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Entry tags:
- !event,
- 2064 rom: turing,
- dangan ronpa: hajime hinata,
- dangan ronpa: kiyotaka ishimaru,
- dangan ronpa: kokichi ouma,
- dangan ronpa: shuichi saihara,
- elsword: clamor ventus,
- elsword: noah ebalon,
- fate: sherlock holmes,
- hanako-kun: nene yashiro,
- mo dao zu shi: meng yao,
- my hero academia: shoto todoroki,
- red dead redemption: arthur morgan
May event/tdm
Golden Week (closed to current characters)
On the 28th, Aiko Okane's body is returned to the auditorium, rotten and still thawing when the first student walks in upon her and screams themselves hoarse. She is swiftly removed and the auditorium is closed for the rest of the day for deep cleaning, the smell of disinfectant lingering for days after. In honor of the late student council president, a gorinto is later set up on one of the windowsills in the art room, stones perpetually damp and causing those who touch it to experience vivid flashbacks of flashing strobe lights so bright it's nauseating, a spinning room, hands covered in soot, a shadow moving from behind a bookcase, sharp pain in the back of the head—-
The school empties out for Golden Week starting on the 29th, and just like during spring break, the faculty office and nurse's office are locked and unavailable without the staff present. The library and club rooms remain open, but what supplies there were at the start of the school week won't be replenished until the end of break two weeks later— and there are many more mouths to feed now. At least those mouths don't include two cats, both of which make themselves scarce on the morning of the 29th and cannot be found at school for the remainder of break, possibly spooked and in hiding due to the arrival of a dozen repairmen who phase through the front doors to repair the ceilings and pipes. Faces obscured with gas masks, carrying bags of plaster and lugging toolboxes, the repairmen work tirelessly from six in the morning to six in the evening over the next three days, appearing not to see the others in the school— they do not hear anything said to them, and, if somebody tries to touch them, their bodies pass through one another like the shadow students through the doors. But the school looks a lot better by the end of the three days, the ceiling tiles secure so that they're no longer in danger of falling and must be forcibly pushed through to access the crawlspace, and entire sections of pipe replaced from underneath the fourth floor bathroom and the clog with it, resulting in slightly clearer water, though still very very lightly tinged pink.
The repairmen finish and leave the evening of the 1st, and that night, the sound of hissing can be heard just before the usual midnight silence. Even through gift fairy or homemade gas masks, the air smells slightly sour, heavy and hard to breathe, a white mist seen hanging around the school and in the courtyard outside that doesn't dissipate with the sunlight the following morning. Those unprotected start to feel ill, cold and feverish, uncomfortably bloated despite empty bellies. Out of the corner of their eyes they see glimpses of the person they miss the most, but nobody is there when they turn around. Their heads fill with whispered accusations of all their shortcomings, chiding and blaming and mocking in the disembodied voices of the people dearest to them until the constant white noise finally tapers off and disappears on the fourth night, and the mist lifts with the rising sun the morning of the 6th.
Skittering can be heard in the ceiling overhead. The rats are still alive.
The school empties out for Golden Week starting on the 29th, and just like during spring break, the faculty office and nurse's office are locked and unavailable without the staff present. The library and club rooms remain open, but what supplies there were at the start of the school week won't be replenished until the end of break two weeks later— and there are many more mouths to feed now. At least those mouths don't include two cats, both of which make themselves scarce on the morning of the 29th and cannot be found at school for the remainder of break, possibly spooked and in hiding due to the arrival of a dozen repairmen who phase through the front doors to repair the ceilings and pipes. Faces obscured with gas masks, carrying bags of plaster and lugging toolboxes, the repairmen work tirelessly from six in the morning to six in the evening over the next three days, appearing not to see the others in the school— they do not hear anything said to them, and, if somebody tries to touch them, their bodies pass through one another like the shadow students through the doors. But the school looks a lot better by the end of the three days, the ceiling tiles secure so that they're no longer in danger of falling and must be forcibly pushed through to access the crawlspace, and entire sections of pipe replaced from underneath the fourth floor bathroom and the clog with it, resulting in slightly clearer water, though still very very lightly tinged pink.
The repairmen finish and leave the evening of the 1st, and that night, the sound of hissing can be heard just before the usual midnight silence. Even through gift fairy or homemade gas masks, the air smells slightly sour, heavy and hard to breathe, a white mist seen hanging around the school and in the courtyard outside that doesn't dissipate with the sunlight the following morning. Those unprotected start to feel ill, cold and feverish, uncomfortably bloated despite empty bellies. Out of the corner of their eyes they see glimpses of the person they miss the most, but nobody is there when they turn around. Their heads fill with whispered accusations of all their shortcomings, chiding and blaming and mocking in the disembodied voices of the people dearest to them until the constant white noise finally tapers off and disappears on the fourth night, and the mist lifts with the rising sun the morning of the 6th.
Skittering can be heard in the ceiling overhead. The rats are still alive.
05/06 06:00 (open to all)
You open your eyes.
Whether you're standing in the middle of the locker area or sitting up from under one of the classroom desks, the school feels a lot... brighter... than you remember in the last handful of years (years? somehow, it feels like years) that you've attended this school. Bright sunlight shining through the windows is almost nauseating to look at, as if on the cusp of a migraine, and words swim on textbook pages and is twice as difficult to understand. Maybe it's just back-to-school jitters, the nurse sympathizes if you visit the nurse's office, offering a mug of ginger tea to settle the stomach and a soft cot to lie down on for a few minutes, but break is over and there is so much to be excited for at school, especially the charity auction coming up in the next couple of days.
Donations are displayed in glass cases all around the auditorium, including items and services, a box of """cursed chalk""" that's surprisingly garnered a lot of interest, and a human body that unsurprisingly has not garnered much if at all. A skinny black cat can be seen lounging on top of the lattermost case, staring down at the students milling around the auditorium as they check their PDAs for merit points and murmur about it being too late and that they'll have to make do with what they have until the auction date on the 10th. More information about the auction can be found on the bulletin board, which also displays a new poster announcing an open seat in the student council in which all are encouraged to apply starting the 10th, and to run their campaigns until the 31st when an assembly will take place for approved candidates to debate.
Also updated on the bulletin board are the class rankings, current as of the start of the month, with class 1-B leading the pack and 2-C following close behind. With the weather as nice as it is, students of these two homerooms occasionally hold their classes outside in the courtyard this month, seated on the grass or on blankets around the wisteria tree as they balance chalkboard slates on their laps and listen to the lecture in the fresh air and warm sunlight. As long as they're with their teacher, characters in class 1-B and 2-C are able to exit into the courtyard this month, although if they stray too far out of the courtyard towards the pool area, their consciousness will start to fade until they leave the courtyard and black out completely.
For everybody regardless, there are classes to attend and quizzes to take and blood to pour out of your shoes because— uh?? You're in the middle of a quiz and pick up your eraser, but it's been replaced with one so dry and hard that all it does is smear the graphite and tear a hole in your paper. You get up from a long hour of class and nearly chip your teeth on the edge of the desk falling over because somebody's tied your ankle to the desk leg with quadruple-knotted twine. You're washing your hands in the bathroom and instead of liquid soap, the dispenser pours out silver glitter all over your hands and pants and shoes to coat for the rest of the month. You open your locker and are met with a face full of bees that burst out and causes everybody to evacuate the area until the janitor can coax them all outside. You're walking up the stairs and feel a tap on your shoulder but there's nobody when you turn around- nothing to explain the hard shove against your back or why the handrail is slicked with oil. All the while, snickering can be heard from somewhere behind you, little shadows darting away in the periphery of your vision, just out of reach.
Somebody has it out for you, but be glad it's just little things and not... well.
Whether you're standing in the middle of the locker area or sitting up from under one of the classroom desks, the school feels a lot... brighter... than you remember in the last handful of years (years? somehow, it feels like years) that you've attended this school. Bright sunlight shining through the windows is almost nauseating to look at, as if on the cusp of a migraine, and words swim on textbook pages and is twice as difficult to understand. Maybe it's just back-to-school jitters, the nurse sympathizes if you visit the nurse's office, offering a mug of ginger tea to settle the stomach and a soft cot to lie down on for a few minutes, but break is over and there is so much to be excited for at school, especially the charity auction coming up in the next couple of days.
Donations are displayed in glass cases all around the auditorium, including items and services, a box of """cursed chalk""" that's surprisingly garnered a lot of interest, and a human body that unsurprisingly has not garnered much if at all. A skinny black cat can be seen lounging on top of the lattermost case, staring down at the students milling around the auditorium as they check their PDAs for merit points and murmur about it being too late and that they'll have to make do with what they have until the auction date on the 10th. More information about the auction can be found on the bulletin board, which also displays a new poster announcing an open seat in the student council in which all are encouraged to apply starting the 10th, and to run their campaigns until the 31st when an assembly will take place for approved candidates to debate.
Also updated on the bulletin board are the class rankings, current as of the start of the month, with class 1-B leading the pack and 2-C following close behind. With the weather as nice as it is, students of these two homerooms occasionally hold their classes outside in the courtyard this month, seated on the grass or on blankets around the wisteria tree as they balance chalkboard slates on their laps and listen to the lecture in the fresh air and warm sunlight. As long as they're with their teacher, characters in class 1-B and 2-C are able to exit into the courtyard this month, although if they stray too far out of the courtyard towards the pool area, their consciousness will start to fade until they leave the courtyard and black out completely.
For everybody regardless, there are classes to attend and quizzes to take and blood to pour out of your shoes because— uh?? You're in the middle of a quiz and pick up your eraser, but it's been replaced with one so dry and hard that all it does is smear the graphite and tear a hole in your paper. You get up from a long hour of class and nearly chip your teeth on the edge of the desk falling over because somebody's tied your ankle to the desk leg with quadruple-knotted twine. You're washing your hands in the bathroom and instead of liquid soap, the dispenser pours out silver glitter all over your hands and pants and shoes to coat for the rest of the month. You open your locker and are met with a face full of bees that burst out and causes everybody to evacuate the area until the janitor can coax them all outside. You're walking up the stairs and feel a tap on your shoulder but there's nobody when you turn around- nothing to explain the hard shove against your back or why the handrail is slicked with oil. All the while, snickering can be heard from somewhere behind you, little shadows darting away in the periphery of your vision, just out of reach.
Somebody has it out for you, but be glad it's just little things and not... well.
05/08 16:27 (open to all)
After school on the 8th, when Clamor is headed up the second floor stairwell to the clocktower, he'll find that the door doesn't push in easily, as if there were something blocking it. A harder push and he dislodges something heavy, dark red blood pouring out from the open door to soak through his shoes and those of anybody nearby as the world spins and pitches and falls apart.
The vertigo passes and you open your eyes. You're standing in an old schoolhouse with scorched walls and broken floorboards that creak as you walk through the halls, breathing air so cold it constricts your lungs and leaves in visible puffs. The body on the ground has turned wispy black, unmoving, while those around you— there were other students around you in the hallway, you swear, but aside from one or two, the rest have all turned into shadow, faceless and intangible as they move silently down the halls and through the walls. Two of them approach the body on the ground and lift it up by the armpits to drag away down the stairs towards the auditorium—- what's supposed to be the auditorium, but instead the doors open to reveal a gaping void, darkness as far as one can see as if nothing else exists past this door.
You were looking for a way out, weren't you? ...
The body is unceremoniously tossed into the void, never to be seen again, and with the creeping dread that comes with staring into the darkness for too long, you get the sense that the same will happen to you if you step past the threshold to nowhere. It's dark and quiet enough already in the rest of the school, with the lights off and the sky a perpetual dusk. This school evokes the same feeling of nostalgia as it always has, the same old building but so much older: books in the library prone to falling apart in your hands, all the food in the home economics room rotten and overgrown with mold, the wisteria tree in the courtyard gnarled and completely barren. But the water in the bathrooms and drinking fountains run clear and fresh, and in the mirrors hanging above the sinks you can see somebody else's face— you can see familiar people washing their hands or chatting with one another or smoking a joint or getting caught smoking a joint- you can see them but they can't see you, gazing through this portal to a normal high school life.
The glass feels warm when you place your palm against it. The glass tears and burns when you put your fist through it, painful enough to make you wince.
You open your eyes.
You're standing where you last remember before the world turned to darkness, floor sticky with blood but there is no body at your feet. Edgar? There is no student called Edgar Valden at this school, just like there is no Abel Nightroad or Makoto Naegi, their names not showing up anywhere on the class roster and their seats filled by another student that has always been part of the class. You're overthinking, or maybe you're just tired or hungry. Luckily for you, there is a lot of fresh meat stocked in the home economics room this month, thick rich slabs that cook like beef but taste like a mix of veal and pork and hope.
The vertigo passes and you open your eyes. You're standing in an old schoolhouse with scorched walls and broken floorboards that creak as you walk through the halls, breathing air so cold it constricts your lungs and leaves in visible puffs. The body on the ground has turned wispy black, unmoving, while those around you— there were other students around you in the hallway, you swear, but aside from one or two, the rest have all turned into shadow, faceless and intangible as they move silently down the halls and through the walls. Two of them approach the body on the ground and lift it up by the armpits to drag away down the stairs towards the auditorium—- what's supposed to be the auditorium, but instead the doors open to reveal a gaping void, darkness as far as one can see as if nothing else exists past this door.
You were looking for a way out, weren't you? ...
The body is unceremoniously tossed into the void, never to be seen again, and with the creeping dread that comes with staring into the darkness for too long, you get the sense that the same will happen to you if you step past the threshold to nowhere. It's dark and quiet enough already in the rest of the school, with the lights off and the sky a perpetual dusk. This school evokes the same feeling of nostalgia as it always has, the same old building but so much older: books in the library prone to falling apart in your hands, all the food in the home economics room rotten and overgrown with mold, the wisteria tree in the courtyard gnarled and completely barren. But the water in the bathrooms and drinking fountains run clear and fresh, and in the mirrors hanging above the sinks you can see somebody else's face— you can see familiar people washing their hands or chatting with one another or smoking a joint or getting caught smoking a joint- you can see them but they can't see you, gazing through this portal to a normal high school life.
The glass feels warm when you place your palm against it. The glass tears and burns when you put your fist through it, painful enough to make you wince.
You open your eyes.
You're standing where you last remember before the world turned to darkness, floor sticky with blood but there is no body at your feet. Edgar? There is no student called Edgar Valden at this school, just like there is no Abel Nightroad or Makoto Naegi, their names not showing up anywhere on the class roster and their seats filled by another student that has always been part of the class. You're overthinking, or maybe you're just tired or hungry. Luckily for you, there is a lot of fresh meat stocked in the home economics room this month, thick rich slabs that cook like beef but taste like a mix of veal and pork and hope.
OOC
- ✽ This event log doubles as a TDM, with new characters experiencing the recurring feeling of drifting in (school life) and out (canon life) of sleep up until they "open their eyes," after which they will have full awareness and come to their senses. Pre-established cr is possible to some extent, as a varying degree of familiarity may remain, but all characters will be strangers to one another unless they know each other in canon.
- ✽ A new closed prompt will go up on the 10th for auction results and body investigation, and on the 31st for the student council assembly.
- ✽ After the 8th, any blood spilled in the school will result in characters in the vicinity seeing its transformation into a dilapidated version of the same building. Nearby npcs turn into shadows, while nearby pcs are brought into the other world together. Finding a mirror and breaking it will return the character to where they originally were, as if no time had passed.
- ✽ The layout of the transformed school is exactly the same as the original, with inaccessible locations remaining inaccessible. The exception is the auditorium which has been replaced by a void, and fully stepping into the void will result in permadeath and a drop from the game. TDM characters may step into the void as their "exit" any time during the month, but if they are apped into the game, that death will not be considered canon.
- ✽ Applications are always open on a rolling basis. The player cap is currently set at 40, but will lowered to 30 in June.
sniffs, is that. WEAKNESS. careless whispers :)
( it wasn't that long ago komaeda heard the other talking to himself, haunted by the voices that plague him, and in turn — komaeda's mostly enjoying this. not his suffering, but the person that follows after him because for once, he's able to be close by them, and even horrible thing they could say feels like heaven to him. call him useless, call him horrible and say his entire existence is boring — he doesn't mind it. what he does mind, however, is the fact that someone who speaks so bold has finally opted out to laying their head down, almost as if that's his chance to ignore the rest of the world. )
Have you really given up?
( like old times, komaeda pushes a desk up to natsume's own, combining them together as he sits in the opposite chair across from him. he parrots the gesture the other has by laying on the desk as well, but komaeda's cheek rests against it as he stares at the idol. )
...Such little hope isn't a great look on you, I'm actually sort of worried if you'll make it.
im swearing
( his first is stephanie or nene, actually. he has to look good in front of them... in front of everyone, but especially them.
still, natsume opens his eyes and turns his head just enough to stare at komaeda. he is tired, leave him be-- )
I haven't given UP, but even God needs to rest. ( not that he's a god, but you know, details. ) ...Did you follow ME? How creePY.
( there is just the barest amount of bite to his words, but it's there. )
why are you swearing you made this prompt for me? our slowburn
When you rest, that's when the world strikes, Sakasaki-kun.
( so he should remain on the move, constantly without ever stopping, just move forward without without thinking of the problems around him. that's the sort of life komaeda lives actually, he's never been one to run away from them. ) I didn't follow you because you're not an Ultimate, but...
( he pauses, clearing his throat as he attempts to fan away the smoke before him. it's well deserved, he thinks. and he inhales deeply, breath hitching like he's attempting to get high off of it. )
What's it like...?
MMSJJJFJHSF id be lying if i said i hadnt hoped youd tag me for it.......
For your informaTION, I'm considered special back HOME. ( let's clear that up. ) I'm one of Yumenosaki Academy's Five Eccentrics -- students without peers outside of themSELVES. I don't know what you'd consider an UltiMATE, but I'm not an ordinary stuDENT.
( just an ordinary genius. he purses his lips at the thought, how little ingenuity means when you're pulled from your small pond, and brushes it aside. )
What's what LIKE, Komaeda-san? Because talking to you only worsens my MOOD, though you're doing wonders as a distracTION. Maybe that's your true purpose in LIFE.
( he kind of hates that he's grateful for company because then he doesn't have to focus on the YKNOWWWWW )
listen when i saw you my tail started wagging natsume kun...
( has he ever called natsume anything outside of that? he's been interested in his hope all this time, and the start may have been when the body was revealed, but that's not bad is it? he remains calm on the desk, breathing slow as he listens to natsume's explanation about his person — an eccentric, one of the five. in the end, he regards himself as a being above the other normal ones. it could almost be said that's the version of their world's ultimates, but he doesn't believe it's simple like that. )
Haha, I'm surprised... someone like me is pretty worthless, but being in the way is what I'm used to. ( hinata has said it before, everyone else around him thinks the same — komaeda doesn't care, he does what he wants. he never truly feels sorry about doing what he does, so he chuckles softly as he speaks up again. ) But, you're welcome!
( look at him, being useful. he watches natsume closely, and him being more responsive is a good thing, so that means their conversation can continue. )
Everyone I've spoken to said... the voices they hear belittle them, and make them feel like they're nothing. Say that they threw them away or left them to die. ( just negative connotation after negative. ) It's eating away at them, but... what do you mean that isn't things you've heard all your life? ( he pauses, thinking. )
Did... ( he hums, thoughtfully. ) Sora say it to you too? ... Did they slowly crush your hope, Sakasaki-kun?
AKKSKDJT
( it's the most energy natsume's shown in a minute, going so far as to sit up-- he loosens a little after a moment, propping himself up with his elbows, chin delicately held in the palm of his hand. )
It isn't like I've never heard THEM. ( he just has never heard them on a lifelong basis. we aren't touching that though watch him move right along! ) Sora... didn't say anything like THAT, and he never WOULD. We haven't spent a lot of time together lately and he's gotten loneLY. That's ALL.
( it's an easy fix, he just has to deal with school -- with this school, with yumenosaki -- and work, and unit leader duties, and upkeep on his domination of his pond, and...
there is very little time, but once it's all settled, it'll be okay. a slow, inaudible sigh. )
Is the reason you're so resistant to accepting kind words because you hear the opposite far MORE?
i promise you komaeda is being nice
( that's what komaeda is getting from this, but he doesn't mean to be a bitch about it by repeating it. he wouldn't say that the exact words meant that sora was lonely, rather that they were thrown away because they were no longer useful. or, they were just left to die. that's what his words meant no matter how harsh they are, but he didn't think about someone being lonely — he's never thought about missing the comfort of others. or, perhaps... no, it's no use, he'll never understand. )
Is that what the voice tells you? Because you're different from him, because you're special... Who knows, maybe that person is your stepping stone after all!
( when komaeda mentions that, he says it out of what kindness is left in his heart. it's meant to motivate natsume more than anything, because why wouldn't it? someone else's life being the reason why another's hope grows — it all fits into place whether natsume wants to believe it or not. )
This is about you, Sakasaki-kun, not someone as incompetent as me... ( he offers a warm smile. ) I just want to make sure your hope stays strong, and if you start to lose it... what will be special about you?
:/ sounds sus
well, "currently".
his knuckles whiten as one hand clenches into a fist on the desk and the other has his nails dig into his cheek, leaving red, crescent-shaped marks when he sits back in his chair and moves his hands to his lap instead. squeezing together under there, doing his best to resist the urge to-
to-
he isn't sure. punching komaeda would feel good, but it wouldn't solve anything; if anything, it might just make the other happier. )
Two years aGO, I watched peers in the same course as me have their dreams shatTERED. They first became lifeless HUSKS, and then simply names on the cenotaph we have at our school to commemorate THEM. ( it would be a lie to say he cared completely for them; the loss of human life, of the chance at happiness, is sad, but he didn't know any of them personally. not the way he knew his senpai -- his voice lowers in volume, a little tighter. ) Those that survived were marked by the events that oCCURED. They were bloodied and left as shells of themSELVES, and I alone was spared breakAGE.
Even in such terrible times - even watching my master willingly take the stage where he would DIE, even watching him waltz with his murderERS, even watching him catch the perpetrator once the show had concluded - not once did I give UP. Would I call it HOPE? ( a short laugh, and he looks at his hands. he wishes he had a proper way to cut and file his nails; they look so unpleasant, now. ) In a WAY, but the hope I had that day lay in a script I wrote and then subsequently BURNED. What kept me going instead was reVENGE. That desire for vengeance transformed into something less harmful to my SOUL, true, but I suppose to you all hope is the SAME, whether it's "I hope we can survive and leave this PLACE," or "I hope to enact the same suffering upon you that you heaped upon others in your attempt to enact CHANGE."
( ...natsume slowly unclenches his fists, breathing a small sigh of relief when he sees there's no blood in his hands. the last thing he wants or needs is what happens when you see blood around here. )
Komaeda-san. Regardless of whether I have what you designate as hope or NOT, I will still be speCIAL. Maybe not to YOU, but to someone out THERE, I will BE. ( he looks up again, raises his hands -- sets them on the desk in front of him, the backs of them marked with the same crescent shapes on his cheek. ) It's the mere fact that we exist that makes us able to be treasured in such a WAY. To ME, Sora is the more important person in the WORLD. If he became upset or LOST, he would be no less important or special in my eyes - merely in need of HELP.
( even eichi, unfortunately, is a human and is thus special, important, treasured. not by natsume, but by other people. infuriating that senpai must still hold affection for him after all that happened but-
and the same goes for the rest of the former fine, and for that snake digging into his business ibara, too- )
To put it plainly: you don't decide someone's WORTH. And more to the point of your quesTION, what's special about me is that I'm the only Natsume Sakasaki there is in the WORLD, plain and simPLE.
( and that's... something that can't be taken away from him, not now and not ever. )
bc u never TRUST me
the amount of pain feels like a whirlwind of emotions, even as he explains it to komaeda, and in turn his heart makes him incapable of understanding. all he knows is loss, but nothing poetic like the way natsume masks it. everything spoken is accepted literal — a massacre, a life lost, willingly sharing the stage (haha) with their murderer. he calls it a show, and komaeda's head tilts to the side curious: a death hosted to the masses, an instance to strengthen their own resolve so they can prevent it to happening to themselves or others. )
Hm... ( this whole conversation wasn't needed, the other never had to tell him this much, so was it because he wants komaeds to understand? or is it to prove him wrong? putting him in his place for even daring to say something so brazen. ) I wouldn't call something petty as revenge "hope," that's just a descent into despair.
( he clenches his fist, looking off to the side as teeth clench together in annoyance. his brows knit together, sighing heavily while trying to remain calm in this fog — too much activity within this, and komaeda's illness will play against him. ) Hope is special! It gives meaning to your life, offers you reasons to live, but it doesn't stop there... it can keep growing as long as you allow it.
( he pauses, looking in the male's direction, his eyes spins in swirls, mixing together. )
Your worth amounts to your hope, the effort that you put in for those around you, and yourself... it won't make you feel inferior. Even now I can tell... there's so much weight riding on this conversation that you don't want to be wrong, because of that person. ( why else would it matter, why would natsume mention them if they didn't? though, he wonders. )
If you want to survive for them, you mustn't falter, and you must come together with everyone else! ( he followed the same gesture as natsume, his nails digging into the skin, and if he applied more pressure then he's sure he could break the skin. that's how passionate he feels about this, and as he parts his mouth to speak —
he turns, and coughs into the inner elbow of his jacket. ) That way, Sakasaki-kun can survive...
give me one (1) good reason nms ONE good reason
natsume's movement is involuntary, but doesn't reach komaeda anyway; he catches himself halfway, hand reached out to the other but left hanging in mid-air. he doesn't like the way komaeda speaks entirely, like he knows something natsume doesn't - like he's seeing, hearing, something in his words that he hadn't meant to say. that isn't komaeda's place to do: that's his, natsume's.
he isn't used to being picked apart. he doesn't like it. he thinks he understands why subaru feigns stupidity sometimes, but natsume won't - can't - do that. )
...I'm going to survive regardless of if anyone else DOES, Komaeda-san, including YOU. ( quiet, and he slowly completes his movement, voluntarily. setting his hand on komaeda's arm lightly, his fingers curling into his jacket so he can turn him a little. ) Speaking of surviVAL, don't tell me you're dying alreaDY. You'd actually disappoint me if you did THAT.
( natsumese: are you okay? )