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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.

Anonymous username(s): < Triple7 > < BlueRam >

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[The way she talks, the way she touches him—Lila makes it all seem so easy. Like those words and those touches won't be ripped out from under him. Like she won't turn around and think he's lying to her, one day. That unknown tangles itself with a myriad of memories that feel as if they'll swallow him whole and drown him in an abyss of despair.

But he leans into her touches like a seeking animal, hungry for those gentle touches and those kind words. Starved for someone to pay attention to and validate him. To make him feel like he's a little less paranoid, a little less... crazy. Lila says she's broken just like he is, and maybe she's right. Maybe they're both broken with edges that slot against one another perfectly. He raises his hands, cool scales and unfeeling metal gently touching over the backs of her hands.]

Okay... I promise I'll tell you.

[His lashes flutter open, and he stares into her eyes. They no longer hold mismatched irises or pupils, but he knows she's looking directly at him. Even when they're just two white holes seared into her image, he can feel her stare.]

Lila-san... [Komaeda takes a breath, he has to tell her now, when they've already pulled the wounds open,] the last time I told someone I cared about all of this... he didn't believe me. It was my fault, I made it so that he couldn't trust me — and before that was Junko-san.

I don't have the best experience with all of this and I'll probably mess up a lot but... thank you.

[His hands squeeze hers. Gentle. Assuring.]

Thank you for understanding me.

[She realizes a lot of things between one moment and the next, from the last word she says and Komaeda's hands laying gently over hers, insect-light. She abruptly understands how much easier this was for him when they were high, with all his fear pushed down and away and only instinct and want to guide him. She understands that she doesn't like Hajime Hinata and doesn't like the way he calls her Junko-san and that there is more to that story, to both of those stories, than he's willing to say explicitly. She understands that she wants to chase them out of his mind, to kiss him enough that she's the only person he can think of, ever ever ever, because he's hers. She understands that she shouldn't.]

[She understands, when he touches her and her eyes slide closed for just a moment to process the always-overwhelming sensation of his hands, that they really are . . . broken in a lot of the same ways. He's afraid of touching, but he craves it. She's afraid of being touched, but she needs it. It's messy. They're messy.]

[Nothing in her life has ever been neat, though. Especially not the things that were worth it.]

[When she opens her eyes, she smiles faintly, carefully disentangles their hands, and grabs him by the belt loops to pull him against her. It's for a very specific reason, though: he's tall, and she's really not, and this way if she leans up on her toes she can rub her cheek against his jaw, tuck her face against his neck, and stay, just stay, for just a moment.]

I believe you. You did the opposite with me, right? You made it so I can't help but trust you. Understanding's harder, but—

[Her arms creep up behind his back, tentative and awkward. It's a hug. Just not a great one. She has limited practice.]

You make sense to me . . . and I like you, so . . .

[That's all she was trying to say, really, with cute. That you're lucky I like you. But it felt like too much, so she balked. If she has to be honest to keep him hers, though — at the very least she can try.]

[It doesn't take much to shuffle him forward, to press him into her even if it makes his heart jump into his throat. It sets the klaxon signals in his mind to blaring, like the pulse that thunders between his ears is the wailing of a siren that he chooses to ignore. Not because Lila is dangerous (even if they both know how easily she could kick his ass), but because he doesn't know what to do and that scares him. He always knows what to do, or at least, he can rely on his luck. But right now, he doesn't have either—or rather, he thinks that if he kisses her right now, the world might fall apart around them.

It's dangerous but he craves it, he's always craved that danger and that adrenaline that felt so comfortable it was like being swathed in a warm blanket. It's all he's even known, and perhaps the impulsivity that comes with that realization is the most dangerous thing happening between them.

Lila pulls him down and meets him halfway, and in his wide-eyed surprise, he plants his hands on the wall at either side of her head just because he's still afraid to touch. If he does it wrong, will she hate him? If he's too enthusiastic, will she pull away? But if he doesn't touch her, will she shatter even more—because right now she rubs against him like a cat scenting its owner, and the awkward vise of her arms around his back only makes his heart beat faster, harder.]

I... [he swallows, dryly, and even though she's got herself pressed against the wall, he manages to slip his hand behind her head. His fingers cradle the base of her skull, to keep her firmly hugged against his shoulder. The other hand stays on the wall, maintains a bit of that control so he doesn't completely unravel right here,] I like you too... but, I should be honest with you...

[Since they're doing that honesty thing, apparently.]

I don't have any experience, no one wanted to touch an ugly guy like me before, so... I hope you don't mind.

If you call yourself ugly again, I'm gonna bite you.

[This lightly sullen from what's quickly becoming her hiding place at the crook of his neck, only slightly mollified by the touch at the back of her head, tentative and so gentle but still — but still. He doesn't really get it, does he, why it's important, not quite. Maybe she can explain it better sometime, how every touch is fear and shock and desperate longing all at once. How his is slowly becoming less of that, but she doesn't know how to make it happen faster. This is nice. She asked for it, and even though she startled him, he gave it to her.]

[Threat made, she's quiet for a few heartbeats — his or hers, she's not sure which she's feeling — before peeking out over his shoulder at the opposite wall.]

You don't get it, do you.

[And she does it again, like she can't help herself, turns her head to rub the other cheek along his shoulder before curling back up against his neck. Her voice sounds somewhere between uncertain and embarrassed, although it's hard to know for sure with her face hidden. Without question, it's not a version of her anyone else has seen.]

I don't care about that. I didn't come up here to get in your pants. I don't like you so I can get in your pants. I'm — I came up here, I like you, because you make me — I don't know—

[With a huff of frustration, her claws tighten fractionally in the back of his shirt.]

Just like a person. Just normal, for once. Like I don't have to be perfect all the time to be okay. You don't have to be perfect, either. Actually, you better not be, you'll make me look bad.

That's good, because I would most certainly disappoint you, [Komaeda starts, too quickly, anxiety spurring him on.] I mean, of course you aren't thinking about something like that with me! Knowing my luck I would slip out of bed and break my neck or, your claws might stab right through me, killing me instantly—

[He's rambling, he can't help it with the way his heart races when she says she likes him. It thunders so impossibly loud in his chest he has no doubt she can hear it with the way she buries her face against his pulse. Komaeda swallows, dryly, and he figures she hears that too.]

I'm glad that we can both agree that we are not here to have sex.

[Okay, that. Komaeda clenches his eyes shut, shame coloring his face and neck blue as he realizes the stupidity that has just left his mouth. It's a good thing Lila isn't looking at him directly, and honestly if she bit him, he wouldn't even blame her.]

I... don't think I could ever be perfect. I've always been weird. Like a circle you draw over and over and it comes out too-oval every time. [He sighs, and then his hands shift—the one on the wall comes down, wrapping around her shoulders and holding her against his collar. Even if she's not-all-there physically, she feels... nice. Like she's meant to be cradled to his chest.] Besides, you're always... amazing. Even like this, I think you're wonderful just the way you are, Lila-san. Someone like me could never compete.

[She's just merciful enough — barely — not to look up when he starts babbling, not to meet his eyes deliberately at the absolutely stupid bullshit that keeps falling out of his mouth. She's not merciful enough to pretend she's not laughing. Her shoulders shake, and her laughter is silent because she wants to keep listening to whatever comes next, stupid or important, because there's no way of knowing — but with her face pressed so close, he can feel the shape of her grin, wicked and wide, and the silent-quick breaths of her laughter.]

[It's hard, wanting to have a serious conversation instead of exploit the fun vulnerabilities she knows he has now. How embarrassed he gets about sex, apparently, or touching at all, or any of this. She could wreck him. She kind of wants to. It's just not the thing she wants the most. Not right now, anyway.]

[And for once, restraint ends up being the right choice. As he scrambles to compose himself, he reaches for her, pulls her close, and holds her. This time, the breath she lets out is slow and gentle and relaxed; her smile eases into something simpler and happier. With him holding her, she doesn't have to stretch so much. She can let him do some of the work.]

You don't have to flatter me, but it's a nice touch.

[After a moment, she lets her hands fall from their fretful position at his back and lock easily around his waist. Possessive but secure. The things that were scaring her when she gave him that sixty-second ultimatum aren't anymore.]

. . . That's pretty much why I like you, though. All of that you just said. Sometimes you're dramatic and over the top or you shove your foot in your mouth but then you say something I would never have thought about and then you call me amazing or something. You're a lot of things at the same time, but they add up. They make sense to me.

[Lila's hands at his back are just as much a comfort to him as they are to her. She doesn't feel like she might disappear in his arms anymore, and instead, he enjoys the way she slots with him effortlessly. There's an odd confidence to it, as if they've both silently agreed that they aren't going anywhere.

The reality is that any nocturnal monster can come up through the stairwell and see them, but Komaeda doesn't mind. He's not afraid of someone seeing them because even if they did, he probably wouldn't even notice. Between their tangled limbs, they've escaped to a world all their own. A neat little bubble, warm, and welcoming, and just big enough for only them.]

I think you're crazier than me, [his voice is light, a half-laugh against the top of her hair as his eyes fall closed. Anyone that's said as much about him has always been deemed as such, at least. Crazy to trust him, crazy to chase him, crazy to care. He already knows Lila is broken and crazy, but he also knows she won't leave his side, even if he asked her to.] I mean, those don't really sound like likeable things...

[He inhales her, pulls his chin from her temple and untangles just enough to catch a glimpse of a sliver of eye.]

But I suppose I get it. You're mean, and crude, and you make me do unreasonable things like putting on pants in less than sixty seconds. You don't have a tail, but I think a minute and a half is a much better time frame for that. [He huffs, his hands roaming over her back and registering just how petite she is beneath his touch.] But... I'm never bored when I'm with you. I learn a lot, and you don't let me become pathetic. I never feel lonely when I'm with you...

And I like seeing your smile.

Oh, I'm definitely crazier than you.

[That much is easy, although she doesn't agree for the reasons he's thinking. She's grimly aware of the more basic difference between them: that Komaeda regrets what he did to harm people, and she doesn't. She regrets not doing more. She doesn't blame him for what he's done not because she doesn't think he's responsible, but because she can't make it matter to her. All of those dead people she doesn't know might as well be paper dolls on fire. If she could sink her brand new claws into a few familiar eyes from back home, she'd do it, and she'd do it here so they could come back and feel her in their heads down to the knuckle all over again.]

[Maybe the two of them would do the same bad things, but she wouldn't regret them, and Komaeda probably would.]

[When he moves, she responds, unwinding herself so that she can look up at him, watch his face when he speaks to her. Watching for lies. She does so idly with him these days, because he's passed a lot of tests. Now as before, he's not lying to her. She likes that he knows she's not likeable. That he likes her anyway. Whatever he sees in her, it's in more than one dimension. Like she's a real person.]

If you hadn't been acting weird, I would have given you a minute and a half. [Absently spoken, as she arches up slightly one more time under the reach of his wide hands. What is it with tall guys? A power thing, probably. If she can take somebody that much bigger than her and make them eat out of her hand — that's all it is. That's all.]

[The thing is, Komaeda's . . . better. She can't explain it to him, not now, but sometime — and for now she can't leave him with nothing. Or maybe it's less than she doesn't want his hands empty so much as that hers are too full.]

[Fussing with the hem of his shirt, she lets her head lean back on the wall, gaze thoughtful on him. Not good, not bad, just taking all of him in.]

. . . Hey. Guess what? . . . Before you, nobody ever said that to me. That they like when I smile. When I'm happy.

[Not just like that. Not without the undercurrent of her weakness, her incapability. Not Cassel, not like this, with no baggage, no implication, no strings, no sad dark eyes hanging on her every wicked word. Not her family, because the way she smiles was never dignified enough for her mother, and her father saved praise for crueler things. She wouldn't have asked it of him. But that does mean she didn't know—]

It feels good. [She sounds surprised, because she is.]

I'm always acting weird. [Komaeda counters with a sly, knowing smile.

The reflective pools of his eyes are still honest though, as if he knows his weirdness isn't on purpose, but it's just something that happens. It's something he's come to terms with and doesn't try to fix about himself. He knows he's weird and unsettling and that people avoid him because they can't figure him out. They think he's always scheming, when in fact he's only scheming about fifty percent of the time. He doesn't with Lila though. Her eyes are too sharp like a hawk, and she always sees right through him. She's used to his weirdness and accepts it, oddly enough.

When she arches her back, leaning back against the wall like a too-languid cat, Komaeda laces his fingers at that odd curve of her spine—holding her hips to his. He likes that even when they're trying to look at each other, they both like to cling. No one has ever clung to him before, they always kept their distance because of his aforementioned weirdness. Not Lila though, he can be as cryptic as he is, or as uncareful as he wants to be, and she'll still be at his side.]

That's stupid, [He huffs and then he unlaces his fingers, bringing his real hand, his feeling hand up to cup the outline of her cheek. Even if it isn't all there, his thumb traces beneath the cut of her daggered smile, feeling the whisper of where lips used to be.] You have a pretty smile... but I guess I get it. No one has ever said they liked how I talk. I've always been told I'm too confusing, and that it must be on purpose. Like I can control it.

[Sometimes, he can. The way he dances around topics he doesn't want to get into is usually on purpose. The way he glosses over unsettling or awkward things with a smile, is on purpose. But the way he shoves his foot in his mouth sometimes, or when he overreacts and starts rambling... that isn't—and Lila says she likes it.]

You're right though... it feels good.

[It feels good when it's just the two of them and nothing else matters.]

[It feels good to be wanted — not for what you can or can't do, but for what you are. Who'd have thought? Makes sense, sure, but even the idea of reaching out for it has always felt like weakness to her. Komaeda hands it to her as though it's natural, as though it doesn't cost anything.]

[She considers telling him that the time she's taking to learn how he works is common decency — not that she knows much of anything about that, but at the very least she can spot it coming out of herself. Supposedly, most people have some of it. Not in her world, obviously, and maybe not in Komaeda's either, if he's never had anyone meet him where he's at, challenge him a little but ease up when he needs softness. She thinks about saying that there are probably a dozen people in this building alone who could do it better than her.]

[Instead, she leans into his touch and closes her eyes, warmed and content. Her fingers curl into-through-into his shirt.]

Hey. . . . Is there anything . . . [Hm. She opens her eyes again, tiny slits that widen as the sight of him fills her vision.] If I want to call you something. You know, like what I said before that freaked you out, except I don't want to freak you out. I want to say something nice about you. Anything that's not off-limits for that?

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