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The Hope’s Peak Ultimate Party is lively and cheerful. Everyone’s wearing a flashy outfit, beautiful makeup, a charismatic smile to greet each other. Festive music is blasting from the speakers located in every hall and room. All kinds of drinks and gorgeous-looking meals can be seen in the center of the main hall, on a luxuriously decorated table. Their smells – sweet, spicy, exotic – wander across the building like tender warm winds. Chatter is heard from every corner: compliments, soft jokes, laughter.
But all Shuichi sees is eyes. Eyes are everywhere. Judging and attentive, piercing and critical, staring at him intensely and unstoppably, watching him trying to have fun like everyone else with undeniable pity. Wherever he goes, whatever he does – everybody’s staring, and it’s heavy. Each glance feels like a pile of sticky dirt thrown at him, gets glued like old gum to his hair, skin, clothes. Shuichi brushes it off again and again, but it never ends.
He feels unsafe.
He feels afraid.
He feels hated.
Everyone’s smiles turn into daggers, cutting his heart. Everyone’s giggles feel poisonous as if it’s some bullies laughing at him behind his back. When someone approaches him or asks him what’s wrong, the tears blur his vision.
He feels wrong.
He needs to get out of here.
But he can’t, not like this. Everybody’s watching him; his disappearance won’t be left unnoticed. Loads of unnecessary questions will pour freezing showers on him later if he does that. Besides…
Saihara quickly scans the room and finds Kokichi talking to Iruma and Gonta on the other side, smiling widely, looking like he’s having the time of his life. His hair is gorgeous, and his suit makes Shuichi’s heart tremble. He looks like he belongs in here, and there’s no way he’d sacrifice his fun for some stupid anxiety his boyfriend is dealing with. Shuichi doesn’t want to make him worried.
He finds Momota and Harukawa near the table, drinking champagne with Kuzuryu and Pekoyama. Kaito seems to be telling a story with the most excited face he could ever make, and everyone else is listening to him with condescending smirks while enjoying their drinks.
He finds Akamatsu talking absorbedly with Maizono. They’re probably discussing music or planning a duet.
He finds… everyone, sharing these wonderful moments with each other, deepening their bonds over their hobbies and interests, sincerely enjoying the party. Shuichi feels like the black sheep, the only dark cloud floating aimlessly in the clear blue sky. He wants to reach out to his boyfriend, to his friends, to anyone nearby, but he feels trapped in his own skin and the more he moves, the less he can breathe. His suit is too tight. The room is too hot. The music is too loud. The smells of food make him want to throw up. His chest is burning under a sweaty binder and his wet hands are freezing.
Overwhelmed and terrified, he sneaks out of the hall and heads over to the bathroom. His footsteps are quiet and careful as if he’s a criminal fleeing the scene with a stolen gem. He’s afraid that someone’s still staring, still judging, still watching. With shaking hands, he opens the door, checks the stalls; he tries hard not to look in the mirror, to completely ignore its presence, otherwise he will not make it out of this goddamn bathroom. The awful suit that he borrowed from his Uncle and his ugly face are the last things he wants to see right now.
Lucky for him, no one else seems to be occupying the bathroom. He flops down on one of the toilet seats and seals the door. It’s dark and too narrow here in the stall, but at least there aren’t any eyes.
For a few minutes, Shuichi is just staring blankly at the closed door right in front of him and breathes. His stomach feels funny, along with the spinning head; this might be the start of a migraine. He unbuttons his vest, loosens the bowtie. The desire to get out of everything that’s on him is unbelievably strong, to the point that he’s suffocating again. It’s stupid. He can’t undress here. He’ll have to put it all back on at some point anyway.
Besides, even with no clothes, it will make no difference. Shuichi will still be trapped in the same body, the one that doesn’t fit him at all, the one that makes him suffer and struggle every day, the one he hates more than anything else in the entire world.
And everyone will still be watching. Making assumptions. Following his every step. Judging his every movement. He will forever be chased by disapproval, hatred, and disregard.
He doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t belong anywhere. He doesn’t even belong in his own body.
Shuichi shivers, realizing it yet again, and shamelessly bursts into tears, letting the pain outside through sobbing and loud weeping. His nails scratch on the walls as if he’s blindly searching for an escape. His knees are shaking so intensely that he has to press them to his chest and hug them tight. Tears are pouring out of his eyes like waterfalls, salty and bitter, and he wishes to drown in them. They’re burning his cheeks, his neck, wetting the collar of his shirt and sliding further down to the edge of his binder, making it wet too.
It’s disgusting. Each little feeling is unpleasant. Nothing can comfort him. He’s all alone.
Suddenly, someone’s footsteps approach the bathroom door, and Saihara barely manages to muffle himself before another guy comes in. He can’t see who it is yet, but his bleeding heart already starts beating harder with worry. Shuichi anxiously examines his surroundings, trying to guess how hopeless his situation is. His suit is half-ruined, his hair is probably messy, his eyeliner is definitely smudged, and his whole face must be red and swollen from all this ugly crying.
Great. Just great. If someone finds him in this state, he will die from humiliation. There’s no way out, so all he can do is wait until he’s left alone again.
Meanwhile, the footsteps slowly march around the bathroom. The sudden visitor is definitely trying to ruin Shuichi’s plans. This guy doesn’t seem to have come here for what humans usually do in bathrooms. He just keeps going in circles like a broken toy. He’s close, then he’s far, then he’s close again, and this torture feels endless…
Until when, to Shuichi’s terror, he knocks quietly on his door.
This is it. Shuichi’s lungs release all oxygen in one go, and his body twitches, preparing to become a corpse. Without exaggeration, this is the end for Saihara Shuichi–
“You haven’t told me we were playing hide-and-seek now, Shumai. That’s so unfair!”
The sound of a familiar voice makes Shuichi freeze.
Oh no. No no no no no no no no no. Not him. Not right now.
Kokichi is the last person Saihara wants to bother. He’s the one who never gets enough sleep because of the nightmares reminding him of his past, the one who works hard on his trust issues for Shuichi, the only person who greets him with a compliment and a careless smile every day they meet, no matter how awful he might be truly feeling inside. He’s the one who always has to deal with the other’s depressive episodes and sudden breakdowns, despite his own mental health problems. He already does a lot for both of them, and Shuichi’s personal issues shouldn’t be a concern for him.
More than that… he’s the only one who knows about who Shuichi really is. This alone is a heavy burden he has to bear, Saihara thinks. Having a boyfriend whose whole body consists of a big lie–
“Saihara-chan? I know you’re in here!” Another knock on the door snaps the panicking boy out of it. “If you don’t answer me now, I’ll assume you’ve been murdered and locked inside this stall, and I’ll ask Gonta to break the door.”
Even though it’s an obvious lie, Shuichi notices how his voice eventually loses its cheerfulness, quiet notes of worry distorting its melody. To be honest, he would be concerned too, put in Kokichi’s shoes; in any case, it’s useless to stay quiet now. There’s nowhere to hide, not from someone like Ouma.
“I’m alive.” Shuichi manages to squeeze the words out of his burnt chest, and gosh he sounds awful. Even the drunk salarymen in cheap bars sound better than him. “It’s just… Not the best time.”
“Not the best time?” Kokichi echoes, confused. “What do you mean? Did Hanamura-chan poison your dish?”
Now he really is worried, and that’s exactly what Saihara was trying to avoid. The detective hopelessly lets go of his shaking legs, stretching them out, and buttons up his vest. Will it take long for his face to look normal again? Probably. He needs to stall for time.
“I-I just threw up,” he lies (something he’s sure he’ll regret later, but the ends justify the means). “I think I might’ve eaten something funny.”
Kokichi never fails to spot a fellow liar, so Shuichi expects him to get angry and start debunking his words with offended crocodile tears. He might also get genuinely hurt by that, and Saihara will never be able to make him feel safe and trusted again. Oh, this evening is definitely going downhill. The detective squints his eyes defensively as if he’s about to get punched.
“Should I bring my beloved some water, then? I think Tsumiki-chan might have the first-aid kit on her… I can ask her for a pill.”
Ouma isn’t angry. Instead, he sounds more and more serious without even trying to hide it. Such occurrences happen rarely; to be precise, he only gets like this when he realizes Shuichi is having a bad time.
What a failure of a boyfriend he has. Always depressed over something, always needing support, always making him worry. Shuichi blinks away a new stream of tears but to no avail. The stall slowly loses its shape as his vision goes dark and blurry.
However… His detective mind suddenly awakens. Sending Kokichi away might actually be a good idea. While he’ll be looking for Tsumiki, Shuichi will have enough time to fix himself up a little and pretend he never had a mental breakdown over his body just a few minutes ago.
“Yeah,” he clears his throat, tasting the salty tears on his wet lips as they part. “I could use some medicine. My stomach still feels full, and it’s disgusting.”
“Okie-dokie!” Kokichi replies from the other side. “You were throwing up just before I came in, right?”
That’s a strange question, but Shuichi doesn’t pay much attention to it since he’s too busy coming up with a plan on how to fix his eyeliner without looking in the mirror for too long. So he replies with a simple “yes” before thinking it through.
The Ultimate Supreme Leader hums. “That’s weird. The toilet doesn’t sound like it was flushed a few minutes ago. I didn’t hear anything, either.”
Crap. Sometimes Shuichi hates the fact that his boyfriend is just as attentive to small details as him.
That’s a solid argument, and he has absolutely no energy for a debate, especially across the bathroom stall wall. Of course, he could come up with a few more lies to cover himself up, but lying further to his boyfriend feels terribly wrong. Shuichi lets out a loud disappointed sigh, clenching his fists.
“Listen, I’m sorry. I’m just feeling a little bit down. You don’t have to worry about me, Ouma-kun.”
He hears Kokichi leaning onto the door. “Stupid Shumai!” his voice still doesn’t sound like he’s angry. “Of course I’m worried about you. Your pants are about to be set on fire! You know, since you’re a liar and stuff.”
This innocent joke only makes Shuichi cry harder. His eyes feel like broken water pipes, pouring out water uncontrollably. Nothing in his body ever listens to him.
“Ouma-kun, please,” he audibly swallows the tears. “It’s a stupid thing, really. You don’t need to stay here with me. Go have fun at the party with the others, okay?”
There’s no immediate answer to his words. In this sudden silence, Saihara listens to his tears dripping from his chin and hitting the floor. The sounds of muffled music, along with everyone else’s happy voices, fill the background. It feels like Kokichi suddenly disappeared, leaving the detective all alone again. It’s relieving but, at the same time, a part of Shuichi wishes him to stay.
“Pffft,” a snort hits the door from the other side, breaking the silence. “I won’t leave until I find out who made my beloved Saihara-chan cry! So, who’s the bastard my people should target?”
These words make Shuichi want to burst out of the stall and fall into his boyfriend’s warm embrace. Despite everything, despite how stupid the whole situation is, despite how awful he looks in this godforsaken suit, Kokichi’s voice still sounds tender and welcoming, still doesn’t bear any offense or disappointment. It’s comforting.
Comforting… But also burdening. Shuichi reminds himself that he shouldn’t hold Ouma back from having fun and enjoying the party. Even though he desperately craves comfort, he knows it’s not the best time to get it.
Kokichi probably never wanted a whiny gir–
“Helloooo? I’m asking who hurt my favorite boy!”
No, he won’t stop until he gets the answer. Saihara swallows another wave of tears.
“Me,” he sobs through a pained guilty smile. “Saihara Shuichi is the bastard.”
A short, confused pause makes the time stop. The detective hears how the other’s breath hitches.
“Oh. Is it because of the remark that stinky Fukawa-chan made about your suit?”
The “Did he steal this monstrosity from the nursing home?” one? Yes, that must’ve been the trigger. Shuichi didn’t feel confident in these clothes from the start but the others’ judging glares pushed him to his limits. After all, he had no other choice since his wardrobe barely consisted of such formal outfits. He had to ask his Uncle for help.
“P-probably,” he wipes his running nose and takes a more relaxed pose on the toilet seat. “But I– it’s not even about the suit. It’s just… my body is a freaking cage, and I can’t escape it, and I– ugh, don’t let it bother you, okay?”
Silence, again. Their conversation reminds Shuichi of the ones policemen have through walkie-talkies while chasing criminals: with long pauses, short sentences, and no eye contact. He fidgets on the seat, feeling tight in the chest and shoulders again, waiting for Kokichi’s response. When it finally arrives, his heart stops.
“Hey Shumai. Maybe you could open the door for me?” Ouma’s voice is unusually quiet.
Shuichi would love to do exactly that if he didn’t look even uglier than before. “I’m a mess,” he chuckles through the tears. “You won’t like me anymore if you see me right now.”
“I’ll take that remark as a dumb joke and ignore it,” the Supreme Leader grunts. “Come on, there’s something cool I wanna show you.”
It doesn’t take long for Saihara to guess. “My reflection in the mirror? I don’t want to look.”
“Aw man, Sherlock Holmes strikes again!” a soft laugh makes his heart shrink. “It’s not just your reflection. I’ll show you the Ultimate Truth if you open the door. I mean, it’s not like I’ll forcefully drag you out of here if you refuse, but I wouldn’t miss such a great opportunity if I were you. After all, I’m putting my evil nature aside for a little while.”
“The Ultimate Truth? In the mirror?”
Short nails scratch the door like it’s a kitten demanding the owner to play together. “Yup! Mirrors don’t lie, you know! It’s just that the truth is in the eye of the beholder.”
These words make Shuichi wince and freeze.
The truth is in the eye of the beholder, huh.
Somehow his tears stop pouring, clearing his vision, and his hand instinctively unlocks the door. It opens immediately. The light flows into the stall, blinds Shuichi for a few moments; he blinks away the dark veil covering his eyes and raises his head – only to see his boyfriend, in his amazing white suit and with his hair styled flawlessly, reaching out to him with a mischievous smile and a worried gaze.
“There you are.” Warm arms wrap around the detective’s waist. This makes him want to start crying again.
He missed Ouma’s embrace. That might’ve been the only thing he needed from the start but was too scared to ask for.
They spend a few minutes holding each other close. Kokichi’s nose is brushing against Shuichi’s cheek while he's planting light kisses all over it. Shuichi’s hands are gripping on the thick fabric of Kokichi’s white jacket. His face is buried in the other’s hair, feeling the scent of a hair lotion on his violet locks.
It’s getting easier to breathe.
Finally, the Supreme Leader pulls away from the hug. Despite the concerned look in his eyes, his expression is calm and carefree like always, with the adorable smirk decorating it. Saihara can’t help but smiles back, lowering his gaze guiltily.
“So, is my beloved detective ready to face the Ultimate Truth now?” Kokichi asks. The detective nods in response. “Awesome! Let’s go!”
They leave the bathroom stall and walk up to the mirror hanging on the wall above the sinks. Shuichi feels sick as his eyes find himself on the other side. Just like he predicted, the eyeliner is ruined, wet black streaks striping his cheeks, his eyes are terribly red, and his ugly suit looks even sloppier now. A shiver runs down his spine, and he wants to run away just so his eyes won’t have to see this monstrosity, but Kokichi gently squeezes his hand and leads him towards the sink.
“First, let’s freshen you up a little, okay?” he says, taking a small purple handkerchief out of his chest pocket and soaking it in warm water. All Saihara can do is obey, so he leans closer to his boyfriend and lets him take care of his messy face.
After a couple of minutes, Kokichi backs off with his eyes shining proudly. When Shuichi turns around to the mirror, he sees a clean face staring back at him.
That’s a little better. He sighs in relief.
“Now then, detective,” Ouma’s grin flashes next to his reflection. “We have a serious case on our hands. Are you ready to solve it?”
This playful tone helps the other relax. “Sure,” he sniffs, playing along. “Do we have any evidence or witnesses?”
“But of course!” Kokichi grins wider. “I’ll be the key eyewitness for this case! You know, as the one who fell for you a long time ago.”
Shuichi sees his reflection’s cheeks blushing and quickly looks away, giggling nervously. “If that’s true… We shall start with your testimony.”
Kokichi stands right beside him, eyes fixed on the mirror. His grin turns into a genuine smile, the one that Saihara can never get enough of, and his hands land on his beloved’s shoulders.
“I testify that Saihara-chan is too cruel to himself. We need to help him feel better in his body so he’ll stop offending it all the time.” Small fingers gently trace Shuichi’s collarbones, pressing lightly against his shirt. “I always suspected you have these mental breakdowns over your body but you never let me help you. So I’m kinda glad we’re having this conversation right now. I’m not a pro in this, I know, but I’m gonna try my best.”
His voice is warm and loving, his touch is caring and tender. Shuichi is already drowning in this overwhelmingly comforting attitude, and his eyes, despite all hatred and fears, are still glued to their reflections in the mirror.
He thinks that – maybe, just maybe – he wouldn't have burdened his boyfriend too much if he had asked for help earlier.
“I’m presenting to you: the most crucial piece of evidence!” the Supreme Leader declares proudly, letting go of Shuichi’s shoulders. “Let’s examine it properly, okay? I wish I could lend you my eyes so you’d see everything for yourself, but since I can’t do that, you should just trust my word. You trust your boyfriend, right?”
There’s nothing worth examining, Saihara thinks but bites his tongue before saying it out loud. After all, the atmosphere they’ve created is somehow calming him down, and he’s a little curious about what Ouma’s going to pull off, so he has no intentions of ruining the mood.
“I do,” he breathes out. “I trust you, Ouma-kun.”
Kokichi nods happily as his fingers crawl onto the detective’s face, brushing against the pale skin around his eyebrows and eyes. Then he starts speaking.
“Exhibit A,” his voice gets deep and confident like he’s a professor reading a lecture. “Your eyes. Please look at them closely. They remind me of gems, the ones you put in engagement rings so they get expensive and make people wearing them happier. This color looks so beautiful in your eyes, Shumai! I don’t need any rings because I can always stare at you and feel a hundred times happier. And those eyelashes, gosh!” he gasps dramatically, pretending to be on the verge of fainting. “They’re so long, I’d get lost in them! Soooo pretty!”
Are his eyes really that pretty? Aren’t his eyelashes too much? Shuichi watches his reflection blush uncontrollably while Ouma’s fingers slide down to his lips.
“Exhibit B. Your lips.” He presses on them lightly, and the detective thoughtlessly parts them a little. For a second, he notices how Kokichi’s cheeks are now blushing, too. “They’re so kissable. Ten out of ten. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want them to be on mine 24/7. So soft, and of perfect size.”
Saihara stares at his lips. To be honest, they might not be all that bad. After all, when he kisses Kokichi, the other boy keeps looking at them every time they part, and his eyes always glow with adoration during then. The detective has been certain that he looks awkward when he kisses, but now that this detail appears in his refreshed memories, he starts to doubt that.
Ouma’s fingers are now tracing his jawline. “Exhibit C: look at your face shape. Remember the golden ratio or whatever? Tell you what, no more perfect ratios. I hate ratios. Especially when they're golden. Your face is my new personal perfection. If I were put in a dark room and could only see the silhouettes of everyone’s faces, I’d find yours in no time. And that’s not a lie!”
Shuichi chuckles shyly and covers one of his boyfriend’s hands with his own. “What’s so special about my face?” he asks, genuinely curious. He catches Kokichi’s intense stare through the mirror, the expression on his face being judging and unamused.
“It’s yours,” such a simple answer. “That’s why it’s special. Duh.”
Shuichi could roll his eyes and shake his head in disagreement, but instead, he feels his heart beating faster, bouncing off his ribs like a toy ball. It’s so alive and energized that he has to grab his chest, afraid that it’s going to break free any minute. Warmth flows through his body.
Kokichi watches him with delight, not even hiding it, and lowers his hands to the other’s neck. “Exhibit… C or D? I forgot,” he snickers, making Shuichi smile. “Look at this beautiful long neck. I can place lots of hickeys on it and it’s still gonna look elegant.” His lips gently touch it. The detective chuckles again. “And the skin is so smooth! I wanna touch it forever!”
He stays nuzzling into the crook of his beloved’s neck for a little while, tickling it with his hair. Shuichi feels like it’s hard for him to breathe again, but this time it’s a pleasant feeling of freedom that makes his lungs weightless, not heavy. He looks at where Kokichi is hiding.
His neck might seem… feminine. This fact used to let him down every time he thought about it. However, Shuichi starts to imagine himself with any other neck – a shorter one, a thicker one, – and realizes that the one he has probably suits him the best. His boyfriend’s loving touches only support this idea.
Finally, Kokichi lets go, his arms wrapping around the detective’s waist again. “Exhibit whatevs,” he smirks. “Your body isn’t a cage. It’s a lovely human body. With arms that give perfect hugs. With the chest and the heart beating inside of it, the calming music I love to listen to when we cuddle. With the belly I like to rest on. And when I tickle it, you laugh and smile adorably.”
He suddenly gasps, eyes wide and glowing. “By the way! Your smile! Oh, don’t even get me started on that!” he jumps around Shuichi like a frog with childish excitement, making him blush more. “Wait, wait– let me show you something.”
Saihara watches him stop, take the phone out of his pocket, and open a note app. He expects all kinds of things to be in there but raises his eyebrows in surprise when the screen lights up, having finished loading. Instead of notes, it’s filled with clumsy sketches.
Sketches of Shuichi, smiling on each and every one. Does it mean–
Blood rushes to his head, and he steps back, trying not to lose control over his suddenly weak legs. His watery eyes meet Kokichi’s, silently asking for confirmation, and Ouma bites his smiling lips in response. He looks a little hesitant, like he’s not sure whether it’s a good idea, but slowly lets his beloved take the phone and examine each sketch with shaking fingers.
“Is this all… me?” Shuichi whispers, voice lost. The other boy snickers nervously.
“That’s right! Your smile and the way you laugh inspired me to sketch you!” his cheeks turn visibly red, so he starts moving around quickly again, trying to hide it.
Shuichi hates the way he smiles. He looks awkward when it’s just the lips, and when he shows his teeth, it gets even worse. He thinks he’s not the type of person who’s destined to smile much – that’s why this kind of expression never suits him. However, on each drawing Kokichi made, he looks… much more bearable. It’s probably the way he drew him, the detective sighs, but the number of sketches and their consistency make him question if the way he portrays his own smile is truly the right one.
He looks back at Kokichi, who’s biting his painted nails, and hands him the phone. His lips are shivering and he barely manages to hold back a new fountain of tears.
“Ouma-kun…”
“The thing is… Shumai, your smiles, they all are…” the Supreme Leader takes a deep breath, his body tense. He’s probably struggling to say these things aloud. It makes Shuichi’s heart whine painfully.
“…They’re all very precious to me. But you hate taking pictures, so that’s why I… draw them. To…” he lets go, closing the app, and returns his gaze to Shuichi. “To make myself feel sad and disappointed, and to let myself down when I’m in a low mood, of course!”
He suddenly launches at the detective, and Saihara catches him in another tight embrace, letting him hide the blushing face on his chest.
“The last part. It was a lie,” he mumbles through the fabric. “Just in case.”
Shuichi realizes he completely forgot why they’ve started this conversation, why they’re standing in the bathroom, why they’re dressed up, and he doesn’t care about it much anymore. The world somehow lost its meaning, and so did the countless pairs of eyes that were glued to Shuichi all the time. The only things that matter to him are the warmth of Kokichi’s smaller body pressed against his, the sounds of his lovely voice tickling his chest, and their reflection in the mirror – loving, tender, comforting.
“I really wish you smiled more, Saihara-chan,” Ouma whispers, breaking the silence. “I… I really wish you didn’t feel this way. It’s weird that the person who makes me happy is the very same person who makes you upset.”
Shuichi lets out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry,” he utters. “I know it’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.” A pair of purple eyes, sad and gentle, light up the small space between them. “I understand why you feel like this. That’s why I wanted to show you the other way around, the way I see you. I know I suck at comforting people.”
They both chuckle; Kokichi’s hand starts caressing the other’s cheek, pressing on it until their faces get closer. Their lips almost brush against each other, quiet warm breaths burning them, sounding in unison. Shuichi remembers how Ouma complimented on his lips a few minutes ago, and for some reason, it makes him smile.
“You did comfort me. It’s just… a little difficult for me to see myself differently.” He lets their noses touch, making them nuzzle. “But you were right. The truth is in the eye of the beholder. I’ll remember that each time I look in the mirror.”
Kokichi laughs, a sweet puff of his chocolate-smelling breath caught by Shuichi’s half-opened mouth. He must’ve eaten all the cupcakes that were on the dessert table, the detective notes.
“Of course I was right! I’m the Ultimate Supreme Leader, and it means I’m right all the time!”
He backs away so that their eyes meet again, now with a serious expression decorating his face. “No matter what, Saihara-chan will always be a boy to me and to everyone else. And not just any boy! One of the prettiest boys I’ve met, actually, and you can’t imagine how lucky I feel to be the one who gets to call you my boyfriend!”
Shuichi feels like his heart is going to explode very soon, so he leans closer to Kokichi and brings their lips together. The other boy hums happily into the kiss, his hand moving up to mess with Saihara’s dark blue hair, and for the next couple of minutes, they disappear from the party hall’s bathroom, their feelings taking them somewhere far, far away, where the air is always warm and sweet and each touch feels magical.
Shuichi catches himself thinking about how they might be looking in the mirror right now. What a hot mess, probably! Kokichi’s lips will be all pink and plump and his own cheeks are definitely burning already, not to mention his hair that’s destroyed by a certain naughty hand. Still, he doesn’t find it awkward or ugly. The only ugly thing is his suit, let it be damned.
When they part for the last time, catching their breaths together, it feels like they teleported to a different world – a much safer, more comfortable one. Shuichi chuckles with relief, and Kokichi follows, his iconic nishishi playfully shaking the air between them.
“Next time you feel like this, please don’t hide from me, okay?” he mutters. “I was toootally not scared and worried about you.”
“Sorry…”
The Supreme Leader hugs him tighter. “The thing you always say to me: “If you’re feeling bad, please tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.” Uno reverse card. We’ll fight your insecurities together, just like we’re dealing with mine!”
Shuichi feels like something was blossoming inside his chest, right where his heart was bleeding only a few hours ago. Like the blood from the cuts each gaze left on him turned into flowers and grass, and they’re blooming, their scent and freshness filling his always hated body with life. He meets his eyes with the mirror; the Shuichi on the other side is smiling at him warmly and gratefully. His eyes are shining like gems. His lips are pink and pretty after kissing. His elegant neck is peeking out of the collar of his shirt.
He looks at the same boy who makes Kokichi happy, not at the person who makes him depressed.
The truth is in the eye of the beholder…
Ouma places a quick kiss on his cheek, demanding his attention. “Anyways, wanna flee the scene together?” he asks and fixes his tie empathically. “I can walk you home, we will make sure you take your binder off, change you into your favorite pajamas, and watch some stupid comedy movie. How does that sound?”
It sounds fantastic. Much better than spending any more hours walking around in this awful suit. Shuichi takes Kokichi’s hand and starts playing thoughtlessly with his fingers.
“That would be nice, but don’t you want to stay here?” he worries. “You looked like you were having a good time before I interrupted you.”
“Jeez!” Kokichi rolls his eyes, then grabs his boyfriend by the bowtie and drags him towards the exit. “Yeah, I will definitely have more fun with all those weirdos than with the only person I care about outside my secret organization! Don’t act stupid, Shumai!”
He doesn’t let the detective say anything more, leaving the bathroom with him. Ignoring Iruma’s inappropriate jokes about what they could’ve been doing there for so long, they quickly wave everyone goodbye and escape from the party, hand-in-hand.
Shuichi was sure he’d be absolutely ruined by the end of the night. Instead, he leaves the party feeling genuinely happy and madly in love with the most handsome and the most caring purple-haired boy in the universe.
And he’s still wearing his Uncle’s terrible suit, which Kokichi promises to burn in one of Yonaga’s ritual fires sometime later.
***
Sunlight plays in Shuichi’s fluttering eyelashes as he lifts them, vision hazy from a long sleep. It takes a lot of time for his body to regain energy, but he reluctantly sits up, back pressed against the pillow, wondering how much he’s slept today. The other pillow is cold and untouched; he was expecting Kokichi to be sleeping next to him, but he probably left right after Shuichi had fallen asleep.
It would be nice to wake up together, after the talk they had. Shuichi slides back under the blanket, imagining how he’d kiss the Supreme Leader on the cheek and make him toasts with his favorite grape jam. While fantasizing, he glances over the room to the small mirror he covered with an old towel some long time ago.
“I really wish you smiled more, Saihara-chan. I really wish you didn’t feel this way. It’s weird that the person who makes me happy is the very same person who makes you upset.”
Kokichi’s voice is still fresh in his head, along with everything he said to him that night. Shuichi feels his lips twitch in a modest smile, catching the warmth of the sun on them. He promises himself to take down the towel after getting out of bed today.
Something catches his attention, makes him turn around. He notices a piece of paper lying on the edge of his nightstand. Kokichi probably left this before leaving; Shuichi’s heart starts beating like crazy with excitement. Curious, he takes the note in his hand and examines it. As soon as he sees its contents, his eyes get filled with tears that shine brightly under the sunlight like tiny diamonds.
On the paper, there is another sketch of Shuichi smiling. This time he’s standing in front of the mirror, and his reflection looks incredibly happy and delighted. The detective can’t stop staring at the drawing, sobbing and smiling, until he notices that there’s something scribbled on the other side as well.
He flips the paper over. There’s a short writing on it.
“I hope one day you’ll love yourself as much as I love you.
Your Kokichi”