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Your eyes silently meet hers.
You look her up and down, left and right.
You know her already, she is one of your only friends. Her pink hair falls uselessly at curled ends when hitting her shoulder, and you can’t help but smile at her when you walk closer. She is all alone, only a controller in her hand, which is obviously for the video game she is playing.
You feel your lip twitch and you nervously bite it, hoping she doesn’t notice, and if she does, she doesn’t act like it or take any note of it, she simply smiles slightly back. Her smile is similar to yours - always tired, and you have to find the energy behind it (if either of you care enough to put it there). But you cared enough, and you hope she takes mental note of at least that. And you think you find energy behind hers.
You don’t know what to say, although the words dance gracelessly on the tip of your tongue, and then she says it for you, “Komaeda, you can sit down if you’d like”, she says, inviting you to the seat next to her, although she is sitting on the floor, back against her bed. And you take a similar position next to her.
She smiles as you sit next to her, and you feel a slight blush creep on your face, slightly warming your usually cold face.
Due to how pale you are, the blush is most likely easily seen, even at a small amount.
But you still hope she doesn’t notice.
She focuses her attention back on the television. She is playing a new game, one probably given to her for her birthday, because that was only a few weeks ago.
You remember how you considered telling her how you feel on her birthday - then you remember how you thought that was generic and cheesy to say on her birthday, and since then you kept finding reasons (excuses) to not tell her. You even think of now.
It’d be random...and she….she wouldn’t...know what to think...and who would like you like that?
You hate yourself for finding these reasons, and then you feel something hit your shoulder, to find a sleeping Chiaki on your shoulder.
She looks peaceful in her sleep (and dare you think cute), so much so you don’t think before tangling your long fingers in her hair. She had small knots in it here and there, which doesn’t surprise you, because she is what you could call lazy, and her hair often gets messy. But you weave your long fingers through her hair, and slightly hum as you do so, slight smile painted on you.
You look at her and see her eyes slightly open, only to close, and then you blush - darker than before, and stop combing her hair.
You shouldn’t have done that...why...why did you do that...and expect her to not wake up?
(maybe because you’ve done it before)
You like the soft pink of her hair. It is a colour easy on your eyes, and you think it suits her.
And you think this, all at the same time you know her appearance has nothing to do with why you like her. It’s just...her. She is different...from everyone, and you like how she is.
She is easy to get along with and accepts you.
And that is all you have to think, to realize she doesn’t care what you do.
You move into a position so she is between your legs, bent at the knees, and wrap your arms around her, pulling her close to you, but not jerking her so hard she wakes, or stops her pretend sleep, and you can feel her heartbeat through her arm, fast paced and nervous, and you know that is a reaction to what you are doing, but you know that she’d pull away if she didn’t like you - you hope she would make you notice if she didn’t like you - you p r a y she would tell you if that be the case.
You quietly whisper her name into the silence, “Chiaki-san…” and she looks slightly up, “Yeah?” And you don’t know what to do. “C-call me Nagito…”, you say, remembering her calling you ‘Komaeda’ earlier. You wait for her response.
“Okay...Nagito”, and you love to finally hear your name from someone who won’t curse it.
She looks up at you, your blush still on your face, but creeping down your neck and to your shoulders. Your crush on her is embarrassingly noticeable, and maybe to everybody but her.
You look at her, and hope you have the courage to say something, but you don’t, you only have the courage to lightly place a kiss on her cheek, without words, in which she replies with with a gentle hearted smile your way, “Ko-Nagito...thank you, I guess” she says, shocked, but quiet at first, then to confused upon her wording. You smile at her, this time, making her more confused, and then you slightly laugh, although airy and weak, she smiles at it, “oh”, is all she replies with after that.
You love her. You know you do. You are glad you do. And you are glad she doesn’t mind that.