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the horizon is so far away (but at least it brings the sun)

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he doesn’t know how he got here.


he remembers waking up, vaguely, and it wasn’t because of a nightmare. today isn’t a day filled with night terrors, resolved by side hugs and smiles. he woke up to a pain in his chest, tears pouring down his face, and he immediately came here.  now, he’s in the warehouse at 2 am. it’s stuffy, and he’s not really able to breathe. all he can hear are ringing reminders, thoughts telling him he’s worthless and disgusting and he wishes he died in this dilapidated building instead of being revived. 


he curls up on the floor, tears threatening to break through and cloud his vision. his body feels heavy, like his brain and chest are crushing him with the weight of his misery, but he can’t crumble into dust.


he really wants to crumble into dust.


he grabs his phone—out of desperation or panic, he can’t discern— and immediately scrolls through his contacts. the future foundation gave the remnants’ phones a few months ago, but it’s only to communicate with the other island inhabitants. hinata is the only one with naegi’s contact.


hinata .


komaeda shakes his head as he dials the number, because he knows it’s an absurd time, and hinata doesn’t get enough sleep as is, but... he can’t help but remember hinata promising he’ll always listen. he doesn’t even know what to say, but—


he picks up on the fourth ring. 


“what the fuck?” he sounds exhausted, exhausted and annoyed. “komaeda, it’s 2 am-“


“are we friends?” he interrupts, his voice coming out desperate and confused. he already feels tears prickling in his eyes, and it’s far too early for him to be doing this. at night, it’s fine, because it’s only 7 pm and he’ll live, but breaking down in the morning means he has to miss breakfast and soon he’s missing the entire day. he doesn’t want to do that, but he can’t do much else.


“...what? yeah, of course. did you seriously call me to ask that?”


komaeda bites his lip, a rivulet streaming down his face. he fights to keep his voice steady, despite the lump in his throat that makes every breath burn. “are... are you sure?” he immediately regrets saying that, because his eyes are stinging even more and he’s so angry that he’s burdening hinata like this, because he didn’t have to know. and yet, somehow, the thought of keeping this from him makes his chest heavy.


he’s always been too kind, too caring, too honest to you. you care about him too much, are you going to lose him to your idiocy ? your obsession? your insanity? if he leaves you, what do you have left?


“is everything okay?” hinata’s voice softens. “do you need me to come over?”


“no. it’s fine, i-“ he cuts himself off with a quiet sob. “i was just wondering .”


“’re crying, komaeda,” hinata observes hesitantly. “seriously, do you need to come over? i’m not that tired, i’m okay with talking. i swear it.”






“… you think i deserve to be alive?”


his voice is weaker than it's ever been, and he can almost feel hinata’s gasp in response. komaeda hears rustling and then a door creak open. it’s a lot harder to hear hinata now, with the coastal air roaring, but komaeda makes out: “i’m coming over right now.”




“komaeda, please.”


komaeda shakes his head and shivers. “i’m not in my cottage.”


“what? where are you?” komaeda is silent, and he can hear the other become more frantic. “ko, where are you?”


komaeda shudders, a pressure building in his temples. maybe, maybe, maybe this is how he ends, alone and panicking in- “the w-warehouse.” 


fuck . okay, i’ll be there. stay safe. bye.”


komaeda listens to hinata hang up, then drops his phone and immediately squeezes his eyes shut. he shoves his hands into his hair, burying his face into his knees and sobbing violently. it hurts, so damn bad. he’s so scared, but he’s going to wait (partly because hinata asked him to, but also because he can’t move). he’ll wait for him. he always will, until the very end.


when will it end?


(later, he’s glad he called him, because he’s still miserable but at least there’s someone beside him, holding him with such understanding and affection, and maybe, maybe, maybe there’s something good on the horizon.)