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Momota thinks that, perhaps, Ouma is the worst wingman in the world.
ouma: hey hey
ouma: did you hear what saihara chan said!!
ouma: he loves you soooo much
ouma: As A Friend
user: stop fucking texting me were in the same goddamn room
user: shuuichis gonna think were fucking weird
ouma: noooooo
ouma: hes gonna think youre such good friends!!!!
“Momota-kun?” Saihara says. “Is something the matter?”
His words startle Momota into looking up and realizing just how tightly he was clenching his jaw. “Huh?” he says as he hears Ouma beginning to giggle. “Uh no,” he clears his throat, attempting to be casual even as he pointedly sets his phone aside and feels his face begin to warm. “Why do you ask?”
Saihara furrows his brow, eyes following Momota’s actions. “If you need to go, it’s really fine—”
“No!” he says too hurriedly. “No, no, I mean,” he settles back on the couch, shifting just an inch closer to Saihara as he does so. “I wanna hang with you…” his eyes drift over to Ouma happily curled up in a nearby armchair, grinning ear to ear and still tapping eagerly at his phone. “And Ouma. I guess—why is he here?”
Momota’s phone buzzes in time with Ouma chiming, “Because Saihara-chan loves me.”
Saihara offers him a pained smile. “Anyway, I know you’ve been busy, so I am happy you were able to the find the time.”
“Course.” His phone buzzes again, almost tauntingly inching towards him. “You know I’m always up for hanging with you.”
Momota’s phone nearly escapes off the edge of Saihara’s coffee table over the course of the movie. Saihara spares him soft, understanding smiles and with his gentle sympathy hovering over them, they enter a space of happiness filled with Saihara delightedly figuring out the movie’s twists and turns before they happen and then becoming embarrassed at his earlier excitement. Momota laughs and can only say how impressed he is and offer commentary on the less than spectacular special effects that cause Saihara to stifle his joy with a pale hand pressed to his mouth.
And when it’s over, Saihara thanks him again and says, “We should do this more often, even if it’s a little silly. It’s just… nice to spend time with good friends.”
Ouma hasn’t looked up since he first settled into his chair and drawls, “Best friends.”
Outside of Saihara’s apartment, Momota reads the novel Ouma sent him over the course of two hours. He scowls, pulling an arm tighter around himself to protect from the cold. “You’re actually the worst, you know that?”
“Because I texted you about how much you love Saihara-chan?” he says, completely nonchalant as Momota clenches his jaw. “Or because I stole Saihara-chan’s silverware?”
“Listen, you don’t get—you what?”
“Really,” Ouma says, dancing around him, the cold seeming to have no effect to deter his prancing. “You should be thankful I haven’t told him yet—personally, I think I’ve been an excellent wingman so far.”
Momota frowns. Part of him excuses his stony silence on it being too cold to stand around arguing. Of course, another part of him had excused the heat rising up over his face and neck on the heaters humming quietly through Saihara’s apartment. And still another part readies its own excuses for why after a few minutes walk, he begins to talk again. “Not to be over dramatic, but it’s like actual fucking hell sometimes.”
“Yeah,” Ouma says. “That is over dramatic, which really just raises the question.”
“What question?”
“Whether,” Ouma says, “Saihara-chan’s really that dense or he’s just pretending to be. Well, at least that’s the question I’m interested in.”
Momota works his jaw a few times. He pulls his arms closer around himself. “Guess I’ll find out.”
“Guess you will, oh, and either way, good luck keeping a secret from detective-chan!”
He can’t keep the concern off of his face, and after a few more feet, Ouma says, “You know I can put in a good word for you. I’ll tell him there’s more to you than your ugly face and terrible personality.”
“Ouma, just,” he says. “Not saying anything is more than enough help. And fucking give back the shit you stole.”
Ouma says, “I promise I will do one of those things.”
-
harumaki: You spent all of yesterday together right
user: hey harumaki most people start conversations with like a hey or something
harumaki: Hey
harumaki: Do you want to die
user: point taken
harumaki: So you spent all of yesterday with Saihara
user: yeah
user: but it wasnt like romantic shit or anything
user: i mean
user: fucking ouma was there the whole time
harumaki: And?
user: and fucking ouma was there
user: what do you want from me
harumaki: I want you to stop being ridiculous about this
harumaki: So consider this a warning
user: a warning against what
harumaki: Consider this a gun to your head
user: haru
user: maki
user: hey
user: hey
user: harumaki
user: harumaki you cant just end a conversation like that
harumaki: I can and I will
harumaki: Gun. Your head.
user: hey
-
Saihara can feel something tense in the atmosphere when he meets Maki and Momota for coffee that morning. Maki seems to exist in a state of perpetual tension, but seeing a slight wariness coming from Momota is enough of an abnormality to warrant attention. Any questions he could have asked never even have the time to fully formulate in his mind as Maki says, “Saihara, settle an argument for us,” at his approach.
“Ah,” he looks between the two of them, particularly at the way Momota closes himself off with a cross of his arms. “I’ll try.”
“Momota has a crush,” she says, earning a dully ignored squawk of protest. “And is putting off doing anything about it. The best course of action would be for him to simply confess and then move on with his life. You agree, right?”
“Fucking Christ, Harumaki.”
In spite of the chill engulfing them, Saihara now feels heat beginning to creep up his neck. “Ah, well, I think that Momota-kun should do whatever makes him the most comfortable. I don’t have much experience, but things like… crushes are personal—I don’t think I could really give much advice. Also, um,” he turns to Momota, offering a hesitant smile. “I hope everything goes well with that. I… doubt I’d be of much help, but I’m happy to try if you need any.”
“And Momota would appreciate your help,” Maki says pointedly. “Wouldn’t he?”
Momota frowns, and seems oddly agitated with her as he says, “Well, ‘ppreciate it more than Ouma’s at least.”
“You…” Saihara can’t help but feel something tight forming in his chest. “You asked Ouma-kun to help you?”
“No,” Momota says. “But that didn’t really fucking matter to him. Or Harumaki.”
Her eyes flick up to him as she replies, “I have no sympathy for you.”
“So,” he says. “Really I’d mostly appreciate it if you guys would just drop it. ‘Sides, you guys know me—I’ll handle it when I handle it.”
“Ah, well, if you say so,” Saihara says as Maki rolls her eyes. “But, if you don’t mind me saying one more thing, I really hope it works out for you, Momota-kun. You’re a really good person, and you deserve to be happy.”
Maki says, “Saihara, we’re in public.”
He flushes, beginning to stammer out an apology, and is altogether too distressed to notice the elbow Maki jabs into Momota’s side as they finally step out of the cold. He vaguely hears Momota muttering, “shut up, Harumaki,” in spite of her remaining silent, but it sounds too much like static over the thoughts suddenly buzzing in his head.
-
Despite his personal repulsion to the crueler parts of detective work, Saihara still has an odd attraction to procedural crime shows. He’s drawn enough to them to watch them in bulk, and Momota can’t think of much he’d rather do than sit next to him absently going over his own paperwork while Saihara’s gentle voice provides a stream of corrections to whatever’s happening on T.V.
The more time stretches on, the more the physic equations and the repetitive crimes on T.V. seem to melt together and the nicer Saihara’s voice sounds. He doesn’t say that aloud. Instead, “get the feeling these guys don’t do nearly as much paperwork as you” comes out as he vaguely waves his pen towards the screen.
Saihara smiles. “Ah, no. But I don’t think me sitting at my desk organizing reports would be particularly entertaining. And, I can’t fault them too much for leaving the more bureaucratic aspects of it out since, well, they only have so much time in each episode to set up the mystery.”
“Seems like they need half the time,” Momota says. “At least it seems like you only need half the time.”
“Well,” he says. “It’s a little embarrassing to say, but when you’ve watched as many of these as I have, you tend to figure out what direction an episode is heading pretty quickly.”
“Oh yeah,” Momota sets his stuff aside and sits up straighter. “So where’s this one going? Was it the butler?”
“We’re only five minutes in,” Saihara laughs. “I need a few more clues than that. This show is also pretty good about cleanly laying out its mysteries, too.”
Momota furrows his brow. “Uh, you mean like…” he trails off.
“Ah, like, how there’s a purpose for everything the characters find—no dead ends or things like that,” Saihara says. “Real life mysteries are rarely so cut and dry.”
“Even the little ones?” Momota asks. “Like lost pets and shit?”
“Any mysteries,” he says. “I mean, like, just regular things that happen to anyone. How you lost something, why someone is acting the way they are, people’s true feelings.”
Momota nods. “Yeah, guess that makes sense—real life’s… complicated.”
Saihara smiles even as he feels a sadness he can’t quite articulate wash over him at Momota’s answer. “People are complicated.”
“Well, some people are, but,” Momota grins down at him. “I dunno—I feel like I can always tell what you’re thinking.”
Saihara flushes. “Oh, ah—”
“In a good way,” Momota clarifies. “Like, everyone keeps secrets, but I know you’ll always be honest with me if it’s important. And also,” he elbows Saihara’s arm, “it’s a hero’s job to know what’s on his sidekick’s mind.”
Saihara isn’t sure how to respond to that other than to just smile to himself for the rest of the night. After a few minutes, he announces, “hey, Momota-kun, I think you’re right—the butler did do it.”
“I fucking knew it!” Momota cheers, practically bouncing in his seat at his excitement. His grin has an indescribable warmth, and Saihara realizes all at once what he had felt so sad over only moments before.
-
user: hey harumaki
user: so
user: i hung out with shuuichi and like
user: we were watching these bad cop shows and then weird game shows and then a bunch of other crap until like two in the morning and we got hungry and had to eat cereal with forks because oumas a freak and like
harumaki: And then you were a coward and did nothing
user: listen i was like this fucking close
user: but we had a good thing going and i didnt want
user: shit give me one second
harumaki: Is it Saihara
user: god i fucking wish
ouma: hey momota-chan~~
user: what do you want
ouma: rude
ouma: i just wanted to check on how my favorite boy was doing
ouma: and i thought youd want to know that saihara-chan is just fine~
user: ouma
user: what do you want
ouma: i already told you that i just wanted to be a good wingman and let you know how saihara-chans feeling
ouma: and i think tonights a good night for romance
ouma: if you know what i mean~~
user: ouma stop fucking tilding at me
ouma: ~~~~
user: ouma i will fucking block your ass
ouma: oh~~ will you~~
ouma: if you do how will you know how youre darling saihara-chan is doing~~
user: i can fucking ask him myself???
ouma: can you
user: yes???
ouma: hmmmm
user: ouma im fucking blocking you
ouma: youll be back
user: i really wont
user: and also give shuuichi his fucking spoons back
ouma: hmmmmmmmm
ouma: well you know what they say
ouma: spoons come to those who wait
user: what
user: what does that even mean
user: ouma
ouma: ; )
ouma: one more saying for the road
ouma: spoons also favor the bold
user: ouma what the absolute fuck are you talking about
ouma: ; )
ouma: confess to saihara-chan tonight and maybe youll find out
ouma: deal?
user: are you threatening me
user: in like
user: the weirdest fucking way possible
ouma: look at it this way
ouma: spoons~~~ your head~~~
user:
-
Saihara felt his heart in his throat when Momota insisted he come over again with a strange determination that he knew could only mean a handful of things.
The last few days had been a puzzle and the pieces were coming together almost too fast in his mind, but, still, actually speaking any of his theories aloud seemed too dangerous an act to even dream of somehow. He had been tempted before, and tempted again when a strange box arrived at his doorstep with Ouma labeled as the sender complete with a note to open it at ‘the right time.’ But now with Momota standing in the doorway of his apartment, noticeably not shrugging off his coat, Saihara couldn’t help but worry that the beating of his heart was loud enough to echo through the room.
“This’ll just be a second, I promise,” Momota says, voice hurried. “I mean maybe—I’m not sure. Fuck,” he presses a hand to his forehead. “Harumaki’s gonna fucking kill me if I screw this up.”
Saihara furrows his brow. “Harukawa-san’s going to…”
“Uh, nothing—just fucking ignore that,” he says. “Um,” he looks around the entry way of Saihara’s apartment, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure how to really do this, but there’s something I kinda need to tell you, Shuuichi. I’ve, uh, kinda been keeping something secret from you—nothing bad, but, like, I need to get it off my chest.”
“Oh,” Saihara says. “I… I think I have a feeling about, um, what it might be.”
Momota blinks at him. “You… do?”
“Ah, um,” he says. “I just have some suspicions about it, but,” he fidgets, knowing his face is burning red. “I’d kind of like to hear it from you before I… make any assumptions.”
Momota studies him for a second that makes Saihara’s chest tighten before letting out a quiet laugh and rubbing the back of his head. “Guess that’s what I get for trying to hide something from a detective.”
“I don’t know about that,” Saihara says, feeling a smile tug at the corners of his mouth in spite of his nerves. “I think I mostly just know you really well. It’s, ah, a sidekick’s job to know what’s on his partner’s mind, right?”
Momota laughs again, and Saihara can’t help but stare at the way his face seems to be turning red, too. “It is, and I guess I don’t need to say this, but, well, you know the reason why I was able to tell Harumaki and fucking Ouma about me… having a crush but not you was because,” he sighs. “Guess I was pretty obvious about it, but it’s you. So,” he clears his throat and glances away. “How do you, uh fucking—how do you feel about that?”
“Ah, well,” Saihara says, and he can’t help but direct his next words to the ground. “I… I already said that I had my suspicions for a while, but, um—I have a tendency to sometimes over think things and get wrapped up in my head and confuse the line between friendship and… something else.” His face is burning, but he steels himself to be able to look up into Momota’s eyes widening in shock for his next words. “But—but I do know you’re someone who I see differently than the others—you’ve always been special. And when Harukawa-san mentioned you had a crush, thinking it was me… well, it made me pretty happy.”
Momota stays silent. Saihara feels like his heart is practically ready to burst, and thinks in rapid fire for one second if he should take it all back, play it off as a joke, do anything, anything at all to—
“Holy shit.”
Saihara’s heart still feels too full in his chest as he can’t help but laugh. “I suppose that’s one reaction.”
“Uh, yeah, but,” he shakes his head, walking past Saihara to begin pacing the short entry way. “Fuck, so, like—is this a thing? Are we a thing now?”
It’s far from the most elegant way to phrase a confession, but Saihara can’t see anything wrong with it other than the way it makes his cheeks hurt from the smile pressed onto his face. “If you’d like us to be then… I’d like that a lot, too.”
The hug that he gets swept up in carries him off his feet, and while being spun in a circle does nothing to help the dizziness buzzing in his head, Saihara can’t imagine asking him to stop. He stumbles the first few steps out of Momota’s arms when he finally puts him down, and Momota hurries after him into his apartment to catch him when he trips over himself.
Momota had always been a physically affectionate person, but something about his arms holding him up feels slightly different—still familiar but slightly warmer somehow. Saihara’s about to comment on it when Momota’s eyes trail away from him towards his coffee table. “What’s in the box?”
“Oh,” he says. “Um, Ouma-kun sent it. I… am slightly afraid to open it to be honest.”
Momota straightens before taking a hold of Saihara’s hand and guiding him towards it. “Don’t worry. Whatever it is, I’ll handle it no problem.”
Saihara squeezes his hand.
He only lets go when he’s kneeling down in front of the strange box, picking at the tape binding it shut. Momota seems confident, though Saihara doesn’t miss the slight sweat beading on his forehead.
Momota breathes out, “what the fuck, Ouma,” as a few dozen spoons glitter back at them, and Saihara reaches inside the box to lift out a card that reads, ‘I’ve been dining for you to get together!’
Saihara smiles and places a comforting hand on Momota’s back as he buries his face in his hands.
Saihara says the back of the card says, ‘Now you can spoon!’ and laughs softly. For all that Momota still thinks Ouma is the worst wingman in existence, he finds it hard to focus on anything other than the warmth building in his chest when Saihara rests his head against his shoulder.