Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was a changing stall a bit up the beach on Jabberwock Island, tucked away between a few trees, a perfect distance between the pool and the ocean. It was made of white tile walls that came up about six feet high, though it lacked any kind of ceiling or roof. The inside lacked any necessities of a changing facility; there were no lockers, or benches, or even showers. It was entirely barren, forgotten and unused, likely built to be a bathroom but never had any of the plumbing installed. It sat among the sand and some trees, reflecting the sunlight and blending into the scenery.

Hajime didn't think much of it, at least not for the first few months they were there. Why would he? It was an abandoned changing room, forgotten entirely by the population.

Though, Hajime must admit, he did see a strange number of people entering and exiting it each day. At first, he barely even noticed; Miu slipping in and out every day, Nekomaru and Akane joining together to both sneak in and out whenever they could get the most nighttime cover. He still didn't think much of it, just that it was weird they always left in the same clothes they went inside in. Seriously, do they know what a change room is?

Hajime tried to ignore it, though the mystery of the abandoned change room was weighing on him more and more each passing day. He found himself even trying to get closer to it; standing outside during the day, observing who went in and how long they were there. It was rare somebody was in there for shorter than ten minutes, though most averaged at half an hour.

The sun was nearly set one night, the darkness casting over the beach in shadows large enough to consume the changing room entirely. Hajime approached the structure, a mix of doubt and curiousity piquing in his mind. He nearly walked directly into Gundham as he curiously peaked his way around the first wall; the entrance being set up to conceal the inside of the structure behind a short hallway.
“Oh, hey, Gundham.” Hajime said, clutching his chest to calm himself from the spook. Gundham merely gave him a quick, curt nod before shoving past him, disappearing into the night quickly. “...okay?” Hajime said, shaking his head. He guessed he shouldn't be too put off by that; after all, it was Gundham.

Hajime slowly stepped through the entrance, coming around the end of the hallway where he could actually see into the room. He stalled instantly. If there were anything in his hands, he would've dropped it.

Hajime really, truthfully did not know what to expect to find in here, but his first guess really was drugs, or alcohol, or even a TV or something. When he looked at what was in front of him, his eyes went wide, his skin pricking up in goosebumps as he got the very distinct, hard to shake feeling that he was witnessing something he wasn't supposed to.

“Nagito?” He said, staring at the sight in front of him. There were no lights in the structure, making it hard to make out detail, but Nagito was kneeling on the tile floor in front of him, placed perfectly so he was the first and only thing you saw when you came into the room. Nagito looked up, the remaining light glinting off his teeth as he gave Hajime a kind smile.
“Hajime! I never expected you to grace me by requesting my services. What can I do for you?” Nagito said. The distinct politeness in his tone made Hajime feel almost itchy as it made his skin crawl.
“...Services?” Hajime asked, staring at Nagito with his eyes wide. Surely, this wasn't what it looked like. But as Hajime’s eyes followed the other thing glinting in the scarce light, he realized that Nagito’s wrists were bound by metal.

Nagito gave a shy smile, confirming what Hajime was already suspecting; that the service was him. Hajime genuinely had no idea how he was meant to respond to that; though, he probably wasn't really supposed to see this at all.
“I'm providing myself to a higher purpose.” Nagito said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, forcing Hajime to remember bumping into Gundham on his way in.
“...Oh, uh,” Hajime nodded, now making a conscious effort not to look below Nagito’s face. He glanced around the room, noting the lack of furniture save for an old black couch tucked away in a corner behind a privacy wall. There was a stack of towels in the corner and a few plastic bottles with labels he couldn't make out in the dim light. “Have you been doing this the whole time we've been here?” Hajime asked, recalling that he really didn't see Nagito out much during the day, if at all. He only ever ran into him at night. Nagito chuckled, shrugging his shoulders, the chains on his wrists jingling with the movement. “The idea came to me when I noticed this change room that didn't seem to get used. What better opportunity to give myself a true purpose?”
“Nagito, what the fuck,” Hajime sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you… sleep here?” He asked, his curiousity getting the better of him. He didn't exactly want to say he was worried, but he couldn't help but think of how cold it could get at night.
“No,” Nagito said quickly, then looked to the side, then back at Hajime. “Well, sometimes. It depends on who I see last that day,” he admitted casually, no hint of upset in his tone.
“What do you mean?” Hajime asked, tilting his head to the side.
“I can do the binds, but I'm not able to undo them myself.” Nagito replied with a shrug, shifting slightly, clearly uncomfortable from kneeling on the tile. Still, he didn't complain. “I rely on others to release me if I've done well. If not, well,” he chuckled, giving another shrug. “I’ll try harder the next day.”
“There's… no way you should be allowed to do this.” Hajime said, unsure how or if he should address the situation at all. It was nearing 10 pm, and he didn't know if anyone would be around to let Nagito out tonight.
“Even if you're abstaining, plenty of others don't. If it's for the good of the ultimates, who's to say it's bad?”
“I’m… not even going to try to handle this one.” Hajime said, shaking his head. He was screaming at himself to leave it alone, but he couldn't stop his mind swarming with questions and concerns about the situation in front of him.

Hajime wanted to leave, go to his cabin and forget about the whole thing. But one thing plagued him; Nagito’s wrists were bound together in front of him, and he could hear the night time announcement starting over the intercoms.
“How do you take those off?” Hajime asked Nagito, praying Nagito wouldn't be weird about it.
“Oh, Hajime, I couldn't possibly ask you to-”
“Shut up, it's cold tonight. Tell me how to take them off.”
“The key’s around my neck.” Nagito answered. Hajime looked closer, squinting as it had gotten darker. Around Nagito’s neck was a chord, and on it, a key. Hajime studied the binds, realizing that they were two thick metal cuffs around his wrists, connected by a chain between them. The lock was just a little bit too far down on Nagito’s wrists for him to be able to reach it with his hands while they were bound.

Hajime took in a deep breath and sighed as he kneeled down in front of Nagito, much closer than he really ever intended to get to him. Hajime grabbed the necklace, trying not to touch him, but unable to avoid grazing his hair or the back of his bare shoulders as he undid the clasp. He took the key to the lock, shoving down and stomping on whatever small part of his brain wanted to acknowledge that Nagito was naked, and his wrists were tucked neatly between his partly spread legs. The lock clicked open easily, and Hajime breathed a sigh of relief as he took a step back.
“Thank you, Hajime. I can't ever repay your kindness-”
“Yeah, it's fine,” Hajime cut him off. While Nagito remained cheerful, Hajime could see the way he rubbed his wrists, his eye twitching just a bit as he pushed himself, trembling, to his feet. “Jesus, man. Are you okay?”
“Okay?” Nagito’s gaze fell on Hajime, his lips falling into a grin. “I'm better than okay. I was able to provide a service, to provide hope, to so many others today,”
“Yeah, if that's what you call it.” Hajime shuddered. “Well… goodnight. I'll, uh, see you around?” He said awkwardly, disappearing out of the change room before Nagito could reply.

“What the fuck.’’ he muttered to himself, making his way hastily back to his cabin. “What. The. Fuck.”

Chapter Text

Hajime hated how much more aware he was of the change room now, every time he passed it. He'd look at the white tile, finding it now more ominous than pretty, knowing what was happening inside. It had been almost a week now since he'd seen Nagito, naked, on his knees with his wrists chained together. He glared at the ground as he walked, trying not to think about the only thing he wanted to think about. He couldn't tear his eyes away as he walked past the change room, not quite tall enough to see over the walls, but he didn't have to be. He held his breath to hear better, listening to the sounds coming from the change room.

“It's not creepy,” he told himself, leaning against the far wall to listen to what was happening. He wasn't listening to get off; he was listening, as much as he hated to admit it, because he was worried about Nagito. Did he really let them do anything? Were there no rules?

Hajime didn't hear much, truthfully. He heard Nagito give a greeting, muffled by the wind and walls. He heard noises, little pleas from Nagito and quiet grunts from whoever else was in there. Hajime didn't expect it to be so… mild. His face was flushed, feeling honestly nothing but creepy as he listened to the sound of Nagito’s servitude.

He waited until the person in the change room left, peering around the wall as they walked away and circling in where they couldn't see him, terrified of anyone knowing he’d been listening, even if he had good intentions.
“Hajime! It's great to see you,” Nagito said with genuine excitement in his voice. Hajime turned red, somehow not having realized the state he'd be seeing Nagito in in broad daylight, seconds after the person he was serving had left.

“Uh,” Hajime looked him over, his eyes wide as they could be. Nagito’s throat was bruised on both sides, red and purple marks he wasn't sure came from a mouth or fingers. He couldn't stop his eyes from trailing down, looking at Nagito’s chest and stomach, damp with beads of sweat. Nagito was laying on the floor on his side, propped up on his hands. From the position he was in, it almost looked like he had been pushed over. Beads of something a bit too thick to be sweat were splattered over his hip and down his back, and his wrists were bound by the same cuffs Hajime had undone last week.
“I'm sorry you had to see me in such an indecent shape, I usually have a bit more time between services,” Nagito chuckled, his breath catching as he managed to sit up on his knees, which Hajime could now see, in the light, were covered in scabs and bruises. He frowned.
“Nagito, are you alright?” He asked, noticing the bruises on his shoulders and ankles, too.
“Don't concern yourself with me, Hajime.” Nagito smiled. “Can I offer you my service? If you'd prefer and don't mind waiting, I can clean myself up first.”
“No, that's alright.” Hajime said, his blush returning just after it had started to subside. “Are you always here? Surely you take breaks, don't you?” He asked, and by the way Nagito gave a small shrug with a smile, he realized that Nagito likely relied entirely on the others to control his schedule.

Hajime sighed, looking him over, slowly getting used to seeing Nagito’s bare skin. He looked around for something, anything he could give him, but found the place entirely bare.
“Is there any water I can give you?” Hajime asked. Nagito tilted his head to the side curiously before replying.
“There's some in a bag between the couch and the wall.” He told him. Hajime went over to the couch, discovering a small bag of essentials hidden away in the small open space. He rustled through it, grabbing a bottle of water and a handcloth from the pile of towels Nagito had.

Hajime set the towel and water within reach of Nagito, but hesitated to hand it to him directly, noting that his fingers were slightly wrinkled.

Hajime felt a shudder creep up his spine at the way Nagito smiled gratefully at him, taking the water and drinking faster than he obviously intended to.
“You're shaking.” Hajime said before he meant to. Nagito slowly set the bottle down, wiping his mouth with his bare arm.
“Only a little. I'll be okay.” He said with a smile. “I shouldn't take up so much of your time without offering you something, Hajime. It's not very… helpful of me.” Nagito said with a genuine discomfort in his voice.
“Nagito, you… you look a little…” Hajime shuffled through words in his head. ‘ruined’ came to mind, but instead he said, “tired.”
“I'm not,” Nagito said quickly. “I'm alright, Hajime. Providing hope for others is just… it's enough for me.”

Hajime watched as Nagito sat back with his legs crossed, now seeing the distinct blood smears on the tile from who knows how long of kneeling. His eyes widened once again, feeling what he wouldn't admit was a surge of protectiveness.
“You're bleeding.”
“Am I?” Nagito said, concerningly reaching up to the side of his head first.
“From your knees, Nagito. Is your head okay?”
“Oh, yes- it's just an old bruise.” Nagito answered. “My knees are fine, really. You shouldn't worry about it, it's just what happens when I'm most useful.”
“You shouldn't talk about yourself like that.” Hajime said before he could stop himself. Nagito flinched in confusion, not really able to understand why or what Hajime was arguing.

Hajime sighed, taking the cloth and pouring water on it. He reached for Nagito’s knee, pausing as he flinched, his leg shying away.
“You don't have to do that.” Nagito said.
“I know I don't.” Hajime said, pushing past the awkwardness and gently guiding Nagito to extend his knee. He wiped the dried blood from the scrapes, holding Nagito's leg by the back of his thigh. Hajime kept telling himself this was nothing; that he'd do this for anyone. Nagito inhaled sharply as Hajime wiped a fresh scrape, revealing the still bleeding skin underneath.
“Do you have any bandaids?” Hajime asked, forcing himself to stay calm.
“In the bag.” Nagito replied quietly, as if he'd become weaker.

Hajime returned with a bandaid, placing it carefully over the bleeding scrape on Nagito’s knee.
“Hajime, please, I must repay you.” Nagito said. Hajime almost chuckled, wondering how in God's name he ended up in this situation.
“That's alright, Nagito.” Hajime said, looking him over still, for reasons escaping even himself.

A short silence washed over them. Hajime wasn't sure what to say, and by the time he was opening his mouth, he could hear footsteps coming in through the entrance. He froze, horrified at the idea of anyone seeing him there.

“Sorry, I didn't know anyone was- Hajime?” Kazuichi looked at him in surprise. “I’ve never seen you around here before.”
“Oh, I- uh-” Hajime stammered, watching as Nagito naturally moved quickly to be on his knees, his legs slightly spread, his cuffed hands between them. He felt a lump catch in his throat at the sight, and forced himself to focus on Kazuichi. “I- I- I was… uh, I was just…” Hajime looked between them. He didn't want to leave Nagito alone, but he knew, on some level, that it wasn't his place to interfere. He bit his tongue, taking in a deep breath. “I was just… leaving.” He said, giving Nagito one last look. When Nagito gave him a nod, telling him it was okay, Hajime left the change room.

He didn't know where to go, but as he heard the sound of a zipper being undone and what sounded like a chain being pulled, he really had no interest in sticking around.

Hajime speed-walked until he was out of earshot before he let himself walk at his normal pace. He saw a group sitting around a table - Hiyoko, Mahiru, Ibuki. Hajime hung around just close enough to listen, standing just on the outskirts of their conversation, waiting for the right time to step in.
“Seriously? You saw Gonta go in there?” Hiyoko giggled, making a disgusted face.
“It's not like they haven't all done it,” Ibuki said. “Seriously, like, all the guys and half the girls go in there.”
“Have you?” Mahiru asked. Ibuki shrugged, and everyone burst out laughing.

Hajime wondered how he didn't know what was going on with Nagito sooner, because it seemed normal to everyone else. He pretended to be occupied by his E-handbook as he continued to listen.

“Honestly, I feel bad for him.” Mahiru said as she brushed sand off of her leg. “It must be hard. I don't think he even gets out of there most nights.”
“Ugh, gross. He probably gets off on it. What a freak.” Hiyoko said.
“I mean, I think that's the point.” Ibuki replied.
“I actually heard he doesn't, that no one's seen him do it.” Mahiru added. It was getting too weird for Hajime, hearing everyone discuss Nagito so openly in such a depraved way.
“Seriously? That's some insane self control.” Ibuki commented. “I bet I could get him to, though.”

Hajime actually shuddered. He couldn't listen to this anymore; he walked away, praying he'd find somewhere where he didn't have to think about this for a while.

Chapter Text

“Hey! Heard you finally did it!” Hajime flinched as a large hand clapped on his back in congratulations as he walked into the dining hall the next morning.
“Huh?” Hajime looked up at Nekomaru, confused.
“Don't play stupid, Kazuichi saw you coming out when he was going in yesterday. I honestly didn't think you had it in ya. How was it? Did he do that thing where he-”
“What are you talking about?” Hajime interrupted, anxiety blooming in his chest.
“Come on, you fucked Nagito!” Nekomaru roared a laugh, and Hajime really, really wanted to sink into the floor.
“No, I- I didn't, I was just… checking on him,”
“That's what we all say the first time.” Nekomaru said. “But, I mean, unless you're a really weird dentist-”
“Do you mind? I'm just trying to get breakfast.” Hajime snapped, and Nekomaru clued in that he wasn't really interested in talking about it.

Hajime let out a breath of relief when Nekomaru gave a shrug and walked off to talk to someone else. He sighed, closing his eyes tightly. Against his better judgement, he chose to sit with Kazuichi.
“Nekomaru was on my ass the first time, too.” Kazuichi said with a shrug of acknowledgement, like he was saying ‘what can you do?’
“You told everyone you saw me there.” Hajime said, not quite an accusation, but the threat hung in the air. Kazuichi held up his hands in defense. “Woah, I didn't mean to like, out you or anything-”
“I wasn't even doing anything! I didn't do anything with him!” Hajime insisted desperately. Kazuichi raised an eyebrow.
“Right, man, sorry.” He said, though Hajime couldn't actually tell if Kazuichi believed him or not.

There was a beat of silence before Kazuichi clearly couldn't handle it.
“Look, man, it was weird for me at first, too. You go in there, and he's just… kneeling there. You don't know how long he's been in there, if he's showered, eaten, if he's left- you really do feel like you're doing something wrong. But… I don't know. He really seems to enjoy it. I didn't touch him the first time, either. I was way too freaked out.”
“I didn't do anything with him,” Hajime said. He felt dirty, knowing everyone thought he did. Still, he was conflicted; it seemed normal for everyone else.
“Right, man, but… you will, if you go back. And I think you know that, don't you?” Kazuichi said with as little accusation as possible as he sipped his coffee. Hajime let out a groan, stopping just short of letting his head fall forward to hit the table.
“I know.” Hajime admitted quietly. “And I really, really want to.”
“Hah! Knew it, you're one of us.” Kazuichi laughed. “Don't beat yourself up over it. I… honestly and truly do believe Nagito likes what he's doing.”
“I just… I get worried. His knees were all bloody the other day, like he'd been kneeling on that tile for days without a break. Even if he likes it, it can't be good for him.”
“Yeah, man, it's brutal.” Kazuichi agreed, surprising him with the acknowledgement. “It's kind of a hard thing to get used to, but you do.”

Hajime shuddered at the cold way in which everyone saw Nagito, even those who didn't fully accept the situation as normal.

Hajime didn't notice the way the dining hall went quiet at first. He sighed, opening his mouth to continue talking to Kazuichi.
“How do you get over how… gross it feels?” He asked, but instead of replying, Kazuichi kicked his leg under the table, desperately nodding his head in a direction just barely out of sight behind Hajime. He turned slightly, stalling at the sight.

Nagito. He was out, during the day, dishing what barely looked like enough food for a toddler onto a plate. Everyone was staring at him; nobody had seen Nagito during the daylight in months. Nobody had really seen him clothed in months, either. But there he was, in a baggy T-shirt and shorts just long enough to come down past his fingertips, his green jacket almost covering the outfit entirely.
“Nagito,” Hajime said quietly, speaking to himself without meaning to. “Jesus, look at him. He's like a ghost.”
“He's alright. It's good that he's out, right?” Kazuichi replied, though even he seemed unnerved. Nagito glanced around, finally seeming to notice that everyone in the dining hall was staring at him. His eyes landed on Hajime specifically, who he gave a small smile, as if he were the one trying to reassure Hajime.
“He probably still has the cuffs on.” Kazuichi muttered under his breath. Hajime wanted to kick him, but as he looked closer, Nagito did seem to exclusively hold his wrists no more than three inches apart, indicative of a chain, even if he couldn't see it under his jacket sleeves.
“This isn't…” Hajime faltered. Normal? Okay? What was considered ‘normal’ at this point?
“You don't have to just… let it eat you, man. You can go talk to him about it. He’ll tell you whatever you ask.” Kazuichi said.
“I'm not sure I’d want to know.” Hajime replied, not even realizing the pattern he was falling into; openly discussing Nagito, in front of him, as if he couldn't hear. As if he were a product in a store.

When Nagito stepped out of line with his tray, the crowd didn't mold around him. He had to awkwardly step around others who refused to acknowledge his presence, treating him like some kind of spirit. He didn't seem to mind. He made his way to the far corner, seemingly aware but not caring that Hajime specifically was watching him. Nagito sat on the floor in the corner, despite many clean tables being free.
“He's probably just used to being on the floor.” Kazuichi noted. Hajime frowned. Was that meant to make him feel better?

Hajime watched Nagito eat, confirming by the awkward way he held his fork with both hands that he was definitely still cuffed. It was too early in the morning; it was clear no one had let him out last night. He'd slept in the cuffs, and no one let him out in the morning, either. Who knows how long he'd been waiting with metal clamped around his wrists.

Hajime shuddered, trying to turn his attention back to his food, but unable to find any interest in what was slowly becoming more cold and unappetizing by the minute. He sighed, unable to shake Nagito from his mind. He stood abruptly, ignoring the way heads turned to look at him. He gritted his teeth, swallowing his pride and walking over to Nagito.
“Hey, is it alright if I…?” Hajime said as he knelt in front of him, trying to be subtle and quiet with how he handled Nagito. While he knew he wouldn't be able to get the cuffs off right here and now, if he was careful, he could quickly disconnect the chain between them so Nagito could actually eat. With one swift motion, he unclicked the chain from one cuff, the metal clank of the chain falling against the other cuff muffled by the general sounds of the dining hall. It happened so fast, Nagito didn't have time to say anything before Hajime was going back to his seat, everyone staring at him.

“Dude, come on.” Kazuichi chuckled as Hajime sat back down. “You're too soft.”
“He sleeps in that change room if no one lets him out of the cuffs. He probably only came out in them as a last resort.” Hajime said, unable to ignore the thought.
“Oh.” Kazuichi muttered, looking down, a look of what may have been guilt on his face.

Hajime couldn't help but watch Nagito, observing the way his hands still moved unnaturally, now as if he were confused by the distance between them. He watched him drop his utensils a few times, it genuinely getting harder to watch with every time. He was almost relieved when Nagito ended up throwing out most of his food and disappearing from the dining hall, seemingly in the few seconds it had taken him to look away.

A few hours passed before Hajime couldn't handle his own thoughts anymore. He’d been walking around the island, pacing, trying to ignore the change room, yet somehow managing to pass it every five minutes, no matter what route he took. He hadn't really noticed anyone going in today, but then again, he wasn't paying too close of attention. On his fifth pass by the building, Hajime sighed, Kazuichi’s words from this morning playing in his head.

‘you will, if you go back.’

Hajime shook his head. He wouldn't; yet, his feet seemed to already be on the white tile, hovering in the entrance. He waited a beat, listening to hear if anyone was there. He thought he was in the clear, until a gasp cut through the air, followed by intense panting.
“Just like that, you're getting better,” a voice chuckled. “Come on, again. I'm timing you,”
“Yes, ma’am,” Nagito’s voice trembled, just out of sight behind the privacy wall. Hajime froze in his tracks, unsure whether to leave or listen. Nagito took a deep breath, then… nothing. No noise other than quiet, occasional praise. Then, after a minute, Nagito gasping again.

Hajime shuddered, clueing in that whatever was happening, it involved Nagito holding his breath. He didn't want to hear any more; he couldn't. His feet carried him out of the change room before his brain had even made the decision, guiding him promptly back to his cabin, where he stayed the remainder of the day.

Chapter Text

The clock had passed midnight by the time Hajime, awake and restless, hesitantly opened the door to his cabin, slipping out into the night.

He was just checking on him; just making sure he was alright. He walked silently across the island, having to duck into a few unexpected detours, just to avoid bumping into anyone. By the time the tile structure came into view, it was probably closer to one in the morning.

Hajime hovered by the entrance, listening for any indication that there were people inside. He heard nothing; not even after he waited a few minutes. Maybe Nagito was sleeping.

Even after he stepped into the main room, it took Hajime a few minutes to realize that Nagito was nowhere to be found. Not kneeling on the tile, not sleeping on the couch, not even curled up in a corner.

“Someone probably let him out.” Hajime reassured himself, though he didn't like that he didn't know where Nagito was at all. He debated waiting for Nagito to come back, but he didn't even know if he'd be coming back that night at all. Hajime shuddered at the idea of falling asleep here and being found by anyone in the morning who was looking for Nagito.

Hajime sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets in defeat as he turned to leave the empty change room. As he turned, his entire body smacked into something, both of them yelling and falling back.
“Hajime! I'm so sorry, I feel terrible you had to run into someone as stupid and clumsy as me.”
“Jesus, Nagito. You scared me.” Hajime said, ignoring Nagito’s comment. “Where were you?”

Nagito shifted his weight between both feet, like he had just a bit more energy than he should.
“I stopped by my cabin. I'm sorry, I should have been here to offer my services. It was stupid of me to shower when I could have been needed.” he apologized. Hajime had to focus his eyes to make out what Nagito was wearing, and realized that for once, he was wearing something… normal. The pajama pants and a baggy T-shirt clued Hajime in that Nagito probably wasn't even returning to the changing room for the night, but more likely stopping by to grab something he'd forgotten.
“No, it's fine. I wasn't- I wasn't here for that. Who unlocked the cuffs?” He asked, glancing up at the sky to avoid looking at Nagito.
“Chiaki releases me quite often at the end of the night. She's very generous that way.” Nagito said with a smile.

The conversation died between them. Hajime looked around, hoping he could find anything to start a conversation about, but every thought died before it reached his mouth.
“Why are you here, Hajime?” Nagito asked. “Most come for a service, one way or another. You… haven't asked me for anything. Is there something I could do to make myself less repulsive to you?”
“What is your problem?” Hajime demanded. “I- you're not repulsive! Why do you say things like that?”
“Hajime, I'm sorry. I don't understand.” Nagito said truthfully. Hajime frowned, knowing that he didn't, either.

“I don't know why I keep coming here.” Hajime finally said, shaking his head. “I guess it's just… a bit insane to me, what you're doing. The things the others say about you are kind of hard to listen to sometimes.”
“What do they say about me?” Nagito asked, his head tilting to the side.
“I don't know,” Hajime backtracked, a blush creeping onto his face, recalling things he'd heard about Nagito in crowded rooms where people didn't seem to care who listened. “Just… stuff about what they do to you. What you do for them.”
“I'm honoured to have made such an impact.” Nagito’s face lit up, even visible in the darkness. Hajime had to fight himself not to shudder.
“It's hard to talk to you like this, you know.”
“Would you prefer if I knelt?”
“No, Nagito.” Hajime lost the fight to his shudder, wrapping his arms around himself to pretend that it's the cold, and not Nagito, making him feel that way.

“It doesn't hurt me.” Nagito said quietly, after a beat of silence. Hajime’s breath stalled. This couldn't happen.
“What if, one day, it does?” Hajime asked.
“It hasn't yet.” Nagito said, delicately lowering to his knees, tucking his wrists between his legs as if he were bound. Hajime didn't want to look; he couldn't.

He did.
“Nagito, please,” Hajime breathed. He wanted to step back, but his legs were frozen in place.
“Would you do me the honour of using me, Hajime? Of letting me offer you my services?” Nagito asked, sitting still where he was. Obedient; ready for anything.

Hajime grit his teeth, taking in a few deep breaths from his nose as he stared down at him. He shouldn't have come here again. He knew he shouldn't have.
“I can't.” He said quietly, finally.
“What's stopping you?” Nagito asked.
“I don't know.” Hajime breathed.

Nagito sighed himself, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
“May I stand?” He asked politely.
“Please, do.” Hajime welcomed gratefully, begging to be on more even ground. “You should go to bed, Nagito. You looked tired in the dining hall this morning.”
“It doesn't matter if I'm tired.” Nagito said with a small smile as he slowly rose to his feet again. He held his hand to his mouth, barely concealing a yawn. “I'm always grateful to serve.”
“Well… how about you serve me by getting some sleep tonight, okay?” Hajime said, his heartbeat slowly calming after how close he was to doing something he'd regret earlier.
“Yes, sir.” Nagito smiled.
“Don't- don't call me that.” Hajime shuddered again, this time as he was heading out the door. “Goodnight, Nagito.”
“Goodnight… Hajime.” Nagito said quietly, a quiet settling noise audible as he allowed himself to lay on the couch.

Hajime still couldn't sleep when he got back to his cabin. His stomach twisted in knots as he laid in bed, remembering just the silhouette of Nagito kneeling in front of him in the darkness. He wouldn't give in to it; he couldn't. But the way Nagito practically begged him, like Hajime was the one who'd be doing him a favour… he sighed, turning on his stomach and furiously closing his eyes.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Hajime woke up disoriented after not getting enough sleep, confused as to why he was still in his clothes from the day before and why, when he moved, his pants felt so sticky.
“Oh, god.” He grumbled, shoving his face back into his pillow in embarrassment, even as he's alone. He barely even remembered the dream he had last night, but tiny fragments came back to him; Nagito, kneeling. His mouth. The way his eyes looked when he was looking up through his eyelashes. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” he muttered, fighting the urge to scream. He was officially in over his head, and he wasn't sure which direction would lead him out, if any at all.

Hajime had to talk to someone. He needed to speak to someone who'd understand his conflict; someone outside of the situation entirely. He'd talk to Kazuichi, but while put off by it, he didn't actually seem to care about what Nagito was doing, just that it benefitted him.

He quickly changed into fresh pants as he dashed out of his cabin, desperate to be anywhere he wasn't alone.
“Hey, Mikan. Can I ask you something?” Hajime asked, finding her alone at a table reading a book.
“Oh? Sure.” Mikan replied, turning her attention to Hajime as he sat down, eyeing him curiously.

Hajime realized he didn't actually have a question in mind; more of a vague idea.
“Do you think… what Nagito is doing, do you think it's actually… good for him?” Hajime asked, taking a moment to find his words.
“Nagito? He's… well, I don't think he has much of a problem with what he's doing.” Mikan said meekly, focusing her gaze on the table. “Sometimes he comes to me if something happens that he can't handle himself, but that's only been a few times.”
“Something… like what?” Hajime asked, emotion flaring up in his chest as his brain went through every possible thing that could've happened to Nagito.
“Nothing serious that I can remember. Once he came in with a split lip because he couldn't stop the bleeding, and another time he had a sprained ankle. I don't think I can remember anything other than that.”
“Did he say how he got them?” Hajime asked, his eyes wide. A split lip was bad enough; he wanted to say he couldn't believe Nagito had sprained his ankle, but from all the times he'd heard the quiet thud of what sounded like someone being pushed to the ground from inside the changing room, there really wasn't a part of him that was surprised.
“No, he didn't. I'm sorry, I wish I could be more helpful.”
“No, that's okay. This did help.” Hajime said as he stood up.

Hearing about Nagito sustaining injuries bad enough to go to Mikan forced his vision into a tunnel, unable to focus on anything else. Nagito was getting hurt; he didn't have to think about anything else. His feet were moving for him, bringing him somewhere he seemed to always find himself ending up, no matter the time of day anymore. He paused, hovering outside as he'd grown so accustomed to doing, listening for any sounds.

Hajime froze when he heard voices, his train of thought completely stalling.
“Good, like that.” The voice was male; quiet, murmuring praise in a way that was so gentle, Hajime’s anger began to subside. Instead, it was replaced with a hungry curiosity as he leaned against the cool tile, holding his breath to hear better.

“Could you.. fuck, that's good,” the voice grunted. Sweat started to bead on Hajime’s eyebrow, but he didn't dare wipe it away, too afraid of being heard. He stayed rooted in place, telling himself it was to make sure Nagito was safe.

Hajime’s heart started pounding when he started to hear a noise other than the voice; other than the careful instructions of the other man. He could hear Nagito, clear as day, moaning as he provided his service.

Hajime’s throat was tight. He adjusted himself with one hand, fingers trembling. He shouldn't- it was wrong, he kept telling himself. He shouldn't be listening, but fuck, something was happening to Nagito that was quick; something to make him whimper over and over in quick succession. He sighed through his nose as he ground his palm into his crotch, a weird attempt crossing somewhere between searching for relief and trying to forbid himself entirely.

Hajime couldn't stop picturing it. He didn't have much to work with, just a few disconnected voices and the implications he was able to infer from the pitch of Nagito’s voice. The image invaded his brain, making itself a home front and center. Whoever was in there, they were speeding up. Nagito was struggling to match them, panting and whimpering out half-gasped apologies. Hajime couldn't help but picture that Nagito was riding whoever was in there, taking it hard, his knees threatening to give.

“Th-thank you for finishing, sir,” Nagito said with a trembling voice, his breath uneven and ragged. Fuck. Hajime wanted to slam his head into the wall; he wanted to split his forehead open so all his thoughts about Nagito could spill out and he wouldn't have to think about them anymore. He was really picturing it; Nagito, trembling where he lay on the ground, too weak to really sit up, but still somehow grateful for what he'd endured.

Nagito was grateful. It kept playing in his head; he was grateful for anything, no matter what it was. He'd probably even thank you for cumming in his mouth.

Hajime’s breath hitched. His hand stilled, shoving down hard as if that would somehow mitigate what was already in motion. He heard footsteps approaching, and he knew he only had seconds to move before whoever was in there with Nagito would see him and know he'd been listening.

Hajime tore himself away like it was physically painful. His legs trembled, his knees fighting him to move as his body experienced what he tried so hard to avoid. He could only get as far as hiding away behind one corner of the building, about ten feet from where he was.

Hajime held his breath as he watched Fuyuhiko leave the change room and disappear up the beach. For some reason, when he walked into the change room, he didn't expect the sight in front of him.

Nagito was on the tile. Not kneeling; not even looking up. He was on his front, bracing one palm against the ground, his legs tangled awkwardly. His hair was splayed like an oil spill, his entire body trembling.
“Nagito, are you… alright?” Hajime asked slowly, observing how Nagito glistened with who knows what.

Concern rose in Hajime’s throat as Nagito failed to reply other than a struggled whimper.
“Nagito?” He knelt, placing his hand on his shoulder, wincing at the dampness of his skin.
“S-sorry, I didn't- I didn't expect anyone so soon.” His voice trembled. “I’m happy to service you, Hajime, but… I- I might need a short break, first.”
“Jesus, Nagito. What happened to you?” Hajime asked as he helped Nagito sit up. Guilt forced its way through him as he had to confront that this was the aftermath of what had him so aroused. Nagito, alone, splayed on the cold tile.
“Nothing bad, Hajime.” Nagito chuckled.
“I find that hard to believe.” Hajime replied.
“Why's that? You were listening, weren't you?” Nagito asked with a knowing smile. Hajime froze, letting out a slow breath. He looked to the side, refusing to meet Nagito’s eyes.
“Do you need me to get you anything?” Hajime asked, ignoring his statement entirely.
“I couldn't possibly ask you to do anything for someone as lowly as me.” Nagito said with that same fucking grin he always had.

Hajime stared down at him. Nagito’s hands were cuffed, placed delicately between his legs.
“It's alright that you don't want to reach your full potential yet, Hajime. I understand you're afraid.” Nagito said, smiling up at him.
“That's not-” Hajime’s voice faltered, knowing Nagito was impossible to argue with.
“The others use me as a tool. But you… you're different. I'm not sure what you want with me yet. I keep trying to figure it out, but you're a mystery to me.” Nagito reached his hands up, grazing Hajime’s thighs with his fingertips. He didn't flinch as Hajime stepped back. Still in his reach; not further than his arms could go. Just barely enough to ask for space while giving the chance for Nagito to deny his silent request.
“I just…” Hajime didn't know what the fuck he was doing.

Everyone else did it. It was a normal occurrence; encouraged, even. A joke among friends, spoken openly among crowds. Hajime despised the fact that if he did it, too, he'd be just like everyone else. But Nagito was hard to ignore; sticking in his mind like a stain he couldn't wash off.

Hajime knew he'd be back again tomorrow. And the next day, and the day after that. He was just seconds away from cumming in his pants barely five minutes ago, standing outside the change room. He knew Kazuichi had been wrong; he wouldn't fold the next time he went, but his chances of keeping his hands to himself were getting lower every single time he returned.

And the worst fucking part? Nagito would let him.

Chapter Text

“This is deplorable! How could you subject yourself to such a thing?!” Hajime froze outside the change room, hearing a completely different voice than usual, booming over the beach. For once he really was passing by; not even within usual earshot, but Kiyotaka’s voice, righteous as ever, cut through the early morning breeze.
“You're absolutely right, Kiyotaka. I'm a degenerate, really.” Nagito’s muffled voice replied, taking his scolding kindly.
“Absolutely you are! You- you-” Kiyotaka sputtered, clearly not expecting Nagito to agree with him. “You… better stop this! This- this filthy- I need to lie down,” Kiyotaka sighed, rushing out of the change room just seconds later.

Hajime rolled his eyes, realizing that even people who were against Nagito’s actions were still finding ways to use him. His feet steered him toward the change room, not bothering to listen for others before walking in. He was surprised to see Nagito on his feet, leaning against the wall, drinking from a water bottle.
“Hajime! What can I-”
“Shut up. Do people really just come in here to yell at you?” Hajime demanded.
“Ah, you're talking about Taka. He is the ultimate moral compass after all,” Nagito chuckled, taking a sip from the bottle. “It helps him to take out his frustration, regardless of his chosen method.”
“So… not everyone- you know,” Hajime didn't want to say it, but Nagito showed no sign of shame.
“Not everyone comes for the same reasons.” Nagito replied casually.

“Is Monokuma making you do this?” Hajime asked suddenly. Nagito actually laughed; a true sound of amusement left his lips as he replied, “Why would Monokuma make me do this?”
“I- I don't know!” He sputtered. “Who's locking you in those every morning? Someone has to-”
“I am.” Nagito cut him off, a beat of annoyance recognizable in his tone. “There is no mastermind here, Hajime. Just me. Is there anything I can do for you, really? Or do you just like listening?”
“I don't-” Hajime froze. He did. “No! I don't want you to do anything for me!”
“Really? Nothing?” Nagito’s head tilted to the side, a small smile on his lips. Nagito was naked down to his feet, yet now that he was standing, Hajime was increasingly aware that Nagito was, as he always had been, just a tiny bit taller than himself. He was so used to seeing him on the ground that it felt weird not to perceive him as small. “I could clean your cabin, if you wanted.”
“I-” Hajime faltered, considering it before realizing how much he hated the idea of Nagito touching his things. “No! What is your problem?!”
“My problem? I'm just trying to be useful.”
“You're not being useful.” Hajime argued, but it was a hard argument to make when seemingly everyone but himself treated Nagito the same. “You're- you just-”
“Why does this bother you so much?” Nagito asked, surprising Hajime by the question. “It's not because you're against it. You wouldn't spend so much time on the other side of the wall if it did. You'd stay away, wouldn't you? You wouldn't rush in right after I got fucked into the tile to see what I look like after I get it really good. would you, Hajime?”
“I hate hearing you talk like that.” he shuddered, shifting his gaze until Nagito was fully out of his sight. “I- I didn't-”
“You wish it was you. That's it, right? You wish it was you and nobody else, then it would be okay. You'd have all the control you want.”

“Nagito,” Hajime glared at the ground. He shouldn't have come here. “that's not it.” he muttered, fury blazing in his chest as he remembered every conversation he'd had with Kazuichi, every sound Nagito made that he could hear over the wall, every fucking person he’d run into, walking out just as he walked in.
“Would you tell me what's wrong with me, then?” Nagito asked, his tone purely sincere. Hajime wanted to scream; he knew what Nagito was doing. He knew he was being backed into a corner.
“There's nothing wrong with you.” Hajime muttered.
“Then touch me.”
“I can't.”
“Why not?”

Hajime didn't know. He couldn't think of any reason that he genuinely believed. He let his gaze shift back to Nagito finally.
“Where am I supposed to start?” He asked. “I wouldn't… I wouldn't know what to do.”
“You can do whatever you'd like.” Nagito smiled.
“People say that you don't…” Hajime didn't know how to ask, but knew he had to. “That you've never…”
“What, got off?” Nagito asked, chuckling at Hajime’s refusal to say the word. “I guess word would spread around, wouldn't it?”

Hajime’s nails were digging into his palms. He tried to hide that he was shaking, but anyone with eyes could tell.
“Is it true?” Hajime asked. Nagito smiled, his head tilting to the side cutely without answering.
“I thought you said you'd do anything? Answer my question.” Hajime demanded. Nagito’s face twitched slightly, falling just briefly before returning to smiling.
“It's usually not something I strive for, or even really think about. But it can happen if I'm instructed to. Is that what you want? To watch me-?”
“Nagito, oh my god!” Hajime interrupted him so he wouldn't have to hear him say it, his face turning beet red.

Hajime couldn't believe that he'd considered it, even for a second. He opened his mouth to speak when a figure appeared in the doorway, dark and looming.
“Good morning, master!” Nagito greeted him excitedly.

None of them knew what to do. Nagito didn't kneel, knowing it would upset Hajime, but obviously annoying the figure in the doorway in the process. Nagito looked at Hajime, his eyes pleading.
“I was just leaving.” Hajime muttered, walking toward the door. It was big enough for him to avoid Gundham entirely, but he still let his shoulder slam into him on his way out anyway.

Hajime didn't mean to hang around; at least, that's what he weakly told himself, barely staying on the thought long enough to think about it at all. He wanted to intervene, to hear something that would justify stopping this.

Hajime shuddered, his entire body involuntarily flushing as he listened. He was purposely ignoring Gundham, choosing to hear all of his commands as quiet, muffled nonsense. He focused on Nagito.

“O-oh,” Nagito breathed, his voice carrying clearly over the wall. “That's- that's very k-kind of- ah!” He gasped. Hajime imagined his back arching. “Please, let- let me- oh my god,” he whimpered, his composure breaking just barely. Hajime wished he'd worn looser pants. He adjusted himself, shifting uncomfortably as Gundham’s voice became impossible to ignore.
“Fulfill your purpose, Nagito. Ascend your very being!” He exclaimed. Hajime grimaced, but quickly forgot about Gundham entirely as Nagito’s voice cut through the air; gasping, moaning, ‘thank you's escaping his lips, almost sounding like he was crying by the end. Hajime shuddered.

It was only a minute or two before Gundham was leaving the change room. Hajime waited longer, though; waiting for himself to calm down. Praying he could.

Nagito had come. Loudly, openly, thanking someone like it had been a privilege. Hajime hated everything about it; hated that it happened, hated that it was Gundham of all people, hated that it wasn't him.

He could hear Nagito breathing; could hear the couch springs creak as they shifted beneath the weight of something. Soon, Nagito’s breathing slowed, evening out as he fell asleep.

Hajime left.

Chapter Text

When Hajime returned that night, it was late. Later than he'd ever showed up, late enough to not hear or see anyone as he stepped into the change room. He'd brought a blanket, it occuring to him that he'd never seen one, despite knowing Nagito often slept on the couch. As he stepped inside, he held his breath, hoping he wasn't disturbing anything. He looked around the dark room, his gaze falling to Nagito.

He was sleeping on the couch. It was a loveseat, and Nagito himself was relatively tall, yet barely took up more than one cushion with his legs pulled up to his chest, tucked underneath his bound wrists. He was naked, shivering slightly. Hajime frowned, gently laying the blanket over him.
“Hajime?” Nagito stirred, the unfamiliar softness of the blanket rousing him from his sleep. He could make out Hajime’s silhouette, his hair giving away easily who it was, even in the darkness. “What time is it?” He asked, his voice confused and tired. Hajime frowned at the soft whine under Nagito’s tone as he rubbed his eyes.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.” Hajime whispered.

Hajime sat on the floor. Nagito had fallen back asleep quickly, obviously drained from a long day of doing things Hajime didn't want to think about; things Hajime only thought about. He didn't know what he was doing here; maybe he was just trying to prove that he was different.

Hajime’s head moved up as he heard Nagito whimper, the quiet sounds of the chains rustling underneath his blanket. At first, Hajime ignored it. But within a few seconds, Nagito was visibly squirming, grunting quietly into the arm of the couch.
“Nagito?” Hajime asked, his voice full of concern. “What's wrong?”
“I'm itchy.” Nagito whined, his voice muffled from his face being buried in the couch. His shoulders shook with what Hajime guessed was a sob. “And I can't reach it because of the stupid cuffs.”
“Oh,” Hajime stood instinctively; it sounded like an easy problem on paper. “Where are you itchy?”

Nagito stilled, looking up at Hajime curiously.
“My back.” He answered, his eyebrow raising slightly. Hajime was acting on instinct, not even considering the implication as he gently rolled Nagito to lay on his front, taking his nails to his bare back.
“How's that?” Hajime asked as he scratched him between his shoulder blades.
“Ah! Fuck,” Nagito squirmed, giggling. Of course he was ticklish. “N-not there! Lower,”
“Alright. Here?’ Hajime asked, lowering his hand to scratch near the middle of Nagito's back.
“A-a bit to the side,” Nagito whimpered, his knee bending involuntarily, his leg sticking up in the air. Hajime did as he asked, finding the exact spot Nagito was leading him to. Nagito was trembling; moaning into the pillow in a way that was genuinely more sincere than Hajime had ever heard him. He felt himself getting embarrassed, caught between wanting to stop and wanting to see if he could do more.

Hajime’s hand stilled as it occurred to him, finally, that he was touching Nagito. Not brief or in passing, but a deliberate, repetitive touch. One that was making Nagito squirm and moan.
“Do you want me to uncuff you?” Hajime asked.
“I couldn't ask you to do that.” Nagito sighed pathetically. “But thank you, Hajime. For your kindness.”

Nagito rolled onto his front, pushing the blanket down until it only came up far enough to be low on his hips. Hajime stared, his mouth going dry.
“Please, I should repay you.” Nagito offered after a few seconds of silence. Hajime looked up at his face, looking for any signs of… anything. He didn't know what.
“It was nothing.” Hajime said, going rigid as Nagito sat up, hooking his cuffed wrists gently around the back of Hajime’s neck.
“You're hard.” Nagito observed. Hajime didn't know how he could tell; he didn't want to know. He tried to back up, but the chain between Nagito’s wrists kept him within arm's reach.
“It's not like I can control it.” Hajime muttered.

Hajime was standing between Nagito’s legs, bent slightly down so Nagito could reach his neck. He was barely inches from his face, and still, Hajime hesitated.
“You're tired, aren't you?” Hajime asked. Nagito frowned, his lips just barely visible in the darkness.
“Am I doing something wrong?” he asked in reply.
“No, Nagito.” Hajime wanted to scream.
“Let me do this for you.” Nagito insisted, the gentle force behind his tone jarring for how agreeable he usually was. “I'm good at it, I promise.”

Hajime knew Nagito was good at it. Of course he knew; he heard it all the time.

It was late enough that it might as well be considered early; the sun was starting to come up over the horizon, casting just the faintest bit more light for Hajime to see Nagito in. He was smiling, his eyes gentle and inviting. Hajime felt weak; like his bones were trembling. He ducked out from underneath Nagito’s arms, straightening his back. He reached forward, tucking a strand of white hair behind Nagito’s ear.

The gesture was small, but Nagito took it as permission. His eyes flicked down to where he was eye level with Hajime’s lower stomach. He leaned in, placing a kiss just barely above the waistband of Hajime’s pajama bottoms.
“Nagito,” Hajime said, his hands flying to grab Nagito's shoulders, who was moving to kneel on the ground.
“Please?” Nagito asked, giving another kiss on the other side.

Hajime was weak; he knew he was, and he'd been fighting this battle with no end in sight for too long now. His dominant hand found Nagito’s hair, gently grasping at the roots at the crown of his head. He hesitated, but when Nagito smiled at him, he pulled his pants down below his hips with his other hand. He didn't know how this worked; only what he'd imagined. Still, he was determined to try.

Nagito moved in quickly with his mouth as if he were starving; tongue out, going up Hajime’s shaft with eager determination.
“Ah! H-hey, slower,” Hajime panted. He didn't want to acknowledge that he'd never done anything like this before; that his first time was like this. He felt guilty, but Nagito’s hand, nimble and soft, reached up to grip the base as his mouth worked on the head, and soon, Hajime couldn't think about anything else.
“Fuck,” he moaned, mindlessly pulling Nagito forward. He wanted to keep thinking about the weight of this; what it meant. Was he like everyone else? Did Nagito really want this?

Every attempt at the thoughts died in his mind as Nagito took him deeper, his tongue pressing insistently on the underside of his cock. Hajime knew the power he had over Nagito. Though he tried to ignore it, it bubbled its way viciously to the surface, begging to be acknowledged.
“Nagito, fuck, I'm gonna-” Hajime’s hips jerked back, but Nagito surged forward, making it clear where he wanted it to go.

Hajime couldn't stop his hips from bucking forward; every sense of himself and his surroundings going out the window as he came, fucking Nagito's throat. The sound it made filled the room, and probably the beach outside, too as he pulled Nagito forward.
“F-fuck.” He stammered, loosening his grip on Nagito’s hair. He groaned as Nagito sucked him clean, taking the mess into his mouth as he finally pulled off of him with a wet popping noise. When Nagito just looked at Hajime curiously, his mouth full, Hajime realized that he was meant to decide what Nagito did with his mess. “You… uh…” he paused, staring down at Nagito. The sun had risen enough to make out his facial features; his pale skin, a bruise around his neck that Hajime previously couldn't see. “Swallow it.”
Nagito did.

Hajime stumbled back when Nagito finally let him, tucking himself back into his pants as he watched Nagito rub his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Are you alright?” Hajime asked after a few seconds. Nagito gave him a curious look.
“I'm fine. Did I do good?”
“Y-yeah,” Hajime breathed. He'd used Nagito. “you… you did really good.”
“You taste very sweet,” Nagito observed. Hajime grimaced. “Like you eat a lot of fruit. Do you, Hajime?”
“You can tell that from how I taste?’ he asked, the shock from the encounter finally starting to wear off.
“You can tell a lot from someone's taste. Mainly how hydrated they are, if they smoke, and what they eat.”
“Interesting.” Hajime gulped.

Neither of them spoke. The silence was long enough for them to realize that the other wanted to be the last to talk, and they were stubbornly waiting to fulfill said role.
“Do you want me to..?” Hajime asked, the unspoken question hanging in the air. Nagito smiled, but kindly shook his head.
“That's alright, Hajime. Being able to please you was enough for me.”
“But you let Gundham.” Hajime said before he could stop himself. Nagito only tilted his head to the side, his expression unchanging.
“Aren’t you the little eavesdropper.” He smirked. “Did you like what you heard?”
“No.” Hajime answered truthfully. He might’ve if Gundham talked a little quieter. “But… you came. He made you cum.”
“He did.” Nagito nodded. “He likes to command my body. I mean, as the ultimate breeder he's-”
“Stop.” Hajime said. “Please, stop. I don't want to hear anything else about Gundham.”
“You brought him up.” Nagito snapped, just the slightest bit of bitterness rising in his tone before it settled back into an eerie kindness.

Hajime stared at Nagito for a while. He'd done it, and nothing had changed. He hadn't even let Nagito out of the fucking cuffs first.
“It won't be long before other people are showing up here.” Hajime muttered, disgust almost clear in his tone. “I should get going, leave you to your… work.” He said, giving Nagito a slow look over.
“Wait, Hajime,” Nagito said quickly, staring up at him with wide eyes. Hajime didn't know what he wanted; Nagito probably didn't, either. He stopped, looking at him expectantly.
“Thank you. For the blanket,” he clarified, slowly sitting on the couch and wrapping himself in it. Hajime had the feeling he was going to say something else, but changed his mind last minute.
“Yeah, it's no problem.” Hajime mumbled as he left the change room.

Chapter Text

Hajime prayed he'd get to listen to something other than Nekomaru and Akane’s thousandth story of throwing Nagito around like a football as he dragged his feet to the dining hall, exhausted from too many late nights worrying (among other thoughts) about Nagito. He'd finally fallen asleep shortly after the morning announcement, and by the time he was finally coming out of his cabin, it was early in the afternoon.

He went straight to the dining hall, avoiding interaction in favour of finding food. He couldn't remember the last time he'd fully eaten something.

Hajime heard voices; laughing, talking, generally making noise inside the dining hall. He sighed, wondering why he’d thought it would be empty at lunch time. He didn't know why he paused to listen; he hated that it had become a habit.
“Hajime brought it to you? Aw, what a softie.” Ibuki’s voice said, replying to something he hadn't heard.
“He came by early this morning. I think he couldn't sleep,” Nagito’s voice said cheerfully. What was Nagito doing here? It almost escaped Hajime that Nagito had his own free will; he was allowed to leave the change room whenever he wanted. He just… usually didn't.
“He came by just to bring you a blanket? I don't buy it.” Kazuichi said.
“Well, he did stay for some time afterward.” Nagito confirmed, not a hint of concealment in his tone. Hajime bit his tongue, both wanting to interrupt, and wanting to see what Nagito would say; a part of him allowing this to continue because he wanted Nagito to shut up without being told to.
“Come on, tell us what happened!” Ibuki insisted. “We see him hanging around there all the time. I feel like I never hear anyone else shut up about what they do in there, but Hajime’s, like, on lockdown.”
“He's a bit shy with me as well.” Nagito admitted. Hajime scowled, wanting to argue against what Nagito was implying. “But, he allowed my thanks for his generosity.” Nagito continued. Hajime could practically see the smile on his face, even if he was just out of sight.

Why would Nagito tell them that? Hajime shuddered, almost feeling sick at the thought of everyone else thinking he was in there for the same reasons they were.
“Oh, come on. That's it?” Ibuki groaned.
“Well, I think it was his first time allowing someone to-”

Hajime shoved the door open so hard it hit the wall. The room went silent; he tried to act normal as he stood there, awkwardly looking around before moving to grab a tray as everyone stared at him, including Nagito.

“Hajime, come sit with us! Nagito wants to talk to you!” Nekomaru yelled to him over the room. It only took one brief glance at Nagito to know Nekomaru was teasing him. Hajime didn't know if Nagito was purposely avoiding eye contact, or if he just didn't look at him. Despite his better judgement, Hajime took his tray and sat at the table. He sat between Ibuki and Kazuichi; directly across from Nagito, who's wrists were outstretched, resting on the table. Hajime studied the cuffs in the light; they were thick metal, reaching down his forearms. They looked tight to his skin, Hajime was certain he noticed red marks around the top and bottoms of the cuffs where they had rubbed his skin raw.

Nagito was still cuffed, yet he was dressed; wearing pants and a baggy T-shirt. Someone would have had to take the cuffs off for Nagito to have gotten dressed. someone Hajime knew wasn't himself. He looked around the table, trying to find the culprit of who had dragged Nagito out in the middle of the day. No one seemed any more suspect than the other.

Hajime couldn't seem to take his attention off of Nagito. He watched the way he ate clumsily, struggling to work around his binds. Hajime remembered last night; how Nagito couldn't reach his own back to scratch it. He frowned, reaching forward wordlessly to unhook the chain. Nagito moved his wrists away, quick but not obvious in his movement.
“Nagito?” Hajime whispered. The others had returned to their conversations, seemingly ignoring Nagito and Hajime completely.
“Don't. Please.” He uttered back before turning his attention to Fuyuhiko, who was telling a story Hajime really couldn't care less about.

Hajime slumped back in his seat, crossing his arms and sighing. Nagito was ignoring him, and he didn't know why. He thought he'd been gentle that morning; he thought, naively, that maybe Nagito would see it differently. But he thought back rationally, remembering the wet noise it made when he pushed; remembering how Nagito never gagged, just stared at him, eyes open and watering. He couldn't think of anything he'd done differently; he realized how stupid it was to think he'd been kind. He woke Nagito up, disturbed him for his own selfish needs.

Hajime, still focusing on the others, let his leg reach out under the table. Nagito stilled when Hajime touched him, his once bouncing leg now freezing in place as he felt Hajime’s shoe creeping up his calf. Hajime waited, his toe moving up and down on the side of Nagito’s knee. He waited for him to pull away, to look at him, to do something. Anything. And slowly, secretly, Nagito did.

Hajime watched as Nagito slumped down in his seat just a bit, allowing Hajime’s foot to slip further his leg, to his thigh. Now, Hajime was the one that stilled. Nagito cocked an eyebrow at him, looking at him from the corner of his eye. Hajime swallowed, unable to move. Unable to think of what to do.

A few seconds passed before Nagito smiled, chuckling quietly to himself as he turned his body to the side. Hajime’s foot fell from his leg to the ground, inaudible over the ambience of the room. Nagito crossed one leg over the other, giving his full, complete attention to whatever story Hajime was hearing as gibberish.

He thought about it for hours after. How Nagito had slumped forward, a silent invitation he only gave to prove Hajime wouldn't take it. His foot had been between his thighs, just barely past his knee. He couldn't even finish what he'd initiated.

“Hey,” Hajime said as he came around the back of a building, finding Kazuichi and Yasuhiro smoking together. “Can I talk to you about something?” He asked Kazuichi, giving Yasuhiro a nod in greeting.
“Sure, what's up?” Kazuichi offered him a cigarette, which Hajime silently refused.
“It's about Nagito.”
“Aw, come on, man! It's always about Nagito!” Kazuichi groaned.
“Come on, don't act like you aren't there all the time. How does it not bother you seeing him like that? Seeing him with other people?” Hajime had intended to be calm, but his discomfort prevented it before he could even try. “I mean- fuck. He wouldn't even let me undo the cuffs! What the fuck is that about?”
“Woah, man. It's not like I'm in love with him or something. Why would it bother me?” Kazuichi asked.
“Dudes, I'm getting a premonition… I'm sensing… Hajime is projecting his anger onto you, when it's actually about something else.” Yasuhiro said, a tall glass bong in his hand. “Who knows, though.”
Hajime ignored him.
“He- I- I don't get it,”
“Listen, I get it, you're mad he gave you head, or whatever. That's it, right? I'm having some trouble keeping up.” Kazuichi admitted.
“I don't even know.” Hajime groaned. “I didn't even mean to. I was just bringing him a blanket, and he made it sound like I brought it to him as an excuse to…”
“Nagito is just like that, man. You gotta deal with it.” Kazuichi said. “Either man up, or stop going there all the time. I don't know!”
“What if he gets hurt?” Hajime asked.
“That's not your problem, dude. No matter how much you think it is.”

Hajime didn't want to argue; he didn't know how. He hung around for a few minutes as the conversation drifted on, but he disappeared pretty soon after.

Chapter Text

“There, just like that. Hands on the wall. Oh, You can do better than that, can't you?” Laughter cut through the brisk night like a knife as Hajime stilled behind the change room. He heard Nagito give a muffled whimper, then the sound of skin hitting tile. Not hard, but certainly not soft, either. “There you go. Oh, come on now, don't look at me like that.” Nekomaru’s voice said. Hajime heard the distinct sound of a slap, followed by the smallest whimper. His hands balled into fists as he tried to force the picture out of his mind, because even the best case was disgusting to him.

Hajime stood there, shutting his eyes and trying to block out the sound of skin against skin, starting slowly, but soon growing relentless. He realized that Nagito sounded more muffled than ever, giving him the idea that he had something in his mouth.
“Tell me how it is,” Nekomaru said. “I know you can't keep up, but at least try, okay?” He was laughing at Nagito. Hajime heard the sound of someone spitting and adjusting their mouth as something was removed.
“A-ah!” Nagito stuttered as his mouth was finally free, incapable of forming a word. “I-it’s- it's- so big,” he managed. Hajime didn't want to hear anymore; he thought about leaving, but something, as always, stopped him. He looked around urgently, finding a tree with a twisted stump that was just tell enough for him to stand on and be able to see over the wall.

Hajime took a deep breath, bracing himself before he peered over. At first, he couldn't really see Nagito at all, just Nekomaru’s back. But the way one hand was outstretched to the wall, clearly holding something in place… Hajime remembered the bruises Nagito always had on his neck, and he shuddered as he realized the source. Nekomaru held his other hand steady below himself, and it didn't take a genius for Hajime to know that Nekomaru had his other hand on Nagito’s stomach.

Hajime remembered one of the first times he'd been in the change room; when he told Nagito he was bleeding and his hand instantly reached for his head. He glared at Nekomaru’s back, understanding now what must've happened. What Nagito had assumed because of what must've happened before. Nekomaru was holding Nagito against the wall, face first, by his neck. And when Nekomaru got faster, when his breath hitched and his legs braced to go harder, Nagito was screaming gratitude with a trembling voice.
“Still good?” Nekomaru grunted against Nagito’s ear. Hajime watched in horror, and didn't know why he felt worse when Nagito gave an enthusiastic nod, moaning through his confirmation. Why couldn't he make Nagito moan like that?

He shook his head violently, dispelling the thought. When he looked back at the scene in front of him, he was still looking at Nekomaru’s back. He was standing now; no longer hunched over, holding something proudly in the air in front of him like a roughly 5 '10, 143 pound trophy. Hajime could just barely see Nagito’s pale legs poking out from behind Nekomaru’s large frame as he was held up against the wall, pushed hard to take all that he was given.

When Nekomaru finished, he let Nagito lower a safe distance before dropping him entirely to the ground, letting his body go limp as he tried to catch his breath.
“Didn't get too hard on ya, did I?” Nekomaru asked, nudging Nagito with his foot, who was breathing in small, short gasps.
“Not at all.” Nagito uttered, his eyes struggling between staying open and being closed. His eyes trailed up the wall, locking on Hajime, who froze like a deer in headlights. Nagito just gave him the slightest smile before returning his attention to Nekomaru. “Would you be kind enough to move me to the couch?”

Hajime didn't know why it infuriated him that Nekomaru agreed easily, leaning down and scooping Nagito up like he was a cat, or even a doll. He glared at him, watching as Nekomaru gently placed Nagito on the couch and tucked the blanket over him. He ruffled Nagito’s hair, sending another blaze of anger through Hajime. Why hadn't he thought to touch Nagito like that? Why hadn't he tucked Nagito back into the couch this morning?
“See ya in a few days, Nagito. Looks like you need some recovery time.” Nekomaru said with a laugh that could be seen as innocent without context. Nagito giggled too, as if involved in some inside joke. He held his cuffed wrists close to his chest, an unspoken question that both Hajime and Nekomaru understood.
“Not tonight.” Nekomaru shook his head, still smiling down at Nagito as he directly told him he'd be leaving him in his chains. “You can handle it, can't you? It's good to learn discipline.”
“I can handle anything.”
“That's my girl.” Nekomaru said. Hajime barely saw it, but he noticed the faintest twitch on Nagito’s face. He didn't like being called that. Nekomaru knew it; that's probably the only reason he did it. Hajime stepped down from the tree trunk, but didn't leave the edge of the change room.

Hajime waited until Nekomaru had been gone at least five minutes before he circled around and entered the change room. He wasn't hesitant; he was rushing, praying Nagito hadn't somehow died in the five minutes he'd been out of his sight. When he rounded the corner, Nagito was exactly where he’d last seen him. On the couch, tucked under the blanket.
“Nagito, this is insane.” Hajime said as soon as he saw him. Nagito’s eyes fluttered open tiredly, he let out a quiet groan.
“Then why'd you watch it?” Nagito asked. Not teasing; almost a whine. He turned over, facing away from Hajime completely.
“I'm sorry.” Hajime apologized slowly, sitting down on the edge of the couch near Nagito’s feet.
“Why? It's not your fault.” Nagito replied. There was no humour or kindness in his voice; just tiredness. “It was good. I served well.”
“He was holding you by your neck.” Hajime said, desperation almost breaking through his voice. Nagito groaned quietly as he turned back over, now on his back. He struggled to find somewhere comfortable to keep his bound wrists, choosing to rest them on his shoulder. Hajime looked down at his exposed chest, noting every single bruise, every scrape, bite mark, and scratch. He looked at the handcuffs, at the small bit of exposed raw skin.

Hajime reached for Nagito’s cuffs, his eyes narrowing when Nagito moved his hands away.
“Why don't you listen to me like you do everyone else?” Hajime snapped, reaching for the cuffs again. He grabbed the chain and pulled, even as Nagito was still moving his hands away. Hajime kept a hard grip, even when he didn't feel Nagito resist.
“I'm uncuffing you.”
“I didn't ask you to.”
“You never would.” Hajime muttered, grabbing the key from around Nagito’s neck. He undid the cuffs one at a time, moving to straddle Nagito when he fumbled too much with the locks. When Nagito’s wrists were free, he didn't move. He just looked up at Hajime.

Nagito didn't thank him. He didn't rub his wrists, or even look at them. He just looked at Hajime, waiting. Expecting. Hajime hated the way Nagito was looking at him like he was waiting for instructions.

Hajime realized the position they were in; he realized the power he had. Carefully, he got off of Nagito.
“Can I get you anything?” Hajime asked when Nagito didn't move or speak. “Are you… okay?”
“Okay? I'm fantastic,” Nagito replied, a smile spreading across his face. “I'm sorry you struggle so much to see that.”
“Are you… upset with me?” Hajime finally asked. He honestly hadn't considered the possibility of Nagito getting angry at anyone; let alone him.
“No.” Nagito replied without deceit in his voice. “But this is my choice, Hajime. You don't own me anymore than anyone else does.”

Hajime almost said “I'd like to”, but he kept it to himself. He sighed, reaching out and touching Nagito’s hair.
“Nobody should own you at all.” Hajime sighed, biting down hard on his own impulsive thoughts.

Hajime stuck around, late into the night. Nobody came by after Nekomaru, and Nagito had fallen asleep pretty shortly after their conversation. Hajime paced the change room as quietly as he could, as if he were standing guard. He'd give Nagito’s sleeping form the occasional glance, noticing that even without the cuffs, Nagito seemed to instinctively keep his wrists together. When Nagito started to shiver, Hajime was quick to move the blanket further over him. He wanted to think he was different; that nobody else would stay up, guarding Nagito like a dog to ensure he got a good night's sleep.

By the time the sky was a deep black, the sun furthest away it could possibly be, Hajime was slowing down. He had to admit, he was tired. He slowly let himself sit on the tile, telling himself it was just for a few moments.
“Hajime?” Nagito’s tired voice cut through the silent air, making him jump.
“Yeah?” Hajime whispered back.
“I'm so cold,” Nagito mumbled, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. “Would you lay next to me? Of course you can say no, I wouldn't blame-”

Hajime was already moving. He was tired and cold; he didn't care about his reservations right now. He climbed under the blanket next to Nagito.

Hajime froze as Nagito’s bare skin pressed against him, impossible to avoid in the tiny space. He stared up at the sky, his eyes wide. He only relaxed when Nagito, sleepy and vulnerable, laid his head on Hajime’s shoulder.
“I'm not upset with you.” Nagito mumbled. He'd been thinking about what Hajime had said earlier. “It upsets me that you aren't interested like the others, and I reacted emotionally. I'm sorry.”
“I’m so fucking jealous of everyone else that it makes it hard to touch you.” Hajime mumbled, wrapping his arm around Nagito's waist, pulling him closer into his side. He didn't want Nagito to reply; he didn't think he could handle what he'd say if he did. He let out a breath of relief as he felt Nagito relax after a few minutes, falling back asleep on his arm before he could think of a reply. Hajime breathed a sigh of relief, his eyes finally closing as he let sleep overtake him.

Chapter Text

Hajime needed to stop doing this. He needed to stop speaking to anyone else who's ever interacted with Nagito.
“It was crazy! I had him up against the wall like this,” Hajime refused to look as Nekomaru demonstrated. He'd seen it yesterday, he didn't need to see it again. “And I had him by the neck, right? I swear if I didn't finish when I did, he would've passed out.” Nekomaru recounted. Some others were laughing, joining in on the joke. Hajime clenched his jaw silently, and he noticed he wasn't the only one who looked uncomfortable. “But anyways, I'm going at it, and he's talking like I'm some kind of God,” Hajime listened to Nekomaru, disdain slowly building up in his chest. Nekomaru was lying, for one. Nagito hadn't complimented him; he'd barely even spoken. Hell, he was gagged for most of it. He remembered what Nagito looked like; small, barely visible pressed up against the tile. He remembered the sounds that left his mouth. Desperate, strained; so audibly struggling to keep up. Still, Hajime couldn't just say he was there. That he watched from over the wall.
“And I pick him up, right? He's acting kind of dizzy at this point,”
“I don't think you're actually supposed to choke him out, man.” Yasuhiro said, his eyes darting between Nekomaru, cool and unaware, and Hajime; fucking fuming in his seat. “That can, like, really hurt him, right?”
“I didn't actually choke him out,” Nekomaru started to backtrack. “What do you care, anyway? I see you go in there all the time.”
“I go in there to smoke, man. Nothing else. It has good vibes.”
“How good can the vibes possibly be?” Hajime muttered to himself.
“Did you say something?” Kazuichi asked from where he sat next to him.
“Nothing.” Hajime replied.

Hajime stood from his seat when Nekomaru started telling everyone that he made Nagito finish twice. In the brief look he took around the room, he noticed that even Gundham was raising an eyebrow. Hajime managed to catch his gaze, flicking his eyes to Nekomaru to say ‘can you believe this?’ and Gundham, sternly, with all seriousness, crossed his arms and shook his head ‘no’.

Hajime hadn't decided where he was going; his feet were already carrying him, not even really making the decision to move before he was back at the change room like a bad habit he couldn't break.
“I don't get it,” he was already ranting by the time he stepped into the change room, his hands flailing animatedly as he spoke. Nagito smiled at him from the couch; not his usual smile. Not the one that looked like it was for customer service, but a real, genuine smile. Hajime paused, his breath slowing just slightly. “I mean- it's like he wasn't even here. He didn't even know what you- you couldn't have- you were gagged for most of it!” Hajime ranted. He didn't know what part was bothering him so much; that Nekomaru was boasting about degrading Nagito, or that he was lying about half of it. “I mean, seriously. He even said he made you cum, can you believe that? You don't- you never-”
“Hajime,” Nagito interrupted politely. “Care to tell me what this is about?”
“Nekomaru is talking about you.” Hajime said miserably, letting himself sink into the couch next to Nagito. It almost felt natural, the way he was ranting to Nagito like a friend. He grimaced when he glanced over and saw the cuffs, glinting gold as ever.
“I hate how everyone talks about you. Like- like you're furniture. Like you're a videogame with achievements and cheat codes or something.”
“Is it so bad to be those things? People use furniture. They play videogames.” Nagito said, smiling.
“Well, maybe they should respect what's valuable, at least.” Hajime said, not thinking much of his comment. Still, he noticed the way Nagito slightly recoiled.
“Valuable?” Nagito said, like the word was foreign on his tongue.
“Don't act like you don't know what valuable means.”
“Well, clearly you don't.” Nagito teased with a smile.

It felt so natural to lean into Nagito’s side that Hajime had to physically fight the feeling off to stop himself from doing it.
“You're back in the cuffs.” Hajime observed. He remembered last night; Nagito moving his wrists away, himself grabbing the chain and yanking it when Nagito didn't instantly do as he was told. Hajime wanted to apologize; knew he should, but what was he going to say? He didn't know how to justify it; he didn't even know how to explain it. He'd watched Nagito get shoved around all night without question, and the second Hajime tried to show him kindness, tried to take off what was hurting him, Nagito pulled away? He bit his tongue at the memory. Knowing he was wrong, yet still feeling how sour it tasted in his mouth.
“Why wouldn't I be?” Nagito replied, pleasant as always.
“I took them off last night.”

Nagito stilled, his breath catching in his throat. Hajime didn't usually talk about their nights the day after.
“You did. Thank you for your kindness, Hajime, but I try to earn my freedom every day that I can.”
“Are your wrists alright? They looked pretty bad.” Hajime asked, basically having forgotten his anger entirely since he walked into the change room.
“Oh, they're fine.” Nagito said. He seemed sincere; he must really believe it.
“Do you ever think about spending a day without them?” Hajime asked.
“Hm,” Nagito paused, genuinely contemplating the question. “I usually wouldn't. I've grown so accustomed to them that it would feel unnatural not to wear them.” He shrugged. “Besides, it shows my devotion. I don't want to take them off unless I earn it.”
“What would it take to earn it?” Hajime asked. “Not for the night, but for the rest of your life. What would it take for you to feel like you've earned taking them off?”

The change room was quiet as Nagito pondered the question.
“I suppose, Hajime,” he took another few seconds to collect himself. “I'd have to fulfill enough purpose to last a lifetime. I don't think I could ever do that.” he laughed.

Hajime wanted to take the cuffs off. He kind of wanted to throw them in the ocean, if anything. He thought about the times he'd seen Nagito out during the day; times he'd seen him alone, and times he'd seen him with others. He knew Nagito was capable of leaving the change room during the day; it was just a matter of convincing him.
“It must get really hot in here during the day.” Hajime observed, looking around at the wall to wall white tile. “Do you want to get a drink with me? The suns supposed to be brutal today.”

Nagito looked at Hajime curiously, but took a few seconds to answer.
“What if someone comes looking for me?” He asked.
“Then they can look. You leave here sometimes, right? Why not today?” Hajime pressed. Why was Nagito hesitating now? “Would you get a drink with me if I said it was an order?” He tried as a last resort. Nagito raised both eyebrows, letting out something between a scoff and a laugh.
“Maybe. Could you?” He asked. His tone was so polite, so gentle in the way he challenged Hajime.
“I- I-” Hajime stammered, trying to get the command out. When he couldn't, Nagito chuckled.
“Thought so.” Nagito still smiled, but it was cold. “It's alright, Hajime. You're just not built for it.”

It was finally becoming just the slightest bit clearer to Hajime why Nagito had been pushing back against everything he tried. Nobody else asked Nagito; they just took. Pushed him into a wall, stepped on his hands, all that pushing and shoving without ever asking when it was enough. Hajime didn't push Nagito hard enough; he couldn't. Nagito thought he was weak.
“Jesus, Nagito.” A flare of something rose in Hajime’s chest- embarrassment? Anger? Was there a difference? “I don't know what to do with you.”
“Most people don't.” Nagito laughed.

Hajime hated that Nagito seemed to be easily dominated by every single person except himself. He tried to be different; tried to be gentle and kind, but that wasn't what Nagito wanted.

Hajime wondered if it was worth it. If how he was going to feel about himself after he did what he was about to do would be a fair trade off for kissing Nagito.

Hajime cleared his head. He didn't need to think right now; he reached into Nagito’s hair. Not slowly, but not exactly abrupt, either. He paused as Nagito looked at him curiously, but shoved the part of himself screaming to stop down into a deep hole and buried it. Hajime tangled his fist in the roots near the crown of Nagito’s head and pulled. Nagito gasped; a completely involuntary sound, not really expecting Hajime to pull him, let alone that hard. Hajime pulled Nagito towards himself, crushing his lips against his in what was half mindless desperation, half attempt at proving he could assert himself.

For a painful few seconds, Nagito didn't move. He stilled, his hands coming up between his and Hajime’s chests. Not to touch, but to hold space between them, even as their lips were together. But just as quickly as he froze, Nagito melted in Hajime’s hands. His mouth fell open, his tongue gliding against Hajime’s as they kissed. When Nagito’s neck started to crane from the angle, Hajime pulled him by his hair to straighten him again. Nagito moaned, the sound sweet against his lips. When Hajime realized how tight of a grip he had on Nagito’s hair, no matter how much he seemed to enjoy it, he let his hand slip, instead going to cup the back of Nagito’s neck.

A million thoughts swarmed in Hajime’s head; had anyone kissed Nagito like this before? Would he be able to stop himself if Nagito offered more? He remembered what Nagito had sounded like with Gundham; so needy and grateful for his orgasm. He kissed him harder, until he couldn't breathe and had to pull back.

Nagito’s lips were already swollen, turning a deep pink as they responded to Hajime’s attack. He looked at the skin of Nagito's lips, noticing little speckles of blood. Had he been biting Nagito?

Hajime looked down to where Nagito had the front of his shirt balled up in his fists so tightly that it was causing them to tremble. He took a deep breath, wanting to ignore the obvious, but unable to wipe the statement from his mind: he could do it. He could do anything, right here. Nagito wouldn't stop him; he might even welcome it.

“I don't know what to do.” Hajime mumbled quietly.
“Use me,” Nagito invited. “Please, I can be a tool to help you- o-oh,” he interrupted himself. Hajime was already pushing Nagito down by the back of his neck at “use me”.
“You're sure?” He was already fumbling with his belt buckle. When he couldn't get it, Nagito pushed his hands aside and did it for him. Hajime wanted to believe, again, that this was different; but he was beginning to know better.
“Mhm.” Nagito hummed.
“Good. Open.” Hajime closed his eyes. He could hate himself later; for now, Nagito’s mouth was warm and inviting. He gripped himself by the base with one hand, keeping a firm grip on Nagito’s hair with the other. Hajime couldn't keep his eyes closed; he had to open them to watch as Nagito parted his lips, allowing himself to be guided by his hair.

Hajime hated to admit that he wanted to push Nagito, just to see what his limits were. He kept eye contact with him as he firmly guided him forward, stopping briefly when he felt his cock hit the back of Nagito’s mouth. He waited a beat to see if Nagito would stop him, and when he didn't, he pushed his cock into his throat.
“Fuck,” Hajime groaned. Nagito was having trouble keeping his bearings, yet he was still sinking his mouth down, eager to please. His hands rested awkwardly in front of him, still bound by his wrists. Hajime’s breathing was ragged already, fighting the urge to brace Nagito’s head against the couch and fuck his throat. Hajime didn't know what his problem was; something must've come over him.

Hajime didn't know what he was doing; all he knew was that he was pushing. Pushing with his weight, with his body, to prove to Nagito that he could. He could be thoughtless and animalistic in his pursuit, just like the others. He grunted, brushing hair from Nagito’s forehead like that would mitigate the damage he was doing to his throat. Nagito whimpered, just barely audible beneath the suction of his mouth. Hajime might not have noticed it if it didn't accompany Nagito delicately placing his hands on Hajime’s hip. Not telling him to slow down, but gently giving him the choice to.
“Sorry,” Hajime apologized, looking down into Nagito’s eyes. The tip of his nose was pressed against Hajime’s skin, nestled in his pubic hair. He watched; how could he not? He loosened his grip on Nagito just barely enough to let him move. Hajime didn't know what to do when Nagito stayed still, waiting, expecting. He wanted Hajime to do more?

Hajime wondered if he'd hate himself for this later, but truthfully, he didn't care as he let both hands hold either side of Nagito’s face. He looked for any signs of fear or pain in Nagito’s eyes, but there was only pure dedication. He pulled his hips back and pushed in, listening to how fucking loud the sound it made was.
“Jesus,” he hissed. “Like it when I do that?” He asked. Nagito blinked, nodding his head as much as he could with the position he was in.

He watched. He waited. He fucking prayed for any kind of resistance; but when Nagito stayed still, Hajime let himself slowly pull out, hearing the popping, wet noises of his throat as he removed what was filling it. He watched the spit smear on Nagito’s lips as he pulled out halfway, his knees buckling just slightly as he felt Nagito’s tongue working on the underside of his shaft. When Hajime got to a certain point, the head of his cock officially moving back into Nagito’s mouth from his throat, he didn't miss the way Nagito sucked in air through his nose like he wasn't sure when the next time he'd be able to breathe was. Hajime’s eyes widened, stilling just briefly. He hadn't realized that Nagito couldn't breathe when his throat was full. He should've; how could he not have thought of that? Nagito hadn't been able to breathe for god knows how long, and he hadn't even said anything.

Hajime painted Nagito’s mouth unexpectedly even to himself, his guilt fighting the urge to plunge his cock back in as deep as he could to claim him with his load. He couldn't believe he'd even thought something like that; let alone almost done it. He was trembling, about to tell Nagito that he could spit it out if he wanted. But he paused, only for a second. He doubted anyone else ever told him to spit.
“Swallow.” He instructed plainly as he tried to catch his breath. Nagito was good; of course he did as he was told.

Hajime tucked himself back into his pants, his shaking hands fumbling so much with his stupid belt buckle that Nagito had to do it for him again.
“Was that… what you wanted?” Hajime asked, praying he got the answer he was looking for. If it wasn't what Nagito wanted, what was the point?
“You allowed me to fulfill my purpose. Thank you, Hajime.” Nagito replied. Hajime felt like crumbling in on himself when he actually heard Nagito. Rough, ragged, his throat scratchier than if he had a cold.

Hajime let himself fall onto the couch. Sitting, staring at the wall. Nagito was still on the ground, on his knees. Hajime looked down when Nagito rested his chin on Hajime’s thigh; something he'd only ever seen done by a dog. Slowly, he pet Nagito’s hair. His eyes closed, a smile appearing on his dark, swollen lips.
“Good boy.” Hajime said quietly. What the fuck was he doing?

Everything in Hajime told him to move; to get up and get the hell out of there. But Nagito looked so tired, so comfortable in the way his chin quietly rested on Hajime’s leg.
“Do you need a nap?” Hajime asked him. It wasn't something he'd ever ask a friend, but maybe Nagito was becoming special. Nagito looked at him curiously before shaking his head.

Hajime didn't like the lack of care he was able to give Nagito. He didn't know what he was supposed to do, but he was sure it involved more than leaving Nagito kneeling on the tile floor with saliva and cum dribbling down his chin.
“Are you ever going to let me take care of you?” Hajime asked.
“Are you ever going to make me?” Nagito laughed. It was lighthearted; Hajime wanted to laugh, too, but god, Nagito’s voice really was fucked.

Chapter Text

“Have you heard Nagito lately? He said he wasn't sick, but damn! I'm not taking my chances,” Kazuichi said as everyone ate breakfast. Hajime was starting to wonder if anyone ever talked about anything else.
“He said he was given a ‘special reward’, whatever that means.” Mahiru commented, rolling her eyes. Hajime grimaced, knowing what happened to Nagito, and knowing it wasn't a reward, or anything for Nagito himself at all. It was the result of a loss of self control; the consequences of abusing someone's refusal to say ‘no’. He picked at his food, grateful that Nagito wasn't here to egg on the conversation. He could just imagine the things he'd say.

“He probably just got a bit roughed up is all. You guys care way too fucking much.” Fuyuhiko muttered from beside Hajime. Usually he'd disagree, but was grateful this once to inadvertently have someone defending him, even if he knew he didn't deserve it.
“Dude, you guys know what I go in there for and he's never sounded like that after.” Kazuichi said.
“Maybe he got someone who can actually touch the back of his throat.” Nekomaru quipped.
“Fuck you.” Kazuichi replied. Hajime felt himself blushing as they unknowingly made jokes about the supposed size of his own dick. He should be flattered, really, but he just felt numb.

Hajime flinched as someone cupped their hands around their mouth right next to him, their voice booming over the room.
“Hey, Nagito! How big was it?! I heard you can't talk anymore!” Hajime turned, wondering who the hell would yell something like that in a crowded dining hall, and not being surprised at all to see Ibuki.
“A little under seven-” Nagito started from somewhere in the room, just out of sight. his voice was still hoarse from the previous day; Hajime was actually glad Nagito started coughing, unable to finish his sentence.

Guilt was taunting Hajime, dancing around him as he listened to Nagito sputter. It was his fault. Not Nekomaru’s, or Gundham's, or even Kazuichi’s. Hajime had never heard Nagito sound like that before now, and it was entirely his fault.
“I didn't know he couldn't breathe.” He muttered quietly to himself.
“Uh, what?” Kazuichi said, just barely catching his words.
“Nothing.” Hajime stood abruptly, beelining for the door. Kazuichi just rolled his eyes, used to this by now.

Hajime wasn't thinking clearly, that much was obvious as he stormed past Nagito, hooking his finger under his chain and pulling. Nagito followed obediently, not saying a word until they were out of the building completely, leaning against one of the outside walls.
“How can I-” Nagito started, his voice genuinely awful.
“Cut the shit, Nagito. Why didn't you tell me I was- that I-” Hajime faltered. He'd been too rough. He'd never done anything like that before, he didn't know how hard he was supposed to go; he didn't know how long it was meant to happen. All he knew was Nagito took it. It never occurred to him that he'd have to ask if Nagito was actually enjoying it, or just pretending. He supposed that thought was naive. “Why didn't you fucking tell me you couldn't breathe?”

Hajime knew there were more layers to his guilt than he was letting on. It wasn't just that Nagito had taken it without complaint when he was hurting him, or that his voice was completely wrecked. It was that as soon as he noticed; as soon as he realized the power, the control he had over Nagito, he came in his mouth.
“How could I have?” Nagito laughed pleasantly. Hajime clenched his fists, shrinking in on himself.
“You could have pushed me off.”
“But you were enjoying yourself so much.” Nagito frowned.

The words hung heavy in the air, neither really wanting to speak.
“You sound awful.” Hajime said, feeling like his body had gotten heavier just from the sound. “Seriously. Everyone said they've never heard you sound like this before. They actually think you're sick.”
“But I'm not sick, Hajime.” Nagito was smiling again. Hajime looked down at the cuffs. He let one finger trace the metal chain, but made no move to remove it.
“You might be. I'm starting to think you are.”
“Why?”
“Just… never mind.” Hajime sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking away. There was something wrong with Nagito, something deeply set into his brain that he couldn't explain.

Hajime bit down harshly on his bottom lip when he felt this unfamiliar sting of a tear in the corner of his eye. Seriously, he was crying now? Why?
“You have to stop me if I'm hurting you.” Hajime said quietly. He couldn't see Nagito; he wasn't looking at him, but he trusted he was still there. He bit back his tears viciously, refusing to let them fall.
“You'll be coming back, then?” Nagito asked, ignoring his statement completely.
“When have I not?” Hajime said. Then, so Nagito couldn't try to wriggle his way out, he reiterated: “you have to stop me if I'm hurting you. You have to stop anyone if they're hurting you. You can't just take things like that.”
“Why didn't you ask if I was okay?” Nagito asked with a smile.
“I thought I did.” Hajime admitted.
“You might have.” Nagito shrugged, admitting he didn't really remember, anyway.

Hajime couldn't believe he didn't know what he was doing to Nagito. A part of him wanted to blame Nagito; for taking it so calmly, letting himself be used so obediently. He wanted to think it was Nagito’s fault, because it was easier than confronting that there were probably signs that he missed.

Hajime felt warmth spread over his side. He took a deep, trembling breath to mask the gasp he almost let out as he felt Nagito relax just the faintest bit into his side. When he looked at him, he could see through a mess of white hair that Nagito’s eyelids were slowly drifting open and closed.
“Tired?” Hajime asked, his voice lowering to a whisper. Nagito whimpered quietly into his shoulder, where his head was starting to relax. Oh, Nagito was actually falling asleep.

Hajime shook Nagito gently, feeling bad, but knowing he couldn't let him sleep here.
“Nagito, hey,” Hajime said. Nagito let out a long whine, shoving his face into Hajime’s shoulder.
“What?” Nagito groaned, then, quietly, “I feel sick.”
“Are you okay?” Hajime asked.
“Yeah,” Nagito said, though his voice was now strained on top of being hoarse. “I think.”
“Did you eat anything weird?” Hajime followed up.
“No,” Nagito said quickly. Then, “I don't think so.”
“No? Or you don't think so?”
“I don't think so.” Nagito confirmed with a nod. There was a pause.
“Just tell me what you ate.” Hajime insisted.

Nagito gave Hajime a look that was… hesitation? He never hesitated to speak; not even when the most vile things you could think of were coming out of his mouth. Hajime swore Nagito was making his face invisible on purpose, hiding it in Hajime’s shoulder as he contemplated answering the question.
“I had a lot this morning.” Nagito finally said, meekly.
“You've been drinking?” Hajime raised an eyebrow. Where would Nagito have gotten alcohol?
“No.” Nagito replied, sighing. For once, he didn't want to say what he was obviously thinking, and that bothered Hajime.
“What is it?” He insisted, nudging Nagito with his shoulder.
“You won't like it, Hajime.” Nagito giggled. “Okay, fine. They came up in a line at the change room this morning. I swallowed all of them.”
“Oh.” Hajime nodded. Anger that he knew, on some level, was purely rooted in jealousy rose in his throat. “How many of them?”
“I stopped counting after ten.”
“That's… too many.” Hajime muttered. Nagito was still leaning on his shoulder; he didn't push him away. “What about your throat? I thought I- I kind of…” Hajime didn't know how Nagito could work like that.
“They just finished on my tongue. It was a planned event or something; had to keep the line moving.” Nagito shrugged. Hajime felt himself shiver at the idea that Nagito seemed to not even know about an event where he was meant to be the source of entertainment.
“Jesus, Nagito. Gross.” Hajime couldn't stop himself from saying it.
“But it's not gross when you do it, right?” Nagito replied. Hajime sighed, staring off at what he could see of the beach.
“It's worse when I do it.” He muttered finally. He felt Nagito tense; like he'd actually said something he didn't like.
“It's not.” Nagito said. Clear, final. Hajime nodded.

Chapter Text

Hajime was holding his self control by a wire thread wrapped too many times around his palm. It was pulling, tightening its grip. The wire was practically yanking him, telling him to leave his cabin. He didn't. It was late into the afternoon, and he hadn't seen Nagito that day. Not that he looked; he’d been avoiding Nagito since he heard about the unscheduled train he let run on his tracks. He felt bad; it wasn't Nagito he was disgusted with. Yet, still, even the idea of the white tile made him shudder.

Even with the windows open, Hajime’s cabin felt stuffy, too cramped with air breathed too many times. He told himself he was just going for a walk; that he wasn't going near the change room at all. Or the dining hall, or any other place he was at all likely to find Nagito.

The air was warm this afternoon as Hajime stepped out of his cabin, going down the wooden steps and heading off in a pointless direction. The island wasn't exactly tiny, but it would take some time to walk the entirety of it. Hajime considered it; taking a loop around the island, but soon became distracted by the sound of footsteps; heavy boots on a wooden boardwalk. He looked down, examining his own feet thinking, ‘that can't be me.’

Hajime looked around, unenthusiastically trying to find the source of the footsteps. He yelped as his eyes fell on the source; menacing, barreling toward him with glorious purpose. Oh, God. What did Gundham want?
“Your white beast has fallen, there is no time–come quickly.” Gundham said, not a hint of joking in his tone.
“What?” Hajime asked, unmoving. Gundham rolled his eyes.
“He's ensnared. Come now.” he said seriously, taking off, assuming Hajime was following.

This… didn't seem like a joke, as funny as it was. Hajime’s feet started after him, following Gundham down sidewalks, between buildings, far onto the outskirts of the island before they were cutting through bushes and trees, not really on a clear path anymore.
“Where are we going?” Hajime panted as he shoved a giant leaf out of his face. Gundham ignored him. Of course he did.

Hajime noticed that Gundham only had one hamster on his back as he followed. He wondered where the others were, groaning as he got hit in the face with leaf after leaf, branch after branch.
“My devas discovered him this afternoon.” Gundham said, speaking for the first time since he found Hajime.
“...Discovered?” Hajime asked, dread building in his throat. He found new strength, following Gundham closer behind, shoving branches out of the way with new vigor. They had just come onto what was barely a path, tucked far behind the old ranch. Hajime noticed a chain link fence tucked in the brush, almost impossible to see if there weren't three hamsters running around on it.

Hajime had to swallow to keep from throwing up as two hands came into view; pale, scratched, stuck seemingly to the fence. His gaze followed one of the hamsters, watching it run in circles on top of some kind of white fern. Or… hair?
“Is that- Nagito?” Hajime no longer looked where he was going, crushing branches and plants carelessly, practically flying toward the figure in the grass.

Nagito’s cuffs were stuck to a loose wire on the fence, held just a bit too high for him to dislodge himself. His golden cuffs glinted in the sunlight, shining in front of the old silver fence. Hajime could guess what happened pretty easily; there was a small gap at the bottom of the fence that Nagito had clearly lifted and tried to climb under. He must've slipped, his cuffs catching on the piece of fence he was lifting and simultaneously dropping the fence on himself. His arms bent up at an awkward angle, held too high for someone laying face down in the dirt.
“Shit- why would you just leave him here?!” Hajime demanded, rushing to Nagito’s side. There were droplets of blood on the back of his shirt from where the fence scraped him, but he otherwise seemed mostly uninjured. Still, Hajime was beginning to sweat. Wanting to save him, but hesitating to touch, gauging how to not make this worse. He touched his hand to Nagito’s forehead, shoving aside strands of damp white hair, feeling he was burning in the hot sun.
“He wouldn't allow me to free him. He insisted I get you.” Gundham said, hovering, but giving Hajime enough space to not feel suffocated. “He does not listen to me. It's a shame, really.”

“Nagito?” Hajime said, more gently than he had ever spoken to him. He didn't stir. “How long has he been here?”
“When my devas discovered him, the sun was much higher in the sky. He's been here longer than any beast should have to endure.” Gundham said. Hajime took that as ‘a few hours’. He felt Nagito’s neck, not struggling to find a strong, steady pulse. He was fine; just scratched up with some heat stroke. Still, that was enough for Hajime.
“Here, lift the fence for me.” Hajime requested, instinctively shielding Nagito’s face from the sun with his hands.
“Of course. Your beast has been here too long; stand aside, I will raise it.”
“Would you stop calling him that?” Hajime muttered, giving Gundham room to gently lift the fence from Nagito’s back. He gave a small grunt, his voice dry and scratchy, like there were rocks in his throat.

Hajime delicately grabbed the key from around Nagito’s neck, his fingers brushing against damp, dirty skin to grasp the chain. He had to unlock the cuffs to get Nagito out, the chain being far too tangled to even bother trying with it. He brought the key up, his hands trembling, the lock giving a distinct click as it opened. The first cuff was open; Nagito’s hand fell limp. Hajime just barely managed to catch his arm, lowering it to the ground. He felt his mouth go dry as he looked at the angry red marks from where the cuff had been. They were already uncomfortable, but holding the weight of Nagito’s arms? Hajime couldn't even imagine.

Hajime unlocked the second cuff quicker, this time ready to catch Nagito’s arm.
“Can you lift the fence up a bit more?” Hajime requested. Gundham obliged, their only choice being to pull Nagito from underneath the fence. Hajime grabbed him by his biceps, not wanting to cause any further damage to his wrists. He gave one big pull, yanking Nagito almost completely out. With one more pull, he was free. Seemingly unconscious, but free. Hajime rolled him onto his back, brushing dirt from his face with his hands. “Nagito?” He said. Nagito let out a low whine, turning his face away from the sun. “He's okay.” Hajime said, not having any idea if it were true.

Hajime studied the angry red grooves on Nagito’s arms left from the cuffs. He looked to where they were, tossed carelessly aside in favour of rescuing Nagito. He glanced back at Gundham, who was kneeling next to Nagito, blocking him from the sun.
“I'm just gonna…” Hajime mumbled, picking up the cuffs. He wasn't sure what to do with them at first; just holding them, feeling their uncomfortable weight in his hands. He wondered how strong they were. He doubted they were real gold.

Experimentally, Hajime tossed one onto the ground and slammed his heel into it. With a satisfying crunch, almost like a tin can, the hinges all broke. He smiled, feeling like a weight had been lifted off one shoulder. He tossed the other cuff down, stomping on this one with both feet. It barely even gave a crunch as it flattened, completely destroyed much easier than Hajime anticipated. He felt lighter, but a lot of the weight returned when he turned his attention back to Nagito, still laying on the grass.
“Is he alright?” Hajime asked.
“He lacks any fatal wounds upon him. Still, the sun waged a glorious battle.”
“He's probably just sun sick.” Hajime mumbled to himself, quietly explaining what Gundham had said, just to understand it.
“Precisely.” Gundham stood, producing a bottle of water from somewhere in his coat and handing it to Hajime.
“He refused my hand. Perhaps he will accept yours.” He said, gesturing to Nagito.

Hajime kneeled on the ground, starting by gently nudging Nagito.
“Nagito,” he said, hoping this would be easy. Nagito groaned; that was a good sign, right? Hajime nudged him again, holding the bottle of water close to him. Not pouring it into his mouth, but having him ready for when he wanted it. “Hey, what were you doing out here?” He asked as Nagito moved to block his eyes with his forearm, his first sign of movement. Even with the cuffs gone, he kept his wrists together, like he'd forgotten he could move without them. Or maybe he hadn't; maybe he just didn't want to.
“Who knows.” Nagito mumbled, weakly accepting the water as a small smile spread over his face. “I guess I'm just lucky, huh?”

Hajime helped Nagito to his feet. All things considered, he was fine. Dirty and tired, but fine. Gundham loosened his cloak from his shoulders, grumbling something about the sun's evil rays as he draped the coat over Nagito’s shoulders. When Nagito tried to shrug it off, both Hajime and Gundham grabbed a side and pulled it tighter around him. Nagito almost looked overwhelmed by the attention, his eyes darting between the both of them, unsure who to argue with first.

Hajime didn't let Nagito go back to the change room that afternoon. Even Gundham had said it was “most unwise” when Nagito mentioned it, and with two people insisting he go back to his cabin and rest, Nagito was outnumbered.

Chapter Text

Hajime had destroyed the cuffs yesterday. He'd left them in the dirt, crushed under plants and forest debris. It felt satisfying in the moment, knowing he'd destroyed something so controlling. And especially after yesterday, so dangerous.

When Nagito walked into the dining hall, he arrived later in the morning than he usually would have. Hajime wouldn't have thought much of it, but when Nagito walked through the doors, his wrists were decorated in shining cold. The chain that connected his wrists was longer now, but still didn't reach longer than eight inches. Hajime scowled, sitting up instinctively, trying to get a better look. Surely he was hallucinating. He waved at Nagito, prompting him to wave back. The cuffs caught the light as he waved happily, making his way over to Hajime’s table.

“Hajime! It's so nice to see you this morning. How are you doing?” Nagito said as he sat down. It was strange to hear something so normal. Hajime didn't respond, instead letting his eyes dart between Nagito and the cuffs, waiting for him to address it first. He didn't.

“I destroyed these.” Hajime said, examining Nagito’s cuffs from where they sat on the table. He realized he was wrong; he hadn't destroyed these ones. The pair he was looking at were newer, the metal shinier with flowers etched into it. Hajime realized that the old handcuffs were cheap; easily broken with enough specified force. These ones, however, looked different. They were thick and heavy on Nagito’s wrists, weighing him down when he walked.
“I got new ones. Aren't they pretty?” Nagito said with a smile, holding his wrists out for Hajime to examine. He looked at them with disdain, unsure if he'd be able to break these ones at all. He couldn't even tell where the lock was.
“Where did you even get them?” Hajime asked, reaching out to slide his finger across the cool metal.
“Kazuichi made them for me.” Nagito said with a smile, not a hint of discomfort on his face.
“He made these?” Hajime wanted to scream. “Why would he do that?”
“Well, he seemed confused at first, but we came to an agreement.” Nagito explained pleasantly. “He wouldn't put them on, though. He said he ‘wouldn’t be responsible’, whatever that means. Fortunately, Gundham was nice enough to put them on for me.”

Hajime noticed the bandages wrapped around Nagito’s wrists. Applied carefully, wrapping up above and below the cuffs. He was so distraught to hear about Gundham that he ignored the implication about Kazuichi entirely, allowing it to give him a brief stab of jealousy before shoving it down to the pit of his stomach, where he wouldn't think about it again.
“Gundham seriously-? After yesterday?” Hajime could feel his pulse in his throat; the edges of his vision were blurring. Why would Gundham put him back in the cuffs after yesterday? After he bore witness to it?
“Don't blame him, Hajime. I'm the one who insisted.” Nagito said with a smile.
“You were caught on a fence yesterday.” Hajime said slowly, like he was presenting evidence. “You got caught by the chain and couldn't move. What if nobody found you?”
“Well then, I wouldn't be very useful anymore, would I?” Nagito laughed, this time quieter; the slightest pause in his expressions. “But anyways, I'm fine. You shouldn't worry about me, Hajime.”
“You were fucking passed out,” Hajime raised his voice, but recoiled when Nagito flinched. “You’d been there for hours. You're the ultimate lucky student, Nagito. You know you'll get lucky enough for bad things to happen to you. Do you think being in cuffs helps? That it keeps you safer?”
“A good dog never dies in a gutter, right? Without a collar, I'm a stray.” Nagito was still smiling. Hajime stood abruptly from his chair, nearly knocking it over, the sound of it dragging on the floor cutting across the room.
“I can't talk to you like this.” Hajime muttered, storming past him. He swore he saw Nagito’s grin fall, but he didn't stay to confirm.

Nagito stared at the empty space in front of him blankly for a moment, his chains rattling as he let his wrists fall to his lap. He knew people were looking at him. He didn't return their gaze; just fiddled with his chain, letting his gaze drop to the gold surface, so reflective he could see his own eyes in it. He looked away quickly, studying the room for someone he could speak to. There wasn't anyone; not really.

“You don't look like you're enjoying breakfast.” A sleepy voice noted from slightly behind Nagito.
“I'm not very hungry.” Nagito said. He was smiling, but his eyes were entirely blank. Chiaki yawned as she sat down where Hajime had been sitting, right across from Nagito.
“How do those ones unlock?” She asked curiously, touching his cuffed wrists, delicately turning the metal in her hands.
“You know, I don't actually remember.” Nagito laughed, feeling just the slightest bit of relief from the conversation. Chiaki’s eyes weren't raking him head to toe; hell, he wasn't even sure if her eyes were completely open.
“Hajime isn't gonna like that.” Chiaki commented passively, resting her chin on the table.
“He already doesn't.” Nagito said, his voice falling slightly.
“Do they hurt?” Chiaki asked, noting how much heavier these ones were, along with the bandages underneath them.
“Only sometimes. Only if I forget they're there.” Nagito smiled.
“That's a lot, huh?” She said, observing the specs of dried blood already on the bandages.
“It's just because I got stuck. It's not usually this bad.” Nagito said, smiling dismissively.
“Is that why Hajime was crying yesterday?” Chiaki asked. Nagito froze.
“Was he?”
“I think so. His face was all red, and he was moving his arms around a bunch when he was talking to Kazuichi and everyone. I think Yasuhiro hugged him.”
“Oh.” Nagito studied the table beneath his chain, biting down on his lip until he tasted blood.
“I think you made him really sad.”
“I know, Chiaki.” Nagito mumbled through his smile.

Chapter Text

“Why did you cuff him?” Hajime asked, trailing behind Gundham as he walked to his cabin. He stilled so suddenly, Hajime ran right into his back. He practically tasted the fabric of his cloak; smelling the distinct odour of rodents lingering on his clothes.
“He insisted. He's practically feral; I didn't have much choice.” Gundham said, admitting the truth much more freely than Hajime expected.
“You were there! You helped me carry him out from under that fence, you saw how scratched up he was. He was passed out!” Hajime argued as he stumbled back, trying to regain his bearings after walking right into Gundham.
“Your creature cannot be contained, even by golden binds.” Gundham said, turning to face Hajime swiftly. “Had I refused his request, your creature would have applied the binds himself. Poorly, I might add.”
“Can you just call him Nagito?”
“No.” Gundham replied curtly. “Your… pet is tired.” He said, finding a different word to call Nagito, though Hajime wasn't sure if it was less degrading. “He's biting his own tail.”

Hajime wanted to argue against how Gundham spoke about Nagito; like he was a wild animal, trapped in a cage. The pit in his stomach seemed to deepen. Was Nagito a pet? He thought of the way Nagito had rested his chin on his leg once, his eyes looking up at Hajime as he petted his hair and called him “good boy”.
“He's not a dog.” Hajime said. He didn't know why he was even trying.
“Dog or not, he needs to be leashed. Perhaps tamed. I tried myself, but could only contain him for a matter of time.”
“Do you know how to unlock the cuffs?” Hajime asked. “He wouldn't tell me.”
“There is a button on the bottom of each cuff, fool.”

Hajime paused. Had Kazuichi made the cuffs easier to take off?
“So… there's no key?” Hajime asked.
“A key would be futile to such a device. The chain is designed to break when bearing his body mass.”
“So… he can't really get stuck?”
“It would be very difficult, but I assure you he’ll find a way. Keep an eye on your beast, Hajime. Don't let him out of your sight.”
“Right, yeah. Thanks, Gundham.” Hajime said as he walked away.
“Your thanks is unneeded, but I offer my gratitude nonetheless.” Gundham called after him, his voice fading into the background.

It surprised Hajime at first that Kazuichi had made the cuffs and not Miu, but now he was grateful–incredibly grateful, shuddering at the thought of whatever deplorable thing she'd have Nagito wearing. He wanted to thank Kazuichi personally, but he had a stop to make first, and the tile was already coming into view from over the beach.

Hajime walked through the entrance, rounding the privacy wall quickly, not expecting to see anyone except maybe Nagito. He stumbled back, startled at the presence of another person; someone he completely didn't expect.
“Gonta?” He said, studying the scene in front of him with increasing confusion on his face. Nagito sat on the ground, cross legged, wearing clothes that were obviously too big for him. The room was covered in little plastic carriers with holes in the top, and Hajime noticed the biggest dragonfly he'd ever seen perched delicately in Nagito’s hand. Gonta's hand was outstretched as if he were just taking it back.
“Oh, Hajime! Gonta is so sorry, Nagito was just looking at bugs.”
“Hi, Hajime.” Nagito gave a gentle wave with his free hand, careful not to disturb the dragonfly as he allowed Gonta to transfer the bug to his hand.
“It's, uh, fine.” Hajime’s head tilted to the side, absolutely no idea where to even start with this one.
“Gonta was just about to show me the tarantulas.” Nagito said, a genuine grin of excitement on his face.
“Taran-” Hajime started, already horrified. He caught himself, taking a deep breath. He directed his attention to Gonta, who he knew he'd have a much easier time rationalizing with.
“Don't let him touch anything that can bite him. He's lucky.” Hajime explained.
“Oh, yes! Nagito is very lucky. This butterfly-” he started, picking up a container with a massive green butterfly inside that he had clearly been showing to Nagito.
“No, I mean he's the ultimate lucky student. If something can bite him, it will.”
“Oh,” Gonta frowned, his shoulders sagging. “No tarantulas, then. I'm sorry Nagito.” He apologized sincerely. Hajime realized that Nagito was wearing Gonta’s clothes, and a whole new layer of confusion started.
“You can still show him other stuff, though,” Hajime backtracked, not wanting to ruin… whatever this was. “What kind of butterfly was that?”

Gonta’s face lit up again, and Hajime made peace with the fact that he'd be here for a while. He took a seat on the floor next to Nagito, and agreeably let himself be handed bugs for the next hour, just because it looked like Nagito was having fun.
“Why are you wearing his clothes?” Hajime whispered in Nagito’s ear. Gonta had become distracted with catching a loose beetle; this might be the only chance he got to ask.
“He says the bugs prefer modesty.” Nagito whispered back. They both giggled at the absurdity of it all, but really, this was the best thing Hajime had witnessed happening to Nagito so far. He watched Nagito from the corner of his eye, seeing his face light up again and again as different bugs were shown and explained to him. He saw Nagito smile every day, but he didn't think he'd ever seen him this happy. Or happy at all, for that matter.

Chapter Text

Hajime thought it had gone away. The passing glances at Nagito, the curiosity that piqued when he looked at each bruise on his skin. He'd gotten used to the sight, no longer taking long, lingering looks when he caught Nagito in a way he wasn't supposed to see.

Hajime couldn't sleep. His skin felt like it was crackling with electricity, moving under his flesh in waves. He kicked his blanket off, sighing, wiping the sweat that was pooling in his eyes messily with his fingers. The air in his cabin was thick enough to make him cough, clambering out of bed and forcing his window open. He couldn't keep doing this; couldn't keep pretending that he was worried about Nagito as an excuse to see him. Still, the thought loomed like a threat. It wasn't too late, and even if it was, Nagito wouldn't mind if he woke him up.

Hajime clenched his teeth. He shouldn't, but what was stopping him? Not Nagito. Not anyone else on the island.

The door to his cabin creaked open. Hajime winced at the sound, slipping out the front door in his pajamas and a hoodie. He left a trail of footprints in the sand to the change room, having forgotten to put on shoes entirely in his haste.

There was no light emerging from the change room, but Hajime knew not to expect there to be. He braced his back against the furthest wall, tucking in with the bushes and trees. He could hear something, quietly over the wind. Or maybe it was wishful thinking. He could picture it so vividly; Nagito, on his knees, face flushed, arms bound behind his back… or had Hajime added that last part himself?

Hajime dug his nails into his thigh as he listened. Still, calm, like he had done this before. He held his breath when he heard a muffled voice, low and quiet.
“Come on, don't make me ask again.” A light chuckle, a sound Hajime knew was something being pushed into someone's mouth. His breath hitched, instinctively sitting up, as if the extra inch would make him hear better.

Hajime shut his eyes tight, bracing his palm against his pants. Slow, methodical; disciplined in his control, even when he had to cover his own mouth with his other hand. This was wrong. He didn't care.

Hajime was disappointed at how little Nagito spoke. He knew he rarely did, yet still listened for it like he was standing outside of an orchestra, hand slipping under his waistband now.
“Come on, use your hands, you're so pretty,” the voice in the change room said. Hajime stilled, his face twisting into a grimace before he tried again to ignore them. Nagito may have been quiet, but his throat wasn't, and Hajime knew what that sounded like. He even knew what it looked like. So why was he out here?
“Who gave you these, anyway?” The voice said to Nagito. Hajime could probably figure out who it was if he tried, but he avoided thinking about it on purpose. Hajime stilled, listening with newfound curiosity for their conversation. Nagito didn't answer the question; all Hajime heard was something that sounded like a bunch of tiny pieces of metal hitting a tile floor. Nagito didn't stop him; didn't even slow down, so Hajime didn't, either.

Hajime’s hand stayed firm over his mouth. He knew he was quiet, but he refused to risk it. It was inevitable now, anyway.
“Come on, sweetheart, I know you can take it further than that.” The voice said sweetly. The distinct noise of Nagito choking, his throat convulsing around… something. Hajime could almost picture it perfectly. The way Nagito would look up at him, eyes innocent and confused. Hajime’s hips bucked into his hand when he heard Nagito, muffled around something big, say what he could only guess was supposed to be “am I doing good?”

Hajime imagined Nagito saying that to him, breathless, grateful, desperate. He shoved his hands down harder; one on his mouth, one already getting painted through his boxer shorts.
Hajime bit his own fingers. He had no other choice. He couldn't remember how long it had been; when the last time he let himself get anything was. He thought about how it looked when he fucked Nagito’s mouth. He bit down on his fingers harder. He tasted blood; warm, metallic on his tongue. He'd come; desperate, perverted, shameful.

Hajime listened to the stranger finish, his own breath starting to quicken. He shouldn't be here; not now, not ever. Still, he stayed around to listen to Nagito, who allowed himself to cough and sputter only after he knew the stranger was gone. There was no attention to how Nagito felt; Hajime wasn't even sure if the man had said goodbye to him, disappearing into the night, nothing but the ghost of a zipper zipping up to remember him. He almost wished he looked at who it was, but he knew it was better he didn't.

Inside the dark change room, Nagito was on his hands and knees, coughing what he could onto the tile. His elbows trembled, his knees were weak. He could hear breathing on the other side of the wall.
“...Hajime?” He uttered quietly, not wanting to believe his own hopeful thought. The breathing stilled; he listened, but no reply came. “Coward.” Nagito muttered. He didn't call for Hajime again.

Chapter Text

Hajime saw Nagito out in new cuffs the next day, identical to the old ones. They might have even actually been the old ones; they looked dented in some places, not as shiny as any cuff Hajime had seen him wear. He didn't see Nagito as often during the day anymore; he only occasionally ran into him at night.

Hajime was just getting ready for bed, about to brush his teeth around eleven p.m one night, freezing as he heard a knock on his door. He immediately assumed he'd forgotten plans, but couldn't think of anything he'd agreed to lately. He wanted to ignore it, but as the knocking grew more insistent, he knew he had to answer.

“What?” Hajime hissed, cracking his door open just a few inches. He squinted, trying to see the figure in his doorway in the dim light. Hajime just barely had time to move out of the way before his door was being kicked, swinging open so hard it bounced off the other wall.
“What the fuck was that for?” Hajime demanded, whipping his head toward the person in the doorway. His words died in his throat. He opened his mouth to try again to speak, but before he could, Nagito was bursting through his doorway, shoving an accusatory finger on his chest.

“What did I do to you?” Nagito started, venom in his tone, speaking faster than he usually would as he backed Hajime into his own cabin. “You left me in cuffs you knew were going to break.” a pointed push with one hand, forcing Hajime to see up close the damaged cuffs Nagito was wearing; worse than the ones he began in. “You destroyed my throat so I couldn't even talk after you wouldn't shut up about how awful my treatment was.” Another shove. Or maybe Nagito was just hitting him now; he couldn't tell anymore. Hajime felt his legs hit the back of his bed frame, having backed up as far as he could go, and Nagito was still getting closer. “You avoided me and you fucking told other people to do the same!” Nagito braced both palms on Hajime’s chest, shoving him hard onto the bed. “Gundham won’t even touch me, Hajime! He was the only one that would! You took away my only purpose!” Nagito’s breath was ragged; he was shaking as he climbed onto the bed, cornering Hajime against the headboard. “You think I can't hear you outside? Is jerking off to me getting fucked really so much more palatable than doing it yourself?!”

Hajime looked up at Nagito’s face. He had dark circles under his eyes and a bruise on his cheekbone; he was nearly crying, still beautiful as ever.
“I'm–sorry!” Hajime managed, trying to wriggle out of Nagito’s reach and failing miserably. “I just–I just wanted to help,” He understood why Nagito was angry. Still, it was jarring to see him like this. His eyes widened, realizing Nagito was laughing.
“A lot of help you did,” Nagito spat, straddling Hajime’s waist, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and yanking him up. “I can't fucking come, Hajime. Gundham was the only one who could make me do it,” Hajime felt something wet hit his forehead, and he realized Nagito was crying. “And he–he won't touch me!”
“I’m sorry!” Hajime was trying to shove Nagito’s hands away. He physically couldn't.
“Why won’t you claim me? Why won't you make me yours?” Nagito pulled him even closer; their noses were almost touching. “Are you so much of a coward that you can't even fuck someone who's purpose it is to let you?”
“Jesus Christ, Nagito! What is your fucking problem?!” Hajime couldn't back up; couldn't even get an inch. He was probably stronger than Nagito, but that meant nothing when Nagito had longer nails and the upper hand.

Hajime reached up, pushing Nagito back by his collarbones, just to get a couple more inches.
“You love this,” Nagito hissed, pushing harder back into Hajime, determined not to let him win. “Feel it.” Nagito grabbed Hajime's wrist with both hands, forcing his hand down between his legs. Hajime gasped as he felt his own hand being used against himself; Nagito ground his palm into the back of Hajime’s hand, forcing him to palm himself. To feel that this had gotten him hard.
“Nagito,” Hajime uttered, quiet restraint getting harder to exercise.
“Fuck. Me.” Nagito barked. It was everything; it was permission, it was submission, it was a command. Hajime looked up into Nagito’s eyes; his feral expression making him shudder. When Nagito didn't expect it, Hajime managed to messily shove him onto his back, sideways across the mattress.

Hajime hovered over Nagito; a silent question in hand. Nagito was trying to provoke him; what was he sacrificing if he fucked him into his mattress like he wanted? Nagito tried to reach for Hajime, but Hajime quickly grabbed him by the chain between his cuffs, shoving it back down to the mattress. Nagito grunted as he was pinned, shutting his eyes tight for a few seconds, like a dog when a firework goes off.
“You alright?” Hajime asked. Nagito gave him an unpleasant look as he spread his legs, clearly unimpressed with the question. Hajime took in a slow breath, keeping one hand on the chain as he shuffled Nagito’s shorts down with the other. Nagito was watching, his eyes wide, like he didn't expect Hajime to actually do it. “You look scared, Nagito.”
“I'm not.” Nagito said.

Hajime allowed himself to breathe in Nagito’s scent. He smelled a bit like the ocean, like salt and fish with something sweeter underneath. Nagito tried weakly to sit up, but Hajime shifted his weight back onto the chain, pushing his wrists right back down above his head. He propped himself up on one hand between Nagito’s as he straddled him, effectively chaining Nagito around his wrist as he reached underneath him, pulling his shorts down to his knees.

Hajime had gotten careless with Nagito; he knew that. He was too content to just listen passively, like he was one of the tiles himself. Not here, not tonight. Nagito looked up at him with soft eyes, his breath just a bit quicker than it was before.
“You really want this?” Hajime asked. He expected Nagito to tease him, or say something about hope and how worthless he was. Instead, Nagito looked into his eyes.
“Yes, please.” he said gently; docile, nothing like he'd been when he walked in just minutes ago.

Hajime pulled his own pants off, kicking them off the side of the bed. He'd been hesitating, but Nagito was so soft beneath him; he was all heat and breath now that he was calm. Hajime wanted to say how long he'd wanted to do this for, but all that would prompt is the question ‘why didn't you?’

Hajime leaned down, his mouth trembling as it found its way to Nagito’s throat. He kissed delicately, tasting his skin. He wouldn't bruise him; not like Nekomaru did. He felt Nagito shudder, his legs twitching beneath him, squeezing at his hips.
“Good,” Hajime said quietly, unsure how to praise. “Can I…” Hajime blushed, pulling off his shirt quickly before once again pinning Nagito’s chain back to the bed.
“I won't stop you.” Nagito chuckled, a smile on his lips. Nagito hadn't even known what he was asking; just agreed.
“You didn't let me ask.”
“Does it matter?” Nagito was smiling. For the first time that Hajime had ever seen, Nagito was even hard. His breath caught when he noticed; wanting to use his mouth, but not quite knowing how. A beat too long passed as he stared.
“It should.” Hajime said slowly, like he was reading off a projector. Nagito rolled his eyes.

Hajime let go of Nagito’s chain in favour of holding his waist, having to put effort into holding him down as he squirmed from the kisses he trailed down his torso, pushing his shirt up to expose his ribs. Nagito was already trembling; his moans were strained, higher than usual. When Hajime touched between his legs with his hand, it almost sounded like it hurt.

“Am I hurting you?” Hajime asked, his breath hot on Nagito’s skin. Nagito didn't answer; he didn't think he had to.
“Nagito?”
“You really shouldn't c-concern yourself w-with– ah!”
“I am.” He observed, slowing his hand, not stopping. Nagito could handle a little bit; he'd seen him take much worse.
“No,” Nagito argued immaturely, his eyes screwing shut. “And it- it's okay if it-” Nagito trembled, he could barely even speak as Hajime let his hand trail along his body, feeling from his waist down to his hip.

“You're trying so hard to keep it together, aren't you?” Hajime said, not understanding what came over him. He let his other hand touch Nagito’s throat. No; not touch. Wrap around. Even Nagito gave him a surprised look, cocking one eyebrow like Hajime couldn't feel all his muscles wound tight beneath his skin. He didn’t squeeze, just held it there. He almost felt like he had earned it.
Almost.

“Please,” Nagito’s voice cut like glass; overused, rehearsed. Hajime didn't hide his grimace; didn't even try. Nagito giggled, knowing and loving how much it bothered Hajime. “Use my body, let me fulfill my purpose.”
“Shut up,” Hajime growled, shoving the hand from his throat over Nagito’s mouth. He could feel Nagito laughing against him; he knew that at best Nagito didn't take him very seriously, and at worst, didn't respect him at all.

He grabbed Nagito’s cock with his other hand; rough, not thinking. When Nagito gasped, he only loosened his grip a fraction.

“Use me.” Nagito said again, muffled by his hand. Hajime shut his eyes tightly, forcing himself to think this through.
“Fine.” He growled. He pushed up one of Nagito’s legs, folding his knee to his chest. They didn't have lube; not anything good, anyway. Hajime grabbed a tube of Vaseline as a last resort, having to let go of Nagito’s mouth to reach it.
“What are you–?” Nagito couldn't keep the confusion to himself as he watched Hajime shoved two fingers into the container, bringing out a glob of the stuff.
“We don't have lube.” Hajime said, blushing.
“So?” Nagito was panting, just slightly. Hajime looked him over; looked at everything he could see. With Nagito’s hands chained above his head, and one leg folded up, it was like there wasn't a single thing he'd be able to hide if he tried.
“The fuck do you mean ‘so’?” Hajime muttered, pressing two lubed fingers to Nagito’s hole. Nagito’s entire body jolted in surprise; then, he pressed down.

Hajime couldn't stop himself from making a noise as Nagito sank down like he was challenging him. Like he was saying, ‘see? You're supposed to do this.’
Nagito was… perfect. It was hard to say he wasn't. He was warm around Hajime’s fingers, tight in a way he didn't expect, letting his legs fall open more.
“Nagito,” Hajime’s voice was strangled. He shifted forward; putting more weight on Nagito’s chain. He was smiling up at Hajime.
“Just fuck me.”

Hajime wanted to. He'd always wanted to, ever since he found out what Nagito was doing. He'd told himself he didn't; told himself he could only have Nagito after he saved him; but there was no salvation in the way he pressed Nagito down by his chain, the cuffs pressing angrily into his skin. He took his fingers out. He didn't know what he was doing; his body moved for him, trembling hands struggling to get the Vaseline on his dick and keep Nagito held down at the same time. He wanted to kiss Nagito; wanted to comfort him as he pushed inside of him.

He didn't. The second his head pushed inside, Hajime groaned and surged forward without meaning to. A sharp gasp came from Nagito. Not a moan; not even words, just breath as his head tilted back against the pillows. A pause, waiting for Nagito to tell him to move.
“What are you waiting for?” Nagito asked. His voice was small; desperate, mostly breath escaping his lips instead of words.

Hajime should have eased in. He should have been gentle. Instead, he grabbed Nagito’s thigh, his grip digging hard into his skin. He used his leg as leverage; kept Nagito pinned down beneath him as he drove forward. Fast, uncoordinated. Nagito gasped quietly, his eyes opening wide before settling. He wasn't in pain; not that Hajime could tell, but he hated how perfectly he took it; how still he laid there, whimpering as Hajime’s hips pounded against his thighs.

Hajime watched Nagito’s hips as he worked. He was bruised and dirty; but Hajime wasn't sure if he'd ever seen him clean. He changed his angle, closing his eyes as he pounded into Nagito deeper than he could before. Nagito moaned distinctly. Hajime felt him try to move his wrists, but he kept him held down.

“There?” Hajime asked. It was meant to be hot; but his voice wavered, giving away his surprise. He wasn't sure if he'd ever heard Nagito moan like that. The sound was familiar, but then again, he was starting to confuse what he's heard with everything he's thought.
“Mmph,” Nagito clamped his teeth down on his own bottom lip, turning his head to the side to hide his face in his arm. Hajime was finding his rhythm; evenly paced, relentless in his force. Nagito’s lower back arched. His legs were starting to shake.
“Fuck,” Hajime wished he could always see this; wished he could have it as a painting on his fucking wall. He didn't know what was happening, didn't know what he was doing; his body took control for him.

He felt something hot hit his stomach. Nagito gasped, letting out a cry as he forced his face further into his arm.
“Nagito?” Hajime’s pace was slowing, feeling warm droplets hit his stomach. “Did you just–?”
“No!” Nagito lied obviously, the last few drops hitting before a string of whines left his lips. Frustrated, like he wanted to cry. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–I didn't know I–please don't stop, don't stop, don't let me fail–”

Hajime felt exhilarated for a few seconds; he'd made Nagito finish, untouched, without even trying to. But he watched as Nagito trembled; still moving, like it hadn't happened at all. He didn't know what this was. It didn't feel like victory.
“Please, please Hajime, I'm sorry I finished, I didn't mean to-” Nagito was so desperate in the way he spoke, it just made Hajime stall completely. “No, wait, you haven't finished yet. I have to–you have to–”
“Nagito, breathe.” Hajime ordered. Nagito did; at least, he was pretty sure. “Why are you saying sorry?”
“I didn't earn it, I just- I-” He sounded so viscerally horrified at what he'd done. “I'm not supposed to. Please, Hajime, I want you to finish.”

Hajime didn't know if he could.
“It's okay that you…” Hajime didn't know what to say. He'd never been in this situation before; he'd never even had sex. “It's–you’re supposed to.”
“No I'm not!” Nagito whined. “Use me, please, please, I need you to finish in me, Hajime, please-”

Hajime had heard Nagito beg before; over the wall, in the change room, but never like this. He begged for pain, he begged for punishment. He didn't beg for an end; he took it until it was over. Maybe Hajime was the first to ever pull away.

If Hajime didn't do what Nagito was asking, he was terrified of what Nagito would do to himself to feel he'd been adequately punished.
“You really want me to keep fucking you after you already came?” Hajime asked, his thumb tracing the metal of the cuffs.
“You know I do.” Nagito said. To Hajime, it almost seemed like he was beginning to break Nagito down. No, ‘please sir’ like he'd heard so many times over the change room wall. He didn't know if it was honesty, but he knew it was something. He looked at Nagito; trembling, hiding his face with his arms.

Slowly, he pushed back in. Nagito didn't resist; didn't even flutter, his mouth falling open in a smile, his eyes closing in bliss. Hajime was using him; just like he'd asked. Just like he wanted. He was worth being touched, even after he failed. To Hajime, it was sad. To Nagito, it was cathartic.

Hajime shut his eyes tight, focusing just on the warmth around him as he rutted into Nagito. Mechanically paced. He was trying so hard to focus, trying to stop the lingering sounds of Nagito breaking down because of his orgasm.
“Don't slow down, I can take it.” Nagito panted, lifting his head to watch. Hajime grunted; he knew he shouldn't be doing this. Shouldn't be getting involved at all. Yet here he was, deep inside Nagito, fucking him into the mattress.
“T-talk to me,” Hajime managed, calling in an orgasm that was standing frustratingly still in the doorway. “Please, I wanna hear your voice,”
“You're so good, sir,” Nagito started.
“Not like that.” Hajime groaned, burying his face in the crook of Nagito’s neck. “Don't- please, I just want-” Hajime didn't know. Neither did Nagito.

There was a painful silence between them; the sound of skin against skin, Nagito's quiet whimpers filled in its place. Nagito was determined to try, even if got it wrong. He gasped on a deep thrust, whimpering, “Hajime.”
“Fuck,” Hajime grunted. He wanted to hear it again, and Nagito could tell.
“Hajime,” He drew out each syllable on a thrust this time; he could hear Hajime's grunts getting shorter. He was fucking him faster, caring less about the angle and more about how hard he could do it.

Hajime let go of Nagito’s chain, his palm aching from where it was trapped under his hand. Instead he grabbed both of Nagito’s legs, shoving them up to his chest.
“Say my name,” Hajime panted.
“H-Hajime,” it was getting harder for Nagito to talk. “Hajime, Hajime, Hajime-”
“Fuck!” Hajime roared, burying himself to the hilt, rocking hard against Nagito’s hips as if he could still go deeper. He collapsed on top of him, his entire body trembling as he filled Nagito with all he had.

Hajime couldn't move when it was over. He couldn't even open his eyes. Nagito was panting beneath him, exhausted, still full of his softening cock.
“Hajime?” He said quietly. He was still cuffed; still trapped. Hajime hadn't even thought to release him. Sweat and cum pooled between their stomachs, staining the sheets, their clothes, and everything else it touched.
Hajime pulled out gently. Nagito was leaking within seconds; staining the bed even more.

He sat up slowly, struggling to keep weight on his trembling arms, forcing himself to sit back on his heels.

“I did this to you.” Hajime said quietly, not meaning to say it at all. Nagito’s legs were still half tucked to his chest, trembling from holding his position. Hajime could actually see the cum leaking from his hole now, dripping messily down his ass. He looked at the cuffs, at the angry red marks he could see appearing under the bottoms and tops. He'd held Nagito down too hard, and he hadn't even realized it. He was covered; practically painted in fluids from his face to his thighs. Dripping sweat, saliva, semen, and blood from a few old scrapes that had opened from the movement.
“You did.” Nagito was smiling. Blissed. Hajime didn't feel like it was earned; that he deserved to feel good about what he had done. “Thank you for finishing inside me, Hajime.”

Hajime shuddered, finally allowing himself to collapse on the bed next to Nagito. He laid face down; he didn't want to look at him. At what he'd done.

Minutes passed. Sweat cooling, breath settling. He reached for Nagito’s cuffs, letting his hand touch the chain. Nagito stilled, prepared for Hajime to try to take them off.
“What happened to the other cuffs?” Hajime asked. He didn't try to remove them; not yet.
“The chain broke. You were there, remember?” Nagito said, punching him with one line. “It couldn't hold my weight, so it broke when it got pulled.”
“I guess it was stupid for us to think it would work.” Hajime said. Nagito blinked, the faintest flicker of something in his eyes.
“Us?” He asked. Hajime hadn't realized that Nagito didn't know Kazuichi and Gundham were in on it.
“We just wanted you to be safe,” Hajime said slowly, debating on saying names. “Gundham and Kazuichi are actually the ones who thought to make the cuffs like that, but… I know they did it because of me.”
“So, it was all of you.” Nagito sighed, laughing to himself. “You guys are so obvious.”

Hajime reached to unhook the chain. Without moving, Nagito said, “leave it on. I know you like it like that, anyway.”
“These look like they hurt.” Hajime said quietly, ignoring how much the insult burned. He imagined jagged metal on the inside from where the cuffs had broken, and he prayed that wasn't the case.
“They do.” Nagito said. Not a complaint, but a statement. “It's my punishment for losing them in such a stupid way.”

Chapter Text

When Hajime woke the next morning, his entire body was sore. His thighs burned from exertion, the joints of his arms ached from holding up his own weight. He still had a fading print of the chain on his palm, muddy but identifiable.

Hajime sat up slowly, fighting not to groan as his body screamed in protest against his movements. Nagito was in bed with him; he could feel the heat from his body. Hajime let his gaze fall to him. He was almost entirely concealed by the blanket, just a puff of white hair and dented gold handcuffs visible peeking out of the top. Hajime looked at the blood on Nagito’s pillowcase, already dry from the night before. When had he bled? Hajime didn't remember him bleeding, but he did remember how hard he held Nagito down, cuffs digging into his wrists, and he was starting to get a better picture.

Hajime let his gaze drift away from the blood. The stain would come out. If it didn't, he'd throw the pillowcase away. He was so distracted, it took him a few seconds to even notice that Nagito’s eyes had opened.
“Good morning.” Nagito said quietly. Hajime let out a slow breath, slowly forcing his eyes away from the blood.
“Good morning.” Hajime replied tightly.

Nagito sat up slowly, yawning and pushing the duvet down his torso. Hajime’s breath caught as the blanket fell. Around the rim of the cuffs were specs of dried blood, but from the bottom there were visible red streaks, smeared and dried all over his skin.
“Nagito,” his voice said urgently, but Nagito just raised an eyebrow.
“It looks worse than it is.” He replied with a shrug.
“You need new cuffs.” Hajime said. “I'm sorry I–that we–gave you the ones that would break, but Nagito, you can't keep wearing those ones.”
“Why?” Nagito asked innocently, his mouth shifting into a grin. “They're the only ones somebody’s ever destroyed for me. Haven't I earned them?”

Hajime didn't answer. He didn't want to, knowing Nagito would twist whatever he said to justify punishing himself. He stood from the bed, fighting his aching legs as he made his way to a drawer, pulling out a flat-headed screwdriver.
“What are you doing?” Nagito said, his voice wavering.

Hajime took one step forward. Nagito darted out of bed like a feral animal; fast, uncoordinated in his desperation to escape.
“Don't,” Nagito’s voice was desperate, looking at the screwdriver in Hajime’s hand as he took another step towards him.
“Don't make me do this.” Hajime said seriously. He'd drawn a line; with himself, with Nagito. He wasn't waking up next to someone covered in blood again. The handcuffs were coming off.
“Don't fucking touch me,” Nagito stepped to the side and forward, just barely out of Hajime’s grasp when he lunged for him.

Hajime’s fingers had grazed wet skin, blood coating his fingertips from touching Nagito’s arm. He'd hoped he could get Nagito pinned in one easy motion; he should've known he couldn't. He looked down at his hand, then back at Nagito.

Nagito didn't wait for a second attempt. He spun on his heel fast enough to almost fall, scrambling for the door. Hajime didn't try to mitigate the damage he'd do this time; he tackled him to the ground. There was a horrific crack, but no silence to let it linger as Nagito started to scream.
“Fuck you!” Nagito was kicking viciously, trying to leverage his bound hands on the ground and push himself up. He was on his front, his hands splayed in front of him with Hajime scrambling to bear his weight down on his back so he couldn't move. “Stop, you're–” Nagito cut himself off with a yell, refusing to say Hajime was hurting him, even in a state like this.
“I'm taking them off,” Hajime leaned forward, steadying a hand on the back of Nagito’s neck to keep him still, his hand dwarfed in the hand-print bruise he always had on his neck from Nekomaru holding him the same way.

“I need them!” Nagito argued. Hajime was trying to hold the screwdriver correctly, but couldn't seem to remember how as it slid around in his hand, slick with blood.
“You need help!” Hajime finally just closed the screwdriver in his fist and shoved it into one of the broken hinges. There was a click as he twisted the screwdriver to the side, the hinge cracking in half completely. That was one; he only had to do three more.

Nagito was crying. His sobs came out broken, between half-coherent pleas.
“I'll do anything, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't take them away, don't take them away- I can't, I can't do this without them, I'm nothing if I'm not useful-”
“You can get new ones! Jesus Christ!” Hajime shoved the screwdriver into the next hinge. It didn't break; this one he had to fiddle with, pushing on different points until the entire hinge snapped off. One cuff was done; broken in half, revealing Nagito’s raw, bleeding wrist. “You're acting like a fucking child, Nagito!”

There was a brief, terrifying pause. Nagito stilled; Hajime thought he'd won. When he went for the next cuff, Nagito turned his head and spat in Hajime’s face.
“You little shit!” Hajime couldn't believe how angry he'd let himself become. He wiped his face with his hand, smearing blood and spit everywhere. He shoved Nagito into the ground harder, pinning him so he couldn't sit up at all. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Hajime demanded, stabbing the screwdriver carelessly into the next hinge and twisting so hard that the hinge after it broke, too.

Hajime grabbed the cuffs and tossed them somewhere in the room, just to get them out of Nagito’s reach. He panted, palm still on Nagito’s back, straddling him, holding him down without permission. Nagito was shaking, his breath coming in short, hard gasps.
“God, what am I doing?” Hajime muttered. The screwdriver clattered to the floor.

Nagito didn't try to sit up when Hajime eased his weight from his back. He flexed his fingers, as if unsure what exactly they were. Hajime didn't speak; didn't even try. He didn't know how to mitigate this. Didn't know if he could. He watched Nagito’s chest rise with stuttering breaths, watched his eyes open and close slowly, as if drifting off.
“Thank you.” Nagito mumbled, turning his head away from Hajime. “It's because of last night, right? I appreciate that you waited to punish me.” He sighed, laying his bloodied hands flat on the floor. “Most don't.”
“Nagito…” Hajime crumpled to his knees next to him, covering his face with his hands. He tried to breathe through it; tried to bite it back down, but soon, tears were dripping down his wrists.

“Can I stand up?” Nagito asked, his voice hoarse.
“You don't have to ask.” Hajime muttered pathetically.
“I prefer to.” Nagito said, knees trembling under his weight. He pushed himself up from the floor, one eye twitching. Though he was technically on his feet now, he swayed like he could go down any minute.

Hajime rubbed his eyes with his palms; when he put his hands down, he realized he was kneeling in front of Nagito.
“This is new.” Nagito said, a small smirk creeping onto his face.
“Please–don’t.” Hajime breathed. Still, Nagito reached out, hesitating before he rested his hand on Hajime’s hair.
“What, you unchained me and now you don't like that I can move?”
“You know that's not it. Why do you always–” Hajime stopped. It didn't matter, and it wasn't worth it. “I don't know what you want, Nagito.”
“What I want?” Nagito seemed confused by the statement. “To serve hope, Hajime. Nothing more.”
“I don't think that's true.” Hajime said, glaring at the ground. Nagito touched his fingers to Hajime’s chin, forcing him to look up.
“No? What do I want, then? Maybe you know better than me.”
“Forget it.” Hajime clambered to his feet. “You just… you don't do this to anyone else, do you?”
“Fuck them?” Nagito barked a laugh.
“No,” Hajime bit his tongue before he could say something rude. “Come to their cabins and yell at them for not fucking you, just so they have to until you’ll shut up. I'd call that more desperation than anything.”

Nagito didn't have a reply. His eyes cast to the side, blank.
“I know I’m not exactly innocent here,” Hajime said carefully. “But… I can't act like this is normal.”
“I know it isn't.” Nagito said quietly, his lips barely moving. Hajime waited for him to continue, but he didn't.
“I'm gonna clean you up, okay?” Hajime told him. Not an order exactly, but it was clear to Nagito he didn't have a choice.
“You did this.” Nagito stated. Hajime’s breath caught.
“I'm–” the word ‘sorry’ died in his mouth. He knew he wasn't; not really. “I know. Let me clean you.”

Nagito stared at the floor, eyes wide, unblinking. His hands trembled as he sat on the edge of the bed, giving the slightest nod.

Chapter Text

“Nagito, these really don't look very good…” Mikan said meekly, examining his injured wrists. He sat on a hospital bed. Mikan was in front of him, Hajime stood between him and the door.
“It's nothing to worry about.” Nagito said pleasantly. His clothes were dry and modest, his hair was cleaner than it had been in months. “I'm fine, really.”
“Well... O-okay…” she said, moving to grab disinfectant and bandages. “They're not deadly or anything, but you should keep the area clean and dry until it heals.” She said, meticulously cleaning Nagito’s wrists with antiseptic. He kept his smile, his eye twitching. “Wow, that really burns.”
“S-sorry!”
“It's alright,” He laughed, looking down at his wrists. Now that they were clean, he could see his skin was broken in places where the bent hinges had caught. He had a welt around each wrist from how tight the cuffs were, but otherwise, there wasn’t much damage for how much blood he saw. “I appreciate you doing this for me. Truly, I don't deserve the attention.”

Mikan wrapped bandages around Nagito’s wrists carefully, and he let her. No tears, no arguing. He could feel Hajime fuming; glaring furiously at the ground, his arms crossed tightly. When Mikan left the room, he expected Hajime to say something. Make a comment about the handcuffs, insult him, apologize–anything. Not a word came, until Nagito was the one that was uncomfortable.

“I… don't think I realized what I was putting you through.” Nagito admitted, needing something to fill the silence. Hajime perked up, turning to face Nagito.

Nagito felt how Hajime let his eyes linger. Going over his body, toe to head. He couldn’t see most of the bruises, the worst ones covered by his pants and T-shirt. When Hajime stayed silent, Nagito felt a sinking in his chest. He knew he wanted to hear more; hear something more sincere. An apology with meaning.

Nagito didn't have one to give.
“You should be satisfied. You got the cuffs off.” Nagito said, trying to smile at Hajime, whose face stayed fixed in a scowl.
“You spat on me.”
“I–” Nagito faltered, his smile fracturing just a bit. “That's… yes, I did. I'm sorry.”
“I was trying to help you.” Hajime said, steady.

“A few of the others have helped me, too.” Nagito mentioned. “But they usually bring me water, or books. You're the first to tackle me.” He said, sitting up to feel the way his ribs ached from how he hit the ground.
“I didn't feel like I had much of a choice.” Hajime muttered.
“Did you now?” Nagito quipped. He didn't know why he was arguing; he was usually content to put up with anything. But something about Hajime’s prodding, his constant looming, was starting to piss him off. If Hajime never interfered, his handcuffs wouldn't have been hurting him in the first place. He liked what he did; or, he liked the way it made him feel. It made him feel important, like he was a fundamental cog inside a greater machine.
His fingers gripped the edge of the hospital bed tightly, like he was afraid he'd fall off.

“You're such a brat.” Nagito heard Hajime mutter under his breath. He gripped the table harder, his heart quickening at the word. People didn't usually call him things like that. It almost felt… teasing, or playful, though he definitely knew it wasn't.
“You make me bratty. I'm good for everyone else.” Nagito said, loud enough for Hajime to hear. He chuckled in victory when Hajime’s face turned pink, turning away with no reply. “Aw, I made you blush! Hajime, you must really like me.” He said. Hajime forced himself to look at Nagito; there was nothing but venom in his eyes.

Nagito turned his attention to the door as Mikan stepped through it, cutting off whatever Hajime was going to say.

Hajime didn't let Nagito go to the change room that night. Nagito normally wouldn't have allowed that; he did draw lines sometimes, but Hajime was so clear when he declared it that it left no room for argument.

Nagito was sitting on the end of Hajime’s bed, looking up as Hajime loomed over him. Arms crossed, like he still hadn’t decided what to do with Nagito. The cuffs were still on the floor where Hajime had tossed them, already collecting dust.
“I can't sleep in my own cabin?” Nagito asked innocently. His wrists were held close together in his lap, wrapped in bandages.
“Should I let you?” Hajime asked. Nagito giggled, giving a shrug and looking down.
“No, I suppose not.”
“I don't know what to do with you, Nagito.” Hajime said. He was sure he'd said it before, but this time he was angry. “It's like you enjoy getting hurt.”
“Did it take you that long to figure that out?” Nagito asked. “Wow, and I thought I was dense!”
“Why don't you talk to anyone else like that?” Hajime groaned.
“Why would I?”
“Have you never seen the hand-print around your neck? Everyone else has.” Hajime said, balling up his fists. “That wasn't me, was it? I’ve never hurt you on purpose. I wouldn't do that, and you know it.”
“I chose to do this, why can't you accept that?”
“I don’t believe you chose all of this. Maybe you put yourself in that change room, but what they all do to you is a different issue.”
“What are you going to do, Hajime? Keep me tied up here forever?” Nagito laughed.
“Should I?” Hajime challenged. Nagito told himself he was bluffing, but he didn't see any signs that Hajime didn't believe what he said.
“You wouldn't.”
“I should.” Hajime was laughing now. Not out of humour, but pure disbelief. “If I kept you locked up in here until you were healed, would you stop me?”
“What are you talking about?” Nagito leaned back, for once the one intimidated.
“You know what I'm talking about.”

The statement hung in the air like a threat, though Hajime had only said it out of desperation. “You could… you could sleep on the couch, or in my bed. I'd- I’d try to take care of you. I don't know if… you want rules, or anything- but…” Hajime stammered through his offer, pointedly avoiding Nagito’s shocked gaze.
“You want to keep me.” Nagito said, rocking back on the mattress. “Would you really do that? Claim me?” He thought about what Hajime was offering. He thought about Hajime; about how he'd pinned him down that morning. Tore his cuffs from his wrists. There was still blood on the floor; the screwdriver was still where Hajime dropped it.

Nagito remembered what it felt like to sleep in a soft bed last night, even wearing the cuffs. He remembered how guilty Hajime felt every time he hurt him; every time he made the wrong move.
“How would I claim you?” Hajime asked. He looked for deceit, but it was a genuine inquiry.

Nagito paused, looking up to think. He wasn't sure exactly; the closest he'd ever been to being ‘claimed’ was being made to come, but Hajime wasn't the only person who’s accomplished that.
“I… don't know.” Nagito admitted. “Nobody has ever asked before.”
“Your cuffs were always… from you, right?” Hajime asked. Nagito looked down at his bandaged wrists, praying his luck would let Hajime give him new cuffs.
“I picked them out.” Nagito confirmed.
“What if I gave you something else?” Hajime asked, pausing a beat. “Like… a collar?”
“A collar?” Nagito looked up at Hajime, his eyes lighting up. “You'd do that?”
“Would it be better if, uh…” Hajime swallowed. “If the collar had my name on it somewhere? Like, on the tag?”

Nagito actually wanted to kiss him. He didn't often think of his own wants; too distracted by his job, but Hajime was dangling something he'd always wanted in front of him like keys to a toddler.
“I'd like that.” Nagito breathed. He wasn't being offered freedom; but that wasn't what he wanted. He was being offered warmth, security. A chance to sleep in a soft bed with someone who cared about him.
“I'll do that, then.” Hajime gave a tight nod. “You're mine now.”
“What's your first rule, sir?” Nagito asked. His bones felt lighter, like he'd shed a hundred pounds.
“My first rule is ‘don’t call me sir’.” He said. They both laughed.

Hajime paused for a moment to think. He stepped into Nagito’s space like it was his own, standing so close his knees touched Nagito's legs. He put his hand in Nagito’s hair, gently pulling him forward, letting Nagito’s forehead rest against his stomach. Nagito reached for his belt, and Hajime instantly stopped him.
“No, Nagito–I was just–” he let out an exasperated sigh as Nagito pulled back, confused. “Jesus, they really fucked you up. I want you to lean your head against me; nothing else. Just let me touch your hair.”
“Why would you want to do that?” Nagito asked.
“Because it's been a long couple of days, alright?” Hajime said.

Nagito was confused, but he did as Hajime asked. He let his head rest against Hajime's stomach, his entire body settling as Hajime pushed his fingers into his hair. It felt good; better than he'd felt in a long time. He wished he stayed awake longer to savour it, but quickly, Nagito slumped against Hajime. He'd fallen asleep.

Chapter Text

The leather collar felt heavier in his hands than the material weighed. Maybe it was the shining buckles; or the clover shaped tag that said ‘Hajime’s Lucky Boy.’ More realistically, it was the padlock that fastened it making it feel heavy, like a brick in his hands.

The metal clicked into place as Hajime pushed the lock closed, sealed around Nagito’s neck.
“How's that? Not too tight?” Hajime asked, slipping a finger under the collar and pulling to make sure there was still room for Nagito to breathe. Nagito’s breath hitched from where he kneeled on the floor, a pillow beneath his knees, his hands tucked obediently between his legs. Not restrained; just trained well.
“Uh-uh.” Nagito shook his head, looking up at Hajime through his eyelashes.

Hajime pet Nagito’s hair, scratching his scalp with his nails.
“What am I going to do with you?” Hajime murmured quietly to himself. He remembered Nagito asking for rules; for control.
“You're not allowed near the change room. I don’t want you out of my sight at all for the next two weeks.” He declared. The words felt strange on his tongue; if he heard himself, he wouldn't listen. But Nagito just smiled, nodding.
“What about the others? Do you think they'll be upset if you cut off their benefits?” Nagito asked. Hajime swore under his breath. He hadn't thought of that.
“Okay, you don't leave the cabin.”

Nagito glanced at the window, but his gaze didn't linger. He nodded, and Hajime instantly regretted saying it.
“No–wait, that's shitty. I don't want to do that to you.” He said. “Just… stay by my side. Maybe we should get you a leash.”
“A leash?” Nagito looked up. He'd never worn a leash before.
“Maybe. Would you wear it?”
“I'm not supposed to have a choice.”

Hajime faltered as he opened his mouth to respond. Really, how did you respond to that?
“You always have a choice.”
“Please, don't give me one.”

Horror was chasing every fleeting glance at intimacy Hajime got out of his brain with a baseball bat. He wanted to argue, but a thought was creeping in his mind; one he was always trying to suppress.

Maybe Nagito didn't know what was best for himself. Would he have been in that change room if he did?
“The next rule is that you answer everything I ask. Honestly.”
“Okay.” Nagito nodded; that rule seemed to make him the most nervous so far. Hajime did have a question in mind, but he didn't know what his chances of getting anywhere with it were.
“I want you to tell me what you don't like. Things you don't want me to ever do.”

Nagito stared at him like he was speaking a different language.
“That's not…” His eyebrows furrowed. “I don't know if I can answer that.”
“Come on, Nagito. Just… think. What did you hate?” Hajime pressed.
“I don't think I ever hated any of it,” Nagito admitted. “Some of it was just… harder. That's all.”
“I'm ordering you to tell me what you didn't like.” Hajime said, the words feeling almost sticky in his mouth. He felt kind of stupid saying them, but Nagito seemed to take him seriously.
“I…” Nagito stared at the ground. “I don't know. I didn't like it when Kokichi gave me sleeping pills then spent the next five hours walking me around so I'd stay awake.”
“What the fuck?” Hajime couldn't stop the response, because, genuinely, what the fuck?
“Yeah, I don't know either. He didn't even touch me. I don't think it was a kink thing.” Nagito seemed… mildly annoyed at best. At worst, he didn't seem to care at all.

“I don't want you to eat or drink anything anyone gives you.” Hajime said. “Especially not pills.”
“I suppose I wouldn't want my dog eating things it found outside either.” Nagito said aloud, though Hajime didn't really get the sense he was addressing him specifically.
“You're not a dog.”

Nagito let his head tilt to the side, the clover charm on his collar jingling. Hajime pointedly looked to the side. He said he wasn't a dog; but Nagito wasn't sure if he knew how to be anything else. If he wanted to be.

“Do you think you'd be generous enough to let me take a nap?” Nagito asked, biting back a yawn.
“It'd be fucked up if I said no, right?” Hajime laughed awkwardly. When Nagito just stared at him, he coughed. “Yeah, of course. You can nap whenever you want.”
“Thank you.” Nagito said. He laid on his side where he was at Hajime’s feet, taking the pillow from under his knees and tucking it under his head.
“Nagito, Please–sleep in the bed.” Hajime felt a chill run through him, watching as Nagito curled up like it was natural to him.
“Do I have to?” Nagito yawned, his eyelids drooping.
“Yes.” Hajime didn't think he'd be able to look at Nagito on the floor for however long he was asleep. He didn't want to. “Maybe the next rule should be that you only sleep on furniture.”
“I–” Nagito started. Hajime knew he was going to argue.
“No, Nagito. You don't sleep on the ground.” Hajime interrupted before he could even get the words out.

It felt surreal. No one should ever have to have this conversation.
“Fine.” Nagito muttered, forcing himself up from the ground with an annoyed groan. He curled up at the end of the bed, bringing his pillow with him. Hajime still didn't like that he slept at the end of the bed, but at least Nagito wasn't on the floor anymore.
“Good boy.” Hajime said without thinking. Nagito went still.
“Do I get a reward?”

Hajime looked to the side, letting his breath slowly escape his lips as he thought for a few seconds.
“What… would you want?” Hajime asked. Nagito blinked.
“I’m not supposed to choose.”
“Well, what do you normally get?” Hajime asked.
“It depends on who it is.” Nagito said thoughtfully. “Gundham’s reward was usually taking off the cuffs. Kazuichi brought me snacks. Nekomaru finished in my mouth.”
“That's… not really a reward.”
“Well, I took it like one.”

Hajime lingered on what Nagito said about Gundham. He didn't know why it bothered him so much; maybe it was that Gundham treated Nagito kindly. Still not like a person, but at least like a creature to be respected. Gundham took off the cuffs? How often? Was it more often than Hajime?

Hajime took a deep breath to calm himself.
“How about…” He wracked his brain for something, anything. There was only one thing he could really think of as a reward that would actually mean something.
“You can… pick a rule for me.” Hajime said slowly. Nagito looked taken aback.
“That's not how this is supposed to work.”
“Aren't I the one who decides that?” Hajime asked.
“Fine.” Nagito glared at the sheets as he contemplated his response. He touched his fingers delicately to the back of his neck where his hair hid the hand-shaped bruise, given to him by Nekomaru and aggravated by Hajime. “Don't…” He didn't want to say it; what if Hajime got angry at him?
“You can tell me, Nagito. Is it about your neck?”
“I don't… think I like being held down like that.” He said slowly, as if he were still unsure. “You can still grab me, I wouldn't stop you from doing that, but… don't hold me against the wall unless I really deserve it. It's hard to turn my head after.”
“Okay.” Hajime nodded tightly. He wanted to say more; to demand to know why Nagito let anyone do that in the first place, but he knew there wasn't any point.

This was no longer about why or how Nagito did any of the things he did. It was about mitigating the damage however he could; however Nagito would let him.
“Do you need me to do anything for you?” Nagito asked, sitting up on one elbow. Hajime frowned.
“I thought you were tired?”
“I am, but–it could be quick, if you need me.”
“Nagito,” Hajime stilled, struggling to bring air into his lungs. “You're tired. Get some sleep.”

He hated that Nagito offered it. That he thought he had to.
He hated that he considered it. He wasn't supposed to be like the others; he was supposed to be safer. Why didn't he feel like he was?

Chapter Text

19

Nagito hadn't been touched in days. Not in the ways he usually was. Hajime was gentle, but hesitated most of the time, like Nagito was made of glass. He hated it. He never knew there could be so much difference between being a rag or porcelain doll.

Hajime was holding Nagito’s sleeve possessively. Not his hand; or even his wrist, but the sleeve of his green coat. He hadn't seen it in so long, Hajime had actually ransacked Nagito’s cabin for him to find it.

The dining hall stilled around him as they stepped through the doors. Nagito wasn't used to this; he was used to having eyes on him, sure, but he had no idea how he was supposed to react when everyone looked at him like a mangled animal they got carried away torturing. Maybe seeing him in clothes made them feel differently; realizing that what they took so freely could be taken away. That Nagito had that choice at all.

“Hajime, I don't like this.” Nagito uttered quietly, moving just slightly to hide behind Hajime’s frame. “They're all staring at me.”
“I think they're staring at me, actually.” Hajime said simply. Nagito let his gaze fall to the crowd, and realized that Hajime was right. Some of them glanced at Nagito occasionally, eyeing the collar curiously before staring right back at Hajime.
“Oh.”

“Uh, hey, guys.” Yasuhiro was the first to break the silence when Hajime and Nagito sat down at a table, side by side. “How's… it… uh, going?”

The room was silent otherwise. Nagito was the first to speak.
“It's going well, thanks for asking.” He said pleasantly.
“Hey, I heard you got hurt pretty bad.” Kazuichi piped up. “Are you doing alright?”

Nagito froze. Only for a second; only for long enough to think, ‘why do you care?’
“I'm recovering fine. Hajime keeps me in check.” He replied sincerely. Hajime wanted to curl in on himself as all eyes drifted back toward him. He held his hand to his forehead, pretending to shield some invisible light so he didn't have to look anyone in the eyes.
“Hey, what's up with the collar?” Nekomaru asked.

Hajime held his breath. He prayed he wouldn't; but he knew Nagito was going to say something insane.
“Isn’t it nice? I'm no longer a stray. Could you believe someone as lowly as me has an owner now?”

Hajime fought not to hit his head on the table. Nobody really knew how to respond.
“Oh, uh… that's nice. Hajime, right?” Ibuki said. The room was eerily quiet; every person, whether they were at the table or not, tuning in to see what was going on.
“He fought to claim me. He only won because he had the screwdriver, though,” Nagito said with a smile. Hajime wanted to scream. “I’m sure I could've gotten away first if he didn’t-”
“Quiet. Now.” Hajime barked the first words that came to his mind. Nagito’s mouth stilled in the middle of his sentence, his lips curling into a smile as he went quiet.

Now everyone was uncomfortable.
“How are your wrists, Nagito?” Mikan asked gently, redirecting the conversation.
“I think they're healing well. I might need you to look at my neck, though. There's a big bruise on the back of it that doesn't seem to want to go away.”

Nagito didn't care about the bruise; he only said it because he knew Nekomaru would hear. He grinned when he glanced over, seeing the way Nekomaru was looking anywhere but at him.
“S-Sure, I can check that over for you…” Mikan mumbled. Nobody else spoke.

Nagito hummed happily as he picked at his food, like he'd won something. By the time they were done eating, Hajime was so eager to get the hell out of there that he grabbed Nagito by his hand and pulled him along as they left.

“Why do you always do that?” Hajime asked, exhaling in relief when he and Nagito had walked far enough to be alone. The wind was mild, the sun wasn't too hot on their backs as Hajime sat down on a bench underneath two palm trees. Nagito dropped to his knees in front of him before Hajime could tell him to just sit next to him.
“You look like you want something.” Hajime observed, resting his elbows on his thighs, holding his head in his hands.
“I wouldn’t dare to ask you for anything.” Nagito said with a smile. Hajime let out a long, slow breath; glancing around for anyone that could listen. He saw no one; just Nagito, kneeling, eyes bright and kind.
“No?” Hajime cocked an eyebrow. “What if I made you beg?”
“Me? Beg?” Nagito laughed like it was absurd. Like Hajime hadn't heard him begging before; begging for release, for pain, for Hajime. “What if I did it wrong? Would you punish me, Hajime?”

Hajime was staring at Nagito. He was exhausted, really; it was like accidentally adopting a pitbull when you went into the store for fish food.
“Only if you got it wrong on purpose.” Hajime sighed, reaching out and letting a finger catch on Nagito’s collar, right in the curve of the padlock. He pulled gently, feeling Nagito resist. He pulled him again, hard enough where Nagito couldn't stop himself from jerking forward, his face falling almost into Hajime’s crotch. Even Hajime hadn't meant to pull him that far. He felt awful when Nagito yelped.
“Shit, sorry–” Hajime caught Nagito’s chin, feeling his eyes flick up in question and holding him firmly anyway. Nagito’s hands were tucked neatly between his legs, as they always were. Hajime wondered if taking the handcuffs had mattered at all.

Hajime was more aware than he wanted to be of just how alone they were. Tucked away on a secluded street, far away from everyone else. It was hard not to consider his options.
“Would you allow me to ask you something?” Nagito asked, seemingly unaware of Hajime’s twitching right in front of him.
“Hmm.” Hajime muttered, trying not to lose focus.
“How long is my punishment for cumming without permission? I'm sorry for asking, but usually people tell me when they–”
“What?” Hajime cut him off. He felt like he'd fallen out of a cloud onto a giant, jagged rock. “I’m not–what makes you think that, Nagito?” He asked in disbelief.
“It's been three days since you took my cuffs and gave me a collar instead, but you haven't let me fulfill any of my duties to you.”
“No, that's not–” Hajime wanted to cover his face with his hands and scream, but he didn't. “I'm not… punishing you. At least, I'm not trying to–I don't know. What… what are the ‘duties’ you want to fulfill, exactly?”
“I'm not sure. I've never had an owner before,” Nagito started. Hajime winced at the word. “I guess it would be household things. Cleaning, cooking, head. Maybe doing laundry? I'll try to think of–”
“No.” Hajime was wincing, hating the idea of any of it. “That sounds like being a maid. You don't have to do any of that.”
“What should I do, then? You haven't touched me.” Nagito asked. Hajime knew it was true. He made Nagito sleep in his bed, kept him tethered to his side, yet he hadn’t really tried to touch Nagito. Not in any meaningful way.

Hajime didn't want to answer, though he knew exactly what he'd say. If Nagito needed to be owned, if he needed to serve so badly–Hajime imagined Nagito laying in soft blankets, naked, collared, his. He wouldn't have to do anything; just lay there and look pretty. Maybe let Hajime touch him, but only if he wanted it. Hajime almost shuddered at what he was imagining; Nagito, soft, compliant. Tamed. He couldn't believe that just weeks ago, he was outside in the dark, listening to Nagito perform for someone else.

Hajime disdained what he was describing. It wasn't a servant; or a partner. He was picturing an expensive pet.

Chapter Text

Nagito closed his eyes as warm water rushed over his bare skin, gentle hands coming in to wash him with lavender and rosemary scented soap. The bath house was hot; making him drip sweat and condensation even when he was in the water.

It was late. The bath house was empty save for himself and Hajime, who was methodically washing his legs, one after the other.
“You really don't have to subject yourself to this.” Nagito said, watching as Hajime ran a cloth over his foot. He twitched when Hajime touched the bottom, screwing his eyes shut so he wouldn't squirm from how it tickled.
“I want to.” Hajime said simply. He washed up his calves, scrubbing old debris from his knees, moving his hands up Nagito’s left thigh.
“Can you open your… yeah, just a bit– that's good.” He breathed, moving to run the cloth along Nagito’s inner thigh.

Nagito bit his lip as he watched Hajime work; tearing his gaze away after just a few seconds. He wasn't meant to be owned like this. Nagito was used to being treated like furniture; like the only thing that kept him around was how much use he had. Hajime had completely ripped that from him.

Hajime treated Nagito like a show pet. Like he was something beautiful; something he was careful with and proud of. He kept him clean, kept him fed, and refused to let him sleep unless he was in a soft bed. He spent a lot of his time at Hajime’s feet; but it was rare he was allowed to kneel if there wasn't something to cushion him anymore.

“Is this okay?” Hajime asked, moving the cloth far up between Nagito’s thighs. His breath caught, his head quickly turning away.
“You don't have to ask.”
“I like asking.” Hajime said sternly, moving the cloth higher. “I like it when you talk to me.”

Nagito’s legs tensed, the muscles contracting to make him stiff.
“What's wrong?” Hajime asked, feeling the shift. He let his hand go still.
“I'm sorry.” Nagito said quietly, looking down. “I’m just so used to being told to be quiet. I–ah,” His breath caught when Hajime’s thumb slipped, grazing the crease where Nagito’s pelvis met his thigh.
“Sorry, you’re probably really sensitive.” Hajime sat back on his heels where he knelt at the edge of the bath.

Nagito felt his face flush, but still nodded. He hadn't finished in almost a week. He hadn't even had sex since Hajime fucked him with his handcuffs on.

“You can do anything you want to me,” Nagito said. Not as an invitation, but a reminder. “And yet, you… haven't. Was I only good when I wasn't yours?”
“No, Nagito, I just–” Hajime faltered, trying to find a response. “You're covered in bruises literally from your head to your toes. Your knees still get bloody if you move a bit too fast. Your wrists are still healing.” He knew he owed Nagito honesty if he was going to demand the same of him, so he continued. “I guess I just… want to wait until it won't hurt you at all.”
“Hajime,” Nagito couldn't control that he whimpered. “I haven't… I couldn't–” he cut himself off with a pathetic whine. “It's been days.”
“I… thought that wasn’t something you usually did, was it?” Hajime asked, his eyes flicking to Nagito’s. Maybe to save himself the guilt of the times he’d left Nagito with nothing; not so much as a kiss.

Nagito frowned.
“I…” he didn't know how to respond. He’d never admitted that he usually got himself off whenever he was let out of the handcuffs. It was a reward for performing well those days. “Not… um,” he was too embarrassed to say it; how could he take everything he did all day and still be horny afterward? Hajime must think of him incredibly depraved. “I didn't… well, I didn't do it with the others unless they told me to.” He said, wincing at how awful that actually sounded out loud.
“But… you did it by yourself.” Hajime said.

Nagito leaned back in the water, letting his thighs fall open more. The rippling of the water obscured Hajime’s view, but not enough to miss that Nagito was hard. Painfully so.
“I haven't since you made me yours.” Nagito told him, displaying himself like a page in a magazine. Hajime was weak.

Hajime rose to his feet next to the bath. At first, Nagito was devastated; thinking he was leaving. What had he done this time to drive Hajime off? But as he watched, Hajime pulled his own shirt over his head, tossing it to the side. His pants followed.

Hajime kept his boxers on as he stepped into the water, sitting with his back against the tile.
“Come here.” Hajime said. Nagito just observed him, so taken aback that he completely forgot he was even supposed to obey orders. “Nagito, now.”
“Sorry,” he scrambled over into Hajime’s outstretched arms. He wasn't sure what Hajime wanted; just that he positioned Nagito to straddle his lap, facing each other.

Hajime’s hands found Nagito’s thighs.
“Do you know what you want?” Hajime asked him, tracing his thumbs in small circles on his skin.
“I–I’m not sure,” Nagito panted at the touch, slumping forward, his forehead falling on Hajime’s shoulder.
“Look at me.” Hajime straightened Nagito by his shoulders. He'd been fighting this for weeks. He told himself he earned this as he reached down between Nagito’s legs, holding his chin to keep eye contact as his fingers wrapped around his cock.

Nagito stayed still. His mouth fell open, but his body completely froze. “H-Hajime,”
“You're pent up, right? You can admit it.”
“I am.” Nagito confirmed, his hips bucked involuntarily, unable to control himself as he was wrapped in Hajime’s hand.
“How many times do you think you could do it?”
“I’ve n-never tried.” Nagito gasped as Hajime tightened his grip. Not enough to hurt; just enough to remind him he was there. That Hajime was holding what was his.
“Do you wanna see how many times you can do it, or how many times you can hold it in?” Hajime asked, his thumb grazing the underside of the gland. Nagito gasped, hips twitching forward.

Hajime’s choice was an illusion of kindness, and they both knew it. On one hand, he could test his strength; fight his own body until he physically had to lose. On the other, he could test his resilience. His body would fight him, forcing his exertion over, and over, and over again. Neither of them sounded pleasant. They both made his heart race.

“I guess… I wanna try to hold it.” Nagito said, unsure. His voice trembled. “I don't know how good I'll be. If I fail, you can-”
“I can decide that later, alright?” Hajime put his finger to Nagito’s mouth. “Right now, just let me do this.”
“Yes, sir.” Nagito said quietly. Hajime didn't correct him.
“Count for me, okay? Every time you get close, you say a number. You can come on five.”

Nagito nodded helplessly, his hips jerking violently as Hajime started to move his hand. Slow, deliberate, dragging it out of him like a snail across the floor.
“Please, Hajime,” Nagito panted. “I–mmph,” he shoved his face into Hajime’s shoulder as he quickened his pace around his cock. Nagito could feel his stomach searing; burning like a grease fire.
“One!” Nagito just barely managed, his hips jerking back viciously. He twitched more violently now, like there were fireworks under his skin.
“Good, that's your first one.” Hajime smiled, taking his hand away.

Hajime watched as Nagito trembled, his cock throbbing, fighting so hard for an orgasm it just couldn't have. He wrapped his hand back around it when it stopped, starting in on it faster this time.
“Ah, Hajime!” Nagito’s voice was getting higher, already struggling to handle the stimulation. “Fuck–two!”
“Good boy! Two more,” he smiled. He didn't take his hand away this time; he squeezed Nagito. Too hard to be pleasurable; not hard enough to make him move away.
“O-ow,” Nagito breathed. Hajime loosened his grip, starting to stroke him again. Both noticed the slip; neither of them mentioned it.

Hajime circled his thumb just under the head; fast, pressing up hard. It was barely five seconds before Nagito was squirming again.
“Ah! Three! Oh my god–” Nagito screamed into Hajime’s shoulder, his orgasm boiling right up to the edge before Hajime pulled away, forcing him back down. His hips bucked wildly, water splashing from how erratic he was. He didn't care; he only had to hold it once more. He was almost there; he just needed a tiny bit more. If Hajime just let him–
“Be good.” Hajime said, taking the head in his fist and pumping it. Nagito was practically sobbing now; anyone around the bath house would have heard it.
“I'm trying!” Nagito wailed. He sunk his teeth down into Hajime’s shoulder; not gently. Not a love bite. The only way he could keep himself from crying.
“Ow, fuck!” Hajime hissed, accidentally tightening his grip.
“F-four, four, fuck–” he cried around Hajime’s flesh, still between his teeth as Hajime ripped his hand away.

“Alright, just one more,” Hajime said. Nagito felt like screaming.
“What?” He whined, releasing Hajime’s skin from his teeth. He thought he was allowed to finish on five.
“Hold it one more time,” Hajime encouraged, running one finger along Nagito’s aching cock. “To prove you weren't just lucky.”
“I am lucky!” Nagito whined pathetically. Still, with just Hajime’s pointer finger barely touching him, he managed to breathe out, “Mm–five, I–I can't–”
“You will.” Hajime took his hand away. Nagito actually let out a frustrated scream.
“Hey, hey, it's okay, this time you can cum, okay? It's alright, baby,” Hajime couldn't remember if he'd ever called Nagito that; all he knew is Nagito pushed himself further into Hajime’s lap. He couldn't control himself; he'd never lost it like this before. He barely knew what was happening as he rutted viciously against Hajime’s stomach.

“Nagito–” Too late. Ropes of cum were painting Hajime’s bare stomach as Nagito came; trembling, crying, utterly overstimulated. He couldn't even hold himself up; crashing against Hajime’s chest as he finished, crying desperately, his skin on fire.

Nagito was so sensitive that the way Hajime wrapped his arms around him afterwards almost felt like an assault. He whimpered, screwing his eyes shut tightly.
“I'm just gonna clean up, okay?” Hajime said quietly, helping Nagito sit down in the bath, leaning against the side.

Nagito knew he'd broken a rule by finishing on Hajime like that; by taking his orgasm into his own hands. He waited to be scolded, anxiety growing in his chest minute by minute as Hajime scrubbed the cum from his own stomach.

No scolding came.

“When are you going to punish me?” Nagito asked suddenly as Hajime finished washing himself. Hajime’s attention flicked to him, confusion visible on his face.
“You asked me what I didn't like. Well–I… I figured it out. I don't like it when you don't tell me when my punishment comes.”
“Nagito,” Hajime’s shoulders slumped. “I'm not punishing you. You did good.” He was frowning. “We had fun.”

Nagito’s eyes flicked down, like Hajime had suddenly started speaking a different language entirely.
“Oh.” he said quietly, without any other rebuttal.

Nagito was quiet as Hajime helped him out of the tub. He made no fuss as he dressed him; putting him in pajamas that belonged to Hajime, not himself. Hajime slipped the collar back around his neck; forcing a shiver from Nagito as he kissed the back of his hair.
“You didn't finish.” Nagito said quietly.
“I didn't have to.”
“But, I–”
“No, shh,” Hajime said as gently as he could. “Maybe tomorrow, okay? Seeing you like that was enough for me tonight.”
“I shouldn't–”
“Nagito,” Hajime put his hand over Nagito’s mouth, using the other to hold the back of his head so he couldn't get out of it. “Drop it. It's fine.”

Nagito’s eyes were wide; his body unmoving.
“You're going to drop it, okay?” Hajime rephrased, his voice still kind. When Nagito still just stared at him, he scowled. “Nod.”

Nagito did.
“Good boy. Remember, I'm the one who worries about you, not the other way around. Got it?”
“Mhm.” Nagito hummed behind his hand. Finally, Hajime let him go.
“Sorry.” Nagito apologized. “Forgive me. I just want to do it right.”

Hajime had to stand just slightly forward on his toes to kiss Nagito’s forehead.
“You are doing it right.” Hajime told him. He wanted to add, ‘I wouldn't do this with anybody else', but stopped himself. He worried it would be too much for Nagito all at once.

Chapter Text

The feeling of warmth roused Hajime from his sleep. Not from the sun; the curtains were drawn, casting the room in long shadows from the morning light poking through the corners. For a second, he thought he was dreaming. He couldn't figure out what that feeling was; was his hand being dipped in warm water? No, wait.

He wasn't feeling the warmth in his hand.

Hajime’s eyes flicked down.
Nagito.
Of course it was Nagito.

Kneeling between his legs, soft hands gently balanced flat on Hajime’s hips.
“H–hey,” Hajime gasped, his hips stuttering. Fuck, Nagito was good. “You didn't–” He cut himself off. What, ask? Tell him? Make sure he was awake first? Hajime wondered when the last time someone did that for Nagito was. If Nagito even knew those were things that you were supposed to do.
“You don't–you don't have to,” Hajime stammered. A small hum came from Nagito, something like ‘can’t I?’
He sunk down to the hilt.

Hajime’s hand flew out to grip the headboard, the other finding a place tied up in the sheets. He wanted to grab Nagito's hair, but was terrified he wouldn't be able to control himself. That he'd push him too far.

Hajime didn't last very long. Nagito barely started moving after taking Hajime to the hilt; bobbing lightly, letting him feel how tight his throat was.
“Fuck,” Hajime gasped, his fingers gripping the headboard tighter, turning white. “Nagito, I’m–”

Hajime shoved a hand over his own mouth to keep himself quiet as he came on Nagito’s tongue, who swallowed it like it was a reward. Hajime tried to calm his own breathing.

“N–Nagito,” Hajime said, voice still stuttering. “You can't… just do that.”
“Do what?” Nagito asked. “You get so tired in the mornings, I thought–”
“It's okay that you thought that, but… ask me next time, okay? I really like it when you ask permission first.”
“Okay,” Nagito said, sighing. “Just my luck. What's my punishment?”

Hajime was about to say, ‘stop asking me that’, but this was the first time he briefly considered if a punishment was warranted. On one hand: Hajime was asleep. He'd never told Nagito it was okay to do that.
On the other: Nagito was trying to help. His brain was fucked up from who knows how long of having boundaries crossed, his dignity violated.
“Jesus.” Hajime mumbled. “Do you want me to punish you?”
“I'm feeling a bit directionless without it.” Nagito admitted.
“Is that why you keep asking for it?” Hajime almost laughed, like it was a joke, but he saw the way Nagito nodded. “Oh.” He swallowed. “How… Do you like to be punished?”

Nagito’s shoulders sank. Just a tiny bit. Just enough for Hajime to know he was doing this wrong.
“I'm not really supposed to choose.” He mumbled, sitting cross legged on the bed. There was nothing practised about the way he sat; no ritualistic position for him to keep himself in. Hajime didn't know why that bothered him.
“Okay,” Hajime nodded tightly. “I… I kind of have to ask you questions still, just while we’re still getting started with… everything. Can I ask what kind of punishments you usually got? Which ones were more bearable?”

Nagito looked at the ceiling in thought.
“I got hit a lot.” He said dreamily. “Nothing I didn't deserve. Well, a bit,” he laughed. “Sometimes they'd make me eat until I threw up. I didn't really like that one.”

Hajime wanted to cry. He didn't want to do either of those.
“Sometimes they'd make me hold my arms over my head,” Nagito continued, “But I’d want to be able to see a clock if you pick that one. Holding my breath was usually punishment if I couldn't stop myself and finished inside her.”
“You… inside..?” Hajime didn't want to ask. He couldn't stop himself.
“Miu.” Nagito nodded. “She'd tease me until I begged, then she'd let me–”
“No, I don't–I don't want to hear more of that.” He shuddered, remembering the time he'd actually heard Nagito holding his breath. Knowing the reason why made his skin crawl.
“She's one of the only girls that came in,” Nagito continued, like he hadn't heard Hajime’s protest at all. “She's the only one that let me inside her, too. She was generous that way. I don't know if girls are my preference, but Miu–”
“Nagito, stop.” Hajime commanded. He saw the faintest curl at the edge of Nagito’s lips.
“She did make me finish in her mouth then spat it back on my face once,” Nagito said, deeply contemplative. “I… I actually might have liked that, now that I'm thinking about it more.”
“You're trying to provoke me.” Hajime realized, leaning back against the headboard. Maybe ‘relieved’ wasn't the right word, but he felt better knowing there was a purpose.
“Is it working?” Nagito asked.
“Maybe. Try harder.”
“The worst thing she ever did was refuse to touch me.” He answered simply. “It was the worst thing all of them did.” Nagito was cold. Calculated. Forcing Hajime to still.

“It couldn't have been worse than the shit I saw happen to you.” Hajime said. A defense he desperately wanted to believe.
“What did you see?” Nagito asked innocently, smirking when Hajime squirmed under his gaze.
“I only saw it once.” He mumbled, like that was an answer.
“But you listened, didn’t you?”
“You always knew.” Hajime realized bitterly, as if Nagito was the one who'd done something wrong. “I'm sorry, okay? I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how or if you even wanted help.”

“Yet you gave it anyway. Hm, that doesn't sound right. Are you sure this is about ‘saving’ a lowly mutt like me? Or maybe it's about feeling like something depends on you.”
“Don't talk to me like that.” Hajime barked. He saw Nagito’s eyes flicker, like he'd finally found the leak he was looking for.
“You don't have much faith in your own pet.” Nagito frowned. “Planning on giving me back?”
“You want to go back, don’t you?” Hajime accused. “You really do like being used like that.”
“He finally figured it out!” Nagito exclaimed with glee.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” Hajime demanded after a beat. “I– I thought you wanted this. At least on some level.”
“I want to fulfill my purpose.” Nagito’s eyes were wide. Unblinking. “If you won't let me, I'll do it somewhere else.” He was moving to his feet like he'd been given permission. Hajime snatched his wrist, grip tight over the bandages. A whimper left Nagito’s throat that almost sounded like a moan.
“Don't you fucking dare.” Hajime pulled Nagito by his wrist, forcing him to hit the bed hard enough that it creaked. He didn't let go, even when Nagito started to pull.
“You're not listening to me,” Hajime was holding Nagito’s wrist down against the duvet. “Why? Why don't you ever listen to me?”

He could feel Nagito’s pulse under his hand, beating faster by the second. He avoided looking at his eyes. “I'm trying so fucking hard to do this right, and you just shit on every single thing I do. I'm sorry that you're not furniture to me.”
“But I'm not human, either.” Nagito stated. Hajime recoiled.
“Fine. Maybe you are a pet. Is that really worse than being a vase?”
“People use vases.” Nagito said, his voice flat. “They just look at pets.”
“They take care of pets,” Hajime argued. “They feed them, clean them, take care of them–it’s not like I'm keeping you locked in a cabinet.”

Nagito glanced around the cabin, an eyebrow raising.
“It's just while you heal! You're acting like I'm stopping you from eating and not the entire island running you through!” Hajime raised his voice. He saw Nagito flinch. It was brief; quickly forgotten as he was curling up around Hajime’s legs–making himself smaller, less challenging. Hajime let go of his wrist.

Chapter Text

The air was hot around them. The sun was high in the sky, reflecting white off the pool's surface as people hung around it. Hajime watched Nagito silently from across the deck.

Hajime didn't know what they were saying, but he watched as Nagito laughed, leaning into Kazuichi’s shoulder so naturally Hajime almost thought nothing of it. Until Nagito didn't pull away.

His eye twitched. Nagito was doing this on purpose, and he knew it. Kazuichi knew it, too. He kept shooting Hajime uncomfortable glances that screamed, ‘dude, get me out of here.’
“Nagito,” Hajime said, just loud enough for him to hear. “Come here.”

Nagito smiled politely, acknowledging that he heard him, but his body didn't move.

Hajime felt others eyeing him. Ibuki was raising an eyebrow as she looked between them from a distance; Byakuya was smirking like he was watching a dog pull its leash.

Hajime didn't know what came over him. Though nobody said anything to him, he felt tension in his shoulders and eyes of judgement from all around. He stood from where he was calmly, taking a few strides to reach Nagito.
“I was just going to tell you that you dropped something.” He said, placing a careful hand on Nagito’s shoulder.

Nagito looked genuinely confused for a split second.
Until Hajime started to push. The shoulder he was touching dipped under the force, just enough weight for Nagito’s mouth to open in surprise.
“O–Oh, yeah, I did,” he stammered, his eyes wide. Hajime had caught him off guard, yet he folded to his knees naturally, pretending to skim the ground for an invisible piece of jewelry, or maybe a coin.

“How've you been, man?” Hajime asked Kazuichi, crossing his arms casually, like Nagito at his feet was natural.
“I've been alright.” Kazuichi said, blinking as he looked between Hajime and Nagito. He wasn't sure where to thank Hajime for getting Nagito off of him, or ask how long he planned to have him crawling around on the stone like that.

Soon, Kazuichi drifted off toward Sonia, leaving Hajime and Nagito alone.
“Did you find it yet?” Hajime asked him.
“Maybe?” Nagito looked up at Hajime, who gave a subtle hand motion for him to look back down.
“Hm, I don't think so. Keep looking.” Hajime decided.
“Yes, sir.” Nagito said, the word slipping out before he could catch it. “Sorry–”
“Just keep looking.” Hajime cut him off. Nagito’s mouth shut.

Hajime wasn't sure how long Nagito knelt for. He meant to make him stand after a few minutes; but he looked so natural, quietly feeling around for something anyone would have given up by now.
“Hey, you've been down there for a while.” Sonia said as she walked past to leave, noticing Nagito before she even looked at Hajime. “I can help you look. Your knees must be sore.”
“That's okay, I actually think I see it.” Hajime interjected, pointing toward a plant. He walked next to Nagito as he crawled, letting a coin fall from his palm into the plant as subtly as he could for Nagito to ‘find.’

Nagito grabbed the coin from the plant, but looked at Hajime without standing.
“There it is,” Hajime said, giving the back of Nagito’s shirt a tug. “I'm glad you found it.”
“What is it?” Sonia asked as Nagito stood, his knees wobbling.
“Just a lucky coin, I guess.” Nagito laughed with an unnerving smile.
“Why don't we go put it somewhere safe?” Hajime said, his hand moving to hold Nagito’s wrist.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “I wouldn't want to lose it again, would I?”

Hajime let the door close quietly behind them when they made it back to his cabin. He finally released Nagito’s wrist.

Hajime wasn't sure what to say, or if he wanted to say anything. When the silence became uncomfortable, he forced himself to come up with something.
“Are your knees okay?”
“I've knelt for much longer on much worse.”
“That's not what I asked, Nagito.” He sighed. “Do your knees hurt?”
“A little. I'll be fine.” He smiled. “I appreciate what you did for me.”
“I humiliated you.” Hajime couldn't understand why Nagito was thanking him for something he felt awful doing.
“I needed it. I've been so… bored lately. Not that that's your fault–” he backtracked quickly. Hajime let out a chuckle of disbelief.
“You didn't ever get bored in the changing room? Not from kneeling all the time? You must have been alone most of the day.”
“I was,” Nagito nodded. “The anticipation of something happening just… kept me going.” He admitted.
“Something like what?” Hajime asked. He knew he shouldn't have.
“Giving someone hope. A service. Whatever they wanted.”

Hajime sighed, his shoulders falling.
“I try to take everything I can from you, believe me,” he admitted, his chest tightening. “But… sometimes it feels like you have less to give than you think, and I'm terrified of taking too much and leaving you with nothing.”
“I would be grateful if you were to take that kind of control over me.” Nagito was always smiling, no matter how fucked up what he was saying really was.
“Why do you trust me with that?” Hajime didn't understand. “What if I do it wrong?”
“It doesn't matter if you do it right. It matters if I do. It's amazing to me that you can't figure that out.” Nagito said.

He’d wanted Hajime because he studied him; distant, careful, like Nagito was the last of a dying species. Hajime had tended to him, lured him in, caught him– and now Nagito felt like he was in a shadowbox under a desk.
“It really feels like you don't care about being good. Or a servant–or pet, or furniture for that matter. All you care about is getting hurt.” Hajime said to him. Nagito recoiled; just slightly.
“Why does it matter so much to you what I like and why? Who cares if I get a little hurt sometimes if it brings meaning to a single life?” Nagito raised his voice.
“Kneel.” Hajime said, his voice cutting right through Nagito’s argument.

Nagito glared at him as he lowered himself to his knees. Hajime spoke slowly; eerily calm.
“I'm not going to hurt you, or use you.” he said. “Or leave you dirty and cold. You'll sleep in my bed, you'll kneel at my feet, and you'll look pretty when you do it. You want punishment so badly? You've got it. I'll give you something you'll really hate.”
“You can't–” Nagito tried.
“Can't I?” Hajime laughed, feeling some fundamental line inside his brain fade before he even remembered what it was. “Are you going to stop me? You're wearing a collar with my name on it. You're already mine.”

The words felt wrong in his brain, and even worse when they came out, but he had finally said something Nagito understood. This was a victory, no matter how sour it tasted.

Hajime sat down on the couch. Nagito moved for his belt; but hands quickly stilled him.
“No,” Hajime said. “Lay down. Head in my lap.”
“Seriously?”
“Mhm. I wanna do some reading.” Hajime said, like he'd ever read a book before in his life. “Come on, Nagito. Remember? you don't have a choice.”

Nagito fiercely avoided eye contact as he complied. He climbed onto the couch from the floor, laying his head in Hajime’s lap.
“Good boy.” Hajime sighed, feeling like the weight on his chest lightened for the first time that day. His fingers found their way into Nagito’s hair.

Nagito was being so good; compliant in something he so viciously hated. Hajime could feel how tense he was; how his breathing was short and shallow.

Hajime gave his hair a tug. At first, Nagito grunted; looking up at Hajime in surprise, like they'd bumped into each other on the street. When Hajime pushed his fingers closer to the root to get a better grip, Nagito’s eyes lit up like Christmas trees.
“Good.” Hajime praised, giving Nagito’s hair a harder pull. This time he moaned, feeling a familiar soreness blooming on his scalp. “You only get one more, okay?” Hajime rubbed his scalp gently as he spoke. “You ready?”
“Always.”

Hajime pulled Nagito's hair so hard his head moved a few inches from the force. Nagito yelped; his eyes shutting tight. He was panting.
He was hard.

Hajime didn't touch him; not anywhere below his waist. After a while, Nagito couldn't fight off how tired being so dormant made him.
He fell asleep in Hajime’s lap.

Unguarded. Obedient. Owned.

Chapter Text

Nagito rubbed the bandages on his wrists mindlessly as he listened to the others talk around him. Ibuki had dragged them all to the music venue for a show, but ended up forgetting all of the instruments, causing a slight delay.

Hajime was sitting on a couch in the corner of the venue. Chiaki was on one side of him, Akane on the other. Nagito was sitting on the ground by his feet; not kneeling. Hajime had been kind enough to let him sit.
“Do you want some water?” Hajime asked Nagito. He blinked a few times to regain himself, tearing his eyes away from the wall post he'd been staring at the last five minutes.
“Hm?” Nagito hummed, looking up at his master. His finger instinctively reached to play with his collar, touching the soft leather, feeling the cool metal of the tag.
“Are you doing alright?” Hajime asked, leaning a bit closer to Nagito.
“I'm alright.” Nagito said pleasantly with nothing behind his eyes. “I'm–”
“Hey, Hajime.” A voice said. Nagito didn't even look up to see who it was; just directed his gaze to the floor. “Is he just for you now, or does anyone else still get a turn?”

Nagito’s lips twitched. He waited too long before Hajime merely said, “Fuck off, Fuyohiko.”
That was it?

Nagito looked up at Hajime’s face. He usually wouldn't dare; but he wanted to see if there was annoyance, anger, anything to say he cared about what had been said.
There wasn't.
“It's weird that nobody ever talked about this, right?” Fuyuhiko muttered. “One day he's the island slut, then the next he's being walked around on a leash, acting like none of us ever touched him.”
“That's not very nice,” Chiaki said, frowning. “He still has ears.”
“He doesn't use them.” Fuyuhiko mumbled.

Hajime didn't say anything.
Nagito pulled his knees to his chest. He was scratching his calf; first for an itch, then to distract himself from how exposed he felt.

Nagito didn't speak again until they were leaving the venue, trailing behind the crowd for space to talk.
“You did nothing.” Nagito said, the doors swinging closed behind them as they stepped into the hot outside air.
“What?” Hajime blinked. “Oh, uh–yeah, you're right. Sorry, I just… honestly it was so vile, it was hard for me to believe he was even talking.”
“He called me a slut.” Nagito muttered as he looked down. He clenched and unclenched his fists as they walked.

Usually, Nagito had consented when people called him names like that. He at least got warning. Not humiliated in front of a public group, again, when he was being nothing but good and quiet.
“I mean, you…” The words died in Hajime’s throat before he could speak. Nagito was glaring at him; not in a teasingly disobeying way, but in a way that looked like he genuinely hated him. “Sorry.”
“I what?” Nagito asked. Usually, he'd trail just a tiny bit behind Hajime. Today, he was hanging in front.
“I'm sorry, I just–my tongue slipped. Could we please just forget about this?” Hajime groaned. “Why is this bothering you now?”

Nagito stalled suddenly, giving no reaction when Hajime walked into his back.
“Bothering me now?” Nagito said, eyes narrowing at the ground. “It happened less than five minutes ago. Why wouldn't this bother me now?”
“Listen, it was fucked up that he called you that, but… I didn't want to cause a whole thing in front of everyone else. We get enough attention as-is.”
“And whose fault is that?” Nagito snapped.
“Would you rather I left you in the bathroom?” Hajime shouldn't finish this sentence. He was going to anyway. “Maybe then it would be okay for Fuyuhiko to call you a slut and hit you, right?”

Nagito started to laugh. No; not exactly. He was cackling, his hands rising up to scratch at his arms.
“Wow, you must've rehearsed that one for it to come out that easily. How long were you waiting to say that to me? Was that what you were thinking every time you gave me a fucking bath and made me sleep on the end of your bed like a cat?”
“You were sleeping on–”
“I was allowed to leave! I slept in my own cabin! I slept in my own bed!” Nagito didn't care about being quiet, or hearing what Hajime had to say. He didn't care about the eyes that were falling on them, or about the crowd he knew they were subtly drawing in.

Hajime’s jaw was tight; his eyes fixed to the side. By the time he was opening his mouth to speak, Nagito was already leaving.
“Hey!” Hajime called. “You can't just– Nagito!”

Nagito was fast, and proved to be more nimble than Hajime as he slipped between two buildings before disappearing completely.
“Dude, it's not my business, but… you fucked that up.” Kazuichi said from behind him as the crowd started to disperse again. He was standing closest to Hajime, who whipped around furiously.
“I know that.” Hajime snapped. “Don't you think I know that? Do you not think I've been trying every fucking thing possible to make him happy? Nothing makes him happy! He's a miserable little shit!”
“He's not a dog, man.” Kazuichi said gently. Hajime relaxed his fists enough to no longer feel his nails biting his palm. “Like, he is for a kink thing, yeah, but he's not actually a dog.”
“I–” Hajime faltered. “I… he's–he doesn't–” Hajime put his face in his hands and screamed. “I know. But he doesn't act like a human, either.”
“Have you ever treated him like one?” Kazuichi asked.
“Have you?” Hajime demanded, then shook his head. Everyone was guilty of using Nagito; that wasn't what this was about.

“I've been shitty to him too, yeah.” Kazuichi nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets, not shying from the accusation. “I didn't try to make him act like he enjoyed it, though. He did that of his own free will.”
“What are you trying to say?” Hajime hissed.
“I'm saying,” Kazuichi said slowly. “This isn't working. He doesn't like what you're doing, and you need to figure out something else.”

Hajime’s shoulders fell. He couldn't look at Kazuichi; just at the ground, or sky, or anywhere else for that matter.
“This is the nicest I know how to be to him. It's the nicest he’ll let me be.”
“He doesn't want nice, dude.” Kazuichi said. “He's been in a changing room degrading himself for months. He's not worn out right now, he's manic. You're not giving him enough things to do.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“It's Nagito. It's not like it's hard to tell,” Kazuichi said. “Remember when we first met him? He was so chill. Maybe a little bit weird, but he wasn't anything like this. He's unraveling.”
“How am I supposed to stop that?” Hajime asked, wanting to punch something when Kazuichi gave an unenthusiastic shrug.
“Don't know,” Kazuichi admitted. “What has and hasn't worked so far?”
“Nothing has worked so far.” Hajime sighed, slumping forward. “Literally nothing. I've tried being nice, I've been mean, I've punished him, I've withheld punishment–”
“Dude… have you ever, like, told him you cared about him? Told him he was safe?”
“No? It's not like we’re dating.” Hajime said.

Kazuichi blinked as he stared at Hajime. Silently. Waiting.
“Dude, stop that.” Hajime said. Kazuichi didn't. “Oh, God. I'm dating Nagito.”
“How did you not already know that?” Kazuichi said.
“I– I don't know!” Hajime said pathetically. “I have no fucking idea. I thought it was like… working in pairs for a project, or something.” He knew what that implied. That Nagito was always something he could walk away from once it was finished.
“Dude, if–” Even Kazuichi was taken aback by how detached Hajime was from his own situation. “What–? Man, you've done some weird class projects, huh?”
“No, I–” Hajime clenched his fists again. He'd been seeing Nagito as a responsibility, not a companion. “I gotta apologize to Nagito, man.”
“Yeah,” Kazuichi nodded. “You do.”

Chapter Text

Nagito sat in the center of Hajime’s cabin. His feet were bare, he'd taken off everything he wore except for the collar and his underwear. He studied the chaos.

Books were on the floor. There were clean dishes on the couch. A pair of shoes had been thrown at the ceiling so hard there was a boot-print on the roof. Drawers had been opened and carefully dumped on the floor.

Nagito shifted uncomfortably, wishing he hadn't chosen to sit anywhere near where he'd dumped a container of sugar. It dug into his skin like ants were biting him; no matter how much he brushed it off, more sugar grains just appeared in its place.

“The Dark Lord of Isolation enters. Be prepared.” Someone narrated as the door creaked open. Nagito didn't have to see who it was; he only had to hear his voice to know it was Gundham.

Nagito moved without thinking, quickly shifting to his knees, even as it stung to kneel on spilled sugar. He'd missed Gundham, truly. He didn't know if he'd ever missed anyone more.
“Do my eyes deceive me? Has my former beast been under attack?” Gundham let his eyes scan the room, noting how meticulous the mess was. Nothing was broken, but nothing was in the correct spot.
“No, sir.” Nagito sighed. “I don't think so, anyway.”
“What happened, then? Speak, creature.”
“Nothing happened,” Nagito admitted. “I did this.”
“Hm,” Gundham frowned. “When one of my Dark Devas Of Destruction is experiencing mortal sadness, they will often succumb to biting their own backs.” He commented. “Hajime has not yet tamed you. How pitiful.”

“He doesn't want to,” Nagito said, accidentally letting genuine sadness creep into his tone. “He made that pretty clear.”
“Your chaos is a performance designed to be halted, yet Hajime falters at the responsibility. Of course, this makes sense for a man who would own something as lowly as a hermit crab.” Gundham muttered the last bit to himself, like Hajime’s choice of childhood pet was a stain on his backstory. “No matter. I've told him you've been biting your own tail, yet he refuses to listen. Perhaps I too hastily relinquished you to him.”
“Maybe you did.” Nagito chuckled. “He broke my cuffs off with a screwdriver. He held me down to do it.”
“Just… Abhorrent.” Gundham grumbled, holding his fingers to his forehead to calm himself. “You do not calm a beast by wresting it from its cage.” He was beginning to pace back and forth in front of Nagito, his scarf billowing from the speed.
“That's what I thought, too.” Nagito sighed.
“Just…” Gundham let out a dissatisfied grunt, like he'd witnessed a child trying to pick up a bunny directly beneath a sign that said ‘DO NOT PICK UP THE RABBITS.’ “Just disgraceful. How careless–”

Nagito didn't expect to see Gundham get this upset. His chest and face felt hot; though the room was tepid at best.
“You think so?” Nagito’s voice cracked as he let it break through Gundham's muttering.

He watched as Gundham stilled, giving a grand gesture of turning to face him, his cloak flowing with the motion.
“The Tanaka Empire would never allow care such as this.” He said intensely. Nagito’s heart was beating just a bit faster.

If this were two weeks ago, he'd offer himself to Gundham completely, without even thinking twice. But now, he paused.
This wasn't an abandoned changing room. This was Hajime’s cabin, and he wore a collar with Hajime’s name on it. Still, his eyes lingered on the buckle of Gundham's belt.
“Don't try, beast. You are not my creature to control.” Gundham said, following Nagito’s eyes. “I am merely disappointed that a rare creature has succumbed to despair in this way.”
“Sorry.” Nagito blinked, forcing his eyes back up.
“Stand. This is no bed for a creature to lay.” Gundham said, his voice softening just the slightest bit.
“But I–”
“Your master is not here to command you, this is true, but I cannot allow you to stay like this. It would be against my respect to nature. Please, stand.”

Nagito didn't have any argument left. He did as Gundham said, his knees shaking as they always did.

Nagito couldn't look as Gundham dropped to one knee. There was no intimacy in the way he fell; as if he were tying his shoe, and not using his fingers to gently brush away the painful grains of sugar that had bedded themselves in Nagito’s skin. Still, he hated standing as someone else knelt. This was not his place; something deep in his body screamed that he didn't deserve this.

That it shouldn't have been from Gundham.

The front door was slightly ajar when Hajime arrived back at the cabin. He paused on his doorstep. That was unusual; He never left his door open, and he was sure Nagito wouldn't, either. He didn't push on the door; instead peeking through the crack.

Hajime wasn't sure what he was seeing at first. He followed the beam of light from the window, trailing to where it illuminated a figure, kneeling in the middle of the room.
Nagito?
No. That wasn't him; Nagito was–he was in front of him. Standing.
Blushing. Eyes closed, head turned to the side. Dressed in nothing but his collar and a pair of black boxer-briefs.
“What the fuck is going on?” Hajime demanded, shoving the door open. “Why are–” his voice dropped, realizing that all of his belongings seemed to be on the floor. “What the–Why?!” He demanded, looking straight at Nagito. He hadn't even processed Gundham past when he walked in; he didn't care. He was irrelevant to Hajime's anger right now.

Nagito shrunk back, flinching. Gundham stood quickly, his frame imposing between them.

“CALM YOURSELF, PEASANT.” Gundham's voice boomed loud enough for Hajime to stumble back a step. “Is this really your priority? Keeping your creature quiet and useless like a common fool?”
“You were–on the–” Hajime looked at Nagito, whose eyes were fixed on the sugar-covered ground. He was trying to keep up, but his brain was five steps behind. “What were– why is everything–”
“Complete a sentence, or stop starting them! Your blustering bores me!” Gundham’s hand cut through the air in a dramatic gesture, like he could ease Hajime’s reeling with magic. “What meaning is possession without understanding?”
“I don't know! All of this is fucking weird!” Hajime balled up his fists at his sides and shouted. “It's all fucking insane!”

Gundham glared viciously at Hajime, giving Nagito a quick, unreadable glance.
“You can go.” Nagito said quietly to Gundham, who gave a tight nod.
“You crave dominance yet have the control of an omega. Just disgraceful.” Gundham muttered to Hajime, who couldn't help but mouth ‘what the fuck does that even mean?’, even as Gundham was already walking past him to leave.

The door slammed unceremoniously. Hajime looked at Nagito.

He'd come back ready to apologize. To ask if they could rethink what they were doing; where they were headed.
Now, they just stared at each other. The mess hung around them like a cloud.

The only sound for a while was Hajime breathing. He had to calm himself before he finally spoke.
“I'm gonna give you a chance to explain this.” He told him. He wanted to cross his arms, but felt that was too scolding. He wasn't even sure if he was mad yet; this entire situation was so surreal, he didn't know what he was supposed to feel.

He watched as Nagito opened his mouth. Then closed it. Opened it again. The third time, an involuntary gasp cut from between Nagito’s lips. His shaking hands moved to cover his face.

Hajime didn't know what was happening until Nagito’s shoulders started to shake.
“What happened?” Hajime asked, his tight expression loosening. The room was a mess.
Gundham had been kneeling in front of him.
Nagito was crying now that he'd left.
“I'm sorry,” Nagito said desperately. “I'm useless. I'm the worst pet in the world. I can't do anything right, not even–” He cut himself off with a trembling, sharp inhale. “I can't even–Nobody wants me. Not you, not even… Gundham wouldn't let me! Even when I–when he was so nice,” He fell back onto the edge of the bed, letting himself sit on piles of carefully unfolded clothing. He was sobbing now; his shoulders rocking hard with the movement. “I’m worthless without meaning. I don't have a purpose to fulfill.”

Hajime sat next to him.
“Is it okay if I hug you?” He asked. Nagito didn't reply for so long that he thought he hadn't heard him; quietly shaking through his sobs, tears falling into his lap.
“I don't care. It doesn't matter.” Nagito said bitterly. He resisted comfort because it didn't feel like what was inside him was fixable; more like it was just something he had to deal with. Like a missing leg.

Hajime wrapped both arms around him tightly. So tight, Nagito struggled to breathe for a few seconds. He took in ragged gasps as he got used to the pressure.
“It’s alright. It'll be alright.” Hajime tried pathetically. He still didn't know what had happened, and he dreaded thinking about what Nagito and Gundham had done in his absence. The last time he saw Nagito, he was dressed, after all. “Did something bad happen?”
“No, I–” Nagito whined pathetically, embarrassment creeping into his tone as he cried harder. Hajime looked around, realizing that nothing was actually broken.
“You did this. On purpose.” He sighed, observing the way his toothbrush had been used to polish the blood off of a pair of broken golden handcuffs, kicked halfway under the couch in discard. He wasn't angry. He wasn't even surprised. “Jesus, Nagito. What am I supposed to do with you?”
“I don't have any better of an idea than you do.” Nagito mumbled.
“Can I ask what your goal was?” Hajime inquired after a beat. “Was it to make me angry? Or make me punish you?”
“To make you look at me.” Nagito corrected him, with nothing in him left to try to play games.
“Well, it worked.” Hajime said, rubbing his shoulder. Nagito’s breathing was steadying; he was calming down. “I mean, the sugar? That's cold. That's calculated. We’re gonna be vacuuming for months.”
“I guess I didn't think that far ahead.” Nagito managed a laugh. “I'll clean everything up.”
“We’ll do it together.” Hajime told him. “I'm not gonna order you around or anything, let's just… try to get this under control before we go to sleep tonight. Deal?”
“Deal.” Nagito nodded, letting his head fall into Hajime’s shoulder.

Hajime didn't ask if Nagito had fallen into old habits with Gundham. The idea bothered him, sure. He decided he'd rather not know; rather trust that Nagito wouldn't, instead of asking if he did.

Chapter Text

Nagito was trying. That was all he'd ever done; try to be quiet, calm, obedient and compliant in his treatment. Hajime had been trying, too. Though Nagito wasn't sure why he bothered.

“Here. I'm gonna try to get more of that sugar out of the floorboards today, so I thought you could work on this in the meantime.” He said, dropping a cardboard box in front of Nagito on the coffee table.
“Why?” Nagito eyed it distastefully. The box had a big picture of Monokuma’s face on it, and in bold letters, it said ‘JIGSAW PUZZLE 300 PIECES’.
“Because I said so.” Hajime replied without malice. “It's discipline.”
“This is a punishment?” Nagito asked, practically sneering. Seriously, a jigsaw puzzle? Nagito fought not to roll his eyes.
“No, this is discipline. You’ll get something once you finish it, okay?”
“What if a piece is missing?” Nagito asked, though the box was new and sealed.
“Just be good and do the puzzle, Nagito.” Hajime ruffled his hair lightly.

Nagito didn't like this. He didn't like being ignored, or forced to do a physical task against his will that benefitted nobody, not even himself. He glared disdainfully at the pieces as he fit together what he could of the edge, taking probably half an hour to complete the bordering pieces.

“How's it looking?” Hajime asked, standing behind him to check it over after vacuuming what more he could of the sugar. “Hey, you got the edge done. Very good.”
“What do I get once it's done?” Nagito asked. He didn't want to keep doing the stupid puzzle; he wanted fulfillment. He wanted consequences without the actions, regardless of punishment or reward.
“Whatever you want. Maybe you could pick a movie tonight, or something.”

Nagito felt like a horse whose reins had slacked so severely, it wasn't clear who was pulling who anymore.
“When are you going to use me?” Nagito asked. He wasn't angry; just curious. It wasn't like Hajime had never touched him before, but it seemed like it had been so long since he'd actually made an attempt. Nagito was almost worried; he knew Hajime wasn't getting off. He seemed to have forgotten that he could.
“I don't–God, Nagito,” Hajime chuckled in disbelief. “You're a cutie, you know that? Are you feeling pent up?”

Nagito’s face burned furiously as another puzzle piece clicked into place beneath his fingers. He didn't answer at first, though he knew Hajime was waiting.
“...A bit.” he managed meekly. He could feel Hajime’s breath against his neck from behind him, watching as he connected another piece.
“Maybe if you’re good and finish your puzzle, I'll get you off.”
“I still have so much left,” Nagito whined in frustration, his pants feeling inexplicably tighter than they were a few seconds ago. “This is gonna take me forever.”
“It’s not like we’re doing anything today, anyway. Want me to go grab you some coffee?”

Nagito wasn't used to answering such mundane questions. He faltered before he could even manage an, “oh, sure?”
“Hot or iced?”
“Is there…” Nagito was about to ask if there was a difference, but realized how stupid the question would sound. Hajime picked up on his confusion, giving a sympathetic smile.
“I'll bring you both. You can decide what you like more.”

Nagito stuttered out an incomprehensible reply, going rigid when the door closed behind Hajime as he left.

Nagito couldn't remember the last time he'd had something like this, or if he ever had.
People had been kind to him, sure. He'd been treated in every way he could be, from trash to an expensive doll. They never treated him like… he lived there. Like there wasn't a welcome for him to overstay.

Nagito worked on the puzzle for the fifteen minutes Hajime was gone. When he came back, he had a tray in his hands with so many coffees on it, Nagito couldn't count them. He stared at them in horror.
“Hey, they had way more options than I thought, so I just kind of got everything. We can figure out which ones are your favourite.” Hajime said with a smile, sitting them on the coffee table.
“I don't know if I can finish all of these,” Nagito said, his eyes wide. “You can overdose on caffeine, right? I might–”
“Woah, woah–Nagito,” Hajime took his hand quickly, steadying the way he was starting to shake. “I am not asking you to drink all of these. You don't have to drink any of them if you don't want to, I just–thought I’d give you some options.” He gave Nagito a beat to process his words, then followed, “why would you think I was going to make you drink all of these?”
“It's… nothing.” Nagito mumbled, staring at the tray. “I don't have to even try all of them?”
“No. They're just there if you want one.”

Nagito nodded slowly, like the words still didn't make sense. He reached out, taking an iced coffee with whipped cream and what looked like chocolate sprinkled on it.

It wasn't that Nagito wasn't allowed these things; not really. He'd just… never given them to himself, and nobody else bothered, either. He grimaced as he took a sip.
“Too sweet?” Hajime asked.
“Bleugh, yeah.” Nagito muttered. He went to take another sip, but Hajime caught the cup before it touched his lips.
“Do you like it?” Hajime asked, eyebrows furrowed. Nagito had just given a disgusted reaction, so why was he still trying?
“Well… no.” Nagito stilled, realizing how strange trying for another sip was. Hajime wordlessly took the coffee out of his hand and replaced it with a hot one; no whipped cream, but milk and sugar evident in its colour. When Nagito tried it, he gagged.
“Not sweet enough?”
“No, I–” Nagito made another gagging sound. “Wow, hot coffee is disgusting.”
“Alright,” Hajime laughed. “How about this one.”

He handed him an iced coffee with a small amount of milk, brown sugar, and cinnamon in it. When Nagito took a sip, he didn't have a physical reaction at all.
“Oh, that isn't bad.” He said, realizing that not all coffee had to be awful. “It tastes kind of like a cinnamon roll.”
“I'm glad you like it.” Hajime said with a grin, picking a coffee from the ones Nagito hadn't touched.

Hajime stilled when Nagito leaned into him, letting his shoulder brush gently against Hajime’s chest as he held his coffee in his hands. Hajime wanted to hold him; wanted to pull him closer, but knew that was a slippery slope. He kissed Nagito’s temple when it was close enough, but didn't pull him in.

Hajime noticed Nagito pause, his eyes returning to the puzzle.
“Wait, I didn't finish it.” He said, frowning. “You gave me my reward too early.”
“Food isn't a reward.” Hajime said after a moment of consideration, knowing he had to be careful. “It's not a reward, or a punishment. It's just… food. You have to eat.”
“But this is, like, actually good.” Nagito argued. Not out of anger, but out of dedication to what a reward is. “You can still use food as a reward without withholding it, you just feed me only things that I hate.”
“I don't want to do that to you, Nagito.” Hajime informed him. “I won't do that to you. Is that okay for me to say? I just– yeah. That's too intense.”

Nagito felt like he was from a different planet entirely.
“You make it sound worse than it is.” He mumbled, taking another sip of his coffee, like he was challenging Hajime to be bothered. Hajime wasn't; not even remotely.
“No, I think you do.” Hajime laughed. He picked up a puzzle piece and clicked it into place.
“Hey! No fair, I'm supposed to do it.” Nagito protested.
“Better do it faster than that, then.” Hajime laughed. He placed another piece; then, another. Soon he was competing with Nagito, both of them scrambling to see who could place the last piece first.

Maybe this was okay. It wasn't punishment, it wasn't ownership, Nagito would barely even say it was control. But it was supervision; it was safety.

He was starting to want to feel it.