Komahina Mix

Beach Party

Quiet. It always went quiet when he entered the room. He had that effect on people, the worthless scum. Even after everything. The fire. Spear. The program. The reset. Waking up. Despair. Hope. His mind was jumbled, the restaurant was loud. It was so loud. Music playing, voices talking, dishes clattering. They loved to meet here. It reminded them of their get togethers in the virtual world. But so much despair happened here. He doesn't get it.

His hand grew cold, and his heart rate fastened at the sight of Hinata-kun. He was powerless around him, a worthless dog before a god. He was Hajime Hinata, and he was also Izuru Kamukura. He was the Ultimate Hope, beloved by all, and in possession of a multitude of talents. He didn't deserve this, he didn't deserve to be in his presence. He was miserable filth who Hinata pitied, wasting away weeks in a cold lab working to make sure he woke up with the others. Working so he could be saved. His throat was dry now, brittle pale fingers trembling against his green coat, watching as Hinata laughed in the company of Souda and Mioda. He wished he could hear him, he wished it wasn't so loud. What made Hinata laugh? What made Hinata laugh? I want to make Hajime laugh.

He balls his hands into fists and approaches the table, grabbing a chair near Hinata. The metallic grating irritated him, his lips curling into a smile of faux confidence as he greeted him with a Good morning, Hinata-kun!

His chest is pounding. Why was it so difficult to talk to him now? Why couldn't he be the stupid, worthless, insignificant reserve course student? No, he was. But even he has his worth, you stupid, worthless, piece of trash, hiding behind your luck like a maggot. "Morning Komaeda." Hinata says, pulling him back with a blink. Nagito laughs dryly, his throat raw. He has to say something. It was like a broken fountain in him, overflowing with love and obsession for Hope, talent, and luck. The others had long grown tired of his ravings, but Hinata had the sublime kindness to tolerate him. However, even now, he knew the topics were growing tiresome; he had nothing to talk about. Worthless, single-minded scum, clinging to your luck and undeserved title of "Ultimate". "Hintata-kun, you are so kind to welcome me here, rather than turn me away..." Nagito settles on, his natural hand raised wistfully as his prosthetic drew lazy circles on the table. "Don't say things like that." Hinata says, avoiding looking at him, eyes darkening. "You always say weird stuff."

"Would it make you..."

He freezes, changing his phrasing.

"Ah, I am sorry, Hinata-kun. I will stop saying... weird stuff." he laughs, a silver finger drawing figure 8's. Mioda and Souda continue their conversation - a beach outing. It was stiff and awkward, no doubt from him treading upon them. Nagito's eyes fall to the table. The restaurant was loud. Scum. Trash. You killed yourself, you planned it and worked so hard but they wouldn't let you remain dead.

"We never really got to enjoy the beach, y'know?" Souda says, a hand rubbing his neck. "Sounds good." Hinata approves with a reassuring thumbs-up. "Yes, Hinata-kun. Last time... there was a murder." Nagito says with an asthmatic laugh. Nobody joins him. Worthless, talentless, hated. "That's why we're having another get together!" Souda says indignantly, pointing a finger at Nagito. "Does the small animal killer have to come to our party?" Mioda asks. "Yeah, he does. If you're going to let me be there even though I wasn't even in your class, then he has to be there too." Hinata leans back in his chair and turns to him. "Right, Komaeda?"

His pallid eyes blink. "Ah, you would invite me? I'm honoured!"

"Stop it!" Hinata says, his eyes darkening. His eyes. One natural, one unnaturally red. "When are you going to stop talking like that?"

"Like how, Hinata-kun?" Nagito asks with a smile. He knows, but he still asks. He laughs, leaning into the table, his prosthetic finger still running along it in figure 8's.