in a voice he thought he’d long forgotten.

No.

Hajime forced himself to push the thought away, focusing on the hum of the engine and the city slowly slipping past the windows. Not today, he told himself firmly. Just a road trip. Nothing more.

~~

“So, you still haven’t told me your name,” Hajime said, glancing at the man as he turned the car toward the ferry parking lot. The sunlight glinted off his sunglasses, but Hajime caught the faint arch of his brow.

“I’m your chauffeur,” the man replied smoothly, voice carrying a faint teasing lilt, “and also your date to the wedding, apparently.”

Hajime smirked, a little amused despite himself. “Great. Can’t wait to introduce you as my ‘chauffeur’ to the family.”

“Why not?” The man tilted his head slightly, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips as he cut the engine. “It makes it sound like you’ve gone up in the world.”

Hajime chuckled, shaking his head. There was something oddly comforting in the casual confidence with which this man spoke, yet beneath it lay a sophistication that Hajime couldn’t quite place. The driver unbuckled his seatbelt, stretching slightly, the smile softening, just enough to hint at a gentler side.

“My name is Ko,” he said quietly, as though the moment called for it.

Hajime blinked. “Ko?” he repeated. “Is that short for something?”

The man shrugged lightly, hands in his pockets. “Maybe. Maybe not. That’s what people call me most often… though, I admit, it sometimes makes me feel like a pet.” He laughed softly, a sound that was easy but somehow carried weight, like a memory you couldn’t quite place.

Hajime chuckled at his evasiveness. I get it, he thought. This is someone who’s clearly important, someone who moves through the world with a measure of control. Even if he’s letting me tag along, maybe the name is still too personal to hand out carelessly.

The two men exited the car, Hajime waiting for Ko to meet him on his side. The air was warm and salty, carrying the faint scent of the Seto Inland Sea. Seagulls wheeled lazily above as the ferry terminal came into view, passengers milling about with cameras and shopping bags.

Ko paid for two tickets with a swipe of his card, then turned to Hajime with a raised eyebrow. “Would you like to stay on the deck, or inside?”

Hajime considered for a moment, the gentle breeze ruffling his hair. “Uh… on the deck? Might be a nicer view.”

“Of course.” Ko’s lips curved into a soft smile. “We may even catch the sunset on the way back. It tends to be quite… spectacular.”

Hajime nodded, feeling a flicker of anticipation. Somehow, this trip, which had begun as a stressful scramble to get back to Tokyo, was already turning into something unexpected. Pleasant, even. And while he didn’t know exactly who this Ko was yet, Hajime found himself quietly curious to see the journey unfold.

~~

Hajime’s phone buzzed as they gazed out toward the looming island of Itsukushima. He picked up without checking the screen.

“Hey, bastard,” Fuyuhiko barked, his voice cutting through the salty breeze. “You finally decided to pick up?”

“Hello to you too, Fuyuhiko,” Hajime replied, a little too cheerfully. Ko raised an eyebrow but said nothing, leaning casually against the deck railing.

“Don’t give me that bullshit. Where the fuck are you?” Fuyuhiko sounded impatient. Hajime frowned.

“Uh… currently on a ferry to Itsukushima. Why?”

“Oh, so you can afford a fuckin’ ferry to explore but not a flight home? Whatever. Not important. Wanna tell me what the hell last night was?”

Hajime blinked. “What?”

“Yeah, you tell me. One second you’re all ‘I can’t afford jack shit,’ I offer you a place to stay, and the next… nothing. I thought you were dead, Hinata! Thought I’d have to get the clan to search for you.”

“Fuyuhiko, I’m fine. I promise. I got talking to a guy from Tokyo… he offered to drive me back.”

“You’re telling me you actually got in that stranger’s car?!”

Hajime hesitated, cheeks warming slightly. “I know it sounds bad, but… you might know him. He was in the bar. Light brown hair, kind of… suit.”

Beside him, Ko tapped his phone lightly, leaning over the railing and biting his lip as Hajime began describing him to Fuyuhiko. Hajime, too flustered to pay much attention, ignored the gesture.

“Light brown hair? What? Great description, Hinata.” Fuyuhiko’s snort of disbelief rang in Hajime’s ear, then silence. “Wait. Light brown hair, suit… from Tokyo?!”

“Uh… yes?”

“Oh, yeah, I fuckin’ know who that is, alright.” Fuyuhiko barked. “Hajime, you got a ride from–”

Suddenly, Hajime’s phone went dead mid-sentence. The call cut off, leaving only static.

Hajime pulled it away from his ear, blinking in confusion. “What the–?”

Ko furrowed his brow as he glanced at his own phone. “Ah. It seems we lost signal. How unlucky.” He frowned, tapping a few buttons, though nothing changed, yet his eyes seemed satisfied.

“Yeah,” Hajime replied, slightly unnerved, not understanding why Fuyuhiko had sounded so stressed.

“Was your friend okay?” Ko asked, straightening and casting a casual glance toward Hajime.

“Oh, yeah. Fuyuhiko’s fine. He’s always shouting, if that’s what you thought you heard.”

“Oh, no.” Ko waved dismissively. “I wasn’t eavesdropping.”

Hajime caught himself almost asking if Ko knew Fuyuhiko – based on the way he reacted to Hajime’s description – but something about the timing, and that strange look in his eyes when he frowned at his phone, made him stop. Probably nothing, he told himself.

As the ferry gently lurched forward, Hajime’s gaze lingered on Ko, watching the faint curve of a smile tug at his lips. He didn’t know why, but a small, nagging thought pricked at the back of his mind.

Why did his eyes not match his frown?

A small gust of wind lifted a strand of Ko’s hair, and Hajime felt that familiar, inexplicable prickle along his spine. The feeling of being watched, but not in a threatening way. Just a friendly stranger, he reassured himself.

Still, the timing of the phone cutout, and Ko’s oddly satisfied glance toward the horizon… Hajime silently decided to let it go.

For now, at least, the ferry ride was just a ferry ride.

~~

The ferry docked with a gentle lurch, the sun casting sparkling reflections across the water. Hajime followed Ko off the boat, squinting against the sunlight, the scent of the sea mingling with the faint fragrance of nearby cedar trees. The island was quiet, almost serene. A welcome contrast to the chaos of the past twenty-four hours.

Ko adjusted his sleeves as they walked along the wooden pier, glancing down at Hajime with a teasing smile. “You’re sure you’re not seasick?”

Hajime shook his head, feeling the breeze ruffle his hair. “I’ll survive. The water’s… nice, actually.”

Ko’s smile widened. “See? That’s the spirit. It suits you.”

Hajime blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re tense. Always calculating, always worried. But out here, you seem… lighter. Relaxed, even.”

Hajime felt his ears warm. “I’m not that tense.” He quickly shook off the embarrassment. “Probably just… happy to not be stuck in a car.”

They strolled toward the shrine, the iconic torii gate looming ahead, its vermilion paint glowing against the deep blue sky. Pilgrims and tourists moved quietly around them, snapping photos or whispering to one another. Hajime noticed the way Ko’s stride was unhurried but confident, his hands occasionally brushing against the railings of the wooden pathways as though he belonged here.

“So… the ferry, the shrine, the sunset. Sounds like a well-planned itinerary for a first date,” Ko remarked, glancing at Hajime with a subtle smirk.

Hajime coughed lightly, a blush creeping up his neck. “First date?” He waved a hand. “We’re just…walking around. You know, sightseeing. Totally platonic.”

Ko chuckled softly. “Sure. That’s what they all say at the start.”

Hajime groaned inwardly, but couldn’t help smiling. He decided it was better to let it slide; this Ko was… different. Comfortable. Easy to joke with. He deserved a little fun, at least.

They climbed the steps toward the main shrine, taking a moment to wash their hands at the purification fountain. Hajime watched Ko perform the ritual with meticulous care, then catch Hajime’s curious glance and shrug lightly.

“You don’t have to do it properly,” Ko said, grinning. “But I suppose it makes for a better picture of me being cultured.”

Hajime laughed. “You’re trying too hard to seem normal.”

Ko’s smile softened. “Normal is overrated.”

Hajime shook his head, pretending to scold him, but inwardly feeling that ease in Ko’s presence that had been missing from his life for years. They wandered through the shaded paths, stopping to admire the giant camphor trees and the tiny stone lanterns lining the trail. Ko occasionally pointed out small details: a bird nesting in a tree, a crack in the stone steps, the way sunlight spilled through the foliage, drawing Hajime’s attention to things he might have otherwise missed.

By mid-afternoon, Hajime’s phone buzzed again. A text from Fuyuhiko: “Are you alive?!” He stared at it for a moment, then rolled his eyes. Ko noticed.

“Someone worried about you?” Ko asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hajime sighed. “My friend who called earlier. He’s loud, impatient… a bit overprotective.” He tapped the screen. “He’ll calm down. Probably.”

Ko chuckled, brushing his hand against Hajime’s shoulder as they navigated a narrow pathway. “If you say so. You’re lucky he cares.”

Hajime smiled faintly, letting the tension slip from his shoulders. Maybe I am lucky…

As the afternoon waned into early evening, they reached the main torii again, this time taking a path closer to the shore to watch the tide. Ko leaned against the railing, hands in his pockets, glancing at Hajime with an unreadable expression.

“So, tell me,” Ko said, voice low and playful, “are we going to immediately disappear from each other’s lives after the wedding?”

Hajime felt his stomach twist in a mixture of nerves and amusement. “Depends on how good you are at schmoozing my family.” he replied, pretending to be nonchalant.

“Ah,” Ko said, eyes glinting in the soft light. “Sounds like you want to spend time with me.”

Hajime glanced at him, trying to maintain his composure, but the hint of a grin escaped. “Maybe. You’re not bad company.”

“Not bad company?” Ko repeated, mock-offended. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Hajime rolled his eyes, but there was a warmth in his chest he hadn’t felt in a long time.

By 6:30 PM, they found a quiet spot near the water’s edge to rest. The sky had shifted into a soft palette of oranges and purples, the tide lapping gently against the wooden posts. Hajime sat on a bench, taking in the view, feeling the stress of the past week finally start to dissolve.

Ko handed him a bottled water. “Here. You’re red from the sun.”

Hajime smirked. “Not from the sun. From your terrible flirting.”

Ko laughed softly, a sound that made Hajime’s heart skip. “Maybe I’ll take that as a challenge to do better next time.”

Hajime shook his head, smiling to himself.. For the first time in a long time, nothing felt suspicious. Everything just felt right.

As the sun dipped lower, casting golden light across the water, Hajime realized he was looking forward to the next part of the trip.

Wherever it might take him.

~~

Under the setting sun, Ko’s face seemed to light up in a way Hajime hadn’t seen since meeting him. The golden-orange glow softened the sharpness of his jawline, highlighting the subtle angles that made him seem both approachable and impossibly composed.

Ko readjusted his sunglasses, the motion casual, almost deliberate, before turning toward Hajime with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re staring at me.” The comment wasn’t a question; it was a gentle accusation, delivered with a teasing lilt.

Hajime felt his face flush, thankful that the warm light and shadows hid the deeper shade of red creeping across his cheeks. “Just… taking everything in,” he muttered, glancing away toward the horizon.

Ko laughed softly, a sound like chimes in the wind. “Well, I can see that.” His tone carried a hint of amusement, but also something softer, a touch of curiosity that made Hajime’s stomach twist.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it get to your head,” Hajime said quickly, half-smiling, half-nervous.

Ko continued to smile, though Hajime noticed the expression softened as his gaze shifted back to the orange-tinted water. “…You know, I don’t think you would’ve liked me a few years ago,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost introspective.

Hajime frowned. “Why’s that?”

“Well…” Ko paused, letting the words hang. “I had quite a… negative view on the world. On people, in general.”

Hajime shrugged lightly, trying to downplay his own thoughts. “Don’t we all? I was a pessimist too. Still am.”

Ko’s mouth quirked slightly, a faint, wistful smile. “I suppose. It was a surprise I even had friends… well, if you could call them that.”

Hajime furrowed his eyebrows, intrigued.

Ko’s gaze drifted back to the horizon, the sunlight catching the edge of his hair. “I wouldn’t go as far to say they dislikedme. But I do feel as though they only tolerated me. It was a relatively small class, so we only really had each other.”

“You don’t seem like a bad person,” Hajime said gently, his voice softening with something he hadn’t intended to convey.

Ko’s smile brightened slightly at the words, a hint of something like relief flickering across his face. “…Thank you, Hajime.”

Hajime couldn’t tell why, but something about the way Ko accepted the compliment struck deeper than it should have. It wasn’t vanity; it was a quiet need for recognition, a subtle vulnerability that Hajime hadn’t expected from someone so composed.

For a few minutes, they lapsed into comfortable silence, the ferry gliding smoothly over the water. Hajime found himself stealing glances at Ko, the sunlight brushing across his profile, the faint crease of his brow when he focused on the horizon. There was something grounding about the presence beside him. Calm, deliberate, and yet, entirely unpredictable.

“We’re adults now, Ko,” Hajime said after a while, breaking the silence. “Whatever you did in the past – it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Ko tilted his head, a slight grin playing across his lips. “I hope it doesn’t,” he replied softly.

“I mean, look at you. You’re a lawyer at 24. That’s something in itself.”

Ko laughed quietly, the sound warm but thoughtful. “I suppose it is. But, talent only carries you so far. It’s hard work that gets you where you want to be. I wish I realised that sooner.”

Hajime’s chest warmed at the sincerity in Ko’s voice, but his brain caught on the word “talent.” He froze for just a heartbeat. Ko hadn’t mentioned anything about having a talent, and Hajime knew he wasn’t a Hope’s Peak graduate. He had said he graduated in the same year as Hajime, and Hajime would’ve remembered if he’d been in Class 77.

Yet… there was something in the way he said it. Something oddly familiar about the cadence, the emphasis, the way his eyes caught Hajime’s when he smiled.

Hajime shook the thought away before it could take root.

Maybe talent didn’t always equate to being an Ultimate.

Maybe old voices didn’t have to echo in his mind forever.

~~

Ko had decided that they should book a hotel for the night in Hiroshima. Hajime had quickly realised that trying to argue against Ko was almost useless, as he was the one driving anyway and Hajime didn’t really have a say nor the finances.

Ko thanked the receptionist, slipping the keycard into his pocket as if it were nothing, while Hajime muttered his own quiet thanks and tried not to look like some wide-eyed country bumpkin. Which, considering the marble floor and chandelier overhead, he probably did.

As they made their way to the elevator, Hajime finally spoke.
“You know, it’s really nice of you to do this for me,” he said. His voice came out more awkward than he intended, like he was forcing gratitude through a clogged drain.

Ko glanced at him, tilting his head with that easy smile Hajime still hadn’t figured out. “You don’t need to thank me. You needed to get back to Tokyo, and I was heading there anyway. Having company is… nice.”

There was a softness in the way he said it, something Hajime wasn’t used to hearing directed at him. It made his throat feel tight.

“Well, yeah,” Hajime muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “But still. I don’t think I’d let some random guy into my car.”

Ko smirked faintly, eyes glinting behind his sunglasses. “Maybe we’re not strangers.”

Hajime snorted at that, rolling his eyes to hide the sudden heat creeping into his ears. “Yeah, right. I think I’d remember meeting someone like you.”

Ko’s smirk only deepened, like he knew something Hajime didn’t. “You’d hope,” Ko shot back with a small laugh.

The elevator dinged, and Hajime shoved his suitcase in first, pretending that was the end of it.

~~

Room 305 was the kind of hotel room Hajime only ever saw in TV dramas. Two queen beds with crisp white sheets, a glossy wooden desk with a complimentary fruit basket, and a bathroom that looked bigger than his old apartment. Hajime froze in the doorway, his jaw slack.

“…Holy shit.”

Ko wheeled his suitcase inside without fanfare, setting it down near one of the beds. “It’s nothing special,” he said lightly, already tugging at his tie as if he were in his own home.

“Not special?!” Hajime barked a laugh, dragging his suitcase in and closing the door. “Ko, this room probably costs more than my rent. I would live here if I could.”

“Mm. The pillows aren’t that comfortable,” Ko replied, deadpan.

Hajime stared at him, incredulous. “…Are you serious right now?”

Ko only chuckled and perched on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his hair. “You get used to it.”

Hajime felt a pang in his chest. Envy, maybe, or something sharper he didn’t want to name. He dumped his suitcase beside the other bed and flopped down, staring at the ceiling. “…Guess this is what it’s like to hang out with someone rich.”

“That’s one way to describe it,” Ko said, amused. “Another way is: hanging out with someone who happened to get very, very lucky.”

Hajime groaned, throwing an arm over his face. “You and your luck…”

There was a beat of silence, then Ko’s voice, a touch lighter: “Shame we aren’t sharing a bed.”

Hajime jerked his arm away, staring at him. “…Excuse me?”

Ko leaned back on his hands, his smirk edging toward playful. “Well, I’ll have to pretend to be your boyfriend in a week. Wouldn’t it be good practice?”

Hajime’s face went hot in an instant. “Wh–! That’s not– You can’t just say stuff like that!”

Ko’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter, his grin softening as his eyes lingered on Hajime. “…You’re fun to tease.”

Hajime turned away with a muttered, “shut up,” but his chest was warm in a way he didn’t want to examine too closely.

~~

Later, when the lights were dimmed and Hajime was cocooned in sheets that smelled faintly of lavender detergent, the room was quiet. Just the hum of the air conditioning, and Ko’s steady breathing from the other bed.

For a while, Hajime thought Ko had already drifted off. His own mind was halfway there, lulled by exhaustion, when a voice cut through the dark.

“You know… I’m still not very good at this.”

Hajime blinked at the ceiling. “…At what?”

There was a pause. Ko spoke, lighter than usual, but still careful. “Being around people without ruining it somehow.”

Hajime frowned. That was… a strange thing to admit in a hotel room with someone you’d only met yesterday. But it didn’t sound like a line. It sounded honest.

“You haven’t ruined anything,” Hajime muttered, trying to keep the edge of defensiveness out of his tone.

Ko chuckled softly, almost to himself. “Not yet.”

The way he said it made Hajime shift uncomfortably in his sheets. He wanted to ask what Ko meant – if this was some kind of self-deprecating joke or if there was history behind it – but something about the weight of the silence stopped him.

“You’re dramatic,” Hajime said finally, rolling onto his side.

“I’ve been told that before,” Ko replied, amusement curling at the edge of his voice.

Hajime huffed and pulled the blanket tighter around himself. “Figures.”

Ko’s laughter softened until it faded back into quiet.

But Hajime found himself staring into the dark long after, unsettled by the way Ko had said not yet. Like it wasn’t a joke. Like it was a promise.

Chapter Text

Hajime awoke to the sound of a zipper sliding shut.
He cracked one eye open, the morning light filtering weakly through the curtains. Ko was crouched by his suitcase, his brow furrowed in concentration. For a second he looked almost ordinary, just some guy packing up for a trip. Then he straightened, movements precise, like he’d rehearsed them.

“…Morning,” Hajime rasped, voice still rough with sleep.

Ko startled slightly, then recovered with a smile. “Ah, good morning, Hajime.” He brushed invisible dust off his trousers. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, you didn’t.” Hajime yawned, running a hand through his hair. “What were you doing?”

“Hm?” Ko blinked, the picture of innocence. “Oh, I was just…putting yesterday’s clothes away.”

“Right.” Hajime let it go, though he couldn’t shake the image of that crease in Ko’s forehead, like he’d been thinking too hard for a simple task.

He pushed himself up on his elbows and froze. For the first time, Ko wasn’t wearing his sunglasses.

His eyes were pale. Too pale. A washed-out green that looked like it belonged to someone Hajime knew. Someone who should’ve been impossible to mistake. The resemblance tugged at something in his chest.

Hajime’s brain immediately rebelled. No way. Not possible.

Nagito didn’t have brown hair. Nagito wasn’t some well-dressed lawyer with a luxury car and a hotel budget like this. And Nagito definitely wouldn’t be this…friendly. This generous.

…Would he?

“Hajime?” Ko’s voice cut through his spiral, tinged with concern. “Are you okay?”

Hajime blinked, caught staring. “Huh? Yeah. I’m fine. Was just…thinking.”

Thinking about ghosts that shouldn’t be standing in front of him.

“If you say so.” Ko slipped the sunglasses back on, almost too quickly. “I think we should get breakfast and then start the drive to Osaka. It’s about four hours.”

“Sure,” Hajime muttered, swinging his legs out of bed. The floor was cold under his feet. “Give me five minutes.”

“Of course.” Ko gave a small bow, like he always did – overly polite, almost self-mocking – before stepping out toward the balcony.

Hajime watched his back, uneasy.

Something didn’t add up.

~~

Ko opened the trunk with practiced ease, hefting Hajime’s suitcase as though it weighed nothing. He set it down without complaint, but just as he reached for the driver’s side door, his phone buzzed.

He paused. A flicker of hesitation crossed his face before he thumbed the screen open.

“Ah, hello?” His tone shifted lighter, almost formal. The door shut with a soft thud. Hajime slipped into the passenger seat, watching the way Ko’s shoulders stiffened.

“Mm. Sonia-san?” Ko’s brow furrowed, eyes flicking briefly to the GPS as if checking the date. “I will not be back in Tokyo until Saturday.”

Hajime froze for half a second. Sonia?

Ko drummed his fingers against his thigh, expression neutral except for the tiniest crease between his brows. “…I will have to check my work commitments, but I’m sure I will be available by then, yes.”

Click. The line went dead. Ko slid the phone back into his pocket and adjusted his mirror like nothing had happened.

“You have plans?” Hajime asked, voice deliberately casual.

For just a heartbeat, Ko’s grip on the seat lever tightened, a tiny detail Hajime knew he wasn’t supposed to notice. But he did. Ko smoothed the movement instantly, expression serene as ever.

“Ah, sort of. An old school friend of mine is hosting a… meal, of sorts. We’ve not all caught up in a very long time, and she doesn’t live in Japan anymore, so it’s rare we hear from her.”

Hajime blinked, his mind sticking stubbornly to that name. Sonia. Ko had said Sonia-san.

And Hajime did know a Sonia. Sonia Nevermind. Princess of Novoselic, Class 77. Main Course.

It would explain why she wasn’t in Japan often. But if that was the case–

“I see,” Hajime said slowly. “I knew a Sonia.”

Ko cleared his throat, shifting the car into reverse. His smile was polite. “Did you?”

“Mm. She was on the Main Course at Hope’s Peak.” Hajime’s eyebrow arched, just a little sharper than he meant it to.

Ko’s chuckle was soft, practiced. “Ah, then I’m afraid it is not the same Sonia.”

Too fast. The denial landed just a fraction too quickly, too neat.

“Right.” Hajime leaned back against the headrest, pretending to let it go. Because Ko didn’t go to Hope’s Peak. He couldn’t have. Hajime would’ve known him.

Still, the thought crawled under his skin like static. If Sonia had reached out to Ko…

And if she reached out to Hajime with the same invitation later today…

Then whoever Ko was, he had ties Hajime couldn’t ignore.

And sooner or later, he’d have to explain them.

~~

They’d been on the road for an hour and a half, smooth asphalt and green blur rolling endlessly past, and Hajime was trying not to think too hard.

Suspicion was pointless. It wasn’t fair. Ko wasn’t Nagito. He couldn’t be. It was absurd, how his brain insisted on dragging that name back into the light after six years.

“So,” Ko broke the quiet, smirking in Hajime’s direction, “are we having another date today?”

Hajime snorted, relief tugging at his lips. “Are you asking me on one?”

“Perhaps,” Ko drawled, eyes back on the road. “It’ll make great practice in front of your family.”

Hajime rolled his eyes. Ko seemed very insistent on these practice dates. He slide his gaze to Ko with a smirk before it faltered slightly at Ko’s expression shifting in the mirror, brows tightening a little.

Blue and red lights flashed against the glass.

Ko exhaled heavily. “…Ah. Just my luck.”

Hajime blinked, confused, as Ko steered smoothly toward the hard shoulder. A patrol car slid in behind them.

“You weren’t speeding, were you?” Hajime asked, though his voice carried more disbelief than accusation.

“No, I was not,” Ko said flatly, already lowering the driver’s window.

An officer leaned in, posture relaxed, polite smile in place. “Afternoon, gentlemen.”

“Good afternoon,” Ko returned, clipped but civil. His hand tapped against the steering wheel, almost impatient.

Hajime bit back a smirk. This poor officer had no idea he’d pulled over two lawyers – or, well, one lawyer and one still clawing his way through training. Either way, they’d both studied enough statutes to dance around a traffic stop.

“May I ask why you have pulled me over?” Ko asked, tone cool, faint irritation bleeding through.

The officer raised his hands placatingly. “Routine check, sir. We’ve had reports of unlicensed vehicles in the area. Just making sure everything’s in order.”

Ko’s jaw flexed. “Of course.” His fingers drummed a restless rhythm against the leather.

“Do you have your registration papers?”

“I do not,” Ko said smoothly, then added, “But I do have my license.”

“Would you provide it, sir? Just so I can confirm your details.”

Ko inclined his head, then glanced sideways. “Hajime? Would you mind? Glovebox.”

“Sure.” Hajime reached forward, popped open the compartment. Nestled among a few neatly folded documents was a slim white card. He plucked it out, handing it across. Ko’s fingers lingered on the plastic for half a second before he passed it to the officer.

The man retreated to his cruiser, whistling softly.

“Do you get pulled over a lot?” Hajime asked, trying to inject levity into the silence.

Ko gave a dry chuckle. “It seems to happen to me more than most people, yes.”

“Maybe you’re a reckless driver,” Hajime teased.

Ko didn’t rise to it. His smile was faint, distracted. “Mm. My luck does tend to… draw things in at the worst times.”

Before Hajime could press, the officer returned, all easy smiles again. “Thank you for your time, everything checks out fine.”

Ko nodded curtly, reaching out for the license. “Mm. Then we’re free to go?”

“Of course.” The officer handed it back with a genial wave. “Safe travels, Nagito!”

The name hit like a hammer.

Ko’s arm twitched – barely, but Hajime saw it.

And Hajime froze.

Nagito?

No. That wasn’t… That couldn’t–

Nagito wasn’t a common name, but it wasn’t only Nagito Komaeda’s, either. It could be coincidence. It had to be coincidence. Because the alternative was–

Ko slid the card into Hajime’s hand with a slightly strained smile. “Could– could you put it back?”

“Yeah,” Hajime muttered, throat suddenly dry.

He turned it over. Just a glance. Just to confirm what he already knew wasn’t possible.

Nagito Komaeda.

The letters burned into his brain like a brand.

His mouth moved before he could stop it, sharp and raw.

“You’re fucking joking.”

Chapter Text

Nagito didn’t speak for several seconds. Just pushed his finger against the button, the engine rumbling alive again as if nothing had happened.

Hajime’s pulse slammed in his ears. Every instinct screamed at him to get out now. But the options weren’t great: fling himself onto the highway at 90 miles per hour, get flattened by a truck, or sit still and endure the fact that Nagito Komaeda was here, alive, and driving him across Japan.

Tokyo was still hundreds of kilometres away. He had no money. No backup plan. If he ditched Nagito here, he’d be stranded. And worse, he’d have to admit to Fuyuhiko of all people that he’d climbed willingly into a car with Nagito fucking Komaeda.

Although clearly, Fuyuhiko already knew that and had tried to warn him.

Jaw clenched, Hajime shoved the license back into the glovebox like it was evidence he didn’t want to see again.

“Ah. Surprise?” Nagito said at last, tone maddeningly casual as he merged back into traffic.

The irritation in Hajime’s chest ignited like dry kindling. “Surprise?!”

Nagito didn’t even flinch. His profile stayed calm, eyes on the road.

“What the fuck do you mean, surprise?!” Hajime snapped, heat rising up his throat. “You’re telling me this whole time you knew – you knew – and you didn’t even bother to say a word? What, was this all one big joke to you? One last chance to screw with me, huh? Six years later and you’re still the same!”

Nagito’s knuckles whitened against the wheel. His voice, though even, had an edge to it. “You know I’ve changed since school, Hajime.”

“Do I really?” Hajime shot back, bitter. “Because last I checked, you were great at performances. Around our class. Around me. Pretending you didn’t have some ulterior motive.”

Nagito’s jaw tightened. “What benefit would lying about my intentions even bring me here?” His foot pressed heavier on the accelerator, the car humming louder.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hajime spat. “Maybe so you could get a laugh out of it later? Tell yourself, wow, Hajime Hinata’s still broke, still talentless, still can’t pass the bar. And then chivalrous Nagito Komaeda swoops in to drive him across the damn country like some kind of saviour.”

Nagito let out a sharp, humourless laugh. “Yes, because at twenty-four I live for applause and pity. That’s all I want in life.”

“That’s all you were ever good at in school,” Hajime muttered, arms crossing tight across his chest.

Nagito’s voice rose suddenly, cutting through the car’s hum. “Well, Hajime, people change!” His tone wasn’t cruel, but it was raw. Frustrated, defensive. “I know what I was like back then. I know I hurt people. I know I hurt you. But that was six years ago. Don’t tell me I can’t change – because you didn’t even recognise me.”

Hajime’s throat locked. For a moment, he didn’t have a comeback. Then the words spat out anyway, bitter as bile. “Yeah? Well, I wish I did. I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near you.”

Silence swallowed the car.

Nagito didn’t reply. His lips pressed into a thin line, hands steady on the wheel. The only thing that betrayed him was the way his foot eased heavier onto the gas, the car eating up the road with sharp, impatient speed.

Hajime folded in on himself, staring hard at the blur of highway lights. His chest was tight, mind buzzing, too loud to think straight. He’d told himself for years that he didn’t care if he ever saw Nagito again. That he wanted to forget.

So why did it hurt this much?

~~

The tension deserved its own chair between them.
It sat heavy in the backseat, looming like an uninvited passenger, while the two of them drove in brittle quiet.

They’d managed an hour without speaking. Just the hum of the engine, the blur of headlights, and Hajime’s anger radiating off him like steam. He knew Nagito could feel it. Hell, the bastard was probably cataloguing it. And Nagito’s own tight-jawed irritation didn’t help.

Finally, Hajime snapped. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Nagito’s hands stayed steady on the wheel. No reply.

Hajime’s lip curled. “Great. Now you’re ignoring me.”

Nagito’s voice came out clipped, exasperated. “I don’t know what you want, Hajime. You don’t want me to speak to you, and now you do.”

“I want answers.” Hajime leaned toward him, eyes narrowing at Nagito’s maddeningly calm profile.

“Of course you do,” Nagito muttered, jaw tight. “Answers to what?”

“Why you pretended you weren’t… you.” Hajime’s voice cracked sharper than he intended. “Why the hell you thought lying to me was the right call.”

Nagito exhaled slowly through his nose. “Because, Hajime, you would’ve run the second I told you. You would’ve taken one look at me, turned on your heel, and vanished. Don’t bother denying it.”

Hajime bristled. “I think I would’ve had the right to.”

“Mm.” Nagito’s fingers flexed against the leather steering wheel. “And I think I have the right to try and rectify my mistakes.”

That shut Hajime up for about three seconds. His eyes narrowed further, waiting for Nagito to elaborate. Something. Anything. But Nagito’s gaze stayed fixed on the road, face unreadable.

“If you want me to drop you off in Osaka, fine,” Nagito said at last, voice flat. “I will. And we’ll never speak again. You can pretend this never happened. You’re good at that.”

Hajime’s stomach churned at the jab. He stared out the window, jaw aching from how hard he was clenching it.

“Or,” Nagito continued, voice low but steady, “we can keep driving to Tokyo. You can get to your cousin’s wedding. Because we both know you don’t have another way there.”

“Oh, thanks,” Hajime muttered darkly. “Really appreciate the reminder.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” Nagito’s eyes flicked toward him for a fraction of a second. “Otherwise, you never would’ve gotten into a stranger’s car in the first place. Or worse – Nagito Komaeda’s car.”

Hajime swallowed hard. His throat was dry, mind buzzing with a dozen retorts, but none that held water.

Because Nagito was right.
Infuriatingly, painfully, right.

Nagito’s voice softened, but only just. “The choice is yours, Hajime.”

Hajime stared out the window, watching the blur of road signs and distant fields roll by, Nagito’s words rattling around in his head like loose change.

He could just leave in Osaka. Thank him for the ride, force some kind of awkward farewell, and try to beg Fuyuhiko for a loan to make it the rest of the way. Osaka was a big city; someone there would have buses, trains, taxis. Hell, maybe even another sympathetic stranger.

But that was hours away. Right now, they were stuck on a stretch of highway with nothing but countryside and rest stops. Jumping out of the car wasn’t an option unless he wanted to die, and Nagito, damn him, knew it. Hajime also knew that even if he tried, Nagito wouldn’t actually throw him out. Not after everything.

Besides… Hajime had survived three years of Nagito Komaeda in high school. The manipulations, the speeches, the constant headaches. What were five more days compared to that? Just grit his teeth, endure it, and get to Tokyo.

He pressed his lips into a thin line, refusing to give Nagito the satisfaction of an answer.

Nagito’s eyes flicked to him briefly, then back to the road. He nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and adjusted his grip on the wheel.

The silence stretched again, but this time Nagito didn’t press. He simply drove on, as if Hajime’s quiet was the only confirmation he needed.

~~

Hajime had too many questions, and not enough answers.

Had Nagito really faked his entire personality this whole time, waiting for the perfect reveal? Or had he changed, somehow, in ways Hajime couldn’t begin to understand?

No. That didn’t feel right. Nagito Komaeda couldn’t ‘change’. The Nagito Komaeda Hajime remembered was the kind of person who stared at the Reserve Course like they were insects. Who clung to his so-called “talent” like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. Who could twist words until Hajime didn’t know if he was being mocked or praised.

And yet, the man sitting next to him had said calmly, almost casually, that talent doesn’t matter in the adult world. He booked hotels without blinking, drove him across the country, and spoke with the kind of maturity Hajime wasn’t sure he trusted.

Had it all been a farce? Some elaborate setup to get Hajime’s guard down, just to wriggle back under his skin?

Why, six years later, was Nagito Komaeda still targeting him?

The driver’s door swung open, snapping Hajime out of his thoughts. Nagito dropped back into his seat, phone pressed to his ear, his brows furrowed as if he’d been carrying the weight of a long calculation.

“Perfect. I’ll pay the deposit when we get there.”

He pulled the phone away from his ear, ending the call.

Hajime blinked, turning his head. “Deposit?”

Nagito sighed as if explaining the obvious. “I booked a hotel for tonight. Even if you decide to leave when we get to Osaka, at least you’ll have somewhere to stay.” He slid his phone into his pocket with a quiet finality.

Hajime turned away, conflicted. Why was Nagito being…nice? What was his aim here?

Something landed in his lap, and Hajime flinched hard, bracing for the familiar cold shock of water soaking through his jeans, just like second year, when Nagito had “accidentally” tipped a bottle on him in front of the others. His scowl was already forming as he looked down.

But instead of a wet stain, there was an unopened bottle. A full litre.

“…Huh?” Hajime muttered.

Nagito cleared his throat, almost embarrassed. “Water. It’s hot outside.”

Hajime stared at the bottle like it was a trap, like the plastic was hiding something venomous. Slowly, he twisted the cap, took a cautious swig. The cool water slid down his throat, soothing the dryness he hadn’t even noticed until then.

“…Thanks,” he muttered, barely audible.

Nagito was already starting the engine again. His voice came quiet, almost clipped.
“Don’t mention it.”

~~

There were thirty minutes left until Osaka.

Nagito’s eyes flicked to the GPS, his lips pressed into a thin, uneasy line. “I’m…sorry, Hajime.”

Hajime didn’t reply. He didn’t even turn his head. He just kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, jaw tight.

“I know I should’ve told you,” Nagito continued, fingers tightening around the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened. “And I had my reasons for not saying anything. I just… can’t tell you right now.”

A sharp laugh almost escaped Hajime, but he swallowed it down. Of course he had reasons. Nagito always had reasons. Clever excuses wrapped in self-deprecation, excuses that sounded like confessions.

“But I know I should’ve said who I was,” Nagito finished quietly, pulling them off the highway.

Hajime finally spoke, his voice rougher than he intended. “I wouldn’t have guessed if I didn’t see your ID.”

Nagito glanced at him from the corner of his eye, frowning. “Do I really look that different?”

“Well…you don’t look like you’re perpetually two seconds away from passing out anymore,” Hajime muttered, the words slipping out sharper than he meant.

Silence. For a moment, Hajime thought Nagito would just let it hang.

“…Well, I suppose that’s because I’m not.”

Hajime frowned, turning his head a fraction. “What?”

“I…” Nagito began, tongue darting over his lips. And for the first time in the entire trip, Hajime saw something he didn’t expect.

Nervousness.

A crack in the polished veneer, a flash of the boy he remembered. “Look, that doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, guess not,” Hajime murmured, leaning back against the headrest. But the words sat wrong in his stomach. Nagito was hiding something. Again. And Hajime hated that part of him still cared enough to notice.

“I didn’t really mean your appearance though.”

“Oh?” Nagito’s voice was soft, almost hopeful.

“Yeah.”

But Hajime didn’t say the rest.
Didn’t admit that before he’d learned the truth, he’d found Ko attractive. That Nagito looked like someone respectable now – a man with too much money, a practiced smile, and a heart that seemed strangely generous.
Didn’t let any of it slip.

Because that was dangerous. And because this was Nagito Komaeda.

Nagito seemed to sense the words Hajime wasn’t saying. He didn’t push, though. Instead, he just hummed lightly and adjusted his grip on the wheel.

“We’ll be at the hotel soon,” he said softly, almost like an olive branch.

Hajime only nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on the city lights flickering closer on the horizon.

~~

“I booked a room for two, under the name Komaeda.”
Nagito’s smile at the receptionist was polite, practiced.

“Of course, sir. Your room also comes with a complimentary breakfast, should you wish for it.” She unhooked a brass key card and handed it across the counter.

“Thank you.” Nagito accepted it with a small nod, then turned smoothly toward the elevators.

Hajime trailed behind, suitcase dragging like an anchor. Again, the hotel was too grand – high marble ceilings, warm lighting, a chandelier in the lobby that probably cost more than Hajime had earned in a year. He hated how Nagito seemed to belong here. He hated more how small he felt walking beside him.

The elevator doors slid open. They stepped inside, and Nagito pressed the fourteenth-floor button before pulling out his phone. His thumbs danced across the screen with the kind of ease Hajime associated with someone constantly busy, constantly important.

“Uh, Nagito?” Hajime asked, his grip tightening on his suitcase handle.

“Yes, Hajime?” Nagito replied without looking up.

“Were you talking to Sonia Nevermind earlier?”

Nagito’s eyes flicked up briefly, a ghost of amusement in them. “I don’t think you actually require an answer to that question.”

Hajime’s jaw worked. So he lied. Again.

Of course, Nagito had his reasons. It would’ve blown his cover immediately earlier on. Hajime could almost forgive that. But what sat like a pebble in his shoe, irritating and unavoidable, was the realization that Sonia had reached out to Nagito. Sonia, who’d been friendly, even kind to Hajime, hadn’t so much as texted him in years.

And Nagito, the one most of them had barely tolerated, was still on the guest list.

Hajime pressed his lips together and swallowed the bitterness. No point asking questions he wasn’t ready for answers to.

The elevator dinged, sparing him from further thought.

Nagito led the way down a carpeted hall, stopped at a polished oak door, and slid the keycard. With a soft click, the lock released.

“After you,” Nagito murmured.

Hajime stepped inside and froze.

One bed. King-sized. Crisp white sheets. Plush pillows stacked in twos.

His stomach plummeted.

Of course. Of course this was happening. This wasn’t coincidence, it was Nagito’s cursed, godforsaken luck. The same luck that had carried him through school, that warped every situation until it was absurd and unbearable. And now it had manifested here, in a four-star hotel room, with one bed.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Hajime muttered.

Behind him, Nagito wheeled in his suitcase. “What?”

Hajime turned, scowling. “One bed? Really? Out of every possible room in this hotel, you get the one with a single bed?”

Nagito tilted his head, expression maddeningly calm. “Do you think I requested it?”

“I think this is exactly the kind of bullshit that follows you around.” Hajime gestured sharply at the bed, his voice rising. “This– this is textbook Komaeda luck.”

Nagito blinked, then chuckled softly. “Ah, so you do still believe in my luck. I was beginning to worry you’d lost faith in me.”

Hajime’s hands clenched. “This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not laughing.” Nagito set his case by the wall, though the corner of his mouth betrayed a smile. “Besides, Hajime, it’s just a bed. I don’t bite.”

Hajime groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“You know,” Nagito said lightly as he slipped off his jacket and folded it over the chair, “in a week, I’ll be standing in front of your whole family, pretending to be your perfect plus-one. I suppose this is fitting practice.”

Hajime shot him a sharp look. “Not anymore. You’re not invited.”

Nagito smirked, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Mm. Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Hajime muttered, crossing his arms. “Last thing I need is you showing up and making everything more complicated than it already is.”

Nagito leaned against the desk, outwardly calm, though Hajime caught the slight twitch of his fingers against the wood. “Well… complicated tends to follow me, whether I want it to or not.”

Hajime rolled his eyes and dropped onto the mattress. “Yeah. Tell me about it.”

Nagito’s smirk lingered, but only on the surface. Beneath it, there was something tight, like he knew Hajime meant it, and he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or wince.

Hajime cursed under his breath as he sat on the edge of the mattress. It was soft, absurdly so, swallowing him slightly. He hated it. He hated how nice it was, how much it reminded him that he didn’t belong here, sitting in some luxury suite, stuck with the one person who could drag his life sideways with a single word.

But most of all, he hated how a part of him couldn’t stop remembering the way Nagito had smiled earlier that day, under the fading sun. How, for just a second, Hajime had wanted to stare a little longer.

~~

“So, have you decided what you’re going to do?” Nagito asked without looking up, thumb idly flicking across his phone screen.

They’d managed almost two and a half hours without another fight. Just surface-level small talk about work, summer plans, and other “safe” topics that let Hajime pretend he wasn’t sitting across from Nagito Komaeda. Pretend, at least, that he hadn’t spent the last twenty minutes trying to push away the thought that he’d found Nagito attractive before he knew who he really was.

“…Huh?” Hajime asked, finishing the last sip of his water.

Nagito finally set his phone aside, tilting his head toward him. “Tomorrow. Are you… leaving?”

Hajime let out a slow sigh. He wanted to. God, he wanted to. But he couldn’t. Not unless he was ready to strand himself in the middle of Osaka with no plan and no money.

“No. I’m not,” he admitted, jaw tight. “If you’ll still take me to Tokyo.”

Something softened in Nagito’s face. The smile that followed was small, almost cautious—but genuine. And for reasons Hajime hated, it made his gut twist uncomfortably.

“Of course, Hajime,” Nagito said quietly. “I probably owe you that much now, anyway.”

The sincerity in his tone was unbearable, so Hajime shot back the first thing he could think of. “Mm. Do you think it was your good or bad luck that made you see me at the bar?”

Nagito chuckled softly, leaning back on his palms. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Hajime’s chest tightened again. Six years ago, Nagito would’ve declared it the worst misfortune imaginable. Now, he sounded like he almost believed it could be the opposite.

And Hajime didn’t know what to do with that.

“Anyway, Hajime,” Nagito said after a beat, standing and stretching the stiffness from his shoulders. “What do you say about getting dinner? Maybe heading out into Osaka?”

Hajime frowned. “No.”

Nagito hesitated, blinking once before quirking an eyebrow. “No?”

“I appreciate the ride, Nagito. Really. But you’re still… Nagito.” Hajime’s words came out sharper than he intended, bitter on his tongue.

Nagito’s expression didn’t shift much, but Hajime noticed his fingers twitch where they brushed against his wrist. “…Ah. Of course. I shouldn’t have expected otherwise.” His voice was light, but the self-deprecation was impossible to miss.

Hajime looked away, heat prickling under his collar. Somehow, the sight of Nagito quietly absorbing the rejection – his body betraying what his smile wouldn’t – was worse than if he’d snapped back.

“Well,” Nagito said at last, stepping toward the balcony doors. He glanced at his watch, the faint curve of a practiced smile back on his lips. “It’s almost seven. I’ll head out around half past. If you change your mind, I’ll be out here.”

“I won’t,” Hajime shot back instantly, sinking into the pillow behind him.

Nagito just nodded, slipping out onto the balcony with his usual, infuriating composure.

Left alone, Hajime stared up at the ceiling, his thoughts a mess. Surely the hotel food wouldn’t be that bad. Surely he didn’t care if Nagito looked disappointed. Surely.

So why did it feel like he was lying to himself?

~~

Hajime pulled himself out of bed.

He didn’t want hotel food. That wasn’t the issue.

The issue was that if Nagito went out, he’d be alone. And somehow, even if it was Nagito, having him nearby was better than no one at all.

So he rationalised. If they went out, Osaka would be lively. He could have a few drinks. If he got drunk enough, maybe he’d forget how pissed off he was about the lies. Maybe he’d forget he was even with Nagito Komaeda.

At least then it wouldn’t be awkward. Just for tonight.

It was better to be drunk than sober around Nagito. Probably.

He slid the balcony door open, only to freeze.

Nagito wasn’t leaning on the railing like a normal person. Of course not. He was sitting on it, feet dangling fourteen stories above the street. The glow of the city painted him in soft blues and purples, catching on the white streaks in his hair. He looked… unnervingly at peace.

“Ah, Nagito?” Hajime called.

Nagito didn’t flinch, just glanced over his shoulder. “Hello there.”

Yes, because sitting on a railing one step away from death was apparently normal.

“What are you doing?” Hajime asked, annoyed that concern edged into his voice.

Nagito smiled faintly. “Don’t worry. I do this often.”

Hajime stepped closer, leaning against the safe part of the railing, and followed his gaze down to the neon sprawl of Osaka. He couldn’t deny the view was incredible.

“…Yeah? Why?”

Nagito’s tone was matter-of-fact. “I used to be terrified of heights. After the accident, even elevators made me sick. I still won’t set foot on a plane. But… I didn’t want to live like that forever. So I forced myself through exposure therapy. Took almost four years, but now I can sit anywhere like this and not feel the fear.”

“Uh huh.” Hajime muttered. “But do you really have to sit on the railing?”

Nagito shrugged lightly. “My luck still protects me. But even if it didn’t… well, the risk would be mine. And honestly? It’s peaceful up here. You see the city in a way most people don’t.”

Something about his voice was softer than Hajime remembered. Quieter.

“Would you like me to help you up?” Nagito asked, turning his gaze back.

“Oh.” Hajime blinked, startled. “No. I’m good, thanks.”

Nagito chuckled under his breath. “Fair enough. Maybe you will by the end of this trip.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.” Hajime said, but the bitterness in his chest was already loosening.

“Mm.” Nagito swung his legs back over the railing, landing lightly on the balcony. “Well, I should get ready to head out.”

“Oh, actually–” Hajime started as Nagito moved for the door. Nagito paused, brow raised.

“Yes, Hajime?”

“Can I– uh.” Hajime cursed himself for sounding so awkward. “Can I come?”

He braced for a smirk, a jab, anything.

But Nagito only inclined his head, polite as ever. “Of course. Let me know when you’re ready.”

And with that, he slipped inside.

Hajime stood frozen, blaming the hammering in his chest on the image of Nagito balanced above the drop. Not on the way the city light had softened his edges. Definitely not that.

~~

Dinner had been an exercise in restraint.

Nagito, with infuriating ease, had chosen the most extravagant place he’d seen while scrolling on his phone – an ultra-modern restaurant perched above the city with floor-to-ceiling windows and prices that made Hajime’s stomach clench. The kind of place people planned months in advance to visit.

Naturally, Nagito insisted on paying.

Hajime had almost protested, but his wallet was already gasping from everything else he couldn’t afford. He swallowed his pride instead and pretended he didn’t notice the way Nagito brushed off the bill as if it were nothing.

“Shall we?” Nagito had asked once dessert was cleared, standing with a smile that Hajime swore carried the faintest glimmer of smugness.

And then Osaka swallowed them whole.

The city was alive. Neon signs blinked from every direction, buzzing over narrow streets choked with people. The sound of chatter, music, and laughter blurred into a single restless pulse. Lanterns hung over izakaya’s, spilling warm light onto the crowds, while the thump of bass from underground clubs vibrated through the pavement.

Hajime told himself he could survive this if he drank enough.

So he did.

It started in a noisy standing bar, packed shoulder to shoulder. Hajime downed a highball in record time, ordered another, and tried not to notice how Nagito stood just far enough away to give him space but close enough that their shoulders brushed when the crowd shifted.

From there, Nagito steered them. Not with words, but with a subtle hand on Hajime’s elbow, a nod toward another neon-lit alley. A craft beer bar. Then a sake house tucked down a side street. Then another bar with a rooftop terrace overlooking the river.

Nagito drank, but never quite as much as Hajime. Just enough to match the mood, his glass always half-full when Hajime’s was bone-dry. And he blended effortlessly, exchanging polite words with bartenders, smiling faintly at strangers, never calling attention to himself. Like he belonged anywhere, everywhere, without trying.

Hajime hated that about him.
He also hated how much looser he felt by the third bar, the buzz smoothing the edges of his irritation.

“See?” Nagito said as they cut through another glowing street, his hands tucked casually into his coat pockets. “You’re smiling.”

“I am not.” Hajime shot back, though his voice slurred just enough to betray him.

“Mm.” Nagito tilted his head, the city lights catching in his pale eyes. “If you say so.”

And then it happened. A pair of strangers, already drunker than Hajime, stumbled out of a side alley, all laughter and noise. One threw an arm over Hajime’s shoulder, the other hooked onto Nagito without hesitation.

“Come on! Nightclub! Best place in Osaka!”

Hajime tried to shake them off, but his reflexes were dulled by alcohol. Nagito, for once, didn’t resist at all.

Within minutes, they were dragged down a stairwell pulsing with muffled bass, through a haze of neon strobes and cigarette smoke.

The club was terrible. The kind of place sticky with spilled beer, where the speakers rattled with every drop of bass and the crowd swayed like one drunken organism.

Hajime should’ve hated it.

But with the alcohol pounding through his veins, Nagito at his side, and the chaos swallowing them whole, he almost didn’t.

Chapter Text

The club swallowed them in a blur of sound and light.

The bass rattled Hajime’s ribs, a relentless rhythm that seemed to crawl straight into his bloodstream. Lights strobed red, violet, green, painting Nagito’s pale hair in flickers of neon, making him look less like a man and more like some strange mirage caught in the chaos.

Hajime hated nightclubs. Always had. Too loud, too cramped, too much.
But right now? Right now it was better than silence. Better than sitting in a hotel room trying not to think about the fact that his road-trip partner was Nagito Komaeda.

And he was drunk enough that his feet were moving before his brain caught up.

“Come on,” Hajime shouted over the music, already tugging at Nagito’s sleeve.

Nagito blinked at him, head tilted. “Ah. No, thank you.”

“Don’t ‘no thank you’ me,” Hajime shot back, his grip firming on Nagito’s wrist. “You’re not just gonna stand there like some awkward statue.”

“I happen to think statues have their place in the world,” Nagito replied smoothly, though there was a faint curve at the corner of his mouth. “Besides, dancing isn’t really–”

“Quit making excuses.” Hajime tugged harder, and to his surprise, Nagito didn’t resist. Not really.

Nagito rolled his eyes but allowed himself to be dragged onto the floor. “You’re incredibly persistent when you’re drunk, Hajime.”

“Persistent? I’m fun.” Hajime grinned, the alcohol buzzing in his veins. “Now move.”

And Nagito did. Not much at first – a simple sway to the beat, subtle, almost self-conscious. But Hajime, already loosened by liquor, exaggerated his movements just to get a reaction. He waved his arms too wide, spun once badly enough to nearly collide with a stranger, and stomped his foot so off-beat it looked like an act of protest against rhythm itself.

Nagito’s lips twitched, then curved into something almost mischievous. He matched Hajime’s wild movements with deliberate mock-grace, twisting like a parody of a ballroom dancer in the middle of the pulsing crowd. When Hajime threw in finger-guns, Nagito deadpanned an exaggerated bow.

That was it. Hajime burst out laughing, loud and unrestrained, nearly doubling over. He hated how good it felt.

It was ridiculous. It was loud. And it was fun.

Nagito’s smile softened as he watched him, the kind of small, almost private smile that Hajime wouldn’t have expected to see directed at him. Not now. Not ever.

By the time the song shifted, Hajime was sweating and laughing, leaning too close just to be heard. “Drinks,” he shouted, jerking his thumb toward the bar.

Nagito nodded, letting Hajime guide them off the floor.

The bar was sticky, crowded, but Hajime slammed his palm down on the counter like he owned the place. “Shots!”

Nagito arched an eyebrow, a flicker of disapproval behind his eyelashes. “Ah. That seems unwise, Hajime.”

“Don’t start. We’re doing shots.” Hajime jabbed a finger at him, swaying slightly.

Nagito sighed dramatically but flagged down the bartender anyway. “Three each, please.”

“Three?!” Hajime laughed. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Nagito paid before Hajime could so much as reach for his wallet – Hajime had stopped trying to argue with that hours ago. The bartender lined up six tiny glasses, liquid catching the neon glow.

Hajime snatched the first one. “Kanpai,” he grinned, and threw it back. The burn made him cough, but he slammed the empty glass down with triumph.

Nagito mirrored him, slower, calmer. He didn’t flinch at the burn. Just set the glass back on the counter and met Hajime’s eyes with that faint, knowing smirk.

One became two. Two became three.

By the last shot, Hajime was warm all over, his laugh looser, his stubborn guard cracked wide open.

He leaned against the bar, half-facing Nagito, close enough that he could smell it: sharp cologne, faint smoke from the crowd, and underneath it all something clean, subtle, distinctly Nagito.

And damn it all if Nagito didn’t look unfairly good under the nightclub lights. His sharp features softened by the glow, his hair catching violet and green with every pulse of the strobes, the pale of his skin almost ethereal against the shifting dark.

“You know…” Hajime muttered, the words slipping out before he could stop them, “you… aged well.”

Nagito blinked, surprise flickering over his face before he smoothed it into a crooked smile. “…That’s a generous way to phrase it.”

Hajime huffed, cheeks hot from alcohol and something else entirely. “Tch. Don’t get used to the compliment.”

Nagito chuckled softly, turning his head just enough that Hajime caught the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

But Hajime could tell even if he was incredibly drunk – Nagito was storing the words away.

Like they mattered.

~~

The music shifted, heavier, louder. Hajime had lost track of how many drinks he’d had.

Beer, shots, something pink Nagito had ordered that Hajime swore wasn’t manly but had downed anyway.

The heat of the club wrapped around him, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Not with the alcohol buzzing under his skin. Not with Nagito leaning casually against the bar beside him, the white ends of his hair glowing in the shifting violet lights, watching him with that faint, unreadable smile.

Hajime laughed mid-sentence, unable to stop himself. He wasn’t even sure what was funny anymore. “God, you… you’re just–” He waved a hand vaguely, nearly knocking over his empty glass. “Not real.”

Nagito tilted his head, half-amused, half-endeared. “Mm. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t–” Hajime began, then hiccupped and groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, maybe it was.”

Nagito chuckled, resting his chin lightly in one hand, studying Hajime like he always did – intent, sharp, but softened by the alcohol and the years of distance between them. “You’re very talkative when you drink.”

“Better than being a gloomy weirdo.” Hajime shot back automatically, though there was no real bite in it. His grin lingered too long.

“Fair,” Nagito conceded, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Although I think you find me less gloomy now than you used to.”

Hajime snorted, leaning closer, his shoulder brushing Nagito’s. “Maybe. You clean up well, I’ll give you that.”

Nagito’s eyebrows lifted slightly, a flicker of amusement. “Ah. Now that does sound like flirting.”

“Shut up.” Hajime’s face was hot, and he told himself it was the alcohol. “I’m just stating facts.”

“Mm. Of course.” Nagito swirled the ice in his glass, voice almost too casual. “You’ve been stating a lot of facts tonight.”

Hajime rolled his eyes, but the alcohol loosened his tongue further. “Fine. You want a fact? You look… good. Better than you used to. Like, really good.”

Nagito blinked, then let out a soft laugh that was almost drowned by the music. “That’s very kind of you, Hajime. Especially from someone who used to glare at me like I was contagious.”

“You were annoying as hell,” Hajime muttered, but his lips quirked despite himself. “Still are, honestly. And, you deserved it back then. You were a dick.”

Nagito leaned just a fraction closer, enough that Hajime caught another trace of that clean cologne beneath the haze of sweat and alcohol and smoke. “And yet… here we are.”

Hajime’s throat went dry. For half a second, he forgot the bass, the lights, the crowd pressing around them. All he noticed was Nagito’s smile. The smile that was softer than he remembered, steadier than it had any right to be.

“…Yeah,” Hajime muttered, tearing his gaze away, grabbing his glass like it might anchor him. “Here we are.”

Nagito chuckled again, low and quiet, and Hajime hated that it sent a shiver down his spine.

~~

The streets of Osaka hummed with life even past midnight – neon signs flashing above convenience stores, laughter spilling out of open doorways, the low thrum of a bassline still audible from the club behind them. Hajime stumbled a little on the pavement, clutching his jacket like it might steady him.

Nagito walked just a step behind, hands tucked in his pockets, watching Hajime out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t sober, but the alcohol had settled into a warm haze instead of the reckless abandon currently steering Hajime’s body.

“Careful,” Nagito murmured as Hajime’s foot caught the edge of the curb.

“I’m fine,” Hajime slurred, waving him off, though the fact he almost toppled into Nagito’s shoulder betrayed his words.

They didn’t make it much farther before a voice cut through the noise.

“Oh wow–”

Both turned to see a young woman tottering toward them, clearly tipsy herself. Her eyes went straight to Nagito, widening at the sight of his crisp white suit and silver watch gleaming under the streetlight.

“That’s a gorgeous watch,” she said, her smile sharp with practiced charm. “And you look like you walked straight out of a magazine. Do you always dress that nice for a night out?”

Nagito blinked, taken off guard, then let out a quiet laugh. “Not always.”

The girl edged closer, her perfume sickly sweet in the humid air. Her fingers danced at the face of his watch, oblivious to the way Nagito slowly retracted his wrist back to his pocket. “Well, you wear it well. I like a man with taste.”

Nagito’s smile didn’t falter, but there was no spark behind it. “That’s kind of you.”

When he didn’t offer more, her lips twisted into a pout before she turned her attention elsewhere.

Hajime.

“And you–” she beamed, stepping right into his space, “you’re cute. Rugged, kind of boy-next-door handsome. I like that.” She leaned lightly against his arm, nails brushing his sleeve.

Hajime blinked down at her, slow, dazed, and very clearly processing her words three beats too late. “…Huh?”

Nagito’s expression shifted instantly, his amusement draining into something sharper. His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, reaching to pull Hajime gently but firmly back a step.

“Ah–” he started carefully, but the girl leaned in harder, pressing herself against Hajime’s side.

Hajime, for his part, just looked baffled. His eyes glazed and he was practically seeing double of the girl beside him. “Wait– are you… talking to me?”

Before Nagito could intervene again, another voice cut through the air.

A much louder one.

“Get the fuck away from my girlfriend!”

Both Nagito and Hajime turned toward the booming sound. A man – broad-shouldered, red-faced, clearly drunk himself – stormed toward them, fists already clenching.

The girl flinched, stumbling back a step. Hajime blinked at her, then at the man, utterly lost.

Nagito sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with the air of someone far too used to this kind of disaster. “Of course. I should have known.”

Because maybe his luck wasn’t catastrophic anymore…
But Hajime realized, with a sinking twist in his stomach, that Nagito’s luck still had a talent for showing up at the worst possible times.

~~

“Hey! Pretty boy! I’m talkin’ to you!” the guy barked, stomping closer, his shadow lurching across the pavement in the glow of a gaudy neon sign.

“Oh, babe, stop it!” the girl groaned, shoving at his arm. “You’re such a dick.”

“Yeah, well at least I’m not letting some assholes take advantage of you!”

Hajime blinked. Slowly. Then again. The words floated around him like fish in an aquarium, bright and loud and slippery. Advantage? Who was taking advantage? Why was everyone yelling?

“You gonna keep blinking at me?” the guy snarled, his face twisting. “I’ll rip your fuckin’ head off–”

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

The voice came smooth, steady, and Hajime registered Nagito stepping forward – right in front of him.

It took Hajime’s fuzzy brain a second to process. Wait. Nagito was… what? Shielding him? Hajime almost snorted. Six years ago, Nagito weighed less than a backpack full of textbooks, and now here he was, planting himself between Hajime and some drunk gorilla?

Unbelievable.

And yet, Hajime couldn’t help but notice the man standing in front of him looked broader. Healthier. More grounded. His stupid white suit almost made him glow under the streetlight.

And Hajime hated – hated – the way his chest tightened at that realisation.

“Huh? Who the fuck are you?” the man barked, spit flying.

Nagito grimaced faintly and calmly brushed his shoulder where the spit had landed, as though swatting away dust. “Sir, may I ask you a question?”

The man barked out a laugh. “What, before I break you and your boyfriend’s necks? Sure, go ahead.”

Hajime’s face heated instantly. Boyfriend?! He opened his mouth to protest, but his tongue felt heavy, and by the time he tried to form words Nagito was already rolling with it.

“Oh, my boyfriend trained with Ultimates when he was younger.” Nagito said smoothly, his tone almost bored. “Your threat means very little to me.”

Hajime nearly choked. Nagito was playing along?!

“Like that means shit–”

“Now, for my question,” Nagito cut in, calm as ever, as though they weren’t standing in the middle of a potential street brawl. “Are you feeling unlucky today?”

“…What?”

“Because we do have ties with the Yakuza.”

Hajime’s stomach dropped. He wanted to bury his face in his hands. Of course Nagito was threatening a drunk guy with the Yakuza.

“Like shit you do–”

“Kuzuryu.” Nagito’s smile tilted into something sharp, his voice cutting through the humid air.

The man paled. Just a flicker, but Hajime caught it.

Nagito’s tone softened, deceptively casual. “I’m sure that name rings a bell.”

The guy’s girlfriend tugged on his arm, hissing at him to stop, but he shook her off. “You’re bullshitting.”

“Oh, you wish I was.” Nagito slipped his wallet from his pocket, flipping a coin lazily between his fingers. “Unfortunately for you, my boyfriend and I went to school with the head of the clan. We’d hate to put you on his radar.”

Boyfriend. Again. And Nagito’s face hadn’t even twitched at the word. Hajime’s drunk brain snagged on that detail and refused to let it go.

“Yeah, well, he wouldn’t do shit to me.” The man growled, forcing bravado through his unease. “He’s probably a pussy.”

“Hey, don’t call Fuyuhiko–” Hajime began, but Nagito talked right over him.

“He’d probably be more pissed off that I wasted his time on such a…” Nagito gave a disgusted little grimace. “Specimen as yourself. Which means he’d ask why I couldn’t deal with it personally.” His eyes narrowed, glinting under the neon glow. “So I’ll ask again. Do you feel unlucky today?”

The coin flicked higher and higher in Nagito’s hand until it slipped, arcing into the air.

It spun in the streetlight, a tiny flare of silver.

The man scoffed, opened his mouth to retort–

Clonk.

The coin ricocheted off the gutter above and smacked him squarely on the forehead. His knees buckled. He crumpled like a felled tree, sprawling across the pavement.

His girlfriend froze for half a beat before shrieking. Not at Nagito. Not at Hajime. At her unconscious boyfriend.

“You’re such a fucking loser!” she wailed, smacking his arm as she crouched beside him. “Can’t even stay awake for one fight! God, I should’ve gone home with my coworkers instead!”

Nagito, completely unfazed, slipped the wallet back into his pocket and turned to Hajime with a too-cheerful smile. “Shall we?”

Hajime gawked, his mouth hanging open as Nagito hooked a hand under his elbow and steered him down the street.

“Is he dea–”

“Incapacitated,” Nagito interrupted smoothly, his eyes glinting. He looked far too pleased with himself for a lawyer who may or may not have just committed assault with loose change.

Hajime swallowed hard, words tangling on his tongue until finally he managed, “Huh. Guess you… are lucky.”

“Mm.” Nagito winked. “I did warn him.”

Hajime’s head spun, though he wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the way Nagito’s smirk hadn’t faltered when they’d been called boyfriends.

And he hated – he absolutely hated – that some traitorous part of him was still thinking about it even as they walked away.

~~

The neon haze of Osaka wrapped around them as they walked, buzzing signs and half-shuttered shops blurring together. Every so often, Hajime’s arm occasionally brushed against Nagito’s. Too close. Everything felt too close. His brain was cotton, his legs noodles, and yet the sharp image of Nagito stepping in front of him kept replaying.

Nagito, with his stupid white suit and calm little smirk. Nagito, who didn’t even blink at being called Hajime’s boyfriend. Nagito, who–

“Your shoelace is untied,” Nagito remarked casually, slicing through Hajime’s spiralling thoughts

Hajime blinked down, swaying slightly. “…What?”

“Shoelace.” Nagito inclined his head. “You’re about three steps away from face-planting.”

Hajime groaned, fumbling down to retie them, fingers clumsy. The bow slipped once, twice. “I don’t need a babysitter,” he muttered.

“Of course not,” Nagito said mildly. “But I’d rather not carry you back, so humour me.”

When Hajime finally stood, Nagito was still watching him with that maddening patience.

“…Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you know something I don’t.” Hajime jabbed a finger toward him, nearly poking his chest. “That smirk– you haven’t changed. Not one bit.”

Nagito tilted his head, the city lights glancing off the streaks of white in his hair. “Haven’t I? You were just thinking how much I’d changed earlier.”

Hajime froze. His stomach flipped. How the hell–

“I– what– I wasn’t–”

Nagito’s smile softened, though his eyes glittered. “Relax, Hajime. I’m not a mind reader. You’re just…transparent when you drink.”

Heat surged to Hajime’s cheeks, a mix of alcohol and indignation. “Shut up. You’re still insufferable.”

“And yet you came with me tonight.” Nagito’s tone was light, almost teasing, but underneath Hajime caught the faintest waver. Something careful, something testing.

Hajime looked away quickly, focusing on the people around them, on the blurred lights smeared across the wet asphalt. Anything but Nagito’s face. “Yeah, well. Better than eating shitty hotel food alone.”

“Mm.” Nagito hummed, noncommittal. He didn’t push further, didn’t needle. He just kept pace beside Hajime, quiet but steady.

And Hajime’s thoughts, his traitorous, messy thoughts, refused to stop spinning.

Nagito hadn’t corrected the “boyfriend” assumption. Not once. Not even with that jerk ready to swing. He’d just gone with it, like it was natural. Like it didn’t bother him at all.

It should’ve been ridiculous. It should’ve been laughable. Instead, Hajime’s chest was tight, and his mind, despite the alcohol, couldn’t help circling back to that smirk, that damn coin flipping in the air, and the fact that Nagito Komaeda had stood in front of him like a shield.

Hajime stumbled slightly, catching himself on the hotel’s revolving door as they arrived. Nagito reached to steady him, palm warm against his forearm.

“Careful,” Nagito murmured, his breath brushing Hajime’s ear.

Hajime jerked back as if burned, heart pounding too fast. He muttered something incoherent and pushed through the door, not trusting himself to say anything else.

Nagito followed a step behind, quiet and unreadable, but Hajime could feel his gaze lingering like an itch on the back of his neck.

~~

The walk down the hallway felt longer than it should have, Hajime’s shoes thudding against the carpet like a countdown. His head spun pleasantly from the alcohol, but not enough to dull the sinking dread that returned the second Nagito slid the keycard into the lock.

“Fuck,” Hajime muttered, “I forgot we only had one bed.”

Nagito glanced at him, faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Complaints already? I didn’t realise you were this particular about your sleeping arrangements.”

“I’m not–” Hajime snapped, then sighed, rubbing at his temple. “Forget it. Just– just forget it.”

Nagito shrugged out of his jacket, draping it over the chair as if nothing was wrong. “We survived worse in school. Surely one bed won’t kill you.”

It might, Hajime thought grimly, but he didn’t have the energy to argue. He kicked off his shoes, shed his jacket, and climbed onto the farthest edge of the mattress like it was a raft.

Nagito followed, sliding in neatly on the other side without a fuss, turning off the bedside lamp. Darkness draped the room, interrupted only by the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the curtains.

Hajime lay stiffly, staring at the ceiling. His brain was noisy, alcohol buzzing through his veins, words slipping out before he could stop them. “I hate cuddles.”

A quiet pause.

A genuine, undignified snort followed it.

“I never offered to cuddle you,” Nagito replied dryly, amusement threading his voice.

Hajime blinked, then laughed. Loud, tipsy, unguarded. The sound startled even himself, and for once, Nagito laughed too. Softer, but real.

The room settled after that, their laughter fading into the low hum of the air conditioner. For a while, Hajime thought he might drift off, but the words were still there, heavy on his tongue.

“…Thanks,” he muttered into the dark.

“For what?” Nagito’s voice came after a moment, soft but alert.

“For stepping in earlier.” Hajime turned his head slightly, though he couldn’t see much in the dimness. “That guy… I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t…”

“It was nothing,” Nagito interrupted, dismissive.

“It wasn’t nothing.” Hajime’s voice was firm, even slurred. “You– you were good back there. Sharp. Confident. You…” He trailed off, heat prickling at his face. “I didn’t expect it.”

Silence followed, but Hajime felt it. The faint shift of Nagito’s body, the quiet exhale.

When Nagito spoke again, his tone carried something Hajime couldn’t quite name. “I’m not the same person I was back then. I don’t…count on luck to save me anymore.”

Hajime frowned faintly. “…No?”

“No.” Nagito’s voice was low, almost thoughtful. “If I want to survive, if I want to live, I have to save myself. Nobody else can do it for me.”

The words lingered in the dark, heavier than Hajime expected. He swallowed, trying to chase the alcohol-fuelled lump in his throat.

“You really have changed, huh.”

Nagito didn’t answer immediately. When Hajime turned his head, he caught the faint curve of a smile silhouetted in the glow from the window. Wistful, quiet.

“Maybe,” Nagito murmured. “Or maybe I just stopped pretending.”

Hajime didn’t know how to answer. His chest was tight, his head heavy, and before long, the drowsiness dragged him under. The last thing he remembered was the sound of Nagito’s slow, steady breathing beside him.

Chapter Text

Hajime stepped into the Main-Course dorm lounge, grimacing as the smell of chocolates and candy filled the air. Teruteru was practically bouncing off the walls, waving a glittering gift bag like a trophy.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Teruteru shrieked, practically shoving his presents into anyone’s hands who would take them.

“You too, Teruteru. Get anything?” Hajime asked, dragging his feet over to the couch.

“Oho, of course, my darling! Everyone wants a piece of me!” Teruteru crowed, twirling his chocolate in the air. He hustled off, insisting he was grabbing his gifts that he definitely didn’t buy for himself, leaving Hajime blinking at the chaos.

Hajime set his gift bag down on the coffee table, his shoulders sagging slightly. Kazuichi immediately flopped onto the couch beside him, eyes widening.

“Damn. My soul bro got a present!” Kazuichi feigned tears, sniffing dramatically. “I’m so proud of you!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Hajime muttered, rolling his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched. He wasn’t entirely immune to feeling a little touched.

“Well, open it! Open it!” Kazuichi clapped his hands together. “I bet we can totally guess which chick sent it. It’s anonymous, right?”

“Yeah… anonymous,” Hajime said, frowning at the tag. All it said was “happy valentine’s day – uls”.

Hajime blinked at the letters. ULS. Could be initials, he thought. But he couldn’t think of a single person in the dorm with those letters. U… L… S… Sonia? No. Absolutely not. None of it made sense.

He shrugged and untied the bag. Inside was a box of Kusamochi, a small teddy bear, and a candle that smelled faintly of lavender. Hajime’s stomach warmed slightly. He hadn’t expected anyone to know his favourite sweets or that he liked lavender candles.

“Ugh, these are presents for a girl!” Kazuichi groaned, poking at the box. “But, dude! They know you! They got you Kusamochi!”

“Yeah,” Hajime muttered, brows furrowed. He turned the candle over in his hands, sniffing it again, and a strange thought bubbled unbidden: someone had cared enough to notice.

A shadow landed beside him on the couch, soft and deliberate. Hajime looked up and, predictably, saw Nagito Komaeda with that infuriating, calm smile of his.

“Ah, what’s this? Hajime got a Valentine’s present?” Nagito smirked, eyes flicking briefly to the gift before meeting Hajime’s gaze. There was something almost… calculating in the way he tilted his head, though Hajime didn’t notice it.

“Jealous, Komaeda?” Hajime replied, trying for sharpness, though he kept his tone neutral.

“Of you? Never.” Nagito’s smirk didn’t falter, but Hajime failed to see the faint lift at the corner of his lips, the almost imperceptible softening of his eyes as they lingered on Hajime inspecting the Kusamochi.

Hajime set the items down on the coffee table, studying them a little longer. Who could know this about me? he wondered. It was anonymous, yes, but someone had taken the time to pick these out. It was… oddly thoughtful.

“Looks like someone knows your tastes,” Kazuichi said with a chuckle.

Hajime gave a half shrug. “Maybe. Could be anyone.”

Nagito’s smirk curved a little sharper this time, more teasing than friendly. “Didn’t think anyone would bother noticing someone like you.” He said, voice low and pointed.

Hajime’s brow furrowed, irritation prickling at the back of his neck. “Oh, really? And you’re the authority on who’s worth noticing?”

“Not authority,” Nagito replied lightly, eyes flicking to the bag, a glint of amusement there. “Just… observant. It’s amusing, seeing someone so clueless.”

Hajime huffed, glaring. “Clueless, huh? At least I got a present.”

Nagito’s smirk deepened, though his tone remained casual. “Your implication that I’m jealous truly is falling short, Hajime.” Nagito snorted. “But I do enjoy watching reactions. Especially when they have no idea where it came from.”

Hajime rolled his eyes, muttering curses aimed at Nagito under his breath. He shook the small gifts in the bag, ignoring the way Nagito’s gaze lingered on him.

He didn’t notice the way Nagito’s eyes softened briefly as he watched Hajime frown at the candle. Nor did he see the almost imperceptible lift of Nagito’s lips – subtle, fleeting, and entirely hidden behind that smirk.

The dorm buzzed around them – Teruteru’s shrill declarations, Kazuichi’s whining, and the shuffle of students eager to exchange chocolates. Hajime tried to shove the warmth of the moment out of his chest, placing the candle back into the bag with a scoff.

~~

Hajime blinked awake with a scowl.

His skull felt like someone had wedged a jackhammer inside it and let it run all night, and his throat was dry enough to rival the desert. The pounding hangover was bad enough, but his brain had also decided to serve up that memory as a dream. A stupid Valentine’s Day gift from years ago, still unsolved, still lodged in the back of his mind like an itch he could never scratch.

He grunted, rolling onto his side, hoping to maybe fall back asleep. But the second he moved, a shiver shot down his spine.

Something was wrong.

Not just wrong – terrifying.

Nagito Komaeda’s arm was around his waist.

Hajime froze. His brain short-circuited. Every muscle in his body screamed to get up and run, but Nagito’s grip was firm, heavy, warm against him in a way that made Hajime want to claw his way out of his own skin.

How the hell had this happened? He distinctly remembered swearing last night that he didn’t want cuddles. Hadn’t he said that out loud? He was sure he had. And yet here he was, pinned to the mattress by the one person on earth he least wanted anywhere near him.

Panic raced up his throat. If he moved, Nagito would wake up. And Hajime was not equipped – emotionally, physically, spiritually – to deal with that conversation.

So he did the only logical thing.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pretended to be asleep.

From behind him came a low, drowsy groan. Hajime’s heart spiked, and he held his breath.

“Mm… morning, Hajime.”

The voice was raspy, sleep-rough, and far too close to his ear. Hajime felt heat rush up his face so fast it was dizzying. His pulse jumped at the tightening of Nagito’s arm around his waist.

Don’t answer. Pretend you’re asleep. Don’t answer.

“…Morning,” Hajime’s treacherous mouth blurted out before his brain could stop it.

He cursed himself immediately.

Nagito shifted behind him, then finally uncurled his arm, withdrawing with a lazy stretch. Hajime let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Ah,” Nagito muttered, voice thick with sleep. “It’s already lunchtime. We should probably try to get to Nagoya soon.”

“Sure,” Hajime croaked, his face still burning. “I need… uh. Shower.”

Nagito hummed in vague agreement, not sounding remotely fazed, and arched his back against the sheets in an unbothered stretch.

Hajime launched himself out of the bed like the covers were on fire, stumbling toward the bathroom with his hand clamped to his pounding head.

He needed a shower.

For the hangover.

Obviously.

~~

Nagito had a shit-eating grin on his face by the time they got to the car.

He seemed far too eager to relive Hajime’s drunken antics – his dancing, his tolerance (or lack of it), the way he’d nearly tripped over a barstool while insisting he “totally wasn’t drunk.” Hajime tried to tune him out, pressing a palm to his pounding forehead, but the words kept bleeding in anyway.

“…so then you tried to get the DJ to play a Maizono song–”

“Shut up,” Hajime groaned. “Just shut up.”

Nagito only smiled wider, adjusting the rearview mirror like nothing could possibly brighten his morning more.

“Mm, so, Hajime,” he said, tone infuriatingly casual. “Do you want to go to Kyoto or Nagoya?”

“…Huh?” Hajime blinked. “Why would we take a detour?”

“Well, it’s Tuesday,” Nagito shrugged. “You still have plenty of time to get back before the wedding. Kyoto’s on the way, so it wouldn’t make much difference.”

Hajime sighed, leaning his head back against the seat. “…Sure. Whatever you wanna do.”

Nagito nodded, typing something into the GPS. Hajime glanced at the screen and caught the word Nagoya.

So… guess Kyoto was off the table.

The AC clicked louder as Nagito turned it up, muttering about the heat. They merged back onto the road, the city shrinking behind them.

“You know, you should stop booking us the really expensive hotels,” Hajime muttered after a few minutes.

Nagito raised a brow. “Why?”

“Because I don’t have the money to pay you back.” The words slipped out sharper than Hajime intended, and he instantly regretted it. The last thing he wanted was to hand Nagito Komaeda ammunition about his financial situation.

He braced himself for a jab.

Instead, Nagito frowned faintly. “Ah… but Hajime, that’s not really a reason.”

Hajime scowled. “I just told you–”

“Yes, Hajime, but I never asked you to pay. And I’m not going to,” Nagito interrupted smoothly, one hand loose on the wheel. “I’m not that horrible.”

“…Still.” Hajime stared out the window.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, you can make it up to me.” Nagito’s voice was light, almost sing-song. “When your payroll finally gets fixed, take me to dinner. Your treat.”

Hajime turned, catching the small smile playing at Nagito’s lips. His stomach flipped.

Had… had Nagito just asked him on a date?

No. No way. This was Nagito. He was probably just trying to annoy him.

“Sounds like you’re asking me on a date,” Hajime muttered, half a snort, half a deflection.

Nagito chuckled softly. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

Hajime shook his head, but despite himself, a tiny smile tugged at his own lips. He hated that Nagito always managed to corner him like this.

“So,” Nagito said after a pause, eyes still on the road, “am I really uninvited from your cousin’s wedding?”

Hajime stiffened. He’d said that in anger last night, hadn’t he? And it would make sense to leave Nagito behind. He wouldn’t have to explain him, wouldn’t have to endure the constant tension. But then he imagined sitting through his family’s endless comments about his non-existent love life. About being twenty-four and “still single.” About how he “could’ve done better” after Hope’s Peak.

With Nagito there, at least, maybe the scrutiny would ease off. They’d see a well-dressed, successful lawyer at his side and hell, even if it was Nagito, maybe they’d finally shut up.

“Come if you want, I guess,” Hajime muttered at last. “But your luck better not cause any issues.”

Nagito’s lips curved into a smirk. “Ah, no promises there.” He glanced sideways, his tone playful. “I guess that officially makes us boyfriends, then.”

Hajime nearly short-circuited. His head was still throbbing from the hangover, and he did not have the energy for this right now.

“Shut up,” he muttered, slouching further into his seat.

Nagito laughed.

~~

Less than an hour into the drive, Nagito veered sharply off the GPS route.

Hajime’s stomach flipped. “Uh… Komaeda?”

“Yes?” Nagito asked pleasantly, as if he wasn’t barrelling down an unfamiliar street with no warning.

“Where are you– where are we going?” Hajime pressed, gripping the armrest.

Nagito smiled like it was obvious. “Kyoto. Where else?”

Hajime blinked. Kyoto? But Nagito hadn’t put that into the GPS. He’d specifically typed Nagoya. Hajime had assumed it was written off.

“You just want an excuse to spend more time with me,” Hajime muttered, though the relief creeping into his chest made him uneasy.

“Of course,” Nagito agreed instantly, smirking. “We can’t argue if we’re in public, can we, boyfriend?”

“Oh, I bet we can.” Hajime shot back automatically. Then the word registered. The name the name that Nagito had used in nearly every other sentence since Hajime re-invited him to the wedding. He clenched his teeth. “For the last time, stop calling me your boyfriend.” Hajime snapped.

“But you asked me to come to a wedding with you.” Nagito pointed out with an annoyingly cheerful voice. “That makes me your boyfriend.”

Hajime groaned, dragging a hand down his face. He wasn’t sure which was worse: the endless drive, or the fact that Nagito Komaeda was technically making sense.

“Who says we have to be ‘boyfriends’?” Hajime tried, but Nagito was already far too pleased with himself.

“Well,” Nagito said lightly, “your family will presume. You don’t often bring a friend to a wedding, do you?”

“Just– shut up.” Hajime sighed, glaring at the road ahead.

“Of course…” Nagito trailed off innocently – then slammed his foot on the accelerator.

“Boyfriend,” he added, the word cutting through the sudden roar of the engine.

Hajime nearly screamed at the change in speed, clutching the seatbelt as if it might save him.

~~

Kyoto was every bit as crowded as Hajime expected. Tourists with cameras slung around their necks swarmed the narrow streets, the air thick with the smell of grilled skewers and roasted matcha. Lanterns bobbed overhead in the late afternoon light, the city humming with its own steady pulse.

Nagito navigated it all with an ease that grated on Hajime’s nerves. He walked like he belonged, like weaving through crowds and stopping at a food stall for dango was second nature. Hajime trailed beside him, hands stuffed in his pockets, trying not to notice the way the white streaks in Nagito’s hair caught the sunlight or how he laughed softly when a vendor tried to upsell them.

“Kyoto suits you,” Nagito said suddenly, tilting his head toward him. “Traditional, understated, a little irritable.”

Hajime scowled. “You’re not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.” Nagito’s lips curved into that infuriating half-smile anyway.

Hajime exhaled sharply, focusing on the skewer in his hand. Sweet, sticky sauce clung to his fingers. Anything to keep from staring at the smug bastard next to him. He should’ve been furious. Nagito had dragged him here on a whim, after all.

Instead, Hajime found himself oddly calm.

Which pissed him off even more.

Because the truth was, aside from that annoying voice and that annoying smile, Nagito wasn’t the same person he’d been in school. He carried himself differently. He looked healthier. Less desperate. And Hajime hated that he noticed.

“You’re quiet,” Nagito observed, breaking the silence. “Usually you’ve insulted me at least three times by now.”

Hajime grunted. “Don’t get used to it.”

Nagito chuckled, brushing crumbs from his sleeve. “Ah, so this is you being merciful.”

Hajime rolled his eyes. “This is me tricking my brain into tolerating the guy driving me across the country.”

Nagito stopped walking, just for a second, and looked at him with something unreadable in his expression. Then the smile slid back into place. “If that’s what it takes.”

They fell back into step.

A group of tourists nearly barrelled into Hajime, and before he could move, Nagito’s hand lightly touched his elbow, steering him out of the way without missing a beat. Hajime froze, a flush creeping up the back of his neck.

He wanted to snap something – I can walk by myself – but the words stuck.

Instead, he bit into the last piece of dango and muttered, “You’re still a pain in the ass.”

Nagito’s laugh melted into the Kyoto dusk, soft and maddeningly fond.

~~

They left Kyoto just as the lanterns began to glow, the city slipping into a warm, golden haze in the rearview mirror. Hajime sank into the passenger seat with a low sigh, the dango he’d stuffed down earlier barely holding him over. His stomach growled, earning a sidelong glance from Nagito.

“If we make a detour, I can probably get us to Nagoya in an hour and twenty minutes,” Nagito said, tapping the GPS. “Traffic thins out after the bypass.”

Hajime raised a brow. “An hour twenty? That fast?”

Nagito’s smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Would you expect any less from me?”

Hajime groaned, leaning against the window. “I expect a headache whenever you open your mouth, that’s all.”

But truthfully, he appreciated it. It was nearly five, and by the time they checked in, they’d both be starving. Hajime hated to admit it, but having someone who thought ahead – even if that someone was Nagito Komaeda – was kind of a relief.

The car hummed along the expressway, the sky above shifting into streaks of violet and orange. Hajime’s thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the dream he’d had that morning. That memory. That Valentine’s gift.

Seven years ago, and he still didn’t know who had sent it. Nobody had ever fessed up, not then, not later. It was stupid. He was twenty-four years old, and yet his chest still tugged when he thought about it. Whoever it was had known him well enough to get his favourite sweets, his favourite scent. He almost, almost, turned his head to Nagito, the question forming on his lips.

Did you know who it was?

But Hajime stopped himself, jaw tightening. Ridiculous.

Nagito must have felt the shift, because his eyes flicked to Hajime before returning to the road. “You want to ask me something,” he said casually, not a question, just fact.

Hajime blinked, throat tight. “What? No.”

A pause. Hajime swore he could feel Nagito studying him, even while his gaze was fixed ahead.

“It’s nothing,” Hajime muttered, turning to the window.

Nagito didn’t push. He only hummed softly, as if tucking the thought away for later, and shifted gears. The car surged forward, the hum of the engine swallowing the silence between them.

Hajime watched the road blur past and forced himself not to think about it. Not about the gift. Not about Nagito. Not about how both lingered in his mind longer than he wanted.

~~

“See, boyfriend? I told you I’d get us there in less than two hours.” Nagito smirked as he switched off the engine.

Hajime rolled his eyes. He’d stopped correcting Nagito somewhere around the forty-minute mark. If Komaeda wanted to amuse himself by calling Hajime his boyfriend, then fine. Let him. Hajime wasn’t wasting his breath.

…Not that he liked it.

He can’t imagine that Nagito was too thrilled to be driving Hajime either.

Although…Nagito had been the one to offer him this ride before Hajime knew who he really was. And Nagito had known it was him the whole time. That thought still sat weirdly heavy in his chest.

“Yeah. Lucky you,” Hajime muttered.

Nagito chuckled under his breath. “That sums me up.”

They stepped out of the car. Nagito glanced at his watch, then back up at the tall, glassy hotel. “Nearly half past six. We could settle in, then go for food?”

“Sure, Komaeda,” Hajime said, ignoring the hungry twist in his gut.

The lobby was predictably grand. Nagito’s taste leaned consistently toward “expensive enough to make Hajime break into a sweat.” Check-in was smooth, of course. Nagito never faltered when dealing with staff; it was that easy charm, the kind Hajime remembered from high school but sharpened with adulthood. He trailed Nagito to the twentieth floor, luggage wheels humming against plush carpet.

Hajime was beginning to wonder if Nagito was intentionally booking high-level floors after his balcony revelation. There would be no point sitting on a balcony railing if they were near the ground, would there?

They reached the hotel room and Nagito hummed to himself, sliding the keycard into the door. As they stepped in, Hajime almost groaned.

One bed. Again.

He closed his eyes for one blissful second, telling himself it wouldn’t be that bad. Maybe if he explicitly said don’t touch me before lights-out, Nagito wouldn’t…

Wouldn’t what, Hinata? Wrap his arm around you again? Hold you like you didn’t sleep better than you have in weeks?

Hajime shoved the thought into a corner and dropped his suitcase by the dresser. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, the screen flashing with a name that made him blink.

Sonia Nevermind.

“…What the hell,” Hajime muttered before answering. “Yeah? Hello?”

“Hello, am I speaking to Hajime Hinata-san?” Sonia’s voice chimed, cheerful as ever.

Hajime nearly corrected her honorific but let it slide. “Yeah. Hi, Sonia.”

“Oh, Hajime!” she replied brightly. “How are you?”

“I’m great,” Hajime said, deadpan. “Stuck on the other side of Japan.”

“Oh, how terrible,” Sonia cooed. “I hope you get home soon!”

Hajime smirked despite himself. “Yeah. You okay?”

“Oh, yes! I will be returning to Japan next week, and I was wondering if you were available for next Saturday? I was going to book a meal and drinks for our class, you see.”

Hajime froze. His mind flicked back to yesterday. Nagito’s vague phone call, the meal Hajime had assumed he wasn’t even invited to.

“Oh, uh… sure,” Hajime said finally.

“Perfect! I know you weren’t technically in our class, but we’re all adults now and you were one of my best friends, Hajime,” Sonia said warmly.

That pulled a smile from him. He caught sight of Nagito raising an eyebrow as he stepped quietly onto the balcony, shutting the door behind him.

“Mm.”

“Oh, Hajime? Nagito will be at the meal…I do hope that is alright. I know you two had some…issues, but I assure you he is a different man now!”

Hajime barked a laugh. “Oh, I know he is. It’ll be fine.”

If only she knew who he was sharing a hotel room with right now.

“Okay, just checking! I must go now, I have to call Kazuichi.” Sonia’s voice carried a faint frown, and Hajime almost laughed again.

“Sure, take care, Sonia.”

“And yourself, Hajime! Stay full of water!”

The line clicked off. Hajime blinked at his phone. Stay full of water? Did she mean hydrated?

He shook his head, still smiling as he slipped the phone into his pocket. Sonia hadn’t forgotten him after all.

And somehow, that was enough to put him in a good mood to deal with Nagito Komaeda tonight.

~~

Nagito suggested they go down to the hotel restaurant first, then maybe head into Nagoya “just to see what was going on.”

Hajime didn’t argue. His stomach was already grumbling, and arguing with Nagito took too much energy anyway. He followed him down the marble staircase and into the restaurant, the soft hum of polite chatter washing over them.

“Is Sonia-san okay?” Nagito asked lightly, holding the door open for him.

Hajime muttered a thanks, stepping through before answering. “Yeah. All good. She was inviting me to a meal.”

“Ah. Next Saturday? I’m–”

“I know you’ll be there, Nagito.” Hajime cut him off with a tired smile. “I was in the car, remember?”

Nagito blinked, and to Hajime’s surprise, a faint pink rose across his cheeks. His stupid pale skin made it impossible to miss, the flush lighting up his whole face. Hajime quickly turned away, pretending to study the nearest table arrangement.

“…Seems I forgot,” Nagito said after a small cough, recovering with practiced smoothness. “Oh well. It’ll be nice to catch up with everyone.”

“Yeah. Sure,” Hajime muttered, following a waiter to their table.

“It’s probably a good thing I saw you before the meal, then, isn’t it?” Nagito added once they’d sat down.

Hajime frowned, tilting his head. “Why?”

Nagito gave a quiet laugh, folding his hands loosely around his water glass. “Because you wouldn’t have spoken to me. You wouldn’t have seen I had the chance to change.”

“You don’t know that,” Hajime said quickly, more defensive than he meant.

“Oh, but I do,” Nagito said, lips twitching into a smirk. “You were probably debating whether throwing yourself out of my car would’ve killed you, the second you realised who I was.”

Hajime’s face twitched. That had, in fact, crossed his mind. Once or twice. Damn him.

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t,” Hajime muttered instead, grabbing the menu like it might shield him from Nagito’s knowing expression.

Nagito didn’t press, just took a sip of water, his smile softening into something quieter. “Me too, Hajime.”

The words were simple, but they landed heavier than Hajime wanted them to. His stomach twisted – not with hunger this time.

~~

Dinner was quieter than Hajime had expected. Not awkward, exactly. Nagito seemed perfectly content filling the silence with idle remarks about the food, the décor, even the hotel’s choice of background music. For once, Hajime didn’t feel like snapping back. Maybe it was because now that “Ko” was Nagito, the puzzle pieces had clicked into place, and there wasn’t much point pretending he wasn’t curious.

“So, law.” Hajime set his chopsticks down after a few bites, eyeing him across the table. “Why’d you go into that?”

Nagito tilted his head, lips quirking. “You make it sound like I had a grand plan.”

“Didn’t you?” Hajime asked, frowning slightly.

Nagito shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Not really. In hindsight, it was a bit reckless. My luck… well, you know. Catastrophic at times. But over the years I’ve found I can manage it. Slightly.”

“Manage?” Hajime repeated. “How do you manage something like luck?”

Another shrug, this one slower. “A better self-image helps. Outlook, too. I don’t let it define every outcome anymore.”

Hajime studied him for a moment, unsure whether to press or to leave it. Nagito only smiled faintly and went back to his meal, as if the conversation hadn’t carried the weight it clearly did.

By the time they finished and stepped out into the humid Nagoya evening, the streets were alive with neon and chatter. Nagito glanced up at the skyline, hands in his pockets. “If we’d gotten here earlier, we could’ve gone to the castle,” he mused. Then his grin sharpened. “We could still sneak in.”

Hajime barked a laugh before he could stop himself. “For a lawyer, you’re sure set on breaking the law.”

“Old habits,” Nagito said with a shrug, though his smirk widened.

“Let’s not risk it,” Hajime muttered. “Your luck would probably get us thrown in jail.”

“Ah, true.” Nagito’s tone was light, but his eyes glinted. “Then let’s head to Atsuta Shrine instead. It’s open late.”

He unlocked the car, and Hajime slid into the passenger seat as Nagito started the engine, the glow of the city lights spilling across the windshield as they pulled back into the flow of traffic.

~~

The car wound through quiet residential streets until the noise of the city dulled into a low hum behind them. When Nagito pulled into the gravel lot, Hajime felt the change immediately: the air was cooler, stiller, and laced with the faint scent of cedar. The torii gate loomed ahead, painted a deep vermillion that caught the glow of the lanterns leading up the stone path.

“Not bad,” Hajime muttered as they stepped out, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Nagito walked a little ahead, his stride easy, the soles of his shoes crunching softly against the gravel. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? A place like this… it feels untouched, no matter how many people pass through.” His voice was quieter than usual, reverent even.

They moved under the torii together, the weight of the wooden beam above them symbolic in ways Hajime couldn’t quite put into words. The main shrine was lit softly, lanterns glowing against the darkened sky. Hajime’s eyes drifted to Nagito, who stood beside him with his head slightly bowed, hair shifting in the evening breeze.

“You come here often?” Hajime asked before he realized the question had slipped out.

Nagito shook his head, lips curling faintly. “No. But it feels like somewhere luck might behave differently, don’t you think?”

Hajime scoffed, though his voice came out softer than intended. “You and your luck.”

They lingered in the courtyard, Nagito tossing a coin into the offering box with an almost casual flick of his wrist. Hajime followed suit, though without much thought, listening to the faint ring of bells as someone else prayed nearby. For a moment, the world felt unnervingly quiet – just the rustle of leaves, the faint murmur of water flowing from a purification basin.

“Maybe it’s silly,” Nagito said suddenly, eyes still fixed on the shrine. “But I like the thought that even the unluckiest people can have a place to… reset.”

Hajime turned to him, brows furrowed, but Nagito didn’t look back. He only smiled faintly, the kind of smile Hajime couldn’t quite read, and the silence stretched between them until Hajime muttered, “Guess that’s not so silly after all.”

~~

The drive back was quiet, Hajime half-dozing against the window when a sudden wash of colour and light made Nagito ease off the accelerator.

On the roadside stretched a cluster of stalls – paper lanterns glowing in rows, smoke rising from grills, the clatter of bottles and laughter spilling into the night air. A tiny festival, half-hidden, alive against the dark.

Nagito’s eyes lit up. “Should we stop?”

Hajime blinked awake, frowning. “It’s just some food stalls.”

“Exactly. Perfect for a date.” Nagito’s grin was insufferable. “We’ll need pictures, won’t we? To convince your family.”

Hajime groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re not saying no,” Nagito said cheerfully, already flicking on the indicator.

Minutes later they were walking among the stalls, the air rich with the smell of grilled squid and yakitori. Nagito bought a pair of candied apples without hesitation and handed one to Hajime, who muttered a half-hearted “thanks” before biting into it.

“Hold still,” Nagito said suddenly, pulling out his phone. Before Hajime could protest, Nagito snapped a picture, Hajime mid-bite with his scowl perfectly intact.

“Delete that,” Hajime barked.

“Never,” Nagito replied, pocketing his phone with a grin.

They drifted toward the game stalls, Nagito stopping at a ring toss. With his usual infuriating confidence, he tossed one ring, missed entirely, and laughed as if he’d won. Hajime rolled his eyes, stepping up with a muttered, “Move over.” To his own surprise, his ring landed squarely around the bottle neck.

Nagito clapped politely, eyes warm in the lantern glow. “See? You’re the talented one, Hajime.”

Hajime turned away, suddenly too aware of the heat creeping into his face. “Fuck off.”

By the time they returned to the car, Hajime was carrying a cheap stuffed toy prize Nagito had insisted he keep, while Nagito hummed to himself, smug and unbothered.

“You’re ridiculous,” Hajime muttered as he buckled in. “This was ridiculous.”

Nagito only smiled, hands on the wheel. “And yet you didn’t hate it.”

Hajime said nothing, staring stubbornly out the window. But the toy sat in his lap, and he didn’t throw it away.

Chapter Text

Hajime had been staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, the stuffed animal still firm in his grasp as if he was a child. The room was dark, the city humming faintly below them. Nagito had stepped out to the balcony just after they arrived back, and Hajime had tried to settle into bed. He hadn’t managed to fall asleep.

He knew Nagito was outside. On the balcony. On the railing. Hajime’s jaw tightened just thinking about it.

The thought of Nagito falling was enough to keep him awake. That was all it was.

It wasn’t, absolutely wasn’t, the fact that Nagito wasn’t beside him.

Hajime groaned to himself, before lifting the covers. Maybe he would feel better if he just went outside, and saw Nagito was still there. At least then he’d know that he wasn’t dead at the bottom of the hotel.

Hajime tucked the plushie back into bed as if it was an infant and turned, padding barefoot across the carpeted floor to the balcony. The minute he stepped out, the night air caressed his skin, wrapping around him cold and sharp, the moon hanging low tonight.

And there Nagito was. Perched casually on the railing, the white tips of his hair glowing faintly silver under the moonlight. His face was tilted skyward, as though the stars belonged to him.

Hajime hesitated. If he startled him, would Nagito fall? He didn’t even know how to announce himself without sounding ridiculous.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Nagito asked suddenly, voice low, calm, without even looking at him.

“Yeah.” Hajime admitted, stepping closer, leaning against the railing but keeping his feet planted firmly on the balcony.

“Maybe looking at the stars will help.” Nagito offered, tone soft, almost reverent.

Hajime snuck a glance at him. For once, Nagito looked peaceful. He wasn’t sneering, wasn’t lecturing, wasn’t hiding behind smugness. Just quiet. Content. Like he belonged in the night sky with the stars. Hajime couldn’t remember ever seeing that expression back in school. Then, Nagito’s eyes had always been sharp, unsettled, hiding something Hajime could never name.

“I like to think my parents are up there,” Nagito broke the silence suddenly.

Hajime blinked, caught completely off guard. “…What?”

“My parents died when I was nine.” Nagito’s gaze never left the stars. “You knew I was afraid of heights, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Hajime replied cautiously.

“Well, it was because of a plane accident. A terrorist attack, technically. A meteor killed the terrorist mid-flight. It also killed my parents.” Nagito exhaled slowly. “I don’t believe in God. I don’t really believe in an afterlife either.” Nagito’s lips curved in a small, wistful smile. “…But I like to believe they’re at peace now. With the stars. That’s where I’d like to go, when my purpose here is finished.”

Something in Hajime’s chest twisted. Nagito sounded too calm, too accepted.

“I’m sure you’ll be a very bright star, Nagito.” Hajime swallowed thickly. Hearing about Nagito losing his parents so young, hearing about the side of him that Hajime had never known… something about it all stung, something about it left a bitter taste in his mouth that he couldn’t quite wash out.

Nagito laughed softly. “Mm. Then I could keep watching over you.”

Hajime scowled instinctively, though the heat in his face betrayed him. “You’re not dying before me.”

“With my luck, I probably will. But at least…” Nagito swallowed, dropping his arm down. His cheerful tone disappeared for a moment, smile faltering. “At least then I’ll be free.”

Free.

The word echoed in Hajime’s mind like a drop of water in a cavern. Nagito saw death as freedom. Hajime wanted to ask if that meant– if he still–

But the words caught in his throat. He didn’t want the answer. Not because he didn’t care. But because he wouldn’t know what to do with it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“Ah, Hajime. Look.” Nagito pointed further out into the sky, not allowing either of them to spend any longer dwelling on whatever Nagito had meant by free. Hajime squinted, following Nagito’s arm but not seeing where exactly he was pointing to.

“What?” Hajime asked.

“The Big Dipper.” Nagito replied, his smile growing.

Hajime frowned, searching the glittering expanse. He couldn’t see anything.

“I don’t see it.” He replied.

Nagito shifted a little closer on the railing, dropping his arm from pointing momentarily. Then, slowly, his fingers brushed just beneath Hajime’s chin. Gently, he tilted Hajime’s head in the right direction.

“See?” Nagito breathed, voice barely a whisper that skimmed Hajime’s skin.

Hajime’s eyes widened slightly. The constellation was there, clear against the night. He’d never seen a constellation before – not really. It was hard enough in Japan with the light pollution, and he never really had the spare time to sit and observe the night sky anyway.

Hajime swallowed, hyperaware of the pressure of Nagito’s touch, of how close he was, of how steady his breathing sounded this near.

“Yeah, I see it.” Hajime said, voice lower than he meant.

The stars were beautiful, sure. But Hajime couldn’t stop noticing how Nagito’s eyes reflected them. How the night framed his pale hair like a halo. How, for the first time in years, Hajime wasn’t sure if he hated being near him.

“My given name refers to that constellation,” Nagito murmured. “At least, the kanji does. How lucky that we get to see it tonight.”

“Yeah. Really lucky,” Hajime echoed, though he wasn’t looking at the sky anymore.

Nagito’s fingers lingered a heartbeat longer under his chin, then fell away. But Hajime still felt them, warm against his skin.

And for once, he didn’t want to move away.

~~

Hajime wasn’t too sure of how long they had stood there.

Nagito was still on the railing, eyes transfixed above him as if he couldn’t look away. And Hajime, despite now knowing he had no reason to fear that Nagito would fall to his death, didn’t want to go back inside. Didn’t want to end this conversation where he felt like he was seeing the Nagito that he never had the chance to know.

The Nagito that didn’t exist six years ago.

“You know…when we were driving to Osaka.” Nagito began, his head dropping slightly. “You said something.”

Hajime almost winced. He had been rude to Nagito on that stretch of the journey – a large part of him still believed Nagito deserved it, but he also knew he should apologise. “I’m sorry.”

Nagito chuckled. “Don’t apologise. You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Hajime went quiet.

“You said I don’t look like I’m ‘perpetually two seconds away from passing out anymore’.” Nagito continued, air quoting. Hajime’s stomach twisted in panic at seeing Nagito let go of the railing with both hands, and it only settled once Nagito caught himself on the bars again.

“You don’t.” Hajime said. “You look healthy.”

Nagito hummed, but it wasn’t satisfied. As if there was something gnawing at him that he wanted to get out, something he needed to pull into the open. Something he didn’t know how to.

“I am healthy. Now, anyway.” Nagito sighed, eyes narrowing into the distance. “I was ill when we were in school.”

Hajime swallowed. “You were?”

“Mm. Before I got into Hope’s Peak…I was diagnosed.”

The word alone made Hajime’s heart sink.

“I was diagnosed with Stage three Malignant Lymphoma.” Nagito continued as if he were reciting a headline.

Hajime didn’t know how Nagito was saying all of this while sat on a rail twenty stories above the ground. His own knees felt weak, he didn’t know how Nagito felt.

Nagito had…cancer?

“I was given a very short life expectancy. Somehow, my luck kept me alive. That is why my hair was rather unpleasant.” Nagito laughed although there was very little humour in it. “Chemo doesn’t do wonders for appearances.”

Hajime swallowed. “I didn’t know.”

“You weren’t supposed to.” Nagito instantly replied. “I kept it hidden from everyone. I think it was my luck’s last punishment. I kept everyone at arm’s length, so it had nobody else to target. It only had me. And it kept me alive long enough to let me watch myself deteriorate, like a final cruel taunt from the universe. Every round of chemo I survived, every scan that came back worse…I couldn’t tell if my luck wanted me alive, or if it just wanted me to suffer longer.”

Hajime looked up at the stars, because looking at Nagito made his chest ache.

“Just before we graduated, I decided to restart treatment.” Nagito went on. “I had stopped it when we were seventeen. I didn’t exactly want to live longer. But… Yukizome-san told me I had a bright future. Somehow, that stuck with me more than anything anyone had ever told me. So, I restarted my treatment. I went to therapy too – I knew my outlook on life wasn’t… great. But I wouldn’t have been able to fix it alone.”

He let out a breath that looked like it carried years with it. “Therapy didn’t change my luck, but it changed how I faced it. I learned that survival isn’t failure. That hope doesn’t have to mean destroying yourself. And maybe,” he smiled faintly, though his grip on the railing had whitened his knuckles “maybe I learned how to want to be alive.”

Hajime blinked at him, the admission heavier than anything he’d expected.

“After my nineteenth birthday, I was cancer-free. After my twentieth, I no longer needed therapy. That’s why you didn’t recognise me. The white hasn’t grown out yet, but I like it. And I don’t weigh sixty-five kilos anymore.”

He paused, softer now. “But being sick doesn’t excuse how I treated you. It doesn’t.”

“Nagito…” Hajime started, but Nagito cut across him.

“I knew the way I sneered at you wasn’t fair. Nobody else cared that you were from the Reserve Course. I just…latched onto it. But knowing how cruel I was – that was what finally pushed me to change.”

“Well,” Hajime said carefully, “if me dealing with your sneers was what got you better…I guess I’m glad I helped.”

Nagito laughed shakily, and his grip tightened again. “But it shouldn’t have had to be that way.”

“It shouldn’t,” Hajime agreed. His own voice was quieter now. “But it was. And maybe it didn’t work out too bad for us, after all.”

Nagito blinked at him, throat bobbing as he nodded. “I guess not.”

Hajime leaned a little closer, surprising himself. He didn’t have to like Nagito. But hearing all of this…hearing everything…

Maybe he could.

Chapter Text

When Hajime woke, Nagito’s arm wasn’t draped across him. That should have made Hajime feel relief, or at least indifference. But instead, he paused, just a fraction longer than necessary.

A small part of him missed it.

(Not that he would admit it aloud, of course.)

He yawned, stretching upward and swinging his legs off the bed, careful not to bump into Nagito. A glance caught the other man still curled around the pillow, eyelashes brushing his cheeks. Nagito’s face was soft in sleep, almost unguarded in a way Hajime hadn’t seen since school. The edges, the hardened, always-on-guard edges, had been there for so long – built from fear, illness, and the twisted logic of his luck – but now, just for a moment, Hajime could see past them.

Hajime swallowed hard. Watching Nagito sleep, even like this, made his chest feel tight. He knew better than to linger; Nagito waking to find him staring would be mortifying. Heat crept up Hajime’s neck as he forced himself to look away, striding toward the bathroom.

The shower was brief and merciful. He needed the water, needed the ritual of washing away both sleep and the remnants of their heavy balcony conversation.

Returning to the bedroom, Hajime saw Nagito placing his wristwatch carefully on the wardrobe. The motion was deliberate, measured, lacking the restless energy he usually carried.

“Morning,” Nagito said, voice low, a smile ghosting his lips, but Hajime noticed immediately that it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey. Morning,” Hajime replied softly, unsure if he should speak louder or stay quiet.

“I’ll go… shower,” Nagito said, stretching out, rolling his shoulders. “I won’t be long.”

“Sure,” Hajime answered, stepping aside to give him space, though he lingered a second longer than necessary.

Nagito moved with a measured grace, but there was a subtle weight in his movements Hajime hadn’t seen before. He wasn’t cheerful; not in the same teasing, bright way from the night before, or the road trip. Hajime knew that look. It was the quiet aftermath of heavy thoughts, Nagito’s way of carrying them alone, even when he didn’t have to.

Hajime sat back down on the bed, adjusting the laces on his trainers. His thoughts wandered to the night before; the cancer confession, the therapy, the honesty Nagito had finally shared. And yet now, seeing him like this, still soft, still fragile in his own careful way, Hajime realized he didn’t mind being here. Being near him. It was strange, unnerving, and surpsingly not unwelcome.

For the first time in a long while, Hajime let himself just sit, quietly, and watch. Nagito, despite everything, was still him, but somehow better. Stronger. Still human.

And Hajime thought, with a strange, sinking certainty, that maybe he was starting to care more than he should.

More than he would ever admit

~~

Nagito sipped his water slowly, staring down at his miso soup with a faint frown. The steam curled in lazy spirals above the bowl, but his eyes didn’t follow it.

“Do you not like it?” Hajime asked, blinking slowly, tilting his head.

“Oh, no. Not that.” Nagito chuckled softly, a sound quieter than usual. “My appetite just feels a little…off today.”

Hajime’s lips pressed into a thin line. Nagito had been different this entire trip – cheerful, easy-going, somehow more grounded than the boy Hajime remembered from school. And yet, today, he seemed reserved. Guarded. A little distant. Hajime’s chest tightened. He knew why, of course. Last night had been heavy. Too heavy. Anyone would carry that with them into the morning.

Still, Hajime couldn’t shake the little pang of fear that tugged at him. That Nagito might revert. Go back to the way he had been in school. Sneering, hypercritical, cruel. Hajime’s stomach twisted at the thought.

“Well, you don’t have to finish it,” Hajime said finally, his voice quieter than he intended.

Nagito’s lips curved faintly upward, a soft arch of an eyebrow accompanying it. He lifted his spoon again and took a small, careful bite, as if testing himself.

Hajime shifted awkwardly beneath the tablecloth, fidgeting with his hands. “I, uh… I wanted to say something.”

Nagito glanced up, tilting his head just enough to meet Hajime’s eyes. “Yes?”

Hajime exhaled through his nose, trying to steady himself. “I think you’re… really strong. For everything you’ve been through. And… getting to where you are today.”

The words felt stiff in his mouth, almost robotic. But they were sincere. More than that – he meant them. Hajime had never been good at this sort of thing, expressing support or compliments.

Nagito’s hand stilled around his spoon. His fingertips pressed lightly against the bowl, tense. He didn’t respond for a few seconds, and Hajime’s chest tightened further, fear blooming in the silence. He was already preparing to apologize, certain he’d overstepped.

“…Thank you, Hajime. That means a lot,” Nagito said finally, his voice soft, almost reluctant. He turned his gaze away, focusing on the table.

Hajime held his breath, waiting for the self-deprecation, for the bitter remark he was so used to hearing. But it didn’t come.

For a fleeting second, Hajime felt like he could almost smile.

And he did, just slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

Nagito, for his part, returned to his miso soup, spoon moving deliberately now, though the faint curve of his lips betrayed him.

A small, almost imperceptible acknowledgment that Hajime’s words had reached him.

~~

Nagito’s spirits seemed a little higher by the time they had eaten and gotten to the car.

“Well,” he said as they merged onto the road. “We’re officially on the home stretch.”

Hajime smiled, but his stomach tightened. He felt as though he’d let Nagito open up too late. He didn’t…want it to end like this. Sure, they still had days to go, but he knew Nagito could have had them back in Tokyo in less than a day from Nagoya. Instead, he insisted on Hakone.

Hajime didn’t object.

He told himself it was because he wanted to see more of Japan. Not because he wanted more time with Nagito. That excuse was getting harder to swallow every day.

“What a road trip,” Hajime muttered.

Nagito snorted. “It’s definitely one to remember.”

Silence settled in, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it was the kind of silence only shared by two people who didn’t need words.

Hajime shifted in his seat after a few minutes, turning his face toward the driver. “Can I ask you something?”

Nagito nodded, eyes still on the road. “Go ahead.”

“How did you not get overwhelmed becoming a lawyer?”

Nagito’s eyebrows shot up before he chuckled. “I did.”

“But you passed the bar first time.”

“Well, to be honest, I think that was luck. Not many lawyers manage it. I studied, yes, but…luck has always had its hands on my life.” He flicked Hajime a sideways glance. “It’ll come in time for you too. Just give yourself the chance.”

“I’m running out of time, though,” Hajime groaned. “I already told you – my firm will probably only keep me for another year.”

“And I’ve already told you that you could come and work with me.” Nagito’s tone was matter-of-fact, almost teasing.

“You meant that?” Hajime blinked.

“Well, of course. It wasn’t just a line to make you open up.” Nagito switched lanes smoothly, his voice calm. “I don’t have a property yet, but we both know I have far too much money – getting one isn’t an issue. I just need to build my name.”

Hajime hesitated, the offer circling in his chest.

“So, why not try again this year?” Nagito said, his smile audible in his voice. “If you don’t pass, fine. If you do, excellent. And if your firm does let you go, you’ll still have me.”

Something in his tone caught Hajime off guard. It was too sincere, too steady. His throat tightened. He looked away. “…Thanks, Nagito.”

“Oh, don’t thank me.” Nagito’s smile softened. “A therapist once told me something. I think you might find it useful too.” He cleared his throat, repeating the words with a kind of reverence. “‘A river may be forced to change course, but it still finds its way to the sea.’”

Hajime scoffed on reflex. “You sound like Sonia.”

Sarcasm was easier than admitting the words had struck him like an arrow, easier than admitting he wanted to believe them.

Nagito chuckled. “But it’s true, isn’t it? You may change firms, lose friends, gain new ones… you’ll still end up where you’re meant to be.”

Hajime found himself smiling despite the sting of it. “You’re wise.”

Nagito smirked. “Maybe they didn’t teach you wisdom on the reserve course.”

The words landed like a punch to the chest. Hajime stiffened, heat rising to his face. Seriously? After all this, was Nagito really going to throw that back at him?

He turned sharply, a retort already on his tongue – but froze.

Nagito wasn’t sneering. His eyes weren’t narrowed in disdain. Instead, his lips curled into a small, almost reluctant smile, soft at the edges. Not cruel. Not mocking. Just…teasing.

The realization left Hajime stumbling for words. “…I didn’t realize you were a comedian.”

“Well, one of us has to be, Hajime, and it’s certainly not you.”

A laugh burst out of Hajime before he could stop it.

Nagito had changed.

Even if it was hard to believe, even if part of him still fought against the idea – he couldn’t deny it anymore.

~~

The road curved out toward the horizon, Fuji’s dark peak just beginning to emerge like a ghost against the pale afternoon sky. Hajime leaned his head against the window, trying to focus on the view, though his attention kept straying back to the driver’s seat.

Nagito had called ahead less than an hour ago, asking about availability at a nearby cottage. The receptionist’s clipped, unimpressed tone had made Hajime brace for rejection, until Nagito casually doubled the quoted price. And then doubled it again.

The woman’s voice softened instantly. Within minutes, the booking was secured.

“Money rules the world,” Nagito had said afterward, smirking to himself. Hajime had rolled his eyes, but the ease with which Nagito handled it – the confidence, the sharpness – still sat in his chest.

It was strange. Everything about him was strange now.

Nagito Komaeda had changed.

Hajime hated how quickly he’d noticed it – how quickly he’d felt himself responding to it. Somewhere along the drive, somewhere between banter and silence, between confessions on balconies and smirks across dinner tables, the edges had dulled. Not gone, not forgiven, but different.

Nagito wasn’t the same boy who had sneered at him in the school corridors, twisting the knife in his chest just for existing in the reserve course. Hajime knew that. And yet, the memory of it still burned. It always would.

But Nagito had atoned. Not by apologizing – not directly – but by changing. By pulling himself out of whatever pit he’d been in. By working, by healing, by becoming someone Hajime almost felt proud of.

The thought twisted in his stomach like something dangerous.

Proud of him? Hajime scoffed quietly under his breath, shifting in his seat as if the physical discomfort might shake the feeling out of him. No, it wasn’t pride. It was tolerance. He had simply tricked his brain into tolerating Nagito, that was all. A survival tactic. One long car ride with someone you once hated, and the mind adapts. That’s all this was.

Except, when Hajime let his eyes flick sideways, when he caught the slope of Nagito’s jaw in profile, the way his hair fell messily but with intention, the curve of his smile as he hummed along to the radio – his stomach tightened. Again.

Not irritation. Not dread. Something else.

He shut his eyes quickly, forcing himself back against the seat. He didn’t need to label it. Couldn’t.

He just had to make it to Fuji without driving himself insane.

~~

By the time they reached the cottage, the sun was already dipping low, washing the sky in a hazy mix of amber and lavender. Fuji loomed above them, immense and quiet, its peak dusted in the remnants of white like a painting come to life. Hajime had seen it before, of course – on postcards, TV, the background of a thousand tourist photos – but standing beneath it made him feel like the ground might give way under his feet.

“Not bad, hm?” Nagito mused as he pulled their bags from the trunk. His smirk carried a trace of satisfaction, like he’d planned the whole thing.

“Not bad,” Hajime admitted.

They checked into the cottage – small, wooden, with sliding doors that creaked pleasantly and a porch that looked directly out toward Fuji. It smelled faintly of cedar and tatami. Hajime found himself tugged outside almost immediately, his feet carrying him to the porch as though the view itself had hooked him.

Nagito followed, settling cross-legged beside him with the ease of someone who belonged everywhere and nowhere at once.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence was heavier here than it had been in the car, but it wasn’t suffocating. The mountain held it for them, broad and still, as though daring them to fill it with something meaningful.

“Feels weird,” Hajime said eventually. “Sitting here. Feels like…you should be thinking about life or something.”

Nagito’s quiet chuckle drifted into the cooling air. “What, you mean an epiphany? Some grand realization?”

“Something like that,” Hajime muttered.

Nagito tilted his head, eyes fixed on the peak. “You know, I’ve always thought Fuji looked lonely.”

“Lonely?” Hajime frowned. “It’s…a mountain.”

“Exactly.” Nagito gestured lazily. “All that space, all that height. Standing alone while everyone else clusters below and watches. It’s beautiful, but…” He trailed off, a wry smile playing at his lips. “It feels a little familiar.”

Hajime’s chest tightened. “Nagito–”

“Don’t worry,” Nagito cut in softly, shaking his head. “I don’t mean it like before. Just…when you’re different, you feel it. Even if it’s not true. Even if other people don’t care. The feeling lingers.”

Hajime didn’t reply right away. He stared at the mountain, the way the sky had begun to purple behind it, and let the words settle. He thought of reserve course uniforms, of whispers, of Nagito’s sneers. He thought of last night on the balcony, of illness, of survival.

“I guess it makes sense,” Hajime said finally, his voice low. “You’d notice stuff like that.”

Nagito’s smile softened, his gaze flicking sidelong. “You would too, Hajime. You always have.”

The words landed heavier than Hajime wanted to admit. He swallowed, leaning back on his hands.

They talked for a while longer about nothing and everything. Food stalls they’d passed on the road, the ridiculous prices of hotels, even the stars they might be able to see once the sky cleared. It wasn’t deep, not really. But it was easy.

And that, Hajime realized, was what felt strangest of all.

It was easy, being here with Nagito.

~~

The stars had begun to blink above them, but neither man moved inside.
Hajime slid his phone out of his pocket, debating. Then, he turned to Nagito so quickly he thought he might get whiplash.

“Hey. Let’s…” Hajime gestured to his phone. “Take a picture?”

“With me?” Nagito laughed, a soft, surprised sound that tugged at something in Hajime’s chest. Still, he stood. “Of course, Hajime. I’m honoured.”

The men crouched in front of the phone, ducking just enough to get the peak of Fuji in the background as Hajime snapped a few selfies. Their shoulders brushed. Hajime felt the faintest hint of Nagito’s cologne catching at his shirt – the same one he’d caught at the club – and told himself he was imagining it, that it wasn’t worth noticing.

He didn’t know why he was taking pictures. He told himself that it was to show his family, to make him and Nagito’s romance sound more believable. Or just because he was on a “vacation,” technically, and that warranted pictures.

But a quieter voice lingered in his mind. That if Nagito slipped out of his life again after this trip, at least these pictures would be frozen in time. And Nagito would still be here.

Hajime pushed the thought away as quickly as it landed.

He blinked up, looking at the stars. “Shame you don’t have a balcony to sit on.” Hajime smirked, half-teasing.

Nagito chuckled. “Indeed. But I think it looks better from here.”

Hajime pinched his brows slightly, his treacherous eyes sneaking a glance at Nagito.
Nagito wasn’t looking at the stars.
He wasn’t looking at Fuji.
He was looking straight at Hajime.

Hajime’s breath hitched. He blinked rapidly, quickly averting his eyes. Maybe…Nagito had just looked over at the exact time Hajime did. That had to be right, didn’t it?
Nagito hadn’t been looking at him, had he?

The memory of Nagito asleep in the hotel bed the night before flickered through his mind –how soft he’d looked without all the sharp edges, how Hajime had caught himself staring then, too. He felt his cheeks turn pink, thankful that the inky sky made it very difficult to see his complexion.

“We should…probably head inside soon.” Hajime finally broke the silence.

Nagito nodded. “Yeah. Probably.”

Neither of them moved.
Neither of them wanted to.

Chapter Text

Hajime settled into bed with a yawn, pulling the cover over himself. The mattress was softer than he expected for a last-minute booking, but of course it was. Nagito could probably give a lazy smile and wave a stack of cash at anyone, and make them bend over backwards.

“What’s our plan for tomorrow then?” Hajime asked, voice low in the dim light.

Nagito shifted under the covers, turning toward him. “Well, we could stay here in the morning. Then head to Hakone.” His voice was already slurred with sleep, his blinking heavy. “I think as long as we’re back in Tokyo for Friday everything will be fine.”

Hajime stared up at the wooden beams on the ceiling. “You could get us back to Tokyo from here, you know,” he muttered. He hated that the words left his mouth. Because he didn’t want to be back in Tokyo yet. Didn’t want to taint whatever fragile, tentative thing he and Nagito had built.

“I could,” Nagito agreed easily, shifting closer. The bed dipped with his weight. “But I don’t want to.”

I don’t want to.

The words bounced around Hajime’s skull, reverberating and splintering against bone.

I don’t want to.

Nagito didn’t want them to get back to Tokyo yet. Even when he could. Even when he probably should.

Hajime’s throat tightened. Why didn’t Nagito want to go? Why did it sound almost personal?

“Yeah. Me neither,” Hajime said quietly, fingers curling into the duvet as if it were a lifeline.

Nagito didn’t answer. He just exhaled softly, the warm brush of his breath ghosting over Hajime’s neck. Hajime went rigid at the sensation, a shiver crawling down his spine before he could stop it. He told himself it was just because Nagito had shifted closer, that the room was cool, that he was imagining it.

“Goodnight, Hajime,” Nagito mumbled, already half-asleep.

“…Goodnight.”

Hajime screwed his eyes shut. He didn’t know why his chest felt so heavy, why his throat tightened like he was swallowing down something he didn’t dare name. He didn’t know why he could still feel the ghost of Nagito’s breath on his skin, why it lingered longer than it should have.

He didn’t know anything.

~~

Nagito had searched for nearby cafés on his phone, insisting they stop for breakfast before heading out toward Hakone. Hajime hadn’t argued. He was hungry, and besides, saying no to Nagito when he looked so quietly pleased with himself felt almost wrong.

The café was small and tucked away on a side street, sunlight streaming through the wide windows and catching on the steam rising from cups of coffee. It should have been easy for Hajime to just sit and eat, but instead he found himself glancing across the table more often than he wanted to. His eyes lingered. Lingered on Nagito’s hair catching the light, on the curve of his smile as he flipped through the menu, even on the way his fingers tapped idly against the glass of water.

Hajime didn’t know why he kept looking. It wasn’t the same as before, not the sharp, defensive glares he’d thrown back in school when Nagito had sneered at him. This was different. Softer. As if some part of him was trying to burn this version of Nagito into memory. The mature man with a life ahead of him, the man who had clawed his way out of his own wreckage.

“Are you okay, Hajime?” Nagito’s voice cut through his thoughts, his eyebrow quirking upward.

“Huh?” Hajime blinked, heat crawling up his neck. “Y-yeah. Fine.”

Nagito tilted his head, watching him with that infuriatingly knowing look. Then, slowly, a small smirk tugged at his lips. “I think you were staring at me.”

“I wasn’t!” Hajime shot back instantly, the denial too quick, too sharp. He could feel the tips of his ears burning.

Nagito leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of water like he had all the time in the world. “Mm. If you say so.” The smirk deepened. “I don’t mind.”

Hajime nearly choked on his own saliva. “I wasn’t staring!” he snapped again, a little louder than he meant to. A couple at the table behind them glanced over.

Nagito didn’t even flinch. He just let out a soft laugh, quiet enough that only Hajime could hear, the sound curling around the edges of Hajime’s composure. “It’s fine, Hajime,” he murmured, eyes glinting with amusement. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Hajime groaned, ducking his head slightly to hide the red blooming across his cheeks. He wanted to throw his spoon at Nagito’s stupid, smug face, but part of him knew that would only make Nagito laugh harder.

God.

Why did it feel like Nagito knew something Hajime didn’t? Why did Nagito always seem to control the moment, tugging at Hajime’s reactions like a puppeteer?

Nagito raised an eyebrow again.

Hajime turned away.

~~

They set off for Hakone just after two. They hadn’t lingered too long at Fuji – took a few more pictures, half-jokingly dared each other to try climbing the mountain. Nagito had firmly declined, insisting he’d probably set off a tsunami on the east coast if he even set foot on the slope.

Hajime had snorted at the dramatics but he didn’t press. It wasn’t entirely outside the realm of Nagito’s luck to trigger a natural disaster.

Nagito estimated it would take them an hour, maybe two, to reach Hakone. Hajime didn’t mind. It gave them more time, more of this strange, fragile peace they’d found.

But there was something nagging at Hajime still.

The dream he’d had Monday night. The anonymous Valentine’s gift, seven years ago. It was ridiculous to think about it now – he hadn’t dwelled on it in years. Yet something about being on this trip with Nagito had scratched it back into his mind like a splinter under skin.

None of their classmates had ever worked out who had sent it. Hajime hadn’t asked Nagito at the time; it would have been like painting a target on his back. And yet, if anyone knew, it might be him.

“Hey, Nagito?” Hajime asked suddenly.

Nagito shifted up a gear, his sunglasses catching the afternoon light. “Hm?”

“This is stupid, but…” Hajime trailed off. He braced for the ridicule, for the teasing tone Nagito always carried when Hajime made himself vulnerable. But the thought wouldn’t leave him unless he asked.

“Go on,” Nagito said, voice careful.

Hajime sighed. “Do you remember second-year Valentine’s?”

The corner of Nagito’s mouth curved up. “Of course. Teruteru insisted he received twenty presents.” He chuckled. “I watched him buy half of them myself.”

Hajime barked out a laugh despite himself, tension breaking for just a second. “Knew it.”

“But yes,” Nagito continued, smirk tugging faintly at his lips. “I remember. Why?”

“Well…” Hajime scratched his neck, uncomfortable. “I had this dream the other night. I don’t know if you remember, but I got an anonymous gift. The only clue was the initials. They were ‘ULS’. No one knew anybody with those initials. I mean, I know we didn’t exactly get along, so you wouldn’t have told me back then, but…” He hesitated. “Did you know who sent it?”

Nagito’s smirk widened. “ULS, hm?” He rolled the letters around his tongue, savouring them. “Doesn’t sound like initials to me, Hajime.”

“They were initials,” Hajime muttered with a groan. “So you don’t know either?”

“Ah, I didn’t say that,” Nagito countered smoothly. “But you may twist my words if you like. They sound better coming from you.”

Hajime turned his eyes towards the trees in the far distance. “You’re so helpful.”

“U…L…S.” Nagito repeated, deliberate. His voice had that teasing edge again, but this time, something warmer beneath it.

Hajime raised a suspicious brow. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Have you considered the ‘U’ might stand for ‘Ultimate’?” Nagito asked.

Hajime blinked, brows knitting. “Ultimate? Then…L.S. would be their talent. I don’t remember anyone with a talent like that…”

Nagito hummed, gaze fixed on the road. “Didn’t you?”

Hajime ran through the list in his head. Ultimate…L.S. Ultimate…Liar? No. That wasn’t even a real talent.

“You’re enjoying this too much.” Hajime raised a suspicious brow, before he frowned. “There wasn’t a talent that started with–”

Hajime froze, the words tangling in his throat. A cold weight slid down his back.

Ultimate… Lucky…

His head snapped sideways, eyes wide. “Ultimate Lucky Student?!”

Nagito didn’t flinch. His smile softened into something quieter, almost sad. “Well, it matches, doesn’t it?”

“But– but that was you!” Hajime stammered. “You were the Ultimate Lucky Student! I mean, yeah, there was an underclassman after you, but… no, no, you’re messing with me. You hated me.” He slumped back in his seat, trying to steady the wild beat of his heart.

Nagito didn’t look at him. He kept his eyes on the road, voice even. “I don’t think many people would’ve guessed your favourite candle scent was lavender. Or noticed enough to care.”

The air in the car went still. Hajime stared at him, stomach twisting.

The breath caught in his chest. He remembered that candle, had used it so sparingly in his dorm room, not wanting to run out too soon. Nobody had ever asked him about scents. Nobody had cared. He hadn’t even thought anyone had noticed.

“Why?” Hajime asked, voice low. “Why would you buy me anything? Was it a joke? Just some cruel way to mess with me?”

Nagito’s fingers flexed on the steering wheel. For once, he didn’t smirk. “Because you wouldn’t have accepted it if it came from me in person. You’d have thrown it back in my face. So, I guess I thought it would be better if I was anonymous.”

Hajime swallowed hard. “Then what was it? Why go to all that trouble?”

Nagito’s fingers tightened just slightly on the wheel. “Because I liked you, Hajime. Even if I was cruel. Even if I didn’t know how to show it. I thought, maybe, stupidly, that gift could say what I couldn’t.”

The words landed like stones in Hajime’s chest. His mind reeled. Nagito had liked him? Crushed on him? Back when he sneered at him, belittled him, treated him like he wasn’t worth standing beside?

It didn’t make sense.

And yet, Hajime didn’t feel the sharp sting of anger he thought he would. No disgust. No old bitterness clawing back up. Instead there was just shock. Confusion. A twisting in his stomach he couldn’t name.

Nagito smirked faintly, trying to lighten the air. “Took you long enough to figure it out. I was beginning to think I’d die before you asked.”

Hajime’s throat tightened. He didn’t know what to say.

All he knew was that the lavender-scented candle from seven years ago suddenly smelled like something else now, something dangerously close to warmth. Like the kind of attention he’d spent years pretending he didn’t want.

Pretending he hadn’t wanted it from Nagito.

Chapter Text

Hajime sat rigid in the passenger seat, eyes fixed on the blur of green and grey streaming past the window. He couldn’t look at Nagito. Couldn’t even risk catching his reflection in the glass.

None of it made sense.

Nagito Komaeda – the boy who had spent years practically bullying him, picking apart his worth, dragging Reserve Course like it was poison across his tongue – was claiming he’d had a crush on him?

It was absurd. Insulting. Cruel, even. Hajime wanted to be angry, to laugh bitterly and wanted Nagito to tell him it was just another joke. Another manipulation. But when he replayed Nagito’s words in his head, there hadn’t been cruelty there. There hadn’t been mockery. Only a strange, quiet sincerity.

He clenched his fists against his thighs, trying to unknot the tightness in his stomach.

It shouldn’t have mattered. It didn’t matter. Seven years ago, Hajime wouldn’t have believed him anyway. Seven years ago, he would’ve shoved that candle back into Nagito’s chest and demanded to know what game he was playing.

So why now, when the truth finally sat between them, did Hajime feel his chest tightening instead of loosening?

He told himself it was just shock. That was all. He wasn’t supposed to find out that Nagito Komaeda had been watching him close enough to know he liked lavender, close enough to think about giving him something on Valentine’s Day.

He wasn’t supposed to know that the same boy who had once made his life miserable had, at the same time, harboured something almost tender. Something he was probably so deeply ashamed of in ways he himself couldn’t express.

It twisted something deep in him, something Hajime didn’t want to name.

His eyes slid back toward Nagito, just for a second. Sunglasses still on, jaw set, posture relaxed as if he hadn’t just dropped a confession like a weight between them.

Nagito looked normal. As if none of this meant anything.

Hajime swallowed hard and turned away again, pressing his forehead lightly against the cool glass.

None of it made sense. Not Nagito. Not the gift. Not the warmth that had bloomed uninvited in Hajime’s chest the second Nagito had admitted it was him. He should have asked more. About how Nagito knew so much about him even back then, how long he’d been waiting to send it, whether he’d ever imagine Hajime actually using it. But the questions clogged in his throat. He didn’t want the answers yet. He didn’t even want to think about it anymore.

He was supposed to be disgusted. He was supposed to be angry.

So why wasn’t he?

~~

The hotel in Hakone was smaller than the places they’d stayed before, tucked neatly against the hillside with mist curling around the rooftops. By the time they’d checked in and dragged their bags upstairs, the weight of the drive and everything said along the way still clung stubbornly between them.

Nagito lingered by the window once they entered the room, fingers toying with the latch as though the mist outside might swallow him whole. His voice, when it came, was soft.

“…I’m sorry.”

Hajime looked up from setting his bag down, startled. “For what?”

Nagito didn’t move, didn’t turn. “For the gift. For not telling you. For…making things more complicated than they needed to be.”

Hajime laughed, short and sharper than he meant to. “It doesn’t matter, Nagito. That was seven years ago.”

Nagito finally turned his head, his expression unreadable but his eyes a little too sharp. “I didn’t realise you’d still think about it.”

Hajime shifted awkwardly. “I don’t. Not really. Just…I wish you would’ve told me. At least then I’d have known.”

Nagito shook his head slowly, a humourless smile tugging at his lips. “Even if you’d accepted the present knowing it was mine, my luck would’ve ruined it. I couldn’t risk that. Not with you.”

The silence that followed was thick. Hajime sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the carpet as if it held the answers. Nagito stayed rooted by the window, a faint silhouette against the pale light outside.

And then Hajime heard himself say it, before he could stop himself:

“I’m glad it was you.”

The air shifted, sharp and fragile. Nagito blinked, clearly thrown off guard. “You… are?”

Hajime’s stomach tightened. He was just as surprised as Nagito, but the words were out now, raw and unpolished. He rubbed the back of his neck, forcing himself to meet Nagito’s gaze. “Yeah. I mean… if it had to be anyone, I’m glad it was you. Even if I didn’t know back then. Even if it doesn’t really make sense.”

Nagito’s lips parted slightly, but no words came. He looked almost stunned. For once, the ever-present smirk was gone.

Hajime felt the heat rise in his own face, but he didn’t take it back. Couldn’t. Because he realised, with an odd calmness, that he meant it.

Really meant it.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy anymore. It wasn’t filled with the secrets a decade old, the unspoken things. It just lingered, electric and quiet all the same.

And for Hajime, that was somehow scarier than the weight.

~~

Nagito stepped out of the shower at around five, towel loose around his hips, steam curling off his skin. His hair stuck damply to his temples, drops of water trailing down his shoulders and spine. He moved with a careless ease, shoulders relaxed, as though he had all the time in the world.

Hajime’s throat went dry the instant he saw him.

For the first time since they’d reunited, Hajime was confronted with Nagito – his body, not just his presence. He wasn’t rail-thin anymore, nor ghostly pale. His frame had filled out just enough to smooth the sharp angles Hajime remembered. There were faint outlines of muscle along his arms, subtle but there. His skin looked healthier, warmer. Alive.

Hajime stared too long before he realized it. He blinked hard, dragging his eyes away, but the image clung to the back of his eyelids. His chest tightened, heat crawling up his neck.

Don’t look. Don’t even think about looking.

“Should we head to dinner soon?” Nagito’s voice was easy, almost teasing. “It might be our last date, after all.”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Hajime’s reply came too fast, too flat. He fixed his gaze on the wall, anywhere but at Nagito. He probably looked like a complete idiot, frozen stiff on the edge of the bed.

“We’ll have to make it one to remember, then.” Nagito’s voice dropped softer, almost thoughtful.

Hajime heard him rummaging on the desk, the faint scrape of metal against wood. Then a muttered curse.

“Oh, shit.”

“You okay?” Hajime asked, more desperate than concerned.

Please say yes. Please don’t drag me into this.

“My watch,” Nagito sighed, sounding almost disappointed. “It won’t fasten.”

Hajime’s stomach dropped. Of course. Of course the universe would punish him like this. First, his eyes lingering where they shouldn’t. Now fate was shoving him into touching Nagito, of all things.

“Here.” Hajime stood before he could stop himself. His legs moved without permission, his voice rough. “I’ll do it.”

“Oh, really, it’s fine–”

“Shut up.” Hajime cut him off, grabbing Nagito’s slender wrist before he could argue. His fingers wrapped around it firmly, too firmly. He thought – no, imagined – that Nagito’s breath hitched.

The watch was simple, silver, a faint tan line circling the skin beneath it. Hajime turned it over carefully, aligning the latches, every brush of his thumb against Nagito’s skin sending tiny sparks up his arm.

Don’t look at his chest. Don’t breathe him in. Just focus. Just fasten the damn thing.

The clasp clicked into place. Hajime could have – should have – let go then. But he didn’t. His hand stayed, circling Nagito’s wrist, lingering far too long for something that was supposed to be practical.

Hajime’s eyes betrayed him. Slowly, against his better judgment, he looked up.

Green met grey.

Nagito’s lashes were damp, his hair clinging in soft strands. His lips parted, barely, as if he’d forgotten how to breathe. A flush crept over the tips of his ears, faint but undeniable.

Hajime’s chest constricted. His head screamed to look away, to let go, to break the moment before it broke him, but his body refused to move. He could smell the sharp, clean scent of Nagito’s shower gel, mixed with something warmer, something uniquely him.

Nagito swallowed. His tongue darted quickly across his lips. “…Uh, Hajime?” His voice was low, careful.

“Yeah?” Hajime’s own voice came out rougher than expected, a register too low, carrying something he didn’t want to name. Didn’t know how to name.

“You’re… still holding me.”

Hajime blinked, as though waking from a trance. He released Nagito’s wrist instantly, as if he had been burned.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“Sorry,” Hajime muttered, his face burning. He turned sharply, desperate for an escape. “I’ll…uh…wash my face. Then we can go.”

He fled into the bathroom without waiting for a reply, slamming the door shut and bracing both palms against the sink. His reflection stared back at him, flushed and wide-eyed.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Why had he stared? Why had he lingered? Why had it felt like– like something he wanted?

In the room outside, Nagito sat silently on the bed, wrist still tingling where Hajime’s hand had been.

~~

Hajime gripped the sink tighter, leaning forward until his forehead almost touched the mirror. His reflection stared back at him, cheeks red, hair slightly dishevelled, eyes wide in a way he hadn’t seen in years.

He turned on the tap, splashing cold water over his face until it stung, until the heat in his cheeks dulled just enough to be bearable. Still, the image of Nagito – damp hair, towel loose, the warmth of his wrist beneath Hajime’s palm – wouldn’t leave him. It played on a loop, sharper than any photograph.

He groaned softly, dragging both hands down his face.

It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything. He was just…hyper-aware. That was all. They’d been together constantly for days now, alone in hotel rooms, in cars, sitting shoulder to shoulder. It was natural that Hajime’s brain would start overfiring, searching for things to latch onto. That’s what this was. Proximity. Familiarity. His nerves tricking him into reacting.

Not attraction. Definitely not attraction.

Hajime shook his head, muttering under his breath. “You’re just stressed. That’s all. You’re stressed, and he’s…he’s different now. That’s why.”

And maybe that was the truth. Nagito was different. Calmer. More self-aware. More…human. A man who had fought through sickness, therapy, self-destruction, and come out the other side. Hajime couldn’t deny that part of him was proud of that.

But pride shouldn’t make his chest tighten. Pride shouldn’t make his throat dry when Nagito stood too close. Pride shouldn’t leave the ghost of a wrist lingering against his palm like he hadn’t let go soon enough.

Hajime exhaled sharply, gripping the sink again until his knuckles whitened.

He had to get a grip. He couldn’t afford to let his mind wander down paths it had no business wandering. This wasn’t real. They weren’t really on dates. This wasn’t whatever the hell his chest was pretending it was.

He straightened, forcing his face into something neutral, like dragging a mask back into place, before turning off the tap. He gave his reflection one last look, jaw tight, determination hardening in his eyes.

When he opened the bathroom door, Nagito was still perched on the bed, watch fastened neatly on his wrist, hair falling into his eyes as he fiddled absently with the button on the collar of his crisp white shirt.

Hajime’s stomach twisted, and he looked away immediately.

“Let’s go,” he said quickly, forcing steadiness into his tone. “Dinner’s waiting.”

Nagito’s lips quirked faintly, something unreadable in his expression, but he only replied, “Lead the way, Hajime.”

~~

The restaurant Nagito had chosen was warm and softly lit, all dark wood and paper lanterns glowing amber above the tables. The faint scent of grilled fish and miso hung in the air, carried over by the occasional chatter of other diners.

Nagito walked a step ahead, speaking easily with the hostess, slipping into that calm confidence he carried when dealing with strangers. Hajime followed, hands shoved into his pockets, telling himself he wasn’t watching the way Nagito’s damp hair brushed the collar of his shirt.

They were seated near the window, the blue vast of Ashi just barely visible in the last light of dusk. Hajime slid into the booth opposite Nagito, pulling the menu toward himself just to give his hands something to do.

“Everything looks good,” Nagito said, voice low and thoughtful as he scanned the menu. “Do you want to share a few dishes?”

The question was casual, but Hajime’s mind caught on it anyway – on the word share. He shook the thought away, scratching his cheek. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

They ordered without fuss: grilled mackerel, tempura, miso soup, rice. Simple, comforting. The kind of food Hajime hadn’t realized he missed until it was in front of him.

Nagito set down his chopsticks after a bite, resting his chin in his hand as his eyes flicked toward Hajime. “You’re quiet tonight.”

“I’m eating.” Hajime shot back too quickly, though his eyes dropped to his rice.

“Mm. True. But even so…” Nagito’s smile was faint – teasing, but not cutting. “I thought you might have another question for me. You usually do when you’re staring that hard.”

Hajime froze, chopsticks clutched halfway to his mouth. His ears burned. “I wasn’t–”

“Relax,” Nagito chuckled, tilting his head. “I told you, I don’t mind.”

Hajime shoved a mouthful of rice into his mouth just to avoid answering. The worst part was Nagito wasn’t wrong. He had been staring. Noticing. Cataloguing details he shouldn’t: the softness in Nagito’s voice when he spoke quietly, the way his hands moved when he gestured, the curve of his throat when he leaned back.

When Hajime finally swallowed, he forced out, “You’re just imagining things.”

“Maybe.” Nagito shrugged, as if it didn’t matter either way. He took another bite of fish, chewing slowly, eyes never quite leaving Hajime’s face.

The silence that settled wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either. It was heavy, thick with things Hajime refused to name. Every scrape of chopsticks against plates, every clink of glass, felt amplified.

When their food dwindled down to the last bites, Hajime leaned back, exhaling softly. “Good choice.”

Nagito’s lips twitched into a small, genuine smile. “I’m glad you think so. It feels nice, sharing a meal like this.”

Hajime’s stomach twisted again, unbidden. He didn’t trust himself to reply, so he only nodded, eyes fixed firmly on the table.

For the rest of dinner, they spoke of lighter things, safer topics. Hakone’s hot springs, whether they’d have time to stop at the open-air museum, if Nagito’s car would survive the mountain roads without catastrophe occurring. Their banter was softer than usual, but Hajime felt it all the same: the pull, the heat beneath his ribs, the undeniable closeness.

When the bill came, Nagito slid his card across before Hajime could move, smiling that infuriatingly calm smile. “My treat. Consider it a proper date.”

Hajime almost choked on his water. Yes, every “date” they’d been on had been Nagito’s treat anyway. That wasn’t the shock. The shock was that Nagito didn’t sound like he was joking anymore. “You can’t just–”

“Why not?” Nagito interrupted lightly, eyes glinting. “Isn’t that the story we’re telling?”

Hajime’s face burned. He looked away quickly, muttering, “Whatever.”

Nagito only smiled wider.

Chapter Text

The hotel lobby was quiet at this hour, the sort of hush that came after dinner service but before the late-night crowd. A soft instrumental track murmured from hidden speakers, the kind meant to fade into the background, and the faint scent of citrus cleaner and polished wood hung in the air. Their footsteps barely made a sound against the thick carpet, their reflections moving together in the glossy marble pillars.

Hajime’s mind was still caught somewhere between the restaurant’s warm candlelight and Nagito’s steady gaze across the table – that calm confidence, the teasing glint in his eyes, and that infuriatingly easy way he had of making Hajime feel off balance. It wasn’t anything he could name. Not attraction. Not comfort. Something heavier, stranger, and far less safe.

Nagito stopped by the elevator, glancing down at his wristwatch as the golden light caught in the metal band. “Hm… eight o’clock.” His head tilted slightly, a faint crease forming between his brows, thoughtful and deliberate. “Do you want to get an early night tonight, Hajime?”

Hajime hesitated, shifting his weight. “I don’t mind. I’m not that tired.”

It wasn’t true, not entirely. His body was exhausted, but his thoughts were a restless, tangled mess.

Nagito’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “I see… well, if you don’t mind, I was thinking, maybe we could go to the hotel bar instead? Just for a drink.”

A pause hung between them, the hum of the elevator filling the silence.
Hajime blinked, the answer rising to his tongue before he’d even made a decision.
“…Yeah. Sure. That sounds fine.”

Nagito’s smirk deepened. Not unkind, but full of quiet satisfaction. “Excellent. Let’s go, then.”

The elevator rose smoothly, the numbers flickering upwards in warm gold. Hajime watched the reflection of the two of them in the mirrored walls, with Nagito leaning casually against the railing, one hand in his pocket, looking for all the world like this was just another night, another stop on their strange little journey. Hajime wasn’t sure what he looked like. Probably like someone trying too hard to seem unbothered.

The doors opened with a soft chime.

The bar was dimly lit, suspended above the mountainous skyline like a secret. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the peaks, with Lake Ashi stretching endlessly into the night. The air smelled faintly of gin and orange peel, of warm wood and rain just beginning to mist against the glass. Low jazz hummed beneath the clink of glassware, a saxophone somewhere, smooth and lazy.

Hajime exhaled, some tension in his chest easing at the sheer quiet beauty of it all.
If nothing else, this was distance. A pause. A place to breathe.

Nagito guided them toward a small table tucked into the corner, half-shadowed, with a perfect view of the views beyond the window. The seating was deep and soft, the kind that swallowed you whole if you let it. Hajime sank into the chair, the velvet pressing cool against his back, and felt the knot in his shoulders loosen just slightly.

“I need a drink,” he muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Something to… help me forget.”

Nagito chuckled softly, that low, airy kind of laugh that always seemed to come too easily to him. “I can understand that,” he said, sliding his blazer off his shoulders and onto the back of his chair. “Though perhaps nothing too strong. We have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Right.” Hajime nodded, though his attention had already begun to drift to the shimmer of water in the distance, to the way the dim lighting turned the ends of Nagito’s hair to silver and shadow. He told himself he was just here to unwind. To sip something cold, to stop thinking.

To forget how Nagito’s gaze had lingered on him at dinner, sharp and curious and – God help him – kind.

It was still strange.
To feel that kind of attention without malice.
To be seen by Nagito and not flayed alive by it.

Nagito’s voice pulled him back. “What do you like? Whisky? Wine? Something sweeter?”

“Anything,” Hajime said. “Surprise me.”

Nagito gave a quiet hum, then rose to order at the bar. Hajime watched him go despite himself, the unhurried grace in his movements, the easy charm that drew people in without trying. He hated that it looked so effortless. He hated that it made his stomach twist.

A moment later, Nagito returned, setting down two glasses.
The stemware clinked softly on the tabletop, pale liquid catching the light.

“It’s a martini,” Nagito said, settling into the seat opposite. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Hajime glanced at the olives skewered neatly on a toothpick in Nagito’s glass and grimaced. “I’m just glad you didn’t put those in mine.”

Nagito’s lips curved, eyes bright. “Mm. I like things dirty though.”

The words slipped out so casually Hajime almost missed them.

Until he didn’t.

The drink caught in his throat. His eyes widened, pulse jumping embarrassingly fast.
He swallowed hard, glaring at Nagito across the rim of his glass.

Nagito only smiled, the picture of composure, as if nothing had been said.
Bastard.

Hajime took another sip, slower this time, trying to calm the heat that had climbed uninvited to his neck. The drink was smooth. Crisp gin, the faint sting of lemon. It grounded him. A little.

Nagito rested his chin on one hand, watching Hajime with an unreadable expression.
“I was thinking,” he began, swirling his drink gently, “and not to assume, of course – I’m sure you have plenty of suits – but if not… when we’re back in Tokyo tomorrow, I could take you to the shop where I get all mine.”

Hajime blinked. “I mean, I do have suits. But they’re what I wear for work. I don’t have… an entire designer wardrobe pouring out of my ears like you.”

That earned a quiet laugh, soft but genuine. “Well, you can’t wear your work clothes to a family wedding. No less a heavily judgmental one.”

“Are you sure?” Hajime asked dryly, arching an eyebrow.

“Oh, of course.” Nagito waved a hand as if dismissing the thought. “Besides, I’m not the one paying for it.”

The words landed heavier than Nagito probably meant. Something in Hajime’s stomach tightened. He knew better than to assume, but Nagito had paid for everything else: the meals, the rooms, the gas. Every time Hajime reached for his card, Nagito brushed it away with that same infuriating ease. He’d gotten used to leaving his wallet behind, used to being taken care of, and the realization of that stung.

He hated that a part of him had expected Nagito to pay.
He hated even more that he didn’t quite know how to refuse him anymore.

“Y-yeah,” Hajime said finally, voice lower, rough around the edges. “Okay.”

Nagito’s eyes softened. The smile that followed wasn’t smug this time. It was small, almost tender. “I’m only joking,” he said gently. “It’ll be my last gift to you, hm?”

“You really don’t–”

“Consider it non-negotiable.” Nagito’s tone was firm, but the faintest amusement coloured his words, taking the edge off. He lifted his glass slightly, the olive shifting in the clear liquid. “Now. Let’s drink. To Hakone…” his eyes flicked up to meet Hajime’s, “and to new beginnings.”

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Hajime looked at him – really looked – at the way the warm lights caught in his hair, the way the faintest lines of weariness softened his sharp features. He didn’t look like someone teasing him anymore. He looked like someone who wanted, quietly and impossibly, to start again.

Hajime exhaled through his nose, something small and reluctant tugging at his mouth. “To new beginnings,” he echoed, and raised his glass.

The sound of the toast was soft, a delicate chime swallowed quickly by the jazz and the hum of the other guests around them. They drank in silence, the warmth of the alcohol spreading through Hajime’s chest, slow and steady.

Outside, the rain had deepened, tracing fine silver streaks down the windows.
The glass panes shimmered through the haze, distorted and glowing, like a dream you could almost touch but never hold.

For a long while, they didn’t speak. Nagito’s gaze lingered outside, his profile lit faintly by the window’s reflection. Hajime found himself watching him again, the rise and fall of his chest, the faint curl of his fingers against the glass.

It was peaceful.
Too peaceful.

And yet, Hajime didn’t want to break it.

He leaned back, letting his eyes half-close. For once, there was no past pressing against his ribs, no future clawing for his attention. Just the soft hum of life, the taste of gin, and the quiet, inexplicable gravity of the man sitting across from him.

Nagito turned his head, as if sensing Hajime’s eyes on him, and smiled, small and tired, but real. “You look like you’re finally breathing,” he murmured.

“Maybe,” Hajime said. “Maybe I am.”

Their glasses sat empty between them, the condensation catching the last of the light. Hajime didn’t move to order another. Neither did Nagito. The silence between them felt strangely full, full of everything they weren’t saying yet, of everything waiting just beyond tomorrow.

Below, Hakone patiently waited for them.

Two ghosts in the light, daring – just barely – to begin again.

~~

They lingered a while after their glasses emptied, the hum of conversation thinning as other guests drifted away. Hajime watched the bartender wipe down the counter, listened to the rain ticking faintly against the glass. The views outside blurred to watercolour, red and gold and blue hues swirling.

Nagito stretched, the movement unhurried, his sleeves sliding back to reveal the pale lines of his wrists. “We should probably call it a night,” he murmured. “Early morning tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Hajime’s voice came out lower than he expected. He hesitated before standing, letting his gaze rest once more on the distant Fuji. “It’s strange. You’d think out here in the middle of nowhere it would be colder.”

Nagito looked at him then, something quiet in his expression. “Maybe it’s the company.”

The words hung between them, simple, but heavier than either of them cared to admit. Hajime opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again. Instead, he just nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching in the faintest, reluctant smile.

They left the lounge together, their reflections following in the elevator’s mirrored walls. Neither spoke on the ride down; the silence wasn’t awkward anymore. It was settled, like the lull after a storm.

Their room was quiet, the faint scent of tatami and cedar in the air. A paper lantern cast soft light against the walls, its glow flickering with every shift of wind through the open window. Outside, crickets hummed faintly against the night, blending with the far-off hum of engines cars from the main road too far away to be seen.

Hajime sat on the edge of the bed, still dressed down to his undershirt, fingers turning the little plushie over in his hands. He wasn’t sure why he’d kept it this long, why he’d even kept it at all. Some part of him told himself it was just something to hold, something harmless. If he was forced to, even he could admit that it would be something to remember the trip by. But even now, the soft fabric in his palms grounded him in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

Nagito’s voice came from behind him, quiet and amused. “You’re still holding onto that thing?”

Hajime glanced over his shoulder. Nagito was tying his hair into a ponytail, the honey-brown  strands catching the dim light, a few strays falling loose around his face. He looked almost unreal in that moment. Gentle, perhaps. Too gentle, too calm. It didn’t fit with the version of him Hajime still half-expected to show up, sharp-edged and unpredictable.

“It’s soft,” Hajime muttered, shrugging. “Good for sleeping.”

Nagito smiled faintly. “I suppose that makes sense. Better than a pillow full of regrets.”

Hajime snorted under his breath. “What kind of saying is that?”

“The kind you invent when you’ve lived long enough to collect a few,” Nagito said lightly, folding his legs as he sat on his side of the bed. His voice softened after a moment. “You don’t have to look so tense, you know. I’m about five minutes away from falling asleep.”

“I know that,” Hajime replied quickly, too quickly. He set the plushie aside, his fingers skimming Nagito’s, before rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just– never mind.”

Nagito tilted his head slightly, waiting. “It’s just what?”

Hajime hesitated, then sighed. “You have this way of turning everything into… I don’t know. A moment, I guess. Even when it shouldn’t be.” He resisted the urge to cringe at his own words. Definitely just exhaustion talking. Not the fact that Nagito had a way of dragging every private thought out of him.

Nagito blinked, looking almost surprised, before a faint smile curved his lips. “I suppose that’s true,” he said quietly. “When you spend long enough trying not to feel things, you start noticing every time they do happen.”

That silenced Hajime. He lay back, staring at the wooden ceiling, the lantern light dimming slightly as the bulb flickered. The warmth between them was subtle but heavy, like humidity before rain. He wanted to say something else – something normal, anything – but everything that came to mind felt either too sharp or too soft.

Nagito’s gaze flicked toward the plushie resting near Hajime’s hands. “You should keep that plushie, even after we get home,” he said quietly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “It suits you.”

Hajime frowned a little. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing bad,” Nagito said, tone gentler now. “Just… it’s nice to see you holding something with care for once.”

Hajime huffed, rolling onto his side, facing away to hide the small, involuntary smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re such a pain.”

“I know,” Nagito murmured. “Goodnight, Hajime.”

“Goodnight, Nagito.” Hajime replied, voice smaller than he expected but warmer in ways he couldn’t explain.

The lantern flickered once more before dimming out completely, leaving them in soft darkness. Hajime kept his eyes open a little longer than he should have, watching the faint outline of Nagito’s silhouette against the moonlight. He told himself it was just to make sure Nagito was asleep.

He closed his eyes, plushie pressed to his chest, and tried to steady his heartbeat.

For once, the quiet didn’t feel empty.

Chapter Text

The sunlight bled through the sheer curtains, the glaze of rain still shimmering on the panes of glass. It painted the room in slow-moving gold, every ripple of light catching in the silk edges of bedding still rumpled from sleep. Somewhere outside, the faint hum of morning traffic rose and fell – distant, softened by height and glass – and the smell of wet cedar drifted through the open sliver of the window.

Hajime blinked awake to stillness. For a moment, he didn’t remember where he was. Just the weight of a quiet too fragile to disturb, and the steady rhythm of another person breathing nearby.

Nagito lay on his side, half-turned toward him, one arm folded loosely beneath his pillow. His hair – always somewhere between careless and deliberate – was a mess of delicate strands fanned across the sheet. There was no trace of the careful composure he wore in daylight, no teasing smile or sharp edge. Just a kind of peace that Hajime didn’t quite recognise.

He rolled onto his back, staring up at the wooden ceiling as the light shifted, spilling slowly over both of them. The air between them was warm from sleep, but Hajime felt a strange chill settle in his chest. It hit him then; today was their last morning. The road trip would end, the easy rhythm of the drive, the small detours and late-nights in expensive hotels, all of it folding back into the noise of real life.

He didn’t know what came after that.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

A faint rustle pulled him back. Nagito stirred, eyelashes fluttering open in slow, almost theatrical laziness before his gaze focused. His voice, when it came, was still rough with sleep.

“...You’re awake early,” he murmured, blinking at the ceiling.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Hajime replied, rubbing a hand over his face. “Guess I’m used to the sound of the road by now.”

Nagito hummed softly, a quiet note of amusement. “You make it sound like you’re going to miss it.”

Hajime hesitated. “I will.”

The words came out lower than he meant, caught somewhere between truth and deflection. He expected Nagito to tease him for it, to twist the sincerity into something light, but instead Nagito just smiled faintly, eyes half-closed again.

“I think I’ll miss it too,” he said after a beat. “It’s been… nice. Seeing all the places we never have time to normally.”

Hajime turned his head to look at him. The sunlight caught Nagito’s profile – the pale sweep of his lashes, the soft curve of his mouth, the quiet way he said things that sounded harmless but landed heavier than they should.

“‘Nice,’ huh?” Hajime said, trying to sound casual. “You’re getting sentimental.”

Nagito’s lips quirked upward. “Don’t tell anyone. It would ruin my reputation. I am a criminal lawyer, you know.”

Hajime let out a short, quiet laugh. It felt easy. Too easy. He hated how much he liked the sound of it in this space, in this soft, private haven they had created, something that didn’t belong to the rest of the world.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t heavy this time. Just fragile.
Hajime’s thoughts wandered, as they often did when Nagito went quiet.

What would happen after tomorrow?

After the wedding, after the charade ended. Would they just part ways again? Pretend this had been a strange, convenient detour? He couldn’t picture Nagito vanishing back into the city without leaving some trace behind, couldn’t imagine himself slipping back into the same monotonous days as if none of this had happened.

He thought about the look Nagito had given him at the bar – calm, almost content – and felt the faint ache of something he didn’t want to name.

Maybe it was just habit. Maybe it was just comfort, the illusion of knowing someone too well.

Still, the thought of waking up somewhere else, in silence that didn’t include Nagito’s voice… it felt wrong in a way he didn’t know how to explain.

Nagito shifted slightly, sitting up and stretching. The motion broke Hajime’s train of thought cleanly in two. Nagito’s voice was soft but brisk, the same tone he used when he wanted to move before anyone else had time to think too hard.

“We should probably head for breakfast,” he said, glancing toward the window. “If we wait too long, all the good food will be gone.”

Hajime blinked, half-annoyed, half-relieved at the interruption. “You’re acting like it’s a buffet.”

Nagito smiled over his shoulder, already gathering his things. “Isn’t everything a buffet, in a way? You just have to know when to take what’s worth having.”

“Do you ever stop saying weird things?” Hajime muttered, but there was no bite in it.

Nagito laughed quietly, the sound light and unguarded. “Not if I can help it.”

He stood and moved toward the small dresser, untying his hair from the loose knot he had slept in and running his fingers through it twice. The light haloed him briefly, pale gold against pale skin. Hajime watched in silence for a moment, the thought he’d been avoiding earlier pressing against his ribs again.

When this is over, where do we go?

But before the words could take shape, Nagito turned to him with that same effortless ease, hands sliding into his pockets.

“Come on,” he said. “You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten.”

Hajime exhaled, pushing himself to his feet. “You sound like my mother.”

“Then she must be very wise.” Nagito replied, already heading for the door. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

Hajime rolled his eyes, but followed. The rain had finally stopped outside; the air was bright, the hills outside still glistening. For a brief moment, standing in that doorway with Nagito just ahead of him, Hajime caught the strange, fleeting thought that he didn’t want to leave.

He told himself it was the weather.
He told himself it was the coffee.
He didn’t tell himself the truth.

And then he stepped forward into the corridor, into the waiting day, and the door clicked softly shut behind them.

~~

The hotel’s dining room was still half-empty when they arrived – too early for the rush of weekend tourists, too late for the suited business travellers who had already vanished into the city. The space was hushed and warm, sunlight pooling across the polished wood floors and flickering off the wide glass windows that overlooked the hills beyond. The rain had stopped, but its echo lingered in the gleam of wet pavement below, the air sharp and clean from the storm.

Hajime followed Nagito through the quiet room, the faint clink of porcelain and the low hum of quiet chatter filling the silence between them. They settled near the window, where the view opened into a spill of mist and green. Steam drifted from the cups of coffee already waiting at the table, and for a moment Hajime just watched the faint curl of it, letting the warmth brush against his face.

He could feel the calm of it sinking into him, the quiet rhythm they had somehow built over the past few days. No chaos, no tension. Just soft mornings, long drives, and the strange comfort of Nagito being there without demanding anything.

Nagito stirred his coffee lazily, eyes fixed on the view. “You always look like you’re thinking too much, even when it’s this early,” he said, tone light.

Hajime glanced up, half a smile twitching at his mouth. “I’m just appreciating it. The quiet.”

“The quiet?” Nagito echoed, tilting his head slightly, that familiar teasing glint already threatening to appear. “That’s new for you.”

“Shut up,” Hajime muttered, though it came out soft, almost fond.

Nagito’s laugh was quiet and genuine, almost unguarded. The sound of it melted into the light around them, and Hajime found himself smiling despite himself.

They ate in easy silence for a while. Fresh fruit, eggs, and toast, the kind of breakfast that would feel too polished anywhere else. Hajime hadn’t realized how used to it he’d become –this rhythm, this strange luxury that didn’t feel like his but had started to fit perfectly into his life anyway.

He leaned back slightly, picking up his coffee. “You know,” he said, voice casual, though something tugged underneath it, “I think I’m going to miss this the most.”

Nagito glanced up from his plate, brows raised faintly. “What?”

“The food,” Hajime said, gesturing vaguely to the spread on the table. Nagito’s lips quirked in quiet amusement although he did not reply. “The hotels. The ridiculous views. Not having to check my bank account before ordering anything.”

Nagito’s lips curved into a laugh that warmed the space between them. “Ah, yes. The comforts of capitalism. I’m glad I could provide such a memorable descent into moral decay.”

Hajime groaned, rolling his eyes. “You make it sound like I sold my soul.”

“Maybe you just leased it,” Nagito replied with a grin, stirring his coffee.

That made Hajime laugh, an easy, low sound that broke through the haze of thoughts clouding his head. For a fleeting second, everything felt weightless again. Like they could just keep driving, keep waking up to these quiet mornings, and nothing would have to end.

But the thought was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that faint, hollow ache in his chest. He looked down at his plate, pushing his fork idly through the remains of his breakfast. The sunlight shimmered off the glass, bright and indifferent.

He didn’t want to go back. Not really.

Not to the noise of Tokyo, not to the dull familiarity waiting there. And not to a life where Nagito wasn’t just across from him at breakfast, looking like this.

He caught himself before the thought could deepen. Stop it, he told himself. Don’t start thinking like that.

He could already imagine Nagito laughing at him – not cruelly, but softly, in that way that said you’re sweet, Hajime, but you don’t get it.

And maybe he didn’t. Maybe Nagito didn’t feel the same pull, the same quiet dread at the thought of parting.

He must’ve gone quiet for too long, because Nagito was looking at him again, his expression gentler now. “You’re a million miles away,” he said, voice softer than before.

Hajime blinked. “What?”

Nagito smiled, not quite his usual smirk. This was smaller, more careful. “You’ve got that look. The one that says you’re thinking about something you’ll pretend isn’t important.”

Hajime felt the back of his neck heat. “I’m not– It’s nothing.”

“Mm.” Nagito sipped his coffee, eyes still on him. “If you say so.”

Something in that look made Hajime’s chest tighten. It was too calm, too knowing, like Nagito understood more than he should, like he might be thinking the same thing and just refusing to say it.

But that was impossible. Nagito didn’t want things the same way other people did. He never had. Hajime looked away, scolding himself silently. Don’t be stupid.

Nagito broke the silence with a light tone, slipping his phone from his pocket. “Well then,” he said, sliding it across the table toward Hajime, “since you’re clearly not thinking about anything at all, I need your opinion.”

Hajime blinked. “On what?”

“Suits,” Nagito replied simply, unlocking the screen with a flick of his thumb. “I asked my tailor to send me a few samples last night. I thought you might as well pick something you actually like instead of leaving it to my questionable taste.”

Hajime hesitated, then reached for the phone. The screen glowed with a series of designs – sharp cuts, clean lines, each one somehow looking like it belonged in a magazine.

“These are yours?” Hajime asked, scrolling through the photos.

Nagito shrugged, resting his chin in his hand. “Some are. Some are new. I told him to keep your style in mind, though I admit, that was a challenge, considering I had to describe it as ‘chronically understated with flashes of quiet rebellion.’”

Hajime snorted. “You actually said that?”

“I did,” Nagito replied, looking far too pleased with himself. “And it worked. Look at that charcoal one – it’s almosttolerable.”

Hajime bit back a laugh, flipping to the next photo. “I like this one better,” he said, pointing to a simple navy design with a subtle patterned lining. “It looks… normal.”

“Ah,” Nagito murmured, leaning forward slightly. “So you’re rebelling against rebelling. How poetic.”

“Shut up,” Hajime muttered, but he was smiling again.

For a few minutes, they sat like that. Face to face, peering down at the phone screen, the rest of the dining room fading into soft background noise. Nagito made dry comments about colour palettes; Hajime countered with complaints about being turned into a “project.” But beneath it all, the warmth stayed – quiet, steady, something neither of them dared name.

When Hajime finally set the phone down, Nagito was watching him again, that same faint, thoughtful smile tugging at his mouth.

“What?” Hajime asked.

“Nothing,” Nagito said, taking a last sip of his coffee. “Just thinking it’s a shame this is our last breakfast like this.”

The words hung in the air. Not heavy, but real. Hajime’s chest tightened before he could stop it.

He forced a small smile, reaching for his cup. “Yeah,” he said softly. “It is.”

~~

Nagito lifted Hajime’s suitcase easily, the soft thud of it landing in the trunk breaking the stillness of the morning air. The pavement was still damp from last night’s rain, slick and glinting under the pale light. The hotel loomed quietly behind them, all glass and pale wood, its reflection swimming in puddles that hadn’t yet dried.

“I’m not going to miss doing that,” Nagito smiled to himself, brushing his hands against his coat before closing the trunk with a gentle click.

Hajime nodded, his breath fogging faintly in the crisp air. The mountain wind still carried a chill, even though the sun was rising higher now, stretching gold fingers through the thin clouds. Somewhere nearby, the faint hum of cicadas was beginning, soft and persistent.

Nagito rounded the car, sliding smoothly into the driver’s seat. Hajime followed, settling into the passenger side, the familiar scent of Nagito’s cologne and faint leather filling the cabin. The dashboard lights blinked awake as the engine turned over, and the faint vibration under Hajime’s feet felt oddly grounding.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The hotel entrance disappeared in the rearview mirror as Nagito guided the car down the sloping driveway, the quiet crunch of gravel fading into the whisper of tires on wet asphalt.

The road curved out of the hills, lined with cedar and moss, and the morning mist clung low along the treeline. Hakone unfolded around them in slow, painted layers, the lush green spilling into grey, the last curls of fog catching on telephone wires like smoke.

Hajime leaned his elbow against the door, head tilted toward the window. “Can’t believe it’s already the last day,” he muttered, voice low.

Nagito hummed, his gaze steady on the road ahead. “Time moves strangely when you’re pretending not to think about it.”

Hajime snorted. “You make it sound like I was pretending.”

“Weren’t you?”

He didn’t answer. Maybe because Nagito wasn’t wrong. Maybe because if he said it aloud, it would make the feeling in his chest too real, the feeling that said this trip had started to feel like something he’d miss long after it was supposed to be over.

They passed a stretch of open road, the kind that cut through valleys like a thread of silver. The sunlight flashed across the windshield in bursts, and Hajime caught glimpses of himself in the glass, his reflection overlapping with Nagito’s, two silhouettes blurring together for just a moment before breaking apart again.

Nagito reached for the radio, fingers brushing the dial until a low jazz station came through, half-static, half-harmony. “Better?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Hajime said quietly. “It suits the drive.”

For a while, that was enough: the hum of the engine, the soft roll of music, the occasional whisper of tires over wet road. It felt suspended, this in-between space. Like the whole world was holding its breath before something inevitable.

Hajime’s gaze drifted to Nagito’s hands on the wheel, the sunlight tracing faint veins across his wrist. There was something soothing about it, that quiet competence, the ease of someone who’d long ago learned to navigate chaos and calm with the same precision.

He turned his eyes back to the road, the blur of trees giving way to wider skies. “You think it’ll feel weird?” he asked suddenly.

Nagito glanced at him. “What will?”

“Going back,” Hajime said. “After all this.”

There was a pause, the kind of pause that felt deliberate. Nagito’s lips curved faintly, though his eyes stayed on the road. “Maybe. But I think that’s how you know something mattered, don’t you? When going back to normality feels strange.”

Hajime’s chest tightened – not painfully, but enough to make him look away. “That’s a little too poetic for you.”

“Well, you know me,” Nagito said quietly. “I’m nothing if not abstract.”

That earned a small, reluctant smile from Hajime. The kind that didn’t fully reach his eyes.

They drove on in silence after that, winding through narrow roads that cut between hills and small towns still yawning awake. Each turn felt like a slow descent, the familiar hum of the city creeping closer by the second.

Tokyo was still more than an hour away, but Hajime could already feel it – the pulse of it on the horizon, the slow, invisible pull of routine waiting to swallow them back up.

He didn’t want to think about it. About tomorrow. About the wedding. About how, when this was over, there’d be no excuse left for these drives, these mornings, these quiet moments that felt dangerously close to peace.

Nagito broke the silence before the thought could finish forming. “I hope you know your measurements.” His voice was casual, but his eyes flicked towards the rearview mirror as if he was studying anything but Hajime.

Hajime blinked, pulled abruptly back into the moment. “I can’t believe you’re actually buying me a suit.” He snorted.

“Well, I can’t let my boyfriend show me up at his own family’s wedding,” Nagito replied simply, a smirk poking at the corner of his lips. “And besides–” he cast him a sidelong glance, “you’ll want to look your best, won’t you?”

Hajime rolled his eyes, but the warmth that flickered in his chest was harder to dismiss this time. “You’re–“

“’So annoying’. I know,” Nagito said lightly. “But you’re getting used to it.”

And somehow, Hajime realised, he was.

He turned back to the window, watching the landscape shift – the forests thinning, the mountains softening into long stretches of road, the distant skyline just beginning to take shape through the haze.

The trip was ending. But the silence between them wasn’t empty. It was full of everything they hadn’t said, everything they might never say.

Hajime let the thought settle, the road humming beneath them like a steady pulse.

For now, at least, they were still moving forward.

~~

The city rose around them in a blur of skyscrapers and blue skies.

By the time they hit central Tokyo, the clouds had thinned into a hazy brightness, sunlight reflecting off high-rises and car roofs like shards of mirror. The skyline felt almost unreal after the muted greens and greys of Hakone, the urban sprawl louder and sharper, pulsing with the Friday afternoon rush.

Nagito eased the car into a narrow street lined with sleek storefronts and polished awnings. The traffic was a slow crawl of black sedans and taxis, horns blipping in the distance, the steady rhythm of urban life swallowing them whole again.

He checked his watch as he pulled up to the curb, the faint click of the metal clasp breaking the hum of the engine. “Two o’clock,” he said, satisfied. “Perfect timing. The tailor closes at three.”

Hajime groaned loudly, slumping against the passenger seat. “You’re kidding. We just got back, and you want to go suit shopping right now?”

Nagito’s mouth curved upwards. “That was the deal, wasn’t it? You get a free ride back to Tokyo, I get to dress you.”

“I don’t know when you established that deal,” Hajime grumbled, crossing his arms. “I want to get food. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“You’re like a child,” Nagito shook his head, his tone mock-serious. “You had three eggs this morning. You’ll survive another hour.”

Hajime turned to him, deadpan. “I’m going to starve to death in the middle of Tokyo because you’re obsessed with aesthetics.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Nagito waved dismissively, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’ll feed you afterwards. Think of it as incentive.”

“Incentive?” Hajime repeated, incredulous. “You make it sound like I’m a dog.”

Nagito’s grin widened, all teeth and mischief. “If that’s what gets you moving, I’ll buy you a treat too.”

“Ugh.” Hajime pressed his palms over his face, half laughing despite himself. “You’re insufferable, you know.”

“I’ve been told that before.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The engine ticked quietly as it cooled, the smell of city air seeping in through the vents. The smell of coffee from a nearby café drifted in, forcing Hajime to bite back the urge to groan.

Nagito tapped the steering wheel once, decisive. “Well? The sooner you get fitted, the sooner you get fed. We both know I’ll end up paying anyway.”

Hajime shot him a look that might’ve been a glare if it weren’t undermined by the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Fine,” he muttered, shoving his door open. “But if I pass out halfway through, it’s on you.”

“I’ll catch you,” Nagito said smoothly.

Hajime froze halfway out of the car door, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re so insistent. It’s annoying.”

“Annoying, hm?” Nagito chuckled as he stepped out and locked the car. “And yet, you’re still here.”

“Shut up.” Hajime replied instinctively, continuing to grumble under his breath with something that sounded suspiciously close to an agreement with Nagito, causing the latter to let out a snort before he could stop it.

As Hajime rounded the car, Nagito’s eyes lingered on him for a moment. There was something in the way the sunlight hit his hair, the faint exasperation in his expression, the reluctant warmth that had settled in over the past week and refused to fade.

And despite it all, a private, unguarded smile crossed Nagito’s face. Soft and lingering all the same.

Hajime noticed. “What?” he asked, glancing over, brow furrowing.

Nagito blinked, tongue darting over his lips. “Nothing,” he said quickly, his voice gentler than he meant it to be. The smile didn’t leave, though. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

Nagito’s lips twitched, and he looked away before Hajime could press. “Nothing.” He repeated.

“Keeping secrets, are we?” Hajime shot back quickly, yet even he couldn’t hide the faint warmth the lilt in his voice carried.

Nagito just hummed, holding the door open for him as they approached the shop. The glass façade reflected the passing city in shifting patterns. Inside, it was all warm wood and quiet elegance, the kind of place that smelled faintly of musk and expensive fabric.

As Hajime stepped through the doorway, Nagito followed a pace behind, his hand brushing lightly against the small of Hajime’s back to guide him in. It was a simple gesture, almost automatic, but it sent a quiet pulse through the air between them.

For a moment, the noise of the street faded.

Then Hajime huffed, shaking his head as he took in the racks of immaculate suits. “If this is some kind of ‘rich guy trap,’ I’m leaving.”

Nagito laughed softly, the sound low and warm. “Relax, Hajime. You’ll look incredible. And I did promise food, didn’t I?”

Hajime rolled his eyes but didn’t move away. “You’d better.”

“Wouldn’t dream of breaking a promise,” Nagito said, his smile lingering as he stepped past him, the door closing behind them with a soft chime.

Outside, the city thrummed on in the way it always did – bright, impatient and alive. Inside, everything slowed, just for a moment.

Just for the two of them.

~~

The air inside the shop felt different the moment Hajime stepped through the door – like stepping out of Tokyo’s noise and into some preserved fragment of calm.

The scent hit him first: cedar, faint musk, and clean cotton. The kind of quiet, curated smell that spoke of money without trying. The lighting was soft and diffused, bouncing off pale oak floors and warm brass fixtures. There were mirrors everywhere – tall, polished panes framed in dark wood – so that the room seemed to multiply, reflections stretching into endless symmetry. The hum of the city faded to a muffled murmur behind thick glass, leaving only the low shuffle of fabric and the quiet rhythm of distant jazz through hidden speakers.

Bolts of fabric lined one wall in precise colour gradients – charcoal to slate to dove grey, navy bleeding into ink blue. The opposite side was hung with finished suits, crisp lines and subtle textures, each one tailored within an inch of perfection. Somewhere toward the back, a faint hiss of steam spoke of an iron being pressed against linen.

Nagito’s hand brushed lightly at Hajime’s elbow as he led him toward the counter. It wasn’t firm, just a guiding touch. “Don’t look so tense,” he murmured, voice dipped in quiet amusement. “You’d think I was bringing you to your execution.”

“It feels like it,” Hajime muttered. He caught his reflection briefly in one of the mirrors – travel-tousled hair, slightly rumpled shirt – and he grimaced. “I don’t belong in places like this.”

Nagito smiled faintly. “You belong wherever I say you do.”

Hajime shot him a look, half scowl, half disbelief, but Nagito had already turned his attention to the man behind the counter, a young attendant with perfect posture and a polite, almost impersonal smile.

“Good afternoon,” Nagito said smoothly, his tone switching into something effortless and refined. “Could you let Ryu know I’ve arrived? Tell him it’s Komaeda.”

The attendant’s demeanour shifted immediately, the way people did when they realized someone mattered. He bowed slightly. “Of course, Komaeda-sama. One moment.”

He lifted the phone receiver and murmured into it in quick, practiced Japanese. Hajime caught fragments of the conversation, his ears catching on “arrived,” “downstairs,” and, “yes, right away.”

Nagito leaned against the counter as they waited, his eyes flicking toward the window display where mannequins stood dressed in minimalist perfection. “Ryu’s been making my suits for years,” he said casually. “He’s very talented. You’ll like him.”

Hajime made a noncommittal sound. He didn’t care whether he liked him or not. He just wanted to get through this without feeling like a walking paycheck.

A soft creak of footsteps on stairs pulled his attention up.

Descending from the mezzanine was a man about their age – tall, lean, dressed in black slacks and a cream shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly to the elbow. His hair was slicked back with an easy, deliberate kind of style, and he wore a thin smile, the kind that came from someone who knew exactly how much space they occupied.

“Ah, Nagito,” the man greeted, voice smooth as silk. “You’re right on time, as always.”

Nagito’s expression brightened, open and unguarded in a way Hajime hadn’t seen before. “Ryu,” he spoke with genuine warmth. “It’s been a while.”

The two shook hands, and Ryu’s fingers lingered just a fraction too long, or maybe Hajime was imagining it. He didn’t miss the way Ryu’s gaze flicked briefly over Nagito’s outfit, his mouth curving with something appreciative.

“And here I was thinking you’d stopped visiting me,” Ryu teased lightly. “Yet, you’re back. Finally ran out of excuses to stay away?”

Nagito laughed, quiet and airy, the sound that usually made Hajime’s chest loosen a little. This time, it just made his jaw tighten. “Something like that,” Nagito replied. “Actually, I came for him, as we discussed yesterday.”

He turned slightly, gesturing toward Hajime.

For a moment, Ryu’s attention shifted, his eyes scanning Hajime with a kind of easy, appraising confidence that made Hajime want to shrink and glare at the same time.

“And who might this be?” Ryu asked, still smiling.

“This is Hajime,” Nagito said smoothly, tone light but edged with something private. “He’s the one who’ll be fitted today.”

Ryu’s brows lifted in mild surprise, and then his smile curved into something teasing. “Ah. So you’re the mysterious Hajime I’ve heard about.”

Hajime blinked. “You’ve heard about me?”

“Only in passing,” Ryu said, glancing at Nagito with a knowing smirk. “Nagito’s never been good at keeping things to himself.”

Nagito chuckled softly, but didn’t deny it. Hajime wasn’t sure what irritated him more: the way Ryu was looking at Nagito, or the way Nagito didn’t seem to mind it.

Ryu tilted his head, eyes still bright with amusement. “Well, he’s a good choice.”

Hajime felt his ears heat. “Choice?”

“For a client,” Ryu said smoothly, but his grin made it clear the word had landed otherwise. “Come on, you two – let’s get you upstairs. The light’s better in the fitting room.”

He turned with the kind of confidence that came from knowing people followed him. Nagito did, naturally, and Hajime followed after, scowling faintly at the back of Ryu’s pristine shirt.

As they climbed the narrow stairs, Hajime caught the faint scent of starch and pressed cotton, the floor creaking softly underfoot. Sunlight spilled through the upper windows in slanted beams, catching in particles of dust that drifted like pale gold.

He tried to shake the feeling sitting low in his stomach. Annoyance, mostly, but threaded with something he didn’t have a name for.

Nagito was walking just ahead of him, half-turned as he said something quietly to Ryu. Their laughter – their easy, familiar laughter – drifted back down the stairs, soft and low.

Hajime clenched his jaw, looking away toward the racks of unfinished fabric they passed.

He told himself it was nothing.

Just a tailor. Just a suit. Just another moment in a trip that was almost over.

But the thought didn’t convince him.

~~

The fitting room was as grand as the rest of the shop, all gold light and mirror-glass. A marble desk sat against the far wall, a privacy curtain nearby. Hajime felt his mouth dry at the sight of it. Of course, he knew these were the kind of settings Nagito was far too used to. He’d known it from the hotels Nagito chose, from the quiet ease with which he ordered wine, from the way he wore money like it was air.

Hajime wasn’t sure he fitted into this lifestyle. He wasn’t sure he could. He had never had a taste of luxury, never been fortunate enough. He liked to think he would be able to slot into this high-end, comfortable life that Nagito lived, but a small voice in the back of his head told him otherwise.

“Ahem.” Ryu cleared his throat, picking up a small notebook from the marble desk. Hajime averted his eyes from the chandelier above him and turned to Ryu with a small, forced smile. Nagito stepped backwards, his shoulders falling in line with Hajime’s.

“After my conversation with Nagito yesterday, I took some notes.” Ryu’s eyes glinted. “‘Chronically understated with flashes of quiet rebellion’, was it? Is that how you would describe yourself, Hajime?”

Hajime felt the tips of his ears begin to burn. He shot a look towards Nagito, who was hiding a smirk behind his fist. Hajime wanted to punch him in the temple.

“I think Nagito was trying to say I choose simple over extravagance.” Hajime replied after a moment. Ryu nodded noncommittally, tapping his pen to his lip.

“Well, Nagito does have a habit of speaking colourfully, doesn’t he?” Ryu replied, placing the pen and notebook down. His eyes caught Hajime’s as he spoke, a flash of mischief in his irises.

Hajime felt something in his brain grate together. Ryu spoke so fondly of Nagito, as if this was some kind of competition on who knew Nagito Komaeda the best. Not that Hajime cared who knew Nagito the best, of course, but he was irritated that he was being put into this position.

“Come. Let’s get you measured.” Ryu gestured for Hajime to step towards him.

Hajime moved stiffly, feeling the soft carpet sink under his shoes. The air in the room was cool, faintly perfumed with starch and cedarwood. He caught his reflection again in one of the mirrors – too casual, too unsure, standing under the kind of chandelier that looked like it cost more than his rent.

Ryu circled him with quiet precision, retrieving a silver measuring tape from around his neck. “Arms out, please.”

Hajime obeyed, trying to ignore how the tape whispered against his shirt, how the silence in the room seemed suddenly too heavy. Nagito leaned against the wall, watching, his expression unreadable – perhaps calm, maybe even amused.

“So,” Ryu said conversationally, wrapping the tape around Hajime’s shoulders. “How was the trip? I heard you two were out in Hakone.”

“It was fine,” Hajime replied curtly. “Peaceful.”

Ryu smiled faintly, his tone too light to be casual. “Nagito always did have a taste for the scenic. And for company, it seems.”

Nagito’s laugh was soft, self-deprecating. “I can’t take all the credit. Hajime’s the one who made it worth the drive.”

Hajime felt his stomach lurch. an odd, traitorous pulse of warmth and irritation. Ryu’s eyebrow lifted, his smile growing a little too knowing.

“Well then,” Ryu murmured, jotting a few notes onto the pad. “Lucky you, Hajime.”

Hajime didn’t answer. The words tangled somewhere behind his ribs. He focused instead on the measuring tape brushing across his waist, on the quiet tick of the clock behind the marble desk, on how every sound felt sharpened somehow – the rustle of fabric, the low hum of Nagito’s voice as he said something to Ryu that Hajime didn’t quite catch.

He shouldn’t care. He didn’t care.

“Relax your shoulders,” Ryu said softly, stepping closer. Hajime exhaled through his nose, tension he hadn’t realised he was holding easing slightly.

Nagito tilted his head, watching the way Hajime’s reflection shifted in the mirror. “I think the navy suit would be a good choice,” he said quietly, and something in his voice made Hajime’s pulse stutter.

Ryu chuckled. “Careful, Nagito. I might think you’re trying to steal my job.”

“Just an observation,” Nagito replied, his smile polite. “You do fine work. I’m just appreciating the results.”

The air tightened, playful on the surface, but laced with something else Hajime didn’t want to name.

Ryu finished the last few measurements, stepping back with an assessing hum. “Alright,” he said, scribbling something down. “That’s everything I need for now. The navy would look spectacular on you, but we do have other options. I will give Nagito a call tonight, and I will have the shop open early tomorrow so you can pick up the suit before the wedding. How does that sound?”

Nagito nodded, pushing off the wall with an easy grace. “Perfect. I trust your eye, Ryu.”

“Of course you do.” Ryu’s tone was light, but his gaze lingered just a little too long before turning to Hajime. “And you’ll be surprised, I think. I can make even the modest types look like they belong in a magazine spread.”

Hajime managed a tight smile. “Great. Can’t wait.”

Ryu’s laugh was soft, indulgent, like he could see right through him.

As they turned to leave, Nagito’s hand brushed against Hajime’s back again, a fleeting touch, but grounding all the same.

“See?” Nagito murmured, low enough that only Hajime could hear. “That wasn’t so bad.”

Hajime scoffed under his breath, eyes fixed straight ahead. “You enjoy torturing me, don’t you?”

Nagito’s grin tilted, just slightly. “Only a little.”

Ryu’s voice called after them, smooth as silk. “Don’t forget to eat something, the both of you. You look like you’ve been living off coffee and spite.”

Nagito laughed as he held the door open. “He’s not entirely wrong.”

Hajime shot him a look that was half a glare, half something else entirely – the kind of look that said I hate you and don’t stop talking to me in the same breath.

Outside, the city’s noise rushed back in forms of blaring horns, footsteps and the hum of the afternoon crowd. The quiet opulence of the fitting room dissolved behind them, replaced with Tokyo’s restless pulse.

Nagito adjusted his cufflinks, his tone light. “Now, about that food I promised…”

Hajime’s stomach growled on cue. He sighed. “If you start quoting restaurant menus like poetry again, I’m walking home.”

Nagito’s laughter followed them down the street, soft and genuine, and Hajime wished he’d laugh just a little longer.

~~

They ended up in a quiet restaurant tucked away on a side street, one of those places you’d miss if you weren’t looking for it. The sign was small, hand-painted, the interior glowing with the kind of amber light that made everything feel softer, slower. Soft music murmured low from a hidden speaker, and the air smelled faintly of sesame oil and grilled fish.

Hajime sank into the booth with a sigh, the soft leather creaking under him. “Finally,” he muttered. “Actual food.”

Nagito slid into the seat opposite, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. “See? I keep my promises.”

“You also make them sound like favours,” Hajime shot back, reaching for the menu. “You probably think eating is some kind of privilege.”

Nagito laughed, the sound quiet and genuine, spilling out like warmth. “I think it’s something people forget to appreciate. Especially when they’re busy complaining.”

“Uh-huh.” Hajime didn’t look up from the laminated pages, though his lips threatened to twitch. “So what, you’re going to lecture me on gratitude now?”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

Hajime’s snort dissolved into something dangerously close to a laugh. “You’re a dick.”

“I’ve been called worse,” Nagito said easily, leaning back in his seat. The sunlight from the window caught the lighter streaks in his hair, and for a moment, Hajime caught himself staring at how calm he looked, how comfortable he seemed even in stillness.

He forced his gaze back down to the menu. “What are you getting?”

Nagito tilted his head, pretending to consider. “Hmm. I’ll order for both of us.”

“Like hell you will.”

Nagito’s grin turned sharper. “Come on. After a week of me driving and organising everything, you could trust me with one meal.”

“I’d rather starve.”

“Liar.”

Hajime opened his mouth to retort, but the waiter appeared, all polite smiles and soft-spoken, and before Hajime could blink, Nagito was already ordering for them both, his voice smooth and practiced. The kind of voice that people listened to. The kind that made even a simple lunch sound deliberate.

When the waiter left, Hajime exhaled heavily. “You do realise I’m a fully functional adult, right?”

Nagito smiled faintly. “Of course you are. You just don’t act like one when you’re hungry.”

Hajime’s glare was automatic, but weak. “You really can’t help yourself.”

“No,” Nagito said simply, and somehow, the word didn’t sound smug. It sounded honest.

A quiet settled between them, not uncomfortable, just full. The clinking of plates from the kitchen, the muted laughter from a nearby table, the faint hum of cars whirring past from nearby roads. Hajime let his eyes wander to the people on the street beyond the glass, to the blur of fluorescent lights, to the reflection of Nagito’s face in the window beside his own.

He wasn’t sure what to make of the strange weight in his chest. It was heavy, but not unpleasant. The kind of feeling that lingered, that refused to name itself.

Nagito’s voice cut through the quiet. “Earth to Hajime.”

Hajime blinked, dragged back into the moment. When he met Nagito’s eyes again, the taller man was staring at him with a slack smile and crinkled eyes. It was the kind of look that bordered on tenderness, and the thought of that made something deep in Hajime’s chest jolt. “Sorry.” He replied quietly, averting his eyes. “Just thinking.”

“That’s dangerous,” Nagito teased lightly. “What about?”

“Stuff.”

“Stuff,” Nagito repeated, amused. “That’s vague, even for you.”

Hajime sighed, fingers drumming on the table. “About how the wedding will go.”

It was a lie. Hajime had tried his best to actively avoid thinking about the dreaded wedding, the inevitable catastrophe that would follow it. But somehow, it was easier to lie to Nagito than to admit that he had been lost in his own thoughts about everything and nothing all at once.

Nagito’s smile faded, just a fraction. “Are you worried about your family?”

“Yeah.” Hajime’s voice was quieter now. “Something like that.”

Nagito didn’t answer right away. The waiter returned with their drinks, and for a few seconds, the world was filled with the sound of glasses clinking and the faint hiss of carbonation. When they were alone again, Nagito leaned forward slightly, his tone softer.

“I was wondering the same thing. Kind of. I was wondering if they’d like me.”

The admission caught Hajime off guard. He looked up, meeting Nagito’s steady yet unreadable eyes. “You were?”

Nagito shrugged, his expression slipping into something wistful. “Yeah. I know it shouldn’t really matter – I’m only meeting them once. It’s a temporary arrangement… and it’s always easier when something’s temporary.” His gaze lingered on Hajime, something unspoken flickering there. “But this week didn’t feel temporary.”

Hajime felt his throat tighten, words catching somewhere between deflection and confession. He settled for the safe route. “Maybe it’s just because we’re stuck together.”

“Maybe,” Nagito said, though his voice didn’t sound convinced. His smile returned, softer this time.

“You know, I don’t think you realise how easy you are to be around.” The admission slipped out of Hajime before he could stop it, before he even had the time to process the words he was saying. He looked down quickly, pretending to study his drink instead of the curious gaze across the table.

“You’re only saying that because I drove you back from Kyushu.” Nagito replied, his voice quieter than usual as he circled his drink in his right hand.

“That too.” Hajime forced a quiet laugh, the ache of it burning in his chest. “But I mean it.”

Nagito hummed quietly, placing his glass down. He lifted his gaze, mouth parted in the intention of replying, yet was stopped by the waiter arriving at their table with their plates of grilled fish, rice, and pickled vegetables, all laid out like a still life painting. The scent was grounding, the warmth from the dishes curling through the air between them.

They ate mostly in silence, the occasional clink of chopsticks and the faint, comfortable rhythm of shared space. Hajime found himself relaxing in the quiet, the tension that had built since the fitting bleeding away and replaced by something quieter.

When he finally looked up again, Nagito was already looking back at him. His expression was neutral, yet his eyes were sharp. They were not expectant nor teasing, but full of a quiet fondness that made Hajime’s pulse skip.

“What?” Hajime asked, a fraction too quick.

Nagito smiled, that same unreadable softness curling at the edges. “Nothing. Just thinking about  how happy you look, now that you’re eating.” Nagito’s reply was careful, diplomatic almost. It almost felt a little too practiced, as if the words could conceal what he truly wanted to say.

Hajime stared for a moment, chopsticks hovering midair, before scoffing. “Yeah, well if someone didn’t starve me, I’d have been happier a few hours ago.”

The corner of Nagito’s lips curled upwards. “Hm. So you really are always this abrasive, even when you’re not hungry.”

The words landed heavier than Hajime expected. His mouth automatically twisted downwards. Abrasive? Sure, he could be short at times – blunt, even. But hearing it come from Nagito… it hurt in a way that real insult never would. He opened his mouth to respond, but Nagito’s smile returned, gentler now, easing the sting before it could stick.

“I like that about you, though,” he added. “You’re real. You don’t fake things.”

Hajime blinked, thrown off balance. Every word that conjured in his mind refused to find its way to his mouth, leaving him agape like a fish for a moment too long.

“…You’re so weird, you know that?” He replied dumbly, internally grimacing at the poor sentence he’d managed to string together, a reply that wasn’t worth listening to.

Nagito chuckled softly, shooting Hajime a quick wink. “Takes one to know one.”

The tension chipped away, not entirely, but just enough for Hajime to breathe again. He looked away, his lips twitching. “You picked good food.”

Nagito raised an eyebrow at the shift in conversation but was polite enough to not comment on it. “You should trust me more, Hajime.”

Hajime snorted, although there was no true malice behind it. Not anymore. “Trust is a privilege.”

Nagito smirked, eyes lingering on Hajime’s face. “I think we both know that I’ve earned it by now.”

Hajime rolled his eyes in response and turned away, but as much as he tried to distract himself with the views beyond the window, he couldn’t ignore the dangerous, unwanted warmth that crept into his chest.

Because he knew, deep down, that he didn’t want this to end.

And worse still – he suspected Nagito didn’t, either.

~~

The late afternoon light was starting to fade by the time they left the restaurant. The air outside carried the inevitable dip of the cooler evenings and the smell of food vendors who had just opened their stalls for the Friday night crowd. Nagito had offered to drive him home, and Hajime hadn’t argued, partly because he was tired, and partly because saying no felt like more effort than it should have.

Tokyo looked different now, softer in a way it rarely was. The edges of skyscrapers blurred in the low sun, the traffic dissolving in a haze of yellow light. People moved in swarms across crosswalks, briefcases in hand, laughter spilling out of café doors and into the hum of engines. From the passenger seat, Hajime watched it all through the window, his reflection faint against the streaks of gold.

Nagito drove in quiet confidence, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting on the window frame. The radio murmured faintly – a jazz station, of course – with a song slow and aimless that filled the space between them. For once, Hajime didn’t feel like filling it with words.

When they pulled up outside his apartment building, the clock on the dashboard read a little past five. The streetlights were beginning to flicker on, halos of soft orange catching on the side mirrors.

Nagito shifted into park and leaned an elbow on the wheel. “So this is where you’ve been hiding for seven years.” He mused, glancing over at the complex. “Doesn’t look half as bad as you made it sound.”

“Yeah, well, just wait until you’ve been inside. Then you can comment.” Hajime grumbled, frowning up at his building.

A smirk pulled at Nagito’s lips. “Ah, is that an invitation? I’m honoured.”

Hajime rolled his eyes, turning back to face Nagito. Despite himself, he couldn’t keep the irritated expression on his face, the scowl softening into something close to a half-smile. “Feel free to grace me with your charity gala anytime.” He replied.

Nagito chuckled to himself. “Mm. I’ll be sure to bring a signed cheque.”

Hajime snorted to himself, and Nagito instinctively turned his eyes to his watch.

“Well, I’ll give you a call when Ryu updates me on your suit,” he said lightly, though his voice carried that careful warmth Hajime was starting to recognise. “Shouldn’t take too long.”

“Yeah.” Hajime unbuckled his seatbelt, glancing toward the dim windows of his building. His lip automatically curled at the mention of Ryu, a bitter taste on his tongue that he had to swallow down as he turned back towards Nagito. “Alright. Thanks for today. For… all of it, I guess.”

Nagito’s smile twitched at the corners. “You make it sound like a chore.”

“It was,” Hajime muttered, opening the door. “But a tolerable one.”

Nagito’s laugh followed him out of the car. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Hajime turned back, leaning slightly against the door. “Drive safe, yeah? You look like the kind of guy who’d crash because he’s too busy romanticising traffic lights.”

Nagito tilted his head, grin widening. “I managed to drive you around for a week without crashing, didn’t I?” He tutted, shaking his head in mock-seriousness. “I think you overestimate how much the world distracts me.”

“Do I?” Hajime shot back, though his tone softened without meaning to.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The street noise dulled, replaced by the soft hum of the idling engine and the faint rhythm of Hajime’s pulse in his ears. Nagito’s expression had gone thoughtful again, that same unreadable half-smile he wore whenever he was about to say something that meant too much.

But he didn’t. He only nodded once, slowly. “Goodnight, Hajime.”

“Yeah. Goodnight.”

Hajime hesitated just long enough for it to be noticeable, before stepping back and closing the door. The sound was sharper than he expected, final in a way that made his chest tighten. Nagito gave him a small wave through the windshield before pulling away from the curb, the red glow of the taillights fading down the street.

Hajime stood there for a moment, watching until the car turned the corner and disappeared into the stream of headlights. The quiet that followed felt too still, too empty. He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned toward the building.

Inside, his apartment greeted him with its usual silence – the faint hum of the fridge, the creak of old floorboards, the sterile glow of the ceiling light. It felt smaller than he remembered.

He dropped his keys onto the counter, kicked off his shoes, and exhaled slowly. The city outside still buzzed through the windows – muffled but constant – and for the first time in days, Hajime was completely alone.

He should’ve felt relief.
Instead, all he could think about was the sound of Nagito’s laugh fading into the traffic.

Chapter Text

The hours bled together after Nagito dropped him off.

Hajime had unpacked his suitcase in slow, distracted movements, each neatly folded shirt and rolled-up pair of socks feeling like another quiet reminder that the trip was over. The apartment felt smaller than it had before – too quiet, too still. The sound of zippers, drawers, and the low hum of the fridge were the only things keeping the silence from swallowing him whole.

By the time he was done, the air had gone stale. The faint hum of the city outside – cars on slick asphalt, chatter from the street below – seeped in through the cracks of his windows. It felt distant, like white noise.

He filled a pot with water, boiled a pack of instant noodles, and told himself it was fine. He’d lived off worse before. But the moment the taste hit his tongue – the thin broth, the soft noodles, the artificial saltiness – his mind betrayed him, flashing back to the meals he’d shared with Nagito: grilled fish, rice still steaming in the bamboo basket, quiet conversation that stretched late into the afternoon.

He set the bowl down halfway through, no appetite left.

At his desk, the dim light from his laptop screen cast a dull glow over the cluttered surface – a half-empty coffee mug, a paperweight shaped like a turtle, case files stacked in uneven towers. His inbox was a graveyard of unread messages, and somewhere between habit and obligation, Hajime clicked one open.

From: Aya Takemura
Subject: Payroll Issue Resolved

Hi Hajime,

I would first like to apologise on behalf of the payroll team for the delay in your monthly wage. As this has now been fixed, you are due to receive your payment of ¥260,000 on Monday.

Kind regards,
Aya Takemura.

Hajime sighed through his nose, the sound more of a quiet laugh than exasperation. The number blinked up at him mockingly. ¥260,000. a reminder that while he was finally being paid, it didn’t even begin to cover what he owed Nagito.

“Great,” he muttered, closing the laptop with a soft click. “Only ten more months of indentured servitude.”

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. The dim digits of his phone screen glared at him from the desk. 8:52 p.m.and below the time, a single unread text blinked like an accusation.

Fuyuhiko: Yo. Call me ASAP.

Hajime stared at it for a long time, thumb hovering over the screen. He could already picture how it would go – Fuyuhiko’s voice sharp, impatient, maybe a little too loud for this hour. But avoiding him would only make it worse.

He sighed, hit “Call,” and pressed the phone to his ear.

Three rings.

“Hey–”

“Don’t ‘hey’ me, bastard!” Fuyuhiko’s voice exploded through the speaker, sharp enough to make Hajime wince. “Why the hell haven’t you replied to me all week?”

Hajime winced, already regretting this decision. “Nice to hear from you too.”

“Don’t dodge the question,” Fuyuhiko snapped. “I called, I texted, I even sent you a goddamn email, and you just disappeared like some washed-up soap actor.”

“I didn’t disappear,” Hajime said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I had no signal.”

“No signal my ass. Too busy making kissy faces with Komaeda?”

Hajime froze. “Wh– What?” His voice cracked slightly, the heat creeping up his neck. “Komaeda?! Where the hell did that come from?”

“Oh, don’t act dumb, Hajime.” Fuyuhiko’s tone dripped with smugness. “I tried to warn you when you were on that ferry to god-knows-where. Did you forget you met him in my bar? Did you forget that he drove you across the country?!”

“It wasn’t like that,” Hajime replied quickly, far too quickly. “He was just… helping me. It was nothing weird.”

“Uh-huh. ‘Helping you.’ Helping you with what? Scratching your back?”

“Jesus, Fuyuhiko,” Hajime muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I go offline for a week and suddenly you think I’ve eloped?”

“Wouldn’t put it past you. You always did have a soft spot for strays.”

That did it. Hajime sat forward, scowling into the receiver. “He’s not a stray! And I don’t have a– a soft spot!”

“Sure you don’t,” Fuyuhiko drawled. “That why you sound like you’re ready to start defending his honour in court?”

“Maybe because you’re being an asshole about it!” Hajime shot back, voice rising. “Not everything’s about your goddamn theories!”

There was a beat of silence. Then, to Hajime’s surprise, a sharp laugh burst through the speaker.

“You’re so easy to wind up,” Fuyuhiko snorted. “God, I missed this.”

“Missed what, exactly? Making my blood pressure spike?”

“Yeah, that.” Fuyuhiko’s tone softened slightly, the grin audible in his voice. “You sound alive again, Hajime. I was starting to think Komaeda buried you somewhere in the mountains.”

Hajime let out a reluctant snort, leaning back in his chair. “Would’ve been a mercy.”

“Ha! You wish.” Fuyuhiko chuckled, the tension bleeding out of the line. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop giving you shit. Just– next time, don’t vanish for a week without a word. Some of us actually care if you fall off a cliff, y’know.”

“…Yeah,” Hajime murmured after a moment, his voice softer. “Sorry. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You better,” Fuyuhiko said. “Anyway, get some sleep. You sound like hell.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime. Oh, and Hajime?”

“What?”

“Tell Komaeda I said hi.”

“Fuyuhiko!”

The line clicked off before Hajime could respond, leaving him half-frustrated, half-smiling into the empty room. The quiet settled again, but it felt lighter this time. Familiar.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere outside, a siren wailed, and the hum of Tokyo pulsed steady beneath it.

For the first time all evening, Hajime felt peaceful.

But peace – peace was a rare mercy, and it never lasted.

His phone buzzed against the desk. The sound was sharp in the quiet, slicing through his calm. Hajime’s eyes flicked toward it, a scowl already tugging at his face until he saw the name flashing across the screen.

Nagito Komaeda – DNA.

DNA. Do Not Answer.

He’d added that to Nagito’s contact sometime in their second year of high school, when Nagito thought it was hilarious to prank-call him at three in the morning just to ask if “sleep was going well.” Hajime had never blocked him, though. He’d only ever silenced the contact.

He chose not to think too hard about why.

With a resigned sigh, he swiped to accept and pressed the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” he said, voice rough with exhaustion.

“Hey! Am I speaking with Hajime Hinata?”

Nagito’s tone was perfectly polite, bright with the kind of professional charm Hajime knew came effortlessly to him.

“Yes, Nagito, you are,” Hajime replied, despite the small, reluctant smile already forming on his lips.

“Ah–” Nagito cleared his throat, the sound barely concealing amusement. “I wasn’t sure if you’d have my number saved.”

“Well,” Hajime muttered, glancing at the glowing text on the screen, “I had a note added not to answer. If that makes you feel any better.”

“Of course,” Nagito said lightly, laughter slipping into his voice. “I’m not surprised.”

“Anyway,” Hajime said, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze drifted toward his bed, “you good?”

“Oh– yes,” Nagito replied. “I just got off the phone with Ryu. He’s had four different suits customised to your measurements already. He said he’ll open the shop early for us tomorrow. If I pick you up at six-thirty, does that sound good?”

Hajime frowned at the clock on his wall, the blue digits blinking 9:12 back at him. “Six-thirty?” he muttered. “That’s early.”

“I like to be punctual,” Nagito said easily, voice warm through the static. “Besides, Tokyo traffic doesn’t forgive anyone. Especially not on a Saturday.”

Hajime sighed through his nose. “Fine. Six-thirty’s fine.”

“That’s the spirit,” Nagito said, and Hajime could hear the smile in his voice. He could almost picture it – that small, knowing curve of his lips, the faint tilt of his head that always made it look like he was in on a joke no one else knew.

That should have been the end of it. A time, a place, the usual pleasantries. But the silence that followed wasn’t the kind that ended a call.

“So,” Nagito said after a moment, his tone softening, “have you eaten?”

Hajime blinked. “Huh?”

“Dinner,” Nagito clarified, a faint laugh in his voice. “You sound tired. Did you eat?”

“Yeah,” Hajime said, too quickly. “Cup noodles.”

“Ah.” Nagito hummed, the kind of hum that said more than words could. “A bold culinary choice.”

“Don’t start,” Hajime said, leaning back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. “I wasn’t exactly up for cooking.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Nagito laughed quietly, and Hajime could hear the faint shuffle of him moving – maybe sitting down, maybe pacing. There was something alive about the sound, something that filled the small silences between their words.

“What about you?” Hajime asked, before he could stop himself. “What’ve you been doing?”

“Oh, nothing as exciting as you, I’m sure,” Nagito said lightly. “Just reviewing a case. One of my clients has a hearing on Monday.”

Hajime made a low noise of acknowledgment. “Sounds thrilling.”

“It’s not,” Nagito replied with a quiet chuckle. “But it’s nice, in a way. To work through something structured again. I missed that.”

There was a pause, not long enough to be awkward, just long enough for Hajime to glance at his reflection in the dark window, phone pressed loosely to his ear. He looked as tired as he felt.

“I didn’t think you’d call tonight,” Hajime admitted before he could catch the words.

Nagito was quiet for a second. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“You seem busy. You usually are.”

“I can always fit you into my schedule, Hajime – especially when it concerns designer fabrics.” Nagito quickly replied with a soft chuckle. Hajime felt his lips twitch slightly, although the smile did not reach his eyes. He almost felt disappointed, yet he couldn’t explain why. Nagito cleared his throat softly, his voice dropping a little quieter. “I suppose I just wanted to hear your voice,” Nagito continued, and though his tone was casual, something in it wavered – something almost vulnerable, as if he regretted saying it the moment it left his mouth.

Hajime swallowed, throat dry. “You hear it enough when I’m yelling at you.”

“That’s true,” Nagito said, laughter returning, gentle now. “But you don’t sound as angry over the phone.”

“Yet,” Hajime muttered, but the bite in his voice was half-hearted.

For a moment, the only sound was the quiet static of the call, the steady rhythm of another person breathing somewhere far away but close enough to feel. Hajime realised, almost with embarrassment, that he didn’t want to hang up.

“You know,” Nagito began, breaking the silence, “it’s still early.”

Hajime frowned. “It’s nine p.m.”

“That’s early for a Friday,” Nagito countered, amusement threading through his voice. “If you’re not doing anything–”

“I’m not,” Hajime cut in, far too quickly.

“I thought so,” Nagito replied, and Hajime could hear the grin forming. “Then why don’t you come over? I promise I won’t make you try any experimental teas.”

Hajime blinked. “Come over? Now?”

“Mm. It’s not far. And I figured it might be easier to go over the suit details in person. Ryu stopped by to give me some additional fabric samples.”

Hajime stared at the ceiling, phone still pressed to his ear. He knew that wasn’t the full reason – Nagito’s voice carried that same careful politeness it always did when he was covering something softer, something he didn’t want to say outright.

“You’ve been away from me for, what, three hours, and you’re already making it weird again?” Hajime said, but there was no real irritation in his tone.

Nagito laughed again, light and quiet. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Hajime snorted, running one of his hands through his hair. “I don’t think you would’ve taken ‘no’ for an answer anyway.”

“I know,” Nagito said. “See you soon?”

There it was again, that unspoken thing hanging in the space between them. The word soon sounded warmer than it should have, too familiar, too much like a promise.

Hajime hesitated, then sighed. “…Yeah. Soon.”

“Good.”

The line went quiet for a moment, long enough that Hajime thought Nagito might’ve hung up, before the faint, familiar murmur came through once more.

“Get here safe, okay?” Nagito added softly.

And before Hajime could even reply, the call ended.

He stared at the phone in his hand for a long moment, the faint buzz of the city outside leaking in through the window. Then he stood, grabbed his jacket, and reached for his keys.

He told himself it was just going to be about the suits. That he would be home again before he knew it.

But he didn’t believe it for a second.

~~

The cab rolled to a smooth stop at the curb, the soft hiss of its brakes swallowed by the hum of late-night Tokyo. Hajime blinked out of his thoughts just in time to realise they’d arrived.

He stepped out, the door shutting behind him with a muted thump.

Then he looked up.

The building towered above him – an obsidian-and-glass monolith spearing into the cloudy night, its edges lit with quiet white strips that climbed toward the sky like a trail of stars. Every window glowed like it held its own private world behind it, too high-class, too polished, too unlike anything Hajime had ever stepped foot in the vicinity of.

A slow, tight gulp crawled down his throat.

This was where Nagito lived?

Hajime checked the screen of his phone again just to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

Nagito Komaeda - DNA
18-3-1 Higashi-Azabu, Minato City
Floor 40, Penthouse Suite B

He looked back at the building.

Then the phone.

Then the building again.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “Of course it’s a penthouse. Of course.”

Hajime was sure that Nagito had mentioned he lived in “an apartment.” Hajime had assumed that meant… normal. Human. Maybe a little extravagant, considering his job and his choice of hotels, but nothing like this. Nothing that made Hajime feel like he’d stepped into the wealth bracket of people who casually bought islands for fun.

His reflection stared back at him in the glass, almost mockingly. Here he stood, sleepy and underdressed, looking completely out of place. He didn’t belong here – and he honestly couldn’t imagine if he ever would.

He swallowed hard, shoved his phone into his pocket, and forced his legs to move.

The moment he approached the entrance, a man in a sharp black uniform stepped forward as though materialising from the marble itself. He bowed, crisp and polite, and pulled the door open for him.

Hajime nearly tripped.

“Oh– uh, thanks,” he muttered, walking past with an awkward nod.

The man smiled without saying a word. Hajime wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse.

Inside, the air shifted instantly. Cool. Fragrant. Quiet in a way that only money could buy.

The reception stretched out before him in polished marble – white with threads of gold that shimmered faintly under the warm lights. The ceiling rose far higher than it needed to, with hanging fixtures that glowed like softened lanterns. Sofas sat arranged in perfect symmetry, untouched and immaculate. A glass sculpture stood in the centre like a frozen ripple of water.

Hajime felt like he’d wandered into an art museum by mistake.

This place is insane.

Who the hell lives like this?

Right. Nagito, apparently.

He tried not to imagine how many zeroes were on the rent.

His gaze drifted to the receptionist behind the desk. Unlike the motel receptionist from Kyushu who looked like she’d been trained specifically to despise the existence of mankind, this woman looked up with a soft, welcoming smile.

“Good evening,” she greeted, dipping her head politely.

“Uh– yeah, evening.” Hajime approached the desk, feeling like he was tracking dirt across holy ground. “I’m, um… looking for the elevator to the fortieth floor.”

Her smile warmed. “Of course. The elevators are at the back of the lobby. For the penthouse suites, there will be a buzzer outside the door to alert the resident you’ve arrived.”

Hajime blinked.

Penthouse suites.

Plural.

As in: there were multiple.

Nagito didn’t just live in a really nice apartment – he lived in one of several penthouses in a sky-rise that probably cost more per month than Hajime made in half a year.

His brain fizzled uselessly.

“Oh. Right. Great. Thanks,” he managed, offering a stiff nod like he was trying to pretend he belonged here.

“You’re welcome,” she said kindly.

Her friendliness, instead of easing him, only made the situation feel more surreal. People this polite didn’t exist in his price range. He was used to cashiers who threw change at him and landlords who communicated only via threats.

He walked toward the elevator, each step sounding too loud in the pristine silence.

His heart thudded in his chest, heavy and uneven.

What the hell am I doing here?
Why does he even want me here?
Why did I say yes so quickly?

The polished floor reflected him with embarrassing clarity – the tenseness of his shoulders, the expression on his face which he couldn’t quite decipher if it was dread or awe.

He wondered if Nagito had ever thought about how huge the disparity between them was. If he’d noticed how out of place Hajime looked in his world. If he realised how easy it was for him to call, to invite, to ask for company, while Hajime…

…while Hajime came running.

He reached the elevator and hovered his hand over the button, pulse tapping insistently at the back of his throat.

The gold-plated surface gleamed. He could see his own distorted reflection in it – wide-eyed, nervous, too aware – and it made him grimace.

Why does every surface reflect my face? Why is everything so polished?

He exhaled slowly, steadying himself.

“Okay,” he whispered under his breath, jaw tightening. “It’s just a damn apartment. It’s Nagito. You’ve spent a whole week with him. Get a grip.”

He pressed the button.

The elevator chimed, soft and elegant, opening with a sound that felt too gentle for how violently his heart was pounding.

Hajime stepped inside. The doors closed behind him with a quiet hiss.

And as the elevator began its climb, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t just rising to the fortieth floor.

He was rising straight into trouble.

~~

The elevator climbed the stories in near-silence, the hum of the machinery swallowed by whatever luxury insulation this building used. Hajime watched the numbers above the door tick upward – 36, 37, 38 – and felt his stomach tighten the higher he climbed.

By 39, the air felt different. Thinner. More expensive.

The elevator gave a soft, dignified chime as it reached 40, and the doors slid open with a sound too smooth to be mechanical. Hajime stepped out hesitantly.

The hallway alone could've been a hotel lobby.

Wide. Quiet. Dark wood panelling paired with pale stone flooring that reflected the gentle glow of recessed lights. Not a single scuff mark on the walls, not a single footprint in the polished surface beneath him. A long runner carpet muted his footsteps, making him feel like even the hallway had decided he was too loud.

He scanned the doors.

Suite D. Suite C.

And then, as he turned the corner, he saw it. Engraved into a silver plate, the font itself even looking expensive – Suite B.

Nagito’s.

The door itself was heavy, seamless, more sculptural panel than anything resembling a regular apartment door. If Hajime didn’t know better, he would’ve thought he was standing at the entrance to a private gallery.

His pulse thudded once, too hard, too obvious, before he lifted his hand and pressed the small, discreet buzzer beside the frame.

A soft chime sounded from within.

Three seconds.
Five.
Seven.

Then a click.

The lock disengaged.

Hajime inhaled, squared himself, and pushed the door open.

The foyer stunned him.

It was quiet.
Not just in sound. The room itself was quiet in spirit.

Matte white walls. Perfectly even lighting that pooled like warm dawn over black stone flooring. A single piece of abstract art hung opposite him, something monochrome and strangely serene. No clutter. No shoes. No stray papers. Nothing out of place. Everything looked curated to the millimetre, like a showroom that someone lived in only when absolutely necessary.

Hajime stepped inside, almost afraid his shoes would stain the floor just by existing. He closed the door gently behind him, the click impossibly soft.

His breath left him when he reached the edge of the foyer and the space opened up.

The living room stretched outward in an expanse of glass and shadow. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the Tokyo skyline like a mural, the moonlight pouring across the room in long silver streaks that made the black flooring glimmer. A sleek white sofa cut a clean line across the centre of the room, facing the windows as if even the furniture preferred the view.

To the right was a modern kitchen, matte black and stainless steel, so immaculate he doubted it had ever seen a messy meal. The dining area glowed softly beneath a suspended light, minimalist chairs arranged with almost mathematical precision.

Straight ahead, the balcony waited behind sliding glass doors, the wind outside high enough to ruffle the sheer curtains with a faint whisper.

Hajime’s throat tightened.
He had known Nagito lived well, but this…

This was something else entirely.

“...Wow,” he muttered under his breath, too quietly for anyone to hear.

A sound broke the stillness.

A soft click of a door on the far side of the living room, near where the windows curved slightly. Hajime turned just as the office door opened, and Nagito stepped out, his hair slightly tousled, sleeves pushed up from working, expression touched with that gentle, faintly amused calm he always carried. The light from the windows caught him, outlining him in a pale glow.

“Hajime,” Nagito said, warmth threading through his voice as if he hadn’t expected to be this pleased to see him. “You made it.”

Hajime swallowed, trying not to look as overwhelmed as he felt.

“Yeah,” he managed. “Uh– yeah. I’m… here.”

Nagito’s smile softened, eyes flicking over Hajime as though checking for signs of stress.

“Welcome,” he said, stepping fully into the light. “Don’t just stray at the edges of my house – there’s plenty of room.”

And for one dizzy second, Hajime had the absurd thought that the penthouse hadn’t truly felt alive until Nagito walked into the room.

Hajime stepped forward and Nagito’s smile widened just a fraction as he took him in – Hajime still half-stiff from nerves, eyes darting like he was afraid to touch the air wrong.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Nagito asked, drifting toward the open-kitchen with that effortless, gliding walk of his. “Water? Tea? Wine?”

“Water’s fine,” Hajime replied quickly, straightening out of sheer instinct.

Nagito paused mid-step and turned, one pale brow arching in amused challenge. His hand lifted toward the towering wine rack built into the wall – backlit, immaculate, shelves lined with bottles Hajime was pretty sure cost more than his entire monthly rent.

“You’re sure?” Nagito asked lightly.

Hajime stared at the bottles. Then at Nagito. Then at the bottles again.

He hated how his resolve faltered under that damn gentle smile.

He groaned under his breath, turning his face away in an attempt to hide his reddening cheeks. “Fine. One glass. Only one.”

Nagito’s laughter slipped out soft and warm, echoing faintly against the polished surfaces.

“Of course. One glass,” he echoed, though his eyes held a sparkle that made Hajime think he’d already won something.

He reached up, fingertips brushing over labels with familiarity before selecting a deep crimson bottle. Two crystal glasses followed, thin, expensive-looking, chiming lightly as he set them on the counter.

Hajime watched him move, taking in the penthouse again, then muttered with a helpless huff, “Honestly? I’m surprised you don’t have, like… a butler. Or three. This place practically demands it.”

Nagito glanced over his shoulder, eyebrow rising again, but this time his expression softened into a sly little smirk.

“Oh, but my butler just arrived,” he commented innocently, pouring the wine with a graceful tilt of his wrist.

Hajime tilted his head, his mind slowing slightly. Somehow, for some reason, he felt as though a joke had soared right over his head.

Five seconds later, he finally blinked, eyes widening.

“…Wait– hey, hold on–” he sputtered, heat rushing to his face. “I am not–! That is not–!”

Nagito handed him his glass, utterly unbothered. “You’d be very good at it, though. Very responsible. Very tidy.” His head tilted. “I should consider offering you a room. You know, as repayment for me driving you around.”

“You’re–” Hajime choked on air, ears burning, before swallowing harshly to compose himself. “Ha, ha. Very funny.”

“Mm,” Nagito hummed, noncommittal in a way that was absolutely not noncommittal.

He clinked their glasses gently, the crystal ringing like a bell.

Hajime took his first sip just to distract himself from how stupidly warm his face felt. It was good wine. Too good. The kind of wine that made him want to commit crimes just to justify tasting it.

Nagito’s gaze flicked to him again, thoughtful. “How did you get here, by the way? I would’ve picked you up, but I needed to finish reviewing a client’s case file while it was still fresh in my mind.”

Hajime shook his head. “It’s fine. Really. I, uh… used part of the motel deposit to pay for a cab. Wasn’t too much.”

“How much?” Nagito asked, even though he was clearly already disapproving.

“Fifteen hundred yen.”

Nagito clicked his tongue softly, setting his own glass down. “I should’ve driven you.”

“You were working,” Hajime insisted, taking another sip he absolutely did not need. “And anyway, the payroll issue got sorted. They emailed me. I’m getting my wage on Monday.” He exhaled, shoulders loosening a little. “So I can pay you back…not straight away, though. Month by month or something. For the hotels. And the food. And– everything else.”

Nagito actually scoffed.

Not dismissively.
Not arrogantly.
Just amused. Warm. Like Hajime had said something charmingly ridiculous.

“Hajime,” he said, soft and certain, “having your company was already more than enough of a payment.”

Hajime nearly dropped his glass.

“What? Nagito, come on. That’s–”

“It’s true,” Nagito cut in, unconcerned by Hajime’s fluster. “I’m not keeping a ledger. I don’t intend to.”

“But I owe–”

“You don’t,” Nagito said simply. “You don’t owe me anything.”

Hajime opened his mouth, before he closed it again. He was vaguely aware of the fact that he resembled a goldfish, and the thought of that was not helping him in his struggle to form a coherent response.

Nagito lifted his wine glass again, swirling the dark liquid gently before taking a small sip, his eyes drifting toward the vast windows and the skyline beyond them.

The city lights glimmered across his profile, softening the sharp lines of his face.

“So,” he murmured quietly, “now that you’re here… do you like it? My house.”

Hajime swallowed, the wine warm in his chest.

The room was large, the surfaces expensive. Hajime could only imagine what the view from the balcony looked like, how it probably stretched on for eternity. His eyes then drifted across to Nagito, who was watching him with a curious gaze. Strangely, he found that the steady eye-contact was the only thing keeping him grounded in this world that did not belong to him.

“It’s a lot,” Hajime said, voice low. “But… it’s good. I like it.”

Nagito smiled, something small and real curling at the edges.

“Good,” he replied. “Then drink with me. Keep me company for the last time we need to, hm?”

Hajime did, yet the words Nagito spoke seemed to tighten something in his chest. He was actively ignoring the fact that this was possibly their last time sharing wine and talking about nothing important on a random night. If he thought about it for too long, it would become too real all at once and Hajime didn’t know how to deal with that.

He turned his eyes away, and in that moment, as the skyline flickered below them and Nagito leaned just a little closer, the penthouse didn’t feel intimidating anymore.

It felt comfortable. Dangerously and stupidly comfortable.

And Hajime didn’t want to let go of it anymore.

~~

Nagito drifted away from the counter with a soft hum, glass in hand, and Hajime watched as he crossed the room toward a sleek vinyl player built into a low black console. The device looked so perfectly in place it might as well have come with the penthouse.

Hajime let out a short laugh. “Of course you have a vinyl player.”

Nagito glanced back with a grin that was entirely too pleased. “What can I say? Some things deserve to be heard properly.”

He slid a record from its sleeve with careful fingers, set it on the turntable, and lowered the needle. A warm, mellow tune filled the living room, all soft strings and gentle percussion, the kind of music that made everything feel quieter. Nagito hummed along under his breath, barely audible but strangely soothing.

They talked about nothing for a bit – light, easy conversation that made the wine feel stronger and the room warmer.

Then, as the melody picked up, Nagito asked suddenly, “Did any of the fabric colours catch your eye today?”

Hajime blinked at him. “Uh… I guess the navy ones? They were fine.”

Nagito nodded as if expecting exactly that answer. He disappeared into his office without a word.

Hajime took another sip of wine, waiting.

Nagito returned moments later holding two fabric samples, nearly identical at first glance. He set them down on the kitchen island in front of Hajime.

“Choose,” he tilted his head slightly.

Hajime squinted at both swatches, lifting one, then the other, then sighing dramatically. “They are the same, Nagito.”

Nagito’s lips curved into a smirk. “They’re not.” He stepped closer, pointing to the subtle differences. “This one has a tighter weave, smoother finish. More formal. This one has a slight texture – better movement, more… flattering lines.” His gaze flicked up to meet Hajime’s with a mischievous tilt. “Especially on you.”

Hajime expected his cheeks to flush, his words to catch in his throat. The way they always did whenever Nagito’s voice bordered on something a little more than friendly. But with the wine flowing through his veins, something in his chest softened, his stomach loosening.

He raised an eyebrow. “So you have been staring at me all day. Good to know.”

Nagito’s smile faltered – not in discomfort, but in surprise – before it returned sharper, amused, maybe even proud. “Well. Someone has to appreciate you properly.”

Hajime felt warmth crawl up the back of his neck, but this time it didn’t send him running. “Fine,” he muttered, tapping the second fabric sample. “That one. The one that… moves better.”

“Excellent choice.” Nagito gathered the samples again, looking far too satisfied for someone talking about navy fabric.

Their conversation drifted again, back to little things and quiet things, until Nagito set down his glass and tilted his head thoughtfully.

“Hajime,” he said, voice low, “would you like to see Tokyo from the perspective very few will ever have the privilege to?”

Hajime blinked. “What do you mean?”

Nagito simply stepped aside and gestured elegantly toward the floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors. The city lights reflected in them like a second sky.

“The balcony,” he said lightly. “Trust me.”

Hajime’s brows furrowed, but he nodded, curiosity outweighing confusion. Nagito slid the door open, a rush of cooler air spilling in.

They stepped out together.

And the world opened up beneath them.

~~

The city below stretched endlessly, a sprawl of light and motion that seemed to breathe in rhythm with the night. From Nagito’s penthouse balcony, Tokyo glittered like a living constellation – thousands of windows flickering against the dark, a thousand different lives overlapping in the hum of neon and traffic. The air was cool for mid-July, carrying the faint scent of humidity and exhaust, the echo of laughter from the streets below drifting up like static.

Hajime stood near the open doorway, his hands braced on the metal frame. The faint murmur of jazz still drifted from the lounge – something slow and unintrusive, more atmosphere than sound. The rest of the world had gone quiet.

Nagito had already perched casually on the railing as though gravity didn’t apply to him, as if he had no other choice but to do so once stepping outside. He’d taken off his jacket, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows, hair tousled by the soft breeze. The city’s glow painted his profile in shifting shades of gold and silver. Hajime’s chest tightened watching him there, in the same way it always did, balanced so easily over an impossible drop, legs swinging slightly over the open air, as if gravity bent around him instead of pulling.

Hajime opened his mouth to tell Nagito to get down, but the words felt thin in his throat. He’d said the same thing half a dozen times before during the trip, every time Nagito chose to watch the stars from the railing and smiled as if he hadn’t cared if he dropped.

Nagito turned his head slightly, a small, quiet smile curving his lips. “I didn’t realise how much I’d miss seeing the stars.” He tilted his head upwards, Hajime’s eyes following instinctively. Nagito was right – with the sheer amount of fluorescent lights in Tokyo, it was far more difficult to glimpse the constellations they’d had the privilege of seeing over the last week.

“Yeah. Me too.” Hajime replied quietly, stepping away from the door and placing himself beside Nagito. He rested his elbows gently onto the cool metal of the balcony edge. “I still don’t know how it doesn’t scare you. Sitting like this.”

Nagito titled his head, eyes soft. “When you’ve faced things scarier than your fears, you become untouchable.”

Hajime swallowed thickly, eyes darting away from Nagito.

You become untouchable.

And Nagito was untouchable. In more ways than just physically. He didn’t seem to care about dangerous situations, but then again he never had. But even with him sitting here, spending an entire week at Hajime’s side, he still felt impossibly out of reach. Like Hajime couldn’t reach him if he tried. The thought left something bitter stinging at his tongue.

The city lights danced across his eyes, and for a long moment neither of them spoke. The sound of the jazz lingering behind them, the faint wind weaving through the high-rises – it all filled the silence that words couldn’t quite touch.

Hajime’s voice broke through after a moment. “Well, as long as you like sitting up there.”

Nagito gave a small laugh. “I thought you knew that by now, Hajime.” His smile softened slightly. “But to be honest, it’s the only place I can see everything without feeling like I’m part of it.” He looked down at the endless sprawl below, Tokyo bustling with life as the clock verged closer to midnight, the motion of cars and people so vividly alive. “When I was younger, everything overwhelmed me. Like I was drowning in everyone else’s noise, or in everyone’s way. Up here, it’s quieter. Lonelier, but in a way I can enjoy. In a way I can just watch.”

Something flickered in his voice. Something so faint, a delicate break as he spoke, but Hajime caught it. Hajime always did.

“When we were in school…” Nagito continued, shifting his weight slightly. “Well. I was terrified of heights. But…there were times where I’d find the highest point I could, and I would just…wait. See what would happen. See if fate would push me over the edge, see if the noise, if everything would just… stop. I was too scared to actually do anything myself, so I always left it in the hands of my luck.”

Hajime’s throat tightened.

He’d known, of course. Even if Nagito hadn’t said only days ago that he saw death as freedom. Even if Nagito hadn’t just confessed to him that he sat and thought about jumping to his death. Everyone had known, in some way. But hearing it this plainly, without the mask of irony or self-deprecation that Nagito had seemed to strip away from himself over the years – it hit different. It hurt. Nagito wasn’t telling it for pity. He wasn’t asking for sympathy. He was saying it because it was true. Because he had learned to live from it.

“I didn’t want to die.” Nagito said after a pause, his gaze distant and fixed away from Hajime. “Not really. I just didn’t know how to live with…everything. The chaos, the guilt, the way my head never stopped twisting everything into something ugly.” He breathed out a quiet shaky laugh. “I thought if I disappeared, then maybe I’d stop ruining things for everyone else.”

Hajime didn’t realise he’d moved closer until he felt his forearm brush Nagito’s thigh. A hot jolt of electricity spike in Hajime’s veins, but he ignored it. Now wasn’t the time. There was never the time. He could feel the heat from Nagito. He wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but Hajime didn’t know how to. Didn’t know if he could. Every word that came to mind felt too small, too clumsy for what Nagito was giving him – this quiet truth about survival.

“…And now?” Hajime finally asked, voice low, swallowing bile in his throat.

Nagito turned toward him, the city’s reflection glimmering faintly in his eyes. “Now?” He smiled, soft and real. “Now I like the view. It reminds me that I stayed. That I get to see the world from here, even if I never really understand it. That I’m still alive, and I don’t need to apologise for it anymore.”

The simplicity of it lodged in Hajime’s chest like a stake.

He swallowed, gaze dropping to the streets far below them. “Well, I think you’re brave.” He cleared his throat, pinching his eyebrows. “And insane. For sitting up there like that.”

Nagito chuckled. “Probably.” His fingers flexed against the railing. “But I think you’ve known that for a long time.”

Hajime huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh, almost a sigh. His fingers curled loosely around the railing, knuckles grazing the cool metal. For a moment, he let the silence settle again. The noise of the city was strangely distant from up here, like the whole world had softened. Then, as if pulled by gravity of its own kind, Hajime spoke.

“Hey, Nagito.”

“Mm?”

“I was thinking about…” Hajime trailed off, glancing sideways. “The Valentine’s gift. I know it’s stupid, but…”

Nagito blinked, the faintest flicker of curiosity crossing his face. “Oh? Go on.”

Hajime’s throat felt tight, his words clumsier. “I know I was– well, I wasn’t exactly enthusiastic when you told me. I just– I was caught off guard. You said you had a crush on me, and I just…” He broke off, rubbing the back of his neck, frustrated at himself. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… I’m sorry for my reaction the other day. I didn’t upset me. I told you I was glad it was you, and for some reason…I meant it. And I still mean it.”

“Do you?” Nagito tilted his head, eyes searching.

Hajime nodded slowly. “Yeah. I do. Even if I don’t really understand… it.”

The words hung there, suspended in the breeze of the night air. Nagito’s lips parted slightly, his usual composure faltering for a heartbeat.

The hum of traffic filled the spaces between their breaths. Nagito looked at him for a while, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes, before glancing back down towards the streets. The silence wasn’t heavy – it was fragile. Like a string stretched between them, humming with something unspoken. Nagito shifted slightly, the railing creaking under his weight.

“Would you like to sit up here?”

Hajime blinked, startled. “What?”

Nagito turned to him, eyes soft and smile faint. “You always refuse, and I know you’ll probably say no again. But I think you’ll like it if you give it a chance. Come and see the world the way I do.”

Hajime’s heart gave a nervous jolt, his legs already failing him. “Nagito…we’re about forty stories high.”

“I’ll hold you.” Nagito shrugged, extending his hand. His tone wasn’t teasing this time. It was calm, certain, like a promise. “I think once you realise you won’t fall, you’ll never want to get back down. Plus, I’d be a failure to myself if you don’t get up – I told you I would get you up here before the week’s done.”

Hajime stared at the offered hand, his pulse pounding. He wanted to refuse – to call Nagito reckless, to tell him it was stupid. But something in the steadiness of Nagito’s gaze stopped him. Slowly, almost against his own better judgement, Hajime placed his hands in Nagito’s.

Nagito’s grip was warm, firm but gentle as he guided him up. Hajime’s breath caught as his feet left the stable ground, the world opening beneath him in a rush of vertigo. For a terrifying second, he thought he’d lose balance, but Nagito’s hand tightened, anchoring him in place.

“It’s okay, Hajime.” Nagito murmured, voice close to his ear. “I’ve got you.”

Hajime sat stiffly beside him, every muscle locked in place. The railing was narrow but steady, the city stretching out endlessly below. He couldn’t look down at first, his heart was pounding too hard, but then he did.

And when he did, he understood.

From here, Tokyo wasn’t chaos. It wasn’t the noise or the clutter or the endless movement. It wasn’t a city full of memories or a nine to five job he hated. It was light. Just light. Billions of tiny points, flickering quietly into the dark.

And from here, he and Nagito were above it all. Alive. Electric. Human, almost impossibly so. Together in a way Hajime would never find the words to explain.

“It’s beautiful.” He said quietly.

Nagito smiled, eyes on the skyline. “It always is when you stop being afraid of the fall.”

Hajime let out a shaky breath in rebuttal. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop being afraid of that.”

Nagito’s eyes softened in Hajime’s peripheral. “That’s okay. You don’t have to. You just have to trust the someone will catch you if you do.”

Hajime’s throat tightened, and no words came. No words needed to. He understood Nagito and Nagito understood him. And somehow, that was enough for them.

For a long time, they sat in silence. Side by side, hands still loosely intertwined, the night wrapped around them like something sacred. Everything blurred into background noise, distant and small.

“What happens after the wedding?” Nagito asked quietly, his voice almost reluctant. “When I stop pretending to be your boyfriend and we have no reason to see each other anymore?”

Hajime turned his head toward him, his expression tight but tender. He gave Nagito a soft smile. “I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out. We’ll know what to do when it comes to it.”

Something about his own words lodged deeply into his chest, and he could tell that Nagito felt the exact same way from the slight drop of his eyes.

Hajime turned his gaze back to the skyline, the lights blurring slightly in his eyes. For the first time in seven years, the city didn’t feel suffocating. It felt vast. Possibility stretched out in every direction. The breeze shifted, carrying the faint scent of the evening with it. Nagito’s shoulder brushed his, a small, accidental touch that lingered. Neither of them pulled away.

They didn’t need to.

For now, the world below could keep spinning. Up here, suspended between sky and earth, it felt like they’d both finally stopped running.

And maybe, Hajime thought, as the city lights shimmered beneath them, maybe figuring it out didn’t have to mean having the answers. Maybe it just meant staying.

Together.

Chapter Text

Hajime wasn’t sure how long they had sat there.

It may have been minutes or hours. It didn’t matter. With his head tilted upwards, he believed that tonight could last forever if he let it. The sky stretched on above him – clear, vast – a deepening indigo brushed faintly with the last bruised trace of orange near the horizon. The kind of sky that only appeared when the day finally gave up resisting night. When everything slowed and softened. When the universe finally exhaled.

Nothing monumental had happened.

He and Nagito hadn’t exchanged many words while they’d been up there. They hadn’t needed to. They had sat, two souls united just for now, balanced between earth and sky. Not once had Nagito’s hand left Hajime’s. Not in a way that demanded anything, and not in a way that suggested more. Just there, warm and steady. The quiet companionship of two people who didn’t need to fill the space between them with sound just to prove it existed.

Hajime breathed in slowly, the cool air settling in his lungs. The height still made his stomach flutter faintly, a reminder of where they were, of how thin the margin was between safety and freefall. But Nagito’s presence anchored him. Always had. Even now. Especially now, with his legs dangling over forty stories of empty air. Hajime felt grounded.

Tomorrow.

The thought slipped in uninvited.

Tomorrow, he would stand in a tailored suit he hadn’t paid for, beside a man he wasn’t really dating, in front of people who believed a lie that had grown teeth and weight and meaning. Tomorrow, he would smile for photographs, accept and offer congratulations, play a role so convincingly that even he sometimes forgot where the performance ended and reality begun.

Tomorrow, this would all inch closer to being over.

This week. The road trip. The easy closeness. The late-night conversations that drifted into dawn in cities he would never visit again. The way Nagito looked at him when he thought Hajime wasn’t paying attention – like he was memorising something fragile. Like Hajime mattered to him.

Hajime swallowed.

He didn’t know what would happen after the wedding. He didn’t know what Nagito expected, or if he expected anything at all. And that scared him more than the height of the penthouse ever could.

Because somewhere along the way, without realising it, Hajime had stopped thinking of Nagito as a temporary presence. He’d stopped bracing for the inevitable return to distance. The thought of Nagito simply leaving his life again, slipping back into the role of an old acquaintance who disappeared for another six years and left things unsaid…the thought of it made something twist painfully in his chest.

He didn’t want this to end.

He didn’t want him to end.

The city below was impossibly far away, its sounds swallowed by the height. Hajime couldn’t hear the traffic or the voices or the music, but he could feel it – the thrum of Tokyo on a Friday night, alive and restless and buzzing with energy. Somewhere down there, people were spilling out of bars, laughing too loud, falling in love for a night, starting fights, ending chapters. Life was happening at full volume.

Up here, it felt like a pause.

A held breath.

Hajime finally let his gaze drift downward.

The drop was still dizzying – lights scattered like spilled constellations, streets weaving together in glowing threads. For a moment, the instinctive fear flared again, sharp and electric. He tightened his grip on the railing, his knuckles blanching.

It was late.

Too late.

The sky had deepened further, the orange nearly gone now, swallowed by blue-black night. Midnight was close. He knew it without checking the time. His body felt it, that quiet heaviness that settled in when the day overstayed its welcome.

They had to be up early. Six thirty. The suit pickup. Final preparations. A day that would be long and full and important.

Reluctantly, carefully, Hajime shifted.

The movement was small at first, barely perceptible. He drew one leg back, slowly swinging it over the railing until his foot found solid ground on the balcony floor. His heart thudded a little harder as his balance shifted, but before panic could bloom, Nagito’s hand tightened around his.

Not pulling. Not forcing.

Just there.

A silent reassurance.

Hajime brought his other leg over, breath catching as he twisted his body back toward safety. Once both feet were planted, he stood there for a moment longer, one hand resting on the railing and one still in Nagito’s, head bowed slightly as if mourning the loss of something intangible.

Nagito hadn’t moved.

He watched Hajime the entire time – eyes attentive, expression unreadable in the low light. There was no commentary, no teasing remark, no gentle coaxing. Just observation. Presence. Trust.

Hajime finally let go of the railing and pushed himself backwards, legs stiff from sitting so long. Nagito gave one final squeeze of his hand before letting their fingers brush away from each other. Hajime pressed his palms against his thighs, grounding himself, then glanced at Nagito.

“I should probably…” He trailed off, wincing slightly at how awkward it sounded. He cleared his throat. “I should go. If we’ve gotta be out by six thirty.”

The words felt wrong the moment they left his mouth.

Necessary. Reasonable. Sensible, even.

Still wrong.

Nagito’s gaze lingered on him for a heartbeat too long.

Something flickered in his eyes, far too quick to name. Disappointment, maybe. Or hesitation. Or something softer, more dangerous. Hajime couldn’t tell, and the not knowing made his chest ache even more.

Nagito exhaled quietly, then hopped down from the railing with effortless ease, landing lightly on his feet as if gravity truly didn’t care about him. He straightened, rolled his shoulders once, and gestured toward the open balcony doors with a small tilt of his head.

“Come on,” he said gently.

Hajime followed, stepping back into the penthouse as the quiet jazz wrapped around him again. The warmth inside was subtle but immediate, a contrast to the cool night air clinging faintly to his skin.

Nagito lingered at the threshold.

He leaned against the doorframe, one arm braced above his head, posture relaxed but thoughtful. The city lights spilled in behind him, outlining his figure in gold and silver, making him look almost unreal, like something framed deliberately for Hajime’s eyes alone.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The unspoken sat heavy between them, thick with all the things Hajime hadn’t said on the balcony. All the things he didn’t know how to ask for.

Nagito broke the silence first.

“You could stay,” he spoke quietly, his tongue darting over his lips for a split second.

Not casual. Not flippant.

An offer.

Hajime blinked, caught off guard despite himself. “Stay?”

Nagito nodded, eyes steady. “It’s late. And we’re getting up early anyway, as you said.” A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Saves me having to wake you with a phone call.”

Hajime let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh if it hadn’t sounded so fragile. “You’d enjoy that too much.”

“Maybe,” Nagito admitted easily, his shoulders shrugging lightly.

The thought of staying – of not stepping back into a cab, of not returning to his empty apartment with its thin walls and restless silence – settled warmly in Hajime’s chest. Too warmly. It scared him.

He hesitated. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

Nagito’s brow creased faintly, something like surprise flickering across his face. “Hajime,” he said softly, “you’re not.”

The certainty in his voice made Hajime’s throat tighten.

Nagito straightened from the doorframe and gestured inward. “I have a guest room. It’s comfortable. And…” He paused, just briefly, then added, “I’d like it if you stayed.”

There it was.

Not a practical excuse. Not a convenience.

Want.

Hajime looked away, heart thudding. He rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the polished floor, at his own reflection distorted faintly in its shine.

“…Okay,” he said finally.

The word felt small but it carried everything. Everything he still couldn’t say. Everything he had wanted to for the last week.

Nagito’s smile was quiet. Real.

“Good,” he said.

And for the first time since Hajime had arrived at the penthouse, the thought of leaving didn’t hover over him like an inevitable end. For now, at least, he could stay.

Just a little longer.

Just long enough to pretend tomorrow wasn’t waiting.

~~

Nagito led the way down the hallway, the lights dimming automatically as they passed, responding to movement with a softness that felt intentional rather than intrusive. The penthouse had grown quieter with the hour, the city outside reduced to a distant shimmer through the glass. Hajime followed a step behind, still half-aware of how surreal it felt to be here at all, walking deeper into a space that belonged so wholly to Nagito.

They stopped outside a door not far from the office Nagito had first stepped out of. Hajime’s breath caught in his throat as the reality of it all set in. That he was here, in Nagito’s home. That he was willingly staying here. That he was impossibly tangled in Nagito Komaeda’s life and had no idea how to get out of it. Had no idea if he even wanted to.

Nagito pushed the charcoal door open and stepped aside, his fingertips drumming quietly on the frame. “This is the guest room.”

Hajime paused at the threshold, then stepped in.

The room was more than he’d expected. Everything in this house was, but this room…

Spacious, but not overwhelming. The kind of luxury that didn’t shout about itself. A large bed dominated the centre, dressed in crisp white sheets and a charcoal-grey duvet that looked absurdly soft. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one wall, sheer curtains drawn halfway to let the city lights in without exposing the room entirely. The lighting was warm and low, tucked into corners and along the ceiling rather than hanging overhead, bathing everything in a calm, amber glow.

A sleek armchair sat near the window with a small side table beside it, a folded throw draped casually over the arm. Everything looked untouched, immaculate. Not sterile, and still human, but carefully maintained.

Hajime exhaled slowly, his eyes wide like a newborn deer. “This is the guest room?”

Nagito smiled faintly. “I don’t get guests often. When I do, I want them to be comfortable.”

Hajime walked further in, running his fingers lightly over the edge of the dresser, then the bed. The mattress barely dipped beneath his touch. He tried not to think about how much something like this would cost. Or how much more extravagant Nagito’s own bedroom must be, sitting just beyond the wall to his left.

Nagito gestured toward a door near the far corner. “There’s an ensuite. Fresh towels are already in there. Extra blankets are in the bottom drawer if you get cold.” His gaze flicked toward the ceiling briefly. “Or you can adjust the AC if you get warm.”

“Right,” Hajime murmured, nodding, though the information barely registered through the haze of exhaustion creeping in around the edges of his thoughts.

Nagito leaned casually against the doorframe, arms folded loosely. “You’re welcome to make food if you want. Or use anything else around the place. Everything’s fair game.”

Hajime snorted softly. “You say that like I won’t accidentally break something and owe you my soul.”

Nagito’s lips curved. “I already told you, I’m not keeping a ledger.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, his eyes flicked briefly to the wall separating the guest room from the rest of the penthouse.

“Oh,” he added lightly, “and the walls are soundproof. Just in case.”

Hajime froze.

“…In case of what?” he asked cautiously.

Nagito’s smile tipped into something sly. “You know. Loud music. Late-night phone calls.” His eyebrow creased faintly. Not in annoyance, but more in a teasing way. “Or, if you break anything in the kitchen. Obviously.”

Heat crept up Hajime’s neck, his ears burning beneath his hair. “Ah– yeah, of course.” He sheepishly turned his eyes away, provoking a soft laugh from Nagito.

“Mm.” Nagito mused, his eyes tracing Hajime with a foreign softness.

They lingered there a moment longer, neither of them quite ready to call it a night. The silence between them felt easy now, worn smooth by the week they’d shared. Comfortable in a way that made Hajime acutely aware of how rare that was.

Nagito glanced down at his watch, sighing softly as he straightened his posture. “It’s getting late,” he said. “We really should sleep.”

Hajime nodded, though a small part of him resisted the idea instinctively. “Yeah. Right.”

Nagito stepped backwards from the doorway, hesitating just long enough for Hajime to notice. His fingers still lingered on the charcoal, as if he himself was unsure about leaving. “Goodnight, Hajime.”

“Goodnight,” Hajime replied, quieter than he meant to.

Nagito gave him one last look, his eyes unreadable yet unmistakably warm. He then lifted his hand from the door frame and with one final wave, pulled the door closed.

Click.

The sound echoed louder than it should have.

Hajime stood there for a second longer, staring at the closed door, before finally moving. He set his phone down on the bedside table and collapsed backward onto the bed, arms flung loosely at his sides. The mattress cradled him instantly, soft and yielding in a way that felt almost indulgent.

He stared up at the ceiling.

His body was exhausted, full of bone-deep tiredness from days of travel, emotion, and constant proximity, yet his mind refused to be quiet.

The week replayed itself unbidden.

How furious he’d been when he’d discovered Nagito hadn’t been honest with him at the start. How betrayed he’d felt, how justified his anger had seemed then. It felt almost laughable now, looking back at it now, with him lying in a luxury guest bed in Nagito’s penthouse less than twenty metres away from him.

Somehow, despite everything, this had been the most fun Hajime had had in a very long time.

The arguments. The long drives. The shared meals. The way Nagito had laughed – really laughed – when Hajime snapped back at him. The way he listened. The way he’d changed since school, matured and less cynical, yet still Nagito.

Hajime closed his eyes.

Nothing.

No drift. No pull.

Just thoughts looping endlessly, refusing to settle.

He opened his eyes again and turned his head slightly, gaze landing on his phone. The screen remained dark and tempting.

Not yet, he told himself.

He couldn’t text Nagito two minutes after he’d left. That would be pathetic. Obvious. He’d just been invited to stay, he didn’t need to prove how restless he felt the second he was alone.

Hajime sighed, rolling onto his side and staring back up at the ceiling, one arm tucked beneath his pillow.

“Come on,” he muttered quietly, as if sleep might be persuaded by politeness alone.

Outside, the city continued to glow.

Inside, the penthouse remained still.

And despite it all, somewhere far in the back of his mind, Hajime wondered if Nagito couldn’t sleep either.

~~

Hajime lay awake.

Not the kind of awake that hovered on the edge of sleep, drifting in and out. This was the frustrating kind, the kind with closed eyes and heavy body, the kind where his mind sprinted like it had somewhere urgent to be.

He stared at the ceiling, counting slow breaths. In. Out. In. Out.

Nothing.

The room was perfectly quiet, the air cool against his skin, the sheets soft enough to make a mockery of every stiff motel bed he’d ever slept on. If circumstances were normal – if he were anywhere else, with anyone else – he would’ve been out cold the second his head hit the pillow.

So this wasn’t exhaustion’s fault.

It was nerves.

He groaned quietly and rolled onto his back, one arm thrown over his eyes.

Tomorrow.

The thought crept in once again. This time, Nagito wasn’t holding his hand and staring out into the horizon with him. This time, it felt real. It felt empty. Lonely even.

The idea of tomorrow sat heavy in his chest. Tomorrow meant early mornings and tailored suits and standing in front of people who shared his blood but rarely his understanding. It meant judgement wrapped in polite smiles, questions disguised as concern, eyes that always seemed to look past him toward some better version he’d never quite become.

It wasn’t the wedding itself that scared him. That part was simple. Smile, stand, talk to his cousin, sip champagne like a socialite and leave before anyone could dig further into this lie he had created for himself.

It was everything else.

The scrutiny. The comparisons. The inevitable ‘so what are you doing now, Hajime?’ delivered with that familiar edge of disappointment, as though his life were a rough draft he’d never bothered to revise.

He exhaled sharply.

“Get over it,” he muttered to the ceiling. “You’re twenty-four. Not twelve.”

The ceiling, unhelpfully, did not argue back.

Minutes dragged by. He checked the time once, then refused to check again. He knew it had been nearly twenty minutes because his thoughts had already completed several full loops – anxiety, irritation, forced calm and back to anxiety again.

Nagito’s face kept intruding where it had no business being.

The balcony. The city lights. The way his hand had felt steady, warm, certain.

Hajime dropped his arm from his eyes and stared at the bedside table.

His phone lay there, screen dark, innocent-looking. Silent.

He knew exactly what he was doing even as his hand reached for it.

“No,” he told himself weakly. “Don’t.”

He grabbed it anyway.

The screen lit up, briefly too bright in the dim room. He opened his messages without thinking, muscle memory carrying him straight to Nagito’s contact.

The last message sat there, untouched. Nagito’s address. Hajime’s thumbs up reaction to it as if he hadn’t nearly sweat himself into the ground just by reading it.

Hajime swallowed.

This was stupid. He was being stupid. He was a grown man lying in a luxury guest bed, sweating like a teenager. All because he wanted to text someone in the next room.

He hovered his thumbs over the keyboard.

What would he even say?

I can’t sleep.
This bed is too soft.
Your walls are intimidating.
Help.

He grimaced.

His finger hovered above the keyboard in hesitation. He flexed his fingers, once, before typing quickly, as if this was some kind of humiliation ritual he wanted to finish before he could think about it for too long.

Are you awake?

The message sent with a soft, traitorous whoosh.

Hajime yelped quietly and flung his phone face-down onto the bed like it had personally betrayed him.

“Oh my god,” he hissed, rolling onto his side and burying half his face in the pillow. “You absolute idiot.”

His cheeks burned hot, embarrassment blooming with no audience to witness it. He stared at the wall, heart thudding, ears straining for something. Anything. Footsteps. A reply. Judgment from the universe.

Nothing happened.

Ten seconds passed.

Twenty.

He cracked one eye open and peeked at the phone like it might explode.

Still nothing.

His stomach twisted.

Of course Nagito hadn’t replied. Why would he? It was late. He’d literally just said goodnight. Hajime had probably woken him up for nothing. Or worse – Nagito was awake and had seen the message and was now deciding whether to gently tell him to go to sleep like a responsible adult.

Hajime sighed, rolling onto his back.

Ignore it. Pretend it didn’t happen. You’ll survive.

He waited.

Thirty seconds felt like three minutes.

He was just about to turn his phone face-down again and commit fully to pretending he had never been born when a vibration to his left startled him out of his rapidly spiralling self-deprecating thoughts. The sound was sharp in the quiet room. So sharp that Hajime nearly launched himself off of the bed, letting out an embarrassing half-scream as he did so.

He slapped a hand over the phone reflexively, heart slamming into his ribs like it wanted out. He froze, breathing shallow, as if sudden movement might somehow make the message go away.

He stared at the ceiling, eyes wide.

Don’t look, a traitorous part of his brain suggested. If you don’t look, it can’t hurt you.

Another buzz.

Hajime whimpered, screwing his eyes shut.

“This is ridiculous,” he whispered, though his body clearly disagreed. He picked up the phone like it was a live grenade, holding it at arm’s length. He squinted, shielding his eyes with his other hand.

Then he peeked.

Nagito Komaeda – DNA

Yes.

Everything okay?

That was it.

Polite. Calm. Perfectly reasonable. The exact kind of message Nagito would send.

Hajime sagged, tension draining from him all at once. He exhaled shakily and dropped his head back onto the pillow, phone clutched loosely in his hand.

Okay. Fine. He hadn’t ruined anything. Yet.

He typed back quickly before he could overthink it.

Yeah. Sorry. I just can’t sleep.

The message sent.

Immediately, the tiny Read appeared beneath it.

Hajime stared, pulse beginning to reverb against his chest much faster than necessary. Tiny beads of sweat began to prick at his hairline. Hajime was thankful that Nagito was next door and not in the same room as him, as he was certain he would be struck with a mortification he would never be able to shake off for the rest of his life.

Three dots appeared.

Then vanished.

Appeared again.

Disappeared.

Hajime’s chest tightened.

He imagined Nagito on the other side of the wall, phone in hand, brow furrowed slightly as he weighed his response. Would he tell him to try counting sheep? Offer tea? Say something kind and then gently disengage?

Hajime didn’t want that.

The thought of being dismissed, whether it be kindly or not, made his throat ache in a way he didn’t have words for.

The typing bubble appeared again.

Vanished.

Hajime let out another deep sigh, turning back towards the wall. This was torturous. This was the worst decision he’d made all week. If he had known texting Nagito was going to make him feel this nauseous, he would’ve blocked his contact.

Rationally, Hajime knew he was completely overreacting. He had spent a week practically glued to Nagito’s side, sharing hotel beds and forced to be cramped up next to him in the car. Even so, somehow this little text message exchange felt far more intimate than any of that ever did.

Great. Now you’ve made it weird.

He debated just rolling over onto his stomach and forcing himself to sleep out of spite. Or smothering his face into the pillow and letting nature take him out. Anything to pretend this hadn’t happened, to ignore the fact he was lying awake, waiting on a message like his entire emotional stability depended on it.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Buzz.

Hajime’s eyes snapped open. He didn’t even hesitate to grab his phone this time, fingers already fumbling over the small device.

Nagito Komaeda – DNA
Come in. We’ll watch something.

Hajime’s heart skipped so hard it physically hurt. He was unsure as to whether or not his eyes were deceiving him. Nagito had invited him into his room to watch something. Nagito couldn’t sleep either. Hajime blinked furiously, reading the message again to make sure he hadn’t imagined the response.

It didn’t change.

Come in.

We’ll watch something.

That was it. No explanation. No qualifiers. Just an invitation, warm and open and terrifyingly simple.

His mouth went dry.

Before his brain could catch up, his body was already moving.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, feet hitting the floor with barely a sound. He stood there for a moment, dizzy, phone still in his hand, staring at the door like it might vanish if he blinked.

He padded quietly across the room, hand hovering over the handle.

This was absurd. He was acting like this was some illicit midnight rendezvous instead of two exhausted adults deciding to watch something because neither could sleep.

Still, his heart refused to calm down.

He slipped out into the hallway, the lights dimmed low, the penthouse hushed and still. His movements were silent as he walked a mere five steps to reach Nagito’s bedroom door, stopping just in front of it.

Hajime swallowed, the slamming of his heart being rapidly overshadowed by something tight knotting in the pit of his stomach with each second that passed.

He raised his hand, ignoring the way his wrist began to shake, and knocked on the door once, softly. It was like everything in him had gone weak, and that he couldn’t even pretend he wasn’t nervous anymore. He didn’t know why he was nervous. This was nothing new.

And yet, being here, in Nagito’s apartment in the middle of the night, about to enter Nagito’s bedroom. It felt…scary, almost. This wasn’t a random hotel room in Hakone. This wasn’t a 2 hour drive to Osaka with someone he hadn’t seen for over half a decade. This was entirely new territory, and Hajime wasn’t sure how to navigate through it.

Hajime screwed his eyes shut for a moment and took in a sharp breath. Then, as the lock on the other side of the door made a noise, he straightened himself as if nothing had thrown him off balance in the first place.

The door opened after a few moments. Nagito stood there in the overspill of warm, dim light, one hand resting loosely against the frame. He looked softer like this. His hair was slightly messier than it had been earlier, a few strands falling into his eyes, the sharpness of him dulled by fatigue. He wasn’t dressed for company anymore, wasn’t dressed to present himself as the absurdly rich lawyer Hajime had come to know. There was no crisp jacket, no careful layers, just a loose long-sleeved shirt and dark lounge trousers that clung comfortably to familiarity rather than formality.

He smiled. Not the polished, knowing smile Hajime had grown used to over the past week, but something smaller. A smile with its edges softened by sleepiness.

“I had a feeling you were going to message.” Nagito stepped back, gesturing into his room with an easy tilt of his head. “Come in.”

Hajime swallowed and crossed the threshold before he could overthink it, his heart still insisting on hammering far harder than the situation warranted. The door shut behind him with a soft click that sounded far louder in his ears than it should have. He hovered awkwardly just inside the room, hands flexing at his sides.

“Sorry.” He blurted, resisting the urge to wince at himself. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting briefly to the floor before flicking back up to Nagito’s face. “I– uh. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

Nagito blinked once before letting out a quiet laugh. The sound was barely there, but it curved his mouth into something genuinely amused.

“No. You didn’t.”

He closed the distance between them, leaning his shoulder against the wall, arms folded loosely across his chest. His gaze lingered on Hajime with something thoughtful behind it. “I couldn’t sleep either.” His voice softened as if he was admitting to a mutual failure from both of them. “You’re not interrupting anything. I think part of me has gotten used to sharing a bed, in all honesty.”

Hajime felt some of the tension bleed out of his shoulders at that, but his pulse stubbornly refused to settle completely, especially after hearing the last part of Nagito’s sentence. He wouldn’t admit it aloud– couldn’t – but he knew deep down that was the reason he was struggling to sleep too.

“Oh,” he nodded, ignoring the heat tinging at the tips of his ears. “Okay. Good.” He glanced around, choosing to focus his eyes on anything but Nagito.

The bedroom was exactly what Hajime expected. And yet, somehow, still surprising. The space was large but not cavernous, designed with intention rather than excess. The walls were a muted, neutral tone – not exactly white, but something with a little more warmth. The lighting was low and indirect, coming from recessed fixtures that cast gentle shadows rather than harsh brightness.

The bed dominated the room, wide and impossibly neat, dressed in dark sheets that looked like they had never known wrinkles despite the fact Nagito had probably been lying on them only minutes prior. Everything felt curated, not cold, but deliberate. Minimalistic without being empty.

A desk sat near the window, sleek and uncluttered. On it rested a single book, thick and well-worn, its spine creased in a way that suggested it had been opened many times. Beside it sat a small potted plant, with vibrant green leaves, clearly well cared for, and on the opposite side was a candle in a simple glass holder.

It was organised. Calm. Luxurious in a quiet way.

Undoubtedly his. Unmistakeably Nagito’s.

Hajime took it all in slowly, eyes lingering longer than he meant them to. He felt like he was intruding into something deeply personal, a space that belonged to Nagito alone, something that didn’t need to be shared.

“So,” Hajime broke the silence, squinting faintly as his gaze swept the walls again. “Uh.”

Nagito tilted his head, watching him with a curious half smile. “Is something wrong?”

Hajime hesitated, then frowned. “…Where’s your TV?”

Nagito stared at him for half a second before waving a dismissive hand, as if the question was barely worth addressing. “Don’t worry about that. Get on the bed.”

Hajime blinked, startled. “What?”

Nagito’s smile widened just a touch, mischief glinting faintly behind his eyes. “Trust me, Hajime.”

Hajime narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Nagito.”

“Bed.” Nagito repeated, nodding toward it. “Please.”

Hajime stood there for a moment longer, clearly weighing his options, before letting out a small huff. “This better not be weird.” He muttered despite there being no true bite in his voice.

He padded forward cautiously, the plush carpet muffling his steps, and climbed onto the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, far softer than it had any right to be. He shifted once, then again, settling into an awkward, uncertain sit with his hands resting in his lap. Nagito watched him with open amusement.

“Relax. I promise I’m not about to drop you through a trapdoor.” He chuckled, eyes glinting in the warm light.

“Thanks. Real comforting.” Hajime muttered in reply.

Nagito stepped around to his side of the bed, fingers brushing along the edge of the frame. He leaned down slightly and pressed a button hidden neatly into the side panel. There was a soft mechanical hum, forcing Hajime’s eyebrows to furrow. Then, slowly, and without flair, a screen rose from the footboard of the bed, unfolding upward like some sort of luxury magic trick until a full television sat perfectly in place, flush and pristine.

Hajime stared for about five seconds in awe before bursting into laughter.

“Oh, of course.” He chuckled, dropping back onto his hands as he shook his head. “Of course your TV is built into your bed. Why would it be anywhere normal?”

Nagito straightened, clearly pleased with himself and unable to hide his smile at Hajime’s reaction. “It saves space.”

“You live in a penthouse.” Hajime shot back, still laughing. “You have nothing but space.”

Nagito shrugged. “Efficiency is a habit.”

Hajime snorted. “Is this what happens when people have too much money? You start building electronics into furniture?”

Nagito chuckled. “Maybe. I’ll take you to the ‘built-in-electronic furniture store’ for our next date if you’d like.” He replied smoothly, moving to sit beside him.

Hajime shook his head, the nerves he’d felt before completely dissipated. He knew he had no reason to feel nervous in the first place. The bed shifted again, the mattress adjusting under their combined weight. Hajime was acutely aware of the proximity now – not touching, not quite, but close enough to feel Nagito’s presence, his warmth, the faint scent of whatever soap or cologne he used lingering in the air.

Nagito reached for the remote, sleek and minimalist like everything else in the room, and glanced over at Hajime.

“So,” he said. “What would you like to watch?”

Hajime shrugged, suddenly very aware of how comfortable the bed was, how the room felt like it had been designed to lull its occupants into staying longer than intended.

“I don’t mind,” he admitted. “Whatever’s fine.”

Nagito studied him for a moment, as if weighing something unspoken, then hummed softly in acknowledgment. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll choose something easy, then.”

Hajime leaned back, gaze flicking back to the screen. Absently, a quiet, content smile he wasn’t quite aware of pulled at his lips.

He wasn’t sure what they were about to watch.

But just for now, Hajime decided he was fine with not knowing.

~~

The documentary had long since blurred into background noise.

Hajime wasn’t even sure what it was about anymore – something involving slow aerial shots and a calm, almost hypnotic narrator explaining processes that felt too big and too distant to matter right now. The sound of it drifted through the room like a lullaby, words melting together into something soft and meaningless.

He shifted slightly on the bed, careful not to jostle it too much. The digital clock on the bedside table glowed faintly in the dim room.

1:40 AM.

Hajime squinted at it for a moment before letting his eyes fall shut again. He felt heavy now in a way he hadn’t earlier, his limbs warm and sluggish, thoughts dulled at the edges. The kind of tiredness that crept in slowly and then settled deep in his bones, impossible to ignore. Nagito lay beside him, propped slightly against the headboard, one arm resting loosely atop the blankets. They weren’t touching, not really, but the space between them had shrunk at some point without Hajime noticing or minding. Close enough that Hajime could feel the faint rise and fall of Nagito’s breathing, could sense his presence without looking.

“Still awake?” Nagito murmured quietly, voice low so as not to disturb the calm of the room.

“Barely.” Hajime replied, his own voice slower than before. Thicker. Like it had to wade through sleep to reach the surface. “I think my brain finally got tired of yelling at me.”

Nagito hummed softly in response. “That’s good. It tends to be very persistent otherwise.”

Hajime let out a quiet huff of a laugh, eyes still closed. For a few moments, neither of them spoke. The documentary continued its soft narration, something about cities at night, lights blooming like stars when viewed from above.

Hajime spoke again, almost absentmindedly. “My family’s going to love you, you know.”

Nagito glanced over, one eyebrow lifting slightly. “Is that sarcasm, or should I be flattered?”

Hajime cracked one eye open to look at him, a tired smile tugging faintly at his lips. “Little bit of both.” He sighed, settling back into the pillows. “They’re going to think you’re too perfect. Like you’re a trick.”

“A trick?” Nagito echoed, voice laced in amusement.

“Yeah. Like you’re going to pull a curtain back and reveal you’re actually three raccoons in a very expensive suit.”

Nagito smiled softly. “That would explain a lot.”

Hajime snorted softly. “My aunt will interrogate you within five minutes. She’ll ask where you work, how much you make, what school you went to. My uncle will pretend he’s not listening but absolutely will be.”

“And your parents?” Nagito asked gently.

Hajime hesitated, eyes drifting to the ceiling. “They’ll be… polite. Enthusiastic, even. As long as they think you’re impressive enough.” He paused, then added quietly. “They always are.”

“And…” Nagito trailed off before clearing his throat. “They won’t care that I’m…a. guy?”

Hajime furrowed his eyebrows and snorted without thinking. “No, of course not. They know I’m not…yeah.” He cut himself off. It wasn’t a lie – his family knew he wasn’t straight. That wasn’t the issue. Nagito had no reason to know Hajime’s sexuality – it’s not like they were actually dating. It felt…intimate, for him to truly confirm it. As if it made their situation into something that wasn’t just a stunt they were pulling for a day.

Nagito didn’t comment, to his credit. He only nodded, thoughtful.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “if it helps, I’m very good at being impressive when necessary.”

Hajime smiled faintly. “I’ve noticed.”

The documentary cut to a new segment, the visuals shifting from cityscapes to something else entirely. Neither of them paid it much attention. Nagito tilted his head towards Hajime.

“What do you think the parking situation will be like?”

Hajime frowned. “At the wedding?”

“Yes.” Nagito replied, perfectly serious. “I’m trying to predict what kind of cars will be there.”

Hajime opened his eyes properly this time, turning his head to look at him. “You’re thinking about that now?”

Nagito shrugged lightly. “It’s interesting. I wonder if my car will be the nicest.”

Hajime let out a sleepy laugh. “Okay. Uh. There’ll be at least three luxury sedans. One absurdly expensive imported sports car that doesn’t belong at a family wedding. And probably someone’s beat-up van that they insist on parking right at the front.”

Nagito considered this. “I think there will be more than one sports car.”

“Of course you do.”

“I’m very good at spotting patterns.” Nagito replied smoothly. “Weddings tend to attract displays of wealth.”

Hajime yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “God, listen to us. This is the dumbest conversation.”

Nagito’s lips quirked. “Sounds like we’re discussing our own wedding, doesn’t it?” He offered softly.

Hajime hummed in half-agreement, the kind of agreement where he wasn’t really listening, eyes slipping closed again. The silence that followed was easy. Comfortable. It wrapped around them without weight, without expectation. The only sounds were the quiet murmur of the television and the steady rhythm of the city far beyond the windows.

After a while, long enough that Hajime wasn’t sure how much time had passed, he spoke again, his voice quieter.

“Fuyuhiko called me earlier.”

Nagito’s eyes shifted to him immediately, brow lifting. “Did he?”

“Yeah.” Hajime nodded. “Before I came over.” He shifted slightly, the blankets rustling. “He sounded pissed. Asked where’d disappeared to. Made some…implications about me vanishing for a week.”

Nagito cleared his throat, turning his eyes to the TV. “Well, that’s partially my fault.”

Hajime cracked an eye open. “Huh? What do you mean?”

Nagito hesitated before letting out a soft, sheepish breath. “On Sunday. On the ferry to Itsukushima.” He glanced at the ceiling as if replaying the memory. “I saw your phone light up, knew it was Fuyuhiko. I also knew he’d seen me in the bar the night before.”

Hajime blinked, fully awake now. “What?”

“I knew he was calling to warn you.” Nagito continued calmly. “About being with me. I thought it would lead to an argument between us. I didn’t exactly want to deal with that in public, let alone on a ferry.”

Hajime stared at him. “So what did you do?”

Nagito hesitated before shrugging. “Well, I didn’t physically do anything. I’m just…fairly certain my luck interfered with the signal. It was then pure chance that you decided not to call him back afterwards.”

Hajime was silent for a moment. Then he burst out laughing. He rolled onto his side, laughter muffled against the pillow as he shook his head. “Oh my God. You’re an idiot.”

Nagito smiled faintly. “A very lucky one.”

“I should’ve known.” Hajime said between laughs. “You had that look, ‘Ko’. The one where you’re pretending nothing’s happening but you’re clearly up to something.”

Nagito’s smile widened. “I think it’s nice that you’ve managed to recognise my ‘looks’.”

Hajime wiped at his eyes, breath evening out. “Fuyuhiko kept joking, you know. That we’re dating.”

“Oh?” Nagito glanced at him sideways.

“Yeah. Wouldn’t let it go.”

Nagito shrugged. “Then perhaps we’re playing the role convincingly. I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to assassinate me yet, even if we are on…amicable terms. He’s always been possessive over you.”

Hajime didn’t reply to that, rolling his eyes playfully instead. His laughter faded, replaced by a quiet warmth settling in his chest. His eyelids felt heavier now, the world softening at the edges. The documentary continued to play, unnoticed.

Hajime shifted closer without really thinking about it, his body seeking warmth and rest. His breathing slowed, evening out. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice suggested he should probably go back to his own room.

He ignored it.

Sleep claimed him gently without ceremony.

Nagito remained awake a little longer, gaze drifting from the screen to Hajime’s peaceful expression. He didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. Just let the moment exist.

And when Hajime didn’t leave, Nagito didn’t stop him.

Chapter Text

The sharp trill of an alarm jerked Hajime from the edges of sleep. Groaning, he rolled onto his side and reached blindly, swatting at the source lazily. Somehow, his fingers actually managed to land on the target and successfully hit his phone. What didn’t quite register in his half-awake mind was that the noise of the alarm had already silenced before he had even touched his phone.

“Great,” he muttered into the pillow, his eyes still squeezed firmly shut. The room smelled faintly of Nagito. The scent of his shampoo, the musk of his cologne, and that lingering smell that was just him. Hajime scrunched his nose and nuzzled deeper into the pillow anyway. He decided he would sleep for another moment. What was five more minutes? It’s not like he’d have much time to rest today anyway. He had almost, almost gotten comfortable again when the subtle click of a door shutting jerked him into full consciousness.

His eyes snapped open in panic.

He wasn’t in the guest room.

He was in Nagito’s bedroom. The dark bedsheets. The book on the desk. The TV that was…gone. Nagito must’ve folded it back into the footboard as though it never existed. And Nagito himself was…nowhere. Not next to Hajime. Not even stood analysing himself in the mirror like the picture of vanity itself.

Mortification hit him like a punch to the stomach. He hadn’t remembered falling asleep during the documentary. He hadn’t even remembered getting this comfortable in Nagito’s room at all to the point where he could actually fall asleep. What was even worse was the fact that Nagito hadn’t woken him to shoo him back to the other room. Hajime’s mind immediately jumped to the worst possible scenarios. What if Nagito had been pacing, growing increasingly frustrated in his attempts to repeatedly wake up Hajime, until he finally gave up and sat silently judging him from somewhere out of view? Hajime shivered slightly at the thought of it. He hadn’t dealt with judgement from Nagito in over six years. He had almost forgotten what it felt like.

He rubbed his eyes and grabbed his phone, swallowing down the embarrassment and panic for now.

It was 6:05 AM. Plenty of time before the wedding. Before anything. Theoretically. Nagito had said they should leave at 6:30. That meant he had twenty-five minutes to come up with some grovelling apology to Nagito for committing the crime of overstaying his welcome and falling asleep in his bed.

Hajime let out a deep sigh before scrolling through his notifications. There was one from Sonia in the brand new “Hope’s Peak Reunion” group chat stating she had booked a table for them next Saturday. She had sent it two hours ago. Who wakes up at 4am? Hajime blamed time zones.

He was just about to press on it and check who was in the group chat when the notification just above it caught his eyes, making his fingers pause reflexively. A message from Aiko. His cousin. His lifelong comparison. The woman who would no longer be a Hinata after today.

Aiko
Good morning!! Just checking in with everyone – don’t forget, the wedding starts at 1 PM, so if you could aim to arrive around 12 that would be perfect.

Of course, I reserved a place for your plus one in case you do bring one. Oji-san said you hadn’t mentioned anyone but I left it there anyway :)

Hajime exhaled, running a hand through his messy hair. He’s not surprised, at all, that his father hadn’t mentioned the mere possibility that Hajime may have a plus one. Yes, technically, Hajime hadn’t mentioned Nagito, or anyone, for that matter. But Hajime also hadn’t seen his parents in about a year, and he was twenty-four years old. Would it really be that surprising to consider that he may have a partner? He pushed the thoughts away, typing a quick reply.

Thanks, Aiko. Good luck with everything today btw!

Hajime scrolled up from the messages app and was about to reply to Sonia when a notification banner at the top drew his attention away. Aiko had already replied. Of course, it was her wedding day. She was probably getting her hair or makeup done or everything else that came with being a bride on that side of the family.

Aiko
Heh, thanks Hajime-chan.

Maybe one day we’ll be getting you ready for your own wedding…hopefully before I turn thirty lol! <3

Hajime blinked at the screen, half-amused, half-exasperated. Hajime-chan. Aiko herself was only three years Hajime’s senior. When they were younger, he often assumed she referred to him as ‘chan’ because he was one of the youngest cousins in the family and him and Aiko had spent a lot of their childhood around each other. However, the fact that she still used it now, even when he was a grown man… it felt a lot more than a familial nickname. He knew Aiko wasn’t trying to be mean-spirited by implying he wouldn’t get married soon or by infantilising him with a nickname. She did like him, and she did genuinely care about him. But he couldn’t help feeling a mix of irritation and that familiar, prickling embarrassment that often came when dealing with his family.

He set the phone down on the bedside table, deciding not to honour her with a response. She was probably too busy to actually read it properly anyway. As he turned to lie back down on the bed and spiral about his family, the ensuite door opened again.

Nagito appeared, dim light spilling across what were probably his most casual suit trousers and his half-unbuttoned shirt as he adjusted his cuffs. His trousers were a cream colour, his shirt an off white. He blinked at Hajime, his eyes a little sleepy but still alert enough to catch the brunette staring, and offered a small smile.

“Good morning.” He greeted softly, fingers busy with the buttons on his wrists.

“Uh– good morning.” Hajime replied, heat creeping up his neck. He was thankful that Nagito didn’t have a spotlight installed that would pan to him the minute it sensed a flush in his cheeks. “I…uh…sorry. I fell asleep in here.”

Nagito let out a chuckle and waved a dismissive hand casually as if it hadn’t really crossed his mind. “It’s fine, Hajime. It didn’t bother me.” His eyes met Hajime’s. “I wasn’t annoyed, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Hajime froze. He had expected scolding, or silent irritation, or some kind of sharp comment. Anything to indicate that he had crossed a line by passing out in Nagito’s personal space. There was none. Nothing at all. He swallowed, flustered, realising just how much of this scenario he had built up in his own head. Nagito straightened slightly as he started doing up the remaining buttons of his shirt. Hajime couldn’t help but avert his gaze, cheeks warming, focusing on the neat folds on the blanket as if memorising their precise angles could prevent him from noticing anything else. Like the fact that Nagito, unfairly and unexplainably, looked great right now.

Hajime must have been exhausted. Even his brain wasn’t making sense anymore.

“We should leave in about twenty minutes if you want to take a quick shower.” Nagito broke the silence. His voice was calm, methodical. “Then we can come back and get properly ready once your suit is picked up. If we get back here for eight, that leaves us with about three and a half hours to prepare.”

“Prepare?” Hajime frowned. All he had to do was put on a suit. Surely that wasn’t going to take three hours.

Nagito slid his watch onto his wrist. “Mm. Eat breakfast, take another shower, do breathing exercises if necessary.” He shot a half-amused glance at Hajime who rolled his eyes at that. “I’ll also have to make sure that my car hasn’t suffered any injuries from the country roads we’ve spent the week on.”

Hajime tilted his head back, trying not to laugh. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. But two showers in one morning? Seems a little excessive.”

Nagito shrugged casually. “I mean, if there’s ever a time for it, it’s probably today. You’ll want to look your absolute best before seeing your judgemental family again.”

Hajime gave a small, reluctant laugh. “Yeah. Fair enough. I guess when the water bill is pennies to you the amount of showers you take doesn’t matter.” He stood from the bed, ruffling his hair once more, and made his way towards the bedroom door.

“You can just use my shower, you know.” Nagito cut in, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. “There’s fresh towels. And my toiletries are better than the ones in the guest room.”

Hajime paused, fingers twitching over the doorknob. Then he shrugged, turning back towards Nagito’s ensuite. A sly smirk tugged at his lips. “What if I don’t want to smell like you?”

Nagito’s eyes twinkled in the dim light as he gave a slow, deliberate wink. “You already do, Hajime. You slept in my bed, remember?”

Hajime’s face turned crimson at the unexpected comment. Without thinking, he slammed the bathroom door behind him and wished he could flush himself down the toilet. From beyond the door, he could hear the muffled sound of Nagito’s chuckle. He’d clearly amused himself, and something about it undid the knot that had curled in Hajime’s stomach after his text exchange with Aiko.

Hajime clicked the door’s lock – not because he thought Nagito would come in mid-shower, but out of habit – and stepped into the shower, turning on the water. He let the warm spray glide against his skin, waking him further. He tried to ignore the fact that this was the nicest bathroom he’d ever been in, with the nicest water a shower had ever provided for him. Even here, in the bathroom, he couldn’t stop replaying the events from last night like a giddy teenager at a sleepover. The quiet conversation that lulled him to sleep, the way Nagito had shuffled closer, the fact they shared a bed that wasn’t in a hotel room. He shook his head as if it might rid the thoughts from his mind. He told himself to focus on the shower and the shower alone.

Ten minutes later, Hajime stepped out of the bathroom. He was still in the same clothes as last night, but it didn’t particularly matter. He would be in a suit that probably cost Nagito thousands within an hour. He felt far more awake and much less panicked. Nagito casually sat on the edge of the bed, his shirt fully buttoned and his hair a little neater than it was before Hajime had gone into the bathroom.

“You look more alive.” Nagito commented.

Hajime rolled his eyes, pushing a bead of water out of his hair by running his hand through it. “Thanks.”

Nagito tilted his head, soft amusement in his expression. “Let me ask you something. This is purely for when I make renovations.”

Hajime furrowed his eyebrows. “Go on.”

Nagito smirked. “Was it my bed, or my shower that made you feel better?” His eyes twinkled in mischief. Hajime wanted to punch him in the face. The emphasis on the fact that Hajime had used his things made his stomach flip, and he knew Nagito couldn’t care less about renovating his penthouse. He just wanted to annoy Hajime.

“You know, I’ll think about it. Give me four business days to get back to you.” He replied sharply despite there being no real malice in his voice.

“Oh, dangerous.” Nagito’s eyebrows shot up. “We’re lawyers – that sounds more like eight business days.”

The corners of Hajime’s mouth poked into a smile without him even consenting to it.

“Come on, we should go.” Nagito stood, reaching for his car keys. “The earlier we leave, the earlier we’ll be back.”

Hajime hummed in vague agreement, following Nagito to the door until the slightly taller man suddenly stopped, his nose twitching.

“You okay?” Hajime asked, surpassing a yawn.

“Oh, fine.” Nagito waved, the mischievous look returning to his eyes. “It’s just…you smell a lot better than before. Just like someone I know, in fact.”

Hajime groaned, shoving Nagito through the door, causing him to burst into laughter,

Somehow, he knew that despite what today threw at him, it would be easier knowing he had Nagito by his side throughout it.

~~

The engine of the car purred smoothly beneath them as Nagito pulled into the narrow parking bay, the city still sluggish with early morning quiet. The majority of the shopfronts were shuttered, save for a few grocery stores, with dim lights peeking through the glass. The sky overhead was a pale blue, a few white clouds crossing it. They had missed the sunrise by a couple of hours, but it wasn’t like they would’ve truly seen it anyway. Not in the same way they had when driving across the country, or waking up in a cottage with no light pollution. Hajime shifted in his seat as Nagito shifted the car into park, his eyes flicking towards the extravagant signage of Ryu’s tailor shop.

Nagito held down on the engine button until the purring beneath them seized, before he leaned back, glancing out of the window.

“The sky doesn’t look too excited today.” He murmured. “I hope it doesn’t rain.”

Hajime turned his head towards him. “Well, if it does, it’s probably because of your luck. The rain season should be over by now.”

Nagito gave a quiet laugh. “Hm. Well, I suppose rain isn’t the worst thing my luck could’ve produced. Silver linings and all that.”

Hajime hummed in agreement, his brain still a little foggy from tiredness and the lack of sleep from the night before. Nagito cleared his throat, unbuckling his seatbelt and stretching his back slightly.

“I texted Ryu after you fell asleep.” He yawned. “About the navy sample you picked last night. He said he’d have everything ready. I imagine, knowing Ryu, that he’s been up for hours making the suit perfect for you.”

Hajime nodded automatically, his mind beginning to zone out at the mention of Ryu. “Yeah. Cool. It’s nice of him to open early.”

The words didn’t quite sound right, like he’d had to pull them out of his throat by force. They were a little too quick, a little too insincere. He turned his head away from Nagito’s direction, choosing to stare straight ahead through the windshield. His jaw tightened before he could stop it.

Ryu.

It wasn’t that he disliked Ryu. He had only met him once, and Nagito had only ever spoken highly of him, so he knew rationally that he shouldn’t dislike him. And if Nagito was right, and Ryu had been working through the night to get his suit ready, then he had even more reason to not dislike him. Still, his mind, traitorous as ever, flashed back to the fitting. To the way Ryu had laughed easily with Nagito. The way the two of them had slipped into an effortless rhythm, bouncing off of each other’s sentences like it was nothing. Like Hajime wasn’t standing right between them like an idiot with a tape measure to his shoulder. He knew it was ridiculous to notice, and even more ridiculous to actually care about it. Ryu and Nagito had known each other for years, apparently. They had probably seen each other in terrible states, gone for random lunches in the middle of busy days, caught up over coffee. Ryu had probably even sat in the very seat that Hajime–

He exhaled sharply through his nose and shoved the thought away. If Nagito wasn’t sat right next to him, he would’ve punched himself in the temple for letting his thoughts wander at all.

“So,” Hajime said, clearing his throat, his voice projecting a little too loud. “Did you see Sonia’s text this morning?”

Nagito paused, his fingers resting on the steering wheel. If he had noticed the change in Hajime’s tone, he chose not to comment on it, and instead flicked his eyes to Hajime in slight curiosity. “Mm. I did.”

Hajime relaxed a little, his shoulders dropping, his jaw unclenching for just a moment. Good. He had successfully changed the subject. Nagito also hadn’t commented on it, which made it even better. “I didn’t have time to read it properly. My cousin messaged me when I was about to reply.”

Nagito’s eyebrow lifted infinitesimally. “Oh? Everything okay, I assume?”

Hajime caught it. The subtle invitation to elaborate. He chose to ignore it. Not because he didn’t want to tell Nagito, but because it was embarrassing to admit that he felt infantilised by his cousin at the age of twenty-four. “Yeah, she’s fine. Just last-minute wedding logistics.” He waved a hand vaguely. “You know how it is.”

Nagito studied him for a moment longer. Something thoughtful crossed his eyes, but he didn’t push. He just nodded, leaning back in his seat. “Well, back to Sonia. She’s booked the entire top floor of a restaurant next Saturday.” He said. “I’ll have to double check the exact address, but I do know it’s somewhere expensive. Of course, she is a princess.”

“Did you see who was in the group chat?”

“Mm.” Nagito hummed. “If memory serves correct, I think she managed to get the entire class. Even Saionji had reacted to the message – she’s clearly matured since school. But haven’t we all?” Nagito caught Hajime’s eyes, giving a small smile.

Hajime smiled back instinctively, before blinking in surprise. “The entire class, though? I am surprised. Everyone is so busy these days.”

Nagito shrugged. “It’s Sonia. I’m sure she was very persuasive to those who…had other commitments. We were probably her easiest phone calls to make… well, aside from Souda-kun.”

Hajime snorted, rolling his eyes playfully. “I will genuinely laugh if he still has a thing for her after all these years.”

Nagito chuckled in agreement, before shooting Hajime a sideways glance. “I assume the food is covered. But if not, you know that I will help to pay for yours if you need it.”

“No.” Hajime replied instantly before he could stop himself. He turned his head to meet Nagito’s gaze. “No. I’m not your responsibility after today.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavier than Hajime had intended.

Nagito didn’t respond immediately. His fingers tightened imperceptibly around the steering wheel, his expression smoothing into something neutral. Too neutral. His lips pressed into a faint line, making the bone structure of his face look a little sharper than usual. Something flickered behind his eyes, quick and unreadable, gone almost the second Hajime noticed it.

“I know.” Nagito finally said after letting the silence stretch. “But the offer will still be there.”

Hajime swallowed. He hadn’t meant it like that. He hadn’t meant it at all, really. To shut down Nagito’s friendly offer, to actually acknowledge that they probably wouldn’t be in each other’s lives permanently after today. The silence stretched, uncomfortable in a way the silence between them rarely was. Before Hajime could backtrack – or worse, think too hard about what he’d said – Nagito’s phone buzzed in the centre console. He glanced down, his brow furrowing slightly as he grabbed it, before smoothing into something slightly more positive. “Perfect timing.” He looked back at Hajime, a small curve of amusement returning to his mouth. Hajime pretended not to notice that it seemed slightly forced. “Ryu says he’s ready for us.”

Hajime let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “Great.”

They climbed out of the car, the morning air cool against Hajime’s skin. He followed Nagito toward the shop, which now had its shutters half lifted. Nagito ducked, pushing open the front door, and waited for Hajime to follow. The bell above the door chimed softly as they stepped inside, Nagito turning back to twist the lock.

Whatever he’d felt in the car, whether it be jealousy, discomfort, or something sharper that didn’t need to be named – it didn’t matter. Not today of all days. He pushed it down as far away as he could. There would be time to deal with it later.

Right now, he had a suit to collect. He had a wedding to attend. And there was a very carefully unblurred line he had to focus on ignoring.

~~

There had been no receptionist this time. Hajime wasn’t surprised – the shop wasn’t meant to open for a few hours from now. Ryu had done this as a good-will gesture, supposedly. Despite the fact that there was no cheerful greeting or polite request to wait, the shop didn’t feel empty. It was quiet, yes, but not silent. Merely the kind of quiet that hummed with money and intention.

Hajime swallowed as he followed Nagito towards the stairwell leading to the mezzanine. His palms felt faintly damp.

The stairwell leading up to the fitting rooms was narrow and softly lit, the steps beneath their feet cushioned by a runner so thick it muted the sound of their ascent. Hajime found himself instinctively matching Nagito’s pace, half a step behind, his eyes drifting over the walls as they climbed. He took in the familiar framed sketches of suit silhouettes and fabric samples beside them. The store was pure craftsmanship, even at this hour. It may have been stripped of people and dimmed of its full lighting, but it still felt full.

Once they reached the top of the stairs, Nagito continued forward, stopping just short of the fitting room door. He lifted his hand and knocked, three gentle taps that echoed in the quiet of the hallway. He then stepped back, folding his hands loosely in front of him as they waited.

Hajime rocked subtly on his heels, the silence settling into his chest. He hadn’t realised how tense he was until they were standing still, the anticipation no longer blurred by movement.

“Hey.” Nagito said softly, his eyes never leaving the door. “You don’t need to look so nervous. You know Ryu doesn’t bite.”

Hajime huffed out a quiet breath that didn’t quite qualify as a laugh. “That’s easy for you to say. This is your world.”

Nagito glanced at him then, his expression warm. His eyes were reassuring, yes, but there was something just slightly restrained about it, like he was choosing his words with more care than usual.

“It’s just clothes.” He said. “Very expensive clothes, admittedly, but they won’t judge you. And neither will Ryu.”

Hajime sighed. “I don’t know about that. Last time he looked at me like I was a project.”

“That’s because you were.” Nagito replied lightly. “And you survived.”

Hajime glanced sideways at him, catching the faint curve of Nagito’s smile. Something about it eased the tightness in his chest, even though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. Whatever weirdness lingered from the car ride hadn’t followed them up the stairs. Or, at least, not enough for it to hover between them like an uninvited guest in this moment.

Before he could respond, the door opened. Ryu stood there, framed by the warm light spilling out from the fitting room behind him. He looked exactly as Hajime remembered. Tall, dressed immaculately, his hair slicked back with effortless precision. His smile was thin yet genuine, his eyes a little softer than they had been yesterday. Perhaps it was tiredness.

“Ah,” Ryu said smoothly, eyes lighting up as they landed on Nagito. “Good morning.”

Nagito’s face brightened in a way that twisted something in Hajime’s stomach. “Thank you for opening so early,” he replied sincerely. “I know it’s inconvenient.”

Ryu waved a hand dismissively. “Please. This is my job – I’m just helping out a friend.” His gaze flicked beyond Nagito, turning his attention towards Hajime. He stretched out a hand almost instinctively. “Hello again, Hajime.”

Hajime straightened reflexively, his hand meeting Ryu’s. He was surprised that he was getting a handshake at all. “Hello.”

Ryu’s mouth stretched into an easy smile, one full of politeness and professionalism. “It is good to see you again.” He stepped back, gesturing towards the fitting room. “Come on in. I think you’ll like what we’ve done.”

He stepped aside, allowing the two men to step into the fitting room. The space beyond was just as grand as Hajime remembered. The large chandelier cast a warm glow over the room, bouncing between the mirrored walls. The faint scent of steam hung in the air mixed with whatever cologne Ryu had worn this morning. The one noticeable difference was that the privacy curtain at the back was drawn, obscuring whatever lay beyond it.

Ryu bowed politely before disappearing behind it without another word. Hajime let out a slow breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Nagito glanced at him with a small, amused smile.

“You’ll be fine, Hajime.”

Hajime gave him an appreciative half smile in return. A moment later, the curtain rustled, and Ryu emerged holding the suit in his arms. Hajime’s breath caught in his throat.

The fabric was a deep, rich navy. The same one that Nagito had showed to him last night. It wasn’t flat nor dull, but instead alive with a subtle texture that caught the light as Ryu moved. It looked impossibly smooth, the lines clean and sharp without being severe. The jacket was structured perfectly, the waist gently tapered, the shoulders strong without being overwhelming. A matching navy tie was draped neatly over the hanger, and beneath it all, folded with reverent care, was a crisp white shirt made of a fabric that looked like it might dissolve if handled too roughly.

Nagito’s gaze flicked over the suit with quiet satisfaction.

Ryu’s smile widened in what Hajime could only describe as complete pride. “We worked on this through the night.” He began, adjusting his grip. “My team and I. It’s one of the finest pieces we’ve produced this season.” He turned to Hajime, his eyes turning softer. “I believe you’re going to love it. It will look immaculate on you.”

Hajime felt an inexplicable heat creep up his neck at the half-compliment. He knew Ryu was probably addressing the suit, and not him, but he still felt flattered. Nagito cleared his throat softly, maintaining his composed expression.

“I told you he’d do something special.”

Hajime shifted his weight, suddenly acutely aware of his posture, his clothes, the way he was standing in this room full of mirrors and quiet wealth. The suit looked intimidating. Like it belonged to someone else. Someone who knew how to carry themselves in spaces like this.

Ryu seemed to sense his hesitation, giving a sympathetic smile. “Trust me,” he nodded toward the curtain. “Just try it on.”

Hajime took a deep breath before taking the suit carefully from Ryu, the weight of it catching him off guard. It was not heavy, not exactly, but rather substantial, like it mattered. As he disappeared behind the curtain, the fabric brushing against his fingers, he couldn’t help his mind from racing. This was real. This was happening. This was the kind of thing he sat daydreaming about during slow days at work, and now it was his reality.

All because he’d crossed paths with Nagito Komaeda again on the other side of Japan.

Beyond the curtain, Hajime could hear Nagito quietly thank Ryu, who brushed it off with a chuckle. He took a deep breath before exchanging his clothes for the suit.

Before becoming a man worthy enough to stand beside Nagito today.

~~

Hajime adjusted the tie again.

It sat perfectly straight against his collar, the knot crisp and symmetrical, the navy fabric smooth beneath his fingers. He knew that. Ryu had entered before he’d slipped the blazer on to demonstrate how to tie it without hiding any of the design and had tightened it himself once already, humming to himself in the knowledge that there was nothing left to fix before quietly leaving to let Hajime finish getting dressed. Hajime had still found himself tugging at it anyway, smoothing it down, as if the smallest imperfection might undo everything else.

Beyond the curtain, Ryu let out an exaggerated sigh.

“Hajime,” he called, voice carrying a lilt of amusement. “If you adjust that tie one more time, I’m going to confiscate your hands.”

Hajime startled slightly, his fingers freezing at his throat. “Sorry,” he muttered. He swallowed thickly. “I’m just–”

“Darling, I know,” Ryu cut in, his voice gentler now. “But trust me. It’s ready. You’re ready. Please come out before I lose my mind.”

The excitement in his tone completely caught Hajime off guard. It wasn’t teasing in the way he spoke to Nagito, or sharp-edged and critical. It was bright. Proud. The voice of someone desperate to show off something they had poured themselves into. Hajime exhaled slowly, the sound loud in the small space behind the curtain. He rolled his shoulders back, straightened his posture, and took one last look down at himself. The suit fit him like it had been waiting for him its entire life.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he reached forward and drew the curtain aside. The reaction was immediate.

Ryu gasped. Not a subtle gasp, and not restrained. It was a sharp intake of breath, followed by a wide grin that lit up his entire face.

“Oh,” Ryu said, stepping forward without even thinking about it. “Oh, that’s–”

Hajime froze instinctively, his shoulders tensing. He couldn’t help the edge of panic that seeped into his voice. “Is– is it bad?”

“Bad?” Ryu echoed, incredulous. For the first time since meeting him, Hajime saw a crease in Ryu’s eyebrows as he chuckled to himself in bewilderment. “Hajime, if it were bad, I would simply pretend I had never met you and flee the country.” He stopped himself just short of reaching out, straightening himself. His professionalism snapped back around him like a well-worn jacket. “No. It’s exceptional.”

He circled Hajime slowly, eyes sharp and evaluative, but not invasive. He didn’t linger where he shouldn’t. His gaze was focused, appreciative in the way an artist studies their work, taking in lines and balance and how fabric moved with the body beneath it. He reached out and adjusted the tie. Not because it was crooked, but because he could. He smoothed the knot once, straightened the fall of the fabric, and then stepped back again with his hands clasped loosely in front of him.

“The colour,” he began, voice warm with pride, “brings out your eyes beautifully. That green? It stands out against the navy in a way that’s subtle but striking.” He tilted his head in consideration. “And your complexion – yes, this shade complements it perfectly. You wear it naturally. Like it belongs to you.”

Hajime’s throat dried. Ryu continued, gesturing lightly towards Hajime’s chest. “The cut of the blazer works with your build. Broad shoulders, strong chest – it gives you presence without overwhelming you. You look confident.” He smiled, genuine and bright. “This suit was made for you.”

Hajime didn’t know what to do with his hands. He let them hang awkwardly at his sides, feeling suddenly too aware of his body, of the way the suit held him, of the way it framed him. Heat crept up his neck, a mix of mild embarrassment, but also something dangerously close to pride.

“Thank you.” He said quietly, turning his head.

Nagito stood a few steps back, his hands loosely folded in front of him. His shoulders were relaxed, as always. But it was his expression. It hit Hajime like something physical. Nagito’s eyes were wide.

Not exaggerated. Not theatrical. Just open and soft, like he was seeing something he hadn’t expected and hadn’t prepared for. His gaze moved slowly over Hajime, from the clean line of the shoulders to the sharp cut of the suit, to the way the navy made his eyes brighter than imaginable. For once, Nagito didn’t say anything.

He simply smiled.

It was small. Gentle. Real.

Something in Hajime’s chest stuttered, nearly making him lose his balance.

Ryu glanced between them, something knowing lifting the corners of his mouth, before chuckling softly. “Well?” He turned to Nagito. “You’re the one who trusted me with this. What do you think?”

Nagito blinked like he’d been pulled back into himself. He cleared his throat, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck.

“I–” He stopped, then tried again. “You look great, Hajime.” His voice was steady, but there was something careful about it. Like he had to choose each individual word deliberately. “Really great. Ryu should be very proud of this suit.”

Ryu beamed. “Oh, honey, I am.” He gestured toward the far wall, turning to Hajime. “Go on, take a look for yourself.”

Hajime hesitated before turning towards the mirror. He stepped closer, evening his breath as his reflection became clearer to him by the second. He stopped a metre away, before looking up and freezing.

The man staring back at him stood straighter than he was used to seeing. His shoulders were squared, his posture confident without being stiff. The suit gave him weight. Presence. He didn’t look like someone trying to belong in this room anymore.

He looked like someone who did.

It wasn’t that his face had changed. His hair was the same, a little messy and sticking up in the same places it always did. His expression was mostly the same, bar being a little stunned and overwhelmed. But there was something else there now, too – something in the way he occupied the space, the way the suit elevated him. The way the others in the room looked at him in admiration.

He looked powerful.

Not loud power, and not showy. The quiet kind. The kind that came from being comfortable in your own skin.

Hajime swallowed.

For the first time since stepping into this world – Nagito’s world, the world of tailored suits and money that hummed beneath the surface – he didn’t feel like an imposter. He felt like he belonged. And that terrified him just a little, in the most human way possible.

This suit wouldn’t just change how his family looked at him. He could already imagine it – the surprised glances, the recalculations, the way their voices might soften. The way they would bite their tongues before passing judgement. But more than that, it changed how he looked at himself.

He turned slowly, meeting Ryu’s gaze again. “Thank you,” he said, and this time, he meant it with everything he had. “I… I don’t think I’ve ever worn something like this.”

Ryu stepped forward, placing a hand on Hajime’s shoulder. It was warm and grounding and absolutely necessary in the moment for Hajime to remember that this was reality. “It was an honour.” He said sincerely. “Truly. Making this for you – it’s one of the highlights of my career.”

Hajime blinked, furrowing his eyebrows to mask how much that sentence alone startled him. “Really?”

Ryu nodded earnestly. “Really.”

He clapped his hands together once, the moment shifting. “Now. If you’re happy with the suit – and judging by your face, I assume you are – I’d like to add something.” He gestured toward a nearby shelf. “A brown belt and matching shoes. On the house, of course. They’ll complete the look.”

Hajime laughed softly, still a little dazed. “I’m more than happy. I promise.”

“Excellent,” Ryu smiled before turning back towards the door. He reached for the belt and shoes on his way. “Go change, and I’ll meet you both downstairs to ring you up.”

Hajime nodded, retreating to the curtain and pulling it closed. He brushed the fabric of the tie between his fingers once more, a strange, steady warmth settling into his chest.

This was real.

And for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t afraid of it.

~~

The shop felt different downstairs.

Less empty than it did before. It was as if the space was finally exhaling after being held in reserve all morning. The lights were still dimmed, but the mirrors and brass fixtures caught what little illumination there was, reflecting it softly across the polished oak floors. Ryu must have put on some soft music when he came down, the lull of it humming faintly from hidden speakers.

Ryu moved behind the counter with the ease of someone who owned the place not just legally, but spiritually. The moment he was no longer actively tailoring, something about him loosened. His posture was less exact, and his smile was a little more mischievous rather than strictly polite professionalism. He folded the suit with practiced care, smoothing the fabric as if it were something living, before sliding it neatly into its garment bag. The belt and shoes were already waiting in a separate bag beside the register.

Nagito leaned against the counter, watching him with open amusement. “Wow.” He said lightly. “You know, I heard you very rarely ring customers up these days. This must be exhausting for you.”

Ryu shot him a look so unimpressed it was almost affectionate. “Please,” he scoffed, tapping at the register screen. “If I wanted to spend my days sitting behind a desk, I would’ve gone into finance like my father wanted.”

Nagito chuckled, shaking his head. “And deprive the world of your charm?”

“Oh, the world would survive.” Ryu replied dryly. “You, on the other hand, might not.”

Hajime watched the exchange from half a step back, his arms loosely folded across his chest. It still felt surreal, like if he blinked too hard, he’d be back upstairs with his heart racing for no reason. The ease between the two of them, Nagito and Ryu, still pricked at something low and uncomfortable in his chest, but now, watching them banter like this, it felt different. Much less personal. And much clearer that they were very old friends.

Ryu finished folding the last sleeve and looked up. “Discount card, please, Komaeda.”

Nagito hummed and reached into his wallet, producing a slim black card and sliding it across the counter. Ryu took it and glanced at it for all of two seconds, before scrunching his nose and handing it back to Nagito. He then reached into his own pocket and pulled out another card, this one sleek and metallic in comparison to Nagito’s matte one. He hummed thoughtfully as he slid it across the reader.

Nagito blinked, still holding his own card between his fingers. “Why are you using that?”

Ryu didn’t look up as he entered something on the screen. “Because Hajime doesn’t have a discount card yet. And yours doesn’t reduce the price as much.”

Hajime stiffened a little, his brows furrowing. His brain had caught on the first sentence alone. “Yet?”

Ryu glanced at him with a small, knowing smile. “Well, of course. If you’re going to survive being dragged around by this man,” he gestured towards Nagito, “you’ll need one eventually. I’m simply thinking ahead. I’ll get one ready for you for the next time you visit.”

Something warm bloomed unexpectedly in Hajime’s chest at the implication. He ducked his head slightly, pretending to adjust his sleeves and focus his attention anywhere other than the man behind the counter.

Ryu finished tapping at the register and turned the screen toward them. “That will be two million and eighty thousand yen before discount,” he said breezily. Then, after a moment, “And one million five hundred thousand after.”

Nagito smiled.

Hajime flinched.

It was involuntary. His shoulders tensed and his breath hitched before he could stop it. His mind snagged painfully on the number. That was about ten times more than his monthly rent. He couldn’t even imagine spending that much on one singular clothing item. And Nagito had been ready to spend that on him without even batting an eyelid.

Ryu noticed immediately. His eyes flicked to Hajime, then softened, amusement threading through his expression as he pushed the card reader towards Nagito. “Don’t let him make you pay,” he smirked, giving Hajime a wink. “Ever.”

Nagito laughed, rolling his eyes as he took the reader. “You know I’d never let that happen.” He paid without hesitation, his expression remaining placid the entire time as if this were no more remarkable than buying groceries. The machine chimed softly and Ryu took the reader back, eyes scanning over it before he nodded.

“Approved,” Ryu said, satisfied. He slide the bags towards Hajime with a small flourish. “All yours, honey.”

Hajime accepted them carefully, his mind still not fully caught up on the fact that Nagito had just spent over a million yen on him, on top of everything else he had paid for throughout the week. “Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet and earnest. “Really.”

Nagito echoed the sentiment as he slid his cards back into his wallet. “Yeah. Thank you for opening early, Ryu. And for all of this.”

Ryu waved them off with a dramatic sigh. “Please. I live for moments like this. A beautiful suit, a captive audience, and the knowledge that I’ve absolutely ruined someone’s budget for the month.”

Hajime huffed a surprised laugh, turning his eyes away slightly. As Nagito checked his phone, Ryu leaned his elbows on the counter. His expression shifted, barely, into something more genuine. “So,” he began, eyes on Hajime. “Are you excited for the wedding?”

Hajime hesitated, meeting Ryu’s eyes. He hadn’t expected the question, and certainly hadn’t expected it to sound like real curiosity instead of polite filler. He sighed softly, shoulders dropping a fraction. “Honestly? Not really.”

Ryu tilted his head. “Family trouble?”

“Yeah. Something like that.” Hajime admitted. “They can be a little…judgemental, I guess.”

Ryu clicked his tongue sympathetically, shaking his head. “Ah. Yes. That special talent families tend to have.”

Hajime smiled weakly, trying to conceal his nerves from having to endure his extended family for the rest of the day.

Ryu straightened, his seriousness evaporating into something brighter and sharper. “Then let me give you some advice.” He cleared his throat, pointing a finger dramatically. “You walk in there looking like that, you smile politely, you say very little, and you let them do the math themselves. People like that hate being forced to reassess.”

Hajime blinked in surprised before a genuine laugh escaped his mouth. “That’s…surprisingly helpful.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m full of wisdom.” Ryu replied smugly, brushing stray dust off his sleeves. “Inherited from the silk fumes.”

Nagito shook his head, glancing up from his phone. “We should probably head out. It’s nearly 7:30.”

“Of course.” Ryu smiled, stepping back and bowing politely. Then, immediately ruining the formality, he added, “but you’re sending me pictures, Nagito.”

Nagito snorted, his eyebrows drawing together. “Of what? The wedding?”

“Of him.” Ryu corrected, nodding toward Hajime. “The suit deserves documentation. And I’d love to catch some old has-been giving him a side eye out of jealousy.”

Hajime felt his ears warm as heat crept up his neck. “I– okay.”

“Excellent.” Ryu grinned, waving them toward the door. “Go conquer resentful relatives, and have a glass of champagne for me.”

As they stepped back into the cool morning air, the bell chiming softly behind them, Hajime felt something settle uncomfortably in his chest that he couldn’t quite dislodge. It was guilt. For the assumptions about Ryu after only meeting him once. For the way he’d braced himself this morning for no real reason at all.

He glanced back once, just as Ryu lowered the shutters once more, skipping back towards the counter in what could only be described as glee.

Yeah, Hajime thought. He might owe him an apology someday.