Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first thing Makoto realized, after all the relief and tears and the overall overwhelmingness of their release from the prison that was Hope's Peak, was that he wasn't free, not all the way. Sure, he was free from the school-turned-fortress, and from the murders and Enoshima and trials.

What he wasn't free from, though, were the scars.

It wasn't a quick realization, not by a long shot. Makoto could be sharp in some ways and admittedly rather oblivious in others, but this wasn't due to either of those things. It was more the fact that he was so totally overwhelmed by just being out of that place that he didn't have a chance to notice the remnants it had left behind in him.

For the first week or so, he'd done nothing but soak in the love and support of his family like a desperate sponge. After all that had happened in the academy, he'd wanted nothing more than to hear them tell them that they were okay, that he was okay, that everything was all over, and his family were nothing but willing to give that to him. They spent all of their time with him. There was scarcely a minute that elapsed where Makoto was without their presence for too long, and he'd wanted to keep it that way, at least for the time being.

Once a week had passed, though, and things began to wind down, Makoto had begun to notice to results of his imprisonment, and with this a rift had seemingly sprung up between him and his family. Not on purpose, of course not. He loved his family with every fiber of his being, even more so after the threat of losing them, and he was sure they felt the same. But once the effects of the killing game began to reveal themselves, he could tell that they noticed it and felt something like guilt. Maybe because they had been forced to watch without being able to do anything about it all. Maybe because they had seen it all but they hadn't lived it; they understood and could never understand enough all at once.

Maybe that was it.

——

The first thing to reveal itself left Makoto feeling hollowed out. It wasn't a big thing, but it proved to his mind that, no, he wasn't going to be able to move past this for a long while.

See, the thing was, Makoto soon realized that he couldn't sleep without locking his door. In fact, he locked his door every time he was in his room, no matter what time of day. It didn't matter what he was doing, he locked his door. He couldn't seem to help himself. He told himself over and over that he was safe, that he was in his own home and definitely did not need to lock his door to, what, keep his sister out? Seriously, no one was going to attempt to kill him in his sleep.

Every night, Makoto stood at his door, and stared at the doorknob like he was trying to sear it off through sight alone as he waged war with himself. Something almost like a gut instinct urged him to lock it every single time he closed it. And every single time Makoto fought back with logic and reasoning, his own little trial inside his head.

'Better to be safe than sorry!' one side of him would say. 'There's nothing wrong with being cautious.'

'That's wrong,' another piece would stubbornly counter. 'I don't need to worry about being killed anymore.'

The back and forth would continue, an endless argument with no winner. The irrational urge never ceased and never backed down, and Makoto had a hard time convincing himself it was wrong when it was self-preservation. Yet he couldn't give up fighting it, because that felt like giving a victory to Hope's Peak and to the mastermind, and he wasn't willing to lose anymore than he already had. No, so many things had already been stolen from him, so many lives and so many memories. Giving that place another victory was nothing short of unacceptable.

He knew no one was coming to kill him. He knew that he was safe in his house. He knew that the mastermind was dead, and he was no longer subject to that twisted game. He knew all these things, and he should not let Hope's Peak control him any more.

Makoto still locked his door every night.

——

The next thing to tear down his whole world was when he picked up a kitchen knife for the first time since Hope's Peak.

He decided one evening to help his mom with dinner, which he told himself was out of a burst of generosity but was really just him wanting his family's company. It hadn't been a bad day, but he still found himself clinging to his family like he might lose them any moment. His mother was very understanding, allowing him to slide up next to her at the counter where she was cooking vegetables at the stovetop. She gave him the completely normal request to dice the chicken to add into the pan.

The moment he touched the knife, he saw the blade covered in slick copper; the chicken on the cutting board suddenly seemed more like a grotesque maimed horror. A corpse? Maizono-san's—!

The blade slipped from his fingers, landing on the counter with a clatter, blood flicking up onto his cheek. Distantly, he was aware of his shallow breaths coming much too fast. The room was spinning, darkening at the edges, the only thing in full clarity being the blood quickly pooling and Maizono's slumped body on the counter, blood dripping from her fingertips to the wood below. The all-too-familiar stench of decay and gag-inducing copper were like razors against his mind.

Makoto stumbled backwards, desperate to put distance between himself and the killing. Something touched his shoulder and he flinched hard; the touch didn't pull back, instead transforming to a firm grip on his shoulders. Kirigiri-san...?

As much as the initial contact had startled him, he knew he had to calm down. Panicking would not avenge Maizono, never avenge her, would never bring her back and would never erase the pain.

Slowly, a voice phased into hearing. Female and...panicked. Not Kirigiri. No, it was impossible for it to be her, because he was at home and not at Hope's Peak at all, he'd been in his kitchen with his mother and he'd suddenly freaked out at the sight and feel of the knife—

Makoto blinked and Maizono's corpse faded away, the edges of the room coming back into full focus. His mother was holding onto his shoulders for dear life, a stream of fearful and upset words coming from her, but Makoto still wasn't there enough to understand it.

He could now feel himself shaking.

Distantly, Makoto raised an unsteady hand and scrubbed at his cheek. His hand came away clean. He stared, uncomprehendingly, at his palm for a moment. Nothing had splashed onto his cheek, that blood wasn't real. In fact—he realized with a terrible growing dread—none of that blood was real at all, he'd imagined the entire thing.

His mother's grip tightened, bringing his pale gaze back to her. She was still speaking, and he still couldn't seem to hear it. She was underwater, or maybe he was, and he was finally drowning in it all. Maybe the water was filled with sharks that smelled the imagined blood leaking from imagined wounds.

Well...maybe not.

Makoto forced himself to blink, hard, willing the world to come back into full focus. The real world, not the past back to haunt him. It was slow, but his mother's voice began to filter through his ears properly, real words that he could understand. She sounded considerably calmer than she had earlier, but without the panic he could see that her eyes had started to well up a little bit, probably with the implication of what had just happened.

In a weird way, Makoto felt ashamed of himself. He'd brought the horrors of Hope's Peak into their home. He should've left it all behind but he couldn't seem to make it go away. It almost felt like his fault, like he was the one who just couldn't let go of the past—the girl who'd tried to frame him, the girl who'd tried to kill someone and been butchered in return.

It felt like he was dragging darkness into the house just by being there. His family didn't deserve to see their once-immaculate walls painted in blood and carnage. They didn't deserve to have him be the one to do it.

"Makoto!" his mother said once she was sure his eyes were focused on her own. Her voice softened, losing the urgency but keeping the pain. "Are you alright?" He didn't answer. There wasn't anything to say, and he was sure she knew that as well. His mother hesitated, opened her mouth, and seemed to think better of it. Instead, "I'm sorry," she finally said, gentle and full of unspoken tragedy. "I should've realized." Only then did she release her grip on him and instead wrap him in a hug.

Makoto didn't hug her back, but he didn't pull away either. He felt awful. Why was she apologizing, he was the one who'd brought the darkness into the home in the first place. He'd taken something completely normal, mundane, and found a way to transform it into something twisted.

He felt confused, and still way too overwhelmed with it all. A small part of him reminded him not to lose hope now, but he didn't want to listen to it, not right now. What he really wanted was to be alone to sort through his scrambled thoughts, to begin to come to terms with what all this meant.

He'd thought Hope's Peak was behind him. He'd thought he'd won, in the sense that he had refused to play the mastermind's game and therefore gotten him and five other people out alive. Obviously, he knew it wasn't really winning, since ten people had still died. It wasn't winning, because they'd lost memories and friends and so much time. But somehow, he'd thought that it would be over when they escaped. He'd thought that once he was out, he could go back and live with relief and joy that the torture was over.

It was foolish, obviously, Makoto knew that now. He was stupid for thinking it would end when they escaped. It was too optimistic, too unrealistic, which in a dumb ironic way Makoto knew he was known for, and he had previously persevered due to that optimism. He supposed he'd never expected it to bite him this badly.

His mother pulled away, and he took the opening to step out of the hug. "Makoto—" she started, but he didn't let her finish.

"I'm going to my room," he said quietly, not angry or upset, maybe contemplative and a bit sad, perhaps at what he knew he'd lost. "I'm sorry," he added, apologizing for far too many things to fit it all in two little words. He hurried down the hall and into his room before she got a chance to say anything else. He closed and locked the door and lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He closed his eyes.

Eventually, he opened them, rolled over and curled up on his side to mourn the open wounds he now knew still covered his mind, the violent bleeding cuts that he knew would take a long time to heal. Even after, he was sure they'd still scar.

All I can do is keep moving forward. Just like always. He tried to muster a smile, but it was weak. It's what I'm good at, after all.

——

All of the people he'd emerged from that school with, Makoto was sure he'd trust with his life.

He'd definitely trust Kirigiri with his life. Technically, he already had, multiple times. (He'd have never made it past that first nerve-racking trial if Kirigiri hadn't been ready to back him up at every turn. She'd always been quick to help him with his investigations and to give him space during the trials to come to the correct conclusion.) Almost as if in thanks for sticking together, she'd trusted him time and time again with information he knows she'd normally keep close to her vest. In return, he'd laid his life in her hands in a sacrificial act he'd thought was final, but instead had turned the tide in their favor.

Perhaps, at this point, they were about even when it came to trusting the other with something like their life.

He'd even trust Togami with his life. Hell, maybe especially Togami. He was sharp as any knife and he loved to get things right. He'd fight tooth and nail to be the one to emerge victorious, to have his theory prove to be the right one. If there was one thing you could count on, it was that he'd put his every effort towards being the best at something.

He'd trust Fukawa with his life, her and Genocide Jack. Sure, it was more than a little insane to entrust one's life to a known serial killer, but the fact that she could have killed them and didn't was enough for him. Someone like Togami would probably say that that type of thinking was much too simple and naïve, bound to get him killed one day, easy prey.

But he refused to lose hope in the people he'd come to care about so deeply.

He'd trust Asahina, but that was almost a no-brainer in his eyes. She was clearly gentle, someone all heart and perhaps a little lacking in brains, but honestly who was he to talk? Maybe they got along well because they were actually very similar to each other—much too trusting and easily hurt, but full of fire and fury when pushed to their limit. Viciously loyal, a cupcake with razorblades tucked inside.

He'd definitely trust Hagakure; despite the man's penchant for obliviousness at best and sheer denial at worst, he was honest and willing to step up when it became necessary. He'd been the one who'd been most subject to despair the entire time in the academy, and yet he'd pulled through time and time again. He hadn't liked it, and his carefree attitude clashed heavily when in serious situations, but when they'd needed someone to help keep spirits high, he was there when no one else could seem to muster anything up.

All of them, he would give his life for—had once been prepared to give his life for. So of course, he would take care of each of them and trust them to do it in return. If they called, he would come running, no matter what. They'd been through thick and thin together, through life and death. They were all invaluable, irreplaceable. They were people he'd grown to have an inexplicable bond with, one that seemed to stretch deeper than family or friend.

All this considered, being separated from them was its own new experience with new consequences.

On one hand, he was relieved that he was no longer spending his entire day with them, since that meant that they were free from the hell that was Hope's Peak. On the other hand, he'd gotten very familiar with each of them very quickly. Makoto's mind reminded him with no small amount of lingering horror that that feeling of closeness was definitely in part due to their lost memories with each other.

But he really didn't like to think about having a huge hole in his memories like that.

It was besides the point, anyways, which was that he felt torn in two directions. He was overjoyed to be with his family again, to be able to sleep knowing that he wasn't going to wake up to a cooling corpse and a grating voice announcing a new body. But he was also missing the companionship of all of the people he'd come to trust and love so viciously.

He couldn't help it; he liked knowing where they were.

He liked knowing they were still alive.

It was really hard, at first, when he hadn't yet realized what it meant to rely on someone so heavily and then part ways. He felt anxious after a few days passed without seeing them; he found himself constantly wanting to know if they were okay. Logically, he knew that they were probably fine. And yet the instinctual part of his mind refused to be placated.

So Makoto got into the habit of texting them nearly every day without fail. Even if it was just him sending a cute cat video to Togami and receiving a curt 'What is this. Why are you wasting my time.' it was enough. (And he had the feeling they all needed the support, because despite the snobbish and cold replies, Togami always responded, just like everyone else did.)

With Asahina and Hagakure, he got longer chains of texts going. They had their own little group chat that never stopped moving for too long. Hagakure would send conspiracy theories that ranged from being able to steal a chuckle from them or actually getting them paranoid for a few days. Asahina sent in baking recipes (usually for donuts) and plenty of feel-good articles. She always seemed to know when they were having a bad day. Makoto himself usually threw in whatever he had found that day that he felt like sharing. Sometimes it was more serious, sometimes it was funny, and sometimes it led to a nonsensical back and forth that lasted for much longer than necessary.

He'd maintained contact with Fukawa as well. Sometimes she responded, sometimes she didn't, but he made sure to check in with her every once in a while all the same. She liked her space, but he wanted her to know he was always there just in case.

Lately, she'd been quiet. He fretted often over this, hoping that she hadn't gotten caught up in anything or that nothing had happened to her. He'd been so relieved to escape from the academy that for a few weeks, he hadn't even thought about what would happen to Fukawa now that everyone knew the identity of Genocide Jack. At first he'd assumed she was fine since she'd continued to give her sparse responses, but this dry spell was worrying him. He'd have to ask Togami if he knew anything more, or perhaps Kirigiri. (She wasn't a big texter, though, he'd learned. She communicated through emails most of the time, and when she did respond to his texts she retained the unruffled attitude she always adopted in person, which could make carrying a conversation a bit...difficult. Nonetheless, he made sure to check up on her, especially with everything that had happened with her father being something that surely still loomed over her.)

Makoto sighed and looked at the chain of texts he'd sent Fukawa over the days, all of them still unreplied to. He worried at his lower lip, ignoring the pit of anxiety in his stomach.

He'd ask Togami and Kirigiri. Or maybe Fukawa herself would respond soon.

Hopefully it was all nothing.

——

'Do any of you guys get flashbacks of stuff that happened?'

Makoto read the question a few times before he typed out an answer and hit send. 'You too?'

'Yeah Hina. I get visions of it sometimes when I'm tryna do readings. It's rlly annoying, you kno?'

'Would it kill you to text like an adult? Why did you even put me in this inane chat anyway?'

Asahina's response came soon after Togami's prickly words. 'I sometimes dream about Sakura, and how she died... And when I wake up, I can't stop crying. It feels like I'm still there sometimes, you know?'

The chat was filled with heavy silence for a few minutes that no one seemed quite ready to break.

'Yeah,' he finally replied. 'I know.'

——

How the people whisper. They see him and say 'there he is, that's Naegi Makoto, one of the survivors of Hope's Peak.' He can always feel their stares as he walks down the streets, as he sits on park benches, when he goes out with Asahina for tea.

And every time, he feels like a bug pinned to a board, scoured by their scrutinizing eyes.

The attention, it's unwanted, but they don't care, and they never look away.

——

Nothing was worse than the interview requests. The vultures circled over skeletons that were long emaciated, picked clean, searching for the smallest scrap of flesh to strip and devour. Makoto made the mistake of offering to allow an interview; he had finally snapped, become so tired of it all, but unfortunately he couldn't take it back. His only choice was to lay his bones bare and let them pluck his heart from his chest, bleeding him dry in front of a live studio audience.

——

When the date of the interview—god, why oh why had he ever agreed to this?—arrived, he started his day sick with anxiety. He woke up and immediately stalled over what he should wear, how he should present himself. He'd known that he was going to be on TV, obviously he understood that, and yet somehow it was just sinking in and he was horrifically self-conscious. He didn't want to look too unkempt but dressing too nicely didn't feel very authentic. In the end he said screw it, and pulled his favorite green jacket out, opting for its comforting familiarity rather than appearing put-together. Who cared if he looked nice, these people had seen him in a horrific killing game, a place where he'd reached his absolute lowest points. Nobody would care if he chose to present himself like he'd appeared in the game; in fact, it probably would've been weirder to dress nicely because everyone would've known that that wasn't real.

Was he overthinking this?

He was definitely overthinking this.

All at once he wished he was a little less average. Maybe then he'd have been a little better equipped to handle this. Togami would've fared much better agreeing to this, but Togami was also much smarter than Makoto and therefore hadn't made this mistake in the first place. Well, lesson learned, although hindsight was twenty-twenty.

On the way to the interview, his stomach continued to tie itself in knots. His mother fretted over him, his father did his best to raise his confidence, and his sister was quiet. At one point, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight. "You'll be alright, onii-chan," she said, face stony and determined. Somehow, she'd sounded the most grounded out of all of them. He knew his hands were clammy, and he probably looked pale, but he'd still smiled back nonetheless, because he needed her to understand how much he appreciated her being there even though he couldn't find the words to say so.

He'd never been on TV before—well, technically that wasn't true, but he firmly decided that that didn't count because he hadn't had a choice, and it hadn't been a real broadcast—so even walking into the studio was strange. It felt surreal. If someone had come to Makoto a few years ago and told him he'd end up a celebrity and that he'd be interviewed on national television, he'd have laughed at the impossibility of it.

And yet, here he was. Getting ready to step out on stage to be featured on a reputable talk show and to be interviewed in front of what Makoto would consider a sizable studio audience.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't scared.

When they ushered him out and gave him the go-ahead, he found his heart was pounding. He forced himself to take a deep breath as he walked out onto the set, made himself seem less tense than he was as he shook the host's hand and took a seat in the sturdy black leather chair. He tried very hard not to stare out into the audience and at all the cameras and lights pouring onto him. He tried to ignore the way the cameras, with their cold robotic gazes, followed his movements in a familiar way that made him a little sick. Instead, he straightened up in his seat and pressed his hands face down onto his knees, trying to keep himself grounded. He hoped that the host hadn't noticed how clammy his palms were. Even the thought was embarrassing, so he did his best to push it out of his head.

"Thank you, everyone, for your warm welcome of Naegi-kun."

The audience had been politely clapping, apparently, and now that they'd been cued their response died down. Apparently he'd already been introduced as well, but he'd missed that part, lost in his own head and overwhelmed by the set and the people and the environment. His eyes flitted over the audience and settled on his family. His sister gave him an encouraging smile, and he took another deep breath to try to steady himself.

The host turned to face one of the cameras as he gave some sparse background information. "Naegi Makoto-kun has very graciously accepted our interview request. As many well-know, Naegi-kun is one of the six survivors of the Hope's Peak Horror." He turned to Makoto and gave a smile with too-white teeth. "We are very grateful that you are allowing us this interview, Naegi-kun. It's been very hard to get any comment from any of the Hope's Peak Six, so our gratefulness toward your cooperation could not be understated."

"I'm happy to answer everyone's questions," Makoto replied, inclining his head politely and forcing his tone into something more welcoming. His hands tightened minutely around his black slacks. I'm not happy to be here. I just wanted to finally be left alone.

The host nodded, flicking a gaze to the camera. "And I'm sure everyone is eager to finally receive some answers." The host's attitude abruptly mellowed into something more solemn, and he faced the camera again, light briefly glinting off his thick-rimmed glasses. "Before we begin, though, I'd like to warn our viewers today that this broadcast will not be suitable for all audiences. In order for us to have the ability to ask and answer all questions to the fullest extent, we are issuing a content warning for graphic and disturbing topics. This interview will not be for the faint of heart."

Makoto couldn't help but swallow dryly. Somehow, it made him vaguely sick to think that what had become so routine for him while in Hope's Peak was something the rest of the world needed a warning to even speak about. The sickening part wasn't even the fact that it had been that bad, it was the fact that Makoto had grown used to it. A reminder that people weren't supposed to have adjusted to investigating the dead bodies of their murdered classmates just served to remind him that what he'd been through was complete, utter lunacy to most of the public, and it was even bigger lunacy that it had started to seem normal to him.

The host, with his dark close-cropped hair and pristine navy suit, suddenly served to make Makoto feel like he was falling apart in comparison. When he spoke with those clear, confident tones, it made Makoto feel inadequate. "Now that we have the warnings out of the way, let's begin with some questions. Some of these are original, but many were taken from the poll we ran of what questions the viewers would want the answers to. We tried to choose as many of the most common questions as we could. Without further ado, let's begin."

The host—Makoto wished he knew his name, he'd introduced himself earlier, but when he tried to retrieve the memory his mind went blank—leaned forward, resting his elbows on the chair's armrests, attention now solely on Makoto. "Naegi-kun, tell us a little about yourself. What would you say your hobbies are? Is there anything you want us to know about you?"

Makoto was a little taken aback. He'd thought they'd immediately jump into talking about Hope's Peak. It helped a little to ease his nerves to be able to test the waters talking about something safe. "Um, I'm really very average, see." He almost started to move to scratch his cheek sheepishly, but he stopped himself, unnaturally attentive with the knowledge he was on TV. "I like video games a lot. And I read a lot of manga. I'm a lot like your average high schooler." His voice was steadier than he thought it would be, but he was still obviously tense. He wished he could relax, but despite his best efforts it didn't seem to be something he could force very easily.

"Ah, but not quite your average high schooler," the host segued neatly, with an almost-enviable ease. "After all, no one at Hope's Peak is truly average. Naegi-kun, would you mind telling us a bit about your Talent?"

Makoto was almost entirely sure everyone watching this would've known this already, but he answered anyway. "Ah, my Talent is luck. I am the Ultimate Lucky Student. It's not much in the way of a Talent, honestly, and sometimes it seems like maybe I'm more unlucky than lucky..." He trailed off, a nervous chuckle somehow escaping his lips.

The host laughed a little bit along with him, thankfully keeping it from being too awkward, and some in the audience chuckled a bit in response as well. "After what you've been through, I don't think anyone blames you for thinking that." A few more chuckles from the audience at that; people were starting to ease into it, the tension of the air lessening a little. Makoto found himself loosening his hold on his slacks just a bit as his body started to calm a little from the less oppressive atmosphere. His heart was still in his throat and much too fast, but that frantic pitter-patter was beginning to turn to something less flighty.

"You said you enjoyed manga. Do you have a favorite manga genre, Naegi-kun?"

Makoto blinked, again a bit blindsided. "Well," he began tentatively, "I really like shounen manga. I especially enjoy fantasy and sci-fi." He wasn't sure if this was some sort of trick question and he was inadvertently making a fool of himself, but he answered anyways. He didn't really understand why he'd ask him something like that.

To his surprise, the host nodded. "Sounds like you have some exciting tastes, Naegi-kun." Makoto didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. The man continued, unfazed, pulling into a more solemn tone. "Now that we've broken the ice a little, let's start to get into the more serious stuff. As much as I'd love to have this remain a more light-hearted interview, that unfortunately isn't what we're here for, though I'll still try to ease into the more graphic topics."

Makoto's heart jumped again, and a fresh layer of sweat broke out over his body as anxiety rekindled. The man looked to him, almost for permission, and Makoto couldn't bring himself to speak so he just nodded.

The host gave a small nod in return as he adjusted his glasses. His tone was so much more serious now, none of that almost-playful warmth. It had been replaced by something that was almost wary. "Naegi-kun, for our first question, I think our viewers would like to commend your willpower. Throughout the entire time at Hope's Peak, you remained optimistic. How did you manage to keep yourself in such high spirits?"

To some extent, Makoto was glad that this was his first question. And yet, at the same time, it still hurt to think about. "Um." Makoto cut himself off and cleared his throat before speaking again, more clearly this time. "I wasn't really in high spirits. Or, well, I was, but not really." Makoto couldn't keep himself from glancing away, chastising himself internally. "Sorry, I know I'm not being very articulate."

The host seemed to get it, at least. "It's alright, take your time. I think everyone watching understands that this is not easy."

Makoto took a moment to gather himself, to plan what he was going to say, like he was in a trial, before speaking again, his expression settling into a resolute one. "I knew that losing hope would just be giving the mastermind what they wanted. They already were taking so much from us. Giving in to despair just seemed like giving up. There was no way to fight back if we all just gave up." Makoto felt that familiar determination dissolve under the memories, and his next words were much quieter. "...And partially, losing hope meant that everyone's deaths were in vain. The least we could do was live to carry on their sacrifice."

The studio was very silent for a moment that felt much longer than it really was.

Makoto laughed ruefully, if only to fill the space. "I'm sorry, that was probably a lot heavier than you were expecting. I know I seem upbeat, but it was really me convincing myself I had no other choice that kept me going."

"...If anyone came into this expecting nice answers to nice questions, they will have to rethink their expectation," the host finally said, still just as serious. "Please don't apologize for your honesty—that's the whole point of this interview, to get the undoctored account of someone who lived through the horrors of the Hope's Peak Academy incident. I'm sure it won't be pleasant to hear these questions and answers, and at some times uncomfortable, but that's the nature of this event."

The man gave a small hand gesture, drawing the audience's attention and indicating the next question. "Now that you're no longer in Hope's Peak, do you still have any sort of attachment to the other survivors, or have you all gone your separate ways?"

"I still talk with every single one of them," Makoto answered, almost fiercely, in his rush to defend them, to prove that they'd shared more than just experiences, but in fact pieces of themselves. "I care about them all deeply. That wasn't just me being forced to get along with them, and I know they trust me in return."

A few people in the audience murmured in response, and when his attention was brought to them he saw that they all seemed extremely invested in what he had to say.

"That was quite the fiery display," the interviewer remarked, and Makoto realized as he refocused that he had gotten maybe a touch overbearing. He was ready to apologize, too, but the man wasn't done. "It's very rallying to hear your words of genuine hope even after all you've been through." Nods throughout the audience.

Makoto aborted his apology and drank that in for a moment, really studied it. They didn't seem to mind that he'd let a bit of his fierceness deep through. It was a remnant of taking charge during trials, prior to everything he'd actually usually been a conversational pushover, generally allowing other people to take the stage. That didn't mean that he wouldn't take the floor if he had to, though, and his time in the killing academy had brought out more of that lurking boldness. It seemed he'd found another inadvertent result of Hope's Peak, though for once, it wasn't all bad. This determination put steel where there would have previously been cardboard.

Finally, Makoto nodded. "We have to show people that despair will never win. Hope will always beat despair."

The man nodded sagely, left a pause as if in some kind of tribute to his words, before moving forward. He didn't seem like he wanted to wait long between questions. Maybe he wanted to grill Makoto as much as he could. The media had been all over him, after all.

Makoto shook that thought out of his head. It was unkind to assume the man had ulterior motives.

"I think most people would agree that you were one of the driving personalities during the Hope's Peak Horror, along with Togami Byakuya and Kirigiri Kyoko, to name some others. You took charge often, especially during the trials. Would you say that this was a role you actively tried to fill, or one that you fell into on accident?"

Did people really think of him that way? He'd never considered himself to be a very strong personality. He pushed back when he had to, but usually preferred to mediate and avoid conflict; he'd thought that what he'd done during the trials had been somewhat in line with that. In fact, he'd seen Kirigiri as being the real driving force behind the trials. While he'd spoken aloud a lot of the conclusions, she'd been the one to help him every step of the way, starting all the way back in the first investigation and trial, even. Without her support, he likely wouldn't have been able to convince the others that he was innocent.

With a nervous chuckle, he glanced to the side. "I think you're overestimating me a little. I didn't do all that much, really. I only listened to Kirigiri-san and Togami-kun most of the time. Honestly, I was more of a collector of information than anything else."

The audience rippled what sounded like dissent. The man frowned along with them. "It sounds like everyone watching thinks you're selling yourself short—and I agree with them. You investigated just as much as Kirigiri-san and used that during the trials to make your own deductions as much as she did." The host added, with a bit of a teasing tone, "You weren't exactly dead weight, Naegi-kun."

He still didn't really agree, but he stayed quiet about it, feeling more than a little pressure from the audience. He didn't want to start a back-and-forth about this. "That's true," he said instead, enough to appease everyone there.

The host had a few papers set on the table between them, which he now reached over and grabbed. He spoke as he straightened them in his hands, the whisper of shuffling paper managing to be just a little too loud. "Now that we've covered our own questions, we have some of the questions taken from our polls." The man settled on a page, his dark eyes flicking across neatly printed words. "Ah, here's one of our most common questions. Normally, we would dismiss something that seems so inflammatory, but in this case, an exception is being made simply because of the sheer volume of inquiries." When the host next looked at Makoto with that apologetic smile, he was sure he caught the glint of sharp teeth. "Naegi-kun, did you personally ever consider attempting to graduate?"

Something in Makoto tripped over itself, stalled for a bit, as he struggled to process what he'd just been asked. When it finally confirmed that, yes, he hadn't misheard, all he could feel was a vague sense of cold anger. What a deceptive way to ask such an awful question. Here was what he had expected coming into this. Razors hidden in words, fangs concealed beneath welcoming smiles, cold eyes behind reflective glasses. After they'd gone so long without any of the expected deceit, he'd let his guard down.

Stupid. That was all they'd been waiting for. This was TV after all, and the media were merciless.

Some in the crowd seemed to disagree with this blatant disrespect. Maybe their morality kicked in once they realized how out-of-line such a question was. But clearly it wasn't enough, for the show went on, and no one was outraged enough to try and stop it.

Makoto felt a sudden wave of bitterness towards all those cold, empty people. How could they be so apathetic toward all of their suffering?

And so Makoto fixed the man with his most level, steady gaze, and answered him. His voice wasn't cold, but the absence of his usual cheerful warmth was to be noted. Makoto did not talk to people this way often, and he was sure this man would realize that. "Of course I did." He gave one of his trademark gentle smiles, ones that usually eased the mood. This time, it didn't have that effect—its usual genuineness was absent. "I know it seems unexpected for me, but I'm really just an average person, see. I'm sure that everyone did, really. Especially when we realized that our families may not be alive, or the people important to us were in danger, or that the risk of death was real. No one wanted to be in there. So of course I thought about getting out of there. In fact, there was a moment where I really thought I'd do whatever it took to get out of that place.

"Ah, but the thing is... It was only a moment. A moment of weakness. I wanted to get out desperately, which naturally means I thought about killing someone. But it doesn't mean that I really considered killing someone." Makoto toned up that polite smile, just a few ticks short of outright mocking. "Oh, and before you ask if I had any particular choice of who I'd have killed or something, let me tell you that I would never have killed anyone, and my answer won't change no matter how you word it." Makoto really was so blindingly livid right now. Of all the cruel things...

That question was obviously so wrong. And yet, he'd chosen to answer it properly. It might seem like Makoto was being too forgiving, but what it really boiled down to was was this: Makoto was sick of the attention and the whole reason he'd come in here was hoping that one interview would appease them. By his logic, if he answered everything, then they wouldn't have anything left to ask. If he answered everything, maybe they wouldn't bother everyone else. No matter how much their questions raised his discomfort. No matter how much pain they managed to dredge up.

In an amazing show of conversational brute force, the host was undeterred. "I see. So you're saying that you never planned anyone's death, but that naturally you had the desire to escape just like anyone else." The host offered the camera a smile, one that screamed, 'I'm very relatable, right?' "I think a few in the audience felt their hearts stop a little with your initial answer! But of course our Naegi Makoto-kun isn't the type to become a murderer, no matter how badly he wants to escape. We all know you're not that kind of person, Naegi-kun." The man had the audacity to give a conspiratorial wink. "I think it would disappoint quite a large following of yours if you weren't as nice as you seemed."

He was momentarily taken aback. 'Following'? What's that supposed to mean? How would I be 'disappointing' them?

He didn't get a chance to think on it. "Now, continuing that line of questioning...

"Do you think the killers deserved to die? I know many watching the events unfold got very attached to everyone in your class. Did you personally feel that any of them deserved their death? When all's said and done, they did kill your classmates and friends."

Suddenly they weren't pulling punches anymore, huh? Apparently once they dropped all pretense, they were no longer going to bother pretending that they were sensitive to the tragedy. All they wanted were answers to their burning questions, no matter how vicious.

"I think the only person who deserved to die was Enoshima-san," Makoto replied, almost surprised at how steady and sharp his voice was, despite the brutality of these questions, despite the fact that he hadn't even tried to temper his tone this time. Then again, it was something he felt strongly about down to his core. Enoshima had had no logical motive, no purpose behind her carnage and horrendous acts. It was despair for despair's sake, and that was truly unforgivable, unrepentant. A large, cold, mean part of Makoto did not regret her death one bit, not even now. The most guilt he felt over her death was the fact that he didn't feel any. When he thought about her death, it only made him feel relief, and vengeance, and lingering hatred. He never thought about her death and felt bad. Sometimes, that fact haunted him. In a way, it felt like another thing in him that would remain forever changed, a scar that had caused this cold perception. Hatred had never been something Makoto had previously known, at least not toward another human being. His feelings toward her death felt like a cruelty that had never before been a part of him.

Funny, these thoughts only made his bitterness toward it all grow.

But enough of all of that. Makoto wasn't one to dwell on negativity, or at least, not for too long. He had to push onward. There was no point in getting caught up in all these swirling thoughts. (There would be plenty of time later where they'd creep back up on him anyway, and he had his hands full with this interview as it was.)

(Although, was it bad that at least this question was a little less rage-inducing than the previous one? It was strange, but talking about Enoshima was something so certain in his mind that he almost wasn't as offended to bring her up. Maybe it was because he didn't hold any charitable feelings toward her.)

(Ugh. Focus, Makoto. Think about this later.)

An expectant silence followed that Makoto did not fill. "...Care to elaborate on that, Naegi-kun? This isn't a stance most people would expect of a bleeding heart such as yourself."

"Even I have limits. Enoshima-san was the person who made us kill each other, who took our memories, and trapped us in that school. I can't forgive that." Makoto looked away at the ground as his thoughts dipped into the convoluted. The set's clean matte floor stared back with its faux hardwood. Maybe if I still had those memories of our high school days together, I would feel more. Maybe Enoshima-san was our friend once. But as it is, all she was was our tormentor.

(He hated that he'd never know. Maybe she'd been kind once. But his memories of her didn't allow him to even entertain that thought. And believe him, he'd tried.)

"I understand that, Naegi-kun. I'm actually rather interested in your forgiveness of the killers. I'd like to hear your reasoning, if that's alright with you?"

A lance of pain stabbed through his heart at the thought of the killers. Kuwata, Owada, Yamada, Celeste, Ogami.

"It was all Monokuma's doing. Every last death is on Monokuma's hands." And by extension, Enoshima. "None of them would have done what they'd done if not for getting trapped there in the first place. The motives, the situation, Monokuma himself; everything was to push them to their limits and get them to kill. I don't blame them for what they did. I blame Monokuma." He added, as an afterthought, "Enoshima-san, I mean."

"Interesting mindset, Naegi-kun, though I don't think there are many who would truly disagree with you. Though, I'm sure there are those who would wonder if maybe you're being a little too charitable towards the killers. After all, what about someone like Celeste, who killed for money? Isn't something like that a little unforgivable?"

Inwardly, Makoto seethed. Don't pretend to be on my side, then contradict yourself.

Now for his answer... He wouldn't pretend that Celeste's kills hadn't bothered him, wouldn't pretend that he hadn't felt a spike of bitter rage at her for causing two deaths so unapologetically. But he also wouldn't pretend that he didn't remember her weak smile and laughter as she'd been dragged toward her execution, a cheap ploy at being calm in the face of death. Her fear had been real, and disturbing, and sympathetic.

She'd been a killer, but she wasn't an unfeeling monster like Enoshima.

"While she did kill for something like money," Makoto began carefully, "and I don't approve of something like that at all—not that I really approve of any killing—I also think that she was a victim. Under a normal circumstance, she wouldn't have killed, and I think that's what matters," he ended firmly.

"I suppose that's why you're called the Ultimate Hope," the man said, an unknown note in his words. "You really do find a way to see the best in everyone."

Makoto gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Ah, thank you..." he said, vaguely uncomfortable with the attention but also not going to forget his manners. "I really don't think I'm anything special, though."

The interviewer laughed, but it sounded fake. "So modest! But if you were really so ordinary, I don't think everyone would be quite so interested in you? Right?" The audience applauded, and Makoto tried not to sink into his seat.

——

After the interview, Makoto found himself thinking about what he'd said, when the questions had begun to become more and more invasive and inappropriate, and felt something like guilt. His words had been—for him—quite scathing. He'd been unwelcoming, rude even, in his responses. Sure, the questions had been terrible and out-of-line. But he probably shouldn't have spoken to that man that way. Those people...they were ignorant, but that was their only fault. They hadn't attacked him, just been tactless, and he'd responded with something like his version of hostility. He'd let his anger and frustration control him. Wasn't he supposed to be a Symbol of Hope? He shouldn't have let himself be so bothered by something like that.

But some of those questions...

("Do you think of yourself as a killer, Naegi-kun?"

Makoto went still, the creeping horror that he was always trying to keep at bay rising up in him, bubbling and oozing to the surface. No—! Monokuma, it was all Monokuma's fault, not theirs, never theirs! They were forced, there was no reason that they should blame themselves!

But if they hadn't voted for the killers...

Then, abruptly, the man moved on from the question, even despite Makoto's lack of response. Maybe he sensed the indecision.

He probably thought it wouldn't be good for his image to let him respond.)

——

The texts all came in simultaneously as soon as he turned his phone off mute.

'Why would you do that Makoto????????'

'Man I'm sry that was totes messed up!!!! But I'm also w Hina y would u do that? Didn't u kno that they were gonna be assholes bout it?'

'This is why you don't talk to the media, Naegi. I'd have thought you were smarter than this.'

'It wasn't smart but don't be too mean to him though guys he already went through enough from those bastards. I can't believe they actually said all that to your face.'

'Also, why didn't you tell us about it?????? I was just messing around on my phone when suddenly I heard that you were on an interview through social media!! My feed was blowing up!!!'

Makoto, as weary as he was, still took the time to type out a reply.

'I know it was stupid. I got sick of them hounding me all the time and said something I shouldn't have and then couldn't back out. Didn't tell you guys bc I just hoped maybe it would die down quickly and I didn't wanna drag more drama into your lives.'

Asahina's response was immediate. 'Makoto. We're your friends. I don't care about the drama, and I'm sure everyone else feels the same. You should have told us so we could've supported you! I would've made sure to try to show up so I could at least be there for you!'

'That would've defeated the whole purpose of me saying yes though. Didn't wanna get you all involved bc like you all said, it was a stupid decision. Thought maybe the least I could do was take the heat for the rest of you since I was already stuck with it.'

'... You are so dumb sometimes Makoto. Literally where did we ever say you have to do everything alone??? We don't want you to suffer so we can live chill lives!! That's not the point! We all have to look out for each other! You have such a bad habit of taking everything on yourself!!!'

'I'm w Hina u don't gotta worry bout us so much. And also u gotta let us worry bout you evry once n a while. Not too much cause stress is bad for u n all...but enuf so we got ur back.'

Makoto leaned his head back in the lull, closed his eyes for a moment. For a few minutes, it was peaceful.

'Makoto!!!!!!!!!!!'

Even though it was only a text, he still found himself jumping in surprise.

'...yes?'

'We are going to hang out tomorrow!!!!!! And have a nice relaxing day!!!!!!!!!!!! I can meet you at the usual donut place by nine!!!!!!!!!'

He was tired. Oh-so-tired. But her words still brought a smile, weak but real. It was just like her to make plans the moment she knew he needed a pick-me-up.

'Okay.'

——

The coffee shop they walked to—gourmet donuts in hand—was nice in a cozy, yet chic way. The walls were plated with dark wood accent panels, and warm yellow lighting kept the place inviting as it coalesced across every surface. They sat inside, partly fleeing from the chilly morning air and partly wanting to enjoy the atmosphere. It was a busy spot, so despite being inside, a constant low hubbub kept some of their anonymity. Makoto still felt the stares, but he'd learned to try to tune them out or else he'd wallow in discomfort every time he went out in public. He couldn't shake the feeling though, this time, that perhaps it was a little worse.

Asahina looked nice, wearing a navy blue jacket with a faux fur hood, dark wash jeans and red tennis shoes finishing the look. She had a bunny pin holding back one side of her bangs. Makoto remembered giving it to her during the killing school life. It made him feel nice that she'd kept it. What didn't make him feel nice was that compared to her, he felt very inadequate, in his rundown hoodie and worn jeans. (He couldn't help it, his hoodie made him feel comfortable.)

Asahina ordered a mocha, Makoto ordered a chai latte for himself. He wasn't really feeling up for too much caffeine today. In fact, he was a little worried about it exacerbating his anxiety, which sounded just a touch melodramatic, actually, but it was true. Especially after that interview—he was always a bit anxious nowadays, and the fact that that was fresh on his mind wasn't at all helping on its own.

"What's on your mind?"

Makoto blinked, startling to attention. "Huh?"

Asahina gingerly took a powdered donut from her pastry bag, splitting the donut in half before setting the pieces on two napkins. She kept one and slid over one to him, which was nice of her considering he'd gotten his own. "You look like you're thinking a lot." She gave him a knowing look. "And trust me, I know how that can be."

Makoto rubbed the back of his neck. "I dunno. I'm just a little stressed out after yesterday. I keep thinking about everything I said and I start doubting myself." That was a slight understatement. These worries had absorbed him over the past night.

Asahina frowned like she was trying to gauge something. "What do you mean?"

Makoto picked up his cup just because he didn't know what else to do with his hands other than fidgeting. "I dunno...I just...." He stared into the depths of his chai. "...I feel like I probably shouldn't have said some of the stuff I did. I was really....rude."

"Oh my god, Makoto." Asahina's exasperated tone made him look up and meet her eyes. Though she looked annoyed, her tone softened with fondness. "You're so stupid sometimes. Like, do you understand that I was mad for you, watching that interview. I was so relieved when you didn't put up with him." She huffed and leaned forward on a fist, smushing her cheek. "You're too nice, Makoto. Stop doubting yourself right now. That guy was totally out of line, and you were right to respond that way. Don't worry about being rude to someone who's using our trauma as a headline."

Makoto glanced away. "I know...and I was really angry. But I don't usually let my anger control me like that. I just started thinking about whether I should have been a little more reserved about it..."

"Makotoooo," Asahina groaned. She took a pointed bite of her donut before gesturing at him with it. Sugar fell onto the table in little puffs. "I'm telling you, you honestly could have been so much meaner and no one would've blamed you. Even people online have started to complain about that interview."

His heart skittered a bit. "They have?"

At his tone, she sighed again, though she didn't really sound upset at him. "Not at you. At the interviewer and the questions. I'm saying they're defending you. They picked up that you were uncomfortable and angry and they feel bad for you. That show is getting some heat now on social media, actually." After a beat, Asahina's haze darkened. "It kinda makes me mad actually. It's really hypocritical. They only care now, when before I'm sure they were with the rest of the mob."

Makoto was silent. It was probably true. After all, he'd thought the same thing while he'd looked upon the studio audience. Even those who cared didn't care enough to step in when it really mattered.

"Sorry," she said apologetically, "that probably sounds really jaded, huh?"

"No, lately I've been thinking that way too, honestly." He could feel that creeping bitterness seeping in again, and he couldn't quite keep it out of his words. "I've found myself thinking it a lot ever since we got free."

"Yeah, I get it." And she sounded like she did. Her gaze seemed to withdraw inward. "It's disgusting how they treat our trauma as entertainment." She nearly spat the words, the vehemence almost surprising—except Makoto was perfectly aware of how vengeful Asahina could become. "It's like, do they really think our suffering is funny?! Our friends died and they don't even take it seriously." By the end of this, angry tears were welled up in her eyes.

Makoto stayed silent for a while as he stared into his latte. Everything was so complicated, and those memories were no exception. He really had avoided thinking about it, in all honesty. After he'd had that flashback to his discovery of Maizono's body, he found himself in a cold sweat any time his mind started to drift a little too closely toward those morbid thoughts. His nightmares already gave him too many reminders. It felt like it was all he could do to avoid it during his waking hours. Unless he was wallowing in memories, which also tended to happen when he was feeling particularly guilty and ineffectual about it all.

He always found himself thinking, why me, why did I live when so many other, amazing people died? Why did I, someone with no real talent at all, live to breathe another day, while someone like the Ultimate Programmer is gone, never again going to work on some amazing, life-changing program. Why was I who survived, when now I'll contribute nothing to this world? So many amazing people with amazing talents, who would have gone on to do amazing things. But they can't anymore, because they're dead. These thoughts surrounded him, late at night, when he wondered why why why...!

Makoto often wondered if he would trade his life if it meant someone else would've lived in his place. Sometimes he didn't think so; seeing his family really was the only thing that had made it all seem worth it. Other times, he thought about seeing the families of the ones who hadn't survived, and how they looked so empty and dead, like a piece had been ripped out of them, and he felt a special kind of agony. A kind of pain that stemmed from their loss, and the pointlessness of that loss, and understanding that they had drawn a pain so much worse than himself. It tormented him, because he knew he should be grateful he was still alive but all he felt was guilty.

(But when he wondered if he'd trade his life in for one of theirs, he still wasn't sure he would, and that made him feel so much worse. Sometimes he was just so glad he was alive that he felt like the guilt would tear him apart.)

"...oto. ...Hey, Makoto."

He blinked. "Huh?" he said, very intelligently.

Asahina pouted at him. "That's the second time you've zoned out today. What were you thinking about just now?"

"Um," he started, again, very intelligently. He was trying to think of a way to deflect away from that question when Asahina broke in again.

"And don't try to bullshit me and say 'nothing' or redirect my attention, cause it's not going to work. I've noticed that you do that a lot, but I'm not going to let you get away with it this time." He glanced up. She looked scarily serious. She get her gaze pinned on him as she settled her weight and leaned forward. "So fess up! What's bothering you?"

"Um, how do you even know that something's bothering me?"

She barely waited for him to finish talking to respond. "When you're really bothered by something, I can see it in your eyes. Like a shadow over your expression or something." She hummed apologetically. "And, sorry, but I'm not gonna let it go. With your personality, you need aggressive love and support or else you'll just brush me off! As your friend, I'm sick of letting you get away with dodging these sorts of questions." She jabbed a finger at him accusingly. "So today's the day, Makoto! What's wrong?"

Instinctively, he reached up to grab for his hoodie's strings, before remembering that he'd removed them all to deal with this very same anxious behavior. So, instead, he found himself tugging at his sleeves nervously, something he'd started doing sometime during the killing game and currently did even more often. He didn't really want to talk, but he could tell that she wasn't going to back down. So he began in a small voice, "Well, Asahina-san... Do you ever wonder...why us?"

She cocked her head, somewhat reminiscent of a confused puppy. "'Why us' what?"

He tugged his sleeves again. "Why did we...survive?" he asked, very, very tentatively.

All at once, Asahina seemed much, much older and tireder. "Oh, Makoto." She sounded so weary. She also looked like she really wanted to give him a hug. He kind of really wanted a hug. "You can't think that kind of stuff. It just..." Now it was her turn to grow distant for a moment, for her gaze to darken with pain. "It just eats away at you. I thought the same thing for a little while. Every time someone died I'd think, 'why did they deserve to die while I'm still here?' Until Sakura-chan. She taught me not to doubt the life I've been given. It hurts so bad to think about what happened to everyone else, but if we regret that forever we'll never be able to move on. And they died so that we could live. It kinda feels like our responsibility to not waste that." Her tone softened again, but her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Anger, pain, and too much sadness to quantify. "So please please don't feel guilty, Makoto. I know how it feels, but it's unbearable to think about, and there's nothing we can do. It's not our fault. It's not anyone's fault but Monokuma's. And we have to believe that."

It took him a long time to muster up the words to respond. When he did, they were quiet, as if he was afraid to speak them, and he kept his eyes on his hands. "I think I'm really glad I'm still alive." He flicked his eyes up to her. "Is that selfish of me?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. I don't think it's ever selfish to be glad you're alive. I think the people who died would rather you live glad than live with guilt." Hah. Makoto's problem was, those two were hand-in-hand. All he could think about was how guilty he felt for being glad. And then he felt guilty for feeling guilty, and around and around it went.

"Listen," Asahina began seriously, drawing his attention back to her. "Makoto, I...I think you're amazing. I really do."

He opened his mouth to respond in a panic. She didn't let him.

"Please let me say this." She looked determined.

He closed his mouth again.

"I think you're amazing. And I wish you thought so, too." Makoto didn't know what to say in the pause, so he took a sip of his latte. It didn't taste like anything. Her words were much too earnest for him to reply to, so he kept quiet. "I envied the way you always managed to hold it together. Even when Enoshima threatened your life, even when you were being framed, you never lost hope. You never lost faith in us. But I really wish you had that same faith in yourself." Her grip tightened around her mocha. "It hurts me to see you doubting yourself right now like this. I can tell you're thinking, 'did I deserve to live'? You think everyone is so amazing, but you don't think the same about yourself." When she raised her gaze up to his own, he saw nothing but fire within. "But I do. We all do. You're not worth any less than anyone else. I'm not worth any more than you. None of us are. So please don't think so. I really, really want you to listen to me. I really want to get through to you. We care about you. Please care about yourself." Her words were so scalding with their honesty, her eyes so full of emotion and caring, and Makoto felt something within him break. Some sort of tension, some sort of innate pain, something. Whatever it was, it had his eyes suddenly welling up with tears.

(Maybe it was just that she'd said something that he'd really needed to hear.)

Instantly her expression warmed up, gentle and kind, eyebrows turned upward and eyes so concerned. That just made his welling tears threaten to spill, and he was not going to cry in a random café, he was not going to cry in a random café, he was not going to make a scene out of in public, what a nightmare for them-

And before he knew it, she was next to him, giving him the warmest hug he'd ever felt. It felt like something he'd needed desperately and he hadn't realized it until that moment. Upon the contact, he suddenly found himself crying into her coat as he hugged her back. I'm making such a scene. He thought distantly of all the people who were surely watching them, knowing exactly who they were.

Part of him really didn't care about the fact he was now having a small breakdown in a café, though, because this hug was strangely cathartic, in a way he hadn't felt since before the killing school life. This peace, this cared-about feeling, this lack of intense guilt, this cleanse of the negative feelings that had plagued him since his return into normal life...it was so nice. It was so nice to let go of all the anxiety and pain, and just let Asahina care about him. She didn't need to do anything except be there. For some reason, that was enough reassurance for him.

Once a little while had passed, she pulled away, looking down at him with open affection. "Come on, Makoto." She grabbed his hand and glanced around at the people around them, distaste coloring her expression, though it vanished when she looked back to him. "Let's get out of here."

They left the café, Asahina tugging him along by their joined hands, Makoto wiping his tears with his sleeves. Even though they were fleeing the store and its onlookers, for once it didn't feel like running away.

It felt free.

——

Turns out, his worries concerning Fukawa were nothing. Or well, it was something, but not the worst. Fukawa finally texted back telling him that she'd been admitted into a psychiatric facility. She was under careful watch and had been given some new medications for her Dissociative Identity Disorder. Apparently she was also going to therapy. He didn't know much about DID, but he was happy that she was getting help for her problems. That was at least one good thing that had come out of Hope's Peak.

They hadn't let her have her phone for a little while, but she apparently hadn't had an 'episode' in a little while and she'd been monitored and questioned by police for quite a while, so they'd started to give her some privileges back.

Makoto honestly didn't understand very much about it all, since he didn't know much about how the police handled cases like this, and Fukawa herself wasn't the, uh, clearest person, when it came to explaining. Nonetheless, he thanked her for letting him know and told her he'd be there in case she ever needed anything. He also said he'd visit her if she wanted him to, and if he was able. She hadn't responded, but he saw that she'd read his message.

That was all he needed, really. Just as long as she was safe. Just as long as she knew he cared.

——

"I'm going to be out of contact for a while. I'm working on a case."

Makoto's heart jumped unexpectedly, he felt his eyes widen. "So soon?" He could hear the anxiety in his own voice, something he was honestly awful at trying to mask.

"Detective work is not as dangerous as movies make it seem." Kirigiri said seriously. There wasn't even a hint of a joking smile on her face. Makoto scratched his cheek with something like embarrassment, an awkward forced smile on his face. It...wasn't exactly the supposed dangers of detective work that was making him uneasy. In fact, it was actually more the...

"You're worried about losing communication with me," Kirigiri said without doubt. She took a somehow elegant sip of her tea.

Makoto found himself still at a loss. He couldn't stop himself from rubbing the back of his neck, looking away as he let out a rueful laugh. "I'm really obvious, huh?"

"It's not that," she said, this time cracking a small knowing smile. "Though that is still the case. It's more that I understand, because I feel the same way." The smile slid seamlessly off her face and into her usual solemn expression. "After everything with Hope's Peak, it's only natural we all want to keep tabs on each other. I know you certainly have, and I'm no different. In a way," her hand tightened around the dainty teacup, a strange juxtaposition, "we all went through something no one else could possibly understand. In our own way, the only people we have is each other." Her purple stare pierced into his own. "There's a lot that went on that the people who watched the broadcast will never know. And they will never understand the attachment we share to each other. But such is the nature of traumatic situations."

Kirigiri really was way more eloquent than he could ever hope to be. He agreed with everything she'd said, she'd just put his own complex feelings into slightly less complex words. The exchange was again proving that the survivors of the killing game could understand each other better than anyone else ever could, and they all in turn seemed to know that.

"You're right, um, about all that." He twisted his fingers into his sleeves. "I am kind of anxious about all that, for all the reasons you said."

Kirigiri gave him another one of her rare fond smiles. "I know. I really appreciate how easy you are to read. It's endearing." He didn't have the chance to splutter a response to that, but he felt himself still blush a little. "But that's why I thought I could put more effort forward to keep in contact with you all." When she was quiet for a little while, Makoto almost asked her what was wrong until he realized she was stalling because she was embarrassed. Finally she seemed to have enough strength to power through. "As you know, I generally only communicate through email. But, I will try to give texting a try, so we can have easier and more frequent communication."

Truthfully, Makoto was overjoyed, but he tried to tone down his excitement a little. "Really? I think that's a really great idea!" He hurried to slip out his phone. "We have a group chat, I can add you to that if you want!" Okay, maybe he didn't do a very good job of keeping his joy on the down-low.

Kirigiri didn't seem to mind, though, simply giving him that small smile of amusement. To him, who knew how rarely she smiled, that little quirk of her lips was enough to fill him with happiness. "I think I'd like that." She coughed delicately. Yup, definitely embarrassed. "I've been meaning to learn more about the intricacies of texting, anyways."

Makoto beamed at her encouragingly. "Don't worry, you'll pick it up in no time!"

So maybe Kirigiri was leaving. It'd be alright. He'd still have contact with her, and everyone else was still around. She was moving forward, and he could be proud of her for that.

——

It was an awkward conversation when his parents decided to ambush him about therapy.

"Makoto, obviously that experience—" no one ever wanted to say it by name, lest they skirt a little too close to the truth "—was traumatic." His mother was the one doing all the speaking, his dad staying quiet on the side. Both looked deeply uncomfortable. "And we've both been waiting and wondering if maybe you would bring it up yourself..." Makoto waited for them to finish, not jumping in during the pause. "But have you considered going to therapy?" His mom worried at a string on her blouse. "We didn't want to push you into it if you didn't want to, but we think that it could really help you. It could help you move past it all and heal from that...experience."

Makoto immediately felt the urge to withdraw away from the proposal. Didn't therapy force you to confront and talk about all those painful memories? He wasn't very sure he could do that. In fact, even thinking about doing that was putting the icy wash of fear through his veins.

His parents much have seen his anxiety in his expression, because they quickly started explaining again. "I know it sounds kind of overwhelming, but we both think it could be good for you." His mother halted, getting a little unsure. She still pressed on, though, countless emotions glinting behind her eyes. "When someone goes through this kind of experience, it's obviously extremely painful. And it can be painful to confront and work through. But...Makoto, as things are right now...you aren't happy. That tragedy is weighing on you all the time, and we can see it." Her voice was strained and thick. "It's obvious that it's always on your mind."

"That's..." Makoto didn't know what to say. He found himself trailing off as his brain went empty. He couldn't deny it, because he was a really awful liar and he knew that they already knew. He'd freaked out in front of them before. There wasn't really any going back from something like that.

Not to mention, they'd witnessed the whole incident, just like everyone else. It was impossible to hide the effect it'd had on him.

His father spoke now, looking sympathetic. "It's okay. But it hurts us to see how this has affected you. We just want you to be alright. We want you to be able to move past this. We think therapy could do that for you."

Makoto fidgeted uncomfortably, eyes darting around. "I...I don't..." He didn't want them to be worried about him, and it hurt him whenever they were in pain.

Plus...the idea of being free from the ball and chain that was Hope's Peak Academy was dangerously appealing. The thought of being free from those painful memories, the nightmares, the panic and anxiety, was something he desperately wanted.

But could he manage that, if even the thought of facing the memories of Hope's Peak made him break out in a cold sweat?

He didn't know. He really didn't know.

But he wanted to try.

"Okay," he said tiredly, trying to give an encouraging smile. "I'll give it a shot."

His parents smiled with relief. "Thank you, Makoto. We'll figure it all out as soon as possible."

——

Therapy was determined to wring out every last psychological problem he had from his miserable brain. Along with tackling his shiny new PTSD and mild anxiety diagnoses, his therapist forced him to tackle his older issues in self-worth and self-esteem. Apparently, his comparing himself to others all the time was a very unhealthy practice. Something about hearing his therapist say similar things as Asahina about his self-view made it really sink in that he should probably start caring about that more. Asahina would probably be very happy to hear he'd been trying to be better about comparing himself to them and placing others' importance above his own since starting therapy. It was really, really difficult, and he had to make a concerted effort to remind himself to change his thinking when he naturally gravitated toward low thoughts of self-worth. It was slow going, but he was trying.

When he mentioned therapy to the group chat, they were all overwhelmingly supportive. It turned out, Togami and Asahina had already taken initiative and started going to therapy before he did. Kirigiri wasn't in therapy, but she'd willingly had a psych evaluation, and had put in place healthy coping mechanisms in her life to vent out her emotions. Makoto was glad she'd done so; she'd always been the most secretive about her emotions. Hagakure said he was doing his own form of positive personal wellness. It was nice hearing about their own efforts and experiences with mental health after what they'd been through. It made him feel a little more confident and comfortable with therapy.

One unfortunate thing about therapy was that his therapist had involved the rest of his family. When it came to his PTSD, the therapist had told him that his parents should be aware of what sorts of things may trigger him, and that if he seems emotionally distant or upset, that they should be patient with him. He wasn't very thrilled to let his family know how much Hope's Peak had hurt him, but it did help when they seemed to be more understanding when he'd become withdrawn or spend the whole day in his room.

He and his therapist ended up talking a lot about the more specific instances of trauma. They talked a lot about Makoto's 'survivor's guilt' as it was apparently called, that feeling that he shouldn't have been the one to survive while others had died. Apparently it wasn't uncommon for someone in his position to feel that way. His therapist did her best to help him work through the feelings of guilt and worthlessness, but it was always slow going.

They talked about his anxiety, and ways to cope with it. He started going on a run every morning, and it made his anxious tension ease a little bit. Asahina even started running with him.

They talked about his self-esteem, too. They talked about it quite a bit. It wasn't something rooted in the killing school life, which made it a little deeper ingrained in Makoto's mind and thoughts. It was arguably one of the hardest things to work toward changing.

His therapist urged him to spend more time with friends, to face his negative thoughts instead of running away, and to lean on either her or someone else for help when he needed emotional support. He tried all of those things, even if it took forcing himself to do it. He wasn't used to facing his problems head on, without deflecting or running away. It was unnatural for him, but he kept working toward it.

Things got worse sometimes. He had bad days, where he felt unreasonably angry about everything and everyone. He had good days, where he opened up to Asahina and felt lighter than he had in weeks.

But no matter what, he kept moving forward.

——

"Hey hey, the gang's all back together!" Asahina's call drew Makoto's attention away from the ground to the group waiting for him. Asahina in a black dress and black jacket, Kirigiri in a full black blazer and dress pants, Hagakure and Togami in full suits (as was Makoto himself), Fukawa looking nervous but pleased to be there in a long black dress.

Makoto hurried up to them, and they wasted no time with pleasantries, turning and falling in step. It was a cloudy day, but not rainy, with the sun sometimes peeking through the clouds. As they walked, Hagakure and Asahina had some casual conversation, Fukawa even occasionally jumping in, the results of her therapy showing in the way she managed to school her nervous stutter and contribute to the conversation without putting herself down viciously.

Kirigiri noticed his quietness and walked up beside him, slipping her gloved hand in his own and squeezing kindly. He gave her a tentative smile.

After a short walk, they made it to the cemetery. While there was a polished stone memorial to all the victims of Hope's Peak Academy, that was not where they chose to go. As the survivors, they had been allowed to go visit the graves of their friends unhindered. Conversations ended as they stood in front of the cemetery, silently entering and weaving through the headstones to reach the group in the back. The bodies had all been retrieved and buried together.

Silently, they stood before the graves of their ten fallen classmates. Makoto closed his eyes, gripping Kirigiri's hand tight, and prayed.

He had an awful lot to say.