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Komaeda didn’t think about how he felt about Hinata anymore.
Not really.
To tell the truth, he didn’t think about how he felt about most things, most people, anymore. But when was the last time he told the truth to himself?
He knew what he had to do, and that was enough.
Hope, he needed hope to beat this despair. He needed despair to give the hope something to beat.
It was enough.
When he first met Hinata, he felt he knew someone like himself. The first person like himself he didn’t hate, but he—he couldn’t have imagined how those feelings of camaraderie would grow.
Hinata hated him now, no doubt. His eyes, full of amiability and trust before, were now hardened in disdain. They could no longer speak easily, like friends, like anything close to friends. Hinata rarely spoke to him at all.
At first, it burned.
He felt nothing now.
The hatred he felt from Hinata, from everyone on the island, could no longer hurt him. He was numb. If anything, its effect was to strengthen his resolve. They didn’t understand.
Ah, and maybe he had hoped Hinata would understand—but had he really? He said as much, but when was the last time he told the truth to Hinata?
In just this instance, maybe he hadn’t bothered to hope. None of them could understand him.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Hinata yelled, fire in his eyes. Whenever Komaeda said something inappropriate, Hinata’s reaction was the strongest of them all, blazing with betrayal. Still thinking of how he had thought of Komaeda as a friend.
But I, Hinata-kun, I thought of you as—more—and yet—
No, no. None of that.
I can’t—
A smile pasted itself on his face, facing Hinata’s rage with distant amusement. He felt nothing. He felt exactly what he told himself to feel.
I’ve become cold. I have no warmth for love.
Hinata’s eyes were open, staring accusingly at him. They narrowed and his fist balled, shaking.
“I’ll never understand you.”
Pain ignited his chest, for one moment. It burned, and then it died, leaving nothing.
“That’s a shame, Hinata-kun.”
Beneath the anger, there was fear and pain. So much of it, an ugly mix of despair.
He’s lovely, Komaeda thought. Like the last candle burning in a dark world. Flickering, flickering.
I didn’t want this.
I had to. I have to.
Why didn’t I—
Alone in his cottage, he looked at himself in the mirror.
He felt nothing.
“What happened to me?” he asked himself. His hand drew across his reflection, smudging the glass. The image of his face blurred.
I can’t turn back now.
He turned to the binder lying on his bed. His chest filled with emotion. It burst forth as a laugh, high-pitched and deranged.
He didn’t want this. But he can’t turn back now.
I didn’t want—
To lose him.
I never had him.
I never would’ve had a chance.
“Don’t forget…from the bottom of my heart…”
I love you.
The words stuck in his throat, burned. He swallowed them.
Hinata’s eyes were confused, wary, then. He could still see the hope slumbering in them. Even if he knew it was a lie now, the binder told him so. But he could still see it.
Maybe in another life, without her, I could have turned back. I could’ve never been worthy of your love, but maybe I could feel something of my own.
Maybe he wouldn’t be trapped here, caught between hope and despair.
Hinata turned away. It burned, burned, like a phantom pain.
Still, Komaeda smiled. Because soon he would feel nothing.