Chapter Text
The sun was set high in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the blooming cherry trees. The soft petals fluttered in the gentle spring breeze, like confetti raining down. Above, wispy clouds created a dappled effect on the serene blue canvas of the sky. The harmonious chirping of birds added to the picturesque scene, as if they were part of an orchestra playing a symphony of beauty. From the delicate blossoms to the tranquil atmosphere, everything exuded an air of pure perfection.
Another idyllic day at Japan’s renowned school grounds—Hope’s Peak Academy.
If it wasn’t for the relentless yelling in said school’s classroom of 77-B, that is.
“Don’t try to pretend you know what you’re talking about.”
“Like you’re one to talk!”
Nagito’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard, grating on Hajime’s nerves. The guise of serenity quickly dissipating with each scoff. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at his holier-than-thou attitude, his superiority complex on full display.
“Unlike you, I at least have some use in this world,” Nagito sneered in return, his delicate features pulled into a frown.
“Oh yeah, your usefulness of what?” Hajime challenged. He tried his hardest to look down upon the lucky student, despite being practically the same height. Standing tall gave him a slight advantage—helped him even out the one inch difference. “I’ve yet to see you account for anything, Nagito.”
Said boy scoffed at the use of his given name. Perhaps Hajime was too crude, but he hated being so formal. Honorifics were saved only for his seniors, his peers did not get that same respect. And if that made Nagito that much more annoyed due to his lack of manners, he’d consider it a bonus.
“I’ll account for shutting up that useless, reserve course mouth of yours.”
The snort that left Hajime’s was deserved. It was funny—hilarious—to think that Nagito Komaeda could as much as lay a hand on him. The guy looked like he’d tumbled with the slightest breeze, let alone win a fight against him. His threats were as empty as his head, Hajime thought.
So, with a too cocky smile, he leaned forward. Crowding the other’s personal space, glowering in an invitation to dare and attempt what he was implying, “Try me.”
His breath puffed hotly against pale skin, mouth downturned in a frown.
And, really—it would’ve been fine. It would’ve been perfectly fine to end it there. Nagito would huff, Hajime grumble in return, and they’d move on. Their argument swept away just like the early morning dew would. Just another idyllic day at Japan’s renowned school.
Except it wasn’t. Because things never were perfect for Hajime.
“Damn, just fuck already!” a shrill voice cut through the loud silence, sounding almost violated. “I’ve seen porn less passionate than your fights, I wanna hurl.”
Hajime scoffed into a scowl. He knew better than to entertain Hiyoko with any type of reaction. So he stayed indignantly stoic. He had hoped that the other end of the argument would’ve done the same, to not somehow include him into the never-ending teasing of the younger student. It was one thing to argue with Nagito, but to deal with the spicy blonde on top of that was an entire can of worm he did not want to deal with right now.
Turns out that the teasing was inevitable, just not in the way he had expected. He glanced at Nagito to make sure he wouldn’t say anything stupid in return, but paused in amusement. Because he looked absolutely, utterly scandalized.
As if it’s the first time he’d ever heard something as improper as ‘fuck’. Obviously, the word was thrown around plenty enough, but perhaps not in this context. It would make sense that someone so stuck up was raised in a posh environment void of cursing, let alone sexual innuendos. Hiyoko scoffed, coming to the same realization, “Oh my God, what are you, a fucking prude?”
“I-” but before he had a change to try and defend himself, Hajime grinned widely—decided to kick him while he was down. It’s not often to see him stunned in silence, usually so quick to retort with biting words. Hajime spoke perhaps a little bit too loudly—too inappropriate in their studious setting.
“Watch out. With a reaction like that, people might mistake you for some innocent, pure-hearted virgin,” Hajime chuckled, the sound echoing through the otherwise quiet classroom. “I mean, who would’ve thought that someone as shameless as you has the ability to get embarrassed?”
Nagito’s face burned, the color ascending from the high of his cheekbones down towards slope of his neck. Hajime couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction at finally getting under the other boy’s skin. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
“I-I do not-” Nagito stammered, trying to regain his composure. The darkening blush on his pale, pale skin was unmistakable.
Hiyoko rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, get over it already. It’s just some words.”
She shook her head, letting out an exasperated sigh, “Besides, it’s not like you’re actually a virgin, right?” she squished her cheeks in between her hands, gesturing faux innocence as she rocked on the balls of her feet. “I mean, come on. It’s not a far leap to assume you’ve gotten ‘lucky’ to get lucky.”
Nagito seemed to be struggling to find a retort, the heat of his flush practically radiating off of him; eyes widening in shock and disbelief. Hajime couldn’t help but find it amusing, the way the other boy was so flustered. It was a rare sight, indeed.
He chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest, “Looks like someone’s got their feathers ruffled.”
“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, big bro. But don’t think I’ve forgotten about you. You’ve been acting like a complete moron all day,” Hiyoko countered. “And stop grinning like an idiot. It’s creepy.”
Hajime raised an eyebrow, smiling even wider just to get on her nerves. Call it his toxic trait to get a rise out of the foul mouthed girl. At least their banter was friendly, “Aw, come on, Hiyoko. Don’t be like that. Lighten up,” he spoke with faked saccharine.
As he turned his attention to the feisty blonde, his peripheral caught sight of Nagito slinking away with crimson-tinted ears. Sweet defeat.
Hajime 1 - Nagito 0
It was totally worth the chewing out he received from Hiyoko, her sharp tongue not able to get his spirits down this time.
“-so that’s why I stood outside in the rain for five hours.”
Chiaki bubbly explained how she managed to snatch a limited edition release of a game she probably already had owned. He’s already planning his intervention regarding her hoarding, he’d seen her collection—surely she doesn’t need all of those limited releases.
How she had so much energy in the morning, he did not know. He thought Chiaki as usually pretty subdued, but her enthusiasm seemed to make her more alert than caffeine ever could.
The chilly breeze of the early morning managed to sweep through the empty hallways of Hope’s Peak Academy, surprisingly blustery for this time of year. Large windows allowed the sun that had barely begun to peek over the horizon to stream in. it cast long, eerie shadows that seemed to reach out and grab at the students as they walked past, too absorbed in their own world.
His shoes scuffed against the pristine wooden floorboards beneath his feet. Shiny and freshly polished, like everything else about the main course building. The usually bright and vibrant hallways seemed to have taken on a more somber and subdued tone, as if they also were mourning the early morning hours.
The only reason he’d woken up at the crack of dawn was so he could meet up with the bubbly girl matching his stride. Early enough as to not miss his own classes. The wallet he had borrowed to her now securely back in his pocket, a comfortable weight knowing he had his debit card back where it belonged.
And, while it was pretty fun talking about one of her little adventures… did it have to be so early?
It would be rude to not walk her to class, he had decided as they had met at the tall gates in front. Hajime tried his best not to regret his courtesy as he walked in the large halls, an almost never ending maze of classrooms. He knew many people didn’t mind him being there, but he felt uncomfortably out of place in his black slacks compared to the rich brown of those talented enough.
Perhaps a bit too late, he realized the lull in the conversation and the expectant look of his friend. He should probably say something, “That’s some dedication right there,” he settled on.
Chiaki giggled in return, her eyes glittering with mirth, “I know, right? I’m just glad I managed to get it before it sold out. I was so worried I wouldn’t be able to!”
Hajime couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm; glad he managed to say the right thing. He found himself feeling a little less out of place in her presence—felt like he belonged. They continued the walk, with Hajime making an effort to be more attentive to their little chat until they reached their destination.
“Well, this is where I leave you,” he said, his voice a little quieter than he had intended.
Chiaki looked up at him, her expression turned into a pout, “Already? But we just got here!”
Hajime chuckled, “I know, but I have my own class to get to. I don’t get to slack off, unfortunately...”
Unlike you guys, he left unsaid.
She nodded, her smile returning, “Sure! I’ll meet you for lunch?”
They said their goodbyes along with promises of curry. As Hajime watched Chiaki enter her room, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of longing. A nagging pull, to be along the people he knew he didn’t belong. To be able to set foot into the ultimate building without standing out.
He always thought he’d look good in umber, his mind supplemented bitterly.
But he was over this. Over the jealousy, the what-ifs. His self worth had grown along with him, realizing that talent—or the lack thereof—didn’t define him. And while it still stung to be along the masses of the ‘ordinary’, it didn’t burn as much as it used to. He turned around to make the trek back towards the exit, towards his refuge of mediocrity.
Only to come face to face with the one person he didn’t feel like being around right now.
“I thought the air smelled foul around here,” Nagito taunted. He really could do without his snide comments, it was too early for this.
Sourly, he bit back, “Fuck off.”
Nagito chuckled, his eyes gleaming with a goading sparkle, “Ah, Hinata-kun, always so sharp-tongued. I can’t help but wonder what’s going through that head of yours,” He poked an icy finger right between Hajime’s furrowed brows. “Must be a skill taught to those in the reserve.”
He swatted away his hand with a groan.
He hates how tall the other stood, looking down his nose in mockery. Annoyed about how his stupid sweater vest hugged against his slim frame. He always claimed he didn’t deserve being around the ultimates, so why couldn’t it be Hajime instead.
He peeled his eyes away from his uniform and instead glared into the cold, muted green eyes of the other, “Is there something you want, Nagito? I have class to get to, as I’m sure you do too.”
“I truly do commend you, putting so much effort into your insignificance.”
Okay, that had stung. He hated how Nagito could find his one weakness and claw at it, opening old wounds. Always grabbing his attention with petty little insults, “What is your problem?”
“You thinking you deserve to step foot into this building.”
“And what makes you think you’re any better?” Hajime shot back. He really should just leave, ignore him and walk away. He would, if it were anyone else. But the demanding presence of Nagito Komaeda was something Hajime couldn’t deny.
So it had always come back to this. A push and pull of insults to find out what would rile the other up. Glares and biting words ever since the day they met many moons ago. Nagito had decided he wasn’t deserving of his time; that no reserve course student was worthy to breathe the same oxygen as the ultimates.
Ironic, considering Nagito is still here—talking to him.
The cocky smile on his face was infuriating, “Because at least I have a talent.”
“Well, at least I’m not a fucking virgin who gets all flustered at the idea of getting their dick wet.”
And he didn’t exactly know why he took a page out of Hiyoko’s book. Probably because she was so effective getting under everyone’s skin, finding their weakness and relentlessly pouncing on it.
And effective it was.
Nagito’s smug smile faltered, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of red as he stumbled backwards, almost tripping over air. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, he just sputtered and stammered, his usual poise and confidence shattered.
No way that worked! This was too easy.
Hajime’s satisfaction radiated off him like a tangible force. He reveled in the other boy’s discomfort, for once unable to retort. He suddenly didn’t feel as tired anymore, “Anyway, as I was saying, I have class to get to. So unless you have something important to say—which I highly doubt—I’m going to leave.”
As he walked away from a stunned Nagito, he couldn’t help but think that his morning wasn’t too bad.
In the quiet courtyard, tucked away behind a row of vending machines, sat Hajime Hinata. His usually calm demeanor was replaced by a scowl, his hands gripping the warm grass beneath him in frustration. The peacefulness of the outside world did nothing to cool the fire boiling in his veins.
The source of his agitation nowhere near in sight, probably smugly eating lunch elsewhere.
Usually the sunshine would uplift his mood, no matter how bad of a day he had. Any worries melting away in the UV rays that hit his sun-kissed skin. Instead, his skin felt tingly and itchy at his agitation today.
Hajime complained to the mechanic next to him, “Would be nice if you’d back me up every once in a while. There’s only so much berating I can take in a day,” he knew he was being bitter to the wrong person, but Kazuichi was close by and in the crossfire.
“Sorry, but there’s no way I’m getting between you guys,” said friend spoke while digging through his bag of snacks, a small shudder as he continued, “he freaks me out.”
“Glad to see the sentiment is shared.”
Having grabbed a peanut, Kazuichi threw it in the air and attempted to catch it with his mouth—just to fail miserably.
So close; only off by like two feet. Hajime grabbed a nut before the other would waste them all by throwing them on the grass, “I don’t see what his problem is,” Kazuichi mumbled as he dug through the bag again.
“I’ve tried asking him that…” Hajime replied bitterly, the salty snack resembling his attitude, “many times.”
“Yo-” Fuyuhiko paused as he walked up to the pair, his drink halfway to his mouth when he had noticed the sour look on Hajime’s face. “Damn, what crawled up your ass this morning?”
“Komaeda.”
Hajime threw his ‘soul bro’ an exasperated look. He did not want to talk about this any more than necessary. That would be an admittance Nagito got to him, his ego bruised enough already as is. He got to vent, he’s done thinking about the elusive lucky student for today. Unfortunately, his friends didn’t seem to share that sentiment. Fuyuhiko sat down on the grass next to him, a shoulder check as greeting, “Have you considered threatening him?”
The brunette chuckled a humorless laugh, “No, I have not considered committing verbal assault.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Kazuichi said, before defensively shrinking away from the glare he received. “I’m just saying, I’ve hear some of the shit you’ve said!”
Hajime mumbled a ‘he started it’ in defense. Okay, so maybe he was mean in return. Sue him. He’s not going to just sit back and let Nagito belittle him without biting back equally insulting words.
“I’d offer to scare him away, but knowing that bastard he’d probably feel honored or something,” Fuyuhiko thumped his fingers against the cold can inside his grip absentmindedly. “Pass me some cashews.”
“You just need to find something to get under his skin,” Kazuichi, who had found a couple of cashews, tossed them over to Fuyuhiko before grabbing a few for himself, “make him try to avoid confrontation.”
“Nah, that ain’t gonna work with him,” The blonde replied in the same confident that he always exuded, mouth full and forgoing absolutely all manners. “He just needs a good beating—taken down a peg or two.”
“We go from assault to battery, do you guys want to see me get expelled?”
The crinkling of plastic was the only sound for a good second, munching on their snacks in the calming atmosphere of the courtyard. A false pretense that their conversation was over. Hajime let himself lean back on his arms, letting the sun rays bask over his face. He’d felt better after complaining, at least.
Leave it to Kazuichi to break his peaceful silence, “Shame. I’d pay to see someone punch his dumb, pretty face.”
“Dude-” Fuyuhiko exclaimed in reply, confusion about the sudden compliment of their subject of their conversation.
Because, while Hajime couldn’t help and agree, he’d never admit that out loud to anyone.
“What! Don’t pretend you didn’t notice. He’s taking away all the chicks!”
Hajime laughed skeptically, “Like you were getting any,” a creative curse word was thrown at him in reply. He flipped him off as retaliation.
“I highly doubt he would, actually,” Fuyuhiko interrupted the squabble.
“How’d you know, some are into crazy!” dyed pink eyebrows wiggled suggestively, emphasized his statement. He made some crude gestures with his hands that Hajime didn’t understand; didn’t want to find out either.
Fuyuhiko decided to ignore the comment, “Nah, he definitely doesn’t swing that way.”
Hajime couldn’t help but laugh at the way Kazuichi sputter a reply. He’d always get so easily riled up about the smallest things, “H-how would you know!?”
“I’m a Kuzuryu, reading people is literally in my blood.”
Hajime didn’t need to be an ultimate yakuza to figure that one out. It was pretty clear to him that Nagito was definitely not interested in girls. Then again, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen him show interest in anyone—regardless of gender.
Out of all the things he’d judge him for, that was not going to be one of them. He understood the struggles of not being on the heterosexual spectrum himself quite well, after all.
By his reaction to Hiyoko’s comment the other day, there must be some kind of want somewhere in that cold, decrepit demeanor of him, otherwise he wouldn’t have gotten so flustered.
He wondered what his type was—if he had one to begin with.
“So your gangster talent is having a gaydar?” Kazuichi laughed mockingly, breaking Hajime from his train of thought. He had completely looking past the dignified answer he had received. He never seemed to care about being proper, preferred to be his inappropriate self. It was equally charming as it was infuriating.
“Hey—fuck you!”
Amused, Hajime watched the conversation fizzled out into banter. It was nice having friends like this, being able to say anything on his mind and not be judged for it. Because all the insults thrown at each other were just empty words.
He wondered about a world where he and Nagito had the same kind of relationship, toothless bites instead of the sharp claws of their insults current.
Find something to get under his skin, huh?
He might known just the thing.
There wasn’t a lot he knew about the elusive lucky student, but some things were certain; he was rude, obsessed with talent, and if he wasn’t degrading himself he was spewing his insults towards Hajime. It’s not like it was deserved, he’s been nothing but nice towards Nagito. well, until he was rude to him first. He doesn’t hold himself accountable for the equally bad things he had told him in return.
But Nagito was also, utterly—hopelessly clumsy. He’d stumble at times, his legs seemingly too long and spindly to keep him upright. Triping over nothing and stumbled into desks, apologizing to other’s like it was they that somehow got hurt and not himself. It was funny at first, then got annoying real quick.
Until it got funny again. Watching the other stumble was always a welcomed sight. And surprisingly, his clumsiness increased by tenfold when he was embarrassed. He wasn’t sure how or why, but it was an added bonus to the petty, unspoken competitions they had.
“It’s only natural that a reserve course student would make such a straightforward task so cumbersome.”
He was going on and on about something. Hajime forgot what he was even trying to complain about. It was supposedly a quick trip to grab some towels needed to clean up the never ending mess in his friends’ classroom. Classes had ended, and what was supposed to be a quick drop-off for Kazuichi’s borrowed screwdriver he was somehow saddled with cleaning up the mess the ultimates had made.
Something about an aquarium. He stopped listening, drowning out the scene of chaos around as people were scrambling to capture flailing fish. He had long learned not to ask questions to the peculiar students, perhaps intimidated by the frantic order from Gundam to assist them.
Unfortunately, Nagito had followed him, claiming he’d probably get lost or grab the wrong towels. As if there were a ‘right’ towel. So, self proclaimed know-it-all sauntered behind, spewing lectures of things Hajime hasn’t even done yet. Any sane person would’ve just left, let the other deal with grabbing the towels as it was apparently a task ‘too hard for him’.
Like it often did with Hajime, pride overtook sanity.
And there was only so much belittling he could take. When there finally was a lull in the other’s complaining, he casually asked; “You’ve ever been rimmed?”
It was hard to contain his smug smirk when, as if on cue, Nagito tumbled over air and face planted straight into a door; swung open the exact moment they had reached it. Convenient. It’s as if the entire universe was trying its hardest to make his slip-up even worse. Sometimes he really loved Nagito’s luck.
His smirk fell, that came out wrong-
“Ack! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” a panicked shriek filled the halls, a young girl wildly staring at the student who was wincing on the floor. She clutched the door, the one who had swung it open.
“Ah, no need to worry about someone as insignificant as me!” Nagito’s voice dripping with faked sugar as he rubbed his forehead sheepishly. There’s surely a red mark blooming underneath those pale locks. “I do apologize for the inconvenience I’ve caused you.”
“Uhm…okay?” She bowed in apology before hesitantly retreating back into the classroom. The mortification probably momentarily making her forget she was about to leave said classroom. That, or she didn’t want to deal with the strange man that was Nagito Komaeda.
Relatable.
He waited for the other the slowly get up again. The slight wobble of his legs didn’t go unnoticed to Hajime. Luckily, other than his pride, he didn’t seem actually hurt.
“You done kissing ass?” He deadpanned. Talking about that, he'd assume his previous question was a ‘no’ if his still bright flush was an indicator. Probably as red as his newly marked bruise, Hajime mused.
He did say his clumsiness was funny to him, so it was rather hard to contain his amusement.
Nagito huffed in response, dusting off nonexistent dirt from his umber pants. All-in-all, it had worked. Hajime had successfully shut him down and prevented another pointless argument that would've last the entirety of their task.
“I wouldn’t expect a reserve course student to understand simple courtesy.”
With a deep sigh, Hajime turned on his heel to resume their little ‘journey’ to the supply closet, “Let’s just get this over with,” exasperated, he didn’t even look back to make sure the lucky student was following him. It’s not like he needed to, as the light padding of his feet thumping against glossy, wooden floorboards was proof enough.
He made sure to slow his pace until the other could catch up. To assure he wouldn’t fall again to warrant a detour to the nurses’ office.
He already had a big enough mess to deal with in their classroom, didn’t want to add any more unnecessary tasks to be saddled up with. He should put that effort into cleaning up his own life first.
Another day.
Hajime pushed open the door to the closet they had finally reached, revealing rows upon rows of supplies stacked high to the ceiling. Everything was perfectly sorted and labeled, not a spec of dust in sight. The main course was so extra.
To the left there was a shelf with rags and towels. All neatly folded and probably embroidered with the school’s crest. Good to see that his exorbitant tuition is going to a good cause.
“Alright, pick whatever ones you want,” Hajime said with a flourish of his hand. Once he had made his point across, he crossed his arms and leaned against a shelf containing various papers and hole punchers. He looked expectantly—mockingly—at the lucky student. Even though he just diffused an argument, he couldn’t help and try to get the last jab.
Besides, he claimed Hajime couldn’t do it ‘right’, so might as well make him do the work instead. He knew he was being petty, wasn’t going to change a damn thing about it.
Nagito hummed thoughtfully, like he was actually considering it. It’s not like there was a choice, really. All the towels were the exact same, “Hmm, I wonder which one would be the most efficient for cleaning up water… decisions, decisions,” he tapped his finger against his chin in consideration.
Hajime rolled his eyes, “Just grab some already. We’ve wasted enough time as it is.”
Nagito turned to him, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Oh, are you implying you have something of importance to do? I’d hardly believe that.”
Hajime gritted his teeth, his patience wearing thin, “Fine, I’ll just grab them myself then,” he reached past him and grabbed some from the stack of pristinely white towels, shoving them into Nagito’s chest. “Here, make yourself useful and help me carry some.”
Nagito blinked in surprise, stumbling backwards a bit at the sudden force, “w-well, aren’t you pushy,” he chuckled, recovering quickly and taking the stack of fabrics from Hajime.
“Sorry to make you lift a finger, princess,” Hajime teased, giving him a small shoulder check in apology as they left the closet. He hadn’t intended to actually push him, decided that Nagito’s ego was bruised enough as is today with that spectacular fall from before.
He got an undignified huff is response, but otherwise the other stayed quiet. Acceptance—a truce, perhaps.
He’d be lying if the silent walk back to the classroom wasn’t somewhat peaceful. He couldn’t remember the last time they were in close proximity and not be at each other’s throats for longer than five minutes.
In the quiet there was nothing else to do than look around. His eyes landed on Nagito, walking slightly ahead of him; always wanting to be first. It was easy to observe the other like this. When he wasn’t stumbling, his gait was pretty graceful. There was an air of elegance the way he carried himself, Hajime wondered if it was taught or if it just came naturally to him.
Noticing eyes on him, Nagito threw him a questionable look over his shoulder, but bit his tongue before he could make a snide remark. It was satisfying to see him swallow his pride and just let Hajime be for once.
The silence was nice.
Soothing.
Unfortunately, the chaos that awaited him back in the classroom shattered any kind of calm he might’ve had. And while he was mopping up water from stupidly shiny wooden floorboards, he couldn’t help but wonder why he was here in the first place.
Unfortunately, thinking up embarrassing questions and statements was harder than he had though. There was only so many things he could ask Nagito—could speculate about his sex life to make him embarrassed when he was getting on his nerves.
He realized he hadn’t really have many topics to ask about without absolutely violating his privacy. Lucky for him, he quickly had found out that the comment doesn’t even have to be directed at Nagito in order for it to be effective.
The lucky student was rambling on again. The insults weren’t necessarily directed at him, but Hajime recognized the sharp lilt to his words.
An invitation for bickering, a mockery of his lack of reciprocation.
And, almost like a Pavlovian response, Hajime did the same thing to make the other shut up about his somewhat superiority—somewhat inferiority complex. Try to embarrass him the one way he’d knew how. Just in a slightly different way, curious to see if it would work.
“Hey, Kazuichi,” He waited for a hum of acknowledgment, “did I ever tell you about this girl I fucked over winter break?”
Said friend looked up; partially surprised, partially impressed, “Bro!”
And if he flourished his story of what had actually happened, nobody would have to know. Just like he conveniently didn’t mention which winter break, or how this was his then steady girlfriend at the time many moons ago.
He didn’t exactly know why he lied. Perhaps a steamy one night stand sounded dirtier. After all, while he was talking to Kazuichi, this conversation was for Nagito. It seemed to work, as the timbre of his voice stopped and that oh so familiar blush had appeared, which he so desperately tried to hide.
Hajime did nothing to hide his self satisfied smirk. Kazuichi none the wise of his intentions.
It had become common occurrence to share one of his ‘sexapades’ whenever Nagito tried to get a rise out of him, effectively shutting him up.
He would’ve been embarrassed if it wasn’t so satisfying to see the once cocky student scramble. He didn’t nearly sleep around as much as he’d let on, but a white lie here and there was worth the flush spreading over pale features.
And that was weird, right? That he wasn’t satisfied until high cheekbone turned red. That he marveled in the way Nagito’s breath would stutter. That he didn’t stop the teasing until—at the very least—he’d shut that annoying mouth until his teeth clinked by the force of it.
Chiaki had told him so herself.
“It’s kind of weird… I think”
He’d deny the notion, it was just some harmless teasing to make the other shut up. Blissful quiet, he told himself.
Hajime turned to Chiaki, a sly smirk playing on his lips, “What do you mean, weird? It’s just a bit of fun between friends,” he said sarcastically.
Chiaki raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical, “Fun for who, exactly? You or Nagito?”
Hajime blinked, taken aback by the notion the other might not totally hate the teasing he’s been bestowing on him. Of course neither of them actually had actual fun doing this. Definitely not like he was actually enjoying Nagito’s embarrassment.
Because he didn’t like the way Nagito—always so muted, blanched skin and cold eyes— would light up when he was flustered. It’s as if blood flow would finally reached his extremities. There was nothing endearing about seeing Nagito stumble in embarrassment, both figuratively and literally.
Definitely not. They don’t do fun, “It doesn’t matter,” he deflected.
Chiaki didn’t look convinced, dropped the subject nonetheless.
He didn’t dwell on it, either. Definitely didn’t get him distracted while hanging out with Chiaki, nor lose his concentration that evening when trying to study.
Because he didn’t enjoy it,
didn’t like it,
right?
Rows upon rows of towering bookshelves, filled to the brim with knowledge, stretched out before Hajime like an endless labyrinth filled his vision. The scent of aged paper mingled with the faint aroma of burnt coffee. The air was thick with the hum of overworked laptops. A cacophony of loud whispers accompanied by the clacking of keyboards, a loud silence.
Hajime had always found a peculiar sort of comfort in this quiet chaos. The library was a sanctuary, one where the social hierarchies that plagued the rest of Hope’s Peak Academy didn’t exist. A blend of brown and black suits; reminiscent of the scent of caffeine.
Unfortunately, his content didn’t feel as genuine as it usually did.
Outside, the radiant sunlight bathed the school grounds in a golden hue. The birds chirped and the trees rustled. A gentle breeze sauntered through the library’s open windows, teasing him with the sweet perfume of blooming blossoms. It was too beautiful of a day to be wasting it away inside.
He had missed the sun, missed how it added a warm tan on his skin. So once the snow melted, he’d take any and all advantage until the heat got too sweltering in the high of summer.
But instead he was here, cold and enveloped by students who begrudgingly were studying inside as well.
And amidst the faceless students, Hajime eyes caught onto the figure of Nagito. He sat hunched over a secluded table, completely absorbed in the pages of his book. Nimble fingers danced across the ruby spine, each page a step further into another world. His pale lashes cast shadows on his sharp cheekbones. Ghostly white hair, usually so attention-grabbing subdued in the stray streams of sunlight, blending seamlessly with the equally white pages scattered around.
Completely absorbed to the words, dead to the world around.
It was an interesting sight; someone as unique as Nagito being able to make himself disappear in the background. He was practically invisible to everyone around him. Yet Hajime had spotted him almost instantly, like a moth to the flame—to its ultimate demise.
Hajime peeled his eyes away, settling instead on the library directory.
Health sciences; sixth aisle, third row. He just wanted to get in and out, retrieve some books and write his paper without any distractions. He let his legs wander to his destination. Perhaps if he was efficient enough, he’d be able to catch the last rays of the spring evening.
Hajime scanned the row for books that may be appropriate. His fingers brushed against the spines, each one a potential source of knowledge. He plucks some out and flipped through the pages, looking for anything that was easily quotable. Honestly, he did not care about the subject and just wanted to write about what would be the quickest—the easiest.
Funny how a couple of years at the most prestigious school in Japan had changed him. Turning him from a prideful, studious kid to an adult who honestly couldn’t care any less about his academics. The pride might’ve sticked around, just translated to other aspects of his life.
He had enjoyed the extra time it had given him, not having to burry himself in books and drown in energy drinks anymore. To fill the gap in his schedule, Hajime explored the things he enjoyed instead of what was expected of him. He was finally able to make friends and maintain them. He’d trade meals with Chiaki during lunch, go to the gym with Kazuichi to lift weights, go to band practices with Ibuki to get his eardrums blown out—in a satisfying way.
He ate better, slept better—felt better. Being able to spend free time outside had dusted light freckles on his cheekbones, something he hadn’t seen since he was in middle school.
Life was getting better. He had came to accept he was just an ordinary student, just trying to keep his head above water in a sea of exceptional talents. The bitterness about being so close yet so far to the ultimate building slowly dwindling; just like his grades. A’s became C’s, Dean’s list became warning letters for academic probation. He still averaged a B with all his previous efforts, but nothing was ever good enough for Hope’s Peak.
There were only few semesters left to go, might as well enjoy his time while he’s here. So he did the bare minimum.
By now there was a reasonable stack of books heavy in his arms. Surely they’d suffice, Hajime thought. He found a secluded table and dropped the literature on the worn mahogany. Digging through his backpack, Hajime retrieved his beat up laptop and let his fingers glide over the keys with practiced effort.
But amid the blue tinted glow of his screen, he noticed movement in his peripheral.
Nagito reaching towards the back of his head, redoing his messy ponytail in a sad attempt of a hairstyle. It was infuriating how it somehow looked good.
His jacket was neatly hanging over the back of his chair instead of his frame, opting to wear his button up alone, rolled and baring his forearms. His eye still downcast to the pages in front of him, never losing focus as he gently plucked the elastic he’d been holding between his teeth to secure hair.
Must be a good book; Hajime wondered what it was about.
And that made his thoughts go into a spiral of questions. Was Nagito studious? Would he just rely on his luck to get good grades, or would he enjoy absorbing any and all new information no matter how dry?
He was pretty well spoken—probably due to the immense amount of literature he consumed. He really didn’t know the other well enough, but even Hajime could tell he found refuge in the written words. It was a nice hobby, maybe Hajime should pick it up, too. He’s sure Nagito knew all the good books, he just had to ask.
No need to dwell on that. It’s not like Nagito would ever share the answer with him, anyway. Not like he’d listen, either. He doesn’t care about the others’ opinions.
So he focused on the bright screen instead. Typed unit the hours passed, until the library emptied out. Until the hum of laptops faded, as did the murmur of other students. Until Hajime’s fingers ceased, paper written and ready to be submitted. it was good enough, he decided.
On his way out, he cast a glance towards the now empty chair where a certain student had sat prior. The pinks and oranges of the setting sun enveloping the now vacant table, highlighting the abandoned book.
Must’ve finished it.
Wordlessly he picked it up. It felt heavy in his hands as he turned it around to read the title. Who doesn’t put their books back to begin with? It’s not like he could clean it up, either, not knowing where Nagito had gotten it from in the first place.
So instead he checked out the book and shoved it in his backpack. Might as well do something useful with his evening now that he had missed the setting sun, the weather cooling down in the blanket of the night.
And just a couple of pages out of curiosity became whole chapters, finding a surprising enjoyment in the literature.
Perhaps he should ask for recommendations.
The hallways of the ultimates’ dorms stretched wide, door after door, each one holding a sanctuary to those blessed with talent.
It was so much nicer here than at his dorm, Hajime thought as he purposefully scuffed his sneakers against the wood; trying to mark it in a petty attempt. The squeaky noise of his casual shoes echoing against the empty walls.
The school was so much quieter on the weekend.
He let his legs mindlessly guide him to the familiar door of a certain ultimate gamer, a trek he’d often made.
The large wood greeted him, standing tall and intimidating. He knocked a little tune against the mahogany, a childish habit he just couldn’t seem to break.
The door opened-
but when he was expecting bubbly pink, he was met with muddy green.
“Hinata-kun.”
“Nagito.”
“Hajime, hey! Glad you could make it,” Chiaki welcomed him, not looking up from their spot in front of the tv screen that was hooked up to her computer.
Distantly he noticed how Nagito made himself comfortable on Chiaki’s desk chair, slinging a leg over his knee. He was probably sitting there before, possibly wanted to take up the last of the available seating before Hajime could.
Instead of the usual multiple layers of his school uniform, Nagito was wearing a simple white t-shirt atop of dark skinny jeans. An unusual sight for Hajime, he’s surprised he doesn’t sleep in his usually umber getup.
Then again, he would hardly see him after school hours—has never bumped into him in the weekend, either. Baffling, as they shared the same friend. He glanced over Nagito’s choice of casual clothing, a peek into his personality.
The cotton of his top hung comfortably loose around his frame, the neckline revealing a peek of pale collarbones underneath. He shifted to lazily lean his head on his lifted palm, eyes casted at the video game Chiaki was playing. The action ruffling the fabric.
As he trailed his eyes down, he noted how his shirt was contrasted by how the denim was anything but baggy—scandalously hugging his thighs and-”
Hajime decided looking at the screen was probably better for his sanity.
“What ya doing?” He asked Chiaki. He couldn’t really see what she was wearing, as she was halfway burrowed in her cocoon of blanket on her bed. Probably a skirt, she liked to wear those.
And that was a safer thought. Because Chiaki was cute. He liked her, thought that maybe they’d even make a cute couple one day.
Unfortunately, just didn’t feel that way about her. Loved spending time with her, talk with her and steal her fries. He really tried to develop feelings, because she’d be everything he would’ve wanted years ago.
But there was no fire, no passion no matter how much he had forced it. He never did figure out why, was fortunate enough that she seemed to share his sentiment. At least he wouldn’t ruin one of his closest friendship by something as dumb as romantic feelings.
“Hearthstone,” Chiaki pulled him out of his thoughts. It took a good second before he realized she was just answering his question from before.
That would probably explain why Nagito was here. He didn’t know much about the online card game, but he did remember the RNG of the card packs. She probably invited him as her personal good luck charm.
And the infuriating thing? It was working. She cheered at the legendary card she pulled, “Sweet!”
Said good luck charm clapped gleefully at the accomplishment, “Wonderful job, Nanami-san!”
“You know it’s by chance and not skill, right?”
“Interesting, are you implying Hinata-kun knows anything about skill?” Nagito bit back, his eyes lidded in a guise of boredom.
And the teasing lithe just came naturally to Hajime at this point, “Are you an expert on skill, you sure seem skilled using your mouth-”
“Guys,” Chiaki sighed loudly. The bickering not new to her, but still able to grating nerves at the display of their petty exchange, “am I going to have to make a friendship sweater?”
“Don’t you dare,” Hajime hissed back, yet couldn’t help the twitch of his lips pulling into a smile at Chiaki’s joke.
“Alright, then knock it off for five minutes. I can’t concentrate like this,” she mumbled as she started an online match.
“Of course, Nanami-san,” the lucky student replied, sickly sweet. Hajime rolled his eyes at him, Nagito responded by sticking out his tongue—like a child.
.
.
.
They made it to three minutes before Nagito shifted—Hajime sighed. They locked eyes, almost hesitatingly. Because what was he supposed to do with the other if they couldn’t bicker?
Should they… talk? Anything would be better than the suffocating silence that hung over them.
“You know, for a-” “So, what would-”
They both decided to speak up—at the same time, effectively interrupting each other. Annoying, just like everything else about the other.
Nagito sighed, “Alright, go on.”
“You first,” Hajime bit back on impulse.
Their briefly shared look turned to straight up glaring at each other. Both too prideful to back down.
But their pride was also their downfall, as Chiaki sighed loudly and forfeited her game, “Really?” she huffed out. And as much as Hajime hated to admit defeat, he hated the look of pure disappointment of his friend more. “I was joking about it literally being five minutes.”
“Sorry,” he said in an empty apology. Stay cordial, be polite; all the things his mother had used to tell him when he was younger, he thought bitterly.
Nagito had to restrain himself for mocking him back, physically having to bite his lip to prevent any poisonous words from leaving them in return. For being so self-deprecating, he sure had a big ego.
“I don’t even know why you guys act like this. It’s not like either of you.”
“He started it,” Hajime hissed in defense, earning a loud scoff from the other as an answer.
Chiaki glared at Nagito at the noise, who quickly slinked back into obedience, “Well, end it. Both of you.”
“Yes, Nanami-san.”
They shared a look. So, now what? Shake hands and pretend everything is rainbows and sunshine? He’d laugh at the thought if that wouldn’t made Chiaki even more upset.
Really, it would just be so much easier to ignore the others’ remarks. To walk away when Nagito was trying to get a rise out of him, he’d done so with others before. He’s avoided conflict numerous times, knew when to not take the obvious bait.
But something was different with the lucky student. He couldn’t place his finger on it, but the idea of not entertaining their little feud seemed—impossible.
There was something about Nagito that demanded his attention, for better or for worse.
Mostly the latter.
But Chiaki was important to him. He’d swallow his pride for her, just this once. So, in an effort to appease the girl he awkwardly leaned over the chair and threw an arm around the tense shoulders of Nagito in a side hug. He could feel his hand graze against those sharp collarbones, soft underneath the burning pads of his fingers.
“Look. buddies,” he grinned out with faked enthusiasm.
He’d mockingly referred to them as such to Chiaki before, so that wasn’t anything new. Only those time it was just them and no other spectators. Nagito stayed surprisingly quiet for once.
Chiaki just gave Hajime a disappointing look.
“Is it too much to ask for my two friends to get along with each other?” she sighed in defeat. “Or at the very least not argue every second.”
He felt Nagito flinch under him, realizing he still had an arm slung over him. He was about to retreat when the look of the other caught his eye, stunning him frozen.
Because Nagito was absolutely beaming. Genuine happiness at being called someones friend momentarily putting their little feud aside.
And from up close he could see the sparkle in his eyes, the tilt of his head that made his hair bounce, the gentle upturn of his mouth pulled into a bright smile. His nose scrunched, flush forming on the bridge and spreading towards his cheeks.
He looked happy.
He looked-
pretty.
And wasn’t that an intrusive thought, completely unwelcome in Hajime’s once sane head. Because, surely he must’ve hit his head somewhere to think that.
It was no secret Nagito could be considered—attractive— for lack of better words. Hajime had eyes, he couldn’t deny that; knew it since the first day they’d met. Even if his face was twisted into a frown and that sharp tongue was forming insults.
But there was an unspoken rule in his head to never bring that up, never acknowledge it.
And he’s been doing a pretty good job until that asshole decided to smile like that, head practically leaning on Hajime’s chest at the close proximity-
A bit too late, he realized he was still giving him an awkward side hug. Too distracted to retract when it was still considered acceptable. He was probably looking a bit too long, starting a little too intently. Lucky for him, Nagito seemed too distracted himself to notice.
But Chiaki did.
No time to dwell on that. He slowly leaned away from the warm body while Nagito rambled something about being ‘lucky’ to be considered her friend. Hilarious, Hajime thought sarcastically.
His hand burnt as it slid over soft skin while he retracted, the phantom of sharp collarbones a memory on his fingertips.
Hajime ignored the way they itched.
They received another lecture, and at the sad pout on Chiaki’s face he’d promised he wouldn’t say something truly mean anymore, at least not in front of her.
And Nagito had agreed surprisingly easily.
Chiaki looked doubtful, but didn’t decide to dwell on it. She really was too patient and trusting. Hajime didn’t want to betray that trust; Nagito for once, seemed to agree with him.
So he bit his tongue for the rest of the evening. Might’ve cursed maybe a bit too aggressively to be considered friendly when Nagito easily beat him in all of Chiaki’s video games, but stayed generally lighthearted enough. Plausible deniability for a friendly banter.
Nagito, in return, might’ve jabbed smugly at his loss in return. Always the cocky bastard, it seemed. Yet he had given him a smile like an olive branch, somehow still able to look mocking.
At least Chiaki seemed satisfied enough. And perhaps Hajime might’ve actually had fun with them. Not like he would admit so to the other, though. While watching the other get game-breakingly lucky—finally a worthy opponent for Chiaki, he couldn’t help but think that keeping his promise wouldn’t be as hard as he had initially thought.
Nagito had said his goodbyes, claiming he had overstayed his welcome. And as he was leaving, halfway thought the door, Hajime dared to sneak a glance at that tight—tight denim.
Damn.
As he walked to his usual meetup spot by the fountain, a most despairing sight had met Hajime.
Nagito Komaeda eating peacefully on the bench near the glistening water, fine mist casting an illusion of a rainbow over him.
Because of course it did.
And if he hadn’t promised Chiaki to meet her for lunch, he would’ve turned around and left before the other could even acknowledge his presence. He cursed under his breath for being a ‘good friend’ as he walked towards the ledge, leaning against it casually while he waited.
Or as casually as he could with the wind spraying the fountain’s water onto his face in a fine mist.
While trying to squint away the unwelcome shower, he noticed Nagito wordlessly scooting over on the bench he was sitting on. A silent invitation.
And as inexplicable it was for Nagito to offer, it was equally inexplicable for Hajime to take him up on said offer as he sat down next to the other student.
Nagito was blowing on a spoonful of soup before delicately lifting it to his lips. If it were anyone else, Hajime would ask what flavor—a recipe perhaps. As much as he seemed guarded, he liked to talk with others.
But he really didn’t know how to, because as easy it was for him to converse to others—that sentiment didn’t seem to translate to Nagito Komaeda.
So they sat in silence.
It was oddly cordial. He wasn’t sure why he was disappointed about that. He had promised Chiaki, after all.
At least when they’d bicker they’d acknowledge each other, he thought bitterly. An unknown feeling tugging at him at the idea of Nagito ignoring him.
Instead of dwelling on that, he peeled his eyes from the others’ lunch and let his gaze wander to the courtyard in front.
From here, he could see the trees swaying. The once blooming cherry blossoms now a dust of the past, scattered petals on the grass the only proof of them ever being there.
Hajime had always loved cherry blossom season, who didn’t? But while others would often wish for it to last longer, he couldn’t help but think that the end of April was his favorite part. When the petals would fall, the once vibrant pink mottling into a ghost of what it once was.
The fact that it was fleeting was his favorite thing about it; made it feel special to him.
And if he thoughts the color of the withering petals reminded him of the equally pink flush of Nagito—well, he wouldn’t admit so.
As it has been for a while now, somehow all his thoughts would circle back to the same thing—or perhaps—the same person.
For someone who tried his best to be invisible to the world around him, Nagito sure stood out to Hajime. It was easier to just be annoyed at the other than to look too much into it. Easier to just bicker and tease him until he’d stumbled in embarrassment.
Which made him think back to all the teasing he had bestowed upon the boy next to him. Nagito was always so responsive to his suggestive words. He never met anyone who was so prudish before, especially not anyone at their age.
Surely there was a good reason.
It made him speculate. Perhaps intentionally, perhaps on accident, Hajime wondered out loud, “Are you a virgin?”
And it was funny, really. Because who starts a conversation like that?
Nagito coughed around his spoon, obviously not expecting the question either. Because Hajime would only bring up something like this during their spats, and they had promised a truce. He whipped his head towards the voice in question, and angry scowl accompanied by a blooming fluster.
But his blush settled down when he assumingely saw no trace of teasing in the hazel eyes of Hajime.
A genuine question.
An indignant huff was all Hajime got for a reply for the longest time. The puff of air rustling the strand of hair that would always fall against the bridge of his nose.
The silence stretched. He was sure the other wouldn’t answer at this point. Hajime really didn’t blame him. He honestly doesn’t even know why he had asked, because it definitely wasn’t an appropriate question. And he definitely didn’t care about the answer, either.
Nagito surprised him with a sigh of defeat, “Isn’t it obvious?” he hummed into the air, his guard up and words calculated until he noticed the other wasn’t going to make fun of him.
Hajime just shrugged. If it was obvious he wouldn’t be asking; he wanted to tell him so as well. Something told him he should stay quiet, so he did.
Nagito glanced down at his now forgotten lunch.
“I’m sure the reserve course isn’t as picky with who they lay with—but… well, the people here have standards,” and then much quieter, not intended for Hajime’s ears but still somehow audible to the brunette. “Nobody would stoop as low to associate with someone as revolting as myself.”
“You’re not revolting,” Hajime interjected before he could stop himself. He received a puzzled look and couldn’t help but be confused himself. Because this is not how their banter usually goes. Franky—it was hardly a banter and more a full on conversation.
A heart-to-heart, if you will. Chiaki would be so proud.
To save face, he quickly added, “Annoying and a pain in the ass, but not... that."
A breathy chuckle passed Nagito’s lips, anything but amusing, “Aha, as I thought—the reserve course really doesn’t have any standards!”
And he wanted to bite back, would’ve thrown back an equally insulting statement about the other if the slight redness of his cheeks didn’t give him pause. The tension between them was palpable, but for once, Hajime found himself studying Nagito. The way his eyes darted to the side, avoiding contact with Hajime’s gaze. It was a different kind of vulnerability than what he had seen before. Something genuine. Something he was good enough at hiding that Hajime had never noticed it before.
Hajime should be the one insulting him. It wasn’t fun when Nagito did it himself
“I’m not teasing you,” Hajime said, his voice soft enough to be swept away in the wind. “I meant it. You’re not revolting.”
Nagito’s eyes snapped back to him, all wide and shiny and skeptical.
But he remained quiet, and the only thing Hajime knew what to do when things got awkward was to run his mouth, “You’re not as bad as you make yourself out to be.”
Nagito looked away again, a breathless chuckle playing on his lips. Only to be replaced by a thoughtful silence. Hajime could see the gears turning in his head, could see him trying to make sense of his words. It was a strange sight, Nagito lost in thought, his eyes unfocused and his lips slightly parted. Hajime found himself entranced by the sight.
His ears looked as pink as the petals near his feet, Hajime couldn’t help but notice.
“I… I see,” Nagito finally said, his voice soft and contemplative. He turned to look at Hajime, his eyes meeting again but this time without any of the usual defiance or sarcasm. “Thank you, Hinata-kun.”
Hajime felt a pressure on his chest, the spring breeze feeling slightly cooler than before. He found himself at a loss for words, his mind blank and his tongue tied.
“You’re welcome,”
he lamely managed to say, more a question than a statement. And because he didn’t know what else to say, he decided to end the conversation there before he said any more stupid things. His gaze landing on the swaying trees and the scattered petals on the grass.
They sat in silence for a while, the sound of the fountain and the rustling of the leaves the only thing breaking the quiet. The murmur of other students around him white noise. Hajime could feel Nagito’s eyes boring into the side of his face. He resisted the urge to look back.
As his gaze lingered on the pebbled road ahead, Hajime couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction in the way the conversation had turned out. It was a surprise to see Nagito’s usual façade of indifference break, to see him truly vulnerable. And it was as if by some stroke of luck, Hajime had been the one to cause it.
For the first time since they started their petty rivalry, Hajime felt a genuine connection with Nagito.
Seconds drawled into minutes in their comfortable silence, until the inevitable end of their lunch break. No goodbyes were shared, as always. They simply parted ways without addressing each other’s presence. But unlike other times, he couldn’t help but notice his feet felt a little bit heavier, dragged a little bit slower as they walked away into opposite directions.
He never did meet up with Chiaki for lunch. Something had ‘came up’, she had said. He would’ve known if he had checked his phone, didn’t occur to him to look prior.
Somehow, he didn’t feel as bummed about missing their lunch as he’d normally would.
Classes had sucked. Midterm were agonizing to the point of him wanting to pull his hair out. If he had to look at one more scantron he’d lose it.
So the distraction to meet up with Ibuki after classes was a welcomed one to Hajime. The bubbly girl always managing to make her excitement contagious, an optimism that he lacked no matter how good he’d felt.
All of his anticipation quickly disappeared the second he had walked into the classroom of 77-B, though. Entering, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease. The air felt heavier, he couldn’t shake off the feeling of impending doom.
His skin itched, he tried not to scratch it.
Before he could even process what could possibly cause him unease, Nagito was standing up suddenly, his chair scraping against the floor like nails on a chalkboard. It sounded loud—demanding of his attention. He walked over to Hajime, his steps measured and deliberate; gait as graceful as always with a newfound heaviness to it.
His muddy green glare looking colder than usual.
“Hinata,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. The lack of honorifics was almost as loud as the huffed breath he released, “we need to talk.”
Hajime’s heart skipped a beat. He had no idea what Nagito wanted to talk about, but he had a feeling it wasn’t going to be good, because-
they don’t do talking.
“What is it?” he asked in return, trying to keep his voice steady. It was hard keeping eye contact with the way Nagito’s seemed to burn, an animosity he’d never seen before in the other. surprising, as he had seen the other angry numerous times before.
He leaned in closer, crowding his personal space and letting his breath fall hotly against Hajime’s ear in a whisper, “Not here.”
Hajime’s mind raced. Because, okay… that did things to him. And it was infuriating that his mind decided to focus on that, when this was an obviously serious situation by the stern look on the other’s face.
Hajime scrambled behind the other, who had already left without waiting for an answer. It was hard keeping up with his long strides that had walked them into a computer room adjacent to their classroom.
Conveniently empty. That seem to happen a lot around the lucky student.
The door was barely shut before Nagito gritted out, “You’re failing your classes,” it wasn’t a question.
“Class, singular,” he replied automatically, defensively. “Regardless, how’d you know?”
Nagito just looked exasperated, “Does it really matter?”
Hajime wasn’t sure which statement he had responded to. Wasn’t going to ask for clarification, either. Assuming this was going to take a while, he leaned his hips against one of the empty tables further into the room, “Why do you care?”
Nagito had followed him, seemingly deciding that there couldn’t be more than two feet between them. He jabbed a finger squarely on Hajime’s chest, “You’re sullying the school with your incompetence.”
“Oh, actually fuck off.”
Maybe he had let his guard down, had thought that their arguments had simmered down to something a bit more cordial—friendly perhaps. His ignorance was his own wrongdoing.
Overcome by cold betrayal, he shoved the other away perhaps a little too roughly. He wanted space—wanted to be as far away as possible. Why did Nagito being mean to him suddenly hurt as much as it did? It only took him a few steps to near the exit of the classroom.
He grasped the doorknob, quiet and safety just behind the mahogany wood, until a desperate voice had stopped him,
“You’re throwing away your future!”
Hajime paused, hand awkwardly in the air and halfway through the door, stunned still. He contemplated leaving, let the other’s voice drown out as he would drown his hurt in a sea of regrets.
He shut the door and turned around to face Nagito instead, “It’s just fucking ethics.”
Nagito looked unimpressed, but Hajime saw a glint of desperation in his eyes no matter how hard he had tried to hide it, he walked closer, “I only missed one exam,” he doesn’t know why he wanted to appease the other—explain himself.
Make him
not worry?
He doesn’t know why his fingers tingled in shame at the disappointing look of Nagito, “I’ll be exempt for it anyway,” he mumbled quietly. Because he knew while his grade showed an uppercase F, at the end of the semester the lowest test grade would be dropped, bumping him to a more manageable C. Sweet mediocrity, he thought bitterly.
Nagito’s face flashed from surprise to thoughtful, before finally settling on embarrassment, “Oh,” he said airily, pink dusting his cheeks at the realization his little outburst was complete unwarranted.
“Why would you care, anyway,” Hajime repeated.
“You made Chiaki worry.”
“Okay, now I know you’re talking out of your ass because she’s definitely not worried,” Hajime stepped closer, tables turned as he was the one crowding the other’s space now. Practically trapping him between the desk behind and the intense stare of Hajime in front. “She knew it would be exempt, which begs the questions. How did you know?”
Because if Chiaki had told Nagito, she would’ve surely mentioned all the details.
Instead of an answer, Nagito threw him an unreadable expression, “I don’t have time for this,” he deflected.
And that pissed him off, “Now you decide you don’t have time? After you dragged me away?”
Nagito seemed to contemplate something, a war within his own mind. The seconds passing feeling like minutes, Hajime noticing perhaps a bit too later that he never pulled away from their close proximity. It was evident when he could practically feel the breath of a sigh ghost over his face.
Whatever argument Nagito had in his head seemingly decided. Hajime had half a mind to think that he didn’t like the side that had won; lamented by the way the other retreated.
For some reason it felt harder to breathe with the increasing distance.
Nagito walked away, his shoulder scraping Hajime’s. Brief, unintentional, burning—effectively distracting him enough to forget to move, to say something. Until Nagito was already at the door, feet halfway in the hallways beyond.
He seemed disappointed that Hajime hadn’t tried to stop him, he’d realized a bit too late.
“Bye, Hinata-kun.”
The sound of the door closing behind Nagito would echo in his mind for two weeks.
The only sound he’d hear from the other, because whenever Hajime would step into their classroom, Nagito would quietly leave. Noticed him turn and walk the other way when he’d see him in the courtyard. Chiaki had told him he’d deny all her invitations to hang out, to prevent even the possibility of Hajime being there.
He was avoiding him.
And that was even more frustrating than the constant insults he’d use to spew. It made Hajime just mad in return, easy to pretend that the hurt was guised frustration.
His anger being fueled as Chiaki was interrogating him about said situation, as if Hajime would have the answers.
“Just—go back to fighting. I preferred that over you guys avoiding each other.”
Hajime scoffed bitterly, “Sure. Let me just go to his room and insult him. I’m sure that’ll start the ball rolling.”
“Maybe you should.”
“I was joking, Chiaki,” the fact that he had to explain that an amusing thought. He would’ve laughed if they weren’t in this situation.
“His dorm isn’t too far from here,” she pressed, intent on having them patch up things and patch them up now. Her dedication was admirable, albeit ignorant.
“I’m not going there.”
“Please, Hajime,” she pouted, her head hanging low in defeat, “I promised I would look out for everyone when I became class rep. I can’t just abandon that when school is about to end.”
Strong willed and prideful, that’s what the girl in front of him was. Too caring for her own good, willing lifting the burden of those close to her to help, to alleviate the pressure. Chiaki was a great friend, something he'd cherished with all his heart.
“His wellbeing shouldn’t be your responsibility.”
“If I don’t then nobody will!” Chiaki rarely got emotional, so the almost frantic exclamation made Hajime pause. “Come on, I care about you guys.”
He stared out the one window in the room, one that overlooked the courtyard of Hope’s Peak. He always thought her room had the best view.
The cherry blossoms had all wilted, leaving the branches oddly bare. He’d have to wait another year to catch a glimpse of the vibrant pink again.
Fleeting, the rarity of their display only adding to their beauty.
They do say distance makes the heart fonder.
And it had been two weeks since he had a conversation with Nagito, seen the lucky student acknowledge his presence.
Two weeks of not seeing the way he’d scrunch up his nose as he said something mean spirited, making it lose its edge.
Two weeks of not seeing his gait, graceful strides that would walk alongside him, practically imprinted on Hajime’s mind.
Two weeks of not seeing those rare moments of vulnerability. Fleeting, like the petals outside—long gone.
“Fine,” He decided. It’s not like there was really any consideration of doing otherwise, “but don’t expect me to apologize.”
“That’s fine,” she sighed in relief. He guessed this was really eating at her, her sense of responsibility of those around her both her strength and weakness, “I rather see you guys pretend you hate each other than avoid each other.”
“Pretend?”
Chiaki just gave him a look like she knew something he didn’t, “Hajime.”
.
.
.
.
.
“You owe me,” he said.
She smiled.
Never in his life had Hajime felt threatened by an inanimate object.
But the mahogany in front of him was absolutely—without a doubt—glaring at him. He glared back just as intensely.
He probably looked like an idiot, standing in the dorm hallways and having a staring contest with a door. It’s not the first time he had made a fool out of himself, probably won’t be the last.
But the stray glances he’d receive from the occasional student walking past made his skin crawl. He had had a time limit, because he’d either knock now or get security called on him.
Maybe he still gets security called on him if he did knock.
The wood burned against his knuckle as he lightly tapped against it, consciously reminding himself to knock like a normal adult instead of his usual songs. Perhaps if he did it quietly enough the other wouldn’t hear. Maybe his luck would make him not be in his dorm room altogether.
His hopes shattered as the door opened, Nagito looking confused at the unexpected visitor.
Until that confusion morphed into agitation. He would’ve just slammed the door shut if it wasn’t for Hajime blocking it with his foot.
It had hurt, just not on physically.
“Just tell me what your problem is so I can leave,” he gritted out, palm against the door and pushing. Not enough to open it, but giving the other the weight of knowing he could.
“You are my problem, Hinata-kun.”
“Great. So we’re on the same page. If Chiaki asks, we talked.”
He released his hold on the door, retreated his foot. He had tried. With a huff of defeat Hajime turned around, fully intending on walking the long trek towards the exit of the ultimates’ dormitories, towards his own room.
He’d just call Kazuichi or text ibuki, maybe finish that book, he only had a couple of chapters left after all. Distract from the ache, pretend it wasn’t there.
“wait-”
It was barely audible over his shoes squeaking against the floor. Hajime could just pretend he didn’t hear him, continuing his departure and pretending none of this happened—none of the past month had happened. To just go on with his life like usual.
He glanced over his shoulder instead, watching Nagito hesitantly open his door wider. An invitation, his face sighing in defeat, “You know I can’t lie to her, she’ll find out within minutes.”
That was something they’d both agreed on, a common ground, they couldn’t disappoint their friend.
So for the same reason as Nagito inviting him in, Hajime walking back towards that cursed door, glaring at it one last time. As he stepped inside the other’s dorm he could hear the sharp click of the automatic lock.
In the deafening silence, Hajime absorbed his surroundings.
A neatly made bed with pure white sheets, a tall bookcase filled with books—loaned and owned the like—stood tall next to a comfortable looking lounge chair. A laptop and some papers scattered on an expensive looking desk.
The room lacked any decoration, no artworks on the walls or trinkets on shelves. The only thing livening up the room a plant standing tall and proud near the window. Hajime didn’t recognize it, but its large green leaves were unmistakable as it soaked up the UV rays.
It somehow appeared homey, couldn’t understand why.
The window, perhaps with an even nicer view than that of Chiaki’s, was opened and letting a pleasant breeze in. It made the room smell faintly of blossoms and sunshine.
He turned his attention of the owner of said room, looking oddly out of place in his own personal space. He was wearing some loose, dark green shorts that hit just above his knees, and a tattered, light band shirt. He didn’t recognize the band, could probably guess Nagito didn’t either, but was gifted it and accepted it gratefully.
It’s funny how a simple wardrobe could tell such a story about someone’s personality. Hajime felt oddly overdressed in his jeans.
“Okay. So talk,” Hajime broke the silence.
For being so tall, a whopping 1 inch taller than Hajime, he sure looked small. He nervously twiddled with his fingers, a childishly endearing gesture.
It was clear that Nagito was not going to be the first to break the silence. For once, quiet and looking expectantly at Hajime.
Hajime sighed at the look in return.
He should be mad—livid, but he just couldn’t. Instead of anger all Hajime had was curiosity. He just wanted to know what was so important that made Nagito avoid him like the plague. Because, surely if it was that important he deserved to know too, right?
“What are you running from?”
Nagito flinched at his words, not expecting the silence to be broken just yet. It was odd seeing the other so skittish, did he get like this often? More questions—he’s not sure how to ask.
Nearly in a whisper, a carefully calculated answer that sounded foreign to his ears, “I don’t like seeing you waste your potential.”
“Why do you care?” he had repeated the same question from two weeks ago, this time not letting the other out of his grasp until he got an answer. Because he didn’t understand—wanted to understand.
Nagito just looked agitated at him, “Because I just do, okay?” he said maybe a little too forcefully, the previous uncertainty melting into anger. Back to the personality Hajime recognized.
Hajime let him simmer on his little outburst, curious about how his train of thought was going to play out. There was obviously more the other wanted to say, that same battle in his head as two weeks prior. Nagito rubbed his fingers against his temple, as if that would draw out the answers.
It seemed that the other side had won this time, as he didn’t flee or push the brunette away, “You’re just so… easy,” he let his arm flop limply against his sides again.
Wow, rude. “What?” he let his eyes drop in a stare that just screamed ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed.’
“Not like that!” he blushed, trying to recover from his awkward choice of words, “uhm. Easy to talk to, I meant.”
Hajime laughed before he realized that was not a socially acceptable response, “I’d call what we do hardly talking,” he mused.
“People don’t like me, Hinata-kun.”
“I get it… I do!” Nagito looked so vulnerable, wringing his hands together. “Just—it gets tiring being avoided.”
His chest squeezed in sympathy. He didn’t know what to say, how to drown out the loneliness that the other surely felt. It was starting to become pretty obvious to Hajime that Nagito’s thoughts were anything but nice, even towards himself.
Nagito continued, “But you never did,” the conversation was starting to become a bit one sided but Hajime had no idea what to reply. None of this explained why Nagito was avoiding him.
“Even when I say the worst things, you still come back,” he chuckled, before hastily adding. “Not that I’m saying you’d willingly spending time with me!”
He could work with that, found something to retort to try and lighten the mood, “Don’t flatter yourself, you’d never be able to force me to do anything.”
Nagito threw him a glare, just not as sharp as it used to be. All Hajime could think about was the way his pale lashes fanned with each slow blink. Had his lashes always been that long?
“Others like you, you know that right?” Hajime quietly added, absentmindedly. “I mean, I’m here now. Isn’t that proof enough?”
Leave it to Nagito to zero on to the one thing Hajime didn’t want him to hear, “What are you implying?”
“That—I don’t know, don’t put words into my mouth!”
For some reason, Nagito seemed satisfied with his non answer, hearing something in Hajime’s words that he himself didn’t. Always two steps ahead, Hajime just helplessly trying to catch up.
He sighed, breathing in deeply to calm his nerves. Why was he feeling jittery all of the sudden? There was no reason to be so nervous, Hajime told himself.
The bright light from outside cast a warm glow over the other, heating up the otherwise cold looking skin. Nagito’s eyes looked silver in the sunlight. The tips of his hair having a barely pink tint to it, now that he focused on it.
His palms felt clammy.
He wasn’t really sure what to do with his hands, standing oddly in the middle of Nagito’s dorm. The large space feeling claustrophobic.
“What’s on your mind?” too personal, it felt odd asking Nagito that. So, he added with a teasing lithe. “Surely your head isn’t as empty as you make it seem”
“Just… explain me why, Hinata-kun.”
Explain what, exactly? He didn’t know what the other wanted him to say. It’s like a riddle talking with Nagito, and he was never good at puzzles. Instead, he just made an attempt of a shrug, hoping that would portray his confusion.
“Why are you here,” he specified.
Because Chiaki told me to, he wanted to say. An easy explanation, to not reveal more than necessary. As long as be kept himself guarded he wouldn’t be able to get hurt again.
“Because I care…” he mumble instead, “about you.”
Nagito laughed, short and sharp. More of a wheeze than an expression of joy, yet lacking any mockery. He looked at Hajime, his face morphed in an unreadable expression.
Silver in the sunlight.
It fit him. Rare and tough like platinum. Elegant when molded into fine jewelry. precious metal, more valuable than gold. That’s what the color of his eyes looked like.
And those eyes looked away in defeat, downcast underneath those pale, long lashes, “I thought I could only idolize those blessed with talent.”
“It was never
supposed
to be
y
o
u
”
Words. Hajime had forgotten how they worked, how to utter them. Surely he didn’t hear that right. He practically wheezed out, “I—you idolize me?”
“You’re smart, witty, charismatic, athletic, attractive-”
he let his voice trail off into a whisper, until Hajime could barely hear him—had to strain his ears to catch it. Not a problem, as he was glued to every breath the other muttered,
“How could I possibly not worship?”
For the first time, it was Hajime who had flushed bright red. Because that was something, “Could’ve fooled me.” He choked out, totally composed.
“You go against all my beliefs, my ideology. I should loathe you…” Nagito glanced away, an unreadable expression on his face. “So it’s easier to pretend that I do.”
“Wow, okay,” he didn’t know how to feel; about this situation and about the boy he was having said situation with. This seemed like this was gnawing on Nagito longer than just a couple of months.
He’s just getting more confused with every answer his mind tried to conjure up, “I don’t really understand why considering the way I acted towards you.”
“Pardon me for assuming, but I could ask the same to you,” Nagito was smart; deceitfully so. It came to no surprise he’d pick apart Hajime’s words and mannerisms and came to his own conclusion.
Hajime couldn’t help but chuckle at their social skills, or lack thereof. He felt like an idiot—probably looked like one too with the way he just snickered while Nagito was pouring his cold, decrepit heart out.
And, yeah. Nagito could read him like a book. Probably knew about Hajime’s affection for him before he himself even realized it; something he still didn’t feel ready to admit. The fact he didn’t use it against him was almost endearing.
Almost.
It was a marvel to see Nagito—socially stunted, introverted, insecure Nagito—to actually be daring enough to call him out on his unspoken feelings for him; emotions he hasn’t even thought to label yet.
“I guess at least it’s not out of the ordinary for you to be socially inept, I don’t really have an excuse,” Hajime mused out loud, voice light with the ghost of his laughter.
“You have a way with words, truly a charmer,” Nagito deadpanned in return.
And, yeah… that wasn’t necessarily a nice thing to say. Old habits. He should probably apologize, if his stubborn pride didn’t prevent him from uttering those simple words.
“Well, what’d you expect from a reserve course,” Hajime mumbled instead.
Nagito’s eyes widened, surprise clearly written over his face. It’s not often his face portrays his emotions.
Perhaps that was what enticed Hajime to make him blush in embarrassment. Because it was one of the few genuine expressions he’d expressed. He couldn’t dwell on that revelation for very long, as a snort interrupted his inner monologue.
Nagito was giggling, laughing as he clutched his midriff. And now it was Hajime’s turn to be stunned into silence.
Because he’s heard Nagito make many noises, but never full blow, genuine laughter.
It was a nice noise, Hajime decided.
Smitten. Perhaps that was a proper word about how he felt about the other. It made sense, with the way he was always captivated by the other—all being it involuntary. It wasn’t the worship that Nagito had shamelessly admitted; but that was no surprise. Hajime didn’t work in extremes like Nagito often did.
Which—really got his blood pumping. Because Nagito did admit to having feelings for him, right? The confession made him feel high on adrenaline.
And he blamed the late spring breeze that drifted through the cracked opened window. Blamed the pollen that surely muddled his mind enough to lean forward and capture those smiling lips into his own, swallowing the wheezing chuckles.
Laughter made way for a surprised gasp—bordering a whine. And perhaps, that noise was even nicer to Hajime.
“Shut up,” he breathed against aghast lips before enveloping them once again; just a taste, he told himself, nothing more.
Fleeting,
Nagito was never one to listen to him, though. Proving by the way he was anything but silent. An embarrassingly loud whimper escaped his throat. For once, Hajime wasn’t mad he didn’t listen to him.
It did all kinds of things to his ego with how easy it was to rile the other up; to make him sigh against his lips as Hajime deepened the kiss, let his hand linger over his waist in a barely there touch. Not daring to actually grasp.
The inexperience of the lucky student was palpable. His hands clumsily gripping Hajime’s biceps and his mouth awkwardly trying to keep up.
It was almost-
cute.
Hajime had made his point across. Gotten a taste of desire he had denied himself of ever wanting. He’d retract and they’d talk about their feelings like adults.
He totally should. Talk.
Hajime darted his tongue against his instead. Easily slipping inside to taste the other fully. Feeling encouraged by the sounds, he tightened his grip let his hands wander towards Nagito’s hips who shuddered in return.
Nagito tasted like the summer morning dew, he decided. He licked against the other teeth, obnoxiously—perfectly straight. The sharp edge of Nagito’s canine deliciously scraping against him.
fleeting,
Hesitantly, Nagito dragged his tongue against Hajime’s mouth; desperately trying to reciprocate their kiss. Gasoline to the fire.
Hajime let his hands glide down, towards the other’s backside. Uncharted territory, one he wouldn’t dare to admit he’d glanced at before. Because, as annoying as Nagito could be, nobody could deny how utterly beautiful he was.
fleeting,
He would often doubt the others’ talent, but there was no denying that luck would be the only explanation on why he had the nicest, tightest ass on campus. Nagito truly did win the genetic lottery.
Hajime squeezed appreciatively. Surely he didn’t deserve the unadulterated moan Nagito gave him at the action. Straight into his mouth—straight to his dick.
“You’re infuriating,” Hajime said against parted lips before gliding down towards his jaw with gentle nibbles and love bites.
“If you’re only doing this to prove a point—you should probably leave,” Nagito breathed with a guarded edge.
fleeting,
“What if the point is that I want this?” he kissed an apology against his skin, “want you.”
“Why?” Nagito practically sobbed out as Hajime sucked on the delicate skin just below his ear. He enjoyed the drag of his teeth against the flesh. He really wanted to bite until marks were imprinted—hickeys defiling the flawless skin— but didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.
That would imply belongings.
“Because you’re smart, witty, charismatic, athletic, attractive,” Hajime echoed teasingly, smile ghosting against the others’ pulse point, “well, maybe not athletic.”
Because the truth was, they both wanted the same thing. Two magnets always pulling them in, opposites yet so similar. Arguing with a passion Hajime has never felt for anyone else before.
He felt stupid for not seeing it clearly before, it’s not like these feelings felt particularly new to him. Masked by his guise of agitation.
And instead of dwelling on how sappy that sounded, Nagito instead teased back, “You think I can’t outrun you?” he asked with a smile.
One of those smiles that were reserved only for moments of genuine happiness, one he had only witnessed once before and hasn’t stopped thinking about since.
f L E e T i n G -
To prove a point—perhaps to show off—he lifted Nagito by those same thighs he couldn’t take his eyes off of weeks ago. Up into his arms and shamelessly squeezing the supply flesh along the way.
“I’d like to see you try.”
A surprised gasp turned into a whine as he shoved his tongue back into the warmth of Nagito’s mouth, who in return wrapping his legs tightly around Hajime’s middle while his hands flew around his neck to keep himself from falling. The action pressed their bodies flushed, his hips hot and heavy against Hajime’s stomach.
His muscles burned pleasantly at the weight he was now carrying. He couldn’t get enough of Nagito’s taste—of the sounds that spilled pasts those delicious lips.
He could feel the slide of his mouth against his,
feel fingernails pleasantly scraping against his scalp,
feel a moan vibrate against his tongue,
feel the heavy press of Nagito’s weight pressing into his abdomen,
feel the way his hands greedily groped at that perfect ass-
Screw fleeting.
He wanted this forever—wanted this all the time.
Fuck waiting.
Hajime pressed him against the nearest empty wall. Letting his lips glide down over Nagito’s neck, tasted the sweat that was beads of his own doing. Distantly, he could hear the ‘thunk’ of the other’s head falling back against the wall—a shaky breath following.
Being able to let go of the other again, he let one hand slide from his thigh, over his hips and towards his stomach. Gliding underneath the soft cotton and lifting it up along his path upwards. His fingertips almost ticklish against the goosebumps he was skillfully forming.
He was making sure to cant his hips to keep the writhing boy pinned against the wall, as said boy had completely given up on keeping himself upright. The responsibly solely on the brunet to not have him tumbled down with gravity.
While his clumsiness was endearing, he didn’t really want to ruin this moment.
Hajime darted his tongue over sharp collarbones before continuing its journey downwards. His mouth latching on to a now revealed pert nipple, the pad of his thumb slowly circling the other as they both settled on their destination.
Hajime loomed over the other with his other hand still gripping a trembling thigh. Impossible close, the irresistible need to touch. Sweltering heat enveloping around them as Nagito arched into him, a gasp being pulled out as teeth teasingly scraped against sensitive nubs. His hips bucked involuntarily, grinding against Hajime’s abdomen with a desperate need that made Hajime’s breath hitch.
He could practically hear Nagito’s heart pounding against his lips, matching his own erratic rhythm. The other’s hands were tangled in his hair, holding him close as if afraid he would disappear. Hajime relished in the feeling of power that came with knowing he could make the other react like this.
He could feel the other’s muscles tense and relax under his fingers, could feel the way he shivered with every touch. It was intoxicating, addicting. He wanted more,
needed more.
So in a swift motion, he turned them around and unceremoniously dropped him into the pristine sheets below, messing them up into a crumpled mess. The mattress groaned under the sudden weight—said weight did as well.
He thought it was strange when Nagito mentioned he’d worship him. He couldn’t comprehend the notion of devout to another.
But the sight in front of him made him want to kneel down in prayer to a deity he didn’t believe in.
Because damn, he must’ve been blessed to witness such a sight.
His shirt bunched up over his chest, revealing the obscene trail of saliva Hajime had left behind just seconds prior. Beads of sweat from the heat—from the exertion covered him in a sheen. His pale, flushed skin shimmering in the setting sun dappling through the window. Porcelain as pretty as fine china; perhaps as delicate, he’d happily find out.
Because never in his life had he wanted to break something so pretty. Especially with how willing the other looked.
“Hajime.”
His name had never sounded so good, saccharine dripping from the syllables. Kiss bruised lips and red flushed cheeks for Hajime’s eyes only. He cursed himself for wasting so much time with their petty arguments if this is what he’s been missing out on.
To make up for lost time, he made sure to let his mouth explore every expanse of skin. Until the savor of the other was permanently imprinted in his memories. He tasted as sweet as he sounded.
Because the noises were effective at stirring him on even more. They should probably close that window, but both didn’t want to stop what they were doing to do so.
Hajime would just rely on the others’ luck that nobody would hear.
“You okay?” He had to ask, breathe ghosting against heated skin. Had to make sure he wasn’t just imaging this. A dazed nod in return; not what he was looking for, “I need a verbal response.”
“Please-” Hajime couldn't stop the flush on his cheeks at hearing how absolutely desperate the other sounded, “I—um... yes?”
The brunette chuckled, “Wow. If I had known sooner this is how I could shut you up…”
The glare he received was anything but threatening.
Adorable.
There was no resolve left. Nagito had stolen that along with his breath.
“I take it back,” He cooed, letting his hand glide over the tent of his shorts before finally pressing his palm against the other’s clothed erection. “Keep singing for me.”
“Haaahh.”
Hajime had to bit his lip as to not laugh at the other’s frenzied reactions. He couldn’t help but think it was cute at how Nagito squirmed under his touch. He could tease the other all night if he kept getting those reactions.
But as much fun as he was having, his own dick was starting hurt at the way it was pressed against his zipper. He had to get a move on before he’d burst.
He let his tan fingers traced over the waistband of Nagito’s pants. With a swift motion, Hajime tugged them down, over those long—long legs. Making sure to pull his boxers along as well to save him the trip.
His cock was hard and flushed, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. So eager for him.
Hajime couldn’t help but lean in, running his tongue over the sensitive head to taste. Hands clutched into his hair in an instant, pale knees tried to squeeze close in a failed attempt of covering himself. The only thing he managed to do was effectively trap Hajime between his legs.
It’s not like he was going to complain about it.
So while he was stuck there, might as well make the best of it.
He stretched his mouth over his dick, feeling it twitch against the insides of his cheeks. Hajime slacked his jaw, lowering his head slowly to take as many inches he’d manage to fit inside, careful to not go too deep to gag.
The trembling thighs pressed against his ears weren’t able to silence the absolutely sinful noises the lucky student was making. The moans music to Hajime’s ears—could probably cum from the sounds and heavy weight on his tongue alone.
Hajime glanced up to the source of the orchestra of whines, seeing Nagito hide his face in his hands at the sudden eye-contact.
It was hardly surprising how shy the other could get, not the first time he had embarrassed Nagito into a blushing mess. He really did enjoy how the tips of his ears would heat up, flush spreading over the bridge of his nose and down the slender column of his neck.
As nimble fingers spread out to allow a single, glazed-over eye to peek through, Hajime couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement. With a grin, he happily began to put on a show to keep the other’s attention on him. After pulling off completely, he let his tongue loll out; trailing a slow, wet stripe over the other’s heavy cock. Licking an obscene trail and coating his twitching dick with his drool. All the way from the girth at the base, up—up to the twitching head, never breaking eye contact.
“Hnnnnnnn-”
Nagito squeezed his eyes shut in pure, unadulterated bliss.
While the other was distracted enough trying to hide his face, Hajime lifted up those trembling thighs. Off the bed and into the air, pushing until his knees practically made contact with Nagito’s heaving chest.
Before Nagito could complain about the compromising position, practically bend in half with that perfect ass on full display, he attacked his milky thighs with kisses. Mouth gliding over the sensitive skin, encouraged by the needy gasps of the other. He couldn’t help but mark the unblemished skin, sucking hickeys on the otherwise smooth flesh.
Boundaries be damned, he needed to sink his teeth in.
He let his tongue trail down, over the marks, over the expanse of his cheeks, closer—closer. Until he finally trailed a wet stripe over his ass, wetting it obscenely with his drool. It was a good thing he was holding Nagito’s legs down, or he would’ve probably spasmed off the bed at the sensation.
He wanted a playlist of just Nagito’s choked out moans and garbled whines. He flattened out his tongue, licking around the heated muscle; probing but not enough to breech. Playing him like an instrument with the noises he was releasing
He wanted more, still. Nagito made him greedy.
“Please tell me you got lube,” he breathed out, nuzzling against a quaking thigh. With how prudish Nagito had been, there might be a possibility that he doesn’t.
But as it often did with the Nagito Komaeda, luck was on his side.
“Nightstand,” he managed to breathe out. An impressive feat considering how low on oxygen he seemed.
He let himself fall into the mattress to lean over the edge, haphazardly opening aforementioned nightstand.
Grabbing around blindly, he finally found the smooth feeling of plastic. Burrier underneath some notebooks, hiding it as if there was a possibility someone would just barge in and open his drawers.
Hajime noted a small, silicone dildo sitting not too far; equally hidden. A surprising but not unwelcoming addition.
Especially not when his mind would oh so helpful conjure up an imagination of Nagito on his knees, desperately plunging the pink length into the tight heat of his ass.
Damn.
He settled back on his favorite spot in the world right now—in between Nagito’s shaky legs. While Hajime was gone to retrieve the lube, Nagito had uncurled himself with his feet comfortably planted on the plush sheets.
That wouldn’t do.
He ignored the protests he received as he curled the other back into his previous position. With one hand he opened the cap, pouring the substance directly onto heated skin.
He let his finger glide over, coating it before pressing in. Stretching out slowly and coating his insides with lubricant. A slow glide to get the other accustomed to the intrusion, followed by another digit when it got loose enough. Slowly he worked his way up to three; encouraged by the desperate roll of hips, he his tongue accompany it. The snap of his wrist turned faster, searching for that one spot he’d somehow already knew would make Nagito shiver. Call it intuition.
He knew he found his prostate when Nagito practically squealed before hastily covering his mouth with his hands. Tears threatening to spill over as he desperately bit on a knuckle to keep the noises down.
Hajime let his other arm wander, palming Nagito’s erection with slow, deliberate rubs.
It had never felt so good to please.
For as how loud Nagito has been, he was surprisingly quiet when he reached his climax. Thick stands of cum spurted against his heaving chest and face due to the odd angle his body was folded in.
Slowly, he lower shaky thighs back onto the mattress. Hajime couldn’t help but admire his handiwork. Nagito lay there, a mess of trembling limbs and heaving chest, flushed skin glistening with a sheen of sweat and cum. His breath came out in ragged gasps, eyes half-lidded and dazed as he looked up at Hajime.
Hajime stared at a drop of semen that had somehow found its way against panting lips, shiny in the basking sunlight.
He couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the sight before him. Nagito looked utterly—deliciously debauched. And like a magnet, he was drawn in to the other, leaned in for a heavy, lingering kiss.
Hajime’s heart raced as he tasted the bitterness of release that had landed there. He could feel the other’s chest rise and fall against his own, feel the rapid beat of his heart like the whirlwind of the storm inside.
While he pulled back he never let his gaze leave Nagito’s face. He reached out, gently tracing a finger over the pale skin, marveling at the way it flushed under his touch. He couldn’t believe he had ever thought of Nagito as anything less than beautiful, how he could lie to himself for so long.
“Hajime...” Nagito whispered, his voice hoarse from his earlier cries.
“I’m not done with you yet,” Hajime murmured low and huskily. Because they had to make up for lost time, because he was not ready to part yet and try to figure out what to do next. For now, he’d wanted to enjoy the moment. Allow them both to drown in pleasure, breaths mingled into one; expanse of skin explored, marked and tasted.
He barely let the other catch his breath before he went back to his previous efforts, two fingers this time, allowing him to push just that much deeper inside. Just to make sure.
Mostly because he couldn’t get enough of how responsive Nagito was with his digits curled in the scorching heat, ripping the most addicting sounds out of him.
With some amusement, he noted how he was still entirely dressed. Mirrored by Nagito having lost his shorts—his shirt uselessly bunched up over his chest, doing nothing to hide pink, pert nipples. To catch up, he threw off his own shirt off over his head. It was getting too hot, anyway. He just settled on unzipping his pants and leaving the rest on, not wanting to get up to drag them off.
Nagito looked feral at the sight, eyes dazed in admiration.
For all those years of him trying to put him down, he surely was making up for it now with the silent praise. Only stirred Hajime on enough to pull out his erection for the other to see, an admission of how he’d affected him in return.
And it felt good, finally rubbing his neglected length—trying to ease some of the pressure. He squeezed the lube over his dick as he stroked, coating it sufficiently. Making sure to use an obscene amount, because while Nagito seemed to have experimented with himself, this was still his first time.
Hajime stilled as he realized this. That one, little forgotten detail.
The pause in his actions made Nagito look up with a confused tilt of his head. Those eyes an ocean, Hajime would drown if he didn’t look away.
He couldn’t.
Didn’t want to take the other’s innocence, already had guilt gnawing at him for all his actions prior.
Because Nagito was a virgin and Hajime did not feel he was worthy of taking that.
Confusion settled into a frown, a questionable, “What’s wrong?” breathed out by Nagito. Hajime had to bite back a groan with how light and hoarse it had sounded.
“Hey-” his voice sounded rough to his own ears, “let’s just continue what we’ve been doing before.”
deflect
deflect
deflect
“Ah—of course.”
And Nagito looked so dejected it hurt. Hajime’s mind helpfully reciting what he had mentioned near the fountain. Revolting, he had said.
“It’s not because of you, Nagito,” he said before the other could dwell in his head more than he already was. He let his clean hand slide over his knees, gently caressing in a hopefully comforting motion, “really—it’s me.”
Nagito bumped said knee playfully against his side, a small uncertain smile playing on his lips, “Surely all your experience wasn’t a guise?”
“It’s the lack of yours,” Hajime muttered in reply.
And that frown was back. Nagito looked angry.
Nagito looked pissed.
And with his exasperation coursing through his blood, his shyness was momentarily forgotten as he turned over their positions and settled his lap on Haijme’s now supine stomach.
“You’re stopping because I’m a virgin?” he practically spit out above him.
Hajime’s head was still turning from the sudden position change, now being under the other, “I mean—obviously.”
“Why,” he repeated
“Because,” the brunette reasoned, “I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.”
Nagito snorted a bitter, sarcastic laugh.
Hajime rolled his eyes at the childish display. Swallowing his pride and laying his cards on the table, for the other to hopefully understand, “I don’t know if your thick skull has processed this, so let me spell it out for you—I care about you, okay?”
Those green eyes softened in adoration for a split second, Hajime would’ve missed it if he’d blinked, “If you truly do, then show me,” his pale hands felt heavy on his chest as he leaned closer. Hajime amusingly noted the fondling grip on his pectorals, happy he’d decided to add exercise to his hobbies.
His ego swelled.
Nagito looked dazed, let his breath blow hotly against Hajime’s lips to catch his attention. A whisper for his ears only.
“Fuck me, Hajime.”
His brain short-circuited. Because his voice had never sounded so breathy and suggestive—had never heard the other curse. Hajime could feel the other’s dick sliding against his abdomen in encouraging circles, hard and leaking.
Hajime gulped down the saliva that pooled in his mouth.
He probably took too long to reply, because Nagito decided to take manners into his own hands. He lifted up his hips from his stomach, scooting down and rubbing his ass against Hajime’s dick.
The new position allowed him to feel the way his dick pressed against the other’s hole, smearing lube and precum against it. It was warm and inviting—practically begging for his cock.
Hajime was a patient man, but he could not deny the utter temptation that was above him.
Guilt was a future problem.
So he grabbed that perfect ass, squeezing his cheeks maybe a little too rough with his enthusiasm, and helped him get in position. Once aligned, he released one hand from the other’s behind in order to line up his dick while the other pushed him down—
down
DoWn
The heat was scorching. The squeeze too tight; the pained moan above him making it not a very pleasant experience.
But he knew they had to tough it out, rubbed soothing circles on Nagito’s thighs as the tried to adjust to half of his length. Encouraging. And only when the other deemed to be adjusted to the stretch they would lower, taking their time getting accustomed to every inch slowly.
Maybe Nagito being on top wasn’t an ideal position for a first time, but Hajime refused to pull out and having to start all over again.
His furrowed brows turned from uncomfortable to a concentrating frown. His nose would scrunch up when he frowned, Hajime’s brain supplemented unhelpfully.
And after seconds—minutes passed, those glistening eyes finally opened with unshed tears. Green—silver, Hajime might as well be colorblind at this point, as long as he could keep gazing into them. Who would’ve thought drowning would feel so good.
Once the tightness became bearable and Nagito’s face relaxed, Hajime let his palm glide over the other’s dick. Massaging in his rough callouses into the sensitive, slick skin.
“You’re doing great,” He cooed, “so beautiful.”
Nagito shivered at the praise, rubbing his hips hesitantly on his lap.
“Yeah. Just like that, baby,” he got blunt nails digging into his abs as a response, a slightly less hesitant roll of his hips at the encouragement.
“Hah-” Nagito tried to swallow back his moan, to keep the noise from spilling past his lips, but did a terrible job of doing so. The drag of the other’s ass was making Hajime feel lightheaded. Having to consciously remind myself to continue the slow drag against the heavy cock in his palms.
Slowly but surely, Nagito got adjust enough to clumsily lift his hips up and down on the thick length inside. The increasing speed equally increasing his noises.
His mind felt like mush. Everything felt so warm and soft and wet. He didn’t know whether he should focus on blissed out look on Nagito’s face, the trembling thighs marred with hickeys on full display or bouncing cock peeking out from underneath his shirt. What a terrible time to only have one pair of eyes.
He wasn’t sure if he was dreaming, that this was truly happening. He forgot how he got here in the first place, stopping caring to remember the details. All he wanted to think about was the way those hands clenched around his chest to keep himself upright. The way that slow drag pulled at his erection better than anything ever had. The way those moans would breathe straight into his face and over Hajime’s lips.
He could practically taste the pleasure Nagito was feeling in those gasps.
Hajime let go of his dick, grabbed those thighs instead; feeling the muscles underneath exerting with each rise. He wasn’t kidding when he said he thought Nagito wasn’t athletic. So in order to alleviate some of the strain, his hands groped the other’s hips to help him move. Nagito threw his head back at the fondling grip.
Only for him to pause in a choked out moan. Because with him sitting up straighter, the angle of his thrusts had changed too.
Hajime could swear he saw his eyes swirl as he pushed his full weight into the new angle, grinding experimentally. All pretense of awkwardness and shyness disappearing.
Nagito let his hips cant forward as he dropped his hand behind him to settle on the denim clad thighs, leaning his torso back with his shaky limbs supporting the backward tilt. Even through his jeans he could feel the bite of fingernails, regretting his decision to not remove his pants earlier.
He couldn’t fret long, as the angle put the beautiful body on top of him on display. He wanted to rip off that stupid shirt for obscuring his view. Give it his undivided attention. All he could do was he look—stare—at the man in his lap, Hajime’s grip on the other’s hips tight in anticipation.
All he could do was worship, he corrected himself.
Nagito lowered hesitantly, practically sobbing as the thick cockhead inside rammed dead-on against his prostate.
“Haaahhhnnnnnn n n ~”
His hips became a blur as he desperately chased the pleasure he was feeling, moans stuttering at the force. Nagito Komaeda bouncing on his dick. Hajime felt dirty even thinking it, not believing this was actual reality.
The combination of Nagito being slim enough—Hajime well endowed enough and the stretching angle of the other’s hips allowed him to see; the slightest bulge on top of his pelvis with every downward thrust, his dick pushing through in a visible display.
Worship
The flesh under his hands felt so good to grip and dig his nails in, leaving more marks on the beautiful expanse of skin. His teeth ached in the way he wanted to mark every inch of his body, put his claim on the mirage on top of him. He was so flawless it hurt; he wanted to defile that perfection and ruin him for everyone else.
Because Hajime was a selfish man.
He held Nagito still in his biting grip, letting his own hips snap up feverishly. He wanted to ruin him, so he did, grinding right against the spot that made Nagito delirious and his pelvic stretch out obscenely.
His thrusts up were accompanied by his hands pulling Nagito down. A rough push and pull. The moans, whines and garbles of pleasure ringing in his eardrums, the volume probably giving him permanent damage. It was worth it; he’d turn deaf knowing these were the last noises he’d ever hear.
worship worship worship worship worship worship
His muscles burned deliciously as he drilled inside that soft heat above. Hajime might’ve forgotten how to breathe, which would probably explain the pleasure he was feeling as that couldn’t possibly happen when conscious. His vision turned bleary but he forced himself to keep looking, watching the way Nagito’s teary eyes rolled to the back of his head; mouth opened in a now silent scream as drool spilled past his flushed lips.
Distantly, he could feel the others’ release wetly on his abdomen.
All he could focus on was the whimpering, crying, beautiful mess—and it was all his.
h i s
h
i
s
He didn’t stop his thrusts until he’d painted the others’ insides with his cum. Drawing out the most delicious sounds, accompanied by his own grunts of exertion. Hajime’s climaxed as his head was filled with just Nagito-
Nagito
Nagito
Nagito
Nagito
“Hah,”
“haah,”
“hah,”
"ah."
Pants evened out to a soft rise and fall of barely clung consciousness. Sheets haphazardly thrown around two spent bodies as the late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the room. Hues of orange and red bright behind closed eyelids.
And before sleep overtook any and all thoughts, Hajime pondered…
they never did close that window.
They had an unspoken agreement to keep their throes of passion under wraps. Their relationship—something still unnamed—too new and fragile.
For now, they would continue their playful banter as to not arise suspicion. Perhaps also because they enjoyed getting a rise out of each other, those were details they didn’t have to utter. Soon, Hajime knew, they would have to confront the elephant in the room. When they did, who knew what would happen.
So for now, he basked in blissful faked ignorance.
“Hey, Kazuichi,” he echoed the same question he had asked weeks ago, “did I ever tell you about this guy I fucked over the weekend?”
And if Nagito sputtered out an embarrassing gasp, nobody was really surprised be the reaction by now. And if Nagito glowered a warning glare at him, plausible deniability would make others think it was one of their usual, petty fights.
And if Hajime were to decided to loudly recite his anonymous fling to his friend—well,
let’s just say that Nagito suddenly became a lot more assertive that night.