#joy on volleyball | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

1loer · 8 days ago

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HI HELLO!! How are you doing?

Can you please share some snippets of that fic you mentioned you were writing but abandoned it? (If you want of course no pressure!) I'm so interested :D

well, since u asked so nicely.

((warnings for references to self-harm, homophobia, child neglect, and descriptions of blood and violence))

Its about 12k words in length and very choppy because i just grabbed together whatever pieces were 1) done 2) i felt were needed to get some sort of "story" here.

this is quite old now so its not the best written and im not sure how i feel about it overall but i hope u get something from it anyway :')

Nagito Komaeda wasn’t normal. He knew this much but couldn’t understand why.

He knew because Komaeda liked to watch people. No one really bothered to talk with him much, so it was all he could do. This was one of the reasons he knew he wasn’t normal. Other people talked to other people, and it didn’t seem like it was a very big deal at all. People didn’t talk to him, and people very much did not smile at him when they talked, and if they did, it would definitely be a very big deal to him. Normal people had people around them. Some had only a few, others had loads. Komaeda had none.

Not that he minded. It was to be expected. No one wanted to be around someone who wasn’t normal. It wasn’t like it was only these things that made him different. He figured the list of ‘whys’ probably didn’t have an end and grew a little longer every day.

Plus, he supposed he was lucky in this way. He’d seen what the other option looked like. He’d much rather be ignored completely than gain negative attention.

He thinks.

Then again-

The bell rang, and the thought cut off. The others in his class who had been talking with their friends moved back to their seats as his homeroom teacher, Mr. Yoshida, walked to the front. The class representative called for them to bow, they did, then took their seats.

“Before I take attendance, I want to introduce a new student into our class.”

Komaeda raised his eyebrows. He didn’t think he’d ever been in a class that had had a new student transfer like this before. He sat forward a little in his seat. This was an amazing precedent for hope. His palms sweat a little where they gripped his seat.

The door to the classroom slid open, and a boy walked in. The first thing Komaeda noticed about him was that he was tall. He figured that was probably what everyone else noticed too. The two girls who sat in front of him shared a look, then stifled their giggles.

“Introduce yourself to the class.”

The boy bowed, raised his head and smiled.

Komaeda’s eyes widened.

“I’m Hiroto Ishikawa. I hope we can be friends.”

A rush. Small, but strong enough you couldn’t ignore it, more like a tickle or a shiver, one that started right at the base of your skull and spread down to the tips of your fingers; made you curl your toes. Like that primal instinct humans never managed to extinguish when you know someone is staring at you. You turn your head to stare back before the thought has even processed.

Hope. Ishikawa was brimming with it.

This was something else that Komaeda knew made him not normal.

He wasn’t sure why, but he’d always been able to sense it. Hope and despair. The feelings were different, yet still so powerful, and Komaeda seemed to have senses finely tuned to differentiate between both. Special people, people with talent, they were filled with hope. It seemed so obvious to Komaeda, it made him wonder why no one else could sense it if it was so easy for someone as useless as himself.

Someone with talent. Someone blessed with hope in its purest form, and they were in his class. Komaeda swallowed thickly and gripped his hands into fists in his lap. What an amazing turn of events.

How much more amazing then, that Ishikawa was assigned to sit next to him.

Sometimes Komaeda seriously couldn’t believe his own luck.

He’d never had much interest in the rest of his classmates. So, them not particularly having an interest in him either didn’t matter to him. They were all the same. All of them were destined for nothing. The best any of them could hope for was to at least become something that could assist Ultimates in their goals and bolster their hope. The difference between him and the rest of his classmates, however, seemed to be that Komaeda was the only one who understood this.

But Ishikawa was special. Komaeda desperately wanted to get to know him.

— ((Ishikawa treats Komaeda like he's a normal person, and extends basic human kindess towards him (greeting him every morning, doing small talk). Komaeda's obsession with him only gets worse))

Talking to Ishikawa was easy, because Komaeda didn’t have to do much talking at all. Ishikawa just told him everything about volleyball, explained the rules, talked about the Olympic team’s strategies and his opinions on them. Komaeda didn’t understand any of it. He hadn’t even seen a volleyball game before.

Komaeda revealed this fact to Ishikawa, only realising how embarrassing it was to admit once it was already out of his mouth.

But that didn’t stop someone like Ishikawa.

“Man, you’re missing out! How the hell have you never seen a volleyball game before?! That’s insane.” Before the disappointment could set in Komaeda’s chest, Ishikawa shook his head, “I can’t let you go on like this. You’ll just have to come to the try-outs tomorrow and watch me play.”

Komaeda’s breath left him.

“W-What?”

Ishikawa shrugged, “Well, if it’s going to be your first game, I want to make sure you’re watching someone who actually knows what they’re doing.” He finished with a wink, and a smirk, and Komaeda laughed much too loudly. He smacked a hand over his face and turned away, swallowing down the nervous spit that had gathered in his mouth.

This was unbelievable. This was-

Amazing.

“I’d be more than honoured to see your hope shine at such a pivotal moment! I-I’m so happy you’d even think to invite me-”

Ishikawa’s face morphed, a quick twitch of his lip, and it shot anxiety through Komaeda that made him cut off his words.

He swallowed and took a deep breath, corrected his smile, and said, “I’ll definitely be there. I’ll definitely watch you play, Ishikawa.”

“...Good. I’m glad.” Ishikawa answered with a smile, but somehow it still felt wrong.

Komaeda did his best to understand the rules of volleyball before the game. The setter, the position Ishikawa played, seemed to be the most pivotal role in the whole system from what Komaeda could understand. They controlled the ball, set it up for the spiker, who scored the points. A role that perfectly suited someone as reliable and strong as Ishikawa. It wasn’t the flashiest, but it was the role that set up the rest of the team for success. It was something that Komaeda could sort of relate to.

Not that Ishikawa was anything like Komaeda, on any level at all.

…But it was nice to think that maybe, like this, they were similar. All Komaeda wanted was to be useful like that, to be the reason someone else could shine. Maybe Ishikawa also understood that. The thought made him blush.

He stood quietly in the stalls, watching amongst the girls who had also come to support Ishikawa. Of course, Ishikawa had become very popular ever since he transferred, so his fan club was quite sizable already. Pretty girls with bright eyes watched raptly and squealed and yelled his name when he made a good play, which was pretty often. Komaeda stayed back, not wanting to get in their way. Despite not knowing any of the team members Ishikawa moulded to their needs in record time. Even someone as stupid as Komaeda, who knew nothing about the sport, could understand how well he was doing.

One of the players, one Komaeda was sure would be selected alongside Ishikawa for the team, delivered another earth-shattering slice that cut through the opposite team’s wall of defences, set up perfectly by Ishikawa. The whistle blew to announce Ishikawa’s team’s victory for game, 25 to 20.

The girls screamed in joy as the team celebrated, and Komaeda clapped along in the background. He was ecstatic, but it was no surprise. Komaeda was sure that any team Ishikawa was on would win.

The girl in the centre of all the others, with long legs and even longer hair, leaned against the railing and called for Ishikawa. Komaeda had been watching her more closely lately. She was also in his class. She was smart, her grades beating his easily, but even that was saying something because Komaeda tended to rank pretty highly, all things considered. She was always around Ishikawa. Ishikawa seemed to like the attention she gave him too. Komaeda figured that if Ishikawa was going to choose any of them to go out with, it’d be her.

Which was fine.

Ishikawa could totally do better than some hopeless, meaningless civilian like her, but who was Komaeda to judge? He was nothing better. If anything, he may have been worse. He wasn’t even a girl. Ishikawa definitely wouldn’t be so perverted.

At least she was pretty. Ishikawa probably wanted to date someone pretty and popular like her.

…What a strange train of thought. Even stranger was the lump that formed from nothing in his throat after it.

Komaeda waited for him outside the gym after that. Part of him felt silly for it. It’s not like Ishikawa would want to see him, and he certainly hadn’t asked, but still he waited. He just wanted to see Ishikawa. Maybe, if he was really lucky, they’d walk home together again.

Eventually, Ishikawa emerged. Surrounded by his peers and smiling brightly, the evening sun wrapped around him in golden ribbons, he looked to Komaeda the picture of a hero from a story book. The light his hope produced made even the worthless people leeching on him look picturesque.

Komaeda watched them from the shadows and wondered what the hell he was even doing.

But still he didn’t move, enraptured by the hope shining out of Ishikawa without him even trying. What he’d give for one more glance, one more smile thrown his way. It was too much to ask for, but even so he couldn’t help but yearn for it.

“A-Amazing performance, Ishikawa!” Komaeda choked out as he approached him. The rest of the group stopped and turned to look at him, but Komaeda hardly paid them any mind.

Ishikawa looked at the rest of the group, and they shared a look that Komaeda didn’t fully understand. But then Ishikawa turned back to him, and the rest of the group dispersed,

“Did you expect anything less?” Ishikawa replied with a smirk, and Komaeda’s smile stretched wild.

“Of course not, but even so, seeing it up close and personal was something entirely different!”

“Psh, of course! I told you as much, didn’t I?” Ishikawa smirked handsomely, and Komaeda found it hard to swallow. With a chaste punch on his shoulder, more a tap than anything else, Ishikawa said, “I’m glad I got to be your first.”

He didn’t mean it like that. There's no way he meant anything even close to where Komaeda’s brain went but-

Ishikawa winked, and Komaeda burst into loud embarrassed laughter, his face steaming from the intensity of the blush he was sporting. This was- Oh this was just the worst. This was the absolute worst thing ever he was so stupid-

The girl, the one with the long hair that liked Ishikawa, was suddenly calling for him from the door to the school. With that, Ishikawa was leaving, waving at Komaeda over his shoulder, and Komaeda was left alone, stiff and warm and waving jankily as he walked away.

Once he was out of sight, Komaeda ran until he reached the bathrooms, entered a stall, slammed the door, shakily locked it, and collapsed to the floor.

How humiliating.

He clawed his hands into his face, scorning the heat that still emitted from it.

But it wasn’t enough. Even as his nails clawed down his face it didn’t disrupt the events repeating on loop in his head. Komaeda felt himself burn up, Ishikawa’s words and his responses rushing and crawling like fire ants biting through the folds of his brain.

The burning increased as the walls of the cubical closed in on him. He hoped they did. He hoped they crushed him. No, something worse than that- It needed to be bad. A death so horrific that whenever anyone thought of him that’s all they’d remember, so every other torturous moment of his life would be entirely erased in its wake.

He dug his nails into his flesh, until it hurt, then harder still, until the pain didn’t register anymore, until it was almost soothing.

“I’m glad I got to be your first.”

He needed these thoughts to stop. He was being eaten alive. Fire ants in his brain, in his skin, in his lungs, in his throat-

The stall door closed gently behind him. He dusted off his trousers and washed his hands. Only when he was at the sink did it occur to him that there very well could have been someone else in the toilets that heard all that. Looking now, there was no one around. It was after-school hours, but clubs were still running. He was lucky no one had walked in on him. He double checked in the mirror. There was some evidence, but none that couldn’t be shrugged off. He’d probably regret all this later. But that was for later.

He walked home in a haze. He didn’t even remember taking the train.

– ((Komaeda becomes really sick, but manages to make it to the finals of a volleyball tournement match Ishikawa is playing in))

They won, the final scoreboard reading 21-19.

The entire team was ecstatic. The stadium boomed with an uproarious cheer at their success. Komaeda felt it on his skin like a rash, all goosebumps and raised hairs and static on top of static. It enveloped him, to the point he almost felt like he was floating, like the win was somehow his own.

Hope. An unprecedented amount.

Komaeda knew it’d be good. That's why he had to be here; why he dragged himself despite the nausea and the pain and the exhaustion. His head felt full of air, static on static on static like the most all-encompassing pins and needles. Komaeda couldn’t get enough breath in his chest; it all went to his head. He gripped tight at the bar of the rafters, eyes wide as he watched Ishikawa’s team celebrate. But, the other side of the net, the other end of the spectrum. The losing team, their dreams crushed, third years who would never see their team through to nationals before high school, crowded as well, joined not in hope, but despair. Both sides of such a tumultuous spectrum, painted here in front of him in bright and dazzling colours. A clear presentation of how despair must fall for hope to raise those who deserve it up higher. As always, as it always and reliably did, hope conquered despair, and those deserving basked in the glory of the aftermath and it was amazing, spectacular, he absolutely couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. To think he almost missed all of this-

“What the hell are you talking about?”

His head snapped to the side.

Ah, had he said all that out loud?

That girl, the one with the long hair, and her friend, the one who wore too much makeup and too many accessories, were standing next to him giving him strange and mildly frightened looks,

“Um…Are you, like, okay?” The girl’s friend asked, “You look, like, paler and sweatier than usual.”

“It’s not anything that should concern someone like you.” Komaeda mumbled, but right now, even that much was a struggle.

“Oi.” The main girl’s voice went lower, quiet yet threatening, “She was just being kind. Don’t think you can just ignore her so coldly.”

“I don’t need kindness from the likes of you.”

“What, you think you’re better than us or somethin’?” The girl’s friend interjected. The girl held out an arm, and Komaeda thought that it was the only thing keeping her from jumping him.

“Oh, please, don’t be mistaken. You’re absolutely no better or worse than I am.”

“Hey-” she growled but cut herself off when she was interrupted by Ishikawa calling from below.

Komaeda turned, he wanted to know what Ishikawa would say, but he might’ve turned a bit too quickly, because his world went fuzzy, stars popping and exploding in his vision, and he had to steady himself once more to stop from almost passing out.

Or that was the plan. Despite what his intentions were, his hand slipped, missed the barrier, and before he’d even hit the floor, everything went dark.

Rocks under his feet skidded across the concrete. He scrambled, corrected his stance, and continued onwards. The small slip did nothing to slow down his excited pace as he ran up the winding tree lined path of his driveway towards his house. He did have to slow down, though, when he got to the steps of his front porch. The dark wood steps were a bit too tall for his small legs. He put utmost concentration into climbing them, both feet on each solid step before moving to the next. Eventually, he made it. He reached up, opened the door, and pushed into his house.

“Mum! Mum! I’m home!”

He shrugged off his backpack, almost falling backwards with the weight of it. He pushed the heavy door shut behind him, before gently placing the paper in his hands on the floor and taking off his shoes. His tongue peaked out a little as he struggled out of them, a task made harder as he didn’t take the time to undo them properly. He picked up the paper, and started running again-

Only he forgot how slippery his floors were, and his socks made his feet fly from under him and he crashed into the floor headfirst.

He flopped onto his side groaning, his hands pushing into his head as tears pricked the corner of his eyes. That really hurt, and the stars in his eyes were scary and the feeling was scary too. He sniffled, corrected the black cap on his head, and stood up shakily. Despite his fall, he hadn’t dropped the paper in his hands and, luckily, it hadn’t ripped either. Komaeda shook away the tears and continued on his quest.

“Mum?”

His call echoed across the wide, white, empty halls of his big, big house. He peeked his head into the kitchen. Nothing. Living room provided the same, as did the guest room. He pushed open the heavy doors of their library but stopped short. No music. If mum was in the library, she’d be playing violin, or she’d be listening to her records. She wasn’t in here either. Weird.

He let the door swing closed behind him and ran back down the hallway to continue his search upstairs, careful this time not to slip on the shiny tiles on the floor. He flinched a little at the sound of the library door slamming shut. He always got told off for doing that. It wasn’t his fault the doors were so heavy. Who cared about a little loud noise anyway? It was so stupid.

But no one was around to tell him off this time. So, he forgot about it quickly.

He traversed up the stairs, one hand gripping his paper, the other holding onto the railings curving up their side, switching between each curling black iron bar the higher he climbed.

He reached the landing and instantly made his way down the long corridor to his parent’s room, the taps of his feet rendered silent as their sounds were swallowed by the thick carpet stretched across the floor. He hesitated in the doorway for a little. He wasn’t really allowed in here, but this was really important. He knew it’d make his mum happy, his teachers had even said so. He needed to show her right now.

It was only when he walked into the room and saw the heavy curtains drawn and the lights off that he realised how quiet the house was. He slowed to a stop at the end of his parent’s massive bed, his feet sinking into the plush rug on the floor.

A weird feeling dropped in his tummy. His shoulders and back felt shivery. This was…not good. It was never good when mum was in bed like this. He definitely shouldn’t be in here. He was definitely being naughty right now. But he really needed to show this to mum. He’d told his teachers he would. He was so excited to show her.

They’d had an art class today, and they’d been told to draw a picture of their best day ever. Komaeda hadn’t been able to think of things as exciting as his classmates did, so he just drew what was truthful. A picture of him, his mum, and dad, all together at the park. They hadn’t done that in ages. Komaeda really wished they could, though. His teacher had been really happy with it, and she showed it to the rest of the class and everything. So, he needed to show his mum, because his teacher said it’d make her happy. Mum wasn’t happy often. Komaeda wanted really badly to be the reason she was happy today.

But now, Komaeda wasn’t so sure of himself.

Maybe, if he showed her, it’d make her feel better, and she’d get out of bed and open the curtains, and then he could read to her too. Maybe this time, it’d be different.

“Mum?” he whispered. He was too scared to be louder than that. Mum didn’t like it when he was loud, especially when she was like this.

There was no response from the lump on the bed. Komaeda’s hands gripped tighter onto the paper in his hands. He crept closer,

“Mum?”

“What?”

He was startled a little at the sudden, sharp response. Even though this was what he’d wanted, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was doing something wrong.

“I got something to show you.” he mumbled, and did his best to ignore the squirming, bad feeling in his stomach.

For a long time, she was quiet. The longer she was quiet, the tighter his chest felt. Though it probably didn’t help that he was hardly breathing. He didn’t want to make more sound than really necessary in case it made mum shout. Right before Komaeda tried again, he heard her mumble something. He took a step forwards,

“What?” She didn’t respond. He leaned onto the bed, “What did you say-”

“This is all your fault.” Komaeda froze, fear shooting through him, icy and sharp right down his spine, freezing him in place. The less movement he made, the less noticeable he was, maybe then he’d be safe.

It was for nothing. She turned around, sat up in bed, glaring down at him. He’d never seen mum look like that before. He wished he never had, “If you hadn’t ripped out my soul when you were born- Now they’re after me.” She gripped her hands into her flaxen hair, usually soft and tidy, now it was rough and messy, her fingers pulling through it messing it up further. Komaeda felt his bottom lip quiver, “They’re going to kill me and it’s all your fault.”

He trembled, wanting desperately to leave, hating the way his chest rose as he breathed because he never wanted to make another movement ever again in his life, “I-I’m sorry-”

“Nagito! What are you doing in here?!”

His dad’s voice was so loud, it shot a new spear of fear through him, he trembled, despite how bad he just wanted to freeze just stay still just don’t move-

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry-”

Dad was picking him up, and he was rushed out of the room and dropped again in the hallway. He tasted salt. He hadn’t even realised he’d been crying. Now he had realised, he couldn’t get himself to stop.

“Damn it kid!” His dad ran a frustrated hand through his dark hair, then was bending down to his level. He gripped him by the shoulders, “No, look- shh! No, it’s okay, don’t cry-” Komaeda sobbed and hiccupped. He couldn’t breathe properly. He was crying so hard his chest hurt. His dad shook him a little, voice panicked and that just made him even more scared. “Come on kid. Stop it. Stop it!” Komaeda wanted to listen, he wanted to stop, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know why he couldn’t stop. It made him cry harder. He wanted his mum- his mum was scary; he didn’t want to be with her- he wanted a hug- he wanted to be as far away from everything as possible- he wanted someone to take him away- he wanted to never be seen again- “I don’t need this right now.”

Komaeda’s stomach went funny, and his chest went tighter. His dad was angry now too. All because of him.

“I-I didn’t want to k-kill mum-” Komaeda managed between sobs.

“What? No one’s killing your mum.”

“I don’t want mum to die-”

“What are you talking about?! Look- Fuck! Just stop crying!” His dad’s voice was so loud, it shocked the tears out of him. He hiccuped another breath, eyes wide, still spilling tears. As soon as he stopped, his dad smiled at him, that jokey tone in his voice that usually made Komaeda laugh. He didn’t feel like laughing right now though. “Come on, where’s that smile? You know I love that smile. Show me!”

Komaeda didn’t want to smile, but maybe if he did, his dad wouldn’t be so angry anymore, and maybe this could all stop and they could go back to normal again. He wiped his eyes, and rubbed the wet backs of his hands on his stiff uniform shirt then shakily forced himself to smile. Then, his dad smiled back, and it felt a little bit worth it. At least he wasn’t bothering him as well now.

“Atta boy. Just keep smiling, kid. A strapping young man like you can’t cry like a little baby.”

He sniffed and wiped his eyes again, “Okay…”

But he didn’t feel okay at all. How could he feel okay when his mum was going to die because of him?

But, if dad was smilling, did that mean everything was okay? Komaeda wasn’t sure. It just made him feel even more scared. At least he was here. His dad could keep him safe at least-

“Brilliant. Now, go with Nanny Kaneko.”

Dad was gone, and Komaeda felt all the tears he’d just wiped into his school shirt rush back.

“Come on Nagito.” Nanny Kaneko grabbed his arm and dragged him away, down the hall, away from mum, away from dad. A stern look creased her tired face, “You know you aren’t allowed in your parents room. That was so silly of you!”

He tripped over his feet as he tried to keep up. His heart pounded, “Nanny, mum said she’s going to die because of me.”

Nanny slowed down, and the look she gave him made him think he shouldn’t have said anything at all. He gripped a hand into his uniform and sniffed to hold back the tears. He was a big boy now. If he cried anymore dad would just get more upset.

Nanny squeezed his hand, and when he looked at her, she looked very upset. He didn’t even know what he’d done this time to make that happen. She was probably sad as well that mum was going to die because of him.

She squeezed his hand a little tighter, the thin, dry skin of her hands shifting under his fingers. It didn’t help.

“...Your mother isn’t well, Nagito. But she’ll be okay.” Her voice sounded funny as she said it. Komaeda didn’t really understand what she meant. Maybe Nanny didn’t either, and that’s why she sounded so weird. The sicky feeling in his stomach got worse. “She’s not going to die. The doctor is coming. That’s why you need to be good.”

Be good.

Being good meant not crying and staying quiet.

Maybe if he did that, mum wouldn’t die and dad wouldn’t be mad.

Nanny took him to his room. He turned around and looked up at her, and when he did, she looked even sadder. She took off his school cap and ran a gentle hand through his hair. It was nice. Maybe now he wasn’t crying and was being quiet Nanny might stay and she could read to him-

“Now stay here, like a good boy. Don’t bother your parents again.”

Nanny shut the door behind her, and Komaeda listened to her footsteps get quieter as they walked down the hall.

Komaeda sniffled and rubbed at his nose. In his other hand, he still held his drawing. He’d almost completely forgotten about it. He looked at it, and the glow-y nice way that he’d felt before when he looked at it was gone. Now, he just felt hot. Hot with a weird, harsh feeling that made him want to scream and punch something. Anything. Maybe himself. But he couldn’t. He had to be good.

He pinched his mouth tightly closed and breathed harshly. He wished he’d never drawn the stupid thing in the first place. It was a stupid, dumb idea. Only good boys got to go to the park. If he was a good boy, he wouldn’t have killed his mum.

He threw it away, across the room, and the hot, nasty feeling only got worse when it didn’t fly as far away as he wanted and instead fluttered down to the floor lamely.

Be good. Don’t yell. Don’t cry.

He wiped away tears that wouldn’t stop and muttered it to himself. The feeling didn’t go away, it only grew. It grew too big, bigger than he knew how to deal with and he just couldn’t stop crying no matter how hard he tried -

The bang of the front door closing startled him, and the feeling disappeared to make room for fear instead. There was yelling, and talking, one of the voices was his dads but he didn’t know the others. He quickly crawled to his bed and pulled his knees up to his chest. Outside his room, he listened intently to the muffled sounds of people walking around his house. He tried to hear what they were saying, but it was too quiet.

Komaeda buried his head into his knees, and as his mother screamed, he only cried harder. Big boys don’t cry, and he was a big, strong boy. But maybe, if he was quiet, no one would find out he had been, and then no one would be upset with him, and maybe then, it didn’t really count anyway.

When he realised that everything had gone quiet, he lifted his head again. Somehow, even though he’d only been sitting there a few seconds, hours had passed. He didn’t have proof of this. It was more a feeling he had. When he looked out the window, and saw it was nighttime, it only made the feeling deepen.

He got off his bed, and his feet hit the floor a lot quicker than he expected, and when he stood up, he was older. Older than made sense. He didn’t question it.

He left his room, as quiet as possible. Something felt strange, like he was trespassing somehow, even though this was his house. Downstairs, he heard the sound of music, the sound of chatter. He searched for it. Every light was off in the house. A cool, uncomforting dark soaking everything, pulling fears into dark, uncertain corners and dangers into every loud creak his feet made against the floor.

Golden light silhouetted the door to the library, and when he pushed it open, it spilled over him.

A party.

The library was full of people, people he didn’t know, people much older and wiser looking than he was. People who oozed professionalism and wealth and poise. Piano song danced through the room, its notes swaying through the small gaps between the crowd of people, and his father’s warm laughter squeezing in alongside it. Komaeda stepped into the room, and shut the door behind him.

Why hadn’t they warned him they were having a party? He couldn’t remember them telling him. They usually didn’t shut up about them before they happened. Komaeda looked down at himself, and embarrassment coated him; slick and uncomfortable. He was completely under-dressed. Wearing only a sleep shirt and his boxers and nothing more. He tugged his shirt down further and just prayed that somehow no one would notice. It was too late to go and change now.

He found his spot, the spot he always sat during these things, quietly out of the way, but prettily in view of anyone who cared. Not that anyone did. Here, on this sofa, his designated safe zone in the middle of a battle ground, he felt at least a little less like an obvious and embarrassing eyesore.

His comfortable solitude didn’t last long. His father found him, a rowdy yell of excitement burst out of him,

“There he is! My miracle boy!”

He rose to his feet obediently, clenching his jaw, praying that no one would notice his ruffeld and unkempt state. Somehow, no one did. His father continued to sing his praises, a solid, warm hand gripping into his shoulder and jostling him,

“Just you wait, one day my boy’s going to turn out to be an outstandingly talented, I just know it!” His dad shook him a little more roughly, and Komaeda had to work to keep standing, “Why, his teachers already say he’s showing massive potential!”

Despite it all, the praise filled him, warm and squirming yet embarrassing, but still good. It made him bite back a smile.

As usual, the feeling didn’t last long,

“Potential for what?” Someone said with a snort, “Ultimate Catastrophe, maybe?” The crowd snickered, and Komaeda’s chest went cold as the feeling drained, “Though then again, I think it does take talent to be that incompetent!”

Laughter burst from the people in front of him, loud and uproarious and never-ending. Komaeda looked at his bare feet and pulled at the bottom of his t-shirt. His father’s hand squeezed into his shoulder harshly, and when he looked at him, he was still smiling, and he was laughing along with them. A stiff laugh, but a laugh all the same. Komaeda swallowed harshly, and laughed along as well, before excusing himself, turning away, and dropping the smile from his face.

He found a new, unpopulated corner, further away from the piano, further away from the jeering crowd, and he clenched his jaw against the shame. Whatever. He hated these stupid parties. One day, he’d show them.

He pulled a book off the shelf, and hoped that if he looked busy enough, he’d be left alone.

No such luck. Though, this intruder was a lot more welcome than the last.

“What are you reading, darling?”

His mother sat primly beside him, glass of wine in her hand cupped professionally. Her smile was soft, her green eyes even softer, even if there was a certain, hazy look to them. There always was, nowadays. She brushed a thin hand through his hair, and it warmed him tip to toe. He told her the title, and her smile only turned warmer,

“Like mother like son.” She murmured, her hand still brushing lines through his hair. Komaeda’s heart kicked into gear, pounding as his cheeks warmed with a blush.

He couldn’t help it. Something about the touch pulled something out of him. Jittery and wild in its naivete; a puppy let off its leash. The babbling began. He explained the book, the plot, the characters, what he liked, what he was excited about-

He looked up and his mother was gone, already up and talking to someone he didn’t recognise.

Cold seeped back into him, replacing the temporary warmth her attention had given him. Oh well. He didn’t know what he’d expected.

A drop onto his bare leg.

He looked down. Red. Crimson, wet and sticky.

He rubbed his mouth and when he pulled back his hand, it was smeared with it too.

His throat clogged, and he choked, and when he managed to cough, hands firmly covering his mouth, he felt a splatter against his palms.

Red. Crimson, warm and shining.

A strange sensation, one other than the dread and confusion slowly engulfing him, made him look down at his stomach. His t-shirt, once only wrinkled with sleep, was stained with it, and it spread, soaking in, getting deeper, and deeper. Thicker. Stickier.

Blood on his hands, blood in his mouth, on his shirt, staining his clothes and his skin and his teeth- viscous and smothering him with the smell of death and taste of iron. He called for help, but the party continued. He grabbed onto someone, and they walked away as if he wasn’t even there.

It was only getting worse. He didn’t know what to do.

He felt it seeping out of him, felt it filling his throat once more. Exhaustion set in as the blood rushed out of him, but fear kept him moving despite it. He begged at someone, and they pushed him away. Even though it was light, his head was lighter, his body even more so with the lack of blood, it was enough to send him to the floor. He skidded across it, a smeer of blood ruining the dark hardwood floor his parents adored, before he landed at two pairs of feet. He looked up as his parents looked down at him. Affectless. Bored.

He gripped weakly at the leg of his dad’s suit trousers,

“Please-” he choked out. Blood splattered against his polished, brown leather shoes.

His mother’s mouth lifted in a sneer.

“Mum, dad-”

They turned away.

He sobbed- or tried to. His throat was too blocked up with blood. Surely this was too much. How could there be this much blood? How could he be bleeding this much? He choked on it, tried to swallow it down, but the acidic, metal taste just made his stomach flip, and he hacked it back up, wet and thick slopping onto the floor, the sound gruesome and echoing in the empty library.

He looked up. Empty. Empty even of light and warmth. Everyone had gone. Nothing but empty blackness pressing harsh against the tall windows of the library. Alone, completely, once again. Not just in this house. He didn’t know how, but he knew, easy to know as breathing, as his heartbeat. He was the only one on the entire planet. An entire, empty existence, of only him. The last, pathetic human on earth, left lying, bleeding his life out onto a cold, uncaring wood floor.

His crying echoed, and despite it all, the sound of it bouncing back at him embarrassed him, and he tried to do it quieter, but it was hard. He collapsed onto his side, pulling his knees up to his stomach in response to some primal need to protect what was most delicate about him. Like it would do him any good. He couldn’t protect from what was inside of him.

He hugged himself closer and watched the blood creep across the floor away from him, and closed his eyes, too scared to die. As he lay, he wished for someone to hold him. Even if it was pointless. Even if it was only until he died. It was too cold. He wished there was someone here. But there wasn’t, and there never was. Now, there never would be.

–

Another day off for rest, and then he was back to school. Such an event wouldn’t usually put a skip in his step, but this was different. Now, school meant seeing Ishikawa. There was no way Komaeda couldn’t be excited for something like that.

By a brilliant stroke of luck, he managed to catch Ishikawa just as he was parking his bike on the racks outside the school.

He found himself calling out before he’d even realised it.

“Ishikawa!”

Ishikawa stopped and turned, removing an earphone and searching for who called him. His eyes caught Komaeda, and he smiled.

“Oh, hey Komaeda.”

Komaeda felt more alive than he had in days.

“Congratulations on your win the other day.” Komaeda praised, squeezing tighter than necessary onto the handle of his bag. Ishikawa laughed through a thanks and continued locking up his bike and removing his helmet. Komaeda kicked at the ground and watched a small stone jump away from him, “I’m sorry I caused such an issue for you. On such an important day too. I can never forgive myself…”

“Psh, it’s whatever.” Ishikawa shook out his hair, and ran a hand through it to fix it, “Glad you’re feeling better though.”

Komaeda swallowed hard. Ishikawa’s words pinballing off the corners of his mindso hard he felt his head spin along with it.

“Still I-”

“Ishi!”

Then, Ishikawa’s eyes were off him, and a rough arm looped around his neck. One of the boys from his class, one of Ishikawa’s friends, was dragging him away rowdily.

Komaeda sighed. He supposed manners like that were to be expected of someone so hopeless. If only everyone else could understand how important Ishikawa was, then maybe they’d treat him with the respect he deserved. He was sure it must drive Ishikawa to madness to be treated in such a way. But Ishikawa didn’t voice his distaste. He laughed along with them, bantered back.

Komaeda couldn’t stop watching them as he walked behind them to their classroom. Their playful bickering, the familiar tone they talked to each other with, the ease at which it all played out between the two of them, all of it carved a hole into Komaeda. It felt like hunger. And while he was only a few paces back from the two of them, he couldn’t have felt further out of reach. Ishikawa’s friend told a joke, and Ishikawa laughed and ruffled a hand through his friend’s buzzcut. The hunger panged.

Komaeda gripped his bag a little tighter as his hands shook, swallowing down the spit that had gathered in his mouth. This dreadful feeling of despair he was consumed by surely only spoke to the marvellous hope their relationship possessed, and that could be due to no one other than Ishikawa. His kindness knew no bounds. To have such a close and personal relationship with someone so beneath him, that was a truly powerful hope. His nails cut crescents into the palms of his hands.

Komaeda watched them and thought about killing himself.

His mind spun the idea in his head, a ceaseless repetition of moments Ishikawa had shown kindness and closeness with others as the despair in his chest grew and grew. It was worse than normal today. Ishikawa seemed to be particularly magnetic, for some reason. People crowded him, praised him. Komaeda couldn’t make out the details, no one was being specific enough, but Ishikawa basked in it. As he should. Ishikawa deserved every second of the praise they drowned him in. It wasn’t any of Komaeda’s business why everyone was particularly excited about him today. Even if they were being particularly annoying, taking up so much of his space so early in the morning. He also didn’t see why he was the only one who didn’t get to know. He deserved the opportunity to praise Ishikawa as much as any of the other meaningless spawn that filled his classroom.

The bell rang, and Mr. Yoshida stood up from his desk. He called for them to settle, and everyone scarpered to their seats.

“Seems the news has spread, Ishikawa.”

Ishikawa smirked, and the guy that sat on the other side of him roughly pushed his hand into his hair.

Even the teacher knew, huh? He really was the only one out of the loop. He didn’t think he’d been out of school that long. He glanced at Ishikawa, and he seemed to just sparkle.

“Though with your performance at the tournament last week, it’s of no surprise.” Mr. Yoshida adjusted his glasses, “I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say we’re immensely proud to be sharing a class with a future student of Hope’s Peak Academy-”

The words were like a cold-water dive.

The sound of Komaeda’s chair screeching against his classroom’s wood floor sliced through the cheers and applause of his classmates. It didn’t matter to him. He was deaf to all of it. All he could hear was his heartbeat in his head. He stared at Ishikawa, and Ishikawa stared back.

“Y-Yo-”

“Komaeda, sit down-”

“Ishikawa, is that true?” His voice was a whisper, shaking, almost indecipherable. He swallowed heavily, and his voice returned to him, “Ishikawa- Ishikawa you really got into Hope’s Peak Academy? You’re going to Hope’s Peak?! They asked for you there?!”

Ishikawa looked away, then back again, shrinking away slightly in his seat, “Y-Yeah. Uh, a talent scout saw me play at that volleyball game-”

Komaeda’s hands slammed onto Ishikawa’s desk. Ishikawa almost fell out of his chair in his attempts to get away,

“I-It’s for your volleyball?!” Komaeda couldn’t control his breathing, “Y-You’re ultimate- You- You’re an- You’re an Ultimate! Ishikawa! Is this true?!”

Ishikawa held up a hand, “D-Dude, calm down-”

“What’s your Ultimate?! What did they say!?”

Ishikawa moved further away, “Komaeda, you’re freaking me out man, back off-”

“I knew it.” He laughed, quiet and breathless for the lack of air he was managing to keep in his lungs. His head spun, his fingers tingled, he felt like he was on the verge of explosion, he gripped himself, as if it could keep him together, help keep in all the emotion crashing and rushing through him threatening to tear him apart completely, “I-I knew it! I knew it! Yo-You’re amazing Ishikawa! I always knew you were special. I could tell from the moment I met you. I knew you were someone amazing-”

A hand smacked across his cheek, flinging his head to the side, and scattering all of his thoughts and words to the floor beneath him.

“Komaeda, you will be silent in my classroom when I demand it!”

Komaeda brought a hand up to his cheek, eyes wide and wet as he stared at his teacher,

“Do you think any of this is appropriate? Do you think what you have to say is worth more than my teaching?”

Komaeda stared at Mr. Yoshida, “No.”

“Then I suggest-”

“Only what Ishikawa has to say matters anymore-”

The teacher’s hand slammed down onto the top of his desk. A girl across the room yelped, others flinched in their seats. Komaeda stared down his teacher without blinking.

“Get out of my classroom. I will not allow you to waste any more of your classmate’s time with this! Stand outside in the hallway until I call you back.”

Komaeda thought about retaliating. Who the hell was some nobody teacher to tell him what to do when an Ultimate was right there?

But his cheek still stung, and when he looked again at Ishikawa, he didn’t say anything, just stared at him. Komaeda’s stomach turned cold. He lowered his head, and left the classroom without a word, hand still nursing the burn from the slap. Murmurs flitted through the class as he left. He caught a few choice words in between the stifled giggles; ‘freak’, ‘weirdo’, ‘faggot’.

He didn’t see how the last one was relevant.

The way Ishikawa had looked at him haunted him as he stood outside his classroom, obedient and stiff. He’d stared at him like he was a stranger. He looked terrified. He stared at Komaeda like he was some kind of monster.

Komaeda blinked away the stinging in his eyes.

He didn’t care about the rest. About his teacher, about the things those people said. He didn’t care if people knew he was weird and off-putting. But Ishikawa was different. He was the one person he hoped would never look at him like that.

He’d only been happy for him. Everyone else had spent all morning praising him for it. Why was it so different when he did it? Was he truly so hated? Even by Ishikawa? No one else understood him like Komaeda did. No one else understood the magnitude of the power he held, of just how important he was. So why was he the one shamed?

If he wasn’t going to have a talent, then why couldn’t he at least just be normal through and through? What was he doing wrong?

Komaeda’s legs ached. His feet felt hard and hot. He shifted, foot to foot, to try and relieve it. It didn’t do much to help. Teachers came and went between classes, but other than asking why he was standing outside, none of them told him to move.

After too long, way, way too long, the lunch bell rang, and Mr. Yoshida finally re-appeared. The frown lines had only gotten deeper over the year. Komaeda had watched it happen. The same with the grey in his hair. It had been minimal at first. Now, he was more grey than black. He pushed his glasses up his flat nose bridge, and they instantly began slipping back down his face.

“Faculty office. Now.”

Always straight to the point. Unlike his appearance, that didn’t change.

He stood silently next to his teacher’s cubical. Mr. Yoshida took his sweet time dealing with him, brewing himself a cup of coffee, and filling a Cup Noodle pot with boiling water from the office’s dispenser. He wrapped it in napkins and carried it over to his seat. Komaeda watched him take out a pair of wooden chopsticks from his plastic combini bag. He snapped them and they broke unevenly, splintering at the top. He clicked his tongue, then sighed, setting them on top of the pot, and pulling out a file from his drawer.

“Komaeda Nagito.” He said, with the same tone someone announces they have to get out of bed early on a cold winter’s morning, or how they forgot milk after travelling all the way to the shop and back. He rubbed his face roughly, his loose skin pulling and shifting under his rugged hands, paying no mind to how the movement almost hit his glasses off his face. He just corrected them, and sighed heavily once more, before glancing over the files in his hands once more.

“Underweight, little to no athletic ability, no history of participation in club activities, little to no participation in classroom activities, no relationship with your peers, a consistent string of absences due to sickness or otherwise, and despite your stellar academic abilities, no prospects and zero ambition.”

He glanced up at him over his glasses. Komaeda stared back. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say to that.

“What am I supposed to do with this, Komaeda?”

Komaeda smiled sweetly and chirped, “Nothing, I suppose.”

Komaeda watched his teacher’s jaw tighten. The file hit the desk with a slap.

Ah, the wrong answer. Oops.

“I try to be sympathetic to your…” His hand stopped rubbing his eyes, only to spin in the air as he drew out the word, “situation.”

The word weighed heavy in his stomach like a lump of burning rock. He looked out the window instead. It was raining. The weather channel had said it was going to be sunny all week. How convenient, that someone had mistaken him this morning for someone else and insisted a lost umbrella upon him. He would’ve been stuck otherwise.

“But there’s only so much I can do.” He continued, “Have you been meeting with your social worker?”

“Of course.” Komaeda assured him truthfully. The consistency of the meetings and whether they were actually of any use was another thing entirely.

“Of course.” Mr. Yoshida repeated, defeated. A timer went off on his phone, and he stopped it’s beeping with a heavy hand. He sighed, once more, a third time just since he’d sat down then stared at Komaeda.

Just as Komaeda wondered if maybe he was supposed to leave now, Mr. Yoshida asked,

“What do you want to do, Komaeda?”

He scrunched his smile in something apologetic, “Ah, pardon?”

“How do you envision your future? What’s the end goal here?”

Komaeda blinked. For a second, his smile faltered.

“End goal?” The phrase felt strange on his tongue. He turned to look out the window once more.

Future? A future, for someone like him? What a ridiculous concept. How was someone as useless to society as him even supposed to consider a future? What was the point in someone like him having aspirations and goals? Such a thing, it’d only be insulting.

“I suppose…I haven’t really considered it.” He replied, quiet, his mind still buried under the strange and confusing question.

“Do you even know what you’re going to do after middle school?” Mr. Yoshida asked, exasperated, tapping a pen mindlessly on his desk.

His only goal in life was to do whatever was needed to ensure that those with talent could thrive as beautifully as possible, so they could produce as much hope as possible. To lay the groundwork, and hope it was his back their feet pushed off of as they elevated everyone else into a better, brighter future. One better than the misery he existed in now. Anything else was just a waste.

Though he supposed ‘Human Springboard’ wouldn’t be an acceptable answer.

Komaeda’s smile turned sharp, before he softened it to something playful,

“Maybe I’ll apply to Hope’s Peak Academy. I hear they have a reserve course now!” He laughed, bubbly and light, but it slowly died as his teacher’s expression only turned stonier. He swallowed, then smiled nervously, “Sorry, that was a joke.”

“This is a joke to you, then. Is that it?” The low tone he spoke with made Komaeda swallow hard. Mr. Yoshida’s gaze drilled into him harshly. Then, he sucked his teeth, and flippently threw the pen he was fussing with onto his desk, “What a childish way of conducting yourself.” He shook his head. His hand made a fist on the desk; Komaeda tensed, “Your classmates are working hard to build a future for themselves, and you’re standing here, getting grades some of these kids would die for without even trying, and it’s all one big joke to you. How do you think that makes them feel? To have their efforts disrespected like that, by someone who's supposed to be working with them to lift them up?

“Do you think because your parents died you can get away with acting so selfishly? Then you wonder why they’re so hesitant towards you. I think you need to take a good, long look at yourself, and wonder if this is really how you want to conduct yourself. Because one day, you’ll be looking back with regret over all the opportunities you let pass you by because you were too busy laughing at your own, childish joke, and there will be no one around to blame for it but yourself.” He picked up Komaeda’s file, tapped it roughly on the desk to straighten out its contents, before dropping it back into his drawer and slamming it shut. He leaned his head on his hand, his elbow creasing a loose pile of papers on his desk, “Get out of my sight.”

Komaeda breathed. In, then out. He smiled, and bowed, low and polite,

“Thank you, sir. Sorry for disrupting your class, and now your lunch too.”

Mr. Yoshida didn’t respond. Just hooked some noodles onto his chopsticks and slurped them up, eyes already on his computer.

Komaeda bowed once more in the entryway of the office and softly apologised again for his intrusion in the office, then closed the door behind him.

After that, he breathed. He stood in front of the doorway and just breathed.

Then, the moment was gone. He lifted his head, his hands relaxed from their fists, and he smiled serenely.

He should go and buy Ishikawa lunch to celebrate, and to apologise. He was sure he’d appreciate that.

Komaeda bought Ishikawa lunch every day from that point on. It was only right. Someone destined to be an Ultimate deserved to eat as well as possible to ensure he had the energy to perform at the top of his game. If Komaeda had the ability to assist him in that way, it was his place to do so.

Ishikawa never asked, but Komaeda started helping him in any way he could. Ishikawa had been spending more time with other people in his class recently, but still, he sat next to Komaeda, and still they greeted each other every morning.

During their chemistry class, Komaeda noticed Ishikawa struggling with the questions next to him. Komaeda spent the next few days neatly copying his notes into fresh notebooks, adding in extra information not included in classes that could help, and his own explanations for more complicated subjects.

When Ishikawa walked into the homeroom to see the books waiting for him on his desk, he’d at first refused them. When Komaeda insisted, he tentatively glanced through one of the books. Komaeda’s hands hugged each other tightly on his lap, shoulders stiffly neutral, and smile detached but polite. Ishikawa’s jaw slowly dropped as he flicked through the book. Komaeda hoped that his explanations were at least a tiny bit understandable. He was sure it was probably pointless, that he’d probably end up confusing Ishikawa more than helping him, but before he could change his mind, Ishikawa accepted the notes gratefully. Komaeda played it off, but he was sure he was moments away from passing out yet again.

When Komaeda caught him at lunchtime showing the notes to the others he hung around with, he suppressed the annoyance that struck through him.

But he supposed it was just further examples of Ishikawa’s boundless hope, that he’d waste his precious time trying to help people so below him to improve themselves. Ultimates were truly amazing.

So, when Ishikawa came to him and asked him for notes like that on other subjects, how was Komaeda supposed to refuse? It was everything he’d ever wanted. Komaeda was ecstatic, holding the conversation close to his chest through the rest of the day. He was so distracted by his joy; he failed to pay attention in class.

It took him all week, but he did it. He handed them all to Ishikawa, colour coded and labelled.

“Woah, this is crazy dude! You’re so good at this stuff.” He skimmed through the books, and Komaeda breathed through the earth-shaking joy that threatened to tear him apart completely.

Then, Ishikawa smiled, reached over, and ruffled a hand through Komaeda’s hair.

There and gone. A warm hand tangled in his hair, jerking his head side to side, shivers tumbled down his back, down his arms, tickled his neck. Goosebumps consumed him as the shivers repeated, flowing back up, rebounding on themselves. Komaeda’s brain went numb as his cheeks flooded with heat, but Ishikawa didn’t seem to notice.

“You’ve totally saved my ass, bro!” He praised, then looked at the books and sighed, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Komaeda almost didn’t hear him. He was still reeling in the aftermath of his touch.

When his words finally processed, tensed his jaw to keep the giggling laughter that threatened to burst free contained. He breathily replied that it was no problem, no issue, but even that sounded too happy.

He could still feel his hand in his hair. Even as he lay in bed that night, staring blankly at the ceiling, the feeling of his fingers ghosted through his hair. Tentatively, Komaeda touched the area, as if it’d feel different. His hand mimicking Ishikawa’s only made the feeling worse. Komaeda covered his face and giggled.

–

((Ishikawa asks Komaeda to take the bins out for him, Komaeda says yes, and returns to the classroom))

“I don’t get why you hang around him so much.”

Komaeda recognised that voice. It was Ishikawa’s girlfriend’s friend. The fashionable one. She’d been there, that day that he’d collapsed. He’d recognise her whiny tone anywhere.

“Are you really that desperate?”

Ishikawa’s closest friend, that guy with the close-cut hair. Komaeda could imagine the annoying smile he sported as he spoke.

“Shut up.” Ishikawa mumbled. A chair moved, and there were footsteps.

“Well, what then?” The girl asked around the gum she was smacking in her mouth. She sounded annoyed, “You keep ditching us to hang out with him instead. You’re, like, the only person in the whole of the school who’s ever done that.”

Ah, he was right. They were talking about him.

“He so has a crush on you too.” Ishikawa’s girlfriend drawled.

Komaeda’s eyes widened.

No, he didn’t he- He would never-

But that didn’t matter, Ishikawa would think so now regardless.

“Oh, come on.” Ishikawa scoffed,

The boy snickered louder. There was a sound of a gum bubble popping, and outside the door, Komaeda’s heart got heavier until it sank to the deepest part of his chest.

…Did he have a crush on Ishikawa? Was someone like him even allowed to feel like that?

“No like actually though.” Ishikawa’s girlfriend continued, “He’s so obvious about it.” Snickers sounded amongst them all. Ishikawa stayed silent, “It’d almost be cute, if it wasn’t so gross.”

No, of course not. Especially not for someone like Ishikawa.

“Oh, is that why you keep leaving us, huh?” Ishikawa’s friend’s chimed, voice smarmy and greasy with double meaning, “Doing a little more than talking in the back of the class is it-”

Komaeda blushed as his stomach dropped. His hand gripped his uniform more firmly. He felt sick.

“Hey, fuck you man!” Ishikawa exclaimed. There was a sound, like commotion. Ishikawa’s friend and that fashionable girl laughed and yelled. Then, the commotion settled, “Augh, why would you even make me think of something like that.”

He spat it, like the words tasted sour on his tongue.

Ishikawa would be disgusted at even the thought of something like that. Anyone would. He knew this. So why did it feel like a knife in his back?

“Well, at least you’re still batting for the right team. Or…Serving? Is that a volleyball thing?” The girlfriend’s friend added stupidly.

“You should see him when he watches you play.” Ishikawa’s girlfriend. Her voice was low and smooth, before turning a little wistful, “It’s like there’s no one else in the room.” It snapped, turning sharp, as she ground through her teeth, “It really pisses me off.”

Komaeda collapsed into the wall behind him. This was…This was humiliating.

His mind flashed back to every game he’d attended to watch Ishikawa. Had everyone there known? They were probably all laughing at him, just to deal with the disgust they felt.

He hadn’t done it on purpose. He didn’t even know. He hadn’t meant to- He didn’t mean to-

But none of them would know that. Everyone must have thought he was so audacious and stupid. He must’ve looked so starry-eyed and pitiful.

Komaeda knew his place. He knew. He knew.

“Didn’t you have a crush on him before?” Her friend dropped, and the words caused an explosion within the classroom. Loud, uproarious laughter, the sound of chairs and tables scraping, rushed footsteps and yelling all collapsing on top of each other.

A crush on who?

Him? HER?

That…Had to be a joke. A mean, callous joke but a joke all the same.

“Oh, shut up, you did too! Everyone did!” The girlfriend’s voice was rushed, obviously embarrassed as she tried to defend herself. Even still, her friend’s and Ishikawa’s friend’s snickers continued to sound, “Then he went and opened his mouth and ruined it.” There was a sigh, and the laughter settled. Ishikawa’s girlfriend still continued to fight, “Plus he’s like, totally creepy. Not just his personality like, his whole vibe. It's like a bad smell. You can’t get over it!”

“I’ve heard he’s cursed.” The fashionable girl mused, “If you touch him, you get like, 7 years bad luck.”

“That’s breaking a mirror, moron.” Ishikawa’s girlfriend replied.

“Whatever.”

“I bet he’s into some freaky shit.” Ishikawa’s friend pondered, then, more excitedly, “You could probably make him your slave, Ishi. Is that it? He’s already your little errand boy.”

“More than errands-” The girlfriend’s friend murmured,

Komaeda snatched his hands away from his neck and hugged them across his chest, tucking his fists under his arms. He felt caged. Trapped with his feet glued to the floor. He felt the walls closing in around him.

But then,

“That’s not it!” Ishikawa yelled. His voice was strong and righteous, splitting through Komaeda’s spiralling turmoil like a soft beacon of light. “I can’t- Ugh you’re so gross!”

He held his breath tight in his chest.

“Look, I just felt bad for him, okay? He’s always on his own-”

A hush fell over him. He strained, attempting to hear through the door more clearly. But it was no misunderstanding. Komaeda couldn’t hear anything else but anger at his friends, for his sake.

A lump formed in his throat. A cool, hopeful feeling washed over him; his heartbeat rushed.

“Yeah, because he’s weird.” Ishikawa’s girlfriend insisted.

Komaeda huddled closer to the edge of the door. His hand gripped into his chest, creasing his uniform.

“Well-” Ishikawa started. Komaeda held his breath.

Ishikawa sighed, heavy and long. Komaeda didn’t even blink.

“Yeah,” Ishikawa sighed. A beat of silence, then, quietly, “He really freaks me out most of the time…”

Komaeda’s heart stopped.

“You think I haven’t noticed how he looks at me?” Ishikawa continued, voice picking up confidence the more he spoke. Disgust bleeding further into his tone with every word, “It makes me feel so…Ugh. And the shit he says, you wouldn’t believe half of it. He’s like, really messed up in the head. Nothing he says makes any sense. He keeps going on about like, hope and despair or some shit. I don’t even know. It’s so weird and boring, I don’t get it at all. The constant praise too- even I’ve started finding it annoying.”

“That’s when you know it’s bad.” Ishikawa’s friend.

“But like, it’s the nice thing to do, right?” Ishikawa continued, “I can put up with it. Everyone needs someone.”

“Awww, you’re so charitable.” His girlfriend sang teasingly,

“Oh, so it’s all to get in the good books with the ladies, eh? Like helping a crying puppy. You look better the uglier the puppy is.” Ishikawa’s friend joked. It was a hit. They all laughed along with him.

“Whatever.” Ishikawa replied, his voice strained from laughter, “When he finally loses it and blows up the school, don’t come crying to me when I’m the only one he spares.”

“Oh my god Ishikawa!-”

The door slammed as it hit the end of its track, bouncing back closed slightly before rolling open once more. It commanded silence across the room. Four heads shot to the door and stared, wide eyed.

“Oh, hello there.” Komaeda said pleasantly, tilting his head with his smile.

Guilty silence choked them. Komaeda paid it no mind, walking past them and towards his desk. They looked between each other. Komaeda played along, and pretended he couldn’t hear them mouthing comments between them.

The three side characters left. Komaeda glanced up as he gathered his things. Ishikawa’s girlfriend met his gaze and held it. Komaeda stared back, until she turned away, nose high as she left, her friends chittering behind her. The fashionable girl coo-ed at Ishikawa, then continued to laugh as she closed the classroom door behind her.

Komaeda stared at the door, but it stayed closed. He closed his bag, locked the latch. He meant to pick it up and leave. But when he grabbed it, he stalled. He gripped it tighter.

“...Uh…” Ishikawa voiced. He’d approached him, standing a table away, his hand nervously picking at a dent in its wood.

Komaeda didn’t respond. He just stared at him. The evening sun was dark. Its light was a warm, deep orange cast over the classroom. It was cloudy outside. Slowly, a cloud covered the sun, and the colour faded.

Ishikawa cleared his throat, then smiled weakly, “H-how was bin duty, bud?”

Komaeda smiled, his eyes squinting closed softly, “You don’t need to do this, you know.”

“I-”

“It’s fine. I completely get it.” Komaeda shook his head, his smile persisting. He turned his gaze back down to his bag. “You’re right. It’s not like I ever really thought someone as amazing as you would ever think positively of someone like me.”

“...I-It’s not like that-”

“I really appreciate the effort though. They’re right. They’re completely right.” His hand gripped into his bag once more, the bones in the back of his hand pushed against the thin skin covering them, “You’ve done more, so much more than I ever deserved.” His voice shook, but still he smiled, even wider, and said softly, genuinely, “Thank you.”

Ishikawa paled. He looked away, his hands in fists, “...D-Don’t thank me…”

Komaeda blinked, eyes wide, “Why not?” Ishikawa didn’t give him an answer, “She was right. It was a charity. You’ve done so much for someone as needy as me, you deserve all the thanks I could provide.” He stepped forwards, tilting his head further into Ishikawa’s view. Ishikawa avoided his stare. “Is a servant what you want?” That made him look at him. A hot flush replacing the blood that had previously left his cheeks. “I could carry your books for you-”

“D-Dude-”

Komaeda stepped further forwards. Ishikawa stepped back, “I could clean your shoes,” His breathing picked up, but his voice didn’t waver. He held his stare on Ishikawa, “I could even use my tongue, anything you want-”

“Hey-”

He stepped forwards again. Ishikawa tried to step back but had to catch himself on a table as he stumbled. Komaeda’s stare bore into him, wide and unblinking. His breathing shook, but despite how much he took in, he didn’t feel any of the benefit from it. His head felt light. His fingers tingled. A static filled his brain and shut out his thoughts.

“Anything you want.” Komaeda’s voice trembled, he swallowed back the spit that had gathered in his mouth from breathing so hard, “Anything you wanted from me I’d do it for you.” Ishikawa stumbled further backwards, hand up, as if to ward him off,

“Dude-”

But Komaeda just advanced on him. The tremor in his voice taking over his body as the static increased, swallowing him, until he couldn’t feel anything but the tingling stinging sensation- pins and needles fuzzing his fingers plucking against his nerves. His speech rushed, his words tripping as he slurred out, “I’d do anything you ask of me, no matter how shameful. I’d even let you kill me if it meant it’d make you happy-”

The fist hit him square in the cheek and sent him flying. He crashed into the tables beside them, their hard edges smacking into his side, catching his ribcage. He caught himself on a chair, but it did nothing but smack pain into his elbow as he smashed into the floor, chair and table legs scraping harshly across the wood floor and clattering together in the collision.

He stared up at the ceiling tiles of his classroom, dazed.

“Shit-” Ishikawa gasped; his own breathing now laboured. He stumbled back a step, falling into a table and scrambling upright again as it screeched across the floor. “Shit I-I didn’t-” He panted, swallowed hard, “You’re just really fucking freaking me out dude!”

A strange feeling bubbled up inside him. It pushed behind his eyes, clogged his throat, constricted his chest, and continued to bubble and bubble. Komaeda opened his mouth, and the bubbles rushed out as laughter.

It started slow, but snowballed, rolling quickly out of his control, louder and louder. He pushed himself onto his elbows, dropped his head forwards, and his laughter shook him. He brought a hand up to his mouth, touched it lightly, then winced. When he pulled back, he saw red.

His laughter halted; he turned to look up at Ishikawa. The boy stared down at him, eyes wide and shaking, face pale. Komaeda slowly held up his hand and showed him the blood. He smiled, and it pulled the cut further. Blood tickled as it dripped down his chin, his stomach flipped, and he gagged against the taste of it filling his mouth.

Ishikawa ran away.

His breathing stuttered, then was snatched away once more by a loud, screeching laughter as blood seeped out of his cracked lip. Komaeda couldn’t even feel it. The blood dripped onto his uniform and Komaeda sat on his classroom floor and laughed. He laughed until it made him gag, then he laughed some more. His laughter bounced off the walls and echoed back at him. The classroom, laughing at him as well. He stopped only to spit more blood, and the sight of it splattering against a floor his classmates had just put so much effort into cleaning made him laugh harder.

The cloud that had moved over the sun passed by, and the sunlight shone down into the classroom uninterrupted once more.

#scratches #danganronpa #i hc that komaeda's parents struggled for ages to have a baby and when they did it was Komaeda #then his mum had like the worst pregnancy ever #and was left with post-partum depression and psychosis that never fully went away #as an. explanation. for the dream sequence #which is both a mix of real memories and his inner feelings #enjoy my volleyball boy. i bet u cant guess what anime had an iron grip on my life aged 15 #anyway.#its so busy in work rn #the phone is ringing off the hook #im posting this in a 20 minute reprieve i have while i wait for the next service user #the joys.#OTL #wish me luck

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