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Mikan guided Hajime towards the hospital, filling the silence with the echoes of her footsteps against the floor and various strings of apologies. After she’d said something along the lines of, “Gah! You r-really d-don’t have to do this, Hinata! But t-thank you!” for what felt like the hundredth time that day, he’d chosen to stop listening, and only occasionally comment words of assurance. Though, the latest comment did make him wonder why he was actually doing this. To be fair, she was right - looking after people was her entire talent, and Mikan was perfectly capable of giving Nagito the care he needed, so why did Hajime feel obligated to visit him? When did the innate need to monitor Nagito become so insistent that he’d found himself having to stay by his side, and risk his own wellbeing for the sole reason of nursing the white-haired boy back to health? Hajime didn’t even completely know what Nagito had been having trouble with, but he knew that he probably felt miserable, and the thought of a familiar face being able to help him out was enough to motivate Hajime to repress any worries that might’ve caused him to run in the other direction, and to pretend that he hadn’t offered to check up on Nagito in the first place.
Although - as much as he didn’t want Nagito to feel like shit - he was aware of exactly how dangerous he could be, and the idea of him pulling some kind of trick while Hajime was there seemed more than likely, which made the trip significantly less appealing. Regardless, he wanted to at least make sure Nagito wasn’t on the verge of death, or something insane like that. Somehow the white-haired boy always landed himself in situations that meant he’d end up dead, or terribly hurt - unless someone with common sense was there to stop him. This instance was no different. If Nagito tried anything whilst in this state he’d surely end up hurting himself, and though he could be the epitome of annoying at times, Hajime wasn’t hoping for any more deaths.
The nurse continued to guide him until they reached the door to the ward Nagito had been staying in, the ominous entrance prompting a final collection of “Sorry!” and “Thank you!”s from Mikan before she scuttled back down the corridor, leaving Hajime and Nagito separated by nothing but the daunting presence of the door. He stood there, staying stationary, taking a final moment to contemplate whether he was making a mistake or not. The painted wooden frame almost loomed over him, judged him, like it was heeding the same warnings the other ultimates would’ve spouted about his rendezvous.
He chose to overlook the odd aura, because he’d already come this far, and it’d probably be even weirder for him to turn back now, rather than just going through with his strange plan to comfort the biggest threat on the island. Leaning against the door with his shoulder, hoping to be as nonchalant as possible, he twisted the handle and stepped into the room. Once he walked inside, Hajime’s senses were filled with the mildly unsettling, but familiar, odours of cleaning supplies and hospital equipment. The area was intimidatingly neat, apart from some files spread out on a desk, and a bed, which had been pushed up against a wall in the centre of the room. His gaze settled on the bed, more specifically, the boy lying on it; he’d never seen Nagito appear to be so fragile, and being swaddled in a mass of blankets somehow made his delicate frame look even smaller than usual. Though, it was still obvious he was ill - any colour that had once inhabited his skin tone had disappeared, plum-purple bags had gathered under his eyes, and his hair had become notably messier, a few strands clinging to his forehead as a result of the sweat that had collected there.
Despite Hajime’s reluctance to wake him, Nagito shifted in his sheets, and his heavy eyelids slowly opened whilst he lazily sat up. A quiet whimper left his mouth as he adjusted the position he’d chosen to sit in, but once his stare met Hajime the look of discomfort transformed into one of gratitude and glee, a small smile forming on his face. He tried to speak, but the words clung together in his throat, and all that left was, “Hnng.. Hinata-kun?”
Hajime’s attention was immediately aimed at Nagito, and he quickly accepted the urge to sit on the chair beside him, flashing a reassuring smile as he did so. Noticing that the same look of discomfort from earlier had returned, Hajime moved closer, his instincts taking over while he brought a comforting hand up to the boy beside him, his fingers gently carding through the other’s hair. He wasn’t particularly well-versed in being affectionate, but he hoped that the gesture was reassuring in some way, and accompanied it with a kind statement. “Mhm, I’m right here, Komaeda. It’s, uh, going to be alright. Just try and relax for now.”
Nagito grinned once the words left his mouth, but the things he said were completely contradictory to his expression. “You’re the worst, Hinata-kun. Please, just leave me alone, I don’t want you here.” His tone wasn’t aggressive, his demeanour could even be described as tender and calm, but the sentiment of what he was saying stung.
Suddenly overcome with a wave of embarrassment, he drew his hand away from Nagito’s hair and stood up sharply. What was I thinking? Of course he wouldn’t want to see me. I’m just disturbing him. He made an effort to follow the instructions of the boy beside him, but his course of action was disrupted by a force dragging him back towards Nagito. He twisted his head to meet the cause of his troubles, but was met by the sight of the white-haired boy pulling on the hem of his shirt, holding on so tight his knuckles had begun to whiten. “Komaeda, let me go. You asked me to leave, so I’m doing exactly that. Stop it.” he said curtly, starting to try to pry Nagito’s clutch off of his clothes. What is wrong with this guy?! Jesus Christ.
“Hinata-kun, your presence disgusts me! Get out of here!” he cried out with a new sense of urgency to his voice, but held onto Hajime even tighter.
Raising his voice considerably, he retorted, “If you want me to leave so badly, why don’t you let go of my fucking shirt?” He felt slightly guilty at how confrontational he’d sounded, but he reminded himself that Nagito was the one being a nuisance, and continued pushing his hands away from the edge of the shirt he’d been clinging onto. Hajime sighed, stepping away from the boy now that he’d finally broken his hold. “Komaeda, I swear to God,” he began, muttering beneath his breath, speaking in a way that was a little calmer than before. “I heard you the first time. I’m going, okay? I get it if you need some space, but you don’t need to be so rude.” Of course, he definitely didn’t base the entirety of his self-worth on Nagito’s opinion, but it was striking how his perception of Hajime had completely flipped within the span of a few days.
Nagito chose not to respond, simply meeting his gaze with a strangely longing stare, considering he’d literally asked Hajime to fuck off only seconds ago. Whilst Nagito mumbled some incoherent remarks, Hajime wandered around the room, kind of unsure whether he should actually leave him on his own - given the exchange they’d just shared, he seemed far from okay. Remembering the papers from earlier, he gravitated towards one of the desks in the room and began analysing the notes labelled with Nagito’s name. A voice in the back of his head was telling him it was an invasion of privacy, but the white-haired boy would probably do the same in a heartbeat. Besides, he was only doing it to figure out what had happened to Nagito, and why he was acting like Hajime had just killed every ultimate on the island. Then again, maybe he’d react differently in that situation. It didn’t matter.
He skimmed the files for a minute or two, mindlessly flipping through the pages until he found something relevant - he’d been diagnosed with the Liar Disease. Hajime slowly began piecing together the interactions between them, the meanings behind Nagito’s apparent hatred for Hajime, and cast an apologetic look towards Nagito. Oh. Oops. Gently setting the papers back onto the table, he turned to face the other boy in the room. Some atonement was probably in order.
“Uh, I just read through your files. It makes a lot more sense now,” he said quietly, whilst taking the seat beside Nagito. “I’m sorry for being so, um, rude... I guess? I didn’t realise what you meant, but I probably shouldn't have acted like that anyway. I’ll stay here, though. If that’s what you want.” Hajime found himself sweeping his hands through the other boy’s fluffy hair for a second time that day, and Nagito cracked a tiny smirk, appreciating the comfort of his touch more than ever.
“Hm, I hate you, Hinata-kun.” Nagito whispered, nuzzling his head against Hajime’s hand. He deciphered the words in his head, and his face tinted a rosy tone once he’d realised what the other was insinuating. Raising his other hand, Hajime held Nagito’s face between his palms and met his hazy, grayish-green stare with a fond look of his own, before inching forwards in his chair enough to press a soft kiss against the white-haired boy’s lips. Nagito pulled away slightly after a moment, pressing his forehead against Hajime’s as he spoke, “I really, really hate you.” Weaving his hands through Nagito’s hair, Hajime pulled him closer for a final time, locking their lips together. Nagito’s actions almost mirrored his own embrace, as he lifted his arms to wrap them around the brown-haired boy’s neck, letting him deepen the kiss.
Hajime couldn’t tell whether it’d been five minutes or an eternity when they eventually broke away from each other, but either still found themselves yearning for more closeness, missing the physical company of the other every second they were apart. On a normal day, he probably wouldn’t have attempted anything like this, but today had been far from average, so Hajime stood up from the chair and wriggled beneath the covers on the hospital bed, somehow managing to fit beside Nagito, and tenderly wrapping his arms around his waist once he’d settled under the covers. “I love you too, Komaeda.” Hajime spoke quietly, partly because it was likely Nagito had already fallen asleep, and partly because admitting his feelings was something he’d always been afraid of - but Nagito seemed to accept his confession, wordlessly responding by drifting back further into Hajime’s arms.