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It's not that.

[Souda actually notices certain things about Komaeda's body language, from this close. The idea that he's pressed on a nerve. But he doesn't back down as immediately as he may have before.]

To you it was only once, but I remember meeting you three times. Three different outfits, three different yous.

[So, in effect, more like a pooka's actual abilities than what Souda perceives them to be. And then, in an analogy that's probably a bit too specialized to his own needs;]

But it's more like, all the same parts, and three different machines.

[He doesn't realize the way he bristles further, and perhaps if he were already a monster—something with fur, or a tail—as much would be noticeable. For now, it's simply the way tension pinches between his shoulders and keeps a smile from settling on his face, which is likely the most telling expression of his irritation.]

My memories are sort of coming back to me, slowly. Like looking at them through smudged glasses you have to keep wiping off.

[He frowns, and a sigh is exhaled through his nose.]

There was the time we were students... and then when we were Ultimate Despair... then the future, right?

[A future he doesn't know. One he can't even imagine knowing, honestly. He's not even sure about how much time passed between his death and waking up here.]

...hey, huh. Yeah, that's, that's about it. Other than the simulation, I guess.

[Maybe Komaeda really is starting to recall.]

Either way, the only thing that stayed the same was that luck of yours. You even went missing once, now that I think about it.

[Souda frowns. He didn't know what happened to Komaeda then, and even after with just the vague details, it's not like he really processed where he'd been.]

Ya came back different, like—

[He makes a frame with his hands and moves it to the side.]

Slightly to the left.

Just like on the island. One minute you're just a regular dude, the next you're— [he repeats the hand movement,] —off trynna get us killed.

That's all I know about you.

[As Souda speaks, Komaeda's hand folds over the bare stump of his left arm. From the top of the 38-8 apartments, they can see a good chunk of the city, enough that—at times like these—everything feels especially surreal.

What his classmate speaks of feels distant, like he's trying to remember someone else's memories. For as much as some of it has been coming back, most of it is still gone. Like only having a few of the middle pieces of a puzzle, and no frame of how to put them together.]

I wish I could tell you what you want to know, [he starts, bringing that hand up to scratch idly at the side of his neck before it settles back over his stump,] but I feel like I've always been like this.

[He's never seen himself as abnormal, he just knows that others have always treated him as much.]

Maybe it didn't make sense to you but for hope, you know, you have to break a few eggs to make an omelet... that's how the saying goes.

[Whether that sticks for Souda or not, Komaeda continues.]

I don't know... I don't really get it when people tell me that what I do is weird. It's all normal to me.

Well, fuckin', duh, you're just crazy,

[Souda responds, as though he's quite decided it. He chufts a snort of smoke through his nose, and then rubs it, wincing at the internal heat a little.]

You think I do anything just so people'll all me weird about it? Hell no! And Hajime called me weird all the time.

So I don't know what normal really is. I just know what it's not.

[And that, apparently, is Komaeda's everything. But, in saying that, he has admitted... he isn't really meeting the standard, either.]

...So maybe... I could be a little less hard on you about it.

[Maybe he's crazy, maybe it's just all the internalized trauma that he uses his obsessions to cope with. It's definitely a bit of both, but Komaeda isn't so acknowledging of the latter. It's easier to frame trauma as destiny that can be reaped and sowed.

Still, Souda's words earn a little laugh of his own as Komaeda leans a bit more of his weight onto his elbows.]

I don't think you're hard on me, [he admits, and he sounds so confident about it too. As if he's simply stockholm-syndromed himself into the way others treat him.]

But really, who couldn't go a little crazy when they have the kind of luck I do? You've seen what it does, I can only control it by outsmarting it.

[He pauses, and then his arms fold in the windowsill. Komaeda's chin drops to them, quieting his words.]

It's scary.

...Man, screw that.

No wonder you're fuckin' nuts. I can't handle thinkin' about that all day.

[At least now his flames have started to cool down a bit, too.]

Especially not here. Seems like everybody's luck is bad, here.

[Komaeda goes silent, because Souda has accidentally touched an exposed nerve where no one would've guessed one to be.

Everyone's luck has been made to be as bad as his... but where's the good luck? Things like reuniting with his classmates, or being alive, don't seem to be that big when compared to being turned into a monster, or having the amalgamation of your love and admiration for a guy rip out of your head.

So he does what he always does when things are a bit too much for him to handle: he laughs. The sound of it is soft, carried by the gentle breeze that passes through the window.]

Yeah, it was crazy but... I wouldn't want a different life. It's because of my amazing luck that I was able to go to Hope's Peak Academy, and that I could be classmates with so many talented people! Surrounded by so much hope... was a dream come true, for me.

[Souda just kind of stares at his former classmate for a moment, contemplating, before he prompts; ]

So is it worth it? The end of a dream, like that?

[As he thinks, he draws in a long inhale of breath and straightens. He hangs back, his reedy weight tethered to the windowsill by the curl of his hand.

Was it worth it? It's not really something he ever thought about, before.]

I think so, [he decides, and he lolls his head so that instead of the ceiling, he's looking at Souda,] good and bad things both happened, but I choose to focus on the good. We made a lot of friends, we're still alive now, we're making more friends here, too.

Bad things will happen, but good will always follow it. That's how my life has always been.

...But ain't that just like, life? Like, that's kinda what Hinata was sayin' at the end of it all... I think.

[Souda scratches his chin, unaware of where the break in his and Komaeda's perception is here. THey're not quite on the same wavelength, rather seeing the same object from two different side.]

You can't have good without bad, or despair without hope. They're always gonna stick together, or else despair wouldn't mean anything. Or else bein' happy wouldn't mean anything, y'know?

That's everybody's life... [Souda pauses, looking at Komaeda—] I guess you just kinda... figured it out first, huh?

[The smile that spreads across Komaeda's face is as close to tranquil as it can get, but there's something else behind it, something that just... knows.

He pulls himself back towards the windowsill with his grip that's still curled on it.]

You guys only saw a fraction of what my talent can do, [he sighs,] I've always walked a thin line, never knowing when I might die, or when my talent might hurt someone around me. In a way, I can almost understand Enoshima Junko's quest for despair. When it's all you ever know, why wouldn't you be resentful?

I think there might have been a point where I could have been like her, if it weren't for knowing that hope always follows.

[It feels like some sick blasphemy to say it, especially with what he read of the vague mastermind from the first killing game. Maybe this fate, too, that a matter of his ultimate luck decided he would side with hope rather than despair.]

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WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, NAGITO KOMAEDA. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 004.28.777.00 * MrBrightside has joined 004.28.777.00 <MrBrightside> Hello there! This is Komaeda. <MrBrightside>** I'm grateful that you want to talk to me.