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Hajime had only tried killing himself once.
In a moment of absolutely overwhelming self hatred and despair, he tried hanging himself. It was a clumsy and poor job, and half-way through, out of blind panic, he clawed at the noose and managed to untie the sloppy knot. He fell to his knees, rubbing the rope burn away. He couldn't even do that right. He found himself laughing at that, at the ridiculousness of the whole situation. Even his death was taken away by his sheer lack of capability. A better human could kill themself. An ultimate would want to live.
He didn't really know what to do afterwards. He had imagined the repercussions of his suicide, a hazy fog of people who didn't even know his name grieving, people finally thinking about him, but of course hadn't even considered this outcome. After all, no one talks about the failures.
It wasn't like he needed to go to the hospital, and there was no one to offer comfort in these times, so he went to bed. And then he went to school the next morning. And came back home after that. Life went on. The animalistic fear he felt then faded along with the phantom rope around his neck, but not the hatred nor the misery he still felt all the time. The truth was he was too afraid to do it again. And he was even more afraid of the fact that his fear was his only reason to keep going, the only thing keeping him from returning to the middle of his room in the dead of night. A falling tree in the middle of the forest for no one to hear.
Hinata didn't need to live, which perhaps was worse than not wanting to live. He didn't have any friends, just acquaintances and classmates. With no impressive talents, or remarkable hobbies, he has no passion for life. He moved through it like water, hardly bringing any ripples around him, destined to move from one side of life to the other without changing anything. Like he wasn't even there.
So he daydreamed of his end. There wasn't much else a lonely boy his age did, besides daydreaming of being or doing anything else. If he was too much of a scaredy cat to kill himself, he would fantasize something else doing it to him. Being in the blind spot of a large truck, a school shooting, poisoned. He'd walk home, imagining every which way his life could end just then. Before, he'd walk home with head in the clouds dreaming of a life as a talented student, listening to the conversations and happiness of the other students as he went. They all felt muted now compared to the things flashing through his mind. He'd wish it'd be something remarkable, making him at least something in death if nothing in life.
These fantasies quickly took over his life, and he thought of little else besides them. Being talented, and being dead. A void of a human, a mockery of life, walking around wishing to be anything other than existing absence. It hurt. It ached somewhere deep inside him, in the heart that shouldn't beat.
But nevertheless, an opportunity presented itself, in the form of the Kamakura project. And as the story goes, he agreed, a new form of freedom from this life in his hands as he went into surgery.
Half way through, he woke up to the greatest pain he had ever felt, as his skull was being severed to expose his brain.
The panic from that one night, so long ago, returned, and he tried to thrash and kick and be freed from this breathtaking agony. His throat became hoarse with his screams, and his eyes that were blown wide from the overhead lights darted from blurry surgeon to surgeon. He hoped to find pity in their eyes, to persuade them to let him go, to end this misery. There wasn't an ounce of empathy for him, Hajime Hinata, as one of them injected more morphine into his body. It was a means to an end, and no one truly cared if he was in pain, they just wanted the screaming to stop. It didn't matter anyways if he wanted them to stop. He signed up for this, he had to go through. It was worth it, and this time, there was no backing out and there were no mistakes.
And so Hajime Hinata finally died, and from the ashes rose Izuru Kamakura.
Izuru didn't have time to die, far too many other things preoccupying his time. He was bored by Hinata's odd and pathetic desire to die. It was uninteresting, just a pitiful boy who felt like he wasn't enough and didn't do anything about it. Though at the end of the day, he supposed he finally got what he wanted. Izuru had an idea of what awaited him in death, and an unending black void and this life were rather one and the same. He'd much prefer life, because there was at least a chance to find something worthy of the Ultimate Hope’s attention. He'd found an interest, despair, and he felt no need to end it all prematurely. No, his attention had finally been caught, and he planned to stick around for it. Maybe Hinata would've been proud.
. . .
Hajime woke up with a start, sending papers on the desk flying as another nightmare ending his already lacking sleep. The memories of the dream were already leaving him, but the phantom of Junko didn't waver. Those ones were the worst, where he can see a glimpse of something Izuru must've done, what his body must've committed. Maybe he didn't remember, but his body might. It probably still knows exactly how to kill just torturously slow enough to wring the victim of all its despair.
…Sleep was best avoided nowadays.
Hajime looked up at whatever document he was filling before finally passing out. Izuru must've been the primary worker here, because none of the words rang a bell to him. And then turned his attention to the sleeping Komaeda, who thankfully wasn't roused by the sound of his violent start to the day.
It wasn't like he was going to be able to sleep again, so he hauled himself up and left his cabin to grab a cup of coffee from the communal kitchen. There was another long night ahead of him, and he needed all the attention he could get.
After the World Destroyed project was over, and Nagito was freed, Hajime had jumped at the first opportunity to do work remotely for the Future Foundation. Over the phone he insisted to Makoto just how ready he was after the long process that was waking up all his classmates and friends from the Neo Program.
“I'm not entirely sure, Hinata… You've been working for weeks now, especially with Nagito. I'm sure you can take a break for a little while.” Naegi was very apprehensive about the whole thing, his polite demeanor barely masking how unsure he was. “Not to mention Togami and Kirigiri run a pretty tight ship around here. I wouldn't want you to wind up in trouble or anything.”
Hajime sighed, and responded “I'm sure. I just…” He dragged a hand over his face, as if he could rub out the bone deep exhaustion. “I need something to do, please. I'm definitely ready to help. It's about time I stopped sitting around.”
Makoto nervously laughed over the phone. “Well I wouldn't exactly say that…” Naegi was directly informed of all the progressions with his friends, and it was impossible not to note how Hajime’s voice got more weary with every weekly update. Calls would get later and later, eventually turning into voicemails he'd receive at horribly early hours. He even suspected he spent his nights taking care of the other “survivors” too, seeing as they all had enough trauma for a lifetime's worth of therapists. He just wished Hinata would take care of himself just as much as the others, but that wasn't any of his business. “But I'll bring it up tomorrow. Though it'll take a bit of work…You and I aren't exactly their favorite people right now.” He laughed again, happy to hear Hajime’s low chuckle ring back, a dim hope he was happy to receive. “Well, take care then.”
One way or another, with the help of Kyoko primarily, things were handled, and now Hajime had enough work to deem himself useful.
So, here he was, crouching on his knees with a handful of paper towels, because he had managed in his sleep deprivation to drop the entire coffee pot and its contents all over the floor. “Ugh, fuck me.” Hajime hissed out, dropping the sopping wet napkins in the trash can, going to start another pot. He'd get an earful from Mahiru in the morning about wasting supplies and how the next import was a whole week away. Then again, that's just another reason to skip breakfast tomorrow and stay in. He was getting awfully good at making reasons these days.
As he grabbed the bag of coffee beans, a raspy voice rang out. “Hinata Kun?”
His head swiveled around to see Nagito standing in the doorway, clearly just awoken if the hazy look in his eye and the hoarse tone said anything, and with a look of concern. Which is…somewhat valid, if he saw the whole thing. God , he hopes Nagito didn't see the whole thing.
He sighed, and relaxed his tense shoulders. He never would've believed the sight of Nagito could comfort him, but then again, a lot has changed. “Hey Nagito…” He started making his fresh cup of coffee, which Nagito narrowed his eyes at. He supposes that concern would be valid too at this hour. “You shouldn't be up right now, didn't I tell you? Sleeps’ good for you, and we shouldn't be using any more pain medication till the next shipment comes in.”
Hajime had also taken up the project of Nagito’s poor health. Thanks to Izuru, he was now an adequate enough nurse to take care of him. His abilities did exceed Mikan by a bit, but even for the most talented man on Earth, Nagito’s condition was almost too much. When it got particularly bad, he'd end up having to spend an entire day and night just making sure he wouldn't die in his sleep or something.
“Sorry to disappoint. I'm a light sleeper.” He sidled up to Hajime to give him a hug from behind, resting his head in the crook of his neck lazily. The warmth was accepted gratefully as Hinata tipped his head back comfortably. No matter how exhausted he was, it was nice to still have someone in his corner. “You know, you shouldn't exactly be up this late either. But then again, what does trash like me know?”
Hajime opened his mouth to refute that, but realized that it was Nagito’s trap. Get him to insist he wasn't trash, and admit he really shouldn't be up if he knew what was good for him. Bastard.
“I- shut up. You know I have work to do.” He fell silent, before adding “And you're not trash. Just an asshole.”
Nagito tilted his head to look down at him. “Do you mean the work you asked for?” Hajime rolled his eyes, looking away from the accusing yet faux innocent steel gray of the other's. “Dealing with my annoying problems and work can't be easy.” God, if he thought being comforted by him was bad, he never imagined being lectured by him . How far he's fallen.
“Are you suggesting I let you die?” He snapped. “Cause that's not happening.”
“Well, as simple as that would be, no.” He let go of Hajime to lean against the counter. “Though I suppose my death really would relieve you of a lot of baggage,” Before Hajime could refute, he cut him off. “However, work is the real reason you're up right now. Now I know my opinion truly means next to nothing-”
“Don't start with that.”
Nagito looks slightly irked by the interruption. “I really think you need to request a lighter workload. I'm a great excuse if you need one, Naegi knows just how much of a nuisance I am simply by existence.” Hajime doesn't respond, grabbing a cup and pouring the piping hot coffee. “No? Do you like this Hajime, do you like spending all your time on work and other people? We all see you Hajime, and they're all worried.” Nagito had gotten much closer as he was talking, and Hajime refused to turn around and see the despairing look he certainly had, when his eyes seemed like pits of darkness and hopelessness.
“And you?” Nagito had been acting differently than the others, who all routinely asked him if he ‘was alright’ or ‘needed help’. He just hadn't had the time to put his finger on it.
“...” Nagito was eerily silent, eyes boring into the back of Hinata's head. “I'm disappointed.”
That hit him like a brick to the head. Whatever he was expecting from him… it wasn't that. As most things concerning Nagito were.
“As the so-called ‘ultimate hope’, you should be ashamed you've fallen to despair so quickly. All that work, and misery and then you've gone and turned into this.” Nagito’s voice was harsh and indifferent, reminding him of the 5th trial, how he treated him once he realized what a pathetic excuse for a person he really was.
Hajime slammed the cup on the table, breath quickening. “You can't say that. You can't act like I'm how I used to be. I'm helping our friends and future Foundation work for a new hope. I'm…” He turns around, and glares at the other man. “I'm better.”
Nagito scoffs. “Who are you really trying to convince right now? If you really were sure that you're living up to all you promised, you wouldn't feel the need to work like a dog.” He titled his head mockingly. “What are you trying to say with all this, Hajime?”
Hinata was more than floored. Nagito had always had that effect on him, on everyone. He hated how he was right, and he hated the pinprick burn of tears in the corner of his eyes. He wasn't going to cry right now. God knows what Komaeda would say about that.
To hide said welling eyes, he looked away, at the paper towels that were still on the floor. “I'm not trying to say anything, ok? Just back off already.” He's this close to storming away like a child, running back to his computer and endless sheets of numbers and data. It was immature, but this conversation was ripping him in half. “You don't know anything about why I'm doing this. Quit acting like you know everything about me.” But he did, didn't he? And he hated that too.
Nagito laughed, he fucking laughed .“Hajime Hinata, the reserve course student, is still in there. And all the paperwork and stolen talents in the world couldn't take that away.” Hajime looked up with a carefully guarded expression. He'd gone too far, and he knew it. And there was nothing more to say.
He grabbed the coffee and basically fled the kitchen, shoving past him. Of course, not before Nagito could add one thing. “I'm not your enemy here, Hinata Kun. Only stating the obvious.”
And didn't he know that. He knows deep down he was only trying to help, in his own weird, fucked up way. But he didn't have the time or the energy to put up with him. Nagito wasn't a clean cut ally. Everytime he thinks he's got him, that they were normal lovers, hell, even normal friends, he's just got to throw a wrench in it. Has to wreck him with just a sentence, remind him of all he's chosen to carefully keep in the back of his mind. No, he didn't want normal, and no, he didn't want any other Nagito. But when he acted like that, it just served to remind him that he was a powerful force, too smart for his own good, and…a complete asshole.
The coffee didn't help with the angry jitters he had, but at least the exhaustion subsided somewhat. He completed several assignments, as well as planning a rescue mission on a part of the city that was still being attacked. His alarm was set for a good five hours of sleep and it was all he could do to pull up the blankets before he passed out, just as the sun rose outside his window. Tomorrow, or rather today, was another day full of paperwork, eye drops, coffee, and everyone's unsubtle looks of concern at the breakfast table. It was growing tiring fast, in more ways than the eyebags forming or endless yawns. Deep set in his bones he felt exhausted, and he wished more than anything he wouldn't wake up. That he would sleep forever, unfeeling yet not bored, just…nothing.
And that craving only grew more by the day, when all of his hard work didn't serve to comfort him, when it felt like it was all for nothing, to still feel the aching want inside him.
The fact that it reminded him of his old pathetic desire from high school didn't help. Maybe Nagito was right. He did steal his talent, and he did kill thousands with it. He needed to be dead, that's something anybody could see. But he couldn't be. And maybe Nagito was right even further. The old Hajime is still in there, just as inadequate as he was before, begging to be something. He knew all he could be was nothing.