It was supposed to be a good day. Nagito had landed two tickets to a concert in Nagoya. He was excited to treat you to something you enjoyed, surprising you with the tickets. It was supposed to be a perfect day.

Then the bullet train out of Tokyo crashed.

You had never seen Nagito cry before, but he did once he found you in the wreckage and realized you were alive.

Now you were here, seated on one of his couches late that night after you were checked over and released from the hospital. You were texting your parents, calming their fears. Nagito just sat, knees against his chest, his breathing shaky.

Something was wrong.