Chapter Text
Peeling back the thick rind of an orange, Hinata sniffs back his running nose. How horrible it is, to get sick right at the beginning of the semester. He’s sure the cooling weather has some hand in the awful pressure in his head and the relentless cough in his chest. Missing the first few classes of the term is unlike him, but he’d rather lay miserably in bed, hacking his lungs up, than announce his state of health to the entire lecture hall.
There are only so many classes he can skip before it becomes a detriment to his academic success. He worked hard to get into this university. So hard, he sacrificed any kind of life he had outside of academia. Pouring himself into his studies got him admitted into Hope’s Peak University. Just barely.
So, he finds himself pitifully chewing the individual segments of his orange, trying his hardest to hold down the sickness. Certainly his convulsing body is far more distracting to his peers than if he simply let himself cough. The slowly growing pile of peels must be entertainment for at least one of his peers. It’s not as though this particular professor is engaging. If he weren’t already so behind, Hinata’s bloodshot eyes would be fighting off sleep.
Determined to get through the lecture and absorb as much knowledge as he could, he pinches the skin on his wrist. It hardly works, but it keeps him alert just enough to get by. Just enough to last him until the professor dismisses them with an unenthused drawl.
Hinata sighs in relief, closing his laptop harshly and haphazardly tossing it into his bag. He’s all too eager to leave. There’s only one class left in his day before he can retreat back into his depressingly empty dorm and bury himself under sheets. He can at least stop by the cafeteria and buy himself more citrus fruits before he’s subjected to another hour of drab lecturing.
Thankfully, the market is right between the lecture hall and his next class. Incredibly convenient for him, he doesn't need to go far for much. A brisk walk between buildings already has him trembling in his poorly planned attire. He thought, since it was early in the season, surely it wouldn’t be too cold. Wrong he was, as it’s still early enough in the day that frost still clung to the grass. The chill makes him sigh in reprieve when he reaches the small market, the heated air greeting his face as he pushes open a hefty door.
Not many people occupy the space, only a student here or there scrambling for a bite before their next class, just like him. He knows already where to find the fruits, eyes habitually drifting towards them. Hinata halts quickly, a shrike spearing his heart unexpectedly. Any thoughts about the cool weather are quickly replaced with hot nausea. An entirely new kind of sickness falls about him.
It occurs, sometimes. That it just so happens he sees someone familiar. A shocking resemblance to a figure from his past that sends his head pounding and his stomach sinking. Of course, it’s always a coincidence. It’s always a mishap of a feature or two that seems familiar. Like messy milky hair, unblemished pale skin, lanky and thin limbs… wide, dull green eyes that barely miss scanning over Hinata.
He ducks into an isle, crouching down to hide from being seen over them. Pretending to sort through some off brand snack food with trembling fingers. Never, did he think he’d cross paths with this man again. Never, did he think he’d be faced with the possibility of being in his presence. He had thought that part of his life was far past him, fading away as time marched on.
Hinata’s vision doubles as his heart pounds in his ears. He’s sure he’s breathing hard, with the way everything before him blurs. Swallowing dryly, he folds his hands together and brings them to his lips. Chanting a mantra under his breath, he repeats a few short words, the ritual providing some semblance of comfort and distraction. Lost in his own head, he loses track of reality and the noise around him. It’s not until the sharp sounds of boot heels approaching dangerously near that he pauses. There’s a long drawn out moment where nothing happens. Life seems frozen, taking a moment to breathe where he can’t.
He wants to think it’s a ghost. That his wicked cold has caused him to finally snap under the pressure and see things. Where maybe his lack of sleep has resulted in figments of his imagination to manifest before him.
“Hinata?”
Opening his eyes, he gently turns his head upward to look where that familiar, raspy voice originated. White hair, backlit by sharp fluorescent lights, provides a clinical halo around Komaeda’s head. He’s changed, both a lot and hardly at all. He’s unmistakably the same man, but older. He looks different, physically and otherwise. It’s been a long time since they were fifteen. It’s been a long time since they attended the same high school.
Slowly, he stands up, uncertain what to do. He can’t run, can’t hide. There’s a visceral fear that eats into him. He’s being faced with a predator whose sharp eyes bore into him, plotting out exactly how to corner him. To make him into the next dinner sacrifice. He’s a deer in the headlights, unable to move while impending danger closes in on him.
“I…” He trails off, staring over Komaeda’s shoulder.
He’s taller than he used to be. That’s a given. They used to see eye to eye, but now he’d have to tilt his head up if he ever got the guts to look him in the eyes. His hair is longer too, but not by much. There are certainly more differing details, but he can’t muster the courage to examine them. He knows as long as he doesn't look at the man directly, he can keep all his thoughts muffled.
“It’s been a long time!” Komaeda starts, tearing Hinata from his head. “It seemed like you vanished from Earth!”
That wide, bright smile is glaring even as his eyes glaze over. He doesn't have the wherewithal to respond before Komaeda is speaking again. “It’s such a coincidence to see you here! My, I really am lucky! What are the odds? It’s not like this university is anywhere near…”
“I moved away.”
Komaeda blinks, long and slow. “I see.”
He wants to curl up and die. Now it’s awkward. He sees his classmate for the first time in years and it’s heavy with unsaid words. Just what exactly is he supposed to do? Komaeda didn’t know him well, after all.
“That explains a lot. You just disappeared one day,” Komaeda carries on. “You know, a lot of us feared the worst.”
Hinata shook his head, taken aback. “Huh? Oh, no. Nothing like that, at all,” he reassures with a gentle shake of his hands. “It was just sudden.”
He'd rather talk about anything else than this. Then with Komaeda. His gut wrenches every time his eyes betray him and drift over to the man. During school, they had only a handful of conversations. There's no reason for him to remember Hinata.
“Well, I'm glad you're okay,” Komaeda says with a bright smile. Still the same from those years ago.
He stifles a cough into the crook of his arm, core aching from the frequency of them. Still sick, much to his dismay. “Right,” he croaks out.
“I'm still surprised, don't mind me. You were the last person I suspected to run into here!”
“I could say the same for you,” he points out weakly, hardly able to stop the tremor in his words.
Komaeda hums, arms crossing over his thin chest. The length of his hair spills past his shoulders, having grown a bit over the years. Hinata is aware of the array of sicknesses his old classmate experienced. He looks just as burdened, but thankfully not worse.
“Well, I got offered a free ride here. It would be ridiculous to turn down the offer,” he mentions. “While I’m only mildly interested in law, I’m well aware of the money it makes. Suppose I’d have to follow the family tradition somehow.”
A pang of jealousy arises in Hinata. A full ride, of course. Hinata had to work his ass off through a community college just to transfer into a university. From there he worked full time both in and out of school to make ends meet. He just barely got accepted into graduate school. “That’s… amazing.”
“Isn’t it? I never knew my luck could pull through like this!”
Hinata raises a brow. Many times before he’s heard tales of Komaeda’s luck and its drawbacks. This is far from the most surprising thing it’s had a hand in. “I’m happy for you,” he mutters. “You have a bright future ahead of you.”
“You as well,” Komaeda replies with a polite bow of his head. “Should you make it through.”
He feels stung by those words, resisting the urge to flinch away. “I will,” he muttered, convincing himself more than his peer.
Hinata musters the bravery to glance into Komaeda’s eyes. They burn into him, clearly having been observing with scrutiny from the beginning. He’s been standing under the spotlight and only now realized it.
Breathing in sharply, Hinata takes a step back. There’s a sudden sense of urgency that overcomes him. That he needs to remove himself from this situation before it snowballs into something else. “It’s been nice seeing you,” he croaks out. “I’ve got to go.”
He barely sees Komaeda raise his hand goodbye as he swings around to make an abrupt exit. He can’t stand to make himself stand under Komaeda’s observation anymore. He’s dizzy as he stumbles out of the college shop, briskly making his way back to the graduate dormitories. His face is aflame with the embarrassment that comes with an awkward encounter paired with the searing of eyes on his back.
He uneasily makes his way back to his place, dragging himself up the stairs. There’s an heafty pit in his gut that he should turn around. To go back to the classes he should be attending. There's a voice in his mind that begs him not to take the easy route of hiding away in his dorm. He quickly beheads it by unlocking his door and slipping inside. It’s dim, light filtering only through the blinds. It’s soothing to his strained and bloodshot eyes.
Hinata gasps, having held his breath accidentally. His lungs burn as he sucks in the stagnant air, dust floating past his vision while he clutches his shirt. Pulling himself to the small kitchen, he yanks the tap on, cupping his hands under the flow. It centers him, focusing on the feeling of cool water pooling in his palms and passing over his fingertips. He splashes his face with the sharp, cold water. It doesn't do nearly enough to snap him into the right headspace. So he holds his breath and dunks his head under the tap, letting it drench his head and sputter as the rushing water flows over his face, threatening to go up his nose.
He jerks back after a while, his hair and skin dripping onto his pressed white button up, soaking it through and making him shudder. Hinata tilts, grasping the ledge of the counter with trembling red fingertips. How could this have happened? He’s hours away from his hometown, and here is the man that ruined his life, threatening to undo all the work he’s done to make himself a standup citizen. It’s not fair. He thought he was far enough away that he’d never see anyone from his past life again.
Fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, he undoes the first few to gain access to the crucifix collared around his throat. Clutching the charm over his heart, he clenches his teeth and wheezes, nearly a hysterical laugh. Komaeda goes to his school. He’s in the same graduate program. He’s studying law.
There won’t be an escape from the man like this. Maybe they don’t have classes together this semester, but there’s an inevitable future where they will. One way or another, Komaeda is going to force himself back into Hinata’s life, no matter how much he kicks and screams, and oh how he wants to. He cannot bear the thought of wasting those years on fixing himself. Komaeda is the greatest threat to the young man.
He gazes at the white kitchen countertops, lost in his spiral and circulative thinking. He doesn't know what to do. Should he drop out? Should he ignore Komaeda? Is there a way for them to foster a friendship with a past like his? He stares and thinks until he sees something out of place. A hair, blending in with the monochrome surface. White and wavy when he picks it up. His mind is blank for a moment, fingers warm where they pinch the strand he plucked from the counter.
It must’ve fallen off his shirt. How it got on him, he doesn't know. They must’ve been standing closer then he realized. It had to have clung to the fabric of his white shirt and fallen off as he hovered over the counter.
He blinks, and before he can convince himself out of his strangeness, he sticks his tongue out to touch the hair. It's tasteless, but the feeling is stark. Drawing it back for a moment, he stares a bit longer. Hinata slowly reaches over to the drawer to grab a little bag for food storage, where he then drops the hair inside. For what purpose, he’s unsure. He just knows he’s not so willing to let go of it just yet. It sits in the plastic, protected from the outside world. He pockets the bag and mindlessly exits the kitchen.
He passes by the window on the way to his bedroom. It’s too dim in the dorm, fogging up his mind. Surely, that’s what's been putting him in such a strange state of mind. So he opens them, flooding in light. Through the glass he can see the sidewalk clearly. It's empty aside from a streetlight and brush that covers an empty lot. In this season it’s just a heap of dirt and sticks. In the mornings it's covered in frost, quickly melting away as the sun hikes the sky. It’s dull, it’s boring, it’s brown, and it’s very Hinata.
Captivated by his self pity, he loses himself at the view. In the distance he can see the highway that hugs the campus property. There will be a day that comes by that Hinata finally becomes a society person, leaving his academic life behind.
Ring!
His phone. It’s probably just a notification for one of his classes. An upcoming deadline of sorts. Hinata pulls out his phone glancing at the screen. The feeling of ice injected into his veins shocks him, eyes widening.
A text from an unknown number appears on his screen, harsh on strained eyes. Hello! You weren’t in class again today. That’s okay, I’m aware you’re sick. There will be an upcoming group project. Here’s the rubric for it!
Attached to the text is an image, low in quality but good enough to make out the words on the paper. The hand holding the paper however, contains thin and pale fingers, familiar to him. He hasn’t been in this class yet, he wasn’t aware.
Komaeda shares a class with him. They share a class and somehow he’s gotten a hold of Hinata’s number. He wracks his mind. He never gave his number to him all those years ago. He rubs his eyes, as if it would make the text vanish before him.
Controlling his breathing deliberately, he places his phone on the coffee table and steps away. It’s become very real and daunting, the reality of facing Komaeda on a regular basis. He’s unable to bring himself to respond to the text.
Later. He'll respond to Komaeda later. As for now he's too sick and disoriented. Maybe he should ignore it. Pretend he never got the text. If he's asked about it in the upcoming days, he'll lie and say it's the wrong number.
There's a pool of heat burning in his gut. Shame, embarrassment, fear accompanied with guilt. He can't possibly explain to his old classmate where disappeared to. Why he did or what happened in the following years.
Holding his necklace gingerly, Hinata abandons his phone in the living room, slipping off to the bathroom. He'll fix himself with a shower and a nap. He'll stay pure and good and perfectly on line. He just needs to wash it off to be good as new.
Like he was taught, he can wash all these feelings away.