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Tsumiki peering apologetically at people isn’t anything new, but the way she’s looking at Hinata right now, pupils darting side-to-side like maintaining contact for too long will burn her alive, certainly adds a layer of anxiety to an already unpleasant situation. “I-I’m sorry, even if Monokuma tells us it’s ‘Liar’s Disease,’ I have no idea how to treat something like that…”
Treatment is far from Hinata’s mind as he sets to work re-contextualizing everything Komaeda was saying before he’d collapsed and been rushed to the hospital. A lying disease? That would explain why he was going on earlier about absurd things like Kuzuryuu being dead. In fact, that was probably his way of trying to convey what was happening to him, despite the disease specifically blocking him from saying what he really wanted to say. Weird disease, Hinata thinks, but it’d almost be weirder if Monokuma had inflicted a normal disease onto everyone. Doing things that are normal and NOT horrible or inconvenient? Not his style.
He wonders, is this Monokuma’s way of making investigation difficult? As annoying as Komaeda can be, he’s usually several steps ahead of the rest, and though he draws out conflicts like he savors them, it’s not uncommon for him to be a key player in resolving them as well. If it weren’t for the fact that he’d sort of catalyzed the beginning of the killings, even if just through a failed attempt to get himself murdered, Hinata might think that Komaeda wasn’t as antagonistic as he appeared.
Dammit, I don’t have time for this, Hinata grouses to himself. He’s already spent far too many nights running in mental circles, trying to figure out how he feels about Komaeda’s role in everything. For now, he glances at the boy resting under thin, white sheets, and shoves fidgeting hands into his pockets. Regardless of mixed feelings, it’s disconcerting to see Komaeda so utterly drained of vitality. His skin is so pale it’s practically blue, and yet he’s plagued by a raging fever that coats him in a full body sweat. And though he’s so weak that Hinata had to carry him to the hospital to begin with, Komaeda tosses and whimpers restlessly in his sleep. It seems even rest is no reprieve from this disease.
Hinata can’t help but worry. He reaches out and touches Komaeda’s forehead again as he did earlier—tentative, measuring. It’s still dangerously hot, although the strained tension in Komaeda’s face muscles relax as he leans into Hinata’s touch. Hinata allows himself to linger a few seconds longer than originally intended in hopes of imparting some kind of relief from the misery.
“Isn’t there something more we can give to him, at least for the fever?”
“I-I already tried that,” Tsumiki says, almost terse—at least as terse as Tsumiki can get while still maintaining her default state of distress and contrition. She seems somewhat affronted that Hinata’s questioning her procedures. “Nothing’s working, s-so I think all we can do for now is keep him resting.”
Hinata falls into another contemplative silence that’s soon shattered by a loud crash from Mioda’s room. Tsumiki bolts to her feet, her Ultimate Nurse talents probably urging her to attend to the ominous noise. “I’ll leave you t-two alone for a while! Call me if anything urgent happens!” She leaves with a level of speed and grace that Hinata didn’t know she was capable of.
And at the sound of the door clicking shut behind Tsumiki, Komaeda begins to stir and flutter his heavy eyelids open. What luck. Hinata finds himself straightening his posture as if he needs to be at the ready for something more than just a barely-lucid sick boy.
“Komaeda? How are you feeling?”
Komaeda’s eyes swim with an unfocused slurry of emotions. “Wonderful! Much better!”
“Really? That’s gr—! Oh wait.” Right. Liar’s Disease. “Sorry, I forgot for a second. So… that bad, huh?” He winces at his own stupidity. Maybe he’s already caught a disease of his own. Stupid Disease. As if I need to catch a disease for that.
“Not bad at all,” Komaeda utters, struggling to prop himself up on his elbows. Large beads of sweat form on his face for all his effort. “I’m feeling really relaxed about this whole situation.”
A few more sweat beads trickle and trace faint lines down to his chin. He seems frustrated with his inability to sit up, so Hinata reaches out to support him by the lower back. The boy once again leans into the touch, physically expressing the gratitude that his words cannot reflect. “Don’t touch me.”
“I’ve got you,” Hinata replies with a wry smile, trying to reconcile this meek, fragile Komaeda with the laughing, calculating menace that usually tries to turn every class trial into a circus show. He supposes even the untouchable Komaeda Nagito is a human capable of wanting normal human comforts once in a while. “Do you want me to call Tsumiki in so she can—“
“Yes. I can’t stand being alone with you,” Komaeda says emphatically, his eyes managing to focus for the first time since he’s woken up. He balls up fistfuls of the sheets like he’s embarrassed to admit it, but he pushes on. “I hate seeing you.”
And Hinata knows what’s meant by those words, at least in the most clinical sense of comprehending that they are words that Komaeda spoke that are intended to have the opposite effect of their stated meaning. As far as connecting the message between Komaeda and himself, that’s an ongoing process. Why would he say that? Why now? It seems like such an out-of-character thing for Komaeda to freely admit, Hinata’s first reflex is to assume he’s being wheedled into a plot of some kind. But what would Komaeda really gain from trying to earn Hinata’s trust this late in the game?
He stands up, having half a mind to let this just be Tsumiki’s problem while he checks in with Kuzuryuu. But then he sees a look of terror cross the sick boy’s face, and he belatedly senses the note of desperation in all of Komaeda’s words. Komaeda is scared. Perhaps thinking about the possibility of even dying in this hospital. After all, Tsumiki looked grim about the prognosis when they’d first carted him in…
Hinata distantly registers what an odd thing that is for Komaeda to be so afraid of. Death. Wasn’t that what Komaeda wanted to begin with? Hasn’t he repeatedly invited everyone to kill him? Only if it’s for hope, he thinks bitterly, supplying the answer that Komaeda would probably offer if only his mind wasn’t being razed by illness. But is that really all it is? Or is Komaeda as grievously mortal as anyone, so scared of his teetering health that he’d blurt such buried, sincere words without an ulterior motive?
“Do you… really want me to stay that badly?” Hinata finally asks.
Komaeda outstretches a hand tethered by an IV drip and gently, gently grabs Hinata by the bottom of his shirt. He lifts his heavy white lashes looks up with what can only be described as raw, unfiltered vulnerability. The face of someone who can’t let his real feelings go unspoken, not like this. Hinata’s a little shaken by the realization. Feelings are such tenuous things, he’s learned during his time on this island, yet Komaeda seems so sure of this.
“Please… get out of here.” Don’t go. “You’re being a nuisance.” I need you.
And against better judgment, Hinata yields.
Komaeda is brutal and confusing and dangerous, and somehow at the same time so warm and enticing and comfortable. The blossoming feelings he once had for the luckster (before the killing game changed everything) still carry vestiges of life within them and flourish anew at this unexpected development. He’s a little frustrated with himself about it (Why should I care about a guy like this? Why should I fret over him just because he told me he likes me? Why do I care so much?), but fighting with himself is always a losing battle. Instead, just this once, he lets himself win by perching on Komaeda’s bedside and wrapping a secure arm around Komaeda’s trembling frame, and if he’s every bit as comforted by the action as Komaeda seems to be, no one’s around to judge him for it.
“I’m not gonna go anywhere,” he murmurs softly for only Komaeda to hear, and for now, he means it. “I’ll stay here with you.”