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Hajime would have told you he was quite the critical type. He was realistic, tended to analyze situations before taking an actual decision. Kamukura’s talents surely did the right job in giving him more and more occasions to make himself useful when it came to that.
He would have loved to say he knew when something was better off to be left alone. If a situation was hopeless, there was simply no way he was going to chase after it. Hajime knew his own limits, and most of, he knew the world he lived in. He knew there were a lot of things he could do, if not most of them, but not all. Some things were simply not bound to be happening. Some were better off as considered to be impossible.
He would have absolutely adored to say he was aware of his own limits.
But Hajime Hinata is also, unfortunately, a huge fucking liar.
Back in the simulation, he’d known Komaeda’s situation was impossible to understand, when the boy kept on pushing him away, again and again, till his own death. He’d tried anyway, once he’d managed to wake him up — another impossible situation, because nothing he’d used on the others had been working, nothing he did to try and stimulate his conscious into coming back to life had actually had any significant progress till he’d decided to go for drastic measures — and refused to leave him alone till Komaeda’s shell broke.
He’d known there was a very slight if not impossible to find possibility they’d ever form a genuine bond. They were too different. He’d thought there was nothing they agreed on, nothing they had in common. He was proved wrong, successively, and the two formed what could have been considered a truce to a naked eye.
A truce that, really, should not have gone any further, but then blossomed in a wonderful friendship he hadn’t wanted to give up on, even when all rational thinking brought to the conclusion of leaving him as he was, and save his sanity from Komaeda’s view of the world. And yet he’d refused, and their relationship deepened.
He’d known that it’d be foolish to develop silly feelings for him that weren’t bound to last. Komaeda’s mind was too fucked up for a relationship, his words often suggesting he wasn’t one made for love, that nobody in their right mind would ever dare to date him. Hajime was not, in fact, in his right mind, and got a big, fat crush on him that refused to go away to the point where he could not contain it anymore.
As for that, he’d also known that confessing would bring to nothing good. Komaeda, once again, wasn’t made for relationships, they fought more often than not, bickered, and never truly reached an agreement for a long time span.
He’d asked him out anyway.
Act of impulse as it’d had been, for how much Hajime had sworn it off, Komaeda had been on the verge to faint. It wasn’t anything special, Hajime would insist, a stolen kiss that he regretted the second Komaeda’s face started to flame, but it worked out, and now they’d been together for a solid amount of years.
Thing was, that should have been the end of it. Because Hajime was talented, but even the biggest fool would know that when the government considers you a terrorist, and there is a foundation keeping you alive solely because your talents are needed for a greater good, spending a lifetime together with someone else is possible, yet it could never be exactly official. Marriage was not in the cards, not on a deserted island that was empty if not for them all, not without an official certificate that they couldn’t get any time soon. It was pointless, and Hajime was analytic enough to understand it would only be a waste of time.
And then he’d gone and proposed anyway. Komaeda had tried to hide the fact he was crying, and jumped in his arms for an answer.
And so here they were, with a semi-official wedding to plan, work to take care of, and a feeling of giddy happiness that just would not fade no matter how much time passed.
Their friends had been ecstatic. Sonia, specifically, who declared her authority as a princess of Novoselic could serve as an officiant, and had immediately taken their hands and declared with big, sparkly eyes that she’d do her very best to make all of their bridal dreams come true.
Everyone had been willing to help out as they could. Mioda had offered to sing, and while her voice was beautiful, Komaeda was never a fan of loud noises and so they’d asked her for something quiet. She’d nodded and sprinted to her cottage to start writing. It was surprisingly nice.
Koizumi would be taking pictures. Soda offered to help Hajime work on the venue, even if he was more of a machine worker rather than a tool handler, but they made it work. Sonia had also declared she’d be in charge of the seating, decorating, and dressing, and nobody truly craved to argue with a princess, so they’d agreed.
Overall, everyone offered to take minor roles and help them through it. Hajime had felt so very warm, thinking about such an overwhelming amount of affection coming from their friends, and Komaeda had been so overjoyed by the display of cooperation, it’d taken a while to get him to stop thanking everyone obsessively.
He was getting better when it came to that aspect. Kinda. He was working on it, tried to learn when praise was considered nice to listen to and when it was considered to be too much. It took him a while, but he was getting the hang of it. Hajime felt so proud of him.
He felt a lot, when it came to Komaeda. Hajime always thought expressing your feelings was a little embarrassing, especially if you tended to blush and sweat as much as he used to when he got nervous. The thought of saying he actually had a boyfriend and declaring he loved him out loud would have made him want to throw up at the age of fifteen, but he could say he matured now. Like, a lot more. Totally.
Komaeda made him discover he actually did not mind to say he was in love. He wanted people to know, actually, he wanted them to understand he was taken to the most beautiful, wonderful, gorgeous man he’d ever met, whether he was considered to be ideal or not, he wanted to tell them just how hopelessly in love with this boy he was, no matter what he did, what happened within them, what challenges they might have faced.
He felt so much, when he was around him — from a nervous, yet pleasant flatter deep in his stomach, to a warm and quite irresistible urge to jump on him whenever he was hit to what had been described to him as, to put it blindly, cute aggression.
Which, well. Again. Kinda embarrassing.
But he did say it more often than not, and it was often that he was ready to shower Komaeda with affection at any given moment. Komaeda himself had taken a long, long time to accept said touches, and even more to initiate them himself. He still hesitated sometimes, but they’d arrived to a moment where he was able to smile and thank someone after a compliment, which was huge for him. Progresses, as he said, the kind of progress that made him want to propose again.
Things was that Komaeda was also, to put it mildly, freaking the fuck out about these wedding preparations. Not something one could easily see from afar, or without knowing how to read his complex as hell body language and the small ticks of his palms whenever he was nervous. He also tended to ramble when he was anxious about something, tried to make it sound like it was not a big deal, but Hajime could see it perfectly, the way he stressed so much into what they should be doing as tradition once they’ll see each other at the impromptu altar.
And so he’d insisted they both wrote down traditional wedding vows. Hajime had tried to kindly reassure him and tell him that speeches weren’t necessary, and they could just get it over with, but his fiancé had glared at him so hard Hajime had actually apologized, and received a pat on his head for it too.
And so here he was, on the bed of his cottage, pen and notebook in hand, legs crossed as he tapped mindlessly against the piece of paper.
He wouldn’t want to be misunderstood — Hajime had many, many talents, his Ultimate writing progeny and Ultimate poet talents in specific, which could very well help him do a flawless job writing down the best speech that’d make so many of their friends lose their mind.
But that wasn’t what he was going for, at all.
Thing was that Hajime loved him more than he loved anything else in the entire world. Komaeda had helped him see things in so many different ways, his world had been completely twisted upside down, his view now filled with thousands of sparkling new colours.
Komaeda had made progresses, sure, and each day was better than the last, but Hajime knew personally how hard self hatred is to get rid of. He could tell him how badly he loved him over and over, describe each feature that drove him crazy, spend hours to no hand kissing all over his face to show him just how much he loved each part of it, and Komaeda would still have doubts about himself and their relationship, without being able to help it. It wasn’t his fault, albeit quite admittedly frustrating, but not something he’d chosen.
And Hajime wanted those doubts completely gone on their wedding day. Komaeda deserved everything, he deserved to know just how crazy Hajime was for him. He wanted to watch his face light up and eyes fill with happy tears the moment he told him how much he loved him, in front of all their friends. This was important to him, and he was going to deliver.
And so he wanted, craved for what he said to be absolutely perfect, he needed it to convey what he felt, absolutely, without any room for doubt.
He wondered if there was really a way to do that. He doubted he could transfer things he was feeling on a paper, but he could certainly try. He’d long learned anything was possible, at this point.
Hajime had quite the sharp hearing. He’d heard his by now really known footsteps from a mile, but still smiled when the knock on his door came, completely unnecessary, because Komaeda had been sharing this cottage with him for about a year now, and he very well had the key.
He lowered the note pad, sitting back up. “Come in.”
“Knock Knock!” Komaeda tittered, opening the door without much of an issue. Hajime couldn’t really keep it locked — unless it was night time, where sometimes he really needed to sleep or he’d go fucking insane, or when he and Komaeda were too busy being tangled into the sheets to care about anything else — cause it was very usual for shit to go south and as the Ultimate everything, it was often that he had to rush out, and needed for people to be able to slam down his door.
And so Komaeda smiled brightly at him, his hair was up in a ponytail today, which he tended to do often since when Hajime had confessed how much he loved his hair like that in a moment of pure weakness of his heart. He leaned against the door frame for a while, totally checking him out like they hadn’t been together for years, then took a few step forwards, closing the door behind himself and laying his back right against it.
“How are you doing, fiancé?” He mused, looking so endearing when he smiled like that.
Hajime placed the notepad on the bed. “I’m okay. Even better since you’re here.”
“Aw,” He walked towards him, kicking his shoes off with the heels of his feet. “Hajime is so sweet.”
Hajime laughed, opened his arms for Komaeda to crawl right in. He wrapped them around his upper back and waist, pulled him as close as he had to allow him to lean his cheek against his chest the way he loved the most. Komaeda then raised his head, smiled at him sweetly. Hajime mirrored it perfectly.
“I missed you.”
“You were gone for what, an hour?”
“A despairingly long hour without my fiancé.” Komaeda sighed out, as dramatic as he could make it, and snuggled closer. “Ah, what a pain. My life truly is such a mess…”
“Pfft.” He kissed the top of his head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You wound me.”
“No I don’t.”
“No you don’t.” Komaeda smiled. “What were you doing?”
“Hmm…” He shrugged. He could lie, but there was little no point in it, since Komaeda was supposed to be writing his vows, too. The thing was, Komaeda was a little shit, and tended to be completely unable to wait, or to not make up a plan to get something he wanted — that something being taking a peek at what Hajime had written down so far. “What do you think I was doing?”
Komaeda smiled so smugly, trailed his fingers up his arm. “Ahh, was Hajime doing something for me?”
“When am I not…”
“Ahh, how wonderful!” He leaned over to peck the tip of his nose. “My Hajime is so hardworking.”
“It’s our wedding vows, Nagito.” He laughed, playfully swatted him away. “I need to get them done before Sonia kicks my ass.”
“Hm, she’s certainly quite fierce about it.” He tapped his chin, smiling slightly, “Yesterday she gave me quite a earful.”
“Have you started yours yet?”
Komaeda’s smile turned in what could only be described as smug. He crawled a little closer, just so their noses could be almost touching. Hajime’s vision was superior to the average human being, and he could perfectly make out the colour of his iris, the contours of his pale face, the line of his nose, the pink shade of his lips. He wanted to kiss them, a lot.
“Hmmm,” He grinned, “Is Hajime perhaps trying to get a sneak of what I’m writing?”
“H-Hey, of course not!” He flushed. He would have been offended by the claim if it wasn’t that he was absolutely right — Hajime was kind of an hypocrite, because it was way too tempting to just try to look over and see what Komaeda had to say about him. Thing was, knowing Komaeda, he could write about anything, and the temptation was hard to resist.
The first time they’d caught each other trying to sneak had been an honest accident. Komaeda was trying to peek over his shoulder, Hajime had caught him immediately and they’d begun bickering for the rest of the day. For his own part, Hajime had no idea how, but Komaeda somehow got two notebooks that looked the exact same and managed to fool Hajime out of all people and made him think he had stolen the right one. Komaeda had then leaned against the wall, held the real thing within his fingers and muttered a sly, “looking for this, dear?” That had him kissing the absolute living hell out of those smug lips in no time.
From then on, there had been a few other accidents, which were starting to not be so much of an accident anymore, and it kind of turned into a stupid, insignificant competition they’d never established directly, but was just so fun to keep on doing. It was exactly what had drawn him to him at first, perhaps, the way nothing was predictable and they could have harmless fun within each other. Well, as harmless as chasing each other through a whole island and arguing till their throats were sore and proceeding to lean over and kiss until their lips tingled could be.
If he really thought about it, he would guess this was also what had drawn him to Komaeda so much in his other past, too. Kamukura had taken an immediate liking — more like tolerance, when speaking about someone like him — of Servant the mere second he understood the unpredictability Servant’s luck brought to his life. And Servant, who had fallen for Kamukura the second he’d laid his eyes on him, let him do whatever he wanted, how he wanted, when he wanted it. Kamukura couldn’t feel anything, but if he did, Hajime would guess his obsession could also be read as an infatuation.
Unpredictability had always been Komaeda’s thing, after all. Hajime was always weirdly attracted by it. He’d stopped questioning it a while ago.
And so, well, they’d kind of kept this going for a while now, and Hajime had no fucking idea how Komaeda managed to keep something away from him out of all people, but here they were. He did have to admit that being kept on his toes was kinda fun.
“I’m merely teasing,” He cupped his face. “I already know there is no way you’ll ever find my hiding spots.”
“Spots?” He supported himself on his elbow, touched Komaeda’s palm with his free hand. “Plural?”
“I change them each day, randomized.” He kissed the spot within his eyes. “And you will never find them. Ever.”
“You say that.”
“I know that, Hajime.”
“That sounds like you’re challenging me.”
“Oops,” He grinned. “I totally forgot Hajime is so competitive…”
“You’re a brat.”
“But I’m your brat!”
“You are.” He stole a kiss. “My corny brat.”
“How romantic, Hajime.” He rolled his eyes, albeit lovingly. His gaze shifted down, and he thought he was so smart and smug when he snatched the notepad from under where Hajime was laying, immediately getting out of bed and opening to the last page. To find out Hajime had written it all in Greek.
Komaeda’s smile fell in a “are-you-fucking-serious” expression. Hajime probably shouldn’t have burst out laughing like that, but he was a simple guy, so he still plopped down to his pillows. Komaeda placed his hands on his hips.
“Seriously?”
“You don’t like Greek?”
“I don’t speak Greek.”
“That would be the point, Nagito.”
“You’re so very unfair.” Komaeda snorted, walked back to where he was laying. “Translate it.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Hajime.” He whined, like he was some child. “You’re being so hopelessly cruel. My soon to be husband is cruel.”
“You do know you’re not going to soft me up with that, yeah?”
“I’m a hopeful guy.”
“I happen to know that way too well.”
“Fine, then.” Komaeda crossed his arms. “I’m taking this with me.”
Hajime raised a brow, “You’re taking away my notepad?”
“Perhaps I’ll send it to Naegi-san.” He had the audacity to look offended. Like this was a sane thing to be mad about. “And he will be ever so kind to translate it to me. Good day.”
Hajime rolled his eyes. He was up from the bed before Komaeda could reach the door, really, and he wasn’t sure whether that had been on purpose or not, but his arms soon found his middle, easily trapping him within an embrace.
“You wouldn’t bother Naegi with something so stupid.”
“Then why is Hajime this worried, hm?” He smiled, yet caressed the arm holding him anyway. “Could it be that he’s scared I will? Or are you jealous of Naegi-san?”
“N-Nagito—!”
“Again?”
“That was one time!”
“Three, if I recall,” He hummed, “Or was it four? Five?”
“That’s it.” He huffed out, and picked him up, unsurprisingly, without a struggle. Komaeda let out a yelp, the notepad falling on the ground with a hard thump as Hajime brought him towards the bed, threw him on the matrass, and settled himself to trap him on top.
Komaeda was pouting, but he still wrapped his arms around his neck.
“Hajimeee,” He dragged, “You’re so very unfair.”
Hajime leaned down to kiss his cheek. “Don’t try to read my vows next time.”
“You always try to read mine.”
“And I’m unsuccessful,” He kissed his nose, his temple. “So you gotta be too.”
“Unfair.”
“Completely fair.”
“Unlucky.”
“That would be correct.”
“W-Well, it’s—” He stuttered, “Hajime—!”
“Hmm?”
“Stop— kissing me.”
Hajime looked up from the crook of his neck he’d buried his lips into. “What? You don’t like being kissed?”
“It’s distracting, and I’m trying to be mad at you.”
Hajime shrugged. Went back to kissing his skin.
“Hajime—!”
“How about,” He smiled, “You tell me some of your vows, and I let you go.”
“Hajime Hinata!”
“What?” He laughed, gave him a few more kisses. Komaeda whined, made it to push him off, but his movements lacked of actual will, so he was pretty sure he was still good.
“Don’t threaten me with our wedding vows!”
“It’s not a threat! It can be a deal.”
“No—” He stuttered when Hajime brought his teeth into the picture. “No chance.”
“Shame.”
“Hajime.”
He let out a sigh, lifting himself up with his arms. He held himself so he could raise a brow at him, earning a heat-less glare that faded the exact second Komaeda’s eyes landed on his biceps. Which he grabbed. And giggled about as if he hadn’t seen them a billion times already.
“Nagito. Seriously.”
“Hajime is so strong…” He gushed, and Hajime — as a gesture of love, mind you — wiped away the line of drool that was already gathering on his lower lip.
He took the occasion to kiss his face a little more, till he felt him actually relax in the embrace, and pulled away to give him a proper kiss.
Komaeda melted in it, too. He kissed back, hands sliding up to Hajime’s shoulders, squeezing slightly, enough to get quite a handful. Hajime just settled for caressing his face.
His heart was beating steadily in his ribcage, and he shifted so one of his hands could be placed on Komaeda’s chest, to feel his own heartbeat. Sped up due their kiss, there, alive. He’d spent more nights than he was willing to admit holding his wrist, counting each beat, making sure he was present, alive, steady, right there next to him. He would have loved to say he was stable enough, even after everything that happened, to recognize that a simulation was not real. It could never have real consequences. But images he wasn’t able to shake off were still there in front of his eyes, so Hajime tended to cherish moments like this as much as he possibly could.
Every kiss, every touch, every embrace, every moment within them was cherished deep in his heart. Hajime thought he could actually die without Komaeda’s arms wrapped so steadily around him, without feeling the coldness of his hands and the sensation of his covered arms around his shoulders, nor the warm press of lips against his own, moving slowly or quickly depending on the urgency that was barely ever there, parting sweetly and letting out the most beautiful sounds against his own.
And oh, Hajime loved him. He loved him so much it hurt his heart, so much it made his chest clutch painfully. It hurt all over, with how in love he was with this man. It was a pleasing kind of hurt, one he was still trying to fully figure out himself.
He liked it, however. He did not mind at all.
They parted due a lack of air only Komaeda truly felt, and Hajime placed guided his lover’s hand so he could rest on his cleavage, allowing him to listen to his own thump, watching blush slowly creep over those beautiful pale cheekbones.
“Nagito,” He breathed, “I love you.”
“Hajime…” He smiled, “I love you too.”
They smiled at each other for some time. Komaeda tilted his head.
“What would you do for me?”
“Anything. You know that already.”
“Hmm…” He trailed a finger across his torso. “Is that so?”
Hajime shivered, “You have doubts?”
“Maybe,” He sighed, “I mean, Hajime, being so wonderfully good, having such deep feelings for someone like me…”
“Nagito.”
“I need a demonstration.”
He waited a second. Two. Three.
“Can you translate me your notebo—”
“No.”
“Hajime!”
“Seriously, you could do such better attempts than that.”
“Hajime doesn’t love me.” Komaeda turned his head around. “I can’t believe it. I’m so hurt I’m going to die.”
“Nagito...” He groaned, buried his face in his cleavage. Komaeda’s hands wrapped around him anyway, pulled him a little closer against his lithe body.
And so they kept on bickering, and arguing without a real heat, and kissed each other till they had no breath left.
In the end, Komaeda didn’t reveal a single hiding spot, and Hajime didn’t translate a single word.
They’d find out at the altar.
Hajime smiled. Yeah. At the altar.