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Komaeda, for what little he’s worth, never expected Hinata to invite him in. When he knocked on the heavy door, he was surprised to get an answer. He thought Hinata would make him beg. He was ready to drop to his knees, plead, and grip Hinata’s pants to keep the door from shutting in his face.
When Hinata saw the state he was in, he didn’t even have to open his mouth. The moment Hinata stepped aside and motioned for him to enter, he was dumbfounded. He nearly started a tangent when he was grabbed by the wrist and dragged inside.
“Why are you here?” Hinata asks, not without hostility.
“Me?” He asks, as if there were anyone else in the cabin. “Oh, no reason. I thought it would just be nice if I stopped by!”
The eyebrow raise is enough to tell him he isn't convincing. “It’s pouring outside. You’re drenched. I know you make… interesting choices, but don’t try to fool me.”
Komaeda glances down. He hardly paid any mind to the monsoon outside. The heavy rain soaked into his hair, weighing it down. His clothes were in a state, too. Maybe he should’ve brought an umbrella, or at least been in more of a hurry. He’d left his own cabin in a rush, though he isn’t exactly sure why, now that he’s here.
“Maybe I just wanted to see you,” Komaeda says, shutting the door behind himself quietly. “Is that wrong?”
The way Hinata looks at him is one he’s familiar with by now. His whole life, people have avoided him. For a time, he tried very hard to be sociable. It nearly worked, but regardless, everyone was disturbed by him. Komaeda is well aware that he makes others uncomfortable with just his presence. He knows what discomfort looks like.
It’s fleeting as Hinata shakes it off and walks into the lounge room. He follows hesitantly, not fully sure if he’s allowed to. Before he can get too far into the cabin, he’s stopped. Hinata raises his hand before pointing at him.
“Ah, shoes and jacket off. I don’t want you tracking sand and rain in here.”
Komaeda is startled at first, but stifles a laugh. Of course, how could he be so inconsiderate? He peels off the clothes, shivering in his shirt and jeans. They're not made to keep warm, that much is obvious. He stands, thin arms wrapped around himself and waiting for permission.
When Hinata realizes he’s waiting, he sighs. It’s exasperated. Obvious and tired of Komaeda’s existence. He understands; he’s tired of himself, too. “You can come in now.”
The cabin is surprisingly clean. He’d expected some clutter from the other man, but as it stands, there’s nothing out of place. It’s… boring.
“Wow, Hinata. I expected a little customization from you,” Komaeda teases weakly. “Your cabin looks utterly unlived in.”
He gets silence in response. Hinata stands on the other side of the couch, no doubt using it as a barrier between them. He can’t lie and say that doesn't bother him. His fingertips itch to reach out.
He watches as the other crosses his arms, a faint frown on his face. “Komaeda, what do you want?”
“I told you, I just wanted to see you.” That much is true. Komaeda is not a liar.
He doesn't yet mention the aching pull in his chest towards Hinata. The desperate urge to just be close. He’s mulled it over obsessively in the past few days. With every classmate adding to the growing list of victims… well, things are looking bleak for them.
But Hinata hasn’t given up. His resolve hasn’t slipped. He has been pushing this whole time, despite the circumstances. Komaeda finds some kind of comfort in him. A warm light at the end of the tunnel or a promise of something better. If he just pours his trust into Hinata, things will turn out fine. It’s not admiration he has for the man. It's a desperate, festering feeling clinging to hope.
“Can you be honest with me for once?” Hinata asks, annoyance all over his face. “You have a reason for everything. You have the most elaborate, methodical reasons. Don’t bullshit me.”
They’ll keep running in circles at this rate. What is Komaeda supposed to say? That for the first time in his sad, pathetic life, he’s scared? Not for himself but his classmates? That Hinata is the only one of them he trusts? Would it be too forward to admit he’d crawl into Hinata’s skin like a parasite, given the chance?
He’s never been good at hiding himself. He’s always been one small event from losing it all. His cursed luck cycle keeps him from having two feet on the ground.
“Spend time with me?” He asks, pitifully, the request coming out clunky.
He hates to beg, despite it becoming a frequent practice lately. He doesn't mind the pleading. It’s what he deserves. He’s no stranger to that. It’s the baited breath and awaiting rejection that kills him. He’s grown numb to it by now, the sting no longer bothering him. This is where Hinata kicks him out and chastises him for wasting his time. It's where he’ll have to walk back to his own cabin in the rain.
“Fine. Take a seat.”
Komaeda can’t help but be surprised. He’s supposed to get shoved out. Rejected like every other limp attempt to connect. He obeys, eager to sit on the couch, making sure he’s on the far end, unwilling to occupy more space than necessary. He’s hyper aware of Hinata sitting at the opposite side, evidence that he makes the other uneasy.
Hinata reaches for the remote on top of the coffee table, flicking on the TV. Komaeda is surprised it works, but unsurprisingly, it doesn't have cable. Nothing about this island betrays where they are or what’s happening in the outside world. Only that they’re somewhere near the equator. They’re completely shut out, except for the old reruns available on TV.
“Prefrance?”
“Anything you want,” He replies eagerly.
Wordlessly, Hinata picks a show Komaeda isn’t familiar with. He isn’t paying attention, as he’s never cared much for movies and the like. Occasionally, he’ll glance at the other to see him staring intently at the screen. He knows he isn’t really watching either. He’s too absorbed for it to be natural.
He can’t help but feel that familiar pang. That longing that bores into Komaeda with every waking moment. Hinata is… well, there’s more of what Hinata isn’t. No one knows his ultimate, not even himself, his memory more tampered with than his peers. However, he’s beautiful to Komaeda, that’s undeniable.
He knew from the moment he saw the man on the beach that there was something special. It didn’t matter how boring he dressed or how practical he acted. There’s something extraordinary about him. It doesn't help that he's handsome. That he’s warm and kind even when everyone is erratic. And funny, and sarcastic, and selfless, and full of hope.
“Dude, can you stop?” Hinata asks, only briefly looking at Komaeda from the corner of his eye, like a nervous animal.
Right, he’s been staring. It’s an honest issue of his. His eyes, his gaze. It’s an issue. The sheer number of times he’s been told his eyes are intense, uncomfortable, unusually wide. It brings him shame that he’s unable to share even the simplest of exchanges without being an issue.
“I’m sorry, Hinata!” He says sheepishly, his nervousness making him grin compulsively. “I can’t help myself. Please, forgive my rudeness.”
“It’s… fine.” Clearly, his hesitation proves it isn’t.
Any other person would make an excuse and leave, but Komaeda simply can’t bring himself to do so. He couldn’t if he wanted to. That urge comes back, fingers twitching to reach out. To touch Hinata in ways that are truly inappropriate.
“Komaeda?” Hinata asks, snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts. “You’re shivering.”
Indeed, he is. His whole body is wracked with compulsive shaking. He isn’t cold, that he knows. Clamping his jaw tightly closed, he makes an attempt to grin, arms curling around himself. The way Hinata nearly jumps back communicates that he looks deranged. He’d be a liar to pretend he isn’t.
“I suppose I’m just overwhelmed,” He begins to confess against his better judgment. “To be in the presence of so much hope in the face of despair… Well, it’s wonderful.”
“Oh, god,” Hinata mutters, bracing himself for another one of Komaeda’s rants.
“I look up to you. All of you. So hopeful during these trying times. It’s evidence that not all is lost. To be anywhere near you, much less in your personal quarters-” He cuts himself off with a shaky laugh. “I hardly know what to do with myself!”
The frown on Hinata’s face deepens, resigning himself. He can't help but keep rambling.
“I don't deserve to be in your presence. You're too perfect, I am disgusting in your shadow.” Komeada’s breath feels heavy as he speaks, his eyes half lidded.
“Komaeda, you're not-”
“You're the most beautiful thing I've encountered, Hinata. I'm truly enamored with the hope that sleeps inside of you.”
“Komaeda!”
He clamps his jaw shut, the frustration in his friend’s tone startling him. Hinata sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“You’re not disgusting or undeserving. That’s ridiculous. You’re being unfair to yourself,” he grumbles, patience for Komaeda wearing thin. “I know you’re not very… sane. Obviously, you have some deep-seated trauma, but you need to cut this out!”
Komaeda glances to the side, finding it difficult to look at his classmate directly. He’s being chastised like a disobedient child. He supposes he’s no better than one. He hardly notices when Hinata closes the gap between them, clutching his seizing body by the shoulders. The touch forces him to look at the other. To see him and the concern in his expression.
“You worry me. For both your sake and everyone else's."
I think you’re unstable enough to kill someone.
Slender hands reach up to circle around tan wrists. His skin is soft under his dry palms, warm and full of life.
“How could you ever find room for me in your heart?” The words are spoken before he can even think about it.
They’re so close together. Komaeda can smell the citrusy shampoo Hinata uses. Fresh and bright, like summers when he was a kid and life hadn’t yet burdened him. He can’t help but obsess over every little feature close to him. Sunkissed, freckled skin and olive eyes. There’s a whine building in his throat from staring at Hinata for too long.
He must be deluded, his mental aptitude finally resulting in hallucinations. He swears he sees the other’s eyes flicker down just a little. Down to his bitten and chapped lips. He’s delusional because he swears they lean towards each other like there’s a gravitational pull.
It’s undeniable, though, when they’re close enough that their noses brush. Physical proof that Hinata is crowding his space, both of them holding their breath.
“You shouldn’t,” Komaeda whispers, a warning to the other.
One of Hinata’s hands lifts, holding the back of his slender neck, lacing into milky hair. It’s intimate and caring. Far too soft for someone like him to deserve. Oh, but it feels good.
The subtle breath from his classmate is bated, just waiting for Komaeda to shove him away. “Just, let me… Please.”
He’d never, though. Not when he’s been begging and praying for this every night since he met Hinata. It’s only natural then, when he shudders a gasp as full lips press into his own. He’s soft and careful, practicing a gentleness that someone would with glass.
It’s so difficult to hold back. To not surge forward and ravage Hinata in an aggressive, borderline violent manner. He’s patient, returning every movement with fervor. He may never get a chance like this again, and just the prospect of that brings him despair. After so long dreaming of even a shred of this, he fears he’ll never be able to let it go. No matter how unworthy he is, Komaeda is disgusting and selfish enough to consume it whole.
When Hinata pushes him back, he eagerly lies down under him. A gasp is elicited from his lips when they’re bitten. The effort it takes to fight back a grin is immense, especially with how overwhelming another’s body weight is on him.
“Hinata-” He whines, hands grasping his classmate’s waist. “Hinata.”
A muffled groan is offered to him. As Hinata’s lips migrate to his jaw and his hips roll forward, Komaeda realizes just how fucked he is. It’s embarrassing and shameful how painfully hard he is over a little kissing. He can tell Hinata is surprised based on how he pauses before stifling a laugh against his throat. He can’t bring himself to care much, though, not when his head is reeling.
If the cabins weren’t so close together, Komaeda would scream when Hinata’s hands found their way under his shirt. The wet fabric is pulled off his lithe figure, exposing deathly pale skin to the open air. He’s freezing, but that's remedied the moment the other pries his button-up open and off. He’s sure he’s flushed from his ears to his shoulders upon seeing Hinata shirtless.
He’s stunning. An even tan and a well-built body. He wasn’t sure what he expected, as his imagination came up with many possibilities. The only response he can form is a slack-jawed expression.
“Komaeda?”
He shuts his mouth and looks up at Hinata, dazed. “Ah, I’m sorry. Were you saying something?”
“I asked if this was okay.” His fingers are hovering over the waistband of Komaeda’s jeans.
“Yes.” He sounds desperate. He is. “Yes. Please, Hinata, anything. Give me anything.”
The slow nod he gets in turn could make him simply die. He thought he’d have to beg for this, too. Never did he expect for it to simply be handed to him. Even as he lifts his hips, allowing himself to be stripped bare, he hardly believes this is real. Soon, Komaeda will awake and realize this is another perverted dream of his.
A shudder rushed through him when Hinata tenderly drags his touch down his sides, holding his slender hips. “You’re…”
Hideous? Malnourished? Disgustingly pale? Bruised? He awaits the insults expectantly.
“You’re far too pretty for your own good, Komaeda,” Hinata whispers. “I want the old you back. I miss you.”
That stings more than the words he’d prepared for. “He never existed,” Komaeda confesses. “He isn’t real.”
“You know that isn’t true.”
Neither of them are sure of that. What is and isn’t reality has blended together. Who any of them are is a massive question mark over all their heads. Komaeda isn’t sure what parts of himself are him or the stress of these circumstances. All he knows is he wants this, and he wants to forget.
He half expects Hinata to get up and leave. To abandon him on the couch naked and vulnerable. Instead, he feels those lips reintroduce themselves to his collarbone. Nipping and sucking marks into pallid skin, they draw muffled sounds from his core. He feels guilt for how his hips helplessly jerk upwards, his cock brushing against the other’s stomach.
When he gets another roll of Hinata’s hips, feeling his erection through his pants, he makes an open-mouthed moan. “Please, I can’t do this anymore. Something, anything, everything, I just… I need…”
He’s silenced with a kiss. Uncoordinated and messy, he knows Hinata’s composure has fallen aside. They groan against each other, rutting and grinding. A soft pop from a container opening tells Komaeda what's next, and he tenses with anticipation. He should be teasing Hinata for keeping lube on his person.
“Relax. I wouldn’t hurt you,” his partner whispers, mouth brushing his as he speaks, feather light.
In another situation, he’d be tempted to ask for that. To ask for Hinata to hurt him and violate him. In a slightly different mindset, he wouldn’t rest until he’s left wounded and empty.
Any thoughts of pain and self-hatred are knocked out of him when cold, wet fingers circle against his entrance. He’s no stranger to fingering himself, but having someone else do it is completely different. Hinata is careful and far too slow. He stops Komaeda from rocking his hips down onto his fingers with a firm grip. The shorter man is leagues stronger than him, but more gentle than he’s ever been with himself.
Those fingers enter him, curling just as his spine curls in tandem. He sighs in bliss, sparks dragging where he’s scissored open with slow patience. He wants to ask for it harder, faster. To be broken. This isn’t about him, though. He wants to give Hinata what he needs and what he deserves. He’s an ultimate after all. Komaeda would do anything to serve him.
He keens, squirming in place when those fingers leave him, empty and desperate. He watches, panting as Hinata undoes his belt, yanking his pants down and slathering lube over himself. Komaeda’s flush deepens as he takes it in. Hinata’s well-endowed. He can’t help but feel jealous of whoever else has been blessed enough to share such an intimate act with this man.
Lining up, he stops, tip pressed to Komaeda’s entrance. Hinata’s hands hold onto his hips, careful like his bones will cave in on themselves. “Is this still okay?”
“Hinata, yes, I need you,” he whines, far too needy for any self-respecting individual. “Fuck me, I think I’m dying.”
He laughs, watching Hinata’s eyes go wide before realizing it’s just a figure of speech. With a huff and a shake of his head, the man pushes forward. The tip of his cock enters Komaeda, pushing him open around it. He throws his head back and gasps. There’s no time for him to find words to ramble when he’s being rocked into, short thrusts carving him open and he’s sunk into.
Komaeda reaches above himself, grasping the couch cushions for dear life, soft moans being punched out of him. With a particularly harsh thrust, Hinata buries himself to the hilt inside the other, his forehead pressing against a bony shoulder.
“Fuck, oh, fuck. You feel good,” Hinata gasps into his skin, embracing him like he could run away.
Hinata is inside him. They are one in the same. Komaeda has a beacon of hope draped over him, whispering praise into his feeble body. He’s either dead or dreaming. In some kind of last moment of life delusion because in no universe should he ever be a source of pleasure. To be desired and treated like a cherished possession… It feels so wrong.
He can’t stop himself before his body wracks itself with sobs, hot tears building up and spilling over. Ugly cries are yanked from his chest, knuckles white in a vice grip on the couch. He doesn't deserve this. Hinata should never have to endure being so close to something so disgusting and ruined. He can’t defile an ultimate like this.
Two hands cup his face, words blurring together as his chest hiccups between cries. It’s warm sunlight against his face after a life of living underground.
“Oh, my god,” A worried and devastated voice reaches him. “What have I done?”
Hinata begins to pull away, urgent to end this as tears stream down his cheeks. Before he has the chance to exit him, Komaeda wraps his legs around his waist.
“N-no, don’t,” He rasps, voice raw from open sobs. “Don’t leave. You’re, hng- perfect-”
His classmate pauses, unsure how to feel about the situation presented. After what feels like a lifetime, he settles himself back inside, bracing his arms on either side of the taller man. He rocks his hips, slow and easy to build up. His face is tucked away into the crook of Komaeda’s neck, surely to escape his crying visage.
His sobs are broken up by moans, a collage of pain and pleasure. His lanky legs are wrapped tight around Hinata’s waist, keeping him from leaving. Surely he’s made the man uncomfortable enough already.
“Hah, oh, don’t go, please,” Komaeda chants between thrusts. “You’re perfect. Ngh, I n-need you.”
He can feel Hinata’s embrace tighten, thrusts becoming harsher and more punctuated. It earns long, drawn-out moans from him, mixing with his classmate’s punchy groans. Every breath that fans against his skin is cherished. One solid hit to his prostate has him arching against Hinata, yelping in surprise.
“Good?” Hinata asks, unsure how he’s faring.
“Yes, yes, right there!” he encourages, his hand fisting into Hinata’s short hair.
Komaeda is quickly overwhelmed when the thrusts become angled and targeted to his prostate. It’s like they’ve practiced this a thousand times as dedicated partners. As though this isn’t a clumsy and awkward first-time attempt. He thinks they must be made for each other with how they mold together.
Not a single sound is able to escape him like this, his breath being kicked from his lungs on the forceful thrusts. It builds a pressure in his gut that’s all too familiar. It rises quickly, making him clench hard on Hinata, like his insides are trying to force him out.
“H-h-” He makes aborted attempts to warn Hinata, but he’s not nearly quick enough.
He comes with a pitiful whimper, moaning softly with each jerk of the other’s hips. Especially as they become faster, smearing his spend across them both. He can hear Hinata gritting his teeth through his moans, getting dangerously close.
“Wh-where?” He asks, shaky and uncertain.
“Hhng-” is hardly a proper response, but the tighter grip of his legs around Hinata tells all.
“Ah, hah, fuck,” He curses before he finishes inside, spilling all into Komaeda.
It’s warm, sticky, and would be dehumanizing if it weren’t from Hinata. Instead, it coats him in a fuzzy bliss. He’d choose to remain like this forever with the man panting against him and softening up slowly inside.
He whimpers and feels loss as Hinata pulls out, unwilling to let this go so soon. Pleasant surprise greets him, though when he doesn't move away, instead electing to lie cramped on the couch beside him. They stay silent, coming down from whatever cloud they found themselves on. Surely, he will soon regret ever gracing Komaeda with this act.
“Do you, uh, need water?” Hinata asks awkwardly.
“I’d rather you stay here,” he responds in earnest. “I don’t think I’m ready to walk right away.”
Silence. He doesn't need to look to know Hinata’s face is beet red. “Oh, right.”
They’re both sweaty and out of breath, in shock at how they ended up like this. “Should I change the show?”
Komaeda glances at the TV, completely lost on the plot currently unfolding. He pries his eyes away from the screen, meeting with Hinata’s. “No, I think this one’s okay.”