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A few months already into his first year of high school, Saihara sat in the stereotypical window seat of his classroom and gazed out of it longingly, completely ignoring the lesson on… derivatives… or something. His hand was absentmindedly playing with the unruly hair on top of his head, wishing he was allowed to wear his signature hat on campus, and let out a bored sigh.
Little did he know that across the room, another gentleman was going stir crazy.
Ouma would absolutely be fidgeting with something if he owned an object that didn’t make noise and/or distract people (not that he cared, but he didn’t want to get cubes and spinners outright banned), so, in their absence, he scanned the room over and over again until his eyes fell on something distinctly interesting. The quiet, standoffish, don’t-get-near-me-or-I’ll-die Saihara had a little keychain that slipped out of his book bag - presenting itself to any onlooker who would notice.
Even on the other side of the classroom, the monochrome bear was recognizable, and Ouma couldn’t help but grin widely at his new ‘project’ - meaning, a new person for him to attempt to befriend before they got fed up with his antics. He took out a sheet of paper and began furiously scribbling, plotting and planning; observing all the while as the seconds meticulously passed by.
When the clock struck three in the afternoon, the students were released, and, usually, Saihara would jump at the opportunity to run home - but today, Ouma would not let that happen. In his newfound determination to thoroughly inspect the emo enigma, he nearly broke the chair that sat in front of Saihara’s desk by crashing into it violently, though elegantly.
The seat squeaked loudly at the sudden force, and it was impossible for the taller man to not look up - only to have dull purple eyes staring him down in interest. After blinking twice, Saihara started to slowly move back, completely overwhelmed in the other’s presence, but couldn’t seem to get up - pinned down by the intensity.
“Do you know who I am?” Ouma spoke up, innocently. His assumptions were that, no, this reserved human wouldn’t make time to remember any of their names as he was too busy keeping to himself. However...
Saihara gulped a couple of times, and looked like he wanted to disappear as he whispered, “Y-You’re… Ouma-san…,” in a soft voice that the Ouma immediately became drawn to. He had barely heard it, but what he did hear sent an unfamiliar shiver up his spine that he couldn’t quite understand. So, this mysterious man was more of the attentive type? Fascinating.
An even larger grin appeared on Ouma’s face as he brought up both of his arms and placed his elbows on Saihara’s desk, finishing by tucking his chin into his interlaced fingers like Celestia Ludenberg would, then tutted, “Ah~ So he knows me? Good! Then, tell me - who’s your favorite Danganronpa character?” The prankster’s face grew dark, the grin turning into a cheshire smirk, but there was no malice to be found. Simple curiosity, but an inability to ask normally without making a spectacle of it all.
Without missing a beat or stuttering at all, Saihara perked up and said, “Musika! From Season Thirty-nine! It was so cool that they had a character with both a known talent and a secret talent! I loved the big reveal to find out that this cute, naive little idol was secretly a hardcore detective all along, and that ‘Musika’ had just been a cover for her! I especially loved her rivalry with Monium the Ultimate Thief! The amounts of subtext between them - the lying detective and the thief who didn’t steal anything - were astronomical, and I happen to think they’d go really well together and-” Abruptly, the rambling stopped as the fanatic desperately covered his own mouth to stop himself from continuing. He flashed a face of complete pain and embarrassment, realizing that he had gone on and on to, essentially, a complete stranger, and looked down to his desk dejected.
“Oh that was one of my fave seasons, too!” Ouma broke his intense stance as he realized how much Saihara had grown uncomfortable, and tried to make things more flowy and natural, “I wish I could’ve gotten the Monium 1/8th scale figure before it sold out! But, to not leave you hanging, my fave character is-”
Suddenly, a loud locker slam was heard, and both men jumped, clear fear on both of their faces - even if Ouma hid his better. When nothing else happened, they calmed down, and their eyes met again meaningfully for the second time, an understanding washed over them.
After taking a shaky breath, Saihara mustered the courage to whimper, “D-Do you want to c-c-continue this conversation at-at my place?” He was fiddling with his tie, clearly trying to look anywhere but the purple gaze across from him.
Oh… Oh… he was so fascinating. Ouma really picked a good one this time. None of his other ‘projects’ succeeded - once he finally got to the point where they went from ‘project’ to ‘friend’ they… really didn’t want to be around him anymore. Even he could admit he was a lot to handle. But, this felt different. If he had to describe it - it was as though his veins had been lit ablaze in excitement. More than pranking, more than white lies, he wanted to hear what this man had to say, wanted to spend more time with him, “I dunno, Saihara-chan! Did you even ask permission first?” He flashed a smirk for a split second before checking the dirt in his nails, “I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble because of me, now!”
The reaction was immediate. Saihara waved his hands back and forth frantically in a panic, “Ch-Ch-Chan!? W-We just met, Ouma-k-kun! A-And…,” Hearing the switch to ‘kun’, Ouma’s face went entirely blank, devoid of showing anything as Saihara continued, “my Uncle… he’s n-never home so…”
It took absolutely everything in the smaller man’s power to pull himself back together, but once he did he excitedly said, “Well, well then! Off to Saihara-chan’s house! And yes - Saihara-chan we’ve known each other for months after all!” Not exactly a lie, but he was proud of the statement nonetheless.
Dizzy, exasperated, but undeniably curious, Saihara nodded dumbly and collected their things to start walking to his place.
The journey there was absolutely enthralling for both parties. Quizzing each other back and forth on favorite characters, trials, execuations, masterminds. Ouma learned about Saihara’s bias towards detective types, even for bad ones like the useless first-death detective of Season Twenty-Two. And, vice-versa, Saihara learned about Ouma’s passionate love for antagonist characters, and how their morally grey demeanor got him every time. He’d happily write you essays on the Ultimate Mortician from Season Eight or the Ultimate Poltergeist Hunter from that weird Season Thirty no one likes or talks about. And, to both, having someone that understood and would gush alongside them was a dream come true. So, despite their personalities, neither held back their ramblings. Even if they just ‘met’ earlier this afternoon - they fit together in place perfectly - and the conversation flowed naturally.
Once they made it to Saihara’s Residence, they immediately got the giant, flat-screen television set up, and the host turned to his guest and smiled shyly, “A-Ah- would you like to m-marathon the whole series from the beginning… a-and when Season Fifty-Two airs this year w-we can watch it t-t-together?” It absolutely amused and flustered Ouma already how confident and well spoken the taller man could be when talking about his opinions on characters, but became a stuttering mess whenever he asked questions or spoke about anything else.
Eagerly, Ouma nodded in response, giving a thumbs up and an enthusiastic, “No! I would hate watching my favorite show with my new favorite person in his big fancy house!”
Saihara started blushing furiously as he mumbled, “T-That was s-s-sarcasm, right?” And began to fidget with his tie. It was only then that he realized that he hadn’t thought about grabbing his hat from his room once or hiding his face from Ouma, and his blush spread even more - until his cheeks were a lovely tomato red.
“Of course~ Except you being my favorite person! That’s one hundred percent the truth!” A cheshire grin formed on the sly man’s face. It was the truth, but he didn’t necessarily need the other to believe it. Though, it seemed to actually help Saihara calm down, and the navy-haired man relaxed as he put in the DVD for the first season, Trigger Happy Havoc.
As expected, the detective fanatic immediately started gushing about Kirigiri, and kept pointing out her motivations and the clues the game was leaving behind on how she wasn’t the mastermind. But Ouma didn’t mind one bit. In fact, he found himself watching Saihara’s reactions more than he was watching the screen sometimes, mesmerized by the way his fingers would cover his mouth when he was thinking intently, or how focused he was when Monokuma talked.
It wasn’t until Chapter Three, “A Next Generation Legend! Stand Tall, Galactic Hero!”, that Saihara looked away from the screen and gave attention to Ouma - but it was so worth it as his soft voice whispered giddily, “Celeste is your fave from this game, isn’t she? C’mon, I know I’m right! Tell me I’m right!”
“Nope! No way! It’s absolutely Hagakure~ And the way he just,” He took a deep breath and clenched his fist and teeth while speaking in the most genuine tone he could muster, “adds so much to the story and character’s motivations.” To which Saihara giggled, falling for it at first until the sarcasm hit, spurring Ouma to keep going, “Of course it’s Celeste, silly Saihara-chan! She has so many hidden layers to her, and she could’ve easily gotten away with it if she hadn’t given in so easily - but I think that says a lot about her. Plus, the aesthetic.” He swooned.
Golden eyes lit up as Saihara nodded and started one of his long rants, “Chapter Three is really cool because Yamada says he remembers her last name but how does he know that!? It’s not like she would ever tell him - even when he’s about to die - so did he remember by getting his head hit? Does this mean that if someone else hit their head they’d remember too? Did Fujisaki also remember everyone right as they were going to die? Or was it too instantaneous for that? What about Kuwata!? That would depend on how fast he died… Does spinning and getting dizzy get your memories back? We don’t know if Taka died instantly either! Plus, who’s to say that it’s just head trauma! I read a theory once where they said Celeste remembered as she was being burned and I thought it was really cool albeit far fetched...” His eyes were absolutely sparkling as he kept going.
Ouma found himself completely absorbed into the other’s world as he started refuting some of the points coyly, ‘Who’s to say Celeste didn’t tell him her full name as a parting token? Didn’t everyone else die too fast to remember? Wouldn’t Naegi remember everything once he fell down the garbage chute?’ which got them playfully debating back and forth. It wasn’t until Enoshima revealed herself that the two realized they hadn’t been watching the show for three chapters, and started laughing heartily. Without missing a beat, they both left trial six on in the background to continue their passionate discussion - notably a thing neither had ever done before.
As the six survivors watched the metal door open and the credits began rolling, Saihara brought his phone out of his pocket to check the time and gasped, “O-Oh no! I’ve kept you here so long! I-I’m… I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to I-”
“It’s ok! It’s ok! Honest truth! This was super fun! I don’t regret staying out this late at all! Buuut~” Ouma trilled, “I do have to get going, Saihara-chan! Unless… you’re kidnapping me and forcing me to watch Goodbye Despair!?” His eyes widened, gasping, mouth hanging open in mock fear.
“No! I’ll take you home!” Saihara winced, but looked to the ground sadly, “Though… I was hoping… we could, um, d-do this again? T-Tomorrow?”
It was the first time all afternoon into the evening that he couldn’t meet the other’s eyes, anxious about the answer, but Ouma gently gripped his hands, which got him to look up just in time to witness the soft, “Of course. I would like that.” That left his lips. Too quickly afterwards, the smaller man got up, grabbing his stuff, and made a note that he lived close enough that he could walk home on his own despite Saihara’s protests. He made his way out the door, but not before turning around and flashing a genuinely happy wave.
-x-
As much as they could after that, they went over to Saihara’s house after school. They would put on a season in the background and talk about their theories and opinions as it happened with a ferver. But, even more, over time, the two became inseparable.
They would leave fun cryptic notes to one another between classes in their lockers or notebooks. They’d always be doodling or writing in some big, clearly-loved sketchbook at lunch while picking at the other’s meal. And they were constantly seen walking home together pressed up side-by-side. If the student body didn’t know any better - they would say they were dating…
But they weren’t.
Just growing feelings and pining wistfully while spewing headcanons. From sitting on opposite ends of the couch to curling up under one blanket snuggled as close together as possible. Learning everything there was to know about their best friend; even the small things - like how Saihara had never tried frozen yogurt, or how Ouma liked to use the wrong ‘your’ on purpose - to their deep insecurities, like Saihara’s neglectful family, or Ouma’s lack of one causing them both to find solace in the found-family nature of Danganronpa.
Still, they were just friends, never anything romantic… never ‘boyfriends’...
Eventually, their watch-a-thon came to its apex with the start of the Fifty-Second season airing live. This would be a different experience than all of the other seasons, since they didn’t know this one already. And… with the start of the new season… came signups for the next one. Ouma had managed to locate applications and an audition location online, and printed them out for the two of them to fill out. So, as the first episode finished, they packed what they needed and made it towards the studio - talking about their theories and predictions to calm their nerves. Though, they never lost their excitement along the way. To them, this was their dream - their passion, finally within reach.
A few weeks later the results came back and both of them held onto their envelopes tightly. “Are… Are you worried about forgetting each other for a little bit?” Ouma asked, unable to take his eyes off his name on the label.
Matching his actions, Saihara responded, “Y-You don’t know if we got in yet… and, ah, yeah, I am… but… they let you write a message to yourself for when you come off the show… s-so even if one of us died first and the other survived-”
“Yeah, yeah I know that but…” The smaller man took a deep breath, “H-Hey can I say something first?” To which Saihara just nodded, listening, but anxious to the point where he couldn’t move.
Ouma took one hand off his letter and reached over to grab the other’s, interlacing their fingers. This is what finally stirred the taller man to look at him, many emotions overflowing from those golden eyes that pieced Ouma’s soul as he continued, “N-No matter what happens in there… if they gave us the opposing characters we made… just…,” He squeezed tighter, until Saihara winced and he relaxed a little, letting out a soft apology, “Promise you’ll still be…” With me? By my side? Mine? Words he could never say out loud, so he let them die in his throat.
Nodding profusely, understanding even if it wasn’t said aloud, Saihara whispered, “I promise.” Then pulled his hand away, but not before brushing Ouma’s knuckles with his thumb tenderly, making him shiver, “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” The flustered man responded, prompting the two to finally rip open their envelopes.
-x-
-x-
-x-
The beeping of a heart monitor rang out in the small hospital room as Saihara gradually awoke. He wasn’t fully conscious, but some of his senses were slowly returning. He let out a muffled moan as he tried to open his eyes, but even with the dim lights it was too much, so he shut them tight, wincing as he did.
He tried moving his hands but found them mostly unresponsive, managing to only wiggle a couple of fingers on each side. However, he noticed a pressure causing his right index finger to stop prematurely. Whatever it was suddenly tightened around his hand, enveloping it completely. But all he could tell before his body forced him back into slumber was how distinctly warm and calming the feeling was.
Waking up the next few times, he noticed more and more about his surroundings, despite still not being able to open his eyes. Usually, that pressure was there, learning through touch that it was someone gripping his hand. Once, there was a different person there, and a couple of instances no one was there at all. Yet, through it all, he could never tell who was by his side or why they were there.
Though, eventually, he did manage to bravely endure the light, granting himself vision, and was even able to make some conversation to a doctor that happened to be checking up on him. It took him a second to recognize Harukawa and Yumeno in civilian clothes peeking through the doorway, but the moment he saw them, he flashed a soft, loving smile in their direction, prompting them to come inside.
What he thought was going to be a bittersweet reunion turned into pure shock as the three people told him gently and patiently that all of his classmates were alive - including Kiibo and Shirogane, even if they were both still in recovery (even if he had mixed feelings about the latter).
The next day, eleven familiar faces joined the two women. It was probably too much too fast for Saihara, but he was so happy to see everyone alive again that he didn’t care. When Akamatsu wrapped her hands around his, he recognized them as the person he had woken up to once, making him start to tear up. He greeted all of them tenderly - especially Momota, who brought him into a tight hug before Harukawa scolded him for being so rough. Though, it wasn’t until he was saying hello to everyone individually that he noticed Ouma wasn’t there.
Double checking and looking at them all again, he finally asked them where he was, and was fairly surprised when Amami spoke up, calm and aloof as ever, “Well, he’s here, he’s fine - same old liar. But, he’s kinda convinced you wouldn’t wanna see him, even though we all asked him to join us.” Then the tall man smiled knowingly, bringing himself down to Saihara’s level, “I think if you said, right here and now, that you wanted him to visit you, a meeting could be arranged.”
Though hesitating, remembering how confused and, at worst, frightened over the leader’s antics during the killing game, Saihara did get out a confident yes and noticed distinctly how excited Amami, Akamatsu, Momota, Iruma and Gokuhara got at the response. But didn’t have time to question it as the doctor shooed everyone out to let the newly-awake man not get overwhelmed.
A few days after everyone else, Ouma came to visit, alone, putting on a metaphorical mask and dancing around Saihara’s intense questioning. But, truly, this just made the navy-haired man happy to see the leader so… like himself. He found himself content even while being blatantly lied to, and even laughed at Ouma’s ridiculous tales fondly over the afternoon. At the end, as the other was about to leave, Saihara reached out to grab his hand as a sincere thanks, and caught Ouma off guard with his successful attempt.
The feeling was immediately recognizable, and all Saihara could do was stare as the small purple man pulled his hand away and waved him good night before skipping out of the room. Leaving the detective alone in his thoughts for a painfully long time.
“Ouma-kun… was…” my mystery person? Saihara questioned, opening and closing his right hand multiple times. It seemed, preposterous, really. Ouma had… done many wrong things - been their enemy for a time. So why? Why would he be there, by his side, for multiple instances?
Deeply theorizing, something started to spark, and a vision appeared in Saihara’s mind of someone reaching over to him while he was holding something, followed by him returning the gesture. He was enveloped in an intense feeling of longing, and a couple of tears streamed down his face as he tried to remember it clearly. But it also felt… familiar. So familiar. And he kept playing the incomplete memory over and over, letting it lull him to sleep. Subconsciously, he interlocked his own fingers, trying to recreate it with minimal success.
All too soon after that, Saihara kept getting overwhelmed in vague, misty memories whenever he interacted with someone. Akamatsu reminded him of songs he liked; songs he remembered playing for someone. Toujo made him feel like preparing meals for someone, and pampering them when they were sick. And Ouma-
Every time he spoke to Ouma his entire body seemed to yell at him, seemed to, more than anything, want to hug him. But he couldn’t figure out why, why why… did he want to believe Ouma was the person of his memories?
Momota told him that the little brat, said affectionately now, probably just reminded him of someone from his past - and that he should bite the bullet and read the letter he wrote before joining the game. Harukawa, on multiple occasions, even offered to bring it to him, claiming hers had brought her extreme happiness. But he didn’t want to read something that awful version of him wrote. That sickly, panting, obsessive creature he saw on screen that haunted him. No - No letter from him. He’ll just stick with these strangely pleasant memories and relish in the fact that there was someone waiting for him, even if he wasn’t the same person anymore.
One day, close to a month after he woke up, he got a soft knock on his door and Ouma, uncharacteristically serious, walked in with permission, holding two pieces of folded paper close to his chest. “Saihara-chan,” He started, deadpan, “I brought your letter.”
Confused, the taller man tilted his head and was about to ask him to explain, but Ouma cut him off, coming to sit at the end of his bed, “All mine says is ‘Read Saihara-chan’s! You worked on it together.’ And I wasn’t going to open it without you so-”
“W-What!?” Saihara shrieked, interrupting, heart beating rapidly at the implication, and grabbed the paper out of his hands frantically to begin reading.
~~~
To my Future Me,
I hope it was absolutely everything we dreamed!
I know you probably hate me. They always say the Danganronpa contestants have trouble adjusting to life again - but, believe me, you didn’t have one before this. I’m so sorry for whatever memories they ended up giving you, really I am! But if they went with my design, they’re based on my own, y’know?
Your parents are away in America - having the time of their lives being B List actors on a good day. They haven’t called you since you were ten years old, but send lots of money for your birthday. Your uncle cares about you a lot - but he’s never, ever home. He’s a jaded old man whose wife left him for someone less busy and less drunk. Who never found time to really love you through all of his shit.
Lonely. You were so fucking lonely, Shuichi. And Danganronpa was all you cared about. It was the only thing that was ever there for you. From the minute you saw these colorful ‘characters’ find friendship and family through even despair and murder - its all you ever craved.
You were an average student with no strong talents. People found you unapproachable because of your bored resting face. You had no goals. There was only Danganronpa - and now there is nothing here in this life for you.
With… one very, very important exception.
I’m afraid you won’t remember for a bit. Your strongest memories are the ones you get last of course! It wouldn’t be Danganronpa without something convoluted like that…
But… please… if you could do only one thing for me, please still be friends with Kokichi. He’s… quite frankly he’s your everything. You’ve been connected at the hip for almost a year. He gets you. Do you remember? The day he approached you and decided that you were going to be in his life? The day you were finally allowed to talk about that thing you loved? I think about it every day.
There’s no easy way to say this… you’re in love with him.
And… And I’m going to miss him so much.
I hope his character wasn’t too mean to you. He’s so proud of his leader persona, and the sparkle in his eyes when he talks about him makes your whole world light up. Heh, sorry- did you know you get rambly when you’re passionate? He says it’s one of his favorite things about you…
They’re gonna send me in soon, so I’ll leave you alone. Gosh… I didn’t even talk about you did I? Well...
Goodbye to my shitty parents,
Goodbye to my unfortunate Uncle,
Goodbye to my dearest, most important person,
And Goodbye, Shuichi,
You are my hope,
I love you,
Sincerely,
Your Past Self
~~~
All Saihara could do was read over and over and over as memories came flooding back and tears stroked down his face. Every previously blurry thought of a blank someone turned into Ouma, only slightly different than the one he knew now. One who lied a little less but still picked on people, craved attention but wasn’t so secretive about it, idolized antagonists for their cool plot driving ways and heart-wrenching reveals, and, most importantly, one who cared about Saihara openly and unashamedly, making him feel lovable and good just by his mere presence.
By his sixth readthrough, he finally took his eyes off the flimsy paper to look up - only to be grounded in reality. He no longer saw just the leader, didn’t see just his precious friend... but a new person, a combination of both, like he was now. And he realized then and there - through the discussions, the pining, the game, the lies, the hurt - he was completely in love.
Then, something Ouma had previously said resonated in his mind and he found himself smiling fondly. Still choking up and sobbing, he managed to say, “You… You lied… again…,”
When he was met with a confused head tilt, he explained, “Y-Your letter didn’t… didn’t… say that. You… tricked me into reading m-mine.” To which Ouma held his own letter protectively in his arms.
“I didn’t read yours, honest.” The smaller man spoke quietly, like it was a secret he was keeping, “But… I read mine… and, well, we clearly knew each other. I knew you didn’t want to see yours, so, I made up the lie. Ta-dah.” He did a light jazz hand that didn’t carry much pizzazz.
Searching furiously, when he found none of Ouma’s tells, Saihara sat up and looked at him intently. He wanted, no, needed to know if his feelings were returned over the past year, “What... did your letter say? Can I read it?”
The reaction was immediate. Ouma clutched the paper hard and jumped up, clear fear present on his face. He was about to book it out the door when he, foolishly, looked back to be met with the sight of Saihara, nearly falling off the bed, one arm outstretched in an attempt to grab him, and the most desperate, pleading eyes.
Ouma winced as he let himself get captured, sitting back down on the bed as long, skinny fingers gripped his sleeve. Defeatedly, he looked everywhere but Saihara’s face, not successfully finding something distinct to look at before the other started talking again, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… um… Can I read mine to you instead? I think you should hear it…” In contrast, the detective was staring right at him fondly.
It took a very, very long time of sitting silently and contemplating before the quietest, “I wanna know…” came out of Ouma’s lips, reserved. Saihara knew that admitting that must’ve been difficult, so he let out a huff in affirmation, not pushing the subject. Once relaxed, he released Ouma’s sleeve and began reading out the note with a pained but sincere voice.
Things were relatively calm as it began but as, “...you’re in love with him,” left the taller man’s mouth, Ouma shot up to look at him - caution, hesitation, terror unable to be hidden behind glossy, violet eyes - but also unmistakable hope. And it was impossible to continue the note after.
In a shock to both of them, Saihara got onto his knees and cupped one of the leader’s cheeks with one hand and ran the other through the back of his hair. He waited for Ouma to push him, yell at him, tell him to stop and that they were only friends, but… he didn’t. No, instead, his eyes went half-lidded and looked down at the detective’s lips before slowly raising back up again. Then closed them completely.
And Saihara eagerly leaned forward and gently kissed him - like he’d wanted to do for so, so long. Immediately, the two melted into each other, letting out sighs and relaxing their shoulders. Ouma turned to face the other better and gripped onto Saihara’s shirt like it would disappear if he let go.
Though he wished to stay like that forever, Saihara separated for just a moment before whispering, “... and I still am. Very much in love, with you, Kokichi.” Before happily diving back in for more, taking great pride in the way the smaller man squeaked before he could mute the sound.
Not needing an answer back, they continued on, happily intertwining fingers and littering kisses upon each other’s noses, chins, ears, foreheads (especially their foreheads) - and more. And, undeniably, Saihara was satisfied and happy crying - overwhelmed in memories and romance.
But his heart still skipped a beat when, after what had to have been an hour of simply adoring each other, Ouma gulped and said, “Hey, Shuichi… I... love you, too.”
-x-
Snuggling on the couch in their Danganronpa-provided house (as survivors got serious perks and they were paying Saihara buckets to speak well on the game on top of his parents still sending money), Ouma clicked ‘play’ on the remote to start the show, opening up Season One with a speech about Hope’s Peak Academy by Makoto Naegi.
This time, as Saihara planted kiss after kiss upon the back of the other’s neck, they didn’t talk about Kirigiri, or Celeste, or what was happening on screen. Instead, they talked about what they might have felt afterwards - Did Fujisaki wake up and have a gender crisis? Did Ogami and Asahina find happiness once their minds realigned? How did Togami react to learning his corporation was fake? No more discussions about the Danganronpa world, no. Now it was more... who were these people before their games, and who did they become afterwards?
When they got to the scene where Yamada woke up a second time, Ouma leaned back to lovingly place a kiss upon Saihara’s jawline as he hummed, “What are your theories now, my beloved?” And patiently waited as the detective went into thinking mode.
He wasn’t expecting, “I’ve been wondering… after you hit your head during Shinguji’s trap... did you remember me? Like we predicted the day we met?” To be said in a concerned tone. The taller man made sure to message his lover’s scalp and give it lots of passionate kisses whenever he brought up the concussion, and now was no exception.
“Yup~” Ouma hummed into the feeling as he listened to the beginnings of the trial, “I remembered my sweet Shumai’s cuddles and ramblings and stutter! One hundred percent! It kept me going through the whole awful trial they wrote.” He drawled on, as Saihara kept mumbling how everything he was saying was a lie, and he should at least give hints for what the truth was in this case. But he merely rested into his boyfriend’s chest and finished with, “If I remembered you, Shuichi… I wouldn’t have died like that…”
Ouma’s death was always a sensitive subject as he tended to disassociate when talking about it, so Saihara switched to messaging his upper arms and quickly but calmly said, “Hey, hey, it’s ok, c’mon - how about you read your letter to me again? You’re here, with me, in our living room.” To which the ex-leader nodded numbly. Saihara then laid him down on his side and got up to grab the well-loved paper from their bedroom.
As he returned, he moved Ouma so that his head was now in his lap, and began stroking his hair, making him nearly purr, as Saihara handed him the letter, “It’s ok, Kokichi. I’m right here.” A long release of breath was all that was heard before the reading aloud began.
~~~
To my Future Me,
You are everything I wanted to be. You're cool, aloof, but have the potential to be serious, and god you're so smart.
I might have... put a little too much of my trauma of being alone my whole life into your character - including making up 9 people who... aren't real. I'm so sorry. In truth, they're your stuffed animals - and I promise they love you. But that sounds so stupid to write, huh? That's gonna hurt, but, when you get out of there we'll plan a heist together and Shumai is gonna chase us!
Oh~ Are you wondering how I know him? Well listen to this, Kokichi - do you know why you're in love with him? Why you find yourself hopelessly attracted to him even though that goes against your everything???
Because I'm in love with him. And I have been for such a long time... and... well... there's no me without Shui Saihara-chan. So you're just gonna have to deal - and we'll both deal together when you come out of there a winner!
Just... so you know... his character doesn't hate you. I know you're not gonna believe me Mr. Trust issues, but he doesn't.
Aight, kick some ass! Take some names! And keep the audience on their toes my beloved leader~
XOXO, Kokichi Ouma
~~~
By the end, Saihara had the whole thing memorized so well that he said it alongside him without needing to look at it, and Ouma seemed much more calm and relaxed, perfectly happy lying on this comfy lap.
“Do you miss us?” The smaller man questioned, “The us we were before? The us we were in there?”
Saihara responded by pressing a finger lovingly to his nose, in a gentle attempt to silence him, “I think it would be easier.” He confessed, “If we were just one or the other… But that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve loved you throughout it.”
Finally, Ouma sat up and looked at him fondly, “We were just… two fanatics… We shouldn’t have…”
“Would you believe me if I told you I’m glad we did?”
Though it took him a moment to think it over, Ouma said, “Yeah, I believe you. I… I’m glad we did too.” And sealed it with a kiss before saying, “I’m hopelessly in love with you, Shuichi Saihara - and that will never be a lie.”
And smiling, happy, ecstatic, smitten, Saihara whispered, “I’m hopelessly in love with you, Kokichi Ouma - and I will keep my promise to stay by your side.”