...Like I said, that doesn't matter anymore. Even if you tried to kill me, I-- I wasn't about to let you die. And--

[He's cut off. His words, his thoughts, it's all cut off and shut up when his shirt is grabbed and tugged at-- Nagito's hand is right there and pulling on the fabric, pulling it toward him, or pulling himself toward it--? Nagito's hold is so close to the left of Hajime's chest that Hajime almost thinks it's like-- and then Nagito's face is right there, on Hajime's shoulder. Against it, nose pressing in.

Is Nagito using his sleeve as a-- yeah, he is. Smudged across the fabric, Nagito's tears seep damply through, and Hajime feels them like warm fingertips on the skin of his shoulder.

He swallows. He has no idea what to say. What face does Nagito think he's making? He... he doesn't even care.]

Does it matter if they do? I don't have to listen to them if I don't want to.

[If Nagito's making a joke, Hajime's completely missing it. Even with his head full of talent, Hajime's still not great at catching social cues. But he's not even in the mood for jokes right now - he wants Nagito to take him seriously when he says:]

...Anyway, I don't think they'd do something like that, not when they know how much time I spent trying to wake you up.