Archive of Our Own

Slight static buzzing overhead, the electrical hum of vulnerably bright fluorescent hospital lights, for which to scrutinize your entire body for abnormalities. Desolate feel is punctuated with the smell of bleach that isn’t strong enough to fully overshadow the moldy undertones of the entire unit. Another island, another day of wondering what terrible things could happen within one of its many scattered facilities.

The hospital, piles of electric junk, a music venue, a rundown motel, and a movie theatre.

Only one good thing resulted from the opening of this island - Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu, alive. Shockingly safe and mainly sound, Tsumiki-chan is with him downstairs in a cramped patient room, right now. Tending to his various wounds, and all his medical needs. Hinata senses that the whole class fully appreciates having a nurse trapped with them at least, for medically complicated situations like these. Regardless, none of them had fully expected Monokuma to keep the yakuza alive until this point.

Most of the class is downstairs, packed into Kuzuryu-san’s room, simultaneously keeping Mikan company and attempting to be empathetic towards this hospital’s only patient. If it were Hajime in that uncomfortable bed he would’ve been annoyed long before now with that many people stuffed in his room. At least it’s not totally filled with island-dwellers. A few others are on the first island, getting dinner and settling into their cottages for the night.

Chiaki in particular is readily exploring. Small footsteps trekking up the porcelain white stairs at the end of the corridor that’s lined with patient rooms. Hajime can’t do anything but follow her when she beckons him before pointing ahead playfully.

There’s not much here, really. Downstairs is eight patient rooms split into two wings while upstairs is a conference room and an employee on-call lounge. Hinata and Chiaki slip inside the conference room - it sure is bright. The room is stacked with bare windows, glinting sunlight bleeding low in a golden glow, but not quite swallowed yet by the horizon.

“It’s really incredible,” Strawberry blonde begins softly while facing Hinata, hands attached to her backpack straps like they’re glued. “How Pekoyama saved his life, isn’t it?”

The sincerity ringing in her gentle voice nearly knocks Hajime off his feet; he hadn’t expected her to bring up such a serious topic the moment they stole away in the conference room. “Uh, yeah… even after what she did to Koizumi-chan, it’s kind of nice to see that she did it all for him.” In a fucked up, but romantic, sort of way.

Only Hajime finds something like that romantic, huh.

Ultimate gamer hums, twirling a loose strand of hair between two fingers whilst deep in thought. “I guess so, to do it out of love instead of just being selfish, that’s something easier for others to understand… I think.”

It’s not beyond Hajime that lately all his classmates have been avoiding the K word. Except, of course, Nagito.

Hajime is well aware of his uncanny ability to allow Nagito to slither into his thoughts for the briefest of moments, only for him to then spiral out of control into a plethora of Nagito-centered tangents. Lately, mindfulness has been beneficial - Hinata must force his brain to focus on the here and now, so others don’t get the impression that they’re talking to a brick wall.

“Yeah…” Blinking, Hajime finds his way back to earth, rubbing the tips of his fingers together to focus on the feeling of his own skin. It’s a gesture of grounding. “I’m happy Kuzuryu-san is okay, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t know if we should’ve even come here.”

Chiaki pauses for a long time, to an extreme point, where Hajime starts to convince himself that he just spat out something stupid. “…To the hospital?”

“To this new island. These expansions are going to start leaving us with déjà vu, I can feel it.”

“Hajime,” She is already scolding him with fiery determination in her stare and a single finger standing in warning. “We have to believe in our friends and trust ourselves not to ever let another murder happen ever again.” As usual, there’s no shake in her voice nor a waver in her strong gaze.

Hinata is feeling oddly inspired! “You’re right, I know I should give everyone a chance.” While it would be moronic to drop their guard, there’s nothing else he could say in response without being a total hypocrite. Considering what he and Nagito do now when they’re alone - how close they secretly are.

It’s nothing. Sure, Nagito has come over to Hajime’s cottage at night twice now, only escaping to his own once the sun creeps in through the cracks in the blinds, pretending to have slept there innocently the whole night. Okay, and there was that incident in the library yesterday. But it’s not like they’re a thing.

What is a ‘thing’ between two people anyway? Is there a universal definition?

On a whole other topic, Hajime has a possibly irrational belief that he’ll become just as suspicious to their classmates if he’s publicly and explicitly linked to Nagito. Really, the more Hinata worries over it, the more rational it becomes to him. What kind of sick fuck let’s an attempted murderer sleep next to them at night?

Once again, only Hinata Hajime.

“What kind of people do you think lived here before?” Chiaki shatters the stretching silence while quizzically inspecting a small projector placed atop the table in the corner, wood pressed flush against the wall.

Hinata shrugs, glancing around absently at the layout of this room. Plain, clearly unused for a long time. All that’s really inside are a few tables, a bunch of stacked up folding chairs, and a large black curtain tucked against the very edge of the steel rod keeping it held up. “I don’t know, I don’t really think about stuff like that, I guess.”

With a sudden grace, Chiaki twirls once before plopping herself down onto the table, sitting on the top with her legs dangling off the sides. It wobbles for a moment too long and Hinata worries she’s gonna hit the ground, his arms flailing for the sole purpose of catching a possible wayward gamer. “Woah,” She gasps before it breaks off into a small giggle. “Nearly lost a life.”

Video game lingo, Hinata notes, and can relax now that she’s settled. “This place is decrepit. I don’t even know how Tsumiki-chan can work here.”

“She’s an incredible nurse, I guess. Yeah… that sounds right.” Nanami-chan waves her hands around, fingers moving at a rapid pace as if she’s playing with the air to pretend it’s a console controller. “I think it would have been awesome if this island had an arcade.”

Hajime releases a breathless laugh, of course only she would be wishing for something specific out of these weird islands. Much more gently than Chiaki had, Hajime hoists himself up onto the table beside her. “Of course, you probably love arcades.”

“Hmm… I guess so. There’s lots of games, but lots of people too.”

“Are you a germaphobe?” Hajime nudges her shoulder with his own.

“No,” she denies while puffing her cheeks out to join Gundham’s harem of impressively bred hamsters. “I just didn’t have any friends that would play games with me. So, arcades are… kind of lonely?”

Hinata’s mouth opens lamely to respond, aimlessly searching his mind for the right thing to say, but their conversation is interrupted by the clicking of the door. The wood itself creaking with effort as it’s hesitantly pressed open. “Hajime?” A low, raspy voice calls out his name. A voice that Hinata recalls much too well.

Think of the devil and he soon appears?

Nagito’s cottony locks, routinely sticking at rather odd ends, appear through the doorway before the rest of his body does; the hand not gently gripping the metal door handle is tucked into his jacket pocket. Hajime toys with the idea for a second that he’s fondling coins or something. Golden eyes flick to meet his, pale green busy glancing back and forth between Hinata and Nanami.

“Hey,” Hajime breathes in greeting to the fair ultimate, blinking just once. Mind swims in a hazy lake, always loosing chunks of rationality whenever he’s in close quarters with the embodiment of ultimate luck. The skin of his cheeks cooks as he can physically feel Chiaki’s eyes on him for an agonizingly long second - before she finally relents. Embarrassment fills every single crevice in Hajime’s body as he has no desire to be caught gaping at someone like Nagito.

Nagito blinks back in silent conversation, settling his gaze onto Hinata.

“Hey, Nagito… I thought Hajime told me you didn’t want to join us here at the hospital…?” Chiaki asks politely while remembering a conversation they had not too long ago, her feet swinging aimlessly until she accidentally kicks Hajime in the ankle.

Green transforms to nearly stony grey inside Nagito’s irises now, his jaw clenching tight as if a tendon is going to snap the moment he opens his mouth. Minutely, the taller boy cocks his head towards Chiaki-chan, chin tilted up just so with an air of self-importance. “Oh, you’re here?” Nagito sounds ice cold, barely sparing her a glance even though Hajime had just seen Nagito look Chiaki’s way a mere moment ago.

Sleepy gamer looks to Hinata for silent reassurance, but he can’t do anything besides narrow his eyes at Komaeda.

“Uh… yeah, sorry?” She turns her head back to Nagito, then apologizes alongside a small, rushed chuckle. It takes a long, nearly awkward amount of time before she says anything again. “How’s Kuzuryu-san? Did you get a chance to see him?”

Nagito knocks a loose strand of his hair away from his eye, “Tsumiki-sama is doing a more than excellent job putting her skills as the ultimate nurse to the test!” Almost too cheery for the frown on his face, Nagito seems to be unable to control his impulse for taking moments like these to praise the ultimates for their respective talents. The thought of it being a reflexive twitch of the mind nearly makes Hajime’s chest tighten with idiopathic sadness. “Have you or haven’t you seen him for yourself?”

Chiaki simply stares, her legs stilling in defense. The light atmosphere that filled the space around them before Nagito arrived is shriveled up and dead. Its corpse is the elephant in the room.

Hajime decides to preemptively slide off the tabletop, leaning back and resting his waist against it instead for better social leverage. “We’ve seen him, what do you want?”

Nagito jerks his head to the side and abruptly meets Hajime’s equally dark glare. Why is he acting like this? Chiaki hasn’t done anything to him, what’s his problem?

Quickly, that puffy white head turns away again. A big, wide smile is thrown Chiaki’s way. “Nanami-chan, that reminds me! Tsumiki-sama told me she’s in need of super high school level moral support downstairs. I bet you would be perfect for that considering we all know I’m much too despicable.”

Maybe Hajime just finds Nagito too easy to read, but it should be obvious to even Chiaki that all he wants is for her to leave. While it’s pointless to try and understand the reason for Nagito’s volatile mood shifts, Hajime can’t deny his brain picks at it like it’s a weeping scab - what the hell is up with you?

“…” Chiaki follows Hajime’s rigid stare, looking between the two of them long enough for the tanned boy to feel a wave of nausea wash over him. Nagito is being stupid, already dragging Hinata into some embarrassing nonsense. “Sure. That’s fine, I guess,” She agrees eventually, pushing off the table and making her way to the door. Before slipping out of the room she looks to Hinata, then smiles and says, “If you need me just knock the special code on the door and I’ll come running.”

“You, running? Yeah right,” Hajime laughs, waving her away. Chiaki is the best.

SLAM!

Brunet jumps, eyes blown wide in surprise while looking at Komaeda, whose body is now pressed against the door. Frail chest is heaving, protuberant collarbones are only further outlined by the rapid inflation of his lungs. One hand is cradling his face in what Hinata can only assume to be delirium, covering his mouth and eyes, and the other hand refuses to exit his pocket. This freakish behavior is starting to create malignant anxiety inside Hajime.

“Seriously, what the hell is your problem?”

“My problem…? I have no problem, Hajime,” Nagito forces the words out like a brick is lodged in his throat. Slowly, he lowers his hand to look directly into golden eyes, and sneers, “I bet you’re disappointed I barged in on you and Chiaki. I bet you’re disgusted to be alone with me after being in the presence of the ultimate gamer.”

Hinata flounders for a moment, blinking rapidly like that will clear away the fogginess of Komaeda’s annoyingly complex intentions here. “There’s nothing to be disappointed for, we were just talking about the new island.”

“It’s so sweet.” Nagito is full of contempt, even the look on his face is sour. Twisted up in a repulsed grin. “How, without even knowing his talent, Hinata-kun can win the hearts of the other ultimates!”

Hajime can sense the impending rambling and there isn’t much he can do to defer it besides allowing it to run its course.

“You two would make an incredibly hopeful couple despite the daunting circumstances of this killing game! You investigate together so well, much more efficiently than you and I ever have.” Despite the sudden optimistic shift in tone, that disgusted grin doesn’t dissipate even slightly as if the words themselves taste foul. “How lucky of me to be able to witness such a beautiful union.”

Hinata can only manage a jagged breath packed with disbelief, because are they really having a conversation like this right now? While Soda-kun attempting to blindly force Hajime into Chiaki’s arms is reasonable considering his obliviousness, but Nagito? Has he been wandering through life in a sleepwalking coma for the last week? Or, fuck, the entire time they’ve been secluded here to this island? Shaking his head, Hajime scoffs with an effort to buy the maximum amount of time he can before responding to something so stupid.

“Are you okay?” Hinata asks incredulously, golden eyes wide in bewilderment, already knowing the answer to be ‘no.’ Komaeda has never been okay once in his life. “What the hell gives you the impression that I want to be with her?”

“No need to deny it Hajime, you play footsie all alone up here, you spend at the very least ten minutes every morning with her in the hotel lobby. Don’t feel like you have to hide your hopeful feelings from me!” Komaeda is stalking closer towards the irritated brunet with a delirious focus in his pale eyes.

Inches above him, the second Komaeda is close enough to touch, Hajime’s hand shoots out to press flat against the other boy’s chest. Keeping him at a distance with as much strength as physically possible. Unfortunately, Nagito’s stance is solid, unmoving despite the rather aggressive force against his chest.

He’s almost scary when he’s capable of standing his ground. Or when he’s… you know, plotting murder.

“You’re starting to annoy me,” Hajime warns feebly, but keeps holding his ground regardless of if Komaeda decides to back up or not. Rather, the fairest ultimate pushes back by moving ever closer, thinly clothed chest cool yet firm under Hinata’s palm. “Aren’t you supposed to be wallowing in self-pity somewhere else? Why’d you even come here if you didn’t think you were worthy of getting involved in ‘touching’ scenes?” That was the whole reason he left Komaeda out in the hospital lobby, wasn’t it? Nagito had felt unwelcome in joining his peers in Kuzuryu-san’s room.

In truth, Nagito must be at least microscopically aware of his perpetual inability to be rational or comforting, let alone being both at the same time. If he joined them initially, Fuyuhiko might have kicked his ass for going on a hope-fueled rant. Abysmal compared to Tsumiki-chan’s likely impeccable bedside manner.

Nagito simply blinks, unamused.

Unpredictably, he spins 180 degrees, long legs making quick work to get to the door and wordlessly, with his one exposed hand, he turns the lock into place until it clicks.

Still silently, but just as fast, Nagito returns to Hajime. That unrelenting gaze weighs heavy on Hinata’s ability to function, only just managing once he translates that rigid stare into what it really is: scrutiny. Languidly, that stare rolls south. Taking in every inch of Hajime’s body like Komaeda is committing him to memory for the first time.

It burns Hajime’s sun kissed flesh, the purposeful raking of those cruel eyes, and he genuinely feels the heat against his trembling body. Without even being touched.

“Tell me how much I disgust you, Hinata-kun,” Nagito pitches low, calm as ever with only the edges of his lips quirking into a slight smile. Pupils are blown wide, black menacingly reflecting Hajime’s own face back at him.

Do you like to use that stupid name to weaken my defenses? Do you want to see me struggle to lie, to squirm under your eyes, for your personal enjoyment? Fuck you, Nagito.

Icy palm shocks Hinata as it presses into his stomach, the heel of Nagito’s hand hazardously settling as low as the waistband of his jeans. Forceful hand pushes him backwards until he’s knocking into the side of the table. Komaeda laughs coldly, just once, and says, “Don’t you imagine Nanami every time I touch you?”

Hinata is quick to smack that skinny hand away from his body, Komaeda is unflinching as if having expected him to react like this. It’s right there, wedged in his throat and tearing its way through every barrier - Hajime futilely fights the desire to give in and just tell Nagito what he wants to hear, the truth. It compels him into looking away, frowning at the door. Only then does Hajime snap at him, “Will you knock it off? I don’t think of her you idiot, I think of you when you touch me and no one else!” The fact that Hinata just said this out loud is already pissing him off monumentally. “Now just drop this stupid conversation. What do you even get out of this?”

Hajime is sure his cheeks are blushing with embarrassment.

Steely eyes are caught looking at his face through peripheral vision, and it isn’t long before Nagito is stepping closer. Crowding Hajime further up against the conference table, refusing to cower when he looks back and shoots the white-haired ultimate a glare.

“You know it’s unnecessary to force yourself to think of me. I don’t mind just being used by you, because your hope is the greatest of them all.” Perhaps the nonchalance of his tone would be enough to fool anyone else, but Hajime continues to regard Nagito with unwavering incredulity.

Is this a flimsy, poor attempt at keeping up an act of self-deprecation? Throwing an out of place temper tantrum? Or is he just hoping Hajime will eventually start lying to keep up the charade he’s got going on inside his head?

Hinata will have to push to find out.

Brunet shrugs then, glancing the opposite way to watch the edge of the island swallow the remaining bit of sun left in the day. Shadows play along the floorboards and the walls, soon it’s going to be dark in here. “Fine, then I’ll just imagine whoever I want from now on. Not like we’re gonna do that anymore anyway.”

As if Nagito isn’t the only consistent string of thought his brain can stitch together these days. As if Hajime could even think of anyone else touching him when Nagito is the only person to ever even try to get him naked.

“You’re much too deplorable at it to be the ultimate liar.”

Hajime hears the scowl in his tone but still refuses to look. “I’m not lying. If you’re going to freak out like this, randomly with no explanation, then I don’t want you near my dick. It’s clearly not good for you.” Hinata has to keep lying, but he knows Nagito is right and he’s not good enough to last much longer. “And maybe I just felt sorry for you in the first place.”

Hajime is truly a terrible liar, with no conviction to back up his words; he’s clearly not skilled in the intricacies of manipulation the way this ultimate lucky student is.

Only once Nagito roughly presses himself against Hajime’s chest, single handedly digging into Hinata’s clothed ribs to leave the brunet with no choice but to sit back atop the table, does he realize why Komaeda locked the door.

“Felt sorry for me?” Komaeda asks innocently, his hand dragging surely along Hinata’s shirt until he decides it best to snatch up the tie instead. Twisting it multiple times around his knuckles to get a good enough grip to yank sharply, pulling Hajime’s face closer to his.

Mikan could easily tell Chiaki she didn’t really need her help, and the last thing Hajime wants is for someone to bang on the door while Nagito is standing between his legs. It leaves him on edge, waiting for knocking on the wood.

“There’s really no need to waste sympathy on someone like me, I don’t want it.” Komaeda tugs harder on Hinata’s tie, making him feel like a punished dog on a leash. Golden eyes flit to Komaeda’s hidden hand, curious to see it finally slipping out of that forest green pocket. It’s anticlimactically empty. What’s he hiding in there?

Hajime has no time to ask as all train of thought skids to a halt, deft fingers skate underneath his shirt and dig into tense abdominals. Blunt nails hotly scrape along every line of his muscle. Hinata hisses, legs jerking slightly until Komaeda nudges them open further with the widening width of both his knees.

Eventually, those fingers curl into the waist of Hajime’s jeans, tugging playfully.

“I don’t mind if you want to say someone else’s name,” Nagito murmurs into Hajime’s ear, breath achingly warm in comparison to his fingers; the contrast is enough to leave chills crawling down both of Hajime’s arms.

What in the fresh hell is with Nagito’s inconvenient affliction for having sexual encounters with their classmates nearby?

“Stop it, I’m going downstairs,” Hajime weakly protests while wiggling his hips, legs dangling off the table pathetically. “I think we need space.”

Nagito frowns, breathing heavier against the side of Hajime’s already warm face. “We have the whole room, Hinata-kun ~ just pretend you’re with the ultimate of your dreams.”

Hajime hadn’t forgotten that Nagito doesn’t accept ‘no’ as an answer from him. Another one of those irritatingly sexy yet disturbing things that Komaeda does. It’s moments like these that Hinata really tries to consider who between them is more mentally unstable.

Dexterous fingers flicks open the button on his jeans, the zipper automatically sliding down as Komaeda pushes inside. Hajime feels the blush in his cheeks trickle down his chest, slowly bleeding into his gut as Nagito slips between the gap in his boxers. Grabbing his dick in hand to pull him out from his confines. Length flushing red on sight, lighting fires inside Hinata’s veins.

Komaeda only tugs once, twisting his grip as a tease before his hand slinks back into his pocket ominously. Hajime feels rather exposed for a second, his rapidly hardening cock out between them while they’re both otherwise fully clothed.

It’s distracting, really, how the taller boy’s body is curving downwards slightly and leaning into him. Angular shoulder is digging into the edge of Hajime’s pectoral, sharp chin is a constant pressure against the side of his tense throat. Smirking lips tickle the line of Hajime’s jaw, greedily nuzzling into the coarse stubble poking through his skin. Warm breath is making him shiver, a satisfied laugh ghosting over the lobe of his ear.

A cracked moan breaks through Hajime’s resolve, nearly spontaneously combusting as that cool hand returns to him even cooler - slicked up and wet, his palm frictionless while he tugs on Hajime’s cock. Nagito is enjoying this too much, controlling him in two places: keeping him as close as possible with his hand around his tie, and as obedient as possible by playing with his cock.

The position is perfect for Nagito to whisper in his ear, “Do you like when it’s wet? I found it specially for you, Hinata-kun.” Hajime hadn’t been aware that hospitals kept lubricant around, but of course Nagito went looking. For all he knows, that’s probably the real reason the lucky student didn’t want to join them in Kuzuryu’s room.

It’s always something with him.

The squelching that accompanies the slide of Komaeda’s hand is maddening; how quick he’s able to jerk and twist his grip to milk the neediest sounds out of Hinata that he’s physically able to. Hajime’s legs unconsciously fall further apart, hips rhythmically canting towards Nagito with the upstroke of that grasp. Chasing the warmth that has been steadily heating up his hand as he continues to touch Hajime.

“You pr-pretend you’re the masochist,” Hajime hiccups the words, just barely able to focus on rolling them off his heavy tongue. “But you’re the sadist.”

Huffing, panting his words. The heat working over his cock in sure jerks, a teasing thumb rubbing the sensitive underside of Hajime’s head. Progressing painfully slow towards the leaking slit- dripping precum mingling with lubricant to only increase the warmth. Yes, Nagito is torturing him.

Torturing Hajime by being himself. Dangerously delirious, excruciatingly tempting yet frightening. What he’s thinking, no one can know, and Hajime can only guess, it’s as mysterious as it is concerning. Nagito is a paradox or a puzzle that Hajime doesn’t think he’ll ever understand how to truly solve.

Nagito thrives under the pressure of this killing game. Nagito feeds off despair like it’s some kind of sick fuel for all his hopes. Or maybe he doesn’t hope and likes to see others have hope, since he’s attracted to Hinata’s ‘hope’ so much? Hajime can’t think about it too long or else he’ll get lost in a void somewhere.

“Then wouldn’t Hinata-kun be considered the masochist, since he is enjoying this so much?” Lips move to bare teeth against Hajime’s jaw, a threat of pain but ends up merely a lusty nibble. Tongue poking out to run over skin and stubble, tasting Hajime’s simple existence. “Won’t he tell me who he’s thinking of?”

Heavy golden gaze flicks down to his red cock, fucking up into the grasp of such a skinny, pale hand. Fist tight as a guillotine, killing Hajime with its wicked precision - still tugging tight yet slow just the way he likes it best. Enveloping Hajime’s cock in such a wet heat, pressing a thumb harshly into a thick vein on his shaft, protruding with a pulsating need. It can’t be said that all he can think of is Nagito, that would mean losing.

Hinata shakes his head desperately, a low whine emanating from his core and escaping as nothing but throaty vibrations. It’s shameful to watch his cock leak for Nagito, dripping with white-hot desire. It’s more shameful for him to consciously recognize how he’s getting used to that feeling of shame, and how it doesn’t compare to the pleasure, instead it only feeds the fire.

They’re not going to stop. Things are going to go wrong, and Monokuma won’t be able to resist that. Relationships, trust, loyalty… won’t all that backfire during this killing game? Won’t it get them killed? Won’t -

Hajime jerks his chin, briefly knocking their faces together before capturing Nagito’s lips with his. Breathing in the smell of him, the beach and the musky library and the air fresheners from the supermarket.

Brunet is panting into the lucky student, spit and tongues mingling clumsily with blind feeling. Stomach jumping, hips circling desperately - Hajime needs this to wash away his anxieties, really. To shut his own brain off, for at least a little bit.

Desperate fingers press against Komaeda’s crotch, unsurprised but thrilled that he’s hard too. This comes across as a feral nip to the taller boy’s lip. Hajime can only shiver and whine as Nagito bites him back, twice as hard.

In retaliation, Hajime pries open the button of his jeans with only a hint of fumbling. Nagito freezes briefly before snatching up Hajime’s wrist, and mumbles against the parted lips on his, “Forget about me, this is just for you and your imagination.”

So, they’re going to play this dumb game the whole time?

Rather than argue, Hajime licks into his mouth, taking the opportunity from this distraction to try to wiggle out of his grip. Nagito seems to give in because instead of relinquishing he guides Hajime’s hand to his pocket, then stuffs it inside.

Against his fingertips Hinata can feel a wrinkly piece of plastic, a packet that’s jagged at the torn corner but cool and coated with a gel-like substance. Awkwardly, he’s able to twist his hand and force some of the lube out into his palm. With his other hand, he reaches blindly to pull Nagito’s erection free.

The white-haired ultimate gasps into Hinata’s mouth, he full body shivers as the brunet runs a slicked-up hand over his length. Narrow hips are struggling to stop their small reflexive twitching motions, already very needy.

Why do you have to act like you’re not good enough for me to touch? I’m nothing great, I can’t even remember what makes me special and why I finally got recruited by Hope’s Peak.

It could be stupid, a waste of a talent, but Nagito would never let him say that. No, Nagito believes in him. Despite everything bad in him that all their classmates see in high definition, Hajime is left with a version of Nagito in his head that is affectionate and caring and charming.

And annoying, and pushy, and manipulative.

Just be an asshole all the time so I can hate you…

Hajime quickly times his strokes with Nagito’s, leaving the pale boy’s movements on his cock jerky and uneven. Arm working faster once noticing that Hajime will follow the pace, wanting his swollen, red cock to get quick relief.

Hinata can feel warmth cascade down his knuckles, trickle through the gaps between his fingers, and it tortures him. There’s nothing he wants more than to taste Komaeda or to have Nagito’s meager weight on top of him, pressing the reality of their relationship into his bones. But he can’t move, and their kisses bleed into a sloppy, open-mouthed pressing of their lips. Hajime is moaning lowly into Komaeda’s mouth, but still manages to swallow every pant and whine that slithers down his throat in return.

Hot everywhere, hips swiveling rapidly in a mindless attempt to get Komaeda closer to his twitching cock. Hajime’s forehead rolls against Nagito’s, squeezing his fist tighter around the apparent luckiest dick on the island. Body trembling, his gut crackling with heat like he’s a live wire, Hajime is an inconsolable mess as he sprints towards the finish line.

“Aahh… hah… so good,” Hinata whimpers, breaking away from those pink, kiss swollen lips. As sinfully tempting as the rest of him, if not more so. “A-and you’re… so hard…” This is the only time he’s pliable enough to be utterly embarrassing, all too willing to praise Nagito. “Do you… uhnn- wish you were inside me?”

Don’t ask me if I wish that too… I’ll have to be honest.

Platinum-haired ultimate stutters his hips, breath breaking off wildly into a wheezing groan as if blatantly imagining the picture Hajime had just painted for him. Apparently, Nagito likes what he sees inside his head, because his cock is pulsing harder, jumping with a neediness to release.

“Hajime,” Nagito breathes, a thick rasp tearing through his tense throat. “Say it now, say their name-!”

Hajime can’t do it; he can’t hold back anymore. The crackles in his gut bursts into a bonfire, a warmth that splits him open and forces him to cry out a single word as his release spills over a hard-working fist.

“Nagito!”

The luckiest follows quickly as he deliberately catches most of Hinata’s dripping cum between his fingers, only to spread it over the spent cock in his hand. Nagito bites down on Hinata’s shoulder as his hips jerk, a cry trapped between their shaking bodies.

A warm, wet patch begins to soak into the fabric of his shirt, right against Hajime’s waist; he doesn’t have to look at it to know that Nagito accidentally came on his clothes. Too breathless and blissed out to do anything but stare at the wall and try his hardest to fill his pleasantly aching lungs.

Beside him, a lone giggle falls before the sound of greedy suckling takes its place. A quick glance reveals Nagito scooping up as much of Hinata’s cum as possible only to feed it to himself. Maybe it should be sickening but Hajime finds it irresistibly sexy. Almost like Nagito can never get enough of him.

“The ultimate liar would have committed to their act, Hajime. How pitiful… you couldn’t even find another name to say.”

And just like that, there goes the mood.

With a harsh shove to his chest, Nagito stumbles backwards into the nearest stack of folded chairs, head tipped back deliriously and a lazily stretched grin covering his smug face.

Hajime tucks his cock into his pants, quick to fasten them up before they’re interrupted by a talking robotic animal. An irritated tsk falls from his lips before he shakes his head and says, “Shut up, I told you before that I don’t think of anyone else, okay? Get over it.”

It’s painfully clear that Nagito wishes he was as insignificant as he wants to be, but no, instead Hajime is honest while teetering dangerously on the edge of reality and delusion.

The reality is that Nagito matters to him, and the delusion of their rivalry is fading too fast.

Steely eyes are nearly a constant grey today, pale green lost to a violent sky during a thunderstorm in the middle of the ocean. Those eyes narrow at Hinata, displeased with this reply, “Hajime… are you going to kill me soon or not? I’ve already given you permission, you don’t need it twice.”

Hajime staggers, scoffing brokenly like his air has been stolen. Komaeda is still going to act like this? What a damn freak.

“You know what?” Hinata asks rhetorically, an edge of anger in his words. The brunet stomps off towards the door, quick to unlock it and fling it open - even in surprise Nagito intelligently tucks his own soft length back into his pants, so no one sees him exposed. “I’m not going to deal with this… you’re being twice as weird today. And stop asking me shit like that!”

SLAM!

* * *

Keeping a good distance from Nagito remains a simple yet complex endeavor - while Nagito didn’t stray too far from the library, his cottage, or a random new building that has been allocated to them on the most recent island; the complexity comes from Hajime himself. An internal struggle with his own self-control. See, Komaeda is akin to a drug that makes you shake and itch after you’re left alone too long. You obsess over what he’s doing, if he’s thinking something drastic, and wondering if a part of him is thinking about you too.

Or… yeah, maybe that’s just Hajime.

This is exactly why he’s decided to do something he doesn’t normally do during his free time, with a great need to have a complete distraction from his own thoughts. In his room, they box him in and nearly suffocate him to death.

Besides, Nagito needs to be left alone and put in his place for freaking out on him and Chiaki yesterday (in that confusing Komaeda-like way of his.) Unpredictable behavior like that is what is going to get Hinata caught by his classmates with his pants down, literally.

Hinata is strolling counterclockwise around their home island (home for the foreseeable future at least), beginning at the hotel and eventually making his way around to the first beach. Hajime plans on moving past, to walk out onto the bridge leading to the central island, until two booming voices catch his attention.

Out on the sand Hajime can see Owari-chan and Nidai-san stripping their clothes off, revealing tight swimsuits hiding just underneath. They seem to be bickering over something, so Hajime steps out further onto the sand. There’s a crunch under his shoes and he sinks into every step. The sun is beating wickedly, leaving him damp with sweat under his collar.

“Hinata, perfect timing!” Akane calls out to him once the two athletic classmates notice his slow approach. “We need a ref, ya got that?”

“A referee?” Hajime doesn’t have anything else to do today, so the question is curious and non-argumentative.

“SHE WANTS TO WRESTLE!” Nekomaru sounds off with a robust laugh, as if amused by her choice of sparring technique. “COUNT TO THREE FOR US ONCE WE’RE PINNED DOWN, WON’T YOU?”

Hajime glances between the two like they’re insane – a thin and acrobatic gymnast versus a team manager that’s built like a bodybuilder - doesn’t seem like it would work but they make do. Must be easier when you don’t really have a lot of options to choose from. Hinata simply shrugs before nodding, “Sure, at least there’s nothing on the beach you two can break.”

Which is why they’re banned from sparring indoors. It would suck to lose two more dining tables and another plethora of dishes, like the last time they decided to try wrestling inside. Hajime quickly glances to the coconut trees in silent apology for what might happen to them collaterally.

“Alright! First things first, Hinata, spread out those towels!” Owari-chan points to their bags, discarded by the base of the coconut trees. They’re stuffed full and once he bends down to peek inside he notices it’s because of the improperly folded towels.

Brunet yanks them out and starts to walk out into the middle of the beach with both towels in his arms until Owari takes the time to chide him, “No, no, put them under the trees for shade!”

“You’re going to wrestle under the trees?” Hajime asks with clear confusion but makes his way back regardless. Spreading the towels out vertically under each nearby tree, Hajime turns once he’s finished to see both athletic students making their way towards him.

“Well, as our official referee you gotta psych us up and make sure we’re fit to play,” Akane begins with a drawl, clumsily dropping to the ground to roll onto one of the cotton towels after missing at first and ending up in the sticky sand.

“THERE’S NO WAY WE CAN WRESTLE UNTIL WE’RE PROTECTED FROM THE SUN. AN ATHLETES SKIN IS THE SECOND MOST IMPORTANT PART OF THE BODY BESIDES MUSCLES,” Nekomaru elaborates, stomping forward to join Akane on the ground. The team manager is twice as wide as the towel and the front of his shoulders are pressing ovals into the sand.

Hajime blinks without protest, glancing between the two who both seem hellbent on giving him big puppy-dog eyes until he breaks. With a sigh, Hinata crouches back down to grab their bags and rifles through them until he finds a half empty bottle of SPF 50 sunscreen.

Amnesiac ultimate sighs once more while grimacing, fighting the urge to argue that referees do not typically have to do something so degrading. It’s not like Hajime to grin and bear it, but for the sake of a Nagito-less day he’ll do about anything.

Seriously, it’s not that he wants to ignore Nagito, it just seems like it might be for the best if he does. Yesterday only proved that their dynamic, or whatever it is between them, is explosive. Nagito is erratic and oddly controlling in a backwards this is all your fault because you’re letting me sort of way, and Hajime can’t risk them getting found out.

He just can’t. Life on the island would surely become ten times as burdensome as it already is.

Squirting some sunscreen out onto the palm of his hand, Hajime decides it best to start with Akane just due to the simple fact that there’s less of her.

“Make sure you get every inch, got it?” The ultimate gymnast commands, motioning over her shoulder with her chin.

Hajime decides not to dignify that with a response, instead plopping it onto her back with palpable distaste. There’s no dexterity in the quick semi-circles he works over her back, only continuing until the globs of sunscreen transforms into a film over her skin. Briefly, the palms of his hands run across her shoulders, but he doesn’t bother to go any further down her arms. Content, he moves from his uncomfortable crouching position beside her to standing.

“Hey, aren’t ya gonna do my chest?” Akane prods it at him like he’s about to piss her off.

“Do it yourself, you still have hands,” Hajime grumbles. His words are icy-hot with irritation, but his body stills as the sounds of crunching sand trails closer to them somewhere behind him. It’s multiple overlapping footsteps, like-

“Woah, woah! Beach party and no one invites Ibuki? If this were a song it’d be called ‘The Waves Are Not As Powerful As Ibuki’s Tears’!” Brightly colored Ibuki rushes towards them, and unfortunately Sonia and Nagito are following somewhat closely behind her.

This is a weird group of people.

In the background Hajime registers Owari-chan greeting the approaching women and can even catch Nekomaru laugh at something Ibuki-chan says. However, it’s an effort to reconnect the wires in his brain that knock loose when personified luck appears. It’s like Nagito is cheating at life, really.

Just how often do you get what you want?

Frowning, Hajime snaps his gaze away to try to ignore the fact that Komaeda isn’t really joining the group (instead, Nagito walks towards a bunch of palm trees across from the pair of coconut trees, just a few feet away.)

“LET’S GO, HAJIME, BEFORE I GET CRISPY!” Nekomaru calls to him, breaking his haze and forcing his feet to shuffle along the sand.

Hajime gets down beside Nidai-san’s towel, just like with Owari, but it feels like it would be impossible to reach the entirety of his back from just one side! Sighing, Hajime begins to push out a clump of sunscreen onto Nekomaru’s muscly shoulder blade, wet fingertips slipping between every dip and line of the prominent muscles in the team manager’s upper back.

There’s no way to explain how he’s feeling right now… there’s a burning, maybe? It shouldn’t be true, but the skin on the back of Hajime’s neck is scorching, as if lasers are cooking his flesh. Cheeks flush in something closely related to shame or embarrassment. Somewhere in between? Something else? An itch compels Hinata to glance over his shoulder, chilling to the bone as his eyes meet Nagito’s disdainful glare. It teeters on the edge of disgusted yet wild. Swirling with many unreadable factors.

Hajime swallows down an audible eep! noise, hurriedly readjusting, turning back to stare at the half sun-protected back in front of him. Unsure of what else to do, Hajime squirt’s more lotion onto his hand and leans over Nidai. Waist pressing to Nekomaru’s side to keep himself from clumsily toppling over. Palm slides along dry skin, covering what he hadn’t gotten the chance to yet.

“GET ON IF YOU HAVE TO,” Nidai-san laughs, one large hand coming to press against Hinata’s leg, about to tug him over.

Only for a fleeting moment, Hajime notices the sound of leaves rustling, and a gasp from Sonia. Two hollow cracks echo around them and Akane bellows out an indignant groan. Nekomaru jolts, sitting up just quick enough to knock Hajime’s ass into the sand.

A broken coconut shell rolls beside Hajime, who blinks before calling out, “What just happened?”

“Coconuts! It’s raining coconuts,” Ibuki shouts, her hands guarding the tips of her gravity defying hair-horns to protect them from impact.

The athletes groan, blood trickling from behind their hairlines. “Hey! Are you guys okay; can you hear me?” Hajime asks with a waver in his voice, making no move to get closer just in case he does something wrong. Overall, he’s not too sure what to do here.

Sonia rushes forward surely, her hands clasping protectively around Owari’s waist, the princess bending down enough so she can hoist the gymnast up off the ground. They stumble, catching the team manager’s full attention. “We have a hospital now, so we must take them to see Tsumiki-chan!”

Nekomaru is still sitting up, even manages to visibly shake off the pain of that blow to the head. “LET ME CARRY HER,” Muscular manager demands, taking a few moments too long to find his balance as he stands up. There’s no real wobble, but Hajime worries a breeze might knock him over.

Hajime hurries to his feet, scrambling to move away from the fall-zone if Nekomaru couldn’t stay upright – which might look a lot like the wicked witch being crushed by a fallen house. A few bumbling steps back and Hajime finds himself next to Nagito. Leaning against the tree, never looking Hajime’s way, just watches the group as they argue on who can and can’t walk on their own to the hospital. Nekomaru seems to be winning, grabbing both Sonia and Akane in a tight hold before walking them towards the bridge that leads to the central island.

“What the hell was that? I mean, how often do coconuts fall, right?” Hajime asks the pale boy with clear astonishment, wiping the front of his palms onto his jeans. Streaks of white bleed into the fabric but he doesn’t care right now.

Komaeda makes a soft, noncommittal noise, like a hum. Short and sweet. It draws Hajime’s eyes to him and the fair ultimate shrugs before finally making eye-contact in return. “Maybe it has nothing to do with that.”

Hinata blinks, unable to translate that clue into understandable terms. Why doesn’t he just speak plainly? “Nothing to do with… coconut harvest patterns?”

Nagito grins unkindly, personality flipping like a tossed coin. “Who knew team managers get so in shape, Nidai-san is truly an ultimate in every aspect. How much did you enjoy having your hands full of him Hinata-kun? Don’t be shy.”

Avoiding the question to say something so stupid? Hajime looks at the scattered coconut remains in the sand and then back to the void of Komaeda’s stare. Ignoring that ridiculous comment, Hajime instead pushes for proof of empathy from him, “You don’t care that they might have concussions or something?”

“I didn’t think about it.”

You didn’t think about it?

“Nagito,” Hajime snaps at the taller boy, instinctively snatching up a thin elbow to force Komaeda to face him. Unaffected, the white-haired ultimate simply waits. “Are you trying to say you did that to them?”

“Concepts like karma and luck work mysteriously, and I don’t expect you to remember such an insignificant detail about me, but I can’t control my luck because it comes and goes in a cycle.” While the words flow easily, tone depressed at the thought of such information leaving Hajime’s mind, there’s an antagonistic glint in those steely eyes.

I seriously believe in your luck, don’t I? What’s wrong with me? If you asked me before we knew each other I would’ve said it didn’t seem okay for Hope’s Peak to accept students that way.

“Do you seriously believe that? That you have absolutely no control over your own talent?” Nagito looks like he’s going to reply, a defensive line creasing his brows, so Hajime starts again before he can respond. “You always say I must have an amazing talent to be scouted by Hope’s Peak, but you got scouted too, right? It was a lucky draw, yeah, but if that’s amazing enough for Hope’s Peak then maybe there’s more to your talent then even you know. So… just admit it.”

Nagito’s eyes narrow, sparking with bottled aggression. Slightly, he bends his frame to crowd Hajime, bits of white hairs poking the brunet in the forehead. “Of course I did it, Hajime.”

Silence stretches around them, filling up all the spaces between them that the breeze doesn’t touch. What the hell is with him getting aggressive towards their classmates?

“And you… wanted to possibly knock them unconscious?” Nagito shows no intention of answering this question so Hajime tacks on another. “Why?”

Pale jaw tenses, the smile on his pink lips a fake display. “Does the thought of my body make you sick to your stomach after touching such a manly build? Did you do the same to Owari-sama?” Nagito rambles, clutching his own arms in tight holds, fingers digging into the thick fabric of his jacket. “You must be trembling with the after-effects of having such impressive naked bodies under your hands.”

Fed up, beyond annoyed, Hajime can only shake his head in disbelief. “Have you ever given a direct answer to something just once in your entire life?” Golden eyes harshly flick over every bit of the lucky student; how his arms are folded and how he’s leaning away from Hajime. It only manages to piss the prickly brunet off more.

Someone who possibly controls luck… and uses it for indirect assault… Nagito is the worst person to possibly have this ability!

“Still, you think I’m confusing?” Nagito sighs, a pitifully tired thing. “I’m being straightforward again, Hajime.” Impatience fills that raspy voice, dragging so low and slow that Hajime imagines it scratching the back of his throat.

Another beat of silence finds Hajime truly at a loss for words. They stand on opposite ends of a taut tightrope – Hajime is in the middle, arms spread wide in preparation to fall thousands of feet to his messy death; Nagito is at the edge, not a single step taken to meet Hinata halfway.

Hajime steps back, returning to the safety of the ledge.

“Whatever, you know what? I was serious about what I said yesterday. We need space, no fuck it, I need space and you need to give it to me. Seriously.” Tanned ultimate averts his gaze, unwilling to sit and crumble under the weight of Nagito’s. With no hesitation, Hajime pivots to take steps towards the pathway back to the hotel, not taking a single second to look back at the boy on the beach. Lest he lose all his resolve.

Hajime pretends he doesn’t hear the call of his name.

* * *

Chiaki isn’t the quickest to get the words out, a lot of her knowledge is weirdly niche, and she isn’t the best at filling up silence with a bunch of things to say. However, Hajime is sure she’s one of the best friends you could ever have. Always going to be there for someone she cares about, and she might even let you win in a video game if you’re nice enough to beg.

Hajime couldn’t sit in his cottage for the rest of the day just to avoid Nagito. Chiaki was there, by the pool, just lounging like she might fall asleep at any passing second; she even seemed happy to be invited along for a walk to the third island. So that’s why they’re on this dirt path now, gingerly walking side by side.

Unfortunately, along with all those good things about her, she’s also extremely perceptive to really small details and isn’t totally blind to subtext. This must be another example of her niche talent for picking up every little thing a video game has to offer the player.

“So…” Chiaki starts off slowly, her fingers twitching around the straps of her peach-pink backpack. “Why aren’t you meeting up with Nagito at the library?”

The sensation of her curious eyes meets with the side of Hajime’s face, but he doesn’t take his own eyes off the path in front of them, too busy swallowing down a lump. Rapid thought only broadcasted by a few rushed blinks; Hajime takes a moment too long to be natural to think about what he’s going to say to that. Is that a genuine question, no back-alley meanings?

“What do you mean?” This is what he settles on, a nervous laugh tumbling along. “I’m not obligated to follow Nagito around all day just because he doesn’t have any friends, you know.”

“I know that… I think,” Chiaki-chan giggles lightly, and Hajime can’t help but get the impression that she’s trying to be welcoming on purpose. “…I guess I just notice that you see him a lot when you have free time… yeah, that’s it.”

Hajime glances side-long at his company, his brows furrowed as she simply smiles. With a heavy willpower, Hajime keeps his cheeks from lighting up pink. There’s an unspoken truth, a hidden secret, in his gaze. It sounds like he’s trying to convince her as he says, “I see you too.”

Strawberry blonde gamer tilts her head cutely, the tip of her finger coming to rest on her chin in an almost mocking manner. “Is that true? You do see me, but… you see Nagito more than you do anyone else.” Then after a long moment, with Hajime’s heart pounding in wait for the words to come, “I know you like him… and I’m not judging you for it.”

Electricity surges through his veins, spikes every nerve along his tingling spinal cord, especially as their eyes meet now. They don’t stop walking but the world around them blurs for Hinata, becomes nothing but gurgled sounds and diluted colors. Is she saying what he thinks she’s saying or is he reading into this too much? Of all the island dwellers left, Hajime thinks Chiaki is extremely high up on his ‘trust list.’ The brunet swallows thickly, needing to briefly clear his throat before he tries to test his ability to be semi-honest with someone for a minute. “Okay, I hang out with him, yeah. I-I’m ignoring him right now, though.”

No denying her comment, no elaboration either. It’s a mixed effort on his part.

The ultimate gamer hums, tugging on the cat-eared hood of her hoodie in thought. Hajime senses that she wants to ask him something, so he doesn’t look away from her when she glances back at him – encouraging her to speak. Maybe he’s much more desperate for some advice (any advice at all) than he’s ever consciously acknowledged before.

“That sounds… hmm… well, why are you ignoring him?”

Sweaty hands stuff themselves in Hinata’s jean pockets, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he decides on how much information he’s going to divulge here. Perhaps less is more? “He’s acting weird,” is all Hajime manages to say, leaving too much up to her imagination.

Chiaki narrows her eyes, a tiny gasp pushing past her lips. “You’re thinking he’s… you know… planning on doing something again?”

Too quick to be inconspicuous, Hajime’s left hand flies out of his pocket to physically wave that thought of hers off. “No, no. It’s nothing like that, seriously. He’s not thinking of doing anything like that - I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think so at least.” That last part is mainly to cover his own ass, if Nagito somehow does end up doing something terrible and stupid. Which he won’t.

“Maybe it would be easier to understand with an example,” Gamer girl suggests, leading them onto the bridge to the third island, no Monobeast in sight. The only ambient sound accompanying the ocean breeze is the gentle taps of their shoes hitting the wooden planks that make up the bridge walkway.

Hajime doesn’t even know where to start without giving away too much, so he sighs while wracking his brain. “Well, you saw it yesterday in the hospital. That’s where it started, I guess, he just started to get real hostile with you. And earlier… and I-I know this is kind of unbelievable, but while we were on the first beach, I think he dropped coconuts on Akane and Nekomaru’s heads.”

“On their heads… why?” Chiaki seems more confused than anything, but she’s also hesitant. Hajime can see her fingers tapping restlessly against her backpack straps like she’s just barely managing to keep her thoughts inside.

“I don’t know, I was putting sunscreen on them before they started wrestling, and then they just dropped on their heads. Nagito says it was pure luck, but I think there’s more to his talent than he lets on.” Well, Nagito outright admitted to it, but Hajime won’t say as much.

Brunet nearly jumps once Chiaki lets out choked laughter beside him, her entire body shaking like she just heard the most amusing thing ever. Scowling, he shoves her gently, just enough so that she sways from side to side. “I’m sorry… you’re trial-smart Hajime, but it’s obvious he’s jealous, I think.”

Jealous?

“I wasn’t sure before… in the hospital,” She continues, totally ignoring the fact that she just shattered Hajime’s entire worldview. “It makes sense now though.”

“He’s just jealous?” Hajime wonders aloud, but it’s not particularly for Chiaki to answer. Nagito gets jealous? “He’s not like, going through a violent psychotic break?”

It’s Chiaki’s turn to shove him, knocking him into the railing of the bridge with no remorse. “Everyone gets jealous, Hajime. Oh, and… I think I know why he wanted to kick me out of the room now. Did you guys-?”

Hajime squeals, both hands flying to cover her mouth before she can finish that horrid sentence. Cheeks are burning bright red now, Hajime unable to hold it back when she nearly says such vulgar but true things. “Stop it, we didn’t do anything!”

She pinches both his elbows, forcing him to release her. “…Really?”

No, not really.

* * *

Enema kits. That’s where Nagito got the lube earlier. Fucking enema kits.

It was awkward enough for Hajime to find a valid way to ask Mikan-chan where the extra supplies were in the hospital, but even worse when she came in to check on him and found him rifling through half a dozen boxes of the kits. Where she then proceeded to instruct him on the proper way to give a patient an enema – how to lube the end of the tubing, how to position them, how gravity assists in emptying the entire bag of whatever is going in someone’s asshole. In the end it was worth it, considering that Hajime now has six packets of lube stuffed into his back pocket.

Monokuma must be watching him right now, must have tracked him on the cameras everywhere to catch him in the act of sneaking lube over to Nagito’s cottage in the middle of the night.

Before thinking about it too much to lose his nerve, Hajime pounds on Nagito’s door. It’s only been ten minutes since the nighttime announcement, so there’s no way the fairest ultimate is asleep already. Hand falls to his side as he waits, fingers trembling with both good and bad anxiety. For a flash Hajime thinks he might be making a mistake, that he shouldn’t initiate something like this, but a deeper part of him wants nothing more.

It’s fucking sick that he doesn’t feel sick anymore.

Cottage door creaks open slowly, Komaeda peeking through the thin gap to see who’s come knocking this late at night rather than carelessly flinging his door open (unlike Hajime.) Pale green eyes soften just barely once they catch on to Hajime, he even decides to push the door open a little more, enough for Hajime to see dim, flickering candlelight burning inside. “Oh, hello there Hajime. What are you doing out so late?”

Fake, polite, empty. Are they fighting? They must be, considering the last thing Hajime said to him today. I need space, yet here he is. How pathetic, and here Nagito is being proven right about Hajime’s lying being ‘deplorable.’

Forcefully, Hinata shoves his shoulder into the door to force it open further. Nagito grows wide-eyed, unable to do much but stumble before shutting the door behind him. Looking around with curiosity, Hajime takes note of the piles and piles of books stacked up high on a half-bookshelf-half-desk in the corner. All the shelves on it are already full, so the desk portion holds its hardy leftovers. Candlelight glows from the bedside table, the atmosphere calm, nothing like Hinata expected. It’s not easy to see all the small details of the room, but when he spins back around to face Nagito he can see an orange glow and shadows dancing across that perfectly alabaster skin.

Komaeda is frowning, fingers gripping the edges of his sleep shorts with a wordless strain. Looking conflicted, he doesn’t move to question anything, but it seems like he doesn’t know how to handle Hajime being here either. It’s strange, normally no matter how much they bicker and fight Nagito will do as he pleases. Talk to Hajime, bother Hajime, annoy Hajime. This is just beyond weird.

Maybe it’s best if Hajime takes the lead here, since it’s him who has some explaining to do. So, how to break the ice?

“You know, for someone who’s super lucky you still got dragged into all this.” Nagito’s luck, a recurring train of thought that Hajime’s been riding. Toying with all kinds of possibilities for such an unpredictable talent – of course the more he thinks about it, the more it fits Nagito like a glove. “Don’t you think it’s ironic?”

This drops Nagito’s shoulders, physically opening him up. The white-haired boy hums before decidedly shaking his head, “Not at all. This is classic foreshadowing, all this might be bad luck for now, but that just means there’s Ultimate Luck that will arrive afterward.”

A tiny laugh, this sickeningly flirty giggle that makes the muscles in Hajime’s legs quiver with mortification; Nagito’s mind is a deep mystery and Hajime is lost somewhere inside it. So no, a little embarrassment isn’t going to keep him from this. “What do you mean, like the cycle? You still see good luck in all this?” Awed yet slightly teasing, Hajime’s brain forbids his face from doing anything but smiling.

When things are good, they’re good. And finding out that Nagito was jealous over him, that’s terribly good.

Those steady, green eyes are now hooded. Pink lips are turned up into a smirk, and Hajime feels the raspy-ness of Nagito’s voice tickle his skin before even speaking. “All bad luck results in good luck, Hajime ~ that will happen for as long as I exist.”

Curious, like a suicidal cat, Hajime can only push for it. “Give me a real-life example then, you must have one.”

Nagito’s smirk doesn’t disappear but the look in his eyes morphs into something soft, “Maybe some other time I’ll tell you about my parents.”

Your parents? Hajime feels the question burn the tip of his tongue, but his jaw is clenched tight, unwilling to let it run loose. Maybe Hajime was wrong, maybe Nagito doesn’t always get everything he wants from ultimate luck. The thought squeezes Hajime’s heart, a stuttering rhythm that compels the brunet to hazardously step back out onto that tightrope.

“Hey Nagito,” Hajime breathes his name like the syllables taste delectable. Tanned hand finds Komaeda’s chest, guiding him back. Back, back, back until his thighs meet the edge of his bed.

Using only his feet, Hajime manages to step out of both his shoes before nudging them aside. Nagito doesn’t reply, instead rapturously waits for Hinata to finish the thought. Hand presses more firmly, guiding the lucky student to a sitting position on the bed. Heart is pounding against a thin breastbone, right into the palm of Hajime’s warm hand.

“What are you getting jealous for?” A huff of the words, Hajime doesn’t allow his eyes to stray from Komaeda’s. Other hand tugs at his tie, loosening it enough to slip it over his head. It lands somewhere behind him with a light thump. “I’m not… doing anything with anyone but you.” Cheeks warm, it bleeds through to the tips of his ears, and he must release pent up energy by pinching Nagito’s t-shirt between his fingers.

“Jealous?” Nagito spits the word. “I’m not jealous of the Ultimate’s, I’m below them. It only makes sense that you- mmrph?”

Nagito’s words jumble as Hajime decides now to be the best time to shove three packets of lube against his lips, to show him that Hinata means business of course. As Nagito’s hands come to cup the packets into his palms before they drop to the floor, Hajime pulls away. Heading towards the middle of Nagito’s bedroom, becoming swallowed by the darkness. “So… got any pajamas?” Hajime asks playfully. “I think that would make things a lot easier.”

Grey brow cocks before Nagito decides to drop the lube onto the bed, following after Hinata. “Stealing from the hospital? Is Hinata-kun the ultimate thief, perhaps?”

Hajime smiles something wide and goofy, his body warming all over as he watches Komaeda dig through a backpack - pair of shorts in hand once finished looking. Nagito is presenting them to him like a blessed offering. Batting long grey lashes his way, the luckiest student always seems to know just how to act to both piss Hajime off then make him come running back.

Now if only his freakish charm could make up for everything else.

Rather than accept the offered shorts, Hinata begins to unbutton his shirt, starting from his collar and leisurely making his way down. While it’s an attempt to be sexy, Hajime recognizes he doesn’t really have the panache for stripping. He’s growing too flush thinking about what he came here to give to Nagito, making his hands uncoordinated and shaky.

Despite all that, Nagito is breathing heavily. A dribble of drool sliding down his bottom lip as Hinata finally lets the open shirt drop off both shoulders, then it falls to the floor with a soft thud. Nearly simultaneously, Nagito balls up the shorts and tosses them onto the foot of the bed.

Pale hand reaches out, long fingers curling into the muscle of Hajime’s pectoral. Knuckles are brushing the edge of his nipple, leaving his body shivering. Another hand grips his hip, guiding Hajime back towards the bed.

“Don’t you wanna know why I came here?” Brunet sighs the question with the last bit of a breath. It’s sensual, the way he winds his arms around Nagito’s neck and how, in quick response, the white-haired ultimate slides both palms down his abdomen; only a second passes before Komaeda undoes Hajime’s jeans.

“Does Hinata-kun believe he’s being cryptic?” Low and teasing, Nagito is snickering at Hajime’s lack of tact. “I can ask anyway to please you – why did you come here?”

Nagito manages to tug Hajime’s jeans down slightly, just over the swell of his ass, but it isn’t until Hajime leans back on the bed with his hips raised that Nagito is able to tug them all the way off. Hajime’s fingers stay loosely interlocked around the taller boy’s neck, gently carding through the tuft of cottony locks there. “I came here to prove myself wrong,” Hajime says while crawling backwards to lay more firmly in the middle of the mattress, dragging Nagito along with him. The platinum-haired boy settles on top of him, a monochromatic brow cocked in confusion. “I don’t want to believe that this is going to come back and bite us… show me why.”

Nagito’s unblemished skin breaks out in wrinkles, a deep frown pulling at his pink lips. Something is on his mind, maybe exactly what has been on Hajime’s but it’s hard to tell with him. Cool palms rest on Hajime’s chest, slightly pushing as Nagito decides he’s going to try and get up. Hajime contests this by wrapping the arms around his neck even tighter, keeping him contained. “I, too, have thought about something kind of like that, but –”

Hajime crushes their lips together, feeling Nagito’s sudden apprehension bleeding into his skin, and no. No, that won’t do, that will ruin everything. Their lips drag slowly, Hajime working reactions out of Nagito with the same tough repetition it takes to wring out a soaked towel. This is new, Hajime acting as the impulsive whirlwind and Nagito as the cracking brick wall. Eventually the lucky student sighs against Hajime’s lips, becoming lax. The brunet takes this reprieve to tease Nagito’s bottom lip with his tongue, nails scratching into Komaeda’s scalp.

“Tell me, Hajime,” Nagito pulls back enough to breathe the words. Pale eyelids are hooded, no teasing surname and no taunting lilt in his voice. “What did you come here for… specifically?”

The hands pressing into Hajime’s chest drag down at an agonizing snail’s pace, thumbs coming to press into the fabric of the black underwear covering his hips. Hinata must ignore the rise of blush in his cheeks, burning a darker red under the orange glow of flickering candlelight. It takes a little too long for him to fill his lungs enough to speak, “I came here to give you something… to calm you down.”

Coy. Playful, even. Hajime is only trying to be as enigmatic as Nagito is, failing thus far won’t keep him from trying.

A small laugh tumbles from the fair ultimate, fingers dig into Hajime’s hips, hard enough to bruise and good enough to make him hiss pleasantly. “Have I been out of control? Two coconuts and a diversion are hardly considered going on a rampage,” Nagito responds with a disapproving hum. “If you want me to penetrate you, Hajime, I think you should just take responsibility for that.”

Mmh?! leaves Hajime in a pained squeak, nearly surprising himself enough to choke on it. Blinking rapidly, Hajime glances away, the blush on his face only spreading further – contaminating all of him with the shame of his actions. Rolling his eyes, Hajime decides it best to simply raise his hips, clashing with Nagito’s. Thumbs dig in further, blunt nails scratching at the cloth of his underwear like Nagito is determined to tear through it.

“You just want to hear me say it.” Hajime swivels his hips, excited to feel Nagito stirring against him. Nagito’s lips are still parted hotly against Hajime’s, only now Hinata can feel drool slick between their lips. The lucky student nearly beginning to vibrate against him - Nagito’s control is hair thin. “Nagito… please?”

Nagito wheezes out a dazed laugh, breath warm and humid against Hajime’s welcoming tongue. “Are you begging me to be inside you, Hinata-kun? You really want someone as dreadful as me to be the first person to fuck you?” His voice is screaming wow! and his wide-eyed expression is turning deliriously bewildered.

Hinata can’t hide the way his dick jumps at Nagito’s guilty enthusiasm, but it’s even more obvious how badly he wants it when he starts tugging on Komaeda’s hands and shimmying out of his underwear.

“Don’t start rambling over it, this is the natural order of things,” Hajime chides with a huff, leaving out the fact that he doesn’t even mind the rambling. Nagito tosses his underwear somewhere onto the floor and then comes to grab Hajime by the backs of his thighs, yanking him into a comfortable position with his head supported by pillows. There’s more than six of them piled up, Nagito must have taken some from the supermarket at some point. “You know I… want you. And I know I’m not as subtle as I think I am.” While it’s new for Hajime to express something as embarrassing as that, it comes out easier than expected.

Nagito’s full body reaction, a violent shudder, makes it all worth it.

“I’ll please you, Hinata-kun, if that’s really what you desire from someone as loathsome as me.” Nagito promises while jostling the bed, shifting back and forth, searching for the lost packets of lubricant. Eventually, Hajime hears the wrinkling of plastic and Komaeda settles on top of him again. Not so subtly, the taller boy is angling his hips flush to Hajime’s inner thigh. “You’ll see how badly I want to be able to do that for you, so I’m not completely useless.”

Hajime is so hyper-focused on Nagito’s lips moving, much too focused on the devoted depreciation flowing past said lips, that the slick tip of a finger dragging against his hole shocks a tiny gasp out of him. A second warm hand is clawing into his right thigh, keeping his legs spread open. Hinata’s hands grip onto Komaeda’s hair for dear life – they’ve never been here before.

No, worse. Hajime has never been here with anyone else before. Well, maybe that isn’t true. Maybe somewhere in his lost memories are first times and first kisses and a new happy relationship with someone now unknown.

All he’ll remember now is the easy slide of a finger pushing inside of him, the luckiest student trembling and breathing out his first name under a jagged breath. The long finger crooks inside, pressing around experimentally before pulling out and coming back in. Hajime doesn’t hide the catching of his breath or the gentle shift of his hips down to meet the cautious hand.

Nagito swallows every one of Hajime’s reactions, and the moment he realizes he isn’t doing terribly Hajime can see it click in his eyes. They grow hungrier, his movement becoming confident. A second finger sliding beside the first, brazenly scissoring them apart and back together on the outstroke; it burns until repetition cures it, morphing into a pleasant heat. Nagito continues repeating Hinata’s name like a broken record, or a begging prayer, so Hajime must wonder aloud, “Are you thinking of what it will f-feel like…?”

See, even if the memories come back tomorrow, and even if Hajime comes face to face with the reality of a life he’s lost, he will see Nagito and bloom with attraction. Burst with the want of being trapped inside his consciousness, his complicated mind. Hajime will run back to the drug and use, that’s how this addiction of his works.

Nagito manages to tear his delighted gaze from where Hajime is taking his fingers, to look into golden eyes instead. “I’m thinking that I won’t be surprised if the cottage collapses before I get to experience what is surely one of the most incredible things to exist on this earth ~ how Hinata-kun looks and feels when he’s filled with pleasure.”

Blunt nails drag from the base of Nagito’s cottony locks to the peaks of his shoulders, scratching prominent red lines (too easy to do on someone with Nagito’s fair complexion.) Hajime is rutting down on his fingers, the lube warm and allowing for Nagito to flick his fingers in and out at a ruthless pace. Komaeda is reaching all the spots that tingle and itch for him to touch, one spot in particular earning him a broken grunt from Hajime in response to being prodded forcefully.

Hinata’s muscles clench, his hole tightens over both slick fingers and Komaeda doesn’t stop poking it. Fucking his fingers in and out, lips and teeth dragging across the brunet’s hot cheek, and his dick rubbing into Hajime’s leg. “Even if the whole island collapses… we’ll be fine. I-I trust your luck,” Hajime pants, nails imprinting small crescent shapes all over Nagito’s upper back.

You’ll just say any embarrassing thing in bed, huh? Hajime has to chastise himself, he’s so disappointing sometimes.

Nagito wheezes, twisting his fingers devilishly before wordlessly pressing a third finger in beside them. Hajime moans, but it breaks off into a whine – his cock is throbbing, red and angry at being neglected. “You don’t know how cruel my luck can be, Hajime,” Nagito warns breathlessly, by now his own hard cock has slipped from his shorts and is smearing precum along Hajime’s bare skin. Nagito not wearing underwear to bed is too sexy to think about right now, because then it leads to the inevitable, get inside me, get inside me, get inside me.

“Hey,” Hajime begins mischievously, the continuous heat rubbing in and out against his tight walls is becoming numbing, making him jump with want. “Maybe when you come inside me, I’ll get residual luck. Let me try it out, come on.” Hajime isn’t scared to egg him on and get him to hurry up.

Komaeda’s rhythm falters, the break forcing Hajime’s hips to wiggle in search for friction. A whine cracks the brunet’s voice apart once those warm fingers slip out of him, Nagito sitting up and grabbing a pillow out of the pile by Hajime’s head. Wet hand grips Hinata’s waist, maneuvering the pillow underneath his hips intuitively for support. Just as quickly, Komaeda pulls his shorts off and slicks his leaking cock up with a new packet of lubricant. Candlelight is attractive on his skin and white locks, like a vignette filter is implanted inside Hajime’s eyes.

“You could have anyone here, Hinata-kun,” Nagito says, wet head rubbing against Hinata’s rim. Already played with and gagging desperately for Nagito to get inside. “Your talent must be incredible, with the hope I sense inside you, it must be -”

Nagito’s words break as Hajime forces his hips down, inching a wet head inside, and his nails are scratching down to Nagito’s scapula’s to leave their mark everywhere. Nagito is hot where they meet, and Hajime can’t control the spastic clenching of his hole around it. Without any more barriers between them, Nagito slides in deeper, an electric current climbing Hajime’s spine and zapping his nerves with a burning need.

Nagito is groaning and mindlessly pushing closer to Hajime. Pink lips slide across the expanse of Hajime’s lax jaw and both of Nagito’s hands are hiking up the tanned boy’s knees to subconsciously fuck himself further inside Hajime.

Brunet is writhing, moaning please and Nagito shamelessly. Hajime’s hips rock abruptly, nails scraping down Nagito’s sides before his fingers anchor into his exposed ribs. “You knew me,” Hajime slurs as Nagito decides to rock forward on his own accord, this heady drag of a long, pink cock in and out of Hajime – it’s amazingly devastating. “W-we knew each other, I know it, I know you knew me before.” All Hajime can see, smell, and taste, and touch is Nagito. Surrounding him in sweat and skin and hazy fog.

Teeth bare against Hajime’s throat, biting and suckling until Hajime is sure a red mark has formed, only then does Nagito respond in puffs of hot breath against his tender skin, “I’ll die Hinata-kun, I’ll die after this, this is too much- too much for me, I don’t deserve this,” Nagito is mumbling, babbling with disbelief.

Fingers are digging harshly into Hajime’s legs as they fuck slow and hard, likely going to leave behind marks in the shape of Nagito’s fingertips. This dirty grinding of their bodies has Komaeda’s cock leaking inside of Hajime as if the clenching of the brunet’s stretched hole is milking him of everything threatening to spill out.

Hajime gasps and twitches as Nagito curls closer, sliding in perfectly against that bundle of nerves deep inside Hajime, the spot that makes his cock jump and weep for the lucky student. “Please, p-please right there,” Hajime cries out, encouraging his classmate to attack it.

Nagito fucks this spot deep within him like a man possessed, encased in a pleasure so thick that it has Hajime spasming while being pounded mercilessly. The lube is squelching, their skin is smacking, loud enough rival Hajime’s uninhibited cries of satisfaction.

Hajime’s muscles are tingling, numbing as his stomach burns and crackles with a desire threatening to break loose. “I trust you; I trust you… you feel so good,” Hajime continues to cry out, all his walls are down like this, and then his lips find Nagito’s in a heated kiss.

Nagito kisses back clumsily, teeth and tongue and spit clashing in a battle of desire. “Do you want to be filthy?” Such a raspy voice shoots down Hajime’s throat, filling his chest and creating a wave of goosebumps to crawl down both his arms and legs. “Do you want me to ruin you ~ ?”

“Y-yes, yes ruin me please, come in me, please,” Hajime begs, squeezing his legs tightly around Nagito’s abdomen to lock him in place, giving him no means of escape – no choice but to make a big mess inside him.

Nagito sneaks a hand between their sweat slick bodies, holding Hajime’s cock tight in his heated fist, stroking in time with his harsh thrusts to draw ragged moans from Hinata.

A rush of warmth bleeds from the brunet’s tight gut, spread thighs trembling violently with a tension threatening to crack him apart. “Na- Nagito, Nagito, Nagito- I’m, I’m!” Hajime breaks off with a heavy, panting shudder, thick ropes of cum spraying between them and painting their chests.

Like a bolt of lightning cracking a wooden ship in half, succumbing to the volatile waves thrashing in the middle of a devastating thunderstorm. Calming rain dribbles down Hajime’s back, washing over him like droplets of pure serotonin. Nagito is blanketing him, Hajime’s hole still squeezing his full, red cock in a chokehold – only a few thrusts more until Nagito is crying out Hajime’s name and releasing his orgasm deep inside him.

Panting, chests expanding against one another, skin sticky with effort and making it difficult to peel apart. It takes Hajime nearly five minutes before his respiration rate is back to normal, but it takes even longer for the fog to clear out of his mind. All there is to focus on is the way his body burns as Komaeda pulls himself out of his abused hole, how cum dribbles out of him and paints his inner thighs, and how his beautiful first and only is shaking with the aftershocks of what just happened.

Pale green eyes find golden ones, the atmosphere around them thick with emotion – Hajime is reeling, nearly lightheaded with all the implications of what they’ve done together. There’s no going back, it must be a matter of time now before something goes left, that has to be what they’re both thinking.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Hajime demands to know, but it comes out in a whisper. Tanned fingers drag up Nagito’s pale back until he’s able to twirl cottony locks of hair around his distal first knuckle.

“When I was in elementary school my family and I boarded an airplane for a family trip, and the airplane was hijacked.” Hajime can only blink as Nagito begins to narrate, going along for the ride to wherever this story will take him. He’d nearly forgotten that Nagito promised to tell him about his parents sometime, but he didn’t think it would be so soon. “Terrible luck, but surprisingly a meteorite fell at exactly the right time… striking the hijacker in an amazing act of good luck. But… the meteorite also hit my parents, and they died instantly. Don’t you think that’s a horrible act of bad luck?”

Nagito is speaking so optimistically, and Hajime gapes at such a blatant bad ending to Nagito’s reality.

“But in the end, I obtained my freedom and an immense inheritance. So, I guess it was actually really good luck all along.”

Hajime balks, not able to keep up with such a rapid shift in emotions about the situation. “All that happened, really? And you blame your luck for it to this day?” The saddest part of it all, Nagito seems to take responsibility for every little thing that happens around him. Hajime kind of already knew that, but it’s concerning to know just how far that goes.

Slowly, Nagito rolls off Hajime to come lay beside him instead. While momentarily facing away, the fair ultimate blows air towards the flickering candle hard enough to extinguish its tall flame. Hajime’s eyes struggle to adjust in the sudden darkness, but his ears nearly perk up at the sound of a raspy whisper released between them.

“The cycle will continue, it always does.”