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Fuyuhiko scowled at himself in his bathroom mirror, ripping his tie off for the tenth time, yanking at the messy knot in frustration. He’d hoped watching himself in the mirror might help, might somehow enlighten him, but he still couldn’t get his tie looking like it was supposed to - or even anywhere close. He felt like a fucking moron. He’d seen Mikan do this when she’d helped him get dressed in the hospital, and she didn’t even wear a tie. It couldn’t be that hard. For God’s sake, had he not paid attention once all those years when Peko…
The sudden surge of pain in his chest made him bend double over the sink, the movement sending more pain through his healing stomach wound. No. He couldn’t do this. He had too much shit to do today, he didn’t have time to break down now. He’d made a promise to do better, to make the life Peko gave him worthwhile.
If he could just get this fucking tie sorted…
They’d helped each other every morning, right back to their early childhood. He’d tied her braids, being careful to make them hang evenly, the bows matching; she’d tied his tie, smoothing it out under his collar. He’d never learned how to tie it himself, and as far as he knew she couldn’t braid either. They’d never needed to learn for themselves, they hadn’t thought they ever would…
Fuyuhiko balled up the tie and shoved it in his pocket, hurrying out of his cottage. He tilted his head back and stared hard at the blue and white morning sky, staring until his damp cheeks dried again. He couldn’t hang around inside moping all day. He had to go help Mikan and Hajime at the hospital. He promised. It was a matter of his honour, if nothing else.
He walked through the deserted island, hoping Mikan and Hajime hadn’t caught the disease yet. Especially Mikan. Fuyuhiko doubted him and Hajime would be much use with the sick people if Mikan had to take to her bed too. He thought he was doing okay himself, at least physically. He tried checking his temperature with his hand, but it was difficult to tell, especially in the hot sun. He didn’t feel any worse than he had yesterday in any case.
He trailed over to the hospital, meeting up with Hajime and Mikan in the reception. They both still looked heathy, though Mikan was clearly exhausted. Neither commented on his lack of a tie; maybe they didn’t even notice. Maybe they just didn’t care. No, of course they didn’t care, it didn’t matter to anyone with half a fucking brain whether he wore a tie or not. It shouldn’t matter who tied the stupid thing for him. Even if it was Peko.
He must’ve been glowering at the floor, because Mikan shakily asked if he was feeling okay, clearly nervous she’d managed to piss him off already.
“I’m fine,” Fuyuhiko said. No point burdening Mikan with his stupid fucking problems. It wasn’t like she had a medicine that could fix this pain. “You look exhausted.”
“I was awake most of the night with the patients,” Mikan said, her voice shaky with fatigue. “Ibuki and Akane are in a stable condition, but Nagito has been dangerously ill. He’s only just started to improve.”
“Trust Nagito to be such a bother,” Hajime muttered. “You should try to get some rest, Mikan. We’ll come get you if anyone takes a turn for the worse.”
“A-are you sure? It’s my responsibility as a nurse to care for them.”
“You’re asleep on your feet. You need to take care of yourself too,” Hajime insisted. Mikan nodded reluctantly and wobbled out of the room, muttering that she’d be in the on call room if anyone needed her.
Fuyuhiko stayed with Hajime to talk to their classmates with Kazuichi’s transmission device. He made sure to stand behind Hajime, just in case someone more astute like Chiaki would comment on his lack of a tie.
You’re being stupid. Of course she wouldn’t comment. She wouldn’t even give a shit. If she noticed at all she’d just assume you’d decided to go without it today. Stop being such a pussy! You’re a yakuza, aren’t you?!
Fuyuhiko twitched with irritation, not taking in what Hajime and Chiaki were discussing on the transmission. Monomi was on the screen now, babbling about needing to stay away from the students infected with the Despair Disease. Fuyuhiko felt a surge of rage in his chest again. Why did a robot need to worry about a fucking disease? And how could that stupid rabbit claim to be on their side, to be trying to protect them, if she abandoned them all at the first sign of trouble? Some fucking teacher.
Fuyuhiko furiously turned off the transmission while Hajime was still mid-sentence, jabbing the button so hard he almost knocked the whole device off the counter. “Damn it, that stupid rabbit really pisses me off…” he growled.
Hajime raised his eyebrows. “What’s the matter with you? It’s not like this is the first time Monomi has been useless.”
“She’s… she’s a fucking liar, Hajime. She acts like she gives a shit about us but she doesn’t do a fucking thing when we need help. Even when there’s an execution. Just fucking stands there with her thumb up her ass,” he snapped.
“Ahh,” Hajime muttered, nodding understandingly now. Fuyuhiko hated the way he sounded, the way he looked at him - like he thought Fuyuhiko was fragile, breakable, in need of coddling. The same sort of mindset Peko had been raised with, the same mindset that had her believing she was nothing but an extension of himself.
Fuck, he wanted to punch Hajime and he’d made a promise he wouldn’t do shit like that anymore. “I’m going outside to cool off,” he said quickly, stomping back into the oppressive humidity of the island. Cooling off in a literal sense was clearly impossible.
He wanted to leave. He wanted to scream and swear and yell and break shit - but then everyone would know, everyone would see how weak he was. How he couldn’t manage without Peko. He brushed his fingers under his sleeve, where he’d tied one of the hair ribbons she’d left in his room around his wrist like a bracelet. He had to keep his shit together. He could lose it later, back in his cabin, in private.
“I’m fine,” he said aloud, softly but with all the courage he could muster. “It’s fine.” He took a deep breath and trudged back inside.
Hajime didn’t comment when he returned, though Fuyuhiko noticed his concerned glances every so often. Fuyuhiko glared back, silently daring him to say something.
“I suppose we’d better check on Nagito,” Hajime sighed eventually, in a tone that suggested he’d rather tap dance across broken glass.
“Yeah. I was worried he’d drop dead in the night, but I guess his luck came through for him,” Fuyuhiko said.
“And you… are you okay?”
Fuyuhiko froze. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Well. You had stitches just a few days ago,” Hajime said, pointing to Fuyuhiko’s stomach.
Oh. Fuyuhiko relaxed slightly. At least Hajime wasn’t trying to have any deep emotional conversations. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m used to getting cut up like this.”
“Just try to take it easy today, alright? We don’t need anyone else in the hospital,” Hajime said gruffly.
“I’m not the one goofing off to cuddle with Mikan every five fucking minutes,” Fuyuhiko muttered.
Hajime flushed. “That’s not what happened! I didn’t know she was going to fall asleep on me like that.”
“Yeah, whatever. Just hang a fucking tie on the door or some shit next time, won’t you?”
“We weren’t doing- Oh forget it,” Hajime said exasperatedly. Ordinarily Fuyuhiko would’ve smirked at his red, flustered face, but he shouldn’t have said the word tie. He sobered instantly.
They walked in silence through the gloomy hospital corridors, going to Nagito’s room. He was still lying flat in the bed, eyes wild, strands of white hair sticking to his sweaty face, but he was awake and alert, which was far better than he had been yesterday.
“Well. You look slightly less shitty today,” Fuyuhiko said.
“I’m feeling amazing! This is the best I’ve felt in years. I’m so happy,” Nagito cried, his words tripping over each other as he still seemed to be struggling to breathe.
“Yeah, you’re going to feel like crap. You almost fucking died yesterday,” Fuyuhiko said, remembering what Monokuma said about Nagito having the Liar Disease and was stuck saying the opposite of what he really felt. It was pretty annoying, but talking to Nagito when he was well could be insanely frustrating too, so Fuyuhiko wasn’t that surprised.
Fuyuhiko tried to make himself useful, fluffing Nagito’s pillows and trying to get him to drink water, but there wasn’t much he could do without any medical knowledge. Hajime tried even less, hovering by the doorway like he couldn’t wait to escape, though that was probably because Nagito started immediately insulting him.
“Hajime? Go away. I can’t stand being in the same room as you. I hate you.” He repeated different variations of that same mantra over and over, his eyes frantic.
Fuyuhiko looked at Hajime sideways, eyebrows raised. He supposed Nagito had been pretty weird around Hajime, following him around and giving him odd little hints in the trials, but Fuyuhiko hadn’t expected him to just blurt everything out like that.
Hajime sighed heavily. “Don’t worry, we’re going. Come on, Fuyuhiko.”
Fuyuhiko wasn’t sure if Hajime was really so dense he hadn’t realised what Nagito meant, or if he was just choosing to misunderstand so he could leave. Either way he nodded, desperate to get out of that stuffy room. The hospital reminded him of waking up after the second trial, the second execution. The realisation that it wasn’t some bizarre nightmare, that she really was gone…
Fuyuhiko clenched his fists, fighting to keep his expression neutral. He needed to leave before he caught this fucking disease too and started blabbing all his secret feelings like Nagito. Who knows what kind of stupid shit he’d end up saying, revealing far too much. It was bad enough that everyone had seen him bawling at the trail when…
Fuck. The wave of pain made Fuyuhiko wince, and Nagito finally pulled his eyes away from Hajime and stared at him. He blinked several times, forcing his bright eyes to focus. Immediately they flicked to Fuyuhiko’s collar. “Your tie. I expect Hajime has already noticed it’s disappeared. He’s always so observant.”
“I’m leaving,” Hajime snapped. “He’s clearly doing much better if he can be sarcastic. Let’s go check on Ibuki and… huh? Fuyuhiko..? What’s wrong?”
Fuyuhiko ducked his head, though he knew Hajime had already seen the tears dripping down his face. He wanted to grab Nagito and tear his head off his shoulders. Why did he have to say anything? He was barely even fucking alive yesterday and he could somehow still identify a tiny change in his outfit?
“Are you crying?” Hajime asked, bewildered.
“I just didn’t want to wear it today,” Fuyuhiko choked out. Those words were barely audible, but when he spoke again he found himself suddenly screaming. “It’s fucking hot! It was too fucking hot to wear that fucking thing!”
“Okay? Dude, calm down,” Hajime cried, his brow furrowed. He stepped forward, approaching Fuyuhiko warily, like he was a rabid animal that might attack. “Are you feeling okay? You haven’t caught the disease too, have you?” He moved closer and went to check Fuyuhiko’s forehead.
“Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me!” Fuyuhiko yelled, shoving Hajime out of the way and bolting out of the room. He doubted he’d make it back to his cottage - he could barely see a thing through his tears and pain shot through his stitches at every step. He stumbled blindly through corridors until he found an empty room, slamming the door so hard it echoed all around the building.
It was another dilapidated patient room, the mattress bare, the IV stand warped, with depressing plastic chairs shoved in on either side of the bed. He kicked both chairs violently onto their backs, he slammed his fist into the wall so hard his knuckles screamed and started oozing blood, he grabbed the wonky IV stand and lifted it over his head, ready to smash it on the floor - and felt a surge of pain through his stomach, so bad he dropped the IV entirely and had to cling to the bed to stay upright. Dark spots swam around the edges of his vision. He shakily felt under his shirt, feeling across the length of his wound. The stitches still seemed to be intact, thank fuck.
He had to be careful. He was still healing - but it was so hard to be careful when he wanted to break everything, wanted to rampage across this entire fucking island and level every cabin, fell every tree, break every window. Even if it wouldn’t make a difference; it couldn’t bring her back. Fuyuhiko fell to his knees by the bed and let his head plop onto the dirty mattress. It smelled damp and musty but he didn’t try to move. He just held onto his wrist, his fingers wound around Peko’s hair ribbon, and he cried.
Pain washed over his head like waves, stabbing through his chest with an intensity that almost rivalled his stomach wounds. This was so humiliating. He was the Ultimate Yakuza, for fuck sake. He was supposed to be calm and sinister and intimidating at all times. He’d had people twice his size and age threaten him in all manner of ways without batting an eye. Now here he was, bawling like a lonely fucking toddler, his face buried in this awful mouldy mattress to muffle it. It was pathetic. He needed to stop it now and get back to Hajime. It was just a stupid fucking tie.
But it was something she did for you. Every single morning you’ll remember now. You’ll think about her and know she’s gone and that it’s all your fault. You’ll think of her face when you begged her not to go, that stricken expression, eyes wide. You left it too late to tell her what she meant to you.
It was impossible not to think about Peko. Their entire lives had been intertwined since they were babies. They’d shared the same bed when they got sick, ran to each other after nightmares, played hide and seek when they could snatch an hour of spare time. The little girl with the pigtails, the serious expression and the red eyes was as much a part of his childhood as his yakuza title.
“Why’d you fucking do it,” Fuyuhiko choked out, speaking into the mattress. “Why couldn’t you let me do it? I didn’t need you to protect me. We were supposed to fucking stay together. That’s why I never had to learn how to—”
“Fuyuhiko?”
Fuck.
It was Hajime. Fuyuhiko caught a glimpse of him in the doorway before he dove down to hide behind the bed, crouching on the grubby floor. He buried his face against his knees, unable to stop crying even now.
“Get the fuck out!” he yelled. He tried so hard to say it in a threatening way, but he could hear how much his voice wobbled. Ugh, this was so embarrassing. Maybe he’d save everyone the trouble of the motive this time and throw himself off a cliff in humiliation.
“Are you okay?” Hajime’s voice was much closer now.
“Yes,” Fuyuhiko muttered. “Fuck off.”
“Fuyuhiko… Are you sure you’re not getting sick? You’re acting very strangely,” Hajime said. “Was it something Nagito said?”
Fuyuhiko almost wished he had caught the disease. At least that would be a reasonable excuse for acting like this. The truth was far more embarrassing, but he knew how stubborn Hajime could be. He wouldn’t go away if Fuyuhiko refused to say anything.
“I don’t… it’s… It’s really fucking stupid, alright?!” he snapped. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, bastard.”
“I won’t, I promise.” Hajime moved to sit beside him. “So what’s the matter?”
Fuyuhiko took a shaky breath, his cheeks flaming. “I don’t know how to tie my fucking tie, okay?!”
There was a long pause. Tension hung in the air like thick fog. Fuyuhiko kept his face hidden against his knees, not wanting to see Hajime’s expression.
“Um… okay,” Hajime muttered eventually, sounding baffled. “Is… is that why you’re so upset? I can teach you how to do it if it matters that much to you.”
“It’s not just me!” Fuyuhiko rushed to explain. “She… Peko didn’t know how to braid her hair either. I’m not the only fucking idiot, she’d have been stuck if I’d died instead.”
“Ooh, okay,” Hajime muttered. “That makes much more sense. So Peko would help you with your tie and you’d help her braid her hair?”
“Since we were kids.”
“That’s sweet.”
“No it’s not, it was fucking stupid, because now I’m stuck here alone and I don’t know how to… how to live. I don’t want to waste this life she gave me, I’m trying, but it’s… it’s fucking miserable trying to keep going when everything reminds me of her. All my memories… they’re our memories. There’s no way I can keep myself from thinking about her, every fucking moment of every day. And of course fucking Nagito had to notice I wasn’t wearing my damn tie… I don’t know, it got to me. I just… wish I could’ve saved her. Helped her,” Fuyuhiko said, the words tumbling out rapidly now, as if he had no real control over his confessions. When was the last time he allowed himself to be this open? This honest? He couldn’t remember.
Honesty about your own true feelings wasn’t exactly encouraged in the yakuza world. Crying was considered weak, vulnerable, pathetic. Yet talking openly to Hajime now, being honest instead of pushing him away and telling him to fuck off like he would’ve done when Peko was still here… it was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. Why was this considered weakness when it was so fucking hard?
“You couldn’t have saved her. Monokuma would’ve killed you too,” Hajime said gently. “He already had a good go at it the first time around.”
“She shouldn’t have felt like she had to protect me. Like she had to kill for me. I fucked everything up.” Fuyuhiko slammed his fist into the floor, making his knuckles scream anew.
“Hey, be careful. You’re already injured enough,” Hajime said. He tried to take hold of Fuyuhiko’s wrist to look at his bloody knuckles, but he snatched his hand away.
“It’s nothing. Stop fucking fussing over me,” he snapped. “You heard Hiyoko, didn’t you? I’m the reason Mahiru and Peko are dead. Why do you give a shit what happens to me?”
“Because you’ve been different since she died. You’re trying to make amends,” Hajime muttered awkwardly. “It’s not like any of us really know how we’d have reacted in your position - but you’ve shown us you regret it.”
“Mmn. I told you, I made a promise not to waste the life Peko gave me,” Fuyuhiko sighed, staring hard at the floor. “I’m making amends for her, really. Not for you assholes.”
Hajime smiled weakly. He cleared his throat. “So… do you want me to teach you how to tie your tie?”
Fuyuhiko snorted. “You’re not too great at this mushy shit, are you?” he said. “But yeah, show me how. Please.”
It was hard without a mirror, but Hajime undid his own tie and walked Fuyuhiko through the steps several times. Fuyuhiko fished his own crumpled tie out of his pocket and followed along, trying to commit each movement to memory. He thought of Peko’s hands, deftly tucking and twisting the fabric every single morning like it was second nature - and when he put his chin on his chest and looked down he pictured her slender fingers over his own, guiding him.
“There. Think you’ve got it?” Hajime said.
Fuyuhiko nodded, fighting to keep his compose again. He mumbled under his breath, still staring at the floor.
“What did you say?” Hajime asked.
“I said thanks,” Fuyuhiko muttered.
“Oh. Yeah. It’s no big deal. Come find me tomorrow if you need help again,” Hajime said, smiling slightly awkwardly. He glanced at Fuyuhiko’s clenched fist. “You should really get your hand checked out too.”
“I can do that myself. Mikan has enough shit to deal with right now.”
“Speaking of which, we’d better go check on them,” Hajime sighed. “Mikan said we need to monitor Nagito’s condition very carefully. Maybe that’s why she was so eager to escape to the on call room.”
“I’ll catch you up in a few minutes,” Fuyuhiko said, gesturing to his injured hand. “Gotta sort this shit out first. Mikan will throw a fit if I get blood on all the sterile stuff.”
He waited until Hajime had left the room, fingering the newly neat knot of his tie. Hajime was a good guy, if a little awkward. Fuyuhiko had been hostile and rude to him from the second they got to the island, but Hajime still helped him out. He wouldn’t have to look at his bare collar anymore and think of Peko. It didn’t make it hurt any less - she was still gone - but it was a start. It meant he could actually get through the day. It was… (ugh, he was starting to sound like fucking Komaeda) it was hope.
Fuyuhiko unwrapped the long white ribbon from around his wrist, smoothing the silky materiel between his fingers. He hastily wound it around his hand and bound up his bloody knuckles with it, tying it off so tightly he could feel his pulse throbbing painfully through his fingers. He watched the crimson blood seep up through the white cloth, staining it, like he was trying to perform some bizarre bonding ritual that would bind him to Peko forever.
Then he took a breath and followed Hajime out of the room and back down the corridor. He still had a lot of shit to do today, after all.