Hope And Despair [HINATA HAJIME X KOMAEDA NAGITO]

Though  Hajime  Hinata  has  yet  to  remember  his  reason  for  getting  into  Hope’s  Peak  Academy,  if  he  had  to  hazard  a  guess,  he’d  say  his  “talent”  is  probably  his  innate  ability  to  sense  when  there’s  something  wrong  with  Komaeda.  No  matter  how  far  from  the  white  haired  teen  he  wanders,  he  knows  almost  instinctively  if  there’s  something  wrong.  It’s  like  telekinesis.  
　　And  hey,  it’s  Komaeda.  There’s  usually  something  wrong.  Which  is  exactly  why  Hinata excused  himself  from  dinner  early  to  check  up  on  the  boy.  
　　The  scene  inside  the  aforementioned  boy’s  cottage  is,  unfortunately,  one  that  our  Hinata  has  grown  used  to  in  these  past  few  months.  As  soon  as  he  opens  the  door  he’s  met  by  a  stench  of  stale  alcohol  and  cigarette  smoke.  The  room  is  like  a  war  zone;  it’s  obvious  that  it  hasn’t  been  tidied  in  days,  maybe  even  weeks.  
　　That’s  what  despair  does  to  a  person.
　　Komaeda  is  sitting  the  same  way  he  usually  sits  when  there’s  something  wrong;  knees  pulled  to  his  chest,  head  buried  in  his  arms.  He  tries  to  make  himself  as  small  as  physically  possible,  as  if  doing  so  for  long  enough  will  just  make  him  vanish  into  thin  air.  He’s  whispering  softly  to  himself,  though  only  fragments  of  sentences  catch  Hinata’s  ears.  “...I  keep  doing  the  same  thing...I  thought  it  was  alright...why  does  this  keep  happening  to  me?”
　　“Komaeda?”  Hinata’s  harsh  voice  sounds  awkwardly  loud.  “What  are  you  doing?”  
　　The  white  haired  boy  glances  up  with  swollen,  pink  eyes.  They’re  framed  with  bags  that  are  far  too  black  and  bitter  for  his  babyish  face.  He  opens  his  mouth  to  speak,  but  nothing  comes  out.  There’s  just  this  awful,  awful silence  that  seems  to  hurt  more  than  any  words  ever  could.  
　　Hinata  steps  carefully  over  the  things  on  the  floor  and  sits  himself  across  from  Komaeda,  making  a  small  space  amidst  the  rubble.  “You  can’t  go  on  like  this,  you  know.”
　　It  has  been  exactly  one  week  since  the  first  Class  Trial,  and  though  everyone  is  still  visibly  disconcerted,  Komaeda  doesn’t  seem  to  be  coping  at  all.  With  the  absence  of  both  Byakuya’s  leadership  and  Teruteru’s  jokes,  the  group  feels  like  it’s  missing  something  vital.  Although  Hinata  has  got  to  admit,  though  the  entire  scene  shook  him  something  awful,  it’s the  boy  sitting  cross  legged  in  front  of  him  that  he  has  the  real  issue  with.
　　Komaeda’s  dull  eyes  meet  his.  They  remind  the  brown  haired  boys  of  water  on  glass;  though  the  colour  is  so  muted  and  numbed,  everything  behind  those  eyes  is  so  terribly  distorted.  A  small  laugh  spills  from  the  teen’s  lips.  “Of  course  I  can.”
　　They  sit  together  in  a  mutual  silence  for  a  while.  No  matter  how  much  he  tries,  Hinata  can’t  find  a  way  to  get  used  to  this  smell  of  alcohol  and  cigarettes.  “This  room  smells  terrible.”
　　Komaeda’s  head  is  once  again  buries  in  his  hands.  “I  know.”
　　“Aren’t  you  going  to  clean  it?”  
　　“No.”
　　Suddenly,  Hinata  feels  this  burning  anger  rising  in  his  stomach.  It  feels  like  someone’s  replaced  the  blood  in  his  veins  with  fire.  “Will  you  just  spit  it  out?  Why  aren’t  you  speaking?  What  is  it  this  time?”
　　Komaeda  raises  his  head  finally,  his  tired  eyes  taking  on  a  slightly  more  surprised  look.  “I  don’t—”
　　“—I’m  not  leaving  this  room  until  you  say  something.”
　　“You  all  hate  me  anyway,  right?  I’m  much  better  off  just  staying  in  here  away  from  everyone.”  Hinata’s  eyes  widen,  but  the  anger  doesn’t  subside.  “Stop  looking  at  me  like  that,  would  you?  It’s  not  like  it  isn’t  apparent  by  now.  I’m  no  better  than  some  sort  of  fictional  monster,  Hinata.  I  know  you  think  so  too.”
　　For  the  first  time  since  he  met  the  grey  eyed  boy,  Hinata  has  been  rendered  completely  speechless.  His  already  exhausted  mind  just  isn’t  functioning  properly  —  how  is  he  supposed  to  reply?  He  opens  his  mouth  to  speak,  but  he  can  barely  hear  himself.  “Why  are  you  saying  this?”
　　“Because  it’s  true,  isn’t  it?  Had  it  not  been  for  Byakuya’s  night  goggles,  I  would’ve  killed  him  ruthlessly.  I’m  a  talentless,  useless,  good  for  nothing  waste  of  space.”  Komaeda’s  laugh  is  hollow.  “Not  to  mention,  I’m  an  absolute  eyesore.  You  hate  me.”
　　Hinata’s  words  return  to  him.  “Don’t  you  dare  give  me  that.  Do  you  honestly  think  I’d  be  here  if  that’s  how  I  felt?”
　　“I  don’t  think  the  same  way  as  you  do.  Probably.”
　　“I  wouldn’t  spend  time  with  you  if  I  didn’t  like  you,  Komaeda.”  Hinata  stands  now,  and  Komaeda’s  grey  eyes  are  fixated  on  him.  “Isn’t  that  a  basic  human  action?  You  do  the  things  you  enjoy  doing,  right?  Spending  all  day  in  this  cottage,  drinking  and  smoking  all  alone,  is  it  making  you  happy?  Is  it?”
　　“Just  stop—”
　　“—Why?  So  you  can  give  me  yet  another  list  of  all  the  things  you hate  about  yourself?  See,  that’s  the  thing  about  self  hatred;  it’s  yourself  who  feels  that  way.  Not  every  single  living  human  on  earth.  Why  is  that  so  hard  to  understand?”
　　“Because  I  know  that  it’s  not  just  me  who  feels  this  way.  I  know  that  I  deserve  all  of  it,  because  I’m  just  an  incompetent—”
　　“—Your  mind  is  working  against  you.  Do  you  understand  that?  You’re  working  against  yourself.”  Hinata  takes  a  deep  breath  in  and  tries  to  compose  himself.  “C’mon,  you  need  to  go  to  bed.  You’re  half  drunk.”
　　Komaeda  poses  no  objection,  of  course.  Instead  he  sits  on  the  floor,  tears  still  slipping  from  his  eyes  like  children  on  snow,  and  allows  Hinata  to  grab  him  under  his  arms  and  lift  his  fragile  frame  into  a  standing  position.  The  white  haired  teen  leans  his  full  weight  onto  Hinata,  not  even  bothering  to  contain  his  crying  anymore.  
　　“It’s  too  much,  Hinata.”  He  says  between  sniffles.  “I  can’t.”
　　“What’s  too  much?”
　　“Everything.”
　　Hinata  helps  Komaeda  to  his  bed  at  the  other  end  of  the  room.  Honestly,  it’s  the  least  he  can  do.  Though  it’s  late  and  Hinata’s  as  physically  exhausted  as  he  is  mentally,  he  notices  how  the  grey  eyed  boy’s  cold  hand  clings  onto  his  for  just  a  tad  longer  than  necessary.
　　The  anger  from  earlier  has  just  disappeared  completely.  As  it  is,  Komaeda’s  head  lays  rested  on  the  brown  haired  boy’s  lap  and  his  hands  stay  loosely  in  his.  Neither  of  them  say  a  word,  but  Hinata  knows  that  the  boy  on  his  lap  won’t  sleep  unless  he  stays.  Judging  by  the  tiredness  in  his  eyes,  it’s  only  a  small  sacrifice  to  make.
　　“You  can  go,  Hinata.”  
　　“It’s  okay.  You  need  the  sleep.”
　　“I’m  just  a  waste  of  oxygen,  aren’t  I?”  Komaeda’s  voice  is  quiet  and  his  cold  hands  are  latching  onto  Hinata’s  with  such  desparity  that  it  frightens  him.  “And  you’re  hope.”
　　Before  Hinata  can  reply,  Komaeda’s  asleep.  Despite  all  the  terrible  thoughts  that  frequent  his  mind  during  the  day,  he  looks  so  peaceful  at  rest.
　　Honestly,  if  it’s  for  someone  like  the  boy  on  his  lap,  Hinata  thinks  he  could  handle  the  responsibility  of  being  hope.  Hope  is  necessary  for  people  to  continue  living.  And  only  when  faced  with  a  sense  of  great,  spiralling  despair  can  we  find  hope.
　　Most  people  would  think  that  hope  and  despair  are  a  terrible  match,  but  this  scene  proves  otherwise.  The  brown  eyed  hope  and  the  grey  eyed  despair;  they  fit.