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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.
no subject
The words he never wants to believe in, yet is pulled to all the same... It makes some strength return to his heart, even if it doesn't bring any to his body.
No, what does that is Komaeda's cough, the weakness in his breath.
Get up.
Nanami stands there, mercifully silent, even if her harsh expression (for her, at least) is unchanging. A reminder of a hospital room and those painful words, even if she isn't saying them again.
Hajime, get the hell up!
He won't let Komaeda die. He promised.]
Komaeda-
[It takes everything Hinata has, but he rolls to his feet. He's shaky, unbalanced as the room feels like it's spinning, but he pushes himself through it and reaches out to grab Komaeda's sleeve.]
Is talking about that and running away... all you know how to do anymore...?
[He moves fast. Has to, because he doesn't know if this really is poisonous. Because he doesn't know if he'll have the strength to do it again.
With his free hand, he pulls his uniform jacket over his head - even if he has to let go of Komaeda for a moment, and for that second he really is scared he'll fall flat on his face - and presses the fabric against Komaeda's mouth. Not to smother, but trying to give him enough space to breathe through it.]
Don't lay there waiting to die? Fine. [His chest and stomach still hurt... but strangely, he almost feels like he could breathe again if the air wasn't potentially killing them.] Hold this to your mouth and let's go.
no subject
why couldn't he just squeeze his throat, and end it there? is it because of the past that haunts him, that corpse of his feelings rotting heavily in his mind. despite the fact that hinata is talentless at the moment, he's still the same type of person — if he puts his mind to it, nothing gets in his way.
it's showing again, even if komaeda doesn't look at him, it's the fact that the other somehow made his way behind to cover his mouth that elicits a reaction out of him. his breath hitches, until he realizes what the other is doing — even though it's a helping hand, it brings back recent memories, his old sins dawning on him. he relaxes, trying to steady his breath, but there's something about this that doesn't sit well with him. his eyes glance towards hinata, looking to see if he's taking the same safety precaution as him. )
...If I didn't, you'd still be laying there... wallowing in your own pain...
( that's how komaeda found him, drowning in his own weakness. )
Asking... asking me to kill you.
( komaeda can't help but look back one last time, staring at the expression that remains on nanami's features. when hinata said for her, that's who he meant. his eyes remain fixated on the glow she emanates, and it's hard to turn his head. he wills it, looking towards hinata, and carelessly removing the fabric from his mouth, to place against hinata's instead. )
I'm not going anywhere with someone so hopeless! It feels... despairing...
( cough, cough!! )
no subject
The moment Komaeda places the fabric on Hinata's mouth, he wrestles it off. He doesn't put it back on Komaeda's mouth just yet, but he does push it towards him.]
What the hell are you even doing?! You'll talk a big about having hope, but suddenly you don't seem to have any when you might be saved? Give me a break!
[He holds both of Komaeda's wrists - one metal cold, one Komaeda-cold. But they're his. He grips them hard.]
I would have died... I could have died. I could have wanted to, but your words brought me back... Not even just here, but those nights back on the island, when I didn't even want to move anymore. Because you always show us the right way in the end, even if it's so hard to understand it... to understand you... Because you care about us, even if it's screwed up and twisted... Because you're always so damn frustrating, no matter how hard I try to figure you out...
[He doesn't want to see the life leaving Komaeda again. Once was enough.]
If it's so despairing, then face it head on! If I don't have hope, then tell me about it as you always have! If I don't understand, try to reach me until the very end! If I want to die, then give me a reason to live!
[Hinata doesn't even realize how much strength is in his voice until he hears how loudly he's yelling, as if from a distance.]
But if you think... that I'll let you sit there in this gas making us sick for even another a second while you throw a fit... I'll put you on my back and drag you out of hell itself.
[He doesn't want to have any more regrets.
He doesn't want to keep running away from the things that hurt him.
He doesn't want to feel pain every time he thinks of Komaeda Nagito.]
no subject
in the end, hinata hajime's still a transfer student who doesn't know the truth behind his capabilities. even without that knowledge, he still manages an attempt to make komaeda see his way, and it's that bubbling hope that causes him to sigh — his stomach turns uncomfortably from the fog, but the obsessive excitement he gains from seeing a person's hope is familiar. to see hinata's... is it wrong to say it's something he's missed? )
...There you are. ( a slow breath. ) Hinata-kun...
( he tugs his human arm free from hinata's grasp, and instinctively places it on the other's chest, above his head as if searching for how steady his heartbeats are. he sighs, almost tired as he stares at the other, and despite the mist doing its job to skew their vision, and yet, komaeda's vision does shift to the side every so often as if he sees someone — in the end, it does focus back on hinata. )
You really can't do anything right without me, can you...
( he tries to laugh, but it's a little difficult given the circumstances, and instead exchanged with a hoarse cough. of course, it's one after the other, until his fingers curl into the fabric of hinata's shirt. there's a weakness in his legs, his knees buckling forward as he leans into the other for support. he doesn't mean to do that, but the lightheadedness he feels from the gas is overwhelming, and while he tries to stand properly, the movement is enough to stir up something inside of him. rather than covering his mouth, he turns his head to the side to do something very, very, very familiar to hinata, and that's to throw up right then and there.
he should know the routine by now that komaeda's about to fall over. :) )
no subject
The way Komaeda looks at him and puts his hand on him, the way he says "there you are" and Hinata's name - it's bad considering where Komaeda's hand is, but Hinata can feel his heart go a little bit faster.
Unfair... You're so unfair...
All of these vulnerable things he's said, exposing so much of his heart for Komaeda to see. He knows he can't take any of it back. Isn't even sure if he wants to.
Making me feel like this... is so unfair...
It reminds him of before, but it's different. Almost unmistakably - but not the awful unmistakable, the way Komaeda had made him wonder if he could ever trust again. It's new, and that's a little scary, but... It's finally a new that doesn't hurt.
Or has it always been there... and it's just another thing he didn't allow himself to see until now?
How am I supposed to keep resenting you... if you look at me in such a way?
As with most things that happen with Komaeda, Hinata isn't given much time to process it.
He'd thought he'd been afraid on the floor with Komaeda's hands at his throat, but it's nothing like the fear that pierces his chest when Komaeda is quite suddenly sick and starts to sway afterwards.]
Komaeda-!
[Once again, he reacts faster than anticipated, and lunges towards Komaeda before he can hit the floor. Hinata doesn't even realizing he himself is the one saying "no no no-" under his breath until the only other thing in his ears is Komaeda's labored breathing.
He can't get sick here. Komaeda can't get sick here, Tsumiki isn't here, they don't have a hospital to treat him in, he-]
Idiot, you stupid bastard- [He presses the jacket insistently against his mouth, refusing any other arguments this time. Hinata might feel sick to his stomach, but if Komaeda wasn't lying to him... Well, even if he was, Hinata already has enough proof from the Despair Disease that his health is poorer than probably anyone else he knows.] Y-you... You can't get sick here like that again, Tsumiki isn't here... So don't you dare die.
[He pulls Komaeda's arm over his shoulder and starts moving to the nearest door, inhales hard through his nose and tells himself that if it sounds wet it's only because he's starting to get pretty nauseous too. Nothing else.]
If you die after you said something like that to me, I'll never forgive you.
no subject
well, there's no time to think about that when that constant burning sensation makes his throat tingle, and despite throwing up on the floor — he still feels uneasy. when he looks at it out the corner of his eye, despite his vision blurry, the color still has the unusual tone — just like last time. hinata's voice goes in and out, but komaeda guesses the other is complaining — he thinks, the concern in his words isn't easy to discern between his frustration? he doesn't know. )
...
( with his body weak, he can't help it when his fingers dig into the other's clothes, latching onto him so that he doesn't fall. his response to his words are to laugh, because he doesn't know what's said, but it hurts to do so, and his other hand raises to cover his mouth. if he gives his throat too much attention, he thinks he might as well upset his stomach to throw up again, so it's best to prevent it — but he forgets that hinata has already pressed the fabric to him, and his prosthetic hand unknowingly settles over hinata's own. it lacks heat, but there is a gentle touch there despite being an arm that isn't really part of komaeda's body, and while he's unable to feel the male's warmth, he keeps his hand there.
he can't talk properly, and he doubts hinata would let him.
"if you die after you said something like that to me, i'll never forgive you."
if he could talk properly, he'd point out isn't that hinata's responsibility to make sure he doesn't die? he doesn't need the other taking care of him in that manner, komaeda's able to watch over himself. unfortunately, he's too prone to wanting to die himself so even he... and then it hits him. hinata would never forgive him? why does he talk like he's forgiven komaeda already? he doesn't know the things he's done, or what he'll do... and even now within the school, from all of his rejections towards hinata's attempts... he still accepts him?
komaeda's grip tightens on hinata's shoulder with that sort of realization dawning on him — hinata still hasn't changed, aside from from his free emotions, he's still the same. sadly, he wishes it gave him more energy so he didn't have to lean on hinata as they walk towards the exit of the room, but he'll apologize after if he manages to make it out. )
no subject
Move.
Keep moving.
He has to, because Komaeda is depending on him now.
There's only one brief thing that he stops for. It's when the voice he hasn't heard in a while speaks up again.
"After you bring Komaeda-kun to safety... will you leave him alone again?"]
...No. Not anymore. [Hinata only allows himself a brief pause before he speaks, very softly, without turning around.] ...Bye, Nanami.
[Out in the hall, he can't tell if it's better or worse, but he has enough willpower to keep moving and carry Komaeda with him. He feels dizzy in snatches still, but determination makes his head somewhat clear even if his body doesn't respond as well. Besides... He told Komaeda he'd put him on his back and carry him out, didn't he? So he can't give up now.
Even if his mind is working at half-speed, he kind of remembers learning about gases. Something about them rising and falling... But he doesn't know if this is the kind of gas that would rise or fall...
He has to make a calculated guess and risk failure. He won't accept the alternative.]
Komaeda... I know it's asking a lot. But we're going upstairs to try and get to some clearer air. [Hinata says it with as much confidence as he can squeeze into the words. He has to believe in them.] We'll... go up to the clock tower.
[Just saying the place makes anxiety squeeze at his chest like a vice. It takes him forever to get anywhere in this school because of those memories... but he can't afford to let that happen now.]
Try... to hang on just a little bit longer, okay?
no subject
even within his own sickness, he slips his fingers around hinata's hand, and slowly he attempts to pull him away from his mouth so he can speak properly. it's a mistake, and his voice sounds tired if anything. )
Hinata-kun... W... What are you doing...?
( they both know that he and stairs aren't the best mix, and if anything, carrying someone else while he's already at a disadvantage seems unfair. it'd test his hope to see how far he gets, but even komaeda's not at his best, and if he can't do this on his own, then what's the point? besides, there's no point in both of them falling down the stairs if hinata takes a misstep, and so komaeda's going to attempt to pull himself off the other. no matter how weak and shaky his legs are, they've been through worse. )
...You have to go up alone.
( it's hard to say, not like he's against the idea of it, but knowing komaeda's luck, and knowing that he has a switchblade on his person right now. there's something gnawing at his consciousness that now isn't the best of all times. ) If... If you're afraid of what was said, then it's my choice... isn't it? ( whether he's left behind or worse, but implanting the fear in hinata's mind isn't his intention at all, instead, he's looking towards a more hopeful arrangement between them. ) Whether I'm...
( left or not... and even that sounds heavy on him to the point he can't say it aloud. )
I suggest you walk... and gather your bearings to prepare... I'll use the wall.
( and he's difficult as always, but at least he's going along. )
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[It isn't fine.]
We'll both be fine.
[He'll make sure it's fine.]
But if I have to go up alone... then you have to go first. I'll knock you down and drag you up if you won't.
[Hinata knows exactly how empty that must sound; he's sure that as observant as Komaeda is, he could feel him shaking as they made their way over, and if not he'll probably be able to see Hinata trembling right now. But the hard set, the conviction, doesn't leave his face for even a second.]
If... you're that determined to get away from me, then fine. [Even if Komaeda isn't finishing his sentences, he can put it together well enough.] But not before I make sure you're okay.
[The likelihood of it happening isn't something that Hinata is up to calculating right now, but he can still see the possibility of it lingering in his mind's eye - Komaeda staying behind, or getting out of his sight, and then... If something happened, Hinata would never know until it's too late...
No. He can't let that happen, either.]
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( does him saying that change anything at all, does it reassure whatever worries the other may have in his heart? well, if he can even show his heart to someone like komaeda, which the other wouldn't complain — it's understandable. all that conviction, his determination, and even if some of his statements are matter-of-fact, komaeda shakes his head. when the other doubted himself, he did do his best in trying to cheer him up, and even now within these deadly circumstances where every word feels like his last, komaeda speaks. )
It'll be no good if you hate yourself over this... who would you be able to save like that?
( he asks, also curious about the answer. )
Besides, you have... other things to worry about.
( like his poor memory, he doesn't need to sit there and beat himself up on whether it's his fault that komaeda died, or if he had been more aware of his surroundings. those days have came and gone, and there's no need trying to prevent the inevitable — there was a time komaeda died, there was a time where the other was too late. even if those were instances in the simulation, they still stand true to komaeda's memory — and while he's unable to tell him that, it'll be truths that komaeda keeps within his mind vividly.
hinata already played a hand in killing him, and even though he didn't throw the final blow... how would he feel if he knew that? )
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It makes something tense in Hinata relax. There had been that one part of him that couldn't relax, that feared the worst - because he still can't make himself trust all the way. The scarring of that is too deep.
But it's the first time in a very long time that he's wanted to.]
...Maybe you're right. Maybe I really wouldn't be able to save anyone like that, but... But even so-
[I'm afraid of you. I'm afraid for you.
He doesn't finish his thought.
Trusting someone... means taking a chance, right? And it's scary, to do that, but don't you need to sometimes? Isn't that such an important part of breaking down the barriers that let you reach someone and understand them?
I want to understand you.]
...No. If you promise you won't leave, then that's enough. If you do... then I can push past everything else. [Hinata takes hold of the banister, eyes trained forward as his voice becomes a little quieter.] If you don't want to give me anything else to worry about... promise you'll stay with me, for just a little bit longer.
[Trusting means taking a step forward, even when you aren't sure what will happen.
So Hinata doesn't wait for any other answer. He doesn't look away as he steps up onto the staircase.
The result almost feels instantaneous compared to normal - he can feel the phantom pain of the wood piercing through his flesh, quickly inhaling a sharp, shaky breath.
Crap. Crap crap crap crap.
He can't do this it's impossible how can he do this-
Hinata has to do this. There's no time for him to be overwhelmed right now.
He grits his teeth.
...Who can I save, Komaeda?
And he takes a step.
I'll save myself.
And another.
I'll save you.]
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( when it comes to that reassurance, komaeda's unable to give that, because what are those promises aside from empty. if his life was different, he'd be willing to take that without a second thought, find himself dwelling in some unknown normalcy between friends — sadly, he can't. he allows that request to hang heavy in the air, and isn't it convenient that there's gas which helps nullify any other speech at times. or is this his sickness getting in the way of accepting? his response is to cough, keeping himself up by using the wall nearby as his eyes water from the way they sting, but he does his best in trying to blink the tears away.
he can't stop thinking about hinata's words, wondering if he really means it — does komaeda have that much power over his thoughts? his worries? his concerns? there's no way that's how he works, and he can't help but glance off to the side wondering. what if his mouth spoke the words to agree with him, what would their life be like then? it'd be short-lived, for he did say for a little bit longer. he shouldn't hold onto something he can't have, and that's why he keeps a distance, he knows because of his luck — )
...
( his mouth parts, and as soon as he's ready to speak, he hears the way the other's hand grips the banister, and his eyes fly there first. he watches to see if he shakes, he notices the way it seems like a battle within itself as he takes his first step, and then the second step. it's hard to tell if it's the trauma or the sickness that they feel, but it all looks the same to komaeda. with a step forward, komaeda follows suit with gripping the rail, and his prosthetic hand presses against the youth's back in a reminder that he's behind him. luckily it's not komaeda's other, because he's not sure if he'd be trembling if he touched him with his normal hand — he doesn't know how much he'd give away. )
Hinata-kun...
( i'm here, behind you. his voice soft, and if it's not enough to bring hinata out of his thoughts, then perhaps the unsteady railing due to komaeda's luck will. c: )
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Touch, physical contact, things that will ground him - words can and absolutely will reach him, if they're the right ones, but those are the things that always seem to help Hinata when he's panicking.
He is not dying. He is not watching Saihara die. He is with Komaeda, and things will be bad if they don't climb the floors.
Hinata finally realizes that the banister doesn't feel quite right, like he might actually fall if he doesn't let go, so he does. He sways a little bit, but is quick to get a hand on the wall. What Komaeda said before about holding the wall suddenly takes on a whole new meaning; he always seems to have this sixth sense for this sort of thing.
He swallows, hard. It shouldn't be hard to say the words that suddenly lodge in his throat, not after everything else... But maybe it makes sense that it's these, after all.]
...Thank you.
[He can do this.
It's not impossible.
Because that hand is there, he can move forward.
When Hinata takes the next step, it's a little less shaky, a little more sure. The memory still hangs, but the phantom pain starts to fade.]
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( unlike hinata, komaeda keeps his hand on the banister despite how it feels like it could break at any moment, and to him, the amount of bad luck he accumulates — the better the good luck when it happens. there's some concern about it, and if something was to happen to him right now, it tempts him, curious, what would come of it? he welcomes it. or perhaps this was well deserved given the fact that the words he heard from hinata moments ago still reside in his head.
he knows it's against hinata's better judgement — things like this happen for something better, and he could force his good look at the cost of himself. he places his weight on the banister, and it creaks lightly, but it stays up properly despite his efforts.
even as he tries to focus on making it up, his foot weakly lifts onto the step, bringing him up one by one as his grip remains there. )
Ahah, I'll make sure you make it... this is just a stepping stone, and if you die here...
( if he dies here, he'll never become who he was meant to be. he's young now, he doesn't understand how much influence he has, and while komaeda only noticed it for a moment — the determination in his eyes has always been the same. maybe, a little stronger, never a moment of wavering, but the brunette in his youth shows it from time to time. ah, is this what it's like to watch someone grow? )
At least your death will influence others... but, there's people here who are counting on you, right...?
( and he brings them up, whoever those people are, and like normal he removes himself from the idea of if. he shouldn't count on komaeda, because in the end the nature of their relationship is already hanging by a thread. their differences, komaeda's insanity, it mixes into a fire, and even now he offers his warmth to hinata in this way. )
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[On any other day, Hinata would be furious. As it is, he's still a little aggravated, but the breath he lets out is half-agitation, half-disbelieving laughter.]
No... I can't die here. I remember that now. I won't die... [Hinata stops for a moment, letting go of the wall - to drop his hand down to where he heard the creaking of the banister. He finds the hand he expected there, and though he still feels weak... he'll try with all his might to pull Komaeda's hand to the wall.] ...and I won't let you die, either.
[He promised, after all.]
...There are people that are counting on me. You're right. And people that would be sad if we died. [We. Not "me". But with Hinata's next words, even he doesn't know if he's talking to himself or to Komaeda.] Now pick your feet up and keep going.
[But even if Hinata doesn't know, he does it.]
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( there's so many, as the person who is the catalyst of hope, so many people who look up to him, and komaeda is one of the many in a way. those days are long gone, though, and here he is holding hands with a reserve course that doesn't know the truth behind their capabilities. he doesn't know his hands twitch, tightening its hold on hinata's hand as he follows the lead given to him, and pressing his hand along with his weight against the wall. )
But... you wouldn't understand, so you have to keep living to see...
( he murmurs as he follows the other up the stairs, his steps slow as he listens to him on who would be said if they died, and komaeda doesn't think so. he has no idea how everyone must've felt when he passed, but that was probably a blessing to them. he clears his throat, the strong taste of what he threw up still evident there and on his tongue as he exhales tiredly. )
Keep going without me, and then... ( he coughs again, his prosthetic hand reaching to his face to muffle the action. it's a nasty one this time, and as he pulls his hand away he sees the faint color of red along the white of his hand, and the taste of iron along his tongue. ) ...You'll be pretty lucky.