Chapter Text
“You didn’t eat anything.”
Hinata’s eyes are narrowed, his forehead creased. He seems to wear that expression often these days... although, he’s never been one to smile often.
He’d smiled tonight, though. Never at Nagito, but that was alright. His smile is just as beautiful no matter who he’s looking at.
Hinata had smiled as he’d gazed at the dining hall, decorated with every festive item that the Jabberwock residents had managed to scrounge together. Twinkling strings of tiny golden lights, used to add atmosphere to the dining areas at night back in the days when Jabberwock was still a resort, adorn the walls and tangle around pillars. Red flowers and green leaves form adorable centrepieces on the tables.
Decorations are a luxury that few can afford after the dark days of despair, least of all the ones who brought that same despair to the world. But the combined efforts of everyone together form a truly hopeful sight.
“Komaeda.”
Hinata’s mouth is still set in a frown, and Nagito realizes he never answered Hinata’s statement.
“I wasn’t hungry,” he says evasively, staring off above the doorway to the kitchen. That strange, tangled plant still hangs from the doorframe, red pointed flowers and grey-green leaves drooping pitifully.
It had been fresh hours ago, when Hanamura had placed it there. He’d be coming in and out of the kitchen so much with the dinner preparations, after all, and he was well aware of the traditions surrounding the plant. Hinata had been the one to earn the most kisses, though. He’d helped enough with carrying the food and setting the table that people would lie in wait to surprise him as he came out of the room, tackling him even with his arms full of hot food or delicate plates.
The kisses were all chaste, cute little things, but Hinata’s ears still flushed red anyway. His cheeks too, although he’d said it was from the heat in the kitchen. And he’d smiled, laughing, as if this childish game all his admirers played, springing on him from outside the doorway no matter how many others had already done the same thing, was the cleverest joke in the world.
That smile... it really was a beautiful sight.
And Nagito wouldn’t want to be the one to make it disappear.
There was no need for him to go near the kitchen; he was certain that he’d spoil the dinner in some way if he was to go too near the food that the others had laboured over so lovingly. So he didn’t give or receive anything beneath the mistletoe. He had no desire for it. Watching the happiness of the others was good enough, from his comfortable place in the corner. He enjoys being an observer. It’s a lovely thing, seeing Hinata so adored, seeing that dishevelled and flushed smiling countenance.
But that smile had to disappear at some point.
“You didn’t eat anything all day.” Hinata leans forward across the table, his chin resting on his clasped hands. The frown hasn’t shifted. “You said you were saving room for the dinner. But I saw you give your food to Owari.”
Hinata sees everything. Every foible, every fault. Always scrutinizing, always analyzing. Even on Christmas night, when everyone else is drunk on the atmosphere and the alcohol, cheeks flushed red, laughing, smiling, smiling, smiling. A night when it’s so easy for Nagito to escape that scrutiny, to give Hinata a chance to just forget, to feel alive.
And even tonight, on the easiest night of all, Nagito has failed that simple task.
“There wasn’t enough for seconds. And Owari-san had such a pitiful look in her eyes! Who am I to deny her that pleasure on Christmas, when she’d enjoy it so much more than I would?”
Hinata’s frown doesn’t waver.
Tonight, that frown exists for him, and only him.
On this holy night, when all is merry and bright, when pain should be nothing but a distant dream, Hinata still frowns for him.
It’s a gift, in its own way.
But not the gift that he wanted.
“Are you going to tell me what’s really going on?”
He can’t.
The drunken atmosphere has faded from the dining room now. The plates have been washed and put away, the food devoured. The laughter has faded, everyone else returning home for the night. But the memory of the merriment still remains, and useless as he is, Nagito doesn’t want to shatter it. Not while that smile remains in his memory. Not while there’s a chance for it to return.
But that chance is slipping away every second, and the frowning gaze is right in front of him, real and undeniable.
It was laughable, really, to think that he’d be capable of evading that gaze.
It was stupid to imagine that the smile everyone else received so freely could be directed his way.
But if Nagito has anything resembling a talent, aside from his luck, it’s digging himself into a deeper hole than ever before. If Hinata was feeling generous, he’d call it perseverance. If he’s being truthful, he’d call it stubbornness instead.
Nagito thinks of it as... being committed. Committed to Hinata’s happiness.
It’s the only way he’s capable of demonstrating something like love.
“I’ve... been thinking about what to get you for your birthday.” He says the words quietly, summoning his smile that he’s perfected over the years. It’s so easy for him to smile, even if he doesn’t mean it. But it’s so hard for Hinata. Smiles don’t come easily to him. Even if he’d given one to all the rest tonight, that doesn’t make it easy to give one to Nagito.
So he looks at the mistletoe instead of Hinata’s face. Because that is easier than acknowledging that his words did nothing to make the frown disappear.
“You don’t have to give me anything.”
His words are so gentle, but hit Nagito harder than a gust of the frigid wind outside tonight. Of course he would say that. Because there’s nothing Nagito could give him that he would want.
It’s funny how the golden lights swim in his vision, how they blur and distort themselves, until he can barely see anything.
“Hey.” Hinata’s hand comes to rest on his, so gently that it hurts, so warm that it burns. “You never caught me under the mistletoe like the others did.”
“Were you disappointed?” The words come out far too fast, far too carelessly. Now Hinata will feel obligated to find some foolish answer to his question—or worse, deny it entirely.
A cold hand digs its sharp nails into his heart.
A warm hand tightens around his own. “I just wanted to know if there was a reason.”
Nagito keeps his eyes fixed on the plant. The wilted leaves, the withered flowers. Someone should throw it away. “I would be just another obligation if I had caught you there.”
His words are almost too soft to hear.
He hopes Hinata didn’t hear them.
“Don’t be stupid.”
The words are blunt, leaving a bruise on his brain, one that he can press on to bring the truth back to memory. One painful enough to bring tears to his eyes, enough that his only response is a little laugh. It’s not the gentle response he hoped for, but it’s still a response, and he’ll accept anything Hinata gives him.
He stares at the plant through blurry eyes. Ugly, wilted thing, He’d like to rip it to shreds. But it was only serving its purpose. Looking down from afar, an object, facilitating a beautiful hope. He feels for it, or perhaps it feels for him, or perhaps they are one and the same.
“You know you’re not an obligation, right?”
He must’ve imagined those plaintive words, or the added weight of a second hand on his own. Because the frown is still there, and the saddened eyes, and there’s still no smile, never a smile.
He must’ve imagined them. So he doesn’t answer. Hinata won’t smile, so he will smile enough for the both of them for now.
He wishes the blurriness in his eyes would go away.