#iran too i wish we had dug into history more there

[vamptastic]

whoever scheduled european history (favorite subject, only history class offered beyond the basic required curriculum) and the fourth (and final, and very important!) year of my drafting class for only one class period each at the same time needs to die. my heart is divided in two and every time my drafting teacher lectures me about the quality of my air conditioning plans i daydream of charts of monarchies.

[komahinasecretexchange]

Title: Sanctuary

Author: @sonivegas

For: @notcoolhajime

Rating/Warnings: G/T Rating; intrusive thoughts about self-harm, but nothing too disturbing or prevalent!

Prompt: Recovery/Crushes and Confessions

Author’s notes: huhehe guess who!!! I LOVE YOU SM and i was so thrilled to be your exchange partner i was ready to make several gifts for you but alas…. arm…. though admittedly everything i touch becomes a train-wreck and my brain was all over the place writing, i am sorry in advance, BUT i hope you like it enough nonetheless, june!!!!! <3

Like most things people call unpredictable, Hinata was certain that his affinity, which he considered to be curiosity, for the unknown really would land him into trouble one day or another. Though truthfully, he could consider the fact that calling them ‘unpredictable’ in this day and age would be discrediting the progress they’d made since the simulation. Said progress included days with unspoken calamity stickling under everyone’s skin, leaving nothing but utter chaos in their wake, when even one person was pushed over the peak of their cracking eggshell a bit too early. They were tired, naturally. Broken limbs and fractured souls and disbelieving eyes, with the distinct scent of a musty kind of smoke permeating the air every now and then even till this day, if only there to taunt them.

But of course, it was a lot to process after the hell they’d been through, and it had taken every bit of those five years to finally make some degree of an inch of difference. Some days tended to be worse than others, however. Even leading Hinata to occasionally subject himself as a rag doll to merely appease Saionji from bullying Tsumiki to tears every day. In those times, Koizumi proved herself to be some godsent blessing with the gifted ability to calm the storm in mere seconds, compared to Hinata’s droning hours of consolation. Still, nothing could bite more than the exasperated glare the Ultimate Photographer would snipe at him – if Hinata thought about it, it was not unlike saying, “This is why I can’t trust you useless boys to do anything right.” Quite frankly, Hinata sometimes wished he could share the same sentiment, especially in despite of his goodness-believing heart. But even on their worst days, Hinata considered himself lucky that despite taking on the burden of helping each of his classmates overcome their problems, they all understood that everyone was making a conscious effort to be kinder to themselves, making an effort to change themselves. Well… Almost everyone.

“Oh! Hinata-kun, there you are!” And of course, as if on cue, he would show up. And there it was… that pestering bubbling heat and increased heartrate yet again. All that for an oft rambling and hope-obsessed clown. Hinata lifted his gaze from the restaurant table to meet Komaeda, a gentle smile playing on his face, not unlike a warm greeting. Though the boy in question seemed rather… out of breath than usual. “Were you looking for me?” ‘Is that why you’re panting and paler than a bottle of baby powder’ was the other snarking question he meant to ask, but Nanami had already told him off for being too blunt earlier that morning when he’d accidentally made Tsumiki cry. He wasn’t particularly fond of getting chewed out every time he opened his phone or laptop for work, only to find her glaring angrily back at him through the screen. Despite being the usually kind-hearted and hyper-realistic AI that he and Naegi managed to restore, she sure was… firm, at times. “Kindness is everything in these times, Hinata-kun!” she’d spoken true and befitting as the self-proclaimed Jabberwock Island peacemaker; not to mention, Hinata’s impulse control. Komaeda quietly tucked his hands into the pockets of his green jacket, shaking the hood off from his mess of white hair. The same green jacket he’d worn throughout the program, the same green jacket that he almost never takes off. “Well, actually, Naegi-kun is waiting for you outside. He has a shipment for us because of the, uh… rather unexpected weather.” “…Unexpected weather?” Hinata’s voice lilted in a bit of alarm, “Was there supposed to be a typhoon?” Apparently, judging from the mystified look on the other’s face, Hinata stood corrected. Still, a small but nervous smile played on his lips, “Not… really? I mean, you see, –"

“IT’S SNOWING BALLS DEEP, MY GUY!”

Mioda’s voice hollered out seemingly no where, booming through the opened doors was more like an electric jolt bouncing off the walls of the restaurant, loud enough to make both Komaeda and Hinata nearly jump out of their skin. Then again… that kind of volume was something they had yet to get used to, despite living alongside the embodiment of an amplified sugar-rush. And there wasn’t a surprise in the world that could make Komaeda look paler than a ghost, because as usual, he’s no more than a few tones shy of looking like a ghost. But to his credit, he had seemed healthier than he did in the program.   But putting that aside, to Hinata, her line struck him as rather… peculiar, as he furrowed his eyebrows. Almost incredulous. Almost like she said… “It’s… what?” In an instant, the Ultimate Musician marched up till she was merely inches from the other’s face, slapping two hands on both cheeks just to squish them a little as if they were mochi. According to Hinata, saying that her magenta eyes were excitedly sparkling with one-hundred volts of energy would be a criminal understatement, even. “Ssssssnnnooooooooowwww,” she spoke, dragging out her syllables with surprisingly more patience than Hinata could ever consider her capable of. “Snow! It’s snow, Hajime-chan. It’s snowing, Haji—” “Ya-huh.” Hinata’s voice dripped in sarcasm, or rather disbelief, “And this here is literally a tropical island.” Even looking outside to the window of the restaurant, it was hard to tell if it was true or not – the skies were clear and blue, after all. He’d have noticed something wrong with the weather in the morning, wouldn’t he? Komaeda’s lips ghosted something like a grin, “You’re not wrong to be suspicious of a claim like that. That’s what I thought so too, but Naegi-kun came by with winter jackets for us because of the unexpected snowfall. That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier.” When their eyes met, the gears in Hinata’s mind slowly clicked together every bit of information. Not that he really needed to anyway, as when Komaeda began to shrug off his jacket, it was clear that the poor kid had been out of breath and shivering from being trapped in nothing less than a frosty snowstorm. Still…

A vibration in his pocket. Hinata immediately knew who it was. “Hinata-kun!” Nanami’s muffled voice resonated as he reached for his pocket, “Good morning, I just woke up a little while ago, but I happened to overhear!” Nanami’s avatar on screen stood with her hands clasped together, eyes glowing with about an eighth of Mioda’s excitement, “I know you’re confused but, looking at the special weather report the Future Foundation relayed to me a few minutes ago, it looks like this is sort of a rare climatic condition on the real Jabberwock island. Unlike the Neo World Program that almost always had sunny weather.” She paused to ponder for a moment, “Ah, plus, you know, global warming… I think.” Hinata’s lips pressed firm, letting out a loud huff through his nose as he watched her expression slightly pixelated, change to a gentle, but thoughtful look through the phone screen. Nanami continued, “I know how much the cold bothers you, but… I’m pretty sure it’s not some kind of ploy by the people to make us miserable.” There’s a slight lilt in her voice when she says that, almost amused, “It’s been years since you’ve all repaired the city anyway. I think, given the time of year, we should simply take it as it is and make the most of it.” “I absolutely concur, Nanami-san!” A familiar, regal tone of voice chirped up the stairs from the lobby. Noticing upon her entrance, Sonia had already taken the liberty of dressing herself for the winter, apparently having dug into the new shipment of winter jackets, though Naegi himself was no where to be seen. Being dressed in a baby blue faux-fur and silk trench coat, with Persian patterning at the hem and sleeve cuts, was rather fitting of her dignified but casual style as the Ultimate Princess. A voice from within Hinata’s head (that he didn’t want to hear) said that the Persian pattern ‘was actually and more specifically, an Iranian design, reminiscent of the Imam Mosque in the Isfahan province of Iran.’ Kamukura droned on like a bee humming by his ear, continuously supplying him with even more trivia as if he’d rehearsed the entire history of the ‘Safavid dynasty’ for this very day. But by that point, Hinata had already turned the volume dial in his brain to zero; a setting that he wished would stay as the default, but alas, he knew he owed much to Kamukura anyway for how far they’d come as survivors of a killing game. Might as well give him some time to shine. He figured that he’d be bored to death and back again if he too had to be sanctioned off to a corner of some mundane and talentless guy’s brain. Especially considering Kamukura’s lack of tolerance for uninteresting things, it’s a surprise he hadn’t gone into a hundred-year slumber to save himself the trouble of listening to Hinata. Or disintegrated from boredom by then anyway. Trailing significantly behind Sonia were Tanaka and Souda walking side by side, talking excitably about some new zoo tycoon game they’d heard about. Though with both having become surprisingly chummy in recent years, it wasn’t the most astounding sight to see. But granted, Hinata would be lying if he said it still didn’t make him smile a bit at least to see them joking around and sharing interests. Admittedly, it was both odd and endearing to see two former rivals in love (or rather, a genuine candidate and a one-sided lovestruck fool) become best friends. It had started off rather straightforward; clearly remembering the day Souda requested, insisted even, that he wanted to sit down with Tanaka and talk to him properly, saying that after taking time to reflect on the events of the past, he wished to apologize for his behaviour in the program and his treatment toward Sonia in the near future as well.  

Surprisingly mature, Hinata had thought, and it turned out that the Ultimate Mechanic had in fact matured beyond his looks, greatly, through some damn near ground-breaking miracle. Souda had even taken it upon himself to recreate a miniature version of Nezumi Castle for Tanaka’s hamster companions as a token of friendship. Saying Tanaka was pleased would, once again, be a rather grave understatement, so far as going to rather shyly pledging his lifelong companionship, in his own unique way, to the teary-eyed young man who’d bowed a full ninety degrees forward.

If he had to think about it, Komaeda really wasn’t the only one who had the power to make Hinata’s heart stir. Every time he would be lucky enough bear witness to a slightly kinder change in behaviour from his classmates, without fail, there would be a rush of warmth filling his chest. Though undoubtedly a different feeling from the sensation that coursed through him, reserved for just that one person; but Hinata felt that he should digress from such thoughts when the boy in question was standing in front of him, unperturbed and unknowing of it all. Nonetheless, Hinata would rather have everyone get along in peace. He’d rather everyone build on from their pasts. They’d never be able to forget it, but at least they’d be able to learn from what had transpired.

At least they had another chance at life, right?

“Hinata-kun?” Yet again, that soothing voice brought his thoughts back to the present, grounded him. Komaeda was definitely still a work in progress when it came to being kinder to himself, but he had definitely grown to love his classmates wholeheartedly even disregarding the idea of talent. For now, this would do. Grey eyes met green in curious concern, and a kind, rejuvenated smile rested on Hinata’s lips to reassure the other boy. “It’s nothing.” A step closer, a little bolder, and he let his fingertips barely brush his shoulder, “Why don’t we all head outside and just enjoy the day then?”

White. Just cold and white. There wasn’t a single damn inch as far as Hinata could see that wasn’t covered in snow.

Sure enough, as they stood there freezing with frigid air chilling and drying out their lungs, Naegi had sent them off with a wave accompanied by a dashing smile and a carefree, “See you later, don’t get sick in the cold, Hinata-kun!” leaving the winter supplies behind, heating system parts and all. Easy for him to say, when he lived in an apartment funded by the Future Foundation. Rather easy for him to say, when he didn’t live on a crusty old island with parts breaking down every other day, hearing Souda breaking out into the hysterics of a banshee-like fit from witnessing his handiwork falling apart due to weathering and bad luck before his eyes. Though, as always, Komaeda tended to topple the blame of faulty parts onto himself. A bit of a stupid and breathy, “Ahaha… what rotten luck for me to be around and cause so much misfortune on everyone again,” would come out of Komaeda’s mouth every second day, and with Souda curling into fetal position on the floor all the other days. Hinata had always thought it to be the obviously visible rust and metal-eating acidic residue but, of course, what did he know?

The parts sent along to them were probably table scraps, he knew he could expect that much; despite all their work for the Future Foundation, even rebuilding the city with the rest of his class and doing additional charity and rehabilitation work for the survivors, there would still be passing comments a little too harsh for their own liking. Whether they were on the way to Naegi’s office, or running an errand for Kirigiri, there was always a snide comment or cold shoulder out of nothing but prejudice, but they’d gotten used to it by now. They had to. Undoubtedly, they were the ones to get the second-hand materials. Maybe they were still nothing more than an afterthought to them, discarded, removed from society’s ranks like used rags back onto the island where they’d tried to kill each other, though they voluntarily wished to come back. Even so, they were nothing more and nothing less than the Ultimate Despair.

However unkind the few cold-hearted were, over the years in and out of the city, at least most of the members had warmed up to them. Possibly a result of the tireless hours of labor, nursing those who became sickly back to health, and putting their lives on the line for the city they sought to destroy all those years ago, together. It was the least they could do. Hinata knew by the sickly look on The Imposter’s face, or the exhaustion lining both Kuzuryuu’s and Koizumi’s features, that they were all trying their damnedest to do their best and make up for the loss they’d caused. Even through their worst days, bickering and hair pulling and terror riding through their bones, they tried their best while rediscovering the bonds they had once forgotten. That earnestness in those seemingly hopeless yet hopeful days was all that mattered to him. That’s all that should matter to anyone at this point, if he could be honest with himself. Hinata found himself prying away from the rest of the class, most of whom stood around gawking and poking at the snow like school children seeing a heavy snowfall for the first time in their lives. Taking hold of the box cutter Souda lent him from his toolkit, Hinata sliced open the top of the second box that remained unopened. Supposedly, these held the parts that he’d later let Souda tinker around with to build what Naegi was a heating machine, and surprisingly enough, the bottom of the box and the snow under it wasn’t stained with rust. ‘Maybe we got parts that weren’t drenched in acid rain for once’ he found himself joking with a half-exasperated smirk on his face. Though, if he were completely honest, it wasn’t far fetched from the old truth at all. The new truth, however… “We got brand new parts?!”

Souda’s voice chirped (correction: shrieked) loud enough to be heard across a baseball stadium. To say Hinata was merely confused by such statement would be rather dry. And yet, there Souda was; eyes twinkling, almost bright enough to rival Mioda’s one-hundred volts, (though he’d sworn he heard her distant whooping about another machine in the box) immediately digging through steel parts like a fox leaping headfirst into snow if only to bury half its body in it. Rather fitting, seeing as there was snow everywhere. Fitting, seeing how from his side profile whilst preoccupied with the fallen snow, even Komaeda looked like he could be Souda’s arctic fox companion, ready to indulge in winter’s joy as well; complete with his sly demeanor, bright eyes, cunning wit and charm and… being that kind of unconventionally yet infuriatingly attracti— “Ah, there’s also a note in here… Yo, Hinata, take care of this, would ya? It’s time for me to finally get cracking on some real machinery.” Hinata’s head whipped back to Souda as he stood, watching him attempt to pop his knuckles but failing soundlessly, instead excitedly stretching his arms over his head now that he’s in his element at long last. Throwing his hands on his hips and taking a heavy breath in, he looked just like an eager elementary school kid in spirit, just with the body of a 26-year-old, “Just like, look at this! It’s state of the art tech?! I can’t believe they got their hands on this, and I…” As nice as it was to see Souda excited, Kamukura or not, Hinata had no particular fancy in machine parts, especially something like air conditioning parts. But if Souda could practically get off to it, he really wouldn’t be one to stand in his way. Yet again, he digressed from that mental image with a grimace on the inside and a polite smile paired with a thumbs up on the exterior. Not even Kamukura had the energy to interfere; for once, the two of them concluded unanimously with what could be summed up as, ‘Yeah, just let the man deal with it.’

The note, now in Hinata’s grasp, however, garnered an interest from both of them. “To the…” A pause. He blinked once, then twice. Was he reading this right? “To the… graduated class of 77-B… this, among some other incoming shipments, are our gift to you.” Hinata read out loud to everyone. It wasn’t the ‘Remnants of Despair’, it wasn’t a vaguely sugar-coated reference to ‘criminals’, it wasn’t any other biting remark or degrading comment they’d grit their teeth and smiled through during their gruelling days of work. Simply, the graduated class of 77-B. “Despite our differences in the past few years, we here at the Future Foundation have come to acknowledge the efforts that you all have put into rebuilding the city.” Hinata paused, taking a deep breath, “In the past week or so, our dispatched team has done a thorough final cleaning, rehousing any remaining rehabilitated survivors into the buildings that you all have helped to rebuild. There is no longer any need for your services, as we have a fairly capable maintenance team. We will still provide necessities to Jabberwock Island until we can establish finer details for currency, as we realize that it is still too scarce to be of fair value. You are free to return to the Future Foundation for work, or consider this an early retirement or rehabilitation, though the supposed pension may not be grand.”

Pulling the paper away from his face, he carefully read the last line with a steady voice, “For the misconduct and poor treatment due to our negligence and distrust, we hope that you can accept our apologies. Thank you for your hard work. Signed, Togami Byakuya.” There was little to do but tuck away the letter and let the words sink into his mind. His mouth felt dry all of a sudden, feeling a rush deep in his chest like pain and relief at the same time. At long last… at long last, they could be seen for a little more than criminals. Without a doubt, the burden of their crimes would still be carried on their backs, but… “Hinata-kun…” Komaeda’s hand found it’s way to his shoulder, crouching beside him, Hinata unaware of when he himself had come down to his knees at all, “I’m surprised it’s Togami-kun of all people addressing us so politely, I would’ve thought it was Naegi-kun this entire time.” He let out a chuckle at the thought, probably imagining it as well. “But isn’t it a good thing, then?” “I mean, who knows, Togami might as well have been held at gunpoint by Naegi to write nicely.” Hinata responded, watching Komaeda throw his head down to try and hide his laughter, though he wished he could see it anyway. He continued, “…But by “a good thing” you mean, to be acknowledged as Ultimates?” Hinata’s eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion. To that, Komaeda merely smiled warmly, “To be acknowledged as equals, as people, people who have been redeemed as symbols of hope.”

Hearing Komaeda’s words and turning back to him, the way the sunlight caught his eyes and reflected off the crisp and pure white snow made him seem like he was glowing. Maybe he was, in Hinata’s eyes at least. It made him think time and time again about how things had changed since they’d first arrived back on the real island; they couldn’t even say they were truly “back” because nothing was ever quite the same as the program. Nothing was the same except for the feelings that stuck to them, buried inside them. The motivations, the pain, and the horror. All of the ugly aspects and hardly ever the beautiful.   What could you make of the place you spent the most traumatizing days of your life in. The place where you were full of feelings of distrust, confusion, and betrayal, where the wrong choice could be the end of the road for everyone. The place where you both loved and feared the people you lived alongside. Someone like Komaeda in the Neo World Program, full of hysterics and twisted tongues and horrible ideals that had truly rolled the game into motion – someone he never fathomed to forgive or trust another day, and yet, when he looks at the same man now, he’s overcome with the strangest feeling of hope. Dare he say happiness, even. Happiness for the fact that they had all slowly brought out the best within themselves despite their trauma and loss. The hope that contrasted so starkly against their despair, much like the hardships in any average person’s life tends to illuminate the good. It gave him peace of mind, for their second chance at life. Even Komaeda, despite his persistent self-deprecating ways, had been able to make at least an inch of progress. Maybe not towards himself, but to others – he’d come forward, trying to change his way of thinking, bit by bit each day. Speaking of a new hope, the one that they had built together, instead of the ideal he had to desperately cling to all his life for sanity in a world where fate would backlash at every step of the way. It took an immense amount of trust on both of their parts, but it was worth the risk. Things had definitely changed. And he was okay with that. __

It was only a day after arriving back on the island that Komaeda had immediately started disappearing for most of the day. Whether he was trying to punish himself or test the trust of his overly-kind classmates, he didn’t quite know. Perhaps all he probably wanted, was to merely… Decay. Like rotting fruit that was never sweet to begin with, just the regretfully wrong choice to pluck from the tree. The one that would undoubtedly infect the rest of the barrel. It was just a mistake.

Despite the generosity of Kamukura’s skills, alongside Hinata’s well-wishes, maybe all it was that he merely felt obligated to bring everyone, including himself, back to life; for a second chance, for redemption, for “hope”.

And he hated it.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this was it? He was supposed to die, even with regrets writhing somewhere in him, even with words left unspoken, it was fine if he was just left to die. He wasn’t supposed to see him again. He wasn’t supposed to wake up every day, seeing her wrist hanging lifelessly where his used to be. It didn’t matter if there were things left with loose ends, when a life is taken by someone’s hands or even their own, they cannot come back to life. That was never the reality he was forced to grow used to. Not matter how long he would sit praying with clasped hands and white knuckles for hours on end, incense and prayer bells ringing in his eardrums until he could hear the ringing in his sleep, eyes burning and heart aching for another chance to say, “Have a nice day at work,” just for a mere chance to see the ghost of his hope all those days. Even if he couldn’t get any closer to them in the time that they were alive, because it was as if a wall stood between them; no matter how hard he ran, the distance never closed between him and his loved ones. Maybe now, he realized, that they were sparing themselves of his horrific luck cycle, only to be struck by it anyway. Hopeless. Futile. Just like him. At least a realistic hope, void of such grandeur and delusions like a second chance at life, was the only thing his luck would ever validate. Not some fantasy, nor would it entertain a chance at a happy ending. It wasn’t supposed to, and ideally, he would have stayed dead if not for the meddling reserve course student who he tried so hard to despise. Who he knew he should despise. But things would have to stay this way, he supposed. Orchestrating another suicide would be too troublesome, too exhausting, too much of a hassle to clean up. Going out in silence like a light without wasting any resources would be the better option anyway, wasn’t it? Even if it was the difficult way of leaving for good. At least there would be no chance of bringing a shrivelled corpse back to life.

Though he was buried in his thoughts, Komaeda could make out someone standing beyond the door from the shadows on the ground. Before even seeing his silhouette, he know who it was; and he knew he shouldn’t even be in here. The door to the warehouse flew open at last, exposing Hinata under the frame, with yet another stern and annoyed expression as he eyed Komaeda sitting on the dusty ground. Even someone like him would be disgusted after all. The air between them was mostly silent, as usual; after arriving on the island, Komaeda made sure to distance himself from everyone and drop the act of friendliness out of politeness. After all, no one should have to deal with someone like him for longer than necessary, not even if they’d all done terrible things. He was an attempted murderer, at that, knowing Hinata had figured it out during that last trial he’d heard rumors of. Even if he did feel that he was justified at the end of the day.    

And it was always Hinata. Every day he would disappear from the main island and away from everyone, he’d always be the one to bring him back; often wrapping his fingers around Komaeda’s left wrist in a firm, almost scolding manner, and pulling him along behind him out of whatever rut he’d dug himself into for that day, like some mechanical ragdoll on autopilot. Komaeda would often stare down at his wrist and fantasize about whether it’d tear right off his arm if Hinata was rough enough with him. Still, intrusive thoughts wouldn’t linger long enough when he could feel the heat of a living person on his skin. “So,” he’d started that day, “why is it that you insist on holding my hand every time you drag me back? Afraid I might run away?” He spoke in a low tone, something akin to apathy or embarrassment in his voice that he hoped Hinata wouldn’t catch. Hinata, on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered to turn around, “You could say that, and also that you always seem lonely when I find you.” “I don’t need your pity, Hinata-kun. Especially not from the likes of you.” That was the biting remark he’d expected. Rejecting, insulting, as if he hadn’t heard it all before. Still, the way he spit out those words made him feel the exhaustion he’d carried on from sleepless days even stronger, though he did nothing but treat the brief silence with a near-crushing grip on Junko’s rotting hand, knowing Komaeda couldn’t feel it in the slightest. “It’s not pity… and I don’t care what you think of me, even as the reserve course student you hate so much, but I know where I stand in this world.” Hinata spoke with a sigh, not letting emotion betray in his voice, nor did he let the insults get to him. One of the many things he’d learned he had control over better in his adulthood than in his youth, evidently. “It’s about time you do too.” “Oh, so it’s not pity? Enlighten me, then.” Even without turning around, Hinata could feel Komaeda spiralling as he spoke, “Isn’t it rather fitting that scum like me stays isolated in that warehouse, like a bird in a cage?” Komaeda said, a small laugh leaving with his breath at the end. “And what would you know about where I stand? I already know my place.”   “Clearly you don’t.” Hinata slowed his pace down, knowing the conversation was going into uncharted territory, though it needed to be said, “At least, not with the way you’ve been treating yourself even after waking up a second time.” Komaeda froze. “Waking up…?” His lungs felt like someone filled them with smoke, like he couldn’t contain his voice anymore – feeling a burning sensation on his face he’d never really felt before.   “Waking up?!” He stepped away from Hinata, tearing away his wrist like he’d just been burned. Some deeper part of his mind was gravely disappointed that Junko’s arm didn’t rip off from his flesh and skin right then and there. Bleeding, though it would only be his own fresh blood. Junko’s would be nowhere to be seen. “What would you have done if we weren’t in the program? If we had died for real, like we were supposed to, then what would you have to say to everyone who died? That’s not how this world works!” Komaeda started to pull at the fabric of his jacket in frustration, to the touch it was shabby and damaged and discoloured, even beyond it’s physical appearance – just like him. Hinata still wouldn’t fully face him, and that only aggravated him. Arrogant, foolish, reserve course student. His eyes widened, throwing himself further into shouting out, “You call your hope, some gaudy and artificial rebirth, ‘waking up’? And for what, the sake of criminals who destroyed the world—?“ “Get over yourself, Komaeda.” Hinata finally snapped back to the other boy. He’d done his best to keep his composure, and he wasn’t about to mess up entirely now, “Thinking of yourself at a time like this, when everyone has a second chance to redeem themselves. You think we don’t know what reality is? You think I liked waking up those first few days to see the face of a murderer looking back at me in the mirror? You think I liked having to throw up because I felt sick of myself for deaths which I had little to no memory or feeling of remorse for? It’s not like any of us expected to even have another opportunity.” Hinata’s sucked in air through his teeth sharply, jaws clenched tight when they weren’t moving, feeling something like adrenaline in his veins. Adrenaline, he thought, or maybe anger. “Komaeda, do you honestly think I haven’t regretted waking up, even once?” Hands that he didn’t realize were tightened into a fist pulled a little harder, watching Komaeda’s anger slowly drain from his expression, “So, what, are you going to tell victims like Koizumi and Mioda they don’t deserve another chance at life because of who they were? This isn’t just about us, but are you going to deprive yourself of another chance just because you’re hung up on the past? Give me a fucking break.” Komaeda couldn’t do anything but stay silent, this time not meeting Hinata’s eyes, but letting the warm air and the scent of summer rain on asphalt fill his lungs and slowly wash out the frustration he’d felt moments ago. Once again, it was always Hinata. It was always Hinata who managed to both infuriate him and ground him every time.   “Then again, I never could understand that ‘hope’ of yours, even at the very end. Still…” Letting his now quivering grip relax, Hinata took another deep shaky breath, closing his eyes for just a moment to figure out what he wanted to say. There was no room for mistakes, especially when he had an opening like this with someone like Komaeda Nagito. “You’re allowed to be angry at the outcome, I can’t dictate how you’re meant to feel. But I know you still have a place in this world, despite everything. Even if it’s difficult to remain here, you still belong with us, as an equal in 77-B. As a friend.” At those words, the tension seemed to dissipate slowly; but there was still never any sure telling, Komaeda could revert right back to building those thorn walls around him, desperate to keep well-wishers out lest his luck bring them misfortune. But Hinata needed the change. They wouldn’t be able to move forward without the acknowledgement alone; he wanted to move forward with everyone no matter how long it took, including Komaeda. Especially Komaeda, even if he couldn’t quite understand why he was so desperate for him to follow. “Not even your luck can stop you from taking pleasure in the simple things in life. Not as long as we’re around to support you. But nothing will change unless you want it from your own heart… though, just so you know, I do want to see you happy some day.” Hinata reached for his hand, his real hand, and smiled gently despite everything – to remind him that everything good and everything bad in their lives was most definitely real, that he wouldn’t be alone when facing them, that there was better means of retribution that didn’t lead them to suffering quietly. Not every bit of damage will disappear, but even if it means some things may merely fade, others will heal eventually.

“Tsumiki took a crash course for counselling and now runs a therapy clinic, with help from assistants at the Future Foundation.” Hinata looked to the sky, wondering when patches of it started to change a little from red to purple. “Let’s go together tomorrow, okay?”

Komaeda faced the floor and mumbled under his breath, leading Hinata to furrow his eyebrows in confusion, “Huh? Did you say something?” At that point he’d also noticed he was still holding Komaeda’s hand. Neither of them seemed to notice or care a whole lot, so of course he wouldn’t be the one to bring it up. Though Komaeda’s insults were mostly empty, but when caught off guard, it wasn’t like his confidence was high enough not to get curb-stomped by the jabs anyway. “So you’re talentless and hard of hearing too, huh?” Komaeda shot an unimpressed look at him, to which Hinata could merely shrug weakly before the other let out a sigh, “I said, Ultimate Persuader.” Komaeda’s lips ghosted the slightest hint of a grin, as he immediately casted his eyes to the floor, “I guess… I bet it rubbed off on you from Kamukura-kun, but it’s fine. I’ll take you up on your offer, if you so insist.” And that was that, Hinata supposed. Though some days were more troublesome than others, Komaeda found himself wandering back to the warehouse less and less to plot the way the Spear of Gungnir pierced his abdomen in the program, neither would he lay on the filthy ground and pray to rot in silence where he lay. Instead, he’d let Hinata gently grasp the fingertips of his right hand, every Sunday afternoon on their way to the third island.

–

“Ah… so a karaoke machine, is it?” “No shit, it’s a karaoke machine. Big brother, don’t you have ears? Or eyes, for that matter? Ones that aren’t always following that cotton-head creep?” Saionji stuck her tongue out distastefully at Hinata, eventually skipping away from the stage where the machine had been propped up gracefully thanks to the heaving efforts of what Souda dubbed one lazy afternoon as, The Muscle Hustlers, Owari and Nekomaru. Hinata, like most people with at least a bit of taste, despised that name; though at least he didn’t demand a cash refund for violating his ears unlike Saionji.

Hinata didn’t pay any attention to that snide remark either, though he wondered if she merely came around to insult him for fun. After all, Saionji was always full of them, and entertaining or even refuting them would only end up with someone on the verge of tears – usually Saionji. Though it wasn’t her being driven to tears that he feared as much as he felt bad for; it was Koizumi’s wrath that he actually feared. Making someone’s girlfriend cry would do that, he supposed.

After spending a bit of time on his own, mostly tweaking things or vegetating, he’d come out for the invitation to the party at Titty Typhoon, apparently to congratulate themselves on an early retirement… or rather, graduation. And by the looks of the karaoke machine, decorations, and booze on the table, things were about to get rather loud rather fast. Though, he had to really hand it to Mioda for whipping everything up so quickly; she really was a different kind of motivated when it came to music and parties. On their own, they were enough to make her excited but, together with an alcohol-enthused Kuzuryuu looking forward to the drinks, it was something like getting the already-hyper Mioda Ibuki to chug an energy drink and a coffee at the same time. Basically, a rather dangerous combination that Hinata would consider getting Kamukura to split an atom would the safer option between the two. Even Imposter had a hard time keeping up with everything despite being one of the main organizers, and honestly, who could blame them? At least, it looked like everyone had arrived and was having a relatively good time. Hanamura was busy in the kitchen, whisking away at comfort food made gourmet by perfection; even he had come around to accept that it wasn’t bad to embrace his roots with homely cooking, to honor his mother. For her sake, he’d also given up on perverted tactics and jokes over the years. Though he never quite brought it up, but Hinata eventually noticed anyway. Everyone else had someone to talk to or something to do – he found Komaeda laughing and chatting with Pekoyama over their soft drinks, Nekomaru and Owari helping with aligning the lights on stage, in exchange for glazed hams to their hearts content, bellowing out cheers as they lifted giant rods of iron off the ground to move to storage; all the while, Tsumiki stood by and panicked, crying out to be careful as the two of them hoisted everything with nothing but their bare hands and a whole lot of willpower. He saw Sonia, Gundham, and Souda playing card games at their own table, watching Sonia slap down a card with a triumphant grin and watching the other two crumble before her. Fuyuhiko, on the other hand, he spotted near— “Hinata-kun?” Nanami’s voice chirped beside him, snapping him out of his trance. He’d almost completely forgotten that she’d woken up for the party. He huffed at himself, some insensitive friend he was. “Sorry, it’s all good Nanami. I was just thinking about… things.” “You were spacing out and looking at everyone. Especially you-know-who.” “You-know-who?” He snorted, “What are you, a grade schooler?” “You-know-who means Komaeda.” She bellowed out louder than she needed to, and, naturally, the man in question whipped his head around at the sound of his name. Hinata felt like sweating buckets. Or being struck by lightning. Nanami, on the other hand, relished in his embarrassment and waved at Komaeda through the screen, which he had cheerfully reciprocated before turning back to Pekoyama who merely smiled between the four of them. He took a deep breath, “That,” he jabbed toward the screen, “Was unfair.” Throwing his back to the wall again, he huffed irritably, only to hear Nanami chuckle quietly. “Sorry, sorry. But, tell me honestly, do you see it too, then?” Hinata’s eyebrows creased a bit at the question, “See what?”  “The way everyone has grown.” A somber atmosphere settled between them at those words. “Yeah. I do.” Hinata cast a small smile at her, which she warmly gave back. She exhaled, as if letting out all her worries in one swift action. Hinata wished it were that easy, but he was more than grateful to see that his friend could allow herself to relax for once. “Well…” she spoke, glancing at each of her classmates, “I’m glad I got to see it, even if I’m not exactly… real.” Hinata stiffened, “What are you saying? Of course you’re real.” His crossed arms let down, hands folding behind his back as his head turned towards Nanami, who idly fidgeted with the cuff of her sweater like a nervous child, “You existed in all of our lives as our friend and you’ll always be our dearest classmate. You’re undoubtedly real to all of us.” His chest ached a bit as he said so, knowing full well about all that Nanami had done for everyone, knowing full well what Nanami means but refusing to truly acknowledge that. He supposed it was a bit selfish of him, to live in a bubble of ignorant bliss when the irony was that he’d been fine with accepting reality every other way. But this way was still too difficult, even for him. “You’re the one who’s been helping Tsumiki with the therapy sessions after all. Helping all of us. There’s no way I could ever forget that.” He felt a knot in his throat that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard he swallowed, strangely enough. Though there was nothing particularly emotional going on unless loud music, friendly banter, and a celebration they’d make sure to remember truly counted. Somehow, he still felt like crying of all things. “Ah… I was trying to keep that a secret… but it’s okay.” She smiled, and Hinata knew that no computer monitor would be able to contain her warmth and kindness. “It’s funny… I guess I’m a bit of an existentialist, even if I don’t quite exist.” Hearing those words, Hinata found himself hesitantly opening and closing his mouth, wanting to refute them; he knew everyone still had their sore spots, but above all he knew how much Nanami had to suffer all this time. Each and every one of them had suffered. But Nanami… she had to watch them gruel through the whole process, every day, even if the others were vile with each other during their first few days of waking up. Even when things felt like they were getting better, someone or another would relapse, and Nanami, without fail, would be there to rescue the deteriorating situation when Hinata had his hands tied. Not knowing how to say it properly, Hinata subconsciously patted the top of the monitor, getting a confused sound from Nanami before awkwardly shoving his hands back into his pockets. “S-sorry… still not quite good at the whole ‘emotions’ thing.” “Mhmm…” She laughed, “Neither are any of us, but that’s fine, Hinata-kun.” Their quiet chat was soon broken by Mioda’s voice on stage, beaming and hopping as she asked everyone to find seats, before bringing out a shoebox with a hole on the lid. According to her, whoever’s name would be drawn from the box would be first up to sing; karaoke was going to be consisting entirely of her favourite songs from anime and video games of her choice, with the singers completely randomized, meaning, it was a matter of luck. Luck. And his thoughts, as always, trailed right back to the Ultimate Lucky Student, who he found with his hands knitted together gracefully as he looked up at his friend on stage with an encouraging smile. Mioda, having caught his attention, all but winked back. Rattling the whole box like a pair of maracas, Mioda eventually picked out a scrap piece of paper from out of the box with her eyes squinted shut, peeking out one eye like a child once it was unfolded. A cattish grin on her lips as she read out the name, “Ibuki picked… Ko-ma-e-da Nagitoooo-chaaaaaaaaaaaan!” Pointing straight at the seemingly unlucky winner, who sat with an expression that changed from his warm smile, to somewhere between giving up and straight up petrification as he slowly stood, getting a handful of cheers from the rest of the class.

Maybe it was the lights, or the way Komaeda was practically glowing as he climbed up on stage, that made him more emotional than usual. Hinata didn’t think often about his feelings, lest they get carried away and become something like infatuation. He wondered, quietly while casting a glance to the computer screen again, if Nanami could analyze and pick up on the storm of emotions whirling in him.

“Okay! So, I’ll only play a song you know, from some anime that we’ve watched together, if you’re cool with that!” Mioda chattered away as she stuck her face into the amp, adjusting frequency levels with enough skill and precision that there wasn’t a second of feedback. Komaeda all but shrugged resignedly, legs stiffly pressed flat together, and hands clasped tightly in what looked like nervous habit… awfully cute, if Hinata could be honest. Mioda stood up, microphone in hand and whispering into Komaeda’s ear, his expression going from anxiety, to surprise, to anxiety again.   “Really?” He looked unamused at whatever she’d said, exasperated even, before he went right back to being nervous, “Mioda-san, you know I can’t sing, I’ll only hurt everyone’s ears,” he’d whispered back with urgency, almost with a bit of shyness, unaware that the mic was picking up on his voice perfectly despite whispering. “You’ll be fiiiine, Nagito-chan! I’ve heard you since before, you’re amazing!” Mioda hugged him from the back and squeezed, while Hinata felt the slightest twinge of jealousy that she got to hear him singing before. “Oh… please don’t say that about tr—” he shook his head, “About me.” He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, “But if you insist…” Mioda winked at him, pointing a one-hand finger gun at the karaoke machine, the music turning on as she “shot” it. Faintly, he could hear Fuyuhiko curse in disbelief, “How the hell…” before being hushed by Pekoyama. As the lights everywhere else dimmed, Mioda’s voice was heard once more, “Nagito-chan will be singing ‘Song of Truth’ by Do As Infinity!” The sound of the instrumental filled the room, most notably, the sound of a stringed instrument. “The jinghu,” Kamukura supplied, “It’s a Chinese instrument known for it’s unique high-pitch melody.” Hinata supressed a sigh, resisting the urge to whack his forehead (as if it’d do anything but sting) but begrudgingly stored that information in his brain anyway. He tuned out everything, focused on the boy on stage; visibly less nervous, much to Hinata’s relief, though he kept his eyes shut, he could’ve sworn Komaeda peeked and smiled at him before taking a deep breath.

The first few words from him resounded. A melodious hum reverberating from quiet lips, foreign, but sweeter than honey. It’s just as calming of an effect – it’s not overpowering, not really, but the sound has a way of making gears click into place, make the lights seem less glaring, but a softer bloom instead; it made him glow in a manner that’s ethereally… beautiful. Charmingly complimenting the soothing grace carried in each note of his song, and the way his silver eyes would momentarily betray melancholy even in low light.

It trailed goosebumps up Hinata’s arms.

Hinata knew that he wasn’t the only thoroughly mesmerized in the room, but in some ways, he couldn’t be bothered to take his eyes off the boy who’d made a prisoner out of his attention, much like his own heart as he’d begrudgingly learned over time. As he’d learned of the unwavering and pure affection, he accepted it with endearment little by little. Komaeda wasn’t such a bad guy, after all. Misguided, surely, but it wasn’t like they weren’t all at fault for what had transpired. It wasn’t like Hinata didn’t have blood on his own hands, despite taking a different name and form. But at their core, there was no lying about it. They weren’t bad people. There was still time to learn and recover from their pasts. And they had, Hinata was certain that they most definitely overcame their greatest hurdles. And now that the bigger storms were calmed, there was still time to take Komaeda’s hand and show him what it’s like to live without fear; with unconditional… love, was it? Love from himself and their classmates, their friends. It would be okay, so long as they kept living and pushing forward.   Being with Komaeda, growing alongside him, learning and understanding him over the years… it had only affirmed his affections, it had only made him want to stand beside him and help him be happy, just as he had done the same for him on the many nights Hinata would break down.

Hinata listened to the song, not bothering to filter the way the words strike him any longer. He’d simply let his emotions flow knowing he couldn’t push them away quite as easily anymore. He would stop pretending that he wasn’t shamelessly staring, watching the way his expression would crease just slightly at the more difficult lines, at the stronger notes. He would stop pretending that he didn’t notice how Komaeda had started to take care of himself a little more, even if it was out of reluctance. He would stop pretending that he didn’t appreciate how he went out of his way to support his classmates through difficult times and moving past their sins, even if he was still rough around the edges. He would stop pretending that he didn’t care, that he didn’t have feelings for him, as much as a mess they both were. As Komaeda’s song came to a close, the rest of the class broke out in cheers and praise, most of them hollering in surprise at Komaeda’s bit of hidden talent as he stood there like a nervous doe. In the back of his mind, Hinata thought it to be rather timid for someone who’d threatened to blow up five islands, but he felt that he could be cut some slack from all that nonsense. Nothing quite made sense back then, after all, but he was happier to know the real Komaeda. All the while, Hinata felt suddenly overwhelmed with just how empty his lungs felt after everything and rushed out for air as discreetly as possible. Though trying to be inconspicuous, he was sure at least Nanami would have noticed… unless she fell asleep, that is. Nonetheless, Hinata slipped out the front door quietly amidst the chaos, taking in the chilly air in deep breaths as he placed himself on the nearby bench, suddenly taking notice of the ice-skating rink near the ruined beach the others had probably set up. He was sure that the third island wasn’t the cleanest island, rather, it was the one that held the second-most amount of junk right next to the fifth – but all in due time, he supposed, every last one of the islands would be properly cleaned up soon enough now that they were done with the mainland.

After what he guessed was ten minutes, he could very faintly hear Sonia’s voice in a duet with Owari; a surprising but lively combination, and the song seemed to be fairly upbeat even if he couldn’t make out the words. Even so, it warmed his heart. Maybe because he felt like a forty-year old in a twenty-seven-year old’s body, it was like the world moved far too quickly during his youth. There never was much time for him to really be a teenager, if he really thought about it. There was too much going on between the blurred lines of his childhood memories, the bandages, the arguments in the kitchen, all while he pored hours day in and out into his studies for cram school and exams; and then there was Hope’s Peak, and all the pain and frustration and longing to be significant that came with it. It consumed those years, burning them faster than cotton, like his life was nothing more than fodder for entertainment and testing the limits of ground shattering low esteem for a boy who knew no better than to give up his body to some greed-driven scientists, and that if some cruel God was out there taking pleasure out of his hellscape of a life, well… he knew that by the fact that he was still alive meant that he had the last laugh, at least.   The sound of boots crunching in the snow approached from behind, and, lucky him, it was Komaeda with two hot drinks in his hands. “So, this is where you disappeared, huh?” He sat down beside him, shivering a bit at the touch of the frozen bench before handing Hinata his drink, appearing to be the hot tea that Koizumi prepared with Sonia much earlier. “My singing was pretty atrocious, huh?” He laughed softly and glanced towards the fairy lights decorating the posts and fences outside, right before Hinata’s eyes went wide, “What?! No! Of course not, it was amazing, I didn’t even know you could sing that beautifully— I just… needed some air.” Komaeda looked at him with skepticism, though the light bit of pink on his cheeks betrayed otherwise; that biting look of “reserve course student” had been long gone, but he probably still enjoyed lightly jeering on Hinata on a good day. “Hmm… well, if you say so!”

A beat of silence passed between them, with nothing but the gentle lapping sound of the ocean shore, and the muffled music and cheers from within the music venue. Hinata loved moments like this, where even if it was silent, Komaeda’s company never quite felt anything except comfortable. If they were still in the program, undoubtedly, he’d probably beg to differ but… now that he got to know about his favourite side of Komaeda, things were different to say the least. It reminded him of the Komaeda that waited for him to wake up on that otherwise lonely and terrifying day.

“Say, do you think we’ve changed since waking up?” Hinata spoke quietly, as if worried he’d break the solemn atmosphere. Komaeda shifted in his seat, smiling, “Without a doubt, Hinata-kun.”

Hinata looked up to the sky; hoping the clouds would clear soon. It had been a while since he’d seen the stars in their full glory, and even now, there were still days when parts of the sky seemed more purple than blue. Like the sky, they could never completely heal either, but even that was alright. Healing was never a straight path in the first place. “I’m glad you think so too.” “It’s actually funny you mention that, Pekoyama-san and I were talking about the past as well… how much we’ve changed as a class.” Komaeda spoke somberly, watching his expression become something like nostalgic, his breath coming out as visible puffs of hot air at this time of night, “We talked about how we both considered ourselves tools for a greater cause, we never really put much value on our lives until our loved ones would say otherwise with their near-dying breath.” Komaeda paused, lazily rubbing his thumb over the length of his fingers in a half-hearted attempt to keep warm, and smiled. “I always knew she was pleasant and a great symbol of hope to me, but… now that I got to speak with her a little more, she really is a wonderful person… I guess we both had a lot more in common than we thought, huh?” Hinata nodded, quietly scraping, folding, and smoothing the compacted snow with the tip of his boot, as he listened to Komaeda talk his heart out for once, “Ever since that day you brought me out of the warehouse, and every time I would try to hide again, you would be the one to help sever that need to hurt myself. And I…” Komaeda fell silent, taking a shaky breath, making Hinata finally look back at him. His head was lowered to where he couldn’t meet his eyes, the street lights catching the white of the snow and the white of his hair, and Hinata had to all but resist the urge to pull him close and comfort him. “Do you remember the day we were all in the restaurant during a typhoon, Owari-san had taken up a blindfolded eating contest against Nekomaru-kun? Owari-san had won that, and when Saionji-san started to make fun of her, she playfully stuck a pork rib bone covered in sauce on the back of her kimono and it got stuck there like glue.” He smiled meekly at the memory, lifting his head again, “I don’t remember a time since we woke up that we laughed that hard. I probably wasn’t one of the people that laughed too much, I think. Because when we collected ourselves, I’d… broken down already.” The memory from five years prior was vivid, even today. He remembered standing close by the entrance of the restaurant, seeing at least three people doubled over, and Hinata in tears. Even somewhere in his hardened heart at the time, he felt joy. A different kind of warmth, like being together with a family. Feeling a fleeting but all too real spark of happiness. That joy was short lived when the reality started to set in. That sweet happiness had a rather bitter aftertaste when that single thought crossed his mind.

I tried to murder these people.

Overwhelmed by guilt, by frustration, his knees buckled as if the weight of his actions suddenly took a heavy toll on him, and before he could understand what was happening or how he was really feeling, he began sobbing like a child. Everything he had tried to do in the program was what he had known to do since the start, since the beginning of his life, in order to counter his luck and find the one thing that could defy it – hope. And yet, it was all wrong. If it weren’t for Hinata, then they wouldn’t be here, laughing, crying, creating a new life together because they were forced into a life or death game at the prime of their youth, when they should have been trying to find a way out. He was the one to tip the scale, he was the one to spark the fuse when it didn’t need to; at the cost of his own life, it was fine, but now when he looked at the others, he felt a tightness in his chest. He always despised dirty tricks, and he never was a good liar. Yet, he found that he did nothing but cause calamity. It suddenly felt clear as day how wrong he was, even if it was his means of surviving all throughout his childhood; what good was that when he was there to merely throw away his life? How selfish of him to play some sacrificial God and right their wrongs when, as Hinata had said that there was always, always another way out that didn’t have to have them suffer. So Komaeda cried. He cried like someone truly had died, crying out apologies over and over to no one in particular, like the child who had seen his parents get killed before his eyes once more, traumatized again and again like a pearl in its shell. And just as imperfect. He realized what he was trying to destroy for an ideal world when a world like that never existed, it was simply the imperfect yet endearing reality before him. And that, if this is how reality is today, then Hinata truly had forgiven him, and not out of reluctance – and he knew that he’d accepted Hinata as well. Amongst all this, not even realizing when Sonia, Hinata, Koizumi, Nekomaru, and his other classmates had knelt beside him, confused and apprehensive but still kind in the gesture alone. To comfort him of all people. They weren’t close, and yet… somehow, he felt that they could understand his regret and frustration. After all, they carried their own mistakes as well.

Somehow, Komaeda had to make it up to them one day and gain their trust, even if he wasn’t worthy of it. But for now, things were fine as they are. He was… happy, with the way things now are. Hinata exhaled, finally bundling up that bit of courage and letting his hand rest on the other’s shoulder and squeezed lightly; he wouldn’t admit nor deny the fact that he likely moved a few inches closer, not that it really mattered. “If I can be honest, I was wrong about you. You’ve… grown a lot since before.” he said, sticking out his legs to stretch only to hear his knees pop embarrassingly loud. Joint pain in your mid-twenties was a different kind of hell, altogether, and his timing was impeccable. “S-sorry, that was—” He cleared his throat, only for Komaeda to give an understanding nod. “Anyway, I’m glad that you don’t see yourself that way anymore. I’m glad that you gave everyone a chance, and most importantly, yourself.” Hinata’s voice softened, something like affection and pride welling in him.   “I don’t want you to have to worry about your luck, or your health. After all, his luck will balance it out and… with how your treatment has been going successfully, I think we’ll be okay.” Hinata tried to ignore the way Komaeda quirked his eyebrow at the way he referred to Kamukura, but everyone and their mother probably knew about that complicated internal conflict already, “Kamukura and the others have been trying really hard and if they come out with a breakthrough. It’d be huge not only for us, but for anyone else affected similarly.” “Us…?” Komaeda hung onto that word, feeling a tightness in his chest. Hinata floundered to cover his embarrassment, but all the other boy did was laugh it off delicately. And in one graceful motion, he stood up, boots crunching in the snow as he took Hinata’s wrist in tow behind him. A small grin rested on his face as he tugged Hinata, who followed without much question, to the ice rink. Hinata stretched slightly after sitting for so long, carefully glancing between the ice rink and Komaeda, not quite enjoying the implication of him looking so lost in thought. “So, Hinata-kun, how badly do you think it’d end if we tried skating with snow boots on?” “Huh…” Hinata looked back at the other looking mildly impressed, “Look at you, taking risks for once in your life. I don’t know how to skate.” “Neither do I!” he joyfully replied, as if that were any more reassuring, “And as if me living and breathing isn’t already a risk,” Komaeda retorted, albeit those words were more playful than morbid, “Besides, if we fall through thin ice and end up with hypothermia, I could very well blame Kamukura-kun’s luck, couldn’t I?” he laughed, sticking a foot out at the edge of the rink to test just how slippery .   Hinata grinned something mischievous, and at that, he took hold of Komaeda’s shoulders and shoved themselves out into the ice, both of them speedily spinning out of control for a moment while gripping onto each other’s arms for safety across the makeshift rink, like there was nothing but melting butter beneath their feet. Or, well, ice really would be close enough. Immediate regret, if their cries of panic were anything to go by; it wasn’t one of Hinata’s brighter ideas, but he’d be lying if he said this wasn’t fun either. It was rather surprising with how their balance, or rather, lack of it, didn’t get them killed was a mystery as they found themselves twisting and slipping in every direction. Komaeda eventually crashed into the pile of fresh snow, having given up on a graceful landing, with Hinata following closely and just barely crushing him – instead, he’d landed on the man’s prosthetic arm on his stomach, cursing as he did. Though the slight adrenaline was still running through him, Hinata immediately pried himself off the snow, worriedly taking hold of Komaeda’s arm to check it for any damage and babbling, “I-I’m so sorry, are you hurt? I didn’t mean for things to get that crazy…” He didn’t look back at Komaeda, feeling too embarrassed for practically crushing his arm in a stunt, and instead pulled the hand closer to his face, furrowing his eyebrows and inspecting between the metal joints and slender fingers that weren’t quite unlike Komaeda’s real hand. He wasn’t quick to notice that he was far from being in pain either, rather the silent realization that he had been holding his hand rather intimately hit him like a truck, heat pooling in his cheeks for reasons beyond the chilly weather. “Don’t… worry about it, I’m absolutely fine.” He smiled it off, watching Hinata give it one last wary eye to the prosthetic and back to Komaeda, before setting the arm down. Hinata sat looking down at the other lying in the snow, who had by then closed his eyes and breathing slowly, stretching his arms far out as if he was making the slenderest snow angel the world had ever seen or hugging the wide-open night sky. With a heaving breath and an endearing gaze, Hinata broke the silence, “I had my doubts, but… you really are still Komaeda Nagito.” Komaeda’s eyes slowly opened again at those words, “What do you mean?” “I mean that the boy I met at the beginning of the program, the boy I met at the end of the first trial, and the man I know now… they’re all the same.” Hinata’s voice felt a little tired from all the yelling, but he continued anyway, “I was scared that, I would never be able to see the kind-hearted friend I made at the very start ever again. One of my first friends, who I felt, at the time… betrayed me.” Hinata paused, catching the slight wince on Komaeda’s face. Though they were Komaeda’s contrived and warped ideals back then, he too was probably shaken by Hinata’s revelation as well… and now, somehow, it made sense when he started to piece together his luck cycle, his absolute dependency on hope, his desire for escapism from such a hellish fate and to merely live a normal life. And how ironic it was that they had the lives that each other yearned for. “But every good and bad thing about you, it was still always you, but… you’ve been able to overcome your fears, your shortcomings, with patience.” Hinata felt his heart picking up the pace, but smiled to cover his nervousness, “I guess it just means I can like you more now. Not that I could bring myself to hate you in the first place.” Komaeda pushed himself upright on his elbows, tucking in his knees and drawing his lips into the slightest smile, “Was that supposed to be some sort of confession?” Hinata scoffed, “Sure. But you think I’d give a half-hearted confession like that? Who do you think I am, some untalented reserve course student?” Hinata give a weak shove to Komaeda’s shoulder, to which he just laughed off. With his hair dusted with the sparkling white snowflakes like glitter, it became clear that Komaeda’s peachy hair had started to grow back, overtaking the lifeless white mid-length; and yet despite the healthier contrast against the snow, he didn’t look any less angelic. As Komaeda got up off his elbows, shaking the snowflakes and water droplets off the tips of his hair and jacket hood, Hinata caught himself wondering how everyone at the party was doing. When he cast a glance towards the music hall, he could faintly hear the voices of Souda and… what he could’ve sworn was Kuzuryuu, of all people, singing along. Komaeda laughed something short and sweet, catching the same drift as Hinata and the latter shaking his head in disbelief and amusement. Hinata’s attention was drawn away when Komaeda cleared his throat, “So what about you, then? You’re always looking after everyone else, so it’s only fair I ask about you, isn’t it?” Hinata’s chest tightened. “I’m fine, honestly. I’m just glad that everyone can take a break and focus on getting themselves better, since we’re done with the Future Foundation for the most part, you know?” He shifted in place, casting another glance at the sky and seeing a handful of stars peek through at long last. There was always a part of him that also wanted to hide behind the clouds when he didn’t want to face the world. “In that case, you can take it easy.” “I… really don’t want to hear that from you of all people, but…” Hinata held his breath for a moment, feeling the constraints holding his emotions in starting to falter, starting to feel even more tired, “No. It’s not enough.” The words that left him hitched at his voice.  He had to be much stronger than that. “I haven’t done enough to make up for the damage I’ve caused. It’ll… it will never be enough.” Emotion flickered across Komaeda’s face, and Hinata hoped it wasn’t pity. “I see…” He spoke, huffing out whatever potential biting remark he had to say. Though instinctively, Hinata felt passive anyways. Instead what came out was the simple phrase he’d heard many times before, “Is that really the extent of your hope, Hinata-kun?” He had heard it so many times before; accusatory, disappointment cutting deep and nestled within those words – the words he heard during trials, like some sort of test that both drove him to the answer and drove him insane with irritation. Knowing, hearing, the incompetency he’d always treated himself with being thrown back at him by a mere stranger the moment he felt like giving up. Even if it was strangely motivating. Except this time, it was different. When Hinata met the calm grey of Komaeda’s eyes, there was no bite or disgust, his words alone were quiet, careful, almost like a genuine question and not the condescending tone he’d thrown on him and the others during the program. He knew it wasn’t a taunt. It couldn’t be. “You know… I thought I should’ve despised you when I found the truth. I knew you should’ve despised me with every fiber of your being. But I don’t think you did, not after seeing how you’re still so kind to someone like me. And it’s because of you that I have a new hope.” Komaeda reached out, holding the tips of Hinata’s cold fingers with his own freezing hands, just as he had all those years ago. “You’ve worked hard enough, Hinata-kun.” Those words were so simple. And so powerful.   “You can rest now too. I’m proud of you, you know that?” Hinata felt like his heart stopped and started again at double speed. He felt like the lump in his throat just wouldn’t fade. The same one he’d felt earlier threatening to push him over. Neither would the pain crushing his chest keep it from feeling like it was difficult to breathe. Hearing the same words of reassurance he’d given to the rest of his classmates, time and time again, being returned to him by Komaeda of all people… somehow that struck him with a different kind of joy when he thought about how far they’ve come. Somehow that struck him with a different kind of grief, when he realized that he was just as damaged as they were. He was taking the brute force of the impact, after all, wasn’t he? He was allowed to cry, he was allowed to mourn, he was allowed to feel frustrated for the trauma they’d gone through watching their friends die, having to inspect their cold bodies and petrified and bloodied faces, having to prosecute the killer whom they considered a friend and standby to watch them be killed, and come back to the reality that they had caused so much suffering in the real world. He was allowed to feel remorseful. But he had just this moment, and the many more to come, to take a few steps back and try again. And he knew, that before anything else, over the years he had the chance to create a new life alongside his classmates – and the fact that Komaeda held him silently as he cried, not unlike the way Komaeda did all those years back. For that while that they sat there on the frozen ground surrounded by pristine white snow, there wasn’t a sound in the air but the quiet hum of a song that Hinata could already feel vibrating through his chest, all until his sobs quietened to a single hiccup. Undoubtedly, it filled him with that same feeling of peace and courage that he felt was strongest when he was by Komaeda’s side, watching him grow as his charming friend, as his kind-hearted classmate, and simply someone he’d come to care about more than he thought he’d like to admit. But it felt like, now, it really wasn’t such a bad thing to admit. He knew how Hinata had been carrying their burden wordlessly until now, watching him over the years and letting Hinata take his time, and the fact that, truthfully, Komaeda’s arms felt like the safest place in the world; Hinata knew he loved him, and though it wasn’t an easy road, he couldn’t say that it wasn’t worth it even if he wished there was an easier path there.   “Komaeda…?” “Yes?” “I know you’re not stupid.” Hinata’s voice was only slightly muffled, buried in Komaeda’s shoulder, while his chest and face burned, “You were the first one to figure out the cases and help me even if I was slow. Even if you admittedly made it a bit harder and… I hadn’t treated you properly back then.” Hinata slowed his breathing a little, to catch his words, to catch his breath, to demand his heart to stop ricocheting off the walls of his ribcage, “So, you know then, how I feel about you. I meant it the first time I said it earlier.” For the second Komaeda’s grip loosened, Hinata felt his heart drop – only for him to tighten his embrace even more so, “What, that you’ve been flirting with me for the past five or six years?” He spoke with a devious grin, relishing the way the panic on Hinata’s face became more evident by the second. Komaeda laughed, “I mean, you pick up a thing or two in therapy, especially once you start to learn about the people around you. Since I’m not really good at these things, everyone was pretty helpful when I tried to figure it all out! Well, talking with others in a way that didn’t weird them out was never quite easy for me, and I guess I still am a bit awkward but… in some ways, I’ve gotten a better idea of what I should say.” Komaeda kindly ignored the shell-shocked expression Hinata wore at his revelation, albeit he found it amusing, and let that beat of silence pass peacefully. With hope in his grasp, in his arms. He takes another breath in, the same cold air, the same air that Hinata held with bated breath merely moments ago, loosely wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his forehead on his shoulder as he spoke, “I have always loved you, even when I tried not to. And I meant it the first time I said it, too… in the program, that is.” He pulled away, with a determined look, and the lightest hint of a smile on his face. And that was when Hinata saw confidence in his eyes, in his words, for the first time. The same Komaeda that was his very first friend on the island. The same Komaeda that had broken his trust. The same Komaeda that learned how to live again, who makes Hinata want to live, not just survive, by his side.   “Even now, I still love you. These words… I know they—? I know they seem heavy but, trust me when I say that I’ve thought about it more times than I’d… like to admit.” Komaeda cast his gaze away, that confidence slightly wavering, only for Hinata to laugh inwardly and gently bump their foreheads together in endearment. Whatever made it easier for him to express his feelings, he had come this far at least was more than enough. “…That is, if you’re okay with someone like me. If you’re okay with me being the way I am.”

A genuine smile, warm and gentle and loving despite the cold, rested on Hinata’s lips. “What better time than right now?”

[newstfionline]

What If America Hadn’t Done the Dumbest Things Imaginable After 9/11?

By Danny Sjursen, TomDispatch, November 29, 2017

“Of all manifestations of power, restraint impresses men most.”--Thucydides

You’ve heard the platitude that hindsight is 20/20. It’s true enough and, though I’ve been a regular skeptic about what policymakers used to call the Global War on Terror, it’s always easier to poke holes in the past than to say what you would have done. My conservative father was the first to ask me what exactly I would have suggested on September 12, 2001, and he’s pressed me to write this article for years. The supposed rub is this: under the pressure of that attack and the burden of presidential responsibility, even “liberals”--like me, I guess--would have made much the same decisions as George W. Bush and company.

Many readers may cringe at the thought, but former National Security Adviser and Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice has to be taken seriously when she suggests that anyone in the White House on 9/11 would inevitably have seen the world through the lens of the Bush administration. I’ve long argued that just about every Bush-era policy that followed 9/11 was an unqualified disaster. Nevertheless, it remains important to ponder the weight piled upon a president in the wake of unprecedented terror attacks. What would you have done? What follows is my best crack at that thorny question, 16 years after the fact, and with the accumulated experiences of combat tours in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Taking It Personally. 9/11 was an intimate affront to me. It hit home hard. I watched those towers in my hometown burn on televisions I could glimpse from my plebe (freshman) boxing class at West Point. My father worked across Church Street from Manhattan’s World Trade Center. Only hours later did I learn that he’d safely escaped on the last ferryboat to Staten Island. Two uncles--both New York City firemen--hopelessly dug for comrades in the rubble for weeks. Stephen, the elder of the two, identified the body of his best friend, Captain Marty Egan, just days after the attacks.

In blue-collar Staten Island neighborhoods like mine, everyone seemed to work for the city: cops, firemen, corrections officers, garbage men, transit workers. I knew several of each. My mother spent months attending wakes and funerals. Suddenly, tons of streets on the Island were being renamed for dead police and firefighters, some of whom I knew personally. Me, I continued to plod along through the typically trying life of a new cadet at West Point.

It’s embarrassing now to look back at my own immaturity. I listened in as senior cadets broke the news of war to girlfriends and fiancées, enviously hanging on every word. If only I, too, could live out the war drama I’d always longed for. Less than two years later, I found myself drunk with another uncle--and firefighter--in a New York pub on St. Patrick’s Day. This was back when an Army T-shirt or a fireman’s uniform meant a night of free drinks in that post-9/11 city. I watched the television screen covetously as President Bush delivered a final, 48-hour ultimatum to Iraqi leader Saddam Hussein. I inhaled, wished for a long war, and gazed at the young, attractive lead singer of the band performing in that pub. She was wearing a patron’s tied-up New York Fire Department uniform blouse with a matching cap cocked to the side. It was meant to be sexy and oh-so-paramilitary. It might seem unbelievable now, but that was still my--and largely our--world on March 17, 2003.

By the time I got my “chance” to join America’s war on terror, in October 2006, Baghdad was collapsing into chaos as civil war raged and U.S. deaths were topping 100 per month. This second lieutenant still hoped for glory, even as the war’s purpose was already slipping ever further away. I never found it (glory, that is). Not in Iraq or, years later, in Afghanistan. Sixteen years and two months on from 9/11, I’m a changed man, inhabiting a forever altered reality. Two wars, two marriages, and so many experiences later, the tragedy and the mistakes seem so obvious. Perhaps we should have known all along. But most didn’t.

How to Lose A War (Hint: Fight It!) From the beginning, the rhetoric, at least, was over the top. Three days after those towers tumbled, President George W. Bush framed the incredible scope of what he’d instantly taken to calling a “war.” As he told the crowd at a Washington national prayer service, “Our responsibility to history is already clear: to answer these attacks and rid the world of evil.” From the first, it seemed evident to the president: America’s target wasn’t anything as modest as the al-Qaeda terrorist network, but rather evil itself. Looking back, this was undoubtedly the original sin. Call something--in this case, the response to the acts of a small jihadist group--a “war” and sooner or later everyone begins acting like warriors.

Within 24 hours of the attacks, the potential target list was already expanding beyond Osama bin Laden and his modest set of followers. On September 12th, President Bush commanded his national counterterror coordinator, Richard Clarke, to “see if Saddam did this... look into Iraq, Saddam.” That night, Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld told the president and the entire cabinet, “You know, we’ve got to do Iraq... There just aren’t enough targets in Afghanistan... We need to bomb something else to prove that we’re, you know, big and strong...”

Nonetheless, Afghanistan--and its Taliban rulers--became the first military target. Bombs were dropped and commandos infiltrated. CIA spooks distributed briefcases of cash to allied warlords and eventually city after city fell. Sure, Osama bin Laden escaped and many of the Taliban’s foot soldiers simply faded away, but it was still one hell of a lightning campaign. Expected to be brief, it was given the bold name Operation Enduring Freedom and, to listen to the rhetoric of the day, it revolutionized warfare. Only it didn’t, of course. Instead, the focus was soon lost, other priorities (Iraq!) sucked the resources away, venal warlords reigned, an insurgency developed, and... and 16 years later, American troop levels are once again increasing there.

Over the days, the months, and then the years that followed, the boundaries of the Global War on Terror both hardened and expanded. In his January 2002 State of the Union address, President Bush ominously included Iraq, along with Iran and North Korea (though he left out “liberated” Afghanistan), in what he called “an axis of evil.” Who cared, by then, that none of those countries had had anything to do with the 9/11 attacks? In a flash the president conflated all three in the public mind, ultimately constructing a self-fulfilling prophecy. Saddam would be toppled and Iraq occupied 15 months later and, had it not been for the ensuing chaos, Iran and North Korea might have been next. Unsurprisingly, both countries intensified their bellicosity and grew all the more interested in nuclear weapons programs.

So much followed the 9/11 attacks that it’s no small thing to sum up: the Patriot Act, warrantless domestic wiretapping, Guantánamo, Abu Ghraib, a Taliban resurgence, an Iraqi civil war, drones as global assassins, the Arab Spring, the overthrow of Libyan autocrat Muammar Gaddafi and the collapse of his country, the Syrian bloodbath, the worst refugee crisis since World War II, and that’s just to begin a list.

In short, U.S. policies have left the Middle East in chaos: perhaps a million dead, Iran empowered, and radical Islamists resurgent. Meanwhile, this country has become a garrison state, forever at war, its military budget doubled, its populace seemingly indifferent, and its warrior caste shattered--physically and mentally. Sixteen years have passed and Washington is no closer to its goal (whatever that was). Retired general David Petraeus, our nation’s prodigal “hero,” has now ominously labeled the Afghan War (and by implication the rest of the war on terror) a “generational struggle.”

Few, to be honest, even remember the purpose of it all. Keep in mind that Army recruits today were perhaps two years old on 9/11.

Lost Opportunities. It didn’t have to be this way. Nothing about it was predetermined. Much of the necessary information--certainly the warning signs of what was going to happen that September 11th--were already there. If, that is, one cared to look. History is contingent, human beings have agency, and events result from innumerable individual decisions. The CIA, the FBI, and even the Bush administration knew (or should have known, anyway) that an attack of some sort was coming.

As the 9/11 commission report painfully detailed, none of those agencies collaborated in a meaningful way when it came to preventing that day’s attacks. Still, there were warnings ignored and voices in the dark. When Richard Clarke, counterterror czar and a Clinton administration holdover, requested through official channels to deliver an emergency briefing for Bush’s key foreign policy officials, it took four months just to arrange an audience with their deputies. Four more months elapsed before President Bush received a briefing titled, “Bin Laden determined to strike the U.S.” Unimpressed, Bush quickly responded to the briefer: “All right... you’ve covered your ass now.”

Barely more than a month later, the World Trade Center and the Pentagon were burning.

Whatever else it did, 9/11 presented the United States with an opportunity, a Robert Frost-like fork in a divergent path. And we Americans promptly took the road most traveled: militarism, war, vengeance--the easy wrong path. A broad war, waged against a noun, “terror,” a “global” conflict that, from its first moments, looked suspiciously binary: Western versus Islamic (despite Bush’s pleas to the contrary). In the process, al-Qaeda’s (and then ISIS’s) narratives were bolstered.

There was--there always is--another path. Imagine if President Bush and his foreign policy team had paused, taken a breath, and demonstrated some humility and restraint before plunging the country into what would indeed become a war or set of wars. There were certainly questions begging to be asked and answered that never received a proper hearing. Why did al-Qaeda attack us? Was there any merit in their grievances? How did bin Laden want us to respond and how could we have avoided just such a path? Finally, which were the best tools and tactics to respond with? Let’s consider these questions and imagine an alternative response.

Why They (Really) Hated Us. Americans and their government were inclined to accept the most simplistic explanation for the terror attacks of 9/11. As George W. Bush would assure us all, Osama bin Laden and al-Qaeda just “hate us for our freedoms.” The end.

Something about the guilelessness of that explanation, which was the commonplace one of that moment, never quite seemed right. Human motivations and actions are almost always more complex, more multifaceted, less simpleminded than that. While Bush boiled it all down to “Islamic” fundamentalism, even a cursory look at bin Laden’s written declaration of “war”--or as he called it, jihad--demonstrates that his actual focus was far more secular and less explicitly religious than was suggested at the time. Couched between Koranic verses, bin Laden listed three all-too-worldly grievances with America:

* The U.S. military had occupied bases in the vicinity of Saudi Arabia’s holy sites of Mecca and Medina. (Well... that had indeed been the case, at least since 1990, if not earlier.)

* U.S.-imposed sanctions on Iraq had caused the deaths of hundreds of thousands of Iraqi children. (This was, in fact, a reality that even Secretary of State Madeleine Albright awkwardly acknowledged.)

* America’s leaders had long favored Israeli interests to the detriment of Palestinian wellbeing or national aspirations. (A bit simplistic, but true enough. One could, in fact, stock several bookshelves with respected works substantiating bin Laden’s claim on this point.)

None of this faintly justified the mass murder of civilians in New York and Washington. Nonetheless, at that moment, an honest analysis of an adversary’s motives would have been prudent. It might have warned us of the political landscape that bin Laden was beckoning us--in his own bloody, apocalyptic fashion--to enter. In addition, as journalist Stephen Glain astutely observed, “By obscuring the real motives behind the attacks, Bush relieved the U.S. government of any responsibility for them.” This was a fatal error. While the overwhelming majority of Arabs and Muslims worldwide did not approve of bin Laden’s methods or his theology, much of his critique of Washington’s Middle Eastern policies was widely shared in the region.

Avoiding the Al-Qaeda Script. Al-Qaeda’s leadership knew this perfectly well and they dangled it (and their suicidal acts) as a kind of bait, yearning for the sort of conventional U.S. military response that they knew would further inflame the Greater Middle East. Even in 1996, when journalist Abdul Bari Atwan interviewed bin Laden, the Saudi militant had expressed the desire to “bring the Americans into a fight on Muslim soil.” Only then, bin Laden surmised, could al-Qaeda buttress its argument, win converts from the apathetic Muslim masses, and--hopefully--bankrupt the United States in the bargain.

Suppose, for a moment, that President Bush had taken the high road, a path of restraint focused on twin tracks. First, he might have addressed broadly-shared Arab grievances, pledging a more balanced approach to the question of Israel and Palestine in his still-fresh administration, tailoring Iraq’s sanctions to target Saddam and his cronies rather than innocent citizens, and vowing to review the necessity of military bases so close to Mecca and Medina (or even the necessity of so many of the American bases that littered the region). He could have followed that with lethal, precise, targeted action by America’s intelligence, law enforcement, and Special Operations forces to hunt down and kill or capture the men actually responsible for 9/11, al-Qaeda’s leadership.

This manhunt needed to be ferocious yet measured in order to avoid the very quagmires that, 16 years later, we all know so well. Allies and adversaries would have had to be consulted and cautioned. Remember that, although al-Qaeda was disciplined and effective, on September 12, 2001, it remained diminutive in size and utterly marginal in its regional support. Dismantling its networks and bringing the true criminals of that day to justice never required remaking distant societies or occupying fragile nation-states with conventional military forces.

And keep in mind that such thinking about the situation isn’t purely retrospective. Take the Nation magazine’s Jonathan Schell. That October, after the invasion of Afghanistan had begun, appearing on the Charlie Rose show he called for “police work” and “commando raids,” but not war. He then prophetically observed:

“I think the question doesn’t revolve so much around the justification for war but about its wisdom, and I know that’s the question for me. I know that, from my point of view, terrorism is chiefly a political issue and secondarily a police issue and then, only in a very minor way, can it be addressed by military means and I think that, on the contrary, the war we’re fighting now will tend to worsen our problems. The question I ask myself is, at the end of the day, do you have more terrorists or do you have fewer and I think... today, right now, it looks like there are going to be more.”

Of course, at the time, just about no one in this country was listening to such voices.

A prudent president might also have learned from his father. Just as George H.W. Bush had meticulously constructed a broad international coalition, including all-important Arab states, to dislodge Saddam Hussein’s military from Kuwait in the Persian Gulf War, George W. Bush could have harnessed widespread international sympathy after the 9/11 attacks to blaze a judicious path. A new, broad, U.N.-backed coalition, which ought to have included several Muslim-majority nations, could have shared intelligence, rooted out jihadis (who represented a serious threat to most secular Arab regimes), and ultimately discredited al-Qaeda, dismantling its networks and bringing bin Laden himself to justice.

The Right Tools. Global sympathy--Russian President Vladimir Putin was the first world leader to call George Bush after the attacks--is as rare as it is fleeting. So that moment represented a singular and singularly squandered opportunity. The United States could have led a massive international effort, emphasizing law enforcement, not warfare, and including increased humanitarian aid, U.N.-sponsored peacekeeping operations, and a commitment to live America’s purported values by scrupulously avoiding crimes like torture and civilian casualties. Of course, it wouldn’t have been perfect--complex operations seldom are--but sober strategy demanded a rigorous effort.

One more imperative for the new campaign against al-Qaeda would have been garnering broad support and a legal sanction from Congress and the American people. Two weeks after 9/11, President Bush vapidly suggested instead that this country’s citizens should respond by getting in airplanes again and “enjoy[ing] America’s great destination spots. Get down to Disney World in Florida.” Instead, he might have steeled the population for a tough fight and inspired a new era of public service. Think: John F. Kennedy. Think: “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.” Bush might have requested from Congress a narrow, targeted authorization for the use of military force rather than the rushed, expansive, open-ended sanction he actually demanded and received and that is still being used two administrations later to justify any acts against any group or country across the Greater Middle East and Africa.

He could have followed this with the presentation of a new National Service Act, rallying the young and incentivizing military or Peace Corps enlistment, infrastructure improvement, inner-city teaching, and various other kinds of public service. Imagine a new “Greatest Generation,” pulling together in a time of crisis. This, in retrospect, was a real opportunity. What a pity that it never came to pass.

It’s hard to know, of course, how such an alternate path might have played out, but honestly it would have been difficult to do worse. The U.S. remains stuck, spinning its wheels in regional conflicts and feeling no safer. The number of worldwide terrorist incidents has exploded since 2001. New Islamist groups were formed in response to U.S. actions and counteractions and they continue to spread without an end in sight.

I don’t know if there will be a next time, a chance to do it right. But should new threats emerge, more devastating attacks be endured, there simply has to be a better way, though the odds that President Donald Trump and his generals will find it are, honestly, next to nil.

Complex ideological threats sometimes demand counterintuitive responses. In such moments, hard as it may be to imagine, rational calculations should rise above the kneejerk emotional responses. True leaders step up and weather criticism in times of crisis. So next time, Americans would do well to set aside comforting illusions and take the world as it is, not as we imagine or wish it to be. The future may depend on it.

Major Danny Sjursen is a U.S. Army strategist and former history instructor at West Point. He served tours with reconnaissance units in Iraq and Afghanistan. He has written a memoir and critical analysis of the Iraq War, Ghost Riders of Baghdad: Soldiers, Civilians, and the Myth of the Surge.