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He stood, a ghost compared to the waves. Moonlight made his off white hair seem crystal-like, delicate curls falling softly on his shoulders. Hajime’s weight shifted on the boardwalk. He could stare at the man for hours like this, honestly. Nagito seemed serene, he looked the calmest he had ever been, even with his back being the only thing in view.
But crunching of sand beneath Hajime’s feet brought him closer. And now he turned around, pale skin almost translucent, and eyes calm, but focused as Hajime came closer.
Wordlessly, he reached a hand out. Wordlessly, Hajime took it.
Of course he was surprised when he was lightly pulled forward. His hands fell on Nagito’s waist to keep his balance, but when a metallic hand curled around the nape of his neck, they stayed there. Nagito seemed both far off and in the moment as they swayed into a silent dance on the shoreline.
“I don't understand,” The man started the conversation, looking away. Hajime spun them lightly, so Nagito was facing the light. His expression was still calm, but his brows furrowed slightly, and his lips were pressed into a faint line. “Everyone. Every person on this island would die to spend time with you. I don't doubt that some almost have.” His eyes drifted towards Hajime, still leaning into every sway of hips.
“But here you are. I didn't tell you I was here. And I doubt I’m very good company. Why should I be the one to have you like this?” Nagito let a smile cross his face for a moment, and twirled Hajime slowly before bringing him back. “I can't compete with the others. Don't-” He tapped him on the forehead. “-look at me like that. It's true”
Hajime took a moment before falling into his shoulder and sighing.
“Komaeda. You know. If it were anyone else with me right now, I wouldn't be dancing, in complete silence, in the cold. It's past midnight. And completely dark.” He nuzzled closer, voice almost muffled. “I wish you'd stop saying stuff like that.” He felt a pointy chin rest in his hair. They kept dancing, no real rhythm, and no real lead and partner. At some point, his hand had laced with Nagito’s real one, and their footsteps squished into wet sand, waves barely lapping at their shoes. He took in the warmth of his dance partner, finally healthier, finally more stable, finally more than what they had been in the game. He was so very warm, and alive.
“I still worry. You coming into my life, helping me,” He swallowed. “Being something with me. It's been too good to not worry. One day it'll be taken away. By someone or something. I don't think any amount of hope can prepare me for that.” Hajime rubbed circles with his thumbs both against the sharp jutting of his hip, and his hand. Talking to Komaeda was always slow, but he thinks he prefers it that way, taking time with each other's words, and processing. If he had changed Komaeda for the better, the same could be said for him. He was less of an asshole nowadays, not completely gone, but more patient. He lifted his head for a moment and trained his eyes on the soft green ones in front of him.
“But right now, we're together. And not ever ‘someone’. I think I've made it pretty clear that I'm probably you-sexual.” Komaeda snorted. Hajime tightened the grip around his waist, and dipped him low to the ground. His hair brushed sand, and the smile on his face was wide and sincere. “Nagito. Nagito-sexual.” He kissed him delicately on the nose, and only let him stand up because he feared the blood rushing to his head would make him faint.
But his head returned to Komaeda’s shoulder, and the breath he let out was heavy. Komaeda’s arm was snaked around the small of his back, lulling him into the dance once again. “I like the sound of that.” He whispered to the ocean. And they kept dancing until sand and salty water weighed down their shoes, and they wandered sock-footed back to where they had come from, pointing out island flora and fauna as they walked.
Komaeda was an odd one, always has been and always will be. But as the cold metal fingertips Hajime created painstakingly specifically for him brushed a lock of white hair behind his ear, and the oversized jacket he always wore was hung neatly onto their coat rack, and the man he loved fell asleep, warm and intertwined, by his side, he figured he was weird enough himself for not falling for him sooner