"You love me, right?" Komahina
The words are quiet, barely a breath amidst gasps for air and life. Those gray green eyes are pleading, dazed, uncertain, and in a place that is clearly not here, not here.
āKomeada...āKomaeda had nightmares. After the game - or maybe, with such a frantic look in his eyes, it wasnāt just to do with the game.
āShh.āHinata kissed his forehead, kissed his cheekbone, that pale skin thatās too pale for someone healthy and bright and full of life. Komaeda still whimpered, flailed just slightly.
āIām here, Komaeda.ā
This is, by this point, a routine. A weekly ritual. Sometimes the dreams of despair are every week. Every two weeks. But they always come for one of them, the two still clinging to each other amidst the ashes after the burning, blazing fire of despair. Clinging as if theyāre all the have in the world.
Because some days, it feels that way.
āI love you, Hinata-kun...ā Komaeda breathed, and Hinata stilled.
He doesnāt know if he means something like that. How can he mean something like that? Komaeda says all sorts of things when heās desperate. When heās vulnerable. Hinata feels guilty to take it seriously, to take that flourishing acceptance and love and adoration that he doesnāt deserve -
āHinata-kun, please, please...ā
He swallowed, seeing tears bead up in those lake eyes, making them look like faltering rain clouds in spring.
Youāre so beautiful when youāre vulnerable, Komaeda.
ā...Yeah.ā He said softly, kissing Komaedaās brow, feeling the skin shiver underneath with a sick sense of satisfaction. It is sick, isnāt it? He shares a bed with Komaeda, and sometimes affection, just because -Ā
Theyāre the ones that understand the most, the helplessness, the ache, the feeling that something is wrong even when everyone else wants to ignore it.
For that, how can we not stick together desperately?
āI love you, Komaeda.ā Hinata said with bated breath, kissing the inside of the otherās wrist.
Itās wrong to lie. But the other is lying too, isnāt he?
Komaeda, even after all this, I still donāt understand you.
Again, Komaedaās skin shivered under his lips, and again he felt a depraved sense of accomplishment and victory.
He cradled him close, against his chest. He knew Komaeda wonāt mention it in the morning. Itāll be forgotten, like morning frost or evening dust. Part of him mourned that. But if the times he woke up, shrieking from nightmares of needles and helplessness and scalpels -Ā
Well, he takes comfort in that Komaeda will just forget that.
He sighed as the fragile boy in his arms fell back into uneasy sleep in his embrace, and brushed back that frail, winter frosted hair.
Youāre so beautiful, he couldnāt help but think, Komaeda Nagito.
He kissed the otherās forehead despite him not needing the comfort one more time, before burying his face between the otherās shoulder blades.
Sometimes, I wonder how much weāre really lying to each other.
