Work Text:
Sometimes Komaeda wished he were back on the island, taste of salt in his mouth, sun hung up high, strung over like a guillotine the way the killing game had been. He had felt free back then, sixteen people a society unto themselves, a frenzied scrabble to live, hope rising and crashing like tides, an endless stretch about the island containing them all.
These days things were dull. No despair, no hope either. Only the constant passing of time.
The office seemed smaller now that most of the empty shelves had been filled with documents, all hand-typed and neatly filed. A small collection of his favourite books were neatly slotted in place by the cabinet. No plants in his office though, not where a careless flicker of luck could kill them. Souda said it felt stifling inside without greenery to ease the eyes, but what does he know? Komaeda didn't want risks anymore. He couldn't waste this second chance.
Future Foundation had recruited them all in time, not that they had a choice, not that they would have chosen otherwise. It was both debt and conviction, anyways. The others went as their talents called them to. Komaeda himself appealed for a desk-bound job, favouring the boring, bland, praying bad luck would not find him here.
And maybe it was a mean thought, but, well, the job reminded him of Hinata. Simple and ordinary, the boy in the reserve course, the boy from before everything. None of the extremities of elites or the deaths of dogs, of parents. Only an everyday stillness, rustling papers, clattering keyboards. The occasional paper cut. On a good day he'd finish twice more reports than usual.
Hinata was supposed to visit today for lunch, at twelve o'clock sharp. Komaeda glanced at the clock. It's twelve-thirty already with no text from him. The air pressed down, heavy. He continued typing away, wisps of something jittery beginning to gather in his heart.
They don't see each other often anymore. Future Foundation needed Hinata everywhere, anywhere, ready at a moment's notice. An extra pair of hands halfway across the globe, a unique skill set in some city far away, today this, tomorrow that. They'd squeeze him dry like a lemon. Job aside, he had other classmates to catch up with on his down time. Komaeda wasn't deluded enough to think himself a first choice.
Still, they met, on and off jobs, a beer here, a meal there. They texted too. God knows why Hinata still bothered, but if he had tried back then despite the madness, Komaeda supposed he would continue trying to understand him now. Good luck with that, he thought, not that he wasn't thankful for it.
Five more minutes passed. Komaeda finished up with the document and sat back for a bit. His phone laid face-up on the table, still no sign of a call or text. Surely Hinata hadn't forgotten? Maybe he had, and that would be understandable given the company, of course. Or maybe it was something else, something more familiar... He felt the start of spiralling thoughts, mental landscape on the verge of tilting into second guessing, loathing of his wretched talent. It would be cruel irony now, for absolute talent to be brought down by meagre him. How much did he trust Hinata's luck against his own? Komaeda glanced at the clock again.
The door flew open and Hinata tumbled in, wide eyed. "I'm sorry!" he blurted, "I stayed up late to finish a project and overslept, and I would've called but I forgot to charge my phone, god I'm so sorry, today it'll be my treat, to make up for it–"
Despite himself, Komaeda laughed. It bordered on hysterical but he couldn't rein it in. Occasionally when they haven't met in a while he'd forget how normal their relationship was against all odds, luck cancelling luck, just two guys out for lunch after the end of the world.
Hinata eyed him slowly, "...You okay?"
"Absolutely fantastic," he smiled.
It was hard in the beginning. Even in death hope eluded him, and yet for an artificial experiment, a man-made wonder to inherit all the blessings Komaeda sought, to topple his worldview like a stack of cards, his resentment took root, festered. Reserve course Hinata, talentless Hinata, ordinary, boring, undeserving Hinata. Unbelievable, the nerve of him, and how dare Komaeda himself, to be envious for more when he too was just as worthless.
He was as scathing as he dared to be towards a talent so obviously overpowering. Softly, hurtfully, thoughts jumbling into hope and despair and spilling from his mouth, a madman's gentle poison. Hinata endured it for all of two weeks, kudos to him, and then came the confrontation.
For Komaeda, the memory was hazy. He remembered laughing. Crying, maybe. It was an emotional night, in his defence. He wielded words like knives, out for blood, to hurt, and Hinata took the abuse in stride.
"I know an insult when I hear it, but... it's good to be reminded of who I used to be, before. What a poor fool he was," Hinata had said. "Talent, talentless, what does it matter at the end of the day?"
And also:
"Hope isn't supposed to be put on a pedestal, Komaeda, you don't have to chase it any more than the rest of us. There's a future for you too."
He would've screamed in frustration. People like them didn't enjoy the privilege of hope, only the honour of being a stepping stone. He'd always be a means to an end, nothing more, nothing less. Out of spite, Komaeda took it in his own hands to prove the futility of trying, the helplessness of reality. If Hinata refused to listen to reason, he just had to see it for himself.
It backfired.
The tragedy had long passed, and as he walked the streets Komaeda could see the fruits of all their efforts at rebuilding and restoration. Future Foundation really was a symbol of hope. It had been a calculated risk, making known to the world that they've recruited the Remnants of Despair, but now the public opinion had finally reached grudging acceptance, for the most part.
For all the fanfare, no one recognised them on the street. A stray dog yapped as they passed. Hinata looked around too, pleasantly surprised, "Everything feels like before. I really missed that."
Komaeda hummed, "You miss everything about the past."
"Not the loneliness, though," Hinata said, "I'm still glad I met you."
"You say that every time we meet." Like a prayer, he thought, to keep restless spirits at bay. Are you still afraid that I will leave, Hinata? You really don't understand me at all.
Komaeda was the only one with a set schedule these days. The others travelled a lot, odd jobs and missions everywhere. Hanamaru was two continents away providing disaster relief, probably cooking up enough for a city and more. He'd set up a chain restaurant as a pet project on the side, and that's where they were now. Hanamaru still avoided him subconsciously, but they've got some semblance of a bridged relationship going. It was good enough.
"Go get a table, I'll order the usual," Hinata said, already thumbing through his wallet for notes.
Komaeda sat himself down by the windows near the corner, observing. He'd always liked watching him on the island. There was something about him that shone differently in the sun, awkward limbs, earnest smile. Now underneath the fluorescence lights he looked like a salary man, tired but content with mundanity. Like they were normal people, living ordinary lives. He thought about the surgery scar beneath his bangs, a halo of pale tissues and quilt bag talents, irrationally wondering if it creaked and groaned like fissures, cracks, boats, like quiet words in hidden basements, like gunshots.
He wished he could see Hinata at work, not for the first time. Maybe he'd be different... cold and detached like Kamukura was. It seemed unlikely. Sometimes Komaeda wondered if the people he'd saved would harbour feelings for him, a man so spectacularly blessed. They wouldn't care that it's all artificial. Wouldn't understand its weight. Nobody saw the real him like he did, but even though Komaeda knew, all it did was made his own feelings stronger. Citrus fresh, gentle like soft sand, bend his heart sideways, brand it with his name. He had never feared to lose so much before.
It had seemed so long ago, he couldn't recall much of that night, hadn't remembered much to begin with. Only that he put his faith in hope, and after, in spite. If he strived to be different and it failed to help at all, then maybe Hinata would relent. Hope is only for those who deserve it and that'd always been fate's choice. He'd agreed to try whatever Hinata suggested, cynical of it all. What he didn't expect, though, was actual progress. Relearning the importance of connection with people, understanding a difference between the worth of talent and the worth of self. Soon enough he couldn't even bring himself to pretend not to see Hinata's proud gaze on him. And then by sheer luck, gift from the miracle boy, his health returned, bit by bit. Their ideals had clashed, and in the strife one hope emerged victor.
"You're spacing out," Hinata said, sliding into the opposite seat. He'd gotten fried rice and sandwiches for them to split and share. It was impossible to get tired of the food here, no matter how much they ate the same thing all over again.
"So," Hinata began, digging into his half of the rice, "Has that arm given you any trouble lately? Souda told me you haven't been seeing him for maintenance anymore."
"It's been flawless after the last update, he really outdid himself," Komaeda mused, turning it over slowly. Hinata and Souda had worked on it together, eager to get rid of the dead hand. There was really no need for them to go so far, he'd been more than touched by the gift when they could've simply let him be, one limb less. Personally it served as a reminder of his place in the world, but well, that's apparently changing too...
"Glad to hear it. You should talk to Souda more, I think he misses having you around."
"Maybe I'll drop by to talk about hope again, just like the old days."
"Please actually don't," Hinata blanched immediately. Komaeda hid a smile behind his sandwich.
He did miss Souda, just a little. Kuzuryuu too. They were tentative friends now, something he still wondered about. Sometimes it felt like life had grown so much kinder towards him after the tragedy. Maybe it ran out of things to ruin. Maybe the cycle lost steam, turning slowly now, luck cancelling luck, hope against hope.
"How's work?" he settled on asking.
"Feels weird without you," Hinata said, "everyone treats me like some big shot. Never thought I'd miss being called reserve course shit, but there's a first for everything, I guess. You're the only one that thinks that these days."
"It's actually my life's purpose to remind you. Can't possibly let talentless Hinata think he's a head above us stepping stones now, can we?" He was smiling, they both were. This easy routine felt like a second skin, a soothing balm, it calmed them both.
"You said it, anyways. Talent, talentless, what does it matter...?"
Hinata paused mid-bite, "You remembered that?"
"Don't get me wrong, of course it matters," Komaeda pointed at him accusingly, "talent is everything in this world, I'll never see it otherwise. What I meant was, it just doesn't matter when it comes to you."
"What do you–"
"You're an existence that shouldn't be possible. A miracle, even. You're everything in Pandora's box all at once, both hope and despair. And the world needs you to keep on spinning now, Future Foundation would've run you to your bones if they could afford to do so." The words poured out of him faster than he could stop it. Dimly he wondered if he was even making sense. All these feelings, they'd reached a tipping point. Now they were coming out in one fell swoop.
Still, he kept on, "You can destroy the world tomorrow if you wanted to, restart the killing game, and no one would be able to stand in your way. Too powerful and unrestrained, that's your burden forever. But what does it matter? It's all you, but it's all artificial too. Your talent matters so much, but not at all. To me, you'll always be the boy whom I embarrassingly put on a pedestal the first time we met, and whom I embarrassingly scorned for your lowly birthright. You'll always be ordinary Hinata. No more, no less. I refuse to let you be anything else."
Hinata wasn't looking at him anymore. He stared at the table, emotions unreadable. Komaeda hoped he didn't say anything in poor taste, he'd been making progress, but occasionally he still forgot and made people uncomfortable in conversations. Really, he wished he hadn't said anything. What would he do if he drove away his only close friend too? He wouldn't even be able to blame luck this time.
He was still worrying when Hinata lifted his head and put down the spoon with a soft 'clang'. Like a jury's gavel, right before the final judgement, Komaeda thought.
"I love you," Hinata said simply.
Komaeda stared at him.
"I love you so much I think I could die," he sighed, shut his eyes, "All this while you were looking at me like that when you thought I couldn't see, and yet you never hinted anything. I thought I was going crazy, picking up signs where there weren't."
He was looking at Komaeda now, strangely shy, "Now I feel better, knowing I wasn't the only dense one here."
"...Only you can take someone calling you ordinary as a love confession," he managed at last.
"Only you can make it sound like one," Hinata replied. And wasn't that so? They were each others puzzle piece, ying and yang, a senseless match but there was no need for logic to begin with, not when they'd both been through so much, not when they themselves existed as impossibilities.
Hinata fiddled with the napkin, "Why did you think I wanted us to meet so often, if you didn't realise?"
"I thought you met up with everyone like this," he admitted.
"Just how free do you think I am? I haven't seen half the class since they left the headquarters, I'll have you know."
Komaeda shrugged, wrong-footed. He wasn't sure how to react. "...Honestly, I'm flattered, but considering all my baggage, you have... really bad taste in men."
Hinata laughed, looking at him all fondly, like they're together already, and god, he'd always been looking at him that way, hadn't he? Komaeda's heart felt like breaking, just a little bit.
"Even with all that, you're the only one for me."
And he was seven, holding a bundle of dead fur in his arms, held by his mother as he cried.
He was eleven, sitting in a wreckage of metal bones, grieving, held by no one, too shocked to shed a tear.
He was eighteen, lower than garbage on the side of the streets, unworthy, unsettling, ill-adjusted but he would do anything for a hope that burns so bright it'd scorch him, kill him like the falling star did his parents.
He was twenty three, waking in a pod, a man over him with soft eyes, so familiar, so foreign, both ordinary and singular in splendidness, a perfect senseless existence.
He was twenty three, voice shrill and cutting, heart coming undone, lost in thorns, help him, help him please.
He was twenty three, tipsy, tumbling, caught by strong arms, he felt the laughter shake loose in him, wondered about a different kind of hope that gave instead of took, a hope that didn't have to cycle.
He was twenty three, something breaking wetly in his chest, burning through veins and lungs and sinews.
He was twenty three, reaching a hand over the table, pulling gently, closing the distance between them, smiling into the kiss.
"Do you still think about hope and despair?" Hinata asked, leaning against the desk. He'd arrived a little earlier this time and there was still a bit of work to finish before they could leave for dinner. The setting sun painted everything in gold, a Midas' touch, the way Komaeda used to feel sometimes, back before everything, except all he came across crumbled to ruins.
Komaeda hummed, "Like... in the killing game?" Hinata made a face. He shrugged, not looking up, "Yeah, sometimes I want to be back there again, I guess."
"Sometimes I wonder what I see in you," Hinata muttered, but his tone was light. His finger traced the edge of a ceramic pot on the desk, over green leaves. They'd argued over it, but in the end Hinata had won and added a couple of plants to the room. Souda was right, it did brighten up the atmosphere. Privately Komaeda named them Hinata and Nanami, the first two friends he'd ever had. He missed her dearly. They all did.
"I mean, regarding absolute hope that can overcome any despair and all that," Hinata elaborated, waving a hand lazily in the air. "Do you still think it exists?"
"Of course," he said simply.
"How can you be so sure, though?"
Komaeda paused in his typing. Looked up at him, at his mismatched eyes and choppy brown hair, colour of chestnut and oak, of chocolate melts. At his eyebrow quirked, smile crooked. So many memories, a thousand feelings condensed into one singular point. Gentle man, humble god, a beast of talents, an ordinary boy. Sometimes he found it hard to breathe, hard to think at all.
Because I've already found it, you fool.