Archive of Our Own ^beta

~~

It starts, probably, when they find the pallet of triple-wrapped boxes at the back of the warehouse. It takes some maneuvering to uncover what was so carefully preserved, so the whole class ends up making a day of it. While Nidai leads a veritable army of Minimarus to the challenge, Imposter takes bets on the contents, writing each name and guess and wager in neat, even strokes. Mostly, Hajime thinks, the bets are centered more on wishful thinking than any concrete proof. It is highly improbable that Saionji will find a “fuck ton of gummies” or that Souda will stumble across a “disassembled liquid fuel cryogenic J-2 engine,” but he supposes that they are having fun and that is what counts.

While Nidai and Sonia eagerly attack the plastic sheeting, Hajime becomes aware of Komaeda, standing two steps back and to the right. It’s a habit he’s developed, since waking up, deferential hovering like some lady-in-waiting. It annoys Hajime, who has learned better than to confront Komaeda directly about things like equality. Rather, he takes a perverse sort of pleasure in thwarting Komaeda indirectly whenever possible.

Hajime takes the book from Imposter and makes a show of frowning at the page. “Komaeda,” he calls. He holds the page so closely that Komaeda must lean in, long hair falling in his face, to follow his line zig-zagging down the columns, scarcely any space at all between them. “I don’t see your bet.”

Komaeda laughs softly. “Wouldn’t that be rigging the game?”

“Depends on your guess.” Hajime points out. “There is a certain amount of logic involved in gambling, one reason you’re so good at it.”

“Logical… is that how you see me?” Komaeda asks, bemused. “I suppose I could make an educated guess.”

“Humor me.”

“Something totally impractical, most likely.” Komaeda hums a little to himself, turning to face Haime fully, his back to the unboxing. Souda and Nida work the crowbars at the top of the crate. “So much wrapping means it’s probably easily ruined by wet weather…”

The crate is open. Owari looks inside and gives a loud snort of disgust. Can’t be edible.

“Stationary? No, that’s too general…” Mioda picks up a something small and square and colorful. She gives it a shake.

“Origami paper,” Komaeda says brightly, smacking a fist against his open palm just as Mioda drops the packet, small perfect squares of colorful paper scattering across the floor. Collectively, class 77B groans.

Souda leads the charge, ignoring Komaeda’s protests with “it counts, it totally counts!” so Komaeda leaves weighed down with various odds and ends according to the bet book- konpeito, a seashell in the shape of a dinosaur, a seaweed based health tonic, pictures of a particularly cute dog, an alarm clock that sprays the sleeper with water, a set of mostly unbroken watercolor pencils, a peach cobbler, a tarnished silver pendant in the shape of a rabbit, slightly squashy strawberry chocolates and several hundred sheets of origami paper. Hajime, as instigator, is voluntold to help carry the items back to the first island cottages.

“For your services,” Komaeda announces at the door, dumping the candy and pastries into Hajime’s arms.

“And because you don’t like sweet things.” Hajime sighs. “You don’t have to keep all their junk, you know, Komaeda. We can find some use for the paper. It probably burns well.”

“No,” Komaeda says firmly, and while he generally does what he pleases, he is rarely so confident affirming it. “That would be a waste.” Hajime blinks.

“Oh.” He makes a note to tell the others to leave the remaining paper alone. It’s not like it’s hurting anyone. It’s nice, he decides, for Komaeda to show interest in something. Whatever reality he was living in when dead and buried under layers of code, it left him subdued. Without the fanatical desperation of his looming luck or the drive of despair, he seems a little empty. With his white hair and his pale face and his fading smile, he has become something like Hajime’s personal ghost, only scarcely glimpsed in mirrors or around corners of buildings. Hajime half expects to wake to see Komaeda in his cottage in the middle of the night, looming over the bed. He wonders why that thought is less disturbing than it should be and chalks it up to a Kamukura thing.

Komaeda tends to work salvage shifts in the library with Sonia who reads thirty-two languages, though, she admits, her Hindi is abysmal. He sorts and cleans wonderfully, and, Sonia assures Souda regularly, is a perfect gentleman.

Two days after what Mioda dubbed The Origami Incident of ‘85 for no discernible reason, Sonia distributes tiny metal cards to everyone at breakfast. Each is embossed with a name and a tiny scanner.

“Library cards,” she explains. “The library committee has decided to allow checking out up to three items at a time.”

“You just scan the book’s UPC code like this-” Souda aims his card at a book in Sonia’s arms titled Baphomet and You! Occult Leanings in 19th Century France. The card gives a little beep, a light on the side blinking green. “Blammo! You got two weeks.”

“What happens if you keep them past the due date?” Hajime wonders, holding his card up to the light. When he lowers it again, everyone in the room is staring at him in disgust.

“I know that conditions are different than what we have, in the civilized world,” Sonia says very slowly, as though talking to a child. “But we are not animals, Hinata.”

Hajime rolls his eyes, unable to summon the patience or the interest to defend himself. “Where’s Komada’s?”

“It was his idea, so, of course, he had first choice.” Sonia explains.

Komaeda, sitting at the table by the window, drinks his blackened coffee and flips through a copy of Origami for Beginners.

“Huh.” Hajime puts his card into his pocket and gets up. It’s his turn for dish duty.

Later, Hajime finds the origami penguin in the downstairs lobby, balanced on the bar top across from the arcade machines. The lines are a little uneven so it stands lopsided on one end, like it’s hunched over protectively from the invisible cold. He picks it up and looks it over before setting it gently back into place.

An origami fox sits on the library shelf above the DIY section. Its ears were creased in the wrong direction at first so they curl under a little, giving it a hangdog sort of expression. Hajime picks up a book on water purification systems. He scans the book jacket with his library card until he hears an approving sort of beep. Sonia waves goodbye when he leaves. She is the only one he sees.

When Hajime goes up for lunch, the bar penguin has a friend. The second penguin is a little crisper and neater.

“I haven’t seen Komaeda around much today,” he brings up to Souda over curry rice. He tries to make it seem off-handed.

“It’s probably that thing,” Souda says unhelpfully.

“That thing.” Hajime echoes.

“The paper thing.” Souda gestures with his spoon. “He’s getting pretty good. Those invitation whatevers turned out kind of neat.”

“Invitations.”

“Yeah, how they opened up like flowers? Koizumi put mine back together for me after I couldn’t cause I’m clumsy. I put it on the mirror in my room. Maybe that’s girly, I dunno.”

“Invitation to what, Souda?”

“That origami meet up on Thursdays,” Souda says like it’s obvious. “It was on the invite, man.”

“I didn’t get an invite, Souda,” Hajime explains with what feels like infinite patience.

“Oh.” Souda pauses. Hums. Takes another bite and a swig of banana milk. “Probably he just didn’t want to bother you,” he decides.

After lunch, Hajime pauses on the stairs, seeing movement. Down below, Komaeda folds a half sheet of paper, eyes narrowed in concentration, adding to his Arctic tableau. After a few minutes of careful creasing, a half-sized penguin nestles between the two bigger penguins in a little penguin family.

“Can I try?” Hajime asks and Komaeda startles.

“Ah… yes, of course.” Komaeda hands him a sheet and steps to the side, cradling the How-to book to his chest. He doesn’t offer to show Hajime the diagram and Hajime doesn’t need it. He folds a crisp and perfect penguin without even trying. He hardly ever feels like he’s trying, when it’s not people.

“Here,” he says, handing it to Komaeda, who looks over its flawlessly symmetrical lines with a neutral expression. He walks to the end of the bar top and puts it down, far away from the messy loving penguin family.

“Don’t you think they’d want to stick together?” Hajime asks lamely, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Like… don’t you think he wants to be friends?”

“He’ll be happier over there,” Komaeda says with finality, stepping back to admire his work. If he moved the penguin any further away, it would fall off the counter.

Hajime sighs again. He’s been doing that a lot lately.

On Thursday, Hajime decides to sort through the junk bins in Electric Avenue like he’s been avoiding for the past couple of weeks. It’s better to do this sort of thing alone, he reasons. It is tedious, automatic work, and by the end he has a solid organization system going. He sets a couple of things aside, bundling them into his bag and bringing them back across to the main island via schooner.

The kitchen is dark. The meeting must still be on. Hajime makes himself a sandwich and eats it with his feet in the pool, which Koizumi hates because she’s worried about crumbs. It’s nice, in a childish sort of way.

It’s not like he’s waiting, exactly, he reasons. He just happens to be out here, aimlessly footing around. He plays some Gala-Omega. He plays some Pac-Man. He peeks outside periodically, feeling like a creep. Souda is the first one coming around the bend and that might be his luck working because this is probably the best possible solution.

“Hey, c’mere a second.” Hajime gestures him into the downstairs lobby.

“What’s up, soul friend?” Souda grins at him cheekily.

“Here.” Hajime shoves two bundles at him. Souda pulls open the first.

“Heck yeah, you found me one! I thought if you had your luck you might.” He pokes at the Liox Li-air battery pack with obvious glee. “What’s this other stuff?”

“Komaeda needs it for the prosthetic upgrade.” Hajime clears his throat. “Can you do that?”

“You want me to work on his robo-arm? You wouldn’t let me near it during development, like it was your damn baby. What gives?”

Hajime’s eyes focus off in the distance, toward the bar top. “I’m just… busy right now.”

“Busy.” Souda looks at Hajime, bare footed with the cuffs of his pants rolled up, still a little damp around the bottom. He then looks pointedly at the new row of top scores on their two working arcade machines.

“Really busy,” Hajime insists.

“Hey, man, if this is about-”

“Ultimate Mechanic,” Hajime interrupts. “I bet you want to do all kinds of upgrades.”

Souda shuts up, eyes gleaming at the thought. “What about-”

“Not a rocket launcher. Not with his luck,” Hajime admonishes.

“You never let me have any fun,” Souda gripes, taking the parts and heading back outside.

Hajime takes his perfect penguin back to his cottage. He thinks about crumpling it up, but Komaeda is right. It would be a waste. He puts it on his desk, the single ornament in a plain and boring room for a plain and boring person.

“Yeah,” he says to no one in particular, and he goes to bed. Even after resting, he has a hard time focusing.

“Are…. a-are you doing okay?” Tsumiki asks hesitantly during inventory at the pharmacy. They’re in the back with all the really strong stuff, checking expiration dates and carting what’s salvageable to the hospital dispensary.

“Yes. The Ultimate Pharmacist talent is an easier one,” Hajime assures her, flipping through the steroids. The prednisone is still properly sealed. He shakes the box a little and then puts it into the usable pile.

“T-that’s not what I meant,” Tsumiki murmurs. There’s a bright green origami rabbit peeking out from her apron pocket. “You haven’t been coming around much, and w-we were worrying-”

“If no one asks me for help, it’s because they don’t need it. If they don’t talk to me, they don’t need to talk to me.” Hajime discards several thoroughly crushed blister packs of allergy medicine. “I’m helping you, aren’t I? Because you asked. If someone asks me, I’ll help them.”

“W-what if Komaeda asks?” Tsumiki asks timidly.

Hajime snorts. “Komaeda is never going to ask me for anything,” he says with finality and after that they work in silence.

~~

Nagito is in the back practicing penguins like usual when Hinata next comes to visit the library. He stays out of sight, but the open door lets him listen in as he presses folds into blue and white paper.

“Your mortal shell lacks vigor,” Tanaka notes from behind the counter where he is helping Sonia remove the unsightly relics of time lost past- his phrasing for wiping the dust jackets free of dirt and pollen. Hinata’s returned the book on electrical system hybridization, so Nagito supposes that the rewiring has gone off well. Lately, Hinata’s productivity has been at a record high. It is abominably conceited for one such as himself to take even the slightest credit for such an endeavor, but he can’t help feeling a little personal pride.

Hasn’t he kept his distance beautifully? Hasn’t he distracted the others and kept them entertained so as to not disturb Hinata’s most important work?

Origami Thursdays are a terrific success, he decides. Perhaps he’ll ask Mioda about a Karaoke Friday or something.

“We have not seen you for breakfast recently,” Sonia tells Hinata worriedly.

“I’ve been getting an early start,” Hinata says. Nagito chances glancing up as he leans over to pick up a fresh sheet of paper off the pile. Hinata has not noticed him, or is ignoring him, perhaps. His eyes are fixed on the high shelf behind the counter. There’s a little fox family there now, too. Three little kits. They are a disgrace. The Papa Fox has to be discreetly propped up using the corner of a children’s book. Hinata should not have to look upon such trash. Nagito’s fingers fairly itch to hide them away.

“Do you like them?” Sonia asks, noticing Hinata’s gaze. “They are so very cute! Komada has been putting them around. We’ve been helping.”

“The ice-visages in the den of inequity are particularly enchanting,” Tanaka agrees.

“I do so love penguins! Though I thought I saw four, earlier. There’s only three now.” Sonia says thoughtfully.

“You must have miscounted,” Hinata shrugs.

On his way to lunch, Nagito checks.

Hinata’s penguin is gone.

Well. That’s fine.

Hinata’s origami was so obviously superior. Ultimate Handicrafts, probably, or something of that nature. To put his creation alongside Nagito’s amateurish mess was an insult. It probably had a much better place to live now. Perhaps he should check.

When Hinata goes for a run by his lonesome after dinner, along the sandy beach, Nagito takes a quick look inside his cabin. It’s not hard to jimmy the lock, with a hairpin and a bit of luck. The penguin sits on Hinata’s desk and Nagito feels a small swell of pride at that too, though undeserved. It was his paper, his past-time, perhaps even his influence. He picks it up and looks it over, admiring its perfect creases. He gives it a tiny kiss on its little beak, feeling a bit foolish and lovelorn and yet… it’s nice. Hinata made it, after all.

He locks the cabin and leaves without disturbing anything. It might be a bit creepy, but then Nagito is perfectly aware of his own glaring faults. Besides, it’s not as though he breaks into Hinata’s cabin often.

Once or twice a week, at most.

Rarely when he’s sleeping.

~~

The thing is, Hajime isn’t without sympathy. This used to be what it was like for him, wasn’t it? Komaeda. People just putting up with you. Of course they like Hajime, of course they do. He saved them. It’s just- he’s kind of creepy, right? And even when someone talks to him, he’s not great at it. No Ultimate Conversationalist skill, ha-ha!

It’s only fair, he reasons. Ultimate Sociologist totally gets it. Pack dynamics. Social identity approach. Secondary Interpersonal attraction. These terms apply to class 77-B, with shared history and loss and recovery. This current hierarchy, with him perched along the top, is different altogether. The Ultimate Despairs are an emergent response group. Temporary bonds formed according to external trauma. And now they are dissolving.

Because Komaeda has memories with them, memories of before, memories with Nanami. All Hajime has is shared Despair.

Hajime is helpful. He knows he’s helpful. He’s a human multitool, for crying out loud. And he keeps them in line, mostly. Keeps them from breaking anything too important. It had been annoying, all the hovering and fluttering but now it’s gone. Respect. Reverence. Not love.

But maybe that’s not good enough. Not when you’re looking for reasons to stay.

It isn’t like he sat down and planned it out, his leaving. It’s just that he looked up during dinner, in the middle of a table, in the midst of conversations that do not invite him in and realizes he is an empty chair. This would be the same either way, and wherever he goes, he will be just as hollow.

“I haven’t seen you smile like that before,” Komaeda says quietly, when he picks up Hajime’s dishes. He’s on clean up duty tonight. Hajime shrugs. It was a smile of relief. Once a problem is identified, it can be corrected.

Physical work always helps his mind clear, so it’s a few days later when Hajime takes a break from ripping the piping out of the walls outside the factory, the sweat running down his face and soaking his shirt. It’s too hot for this, just a little past noon, but he doesn’t want to sit still. Busy, he decides, is better.

He pulls off his shirt and uses it to wipe his face. When he looks up, Komaeda and Saionji have stopped where they were coming down the middle of the path. Komaeda stares.

“What?” Hajime asks, annoyed.

Komaeda turns on his heels and heads to the warehouse.

“Good talk,” Hajime mutters, throwing his shirt to the side of the path.

“He’s probably just really grossed out,” Saionji says, voice syrupy sweet. “You’re pretty disgusting right now, bro.”

“What are you two doing out here anyway?”

“More origami paper,” Saionji grins. “I’m giving private lessons.”

“Gross,” Hajime says with feeling.

“Are you jelly? Lime green jelly?” Saionji crows. “I’m a master of Japanese arts, you know!” She smirks up at him and Hajime just feels exhausted.

“So go get your paper and leave me alone,” he mutters.

“Don’t have to tell me twice!” Saionji sings, disappearing from view.

By the time Hajime finishes converting his irritation into manual labor, he’s got a sky-high pile of copper pipes and two pulled muscles in his back. He hobbles into the warehouse, looking for something to use as a walking stick till he can get to Nidai’s healing hands and sees the open crate, still ridiculously full of paper. On top, haphazardly discarded, is a single paper crane.

Komaeda’s paper crane. He can tell by the way the edges overlap slightly to the right. It must be particularly hard to do, with one robot hand. He imagines Komaeda unfolding and refolding, unfolding and refolding, mouth twisted to one side in concentration, wonders what it would be like to mess that up for him, to touch that expression.

He folds one. Two. Ten. Twenty. Fifty. By the time he gets to one hundred, his breath is even and his back hardly throbs. Speedy recovery and all that. He puts them in an empty box and slides it behind the crate.

When he gets to the dining hall, the chaos is in full swing but he still feels calm and centered. Souda notices him in the doorway after a bit and waves him over to try and make room, but Hajime just grabs an orange juice and waves.

“I need a shower, I’ll eat later.” Komaeda’s eyes follow him out of the doorway.

He can’t remember the last time he was in such a clear thinking mood. Ten days, he decides. Ten times one hundred is one thousand. Ten days is plenty of time. He will prioritize the repairs, focus on the ones that require varied talents, and then he will leave a thousand paper cranes and this island behind.

~~

Nagito is suspicious.

Ever since he’d caught that peculiar smile on Hinata’s face, he’s been suspicious. Nagito is not particularly clever or capable or even useful, but he does have a head for delicate tasks like cleaning or folding origami and he is the resident expert on Hajime Hinata.

Of course the others had noticed and asked and of course he had answered them vaguely, with a reassuring smile but underneath it all, Nagito watched as he always did and waited and thought.

It was so hard to maintain distance, sometimes.

Hinata, sweat slicked and muscles stark as he worked outside in the unforgiving sun.

“Put your tongue back in your fucking mouth,” Saionji had sneered once she’d found him in the warehouse after their run in, hugging his own arms tightly and blinking brightly at the wall, overloading on the memory. She threw a piece of paper at him and he had caught it and folded a perfect white crane. The motions calmed him back to normalcy and he left it on the top of the crate, whimsically.

But he doesn’t like how hard Hinata is working. Like there’s a kind of deadline approaching. He goes for a walk, letting his feet carry him along. With his luck, he’ll figure it out in no time. It takes a day or two to figure out where in the warehouse his luck is telling him to look.

One hundred paper cranes.

“I-I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Tsumiki says happily as Hinata closes the panel of the MRI, the light on the side glowing a sudden reassuring green.

Two hundred paper cranes.

“Ibuki is totally gonna write a song about this!” Mioda crows when the lights flicker on properly backstage at the Titty Typhoon and the fog machine whirs to life.

Three hundred paper cranes.

“I thank you for your dedication,” Imposter murmurs imperiously as Hinata brings the diner oven to a steady, even flame. Imposter has a basket of oysters under one arm, ready to roast. He might be drooling a little.

Four hundred paper cranes.

“Fuckin’ unbelievable,” Kuzuryu blinks when Hinata makes the adjustment and then his bionic eye flares to life. “I feel like a goddamn superhero.”

Komaeda checks nightly and sees the number growing and growing, strung together in long strands. What is it for? What does it mean? Every crane is so perfect and Hinata is working so very hard. He sets up Koizumi’s dark room. He works on the desalination station. The greenhouse. The atmospheric purifier. Communication encryption.

Five hundred, six hundred, seven hundred, eight hundred.

“You look tired,” Nagito says nervously, running into Hinata in the the storage room accidentally-on-purpose. He takes two large steps backward.

“I’ll take a break soon,” Hinata explains, shutting down the back up generator now that it is running smoothly. “Then I’ll sleep for a week.”

“We will take pains not to disturb you, then.” Nagito assures him and Hinata just smiles vaguely in response. Nagito loves Hinata’s smiles. Not that one, though.

Nagito’s luck had fizzled out that morning during dish duty and caused a power outage for two hours, just long enough to collapse the delicate souffles Hanamura had planned for a special dinner treat. He decides that it’s better to keep his distance for now, in case there is more bad luck on the way. Nagito heads to the warehouse, to drag out the crate from under the worktables and to count the paper cranes. It’s terrifically soothing. He wonders what will happen when Hinata reaches one thousand. Something wonderful, he bets.

In the crate, there are nine hundred perfect paper cranes. Beside the crate is a knapsack. It has dried rations, a portable water purifier, a multi-tool and a stun-gun. Crumpled in the pocket is a draft of a note. To him. To all of them.

By the time you are reading this…

Nagito takes a deep deep breath. His mouth twists up on one side.

What terrible luck.

~~

After Hajime finishes the last of the essential repairs, he decides to head back to his cottage to shower up and to try writing his farewell note again. All the eloquence of the Ultimate Literary Genius, unable to write a short and sweet goodbye. Pathetic. After dinner, he’ll slip over to the warehouse and finish the last hundred cranes. His one small bag is already packed and waiting there. The shower he takes is a long one, and very hot. He enjoys it- it may be the last hot shower he has for a while, the world being what it is out there. He’s still toweling his hair roughly when he walks back into his bedroom and sees it- a single, perfect crane on his bed. White.The same crane he’d first seen in the warehouse, he realizes, picking it up.

Then someone clamps a rag around his nose and mouth from behind and everything goes black.

It is some time later when Hajime wakes up in bed. It is soft and he is comfortable. Someone has tucked him in on all sides, something he can’t remember ever experiencing before, even as a child. He blinks sleepily. Someone is banging on the door. It’s very annoying but he can ignore it, if he likes, so he does. There’s yelling now, too. What is it they’re saying… Fire? Someone is yelling Fire, Fire, how cliche.

He’s nearly asleep again when he recognizes Souda’s voice.

“YO!” Souda screams. “Get the fuck up, Komaeda set the warehouse on fire!”

Hajime blinks. He sits up.

“...Again?”

~~

Nagito whistles tunelessly as he watches the building burn. As an after thought, he pulls the origami penguins from his pocket. One, two, three from the lobby, one from Hinata’s cottage, liberated during what he likes to think of as the Sleepytime Phase. Mioda had been less than amused by that, actually. She’s over with the others, staring at him and the fire and him and the fire as though something will change. It will not. He wanders closer to the building and they shy away. Nagito drops all the penguins into the fire together.

“If you’re going to burn, better to burn together,” Nagito murmurs, smiling.

He’s not crazy. He isn’t.

Probably.

~~

“Wow.” Hajime crosses his arms, watching the Minimarus fighting the flames. It is both adorable and futile. The rest of their classmates huddle in a little group on the other side- as far away from Komeda as they can manage.

“The accelerant was a bit more potent in real life, I’m afraid,” Komaeda smiles cheerfully, two careful steps behind.

“Komaeda?”

“Yes, Hinata?”

“... why did you set the warehouse on fire?”

“You only had a hundred left,” Komaeda says, like it’s obvious. “You had to be stopped.”

“You set the warehouse on fire because of paper cranes?” Hajime wonders sometimes if he’s actually just having some kind of aneurysm and this is all some long, drawn out hallucination sequence.

“No, Hinata,” Komaeda says very slowly and Hajime swallows back the urge to hit him in the mouth. “I set the warehouse on fire because you were leaving.”

Hajime blinks.

“I knew you were up to something when you started working yourself to death. That list,by the way, the one you keep in your desk? Not the order I would have put those tasks in, but I’m sure someone as talented as you had your reasons. When I saw you had already packed your bag last night, I knew I had to act quickly-”

“Wait, when did you-”

“When you were sleeping, obviously,” Komaeda continues, as though this is the least important detail, “But I think you were really quite unfair, you know. I’m not sure what else I could have done. I was trying to be considerate, distract the others to let you have some breathing room, and then you go and do a thing like that. Honestly, I’m disappointed, if that’s as far as your hope can take you.“

“Can we go back like… to step three? Or something? Because…” Hajime trails off.

“The point is that you’re not allowed to leave the islands.” Komaeda shrugs carelessly. “Sorry, but that’s just the way it is.”

“I’m not allowed?”

“Nope.” Komaeda smiles again. “No more cranes, no more leaving.”

“The two aren’t… I mean, I could just… make more paper cranes.” Hajime says, bewildered.

“Most of the origami paper was lost in the fire. Turns out it does burn well! You’re so clever, to have known that. But if you find more or you make more, that’s okay. I’ll just burn those too.” Komaeda’s face settles into a peculiar expression. “But there’s no need for that. Someone as important as you has to be here! I can help. I can stay further back, if you like? Three… no, five steps? I can stop speaking to you directly, if the sound of my voice is too unpleasant to bear. Maybe I could only come out during the night, once everyone is asleep, so no one has to see trash like me? Those are just suggestions, please feel free to direct me how you please-”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hajime runs a hand down his face in utter exasperation. With his free hand, he grabs Komaeda by the wrist and drags him over to the others.

“Tell them you’re sorry,” Hajime orders.

“I am very sorry you must all co-exist with such a garbage human being,” Komaeda chirps.

“About the fire!”

“Oh. Did you want me to lie, Hinata? That doesn’t seem very nice.” Komaeda temporizes, tilting his head to the side.

“You are such a freak,” Saionji sneers.

“Crazy son-of-a-” Souda clutches at the front of his jumper, gritting his teeth.

“Somebody oughta put you down,” Kuzuryu says darkly and Pekoyama puts one hand on her bamboo sword.

Komaeda nods and nods. “But it was necessary, you know! For hope. And now our hope will stay.” Komaeda turns huge adoring eyes on Hajime. So does everyone else.

“Wait… what is he talking about?” Koizumi asks suspiciously.

“You were gonna leave?!” Owari bellows.

“Where the hell d’you think you’re going, punk? Too good for us now, is that it?” Kuzuryu turns on him and Pekoyama puts her hand back on her bamboo sword.

Hajime holds up a hand. “No. Stop. Look. I thought… and I was… it doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving,” he says. “Anymore,” he adds. They look thoroughly unimpressed. And there’s Komaeda, looking friendly and gentle and sooty and only maybe one tenth as insane as he actually is, but. Also. Didn’t it… wasn’t it… sort of… working?

He isn’t leaving, is he?

“Fuck, I’m tired.” He groans, almost to himself.

“Chloroform does that to people,” Komaeda agrees in a knowing sort of way.

“I need to lay down.” Hajime says after a solid thirty-sixty seconds where he just covers his face and breathes heavily. “Now that the fire is contained, I need to lay down.”

Komaeda nods sagely but is then suddenly dragged up and along the path back to the bridge and the first island.

“Hinata?”

Hajime increases the pace. He can feel something building up inside of himself, as inexorably as the ocean. He just needs to get inside. If he can get back to his cabin he can sleep.

“I can see that you’re upset with me. Completely understandable! I’m imposing upon you with my presence. The very air that I breathe is like poison around you. It would be best if I stopped my disgusting voice altogether-”

Hajime grabs Komaeda by the shoulders. “Shut up,” he orders, but the buzzing in his head is so thunderously loud that he can’t be sure the words are coming out at all. Komaeda’s mouth is still moving. Words are still pouring out.

Hajime shuts him up. He puts a hand against Komaeda’s mouth and holds it there. “Stop,” he begs. “Stop holding back. Stop putting me to the side. Stop ignoring me. Stop whatever you’re doing to make them ignore me too, Komaeda… I can’t do this. I can’t take this.” Tears of frustration are escaping but he doesn’t care. They’re still in front of the ranch, haven’t even made it back yet, but Hajime just wants to lie down in the dirt. “Pay attention to me. Be around me. Be normal, okay? Be your normal, be your regular weird fuck self, I-” his voice breaks.

~~

Nagito reaches up with his free hand and pulls Hinata’s hand off his face. He turns it around, till the fingers curl up toward the sky. He looks at Hinata impassively.

Had he always been so weak and soft? A little space and Hinata doubts their love already. Utterly faithless. Utterly disappointing.

Nagito loves that part of him too.

He presses a kiss into Hinata’s fingers. The knuckles. The wrist. Each is a soft and reverent thing. “You’re tired, aren’t you?” He asks, between kisses. “Poor Hinata. You must be so tired.”

Hinata lets go of Nagito’s wrist and reaches up to scrub angrily at his face. Nagito takes that hand too. They’re standing in the middle of the path where anyone can see them, but if Hinata isn’t going to kick him into the dirt over it, he can’t be bothered to care what the inferior talents will think or feel. It’s Hinata’s decision, so if he chooses to have such appalling foresight as to allow Nagito free reign, well. Nagito won’t be the one to tell him he’s making poor life choices.

Nagito leads, this time, their fingers laced together, and they go back to Hinata’s cottage. He makes no move to open the door; likely as not, he’d forgotten the keys in his haste. Nagito knows that fires tend to do that to even the best of people. Luckily, he has a hairpin.

“You’re too good at that,” Hinata sniffs warily.

“Thanks!” Nagito grins as he pushes open the door. He locks the door behind them. Hinata shucks his shoes and his shirt on the floor, which is a bit messy, but Hinata has had a rough day, so Nagito will let it slide this time. He tucks Hinata in on all sides and leans against the foot of the bed, head resting on his elbow, watching with a contented smile.

“You’re so goddamn creepy,” Hinata complains, throwing an arm over his eyes to keep from seeing him. “And embarrassing. And awful.” Nagito nods along. “Get off the floor,” he orders.

“The floor is too good for someone like me, but surely you don’t want to leave me unsupervised?” Nagito suggests. Hinata hauls him up by the elbow.

“Get in the fucking bed,” he says, and Nagito does, sliding happily between the sheets. He’s so warm, this steady physical presence that dips the mattress so they lay close together on the tiny bed. Nagito traces the path from Hinata’s shoulder down to his hip.

“You smell wonderful,” Nagito sighs, face buried against Hinata’s shoulder, curled into the shape of his body from the back. He smells a little sweaty from the run, but clean and quick, and still a little like shampoo. He nuzzles the back of Hinata’s neck and Hinata shivers.

“You smell like smoke,” Hinata says flatly. “Take your clothes off.”

~~

Hajime would like to tell himself that he didn’t mean those words to come out that way. That this, like the thing about the origami, like the thing about leaving the island, was just a big mistake. It’s just that when Komaeda slides back into bed, warm, soft, completely naked, and starts kissing the back of his neck with those same slow, even, deliberate kisses, he doesn’t want him to stop.

Komaeda’s hair still smells like smoke.

Hajime rolls over to face him anyway.

“You’re so fucking crazy.” Hajime murmurs, pulling him close. He holds Komaeda properly, holds him close to his chest like Komaeda might dissolve if he doesn’t. He might slip right through Hajime’s fingers and into the mattress and into the dirt. He might slip off in the night and set something else on fire. He might hurl himself off a cliff. Hajime kisses Komaeda’s cheek. His ear. The side of his nose. The corner of his mouth. “I can’t leave you alone. What the hell would you do?” He doesn’t let Komaeda answer, pressing his mouth against Komaeda’s and leaving it there, just breathing the same air. Occupying the same space. Komaeda kisses him back, gently. The wet slide of lips. Languid. Sleepy. Loving.

“You brought me back,” Komaeda reminds him, slipping his arms around Hajime too, dragging fingers down his broad back gently, making Hajime squirm. “Take responsibility.”

Hajime does.