[Komaeda knows that it's merely phrasing, that given the context of their conversation, he would be silly to hope for anything more. Yet, it's in this moment where he remembers his confession in the simulation so vividly—and how he had chickened out at the last second to frame his words of love in a way where Hinata might not be able to know his true intentions.

He was coaxed then by the same feeling now: his stomach, flipping and twisting into nervous knots as he watches the lines of the other's face and how he turns his gaze away with his own nerves. It would be too forward to touch Hinata—no, his heart probably wouldn't be able to handle it—even if he really wants to just take that large hand in his own, and give it a reassuring squeeze.]

Would it be too greedy to say that I want to know every thing? [Komaeda's voice is soft once more, and he turns so that they're shoulder to shoulder. His good hand finds a fold on the sheer curtain, and it flutters the length of it between his fingers as he fidgets.] The good things, the bad things... your favorite things to eat, and your favorite things to see... what you hate, what you love... I want to know them all.

[Thank god, he thinks, for the curtain shielding their faces from the moonlight once more. He can feel the way his cheeks burn red, all the way to the cusps of his ears.]

I want you to know about me, too, Hajime. Even if my life is mostly sad stories... is it okay if I share them all with you? Would you even believe me... if I did?