Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Amami’s first concern is that according to the information he had been provided beforehand, they were severely outnumbered. Even if one had more than enough credentials to dub herself a professional, two caretakers pitted against fourteen toddlers seemed unfair.

His first moments in the daycare center are spent staring at the colorful drawings and informational signs plastered against every conceivable service. Harukawa, professional child wrangler extraordinaire, puts a stop to that as soon as she muscles through the doors, a particularly tiny child with a dirt smeared face in her arms.

Pleasantries are skipped. “Kokichi’s already thrown two tantrums today, and it’s not even eight yet,” she says. Kokichi is placed on the ground. He blinks at Amami. Amami blinks at him. “Watch him while I open. Don’t let him out of your sight. Kokichi, take your shoes off.”

Harukawa brushes past him to begin doing whatever “opening” consists of. Amami isn’t quite sure but it appears to involve a lot of bustling around and looking irritated. He does know that Kokichi is rooted in place, shoes still on.

Amami crouches down in front of him. “Hey there, buddy, can you—” A small fist is held out to him. “Um, what you got there?”

“A worm.” The fist is unclenched. The dirty face suddenly makes sense. “Don’t tell.”

Amami doesn’t need to. Harukawa glances over and lets out a low, warning, “Kokichi.”

The two march back out of the room and return confirmed wormless after a thorough pat down. Harukawa goes back to her preparations, and Amami is left with a sniffling three year old. “That was my only friend…”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Amami says. “I’m your friend.”

The tears stop and Kokichi looks up at him with impossibly large eyes. “No,” he decides on. “I hate you.” Amami is offended for half a second at the sudden declaration before Kokichi’s eyes light up. “Play with me!”

He dashes around Amami. Harukawa snaps, “Shoes.”

Kokichi screams.

-

Kokichi is from a nearby orphanage and will be at daycare all day from opening to closing to socialize with children his age. He is also a terror.

The tower of blocks falls for perhaps the eighth time. Kokichi cheers at his destruction and begins building again. He points at a block that fell an impressive distance from the disaster zone. “Gimmie.”

“Okay,” Amami says. “But can you say ‘please?’”

Kokichi screams. The block is handed over without question.

Harukawa sweeps by and kneels down next to Kokichi. “Indoor voice.”

He whispers back, “indoor voice.”

She nods at him with a curt, “Good,” before turning to Amami. “If you reward him for screaming, I’ll kill you.”

Amami raises an eyebrow at the threat and pointedly glances down to Kokichi who is busy taste testing a block. Harukawa follows his gaze and rolls her eyes. “He’s heard worse.”

Kokichi takes the toy out of his mouth to happily babble, “do you wanna die?”

“Ah, no thank you,” Amami says.

“Good answer,” Harukawa says as she grabs the slobber covered block from Kokichi’s hands. “You know not to put toys in your mouth.” He starts to whine, and she levels a second, “indoor voice.”

She turns on her heel, and Kokichi whispers to Amami, “she’s mean.”

Amami thinks on it. “Maybe a little.”

It’s hard to keep Kokichi under constant surveillance once the other children flood in. He pulled one loud girl’s hair, got into a shouting match with another energetic boy, and covered his hands in paint for the sole purpose of placing a bright pink handprint front and center on another child’s face.

Harukawa says, “watch him,” before escorting Kokichi’s victim to the bathroom.

Amami looks down at Kokichi, still covered in a layer of paint of his own. “That wasn’t a very nice thing to do to Kiibo. Why did you do that?”

His answer is more screaming.

The boy Kokichi had fought with earlier, Kaito, says, “he did it because he’s the bad guy.”

Amami gives him a sideways glance and spies the blanket turned cape secured over his shoulders. “I’m not sure if I would say bad. Maybe in need of guidance.”

“No,” Kaito says. “He’s mean, and he doesn’t have any friends because he’s the bad guy.”

Amami is fairly certain that Kaito isn’t supposed to say things like that, but changing the topic altogether seems like the easier way through this conversation. “I see you have a cape there. Are you a superhero?”

Kaito beams. “I’m an astrono—astronaut!”

Kokichi cups one grimy hand around his mouth and stands on his tiptoes to loudly whisper into Amami’s ear. “Kaito’s dumb.”

“No, I’m not!”

Kokichi turns to stick his tongue out at him. “Space is dumb.”

“No!” Kaito shouts back. “It’s really good!”

“Stupid.”

“No!”

“Hey, Kokichi,” Amami says. “I see Ryoma and Gonta got the blocks back out. Why don’t you go play with them?”

Kokichi glances from the fuming Kaito to Amami’s suggestion. “‘Kay.”

Amami keeps an eye on him for a second longer, ensuring his path only takes a minor detour to grab an exceptionally ratty looking stuffed toy with a checkered scarf similar to Kokichi’s tied around its neck, before turning back to the very upset Kaito in front of him.

“So you’re an astronaut,” Amami says. “Do you have a rocket ship?”

His argument with Kokichi is forgotten instantly, and Amami listens to Kaito’s excited babbling until he feels a tug on his sleeve.

“Hey Kirumi,” Amami says. “You want to hear about astronauts, too?”

From Harukawa’s briefings on all the children, barring one incident in which she pushed another child into a fish tank, Kirumi is the most well behaved child and something of a classroom helper. She’s also an excellent and much needed tattletale. “Kokichi’s climbing again.”

Kirumi points, and Amami sees the spectacle of Kokichi perched atop Gonta’s large shoulder to tug at the leaves of a potted plant on a high windowsill.

“One second, Kaito.”

Kokichi squirms like a wild raccoon when Amami picks him up off of Gonta and makes inhuman shrieking noises until Harukawa comes back.

Amami relays the incident, and Harukawa sighs as she takes Kokichi aside. “You’re having a really bad day today.”

Kaito’s at her side. “He said space was dumb.”

“And that wasn’t a very nice thing to do,” she says. “Kokichi, I’m taking you to timeout.”

He thinks on it for a second, hugging the tattered stuffed animal Amami had seen him grab earlier to his chest. “Can Uma-chan come?”

“Yes, she can.”

He doesn’t put nearly as much a fight as Amami expected and takes Harukawa’s hand, his other gripping the stuffed horse tightly. “Uma-chan’s my only friend.”

“Everyone here is your friend.”

“No,” Kokichi says. “You’re a liar.”

“No, she’s not,” Kaito says, trailing after the two. “She’s a superhero.”

“Superheroes can lie.”

“No, they can’t!”

Amami decides to leave Harukawa to supervise them. It’s much more peaceful reading a book to two quiet boys who hang on his every word. Though the remaining children are still rambunctious in the way three year olds tend to be, there’s a welcome peace that settles over them once Kokichi is accounted for.

He’s finishes one book and is handed two more by each boy. “Hey, Shuichi, we just read your book, so why don’t we let Korekiyo choose this time?”

Shuichi looks down and lets out the softest, “okay,” Amami has ever heard. “‘m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Amami says. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He keeps looking at the ground. Korekiyo says, “Shuichi is sad.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Amami says. “But it’s okay. There’s nothing to be sad about right now.”

“He’s sad because Kaito is gone,” Korekiyo says.

Amami isn’t sure what that’s supposed to mean. His thoughts on the great implications are interrupted by a familiar tug on his sleeve. “Ah, Kirumi. What’s up?”

“Kokichi left,” she says.

Amami takes a second to process this information. “Left to go where?”

“Left the classroom,” she says. “Kaito went to go find him.”

That gets him to his feet. A brief inventory of the room proves they are two short, and Uma-chan is the only participant in timeout. Amami does his best not to seem too panicked as he speed walks to Harukawa watching over another group. Her eyes widen, and she barely gets out the directions for him to take care of everyone else before she bolts from the classroom.

With twelve pairs of eyes suddenly on him, Amami claps his hands. “Okay everyone, why don’t we all quietly read some books together until Harukawa-san comes back? Kirumi, can you help me out?”

Kirumi thinks for a second. “I can’t read.”

Amami considers her point. “Alright then.”

-

It is a very muddy day, and if it hadn’t been for Harukawa shepherding him into the daycare building, Kokichi would have played in the surrounding forest for hours. He didn’t like bugs, but worms were weird and funny and made Harukawa mad whenever she caught him playing with one. Right now he wasn’t having much luck finding any and wandering off the trail seemed like the best bet.

“Kokichi,” Kaito whines from behind him. “Where are you going?”

“I’m looking.”

“For what?”

“Secret.”

“That’s not fair!” Kaito stamps his tiny foot. “You have to tell me!”

“Nuh-uh,” Kokichi says. “If you want to know, you have to catch me first.”

His legs are short and it’s hard not to trip over the branches littering the forest floor, but it’s still fun to run and even more fun to be chased, which Kaito more than obliges.

Their game stops when Kokichi finds a particularly interesting tree that needs to be investigated, then it starts again when Kaito refuses to give him a boost up into its branches. Eventually a muddy enough pit is found, and Kokichi crouches next to it, poking in the dirt. Kaito sits next to him. “What are you doing?”

A worm pokes its head out. Kokichi points to it and grins. “Finding friends.”

“That’s a worm,” Kaito says. “You can’t be friends with a worm.”

“Why not?”

“Well because,” Kaito frowns, trying to think of a logical answer. “Because worms can’t talk.”

“But you can talk,” Kokichi says. “And we’re not friends.”

It’s hard to refute his reasoning, and Kaito glares at the ground. “That’s different.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause, um—cause I would be your friend if you didn’t say space was dumb.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I don’t like it when you say that.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause it makes me sad.”

“Why?”

Kaito thinks. “‘Cause it does.”

Kokichi hums.

Kaito tucks his cape-blanket around himself. “My mom said I’m really smart.”

The worm buries itself back into the dirt. There’s nothing of interest around besides Kaito anymore. “I don’t have a mom,” Kokichi says.

“Isn’t Maki your mom?”

“No,” Kokichi says. “She’s just a lady.”

Kaito isn’t sure what to do with that information, especially since Kokichi doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. “Um, well anyway, because my mom said I’m smart that means you can’t say I’m stupid because it’s not true.”

“But it’s fun to play pretend,” Kokichi insists. “Like pretending you’re a tree or a horse,” he glances at the stars patterning Kaito’s blanket. “Or an ashtro—astronaut.”

“Okay, those things are fun,” Kaito concedes. He bites his lip. “Do you ever pretend Maki is your mom?”

Kokichi shakes his head. “Nah, but sometimes I pretend that I have lots and lots of friends.”

“Oh.”

They’re quiet for a while. Other things catch Kokichi’s attention—trees, shrubs, more piles of dirt—and Kaito follows after him. After a thorough investigation, Kokichi picks up a handful of rocks and places them in Kaito’s hands. “These rocks, they,” he says. “They came from the moon.”

Kaito looks between Kokichi and the pebbles in his hands. “Yeah, I think they did,” he agrees. “Um, do you need to find some, too, to bring back to Uma-chan?”

Kokichi thinks for a second before picking a few more off the ground. “Yeah.”

They wander farther. Sticks become swords, piles of leaves are jumped into, and Kaito’s voice is barely above a whisper when he asks, “we’ve been gone a long time—do you think we’re going to get in trouble?”

“Probably,” Kokichi says. “But I’m always in trouble.”

He starts giggling and almost doesn’t notice the wet sheen in Kaito’s eyes. “I don’t wanna get in trouble…”

“You can go back.”

Kaito looks around. “I don’t know how.”

Kokichi belatedly realizes he has no idea where they are either. He takes Kaito’s hand and starts walking in a direction that feels right. “Follow me, dummy.”

“I’m not dumb…” Kaito mumbles.

Kokichi knows he’s taking too long when he hears Kaito start to sniffle, but nothing around them looks familiar. “Are we lost?” Kaito asks, voice wavering.

“Nuh-uh,” Kokichi says. “I know exactly where I’m going.”

When Kaito starts crying outright, Kokichi stops them at the base of a large tree. “We walked really far, so we’re going to take a break here and then keep going.”

His assurances go ignored as Kaito opts to sit at the base of the tree and rub at his eyes. Kokichi thinks for a second before he decides to play pretend. “Why are you crying? We’re almost there, you know. And,” he sits down next to him. “And astronauts don’t cry, either.” That doesn’t seem to work either. “Um, when Uma-chan is sad ‘cause Maki says she has to go in the laundry, I always give her a big hug, so…”

It doesn’t stop Kaito’s sobs either, but Kokichi does feel his tiny arms wrap around him. If Kaito wasn’t with him, Kokichi probably would have spent the entire day lost in the woods, but now he furrows his brow, trying to summon every bit of logical thinking he’s learned in his three years to come up with a plan.

“Hey, cover your ears,” Kokichi says. “I’m going to use my outdoors voice.”

He doesn’t move, and Kokichi places his own hand over Kaito’s ears before screaming as loud as he can. Kaito flinches at the noise while Kokichi waits five long seconds for a response. Nothing calls back, and Kaito looks like he’s a second away from sobbing again before Kokichi lets out a piercing shriek.

He waits again, then, “Kokichi!?”

Harukawa’s thrashing steps through the underbrush get louder and louder until Kokichi pushes at Kaito’s shoulder, “Look.”

Harukawa lets out a deep sigh of relief before she stomps towards them. “You two are in so much—” she stops when she sees Kaito clinging to Kokichi with a tear streaked face. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

She kneels, and Kaito launches himself into her arms, the blanket around his shoulders coming away completely to fall in a heap on the ground. Kokichi gathers it up, while Harukawa takes a second to ensure she has a secure grip on Kaito before rising to a standing position. “That was really dangerous, and we’re all going back now.”

She extends a hand to Kokichi, and he takes it without protest for the first time in a long time. “Would you be sad if we ran away?”

“Yes, I would,” she says. “So don’t do it.”

Kokichi nods. “‘Kay.”

Kaito’s sniffling stops after a few minutes, and Harukawa reasons the combination of running in the woods for so long and crying his eyes out probably exhausted him. Kokichi notices he’s fallen asleep, too, and only asks then, “are we in trouble?”

“We’ll talk about that later.”

“That means yes, doesn’t it?”

She glances down to him. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“Okay, but just so you know, Kaito started crying when he thought about getting in trouble, and it’s his birthday so you have to be nice to him.”

“It’s not his birthday.”

“Um,” Kokichi takes a second to think. “Yes, it is.”

-

Amami’s just about exhausted the daycare library when Kokichi pushes open the classroom door, Harukawa behind him with Kaito in her arms. Rather than an explanation, she says, “Amami, get the cots out for naptime.”

He glances to the schedule to confirm it is about an hour too early for that. His response is still, “Yeah, sure.”

Kokichi tugs on Harukawa’s hand. “I need to stay with Kaito.”

For maelstrom of worry and frustration he just put her through, Harukawa can’t help but give him the smallest smile. “Are you worried about him?”

“No,” Kokichi says. “He just agreed to join my secret organization earlier, so I have to stay with him.”

Amami rushes over to put out Kaito’s bedding first, and Harukawa gently lays him down. “Secret organization?” she asks.

“Uh-huh,” Kokichi says. “Kaito’s in it, and Uma-chan’s in it, and…” he frowns at her. “And you can’t join because it’s secret.”

“I don’t want to join.” Kokichi opens his mouth. Harukawa says, “if you scream, you’ll wake up Kaito.”

Kokichi resorts to pouting instead. “You’re mean.”

“And you’re in a lot of trouble,” she says before turning away from him. “Amami, bring Kokichi’s stuff here. He’ll have a tantrum otherwise.”

“I will,” Kokichi confirms.

Amami doesn’t need any more convincing than that. The lights are dimmed, a white noise machine is turned on, and Harukawa tells Kokichi he needs stop watching Kaito, lie down and sleep five times. On the sixth, he shushes her and says that Kaito is trying to sleep.

The rest of the day goes by in relative peace despite the earlier excitement. The next time Amami feels a tug on his sleeve, it’s not Kirumi reporting more mischief. Instead Kaito looks at him sheepishly. “Hey, new guy,” he says. “Remember when I told you Kokichi doesn’t have any friends?”

Amami isn’t sure how he’s supposed to answer but reasons outright lying to a three year old isn’t a good look. “I do…”

“Yeah, um,” Kaito says. “You should be Kokichi’s friend and stuff.” He shuffles his feet. “Okay, bye.”

He runs off, and Amami notices there’s no flutter of a star covered blanket this time. Amami does think it’ll likely need a good washing after spying it draped over Kokichi’s tiny shoulders, its end trailing on the ground behind him.

All the children besides Kokichi are slowly picked up by their parents and taken home throughout the day. He comes close to throwing a fit when it’s Kaito’s turn, but before Harukawa can swoop in, Kaito says, “hey, astronauts don’t cry, remember?” and Kokichi lets him go with a wave.

When he’s the only one left, Kokichi asks, “am I still in trouble?”

“Yes,” Harukawa says.

“Okay, but, um,” he says. “I didn’t have a bad day today. I had a good day, so I shouldn’t be in trouble.”

Amami laughs. “Pretty solid logic.”

“Don’t take his side,” Harukawa says. “Do you want to die?”

Amami decides that two caretakers and fourteen toddlers is still unfair, but if Kokichi is a terror is up for debate.

“Oh, oh! Say yes!” Kokichi cheers.

Admittedly not an even debate but a debate nonetheless.

Chapter Text

Ouma has a habit of sitting exactly upside-down on their couch. Momota has come to recognize it as a sign of restlessness, and, thus, a warning for a prank to come. Ouma’s feet kick at the cushion and a bit too close to Momota’s head for his liking, but whatever Ouma is reading on his phone must be interesting enough to keep his normal impulses for destruction at bay.

Momota casts a wary eye over him. Or he could be lying in wait to start something else. He also knew Ouma got a kick out of playing the long game.

“Hey, Momota-chan, you’re an Aries, right?”

It’s not the provocation Momota was expecting, but the sigh still comes. “I don’t want to hear my fucking horoscope.”

“Boo, why not? You’re a man of the stars, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, stars and science, not bullshit and fairies. You shouldn’t read that crap, either. It puts weird ideas in people’s heads about destiny or whatever. And if you believe in all that, you won’t feel like you can take control over your own life.”

Ouma hums. “Apparently someone in my life has given me bad money advice. Considering that I live with you, that’s probably true.”

“Can you at least pretend you didn’t ignore everything I said?”

Ouma grins up at him. “Aw, I knew you liked my lies. Ooh, tomorrow I’m gonna be worried about my current relationships, and it will be a good day to reassess them.”

Momota frowns. “That’s shitty advice.”

“You’re just saying that because it means you’re on the chopping block,” Ouma says. “Let’s see, what do I think of my relationship with Momota-chan?”

“Aren’t you supposed to do that tomorrow?”

Ouma ignores him. “Well, I can’t make decisions for myself, so I’ll just see what the stars have to say.”

“So you admit that it’s not real.” Momota rolls his eyes. “It’s just a bunch of stuff stated so vaguely that anyone could connect to it.”

“But wouldn’t it be romantic if we were compatible according to the stars?”

For some reason, that makes Momota huff and he crosses his arms defensively. “We’re already… all good and shit. Don’t need stars for that.”

Ouma just giggles. “Ooh, good news so far. Apparently, intellectually I love to teach and our relationship will improve if you submit to me.” He smirks up at Momota. “So in terms of accuracy, that’s one point fairy star bullshit and zero points for Momota-chan.”

Momota balks. “I’m not gonna do anything like that! What kind of fucked up—”

“It also says that there’s a high chance your ego will get in the way of that oh-so perfect communication between us,” he says. “So far it looks like you need to learn humility and listen to me more. Yup, I think I’m a believer now.”

Momota decides he hates astrology. He hates it more than when Ouma doesn’t scrape his food off his plate before throwing it in the sink. He hates it more than the various bugs that nip at the leaves on tenderly cared for houseplants. He hates it more than he hates ghosts.

But the reports keep coming.

“Turns out you need to value me more, oh and that you have a problem backing down from stupid challenges because of your ego. But we both already knew all of that. Also we’re gonna have problems if you get too clingy, and—”

It’s three in the morning, and Momota wraps his pillow around his ears as much as he can. “Shut up, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Aw, but I haven’t even gotten to the best part!”

“There is no best part. It’s all stupid.”

“Apparently we have very, very high compatibility for—”

His grip on the pillow tightens. “La, la, la—I can’t hear you!”

“Really, Momota-chan?”

“Fucking really!”

And Ouma goes quiet. It’s both startling and a relief, but both emotions are replaced by a vague fear when he hears the smirk in Ouma’s voice. “Actually, I think you have a point. I’m fine with this tidbit being my own little secret.” Before Momota can ask what that’s supposed to mean, Ouma places a kiss on his shoulder and settles into place against his back. “Goodnight, my warrior, flame of my life, and bullheaded husband.”

Ouma has never called him any of those things before, and each pet name only makes his apprehension grow. “We’re not married…” Momota mumbles into his pillow.

“I’ll check my horoscope for a good day to propose.”

Momota snorts. “I know that’s a joke, but, like, don’t.”

“Don’t get married to my one true sweetheart?”

“No, don’t leave that shit up to fate.”

“Well, maybe I need all the luck the universe can give me.”

Momota doesn’t think too deeply when he says, “you don’t,” but Ouma goes quiet, and he realizes the meaning behind his words halfway through his commute to work the next day.

-

Ouma relents but only slightly.

“So you like the thrill of the chase, right?”

Momota shrugs. “I guess. You know that saying about how the journey is worth more than the destination? I think there might be something to that. Unless, you know, the destination is space, in which case the journey should be as short as possible.”

Ouma smiles. “You’re funny.”

Momota looks over Ouma’s shoulder to peer down at his phone. “And you’re reading about astrology again.”

“Sure am.”

After having had Ouma in his life for so long as a strange, chaotic, but not unwelcome staple, Momota has learned when to change tactics. “You know if you wanna know more about me, you just have to ask.”

“Oh, I’m not reading about you specifically.”

“You’re not?”

“No, I got bored with that,” Ouma says. “But since I know you’re curious, apparently you and Saihara-chan would have very bad sex.”

Momota has just enough time to blink to process that information before his entire face turns red. “What!?”

“Let’s see how I would do…” Ouma muses, tapping away at his phone. He lets out a low whistle. “Ooh, even worse.”

“Th-That doesn’t even make any sense!”

Ouma glances back up at him. “Do you have evidence to disprove the majestic stars above us? You better not because even though you’re the jealous one, if Saihara-chan has put his hand on my man, then—”

“No, I—what!?”

“Ah, so you haven’t had relations with that man, wink.”

“No, I just,” Momota throws his hands in the air. “You have to know this is nonsense. How can the earth’s place in its orbit have any effect on anyone’s sex life?”

Ouma shrugs. “You’d be surprised. There’s looooads of stuff on relationships. People are just looking for love. Not everyone can just forsake the luck of the universe like me.”

It takes Momota a second to figure out what Ouma’s saying, and he turns his head to awkwardly cough into a hand and hide his blush. “W-Well, whatever. I’m gonna start making dinner—what do you want?”

“I dunno. Why don’t you ask Saihara-chan?”

Momota’s face burns even brighter. “I didn’t fuck Shuichi!”

“Well, I certainly hope not. Apparently it would have sucked.”

-

Momota drags Ouma out to see the summer meteor shower in order to show him what real space magic is. An early one streaks through the sky, and Ouma says, “make a wish, Momo-chan.”

“Wait a few minutes, and you’ll have more wishes than even you would know what to do with.”

“Oh, I think you’re underestimating me. I am a very talented wisher.”

Even if it’s been a thorn in his side for the past few months, Momota does appreciate Ouma’s newfound obsession with astrology for the sole purpose of having an excuse to do this together. Ouma was supportive enough of his late night telescope ventures and efforts to schedule every date at a planetarium, but he obviously would have been just as content to live in a city where the stars are blotted out by light until the day he died.

Ouma asks, “so what would you wish for then? Space, right?”

“Nah,” Momota shakes his head. “Don’t need any wishes for that to happen.”

Ouma smirks and gives him a sideways look. “You say things like that a lot. Fate really isn’t your thing, even though you’re fated to travel the stars, hmm?”

“That’s just an expression,” Momota says. “Like, it’s gonna happen because I’ve worked hard and believe in myself, but nothing out there,” he waves to the sky, “there’s nothing out there pulling for me. If you wanna make your dreams happen, you gotta be the one to make them come true.”

Ouma hums and stares back out at the sky. “What do people usually wish for?” he asks after a moment. “Do well in school, become a millionaire, find love?”

Momota nods. “That’s the usual stuff, yeah.”

“You were always a ‘get good grades’ kind of wisher, huh?”

“I mean, yeah,” Momota rubs the back of his neck. “But I didn’t actually think it would do anything. I worked damn hard for my grades.”

“But you made a wish anyway?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Why?”

Momota considers his point. “I don’t know. I just sorta did.”

The first meteors begin to streak through the sky it bright flashes, and Momota becomes too excited to follow whatever chain of thought Ouma was trying to lead him on. But Ouma’s known Momota for a long time, too, and he shouts, “make a wish!”

“I wish for a million more meteor showers!”

Ouma laughs.

For all Momota insists Ouma’s the one who acts like a little kid, he has a habit of tiring himself out with his energetic ramblings and the vivid arm movements they require. He lets out a loud yawn on their way back home and bumps Ouma’s shoulder. “So what’d you wish for?”

“To be the grand supreme ruler of the universe,” he says. “But that’s a lie.”

“I dunno. It sounds true.”

“The best lies always do! Like,” Ouma spins on his heel. “You’re boring and annoying and have really bad breath in the morning. Oh wait, that was two lies and a truth.”

Momota self-consciously breathes on his hand to test his breath. “Well, it’s fine, now, and,” he furrows his brow. “And, um, your feet are always so cold, I swear they’re gonna fall off one day.”

Ouma smirks. “Momo-chan, you know you’re supposed to say more than one thing in this game.”

“I couldn’t think of anything else,” he says. “Give me a minute.”

Momota does eventually think of two more things—a jab at Ouma’s less than stellar eating habits and a statement about how he definitely doesn’t have a cute face that requires him to look somewhere to the side of Ouma when he forces it out.

It’s only when they’re back in bed for the night that Momota remembers to say, “oh, by the way, you never did tell me what you wished for.”

“Well, of course not, silly,” Ouma says. “If I did that, it wouldn’t come true.”

Momota rolls his eyes but doesn’t push him any further. He falls asleep fast and hard, and his snores aren’t disrupted for a second as Ouma tip-toes out of the room with ease.

He rifles through his bag and pulls out a small box. He doesn’t open it and spends a few strange minutes sitting on their kitchen floor, holding it to his chest in a ritual he’s been performing for far too many nights now.

He shuffles back into bed, and Momota doesn’t stir at all until he presses up against his back to leech warmth.

The next morning it’s back to astrology websites and sitting upside down on their couch. Ouma keeps his eyes locked on his phone when he asks, “so, no destiny, fate, or wishes. Buuut what about soul mates?”

“That falls under destiny, doesn’t it?” Momota asks. “But if you’re really asking, then no. Sounds stupid.”

“I think we’re living proof that it’s true,” Ouma says. “I mean, why else would you put up with me and my torment?”

Momota shakes his head and ruffles Ouma’s hair. “A lot of reasons. You don’t need to look at a star chart for that.”

“We’ll see,” Ouma says. “Oh, and by the way, if you could get me the exact location and time of your birth, that’d be great.”

Momota rolls his eyes and continues preparing for his day, while Ouma collects any and every article that talks about how perfect Aries and Gemini are for each other.

Momota strolls back over to him to place a kiss on the top of his head. “Alright, I’m heading out. Don’t set the house on fire.”

Ouma says his routine, “no promises.” Then he says, “actually fuck it.”

“You’re gonna set the house on fire?”

“Maybe,” Ouma says. “It’s still early, so that’s up in the air, but I also forgot to give you your meteor shower present last night.”

Momota mouths the words ‘meteor shower present’ to himself before asking, “is that a thing?”

“It sure is, and you’re going to break my heart if you don’t have something to give me that’s just as awesome as my gift.” Ouma nods to his bag. “It’s a little box. You should probably open it now so you know what you’re up against.”

Momota gives him a suspicious look but abides without protest. Ouma goes back to staring at his phone while he listens to the distant sounds of Momota rummaging through his things, then the distant snap of the box opening, and Momota’s strangled gasp.

Ouma calls back with the same nonchalance he uses when Momota scrambles to find his keys, “did you find it?”

There’s a stampede of feet, and he’s plucked off the couch and spun around. “Fuck—yes, yes, yes!”

“That better be three truths, or I’m going to be a little bit upset.”

Instead of an answer, he gets a kiss. “That was, like, the least romantic way you could have ever asked, but I don’t fucking care.”

“Well, I missed the day where I was supposed to reassess my relationships, so I figured I’d just go for it,” Ouma says, lacing his fingers together behind Momota’s neck. “My bullhead husband.”

Momota groans. Ouma chirps, “it’s too late—you already said yes! Now you’re stuck with me forever. It’s fate.”

“No, it’s not,” Momota says, pressing another kiss to Ouma’s forehead. “It’s all you.”

Chapter Text

After a few millennia, Ouma had come to decide upon three fundamental truths about humans. The first was that despite his profession—or rather, existence—most humans really did not deserve eternal damnation. At least, the ones he had to help along to completely fall from grace usually didn’t. But they often fell anyway due in part to his second finding. Humans were stupid. Oh so, unbelievably stupid and in so many surprising ways. His coworkers were also stupid, but they weren’t surprising.

And that led to conclusion number three. Humans weren’t boring. What was boring was waiting.

He rang the bell on the empty antique store’s counter a few dozen more time, taking joy in the fact that his longtime frenemy was dumb enough to leave such a wonderful little device out in the open. “For fuck’s sake, I’m coming!” Ouma also took joy in that fact that Momota had few reservations at swearing at potential customers.

A door to what Ouma assumes is a back room starts to up, pushed by Momota’s shoulder, his arms loaded with boxes. Momota looks exactly the same since the last time Ouma saw him. Though Ouma hadn’t been expecting anything else, he was comforted by the fact that Momota still hadn’t learned how humans style their hair. “Just hold on for—” Momota’s expression drops. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Ouma leans on the counter. “Aw, is that really any way to greet an old friend? No hugs? No flowers?” He eyes the boxes. “Those better be presents for me, or I’m going to be a little upset.”

Ouma still regrets that Momota managed to learn not to rise to the bait after a few centuries. “Seriously,” he sets the boxes down with a huff. “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see my beloved angel,” Ouma says. “Is that so wrong?”

“You only visit me when something fucked up is happening or you’re about to start something fucked up,” Momota says. “So yeah.”

“Oh, that’s not true,” Ouma says. “I mean, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that night I visited you in Hong Kong where—”

Momota’s face flushes, and his hands fly in the air to shush him. “H-Hey, that never—”

“Oh, it very much did happen. And then again in Florence, and also that one time in the Coast Rican wilder—”

Momota looks around desperately. “Can you shut up?”

“Don’t worry. There’s no one here,” Ouma says. “I scared all your customers away first thing, though it really wasn’t that hard to get them to leave.”

“Ten, nine,” Momota pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out even breaths as he counts. “Eight, seven…”

“What’re you doing?”

“A trick I picked up on the off chance I’d ever see your face again.”

“So you did miss me!” Ouma chirps. “I’m touched.”

“I didn’t miss you,” Momota says. “I just wanted to be prepared. Only took fifty years for it come in handy.”

There’s something bitter in Momota’s tone. Ouma decides it’s the perfect time to change the topic. “Anyway, Angel-chan, it’s very cute you have your little business here, but do you think I can pull you away just for the weekend?”

“So you do want something,” Momota says, eyes narrowing.

Ouma grins. “Were you actually hoping I just came by to chat?”

“No,” Momota says, taking the opportunity to resume whatever work he was doing with the boxes. “I’m not stupid enough to think something like that.”

“You know, you can just say you missed me,” Ouma says. “We’ve known each other too long for playing hard to get to be fun, don’t you think?”

Momota doesn’t look at him, instead pulling fragile glass figurines imprisoned in a few layers of bubble wrap out of the boxes on the ground. “Just say what you want and leave me the fuck alone for the rest of the century.”

“Oh, those are cute,” Ouma says. “Are those from our trip to—”

“Spit it out and get the fuck out.”

Ouma huffs. “Well, I guess I should speed things along, given it’s the end of the world and all.”

Momota stiffens for a second before resuming his movements with a tired sigh. “Oh yeah. Forgot that’s happening…”

“You seem real broken up about it.”

Momota shrugs. “I was just kinda planning to skip it. Personally, I don’t really think the Great Plan is all that great. So, figured I spend it here… even if it’ll get me yelled at later.”

The glass figurine in Momota’s hand is a particularly grotesque one of a Venetian clown. It truly was a work of artistic mastery that so much monstrous detail had been delicately set into the tiny features of the statue. “Ah, yes, here.” He nods at statue. “Is that—”

“The fuck ugly thing you commissioned for me?” Momota says. “Yeah. Figured someone out there has to like ‘em.”

“Meanie,” Ouma says. “I gave those to you as a present for our anniversary.”

“What anniversary?”

“Hong Kong.”

Momota scowls and sets down the figurine with a touch too much force. “I’ve been reading this book,” Momota says. “And it’s all about making sure the only stuff you keep around is shit that makes you happy. So, I’m getting rid of all this crap.”

“I suppose that answers the question I didn’t ask about why you’re in this dust hole,” Ouma says. “But anyway, when you’re done being mopey, meet me in my car, ‘kay? The apocalypse isn’t going to stop itself, you know.”

Ouma walks away from him, hands clasped behind his head, and Momota calling after in confusion. Ouma sits at the steering wheel of his hideous purple and orange minivan and makes a bet with himself that Momota will join him within five minutes. He knocks on the window at one, requires two more minutes of explanation, and is properly buckled into the passenger seat in one more.

It takes Momota a solid fifteen more minutes to swallow his pride and ask, “where have you been?”

“Hell,” Ouma answers. “The town in Norway. Freezes over every year.”

“So you’re not going to tell me,” Momota says, rolling his eyes. “Asshole.”

“You missed me,” Ouma sings.

Momota plays with the radio.

Even when Momota is borderline furious at him for disappearing off the face of the earth, Ouma still prefers his company to that of his coworkers. Ouma had gotten bored of damning humans for all eternity and instead had begun to prefer just giving them a good ribbing. The traditionalists were not impressed. Momota, at their chance meeting, so long ago, had been. They had watched the sun set and rise again, doing nothing but talking the entire time.

Ouma had met angels before, but they always usually said something about divine righteousness and bopped him on the head after not finding whatever greeting prank he was running at the time funny. Momota had done so as well, but then he talked about the importance of humans the way a human would. Through the night he talked about the places he had been, admitted he’d become something of a hoarder for cool human stuff, and spent a long time describing how the stars were different everywhere he went but always beautiful. Ouma had made fun of him and made off with a few pieces of Momota’s collection that he had been shown. Momota called it an act of despicable thievery. Ouma had seen it as an invitation for them to meet again.

Every time Ouma tried to bring up the occasion—or any of the similar ones like it—Momota always got flustered and made it out to see like something else entirely had taken place. Ouma enjoyed that, too, and he had yet to let Momota in on what any observing humans would think of his behavior.

“So,” Momota says eventually. “I mean, I know why I’m here, but why do you…”

“Want to stop the world from ending?” Ouma asks. “Well, personally, given that I live in the world, I kind of have an attachment to it. Call me sentimental, I know.”

Momota runs a hand through his hair. “I know that. I meant… is this about all that stuff you would say?”

“Wanna be a little more specific?”

“I mean all the shit about, you know, liking humanity?”

Ouma debates how to answer him. After a moment of serious contemplation he decides on, “Yeah, pretty much. Humans are fun. And dumb.” He grins at Momota. “Like you.”

“Shut up.”

“Aw, come on,” Ouma says. “Learn how to take a compliment. If every angel was like you, I probably wouldn’t give a damn about humanity.”

Momota frowns at him. “What does that mean?”

“My beloved angel has known me f-for so long a-and still doesn’t know?” Ouma sniffles. “H-How could you be s-so cruel?”

“I’d know what the hell you’re talking about if you actually explained anything to me instead of always running off for,” Momota sighs. He leans his head against the window, the sun shining over his face, making him look like the angel Ouma knows he is. “Whoever fucking knows how long…”

“You missed me,” Ouma chants again, bouncing in his seat.

“Yeah, you idiot,” Momota says. “I did.” Ouma stops bouncing. Momota says, “Focus on the road.”

Ouma does, and his purple minivan with orange flames speeds along the highway, a solid ten to fifteen miles over the speed limit. Ouma has always been a terrible driver, and as much as he says he loves them, he’s been terrible with surprises for even longer.

Chapter Text

Momota Kaito wakes up.

He’s asleep and then half awake and then asleep again, and then blinking as the walls in front of him swim into focus.

There’s things on him—his face, his arms, his neck—sticky things. A thing over his face—his mouth and nose—too. There’s sound coming from above. His eyes blink and he scrunches them closed before forcing himself to look up at a strange brightness above him. The people on TV overhead are all laughing.

It’s a studio audience and people are cheering as someone walks up to the chair designated for interviewees. The man in the desk enthusiastically greets Ouma Kokichi, and he smiles back in response and makes some witty joke that sends the audience into hysterics and sounds like static to Momota’s ears.

They talk more. The interviewer asks him how he’s been, and Ouma says something funny again. They’re going to play a game to entertain the audience. The monitors beside Momota beep. He suddenly really wants the thing on his face off.

One of his arms has something sticky on it, but the other moves clumsily at his demands, groping blindly and failing to get any significant hold at the mask but his struggling is enough to fill the room with louder sounds and nurses bursting into existence to get control of him.

The second time Momota Kaito wakes up the mask is gone. There’s still a sticky thing in his arm, but his mind runs well enough to process its surgical tape and an IV and he really wants to pull it out.

A voice says, “There you are,” and he sees the nurse next to him all of a sudden. She laughs, “We had you all set to wake up today, but you still surprised us.”

Momota blinks at her. His mouth doesn’t seem to work quite right at first and his words are a bit of a struggle until he manages, “what the hell’s happening…?”

The nurse’s comforting smile shifts to a smirk. “You’re in a hospital. We had to put you into a medically induced coma following your victory in order to properly treat your condition.”

He has a few different questions and asks them all with, “my what?”

“I’ll get a doctor to help explain the details,” she says. “You’ll find your motor controls will need some time and therapy to fully recover, but you should still be able to press the button next to you if you need assistance.”

Momota eyes it dully as she flees from the room. The TV is still on. Celebrity gossip. Something happened at a fan signing Ouma did.

Momota stares hard at the picture of Ouma the hosts talk over.

-

His whole body felt heavy when they were walking, but it was nothing compared to the fire that had building in his lungs for days now. A quiet voice in the back of his head that he had been desperately trying to shut out had started whispering to him that he was out of time when he woke up on hanger’s the cold bathroom floor.

Neither of them knew where to or what they were walking, for but they kept going on the path that was given to them. It wrapped around and brought them out of the trial grounds. All the cage’s walls fell down. Momota would have cried with relief at the sight if his chest hadn’t felt like it was collapsing in on itself.

Momota’s body felt so heavy, too, and his steps devolved into a shambling crawl in pace. But Ouma kept walking and growing smaller in his vision so he kept walking, too. Then people rushed towards him as his chest seized and the coughing brought him to his hands and knees.

The people pushed past Ouma on the horizon. They surrounded him, and Momota could only see parts of Ouma through the tangle of bodies hurrying around him.

Then he was asleep.

-

Then the doctor walks in. He glances between Momota and the TV. and says, “ah, gossip. My daughter’s gotten obsessed with it, too. Figured you’d tune in first thing when you woke up.”

The joke falls extremely flat as do any more attempts at levity when the doctor explains that they put him in a medically induced coma for just over three weeks. “Your condition,” the doctor says, “was actually quite interesting. That show—Dangan Ronpa—they didn’t know about your previous aliment and medication plan. I don’t think anyone could have predicted how the work they do on their contestants’ brains would affect someone with a condition already causing as much stress on their body as yours.”

He pauses for a second, and Momota stares at the TV.

“The fact that you went off your medication all of a sudden and your boby was rewired not to know what it was dealing with, well,” the doctor chuckles. “You gave us quite the scare. Not the nicest way to do things, but what we did seemed like the safest way to save your brain. We’ll be running some more tests later, though.”

He talks to him more. Tests, medication, physical therapy. Contacts.

The doctor turns back towards the TV where Ouma’s giving another interview. “Quiet the character, huh? Popular, too.” He nudges the TV’s remote towards Momota’s still hand. “Just in case you feel like watching something else.”

Momota doesn’t say anything. The doctor sighs and stops putting off the inevitable. A nurse is called in to awkwardly explain that he has no listed family as his medical contacts. Instead, a Dangan Ronpa PR agent shows up.

-

Momota thinks Ouma looks shiny on TV.

Momota told the person sent by Dangan Ronpa offering to be his agent to go to hell. They smiled back at him and told him he’d change his mind. Apparently they all do, and he had given a knowing look towards the TV.

It’s night, and the TV’s glow casts a puddle of pale light on the floor in front of his bed. The remote pushed towards his hand is tempting, but the ability to do anything more than lean his weight on the large power button at the top is beyond him.

So the shiny version of Ouma keeps talking. The tattered ends of his clothes have been replaced by crisp ages. It all seems plastic and sterile, but he pulls at his shirt and makes some comment that sends the host and the audience into more laughter. His face also seems different somehow. The darkness around his eyes and the hollows of his cheeks are gone. His hair is combed, his teeth are bright, his eyes are blinding. Momota thinks he looks plastic.

But Ouma doesn’t stick out. No, if it had been the Ouma from his memories, the image would have seemed wrong. Everything on the TV feels so fake and the shiny plastic version of Ouma fits right in.

Momota’s head starts hurting at the thought. Everything on TV is fake. He was on TV. He’s not real.

He barely keeps his vomit down as all the people gathered together to listen to the fake Ouma start laughing again at something he said.

-

The efforts to contact his family have turned up empty handed. Momota remembers the video Shirogane showed him of himself smiling up at a camera going on and on about all the ways he’d kill someone. He can’t blame the family he doesn’t remember for not wanting him, but something about it raises a phantom pain in his chest.

More tests. More reports about his current situation. He’ll stay a while longer—do enough physical therapy to get him to a point where he’s not completely reliant on others for the essentials. The phrase “your muscles have atrophied” sends a sick feeling squirming through him, and he spends the rest of the day uncomfortable in his own skin.

The publicist who visited him got the word of his condition out, and Momota watches the TV change to plaster images of himself from the game in as many shots as they can manage. He’s sick of seeing his own face—smiling or bloody—and works up the strength to press his weight onto the remote.

The silence Momota imposes on himself isn’t ideal, but it’s better than hearing people he doesn’t know ramble about the intimate details of a life that’s a complete mystery to him. A nurse pokes their head in to tell him he as a visitor.

Momota asks, “who?”

They smirk and coyly respond, “your usual.”

Ouma wore a suit to come see him.

-

The days in the hanger’s bathroom all went the same. There’d be breakfast in front of him by the time he woke up, and he’d pick at whatever his stomach didn’t immediately decide was poison.

His schedule then consisted of a lot of coughing, banging on the door and cursing Ouma out with no response, then with nothing to do, he’d try to find some comfortable way to sleep on the floor. Lunch and dinner would always appear whenever he woke up again, no Ouma in sight.

Pacing made him feel like an animal trapped in a cage, but it granted the illusion of some control. Even if Ouma was the mastermind and he was his prisoner, Momota refused to his plaything. So he paced and thought long and hard about how the others would definitely pull through, and they would all defeat Ouma together and the now ever present inch in his throat would go away.

After the third day of pacing and sleeping and coughing, Ouma made an appearance.

“Ah, so sleeping beauty is awake sometimes,” he says. “Sorry I haven’t been around to entertain you. You’d be surprised how busy the life of an evil mastermind is.”

Momota grits his teeth. “You already said the game’s fucking over. Just let me the fuck out of here.”

“Ooh, no can do,” Ouma says. “See, you were unconscious for this part, so I don’t blame you for not remembering—”

“And whose fucking fault is that!?”

Ouma raises an eyebrow. “Yours, of course. You know, there’s a reason why the mouse runs away from the cat in nature. Otherwise, all it takes is one good strike.” He smirks. “You’re lucky I didn’t complete that little analogy and rip your throat out.”

Momota snarls. “I’d fucking like to see you try.”

“I mean, I might if I get too bored with the whole prisoner-jailer routine,” he says. “Since the game’s over, I could just kill you whenever I feel like it, though,” his eyes wander to the specks of blood around Momota’s mouth that he can never quite wipe away, “seems like your death is really just a waiting game.”

Something snaps, and whatever anger Momota had barely been holding back makes his vision go white. He lunges at Ouma, consequences be damned.

His righteous anger at Gonta’s death hadn’t given him the strength to knock Ouma to the ground, and it’s the same this time. At the very least, he doesn’t go sprawling himself this time, and it’s an awkward shoving map of pulling at each other’s clothes and hair in a tangle of weakened punches and pointy elbows.

There are no plans, strategies, or coordination. Just a desire to knock that smirk off of Ouma’s face for one damn second and make him feel a fraction of the suffering he’s put everyone else through. Ouma isn’t smiling while they fight, but that doesn’t register in Momota’s clouded mind. His expression is one of frustration and he yells, “let go of me, you fucking idiot!”

Momota should shout something back about how he’ll put a stop to Ouma’s evil plans or save everyone or that he’s making the impossible possible. Instead, he shouts back, “I’m not an idiot!” like they’re children pushing each other around in a schoolyard.

Despite his illness, weight alone eventually prevails, and one good shove gets Ouma off his feet. They wrestle awkwardly on the floor for a few moments more until Momota manages to get a solid pin on Ouma’s thin wrists. He stops then, breathing heavily, letting the sweat and blood—not from any damage Ouma did, but from his mouth—drip down his face.

A drop of blood lands on Ouma’s scarf, and he shrivels up his face. “You’re disgusting,” Ouma spits. “Get off of me.”

“No.”

Ouma stares hard at him for a second. “Then what are you going to do? Kill me?”

The haze of victory clears, and Momota fumbles. “Uh, n-no. I’m just gonna…”

He’s met with an unimpressed expression. “Going to what? Give me another lecture? We’re not playing tag anymore, you absolute moron.”

Ouma’s provocation gives him a purpose again, and he tightens his grip. “I fucking told you to quit calling me stupid.”

“Then prove me wrong,” Ouma says. “Prove to me that you’re not an idiot who has no idea what he’s doing. You caught me. What the hell are you going to do now?”

The obvious answer is to stand up and book it out of the hanger before Ouma can recover from their little fight. But he’s been issued a challenge, and even if Ouma spelled out how it’s not an option just seconds ago, Momota does what he always does when he finally catches up to him. “You,” he says. “You said that you like it when other people suffer, right? Why the hell are you like that? You have to know that’s no fucking way to live or—”

“Oh, you have to be kidding,” Ouma says, eyes wide. “You’re actually lecturing me? Really? I destroyed the world and organized a killing game of humanity’s last survivors, and you’re trying to lecture me?”

Momota clenches his jaw for a second. Then he keeps going. “Maybe… maybe you are evil, but if you just listen to me—”

“Oh my God.”

“—then you’ll realize how fucked up you’ve been acting, and—”

“Are you even listening to yourself? I’m the mastermind!”

“Shut up! I’m trying to say something important!”

“I’m sorry—I couldn’t hear you over your own goddamn hero complex—”

“Just stop being an asshole and let me fucking help you!”

“No!”

Ouma starts struggling underneath him again, and Momota scrambles to keep him down. “Fucking—quit it!”

“Either kill me or get off of me!”

“I’m not going to—”

A desperate banging at the bathroom window interrupted whatever strange tug of war they had locked themselves into. Momota glanced up at the noise, and Ouma took the opportunity to break free from his hold. They would have started a new chase if the banging hadn’t gotten more frantic as Shirogane’s sobs accompanied it.

Hesitantly, Momota stood and walked over to the window to lift the grate and receive the news about what had happened.

-

Ouma walks around Momota’s hospital room like he owns the place. “Hey, sleeping beauty, how you feeling?”

He takes a seat in a chair at Momota’s beside, and Momota takes the opportunity to eye him up and down. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“Unsure of the designer, which will get me in a lot of trouble if a reporter catches me,” Ouma says. “But it’s a suit. You know the thing important people wear? You’ll get a few of your own pretty soon.”

“If you’re talking about Team whatever’s crappy deal,” Momota says. “I told them to fuck off.”

Ouma hums. “You’ll change your mind.”

“No,” Momota snaps. “I won’t. I don’t want anything to do with those bastards.”

“I know,” Ouma says. “And I also know you’ll change your mind.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Momota says, dragging a hand over his face. “Can you stop talking in riddles for five seconds? The game’s over.”

Ouma shrugs. “It wasn’t a riddle. Just the truth. By the way,” he reaches down into a gift bag Momota hadn’t noticed him carrying before. “Got you something. I’d say it’s a happy-you’re-not-in-a-coma anymore present, but I bring you these every time. I guess it’s all the same to you though, sleepy.”

Momota watches him as he makes the practiced movements of replacing a vase of drooping flowers at his bedside with fresh ones. “Wisteria,” Ouma says. “Pretty right? I think there’s some meaning behind them about devotion or babies, but mostly I like the meaning of pretty flowers.”

“What are you doing?” Momota asks. “Just… what is all this?”

“Not sure,” Ouma says. “Reality.”

Momota sighs. “Didn’t I tell you to stop speaking in riddles?”

“You did, and I’m not,” Ouma says. “By the way, even if you don’t want to see my face anymore for the rest of your life, we will have to do interviews together so try not to embarrass me too badly, okay?”

Momota scowls at the idea. “I’m not doing any fucking interviews.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Ouma says. “Well, I mean you do, but it’s not a good choice.”

“I sell my soul to the bastards who forced us all to kill each other or I try to live like a normal goddamn human being?” Momota asks. “How the hell is that not a choice?”

Ouma keeps rearranging the flowers. “You’ll understand soon.”

Momota snorts. “I doubt it. What—are they going to hold a gun to my head and force me to smile for them?”

Ouma pauses, seemingly content with the exact positioning of the flowers. He grabs the remote control for the TV. “Mind if I check the weather? I heard it’s going to rain later tonight, and my stylist will kill me if I get my suit wet.”

He doesn’t wait for Momota’s approval and starts flipping through the channels. Instead of the news, he settles on some action looking cartoon. There are explosions, characters shouting and making dramatic speeches. Momota watches Ouma while he watches the bad guy get punched out. “Why are you here?”

“Shush, I’m trying to watch.”

Momota rolls his eyes. “It’s my room,” he says, aware how childish the argument is. “I can talk if I want to.”

Ouma smiles. “You sure can.”

They sit in silence until the credits roll. When they end, Ouma flips through channels until he finds another cartoon for children. It’s a strange existence, but it is nice to watch something other than talk show interviews, all things considered.

Momota’s halfway to drifting off to sleep when Ouma asks, “do you know when you’re getting out of here?”

Momota lifts his head just enough to see Ouma’s eyes are still firmly glued to the television. “Uh, no. Probably a few days, at least.”

“I’ll ask the doctors, then.”

It sounds innocent enough, but Momota knows full well at this point that nothing Ouma does or says is ever innocent. “Why do you care?”

Ouma looks back then, a wry smile on his face. “You sure are the inquisitive guy, aren’t you? You know, that’s what I always liked about you. You always wanted to know the why behind everything, even if you had no idea what was going on.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you, too,” Momota says. “Unless… that was a compliment. In which case, thanks, I guess.”

“You’re always welcome.”

It takes another episode of fighting robots for Momota to realize his question wasn’t answered. “So why do you wanna know when I’m discharged?”

“Is it such a crime to want to know your friends are in good health and have a roof over their heads?”

“Since when are we friends?”

Ouma stands, picking up the handles of the gift bag in his hands. “I should head out. I have a very special appearance on a cooking show tomorrow morning as a guest judge.” He winks. “Make sure you tune in.”

Momota rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”

“And you should count me among your friends.”

The new seriousness in Ouma’s voice makes Momota whip his head towards him. “What?”

“I’m just saying,” Ouma says, “if I’m not your friend, then,” he grabs one of Momota’s hands lying limply on the bed and curls his fingers into a fist. “Then you can count the number of people you can trust on one hand.”

Momota stares up at him with wide eyes. Ouma leans forward to press a kiss to Momota's forehead that he flinches away from. “Get well, sleeping beauty.”

Momota struggles to sit up to watch him go. His first instinct is the one from before he woke up in his hospital bed. Throw it all out. It’s Ouma. It’s a pack of lies. He sleeps on it. The second day he stares at the ground when he asks a nurse if that Team Dangan Ronpa PR agent left any business cards.

-

The body discovery announcement played as soon as they walked through the dining hall doors. Then it played again and again and one more time. Four times for four people who decided a dead end killing game at the end of the world was too much.

Shirogane trembles and falls to her knees as she starts to sob again at the sight. Momota kneels next to her, quickly whispering words of comfort because it gives him something to do besides stare at Saihara and Maki’s limp bodies.

Ouma’s voice is cold. “Momota-chan, get away from her.”

Anger at Ouma is another distraction. “Like hell I’m going to—”

“She’s the mastermind.”

“Wha—you’re the mastermind!”

Ouma isn’t looking at him. He’s looking at Shirogane and her shaking shoulders. “So it’s whoever convinces Momota-chan gets to live? Is that the new game?”

She takes off her glasses to wipe her eyes. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shirogane says. “New game? How can you think of something like that when everyone is…” she devolves into more sobs.

Ouma’s mouth presses into a flat line. “Well, I knew I was dealing with a professional.”

Momota rises to his feet, fists clenched. “Can you knock it off for one fucking second!? All of our friends—”

“I know,” Ouma says. “And that’s why this is so important, and I’m about to ask you to do what you do best. Trust me.”

Momota reels a step back as if Ouma had slapped him. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because you’re already home free, Momota-chan,” Ouma says. “And now you just get to decide if I live or die. But then again,” he smiles, “you did say you weren’t going to kill me. I think I’ll hold you to that.”

All of their friends are dead, and Ouma’s rambling on about some weird riddle that doesn’t make any sense. “I don’t know what the fuck you think this is,” Momota says. “But the last thing I’m going to do now is believe a word you say.”

“That’s fair,” Ouma says. “It’s unfortunate for my survival, but it’s fair.”

Shirogane’s sniffling breaks long enough for her to ask. “What’s going to happen now? What do we do?”

“A trial,” Ouma says. “One where I get to ask why only you didn’t participate in this little pact.”

“H-Huh?” She stares at him in horror. “How can you ask me something so horrible?”

“Because there’s no reason to live,” Ouma says. “So why are you alive?”

Shirogane starts crying again. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Momota steps between them. “Hey, leave her alone. Even if you are a complete asshole, you have to have…” he risks a glance at the bloody scene before them before tearing his eyes away again. He swallows the lump in his throat along with whatever blood wants to claw its way back out of him. “Have some idea how someone would feel after finding something like this.”

“I do,” Ouma says. “My guess is that Shirogane-chan was very frustrated, but we can talk about that in the trial.”

Ouma leaves. “Asshole,” Momota says before going back to comforting Shirogane.

When they’re alone, she makes her mistake. “I-I promise I have no idea what Ouma-kun is talking about,” she says. “I think it’s probably some horrible trick he’s trying to play on us even after…”

Momota nods. “Yeah, he’s trying to get us to turn on each other or something, but that’s not going to happen.”

“Oh, I’m so glad to hear that,” she says. “Plain glad. I—I don’t know what I’d do if you voted against me.”

“I—” Momota doesn’t know what that means. “Yeah…”

When the three of them get to the trial, Monokuma announces there’s no mystery behind the deaths and instead they’re voting for their guess at the mastermind. Shirogane looks up at him with a hopeful smile. Momota feels like he’s going to vomit. He coughs up blood instead.

-

Team Dangan Ronpa gifts him an apartment, clothes, food, money, and everything else he could want if he agrees to a few press interviews. Lying in the hospital with a family that apparently wants nothing to do with him, Momota realizes he doesn’t have a place to stay, clothing, anything to eat, or more than the five hundred yen coin in the jacket pocket of the uniform he wore to his audition. He assumes this is what Ouma had meant.

But Momota’s nothing if he’s not ruthlessly stubborn. He agrees to the smallest possible number of appearances possible and starts looking for cheaper places to live as soon as he’s allowed to leave the hospital. He has enough skills downloaded into his brain to make a decent engineer or translator. Then he’ll just have to cut and dye his hair, and he’ll be free from Team Dangan Ronpa and their killing games for good.

He does the hair thing earlier than his publicist would have liked. His bathroom sink and floor are stained black, and there are patches he didn’t quite get the color even. But he’s in too far at this point, and when he comes back from a haircut he stares at the mirror and thinks how different he looks from the Momota that was created for TV. That Momota is gone. He doesn’t know why that doesn’t make him smile.

His publicist purses her lips when he shows up without his signature look. “Well, the new style can be a talking point,” she says. “We’ll have to rework the wardrobe plans, though…”

She rambles on and makes phone calls to a lot of people who talk very fast. Momota doesn’t pay attention to anything that happens for the entirety of that day. The only thing that stands out is when his inevitable interview alongside Ouma comes, and Ouma’s eyebrows rise at the sight of him. “You know, all those times I made fun of your hair, I didn’t ever actually expect you to change it.”

“Wasn’t for you,” Momota says. “Just felt like a new look.”

Ouma hums. “New you.”

“Something like that.”

Ouma nods. “I think I’d die first before doing something like that.”

Though he’s used to Ouma’s dramatic and morbid statements, the severity of the declaration catches Momota off guard. “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think? It’s just a haircut.”

“No,” Ouma says. “It’s not. And I know you know that.”

They have to stop talking. It’s time to smile for the crowds.

-

He does find a small place close enough to the hospital for his physical therapy appointments. Looking for a job will likely be a little harder, but he’s got blood money to live off of for quite a while. Momota checks his bank account and wonders just how much more Ouma has to be pocketing. Because Ouma is everywhere.

Apparently most Dangan Ronpa survivors are big for a few months after their game and then fade away. There are some who are able to translate their talents into something else to stay in the public eye. Momota learns a popular soap opera he watches when nothing’s on has cast members from seasons 38 and 44. He stops watching after Ouma points it out to him.

There’s a popular song that the radios seem unable to stop playing. A contestant from season 26 wrote it and one from season 49 is a band member playing something. Momota doesn’t know what because he turned the song off as soon as Ouma started to tell him.

There are a select few, however, who manage to blow up in popularity just from sheer personality alone. From the way Ouma acts, Momota gets the feeling that’s what he’s gunning for. The why eludes him, so he asks in the worst way possible over a weekly lunch meeting Ouma always insists they have.

“So,” Momota says. “You’re an attention whore.”

Ouma smirks. “That’s a rather rude thing to say to your dearest friend.”

“I mean,” Momota says. “It’s not even a nice day, but you’re making us sit outside and you’re sitting weird so any people can take pictures of you.”

“Well, I want to make sure they get my best angles,” Ouma says. “And I’m just playing the game. I’m doing very well at it, too, you’re,” he eyes Momota’s baggy hoodie, “certainly a participant.”

“Not for long,” Momota says. “Found a place that’ll let me work as an assistant teaching English. Once I get setup there, it’s goodbye Dangan Ronpa forever.”

“You sound proud of that,” Ouma observes.

Momota snorts. “‘Course, I am. I’m sick of being jerked around. Honestly, I’m surprised a control freak like you hasn’t had a breakdown yet from all those people touching your hair and putting crap on your face.”

Ouma keeps smiling that placid smile. “It’s very rude to call your dearest friend a control freak.”

“Alright knock it off,” Momota says. “Quit using your interview voice with me.”

Ouma laughs. “No, that was my patronizing voice. My interview voice is a lot more excited, and oh-so gracious that you’d have me on your show. I’m sooo happy to be here.”

“See?” Momota says. “That’s why I want to get out.”

“It is quite the price, isn’t it?” Ouma says. He points to behind his ear. “You gotta patch of purple by the way.”

Momota checks his reflection in his glass. “Shit. Dyeing your own hair is hard.”

“Should have got a professional.”

“What like you?”

Ouma gasps. “I do not dye my hair.”

“Dude,” Momota laughs. “You have purple tips.”

“Well, I know that, but the official story is that it’s natural,” he says. “But that’s a lie.”

Momota shakes his head. “People go wild when you say that, huh?”

“Oh, you bet they do,” he says. “But you can’t overuse it. Savor the catchphrase. Make them work for it.”

“Yet another reason I’m done with all that crap.”

Ouma smiles. They chat about this, that, and smile for a few fans who come by.

“It is a shame you’re not going to try,” Ouma says. “You could do really well, too. You’ve got the smile and a catchphrase, too. And you’ve got the body. If things really start going south, you could leak your nudes or something.” He gestures to himself. “I look like I’m twelve. I can’t do that.”

Momota frowns. “Is this the shit you think about all the time now?”

“Sure is,” Ouma says. “‘Course you could also go into modeling. You might do even better at that with the change in look, actually. Or maybe—”

“Ouma,” Momota says. “I told you. I’m not doing any of that crap.”

“I know,” Ouma says. “I wish you would, though.”

Momota asks the question that’s been spinning around in his head since Ouma came to visit him. The one he always refuses to answer. “Why?”

Like clockwork, Ouma dodges it. “Will you be okay getting around in a new place by yourself? I know you only need your cane sometimes now, but it would be pretty good PR if I generously helped my fellow cast mate in his time of need.”

Momota sighs. “I’ll be fine.”

“Glad to hear it,” he says. “Oh, and even if I don’t improve, congrats on your new job.”

“Hey thanks,” Momota smiles. “I’m actually kinda excited about it. Teaching and taking care of kids, it… it sounds good.”

Ouma knows exactly why he pauses, and his perpetual camera ready smile looks a little more melancholy. “Safer than tracking down criminals, too. So,” Ouma raises his glass. “Here’s to the new Momota-chan? Next thing I know, you’re going to change your name, too, so let’s celebrate before I have to call you something mind numbingly dumb.”

Momota raises his glass and rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna change my name.”

“Glad to hear it.”

-

There isn’t much evidence. Ouma explains the mastermind act was a lie to stop the game and the remote was something Iruma created for him. Shirogane insists she has no idea what’s going on. Monokuma just giggles and gives vague answers when either tries to distance themselves from him.

Momota is stuck. Ouma will vote for Shirogane. Shirogane will vote for Ouma. Whoever Momota votes for will be executed as the mastermind behind the killing game, even if they aren’t.

His body feels like it’s on the verge of collapse, and after a while, he can’t even listen to the arguments anymore. His entire focus is on holding himself up against his podium and trying not to cough his lungs out. Ouma takes notice, “Monokuma, I’d recommend doing the vote now. If you wait any longer, Momota-chan will drop dead, and I doubt your fans will accept being robbed of a survivor.”

It’s like any of the hostile challenges that have been levied at Monokuma before. The baffling thing is this time he agrees. Momota turns his head to look at Ouma, barely managing the simple question, “What…?”

“Everyone here loses if you die,” Ouma says. “It actually doesn’t matter how you vote either. Monokuma needs two survivors or his audience won’t be satisfied. Isn’t that right, Shirogane-chan?”

“H-Huh?” she stammers. “How would I know something like that? I’m just—”

“Plain. I’ve heard.” He turns back to Ouma. “Still, there’s always the spite execution, so for my sake.” He smiles. “Don’t kill me. Please.”

Momota has no idea what’s going on. Shirogane shouts about how she doesn’t want to die either, but for some reason that sounds hollow. He wipes the blood from his mouth and leaves an impressive smear over his voting screen when he presses Shirogane’s portrait.

When the voting results are revealed, there are all in agreement. Shirogane voted for herself, just like Ouma said she would. Then she’s not Shirogane, but someone else Momota has never heard of before. Then she’s herself again, and she and Ouma argue, and Momota clutches his stomach and tries his best not to die on the spot.

-

Season 54 is starting. Momota thinks the kids he’s teaching are too young to be watching Dangan Ronpa. Then again, he also thought he would be too young for this job, but the killing game team worked their magic there, too. He’s seventeen, and he has the intellectual know how of a college graduate. Part of him really hopes society is using this technology for better things than killing game shows, but he also knows he’ll be disappointed if he looks into it.

But even if it wasn’t Dangan Ronpa season, there’s always something starting its run or just finishing up. A death show based around puzzles, one with monsters that shred its unlucky contestants apart, and too many others to the point where he just stopped looking at summaries. The world is completely at peace, but people are still dying in droves.

What Dangan Ronpa season does mean is that Ouma’s schedule is now more packed than ever before. Recap shows, commentaries, and the dreaded one year anniversary of season 53 Momota sees circled on his calendar.

But Ouma still insists on meeting him for lunch and spending the afternoon on idle chatter instead of more opportunities to boost his fame. Momota assumes it can only be because whatever he says to him can be turned into fodder for whatever TV appearance he has lined up afterwards.

The days go on. Season 54 has its double murder, and Momota does his best to resist sneering whenever he sees an ad for it somewhere. Logically he knows there were similar posters and promotions and pumped out merchandise for his season. He just isn’t sure what makes him sicker—the fact that they’re profiting at all or the cycle of taking down the posters of the faces of his dead friends to replace them with more children scheduled to die.

He ran out into the rain once to rescue a season 53 poster from being destroyed. It was worse for wear when he got it inside, but everyone’s faces were still intact. No peeled paper or decay. A little water damage, sure, but they were all there, smiling and immortalized in an advertisement for limited edition Monokuma plushies.

Momota doesn’t know why he saved the poster, or why he kept it even after reading the headline and cursing under his breath.

He also doesn’t know why Ouma did all the things he does until he got a phone call late at night a few days later. “Hey, best friend in the world,” he says. “Do you have it somewhere in your heart to let a lonely vagabond of the night into your home?”

“Uh, I guess?” Momota says. “And why are you talking like that?”

“Because I like to have a little flair in my life,” Ouma says. “A little je ne sais quoi. An uncultured type like you wouldn’t understand. So can I stay the night, pleeeeease? I’ll bring you flowers.”

“I don’t want flowers.”

Momota is handed a pot of wisteria when Ouma greets him at the door. “Why?”

“It’s an inside joke.”

Momota examines the plant. “Is it?”

Ouma strolls past him to make himself comfortable on Momota’s couch. “Well, I think it’s hilarious.”

Momota maneuvers the rather unwieldy plant in his hands to pull his door shut. “What’s funny about me being in the hospital?”

“At the time it wasn’t funny,” Ouma says. “But now that time has passed, we can look back on it and laugh.”

Momota rolls his eyes and sets the plant down on his coffee table. “If you say so.”

“I do!” Ouma says. “Also, decent place you got here. When you first told me your plan, I assumed you’d be living in a hole or something, so color me impressed. Now I’m mostly just offended you haven’t invited me over before.”

“As if you could come,” Momota says, gesturing to the TV. “I swear I see you now more than ever.”

“I’d make time,” Ouma says.

Momota snorts. “Yeah right.”

“I would,” Ouma says. Then he’s bouncing in place. “Anyway, what kind of snacks do you got around here? It’s always important to eat snacks when you have a movie night.”

Momota raises an eyebrow. “Is that why you invited yourself over?”

“Sure is!”

“Dude, don’t lie,” Momota elbows him. “There’s no way you’d visit me just for that.”

“What? I can’t enjoy your company?” Ouma asks. “Why do you think I always get lunch with you? To stare at your pretty face? I mean, sure, that’s part of it, but—”

Momota raises his hands. “Alright, alright, that’s enough. Just tell me why you’re here. Promise I won’t kick you out even if you’re on the run from the mob or something fucked up like that.”

Ouma giggles. “That’s very sweet of you, but I already told you. I’m just here to hang.” He tilts his head. “You can trust me.”

Momota decides to assume Ouma is on the run from the mob and stops asking questions. He allows Ouma to raid his kitchen for snacks and flip through channels at his leisure. At one point in the night, he says, “remember the time we got into a fight in the bathroom? Before Shirogane-chan came?”

It feels like so long ago. “Yeah,” Momota says. “What about it?”

“Apparently a lot of people were really into that.”

“Into that how?” Momota asks. “We were just…” he thinks back on the incident, on most things he did during the game and how every decision had felt earth shatteringly important. “We were just being stupid.”

“We were,” Ouma says. “But you were also on top of me, holding my hands above my head. I get waaay too many questions about it online.”

It takes Momota a second, then he flushes and lightly kicks Ouma’s shin. “The fuck would you tell me that for?”

Ouma laughs. “Because it’s funny. See? Time makes everything hilarious.”

Momota shakes his head. “Am I ever going to understand you?”

“Good question.”

Momota sighs. Ouma giggles. “Don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Because I’m super fun,” Ouma says. “And what’s better than hanging with your dearest pal?”

“Understanding half the bullshit that comes out of ‘your dearest pal’s’ mouth.”

“One day you’ll learn.”

“I feel,” Momota says, “that whenever you say that, you actually mean maybe eventually I’ll get it from your perspective.”

Ouma gives him a half smile. “Fair enough.”

After everything, Ouma really is his only friend, and there’s an easy chatter they fall into. They’ve always been able to get wrapped up in conversation with each other from the day they met. They’re just not angry anymore—at least, not at each other.

Ouma gets up from the couch to stand behind it and mess with Momota’s hair, raking his hands through the sides to pull it straight up into the air. Momota bats his hands away. “The fuck are you doing?”

“You got roots.”

Momota groans. “I know. I was gonna fix it tonight, but then this fucking weird ass guy barged into my house.”

Ouma smiles. “He was a messenger sent by the universe to tell you to stop buying such cheap dye.”

“It is not cheap,” Momota says. “Fucking crap costs and arm and a leg.”

“And it still looks like shit.”

“Hey!”

“Just telling you like it is, and as your friend I feel it’s only right to tell you the truth,” Ouma says. “So maybe you should go back to being all natural Momota-chan.”

Ouma starts playing with his hair again, and Momota decides he’s resigned to this fate. “You’ve never liked my hair.”

“I really haven’t,” Ouma says. “But it was better before.”

That doesn’t sound right. “Really?”

“Would I lie to you?”

It takes Momota a second, but it comes through. “You don’t like that I changed how I look, do you?”

“It’s not my favorite,” Ouma hums.

Momota huffs and turns to face him. Ouma pouts when he moves, hair no longer in easy reach. “You know I did this shit to get away from the game, right?”

“I’m well aware,” Ouma says. “And that’s also why you live in this little shack and hang out with snot nosed children and are watching nature documentaries when the new episode of season 54 is on.”

It sounds like an accusation, but Momota doesn’t feel bad about any of those things. “Yeah? Why do you have a problem with that?”

Ouma hops back into place on the couch. “So those fire ants? Crazy stuff, right?”

“Ouma.”

“Momota-chan,” he says. “It’s too late for a lecture, alright?”

“I don’t want to lecture you.”

“That’s a surprise.”

Momota ignores his jab. “I just think I’m finally figuring something out about you, and I wanna know if I’m right. I want to hear it from you.”

Ouma fiddles with the remote control. “Actually fire ants are boring. Let’s see what else there is…”

Momota takes his hands and sets the remote down. He curls Ouma’s hands into fists. “How many people are there in this world that you can trust?”

There’s silence for long enough that Momota thinks this plan has failed, but he’s nothing if not stubborn and keeps waiting quietly. Ouma says, “I did come to see you just because I wanted to. They’re moving on to the fourth case in season 54, you know. Brings back bad memories.”

“Ah,” Momota says. “Think I get it now.”

“No, that’s not the whole story,” Ouma says. “The memories are bad, but I don’t want to forget them because if I forget—if everyone forgets—then everyone really will be gone.” He shrugs. “If I force everyone to remember, then they still matter. If you keep telling a lie, then people will believe it. I'm not about to let what happened become a super fan trivia fact, and,” he looks away. “I don’t feel like killing everyone again.”

Momota thinks for a second before saying the only thing on his mind other than an apology, “I… wish you told me all that before. I would have helped.”

“It’s fine,” Ouma says, nonchalant as ever. “Besides, this way you’re like my own little island away from it all.”

Ouma winks at him, but Momota doesn’t want to start playing games now. “I am glad you finally told me, and,” he says, picking up the remote to flip through channels until Dangan Ronpa is on. “I have a few questions about the new season.”

Ouma quirks an eyebrow. “Like?”

“Where are they filming it, and how fast could a person get there? Just, hypothetically.”

-

The answer to the question how much blood money has Ouma earned turns out to be a lot. Or at least enough to travel to an undisclosed location and rent a cement truck without any trouble.

“So there’s really no security?” Momota asks for the hundredth time.

“There’s like a guard or two to stop the scary fans from trying to get in,” Ouma says. “Every season at least a few people try to break in to take selfies with Monokuma, but that’s about it. Certainly never anything like this.”

“Okay,” Momota says, mostly to himself. “Okay. You ready?”

Ouma pats his helmet with one hand and briefly fishes out a pair of keys from his pocket with the other. “Head, check. Keys to get away car, check.” He pats his chest and legs. “General padding that is going to give me heatstroke, check.”

“Alright, do you want me to say ‘now’ or ‘jump?’” Momota asks. “Just so we’re on the same page.”

“Oh, let’s go with ‘now,’” Ouma says. “‘Jump’ is a bit on the nose, don’t you think? Gives the whole thing away. It’d be like calling Dangan Ronpa ‘Child Murder’ or season 54 ‘the one where the two guys crashed a cement truck through the wall.’ Ruins all the mystery.”

“Yeah, well,” Momota says, turning the truck on. “I’ve never been good at solving mysteries.”

Ouma laughs. “You don’t have to tell me. Just don’t kill us, okay?”

“I’ll try,” Momota says, and he steps on the gas.

Chapter Text

The fact that Momota considered himself the best friend—or second best friend as Tenko was always quick to interject—of the slayer was undeniably one of the coolest things to have happen to him. Kaede was awesome. She vanquished evil, saved the lives of innocent people every day, and needed him to tutor her in physics.

His other friends were amazing, too. Yumeno was an actual witch, and Saihara was beginning to get better and better at magic as well. Maki still liked to remind them that she worked solo, but her lifetime of demon hunting caused her to join forces with them enough times that she tolerated whatever nickname Momota thought was especially clever. Iruma couldn’t fight, but she has built more than enough gear to help Kaede out, up to an actual robot. And Tenko’s years of martial arts made her an effective frontline partner. Seeing her in action made Momota regret dropping out of the classes when he was a seven year old who couldn’t help but cry in frustration every time he lost a practice match to another child.

His friends were all so cool, all in their own ways. And Momota made sure to help them, too! He held down the base—Kaede’s house—when they were out fighting whatever new monstrosity had crawled out of the local hell mouth. Sometimes he helped the others with research on the off chance Iruma and Saihara hadn’t already identified what they were up against. He also totally mastered Kaede’s home microwave and never burnt the popcorn the others would ask for after a successful mission.

This night, they were setting out to take down a warlock they suspected was possessed by a spirit demanding young women as sacrifices. Momota couldn’t help but feel it was a little unfair that he was the one asked to guard the base despite almost everyone besides him fitting the monster’s M.O. But then, again, Momota also felt it was unfair he was asked to guard the base every night.

However, Momota also had to admit, he wasn’t that upset about missing this hunt. He could handle the vampires, the werewolves, the ghouls, demons, and slime monsters just fine. But something about ghosts just set off a primal fear he’d had all his life.

He kicked his feet up on Kaede’s couch, watching TV, doing his homework, and also a little of Kaede’s homework since she was starting to fall behind pretty badly due to her slayer responsibilities. He wasn’t paying much attention to the show he was watching, but Momota glanced up at the screen after a particularly funny joke.

Halfway through a laugh, he noticed something bright white in the corner of his eye. Momota jerked to look at the stark white face staring at him through the window. At their eye contact, the owner of said face ducked away. Momota screamed.

-

Ouma thinks the habit some vampires had of referring to their sires as their parents is nauseating at best. Celeste shares this sentiment, and Ouma responds to her known distaste by gleefully calling her mom whenever she was in a bad mood.

One of Celeste’s longest companions—a vampire princess turned at the French revolution—was off on her seemingly yearlong honeymoon with a warlock. Celeste was perpetually in a bad mood these days.

“Mooooom,” Ouma drones. “I’m booooored.”

Celeste makes a rather hard stab with her knitting needles. “I am aware, darling. I heard you the last eight times.”

“Really? ‘Cause that was the ninth.”

“I suppose I missed one, then,” she says. “I do hope you’ll forgive me.”

“If you want me to forgive you,” he says. “Then you’d play with me.”

“You know I detest all games.”

“And you also know lies make you ugly.”

Celeste gives him a very pleasant smile that means she is very done with this conversation. “Then I suppose we are at a standstill.”

Ever since the slayer had moved to town, he and Celeste had been forced to cut back on almost everything that had made Ouma’s second life worth sticking around for. He could tell it was getting to Celeste as well, and in Ouma’s infinite wisdom, now seemed like the perfect time to poke the bear.

“Hey, Mom,” he says, coming to sit at her foot of her chair that really looked more like a throne. “If you miss Sonia-chan that much, why don’t you just go make some new friends? Honestly, it’s kind of pathetic that it’s a Friday night, and you’re making your twentieth scarf. But I guess you are an old lady.”

“I’m making a sweater, darling,” Celeste says. “Perhaps I’ll use it to wipe up your dust when you get yourself staked.”

Ouma giggles. “Someone’s cranky.”

“If you want someone to annoy,” Celeste says. “You are more than invited to go make some more friends yourself.”

“You r-really want me to die that b-badly?” Ouma says, bottom lip trembling.

“At this moment, I do,” she says. “You obviously don’t enjoy my company, so go out and find yourself a prince charming to entertain you. Or get staked trying.” She sets her knitting down with an encouraging smile. “Which I suppose means there is no downside to my little proposal.”

Ouma bursts into tears, cries for ten minutes straight over how mean his own mother is, and runs out into the night, calling back that he’s running away from home and never coming back.

He didn’t really intend to turn any unlucky passersby into a vampire, but he was stir-crazy and didn’t want to go home until he’d had a little fun. Creeping through people’s yards, kicking over lawn ornaments and tearing up carefully arranged gardens was fun.

Placing a telescope someone had left outside up into a tree was also fun, and investigating the light shining through the window also seemed like a good time. There was a boy with funny hair inside, laughing every so often at the TV show he wasn’t paying attention to.

In the middle of debating if Ouma could convince Celeste to let him steal cable from one of their human neighbors, the funny boy looked up at him. Ouma ducked down and couldn’t help but giggle. The funny boy had an even funnier scream.

All things considered, he probably should cut his losses and go. Or…

Ouma tapped his fist rapidly on the window. Another scream.

-

After securely making sure the door to Kaede’s bathroom is locked a solid eight times, Momota allows himself to pace. His phone is in his hand, Saihara’s text telling him that the warlock thing is probably going to be another few hours at best mocking his pain.

Texting back that everything was totally fine in all capitals likely sent the opposite message, but right now he was in a crisis. Whatever creature was lurking outside was absolutely messing with him, and from the incessant giggling he knew would plague his nightmares, he knew it was definitely enjoying itself.

One part of him said that the great Momota Kaito didn’t hide from a challenge, and this was finally his chance to step up and vanquish some evil himself. The other part reminded him he still had no idea if it was a ghost or not.

Momota pauses, taking in deep breaths, and finishing his count to ten even as there’s another banging noise coming from outside. He sneaks back to the living room, keeping his head low, and sits under the coffee table as he writes out a message in his notebook.

The letter he writes says:
Hey creepy monster,
Are you a ghost?

He slides it through the crack under Kaede’s front door. The monster must be right on the other side because he hears an inquisitive humming once the letter is pushed all the way through. Momota jumps when he hears a voice. “Rude.”

Momota swallows, summoning every ounce of courage he has to stop his voice from cracking. “Answer the damn question!”

There’s a pause. Then, “give me a pen.”

“Wha—no!”

“Come oooon. Just slide it under the door.”

“No, you’re trying to trick me! A-And there’s no way a pen would fit!”

“Not with that attitude.”

The paper is slid back through the crack in the door. Though it seems unchanged, Momota stares at it in horror until the voice speaks again. “Write down your phone number. I’ll text you.”

Momota’s terror is cut off in favor of confusion. “You… have a cell phone?”

“Duh. What kind of mystery monster do you take me for?”

Momota’s fear abates as he reasons that ghosts probably can’t use phones. He shoots a quick text to Iruma asking her opinion as he says, “can’t you just tell me?”

“Hey, if you’re gonna ask such a personal question, then you should at least respect how I want to tell you.” The monster giggles. “Also you’re funny.”

Momota doesn’t know why he feels insulted at that, but he retorts, “I am not!”

“Yes, you are!”

“Am not!”

“Are, too!”

“Am—” Momota realizes what he’s doing. Iruma’s response is a variety of swears telling him not to waste her time.

He must have taken too long to respond as the monster says, “hey, funny guy, are you still there?”

“Yeah.”

“Good! I was worried you ran off on me,” it says. “And I would be just heartbroken if I found out my new friend abandoned me!”

“Oh no. As soon as I turn my back, you’re gonna fucking attack me, aren’t you?”

“I would do no such thing! It’s one thing to abandon your friends, but to attack them?” it gasps. “The humanity! Of course, I’m not human.”

It starts giggling happily to itself. Momota rolls his eyes, and then pauses in shock to realize he’s rolling his eyes at some supernatural being of evil. The monster whines for his attention again, and Momota tells it to hold its damn horses. The monster responds with a bright, “I love horses!”

Momota sighs, grabs the pen, and curses under his breath that he knows he’s making a terrible choice.

-

Ouma is a little sad funny guy refused to tell him his name on account of the possibility he’d use it for a curse or something of that nature. He isn’t sad at all when he’s met with the downright menacing look in Celeste’s eyes when he returns home after spending a few too many hours in funny guy’s bushes.

Before she can get a word in, Ouma launches into his speech about the joys of cable TV and how leeching off of their neighbors is a victimless crime. He’s free to spend the rest of the night annoying her as he reasons his human friend needs some sleep.

When Momota hears keys wrestling with the lock of Kaede’s front door, he throws himself onto the couch and does his best to pretend he’s just waking up from a nap as the others shuffle in. They all look dead tired, and Saihara gently says, “Oh, Momota-kun, you didn’t have to stay up for us.”

Momota says it’s no problem. Iruma asks him what kind of drugs he was on to make him think of such a weird question. He tells her he has no idea what she’s talking about and also asks if he can borrow some of her books on demons.

-

After about a week of texting, Momota is ninety percent sure his friend is a vampire. When he asks, he gets an emoticon of one in response. Momota is eighty percent sure vampires can’t use magic and decides to finally tell him his name. Momota learns his vampire friend’s name is Ouma.

Ouma likes horses and candy and stealing statues from people’s patios. His mom is ancient and cranky all the time and is apparently knitting Momota a hat for winter. Ouma doesn’t need to sleep and is happy to talk to Momota all night when everyone else goes out. A month into texting, Ouma whines that he hasn’t seen Momota in person since the first time they met, and Momota realizes the only reason he hasn’t invited him over is that the thought of accidentally luring him to the slayer’s house makes his chest seize up with fear.

He tells Saihara to tell Kaede he’s coming down with a cold and makes sure his grandparents are securely asleep the night he sends Ouma his home address. Ouma is tiny in person, and Momota wonders how he was ever afraid of him that first night when he opens the door.

Ouma has a bright smile as he rocks on his heel, “Sooo, you gonna invite me in?”

Momota doesn’t think twice. “Oh yeah, that’s a vampire thing, huh? So yeah, welcome anytime.”

Ouma’s smile becomes menacing as he takes a pointed step over the threshold and closes the door behind him. “Ooh, bad choice.”

Momota rolls his eyes and is about to turn away when he sees Ouma’s face change. He had seen vampires Kaede fought with before twist their faces into something demonic, but it seemed almost entirely different up close.

Ouma’s face is soon even closer as kicks off the guard and launches himself at Momota with far more strength than his wiry body has any right possessing. Momota lands hard on the floor, pain kicking fiercely at him as the back of his head smacks against the hardwood flooring. He hisses and struggles to get a supporting elbow underneath him with Ouma sitting on his chest, holding him down. And then Ouma is at his side. “Let me see—don’t sit up too fast, dummy.”

Momota turns his aching head as fast as the pain will allow him to see Ouma, face human again, staring down at him in concern. “What the fuck was that about?” Momota asks, wincing again as he finally manages to sit up.

“Well, it was going to be a hilarious prank,” Ouma says. “But then you ruined it by not having carpet. Very rude on your part.”

“You’re a dick,” Momota mutters under his breath.

Ouma giggles. “It’s part of that soulless charm.” Ouma’s hand is very gentle and deliberate as it brushes over the back of Momota’s head, making him shiver—which in turn makes Ouma smirk—until he finds the point of impact. Momota curses at the contact. “Doesn’t look too bad, but you got a little bump. Which way’s your kitchen?”

Ouma is directed and returns with ice. The rest of the night is spent on Momota’s couch, watching TV and arguing inanely only interrupted by Ouma insisting on inspecting on his injury every so often.

“So you really weren’t scared at all?” Ouma asks.

“I was startled ‘cause you jumped at me like a fucking maniac,” Momota says. “But, no not really. You’re like a hundred centimeters, dude.”

“Excuse you,” Ouma pouts. “Height has nothing to do with being scary! And I am—”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Momota says. “You’re, like, one centimeter tall.”

Ouma hits him with a pillow, claiming he is a creature of darkness and evil. Momota laughs. “You know what I think?” Ouma says. “I think you have a death wish. Why else would you invite such an adorable bloodthirsty creature into your home?”

“Shut up,” Momota says. “That doesn’t even make any sense. I’d have to do something dangerous to have a death wish.”

“Did you really just ignore me?” Ouma says. “I said you—”

“You’re not dangerous. You’re just kind of an asshole.”

“I’ll have you know I was five seconds from pretend ripping your throat out earlier.”

“Yeah, ‘pretend,’” Momota says. “There’s no way you’d ever actually do something like that.”

“I’m evil,” Ouma insists.

Momota shrugs. “Not really. But even if you keep saying that, I still trust you.”

Ouma leans over to tap his nose. “And that is a terrible choice.”

Momota swats his hand away, and Ouma laughs. Momota also spends a solid minute chewing on his lip before he asks, “so, uh, how long have you been you know?”

“I know?”

“Don’t be an ass,” Momota says. “It’s your fault I’m not thinking straight.”

“Momota-chan, if you keep saying stuff like that, I’m going to take you to—”

“We don’t need any hospitals,” Momota says. “I don’t have a concussion, just—” he cuts himself off with a huff. “I just wanted to know how old you are or whatever.”

Ouma hums. “Well, I suppose I could give you a hard time, but I guess I kind of already did. Forties.”

“You’re in your forties?” Momota echoes.

“No, dummy,” Ouma says. “That’s when I became a vampire.”

“Oh,” Momota says. “So, you’re like an old man, then.”

“I am not! I’m as spry as—”

“Only an old man would say something like—”

“If you keep being mean to me, I’m gonna tell my mom!”

“What’s she gonna do? Hit me with her purse?”

He dances around any more questions and gives out blatantly obvious lies when asked about any of the specifics. Still, conversation with Ouma is easy, even if he seems to take a special thrill in throwing out references that are completely lost on Momota after revealing his age.

Their meetings become a regular enough occurrence that Momota starts to feel a little bad whenever Kaede talks about staking a vampire. He really hopes none of them were Ouma’s friends.

Saihara takes his discomfort completely the wrong way. “Hey, Momota-kun,” he says. “I know you haven’t been feeling well lately, but if you want to hang out with us, you can. We really didn’t mean to exclude you or anything like—”

“Pfft, I know,” Momota says. “Don’t worry about it, man.”

Saihara very much does worry about it. In his well intentioned efforts to assure Momota he is still a valuable friend, he accidentally hammers home far too many times just how dangerous vampire hunting is and how unequipped Momota is for it.

Momota isn’t sure how to broach the topic with Ouma, so he blunders into it anyway. “Hey, I have kind of a weird question for you. How do you feel about other vampires?”

“Smelly.”

“So… they’re not your friends?’

“Nope!”

“You wanna try hunting some with me?” Ouma raises both eyebrows, and Momota suddenly feels the need to justify himself. “I-I mean only if you want to. Like we don’t have—”

“No, it sounds fun!” Ouma says. “But only if it’s a date.”

Sitting in a dark graveyard, waiting for vampires to rise—because the small town with the local hell mouth seems to be the only one that insists on not cremating their dead—does not seem like a fun date idea.

Ouma croons over how romantic it is and cuddles up to Momota as if he had any body heat to share. “Sooo, you’re buddies with the slayer, right?”

Momota stiffens. “Er, yeah. How’d you know?”

“Well, those professional looking stakes you got there kind of gave it away. Also I figured you’d only come here if you have a death wish or something to prove.” Ouma hums. “Or maybe both.”

“I don’t have a death wish,” Momota says. “And I don’t have anything to prove to anyone. I just wanna… help out, you know?”

“And that totally explains why you asked me to help you and not one of your trained friends,” Ouma says. “I see, that checks out.”

“I just figured you’d have some inside information,” Momota says. “You know all their tricks and shit.”

Ouma gasps. “You think I’d sell out my own kind?”

“Uh,” Momota raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Well, duh,” Ouma giggles. “Creatures without souls don’t stick together. I’d stake mom if I got the chance!”

Momota sighs. “You gotta quit lying about that.”

“What? Killing my mom?”

“I mean, that, too,” Momota says. “But all that crap about not having a soul.”

“So, Momota-chan,” Ouma says as if speaking to a very slow child. “I do lie about everything, but that actually can be fact checked.”

“I know,” Momota says. “But it’s obviously not true. I mean,” he frowns, kicking at the ground. “We’re friends, aren’t we? And you care about your friends, and you have to have a soul to care, so.” He shrugs. “I don’t know why you’re having such a hard time understanding this. You’re pretty stupid sometimes, Ouma.”

Ouma scoffs. “Well, clearly you don’t understand our relationship, you meanie.” He stands on his tiptoes to pat Momota’s cheek. “I care about you because you are my pet human.”

“Hey! Fuck you, I’m not—”

“Shush, boy,” Ouma says. “I hear something.”

Momota scowls but shuts up as he hears it, too. Something is clawing at the ground, or, rather, something in the ground is clawing. Momota pulls one of the stakes he brought out of his bag and takes a deep breath. He squeezes his eyes shut and whispers to himself that he can do this. When he opens his eyes, Ouma is gone.

Momota gets out one panicked call for him before the vampire tears itself out of the ground. It takes about five seconds to shake the dirt off of itself before its yellow eyes catch sight of Momota. It doesn’t stalk slowly towards him like Momota had somehow been hoping, but instead charges at full speed. Momota unfreezes just in time to jump out of the way of its lunge. Unlike when Ouma would tackle him only to nuzzle his neck and playfully announce he’s dead, Momota doesn’t think the monster charging at him again has any interest in just being affection in the weirdest way.

Momota isn’t trained like Kaede or Maki or even Tenko, but he does know his elbow is one of the hardest parts of the body. The vampire gets way too close for comfort, and Momota’s half attack, half flail manages to drive his elbow right into the creature’s neck. The moment allows him to scramble back a few more paces, but he now fully understands why Kaede always followed up her initial hits with at least five more punches as the vampire recovers far faster than it has any right to.

He manages to hold the stake out in a vague striking position just as the vampire catches hold of both his arms and physically drives him off his feet. The stake flies out of his hand, and Momota suddenly realizes all at once how terrible idea this was. Momota’s heart is in his throat as he knows there’s no way he’s fast or strong enough to do anything in their desperate struggle on the ground. A fight for his life isn’t nearly as heroic as he imagined it. His fist is bloody from a poor punch into the vampire’s mouth that accomplishes nothing besides making its teeth look even more terrifying.

The vampire slams its head down next to his when a rock bounces off the back of its skull. It jerks up just as quickly, and Momota takes the opportunity to wrench himself out from under it. Doing so proves to be a good choice as someone—Ouma—throws themselves at the vampire, tackling it to the ground with far more force that Momota could hope to possess.

Momota is still in shock from his near death experience, and it takes Ouma yelling his name at least three times for him to finally hear what he’s saying. “Stake it already, you idiot!”

Momota’s heroic resolve is in shambles, but the urgency in Ouma’s voice forces him to keep moving. His legs are wobbling as he grabs the stake again, thankfully not rolled too far out of reach, and sprints towards Ouma. Ouma’s jaw is clenched tight as he holds the vampire down and pulls away for just a second to allow Momota to strike.

The body gives way into dust, and Momota could cry with how relieved he is he didn’t miss the heart. Momota collapses onto his knees while Ouma dusts off his hands, letting out a low whistle. “Woo, that one was a fighter, huh? But I suppose that’s all in a days work for… Momota-chan?”

Momota’s heart is still beating in his ears, and his entire body feels numb even when he registers Ouma’s cold hand on his shoulder. Ouma is quiet for once in his life, and Momota is so glad that he doesn’t point out how badly he’s shaking. He wants nothing more than to leave the graveyard and never come back, but he also has a feeling his legs might collapse out from under him.

Ouma doesn’t say anything until after Momota makes it to some bushes to throw up nothing but bile. He brushes Momota’s sweaty bangs out of his eyes and murmurs to himself, “you’re all clammy.”

Momota speaks for the first time since the attack. “Yeah…”

Ouma hums. “Well, vamp hunting accomplished, right? Personally, I feel like throwing the victory party at your house. Seems a little rude to do it here.”

Secure on Momota’s couch, Momota’s voice barely rises above a whisper. “That was stupid…”

“Oh no question,” Ouma says. “And also since I totally saved you, you’re in my debt forever now, but we can iron out the fine details later since the contract does need to be signed in blood.”

Ouma babbles and Momota is quiet. He feels a small rush of pain in his chest when Ouma observes he needs to head home soon or risk getting caught in the sun.

It’s only the next morning after a clarity inducing nap that Momota musters the courage to text him thank you. Ouma responds with approximately a dozen hearts. Momota still doesn’t have the courage to match his message, but it makes the pain he felt when Ouma left make sense.

-

There are only two major changes after the incident. Momota stops complaining about not being invited on whatever hunting trip the others are going on, and he spends even more time with Ouma.

It turns out he hasn’t quite been as stealthy at inviting Ouma to his house as he would have hoped, and he returns from Kaede’s one night to find Ouma sitting up with his grandmother, requesting she put extra marshmallows in his hot chocolate. Momota shoos Ouma away earlier than usual, and his grandmother only laughs as she asks why he hasn’t properly introduced her to his strange little friend yet.

“He’s an odd one,” she says. “But he seems like a nice boy.”

Momota admits he is definitely strange.

“Honestly, he seems good for you,” she says. “We haven’t wanted to say anything, but your grandfather and I have been worried about you lately. Your friends are all very nice people, but you always seem so upset whenever you come back from visits with them.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess…” Momota rubs the back of his head. “I was just being stupid about something, but it’s all taken care of now.” His grandmother doesn’t seem happy with that answer. Momota tacks on, “Ouma helped out a lot, actually.”

She tells him she’s glad to hear that and Ouma is always welcome. Momota can’t help but notice that while Ouma is extremely happy to invite himself over whenever, he doesn’t seem inclined to return the favor. Any and every time Momota hints he would like to visit him, Ouma whines about how cold, dark, and boring his house is. Somewhere between all the lies and poor excuses, Momota gets the distinct feeling Ouma is as terrified of Momota meeting the vampire he calls mother as Momota is at the idea of introducing him to Kaede.

Ouma is bouncing around even more than normal on the night he announces his mom has left town and he is now a free man. Why Ouma couldn’t have been a free man the last eighty years, Momota doesn’t know.

But he’s become a strange fixture of his life, and Momota hope he doesn’t look too horrifically panicked when Kaede mentions she ran into the strangest little vampire the other night. “I know this sounds weird,” she says. “But he didn’t seem dangerous. He just kept, like, dancing around and asking me weird riddles or something.”

“Sure it wasn’t a leprechaun?” Iruma asks.

Kaede frowns. “I mean, he did say he was a leprechaun… and a ghost and a mermaid.”

Momota clears his throat. “W-Well, there haven’t been any vampire attacks in a long time, right? So maybe he is just a leprechaun or something.”

“I guess you’re right,” Kaede says. “It’s still weird, though.”

Weirder things than Ouma come to town. Demons that silence everyone, demons that cause hallucinations, and even one demon that made everyone sing their feelings aloud. Ouma refused to see Momota on the day the last one showed up, but he’s come to expect behavior and games he doesn’t understand.

He does know that Ouma’s definitely not a ghost, and Momota refuses to believe he’s a soulless vampire, no matter how many times he says it. Momota flips through Iruma’s books on demons while Ouma entertains himself by bouncing a spoon on the end of his nose.

Maybe he is a leprechaun.

Chapter Text

Amami is amazing.

Momota doesn’t think he has the words to describe him without somehow diminishing just how awe-inspiring he is. He flicks his wrist and spears rise at his command, flying through the air to drive straight into the witch’s heart. At least Momota assumes that’s where Amami’s aiming. It’s admittedly hard to tell given that this abomination appears to just be endless spider legs with no actual body.

In general, the spider theme of this labyrinth is the one thing Momota could do without, and Saihara seems to agree, flinching away even from the spider familiars too small to cause any harm. But it’s hard to pay attention to that or even Saihara tugging at his sleeve to get him to move to a safer position. The problem with hiding behind cover is that he can’t watch Amami anymore.

And Amami is a hero.

When the witch falls in what Momota thinks is a show stopping finale that never gets old, even if he’s seen it half a dozen times now, Amami brushes his hair out of his eyes. “Well,” he says, not even needing a breath to calm down after the action. “That one put up quite the fight, didn’t it?”

Momota grins. “Yeah, but it was still no match for you.”

Amami laughs. “That’s kind of you to say. If you keep saying stuff like that, I’m going to start getting cocky.”

“So?” Momota says. “You deserve to be.”

“Still,” Saihara interjects, finally coming out of hiding. “It never hurts to be careful.”

“Also true,” Amami says. “I’d say safety is the priority, but coming here at all kind of shoots that horse in the face.”

“But that’s what heroes do.” Momota presses his fists together. “And you’re a hell of a hero.”

“Not sure if I’d give myself that much credit, but,” and he turns to smile at him. “Thanks. I mean it. I actually really appreciate having you guys around.”

Saihara says something else about safety or maybe about how Harukawa texted him, but everything is in one ear and out the other. Amami the amazing hero who saves people everyday appreciates him.

Amami collects and makes use of the elegantly patterned grief seed. Monokuma’s happy to take the discarded remains off his hands, and at the bear’s appearance Momota asks, “So, Shuichi, what are you thinking of wishing for?”

“Huh? Oh, um,” it always takes a second for Saihara to get past his usual stammering, and Momota makes a half guess in the intermittent that he’d wish for more confidence. “I’m not sure. I’ve been thinking about it, but every wish I can think of seems too small.”

“What do you mean?” Momota asks. “Personally, I’d wish for,” he waves a hand vaguely, “I don’t know, a big cake, a pet goldfish, a plant that doesn’t need to be watered—anything.”

“And I keep telling you,” Amami says, voice light and warm despite the reprimand. “It’s not something to take lightly. It’s great that you want to be a magical boy, but wishing just to become one is kind of a waste.”

Momota rubs the back of his head. “Yeah, I know, and I’ve been thinking, but,” he grins. “I just wanna get in the action, you know?”

Amami laughs. “I think I’m starting to get the idea.”

“Personally,” Monokuma says. “I say the sooner the better. Kids today take sooo long to make up their minds, and the more time you spend waffling, the more people witches are eating for their morning breakfasts.”

Amami narrows his eyes. “Don’t say things like that. Putting pressure on someone making this decision is the last thing we want to do.”

“The last thing you want to do,” Monokuma corrects.

If Momota had been approached by just Monokuma, he thinks he might have a different idea about this whole thing. But as it were, he can’t get the image of Amami appearing out of thin air right in the nick of time to slice the head off the witch that ambushed Saihara and him.

“To be honest,” Saihara says, shuffling his feet. “I’m still not sure I want to make a wish at all. I don’t know if there’s anything I want badly enough to risk my life for.”

“That’s more than reasonable,” Amami says. “And why I keep telling you guys to think carefully. Your life changes forever once you contract, so don’t take it lighty.”

“Okay, yeah,” Momota says. “But you say ‘change forever’ like that’s a bad thing. There’s lots of shit that’ll change your life forever but in good ways.” He gestures to Amami. “Like when we met you.”

Amami smiles his usual placid smile, but there’s something less than heroic in it that doesn’t match up with Momota’s compliment. “I suppose you’re right. Still, don’t rush into it. Think long and hard about it, and if you can’t think of anything that’s an answer, too.”

“Amami-kun,” Saihara says. “If it’s alright, can I ask what you wished for?”

Amami’s smile fades. “Ah, sorry, that’s a bit private. But,” he glances somewhere to the side of them. “It’s also the reason I’m being so hard on you guys, and why I think my real advice is… don’t be afraid to wish selfishly.”

His words don’t line up with Momota’s heroic image. “Huh? Why would—”

“Because,” Amami says. “Once you make a contract, there’s no going back, and you’re only going to have yourself to blame if things go wrong. So wishing selfishly is the least you can do for yourself.”

Momota still has his doubts about that explanation, but it soothes a bit of the shame buried deep in his chest. “Okay, I think I get it, but still,” he grins, “the wish doesn’t really matter, ‘cause no matter what you get to be a hero like you.”

Amami laughs. “That’s a good way to look at it, but…” he dismisses his words with a wave of his hand. “Ah, never mind. It’s getting late, and I’ve probably scared you both away with my rambling.”

“No you haven’t,” Momota says. “Nothing could scare me away.”

“I suppose I should have expected that answer,” Amami says with a smile. “But anyway, thanks for coming out with me tonight. Really.”

Saihara nods. “Ah, of course. Thank you for letting us come.”

Amami says again that he should be the one thanking them like he always does.

When they part ways, Momota asks, “so you really have no idea what you’re going to wish for?”

Saihara tugs at his hat. “Well, honestly I haven’t been thinking too much about what I would wish for and more… if I want to make a wish at all.”

Momota would be more off put by the answer if he hadn’t had a similar with Harukawa only a few days ago. “I get it,” he says, clapping Saihara on the back. “You and Harumaki are nervous and need me to lead the way. Well, don’t worry—what kind of hero would I be if I didn’t blaze the trail for my sidekicks?”

He grins at Saihara. “I’m not sure if that’s the problem,” he says. “I mean, we’ve both seen Amami-kun in action, so we know what it’s like and…” he risks a glance up at Momota’s beaming face. “Does Amami-kun ever seem—I don’t know—kind of sad to you?”

Momota furrows his brow. “Sad?”

“I-I mean,” Saihara jumps to correct himself. “He’s always really glamorous and… kind of heroic, but sometimes I get the feeling he’s not very happy.”

Momota considers his point and feels that same twist of shame as he says, “you’re over thinking it. Amami saves people’s lives every day—how can he not be happy?”

“Ah, I guess you’re right,” Saihara concedes. He still doesn’t have a wish in mind by the time they reach his house. Saihara says his goodbyes, and Momota takes the leisurely stroll back to his house while the sky turns from orange to black.

The stars come out, and Momota regrets there aren’t easier ways to make wishes. He also regrets that his real decision isn’t what to wish for, but how to break it to Saihara and Harukawa.

Monokuma doesn’t speak to him, but his shadow trails after him the entire way home. Momota assumes it’s because the bear knows what Saihara, Harukawa, and Amami don’t. It’s just a waiting game at this point, and Momota decides to let himself enjoy his remaining nights of peace under the stars before he inevitably joins Amami.

-

“You’re dead set on it, aren’t you?” Amami asks him. Saihara’s panicked text that he and Harukawa found a witch’s labyrinth had sent Momota running to Amami, and then the two of them running back until the scenery warped into the absurd. This labyrinth is full of string, and Momota worries about watching his feet, lest he trip over a thread strung taut. “Sorry, maybe now isn’t the best time for conversation, but…”

“Nah, I get it,” Momota says. “Everyone else is so freaked out about this shit that I guess I’m the odd one out.”

Amami hums. “It’s interesting how that worked out. Some people I’ve met have been really gung-ho about the whole thing and wished immediately without thinking.” He chances a measured look over his shoulder to Momota. “It doesn’t usually lead to good results.”

“Wait,” Momota says. “This is the first time you’ve mentioned other magical boys—er, girls—magical people?”

He laughs. “I’ve met all types, and you’re right.” The levity fades, and Amami looks forward again. “I don’t make it a habit of sharing sad stories. I guess that’s a bit of a lie by concealment, huh?”

Momota shrugs. “Everyone has secrets, man. I’m not gonna blame you for not sharing your whole life story with me.”

“That’s not quite what I meant,” Amami says. “I mean, I know that the way I act makes this life seem cool and dramatic, but,” he lets out a deep breath. “I’m telling this to you because I know you want to make a contract, okay? There’s a reason I’m on my own now. All of those people I knew before—a lot of them are dead. And the ones who aren’t fight anyone who invades their territory.”

Momota considers his point for only a second before countering, “but it doesn’t have to be that way. I mean, you’re different, and when I contract then we can work together or whatever.”

Amami spares him another glance and a smile. “You always sound so confident.”

Momota smiles back. “I am confident. And I appreciate that you’re worried about me, but I have thought this through.” Amami stops walking altogether, and Momota insists, “I have. This isn’t just me being stubborn or not getting the wrong idea or whatever you’re thinking. I…” he pauses for the first time. Saying it aloud somehow makes it almost a bit too real. “I have a wish that I need to make, and if I get to become a hero and be your partner in saving people? I don’t think there’s anything more I could want.”

There’s a touch more of life in Amami’s smile than usual. “There’s no convincing you, then?”

“Nope,” Momota grins.

Amami turns away, but Momota can hear the smile in his voice. “Guess we’ll have something to celebrate after I finish off this witch, then.”

There’s a brightness in Amami’s usual languid movements that Momota doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. It carries him all the way through his fight with the strange, shape bending witch. His strikes have more bravado, passion, and style, and this fight is even more fun to watch than all the others.

Then the witch changes shape in an odd way—a way that makes Amami blink in the one second before it moves lightning fast. Momota isn’t even sure what he just witnessed before Harukawa’s iron grip on his arm forces him to stagger backwards.

Amami is on the ground, his head leaking onto the floor, and the witch is upon him. Harukawa keeps pulling and dragging and shouting at him and Saihara to stop being idiots and run.

In the outside world, none of them have anything to say until Harukawa marches up to Monokuma. “Get away from us,” she snaps. “Is that what you’re offering? Dying like that?”

“It is part of the deal,” he hums. “Amami-kun was very upfront with you all about that, so don’t go and accuse me of—”

Harukawa throws a rock at him, and Monokuma scampers off with a few more quips about the ungratefulness of teenagers. Saihara has his hand pressed to his mouth in an attempt to hold back some of his sobs, while Momota just stares ahead, trying to piece together the Amami he had spoken to only minutes ago and the one lying still on the floor.

It seems ill-suiting that Harukawa, after spending the previous week being the most ambivalent, is the one having the biggest reaction to what they just witnessed. She tells them both that if Monokuma tries to approach them, she’ll wring his furry neck.

Momota goes home, the two images of Amami caught in his mind, and Monokuma’s shadow looming large through his window. He doesn’t call Harukawa to have her make good on her promise or throw a rock himself. He clenches and unclenches his fists because what he just saw still changes nothing.

Monokuma says, “so, avenging your friend sounds like a noble cause to me. And,” he tilts his head to a calendar hanging on Momota’s bedroom wall that he’s been trying to ignore for months on end. “That big red circle sure is coming up soon, don’t you think?”

Saihara and Harukawa are not going to be happy with him, but they’ll accept this more than the other secret he’s been keeping from them.

“I’m a busy bear, you know,” Monokuma says, “so what’s it going to be?”

Amami had never talked about the physical pain in making a contract. His chest hurts and hurts until all the pain he’s been carrying for years now is gone, and his soul gem is a blinding lilac floating out before him. Momota claims it with both hands.

-

The witch that killed Amami is still out there, but Momota knows its tricks now. It might be a bad choice for a first fight, but it feels right. Every part of him feels stronger, and his sword moves with a deftness that should be impossible. The witch falls. His soul gem already has so many smudges that Momota has to use the grief seed immediately, but that’s okay.

He was too late to save Amami, but there’s no way in hell he’ll let anyone else meet the same fate. Momota grins when he tosses the used grief seed to Monokuma, who eagerly snatches it up.

Explaining the situation to Harukawa and Saihara when he stumbles upon them on one of his nightly scouting patrols is even more awkward than he assumed it would be. Saihara’s nearly in tears, exclaiming how he doesn’t want him to end up like Amami. Harukawa punches his shoulder, and even though Momota’s stronger now, her worried blows still hurt more than they should.

Saihara manages to recover enough from his panic to ask the question Momota had been hoping he could avoid answering. “Why? After what happened to Amami-kun why would you…”

Monokuma had a good answer, and Momota uses it. “It’s because of what happened to Amami,” he says. “I couldn’t let that fucking witch get away after what it did to him. It was just going to keep killing people, too, and not just that witch—every witch around. Without Amami around, what’s going to happen to all the people those monsters go after?”

“So you’re taking up his work?” Harukawa asks. “His work that got him killed?”

Momota rubs the back of his head. “Geeze, you guys. You’re acting like I don’t already fucking know that, but,” he presses his fists together. “That just made it so I had to stop whining and make a decision for real. There are people out there in this city that need my help, and I’m not going to let them down.”

“But what if you…” Saihara trails off, not daring to finish his own question.

Momota shoots him a thumbs up. “Don’t worry about it. I’m gonna give it my all, but I know I have my sidekicks backing up. There’s gonna be danger, sure, but I’ll know when I need to,” he gestures vaguely, “retreat to further victory. Something like that.”

“We’re coming with you,” Harukawa says. “This is not negotiable. You’re going to do something stupid if no one’s around to keep you in line.”

Momota decides to ignore the insult and gives her a grin she doesn’t seem to appreciate. “Hell yeah! If I have my sidekicks cheering me on, I’ll defeat every fucking witch in this city within a week! With the day! Within the hour—”

“Momota,” Harukawa says. “This is serious.”

“I know,” he says. “And I’m taking it seriously. Also,” he ruffles her hair, and Harukawa allows him to for a second before swatting at his hands, “I’m a hero now, and heroes make people happy. So cheer up, okay? This is a good thing.”

Harukawa and Saihara exchange an uneasy look that signals they don’t agree. They still come on his patrols with him, and Harukawa’s quick to point out every reckless thing he does while Saihara offers slightly meeker congratulations.

Momota finds in his now nightly fights against familiar and witch alike, that while he is faster, stronger, and everything else he was promised, he doesn’t have the smoothness of style Amami did. His soul gem always looks a little darker than he remembers Amami’s had after fights, and he says he’s listening to Harukawa when really he’s wondering why there’s sweat on his brow and fumbling steps in his strides, when Amami had always looked like something out of an action movie.

The witches and familiars still fall under his sword, even if he has to try a little harder than Amami had, and there are innocent civilians freed from witches’ kisses and labyrinths. Monokuma clicks his tongue and says Amami’s territory isn’t quite what it used to be, and Momota tells him to shut up with ease. He had saved children nearly coerced to walk through a busy highway and another group of people about to set the building they were in on fire. Monokuma jabs and Harukawa fusses, but those are the things that stick with him when he closes his eyes every night.

-

Momota ends up leaving Harukawa and Saihara behind in his chase after the familiar. It’s wily in its movements, and Momota grins when it ducks down an alleyway, finally cornered. He raises his sword to land the finale blow and lurches forward leaving his weapon behind when it refuses to follow in his strike.

Momota stumbles, barely catching himself against the wall. He whips around, and his sword is held aloft by glowing purple threads. Before he can figure out what the hell just happened to him, giggling fills the air. “Well, you’re a dumb one, aren’t you? Didn’t anyone ever tell you the rules?”

Before Momota can shout for whatever mysterious figure is taunting him to show themselves, a boy dressed in magic garb only a shade darker than Momota’s jumps down from his perch on one of the surrounding building’s roofs. “You’re not going to get anything from a little baby like that,” he says. “And isn’t hunting babies cruel, anyway? Let it live its life, fall in with the wrong crowd, have a mid-life crisis, eat a few humans, have a few bouncing beautiful abominations of its own and then show it what’s what.”

Momota scowls at him as he walks over to his sword to pull it free with a bit of effort and a grunt. “If you don’t kill familiars, they’ll kill people.”

“I am aware,” the boy says as if he were speaking to a child. “That’s how familiars grow big and strong.”

Momota does a double take, his eyes growing wide. “You’re fine with that?”

“‘Course I am,” he says. “Listen, I like people—they’re funny. Hilarious. Buuut I also like getting a nice reward for a job well done. You understand, right boy wonder?” Momota keeps glaring. “Well, from that look it seems like you don’t.”

“You just said you’re fine with people dying!”

The boy hums. “Well, aren’t we all dying, really?”

“What,” Momota hisses, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” the boy says, his jovial tone gone. “Because I think I get the picture now. You’re one of those idealist types aren’t you?”

“How the hell does stopping familiars from murdering people make me a type?”

Momota is ignored. “So here’s the situation, boy wonder,” the boy says. “When you burn out in a week, I’ll keep watch over Amami-chan’s territory, okay?”

Momota’s grip on his sword tightens involuntarily. “How the fuck do you know Amami?”

“Aw, he never told you about me? Never mentioned an Ouma Kokichi?” he asks. “Well, I guess we did leave on bad terms, but now he’s witch food so I guess—”

The blade of a dagger manifests in Ouma’s hand at the last possible second to stop Momota’s sword from colliding with his head. “Whoa there,” Ouma says. “Someone’s feisty.”

“How fucking dare you say that about him!” Momota snarls.

Ouma’s face stretches into a sly grin. “But it’s true, isn’t it? And you shouldn’t be so upset, especially since I get the feeling you’re going to be joining him soon.”

Momota tries to swing at him again, and Ouma summons a second dagger to catch his blade between the two. He twists, sending Momota off kilter for a second before he’s able kick off the ground for another thrust. “Boy you like waving that thing around,” Ouma quips with his next dodge. “Doesn’t seem like you know how to use it, though.”

“Shut up!” Momota shouts. His next strike meets air and the one after that, then a sharp pain registers in his side. He lets out a strangled noise of surprise as he falls to one knee, and looks up when he hears whistling to see Ouma twirling his remaining dagger.

“Looks like you can’t keep it up either,” Ouma says. “Man, are you boring. You know, if I didn’t—”

“Momota-kun!”

Ouma turns at Saihara’s shout to see him and Harukawa rush into the alley. Both stutter to a stop at the sight before them. “M-Momota-kun?” Saihara says again. “What’s—”

“Friends of yours I assume?” Ouma asks. “Lucky for you, I don’t do crowds. See you arou—”

Momota surges forward with renewed speed, and Ouma gasps as he’s shoved against a wall. “No running away,” Momota says. “We’re finishing this now.”

Ouma’s shocked expression turns to one of amusement. “Well if you want to keep playing with me that badly…”

Momota spies the glitter of magic forming in Ouma’s hand and jumps away just in time to avoid another dagger to his chest. “Hey!” he shouts. “That’s cheating!”

Ouma gives him an incredulous look. “‘Cheating?’ Really?”

“If you were a real man,” Momota says. “You’d fucking fight me fair and square.”

“Feisty and stupid,” Ouma says. “Interesting combination.”

Harukawa steps forward. “Quit it. This is—”

Ouma raises a hand towards where Saihara and Harukawa are standing, and a wall of purple thread appears in front of them. “The peanut gallery needs to stay in their seats. No audience participation in this show.”

Harukawa tries to tear at the thread anyway. While Saihara calls out, “Momota-kun, please stop! This is—”

“I know Shuichi,” Momota says. He takes a deep breath and gives him his best heroic smile. “And I’m gonna be fine. Just cheer me on while I kick this guy’s ass, okay?”

“Ah—look out!” Saihara shouts.

Momota turns, putting his sword to parry Ouma’s strike just in time. “Gotta pay attention, Momota-chan.”

Momota shoves forward with all his might in the hopes of knocking Ouma off his feet, but he manages to gracefully jump to the side. “Don’t fucking call me that!”

“Oh, I think I’m going to call you whatever I want,” Ouma says. He speeds towards him too fast for Momota to react to his dagger slicing against his arm, his shoulder, his chest. Each blow in his volley is punctuated with a word, “Since I’m winning this fight.”

Momota collapses to the ground again, and Saihara and Harukawa both scream for him. “Give up?” Ouma asks.

He has to use his sword and the wall next to him for support to draw himself back up on his shaky legs. Momota spits onto the ground before grasping the handle of his sword properly again. “Never.”

“That is a bad attitude to have in this business,” Ouma says. “But if you insist.”

The fight continues, and Momota is hopelessly outmatched. He’s too slow and clumsy, and despite the magic running through his veins, he’s just not strong enough.

Momota goes sprawling to the ground again and again. His entire body hurts, and forcing himself to his feet when he can’t stop trembling is almost too much. Ouma decides it is too much and plants a foot on his back, keeping him down. “Little advice from me to you, Momota-chan. Know when you’re beat.”

“I’m not—” Momota clenches his jaw. Even speaking hurts. “I’m not fucking done. You haven’t won yet. Just let me—”

“I don’t think so.” He grinds his heel into Momota’s back, receiving a groan of pain in response. “I actually think I’d prefer to let a witch do my dirty work.”

The pressure on his back is relieved, and Momota catches a glimpse of Ouma in odd, ratty, but non magical clothes purifying his soul gem. “What a waste of magic,” Ouma says. He smirks down at Momota. “I assume you have some backups for yourself, right? Only an idiot would get into a fight like that without any.”

Momota struggles to sit up. “Fuck you.”

“So you’re an idiot then,” Ouma says. “But that was already obvious. Good luck fighting all those heroic battles with no magic.”

He snaps his fingers, and the barrier that had been keeping Saihara and Harukawa away vanishes. They rush to Momota’s side, and Ouma disappears into the city.

“Momota-kun, are you okay?” Saihara asks. “That was really bad, and your soul gem—”

“I’m fine,” Momota says.

“No, you’re not,” Harukawa says. “Nothing about that was fine. Were you trying to get yourself killed? Do you want to—”

“I said I’m fine!” Momota snaps. They both stare at him in shock, and he immediately feels guilty for his outburst. “I’m… I’m sorry, but I’m fine. Really.” He takes a second to transform back to his normal clothes, and then forces himself to stand without there help. Saihara and Harukawa both still look upset. Momota rubs the back of his head. “Thanks for worrying about me, but I really am okay—just a little tired.”

Saihara fidgets. “Are you sure?”

“Totally,” Momota says. “Come on, you guys know me. If I was having trouble, I’d let you know first thing.”

Harukawa looks away. “That was still really stupid.”

“Ah, yeah,” Momota admits. “Still… I couldn’t just let that guy get away. The next time I see him—”

“You’ll run away,” Harukawa says.

“No, I’m—”

“He could have killed you if he wanted,” Harukawa says. “So the next time you see that asshole, you’re running.”

Momota wants to reassure her, but even the thought of lying about running from a bastard like Ouma makes his blood boil. “Sorry, Harumaki, but that’s not an option.”

“Yes, it is,” she says. “If you’re too—”

“I’ll just make sure to settle it next time,” Momota says. “I know how he fights so I’ll fucking take him down for sure. I’m not going to let a guy like that get away.”

“Momota-kun,” Saihara says again. “I know this means a lot to you, but—”

Momota puts a hand up. “If you’re gonna try and talk me out of it, I’m not gonna hear it.”

They still spend the rest of the way home pestering him over it. Momota waves them off and smiles in the right places in their conversation, and only lets himself show his sheer exhaustion when he collapses at home in his bed. A glance at his soul gem shows it’s tinged with a layer of gray. Momota grimaces.

He makes sure his next battle is against a witch, and it is rough. Harukawa and Saihara both express their strong disapproval for him fighting again the day after his battle with Ouma, and Momota doesn’t mention how badly he needs the grief seed he earns.

Saihara says, “I know you don’t want to, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to stop hunting witches. I know that other boy… isn’t a very good person, but he has experience and can—”

“Are you fucking kidding?” Momota asks. “He lets people die, Shuichi. Like hell am I going to let an asshole like him do whatever he wants.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Saihara says. “I just meant are you… are you okay?”

He smiles for Saihara’s comfort. “Of course, I’m fine. I’m a hero of justice now, after all.”

Ouma’s voice pierces through their conversation. “Is that what you’re calling yourself?” He strolls towards them, hands folded behind his head. “You know, that kind of explains everything.”

Momota glares. “You have a lot of fucking nerve showing your face again after—”

“After I kicked your ass? Oh, how dare I,” Ouma says.

Saihara tugs on his arm, whispering a worried, “Momota-kun…”

“That was just a fluke, and you know it!” Momota says. “So what if you won? That doesn’t mean shit! I’d never lose in a real fight to an asshole like you.”

“Momota,” Harukawa warns. “Stop it.”

“A real fight you say,” Ouma says. “Do you propose we have one? You know, I’d have to check my calendar, but it would be awfully fun to make you cry again.”

Momota wrenches free of Saihara’s nervous hands and ignores Harukawa’s calls to him. “I’m not going to fucking lose to you,” he hisses. “I’m not going to lose to anyone.”

Ouma smiles. “Heroes like you really need to be taught their place, don’t they?”

A time and place is arranged. Harukawa curses at him, and Saihara begs him not to go. Momota doesn’t pay either of them any attention. He’s a hero, and heroes defeat their villains, no matter what.

-

The pedestrian bridge over the highway is a good place to meet, and Ouma is already transformed when Momota shows up. “Aw, I was hoping you’d bring your cute little friends.”

“They would have just tried to talk me out of it,” Momota says. “They don’t understand.”

“Don’t be too hard on them,” Ouma says. “They probably just want to save you the embarrassment of getting your ass kicked in front of a crowd.”

“I said I’m not going to lose,” Momota growls.

Ouma smiles. “You did. Multiple times. Now hurry up and get dressed—I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Momota holds his soul gem out in front of him, and is so focused on Ouma he doesn’t hear the foot steps rushing up behind him. Harukawa rips his soul gem from his hands and rushes a few paces away from him. “Harumaki!? What the fuck are you—”

In one swift motion, she throws it down off the bridge, where it bounces onto the bed of passing delivery truck. “I’m stopping you from killing you—”

The world goes dark.

Saihara’s at his side in tears, and there’s a look of horror on Harukawa’s face when he comes to. Even Ouma is kneeling at his side, brows drawn in concern. “Wha—what just—”

Saihara and Harukawa both throw themselves at him for a hug. He comforts them back as well as he can, but can’t help but look past them to Ouma’s serious face. When the two finally release him, Ouma says, “there’s something you should know.”

-

Momota slams both his hands down on his desk in front of where Monokuma’s sitting. “You fucking lied to me!” he shouts. “You said you would make me better!”

“And I did!” Monokuma says. “Wish granted!”

“By tearing my soul out of my fucking body!? How the fuck is that—”

“It was a two for one deal in your case,” Monokuma says. “The body is unreliable—be free of your flesh prison, your meat cage, your—”

“You turned me into a fucking zombie!”

Monokuma tilts his head. “Well, if you wanna look at it that way, knock yourself out.”

Momota slams his hands again. “Fix it!”

“Ooh, that’s a no can do,” Monokuma says. “Once you sign up, there’s no going back.”

“But I didn’t fucking agree to this!”

Monokuma brings his paws to his mouth. “It’s not my fault you didn’t know what you were getting into.”

Momota grabs him by his neck and tears his head off like a stuffed animal. Monokuma lies in front of him in pieces, but he only has a second of reprieve before he hears his signature laugh behind him. “Nice try, but it’ll take a bit more than that. Have fun with your life, er, undeath—whatever you kids today call it!”

Alone with no one he has to smile for, Momota lets himself collapse to his knees. Saihara and Harukawa text him that night and the following morning when he misses school.

The pebbles pitter-pattering against his window that refuse to stop after an hour get his attention, though. As does Ouma’s voice calling out, “Momota-chan! My darling love of my life! Momota I never caught your first name-chan!”

Momota throws his windows open and screams down at him. “What!?”

“Wanna talk to you.” His voice turns somber. “It’s important.”

Momota lets a breath out through his nose. He knows he can’t disagree. They walk in silence. At least Momota is silent, Ouma chatters and tosses pebbles and sings songs the entire way to an abandoned hotel.

“Admittedly not as nice as your house,” Ouma says. “But I figured you’d rather saw off a leg than let me into your lovely home.”

“Not wrong,” Momota grunts.

Ouma has a little camp set up in one of the rooms and bounces on to the bare mattress, patting the space beside him. “Sit, sit,” he says. “Us undead got take all the little comfort we can get.”

Momota scowls. “So you’re already over it?”

“I thought about it,” Ouma says. “And I decided it really doesn’t change much. I’ve known this was just going to be what my life was for long time now. No dreams, hopes, or future. Just witch hunting.” He tilts his head. “Take it you’re not the same?”

Momota kicks at the ground. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m sure it is,” Ouma says. “So, given our situation, I think we can put the whole good-guy-bad-guy routine behind us.”

“I don’t think so,” Momota says. “You haven’t changed how you feel about letting people die. You just want me to feel sorry for you.”

Ouma’s face flickers to a blank canvas. “I wouldn’t assume things about people if I were you.”

“Am I wrong?”

Ouma sighs. “You know I live the way I do because it’s the only way to survive, right? You have to have learned that by now. How was fighting a witch after our first little meeting?”

“I obviously got through it just fine,” Momota says. “So you’re full of shit.”

“I’m not,” Ouma says. “But, man, guys like you. You’re just going to keep playing hero until you die, aren’t you?”

“I’m not playing anything,” Momota says. “I’ve saved people’s lives, and—and that’s what I’m gonna keep doing. Maybe I have no future, but at least I can do that. So,” he looks at the ground. “That’s what I’m gonna do.”

Ouma rests his chin in his palm. “You know you can’t save everyone.”

Even after everything, there’s still a glint of determination in Momota’s eyes. “I will.”

“Sure.”

Momota snaps his head up to level a glare at him. “That’s all you fucking have to say?”

“No,” Ouma says. “What I really want to ask is what you wished for, but I doubt you’ll answer me.”

Momota keeps his stare even. “You’d be right.”

Ouma hums. “If it makes you feel any better, I wished for something stupid, too. It didn’t work out, and now I fight witches basically for free.” He gives him a wry smile. “Zero out of ten, definitely not worth trading my soul for.”

“Mine was.”

That takes Ouma by surprise. “Really? Just how stupidly prideful are you? Admit you were tricked, dummy. It’s not that—”

“I was fucking tricked,” Momota says. “But it was still worth it.”

“Was it?”

“Yes.”

Ouma stands. “Tell me.”

Momota looks away. He’s silent for a long time, and he regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, “my life.”

-

Explaining his situation to Ouma didn’t make him feel better. If anything, it just hammered in how hopeless everything had been from the start. All his wish had done was given him a brief period of blissful ignorance that maybe he could have a future one day.

The fact that Ouma’s the only person who knows his secret does nothing to help.

Momota makes good on what he told him. He isn’t going to go to space or grow up or do any of the things humans get to do anymore. He’ll just fight witches and save people who still have their humanity.

The problem is he’s still shit at fighting, and each battle is a Herculean effort. More magic is poured into every fight, and even using grief seeds doesn’t feel right. They’re just band aids slapped over a gaping wound that can never heal.

Ouma keeps jumping into help him, and after every fight, Momota throws the grief seed to him. “What are you doing, Momota-chan?” he asks one night.

“I’m saving people,” he says. “Being a hero.”

“You’re being an idiot,” Ouma says. “And you’re going to burn yourself out.”

He offers him a grief seed, and Momota waves him off. “I told you to keep it. I don’t fucking need your help.”

Ouma glares at his back, but he doesn’t follow him.

He gets into a screaming match with Harukawa one night. The words feel like bile, but he can’t stop them until they get nasty enough that she storms off after slapping him across the face. Most of his body is in some state of numbness at this point, and Momota barely feels the impact. Saihara’s in tears. Momota knows he deserves worse.

Saihara stays with him, following him to a park bench that looks like a good place to collapse. “It’s getting really late,” Saihara says, worrying with his hat. “Do you want me to walk you home?”

Momota ignores the question. “Shuichi, why didn’t you make a contract back when Amami was alive?”

Saihara blinks. “Ah, well, I was—”

“You were scared, weren’t you?” Momota says. “You were scared when I made a contract, when I fought witches, when Ouma showed up—you were so scared, you didn’t lift a fucking finger to help me.”

Saihara’s eyes widen. “That’s—ah,” his gaze darts to the ground. “I’m sorry, Momota-kun.”

“I don’t want to hear your empty apologies.”

“What? No,” Saihara says. “I mean it, I really am sorr—”

“No, you’re not!” Momota shouts, rising to his feet. “You’re not actually sorry, you just want me to stop being fucking angry at you! Well guess what? I am angry, and I’m sick of smiling for you when I feel like shit!”

Saihara is speechless and crying, but like with Harukawa, it keeps coming out. Only Saihara doesn’t run or try to tell him he’s wrong. He takes all the hurt and the blame until Momota’s exhausted himself and turns away from him.

After everything, Saihara still reaches out a hand to him. “Momota-kun—”

“Don’t follow me, Saihara.”

He runs off into the night to try and find a good place to tear himself apart for saying such awful things to his best friend. Instead he finds more witches, and does the only thing he’s good for anymore.

-

Momota feels cold. It had rained at some point. Or was it the morning fog? Or maybe the labyrinth of the last witch he fought had something to do with water. It doesn’t matter. His frozen fingers curl and uncurl around his soul gem. It’s cold, too.

Footsteps echo towards him and a voice calls out, “Ha, knew I’d find you first. Takes one magical zombie boy to find another. Silly humans never had a chance at beating me.”

Ouma takes a seat beside him on the bench, swinging his short legs back and forth. “Geeze, you look terrible. Like, I know you’re having your whole breakdown thing, but you could put that on pause to take a shower or something.” He pokes at one of the raindrops still clinging to Momota’s coat. “And only a dummy like you would think rain counts as a substitute.”

Momota curls his fingers around his soul gem a bit tighter. He can feel something building—or maybe breaking is the better word.

“You’re really just going to ignore me?” Ouma asks. “After I spent so long searching the whole city for you? How cruel can you be?”

“I…” his voice feels choked. “I think I need to be alone right now. I’m sorry.”

“Haven’t you been doing the martyr routine long enough? It’s getting really old,” Ouma says, rolling his eyes. “And what’s with that apology? You’re supposed to get all angry and shouty and go ‘don’t call me an idiot, Ouma, stop pointing out that I’m being dumb, Ouma, I’m a hero, why don’t you get it, Ouma?’”

“Huh,” Momota says. “Guess I did say a lot of crap like that… I did so much stupid shit—can’t even remember why I thought it was all so important.”

Ouma stops swinging his legs. “Okay, sad sack, I think I preferred the martyr thing. And you have noooo idea how much I hated that. Now come on,” he hops to his feet. “Saihara-chan has been blowing up my phone asking where you are, and it’s losing its charm fast.”

Momota looks up at him only then to see his outstretched hand. Ouma’s face is something close to kind, and all Momota can say is, “I don’t think I can go anywhere.”

Ouma huffs. “You’re really planning to spend the rest of your life at the train station?” He shakes his hand impatiently. “Come on. I’m really going to take you home and not ditch you in an alley anywhere, for real this time. Cross my heart and hope to die and all that. Or,” he smirks, “cross my soul gem, I guess.”

The words make something click in Momota’s head. He lets his fingers fall away from his near pitch-black soul gem and holds it flat on his palm. “I can’t…”

Any humor in Ouma’s expression vanishes and he seems genuinely caught off guard for perhaps the first time Momota’s been awake to witness. “What did you—” he cuts himself off and starts to hurriedly rifle through his pockets. “God, you idiot, I tried to give you a grief seed earlier, but, no, you had to be stubborn.”

Momota doesn’t resist when Ouma takes his hand, pressing a grief seed to his soul gem. Momota can barely feel his touch even when Ouma’s movements grow more and more panicked as the darkness refuses to fade. His voice remains steady though, “alright—what did you do? Better fess up to why it’s not working, or I’m gonna be a little upset.”

“It’s really that bad,” Momota says. “Huh.”

“Momota-chan, if you’re keeping secrets from me—”

“No, you saw everything,” he mumbles. “I think I saved some people, so maybe I was a hero to someone. So that’s good, but… you were right. I needed to be strong and do everything by myself, but I couldn’t and got angrier and angrier and I said so much stupid shit to Shuichi and Harumaki.”

Ouma’s frantic hands still. “Momota-chan, shut up.”

Momota barely hears him. “I made my stupid wish in the first place because I didn’t want to rely on anyone, but I’m even weaker now than I was then. Maybe I was dying, but… it’s not any better now. The only thing that’s changed is how much I hate myself.”

“Okay, you know what?” Ouma says, swiping Momota’s soul gem from his open palm. “I’m holding on to this. You can have it back when—”

There’s a crack.

-

Hunting witches and their familiars is a pain, and Ouma scowls each time he has to draw upon his slowly dwindling supply of grief seeds. If things get too bad, one day he night need to use the one encrusted with stars. Ouma brushes the thought away. That day will never come.

Sometimes he sees Harukawa, and she always threatens to kill him despite her human limitations. Other times he sees Saihara who quietly asks, and always with hope, if he knows when Momota will be coming back from the city. Ouma always gives him the same answer, just jumbled in different ways.

Protecting a city in earnest is hard. Too often Ouma debates going back to his old way of doing things, and every time the grief seed that looks like the night sky feels heavy in his pocket.

He reaches the same conclusion every time he asks himself if it’s worth it. And the next day, he’s up early saving children, the elderly, everyone in between from witches and familiars alike.

Chapter Text

[iruma-san]: yo

[iruma-san]: bakamatsu i need u to activate ur class rep powers for something

[iruma-san]: cmon flat tits dont leave me on read

[user]: There are nicer ways to ask you know

[iruma-san]: dont give a fuck

[iruma-san]: anyway

[iruma-san]: so normally i couldnt be bothered to give a shit but space cases bday is coming up and like i was talking to toshit about it

[iruma-san]: and this is gonna sound fucking wild but she actually gave me a good idea so it turns out she has a use other than making everyone with a maid fetish pop one in class

[user]: There are so many more ways you could have conveyed that information

[user]: Like you could have just said “hey I was talking to Tojo-san and she gave me an idea for Momota-kun’s birthday”

[user]: Why is that so hard?

[iruma-san]: if i wanted a lecture id still be talking to frigid while she works on pulling that ten foot pole out of her pussy

[user]: Iruma-san I will block you

[iruma-san]: wiat!!!

[iruma-san]: i jsut watned to tlel u smething

[user]: Iruma-san I’m not going to block you please stop crytyping

[user]: What did you want to tell me?

[iruma-san]: tojo told me that ever since space case volunteered to start sucking off horseface the number of messes shes had to clean up has halved

[iruma-san]: and that made me realize that none of my shit has been stolen or fucked with since then too

[user]: Huh

[user]: You know that I think about it things have been a lot quieter since they started dating

[user]: I guess Ouma-kun’s been spending all the time he normally uses to pull pranks just hanging out with Momota-kun

[iruma-san]: exactly what i thought too

[iruma-san]: hes either always with him or jerking off in the woods or smthing lately

[iruma-san]: so i say for the idiots bday we can skip whatever shitty party i know u were planning and just give him a card that says thanks for taking care of the rat infestation

[iruma-san]: saves us time

[user]: Hey! The party is going to be really good!

[iruma-san]: no it isnt

[iruma-san]: so i say we just give him a card

[iruma-san]: we bein everyone who isnt the gremlin wholl probably just give him a blowie

[iruma-san]: for once well all actually mean it when u force us to give someone a present

[user]: *I* always mean it

[iruma-san]: yeah well

[iruma-san]: ur a prep

[user]: I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean

[user]: But anyway I am glad that Momota-kun is encouraging Ouma-kun to channel his energy in… less destructive ways but I think giving him a card or whatever is pretty mean spirited

[user]: Like imagine if we gave Kiibo-kun a card as thanks for dating you

[iruma-san]: pfft as if kiibs needs anything like that when i make sure he gets his reward every night

[user]: I really don’t need to know that

[user]: Also every night???

[user]: What about when we have a test the next morning???

[iruma-san]: omfuckingg bakamatsu really

[user]: And before you say I’m a prude or naïve or anything like that

[user]: I know Kiibo-kun and he’s not the time to skip studying

[iruma-san]: what ur not taking into account is that he is dating a stone cold babe like me

[user]: I’m right aren’t I

[iruma-san]: fuck u and ur pancake tits

[user]: Anyway the answer is no

[user]: We’re throwing a party like we do for everyone

[iruma-san]: if i make a card will u force everyone to sign it

[user]: It depends what the card says

[user]: If it’s nice sure

[iruma-san]: im always fucking nice

[user]: : /

[iruma-san]: bitch

-

[user]: Hey, Harukawa-san, I hope you don’t mind me bothering you, but there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.

[user]: It’s not really a big deal, and I understand if you don’t have time, and I know I probably could handle it myself if you’re busy.

[user]: Not that I wouldn’t want your help!

[user]: I would actually really appreciate your input, which is why I’m asking now, and probably blowing up your phone, and

[user]: um

[user]: You’re probably away from your phone, and are going to see all these messages at once.

[user]: Sorry about that!

[user]: Ah wait you’re typing right now

[user]: So, you know, sorry again!

[Harukawa-san]: saihara

[user]: Sorry…

[Harukawa-san]: for the love of god what do you want

[user]: Ah, well, I just wanted to know if you’d want to plan something for Momota-kun’s birthday with me.

[user]: If you already had something in mind, though, that’s fine! We don’t have to do something together if you don’t want to.

[user]: I just thought I’d suggest it since there’s going to be Akamatsu-san’s party and then he’ll probably want to hang out with Ouma-kun, so it might be better if the three of us all do something together instead of individually.

[user]: That way, even if it’s not private, we’ll both get to spend more time with him overall. But again it’s okay if you don’t want to. Just tell me when you’re planning on giving him his present so we can coordinate, then!

[user]: So, uh…

[user]: What do you think?

[Harukawa-san]: fine

[user]: Fine let’s do it together or fine you’ll tell me when you’re meeting with him?

[Harukawa-san]: do it together

[user]: Okay! I’ll ask Momota-kun what a good time to hang out would be, and we can all meet up.

[Harukawa-san]: sure

[user]: Also, while you’re here can I ask you a question?

[Harukawa-san]: no

[user]: Oh

[user]: Okay! I didn’t know you were so busy.

[user]: Sorry!

[Harukawa-san]: im not busy

[Harukawa-san]: i just dont want to talk about ouma right now

[user]: Ah

[user]: Yeah, in that case I can ask you later. You probably know what I was going to ask anyway, huh?

[Harukawa-san]: i do

[user]: Sorry…

[Harukawa-san]: and the answer is still yes

[user]: Same for me…

[user]: Sorry I keep bringing this up. I know it’s hard on you, too, but it’s just hard not to think about right now given that we have to make plans around him.

[user]: So even if it’s bad, I just keep thinking about it and wondering what would have happened if I had said something or if you had said something even if that doesn’t really do anything other than just make me feel worse.

[user]: Sorry I kinda rambled about it anyway even though you said you didn’t want to talk…

[Harukawa-san]: saihara

[Harukawa-san]: youre pathetic

[user]: Ah

[Harukawa-san]: but its fine

[Harukawa-san]: just get a diary instead or something

[Harukawa-san]: i dont care

[user]: Oh, actually I do have a journal, but sometimes it’s hard to write in because if I flip to the earlier entries they’re all about…

[user]: You know…

[Harukawa-san]: then dont read those

[Harukawa-san]: its not that hard

[user]: No, I guess you’re right…

[user]: Sorry…

[Harukawa-san]: stop apologizing

[user]: Ah, sorry!

[user]: I mean

[user]: I don’t know what to say.

[Harukawa-san]: just tell me what time momota wants to meet up

[user]: Okay, I’ll make sure to let you know!

[user]: And thank you for talking to me even if you didn’t really want to.

[Harukawa-san]: whatever

-

[user]: amami-chaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

[user]: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan

[amami-chaaan]: whats up

[user]: i have something to tell u

[amami-chaaan]: okay

[user]: but its a secret ◑o◑

[amami-chaaan]: oh thats too bad

[user]: do u wanna kno what it is???

[user]: i bet a busybody like u is just dyyyyyying to knowwwww

[amami-chaaan]: sure

[user]: ok since u *begged* me i guess i can tell u but u gotta pinky promise to keep it secret

[amami-chaaan]: can you pinky promise something through text?

[user]: alrighty the pact is sealed

[amami-chaaan]: oh okay

[amami-chaaan]: so whats up

[user]: sheeeesh ur so impatient!!!

[user]: got build up to it

[user]: set the stage

[user]: pull back the curtains

[amami-chaaan]: sure

[user]: u know sometimes u play along too much and it takes all the fun out of it (◡△◡✿)

[amami-chaaan]: oh my bad

[amami-chaaan]: you know if you wanted a reaction theres a certain someone else you could talk to

[user]: i know~ ♡

[user]: but the secret is about the over reactive dummy so this one is just between us partners in crime

[amami-chaaan]: oh yeah his birthday is coming up

[amami-chaaan]: i totally forgot lol

[user]: ud forget ur own head if akamatsu-chan didnt screw it on for u every morning!

[amami-chaaan]: yeah probably

[user]: but enough about u!!!

[user]: jeeeeze ur such an attention hog sometimes amami-chan

[user]: but its ok i still love u

[amami-chaaan]: im glad

[user]: you should be (u ᴗ u)

[user]: but anyway!!!

[user]: as i was saying the upcoming date means i need to go all out

[user]: all the bells all the whistles all the hoshi-chans tapped to the ceiling fan

[amami-chaaan]: maybe not that last one

[amami-chaaan]: he wasnt very happy with you after that incident

[user]: yeah well he needs to grow a sense of humor because it was hilarious lol

[amami-chaaan]: not quite sure about that but okay

[amami-chaaan]: and im going to assume all of this is your way of asking for advice about how to make momota-kuns birthday this year special

[amami-chaaan]: which is very sweet of you

[user]: i knowww~

[user]: but its hard because akamatsu-chan has her stupid party i have to plan around and harumaki-chan and saihara-chan are probably going to try and upstage me and make me somehow *not* look like im the best bf in the whole world

[user]: which i am in case u were wondering

[amami-chaaan]: you know for some reason i already had a feeling

[user]: thats because u can sense my greatness

[user]: which is what makes u an excellent underling

[user]: and as my underling i order u to help ur supreme leader come up with a plan!

[amami-chaaan]: well at the last birthday party i went to they rented a pony which was pretty cool

[amami-chaaan]: maybe you could do that

[user]: amami-chan was that a party for ur 5 year old sister

[amami-chaaan]: shes 6 now

[user]: congrats

[user]: but while that does sound totally super mega awesome i think momota-chans a little too big to ride a pony

[amami-chaaan]: hmm you might have a point

[amami-chaaan]: well they also had a bunch of colorful beads and had all the guests make their own necklaces and friendship bracelets

[user]: i kno about ur best brother in the world bracelet u showed it to me last week

[amami-chaaan]: oh yeah lol

[amami-chaaan]: but handmade gifts are still nice

[amami-chaaan]: sentimental

[user]: (¬_¬)

[user]: i think theyre only nice when ur rich and can already just buy anything u want

[amami-chaaan]: maybe but theyre also nice when youre poor and dont have a lot of money to spend

[user]: touché

[user]: but i ask u

[user]: neigh

[user]: implore u

[user]: to tell me where the bells whistles and hoshi-chans are in this scenario

[amami-chaaan]: it could be a really nice homemade bracelet

[user]: ur hopeless

[amami-chaaan]: a really nice space themed bracelet

[user]: amami-chan i cant just slap space print on any old thing and call it good

[user]: because thats what everyones gonna be doing at akamatsu-chans mandatory party anyway and i need to stand out from the crowd

[amami-chaaan]: oh youre right

[amami-chaaan]: in that case is it cool with you if i go with the friendship bracelet idea for my present

[user]: knock urself out

[amami-chaaan]: also to be honest

[user]: u kno how i feel about being honest (¬_¬)

[amami-chaaan]: i dont think you need to go so over the top or anything like that

[amami-chaaan]: i know momota-kun loves excitement and showy displays and all that but i think hed really be happy with anything you give him as long as its clear you put a lot of thought into it

[user]: -_-

[user]: i hate it when u say sappy things like that goddddddd amami-chaaaaaaaan

[amami-chaaan]: is it sappy?

[amami-chaaan]: thats just what i would do if i was dating someone lol

[user]: bleeeeehhhhhhhhhhggggggggggg

[user]: well whatever ill think of something myself

[user]: u should kno u were no help at all

[amami-chaaan]: oh sorry

[amami-chaaan]: at least i have an idea about what im doing now though lol

[user]: no!!!!

[user]: this was supposed to be helpful for meeeee!!!!!

[user]: oh and btw can u meet me in the forest behind the school tomorrow

[amami-chaaan]: sure

[user]: ok cool

[user]: and like

[user]: wear close fitting clothes

[user]: nothing hanging or loose or stuff that could like

[user]: b grabbed

[amami-chaaan]: yeah sure lol

-

[akamatsu]: Hey, have you seen Amami-kun around today?

[akamatsu]: He was supposed to meet me for lunch but didn’t show

[user]: haven’t since this morning

[user]: why are you asking me though?

[akamatsu]: Well because he’s always hanging out with Ouma-kun, but I knew that if I asked Ouma-kun I wouldn’t get a straight answer

[akamatsu]: So I figured I’d go to his translator instead : P

[user]: okay listen

[user]: just cause we’re kinda a thing know doesn’t mean i understand half the shit that comes out of his mouth

[akamatsu]: And most of us only understand a fourth!

[user]: well he’s not *that* hard to understand

[akamatsu]: See? You get him, and that means when I ask him if he’s seen Amami-kun and get an answer back that says “wouldnt u like to kno ; O)” I can go to you for decoding

[user]: uhhhh okay

[user]: i get your logic but i have no idea what the fuck that’s supposed to mean

[user]: other than that he’s feeling like being difficult today

[user]: though when we hung out earlier he was totally fine, so either he has no idea and is being a brat about it or he’s just giving you a hard time for the hell of it

[akamatsu]: See???

[akamatsu]: You are basically his translator to the world

[user]: no i’m

[user]: damn

[user]: okay fine but that doesn’t mean the rest of you can slack off!

[user]: there isn’t a single reason in the world to slack off on building your communication skills!

[akamatsu]: Well, those are slightly less important for those of us not going to space

[user]: bullshit everyone’s going to space

[user]: astronauts like me will clear the way and then everyone will follow safely in our footsteps!

[akamatsu]: Uh-huh

[user]: i was talking to shuichi about this the other day and he asked me if there would be crime in space and like

[user]: no obviously fucking not cause it’s gonna be a utopia but shit’ll still go missing or get lost and that’s where he’ll come in!

[akamatsu]: Okay?

[user]: and the point of that story is that even if the answer isn’t straightforward, there is a reason why everyone needs to come cause there's a place for everyone in space!

[user]: so saying stuff like “not everyone can go to space” is just bullshit and you need to fix that attitude!

[akamatsu]: Alright and when exactly is this utopian space colony going to happen?

[user]: uh

[user]: well it’s gonna happen a lot sooner once i get there!

[akamatsu]: So I’ve got a few years to change my attitude

[akamatsu]: Also I’m failing to see the connection between decoding the cryptic texts Ouma-kun is sending me and space travel

[user]: communication!

[user]: you’re the class rep you know how important communicating is

[user]: and besides ouma’ll be in the space colony too so you know

[user]: everyone’ll have to get along with him

[akamatsu]: Ohhhh now I get it

[user]: no you don’t! it’s not like that!

[user]: i’m just saying that because fucking *everyone* is going and he’s part of *everyone*

[akamatsu]: So he’s not special in anyway?

[user]: okay i wouldn’t go that far but

[user]: you fucking get the point

[akamatsu]: Oh, I think I do

[akamatsu]: ; )

[user]: HEY YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT!!!

[user]: AMAMI’S STILL MISSING

[user]: SO WHY DON’T YOU FOCUS ON THAT

[akamatsu]: I know, I’ve been sending texts to other people this entire conversation

[akamatsu]: So it is possible to focus on finding him and tease you at the same time

[akamatsu]: ; )

[user]: come on you know i get enough of this shit from iruma already

[akamatsu]: And I think I’m being quite tame in comparison to Iruma-san

[user]: okay yeah you are but still

[akamatsu]: Personally, I think you should enjoy it

[akamatsu]: Come on, how many times in your life are you going to be teased about how you’re soooo in loooove your first boyfriend?

[user]: SHUT UP

[akamatsu]: ; P

-

[detective-chan ಠ~ಠ]: Hi, Ouma-kun, I know we haven’t talked for a while, but I just wanted to let you know that Harukawa-san and I talked to Momota-kun, and we all decided to meet up before Akamatsu-san’s party and hang out a bit after.

[detective-chan ಠ~ಠ]: The morning meeting is kind of private, but if you wanted you could meet up with us for the afternoon one.

[detective-chan ಠ~ಠ]: And of course we made sure to leave dinner and the evening free since we know you two probably want to do something together, too!

[detective-chan ಠ~ಠ]: And

[detective-chan ಠ~ಠ]: That’s it.

[detective-chan ಠ~ಠ]: Ouma-kun?

[user]: yeah 1 sec im talking to iruma-chan

[detective-chan ಠ~ಠ]: Oh, okay.

[user]: so u will not believe the message i just got from saihara-chan

[pig-chan]: jfuckingggg ouma

[pig-chan]: hes not after ur mans dick anymore

[pig-chan]: weve fucking been over this 237855092 times

[pig-chan]: just admit ur an insecure jealous territorial bitch and move on instead of crying to me every time shittyhara and slutkawa breathe in ur direction

[user]: (╹◡╹)凸

[user]: but yeah thats fine ig

[detective-chan ಠ~ಠ]: Okay, good.

[detective-chan ಠ~ಠ]: I just wanted to make sure we were all on the same page.

[detective-chan ಠ~ಠ]: So what are your thoughts on joining us after Akamatsu-san’s party?

[user]: wellll im planning to spike whatever drinks she brings so everyonell probably need a solid hour to sober up tbh

[detective-chan ಠ~ಠ]: Oh.

[detective-chan ಠ~ಠ]: You’re… going to do that at Momota-kun’s party?

[detective-chan ಠ~ಠ]: Or is that a lie?

[user]: whos the detective here u or me

[detective-chan ಠ~ಠ]: Ah

[detective-chan ಠ~ಠ]: I think I’m going to tell Akamatsu-san that anyway, just in case.

[user]: noooo!!!

[user]: it was a lie!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[user]: saihara-channnnnnnn

[user]: Akamatsu-san, just so you know, Ouma-kun told me he’s planning to put alcohol in the drinks at the party tomorrow.

[Akamatsu-san]: Ughhh

[Akamatsu-san]: I’m going to assume he’s just messing around, but I was already going to put someone on guard duty anyway since I know there’s a good chance Iruma-san might try the same thing

[Akamatsu-san]: Also you and Ouma-kun are talking again! Progress!

[user]: Ah, kind of?

[user]: I still don’t think he’s very happy with me, and he’s still…

[user]: Himself, I guess?

[user]: Sorry, if that doesn’t make sense.

[Akamatsu-san]: No, I totally know what you mean

[Akamatsu-san]: But still! Progress!

[user]: I’m

[user]: Not so sure about that.

[Akamatsu-san]: Come on, you’re being too down on yourself!

[Akamatsu-san]: Sure, there were some bumps a little while ago, but I know that it’s just a matter of time before you guys all work it out

[Akamatsu-san]: Try spending more time with him, and even if it’s hard at first, eventually you’ll come to appreciate him or something

[Akamatsu-san]: At least, that’s how Momota-kun explained it to me before

[user]: Well, if you’re sure I

[user]: I will try.

[user]: For you and Momota-kun.

[Akamatsu-san]: That’s the spirit!

[user]: clown box?

[pig-chan]: NO

[user]: clown box…

[pig-chan]: *NOOOO*

[detective-chan ಠ~ಠ]: Sorry, I got a little distracted.

[detective-chan ಠ~ಠ]: You were saying something?

[user]: no but actually i have an idea

[user]: are u free in like 10 minutes

[detective-chan ಠ~ಠ]: I think I should be.

[detective-chan ಠ~ಠ]: Why?

[user]: i just wanted to ask ur opinion on something

[user]: meet me behind the school

[detective-chan ಠ~ಠ]: Um, okay?

[user]: come alone

[detective-chan ಠ~ಠ]: Uh

[pig-chan]: ouma kokichi you horse faced ankle biting gremlin fuck

[pig-chan]: u answer my fucking messages

[user]: ; O)

[pig-chan]: u motherfucker

-

[harumaki]: momota

[harumaki]: is saihara with you

[user]: nope

[user]: i think akamatsu said she was gonna make plans with him since amami ditched her

[user]: if you want me to deliver a message to him, i can shoot her a quick text

[harumaki]: you dont need to do that i have akamatsus number too

[user]: oh yeah right

[user]: also do you have anything you want to say to me

[user]: anything at all?

[harumaki]: arent you supposed to send annoying messages like that at midnight

[user]: i know but i’m just so excited!

[user]: harumaki, i’m gonna be 18!!!

[user]: 18!!!

[harumaki]: i know

[harumaki]: happy birthday

[user]: thanks!!!

[user]: man, i’m really excited and shit but also

[user]: fuck

[user]: i’m not sure how to say this right

[user]: like it’s really great but also that’s just one more year gone by and i haven’t been to space yet

[user]: just reminds me how damn long it’s taking

[harumaki]: i guess

[harumaki]: arent you still more than 10 years younger than the youngest astronaut to ever go to space

[user]: well astronauts sure but not cosmonauts

[user]: that guy was only 26

[user]: also hey you remembered that!!!

[harumaki]: barely

[harumaki]: its not worth celebrating

[harumaki]: im not even entirely sure what a cosmonaut is

[user]: astronauts from russia!

[harumaki]: thats stupid

[harumaki]: why arent they just called russian astronauts

[user]: it’s kinda complicated actually but i’d be happy to tell you later!

[harumaki]: im sure you would

[harumaki]: just let me know if you see saihara i need to tell him something

[user]: i’ll be on the lookout!

[harumaki]: also youre being an idiot

[harumaki]: it doesnt matter that you didnt go to space or whatever this year

[harumaki]: you did a bunch of other stuff that was important right

[harumaki]: if you say that stuff doesnt matter because it didnt happen in space ill kill you

[user]: hey, thanks harumaki!

[harumaki]: why are you thanking me

[harumaki]: i just said youre being stupid about something and threatened to kill you

[user]: no you can’t lie to me

[user]: you were trying to cheer me up

[harumaki]: youre so annoying

[user]: hey there’s no need to be embarrassed!

[harumaki]: whatever

[harumaki]: and just so you know even if you dont beat that cosmowhatever that doesnt change anything

[harumaki]: only an idiot would think something like that would make it matter less

[user]: harumaki!

[harumaki]: what

[user]: nothing

[user]: you’re just a good friend

[harumaki]: do you wanna die

[user]: also ouma just texted me and he said he and shuichi were doing something behind the school

[harumaki]: theyre hanging out together

[user]: sounds like it

[user]: hey if you’re looking for shuichi

[harumaki]: no

[user]: and he’s with ouma

[harumaki]: momota

[user]: maybe this would be a good opportunity for the three of you to you know

[harumaki]: shut up

[user]: like solidify your friendship or some shit

[harumaki]: im going to find saihara and then im going to kill you for saying that

[user]: it was just a suggestion!

-

Akamatsu Kaede: Okay, at the risk of spoiling the surprise for Momota-kun

Akamatsu Kaede: What the hell you guys???

Iruma Miu: yo calm ur tits

Akamatsu Kaede: Iruma-san, I am not very happy with you right now

Akamatsu Kaede: Or anyone in this chat!

Momota Kaito: what why?

Momota Kaito: what’d we do?

Akamatsu Kaede: Okay, not you

Akamatsu Kaede: Everyone else, though

Iruma Miu: bakamatsu i know u like to swallow but just spit it out

Akamatsu Kaede: I told *everyone* to meet me in the classroom at 10 to help decorate for the party and *no one* showed up

Momota Kaito: wait really?

Momota Kaito: what about tojo?

Akamatsu Kaede: Not even her!

Akamatsu Kaede: How am I supposed to blow up all these balloons by myself???

Akamatsu Kaede: I mean, maybe if I played a tuba or something, I wouldn’t be so angry about that, but even if I did the point still stands!

Iruma Miu: fucking lol

Iruma Miu: u got stood up hard cor

Iruma Miu: wiat

Akamatsu Kaede: And now I guess everyone’s too ashamed to respond to my messages here

Akamatsu Kaede: Cowards

Iruma Miu: ofcuhck god

Momota Kaito: maybe they’re all busy with something else

Momota Kaito: i was supposed to meet up with shuichi and harumaki this morning but they were both no shows

Momota Kaito: actually now that i think about it they didn’t respond to me either

Momota Kaito: fucking weird

Iruma Miu: no wait

Iruma Miu: hold on

Akamatsu Kaede: Ugh, I’m so sorry Momota-kun

Akamatsu Kaede: At this rate, I think the party will have to be later tonight or maybe even tomorrow if we can’t get a hold of anyone

Iruma Miu: NO BOTH OF U SHUT UR MOUTHS

Iruma Miu: THIS IS AN EMERGENCY FUCKNG SITUATION

Momota Kaito: oh wait akamatsu ouma just texted me

Akamatsu Kaede: Tell him I’m very mad at him!

Iruma Miu: FUCK

Iruma Miu: alright space case u absolute dipshit listen very carefully to me

Iruma Miu: what the fuck does that message say

Momota Kaito: it actually says to tell akamatsu to meet him behind the school if she’s looking for him

Akamatsu Kaede: Is he really going to make me run around the entire school?

Akamatsu Kaede: Whatever, it’s not like this is going to get done with just me

Akamatsu Kaede: Tell him I’ll be there soon

Iruma Miu: oh my fucking god no one listens to me

Iruma Miu: bakamatsu where are u now

Akamatsu Kaede: In the classroom?

Iruma Miu: alright stay where u are

Iruma Miu: ur not going to face this thing alone

Akamatsu Kaede: Um, okay?

Momota Kaito: what

Momota Kaito: does that mean

Ouma Kokichi: ; O)

Momota Kaito: oh hey ouma

Ouma Kokichi: wait really?

Ouma Kokichi: ur going to ruin my dramatic introduction just like that?

Momota Kaito: was that supposed to be dramatic

Momota Kaito: cause it was just kinda fucking weird

Ouma Kokichi: >: O(

Momota Kaito: anyway i’m gonna assume you’re the mastermind behind whatever shit is going on

Ouma Kokichi: ahhh!!! u got me!!!!!

Ouma Kokichi: how ever did u figure it out?????

Momota Kaito: uh

Momota Kaito: you’re the only person here

Ouma Kokichi: admittedly that is kind of a give away

Ouma Kokichi: but anyway while were alone

Ouma Kokichi: whats up with u?

Momota Kaito: ouma

Momota Kaito: where did everyone go?

Ouma Kokichi: theyre fine jeeezeeeee

Ouma Kokichi: u have no faith in me at all

Momota Kaito: you know that it’s not that i don’t believe in you but that it’s pretty fucking weird when literally everyone else goes missing all at once

Ouma Kokichi: point taken

Ouma Kokichi: but have u considered i really did just want some alone time and everyone else is just generously respecting that?

Ouma Kokichi: is it really so hard to believe i could ever do anything romantic?

Ouma Kokichi: today is a special day after all!!

Ouma Kokichi: happy birthday momota-chan!!!!!(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Momota Kaito: okay i’m gonna take a second to put aside every fucking red flag of something fucked up happening that you’ve thrown at me today

Momota Kaito: and say thanks

Momota Kaito: i’d you know

Momota Kaito: say more but this is the group chat for the entire class

Ouma Kokichi: awwww

Ouma Kokichi: someones shyyy

Momota Kaito: hey shut up

-

[user]: sooooo u said you had more to say

[momota-chan ♡]: really, dude?

[user]: its not the class chat anymore theres nowhere to run

[user]: so ur free to tell me how much u love me to ur hearts content~

[momota-chan ♡]: things are never easy with you huh

[user]: (◡‿◡✿)

[momota-chan ♡]: somehow i had a feeling you’d say that

[momota-chan ♡]: or something similar

[momota-chan ♡]: i don’t even know how you making those fucking faces in the first place

[user]: i am very talented my dear momota-chan

[user]: if u want i could teach u for ur birthday!

[momota-chan ♡]: i think i’m gonna pass on that

[momota-chan ♡]: especially because i feel like you already have something else planned

[user]: maaaybe

[user]: but i cant ruin all of the birthday boys surprises

[user]: but enough about that and more saying wonderful things about how great i am!

[momota-chan ♡]: shouldn’t it be the other way around given what day it is

[user]: yes but i lather u with praise and affection everyday anyway

[momota-chan ♡]: do you?

[user]: of course i do my darling handsome beloved!

[momota-chan ♡]: alight i think i get it

[user]: soooo what wonderful things do u have to say about meeeeee

[momota-chan ♡]: you always keep me guessing

[user]: is that a compliment

[momota-chan ♡]: i mean it as a compliment yeah

[momota-chan ♡]: when i was like a little kid and shit watching too much tv i always dreamt that one day i’d find my like

[momota-chan ♡]: fated rival or something

[momota-chan ♡]: it’s kind of dumb but i think i still want basically the same thing

[momota-chan ♡]: i’ve kinda been freaking out lately like

[momota-chan ♡]: enough that i mentioned it to harumaki cause i couldn’t get it out of my head and it all just sort of came out when we were talking about my birthday

[user]: ooh that bad

[momota-chan ♡]: yeah

[momota-chan ♡]: like i know it’s a good thing but fuck

[momota-chan ♡]: i’m getting older and i still feel so far from space

[momota-chan ♡]: but i think that’s why i like you so much

[user]: well i am very good but i am afraid my room is actually not the outer galaxy as we know it momota-chan

[momota-chan ♡]: no i mean it’s the rival thing

[momota-chan ♡]: i was never really that into romance and shit cause it felt like a distraction from what i really wanted to do and why should i waste my time picking out flowers or whatever when i could be training to fly a rocket ship you know?

[momota-chan ♡]: but i feel like i can never be complacent about anything with you cause you’re always right there pushing me and trying to get me to aim higher and just be better at like

[momota-chan ♡]: i don’t know everything

[momota-chan ♡]: so yeah

[momota-chan ♡]: you’re really good

[user]: ヽ(´▽｀)ノ ヽ(´▽｀)ノヽ(´▽｀)ノ

[amami-chaaan]: aw

[amami-chaaan]: ill assume thats a good thing

[user]: (︶ω︶)

[momota-chan ♡]: ouma?

[user]: yeah im here

[user]: just had to check on smthng

[user]: anyway!

[user]: ive decided youve waited long enough for ur present

[momota-chan ♡]: okay?

[user]: meet me by the clown box

[momota-chan ♡]: the

[momota-chan ♡]: the what

-

It was with great trepidation that Momota follows Ouma’s instructions to head outside the school and to the forest outside. What greets him on the forest’s edge is nothing short of horrifying.

Ouma is standing a few feet away from the wooden abomination. “Surprise!”

“What the fuck,” Momota says. “Ouma, what the fuck is that?”

“It’s the clown! Alright,” he says, running up to him. “Let me see your phone.”

“Why?”

“Because teenagers today are too obsessed with technology, always looking down at our phones when we could be communicating in meaningful face to face interactions like this one.” Ouma looks at him very seriously. “Also that’s what it feeds on.”

Momota hesitantly takes out his phone, and barely resists screaming when a strange gloved hand emerges from the box. “Ouma, what the hell is—”

“We’re going to approach you now!” Ouma calls down to it. “Okay, now you need to slowly walk up to it, and give it your phone.”

“Okay, seriously, what is—”

“There’s no time for questions!” Ouma shouts. “The clown is getting impatient!”

Something about that is ominous enough that Momota starts walking towards the strange box. Behind him Ouma calls out, “it’ll give you a present in exchange. Sometimes it’ll drop it—don’t pick it up! That’s a trick,” and other frightening things.

The hand lies flat when Momota reaches it, and he carefully places his phone into its gloved hand. It retreats into the box and emerges with a colorful looking card. “Remember to thank it!” Ouma shouts to him.

“Uh, thanks?” Momota says, taking the card.

“Okay, now back away respectfully,” he says. “A little faster than that—okay great! What’d you get?”

Momota has no idea what just happened but he unfolds the card. It says:

Dear Momota-chan,

Help! All of our lovely classmates have been taken by the clown box! Only a very special someone on their very special birthday can free them! The only solution is to ease the battered heart of the clown in your life!

Momota looks up at Ouma when he finishes. “So,” Ouma says. “Admittedly this was all planned out assuming you were gonna back out when I asked you to say something nice about me.”

“And you decided to go through with it anyway?”

“Well, I had already made the clown box. Can’t let a good clown box go to waste.”

Momota rolls his eyes. “You are so weird.” He places a kiss on Ouma’s forehead. “So is the clown in my life happy now?”

“Yeah,” Ouma says. “Okay, we can go to your real party now. I pulled a few Amami-chan rich kid related strings and booked a private beach not too far from here. Everyone else is already there.”

“Are you serious?” Momota asks. “That’s fucking awesome.”

“Oh, I know—”

Momota lifts him into a hug.

After a good minute spent squeezing him, Momota sets Ouma down, and then remembers one other little detail. “Wait,” he says. “If everyone’s at the beach who’s in the clown box?”

“The clown.”

“Uh.”

“It’ll probably give your phone back in a week or two,” Ouma says. “Maybe. But enough worrying about silly little things like that, it’s time to party!”

Momota seems like he wants to ask more questions, but Ouma starts pushing him away, looking back only once to see the clown box giving him a thumbs up.