and we are beginning

It had been months since the Final Killing Game. Hajime wasn’t quite sure how long exactly. Well, he was, but he tried not to rely on his talents too much these days when they weren’t needed, so he’d ignore what he could for the sake of living in the moment.

The point was, it had been months and, looking up at the sky, he was pleased to note that it didn’t look quite as dull and red as when he’d first exited the Neo World Program. The island, being pretty isolated and far enough from major land masses, still had almost-blue skies some days. On days when the wind was just right. This wasn’t one of those days and yet he could still see hints of purplish-blue through the smog. 

It made him smile. Slowly, slowly, the things they’d hurt were being healed. It would be years again still before there would be anything resembling peace, but there was still hope. There was still a future in store for this world.

Hajime and the other remnants had been helping where they could, of course, even while they stuck by the unspoken rule of “don’t leave the island unless necessary.” Through email correspondence, Mikan could lend her medical expertise to the Future Foundation. Hajime could tap into the half of him that was still Izuru and analyse data and strategise at frightening speeds.

Kazuichi had to leave the island the most, hands-on as his job was, and even then he tried to do what he could from where they were. Hajime would usually accompany him when he did have to leave, figuring that two heads were better than one and Hajime was an Ultimate Mechanic in his own right even if he had lacked the practical knowledge at first. “Talent” and “skill” weren’t exactly synonyms, after all, though he did of course pick up on things within a matter of hours once he got started.

“I can almost see the sun today…” came a soft voice from behind Hajime. Breathy and calming, nothing like he had been near the end of the game. 

Hajime hummed an acknowledgment and listened to the mechanical whirring of Nagito’s prosthetic as he sat down next to him. They were at the edge of the empty hotel pool, feet dangling into open air. Ibuki had suggested they fill it, if only to have somewhere to swim that wasn’t salty. Hajime had reasoned that they couldn’t spare the resources to maintain it—chlorine wasn’t on the list of supplies they got in their shipments and their only other option would be to just use saltwater anyway. Ibuki had relented when she realised he had a point, though Hajime suspected that Kazuichi was working on some kind of water filter in his spare time regardless. That would have more uses than just the pool, at least.

Nagito tipped to the side so his head was resting on Hajime’s shoulder and their arms were pressed together. Hajime shifted so he could entwine his fingers with Nagito’s where their hands were resting between them. 

There was nobody else around, everyone off doing their own thing. The hotel grounds were usually pretty empty during the day unless Ryota and Sagishi were hanging out in the lobby. Sagishi—the Ultimate Imposter—had stopped wearing disguises after they all got back to the island. They still didn’t have a name, so they went by their title instead, even when Ryota had offered a few alternatives. Hajime supposed it did still suit them even if they were being themself now. He understood that—feeling like you don’t have a right to your own identity. Feeling like you’re not really your own person, not quite.

Nagito’s thumb ran across Hajime’s knuckles. He’d slowly been healing, too. His skin felt less thin and papery, his hair was shinier than it used to be, he was less frail though still far too thin. Mikan and Hajime had been working together on his treatments and they were going better than Hajime could’ve ever hoped. An experimental medication was rendering Nagito’s cancer harmless and benign, and an even more experimental implant in his brain was gradually reversing the effects of his dementia. It had to be slow both so his mind wouldn’t be further damaged by the strain and so that if anything went wrong, there would be time to fix it. There had been no adverse side effects yet, and if there were then Hajime would be the first to know.

He glanced up at the scar that poked through Nagito’s hairline, a curve that framed his ear and sloped down towards his brow—they almost matched. Hajime had, of course, sent the specifications for the drug and the implant to Makoto to pass on to whoever could do something with the information. If it could help Nagito, it could help others.

His mental health had been slowly improving too, with some pushing from Hajime. Even Kazuichi had admitted to finding him almost pleasant to be around when he wasn’t spiralling.

“I wonder when we’ll get to see white clouds again…” Nagito said quietly, punctuating his lamentation with a sigh. “I know my dress sense isn’t the most colourful, but even I can get tired of red and black.” He looked down at his legs. He was, in fact, wearing a pair of split red and black jeans and a black shirt under his usual green jacket.

“Just look in a mirror.” Hajime reached his free hand up to ruffle Nagito’s hair, getting a small laugh out of him. “Going by how much progress has already been made… still a few years. Even then, I don’t think we’ll get blue skies all the time.”

“I’ll treasure what few we get regardless.”

“Me too…” Hajime squeezed his hand. “Have you been to see Mikan today?”

“Mm… She said that with how well I’m doing we can probably space out the thorough checkups a bit more now. Once a week instead of every two days.” At Hajime’s searching look, he smiled. “I won’t stop you from asking her yourself if you think I’m lying. Besides, I know you’ll be fussing over me anyway. There’s no reason for me not to tell the truth.”

“Hm. Alright.”

“Hard to escape your scrutiny when you make us sleep in the same room…” His words were light, teasing. Hajime humoured him and bumped against his shoulder.

“Hey, you’re the one that started crawling into bed with me first. Not my fault I got used to it.”

“When you word it like that, it sounds so scandalous.” Nagito giggled. Hajime rolled his eyes.

“You know what I meant…” He shook his head. “Not like it’d be wrong, anyway…” he mumbled as an afterthought. Nagito giggled again.

They hadn’t… there wasn’t a label for what Hajime and Nagito were to each other. They didn’t talk about it, it was just an understood thing between them ever since Nagito woke up from his NWP-induced coma. Ever since Hajime decided to trust him again. Partners was probably the best word for it, though even that wasn’t quite right. They were just… together. In every sense of the word. None of the others asked, either. As if the two of them being together was as remarkable as the fact that beaches have sand—it just Was. 

Besides the occasional fake gag from Kazuichi or Hiyoko when they kissed in the restaurant, or Ibuki cooing at how cute they were, it was barely even acknowledged. He liked it better that way—there was still a part of him, the old Hajime part that had broken back through, that was embarrassed to even really have feelings or be close to anyone, romantic or platonic or otherwise.

“Oh, right…” Nagito twirled a lock of his hair and glanced down at the dirty tiles at the bottom of the pool. Hajime glanced down too. He could always turn it into a skateboarding bowl, add some ramps and rails and halfpipes. It was plenty big enough and he hadn’t skateboarded since— in years. “Mikan wanted me to remind you that we should both eat lunch soon.”

“She… wanted you to remind me to make you eat?”

Nagito shrugged.

“Right.”

They stood as one, only breaking apart their hand-holding to make sure they stayed stable and didn’t fall into the pool. It wouldn’t be ideal for either of them to sustain any more brain damage than they already had. Nagito’s hand was back in Hajime’s the moment they started walking towards the restaurant. They bypassed the lobby—nobody was in there, and it was just a reminder that they didn’t need—and took the steps up with Nagito trailing behind. 

The tables in the restaurant weren’t separated anymore. They’d all been pushed into the middle so that everyone could eat together during breakfast and dinner. Lunch was a more casual affair. Teruteru left a selection of covered snacks out in the middle of the table, as well as ingredients for simple dishes so that people could pick and choose what they wanted to eat and when.

Hajime could hear him in the kitchen already working on dinner. Unsurprising, with the amount of people he had to feed. Sonia and Hajime had both offered to help at various points, and sometimes Teruteru accepted, but usually he’d send them away claiming that it was the least he could do and that it kept him from getting too lost in his thoughts.

They kept their meals simple—just some rice and fish cooked using the basic appliances left out in the restaurant for just this purpose. Nagito sat at the table and watched Hajime cook the fish on a mini camping grill with his chin propped up on his robotic hand and a soft smile on his face. He avoided cooking for himself both because of his luck and because of a newfound fear of fire. 

Hajime always waited for Nagito to start eating first. He wasn’t sure why, just one of those habits he didn’t feel the need to dig into. Nagito had noticed it at some point and had started being sure to take his first bite before Hajime had even sat down. He broke off a morsel of fish with his chopsticks and popped it into his mouth while Hajime was still pulling out his chair.

They ate in comfortable silence for a while. It was broken by Sagishi and Ryota showing up to get their lunch, Ryota chattering quietly about his new animation project while Sagishi listened with a fond but attentive look on their face. Hajime was glad to see that Ryota was doing better, too. Like Nagito the bags under his eyes were fainter, he was gaining a little weight, and he had much more energy than when Hajime had first met him. Sagishi caught Hajime’s eye and they shared a knowing smile.

Ryota sat near Nagito while Sagishi made them their meals—fried chicken burgers, it seemed—and timidly asked if they were interested in what he was working on. At Hajime and Nagito’s nods, he lit up and started his whole spiel over again. 

He wanted to go back to his original plan, from before Junko; make an animated short film that would inspire hope in everyone who saw it. Not to brainwash, like the video he’d been planning to broadcast to the world, but to really capture the feeling that made him an animator in the first place.

He also wanted to get Hajime to help out with the story and put his literary talents to use, as well as share the load on the animating, something that Hajime happily agreed to. It wasn’t often he was asked after for his more artistic talents. To be fair, this was likely because he was artistic in the way an algorithm was, instinctively going for what would garner the optimal response and not necessarily what he really felt or liked himself. It was a habit he’d been trying to break out of by making music with Ibuki, though it was also exactly what Ryota needed.

With lunch finished and a few ideas laid out for the short film, Nagito and Hajime headed back to their cottage. It was the same one that Hajime had slept in while in the Neo World Program with a few more personal touches. The blinds had been replaced with curtains, the shower had been ripped out and replaced with a spacious bathtub—big enough for two people, if needed—and that ridiculous stand full of Monokuma plushies was nonexistent. In its place was a writing desk, mainly used by Nagito. 

Part of his therapy had been writing a novel. Something creative to keep his mind active and occupy his hands, to funnel his thoughts and feelings into when everything felt like too much. He didn’t reveal any details to Hajime, claiming he didn’t want anyone to see it until it was ready, so Hajime didn’t push the issue. He found it fascinating that Nagito preferred writing by hand over typing and liked to watch him sometimes while lying in bed late at night, waiting until they both got tired enough to sleep.

Sometimes Hajime would fall asleep just like that, ever calmed just by Nagito being there, quietly humming some song he made up under his breath while he penned his story. Hajime had asked him about the song once. Nagito said it was something he’d come up with as a teenager that didn’t fit quite right in his head anymore, but he still hummed it anyway. 

It was about a dying cherry branch. Hajime forced himself not to read into it.

That afternoon, though, they both kicked off their shoes and climbed onto the bed, Nagito folding and tucking himself into Hajime so that arms could wrap around him and fingers could run through his hair. This was another part of their little routine they’d built up; Nagito liked being held, Hajime liked being close to Nagito, so when they had nothing better to do they would cuddle until something came up. Hajime probably had some emails he could send, something to help Kazuichi with, some song to write with Ibuki. None of that was time-sensitive, though, so he could just relax for a little while.

“Sorry that I’m not more entertaining company,” Nagito muttered as he nuzzled into Hajime’s collarbone. “I’m sure you’re quite bored right now…”

Hajime made a noncommittal noise. “I’m okay with being bored now, I think. Besides, I…” That old part of him popped up again, begging him not to say something embarrassing. He pushed it down. “I just like being near you. I like… you.”

“Hm?” Nagito pulled back to look at him, an unreadable expression on his face. “You’re admitting to liking me now? Did all the tsundere get cut off with Izuru’s hair?”

“Shut up. I’m never saying it again now.” He laughed and halfheartedly pushed Nagito away. He easily caved and let himself be pulled back. Nagito laughed with him.

“Aw, but it sounded so nice… you liiike me…” Nagito’s tone and smile were slightly teasing but Hajime was pleased to note he was genuinely happy. 

“Do I really need to say it out loud for you to get that?”

“Well…” Nagito faltered. Hajime could see the gears turning in his head, carefully planning out his next words. Cutting out all the self-deprecation—another thing they’d been working on. “It’s certainly not something I’m used to hearing,” he settled on. There was a spark of pride in Hajime’s chest at how neutral, if sad, of a statement he’d managed to make.

“Hm…” He pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I guess it can’t hurt to repeat it every so often. Just so you do get used to it.”

Nagito’s eyes widened a little before he melted into a fond smile. Hajime ran his thumb over his cheekbone, absently noting that his face felt less bony than it had just a month prior. There was a healthy flush to his cheeks, his lips weren’t so dry and chapped… It wasn’t clear who leaned in to kiss the other first and it didn’t quite matter. Lips were on lips, warm and a little salty from lunch but nonetheless making Hajime’s heart act in his ribs like a bird in a cage.

There was a time when Hajime would’ve tried to confidently say that he hated Nagito. That he hated what he’d tried to do in the simulation, his attitude, his lies. The truth was that, while that was partially true, it was the actions he was frustrated with. Not the person. He liked Nagito, even then, and he hated that he liked him and wanted to understand him. As if understanding would solve everything. He hated that he still found his smile calming even at the end, that he felt just as drawn to Nagito as Nagito was to him. 

Even now, things were… complicated sometimes. They had bad days. Nagito would spiral, or Hajime would “go Kamukura” as some of the others put it, becoming apathetic and dismissive out of seemingly nowhere, and they’d fight and things would suck and Nagito would go back to his old bed for the night. Then, after a night of fitful half-sleep on both ends, they’d eat breakfast next to each other and go back to their cottage to talk, take a nap and have make-up sex. Not that there was much to make up for by that point, it was really just because they could. Forgiveness was easier when you knew things could be far, far worse. That you’d both done far worse.

Nagito’s lips moved to Hajime’s neck to gently nip at his pulse point. Hajime breathed out a contented sigh and twisted his fingers into the fabric of Nagito’s jacket and the hair on the back of his head. He felt a bit like a fluffy cat. His hair smelled like their shared shampoo, something fruity that Hajime had picked out from the supply crate.

It was moments like this that Hajime wanted to spend the rest of his life in—simple, sweet, warm, safe. Everything they hadn’t had for the past few years. Everything they were working to give back to a world they’d set on fire, unwittingly as that was.

He looked forward to a day when Nagito could join Hajime, Akane, and Nekomaru in their training like he wanted to, without running out of breath only minutes in. To Ryota finishing his short film and inspiring hope, not forcing it on people. To Kazuichi’s machines helping instead of hurting.

He looked forward to watching the sky fade from blue to purple to star-speckled black with his friends again, the only red being the last rays of sunlight against pure white clouds.