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Despite all the time he’d spent on this island, this was the first time Komaeda had seen the sunset from the beach. He couldn’t help but think that that was a waste, but he supposed most people would probably argue he’d had other things to worry about. The fading of the bright sun into the ocean was a melancholy experience. A bright hope fading into a deep and endless darkness. But for the sun to rise tomorrow, it must set tonight.
A thought like that was usually a comfort. Now, something about it made the gaping hole that yawned in his chest moan louder than it usually did. No one else would really understand what he meant by that. Perhaps that was what made this all feel so horribly sad. Instead of hope, the sunset just reminded him that he was alone. This wasn’t a new thought, but something about it felt more final now. As childish as it was, Komaeda had always held a small and quiet hope within himself that something may happen to prove his beliefs wrong. No matter how certain he’d been that he was alone, that hope had remained and wiggled its way to the surface like a worm tricked by a seagull pounding its feet on the ground. Right now he couldn’t help but feel like that small hope had been crushed for good, but he didn’t really know why.
His loneliness was made all the more potent by the silence him and his audience sat in. He hadn’t seen Hinata approach, hadn’t even heard him sit down. Just one moment he wasn’t there then the next he was, a blurry smudge in the corner of his vision. Komaeda hadn’t questioned it; hadn’t even looked straight at him. He’d been too busy focusing on convincing himself he didn’t want to speak to him. It hadn’t worked. He switched tactics, instead trying to strengthen his resolve so Hinata would have to speak first. This was usually easy, and with the amount of tension that ran between them now, he’d have thought that Hinata would’ve broken after less than a minute of silence. He could already imagine his face, how he’d demand an explanation, or god forbid, an apology, like he deserved either of those things. Or at least, Komaeda was trying really hard to convince himself he didn’t want to give him those things.
He’d told him once that he’d stoop to begging if that's what it took to have Hinata talk to him. At the time, he could tell from Hinata’s face that he’d thought he was being facetious. If only. Komaeda thought that after everything, that feeling would have changed. It hadn’t. Speaking to Hinata had always been much too easy. This silence was unnatural. He’d rather they argued. Despite what should be, his desperate feelings hadn’t changed, and desperate is as desperate does.
“You’ve never been this quiet before. You must be really mad.” only the waves responded, crashing against the sand rhythmically, “Or maybe you’re making fun of me. Either would be reasonable. I would do the same if I was in your shoes right now.” the sun shimmered on the ocean’s horizon, and Hinata stayed quiet. It gave him too much space to talk. Without a response, it was easy to forget anyone was there to hear him at all, “Though it’s strange. I usually feel quite reprehensible, but right now, it seems worse. It reminds me of when my parents died…” the sudden vulnerability was all the proof he’d needed that he’d forgotten himself in the silence, “Ah! I told you that was a lie, didn’t I? Do you believe me more, now that I’ve brought it up again so flippantly? Revisiting the topic so out of the blue could only suggest that it’s real, right? Do you feel bad for me yet?” Hinata stayed quiet. Perhaps he really could see through him as clearly as Komaeda always hoped he could. But what right did he really have to wish for something like that when he was always so quick to run away at the first sign of sincerity? Komaeda had always wanted after everything he couldn’t have; an envious creature from birth. Though, perhaps not as envious as most. He smiled into the sand that nearly buried his boots at the thought, “Somehow, even if you did, I don't think it would feel as sweet anymore.”
Still nothing. The sickly burn of shame gurgled in him. A feeling that quickly turned hot. Maybe before he could’ve settled with the idea that Hinata didn’t care for what he had to say. An Ultimate shouldn’t care for the idle prattle of some commoner like him when it had no use other than to distract them from their goal of furthering the hope of this world. But Hinata wasn’t an Ultimate. Hinata wasn’t anyone worthwhile at all.
Now, it all seemed obvious, and Komaeda felt more stupid than he had the entire time he’d known him. From the first time he’d seen him he’d known that they were the same. At first it was suspicious. Why out of everyone would Hinata not remember his talent? To Komaeda it could only have meant that he was different from the others. One of the first things he’d thought was that perhaps Hinata didn’t have a talent at all. He certainly didn’t stand out in any particular way. But still, there was something about him that set him apart from others. Something special. The more time had gone on and the more of Hinata’s good traits he’d seen, the opposite seemed more and more likely, and the more the question of what had intrigued him.
But there was nothing. Whatever Komaeda had sensed must have been a delusion, because someone like Hinata couldn’t be special at all. To think he’d been right all along…Perhaps he could call it a lucky guess.
And now Hinata sat here, no better than him, perhaps even in some ways worse, and after everything that had happened, he had the audacity to ignore him.
“Do you know why I feel like this, Hinata?” somehow, he managed to keep the vitriol out of his voice, “Something tells me that it’s your fault, so you should own up to it, okay? Take responsibility.”
Still, Hinata said nothing. Komaeda’s hands tightened their grip on his knees.
“You’re a really stubborn guy, huh? Though, I suppose I always knew that. I’m pretty stubborn too.” he pretended to catch himself on his words, and laughed at his slip up, “Sorry, I know you don't like it when I compare the two of us. I understand it’d be a hard thing to accept. I can't even accept myself. But there’s no doubt you can hide behind now. I was right, we are the same…” he tried not to smile as he said it. He didn’t have to try that hard. Words that usually tasted so temptingly sweet now just felt sad, like a sweet where the only taste came from its sugar coating and now, he’d sucked it clean there was nothing left.
Maybe less of a sweet and more of a pill, one he still struggled to swallow, and it had nothing to do with how he felt about the Reserve Course and everything to do with who Hinata was. Hinata, who’d been a leader, a friend, a scapegoat, a motivator. A talentless, Reserve Course, second string, nobody and still everything Komaeda wanted to be and more.
Komaeda had been an envious creature from birth.
The sun bled red across the sky, an even, deep colour that soaked into the ocean, staining it a dark red. The sun must’ve set further when he wasn’t looking. It drained the idyllic feeling from the view. Now, it only made his apprehension worse and even more difficult to figure out. Hinata still didn’t move. Komaeda still couldn’t look at him. It was more than just stubbornness, that was much too simple an explanation for the sinking dread he had at even the idea of looking at him. It choked him up, a nostalgic nausea overcoming him if he even so much as tilted his head too far in his direction.
“But if we are the same, then shouldn’t I hate you? Reserve course and talentless, and a peer to swine like me. It only makes sense to hate you.” Komaeda ran a hand through his hair and sighed, “So why…”
Why then could he not be happier that he was here with him? The thought of him leaving was worse. The idea of being alone right now was terrifying. Not the usual fear he’d lived with all his life. Instead, Komaeda was strangely and harrowingly certain that if Hinata left, he’d disappear. He wanted to feel okay about that. Maybe some nights he’d even had the thought that such a thing would be a blessing. But he couldn’t accept it. He hadn’t done what he needed to yet.
Of course. How strange that he’d forgotten. He had something to do, maybe the most important and meaningful thing he’d ever done in his life. He couldn’t help the tremble of excitement that went through him. Everything he’d built up to his entire life, all his suffering, all the pain, it would finally mean something. Most of all, it would finally come to an end. One final bet on his luck, and one last chance for it to steer him right. Finally, he would become the stepping stone he’d always wanted to be, always knew he could be.
If Hinata could do it, then why couldn’t he?
The traitor, he was sure it was Nanami. It was the only person that made sense. The only one who hadn’t fallen to despair, or so it seemed with the information he had. Their truest hope, the only one of them left that was worthy of his support. To be the one who destroyed despair, to be the back she jumped off into the future, that person could only be described as Ultimate Hope.
He wasn’t too big to admit he was scared. It was going to hurt. This would be no Irish goodbye. If he was going out, agent of despair or not, he was getting the exit he deserved. Too long had he shrivelled in the shadows. In that moment, he would be in the spotlight. He was going to make it big, make it messy, make it horrific. Spit in the faces of all his classmates who’d dared to look down on him when they were all Ultimates who’d failed so horribly at their destiny. Komaeda couldn’t contain his disappointment. Disappointment wasn’t a strong enough word for this feeling. It edged against hate. Komaeda may have failed once to do what he needed; he would not make the same mistake again. Now he would set it all right.
It should’ve been easy. The boy in his peripheral made him second guess it all.
Hinata had been kind to him in a way no one else had. Even after he failed the first time, and Hinata had found out about the part of him he’d hoped he could hide, Hinata had still sought him out, over and over, no matter what Komaeda revealed about himself. Why the hell had he even ended up with them all in the first place? Now, Komaeda wished he’d never met him. Doing what he needed to do wasn’t supposed to be this hard.
If Komaeda really wanted his plan to be flawless, he should take Hinata out with him. If he wanted, he could’ve figured out a way to do it. It wouldn’t have been hard. For some reason, despite not trusting him at all, Hinata listened to him. He could use that to his advantage. When it came to the class trial, Hinata was the only one who could stop him. Reserve course, talentless Hinata. Would he be able to understand him the way he’d need to to figure him out? And if he did, would he have the guts to sentence them all?
Could Hinata understand him that deeply? What would it mean if he did?
But how could he then say that he’d properly conquered despair if he took away their strongest weapon? How could he claim it to be a fair and unequivocal win? It needed to be a complete sweep, all in one, if he ever wanted to be properly acknowledged as Ultimate Hope. Everything he’d dreamed of, all in the palm of his hands. He wouldn’t spare a single expense to make it right.
It was a bullshit excuse. The truth was that Komaeda knew he wasn’t strong enough to kill Hinata directly. No amount of twisting his beliefs could hide that. As usual, Hinata, unimportant, unremarkable Hinata, broke through everything he’d spent his life believing in and ruined it all. So now, here he was at the finish line and all he wanted to do was stay with Hinata just a little longer. Even if it was in silence. Even if Hinata hated him.
Komaeda had always wanted what he couldn’t have, now was no different.
“I’m sorry.”
For a second, he didn’t even believe the words were his. But Hinata still didn’t move, a still and unfocused blur at the corner of his vision. He screwed his eyes shut. He thought he should take it back. But he didn’t want to. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t even sure what he was sorry for. Even so, the words came spewing out of some deepening hole in his chest like they could somehow patch it up.
“If you knew, you would understand. It wasn’t about the Reserve Course. Not all of it. If you only knew-” Komaeda shook his head. He dragged his hands through his hair. The silence echoed. Not a sound on the beach other than his own haggard breathing, “You won’t even acknowledge me? Have you finally decided that I’m no good at all? All this and you finally understand.” Komaeda laughed, a weak thing that made his begging all the more pitiful, “Funny, this is all I ever thought I deserved, yet having you completely ignore me is more crushing than anything else I’ve gone through. Isn’t that just silly?
“I don’t know why you mean so much to me, Hinata. If I knew I could try to stop. You shouldn’t mean anything to me at all. You’re nothing. You’re worse than nothing.” He dug his nails into his scalp, overwhelmed with shame at all he’d ever said and all he never could,
Komaeda had never heard a silence like this. If he couldn’t hear himself, he’d worry he’d gone deaf. The red sky darkened. The shadows of the palm trees stretched.
“Please, can we go back to how it was?” his voice was a cracked whisper through his grit-toothed smile, “I know it’s pathetic to ask, but could you look at me like that again? Like you did before. Like you could learn to care for me. You were the first one who ever did.”
If he hadn’t dropped his arms at the moment he did, he would’ve missed him. Even in the dead silence of the beach, Komaeda hadn’t heard him get up. All this time spent ignoring him and trying to push him away and all it got him was watching his back as he left. Once more he bared his heart, and once more Hinata dropped it on the floor and left him to pick it up by himself. Before he could accept it. Now, the image of Hinata’s back filled him with a frantic and furious desperation. Hinata didn’t get to walk away from him anymore. He’d lost that privilege before they’d even met.
He pushed to his feet, his boots slipping in the sand, and chased after him.
“Don’t ignore me!” he reached out to grab him and
His hand passed through Hinata’s arm. He stumbled forwards, still carrying momentum he’d thought he’d have given away. He looked at his hand, like it could help him comprehend what had just happened. Had he missed? Had his co-ordination deteriorated that far while he wasn’t paying attention?
Hinata was walking away, further down the beach, through a snow that fell in slow, fuzzy streams.
The more he stared, the more the snow obscured him, until it was less like snow and more like static. Komaeda hesitated, then ran, ran until he caught up with him, then past him. He turned around and faced him dead on, with shoulders square and feet planted solid- until he faltered.
Hinata didn’t stop walking at his slow and even pace. Hinata walked as if he wasn’t there. Until they were face to face, until he was close enough for Komaeda to wince at the impact he knew was coming.
Until Hinata passed through him completely. He shivered through Komaeda with a buzzing feeling, like pins and needles tip to toe, until he came out the other side. Now, all Komaeda stared at was the snow as it fell on this dark and shadowy beach with a red ocean so dark it was nearly black. But all of that hadn’t made him falter. In fact, he’d hardly been able to process any of it until after it had happened, because Komaeda had been too stuck on the fact that when he’d finally faced Hinata there was nothing there to see, because Hinata had no face.
He clutched his chest. Anxiety rushing him so strongly he felt lightheaded. His short breaths quickened, he tried everything he’d practised to slow it. But even breaths seconds deep didn’t touch him at all. He could feel it filling his lungs, chest expanding so wide it hurt, but still he choked, chest hot and tight like he was holding his breath. The air was thick and close and hot . Hotter and hotter. The sun was gone but he was sweating, and the heat was only building, until it was like fog and he could taste it on his tongue, until the thick and empty air he tried to suck in was hot too. A panic attack had never felt like this before.
He scratched at his throat, some desperate and childish thought telling him that if he could open it he could breathe. He collapsed to the ground, legs shaking, too weak to hold him upright. He clutched at the sand as he tried to cough, tried anything, not even conscious of what his body was doing, everything he was scattering as his brain reverted back to basics, powered only by the thought of survival.
But that felt wrong. Even as he choked, part of him fought the animal in his brain that was thrashing to survive, like this was right, like this was supposed to happen.
Then he saw his hand. He watched it, dull with something close to fascination, as the hand clutching the sand began to split. A fissure, a hole, that started small in the centre then peeled open, slow enough he could hear it, skin and muscle parting with wet, ripping sound. As he lifted his hand it trembled, shaking so hard he had to let go of his throat to grab his wrist. He turned it over, the wound was worse in his palm, blood running out of the gaping wound, his palm too shallow to hold so much blood. It dripped from his hand, staining the sand black in fat globs.
Not just his hand, his thighs. Rips blooming open short and sharp yet so deep. Komaeda felt it in his underdeveloped quads, ripping in places that shouldn't rip. An awareness of his body he’d never known before and now he wished he could forget. Still, he couldn’t breathe, not even to scream, his fear constricted inside him. Still his lungs burned as they begged to.
A force in his stomach like a punch threw him to his side. When he hit the ground, something inside him clicked. The hollow hole in his gut, the one he’d soothed like a wound his whole life, was no longer an overused metaphor. A plunging emptiness tore through him and his blood rushed to fill it. He gagged and choked, the punch winding him and taking the last of his breath with him, and he remembered it all. He tried to laugh; he didn’t have the air for it. He finally remembered he was dead.
Then he could deal with the pain. Then, the blood and the gore and the ripping and the spaces in his body that were so completely wrong seemed somehow holy to him. For what better reason to suffer so hard and for so long? What better reason to die than hope? Now, he would be transformed. Maybe they wouldn’t get it at first, but Komaeda knew in the future they’d look back at his sacrifice and feel grateful for him, for being the only one who could, and the only one who did. A culmination of his suffering, and now he would have meaning.
Why didn’t it feel good?
Lying here, he could see the edge of the beach where he knew the pavement was. Despite the heat he felt cold. A coldness inside him that made him feel sick. An empty pit that gaped wider that was so much worse than the gutted space under his ribcage that pissed his blood out onto the sand.
All this work and effort and meaning, and all he wanted to do was be in bed. Not the bed in his cottage, not the bed in his home back in Japan. He wanted his mother’s bed, tucked in tight like all those times he’d gotten sick when he was young.
He was going to die alone. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was selfish to wish someone was here. The greatest suffering he knew bestowed upon him so that this death could bring a hope even greater.
There was movement. Through the static of the snow he could see it. A person approaching the beach. A person on the threshold.
“ Hinata ?” he tried to speak, but no sound came out.
Between its straining, his heart still managed to flutter. A feeling inside him, a scratching and clawing more desperate than his innate drive to live, nearly gave him enough strength to stand. He pushed himself up.
Hinata stopped at the edge of the beach. Komaeda reached out towards him. The static grew heavier.
“ Hi-na -” he wheezed, only the vowels sounding.
Hinata backed away, hesitated, then turned and ran away.
Komaeda stared at the space as long as his body could keep him upright. It only gave him a few more seconds. He lay on his side, curling against the pain in his stomach, a pain he felt was ripping him both ways, quartering him as he choked on a full chest of dead air. He watched the space at the edge of the beach like maybe something would change. Like Hinata would come back and sit with him, his head in his lap, a hand in his hair. The phantom fire didn’t die and did nothing to warm the cold spreading from his chest despite how it burned his skin. He watched the path through the fuzzing static snow until he couldn’t anymore, until his want to breathe took over everything else. Until all he wanted again was for it all to end and for it all to finally mean something. He’d never wanted to die alone, but he supposed that in the end this all was his own fault.
Komaeda had always wanted what he couldn’t have.