Work Text:
As his fingers combed through stark tresses, Hajime thought. He always thought, he never stopped thinking, not with all the responsibility being dropped on his shoulders.
He had gotten home from work early that afternoon, to find his lover crumpled on the floor. He was crying, it seemed that he had been crying long before the chestnut door opened.
He couldn’t stop thinking about that, that look on Komaeda’s angelic face. It was full of the very thing he swore to fight against; despair.
His under eyes were dusted pink, and so were his cheeks. His milky white scleras were bloodshot and glossy. He looked so vulnerable, more vulnerable than Hinata had ever seen him.
Hajime had rushed to console the weeping boy, at that moment he had no idea what could’ve caused it. He thought the other had gotten hurt, or he was spiraling again, or anything other than the real reason.
The truth was only revealed after hour-long, painstaking minutes of disdainful sobbing had passed. It stunned the brunet, almost into a shell-shocked state. Nagito’s meek voice, shaky with tears and raw with emotion that was barely audible finally uttered..
”My luck finally ran out, you don’t love me anymore.”
What???
Hajime didn’t know what to make of this. What did he mean he didn’t love him? Of course he loved him. He loved him like the sun loved the moon. He needed him like the ocean needs the shore. Where was this coming from?
He had run his hands through his lover's coarse hair then, leaning closer. The hard floor of the cottage made his knees ache and cramp, but he didn’t care, not when it came to Nagito. He didn’t care about anything but Nagito. That’s why he’s picked up so many hours, loading the ships for the Future Foundation, going on those work trips, it was all for hi-
Work.
That was the answer. It was how much Hajime had been working. He would be away from Komaeda for 12 hours at least every single day. They hadn’t had a chance to do anything together. They didn’t have time to be intimate or be cheesily romantic, all they had time to do together was eat dinner and go to bed, that alone never lasted longer than 4 hours at the most.
Even when he was physically there, Hinata was still constantly responding to emails, texts, and calls. He’d even do it at the dinner table. He would try his best to shovel his first real meal of the day into his mouth while simultaneously typing back to whichever co-worker or superior contacted him. He hadn’t even realized how hard Komaeda was working on dinner these past two months. He must’ve been practicing recipes all day to impress his hard-working fiance, all for it to be unacknowledged. All for him and all his attempts to be ignored.
Guilt bloomed in Hinata’s chest like a weed in a beautiful garden. He was neglecting his partner, the partner he swore he’d always love and cherish, the partner who was already cripplingly insecure and unstable. The partner he was trying to heal.
He couldn’t imagine how Nagito felt in this moment, being betrayed by someone you finally accepted, finally trusted, finally lowered your guard for.
”Komaeda..”
He had heard himself whisper. His voice sounded far away, the suffocating guilt of his actions consuming him.
He had no other words. He just pulled his fiance close and hugged him tight against his muscle-bound chest, callused hands in the boy's tangled hair.
He saw how hard Komaeda was trying, he had even pulled himself up while in the sweltering depths of despair to make himself pretty.
(He always said Hajime deserved someone ‘prettier,’ as if he genuinely thought anyone could get prettier than Nagito.)
His hair smelt freshly shampooed, his skin was smooth, smoother than normal, his long nails were filed and the cuticles were pushed back. He had done something he struggled with doing, self-care. All for Hajime’s attention. The attention he never got.
They stayed on that floor for what couldn’t have been less than 2 hours, Hajime pressing his lover against himself, and Nagito weeping, his nails digging into the brunet’s sunbaked skin.
Komaeda was barely responsive by the time Hinata stood up, his legs wobbled and tingled as blood rushed back to nurture the muscles back to normal, but that didn’t hinder him from holding the whimpering boy with strong, secure arms.
His fiance was taller than him by about an inch, but he was light. Very light. Hinata was, on the other hand, sturdy. He could easily carry Nagito around the cottage, or anywhere in the world he wanted to go, and he would do that at the drop of a hat. Anything to see that boy's graceful smile.
He carried him to the bathroom, setting him on the edge of the sink. He was gentle, like Komaeda was a porcelain doll that could shatter with one wrong movement.
As he ran a clean towelette under the cold water from the tap, he’d wondered how many times the lithe boy had to do all this himself. How many times has he had to pick himself off the floor and do all the things Hajime has done for him for years? That thought alone felt like a knife to the chest. Even though it wasn’t said aloud, he had promised himself that he would never allow Komaeda to comfort himself alone. He promised that he’d always be there no matter what. If he would’ve paid more attention, if he would have looked at his fiance longer than a meaningless glance, he would have noticed everything. If he had listened to Komaeda, instead of drowning him out with endless stressful thinking, he would have heard the sorrow in his voice. But he didn’t, and now he was facing the repercussions.
He’d watched as his lover's snowy, clumped lashes and muted green eyes disappeared as he pressed the cool towelette against his eyes. His eyes trailed down to his pale lips, not plump but not thin. They weren’t as chapped as they were before, he must’ve been using chapstick.
He loved his partner's features, he always found his appearance lovesome. Nagito always begged to differ, always saying he was ugly and unlovable, but Hinata was entranced by his looks. He found everything beautiful. All the moles and freckles, all the scars, the keloids, and the burn scars, his whimsical wispy hair, his lithe body, Hajime found it all gorgeous. He could never explain it, he could never find the right words to show the boy the passion and genuine love he truly felt. Every word had already been overused, stripped of its passion. It isn’t like Komaeda ever believed him, but he wanted to make him believe.
They were in this position for a few minutes, his legs shaking and his knees buckling the whole time, but Hajime didn’t care. He didn’t care for anything but the boy right in front of him.
Eventually though, he did scoop the other back up and carried them to their shared bedroom, laying him on the plethora of blankets and pillows. He knew Komaeda liked sensory, so he made sure to get the coziest of textures when choosing bedding. He also knew how badly Komaeda’s muscles could ache, so he got him a weighted blanket. Though, it was more shared. Hinata’s muscles could ache just as much.
That’s where they are now. Nagito was lying on his fiance's chest, swarmed and tucked under fresh blankets. He was fast asleep, tuckered out from crying. The brunet's hands were enshrouded in his fluffy hair. They were both cozy, the other's warmth swarming around them.
The only difference was that Komaeda was sound asleep, and content and Hajime’s mind was running rampant. He was replaying all of their interactions these past months, finally seeing all the signs he was too dense to realize at the time. The guilt never faded, if anything it got worse. He felt like the worst fiance in the world. He did the one thing he swore he would never do, be the cause of this boy's tears.
Just as he was about to allow himself to fall into a spiral of self-hatred, he heard a coo and felt Komaeda nuzzle deeper into his chest. The sight he looked down upon, was the other's soft smile. It made him smile too. It was nice to see his albino companion get a good rest. He couldn’t imagine how painfully lonely it must’ve been on nights he had to fall asleep in an empty bed.
Pressing a kiss to Nagito’s head, he uttered the words he hadn’t been saying with enough passion in two months:
”I love you.”
And with that, he knew his earlier decision to demand shorter shifts was the right one.