Komahina one-shots + Random jots of writing

The Ultimate Gift

     Why? Why must everything keep repeating? It was the same worlds and vision over and over again. He'd find himself in horrendous pain beyond words. Loneliness that cut so deep he didn't even have the energy to get up. Then he'd be saved by him. It was almost always him. He would always reach out in just the right way, giving him, Nagito Komaeda, a safe place that he could be happy in. A place where he was loved and cared for. A place where he had friends. A place where every Saturday night, he and said friends would watch movies together. A place he could be held and touched lovingly by the boy who'd saved him...

     Then he'd wake up.

     Wake up to an empty bed with stiff unwashed sheets. Wearing the same clothes as the day before, that now seemed to stick to him. His hair in the same tangled ponytail as it'd always been. His body thin like paper, a horrid odor he had become senseless to stuck to him. The main reason he knew he had truly woken up, was when he reached up to his neck. The chain and ring were gone.

     He'd wipe his eyes before weakly reaching under his bed without getting up, and pulling out a handmade plushie. You could barely tell who the plushie was of. It was tattered, with two-button eyes, one red and one green. The plush doll had cuts and pieces of brown fabric poorly sewed on in a spike-like pattern. It wore a white t-shirt that likely belonged to a real plush doll before, along with a strip of green fabric with a scribbled out yellow design. Along with that a pair of pants made out of two strips of blue fabric.

     He'd hold the plush close while laying on his side, facing the wall. He'd bury his face in the back of the doll's head and shut his eyes tightly. How he longed for the clicking sound of a door opening and the feeling of arms wrapping around him. It only seemed to happen in his dreams.

     He had other plush dolls too, handled and crafted with as much care as the plush doll he loved most. His other favorites included one of a boy that has bright pink hair and a beanie, a smaller blond boy with an eyepatch and a single angry-looking eyebrow on the other side of his face, and a girl with black, blue, and pink hair with fake horns, holding a small guitar. They weren't the most well-made things in the world, but they were all he had as comfort.

     For his birthday he originally planned on leaving his room and greet people, but he came to the conclusion that others would run if they saw him. So he mustered the energy to sneak a stale muffin from the pantry the night before. He felt so lucky that someone had forgotten about it weeks ago. He'd found it and decided he'd leave it alone to use later on a special occasion. Along with that, he got some of the salty and expired mustard he kept in his room to top any food he took. It truly was the biggest meal he'd had in a long while. The tastiest one too.

     Ah, how he felt like a king.

     He set up a soft blanket that he had found out of pure luck. He had an urge to rub it on his face as to obtain such a soft sensation, but he didn't dare ruin its perfection with his disgusting flesh. He placed all of his "friends" around and on top of the blanket. He had had a collection of small items he'd found throughout the foundation he deemed special and wrapped them up in tissue paper that he had found in an abandoned room. He set one next to each plush.

     To anyone, he'd seem like a kid playing pretend. Giving the plushies food on small plates from an old china set that was in the back of his closet. Talking to them happily, thanking them for the gifts they "gave" him.

     For him, it was real. They weren't plushies. They were the real people who they were meant to replicate. He could hear their voices in his head and see them move, the fabric hair was real hair and so on. His darkroom was bright, colorful, and cheerful. He truly felt loved by these objects that he deemed real.

     He eventually got to the last gift. The gift he gave to himself. A small purple bottle. He smiled and showed it to the brunette boy. "A special topping. To go on my meals," he spoke happily, though his voice had a bitter sadness to it.

     His hands trembled as he poured it onto the small bit of muffin he had given to himself. He turned around and looked at his bedroom door, hugging himself ever so slightly. He stared at it desperately for a mere minute before turning back and letting out a breathy laugh, holding himself tighter than before.

     He shakily stood up and grabbed his signature green jacket before nearly collapsing on the ground. He shivered as he slipped the jacket on, trying his best to not break down.

     He looked around at everyone else. All his friends. Smiling at him warmly and wishing him a happy birthday. Some even congratulated him on his health getting better, complimenting the light red-brown color that had started growing within his hair roots. He smiled bitterly before wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

     He continued to tremble as he picked up the pit of muffin with both hands. It was amazing his metal arm hadn't rusted off yet. He's trembling started to become more violent as he snatched the olive and ruby-eyed plush, he had snapped back into reality. His room was dark once more, he was alone. He wanted to scream. Scream so loudly someone would have to come. When he tried, nothing came out. Just a low shaky breath. He held the plush with his real arm as he inspected the food in his other hand. He was really shaking by now.

     He was on the verge of collapsing and breaking down into tears. It was absolutely terrifying. Why? Why was he scared? Why couldn't someone break down his door and stop him like all those times in his dreams? So many questions flooded his head.

     Why did everyone hate him so much to begin with? Why couldn't he just fall so deep down the rabbit hole he'd never wake up again? When did it all go wrong? Hope's peak? Being kidnapped? His dog dying? The plane crash? His own birth? With his luck, it was hard to say.

     He couldn't take it anymore. He didn't want to take it anymore. He was tired of it all. Tired of waking up over and over again to so much pain. Tired of losing everything he loved and fought for, real or not. Tired of hoping. Tired of hope. There was no hope.

     Not for scum like him anyways.

     He shoved the muffin down his throat before he could have any second thoughts. He nearly coughed it up from the force alone. He reached out and grabbed his other favorite plushes and belongings, they weren't far away. He had made sure of that. He curled up on the ground and wrapped the blanket around him.

     As everything began to fade, he thought, 'How cruel would it be for someone to come in here right now?"

     But nobody did.

     He was fine with it.

     Tears fell down his pale face as he held onto the plushes as tight as he could. He had put the chain with the ring around his neck in advance. It was one of the ways he could die, close to him. Even if that person had never gifted him with such a fragment of love.

     He had only a couple of minutes to reflect on the few good things in his life. That one time his parents took him stargazing. How every other night his mother would read to him. Playing in the park with his dog. Riding the carousel. The boy he cared for deeply reaching out to him. The soon release and peace he'd feel as soon as the poison took full effect and ran throughout every vein in his body.

     For once, he didn't want to be saved.

     He wanted to die.

     And that be the end

Of Nagito Komaeda.