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“It’s just another day,” he tells himself. “Just push through it.”
It’s like a mantra to him; something to keep focused on when he’s put through yet another instance of his luck cycle making him suffer. Well, maybe “suffer” was too grave of a word. He’s been through worse, after all – far worse.
It’s just that all the other times were due to circumstances beyond his control. He’s been reassured time and time again that the other instances weren’t his fault, and really, it seemed like his luck often had a mind of its own more than anything.
But this…?
He laughed breezily, feeling his ribs ache under the pressure. The line of blood coming out of his nose became one with the blood coming out of his split bottom lip.
This was malicious. This was something the others could control – something they could stop at any time if they had that restraint.
And he gets it, it’s hard being a Reserve Course student; he understood that well enough now. But people like them, regardless of their talent or lack thereof, would never see eye-to-eye even if he tried to explain that he was on the same level. It seemed that at the end of the day, all they’d ever want is a punching bag to lash out their frustrations on.
And well, for all the trash-talking he’s done about the Reserve Course up until now, Nagito certainly feels that maybe he deserves this a little.
A few more shaky breaths leave him, the taste of blood in his mouth becoming increasingly more repulsive as the minutes roll by. The other boys stand around a few feet away like vultures, contemplating whether they should get one more kick in or flee the scene before security catches on. But he has to stay still, stay silent and bear it for a little longer. Maybe he’ll just get some rest. He doesn’t want to draw attention while there’s still students milling around the building; who knows what’ll happen if an innocent bystander gets caught up in his luck.
After a few long minutes, he cautiously opens his eyes and sees that he’s finally alone. Nagito picks up his head and looks around out of curiosity, remembering how the other boys had dragged him by the scruff of his collar and kicked him until his body collided against the side of the building. It was all a little hazy from then on out, besides the taste of salt in his mouth and gravel between the crown of his molars. Although the occasional kick to the gut stunned him back to consciousness, it didn’t last very long before he’d pass out again, with his body as weak and disgustingly sickly as it is.
Moving to check his phone hurt too much, so he opted to lay there, waiting for the sun to dip into the horizon a little more so he could slink back to his dorm like he’s done time and time again.
And so, he lets his eyes flutter shut as his breathing evens out; warm and throbbing bruises growing colder in the evening shadows. It’s not cold enough for anyone to fall ill, but knowing his immunity, it’s damn likely that he will anyway – maybe deathly enough to skip a few exams, even.
“What a pain…” He mumbles to himself under his breath, not catching the way the not-so-distant footsteps suddenly scrape to a halt against the concrete.
“What… the hell…?”
Nagito’s body jolts against the cold and damp concrete of the building, head whipping in the direction of the familiar voice to see one of his worst fears realized. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders when that changed from dying alone and unloved to Hajime Hinata finding him in a helpless and pathetic state.
“Hinata-kun, what a pleasant surprise…” Despite the way his torn lips burn and ache, he gives a small smile at the sight of him. He wonders when his boyfriend managed to make him feel secure enough that he didn’t have to think about his old fears anymore. He wonders how he manages to simultaneously make his heart sink with dread and soar with affection even in the condition that he’s in.
Hajime drops everything he’s carrying with a thud and runs towards Nagito, neither of them taking their eyes off of each other, before he drops to his knees, uncaring about the way his pants frayed and left his skin scraped against the cemented path. “Who… Komaeda, how did this— who did this to you…?”
The way Hajime reaches out to cup his face, run a careful thumb over his bruised cheekbone, almost makes Nagito want to cry – and it wasn’t from the way his body ached all over. He blinks away the mistiness and looks away from Hajime, shame burning in his gut before he slowly replies, “Does it even matter?”
Nagito doesn’t miss the way Hajime’s hand quivers for a moment, although he doesn’t know if it’s from anger or something else. He doesn’t even know who it’s meant to be directed towards, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it was him, even if the very thought makes his chest burn. But the second he looks back into Hajime’s warm golden eyes despite his frustrated expression, he knows the answer.
“Maybe not… now, not anymore but,” Hajime’s voice softens with regret, hands sliding down to carefully grip the other boy’s shoulders, “I want you to tell me anyway. I can’t— I won’t let anything like this happen to you again.”
If the way Hajime stared straight into Nagito’s eyes with a burning determination wasn’t enough to make him relent, the wavering yet sincere tone of his voice would do him in. He licks his lips before shakily replying, “They were just some Reserve Course boys,” he mumbles, eyes downcast once more, “I, um, don’t know what I said to upset them, but… maybe I told them a really bad joke?”
Hajime’s mouth presses into a thin line through Nagito’s sheepish laugh. He lets out an exasperated sigh before leaning back on his heels, hands outstretched to the other. Hajime’s takes in a clipped breath, heart pounding in his throat for some reason as he says the next few words.
“…Nagito, can you stand?”
Nagito had his very own special key to the nurse’s office on account of the fact that he gets injured often. Far more often than the average student, besides maybe Makoto Naegi on a bad luck streak. But even between the two of them, he’d always somehow end up with worse scrapes – bad enough to warrant constant access to medical supplies even beyond school hours.
The two of them slip in, their fingers loosely tangled together as to not accidentally hurt Nagito while also comforting him. Nagito looked back at the other with a small smile as he flicked light switch on, overhead white tube-lights stuttering to life after a breath of hesitancy.
Hajime took the lead, gently ushering Nagito to the bed, stripped of its usual crepe paper lining. Neither of them had the energy to bother – it was eight ‘o’ clock in the evening and there were barely any people around besides the security guard who seemed like he lived solely off of giving the stink eye to unsuspecting Reserve Course students.
“Come on, let’s get you seated so I can find the medical supplies.” Hajime took hold of the other’s shoulders, carefully setting him down on the bed as a shuddering pained groan leaves Nagito through clenched teeth. The anxiety that had been steadily bubbling in Hajime’s chest was now overflowing at the sound. His rough hands find their way to cup his boyfriend’s warm but gravel-scraped cheeks. He can’t help the way his frown deepens or how his eyebrows furrow together in worry over the other.
He just… can’t believe it.
Hajime swallows thickly, staring right down into Nagito’s eyes before brushing his bangs aside and leaning in to brush his lips against his forehead. And before he knows it, he does it again. And again.
Something like a giggle erupts from Nagito, “Is this your way of curing me? Because I don’t think this’ll fly in medical school, but… I admire the ambition,” he gently pulls away to look at Hajime with fondness in his eyes, “I’ve always admired your ambition; it’s what I love most about you.”
The way Hajime’s heart leaps into his throat causes him to choke a little before clearing his throat, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get carried away Nagito, I just—”
“You thought I looked pathetic?”
“—What?! No! It just… it just made me realize that I need to be there for you more, is all. I’m… not happy about the fact that you never told me but now that I know, I…” Hajime hesitates, eyes darting to the side as he feels heat crawl up his neck, “Well, you know what I’m trying to say. Don’t make me say it again.”
Hajime quickly pulls away from Nagito, away from his questioning eyes, to search around for the first aid kit. He scans the room, finding shelves full of supplies and a refrigerator full of blood bags. He reaches for the shelf first, carefully shifting aside the bottles of antiseptic to find a row of first aid kits stored at the back. The one on the far right is plucked as he returns to an injured Nagito, but not before he stops to take a bottle of antiseptic – just in case.
Nagito watches him pace across the room to the sink, grabbing a handful of cotton balls and a plastic cup of water before he rushes back to him and lays it all out on the bedside table. He doubts he’ll need the bandages anymore, given that his blood has probably already clotted the wounds shut, but his chest feels warm at seeing Hajime care so much anyway.
He carefully lifts his legs onto the bed and leans against the headrest, trying not to think about the throbbing wounds on his back. “Hinata-kun…?”
“Mhm?”
Nagito looks back at Hajime who brings the cup of water to his lips, supporting the back of his head with his other hand. Through slow sips, he thinks his words through before gently nudging the cup away.
“…When did you start calling me Nagito?”
Hajime’s gaze falters for a moment as he sets the cup back down. He says nothing for a while, working away at the first aid kit. Eventually he steps forward and helps Nagito shimmy up the bed a little, sitting down in front of him to carefully undo his jacket, vest, tie, and shirt. A few hisses leave Nagito, but nothing more; nothing that’d give away how much damage they’d actually done over the past few weeks. He couldn’t let Hajime know that.
Hajime squeezes his eyes shut at the sight for a moment before forcing them open again, taking in the small cuts and the black and blue splotches by his ribcage. A large bruise blooms over his diaphragm, and it boils Hajime’s blood to realize that he knows exactly how it got there.
Finally, he takes a sharp breath and finally opens his mouth as he runs a piece of antiseptic-soaked cotton over Nagito’s cuts.
“I started calling you Nagito today,” Hajime looks straight into Nagito’s virescent silver eyes, “And I won’t take it back. I won’t go back to ‘Komaeda’.”
The boy widens his eyes at the words, barely holding back a flinch. He takes a deep breath, steadying his heart for a moment, before looking away with a smile. “I wonder why that is, exactly…”
Hajime peels a bandage from its wrapping, blowing cool air on the freshly disinfected cut under his collar bone. Nagito shivers at chilly sensation, even though his face burns from the proximity. As Hajime pastes the bandage on, he speaks again in a gentle voice. “I just… want to be closer to you.”
“Closer? Aren’t we already close?”
He looks back at Nagito for a moment before focusing his attention back on the bloodied cotton swap in his hand. The whole bed smelled a little like antiseptic. Nagito smelled entirely like antiseptic.
“I mean, close enough that you can tell me. Close enough so something like this won’t happen next time.”
“Hinata-kun, they were just some Reserve Course students – I understand that they’re just stressed—”
“I don’t care that they’re stressed, I care about you!” Hajime exclaims, not realizing how loud his voice had gotten in the confines of the empty nurse’s office. But he didn’t waver. “I care about you.”
The room settles into silence again as a piece of cotton gets bandaged over the cut of his jaw. Hajime lets his hand linger there for a moment, fingers ghosting over his skin. Nagito is the first to start talking again.
“I know you care, but… is it really that simple? How are you of all people going to stop them from harassing me.”
Hajime scoffs lightly, “At least you realize that it’s harassment, even though that’s putting it mildly. But tell me one thing: do you really, truly think you deserve it? After all that you’ve seen, all that you’ve endured your whole life, do you really think they deserve to treat you like a punching bag?”
Not a single sound leaves the other boy. His eyes flit from Hajime’s face to the reddish wounds on his palms, and then back to Hajime’s kind expression. The past few months that he’s been dating him have been some of the best in his otherwise miserable life. He already knows how strongly Hajime feels about this, and his persuasion hasn’t fallen on deaf ears; he already knows his answer.
Hajime overlaps his hand over Nagito’s with a gentleness he didn’t know he possessed, “See? Even you know, don’t you?” He smiles and brushes a thumb over the curve of his index finger. “Even if I might not be able to stop every occurrence, I’ll make damn sure I do everything I can to keep them away from you. And in return I… want you to trust me.”
His breath hitches.
“I want you to tell me everything. I want you to be able to confide in me no matter how big or small an issue is.” Hajime’s breathing picks up, a surefire tell for the other when he feels nervous about something, “Nagito… I want you to believe in me.”
Nagito looks away huffs out in faux annoyance, trying and failing to hide a small grin on his face, “Stubborn, aren’t you?”
Yet he’s the first to lace their fingers together, ugly scrapes and cuts and all.
“Alright, Hajime. I’ll believe in you.”