Hopelessly Obsessed (KomaHina)

22: Maybe

Hajime's POV:

I stare down at my hands in silence, the sensation Nagito's hand still tingling against my skin. I can see my father looking through my phone from the corner of my eye. It's been a few minutes since he started, and my emotions have completely numbed since then. No fear, no sadness, no nothing. Just a sense of dread and a desire to be away from here. Every so often my father would ask me about something he's seen but is seems so far he hasn't found "incriminating".

"What's this string of random numbers and letters you've sent to your mother?" he says suddenly.

"What?"

He shows me my phone. "That's the Wi-Fi password, dad."

It seems like he's finally got to my messages. Which begs the question, what was the last thing I texted Nagito? Was it just a normal conversation or was it romantic? Because that could change a lot. How far is he willing to scroll up? I mean, he doesn't know that Nagito and Komaeda are the same person, and I have Nagito's contact saved under his first name. I only ever told him Nagito's last name so-

"I thought Komaeda was the name of the queer using you?"

Shit.

I just stay focused on my hands, trying to think of any way to get out of this. I don't know what he's seen, I can only assumed he's found a text exchange between Nagito and I. He thinks it's a different person because of the name it's under. Even if I knew what he's seen, I doubt I could find an excuse. I probably need divine intervention here.

"Hajime," he huffs exhaustedly, "I'm talking to you."

What do I even say? I don't know. He's going to kill me either way.

"What, are you cheating on the twink you were walking with? Or is that bitch the one you're cheating with?"

"No, I'm not cheating!" I pipe by instinct. And now my father's smirking. He manipulated me into talking, and now he knows Nagito's full name, along with what he looks like and possibly his address if he followed us. Oh shit. What have I done?

"You know what I don't get?" My father puts my phone down on the coffee table. "Why you still claim that you're gay when the bastard you're with is practically a girl anyway."

"What? What does that even mean?"

"He looks like a girl. It took me a while to realize he was a boy when I saw him. He acts like a girl, the way he walks and his general demeanor is so girly."

"Gender identity isn't gender expression."

"Oh God, don't tell me you're one of those too." He presses his fingers into his forehead as if he has a headache. "You either have a dick or you don't, and nothing changes what you have."

The only thing stopping me from punching him is the fact that I know he could break all my limbs like twigs. Instead I opt to stay silent and imagine beating him with a chair instead.

"So from reading that, there's no doubt you think you're in the love with a boy."

No, I know I'm in love with a boy. I would love to say that, but I wouldn't dare.

"So here's what you're gonna do. You're going to bring the gay bastard here after school tomorrow."

"What? Why?"

"Just do it. If you don't, you'll be in really big trouble. Understand?"

"B-But what're you gonna do?" I stammer.

"Whatever I damn well please." Then he starts to smirk again. "What, don't want me to meet your little boyfriend?"

Hell no, I don't.